Part 21

“Oh!” resumed he, gaily, “she is, I assure you, only considering what death she shall inflict on herself if I do not marry her. Now, you know, I am as poor as a rat, though a _gentleman_, and her father is as rich as Crœsus, though a _blackguard_: so we shall be well matched. The blood and the fat duly mixed, as Hogarth says, makes a right sort of pudding. So the thing is settled, and I’ll have the twelve tribes of Israel at my beck in the course of Monday morning.”

I thought he was distracted, and raving; but, however, immediately set out with him upon this singular expedition; and on our way to the Strand, where _the papa_ resided, he disclosed to me all the circumstances of his amour.

“Barrington,” said he, “the lady herself is not, to be sure, the most _palatable_ morsel one might see in a circle of females; yet she is obviously of the _human_ species; has the usual features in her face (such as they are), four fingers and a thumb on each hand, and two distinct feet with a proper number (I suppose) of toes upon each,—and what more need I expect, seeing she has plenty of the _shiners_?”

“True,” said I: “as for beauty, those English girls, who _are_ handsome, are too frolicksome: she’ll stick the closer to you, because she has none.”

“And what _advantage_ will that be?” muttered Lysight, with a half-suppressed imprecation. “Her father pretends,” continued he, “to be a _Christian_, and affects to keep a shop in the Strand, under the name of ‘_Salmon_, watchmaker:’ but in reality he is a d—d Jew, and only pretends to be a Christian that he may transact affairs for certain Israelites of the city, who give him the devil’s own rate of commission!—I hope to be a _partner_ ere long!”

“Suppose he receives _stolen goods_, Ned?” said I. “You’d cut but a queer figure at the _tail of a cart_ with a cat-o’-nine-tails flourished over you.”

“Father of Israel!” exclaimed Lysight, already half a Jew, “you mistake the matter totally. No, no! the maid-servant, whom I bribed with the price of my last squib in the Chronicle, told me every thing about Solomon Salmon—his dealings, his daughter, and his great iron chest with eleven locks to it: but as to _goods_, he never has fifty pounds’ worth of trinkets or watches in his shop—only a few in the window, to _look_ like trade. He deals in the lending and borrowing way only—all _cash_ transactions, depend on it.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Ned,” said I, “how did you introduce yourself into the family of a Hebrew?”

“I met the girl three months ago,” he replied, “at a dancing-school at Somers’ Town, set up by an old Irish acquaintance, Terry M‘Namara, with whom I dine sometimes: he told me she was a rich Jewess; so when I heard of her papa, I determined to know something more about his daughter, and stole frequently to Somers’ Town, where Mr. Solomon Salmon has a pretty cit cottage. There I hid behind a dead wall just in front, and when _she_ came to the window, I nodded, and she ran away, as if offended. I knew this was a good sign with a woman. She soon returned to the window. I nodded again. Away went she a second time; but I heard a loud laugh, and considered that a capital sign: and in fact, she came a third time. Then I was sure, and nodded _twice_, whereupon she returned the salutation. Having carried on the _nodding_ system sufficiently, I now ventured to speak to her on my fingers—an art which I had seen her dexterously practise at the dancing-school. ‘My love!’ fingered I; at which she turned her back, but soon turned her face again. ‘My love!’ I repeated, still on my fingers. Off she scampered, but soon came back in company with the maid-servant (whom I therefore bribed next day). I now ventured to suggest an interview the following evening. The Jewess flushed at this proposal; but on my repetition of it, held up _seven_ of her fingers.

“Of course I was punctual at the time appointed, was admitted, and we swore eternal fidelity on the _Old_ Testament. The maid betrayed us as soon as I ran short of hush-money, but repented afterward, when I gave her a fresh supply, and told me that her master, Mr. Solomon Salmon, had locked his daughter up. She had then attempted to throw herself out of a two-pair window for my sake; but the old Jew having caught her in the very act, she peremptorily told him she was determined to fall into a decay or consumption of the lungs, if he did not consent to her marrying the Christian counsellor.

