S. Patrick's Cathedral is situated in a poor and squalid portion of the city. The poor buildings which cluster close around it mar its general effect. It was closed when we reached it, but a silver key will open S. Patrick's, like most other buildings, at most hours. We were informed that in one of the dingy tenements hard by we should find a person who would admit us. We did find him—a man still young, dressed in very rusty black. He smelled very strongly of whiskey, entre nous. The interior of the cathedral is simple and grand. In the choir hang the helmets, swords, and banners [pg 530] of the Knights of S. Patrick. The spot where Swift and Stella sleep was the one most interesting to us, and thither our guide led us at once. Swift's memorial is a plain slab of marble affixed to one of the pillars. He is buried in front of it. The church is damp and cold. Our guide seems to feel the need of another stimulant. His voice trembles as he reads the caustic dean's inscription on Marshal Schomberg's tomb; for our guide has picked up some Latin—off the tomb-stones, probably. The dean made several applications to the descendants of Schomberg for funds to raise a monument to their deceased ancestor. But they never vouchsafed a reply to the dean. He finally put up a tablet at his own expense. The inscription, which was written by him, shows that he was very bitter on the subject. The place where Swift lies now needs a little care. Our conductor said he had called attention to it in vain; but, as I said before, he smelt strongly of the native beverage. There is a very fine monument to the officers and men of the 18th Royal Irish who fell in the Indian Rebellion. But the oldest and most remarkable monument in the church is that of Boyle, the first Earl of Cork. It is from twenty to thirty feet high, and represents the earl and countess lying side by side, surrounded by their children, thirteen in number, if I remember rightly. The figures are kneeling. They are life-size, and are colored.
S. Patrick's has been recently restored in its original style by a wealthy brewer of Dublin at a cost of seven hundred thousand dollars. It procured him a baronetcy. The grandeur of the interior is not marred by pews. The movable seats—such as one sees in Notre Dame and the Madeleine—are adopted. A pregnant notice is posted on each chair. It informs the public that “the future sustentation” of the cathedral depends solely on the voluntary contributions made by the public at the Offertory. Pity the sorrows of the disendowed Irish Church!
We were not able to visit Christ Church and the tomb of that ancient filibuster, Strongbow, as the church was closed for repairs. A wealthy distiller has undertaken the restoration of this cathedral at his own expense. It is said that he also expects to get a baronetcy for his money, like his rival, the manufacturer of “Foker's Entire.” Money is a glorious thing, if one has plenty of it. Tom Stumps, who sells just enough of man's brain-stealing enemy to eke out a miserable living, is a low, disreputable fellow. Bob Shallow, who manufactures the liquid madness en grana and makes a fortune by selling it to Tom Stumps and his like, becomes a distinguished patriot, a public benefactor, and “Sir Robert Shallow, Esq., Justice of the Peace and coram.”
The cathedral in Marlborough Street is in the Grecian style, with a portico of Ionic columns, in imitation, as we are told, of the façade of the Temple of Theseus at Athens. Massive columns separate the nave and aisles. The interior decorations are of great richness. In my humble judgment, they trench on the florid.
The Four Courts, on Usher's Quay, rise in solemn grandeur over the Liffey. This building stands on the site of the ancient Monastery of S. Savior. It was finished in 1800. The central front has a fine portico of six Corinthian [pg 531] columns surmounted by a rich pediment. On the left stands a statue of Moses. On either side are statues of Justice and Mercy. At the extremities of the façades are reclining figures of Wisdom and Authority. The main building is flanked by spacious quadrangles enclosed by arcades of stone. The quadrangles are entered by broad and lofty gateways. The main hall is circular in shape, and about seventy feet in diameter. The “Four Courts,” Chancery, Queen's Bench, Exchequer, and Common Pleas, open into this hall. It is a busy, buzzing place in term-time. Lawyers with plenty of briefs, and plenty of lawyers without briefs, may be seen there, the former having hurried interviews with their clients, the latter dawdling about with quizzing glasses on their eyes, exhibiting their wigs and gowns, and eating oranges and “currant-buns.” The court-rooms are small, uncomfortable, badly lighted, and ill ventilated. The hall is covered by a lantern and a dome supported by Corinthian pillars. In the spaces between the windows are allegorical alti-relievi—Justice, Wisdom, Liberty, Law, etc., and medallions of Moses, Lycurgus, Solon, and other great law-givers. During night sessions a colossal statue of Truth, holding a torch lit by gas, illuminates the hall. Over the entrances to the court-rooms are bas-reliefs of subjects in English and Irish history. The hall contains statues of Lord Plunkett and other legal celebrities.
The custom-house is on Custom-House Quay, four or five squares east of the Four Courts, and, like the latter building, looks upon the Liffey. The riverfront is about a hundred and thirty yards long. The portico is Doric. The Union of England and Ireland is allegorically represented in alto-relievo. The sister kingdoms are sailing in the same shell, while Neptune drives away Famine and Despair. The building is surmounted by a lofty dome which bears a statue of Hope.
Dublin is well supplied with means of locomotion at cheap rates. There are omnibuses, street-railroads, outsides, insides, covered cars, and four-wheelers. The four-wheeler is something the same as the New York coupé. The fares for cars or coupés are sixpence English per trip for two persons, sixpence for each additional person, and an additional sixpence for each stoppage or “set-down.” The street-cars, or “tramway cars,” have seats on the roof, which are a few cents cheaper than the seats in the interior. The “top seats” are much used by all classes in fine weather. The city ordinances are very strict regarding cabmen and car-drivers, and the magistrates show the “jarveys” no mercy when they are proved to have made overcharges or illegal demands. The drivers are consequently very careful in their dealings with the general public. If you have a trans-Atlantic flavor about you, “jarvey” will expect a gratuity. You give him his exact fare. In order to keep within the law, he does not make a demand for a greater sum, but, allowing the coin to rest on his open palm, he looks at it with an air of superb disdain, and then, eyeing you with a sidelong glance, he asks with an air of primitive innocence:
“An' what's this for, sir?”
“For your fare,” you reply sharply, with a determination not to be imposed upon.
“Humph!” he says. “Shure it's [pg 532] a mighty long dhrive for half a bob. Faith, it's hard for a poor divil to make a livin' nowadays.”