The Wild Irish Girl: A National Tale Page 11

  LETTER V.

  TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.

  _Castle of Inismore, Barony of --------_.

  Ay, ‘tis even so--point your glasses--and rub your eyes, ‘tis all one;here I am, and here I am likely to remain for some time, but whether aprisoner of war, taken up on a suspicion of espionage, or to be offeredas an appeasing sacrifice to the _manes_ of the old Prince of Inismore,you must for a while suspend your patience to learn.

  According to the _carte du pays_ laid out for me by the fisherman, Ileft the shore and crossed the summit of a mountain that “battled o’erthe deep,” and which after an hour’s ascension, I found sloped almostperpendicularly down to a bold and rocky coast, its base terminating ina peninsula, that advanced for near half a mile into the ocean. Towardsthe extreme western point of this peninsula, which was wildly romanticbeyond all description, arose a vast and grotesque pile of rocks, whichat once formed the site and fortifications of the noblest mass of ruinson which my eye ever rested. Grand even in desolation, and magnificentin decay--it was the Castle of Inismore. The setting sun shone brightlyon its mouldering turrets, and the waves which bathed its rocky basis,reflected on their swelling bosoms the dark outlines of its awful ruins. *

  * Those who have visited the Castle of Dunluce, near the Giant’s Causeway, may, perhaps, have some idea of its striking features in this rude draught of the Castle of Inismore.

  As I descended the mountain’s brow I observed that the little isthmuswhich joined the peninsula to the main land had been cut away, anda curious danger-threatening bridge was rudely thrown across theintervening gulf, flung from the rocks on one side to an angle of themountain on the other, leaving a yawning chasm of some fathoms deepbeneath the foot of the wary passenger. This must have been a veryperilous pass in the days of civil warfare; and in the intrepidity ofmy daring ancestor, I almost forgot his crime. Amidst the intersticesof the rocks which skirted the shores of this interesting peninsula,patches of the richest vegetation were to be seen, and the trees whichsprung wildly among its venerable ruins, were bursting into all thevernal luxuriancy of spring. In the course of my descent, several cabinsof a better description than I had yet seen, appeared scattered beneaththe shelter of the mountain’s innumerable projections; while in the airand dress of the inhabitants (which the sound of my horse’s feet broughtto their respective doors,) I evidently perceived a something originaland primitive, I had never noticed before in this class of persons here.

  They appeared to me, I know not why, to be in their holiday garb,and their dress, though grotesque and coarse, was cleanly andcharacteristic. I observed that round the heads of the elderly dameswere folded several wreaths of white or coloured linen, * and othershad hand kerchiefs ** lightly folded round their brows, and curiouslyfastened under the chin; while the young wore their hair fastened upwith wooden bodkins. They were all enveloped in large shapeless mantlesof blue frieze, and most of them had a rosary hanging on their arm, fromwhence I inferred they were on the point of attending vespers at thechapel of Inismore.

  * “The women’s ancient headdress so perfectly resembles that of the Egyptian Isis, that it cannot be doubted but that the modes of Egypt were preserved among the Irish.”--Walker on the Ancient Irish dress, p. 62.

  ** These handkerchiefs they call “Binnogues,” it is a remnant of a very ancient mode.

  I alighted at the door of a cabin a few paces distant from the Alpinebridge, and entreated a shed for my horse, while I performed mydevotions. The man to whom I addressed myself, seemed the only one ofseveral who surrounded me that understood English, and appeared muchedified by my pious intention, saying, “that God would prosper myHonour’s journey, and that I was welcome to a shed for my horse, and anight’s lodging for myself into the bargain.” He then offered to be myguide, and as we crossed the drawbridge, he told me I was out of luck bynot coming earlier, for that high mass had been celebrated that morningfor the repose of the soul of a Prince of Inismore, who had beenmurdered on this very day of the month. “And when this day comesround,” he added, “we all attend dressed in our best; for my part, Inever wear my poor old grandfather’s _berrad_ but on the like occasion,” taking off a curious cap of a conical form, which he twirled round hishand and regarded with much satisfaction. *

  * A few years back, Hugh Dugan, a peasant of the county of Kilkenny, who affected the ancient Irish dress, seldom appeared without his berrad.

  By heavens! as I breathed this region of superstition, so strongly wasI infected, that my usual scepticism was scarcely proof against myinclination to mount my horse and gallop off, as I shudderinglypronounced, “I am then entering the castle of Inismore on theanniversary of that day on which my ancestors took the life of itsvenerable Prince!”

  You see, my good friend, how much we are the creatures of situation andcircumstance, and with what pliant servility the mind resigns itself tothe impressions of the senses, or the illusions of the imagination.

