FROM THE ARCHIVES: A columnist using the pseudonym Bartolo wrote a regular column called Passing Events inThe Irish Times in the late 19th century, commenting on random events and frequently breaking into verse. This one explained how Trinity College planned to control the rowdies of the Boat Club and touched, in verse, upon one of his pet hates, the muck on Sackville (O'Connell) Street.
I LOOKED with some curiosity in vain at the board on the College gates, which serves the purpose for which the old statue of Pasquin was reserved. There was a rumour throughout College for the last week that a new ukase was about to be issued forbidding the students from keeping cats in their rooms. A dog is a prohibited animal, although odd dogs do stray in. The forthcoming order against cats originated, I am told, in the conduct of that terrible conclave of demons known as the Boat Club. These beings in the dead of night indulged in cat-calls and caterwauling, signalling to each other. The “Miow, miow,” brings out all the Tom cats from the vaults in Botany Bay square, and when porters rush in to arrest some member of the Boat Club, they see only a scampering crowd of felines, which they cannot bring before the board or a police magistrate. Hence the anticipated order for the banishment of all cats. All night signals of a caterwauling sound will, of course, then be easily traced to the Boat Club.
Bartolo is glad to be able to announce that he has discovered a new employment for the higher class of women. Yesterday, while taking his usual constitutional by the side of the Canal, on nearing the lock near Baggot Street Bridge, leading to Burlington Road, he perceived a party of attractive and fashionable ladies waiting to cross over, but in consequence of the lock being open were unable to do so. A poor decrepit old man, on two sticks – the lock-keeper – appeared from a hut on the opposite side, but as he could only close his own side of the lock he called out – “Put a hand, Miss, to your side and I’ll shove this,” which, as time evidently was an object to the ladies, in self-defence they did.
Most celebrated men have their “doubles,” and the Poet Laureate is no exception to the rule. A leading music critic closely resembles Mr Tennyson, and one would think cultivates the resemblance. Apropos of “doubles” here is a not bad story. The late Mr George Jones, RA, strongly resembled the late Duke of Wellington, and “made up” as much as possible after his Grace, with the short cloak, the bit of red collar, and other well-known adjuncts. Somebody mentioned this fact to the Duke, and added that Mr Jones was often stopped in the street by strangers in mistake for his Grace. “Indeed,” said the old warrior grimly, “that is odd; I have never been stopped in the street for Mr Jones.”
The Venerable has once more been inspired, and burst into the following magnificent poem:
For three long days we’ve had a treat,
The rain has been a stranger –
Bartolo crossed o’er Sackville street on Tuesday without danger.
We’ve had no storms careering round,
So traffic’s unimpeded;
And a police man has been found
In Grafton street when needed.
No local scandal has been heard within our legal forum,
And there has been – don’t say absurd –
A Corporation quorum.
Now, though Bartolo always clings
To hope with desperation,
By contemplating such strange things
He’s plunged in trepidation.
When such events appal the view
The prospect’s agonising,
For, if the world’s not coming to an end, it’s most surprising.
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