Part 22

Now, those joyous scenes are shifted by sanctity and _civilisation_. Now, the female soul almost shudders—and it well may—on reaching the site of the connubial ceremony. The long, chilling aisle, ornamented only by sculptured tablets and tales of death and futurity, is terminated by the sombre chancel—whence the unpupilled eye and vacant stare of cold marble busts glare down on those of youth and animation, seeming to say, “Vain, hapless couple! see me—behold your fate!—the time is running now, and will not stop its course a single moment till you are _my_ companions!” Under such auspices, the lovers’ vows are frozen ere they can be registered by the recording angel.

The cheerless ceremony concluded, the bridegroom solemnly hands the silent bride into her travelling chariot; hurries her to some country inn, with her pretty maid—perhaps destined to be a future rival; they remain there a few days, till yawning becomes too frequent, and the lady then returns to town a listless matron—to receive, on her couch of _ennui_, a string of formal congratulations, and predictions of connubial comfort, few of which are doomed to be so _prophetic_ as the _bridal stocking_ of her grandmother.

At one of the old class of weddings took place the most interesting incident of my early life, as I stated in a former volume. The spectacle and events of that union never can be erased from my memory, and its details furnish a good outline wherefrom those of other marriages of that period, in the same sphere of society, may be filled up.

In those days, so soon as an elder son came of age, the father and he united to raise money to pay off all family incumbrances. The money certainly was raised, but the incumbrances were so lazy, that in general they remained _in statu quo_. The estates were soon clipped at both ends; the father nibbling at one, the son pilfering at the other, and the attorney at both. The rent-roll became short; and it was decided that the son must marry to “sow his wild oats,” and make another settlement on younger children. Money, however, was not always the main object of Irish marriages:—first, because it was not always to be had; and next, because if it was to be had, it would so soon change masters, that it would be all the same after a year or two. Good family, good cheer, and beauty, when they could find it, were the chief considerations of a country gentleman, whose blood relatives, root and branch (as is still the case on the continent), generally attended the act of alliance, with all the splendour their tailors, milliners, and mantua-makers could or would supply.

My eldest brother (the bridegroom on the occasion alluded to) was an officer of that once magnificent regiment the black horse, and fell most vehemently in love with the sister of a brother-officer, afterward Colonel E—— of Old Court, County Wicklow. I have described some beauties in my former volumes; but the charms of Alicia E—— were very different from the dazzling loveliness of Myrtle Yates, or the opening bloom of Maria Hartpool. She was inferior to either in symmetry; but in interest had an infinite superiority over both. Alicia was just eighteen: she had no regular feature: her mouth was disproportionately large; her lips were coral; her eyes destitute of fire—but they were captivating tell-tales; her figure was rather below the middle height, but without an angle; and the round, graceful delicacy of her limbs could not be surpassed. It was, however, the unrivalled clearness of her pellucid skin that gave a splendour and indescribable charm to the contour of Alicia’s animated face. I may be considered as exaggerating when I declare that her countenance appeared nearly transparent, and her hands were more clear than may well be imagined. Her address was still more engaging than her person.

Such was the individual to whom my nut-brown and unadorned D—— W——[47] was selected as bridesmaid. My brother was gentlemanly, handsome, and gallant, but wild; with little judgment and a very moderate education.

Footnote 47:

See Vol. i.

It being determined that the wedding should be upon a public and splendid scale, both families prepared to act fully up to that resolution. The proper trades-people were set to work; ribbon favours were woven on a new plan; in fact, all Dublin heard of the preparations from the busy milliners, &c.; and on the happy day, a crowd of neighbours collected about my father’s house in Clare Street, to see the cavalcade, which was to proceed to Old Court House, near the Dargle, where the ceremony was to be performed.

The dress of those days on such occasions was generally splendid; but our garments “out-Heroded Herod.” The bridegroom, cased in white cloth with silver tissue, belaced and bespangled, glittered like an eastern caliph. My mother, a woman of high blood and breeding, and just pride, was clad in what was called a _manteau_ of silvered satin: when standing direct before the lights, she shone out as the reflector of a lamp; and as she moved majestically about the room, and curtseyed _à la Madame Pompadour_, the rustling of her embroidered habit sounded like music appropriate to the flow of compliments that enveloped her. My father, one of the handsomest men of his day, was much more plainly dressed than any of us.

The gilded coach of ceremony (which I noticed in an early sketch) was put in requisition; and its four blacks, Bully, Blackbird, the colt, and Stopford (fourteen years of age), were all as sleek and smooth as if cut out of ebony. Tom White and Keeran Karry (postilions), with big Nicholas (the footman), sported appropriate costumes; and the whole was led by Mr. Mahony, the butler, mounted on Brown Jack, my father’s hunter.

