Punch (10.1846)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 235

A VISIT TO THE MARTYR BY THE '82 CLUB.

" Green to the green."

deputation of the members of
the '82 Club has visited Martyr
Smith O'Brien ; never was
cellar fuller of the very finest
Irish spirits. We bmsh, how-
ever, for the levity of some of
our contemporaries, who have
treated the affecting incident—
an incident to be some day fres -
coed on the walls of an Irish
House of Parliament—with a
ridicule approaching the heart-
less. They have sneered at the
Martyr as a theatrical Jupiter
Tonans: for all the world as if
his terrible thunder-bolts were
of no heavier metal than block-
tin. They have (for purposes
best known to themselves) pub-
lished a garbled account of the
eloquence that, like Shaks-
peare's and Jonson's wit at
the Devil Tavern, has left a
spirit in the very walls of the
cellar. Being desirous of setting
the Martyr right with an impatient and sympathising world, we
applied to the heroic sufferer himself, who, with an urbanity second
only to his patriotism, has favoured us with the true account of the
proceedings. With an inexpressible emotion of pride we subjoin it :—
" Yesterday a deputation of the glorious and invincible '82 Club
waited upon the Irish Martyr in his Saxon dungeon. The Martyr
was seated on a turned-up kilderkin, immersed in the wrongs of his
country. In his right hand he held a toothpick, by means of which
he had just inscribed on his dungeon wall—

' Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not—
&c, &c, &c, &c. V

" At his feet lay a pewter-pot, on which he had engraved the monster-
meeting on the Hill of Tara. It may be remembered that Baron
Trench occupied his captive hours in a somewhat similar manner ;
his cups at the present time bearing a high price in Prussia. Need
we hint the belief that the Martyr's pewter-pots will be bought up at
any sum by the men of Limerick ? However, to the deputation. No
sooner did the sample half-dozen find themselves in the cellar, than
they all sought to rush into the arms of the Martyr. Alas ! his heart,
like an omnibus, would hold any number,—but he could only take to
his arms one at a time. The deputation felt themselves as much
moved as possible in so small a place. Some of them clenched their
fists, and, with heaving breasts, and eyes smouldering with latent fire,
indignantly surveyed the walls of the cell. They spoke no word ;
but it was evident that they all internally exclaimed —' What
a cell !'

At length one of the six, wiping his eyes and using his handker-
chief, proceeded to read the address .—

"'To William Smith O'Brien, Esq., M.P.

"' Beloved Martyr,—We, the most verdant specimens of the Green
Isle, your brethren of the '82, have to address you in feelings of inex-
pressible delight and sympathy, on seeing you incarcerated in the
prison of the Saxon. Oh! is it not a heart-cheering sight to behold
you here, the defying victim of a tyrant Legislature ? We have con-
templated—deeply contemplated—the condition of a Regulus inside a
barrel of spikes. But how poor, how little, how very small-beerish
the comparison of a Regtjlus in a kilderkin, for the sake of barbarian
Rome, to a William Smith O'Brien, Esq., M.P., on a kilderkin, for
dispassionate, enlightened, and all too meek and gentle Ireland ! Oh, in
thinking of your great descent, and seeing you here in this ignominious
cellar—(only that the lustre of your virtues gives a gas-light radiance
to its gloom)—the imagination reverts to the picture of the poet, and
the tongue is forced to exclaim, whether it will or no,—

' May we not trace the noble dust of William S.mith O'Brien, Esq., M.P.,
Till we find it stopping a bung-hole ? '

"' Your country, sir, feels for your martyrdom, and whilst she weeps

over it, glories in it. She feels for your sufferings, your privations,
and is resolved to mark her sympathy by abstinence and self-mortifi-
cation. Until Smith O'Brien is free from the manacle of the Saxon,
the '82 Club have registered a vow to drink claret only of an inferior
vintage, to eschew venison, confining themselves to penitential
haunch of mutton ; and, further, if they take soup at all, touchingly
and significantly to illustrate their feelings, by entirely abstaining from
real turtle, and enjoying only the mock !

