A DUBLIN BOARDING-HOUSE.
Sketch of the company and inmates—Lord Mountmorris—Lieut. Gam Johnson, R. N.—Sir John and Lady O’Flaherty—Mrs. Wheeler—Lady and Miss Barry—Memoir and character of Miss Barry, afterward Mrs. Baldwin—Ruinous effects of a dramatic education exemplified—Lord Mountmorris’s duel with the Honourable Francis Hely Hutchinson at Donnybrook—His Lordship wounded—Marquis of Ely, his second.
After my return to Dublin from the Temple, before I could suit myself with a residence to my satisfaction, I lodged at the house of Mr. Kyle, in Frederick-street, uncle to the present provost of Dublin University. Mrs. Kyle was a remarkably plain woman, of the most curious figure, being round as a ball; but she was as good as she was ordinary. This worthy creature, who was a gentlewoman by birth, had married Kyle, who, though of good family, had been a trooper. She had lived many years, as companion, with my grandmother, and, in fact, regarded me as if I had been her own child.
In her abode so many human curiosities werecollected, and so many anecdotes occurred, that, even at this distance of time, the recollection amuses me. Those who lodged in the house dined in company: the table was most plentifully served, and the party generally comprised from eight to ten select persons. I will endeavour to sketch the leading members of the society there at the period of which I speak; and first on the list I will place the late Lord Mountmorris, of celebrated memory. He was a very clever and well-informed, but eccentric man;—one of the most ostentatious and at the same time parsimonious beings in the world. He considered himself by far the greatest orator and politician in Europe; and it was he who sent a florid speech, which heintendedto have spoken in the Irish House of Lords, to the press:—the debate on which it was to be spoken did not ensue; but his Lordship having neglected to countermand the publication, his studied harangue appeared next day in the Dublin newspapers with all the supposititiouscheerings, &c. duly interposed! I believe a similarfaux pashas been committed by some English nobleman.
His Lordship, at the period in question, was patronising what is commonly ycleped aled captain—one Lieutenant Ham or Gam Johnson, of the royal navy, brother to the two judges and the attorney. He was not, however, a led captain in thevulgarapplication: he was an independent-minded man, and a brave officer; but,like many others, sought for patronage becausehe could not get on without it. Though not absolutelydisgusting, Lieut. Johnson was certainly one of the ugliest men in Christendom. It was said of him that he need never fire a shot, since his countenance alone was sufficient to frighten the bravest enemy. His bloated visage, deeply indented by that cruel ravager of all comeliness, the smallpox, was nearly as large as the body which supported it, and that was by no means diminutive. Yet he was civil and mild, and had, withal, a much higher character as an officer than his captain in the Artois frigate, Lord Charles Fitzgerald, who, it was at that time thought, conceived that a sound nap was as good as a hard battle.
Next in the company came Sir John O’Flaherty, Bart. (whose brother had been poisoned by Lanegan), and Lady O’Flaherty hissposa. He was a plain, agreeable country gentleman. Her Ladyship was to the full asplain, but not quite so agreeable. However, it was (as Mrs. Kyle said) a veryrespectablething, at a boarding-house, to hear—“Sir JohnO’Flaherty’s health!”—and “LadyO’Flaherty’s health!”—drunk or hobnobbed across the table.—They formed, indeed, excellent stuffing to cram in between my Lord Mountmorris and the simplegentry.
Lady Barry, widow of the late Sir Nathaniel Barry, Bart., and mother of Sir Edward, (who wasalso an occasional guest,) follows in my catalogue, and was as valuable acuriosityas any of the set.—She, too, was a good ingredient in thestuffingdepartment.
Mrs. Wheeler, the grandmother of Sir Richard Jonah Denny Wheeler Cuffe, a cousin of mine, gave up her whole attention to lap-dogs; and neither she nor the last-mentioned dowager were by any means averse to the fermented grape—though we never saw either of them “veryfar gone.”
