Pray now, the news?
You've made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news?
CORIOLANUS.
Mrs. Sullivan had agreed to leave Dublin in that packet boat which
proceeds westward, at nine o'clock in the morning, and which would take
her party to the Canal Inn to sleep, the same night: they were to spend
the second at some convenient resting place on the borders of Connaught,
and early on the morning of the third day expected to reach
Ballinamoyle.
Adelaide had employed herself the evening previous to their departure,
in writing Mrs. Temple an account of all she had seen worthy of remark
in the Irish capital, not forgetting to make honourable mention of her
friend Colonel Desmond. This letter was written in much better spirits
than the one she had sent from Shrewsbury by Lamotte; and when it
reached Mrs. Temple, she was as much gratified by observing this
circumstance, as by the tone of affectionate gratitude towards herself
and her husband, which pervaded it throughout.
At half past nine o'clock the bustle of leaving Dublin had completely
subsided, and the party assembled on the deck of the packet boat had
full leisure to view each other, and the surrounding country. As they
passed slowly along, one fine seat after another presented itself to
their eyes. The country being, hereabouts, principally laid out in
parks, lawns, and plantations; that want of wood is not felt for the
first twenty miles from Dublin, in this direction, which renders a large
proportion of Ireland so desolate to an eye accustomed to woodland
scenery. The boat was towed along by two stout horses; but the poor
animals were scarcely equal to the laborious task assigned them, and
went sideling along in a manner most painful to a humane eye to see.
They were driven by giddy boys, and some faint hearts on board quaked
lest any accident should occur from their carelessness. Passing the
locks is by no means a pleasant operation: you are shut up for a few
minutes between massive stonewalls, with a watery abyss beneath, which
seems to threaten to swallow you up; and one or other of your fellow
passengers is sure to take that opportunity of informing you, that a
packet boat was once upset passing a lock, that every soul on board
perished, by a variety of deaths, more or less horrible, according to
the vivacity of the imagination which the relater may happen to possess.
The bell which announces the arrival of the packet boat at the places
appointed for changing horses, assembles every individual within reach
of its sound, who can accomplish reaching the spot ere its departure.
Men, women, and children, of all descriptions, throng to gaze at the
passengers, and inquire the news from Dublin. Here are to be seen the
landlord, the physician, and the curate of the district, debating the
politics of the day. Some passenger gives them the newspapers, or reads
an extract from a pamphlet just come out, or relates rumours in direct
contradiction to those they heard the day before, which however reign
with unquestioned credit, till the next diurnal importation of lies
reaches them, which banish, in turn, their ephemeral predecessors, and
are themselves dispossessed of their authority by as short-lived
usurpers.
Colonel Desmond, as our party passed along, pointed out every thing
worthy of notice. He was an excellent _cicerone_, and there were few
questions asked he could not satisfactorily answer. Mrs. Sullivan was
much delighted with the good natured attention he paid her, partly from
his natural urbanity, partly from his regard for Adelaide, and for his
deceased friend, whose widow and child he could not see without wishing
to serve them.
Mrs. Sullivan, looking on him quite as a friend, made him the confidant
of her suspicions regarding Miss Wildenheim's birth, which she had
resolved to keep secret in Ireland, lest they should tempt her
brother-in-law to bequeath any part of his fortune from Caroline. In
answer to a long string of interrogatories, respecting her late
husband's life abroad, Colonel Desmond laughingly replied, "I really
can't affirm that poor Maurice was always immaculate, but he certainly
was guiltless of the sin of giving birth to this angelic girl. And I
must, as a friend, inform you, that his brother would more easily pardon
his presenting to him a dozen such claimants to multiply his name, than
you for taking a single letter from it: if you don't call your daughter
Miss O--Sullivan, she will never possess an acre of the Ballinamoyle
estate, which, I assure you, is well worth having, though it should
entail the ugliest name in the world." Mrs. Sullivan thanked him; and,
profiting by the hint, there was such a practising of the most pathetic
of interjections that day, that a stranger might have supposed, some
half dozen of the party were in the last agonies; or that they were a
set of strolling comedians, rehearsing for a tragedy, whereas they were
only getting up the farce, which was to be played at Ballinamoyle.
