CHARLEY CROFTS.
In the immortal "Maxims of O'Doherty," written by the late Dr. Maginn,mention is made of a dinner at the late Lord Doneraile's, in the Southof Ireland, in which a reproof was administered to his Lordship'smeanness in the article of--tippling. He says, "My friend, CharleyCrofts, was also of the party. The claret went lazily round the table,and his Lordship's toad-eaters hinted that they preferred punch, andcalled for hot water. My Lord gave in, after a humbug show ofresistance, and whiskey-punch was in a few minutes the order of thenight. Charley, however, to the annoyance of the host, kept swillingaway at the claret, on which Lord Doneraile lost all patience, and saidto him, 'Charley, you are missing quite a treat; this punch is soexcellent.' 'Thank ye, my Lord,' said Charley, 'I am a plain man, whodoes not want trates; I am no epicure, so I stick to the claret.'"
This free-and-easy gentleman, of whom I have some personal recollection,belonged to a class of which, I suspect, he was the very latestspecimen. Charley Crofts, who had acquired no book-learning, because hewas born to a large landed property, was of a respectable family in thewest of the county Cork, and, even in his decline, was highly honouredby the multitude, as coming from "the good ould stock." Brought up, butnot educated, by his mother, Charley entered the world with veryflattering prospects. He had a good property, good looks, good temper,and (what he most prized) good horses. Cursed with an easy disposition,he had never learned how to utter the monosyllable "No," but hadunfortunately learned how to sign his name--his friends kindly givinghim very frequent opportunities of practicing that autograph, byobtaining it, across narrow slips of stamped paper, ('yclept "bills" and"promissory notes") underneath the words "_Accepted, payable at the Bankof James Delacour, Mallow_." In the long run, these autographs ruinedhim--as, bit-by-bit, all his property went to meet the sums to whichthey pledged him, and Charley Crofts found himself, at the age ofthirty, without home or money. He had preserved one thing, however--hispersonal character. He had committed a great many of the frailties ofhis sex and youth, but the shadow of a disreputable or doubtful actionnever rested on his name. He could proudly say, like Francis the First,after the battle of Pavia, "All lost, except honour."
The result was that, in his poverty, he was as highly thought of as inhis affluence, and was ever a welcome guest in the first houses of hisnative county.
Like the rest of his class, (I mean the estated Irish gentlemen of thelast century,) Charley Crofts had learned to drink deeply. He used tonarrate, with great glee, an incident connected with his entrance intovivacious habits. His mother, having occasion to leave their countryresidence, in order to transact some business in Cork, left her hopefulson in full possession of the house and full command of the servants,for the fortnight she intended being absent. Charley, who was then inhis sixteenth year, determined that he would hold no powerless sceptreof vice-royalty, and invited sundry acquaintances to visit him, whichthey did. As a hogshead of fine claret was always on tap, there was nodifficulty in obtaining an adequate supply of drink. One day, however, aguest happened to express a desire to vary the post-prandial proceedingsby the introduction of a few bottles of port. Now, it happened that Mrs.Crofts possessed (and was known to possess) some remarkably fine portwine, which she carefully kept locked up, reserving it for "State daysand holidays." Charley had been left the key of the cellar, and,considering that his hospitality was especially appealed to, by the hintabout the port, went down and had a supply brought up. That afternoon'sperformance went rather hard against the port. Indeed, so much of it wasdrank that Charley Crofts was puzzled how to account for it, withoutmaking full confession. A few days after his mother's return, she askedhim to accompany her to the cellar, to provide a suitable location for asupply of sherry which she expected from Cork. The first thing whichattracted her notice was the remarkable diminution in the stock of hervalued and nearly unique port wine. Catching her eye, Charleyanticipated her inquiry, by remarking that, in her absence, a remarkablethunder-storm had penetrated to the cellar and broken a quantity of thebottled wine. Taking up two or three of the bottles, and fully awarethat it would be useless to repine or get angry over the mischief done,she drew her hopeful son's attention to them, and only said, "A dreadfulstorm, indeed! It has actually drawn the corks out of the necks of thebottles, instead of bursting them in the usual way!"
For the last five-and-thirty years of his life, Charley Crofts may besaid to have literally _lived all around_. He had a number of triedfriends, who were glad to have him as their guest and boon companion,for a month at a time. He could tell a good story, knew the privatehistory of every family in the county, was undoubted authority onhorseflesh and every subject connected with the sports of the field, andcould take any quantity of wine without its apparently affecting him.Nature had endowed him with great muscular power, immense physicalstrength, a temper which nothing could cloud, and a mode of expressionso terse as sometimes to be almost epigrammatic. He was exactlyqualified for the shifting sort of life upon which he had fallen.
