“One certainly is the better of a fine sermon,” he remarked, as we sauntered back to the hotel; “and I never heard a finer. Altogether, it was a remarkable sight, and the people looked mild enough. But we must not trust to appearances nor be deceived too easily, you know,” he added after a few moments.
I knew nothing of the kind, but thought the best reply would be a proposal to follow the multitude who were now crowding the tram-carriages that start from Nelson’s Pillar to all the suburbs. “In half an hour the streets will be deserted until evening,” said our English acquaintance, whom we again met accidentally, and who recommended a walk on the pier at Kingstown as the least fatiguing trip, volunteering, moreover, to accompany us part of the way, as he was going to visit friends on that line at the “Rock,” as Blackrock is usually called. It was contrary to Harry’s customs on the “Sabbath”; yet, after all the church-going he had seen that morning, he could not deny that air and exercise were most legitimate. Accordingly, entering a crowded train to Westland Row, we soon found ourselves retracing the route we came a few hours before.
Most truly has it been said that no city has more varied or beautiful suburbs than Dublin, and no population which so much enjoy them. Hitherto we had seen few but the lower and middle classes; for the wealthier side of Dublin is south of the Liffey. Moreover, being autumn, the “fashionables” were not in town. They were either travelling on the Continent or scattered in the vicinity. The train, however, was full of smart dresses and bright faces, “wreathed in smiles” and brimming over with merriment. Every one, too, seemed more or less to know every one else, and even our English friend was acquainted with many. “That is Judge Keogh,” he said, as he bowed to a short, square-built man waiting on the platform near us—“Keogh, of the celebrated Galway judgment—a man of first-rate talent, as you may guess from his broad forehead and long head; but he has ruined himself by his violence on that occasion. He is quite ‘broken’ since then, and his spirits gone; for he knows what his fellow-countrymen think of him, and he rarely appears in public except upon the bench. He is probably going to Bray now, where he is spending the summer quietly and unnoticed. And that is Judge Monahan getting into the next carriage with those ladies—he who presided at the Yelverton trial; also of great legal capacity and a most kindly, tender-hearted man, always surrounded by his children and grandchildren. Sir Dominic Corrigan, the eminent physician, is in that corner yonder; his fame has doubtless reached you too,” he continued, addressing Harry, who had been contemplating the two legal celebrities, well known to him through his oracle, the Times, which, from their connection with the above-named events, had noticed them on both occasions. “I could point out many others, if I could escort you to Kingstown”; but as we halted at the Blackrock Station a smart carriage was awaiting and carried him off inland, whilst we dashed onwards, the blue waters of Dublin Bay, bounded by the hill of Howth, on our left, and rows of terraces and pretty villas along the shore on our right.
It was a bright afternoon, with a cool, refreshing breeze, and the pier was one gay mass of pedestrians. The whole of Dublin might have been there, so great was the gathering; but we afterwards found that every other side of the capital was equally frequented. Fully an English mile in length, it is of substantial masonry, which on the outer side slopes by large blocks of granite into the sea, while a broad road skirts the inner line next to the harbor, terminated by a lighthouse at the extreme point. Old and young were here congregated; children playing amongst the granite rocks; clerks and shop-girls, mixed with whole families of the professional classes of the capital, perambulating in groups, dressed in their prettiest and brightest, looking the very pictures of enjoyment and friendly intercourse. A man-of-war was anchored in the harbor, which was also full of graceful yachts and alive with boating parties rowing about in all directions. A more healthful, innocent afternoon it were difficult to conceive, and even Harry admitted the general brio which seemed to pervade the air. Nor could he any longer deny the proverbial beauty of the Dublin maidens; and I found him quite ready to linger on a seat and watch the clear complexions and faultless features that passed in such constant succession before us.
After some time that tinge of melancholy common to strangers in a crowd began imperceptibly to steal over us, as we awoke to the recollection that we alone seemed without acquaintances in that throng, and we moved to the station on our way Dublin-ward. Suddenly the one defect to us was repaired; for on the platform we found the Bishop of ——shire going to Dalkey to dine with some old friends. Harry had made rapid strides since the morning; for his face brightened as he recognized our fellow-passenger, and the next moment, undisguisedly admitting that he had spent a charming day, he dwelt with earnestness on the splendid sermon of the morning.
“Oh! yes,” observed a priest who accompanied his lordship, “even a Protestant clergyman told me lately that he considered the only orators in the true sense of the word now in the United Kingdom to be Gladstone, Bright, and Father Burke. But Father Burke has something more than mere oratory,” said he, smiling. “You ought to hear him at his own church in Dominic Street, where he is to preach again to-night. He is more at home there than anywhere else. If you want a real treat in the matter of preaching, I recommend you to go there.”
The remark was dropped at random; but, to my excessive surprise, Harry caught fire, and, finding me willing, he hurried through his dinner in a manner that was perfectly astounding. Then, in feverish haste, we made our way to S. Saviour’s. It was not yet eight o’clock, but still the church was so full that entrance was quite impossible. There was no standing room even, said those at the door, and we were turning away, to Harry’s deep disappointment, when a beggar-woman accosted us with “Won’t your honor give me something for a cup of tea? Sure, I dreamt last night that your honor would give me a pound of tea and her ladyship a pound of sugar. Ye were the very faces I saw in my drame. And may God reward ye!”
“Dreams go by contraries,” replied Harry testily, so vexed at missing the sermon that he was in no humor to be teased.
“Indeed! then, that’s just it,” answered the woman, an arch wink lighting up her wizened features. “It’s just your honor, then, that’s to give me the sugar and her ladyship the tea; so it’ll be good luck for me anyhow! And may God bless you and his holy Mother watch over you!” she continued, as Harry, unable to resist a hearty laugh at the woman’s readiness, drew out his purse and handed her a shilling. “And now, sure, I’ll show ye how to get in to hear his riverence! There’s no one all the world over like Father Burke!—the darlin’. It would be a sin for you to go away without hearing him; so I’ll bring ye round to the sacristy door, and you’ll get in quite comfortable!”