You might not like cards, still less the company--a very possible circ.u.mstance, the latter, in some times we wot of not long since--Well, then, you saved your cash and your character by staying at home; on the other hand, it was a comfort to know that you could have your rubber of "shorts" or your game at _ecarte_, while at the same time you were contributing to the maintenance of the crown, and discharging the _devoirs_ of a loyal subject It is useless, however, to speculate upon an obsolete inst.i.tution; the law has fallen into disuse, and the more is the pity. How one would like to have seen Lord Normanby, with that one curl of infantine simplicity that played upon his forehead, with that eternal leer of self-satisfied loveliness that rested on his features, playing banker at _rouge et noir_, or calling the throws at hazard. I am not quite so sure that the concern would have been so profitable as picturesque. The princ.i.p.al frequenters of his court were "York too;"

Lord Plunket was a "downy cove;" and if Anthony Black took the box, most a.s.suredly "I'd back the caster." Now and then, to be sure, a stray, misguided country gentleman--a kind of "wet Tory"--used to be found at that court; just as one sees some respectable matronly woman at Ems or Baden, seated in a happy unconsciousness that all the company about her are rogues and swindlers, so _he_ might afford some good sport, and a.s.sist to replenish the famished exchequer. Generally speaking, however, the play would not have kept the tables; and his lordship would have been _in_ for the wax-lights, without the slightest chance of return.

As for his successor, "patience" would have been his only game; and indeed it was one he had to practise whilst he remained amongst us.

Better days have now come: let us, therefore, inquire if a slight modification of the act might not be effected with benefit, and an amendment, somewhat thus, be introduced into the bill:--"That the words 'Lord Mayor' be subst.i.tuted for the words 'Lord Lieutenant;' and that all the privileges, rights, immunities, &c, aforesaid, be enjoyed by him to his sole use and benefit; and also that, in place of the word 'Castle,' the word 'Mansion-house' stand part of this bill"--thus reserving to his lordship all monopoly in games of chance and address, without in anywise interfering with such practices of the like nature exercised by him elsewhere, and always permitted and conceded by whatever government in power.

Here, my dear countrymen, is no common suggestion. I am no prophet, like Sir Harcourt Lees; but still I venture to predict, that this system once legalised at the Mayoralty, the tribute is totally unnecessary.

The little town of Spa, with scarce 10,000 inhabitants, pays the Belgian government 200,000 francs per annum for the liberty: what would Dublin--a city so populous and so idle? only think of the tail!--how admirably they could employ their little talent as "bonnets," and the various other functionaries so essential to the well-being of a gambling-house; and, lastly, think of great Dan himself, with his burly look, seated in civic dignity at the green cloth, with a rake instead of a mace before him, calling out, "Make your game, gentlemen, make your game"--"Never venture, never win"--"Faint heart," &c, &c.

How suitable would the eloquence that has now grown tiresome, even at the Corn Exchange, be at the head of a gaming-table; and how well would the Liberator conduct a business whose motto is so admirably expressed by the phrase, "Heads, _I_ win; tails, _you_ lose." Besides, after all, nothing could form so efficient a bond of union between the two contending parties in the country as some little mutual territory of wickedness, where both might forget their virtues and their grievances together. Here you 'd soon have the violent party-man of either side, oblivious of everything but his chance of gain; and what an energy would it give to the great Daniel to think that, while filling his pockets, he was also spoiling the Egyptians! Instead, therefore, of making the poor man contribute his penny, and the ragged man twopence, you'd have the Rent supplied without the trouble of collection; and all from the affluent and the easy, or at least the idle, portion of the community.

This is the second time I have thrown out a suggestion--and all for nothing, remember--on the subject of a finance; and little reflection will show that both my schemes are undeniable in their benefits. Here you have one of the most expensive pleasures a poor country has ever ventured to afford itself--a hired agitator, pensioned, without any burden on the productive industry of the land; and he himself, so far from having anything to complain of, will find that his revenue is more than quadrupled.

Look at the question, besides, in another point of view, and see what possible advantages may arise from it. Nothing is so admirable an antidote to all political excitement as gambling: where it flourishes, men become so inextricably involved in its fascinations and attractions that they forget everything else. Now, was ever a country so urgently in want of a little repose as ours? and would it not be well to purchase it, and pension off our great disturbers, at any price whatever? Cards are better than carding any day; short whist is an admirable subst.i.tute for insurrection; and the rattle of a dice-box is surely as pleasant music as the ruffian snout for repeal.