  We had now reached the ruined cloisters of the chapel, I paused toexamine their curious but dilapidated architecture when my guide,hurrying me on, said, “if I did not quicken my pace, I should missgetting a good view of the Prince,” who was just entering by a dooropposite to that we had passed through. Behold me then mingling amonga group of peasantry, and, like them, straining my eyes to that magnetwhich fascinated every glance.

  And sure, fancy, in her boldest flight, never gave to the fairy visionof poetic dreams, a combination of images more poetically fine, morestrikingly picturesque, or more impressively touching. Nearly one halfof the chapel of Inismore has fallen into decay, and the ocean breezeas it rushed through the fractured roof, wafted the torn banners ofthe family which hung along its dismantled walls. The red beams of thesinking sun shone on the glittering tabernacle which stood on the altar,and touched with their golden light the sacerdotal vestments of the twoofficiating priests, who ascended its broken steps at the moment thatthe Prince and his family entered.

  The first of this most singular and interesting group, was the venerableFather John, the chaplain. Religious enthusiasm never gave to thefancied form of the first of the patriarchs, a countenance of moreholy expression or divine resignation a figure more touching by itsdignified simplicity, or an air more beneficently mild, more meeklygood. He was dressed in his pontificals, and, with his eyes bent to theearth, his hands spread upon his breast, he joined his coadjutors.

  What a contrast to this saintly being now struck my view; a form almostgigantic in stature, yet gently thrown forward by evident infirmity;limbs of herculean mould, and a countenance rather furrowed by theinroads of vehement passions, than the deep trace of years. Eyes stillemanating the ferocity of an unsubdued spirit, yet tempered by a strongtrait of benevolence; which, like a glory, irradiated a broad expansivebrow, a mouth on which even yet the spirit of convivial enjoyment seemedto hover, though shaded by two large whiskers on the upper lip, * whichstill preserved their ebon hue; while time or grief had bleached thescattered hairs which hung their snows upon the manly temple. Thedrapery which covered this striking figure was singularly appropriate,and, as I have since been told, strictly conformable to the ancientcostume of the Irish nobles.

  * “I have been confidently assured, that the granfather of the present Rt. Hon. John O’Neal, (great grandfather to the present Lord O’Neal) the elegant and accomplished owner of Shane’s Castle, wore his beard after the prohibited Irish mode.”--Walker, p. 62.

  The only part of the under garment visible, was the ancient Irish_truis_, which closely adhering to the limbs from the waist to theancle, includes the pantaloon and hose, and terminates in a buskin notdissimilar to the Roman _perones_. A triangular mantle of bright scarletcloth, embroidered and fringed round the edges, fell from his shouldersto the ground, and was fastened at the breast with a large circulargolden brooch, of a workmanship most curiously beautiful; round his neckhung a golden collar, which seemed to denote the wearer of some orderof knighthood, probably hereditary in his family; a dagger, called a_skiene_ (for
my guide explained every article of the dress to me,) wassheathed in his girdle, and was discerned by the sunbeam that played onits brilliant haft. And as he entered the chapel, he removed from hisvenerable head a cap or berrad, of the same form as that I had noticedwith my guide, but made of velvet, richly embroidered.

  The chieftain moved with dignity--yet with difficulty--and his colossal,but infirm frame, seemed to claim support from a form so almostimpalpably delicate, that as it floated on the gaze, it seemed likethe incarnation of some pure ethereal spirit, which a sigh, too roughlybreathed, would dissolve into its kindred air; yet to this sylphidelegance of spheral beauty was united all that symmetrical _contour_which constitutes the luxury of human loveliness. This scarcely “mortalmixture of earth’s mould,” was vested in a robe of vestal white, whichwas enfolded beneath the bosom with a narrow girdle embossed withprecious stones.

  From the shoulder fell a mantle of scarlet silk, fastened at the neckwith a silver bodkin, while the fine turned head was enveloped in a veilof point lace, bound round the brow with a band or diadem, ornamentedwith the same description of jewels as encircled her arms. *

  * This was, with a little variation, the general costume of the female noblesse of Ireland from a very early period. In the fifteenth century the veil was very prevalent, and was termed fillag, or scarf; the Irish ladies, like those of ancient and modern Greece, seldom appearing. As the veil made no part of the Celtic costume, its origin was probably merely oriental.

  The great love of ornaments betrayed by the Irish ladies of other times, “the beauties of the heroes of old,” art thus described by a quaint and ancient author:--“Their necks are hung with chains and carkanets--their arms wreathed with many bracelets.”

