The Burlesque in Muffeny’s Hall, Ballina
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The agitation which has been set on foot against the proposed guarantee for a line of railway to Belmullet culminated on Thursday in a public meeting in Muffeny’s new hall in Arthur Street (now Teeling Street), Ballina . . . Elements of hilarity abounded on every side. People who entered the hall with solemn countenances left it smiling. Outside a few labouring men displayed a black flag; inside a row of coffins testified to the advertising genius of Mr. Muffeny, and were a gruesome reminder of the end that awaits all flesh. The audience had not time to enter upon melancholy reflections. They were hurried with lightning speed from one scene to another. Mr. Shannon and Mr. Chambers held commanding positions on opposite side of the platform. They virtually bossed the meeting; spoke a good deal, interrupted pretty often, disagreed with every one who did not agree with themselves, and charged people with coming there to disturb the meeting as if they were entirely innocent of the suspicion of packing the meeting themselves with their own supporters. Twelve o’clock was the hour named to begin the proceedings . . . Mr. Shannon, stepping briskly to the platform, moved Mr. Muffeny to the chair. Mr. Muffeny did not wait to be seconded. He took possession of the chair and kept it.—Western People, 12th April, 1890.
ACROSS the room a row of coffins ran
And Arthur, gazing on the feast, began;
(In sotto voce need I hardly say)
“To arms, my vassals, let us win the day!”
Scarce had the words escaped from trembling lips
When Shannon, eager, swelling out his hips,
Rushed on the stage with wild and fitful stare—
The trick was done, and Arthur took the chair!
“My friends,” said he, “I thank you all around.”
He spoke in Scotch and made a bow profound,
“You’re very kind to come here at our call;
Welcome to this, my own, my native hall!
“I am no lover of contentious strife,
My taste is rather for a hermit’s life;
Has always been—will always be I pray—
Don’t mind the papers; let them fire away!
Therefore, I own, I feel a trifle shy—
Excuse my weakness, I have told you why—
You know the rest; you know my modest ways;
Spare me alike your blushes and your praise!
“Yon black flag waves; for what, aye there’s the thing!
P’raps Dillon knows, as leader of the "ring!’
To trumpet Labour’s wants? but cesspayers’ needs
Have first claim here on all our acts and deeds
If men seek work—well, work is very good;
If families starve, I’d wish it understood
Their fate I’d pity, but, then you see
Come in again this deu-ced guarantee!
“The way the question stands is very plain;
The way it ought to stand we will explain:
Because we’ve studied, we have worked it out
On certain lines that can’s admit of doubt;
We three! You know us! Do you doubt our word?
We swear to you the scheme is quite absurd.
Nay more, we brand it as a stupid freak
To serve the country and offend Belleek!”
The chairman paused—there was a faint ‘hear, hear’
He paused again and waited for a cheer.
Th’ expectant answer cameth not, alas!
Whereat he sighed and muttered ‘Vanitas!’
Bubbles will burst—so history tells us all.
Life is made up of wormwood and gall;
We strut the boards a day, a year or two,
And then we fall for ever, lost to view!
The village Ajax bit his lip with pain;
And thought of scripture is a sadd’ning strain;
’Till, served by Shannon, he dismissed the text
And plunged red hot into the question vexed
Of what ’twould cost to work the line direct.
Pile up your figures Alps on mountains high,
They’re safe from critics when they say they reach the sky.
The age of chivalry is past and gone;
So writers tell us they dwell upon
The storied memories of heroes bold
Who fought in tourneys or ’gainst windmills old.
Romance survives: ye gods be praised ’tis so!
We could not bear the fatal double blow;
For Arthur’s figures they were idle-chaff
Attuned to chase away the festive laugh
That rose spontaneous, bubbled on our lips
The more we listened to his cranks and quips.
Goschen, they say, is a hard nut to crack;--
A clever Jew, he’ll prove that white is black,
Or black is white, just as the case may be
Or charm demands a little novelty.
Fain would friend Arthur emulate his fame.
But stay! What’s Goschen but a tinselled name?
Reflecting thus, he put him in a fix
And dared him show how two and two make six!
’I think that does him!’ (this to Jew was said)
’Vive le roi!—but Muffeny yet’s not dead!’