“This he was in the sequel forced to agree to, or sacrifice his own virgin daughter, (like the king in the Bible,) besides whom he luckily has no other child to inherit his fortune, and the mother is at least twenty years past childbearing.

“At length all was settled, and we are to be actually married as Christians on Monday next. Little Egar of Hare Court has drawn up the marriage articles, and I am to have ten thousand now—that is, the interest of it during the Jew’s life, payable quarterly: then twenty more, and _all the rest_ on the mother’s death: and in the mean time, half his commission on money dealings (to commence after a few months’ instruction), together with the house in Somers’ Town, where I shall reside and transact business.”

All this Lysight told me with great glee and admirable humour.

“Egad, it’s no bad hit, Ned,” said I; “many a high-headed grand-juror on the Munster circuit would marry Solomon Salmon himself upon the same terms.”

“You’ll dine with me,” said Lysight, “on Wednesday, at Somers’ Town, at five o’clock? I’ll give you a good turkey, and such a bottle of old black-strap as neither the Grecian nor the Oxford ever had in their cellars for any money.”

“I’ll surely attend a new scene, Ned,” answered I.

I was accordingly most punctual. All appeared to be just as he had described. It was a small house, well furnished. Miss’s visage, to be sure, though not _frightful_, was less _ornamental_ than any article on the premises. The maid-servant was really a fine girl; the cook no bad _artiste_; the dinner good, and the wine capital. Two other Templars were of the party, and every thing went on well. About eight at night the old Jew came in. He appeared a civil, smug, dapper, clean, intelligent little fellow, with a bob-wig. He made us all welcome, and soon retired to rest, leaving us to a parting bottle.

The affair proceeded prosperously; and I often dined with my friend in the same cheerful manner. Ned, in fact, became absolutely domestic. By degrees he got into _the trade_; accepted all the bills at the Jew’s request, to save _him_ trouble, as old Salmon kept his own books; and a large fortune was accumulating every day, as was apparent by the great quantities of miscellaneous property which was sent in and as quickly disappeared; when one morning, Ned was surprised at three ugly-looking fellows entering his house rather unceremoniously and without stating their business. Ned immediately seized the poker, when his arm was arrested gently by a fourth visitor, who said:

“Easy, easy, Counsellor Lysight, we mean you no harm or rudeness; we only do our duty. We are the _commissioners’_ messengers, that’s all. Gentlemen,” said the _attorney_, as he proved to be, to the three ruffians, “do your duty without the slightest inconvenience to the counsellor.”

They then proceeded to seal up all the doors, leaving Ned, wife, & Co. a bed-room only, to console themselves in. Mr. Solomon Salmon, in truth, turned out both a Christian and a bankrupt, and had several thousands to pay out of the sale of about twoscore of silver watches and a few trinkets—which constituted the entire of the splendid property he had so liberally settled on Mr. Edward Lysight as a portion with his lady daughter.

Ned now found himself completely taken in,—reduced, as he told me, to ten shillings and sixpence in gold, and four shillings in silver, but acceptor of bills of exchange for Salmon & Co. for more than he could pay should he live a hundred years longer than the course of nature would permit him. As he had signed no partnership deed, and had no funds, they could not make him a bankrupt; and as the bills had not arrived at mercantile maturity, he had some days of grace during which to consider himself at liberty:—so he thought absence and fresh air better than hunger and imprisonment, and therefore _retreat_ the wisest course to be taken. He was right; for in some time, the creditors having ascertained that they could get nothing of a cat but its skin, (even could they catch it,) suffered him to remain unmolested on his own promise—and a very safe one—that _if ever he was able_, he would pay them.

He afterward went over to Dublin to the Irish bar, where he made nearly as many friends as acquaintances, but not much money; and at length died,—his widow soon following his example, and leaving two daughters, who, I believe, as teachers of music in Dublin, were much patronised and regarded.

