which I am now so endeared, thus rescued from the obloquy thrown on them
by prejudiced illiberality; and from what you have said, and indeed from
what I have myself observed, I am convinced, that were endeavours for
their improvement more strictly promoted, and their respective duties
obviously made clear, their true interests fully represented by reason
and common sense, and their unhappy situations ameliorated by justice
and humanity, they would be a people as happy, contented and prosperous,
in a political sense, as in a natural and a national one. They are
brave, hospitable, liberal and ingenious.”
We now continued to proceed through a country rich in all the boundless
extravagance of picturesque beauty, where Nature’s sublimest features
everywhere present themselves, carelessly disposed in wild magnificence;
unimproved, and indeed, almost unimproveable by art. The far-stretched
ocean, mountains of Alpine magnitude, heaths of boundless desolation,
vales of romantic loveliness, navigable rivers, and extensive lakes,
alternately succeeding to each other, while the ruins of an ancient
castle, or the mouldering remains of a desolated abbey, gave a moral
interest to the pleasure derived from the contemplation of Nature in her
happiest and most varied aspect.
“Is it not extraordinary,” said I, as we loitered over the ruins of an
abbey, “that though your country was so long before the introduction
of Christianity inhabited by a learned and ingenious people, yet,
that among your Gothic ruins, no traces of a more ancient and splendid
architecture are to be discovered. From the ideas I have formed of the
primeval grandeur of Ireland, I should almost expect to see a Balbec
or Palmyra arising amidst these stupendous mountains and picturesque
scenes.”
“My dear sir,” he replied, “a country may be civilized, enlightened,
and even learned and ingenious, without attaining to any considerable
perfection in those arts, which give to posterity _sensible_ memorials
of its past splendour. The ancient Irish, like the modern, had more
_soul_, more genius than worldly prudence, or cautious, calculating
forethought. The feats of the hero engrossed them more than the
exertions of the mechanist; works of imagination seduced them from
pursuing works of utility. With an enthusiasm bordering on a species of
mania, they were devoted to poetry and music; and to ‘_Wake the soul
of song_’ was to them an object of more interesting importance, than
to raise that edifice which would betray to posterity their ancient
grandeur Besides, at that period to which you allude, the Irish were in
that era of society, when the iron age was yet distant, and the artist
confined his skill to the elegant workmanship of gold and brass,
which is ascertained by the number of warlike implements and beautiful
ornaments of dress of those metals, exquisitely worked, which are still
frequently found in the bogs of Ireland.”
“If, however, (said I) there are no remnants of a Laurentinum, or
Tusculum to be discovered, I perceive that at every ten or twelve miles,
in the fattest of the land, the ruins of an abbey and its granaries are
discernable.”
“Why, (returned the priest, laughing) you would not have the good father
abbots advise the dying, but generous sinner, to leave the worst of
his lands to God! that would be sacrilege--but besides the voluntary
donation of estates from rich penitents, the regular monks of Ireland
had landed properties attached to their convents. Sometimes they
possessed immense tracts of a country, from which the officiating clergy
seldom or never derived any benefit; and, I believe, that many, if not
_most_ of the bishops’ leases now existing, are the confiscated revenues
of these ruined abbeys.”
“So, (said I) after all, it is only a transfer of property from one
opulent ecclesiastic to another; * and the great difference between the
luxurious abbot of other times, and the rich church dignitary of the
present, lies in a few speculative theories, which, whether they are
or are not consonant to reason and common sense, have certainly no
connexion with _true_ religion or _true_ morality. While the bishopricks
now, like the abbeys of old, are estimated rather by the profit gained
to the temporal, than the harvest reaped to the heavenly Lord. However,
I suppose, they borrow a sanction from the perversion of scriptural
authority, and quote the Jewish law, not intended for the benefit of
_individuals_ to the detriment of a whole body, but which extended to
the whole tribe of Levi, and, doubtlessly, strengthen it by a sentiment
of St. Paul: ‘If we sow unto you spiritual things, is it not just we
reap your carnal?’ &c. It is, however, lucky for your country, that your
abbots are not as numerous in the present day as formerly.”
