LETTER X.
TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.
The more I know of this singular girl, the more the happy _discordiaconsors_ of her character awakens my curiosity and surprise. Inever beheld such a union of intelligence and simplicity, infantineplayfulness and profound reflection as her character exhibits. Sometimeswhen I think I am trifling with a child, I find I am conversing witha philosopher; and sometimes in the midst of the most serious andinteresting conversation, some impulse of the moment seizes on herimagination, and a vein of frolic humour and playful sarcasm is indulgedat the expense of my most sagacious arguments or philosophic gravity.Her reserve (unknown to herself) is gradually giving way to the mostbewitching familiarity.
When the priest is engaged, I am suffered to tread with her the“pathless grass,” climb the mountain’s steep, or ramble along thesea-beat coast, sometimes followed by her nurse, and sometimes by afavourite little dog only.
Of nothing which concerns her country is she ignorant; and when a moreinteresting, a more soul-felt conversation, cannot be obtained, I loveto draw her into a little national chit-chat.
Yesterday, as we were walking along the base of that mountain from whichI first beheld her dear residence, (and sure I may say with Petrarch,“Benedetto sia il giorno e’l mese e’lanno,”) several groups of peasants(mostly females,) passed us, with their usual courteous salutations, andapparently dressed in their holiday garbs.
“Poor souls!” said Glorvina--“this is a day of jubilee to them, for agreat annual fair is held in the neighbourhood.”
“But from whence,” said I “do they draw the brightness of those tintswhich adorn their coarse garments; those gowns and ribbons, that rivalthe gay colouring of that heath hedge; those bright blue and scarletmantles? Are they, too, vestiges of ancient modes and ancient taste?”
“Certainly they are,” she replied, “and the colours which the Irish werecelebrated for wearing and dyeing a thousand years back, are now mostprevalent. In short, the ancient Irish, like the Israelites, were soattached to this many coloured _costume_, that it became the mark bywhich the different classes of the people were distinguished. Kings werelimited to seven colours in their royal robes; and six were allowed thebards. What an idea does this give of the reverence paid to superiortalent in other times by our forefathers! But that bright yellow you nowbehold so universally worn, has been in all ages their favourite hue.Spenser thinks this custom came from the East; and Lord Bacon accountsfor the propensity of the Irish to it, by supposing it contributes tolongevity.”
“But where,” said I, “do these poor people procure so expensive anarticle as saffron, to gratify their prevailing taste?”
“I have heard Father John say,” she returned, “that saffron, as anarticle of importation, could never have been at any time cheap enoughfor general use. And I believe formerly, as _now_, they communicatedthis bright yellow tinge with indigenous plants, with which this countryabounds.
“See,” she added, springing lightly forward, and culling a plant whichgrew from the mountain’s side--“see this little blossom, which theycall here, ‘yellow lady’s bed straw,’ and which you, as a botanist, willbetter recognize as the _Galieens borum_; it communicates a beautifulyellow; as does the _Lichen juniperinus_, or ‘cypress moss,’ which youbrought me yesterday; and I think the _résida Leuteola_, or ‘yellowweed,’ surpasses them all.” *
* Purple, blue, and green dyes, were introduced by Tighwmas the Great, in the year of the world 2814. The Irish also possessed the art of dyeing a fine scarlet; so early as the day of St. Bennia, a disciple of St. Patrick, scarlet clothes and robes high embroidered, are mentioned in the baok of Glandelogh.
“In short, the botanical treasures of our country, though I dare saylittle known, are inexhaustible.
“Nay,” she continued, observing, I believe, the admiration thatsparkled in my eyes, “give me no credit, I beseech you, for this localinformation, for there is not a peasant girl in the neighbourhood, butwill tell you more on the subject.”
While she was thus dispensing knowledge with the most unaffectedsimplicity of look and manner, a group of boys advanced towards us, witha car laden with stones, and fastened to the back of an unfortunatedog, which they were endeavouring to train to this new species ofcanine avocation, by such unmerciful treatment as must have procured thewretched animal a speedy release from all his sufferings.
