* “The common people of Ireland have no rank in society—they may be treated with contempt, and consequently are withinhumanity.”—An Enquiry into the Causes, &c.
“You shed,” said I, “a patriarchal interest over the character of priesthood among you here; which gives that order to my view in a very different aspect from that in which I have hitherto considered it. To what an excellent purpose might, this boundless influence be turned!”
“If,” interrupted he, “priestswere not men—men too, generally speaking, without education, (which is in fact, character, principle, everything) except such as tends rather to narrow than enlarge the mind—men in a certain degree shut out from society, except of the lower class; and men who, from their very mode of existence (which forces them to depend on the eleemosynary contributions of their flock,) must eventually in many instances imbibe a degradation of spirit which is certainly not the parent of the liberal virtues.”
“Good God!” said I, surprised, “and this from one of their own order!”
“These are sentiments I never should have hazarded,” returned the priest, “could I not have opposed to those natural conclusions, drawn from well known facts, innumerable instances of benevolence, piety, and learning among the order. While to the whole body let it be allowed aspriests, whatever may be their failings asmen, that the activity of their lives, * the punctilious discharge of their duty, and their ever ready attention to their flock, under every moral and even under every physical suffering, renders them deserving of that reverence and affection which, above the ministers of any other religion, they receive from those over whom they are placed.”
* “A Roman Catholic clergyman is the minister of a veryritual religion; and by his profession, subject to manyrestraints; his life is full of strict observances, and hisduties are of a laborious nature towards himself, and of thehighest possible trust towards others.”—Letter on thePenal Laws against the Irish Catholics, by the RightHonourable Edmund Burke.
“And which,” said I, “if opposed to the languid performance of periodical duties, neglect of the moral functions of their calling, and the habitual indolence of the ministers of other sects, they may certainly be deemed zealots in the cause of the faith they profess, and the charity they inculcate!”
While I spoke, a young lad, almost in a state of nudity, approached us; yet in the crown of his leafless hat were stuck a few pens, and over his shoulder hung a leathern satchel full of books.
“This is an apposite rencontre,” said the priest—“behold the first stage ofoneclass of Catholic priesthood among us; a class however no longer very prevalent.”
The boy approached, and, to my amazement, addressed us in Latin, begging with all the vehement eloquence of an Irish mendicant, for some money to buy ink and paper. We gave him a trifle, and the priest desired him to go on to the castle, where he would get his breakfast, and that on his return he would give him some books into the bargain.
The boy, who solicited in Latin, expressed his gratitude in Irish; and we trotted on.
“Such,” said Father John, “formerly was the frequent origin of our Roman Catholic priests This is a character unknown to you in England, and is called here ‘a poor scholar.’ If a boy is too indolent to work and his parents too poor to support him, or, which is more frequently the case, if he discovers some natural talents, or, as they call it,takes to his learning, and that they have not the means to forward his improvement, he then becomes by profession apoor scholar, and continues to receive both his mental and bodily food at the expense of the community at large.
“With a leathern satchel on his back, containing his portable library, he sometimes travels not only through his own province, but frequently over the greater part of the kingdom. * No door is shut against the poor scholar, who, it is supposed, at a future day may be invested with the apostolic key of Heaven. The priest or schoolmaster of every parish through which he passes, receives him for a few days into his barefooted seminary, and teaches him bad Latin and worse English; while the most opulent of his schoolfellows eagerly seize on the young peripatetic philosopher and provide him with maintenance and lodging; and if he is a boy of talent orhumour(a gift always prized by the naturally laughter-loving Milesians) they will struggle for the pleasure of his society.
* It has been justly said, that, “nature is invariable inher operations; and that the principles of a polished peoplewill influence even their latest posterity.” And the ancientstate of letters in Ireland, may be traced in the love oflearning and talent even still existing among the inferiorclass of the Irish to this day. On this point it is observedby Mr. Smith, in his History of Kerry, “that it is wellknown that classical reading extends itself even to a fault,among the lower and poorer kind of people in this country,[Munster,] many of whom have greater knowledge in this waythan some of the better sort in other places. He elsewhereobserves, that Greek is taught in the mountainous parts ofthe province. And Mr. O’Halloran asserts, that classicalreading has most adherents in those retired parts of thekingdom where strangers had least access, and that as goodclassical scholars were found in most parts of Connaught, asin any part of Europe.
