« AnteriorContinuar »
it. My friend and I were directed to boys of our school are nearly all the carriage where our seats had been shirtless-I know where linen cau be kept. We had for fellow-travellers had—I'll make a dead set upon the two priests, acquaintances of the de- lumber-room; and, if I ain refused, ceased, and constant frequenters of as I live I'll expose somebody.' her hou
when she was in health They talked on in this way for some to entertain them. This I learned time, letting out occasionally the little from their own talk, as we joined anecdotes of their chapel. Some of tliein. Nothing could be more these were amusing enough ; they striking than the contrast which the served, at least, to show me something appearance of these two gentlemen of the habits and disposition of a exhibited. One of them was a pale body of men of whom I previously slight figure, with a teasing cough, knew nothing. We had now got clear that came in perpetually to disturb of the city; it lay, with its spires and the course of the conversation. He with its smoke, far behind us. I was had hardly flesh enough on him to listening quietly to a little story of cover the inore prominent bones; his the rosy, priest's, when our procesclothes hung around him as if they sion suddenly halted. I found we had had been made for another; he was met with one of those legalized young, and
yet he stooped as if from • stand and deliver stations, vulgarly age; his smile was melancholy; and termed turnpikes. As far as we were the hectic Aush that passed occa- concerned, however, the annoyance sionally across his cheek seemed to was trifling: we had merely to comsay for him-I am not for this world : plain of a few minutes' delay.
The the hand of Death was evidently undertaker, it appeared, had direcupon him. Differently looked his tions to pay for all the carriages: companion ; plump and rosy were his this matter was soon arranged; and, cheeks, free and loud was his laugh, after the horses had been unplumed, ample his paunch, and merry the ex- and stripped of their sepulchral pression of his dark eye: he sat be. clothing, we set forward once more kore me as the personification of jol. upon our journey; During the pause lity, in good humour with himself that had taken place I had leisure to and with all the world.
look around me. The carriages ac• What has happened Father Far. companying the funeral extended to rell to-day?" said he, looking rather a great distance behind us ; after slily as he asked the question.- He these caine a long train of jaunting: was just done his mass,' replied the cars, heaped with the
humbler friends as I left the chapel.'- I or followers of the deceased. Some wonder,' continued the other, that of these curious-looking vehicles carhe did not manage it better; he sel- ried four on each side; while a couple dom misses a friend's funeral—he ac- of children, or a favourite dog, aş tually seems to like burials better than the case inight be, occupied the place weddings.'
called the well. Crowds of horsemen What a gathering of scarfs and thronged the road, sometimes followhathands he must have !' added the ing and sometimes preceding the coughing man.
carriages and the cars. • Yes," said his comrade, he must These gentlemen of the equestrian have a fine collection. Why, if he order were, of all the attendants of has not got them made into shirts or the funeral, the most irregular. No. cravats, he must have enough to fill thing could keep them within the & stage-coach.'
ranks. Some of them had probably I have really heard that he has borrowed a horse for the day; others upwards of sixty of them, lying in an had then, for the first time, crossed a old lumher-room, in their original saddle. Most of them were awkward twist, with their black ribands about riders; and, the misfortune was, that them, as when he first got
them.' it was such riders who were most • Good!' rejoined the rosy one, eager to show off. Wherever a low laughing aloud. Well done, old Fa- ditch or an open green field presented ther Slyboots ! I always suspected itself, away went the stragglers, one him; bụt it is 10 matter—the poor hurrying after another, to indulge in
the luxury of a gallop. Neither the their carriages, and gathered around laughter of their friends, nor the the coffin; four young men dressed curses of the old women whom they in mourning-cloaks removed it, and frightened, nor the probalvility of bore it slowly to a distant part of the breaking their necks, could check or churchyard. 'Father O'Halloran and intimidate them; they were bent upon his sickly companion had joined the charming the general eye with • noble coffin bearers: the crowd accompanied feats of horsemanship, and, if they them, while I, with my friend, strollpleased themselves, it mattered little ed quietly through the new region, how they succeeded. Some of them, into which we were thus for a time like the renowned John Gilpin, rode introduced. The space in which we much farther than they intended ; stood was thickly occupied: the little others out-galloped their hats ; and mounds of earth rose in multitudes two or three were left sprawling in beneath, and around us. I could the mud of the ditches. The acci. have wished that each of them had dents, however, that did occur, were been gently levelled, for, as 1 trod on rather laughable than otherwise. the different graves, I felt as if my
We moved slowly on. The coun- foot pressed heavily upon the lifeless try around us looked well. My friend body of a fellow-creature. Many and I were asking various questions stately tombstones adorned the place; of our travelling companions, when the headstones were innumerable. Í a most inelegant-looking horseman, perceived, as I walked on, that the reelegantly mounted, rode up to the mains of several clergymen were de side of our carriage: he had a self-posited here; and for the first time I sufficient purse-proud air about him, observed that they scorned to rest in that seemed to mark him for a pros. the ordinary posture of the laity: perous man of business. He was they occupied a position directly oprather fashionably dressed; but the posite, their feet fronting the heads hand of Nature had stamped • boor of the latter. I know not if this is in upon his brow, and there it was des- conformity with any special rule of tined to remain.
