THE BARD O'KELLY.
For many years, an individual, calling himself "The Bard O'Kelly,"wandered through the South of Ireland, subsisting on the exactedhospitality and the enforced contributions of such as happened to be soweak as to dread being put by him into a couplet of satirical doggerel,and thus held up to public scorn as wanting in liberality. An Irishman,be it known, will not submit to an imputation upon his generosity;rather than have _that_ questioned, he will give away his last sixpence,though the gift leave him without food. O'Kelly was shrewd enough toknow this, and like the ale which Boniface so much praises in Farquhar'scomedy, he "fed purely upon it"--in fact, it was meat, drink, clothingand lodging to him.
Until he published his "poems," no one knew on what very slight groundshis Bardship rested. His book--a thin, ill-printed octavo, called "TheHippocrene,"--appeared, with a dedication, by permission, to "the mostnoble and warlike Marquis of Anglesea," and underneath the inscriptionis the quatrain,
"_O dulce decus_! thou art mine, What can I more or less say? _Presidium_! pillar of the NINE, Illustrious chief ANGLESEA!!"
In order, also, that the world might know what manner of man hisbardling was, he had put his portrait as a frontispiece, and, with thatcharacteristic modesty which indicated that _he_ certainly had kissedthe Blarney Stone, had engraved beneath it,--
"Sweet bard! sweet lake! congenial shall your fame The rays of genius and of beauty claim; Nor vainly claim: for who can read and view, And not confess O'KELLY'S pencil true?"
The lake here alluded to, is that of Killarney. In the year 1791,O'Kelly wrote what he called "a Poem" on the romantic scenery ofKillarney. It was written, but not published--recited by the bard, asthe Iliad and Odyssey are said to have been by "the blind old man ofScio's rocky isle,"--handed about in manuscript among friends, like muchof the verse of the present day, when (because every third man is anauthor) hard-hearted booksellers refuse to purchase valuelesscopyrights, or even to publish them, save at the sole expense and riskof the writers.
So, in 1791, was written, not published, the Bard's "Killarney,"--apoem which (as _he_ was wont to speak of it) "has all the depth of thelake it immortalizes, with the clearness, freshness, and sparkling flowof its waters!" It may be thought a little egotistical for O'Kelly thusto praise his own writings--but, surely, a man is the best judge of hisown merit, and best acquainted with his own talents. I put it to everyman of sense--that is, to every person who completely coincides with myopinion,--whether, if a man does not think and speak well of himself, itcan possibly be expected that any one else will? No; O'Kelly'sself-praise was only a flourish to remind people what a genius they hadamong them--a Laputan flap to make the Irish world quite aware of thefact of his immeasurable merit.
There was a rumour--but I hate scandal--that the Bard (being a poet, andlame to boot, like the Grecian) had an ambition to be the new Tyrtaeus ofthe Irish Rebels, in 1798. He has been seen to smile, ratherassentingly, at "the soft impeachment," although, no doubt, while theinsurgents were liable to punishment, he had very _capital_ reasons fordenying it. While the Civil War was raging, he went to the north-east ofIreland, and, his enemies say, with rebellious designs. But his ownassertion,
("And truths divine came mended from _his_ lips,")was, that the sole object of his tour was to compose a poem on thesublimities of the Giant's Causeway. Such a composition was written--forI have read it. But the greatest and best of men--from Socrates down toO'Kelly--have been subjected to suspicion and persecution, and ithappened that when the Bard showed himslf in the north, he was taken upby the King's forces, and summarily committed to prison on suspicionthat his visit was occasioned by a desire to discover a snuglanding-place, on the Antrim coast, for the French--who, at that time,were about invading Ireland.
Bad news travels very quickly. It soon was noised about Kerry, that theBard had been taken up. As a story, like a snow-ball, increases as ittravels, it was even added that the Bard had been--_hanged_!