"' And think not, illustrious Martyr, your countrywomen are indiffe-
rent to your claims. The brightest diamonds in the crown of the
Saxon—(if, indeed, they are diamonds and not paste, the only real
thing in it being the emerald stolen from Ireland)—its brightest
diamonds, or paste, are dim and worthless as pewter to the tears that
have gemmed the eyes of your countrywomen, thinking of your
wrongs. But your name, magnanimous martyr, has hymned their
infants to sleep,—your name is inscribed not only on the hearts, but on
the hearth-stones of the daughters of Erin!

'"Illustrious sufferer—no, perish the word !—rejoicing Martyr, your
countrywomen, by us, have a supplication to make. They pray for—
a lock of your hair ! Whether that lock, divided into threads, will be
made to mark their pocket-handkerchiefs—whether, like the Danish
raven, it will be worked in a national banner "to flout the sky"
against the Saxon—or, a fireside memento, be worked into kettle-
holders—it is not for us precipitately to anticipate. Kettle-holders,
from their frequent connection with hot water, might possibly be
thought the better vehicle.

"' Glorious Martyr !—we congratulate you that you are here. Sur-
veying your dungeon, it is with swelling hearts we feel that you have
won it well, and, for the glory of Ireland, may you keep it long !"

«1 (Signed)

-' &c &c'

" The Martyr then proceeded to read an answer to the address. ' I
am proud (he said) of these walls : prouder of them than of the tapes-
tried chambers of kings. {Great sensation.') I am resolved to add
another to the list of Martyrs for Old Ireland. It is not for me in this
place, at this time, to speak of my sufferings. It is not for me to
inform you that I am particularly fond of Burgundy ; but, out of
hatred to the dastardly Saxon, have confined myself to Port ! My
favourite bit of chicken is the merry-thought. But, I ask it—is this
a place for the enjoyment of merry thoughts, when my country is
bleeding ? No. Here, all I wish to take is wings. I own it; I am
madly fond of a fine Havannah. But, in the vault of the Saxon, I
scorn to take aught beyond a penny Cuba ! {Another sensation.') I
glory in my privations ; but I am too proud to speak of them. Other-
wise, I might tell you—and through you tell shuddering Ireland—that
I have renounced the common luxury of a boot-jack ; and in lieu of
that most domestic instrument, every night make use of the rail of a
chair ! {Here some of tlie deputation wept.)

" 'My countrywomen ask a lock of my hair. Had they asked my
head they should have had it ; for I would gladly lay my head in the
lap of my country. {Here ihe Martyr, taking up a table-knife, cut off
several locks, and delivered them to the deputation.) O'Connell has
been called the Moses of Ireland : be it my humble fame to be called
the Sampson of Erin. Here, until my country is righted, will I
remain : and from this dungeon will I send hair enough to stuff the
chairs and sofas of Green Ireland—so that the beauty of her daughters
may repose upon the strength of her Martyr.

" ' And, brethren, fear not. When the time shall come, the Irish
Sampson will be more than a match for the Saxon ; and, further,
fear not, while I live and speak, that, like Sampson, I shall ever want
a weapon for the annihilation of the Philistines.'

" Here the Martyr's hair was ceremoniously tied up with a bunch of
green ribbons, and put in the breast-pocket—' nearest his heart'—of
one of the deputation. Mutual embraces again took place, and the j
deputation withdrew. Whereupon, the Martyr again turned his face '
to the wall, and with his toothpick proceeded to inscribe —' First
flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea.'"

Entertainments for next Wnitsiantlde.

Mr. Smith O'Brien, as long as he is confined in the cellar, intends
giving a series of " at homes." His funniest assumption will be that of
a Martyr.

Newb for Bons Vivants. — The next Meeting of the British
Association for the Advancement of Science is fixed for the 10th of
September.

Vol. 10.

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