Chapter VII: Letter VI: The Same to the Same (1)

My dear Falkland,

"Early to bed and early to rise,
Is the way to be healthy and wealthy and wise."

If this be true, as the old spelling books have it, and as I saw confirmed to day, by the authority of a village schoolmaster, who had a large class operating upon the above sapient apophthegm, which served as a copy in the school, and which I have adopted for the heading of my letter instead of an extract from some "old play," I may come out at last a goodly example of rosy cheeks, full pockets, and well-stored pericranium, for here I am living a life worthy of Hygeia herself. I was up at six o'clock this morning, and according to an arrangement with Emily, had an hour's walk with her before I set out for Lisfarne. When we were retiring last night, I heard her whisper to Frederick that she meant to visit "Susan" in the morning, and on inquiry, I found that the said Susan is a poor woman residing in the mountain, for whom some present had been prepared. Now, it occurred to me that before I saw Mr. Otway at his own house, and particularly as I was to encounter him _alone_, I should like to hear the sketch of his history, which Emily had promised me at a future day, so following her to the foot of the stairs, I told her how entirely I repented my error, and requested her perfect forgiveness, proposing that she should seal my pardon by allowing me to be her mountain beau; and moreover, that she should come to our morning's walk prepared to gratify my curiosity. My petition was granted; a brilliant sun-rise invited us to perform our mutual engagement, and we had not made much way in the rugged ascent towards Susan Lambert's wild abode, followed by Paddy, the running footman upon such occasions, who trotted after us with a large basket, well stuffed with I knew not what, when I reminded Emily of her task, and she gave me the narrative, which I shall try to convey as briefly as I can of Phil's Life and Character.

"Mr. Otway," said Emily, "was the dear friend of my father, and so devotedly were they attached to each other, that even at school they were always called Pylades and Orestes. At the University they lived together; and the same day saw them both embark in the same profession. For the character of that loved parent who was taken from us, before his children were of an age to appreciate his various excellences, his splendid talents, exquisite taste, and uncommon attainments, I must refer you to his friend, who, it is probable will one day describe your uncle, and tell you that he was indeed 'a man whose like we ne'er shall look upon again.' I could not hope to do justice to the portrait, and will therefore not attempt to draw his resemblance. My father and mother, who seemed to have been peculiarly formed for each other, met in early life, and became mutually attached, as one might naturally suppose that two such gifted beings would be. Pecuniary circumstances alone prevented their union; but while their happiness was retarded, their affection was tried in the furnace, and came out purified. Mr. Otway was the sole guardian of their secret, and the only support of their long deferred hopes. After years of devoted constancy, they were rewarded at last by such domestic felicity as I have heard from Mr. Otway falls to the lot of very few on earth, and was too perfect for continuance in a world designed by its Great Creator to serve only as a vestibule to more abiding mansions. The friends were separated by the tide of events, but never ceased to correspond. Once, and I believe but once, imagining that he had found a resemblance of my mother, Mr. Otway's affections were engaged, and he resigned himself to the fascination of such an attachment as only minds of lofty pitch are capable of feeling at once noble, disinterested, and devoted. The lady whom he loved was rich, while, he at _that_ time, was a younger brother, and but slenderly provided for. The dread of being suspected of mercenary motives, sealed his lips; and a man of fortune making his appearance, the object of his thoughts proved how little worthy she was of such a being, by marrying this more opulent suitor after a very short acquaintance. So dreadful was the shock which our dear friend's sensitive nature sustained upon this unexpected event, that his life nearly fell a sacrifice to the conflicts which he endured. My father and mother were now his staff and solace in the hour of trial; and their tender solicitude, aided by time, restored to comparative peace that generous spirit which had nearly sunk under the pressure of disappointment. He travelled, and ere the expiration of many years, was recalled to England, by the death of his elder brother, which event was followed at no great distance of time by that of Mr. Stanhope, the husband of her who had so cruelly trifled with his happiness. Mrs. Stanhope was the mother of an only child, and the noble character of our friend overcoming every selfish retrospect, cast off the memory of past wrongs, and he stepped forward to offer the aid of his best services to the widow and the orphan, without, however, I believe, even for a moment, entertaining the remotest idea of renewing his suit. His lot had been cast; he had retired from what is called the world, and though so far from becoming a misanthrope that all his fine qualities appeared to expand when he obtained the means of making others happy; yet he never seemed to calculate upon any change in his own situation. Though delicacy and feeling prevented him from ever uttering a harsh sentiment, his friends were of opinion that he had arrived at a full conviction of having misplaced his affections in early life; and that conviction once attained, he never sought to hazard a new experiment.