On this, a wretch named Michael M'Carthy--a Macroom man was thisBathyllus to the Hibernian Maro--constituted himself heir-at-law andresiduary legatee to the Bard's poetical effects, and, not having thefear of Apollo's vengeance before his eyes, had the barefaced audacityto publish eight hundred and forty lines of "Killarney," mixed up withcertain versicles of his own, under the imposing name of "LacusDelectabilis."
The Bard O'Kelly heard of this audacious appropriation at the very hourwhen his trial was coming on, and it took such effect upon his spiritsthat, to use his own figurative language, he "did not know at the time,whether he was standing on his head or his heels."
Brought for trial before a military tribunal, quick in decision andsharp in execution, there was so much presumptive evidence against him,that he was convicted without much delay, (his judges were in a hurry todine,) and sentenced to be hanged early the next day.
The emergency of the case restrung his shattered energies. Recoveringthe use of his tongue, he made a heart-rending appeal to the CourtMartial; narrated the vile plagiarism which had been committed on hisbeautiful and beloved Killarney; recited a hundred lines of thatsonorous composition, and concluded a very energetic harangue, byrequesting "leave of absence," for a few weeks, in order that he mightproceed to Kerry, there to punish M'Carthy, for his dire offence againstall the recognized rules of authorship. He even tendered his own bailfor his reappearance to be hanged, as soon as, by performing an act ofsignal justice towards the plagiarist, he had vindicated that famewhich, he said, was of more value to him than life.
The manner and matter of this extraordinary address--such as never,before nor since, was spoken in a Court of Justice--were soextraordinary that the execution of the sentence was postponed. Whenthe Civil War was over, the Bard was liberated. "It was a great triumphfor my eloquence," was his usual self-complacent expression, in afterlife, when speaking of this hair-breadth escape. To this day, however,there are some who hint that the Court considered him _non composmentis_--too much of a fool to be a traitor and conspirator--and weremerciful accordingly.
When O'Kelly returned home, he did not annihilate M'Carthy in thebody--he did so in spirit: he lampooned him. Finally, the plagiaristmade a public apology; and an armistice was effected by the aid ofcopious libations of the "mountain-dew," the favourite Hippocrene ofIrishmen.
The Bard's trip to the Giant's Causeway gave him a wonderful inclinationfor travelling. As itinerary rhyme-spinner, he continued to keep bodyand soul together ever since, in a manner which nothing but thebrilliant invention of a verse-making Milesian could have dreamed of.Under the face of the sun no people so keenly appreciate, and soundeniably dread, satire as the Irish do. Few, it may be added, havegreater powers in that line--and this without being imbued with lessgood-nature or more malice than other people. They particularly shrinkfrom any imputation on their open-handed and open-hearted hospitality.The Bard O'Kelly knew that this sensitive feeling was the blot which hewas to hit. And on the results of this knowledge, he contrived tolive well--to obtain raiment, money, lodging, food, and drink, duringthe vicissitudes of about forty years.
He committed himself to a pilgrimage from place to place, throughIreland, always fixing his headquarters at the residence of some countrygentleman. Here he would abide for a week--a fortnight--or even a month,if he liked his quarters, and thought his intrusion would be toleratedso long. During his stay, his two horses, his son (for, being Irish, hehad got married very soon), and himself, always lived "in clover." Hisvaledictory acknowledgment, by which he considered that he repaid thehospitality extended to him, was a laudatory couplet! If there were, orif there seemed to be, the slightest want of cordiality in his receptionor entertainment, he would immediately depart, giving the delinquent toimmortal infamy in a stinging couplet. When he had written a few scoreof these rhymes he used to get them printed (ballad-wise) on octavoslips of whity-brown paper, and each new page was added to itspredecessor, by being pasted into a sort of scrap-book. This collectionhe called hi
s "Poetic Tour," and he had only a single copy of it; and tothis, which he promised to have printed in a regular book, at somefuture period, every one who entertained him was expected to subscribefrom a crown to a guinea--_subscriptions payable in advance_. To thisrule he had permitted only one exception. This was early in the presentcentury, when the Chevalier Ruspini, (a tooth and corn extractor,) whotravelled in Ireland as "Dentist to the Prince of Wales," subscribed, inthe name of his Royal master, for fifty copies of the work; and, on thestrength of this, managed to dine, on three several occasions, withO'Kelly--being the only instance on record of his Bardship having everplayed the host.