The Miss Webberlys were as much pleased with Mr. Donolan as their mother
was with Colonel Desmond. He was the first gentleman they had ever
associated with, in Adelaide's company, who did not prefer her to them.
The _dilettante_, a few degrees higher than Mr. Webberly in the scale of
intellect, appreciated Miss Wildenheim's merits sufficiently to dread
the use she might make of her talents; he felt her superiority, though
he did not confess, even to himself, that he did so: it is true, she
listened to him, when he spoke, with extreme politeness, but her replies
betrayed no sister vanity, that encouraged him to display his own.
Besides, she was better acquainted with the continent than himself,
therefore he could not hope to astonish her by his relations of the
wonders of foreign parts. He therefore transferred all his attentions to
the Miss Webberlys, paying them the most exaggerated compliments, which
they received as unblushingly as he bestowed. When he, for instance,
called the one Venus and the other Minerva, Amelia said in reply, "Now,
if Juno had but black hair, Miss Wildenheim there (pointing to Adelaide)
would do for her; and then we'd be the three Graces!!!" Colonel Desmond
having sufficiently paid his devoirs to Mrs. Sullivan, left her in
earnest conversation with a woman, not more elegant in appearance than
herself, who was entertaining her with an enumeration of the titled
guests she received at her house, whilst at every high sounding name
Mrs. Sullivan's reverence, and her companion's consequence, visibly
increased. Adelaide's friend, happy to be thus released, seated himself
beside her, and entered into conversation immediately. Mr. Webberly, who
had exhausted all the tender speeches he had conned for that morning,
was standing near her in total silence:
"His eye, in a fine stupor caught,
Implied a plenteous lack of thought;
And not one line his whole face seen in,
That could be justly charg'd with meaning."
Notwithstanding he was so much displeased at Colonel Desmond's thus
engrossing the object of his _speechless_ passion, that, unable to bear
the odious sight of his rival, he repaired to another part of the boat,
to listen to some young Irishmen, who were canvassing the conduct of
ministry with more warmth than wisdom. Colonel Desmond and Adelaide
rapidly passed from one subject to another: in the course of their
conversation he abruptly asked her what she thought of young Donolan?
She blushed deeply, and he saw her meek brow bend to chide the arch
smile that seemed to bid her lips pronounce words partaking of its own
nature.--"Come, come," said he, as she hesitated to reply, "out with it
Adel--Miss Wildenheim I mean: you were not always so prudent, but used
to trust the friend of your infancy with the first thoughts that rose in
your mind, without considering and reconsidering them; I am afraid your
residence in England has made you very reserved." "Indeed you mistake
me, Colonel Desmond," she replied: "the fact is, I am almost as much
ashamed to acknowledge any inclination to satire to myself as to you. If
I were once to give way to that propensity, I have so many provocatives
to indulge it in my present companions, I should never afterwards get
rid of the habit; and no heart or understanding can long withstand the
destroying powers of a love of ridicule. If you would permit me to
parody Shakspeare, I would say that the spirit of personal satire 'Is
indeed twice curs'd:' it often abashes the modesty of worth, and
paralyses the energy of genius; but oh! how surely does it, with tenfold
sterility, blast every generous feeling in the mind it inhabits--first
destroying integrity, for no retailer of bon-mots and ludicrous
narrations will long respect the rigid exactitude of truth; then the
feelings of benevolence fall its sacrifice; and finally, it perverts the
understanding, which, having exercised itself more willingly in
detecting absurdity than in discovering truth, soon becomes incapable of
relishing any serious reflection; and thus this fatal talent, like the
flame which dazzles our eyes by its vivid lustre, ends by consuming the
substance from which it derived its brilliancy."
