I have said that the phrase is inexplicable; but, in like manner as we are taught to aim at perfection whilst we know it to be unattainable, so will I endeavour to characterise the Je ne sais quoi as meaning a species of indefinable grace which gives despotic power to a female. When we praise in detail the abstract beauties or merits of a woman, each of them may form matter for argument, or a subject for the exercise of various tastes; but of the Je ne sais quoi there is no specification, and upon it there can be no reasoning. It is that fascinating enigma which expresses all without expressing any thing; that mysterious source of attraction which we can neither discover nor account for; and which nor beauty, nor wit, nor education, nor any thing, but nature, ever can create.
D. Whittingham was the fashion:—but she depended solely, as to fortune, on her father and her uncle. I was the third son of a largely estated, but not at all prudent family, and was entitled to a younger child’s portion, in addition to some exclusive property of my own (from my grandmother): but I had passed twenty-one, and not even fixed on a profession—therefore, the only probable result of our attachment seemed to be misery and disappointment. Notwithstanding, when in the same neighbourhood, we met,—when separate, we corresponded; but her good sense at length perceived that some end must be put to this state of clandestine correspondence, from which, although equally condemning it, we had not been able to abstain. Her father died, and she became entitled to a third of his estate and effects; but this accession was insufficient to justify the accomplishment of our union. I saw, and, with a half-broken heart, acquiesced in, her view of its impossibility until I should have acquired some productive profession. She suggested that there was no other course but the Bar, which might conciliate her uncle. The hint was sufficient, and we then agreed to have a ceremony of betrothal performed by a clergyman, and to separate the next moment, never to meet again until Fortune, if ever so disposed, should smile upon us.
The ceremony was accordingly performed by a clerical person in the parlour of the post-office at Bray, County Wicklow; and immediately afterward I went on board a packet for England, determined, if possible, to succeed in a profession which held out a reward so essential to my happiness.
I did succeed in that profession: but, alas! she for whose sake my toil was pleasure had ceased to exist. I never saw her more! Her only sister still lives in Merrion Square, Dublin, and in her has centred all the property of both the father and uncle. She is the widow of one of my warmest friends, Mr. Burne, a king’s counsel.
I hasten to quit a subject to me so distressing. Some very peculiar circumstances attended, as I learned, the death of that most excellent of women; but a recital of these would only increase the impression which I fear I have already given grounds for, that I am deeply superstitious. However, I have not concealed so important an incident of my life hitherto not published, and I have done.
A DUBLIN BOARDING-HOUSE.
Sketch of the company and inmates—Lord Mountmorris—Lieut. Gam Johnson, R. N.—Sir John and Lady O’Flaherty—Mrs. Wheeler—Lady and Miss Barry—Memoir and character of Miss Barry, afterward Mrs. Baldwin—Ruinous effects of a dramatic education exemplified—Lord Mountmorris’s duel with the Honourable Francis Hely Hutchinson at Donnybrook—His Lordship wounded—Marquis of Ely, his second.
After my return to Dublin from the Temple, before I could suit myself with a residence to my satisfaction, I lodged at the house of Mr. Kyle, in Frederick-street, uncle to the present provost of Dublin University. Mrs. Kyle was a remarkably plain woman, of the most curious figure, being round as a ball; but she was as good as she was ordinary. This worthy creature, who was a gentlewoman by birth, had married Kyle, who, though of good family, had been a trooper. She had lived many years, as companion, with my grandmother, and, in fact, regarded me as if I had been her own child.
In her abode so many human curiosities were collected, and so many anecdotes occurred, that, even at this distance of time, the recollection amuses me. Those who lodged in the house dined in company: the table was most plentifully served, and the party generally comprised from eight to ten select persons. I will endeavour to sketch the leading members of the society there at the period of which I speak; and first on the list I will place the late Lord Mountmorris, of celebrated memory. He was a very clever and well-informed, but eccentric man;—one of the most ostentatious and at the same time parsimonious beings in the world. He considered himself by far the greatest orator and politician in Europe; and it was he who sent a florid speech, which he intended to have spoken in the Irish House of Lords, to the press:—the debate on which it was to be spoken did not ensue; but his Lordship having neglected to countermand the publication, his studied harangue appeared next day in the Dublin newspapers with all the supposititious cheerings, &c. duly interposed! I believe a similar faux pas has been committed by some English nobleman.
His Lordship, at the period in question, was patronising what is commonly ycleped a led captain—one Lieutenant Ham or Gam Johnson, of the royal navy, brother to the two judges and the attorney. He was not, however, a led captain in the vulgar application: he was an independent-minded man, and a brave officer; but, like many others, sought for patronage because he could not get on without it. Though not absolutely disgusting, Lieut. Johnson was certainly one of the ugliest men in Christendom. It was said of him that he need never fire a shot, since his countenance alone was sufficient to frighten the bravest enemy. His bloated visage, deeply indented by that cruel ravager of all comeliness, the smallpox, was nearly as large as the body which supported it, and that was by no means diminutive. Yet he was civil and mild, and had, withal, a much higher character as an officer than his captain in the Artois frigate, Lord Charles Fitzgerald, who, it was at that time thought, conceived that a sound nap was as good as a hard battle.