virtue of her ancestors of both sexes, adding, “this was once the
business of our Bards, Fileas, and Seanachps; but we are now obliged to
have recourse to our own memories, in order to support our own dignity.
But do not suppose I am so weak as to be dazzled by a _sound_, or to
consider mere title in any other light than as a golden toy judiciously
worn to secure the respect of the vulgar, who are incapable of
appreciating that ‘which surpassed show,’ * which, as my father says,
is sometimes given to him who saves, and sometimes bestowed on him who
betrays his country. O! no; for I would rather possess _one_ beam of
that genius which elevates _your_ mind above all worldly distinction,
and those principles of integrity which breathe in your sentiments and
ennoble your soul, than----”
* “He feels no ennobling principles in his own heart, who
wishes to level all the artificial institutes which have
been adopted for giving body to opinion, and per manence to
future esteem.”--Burke.
Thus hurried away by the usual impetuosity of her feelings, she abruptly
stopped, fearful, perhaps, that she had gone too far. And then, after
a moment added--“but who will dare to bring the soul’s nobility in
competition with the shortlived elevation which man bestows on man!”
This was the first direct compliment she ever paid me; and I received it
with a silent bow, a throbbing heart, and a colouring cheek.
Is she not an extraordinary creature! I meant to have given you an
unfavourable opinion of her prejudices; and in transcribing my documents
of accusation, I have actually confirmed myself in a better opinion of
her heart and understanding than I ever before indulged in. For to think
well of _her_, is a positive indulgence to my philanthropy, after having
thought so ill of all her sex.
But her virtues and her genius have nothing to do with the ice which
crystalizes round her heart; and which renders her as coldly indifferent
to the talents and virtues with which her fancy has invested me, as
though they were in possession of a hermit of fourscore. Yet, God knows,
nothing less than cold does her character appear. That mutability of
complexion which seems to flow perpetually to the influence of her
evident feelings and vivid imagination, that ethereal warmth which
animates her manners; the force and energy of her expressions, the
enthusiasm of her disposition, the uncontrollable smile, the involuntary
tear, the spontaneous sigh!--Are these indications of an icy heart? And
yet, shut up as we are together, thus closely associated, the sympathy
of our tastes, our pursuits! But the fact is, I begin to fear that I
have imported into the shades of Inismore some of my London presumption:
and that, after all, I know as little of this charming _sport of
Nature_, as when I first beheld her--possibly my perceptions have
become as sophisticated as the objects to whom they have hitherto
been directed; and want refinement and subtilty to enter into all the
delicate _minutiae_ of her superior and original character, which is at
once both _natural_ and _national_. Adieu!
H. M.
LETTER XIV.
TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.
To day I was present at an interview granted by the Prince to two
contending parties, who came to _ask law of him_, as they term it.
This, I am told, the Irish peasantry are ready to do upon every slight
difference; so that they are the most litigious, or have the nicest
sense of _right_ and _justice_ of any people in the world.
Although the language held by this little judicial meeting was Irish, it
was by no means necessary it should be understood to comprehend, in some
degree, the subject of discussion; for the gestures and countenances
both of the judge and the clients were expressive beyond all conception:
and I plainly understood, that almost every other word on both sides was
accompanied by a species of _local oath_, sworn on the first object that
presented itself to their hands, and strongly marked the vehemence of
the national character.
When I took notice of this to Father John, he replied,
“It is certain, that the habit of confirming every assertion with an
oath, is as prevalent among the Irish as it _was_ among the ancient, and
_is_ among the modern Greeks. And it is remarkable, that even at this
day, in both countries, the nature and form of their adjurations and
oaths are perfectly similar: a Greek will still swear by his parents,
or his children; an Irishman frequently swears ‘by my father, who is no
more!’ ‘by my mother in the grave!’ Virgil makes his pious Æneas
swear by his head. The Irish constantly swear ‘by my hand,’--‘by this
hand,’--or, ‘by the hand of my gossip!’ * There is one who has just
sworn by _the Cross_; another by the blessed stick he holds in his
hand. In short, no intercourse passes between them where confidence is
required, in which oaths are not called in to confirm the transaction.”