  Such was the _figure_ of the Princess of Inis-more! But oh! not oncewas the face turned round towards that side where I stood. And whenI shifted my position, the envious veil intercepted the ardent glancewhich eagerly sought the fancied charms it concealed: for was itpossible to doubt the face would not “keep the promise that the form hadmade.”

  The group that followed was grotesque beyond all powers of description.The ancient bard, whose long white beard

  “Descending, swept his aged breast,”

  the incongruous costume--half modern, half antique, of the bare footeddomestics, the ostensible steward, who closed the procession--and aboveall, the dignified importance of the _nurse_, who took the lead in itimmediately after her young lady; her air, form, countenance, and dress,were indeed so singularly fantastic and _outre_, that the geniusof masquerade might have adopted her figure as the finest model ofgrotesque caricature.

  Conceive for a moment a form whose longitude bore no degree ofproportion to her latitude; dressed in a short jacket of brown cloth,with loose sleeves from the elbow to the wrist, made of red cambletstriped with green, and turned up with a broad cuff--a petticoat ofscarlet frieze, covered by an apron of green serge, longitudinallystriped with scarlet tape, and sufficiently short to betray an anclethat sanctioned all the libels ever uttered against the ancles of theIrish fair--true national brogues set off her blue worsted stockings,and her yellow hair, dragged over a high roll, was covered on the summitwith a little coiff, over which was flung a scarlet handkerchief, whichfastened in a large bow under her rubicund chin.

  As this singular and interesting group advanced up the central aisle ofthe chapel, reverence and affection were evidently blended in the looksof the multitude which hung upon their steps; and though the Prince andhis daughter seeked to lose in the meekness of true religion all senseof temporal inequality, and promiscuously mingled with the congregation,yet that distinction they humbly avoided, was reverently forced onthem by the affectionate crowd, which drew back on either side as theyadvanced, until the chieftain and his child stood alone in the centreof the ruined choir, the winds of heaven playing freely amidst theirgarments, the sun’s setting beam enriching their beautiful figures withits orient tints, while he, like Milton’s ruined angel,

  “Above the rest,

  In shape and feature proudly eminent,

  Stood like a tower;”

  and she, like the personified spirit of Mercy hovered round him, orsupported more by tenderness than her strength, him from whom she couldno longer claim support.

  Those gray headed domestics, too, those faith ful though but nominalvassals, who offered that voluntary reverence with their looks, whichhis repaid with fatherly affection, while the anguish of a sufferingheart hung on his pensive smile, sustained by the firmness of thatindignant pride which lowered on his ample brow!

  What a picture!

  As soon as the first flush of interest, curiosity, and amazement hadsubsided, my attention was carried towards the altar; and then I thoughtas I watched the impressive avocation of Father John, that had I beenthe Prince, I would have been the _Caiphas_ too.

  What a religion is this! How finely does it harmonize with the weaknessof our nature, how seducingly it speaks to the senses; how forcibly itworks on the passions; how strongly it seizes on the imagination howinteresting its forms; how graceful its ceremonies; how awful its rites.What a captivating, what a _picturesque_ faith! Who would not becomeits proselyte, were it not for the stern opposition of reason, the coldsuggestions of philosophy!

  The last strain of the vesper hymn died on the air as the sun’s lastbeam faded on the casements of the chapel; and the Prince and hisdaughter., to avoid the intrusion of the crowd, withdrew through aprivate door, which communicated by a ruinous arcade with the castle.

  I was the first to leave the chapel, and followed them at a distance asthey moved slowly along, their fine figures, sometimes concealed behinda pillar, and again emerging from the transient shade, flushed with thedeep suffusion of the crimsoned firmament.

  Once they paused, as if to admire the beautiful effect of the retreatinglight, as it faded on the ocean’s swelling bosom; and once the Princessraised her hand and pointed to the evening star, which rose brilliantlyon the deep cerulean blue of a cloudless atmosphere, and shed its fairybeam on the mossy summit of a mouldering turret.

  Such were the sublime objects which seemed to engage their attention,and added their _sensible_ inspiration to the fervour of those moreabstracted devotions in which they were so recently engaged. At lastthey reached the portals of the castle, and I lost sight of them. Yetstill spellbound, I stood transfixed to the spot from whence I hadcaught a last view of their receding figures.

