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Thus have the marvels of geology, aided by the sister sciences, unfolded to us the gradual preparation of the world for man. For some millions of years has the globe been preparing for his advent. For some thousands only can we trace his appearance since the Tertiary era closed!

But from the first occur chasms in the series of ascending stages which warn us that life upon this planet is not selfsustained. And if geology disclose breaks in her apparently uniform countenance-just as the uniformity of history is interrupted by miracles which herald and attest the coming of the Son of God-if the occurrence of what scientists call 'sport' seem to interfere with the mechanical evolution of species-if the presence of genius prove the superiority of mind to matter if the world of spirits have at last been allowed to be not explained by the world of sense-perceptions-then the divine faculty of speech in man-nay, of conscience, reason, will-must for ever separate him from the brute.

And if it be true, as Huxley maintains, that all modern thinking goes back to Descartes, whom Hallam proclaimed the first metaphysician of his age, then to Descartes let us go. From the intuitive conceptions of man's mind Descartes postulated an eternal, infinite, intelligent First Cause in God, Whose power he deemed as necessary for the preservation as for the creation of this world. Thus has philosophy come to the aid of science, and metaphysics taken up the thread at the point where it was dropped by physics. Thus, and thus only, do the several parts of the creation reconcile themselves into that ordered whole which has man for its crowning-point and God for its goal. Deny this, and the grim logic of a remorseless fatalism grasps us in the iron embrace of an irremediable despair. Grant this, and the scheme of a purely physical evolution, of a stream of tendencies without design-a concourse of atoms without a purpose-vanishes into air.

A. H. T. CLARKE.

HUMOURS OF IRISH SERVANTS

I BELIEVE that in the years that have gone by since I left Ireland the world below stairs in that country has changed a good deal, and has even become rather dull and commonplace, and in many ways assimilated to English manners and customs. Yet even now there are to be found here and there throughout the country a few Irish servants of the old school. In the following article I can, anyhow, fall back upon memories of bygone days.

Let me for once disregard the golden rule of Women first,' by beginning with a brief account of the most remarkable servingman I have ever known. This was a certain Edward Edge, who was 'on the gate,' as he himself phrased it, for twenty-five years at St. Patrick's Deanery, my old home in Dublin. The following extracts are mostly taken from Edgiana, a collection of some of the sayings of Edward Edge, compiled by my brother, H. H. West, and privately printed.

Edge was born in the County Wicklow of old Protestant stock -'a rale ould Prodesan' County Wickla' family,' some of whom had come over wid William' to the Siege of Derry. Some of the name rose to high position, and some even won titles; others, like our Edge, dropped down in the social scale. Without being an Orangeman, Edge exemplified strongly the old inherited Protestant feeling in Ireland; a certain half-scornful sense of superiority to Roman Catholics as such, though he was ready to admit that there were Rogues Prodesan' as well as 'Rogues Roman,' and that a ' dacent Roman man' was not infrequently to be found. He prided himself on his knowledge of ecclesiastical history; and he really had got hold of a few names and dates, among which 'Nayro,' 'the Council o' the Latther Ann' (Lateran), the Council o' Thrint,' 'Pope Hiliary-Bran' (Hildebrand) used to crop up. Edge's self-esteem was unassailable; his own opinion was always the right one; and he was never surprised at anything you might tell him he knew all about it.' 'Sure, hadn't he seen or heard tell of something five times as big, ten times as good, in the County Wickla'?' In that beloved place of his birth he had passed the first fifty years of his life; and here

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he had grown up, from a 'pup of a lad' to an able nodget,' and so on through successive stages of life until at fifty he had entered the service of my father, who was at that time Dean of St. Patrick's. In our service he remained for twenty-five years, a devoted servant in his own odd way, loyal and true to the masther,' to whom he looked up with deep attachment always. When, on the resignation of the Dean, the time came for Edge to quet that,' and he learned that he was to have a pension, 'Well, there's no use in talkin',' said he, the masther can't be bet.' He and th' ould wan' (his wife) removed to a cottage. at Bray, and later on to a small annexe to a house occupied by a member of th' ould Dane's family.' This annexe happened to have sham Gothic windows, which were a joy to Edge, who 'accused it to be some kyind of an ould place o' devotion the' made in the time o' the Danes' (but this refers to another kind of Dane!). Old age had by this time begun to steal on. 'Aw, sure, I'm thinkin' I'll not live a great while,' he would say. But even then he might be seen puttin' down kyabbages agin' anny man in Ireland,' or 'scooflin' the gravel mountains high' before the house. Later, when on his deathbed, he would scarcely listen to the clergyman who came to see him. 'Aw, sure, he knew the weighty-two-thirds of it already.' Doubtless he felt that for the likes of a Dane's man, an' he afther follyin' the Conthrovarsy all those years,' all must be well in any future world. Seeing a photograph of J. H. Newman, Edge exclaimed: 'Faith I'd like to see that ould fellah an' he follyin' the Conthrovarsy; three minutes is all Misther T. id ask, an' me Roman lad was down offa the platfawrum.'

2

It is impossible to give more than a few of his utterances in the limited space of this article, but here are some samples. [Since a question may well be raised as to the accuracy of the following quotations, I may mention that my brother took them down fresh and hot from the speaker's lips without his having a suspicion that a second Boswell had appeared in history.] Of his second wife: That wan 'ud never ax fur te stir out of the gate, barrin' it 'ud be for a ha'porth to crame the tay.' His opinion of bold scenery: Is it Powerscourt? Hethan,' I wouldn't give fippence for the whole of it! Sure, what the blazes else is in it, barrin' ould thordnbushes, an' a dirty ould mountainyous rubble o' rocks! There's more val-ya anny day

1 (Note from Edgiana.) 'Nodget' almost certainly='nugget' in disguise; the notion is of something lumpy and compact, here used of a solidly built thick-set youth.

