The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1882-07-11


The London spectator had pathetic article,
not long, ago, wondering how it is the Irish
hate England SO. A reason of the same kind
as that which made the lamb love Mary SO
would not be far to seek. If it could not be
found in Froud's and other English historian s
perversions of Irish history, something might
be predicated on these pleasant notes OF Car
lyle's vacation run in Ireland, wantonly pub
lished by Froude, in which the Chelsea philos-
opher has depreciatory word for every one
for the ladies of the houses he dined at, for the
food set before him, for the climate and inns
(but these ara fair game) for the scenery (this
is unpardonable) and even for Killarney. To
use epithets falling far short of his own custom
airy terms for bluntness, he was gruf, sour,
Grabbed savage, under circumstances which
would soften any human heart. The Irish po-
tatoes had diminish, wearisome look" in
Dublin streets there was nothing "but an emp
ty whirl of cars, huekster carts, and other
trashery;" one whom he met was "boiled-
looking dignitary;" an eminent Dublin citizen
was ''wrinkly, half-ridiculous man." bis
hop esteemed by all has his portrait in this can
vas as a "red skinned face, with harsh gray
eyes," young barrister, afterwards as famous
ard wiser than Carlyle in UGH, was speci-
men of "mere animalism, big, bison. head, not
quite unbrutal;" another "claret drinking
gentleman had "clean-dirty face;" town
where he saw beggars, winged groups" he
called them, was 'like village in Dahomey;'
Carlyle would have been invaluable as speak
err in favor of coercion his advice was to lay a
ohearty horsewhip over Ireland's back" Some
BODY he blames for INDUCING in "ghastly fiat
terry of him; it must have been CHASTITY. He
was not afraid to tackle editors, "repale edi-
tors" as he styles them, "snutfy, low-bred, not
without energy" Even at Mt Melleray, after
partaking of excellent brown bread, milk and
butter, these even surly Saxon. could not
slight, he prononnces upon the monks-"food,
glory, dim notion of getting to heaven, too, !
suppose, these are motives enough Tor man OF
average Irish insight" In beautiful south
ern town which thinks no little OF itself, Car
Ivle finds sdingy, semi-savage populati on,
rough, ferce-faced, ragged" An "accursed
Boots af1icts him in one place, q "phantasm
in straw hat and rags talks the "sootiest nom
sense he ever heard IN another Funeral
oyertaken by us; the Irish howl totally dlsap-
pointing, no sorrow whatever in the tone OF IT,.
After this we are not further shocked to be told
that any part of Ireland is like drunk country
fallen down to sleep among the mud" Anoth-
er one of the violent Carlyleisms of these pages
pronounces "all religions that fell in with
in ireland too irreligious; really, in sad truth,
doing mischief to the people in place OF good. !"
What this may mean it is hard to say, but the
philosophy is made personal Immediately by an
attack on brandy-faced, pock-marked, very
ugly man, of Irish physiognomy," who was ac-
companied by wild-eyed SILL younger priest.
We hardly find single passably good natured
remark, not to say useful suggestion; even the
merry guard Of coach, whose humor might
better even a Scotch dyspeptic, is mere" gor-
gon face, weighed down with laziness, age and
fat" In Westport workhouse, "human swim
cry has here reached its acme" In the West
his wit repeats constantly DR.. McHale's name
as "John of Chume." Some sentences are
simply an atrocity; "Ghastly staring, new
Catholic chapel, true Irish Joss house on the
moor to left; the image of ennui, sore throat,
and hungry vain hope of dinner!" This was in
Donegal, and ultimately getting round to the
Giants Causeway, there are tourists "dabbl1ng
up and down about in boats Heaven be their
comforterI We seem to beiquite near the cause
way here, and it isn't worth mile to travel to
sec. :" Better scenery in Chelsea. Carlyle en-
banks for the Scottish side of the channel, and
there once more, he says, somes within sight
of fes ced fields, weeded crops and human crea-
lures with whole clothes on their backs; it was
as though one had got into spring water out OF
dunghiil puddles '"This is my whole reniem-
brance," writes the snarl, 'of the Irish tour,
plucked up, good deal of it, from the throat
Of fast advancing oblivion So wrote he on
the 10th of October, 1849. But what reason
was there for plucking up all this second
time from oblivion thirty-three years after
wards, and at a moment when stupid, careless
or malignant readers may even take 1t as pic
ture from present life? 1t was not a friendly
act to Ireland, and most decidedly IL Is not
friendly act to Carlyle.