My journey had so far fatigued me that I wasn't sorry to have a day of
rest; and as Father Tom spent the greater part of it from home, I was
left to myself and my own reflections. The situation in which I found
myself was singular enough--the guest of a man whose acquaintance I had
made by chance, and who, knowing as little of me as I did of him,
yet showed by many an act of kindness, not less than by many a chance
observation, a deep interest in myself and my fortunes. Here, then,
I was--far from the sphere of my duties, neglecting the career I had
adopted, and suffering days, weeks, to pass over without bestowing a
thought upon my soldier life.
Following on this train of thought, I could not help acknowledging to
myself that my attachment to Miss Bellew was the cause of my journey,
and the real reason of my wandering. However sanguine may be the heart
when touched by the first passion, the doubts that will now and then
shoot across it are painful and poignant; and now, in the calmness of my
judgment, I could not but see the innumerable obstacles my family
would raise to all my hopes. I well knew my father's predilection for a
campaigning life, and that nothing would compensate him for the
defeat of this expectation. I had but too many proofs of my mother's
aristocratic prejudices to suppose that she ever could acknowledge as
her daughter-in-law one whose pretensions to rank, although higher
than her own, were yet neither trumpeted by the world nor blazoned
by fashion. And lastly, changed as I was myself since my arrival in
Ireland, there was yet enough of the Englishman left in me to see how
unsuited was Louisa Bellew, in many respects, to be launched forth in
the torrent of London life, while yet her experience of the world was so
narrow and limited. Still, I loved her. The very artless simplicity of
her manner, the untutored freshness of her mind, had taught me to know
that even great personal attractions may be the second excellence of
a woman. And besides, I was just at that time of life when ambition is
least natural. One deems it more heroic to renounce all that is daring
in enterprise, all that is great in promise, merely to be loved. My mind
was therefore made up. The present opportunity was a good one to see her
frequently and learn thoroughly to know her tastes and her dispositions.
Should I succeed in gaining her affections, however opposed my family
might prove at first, I calculated on their fondness for me as an only
son, and knew that in regard to fortune I should be independent enough
to marry whom I pleased.
In speculations such as these the time passed over; and although I
waited with impatience for the hour of our visit to Kilmorran Castle,
still, as the time drew near, many a passing doubt would flit across
me--how far I had mistaken the promptings of my own affection for any
return of my love. True it was, that more than once Louisa's look and
manner testified I was not indifferent to her; still, when I remembered
that I had ever seen her surrounded by persons she was anxious to avoid,
a suspicion crossed me that perhaps I owed the little preference
she showed me less to any qualities I possessed than to my own
unobtrusiveness. These were galling and unpleasant reflections; and
whither they might have led me I know not, when the priest tapped with
his knuckles at my window, and called out--
'Captain, we shall be late if you don't hurry a bit; and I had rather be
behind time with his gracious Majesty himself than with old Sir Simon.'
I opened the window at once, and jumped out into the lawn.
'My dear father, I've been ready this half-hour, but fell into a dreamy
fit and forgot everything. Are we to walk it?'
'No, no; the distance is much greater than you think. Small as the bay
looks, it is a good three miles from this to Kilmorran; but here comes
your old friend the curriculus.'
I once more mounted to my old seat, and the priest, guiding the horse
down to the beach, selected the strand, from which the waves had just
receded, as the hardest road, and pressed on at a pace that showed his
desire to be punctual.
'Get along there. Nabocklish! How lazy the devil is! 'Faith, we'll be
late, do our best. Captain, darling, put your watch back a quarter of an
hour, and I'll stand to it that we are both by Dublin time.'
'Is he, then, so very particular/ said I, 'as all that comes to?'
'Particular, is it? 'Faith he is. Why, man, there is as much ringing
of bells before dinner in that house as if every room in it was crammed
with company. And the old butler will be there, all in black, and his
hair powdered, and beautiful silk stockings on his legs, every day in
the week, although, maybe, it is a brace of snipe will be all that is on
the table. Take the whip for a while, and lay into that baste--my heart
is broke flogging him.'
Had Sir Simon only watched the good priest's exertions for the preceding
quarter of an hour, he certainly would have had a hard heart if he
had criticised his punctuality. Shouting one moment, cursing the next,
thrashing away with his whip, and betimes striding over the splash-board
to give a kick with his foot, he undoubtedly spared nothing in either
voice or gesture.
'There, glory be to God!' cried he at last, as he turned sharp from the
shady road into a narrow avenue of tall lime-trees; 'take the reins,
Captain, till I wipe my face. Blessed hour, look at the state I am in!
