CHAPTER XXXI. A TRIP TO THE NORTH—METRICAL ATTEMPTS—CONTRASTS—PARIS: A FAIR—A REVIEW—NADAR'S BALLOON—SPORT, TURF, BOXING—LIQUOR VEHICLES—NO HODS—A HORSE, A DOG, RATS.
I took a run to Belfast in 1862, and from thence through Carrickfergus, and along the coast-road to the Giant's Causeway, where I spent two days most agreeably. At the Causeway hotel I met several gentlemen, to one of whom I was known, and by him was introduced to the others. Their society was extremely pleasant; for although they differed in their views and opinions on certain subjects, their conversation was completely free from acerbity. In referring to the preference of certain colors by the inhabitants of northern or southern districts, an anecdote was related of a wrangle between two young fellows who had come from very distant parts of Ireland, to be employed in one of the great monetary establishments of Dublin, and who resided at Sandymount. I have not introduced into my preceding pages any expressions indicative of political or religious preferences, and I think that the "wrangle" may be submitted to the perusal of all parties or sects without offending their feelings or exciting their prejudices. I thought it curious and amusing, and it induced me to attempt to narrate, in a versified form, the antagonistic tendencies of—
GREEN AND ORANGE—ORANGE AND GREEN.
"There is a flow'r I dearly love, and which with pride I bear
Upon my head, or next my heart, none with it can compare;
It is the Orange Lily, to which glorious memories cling,
Of Derry, Boyne, or Aughrim, 'twill the recollection bring.
Some roots I have procured to plant, and when their flow'rs appear,
I'll hail them as the emblems of the cause I hold most dear."
Thus spoke a sturdy Northern lad. A Munster boy was nigh,
And heard the words which, he conceived, an insult did imply.
"I hate, I loathe your gaudy flow'r," disdainfully he cried;
"It shall not grow, its tints to show, wherever I abide.
Your lily shall be trampled if it ever meets my sight."
The blood of both was thus aroused and eager for a fight;
An aged man reproved them, bade their bitter taunts to cease,
And then suggested that his taste each might indulge in peace.
"My friend, I'll plant your lily, let its color glad your eyes,
No hateful green shall intervene to rival its rich dyes.
There's space enough throughout the land where those who love to see
The verdant hue may freely view the sod, the shrub, the tree."
The old man took the lily roots entrusted to his care,
With which the rival youths agreed no more to interfere.
In genial soil, of aspect warm, at once he planted them,
But as each primal leaf arose he nipp'd it from the stem.
He said the green must not appear the orange flow'r beside,
The blossom bright should meet the sight in undisputed pride.
But then the blossom, lone and bare, without the friendly aid
Of leaves to shield its rising stem soon wither'd and decay'd.
The abortive root unto the youths the old man then display'd.
"Both colors are essential to the perfect flow'r," he said.
"You cannot have the orange if the green you take away,
The plant affords a lesson—may it reach your hearts, I pray."