“Having thus had the seeds of dependence sownirradicallyin his mind, and furnished his perisatetic studies, he returns to his native home, and with an empty satchel to his back, goes about raising contributions on the pious charity of his poor compatriots: each contributes some necessary article of dress, and assists to fill a little purse, until completely equipped; and, for the first time in his life, covered from head to foot, the divine embryo sets out for some sea-port, where he embarks for the colleges of Douay or St. Omer’s; and having begged himself,in forma pauperis, through all the necessary rules and discipline of the seminary, he returns to his own country, and becomes the minister of salvation to those whose generous contributions enable him to assume the sacred profession. *
* The French Revolution, and the foundation of the Catholiccollege at Maynooth, has put a stop to these piousemigrations.
“Such is the man by whom the minds opinions, and even actions of the people are often influenced; and, if man is but a creature of education and habit, I leave you to draw the inference. But this is butoneclass of priesthood, and its description rather applicable to twenty or thirty years back than to the present day. The other two may be divided into the sons of tradesmen and farmers, and the younger sons of Catholic gentry.
“Of the latter order am I; and the interest of my friends on my return from the continent procured me what was deemed the best parish in the diocese. But the good and the evil attendant on every situation in life, is rather to be estimated by the feelings and sensibility of the objects whom they affect, than by their own intrinsic nature. It was in vain I endeavoured to accommodate my mind to the mode of life into which I had been forced by my friends. It was in vain I endeavoured to assimilate my spirit to that species of exertion necessary to be made for my livelihood.
“To owe my subsistence to the precarious generosity of those wretches, whose every gift to me must be the result of a sensible deprivation to themselves; be obliged to extort (even from the altar where I presided as the minister of the Most High) the trivial contributions for my support, in a language which, however appropriate to the understandings of my auditors, sunk me in my own esteem to the last degree of self-degradation; or to receive from the religious affection of my flock such voluntary benefactions as, under the pressure of scarcity and want, their rigid economy to themselves enabled them to make to the pastor whom they revered. * In a word, after three years miserable dependence on those for whose poverty and wretchedness my heart bled, I threw up my situation, and became chaplain to the Prince of Inismore, on a stipend sufficient for my little wants, and have lived with him for thirty years, on such terms as you have witnessed for these three weeks back.
* “Are these men supposed to have no sense of justice that,in addition to the burthen of supporting their ownestablishment exclusively, they should be called on to payours; that, where they pay sixpence to their own priest,they should pay a pound to our clergymen; that, while theycan scarce afford their own a horse, they should place oursin his carriage; and that when they cannot build a mass-house to cover their multitudes, they should be forced tocontribute to build sumptuous churches for half a dozenProtestants to pray under a shed—Inquiry into the Causes ofPopular Discontents, &c. page 27.
“While my heart felt compassion, my tenderest sympathy is given to those of my brethren who are by birth and education divested of that scale of thought, and obtuseness of feeling, which distinguish those of the order, who, reared from the lowest origin upon principles the most servilizing, are callous to the innumerable humiliations of their dependent state——”
Here an old man mounted on a mule, rode up to the priest, and with tears in his eyes informed him that he was just going to the castle to humbly entreat his reverence would visit a poor child of his, who had been looked on with “an evil eye,” a few days back, * and who had ever since been pining away.
* It is supposed among the lower order of Irish, as amongthe Greeks, that some people are born with an evil eye,which injures every object on which it falls, and they willfrequently go many miles out of their direct road, ratherthan pass by the house of one who has “an evil eye.” Tofrustrate its effects, the priest hangs a consecrated charmaround the necks of their children, called “a gospel;” andthe fears of the parents are quieted by their faith.
“It was our misfortune,” said he, “never to have tied a gospel about her neck, as we did round the other children’s, or this heavy sorrow would never have befallen us. But we know if your reverence would only be pleased to say a prayer over her, all would go well enough!”
The priest gave me a significant look, and shaking me cordially by the hand, and pressing my speedy return to Inismore, rode off with the suppliant.
