ACROSS THE WATER. II. OUR SEASON. "DEAR, dirty Dublin!" So are you apostrophised by Lady Morgan, and, for aught we know, by many other distinguished and facetious authors. Alas! we fear that the sobriquet is too true, for we know no dirtier streets in any city with which we happen to be acquainted, notwithstanding that we boast a wealthy corporation, who are for ever meeting and quarrelling about something or other. The untidy, "devil-may-care" look of our highways is perhaps one of the few marks of individuality remaining to the Irish metropolis, and seems closely associated with the dolce far niente appearance of much about the city and its inhabitants. If such be the aspect it presents to one who knows Dublin under all seasons; in sunshine and cloud, rain and dust, what impression must be conveyed to the tourist's mind who only sees our city when it is "out of town" in August and September; when the judges et hoc genus omne are recreating at Homburg or on the Swiss mountains, the lord lieutenant either at his park residence, or perhaps his seat in England, and the greater portion of the military encamped at the Curragh-in fact, when the whole of what constitutes "society" is away for a holiday, and no one left but attorneys' clerks and yawning shopmen to kill the tiresome hours as best they may, even their masters luxuriating in their summer quarters at Kingstown or Bray? True, the Englishman's visit to foreign capitals is generally made at the same time of year when they are deserted by their regular inhabitants, but then John Bull looks for a more business state of things so near home than among mussoos or mein herrs, and is apt to come down heavily upon the indolence and improvidence of Paddy. Mr. Bull's censures are doubtless just, in a general way, but he should see Dublin during "our season," before giving a verdict of inactivity and dulness against us. We allow that the prestige of a resident aristocracy has passed away with the Union, and whole streets of mansions no longer rejoice in titled owners; yet has a class of occupants grown up to fill the vacant places of the ancien régime, if not so refined, yet combining more of the elements of good society than is to be found perhaps in any city of the kingdom out of London. About the first or second week in December an increased stir is visible about our streets and squares, especially in that part of the town called the "Pembroke" estate, the houses in this district having lain for months closely shuttered up and deserted, save by Some widowed solitary thing, in whose care the premises have been left. Country families leave their seats down in the unfrequented West, or on the wide plains of Munster, and prepare themselves for the enjoyment of a winter in town. It is not, however, till some weeks after Christmas that our season may be said fairly to have commenced. Then it is that the fairer members of society are busily engaged in deciding on their dresses for the ensuing campaign at the Castle, and great is the expectation preceding the first drawing-room of our season. Now the carriages stand in double rows opposite Madame Mantalini's premises, and unwilling husbands and fathers are inveigled in on pretence of "just looking at" that lovely moiré, or the newest sweet thing" in silks. What a flutter there is in the various houses of our Belgravia on the night of the drawing-room! What a trying on of dresses and looping up of trains, and exhibition of the court costumes to select parties of friends who come to see Miss de la Poer or Mrs. O'Grady en grand tenue! Then the important ceremony of "packing up" the trains, and setting ourselves into the carriage, with occasional cries of "Oh, my flowers will be destroyed! Do, Fred, have regard to my train, and don t quite tear it into ribbons with your spurs." "Tell William to pull up, my fan is left behind!" At length, after several false starts, we get "under weigh," and presently join the queue of carriages, which is enforced by rigid police regulations, except in the case of those favoured few who possess the privilege of the private entrée. dear What a flutter of delight agitates the heart of the young débutante! and what anxious thoughts as to "how she will look?" It is quite as important an occasion to her, or more so, my marchioness, as your daughter Lady Juliana Arabella Matilda being introduced at St. James's, and probably our Irish belle is more enjoué than a young lady of the haute noblesse would acknowledge to. And, dear lady, what would you not give often for the lovely fresh faces you may see any day at a viceregal drawing-room? Such rosebuds, and such clear delicately-tinted complexions! Eyes, too, ye gods! dark and velvety, enough to lure many a Paris to fight the battles of Troy once more on behalf of these lovely Helens! The inmates of the carriages bound for the Castle endeavour to beguile the tedium of the "progress" by chit-chat, and many a joke and merry laugh is interchanged by the younger ones; witticisms on Charlie's first appearance" en laquais," and perhaps sly remarks on his silk "continuations," being somewhat resented by that young gentleman, who is barely out of his teens, and who feels the injustice of having an elder brother radiant in the uniform of the Irresistibles. At length, we begin to "drag our slow length" up the steep street leading to the viceregal residence, and ACROSS THE WATER. II. OUR SEASON. "DEAR, dirty Dublin!" So are you apostrophised by Lady Morgan, and, for aught we know, by many other distinguished and facetious authors. Alas! we fear that the sobriquet is too true, for we know no dirtier streets in any city with which we happen to be acquainted, notwithstanding that we boast a wealthy corporation, who are for ever meeting and quarrelling about something or other. The untidy, "devil-may-care" look of our highways is perhaps one of the few marks of individuality remaining to the Irish metropolis, and seems closely associated with the dolce far niente appearance of much about the city and its inhabitants. If such be the aspect it presents to one who knows Dublin under all seasons; in sunshine and cloud, rain and dust, what impression must be conveyed to the tourist's mind who only sees our city when it is "out of town" in August and September; when the judges et hoc genus omne are recreating at Homburg or on the Swiss mountains, the lord lieutenant either at his park residence, or perhaps his seat in England, and the greater portion of the military encamped at the Curragh-in fact, when the whole of what constitutes "society" is away for a holiday, and no one left but attorneys' clerks and yawning shopmen to kill the tiresome hours as best they may, even their masters luxuriating in their summer quarters at Kingstown or Bray? True, the Englishman's