When I met him, the brighter portion of his career had passed. He wasbut the wreck of what he once had been, I was assured by every one; butone may judge, from the ruin, what the structure had been in its pride.Numerous anecdotes were afloat as to his sayings and doings, but it isdifficult to realize their effect in our days, unless you could imaginethe person on whom they were affiliated. Though I fear that I shall failin the attempt, I shall endeavour to record two or three.
As a four-bottle man, who could drink every one else under the table,Charley Crofts was not so much of a favourite with wives as with theirhusbands. They knew, by experience, that with Charley Crofts in the van,a wet evening might be looked for--in the dining-room.
Mr. Wrixon, of Ballygiblin, near Mallow, (father of Sir W.Wrixon-Becher, who married Miss O'Neill, the eminent actress,) had onlya small hereditary property when he succeeded to vast estates, oncondition that he superadded the name of "Becher" to his own patronymic.As plain Mr. Wrixon, with a small property, he had lived unnoticed, buthis circle of friends immensely increased when he became Mr.Wrixon-Becher, and a man of "Ten Thousand a Year." Soon after, hemarried an English lady, with some fortune, much pride, a fair share ofbeauty, and a decided abhorrence of the drinking habits of her husband'sfriends. She had heard of, and had been cautioned against, the vivaciousenormities of Charley Crofts, and had actually declared to her husband(in private, of course) that whenever Mr. Crofts took a seat at hertable, she would immediately relinquish hers.
One day, when Wrixon had been out with the Duhallow hounds, and the runhad been quick and long, the only man who was in with him "at thedeath," was Charley Crofts, and under the circumstances--the rainbeginning to fall heavily, Crofts' place of sojourn being at least tenmiles distant, and Ballygiblin at hand,--Wrixon felt that he _must_invite Charley home, or rest under the imputation of behaving in anunsportsmanlike and inhospitable manner.
So, he told Charley that half a dozen other good fellows were to take"pot-luck" with him that day, and that he must insist on Charley'sjoining them. Without any pressing or denial, the invitation wasaccepted.
Now, Charley Crofts knew, just as well as if he had been present whenthe affair was discussed, how and why it was that, of all the houses inthe barony of Duhallow, the mansion of Ballygiblin was the only one towhich he had not a general invitation. Wrixon, the moment he reachedhome, turning over his companion to the friendly custody of a mutualacquaintance, who was to form one of the party that day, hastened to"his lady's chamber," where he found his wife dressed for dinner, and(as her glass told her) looking remarkably well. A few well-expressedand well-timed compliments on her appearance, a congratulation or two onher exquisite taste in dress, a half-hint and half-promise as to thekilling effect of a set of pearl in contrast with her ebon looks, andmore "blarney" of the same sort, made the lady so very gracious that thehusband ventured to communicate under what circumstances he had beencompelled to invite Charley Crofts to her table. The lady took them, asthey sometimes do in French
courts of justice, as "extenuatingcircumstances," and consented to receive the dreaded Charley. This done,she found her way into the drawing-room, where the guests waited uponher--the most subdued and quiet of them being Charley Crofts. At first,with his grave air and grave attire, she thought that he might have beena clergyman.
As the only stranger in the party, Charley had to escort Mrs. Wrixon tothe dining-room, to sit next her, to perform the duties of carving forher, to supply her with a little of the small change of conversation.Nobody could behave more decorously, more unlike the lady's fearfulanticipations of the dreaded guest. Now and then, when addressed by hisfriends, a quaint remark or a satiric witticism would make her smile,and convince her that the dangerously seductive companionable characterof her guest had not been undeservedly obtained. On the whole, she hadevery reason to think him very much of a gentleman, and graciouslysmiled on him when she quitted the table.
"You have conquered her, by Jove," exclaimed Wrixon. "Not yet," saidCharley, "but in a fair way for it." The wine went round. Theconversation branched off into its usual channels, and settled, at last,upon a meet of the hounds which was to take place on Mr. Wrixon'sproperty, at which all the company present would attend.
In the middle of the discussion, one of the footmen duly announced thathis lady was waiting for them, with tea and coffee, in the drawing-room.Heretofore, in that house, such an announcement had always been a merematter of form. Not so now. Charley Crofts started up and proceeded toobey the summons. "Nonsense!" they all exclaimed. "Don't turn milksop.No one ever goes to tea or coffee in this house." "Say what you may,"said Charley, "the lady shall not have to complain of my want ofpoliteness."
In the drawing-room, sooth to say, no gentleman had been expected, andMrs. Wrixon was taking a solitary cup of tea. She was an admirablemusician, and was playing "Gramachree" (that saddest of all Irish airs)just as Charley reached the door. Now, music was among the things whichhe thoroughly understood and appreciated, and the moment that he heardher exquisite execution on the harp he paused, spell-bound, listeningwith rapt attention and delight, while the pathos of the air drew tearsfrom eyes all unaccustomed to the melting mood. When she had concluded,she turned round, saw the effect which she had produced, and (need I sayit) was flattered at that proof of her skill.