I knew O'Kelly personally, when I was a lad, having met him, for thefirst time, at Drewscourt, in the county of Limerick, whither he came,purposely, to remain one day _en passant_, but did us the honour ofstaying for a fortnight. He made his first appearance at dinner-time,and his knife and fork were wielded as effectively as if he had not usedthem during the preceding month. Until I saw O'Kelly feed, I had neverrealized the description of Major Dalgetty's laying in "provend" notonly to make good the dinner he should have eaten yesterday, but toprovide for the wants of to-day and to-morrow. In the course of theevening he exhibited other manifestations of industry and genius. Hecomplained of labouring under a cold, which he undertook to cure by apeculiar process. This was no less than by imbibing about a dozentumblers of hot and strong whiskey-punch, without moving from his seat.This, he assured us, was "a famous remedy for all distempers; good,"added he, "for a cure, and magnificent as a preventive." Hecondescended to inform us that, well or sick, this quantity was hisregular allowance after dinner--when he could get it.
He was loquacious in his cups. The subject of the Royal visit toIreland, in 1821, having been broached, O'Kelly produced a printedaccount of his own interview with the monarch. This, he told us, hadappeared in a newspaper called the Roscommon Gazette, and it was notdifficult to guess at whose instance it had gained publicity. Theaccount which he read for us was rather an improved edition, he said, ashis friend, the Roscommon editor, had ruthlessly cut out some of theadjectives and superlatives. What he read was to this effect,accompanied with his own running commentary of explanation and remark:--
"'THE BARD O'KELLY AND THE KING.'"
"You see, gentlemen, that I put myself first. Genius (he pronounced it_janius_) before greatness any day!
"When his Most Gracious Majesty King George the Fourth--whom God and Saint Patrick preserve!--paid his loving subjects a visit in August, 1821, the most eminent men of Ireland resorted to the metropolis to do him honour. Among them, was our distinguished and illustrious countryman, the Bard O'Kelly. Without _his_ presence, where would have been the crowning rose of the wreath of Erin's glory? And it is very creditable to His Majesty's taste, that his very first inquiry, on entering the Vice-regal lodge, in Ph[oe]nix Park, was after that honour to our country, our renowned Bard, to whose beautiful productions he had subscribed, for fifty copies, many years ago.
"Yes, gentlemen, he knew all about me. As he had inquired for _me_, Ithought I could not do less, in course of common civility, than indulge_him_ with the pleasure of a visit. But you shall hear:--
"When the Bard reached Dublin, and heard of His Majesty's most kind and friendly inquiries, he sent a most polite autograph note, written with his own hand, to Sir Benjamin Bloomfield, announcing his own arrival, wishing His Majesty joy on _his_, and requesting Sir Benjamin to appoint a day, mutually convenient to the many important engagements of the Poet and the Monarch, when an interview between these distinguished personages should take place. With that true politeness and chivalrous courtesy which adorn and distinguish the Bard, he notified that, the King being a stranger, the Bard was willing to waive ceremony, and wait upon him, to present a copy of his highly poetical poems, for fifty copies of which the Chevalier Ruspini had subscribed, on behalf of His Majesty, when Prince of Wales.
"Indeed, they were to have been dedicated to him, but, as yet, I havenot had but the one copy, which I have made up from the slips which havebeen separately printed, from time to time. Kind gentlemen, readingalways makes me drouthy;--may-be, one of ye will mix a tumbler forme?--not too strong of the water;--christen the spirit, but don't drownit. Ah, that will do! What a flavor it has!
"An answer was immediately sent by three servants in royal livery, requesting, if perfectly agreeable to O'Kelly, that he would do His Majesty the favour of a friendly visit, the next day at four o'clock.