He spoke for long, though no one well knew why,
Not even Chambers, who was standing by
Erect as a statue, solid as a rock
The warring waves assail with envious shock.
’Till hapless fate brought Lindsay on the scene,
And then our P.L.G., erstwhile serene,
Eyed his dread foe with burst of angered flame,
And thundered forth, ‘Ha! ha! I know your game.’
A cry arose, ‘Oh, put the fellow out!’
’If I go down I’ll do it in shout!’
What might have happened, heaven only knows,
But this we saw; they never came to blows,
The plain fact being that Chambers kept his seat
While Lindsay stood his ground—upon his feet;
His arms akimbo, ready to protect
The rights of labour, and still interject.
Each time the chairman ventured to resume
The thread of discourse to the noisy room.
Sore tried patience—was angels ever more?
Rebelled at last; and stamping on the floor
He spoke to Lindsay thus: ‘You’d better heed,
A man of peace am I; for peace I plead.
I’ve fought Coercion as you know right well,
Spent days and nights in Forster’s dungeon cell.
But, hang me! If coerced I’ll be by you,
Or else I’ll tell you quickly what I’ll do.’
He wave d his hand—the sign was prompt obeyed;
Talbot advanced and Lindsay, ruffled, said:
’Which of the Arthurs dost thou act for here?
(You look astonished, but the question’s clear)
Were we assembled on Campaigning tour
I’d know at once ’twas Arthur James Balfour!
Sergeant, have care; this is a public place,
I’m here as cesspayer through no stretch of grace;
And now I tell you its d----n absurd
To come up swaggering here as Edward Third.’
Talbot, abashed, at Lindsay’s artful guile,
Retired, crestfallen, with a chronic smile.
As light and shade o’erspread the harvest field
So, too, were we desirous firth to yield.
A place to chambers, thirsting to unroll
The pent up feelings of his anguished soul.
The moment came: majestic in his pose
He stepped across (and stood on Gaughan’s toes),
Not minding which, to great all things are small,
He went for Pratt and carter, Walshe and all;
Asked who they were — ‘Don’t be,’ he said, ‘mistaken’,
‘They know no Greek and never studied Bacon.’
When England once through Tooley-street proclaimed
The vice of Reason, and in honour named
Three tailors bold to execute its will,
Astonished millions in their boots stood still.
Let not my muse suggest the cruel pain
That history here repeats itself again;
Besides it could not, as yourselves may see—
‘Tailors we’re not, whatever else we be.’
Cynics may sneer, perhaps say the case is
Nature meant us to be in their places.
Fain would I fly to farther lands from home—
To ancient days when Capitol was Rome
By cackling geese was saved from doom of Gaul
(The geese still live; their cackle’s in the hall),
You’ve seen, you’ve heard two of the feathered tribe,
Io triomphe! but how can I describe.
The third and last, the clev’rest of the lot;
He feels he is so, though he knows it not.
Georgius advance! I do not want to pander,
Whiche’er’s the goose, behold, here comes the gander!
Discordant cries now charge the stifled air,
Confusion reigns and penetrates the chair;
Hot words are spoken, challenges are passed;
Shannon recoils, while Chambers stands aghast.
Lindsay is seized in Talbot’s iron grip;
’Rory’ comes on to navigate the ‘ship;’
’Order!’ is called a dozen times or more,
Gaughan gets up and pounds away the floor;
Hats, arms, sticks, are floating high around,
War would be dreadful—if ‘twere not all sound!
The theme I dare not, if I would, pursue,
For, lo! John Dillon here comes into view.
Immense his height (like fabled giant we’ve read
His hip just reaches the chairman’s head.
Arthur looks up, still wondering if his power
Were match enough for Ball’na’s Eiffel Tower.
Consulting Clio, his courage then arose:
I’ll try it anyhow, ‘I fear no foes;’
Small though I am great giants the dust have bit
Before e’en smaller men not half as fit!’
"I sing of arms and the siege of Troy—‘
But, no, I’ll Virgil give the broad go by;
Bellona’s arts are writ in crimson gore
(There was, however, none upon the floor).
A wistful sigh, that pleasure has its ends;
A merry laugh, we parted all as friends;
An earnest hope that soon again we’ll see
Another meeting on the "Guarantee.’
