The Project Gutenberg EBook of Blue-Stocking Hall, Vol. II of III, by William Pitt Scargill This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Blue-Stocking Hall, Vol. II of III Author: William Pitt Scargill Release Date: June 19, 2016 [EBook #52375] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUE-STOCKING HALL, VOL. II OF III *** Produced by Charlene Taylor, David K. Park, Heather Clark and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Front Cover J. B. NICHOLS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET. BLUE-STOCKING HALL. "From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world." Love's Labour Lost. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1827. BLUE-STOCKING HALL. LETTER XII. Mr. Otway to General Douglas. [In point of time, this letter should not appear till later in the series; but as it is an answer to the preceding, the Editor judged it expedient to insert it in this place.] Lisfarne. My dear General, It gave me sincere pleasure to see your hand-writing once more; and if I had required any thing beyond the gratification of an assurance that you had not forgotten your old friend, to put me in good humour, the commission which you have given me would secure all the benevolence of which I am possessed in excusing your long silence. Most readily do I accept the trust which you confide in me, and happy shall I be if my exertions facilitate the event of your return to your native land, there to enjoy the otium cum dignitate to which every man naturally aspires who has passed the best of his days in toiling for and realizing an honorable independence. It is one of the sophisms of this paradoxical age in which we live, to prove that the absentee commits no crime against either patriotism, or political economy; but I rejoice that you have not fallen into the snare, and are coming to repose your mind, and spend your money, where every honest man ought to bring himself to anchor; namely, in his own country, and amongst his own people. By a lucky coincidence there is a splendid mansion with highly finished grounds and plantations, just offered for sale in Hampshire; and if I am fortunate enough to conclude a bargain for the sum which I have offered in your name, I shall think myself no ordinary diplomatist. The present possessor, Sir Reginald Barnes, is like yourself, a nabob, but after rendering his demesne at Marsden a fit residence for a prince, he is grown weary of it, and is so anxious to dispose of the whole as it stands, that I am not without hope of procuring all you want at a single stroke. This letter shall be sent through Ingoldsby, to catch you at the Cape, and of my farther negociation with Mr. Snubb, Sir Reginald's agent, you shall have due notice. I know the place for which I am in treaty, and therefore, if I succeed, my trouble will be as zero. If not, I must look elsewhere, and you shall have reports of progress. With respect to your relations, I have the pleasure to give you satisfactory intelligence. Your eldest brother, poor man, was rapidly advancing towards "that bourne from which no traveller returns," when Mr. Howard died and left him a fine estate, though very heavily burthened, in Buckinghamshire, together with his house in Grosvenor-square, plate, books, etcætera. To substitute the name of Howard for that of Douglas was all the qualification required to enable the family to take possession, and this was soon arranged. Your brother was taken to his grave without ever having visited any part of his new property, of which young Arthur is the heir, and a very fine youth he is: he will soon be of age, and is now on a visit in this neighbourhood to his aunt, Mrs. Henry Douglas, who lives at a sweet spot which you may remember that I purchased for my invaluable friend. A legacy of £20,000 left to your sister-in-law, by her great aunt, old Mrs. Norton, has enabled that first of women and mothers to reside at Glenalta, where she lives adored by her children, and by all who surround her dwelling. I have the happiness to enjoy the beloved society which her family affords, from which I am not more than half a mile distant, and here I shall hope to see you, ere long, added to the circle. Of Mrs. Howard and her daughters I only know by report: they live in the world, and I out of it; but of Caroline and her children I can venture to affirm, that had independence (beyond which their wishes never appear to extend) been withheld by Providence, you would never have known them in the character of needy suppliants, or cringing sycophants. They are as much above any people with whom I am acquainted in every noble principle of heart, as they excel all others that I have met with in their powers of pleasing. Your nephew is likely to make a distinguished figure at the University, and is as amiable as he is clever. There are three girls, all pretty and accomplished; and as to your sister, she is such a woman as, when you have once been in her company, will no longer permit you to remain in astonishment that our dear lamented Henry should have preferred poverty itself in Caroline's society, to the wealth of Potosi without her. I trust to your own taste and discrimination for this tribute to your departed brother when you become acquainted with the object of his tenderest and unceasing affection; and will not take up any more time in describing the characters of your family, nor anticipate the delight which you will feel in exercising your own judgment as they develope themselves to your penetrating eye. The family of Glenalta beg to send you, through me, their affectionate greetings, and old Bentley, who is likewise a [Pg 1] [Pg 2] [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] neighbour of mine, and as caustic as ever, desires me to say how much he rejoices in the hope of shaking you by the hand. Farewell, my dear General! may you have a prosperous voyage, and be permitted, ere long, to set your foot on British ground once more! Believe me very Sincerely and faithfully yours, Ed. Otway. LETTER XIII. Mrs. Eliza Sandford to Mrs. Douglas. My beloved Friend, Your kind affection has anticipated all that I