RICH AND POOR-POUR ET CONTRE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 132]

If I was a king upon a throne this minute, an' I wanted to have a smoke for myself by the fireside--why, if I was to do my best, what could I smoke but one pen'orth of tobacco, in the night, after all?--but can't I have that just as asy?

"If I was to have a bed with down feathers, what could I do but sleep there?--and sure I can do that in the settle-bed above."

Such is the very just and philosophical reflection of one of Griffin's most amusing characters, in his inimitable story of "The Collegians"--a reflection that naturally sets us a thinking, that if riches and wealth cannot really increase a man's capacity for enjoyment with the enjoyments themselves, their pursuit is, after all, but a poor and barren object of even worldly happiness.

As it is perfectly evident that, so far as mere sensual gratifications are concerned, the peer and the peasant stand pretty much on a level, let us inquire for a moment in what the great superiority consists which exalts and elevates one above the other? Now, without entering upon that wild field for speculation that power (and what power equals that conferred by wealth?) confers, and the train of enn.o.bling sentiment suggested by extended views of philanthropy and benevolence--for, in this respect, it is perfectly possible the poor man has as amiable a thrill at his heart in sharing his potato with a wandering beggar, as the rich one has in contributing his thousand pounds' donation to some great national charity--let us turn rather to the consideration of those more tangible differences that leave their impress upon character, and mould men's minds into a fashion so perfectly and thoroughly distinct.

To our thinking, then, the great superiority wealth confers lies in the seclusion the rich man lives in From all the grosser agency of every-day life--its make-shifts, its contrivances, its continued warfare of petty provision and continual care, its unceasing effort to seem what it is not, and to appear to the world in a garb, and after a manner, to which it has no just pretension. The rich man knows nothing of all this: life, to him, rolls on in measured tread; and the world, albeit the changes of season and politics may affect him, has nothing to call forth any unusual effort of his temper or his intellect; his life, like his drawing-room, is arranged for him; he never sees it otherwise than in trim order; with an internal consciousness that people must be engaged in providing for his comforts at seasons when he is in bed or asleep, or otherwise occupied, he gives himself no farther trouble about them; and, in the monotony of his pleasures, attains to a tranquillity of mind the most enviable and most happy.

Hence that perfect composure so conspicuous in the higher ranks, among whom wealth is so generally diffused--hence that delightful simplicity of manner, so captivating from its total absence of pretension and affectation--hence that unbroken serenity that no chances or disappointments would seem to interfere with; the knowledge that he is of far too much consequence to be neglected or forgotten, supports him on every occasion, and teaches that, when anything happens to his inconvenience or discomfort, that it could not but be unavoidable.

Not so the poor man: his poverty is a shoe that pinches every hour of the twenty-four; he may bear up from habit, from philosophy, against his restricted means of enjoyment; he may accustom himself to limited and narrow bounds of pleasure; he may teach himself that, when wetting his lips with the cup of happiness, that he is not to drink to his liking of it: but what he cannot acquire is that total absence of all forethought for the minor cares of life, its provisions for the future, its changes and contingencies;--hence he does not possess that easy and tranquil temperament so captivating to all within its influence; he has none of the careless _abandon_ of happiness, because even when happy he feels how short-lived must be his pleasure, and what a price he must pay for it. The thought of the future poisons the present, just as the dark cloud that gathers round the mountain-top makes the sunlight upon the plain seem cold and sickly.

All the poor man's pleasures have taken such time and care in their preparation that they have lost their freshness ere they are tasted. The cook has sipped so frequently at the pottage, he will not eat of it when at table. The poor man sees life "en papillotes" before he sees it "dressed." The rich man sees it only in the resplendent blaze of its beauty, glowing with all the attraction that art can lend it, and wearing smiles put on for his own enjoyment. But if such be the case, and if the rich man, from the very circ.u.mstance of his position, imbibe habits and acquire a temperament possessing such charm and fascination, does he surrender nothing for all this? Alas! and alas! how many of the charities of life lie buried in the still waters of his apathetic nature! How many of the warm feelings of his heart are chilled for ever, for want of ground for their exercise! How can he sympathise who has never suffered? how can he console who has never grieved! There is nothing healthy in the placid mirror of that gla.s.sy lake; uncurled by a breeze, unruffled by a breath of pa.s.sion, it wants the wholesome agitation of the breaking wave--the health-giving, bracing power of the conflicting element that stirs the heart within, and nerves it for a n.o.ble effort.