"And pray, may I ask," said Colonel Desmond, with an arch, incredulous
smile, "how happens it that your present theory and former practice
differ so widely? You surely never could have suffered in your own
person from the effects of satire; no understanding could be so inept,
no heart so cold, as to aim at _you_ the shafts of ridicule; to what
cause am I indebted for this eloquent tirade?" "I have indeed," replied
Adelaide, blushing no less at his encomiums than at the confession she
was about to make, "suffered severely from the effects of satire: those
'Best can paint them who shall feel them most.' You may remember, that
very early in life I was suffered to be present at those assemblies of
literary characters, who used to meet in my happy home at Vienna." Here
she sighed, and paused for an instant, then repressing the starting
tear, continued, "Incapable of appreciating their merit, or
understanding their conversation, I was fully alive to the
peculiarities of their manners, so different from the model of refined
elegance I had daily before my eyes. Somehow the frank _Ètourderie_ of
my remarks amused; and the smiling pardon, that was granted to the folly
of a mere child, I mistook for an applause bestowed on wit. My first
sallies proceeded from the gaiety of a guileless heart, accustomed to
express every idea as it rose to the most indulgent parent and partial
friend; but, as I grew older, a _besoin de briller_ seized me, and I was
on the point of becoming one of that despicable class, who, while they
importune the goodness of Heaven for their daily bread, apply no less
earnestly to the weaknesses of their best friends for their daily
sarcasm, and rejoice more on finding one foible than ninety-nine good
qualities; when my enlightened monitor awakened me to a sense of my
danger. And now may I pronounce you _au fait_ of the cause to which you
are indebted for my 'eloquent tirade' against satire?"
"If you don't convince," said Colonel Desmond, "you at least persuade:
but, you know, there is no general rule without exception; so do be
ill-natured for once, and let me know what you were thinking of Felix,
when I detected those tell-tale smiles." "Well then," said she, "since I
must satisfy you, I will at least only be satirical at second-hand, and
answer you in the words of Mondon,
Adolescent qui s'Èrige en barbon,
Jeune Ècolier qui vous parle en Caton,
Est en mon sens un animal bernable:
Et j'aime mieux l'air fou, que l'air capable;
Il est trop fat.[12]"
[Footnote 12:
----I despise
A beardless censor, that with Cato's frown,
Assumes the pedant in a scholar's gown:
Mere vacant folly, void of all pretence,
Is sure less hateful than affected sense;
He is too vain.
]
"_A propos des fous_," replied Colonel Desmond, taking advantage of that
language in which so much can be conveyed to the mind without shocking
the ear, "_ce Monsieur la_," looking towards Mr. Webberly, "_est
amoureux--cela ce peut bien; mais Mademoiselle est elle amoureuse?_"
"_Ah! Dieu l'en garde!_"[13] exclaimed Adelaide, with unfeigned horror,
involuntarily raising her hands, lowering her brows, and throwing back
her head. "_Tant mieux!_ then I will act the part of Wall in this new
tragi-comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe; Pyramus shall truly say, '_O! wicked
wall, through whom I see no bliss_,' and will perhaps find our
entertainment '_Very tragical mirth_.'" Colonel Desmond faithfully kept
the promise thus conveyed; and, when present, completely shielded
Adelaide from Mr. Webberly's conceited love, and thus saved her the
trouble of standing on the defensive herself. And though the captivating
youth would willingly have sent his rival, like the pious ∆neas, to
visit his father in the realms below; yet such was the unwilling respect
that rival's manners extorted, that he never presumed openly to manifest
his real sentiments. All this time Caroline had been sitting at
Adelaide's feet on one of the small packages, dressing and undressing a
huge wax doll, which was her usual travelling companion, and
occasionally reading to it the "Memoirs of Dick the Pony," which her
indulgent friend had bought for her in Dublin. Colonel Desmond was
delightedly listening to her gay laugh, and watching her infantine
merriment, when her mother called her over, in order to display her
beauty to the obsequious acquaintance she was so much pleased with, who
had been profuse in Caroline's praise. As the little girl skipped
along, with the favourite doll closely pressed to her innocent heart by
one hand, and the open book in the other, her eyes dancing with delight
at the thoughts of Dick's adventures, he said to Miss Wildenheim, "I am
surprised to see how little Mrs. Sullivan notices that charming child;
every body but you seems to treat her with absolute unkindness." "I
assure you," replied she, "you do Mrs. Sullivan great injustice; she
does not behave _unkindly_ to Caroline, though certainly she is not too
prodigal of her caresses to the dear infant. I have heard this
indifference is not uncommon towards the offspring of second marriages.