  While I felt like the victim of superstitious terror when the spectre ofits distempered fancy vanishes from its strained and eager gaze, all Ihad lately seen revolved in my mind like some pictured story of romanticfiction. I cast round my eyes; all still seemed the vision of awakenedimagination. Surrounded by a scenery grand even to the boldest majestyof nature, and wild even to desolation--the day’s dying splendoursAwfully involving in the gloomy haze of deepening twilight--the graymists of stealing night gathering on the still faintly illumined surfaceof the ocean, which, awfully spreading to infinitude, seemed to thelimited gaze of human vision to incorporate with the heaven whose lastglow it reflected--the rocks, which on every side rose to Alpineelevation, exhibiting, amidst the soft obscurity, forms savagely bold orgrotesquely wild; and those finely interesting ruins which spreadgrandly desolate in the rear, and added a moral interest to the emotionsexcited by this view of nature in her most awful, most touching aspect.

  Thus suddenly withdrawn from the world’s busiest haunts, its hackneyedmodes, its vicious pursuits, and unimportant avocations--dropped asit were amidst scenes and mysterious sublimity--alone--on the wildestshores of the greatest ocean of the universe; immersed amidst thedecaying monuments of past ages; still viewing in recollection suchforms, such manners, such habits (as I had lately beheld,) which to theworldly mind may be well supposed to belong to a race long passed beyondthe barrier of existence, with “the years beyond the flood,” I felt likethe being of some other sphere newly alighted on a distant orb. Whilethe novel train of thought which stole on my mind, se
emed to seizeits tone from the awful tranquillity by which I was surrounded, and Iremained leaning on the fragment of a rock, as the waves dashed idlyagainst its base, until their dark heads were silvered by the risingmoon, and while my eyes dwelt on her silent progress, the castle clockstruck nine. Thus warned, I arose to depart, yet not without reluctance.My soul, for the first time, had here held commune with herself; the“lying vanities” of life no longer intoxicating my senses, appeared tome for the first time in their genuine aspect, and my heart still fondlyloitered over those scenes of solemn interest, where some of its bestfeelings had been called into existence.

  Slowly departing, I raised my eyes to the Castle of Inismore and sighed,and almost wished I had been born the Lord of these beautiful ruins, thePrince of this isolated little territory, and adored chieftain of theseaffectionate and natural people. At that moment a strain of music stoleby me, as if the breeze of midnight stillness had expired in a manner onthe Eolian lyre. Emotion, undefinable emotion, thrilled on every nerve.I listened. I trembled. A breathless silence gave me every note. Was itthe illusion of my now all-awakened fancy, or the professional exertionsof the bard of Inismore? Oh, no! for the voice it symphonized, the low,wild, tremulous voice which sweetly sighed its soul of melody o’er theharp’s responsive chords, was the voice of _a woman!_

  Directed by the witching strain, I approached an angle of the buildingfrom whence it seemed to proceed; and perceiving a light which streamedthrough an open casement, I climbed with some difficulty the ruins of aparapet wall which encircled this wing of the castle, and which roseso immediately under the casement as to give me, when I stood on it, aperfect view of the interior of that apartment to which it belonged.

  Two tapers, which burned on a marble slab at the remotest extremity ofthis vast and gloomy chamber, shed their dim blue light on the saintlycountenance of Father John, who, with a large folio open before him,seemed wholly wrapped in studious meditation while the Prince, reclinedon an immense Gothic couch, with his robe thrown over the arm thatsupported his head, betrayed by the expression of his countenance thoseemotions, which agitated his soul, while he listened to those strainswhich spoke at once to the heart of the father, the patriot, and theman--breathed from the chords of his country’s emblem--breathed in thepathos of his country’s music--breathed from the lips of his apparentlyinspired daughter! The white rising of her hands upon the harp thehalf-drawn veil that imperfectly discovered the countenance of a seraph;the moonlight that played round her fine form, and partially touched herdrapery with its silver beam--her attitude! her air! But how cold--howinanimate--how imperfect this description! Oh! could I but seizethe touching features--could I but realize the vivid tints of thisenchanting picture, as they then glowed on my fancy! By heavens! youwould think the mimic copy fabulous; “the celestial visitant” of anoverheated imagination. Yet, as if the independent witchery of thelovely minstrel was not in itself all, all-sufficient, at the back ofher chair stood the grotesque figure of her antiquated nurse. O! theprecious contrast. And yet it heightened, it finished the picture.

  While thus entranced in breathless observation, endeavouring to supportmy precarious tenement, and to prolong this rich feast of the senses andthe soul, the loose stones on which I tottered gave way under my feet,and impulsively clinging to the wood work of the casement, it moulderedin my grasp. I fell--but before I reached the earth I was bereft ofsense. With its return I found myself in a large apartment, stretched ona bed, and supported in the arms of the Prince of Inismore! his hand waspressed to my bleeding temple, while the priest applied a styptic to thewound it had received; and the nurse was engaged in binding up my arm,which had been dreadfully bruised and fractured a little above thewrist. Some domestics, with an air of mingled concern and curiosity,surrounded my couch; and at her father’s side stood the Lady Glorvina,her looks pale and disordered--her trembling hands busily employed inpreparing bandages, for which my skilful doctress impatiently called.