Quickly recovering himself, Charley Crofts informed her that he had thepleasure of accepting the invitation she had sent into the dining-room.Tea was accordingly provided, and the conversation naturally fell uponmusic. Charley happened to be a first rate flutist, and having mentionedin what a delightful manner the flute and harp went together, either toaccompany the voice or without, Mrs. Wrixon sent for her husband'sflute, and allowed him to show her how correctly he had spoken.Presently, she even sang to the double accompaniment, and her husbandand his friends, curious to know how Crofts was getting on, having nowadjourned from their wine, found him thus engaged.
Meanwhile, in intervals of from three to five minutes, Charley Croftshad gulphed down successive, and almost countless, cups of tea. Againand again had the tea-pot been replenished--and emptied. At last, quitetired out, Mrs. Wrixon said, half in sport, half in earnest, "I am sure,Mr. Crofts, that I never gave you credit for being such a determinedtea-drinker. As my hand is rather tired, may I beg that you will helpyourself?"
"Madam," said Charley, with imposing gravity, "I am a plain man. I donot prefer tea to other liquids. You were so good as to send for us totea. I always obey a lady's summons when I can, and came hither. I amaccustomed, for years past, to take a certain quantity of fluid afterdinner. I care not what that fluid may be, so that I have my _quantum_.Ale, punch, wine, or, as now, even this tea. I can help myself to theother liquids, but tea has no flavor unless it be poured out by a lady'sfair hand!"
Mrs. Wrixon, perceiving that she was fairly caught, exclaimed, "Well,Mr. Crofts, I think that I must leave you to take what you please in thedining-room, but whenever you want a little music you can have it here,and I only hope my husband will treat you so well that you willfrequently give me the pleasure of seeing you under this roof."
This was the manner in which Charley Crofts conquered Madam Wrixon, theproud, high-bred lady. Good friends they continued unto her dying day,and Charley would rather hear her play the harp, as she only could playit, (he fancied,) than assist at the broaching of the finest pipe ofclaret that ever was smuggled over from Bordeaux.
Mr. Wrixon, albeit a man of unbounded generosity, had one _leetle_drawback. He would give sumptuous entertainments; he paid the chiefexpenses of the Duhallow Hunt; he indulged his wife in all luxuries ofattire and adornment; he had a passion for beautiful horses and costlyequipages; he was liberal in his charities; he acted as banker for manyof his poorer friends who were of the lackland genus; he seemed to flingmoney away, though, indeed, he was by no means a spendthrift; but theone little "blot" in his tables (I mean, in his character) was afeverish anxiety to economize on such mere trifles as _cream andbutter_!
So it was, however. His friends were at once amused and rendereduncomfortable by it. It interfered with the perfection of their tea andcoffee, and always prevented their taking a desired quantity ofbread-and-butter. To allude to this matter, to show the slightestconsciousness of Mr. Wrixon's peculiar idiosyncrasy, in this respect,was what his friends never ventured upon. They were not the less anxiousto have it removed.
They determined that Charley Crofts should be the amputator. The nextday, at a very early breakfast, preparatory to their taking the fieldwith the fox-hounds, a lively party assembled at Mr. Wrixon's table, inunexceptionable red coats, enviable buckskins, irreproachable top-boots,and the ordinary skull-caps covered with black velvet, which, from timeimmemorial, formed the costume of the members of the Duhallow Hunt;"the most sportingest set of gentlemen," I once heard a peasant say"that mortial eyes did ever look upon."
The breakfast included all that should constitute the matutinal meal ofa party of keen sportsmen about to cross the country at break-neckspeed--all, except cream and butter, of which, as usual, there was a_minimum_ supply, very much short of what might be expected from a dairyof over twenty milch cows. Charley Crofts, as this was his first visit,might be supposed to be in ignorance of his host's feelings upon thatpoint. At all events, he acted as if he were.
The cream and butter were placed close by Mr. Wrixon--the supply for aparty of nine or ten consisting of a very small ewer-full of the former,and two or three _pats_ of the latter, each about the size of apenny-piece. As if it were a matter of course, Charley, having put theneedful quantities of tea into his cup, filled it up with the entirecontents of the cream-ewer, and, at the same time, put all the butterupon his plate. Mr. Wrixon, startled by such invasion of his favourites,feebly desired one of the servants to bring "a _little_ more cream and a_little_ more butter."