have to say: it has pleaded for me more powerfully than I could do for myslf, and has surely told you how much I have been engaged on returning after so long an absence, to Checkley. At last I begin to breathe; and my little Agnes makes such rapid advance to returning health, that I can now, without self- reproach, indulge in the dearest pleasure of life except that of conversing with you, and begin once more to pour out my heart into your faithful bosom. I may now in full security of our punctual English posts give you undisguised details of every thing most interesting, and expect the same from you, till the happy season arrive which will, I trust, re-unite us, and give me the delight of re-visiting Glenalta. I must obey you before I follow the dictates of my own feelings, and answer your questions ere I touch upon matter of another description. "Describe your girls," you say. Well, then, in a few words, they are dear children: Julia is a charming creature, and if I do not take the mother too much upon me in saying so, is worthy of that friendship which is the boast and pride of her life, and which is bestowed upon her by your Emily. Such a letter as she has lately received, describing the retreat! but I must not digress. Julia, then, is really, at seventeen, a most interesting character. She is docile as possible, singularly artless and innocent, yet possessed of admirable faculties, which appear capable of application to a great variety of different pursuits. In short, whatever Julia attempts she accomplishes, and performs well, but without the slightest vanity that I have been able to detect. Bertha is handsomer, quicker, and more striking, though not nearly so solid nor reflecting as her elder sister. She commits more faults in a week than Julia in a year, from an impetuosity of temper which was not corrected while she was a little one; but her contrition is so genuine, and her nature so frank, that I always find myself loving her better than I did before whenever she has offended. She will be fifteen, you know, her next birth-day, and is certainly much improved since we went abroad. The extreme youth of my dear girls, my particular object in leaving England being truly the recovery of health for one of them; the recent losses which they had sustained, and my dislike of company, all conspired to preserve us from the contagion of foreign influence; while I was enabled, by taking my young charge entirely from home, to break at once through a thousand ties which would have perplexed me exceedingly had I remained at Checkley. What I should have found much difficulty in gradually unloosening, I have now boldly dissevered, I shall not hold myself under any obligation to resume the thread of acquaintance with any whose society may not be advantageous to my young people, who at present furnish me with ample excuse for declining all invitations, and thus avoiding jealousy on the part of our neighbours. Julia has never been in company, and is the only one of my girls whose age makes it expected that she should go out. Bertha will suffer no persecution as yet, and my little dear Agnes is hors de combat. Her delicate state affords me a reason, as genuinely sincere as it is opportune, for lying by in perfect tranquillity; and during this happy interregnum I shall profit by your advice, and learn to act with decision when I am forced out of my retirement. As I consider myself only in the light of guardian, and have really no stake in this country myself, even the most calculating of the neighbouring gentry must perceive that I am not bound to any particular style of life; and the more discriminating amongst them, I may hope, will give me credit for acting upon principle. This is all that I want. I know how impossible it is to please every body, and indeed I wonder how an upright mind should desire the approval of a multitude made up of the most discordant elements; but I am much puzzled, notwithstanding, what course to steer, and shall require all your pilotage to keep me steadily in the right track. To give you an idea of my dilemma, I must tell you what sort of people we are living amongst, and present you with a survey of our vicinage, before you can be of use in directing my steps. The Burleys, who are our nearest neighbours, are people of large fortune, and decidedly children of this world. They have sons and daughters all brought up in luxury. They have a house in London, go to town every year, have large expectancies, and so no doubt are full of the present "life's futurities;" but while they are in the country, they are inclined to be very friendly, and it will not be their fault if the inhabitants of their splendid hall and those of humbler Checkley are not allied in close intimacy. I am quite aware how the homely adage of "for want of company, welcome trumpery," applies upon many occasions when fine people leave the "flaunting crowd," and come to rusticate for a season in their country seats. But the Burleys, to do them justice, seem to wish for a familiar acquaintance on truer principles. Sir Thomas is a complete Englishmen, worthy, hospitable, open-hearted, up to the eyes in county politics, and when the affairs of this wider range are so balanced as not to call forth the extent of his powers, the parish cabals supply an under plot, which is sure to keep them in full practice for larger matters when they may arrive. At present, the game laws absorb all that is not given to conviviality, in the circuit of his head and heart, without the pale of his own family, in which he is deservedly beloved, and of which he is the sun-beam. Lady B. is simply vapid. She is neither ill-natured nor unkind, but so exceedingly insipid, that were not a log as troublesome as a wasp, though not so active, you might be justified in forgetting that she makes one of the family group. Devoured by ennui herself, she operates on all around her till the whole mass would be vaporized, were it not for the broad good-humour of her spouse, who is as alert as she is inanimate. They do not quarrel, however, and the young people, though very uninteresting, are sufficiently alive to keep up