Charles Lever, His Life in His Letters, Vol. I

by Charles James Lever

VI. TEMPLEOGUE. 1842-1845

Nothing if not thorough—for the moment—Lever heralded his assumption of the editorial chair of ‘The Dublin University’ with a trumpet-blast. In the April number of the Magazine there is published an “Editor’s Address,” in which “Harry Lorrequer” informs his kind friends the public that Ireland’s National Magazine has been entrusted to his guidance. “For many long years,” continues Lorrequer, “this position has been the object of my ambition.... In announcing the appearance of a new journal, the editor enjoys the time-honoured privilege of informing the public what literary miracles it is his intention to perform; how he shall fill up all the deficiencies observable in other periodicals; how smart will be his witty contributors, how deep his learned ones; what soundness will characterise his political views; by what acumen and impartiality his criticisms will be distinguished. In fact, to believe him, you would say that until that moment journalism had been a poor, barren, and empty performance, and that all the able and gifted writers of the day had, by some strange fatality, suffered their wits to lie fallow. This is the more singular, as such announcements usually appear once or twice a-year, and the world seems never the wiser six months later. Happily for our Magazine, happily for myself, I have no such power in my hands.... Far be it from me to institute comparisons between myself and that first of editors who moulds the destinies of ‘Blackwood’s’; but this I will say, that if the coachman on the box be an inferior whip—and this I honestly confess—his team is unsurpassed.”

This flamboyant piece of writing is dated Dublin, March 21,1842, but in all probability it was written in Brussels when the fever of the editorship first attacked him. He must have referred to the Address and smiled at it a few months later, for in June he declared to a friend that the unsurpassed team was “as groggy a set of screws as ever marched in harness. God forgive me,” he ejaculated, “for my editorial puff of them!”

‘Jack Hinton, the Guardsman,’ had reached its seventh chapter when Lever took charge of the Magazine. Following the example of ‘Charles O’Malley’ and ‘Harry Lorrequer,’ ‘The Guardsman’ was issued in monthly parts, with illustrations by Phiz. ‘Nuts and Nut-Crackers’ commenced in the March number of the Magazine.

Lever’s Irish friends found it very difficult to procure the ideal “cottage” for him. Stillorgan and Glenegary (near Kingstown) had power to charm him only for a while. At length he found rest in Templeogue (or Templeogue) House, an old mansion situated about four miles south-west of Dublin city, in the midst of glorious scenery—hill and dale, woodland and stream. The grounds of Templeogue House were picturesque. Inside the high walls were spacious courtyards; there were extensive gardens, terraced walks, “the remains of ambitious avenues,” and an old Dutch waterfall. The dwelling-house itself was said to have been a Knights Templars’ residence, and to have been occupied at a later period by Lord Santry. It had a ghost-room* and subterraneous passages. In the near neighbourhood stood Montpelier, a castellated building, at one time the principal resort of the Hell-Fire Club.**

* It was supposed that the ghost was the shade of O’Loughlin
Murphy, who in the course of an eighteenth-century orgie had
been filled with whisky by Lord Santry. When the whisky
overflowed the noble lord put a light to Murphy’s mouth and
made a holocaust of him. Lord Santry was tried for the
murder, but it happened that a cousin of his owned the
water-supply of Dublin, and threatened to cut off the supply
if his relative was hanged. Incredible as it may seem, the
Viceroy yielded under the threat, and the life of Lord
Santry was spared.—E. D.
** Upon one occasion the members of this club set fire to
their club-room and (in order to show their contempt for
certain torments preached from the pulpit) endured the
flames until they were nearly roasted to death.—E. D.

In June 1842 Templeogue welcomed a distinguished visitor—the author of ‘The Snob Papers.’ Thackeray’s object in voyaging in Ireland was to collect material for his ‘Sketch-Book,’ and he expected to find a congenial spirit in the author of ‘Charles O’Malley.’

The first dinner-party—a small one—given by Lever in honour of his illustrious guest is graphically described by Major Dwyer:* “After the ladies had retired the two protagonists began to skirmish. Neither knew much of the other, except what could be gleaned from their published works.... The conversation had been led by Lever to the subject of the battle of Waterloo: he wished to afford Captain Siborne “**—one of the guests—” an opportunity of saying a word; perhaps, too, he wanted to show that he himself knew something of the matter.... Thackeray soon joined in: he did not pretend to know anything about the great battle, but he evidently wished to spur on Lever to identify himself with Charles O’Malley.... Quickly perceiving his antagonist’s game, Lever met his (Thackeray’s) feints with very quiet but perfectly efficacious parries. It was highly interesting, and not a little amusing, to observe how these two men played each a part seemingly belonging to the other: Thackeray assuming what he judged to be a style of conversation suitable for Lever, whilst the latter responded in the sarcastic and sceptical tone proper to an English tourist in Ireland.”

* “Reminiscences of Lever and Thackeray,” by Major D———.
From “The Portfolio” (Appendix to ‘Life of Lever’ by Dr
Fitzpatrick). Frank Dwyer was one of Lever’s chums at
Trinity. Between the two men existed a bond of friendship
broken only by death.—E. D.
** Author of ‘A History of the War in France and Belgium in
1816.’—E. D.

According to Major Dwyer’s narrative, French and German literature were next discussed, Thackeray expressing a preference for German books. And then came the pleasantest moment of the evening. In complimenting Lever on his skill in translating German Liedert Thackeray declared that he would be prouder to have written “The Pope he leads a Happy Life”—Lever’s version of the student song—than anything he himself had ever put into print. The host felt this was a large dose of flattery to swallow, and he could hardly credit that Titmarsh was in earnest; but finally he was convinced that his guest meant what he had said, and his joy was intense and undisguised. Major Dwyer expresses the opinion that it was during this happy quarter of an hour the first stone of the foundation of the friendship between the two novelists was laid. Whatever reserve had existed, or whatever desire each had displayed to outshine the other, quickly vanished; and from that moment the master of Templeogue and his confrère vied with each other in cordiality, and the table-talk ran without restraint or reserve. “Thackeray’s conversation,” says Major Dwyer, “flowed more evenly on the whole, like the deeper current of a river meandering through a cultivated country.... Lever’s resembled a mountain torrent leaping over rocks and precipices in clouds of sparkling spray.”