Such were the thoughts that filled out breast indeed,
As Shannon’s voice was heard: ‘Shall I proceed?’
T. G.
Ballina, April 26th, 1890.
‘SHALL I PROCEED?’ . . . ‘Twas night.
Oh! witching hour, when graves give up their dead
And noisy mortals are asleep in bed,
Let they calm peace upon our counsels reign;
Upon us three—for here we are again!
We cannot rest, we do not know the cause;
We wish we did. But let think and pause;
In vain, slack! The more we rack our brain
The greater grows this torturing sense of pain
To solve the riddle; as in trial and skill
The eye deceived and mocks th’ impatient will.
The people say they know, of course, our game,
’Twas ever thus, will always be the same,
And yet (as no one’s listening) honour bright!
What, if the truth they spoke, and spoke it right.
False, treach’rous world, has it come to pass
You’ll hold us up as in a looking glass
To public gaze: we ne’er expected so;
To public scorn; thrice doubly fatal blow;
Spare us, we beg, have pity on our tqask,
We cannot live, except we wear the mask!
The place no longer echoes with the shout
Of fierce contention and uproarious rout.
A ray of light is shed from yonder lamp,
What if pale stream should reach the Zulu camp,
And startle Lindsay into jocund life,
And rouse Red Rory to unhallowed strife?
This must not be! Go, Arthur! Quick!
And o’er he steals and gently lowers the wick,
And lowers it more till, death-like in its pall,
A solemn gloom o’erhangs the coffined hall!
‘Ye spirits of the vasty deep, attend
And list,’ said chambers, ‘to my noble friend.
You’ll find he’s clever, very much you’ll say,
At least I think so, in a certain way.
Of two and two friend Arthur can make six,
But that is nought to one of Shannon’s tricks
Of sleight of hand—excuse me I meant the mind
Which, like a Watch-tower, piercing space confined
By sun, nor moon, not stars—or drop the moon,
Let’s quote the case say of pricked balloon!
‘Behold it rises, watch the airy ease
With which ’tis borne on the favouring breeze;
Higher and higher you see it soar along,
Make graceful curves—but, hark! There’s something wrong.
You hear a noise, a cry of deep despair,
A fume of gas, you look, and mercy! There
With headlong wrath balloon comes crashing fast,
And faster still, until i’faith at last.
It lies a battered thing upon the ground,
A tangled wreck of rope and empty sound!’
’Shall I proceed?’ "Yes, yes, go right ahead,
The Herald’s sure to publish all that’s said.
The die is cast; see it supports our view!
It always did (this is strict entre nous!)
It’s honest to be honest when you can,
They work in Knox Street n the ancient plan
Of scoring fair to every wind that blows
From north or south, or heaven only knows.
The poisoned dart’s still there—don’t think it ill
If men will vomit yet Dick’s gilded pill!’
‘Shall I proceed?’ The frieze coats filled the room
Five hundred strong, they sprang from spirit loom
And, spirit like, in whispered chorus ran.
‘Proceed, bold George, and do– the best you can!’
He did proceed, and spoke for long enough;
And by and bye the spirits cheered his stuff,
Or speed, for such, no doubt, ‘twas meant to be;
And cheered again in playful irony;
As now his arm he waved, sublime, grotesque:
Without a farce you could have no burlesque!
This is what was said:
‘They talk a lot about the Central line,’
‘They do,’ said Chambers; ‘it’s all very fine!’
‘I once, myself, the project like a bet.’
‘Zounds! treason! Arthur!’ "Wait, my friend, not yet,
I liked it once, I say; I don’t know why
I changed my mind, for that I never sigh.
One’s mind’s his own’—‘Good man!’ quoth Chambers here,
‘That’s common sense; and common sense is dear.
In this poor country; ‘tis the fact, indeed;
But, as time’s passing, let Shannon ‘gain proceed.’
‘500 tons of fish at least a day
Can quite be reckoned from Killala bay;
It’s not as much, perhaps, as might be caught.
I’d say a thousand, but I’d rather not,
Lest in that case (we leave out now the salmon)
Some wag might add, "Oh, George, give up this gammon!’
500 tons, to all it must be clear,
Make 500 fifties each revolving year,
Which, if the years revolve (don’t be afraid,
They’re bound to do so when the line is made).