Lady Barry’s only daughter, afterward Mrs. Baldwin, was also of the party. Though this young female had not a beautiful face, it was peculiarly pleasing, and she certainly possessed one of the finest of figures,—tall, and slender in its proportions, and exquisitely graceful. Her father, Sir Nathaniel Barry, many years the principal physician of Dublin, adored his daughter, and had spared neither pains nor expense on her education. She profited by all the instruction she received, and was one of the most accomplished young women of her day.
But unfortunately he had introduced her to the practice of one very objectionable accomplishment, calculated rather to give unbounded latitude to, than check, the light and dangerous particles of a volatile and thoughtless disposition. He was himself enthusiastically fond of theatricals, and had fitted up a theatre in the upper story of his ownhouse. There the youthful mind of his untainted daughter was first initiated into all the schemes, passions, arts, and deceptions of lovers and of libertines!—the close mimicry of which forms the very essence of dramatic perfection. At sixteen, with all the warmth of a sensitive constitution, she was taught to personify the vices, affect the passions, and assume the frivolities of her giddy sex!
Thus, through the folly or vanity of her father, she was led to represent by turns the flirt, the jilt, the silly wife, the capricious mistress, and the frail maiden,—before her understanding had arrived at sufficient maturity, or his more serious instructions made sufficient impression, to enable her to resist voluptuous sensations. She had not penetration enough (how could she have?) to perceive that a moral may be extracted from almost every crime, and that a bad example may sometimes be more preservative against error, (from exhibiting its ruinous consequences,) than a good one. She was too young, and too unsteady, to make these subtle distinctions. She saw the world’s pleasures dancing gaily before her, and pursued the vision—until her mimicry, at length, became nature, her personification identity. After two or three years, during which this mistaken course was pursued, Sir Nathaniel died, leaving his daughter in possession of all the powers of attraction without the guard of prudence. In the dance—in declamation—in music—in the languages—she excelled:but in those steady and solid qualities which adapt women for wedlock and domesticity, she was altogether deficient. Her short-sighted father had been weak enough to deck her with the gaudy qualifications of an actress at the expense of all those more estimable acquirements which her mind and her genius were equally susceptible of attaining.
The misfortunes which ensued should therefore be attributed rather to the folly of the parent than to the propensities of the child. Her heart once sunk into the vortex of thoughtless variety and folly, her mother was unable to restrain its downward progress; and as to her weak, dissipated brother, Sir Edward, I have myself seen him, late at night, require her to come from her chamber to sing, or play, or spout, for the amusement of his inebriated companions;—conduct which the mother had not sufficient sense or resolution to control. However, good fortune still gave Miss Barry a fair chance of rescuing herself, and securing complete comfort and high respectability. She married well, being united to Colonel Baldwin, a gentleman of character and fortune:—but, alas! that delicacy of mind which is the best guardian of female conduct, had been irrecoverably lost by her pernicious education, and in a few years she relinquished her station in society.
Long after that period, I saw Mrs. Baldwin at the house of a friend of mine, into which she hadbeen received, under an assumed name, as governess. This effort, on her part, could not be blamed: on the contrary, it was most commendable; and it would have been both cruel and unjust, by discovering her, to have thwarted it. Though many years had elapsed, and her person had meanwhile undergone total alteration,—her size being doubled, and her features grown coarse and common,—I instantly recognised her as one whom I had known long before, but whose name I could not recollect. I had tact enough to perceive that she courted concealment, and, in consequence, I carefully abstained from any pointed observation. The mother of the children subsequently told me that her governess, Mrs.Brown, was an admirable musician, and took me to the door of her room to hear her play. She was sitting alone, at the piano. I listened with an anxiety I cannot describe—indeed scarcely account for. She sang not with superiority, but in plaintive tones, which I was confident I had heard before, yet could not remember where,—when an air which, from a very peculiar cause, had in early days impressed itselfindeliblyon my memory, brought Miss Barry at once to my recollection.[29]Her image swam into my mind as she appeared when youth, grace, innocence, and accomplishmentsmade her a just subject for general admiration, and had particularly attracted a friend of mine, Mr. Vicars, the brother of Mrs. Peter Latouche, who loved her to distraction.—He since married Miss Georges.
29.It was a favourite air of D. Whittingham’s, and affected me much, though after a lapse of twenty-four years.