  While my mind almost doubted the evidence of my senses, and a physicalconviction alone _painfully_ proved to me the reality of all I beheld,my wandering, wondering eyes met those of the Prince of Inismore! Avolume of pity and benevolence was registered in their glance; nor weremine, I suppose, inexpressive of my feelings, for he thus replied tothem:

  “Be of good cheer, young stranger; you are in no danger; be composed;be confident; conceive yourself in the midst of friends; for you aresurrounded by those who would wish to be considered as such.”

  I attempted to speak, but my voice faltered; my tongue was nerveless; mymouth dry and parched. A trembling hand presented a cordial to my lips.I quaffed the philtre, and fixed my eyes on the face of my ministeringangel. That angel was Glorvina! I closed them, and sunk on the bosom ofher father.

  “Oh, he faints again!” cried a sweet and plaintive voice.

  “On the contrary,” replied the priest, “the weariness of acute painsomething subsided, is lulling him into a soft repose; for see, thecolour reanimates his cheek, and his pulse quickens.”

  “It indeed beats most wildly,” returned the sweet physician; for thepulse which responded to her finger’s thrilling pressure moved with nolanguid throb.

  “Let us retire,” added the priest, “all danger is now, thank heaven,over; and repose and quiet the most salutary requisites for ourpatient.”

  At these words he arose from my bedside, and the Prince, gentlywithdrawing his supporting arms, laid my head upon the pillow. In amoment all was deathlike stillness, and stealing a glance from undermy half closed eyes, I found myself alone with my skilful doctress,the nurse, who, shading the taper’s light from the bed, had taken herdistaff and seated herself on a stool at some distance.

  This was a golden respite to feelings wound up to that vehement excesswhich forbade all expression, which left my tongue powerless, while myheart overflowed with emotion the most powerful.

  Good God! I, the son of Lord M--------, the hereditary object ofhereditary detestation, beneath the roof of my implacable enemy!Supported in his arms; relieved from anguish by his charitableattention honoured by the solicitude of his lovely daughter;overwhelmed by the charitable exertions of his whole family; and reducedto that bodily infirmity that would of necessity oblige me to continuefor some time the object of their beneficent attentions.

  What a series of emotions did this conviction awaken in my heart!Emotions of a character, an energy, long unknown to my apathizedfeelings; while gratitude to those who had drawn them into existence,combined with the interest, the curiosity, the admiration they hadawakened, tended to confirm my irresistible desire of perpetuating theimmunities I enjoyed, as the guest and patient of the Prince and hisdaughter. And, while the touch of this Wild Irish Girl’s hand thrilledon every sense, while her voice of tenderest pity murmured on my ear,and I secretly triumphed over the prejudices of her father, I would nothave exchanged my broken arm and wounded temple for the strongest limband soundest head in the kingdom; but the same chance which threw me inthe supporting arms of the irascible Prince, might betray to him in theperson of his patient, the son of his hereditary enemy: it was at leastprobable he would make some inquiries relative to the object of hisbenevolence, and the singular cause which rendered him such; it wastherefore a necessary policy in me to be provided against this scrutiny.

  Already deep in adventure, a thousand seducing reasons were suggested bymy newly-awakened heart to go on with the romance, and to secure for myfarther residence in the castle, that interest, which, if known to bethe son of Lord M--------, I must eventually have forfeited, for thecold version of irreclaimable prejudice. The imposition was at leastinnocent, and might tend to future and mutual advantage; and after theideal assumption of a thousand fictitious characters, I at last fixed onthat of an itinerant artist, as consonant to my most cultivated talent,and to the testimony of those witnesses which I had fortunately broughtwith me, namely my drawing-book, pencils, &c., &c., self-nominated_Henry Mortimer_, to answer the initials on my linen, the only proofsagain
st me, for I had not even a letter with me.

  I was now armed at all points for inspection and as the Prince livedin a perfect state of isolation, and I was unknown in the country,I entertained no apprehensions of discovery during the time I shouldremain at the castle; and full of hope, strong in confidence, butwearied by incessant cogitation, and something exhausted by pain, I fellinto that profound slumber I did before but feign.

