L I E> R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U NIVLR.SITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 l-57ar 
 1M4 
 
 V.I
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2009 witin funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/arthurolearyhisw01leve
 
 ',(• 
 
 4 
 
 «

 
 ARTHUR O'LEARY: 
 
 HIS WANDERINGS AND PONDERINGS 
 
 MANY LANDS. 
 
 EDITED BV 
 
 HJS FRIEND, HARRY LORREQUER, 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1844.
 
 LONDON; 
 HAKBISON AND CO., PRiNTERS, 
 
 ST martin's lane.
 
 v/. 1 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Portrait of Arthur O'Leary— Frontispiece 
 
 TO FACK PAGE 
 
 Crossing a Frontier .... 
 
 49 
 
 Lust und Rust .... 
 
 81 
 
 A Theatrical Exit .... 
 
 154 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 
 A " Manage sous hx Cheminee,'' —Froniiapiece 
 
 
 A Night in the Forest of Arden 
 
 94 
 
 Lazare , . 
 
 253 
 
 (.; 
 
 
 •*> 
 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 
 ^ A Play by Comma,n(i,~Frontispiece 
 
 
 
 Putting an Extmguisher on Matrimony 
 
 . 35 
 
 '^ A new way to " reckon without one's Host" 
 
 285 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 

 
 ARTHUR O'LEARY. 
 
 NOTICE, PEELnnNMlY AND EXPLANATOEl' 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 When some years ago we took the liberty, in 
 a volume of our so-called "Confessions/^ to 
 introduce to our reader^s acquaintance the gentle- 
 man whose name figures in the title page, we 
 subjoined a brief notice, by himself, intimating 
 the intention he entertained of one day giving to 
 the world a further insight into his life and 
 opinions, under the title of " Loiterings of Arthur 
 O'Leary/^ 
 
 It is more than probable that the garbled state- 
 ment and incorrect expression of which we our- 
 selves were guilty respecting our friend had 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 piqued him into this declaration^ which, on 
 mature consideration, he thought fit to abandon. 
 For, from that hour to the present one, nothing 
 of the kind ever transpired, nor could we ascer- 
 tain, by the strictest inquiry, that such a proposi- 
 tion of publication had ever been entertained in 
 the West-end, or heard of in the " Row/-* 
 
 The worthy traveller had wandered away to 
 " pastures new/^ heaven knows where I and, not- 
 withstanding repeated little paragraphs in the 
 second advertizing column of the '^ Times" 
 newspaper, assuring, "A. O^L. that if he would 
 inform his friends where a letter would reach, all 
 would be forgiven," &c., the mystery of his 
 whereabouts remained unsolved, save by the 
 chance mention "of a north-west-passage traveller, 
 who speaks of a Mr. O^Leary as having presided 
 at a grand bottle-nosed whale dinner in Behring^s 
 Straits, some time in the autumn of 1840; and 
 an allusion, in the second volume of the Chevalier 
 de Bertonville's Discoveries in Central Africa, to 
 an " Irlandais bien original," who acted as spon- 
 sor to the son and heir of King Bullanullaboo, in 
 the Chieckhow territory. That either, or, indeed, 
 both, these individuals- resolved themselves into
 
 i3 
 
 our respected friend, we entertained no doubt 
 whatever; nor did the information cause us any 
 surprise, far less, unquestionably, than had we 
 heard of his ordering his boots from Hoby, or 
 his coat from Stultz. 
 
 Meanwhile time rolled on— and whether Mr. 
 O'Leary had died of the whale feast, or been 
 eaten himself by his godson, no one could con- 
 jecture, and his name had probably been lost 
 amid the rust of ages if certain booksellers, in 
 Jemote districts, had not chanced upon the an- 
 nouncement of his volume, and their '^ country 
 orders'" kept dropping in for these same " Loiter- 
 ings," of which the publishers were obliged to 
 confess they knew nothing whatever. 
 
 Now, the season was a dull one; nothing 
 stirring in the literary world ; people had turned 
 from books to newspapers ; a gloomy depression 
 reigned over the land. The India news was 
 depressing; the China worse; the French were 
 more insolent than ever; the prices were fallino- 
 under the new tariff; pigs looked down, and 
 "Repealers"' looked up. The only interesting 
 news, was the frauds in pork, which turned 
 out to be pickled negroes and potted squaws. 
 
 B 2
 
 What was to be done? A literary speculation 
 at such a moment was preposterous; for although 
 in an age of temperance, nothing prospered but 
 ^^Punch/' 
 
 It occurred to us, ^^then pondering/^ as 
 Lord Brougham would say, that as these same 
 "Loiterings^^ had been asked for more than 
 once, and an actual order for two copies had 
 been seen in the handwriting of a solvent indi- 
 vidual, there was no reason why we should not 
 write them ourselves. There would be little 
 difficulty in imagining what a man like O'Leary 
 would say, think, or do, in any given situation. 
 The peculiarities of his character might, perhaps, 
 give point to what dramatic people call "situa- 
 tions,^^ but yet were not of such a nature as to 
 make their portraiture a matter of any difficulty. 
 
 We confess the thing savoured a good deal 
 of book-making. What of that ? We remember 
 once in a row in Dublin, when the military 
 were called out, that a sentinel happened to 
 have an altercation with an old woman of that 
 class, for which the Irish metropohs used to 
 have a patent, in all that regards street eloquence 
 and repartee. The soldier, provoked beyond
 
 endurance^ declared at last with an oath^ "that 
 if she didn^t go away, heM drive his bayonet 
 through her/^ "Oh, then, the devil thank you 
 for that same/^ responded the hag, ^^sure, isn't 
 it your trade?'' Make the application, dear 
 reader, and forgive us for our authorship to order. 
 Besides, had we not before us the example 
 of Alexandre Dumas, in France, whose practice 
 it is to amuse the world by certain '' Souvenirs 
 de Voyage," which he has never made, not 
 even in imagination, but which are only the 
 dressed-up skeletons of other men's rambles, 
 and which he buys, exactly as the Jews do old 
 uniforms and court suits, for exportation to the 
 colonies. And thus, while thousands of his 
 readers are sympathizing with the suffering of 
 the aforesaid Alexandre, in his perilous passage 
 of the great desert, or his fearful encounter 
 with Norwegian wolves, little know they that 
 their hero is snugly established in his " entre-sol" 
 of the " Rue d' Alger," lying full length on a 
 spring-cushioned sofa, with a Manilla weed on his 
 lip, and George Sand's last bulletin of wickedness, 
 half cut before him. These " Souvenirs de 
 Voyage" being nothing more than the adventures
 
 6 
 
 and incidents of Messrs. John Doe and Richard 
 Doe^ paragraphed, witticized, and spiced for public 
 taste, by Alexandre Dumas, pretty much as 
 cheap taverns give "gravy'' and ^^ox-taiP' — the 
 smallest modicum of meat, to the most high- 
 seasoned and hot-flavoured condiments. 
 
 If, then, we had scruples, here was a precedent 
 to relieve our minds — here a case perfectly in 
 point, at least so far as the legitimacy of the 
 practice demanded. But, unhappily, it ended 
 there : for although it may be, and indeed is, 
 very practicable for Monsieur Dumas, by the 
 perfection of his ^'cuisine'' to make the meat itself 
 a secondary part of the matter; yet do we 
 grievously fear that a tureen full of ^' O'Leary,'' 
 might not be an acceptable dish, because there 
 ■was a bone of " Harry Lorrequer'' in the bottom. 
 With all these pros and cons, our vain- 
 glorious boast to write the work in question 
 stared us suddenly in the face; and, really, we 
 felt as much shame as can reasonably be sup- 
 posed to visit a man, whose countenance has 
 been hawked about the streets, and sold in 
 shilling numbers. What was to be done ? 
 There was the public, too; but, like Tony
 
 ARTHUR O'^LEARY. J 
 
 Lumpkin, we felt we might disappoint the com^ 
 pany at the Three Jolly Pigeons — but could we 
 disappoint ourselves ? 
 
 Alas! there were some excellent reasons 
 against such a consummation. So, respected 
 reader, whatever liberties we might take with 
 you, we had to look nearer home, and bethink 
 us of ourselves. After all — and what a glorious 
 charge to the jury of one's conscience is your 
 ^^ after all!'' — what a plenary indulgence against 
 all your sins of commission and omission! — 
 what a make-peace to self-accusation, and what 
 a salve to heartfelt repinings! — after all, we did 
 know a great deal about O'Leary: his life and 
 opinions, his habits and haunts, his prejudices, 
 pleasures, and predilections : and although we 
 never performed Boz to his Johnson, still had 
 we ample knowledge of him for aU purposes of 
 book-writing; and there was no reason why we 
 should not assume his mantle, or rather his 
 Macintosh, if the weather required it. 
 
 Having in some sort allayed our scruples in 
 this fashion, and having satisfied our conscience 
 by the resolve, that if we were not about to 
 record the actual res gestce of Mr. O'Leary,
 
 8 
 
 neither would we set down anything which 
 might not have been one of his adventures, nor 
 put into his mouth any imaginary conversations 
 which he might not have sustained; so that, 
 in short, should the volume ever come under 
 the eyes of the respected gentleman himself, 
 considerable mystification would exist, as to 
 whether he did not say, do, and think, exactly 
 as we made him, and much doubt lie on his 
 mind that he was not the author himself. 
 
 We wish particularly to lay stress on the 
 honesty of these our intentions — the more, as 
 subsequent events have interfered with their ac- 
 complishment ; and we can only assure the world 
 of what we would have done, had we been per- 
 mitted. And here let us observe, en passant, that 
 if other literary characters had been actuated by 
 similarly honourable views, we should have been 
 spared those very absurd speeches which Sallust 
 attributes to his characters in the Catiline con- 
 spiracy ; and another historian, with still greater 
 daring, assumes the Prince of Orange ought 
 to have spoken, at various epochs in the late 
 Belgian revolution. 
 
 With such prospective hopes, then, did we
 
 engage m the mystery of these same "Loiter- 
 ings/' and with a pleasure such as only men 
 of the pen can appreciate^, did we watch the 
 bulky pile of MS. that was growing up before 
 us, while the interest of the work had already 
 taken hold of us; and whether we moved our 
 puppets to the slow figure of a minuet^ or 
 rattled them along at the slap-dash, hurry- 
 scurry, devil-may-care pace, for which our critics 
 habitually give us credit, we felt that our foot 
 beat time responsively to the measure, and that 
 we actually began to enjoy the performance. 
 
 In this position stood matters, when one early 
 morning in December the post brought us an 
 ominous-looking epistle, which, even as we glanced 
 our eye on the outside, conveyed an impression 
 of fear and misgiving to our minds. If there are 
 men in whose countenances, as Pitt remarked, 
 '"•'villany is so impressed, it were impiety not to 
 believe it," so are there certain letters whose very 
 shape and colour, fold, seal, and superscription 
 have something gloomy and threatening — some- 
 tlihvj: of menace and mischief about them. This 
 was one of these: the paper was a greenish sickly 
 white, a kind of dyspeptic foolscap; the very mill
 
 10 
 
 that fabricated it might have had the shaking 
 ague. The seal was of bottle-wax, the impres- 
 sion^ a heavy thumb. The address ran, "To 
 H. L.^' The writing, a species of rustic paling, 
 curiously interwoven and gnarled, to which the 
 thickness of the ink lent a needless obscurity, 
 giving to the whole the appearance of something 
 like a child^s effort to draw a series of beetles and 
 cockroaches with a blunt stick ; but what most of 
 all struck terror to our souls, was an abortive 
 effort at the words "Arthur O^Leary^^ scrawled 
 in the corner. 
 
 What ! had. he really then escaped the perils of 
 blubber and black men ? Was he alive, and had 
 he come back to catch us, in delicto — in the very 
 fact of editing him, of raising our exhausted 
 exchequer at his cost, and replenishing our empty 
 coffers under his credit? Our suspicions were 
 but too true. We broke the seal and spelled as 
 follows — 
 
 ^ Sir — A lately-arrived traveller in these parts 
 brings me intelhgence, that a work is announced 
 for publication by you, under the title of ' The 
 Loiterings of Arthur O'Leary,^ containing his
 
 II 
 
 opinions, notions, dreamings^ and doings during 
 several years of his li£e>. and in various countries. 
 Now this must mean me, and I should like to 
 know what are a man^s own, if his adventures are 
 not ? His ongoings, his ^ l)egebenheiten,^ as the 
 Germans call them, are they not as much his, as 
 his — what shall I say ; his flannel waistcoat or his 
 tobacco-pipe ? 
 
 '^ If I have spent many years, and many pounds 
 (of tobacco) in my explorings of other lands, is it 
 for you to reap the benefit ? If I have walked, 
 smoked, laughed^ and fattened from Trolhatten to 
 Tehran, was it that you should have the profit ? 
 Was I to exhibit in ludicrous situations and 
 extravagant incidents, with * illustrations by Phiz,' 
 because I happened to be fat, and fond of ramb- 
 ling ? Or was it my name only that you pirated, 
 so that Arthur O^Leary should be a tyj)e of some- 
 thing ludicrous, wherever he appeared in com- 
 pany ? Or worse still, was it an attempt to extort 
 money from me, as I understand you once before 
 tried, by assuming for one of your heroes the 
 name of a most respectable gentleman in private 
 life? To which of these counts do you plead 
 guilty ?
 
 12 
 
 ^^ Whatever is your plan, here is mine: I have 
 given instructions to my man of law to obtain an 
 injunction from the Chancellor, restraining you or 
 any other from publishing these ^Loiterings/ 
 Yes ; an order of the court will soon put an end 
 to this most unwarrantable invasion of private 
 rights. Let us see then if you^ll dare to persist' 
 in this nefarious scheme. 
 
 " The Swan-river for you, and the stocks for 
 your publisher, may, perhaps, moderate your 
 literary and publishing ardour — eh! Master Harry? 
 Or do you contemplate adding your own adven- 
 tures beyond seas to the volume, and then make 
 something of your ' Confessions of a Convict/ I 
 must conclude at once: in my indignation this 
 half hour, I have been swallowing all the smoke 
 of my meerschaum, and I feel myself turning 
 round and round like a smoke-jack. Once for 
 all — stop ! recall your announcement, burn your 
 MS., and prostrate yourself in abject humility at 
 my feet, and with many sighs, and two pounds of 
 shag (to be had at No. 8, Francis-street, two doors 
 from the lane), you may haply be forgiven by 
 yours, in wrath, 
 
 "Arthur O^Leary.
 
 13 
 
 *^ Address a line, if in penitence, to me here, 
 where the lovely scenery, and the society remind 
 me much of Siberia — 
 
 "Edenderry, ^The Pig and Pot-hooks.' '' 
 
 Having carefully read and re-read this letter, 
 and having laid it before those whose interests, 
 like our own, were deeply involved, we really 
 for a time became thoroughly nonplussed. To 
 disclaim any or all of the intentions attributed 
 to us in Mr. O'Leary's letter, would have been 
 perfectly useless, so long as we held to our pro- 
 ject of publishing any thing under his name. Of 
 no avail to assure him that our "Loiterings of 
 Arthur O'Leary^' were not his — that our hero was 
 not himself. To little purpose should we adduce 
 that our Alter Ego was the hero of a book by the 
 Prebend of Lichfield, and " Charles Lever'' given 
 to the world as a socialist. He cared for nothing 
 of all this; tenax propositi, he would listen to 
 no explanation — unconditional, absolute, Chinese 
 submission were his only terms, and with these 
 we were obliged to comply. And yet how very 
 ridiculous was the power he assumed. Was any 
 thing more common in practice than to write tlie
 
 14 
 
 lives of distinguished men, even before their 
 death, and who ever heard of the individual seek- 
 ing legal redress against his biographer, except 
 for libel? "Come, come, Arthur,^^ said we to 
 ourselves, " this threat affrights us not. Here we 
 begin Chap. XIV.— ^^ 
 
 Just then we turned our eyes mechanically 
 towards the pile of manuscript at our elbow, and 
 could not help admiring the philosophy with 
 which he spoke of condemning to the flames 
 the fruit of our labour. Still it was evident, 
 that Mr. O'Leary^s was no hrutem fulmen, but 
 very respectable and downright thunder; and 
 that in fact we should soon be, where, however 
 interesting it may make a young lady, it by no 
 means suits an elderly gentleman to be, viz. — ^in 
 Chancery. 
 
 "What^s to be done?^^ was the question, which 
 like a tennis-ball we pitched at each other. ^' We 
 have it,^^ said we. "We'll start at once for Eden- 
 derry, and bring this with us," pointing to our 
 manuscript. "We'll show O'Leary how near 
 immortality . he was, and may still be, if not 
 loaded with obstinacy: We'll read him a bit of 
 our droll, and some snatches of our pathetic pas-
 
 15 
 
 sages. We^ll show him now the ^Immortal 
 George^ intends to represent him. In a word, 
 we'Jl enchant him with the fascinating position 
 to which we mean to exalt him ; and before the 
 evening ends, obtain his special permission to 
 deal with him, as before now we have done with 
 his betters, and — print him.^' 
 
 Our mind made np, no time was to be lost. 
 We took our place in the Grand Canal passage- 
 boat for Edenderry; and, wrapping ourselves up 
 in our virtue, and another thin garment they call 
 a Zephyr, began our journey. 
 
 We should have liked well, had our object per- 
 mitted it, to have made some brief notes of our 
 own "Loiterings/^ But the goal of our wanderings, 
 as well as of our thoughts, was ever before us, 
 and we spent the day imagining to ourselves the 
 various mod»s by which we should make our 
 advances to the enemy, with most hope of suc- 
 cess. Whether the company themselves did not 
 aiford any thing very remarkable, or our own pre- 
 occupation prevented our noticing it, certes, we 
 jogged on, without any consciousness that we 
 were not perfectly alone, and this for some 
 twenty miles of the way. At last, however, tlie
 
 cabin became intolerably hot. Something like 
 twenty-four souls were imprisoned in a space ten 
 feet by three, which the humanity of the company 
 of directors kindly limits to forty-eight, a number 
 which no human ingenuity could pack into it, if 
 living. The majority of the passengers were 
 what by courtesy are called '^ small farmers/' 
 namely, individuals weighing from eighteen to 
 six-and-twenty stone; priests, with backs like 
 the gable of a chapel ; and a sprinkling of elderly 
 ladies from the bog towns along the bank, who 
 actually resembled turf clamps in their propor- 
 tions. We made an effort to reach the door, and 
 having at length succeeded, found to our sorrow 
 that the rain was falling heavily. Notwithstand- 
 ing this, we remained without, as long as we could 
 venture, the oppressive heat within being far 
 more intolerable than even the rain. At length, 
 however, wet through and cold, we squeezed our- 
 selves into a small corner near the door, and sat 
 down. But what a change had our unpropitious 
 presence evoked. We left our fellow-travellers, a 
 noisy, jolly, semi-riotous party, disputing over the 
 markets, censuring Sir Robert, abusing the poor- 
 rates, and discussing various matters of foreign
 
 17 
 
 and domestic policy, from Shah Shoojah to sub- 
 soil ploughs. A dirty pack of cards, and even 
 punch, were adding their fascinations to while 
 away the tedious hours; but now the company 
 sat in solemn silence. The ladies looked straight 
 before them, without a muscle of their faces 
 moving; the farmers had lifted the collars of 
 their frieze coats, and concealed their hands within 
 their sleeves, so as to be perfectly invisible; and 
 the reverend fathers, putting on dark and danger- 
 ous looks, spoke only in monosyllables, no longer 
 sipped their liquor in comfort, but rang the bell 
 from time to time, and ordered ^^ another bever- 
 age,^^ a curious smoking compound, that to our 
 un-Mathewed senses, savoured suspiciously of 
 whiskey. 
 
 It was dark night when we reached the " Pig 
 and Pot-hooks,^^ the hostelry whence Mr. O^Leary 
 had addressed us; and although not yet eight 
 o'clock, no appearance of light, nor any stir, 
 announced that the family were a1)out. After 
 some little delay, our summons was answered by 
 a bare-legged handmaiden, who, to our question 
 if Mr. O'Leary stopped there, without further 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 
 
 hesitation opened a small door to the left, and 
 introduced us bodily into his august presence. 
 
 Our travelled friend was seated, ''more suo," 
 with his legs supported on two chairs, while he 
 himself in chief occupied a third, his wig being 
 on the arm of that one on which he reposed ; a 
 very imposing tankard, with a floating toast, 
 smoked on the table, and a large collection of 
 pipes of every grade, from the haughty bubble 
 bubble, to the humble dudeen^ hung around on 
 the walls. 
 
 '' Ha V' said he, as we closed the door behind 
 vis, and advanced into the room, " and so you are 
 penitent. Well, Hal, I forgive you. It was a 
 scurvy trick, though; but I remember it no 
 longer. Here, take a pull at the pewter, and tell 
 us all the Dublin news.^^ 
 
 It is not our intention, dear reader, to indulge 
 in the same mystification with you, that we prac- 
 tised on our friend Mr. O'Leary — or, in other 
 words, to invent for your edification, as we con- 
 fess to have done for his, all the events and cir- 
 cumstances which might have, but did not take 
 place in Dublin for the preceding month. It is
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 19 
 
 enough to say that about eleven o'clock Mr. 
 O'Leary was m the seventh heaven of conversa- 
 tional contentment^ and in the ninth flagon of 
 purl. 
 
 " Open it — let me see it. Come, Hal, divulge 
 at once/' said he, kicking the carpet-bag that 
 contained our manuscript. We undid the lock, 
 and emptied our papers before him. His eyes 
 sparkled as the heavy folds fell over each other 
 on the table, his mouth twitched with a move- 
 ment of convulsive pleasure. ^^Ring the bell, 
 my lad," said he; "the string is beside you. 
 Send the master, Mary," continued he, as the 
 maiden entered. 
 
 Peter Mahoon soon made his appearance, 
 rather startled at being summoned from his bed, 
 and evidencing in his toilette somewhat more of 
 zeal than dandyism. 
 
 ^^ Is the house insured, Peter ?" said Mr. 
 O'Leary. 
 
 " No, sir," rejoined he, with a searching look 
 around the room, and a sniff of his nose, to dis- 
 cover if he could detect the smell of fire. 
 
 " What's the premises worth, Peter ?" 
 
 " Sorrow one of me knows right, sir. Maybe 
 
 c2
 
 20 
 
 a hundred and fifty, or it might bring two hun- 
 dred pounds." 
 
 ^^AU right," said O^Leary briskly, as seizing 
 my manuscript with both hands he hurled it on 
 the blazing turf fire; and then grasping the 
 poker, stood guard over it, exclaiming as he did 
 so, — "^ Touch it, and by the beard of the Prophet 
 I'll brain you. Now, there it goes, blazing up the 
 chimney. Look how it floats up there ! I never 
 expected to travel like that anyhow. Eh, Hal? 
 Your work is a brilliant aflfair, isn't it ? — and as 
 well puffed as if you entertained every newspaper 
 editor in the kingdom ? And see," cried he, as 
 he stamped his foot upon the blaze, " the whole 
 edition is exhausted already — not a copy to be 
 had for any money." 
 
 We threw ourselves back in our chair, and 
 covered our face with our hands. The toil of 
 many a long night, of many a bright hour of sun 
 and wind, was lost to us for ever, and we may be 
 pardoned if our grief was heavy. 
 
 "Cheer up, old fellow," said he, as the last 
 flicker of the burning paper expired. "You 
 know the thing was bad: it couldn't be other, 
 'pjjat d d fly-away harum-scarum style of
 
 21 
 
 yours is no more adapted to a work of real merit, 
 than a Will-o^-the-wisp would be for a light- 
 house. Another jug, Peter — bring two. The 
 truth is, Hal, I was not so averse to the publica- 
 tion of my life as to the infernal mess you^d have 
 made of it. You have no pathos, no tenderness 
 — damn the bit.^^ 
 
 ^^ Come, come,^' said we : " it is enough to burn 
 our manuscript; but, really, as to playing the 
 critic in this fashion '^ 
 
 ^^Then,'^ continued he, "all that confounded 
 folly you deal in, laughing at the priests — Lord 
 bless you, man! they have more fun, those 
 fellows, than you, and a score like you. There^s 
 one Father Dolan here would tell two stories for 
 your one; ay, better than ever you told.^^ 
 
 '^ We really have no ambition to enter the lists 
 with your friend. ^^ 
 
 " So much the better — you^d get the worst of 
 it; and as to knowledge of character, see now, 
 Peter Mahoon there would teach you human 
 nature; and if I liked myself to appear in print 
 
 " Well,^' said we, bursting out into a fit of 
 laughter, '* that would certainly be amusing."
 
 22 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 
 
 "And so it would^ whether you jest or no. 
 There's in that drawer there^ the materials of as 
 fine a work as ever appeared since Sir John Carr's 
 Travels; and the style is a happy union of Gold- 
 smith and Jean Paul — simple yet aphoristic — 
 profound and pleasing — sparkling like the can 
 before me^ but pungent and racy in its bitterness. 
 Hand me that oak box^ Hal. Which is the key? 
 At this hour one's sight becomes always defective. 
 Ah^ here it is — look there !" 
 
 We obeyed the command, and truly our amaze- 
 ment was great, though possibly not for the 
 reason that Mr. O'Leary could have desired; for 
 instead of anything like a regular manuscript, we 
 beheld a mass of small scraps of paper, backs 
 of letters, newspapers, magazines, fly-leaves of 
 books, eld prints, &c., scrawled on, in the most 
 uncouth fashion; and purporting, from the num- 
 bers appended, to be a continued narration of one 
 kind or other. 
 
 "What's all this?*' said we. 
 
 "These," said he, "are really ^The Loiterings 
 of Arthur O'Leary.' Listen to this. Here's a 
 bit of Goldsmith for you — 
 
 " ^ I was born of poor but respectable parents
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 23 
 
 in the county ^ What are you laughing at? 
 
 Is it because I did^nt open with — ' The sun was 
 settilig, on the 25th of June, in the year 1763. as 
 two travellers were seen/ &c., &c.? Eh? That's 
 your way, not mine. A London fellow told me 
 that my papers were worth five hundred pounds. 
 Come, that^s what I call something. Now I'll 
 go over to the ^ Row.' '^ 
 
 ^^ Stop a bit. Here seems something strange 
 about the King of Holland.'^ 
 
 "You mustn't read them, though. No, no. 
 That^ll never do — no, Hal; no plagiarism. But, 
 after all, I have been a little hasty with you. 
 Perhaps I ought not to have burned that thing; 
 you were not to know it was bad." 
 
 "Eh! how?" 
 
 " Why, I say, you might not see how absurd it 
 was; so here^s your health, Hal: either that 
 tankard has been drugged, or a strange change 
 has come over my feelings. Harry Lorrequer, 
 I'll make your fortune, or rather your son's, for 
 you are a wasteful creature, and will spend the 
 proceeds as fast as you get them; but the ever- 
 lastingly- called-for new editions will keep him in 
 cash all his life. I'll give you that box and its
 
 24 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 contents; yes, I repeat it, it is yours. I see you 
 are overpowered; there, taste the pewter and 
 you^ll get better presently. In that you'll iind^ 
 a little irregular and carelessly-written perhaps — 
 the sum of my experience and knowledge of life 
 — all my correspondence, all my private notes, 
 my opinions on literature, fine arts, politics, and 
 the drama.^' 
 
 Bat we will not follow" our friend into the soaring 
 realms of his imaginative flight, for it was quite 
 evident that the tankard and the tobacco were 
 alone responsible for the lofty promises of his 
 production. In plain English, Mr. O^Leary was 
 fuddled, and the only intelligible part of his 
 discourse was, an assurance that his papers were 
 entirely at our service; and that, as in some three 
 weeks time, he hoped to be in Africa, having 
 promised to spend the Christmas with Abd-el- 
 Kader, we were left his sole literary executor, with 
 full power to edit him in any shape it might 
 please us, lopping, cutting, omitting — anything, 
 even to adding, or interpolating. Such were his 
 last orders, and having given them, Mr. O'Leary 
 refilled his pipe, closed his eyes, stretched out his 
 legs to their fullest extent, and although he con-
 
 25 
 
 tinued at long intervals to evolve a blue curl of 
 smoke from the corner of his mouth, it was 
 evident he was lost in the land of dreams. 
 
 In two hours afterwards we were on our way 
 back to Dublin, bearing with us the oaken box, 
 which, however, it is but justice to ourselves to 
 say, we felt as a sad exchange for our own 
 carefully-written manuscript. On reaching home, 
 our first care was to examine these papers, and 
 see if anything could be made of them, which 
 might prove readable; unfortunately, however, 
 the mass consisted of brief memoranda, setting 
 forth how many miles Mr. O'Leary had walked 
 on a certain day in the November of 1803, and 
 how he had supped on camePs milk with an 
 amiable family of Bedouins, who had just robbed 
 a caravan in the desert. His correspondence, 
 was for the most part an angry one with washer- 
 women and hotel-keepers, and some rather 
 curious hieroglyphic replies to dinner invitations 
 from certain people of rank in the Sandwich 
 Islands. Occasionally, however, we chanced 
 on little bits of narrative, fragments of stories, 
 some of which his fellow-travellers had con- 
 tributed, and brief sketches of places and people 
 that were rather amusing; but so disjointed.
 
 26 
 
 broken up, and unconnected were they all, it 
 was almost impossible to give tliem anything 
 like an arrangement, much less anything like 
 consecutive interest. 
 
 All that lay in our power was to select from the 
 whole, certain portions, which, from their length, 
 promised more of care than the mere fragments 
 about them, and present them to our readers 
 with this brief notice of the mode in which we 
 obtained them — our only excuse for a most irre- 
 gular and unprecedented liberty in the practice 
 of literature. With this apology for the incom- 
 pleteness and abruptness of " the O'Leary Papers" 
 — which happily we are enabled to make freely, 
 as our friend Arthur has taken his departure — 
 we offer them to our readers, only adding, that 
 in proof of their genuine origin, the manuscript 
 can be seen by any one so desiring it, on appli- 
 cation to our publishers ; while, for all their 
 follies, faults, and inaccuracies, we desire to plead 
 our irresponsibility, as freely, as we wish to 
 attribute any favour the world may show them, 
 to their real author ; and with this last assurance, 
 we beg to remain, your ever devoted and obedient 
 servant, 
 
 Harry Lorrequer.
 
 27 
 
 Chapter I. 
 THE ^^ATTWOOD/^ 
 
 Old Woodcock says^ that if Providence had not 
 made him a Justice of the Peace^ he^d have been 
 a vagabond himself. No such kind interference 
 prevailed in my case. I was a vagabond from 
 my cradle. I never could be sent to school, 
 alone^ like other children — they always had to see 
 me there safe^ and fetch me back again. The 
 rambling bump monopolized my whole head. 
 Pm sure my god-father must have been the 
 wandering Jew, or a king's messenger. Here 
 I am again, en route, and sorely puzzled to 
 know whither? There's the fellow for my trunk. 
 
 "What packet, sir?" 
 
 "Eh? What packet? The vessel at the 
 Tower stairs?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; there are two with the steam up> 
 the Rotterdam and the Hamburgh." 
 
 "Which goes first?"
 
 28 
 
 ''Why, I think the Attvvood, sir/' 
 
 "Well, then, shove aboard the Attwood. 
 Where is she for ?'' 
 
 " She's for Rotterdam. He's a queer cove 
 
 too/' said the fellow under his teeth, as he 
 moved out of the room, '^ and don't seem to care 
 where he goes." 
 
 A capital lesson in life may be learned from 
 the few moments joreceding departure from an 
 inn. The surly w^aiter that always said ''coming" 
 when he was leaving the room, and never came, 
 now grown smiling and smirking; the landlord 
 expressing a hope to see you again, Avhile he 
 watches your upthrown eyebrows at the exor- 
 bitancy of his bill; the boots attentively looking 
 from your feet to your face, and back again; the 
 housemaid passing and repassing a dozen times, 
 on her way, no where, with a look half saucy, 
 half shy; the landlord's son, an abortion of two 
 feet high, a kind of family chief remembrancer, 
 that sits on a high stool in the bar, and always 
 detects something you have had, that was not 
 " put down in the bill" — two shillings for a cab, 
 or a "brandy and water;" a curse upon them 
 all; this poll-tax upon travellers is utter ruin;
 
 29 
 
 j'our bill^ compared to its dependencies, is but 
 Falstaff *s ^^ pennyworth of bread/^ to all the score 
 for sack. 
 
 Well, here I am at last. "Take care I say! 
 you^ll upset us. Shove off. Bill ; ship your oar/^ 
 splash, splash. "Bear a hand. What a noise 
 they make/^ bang, crash, buzz; what a crowd 
 of men in pilot coats and caps; women in plaid 
 shawls and big reticules, band-boxes, bags, and 
 babies, and w^hat higgling for sixpences with the 
 wherrymen. 
 
 All the places round the companion are taken 
 by pale ladies in black silk, with a thin man in 
 spectacles beside them; the deck is littered with 
 luggage, and little groups seated thereon; some 
 very strange young gentlemen with many-coloured 
 waistcoats are going to Greenwich, and one as 
 far as Margate; a widow and daughters, rather 
 prettyish girls, for Heme Bay; a thin, bilious- 
 looking man of about fifty, with four outside 
 coats, and a bear-skin round his legs, reading 
 beside the wheel, occasionally taking a sly look at 
 the new arrivals. — I've seen him before; he is the 
 Secretary of Embassy at Constantinople; and 
 here's a jolly-looking, rosy-cheeked fellow, with a
 
 30 
 
 fat florid face, and two dashing-looking girls in 
 black velvet. Eh! who's this? — Sir Peter, the 
 steward calls him; a London Alderman going up 
 the Rhine for two months — he's got his courier, 
 and a strong carriage, with the springs well corded 
 for the pave; — but they come too fast for count- 
 ing : so now I'll have a look after my berth. 
 
 Alas! the cabin has been crowded all the while 
 by some fifty others, wrangling, scolding, laugh- 
 ing, joking, complaining, and threatening, and 
 not a berth to be had. 
 
 "You've put me next the tiller," said one; 
 " Fm over the boiler," screamed another. 
 
 " I have the pleasure of speaking to Sir Wil- 
 loughby Steward," said the captain, to a tall, 
 gray-headed, soldier-like figure, with a closely- 
 buttoned blue frock. ^^Sir Willoughby, your 
 berth is No. 8." 
 
 '' Eh ! that^s the way they come it," whispers a 
 Cockney to his friend. ^^ That ere chap get's a 
 berth before us all." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir,'^ says the baronet 
 mildly, " I took mine three days ago." 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't mean anything," stammers out 
 the other, and sneaks off.
 
 31 
 
 ^^ Laura-Mariar — where's Laurar?^^ calls out a 
 shrill voice from the aft-cabin. 
 
 ^^Here, Ma/^ replies a pretty girl^ who is 
 arranging her ringlets at a glass, much to the 
 satisfaction of a young fellow in a braided frock, 
 that stands gazing at her in the mirror with 
 something very like a smile on his lip. 
 
 There's no mistaking that pair of dark-eyed 
 fellows with aquiline noses and black ill-shaven 
 beards — Hamburgh or Dutch Jews^ dealers in 
 smuggled lace, cigars, and Geneva watches, and 
 occasionally small money-lenders. How they scan 
 the company, as if calculating the profit they might 
 turn them to ! The very smile they wear seems 
 to say, ^ Comment c^est doiix de tromi^er les Chre- 
 tiens.^ But, holloa ! there was a splash ! we are 
 moving, and the river is now more amusing than 
 the passengers. 
 
 I should like to see the man that ever saw 
 London from the Thames; or any part of it, 
 save the big dome of St. Paul's, the top of the 
 Monument, or the gable of the great black wharf 
 inscribed with ^^ Hodson's Pale Ale." What a 
 devil of a row they do make. I thought we 
 were into that fellow. See, here's a wherry
 
 32 
 
 actually under our bow; where is she now? are 
 they ail lost already ? No ! there they go bob- 
 bing up and down, and looking after us, as if 
 asking, why we didn^t sail over them. Ay ! there 
 comes an Indiaman, and that little black slug 
 that^s towing her up against the stream, is one of 
 the Tug Company's craft; and see how all the 
 others at anchor keep tossing and pitching about, 
 as we pass by, like an awkward room full of 
 company, rising at each new arrival. 
 
 There's Greenwich! a fine thing Greenwich. 
 I like the old fellows that the first lord always 
 makes stand in front, without legs or arms ; a 
 cheery sight: and there's a hulk, or an hospital 
 ship, or something of that kind. 
 
 '^That's the Hexcellent," saitli a shrill voice 
 behind me. 
 
 "Ah ! I know her, she's a revenue cruizer." 
 
 Lord, what liars are the Cockneys! The plot 
 thickens every moment; here come little bright 
 green and gold things, shooting past, like dragon- 
 flies skimming the water, steaming down to 
 Gravesend. What a mob of parasols cover the 
 deck, and what kissing of hands and waving of 
 handkerchiefs to anonymous acquaintances no-
 
 33 
 
 where. More steamers — here's the ^' Boulogne 
 boat," followed by the Ostender^ and there, 
 rounding the reacli, comes the Ramsgate; and 
 a white funnel, they say, is the Cork packet; 
 and yonder, with her steam escaping is the Edin- 
 burgh, her deck crowded with soldiers. 
 
 ^' Port — port it is — steady there — steady.'' 
 
 " Do you dine, sir ?" quoth the steward to the 
 pale gentleman. A faint "Yes." "And the 
 ladies too ?" A more audible " No." 
 
 ^^ I say, steward," cries Sir Peter, " what's the 
 hour for dinner ?" 
 
 " Four o'clock, sir, after we pass Gravesend." 
 
 "Bring me some brandy and water and a 
 biscuit, then." 
 
 "Lud, Pa!" 
 
 " To be sure, dear, we shall be sick in the pool. 
 They say there's a head wind." 
 
 How crowded they are on the fore-part of the 
 vessel! six carriages and eight horses; the latter 
 belong to a Dutch dealer, who by-the-by, seems 
 a shrewd fellow, who, well knowing the extreme 
 sympathy between horses and asses, leaves the 
 care of his, to some Cockneys, who come down 
 every half hour to look after the tarpaulins, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 ARTHUR O^LEARY* 
 
 inspect the coverings, see the knee-caps safe, and 
 ask if they want "^ay ;^^ and all this, that to some 
 others on board, they may appear as sporting 
 characters, well versed in turf affairs, and quite 
 Up to stalDle management 
 
 When the life and animation of the crowded 
 river is passed, how vexatious it is to hear for the 
 thousandth time the dissertations on English ha- 
 bits, customs, and constitution, delivered by some 
 ill-informed, underbred fellow or other, to some 
 feager German — a Frenchman happily is too self- 
 sufficient ever to listen — who greedily swallows 
 the farrago of absurdity, which, according to the 
 •politics of his informant, represents the nation in 
 a plethora of prosperity, or the last stage of inevi- 
 table ruin. I scarcely know which I detest the 
 more; the insane toryism of the one, is about as 
 sickening as the rabid radicalism of the other. 
 "The absurd misapprehensions foreigners enter- 
 tain about us, are, in nine cases out of ten, coni- 
 municated by our own people; and in this way, 
 'I have always remarked a far greater degree of 
 ignorance about England and the English, to pre- 
 Tail among those who have passed some weeks 
 ■in the. country, than_, among such, as had never
 
 35 
 
 visited oiir shores. With the former the Thames 
 Tunnel is our national boast; raw beef and box- 
 ing our national predilections; the public sale of 
 our wives a national practice. 
 
 "But what^s this? our paddles are backed. 
 Anything wrong, steward V 
 
 ^^No, sir, only another passenger coming 
 aboard.^' 
 
 '^ How they pull, and there's a stiff sea running 
 too. A queer figure that is in the stern sheets; 
 what a beard he has ?' 
 
 y I had just time for the observation, when a 
 tall, athletic man, wrapped in a wide blue cloak, 
 sprang on the deck — his eyes were shaded by 
 large green spectacles and the broad brim of a 
 Tcry projecting hat; a black beard, a rabbi might 
 have envied, descended from his chin, and hung 
 down upon his bosom; he chucked a crown-piece 
 to the boatman as he leaned over the bulwark, 
 and then turning to the steward, called out — 
 
 *'Eh, Jem! all right?'' 
 
 "Yes, sir, all right," said the man, touching 
 his hat respectfully. 
 