something like cheerfulness, though not of that species which the French appropriately denominate gaieté du coeur. The talk at Burley Hall is so entirely of fashion, and supposes such a sympathy of pursuit, as well as conversancy with topics of which Julia is ignorant, that I question the honesty of permitting her to associate amongst those whose thoughts [Pg 7] [Pg 8] [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] [Pg 13] and feelings are so much at variance with her own, and of such a nature that I never desire to see her approximate to increased congeniality with them. A mile farther off, we have the Henleys; excellent people, who are from morning till night engaged in doing good. They are rich and bountiful, friendly and good-humoured, but so strict, and so devoted to the letter of their particular sect, that if you agreed to travel with them over a line which had been divided into a hundred distinct measures, of a cubit length in each, and that after performing ninety-nine steps in the series, you were to stop at the hundredth, your former task would go for nothing, and you would be as completely distanced as if you had never attempted to walk the course. These good people are anxious in the greatest degree to enlist my young folks, and like the nuns think it no harm to employ every art of affectionate inveiglement to persuade them into an adoption of a certain distinctive phraseology, and form of thinking which I do not like, and therefore shall endeavour to avoid without wishing to repel the kind fellowship which is proffered, though I conclude that our religion will be at once condemned, when it is discovered that I do not disapprove of many things which are proscribed at the Priory. I heard it rumoured the other day, that I am considered one of the pie-bald race. What am I to do? Well, a third description of neighbour, and by much the most numerous, I find planted in three or four pretty places at no great distance from Checkley. There is a family of Liner, another of Peachum, and others whose names I need not plague you by calling over, who with competent fortunes enjoy all the comfort of life which money can bestow, and feel all the title to consideration which belongs to independence; but who are so intolerably dull, unimproving, and self- complacent, so vulgar too in a perpetual rivalry of fine dinners, fine furniture, and fine dress, which have not even the stamp of fashion to recommend them, that my mind revolts against introducing my nieces into such a society as they form. A fourth order remains to be mentioned, and here my pen could expatiate, untired of so delightful a theme. There is a family of Stanley who live six miles from this, and with whom it would be delightful to live in constant communion, if the distance between our two houses did not throw a barrier in the way of daily intercourse. They put me in mind of the Douglas circle, and can I say more to mark the estimation in which I hold them? Father, mother, and children of both sexes are superior to almost any people that I have ever met with, learned, informed, accomplished, the mind is kept in a continual round of exertion in their company, refreshing from its variety, and stimulating from its animation. An hour passed at Brandon Court supplies materials for a week's rumination; and, like animals that chew the cud, we repose day after day, living on the nutriment which we have collected in the fertile pastures of that attractive spot. Nature's economy is such, in the midst of her lavish profusion, that she seldom endows the same individual with very opposite qualities; and we usually seek for the serenity of contemplation in scenes and amongst people far remote from the busy practitioner. The Stanleys, like yourselves, combine all the characteristics so rarely found in union. At Brandon Court you have meditation, not monastic—seriousness, not rigid—sentiment, never morbid—and practical energy, neither coarse nor bustling. Perfect harmony subsists amongst the various members of the interesting group. Mr. and Mrs. Stanley are truly one. Every thought expressed by either, meets from the other a response of delighted affection, whilst a joyous band of happy youth disport around them, whose only rivalry consists in trying who shall contribute most to the general stock of happiness, and pay most attention to the cherished authors of their being. I fancy that I hear you exclaim, "How can Elizabeth hesitate? Why not cultivate the Stanleys, and forget that there is a vulgar world to be passed by?" I will tell you why Elizabeth doubts what path to choose. These inestimable persons are stigmatized by the paltry and mindless animals who environ them, and the Miss Stanleys are yclept blues, while all the rest are called philosophers. For myself you know, that I have no possible feeling upon such a subject. Were I called Blue, because I was seen with the Stanleys, or reading any thing but a novel, it would not signify. My walk in life has long been determined, and I have outlived (if indeed I ever felt like the Mimosa upon such occasions) all sensibility to those nick-names, which are so generously bestowed upon single women. I am a veteran, and can stand fire. I can endure to be called by any appellation, the true meaning of which, is that I have preferred remaining unmarried to being encumbered by the cares of wedded life; and if heaven have granted any measure of understanding, have chosen to employ, rather than let it lie fallow. But this is my individual view of the matter. Have I a right to place my nieces in society which they would certainly love and imitate? am I to incur for them the obloquy that waits on superior knowledge and acquirements in their sex? impeding perhaps, also, the chances of that settlement in future life which, though I have never desired for myself, and am in reality very indifferent about for them, I am still bound to consider as the ordinance of nature, besides being the point to which the artificial laws of the world are universally directed. Many cares will necessarily spring up in my way as I proceed, but at present, how to steer a middle course between