Lift him to it, and don't spare him. May I never, if that isn't the last
bell, and he only gives five minutes after that!'
Although I certainly should have preferred that Father Tom had continued
his functions as charioteer now that we were approaching the house,
common humanity, however, compelled me to spare him, and I flogged and
chucked the old beast with all my might up the rising ground towards
the house. I had but just time to see that the building before us was
a large embattled structure, which, although irregular and occasionally
incongruous in detail, was yet a fine specimen of the castellated Gothic
of the seventeenth century. Massive square towers flanked the angles,
themselves surmounted by smaller turrets, that shot up into the air high
above the dark woods around them. The whole was surrounded by a fosse,
now dry, and overgrown with weeds; but the terrace, which lay between
this and the castle, was laid out as a flower-garden, with a degree of
taste and beauty that to my mind at least bespoke the fostering hand of
Louisa Bellew. Upon this the windows of a large drawing-room opened, at
one of which I could mark the tall and stately figure of Sir Simon, as
he stood, watch in hand, awaiting our arrival. I confess, it was not
without a sense of shame that I continued my flagellations at
the moment. Under any circumstances, our turn-out was not quite
unexceptionable; but when I thought of my own position, and of the
good priest who sat beside me mopping his head and face with a huge red
cotton handkerchief, I cursed my stars for the absurd exposure. Just at
this instant the skirt of a white robe passed one of the windows, and I
thought--I hope it was but a thought--I heard a sound of laughter.
'There, that will do. Phoebus himself couldn't do it better. I wouldn't
wish my worst enemy to be in a pair of shafts before you.'
Muttering a curse on the confounded beast, I pulled short up and sprang
out.
'Not late, Nicholas, I hope?' said the priest to a tall, thin old
butler, who bore a most absurd resemblance to his master.
'Your reverence has a minute and a half yet; but the soup's on
the table.' As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a small bit of
looking-glass, in a wooden frame, and with a pocket-comb arranged his
hair in a most orderly and decorous manner; which being done, he turned
gravely round and said, 'Are ye ready, now, gentlemen?'
The priest nodded, and forward we went. Passing through a suite of rooms
whose furniture, however handsome once, was now worm-eaten and injured
by time, we at length reached the door of the drawing-room, when the
butler, after throwing one more glance at us to assure himself that we
were in presentable array, flung the door wide open, and announced, with
the voice of a king-at-arms--
'The Reverend Father Loftus, and Mr. Hinton.'
'Serve!' said Sir Simon, with a wave of his hand. While, advancing
towards us, he received us with most polished courtesy. 'You are most
welcome to Kilmorran, Mr. Hinton. I need not present my daughter.'
He turned towards the priest, and the same moment I held Miss Bellow's
hand in mine. Dressed in white, and with her hair plainly braided on her
cheek, I thought she looked handsomer than I had ever seen her. There
was an air of assured calmness in her manner that sat well upon her
lovely features, as, with a tone of winning sweetness, she seconded the
words of her father, and welcomed me to Kilmorran.
The first step in the knowledge of the female heart is to know how to
interpret any constraint or reserve of manner on the part of the woman
you are in love with. Your mere novice is never more tempted to despair
than at the precise moment his hopes should grow stronger; nor is he
ever so sanguine as when the prospect is gloomy before him. The quick
perceptions of even a very young girl enable her to perceive when she
is loved; and however disposed she may feel towards the individual, a
certain mixture of womanly pride and coquetry will teach her a kind of
reserve towards him. Now, there was a slight dash of this constrained
tone through Miss Bellow's manner to me; and little experience as I had
had in such matters, I knew enough to augur favourably from it. While
doing the honours of her house, a passing timidity would seem every now
and then to check her advances, and I could remark how carefully she
avoided any allusion, however slight, to our past acquaintance.
The austerity of Sir Simon's manner at his first visit, as well as
the remarks of my friend the priest, had led me to suspect that our
dinner-party would prove cold, formal, and uncomfortable; indeed, the
baronet's constrained and measured courtesy in the drawing-room gave
me but little encouragement to expect anything better. Most agreeable,
therefore, was my disappointment to find that before the soup was
removed he had thawed considerably. The stern wrinkles of his haughty
face relaxed, and a bland and good-humoured smile had usurped the place
of his former fixed and determined look. Doing the honours of his table
with the most perfect tact, he contrived, while almost monopolising
the conversation, to appear the least obtrusive amongst us; his remarks
being ever accompanied by some appeal to his daughter, the priest, or
myself, seemed to link us in the interest of all he said, and make
his very listeners deem themselves entertaining and agreeable.
