IRISH TANDEM:

OR HIEROGLYPHICS OF CHARACTER.

I FEEL strongly tempted to prefix a motto by way of embellishment to this article, but since on consideration, the one which would be most applicable turns out not particularly classical-1 mean the well known lines

"One foot up, and one foot down,

That's the way to get to London town,"

it will perhaps be quite as well to abandon that part of the project. Some of the sports in the green isle of Erin are of a rather more exciting nature than those in which we indulge on this side the channel; but the timorous reader, if any such there be, may dismiss all apprehension with regard to the tandem travelling he will have with me. Though I do not mean to guarantee that the roads shall be all macadamized, we shall pass over rough ground and smooth with the ease of the voyagers of Arabian reputation reclining on their wonderful carpet. The reader may leave his umbrella at home, and bid the winds and clouds defiance, and he will have no occasion to fear any unmanageable bucephalus or curvetting and prancing hobby-horses. I believe I run little risk of being contradicted in saying that of all species of travelling none is so secure as Irish Tandem.

And yet all things in this world are liable to abuse. The green turf and flowers underfoot, the blue heavens, sunny downs and shady dells and dingles, with their lights and shadows and vistas of fine old trees, pasture land and cattle, rustic farm houses and loitering teams, how do you think my friend Brown treats them all? -why he starts off with a thick stick in his hand, and possibly a knapsack on his back, at seven o'clock in the morning, determined to "do thirty miles right off," as he calls it. Away he goes, looking neither to the right hand nor the left, raising a cloud of dust about the poor lagging pedestrian that has pitted himself to be his companion; leaving the distant hills, the murmuring waters, the rooks cawing in the tall trees, and birds chirping in the hedges, the wandering butterflies and the invisible cuckoo, all to Buffon and Bucke, or to their own devices.

He has the true go-ahead Yankee spirit in him. If you try to stop him, and talk of the ruined castle on the right, with its romantic associations and picturesque situation-he will not turn his head, but only observe that there is something much more worthy your notice further on. If you exclaim at the burst of

scenery that rewards you during some painful ascent, he will beg you to wait at least till you gain the top of the hill; and as you descend into the valley and survey the peaceful river winding along amidst meadows and hills-with, perhaps, an old spire amidst its towering trees, that looks as if invented to be sketched-he will put a positive veto upon crayons and pencils and all such things, reading a lecture on the bad effects of dawdling, moral and physical, and threatening you with fatigue sore and dire, before the inevitable thirty miles are accomplished, if you commence them in such an unpromising manner!

And, then, as you begin to feel wearied, you will be told that there is nothing like a good round pace to get over the groundthat you may walk till you are tired, and then walk yourself fresh again--unhappy that you are, you cannot even stop to pluck a wild rose, but Brown will have gained during the interval nearly a quarter of a mile, and so on from Dan to Beersheba.

Even when the hostel is reached, and you sink down into the nearest seat in joyful anticipation of at least being enabled to "take your ease in your inn," eventually resolving never to be so fatigued, sun scorched, dust wearied again, Brown will burst out into extacies at the pleasure he has procured for you. "Nothing like a good walk to put a man into a good humour-pure air and exercise, gives him a real appetite, freshens him up-by Jove, I feel inclined to start off again for another thirty."

Of such stuff are the men made that may occasionally be seen on board a steamer on a windy day, bound for Havre de Grace or Antwerp, when after the visitation all down the Thames, the shaking off Margate, and detestabilities at the Nore, the greater part of the brave compagnons du voyage have succumbed to Neptune, and the pitching, tossing, shifting currents of the restless main, and wander ghostlily and listlessly about, yearning for any dry land on which to find a footing and be at peace- and certainly gaining anything but consolation from the sight of their strongminded friends, with indescribable fried sausages hissing in fat for their breakfast; boiled beef, that to think about would be a catastrophe, not to speak of cigars and bottles of Bass, that seem like mocking phantoms invented to drive them to despair.

Smith is quite another sort of a man; in fact, I think he has quite as much horror of Brown as I have myself. Long walks are his especial abomination,—he hates the country, can't see how any one can endure anything so slow, so dull, so insipid. No, a walk in the cool evening, along the brilliantly lighted thoroughfares of the town for him,-a lounge through the bazaars and

collonades, where he is

sustained by the thought that the eyes of Europe are upon him,- a deep seated conviction that those furious waistcoats and delicate gloves, those infinitesimal boots, and that ponderous chain are none of them exhibited in vain.

Smith, too, has his peculiarities; a genteely savage way of carrying himself, so to speak, an unhappy practice of pressing your arm whenever anything which he considers wonderful happens anywhere, by which delicate action he considers far more than words to be expressed; a pertinacity which is astonishing in asking your opinion about ties, or coats, or pretty girls, when the objects of his admiration have passed out of sight,-and especially when you have been looking the other way. Nay, I have actually known him whirl an unsuspecting victim round,-stop in front of some Jew tailor's gorgeous establishment, and enter upon a considerably detailed criticism of the articles exposed in the window for sale, to the grinning admiration of school-boys and applewomen, the excitement of the shopman, who fidgetted near the entrance, and the alarm of his companion, who was partly employed in tugging at his arm, and deprecating his eloquent remarks and partly in casting apprehensive glances at the increasing crowd of auditors.