Scylla and Charybdis is my chief difficulty. With the inanity of fashion, and its opposite vulgarity on the one hand; a religion which deals too much in external observances, and the reproach of female learning on the other, is there any honest method by which, without sacrificing integrity of principle, I may skim the cream of each class, and save my children from the evils attendant upon all the classes that I have described? Be my Cumean Sybil; look into the page of destiny for me; say what is before me, and how I shall act. The priest in the proverb, "christens his own child first;" you see that I have adopted the same prudent maxim, and given you nothing as yet, but my own story; but for this you need no apology my dearest Caroline. Innumerable interruptions break my purposes, and deprive me of any command over my time just now. By and by I shall be able to write less selfishly I trust, and repay your kindness by more agreeable matter than you will find in a dish of egotism which I have served up for your this day's fare. Before I release you, however, I must tell you that I was not a little surprised yesterday, by the appearance of an Irish acquaintance, Mr. Bentley, whom I have seen frequently at Lisfarne, and uncle [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] [Pg 18] [Pg 19] to George, who is, I believe, an intimate still at your house, and Mr. Otway's. When I was at Glenalta, the young man was, I suppose, at the University, for I did not see him, but I heard the girls and Frederick name him familiarly. In the midst of giving directions to my work-men, a travelling carriage drove up to the hall-door, and I was really delighted to see Mr. Bentley, who is a highly respectable man, but who appeared in a new light of interest to my eyes, from all the associations which his presence awakened. I endeavoured to shew how glad I felt to see him; and though I could not prevail with him to make a longer stay, he indulged me by remaining, to pass a few hours, and walk round our pretty grounds. In the course of conversation, I asked for his nephew, and was answered, that he was at Lisfarne, where he would remain till Mr. Bentley, senior, returns to the county of Kerry. I spoke of the advantage which any young person must derive from such society as that of Mr. Otway, upon whose character I expatiated with my usual warmth. "Yes," replied Mr. Bentley, "Otway is a noble fellow, though one of your oddities; and poor George absolutely worships him, but nevertheless; I am not very sure that his staying at Lisfarne is for either his happiness or advantage." "Pray, how so?" answered I, "with perfect unconsciousness." "My dear madam," said the good man, "your friends at Glenalta are too near I should think, for my poor boy's peace. I do not say that it is so. I only mean that such things flow naturally from near neighbourhood, which often brings people into scrapes. I have known many a heart lost through the insensible influence of contiguity. Opportunity is the deadliest foe of the one sex, Importunity of the other; and between them both, many a match is brought about, to which an unwilling consent is wrung out of parents and guardians when it is too late to withhold one's fiat." I looked grave, and begged him to be explicit. "Do you speak merely," said I, "Mr. Bentley, upon a general supposition of what may be possible, or have you any reason to suppose that your nephew's happiness is likely to be endangered? Not the remotest suspicion has ever glanced across my mind, and I should take it as a favour, if, since you have touched upon the subject, you would enlighten me farther, by mentioning the ground of your surmise?" "My dear ma'am, it is not actually surmise. I may be wrong, and must acquit George of having given me the slightest insight into his mind. In fact, he is very close; it is the only fault that I find with him, and my sole reason for suspecting, is derived from my own observation of his avidity to puzzle his brains about a great many useless things, such as chemistry, botany, and the like, which never put a guinea into a young gentleman's pocket. Now, you know that Mrs. Douglas and her daughters are so learned, that they could sack a grand jury; though I must do them the justice to add, that no people in the country are more beloved than they are. Nothing can exceed their unpretending goodness. But George has no pretensions; he must make his own way in the world, and cannot afford to waste his precious hours in learning what I call fal lals, that will never help him through life. To tell you the honest truth, I am a little jealous of both Lisfarne and Glenalta. I see no business that any young man has to love or like mortal better than his own flesh and blood; and more time and wits are lavished in these foolish episodes which just end in nothing, than would put a man many a mile forward in his professional career. People fall in love through very idleness and vacuity. A young tenant of my own, excused himself lately, when I asked him what could possess him to marry a girl without sixpence, by replying, 'Indeed, sir, she lived so handy that we were always together, and 'twas the same thing we thought to get married.' Poor George would be probably dismissed by the Douglas family if they entertained the least idea of such presumption, as no doubt, a hope on my nephew's part, would be considered; and you will therefore not wonder, my dear Mrs. Sandford, that I am anxious to get my business in London, and a month at Buxton well over, that I may return home, where it is necessary that George should see after my affairs during my absence. I have seen a great deal of life, though not upon a grand scale; and I know the folly of romance. Mrs. Douglas, I make no question, is as prudent as she is sensible, and has never given her children so elegant an education, to throw them away upon paupers. My own opinion is, that money is the only thing that does not disappoint. I do not say the only thing that is good, far from it; but while mental qualities may be only feigned, sweet tempers and dispositions assumed but for a season, accomplishments suffered to languish, beauty doomed to fade, money performs its promise, and procures all the comfort, and all the happiness that it ever engages to purchase. I repeat this every week of my life to poor George, but he is so reserved, that I never have the satisfaction of hearing whether or not I make any impression upon him." To this exposé, I listened with the most profound attention, and could only reply, "my dear sir, it appears to me that you are putting trouble out to interest, and compound interest, by the view that you take of your family affairs. I can assure you that the remotest hint has never reached me, respecting any suspicion of a feeling such as you ascribe to your nephew, who I dare say, is too much in the habit of venerating your counsels to fly in your face, by presuming to bestow his affections without your approbation; though whenever he does, at some distant period of his life, obtain your permission to offer his hand in marriage, I conclude that you will have no objection to his loving his wife better than you, as he must make a solemn vow to that effect, and cleave to her in preference to all created things. But of one part of your anxiety, I can with certainty relieve you; rest assured, that if the slightest symptom appeared to warrant my friend, Mrs. Douglas, in imagining as you do, the most decisive measures would be instantly adopted to prevent any painful result." "I thought so; I always said so," rejoined hastily, Mr. Bentley. "I knew that Mrs. Douglas had a judgment too profound not to determine on marrying her daughters to men of fortune. I have told my opinion in George's presence (not to him, for the last thing I should desire, would be to convey to his mind, that an idea, such as I have confided to you, ever entered mine), a thousand and a thousand times; and I feel that my discernment is extremely flattered by your assurance, that I saw how the land lay so clearly. Your allusion to interest, and compound interest, is very just and beautiful; and I declare that you have set my mind quite at rest." [Pg 20] [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] So enraptured was the poor man, or rather I suspect, rich man, with his own sagacity, and my illustration, that I found the greatest possible difficulty in edging in a word or two to undeceive him respecting your mercenary projects. If none are so blind as those who will not see, there are certainly none more deaf than such as will not hear. Full of courtesy, bustle, and acknowledgment, this little worldly, but goodly puffin, bundled himself up in his chaise, and posted off, lightened of a load of care, and in such buoyant humour, that I prophecy a fortnight at Buxton will do the needful, and return him in half the time that he had devoted to his bodily weal, in a state of perfect restoration, to Mount Prospect and "poor George." When he was gone, I resolved on giving you intimation of all that had passed. It is very evident to me, that this visit, which I took so kindly, was paid at Checkley, for the sole purpose of sounding; and I think that I can perceive exactly the conflict of his mind. His vanity would be flattered to the highest degree, by even the remotest hope that his nephew might be accepted at Glenalta, while he is also manifestly bent on a rich wife for George with such hearty purpose, that no disappointment is consequent upon believing, as he now does, that there is no chance of a Miss Douglas for his niece. I am sure that he has a very snug store laid up somewhere or other; that being an old batchelor, George is his object, and that had he found reason for his conjecture in any confirmation afforded by me, he would have taught himself to be very well pleased, while he can, as sincerely, turn the current of his thoughts into another stream, in which he hopes that a larger quantity of the precious metals may be found. How comically people who are accustomed to employ a little cunning in their devices, betray themselves. Old Bentley, however, is a worthy man; and a very acute, though rather a vulgar observer. You need not dread the slightest indiscretion on his part, in making the young man a party in his cogitations. One excellent remark which he made with much shrewdness, convinced me that you have nothing to fear on that score. "Madam," said he, "I shall never give George the remotest hint of what has been passing in my head. No, no, when you want to keep young people from committing themselves, be very sure of what you are about, in expressing your fears upon the subject. If you have reason to know that there is an understanding, why then you must either sanction or refuse, and of course must speak; but if you have to deal with timidity, or reserve, be assured that the first word is half the battle; and in proclaiming your own apprehensions, you have at one stroke levelled a barrier which might have remained for ever impregnable but for your incaution." Well, dearest friend, here is a long letter. Let me have a speedy answer, and tell me of George Bentley; is there any foundation for his uncle's fancy: is he a person of whom you could ever think, for one of your dear children? My sweet girls unite in all that is affectionate to their young friends. Farewell. I am ever your attached, Eliz. Sandford . [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] LETTER XIV. Arthur Howard to Charles Falkland. My dear Falkland, Whether I blush or not is not for me to tell; but surely I feel that I ought to do so. Yes, it is an absolute fact, that I am ashamed to recollect the date of my last letter; and, therefore, if you please, we will hush it up. All that I will put forward in extenuation of my guilt is, that my journal bears weighty evidence to the truth of your not being forgotten. In that faithful repository you will find, one of these days, a minute registry of all that passes; and I promise myself much amusement at some future time in recalling to my own mind, while I read it to you, this record of the happiest period of my life. Hey day! here is a downright confession. Even so: and I am not inclined to retract the avowal. As I am not in love, (at least I do not believe