Unfortunately, I can present but a very meagre picture of this happy
gift; but I remember well how insensibly my prejudices gave way, one
by one, as I listened to his anecdotes, and heard him recount, with
admirable humour, many a story of his early career. To be sure, it
may be said that my criticism was not likely to be severe while seated
beside his beautiful daughter, whose cheek glowed with pleasure,
and whose bright eye glistened with added lustre as she remarked the
impression her father's agree-ability was making on his guests. Such
may, I doubt not, have increased the delight I felt; but Sir Simon's own
claims were still indisputable.
I know not how far I shall meet my reader's concurrence in the remark,
but it appears to me that conversational talent, like wine, requires
age to make it mellow. The racy flavour that smacks of long knowledge
of life, the reflective tone that deepens without darkening the picture,
the freedom from exaggeration either in praise or censure, are not
the gifts of young men, usually; and certainly they do season the
intercourse of older ones, greatly to its advantage. There is, moreover,
a pleasant flattery in listening to the narratives of those who
were mixing with the busy world--its intrigues, its battles, and its
byplay--while we were but boys. How we like to hear of the social
everyday life of those great men of a bygone day, whose names have
become already historical; what a charm does it lend to reminiscence,
when the names of Burke, Sheridan, Grattan, and Curran start up amid
memories of youthful pleasure; and how we treasure every passing word
that is transmitted to us, and how much, in spite of all the glorious
successes of their after days, do we picture them to ourselves, from
some slight or shadowy trait of their school or college life!
Sir Simon Bellow's conversation abounded in features of this kind. His
career had begun and continued for a long time in the brightest period
of Ireland's history--when wealth and genius were rife in the land, and
when the joyous traits of Irish character were elicited in all their
force by prosperity and happiness. It was then shone forth in all their
brilliancy the great spirits whose flashing wit and glittering fancy
have cast a sunlight over their native country that even now, in the
twilight of the past, continues to illumine it. Alas! they have had no
heritors to their fame; they have left no successors behind them.
I have said that Miss Bellew listened with delight to all her father's
stores of amusement--happy to see him once more aroused to the exertion
of his abilities, and pleased to watch how successfully his manner
had won over us. With what added loveliness she looked up to him as
he narrated some circumstances of his political career, where his
importance with his party was briefly alluded to; and how proudly her
features glowed, as some passing sentiment of high and simple patriotism
would break from him! At such moments, the resemblance between them both
became remarkably striking, and I deemed her even more beautiful than
when her face wore its habitual calm and peaceful expression.
Father Loftus himself seemed also to have undergone a change--no
longer indulging in his accustomed free-and-easy manner, seasoning
his conversation with droll allusions and sly jokes. He now appeared a
shrewd, intelligent reasoner, a well-informed man of the world, and at
times evidenced traits of reading and scholarship I was nowise prepared
for. But how vain is it for one of any other country to fathom one half
the depth of Irish character, or say what part is inapplicable to an
Irishman! My own conviction is that we are all mistaken in our estimate
of them; that the gay and reckless spirit, the wild fun, and frantic,
impetuous devilment are their least remarkable features, and in
fact only the outside emblem of the stirring nature within. Like the
lightning that flashes over the thunder-cloud, but neither influences
the breaking of the storm nor points to its course, so have I seen the
jest break from lips pale with hunger, and heard the laugh come free
and mellow when the heart was breaking in misery. But what a mockery of
mirth!
When we retired to the drawing-room, Sir Simon, who had something to
communicate to Father Tom, took him apart into one of the deep window
recesses, and I was left for the first time alone beside Miss Bellew.
There was something of awkwardness in the situation; for as neither
of us could allude to the past without evoking recollections we both
shunned to touch on, we knew not well of what to speak. The window lay
open to the ground, displaying before us a garden in all the richness of
fruit and blossom; the clustering honeysuckle and the dog-rose hung in
masses of flower across the casement, and the graceful hyacinth and the
deep carnation were bending to the night-air, scented with the odour of
many a flower. I looked wistfully without. Miss Bellew caught my glance;
a slight hesitation followed, and then, as if assuming more courage, she
said--
'Are you fond of a garden? Would you like a walk?'
The haste with which I caught at the proposal half disconcerted her;
but, with a slight smile, she stepped out into the walk.
How I do like a large, old-fashioned garden with its venerable
fruit-trees, its shady alleys, its overgrown and tangled beds, in which
the very luxuriance sets all effort of art at defiance, and where rank
growth speaks of wild-ness rather than culture! I like those grassy
walks, where the footstep falls unheard; those shady thickets of
nut-trees, which the blackbird haunts in security, and where the thrush
sings undisturbed. What a sense of quiet home-happiness there breathes
in the leafy darkness of the spot, and how meet for reverie and
reflection does it seem!