ecclesiastical discipline; but, at all • Father O'Halloran,' said he, ad. events, it struck me as somewhat dressing the rosy priest, 'I am mighty singular. Death levels all distincglad to see you well.'
tions—the grave is the house ap* Thank you, Mr. Tate.'
pointed for all the living-all there This is a mighty glorious fine day, moulder alike--the flesh of the passir.
tor will decay like that of the peasant Very fine,' said Father O'Hal- -and why must this miserable emJoran.
blem of distinction be preserved ?But it's mighty queer, Father Perhaps, after all, it is only a O'Halloran, that it's not every body local custom. We moved on, and, would like to be buried on a fine as we proceeded, we were amused day.'
by many of the inscriptions; not Why, Mr. Tate?' said the priest. that there was on them any thing *Oh! there's a mighty ould say- really humorous, but because they, ing, sir,- Happy is the corpse that in some instances, aspired to a chathe rain rains on.'
racter of seriousness, where they and Happy is the bride were calculated to excite any thing that the sun shines on, added the but a serious feeling. It was the perother, laughing as he spoke. petual struggling after the pathetic,
Right, sir," said Mr. Tate. the constant attempt at finery, that He rode on; and, before I had lent a nameless charm to many of the time to ask as to his character, he compositions. A plain epitaph is a was with us again.
thing that a true Irishman would Well, Father O'Halloran, we're scorn to write ; he must shine, or not now at the place of our designation:' write at all the mere name or age --he looked bigger as he spoke. would never satisfy the dead, or ra* Sir! said the priest.
ther the friends of the dead. Some The hearse had stopped; the rela- of the inscriptions before us were in tives of the dead lad descended from verse; but never was poetry so be
• Oh! ay ;
devilled : the lines were too silly to ex- stop : I have orders to hinder every
one headstone, however, that ground,' said the husband of the
• The police are at the gate,' said Good Christians !
the fellow. Pray for the soul of Matthew Walsh,
. But what harm will a few lines of A poor sinner !!
the Psalms do? will it disturb the slumTo those who hold it useful to pray ber of the Protestant dead that rest for the dead, such an appeal as this here around us ?' was quite irresistible: it brought the “Sir, I don't want to argue matters; prayer at the moment fresh from the I shall call in the police, I have orders heart. On me, thinking light, as I do, to do so if I am not obeyed.! of such prayers, the call was not en- • Come to the grave,' said Father tirely lost: 'I stood upon the grave, O'Halloran, “and we shall pray in siI read the lines slowly over, and with lence; no tyrant, lay or ecclesiastic, my friend I ejaculated, • Peace to hinder us from doing that.' your spirit, poor Matt Walsh !'-But
They moved onward, the coffin was where, said I, turning away, “is the lowered, the clay heaped upon it, and, use of this prayer? If this poor fel- as the heavy green sods were smoothlow has not been turned out of pur- ed down, the lips of all around gatory, before this, he must now be were moving: Reprobate even as I burned to a cinder- he is not worth am, I felt half inclined to pray, if it saving.' • True,' said my comrade; were only to annoy the bigoted tool 'but remember still, it is a wholesome of authority that came there to disand pious thought to pray for the turb us : my tongue, I believe, was dead. I admitted it. I looked towards actually in motion ; I know, for certhe procession, and I perceived that tain, that my heart was decidedly the coffin-bearers had proceeded twice with those who sought to honour the around the churchyard with their dead. burden. Father ('Halloran and his Father O'Halloran joined us as we sickly fellow-traveller were moving moved away from the churchyard. before them, reciting the De Pro- • Keep near me,' said he, until I profundis:'they were uncovered and even cure you some refreshment: it is getthe careless-looking stragglers who ting late, and none of us have dined.' brought up the rear, kept their hats But where,' said I, can refreshpartly off. An interruption, however, ment be had ?' now took place; and, on proceeding to • Did you observe no baskets tied the scene of action, I soon learned the behind the three leading carriages ?