that I am,) I suppose that I have less hesitation in proclaiming the state of my feelings than were Dan Cupid to be a witness to the declaration of my being more at home at Glenalta, and more happy with the Douglas family, than I ever felt at any place, and amongst any people, since I was born. I find one great disadvantage in having lost the thread of my good old diary, for I know not now where to begin or what to tell you, though I would have you to know that my difficulty does not arise from paucity of incident. On the contrary, my time has been so occupied, and so many novelties have varied the scene, that I am, to use a homely illustration, in the predicament of "not being able to see the wood for trees." The ground tint of life at Glenalta is soft and reposing, without being dead; and it has latterly been picked out (my simile savours, you will say, of Long Acre) by sundry events which have given contrast to its colouring. You are to be informed that I am up to the eyes in all the pursuits which afford constant delight to the Cousins: and would you believe that from morning till night I am never conscious of time, except by its rapid flight? Falkland, I am awakened as if from a heavy sleep, which had dulled my faculties, and my mind seems to take new views of everything. Will this last? If it should, the age of man is doubled by the animation of such feelings as have been evolved in this Irish world. I tread on air—the sun shines into my heart—and you will never hear me again envying an opium-eater while I live. In three days we set out for Killarney; and, as I will certainly devote a letter exclusively to the Lakes, this shall contain a sketch of some minor exploits in the way of sight-seeing. But I ought not to have proceeded thus far without saying that our Fred. returned, after his short absence, wreathed with victory; and I would give more than I am worth to have been able to call back the shade of Titian by some magical incantation, that his glowing pencil might have fixed that arrival in perennial freshness. Domestic love, what an exquisite painter thou art! Not all the most skilful efforts of factitious refinement can group and touch like this artist of Nature. It was Frederick's plan to be his own messenger; and, therefore, as no announcement of success or failure preceded his appearance amongst us, suspense hung upon the carriage-wheels as it drove to the very door, and only gave way to joyful assurance, from the uncontrolable gladness of Domine's eye, which sparkled a contradiction, detected at the first glance by Fanny, to the serious air with which the travellers had determined on playfully deceiving the sisterhood. "The Science Premium" presently resounded through the air, and a delighted group of servants, headed by old Lawrence, wafted the glad tidings to an outer circle, who stood peeping from behind the holly-hedge, ready to catch the first contagion that might reach them of joy or sorrow, without understanding how excited, or for what displayed. When the transport seemed at its height, Mr. Oliphant abruptly exclaimed, "But how easily you are all satisfied! Not a soul has asked me what became of all my hard work at Greek and Latin." Here followed the news that Fred. was doubly crowned, and had also borne away the palm of classical triumph. This was too much; the cup of bliss was full before, and now it overflowed. No, I never saw any thing like it; and even this scene, I suppose, could never again produce the magical sensations which I felt. The intensity of emotion, and the gradations evinced in its exhibition, from the silent, grateful tear that trickled down the hectic cheek of aunt Douglas—then passing through the gentle transports of Emily and Charlotte, the mad delirium of Fanny, the honest pride of Oliphant, the full, yet chastened glow of Frederick, the paternal exultation of old Lawrence, down to the untutored burst of the barefooted mountaineers, reminded me forcibly of that admirable picture by Le Thiers of the Judgment of Brutus, in which you and I used to admire the author's tact in apportioning the varieties of expression in all those numerous countenances, to the exact measure of refinement in each which accompanied the feeling that gave it birth. After the first tumult of congratulations had subsided, I ran to the seashore, to get rid of some unwelcome thoughts, that were not in unison with the scene which I had witnessed, when I overtook a little band of young peasants, who were dragging along large bundles of what we call gorse, but is here yclept furze; and this circumstance soon turned the current of my musings. "Where are you going, my lads?" quoth I. "Plase your honour, to get ready the bonfires for Maaster Frederick agin the evening." "I am a stranger in these parts, and should like to know what all this work is for," said I, turning to a fine, active youth, who led the van. "Why, indeed, sir, I don't rightly know; but, be what I can larn, Maasther Fred. is to be King o' the College from this time out." "Och! you fool, Jack!" cried another, "that isn't it at all. I heard my father say just now that he was (that's Maasther Fred.) cheered round the city like a Parliamint man, and that he flogged all the scholars in Ireland." "Well you're out too, Flurry," vociferated a third; "for Nance Hagerty tould Kit Lacy and she ought to know, be raison of being about the cows morning and evening at the big house, that Maaster Fred. got a power of money for making an illigant spaach about mancipashon." I was greatly amused. It was all the same to these poor fellows. Joy was depicted on every face at Glenalta, and to enquire into whys and wherefores is quite too tame for the rush of Hibernian sympathy. The meeting with Phil. was [Pg 30] [Pg 31] [Pg 32] [Pg 33] [Pg 34] [Pg 35] [Pg 36] another rich repast of mind; and young Bentley seemed so share the scene like a brother. When I returned to dinner, I found preparations going forward near the house which ended in a piper and a dance upon the green turf, in which the young people of the family took part. A great basket of bread-cakes sweetened with a little sugar, and a single draught to each of Kerry cider, made all the entertainment as related to eating and drinking; hilarity and affection supplied the rest, and I could not help remarking, that I had never till then seen so many people made supremely happy at so trifling an expense. With us at Selby it would have required the winning wiles of at least an ox, and tree tierces of ale, to have prevailed on so many people to come together. When assembled, they would neither pipe nor dance: the gladdest tribute would consist in a few deafening shouts, and, after some coarse and clumsy merriment, the well-fed sons of England would stagger home, filled to the throat, regardless of all sentiment which could not be identified with roast beef and brown stout. Only give an Irish population permission to share in your feelings, and you may have a crowd at your heels in a moment, in any part of the kingdom, as I am told; but I can now say from experience, that, if you deserve affection, you may have an honest flow of its choicest streams unbought, except by reciprocating kindness. These poor people would endure anything for my aunt, her children, and Mr. Otway; and though I have given you a ridiculous specimen of ignorance, in relating the conversation of the bonfire, I am bound in justice, as a set off, to add, that when the festivities of the evening were at an end, Mr. Oliphant beckoned to two youths, who appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen, and whom he called by the names of Cronin and Riely, saying, "Boys, I know very well that you are just longing to hear more about Mr. Frederick, so come in the morning, bring your Homer, and I will show you the part in which he was examined." The poor fellows seemed overjoyed, and kicking up a bare heel behind, pulled each a lock of hair on his forehead in token of thanks, neither of these young men having a hat with which to perform the ceremony of a bow, and this extra-ordinary mode of salutation serving as the substitute here for a more civilized mode of obeisance. To my amazement, I now learned that several individuals are to be found in these mountains who can read Horace and Virgil familiarly. The Homer which was brought in the morning was a curiosity too, for so filthy, so broken, and so disjointed a concern, I suppose you never beheld; and it astonished me, not only to hear these tattered academicians read passages with precision which were almost effaced, but translate with fidelity, of which Cowper would not have been ashamed. Frederick gave them each a new book, and I presented a trifling sum to be expended in shoes and hats, sending off our poor scholars as happy as kings are said to be in fairy tales. When Frederick had been at home a day or two, he proposed that we should make the first use of his liberty in extending our excursions both by land and water. "We will begin with the nearest object," said he, "and as you enter with so much zeal into our Irish character, I must take you to see a person whom we have given the name of Wise Ned of the Hill." The next day was appointed, and we were on horseback at four in the morning, each provided with a sort of wallet, containing an ample supply of sandwiches, a small bottle of brandy, a canister of snuff for Ned, with a large parcel of newspapers, and a tin box (which Fanny insisted on adding to our accoutrements) to be filled with any plants which Glenalta did not produce. In this rustic guise, accompanied by three fine dogs, one of which is a noble animal of a species now very scarce, namely, the Irish wolf dog, we commenced our campaign, halting at Lisfarne, to call for young Bentley, by whom we were speedily joined. As we rode along, I begged to know in the true Irish style what it was that we were going to see, and why "Ned of the Hill," was worthy of a pilgrimage to his shrine. "He is," said Frederick, "a most uncommon character, and one who will, I think, reward your trouble in getting at him, for I can tell you that his only neighbours are the eagles. Ned, like the poor boys of Homeric memory, received an education beyond the vulgar level, in the days of his youth. He was born of parents who were strict Roman Catholics; and having an uncle who was priest in a neighbouring parish, it was intended that young Edmund Burke (a promising name, you will say) should succeed to his relation's holy office. With this view he was taught Greek and Latin, though his temporal situation was scarcely raised above absolute want. His father was an idle profligate, his mother a bigot, entirely under the control of her brother, the priest. The boy grew up in the strange jumble of fastings and confessions, prayers and penances, with swearing, drinking, and all manner of profaneness, acted continually in his presence, till his father was suddenly seized with a fit of apoplexy, on recovering from which he had some 'compunctious visitings,' and desired his son, for the first time, to read the Bible for him. There was none to be had except one which had been left in pledge by a poor Protestant woman, who owed a trifle to the little shop kept by these people. Ned objected to read out of such an unholy book, but the father insisted, alleging that his time was hastening to a close, and it was no season to stand upon ceremonies. A Bible was a Bible; and, if it was good at all to read it, the Protestant version could not be very far astray. Ned reluctantly complied, and felt it necessary at first, I dare say, to perform a sort of quarantine after touching the sacred volume; but his father desired that neither his wife nor the priest her brother should hear a word about the matter. The invalid gradually recovered strength, which he ascribed to the fit of piety that had come upon him; and though he did not dream of changing his religion, and was punctilious in his observance of its rites, he still felt a sort of superstitious respect for the book that had been instrumental in keeping up a serious impression of divine things upon his mind; and was not displeased at seeing his son frequently poring over its contents after the daily task of reading to the old man was ended." "At length Ned, through