Will cease these figures, as I’ll briefly show,
To mount to millions spite of every foe.
Ten times 500 -- ah, please, let me speak—
You’re right, my friend! I quite forgot the week.
Of seven days! Say six to pass one by;
(It’s always safer not to go too high).
Six times 500, multiplied by ten,
And ten five hundreds’ multiplied again,
Will give, I’ll bet, a product hard to beat
In length of tons or measured cubic feet.
Don’t interrupt—but pardon me—excuse
I full see the force of your bright views.
500 tons still more—how deuced queer
I should omit to reckon the leap year!—
Will help to swell the total aggregate;
(note down that fact at once upon the slate
And see Sir Charles, for I apprehend,
Like mine, his figures do not that way tend).
500 tons per day, at £1 per ton,
Given six times that before the week is done.
And six times six, or fifty, if you will,
Means 600 £50’s; or, better still:
Suppose we argue our the matter into pence,
They’re easier counted and will reckon thence,
From pence to ha’pence, and the same way back
To pence again, by the old, beaten track.
I tire you patience: understand my grounds
It’s only thus of pence you can make pounds!
Then see the country which the line will pass;
’Twas peopled once, ’tis now laid down in grass,
For greed of ranchers, if the cause we seek—
But this is stupid—we must have Belleek!
And bullocks, too, and grabbers, if you will,
They’ll bring, for sure, more grist unto the mill!
And then consider—
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I slept—I dreamt, as people sometimes do,
And in their dreams strange fancies will pursue.
I stood, I thought, upon the solid ground—
Flags, banners waved—the air was charged with sound
Of potent music, triumphal in its tone,
And ringing cheers—what else I could not own,
Since all was one continual glad acclaim;
One scene of joy—and then heard the name
Called out—“Arise, Sir Arthur!”—up he rose
A belted Knight from top of head to toes.
Then Shannon knelt, and with him, Chambers, too.
They rose again—the crowd pressed into view,
To cheer, to roar, to welcome first Sir Pat,
And next Sir George (he wore a tall cocked hat),
His bosom heaved, his cheeks were all aflame,
He tossed his legs—his arms did the same—
As down the street careering, made with pride,
He ploughed his way, and all moved to one side.
"Viva, Sir George!’ cried ten of ev’ry nine
That passed him by, "You killed the Central Line!
Viva! We say!’ They gave a parting cheer;
He bowed his head: let fall a joyful tear.
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The scene is changed. The panting engine shrieks—
The bell is rung—what reason for these freaks?
A while ago—this surely can’s be right!
And yet, methinks, it is the worthy Knight,
Sir George, I see on engine driver’s seat!
Sir Arthur guard! Sir Patrick on his feet
Shouting at pitch of voice: ‘Make haste, my boys!
Your ticks sharp if bound for tom Molloys!’
No answer comes. Great heavens this won’t do;
The train can’t run while things are quite so blue,
‘That bell’s not heard,’ said Arthur, with a D;
‘It’s mighty strange; send down a boy to see!’
‘But we have none,’ retorted George, with pain;
‘I’ll blow the whistle:’ and he blew again
So loud, so shrill, that miles away, they say,
The echo lingers to this very day.
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They waited long: to me is seemed for years!
And waiting on were swayed by anxious fears,
’Till first-named Knight at last to Shannon said:
‘There’s nothing for it but to forge ahead,
We cannot start without some kind of freight;’
Load-on the fish! 500 boxes nett,
Or tons! Will do for this our maiden trip.’
Shannon smiled—I won’t say bit his lip—
And pointing bay-wads he said, rue-fully:
‘I can’s do that! You know they’re in the sea!’
I thought I heard a little word was used
‘Humbug!’ it was, and Shannon grew confused,
And marvelled much and said in a low voice,
‘Pack in the coffins! We’ve no other choice!’
’Twas done: sephulchral freight at rapid speed
Was borne through hill and dale and silent mead;
The pace increased, the people everywhere
Shrunk from the sight and closed their lips in prayer!
Their prayer was heard, for while the engine tore
Along the rails, the sea appeared; what’s more
With sudden dash the frenzied monster straight
Into its bosom plunged, and met its fate.
The gallant three jumped off—a thrilling deed!
’Twere better engine asked—‘shall I proceed?’
T. G.
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