"So I sent word to say that I'd be with him punctual. The next day Idressed myself very neat, put on my other shirt, gave my coat a brushing(a thing I don't often do, as it takes the nap off the cloth),brightened the brass buttons with a bit of chamois leather, went overthe seams with a little vinegar and ink, polished my boots, so thatyou'd see your likeness in them like a looking-glass, had myselfelegantly shaved, and to the King I went. But you shall hear:
"To this proposition the Bard politely assented, and went to the Castle of Dublin, at the appointed hour, the next day. There he sent his card to the King, with his compliments; and Sir Benjamin Bloomfield immediately came down the Grand Staircase, and, with a most gracious message from His Majesty, handed him a fifty-pound bank-note, as the royal subscription to his admirable poems.
"I won't deny that the sight and touch of the money were mightypleasant; but I said nothing. It was a larger sum than ever I had at anyone time before, for _my_ riches have always been of the head, ratherthan of the purse. I put the bank-note into my waistcoat-pocket,fastened it safely there with a pin I took out of my cuff, andthen--mind, not until _then_--I told Sir Benjamin----But I'll read it:
"O'Kelly (with that noble disregard for lucre which always distinguished our eminently patriotic, poetic, high-minded, much accomplished, and generous-hearted countryman) immediately told Sir Benjamin, that he would rather relinquish the money than abandon the anticipated pleasure of a personal interview with his Sovereign.
"Mind--I had the fifty pounds snug in my pocket all the while. You maybe certain that I wouldn't have spoken that way _before_ fingering thecash.
"On this most disinterested and loyal determination having been mentioned to His Majesty, he was so delighted with it, that he desired the Bard to be ushered instantly into the Grand Hall of Audience. This was done, and there the Most Noble the Marquis of Congynham had the honour of introducing His Majesty to the Poet.
"Wasn't it a grand sight! There was the King on his throne, and all thegreat officers of State standing around him. In one hand the King held asceptre of pure gold, and the other was stretched out to receive mybook. On his head he wore a crown of gold, studded all over with jewels,and weighing half a hundred weight, at the very least. On his breast, inthe place where a diamond star is usually represented in the portraits,His Majesty wore a bunch of shamrock, the size of a cauliflower. Nowyou'll hear what occurred:--
"Compliments being exchanged, the King descended from his throne, and had the pleasure of introducing the Marchioness of Conyngham, and all the other Ladies of the Bedchamber, to the Bard. His Majesty, then--returning to his throne, and insisting that the Bard should occupy an arm-chair by his right side--said, "Mr. O'Kelly"----"O'KELLY, without the _Mister_, if you please," said the Bard, "Your Majesty would not say Mr. Shakspeare or Mr. Milton." "True enough," said the King, "I sit corrected: I beg your pardon, O'Kelly. I should have known better. Well, then, O'Kelly, I am quite sure that I shall be delighted with your beautiful poems, when I've time to read them." To this the Bard replied, "Your Majesty never spoke a truer word. I believe they'd delight and instruct any one." At this intelligent, and most correct observation, his Majesty was pleased to smile. He then added, "I'm sorry to see, by your iron leg, that you are lame." O'Kelly, with that ready wit for which he is as remark
able as he is for his modesty, instantly replied, "If I halt in my leg, I don't in my verses, for
"If God one member has oppressed, He's made more perfect all the rest."
It is impossible for words to describe the thunders of applause by which this beautiful extempore impromptu was followed.
"I knew, well enough, that something smart would be expected from a manlike me; so I went prepared with several impromptus, to be introducedwhen the occasion would allow.
"His Majesty then said, "It is really remarkable that you, and my friend Walter Scott, should both be lame." The Bard replied, "And Lord Byron also." His Majesty then observed, "It is a wonderful coincidence--the three great poets of the three kingdoms." At the request of the Marquis of Conyngham, the Bard then made the following extemporaneous epigram on the spot, off hand, on this interesting subject: