deceive, should be reckoned insincere by those who do not understand
her; and as this comprehends by far the largest portion of the people
with whom she converses, how it is that the general voice of mankind,
which is usually considered to convey the truth with respect to
individual character, is in her case a false criterion, representing
her as the opposite of what she really is? I think that I can solve the
enigma satisfactorily. Augusta is a woman of decided genius, a word
which comprehends the union of fine talent, and quick perception. She
also possesses that force of understanding which has been commonly,
though not correctly distinguished by the epithet masculine, she
herself furnishing proof that we of the other sex have no right to
the _monopoly_ which we often assume; and that, in seizing on the
_copy-right_ of solid sense, we are guilty of an untenable usurpation.
Augusta is particularly qualified to appreciate merit, for her mind
is penetrating and her taste refined; but _enthusiasm_ is the blind
that interposes to prevent the exercise of her judgment. Eager to
find materials on which to employ her intellect and affections, and
ever in search of objects that may prove worthy of exciting them; her
progress through life has been one continued voyage of discovery. She
dislikes the common track, and avoids those ports where low traffic and
vulgar merchandise are all the allurement that presents itself. She
delights in setting her sails for some _terra incognita_; and in the
true spirit of an animated adventurer, if on landing she find a few
grains of gold in the sands, she imagines rich mines in the distance,
and precipitately announcing the Eldorada of her hopes, hastens forward
to secure the treasure in prospect. Delusion has too frequently mocked
her career: not that Augusta invented a fiction; she had found the
grains of precious metal, and fancied that it was only to follow the
course of the stream, and be rewarded with store of riches; but in
ascending the current no glittering prize repays her toil. Rugged
mountains, barren rocks, and tedious flats, fatigue the eye; returning
weary and disappointed, she trims her bark and invokes a favourable
breeze, and bidding adieu to the region which had exhibited poverty
instead of wealth, she weighs anchor and steers for another coast.
Under this allegory would I present Augusta a mirror in which to behold
herself. Tired of the vapid circle by which she has been encompassed
in the world, and weary of crowds in which she found little congenial
society, she has been perpetually engaged in seeking for what might
interest her better feelings, and fill the vacuum which she experienced
in her mind. In this pursuit it has frequently occurred that some
agreeable quality met her view, and encouraged the activity of her
research; but, mistaking her own energy of anticipation for success,
she proclaims with joy, the _treasure trove_, ere she knows the extent
of its value, and from impetuosity of gratitude, is condemned to the
humiliating confession that the single attribute which she admired is
not associated with others which her own enthusiasm had supplied, but
lies, like the grain of gold upon the surface of the sand, in solitary
insulation.
The apparent contrariety then, it would seem, which has obtained a
character of caprice for Augusta, is produced by the very excess of
that quality which it is denied that she possesses, and results from
a superabundance rather than a deficiency of sincerity. She speaks
nothing but the truth, when she praises prematurely, and as honestly
condemns when she discovers that her panegyric was misapplied. I
venture to predict the operation of a new process in Augusta's mind,
which if I do not greatly mistake, has been gradually awakening of late
to a sense of the only _true_ estimate. She will never, here-after, be
satisfied I think with tracing character _downwards_ from some light
ornamental decoration at the _top_; but in future only expect that
those wreaths which adorn the capital shall be firmly supported when
the pillar rises from a broad base of solidly established foundation.
The fire of a vivid imagination has prolonged the _youth_ of Augusta,
and it is only now that she is beginning to learn a valuable lesson
in morals, namely, that happiness, like liberty, is often overlooked
in the search after it. Young people, through inexperience, and
sometimes those who are older from sanguineness of temperament, expect
more from life than it has to bestow. They consider happiness as a
precious jewel never hitherto possessed, yet certainly to be found
though in what shape, place, or circumstances, it never occurs to them
to define; it is with them a sort of vague ideal charm, always to be
pursued, and as constantly eluding the grasp. Liberty in like manner,
with the same description of persons, does not consist in the absence
of restraint; in the rational enjoyment of property, or preservation
of rights. It is a loose ungovernable spirit of infringement on the
privileges of others. The mere security derived under a just and
equal administration of the laws is no better than bondage in the
eyes of what are technically known by the name and style of "radical
reformers." All this is flat and tame; they must _kick_ and _fling_,
to be assured that they are not confined; they must be permitted to do
that which has neither reference to pleasure nor utility, merely to
exercise the _power_ which absolute freedom bestows, just as a child in
a garden lays about him, and batters down the flowers on each side with
the stick in his hand, without any need of, or desire for, the things
thus destroyed. We deceive ourselves much in supposing that happiness
of mind any more than health of body depends upon _place_. I do not
say that change of scene is not often both agreeable and convenient;
but if the heart be oppressed, or there be 'a thorn in the flesh,' the
_Mordecai_ travels with us. We cannot run away from ourselves. To be
happy in the limited sense which Providence permits, let us endeavour
to make _home_ the centre of our enjoyments. The fulfilment of those
little duties which are at every moment presenting their claims, may
be thought by many a strange _receipt_ for contentment; yet it is a
very sure one, and if there ever was an axiom on the truth of which we
may rely, it is, that "the mind is its own place." Instead of looking
to new faces, and seeking in new situations for that undiscovered
_something_, we know not what, which upon approaching will, like the
sailor's "Cape fly away," always vanish, or recede from our view; let
us be assured that, in every condition of life, and in every spot of
earth, much may be done with the materials that lie immediately around
us; and if we evince no skill in the manufacture of these, we should
not turn a wider range to profit. My dear friend Augusta begins to feel
these truths, and when they come to be steadily acted upon, she will no
more be a prey to disappointment--no more be accounted insincere. Her
judgments will be slower, and therefore less apt to err; her friends
will be fewer, and chosen not for their brilliancy so much as their
worth, and Augusta will find that all the blessings which do not mock
our grasp, are to be possessed _every where_, if sought upon the only
principles which can never deceive."
"Excellent sense," exclaimed Bentley, "my opinions are not expressed
in such courtly phrase as my friend Otway uses; but I agree in the
substance of every syllable that he has written. He is quite right,
but, like the prophet who ordered a dip into the river Jordan to cure
the leprosy, your moral physicians who prescribe simples which are
to be met with in the field of our own minds, will never be attended
to. No, no, we must ransack the remotest ends of the earth for our
remedies, because no one is inclined to think his own case a common
one. Mrs. Fitzroy returned at this moment with _another_ paper in her
hand, over which she was laughing heartily. "Oh come," said she, "and
read a most delightful copy of verses written impromptu this moment for
me by 'poet Connor,' who, it appears, having missed us at Killarney,
stepped across the country to Glenalta, that he might do honour in due
form to the strangers. Arthur, he is inquiring for you, and as he is
one of the most grotesque figures I ever saw, I pray that you may look
at him."
I went in quest of the poet, as I was desired, and you may form some
idea of these Irish _improvisatori_ by the few commencing lines of
Connor's composition in praise of Mrs. Fitzroy, which, if you _admire_,
shall be preserved with their "_tail on_," along with his eulogy on
your humble servant, for a future day. What think you of the following
invocation:--
"_Egregious_ Dame! thine ear benignly bend,
And to the Muse of Kerry kindly lend
Attention meet, while he shall aptly sing,
And from Apollo's lyre soft music bring.
The _ægis_ of thy sweet protection grant,
While to thy praise he tunes harmonious chaunt.
Glory of England! here we gladly see,
Renowned epitome arrived in thee.
&c. &c. &c."
The rude figure who met my eyes on gaining the house, gave a finish
to the poetical treat; and, certainly, in all my travels I have never
seen a person less formed by nature or art to captivate _the nine_,
than this votary of the Castalian choir. He is a man of about sixty, of
Bardolphian physiognomy, who, I rather imagine, is much more frequently
indebted for the fire of inspiration to a glass of whiskey, than to the
fountain of Helicon. A large, battered tin snuff-box also contributed
its aid to enliven those numbers
"Which warm from the still, and faithful to its fires,"
were dealt out with equal readiness and prodigality to all who looked
as if they were inclined to purchase Parnassian fame; and the same
snuff-box supplied a substitute for sand, with which ever and anon, the
bard sprinkled his effusions. Fancy a large, obtuse red face, curled
head, rough coat, of dark brown cloth, fastened with a cord round his
waist; a hat full of holes, an ink bottle cased over with a _surtout_
of pack-thread, and tied at a button-hole; a pen stuck behind one
ear, and a roll of the coarsest description of paper sticking out of
his bosom, and you have before you as much of poet Connor as I shall
give till you see his fac simile admirably sketched by Fanny's pencil
in my journal. Mrs. Fitzroy and I, whose perfections had been "theme
of song," gave half a crown each to the verse-vender, and received
another scolding from old Bentley for encouraging these idlers, who,
he says, truly enough I believe, are amongst the most worthless part
of the community. We then dispersed, and went our several ways, for
the first time since the "_English foreigners_" had been at Glenalta
without saying when shall we meet again? I am melancholy I confess.
My heart is full, as the hour of my departure advances. The last week
has brought me more intimately acquainted than ever with the excellence
from which I must tear myself; and I am sorrowful in proportion as I
compare the feelings which I brought to Ireland with those which now on
the eve of separation over-whelm me, as I bid farewell to this happy
abode of all that is best and brightest. Where shall I look for such
affection; where seek such disinterested kindness, mental improvement,
and variety of pleasurable excitement, as I have found in this charming
spot, which I nicknamed Blue-stocking Hall, and believed to be a centre
in which pedantry, dullness, affectation, and presumption, had agreed
to meet and lodge together?
Glenalta, "I cry you mercy;" if repentance merit pardon, I may hope to
be forgiven. I love even Domine, and down to the very dogs, nothing
is an object of indifference that I leave behind. How painful the
sensation that one experiences when the heart swells as though it
would burst its confine, an unbidden tear starts, and utterance is
palsied? Yet this is what we pay our money for, and delight in the
actor or the actress who can most powerfully call forth such emotion,
by only imitating those passions, and feigning those incidents which
_naturally_ affect our sympathies. Why do we thus liberally bestow our
best feelings on theatrical fiction, while we so frequently withhold
them from the legitimate claims of reality? Old Bentley would give some
reason, I dare say, for this anomaly, not very favourable to human
nature; and if I think of it I will ask him the question before I go.
We are to have strangers at dinner to-day, which is a _bore_, but my
aunt wishes to repay some of the many attentions shewn to Frederick,
since his return from Dublin, by all the neighbouring gentry, who
have been profuse of congratulation, and perhaps she is desirous of
_constraining_ us all to be more cheerful in spite of ourselves, than
the prospect of a parting scene on the day after to-morrow would
permit, were it not for a little gentle compulsion. I shall go on
writing till we set out, and shall not finish this till I reach London,
where I shall hope to find means of sending my packet as _usual_ by
private hand. What a lucky dog you are in receiving such _pounds_ of
stationery free of cost, in a country where epistolary taxation is
calculated by weight? Adieu, till to-morrow.
Well, yesterday is "numbered with the years before the flood," and
the company which, while in perspective, I thought would be a _gène_,
turned out a resource, and gave us a great deal to talk of when spirits
were flagging, and threatened to fail unless given fresh motion by
some new _impingement_ from without. The ladies who were asked did
not come, and the most prominent features among the gentlemen of the
country who made their appearance were, Mr. Fitzallan, a man of large
fortune, generally an absentee, and Mr. Ridley, another person of good
estate, together with their respective sons. The politics, manners, and
sentiments, in every possible department of conversation between these
neighbours are north and south of each other, but as they met _here_
on neutral ground, and in a _lady's_ house, all was smooth to outward
seeming. Mr. Fitzallan is a _liberal_, and very eloquent; he talked
admirably on the rights of the people, the errors of Administration,
the total want of honesty in Ministers; the shameful abuse of power,
peculation in every quarter, prostitution of the national purse, and
dereliction of justice. He sat next to Mrs. Fitzroy, whose animated
countenance almost emitted _light_, as she listened to a flow of mind
so congenial with her own. Mr. Ridley, on the opposite side, who took
his seat next my aunt, supported even the very thickest skull to be
found on the Ministerial side of Lords and Commons. To a person not
immediately engaged in conversation with either of our _leaders_,
nothing could be more comical than the effect of opposition in the
chance-medley of sounds that vibrated round the table. It was what
the printers call _a pie_, when the _devils_ have jumbled their types
into confusion. I heard liberty, authority, equal rights, wholesome
rule, universal suffrage, Kingly prerogatives, emancipation, Protestant
ascendancy, the curse of tithes, the blessings of an Established
Church, &c. in the drollest _mess_ that could be imagined. When
the speakers descended from their stilts, and, quitting the arena
of dispute on public affairs, _meandered_ into the paths of private
life, the same remarkable difference was observable in the style of
our orators. Mr. Fitzallan talked with enthusiasm of the peasantry
of Ireland as the finest, but most oppressed, people under Heaven;
declaring that West Indian slavery had nothing to compare, in its
horrors, with the subjugation of this British island; this land of
beauty, this nursery of the brave. He told some striking anecdotes of
his own tenantry, who, he said, would follow him to the confines of
earth, and that were he like Roderick Dhü, only to whistle as he rode
along, the whole country would rise in his defence. When he spoke of
his family, he dwelt on the lovely innocence of childhood, and said
how hard he felt it even to _look_ angrily. All _discipline_ he left
entirely to Mrs. Fitzallan, who was, he acknowledged, so much wiser
than himself, that he willingly relinquished every title to controul,
and gladly confessed that he was _hen-pecked_ and _chicken-pecked_,
and _pecked_ in every possible manner of _pecking_; adding, "I live,
in fact, totally under petticoat government, and find nothing suits
with my temper so pleasantly as to be led in all things by my wife."