2 Public discussions between certain Evangelical clergymen and Roman priests.

3 A contraction of 'I' faith, then.'

in Curdlan [Colonel] Tottenham's place, wid forty acres o' the grandest grass-land as flat as a kyarpet.' On foreigners: Observing a photograph of the Apollo Belvedere on the wall, he peered into it with a puzzled air. 'What is it atall-atall? Hethan, is it a man or a woman? 'Gorrah, I'm thinkin' it must be some kyind of a fawrdner [foreigner].' Then, turning away, he dismissed the subject with 'Sure, the breed o' them ould fawrdners does be mostly mixed, just the same as it might be cows or sheep.' 'I do be seein' lots o' them comin' furta see Pathrick's [the Cathedral] in the summer time, an' there's some I dunna what the divil th' are. The' must be some kyind of an ould fawrd'n prence [foreign prince].'

Of menservants in general Edge had a poor opinion. 'Aw, sure the weighty-two-thirds o' them ould butlers is head-vilyains! Divil save the thruppence o' work the'd do. The'd mix up crocus an' godthrift [some mysterious preparations in use in the pantry], an' sthrip the divil off o' the silver, an' divil a hair the'd care, only away wid them to the Coombe. Ould Tommy Strahan [a former butler at the Deanery] was the grandest man at all at the silver; howsomever, he'd put the work off on me! "Bloogan'ounds, Edge,' Bloogan'ounds, Edge," he'd say, "if ye'll do the silver for me, dammyskin but I'll stan' ye a pint.' Of an old pensioner of the Dean's (whose real name, by the way, was Weldon) Edge used to say, 'Ould Waldo is great on Puseyism. Bedambut I'm thinkin' he'll turdn Roman at the latther end! Hethan he went through all furta become a ministher, but whatsomever divilment it was, he couldn't pass the Bishop.' Of a friend sacked for drinking: 'I always thought he was a dacent man that could hould a sup without lettin' on.' (This saying became proverbial of a discreet person not given to blurt out secrets.) Of ablutions: Sunda' mornin's is times enough for anny man to wash his hands; sure, a man that ud wash his hands more nor that 'ud have no industhry. It's of a Sathurda' night I'd always tear the heavy scoom [=scum] off o' me puss [face] wid an ould razor.' The Frog-eater: 'I knew a great able nodget once, an' he used t' ate frogs. Says he to me wan day, "Did y'ever see a man ate a frog? Bedad, I'll ate three dozen for a penny apiece!" So we made a conscription, an' got divil a ha'porth less nor three or four shillin's in coppers, an' me lad sets to work swallyin' the frogs, an', I give ye me throth, he swallied seventeen o' them down his ould neck, an' they tearin' an' scrawmin'! Bedambut he was bet afther that!' Of himself and the Quality': 'Of all the Quality in an' about Dublin, the very finest does be continyally rowlin' by in their carriages of a Sunda', wid' tundherin' fine horses, an' th' all know ME -an' why wouldn't the'? An' me, afther houldin' the gate for 4 A low slum near St. Patrick's, abounding in public-houses.

five and twenty year for the masther, an' he comin' out o' the choorch' (St. Patrick's Cathedral).

Edge thought to do credit to the Dane' by looking fat and well-liking; and with this object in view he would stuff the legs of his trousers with hay, and strut about outside the wicketgate of the Deanery garden on Sunday afternoons, so that the Quality' pouring out of the Cathedral after service might have occasion to notice him, and to say, 'Begorrah, th' ould Dane's ould fellah's gettin' yoong again, the Dane's man's properly fed!' (This was the language he would put into the mouth of the élite of Dublin !)

No record of Edge would be complete without some mention of his wives, of whom there were no fewer than three (there would doubtless have been more had time and opportunity permitted). When Mrs. Edge No. 2 was on her deathbed her greatest grief was, not the parting from husband and friends, but the fact that she had just bought a new pair of boots, which of necessity would have to be left behind for the inevitable No. 3 to wear. And sure enough this came to pass. Returning from her funeral in the mourning-coach Edge broached to my brother the subject of getting a suitable successor without further delay. 'It 'ud never do,' he said, 'for the masther to be widout a woman on the gate: if it 'ud be a thing that Mr. D. could be wrote to, to get me another ould wan, of a good old Protestan' family, out o' the County Wickla'.' This was soon done, and the courtship did not take long, for Mrs. Edge No. 3 was wooed an' married an' a'' within a month or two of her predecessor's death. Edge might well have echoed the words of a certain other oft-widowed Irishman, who is reported to have said at the funeral of his fourth wife, 'What wid' bringin' them home cheerful, an' sendin' them out dacent,' he had found marriage rather a costly business. Edge, however, remained so far faithful to this second wife of his that he always considered her greatly the superior of her successor, in whose presence he would loudly assert this. Th' other ould wan,' he would say, 'was betther nor three o' this wan. She could ha' taken this wan an' thrown her over the wall-fired her over Patthrick's, so she could. Sure she could ha' lived on the clippin's o' tin.' Her husband's successes with the fair sex were a source of pride to No. 3. She used to say, 'Aw it was niver anny throuble t' Edward to git wives; he always had plinty of them.' Edge himself was indeed serenely conscious that he never could be long at a loss in that respect. 'Sure,' he would say, 'if this woman was to die on me tomorra', all th' ould wans in the Coombe 'ud be boxin' for me.' It is difficult to know where to leave off when once started on the subject of Edge, but I must pass on to speak of some

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