the single and simple force of truth, became convinced of the errors of the Romish Church; and, afraid to tell his parents, he quitted home, and sought the aid of an exemplary clergyman in an adjoining county. From this gentleman he received the kindest treatment, and the most judicious advice not to be precipitate in the adoption of a new creed. This good man gave him books, and protected his destitute youth from persecution, to which the poor fellow became subject, as soon as it was hinted that he was likely to renounce Popery; but Heaven had endowed Ned with one of those acute understandings which are rarely found in any class of men, and the books which were given him by the excellent pastor under whose tutelage he had placed himself, did not satisfy his inquiring mind. Contending between a sense of duty to his family, his temporal benefit, and the habits of his whole life, on one side, and his newly awakened, and, as he considered, providentially directed, search after truth on the other, he roamed about, suffering the greatest privations, sculking in the mountains, and indebted to charity for his scanty fare, till accident [Pg 37] [Pg 38] [Pg 39] [Pg 40] [Pg 41] [Pg 42] [Pg 43] brought Mr. Otway to the spot where he lay stretched upon the heath apparently dead, and a ragged Bible clenched in his hands. He was conveyed to Lisfarne, where he found the asylum after which his soul panted. When his strength was recruited, he was supplied with such books as were calculated to meet the sagacity of his doubts, and a short time made him a fixed and conscientious believer in the superiority of the Protestant faith over that in which he had been educated. About this time his father died, leaving him a little profit-rent of fifteen pounds a year, arising out of a poor tenement in Tralee. This is Ned's all, and as soon as he became possessed of independence he resolved to quit his benefactor and devote himself to the good of his fellow creatures. No argument will tempt him to accept of a salary that would better his condition. A few books, newspapers, and a little snuff, are all that he will permit any of us to add to his hermit's fare. You will see his dwelling, and be surprized perhaps by his remarks. The mountain on which he resides belongs to an absentee nobleman, and Ned lives there unmolested amongst almost inaccessible crags. The singularity of his character, its natural force, and the genuine disinterestedness of conduct which he manifests, combine to produce unbounded influence on the minds of the people, who, notwithstanding the charge of heresy against him, seek his advice, and consider his wisdom as quite oracular. Ned's life is passed in doing good. He traverses hill and dale on foot in quest of all whom he can succour by his counsel or sooth by his kindness. His Bible travels with him, and in spite of the avowed hatred of the priests, and the heavy denunciations of punishment which two or three of them have fulminated against any one who shall listen to, or harbour, poor Ned, he is a universal favourite, and often let in at a back door when his hosts would not venture to receive him at the front of their miserable hovels. He reads the scriptures incessantly, expounding and applying them to the individual necessities of his needy neighbours. He attends the fairs, and prevents many a quarrel. His talents as an arbitrator are in such request that he keeps several paltry cases of contention from the petty sessions, and is even consulted as an almanack, for the signs of bad or good weather." With this outline of Ned's character and history we approached his extra-ordinary tabernacle, which had no appearance whatsoever of human dwelling, till we reached it close enough to see a little wreath of blue smoke curling up from an orifice in the rock, and were assailed by the sharp and angry bark of a terrier, who lay sunning himself, with a cat lying close by him on a tuft of dried heath. A few great stones piled one upon the other, at each side of a natural aperture in the craggy face of the mountain, seemed to indicate the hand of man in bringing them together, and likewise to afford shelter to the entrance. A stout wooden door opening inwards appeared the only means of ingress to admit even the light of heaven, for windows I saw none. A few goats were roused from their meditations by our arrival, and I had just pronounced the name of Robinson Crusoe to my companions, when, at the end of our scramble, which had occupied three hours in its performance, Ned himself started from his lair, and stood before us clad in a strong comfortable loose coat of a greyish frize, manufactured in this country by the poor people. He had shoes and stockings of coarse but warm materials; and moreover, a hat, which, though it had seen better days, defended his head from the rude blast of this desolate wilderness, and was fastened to a button-hole by an old red worsted garter. Such was his joy at sight of Frederick, that some minutes elapsed before he seemed sensible that his friend had any companions. "Oh, sir," said he, "the news came to me just as I was lying down last night; Tom Collins sent off little Maurice his son to Tim Scannel, who put his brother across the bay in the fishing-boat; and he ran every step o'the way over the hills till he brought me the account." To have asked what account would have been a direct insult to all Ned's best feelings, and so Frederick thought, for he replied, "Well, though I am grateful to poor Collins, and also to Scannel, I am very sorry that they have been beforehand with me; I thought to have had the pleasure of telling you myself." "Never mind," answered Ned, "they, poor fellows, have not so many pleasures as you have, don't begrudge them that, for they had a sore trot of it bare legged over the stones to bring me the news; and by the same token I had nothing but two or three potatoes that were cold in the dish after my supper to give Jack after his long tramp over the mountain, and he was afraid of being late for work in the morning, so would not wait till I could get him a drop of milk." Here was a journey of at least eight miles,...