* The mention of this oath recalls to my mind an * anecdote
of the bard Carolan, as related by Mr. Walker, in his
inimitable Memoir of the Irish Bards. “He (Carolan) went
once on a pilgrimage to St. Patrick’s Purgatory, a cave in
an island in Lough Dergh, (county of Donegal) of which more
wonders are told than even the Cave of Triphonius. On his
return to shore, he found several pilgrims waiting the
arrival of the boat, which had conveyed him to the object of
his devotion. In assisting some of those devout travellers
to get on board, he chanced to take a lady’s hand, and
instantly exclaimed ‘dar lamh mo Chardais Criost, [i. e. by
the hand of my gossip] this is the hand of Bridget Cruise.’
His sense of feeling did not deceive him--it was the hand of
her who he once adored.”
*****
I am at this moment returned from my _Vengolf,_ after having declared
the necessity of my absence for some time, leaving the term, however,
indefinite; so that in this instance, I can be governed by my
inclination and convenience, without any violation of promise. The
good old Prince looked as much amazed at my determination, as though
he expected I were never to depart; and I really believe, in the old
fashioned hospitality of his Irish heart, he would be better satisfied
I never should. He said many kind and cordial things in his own curious
way; and concluded by pressing my speedy return, and declaring that my
presence had created a little jubilee among them.
The priest was absent; and Glorvina, who sat at her little wheel by her
father’s side, snapped her thread, and drooped her head close to her
work, until I casually observed, that I had already passed above three
weeks at the castle--then she shook back the golden tresses from her
brow, and raised her eyes to mine with a look that seemed to say, “can
that be possible!” Not even by a glance did I reply to the flattering
question; but I felt it not the less.
When we arose to retire to our respective apartments, and I mentioned
that I should be off at dawn, the Prince shook me cordially by the hand,
and bid me farewell with an almost paternal kindness.
Glorvina, on whose arm he was leaning, did not follow his example--she
simply wished me “a pleasant journey.”
“But where,” said the Prince, “do you sojourn to?”
“To the town of Bally--------,” said I, “which has been hitherto my head
quarters, and where I have left my clothes, books, and drawing utensils.
I have also some friends in the neighbourhood, procured me by letters of
introduction with which I was furnished in England.”
You know that a great part of this neighbourhood is my father’s
property, and once belonged to the ancestors of the Prince. He changed
colour as I spoke, and hurried on in silence.
Adieu! the castle clock strikes twelve! What creatures we are! when
the tinkling of a bit of metal can affect our spirits. Mine, however,
(though why, I know not,) were prepared for the reception of sombre
images. This night may be, in all human probability, the last I shall
sleep in the castle of Inismore; and what then--it were perhaps as well
I had never entered it. A generous mind can never reconcile itself
to the practices of deception; yet to prejudices so inveterate, I had
nothing but deception to oppose. And yet, when in some happy moment of
parental favour, when all my past sins are forgotten, and my present
state of regeneration only remembered--I shall find courage to disclose
my romantic adventure to my father, and through the medium of that
strong partiality the son has awakened in the heart of the Prince, unite
in bonds of friendship these two worthy men but _unknown_ enemies--then
I shall triumph in my impositions, and, for the first time, adopt the
maxim, that good consequences may be effected by means not strictly
conformable to the rigid laws of truth.
I have just been at my window, and never beheld so gloomy a night--not a
star twinkles through the massy clouds that are driven impetuously along
by the sudden gusts of a rising storm--not a ray of light partially
dissipates the profound obscurity, save what falls on a fragment of an
opposite tower, and seems to issue from the window of a closet which
joins the apartment of Glorvina. She has not yet then retired to rest,
and yet ’tis unusual for her to sit up so late. For I have often
watched that little casement--its position exactly corresponds with the
angle of the castle where I am lodged.
If I should have any share in the vigils of Glorvina!!!