"Well, did you ever! do but look at that waistcoat, Robinson, my dear fellow, did you ever see anything so hideously ugly, and yet it is within the range of possibility, I really believe that there are people who would purchase it,-still they could'nt wear it; and that dressing-gown, it must be the identical garment of Nessus! I would'nt put it on for ten thousand Dejaniras. Ah! you are studying those shirts in the corner; yes, they are made for the ouran-outangs, and those collars are for the chimpanzees, you can see by the cut that they would exactly fit. A friend of mine carries on a roaring trade of the kind, and his traveller is going to take out samples to the Houyhynms next year: I hope he'll come back alive. That drab overcoat hanging at the door with a pattern on it, and fluffy buttons, seems to be the pride of the establishment, but I'll tell you a secret,-I believe its part of a bed-quilt I had at home, which was sold to a Jew a month ago. And as for those "pants." why you must recollect the horse-rug my groom lost last week, they've been quick about the manufacture, that's all I can say."

One is happy to get rid of such a fellow and shake hands with Jones, as he turns the corner with his quiet, observant face, and unassuming dress and manners. "Oh! glad to meet you. I am just taking a stroll-rather unusual for me, you know, in this

neighbourhood; but I had nothing to do this evening, and it

amuses me."

Jones is a Welshman, and lives shut up amongst his mountains the greater part of the year, therefore he loves to revel, if such a term can be applied to his quiet enjoyment, in the change of scenery and habits-the constant stream of faces has a constant charm for him, with their ever-varying attitude and expression— the firm, bold step, and confident glance of some, the hesitation of others, the look that shows a mind pre-occupied, and that which denotes an observer like himself, all are noted, and it is a real pleasure to walk by his side and hear his good-natured observations and speculations on the crowd around him-those myriads of living enigmas that puzzle not only others, but frequently themselves all so mysteriously linked together for good and evil, sharing the same feelings, desires, and powers to so great an extent. Why plunge into the thousand episodes that hang upon the pen, when they may be seen at any time in all their changing forms in any large town. How can any one gaze upon them long without imbibing that great lesson which they seem so loudly to proclaim. Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. Who can see the little bickerings and vexations, the tumults which so soon excite slumbering passions; and, on the other hand, the little generosities and kindnesses, the self-denials which, even where they find no echo, are admired in their unattainableness by rugged spirits; without, for the time at least, seeing the full meaning of the good words "bear and forbear;" without rejoicing that he is one of a great family, some of which are only a little lower than the angels; a world where there is so much to be done that is good and great, and so much true pleasure to be gained from doing it; a world which, though it reveres and worships wealth somewhat wrongly now, is yet learning that "the true wealth of a man is the number of things which he loves and blesses, which he is loved and blessed by."

Jones, also has his peculiarities-what are men without them? I have myself seen him walking in one of the London parks, I won't say which, and, coming up to a bench on which were seated a decent-looking old man and a little child, enter into conversation with them. The man was an artizan, very poor; he had finished his day's work, and was giving his little grandson, seven or eight years of age, the treat of a little stroll in the calm evening. It so happened that some stylish ladies passed by with a youth about the same age as the grandson of our artizan. He had a hat with feathers, and a showy and graceful coat, and was amusing himself

with a little cart and horse made of wood and gaily painted, which he was dragging after him. The poor artizan child, with his threadbare garment and hungry look, gazed wistfully at the young St. James, envied him his feathers, and cast a longing look at the painted toy which was rolling along the gravel. "Grandfather!" exclaimed he, almost crying, "I never have any playthings; never any carts and horses."

Our friend, Jones, got up hastily, told the old man he should be back directly, and he hoped that he would wait a little while; then crossed the park to get to the street, and in a very short time was positively seen returning with a miller's cart, horse and all appurtenances complete, including sacks of flour and marvellous contrivances to take them out and put them in again, with a proportion of red and green paint and a spotted horse, a kind of cross between a zebra and a leopard. He had actually carried this from the shop, along the street, and across the park, without any covering whatever to hide his benevolent intentions; indeed, it was a wonder that he did not trail it behind him. And very pleasant to behold were the looks of bewildered astonishment on the faces of the old man and his grandson, when Jones delivered this very appropriate present into the hands of the latter, and shaking hands with the former (leaving some money therein I dare say), departed as hastily as he had arrived, without waiting to hear their thanks.

So much for Jones; but before I leave the subject of the town altogether, I can't refrain from bringing Green upon the tapis.— Green, the methodical, punctual, and, in many respects, very matter-of-fact banker's clerk. It occasionally happens that I intersect Green's diurnal track, and then he takes my arm and interests me with his profound observations on men and things in general, gathered from the most thorough knowledge of every door step, brass knocker, lane, alley, and almost every pedestrian that makes his appearance at given times in certain streets, which my friend honors with his presence, in passing from his lodgings to the Bank, morning and evening. It is one of his boasts, which has grown rather stale to me now, that the ladies of a school on the road, disdaining the intervention of clocks and watches, have for a considerable period regulated their hours of study entirely by watching his proceedings; ringing the school bell in the morning, as soon as he was reported to be in sight, and sallying out for their evening promenade, as he repassed to his six o'clock dinner. Green has unfortunately but little fun in him, but he was considerably amused at finding, one morning, when he had the headache, and missed for a wonder his accustomed walk, that the girls