* For instance, the Abbey of Raphoe was founded by St.
Columkill, who was succeeded in it by St. Eanon. The first
Bishop of Raphoe having converted the abbey into a cathedral
see. It is now a protestant bishoprick.
“Numerous, indeed, as you perceive (said the priest) by these ruins; for
we are told in the Life of St. Ramoloi, that there were a greater number
of monks and superb monasteries in Ireland than in any other part of
Europe. St. Co-lumkill and his contemporaries alone erected in this
kingdom upwards of two hundred abbeys, if their biographers are to be
credited; and the luxury of their governors kept pace with their power
and number.
“In the abbey of Enis, a sanctuary was provided for the cowls of the
friars and the veils of the nuns, which were costly and beautifully
wrought. We read that (knights excepted) the prelates only were allowed
to have gold bridles and harness; and that among the rich presents
bestowed by Bishop Snell, in 1146, on a cathedral, were gloves,
pontificals, sandals, and silken robes, interwoven with golden spots,
and adorned with precious stones.
“There is a monument of monkish luxury still remaining among the
interesting ruins of Sligo abbey. This noble edifice stands in the midst
of a rich and beautiful scenery, on the banks of a river, near which is
a spot still shown, where, as tradition runs, a box or weir was placed,
in which the fish casually entered, and which contained a spring, that
communicated by a cord with a bell hung in the refectory. The weight of
the fish pressed down the spring; the cord vibrated; the bell rung; and
the unfortunate captive thus taken suffered martyrdom, by being placed
on a fire alive.”
“And was served up,” said I, “I suppose on a fast day, to the
_abstemious_ monks, who would, however, have looked upon a morsel of
flesh meat thrown in this way, as a lure to eternal perdition.”
Already weary of a conversation in which my heart took little interest,
I now suffered it to die away; and while Father John began a parley with
a traveller who socially joined us, I gave up my whole soul to love and
to Glorvina.
In the course of the evening we arrived at the house of our destined
host. Although it was late, the family had not yet gone to dinner, as
the servant who took our horses informed us, that his master had but
that moment returned from a fair. We had scarcely reached the hall,
when, the report of our arrival having preceded our appearance, the
whole family rushed out to receive us. What a group!--the father looked
like the very Genius of Hospitality, the mother like the personified
spirit of a cordial welcome; three laughing Hebe daughters; two
fine young fellows supporting an aged grandsire, a very Silenus in
appearance, and a pretty demure little governess, with a smile and a
hand as ready as the others.
The priest, according to the good old Irish fashion, saluted the cheeks
of the ladies, and had his hands nearly shaken off by the men; while I
was received with all the cordiality that could be lavished on a friend,
and all the politeness that could be paid to a stranger. A welcome
shone in every eye; ten thousand welcomes echoed from every lip; and
the arrival of the unexpected guests seemed a festival of the social
feelings to the whole warm-hearted family. If this is a true specimen of
the first rites of hospitality, among the _independent country gentlemen
of Ireland_, * it is to me the most captivating of all possible
ceremonies.
* To those who have witnessed [as I so often have] the
celebration of these endearing rites, this picture will
appear but a very cold and languid sketch.
When the first interchange of our courtesies had passed on both sides,
we were conducted to the refreshing comforts of a dressing-room; but the
domestics were not suffered to interfere, all were in fact our servants.
The plenteous dinner was composed of every luxury the season afforded;
though only supplied by the demesne of our host and the neighbouring
sea-coast, and though served up in a style of perfect elegance, was yet
so abundant, so over plenteous, that, compared to the compact neatness,
and simple sufficiency of English fare in the same rank of life, it
might have been thought to have been “more than hospitably good.” But to
my surprise, and indeed, not much to my satisfaction, during dinner the
door was left open for the benefit of receiving the combined efforts of
a very indifferent fiddler and a tolerable piper, who, however, seemed
to hold the life and spirits of the family in their keeping. The ladies
left us early after the cloth was removed; and though besides the family
there were three strange gentlemen, and that the table was covered with
excellent wines, yet conversation circulated with much more freedom
than the bottle; every one did as he pleased, and the ease of the guest
seemed the pleasure of the host.