visit to foreign capitals is generally made at the same time of year when they are deserted by their regular inhabitants, but then John Bull looks for a more business state of things so near home than among mussoos or mein herrs, and is apt to come down heavily upon the indolence and improvidence of Paddy. Mr. Bull's censures are doubtless just, in a general way, but he should see Dublin during "our season," before giving a verdict of inactivity and dulness against us. We allow that the prestige of a resident aristocracy has passed away with the Union, and whole streets of mansions no longer rejoice in titled owners; yet has a class of occupants grown up to fill the vacant places of the ancien régime, if not so refined, yet combining more of the elements of good society than is to be found perhaps in any city of the kingdom out of London. About the first or second week in December an increased stir is visible about our streets and squares, especially in that part of the town called the "Pembroke" estate, the houses in this district having lain for months closely shuttered up and deserted, save by Some widowed solitary thing, in whose care the premises have been left. Country families leave their seats down in the unfrequented West, or on the wide plains of Munster, and prepare themselves for the enjoyment of a winter in town. It is not, however, till some weeks after Christmas that our season may be said fairly to have commenced. Then it is that the fairer members of society are busily engaged in deciding on their dresses for the ensuing campaign at the Castle, and great is the expectation preceding the first drawing-room of our season. Now the carriages stand in double rows opposite Madame Mantalini's premises, and unwilling husbands and fathers are inveigled in on pretence of "just looking at" that lovely moiré, or the newest "sweet thing" in silks. What a flutter there is in the various houses of our Belgravia on the night of the drawing-room! What a trying on of dresses and looping up of trains, and exhibition of the court costumes to select parties of friends who come to see Miss de la Poer or Mrs. O'Grady en grand tenue! Then the important ceremony of "packing up" the trains, and setting ourselves into the carriage, with occasional cries of "Oh, my flowers will be destroyed! Do, Fred, have regard to my train, and don t quite tear it into ribbons with your spurs." "Tell William to pull up, my fan is left behind!" At length, after several false starts, we get "under weigh," and presently join the queue of carriages, which is enforced by rigid police regulations, except in the case of those favoured few who possess the privilege of the private entrée. What a flutter of delight agitates the heart of the young débutante! and what anxious thoughts as to "how she will look?" It is quite as important an occasion to her, or more so, my dear marchioness, as your daughter Lady Juliana Arabella Matilda being introduced at St. James's, and probably our Irish belle is more enjoué than a young lady of the haute noblesse would acknowledge to. And, dear lady, what would you not give often for the lovely fresh faces you may see any day at a viceregal drawing-room? Such rosebuds, and such clear delicately-tinted complexions! Eyes, too, ye gods! dark and velvety, enough to lure many a Paris to fight the battles of Troy once more on behalf of these lovely Helens! The inmates of the carriages bound for the Castle endeavour to beguile the tedium of the "progress" by chit-chat, and many a joke and merry laugh is interchanged by the younger ones; witticisms on Charlie's first appearance "en laquais," and perhaps sly remarks on his silk "continuations," being somewhat resented by that young gentleman, who is barely out of his teens, and who feels the injustice of having an elder brother radiant in the uniform of the Irresistibles. At length, we begin to "drag our slow length" up the steep street leading to the viceregal residence, and while our young ladies' hearts beat fast, we sweep through the castle-yard, and "set down" under the chief though somewhat dingy entrance of "our Castle of Dublin." Tall, splendid Highlanders, or Guardsmen (as the case may be), stand sentinel in the vestibule, and line the grand staircase, gay with exotic plants and radiant with numberless lights. We cannot now stop to recal the historic associations of the ground we are treading, though many an eventful scene in our national history has taken place within the precincts of this ancient fortress since its foundation A.D. 1213, by one Henry de Londres, down to this present century. Following the gay throng of brilliant uniforms, official and court dresses, interspersed with the trains and feathers of the fairer portion of society, we arrive at the first long drawing-room, there to await admission in due course to the ante and presence chambers. An opportunity is thus given to the ladies of "settling their plumage," and arranging trains, &c., for a graceful introduction to the "viceking and queen:" a little badinage, or perhaps a few observations on our neighbours' toilettes, serve to pass away the tiresome interval of waiting. Here, too, we can scan the débutantes, each season usually bringing some fresh and lovely country faces for "presentation;" the crowd, meanwhile, increases every minute, and by the time the inner folding doors are opened, we are glad to join in the stream which flows into the next apartments, the barrier being with difficulty kept by stalwart lancers or dragoons. One by one we then pass into the subdued and courtly atmosphere of the presence chamber. Here our fair companions have to make their obesiances alone, and if "presented," to receive the viceregal salute (that quaint old custom of kissing!). Gentlemen having attended his excellency's levee on the previous day, the only duty left to them is to "pass on," and await the exit of the ladies in the next drawing-room. Somewhat relieved when this important ceremonial is over, we are not sorry to partake of refreshment in St. Patrick's Hall, and many are the greetings interchanged with country friends whom one never could have expected to see here!" Military bands enliven us with their strains, and while dowagers retail the latest gossip over ices and coffee, brave young militaires and beauteous girls repeat the "old, old story" beneath the glowing lights reflected and redoubled in the mirrored and gilded panels of this fine old hall. The stranger, however, to see St. Patrick's Hall to advantage, should be present on the festival yearly given in celebration of our patron's day, -when young feet are flying In fairy rings around the echoing hall. Soft airs through braided locks in perfume sighing, "St. Patrick's ball" is, par excellence, the fête of "our season," |