Thus, in his duty, “prompt at every call,” after having passed the night in acts of religious benevolence, his humanity willingly obeyed the voice of superstitious prejudice which endowed him with the fancied power of alleviating fancied evils.
As I rode along, reflecting on the wondrous influence of superstition, and the nature of its effects, I could not help dwelling on the strong analogy which in so many instances appears between the vulgar errors of this country and that of the ancient as well as modern Greeks.
St. Chrysostom, * relating the bigotry of his own times, particularly mentions the superstitious horror which the Greeks entertained against “the evil eye.” And an elegant modern traveller assures us, that even in the present day they “combine cloves of garlic, talismans, and other charms, which they hang about the necks of their infants, with the same intention of keeping awaythe evil eye.”
* “Some write on the hand the names of several rivers, whileothers make use of ashes, tallow, salt for the likepurposes—all this being to divert the ‘evil eye.’”
Adieu.
A National Tale.
By Lady Morgan,
Author Of St. Clair, The Novice Of St. Dominic, etc.
“Questa gente benche mostra selvagea
E pur gli monte la con trad a accierba
Nondimeno l’e dolce ad cui l’assagia.”
This race of men, though s&vage they may seem,
The country, too, with many a mountain rough,
Yet are they sweet to him who tries and tastes them.”
Uberties Travels thro’ Ireland, 14th Century
In Two Volumes, Vol. II
New York: P. M. Haverty.
Iwish you were to have seen the look with which the worthy Mr. Clendinning met me, as I rode up the avenue to M———— house.
To put an end at once to his impertinent surmises, curiosity, and suspicion, which I evidently saw lurking in his keen eye, I made a display of my fractured arm, which I still wore in a sling; and naturally enough accounted for my absence, by alleging that a fall from my horse, and a fractured limb had obliged me to accept the humane attentions of a gentleman, near whose house the accident had happened, and whose guest and patient I had since been. Mr. Clendinning affected the tone of regret and condolence, with some appropriate suppositions of what his lord would feel when he learnt the unfortunate circumstance.
“In a word, Mr. Clendinning,” said I, “I do not choose my father’s feelings should be called in question on a matter which is now of no ill consequence; and as there is not the least occasion to render him unhappy to no purpose, I must insist that you neither write nor mention the circumstance to him on any account.”
Mr. Clendinning bowed obedience, and I contrived to ratify his promise by certain inuendoes; for, as he is well aware many of his villanies have reached my ear, he hates and fears me with all his soul.
My first inquiry was for letters. I found two from my father, and one, only one, from you.
My father writes in his usual style. His first is merely an epistle admonitory; full of prudent axioms, and fatherly solicitudes. The second informs me that his journey to Ireland is deferred for a month or six weeks, on account of my brother’s marriage with the heiress of the richest banker in the city. It is written in his best style, and a brilliant flow of spirit pervades every line. In the plenitude of his joy allmysins are forgiven; he even talks of terminating my exile sooner than I had any reason to suspect: and he playfully adds, “of changing my banishment into slavery”—“knowing from experience that provided my shackles are woven by the rosy fingers of beauty, I can wear them patiently and pleasurably enough. In short,” he adds, “I have a connexion in my eye, for you, not less brilliant in point of fortune than that your brother has made; and which will enable you to forswear your Coke, and burn your Blackstone.”
In fact, the spirit of matrimonial establishment seems to have taken such complete possession of my speculatingdad, that it would by no means surprise me though he were on the point of sacrificing at the Hymenial altar himself. You know he has more than once, in a frolic, passed for my elder brother; and certainly has more sensibility than should belong toforty-five. Nor should I at all wonder if some insinuating coquette should one day or othersentimentalizehim into a Platonic passion, which would terminatein the old way. I have, however, indulged in a little triumph at his expense, and have answered him in a strain of apathetic content—that habit and reason have perfectly reconciled me to my present mode of life, which leaves me without a wish to change it.
Now for your letter. With respect to the advice you demand, I have only to repeat the opinion already advanced that——— But with respect to that you give me—
“Go bid physicians preach our veins to health,
And with an argument new set a pulse.”
And as for your prediction—of this be certain, that I am too hackneyed inles affaires du cour, ever to fall in love beyond all redemption with any woman in existence. And even this little Irish girl, with all her witcheries, is to me a subject of philosophical analysis, rather than amatory discussion.