 The tall figure immediately disappeared down 
 the companion-ladder, leaving me in the most 
 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 puzzling state of doubt as to what manner of 
 man he could possibly be. Had the problem 
 been more easy of solution I should scarcely 
 have resolved it when he again emerged — but 
 how changed! The broad beaver had given 
 ])lace to a blue cloth foraging cap with a gold 
 band around it; the beard had disappeared 
 totally, and left no successor save a well-rounded 
 chin; the spectacles also had vanished, and a 
 pair of sharp, intelligent grey eyes, with a most 
 uncommon degree of knowingness in their ex- 
 pression, shone forth ; and a thin and most 
 accurately-curled moustache graced his upper lip, 
 and gave a character of Vandykism to his fea- 
 tures, which were really handsome. In person 
 he was some six feet two, gracefully but strongly 
 built; his costume, without anything approaching 
 conceit, was the perfection of fashionable attire- 
 even to his gloves there was nothing which 
 D'Orsay could have criticised; while his walk 
 was the very type of that mode of progression 
 which is only learned thoroughly by a daily stroll 
 down St. James's-street, and the frequent prac- 
 tice of passing to and from Crockford^s, at all 
 hours of the day and night.
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. S7 
 
 The expression of his features was something 
 so striking, I cannot help noting it: there was 
 a jauntiness, an ease, no smirking, half-bred, 
 self-satisfied look, such as a London linendraper 
 might wear on his trip to Margate; but a con- 
 summate sense of his own personal attractions 
 and great natural advantages, had given a cha- 
 racter to his features which seemed to say — it's 
 quite clear there's no coming up to 7ne: don't try 
 it — nascitur non fit. His very voice implied it. 
 The veriest commonplace fell from him with a 
 look, a smile, a gesture, a something or other 
 that made it tell; and men repeated his sayings 
 without knowing, that his was a liquor, that was 
 lost in decanting. The way he scanned the 
 passengers, and it was done in a second, was the 
 practised observance of one, who reads character 
 at a glance. Over the Cockneys, and they were 
 numerous, his eyes merely passed without 
 bestowing any portion of attention; while to 
 the lady part of the company his look was 
 one of triumphant satisfaction, such as Louis 
 XIV. might have been bestowed when he gazed 
 at the thousands in the garden of Versailles, and 
 exclaimed, "Owi/ ccs sont mes snjets.^' Such
 
 38 
 
 was the Honourable Jack Smallbranes, younger 
 son of a peer, ex-captain in the Life Guards, 
 winner of the Derby, but now the cleared-out; 
 man of fashion flying to the Continent to escape 
 from the Fleet, and cautiously coming aboard 
 in disguise below Gravesend, to escape the bore 
 of a bailiff, and what he called the horror of 
 bills " detested/' 
 
 We read a great deal about Cincinnatus culti- 
 vating his cabbages, and we hear of Washington's 
 retirement when the active period of his career 
 had passed over, and a hundred similar instances 
 are quoted for our admiration, of men, who could 
 throw themselves at once from all the whirlwind 
 excitement of great events, and seek, in the 
 humblest and least obtrusive position, an occu- 
 pation and an enjoyment. But I doubt very 
 much if your ex-man of fashion, your ci-devant 
 winner of the Derby — the adored of Almack's — 
 the enfant cheri of Crockford's and the Claren- 
 don, whose equipage was a model, whose plate 
 was perfection, for whom life seemed too short 
 for all the fascinations wealth spread around him, 
 and each day brought the one embarrassment 
 how to enjoy enough. I repeat it, I doubt much
 
 39 
 
 if he^ when the hour of his abdication arrives — 
 and that it will arrive sooner or later not even 
 himself entertains a doubt — when Holditch pro- 
 tests, and Bevan proceeds; when steeds are sold 
 at TattersalFs, and pictures at Christie's; when 
 the hounds pass over to the next new victim, and 
 the favourite for the St. Leger, backed with 
 mighty odds, is now entered under another name; 
 when in lieu of the bright eyes and honied words 
 that make life a fairy tale, his genii are black- 
 whiskered bailiffs and auctioneers' appraisers — if 
 he, when the tide of fortune sets in so strong 
 against him, can not only sustain himself for a 
 while against it, and when too powerful at last, 
 can lie upon the current and float as gaily, down, 
 as ever he did joyously, up, the stream — then, say 
 I, all your ancient and modern instances are far 
 below him: all your warriors and statesmen are 
 but poor pretenders compared to him, they have 
 retired like rich shop-keepers, to live on the in- 
 terest of their fortune, which is fame; while he, 
 deprived of all the accessories which gave him 
 rank, place, and power, must seek within his own 
 resources for all tlie future springs of his pleasure, 
 and be satisfied to stand spectatoi of the game.
 
 40 
 
 where he was once the principal player. A most 
 admirable specimen of this philosophy was pre- 
 sented by our new passenger, who, as he lounged 
 against the binnacle, and took a deliberate survey 
 of his fellow-travellers, seemed the very ideal of 
 unbroken ease and undisturbed enjoyment: he 
 knew he was ruined; he knew he had neither 
 house in town, or country; neither a steed, nor a 
 yacht, nor a preserve ; he was fully aware, that 
 Storr and Mortimer, who would have given him a 
 mountain of silver but yesterday, would not trus 
 him with a mustard-pot to-day; that even the 
 ^^legs" would laugh at hini if he offered the odds 
 on the Derby; and yet if you were bound on oath 
 to select the happiest fellow on board, by the 
 testimony of your eyes, the choice would not have 
 taken you five minutes. His attitude was ease 
 itself; his legs slightly crossed, perhaps the better 
 to exhibit a very well-rounded instep, which 
 shone forth in all the splendour of French var- 
 nish; his travelling cap jauntily thrown on one 
 side so as to display to better advantage his per- 
 fumed locks, that floated in a graceful manner 
 somewhat lengthily on his neck; the shawl 
 around his neck had so much of negligence, as to
 
 41 
 
 show that the splendid enamel pin that fastened 
 it^ was a thing of little moment to the wearer: all 
 were in keeping with the nonchalant ease, and 
 self-satisfaction of his look, as with half-drooping 
 lids he surveyed the deck, caressing with his 
 jewelled fingers the silky line of his moustache^ 
 and evidently enjoying in his inmost soul the 
 triumphant scene of conquest his very appearance 
 excited. Indeed, a less practised observer than 
 himself could not fail to remark the unequivocal 
 evidences the lady portion of the community bore 
 to his success: the old ones looked boldly at him 
 with that fearless intrepidity that characterises 
 conscious security — their property was insured, 
 and they cared not how near the fire came to 
 them; the very young participated in the' senti- 
 ment from an opposite reason — tlieirs was tlie 
 unconsciousness of danger; but there was a 
 a middle term, what Balzac calls '^ la fenwie de 
 irente ans/' and she, either looked over the bul- 
 warks, or at the funnel, or on her book, any 
 where in short but at our friend, who appeared to 
 watch this studied denial on her part, with the 
 same kind of enjoyment the captain of a frigate 
 would contemplate the destruction his broadsides
 
 42 
 
 were making on his enemy^s rigging — and perhaps 
 the latter never deemed his conquest more as- 
 sured by the hauling down of the enemy's colours, 
 than did the ^^ Honourable Jack/^ when a let- 
 down veil convinced him that the lady could bear 
 no more. 
 
 I should like to have watched the proceedings 
 on deck where, although no acquaintance had yet 
 been formed, the indications of such were clearly 
 visible: the Alderman's daughters evincing a de- 
 cided preference for walking on that side where 
 Jack was standing, he studiously performing 
 some small act of courtesy from time to time 
 as they passed, removing a seat, kicking any 
 small fragment of rope, &c. ; but the motion of 
 the packet began to advertise me that note-taking 
 was at an end, and the best thing I could do 
 would be to "compose" myself. 
 
 " What's the number, sir," said the steward, as 
 I staggered down the companion. 
 
 " I have got no berth," said I mournfully. 
 
 "A dark horse, not placed," said the Honour- 
 able Jack, smiling pleasantly as he looked after 
 me, while I threw myself on a sofa, and cursed 
 the sea^
 
 41 
 
 Chapter II. 
 THE BOAR'S HEAD AT ROTTERDAM. 
 
 If the noise and bustle which attend a wedding, 
 like trumpets in a battle, are intended as pro- 
 visions against reflection, so firmly do I feel, the 
 tortures of sea-sickness, are meant as antagonists 
 to all the terrors of drowning, and all the horrors 
 of shipwreck. 
 
 Let him who has felt the agonies of that in- 
 ternal earthquake which the '^ pitch and toss^^ 
 motion of a ship communicates — who knows 
 what it is, to have his diaphragm vibrating be- 
 tween his ribs, and the back of his throat, con- 
 fess, how little to him was all the confusion which 
 he listened to, over head ! how poor the interest 
 he took in the welfare of the craft wherein he 
 was " only a lodger/^ and how narrowed were all 
 his sympathies within the small circle of bottled 
 porter, and brandy and water, the steward's infal- 
 libles in suffering.
 
 44 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 I lay in my narrow crib, moodily pondering 
 over these things, now wondering within myself, 
 what charms of travel, could recompense such 
 agonies as these ; now muttering a curse, " not 
 loud, but deep,'' on the heavy gentleman, whose 
 ponderous tread on the quarter-deck seemed to 
 promenade up and down the surface of my own 
 pericranium ; the greasy steward, the jolly cap- 
 tain, the brown-faced, black-whiskered king's 
 messenger, who snored away on the sofa, all came 
 in for a share of my maledictions, and I took out 
 my cares, in curses upon the whole party. Mean- 
 while I could distinguish, amid the other sounds, 
 the elastic tread of certain light feet that pattered 
 upon the quarter-deck; and I could not mistake 
 the assured footstep which accompanied them, 
 nor did I need the happy roar of laughter that 
 mixed with the noise, to satisfy myself that the 
 " Honourable Jack" was then cultivating the 
 alderman's daughters, discoursing most eloquently 
 upon the fascinations of those exclusive circles 
 wherein he was -wont to move, and explaining, on 
 the clearest principles, what a frightful chasm his 
 absence must create in the London world — how 
 deplora])ly fliit would the season go off, where he
 
 ARTHUR OXEARY. 45. 
 
 was no actor — and wondering, who, among the 
 aspirants of high ambition, would venture to 
 assume his line of character, and supply his 
 place, either on the turf, or at the table. 
 
 But at length the stage of semi-stupor came 
 over me; the noises became commixed in my 
 head, and I lost all consciousness so completely, 
 that, whether from brandy or sickness, I fancied I 
 saw the steward flirting with the ladies, and the 
 ^^ Honourable Jack^^ skipping about with a white 
 apron, uncorking porter bottles, and changing 
 sixpences. 
 
 'I^ H^ ^ T* t^ 
 
 The same effect which the announcement of 
 dinner produces on the stiff party in the drawing- 
 room, is caused by the information of being 
 alongside the quay, to the passengers of a packet. 
 It is true the procession is not so formal in the 
 latter as in the former case : the turbaned dow- 
 agers that take the lead in one, would, more than 
 probably, be last in the other ; but what is lost 
 in decorum, is more than made up in hilarity. 
 What hunting for carpet-bags ! what opening and 
 shutting of lockers ! what researches into port-
 
 46 
 
 manteaus, to extricate certain seizable commo- 
 dities^ and stow them away upon the person of 
 the owner, till at last he becomes an impersona- 
 tion of smuggling, with lace in his boots, silk 
 stockings in his hat, brandy under his waistcoat, 
 and jewelry in the folds of his cravat. There is 
 not an item in the tariff that might not be de- 
 monstrated in his anatomy : from his shoes to his 
 night-cap, he is a living sarcasm upon the revenue. 
 And, after all, what is the searching scrutiny of 
 your Quarterly Reviewer, to the all-penetrating 
 eye of an excise oJSicer? He seems to look into 
 the whole contents of your wardrobe before you 
 have unlocked the trunk ^'warranted solid lea- 
 ther,'^ and with a glance appears to distinguish 
 the true man from the knave, knowing, as if by 
 intuition, the precise number of cambric hand- 
 kerchiefs that befit your condition in life, and 
 whether you have transgressed the bounds of your 
 station, by a single bottle of '^^ Eau-de-Cologne,^^ 
 
 What admirable training for a novelist would a 
 year or two spent in such duties afford; what 
 singular views of life ; what strange people must 
 he see; how much of narrative would even the 
 narrow limits of a hat-box present to him; aiid
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 4? 
 
 how naturally would a story sj^ring from tlie 
 rosy-cheeked old gentleman^ paying his duty upon 
 a ^^pate de fois-gras'' to his pretty daughter, en- 
 deavouring, by a smile, to diminish the tariff on 
 her French bonnet, and actually captivate a cus- 
 tom-house officer by the charms of her ^^ robe a 
 la Victorine." 
 
 The French " douaniers^' are droll fellows, and 
 are the only ones I have ever met who descend 
 from the important gravity of their profession, 
 and venture upon a joke. I shall never forget 
 entering Valenciennes late one night, with a large 
 ^^Diligence^^ party, among which was a corpulent 
 countryman of my own, making his first conti- 
 nental tour. It was in those days when a pass- 
 port presented a written portrait of the bearer ; 
 when the shape of your nose, the colour of your 
 hair, the cut of your beard, and the angle of 
 incidence of your eyebrow, were all noted down 
 and commented on, and a general summing up of 
 the expression of your features, collectively, ap- 
 pended to the whole ; and you went forth to the 
 world with an air "mild,'^ or "military;'^ ^^ fee- 
 ble,^' "fascinating,^' or "ferocious,'^ exactly as the 
 foreign office deemed it. It was in those days, I
 
 48 ARTHUR o'leary. 
 
 say, when, on entering the fortress of Valen- 
 ciennes, the door of the " Diligence" was rudely 
 thrown open, and, by the dim flicker of a lamp, 
 we beheld a moustached, stern-looking fellow, 
 who rudely demanded our passports. My fat 
 companion, suddenly awakened from his sleep, 
 searched his various pockets with all the trepida- 
 tion of a new traveller, and at length, produced 
 his credentials, which he handed, with a polite 
 bow, to the official. Wliatever the nature of the 
 description I cannot say, but it certainly produced 
 the most striking effect on the passport officers, 
 who laughed loud and long as they read it over. 
 
 *• Descendez, Monsieur,^' said the chief of the 
 party, in a tone of stern command. 
 
 " What does he say r" said the traveller, in 
 a very decided western accent. 
 
 " You must get out, sir," said I. 
 
 " Tare-an-ages," said Mr. Moriarty, " what's 
 wrong ?" 
 
 After considerable squeezing, for he weighed 
 about twenty stone, he disengaged himself from 
 the body of the " Diligence," and stood erect 
 upon the ground. A second lantern was now 
 produced^ and while one of the officers stood on
 
 m
 
 9^ 
 
 cr/~ 
 
 ^^^^^^ a^ .j;^^/i^:^^
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 49 
 
 either side of him, with a light beside his face^ a 
 third read out the clauses of the passport, and 
 compared the description with the original. 
 Happily, Mr. Moriarty's ignorance of Frencli 
 saved him from the penalty of hstening to the 
 comments which were passed upon his " nez 
 retrousse/' '^ bouche ouverte,'' &c.; but what was 
 his surprise when, producing some yards of tape, 
 they proceeded to measure him round the body, 
 comparing the number of inches his circumfer- 
 ence made, with the passport. 
 
 '^ Quatre-vingt-dix pouces/' said the measurer, 
 looking at the document. " II en a plus " added 
 he, rudely. 
 
 *^ What is he saying, sir, if I might be so 
 bowld V said Mr. Moriarty to me, imploringly. 
 
 " You measure more than is set down in your 
 passport,^' said I, endeavouring to suppress my 
 laughter. 
 
 " Oh, murther ! that dish of boiled beef ^d 
 beet-root will be the ruin of me. Tell them, sir, 
 I was like a greyhound before supper.'^ 
 
 As he said this, he held in his breath, and 
 endeavoured, with all his might, to diminish his 
 size; while the Frenchmen, as if anxious to 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 
 
 atrain a point in his favour, tightened the cord 
 round him, till he almost hecame black in the 
 faee. 
 
 " C^est ^fl/^ said one of the ofi&cers, smiUng 
 blandly as he took off his hat; '^ Monsieur pent 
 continuer sa route'' 
 
 "^ All right/^ said I ; ^^ you may come in, 
 Mr. Moriarty." 
 
 " ^Tis civil people I always heard they wor,^^ 
 said he ; " but it^s a sthrange country where it's 
 against the laws to grow fatter/' 
 
 I like Holland ; — it is the antipodes of France. 
 No one is ever in a hurry here. Life moves on 
 in a slow majestic stream, a little muddy and 
 stagnant, perhaps, like one of their own canals, 
 Imt you see no waves, no breakers — not an eddy, 
 nor even a froth-bubble breaks the surface. 
 Even a Dutch child, as he steals along to school, 
 smoking his short pipe, has a mock air of thought 
 about him. The great fat horses, that wag along, 
 trailing behind them some petty, insignificant 
 truck, loaded with a little cask, not bigger than a 
 life-guardsman's helmet, look as though Erasmus 
 was performing duty as a quadruped, and walking
 
 51 
 
 about his own native city in harness. It must be 
 a glorious country to be born in. No one is ever 
 in a passion ; and as to honesty, who has energy 
 enough to turn robber ? The eloquence, which in 
 other lands might wind a man from his allegiance, 
 would be tried in vain here. Ten minutes' talking 
 would set any audience asleep, from Zetland to 
 Antwerp. Smoking, beer-drinking, stupifying, 
 and domino-playing, go on in summer, before, in 
 winter, within, the cafes, and every broad flat face 
 you look upon, with its watery eyes and muddy 
 complexion, seems like a coloured chart of the 
 country that gave it birth. 
 
 How all the industry, that has enriched them, 
 is ever performed — how all the cleanliness, for 
 which their houses are conspicuous, is ever 
 effected, no one can tell. Who ever saw a 
 Dutchman labour? Every thing in Holland 
 seems typified by one of their own drawbridges, 
 which rises as a boat approaches, by invisible 
 agency, and then remains patiently aloft, till a 
 sufficiency of passengers arrives to restore it to 
 its place, and Dutch gravity seems the grand 
 centre of all prosperity. 
 
 When, therefore, my fellow-passengers stormed 
 
 E 2
 
 52 
 
 and swore because they were not permitted to 
 land their luggage; when they heard that until 
 nine o'clock the following morning, no one would 
 be astir to examine it ; and that the Rhine steamer 
 sailed at eight, and would not sail again for three 
 days more, and cursed the louder thereat ; I 
 chuckled to myself that I was going no where, 
 that I cared not how long I waited, nor where, 
 and began to believe that something of very 
 exalted philosophy must have been infused into 
 my nature, without my ever being aware of it. 
 
 For twenty minutes and more, Sir Peter abused 
 the Dutch; he called them hard names in English, 
 and some very strong epithets in bad French. 
 Meanwhile, his courier busied himself in pre- 
 parations for departure, and the ^* Honourable 
 Jack" undertook to shawl the young ladies, a 
 performance which, whether from the darkness 
 of the night, or the intricacy of the muffling, 
 took a most unmerciful time to accomplish. 
 
 " We shall never find the hotel at this hour,'* 
 said Sir Peter, angrily. 
 
 *^ The house will certainly be closed,'* chimed 
 in the young ladies. 
 
 " Take your five to two on the double event,'*
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 53 
 
 replied Jack, slapping the Alderman on the 
 shoulder, and preparing to book the wager. 
 
 I did not wait to see it accepted, but stepped 
 over the side, and trudged along the " Boomjes/^ 
 that long quay, with its tall elm trees, under 
 whose shade many a burgomaster has strolled at 
 eve, musing over the profits which his last ven- 
 ture from Bataviawas to realize; and then, having 
 crossed the narrow bridge at the end, I traversed 
 the Erasmus Platz, and rang boldly, as an old 
 acquaintance has a right to do, at the closed door 
 of the " Schwein Kopf/^ My summons was not 
 long unanswered, and following the many-petti- 
 coated handmaiden along the well-sanded passage, 
 I asked, '^ Is the Holbein chamber unoccupied ?" 
 while I drew forth a florin from my purse. 
 
 "Ah, Mynheer knows it then,'^ said she, 
 smiling. " It is at your service. We have had 
 no travellers for some days past, and you are 
 aware, that, except greatly crowded, we never 
 open it.^^ 
 
 ,. This I knew well ; and having assured her that 
 I was an habitue of the Schwein Kopf, in times 
 long past, I persuaded her to fetch some dry 
 wood and make me a cheerful fire, wluch, with
 
 54 
 
 a "krug of schiedam'^ and some "canastre/' made 
 me happy as a king. 
 
 The " Holbeiner Kammer'^ owes its name, and 
 any repute that it enjoys, to a strange, quaint 
 portrait, of that master seated at a fire, with a 
 fair-headed, handsome child, sitting cross-legged 
 on the hearth before him. A certain half resem- 
 blance seems to run through both faces, although 
 the age and colouring are so different. But the 
 same contemplative expression, the deep-set eye, 
 the massive forehead and pointed chin, are to be 
 seen in the child, as in the man. 
 
 This was Holbein and his nephew, Franz von 
 Holbein, who in after years served with distinc- 
 tion in the army of Louis Quatorze. The back- 
 ground of the picture represents a room exactly 
 like the chamber — a few highly-carved oak chairs, 
 the Utrecht velvet-backs glowing with their scar- 
 let brilliancy, an old-fashioned Flemish bed, with 
 groups of angels, Neptunes, bacchanals, and dol- 
 phins, all mixed up confusedly in quaint carving ; 
 and a massive frame to a very small looking-glass, 
 which hung in a leaning attitude over the fire- 
 place, and made me think, as I gazed at it, that 
 the plane of the room was on an angle of sixty-
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. ^ 
 
 ^ve, and that the least shove would send me 
 clean into the stove. 
 
 "Mynheer wants nothing ?^^ said the Vrow with 
 a court^sey. 
 
 " Nothing/^ said T^ with my most polite bow. 
 
 "Good night;, then," said she; ^'schlaf wohl, 
 aaid don^t mind the ghost." 
 
 "Ahj I know him of old/^ replied I, striking 
 tlie table three times with my cane. The wom an 
 whose voice the moment before was in a tone, 
 of jest, suddenly grew pale, and, as she crossed 
 herself devoutly, muttered — ^'Nein! nein! don't 
 do that;" and, shutting the door, hurried down 
 stairs with all the speed she could muster. 
 
 I was in no hurry to bed, however. The 
 *^krug" was racy, the "canastre" excellent: so, 
 placing the light where it should fall with good 
 effect on the Holbein, I stretched out my legs 
 to the blaze; and, as I looked upon the canvas, 
 began to muse over the story with which it was 
 associated, and, which I may as well jot down 
 here, for memory^s sake. 
 
 Frank Holbein, ha\'ing more ambition and less 
 industry than the rest of his family, resolved 
 to seek his fortune; and early in the September
 
 56 
 
 of the year 1681, he found himself wandering 
 in the streets of Paris, without a Hard in his 
 pocket, or any prospects of earning one. He 
 was a fine-looking, handsome youth, of some 
 eighteen or twenty years, with a sharp, piercing 
 look, and that Spanish cast of face for which 
 so many Dutch families are remarkable. He 
 sat down, weary and hungry, on one of the 
 benches of the Pont de la Cite, and looked 
 about him wistfully, to see what piece of fortune 
 might come to his succour. A loud shout, and 
 the noise of people flying in every direction, 
 attracted him. He jumped up, and saw persons 
 running hither and thither to escape from a 
 caleche, which a pair of runaway horses were 
 tearing along at a frightful rate. Frank blessed 
 himself, threw oif his cloak, pressed his cap 
 firmly upon his brow, and dashed forward. The 
 affrighted animals slackened their speed as he 
 stood before them, and endeavoured to pass by; 
 but he sprang to their heads, and, with one 
 vigorous plunge, grasped the bridle; but though 
 he held on manfully, they continued their way; 
 and, notwithstanding his every effort, their mad 
 speed scarcely felt his weight, as he was dragged
 
 57 
 
 along beside them. With one tremendous effort, 
 however, he wrested the near horse's head from 
 the pole, and, thus compelling him to cross his 
 fore-legs, the animal tripped, and came headlong 
 to the ground with a smash, that sent poor 
 Frank spinning some twenty yards before them. 
 Frank soon got up again; and though his fore- 
 head was bleeding, and his hand severely cut, 
 his greatest grief was, his torn doublet, which, 
 threadbare before, now hung around him in 
 ribbons. 
 
 " It was you who stopped them ? — are you 
 hurt?'^ said a tall, handsome man, plainly but 
 well dressed, and in whose face the trace of 
 agitation was clearly marked. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Frank, bowing respectfully. 
 "I did it; and see how my poor doublet has 
 suffered V 
 
 "Nothing worse tlian that?'' said the other, 
 smiling blandly. " Well, well, that is not of so 
 much moment. Take this," said he, handing 
 him his purse; "buy yourself a new doublet, and 
 wait on me to-morrow by eleven." 
 
 With these words the stranger disappeared in 
 a caleche, which seemed to arrive at the moment,
 
 5^' ARTHUR O^LEARY. 
 
 leaving Frank in a state of wonderment at the 
 whole adventure. 
 
 *^How droll he should never have told me 
 where he lives V' said he, aloud, as the by- 
 standers crowded about him, and showered ques- 
 tions upon him. 
 
 "It is Monsieur le Ministre, man — M. de 
 Louvois himself, whose life you've saved. Your 
 fortune is made for ever.'' 
 
 The speech was a true one. Before three 
 months from that eventful day, M. de Louvois, 
 who had observed and noted down certain traits 
 of acuteness in Frank's character, sent for him 
 to his bureau. 
 
 " Holbein," said he, " I have seldom been 
 deceived in my opinion of men — You can be 
 secret, I think ?" 
 
 Frank placed his hand upon his breast, and 
 bowed in silence. 
 
 "Take the dress you will find on that chair: 
 a ^carriage is now ready, waiting in the court- 
 yard—get into it, and set out for Bale. On 
 your arrival there, which will be — mark me well 
 — about eight o'clock on the morning of Thurs- 
 day, you'll leave the carriage, and send it into
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY, 59 
 
 the town, while you must station yourself on the 
 bridge over the Rhine, and take an exact note 
 of everything that occurs, and every one that 
 passes, till the cathedral clock strikes three. 
 Then, the caleche will be in readiness for your 
 return; and lose not a moment in repairing to 
 Paris." 
 
 It was an hour beyond midnight, in the early 
 part of the following week, that a caleche, travel- 
 stained and dirty, drove into the court of the 
 minister's hotel, and five minutes after, Frank, 
 wearied and exhausted, was ushered into M. de 
 Louvois' presence. 
 
 ^^ Well, Monsieur," said he impatiently, ^' what 
 have you seen?" 
 
 ^*This, may it please your Excellency,'' said 
 Frank, trembling, "is a note of it; but I am 
 ashamed that so trivial an account " 
 
 " Let us see — let us see," said the minister. 
 
 ^^In good truth, I dare scarcely venture to 
 read such a puerile detail." 
 
 "Read it at once. Monsieur," was the stern 
 command. 
 
 Frank's face became deep-red with shame, as 
 he began thus: —
 
 60 
 
 "Nine o'clock. — I see an ass coming along, 
 with a child leading him. The ass is blind of 
 one eye. — A fat German sits on the balcony, and 
 is spitting into the Rhine " 
 
 "Ten. — A livery servant from Bale rides by, 
 with a basket. An old peasant in a yellow 
 doublet '' 
 
 "Ah, what of him?" 
 
 " Nothing remarkable, save that he leans over 
 'he rails, and strikes three blows with his stick 
 upon them." 
 
 " Enough, enough," said M. de Louvois, gaily. 
 '' I must awake the king at once." 
 
 The minister disappeared, leaving Frank in a 
 state of ])ewilderment. In less than a quarter 
 of an hour he entered the chamber, his face 
 covered with smiles. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, "you have rendered his 
 majesty good service. Here is your brevet of 
 colonel. — The king has this instant signed it." 
 
 In eight days after, was the news known in 
 Paris, that Strasburg, then invested by the 
 French army, had capitulated, and been reunited 
 to the kingdom. The three strokes of the cane 
 being the signal, which announced the success
 
 61 
 
 of the secret negotiation between the ministers 
 of Louis XIV, and the magistrates of Strasburg. 
 
 This, was the Franz Holbein of the picture, 
 and if the three coiips de baton are not attri- 
 butable to his ghost, I can only say, I am totally 
 at a loss to say where they should be charged; 
 for my own part, I ought to add, I never heard 
 them, conduct which I take it was the more 
 ungracious on the ghost^s part, as I finished tfie 
 Schiedam, and passed my night on the hearth 
 rug, leaving the feather-bed with its down coverlet 
 quite at Master Frank^s disposal. 
 
 Although the " Schwein Kopf" stands in one 
 of the most prominent squares of Rotterdam, 
 and nearly opposite the statue of Erasmus, it is 
 comparatively little known to English travellers. 
 The fashionable hotels which are near the quay of 
 landing, anticipate the claims of this more primi- 
 tive house; and yet, to any one desirous of 
 observing the ordinary routine of a Dutch family, 
 it is well worth a visit. The bucksome Vrows 
 who trudge about with short but voluminous 
 petticoats, their heads ornamented by those gold 
 or silver circlets, which no Dutch peasant seems 
 ever to want, are exactly the very types of what
 
 62 
 
 you see in an Ostade or a Teniers. The very host 
 himself, old Hoogendorp, is a study; scarcely five 
 feet in height, he might measure nearly nine, in 
 circumference, and in case of emergency could be 
 used as a sluice-gate, should any thing happen to 
 the dykes. He was never to be seen before one 
 o'clock in the day, but exactly as the clock tolled 
 that hour, the massive soup-tureen, announcing 
 the commencement of the table d'hote, was borne 
 in state before him, while with " solemn step and 
 slow,'' ladle in hand, and napkin round his neck, 
 he followed after. His conduct at table was a 
 fine specimen of Dutch independence of charac- 
 ter — he never thought of bestowing those petty 
 attentions which might cultivate the good- will of 
 his guests; he spoke little, he smiled never; a 
 short nod of recognition bestowed upon a towns- 
 man, was about the extent of royal favour he was 
 ever known to confer; or occasionally, when any 
 remark made near him seemed to excite his 
 approbation, a significant grunt of approval rati- 
 fied the wisdom of the speech, and made a Solon 
 of the speaker. His ladle descended into the 
 soup, and emerged therefrom with the ponderous 
 ^rpgularity of a crane into the hold of a ship.
 
 ARTHUR O LEARY. 63 
 
 Every function of the table was performed with 
 an unbroken monotony, and never^ in the course 
 of his forty years' sovereignty, was he known to 
 distribute an undue quantity of fat, or an un- 
 seemly proportion of beet-root sauce, to any one 
 guest in preference to another. 
 
 The table d'hote, which began at one, concluded 
 a little before three, during which time our host, 
 when not helping others, was busily occupied in 
 helping himself, and it was truly amazing to 
 witness the steady perseverance with which he 
 waded through every dish, making himself master 
 in all its details of every portion of the dinner, 
 from the greasy soup, to that acme of Dutch 
 epicurism, — Utrecht cheese. About a quarter 
 before three, the long dinner drew to its con- 
 clusion. Many of the guests, indeed, had dis- 
 appeared long before that time, and were deep in 
 all their wonted occupations of timber, tobacco, 
 and train-oil, A few, however, lingered on to 
 the last. A burly major of infantry, who, un- 
 buttoning his undress frock, towards the close of 
 the feast, would sit smoking, and sipping his 
 coffee, as if unwilling to desert the field; a 
 grave, long-haired professor; and, perhaps, an
 
 64 
 
 officer of the excise, waiting for the re-opening of 
 the custom-house, would be the extent of tlie 
 company. But even these dropped oif at last, 
 and, with a deep bow to mine host, passed away 
 to their homes, or their haunts. Meanwhile, the 
 waiters hurried hither and thither, the cloth was 
 removed, in its place a fresh one was spread, and 
 all the preliminaries for a new dinner were set 
 about with the same activity as before. The 
 napkins inclosed in their little horn cases, the 
 decanters of beer, the small dishes of preserved 
 fruit, without which no Dutchman dines, were all 
 set forth, and the host, without stirring from his 
 seat, sat watching the preparations with calm 
 complacency. Were you to note him narrowly, 
 you could perceive that his eyes alternately 
 opened and shut, as if relieving guard, save 
 which, he gave no other sign of life, nor even 
 at last, when the mighty stroke of three rang out 
 from the cathedral, and the hurrying sound of 
 many feet proclaimed the arrival of the guests of 
 the second table, did he ever exhibit the slightest 
 show or mark of attention, but sat calm, and still, 
 and motionless. 
 
 For the next two hours, it was merely a repeti-
 
 65 
 
 tion of the performance which preceded it^ in 
 which the host's part was played with untiring 
 energy, and all the items of soup, fish, bouiUi, 
 fowl, pork, and vegetables, had not to complain 
 of any inattention to their merits, or any undue 
 preference for tlieir predecessors, of an lioar 
 before. If the traveller was astonished at lii.s 
 appetite during the first table, what Avould he 
 say to his feats at the second. As for myself, I 
 honestly confess I thought that some harlequiu- 
 trick was concerned, and that mine host of the 
 *^ Schwein Kopf ^^ was not a real man, but some 
 mechanical contrivance by which, with a trap- 
 door below him, a certain portion of the dinner 
 was conveyed to the apartments beneath. 1 
 lived, ho V.' ever, to discover my error; and after 
 four visits to Rotterdam, was at length so far 
 distinguished as actually to receive an invitation 
 to pass an evening with " Mynheer^^ in his own 
 private den, which, I need scarcely say, I gladly 
 accepted. 
 
 I have a note of that evening somewhere — ay, 
 here it is — 
 
 " Mynheer is waiting supper," said a waiter to 
 me, as 1 sat smoking my cigar, one calm eveniog 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 
 
 in autumn, in the porch of the " Schwein Kopf.'^ 
 I followed the man through a long passage, 
 which, leading to the kitchen, emerged on the 
 opposite side, and conducted us through a little 
 garden to a small summer-house. The building, 
 which was of wood, was painted in gaudy stripes 
 of red, blue, and yellow, and made in some sort 
 to resemble those Chinese pagodas, we see upon a 
 saucer. Its situation was conceived in the most 
 perfect Dutch taste — one side, flanked by the 
 little garden of which I have spoken, displayed a 
 rich bed of tulips and ranunculuses, in all the 
 gorgeous luxuriance of perfect culture — it was a 
 mass of blended beauty, and perfume, superior to 
 any thing I have ever witnessed. On the other 
 flank, lay the sluggish, green-coated surface, of 
 a Dutch canal, from which rose the noxious 
 vapours of a hot evening, and the harsh croak- 
 ings of ten thousand frogs, " fat, gorbellied 
 knaves," the very burgomasters of their race, 
 who squatted along the banks, and who, except 
 for the want of pipes, might have been mistaken 
 for small Dutchmen enjoying an evening's pro- 
 menade. This building was denominated ^^ Lust 
 und Rust,'' which, in letters of gold, was dis-
 
 67 
 
 played on something resembling a sign-board, 
 above the door, and intimated to the traveller, 
 that the temple was dedicated to pleasure, and 
 contentment. To a Dutchman, however, the 
 sight of the portly figure, who sat smoking at 
 the open window, was a far more intelligible 
 illustration of the objects of the building, than 
 any lettered inscription. Mynheer Hoogendorp, 
 with his long Dutch pipe, and tall flagon, with 
 its shining brass hd, looked the concentrated 
 essence of a Hollander, and might have been 
 hung out, as a sign of the country, from the 
 steeple of Haarlem. 
 
 The interior was in perfect keeping with the 
 designation of the building: every aj^pHance that 
 could suggest ease, if not sleep, was there; the 
 chairs were deep, plethoric-looknig, Dutch chairs, 
 that seemed as if they had led a sedentary life, 
 and throve upon it ; the table was a short, thick- 
 legged one, of dark oak, whose polished surface 
 reflected the tall brass cups, and the ample fea- 
 tures of Mynheer, and seemed to hob-nob with 
 him when he lifted the capacious vessel to his 
 lips; the walls were decorated with quaint pipes, 
 whose large porcelain bowls bespoke them of 
 
 F 2
 
 66 
 
 home origin; and here and there a sea-fight, with 
 a Dutch three-decker hurhng destruction on the 
 enemy. But the genius of the place was its 
 owner, who, in a low fur cap and slippers, whose 
 shape and size might have drawn tears of envy 
 from the Ballast Board, sat gazing upon the canal 
 in a state of Dutch rapture, very like apoplexy. 
 He motioned me to a chair without speaking — he 
 directed me to a pipe, by a long whifF of smoke 
 from his own — he grunted out a welcome, and 
 then, as if overcome by such unaccustomed exer- 
 tion, he lay back in his chair, and sighed deeply. 
 
 We smoked till the sun went down, and a 
 thicker haze, rising from the stagnant ditch, 
 joined with the tobacco vapour, made an atmos- 
 phere, like mud reduced to gas. Through the 
 mist, I saw a vision of soup tureens, hot meat, 
 and smoking vegetables. I beheld as though 
 Mynheer moved among the condiments, and I 
 have a faint dreamy recollection of his performing 
 some feat before me; but whether it was carving, 
 or the sword exercise, I won^t be positive. 
 
 Now, though the scheidam was strong, a spell 
 was upon me, and I could not speak; the great 
 green eyes that glared on me through the haze.
 
 69 
 
 seemed to chill my very soul; and I drank, out of 
 desperation, the deeper. 
 
 As the evening wore on, I waxed bolder; I had 
 looked upon the Dutchman so long, that my awe 
 of him began to subside, and I at last grew bold 
 enough to address him. 
 
 I remember well, it was pretty much with that 
 kind of energy, that semi- desperation, with which 
 a man nerves himself to accost a spectre, that I 
 ventured on addressing him: how or in what 
 terms I did it, heaven knows ! Some trite every- 
 day observation about his great knowledge of life 
 — his wonderful experience of the world, was all I 
 could muster; and when I had made it, the sound 
 of my own voice terrified me so much, that I 
 finished the can at a draught, to reanimate my 
 courage. 
 
 ^* Ja! Ja!^' said Van Hoogendorp, in a cadence 
 as solemn as the bell of the cathedral ; " I have 
 seen many strange things; I remember what few 
 men living can remember: I mind well the time 
 when the ' Ilollandische Vrow^ made her first 
 voyage from Batavia, and brought back a paro- 
 quet for the burgomaster's wife; the great trees 
 upon the Boomjes were but saplings when I was
 
 I^ ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 a boy; they were not thicker than my waist;'^ 
 here he looked down upon himself with as mi>ch 
 complacency as though he were a sylph. '^ Ach 
 Gott! they were brave times, scheidam cost only 
 half a guilder the krug/^ 
 
 I waited in hopes he would continue, but the 
 glorious retrospect he had evoked, seemed to 
 occupy all his thoughts, and he smoked away 
 without ceasing. 
 
 " You remember the Austrians, then V^ said I, 
 by way of drawing him on. 
 
 ^^They were dogs'/^ said he, spitting out. 
 
 '^ Ah !" said I, ^^ the French were better then ?^' 
 
 " Wolves !^^ ejaculated he, after glowing on me 
 fearfully. 
 
 There was a long pause after this ; I perceived 
 that I had taken a wrong path to lead him into 
 conversation, and he was too deeply overcome 
 with indignation to speak. During this time, 
 however, his anger took a thirsty form, and he 
 swigged away at the schiedam most manfully. 
 
 The effect of his libations became at last 
 evident, his great green stagnant eyes flashed and 
 flared, his wide nostrils swelled and contracted, 
 and his breathing became short and thick, like the
 
 ARTHUR o'f.EARY. Jl 
 
 convulsive sobs of a steam-engine^ when they open 
 and shut the valves alternately; I watched these 
 indications for some time^ wondering what they 
 might portend^ when at length he withdrew his 
 pipe from his mouthy and with such a tone of 
 voice as he might have used^ if confessing a 
 bloody and atrocious murder, he said — 
 
 " I will tell you a story.*^ 
 
 Had the great stone figure of Erasmus 
 beckoned to me across the market-place, and 
 asked me the news "on change/^ I could not 
 have been more amazed; and not venturing on 
 the slightest interruption, I refilled my pipe, and 
 nodded sententiously across the table, while he 
 thus began.
 
 n 
 
 Chapter III. 
 VAN HOOGENDORP'S TALE. 
 