  The mid-day beams shone brightly through the faded tints of my bedcurtains before I awakened the following morning, after a night of suchfairy charms as only float round the couch of

  “Fancy trained in bliss.”

  The nurse, and the two other domestics, relieved the watch at mybedside during the night; and when I drew back the curtain, the formercomplimented me on my somniferous powers, and in the usual mode ofinquiry, but in a very unusual accent and dialect, addressed me withmuch kindness and goodnatured solicitude. While I was endeavouringto express my gratitude for her attentions, and, what seemed mostacceptable to her, my high opinion of her skill, the Father Directorentered.

  To the benevolent mind, distress or misfortune is ever a sufficientclaim on all the privileges of intimacy; and when Father John seatedhimself by my bedside, affectionately took my hand, lamented myaccident, and assured me of my improved looks, it was with an air sokindly familiar, so tenderly intimate, that it was impossible to suspectthe sound of his voice was yet a stranger to my ear.

  Prepared and collected, as soon as I had expressed my sense of his andthe Prince’s benevolence, I briefly related my feigned story; and ina few minutes I was a young Englishman, by birth a gentleman, byinevitable misfortunes reduced to a dependence on my talents for alivelihood, and by profession an artist. I added, that I came to Irelandto take views, and seize some of the finest features of its landscapes;that, having heard much of the wildly picturesque charms of thenorthwest coasts, I had penetrated thus far into this remote cornerof the province of Connaught; that the uncommon beauty of the viewssurrounding the castle, and the awful magnificence of its ruins, hadarrested my wanderings, and determined me to spend some days in itsvicinity; that, having attended divine service the preceding evening inthe chapel, I continued to wander along the romantic shores of Inismore,and, in the adventuring spirit of my art, had climbed part of themouldering ruins of the castle to catch a fine effect of light andshade, produced by the partially veiled beams of the moon, and hadthen met with the accident which now threw me on the benevolence of thePrince of Innisinore; an unknown, in a strange country, with a fracturedlimb, a wounded head, and a heart oppressed with the sense of gratitudeunder which it laboured.

  “That you were a stranger and a traveller, who had been led by curiosityor devotion to visit the chapel of Inismore,” said the priest, “we werealready apprised of, by the peasant who brought to the castle last nightthe horse and valise left at his cabin, and who feared, from the lengthof your absence, some accident had befallen you. What you have yourselfbeen kind enough to detail, is precisely what will prove your bestletter of recommendation to the Prince. Trust me, young gentleman, thatyour standing in need of his attention is the best claim you couldmake on it; and your admiration of his native scenes, of that ancientedifice, the monument of that decayed ancestral splendour still dear tohis pride; and your having so severely suffered through an anxiety bywhich he must be flattered, will induce him to consider himself aseven _bound_ to administer every attention that can meliorate theunpleasantness of your present situation.”

  What an idea did this give me of the character of him whose heart I oncebelieved divested of all the tender feelings of humanity. Everythingthat mine could dictate on the subject I endeavoured to express, and,borne away by the vehemence of my feelings, did it in a manner that morethan once fastened the eyes of Father John on my face, with that lookof surprise and admiration which, to a delicate mind, is more gratifyingthan the most finished verbal eulogium.

  Stimulated by this silent approbation, I insensibly stole theconversation from myself to a more general theme: one thought was thelink to an-other--the chain of discussion gradually extended, and beforethe nurse brought up my breakfast we had ranged through the whole circleof _sciences_. I found that this intelligent and amiable being hadtrifled a good deal in his young days with chemistry, of which he stillspoke like a lover who, in maturer life, fondly dwells on the charms ofthat object who first awakened the youthful raptures of his heart. He iseven still an enthusiast in botany, and as free from monastic pedantryas he is rich in the treasures of classical literature and theelegancies of belles lettres. His feelings even yet preserve somethingof the ardour of youth, and in his mild character evidently appearsblended a philosophical knowledge of human nature, with the most perfectworldly inexperience, and the manly intelligence of a highly giftedmind, with the sentiments of a recluse and the simplicity of a child.His still ardent mind seemed to dilate to the correspondence of akindred intellect, and two hours’ bedside chit chat, with all theunrestrained freedom such a situation sanctions, produced a more perfectintimacy than an age would probably have effected under differentcircumstances.

  After having examined and dressed the wounded temple, which he declaredto be a mere scratch, and congratulated me on the apparent convalescenceof my looks, he withdrew, politely excusing the length of his visit bypleading the charms of my conversation as the cause of his detention.There is, indeed, an evident vein of French suavity flowing through hismanners, that convinced me he had spent some years of his life in thatregion of the graces. I have since learned that he was partly educatedin France; so that, to my astonishment, I have discovered the mannersof a gentleman, the conversation of a scholar, and the sentiment of aphilanthropist, united in the character of an Irish priest.

