grimy, servile labour for subsistence, even in Arcadia.
Attired in jauntily worn but battered hats, brass buttoned blue dress-coats, of the era of the gracious George IV., corduroy continuations, worsted hose, and huge brogues, worthy of the admiration of the sedate American; under the officious guidance of the predatory tribe usually besetting strangers, they reach those dens of the poor Irish that the authorities have vainly sought to cleanse. In all the large American cities the incautious stranger is apt to stumble unawares on some foul neighbourhood, which—after escaping from the impure intricacies wherein he was entangled, as in the cunning meshes of a net—he ascertains to be the abode of negroes, Irish, and the other Pariahs of society. As in some parts of Europe and the East a particular quarter of a city is allotted to the Jewish tribe, which the Gentiles scrupulously avoid, so, in Arcadia, the Irish have their appropriate Ghetto; and thither those unwary passengers by the Albatross, who are without friends to welcome them to the New World and receive them to their homes, are led to be pillaged.
Received by the host with a facile smile as treacherous as the many tinted radiance of the decanters ostentatiously adorning the bar, which is essential in these establishments, the strangers abandon themselves to enjoyment. But all pleasures fade, and a few days exhaust at once their means and the graciousness of their entertainer. Spurred by his taunts they look around for employment, and learn with surprise that, to those constituting the mass of the immigrants, it is as difficult of attainment in New York as in Dublin. As the larder of a Spanish inn, while promising so much, yields on investigation only pan y uevos, bread and eggs; so, beyond their readiness and need to work, their qualifications are generally expressible in one word—muscle.
As the Celt is gregarious and prone to herding with his folk in the squalid recesses of towns in place of inhaling pure country air, the pauper population of the great American cities receives constant accessions of those who prefer dwelling in a state of indolent and vicious destitution—alarming to the statesman and philanthropist—to earnest and systematic exertion. These depend on fortuitous labour round the docks and markets, and may be found drinking poisonous liquors, when they have money, at vile groggeries—feeding al fresco on broken victuals, and burrowing at night like rats in some dilapidated building, or reposing in the markets or on the wharves.
Some, more thrifty and decorous, gradually insinuate themselves into permanent employment. Larry is invested with the charge of a dray or hand-cart; Con ascends a hackney-coach box; Dennis is initiated into the Plutonian mysteries of a foundry; Micky devotes himself to stone cutting; and Phelim sweats under the burden of the hod. These attain in time a more or less reputable status as citizens; they marry and beget children; they carouse after their labours; they take a riotous share in municipal affairs, and show their fitness for political liberty by selling their votes to the best bidder. On gala days, attended by a brass band, and armed as the law directs, they parade under the Irish flag in the showy uniform of that gallant volunteer corps, the “Irish Green;” they vituperate the Protestantism of their tolerant fellow-citizens; they howl patriotically for war with tyrannical England; they contribute lavishly to support their clergy; and dying in the odour of sanctity, they are succeeded by sons ignorant and narrow-minded as themselves.
Others turn with distaste from the restraints of urban life. Murtough, tying up his few chattels in a kerchief, turns his back contemptuously on the busy city; and, cutting a “bit ov a shtick” from the first hedge, with a short black pipe in his mouth, trusting like the young ravens to Providence for his food, he seeks fresh fields and pastures new. Little knots of these “boys” are frequently to be seen in the interior, in the enjoyment of a desolate freedom, leading a careless gipsy life, part predatory, part eleemosynary: reposing at noon under shady trees with their pipes in their mouths, and at night slumbering sweetly in accidental barns. Murtough travels thus from village to factory, from canal to railroad, ready to turn his hands to any drudgery. He seldom remains long in one place, he knows not the endearments of a home, but leads a vagrant, animal existence, without books or enlightenment; living from hand to mouth by hardest labour, varied by an occasional ferocious fight or wild carouse; generous but reckless, until, his fine physical frame exhausted by toil and irregular habits, he expires in some public hospital or on the road-side, and is interred like a beggar. Sad end to so much that was noble!
Repelled by the hardships of such a career, with the Celtic aptitude to arms, others sigh for military comfort. Tall, athletic, and good-looking, Brian finds no difficulty in enlisting; is arrayed in the blue uniform of the Republic, shown how to discriminate between his hands, taught to face to the right or left, and is marched to glory. Here his wants are abundantly provided for without trouble to himself: the pay is liberal, the duties not too onerous; if the discipline be severe, the morality is agreeably lax; little peccadillos that affect only himself are viewed more leniently than in civil life: provided he punctiliously respects the articles of war, and infringe not the military code, keeping wisely on the windy side of the law, Brian may drink, wench, gamble, and fight without reproof. So fascinating is this easy life, that the Irish constitute half of the American army, and thus contribute directly to the aggrandisement of the State.
The simple agricultural life is unattractive to the Celt. He is repelled by toils requiring patience and forethought so foreign to his nature. Rural scenes charm him not; he shuns solitude, and is superstitiously averse to that austere shadow and silence of the vast American forests grateful to earnest and reflective minds.
Perhaps compelled to fly from cities by some misunderstanding with his old enemy the law, Patrick may occasionally retreat to the frontier, and, boldly squatting anywhere, apply himself, under the spur of necessity, to clearing a small patch of ground, and erecting thereon a sheltering hovel. This effected, he sits down to enjoy him-