You ask me if I am not disgusted with her brogue? If she had one, I doubt not but I should? but the accent to which we English apply that term, is here generally confined to the lower orders of society; and I certainly believe, that purer and more grammatical English is spoken generally through Ireland than in any part of England whatever; for here you are never shocked by the barbarous unintelligible dialect peculiar to each shire in England. As to Glorvina, an aptitude to learn languages is, you know, peculiar to her country; but in her it is a decided and striking talent: even her Italian is, “la lingua Toscana nel bocca Romana,”and her English, grammatically correct, and elegantly pure, is spoken with an accent that could never denote her country. But it is certain, that inthataccent there is a species of langour very distinct from the brevity of ours. Yet (to me at least) it only renders the lovely speaker more interesting. A simple question from her lip seems rather tenderly to solicit, than abruptly to demand. Her every request is a soft supplication; and when she stoops to entreaty, there is in her voice and manner such an energy of supplication, that while she placesyourpower to grant in the most ostensible light to yourself, you are insensibly vanquished by that soft persuasion whose melting meekness bestows your fancied exaltation. Her sweet-toned mellifluous voice, is always sighed forth rather below than above its natural pitch, and her mellowed, softened, mode of articulation is but imperfectly expressed by thesusaro susingando, orcoaxy murmursof Italian persuasion.
To Father John, who is the first and most general linguist I ever met, she stands highly indebted; but to Nature, and her own ambition to excel, still more.
I am now but six hours in this solitary and deserted mansion, where I feel as though I reigned the very king of desolation. Let me hear from you by return.
Adieu.
Iforgot to mention to you in my last, that to my utter joy and surprise, ourpremierhere has been recalled. On the day of my return, he received a letter from his lord, desiring his immediate attendance in London, with all the rents he could collect; for I suppose the necessary expenditure requisite for my brother’s matrimonial establishment, will draw pretty largely on our family treasury.
This change of things in our domestic politics has changed all my plans of operation. This arch spy being removed, obviates the necessity of my retreat to the Lodge. My establishment here consists only of two females, who scarcely speak a word of English; an old gardener, who possesses not oneentire sense, and a groom, who, having nothing to do, I shall discharge: so that if I should find it my pleasure to return and remain any time at the castle of Inismore, I shall have no one here to watch my actions, or report them to my father.
There is something Boeotian in this air. I can neither read, write, or think. Does not Locke assert, that the soul sometimes dozes? I frequently think I have been bit by a torpedo, or that I partake in some degree of the nature of the seven sleepers, and suffer a transient suspension of existence. What if this Glorvina has anevil eye, and has overlooked me? The witch haunts me, not only in my dreams, but whenI fancy myselfat least, awake. A thousand times I think I hear the tones of her voice and harp. Does she feel my absence at the accustomed hour of tuition, the fire-side circle in theVengolfthe twilight conversation, the noontide ramble?—Has my presence become a want to her? Am I missed, and missed with regret? It is scarcely vanity to say,I am—I must be. In a life of so much sameness, the most trivial incident, the most inconsequent character obtains in interest in a certain degree.
One day I caught her weeping over a pet robin, which died on her bosom. She smiled, and endeavoured to hide her tears. “This is very silly I know,” said she, “but one must feel even the loss of abirdthat has been thecompanion of one’s solitude!”
To-day I flung down my book in downright deficiency of comprehension to understand a word in it, though it was a simple case in the Reports of ———-; and so, in the mostnonchalantemood possible, I mounted myrosinante, and throwing the bridle over her neck, said, “please thyself;” and it was her pious pleasure to tread on consecrated ground: in short, after a ride of half an hour, I found myself within a few paces of the parish mass-house, and recollected that it was the Sabbath day; so that you see my mare reproved me, though in an oblique manner, with little less gravity than the ass of Balaam did his obstinate rider.
The mass-house was of the same order of architecture as the generality of Irish cabins, with no other visible mark to ascertain its sacred designation than a stone cross, roughly hewn, over its entrance. I will not say that it was merely a sentiment of piety which induced me to enter it; but it certainly required, at first, an effort of energy to obtain admittance, as for several yards round this simple tabernacle a crowd ofdevoteeswere prostrated on the earth, praying over their beads with as much fervour as though they were offering up their orisins in the golden-roofed temple of Soliman.