  While my heart throbbed with the natural satisfaction arising from theconsciousness of having awakened an interest in those whom it was myambition to interest, my female Esculapius came and seated herself byme; and while she talked of fevers, inflammations, and the Lord knowswhat, insisted on my not speaking another word for the rest of theday. Though by no means appearing to labour under the same Pythagoreanrestraint she had imposed on me; and after having extolled her ownsurgical powers, her celebrity as the best bone-setter in the barony,and communicated the long list of patients her skill had saved, hertongue at last rested on the only theme I was inclined to hear.

  “Arrah! now, jewel,” she continued, “there is our Lady Glorvina now, whowith all her skill, and knowing every leaf that grows, why she couldno more set your arm than she could break it. Och! it was herself thatturned white when she saw the blood upon your face, for she was thefirst to hear you fall, and hasten down to have you picked up; at first,faith, we thought you were a robber; but it was all one to her, into thecastle you must be brought, and when she saw the blood spout from yourtemple, Holy Virgin! she looked for all the world as if she was kiltdead herself.”

  “And is she,” said I, in the selfishness of my heart, “is she alwaysthus humanely interested for the unfortunate?”

  “Och! it is she that is tender hearted for man or beast,” replied mycompanion. “I shall never forget till the day of my death, _nor then_either, faith, the day that Kitty Mulrooney’s cow was bogged: you mustknow, honey, that a bogged cow--”

  Unfortunately, however, the episode of Kitty Mulrooney’s cow was cutshort, for the Prince now entered, leaning on the arm of the priest.

  Dull indeed must be every feeling, and blunted every recollectivefaculty, when the look, the air, the smile with which this venerable andbenevolent chieftain, approaching my bed, and kindly taking me by thehand, addressed me in the singular idiom of his expressive language.

  “Young man,” said he, “the stranger’s best gift is upon you, for the eyethat sees you for the first time, wishes it may not be the last; and theear that drinks your words, grows thirsty as it quaffs them. So says ourgood Father John here, for you have made him your friend ere you are hisacquaintance; and as the _friend of my friend_, my heart opens to you;you ar
e welcome to my house as long as it is pleasant to you; whenit ceases to be so, we will part with you with regret, and speed yourjourney with our wishes and our prayers.”

  Could my heart have lent its eloquence to my lip--but that wasimpossible; very imperfect indeed was the justice I did to my feelings;but as my peroration was a eulogium on these romantic scenes andinteresting ruins, the contemplation of which I had nearly purchasedwith my life, the Prince seemed as much pleased as if my gratitude hadpoured forth with _Ciceronean_ eloquence, and he replied:

  “When your health will permit, you can pursue here uninterrupted yourcharming art. Once the domains of Inismore could have supplied thepainter’s pencil with scenes of smiling felicity, and the song of thebard--with many a theme of joy and triumph; but the harp can only mournover the fallen greatness of its sons; and the pencil has nothing leftto delineate but the ruins which shelter the gray head of the last oftheir descendants.”

  These words were pronounced with an emotion that shook the dilapidatedframe of the Prince, and the tear which dimmed the spirit of his eye,formed an associate in that of his auditor. He gazed on me for a momentwith a look that seemed to say, “you feel for me, then--yet you are anEnglishman and taking the arm of Father John, he walked towards a windowwhich commanded a view of the ocean, whose troubled bosom beat wildlyagainst the castle cliffs.

  “The day is sad,” said he, “and makes the soul gloomy: we will summonO’Gallagher to the hall, and drive away sorrow with music.” Then turningto me, he added, with a faint smile “the tones of the Irish harphave still the power to breathe a spirit over the drooping soul of anIrishman; but if its strains disturb your repose, command its silence:the pleasure of the host always rests in that of his guest.”

  With these words, and leaning on the arm of his chaplain, he retired;while the nurse, looking affectionately after him, raised her hands andexclaimed:

  “Och! there you go, and may the blessing of the Holy Virgin go with you,for it’s yourself that’s the jewel of a Prince!”

  The impression made on me by this brief but interesting interview, isnot to be expressed. You should see the figure, the countenance, thedress of the Prince; the appropriate scenery of the old Gothic chamber,the characteristic appearance of the priest and the nurse, to understandthe combined and forcible effect the whole produced.

  Yet, though experiencing a pleasurable emotion, strong as it was novel,there was still one little wakeful wish throbbing vaguely at my heart.