All that he has of good within him is cramped by _convenance_ and fashion; for he who never feared the chance of fortune, trembles, with a coward's dread, before the sneer of the world. The poor man, however, only appeals to this test on a very different score. The "world" may prescribe to him the fashion of his hat, or the colour of his coat--it may dictate the locale of his residence, and the style of his household, and he may, so far as in him lies, comply with a tyranny so absurd; but with the free sentiments of his nature--his honest pride, his feeling sympathy--with the open current of his warm affection he suffers no interference: of this no man shall be the arbiter. If, then, the shoals and quicksands of the world deprive him of that tranquil guise and placid look--the enviable gift of richer men--he has, in requital, the unrestricted use of those greater gifts that G.o.d has given him, untrammelled by man's opinion, uncurbed by the control of "the world."

Each supports a tyranny after his own kind:--The rich man--above the dictates of fashion--subjects the thoughts of his mind and the meditations of his heart to the world's rule.

The poor man--below it--keeps these for his prerogative, and has no slavery save in form.

Happy the man who, amid all the seductions of wealth, and all the blandishments of fortune, can keep his heart and mind in the healthy exercise of its warm affections and its generous impulses. But still happier he, whose wealth, the native purity of his heart--can limit his desires to his means, and untrammelled by ambition, undeterred by fear of failure, treads the lowly but peaceful path in life, neither aspiring to be great, nor fearing to be humble.

A NUT FOR ST. PATRICK'S NIGHT.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 137]

There is no cant offends me more than the oft-repeated criticisms on the changed condition of Ireland. How very much worse or how very much better we have become since this ministry, or that measure--what a deplorable falling off!--what a gratifying prospect! how poor! how prosperous! &c. &c. Now, we are exactly what and where we used to be: not a whit wiser nor better, poorer nor prouder. The union, the relief bill, the reform and corporation acts, have pa.s.sed over us, like the summer breeze upon the calm water of a lake, ruffling the surface for a moment, but leaving all still and stagnant as before. Making new laws for the use of a people who would not obey the old ones, is much like the policy of altering the collar or the cuffs of a coat for a savage, who insists all the while on going naked. However, it amuses the gentlemen of St. Stephen's; and, I'm sure I'm not the man to quarrel with innocent pleasures.

To me, looking back, as my Lord Brougham would say, from the period of a long life, I cannot perceive even the slightest difference in the appearance of the land, or the looks of its inhabitants. Dublin is the same dirty, ill-cared-for, broken-windowed, tumble-down concern it used to be--the country the same untilled, weed-grown, un-fenced thing I remember it fifty years ago--the society pretty much the same mixture of shrewd lawyers, suave doctors, raw subalterns, and fat, old, greasy country gentlemen, waiting in town for remittances to carry them on to Cheltenham--that paradise of Paddies, and elysium of Galway _belles_.

Our table-talk the old story, of who was killed last in Tipperary or Limerick, with the accustomed seasoning of the oft-repeated alibi that figures at every a.s.sizes, and is successful with every jury. These pleasant topics, tinted with the party colour of the speaker's politics, form the staple of conversation; and, "barring the wit," we are pretty much what our fathers were some half century earlier. Father Mathew, to be sure, has innovated somewhat on our ancient prejudices; but I find that what are called "the upper cla.s.ses" are far too cultivated and too well-informed to follow a priest. A few weeks ago, I had a striking ill.u.s.tration of this fact brought before me, which I am disposed to quote the more willingly as it also serves to display the admirable constancy with which we adhere to our old and time-honoured habits. The morning of St. Patrick's day was celebrated in Dublin by an immense procession of teetotallers, who, with white banners, and whiter cheeks, paraded the city, evidencing in their cleanly but care-worn countenances, the benefits of temperance. On the same evening a gentleman--so speak the morning papers--got immoderately drunk at the ball in the Castle, and was carried out in a state of insensibility.

Now, it is not for the sake of contrast I have mentioned this fact--my present speculation has another and very different object, and is simply this:--How comes it, that since time out of mind the same event has recurred on the anniversary of St. Patrick at the Irish court? When I was a boy I remember well "the gentleman who became so awfully drunk,"