When I had fastened my horse’s bridle to a branch of a hawthorn, I endeavoured to make my way through the pious crowd, who all arose the moment I appeared—for thelast mass, I learned, was over, and those who had prayedpar hazard, without hearing a word the priest said within, departed. While I pressed my way into the body of the chapel, it was so crowded that with great difficulty I found means to fix myself by a large triangular stone vessel filled with holy water, where I fortunately remained (during the sermon) unnoticed.
This sermon was delivered by a little old mendicant, in the Irish language. Beside him stood the parish priest in pontifiealibus, and with as much self-invested dignity as thedalai lamaof Little Thibet could assume before his votarists. When the shrivelled little mendicant had harangued them some time on the subject of Christian charity, for so his countenance and action indicated, a generalsecula seculorumconcluded his discourse; and while he meekly retreated a few paces, the priest mounted the steps of the little altar; and after preparing his lungs, he delivered an oration, to which it would be impossible to do any justice. It was partly in Irish, partly in English; and intended to inculcate the necessity of contributing to the relief of the mendicant preacher, if they hoped to have the benefit of his prayers; addressing each of his flock by their name and profession, and exposing their faults and extolling their virtues, according to the nature of their contributions While the friar, who stood with his face to the wall, was with all human diligence piously turning his beads to two accounts—with one half he was making intercession for the souls of his good subscribers, and with the other diligently keeping count of the sum total of their benefactions. As soon as I had sent in mine, almost stifled with heat, I effected my escape.
In contrasting this parish priest with the chaplain of Inismore, I could not help exclaiming with Epaminondas—“It is themanwho must give dignity to the situation—not the situation to the man.” Adieu.
“La solitude est certainement une belle chose, mais il-y-a plaisir d’avoir quelqu’une qui en sache repondre, a qui on puis dire, la solitude est une belle chose.”
So says Monsieur de Balsac, and so repeats my heart a thousand times a day. In short, I am devoured byennui, by apathy, by discontent! What should I do here? Nothing. I have spent but four days here, and all the symptoms of my old disease begin to re-appear: in short, like other impatient invalids, I believed my cure was effected when my disease was only on the decline.
I must again fly to sip from the fountain of intellectual health at Inismore, and receive the vivifying drops from the hand of the presiding priestess, or stay here, and fall into an incurable atrophy of the heart and mind!
Having packed up a part of my wardrobe, and a few books, I sent them by a young rustic to the littleVilla di Marino, and in about an hour after I followed myself. The old fisherman and his dame seemed absolutely rejoiced to see me, and having laid my valise in their cabin, and dismissed my attendant, I requested they would permit their son to carry my luggage as far as the nextcabaret, where I expected a man and horse to meet me. They cheerfully complied, and I proceeded with mycompagnon de voyageto a hut which lies half way between the fisherman’s and the castle. This hut they call aSheebin House, and is something inferior to a certain description of Spanish inn.
Although a little board informs the weary traveller he is only to expect “good dry lodgings,” yet the landlord contrives to let you know in anentre nousmanner, that he keeps some realInishone, (or spirits, smuggled from a tract of country so called) for his particular friends. So having dismissed my second courier, and paid for the whiskey I did not taste, and the potatoes I did not eat, I sent my host forward, mounted on a sorry mule, with my travelling equipage, to the cabin at the foot of the drawbridge; and by these precautions obviated all possibility of discovery.
As I now proceeded on my route, every progressive step awakened some new emotion; while my heart was agitated by those unspeakable little flutterings which are alternately excited and governed by the ardour of hope, or the timidity of fear. “And shall I, or shall I not be welcome?” was the problem which engaged my thoughts during the rest of my little journey.
As I descended the mountain, at whose base the peninsula of Inismore reposes, I perceived a form at some distance, whose drapery (“ne bulam lineam”) seemed light as the breeze on which it floated. It is impossible to mistake the figure of Glorvina, when its graces are called forth by motion. I instantly alighted, and flew to meet her. She too sprang eagerly forward. We were almost within a few paces of each other, when she suddenly turned back and flew down the hill with the bounding step of a fawn. This would have mortified another—I was charmed. And the bashful consciousness which repelled her advances, was almost as grateful to my heart as the warm impulse which had nearly hurried her into my arms.—How freshly does she still wear the first gloss of nature!