 It was in the winter of the year 1806, the first 
 week of December, the frost was setting in, and I 
 resolved to pay a visit to my brother, whom I 
 hadn't seen for forty years; he was burgomaster 
 of Antwerp. It is a long voyage and a perilous 
 one, but with the protection of Providence, our 
 provisions held out, and on the fourth night after 
 Axe sailed, a violent shock shook the vessel from 
 stem to stern, and we found ourselves against the 
 quay of Antwerp. 
 
 When I reached my brother's house I found 
 him in bed, sick; the doctors said it was a 
 dropsy, I don't know how that might be, for he 
 drank more gin than any man in Holland, and 
 hated water all his life. We were twins, but no 
 one would have thought so, I looked so thin and 
 meagre beside him. 
 
 Well, since I was there, I resolved to see the
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 73 
 
 sights of the town; and the next morning, after 
 breakfast, I set out by myself, and wandered 
 about till evening. Now there were many things 
 to see — very strange things too; the noise, and 
 the din, and the bustle, addled and confused me; 
 the people were running here and there, shouting 
 as if they were mad, and there were great flags 
 hanging out of the windows, and drums beating, 
 and, stranger than all, I saw little soldiers with 
 red breeches and red shoulder-knots, running 
 about like monkeys. 
 
 ^•' What is all this ?''^ said I to a man near me. 
 
 " Methinks,^^ said he, ^^ the burgomaster him- 
 self might well know what it is.^^ 
 
 " I am not the burgomaster,^^ quoth I, " I am 
 his brother, and only came from Rotterdam yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "Ah! then," said another, with a strange grin, 
 '^ you didn't know these preparations were meant 
 to welcome your arrival." 
 
 " No,^' said I ; " but they are very fine, and if 
 there were not so much noise, I would like them 
 well." 
 
 And so, I sauntered on till I came to the great 
 Platz, opposite the cathedral — that was a fine
 
 ?4 
 
 place — and there was a large man carved in cheese 
 over one door, very wonderful to see; and there 
 was a big fish, all gilt, where they sold herrings ; 
 but in the town-hall there seemed something 
 more than usual going on, for great crowds wxre 
 there, and dragoons were galloping in and gallop- 
 ing out, and all was confusibn. 
 
 ^^ What's this?'^ said I. "Are the dykes 
 open }" 
 
 But not one would mind me; and then sud- 
 denly T heard some one call out my name. 
 
 "Where is Van Hoogendorp ?" said one; and 
 then another cried, " Where is Van Hoogen- 
 dorp r 
 
 "Here am I/' said I; and the same moment 
 two officers, covered with gold lace, came through 
 the crowd, and took me by the arms. 
 
 "Come along with us, Monsieur de Hoogen- 
 dorp,^^ said they, in French; "there is not a 
 moment to lose; we have been looking for you 
 everywhere.'^ 
 
 Now, though I understand that tongue, I can- 
 not speak it myself, so I only said " Ja, Ja,'' and 
 followed them. 
 
 They led me up an oak stair, and through three
 
 75 
 
 or four large rooms^ crowded with officers in fine 
 uniforms^ who all bowed as I passed, and some 
 one went before us, calling out in a loud voice, 
 " Monsieur de Hoogendorp ?' 
 
 *^ This is too much honour," said I, " far too 
 much ;" but as I spoke in Dutch, no one minded 
 me. Suddenly, however, the wide folding-doors 
 were flung open, and we were ushered into a large 
 hall, where, although above a hundred people were 
 assembled, you might have heard a pin drop; the 
 few who spoke at all, did so, only in whispers. 
 
 " Monsieur de Hoogendorp !" shouted the man 
 again. 
 
 ^' For shame,^' said I ; " don^t disturb the com- 
 pany;" and I thought some of them laughed, but 
 he only bawled the louder, " Monsieur de Hoo- 
 gendorp !" 
 
 " Let him approach,^^ said a quick, sharp voice, 
 from the fire-place. 
 
 " Ah !" thought I, '' they are going to read me 
 an address. I trust it may be in Dutch." 
 
 They led me along in silence to the fire, before 
 which, with his back turned towards it, stood a 
 short man, with a sallow, stern countenance, and 
 a great, broad forehead, his hair combed straight
 
 ?6. 
 
 over it. He wore a green coat with white facings, 
 and over that a grey surtout with fur. I am par- 
 ticular about all this, because this little man was 
 a person of consequence. 
 
 " You are late. Monsieur de Hoogendorp,'^ said 
 he, in French; ^^it is half-past four;" and so 
 saying, he pulled out his watch, and held it up 
 before me. 
 
 " Ja!'^ said I, taking out my own, "we are just 
 the same time." 
 
 At this he stamped upon the ground, and said 
 something I thought v/as a curse. 
 
 ^' Where are the Echevins, monsieur ?" said he. 
 
 " God knows," said I ; " most probably at 
 dinner." 
 
 " Ventre bleu ! " 
 
 " Don't swear," said I. " If I had you in 
 Rotterdam, I'd fine you two guilders." 
 
 "What does he say?" while his eyes flashed 
 fire. "Tell La grande morue, to speak French." 
 
 "Tell him, I am not a cod-fish," said I. 
 
 " Who speaks Dutch here ?" said he. " Gene- 
 ral de Hitter, ask him where are the EchevinSf or, 
 is the man a fool ?" 
 
 " I have heard," said the General, bowing ob-
 
 ARTHUR O^LEAR " ^7 
 
 sequiously— " I have heard, your Majesty, that 
 he is little better/' 
 
 ''Tonnerre de DieuF' said he ; ^^ and this is their 
 chief magistrate ! Maret, you must look to this 
 to-morrow; and as it grows late now, let us see 
 the citadel at once; he can show us the way 
 thither, I suppose f and with this he moved for- 
 ward, followed by the rest, among whom I found 
 myself hurried along, no one any longer paving 
 me the slightest respect, or attention. 
 
 '^ To the citadel/' said one. 
 
 "To the citadel," cried another. 
 
 "Come, Hoogendorp, lead the way," cried 
 several together ; and so they pushed me to the 
 front, and, notwithstanding all I said, that I did 
 not know the citadel, from the Dome Church, 
 they would listen to nothing, but only called the 
 louder, " Step out, old ^ Grande calotte/ " and 
 hurried me down the street, at the pace of a 
 boar-hunt. 
 
 " Lead on," cried one. " To the front," said 
 another. "Step out," roared three or four toge- 
 ther ; and I found myself at the head of the pro- 
 cession, without the power to explain or confess 
 my ignoranc3.
 
 78 
 
 ^' As sure as my name is Peter van Hoogen- 
 dorp, I^ll give you all a deviPs dance/^ said I to 
 myself ; and with that^ I grasped my staff, and set 
 out as fast as I was able. Down, one narrow 
 street we went, and up, another : sometimes we 
 got into a cul de sac, where there was no exit, and 
 had to turn back again ; another time, we would 
 ascend a huge flight of steps, and come plump 
 into a tanner^s yard, or a place where they were 
 curing fish, and so, we blundered on, till there 
 wasn't a blind alley, nor crooked lane, of Ant- 
 werp, that we didn't wade through, and I was 
 becoming foot-sore, and tired, myself, with the 
 exertion. 
 
 All this time the Emperor — for it was Napoleon 
 — took no note of where we were going ; he was 
 too busy conversing with old General de Ritter, 
 to mind anything else. At last, after traversing 
 a long narrow street, we came down upon an arm 
 of the Scheldt, and so overcome was I then, that 
 I resolved I would go no further without a suioke, 
 and I sat myself down on a butter firkin, and 
 took out my pipe, and proceeded to strike a light 
 with my flint. A titter of laughter from the 
 ofiicers now attracted the Emperor's attention.
 
 79 
 
 and he stopped short, and stared at me as if I 
 had been some wonderful beast. 
 
 "What is this?'" said he. "Why don't you 
 move forward F' 
 
 '^ It's impossible/' replied I, " I never walked 
 so far, since I was born." 
 
 " Where is the citadel ?" cried he in a passion, 
 
 '^ In the devil's keeping," said I, " or we should 
 have seen it long ago." 
 
 ^' That must be it yonder," said an aide- de- 
 camp, pointing to a green, grassy eminence, at 
 the other side of the Scheldt. 
 
 The Emperor took the telescope from his hand, 
 and looked through it steadily for a couple of 
 minutes. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " that's it : but wViy have we 
 come all this round, the road lay yonder," 
 
 "Ja!"saidl, "soit did." 
 
 "Ventre bleu f roared he, while he stamped 
 his foot upon the ground, "ce gaillard se moque 
 de nous.^' 
 
 " Ja 1" said I again, without well knowing why, 
 
 " The citadel is there ! It is yonder !" cried 
 he, pointing with his finger. 
 
 " Ja !" said I once more.
 
 80 
 
 "^^^ avant! then/^ shouted he, as he motioned 
 nie to descend the flight of steps which led down 
 to the Scheldt; "if this be the road you take, 
 par Saint Denis ! you shall go first/^ 
 
 Now the frost, as I have said, had only set 
 in a few days before, and the ice on the Scheldt 
 would scarcely have borne the weight of a drum- 
 mer-boy ; so I remonstrated at once, at first in 
 Dutch, and then in French, as well as I Avas 
 able, but nobody would mind me. I then endea- 
 voured to show the danger his Majesty himself 
 would incur; but they only laughed at this, and 
 cried — 
 
 ^^ En avant, en avant toujour s^^ and before I 
 had time for another word, there was a corporaPs 
 guard behind me, with fixed bayonets ; the word 
 "march^^ was given, and out I stepped. 
 
 I tried to say a prayer, but I could think of 
 nothing but curses upon the fiends, whose shouts 
 of laughter behind put all my piety to flight. 
 When I came to the bottom step I turned round, 
 and, putting my hand to my sides, endeavoured 
 by signs to move their pity; but they only 
 screamed the louder at this, and at a signal from 
 an officer, a fellow touched me with a bayonet.
 
 
 M 
 
 m
 
 "Lj^' Q''rUvK3}im^ 
 
 ■^W/.^/ yy^//wC , :/7^^
 
 81 
 
 " That was an awful moment," said old Hoo- 
 gendorp, stopping short in his narrative, and 
 seizing the can, which for half an hour he had 
 not tasted. " I think I see the river before me 
 still, with its flakes of ice, some thick and some 
 thin, riding on each other; some whirling along 
 in the rapid current of the stream; some lying 
 like islands where the water was sluo^srish. I 
 turned round, and I clenched my fist, and I shook 
 it in the Emperor's face, and I swore by the bones 
 of the Stadth older, that if I had but one grasp ot 
 his hand, IM not perform that dance without a 
 partner. Here I stood," quoth he, ^'and the 
 Scheldt might be, as it were, there. I lifted my 
 foot thus, and came down upon a large piece of 
 floating ice, which, the moment I touched it, 
 slipped away, and shot out into the stream." 
 
 At this moment Mynheer, who had been 
 dramatizing this portion of his adventure, came 
 down upon the waxed floor, with a plump, that 
 shook the pagoda to its centre, while I, who had 
 during the narrative been working double tides at 
 the Schiedam, was so interested at the catas- 
 trophe, that I thought he was really in the 
 Scheldt, in the situation he was describing. The 
 
 VOL I. O
 
 82 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 instincts of humanity were, I am proud to say, 
 stronger in me than those of reason. I kicked 
 oiF my shoes, threw away my coat, and plunged 
 boldly after him. I remember well, catching him 
 by the throat, and I remember too, feeling, what 
 a dreadful thing was the grip of a drowning man; 
 for both his hands were on my neck, and he 
 squeezed me fearfully. Of what happened after, 
 the waiters, or the Humane Society may know 
 something: I only can tell, that I kept my bed 
 for four days, and when I next descended to 
 the table d^hdte^ I saw a large patch of black 
 sticking-plaster across the bridge of old Hoogen- 
 dorp's nose — and I never was a guest in ^^ Lust 
 und Rust^^ afterwards. 
 
 ***** 
 ***** 
 
 The loud clanking of the table d'hote bell 
 aroused me, as I lay dreaming of Frank Holbein 
 and the yellow doublet. I dressed hastily and 
 descended to the saal; everything was exactly as 
 I left it ten years before; even to the cherry- 
 wood pipe-stick that projected from Mynheer^s 
 breeches-pocket, nothing was changed. The 
 clatter of post-horses, and the heavy rattle of
 
 83 
 
 wheels drew me to the window, in time to see the 
 Alderman^s carriage with four posters, roll past; a 
 kiss of the hand was thrown me from the rumble. 
 It was the " Honourable Jack^^ himself, who 
 somehow, had won their favour, and was already 
 installed, their travelling companion. 
 
 " It is odd enough,^^ thought I, as I arranged 
 my napkin across my knee, " what success lies in 
 a well-curled whisker — particularly if the wearer 
 be a fool." 
 
 g2
 
 84 ARTHUR O LEARY. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 MEMS. AND MORALIZINGS. 
 
 He who expects to find these " Loiterings'^ of 
 mine of any service as a " Guide Book" to the 
 Continent, or a ^^ Voyager's Manual/' will be 
 sorely disappointed; as well might he endeavour 
 to devise a suit of clothes from the patches of 
 cloth scattered about a tailor's shop , there might 
 ])e, indeed, wherewithal to repair an old garment, 
 or make a pen-wiper, but no more. 
 
 My fragments, too, of every shape and colour 
 — sometimes showy and flaunting, sometimes a 
 piece of hodden-grey or linsey-wolsey — are all I 
 have to present to my friends; whatever they be 
 in shade or texture, whether fine or homespun, 
 rich in Tyrian dye, or stained with russet brown, 
 I can only say for them, they are all my own — 
 I have never " cabbaged from any man's cloth." 
 And now to abjure decimals, and talk like a unit
 
 ARTHUR O LEARY. 85 
 
 of humanity: if you would know the exact dis- 
 tance between any two towns abroad — the best 
 mode of reaching your destination — the most 
 comfortable hotel to stop at^ when you have got 
 there — who built the cathedral — who painted the 
 altar-piece — who demolished the town in the year 
 
 fifteen hundred and fiddlestick — then take 
 
 into your confidence the immortal John Murray, 
 he can tell you all these, and much more; how 
 many kreutzers make a groschen, how many 
 groschen make a gulden, reconciling you to all 
 the difficulties of travel by historic associations, 
 memoirs of people who lived before the flood, and 
 learned dissertations on the etymology of th^ 
 name of the town, which all your ingenuity can't 
 teach you how to pronounce. 
 
 Well, it's a fine thing, to be sure, when your 
 carriage breaks down in a chaussee, with holes 
 large enough to bury a dog — it's a great satisfac- 
 tion to know, that some ten thousand years pre- 
 vious, this place, that seems for all the world like 
 a mountain torrent, was a Roman way. If the inn 
 you sleep in, be infested with every annoyance to 
 which inns are liable — all that long catalogue of 
 evils, from boors to bugs — never mind, there's
 
 86 
 
 sure to be some delightful story of a bloody- 
 murder connected with its annals^ which will 
 amply repay you for all your suffering. 
 
 And now, in sober seriousness, what literary 
 fame equals John Murray's ? What portmanteau, 
 with two shirts and a night-cap, hasn^t got one 
 ^^ Hand-book ?" What Englishman issues forth 
 at morn, without one beneatlt his arm? How 
 naturally does he compare the voluble statement 
 of his valet'de-place, with the testimony of the 
 book. Does he not carry it with him to church, 
 where, if the sermon be slow, he can read a 
 description of the building ? Is it not his guide 
 at table-d^hote, teaching him, when to eat, and 
 where to abstain ? Does he look upon a building, 
 a statue, a picture, an old cabinet, or a manu- 
 script, with whose eyes does he see it? With 
 John Murray^s to be sure ! Let John tell him, 
 this town is famous for its mushrooms, why he^ll 
 eat them, till he becomes half a fungus himself; 
 let him hear that it is celebrated for its lace 
 manufactory, or its iron work — its painting on 
 glass, or its wigs; straightway he buys up 
 all he can find, only to discover, on reaching 
 home, that a London shopkeeper can under-
 
 87 
 
 sell him in the same articles, by about fifty 
 per cent. 
 
 In all this, however, John Murray is not to 
 blame ; on the contrary, it only shows his headlong 
 popularity, and the implicit trust, with which is 
 received, every statement he makes. I cannot con- 
 ceive anything more frightful than the sudden ap- 
 pearance of a work which should contradict every- 
 thing in the " Hand-book,^^ and convince English 
 people that John Murray was wrong. National 
 bankruptcy, a defeat at sea, the loss of the 
 colonies, might all be borne up against; but if we 
 awoke one morning to hear that the " Continent'^ 
 was no longer the Continent we have been accus- 
 tomed to believe it, what a terrific shock it would 
 prove. Like the worthy alderman of London, 
 who, hearing that Robinson Crusoe was only a 
 fiction, confessed he had lost one of the greatest 
 pleasures of his existence ; so, should we discover 
 that we have been robbed of an innocent and 
 delightful illusion, for which no reality of cheating 
 waiters and cursing Frenchmen, would ever 
 repay us. 
 
 Of the implicit faith with which John and his 
 " ManuaP' are received, I remember well, wit-
 
 88 
 
 nessing a pleasant instance a few years back on 
 the Rhine. 
 
 On the deck of the steamer, amid that strange 
 commingled mass of Cockneys and Dutchmen, 
 Flemish boors, German barons, bankers and 
 blacklegs, money-changers, cheese-mongers, 
 quacks, and consuls, sat an elderly couple, who, 
 as far apart from the rest of the company as cir- 
 cumstances would admit, were industriously occu- 
 pied in comparing the Continent with the "Hand- 
 book," or, in other words, were endeavouring to 
 see, if nature had dared to dissent from the true 
 type, they held in their hands. 
 
 ^^^Andernach, formerly Andernachium,^ " read 
 the old lady aloud. " Do you see it, my dear ?" 
 
 '' Yes," said the old gentleman, jumping up on 
 the bench, and adjusting his pocket telescope — 
 *^ yes," said he, " go on. I have it." 
 
 " ^ Andernach,^ " resumed she, '^ ^ is an ancient 
 
 Roman town, and has twelve towers ' " 
 
 '^ How many did you say ?" 
 
 " Twelve, my dear " 
 
 '^ Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the old gentle- 
 man ; while, with outstretched finger, he began to 
 count them, one, two, three, four, and so on till
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 89 
 
 he reached eleven^ when he came to a dead 
 stop, and then dropping his voice to a tone of 
 tremulous anxiety, he whispered, "There's one 
 a-missing/' 
 
 "You don't say so!" said the lady, "dearee 
 me, try it again." 
 
 The old gentleman shook his head, frowned 
 ominously, and recommenced the score. 
 
 "You missed the little one near the lime-kiln," 
 interrupted the lady. 
 
 " No !" said he abruptly, " that's six, there's 
 seven — eight — nine — ten — eleven — and see, not 
 another." 
 
 Upon this, the old lady mounted beside him, 
 and the enumeration began in duet fashion, but 
 try it how they would, let them take them uphill, 
 or down hill, along the Rhine first, or commence, 
 inland, it was no use, they could not make the 
 dozen of them. 
 
 "It is shameful!" said the gentleman. 
 
 "Very disgraceful, indeed!" echoed the lady, 
 as she closed the book, and crossed her hands 
 before her; while her partner's indignation took a 
 warmer turn, and he paced the deck in a state of 
 violent agitation.
 
 9Q ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 It was clear that no idea of questioning John 
 Murray^s accuracy had ever crossed their minds. 
 Far from it — the " Hand-boo V had told them 
 honestly what they were to have at Andernach — 
 " twelve towers built by the Romans/^ was part 
 of the bill of fare ; and some rascally Duke of 
 Hesse something, had evidently absconded with a 
 stray castle; they were cheated^, ^'^ bamboozled, 
 and bit/' inveigled out of their mother-country 
 under false pretences, and they ^^wouldn't stand 
 it for no one,'' and so they went about complain- 
 ing to every passenger, and endeavouring, with all 
 their eloquence, to make a national thing of it, 
 and, determined to represent the case to the 
 minister, the moment they reached Frankfort. 
 And now, as the a propos reminds me, what a 
 devil of a life an English minister has, in any part 
 of the Continent, frequented by his countrymen. 
 
 Let John Bull, from his ignorance of the 
 country, or its language, involve himself in a 
 scrape with the authorities — let him lose his 
 passport or his purse — let him forget his penknife 
 or his portmanteau; straightway he repairs to the 
 ambassador, who, in his eyes, is a cross between 
 Lord Aberdeen and a Bow-street officer. The
 
 91 
 
 minister's functions are indeed multifarious — now, 
 investigating the advantages of an international 
 treaty; now, detecting the whereabouts of a miss- 
 ing cotton umbrella; now, assigning the limits 
 of a territory; now, giving instructions on the 
 ceremony of presentation to court; now, estimat- 
 ing the fiscal relations of the navigation of a river; 
 now, appraising the price of the bridge of a 
 waiter's nose; all these pleasant and harmless 
 pursuits, so popular in London, of breaking 
 lamps, wrenching off knockers, and thrashing the 
 police, when practised abroad, require explana- 
 tion at the hands of the minister, who hesitates 
 not to account for them as national predilections, 
 like the taste for strong ale and underdone beef. 
 
 He is a proud man, indeed, who puts his foot 
 upon the Continent with that Aladdin^s lamp — a 
 letter to the ambassador. The credit of his 
 banker is, in his eyes, very inferior to that all- 
 powerful document, which opens to his excited 
 imagination the salons of royalty, the dinner- 
 table of the embassy, a private box at the opera, 
 and the attentions of the whole fashionable world; 
 and he revels in the expectation of crosses, cordons, 
 stars, and decorations — private interviews with
 
 92 
 
 royalty, ministerial audiences, and all the thousand 
 and one flatteries, which are heaped upon the 
 highest of the land. If he is single, he doesn't 
 know but he may marry a princess; if he be mar- 
 ried, he may have a daughter for some German 
 archduke, with three hussars for an army, and three 
 acres of barren mountain for a territory — ^whose 
 subjects are not so numerous as the hairs of his 
 moustache, but whose quarterings go back to 
 Noah ; and an ark on a ^^ field azure" figures in 
 his escutcheon. Well, well! of all the expecta- 
 tions of mankind these are about the vainest. 
 These foreign-ofiice documents are but Belle- 
 rophon letters, — born to betray. Let not their 
 possession dissuade you from making a weekly 
 score with your hotel-keeper, under the pleasant 
 delusion that you are to dine out, four days, out of 
 the seven. Alas and alack! the ambassador 
 doesn't keep open-house for his rapparee coun- 
 trymen: his hotel is no shelter for females, 
 destitute of any correct idea as to where they are 
 going, and why; and however strange it may 
 seem, he actually seems to think his dwelling as 
 much his own, as though it stood in Belgrave- 
 square, or Piccadilly.
 
 93 
 
 Now, John Bull has no notion of this — he 
 pays for these people — they figure in the budget, 
 and for a good round sum, too — and what do they 
 do for it? John knows little of the daily work of 
 diplomacy. A treaty, a tariff, a question of war, 
 he can understand; but the red-tapery of office, 
 he can make nothing of. Court gossip, royal 
 marriages — how his Majesty smiled at the French 
 envoy, and only grinned at the Austrian charge 
 d'affaires — how the queen spoke three minutes 
 to the Danish minister's wife, and only said "jBow 
 jour, madame,^ to the Neapolitan's — how plum- 
 pudding figured at the royal table, thus showing 
 that English policy was in the ascendant ;— all 
 these signs of the times, are a Chaldee MS. to 
 him. But that the ambassador should invite him 
 and Mrs. Simpkins, and the three Misses and 
 Master Gregory Simpkins, to take a bit of dinner 
 in the family-way — should bully the landlord at 
 the ^^Aigle," and make a hard bargain with the 
 ''Lohn-Kutcher"for him at the "Schwan" — should 
 take care that he saw the sights, and wasn't more 
 laughed at than was absolutely necessary ; — all that, 
 is comprehensible, and John expects it, as natu- 
 lally as though it was set forth in his passport.
 
 94 
 
 and sworn to by the foreign secretary, before be 
 left London. 
 
 Of all the strange anomalies of English cha- 
 racter, I don't know one so thoroughly inexpli- 
 cable as the mystery by which so really independ- 
 dent a fellow as John Bull ought to be — and as 
 he, in nineteen cases out of twenty, is, should be 
 a tuft hunter. The man who would scorn any 
 pecuniary obligation, who would travel a hundred 
 miles back, on his journey, to acquit a forgotten 
 debt — who has not a thought that is not high- 
 souled, lofty, and honourable, will stoop to any 
 thing, to be where he has no pretension to be — to 
 figure in a society, where he is any thing but at 
 his ease — unnoticed, save by ridicule. Any one 
 who has much experience of the Continent, must 
 have been struck by this. There is no trouble 
 too great, no expense too lavish, no intrigue too 
 difficult, to obtain an invitation to court, or aii 
 embassy soiree. 
 
 These embassy soirees, too, are good things m 
 their way — a kind of terrestrial inferno, where all 
 ranks and conditions of men enter — stately Prus- 
 sians, wily Frenchmen, roguish-looking Austrians, 
 stupid Danes, haughty English, swarthy, mean-
 
 95 
 
 looking Spaniards, and here and there some 
 " eternal swaggerer^' from the States, with his hair 
 " en Kentucky'^ and " a very pretty considerahle 
 damned loud smell" of tobacco about him. Then 
 there are the " grandes dames,' glittering in dia- 
 monds, and sitting in divan, and the ministers^ 
 ladies of every gradation, from plenipos' wives to 
 charge d'affaires, with their cordons of whiskered 
 attaches about them — maids of honour, aides-de- 
 camp du roi, Poles, savans, newspaper editors, 
 and a Turk. Every rank has its place in the 
 attention of the host: and he poises his civilities, 
 as though a ray the more, one shade the less, 
 would upset the balance of nations, and compro- 
 mise the peace of Europe. In that respect, 
 nothing ever surpassed the old Dutch embassy, at 
 Dresden, where the m,attre d'hotel had strict orders 
 to serve, coffee, to the ministers, eau sucree, to the 
 secretaries, and, nothing, to the attaches. No plea 
 of heat, fatigue, or exhaustion, was ever suffered 
 to infringe a rule, founded on the broadest views 
 of diplomatic rank. A cup of coffee thus became, 
 like a cordon or a star, an honourable and a proud 
 distinction; and the enviable possess or sipped 
 his Mocha, and coquetted with the spoon, with
 
 96 
 
 a sense of dignity, ordinary men know nothing 
 of in such circumstances; while the secre- 
 tary's eau sucree became a goal to the young as- 
 pirant in the career, which must have stirred 
 his early ambition, and stimulated his ardour 
 for success. 
 
 If, as some folk say, human intellect is never 
 more conspicuous, than where a high order of 
 mind can descend to some paltry, insignificant 
 circumstance, and bring to its consideration all 
 the force it possesses ; certes diplomatic people 
 must be of a no mean order of capacity. 
 
 From the question of a disputed frontier, to 
 that of a place at dinner, there is but one spring: 
 from the course of a river towards the sea, and a 
 procession to table, the practised mind bounds as 
 naturally, as though it were a hop, and a step. A 
 case in point occurred some short time since at 
 Frankfort. 
 
 The etiquette in this city gives the president of 
 the diet precedence of the different members of 
 the corps diplomatique, who, however, all take 
 rank before the rest of the diet. 
 
 The Austrian minister, who occupied the post 
 of president, being absent, the Prussian envoy
 
 97 
 
 held the office ad interim^ and believed that^ with 
 the duties, its privileges became his. 
 
 Mx Anstett, the Russian envoy, having invited 
 his colleagues to dinner, the grave question arose 
 who was to go first ? On one hand the dowager, 
 was the Minister of France, who always preceded 
 the others; on the other was the Prussian, a pro 
 tempore president, and who showed no disposition 
 to concede his pretensions. 
 
 The important moment arrived — the door was 
 flung wide; and an imposing voice proclaimed — 
 '^Madame la Baronne est servie.^' Scarce were 
 the words spoken, when the Prussian sprang 
 forward, and, offering his arm gallantly to 
 Madame d^Anstett, led the way, before the 
 Frenchman had time to look around him. 
 
 When the party were seated at table, M.. 
 d^Anstett looked about him in a state of embar- 
 rassment and uneasiness: then, suddenly rallying, 
 he called out in a voice audible throughout the 
 whole room — "Serve the soup to the Minister of 
 France first P^ The order was obeyed, and the 
 French minister had lifted his third spoonful to 
 his lips before the humbled Prussian had tasted 
 his. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 
 
 The next day saw couriers flying, extra post 
 through all Europe, conveying the important 
 intelligence, that when all other precedence failed, 
 soup, might he resorted to, to test rank and 
 supremacy. 
 
 And now enough for the present of ministers 
 ordinary and extraordinary, envoys and plenipos ; 
 though I intend to come back to them at another 
 opportunity.
 
 99 
 
 Chapter V. 
 ANTWERP— ^^ THE FISCHER^S HAUS/^ 
 
 It was through no veneration for the memory 
 of Van Hoogendorp^s adventure, that I found 
 myself one morning at Antwerp. I like the old 
 town : I like its quaint, irregular streets, its glo- 
 rious cathedral, the old '^ Place," with its alleys of 
 trees; I like the Flemish women, and their long- 
 eared caps ; and I like the table d'hote at the " St. 
 Antoine" — among other reasons, because, being at 
 one o'clock, it affords a capital argument for a hot 
 supper, at nine, 
 
 I do not know how other people may feel, but 
 to me, I must confess, much of the pleasure the 
 Continent affords me, is destroyed by the jargon 
 of the '^ Commissionnaires" and the cant of guide- 
 books. Why is not a man permitted to sit down 
 before that great picture, " The Descent from the 
 Cross," and " gaze his fill" on it ? Why may he 
 
 h2
 
 100 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 not look till the whole scene becomes, as it were, 
 acting before him, and all those faces of grief, 
 of care, of horror, and despair, are graven in his 
 memory, never to be erased again ? Why, I say, 
 may he not study this in tranquillity and peace, 
 without some coarse, tobacco-reeking fellow, at 
 his elbow, in a dirty blouse and wooden shoes, 
 explaining, in patois French, the merits of a 
 work, which he is as well fitted to paint, as to 
 appreciate. 
 
 But I must must not myself commit the very 
 error I am reprobating. I will not attempt any 
 description of a picture, which, to those who have 
 seen it, could realize not one of the impressions 
 the work itself afforded, and to those who have 
 not, would convey nothing at all. I will not bore 
 my reader with the tiresome cant of ^^ effect,^^ 
 " expression,'^ " force,'' " depth," and " relief," 
 but, instead of all this, will tell him a short story 
 about the painting, which, if it has no other merit, 
 has at least that of authenticity. 
 
 Rubens — who, among his other tastes, was a 
 great florist — was very desirous to enlarge his 
 garden, by adding to it a patch of ground ad- 
 joining. It chanced unfortunately, that this piece
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 101 
 
 of land did not belong to an individual who could 
 be tempted by a large price, but to a society or 
 club called the " Arquebussiers/^ one of those old 
 Flemish guilds, which date their origin several 
 centuries back. Insensible to every temptation 
 of money, they resisted all the painter's offers, 
 and at length only consented to relinquish the 
 land on condition that he would paint a picture 
 for them, representing their patron saint, St, 
 Christopher. To this, Rubens readily acceded, 
 his only difficulty being to find out some incident 
 in the good saint^s life, which might serve as a 
 subject. What St. Christopher had to do with 
 cross-bows or sharp-shooters, no one could tell 
 him; and for many a long day he puzzled his 
 mind, without ever being able to hit upon a solu- 
 tion of the difficulty. At last, in despair, the 
 etymology of the word suggested a plan; and 
 " christopheros,*' or cross-bearer, afforded the 
 hint on which he began his great picture of " The 
 Descent.^' For months long, he worked industri- 
 ously at the painting, taking an interest in its 
 details, such as he confesses never to have felt in 
 any of his previous works. He knew it to be his 
 chef'd'omvre, and looked forward, with a natural
 
 102 
 
 eagerness, to the moment when he should display 
 it before its future possessors, and receive their 
 congratulations on his success. 
 
 The day came; the "Arquebuss^^ men assem- 
 bled, and repaired in a body to Rubens' house; 
 the large folding shutters which concealed the 
 painting were opened, and the triumph of the 
 painter's genius was displayed before them: but 
 not a word was spoken; no exclamation of admi- 
 ration, or wonder, broke from the assembled 
 throng; not a murmur of pleasure, or even 
 surprise was there: on the contrary, the artist 
 beheld nothing but faces expressive of disap- 
 pointment, and dissatisfaction; and at length, 
 after a considerable pause, one question burst 
 from every lip — ^' Where is St. Christopher ?'^ 
 
 It was to no purpose he explained the object of 
 his work: in vain he assured them, that the picture 
 was the greatest he had ever painted, and far 
 superior to what he had contracted to give them. 
 They stood obdurate, and motionless : it was St. 
 Christopher they washed for ; it was for him they 
 bargained, and him, they would have. 
 
 The altercation continued long, and earnest. 
 Some of them, more moderate, hoping to conci-
 
 103 
 
 liate both parties, suggested that, as there was a 
 small space unemployed in the left of the paint- 
 ing, St. Christopher could be introduced, there, by 
 making him somewhat diminutive. Rubens re- 
 jected the proposal with disgust: his great work 
 was not to be destroyed by such an anomaly as 
 this : and so, breaking off the negotiation at 
 once, he dismissed the " Arquebuss^^ men, and re- 
 linquished all pretension to the " promised land.^^ 
 
 Matters remained for some months thus, when 
 the burgomaster, who was an ardent admirer of 
 Rubens' genius, came to hear the entire transac- 
 tion ; and, waiting on the painter, suggested an 
 expedient by which every difficulty might be 
 avoided, and both parties rest content. "Why 
 not,'' said he," make a St. Christopher on the 
 outside of the shutter ? You have surely space 
 enough there, and can make him of any size you 
 like." The artist caught at the proposal, seized 
 his chalk, and in a few minutes sketched out, a 
 gigantic saint, which the burgomaster at once 
 pronounced suited to the occasion. 
 
 The " Arquebuss " men were again introduced ; 
 and, immediately on beholding their patron, pro- 
 fessed themselves perfectly satisfied. The bar-
 
 104 
 
 gain was concluded, the land ceded, and the 
 picture hung up in the great cathedral of Ant- 
 werp, where, with the exception of the short 
 period that French spoliation carried it to the 
 Louvre, it has remained ever since, a monument 
 of the artist\s genius, the greatest and most 
 finished of all his works. And now that I have 
 done my story, I'll try and find out that little 
 quaint hotel they call the " Fischer's Haus." 
 
 Fifteen years ago, I remember losing my way 
 one night in the streets of Antwerp. I couldn't 
 speak a word of Flemish : the few people I met 
 couldn't understand a word of French. I wan- 
 dered about, for full two hours, and heard the old 
 cathedral clock play a psalm tune, and the St. 
 Joseph tried its hand on another. A watchman 
 cried the hour through a cow's horn, and set all 
 the dogs a-barking ; and then all was still again, 
 and I plodded along, without the faintest idea of 
 the points of the compass. 
 
 In this moody frame of mind I was, when the 
 heavy clank of a pair of sabots, behind, apprised 
 me that some one was following. I turned 
 iharply about, and accosted him in French. 
 
 '^ English r" said he, in a thick, guttural tone.
 
 ARTHUR O LEARY. 105 
 
 " Yes^ thank heaven/^ said !_, ^^ do you speak 
 English r' 
 
 " JsL, Mynheer,,^^ answered he. 
 
 Though this reply didn^t promise very favour- 
 ably, I immediately asked him to guide me to my 
 hotel, upon which he shook his head gravely, and 
 said nothing. 
 
 "Don^t you speak English V' said I. 
 
 " Ja !" said he once more. 
 
 " Pve lost my way/^ cried I ; " I am a 
 stranger.'^ 
 
 He looked at me doggedly for a minute or 
 two, and then^ with a stern gravity of manner, 
 and a phlegm, I cannot attempt to convey, he 
 said — 
 
 ^'^ D n my eyes V' 
 
 " What V' said I, '' do you mean ?" 
 
 " Ja ?' was the only reply. 
 
 " If you know English, why won't you speak 
 it?" 
 
 ^^D n /«5 eyes !" said he with a deep so- 
 lemn tone. 
 
 ^^ Is that all you know of the language ?" cried 
 I, stamping with impatience. '^ Can you say no 
 more than that ?"
 
 106 
 
 "D n your eyes V ejaculated he, with as 
 
 much composure, as though he were maintaining 
 an earnest conversation. 
 
 When I had sufficiently recovered from the 
 hearty fit of laughter this colloquy occasioned 
 me, I began by signs, such as melo-dramatic 
 people make to express sleep, placing my head in 
 the hollow of my hand, snoring and yawning, to 
 represent, that I stood in need of a bed. 
 
 " Ja \" cried my companion with more energy 
 than before, and led the way down one narrow 
 street and up another, traversing lanes, where two 
 men could scarcely go abreast, until at length we 
 reached a branch of the Scheldt, along which, we 
 continued for above twenty minutes. Suddenly 
 the sound of voices shouting a species of Dutch 
 tune — for so its unspeakable words, and wooden 
 turns, bespoke it — apprised me, that we were near 
 a house where the people were yet astir. 
 
 "Ha \" said I, "this a hotel then.'' 
 
 Another "JaP' 
 
 "What do they call it?'' 
 
 A shake of the head. 
 
 " That will do, good night," said I, as I saw 
 the bright lights gleaming from the small dia-
 
 107 
 
 mond panes of an old Flemish window ; " I am 
 much obliged to you/^ 
 
 '^ D n your eyes '/' said my friend^ taking 
 
 off his hat politely^ and making me a low bow, 
 while he added something in Flemish^ which I 
 sincerely trust was of a more polite and compli- 
 mentary import^ than his parting benediction in 
 English. 
 
 As I turned from the Flemings I entered a 
 narrow hall^ which led by a low-arched door into 
 a large room, along which, a number of tables were 
 placed, each, crowded by its own party who clinked 
 their cans and vociferated a chorus, which, from 
 constant repetition rings, still in my memory — 
 
 " Wenn die wein ist in die mann, 
 Der weisdheid den ist in die kan." 
 
 or in the vernacular — 
 
 " When the wine is in the man, 
 Then is the wisdom in the can." 
 
 A sentiment, which a very brief observation of 
 their faces, induced me perfectly to concur in. 
 Over the chimney-piece, an inscription was 
 painted in letters of about a foot long " Hier 
 verkoopt man Bier,^^ implying, what a very cur- 
 sory observation might have conveyed to any
 
 108 
 
 one, even on the evidence of his nose, — that beer 
 was a very attainable fluid in the establishment. 
 The floor was sanded, and the walls white- 
 washed, save where some pictorial illustrations of 
 Flemish habits were displayed in black chalk, or 
 the smoke of a candle. 
 
 As I stood, uncertain whether to advance or 
 retreat, a large portly Fleming, with a great waist- 
 coat, made of the skin of some beast, eyed me 
 steadfastly from head to foot, and then, as if 
 divining my embarrassment, beckoned me to ap- 
 proach, and pointed to a seat on the bench beside 
 him. I was not long in availing myself of his 
 politeness, and before a half an hour elapsed, 
 found myself with a brass can of beer, about 
 eighteen inches in height, before me ; while I was 
 smoking away as though I had been born within 
 the '^ dykes," and never knew the luxury of dry 
 land. 
 
 Around the table sat some seven or eight 
 others, whose phlegmatic look and sententious 
 aspect, convinced me, they were Flemings. At 
 the far end, however, was one, whose dark eyes, 
 flashing beneath heavy shaggy eyebrows, huge 
 whiskers, and bronzed complexion, distinguished
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY, 109 
 
 him sufficiently from the rest. He appeared^ too^ 
 to have something of respect paid him^ inasmuch 
 as the others invariably nodded to him^ whenever 
 they lifted their cans to their mouths. He wore 
 a low far cap on his head, and his dark blue frock 
 was trimmed also with fur, and slashed with a 
 species of braiding, like an undress uniform. 
 
 Unlike the rest, he spoke a great deal, not only 
 to his own party, but maintaining a conversation 
 with various others through the room — some- 
 times speaking French, then Dutch, and occa- 
 sionally changing to German, or Italian, with all 
 which tongues he appeared so familiar, that I was 
 fairly puzzled to what country to attribute him. 
 