  Was it possible that my chilled, my sated misanthropic feelings,still sent forth one sigh of wishful solicitude for woman’s dangerouspresence? No, the sentiment the daughter of the Prince inspired, onlymade a _part_ in that general feeling of curiosity, which every thing inthis new region of wonders continued to nourish into existence. What hadI to expect from the unpolished manners, the confined ideas of this WildIrish Girl? Deprived of all those touching allurements which societyonly gives; reared in wilds and solitudes, with no other associates thanher nurse, her confessor, and her father; endowed indeed by naturewith some personal gifts, set off by the advantage of a singular andcharacteristic dress, for which she is indebted to whim and naturalprejudice, rather than native taste:--I, who had fled in disgust evenfrom those to whose natural attraction the bewitching blandishments ofeducation, the brilliant polish of fashion, and the dazzling splendourof _real_ rank, contributed their potent spells.

  And yet, the roses of Florida, though the fair est in the universe, andspringing from the richest soil, emit no fragrance; while the mountainviolet, rearing its timid form from a steril bed, flings on the morningbreeze the most delicious perfume.

  While given up to such reflections as these--while the sound of theIrish harp arose from the hall below, and the nurse muttered her prayersin Irish over her beads by my side, I fell into a gentle slumber, inwhich I dreamed that the Princess of Inismore approached my bed, drewaside the curtains, and raising her veil, discovered a face I hadhitherto rather guessed at than seen. Imagine my horror--it was theface, the head of a _Gorgon!_

  Awakened by the sudden and terrific emotion it excited, though stillalmost motionless, as if from the effects of a nightmare (which infact, from the position I lay in, had oppressed me in the form of thePrincess) I cast my eyes through a fracture in the old damask drapery ofmy bed, and beheld--not the horrid spectre of my recent dream, butthe form of a cherub hovering near my pillow--it was the Lady Glorvinaherself! Oh! how I trembled lest the fair image should only be thevision of my slumber: I scarcely dared to breathe, lest it shoulddissolve.

  She was seated on the nurse’s little stool, her elbow resting on herknee, her cheek reclined upon her hand: for once the wish of Romeoappeared no hyperbela.

  Some snowdrops lay scattered in her lap, on which her downcast eyes shedtheir beams; as though she moralized over the modest blossoms, which, infate a delecacy, resembled herself. Changing her pensive attitude, shecollected them into a bunch, and sighed, and waved her head as she gazedon them. The dew that trembled on their leaves seemed to have flowedfrom a richer source than the exhalation of the morning’s vapour--forthe flowers are faded---but the drops that gem’d them are fresh.

  At that moment the possession of a little kingdom would have been lessdesirable to me, than the knowledge of that association of ideas andfeelings which the contemplation of these honoured flowers awakened. Atlast, with a tender smile, she raised them to her lip and sighed, andplaced them in her bosom; then softly drew aside my curtain. I feignedthe stillness of death--yet the curtain remained unclosed--many minuteselapsed--I ventured to unseal my eyes, and met the soul dissolvingglance of my sweet attendant spirit, who seemed to gaze intently on hercharge. Emotion on my part the most delicious, on hers the most modestlyconfused, for a moment prevented all presence of mind; the beautiful armstill supported the curtain--my ardent gaze was still riveted on a facealternately suffused with the electric flashes of red and white. Atlast the curtain fell, the priest entered, and the vision, the sweetest,brightest vision of my life, dissolved!

  Glorvina sprung towards her tutor, and told him aloud, that the nursehad entreated her to take her place, while she descended to dinner.

  “And no place can become thee better, my child,” said the priest, “thanthat which fixes thee by the couch of suffering and sickness.”

  “However,” said Glorvina, smiling, “I will gratify you by resigning forthe present in your favour,” and away she flew speaking in Irish to thenurse, who passed her at the door.

  The benevolent confessor then approached, and seated himself beside mybed, with that premeditated air of chit-chat sociality, that it went tomy soul to disappoint him. But the thing was impossible, to have tamelyconversed in mortal language on mortal subjects, after having held “highcommunion” with an etherial spirit; when a sigh, a tear, a glance, werethe delicious vehicles of our souls’ secret intercourse--to stoop fromthis “colloquy sublime!” I could as soon have delivered a logical essayon identity and adversity, or any other subject equally interesting tothe heart and imagination.

  I therefore closed my eyes, and breathed most sonorously: the goodpriest drew the curtain and retired on tip-toe, and the nurse once moretook her distaff, and, for her sins, was silent.

  These good people must certainly think me a second Epimenides, for Ihave done nothing but sleep, or feign to sleep, since I have been thrownamongst them.