I really believe some people's affections are of the oyster kind,
sticking through life to the spot they were first deposited on, without
ever having exercised the smallest volition in the affair." "I beg,"
said he, laughing, "that when you undertake to give my character in
short hand, you will recollect that 'No heart or understanding can long
withstand the destroying powers of a love of ridicule.'" "Thank you for
the memento," she replied, with one of her sweetest smiles; "the habit I
deprecate gains strength but too quickly."
[Footnote 13: "A propos to fools; that gentleman is in love--that is not
very surprising; but is the fair lady equally enamoured?"
"Oh! Heaven forbid!"]
Colonel Desmond now pointed out to Adelaide's notice the hill of Allen,
from whence the bog so called takes its appellation. The English name of
"Isle of Allen" is only a corruption of the Irish _Hy alain_, that is,
the district of the great plain country. This bog contains three hundred
thousand acres, extending through parts of the King's and Queen's
counties, and those of Kildare, Meath, Westmeath, Roscommon, Galway, and
Tipperary. The hill of Allen, according to the traditions of the
country, is the scene of action of Ossian's poem of Temora. On the south
declivity of the hill is said to be the cave where Oscar's body was laid
immediately after his death, over which his faithful dog Bran watched,
as so beautifully described by the poet. A few feet from the front of
the cave is a well, sacred to his manes, which is still much frequented
by pilgrims: on the same declivity is the tomb of the hero, marked by
one gray stone: through the valley below runs the rivulet, near which
the battle was fought in which he lost his life; and to the west of the
cave is seen the extensive plain of Molena, in the King's county, from
which rises the ancient Cromla, now called Croan Hill. Colonel Desmond
produced a beautiful edition of Ossian he had bought for his niece Miss
Desmond, and reading parts of Temora, pointed out these coincidencies to
Adelaide; who, when he had done, begged to look at the volume, and
happening to turn to the episode of Oithona, read the following passage
with no common interest: "_Why camest thou over the dark blue waves to
Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did I not pass away in secret, like the
flower of the rock, that lifts its fair head unseen, and strews its
withered leaves on the blast?_" As he marked the altered hue and
mournful expression of her angelic countenance, he accused himself of
cruel thoughtlessness in having raised painful associations in her mind;
now recollecting, that though Baron Wildenheim never spoke the language,
yet he was well acquainted with English literature, and that Ossian was
his favourite poet, whose sombre images peculiarly accorded with the
dark melancholy that seemed to overshadow his soul. "Happy the man,"
thought Desmond, as he gazed on Adelaide, "who shall dry the tears I see
from time to time rise in those beautiful eyes! How different is she now
from what she was at Vienna! Then her brilliant charms dazzled the eye
and the mind; but though her youthful bloom and her playful vivacity
seem to have been laid in her father's grave, yet she is more lovely
than ever: she is, as Ossian says in the poem she has now turned to,
'Like a spirit of Heaven half-folded in the skirt of a cloud.'"
A summons to dinner now assembled together below all the front cabin
passengers, and there was collected together such a groupe as none of
the young ladies had ever before seen, but which is to be met with at
any stage-coach dinner. Mrs. Sullivan and her new friend laboured to
outvie each other in airs of consequence, whilst some would-be beaux put
their gallantry on active service, to be overpoweringly civil to the
ladies in general, and to Cecilia Webberly and Miss Wildenheim in
particular. One little smirking man was peculiarly sweet upon Adelaide,
watching each word she spoke, and helping her to every thing she even
looked near. When she first applied to Colonel Desmond, who sat next
her, for the salt cellar, her inamorato seized the only one within
reach, and presenting it to her, said with a facetious grin, as he
leaned across Desmond with his chin projecting six inches out of his
well-tied cravat, "Excuse me for not helping you to it, Miss; it's the
only service you could require I would not with all the pleasure in life
perform, but should be loath for us to quarrel; they say salt is very
unlucky in parting friends." At the moment in which she bowed her thanks
to this dapper wight, a very tall man stood up to help himself to
something at the extreme end of the table from that where he was placed:
somehow his foot slipped, he reeled a few paces back, and, in his
retreat, effectually stopped Mrs. Sullivan's mouth with his elbow, who
had just opened it to its utmost extension, in the endeavour to raise
her dignity to a par with that of her companion, who the instant before
asserted "She had every thing in the highest style at her house, and
hoped to have the pleasure of seeing her there soon;" her auditor, in
emulation, was just proceeding to vaunt the glories of Webberly House,
when the thread of her discourse was broken off in the unexpected manner
just mentioned.