 I could mark at times that he stole a sly glance 
 over, towards where I was sitting, and, more than 
 once, I thought I observed him watching what 
 effect his voluble powers as a linguist, was pro- 
 ducing upon me. At last our eyes met, he smiled 
 politely, and taking up the can before him, he 
 bowed, saying, " A voire sante, monsieur,'' 
 
 I acknowledged the compliment at once, and 
 seizing the opportunity, begged to know, of what 
 land so accomplished a linguist was a native. 
 His face brightened up at once, a certain smile of
 
 110 
 
 self-satisfied triumph passed over his features, he 
 smacked his lips, and then poured out a torrent 
 of strange sounds, which, from their accent, I 
 guessed to be Russian. 
 
 " Do you speak Sclavonic V' said he in French; 
 and as I nodded a negative, he added — ^' Spanish, 
 — Portuguese ?" 
 
 " Neither,'^ said I. 
 
 " Where do you come from then ?^^ asked he, 
 retorting my question. 
 
 ^^ Ireland, if you may have heard of such a 
 place/' 
 
 ^^ Hurroo 1'^ cried he, with a yell that made the 
 room start with amazement. ^^ By the powers ! I 
 thought so ; come up my hearty, and give me a 
 shake of your hand/' 
 
 If I were astonished before, need I say how I 
 felt now. 
 
 " And are you really a countryman of mine ?" 
 said I, as I took my seat beside him. 
 
 " Faith, I believe so. Con O'Kelly, does not 
 sound very hke Italian, and that's my name, any 
 how; but wait a bit, they're calling on me for a 
 Dutch song, and when I've done, we'll have a 
 chat together.
 
 Ill 
 
 A very uproarious clattering of brass and pew- 
 ter cans on the tables, announced that the 
 company was becoming impatient for Mynheer 
 O^Kelly^s performance, which he immediately 
 began; but of either the words or air, I can 
 render no possible account, I only know, there 
 was a kind of refrain or chorus, in which, all, 
 round each table, took hands, and danced a 
 '^ grand round,^^ making the most diabolical clat- 
 ter with wooden shoes, I ever listened to. After 
 which, the song seemed to subside into a low 
 droning sound, implying sleep. The singer nod- 
 ded his head, the company followed the example, 
 and a long heavy note, like snoring, was heard 
 through the room, when suddenly, with a hiccup, 
 he awoke, the others also, and then the song 
 broke out once more, in all its vigour, to end 
 as before, in another dance, an exercise in which 
 I certainly fared worse than my neighbours, who 
 tramped on my corns without mercy, leaving it a 
 very questionable fact how far his " pious, glori- 
 ous, and immortal memory^^ was to be respected, 
 who had despoiled my country of ^^ wooden 
 
 shoes," when walking oiF with its brass money. 
 The melody over, Mr. O^Kelly proceeded to
 
 112 
 
 question me somewhat minutelyj as to how I had 
 chanced upon this house, which was not known 
 to many, even of the residents of Antwerp. 
 
 I briefly explained to him the circumstances 
 which led me to my present asylum, at which he 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 *^ You don^t know, then, where you are r^' said 
 he, looking at me, with a droll half-suspicious 
 smile. 
 
 " No; it's a Schenk Haus, I suppose," replied I. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, it is a Schenk Haus, but it's 
 the resort only of smugglers, and those connected 
 with their traffic. Every man about you, and 
 there are, as you see, some seventy or eighty, are 
 all, either sea-faring folks, or landsmen associated 
 with them, in contraband trade." 
 
 " But how is this done so openly? the house is 
 surely known to the police." 
 
 " Of course, and they are well paid for taking 
 no notice of it." 
 
 ^^ And you?" 
 
 " Me ! Well, / do a little that way too, though 
 it's only a branch of my business. I'm only Dirk 
 Hatteraik, when I come down to the coast: then 
 you know a man doesn't like to be idle; so that
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 113 
 
 when Fm liere^, or on the Bretagny shore, I 
 generally mount the red cap, and buckle on the 
 cutlass, just to keep moving; as when I go inland, 
 I take an occasional turn with the gypsy folk in 
 Bohemia, or their brethren, in the Basque pro- 
 vinces: nothing like being up to every thing — 
 that's, my way/' 
 
 I confess I was a good deal surprised at my 
 companion's account of himself, and not over 
 impressed with the rigour of his principles; but 
 my curiosity to know more of him, became so 
 much the stronger. 
 
 ^^ Well," said I, " you seem to have a jolly life 
 of it; and, certainly a healthful one." 
 
 " Aye, that it is," replied he quickly. " I've 
 more than once thought of going back to Kerry, 
 and living quietly for the rest of my days, for I 
 could aflford it w^ell enough; but, somehow, the 
 thought of staying in one place, talking always to 
 the same set of people, seeing every day the same 
 sights, and hearing the same eternal little gossip 
 about little things, and little folk, was too much 
 for me, and so I stuck to the old trade, which I 
 suppose I'll not give up now as long as I live." 
 
 " And what may that be ?" asked I, curious to 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 
 
 know how he filled up moments snatched from 
 the agreeable pursuits he had already mentioned. 
 
 He eyed me with a shrewd, suspicious look, for 
 'above a minute, and then, laying his hand on my 
 arm, said — 
 
 " Where do you put up at, here in Antwerp?'* 
 
 ^^The^St. Antoine/'" 
 
 "Well, I'll come over for you to-morrow 
 evening about nine o'clock; you're not engaged, 
 are you ?" 
 
 " No, I've no acquaintance here." 
 
 " At nine, then, be ready, and you'll come and 
 take a bit of supper with me; and, in exchange 
 for your news of the old country, I'll tell you 
 something of my career." 
 
 I readily assented to a proposal which promised 
 to make me better acquainted with one evidently 
 a character; and after half an hour's chatting, I 
 arose. 
 
 "You're not going away, are you?" said he. 
 "Well, I can't leave this yet; so I'll just send a 
 boy, to show you the way to the ' St. Antony.'" 
 
 With that, he beckoned to a lad at one of the 
 tables, and addressing a few words in Flemish to 
 him, he shook me warmly by the hand: the whole
 
 115 
 
 room rose respectfully as I took my leave, and I 
 could see, that " Mr. O'Kelly's friend/^ stood in 
 no small estimation with the company. 
 
 The day was just breaking when I reached my 
 hotel ; but I knew I could poach on the daylight 
 for what the dark had robbed me; and^ besides, 
 my new acquaintance promised to repay the loss 
 of a night^s sleep, should it even come to that. 
 
 Punctual to his appointment, my newly-made 
 friend knocked at my door exactly as the cathe- 
 dral was chimin ST for nine o^clock. His dress 
 was considerably smarter than on the preceding 
 evening:, and his whole air and bearing bespoke a 
 degree of quiet decorum and reserve, very different 
 from his free-and-easy carriage in the " Fischer^s 
 Haus.^^ As I accompanied him through the 
 porte-cochere, we passed the landlord, who saluted 
 us with much politeness, shaking my companion 
 by the hand, like an old friend. 
 
 '^ You are acquainted here, I see,^^ said I. 
 
 " There are few landlords from Lubeck to Leg- 
 horn I don^t know by this time,^^ was the reply, 
 and he smiled as he spoke. 
 
 A caleche with one horse, was waiting for us 
 without, and into this we stepped. The driver 
 
 I 2
 
 116 
 
 had got his directions^ and plying his whip 
 briskly, we rattled over the paved streets, and 
 passing through a considerable part of the town, 
 arrived at last at one of the gates. Slowly cross- 
 ing the draw-bridge at a walk, we set out again at 
 a trot, and soon I could perceive, through the 
 half light, that we had traversed the suburbs, and 
 were entering the open country. 
 
 ^'^ We've not far to go now,'' said my com- 
 panion, who seemed to suspect that I was medi- 
 tating over the length of the way; "where you 
 see the lights yonder— that's our ground." 
 
 The noise of the wheels over the pave soon 
 after ceased, and I found we were passing across a 
 grassy lawn in front of a large house, which, even 
 by the twilight, I could detect was built in the 
 old Flemish taste. A square tower flanked one 
 extremity, and from the upper part of this, the 
 light gleamed, to which my companion pointed. 
 
 We descended from the carriage, at the foot of 
 a long terrace, which, though dilapidated and 
 neglected, bore still some token of its ancient 
 splendour. A stray statue, here and there, re- 
 mained, to mark its former beauty, while, close 
 bv, the hissing splash of water told that a jet
 
 117 
 
 dj'eau was playing away, unconscious that its 
 river gods, dolphins, and tritons, had long since 
 departed. 
 
 "A fine old place once/^ said my new friend; 
 "the old chateau of Overghem — one of the richest 
 seignories of Flanders in its day — sadly changed 
 now; but come, follow me/^ 
 
 So saying, he led the way into the hall, where 
 detaching a rude lantern that was hung against 
 the wall, he ascended the broad oak stairs. 
 
 I could trace, by the fitful gleam of the light, 
 that the walls had been painted in fresco, the 
 architraves of the windows and doors being richly 
 carved, in all the grotesque extravagance of old 
 Flemish art; a gallery, which traversed the build- 
 ing, was hung with old pictures, apparently 
 family portraits, but they were all either destroyed 
 by damp or rotting with neglect; at the extre- 
 mity of this, a narrow stair conducted us by a 
 winding ascent to the upper story of the tower, 
 where, for the first time, my companion had re- 
 course to a key; with this, he opened a low, 
 pointed door, and ushered me into an apartment, 
 at which, I could scarcely help expressing my sur- 
 prise, aloud, as I entered.
 
 118 
 
 The room was of small dimensions, but seemed 
 actually, the boudoir of a palace. Rich cabinets 
 in buhl, graced the walls, brilliant in all the 
 splendid costliness of tortoise-shell and silver 
 inlaying; bronzes of the rarest kind; pictures; 
 vases; curtains of gorgeous damask covered the 
 windows; and a chimney-piece of carved black 
 oak, representing a pilgrimage, presented a depth 
 of perspective, and a beauty of design, beyond 
 any thing I had ever witnessed. The floor was 
 covered with an old tapestry of Oudenarde, spread 
 over a heavy Persian rug, into which the feet 
 sank at every step, while a silver lamp, of antique 
 mould, threw a soft, mellow light, around, revolv- 
 ing on an axis, whose machinery played a slow 
 but soothing melody, delightfully in harmony with 
 all about. 
 
 ^^You like this kind of thing,^^ said my com- 
 panion, who watched, with evident satisfaction, 
 the astonishment and admiration, with which I 
 regarded every object around me. " That's a 
 pretty bit of carving there — that was done by 
 Van Zoost, from a design of Schneider's; see how 
 the lobsters are crawling over the tangled sea- 
 weed there, and look how the leaves seem to fall
 
 im 
 
 heavy and flaccid, as if wet with spray. This is 
 good, too; it was painted by Gherard Dow: it is 
 a portrait of himself; he is making a study of that 
 little boy who stands there on the table; see how 
 he has disposed the light, so as to fall on the 
 little fellow's side, tipping him from the yellow 
 curls of his round bullet head, to the angle of his 
 white sabot. 
 
 "Yes, you're right, that is by Van Dyk; only a 
 sketch to be sure, but has all his manner. I like 
 the Velasquez yonder better, but they both pos- 
 sess the same excellence. They, could represent 
 birth. Just see that dark fellow there, he's no 
 beauty you^ll say, but regard him closely, and teD 
 me, if he's one to take a liberty with; look at his 
 thin, clenched Up, and that long thin, pointed 
 chin, with its straight stiff beard — can there be a 
 doubt he was a gentleman^ Take care, gently, 
 your elbow grazed it. That, is a specimen of the 
 old Japan china — a lost art now, they cannot pro- 
 duce the blue colour, you see there, running into 
 green. See, the flowers are laid on after the cup 
 is baked, and the birds are a separate thing after 
 all ; but come, this is, perhaps, tiresome work to 
 you, follow me,"
 
 120 
 
 Notwithstanding my earnest entreaty to remain, 
 he took me by the arm, and opening a small 
 door, covered by a mirror, led me into another 
 room, the walls and ceiling of which were in dark 
 oak wainscot ; a single picture occupied the space 
 above the chimney, to which, however, I gave 
 little attention, my eyes being fixed upon a most 
 appetizing supper, which figured on a small table 
 in the middle of the room. Not even the savoury 
 odour of the good dishes, or my host^s entreaty to 
 begin, could turn me from the contemplation of 
 the antique silver covers, carved in the richest 
 fashion. The handles of the knives were fa- 
 shioned into representations of saints and angels, 
 and the costly ruby glasses, of Venetian origin, 
 were surrounded with cases of gold filagree, of the 
 most delicate and beautiful character. 
 
 '' We must be our own attendants,**^ said the 
 host. "What have you there? Here are some 
 Ostende oysters, '^en matelotf' that is a small 
 capon truffe ; and, here are some cutlets '^ aux 
 points d^aspergeP But let us begin, and explore as 
 we proceed ; a glass of Chablis, with your oysters ; 
 "what a pity these Burgundy wines are inaccessible 
 to you in England ! Chablis, scarcely bears the
 
 121 
 
 sea, of half a dozen bottles, one, is drinkable ; 
 the same of the red wines; and what is there so 
 generous? not that we are to despise our old 
 friend. Champagne ; and now that youVe helped 
 yourself to a pate, let's us have a bumper. By- 
 the-bye, have they abandoned that absurd notion 
 they used to have in England about Champagne? 
 when I was there, they never served it during the 
 first course. Now Champagne should come, im- 
 mediately after your soup — your glass of Sherry 
 or Madeira, is a holocaust oifered up to bad 
 cookery; for if the soup were safe, Chablis or 
 Sauterne is your fluid. How is the capon ? good, 
 I'm glad of it. These countries excel in their 
 poulardes'^ 
 
 In this fashion my companion ran on, accom- 
 panying each plate with some commentary on its 
 history, or concoction; a kind of dissertation, I 
 must confess, I have no manner of objection to, 
 especially, when delivered by a host who illus- 
 trates his theorem, not by ^'^ plates" but 
 " dishes.'' 
 
 Supper over, we wheeled the table to the 
 wall ; and drawing forward another, on wliich the 
 wine and desert were already laid out, prepared
 
 122 
 
 to pass a pleasant and happy evening, in all 
 form. 
 
 " Worse countries than Holland, Mr. O'Leary," 
 said my companion, as he sipped his Burgundy, 
 and looked with ecstasy at the rich colour of the 
 wine through the candle. 
 
 " When seen thus,^^ said I, ^^ I don't know its 
 equal.'^ 
 
 *' Why, perhaps this is rather a favourable spe- 
 cimen of a smuggler's cave/' replied he, laughing. 
 ^^ Better than old Dirk's, eh ? By-the-bye, do you 
 know, Scott?" 
 
 ^^No; I am sorry to say that I am not ac- 
 quainted with him." 
 
 ^' What the devil could have led him into such 
 a blunder as to make Hatteraik, a regular Dutch- 
 man, sing a German song ? Why, ^ Ich Bin 
 liederlich' is good Hoch-Deutsch, and Saxon to 
 boot. A Hollander, might just as weU have 
 chanted modern Greek, or Coptic. I'll wager 
 you that Rubens there, over the chimney, against 
 a crown- piece, you'll not find a Dutchman, from 
 Dort to Nimegen, could repeat the lines, that he 
 has made a regular national song of; and again, in 
 Quentin Durward, he has made all the Liege folk
 
 123 
 
 speak German. That, was even a worse mistake. 
 Some of them speak French; but the nation, the 
 people, are Walloons, and have as much idea of 
 German as a Hottentot has, of the queen of hearts. 
 Never mind, he^s a glorious fellow for all that, 
 and here's his health. When will Ireland have 
 his equal, to chronicle her feats of field and flood, 
 and make her land as classic, as Scott has done 
 his own ?' 
 
 While we rambled on, chatting of all that came 
 uppermost, the wine passed freely across the 
 narrow table, and the evening wore on. My 
 curiosity to know more of one, who, on whatever 
 he talked, seemed thoroughly informed, grew 
 gradually more and more; and at last I ventured 
 to remind him, that he had half promised me the 
 previous evening, to let me hear something of his 
 own history. 
 
 "No, no,'' said he laughing; "storytelling is 
 poor work for the teller and the listener too; and 
 when a man^s tale has not even brought a moral 
 to himself, it's scarcely likely, to be more generous 
 towards his neighbour." 
 
 " Of course," said I, " I have no claim, as a 
 stranger "
 
 124 
 
 " Oh, as to ihdit" interrupted he, " somehow 
 I feel as though we were longer acquainted. 
 I've seen much of the world, and know by this 
 time that some men begin to know each other 
 from the starting post — others never do, though 
 they travel a life long together; — so that on that 
 score, no modesty. If you care for my story, fill 
 your glass, and let's open another flask, and here 
 it's for you, though I warn you beforehand the 
 narrative is somewhat of the longest.'^
 
 125 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 MR. O'KELLY^S TALE. 
 
 " I CAN tell you but little about my family/^ said 
 my host, stretching out his legs to the fire, and 
 crossing his arms easily before him. " My grand- 
 father was in the Austrian service, and killed in 
 some old battle with the Turks. My father, 
 Peter O^Kelly, was shot in a duel by an attorney 
 from Youghal. Something about nailing his ear 
 to the pump, I've heard tell was the cause of the 
 row; for he came down to my father's, with a 
 writ, or a process, or something of the kind. No 
 matter — the thief had pluck in him; and when 
 Peter — my father that was — told him, he'd make 
 a gentleman of him, and fight him, if he'd give 
 up the bill of costs ; why the temptation was too 
 strong to resist ; he pitched the papers into the 
 fire, went out the same morning, and faith he put 
 in his bullet, as fair, as if he was used to the per-
 
 126 
 
 formance. I was only a child then, ten or eleven 
 years old^ and so I remember nothing of the par- 
 ticulars ; but I was packed off the next day to an 
 old aunt^s^ a sister of my father's, who resided in 
 the town of Tralee. 
 
 " Well, to be sure, it was a great change for 
 me, young as I was, from Castle O^Kelly to Aunt 
 Judy's. At home, there was a stable full of 
 horses, a big house, generally full of company, 
 and the company as full of fun ; we had a pack 
 of harriers, went out twice or thrice a week, 
 plenty of snipe-shooting, and a beautiful race- 
 course was made round the lawn : and though I 
 wasn't quite of an age to join in these pleasures 
 myself, I had a lively taste for them all, and 
 reUshed the free-and-easy style of my father's 
 house, without any unhappy forebodings, that the 
 amusements there practised would end in leaving 
 me a beggar. 
 
 " Now, my Aunt Judy lived in what might be 
 called, a state of painfully- elegant poverty. Her 
 habitation was somewhat more capacious than a 
 house in a toy-shop ; but then it had all the usual 
 attributes of a house. There was a hall-door, 
 and two windows, and a chimney, and a brass
 
 127 
 
 Icnocker^ and^ I believe^ a scraper; and within, 
 t ere were three little rooms, about the dimen^ 
 sions of a mail-coach^ each. I think I see the 
 little parlour before me, now this minute ; there 
 was a miniature of my father in a red coat over the 
 chimney, and two screens painted by my aunt — 
 landscapes, I am told, they were once ; but time 
 and damp had made them look something like 
 the moon seen through a bit of smoked glass; 
 and .there were fire-irons as bright as day, for 
 they never performed any other duty than stand- 
 ing on guard beside the grate, — a kind of royal 
 beef-eaters, kept for show; and there was a little 
 table covered with shells and minerals, bits of 
 coral, conchs, and cheap curiosities of that nature, 
 and over them, again, was a stuffed macaw. 
 Oh, dear ! I see it all before me, and the little 
 tea-service, that if the beverage had been vitriol, 
 a cup full couldn^t have harmed you. There 
 were four chairs; — human ingenuity couldn't 
 smuggle in a fifth. There was one for Father 
 Donnellan, another for Mrs. Brown, the post 
 mistress, another for the barrack-master. Captain 
 Dwyer, the fourth for my aunt herself; but then 
 no more were wanted. Nothing but real gen-
 
 128 
 
 tility^ the ^ ould Irish blood/ would be received 
 by Miss Judy; and if the post-mistress wasn't 
 fourteenth cousin to somebody, who was aunt to 
 Phelim O'Brien, who was hanged for some hu- 
 mane practice towards the English in former 
 times, the devil a cup of bohea she'd have tasted 
 there ! The priest was ex officio^ but Captain 
 Dwyer was a gentleman, born and bred. His 
 great-grandfather had an estate; the last three 
 generations had lived on the very reputation of 
 its once being in the family : ^ they weren't up- 
 starts, no, sorrow bit of it ;' ' when they had it 
 they spent it,' and so on, were the current expres- 
 sions concerning them. Faith I will say, that in 
 my time, in Ireland — I don't know how it may 
 be now — the aroma of a good property stood to 
 the descendants long after the substance had left 
 them; and if they only stuck fast to the place 
 where the family had once been great, it took at 
 least a couple of generations before they need 
 think of looking out for a livelihood. 
 
 "Aunt Judy's revenue was something like 
 eighty pounds a year ; but in Tralee she was not 
 measured by the rule of the ^income tax.' 
 ^ Wasn't she own sister to Peter O'Kelly of the
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 129 
 
 Castle; dida't Brien O'Kelly call at the house when 
 he was canvassing for the member^ and leave his 
 card ;' and wasn't the card displayed on the little 
 mahogany table every evening, and wiped and 
 put by, every morning, for fifteen years ; and sure 
 the O'Kellys had their own burial ground, the 
 ' O'Kelly's pound,' as it was called, being a square 
 spot inclosed within a wall, and employed for all 
 ^trespassers' of the family, within death's domain. 
 Here was gentility enough in all conscience, even 
 had the reputation of her evening parties not 
 been the talk of the town. These were certainly 
 exclusive enough, and consisted as I have told 
 you. 
 
 " Aunt Judy loved her rubber, and so did her 
 friends; and eight o'clock every evening saw 
 the little party assembled at a game of ^ longs/ 
 for penny points. It was no small compliment 
 to the eyesight of the players, that they could 
 distinguish the cards ; for with long use they had 
 become dimmed and indistinct. The queens, had 
 contracted a very tatterdemalion look, and the 
 knaves, had got a most vagabond expression for 
 want of their noses, not to speak of other diffi- 
 culties in dealing, which certainly required an 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 
 
 expert hand^ all the corners having long disap- 
 peared^ leaving the operation something like 
 playing at quoits. 
 
 ^^The discipline of such an establishment^ I 
 need scarcely say^ was very distasteful to me. I 
 was seldom suffered to go beyond the door^ more 
 rarely stilly alone : my whole amusement consisted 
 in hearing about the ancient grandeur of the 
 O'Kellys^ and listening to a very prosy history 
 of certain martyrs^ not one of whom I didn't 
 envy in my heart ; while in the evening I slept 
 beneath the whist-table^ being too much afraid of 
 ghosts to venture up stairs to bed. 
 
 " It was on one of those evenings, when the 
 party were assembled as usual; some freak of 
 mine — ^I fear I was a rebellious subject — was 
 being discussed between the deals, it chanced 
 that by some accident I was awake, and heard 
 the colloquy. 
 
 " ^ 'Tis truth I'm telling you, ma'am/ quoth my 
 aunt, ^ you'd think he was mild as milk, and there 
 isn't a name for the wickedness in him.' 
 
 " ' When I was in the Buifs there was a fellow 
 of the name of Clancy ' 
 
 " ^Play a spade, captain,' said the priest, who
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 131 
 
 had no common horror of the story^ he had heard 
 every evening for twenty years. 
 
 ^'^And did he really put the kitten into the 
 oven ?' inquired Mrs. Brown. 
 
 (i i Worse than that — he brought in Healy's 
 buck goat yesterday, and set him opposite 
 the looking-glass, and the beast, thinking he saw 
 another, opposite him, bolted straightforward, 
 and, my dear, he stuck his horns through the 
 middle of it. There isn^t a piece as big as the 
 ace of diamonds/ '^ 
 
 ^^ ' When I was in the Buffs ' 
 
 ^'^Tis at say he ought to be— don^t you think 
 so, captain ?^ said the priest ^ themes trumps.^ 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon. Father Donellan, let me 
 look at the trick. Well Vm sure T pity you. Miss 
 O^Kelly.' 
 
 ^'^^And why wouldn't you! his mother had a 
 bad drop in her, 'tis easy seen. Sure Peter, 
 that's gone, rest his soul in peace, he never 
 harmed man nor beast ; but that child there, has 
 notions of wickedness, that would surprise you. 
 My elegant cornelian necklace he's taken the 
 stones out of, till it nearly chokes me to put 
 it on.' 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 "^When I was in the Buflfs, Miss O'Kelly, 
 
 there was ' 
 
 " ^ Pay fourpence/ said the priest pettishly^ 
 ^and cut the cards. As I was saying, Fd send 
 him to say, and if the stories be thrue, I hear, 
 he's not ill fitted for it ; he does be the most of 
 his time up there at the caves of Ballybunnion, 
 with the smugglers.' 
 
 ^^My aunt crimsoned a little at this, as I 
 could see from my place on the hearth rug : for 
 it was only the day before, I had brought in a 
 package of green tea, obtained from the quarter 
 alluded to. 
 
 '^ ' Pd send him to Banagher to-morrow,' said 
 he, resolutely; ' IM send him to school.' 
 
 " ^ There was one Clancy, I was saying, a great 
 
 devil he was ' 
 
 " ^ And faix ould Martin will flog his tricks out 
 of him, if birch will do it,' said the priest. 
 
 " ' 'Tis only a fortnight since he put hot cinders 
 in the letter-box, and burned half tlie Dublin 
 bag,' said Mrs. Brown. *The town will be well 
 rid of him.' 
 
 '^ This was exactly the notion I was coming to 
 myself, though differing widely as to the desti-
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 133 
 
 nation by which I was to manage my exchange 
 out of it. The kind wishes of the party towards 
 me^ too, had another ofFect — it nerved me with a 
 courage I never felt before — and when I took the 
 first oj)portunity of a squabble at the whist- table 
 to make my escape from the room, I had so little 
 fear of ghosts and goblins, that I opened the 
 street door, and, although the way led under the 
 wall of the church-yard, set out on my travels, 
 in a direction which was to influence all my after 
 life. 
 
 ^^I had not proceeded far, when I overtook 
 some cars on their way to Tarbert, on one of 
 which I succeeded in obtaining a seat; and, by 
 daybreak, arrived at the Shannon, the object of 
 my desires, and the goal of all my wishes. 
 
 " The worthy priest had not calumniated me, in 
 saying, that my associates were smugglers. In- 
 deed, for weeks past, I never missed any opportu- 
 nity of my aunt leaving the house, without setting 
 out to meet a party who frequented a small 
 public-house, about three miles from Tralee, and 
 with whom I made more than one excursion to 
 the caves of Ballybunnion. It was owing to an 
 accidental piece of information I afforded them
 
 134 
 
 -—that the revenue force was on their track — that 
 I first learned to know these fellows; and from 
 that moment^ I was a sworn friend of every man 
 among them. To be sure they were a motley 
 crew. The craft belonged to Flushing, and the 
 skipper himself was a Fleming; the others were 
 Kinsale fishermen^ Ostenders, men from the coast 
 of Bretagny^ a Norwegian pilot, and a negro^ who 
 acted as cook. Their jovial style of life^ the 
 apparent good humour and good fellowship that 
 subsisted among them, a dash of reckless devil- 
 may-care spirit, resembling a school-boy^s love of 
 fun — all captivated me; and when I found myself 
 on board the ^ Dart/ as she lay at anchor under 
 the shadow of the tall cliffs, and saw the crew 
 burnishing up pistols and cutlasses, and making 
 ready for a cruise, I had a proud heart when 
 they told me, I might join, and be one among 
 them. I suppose every boy has something in his 
 nature that inclines him to adventure: it was 
 strong enough in me, certainly. 
 
 "The hardy, weather-beaten faces of my com- 
 panions — their strong muscular frames — their 
 coarse uniform of striped Jersey wear, with black 
 belts crossing on the chest — all attracted my admi-
 
 135 
 
 ration : and from the red bunting that floated a 
 our gaffy to the brass swivels that peeped from 
 our bowsj the whole craft delighted me. I was 
 not long in acquiring the rough habits and manners 
 of my associates, and speedily became a favourite 
 with every one on board. All the eccentri- 
 cities of my venerable aunt, all the peculiarities 
 of Father Donellan, were dished up by me for 
 their amusement, and they never got tired laugh- 
 ing at the description of the whist-table. Besides, 
 I was able to afford them much valuable informa- 
 tion about the neighbouring gentry, all of whom 
 I knew, either personally, or by name. I was at 
 once, therefore, employed as a kind of diplomatic 
 envoy to ascertain if Mr. Blennerhassett wouldn^t 
 like a hogshead of brandy, or the Knight of 
 Glynn a pipe of claret, in addition to many minor 
 embassies among the shebeen houses of the 
 country, concerning nigger-heads of tobacco 
 packages of tea, smuggled lace, and silk hand- 
 kerchiefs. 
 
 ^^Thus was my education begun; and an apter 
 scholar, in all the art and mystery of smuggling, 
 could scarcely have been found. I had a taste 
 for picking up languages; and, before my first
 
 1 36 
 
 cruise was over, had got a very tolerable smatter- 
 ing of French, Dutch^ and Norwegian, and some 
 intimacy with the fashionable dialect used on the 
 banks of the Niger. Other accomphshments 
 followed these. I was a capital pistol-shot — no 
 bad hand with the small sword — could reef and 
 steer, and had not my equal on board in detecting 
 a revenue officer, no matter how artfully dis- 
 guised. Such W'Cre my professional^ — my social 
 qualifications far exceeded these. I could play a 
 little on the violin, and the guitar, and was able to 
 throw into rude verse any striking incident of our 
 wild career, and adapt an air to it, for the amuse- 
 ment of my companions. These I usually noted 
 down in a book, accompanying them with pen 
 illustrations and notes; and I assure you, however 
 little literary reputation this volume might have 
 acquired, ' O'Keliy's Log,' as it was called, formed 
 the great delight, of ^Saturday night at sea.' 
 These things were all too local and personal 
 in their interest to amuse any one who didn't 
 know the parties; but mayhap one day or other 
 I'll give you a sight of the ' log,' and let you hear 
 some of our songs. 
 
 "L won't stop to detail any of the adventures
 
 137 
 
 of my sea-faring life; strange and wild enough 
 they were in all conscience: one nighty staggering 
 under close-reefed canvas under a lee-shore; 
 another^ carousing with a jolly set in a ^ Schenk 
 Haus^ at Rotterdam^ or Ostende — now, hiding in 
 the dark caves of Bally bunn ion, while the craft 
 stood out to sea — now, disguised, taking a run up 
 to Paris, and dining in the ^ Cafe de L^Empire,' 
 in all the voluptuous extravagance of the day. 
 Adventure fast succeeding on adventure, escape 
 upon escape, had given my life a character of 
 wild excitement, which made me feel a single 
 day^s repose, a period of ennui and monotony. 
 
 ^^ Smuggling, too, became only a part of my 
 occupation. My knowledge of French, and my 
 power of disguising my appearance, enabled me 
 to mix in Parisian society of a certain class, 
 without any fear of detection. In this way I 
 obtained, from time to time, information of the 
 greatest consequence to our government; and 
 once brought some documents from the war 
 department of Napoleon, which obtained for me 
 the honour of an interview with Mr. Pitt himself. 
 This part of my career, however, would take me 
 too far away from my story, were I to detail any
 
 38 
 
 of the many striking adventures which marked it j 
 so I^ll pass on, at once, to one of those eventful 
 epochs of my life, two or three of which have 
 changed, for the time, the current of my destiny. 
 
 "I was about eighteen: the war had just broke 
 out with France, and the assembled camp at 
 Boulogne threatened the invasion of England. 
 The morning we left the French coast, the prepa- 
 rations for the embarkation of the troops, were in 
 great forwardness, and certain particulars had 
 reached us, which convinced me that Napoleon 
 reaUy intended an attempt, which many were 
 disposed to believe, was a mere menace. In fact, 
 an officer of the staff had given me such informa- 
 tion as explained the mode of the descent, and 
 the entire plan of the expedition. Before I could 
 avail myself of this, however, we should land our 
 cargo, an unusually rich one, on the west coast of 
 Ireland, for my companions knew nothing all this 
 time of the system of ^espionage' I had esta- 
 blished, and little suspected that one of their 
 crew was in relation with the Prime Minister 
 of England. 
 
 '^ I have said I was about eighteen. My wild 
 life, if it had made me feel older than my years.
 
 139 
 
 had given a hardihood and enterprise to my cha- 
 racter^ which heightened for me the enjoyment of 
 every bold adventure, and made me feel a kind of 
 ecstasy in every emergency, where danger and 
 difficulty were present. I longed to be the skip- 
 per of my own craft, sweeping the seas at my 
 own will; a bold buccaneer, caring less for gain 
 than glory, until my name should win for itself 
 its own meed of fame, and my feats be spoken of 
 in awe and astonishment. 
 
 '^Old Van Brock, our captain, was a hardy 
 Fleming, but all his energy of character, all his 
 daring, were directed to the one object — gain. 
 For this, there was nothing he wouldn^t attempt, 
 nothing he wouldn't risk. Now, our present 
 voyage was one in which he had embarked all his 
 capital; the outbreak of a war warned him that 
 his trade must speedily be abandoned — he could 
 no longer hope to escape the cruisers of every 
 country, that already filled the channel. This one 
 voyage, however, if successful, would give him an 
 ample competence for life, and he determined to 
 hazard everything upon it. 
 
 " It was a dark and stormy night in November, 
 when we made the first light on the west coast of
 
 40 
 
 Ireland. Part of our cargo was destined for 
 Ballybunnion ; the remainder^ and most valuable 
 portion, was to be landed in the Bay of Galway. 
 It blew a whole gale from the south'ard and west- 
 ward, and the sea ran mountains high, not the 
 short jobble of a land-locked channel, but the 
 heavy roll of the great Atlantic, — dark and frown- 
 ing, swelling to an enormous height, and thun- 
 dering away on the iron-bound coast to leeward, 
 with a crash, that made our hearts quiver. The 
 * Dart' was a good sea-boat, but the waves swept 
 her from stem to stern, and though nothing but a 
 close-reefed topsail was bent, we went, spinning 
 through the water, at twelve knots. The hatch- 
 ways were battened down, and every preparation 
 made for a rough night, for as the darkness 
 increased, so did the gale. 
 
 " The smuggler's fate is a dark and gloomy 
 one. Let the breeze fall, let the blue sky and 
 fleecy clouds lie mirrored on the glassy deep, and 
 straight a boat is seen, sweeping along with six- 
 teen oars, springing with every jerk of the strong 
 arms, to his capture. And v/hen the white waves 
 rise like mountains, and the lowering storm de- 
 scends, sending tons of water across his decks, and
 
 141 
 
 wetting his highest rigging with the fleecy drift, 
 he dares not cry for help ; the signal that would 
 speak of his distress, would be the knell, to toll 
 his ruin. We knew this well. We felt that come 
 what would, from others, there was nothing to be 
 hoped. It was then, with agonizing suspense 
 we watched the little craft, as she worked in the 
 stormy sea; we saw that with every tack, we 
 were losing. The strong land current that set in 
 shore, told upon us, at every reach; and when we 
 went about, the dark and beetling cliffs seemed 
 actually toppling over us, and the wild cries of 
 the sea-fowl, rang, like a dirge in our ears. The 
 small storm-jib we were obliged to set, sunk us 
 by the head, and at every pitch the little vessel 
 seemed threatening to go down, bow foremost. 
 
 " Our great endeavour was to round the head- 
 land, which forms the southern shore of the 
 Shannon^s mouth. There is a small sound there, 
 between this point and the rocks, they call the 
 ' Blasquets,' and for this we were making with all 
 our might. Thus passed our night, and when 
 day broke, a cheer of joy burst from our little 
 crew, as we beheld the Blasquets on our weather- 
 bow, and saw that the sound lav straight before
 
 142 
 
 us. Scarce had the shout died away, when a man 
 in the rigging cried out — 
 
 "*A sail to windward:^ and the instant after 
 added — ^ a man-o'-war brig/ 
 
 " The skipper sprang on the bulwark, and set- 
 ting his glass in the shrouds, examined the 
 object, which, to the naked eye, was barely a haze 
 in the horizon. 
 
 " ' She carries eighteen guns,^ said he slowly, 
 ^ and is steering our course. I say, O'Kelly, 
 there's no use in running in shore, to be pinioned, 
 — what's to be done?' 
 
 *^ The thought of the information T was in pos- 
 session of, flashed across me. Life was never so 
 dear before, but I could not speak. I knew the 
 old man's all, was on the venture, I knew, too, 
 if we were attacked, his resolve was to fight her 
 to the last spar that floated. 
 
 " ^Come,' said he again, ' there's a point more 
 south'ard in the wind; we might haul her close, 
 and make for Galway Bay. Two hours would land 
 the cargo, at least enough of it, and if the craft 
 must go ' 
 
 "A heavy squall struck us as he spoke; the 
 vessel reeled over, till she laid her crosstrees in
 
 143 
 
 the sea. A snap like the report of a shot was 
 heard^ and the topmast came tumbling down 
 upon the deck^ the topsail falling to leeward, and 
 hanging by the bolt-ropes over our gunwale. 
 The little craft immediately fell off from the wind, 
 and plunged deeper than ever in the boiling surf; 
 at the same instant a booming sound swept across 
 the water, and a shot striking the sea near, rico- 
 chetted over the bowsprit, and passed on, dip- 
 ping and bounding, towards the shore. 
 
 " '^She^s one of their newly-built ones,' said the 
 second mate, an Irishman, who chewed his quid 
 of tobacco as he gazed at her, as coolly, as if he 
 was in a dock-yard. ^ I know the ring of her 
 brass guns.' 
 
 '^ A second and a third flash, followed by two 
 reports, came almost together, but this time they 
 fell short of us, and passed away in our wake. 
 
 ^' We cut away the fallen rigging, and seeing 
 nothing for it, now, but to look to our own safety, 
 we resolved to run the vessel up the bay, and 
 try if we could not manage to conceal some 
 portions of the cargo, before the man-o'-war 
 could overtake us. The caves along the shore 
 were all well known to us, every one of them
 
 144 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 had served either as a store, or a place of con- 
 cealment. The wind, however, freshened every 
 minute; the storm- jib was all we could carry, 
 and this, instead of aiding, dipped us heavily 
 by the head, while the large ship gained momen- 
 tarily on us, and now, her tall masts and white 
 sails lowered close in our wake. 
 
 " ^ Shall we stave these puncheons?' said the 
 mate in a whisper to the skipper; 'she'll be 
 aboard of us in no time.' 
 
 "The old man made no reply, but his eyes 
 turned from the man-o'-war to shore, and back 
 again, and his mouth quivered slightly. 
 
 " ^They'd better get the hatches open, and 
 heave over that tobacco,' said the mate, endea- 
 vouring to obtain an answer. 
 
 "^ She's hauled down her signal for us to 
 lie to,^ observed the skipper, 'and see there, her 
 bow ports are open — here it comes.' 
 
 "A bright flash burst out as he spoke, and 
 one blended report was heard, as the shots 
 skimmed the sea beside us. 
 
 " 'Run that long gun aft,' cried the old fellow, 
 as his eyes flashed and his colour mounted. 'I'll 
 rake their after-deck for them, or I'm mistaken.
 
 145 
 
 " For the first time the command was not 
 obeyed at once. The men looked at each other 
 in hesitation, and as if not determined what part 
 to take. 
 
 " ^ What do you stare at there ?' cried he in 
 a voice of passion, ^O'Kelly, up with the old 
 bunting, and let them see who they've got to 
 deal with.' 
 
 '^A brown flag, with a Dutch lion in the 
 centre, was run up the signal-halliards, and the 
 next minute floated out bravely from our gaff. 
 
 "A cheer burst from the man-o'-war's crew, 
 as they beheld the signal of defiance. Its answer 
 was a smashing discharge from our long swivel, 
 that tore along their decks, cutting the standing 
 rigging, and wounding several as it went. The 
 triumph was short-lived for us. Shot after shot 
 poured in from the brig, which, already to wind- 
 ward, swept our entire decks; while an incessant 
 roll of small arms, showed that our challenge was 
 accepted to the death. 
 
 "'Down, helm,' said tlip old man in a whis- 
 per to the sailor at the wheel — 'down, helm;' 
 while already the spitting waves that danced 
 half a ]nile ahead, betokened a reef of rocks, 
 
 VOL. 1. i^
 
 146 
 
 over which at low water a row boat could not 
 float. 
 
 ^^ ^I know it, I know it well,' was the skipper's 
 reply to the muttered answer of the helmsman. 
 