Several years subsequently, being surprised that the creditors had let Lysight off so easily, I inquired particulars from a solicitor who had been concerned in the affairs of Salmon & Co., and he informed me that all the parties, except one, had ceased to proceed on the commission; and that he found the true reason why the alleged creditors had agreed to let Lysight alone was, that they had been all engaged in a piece of complicated machinery to deceive the unwary, and dreaded lest matters should come out, in the course of a strict examination, which might place them in a more dangerous situation than either the bankrupt or his son-in-law. In fact, the creditors were a knot; the bankrupt an instrument; and Lysight a tool.

_Felix qui facit aliena periculum comtum._

FATALITIES OF MARRIAGE.

Speculations of the author on free-agency and predestination—A novel theory—The matrimonial ladder—Advice to young lovers—A ball in Dublin—Unexpected arrival of Lord G— —His doom expressed—Marries the author’s niece—Remarks on his lordship’s character.

In a previous part of this volume, I promised my fair readers that I would endeavour to select some little anecdotes of tender interest, more particularly calculated for their perusal; and I now proceed to redeem that promise, so far as I can.

_Fatality_ in _marriages_ has been ever a favourite theme with young ladies who have promptly determined to resign their liberty to a stranger, rather than preserve it with a parent. I am myself no unqualified fatalist; but have struck out a notion of my own on that subject, which is, I believe, different from all others;—and when I venture to broach it in conversation, I am generally assured by the most didactic of the company, that (so far as it is comprehensible) it excludes both sense and morality. Nevertheless it is, like my faith in supernaturals, a grounded and honest opinion: and in all matters connected with such shadowy things as spirits, fates, chances, &c. a man is surely warranted in forming his own theories—a species of construction, at any rate, equally harmless and rational with that castle-building in the air so prevalent among his wiser acquaintances.

It is not my intention here to plunge deep into my tenets. I only mean indeed to touch on them so far as they bear upon matrimony: and may the glance induce fair damsels, when first nourishing a tender passion, to consider in time what may be _fated_ as the consequences of their _free-agency_!

The matrimonial _ladder_ (if I may be allowed such a simile) has generally eight steps: viz. 1. Attentions; 2. Flirtation; 3. Courtship; 4. Breaking the ice; 5. Popping the question; 6. The negotiation; 7. The ceremony; 8. The _repentance_.

The grand basis of my doctrine is, that free-agency and predestination are neither (as commonly held) inconsistent nor incompatible; but, on the contrary, intimately connected, and generally copartners in producing human events. Every important occurrence in the life of man or woman (and matrimony is no _bagatelle_) partakes of the nature of both. Great events may ever be traced to trivial causes, or to voluntary actions; and that which is _voluntary_ cannot, it should seem, be _predestined_: but when these acts of free-will are once performed, they lead irresistibly to ulterior things. Our free-agency then becomes expended; our spontaneous actions cannot be retraced; and then, and not before, the march of _fate_ commences.

The medical doctrine of remote and proximate causes of disease in the human body is not altogether inappropriate to my dogma—since disorders which are _predestined_ to send ladies and gentlemen on their travels to the other world, entirely _against_ their inclinations, may frequently be traced to acts which were as entirely within their own option.

I have already professed my intention of going but superficially into this subject just now; and though I could find it in my heart considerably to prolong the inquiry, I will only give one or two marked illustrations of my doctrine, merely to set casuists conjecturing. There are comparatively few important acts of a person’s life which may not be avoided. For example:—if any man chooses voluntarily to take a voyage to Nova Scotia, he gives _predestination_ a fair opportunity of drowning him at sea, if it think proper; but if he determines never to go into a ship, he may be perfectly certain of his safety in _that_ way. Again:—if a general chooses to go into a battle, it is his free-agency which enables predestination to despatch him there; but if, on the other hand, he keeps clear out of it (as some generals do), he may set fatality at defiance on that point, and perhaps return with as much glory as many of his comrades had acquired by leaving their brains upon the field. Cromwell told his soldiers the night before the battle of Worcester, (to encourage them,) that, “Every _bullet_ carried its own _billet_.”—“Why then, by my sowl,” said an Irish recruit, “that’s the very rason I’ll _desert_ before morning!” Marriage, likewise, is an act of free-agency; but, as I said before, being once contracted, predestination comes into play, often despatching one or other of the parties, either by grief, murder, or suicide, who might have been safe and sound from all those _fatalities_, had he or she never _voluntarily_ purchased or worn a plain gold ring.

