652 Memoirs of a Bashful Irishmen. QDec. 



Such timely encouragement roused all the orator within me. The 

 generous spirit of a Demosthenes swelled my bosom ; Cicero banished 

 ^sculapius ; the patriot discrowned the physician. 



Still, even with such brilliant prospects before me, I was at times de- 

 pressed and nervous. I could not but feel that my finances, like a lady's 

 waist, were growing " small by degrees, and beautifully less," and that 

 such diminution would, perforce, continue until it terminated in positive 

 invisibility. I felt, too, that eloquence, though it improved the pa- 

 triotism, had but little effect on the pocket. In this dilemma I resolved 

 to essay the law. When, however, I came to reflect on the preliminaries 

 necessary to such legal distinction, on the absence of conscience, and the 

 presence of cash, that it required ; moreover, when I considered that, 

 without impudence, a lawyer is as " sounding brass, or a tinkling 

 cymbal," I felt, with a sigh, that the defects of nature were insu- 

 perable. 



I have observed, that I was highly appreciated as an orator at the 

 Catholic Association. This is strictly true, as also that my reputation 

 reached even as far as Ballynabrogue, an unfortunate circumstance, 

 inasmuch as it brought my wife to town before I was ready to receive 

 her. Nathless, our meeting, on the whole, was cordial, and would have 

 been more so, had it taken place under happier auspices. But worn 

 down with penury, though brimful of patriotism, no wonder I was a 

 trifle less uxorious than, in the fond simplicity of her heart, my wife had 

 been led to imagine. 



It has been well said, when misfortune pops in at the door, love pops 

 out at the window. This was precisely my case. The very day after 

 Mrs. O'Blarny's arrival, when we were both sitting at breakfast, over a 

 slice of cold ham with a facing of white fat, a couple of immense bailiffs 

 broke in upon our meditations, at the very moment that, by a singular 

 fatality, 1 broke out at the back window. Would the reader know 

 the reason of this very disreputable intrusion } He shall have it 

 in a word. But first I must go back a little in my narrative. On 

 the tenth day of my arrival in Dublin, when my exchequer was in such a 

 consumptive condition, that, according to the Horatian adage, I might 

 safely sing before a footpad, I began seriously to meditate on the best 

 method of restoring it to pecuniary convalescence. While thus ab- 

 stracted, it suddenly occurred to me, that as the professorships of the 

 London University yet remained to be filled up, I might possibly obtain 

 one of them. No sooner did this idea cross my brain, than I wrote a 

 long letter to Brougham, in which, after stating my intellectual capabi- 

 lities, I proposed myself as a professor for whatever branch of knowledge 

 he might feel inclined to appoint me to. I added, that though I did not 

 object to teach mathei.iatics, metaphysics, chemistry, moral philosophy, 

 jurisprudence, political economy, sculpture, painting, oratory, languages, 

 or even dancing, yet that my learning lay chiefly in the belles letlres, 

 including, together with the ancient tongues, the literature of the middle 

 ages and the nineteenth century. By return of post I received an answer 

 to this application, in which, after complimenting me, in the most flatter- 

 ing terms, on my modesty, the illustrious statesman declined my services, 

 on the plea that they would excite the envy of the London candidates. 

 The letter concluded with the best wishes for my welfare, and was satis- 

 factory in every respect, but that it cost eighteen-pence postage. 



