Which spread dismay around,
The hero's breast received."
The vocalist was not in view; he was in a side wing, where he was accompanied by pianoforte music, and the shot was simulated by a blow on a drum. Brophy's Nelson was a perfect make-up. He wore an admiral's uniform, presenting an armless sleeve and various decorations, and the green shade over the pearl on the sightless eye was not forgotten. I recollect one representation, when he fell more against my shoulder than across my arm and knee, but he immediately stood up and exclaimed, "D——n it, that won't do: I must die again."
He was very fond of music, and played the violin frequently, but confined his performances to jigs, reels, and lively Irish tunes. I called one evening, when I was told that he was not at home, but as I was leaving, the servant followed me, and I was informed that he wished me to go down to the lower room of "the return," where he had "a couple of fiddlers." When I entered the apartment, he said that he was glad I came, as I had two legs, and could increase the number amongst them to half-a-dozen. Each of his companions was minus a leg, but their hands were in perfect order, and their music was extremely pleasing.
The late Lord Rossmore was very intimate with Brophy, who was certainly not singular in admiring the many amiable and agreeable qualities invariably evinced by his noble friend. On one occasion Pat had engaged a first-rate player on the Irish pipes named Conolloy or Coneely, to enliven upwards of a dozen guests by his very delectable music. He was totally blind, and was placed on a chair in a corner of the parlour, where he played whilst we were dining, but he had been previously supplied with a plentiful repast. In the course of the evening, Brophy had a small table placed before the piper, and said that he had afforded us very great pleasure, but he should take a little rest, unyoke the pipes, and have a tumbler of punch, which was made by Brophy and put just at his hand. Almost immediately after this arrangement had been effected, Captain Toosey Williams urged Lord Rossmore to take the pipes and favor us with a tune or two. We all joined in the request to "his lordship," and he acceded to our wishes, and played several pieces of exquisitely sweet music, interspersed with most extraordinary imitations. In one, which was named "The Hare in the Corn," he produced sounds very much resembling the cry of harriers, and other tones like the notes of a hunting horn, terminating with two or three simulated squeaks, supposed to indicate the capture of the hare. He then proceeded to play the beautiful Scotch air of "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon," to which we were listening with great delight, when the blind piper rose from his seat, and exclaimed with furious indignation—
"I did not expect such treatment from any people calling themselves gentlemen. It was a most scandalous shame to bring me, a poor dark man, here to be humbugged as you are trying to do, calling on my lord to yoke my pipes and play for ye. He is as much "a lord" as I am myself; the d——l a lord ever played as he does, he's nothing but a rale piper. It is not honest or decent to try and deceive me, but you can't do it."
Brophy succeeded in pacifying the enraged musician by admitting that the performer was a real piper, and we had two or three tunes more. Conolly's indignation produced very great merriment amongst us, and no one enjoyed it more than the noble object of his censure.
There was a citizen of high commercial position, who was, I believe, justly reputed to be very wealthy. He was a widower, and had become habituated to take a very copious allowance of grog immediately before retiring to rest. He had a son whose society Brophy highly relished, for he had been an amateur performer in every scene of warfare to which he could obtain access. He had served in Portugal under the standard of Donna Maria, and subsequently joined the foreign legion embodied to contend against the claims of Don Carlos to the crown of Spain. The contests in which he had participated, and the vicissitudes he had undergone, enabled him to relate many interesting occurrences. He was a very agreeable companion, and was always welcome in Dawson Street. Brophy had made a set of teeth for the old gentleman, and when doing some occasional repairs, was informed of the fact, that every night the teeth were placed in a vessel of cold water, where they remained until their own owner restored them to his jaws in the morning. One evening the young man was expressing great dissatisfaction at the dull, tame, and insipid life he was leading, without having any incentive or opportunity to exhibit energy or attempt enterprise; and he added, that although he was well lodged, clothed, and dieted, he was personally penniless, for his father never allowed him any pocket-money.
"I'll get you a little cash," said Brophy. "Slip into his bedchamber, and bring me his teeth; he puts them in a water-basin before he goes to bed." In a night or two the suggestion was adopted, and Brophy immediately made some slight alteration to prevent them exactly fitting their owner, who very soon arrived in a most disconsolate state, and was scarcely able to express articulately the inconvenience and annoyance to which he was subjected. He admitted that he had not been quite sober when he went to bed, but felt certain that he had left the teeth in the basin as usual.