In a few minutes, however, I perceived her return, leaning on the arm of the Father Director. You cannot conceive what a festival of the feelings my few days absence had purchased me. Oh! he knows nothing of the doctrine of enjoyment, who does not purchase his pleasure at the expense of temporary restraint. The good priest, who still retains something of the etiquette of his foreign education, embraced mea la Française. Glorvina, however, whomalhereusement, was not reared in France, only offered me herhand, which I had not the courage to raise to my unworthy lip, although the cordialcead mille a faltaof her country revelled in her shining eyes, and and her effulgent countenance was lit up with an unusual blaze of animation.
When we reached the castle the Prince sent for me to his room, and told me, as he pressed my hand, that “his heart warmed at my sight.” In short, my return seems to have produced a carnival in the whole family.
You who know, that notwithstanding my late vitiated life, the simple pleasures of the heart were never dead to mine, may guess how highly gratifying to my feelings is this interest, which, independent of all adventitious circumstances of rank and fortune, I have awakened in the bosoms of these cordial, ingenuous beings.
The late insufferable reserve of Glorvina has given way to the most bewitching (I had almost saidtender) softness of manner.
As I descended from paying my visit to the Prince, I found her and the priest in the hall.
“We are waiting for you,” said she—“there is no resisting the fineness of the evening.”
And as we left the door, she pointed towards the west and added—
“See—
“The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And by yon ruddy brightness of the clouds,
Gives tokens of a goodly day to-morrow.”
“O! apropos, Mr. Mortimer, you are returned in most excellent time—for to-morrow is thefirst of May.”
“And is the arrival of a guest,” said I, “on theeveof that day a favourable omen?”
“The arrival of such a guest,” said she, “must be at least ominous of happiness. But the first of May is our great national festival; and you, who love to trace modern customs to ancient origins, will perhaps feel some curiosity and interest to behold some of the rites of our heathen superstitions still lingering among our present ceremonies.”
“What then,” said I, “have you, like the Greeks, the festivals of the spring among you?”
“It is certain,” said the priest, “that the ancient Irish sacrificed on thefirst of May to Beal, or theSun; and that day, even at this period, is calledBeal.”
“By this idolatry to the god of Light and Song,” said I, “one would almost suppose that Apollo was the tutelar deity of your island.”
“Why,” returned he, “Hecatæus tells us that the Hyperborean Island was dedicated to Apollo, and that most of its inhabitants were either priests or bards, and I suppose you are not ignorant that we claim the honour of being those happy Hyperboreans, which were believed by many to be a fabulous nation.
“And if the peculiar favour of the god of Poetry and Song may be esteemed a sufficient proof, it is certain that our claims are not weak. For surely no nation under heaven was ever more enthusiastically attached to poetry and music than the Irish. Formerly every family had its poet or bard, called Filea Crotaire; and, indeed, the very language itself, seems most felicitously adapted to be the vehicle of poetic images; for its energy, strength, expression, and luxuriancy, never leave the bard at a loss for apposite terms to realize ‘the thick coming fancies of his genius.’” *
* Mr. O’Halloran informs us, that in a work entitled“Uiraceacht na Neaigios,” or Poetic Tales, above an hundreddifferent species of Irish verse is exhibited. O’Molloy, inhis Irish and Latin Grammar, has also given rules andspecimens of our modes of versification, which may be seenin Dr. Linud’s Achaeologia.
“But,” said Glorvina, “the first of May was not the only festival held sacred by the Irish to their tutelar deity; on the 24th of June they sacrificed to the Sun, to propitiate his influence in bringing the fruit to perfection; and to this day those lingering remains of heathen rites are performed with something of their ancient forms. ‘Midsummer’s Night,’ as it is called, is with us a night of universal lumination—the whole country olazes: from the summit of every mountain, every hill, ascends the flame of the bonfire, while the unconscious perpetuators of the heathen ceremony dance round the fire in circles, or holding torches to it made of straw, run with the burning brands wildly through the country with all the gay frenzy of so many Bacchantes. But though I adore our aspiringBealwith all my soul, I worship our popular deitySamhuinwith all my heart—he is the god of the heart’s close knitting socialities, for the domesticating month of November is sacred to him.”