The sexton, a saucy-looking These baskets,' continued the priest, well-fed churl was there in all the in- are not empty, but come along.' solence of office, and interdicted the We proceeded to a house that stood work of piety; he stood upon an old within sight of the burial-ground, and tombstone, keeping his hat on while then, indeed, I found that my friend Father O'Halloran and all those in black was no fabler ; the baskets around him remained bareheaded. were emptying of their contents, and
• I have warned you, sir,' said the three or four tables were heaped with man of the church— I have warned cold turkeys, cold ham, cold whisky you; and, if you don't stop this mum- punch in jars, and lots of wine. The mery, I must call in the police.' jolly priest helped me plentifully to
I am but reciting one of the all that I wished. We took a few Psalms,' replied the priest.
tumblers, emptied a few bottles of the • No matter, sir, for that, you inust cheering juice of the grape, and then
drove home comfortably together. I rather a late hour. A funeral in the learned afterwards that soine of our neighbourhood of Dublin is one of fellow-travellers kept up the sport to the pleasantest things in the world!
THE VETERAN LEGIONEER.-NO. II.
MY DEAR EDITOR,—When I spoke was not behind-hand in this war of to you in my former letter of the words. The German is a fine language discursive habits of my past life, and for imprecations, and the trooper begged your allowance for any in- seemed to feel great comfort in pourcoherence or rambling which you ing out his curses as long as his might discover in my communica- breath lasted. He died, however; tions, I only adopted a precaution and I was saved from a similar fate by which I knew was highly necessary. a party of my own regiment, who I am possessed by a vagrant spirit, carried ine with them, and deposited which has influenced me from my me in the military hospital. This cradle, and which imparts itself to all was a large old house, which had been the feelings and actions of my exist- converted to its present use with
Instead of proceeding to detail great haste and little care. I lay in to you such events connected with a large room, surrounded by commy chequered life as I think would panions in misfortune; and, as the be interesting to you, I feel at this progress of curing wounds so severe moment strongly tempted to tell you as those which we had received, was of a story; and, as you know it is the necessity very slow, we found the common custom, if not the common time hang heavily on our hands. fault, of our countrymen to follow Among other projects which were their impulses without much reflec- devised to help on its flight one was tion, I will e'en go on to tell you the that we should tell tales in turn. story.
Some of us made a very bad hand at In the first place I must inform this exercise; others were highly you how I became acquainted with amusing: Among the latter, the it-for it is none of my own.
