Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

_Capt. Killdragon._ Devils, indeed! Mc Rocket, and my _own_ country devils too: sorry am I to say it.

_Dr. Slaughtery._ Yes, yes, Killdragon; but this was not worse than the _English_ conspiracy formed against him some years ago: the attack made upon him by Mr. Shiel was the effect of the unfortunate party feeling which prevails in Ireland. I do not speak so because I am myself an Irishman, but because I am convinced that so long as the violence of party exists in that country, you will have such things.

_Capt. Killdragon._ Oh! doctor, you have too much of the milk of human kindness about you. I (as you all know, Gentlemen) am a Catholic—I hope yet to see the members of my religion emancipated from their grating chains; but is it by such firebrands as now inflame the Irish, we are to be liberated? No; those can only make our chains red-hot, and weld them firmer—those are but the evil tools of their own selfish purposes, and to be the idols of a mob, would lead it to its perdition the while. However, let the motives be what they may, the conduct in this affair was detestable. The man who would draw aside the curtains of the death-bed, that the rabble which followed him might mock the dying, while he himself stood by it, displaying his venomous teeth, and mixing with the prayers of his helpless victim his own horrid yells—is a monster, which I had thought was only to be imagined, until a demagogue, my countryman and fellow Catholic, embodied the horrid conception.

_Dr. Slaughtery._ But he neutralized it by the _amende honorable_.

_Capt. Killdragon._ Ay, ay, _neutralized_ it, indeed; that is, he added an alkali to his acid—such union, we know, produces _froth_—insipid—nay, disgusting froth. The fact is, the patching only made things worse; for the Duke was in _articulo mortis_, (as _you_ would say, Doctor,) when the cold-blooded and heartless declaimer apologized for his wanton brutality. Besides, he found that he disgusted even his _own_ partisans, and therefore feared the loss of his all—his popularity—his _brief_ popularity.

_Major Mc Rocket._ By G—! yir raight, Killdragon; an' ye speak the feelings o' us a'.

_Dr. Slaughtery._ I do not defend the act: it certainly was bad; but I think it arose from party violence.

_Several Voices._ It admits of no excuse.

_Col. Shell._ And the Doctor thinks so too; but he loves argument as dearly as he does his country, and only wishes now to draw _you_ out, Killdragon.

_Dr. Slaughtery._ Thank you, Colonel; I _have_ drawn him out, and now I'll draw _in_ my horns.

_All the Mess._ Bravo! bravo!

_Capt. Ball._ Gentlemen, as we are on the subject of the Commander-in-Chief's death, I beg to mention that Mr. Steel, my worthy young _Sub_ here on my left, has written a song upon the occasion, and set it to music. You all know how he sings, and what do you say to hearing it? The band can accompany the song, for they have learnt the music of it.

[_This announcement was received with enthusiasm, and Ensign
Steel, although blushing under his honours and opposing
“the motion,” was obliged to yield to the general request.
The band having been ordered to accompany the song, now
played a fine impressive symphony, and the Ensign sung
with great effect the following_:—

LAMENT OF THE CHIEF.

I.

Soldiers! the chief that you loved is gone
To the tomb where his fathers sleep,
Where the mighty rest,—but there is not one
Like him in its holy keep.
The dead where he lies wear diadems,—
His crown is the soldier's love;—
Not a thing of gold nor of costly gems,
But a glory that's brought from above.

II.

Soldiers! the heart that was good and great,
Is still, and its warmth is past;
For you and your weal its first pulses beat—
For you and your weal its last.
In the midst of the forest of lofty pines
Thus drops the parent stem,
Thus a father whose hope in his children shines—
All blessing, and blessed by them.