"Who? are you drunk, Terence?" said Sir John, opening the door.

"No, but they are mad--all mad."

"Who?"

"The constable. They are all mad entirely, and the lord mayor, all along with your honour's making me swear I would not tell your name. Sure they are all coming armed in a body to put you in jail for a forgery, unless I run back and tell them the truth--will I?"

"First tell me the truth, blunderer!"

"I'll make my affidavit I never blundered, plase your honour, but just went to the merchant's, as you ordered, with the draft, signed with the name I swore not to utter till past twelve. I presents the draft, and waits to be paid. 'Are you Mr. O'Mooney's servant?' says one of the clerks after a while. 'No, sir, not at all, sir,' said I; 'I'm Sir John Bull's, at your sarvice.' He puzzles and puzzles, and asks me did I bring the draft, and was that your writing at the bottom of it? I still said it was my master's writing, _Sir John Bull's_, and no other. They whispered from one up to t'other, and then said it was a forgery, as I overheard, and I must go before the mayor. With that, while the master, who was called down to be examined as to his opinion, was putting on his gla.s.ses to spell it out, I gives them, one and all, the slip, and whips out of the street door and home to give your honour notice, and have been breaking my heart at the door this half hour to make you hear--and now you have it all."

"I am in a worse dilemma now than when between the horns of the bull,"

thought Sir John: "I must now either tell my real name, avow myself an Irishman, and so lose my bet, or else go to jail."

He preferred going to jail. He resolved to pretend to be dumb, and he charged Terence not to betray him. The officers of justice came to take him up: Sir John resigned himself to them, making signs that he could not speak. He was carried before a magistrate. The merchant had never seen Mr. Phelim O'Mooney, but could swear to his handwriting and signature, having many of his letters and drafts. The draft in question was produced. Sir John Bull would neither acknowledge nor deny the signature, but in dumb show made signs of innocence. No art or persuasion could make him speak; he kept his fingers on his lips. One of the bailiffs offered to open Sir John's mouth. Sir John clenched his hand, in token that if they used violence he knew his remedy. To the magistrate he was all bows and respect: but the law, in spite of civility, must take its course.

Terence McDermod beat his breast, and called upon all the saints in the Irish calendar when he saw the committal actually made out, and his dear master given over to the constables. Nothing but his own oath and his master's commanding eye, which was fixed upon him at this instant, could have made him forbear to utter, what he had never in his life been before so strongly tempted to tell--the truth.

Determined to win his wager, our hero suffered himself to be carried to a lock-up house, and persisted in keeping silence till the clock struck twelve! Then the charm was broken, and he spoke. He began talking to himself, and singing as loud as he possibly could. The next morning Terence, who was no longer bound by his oath to conceal Phelim's name, hastened to his master's correspondent in town, told the whole story, and O'Mooney was liberated. Having won his bet by his wit and steadiness, he had now the prudence to give up these adventuring schemes, to which he had so nearly become a dupe; he returned immediately to Ireland to his brother, and determined to settle quietly to business. His good brother paid him the hundred guineas most joyfully, declaring that he had never spent a hundred guineas better in his life than in recovering a brother. Phelim had now conquered his foolish dislike to trade: his brother took him into partnership, and Phelim O'Mooney never relapsed into Sir John Bull.

CONCLUSION.

Unable any longer to support the tone of irony, we joyfully speak in our own characters, and explicitly declare our opinion, that the Irish are an ingenious, generous people; that the bulls and blunders of which they are accused are often imputable to their neighbours, or that they are justifiable by ancient precedents, or that they are produced by their habits of using figurative and witty language. By what their good-humour is produced we know not; but that it exists we are certain. In Ireland, the countenance and heart expand at the approach of wit and humour: the poorest labourer forgets his poverty and toil, in the pleasure of enjoying a joke. Amongst all cla.s.ses of the people, provided no malice is obviously meant, none is apprehended. That such is the character of the majority of the nation there cannot _to us_ be a more convincing and satisfactory proof than the manner in which a late publication[64] was received in Ireland. The Irish were the first to laugh at the caricature of their ancient foibles, and it was generally taken merely as good-humoured raillery, not as insulting satire. If grat.i.tude for this generosity has now betrayed us unawares into the language of panegyric, we may hope for pardon from the liberal of both nations. Those who are thoroughly acquainted with Ireland will most readily acknowledge the justice of our praises; those who are ignorant of the country will not, perhaps, be displeased to have their knowledge of the people of Ireland extended. Many foreign pictures of Irishmen are as grotesque and absurd as the Chinese pictures of lions: having never seen that animal, the Chinese can paint him only from the descriptions of voyagers, which are sometimes ignorantly, sometimes wantonly exaggerated.