I know not whether to be most gratified or hurt at the manner in which
she took leave of me. Was it indifference, or resentment, that marked
her manner? She certainly was surprised, and her surprise was not of the
most pleasing nature--for where was the magic smile, the sentient blush,
that ever ushers in and betrays every emotion of her ardent soul!
Sweet being! whatever may be the sentiments which the departure of the
supposed unfortunate wanderer awakens in thy bosom, may that bosom still
continue the hallowed asylum of the dove of peace! May the pure heart it
enshrines still throb to the best impulses of the happiest nature,
and beat with the soft palpitation of innocent pleasure and guileless
transport, veiled from the rude intercourse of that world to which thy
elevated and sublime nature is so eminently superior; long amidst the
shade of the venerable ruins of thy forefathers mayest thou bloom and
flourish in undisturbed felicity! the ministering angel of thy poor
compatriots, who look up to thee for example and support--thy country’s
muse, and the bright model of the genuine character of her daughters,
when unvitiated by erroneous education and by those fatal prejudices
which lead them to seek in foreign refinements for those talents, those
graces, those virtues which are no where to be found more flourishing,
more attractive than in their native land.
H. M.
LETTER XV.
TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.
M-------- House.
It certainly requires less nicety of perception to distinguish
differences in kind than differences in degree; but though my present,
like my past situation, is solitudinous in the extreme, it demands
no very great discernment to discover that my late life was a life of
solitude--my present, of desolation.
In the castle of Inismore I was estranged from the world: here I am
estranged from myself. Yet so much more sequestered did that sweet
interesting spot appear to me, that I felt, on arriving at this vast
and solitary place (after having passed by a few gentlemen’s seats, and
caught a distant view of the little town of Bally----,) as though I
were returning to the world--but felt as if that world had no longer any
attraction for me.
What a dream was the last three weeks of my life! But it was a dream
from which I wished not to be awakened. It seemed to me as if I had
lived in an age of primeval virtue. My senses at rest, my passions
soothed to philosophic repose, my prejudices vanquished, all the powers
of my mind gently breathed into motion, yet calm and unagitated--all
the faculties of my taste called into exertion, yet unsated even by
boundless gratification.--My fancy restored to its pristine warmth, my
heart to its native sensibility. The past given to oblivion, the future
unanticipated, and the present enjoyed with the full consciousness of
its pleasurable existence. Wearied, exhausted, satiated by a boundless
indulgence of hackneyed pleasures, hackneyed occupations, hackneyed
pursuits, at a moment when I was sinking beneath the lethargic influence
of apathy, or hovering on the brink of despair, a new light broke upon
my clouded mind, and discovered to my inquiring heart, something yet
worth living for. What that mystic something is, I can scarcely yet
define myself; but a magic spell now irresistibly binds me to that life
which but lately,
“Like a foul and ugly witch, did limp
So tediously away.”
The reserved tints of a gray dawn had not yet received the illuminating
beams of the east, when I departed from the castle of Inismore. None of
the family were risen, but the hind who prepared my _rosinante_, and the
nurse, who made my breakfast.
I rode twice round that wing of the castle where Glorvina sleeps: the
curtain of her bedroom casement was closely drawn: but as I passed by it
a second time, I thought I perceived a shadowy form at the window of
the adjoining casement. As I approached it seemed to retreat; the whole,
however, might have only been the vision of my wishes--my _wishes!!_ But
this girl piques me into something of interest for her.
About three miles from the castle, on the summit of a wild and desolate
heath, I met the good Father Director of Inismore. He appeared quite
amazed at the rencontre. He expressed great regret at my absence from
the castle, insisting that he should accompany me a mile or two of my
journey, though he was only then returning after having passed the night
in ministering temporal as well as spiritual comfort to an unfortunate
family at some miles distance.
“These poor people,” said he “were tenants on the skirts of Lord M’s
estate, who, though by all accounts a most excellent and benevolent man,
employs a steward of a very opposite character. This unworthy delegate
having considerably raised the rent on a little farm held by these
unfortunate people, they soon became deeply in arrears, were ejected,
and obliged to take shelter in an almost roofless hut, where the
inclemency of the season, and the hardships they endured, brought on
disorders by which the mother and two chil dren are now nearly reduced
to the point of death; and yesterday, in their last extremity, they sent
for me.”