By the time the fresh supply was on the table, Charley Crofts hademptied his cup and eaten his toast. He lost no time in appropriatingthe prized articles, as before, chatting away with his usual_nonchalance_, as if he had done nothing uncommon. Mr. Wrixon, sittinglike one astonied, watched the disappearance of the second supply, andordered a third replenishment, which went the way of the preceding.Rising in his chair, he addressed the butler and exclaimed, "John,desire that _all_ the cream and butter in the dairy be brought up, Ithink we shall have need of the whole of it." Turning to Crofts, heemphatically said, "I have heard of eating bread-and-butter, butCharley, _you eat butter and bread_." By this time the laugh which arosegave him the pleasant information that he was _sold_. From that hour hewas as liberal with his cream and butter, as he previously had been withevery other article in his mansion. He never was able to ascertainwhether Charley Crofts had been put up to the trick, or had simply hitthe nail by accident.
Charley Crofts did not confine his visits to the gentry in his nativecounty of Cork. In the decline of his fortunes--indeed, as long as hewas able to do anything--he always was possessor of a gem or two in theway of horseflesh. For many years, his income was almost wholly d
erivedfrom the sale of horses, out of which he obtained a large profit, and itwas known that any animal which he sold or vouched for might be dependedon. In the way of business, having disposed of a fine hunter to one ofthe family, who was sportingly inclined, he had to pass a few days atthe house of Mr. Lyons, of Croom, in the county of Limerick. This oldman had acquired a vast fortune by following the business of a grazier,and had invested large sums in the purchase of landed estates. His sons,determined to cut a figure in the county, indulged in all manner ofexcess and extravagance. At the time of Charley Crofts' visit, theyissued cards for a splendid _dejeuner a la fourchette_, to which theleading people of the district were invited. As Charley Crofts was onintimate terms with everybody who had pretensions to notice, the Lyonsfamily, in solemn conclave assembled, determined that it would be asagacious and politic move to get him to officiate as a somethingbetween Major Domo and Master of the Ceremonies at the intendedfestival. Desiring no better fun, he cheerfully consented.
The attendance on the gala day was what the newspapers would describe as"full and fashionable." Many went from curiosity, to see in what mannerthe _parvenu_ would attempt "to ape his betters"--_i.e._, themselves.Several attended, because they owed money to old Lyons (who did a littlein _bills_ after abandoning _beef_), and did not like to affront him bynot accepting his invitation. A good many went, because they had heardthat "all the world and his wife" would be present, and a jovial daymight be anticipated.
Thanks to Charley Crofts' _surveillance_, the entertainment, well gotup, went off admirably.
Among the more aristocratic guests was the Lady Isabella Fitzgibbon,sister to that Earl of Clare who was the schoolfellow and friend mosttenderly and lastingly loved by Byron. At that time she was a fine youngwoman. She is now a stern old maid--like the odd half of a pair ofscissors, of no use to herself or any body else. Lady Isabella affectedto look down, with some degree of superciliousness, upon themillionaire's hospitality. Having probably laid in a good supply ofmutton chops or beef steaks before she went out, she pointedly neglectedthe delicacies of the season, which were abundantly supplied, and merelytrifled with a lobster-salad. Old Lyons, who had a great respect forgood feeding, and particularly for substantials, turned round to her, asshe sat by his side, the image of aristocraticaldon't-care-a-pin-for-all-the-world-ativeness, and kindly said, "Ah,then, my lady, why don't you take some of the good beef and mutton, thecapons and the turkeys, and don't be after filling your stomach withthat cowld cabbage!"
The high-born _dama_ nearly fainted at what she considered the vulgargood-nature of her host. Soon after, when she had recovered from theshock, she said that she thought she would have a little bread andbutter. Immediately opposite her, and within reach of Old Lyons, was acrystal bowl in which floated sundry little _pats_ of that deliciousbutter for which the county Limerick is famed. Lyons made several vainefforts to spear one of these with a fork, at last, finding that it wasimpossible to make the capture in that manner, he raised up hiscoat-sleeve, tucked up the wrist-band of his shirt, and plunging hishand into the bowl, with the exclamation, 'Ha, you little jumpingJennies, I am determined to have you now," secured two pieces of thebutter, which he triumphantly deposited on his noble guest's plate, withthe words, "There, my lady, when I took the matter _in hand_, I knew Imust succeed."
Charley Crofts departed this life some twenty years ago. The close ofhis career was passed in Cove, where he lived upon an annuity providedby the liberality of some of his former friends. His health had failedhim, suddenly, a few years before, and he who had been wont "to set thetable in a roar," for nearly forty years, subsided into a querulousvaletudinarian. He published his Autobiography, shortly before hisdeath, and it deserves mention as one of the dullest of its class, asfar as I recollect, (it is a long time since I yawned over it,) thesubject matter chiefly consisted of fierce personalities directedagainst sundry relatives who, he said, had cheated him out of hisproperty.
To the very last, Charley Crofts could give graphic narratives of hisformer career and companions, but the moment he attempted to _write_them down, their spirit wholly evaporated.
IRISH PUBLICISTS.