In Voltaire's Age of Lewis the Fourteenth we find the following pa.s.sage:--"Some nations seem made to be subject to others. The English have always had over the Irish the superiority of genius, wealth, and arms. The _superiority which the whites have over the negroes_." [65]

A note in a subsequent edition informs us, that the injurious expression--"_The superiority which the whites have over the negroes,_"

was erased by Voltaire; and his editor subjoins his own opinion. "The nearly savage state in which Ireland was when she was conquered, her superst.i.tion, the oppression exercised by the English, the religious fanaticism which divides the Irish into two hostile nations, such were the causes which have held down this people in depression and weakness.

Religious hatreds are appeased, and this country has recovered her liberty. The Irish no longer yield to the English, either in industry or in information." [66]

The last sentence of this note might, if it had reached the eyes or ears of the incensed Irish historian, Mr. O'Halloran, have a.s.suaged his wrath against Voltaire for the unguarded expression in the text; unless the amor patriae of the historian, like the amour propre of some individuals, instead of being gratified by congratulations on their improvement, should be intent upon demonstrating that there never was anything to improve. As we were neither _born nor_ bred in Ireland, we cannot be supposed to possess this amor patriae in its full force: we profess to be attached to the country only for its merits; we acknowledge that it is a matter of indifference to us whether the Irish derive their origin from the Spaniards, or the Milesians, or the Welsh: we are not so violently anxious as we ought to be to determine whether or not the language spoken by the Phoenician slave, in Terence's play, was Irish; nay, we should not break our hearts if it could never be satisfactorily proved that Albion is only another name for Ireland.[67]

We moreover candidly confess that we are more interested in the fate of the present race of its inhabitants than in the historian of St.

Patrick, St. Facharis, St. Cormuc; the renowned Brien Boru; Tireldach, king of Connaught; M'Murrough, king of Leinster; Diarmod; Righ-d.a.m.nha; Labra-Loing-seach; Tighermas; Ollamh-Foldha; the M'Giolla-Pha-draigs; or even the great William of Ogham; and by this declaration we have no fear of giving offence to any but rusty antiquaries. We think it somewhat, more to the honour of Ireland to enumerate the names of some of the men of genius whom she has produced: Milton and Shakspeare stand unrivalled; but Ireland can boast of Usher, Boyle, Denham, Congreve, Molyneux, Farquhar, Sir Richard Steele, Bickerstaff, Sir Hans Sloane, Berkeley, Orrery, Parnell, Swift, T. Sheridan, Welsham, Bryan Robinson, Goldsmith, Sterne, Johnsons[68], Tickel, Brooke, Zeland, Hussey Burgh, three Hamiltons, Young, Charlemont, Macklin, Murphy, Mrs. Sheridan,[69]

Francis Sheridan, Kirwan, Brinsley Sheridan, and Burke.

We enter into no invidious comparisons: it is our sincere wish to conciliate both countries; and if in this slight essay we should succeed in diffusing a more just and enlarged idea of the Irish than has been generally entertained, we hope the English will deem it not an unacceptable service. Whatever might have been the policy of the English nation towards Ireland whilst she was a separate kingdom, since the union it can no longer be her wish to depreciate the talents or ridicule the language of Hibernians. One of the Czars of Russia used to take the cap and bells from his fool, and place it on the head of any of his subjects whom he wished to disgrace. The idea of extending such a punishment to a whole nation was ingenious and magnanimous; but England cannot now put it into execution towards Ireland. Would it not be a practical bull to place the bells upon her own imperial head?

1801.

APPENDIX.

The following collection of Foreign Bulls was given us by a man of letters, who is now father of the French Academy.

RECUEIL DE BeTISES.

Toutes les nations ont des contes plaisans de betises echappees non seulement a des personnes vraiment betes, mais aux distractions de gens qui ne sont pas sans esprit. Les Italiens ont leurs _spropositi_, leur arlequin ses balourdises, les Anglois leurs _blunders_, les Irlandois leurs _bulls_.

Mademoiselle Maria Edgeworth ayant fait un recueil de ces derniers, je prends la liberte de lui offrir un pet.i.t recueil de nos betises qui meritent le nom qu'elles portent aussi bien que les _Irish bulls_. J'ai fait autrefois une dissertation ou je recherchois quelle etoit la cause du rire qu'excitent les betises, et dans laquelle j'appuyois mon explication de beaucoup d'exemples et peut-etre meme du mien sans m'en appercevoir; mais la femme d'esprit a qui j'ai adresse cette folie l'a perdue, et je n'ai pas pu la recouvrir.

Je me souviens seulement que j'y prouvois _savamment_ que le rire excite par les betises est l'effet du contraste que nous saisissons entre l'effort que fait l'homme qui dit la betise, et le mauvais succes de son effort. J'a.s.similois la marche de l'esprit dans celui qui dit une betise, a ce qui arrive a un homme qui cherchant a marcher legerement sur un pave glissant, tombe lourdement, ou aux tours mal-adroits du pailla.s.se de la foire. Si l'on veut examiner les betises ra.s.semblees ici, on y trouvera toujours un effort manque de ce genre.