While I commiserated the sufferings of these unfortunates (and cursed
the villain Clendinning in my heart,) I could not avoid adverting to the
humanity of this benevolent priest.
“These offices of true charity, which you so frequently perform,”
said I, “are purely the result of your benevolence, rather than a mere
observance of your duty.”
“It is true,” he replied, “I have no parish; but the incumbent of that
in which these poor people reside is so old and infirm, as to be totally
incapacitated from performing such duties of his-calling as require the
least exertion. The duty of one who professes himself the minister of
religion, whose essence is charity, should not be confined within the
narrow limitation of prescribed rules; and I should consider myself as
unworthy of the sacred habit I wear, should my exertions be confined to
the suggestions of my interest and my duty only.
“The faith of the lower order of Catholics here in their priest,”
he continued, “is astonishing: even his presence they conceive is an
antidote to every evil.--When he appears at the door of their huts, and
blends his cordial salutation with a blessing, the spirit of consolation
seems to hover at its threshhold--pain is alleviated, sorrow soothed;
and hope, rising from the bosom of strengthening faith, triumphs
over the ruins of despair. To the wicked he prescribes penitence and
confession, and the sinner is forgiven; to the wretched he asserts,
that suffering here, is the purchase of felicity hereafter, and he is
resigned; and to the sick he gives a consecrated charm, and by the force
of faith and imagination he is made well.--Guess then the influence
which this order of men hold over the aggregate of the people; for while
the Irish peasant, degraded, neglected, despised, * vainly seeks
one beam of conciliation in the eye of overbearing superiority;
condescension, familiarity and kindness win his gratitude to him whose
spiritual elevation is in his mind above all temporal rank.”
* “The common people of Ireland have no rank in society--
they may be treated with contempt, and consequently are with
inhumanity.”--An Enquiry into the Causes, &c.
“You shed,” said I, “a patriarchal interest over the character of
priesthood among you here; which gives that order to my view in a very
different aspect from that in which I have hitherto considered it. To
what an excellent purpose might, this boundless influence be turned!”
“If,” interrupted he, “priests _were not men_--men too, generally
speaking, without education, (which is in fact, character, principle,
everything) except such as tends rather to narrow than enlarge the
mind--men in a certain degree shut out from society, except of the lower
class; and men who, from their very mode of existence (which forces
them to depend on the eleemosynary contributions of their flock,) must
eventually in many instances imbibe a degradation of spirit which is
certainly not the parent of the liberal virtues.”
“Good God!” said I, surprised, “and this from one of their own order!”
“These are sentiments I never should have hazarded,” returned the
priest, “could I not have opposed to those natural conclusions, drawn
from well known facts, innumerable instances of benevolence, piety, and
learning among the order. While to the whole body let it be allowed as
_priests_, whatever may be their failings as _men_, that the activity of
their lives, * the punctilious discharge of their duty, and their ever
ready attention to their flock, under every moral and even under
every physical suffering, renders them deserving of that reverence and
affection which, above the ministers of any other religion, they receive
from those over whom they are placed.”
* “A Roman Catholic clergyman is the minister of a very
ritual religion; and by his profession, subject to many
restraints; his life is full of strict observances, and his
duties are of a laborious nature towards himself, and of the
highest possible trust towards others.”--Letter on the
Penal Laws against the Irish Catholics, by the Right
Honourable Edmund Burke.
“And which,” said I, “if opposed to the languid performance of
periodical duties, neglect of the moral functions of their calling,
and the habitual indolence of the ministers of other sects, they may
certainly be deemed zealots in the cause of the faith they profess, and
the charity they inculcate!”
While I spoke, a young lad, almost in a state of nudity, approached us;
yet in the crown of his leafless hat were stuck a few pens, and over his
shoulder hung a leathern satchel full of books.