“And on its eve,” said the priest, “the great fire ofSamhuinwas illuminated, all the culinary fires in the kingdom being first extinguished, as it was deemed sacrilege to awaken the winter’s social flame, except by a spark snatched from this sacred fire, * and so deep rooted are the customs of our forefathers among us, that the present Irish have no other name for the month of November thanSamhuin.
* To this day, the inferior Irish look upon bonfires assacred; they say their prayers walking round them; the youngdream upon their ashes, and the old steal away the fire tolight up their domestic hearths with.
“Over our mythological accounts of thiswinter god, an almost impenetrable obscurity seems to hover; but ifSamhuinis derived fromSamhfhuin, as it is generally supposed, the term literally means the gathering or closing of summer; and, in fact, on the eve of the first of November we make our offerings round the domestic altar, (the fireside) of such fruits as the lingering season affords, besides playing a number of curious gambols, and performing many superstitious ceremonies, in which our young folk find great pleasure, and put great faith.”
“For my part,” said Glorvina, “I love all those old ceremonies which force us to be periodically happy, and look forward with no little impatience to the gay-hearted pleasures which to-morrow will bring in its train.”
The little post-boy has this moment tapped at my door for my letter, for he tells me he sets off before dawn, that he may be back in time for the sport. It is now past eleven o’clock, but I could not resist giving you this little scrap of Irish mythology, before I wished you good night.
All the life-giving spirit of spring, mellowed by the genial glow of summer, shed its choicest treasures on the smiling hours which yesterday ushered in the most delightful of the seasons.
I arose earlier than usual; the exility of my mind would not suffer me to rest, and the scented air, as it breathed its odours through my open casement, seduced me abroad. I walked as though I scarcely touched the earth, and my spirit seemed to ascend like the lark which soared over my head to hail the splendour of the dewy dawn. There is a fairy vale in the little territories of Inismore, which is almost a miniatureTempe, and which is indeed the only spot on the peninsula where the luxuriant charms of the most bounteous nature are evidently improved by taste and cultivation. In a word, it is a spot sacred to the wanderings of Glorvina. It was there our theological discourse was held on the evening of my return, and thither my steps were now with an irresistible impulse directed.
I had scarcely entered this Eden, when the form of the Eve, to whose picturesque fancy it owes so many charms presented itself. She was standing at a little distanceen profile—with one hand she supported a part of her drapery filled with wild flowers, gathered ere the sun had kissed off the tears which night had shed upon their bosom; with the other she seemed carefully to remove some branches that entwined themselves through the sprays of a little hawthorn hedge richly embossed with the firstborn blossoms of May.
As I stole towards her, I exclaimed, as Adam did when he first saw Eve—
“—-Behold her,
Such as I saw her in my dream adorned,
With all that earth or heaven could bestow.
She started and turned round, and in her surprise let fall her flowers, yet she smiled, and seemed confused—but pleasure, pure, animated, life-breathing pleasure, was the predominant expression of her countenance. The Deity of Health was never personified in more glowing colours—her eye’s rich blue, her cheek’s crimson blush, her lip’s dewy freshness, the wanton wildness of her golden tresses, the delicious langour that mellowed the fire of her beamy glance—I gazed, and worshipped! but neither apologized for my intrusion, nor had the politeness to collect her scattered flowers.
“If Nature,” said I, “had always such a priestess to preside at her altar, who would worship at the shrine of Art?”
“I am her votarist only,” she replied, smiling, and, pointing to a wild rose which had just begun to unfold its blushing breast amidst the snowy blossoms of the hedge—added, “see how beautiful! how orient its hue appears through the pure crystal of the morning dew-drop! It is nearly three weeks since I first discovered it in the germ, since when I have screened it from the noonday ardours, and the evening’s frost, and now it is just bursting into perfection to reward my cares.”
At these words, she plucked it from the stem. Its crimson head drooped with the weight of the gems that spangled it. Glorvina did not shake them off, but imbibed the liquid fragrance with her lip; then held the flower to me!