The moment the cloth was removed, the ladies made their escape from the
cabin, Mrs. Sullivan exclaiming, "My ocular faculties can't stand the
smell of the hung beef, and the cabbage, and the mutton, and the
blacking, not to disparage the gentlemen's boots; and except that fat
lady in the yellow poplin pelisse and blue satin bonnet, they are all
such low-lived people as I never see'd before in my born days." Her
"ocular faculties," (by which we rather suppose she meant the "olfactory
nerves," which Miss Webberly had remarked to the _dilettante_ at dinner
"were much offended by the hydrogen and ammonia emitted from the
viands," in order to tally with his scientific recommendation of
"carbonic acid gas, in the shape of bottled porter,") were, however, not
much better off above than below. The smoke of the fire by which the
dinner had been dressed filled all the deck; the servants were at their
meal in the second cabin, from whence proceeded another edition of the
beef and cabbage, et cetera, with the addition of the fumes of tobacco
and whisky punch. Adelaide's admirer presently appeared on deck, bearing
a great jug in one hand and a glass in the other: he addressed her
saying, "I have brought you some real ladies' punch, sweet to your
heart's content, and strong enough by Jasus to make any man in the
packet drunk, if he would only take enough of it." In vain Adelaide
declined the cup her Ganymede presented. "Don't be dashed," reiterated
he; "it won't do you a ha'porth of harm: a good beginning makes a good
ending. If you'll only set the example, I'll be bound to say all the
ladies will keep you in countenance. It's the true Inisowen, I'll take
my Davy it is?" "The true Inisowen" is a sort of smoked whisky, whose
smell is the most horridly sickening thing that can be fancied to those
unaccustomed to it. Adelaide found it quite overcoming, but luckily
espying Colonel Desmond ascending the ladder signed to him to come to
her relief, and when he obeyed, said, "Will you have the goodness to
assure this polite gentleman, I am no lover of ladies' punch?" so
saying, she removed to another part of the deck, to escape the odour of
the "true Inisowen." The disappointed youth retreated on Colonel
Desmond's remonstrance, saying, "No offence I hope, sir, to you nor the
lady neither:" and, as he went down below, muttered, "With all her
delicate airs, by my conscience if she was behind the cabin door she'd
take a _good_ swig of it."
The travellers had now fairly entered on the dreary bog of Allen. No
human form or habitation met their sight. Its only vegetable productions
were a little heath, sedgy grass, or bog myrtle, which were crossed here
and there by a half-starved cow or sheep; but they sometimes proceeded
miles without even seeing one of these, to remind them that the world
contained other living beings besides those in the boat. The road seemed
to shake as the horses passed over this
"Boggy Syrtis, neither sea
Nor good dry land;"
and they almost feared that the breaking of the thin stratum of earth,
that seemed to separate the waters above from the waters below, might
precipitate them
"Into this wild abyss,
The womb of nature, and perhaps her grave,
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,
But all these in their pregnant causes mix'd
Confusedly----"
Their passage through this dismal region seemed intolerably slow, as no
object marked their progress, but one unbroken sea of black lifeless
matter encompassed them on every side, from which the eye perceived no
escape. When the sun set, the heavens, like the earth, seemed dark and
uninhabited; no cloud travelled over its gloomy face, but one even fall
of misling rain made the aspect of the ethereal regions as unvaried as
that of the land they overhung. The passengers long looked in vain to
leave this abode of desolation,--
"Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as you go."