&c. Every administration, from the Duke of Rutland downwards, has had its drunken gentleman on "St. Patrick's night." Where do they keep him all the year long?--what do they do with him?--are questions I continually am asking myself. Under what name and designation does he figure in the pension list? for of course I am not silly enough to suppose that a well-ordered government would depend on chance for functionaries like these. One might as well suppose they would calculate on some one improvising Sir William Betliam, or extemporaneously performing "G.o.d save the Queen," on the state trumpet, in lieu of that amiable individual who distends his loyal cheeks on our great anniversaries. No, no. I am well aware he is a member of the household, or at least in the pay of the government. When the pope converts his Jew on Holy Thursday, the Catholic church have had ample time for preparation: the cardinals are on the look-out for weeks before, to catch one for his holiness--a good respectable hirsute Israelite, with a strong Judas expression to magnify the miracle. But then the Jew is pa.s.sive in the affair, and has only to be converted patiently--whereas "the gentleman" has an active duty to discharge; he must imbibe sherry, iced punch, and champagne, at such a rate that he can be able to shock the company, before the rooms thin, with his intemperate excess.

Besides, to give the devil--the pope, I mean--his Jew, they snare a fresh one every Easter. Now, I am fully persuaded that, at our Irish court, the same gentleman has performed the part for upwards of fifty years.

At the ancient banquets it was always looked upon as a triumph of Amphitryonism when a guest or two died the day after of indigestion, from over eating. Now, is it not possible that our cla.s.sic origin may have imparted to us the trait I am speaking of, and that "the gentleman"

is retained as typical of our exceeding hilarity and consummate conviviality--an evidence to the "great unasked" that the festivities within doors are conducted on a scale of boundless profusion and extravagance--that the fountains from which honour flows, run also with champagne, and that punch and the peerage are to be seen bubbling from the same source.

It is a sad thing to think that the gifted man, who has served his country so faithfully in this capacity for so long a period, must now be stricken in years. Time and rum must be telling upon him; and yet, what should we do were we to lose him!

In the chapel of Maria Zell, in Styria, there is a portly figure of St.

Somebody, with more consonants than I find it prudent to venture on from mere memory; the priest is rolling his eyes very benignly on the frequenters of the chapel, as they pa.s.s by the shrine he resides in. The story goes, that when the saint ceases winking, some great calamity will occur to the commune and its inhabitants. Now, the last time I saw him, he was in great vigour, ogled away with his accustomed energy, and even, I thought--perhaps it was a suspicion on my part--had actually strained his eyeb.a.l.l.s into something like a squint, from actual eagerness to oblige his votaries--a circ.u.mstance happily of the less moment in our days, as a gifted countryman of ours could have remedied the defect in no time. But to return; my theory is, that when we lose our tipsy friend it's all up with us; "Birnam wood will then have come to Dunsinane;"

and what misfortunes may befal us, Sir Harcourt Lees may foresee, but I confess myself totally unable to predicate.

Were I the viceroy, I 'd not sleep another night in the island. I 'd pack up the regalia, send for Anthony Blake to take charge of the country, and start for Liverpool in the mail-packet.

Happily, however, such an event may be still distant; and although the Austrians have but one Metternich, we may find a successor to our "Knight of St. Patrick."

A NUT FOR "GENTLEMAN JOCKS."

[Ill.u.s.tration: 143]

"The Honourable Fitzroy Shuffleton," I quote _The Morning Post_, "who rode Bees-wing, came in a winner amid deafening cheers. Never was a race better contested; and although, when pa.s.sing the distance-post, the Langar colt seemed to have the best of it, yet such was Mr. Shuffleton's tact and jockeyship, that he shot a-head in advance of his adversary, and came in first." I omit the pa.s.sages descriptive of the peculiar cleverness displayed by this gifted gentleman. I omit also that glorious outbreak of newspaper eloquence, in which the delight of his friends is expressed--the tears of joy from his sisters--the cambric handkerchiefs that floated in the air--the innumerable and reiterated cries of "Well done!--he's a trump!--the right sort!" &c. &c, so profusely employed by the crowd, because I am fully satisfied with what general approbation such proofs of ability are witnessed.

We are a great nation, and nowhere is our greatness more conspicuous than in the education of our youth. The young Frenchman seems to fulfil his destiny, when, having drawn on a pair of the most tight-fitting kid gloves, of that precise shade of colour so approved of by Madame Laffarge, he saunters forth on the Boulevard de Gand, or lounges in the _coulisse_ of the opera.

The German, whose contempt not only extends to glove-leather, but clean hands, betakes himself early in life to the way he should go, and from which, to do him justice, he never shows any inclination to depart. A meerschaum some three feet long, and a tobacco bag like a school-boy's satchel, supply his wants in life. The dreamy visions of the unreal woes, and the still more unreal greatness of his country, form the pabulum for his thoughts; and he has no other ambition, for some half dozen years of his life, than to boast his utter indifference to kings and clean water.