The cavalcade started off at a hand-gallop for Bray, accompanied by the benediction of old Sarah the cook, and Judy Berger the hereditary house-keeper, who stood praying meanwhile, and crossing their foreheads, at the door. An old travelling chaise of no very prepossessing appearance (which had been rescued from the cocks and hens in the country out-house), with a pair of hacks, was driven by Matthew Querns the huntsman, and contained the residue of the party—namely, my two other brethren and self.

The more particular description of our attire may strike certain _moderns_ as somewhat ridiculous; but that attire was in the _goût_ of the day, and covered as good proportions as those of the new gentry who may deride it. The men wore no stays; the ladies covered their shoulders; and the first were to the full as brave, and the latter at least as modest, as their successors. _Our_ wedding suits were literally thus composed. The blue satin vests and inexpressibles were well laced and spangled wherever there was any room for ornament. The coats were of white cloth with blue capes. Four large paste curls, white as snow with true rice powder, and scented strong with real bergamot, adorned our heads. My third brother, Wheeler Barrington, had a coat of scarlet cloth, because he was _intended_ for the army.

In truth, greater luminaries never attended a marriage festivity. Our equipage, however, by no means corresponded with our personal splendour and attractions; and I thought the contrast would be too ridiculous to any observing spectator who might know the family. I therefore desired Matthew to take a short turn from the great rock road to avoid notice as much as possible; which caution being given, we crowded into the tattered vehicle, and trotted away as swiftly as one blind and one lame horse could draw such magnificoes. There were (and are) on the circular road by which I had desired Matthew Querns to drive us, some of those nuisances called turnpikes. When we had passed the second gate, the gatekeeper, who had been placed there recently, of course demanded his toll. “Pay him, French,” said I to my brother. “Faith,” said French, “I changed my clothes, and I happen to have no money in my pocket.” “No matter,” answered I, “Wheeler, give the fellow a shilling.” “I have not a rap,” said Wheeler.—“I lost every halfpenny I had yesterday at the royal cockpit in Essex Street.”

By a sort of instinct I put my hand into my own pocket; but instinct is not money, and _reality_ quickly informed me that I was exactly in the same situation. However, “no matter,” again said I; so I desired old Matthew Querns to pay the turnpike. “Is it me pay the pike?” said Matthew—“me? the devil a cross of wages I got from the master this many a day; and if I did, do you think, Master Jonah, the liquor would not be after having it out of me by this time?” and he then attempted to drive on _without_ paying, as he used to do at Cullenaghmore. The man however grappled the blind horse, and gave us a full quantum of abuse, in which his wife, who issued forth at the sound, vociferously joined. Matthew began to whack him and the horses alternately with his thong whip; my brother French struggled to get out, and beat the pike-man; but the door would not open readily, and I told him that if he beat the turnpike man properly, he’d probably bleed _a few_ himself; and that a single drop of blood on his fine clothes would effectually exclude him from society. This reasoning succeeded; but the blind horse not perceiving what was the matter, supposed something worse had happened, and began to plunge and break the harness. “You d—d gilt vagabonds,” said the turnpike man, “such fellows should be put into the stocks or ducked at the broad stone beyond Kilmainham. Oh! I know you well enough! (looking into the carriage window:) what are yees but stage-players that have run away from Smock Alley, and want to impose upon the country-folk!—But I’ll neither let yees back or forward, by ——, till you pay me a _hog_ for the pike, and two and eightpence-halfpenny for every wallop of the whip that the ould green mummer there gave me, when I only wanted my honest dues.”

I saw fighting was in vain; but courtesy can do any thing with an Irishman. “My honest friend,” said I, (to soften him,) “you’re right; we are poor stage-players sure enough: we have got a loan of the clothes from Mr. Ryder—may Heaven bless him! and we’re hired out to play a farce for a great wedding that’s to be performed at Bray to-night. When we come back with our money we’ll pay you true and fair, and drink with you till you’re stiff, if you think proper.”

On this civil address the pike-man looked very kind: “Why, then, by my sowl it’s true enough,” said he, “ye can’t be very rich till ye get your entrance money; but sure I won’t be out of pocket for all that. Well, faith and troth, ye look like decent stage-players; and I’ll tell you what, I like good music, so I do. Give me a new song or two, and d—mme but I’ll let you off, you poor craturs, till you come back agin. Come, give us a chaunt, and I’ll help you to mend the harness too!”

“Thank you, sir,” said I humbly. “I can’t sing,” said my brother French, “unless I’m drunk!” “Nor I, drunk or sober,” said Wheeler. “You _must_ sing for the _pike_,” said I to French; and at length he set up his pipes to a favourite song, often heard among the half-mounted gentlemen in the country when they were drinking; and as I shall never forget any incident of that (to me) eventful day, and the ditty is quite characteristic both of the nation generally and the half-mounted gentlemen in particular, (with whom it was a sort of charter song,) I shall give it.