Mr. Fitzallan's appearance is very handsome, and his manners are
perfectly polished, which gave the most finished, at the same time
the most playful tone to every thing he said, while Ridley looked as
serious in describing a game of German tactics to Fanny, as if he had
been delivering evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons on
the Corn Laws. Young Fitzallan gave a scowling glance at his father
every time that he spoke; and whenever he could slide in a word, it
was sure to be a _cut_ at the difference between theory and practice.
Young Ridley, on the contrary, seemed to hang with delight on every
word that his father uttered, though with the most perfect freedom and
considerable intelligence, he sometimes ventured a flight in praise
of some of our Opposition men, who met with no quarter from the old
man. When the party broke up in the evening Mrs. Fitzroy burst into
a glowing eulogium on Mr. Fitzallan, "who," she said, "was the most
noble creature she had met for ages. That man has such heart, he is
overflowing with love for his species, and his views upon every subject
are so generous, so exalted, so comprehensive"--
"That they comprehend _nothing_, madam," interrupted Mr. Bentley in a
high state of irritation. "I repeat, madam," continued he, "that you
were never so mistaken in the course of your life. This shewy man,
who has attracted so much of your admiration, possesses property to a
large amount in several counties in Ireland. The agent whom he employs
in this part of the country, I know to be one of the most grinding,
heartless, fellows in creation. Mr. Fitzallan is one of the worst
landlords in Ireland, and never does an act that is not dictated by
the grossest self-interest. In private life he is a compound of pride
and laxity. The former governs his conduct with wife and children, to
all of whom he behaves in the most imperious yet capricious manner;
and, _though_ he has too little controul over _himself_ to enforce
subordination in _others_, he is selfish and tyrannical with all whose
actions he can dare to command. You might have observed how small
a degree of credit he has with his son, who dotes on his mother,
and resents, as far as he can, his father's neglect of her. Madam,
Mr. Fitzallan fastened on your ear because you were a stranger, and
he found that he could play off an artillery of _words_ upon your
ignorance of his true character.
"Now there is honest Jack Ridley, whom you did not condescend to
address, I believe, for the whole day; I would bet a sovereign that
you think every syllable of what I have told you fits him to a _tee_,
and that I am either an idiot or a madman for having given you such
an account of your favourite. The _truth_ is, that you and I may
exchange our portraits, and each will then possess a good likeness,
for my worthy friend Jack is all that you ascribe to Mr. Fitzallan.
If he incline perhaps a little to what is _now_ called bigotry, it
is in defence of his King and his Church, though he would not hurt
the feelings of _any_ man, whatever be his creed. He is an excellent
magistrate, one of the best of landlords, and it is worth going from
this to Fort Ridley to see him in the midst of his family. When he
returns to-night, the smile of welcome will greet his arrival. His son
and he are probably at this moment cheerfully discussing in their way
home the agreeable party at Glenalta; and will make the fire-side group
partakers in every little incident or remark that has occurred during
the absence of two of its members.
"Were we to accompany the Fitzallans in _their_ homeward course, I
promise you that your enthusiasm would be plunged in an ice-bath ere
you had left this gate three perches behind you. Imagine the father
and son, fitted like corner-cupboards into the extreme angles of their
carriage, asleep, or feigning sleep; knees approximating, but not
_touching_, towards the centre. Arrived at the _Rialta_ (foolish name),
the gentlemen contrive to separate without a mutual "good night,"--no
"blazing hearth," no "crackling fagot;" no beaming open countenance
awaits their return. A silence dark and chill as death pervades the
mansion, and morning's sunny ray has no power over the gloomy hearts
that dwell within it. At the Rialta absenteeism stares you in the face
whichever way you turn. Offices dilapidated, plantations overgrown,
gates off their hinges, walls scolloped into gaps, weeds flourishing in
the very porch, paper hanging about your ears, bell-ropes pulled down
from their cranks, furniture thinly scattered, old fashioned, yet ill
preserved, heavy, but not magnificent: these are the dreary indications
of approach to the residence of a popular orator, who lives beyond his
means, and comes annually amongst his tenants to obtain supplies which
may enable him to pass another year in estrangement from their wants
and their wishes.