“This is an apposite rencontre,” said the priest--“behold the first
stage of _one_ class of Catholic priesthood among us; a class however no
longer very prevalent.”
The boy approached, and, to my amazement, addressed us in Latin, begging
with all the vehement eloquence of an Irish mendicant, for some money to
buy ink and paper. We gave him a trifle, and the priest desired him to
go on to the castle, where he would get his breakfast, and that on his
return he would give him some books into the bargain.
The boy, who solicited in Latin, expressed his gratitude in Irish; and
we trotted on.
“Such,” said Father John, “formerly was the frequent origin of our Roman
Catholic priests This is a character unknown to you in England, and is
called here ‘_a poor scholar_.’ If a boy is too indolent to work and his
parents too poor to support him, or, which is more frequently the case,
if he discovers some natural talents, or, as they call it, _takes to his
learning_, and that they have not the means to forward his improvement,
he then becomes by profession a _poor scholar_, and continues to receive
both his mental and bodily food at the expense of the community at
large.
“With a leathern satchel on his back, containing his portable library,
he sometimes travels not only through his own province, but frequently
over the greater part of the kingdom. * No door is shut against the poor
scholar, who, it is supposed, at a future day may be invested with the
apostolic key of Heaven. The priest or schoolmaster of every parish
through which he passes, receives him for a few days into his barefooted
seminary, and teaches him bad Latin and worse English; while the most
opulent of his schoolfellows eagerly seize on the young peripatetic
philosopher and provide him with maintenance and lodging; and if he is
a boy of talent or _humour_ (a gift always prized by the naturally
laughter-loving Milesians) they will struggle for the pleasure of his
society.
* It has been justly said, that, “nature is invariable in
her operations; and that the principles of a polished people
will influence even their latest posterity.” And the ancient
state of letters in Ireland, may be traced in the love of
learning and talent even still existing among the inferior
class of the Irish to this day. On this point it is observed
by Mr. Smith, in his History of Kerry, “that it is well
known that classical reading extends itself even to a fault,
among the lower and poorer kind of people in this country,
[Munster,] many of whom have greater knowledge in this way
than some of the better sort in other places. He elsewhere
observes, that Greek is taught in the mountainous parts of
the province. And Mr. O’Halloran asserts, that classical
reading has most adherents in those retired parts of the
kingdom where strangers had least access, and that as good
classical scholars were found in most parts of Connaught, as
in any part of Europe.
“Having thus had the seeds of dependence sown _irradically_ in his mind,
and furnished his perisatetic studies, he returns to his native home,
and with an empty satchel to his back, goes about raising contributions
on the pious charity of his poor compatriots: each contributes some
necessary article of dress, and assists to fill a little purse, until
completely equipped; and, for the first time in his life, covered from
head to foot, the divine embryo sets out for some sea-port, where he
embarks for the colleges of Douay or St. Omer’s; and having begged
himself, _in forma pauperis_, through all the necessary rules and
discipline of the seminary, he returns to his own country, and becomes
the minister of salvation to those whose generous contributions enable
him to assume the sacred profession. *
* The French Revolution, and the foundation of the Catholic
college at Maynooth, has put a stop to these pious
emigrations.
“Such is the man by whom the minds opinions, and even actions of the
people are often influenced; and, if man is but a creature of education
and habit, I leave you to draw the inference. But this is but _one_
class of priesthood, and its description rather applicable to twenty or
thirty years back than to the present day. The other two may be divided
into the sons of tradesmen and farmers, and the younger sons of Catholic
gentry.
“Of the latter order am I; and the interest of my friends on my return
from the continent procured me what was deemed the best parish in the
diocese. But the good and the evil attendant on every situation in life,
is rather to be estimated by the feelings and sensibility of the objects
whom they affect, than by their own intrinsic nature. It was in vain I
endeavoured to accommodate my mind to the mode of life into which I had
been forced by my friends. It was in vain I endeavoured to assimilate
my spirit to that species of exertion necessary to be made for my
livelihood.