most eminent was a profiigate little thus then :-In the first action at fellow, who had been a manufacturer which, to use a French phrase, I as- of farces to one of the Boulevard sisted, I had the ill luck to be cut theatres, and who had joined the army down by a German trooper, who, with out of mere love of change. He was a coup de sabre, sliced away a large a bad soldier, and not remarkable for portion of my left cheek, and occa- his courage; but a bullet had found sioned that scar which, if it does not him out in the last engagement, notimprove the beauty of my counte- withstanding the pains he had taken nance, will at least serve to ascertain to keep out of the reach of those unmy identity in case of accidents. At welcome visitors. His facility at tellalmost the same moment in which ing stories was very remarkable; he the German inflicted upon me this was very fond of making his comwell-intentioned blow, he was shot, panions dictate to him certain advenand the bullet, passing through his tures, which it was to be his task to inbody, struck me, and broke my thigh- terweave in his narrations. The more bone. We both fell, and were so bizarre and uncommon these advenmuch crippled by our respective tures were the better was he pleased, wounds as to be wholly unable to ap- because the greater was the opporproach each other, and to execute the tunity of showing his skill. amiable intentions which filled our One day it came to the turn of Le minds : we therefore lay sprawling Maire (that was his name) to tell a upon the bloody field, swearing at story. He agreed to do so, and said each other-he in high Dutch, and I it should be called “The Constant in good Irish-as loud and as ear. Lovers ;' but he insisted that every nestly as we could. I confess that, person present should put down one when I found I could do nothing else, adventure which was to occur in the I felt myself bound to abuse my life of the hero and the heroine of conqueror; and, to do him justice, he the proposed tale. This was com
plied on our parts; and a card was first and only assistant to M. Tran. handed round to the bed of each of chant, a barber surgeon, who lived in the invalids, on which every one put the Faubourg St. Marceau, and who down something, according to the had the honour of reckoning among his whim which struck bim at the mo- customers the gentlemen who killed ment. The card, being completed and the ranks in the Garde Françoise of handed back to Le Mair, was inscribed that quarter. It is well known that thus :
these valiant men do not stand much 1. The hero is to be burnt.
upon ceremony, and Felix used to 2. He is to be drowned.
friz their locks at the rate of a dozen 3. He shall have the small-pox. in an hour. The department of the 4. He shall be hanged.
beards fell to the lot of M. Tranchant 5. After all which he shall be himself, who dispatched them with married to the heroine.
inconceivable rapidity; and as he was 6. The heroine shall
mad. a great talker, and frequently indulged 7. She shall run the gauntlet in a satirical style, he was sometimes through a regiment of the guards. 80 carried away by his own feelings,
8. And she shall throw herself out as not to regard those of his patients, of window.
but occasionally took a considerable “Well,' said Le Maire, when he had slice out of the cheek of his victim. read this card, 'I must confess that Some of the braves, who did not apyou have prepared a difficult subject prove of this method of being shaved, for me : but I hope still to overcome would threaten to quit him; but the it; I only beg that the commence- adroit rogue, M. Tranchant, had a ment may be postponed till after knack of appeasing them, and would dinner.' This was unanimously agreed apply a morsel of cobweb to the wound to: the dinner was dispatched, and in so delightful a manner, that the sore in the afternoon our conteur an- customers went away so deeply penenounced himself ready to begin his trated with the ingenuity of bis expetask, which he did as follows : dient as to forget the pain of the
The talent of Felix was not, how. Without going into all the parti- ever, confined to the narrow limits of culars of the birth, the childhood, the M. Tranchant's shop, nor to the education, and the character of the heads of the French guard. He ocea, hero, whose adventures I propose to sionally frizled some of the citizens relate, I shall introduce him to you at who were too lazy or too rich to go once, at that period when he had out of their own houses. completed his eighteenth year. these latter, was M. Honoré, an emi
At this most delightful age Felix, nent baker, wbo lived at the corner of (for so he shall be called) came to the street. Felix was always delightParis, possessing no other wealth than ed when it became necessary to ema large comb, but which he believed, bellish the head of this old gentleman; with the ardour natural to enter. not, perhaps, so much for any regard prising youth, he would one day make which he entertained for M. Honoré, useful to himself, to his parents, and as because he felt a growing affection to his country.
for a certain pretty little niece, whom This instrument did not, it must be the baker had educated froin her confessed, announce any superior ta- childhood to her present ripe age of lents for poetry or for music, nor womanhood, and who listened with a did Felix pique himself upon such wonderful pleasure to the stories vain accomplishments. He had aban- which the gallant barber recounted to doned those superfluous acquirements her. He insinuated himself so clefor the purpose of devoting himself verly into the good opinion of the entirely to the more noble and sub- uncle, and into the heart of the niece, stantial art of dressing hair and trim- that M. Honoré proposed to let him ming beards according to the most a small chamber on the fifth floor of approved mode of his native village. his house, where he might commence His proficiency in these arts procured operations on his own account, Felix him an engagement in the quality of was not backward in accepting this
THE CONSTANT LOVERS.