ciation with the proselytes of Mr. M'Caskey may be consistent with the dignity of the house of Rutland and the keeper of the seals, I shall not venture to decide; but it did certainly appear not a little singular that a man having so large a share in the government of the country, and an influence almost co-extensive with that of Lord Wellesley himself, should in such a crisis have descended to a convivial familiarity with the political zealots who frequented this obnoxious club; and should by his presence have extended an implied approbation to the principles and feelings which they unequivocally expressed. A very numerous assembly of the subscribers was convened; Champaigne and claret circulated with rapidity, and when the votaries of Apollo had been roused to the just level of enthusiasm, the chairman proposed as a toast "The exports of Ireland." The rumours which had previously prevailed of the contemplated removal of Lord Wellesley, suggested to every person present that the toast was given in allusion to that measure, and it was hailed accordingly with votive acclamation. There is a passage in the letters of Lord Essex, written when he was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, so immediately appropriate to the state of Protestant feeling at this moment, that I cannot forbear from transcribing it. It falls, indeed, into a very remarkable coincidence with the situation of Lord Wellesley. Lord Essex, in page 35 of the volume of his letters, says, "The reports which every day are transmitted hither from England of my remove, is the principal cause of their stubbornness; and, indeed, it is a misfortune to his Majesty's affairs that such rumours are spread, for I do not believe that under the sun there are a people more apt to despise their governors than some here are, and will, if they have any imagination that they are to be recalled." This sentiment, which appears to be almost indigenous in Ireland, was illustrated at the period of which I am speaking; and when "The exports of Ireland" was given as a toast from the chair of the Beef-steak Club, it was loudly and rapturously cheered by those who found in the toast an occasion for venting their gratification at the anticipated exportation of the noble Marquis, which was more strenuously desired by the Orangemen than his demi-measures and oscillating policy appeared to justify. There could be no doubt that it was intended to apply to Lord Wellesley, although the Chancellor afterwards stated, in his own defence, that it admitted of a different interpretation. If the question of construction had been regularly discussed in his Lordship's court, it would in all probability have afforded a field for the exercise of much ingenious ratiocination: but in the public mind no doubt existed as to the intent of the parties. The anger of the noble Marquis at this immediately personal affront, was said to be unbounded. The viceregal irritation was speedily embodied in a measure of domestic and summary retribution. Three ill-starred officers of the Castle happened to have attended at the obnoxious club, when the anti-Wellesley toast was given. I have forgotten the name of one of them, which has nothing to fix it in the memory. Sir Charles Vernon, the gentlemanusher, and the ex-officio fan-holder to the Ladies Lieutenant (we are now happily relieved from these mock and mob-led queens), and Mr. Stanhope, the brother-in-law of the Duke of Leinster, were the other unhappy wights who had the misfortune to attest these symbolical expressions of dislike. On the day following they were dismissed. This proceeding produced a singular sensation. Familiarized as the Orangemen were with the tameness of the administration, they were astounded at what appeared to be so bold and adventurous a step. Those who held no place were loud in their invectives against the autocratic character of the Marquis's resentment. They forgot, or rather they affected not to remember, that under the constitutional administration of the Duke of Richmond, the brother of the very Mr. Stanhope (who was now discharged) had been deprived of the very same office, for attending a dinner given by the Roman Catholics of Dublin, at which nothing offensive had taken place. Such are the incongruities of faction. This expulsion of three placemen produced upon their brethren in office a different effect. While those who had nothing to lose were loud in their reprobation, the underlings of authority-the petty tenants of office--the menials of the Custom-house and the Postoffice, stood silent and aghast. The name of Lord Wellesley, which had before been a standing jest, and furnished matter for relaxation among the clerks in every public office in Dublin, was no longer pronounced in those abodes of alternate insolence and subserviency. There prevailed over those domiciles of inferior Orangeism "a death-like silence and a dread repose." Nor was this sentiment confined to the humble, dandies of the quill. It extended itself even to the parasitical expectants at the Bar; and the birds of prey, whose vulture sagacity had long scented the demise of some paralytic chairman of a county, or of some