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The O’Rourke’s noble feast shall ne’er be
forgot
By those who were there, and those who were not.
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“The fête that was to celebrate my entrance into the Church of England, as “by law established,” and thus become an “inheritor of the kingdom of Heaven,” was, according to the law and custom of Ireland from the days of St. Patrick—a dinner. The “christening dinner” admitted of no exclusion—the Catholic Bishop of Cashel (though at that time the existence of a Catholic in Ireland was not admitted), might take his place beside the Primate of all Ireland, “without let or molestation,” to use the words of the Irish passports of that day.
I have the list before me of the choice guests who graced the table on that day, in whose favour penal laws were forgotten, and for that day at least all prejudices were relaxed.
At the head stands the name of Father
Arthur O’Leary, a Dominican friar, the most eloquent preacher
| 12 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
The Rev. Mr. Langley, a missionary of Lady Huntingdon’s College, of Irevecca, comes next; he was my mother’s cousin, and at this time a guest at Moira House.
Counsellor Macnally, who was the author of some very popular dramas of the day.
The Rev. Charles Macklin, nephew to Macklin the actor and dramatic writer; he was so great a favourite with my father, that he chose him to perform the ceremony of inaugurating me into the church militant. But his preaching, however eloquent, was not equal to his skill in playing the Irish bagpipes, that most ancient and perfect of instruments. The “piper that played before Moses” is still an Irish adjuration, and a personage who is at any rate sworn by.
Kane O’Hara, who first introduced high burlesque into dramatic literature; he was the author of Midas, Poor Kelean, The Golden Pippin, &c.
Signior Giordani, the eminent composer, an early friend of my father’s.
Captain Jephson, author of two popular tragedies, the Count of Narbonne and the Carmelite.
Richard Daly, of Castle Daly, patentee of the Theatre Royal, Dublin.
Edward Tighe, of Woodstock, the finest dramatic
critic of the day, from whose judgment there was no
| THE CHRISTENING. | 13 |
The dear, kind Joseph Atkinson, the treasurer of the Ordnance;
——describe him who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; |
Counsellor Lysaght, the Irish improvisatore in his youth, the eloquent barrister and prime wit in his middle age.
Sir Thomas and Lady Bell—the lady was my godmother.
When I close the list with the names of Robert Hitchcock, the historian of the stage, and his beautiful daughter, Lady Green—
“Il catologo eccolo là!” |
“The sunny temper bright when all is strife, The simple heart above all worldly wiles, Light wit that plays along the calm of life, And stirs its languid surface into smiles.” |
If the company was national, the dinner was quite as national as the
guests who partook of it; and a branch of shilealagh, from its own wood near Dublin,
| 14 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
Of course that “precious baby” was brought in; her health was drank with “three times three,” by the style and title of “Foghau Foh!” in less classic phrase—“wait awhile.”
My father sang first in Irish and then in English Carolan’s famous song of “O’Rourke’s Noble Feast,” whilst the chorus was swelled by all the company:—
“Oh, you are welcome heartily, Welcome gramachree, Welcome heartily, Welcome joy!” |
I am sorry not to be able to tell all this as a “credible witness” of the scene narrated, for being but a month old I understood nothing about it; but I have so often heard of it from my father as I sat upon his knee, that my testimony, although but hearsay evidence, may be accredited.
Many years after this notable event, Counsellor Lysaght, an eminent barrister, going the Munster circuit,
bivouacked for the night (as was then usual with great lawyers), at the house of a friend
in Tipperary. He stole into the drawing-room, which was full of company—not to
interrupt a song which a young girl was singing to the harp; it was the Irish cronan of
“Emuck ac Nock—Ned of the Hill;” the air
was scarce finished when he sprang forward and seized the harpist in his arms,
exclaiming:—“This must be Sydney
Owenson—it is her father’s voice—
| THE CHRISTENING. | 15 |
In the vicissitudes of Irish friendships he had not seen his godchild since the christening dinner, and had nearly fought a duel with her father in the meantime. Now holding her at arm’s length, but holding her fast, and throwing up his head and eyes, he burst forth in the following impromptu lines:—
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“The muses once found me not very sober,
But full of frolic at your merry christening,
And now, this twenty-third day of October,
As they foretold, to your sweet lays I’m listening.
Tho’ when I’d vowed and promised for the best,
The heathen huzzies turned it to a jest;
At pomps and vanities, and wicked world,
They sneered, and up their saucy noses curled;
Renounce the devil, too, in your new name
They substituted wit, and grace, and fame;
And then around thy baby brow they bound
A wreath of laurel, with some shamrock crowned.
Poor me they plied with draughts of rosy wine,
Foretelling I would one day have some strains divine
From the young Christian of the festal hour—
“Tis done! I bow to their prophetic power.*
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* A fragment of this poem has appeared in the Life and Poems of Edward Lysaght, Esq., published after his death. |
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