For my part, I rose in less than an hour after the retreat of the
ladies, and followed them to the drawing-room. I found them all
employed; one at the piano, another at her needle-work, a third reading;
mamma at her knitting, and the pretty little duenna copying out music.
They received me as an old acquaintance, and complimented me on my
temperance in so soon retiring from the gentlemen, for which I assured
them they had all the credit. It is certain that the frank and open
ingenuousness of an Irishwoman’s manners, forms a strong contrast to
that placid, but distant reserve which characterises the address of my
own charming countrywomen. For my part, since I have Glorvina, I shall
never again endure that perpetuity of air, look, and address, which
those who mistake formality for good-breeding are apt to assume.
Manners, like the graduated scale of the thermometer, should betray, by
degrees, the expansion or contraction of the feeling, as they are warmed
by emotion or chilled by indifference. They should _breathe_ the soul in
order to _win_ it.
Nothing could be more animated yet more modest than the manners of these
charming girls, nor should I require any stronger proof of that pure
and exquisite chastity of character which, from the earliest period, has
distinguished the women of this country, than that ingenuous candour and
enchanting frankness which accompanies their every look and word.
“The soul as sure to be admired as seen,
Boldly steps forth, nor keeps a thought within.
But, although the Miss O’D--------s are very charming girls, although
their mother seems a very rational and amiable being, and although their
governess appears to be a young woman of distinguished education and
considerable talent; yet I in vain sought in their conversation for that
soul-seizing charm which, with a magic, undefinable influence breathes
round the syren _Princess of Inismore_. O! it was requisite I should
mingle, converse with other women to justly appreciate all I possess in
the society of Glorvina; for surely she is _more_, or every other woman
is _less_ than mortal!
Before the men joined us in the drawing-room, I was quite _boudoirized_
with these unaffected and pleasing girls. One wound her working-silk off
my hands, another would try my skill at battledore, and the youngest,
a charming little being of thirteen, told me the history of a pet dove
that was dying in her lap; while all in-treated I would talk to them of
the Princess of Inismore.
“For my part,” said the youngest girl, “I always think of her as of the
‘Sleeping Beauty in the Wood,’ or some other princess in a fairy tale.”
“We know nothing of her, however,” said
Mrs. O’D---------, “but by report; we live at too great a distance to
keep up any connexion with the Inismore family; besides, that it is
generally understood to be Mr. O’Melville’s wish to live in retirement.”
This is the first time I ever heard my soi-disant Prince mentioned
without his title; but I am sure I should never endure to hear my
Glorvina called Miss O’Melville. For to me, too, does she appear more
like the Roganda of a fairy tale, than “any mortal mixture of earth’s
mould.”
The gentlemen now joined us, and as soon as tea was over, the piper
struck up in the hall, and in a moment every one was on their feet. My
long journey was received as a sufficient plea for my being a spectator
only; but the priest refused the immunity, and led out the lady mother;
the rest followed, and the idol amusement of the gay-hearted Irish,
received its usual homage. But though the women danced with considerable
grace and spirit, they did not, like Glorvina,
“Send the soul upon a jig to heaven.”
The dance was succeeded by a good supper; the supper by a cheerful song,
and every one seemed unwilling to be the first to break up a social
compact over which the spirit of harmony presided.
As the priest and I retired to our rooms, “You have now,” said he, “had
a specimen of the mode of living of the Irish gentry of a certain
rank in this country; the day is devoted to agricultural business, the
evening to temperate festivity and innocent amusement; but neither the
avocations of the morning nor the engagements of the evening suspend the
rites of hospitality.”
Thus far I wrote before I retired that night to rest, and the next
morning at an early hour we took our leave of these courteous and
hospitable Milesians; having faithfully promised on the preceding night
to repeat our visit on our return from the north.
We are now at a sorry little inn, within a mile or two of the nobleman’s
seat to whom the priest is come, and on whom he waits to-morrow, having
just learned that his lordship passed by here to-day on his way to
a gentleman’s house in the neighbourhood where he dines. The little
postboy at this moment rides up to the door; I shall drop this in his
bag, and begin a new journal on a fresh sheet.
