Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate. Frank Thorpe Porter
of Major, and settled on a property in a southern county, where the descendants of him and Mary Tudor are living in independence and respectability.
This narrative has been closely criticised. It has been asked, Did the hero of the tale keep his very existence concealed so long, and why? Suspicions have been expressed that the lovers had some communication or correspondence. Whatever conjectures may be entertained, they need not be canvassed here. The reader may form his own opinion. Much was said on the subject, and something was even sung. The following verses are a portion of a lyric attributed to a Mr. Rooney, a basket-maker in Fishamble Street. The Tholsel guard, to the somnolent tendencies of which an allusion is made, were in number about a dozen. They were dressed in blue with orange facings, and armed with pole-axes. An alderman of the time sarcastically described them as "selected for their age and infirmities, and not required to be awake unless at their meals."
"Some folk averr'd a bird was heard
To Mary's casement nigh;
And from its throat there thrill'd the note,
He's coming by-and-by.
"Some said there came, with war-worn frame,
A vet'ran grenadier,
Who spoke of one that led him on
Through battle's fierce career.
"Some said between them both had been
Of love notes not a few,
But this was clear, he did appear,
And wed his maiden true.
"Through Skinner Row the toast must go,
And our cheers reach Christ Church Yard,
Till its vaults profound send back the sound,
To waken the Tholsel guard.
"Here's to their health in peace and wealth;
May Death, that bold intruder,
A long while pause ere he lays his claws
On such as Mary Tudor."
FOOTNOTE:
[2] In the old "Tholsel" or Guildhall of Dublin, members who had served the office of Sheriff, or who represented the Guild of Merchants, occupied the centre of the Council chamber. The members representing incorporated trades sat next the wainscot. They had the reputation of being the most independent members of the Corporation.
CHAPTER IV. THE BIRTH OF A WORD—A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION—THE HONOR OF KNIGHTHOOD.
I have mentioned in the narrative respecting Lonergan, that my father was a member of the corps of Dublin Volunteers, and that he was serjeant of the grenadier company. Many of his comrades were living within my memory, and I could name five or six who derived great gratification from reverting to the period when the citizen soldiers of Ireland were enrolled in thousands for the purpose of resisting an invasion which was threatened by the French. The reviews, parades, and convivial associations of the Volunteers afforded many agreeable recollections; and I have heard from different narrators the same account of what may be termed the birth of a word which originated in Eustace Street, Dublin, upon the same day that ushered into this breathing world the oldest and highest of rank amongst the Irish nobility.[3] I indulge in a hope that my readers may consider the circumstances under which a word was added to our language as curious or interesting, especially when they are apprised that it was not taken from any other language, ancient or modern, and yet it has become ubiquitous.
On the 21st of August, 1791, news had arrived in Dublin that Her Grace the Duchess of Leinster had given birth to a young Marquis of Kildare. To all ranks of society the intelligence was welcome, but especially to the Volunteers. The Duke was the general of that force in his province, but his own corps, of which he was colonel, was the Dublin one. Along with the announcement of the accouchement of the Duchess, came an intimation, that the corps would be expected at Carton on the happy occasion of the christening. The opportunity for paying a compliment to their commander was hailed by the citizen-soldiers with the utmost enthusiasm, and there was a numerous gathering of them, to learn the particulars and to consider their arrangements, at a tavern in Eustace Street, Dublin, kept by a person named Bennett, and known as "The Eagle." The evening had, as might be expected, a convivial termination. Several who had attained to high civic dignities were amongst those assembled; and there was also present Richard Daly, the proprietor and manager of the Smock Alley theatre, who had an extraordinary propensity for making wagers in reference to incidental matters, however unimportant. In the course of the evening some casual opinions were expressed on the histrionic powers of an actor named Sparkes, who was then drawing immense houses in Daly's theatre. One of the Volunteers, named Delahoyde, expressed his surprise that such crowds should run after Sparkes, and remarked that his popularity was more the result of fashionable caprice than of histrionic merits. "He is, in my opinion," added the speaker, "just what the French would term un fagotin." "And what is the exact meaning of that word?" asked Alderman Moncrieffe. "There is, perhaps, no one word in the English Language which conveys its meaning exactly," said the interrogated party. "If I could give an English word to signify a low, vulgar mountebank, I should not have employed the French term." "Then," observed Daly, "why do you not make a word and send it into circulation? You should not feel aware that our language was deficient in expression without being charitable enough to supply its want, especially as it costs nothing to make a word." "But," rejoined the other, "how could I ensure the reception of a word into general use? It might be characterized as slang, or remain unnoticed and unadopted; it might be as difficult to obtain currency for a word, or more so, than it was to pass Wood's halfpence."
"Dick," said Alderman Moncrieffe, "suppose you try your own hand, as you think the matter so easy. I would leave it to your own ingenuity, but I fear you will find it very difficult to induce the public to take your word. If they took some of your assurance it might be an advantage; you have plenty to spare."
"I thank you, Alderman," replied Daly. "I did not suppose that so much wit could come from the neighbourhood of the Tholsel."
"Oh!" said Moncrieffe, "it has strayed up to us from the theatre, where it has lately become scarce. But, Dick, why have you chatted so long on this and other subjects this evening without offering a single wager? Come now, start a bet."
"I shall not use a phrase or make a word," said Daly, "in disparagement of Sparkes, from whom I have derived much pleasure and profit; but I shall bet you twenty guineas, and I propose our friend and captain, who is also your brother alderman, I propose John Carleton as the judge or arbitrator between us, that within forty-eight hours there shall be a word in the mouths of the Dublin public, of all classes and sexes, young and old; and also that within a week, the same public shall attach a definite and generally adopted meaning to that word, without any suggestion or explanation from me. I also undertake, as essential to the wager, that my word shall be altogether new and unconnected with any derivation from another language, ancient or modern. Now, Alderman, what say you to taking my word or winning my money?"
"I shall not take your word, Dick, but I propose winning some of your money. I shall put five guineas in the wager, provided the present company take up the balance, and let the winnings be spent on the evening of the first parade day after our return from the christening of the young Marquis of Kildare."
The company were joyous, and the proposal of the appropriation of the proceeds to festivity induced a speedy acceptance of the remaining liability. The terms were reduced to writing, and deposited with Carleton.