formed, were supported by the casual contributions of individual artists, have lately been put on a more permanent footing by the establishment of a society of artists, for the purpose of promoting the study of this delightful art,--but what may be its final success time only can discover.

CHAPTER IX.

Style of living in Dublin-Society-Professional men- Barristers-Progress of luxury-Hospitality-Inference from the number of beggars.

Dublin.

I AM come here at an unlucky period-visiting Dublin in August is as bad as going to the country at Christmas-the town is as bare of company now as the trees are then of leaves, or the earth is of verdure. Fashion has prodigious influence in this metropolis; and the gentry, merchants, and tradesmen, think it incumbent on them to pass the summer out of town, because the fashionables of London go at that season to watering places. Notwithstanding the gaiety of Dublin, I do not think a stranger would find it a pleasant residence after its novelty has subsided ;there is, no doubt, much hospitality, and, on slight introduction, he may get many dinners; but, as ostentation mingles in its full proportion with kindness of heart in these invitations, this hospitality is rather a holiday suit (if I may so speak) than a plain jacket; it is drawn forth on state occasions, but is too costly for every day's wear. The usages of Dublin

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make it necessary to give dinners, often beyond the income of the entertainer; who, in his ordinary mode of living, probably pays the penalty of his occasional profusion. He never wishes, therefore, to be taken unawares, or to expose himself to the chance of being caught at his humble meal of mutton and whiskey punch by the man who a few days before had feasted with him on venison and claret: a stranger, therefore, does not find his hospitality a resource at the time he wants it most-in the hour of languor and lassitude, when it would be so agreeable to have a house to step into on the footing of unreserved inter

course.

Nor does the public life perform what the private denies the savoir vivre is but moderately advanced in Dublin: there are none of those comfortable eatinghouses in which London so much abounds, where one often meets rational and agreeable society, and has a good dinner at a reasonable price; without being obliged to swallow a quantity of sloe-juice, which the courtesy of England denominates wine. The taverns in Dublin are either so miserably low that a respectable person cannot be seen going into them, or are equally extravagant with the most expensive London ones. The lodging-houses, with some exceptions, and I have been lucky enough to get into one, are liable to the same objection: they are either barracks, which the mop seems never to have visited, or beyond all reason extravagant. In all these and various other conveniences, London abounds to a degree that makes it, of all other places, the most agreeable residence for a man of small fortune: nor is there, perhaps, a town in the world, where a man, who

hangs loosely by society, can glide more gently down the stream of time, or where, if he cannot greatly enjoy, he can endure life better. Dublin has another great disadvantage: paradoxical as it may appear, it is too small for retirement; a stranger can never long remain so; curiosity busies itself about his profession, his fortune, and manner of living, until every thing about him becomes known: he may be said, therefore, to be too much on his good behaviour. This, as far as morality is concerned, is perhaps an advantage; but in various minor matters of economy it is attended with many evils: a man, watched by eyes more numerous and wakeful than those of Argus, can neither eat, drink, nor dress, as he likes; he cannot live for himself, but for the world. Places of amusement are not numerous here—until lately there was but one theatre; and even that resource will not continue many days longer, as it shortly closes for the summer drinking will then be the only amusement; and it is not half so good a summer as a winter one. The weather just now is insufferably warm, and wine is by no means so agreeable a beverage as water: I shall, therefore, leave this in a day or two, to breathe the cooler air of the northern mountains, where excessive heat is as rare as adultery. A traveller can no more quit a town, however, than he can turn off a servant, without giving it a character-like an epilogue, after a new play, it is always expected of him.— In conformity, therefore, to immemorial usage, I shall say a few words of the general state of society and manners in Dublin; though, when I speak, I had better perhaps remain silent; when I seem to move, I may make little progress; and when I flatter myself

with giving a group, I may only sketch a few individuals.

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There are few resident nobility in Dublin. Irish Nobility is a sickly and delicate plant: like the myrtle, it does not do in this northern climate: it thrives only in the sunshine of court favour: it is not a nounsubstantive kind of greatness; it cannot stand by itself; it leans for support on the minister, who often finds the propping-up of this tender vine an embarrassing and expensive species of gardening. People of large landed property are equally rare these gentry, like swallows, take an annual flight to England, where they hop about from London to Weymouth, from Bath to Cheltenham, till their purses are as empty as their heads; when they return to wring further sums from the hard hands of their wretched tenants, who seldom see them but on such occasions. The learned professions may be therefore said to form the aristocracy of Dublin-law, physic, and gospel, take the lead here, and give the ton in manners, as well as in morals and literature. These three professions go hand-in-hand; though haud passibus æquis: law is always the foremost. A physician can be but a knight, or, at the best, physician to the Lord Lieutenant a lawyer may be Lord Chancellor, and rule the Lord Lieutenant himself:-the wool-sack is a very comfortable seat, far softer than the bench of a bishop, and therefore much higher in public estimation.

The Irish bar contains many men of shining abilities: the eloquence of Mr. Curran is well known and generally admired; Mr. Bushe, the Solicitor-general, is considered an able reasoner and sound lawyer; and Mr. Plunkett, the late Attorney-general, is

an admirable public speaker, either at the bar or in parliament. The style of the Irish bar is different from that of the English. It is less solemn and decorous, but more lively and animated, more glowing and figurative, more witty and sarcastic; it reasons less, it instructs less, it convinces less, but it amuses more; it is more ornamented, more dramatic; it rises to the sublime, it sinks to the humorous, it attempts the pathetic—but in all this there is too much of the tricks of a juggler. I do not say that an Irish advocate thinks less of his client than an English one, but he appears to think less; he appears to think most of himself of his own reputation, of the approbation of his brethren, the applause of the spectators, and the admiration of the court. I dare say I should be most gratified by specimens of eloquence taken at the Irish bar, but were either my life or my fortune at stake, I should like to be defended at an English one.

In society the Irish lawyer is equally amusing; there is a mixture of gentlemanly manners and professional acuteness; of gay repartee and classic allusion, which makes him often an instructive, and always an agreeable companion. Yet even here it is easy to remark the traces of the defects I have mentioned: a rage to shine, and disposition to dazzle; his wit cloys by repetition, and his allusions are often forced and far-fetcheddifficultly found, and not worth the trouble of seeking: he is too fond of antithesis, likewise, and says smart, rather than sensible things; specious rather than solid things. This disposition, however, to be witty rather than wise, is not confined to the gentlemen of the bar, but is universal through the city. In every party I have been in, talkers were many, and listeners were few;