Adieu,
H. M.
LETTER XXVII.
TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.
The priest is gone on his embassy. The rain which batters against
the casement of my little hotel prevents me enjoying a ramble. I have
nothing to read, and I must write or yawn myself to death.
Yesterday, as we passed the imaginary line which divides the province
of Connaught from that of Ulster, the priest said, “As we now advance
northward, we shall gradually lose sight of the genuine Irish character,
and those ancient manners, modes, customs, and language with which it is
inseparably connected. Not long after the chiefs of Ireland had declared
James the First universal monarch of their country, a sham plot was
pretended, consonant to the usual ingratitude of the House of Stuart,
by which six entire counties of the north became forfeited, which James
with a liberal hand bestowed on his favorites; * so that this part of
Ireland may in some respects be considered as a Scottish colony; and
in fact, Scotch dialect, Scotch manners, Scotch modes, and the Scotch
character almost universally prevail. Here the ardour of the Irish
constitution seems abated if not chilled. Here the _ceadmile falta_ of
Irish cordiality seldom lends its welcome home to a stranger’s heart.
The bright beams which illumine the gay images of Milesian fancy are
extinguished; the convivial pleasures, dear to the Milesian heart,
scared at the prudential maxims of calculating interest, take flight to
the warmer regions of the south; and the endearing socialities of the
soul, lost and neglected amidst the cold concerns of the counting-house
and the _bleach-green_, droop and expire in the deficiency of the
nutritive warmth on which their tender existence depends.
* “The pretext of rebellion was devised as a specious
prelude to predetermined confiscations, and the inhabitants
of six counties, whose aversion to the yoke of England the
show of lenity might have disarmed, were compelled to
encounter misery in deserts, and, what is perhaps still mote
mortifying to human pride, to behold the patrimony of their
ancestors, which force had wrested from their hands,
bestowed the prey of a more favoured people. The substantial
view of providing for his indigent countrymen might have
gratified the national partiality of James; the favourite
passion of the English was gratified by the triumph of
Protestantism, and the downfall of its antagonists: men who
professed to correct a system of peace did not hesitate to
pursue their purpose through a scene of iniquity which
humanity shudders to relate; and by an action more criminal,
because more deliberate, than the massacre of St.
Bartholomew, two-thirds of an extensive province were
offered up in one great hecatomb, on the altar of false
policy and theological prejudice. Here let us survey with
wonder the mysterious operations of divine wisdom, which,
from a measure base in its means, and atrocious in its
execution, has derived a source of fame, freedom, and
industry to Ireland.”--Vide a Review of some interesting
periods of Irish History.
“So much for the shades of the picture, which, however, possesses its
lights, and those of no dim lustre. The north of Ireland may be justly
esteemed the palladium of Irish industry and Irish trade, where the
staple commodity of the kingdom is reared and manufactured; and while
the rest of Ireland is devoted to that species of agriculture, which,
in lessening the necessity of human labour, deprives man of subsistence;
while the wretched native of the southern provinces (where little labour
is required, and consequently little hire given) either famishes in the
midst of a helpless family, or begs his way to England, and offers those
services _there_ in harvest time, which his own country rejects.
Here, both the labourer and his hire rise in the scale of political
consideration; here more hands are called for than can be procured; and
the peasant, stimulated to exertions by the reward it reaps for him,
enjoys the fruits of his industry, and acquires a relish for the
comforts and conveniences of life. Industry, and this taste for
comparative luxury, mutually react; and the former, while it bestows the
_means_, enables them to gratify the suggestions of the latter; while
their wants, nurtured by enjoyment, afford fresh allurement to continued
exertion, In short, a mind not too deeply fascinated by the florid
virtues, the warm overflowings of generous and ardent qualities, will
find in the northerns of this island much to admire and more to esteem;
but on the heart they make little claims, and from its affections they
receive but little tribute.” *
* Belfast cannot be deemed the metropolis of Ulster, but may
almost be said to be the Athens of Ireland. It is at least
the cynosure of the province in which it stands; and those
beams of genius which are there concentrated, send to the
extremest point of the hemisphere in which they shine no
faint ray of lumination.