"At Fort Ridley you find tight cottages, whole fences, trim gardens,
clean walks, and warm welcome. You hear no cant about a radical reform;
but you see progressive and constant improvement. Your ears are not
assailed by cataracts of fine words, but your heart acknowledges
a continued flow of kindness and good humour. You encounter no
tirades about liberty and equality, but you find all happy in their
_own places_. Parents walking hand-in-hand, sustaining each other's
authority, not struggling for their own: children respectful and
affectionate: servants orderly and comfortable: the poor protected:
the unhappy consoled. Mrs. Fitzroy, I only say, give me one Ridley,
man, woman, or child, and I will joyfully contract to let you have as
many Fitzallans as you can steam away from us in your packet. Take
an old man's assurance, that there is little _reality_, whenever you
find much _shew_. Good wine (the proverb says) needs no bush; and when
people _do_, they need not _talk_. Things tell their own stories. "Be
not solitary, be not idle," is the conclusion of Johnson's beautiful
fiction on the Search after Happiness; and Voltaire, the very opposite
of our great moralist in all but the possession of superior talent,
finishes his disgusting, but witty, _Candide_, with words to the same
effect, '_Il faut cultiver le jardin_.'"
"You always set your face against whatever I approve," said Mrs.
Fitzroy; "but Mr. Fitzallan seems _quite_ a practical man," added
she, "and that is the reason that I like him. All his principles
are pure; and, judging by what I have seen, I should say they are
reduced to daily exercise, else how should he know so much of the
Irish peasantry, or be able to relate so many interesting anecdotes
respecting them?"--"Why, madam," replied old Bentley, "you might as
well argue to the original humour of a man who had learned Joe Miller
by heart. Mr. Fitzallan studies stage effect, and has tragedy as well
as comedy at his fingers' ends. An Irish story, well purged from its
yellow clay, and dressed to advantage, is a nice morsel, even in the
heart of London, if you do not stuff your friends with too much of a
good thing; and the gentleman of whom we are speaking knows exactly how
much pudding will choke a dog."
Mrs. Fitzroy is so genuinely diverted by Mr. Bentley, that they
always part the best friends imaginable. He now shook hands and went
home. When he was gone, Mr. Otway said of him, "There goes one of
the bluntest, and yet the kindest, people I know. It would seem
as if Nature, in forming my worthy neighbour, had been playing at
hide-and-seek with herself; for in his character there is a jumble of
the most heterogeneous materials: rude as a bear, he is gentle as a
lamb; and though sly as a fox in detecting the wiles of his species,
he is one of the most single hearted persons I have ever met with, in
all his own dealings with mankind. The penetration with which he delves
into character, is almost supernatural. He decides on a counterfeit at
a glance; and though it is rarely his habit to indulge a sentimental
vein, you would be astonished by the tenderness of feeling which
sometimes softens that rugged exterior. I know him so intimately that
I am aware of the contradictions in his mind, and he is not ashamed
of being _himself_ with me; but in common society he avoids the least
exhibition of softness, and is generally glad when he has frightened
strangers by his roughness, though upon _occasion_, if he be in the
_humour_, I have known him delighted with individuals, who, not
repelled by his frown, have braved opposition, and surmounted the
obstacles to his friendship.
"Mrs. Fitzroy is a grand favourite, notwithstanding _appearances_,
and he told me to-day in his own way of expressing sorrow for her
departure, that he expects to be like a fish out of water when she bids
farewell to Ireland."
The word farewell struck as a knell on every heart: dear Phil. sighed,
and wished us good night; and ere we separated to reap the harvest of
his blessing, Mrs. Fitzroy, in a few words, but most comprehensively
summed up _his_ character.--"Aye," said she, soliloquizing as he left
the room, "and there _you_ go! the reviewer of reviews--the critic of
critics--possessing more of every quality than you find to admire or
value in all the men of your acquaintance, yet bearing your honours so
meekly, with a mind so exquisitely balanced, a temperament so calm, and
humility so lovely, that you allow anybody to get before you and shine
out his short-lived triumph of display, while you in quiet majesty
pursue the equal tenor of your course, and, like a mighty river,
possessed between its banks, and full, 'though not o'erflowing,' wind
onwards to the sea."
I close my journal here, and shall not open the portfolio which
contains it till I awaken in the unwonted scenery of Grosvenor Square.
Adieu, Glenalta! thou sweetest Glen adieu! As I turn from this beloved
spot I feel inclined to exclaim, "Fate drop the curtain--I can lose no
more."