Un homme, dont la femme avoit ete saignee, interroge le lendemain pourquoi elle ne paroissoit pas a table, repondit:--"Elle garde la chambre: Morand l'a saignee hier, et une saignee affoiblit beaucoup quand elle est faite par un habile homme."

M. de Baville, intendant du Languedoc, avoit un secretaire fort bete: il se servoit un jour de lui pour ecrire au ministre sur des affaires tres importantes et dicta ces mots: "Ne soyez point surpris de ce que je me sers d'une main etrangere pour vous ecrire sur cet objet. Mon secretaire est si bete qu'a ce moment meme il ne s'appercoit pas que je vous parle de lui."

On demandoit a un abbe de Laval Montmorency quel age avoit son frere le marechal dont il etoit l'aine. "Dans deux ans," dit-il, "nous serons du meme age."

On se preparoit a observer une eclipse, et le roi devoit a.s.sister a l'observation. M. de Jonville disoit a M. Ca.s.sini--"N'attendra-t-on pas le roi pour commencer l'eclipse?"

Une femme du peuple qui avoit une pet.i.te fille malade avec le transport au cerveau, disoit au medecin, "Ah, monsieur, si vous l'aviez entendu cette nuit! elle a deraisonnee comme une grande personne."

Un homme avoit parie 25 louis qu'il traverseroit le grand ba.s.sin des Thuileries par un froid tres rigoureux; il alla jusqu'au milieu, renonca a son entreprise, et revint par le meme chemin en disant, "J'aime mieux perdre vingt-cinq louis que d'avoir une fluxion de poitrine."

Un homme voyoit venir de loin un medecin de sa connoissance qui l'avoit traite plusieurs annees auparavant dans une maladie; il se detourna, et cacha son visage pour n'etre pas reconnu. On lui demandoit, "Pourquoi."--"C'est," dit-il, "que je suis honteux devant lui de ce qu'il y a fort long temps que je n'ai ete malade."

On demande a un homme qui vouloit vendre un cheval, "Votre cheval est-il peureux?" "Oh, point du tout," repond-il; "il vient de pa.s.ser plusieurs nuits tout seul dans son ecurie."

Dans une querelle entre un pere et son fils, le pere reprochoit a celui-ci son ingrat.i.tude. "Je ne vous ai point d'obligations," disoit le fils; "vous m'avez fait beaucoup de tort; si vous n'etiez point ne, je serois a present l'heritier de mon grand-pere."

Un avare faisant son testament, se fit lui-meme son heritier.

Un homme voyoit un bateau si charge que les bords en etoient a fleur d'eau: "Ma foi," dit-il, "si la riviere etoit un peu plus haute le bateau iroit a fond."

M. Hume, dans son histoire d'Angleterre, parlant de la conspiration attribuee aux Catholiques en 1678 sous Charles II. rapporte le mot d'un chevalier Player qui felicitoit la ville des precautions qu'elle avoit prises--"Et sans lesquelles," disoit-il, "tous les citoyens auroient couru risque de se trouver egorges le lendemain a leur reveil."

Le maire d'une pet.i.te ville, entendant une querelle dans la rue au milieu de la nuit, se leve du lit, et ouvrant la fenetre, crie aux pa.s.sans, "Messieurs, me leverai-je?"

Un sot faisoit compliment a une demoiselle don't la mere venoit de se marier en secondes noces avec un ancien ami de la maison--"Mademoiselle," lui dit-il, "je suis ravi de ce que monsieur votre pere vient d'epouser madame votre mere."

Racine, qui avoit ete toute sa vie courtisan tres attentif, etoit enterre a Port Royal des Champs dont les solitaires s'etoient attires l'indignation de Louis XIV. M. de Boissy, celebre par ses distractions, disoit, "Racine n'auroit pas fait cela de son vivant."

On racontait dans une conversation que Monsieur de Buffon avoit disseque une de ses cousines, et une femme se recrioit sur l'inhumanite de l'anatomiste. M. de Mairan lui dit, "Mais, madame, elle etoit morte."

On parloit avec admiration de la belle vieillesse d'un homme de quatre-vingt dix ans, quelqu'un dit--"Cela vous etonne, messieurs; si mon pere n'etoit pas mort, il auroit a present cent ans accomplis."

Mouet, de l'opera comique, conte qu'arrivant de Lyon, et ne voulant pas qu'on sut qu'il etoit a Paris, il recommanda a son laquais, suppose qu'il fut rencontre, de dire qu'il etoit a Lyon. Le laquais trouve un ami de son maitre, qui lui en demande des nouvelles. "Il est a Lyon,"

dit-il, "et il ne sera de retour que la semaine prochaine." "Mais,"

continue le questionneur, "que portez-vous la?" "Ce sont quelques provisions qu'il m'a envoye chercher pour son diner."