 ^^ By this time the brig was slackening sail, and 
 still his fire was maintained as hotly as ever. 
 The distance between us increased at each 
 moment, and, had we sea-room, it was possible 
 for us yet to escape. 
 
 " Our long gun was worked without ceasing, 
 and we could see from time to time, that a 
 bustle on the deck, denoted the destruction it 
 was dealing; when suddenly a wild shout burst 
 from one of our men — ^the man-of-war's aground, 
 her topsails are aback.' A mad cheer — the 
 frantic cry of rage and desperation — broke from 
 us; when, at the instant, a reehng shock shook 
 us from stem to stern. The little vessel trembled 
 like a living thing; and then, with a crash like 
 thunder, the hatchways sprang from their fasten- 
 ings, and the white sea leaped up, and swept 
 along the deck. One drowning cry, one last mad 
 yell burst forth. 
 
 " 'Three cheers, my boys !' cried the skipper, 
 raising his cap above his head.
 
 147 
 
 "Already, she was settling in the sea — the 
 death notes rang out high over the storm; a wave 
 swept me overboard at the minute, and my 
 latest consciousness was seeing the old skipper 
 clinging to the bow-sprit, while his long grey 
 hair was floating wildly behind : but the swoop- 
 ing sea rolled over and over me. A kind of 
 despairing energy nerved me, and after being 
 above an hour in the water, I was taken up, 
 still swimming, by one of the shore boats, which, 
 as the storm abated, had ventured out to the 
 assistance of the sloop; and thus was I ship- 
 wrecked, within a few hundred yards of the spot, 
 where first I had ventured on the sea — the only 
 one saved of all the crew. Of the ' Dart,^ not a 
 spar reached shore; the breaking sea tore her 
 to atoms. 
 
 ^^The ^Hornet' scarcely fared better. She landed 
 eight of her crew, badly wounded; one man was 
 killed, and she herself was floated only after 
 months of labour, and never, I believe, went to 
 sea afterwards. 
 
 "The sympathy which in Ireland is never 
 refused to misfortune, no matter how incurred, 
 stood me in stead now; for although every efibrt 
 
 l2
 
 148 
 
 was made by the authorities to discover if any 
 of the smuggler's crew had reached shore alive, 
 and large rewards were offered, no one would 
 betray me; and I lay as safely concealed beneath 
 the thatch of an humble cabin, as though the 
 proud walls of a baronial castle afforded me their 
 protection. 
 
 "From day to day I used to hear of the hot 
 and eager inquiry going forward to trace out, by 
 any means, something of the wrecked vessel; 
 and, at last, news reached me, that a celebrated 
 thief-taker from Dublin had arrived in the neigh- 
 bourhood, to assist in the search. 
 
 "There was no time to be lost now. Dis- 
 covery would not only have perilled my own 
 life, but also have involved those of my kind 
 protectors. How to leave the village was, how- 
 ever, the difficulty. Revenue and man-of-war 
 boats, abounded on the Shannon, since the day 
 of the wreck; the Ennis road was beset by police, 
 who scrutinized every traveller that passed on 
 the west coast. The alarm was sounded, and no 
 chance of escape presented itself in that quarter. 
 In this dilemma, fortune, which so often stood 
 my friend, did not desert me. It chanced that a
 
 149 
 
 strolling company of actors, who had been per- 
 forming for some weeks past in Kilrush, were 
 about to set of to Ennistymon, where they were 
 to give several representations. Nothing could 
 be easier than to avoid detection in such com- 
 pany ; and I soon managed to be included in the 
 corps, by accepting an engagement as a ^ walking 
 gentleman/ at a low salary, and on the next 
 morning found myself seated on the ^ van/ among 
 a very motley crew of associates, in whose ways 
 and habits I very soon contrived to familiarize 
 myself, becoming, before we had gone many 
 miles, somewhat of a favourite in the party. 
 
 ^' I will not weary you with any account of my 
 strolling life. Every one knows something of the 
 difficulties which beset the humble drama; and 
 ours was of the humblest. Joe Hume himself 
 could not have questioned one solitary item in 
 our budget : and I defy the veriest quibbler on a 
 grand jury to ^traverse,' a spangle on a pair of 
 our theatrical smallclothes. 
 
 •^^Our scenes were two in number: one repre- 
 sented a cottage interior — pots, kettles, a dresser, 
 and a large fire, being depicted in smoke- 
 coloured traits thereon — this, with two chairs and
 
 150 
 
 a table^ was convertible into a parlour in a private 
 house; and again, by a red-covered arm-chair^ 
 and an old banner, became a baronial hall, or the 
 saloon in a palace: the second, represented two 
 houses on the flat, with an open country between 
 them, a mill, a mountain, a stream, and a rustic 
 bridge inclusive. This, then, was either a street 
 in a town, a wood, a garden, or any other out-of- 
 door place of resort, for light comedy people, 
 lovers, passionate fathers, waiting-maids, robbers, 
 or chorus singers. 
 
 ^' The chiefs of our corps were Mr. and Mrs. 
 M^Elwain, who, as their names bespoke, came 
 from the north of Ireland, somewhere near Cole- 
 rain e, I fancy, but cannot pretend to accuracy; 
 but I know it was on the borders of ' Darry.' 
 
 ^' How, or what, had ever induced a pair of as 
 common-place, matter-of-fact folk, as ever lived, 
 to take to the Thespian art, heaven can tell. 
 Had Mr. Mac been a bailiff, and madam a green- 
 groceress, nature would seem to have dealt fairly 
 with them; he, being a stout, red-faced, black- 
 bearded tyke, with a thatch of straight black hair, 
 cut in semicircles over his ears, so as to permit 
 character wigs without inconvenience, heavy in
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 151 
 
 step^ and plodding in gait. She^ a tall, raw-boned 
 woman, of some five-and-forty, with piercing grey- 
 eyes, and a shrill harsh voice, that would have 
 shamed the veriest whistle that ever piped 
 through a key-hole. Such were the Macbeth 
 and the Lady Macbeth — the Romeo and Juliet — 
 the Hamlet and Ophelia of the company; but 
 their appearance was a trifle to the manner and 
 deportment of their style. Imagine Juliet with 
 a tattered Leghorn bonnet, a Scotch shawl, and a 
 pair of brown boots, declaiming somewhat in this 
 guise — 
 
 " * Come, gantle night, come loving black-browed night, 
 Gie me my Romo! and when he shall dee, 
 Tak"" him, and cut him into leetle stars, 
 And he will maF the face of heaven sae fine, 
 That a' the warld will be in lo'e with him.' 
 
 '^ With these people I was not destined long to 
 continue. The splendid delusion of success was 
 soon dispelled ; and the golden harvest I was to 
 reap, settled down into something like four shil- 
 lings a week, out of which came stoppages of so 
 many kinds and shapes, that my salary might 
 have been refused at any moment, under the 
 plea, that there was no coin of the realm, in 
 which to pay it.
 
 152 
 
 ^' One by one^ every article of my wardrobe 
 went to supply tlie wants of my stomach; and I 
 remember well my great coat, preserved with the 
 tenacity with which a shipwrecked-mariner hoards 
 up his last biscuit, was converted into mutton, to 
 regale Messrs. lago, Mercutio, and Cassius, with 
 Mesdames Ophelia, Jessica, Desdemona, and Co. 
 It would make the fortune of an artist, could he 
 only have witnessed the preparations for our 
 entertainment. 
 
 ^^The festival was in honour, of what, the 
 manager was pleased by a singular figure of 
 speech to call, my ^ benefit;^ the only profit 
 accruing to me from the aforesaid benefit, being, 
 any satisfaction I might feel in seeing my name 
 in capitals, and the pleasure of waiting on the 
 enlightened inhabitants of Kilrush, to solicit 
 their patronage. 
 
 '^ There was something to me of indescribable 
 melancholy in that morning^s perambulation, for 
 independent of the fact, that I was threatened by 
 one with the stocks, as a vagabond, another, set a 
 policeman to dog me, as a suspicious character, 
 and a third, mistook me for a rat-catcher; the 
 butcher, with whom I negotiated for the quarter
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 153 
 
 of mutton^ came gravely up^ and examined the 
 texture of my raiment, calling in a jury of his 
 friends to decide, if he wasn^t making a bad 
 bargain. 
 
 ^' Night came, and I saw myself dressed for 
 Petrucio, the character in which I was to bring 
 down thunders of applause, and fill the treasury 
 to overflowing. What a conflict of feelings was 
 mine — now rating Catherine in good round 
 phrase, before the audience — now slipping behind 
 the flats to witness the progress of the ^ cuisine,^ 
 for which I longed, with the appetite of starvation, 
 — how the potatoes split their jackets with laugh- 
 ing, as they bubbled up and down, in the helmet 
 of Coriolanus, for such I grieve to say was the 
 vessel used on the occasion ; the roasting mutton 
 was presided over by ^a gentleman of Padua;' 
 and Christopher Sly was employed in concocting 
 some punch, which, true to his name, he tasted so 
 frequently, it was impossible to awake him, 
 towards the last act. 
 
 ^^ It was in the first scene of the fourth act, in 
 which, with the feelings of a famished wolf, I was 
 obliged to assist at a mock supper on the stage, 
 with wooden beef, parchment fowls, wax pome-
 
 154 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 granates, and gilt goblets, in which only the air 
 
 prevented a vacuum. Just as I came to the 
 
 passage — 
 
 * Come, Kate, sit down — I know you have a stomach, 
 Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall 1 1 
 What is this mutton?' 
 
 ^^ At that very moment, as I flung the ^ pine 
 saddle/ from one end of the stage to the other, a 
 savoury odour reached my nose; the clatter of 
 knives, the crash of plates, the sounds of laughter 
 and merriment, fell upon my ears — the wretches 
 were at supper ! Even the ' first servant,^ who 
 should have responded to my wrath, bolted from 
 the stage like a shot, leaving his place without a 
 moment^s warning; and ' Catherine, the sweetest 
 Kate in Christendom, my dainty Kate,' assured 
 me with her mouth full, ^ the meat was well, if I 
 were so contented/ Determined to satisfy myself 
 on the point — regardless of every thing but my 
 hunger, I rushed oiF the stage, and descended 
 like a vulture, in the midst of the supper party; 
 threats, denunciations, entreaties, were of no use, 
 I wouldn^t go back; and let the house storm and 
 rage, I had helped myself to a slice of the joint, 
 and cared for nobody. It was in vain they told
 
 +^-"'^i'«^fciBte-^^ 
 
 'J^.^yca/^ Qccc/y. 
 
 Ltaij3ojl Hmn-v ("nTVniTTi 1A4A
 
 #• 
 
 ^ \ 
 
 *."**£
 
 155 
 
 me, that the revenue officer and his family were 
 outrageous with passion; and as to the apothecary 
 in the stage box, he had paid for six tickets in 
 * senna mixture ;^ but heaven knows, I wasn't a 
 iCase for such a regimen. 
 
 ^^ All persuasions failing, Mr. M'Elwain, armed 
 all in proof, rushed at me with a tin scimitar, 
 while Madame, more violent still, capsized the 
 helmet and its scalding contents over my person, 
 and nearly flayed me alive. With frantic energy 
 I seized the joint, and, fighting my way through 
 the whole company, rushed from the spot. 
 
 * Romans,' * countrymen,' and ' lovers,' 
 
 ' Dukes,' ^ duennas,' ^ demigods,' and ^ dancers,^ 
 with a loud yell, joined in the pursuit. Across 
 the stage we went, amid an uproar, that would 
 have done credit to Pandemonium. I was ^ nim- 
 blest of foot,' however, and having forced my 
 way through an 'impracticable' door, I jumped 
 clean through the wood, and having tripped up 
 an ' angel ' that was close on my heels, I seized 
 a candle, ' thirty-six to the pound,' and applying 
 it to the edge of the kitchen aforementioned, 
 bounded madly on, leaving the whole concern
 
 156 
 
 wrapped in flames. Down the street I went, as 
 if blood-hounds were behind me, and never 
 stopped my wild career until I reached a little 
 eminence at the end of the town; then I drew 
 my breath, and turned one last look upon the 
 ' Theatre Royal/ It was a glorious spectacle to a 
 revengeful spirit — amid the volumes of flame and 
 smoke that rose to heaven, (for the entire building 
 was now enveloped,) might be seen the discordant 
 mass of actors and audience, mixed up madly 
 together — Turks, tailors, tumblers, and tide- 
 waiters, grandees and grocers, imps and inn- 
 keepers ; there they were all screaming, in concert, 
 while the light material of the ' property-room' 
 was ascending in myriads of sparks. Castles and 
 forests, baronial halls and robbers' caves, were 
 mounting to mid-heaven, amid the flash of blue 
 lights, and the report of stage combustibles. 
 
 ^^ You may be sure, that however gratifying to 
 my feelings this last scene of the drama was, I 
 did not permit myself much leisure to contem- 
 plate it: a very palpable conviction staring me 
 full in the face, that such a spectacle might not 
 exactly redound to my ^benefit.' I, therefore, 
 addressed myself to the road, moralizing as I
 
 ARTHUR o'leary. 157 
 
 went;, somewhat in this fashion: I have lost a 
 respectable^ but homely suit of apparel; and in- 
 stead, I have acquired a green doublet, leathern 
 hose, jack boots, a slouched hat and a feather. 
 Had I played out my part, by this time I should 
 have been strewing the stage with a mock supper. 
 Now, I was consoling my feelings with real mut- 
 ton, which, however, wanting its ordinary accom- 
 paniments, was a delicacy of no common order to 
 me. I had not it is true, the vociferous applause 
 of a delighted audience to aid my digestion as 
 Petrucio. But the pleasant whisper of a good 
 conscience, was a more flattering reward to Con 
 O'Kelly. This balanced the account in my 
 favour; and I stepped out with that light heart, 
 which is so unequivocal an evidence of an innocent 
 and happy disposition. 
 
 "Towards day-break, I had advanced some 
 miles on the road to Killaloe : when before me I 
 perceived a drove of horses, coupled together 
 with all manner of strange tackle, halters, and 
 hay ropes. Two or three country lads were 
 mounted among them, endeavouring as well as 
 they were able, to keep them quiet; while a thick, 
 sliort, red-faced fellow, in dirty Hops,^ and a faded
 
 158 
 
 green frock led the way^ and seemed to preside 
 over the procession. As I drew near^ my appear- 
 ance caused no common commotion; the drivers 
 fixing their eyes on me, could mind nothing else; 
 the cattle, participating in the sentiments, started, 
 capered, plunged, and neighed fearfully. While 
 the leader of the corps, furious at the disorder he 
 witnessed, swore like a trooper, as with a tremen- 
 dous cutting whip he dashed here and there 
 through the crowd, slashing men and horses, with 
 a most praiseworthy impartiality. At last, his 
 eyes fell upon me, and for a moment, I was full 
 sure my fate was sealed ; as he gripped his saddle 
 closer, tightened his curb-rein, and grasped his 
 powerful whip with redoubled energy. 
 
 " The instincts of an art are very powerful ; for 
 seeing the attitude of the man, and beholding the 
 savage expression of his features, I threw myself 
 into a stage position, slapped down my beaver 
 with one hand, and drawing my sword with the 
 other, called out in a rich melodramatic howl — 
 ^Come on, Macduff 1' my look, my gesture, my 
 costume, and above all my voice, convinced my 
 antagonist that I was insane; and, as quickly 
 the hard unfeeling character of his face re-
 
 159 
 
 laxed^ and an expression of rude pity passed 
 across it. 
 
 " ^^Tis Billy Muldoon, sir, Pm sure/ cried one 
 of the boys, as with difficulty he sat the plunging 
 beast under him. 
 
 "^No, sir/ shouted another, ^he's bigger nor 
 Billy, but he has a look of Hogan about the 
 eyes.^ 
 
 '^' ^ Hould your prate,^ cried the master. ^^ Sure 
 Hogan was hanged at the summer assizes.^ 
 
 ^^ ^ I know he was, sir,^ was the answer, given 
 as coolly, as though no contradiction arose on that 
 score. 
 
 "^Who are you,' cried the leader? 'where do 
 you come from ?' 
 
 " ^ From Ephesus, my lord/ said I, bowing 
 with stage solemnity, and replacing my sword 
 within my scabbard. 
 
 "^ Where?' shouted he, with his hand to his 
 ear. 
 
 ^^ ^ From Kilrush, most potent,' replied I, ap- 
 proaching near enough to converse without being 
 overheard by the others: while in a few words 
 I explained, that my costume and appearance 
 were only professional symbols, which a hasty
 
 160 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 departure from my friends prevented my chang- 
 ing. 
 
 "^And where are you going now?' was the 
 next query. 
 
 " ' May I ask you the same/ said I. 
 
 ^^ ' Me, why I'm for Killaloe — for the fair to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 " ' That's exactly my destination,' said I. 
 
 ^' ' And how do you mean to go ?' retorted he, 
 *It's forty miles from here.^ ' ■ * " ?. 
 
 "^Ihave a notion,' replied I, ^that the dark 
 chesnut there, with the white fetlock, will have 
 the honour of conveying me.' 
 
 " A very peculiar grin, which I did not half 
 admire, was the reply to this speech. 
 
 " ' There's many a one I wouldn't take under 
 five shillings from, for the day,' said I ; ^ but the 
 times are bad, and somehow I like the look of 
 you. Is it a bargain?' 
 
 " ^ Faix, I'm half inclined to let you try the 
 same horse,' said he. ' It would be teaching you 
 something, any how. Did ye ever hear of the 
 Playboy?' 
 
 " < To be sure I did. Is that he ?' 
 
 " He nodded.
 
 ARTHUR O LEARY. 161 
 
 " 'And you're Dan Moone,' said I. 
 
 " ^ The same/ cried He, in astonishment. 
 
 ^' ^ Come, Dan, turn about's fair play. Pll ride 
 the horse for you to-morrow — where you like, 
 and over, what you like — and in reward, you'll let 
 me mount one of the others as far as Killaloe: 
 we'll dine together at the cross roads.' — Here I 
 slipped the mutton from under the tail of my 
 coat. — ^ Do you say done ?' 
 
 ^^ ^ Get upon the gray pony,' was the short re- 
 joinder; and the next moment I was seated on 
 the back of as likely a cob as I ever bestrode. 
 
 '^ My first care was to make myself master of 
 my companion's character, which I did in a very 
 short time, while affecting to disclose my own, 
 watching, with sharp eye, how each portion of 
 my history told upon him. I saw that he appre- 
 ciated, with a true horse-dealer's '^onction,' any 
 thing that smacked of trick or stratagem; in fact, 
 he looked upon all mankind as so many ^ screws,^ 
 lie being the cleverest fellow who could detect 
 their imperfections, and unveil their unsoundness. 
 In proportion as I recounted to him the pranks 
 and rogueries of my boyish life, his esteem for 
 me rose higher and higher; and, before the day 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 
 
 was over, I had won so much of his confidence, 
 that he told me the peculiar vice and iniquity of 
 every horse he had, describing with great satisfac- 
 tion the class of purchasers, he had determined to 
 meet with. 
 
 ^^^ There is little Paul there/ said he, Uhat 
 brown cob, with the cropped ears, there isn^t 
 such a trotter in Ireland; but somehow though 
 you can see his knees from the saddle when he^s 
 moving, he^ll come slap down with you, as if he 
 was shot, the moment you touch his flank with 
 the spur, and then ther's no getting him up 
 again, till you brush his ear with the whip — the 
 least thing does it — he^s on his legs in a minute, 
 and not a bit the worse of his performance/ 
 
 "Among all the narratives he told, this made 
 the deepest impression on me. That the animal 
 had been taught the accomplishment, there could 
 be no doubt ; and I began to puzzle my brain in 
 what way it might best be turned to advantage. 
 It was of great consequence to me to impress my 
 friend at once with a high notion of my powers; 
 and here was an admirable occasion for their 
 exercise, if I only could hit on a plan. 
 
 '' The conversation turned on various subjects, 
 and at last, as we neared Killaloe, my companion
 
 16S 
 
 began to ponder over the most probable mode I 
 could be of service to him, on the following day. 
 It was at last agreed upon, that, on reaching 
 town, I should exchange my Petrucio costume for 
 that of a ^ squireen,^ or half gentleman ; and repair 
 to the ordinary at the ^ Green-man/ where nearly 
 all the buyers put up, and all the talk on sporting 
 matters went forward. This suited me perfectly, 
 I was delighted to perform a new part, particu- 
 larly when the filling up was left to my own 
 discretion. Before an hour elapsed after our 
 arrival, I saw myself attired in a very imposing 
 suit — blue coat, cords and tops, that would have 
 fitted me for a very high range of character in my 
 late profession. O^Kelly was a name, as Pistol 
 says, ^ of good report,^ and there was no need to 
 change it; so I took my place at the supper- 
 table, among some forty others, comprising a 
 very fair average of the raiFs and raps, of the coun- 
 ty. The mysteries of horse-flesh, were, of course^ 
 the only subject of conversation; and before the 
 punch made its appearance, I astonished the 
 company by the extent of my information, and 
 the acuteness of my remarks. I improvised 
 steeple-chases over impossible countries, invented 
 
 M 2
 
 161 
 
 pedigrees for horses yet unfoaled^ and threw out 
 such a fund of anecdote about the ^ turf and the 
 * chace/ that I silenced the old established authori- 
 ties of the place, and a general buzz went round 
 the table of, ^ Who can he be, at all — where did 
 he come from?' 
 
 ^^As the evening wore apace, my eloquence 
 grew warm — I described my stud and my kennel, 
 told some very curious instances of my hunting 
 experience, and when at last a member of the 
 party, piqued at my monopoly of the conversa- 
 tion, endeavoured to turn my flank by an allusion 
 to grouse-shooting, I stopped him at once, by 
 asserting with vehemence, that no man deserved 
 the name of sportsman who shot over dogs — a 
 sudden silence pervaded the company, while the 
 last speaker turned towards me with a malicious 
 grin, begged to know how I bagged my game, for 
 that, in his county, they were ignorant enough to 
 follow the old method. 
 
 " ^ With a pony of course,' said I, finishing my 
 glass. 
 
 "^A pony!' cried one after the other — Hiow 
 do you mean?' 
 
 "^ Why/ resumed I, ^that I have a pony sets
 
 165 
 
 every species of game, as true as the best pointer 
 
 that ever ^ stopped/ 
 
 " A hearty roar of laughing followed this pcla- 
 
 A 
 ration, and a less courageous spirit than mine 
 
 would have feared that all his acquired popula- 
 rity was in danger. 
 
 " ^ You have him with you, I suppose, said a 
 sly old fellow from the end of the table. 
 
 " ' Yes/ said I carelessly — ' I brought him over 
 here to take a couple of days' shooting, if there is 
 any to be had/ 
 
 "^You would have no objection/ said another 
 insinuatingly, ' to let us look at the beast?' 
 
 '^ ' Not the least/ said I. 
 
 ^^ ' Maybe you'd take a bet on it,' said a third. 
 
 ^' ^ I fear I couldn^t, said I, — ' the thing is too 
 sure — the wager would be an unfair one.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! as to that,' cried three or four together, 
 ' we'll take our chance, for even if we were to 
 lose, it's well worth paying for.' 
 
 " The more I expressed my dislike to bet, the 
 more warmly they pressed me, and I could per- 
 ceive that a general impression was spreading 
 that my pony was about as apocryphal as many 
 of my previous stories.
 
 166 
 
 ^^ ^ Ten pounds with you, he doesn^t do it/ said 
 an old hard-featured squire. 
 
 " ^ The same from me/ cried another. 
 
 *"' ' Two to one in fifties/ shouted a third, until 
 every man at table had proffered his wager, and I 
 gravely called for pen, ink, and paper, and booked 
 them, with all due form. 
 
 ^' ^ Now, when is it to come ofF?^ was the ques- 
 tion of some half dozen. 
 
 ^^ ^ Now, if you like it — the night seems fine.^ 
 
 " No, no/ said they, laughing, ^ there's no such 
 hurry as that; to-morrow we are going to draw 
 Westenra's cover — what do you say if you meet 
 us there, by eight o'clock — and we'll decide the 
 bet.' 
 
 « ' Agreed,' said I ; and shaking hands with 
 the whole party, I folded up my paper, placed it 
 in my pocket, and wished them good night. 
 
 " Sleep was, however, the last thing in my 
 thoughts; repairing to the little public-house 
 where I left my friend Dan, I asked him if he 
 knew any one well acquainted with the country, 
 and who could tell, at a moment, where a hare, or 
 a covey was to be found. 
 
 ^^ ^To be sure/ said he at once ; ' there's a boy.
 
 1^ 
 
 below knows every puss and every bird in the 
 country. Tim Daly would bring you, dark as the 
 night is, to the very spot where youM find one/ 
 
 "In a few minutes I had made Mr. Tim's 
 acquaintance, and arranged with him to meet me 
 at the cover on the following morning, a code 
 of signals being established between us, by which, 
 he was to convey to me the information of where 
 a hare was lying, or a covey to be sprung. 
 
 "A little before eight I was standing beside 
 ^Paul' on the appointed spot, the centre of an 
 admiring circle, who, whatever their misgivings 
 as to his boasted skill, had only one opinion 
 about his shapes and qualities. 
 
 "'Splendid forehand' — ^what legs' — 4ook at 
 his quarters' — -^and so deep in the heart' — 
 were the exclamations heard on every side — till 
 a rosy-cheeked fat little fellow growing impatient 
 at the delay, cried out — 
 
 "^Come, Mr. O'Kelly, mount if you please, 
 and come along.' 
 
 " I tightened my girth — sprang into the saddle 
 — my only care being, to keep my toes in as 
 straight a line as I could, with my feet. Before 
 we proceeded half a mile, I saw Tim seated on
 
 168 
 
 a stile, scratching his head in a very knowing 
 manner; upon which, I rode out from the party, 
 and looking intently at the furze cover in front, 
 called out — 
 
 " ^ Keep back the dogs there — call them off — 
 hush, not a word.' 
 
 " The hounds were called in, the party reined 
 hack their horses, and all sat silent spectators of 
 my movements. 
 
 "When suddenly I touched -Paul' in both 
 flanks, down he dropped, like a parish clerk, stiff 
 and motionless as a statue. 
 
 " 'What^s that?' cried two or three behind. 
 
 '^ * He's setting,' said I, in a whisper. 
 
 " ^ What is it, though ?' said one. 
 
 ' ^A hareP said I, and at the same instant 
 I shouted to lay on the dogs, and tipping Paul's 
 ears, forward I went. Out bolted puss, and away 
 we started across the country, I leading, and 
 takmg all before me. 
 
 "We killed in half an hour, and found our- 
 selves not far from the first cover; my friend 
 Tim, being as before in advance, making the 
 ame signal as at first. The same performance 
 was now repeated. Taul' went through his part
 
 ARTHUR 0*L.EARY. I69 
 
 to perfection; and notwithstanding the losses, 
 a general cheer saluted us as we sprung to our 
 legs^ and dashed after the dogs. 
 
 " Of course I didn^t spare him : everything 
 now depended on my sustaining our united fame ; 
 and there was nothing too high or too wide for 
 me, that morning. 
 
 " 'What will you take for him, Mr. Oa\:elly ?' 
 was the question of each man, as he came up 
 to the last field. 
 
 "'Would you like any further proof?' said I. 
 'Is any gentleman dissatisfied }' 
 
 "A general 'No' was the answer; and again 
 the offers were received from every quarter, while 
 they produced the bank-notes, and settled their 
 bets. It was no part of my game, however, to 
 sell him; the trick might be discovered before 
 I left the country, and if so, there wouldn't ho, 
 a whole bone remaining in my skin. 
 
 " My refusal evidently heightened both my 
 value and his, and I sincerely believe there was 
 no story I could tell, on our ride back to town, 
 which would not have met credence that morn- 
 ing; and, indeed, to do myself justice, I tried my 
 popularity to its utmost.
 
 170 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 " By way of a short cut back, as the fair wa 
 to begin at noon, we took a different route, which 
 led across some grass fields, and a small river. 
 In traversing this, 1 unfortunately was in the 
 middle of some miraculous anecdote, and entirely 
 forgot my pony and his acquirements; and as 
 he stopped to drink, without thinking of what 
 I was doing, with the common instinct of a rider, 
 I touched him with the spur. Scarcely had the 
 rowel reached his side, when down he fell, 
 sending me head foremost over his neck into 
 the water. For a second or two the strength 
 of the current carried me along, and it was only 
 after a devil of a scramble I gained my legs, and 
 reached the bank wet through, and heartily 
 ashamed of myself. 
 
 "^Eh, O'Kelly, what the deuce was that?' 
 cried one of the party, as a roar of laughter broke 
 from amongst them. 
 
 '' ^ Ah 1' said I, mournfully, ' I wasn^t quick 
 enough.^ 
 
 " ^ Quick enough 1' cried they. ^ Egad, I never 
 saw anything like it. Why, man, you were shot 
 off like an arrow.^ 
 
 " 'Leaped off, if you please,^ said I, with an
 
 171 
 
 air of an offended dignity — leaped off — didn^t 
 you see it ?^ 
 
 " ^See what ?^ 
 
 " 'The salmon, to be sure. A twelve-pounder, 
 as sure as my name^s O'Kelly. He ^^ set'^ it.' 
 
 "^Set a salmon!^ shouted twenty voices in a 
 breath. ' The thing^s impossible.^ 
 
 " ^ Would you like a bet on it r' asked I drily. 
 
 "*No, no — damn it; no more bets; but 
 surely ^ 
 
 "'Too provoking, after all,^ muttered I, ^to 
 have lost so fine a fish, and get such a ducking^ ; 
 and with that I mounted my barb, and, waving 
 my hand, wished them a good-bye, and galloped 
 into Killaloe. 
 
 "This story I have only related, because, in- 
 significant as it was, it became in a manner the 
 pivot of my then fate in life. The jockey at 
 once made me an offer of partnership in his 
 traffic, displaying before me the numerous advan- 
 tages of such a proposal. I was a disengaged 
 man — my prospects not peculiarly brilliant — the 
 state of my exchequer by no means encouraging 
 the favourite nostrum of a return to cash pay- 
 ments, and so I acceeded, and entered at once
 
 172 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 upon my new profession with all the enthusiasm 
 I was always able to command, no matter what 
 line of life solicited my adoption. 
 
 "But it's near one o'clock, and so now, Mr. 
 O'Leary, if you've no objection, we'll have a grill 
 and a glass of Madeira, and then, if you can keep 
 awake an hour or so longer, I'll try and finish my 
 adventures/^
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 173 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 O'KELLY^S TALE.— Continued. 
 
 "I left oif at that flattering portion of my his- 
 tory where I became a horse-dealer; in this capa- 
 city I travelled over a considerable portion of 
 Ireland, now larking it in the West — jollifying in 
 the South — and occasionally suffering a penance 
 for both enjoyments, by a stray trip to Ulster. 
 In these rambles I contrived to make acquaint- 
 ance with most of the resident gentry, who, by 
 the special freemasonry that attends my calling, 
 scrupled not to treat me on terms of half equality, 
 and even invite me to their houses — a piece of 
 condescension on their part, which they well 
 knew was paid for, in more solid advantages. 
 
 " In a word, Mr. O'Leary, I became a kind of 
 moral amphibia, with powers to sustain life in 
 two distinct and opposite elements — now brushing 
 my way among frieze-coated farmers, trainers, 
 dealers, sharpers, and stablemen; now floating on
 
 174 
 
 the surface of a politer world, where the topics of 
 conversation took a different range, and were 
 couched in a very different vocabulary. 
 
 " My knowledge of French, and my acquaint- 
 ance with Parisian life, at least as seen in that 
 class in which I used to mix, added to a kind of 
 natural tact, made me, as far as manners and 
 'usage' were concerned, fully the equal of those 
 with whom I associated; and I managed matters 
 so well, that the circumstance of my being seen 
 in the morning with cords and tops of jockey 
 cut, showing off a ' screw,' or extolling the sym- 
 metry of a spavined hackney, never interfered 
 with the pretensions I put forward at night, when, 
 arranged in a suit of accurate black, I turned 
 over the last new opera, or delivered a very 
 scientific criticism on the new ' ballet' in London, 
 or the latest fashion imported from the Con- 
 tinent. 
 
 '^ Were I to trace back this part of my career, 
 I might perhaps amuse you more by the incidents 
 it contained, than by any other portion of my 
 life; nothing indeed is so suggestive of adventure, 
 as that anomaly which the French denominate 
 so significantly — 'a false position.' The man
 
 175 
 
 who — come, come, don^t be afraid, though that 
 sounds very like Joseph Surface, Fm not going 
 to moraUse — the man, I say, who endeavours to 
 sustain two distinct lines in life, is very likely 
 to fail in both, and so I felt it, for while my ad- 
 vantages all inclined to one side, my taste and 
 predilections leaned to the other; I could never 
 adopt knavery as a profession — as an amateur I 
 gloried in it: roguery, without risk, was a poor 
 pettifogging policy that I spurned; but a practical 
 joke that involved life or limb, a hearty laugh, or 
 a heavy reckoning, was a temptation I never could 
 resist. The more I mixed in society, the greater 
 my intimacy with persons of education and refine- 
 ment, the stronger became my repugnance to my 
 actual condition, and the line of life I had adopted. 
 While my position in society was apparently more 
 fixed, I became in reality m.ore nervously anxious 
 for its stability. The fascinations which in the 
 better walks of life are thrown around the man of 
 humble condition, but high aspirings, are strong 
 and sore temptations, while he measures and finds 
 himself not inferior to others, to whom the race is 
 open, and the course is free, and yet feels in his 
 own heart, that there is a bar upon his escutcheon
 
 176 
 
 which excludes him from the lists. I began now 
 to experience this in all its poignancy. Among 
 the acquaintances I had formed, one of my most 
 intimate was a young baronet, who had just suc- 
 ceeded to a large estate in the county Kilkenny. 
 Sir Harvey Blundell was an Anglo-Irishman in 
 more than one sense: from his English father he 
 had inherited certain staid and quiet notions of 
 propriety, certain conventional ideas regarding 
 the observance of etiquette, which are less valued 
 in Ireland; while, from his mother, he succeeded 
 to an appreciation of native fun and drollery, of 
 all the whims and oddities of Irish life, which, 
 strange enough, are as well understood by the 
 Anglo-Irishman, as by one ' to the manner born.' 
 '^ I met Sir Harvey at a supper party in Col- 
 lege. Some song I had sung of my own com- 
 posing, or some story of my inventing, I forget 
 which, tickled his fancy: he begged to be intro- 
 duced to me, drew his chair over to my side of 
 the table, and ended by giving an invitation to his 
 house for the partridge-shooting, which was to 
 begin in a few days ; I readily assented — it was a 
 season in which I had nothing to do, my friend 
 Dan had gone over to the Highlands to make a
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 17? 
 
 purchase of some ponies; 1 was rather flush o 
 cash, and consequently in good spirits. It was 
 arranged, then, that I should drive him down in 
 my drag, a turn-out with four spanking greys, of 
 whose match and colour, shape and action, I was 
 not a little vain. 
 
 " We posted to Carlow, to which place I had 
 sent on my horses, and arrived the same evening 
 at Sir Harvey's house, in time for dinner. This 
 was the first acquaintance I had made, indepen- 
 dent of my profession. Sir Harvey knew me, as 
 Mr. O'Kelly whom he met at an old friend's 
 chambers in College; and he introduced me thus 
 to his company, adding to his intimates in a 
 whisper I could overhear — ^devilish fast fellow, 
 up to every thing — knows life at home, and abroad, 
 and has such a teamP Here were requisites 
 enough, in all conscience, to win favour among 
 any set of young country-gentlemen, and I soon 
 found myself surrounded by a circle, who listened 
 to my opinions on every subject, and recorded 
 my judgments, with the most implicit faith in 
 their wisdom, no matter on what I talked, women, 
 wine, the drama, play, sporting, debts, duns, or 
 duels, my word was law. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 
 
 " Two circumstances considerably aided me in 
 my present supremacy: first. Sir Harvey's friends 
 were all young men from Oxford, who knew little 
 of the world, and less of that part of it called 
 Ireland; and secondly, they were all strangers to 
 me, and consequently my liberty of speech was 
 untrammelled by any unpleasant reminiscences of 
 dealing, in fairs or auctions. 
 
 " The establishment was presided over by Sir 
 Harvey's sister, at least, nominally so — her pre- 
 sence being a reason for having ladies at his parties; 
 and although she was only nineteen, she gave a 
 tone and character to the habits of the house, 
 which, without her, it never could have possessed. 
 Miss Blundell was a very charming person, com- 
 bining in herself two qualities which, added to 
 beauty, made a very irresistible ensemble: she had 
 the greatest flow of spirits, with a retiring and 
 almost timidly bashful disposition: courage for 
 any thing, and a delicacy that shrunk abashed from 
 all that bordered on display, or bore the slightest 
 semblance of effrontery. I shall say no more, 
 than that before I was a week in the house, I was 
 over head and ears in love with her; my whole 
 thoughts centred in her; my whole endeavour, to
 
 ARTHUR o'leARY. I'j9 
 
 show myself in such a Hght as might win her 
 favour. 
 
 '^ Every accomplishment I possessed — every art 
 and power of amusing, urged to the utmost by 
 the desire to succeed, I exerted in her service; 
 and at last perceived, that she was not indifferent 
 to me. Then, and then for the first time, came 
 the thought — who was I, that dared to do this — 
 what had I of station, rank, or wealth, to entitle 
 me to sue — perhaps to gain, the affections, of one 
 placed like her ? The whole duplicity of my con- 
 duct started up before me, and I saw for the first 
 time, how the mere ardour of pursuit had led me 
 on and on — how the daring to surmount a diffi- 
 culty, had stirred my heart, at first to win, and 
 then to worship her: and the bitterness of my 
 self-reproach at that moment became a 2:)unish- 
 ment, which, even now, I remember with a 
 shudder. It is too true ! The great misfortunes 
 of life form more endurable subjects for memory 
 in old age, than the instances, however trivial, 
 where we have acted amiss, and where conscience 
 rebukes us. I have had my share of calamity, 
 one way or other — my life has been more than 
 once in peril — and in such peril as might well 
 
 n2
 
 180 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 shake the nerve of the boldest: but I can think 
 on all these, and do think on them, often, without 
 fear or heart-faiUng ; but never can I face the 
 hours, when my own immediate self-love and 
 vanity brought their own penalty on me, without 
 a sense of self-abasement, as vivid as the moment 
 I first experienced it. But I must hasten over 
 this. I had been now about six weeks in Sir 
 Harvey^s house, day after day determining on my 
 departure, and invariably yielding when the time 
 came, to some new request to stay for something 
 or other — now, a day's fishing on the Nore — now, 
 another morning at the partridge — then, there was 
 a boat-race, or a music-party, or a pic-nic — in 
 fact, each day led on to another, and I found 
 myself lingering on, unable to tear myself from 
 where, I felt, my remaining was ruin. 
 
 " At last I made up my mind, and determined, 
 come what would, to take my leave, never to 
 return. I mentioned to Sir Harvey in the morn- 
 ing that some matter of importance required my 
 presence in town, and, by a half promise to spend 
 my Christmas with him, obtained his consent to 
 my departure. 
 
 " We were returning from an evening walk —
 
 181 
 
 Miss Blundcll was leaning on my arm — we were 
 the last of the party who^ by some chance or 
 other, had gone forward, leaving us to follow 
 alone. For some time neither of us spoke : what 
 were her thoughts, I cannot guess : mine were, I 
 acknowledge, entirely fixed upon the hour I was 
 to see her for the last time, while I balanced 
 whether I should speak of my approaching depar- 
 ture, or leave her without even, a ^ good-bye/ 
 
 " I did not know at the time so well as I now 
 do, how much of the interest I had excited in her 
 heart depended on the mystery of my life. The 
 stray hints I now and then dropped — the stories 
 into which I was occasionally led — the wild scenes 
 and wilder adventures, in which I bore my part — 
 had done more 'than stimulate her curiosity con- 
 cerning me. This, I repeat, I knew not at the 
 the time, and the secret of my career weighed like 
 a crime upon my conscience. I hesitated long 
 whether I should not disclose every circumstance 
 of my life, and, by the avowal of my utter unwor- 
 thiness, repair, as far as might be, the injury I had 
 done her. Then came that fatal ' amour-propre ' 
 that involved me originally in the pursuit, and I 
 was silent. AVe had not been many minutes
 
 182 
 
 thus^ when a servant came from the house to 
 inform Miss Blundell that her cousin^ Captain 
 Douglas, had arrived. As she nodded her head 
 in reply, I perceived the colour mounted to her 
 cheek, and an expression of agitation passed over 
 her features. 
 