D—n money—it’s nothing but trash: We’re happy though ever so poor! When we have it we cut a great dash, When it’s gone, we ne’er think of it more. Then let us be wealthy or not, Our spirits are always the same; We’re free from every dull thought, And the “Boys of old Ireland’s” our name!

I never saw a poor fellow so pleased as the pike-man; the words hit his fancy: he shook us all round, most heartily, by the hand; and running into his lodge, brought out a pewter pot of frothing beer, which he had just got for himself, and insisted on each of us taking a drink. We of course complied. He gave Matthew a drink too, and desired him not to be so handy with his whip to other pike-men, or they’d _justice_ him at Kilmainham. He then helped up our traces; and Matthew meanwhile, who, having had the last draught, had left the pot no further means of exercising its hospitality—enlivened by the liquor and encouraged by the good-nature of the pike-man, and his pardon for the _walloping_—thought the least he could do in gratitude was to give the honest man a sample of his own music, vocal and instrumental: so taking his hunting horn from under his coat (he never went a yard without it) and sounding his best “Death of Reynard,” he sang a stave which was then the charter song of _his_ rank, and which he roared away with all the graces of a view holloa:

Ho! ro! the sup of good drink! And it’s ho! ro! the heart wou’dn’t think! Oh! had I a shilling lapp’d up in a clout, ’Tis a sup of good drink that should wheedle it out. And it’s ho! ro! &c. &c.

The man of the pike was delighted. “Why, then, by my sowl, you ould mummer,” said he, “it’s a pity the likes of you should _want_ a _hog_. Arrah! here (handing him a shilling), maybe your whistle would run dry on the road, and you’ll pay me when you come back, won’t you? Now all’s settled, off wid yees! Success!—success!” And away we went, as fast as the halt and blind could convey us.

We arrived safe and in high glee, just as the prayer-book was getting ready for the ceremony. I apologised for our apparent delay by telling the whole story in my own manner. D— W— seemed wonderfully amused. I caught her eye: it was not like Desdemona’s; but she told me afterward, that my _odd_ mode of relating that adventure first made her remark me as a singularity. She was so witty on it herself, that she was the cause of wit in me. She was indefatigable at sallies—I not idle at repartee; and we both amused ourselves and entertained the company.

I sat next to D— W— at dinner; danced with her at the ball; pledged her at supper; and before two o’clock in the morning my heart had entirely deserted its master.

I will here state, by way of episode, that great difficulties and delays, both of law and equity, had postponed the matrimonial connexion of my brother, Major Barrington (he bore that rank in the old volunteers), for a considerable time. There was not money enough _afloat_ to settle family incumbrances, and keep the younger children from starving. A temporary suspension was of course put to the courtship. My brother in consequence grew nearly outrageous, and swore to me that he had not slept a wink for three nights, considering what species of _death_ he should put himself to. Strong, and young, (though tolerably susceptible myself,) my heart was at that time my own, and I could not help laughing at the extravagance of his passion. I tried to ridicule him out of it. “Heavens!” said I, “Jack, how can you be at a loss on _that_ score? You know I am pretty sure that, by your intended suicide, I shall get a step nearer Cullenaghmore. Therefore, I will remind you that there are a hundred very _genteel_ ways by which you may despatch yourself without either delay or expense.”

He looked at me quite wildly. In fact he was distractedly in love. Alicia was eternally on his lips, and I really believe, if his head had been cut off like the man’s in Alonzo de Cordova, it would have continued pronouncing “Alicia,” till every drop of blood was clean out of it. Reasoning with a mad lover is in vain, so I still pursued ridicule. “See,” said I, “that marble chimney-piece at the end of the room; suppose, now, you run head-foremost against it,—in all human probability you’ll knock your brains out in a novel and not at all a vulgar way.”

I spoke in jest, but found my hearer jested not. Before I could utter another word, he bent his head forward, and with might and main rushed plump at the chimney-piece, which he came against with a crash that I had no doubt must have finished him completely. He fell back and lay without a struggle; the blood gushed, and I stood petrified. The moment I was able I darted out of the room, and calling for aid, his servant Neil came. I told him that his master was dead.

“Dead!” said Neil, “By —— he is, and _double dead_ too! Ah! then, who _kilt_ the major?”