“Am I to pledge you?” said I.
She smiled, and I quaffed off the fairy nectar, which still trembled on the leaves her lip had consecrated.
“We have now,” said I, “bothdrank from the same cup; and if the delicious draught which Nature has prepared for us, circulates with mutual effect through our veins—If”—I paused, and cast down my eyes. The hand which still sustained the rose, and was still clasped in mine, seemed to tremble with an emotion scarcely inferior to that which thrilled through my whole frame.
After a minute’s pause—“Take the rose,” said Glorvina, endeavouring to extricate the precious hand which presented it—“Take it; it is the first of the season! My father has had his snowdrop—the confessor his violet—and it is but just you should have yourrose.”
At that moment the classical remark of the priest rushed, I believe, with mutual influence, to both our hearts. I, at least, was borne away by the rapturous feelings of the moment, and knelt to receive the offering of my lovely votarist.
I kissed the sweet and simple tribute with pious ardour; but with a devotion more fervid, kissed the hand that presented it. I would not have exchanged that moment for the most pleasurable era of my existence. The blushing radiance that glowed on her cheek, sent its warm suffusion even to the hand I had violated with my unhallowed lip; while the sparkling fluid of her eyes, turned on mine in almost dying softness, beamed on the latent powers of my once-chilled heart, and awakened there a thousand delicious transports, a thousand infant wishes and chaste desires, of which I lately thought its worn-out feelings were no longer susceptible.
As I arose, I plucked off a small branch of that myrtle which here grows wild, and which, like my rose, was dripping in dew, and putting it into the hand I still held, said, “This offering is indeed less beautiful, less fragrant, than that which you have made; but remember, it is also lessfragile—for the sentiment of which it is an emblem, carries with it an eternity of duration.”
Glorvina took it in silence and placed it in her bosom; and in silence we walked together towards the castle; while our eyes, now timidly turned on each other, now suddenly averted (O, the insidious danger of the abruptly downcast eye!) met no object but what breathed of love, whose soul seemed
“—Sent abroad,
Warm through the vital air, and on the heart
Harmonious seiz’d.”
The morning breeze flushed with etherial fervour; the luxury of the landscape through which we wandered, the sublimity of those stupendous cliffs which seemed to shelter two hearts from the world, to which their profound feelings were unknown, while
—Every copse
Deep tangled, but irregular, and bush,
Bending with dewy moisture o’er the head,
Of the coy choiristers that lodged within,
Were prodigal of harmony,”
and crowned imagination’s wildest wish, and realized the fancy’s warmest vision.
“Oh! my sweet friend!” I exclaimed, “since now I feel myself entitled thus to call you—well indeed might your nation have held this day sacred; and while the heart, which now throbs with an emotion to which it has hitherto been a stranger, beats with the pulse of life, on the return of this day will it make its offering to that glorious orb, to whose genial nutritive beams this precious rose owes its existence.”
As I spoke, Father John suddenly appeared. Vexed as I was at this unseasonable intrusion, yet in such perfect harmony was my spirit with the whole creation, that, in the true hyperbola of Irish cordiality, I wished him a thousand happy returns of this season!
“Spoken like a true-born Irishman!” said the priest, laughing, and shaking me heartily by the hand—“While with something of the phlegm of an Englishman, I wish you only as many returns of it as shall bring health and felicity in their train.”
Then looking at the myrtle which reposed on the bosom of Glorvina, and the rose which I so proudly wore, he added—“So, I perceive you have both been sacrificing toBeal; and like the priests and priestesses of this country in former times, are adorned with the flowers of the season. For you must know, Mr. Mortimer,wehad our Druidesses as well as our Druids; and both, like the ministers of Grecian mythology, were crowned with flowers at the time of sacrifice.”
At this apposite remark of the good priest, I stole a glance atmylovely priestess. Hero, at the altar of the deity she rivalled, never looked more attractive to the enamoured Leander.
We had now come within a few steps of the portals of the castle, and I observed that since I passed that way, the path and entrance were strewed with green flags, rushes, and wild crocuses; * while the heavy framework of the door was hung with garlands, and bunches of flowers, tastefully displayed.