Now, we manage matters somewhat better. Our young men, from the very outset of their career, are admirable jockeys; and if by any fatality, like the dreadful revolution of France, our n.o.bles should be compelled to emigrate from their native land, instead of teaching mathematics and music, the small sword and quadrilles, we shall have the satisfaction of knowing that we supply stable-boys to the whole of Europe.

Whatever other people may say or think, I put a great value on this equestrian taste. I speak not here of the manly nature of horse exercise--of the n.o.ble and vigorous pursuits of the hunting field. No; I direct my observations solely to the heroes of Ascot and Epsom--of Doncaster and Goodwood. I only speak of those whose pleasure it is to read no book save the Racing Calendar, and frequent no lounge but Tattersalls; who esteem the stripes of a racing-jacket more honourable than the ribbon of the Bath, and look to a well-timed "hustle" or "a shake" as the climax of human ability. These are fine fellows, and I prize them. But if it be not only praiseworthy, but pleasant, to ride for the Duke's cup at Goodwood, or the Corinthian's at the Curragh, why not extend the sphere of the utility, and become as amiable in private as they are conspicuous in public life?

We have seen them in silk jackets of various hues, with leathers and tops of most accurate fitting, turn out amid the pelting of a most pitiless storm, to ride some three miles of spongy turf, at the hazard of their necks, and the almost certainty of a rheumatic fever; and why, donning the same or some similar costume, will they not perform the office of postillion, when their fathers, or mayhap, some venerated aunt, is returning by the north road to an antiquated mansion in Yorkshire? The pace, to be sure, is not so fast--but it compensates in safety what it loses in speed--the a.s.semblage around is not so numerous, or the excitement so great; but filial tenderness is a n.o.bler motive than the acclamations of a mob. In fact, the parallel presents all the advantages on one side: and the jockey is as inferior to the postillion as the fitful glare of an _ignis-fatuus_ is to the steady brilliancy of a gas-lamp.

An Englishman has a natural pride in the navy of his country--our wooden walls are a glorious boast; but, perhaps, after all, there is nothing more captivating in the whole detail of the service, than the fact that even the highest and the n.o.blest in the land has no royal road to its promotion, but, beginning at the very humblest step, he must work his way through every grade and every rank, like his comrades around him. Many there are now living who remember Prince William, as he was called--late William the Fourth, of glorious memory--sitting in the stern seats of a gig, his worn jacket and weather-beaten hat attesting that even the son of a king had no immunity from the hardships of the sea. This is a proud thought for Englishmen, and well suited to gratify their inherent loyalty and their st.u.r.dy independence. Now, might we not advantageously extend the influence of such examples, by the suggestion I have thrown out above? If a foreigner be now struck by hearing, as he walks through the dockyard at Plymouth, that the little middy who touches his hat with such obsequious politeness, is the Marquis of --------, or the Earl of--------, with some fifty thousand per annum, how much more astonished will he be on learning that he owes the rapidity with which he traversed the last stage to his having been driven by Lord Wilton--or that the lengthy proportions, so dexterously gathered up in the saddle, belong to an ex-amba.s.sador from St.

Petersburgh. How surprised would he feel, too, that instead of the low habits and coa.r.s.e tastes he would look for in that condition in life, he would now see elegant and accomplished gentlemen, sipping a gla.s.s of curacoa at the end of a stage; or, mayhap, offering a pinch of snuff from a box worth five hundred guineas. What a fascinating conception would he form of our country from such examples as this! and how insensibly would not only the polished taste and the high-bred depravity of the better cla.s.ses be disseminated through the country; but, by an admirable reciprocity, the coa.r.s.est vices of the lowest would be introduced among the highest in the land. The racecourse has done much for this, but the road would do far more. Slang is now but the language of the _elite_--it would then become the vulgar tongue; and, in fact, there is no predicting the amount of national benefit likely to arise from an amalgamation of all ranks in society, where-the bond of union is so honourable in its nature. Cultivate, then, ye youth of England--ye scions of the Tudors and the Plantagenets--with all the blood of all the Howards in your veins--cultivate the race-course--study the stable--read the Racing Calendar. What are the precepts of Bacon or the learning of Boyle compared to the pedigree of Grey Momus, or the reason that Tramp "is wrong?" "A dark horse" is a far more interesting subject of inquiry than an eclipse of the moon, and a judge of pace a much more exalted individual than a judge of a.s.size.

A NUT FOR YOUNGER SONS.