_Oct. 2, 1831_.
Lestock was gratified by my joining him at Armagh. Mr. Allott was most
hospitable. We walked to the cathedral, and saw views of great extent
and beauty, and heard learned disquisitions about architecture, and a
curious anecdote in support of a favourite theory of his, that small
stones _grouted_ together, with lime and water put in hot, defies old
Time. Great alarm was excited some time ago at Winchester Cathedral: the
principal pillars seemed to be giving way, out of the perpendicular, and
_bulged_. They fell to work _shoring_ and propping; but, in spite of
all, the pillars still seemed to be giving way more and more, and they
feared the whole would come down. Rennie was sent for, but Rennie was
ill, and died. At last an architect looked at the pillars, picked at
them, took off a facing of stone, and found, what he had suspected, that
it was only this facing that had given way and bulged, and that the
inside was a solid pillar of masonry,--small stones grouted together so
firmly that the cement was as hard as the stone.
Dr. and Mrs. Robinson came in the evening: his conversation is
admirable; such an affluence of ideas, so full of genius and master
thoughts. He gave me an excellent disquisition on the effect which
transcendental mathematics produces on the mind, and traced up the
history of mathematics from Euclid, appealing to diagrams and resting on
images, to that higher sort where they are put out of the question,
where we reason by symbols as in algebra, and work on in the dark till
they get to the light, or till the light comes out of the dark--sure
that it will come out. He went over Newton, and on through the history
of modern times--Brinkley, Lagrange, Hamilton--just giving to me,
ignorant, a notion of what each had done.
Mrs. O'Beirne--dear, kind soul!--would accompany me on the jaunting-car
all the way from Newry to Rostrevor, and I am very glad she did; and as
the day was fine and the tide in, I thought it would be pleasant on that
beautiful road; and so it would have been, but for the droves of
cows--Oh, those weary cows with the longest horns!--and if ever I
laughed at you for being afraid of cows, you may have your revenge now.
Every quarter of a mile, at least, came a tangled mass of these brutes,
and their fright made them more terrible, for they knew no more what
they were doing than I did myself; and there I was sitting at their
mercy, and the horn of one or t'other continually within an inch of my
eye, my mouth, or my breast, and no retreat; and they might any moment
stick me on the top of one of these horns, and toss me with one jerk
into the sea! Mrs. O'Beirne kept telling me she was used to it, and that
nothing ever happened; but by the time I reached Rostrevor I was as poor
a worn-out rag as ever you saw.
_To_ MISS RUXTON.