apoplectic Master in Chancery, moulted many a feather. It was supposed that farther dismissals would take place, and the apprehension produced a dismal taciturnity for a considerable time. But at length the countenances of the Williamites began to clear up-they resumed the use of the organ of invective, and were gradually restored to the enjoyment of that factious loquacity which serves to exhilarate the labours of the fiscal desk. They saw that Lord Wellesley had indulged in a just resentment of an individual affront, but that his indignation was not tinged by any political vindictiveness; and relied upon the evidence of impunity afforded in the example of a gentleman who had been engaged in the theatrical riot, and who continued to hold and still enjoys many lucrative situations, from which the government did not dare to remove him. The passions which had been repressed by a temporary barrier, burst through it with an augmented force. The imperfect effort at independence made by the Irish government was designated as an act of Oriental autocracy, and the fate of Sir Charles Vernon afforded an ample field for reprobatory exclamation. He had acquired the liking of the ordinary frequenters of the Castle, and possessed all the talents requisite for his vocation. The motley personage, who charmed the melancholy Jaques in the forest of Ardennes, could not surpass him in his adaptation to his office; and so wide and genuine was his popularity amongst a certain class, that it might have been aptly said upon his dismissal, -Mimæ, balatrones-hoc genus omne The forbearance of Lord Wellesley's administration is remarkable. The instance above mentioned deserves notice, but a circumstance which recently occurred is still more singular. Lord Wellesley lately dined with the Corporation, and among the persons officially employed to preside at the dinner and lead his Lordship into the banquet-room, was one of the chief rioters at the theatre! The solicitude for the fate of the Dublin Tigellius was not, however, confined to persons of this cast, but reached to nobler bosoms. A certain conspicuous octogenarian dropped tears for rheum upon hearing of his fate, and vowed by her widowhood that she would never enter the Castle again. Lord Manners also expressed an equally unqualified resentment. The natural good-nature of his lordship was moved by Vernon's misfortunes, and he also felt this discharge from the viceregal service as an indirect rebuke to himself. It was said that his lordship expressed great and loud irritation, and rumours were dispersed that either Lord Wellesley or Lord Manners would leave the country. It is certain that the latter wrote letters of bitter complaint to the heads of his own family and to the leaders of the high-church party in England. I have heard from good authority that the Duke of Rutland, Lord Lonsdale, and one or two of the other great proprietors in the House of Commons, held a meeting in London, and deliberated upon the means of effecting the removal of Lord Wellesley, but that, having felt the sense of the lower house, they abandoned the proposed measure, and determined to compromise the differences between the noble lords. Neither of the latter could afford to indulge in any very practical resentment, and consented to retain their stations upon the pathetic and conclusive plea of Shakspeare's apothecary. Accordingly a fantastic kind of accommodation was effected between them. Poor Sir Charles, however, was not included in this prudential negotiation, and fell gradually into oblivion. The bells upon his cap were no longer heard at the Castle. His practical jokes, his innocent caricatures, and innocuous buffooneries, were no longer remembered; and what is much more deserving of regret, his domestic virtues were forgotten in the reconciliation of the great contending personages. The latter readily compromised their differences under the salutary influence of reciprocal convenience. The facility of the adjustment excited some surprise; but much greater astonishment was produced by the event which almost immediately succeeded. The insult offered to Lord Wellesley was marked and unequivocal. So deeply had it penetrated into the very core and vitals of his pride, that he had instantaneously dismissed the dependents upon whom his resentment could be practically exemplified. What, think you, was the issue of the viceregal exasperation? You will start at the bare mention of the fact. The brother of the Duke of Wellington, the conqueror of Tippoo Saib, the moving spirit of the Spanish war-the lofty statesman, the impassioned orator, and the philosophical politician-he who upon his first arrival in this country, had united the suffrages of the British empire, and seemed to be of all men the best qualified for an undertaking in which sagacity and elevation were to be combined-he, galled and blistered as he was by a wanton and deliberate offence, selected this convocation of wassailers for an especial mark of favour, and uninvited, announced his intention to dine with the Beef-steak Club. This communication from the Castle was at first received as an idle rumour. The liberal party exclaimed, "It