 "^Who is Captain Douglas?' said I, without, 
 however, venturing to look more fully at her. 
 
 "'Oh! a cousin a second or third cousin, I 
 believe; but a great friend of Harvey's.' 
 
 " ' And of his sister's too, if I might presume 
 so far ?' 
 
 "'Quite wrong for once,' said she, with an 
 effort to seem at ease: 'he's not the least a 
 favourite of mine, although ' 
 
 " ' You are of his 1' I added quickly. ' Well, 
 well, I really beg pardon for this boldness of 
 mine.' How I was about to continue, I know not, 
 when her brother's voice, calling her aloud, broke 
 off all further conversation. 
 
 "'Come, Fanny,' said he, 'here's Harry Doug- 
 las, just come with all the London gossip — he's 
 been to Windsor too, and has been dining with 
 the Prince. O'Kelly, you must know Douglas, 
 you are just the men to suit each other. — He's
 
 18S 
 
 got a heavy book on the Derby, and will be de- 
 lighted to have a chat with you about the turf/ 
 
 " As I followed Miss Blundell into the draw- 
 ing-room, my heart was heavy and depressed. 
 
 *^Few of the misfortunes in life come on us 
 without foreboding. The clouds that usher in 
 the storm, cast their shadows on the earth before 
 they break; and so it is with our fate. A gloomy 
 sense of coming evil, presages the blow about to 
 fall, and he who would not be stunned by the 
 stroke, must not neglect the warning. 
 
 ^^The room was full of people — the ordinary 
 buzz and chit-chat of an evening-party was going 
 forward, and an hundred pleasant projects were 
 forming for the next day's amusement, among 
 which, I heard my name bandied about, on every 
 side. 
 
 " ' O' Kelly will arrange this/ cried one — ^ leave 
 it all to O'Kelly — he must decide it;' and so on, 
 when suddenly Blundell called out — 
 
 " * O'Kelly, come up here,' and then taking 
 me by the arm, he led me to the end of the 
 room, where with his back turned towards us, 
 a tall fashionable-looking man was talking to his 
 sister.
 
 184 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 " ^ Harry/ cried the host, as he touched his 
 elbow, ^let me introduce a very particular friend 
 of mine— Mr. O'Kelly/ 
 
 " Captain Douglas wheeled sharply round, and, 
 fixing on me a pair of dark eyes, overshadowed 
 with heavy beetling brows, looked at me sternly 
 without speaking. A cold thrill ran through me 
 from head to foot as I met his gaze; the last time 
 we had seen each other was in a square of the 
 Royal Barracks, where he, was purchasing a re- 
 mount for his troop, and /, was the horse-dealer. 
 
 '^ ^ Your friend, Mr. O'Kelly !' said he, as he 
 fixed his glass in his eye, and a most insulting 
 curl, half smile, half sneer, played about his 
 mouth. 
 
 ^^ How very absurd you are, Harry,' said Miss 
 Blundell, endeavouring by an allusion to some- 
 thing they were speaking of, to relieve the exces- 
 sive awkwardness of the moment. 
 
 ^^ ^ Yes, to be sure, mtj friend,' chimed in Sir 
 Harvey, ^ and a devilish good fellow too, and the 
 best judge of horse-flesh.^ 
 
 *^ ^ I havn't a doubt of it,' was the dry remark 
 of the Captain ; ^ but how did he get here ?' 
 
 " ^ Sir,' said I, in a voice scarce audible with
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 185 
 
 passion, ^ whatever, or whoever I am, by birth at 
 least, I am fully your equal/ 
 
 '^ ' D n your pedigree,^ said he coolly. 
 
 « ^ Why, Harry ?^ interrupted Blundell : ^ what 
 are you thinking of? Mr. O^Kelly is ' 
 
 " ^A jockey — a horse-dealer, if you will, and 
 the best hand at passing off a screw, V\e met for 
 some time. I say, sir,^ continued he in a louder 
 tone, ^ that roan charger hasn't answered his war- 
 ranty — he stands at Dycer's for you.^ 
 
 ^^ Had a thunderbolt fallen in the midst of us, 
 the consternation could not have been greater — 
 as for me, everything around bore a look of 
 mockery and scorn : derision and contempt sat on 
 every feature, and a wild uncertainty of purpose,- 
 like coming insanity, flitted through my brain: 
 what I said, or how I quitted the spot, I am un- 
 able to say; my last remembrance of that ac- 
 cursed moment was the burst of horrid laughter 
 that filled my ears, as I rushed out. I almost 
 think that I hear it still, like the yell of the 
 furies ; its very cadence was torture. I ran from 
 the house — I crossed the fields without a thought 
 of whither I was going — escape, concealment, my 
 only object. I sought to hide myself for ever
 
 186 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 
 
 from the eyes of those who had looked upon me 
 with such withering contempt ; and I would have 
 been thankful to him who would have given me 
 refuge, beneath the dank grass of the church- 
 yard. 
 
 " Never did a guilty man fly from the scene of 
 his crime with more precipitate haste, than did I 
 from the spot which had witnessed my shame, and 
 degradation. At every step, I thought of the 
 cruel speeches, the harsh railings, and the bitter 
 irony, of all, before whom, but one hour ago, I 
 stood chief and pre-eminent; and although I 
 vowed to myself never to meet any of them again, 
 I could not pluck from my heart the innate sense 
 of my despicable condition, and how low I must 
 now stand in the estimation of the very lowest, I 
 had so late looked down upon. And here let me 
 passingly remark, that while we often hold lightly 
 the praise of those, upon whose powers of judg- 
 ment and reach of information we place little 
 value, by some strange contrariety we feel most 
 bitterly the censure of these very people, when- 
 ever any trivial circumstance, any small or petty 
 observance with which they are acquainted, gives 
 them, for the time, the power of an opinion. The
 
 187 
 
 mere fact of our contempt for them adds a 
 poignancy to their condemnation^ and I question 
 much if we do not bear up better against the 
 censure of the wise, than the scoff of the 
 ignorant. 
 
 ^^On I went, and on, never even turning my 
 head; for though I had left all the little wealth I 
 possessed in the world, I would gladly have given 
 it, ten times told, to have blotted out even a par- 
 ticle of the shame that rested on my character. 
 Scarcely had I reached the high road, when I 
 heard the quick tramp of horses, and the rattle of 
 wheels behind me ; and, so strong were the in- 
 stincts of my fear, that I scarcely dared to look 
 back; at length I did so, and beheld the mail- 
 coach coming towards me at a rapid pace. As it 
 neared, I hailed the coachman, and without an 
 inquiry as to where it was going, I sprung up to a 
 place on the roof, thankful that ere long I should 
 leave miles between me, and my torturers. 
 
 ^^The same evening we arrived in Cork; during 
 the journey I made acquaintance with a sergeant 
 of a light dragoon regiment, who was proceeding 
 in charge of three recruits, to the depot at Cove. 
 With the quick eye of his calling, the fellow saw
 
 1S8 ARTHUR O LEARY. 
 
 something in my dispirited state that promised 
 success to his wishes ; and he immediately began 
 the thousand-times-told tale of the happiness 
 of a soldier's life. I stopped him short at once, 
 for my mind was already made up, and before 
 the day broke, I had enlisted in his Majesty's 
 Twelfth Light Dragoons, at that time serving in 
 America. 
 
 " If I have spared you the recital of many 
 passages in my life, whose painful memory would 
 hurt me to call up, I shall also pass over this por- 
 tion of my career, which, though not marked by 
 any distinct feature of calamity-, was, perhaps, the 
 most painful I ever knew. He who thinks that 
 in joining the ranks of an army, his only trials 
 will be the severity of an unaccustomed discipline, 
 and the common hardship of a soldier's life, takes 
 but a very shallow view of what is before him. 
 Coarse and vulgar associates — depraved tastes 
 and brutal habits — the ribald jest of the barrack- 
 room — the comrade spirit of a class, the very 
 lowest and meanest — these, are the trials, the 
 almost insupportable trials, of him who has 
 known better days. 
 
 "As hour by hour, he finds himself yielding to
 
 1S9 
 
 the gradual pressure of his fate, and feels his 
 mind assuming, one by one, the prejudices ot 
 those about him, his self-esteem falls with his 
 condition, and he sees that the time is not dis- 
 tant, when all inequality between him and his 
 fellows shall cease, and every trait of his former 
 self be washed away, for ever. 
 
 "After four months of such endurance as I 
 dare not even now suffer myself to dwell upon, 
 orders arrived at Cove for the recruits of the dif- 
 ferent regiments at once to proceed to Chatham, 
 whence they were to be forwarded to their respec- 
 tive corps. I believe in my heart, had this order 
 not come, I should have deserted, so unendurable 
 had my life become. The thought of active ser- 
 vice, the prospect of advancement, however re- 
 mote, cheered my spirits, and, for the first time 
 since I joined, my heart was light on the morning 
 when the old ^Northumberland' transport an- 
 chored in the harbour, and the signal for embark- 
 ing the troops floated from the mast-head. A 
 motley crew we were — frieze-coated, red-coated, 
 and no-coated ; some, ruddy-cheeked farmer's 
 boys, sturdy good-humoured fellows, with the 
 bloom of country life upon their faces -, some^ the
 
 190 
 
 pale^ sickly, inhabitants of towns, whose sharpened 
 features and quick penetrating eyes, betokened 
 how much their wits had contributed to their 
 maintenance. A few there were, like myself, 
 drawn from a better class, but already scarce dis- 
 tinguishable amid the herd. We were nearly five 
 hundred in number, one feature of equality per- 
 vading all — none of us had any arms. Some 
 instances of revolt and mutiny that had occurred, 
 a short time previous, on board troop-ships, had 
 induced the Horse Guards to adopt this resolu- 
 tion, and a general order was issued, that the 
 recruits should not receive arms before their 
 arrival at Chatham. At last we weighed anchor, 
 and with a light easy wind stood out to sea; it 
 was the first time I had been afloat for many a 
 long day, and as I leaned over the bulwark, and 
 heard the light rustle of the waves as they broke 
 on the cut-water, and watched the white foam as 
 it rippled past, I thought on the old days of my 
 smuggling life, when I trod the plank of my little 
 craft, with a step as light and a heart as free, as 
 ever did the proudest admiral on the poop-deck 
 of his three-decker ; and as I remembered what I 
 then had been, and thought of what I now was, a
 
 191 
 
 growing melancholy settled on me, and I sat 
 apart and spoke to none. 
 
 '^ On the third night after we sailed, the breeze, 
 which had set in at sunset, increased considerably, 
 and a heavy sea rolled in from the westward. 
 Now, although the weather w^as not such as to 
 endanger the safety of a good ship with an able 
 crew, yet was it by no means a matter of indiffer- 
 ence in an old rotten craft like the ' Northumber- 
 land,' condemned half a dozen years before, and 
 barely able to make her voyage in light winds 
 and fine weather. Our skipper knew this well, 
 and I could see by the agitation of his features, 
 and the altered tones of his voice, how little he 
 liked the freshening gale, and the low moaning 
 sound that swept along the sea, and threatened a 
 storm. The pumps had been at work for some 
 hours, and it was clear that the most we could do, 
 was to keep the water from gaining on us. A 
 chance observation of mine had attracted the 
 skipper's attention, and after a few minutes' con- 
 versation he saw that I was a seaman, not only 
 better informed, but more habituated to danger 
 than himself; he was, therefore, glad to take 
 counsel from me, and at my suggestion a spare
 
 192 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 sail was bent^ and passed under the ship's bot- 
 tom, which soon succeeded in arresting the pro- 
 gress of the leak, and, at the same time, assisted 
 the vessel's sailing. Meanwhile the storm was 
 increasing, and it now blew what the sailors call 
 ^ great guns.' 
 
 ^^ We were staggering along under light canvas, 
 when the look-out-a-head announced a light on 
 the weather-bow; it was evidently coming towards 
 us, and scarce half a mile distant; we had no 
 more than time to hang out a lantern in the tops 
 and put up the helm, when a large ship, whose 
 sides rose several feet above our own, swept by 
 us, and so close, that her yard-arms actually 
 touched our rigging as she yav/ed over in the 
 sea. A muttered thanksgiving for our escape, 
 for such it was, broke from every lip; and hardly 
 was it uttered, when again a voice cried out, 
 ^here she comes to leeward,' and sure enough the 
 dark shadow of the large mass moving at a speed 
 far greater than ours passed under our lee, while 
 a harsh summons was shouted out to know who 
 we were, and whither bound. The ^Northum- 
 berland,' with troops, was the answer; and before 
 the words were well out, a banging noise was
 
 19'3 
 
 heard — the ports of the stranger ship were flung 
 open, a bright flashy like a line of flame, ran her 
 entire length, and a raking broadside was poured 
 into us. The old transport reeled over and trem- 
 bled like a thing of life, — her shattered sides and 
 torn bulwarks let in the water as she heeled to 
 the shock, and for an instant, as she bent beneath 
 the storm, 1 thought she was settling, to go down 
 by the head. I had little time, however, for 
 thought: one wild cheer broke from the attacking 
 ship — its answer was the faint, sad cry, of the 
 wounded and dying on our deck. The next 
 moment the grapples were thrown into us, and 
 the vessel was boarded from stem to stern. The 
 noise of the cannonade, and the voices on deck, 
 brought all our men from below, who came 
 tumbling up the hatches, believing we had 
 struck. 
 
 " Then began a scene, such as all I have ever 
 witnessed of carnage and slaughter cannot equaL 
 The Frenchmen, for such they were, rushed down 
 upon us as we stood defenceless, and unarmed: a 
 deadly roll of musketry swept our thick and trem^ 
 bling masses. The cutlass and the boarding-pike 
 made fearful havoc among us, and an unresisted 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 slaughter tore along our deck, till the heaps o£ 
 dead and dying made the only barrier for the few 
 remaining. 
 
 "A chance word in French, and a sign of 
 masonry, rescued me from the fate of my com- 
 rades, and my only injury was a slight sabre- 
 wound in the fore-arm, which I received in 
 warding off a cut intended for my head. The 
 carnage lasted scarce fifteen minutes; but in that 
 time, of all the crew that manned our craft — what 
 between those who leaped overboard in wild des- 
 pair, and those who fell beneath fire and steel — 
 acarce twenty remained, appalled and trembling, 
 the only ones rescued from this horrible slaughter, 
 
 " A sudden cry of ^ she's sinking !' burst from 
 the strange ship, and in a moment the Frenchmen 
 clambered up their bulwarks, the grapples were 
 cast off, the dark mass darted onwards on her 
 course, and we, drifted away to leeward — a moving 
 sepulchre ! 
 
 '^ As the clouds flew past, the moon shone out 
 and threw a pale sickly light on the scene of 
 slaughter, where the dead and dying lay in indis- 
 criminate heaps together — so frightful a spectacle 
 never did eye rest upon ! The few who, like
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 195 
 
 myself, survived, stood trembling, half stunned 
 by the shock, not daring to assist the wretched 
 men as they writhed in agony before us. I was 
 the first to recover from this stupor, and turning 
 to the others, I made signs to clear the decks of 
 the dead bodies — speak I could not. It was 
 some time before they could be made to under- 
 stand me; unhappily, not a single sailor had 
 escaped the carnage; a few raw recruits were the 
 only survivors of that dreadful night. 
 
 "After a little they rallied so far as to obey 
 me, and I, taking the wheel, assumed the com- 
 mand of the vessel, and endeavoured to steer a 
 course for any port on the west coast of England. 
 
 "Day broke at length, but a wide waste of 
 waters lay around us : the wind had abated con- 
 siderably, but still the sea ran high; and although 
 our foresail and trysail remained bent, as before 
 the attack, we laboured heavily, and made little 
 way through the water. Our decks were quite 
 covered with the dying, whose heart-rending 
 cries, mingled with the wilder shouts of madness, 
 were too horrible to bear. But I cannot dwell 
 on such a picture. Of the little party who sur- 
 vived, scarcely three were serviceable: some sat 
 
 o 2
 
 196 
 
 cold and speechless from terror, and seemed 
 insensible to every threat or entreaty; some 
 sternly refused to obey my orders, and prowled 
 about between decks in search of spirits; and 
 one, maddened by the horrors he beheld, sprang 
 with a scream into the sea, and never was seen 
 more. 
 
 "Towards evening we heard a hail, and on 
 looking out saw a pilot-boat making for us, and 
 in a short time we were boarded by a pilot, who, 
 with some of his crew, took the vessel into their 
 hands, and before sunset we anchored in Milford. 
 
 " Immediately on landing, I was sent up to 
 London under a strong escort, to give an account 
 of the whole aifair to the Admiralty. For eight 
 tlays my examination was continued during seve- 
 ral hours every day, and at last I was dismissed, 
 with promotion to the rank of sergeant, for my 
 conduct in saving the ship, and appointed to the 
 fortieth foot, then under orders for Quebec. 
 
 " Once more at sea and in good spirits, I sailed 
 for Quebec on a fine morning in April, on board 
 the ^ Abercrombie/ Nothing could be more de- 
 lightful than the voyage: the weather was clear, 
 with a fair fresh breeze and a smooth sea; and at
 
 197 
 
 the third week we dropped our lead on the green 
 bank of Newfoundland, and brought up again a 
 cod fish, every time we heaved it. We now 
 entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and began 
 anxiously to look for land. 
 
 " On the third morning after we made the 
 ^ Gulf/ a heavy snow-storm came on, which pre- 
 vented our seeing a cable's length ahead of us. It 
 was so cold, too, that few remained on deck; for 
 although the first of May, it was about as severe 
 a day as I remember. Anxious to see something 
 6f the country, I remained with the look-out-a- 
 head, straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of the 
 land through the dense snow-drift. All I could 
 distinguish, however, was the dim outline of dis- 
 tant mountains, apparently covered with snow; 
 but, as the day wore on, we came in sight of the 
 long low island of Anticosti, which, though con- 
 siderably more than a hundred miles in length, is 
 not, in any part, more than fifteen feet above the 
 level of the water. 
 
 "Towards evening the land became much 
 clearer to view; and now I could perceive tall, 
 peaked mountains some thousand feet in height, 
 their bases clad with stunted pine-trees^ — their
 
 198 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 white summits stretching away into the clouds. 
 As I looked^ my astonishment was great^ to find 
 that the vast gulf, which at day-break was some 
 sixty miles in width, seemed now diminished to 
 about eight or ten, and continued to narrow 
 rapidly, as we proceeded on our course. 
 
 " The skipper, who had only made the voyage 
 once before, seemed himself confused, and endea- 
 voured to explain our apparent vicinity to the 
 land, as some mere optical delusion — now, attri- 
 buting it to something in the refraction of the 
 light 5 now, the snow: but although he spoke with 
 all the assurance of knowledge, it was evident to 
 me, that he was by no means satisfied in his own 
 mind, of the facts he presented to ours. 
 
 "As the snow-storm abated, we could see that 
 the mountams which lay on either side of us, met 
 each other in front, forming a vast amphitheatre 
 without any exit. 
 
 ""'This surely is not the Gulf of St. Law- 
 rence ?' said I to an old sailor who sat leisurely 
 chewing tobacco with his back to the capstern. 
 
 " ' No, that it mn%' said he coolly; * it^s Gaspe 
 Bay, and I shouldn't wish to be in a worse 
 place/
 
 ARTHUR oYeARY. 199 
 
 "'What could have brought us here then? the 
 skipper surely doesn't know where we are?^ 
 
 " ' V\\ tell you what has brought us here. 
 There's a current from the Gulf stream sets in to 
 this bay, at seven, or eight knots the hour, and 
 brings in all the floating ice along with it- 
 there, am I right? do you hear that?' 
 
 " As he spoke, a tremendous crash, almost as 
 loud as thunder, was heard at our bow; and as I 
 rushed to the bulwark and looked over, I beheld 
 vast fragments of ice more than a foot thick, 
 encrusted with frozen snow, flying past us in 
 circling eddies; while further on, the large flakes 
 were mounting, one above the other, clattering, 
 and crashing, as the waves broke among them. 
 Heaven knows how much farther our mulish 
 Cumberland skipper would have pursued his 
 voyage of discovery, had not the soundings pro- 
 claimed but five fathom water. Our sails were 
 now backed; but as the current continued to bear 
 us along, a boat was got out, and an anchor put 
 in readiness to warp us astern; but by an un- 
 happy accident the anchor slipped in lowering 
 over the side, stove in the boat, and of the four 
 poor fellows who were under it, one was carried
 
 "200 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 under the ice, and never seen again. This was a 
 sad beginning, and matters now appeared each 
 moment more threatening. As we still continued 
 to drift with the current, a bower-anchor was 
 dropped where we were, and the vessel afterwards 
 swung round, head to wind, while the ice came 
 crashing upon the cut-water, and on the sides, 
 with a noise that made all else inaudible. It was 
 found by this time that the water was shoaling, 
 and this gave new cause for fear ; for if the ship 
 vwere to touch the ground, it was clear, all chance 
 
 ■ of saving her was at an end. 
 
 ^^ After a number of different opinions given 
 and canvassed, it was determined that four men 
 should be sent ashore in the yawl, to find out 
 some one who knew the pilotage of the bay; for 
 we could descry several log-huts along the shore, 
 at short distances from each other. With my 
 
 ■ officer^s permission, I obtained leave to make one 
 of this party, and I soon found myself tugging 
 away at the bow-oar through a heavy surf, whose 
 difficulty was tenfold increased by the fragments 
 of ice that floated past. After rowing about an 
 hour, the twilight began to fall, and we could but 
 faintly perceive the outline of the ship, while the
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 201 
 
 log-huts on shore seemed scarcely nearer than at 
 the moment when we quitted the vessel. By this 
 time, large fields of ice were about us on every 
 side; rowing was no longer possible, and we 
 groped along with our boat-hooks, finding a 
 channel, where we could avoid the floating 
 masses. 
 
 " The peril of this proceeding grew with every 
 moment; sometimes our frail boat would be 
 struck with such force as threatened to stave in 
 every plank; sometimes was she driven high upon 
 a piece of ice, which took all our efforts to extri- 
 cate her from, while, as we advanced, no passage 
 presented itself before us, but flake upon flake of 
 frozen matter, among which were fragments of 
 wrecks, and branches of trees, mixed up together. 
 The sailors, who had undertaken the enterprise 
 against their will, now resolved they would ven- 
 ture no further, but make their way back to the 
 ship while it was yet possil^le. I alone opposed 
 this plan — to return, without at least having 
 reached the shore, I told them, would l)e a dis- 
 grace, the safety of all on ])oard was in a manner 
 committed to our efforts; and I endeavoured by 
 every argument to induce them to proceed. To
 
 202 
 
 no purpose did I tell them this; of no use was it 
 that I pointed out the lights on shore, which we 
 could now see moving from place to place, as 
 though we had been perceived, and that some 
 preparations were making for our rescue. I was 
 outvoted, however: back they would go; and one 
 of them as he pushed the boat^s head round, jeer- 
 ingly said to me — 
 
 ^^^Why, with such jolly good foot-way, don't 
 you go yourself ? you'll have all the honour, you 
 know/ 
 
 " The taunt stung me to the quick, the more as 
 it called forth a laugh from the rest. I made no 
 answer, but seizing a boat-hook, sprang over the 
 side upon a large mass of ice. The action drove 
 the boat from me. I heard them call to me to 
 come back; but come what would, my mind was 
 made up. I never turned my head, but with my 
 eyes fixed on the shore- lights, I dashed on, glad 
 to find that with every stroke of the sea the ice 
 was borne onwards towards the land. At length 
 the sound of the breakers ahead, made me fearful 
 of venturing farther; for as the darkness fell, I 
 had to trust entirely to my hearing as my guide. 
 I stood then rooted to the spot, and as the wind
 
 whistled past, and the snow-drift was borne in 
 eddying currents by me, I drove my boat-hook 
 into the ice, and held on firmly by it. Suddenly, 
 through the gloom a bright flash flared out, and 
 then I could see it flitting along, and at last, I 
 thought I could mark it, directing its course to- 
 wards the ship; I strained my eyes to their 
 utmost, and in an ecstasy of joy I shouted aloud, 
 as I beheld a canoe manned by Indians, with a 
 pine torch blazing in the prow. The red light of 
 the burning wood lit up their wild figures as they 
 came along — now carrying their light bark over 
 the fields of ice; now launching it into the boil- 
 ing surf, and thus, alternately walking, and sailing, 
 they came at a speed almost inconceivable. They 
 soon heard my shouts, and directed their course 
 to where I stood ; but the excitement of my dan- 
 ger, the dreadful alternations of hope and fear 
 thus suddenly ceasing, so stunned me that I could 
 not speak, as they took me in their arms and 
 placed me in the bottom of the canoe. Of our 
 course back to shore I remember little: the 
 intense cold, added to the stupefaction of my 
 mind, brought on a state resembling sleep; and 
 even when they lifted me on land, the drowsy
 
 204 
 
 lethargy clung to me; and only when I found 
 myself beside the blaze of a wood-fire, did my 
 faculties begin to revive, and, like a seal under 
 the rays of the sun, did I warm into life, once 
 more. The first thing I did, when morning 
 broke, was to spring from my resting-place be- 
 side the fire, and rush out, to look for the ship. 
 The sun was shining brilliantly — the bay lay calm 
 as a mirror before me, reflecting the tall moun- 
 tains and the taper pines : but the ship was gone, 
 not a sail appeared in sight ; and I now learned, 
 that when the tide began to make, and she was 
 enabled to float, a land breeze sprung up w^hich 
 carried her gently out to sea, and that she was in 
 all likelihood, by that time, some thirty miles in 
 her course up the St. Lawrence. For a moment, 
 my joy at the deliverance of my companions was 
 unchecked by any thought of my own desolate 
 condition; the next minute, I remembered myself, 
 and sat down upon a stone, and gazed out upon 
 the wide waters with a sad and sinking heart.
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY.. 205 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 MR. O^KELLY^S TALE.— Concluded. 
 
 "Life had presented too many vicissitudes before 
 me, to make much difference in my temperament, 
 v/hatever came uppermost : Uke the gambler, who 
 if he lose to-day, goes off consoling himself, that 
 he may be a winner to-morrow, I had learned 
 never to feel very acutely any misfortune, pro- 
 vided only that I could see some prospect of its 
 not being permanent : — and how many are there 
 who go through the world in this fashion, getting 
 the credit all the while of being such true philo* 
 sophers, so much elevated above the chances and 
 changes of fortune, and who, after all, only apply 
 to the game of life the same rule of action they 
 practice at the ^ rouge et noir' table. 
 
 "The worthy folks among whom my lot was 
 now cast, were a tribe of red men, called the 
 Gaspe Indians, who, among other pastimes pecu- 
 liar to themselves, followed the respectable and
 
 206 
 
 ancient trade, of wreckers, in which occupation 
 the months of October and November usually- 
 supplied them with as much as the could do — 
 after that, the ice closed in, on thy bay, and no 
 vessel could pass up or down the St. Lawrence, 
 before the following spring. 
 
 "It was for some time to me a puzzle, how 
 people so completely barbarous as they were, 
 possessed such comfortable and well-appointed 
 dwellings, for not only had they log-huts well 
 jointed, and carefully put together, but many of 
 the comforts of civilized life were to be seen 
 in the internal decorations. The reason I at 
 length learned, from the chief, in whose house 
 I dwelt, and with whom I had already succeeded 
 in establishing a sworn friendship. About fifteen 
 years previous, this bay was selected by a party 
 of emigrants, as the locale of a settlement. They 
 had been wrecked on the island of Anticosti 
 themselves, and made their escape to Gaspe, 
 with such remnants of their effects as they could 
 rescue from the wreck. There, they built houses 
 for themselves, made clearings in the forest, and 
 established a little colony, with rules and regula- 
 tions for its government. Happily for them,
 
 207 
 
 they possessed within their number almost 
 every description of artificer requisite for such 
 an undertaking, their original intention being to 
 found a settlement in Canada, and thus carpen- 
 ters, shoe-makers, weavers, tailors, mill-wrights, 
 being all ready to contribute their aid and assist- 
 ance to each other, the colony made rapid pro- 
 gress, and soon assumed the appearance of a 
 thriving and prosperous place. The forest 
 abounded in wild deer and bears, the bay not 
 less rich in fish, while the ground, which they 
 sowed with potatoes and Indian-corn, yielded 
 most successful crops, and as the creek was 
 never visited by sickness, nothing could surpass 
 the success that waited on their labours. 
 
 ^^ Thus they lived, till in the fall of the year, 
 a detachment of the Gaspe Indians, who came 
 down every autumn for the herring-fishery, dis- 
 covered that their territory was occupied, and 
 that an invading force were in possession of 
 their hunting-grounds. The result could not be 
 doubted; the red men returned home to their 
 friends with the news, and speedily came back 
 again with reinforcements of the whole tribe, 
 and made an attack on the settlement. The
 
 208 
 
 colonists, though not prepared, soon assembled, 
 and being better armed, for their fire-arms and 
 cutlasses had all been saved, repelled the assail- 
 ants, and having killed and wounded several of 
 them, drove them back into the forest. The 
 victory, however complete, was the first day of 
 their misfortunes; from that hour they were 
 never safe ; sometimes a marauding party of red 
 men would dash into the village at nightfall, and 
 carry away some of the children before their 
 cries could warn their parents. Instead of 
 venturing as before into the 'bush' whenever 
 they pleased, and in small numbers, they were 
 now obliged to go with the greatest circumspec- 
 tion and caution, stationing scouts here and there, 
 and, above all, leaving a strong garrison to 
 protect the settlement against attack in their 
 absence. Fear and distrust prevailed everywhere, 
 and instead of the peace and prosperity that 
 attended the first year of their labours, the land 
 now remained but half tilled; the hunting 
 yielded scarcely any benefit ; and all their efforts 
 were directed to their safety, and their time 
 consumed in erecting outworks and forts to 
 protect the village.
 
 209 
 
 " While matters were in this state, a large 
 timber ship, bound for England, struck on a 
 reef of rocks at the entrance of the bay. The 
 sea ran high, and a storm of wind from the 
 north-west soon rent her in fragments. The 
 colonists, who knew every portion of the bay 
 well, put out, the first moment they could venture, 
 to the wreck, not, however, to save the lives 
 and rescue the poor fellows who yet clung to 
 the rigging, but to pillage the ship ere she went 
 to pieces. The expedition succeeded far beyond 
 their most ardent hopes, and a rich harvest of 
 plunder resulted from this venture, casks of 
 powder, flour, pork, and rum, were landed by 
 every tide at their doors, and once more, the 
 sounds of merriment and rejoicing, were heard 
 in the village. But how different from before 
 was it ! Then, they were happy and contented 
 settlers, living like one united family in brotherly 
 affection and kind good-will; now, it was but the 
 bond of crime that bound, and the wild madness 
 of intoxication, that excited them. Their hunting 
 grounds were no longer cared for; the fields, 
 ■with so much labour rescued from the forest, 
 were neglected; the fishing was abandoned; and 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 a life given up to the most intemperate abandon- 
 ment, succeeded to days of peaceful labour 
 and content. Not satisfied with mere defence, 
 they now carried the war into the Indian 
 settlements, and cruelties the most frightful 
 ensued in their savage reprisals. 
 
 '' In this dangerous coast a winter never passed 
 without several wrecks occurring, and as they 
 now practised every device^ by false signals and 
 fires, to lure vessels to their ruin, their in- 
 famous traffic succeeded perfectly, and wrecking 
 became a mode of subsistence, far more plentiful 
 than their former habits of quiet industry. 
 
 ^^One long reef of rocks that ran from the 
 most southerly point of the bay, and called by 
 the Indians ^the Teeth,' was the most fatal spot 
 of the whole coast, for while these rocks stretched 
 for above a mile, to sea, and were only covered at 
 high water, a strong land current drew vessels 
 towards them, which, with the wind on shore, 
 it was impossible to resist. 
 
 ^^To this fatal spot, each eye was turned at 
 day-break, to see if some ill-starred vessel had 
 not struck during the night. This, was the last 
 point each look was bent on, as the darkness was
 
 211 
 
 falling; and when the wind howled, and the sea 
 ran mountains high, and dashed its white foam 
 over their little huts, then, was every one astir in 
 the village. Many an anxious gaze pierced 
 through the mist, hoping some white sail might 
 gleam through the storm, or some bending spar 
 show where a perishing crew yet cried for help. 
 The little shore would then present a busy scene, 
 boats were got out, coils of rope, and oars strewed 
 on every side, lanterns flitted rapidly from place 
 to place. With what energy and earnestness 
 they moved, how their eyes gleamed with excite- 
 ment, and how their voices rung out, in accents 
 of hoarse command. Oh! how horrible to think 
 that the same features of a manly nature — the bold 
 and daring courage that fears not the rushing 
 wave, nor the sweeping storm, the heroic daring 
 that can breast the wild breakers as they splash 
 on the dark rocks, can arise from impulses iso 
 opposite ; and that humanity the fairest, and crime 
 the blackest, have but the same machinery to 
 work with. 
 
 *' It was on a dark November night — the heavy 
 sough of a coming storm sent large and sullen 
 waves on shore, where they broke with that low 
 
 p 2
 
 212 
 
 liollow cadence, that seamen recognise as boding 
 ill. A dense, thick fog, obscured all objects sea- 
 ward, and though many scouts were out upon the 
 liills, they could detect nothing; still, as the night 
 grew more and more threatening, the wreckers 
 felt assured a gale was coming, and already their 
 preparation w^as made for the approaching time. 
 Hour after hour passed by, but though the gale 
 increased, and blew with violence on the shore, 
 nothing could be seen. Towards midnight, how- 
 ever, a scout came in to say, that he thought he 
 could detect at intervals, through the dense mist, 
 and spray, a gleaming liglit in the direction of 
 ' the Teeth .^ The drift was too great to make it 
 clearly perceptible, but still, he persisted he had 
 seen something. 
 
 "A party was soon assembled on the beach 
 their eyes turned towards the fatal rocks, which 
 at low water rose some twelve or fifteen feet 
 above the surface. They gazed long and anxiously, 
 but nothing could they make out, till, as they 
 were turning away, one cried out, ^ Ay, see there 
 — there it is now;' and as he spoke, a red-forked 
 flame shot up through the drifting spray, and 
 and threw a lurid flash upon the dark sea. It
 
 213 
 
 died away almost as quickly, and though seen at 
 intervals again, it seemed ever to wax fainter, and 
 fainter. ^ She's on fire,' cried one. ^No, no; it's 
 a distress signal,' said another. ' One thing is 
 certain,' cried a third, ^the craft that's on the 
 "Teeth" on such anight as this, won't get off very 
 readily; and so, lads, be alive and run out the 
 boats.' 
 
 "The little colony was soon astir. It was a 
 race of avarice too; for, latterly, the settlement 
 had been broken up by feuds and jealousies, into 
 different factions ; and each strove to overreach 
 the other. In less than half an hour, eight boats 
 were out, and breasting the white breakers, headed 
 out to sea. All, save the old and decrepit, the 
 women, and children, were away, and even they, 
 stood watching on the shore, following with their 
 eyes the boats in which they felt most in- 
 terested. 
 
 "At last they disappeared in the gloom — not .'i 
 trace could be seen of them, nor did tlie wij)d 
 carry back their voices, over which the ragin;; 
 Storm was now howhng. A few still remained 
 straining their eye-balls towards the spot where 
 the light was seen, the others had returned io-
 
 214 
 
 wards the village; when all of a sudden a fright- 
 ful yell, a long sustained and terrible cry arose 
 from the huts, and the same instant a blaze burst 
 forth, and rose into a red column towards the 
 sky. The Indians were upon them. The war 
 shout — that dreadful sound they knew too well — 
 resounded on every side. Then began a massacre, 
 which nothing in description can convey. The 
 dreadful rage of the vengeful savage — long pent 
 up — long provoked — had now its time for ven- 
 geance. The tomahawk and the scalping knife 
 ran red with blood, as women and infants rushed 
 madly hither and thither in flight. Old men 
 lay weltering in their gore beside their daughters, 
 and grandchildren; while the wild red men, un- 
 sated with slaughter, tore the mangled corpses as 
 they lay, and bathed themselves in blood. But 
 not there did it end. The flame that gleamed 
 from the ' Teeth' rocks, was but an Indian device, 
 to draw the wreckers out to sea. A pine- wood 
 fire had been lighted on the tallest cliff at low 
 water, to attract their attention, by some sa- 
 vages in canoes, and left to burn away slowly 
 during the night. 
 
 "Deceived and baffled, the wreckers made
 
 215 
 
 towards shore, to which already their eyes were 
 turned in terror, for the red blaze of the burning| 
 huts was seen, miles off, in the bay. Scarcely had 
 the first boat neared the shore, when a volley of 
 fire-arms poured in upon her — while the war-cry 
 that rose above it, told them their hour was come. 
 The Indians were several hundred in number, 
 armed to the teeth; the others few, and without 
 a single weapon. Contest, it was none. The 
 slaughter scarce lasted many minutes, for ere the 
 flame from the distant rock subsided, the last 
 white man lay a corpse on the bloody strand. 
 Such was the terrible retribution on crime, and at 
 the very moment too, when their cruel hearts 
 were bent on its perpetration. 
 
 "This tale, which was told me in a broken 
 jargon, between Canadian- French and English, 
 concluded with words, which were not to 
 me, at the time, the least shocking part of 
 the story ; as the narrator, with glistening eyes, 
 and in a voice whose guttural tones seemed 
 almost too thick for utterance said, ^ It was I, that 
 planned it!' 
 
 " You will ask me, by what chance did I escape 
 with life among such a tribe. An accident — the
 
 216 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 
 
 merest accident — saved me. When a smuggler, 
 as I have already told you I was, I once, when 
 becalmed in the Bay of Biscay, got one of the 
 sailors to tattoo my arm with gunpowder, a very 
 common practice at sea. The operator had been 
 in the North American trade, and had passed ten 
 years as a prisoner among the Indians, and 
 brought away with him innumerable recollections 
 of their habits and customs. Among others, their 
 strange idols had made a great impression on his 
 mind; and, as I gave him a discretionary power 
 as to the frescos he was to adorn me with, he 
 painted a most American-looking savage with two 
 faces on his head — his body all stuck over with 
 arrows and spear-points, while he, apparently 
 unmoved by such visitors, was skipping about, in 
 something that might be a war- dance. 
 
 " This, with all its appropriate colours — for as 
 the heraldry folk say, ^ It was proper' — was a very 
 conspicuous object on my arm, and no sooner 
 seen by the chief, than he immediately knelt down 
 beside me, dressed my wounds and tended me; 
 while the rest of the tribe, recognising me as one 
 whose existence was charmed, showed me every 
 manner of respect, and even devotion.
 
 ARTHUR O'LEABY. 21*/ 
 
 " Indeed I soon felt my popularity to be my 
 greatest difficulty ; for whatever great event was 
 going forward among the tribe, it became the 
 etiquette to consult me on it, as a species of sootli- 
 sayer, and never was a prophet more sorely tested. 
 Sometimes, it was a question of the whale-fishery 
 — whether ' bottle noses/ or ^ sulphur bottoms/ 
 were coming up the bay, and whether, in the then 
 season, it v/as safe, or not, to strike the 'calf whales' 
 first. Now, it was a disputed point as to the con- 
 dition of bears; or worse than either, a little ma- 
 rauding party would be undertaken into a neigh- 
 bour's premises, where I was expected to perform 
 a very leading part, which, not having the same 
 strong convictions of my invulnerable nature, as 
 my worthy associates, I undertook with as few 
 feelings of satisfaction as you may imagine. But 
 these were not all ; offers of marriage from many 
 noble families pressed me on every side ; and 
 though polygamy to any extent was permissible, 
 I never could persuade myself, to make my for- 
 tune in this manner. The ladies too, I am bound 
 to say, were not so seductive as to endanger my 
 principles: flattened heads, bent-down noses, and 
 lip stones, are very strong antidotes to the tcndiM-
 
 218 
 
 passion. And I was obliged to declare, that I was 
 compelled, by a vow, not to marry for three 
 moons. I dared not venture on a longer period 
 of amnesty, lest I should excite suspicion of any 
 insult to them, on a point where their vengeance 
 never forgives; and I hoped, ere that time 
 elapsed, that I should be able to make my escape 
 — though how, or when, or where to, were points 
 I could not possibly guess at. 
 