He took him up in his arms, and laid him on a sofa. My brother, however, soon gave Neil the “retort courteous.” He opened his eyes, groaned, and appeared any thing but _dying_. My fright ceased; he had been only stunned, and his head cut, but his brains were safe in their case. He had luckily come in contact with the _flat_ part of the marble: had he hit the _moulding_, he would have ended his love and misfortunes together, and given me, as I had said, a step toward Cullenaghmore. The cut on his head was not material, and in a few days he was tolerably well again. This story, however, was not to be divulged; it was determined that it should remain with us a great secret. Neil, his servant, we swore on a bible not to say a word about it to any body; but the honest man must have practised some mental reservation, as he _happened_ just only to _hint_ it to his sweetheart, Mary Donnellan, my mother’s maid, and she in a tender moment told the postilion Keeran, for whom she had a regard. Keeran never kept a secret in all his life; so he told the dairy-maid, Molly Coyle, whom he preferred to Mary Donnellan. And the dairy-maid told my father, who frequented the dairy, and delighted to see Molly Coyle a-churning. The thing at length became quite public; and my brother, to avoid raillery, set off to his regiment at Philipstown, whither I accompanied him. He still raved about taking the first favourable _opportunity_ of putting himself to death, if the courtship were much longer suspended; and spoke of gallantly throwing himself off his charger at full gallop, previously fastening his foot in the stirrup. The being dragged head downwards over a few heaps of paving stones would certainly have answered his deadly purpose well enough; but I dissuaded him without much difficulty from that species of self-murder, by assuring him that every body, in such a case, would attribute his death to _bad horsemanship_, which would remain, on the records of the regiment, an eternal disgrace to his professional character. Many other projects he thought of; but I must here make one remark, which perhaps may be a good one in general—namely, that every one of those projects _happened_ to originate _after dinner_—a period when Irishmen’s chivalric fancies are at their most enthusiastic and visionary height.

At length, a happy letter reached the major, signifying that all parties had agreed, and that his Alicia, heart and hand, was to be given up to him for life, as his own private and exclusive property—“to have and to hold, for better for worse,” &c. &c. This announcement rendered him almost as wild as his despair had done previously. When he received the letter, he leaped down a flight of stairs at one spring, and in five minutes ordered his charger to be saddled for himself; his hunter, “Mad Tom,” for me; and his chestnut, “Rainbow,” for Neil. In ten minutes we were all mounted and in full gallop toward Dublin, which he had determined to reach that night after one short stoppage at Kildare, where we arrived (without slackening rein) in as short a time as if we had rode a race. The horses were fed well, and drenched with hot ale and brandy; but as none of them were in love, I perceived that they would willingly have deferred the residue of the journey till the ensuing morning. Indeed, my brother’s steed conceiving that _charges_ of such rapidity and length were not at all military, unless in _running away_, determined practically to convince his master that such was his notion. We passed over the famous race-ground of the Curragh in good style; but, as my brother had not given his horse time to lie down gently and rest himself in the ordinary way, the animal had no choice but to perform the feat of lying down whilst in full gallop—which he did very expertly just at the Curragh stand-house. The only mischief occurring herefrom was, that the drowsy charger stripped the skin, like rags, completely off both his knees, scalped the top of his head, got a hurt in the back sinews, and (no doubt without intending it) broke both my brother’s collarbones. When we came up (who were a few hundred yards behind him), both man and beast were lying very quietly, as if asleep;—my brother about five or six yards before the horse, who had cleverly thrown his rider far beyond the chance of being tumbled over by himself. The result was, as usual on similar occasions, that the horse was led limping and looking foolish to the first stable, and committed to all the farriers and grooms in the neighbourhood. My brother was carried flat on a door to the nearest ale-house; and doctors being sent for, _three_ (with bags of instruments) arrived from different places before night, and, after a good deal of searching and fumbling about his person, one of them discovered that both collar-bones were smashed, as aforesaid, and that if either of the broken bones or splinters thereof turned _inward_ by his stirring, it might run through the lobes of his lungs, and very suddenly end all hopes of ever completing his journey: his nose had likewise taken a different turn from that it had presented when he set out:—and the palms of his hands fully proved that they could do without any skin, and with a very moderate quantity of flesh.

However, the bones were well arranged, a pillow strapped under each arm, and another at his shoulder-blades. All necessary comforts were procured, as well as furniture from Mr. Hamilton, whose house was near. I did not hear a word that night about Alicia; but in due time the major began to recover once more, and resumed his love, which had _pro tempore_ been literally knocked out of him. It was announced by the doctor that it would be a long time before he could use his hands or arms, and that removal or exercise might produce a new fracture, and send a splinter or bone through any part of his interior that might be most handy.

Though I thought the blood he had lost, and the tortures the doctor put him to, had rendered his mind a good deal tamer than it was at Maryborough, he still talked much of Alicia, and proposed that I should write to her, on his part, an account of his misfortunes; and the doctor in attendance allowing him the slight exertion of signing his name and address in his own handwriting, I undertook to execute my task to the utmost of my skill, and certainly performed it with great success. I commenced with due warmth, and stated that the “accident he had met with only retarded the happiness he should have in making her his wife, which he had so long burned for, but which circumstances till then had prevented,” &c. &c. (The words I recollect pretty well, because they afterward afforded me infinite amusement.) The letter was sealed with the family arms and crest.