My first drive in a jaunting car also proved to me that mechanical laws are the same everywhere. The sentinel who guarded the gates of the Louvre could not free our kings from their consequences, and in spite of its power the Land League has no perceptible effect in this direction. On this occasion at every corner I was seized by an almost irresistible force, which, taking as its fulcrum the spot a little below the loins, where Dr. Liouville places the centre of gravity in the human body, threatened to throw me out upon the pavement. Thanks to the studies of my youth I recognised in this impulse the force which learned men call centrifugal, and defying its insidious attacks I clung to the car with both hands, quite ignoring the fact that I was outraging all sense of local etiquette. It appears that one must no more cling to a car in turning corners than hold on by the mane of a runaway horse.
The first thing that strikes the attention of a stranger arriving at Dublin is the tattered state of its inhabitants. When, owing to the social and economical condition of a country, the majority of its citizens are unable to afford themselves the luxury of even mending their clothes, custom really ought to allow them to dispense with garments entirely, at least in summer. It would be an act of charity and every one would profit by it. On one hand the eye would not be offended by the lamentable spectacle of an urchin who has but two hands with which to hold the tattered fragments of stuff that once formed a pair of trousers; on the other, the said urchin, freed from his absorbing occupation, might perhaps do some work, which is manifestly impossible now. I venture humbly to suggest this idea to those conscientious philanthropists who seek every means of relieving suffering humanity. But it is not only the street arabs that are clothed in this way. The art of mending seems absolutely unknown here. I am sure that I have not seen one person in ten whose garments are not torn. My driver’s sleeve only holds on to the jacket by a miracle of good nature, and his trousers are slit from the knee to the ankle.
At every corner of the street one sees groups of women, their hair falling round the face, their dresses, full of holes, only reach the knees, leaving their incredibly dirty feet and legs visible below their rags. In hot countries poverty matters little. At Cadiz, Naples, and Cairo we see numbers of people who are certainly quite as poor as these. But they do not look miserable. The sun supplies nearly all they need. If it does not feed it comforts them. A Neapolitan _lazzarone_ may only have eaten a slice of water-melon, but he looks satisfied. Here, under the cold grey skies, in the muddy streets, these poor creatures fill one with pity. The drawn faces, the hollow, brilliant eyes, have a hungry look which makes my heart ache.