 '' Before the half of my probation had expired, 
 we were visited by an old Indian of a distant tribe 
 — a strange old fellow he was, clothed in goats* 
 skins, and wearing strong leather boots and 
 rackets (snow shoes), a felt hat, and a kind of 
 leather sack strapped on his back, and secured by 
 a lock. This singular-looking fellow was, ^the 
 post.* He travelled once a year from a small 
 settlement near Miramichi, to Quebec, and back, 
 carrying the letters to, and from these places, a 
 distance of something like seven hundred miles, 
 which he accomplished entirely on foot, great part 
 of it through dense forests and over wild unin- 
 habited prairies, passing through the hunting- 
 grounds of several hostile tribes, fording rivers 
 and climbing mountains, and all, for the moderate
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 219 
 
 payment of ten pounds a year^ half of which he 
 spent in rum before he left Quebec^ and while 
 waiting for the return mail ; and strangest of all, 
 though for forty years he had continued to per- 
 form this journey, not only no accident had ever 
 occurred to the letters, but he himself was never 
 known to be behind his appointed time at his 
 destination. 
 
 "' Tahata;^ for such was his name, was, how- 
 ever, a character of great interest, even to the 
 barbarous tribes through whose territories he 
 passed. He was a species of savage newspaper, 
 recounting various details respecting the hunting 
 and fishing seasons — the price of skins at Quebec 
 or Montreal, — what was the peltry most in 
 request, and how it would bring its best price. 
 Cautiously abstaining from the local politics of 
 these small states, his information only bore on 
 such topics as are generally useful and interesting, 
 and never for a moment partook of any partisan 
 character; besides, he had ever some petty com- 
 mission or other, from the squaws, to discharge at 
 Quebec. There was an amber bead, or a tin 
 ornament, a bit of red ribbon or a glass button, or 
 some such valuable, every where he went; and
 
 220 
 
 his coming was an event as much longed, and 
 looked for, as any other that marked their mono- 
 tonous existence. 
 
 *^ He rested for a few days at our village, when 
 I learned these few particulars of his life, and at 
 once resolved, come what might, to make my 
 escape with him, and, if possible, reach Quebec. 
 An opportunity, fortunately, soon offered for my 
 doing so with facility. The day of the courier's 
 departure was fixed for a great fishing excursion, 
 on which the tribe were to be absent for several 
 days. Affecting illness, I remained on shore, and 
 never stirred from the wigwam till the last canoe 
 had disappeared from sight: then I slowly saun- 
 tered out, and telling the squaws that I would 
 stroll about, for an hour or so, to breathe the air, 
 I followed the track which was pointed out to me 
 by the courier, who, had departed early on the 
 same morning. Before sunset I came up with 
 my friend, and with a heart overflowing with 
 delight, sat down to partake of the little supper 
 he had provided for our first day's journey; after 
 that, each day was to take care of itself. 
 
 " Then began a series of adventures, to which all 
 I have hitherto told you, are, as nothing. It was
 
 221 
 
 the wild life of the prairies in companionship 
 with one, who felt as much at home in the re- 
 cesses of a pine forest, as ever I did in the snug 
 corner of mine inn. Now, it was a night spent 
 under the starry sky, beside some clear river's 
 bank, where tlie fish lay motionless beneath the 
 red glare of our watch-fire; now, we bivouaced in 
 a gloomy forest, planting stockades around to 
 keep off the wild beasts ; then, we would chance 
 upon some small Indian settlement, where we 
 were regaled with hospitality, and spent half the 
 night listening to the low chant of a red man's 
 song, as he deplored the downfall of his nation, 
 and the loss of their hunting-grounds. Through 
 all, my guide preserved the steady equability of 
 one who was travelling a well-worn path — some 
 notched tree, some small stone heap, some fis- 
 sured rock, being his guide through wastes, where, 
 it seemed to me, no human foot had ever trod. 
 He lightened the road with many a song and 
 many a story, the latter always displaying some 
 curious trait of his people, whose high sense of 
 truth and unswerving fidelity to their word, once 
 pledged, appeared to be an invariable feature in 
 every narrative; and though he could well ac-
 
 222 
 
 count for the feeling that makes a man more 
 attached to his own nation, he more than once 
 half expressed his surprise, how, having lived 
 among the simple-minded children of the forest, I 
 could ever return to the haunts of the plotting, 
 and designing w^hite men. 
 
 " This story of mine,^^ continued Mr. O'Kelly, 
 "has somehow spun itself out far more than I 
 ntended. My desire was, to show you briefly, in 
 what strange and dissimilar situations I have 
 been thrown in life — how, I have lived among 
 every rank, and class, at home and abroad, in 
 comparative affluence — in narrow poverty; how, I 
 have looked on, at the world, in all its gala dress 
 of wealth, and rank, and beauty — of power, of 
 station, and command of intellect; and how I 
 have seen it poor, and mean, and naked, — the- 
 companion of gloomy solitudes, and the denizen 
 of pathless forests; and yet found the same 
 human passions, the same love, and hate, the 
 same jealousy, and fear, courage, and daring — the 
 same desire for power, and the same wish to 
 govern, in the red Indian of the prairie, as in the 
 starred noble of Europe. The proudest rank of 
 civilized life has no higher boast, than in the
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 223 
 
 practice of such virtues as I have seen rife among 
 the wild dwellers in the dark forest. Long habit 
 of moving thus among my fellow men, has worn 
 off much of that conventional reverence for class^ 
 which forms the standing point of all our educa- 
 tion at home. The tarred and weather-beaten 
 sailor, if he be but a pleasant fellow, and has seen 
 life, is to me as agreeable a companion as the 
 greatest admiral that ever trod a quarter-deck. 
 My delight has been thus, for many a year back, 
 to ramble through the world, and look on its 
 game, like one who sits before the curtain, and 
 has no concern with the actors, save, in so far as 
 they amuse him. 
 
 '^ There is no cynicism in this. No one enjoys 
 life more than I do. Music is a passion with me 
 — in painting, I take the greatest delight, and 
 beauty, has still her charm for me. Society, never 
 was a greater pleasure. Scenery, can give me a 
 sense of happiness, which none but solitary men 
 ever feel — yet, it is less as one identified with 
 these, than as a mere spectator. All this is 
 selfish, and egotistical, you will say — and so it is. 
 But then, think what chance has one like me of 
 any other pleasure! To how many annoyances
 
 224 ARTHUR o'lEARY* 
 
 should I expose myself, if I adopted a different 
 career: think of the thousand inquiries, of, — who 
 is he ? what is his family ? where did he come 
 from ? what are his means ? and all such queries, 
 which would beset me, were I the respectable 
 denizen of one of your cities. Without some 
 position, some rank, some settled place in society, 
 you give a man nothing — he can neither have 
 friend, nor home. Now, I, am a w^anderer — my 
 choice of life, happily took an humble turn: I 
 have placed myself in a good situation for seeing 
 the game— and I am not too fastidious, if I get 
 somewhat crushed by the company about me: 
 but now, to finish this long story, for I see the 
 day is breaking, and I must leave Antwerp by 
 ten o'clock. 
 
 '•At last, then, we reached Quebec. It was 
 on a bright, clear, frosty day in December, when 
 all the world was astir — sledges flying here and 
 there — men slipping along in rackets — women, 
 wrapped up in furs, sitting snugly in chairs, and 
 pushed along the ice some ten or twelve miles the 
 hour — all gay, all lively, and all merry-looking — 
 while I and my Indian friend bustled our way 
 through the crowd towards the post-office. He
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 225 
 
 was a well-known character, and many a friendly 
 nod, and a knowing shake of the head welcomed 
 him as he passed along. I, however, was an 
 object of no common astonishment, even in a 
 town where every variety of costume, from full 
 dress to almost nakedness, was to be met with 
 daily. Still, something remained as a novelty, 
 and it would seem I had hit on it. Imagine, 
 then, an old and ill-used foraging-cap, drawn 
 down over a red night-cap, from beneath which 
 my hair descended straight, somewhere about a 
 foot in length — beard and moustaches to match — 
 a red uniform coat, patched with brown seal-skin, 
 and surmounted by a kind of blanket of buffalo 
 hide — a pair of wampum shorts, decorated with 
 tin and copper, after the manner of a marquetrie 
 table — gray stockings, gartered with fish skin — 
 and moccasins made after the fashion of high- 
 lows, an invention of my own, which I trust are 
 still known as ^ O'Kellies,' among my friends the 
 red men. 
 
 "That I was not an Indian, was sufficiently 
 apparent — if by nothing else, the gingerly deli- 
 cacy with which I trod the pavement, after a 
 promenade of seven hundred miles, would have 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 
 
 shown it; and yet there was an evident reluctance 
 on all sides to acknowledge me as one of them- 
 selves. The crowd that tracked our steps had by 
 this time attracted the attention of some officers, 
 who stopped to see what was going forward^ when 
 I recognised the major of my own regiment 
 among the number. I saw, however, that he did 
 not remember me, and hesitated with myself 
 whether I should return to my old servitude. 
 The thought that no mode of subsistence was 
 open to me — that I was not exactly prepossessing 
 enough to make my way in the world by artificial 
 advantages — decided the question, and I accosted 
 him at once. 
 
 ^^I will not stop to paint the astonishment of 
 the officer, nor shall I dwell on the few events 
 which followed the recognition — suffice it to say, 
 that, the same evening I received my appoint- 
 ment, not as a sergeant, but as regimental inter- 
 preter between our people and the Indians, with 
 whom we were then in alliance against the Yan- 
 kees. The regiment soon left Quebec for Trois 
 Rivieres, where my ambassadorial functions were 
 immediately called into play — not, I am bound to 
 confess, under such weighty and onerous reponsi-
 
 227 
 
 bilities as I had been led to suspect would ensue 
 between two powerful nations — but, on matters of 
 less moment, and fully as much difficulty, viz., the 
 barter of old regimental coats and caps for bows 
 and arrows; the exchange of rum and gunpowder 
 for moccasins, and wampum ornaments— in a 
 word, the regulation of an Anglo-Indian tariiF, 
 which accurately defined the value of everything, 
 from a black fox skin to a pair of old gaiters — 
 from an Indian tomahawk to a tooth-pick. 
 
 ^^ In addition to these fiscal regulations, I drew 
 up a criminal code — which, in simplicity at least, 
 might vie with any known system of legislation — 
 by which it was clearly laid down, that any un- 
 known quantity of Indians were only equal to the 
 slightest inconvenience incurred, or discomfort 
 endured by an English officer : that the conde- 
 scension of any intercourse with them, was a cir- 
 cumstance of the greatest possible value — and its 
 withdrawal the highest punishment. A few other 
 axioms of the like nature, greatly facilitated all 
 bargains, and promoted universal good feeling. 
 Occasionally, a knotty point would arise, which 
 somewhat puzzled me to determine. Now and 
 then, some Indian prejudice, some superstition of 
 
 q2
 
 228 
 
 the tribe would oppose a barrier to the summary 
 process of my cheap justice; but then, a httle 
 adroitness and dexterity could soon reconcile 
 matters — and as I had no fear that my decisions 
 were to be assumed as precedents, and still less 
 dread of their being rescinded by a higher court, 
 I cut boldly, and generally severed the difficulty 
 at a blow. 
 
 ^^ My life was now a pleasant one enough — for 
 our officers treated me on terms of famiUarity, 
 which gradually grew into intimacy, as our quar- 
 ters were in remote stations, and as they per- 
 ceived that I possessed a certain amount of edu- 
 cation — which, it is no flattery to say, exceeded 
 their own. My old qualities of convivialism, also, 
 gave me considerable aid; and as I had neither 
 forgotten to compose a song, nor sing it after- 
 wards, I was rather a piece of good fortune in tliis 
 solitary and monotonous state of life. Etiquette 
 prevented my being asked to the mess, but, most 
 generously, nothing interfered with their coming 
 over to my wigwam almost every evening, and 
 taking share of a bowl of sangaree, and a pipe — 
 kindnesses I did my uttermost to repay, by put- 
 ting in requisition all the amusing talents I pos-
 
 229 
 
 sessed : and certainly, never did a man endeavour 
 more for great success in life, nor give himself 
 greater toil, than did I, to make time pass over 
 pleasantly to some half-dozen silly subalterns, a 
 bloated captain or two, and a plethoric, old, 
 snuiF-taking major, that dreamed of nothing but 
 rappee, punch, and promotion. Still, like all men 
 in an ambiguous, or a false position, I felt flat- 
 tered by the companionship of people, whom, in 
 my heart, T thoroughly despised and looked down 
 upon ; and felt myself honoured by the society of 
 the most thick-headed set of noodles ever a man 
 sat down with — Aye ! and laughed at their flat 
 witticisms, and their old stale jokes — and often 
 threw out hints for bon mots, which, if they 
 caught, I immediately applauded, and went about, 
 saying, did you hear 'Jones's last?' — 'do you 
 know what the major said this morning?' bless 
 my heart ! what a time it was. Truth will out — 
 the old tuft-hunting leaven was strong in me, even 
 yet — hardship and roughing had not effaced it 
 from my disposition — one more lesson was want- 
 ing, and I got it. 
 
 '' Among my visitors was an old captain of the 
 rough school of military habit, with all the dry
 
 230 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 jokes of the recruiting service, and all the coarse- 
 ness which a life spent, most part in remote 
 stations, and small detachments, is sure to im- 
 part. This old fellow, Mat Hubbart, a well- 
 known name in the Glengarries, had the greatest 
 partiality for practical jokes — and could calculate 
 to a nicety, the precise amount of a liberty which 
 any man^s rank in the service permitted, without 
 the risk of being called to account : and the same 
 scale of equivalents, by which he established the 
 nomenclature for female rank in the array, was 
 regarded by him as the test for those licences he 
 permitted himself to take with any man beneath 
 him : and as he spoke of the colonePs ^ lady,' the 
 major's ^wife,' the captain's ^ woman,' the lieute- 
 nant's ^ thing' — so did he graduate his conduct to 
 the husbands — never transgressing for a moment 
 on the grade, by any undue familiarity, or any 
 unwonted freedom. With me, of course, his 
 powers were discretionary — or rather, had no 
 discretion whatever. I was a kind of military 
 outlaw, that any man might shoot at — and cer- 
 tainly, he spared not his powder in my behalf. 
 
 "Among the few reliques of my Indian life, 
 was a bear-skin cap and hood, which I prized
 
 231 
 
 highly. It was a present from my old guide — his 
 parting gift — when I put into his hands the last 
 few pieces of silver I possessed in the world. 
 Tliis was then to me a thing, which, as I had 
 met with not many kindnesses in the world, I 
 valued at something far beyond its mere price; 
 and would rather have parted with any, or every- 
 thing I possessed, than lose it. Well, one day on 
 my return from a fishing excursion, as I was passing 
 the door of the mess-room, what should I see but 
 a poor idiot that frequented the barrack, dressed 
 in my bear-skin. 
 
 "^Holloa! Rokey,^ said I, ^ where did you get 
 that?' scarce able to restrain my temper. 
 
 ^^ ^ The captain gave it me,' said the fellow, 
 touching his cap, with a grateful look towards the 
 mess-room window, where I saw Captain Hub- 
 bart standing, convulsed with laughter. 
 
 "^Impossible!' said I-^yet half-fearing the 
 truth of his assertion. 'The Captain couldn't 
 give away what's mine, and not his.' 
 
 " ' Yes, but he did though,' said the fool, *and 
 told me, too, he'd make me the " talk man" with 
 the Indians, if you didn't behave better in 
 future.'
 
 232 
 
 " I felt my blood boll up as I heard these 
 words. I saw at once that the joke was intended 
 to insult and offend me ; and probably meant as 
 a lesson^ for my presumption, a few evenings 
 before, since I had the folly, in a moment of 
 open-hearted gaiety, to speak of my family, and 
 perhai:s to boast of my having been a gentleman: 
 I hung my head in shame, and all my presence of 
 mind was too little to allow m.e to feign a look of 
 carelessness as I walked by the window: from 
 whence the coarse laughter of the captain was 
 now heard peal after peal. I shall not tell you 
 how I suffered when I reached my liut, and what 
 I felt at every portion of this tranjsaction. One 
 thing forcibly impressed itself on my mind, that 
 the part I was playing must be an unworthy one, 
 or I had never incurred such a penalty; that if 
 these men associated with me, it was on terms 
 which permitted all from them — nothing, in 
 return; and for a while, I deemed no vengeance 
 enough to satisfy my wounded pride. Happily 
 for me, my thoughts took another turn, and I 
 saw that the position in which I had placed 
 myself, invited the insolence it met with; and 
 that if any man stoop to be kicked in this world.
 
 233 
 
 he"*!! always find some kind friend ready to oblige 
 him with the compliment. Had an equal so 
 treated me, my course had presented no difficulty 
 whatever. — Now, what could I do? 
 
 " While I pondered over these things, a cor- 
 poral came up to say, that a party of the officers 
 were about to pay me a visit after evening parade, 
 and hoped Vd have something for supper for 
 them. Such was the general tone of their invita- 
 tions, and I had received in my time above a 
 hundred similar messages, without any other feel- 
 ing than one of pride, at my being in a position 
 to have so many distinguished guests. Now, on 
 the contrary, the announcement was a down- 
 right insult: my long sleeping pride suddenly 
 awakened, I felt all the contumely of my con- 
 dition; and my spirit, sunk for many a day in the 
 slavish observance of a miserable vanity, rebelled 
 against further outrage. I muttered a hasty ^ all 
 right,' to the soldier, and turned away to meditate 
 on some scheme of vengeance. 
 
 " Having given directions to my Indian fol- 
 lower, a half-breed fellow of the most cunning 
 description, to have all ready in the wigwam; I 
 wandered into the woods. To no use was it that
 
 234 
 
 I thought over my grievance, nothing presented 
 itself in any shape as a vindication of my wounded 
 feelings — nor could I see how anything short of 
 ridicule could ensue, from all mention of the 
 transaction. The clanking sound of an Indian 
 drum broke on my musings, and told me that the 
 party were assembled; and on my entering the 
 wigwam, I found them all waiting for me. There 
 were full a dozen; many who had never done me 
 the honour of a visit previously, came on this 
 occasion to enjoy the laugh at my expense, the 
 captain's joke was sure to excite. Husbanding 
 their resources, they talked only about indiiferent 
 matters — the gossip and chit-chat of the day — 
 but still with such a secret air of something to 
 come, that even an ignorant observer could 
 notice, that there was in reserve somewhat that 
 must abide its time for development. By mere 
 accident, I overheard the captain whisper in reply 
 to a question of one of the subalterns — ^ No ! no 1 
 — not now — wait, till we have the punch up.' I 
 guessed at once that such was the period they 
 proposed to discuss the joke played off at my 
 cost, and I was right; for no sooner had the 
 large wooden bowl of sangaree made its appear-
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 235 
 
 ance, than Hubbart filling his glass ; proposed a 
 bumper to our new ally, Rokey; a cheer drowned 
 half his speech, which ended in a roar of laughter, 
 as the individual, so complimented, stood at the 
 door of the wigwam, dressed out in full costume 
 with my bear-skin. 
 
 " I had just time to whisper a command to my 
 Indian imp, concluding with an order for another 
 bowl of sangaree, before the burst of merriment 
 had subsided — a hail-storm of jokes^ many, poor 
 enough, but still cause for laughter, now pelted 
 me on every side. My generosity was lauded, 
 my good taste extolled, and as many imperti- 
 nences as could well be offered up to a man at his 
 own table, went the round of the party. No 
 allusion w^as spared either to my humble position 
 as interpreter to the force, or my former life 
 among the Indians, to furnish food for joke; even 
 my family — of whom, as I have mentioned, I 
 foolishly spoke to them lately — they introduced 
 into their tirade of attack and ridicule, which 
 nothing but a sense of coming vengeance could 
 have enabled me to endure. 
 
 " ^ Come, come,^ said one, ^ the bowl is empty. 
 I say, O^Kelly, if you wish us to be agreeable, as
 
 236 
 
 I'm certain you find us, will you order a fresh 
 supply?' 
 
 "^Most willingly/ said I, 'but there is just 
 enough left in the old bowl to drink the health of 
 Captain Hubbart^ to whom we are certainly 
 indebted for most of the amusement of the even- 
 ing. Now, therefore, if you please, with all the 
 honours, gentlemen — for let me say, in no one 
 quality has he his superior in the regiment. His 
 wit we can all appreciate; his ingenuity I can 
 speak to; his generosity — you have lauded mine 
 — but think of his,' As I spoke I pointed to the 
 door, where my ferocious-looking Indian stood, in 
 all his war-paint, wearing on his head the full- 
 dress cocked-hat of the captain, while over his 
 shoulders was thrown his large blue military- 
 cloak, over which, he had skilfidly contrived to 
 make a hasty decoration of brass ornaments, and 
 wild-birds' feathers. 
 
 " ^ Look there !' said I, exultingly, as the fellow 
 nodded his plumed-hat and turned majestically 
 round, to be fully admired. 
 
 "'Have you dared, sir?' — roared he, frothing 
 with passion and clenching his fist towards me — 
 but a perfect cheer of laughter overpowered his
 
 237 
 
 words. Many rolled off their seats and lay pant- 
 ing and puffing on the ground; some, turned away 
 half-sufFocated with their struggles, while a few, 
 more timid than the rest, endeavoured to conceal 
 their feelings, and seemed half-alarmed at the 
 consequences of my impertinence. When the 
 mirth had a little subsided it was remarked, that 
 Hubbart was gone — no one had seen how or 
 when — but he was no longer among us. 
 
 " ^Come, gentlemen,^ said I, ' the new bowl 
 is ready for you, and your toast is not yet drunk. 
 All going so early ? Why, it's not eleven yet.' 
 
 "But so it was — the impulse of merriment 
 over — the esprit du corps came back in all its 
 force, and the man, whose feelings they had not 
 scrupled to outrage and insult, they turned on, 
 the very moment he had the courage to assert 
 his honour. One by one passed out — some, 
 with a cool nod — others, a mere look — many, 
 never even noticed me at all ; and one, the last, 
 I believe, dropping a little behind, whispered as 
 he went, ^ Sorry for you, faith, but all your own 
 doing, though.' 
 
 " * My own doing,' said I in bitterness, as I sat 
 me down at the door of the wigwr.m. ' My own
 
 238 
 
 doing 1' and the words eat into my very hearths 
 core. Heaven knows had any one of them who 
 left me, but turned his head, and looked at me 
 then, as I sat — my head buried in my hands, 
 my frame trembling with strong passion — he had 
 formed a most false estimate of my feelings. In 
 all likelihood, he would have regarded me as a 
 man sorrowing over a lost position in society — 
 grieved at the mistaken vanity that made him 
 presume upon those who associated with him 
 by grace especial, and never, on terms of equality. 
 Nothing in the world was then farther from 
 my heart: no, my humiliation had another 
 source — my sorrowing penetrated into a deeper 
 soil. I awoke to the conviction that my position 
 was such, that even the temporary countenance 
 they gave me by their society, was to be deemed 
 my greatest honour, as its withdrawal should be 
 my deepest disgrace — that these poor heartless, 
 brainless fools for whom I taxed my time, my 
 intellect, and my means, were in the light of 
 patrons to me. Let any man who has felt what 
 it is to live among those on whose capacity he 
 has looked down, while he has been obliged to 
 pay homage to their rank — whose society he has
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 239 
 
 frequented, not for pleasure nor enjoyment — not 
 for the charm of social intercourse, or the inter- 
 change of friendly feeling, but for the mere vulgar 
 object that he might seem to others to be in a 
 position to which he had no claim — to be inti- 
 mate, when he was only endured — to be on terms 
 of ease, when he was barely admitted; let him 
 sympathise with me. Now, I awoke to the full 
 knowledge of my state, and saw myself at last 
 in a true light. ^My own doing!' repeated I to 
 myself. Would it had been so many a day 
 since, ere I lost self-respect — ere I had felt the 
 humiliation I now feel.' 
 
 " ^You are under arrest, sir,' said the sergeant, 
 as, with a party of soldiers he stood prepared to 
 accompany me to the quarters. 
 
 " '^ Under arrest ! By whose orders ?' 
 
 " 'The colonePs orders,' said the man briefly, 
 and in a voice that showed I was to expect little 
 compassion from one of a class who had long 
 regarded me as an upstart, giving himself airs 
 unbecoming his condition. 
 
 " My imprisonment, of which I dared not ask 
 the reason, gave me time to meditate on my 
 fortunes, and think over the vicissitudes of my
 
 240 
 
 life, — to reflect on the errors which had rendered 
 abortive every chance of success in whatever 
 career I adopted; but, more than all, to consider 
 how poor were all my hopes of happiness in the 
 road I had chosen, while I dedicated to the 
 amusement of others, the qualities which, if culti- 
 vated for myself, might be made sources of con- 
 tentment and pleasure. If I seem prolix in all 
 this — if I dwell on these memories, it is, first, 
 because few men may not reap a lesson from 
 considering them; and again, because on them 
 hinged my whole future life. 
 
 '^ There, do you see that little drawing yonder? 
 it is a sketch, a mere sketch I made from recol- 
 lection, of the room I w^as confined in. That^s 
 the St. Lawrence flowing beneath the window, 
 and there, far in the distance, you see the tall 
 cedars of the opposite bank. On that little table 
 I laid my head the whole night long; I slept too, 
 and soundly, and when I awoke the next day 
 I was a changed man. 
 
 " 'You are reheved from arrest,^ said the sanle 
 sergeant who conducted me to prison, ' and the 
 colonel desires to see you on parade.^ 
 
 *'As I entered the square, the regiment was
 
 241 
 
 formed in line^ and the officers, as usual, stood in 
 a group chatting together in the centre. A half 
 smile, quickly subdued as I came near, ran along 
 the party. 
 
 '^^O'Kelly,' said the colonel, ^I have sent for 
 you to hear a reprimand which it is fitting you 
 should receive at the head of the regiment, and 
 which, from my knowledge of you, I have sup- 
 posed would be the most effectual punishment 
 I could inflict for your late disrespectful conduct 
 to Captain Hubbart/ 
 
 ^^'May I ask, colonel, have you heard of the 
 provocation which induced my offence ?' 
 
 '^'l hope, sir,' replied he, with a look of stern 
 dignity, ' you are aware of the difference of your 
 relative rank and station, and that, in conde- 
 scending to associate with you, Captain Hubbart 
 conferred an honour which doubly compensated 
 for any liberty he was pleased to take. Read the 
 general order. Lieutenant Wood.' 
 
 "A confused murmur of something, from 
 which I could collect nothing, reached me ; a 
 vague feeling of weight seemed to press my head, 
 and a giddiness tliat made me reel, was on me; 
 and I only knew tlic ceremony was over, as I 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 
 
 heard the order to inarch given, and saw the 
 troops begin to move off the ground. 
 
 "'A moment, colonel/ said I, in a voice that 
 made him start, and drew on me the look of all 
 the others. ^I have too much respect for you, 
 and I hope also for myself, to attempt any ex- 
 planation of a mere jest, where the consequences 
 have taken a serious turn; besides, I feel 
 conscious of one fault, far too grave a one, to 
 venture on an excuse for any other I have been 
 guilty of. I wish to resign my post. I here 
 leave the badge of the only servitude I ever did, 
 or ever intend to submit to ; and now, as a free 
 man once more, and a gentleman, too, if you'll 
 permit me, I beg to wish you adieu : and as for 
 you, captain, I have only to add, that whenever 
 you feel disposed for a practical joke, or any 
 other interchange of politeness, Con O'Kelly will 
 be always delighted to meet your views — the 
 more so as he feels, though you may not believe 
 it, something still in your debt.' 
 
 *^ With that I turned on my heel, and left the 
 barrack-yard, not a word being spoken by any of 
 the others, nor any evidence of their being so 
 much amused as they seemed to expect from my 
 exposure.
 
 243 
 
 "Did it never strike you as a strange thing, 
 that while none but the very poorest and 
 humblest people can bear to confess to present 
 poverty, very few men decline to speak of the 
 narrow circumstances they have struggled through 
 — nay, rather take a kind of pleasure in relating 
 what difficulties once beset their path — what 
 obstacles were opposed to their success? The 
 reason perhaps is, there is a reflective merit in 
 thus surmounting opposition. The acknowledge- 
 ment implies a sense of triumph. It seems to 
 say — Here am I, such as you see me now, and yet 
 time was, when I was houseless and friendless — 
 when the clouds darkened around my path, and I 
 saw not even the faintest glimmer of hope to 
 light up the future; yet with a stout heart and 
 strong courage, with the will came the way ; and 
 I conquered. I do confess, 1 could dwell, and 
 with great pleasure too, on those portions of my 
 life when I was poorest and most forsaken, in 
 preference to the days of my prosperity, and 
 the hours of my greatest wealth: like the tra- 
 veller who, after a long journey through some 
 dark winter^s day, finds himself, at the approach 
 of night, seated by the corner of a cheery fire 
 
 R 2
 
 244 
 
 in his inn; every rushing gust of wind that 
 shakes the building, every plash of the beating 
 rain against the glass, but adds to this sense of 
 comfort, and makes him hug himself with satis- 
 faction to think how he is no longer exposed 
 to such a storm — that his journey is accom- 
 plished — his goal is reached — and as he draws 
 his chair closer to the blaze, it is the remem- 
 brance of the past, gives all the enjoyment to 
 the present. In the same way^ the pleasantest 
 memories of old age are of those periods in 
 youth when we have been successful over difficulty, 
 and have won our way through every opposing 
 obstacle. ^ Joy's memory is indeed no longer 
 joy.^ Few can look back on happy hours with- 
 out thinking of those with whom they spent 
 them, and then comes the sad question. Where 
 are they now? What man reaches even the 
 middle term of life with a tithe of the friends he 
 started with in youth ; and as they drop off, one 
 by one around him^ comes the sad reflection, that 
 the period is passed when such ties can be 
 formed anew — The book of the heart once closed, 
 opens no more. But why these reflections? I 
 must close them, and with them my story at once.
 
 245 
 
 "The few pounds I possessed in the world 
 enabled me to reach Quebec^ and take my passage 
 in a timber vessel bound for Cork. Why I re- 
 turned to Ireland, and with what intentions, I 
 should be sorely puzzled, were you to ask of me. 
 Some vague, indistinct feeling of home, connected 
 with my birthplace had, perhaps, its influence 
 over me. So it was — I did so. 
 
 " After a good voyage of some five weeks, we 
 anchored in Cove, where I landed, and proceeded 
 on foot to Tralee. It was night when I arrived. 
 A few faint glimmering lights could be seen here 
 and there, from an upper window, but all the rest 
 was in darkness. Instinctively, I wandered on, 
 till I came to the little street where my aunt had 
 lived. I knew every stone in it. There was not 
 a house I passed, but I was familiar with all its 
 history. There was Mark Cassidy^s provision 
 store, as he proudly called a long dark room, the 
 ceiling thickly studded with hams and bacon,' 
 coils of rope, candles, flakes of glue, and loaves' 
 of sugar; while a narrow pathway was eked out 
 below, between a sugar-hogshead, some sacks of 
 flour and potatoes, hemp-seed, tar, and treacle, 
 interspersed with scythe-blades, reaping-hooks.
 
 346 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 and sweeping-brushes — a great coffee-roaster 
 adorning the wall, and forming a conspicuous 
 object for the wonderment of the country people, 
 who never could satisfy themselves whether it was 
 a new-fashioned clock, or a weather-glass, or a 
 little threshing-machine, or a money-box. Next 
 door was Maurice Fitzgerald^s, the apothecary, a 
 cosy little cell of eight feet by six, where there 
 was just space left for a long practised individual 
 to grind with a pestle, without putting his right 
 elbow through a blue glass bottle that figured in 
 the front window, or his left into active inter- 
 course with a regiment of tinctures that stood up, 
 brown, and muddy, and foetid, on a shelf hard-by. 
 Then came Joe M^Evoys, 'licensed for spirits 
 and enthertainment,^ where I had often stood as 
 a boy to listen to the pleasant sounds of Larry 
 Branaghan^s pipes, or to the agreeable ditties of 
 ' Adieu, ye shinin^ daisies, I loved you well and 
 long,^ as sung by him, with an accompaniment. 
 Then there was Mister Moriarty^s the attorney, a 
 great man in the petty sessions, a bitter pill for 
 all the country gentlemen. He was always raking 
 up knotty cases of their decisions, and reporting 
 them to the ^Limerick Vindicator,' under the cog-
 
 247 
 
 nomen of ^ Brutus^ or ^ Coriolanus.' I could just 
 see by the faint light that his house had been 
 raised a story higher, and little iron balconies, like 
 railings, stuck to the drawing-room windows. 
 Next came my aunt^s. There it was — my foot 
 was on the door where I stood as a child, my little 
 heart wavering between fears of the unknown world 
 without, and hopes of doing something — heaven 
 knows what — which would make me a name here- 
 after; and there I was now, after years of toil and 
 peril of every kind, enough to have won me dis- 
 tinction, success enough to have made me rich, 
 had either been but well-directed ; and yet I was 
 poor and humble, as the very hour 1 quitted that 
 home. I sat down on the steps, my heart heavy 
 and sad, my limbs tired, and before many minutes 
 fell fast asleep, and never awoke till the bright 
 sun was shining gaily on one side of the little 
 street, and already the preparations for the com- 
 ing day were going on about me. I started up, 
 afraid and ashamed of being seen, and turned into 
 the little ale-house close by, to get my breakfast. 
 Joe himself was not forthcoming; but a fat, plea- 
 sant-looking, yellow-haired fellow, his very image, 
 only some dozen years younger, was there, bustling
 
 248 
 
 about among some pewter-quarts and tin-measures, 
 arranging tobacco-pipes, and making up little 
 pennyworths of tobacco. 
 
 " ' Is your name M'Evoy }' said I. 
 
 ''^The same, at your service/ said he, scarce 
 raising his eyes from his occupation. 
 
 '^^ Not Joe M^Evoyr' 
 
 " ^No, sir, Ned M'Evoy; the old man's name 
 was Joe.' 
 
 *'^ He's dead then, I suppose?' 
 
 "'Ay, sir; these eight years come micklemass; 
 is it a pint or a naggin of sperits?' 
 
 ^' ' Neither; it's some breakfast, a rasher and a 
 few potatoes, I want most. I'll take it here, or in 
 the little room.' 
 
 " ^ Faix, ye seem to know the ways of the 
 place,' said he, smiling, as he saw me deliberately 
 push open a small door, and enter a little parlour^ 
 once reserved for favourite visitors. 
 
 ^^ ' It's many years since I was here before,^ 
 said I to the host, as he stood opposite to 
 me, watching the progress I was making with 
 my breakfast; ^ so many, that I can scarce re-' 
 member more than the names of the people I 
 knew very well. Is there a Miss O'Kelly living
 
 249 
 
 in the town? It was somewhere near this^ her 
 house/ 
 
 " ' Yes^ above Mr. Moriarty's, that^s where she 
 lived; but sure, she^s dead and gone, many a day 
 ago. I mind Father Donellan, the priest that 
 was here before Mr. Nolan, saying masses for 
 her sowl, when I was a slip of a boy.' 
 
 " ^ Dead and gone/ repeated I to myself sadly — 
 for though I scarcely expected to meet my poor 
 old relative again, I cherished a kind of half hope 
 that she might still be living. 'And the priest, 
 Father Donellan, is he dead too ?' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir; he died of the fever, that was so 
 bad four years ago.' 
 
 " ' And Mrs. Brown that kept the post-office ?' 
 
 '^ ' She went away to Ennis when her daughter 
 was married there; I never heard tell of her 
 since.' 
 
 " ' So that, in fact, there are none of the old 
 inhabitants of the town remaining. All have 
 died off?' 
 
 "'Every one, except the ould captain; he's the 
 only one left..' 
 
 "'Who is her' 
 
 '" Captain Dwyer; maybe you knew himr'
 
 250 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 "^Yes, I knew him well; and he's alive? — he 
 must be very old by this time ?' 
 
 " ' He's something about eighty-six or seven; 
 but he doesn't let on to more nor sixty, I beheve; 
 
 but sure, talk of , God preserve us, here 
 
 he is/ 
 
 "As he spoke, a thin withered-looking old 
 man, bent double with age, and walking with 
 great difficulty, came to the door, and in a 
 cracked voice called out — 
 
 ^^ ^ Ned M^Evoy, here's the paper for you, 
 plenty of news in it too about Mister O'Connell 
 and the meetings in Dublin. If Cavanagh takes 
 any fish, buy a sole or a whiting for me, and send 
 me the paper back.' 
 
 " ' There's a gentleman, inside here, was just 
 asking for you, sir,' said the host. 
 
 "'Who is he? Is it Mr. Creagh ? At your 
 service, sir,^ said the old man, sitting down on a 
 chair near me, and looking at me from under 
 the shadow of his hand spread over his brow. 
 ^ You're Mr. Studdart, I'm thinking ?' 
 
 "'No, sir; I do not suspect you know me; 
 and, indeed, I merely mentioned your name as 
 one I had heard of many years ago when I was
 
 251 
 
 here, but not as being personally known to 
 you/ 
 
 '^ ^ Oh ! troth and so you might, for I'm well 
 known in these parts — eh, Ned?' said he, with 
 a chuckling cackle, that sounded very like hope- 
 less dotage. ^ I was in the army — in the 
 " Buffs ;'^ maybe you knew one Clancy who 
 was in them ?' 
 
 '' ' No, sir; I have not many military acquaint- 
 ances. I came here this morning on my way to 
 Dublin, and thought I would just ask a few ques- 
 tions about some people I knew a little about — 
 MissO'Kelly ' 
 
 "^Ah, dear! Poor Miss Judy — she's gone 
 these two or three years.^ 
 
 " ' Ay, these fifteen,^ interposed Ned. 
 
 ^^ ^ No, it isn't, though,' said the captain crossly, 
 ^ it isn't more than three at most — cut off in her 
 prime too; she was the last of an old stock — I 
 knew them all well. There was Dick — blazing 
 Dick O'Kelly, as they called him, that threw the 
 sheriff into the miU-race at Kilmacud, and had 
 to go to France afterwards; and there was Peter 
 — Peter got the property, but he was shot in a 
 duel. Peter had a son — a nice devil he was too
 
 252 
 
 —he was drowned at sea; and except the little 
 girl that has the school up there, Sally O'Kelly — 
 she is one of them — there's none to the fore/ 
 
 " ^ And who was she^ sir ?' 
 
 " ^ Sally was — what's this ? Ay, Sally is daugh- 
 ter to a son Dick left in France; he died in the 
 war in Germany, and left this creature, and Miss 
 Judy heard of her, and got her over here, just 
 the week she departed herself. She's the last of 
 them now — the best family in Kerry — and keep- 
 ing a child's school ! Ay, ay, so it is, and there's 
 property too coming to her, if they could only 
 prove that chap's death. Con O'Kelly; but sure 
 no one knows any thing where it happened. 
 Sam Fitzsimon advertised him in all the papers, 
 but to no use.^ 
 
 " I did not wait for more of the old captain's* 
 reminiscences, but snatching up my hat, I hurried 
 down the street, and in less than half an hour was 
 closeted with Mr. Samuel Fitzsimon, attorney-at- 
 law, and gravely discussing the steps necessary to 
 be taken for the assumption of my right to a 
 small property, the remains of my Aunt Judy's; 
 •^a few hundred pounds, renewal fines of lands> 
 that had dropped since my father's death. My
 
 ARTHUR O LEARY. 253 
 
 next visit was to the little school, which was 
 held in the parlour, where poor Aunt Judy used 
 to have her little card parties. The old stuffed 
 macaw — now from dirt and smoke he might have 
 passed for a raven, was still over the fire-place, 
 and there was the old miniature of my father, and 
 on the other side, was one which I had not seen 
 before, of Father Donellan, in full robes. All 
 the little old conchologies v.'ere there too, and 
 except the black plethoric-looking cat, that sat 
 staring fixedly at the fire, as if she was grieving 
 over the price of coals, I missed nothing. Miss 
 Sally was a nice modest-looking young woman, 
 with an air of better class about her, than her 
 humble occupation would seem to imply. I 
 made known my relationship in a few words, and 
 paving told her that I had made all arrangements 
 for settling whatever property I possessed upon 
 her, and informed her that Mr. Fitzsimon would 
 act as her guardian; I wished her good-bye and 
 departed. I saw tliat my life must be passed in 
 occupation of one kind or other — idleness would 
 never do, and with the only " fifty *^ I reserved to 
 myself of my little fortune, I started for Paris. 
 What I was to do, I had no idea whatever; but I
 
 254 
 
 well knew, you have only to lay the bridle on 
 Fortune's neck, and you'll seldom be disappointed 
 in adventures. 
 