29.It was a favourite air of D. Whittingham’s, and affected me much, though after a lapse of twenty-four years.
Her secret I kept inviolably:—but some person, I believe, was afterward less considerate, and she was discovered. Had I supposed it possible she could have then enfeebled the morals, or injured the habits, of my friend’s children, I should myself have privately given her a hint to change her situation;—but I never should havebetrayedher. I conceived her at that time to be trustworthy in the execution of the duties she had undertaken. She had suffered amply. Her own daughter resided with her, and scarcely ever left her side. No longer a subject for the irregular passions, she had just lived long enough, and felt keenly enough, to render her early follies a warning for her later years, and even to cause her to entertain disgust for those errors which had so fatally misled her:—and I then believed, nor have I now any reason to question the solidity of my judgment, that she was on the direct road to prudence and good conduct.
I have related these events, as I confess myself to be an avowed enemy to a dramatic education. That sexual familiarity which is indispensable upon the stage undermines, and is, in my opinion, utterly inconsistent with, the delicacy of sentiment, the refinement of thought, and reserve ofaction, which constitute at once the surest guards and the most precious ornaments of female character. Strong minds and discriminating understandings frequently escape; but, what a vast majority of Thalia’s daughters fall victims to the practices of their profession!
Let us return to Kyle’s boarding-house. The different pursuits adopted by these curious members of the society assembled there were to me subjects of constant entertainment, and I stood well with all parties.—Good manners, good humour, and good cheer, make every place agreeable;—all these were united at Kyle’s boarding-table: the society never exceeded ten; and the company was always good.
One day, after dinner, Lord Mountmorris seemed rather less communicative than usual, but not less cheerful. He took out his watch; made a speech, as customary; drank histipple(as he denominated the brandy and water), but seemed rather impatient. At length, a loud rap announced somebody of consequence, and the Marquis of Ely was named.
Lord Mountmorris rose with his usual ceremony, made a very low bow to the company, looked again at his watch, repeated hiscongé, and made his exit. He entered the coach where Lord Ely was waiting, and away they drove. Kyle (a most curious man) instantly decided that a duel was in agitation, and turned pale atthe dread of losingso good a lodger. Lieutenant Gam Johnson was of the same opinion, and equally distressed by the fear of losing his Lordship’s interest for a frigate. Each snatched up his beaver, and, with the utmost expedition, pursued the coach. I was also rather desirous too seethe fun, as Lieutenant Gam (though with a sigh!) called it, and made the best of my way after the two mourners, not, however, hurrying myself so much—as, whilst they kept the coach in view, I was contented with keeping them within sight. Our pursuit exceeded a mile; when, in the distance, I perceived that the coach had stopped at Donnybrook fair-green, where, on every eighth of June, many an eye seems to mourn in raven gray for the broken skull that had protected it from expulsion. I took my time, as I was now sure of my game, and had just reached the field when I heard the firing. I then ran behind a large tree, to observe further.
Lieut. Gam and Kyle had flown toward the spot, and nearly tumbled over my Lord, who had received a bullet from the Hon. Francis Hely Hutchinson (late collector for Dublin) on the right side, directly under his Lordship’s pistol arm. The peer had staggered and reposed at his length on the green-sward, and I certainly thought it was all over with him. I stood snugly all the while behind my tree, not wishing to have any thing to do at the coroner’s inquest, which I considered inevitable. To my astonishment, however,I saw my Lord arise, gracefully but slowly; and, after some colloquy, the combatants bowed to each other and separated; my Lord got back to his coach, with aid, and reached Frederick-street, if not in quite as good health, certainly with as high a character for bravery, as when he left it. In fact, never did any person enjoy a wound more sincerely! It was little else than a contusion, but twenty grains more of powder would probably have effectually laid his Lordship “to rest on the field of battle.” He kept his chamber a month, and was inconceivably gratified by the number of inquiries daily made respecting his health—boasting ever after of the profusion offriendswho thus proved their solicitude. His answer from first to last was—“no better.”—To speak truth, one-half of the querists were sent in jest by those whom his singularity diverted.