Of the eight steps attached to the ladder of matrimony already specified, _seven_ (all lovers will be pleased to remark) imply “free-agency;” but the latter of these being mounted, progress to the eighth is too frequently _inevitable_. I therefore recommend to all candidates for the ascent, thorough deliberation, and a brief pause at each successive step:—for, according to my way of thinking, the knot tied at the seventh interval should be considered, in every respect, perfectly indissoluble.

The principle of these few examples might extend to most of the events that chequer our passage through life; and a little unprejudiced reflection seems alone requisite to demonstrate that “free-agency” may readily keep fate under her thumb on most important occasions.

I cannot avoid particularising, as to matrimony, an incident that came within my knowledge, and related to individuals of rank who are still living. The facts are well remembered, though they occurred nearly twenty years ago. Exclusive of the intrinsic interest of the transaction, it may have some weight with my fair readers.

About the year 1809, a ball, on an extensive scale, was given by Lady Barrington in Dublin. Almost every person of _ton_ did her the honour of participating in the festivity, and I think the Duke of Wellington was present.

In the evening, I received a note from Sir Charles Ormsby, mentioning that Lord G——, son of my old friend the Earl of L——, had just arrived. He was represented as a fine young man; and it was added that (though quite tired) he might be prevailed on to attend Lady Barrington’s ball, were I to write him a note of invitation. Of course I did so with the greatest pleasure. The Earl of L—— and I had been many years intimate: the late Right Honourable Isaac Corry was his close friend; and before his lordship grew _too rich_, he was my next door neighbour in Harcourt Street. We were, indeed, all three, boon companions.

Lord G—— arrived at the ball, and a very good-looking fellow he certainly was—of about nineteen; his address corresponded with his mien, and I was quite taken with him, independently of his being my friend’s son. Two very young relatives of mine—one my niece, Arabella E——, the other my daughter (now the Viscomtesse de F——,) did the juvenile honours of the party.

Sir Charles Ormsby, (who might have been termed a sort of _half-mounted_ wit,) said to me, rather late, “Did you ever know such a foolish boy as G——? Before he had been half an hour in the room, he protested that ere three months were over, either one or other of your girls would be Lady G——; that it was a _doomed_ thing;—though he could not exactly say _which_ would be the bride—as he had not seen either from the time they were all children together.”

The ball ended about day-break, and I was obliged immediately to set off for circuit. I had been engaged as counsel on the trial of Mr. Alcock for the murder of Mr. John Colclough (as mentioned Volume i.).

I finished my month’s circuit at Wexford, where to my surprise I found Lord G——. I asked him his business there. He said he had been summoned as a witness on the above-mentioned trial, which I thought a very strange circumstance, as he could have known nothing whatsoever of the transaction. However, we travelled together to Dublin in my carriage; and on the way he spoke much of _destiny_, and of a cottage in County Wicklow, with every thing “rural.” I did not then comprehend the young man’s drift; but on my return, I found that his _free-agency_ had been put in practice; and, in fact, very shortly after, Lord G—— was my nephew. _Fatality_ now commenced her dominion; and a most charming gift from fatality had the young nobleman received in a partner juvenile, like himself, his equal in birth, and possessed of every accomplishment.

I had not at first been made acquainted with the cause of Lord G——’s visit to Ireland; but at length understood, with some surprise, that the Earl of L—— had placed his eldest son as an ensign in a marching regiment ordered to the continent. Thus, at the age of nineteen, he found himself in a situation unfavourable, as I think, to the fair and proper development of his mind and talents—uncongenial with the befitting pursuits for a nobleman’s heir—and still less adapted to gratify the cravings of an ardent intelligent spirit, whose very enthusiasm was calculated, under such circumstances, to produce recklessness and evil.