 " For some weeks I strolled about Paris, enjoy- 
 ing myself as thoughtlessly as though I had no 
 need of any effort to replenish my failing exche- 
 quer. The mere human tide that flowed along 
 the Boulevards, and through the gay gardens of 
 the Tuileries, would have been amusement 
 enough for me. Then there were theatres, and 
 cafes^ and restaurants, of every class, from the 
 costly style of the ' Rocher,' down to the dinner 
 beside the fountain ^Des Innocents,' where you 
 feast for four sous, and where the lowest and 
 poorest class of the capital resorted. Well — 
 well, I might tell you some strange scenes of 
 those days, but I must hurry on. 9 
 
 *^ In my rambles through Paris, visiting strange 
 and out-of-the-way places, dining here, and sup- 
 ping there, watching life under every aspect I 
 could behold it, I strolled one evening across the 
 Pont Neuf into the ' He St. Louis,' that quaint 
 old quarter, with its narrow straggUng streets, and 
 its tall gloomy houses, barricadoed like fortresses. 
 The old porte-cochere studded with nails^ and
 
 255 
 
 barred with iron, and having each a small window 
 to peer through at the stranger without, spoke of 
 days when outrage and attack were rife, and it 
 behoved every man to fortify his stronghold as 
 best he could. There, were now to be found the 
 most abandoned and desperate of the whole 
 Parisian world — the assassin, the murderer, the 
 housebreaker, the coiner, found a refuge in this 
 confused wilderness of gloomy alleys and dark 
 dismal passages. When night falls, no lantern 
 throws a friendly gleam along the streets — all is 
 left in perfect darkness, save when the red light 
 of some cabaret lamp streams across the pave- 
 ment. In one of these dismal streets I found 
 myself when night set in, and although I walked 
 on, and on, somehow, I never could extricate 
 myself, but continually kept moving in some 
 narrow circle, so I guessed at least, for I never 
 wandered far from the deep-toned bell of ' Notre 
 Dame,^ that went on chanting its melancholy 
 peal through the stillness of the night air. I 
 often stopped to listen — now it seemed before, 
 now behind me, the rich solemn sound floating 
 through those cavernous streets, had something 
 awfully impressive. The voice that called to
 
 256 
 
 prayer, heard in that gloomy haunt of crime, was 
 indeed a strange and appalling thing. At last it 
 ceased, and all was still. For some time I was 
 uncertain how to act; I feared to knock at a door 
 and ask my way, the very confession of my lone- 
 liness would have been an invitation to outrage, 
 if not murder. No one passed me; the streets 
 seemed actually deserted. 
 
 ^^ Fatigued with walking, I sat down on a door- 
 sill and began to consider what was best to be 
 done, when I heard the sound of heavy feet 
 moving along towards me, the clattering of sabots 
 on the rough pavement, and shortly after, a man 
 came up, who, I could just distinguish, seemed to 
 be a labourer. I suffered him to pass me a few 
 paces, and then called out — 
 
 " ^ Holloa, friend, can you tell me the shortest 
 way to the " Pont Neuf ?" ' 
 
 ^' He replied by some words in a patois so 
 strange I could make nothing of it. I repeated 
 my question, and endeavoured by signs, to ex- 
 press my wish. By this time he w^as standing 
 close beside me, and I could mark, was evidently 
 paying full attention to all I said. He looked 
 about him once or twice, as if in search of some
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 25? 
 
 one, and then turning to me said in a thick gut- 
 tural voice — 
 
 " ^ Halte la, I'll come :' and with that he moved 
 down in the direction he originally came from, 
 and I could hear the clatter of his heavy shoes, 
 till the sounds were lost in the winding alleys. 
 
 "A sudden thought struck me that I had done 
 wrong. The fellow had evidently some dark 
 intention by his going back, and I repented bit-- 
 terly having allowed him to leave me; but then, 
 what were easier for him than to lead me where 
 he pleased, had I retained him; and so I reflected, 
 when the noise of many voices speaking in a half- 
 subdued accent came up the street. I heard the 
 sound, too, of a great many feet ; my heart sick- 
 ened as the idea of murder, so associated with the 
 place, flashed across me; and I had just time to 
 squeeze myself within the shelter of the door-way, 
 when the party came up. 
 
 " ' Somewhere hereabouts, you said, wasn't it ?' 
 said one in a good accent, and a deep clear voice. 
 
 " ^ Oui da /' said the man I had spoken to, 
 while he felt with his hands upon the walls and 
 door-way of the opposite house. ' Holloa there,' 
 he shouted. 
 
 VOL.. I. s
 
 258 
 
 " ' Be still;, you fool: don^t you think that he 
 suspects something by this time ? Did the others 
 go down the Rue des Loups ?' 
 
 ^^ ^ Yes, yes/ said a voice close to where I stood* 
 
 '^^Then all's safe; he can't escape that way. 
 Strike a light, Pierre/ 
 
 " A tall figure, wrapped up in a cloak, produced 
 a tinder box, and began to clink deliberately with 
 a steel and flint. Every flash showed me some 
 savage-looking face, where crime and famine 
 struggled for mastery, while I could mark that 
 many had large clubs of wood, and one or two 
 were armed with swords. I drew my breath with 
 short efforts, and was preparing myself for the 
 struggle, in which, though I saw death before me, 
 I resolved to sell life dearly, when a hand was 
 passed across the pillar of the door, and rested on 
 my leg. For a second it never stirred; then 
 slowly moved up to my knee, where it stopped 
 again. My heart seemed to cease its beating: I 
 felt like one around whose body some snake is 
 coiling, fold after fold, his slimy grasp. The hand 
 was gently withdrawn, and before I could recover 
 from my surprise, I was seized by the throat, and 
 hurled out into the street. A savage laugh rang
 
 259 
 
 through the crowd, and a lantern, just lighted, 
 was held up to my face, while he who spoke first 
 called out — 
 
 " ^You didn^t dream of escaping us, hetey did 
 you ?' at the same moment hands were thrust into 
 my various pockets ; the few silver pieces I pos- 
 sessed were taken; my watch torn off; my hat 
 examined, and the lining of my coat ripped open, 
 and all so speedily that I saw at once I had fallen 
 into experienced hands. 
 
 ^^ ^ Where do you live in Paris ?^ said the first 
 speaker, still holding the light to my face, and 
 staring fixedly at me, while I answered. 
 
 *' ^ I am a stranger, and alone,^ said I, for the 
 thought struck me, that in such a circumstance, 
 frankness was as good policy as any other. ' I 
 came here to-night to see the cathedral, and lost 
 my way in returning.' 
 
 " ' But where do you live ? in what quarter of 
 Paris ?' 
 
 "^The Rue d' Alger; number 12; the second 
 story.* 
 
 " ^ What effects have you there in money ?' 
 
 " ^ One Enghsh bank note for five pounds ; 
 nothing more.' 
 
 s 2
 
 260 
 
 ^^^ Any jewels, or valuables of any kind ?^ 
 
 *^ ^ None; I am as poor as any man in Paris/ 
 
 '^ ' Does the porter know your name, in the 
 house ?' 
 
 " ^ No ; I am only known as the Englishman of 
 number 12/ 
 
 " ^ What are your hours ? irregular, are they 
 not?' 
 
 ^^^ Yes, I often come home very late/ 
 
 "^That's all right. You speak French well. 
 Can you write it ?' 
 
 '^ ' Yes ; sufficiently so for any common pur- 
 pose/ 
 
 " ^ Here, then,' said he opening a large pocket- 
 book, ^ write an order which I'll tell you, to the 
 concierge of the house. Take this pen/ 
 
 "With a trembling hand I took the pen, and 
 waited for his direction. 
 
 " ^ Is it a woman keeps the door of your 
 hotel?' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said I. 
 
 " ' Well, then, begin — Madame La Concierge, 
 let the bearer of this note have the key of my 
 apartment ' 
 
 "As I followed with my hand the words, I
 
 261 
 
 could mark that one of the party was whispering 
 in the ear of the speaker, and then moved slowly 
 round to my back. 
 
 " ^ Hush, what^s that ?* cried the chief speaker. 
 * Be still there ;' and as we listened, the chorus of 
 a number of voices singing in parts, was heard at 
 some little distance off. 
 
 " ' That infernal nest of fellows must be rooted 
 out of this, one day or other,^ said the chief; ^and 
 if I end my days on the Place de Greve, I'll try 
 and do it. Hush there — be still — they're passing 
 on ;' true enough, the sound began to wax fainter, 
 and my heart sank heavily, as I thought the last 
 hope was leaving me: suddenly, a thought dashed 
 through my mind — death in one shape is as bad 
 as another. Fll do it — I stooped down as if to 
 continue my writing, and then collecting my 
 strength for the effort, and taking a deep breath, I 
 fiitruck the man in front a blow, with all my 
 might, that felled him to the ground, and clearing 
 him with a spring, bounded down the street. My 
 old Indian teaching had done me good service 
 here; few white men could have caught me in an 
 open plain, with space and sight to guide me — 
 and I gained at every stride; but alas I dared not
 
 262 
 
 stop to listen whence the sounds proceeded, and 
 could only dash straight forward, not knowing 
 where it might lead me; down a steep rugged 
 street, that grew narrower as I went, I plunged — 
 when, horror of horrors, I heard the Seine 
 plashing at the end; the rapid current of the river 
 surged against the heavy timbers that defended 
 the banks, with a sound like a death- wail. 
 
 ^' A solitary, trembling light, lay afar off in the 
 river, from some barge that was at anchor there; 
 I fixed my eye upon it, and was preparing for a 
 plunge, when, with a half-suppressed cry, my 
 pursuers sprung up from a low wharf I had not 
 seen, below the quay, and stood in front of me; in 
 an instant they were upon me, a shower of blows 
 fell upon my head and shoulders — and one, armed 
 with desperate resolution, struck me on the fore- 
 head and felled me on the spot, 
 
 '^ ^ Be quick now, be quick/ said a voice I well 
 knew — ^into the river with him — the ** filets de 
 St. -Cloud^^ will catch him by day-break — into the 
 river with him.' They tore off my coat and shoes, 
 and dragged me along towards the wharf — my 
 senses were clear, though the blow had deprived 
 njie of all power to resist — and I could calculate
 
 263 
 
 the little chance still left me, when once I had 
 reached the river — when a loud yell, and a whistle 
 was heard afar off — another, louder, followed 
 - — the fellows around me sprang to their legs, 
 and with a muttered curse, and a cry of terror, 
 darted off in different directions. I could hear 
 now several pistol shots following quickly on each 
 other, and the noise of a scuffle with swords; in 
 an instant it was over, and a cheer burst forth, 
 like a cry of triumph. ' Any one wounded there }' 
 shouted a deep manly voice from the end of the 
 street: I endeavoured to call out, but my voice 
 failed me. ^Holloa, there, any one wounded?* 
 said the voice again, when a window was opened 
 over my head, and- a man held a candle out, and 
 looked into the street. ^ This way, this w^ay,^ said 
 he, as he caught sight of my shadow where I lay. 
 *Ay, I guessed they went down here,' said the 
 same voice I heard first, as he came along, fol- 
 lowed by several others. ^ Well, friend, are you 
 much hurt, any blood lost ?' 
 
 " ' No, only stunned,' said I, ^ and almost well 
 already.' 
 
 ^' ' Have you any friends here — were you quite 
 alone ?'
 
 254 
 
 ^^ * Yes ; quite alone/ 
 
 " * Of course you were — why should I ask > 
 That murderous gang never dared to face two 
 men yet. Come, are you able to walk ? Oh, 
 you're a stout fellow, I see — come along with us. 
 Come, Ludwig, put a hand under him, and we'll 
 soon bring him up.' 
 
 *^ When they lifted me up, the sudden motion 
 caused a weakness so complete, that I fainted, 
 and knew little more of their proceedings, till I 
 found myself lying on a sofa in a large room, 
 where some forty persons were seated at a long 
 table, most of them smoking from huge pipes of 
 regular German proportions. 
 
 " ^ Where am I ?' was my question, as I looked 
 about, and perceived that the party wore a kind 
 of blue uniform, with fur on the collar and cuffs 
 • — and a greyhound, worked in gold, on the arm. 
 
 " * W^hy, you're safe, my good friend,' said a 
 friendly voice beside me — ^ that's quite enough to 
 know at present, isn't it ?' 
 
 ^* ' I begin to agree with you,' said I, coolly — 
 and so, turning round on my side, I closed my 
 eyes, and fell into as pleasant a sleep as ever I 
 remember in my life.
 
 265 
 
 "They were, indeed, a very singular class of 
 restoratives which my kind friends thought proper 
 to administer to me ; nor am I quite sure that a 
 bavaroise of chocolate, dashed with rum, and fric- 
 tion over the face, with hot Eau de Cologne, are 
 sufficiently appreciated by the ^faculty;' but this 
 I do know, that I felt very much revived by the 
 application without, and within, and with a face 
 somewhat the colour of a copper preserving-pan, 
 and far too hot to put anything on, I sat up, and 
 looked about me. A merrier set of gentlemen, 
 not even my experience had ever beheld. They 
 were mostly middle-aged, grizly-looking fellows, 
 with very profuse beards and moustachios; their 
 conversation was partly French, partly German, 
 here and there a stray Italian diminutive crept in ; 
 and, to season the whole, like cayenne in a ragouty 
 there was an odd curse in English. 
 
 *' Their strange dress, their free and easy man- 
 ner, their intimacy with each other, and, above 
 all, the locale they had chosen for their festivities, 
 made me, I own, a little suspicious about their 
 spotless morality, and I began conjecturing to 
 what possible calling they might belong. Now, 
 guessing them smugglers — now, police of some
 
 26(5 
 
 kind or other — now, highwaymen outright, but 
 without ever being able to come to any conclusion 
 that even approached satisfaction. The more I 
 listened, the more did my puzzle grow on me; 
 that they were either the most distinguished and 
 exalted individuals, or the most confounded story- 
 tellers, was certain. Here, was a fat greasy little 
 fellow, with a beard like an Armenian, who was 
 talking of a trip he made to Greece with the 
 Duke of Saxe Weimar; apparently they were on 
 the best of terms together, and had a most jolly 
 time of it. There, was a large handsome man, 
 with a short black moustache, describing a night- 
 attack by wolves, made on the caravan he was in, 
 during a journey to Siberia. I listened with in- 
 tense interest to his narrative: the scenery, the 
 danger, the preparation for defence, had all those 
 little traits that bespeak truth, when, confound 
 him ! he destroyed the whole in a moment as he 
 said, ^At that moment the Archduke Nicholas 
 said to me' — the Archduke Nicholas, indeed — 
 very good that — he^s just as great a liar as the 
 other. 
 
 " ^ Come, thought I, there^s a respectable look- 
 ing old fellow with a bald head; let us hear him;
 
 267 
 
 there's no boasting of the great people he never 
 met with from that one, I'm sure.' 
 ^' * We were now coming near to Vienna/ con- 
 tinued he, ^ the night was dark as pitch, when a 
 vedette came up to say, that a party of brigands, 
 well known thereabouts, were seen hovering about 
 the post station the entire evening. We were 
 well armed, but still by no means numerous, and 
 it became a grave question what we were to do ? 
 I got down immediately, and examined the loading 
 and priming of the carbines ; they were all right, 
 nothing had been stirred. " What's the matter ?'* 
 said the duke.* 
 
 ^^ ^ Oh,' said I, ^ then there's a duke here 
 also.' 
 
 " ^What's the matter?' said the Duke of Wel- 
 lington. 
 
 ^^ ^ Oh, by Jove ! that beats all,' cried I, jump- 
 ing up on the sofa, and opening both my hands 
 "with astonishment. ^ I'd have wagered a trifle on 
 that little fellow, and hang me, if he isn't the 
 worst of the whole set.' 
 
 '^ ^ What's the matter — what's happened ?' said 
 they all, turning round in amazement at my sud- 
 den exclamation. ' Is the man mad ?'
 
 268 
 
 " ' It*s hard to say/ replied I ; ' but if Pm not, 
 you must be ; unless I have the honour, which is 
 perfectly possible, to be at this moment in com- 
 pany with the Holy Alliance; for, so help me, 
 since Pve sat here and listened to you, there is 
 not a crowned head in Europe, not a queen, not an 
 archduke, ambassador, and general-in-chief, some 
 of you have not been intimate with; and the small 
 man with the red beard, has just let slip some- 
 thing about the Shah of Persia/ 
 
 "The torrent of laughter that shook the table, 
 never ceased for a full quarter of an hour. Old 
 and young, smooth and grizly, they laughed, till 
 their faces were seamed with rivulets, like a moun- 
 tain in winter ; and when they would endeavour 
 to address me, they'd burst out again, as fresh as 
 ever. 
 
 " * Come over and join us, worthy friend,^ said 
 he who sat at the head of the board, ^ you seem 
 well equal to it; and perhaps our character as 
 men of truth, may improve on acquaintance/ 
 
 " * What, in heaven^s name, are you ?' said I. 
 
 " Another burst of merriment was the only 
 reply they made me. I never found much difficulty 
 in making my way in certain classes of society.
 
 269 
 
 where the tone was a familiar one : where a bon 
 mot was good currency, and a joke passed well, 
 there, I was at home, and to assume the features 
 of the party, was with me a kind of instinct which 
 I could not avoid. It cost me neither effort nor 
 strain — I caught up the spirit as a child catches 
 up an accent, and went the pace as pleasantly as 
 though I had been bred among them. I was 
 therefore but a short time at table, when, by way 
 of matriculation, I deemed it necessary to relate a 
 story; and certainly, if they had astounded me by 
 the circumstances of their high and mighty ac- 
 quaintances, I did not spare them in my narrative, 
 in which the Emperor of Japan figured as a very 
 common-place individual, and the King of Candia 
 came in, just incidentally, as a rather dubious 
 acquaintance might do. 
 
 " For a time they listened, like people who are 
 well accustomed to give and take these kind of 
 miracles; but when I mentioned something about 
 a game of leap-frog on the wall of China with the 
 Celestial himself, a perfect shout of incredulous 
 laughter interrupted me. 
 
 " ' WelV said I, ' don^t believe me, if you don't 
 like; but here have I been the whole evening
 
 270 
 
 listening to you^ and if I have not bolted as much 
 as that, my name's not Con O' Kelly/ 
 
 *^ But it is not necessary to tell you how, step 
 by step, they led me to credit all they were say- 
 ing, but actually to tell my own real story to 
 them, which I did from beginning to end, down 
 to the very moment I sat there, with a large 
 glass of hot claret before me, as happy as might 
 be. 
 
 *^*And you really are so low in purse?' said 
 one. 
 
 *^^And have no prospect of any occupation, 
 •nor any idea of a livelihood?' cried another. 
 
 *' ^ Just as much as I expect promotion from 
 my friend the Emperor of China,' said I. 
 
 " ' You speak French and German well enough 
 though?' 
 
 " ' And a smattering of Italian,' said I. 
 
 "^ Come, you'll do admirably; be one of us.* 
 
 "* Might I make bold enough to ask, what 
 trade that is ?* 
 
 " ^ You don't know ; you can't guess even.* 
 
 " * Not even guess,' said I ' except you report 
 for "the papers," and come here to make up 
 the news/
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. SJ^L 
 
 ^^ * Something better than that, I hope/ said 
 the man at the head of the table. ^ What think 
 you of a life that leads a man about the world 
 from Norway to Jerusalem — that shows him every 
 land the sun shines on^ and every nation of the 
 globe^ travelling with every luxury that can make 
 a journey easy and a road pleasant; enables him 
 to visit whatever is remarkable in every city of 
 the universe; to hear Pasta at St. Petersburg in 
 the winter^ and before the year's end to see an 
 Indian war-dance among the red men of the 
 Rocky Mountains; to sit beneath the shadow of 
 the Pyramids, as it were to-day^ and ere two 
 months be over^ to stand in the spray of Trolhat- 
 tan, and join a wolf-chase through the pine-forests 
 of the north; and not only this, but to have 
 opportunities of seeing life, on terms the most 
 intimate; that society should be unveiled to an 
 extent that few men of any station can pretend to; 
 to converse with the greatest, and the wisest, the 
 most distinguished in rank, aye ! and better than 
 all, the most beautiful women of every land in 
 Europe, who depend on your word, rely on your 
 information, and permit a degree of intimacy, 
 which in their own rank is unattainable; to im-
 
 272 ARTHUR o'lEABY. 
 
 prove your mind by knowledge of languages, 
 acquaintance with works of art, scenery, and more 
 stilly by habits of intelligence which travelling 
 bestows.' 
 
 " ^ And to do this/ said I, burning with impa- 
 tience at a picture that realized all I wished for, 
 ' to do this—' 
 
 " ' Be a Courier,^ said thirty voices in a cheer. 
 ^A^ive la Grande Route;' and w^ith the word each 
 man drained his glass to the bottom. 
 
 " ^ Vive la Grande Route,' exclaimed I, louder 
 than the rest; ^and here I join you.' From that 
 hour I entered on a career, that each day I follow 
 is becoming dearer to me. It is true, I sit in the 
 rumble of the carriage, while ^ monseigneur,' or 
 my lord, reclines within; but would I exchange his 
 ennui and depression, for my ow^n light-hearted- 
 ness and jollity? would I give up the happy inde- 
 pendence of all the intrigue and plotting of the 
 world I enjoy, for all his rank and station? Does 
 not Mount Blanc look as grand in his hoary 
 panoply to me, as to Mm? are not the Danube 
 and the Rhine as fair? If I wander through the 
 gallery of Dresden, have I not the sweet smile of 
 the great Raphael's Madonna bent on mey as
 
 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 2/3 
 
 blandly as it is on him? Is not mine host, witli 
 less of ceremony, far more cordial to me, than to 
 him? Is not mine a rank known, and acknow- 
 ledged, in every town, in every village? Have I 
 not a greeting wherever I pass? Should sickness 
 overtake me, w^here have I not a home? Where 
 am I among strangers? Then, what care I for the 
 bill — mine is a royal route where I never pay? 
 As lastly, how often is the soulrette of the rumble, 
 as agreeable a companion as the pale and ca}*e- 
 worn lady within? 
 
 " Such is my life. Many would scoff and call 
 it menial. Let them if they will. I never /e// it 
 so: and once more I say, ^Vive la Grande 
 Route.' '' 
 
 " But your friends of the Fischer's Haus?" 
 "A jolly set of smugglers, with whom, for a 
 month or two in summer, I take a cruise, less for 
 profit than pleasure. The blue water is a neces- 
 sar}' of life, to the man that has been some years 
 at sea. My little collection has been made in my 
 wanderings; and if ever you come to Naples, you 
 must visit a cottage I have at Castella Marc, 
 where you'll see something better worth vour 
 looking at. And now, it does not seem very 
 
 VOL.. I. T
 
 2^4 
 
 hospitable^ but I must say, adieu/^ With these 
 words Mr. O^ Kelly opened a drawer, and drew 
 forth a blue jacket, lined with rich dark fur, and 
 slashed with black braiding: a greyhound was 
 embroidered in gold twist on the arm, and a 
 similar decoration ornamented the front of his 
 blue cloth cap. ^' I start for Genoa in half an 
 hour — we^ll meet again and often, I hope/' 
 
 ^' Good-by,'' said I, " and a hundred thanks for 
 a pleasant evening, and one of the strangest stories 
 I ever heard. I half wish I were a younger 
 man, and I think I'd mount the blue jacket 
 too." 
 
 ^^ It would show you some strange scenes," said 
 Mr. O'Kelly, while he continued to equip himself 
 for the road. ^^ All I have told is little compared 
 to what I might, were I only to give a few leaves 
 of my life ^ e7i Courier;^ but as I said before, we'll 
 live to meet again. Do you know who my party 
 is this morning?" 
 
 ^^ I can't guess." 
 
 "My old flame Miss Blundell; she's married 
 now, and has a daughter, so like what I remember 
 herself once. Well, well, it's a strange world. 
 Qood-by."
 
 275 
 
 With that we shook hands for the last time, 
 and parted; and I wandered back to Antwerp 
 when the sun was rising, to get into a bed and 
 sleep for the next eight hours. 
 
 t2
 
 276 ARTHUR o'leary. 
 
 Chapter IX, 
 BRUXELLES— "THE FRANCE." 
 
 Morgan O'Dogherty was wrong — and sooth 
 to say, he was not often so — when he pronounced a 
 *^Mess'^ to be "the perfection of dinner society.'* 
 In the first place^ there can be no perfection any- 
 where, or in anything, it is evident, where ladies 
 are not. Secondly, a number of persons so purely 
 professional, and therefore so very much alike in 
 their habits, tone of thinking, and expression, can 
 scarcely be expected to make up that complex 
 amalgam so indispensable to pleasant society. 
 Lastly, the very fact of meeting the same people 
 each day, looking the very same way too, is a sad 
 damper to that flow of spirits, which, for their free 
 current, demand all the chances and vicissitudes 
 of a fresh audience. In a word, in the one case, 
 a man becomes like a Dutch canal, standing stag- 
 nant and slow between its trim banks; in the 
 other, he is a bounding rivulet, careering plea-
 
 277 
 
 santly through grassy meadows and smiling fields, 
 now, basking in the gay sunshine, now, lingering in 
 the cool shade ; at one moment, hurrying along 
 between rocks and moss-grown pebbles, brawling, 
 breaking, and foaming; at the next, expanding 
 into some little lake, calm, and deep, and mirror- 
 like. 
 
 It is the very chances and changes of conversa- 
 tion, its ups and downs, its lights and shadows — so 
 like those of life itself — that make its great charm ; 
 and for this generally, a mixed party gives the 
 only security. Now, a Mess has very little indeed 
 of this requisite; on the contrary, its great strong- 
 hold is the fact, that it offers an easy tableland 
 for all capacities. It has its little, dry, stale jokes, 
 as flat and as dull as the orderly book; the 
 regular quiz about " Jones^s'^ whiskers, or " Tobin's 
 horse ;^^ the hacknied stories about Simpson of 
 «^Ours,'' or Nokes of "Yours,'' of which the 
 major is never tired, and the newly-joined sub. 
 is enraptured. Bless their honest hearts, very 
 little fun goes far in the army! like the regimental 
 allowance of wine, it will never intoxicate, and no 
 man is expected to call for a fresh supply. 
 
 I have dined at more Messes than any red-coat
 
 278 ARTHUR o'lEARY, 
 
 of them all^ at home and abroad; cavalry, artillery, 
 and infantry — "horse, foot, and dragoons/^ as 
 G rattan has it ; in gala parties, with a general and 
 his staff for guests; after sweltering field-days, 
 where all the claret could not clear your throat of 
 pipe-clay and contract powder; in the colonies, 
 where flannel jackets were substituted for regulation 
 coats; and land-crabs and pepper-pot for saddles 
 and sirloins ; in Connemara, Calcutta, or Corfu, it 
 was all the same, — ccalum non animum &c. 
 
 Not but that they had all their little peculiari^ 
 ties among themselves ; so much so, indeed, that 
 I offer a fifty, if you set me down blindfolded 
 at any Mess in the service, to tell you what 
 "corps" they belong to, before the cheese ap- 
 pears; before the bottle goes half round, 1^11 
 engage to distinguish the hussars, from the 
 heavies, and the fusileers, from the light-bobs ; 
 and when the president is ringing for more 
 claret, it will go the hard with me, if I don^t make 
 a shrewd guess at the number of the regiment. 
 
 The great charm of the Mess is to those young, 
 ardent spirits, fresh from Sandhurst or Eton, sick 
 of mathematics, and bored with false quantities. 
 To them, the change is indeed a glorious one.
 
 279 
 
 and Fd ask nothing better than to be sixteen^ 
 and enjoy it all ; but for the old stagers^ it is slow 
 work indeed. A man curls his whiskers at forty, 
 with far less satisfaction than he surveys their 
 growth and development at eighteen ; he tightens 
 his waist too, at that period, with a very different 
 sense of enjoyment. His first trip to Jamaica is 
 little more than a '^lark;^^ his fourth or fifth, 
 with a wife and four brats, is scarcely a party of 
 pleasure ; and all these things react on the Mess. 
 Besides, it is against human nature itself to like 
 the people who rival us ; and who could enjoy the 
 jokes of a man, that stands between him and a 
 majority ? Yet, taking them all in all, the mili- 
 tary cut up better than any other professionals. 
 The doctors might be agreeable; they know a 
 vast deal of life, and in a way too, that other 
 people never see it; but meet them en masse^ 
 they are little better than body-snatchers ; there 
 is not a malady too dreadful, nor an operation too 
 bloody, to tell you over your soup ; every slice of 
 the turkey suggests an amputation, and they sever 
 a wing with the anatomical precision they would 
 extirpate a thigh bone. Life to them has no 
 interest except where it verges on death; and
 
 280 ARTHUR o'lEARY. 
 
 from habit and hardening, they forget that human 
 suffering lias any other phase than a source of 
 wealth to the medical profession. 
 
 The lawyers are even worse. To listen to 
 them, you would suppose that the highest order 
 of intellect was a skill in chicanery; that trick 
 and stratagem were the foremost walks of talent; 
 that to browbeat a poor man, and to confound 
 a simple one, were great triumphs of genius ; and 
 that the fairest gift of the human mind was that 
 which enabled a man to feign every emotion of 
 charity, benevolence, pity, anger, grief, and joy, 
 for the sum of twenty pounds sterling, wrung 
 from abject poverty, and briefed by an " honest 
 attorney/^ 
 
 As to the parsons, I must acquit them honestly 
 of any portion of this charge. It has been my 
 fortune to "assist'^ at more than one visita- 
 tion dinner, and I can safely aver, that never 
 by any accident did the conversation become 
 professional, nor did I hear a word of piety 
 during the entertainment. 
 
 Country gentlemen are scarcely professional, 
 however the similarity of their tastes and occu- 
 pations might seem to warrant the classification —
 
 281 
 
 fox-hunting, grouse-shooting, game-preserving, 
 road-jobbing, rent-extracting, land-tilling, being 
 propensities in common. They are the slowest 
 of all; and the odds are long, against any one 
 keeping awake after the conversation has taken 
 its steady turn, into " short horns," Swedish tur- 
 nips, subsoiling, and southdowns. 
 
 Artists are occasionally well enough, if only for 
 their vanity and self-conceit. 
 
 Authors are better still, for ditto and ditto. 
 
 Actors are most amusing from the innocent 
 delusion they labour under, that all that goes on 
 in life is unreal, except what takes place in Covent 
 Garden or Drury Lane; in a word, professional 
 cliques are usually detestable, the individuals who 
 compose them being frequently admirable ingre- 
 dients, but intolerable when unmixed; and society, 
 like a " Macedoine," is never so good as when its 
 details are a little incongruous. 
 
 For my own part, I know nothing equal to a 
 iable d'hote — that pleasant reunion of all nations, 
 from Stockholm to Stambool; of every rank, from 
 the grand duke to the bag-man — men and women 
 — or, if you like the phrase better, ladies and gen- 
 tlemen; some, travelling for pleasure, some, for'
 
 282 ARTHUR o'leary. 
 
 profit; some, on wedding tours, some, in the grief 
 of widowhood; some, rattling along the road of 
 life, in all the freshness of youth, health, and well- 
 stored purses ; others, creeping by the way-side, 
 cautiously and quietly: sedate and sententious 
 English, lively Italians, plodding Germans, witty 
 Frenchmen, wdly Russians, and stupid Belgians — 
 all, pell-mell, seated side by side, and actually 
 shuffled into momentary intimacy by soup, fish^ 
 fowl, and entremets. The very fact that you are 
 en route^ gives a frankness and a freedom to all 
 you say. Your passport is signed, your carriage 
 packed; to-morrow you will be a hundred miles 
 away. What matter, then, if the old baron with 
 the white moustache has smiled at your German, 
 or if the thin-faced lady in the Dunstable bonnet 
 has frowned at your morality; you^ll never, in all 
 likelihood, meet either again. You do your best 
 to be agreeable — it is the only distinction recog- 
 nised; here are no places of honour — no favoured 
 guests — each starts fair in the race, and a pleasant 
 course I have always deemed it. 
 
 Now, let no one, while condemning the vul- 
 garity of this taste of mine, for such I anticipate 
 as the ready objection — though the dissentient
 
 283 
 
 should be a tailor from Bond-street, or a school- 
 mistress from Brighton — for a moment suppose, 
 that I mean to include all table d^hdtes in this 
 sweeping laudation — far, very far from it. I> 
 Arthur O'Leary, have travelled some hundreds of 
 thousands of miles in every quarter and region of 
 the globe, and yet would have considerable diffi- 
 culty in enumerating, even six, such as fairly to 
 warrant the praise I have pronounced. 
 
 In the first place, the ^' table cPhote/' to possess 
 all the requisites I desire, should not have its 
 locale in any first-rate city, like Paris, London, or 
 St. Petersburg; no, it should rather be in Brussels, 
 Dresden, Mimich, Berne, or Florence. Again, it 
 should not be in the great overgrown mammoth- 
 hotel of the town, with three hundred daily de- 
 vourers, and a steam-engine to slice the " boulli.'^ 
 It should, and will, usually, be found in some 
 retired and quiet spot; frequently within a small 
 court, with orange-trees round the walls, and a 
 tiny modest y^^ d'eau in the middle, a glass-door 
 entering from a flight of low steps into a neat 
 antechamber, where an attentive, but unobtrusive 
 waiter, is ready to take your hat and cane, and, 
 instinctively divining your dinner intentions.
 
 *284 
 
 ushers you respectfully into the salon, and leans 
 down your chair beside the place you select. 
 
 The few guests already arrived have the air of 
 ''habitues;" they are chatting together when you 
 enter, but they conceive it necessary to do the 
 honours of the place to the stranger, and at once 
 include you in the conversation ; a word or two 
 suffices, and you see that they are not chance folk, 
 whom hunger has overtaken at the door, but daily ^ 
 visitors, w^ho know the house, and appreciate it. 
 The table itself is far from large — at most sixteen 
 persons could sit down at it ; the usual number is 
 about twelve or fourteeun There is, if it be sum- 
 mer, a dehcious bouquet in the midst; and the 
 snowy whiteness of the cloth, and the clear lustre 
 of the water, strike you instantly. The covers 
 are as bright as when they left the hands of the 
 silversmith, and the temperature of the room at ^ 
 once shows that nothing has been neglected that 
 can contribute to the comfort of the guests. The 
 very plash of the fountain is a grateful sound, 
 and the long necks of the hock-bottles, repos- 
 ing in the little basin, have an air of luxury 
 far from unpleasing; while the champagne in- 
 dulges its more southern character in the ice-pails
 
 2Si 
 
 in the shade, a sweet, faint odour of pine apples 
 and nectarines is diffused about; nor am I dis- 
 posed to quarrel with the chance view I catch 
 between the orange trees, of a window, where 
 asparagus, game, oranges, and melons, are grouped 
 confusedly together, yet with a harmony of colour 
 and effect Schneider would have gloried in. 
 
 There is a noiseless activity about — a certain 
 air of preparation — not such as by bustle can 
 interfere with the placid enjoyment you feel, but 
 something which denotes care and skill ; you feel, 
 in fact, that impatience on your part would only 
 militate against your own interest, and that, when 
 the moment arrives for serving, the '^ potage" has 
 then received the last finishing touch of the artist. 
 By this time, the company are assembled ; the 
 majority are men, but there are four or five ladies. 
 They are en chapeau too ; but it is a toilet that 
 shows taste and elegance, and the freshness — that 
 dehghtful characteristic of foreign dress — the 
 freshness, of their light muslin dresses — is in 
 keeping with all about. Then follows that little, 
 pleasant, bustle of meeting; the interchange of a 
 number of small courtesies, which cost little, but 
 are very delightful ; the news of the theatre for
 
 286 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 
 
 the night; some soiree, well known, or some 
 promenade, form the whole — and we are at 
 table. 
 
 The destiny that made me a traveller, has 
 blessed me with either the contentment of the 
 most simple, or the perfect enjoyment of the most 
 cultivated " cuisine ;" and if I have eaten tripe de 
 rocher with Parry at the Pole, I have never lost 
 thereby the acme of my relish for truffles at the 
 *' Freres ;'^ therefore, trust me, that in my men- 
 tion of a table d'hote, I have not forgotten the 
 most essential of its features — for this, the small- 
 ness, and consequent selectness of the party, is 
 always a guarantee. Thus, then, you are at table ; 
 your napkin is spread, but you see no soup ; the 
 reason is at once evident, and you accept with 
 gratefulness the little plate of Ostende oysters, 
 each somewhat smaller than a five frank piece, 
 that are before you. Who would seek for pearls 
 without, when such treasures are to be found 
 within the shell — cool, and juicy, and succulent; 
 suggestive of delights to come, and so suited to 
 the limpid glass of Chablis. What preparatives 
 for the '^ potage,'^ which already I perceive to be 
 a^^printaniere.^* But why dwell on all this?
 
 287 
 
 These memoranda of mine were intended rather 
 tp form an humble companion to some of John 
 Murray^s inestimable treatises on the road ; some 
 stray recollection of what in my rambles had 
 struck me as worth mention; something that 
 might serve to lighten a half-hour here, or an 
 evening there; some hint for the wanderer, of a 
 hotel, or a church, or a view, or an actor, or a 
 poet, a picture, or a pate, for which his halting 
 place is remarkable, but of whose existence he 
 knew not — and to come back once more : such a 
 picture as I have presented, is but a weak and 
 imperfect sketch of the "Hotel de France'^ in 
 Brussels, at least, of what I once remember it. 
 Poor Biennais, he was an artiste ! He com- 
 menced his career under Chicaud, and rose to the 
 dignity of " rotisseur" under Napoleon. With what 
 enthusiasm he used to speak of his successes 
 during the empire, when Bonaparte gave him 
 carte blanche to compose a dinner for a " party of 
 kings/^ Napoleon himself was but an inferior 
 gastronome : with him, the great requisite was, to 
 serve anywhere, and at any moment ; and though 
 the bill of fare was a modest one, it was some- 
 times a matter of difficulty to prepare it in the
 
 288 
 
 depths of the Black forest, or on the sandy plains 
 of Prussia, amid the mud-covered fields of Poland, 
 or the snows of Moscovy — a poulet, a cutlet, and 
 a cup of coffee was the whole affair ; but it should 
 be ready, as if by magic. 
 
 Among his followers were several distinguished 
 gourmets, Cambaceres was well known; Murat 
 also, and Decres, the minister of marine, kept 
 admirable tables. Of these, Biennais spoke with 
 ecstasy : he remembered their various tastes; and 
 would ever remark, when placing some master- 
 piece of skill before you, how the King of Naples 
 loved, or the arch-chancellor praised it. To him, 
 the overthrow of the empire was but the downfall 
 of the "cuisine;'^ and he saw nothing more affect- 
 ing in the last days of Fontainbleau, than that 
 the emperor had left untouched a "fondue'^ he 
 had always eaten of with delight. " After that,^^ said 
 Biennais, " I saw the game was up." With the 
 hundred days, he was " restored,'^ like his master, 
 but alas, the empire of casserolles was departed; the 
 thunder of the cannon foundries, and the roar of 
 the shot furnaces, were more congenial sounds, 
 than the simmering of sauces, and the gentle mur- 
 mur of a stew-pan. No wonder, thought he, there
 
 ARTHUR O^LEARY. 289 
 
 should come a Waterloo, when the spirit of the 
 nation had thus degenerated. 
 
 Napoleon spent his last days in exile; Biennais 
 took his departure for Belgium; the park was his 
 Long- wood; and, indeed, he himself saw invariable 
 points of resemblance in the two destinies. Hap- 
 pily for those who frequented the Hotel de France, 
 he did not occupy his remaining years in dictating 
 his memoirs to some Las Casas of the kitchen, but 
 persevered to the last in the practice of his great 
 art, and died, so to speak, ladle in hand. 
 
 To me, the Hotel de France has many charms. 
 I remember it — I shall not say how many years; 
 its cool, delightful salon, looking out upon that 
 beautiful little park, whose shady alleys are such a 
 resource in the evenings of summer; to sit beneath 
 the lime trees and sip your coffee, as you watch 
 the groups that pass and repass before you, weav- 
 ing stories to yourself, which become thicker and 
 thicker as the shade deepens, and the flitting 
 shapes are barely seen, as they glide along the 
 silent alleys; a distant sound of music — some air 
 of the Fatherland — is all that breaks the stillness, 
 and you forget in the dreamy silence, that you are 
 in the midst of a great city. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 
 
 The ^^ Hotel de France" has other memories 
 than these;, too; I'm not sure that I shall not 
 make a confession, yet somehow I half shrink 
 from it. You might call it a love adventure, and 
 I should not like that ; besides, there is scarcely a 
 moral in it — though who knows ? 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: HARRISON AND CO., PRINTERS, ST. MARTIN'S LAMS.