Glorvina no sooner perceived this, than she flew to the dog, and whilethe boys looked all amaze, effected his liberation, and by her caresses,endeavoured to soothe him into forgetfulness of his late sufferings;then, turning to the ringleader, she said:
“Dermot, I have so often heard you praised for your humanity to animals,that I can scarcely believe it possible that you have been accessoryto the sufferings of this useful and affectionate animal; he is just asserviceable to society in his way, as you are in yours, and you are justas well able to drag a loaded cart as he is to draw that little car.Come now, I am not so heavy as the load you have destined him to bear,and you are much stronger than your dog, and now you shall draw me hometo the castle; and then give me your opinion on the subject.”
In one moment his companions, laughing vociferously at the idea, had thestones flung out of the little vehicle, and fastened its harness on thebroad shoulders of the half pouting, half smiling Dermot; and the nextmoment this little agile sylph was seated in the car.
Away went Dermot, dragged on by the rest of the boys, while Glorvina,delighted as a child with her new mode of conveyance, laughed withall her heart, and kissed her hand to me as she flew along; while I,trembling for her safety, endeavoured to keep pace with her triumphalchariot, till her wearied, breathless Phaeton, unable to run any furtherwith his lovely, laughing burthen, begged a respite.
“How!” said she, “weary of this amusement, and yet you have not at everystep been cruelly lashed like your poor dog.”
The panting Dermot hung his head, and said in Irish, “the like shouldnot happen again.”
“It is enough,” said Glorvina, in the same language--“we are all liableto commit a fault, but let us never forget it is in our power to correctit. And now go to the castle where you shall have a good dinner, inreturn for the good and pleasant exercise you have procured me.”
The boys were as happy as kings. Dermot was unyoked, and the poor dog,wagging his tail in token of his felicity, accompanied the gratifiedgroup to the castle.
When Glorvina had translated to me the subject of her short dialoguewith Dermot, she added, laughing, “Oh! how I should like to be draggedabout this way for two or three hours every day: never do I enter intoany little folly of this kind, that I do not sigh for those sweet hoursof my childhood when I could play the fool with impunity.”
“Play the fool!” said I--“and do you call this playing the fool--thisdispensation of humanity, this culture of benevolence in the youthfulmind, these lessons of truth and goodness, so sweetly, so simply given?”
“Nay,” she returned, “you always seem inclined to flatter me intoapprobation of myself! but the truth is, I was glad to seize on theopportunity of lecturing that urchin Dermot, who, though I praisedhis humanity, is the very beadle to all the unfortunate animals in theneighbourhood. But I have often had occasion to remark, that, by givinga virtue to these neglected children which they do not possess, I haveawakened their emulation to attain it.”
“To say that you are an angel,” said I, “is to say a very commonplacething, which every man says to the woman he either does, or affects toadmire; and yet”----
“Nay,”--interrupted she, laying her hand on my arm, and looking up fullin my face with that arch glance I have so often caught revelling inher eloquent eye--“I am not emulous of a place in the angelic choir;canonization is more consonant to my _papistical_ ambition then let mebe your saint--your tutelar saint, and”--
“And let me,” interrupted I, impassionately, “let me, like the membersof the Greek church, adore my saint, not by prostration, but by akiss;”--and
, for the first time in my life, I pressed my lips to thebeautiful hand which still rested on my arm, and from which I first drewa glove that has not since left my bosom, nor been re-demanded by itscharming owner.
This little freedom (which, to another, would have appeared nothing) wasreceived with a degree of blushing confusion, that assured me it was thefirst of the kind ever offered; even the fair hand blushed its sense ofmy boldness, and enhanced the pleasure of the theft by the difficulty itpromised of again obtaining a similar favour.
By heaven there is infection in the sensitive delicacy of this creature,which even my hardened confidence cannot resist.
No _prieux Chevalier_, on being permitted to kiss the tip of his liegelady’s finger, after a seven years’ seige, could feel more pleasantlyembarrassed than I did, as we walked on in silence, until we werehappily relieved by the presence of the old garrulous nurse, who cameout in search of her young lady--for, like the princesses in the Greektragedies, _my_ Princess seldom appears without the attendance of thisfaithful representative of fond maternity.
For the rest of the walk she talked mostly to the nurse in Irish, and atthe castle gate we parted--she to attend a patient, and I to retireto my own apartment, to ruminate on my morning’s ram ble with thisfascinating _lusus naturo_.
Adieu,
H. M.