The residue of this _novel_ (for such, in all its details, it may fairly be denominated—and one of a most interesting and affecting cast) would afford ample material for observation: but it is too long, too grave, and perhaps too delicate, for investigation here.—Suffice it to add, that I saw Lord and Lady G——, with their numerous and lovely family, last summer on the continent—altered less than I should have imagined, from the interval that had elapsed. In speaking of his lordship, I am reminded of the motto, “Every one has his fault:”—but he has likewise great merits, and talent which would have been higher had his education been more judicious. My friendship for him has been strong and invariable; and I think that fate has not yet closed the book on his future renown and advancement.

A WEDDING IN OLDEN DAYS.

Changes in the nuptial ceremony in Ireland—Description of the _ancient_ formula—Throwing the stocking—A lucky hit—Reverse of the picture—Modern marriages—Coming of age—Nuptials of the author’s eldest brother—Personal description of the bride and bridegroom—Various preparations—Dresses of the different members of the wedding-party—The coach of ceremony—The travelling chaise—A turnpike dispute—Convenient temporary metamorphosis of the author and two of his brothers—Circumstances preceding the marriage in question—A desperate lover—Disasters and blunders—A “scene”—Major Tennyson Edwards—Marries a sister of the author—His fortunate escape from a ludicrous catastrophe.

There are few changes in the manners and customs of society in Ireland more observable than those relating to marriage. The day has been, within my recollection, when that ceremony was conducted altogether differently from the present mode. Formerly, no damsel was _ashamed_, as it were, of being married. The celebration was joyous, public, and enlivened by every species of merriment and good cheer. The bride and bridegroom, bridesmaids, and bridesmen (all dressed and decorated in gay and gallant costumes), vied in every effort to promote the pleasure they were themselves participating. When the ceremony was completed, by passing round a final and mystical word, “Amazement!”—every body kissed the bride. The company then all saluted each other: cordial congratulations went round, the music struck up, and plenty of plum cake and wine seemed to anticipate a _christening_. The bride for a moment whimpered and coloured; the mamma wept with gratification; the bridesmaids flushed with sympathy, and a scene was produced almost too brilliant for modern apathy even to gaze at. The substantial banquet soon succeeded; hospitality was all alive; the bottle circulated; the ball commenced; the bride led off, to take leave of her celibacy; men’s souls were softened; maidens’ hearts melted; Cupid slily stole in, and I scarce ever saw a joyous public wedding whereat he had not nearly expended his quiver before three o’clock in the morning. Every thing cheerful and innocent combined to show the right side of human nature, and to increase and perfect human happiness; a jovial hot supper gave respite to the dancers and time to escort Madam Bride to her nuptial-chamber—whither, so long as company were permitted to do so, we will attend her. The bed-curtains were adorned with festoons of ribbon. The chamber was well lighted; and the bridesmaids having administered to the bride her prescriptive refreshment of white-wine posset, proceeded to remove her left stocking and put it into her trembling hand: they then whispered anew the mystical word before mentioned; and having bound a handkerchief over her eyes, to ensure her impartiality, all the lovely spinsters surrounded the nuptial couch, each anxiously expecting that the next moment would anticipate her promotion to the same happy predicament within three hundred and sixty-five days at the very farthest. The bride then tossed the prophetic hosiery at random among her palpitating friends, and whichever damsel was so fortunate as to receive the blow was declared the next maiden in the room who would become devoted to the joys of Hymen; and every one in company—both ladies and gentlemen—afterward saluted the cheek of the lucky girl. The ball then recommenced; the _future_ bride led off; night waned;—and Phœbus generally peeped again ere the company could be brought to separate. Good-humoured tricks were also on those happy occasions practised by arch girls upon the bridegroom. In short, the pleasantry of our old marriages in Ireland could not be exceeded. They were always performed in the house of the lady’s parents or of some relative. It would fill a volume were I to enumerate the various joyful and happy incidents I have witnessed at Irish weddings.[46]

Footnote 46:

How miserably has modern refinement reversed those scenes of happiness and hilarity—when the gentry of my native land were married in warm, cheerful chambers, and in the midst of animated beings, beloving and beloved! No gloom was there: every thing seemed to smile; and all thoughts of death or memoranda of mortality were discarded.