As I sauntered along beside my companion, these thoughts crowded on me.
Neither spoke; but her arm was in mine, our footsteps moved in unison,
our eyes followed the same objects, and I felt as though our hearts beat
responsively. On turning from one of the darker walks we suddenly came
upon an elevated spot, from which, through an opening in the wood, the
coast came into view, broken into many a rocky promontory, and dotted
with small islands. The sea was calm and waveless, and stretched away
towards the horizon in one mass of unbroken blue, where it blended with
the sky. An exclamation of 'How beautiful!' broke from me at once; and
as I turned towards Louisa, I perceived that her eyes sparkled with
pleasure, and a half blush was mantling her cheek.
'You are not, then, disappointed with the west?' said she, with
animation.
'No, no! I did not look for anything like this; nor,' added I, in a
lower tone, while the words trembled on my lips, 'did I hope to enjoy it
thus.'
She seemed slightly confused, but with woman's readiness to turn the
meaning of my speech, added--
'Your recovery from illness doubtless gives a heightened pleasure to
everything like this. The dark hour of sickness is often needed to teach
us to feel strongly as we ought the beauty of the fair world we live
in.'
'It may be so; but still I find that every sorrow leaves a scar upon the
heart, and he who has mourned much loses the zest for happiness.'
'Or, rather, his views of it are different. I speak, happily for me, in
ignorance; yet it seems as though every trial in life was a preparation
for some higher scale of blissful enjoyment; and that as our
understandings mature in power, so do our hearts in goodness--chastening
at each ordeal of life, till at last the final sorrow, death, bids us
prepare for the eternity where there is no longer grief, and where the
weary are at rest.'
'Is not your view of life rather derived from the happy experience of
this quiet spot than suited for the collisions of the world, where, as
men grow older, their consciences grow more seared, their hearts less
open?'
'Perhaps; but is not my philosophy a good one that fits me for my
station? My life has been cast here; I have no wish to leave it. I hope
I never shall.'
'Never! Surely, you would like to see other countries,--to travel?'
'No, no! All the brilliant pleasures you can picture for me would never
requite the fears I must suffer lest these objects should grow less dear
to me when I came back to them. The Tyrol is doubtless grander in its
wild magnificence; but can it ever come home to my heart with so many
affections and memories as these bold cliffs I have gazed on in my
infancy; or should I benefit in happiness if it did? Can your Swiss
peasant, be his costume ever so picturesque, interest me one half as
much as yonder poor fisherman, who is carrying up his little child in
his arms from the beach? I know him, his home, his hearth; I have
seen his grateful smile for some small benefit, and heard his words of
thankfulness. And think you not that such recollections as these are all
mingled in every glance I throw around me, and that every sunlit spot
of landscape shines not more brightly in my heart for its human
associations? These may be narrow prejudices--I see you smile at me.'
'No, no! Trust me, I do not undervalue your reasons.'
'Well, here comes Father Loftus, and he shall be judge between us.
We were discussing the advantages of contrasting our home with other
countries----'
'Ahem! A very difficult point,' said the priest, interrupting her, and
drawing himself up with a great air of judicial importance. '_Ubi bene,
ibi patria_--which may be rendered, “There's potatoes everywhere.” Not
that I incline to the doctrine myself. Ireland is the only enjoyable
country I know of. _Utamur creatura, dum possumus_--that means “a
moderate use of creature comforts,” Miss Louisa. But, troth, I'm
so heated with an argument I had with Sir Simon, that I'm no ways
competent---- Did I tell you he was waiting for his tea?'
'No, indeed you did not,' said Miss Bellew, giving vent to a laugh she
had been struggling against for the last few minutes; and which I did
not at the moment know was caused by her perceiving the priest's air of
chagrin and discontent, the evident proofs of his being worsted by the
old baronet, whose chief pleasure in life was to worry the father into a
discussion, and either confuse or confute him. 'My father seems in such
good spirits to-night! Don't you think so?' said she roguishly, looking
over at the priest.
'Never saw him better; quite lively and animated, and'--dropping his
voice to a whisper---'as obstinate as ever.'
As we entered the house we found Sir Simon walking leisurely up and down
the drawing-room, with his hands behind his back, his face radiant with
smiles, and his eye gleaming with conscious triumph towards the corner
where the priest stood tumbling over some books to conceal his sense of
defeat. In a few minutes after we were seated round the tea-table; the
little cloud was dispelled, and a happier party it was difficult to
imagine.