is impossible! True it is that he made a baronet of the man who was the first to violate the King's commands; it is true that he shook hands with Alderman Thorpe; it is true that he has flattered, without cajoling the Corporation; and for all this there is, perhaps, an ex tenuation, if not an excuse: he has been driven by the exigency of circumstances to a thousand acts, from which his principles as a statesman, and his own noble instincts, must have made him shrink. But that he should dine with the Beef-steak Club! the thing's impossible." With such expressions of indignant incredulity this report was received. Yet it gradually gained ground upon the public disbelief, and at last the day on which these novel festivities were to take place, was formally and authentically proclaimed. The day arrived, and Lord Wellesley sat in the midst of the Orange orgies, by the side of the very man with whom he had just declared that he could no longer act in concert in the government of Ireland. The triumph of Lord Manners was complete. Even his accustomed urbanity could not prevent him from indulging in some partial expression of superiority. His black eyes glistened with more than their usual fire; a deeper shade of Orange was infused into his complexion; his Stuart smile assumed a more lordly courtesy. With the exception of the immediate suite of the Lord Lieutenant, there was scarcely one friend of his in the whole assembly-the tables were lined with men who eyed the noble Marquis with an expression, in which hatred appeared to have given way to a less vehement emotion. The evening passed slowly and heavily away, and in place of the usual bustle and clamorous jocularity which accompany such assemblies, a certain dulness, arising from the consciousness of restraint, prevailed over the meeting. Lord Wellesley affected high spirits, but it was easy to perceive that he was personating a part, which he felt at last that he ought not to have undertaken. He was not actually insulted to his face, although he took a sudden offence at some phrases of the Lord Chancellor, who, in pronouncing judgment upon the excellence and utility of the Beef-steak Club, congratulated Lord Wellesley upon the opportunity which he enjoyed of relaxing, amidst these recreative convocations, from the rigour and austerity of his political labours. The latter imagined, but I believe erroneously, that something disrespectful was intended, and suddenly started at the banquet at the ghost of his own dignity. The Chancellor assured him that he was under an erroneous impression; and he rested apparently contented with the explanation. Nothing remarkable occurred until the hour for Lord Wellesley's departure, which was anxiously expected by the company, had arrived. They had entered into a stipulation that "The exports of Ireland" should not be drunk in his presence, and waited for the moment of his departure to indulge in this contumelious toast. At length he signified his intention to retire :-the whole assembly rose-he walked through the files of Orangemen upon each side, and bowed as he passed along. He reached the door, while every glass was filling to the brim; and scarce had he crossed the threshold, when "The exports of Ireland" was given, and received with loud and vivacious acclamations. The noble Marquis hurried down stairs, with the shouts of laughter, which proceeded from the meeting, ringing in his ears, and returned to the Castle after an effort at conciliation, which, whatever may be thought of it in a political point of view, must be regarded as a pattern of Christian virtue, in which the precept of forgiveness was carried to a point of perfection that excited as much wonder as admiration. Those who had formed an estimate of his chaVOL. VIII. NO. XXXVI. 2 P racter from his Oriental achievements, expected that his descent in the West would be attended with a scarcely inferior lustre. It was hoped that he would leave behind him a track of illumination which would be long reflected by his country. It is possible that some beam of light may yet break through the dimness in which he is enveloped, but hitherto we have only had occasion to contrast his glory in the East with the clouded setting of his renown. While these incidents were taking place, the Ex-Attorney-general, Mr. Saurin... But I have exceeded my limits, and must postpone a detail of the events which were produced by the agency of that once important, and still remarkable person. Mr. Saurin, Bradley King, the Archbishop of Dublin, and the church-yards, will furnish me with materials for another letter. CRITO. THE HUNTER OF THE PYRENEES. LIGHT o'er the lea the hunter bounds, With buoyant heart and brow unclouded; Shrill answer to his bugle sounds The hill, with its peak in thick mists shrouded, He quickly clears the deep ravine, Treads with firm foot the blue-flower'd heath, But leaps those spots of treacherous green The game is up, and away he goes! The eagle from her crag-form'd rest Eyes the fierce chase, and onwards soaring, Flaps her flight o'er the mountain's breast, She marks from her height the fusil's flash- And blood-drops blush on the rock-weeds brown. G. |