“Then, in the name of all that is warm and cordial,” said I, “let us
hasten back to the province of Connaught.”
“That you may be sure we shall,” returned Father John: “for I know none
of these sons of trade; and until we once more find ourselves within
the pale of Milesian hospitality, we must put up at a sorry inn, near a
tract of the sea-coast, called the Magilligans, and where one _solitary
fane_ is raised to the once tutelar deity of Ireland; in plain English,
where one of the last of the race of _Irish bards_ shelters his white
head beneath the fractured roof of a wretched hut. Although the evening
sun was setting on the western wave when we reached the auberge, yet,
while our fried eggs and bacon were preparing, I proposed to the priest
that we should visit the old bard before we put up our horses. Father
John readily consented, and we enquired his address.
“What, the _mon wi the twa heads?_” said our host. I confessed my
ignorance of this hydra epithet, which I learned was derived from an
immense wen on the back of his head.
“Oh!” continued our host, “A wull be telling you weel to gang tull the
auld Kearn, and one o’ our wains wull show ye the road. Ye need nae fear
trusting yoursels to our wee Wully, for he is an uncommon canie chiel.”
Such was the dialect of this Hibernian Scot, who assured me he had never
been twenty miles from his “aine wee hame.”
We, however, dispensed with the guidance of _wee Wully_, and easily
found our way to the hut of the man “_wi the twa heads_.” It stood on
the right hand by the road side. We entered it without ceremony, and as
it is usual for strangers to visit this last of the “Sons of Song,” his
family betrayed no signs of surprise at our appearance. His ancient dame
announced us to her husband When we entered he was in bed; and when he
arose to receive us (for he was dressed, and appeared only to have lain
down from debility,) we perceived that his harp had been the companion
of his repose, and was actually laid under the bed-clothes with him. We
found the venerable bard cheerful * and communicative, and he seemed
to enter even with an eager readiness on the circumstances of his past
life, while his “soul seemed heightened by the song,” with which
at intervals he interrupted his narrative. How strongly did those
exquisitely beautiful lines of Ossian rush on my recollection: “But age
is now on my tongue, and my mind has failed me; the sons of song are
gone to rest; my voice remains like a blast that roars loudly on a
sea-surrounded rock after the winds are laid, and the distant mariner
sees the waving trees.”
So great was my veneration for this “Bard of other times,” that I
felt as though it would have been an indelicacy to have offered him any
pecuniary reward for the exertions of his tuneful talent; I therefore
made my little offering to his wife, having previously, while he was
reciting his “unvarnished tale,” taken a sketch of his most singularly
interesting and striking figure, as a present for Glorvina on my return
to Inismore.
While my heart a thousand times called on hers to participate in the
sweet but melancholy pleasure it experienced, as I listened to and gazed
on this venerable being.
The following account of the Bard of the Magilligans was
taken from his own lips, July 3, 1805, by the Rev. Mr.
Sampson, of Magilligan, and forwarded to the author,
(through the medium of Dr. Patterson of Derry,) previous to
her visit to that part of the north, which took place a few
weeks after.
Umbro, July 3, 1805.
Magilligan.
“I made the survey of the ‘man with the two heads,’
according to your desire; but not till yesterday, on
account of various _impossibilities_.
“Here is my report.--
“Dennis Hampson, or the ‘man with the two heads,’ is a
native of Craigmore, near Garvah, county Derry; his father,
Brian Dorrogher Hampson, held the whole town-land of
Tyrcrevan; his mother’s relations were in possession of the
Wood-town (both considerable farms in Magilligan.) He lost
his sight at the age of three years by the smallpox; at
twelve years he began to learn the harp under Bridget
O’Cahan: ‘For,’ he said, ‘in those times, _women_ as well
as men were taught the Irish harp in the best families; and
every old Irish family had harps in plenty.’
“His next master was John C. Gairagher, a blind travelling
harper, whom he followed to Buncranagh, where his master
used to play for Colonel Vaughan; he had afterwards
Laughlan Hanning and Patrick Connor in succession as
masters.