Jack Hinton: The Guardsman

by Charles James Lever

Supper at length concluded, the dishes were removed by two humble brethren of the order, dressed in a species of grey serge; after which, marching to a solemn tune, another monk appeared, bearing a huge earthenware bowl, brimful of steaming punch—at least so the odour and the floating lemons bespoke it. Each brother was now provided with a small, quaint-looking pipkin, after which the domestics withdrew, leaving us in silence as before. For about a second or two this continued, when suddenly the fiddles gave a loud twang, and each monk, springing to his legs, threw hack his cowl, and, bowing to the superior, reseated himself. So sudden was the action, so unexpected the effect, for a moment or two I believed it a dream. What was my surprise, what my amazement, that this den of thieves, this hoard of burglars, this secret council of rebels, was nothing more or less than an assemblage of nearly all the first men of the day in Ireland! And as my eye ran rapidly over the party, here I could see the Chief Baron, with a venerable dignitary of St. Patrick's on his right; there was the Attorney-General; there the Provost of Trinity College; lower down, with his skull-cap set jauntily on one side, was Wellesley Pole, the secretary of state; Yelverton, Day, Plunket, Parsons, Toler; in a word, all those whose names were a guarantee for everything that was brilliant, witty, and amusing, were there; while, conspicuous among the rest, the prior himself was no other than John Philpot Curran! Scarcely was my rapid survey of the party completed, when the superior, filling his pipkin from the ample bowl before him, rose to give the health of the order. Alas me! that time should have so sapped my memory! I can but give my impression of what I heard.

The speech, which lasted about ten minutes, was a kind of burlesque on speeches from the throne, describing in formal phrase the prosperous state of their institution, its amicable foreign relations, the flourishing condition of its finances—brother Yelverton having paid in the two-and-sixpence he owed for above two years—concluding all with the hope that by a rigid economy, part of which consisted in limiting John Toler to ten pipkins, they would soon be enabled to carry into effect the proposed works on the frontier, and expend the sum of four shillings and nine-pence in the repair of the lobby. Winding up all with a glowing eulogium on monastic institutions in general, he concluded with recommending to their special devotion and unanimous cheers 'the Monks of the Screw.' Never, certainly, did men compensate for their previous silence better than the worthy brethren in question. Cheering with an energy I never heard the like of, each man finished his pipkin with just voice enough left to call for the song of the order.

Motioning with his hand to the fiddlers to begin, the prior cleared his throat, and, to the same simple but touching melody they had marched in to supper, sang the following chant:—

GOOD-LUCK TO THE FRIARS OF OLD
'Of all trades that flourished of old,
Before men knew reading and writing,
The friars' was best I am told,
If one wasn't much given to fighting;
For, rent free, you lived at your ease—
You had neither to work nor to labour—
You might eat of whatever you please,
For the prog was supplied by your neighbour.
Oh, good-luck to the friars of old!
'Your dress was convenient and cheap—
A loose robe like this I am wearing:
It was pleasant to eat in or sleep,
And never much given to tearing.
Not tightened nor squeezed in the least—
How of modern days you might shame us!
With a small bit of cord round your waist—
With what vigour you'd chant the oremus!
Oh, good-luck to the friars of old!
'What miracles then, too, you made!
The fame to this hour is lasting;
But the strangest of all, it is said,
You grew mighty fat upon fasting!
And though strictly forbid to touch wine,
How the fact all your glory enhances!
You well knew the taste of the vine—
Some miraculous gift of St. Francis!
Oh, good-luck to the friars of old!
'To trace an example so meek,
And repress all our carnal desires,
We mount two pair stairs every week,
And put on the garment of friars;
And our order itself it is old—
The oldest between me and you, sir;
For King David, they say, was enrolled,
And a capital Monk of the Screw, sir.
So, good-luck to the friars of old!'

The song over, and another cheer given to the brethren of the Screw, the pipkins were replenished, and the conversation, so long pent up, burst forth in all its plenitude. Nothing but fun, nothing but wit, nothing but merriment, was heard on either side. Here were not only all the bright spirits of the day, but they were met by appointment; they came prepared for the combat, armed for the fight; and, certainly, never was such a joust of wit and brilliancy. Good stories rained around; jests, repartees, and epigrams flew like lightning; and one had but time to catch some sparkling gem as it glittered, ere another and another succeeded.

But even already I grow impatient with myself while I speak of these things. How poor, how vapid, and how meagre is the effort to recall the wit that set the table in a roar! Not only is memory wanting, but how can one convey the incessant roll of fun, the hailstorm of pleasantry, that rattled about our ears; each good thing that was uttered ever suggesting something still better; the brightest fancy and the most glowing imagination stimulated to their utmost exercise; while powers of voice, of look, and of mimicry unequalled, lent all their aid to the scene.

While I sat entranced and delighted with all I saw and all I heard, I had not remarked that O'Grady had been addressing the chair for some time previous.

'Reverend brother,' replied the prior, 'the prayer of thy petition is inadmissible. The fourth rule of our faith says, de confessione: No subject, mirthful, witty, or jocose, known to, or by, any member of the order, shall be withheld from the brotherhood under a penalty of the heaviest kind. And it goes on to say, that whether the jest involve your father or your mother, your wife, your sister, or the aunt from whom you expect a legacy, no exception can be made. What you then look for is clearly impossible; make a clean breast of it, and begin.'

This being a question of order, a silence was soon established, when, what was my horror to find that Phil O'Grady began the whole narrative of my mother's letter on the subject of the Rooneys! Not limiting himself, however, to the meagre document in question, but colouring the story with all the force of his imagination, he displayed to the brethren the ludicrous extremes of character personated by the London fine lady and the Dublin attorney's wife. Shocked as I was at first, he had not proceeded far, when I was forced to join the laughter. The whole table pounced upon the story. The Rooneys were well known to them all; and the idea of poor Paul, who dispensed his hospitalities with a princely hand, having his mansion degraded to the character of a chop-house, almost convulsed them with laughter.

'I am going over to London next week,' said Parsons, 'with old Lambert; and if I thought I should meet this Lady Charlotte Hinton, I'd certainly contrive to have him presented to her as Mr. Paul Rooney.'