'Ma foi,' said I, 'si tous les prêtres vous ressemblaient je penserais bien autrement.'"
"I was, unfortunately, unable to keep my word with my friendly Amphitryon. A 'megrim' confined me all day to my bed. The archbishop sent me word that he would cure me; and, if I would but bring firm faith, would be sure to drive away the headache-fiend by a well-applied exorcism. I was, however, obliged to reply, that this devil was not one of the most tractable, and that he respected no one but Nature, who sends and recalls him at her pleasure, which, alas! is seldom in less than four-and-twenty hours. I must, therefore, cut off even you, dearest Julia, with a few words."
This is a pleasant specimen of communication between a "frank and sincere" Irish * * * *, and a Lutheran liberal, who, in order to quiz the very idea of a Protestant episcopacy, announces himself at a drinking, singing party of papists, of which an archbishop makes one, to be a bishop himself.
When the prince has done with the popish archbishop, he takes to the pipers, and is safely delivered of this sapient remark:—"These pipers, who are almost all blind, derive their origin from remote antiquity. They are gradually fading away, for all that is old must vanish from the earth." This is a truism:—but, as pipers, like other men, to whatever age they may attain, are all born young—even in Ireland—his highness may still encourage the hope, that when the old ones die off, others will succeed them. The chapter of pipers is succeeded by a not very delicate one on game-cocks; but we must pass over this, and accompany the prince to the Phœnix Park, where he is in his proper sphere.
"Lord Anglesea invited me to dinner," says his highness, "and the party was brilliant. He is beloved in Ireland for his impartiality, and for the favour he has always shown to the cause of emancipation. His exploits as a general officer are well known—no man has a more graceful and polished address in society. A more perfect work of art than his false leg I never saw."
This climax of compliment will, no doubt, be felt and appreciated by his Excellency: he adds—
"The power and dignity of a Lord Lieutenant are considerable as representative of the king; but he holds them only at the pleasure of the ministry. Among other privileges, he has that of creating Baronets; and in former times inn-keepers, and men even less qualified, have received that dignity."
Baronets, as everybody knows, the Lord Lieutenant never could create, and the knighthoods the prince refers to most ungracefully, considering the "free and easy" manner in which, as we shall presently see, he treated Sir Charles Morgan and Sir Arthur Clarke—the individuals to whom he obviously points—and their "womankind." But, indeed, his malignity towards unfortunate Lady Morgan is worthy of severer reprehension. The following passage appears to us entirely indefensible:—
"I spent a very pleasant evening to-day at Lady M——'s. The company was small, but amusing, and enlivened by the presence of two very pretty friends of our hostess, who sang in the best Italian style. I talked a great deal with Lady M—— on various subjects, and she has talent and feeling enough always to excite a lively interest in her conversation. On the whole, I think I did not say enough in her favour in my former letter; at any rate, I did not then know one of her most charming qualities,—that of possessing two such pretty relatives.
"The conversation fell upon her works, and she asked me how I liked her Salvator Rosa? 'I have not read it,' replied I, 'because' (I added by way of excusing myself, 'tant bien que mal') 'I like your fictions so much, that I did not choose to read anything historical from the pen of the most imaginative of romance writers.' 'O, that is only a romance,' said she; 'you may read it without any qualms of conscience.' 'Very well,' thought I; 'probably that will apply to your travels too,'—but this I kept to myself. 'Ah,' said she, 'believe me, it is only ennui that sets my pen in motion; our destiny in this world is such a wretched one that I try to forget it in writing.' Probably the Lord Lieutenant had not invited her, or some other great personage had failed in 'his engagement to her, for she was quite out of spirits."—Vol. ii., p. 103.