But the care of young Stanhope became a favourite object, and no assistance which the most efficient friendship could bestow was withheld from the boy's mother. Lisfarne was part of the property which devolved to this invaluable neighbour of ours by his brother's bequest; and the retired beauty of the scenery determined him to make this his asylum. His next object was to induce the beloved companions of youth, who had shared the gladness of his brightest, and dispelled the clouds of his darkest days, to come and live in his immediate vicinity. He purchased Glenalta for my father, and by his good taste and activity, transformed its rude wilds into the little paradise which you see. Here resided the happiest family which, I believe, ever existed; but I cannot talk of home, I must proceed with the story which I promised you:--Mr. Otway received a letter from a Solicitor in London, to say that the interests of his young ward (not that he was _legally_ so) required his immediate attendance in town. It was to him a most disagreeable undertaking. A recluse through long habit, and devoted to the society of Glenalta; active in the discharge of such multiplied duties at Lisfarne, as could ill spare his vigilant eye and beneficent heart, it was great pain to set out upon a journey without understanding its object, and plunge anew into scenes which he had abjured in idea for ever. But dear Phil. only hesitates till he has satisfied himself concerning what is right to be done, and there is no farther pause--he proceeds to execution. To London he went, and never shall I forget how much we longed for his return; and what blazing fires of heath _telegraphed_ his approach upon our neighbouring hills. On reaching town, he only waited to refresh himself before he set forward to the Solicitor's, from whom his summons had issued, and the mystery was soon unravelled. Mrs. Stanhope had married a young fortune-hunter, and was endeavouring to prevail upon her son, then a child of fourteen, to make a settlement on his pennyless stepfather. Relying on the influence of her former attractions, she had prepared a _scene_, and desiring her Attorney carefully to abstain from giving Mr. Otway the least intimation of her new tie, she burst upon him in the moment of his entrance at Mr. Scriven's house, dressed in fashionable attire, which had succeeded in all the gay colouring of a London milliner's shop, to the garb of sorrow in which he had seen her arrayed in _one_ personal interview after her husband's death. The only time of their meeting had been upon that occasion, when he begged permission to consider himself as guardian to her child, thus proving that, though he had ceased to _love_, he still felt the kindest and most sacred interest in her fate. Disgusted now beyond the power of controlling his feelings, he put a speedy termination to a conference, the manner, as well as the matter of which had excited his utmost indignation; and assuring her that if any undue advantage was taken by her influence over the minor, a suit should be immediately commenced against her and her husband, he took a hasty leave. Frightened by these menaces, the lady retired, and soon announced her departure to the Continent, where, about two years ago, she died of a broken heart. Mr. Otway's business completed, he quickly returned to his favourite retreat, and loved to wander alone along the beach which surrounds a part of his demesne. My dear father once caught him upon a rocky promontory with pencil and paper in his hand. The question of 'what is that? Has Otway secrets with _me_?' was answered by 'it is a worthless scrap; take it, but Henry touch not that chord again--it jars upon my ear, and spoils all harmony.' I will now read you the lines which my father obtained by this surprise. It is the only poetry which even mamma has ever seen of her friend's writing.--Here Emily read to me the following stanzas:--

_On first seeing Stella in a coloured dress after her second
marriage._

"Stella! thy beauty rested on the shade
Of sorrow's lonely night, like that fair flower,[A]
Queen of the dark, whose tender glories fade
In the gay radiance of a noon-tide hour.

"That flower supreme in loveliness--and pure
As the pale Cynthian beam thro' which unveiled
It blooms--as if unwilling to endure
The gaze by which such beauties are assailed.

"And in the solitude of Nature's sleep,
Unfolds such treasures to the midnight gloom,
As gem the vault of Heaven in silence deep
When widowed wanderer seeks the mouldering tomb.

"Yes! like the velvet-soft, and snowy star,
Wrapped in thy sable garb, it erst was thine,
With unassuming lustre, spreading far,
In mild and chastened majesty to shine.

"Each stranger footstep that approached the fane,
Eager to view, yet fearful to intrude;
Seemed to partake the dread of giving pain,
By glance unhallowed, or by finger rude.

"And has Aurora chased the sable cloud,
And, even jealous of a twilight grey,
Dispelled with sudden touch that mourning shroud,
And with her saffron robe unfurled the day?

"Alas! the graceful Cactus now no more,
Queen of the dark, asserts her silver reign,
Her empire nought on earth can e'er restore,
With other faded flowers she strews the plain."

[Footnote A: The Cactus Grandiflora, or Night-blowing Cereus.]

"These lines," continued Emily, "first taught my parents the nature and extent of those feelings which had outlived the blights of early hope. They appear to prove that, however shipwrecked had been his own happiness, Mr. Otway had respected a perfect freedom of choice, and, though Mr. Stanhope differed widely from him, he had tutored his unselfish soul to consider this rival as the successful candidate in an election, the honourable fairness of which he had no right to question. It would seem that, in the depth of his heart, Mrs. Stanhope's pardon had been sealed, and when the death of her husband released her from her first vows, a romantic mixture of affection, which borrowed a reflected glow from the memory of brighter days, and that high and delicate respect of which the most refined and exalted minds alone are capable, spread round the consecrated image a mantle of fond protective kindness, akin perhaps to love, as pity is said to be, but so beautifully tempered, that it would never have passed the sacred boundary of friendship pure as angels might have breathed. The unseen bonds which had silently preserved connection between our friend and a woman whom I can never believe to have been at any time deserving such attachment as he bestowed, was rudely severed by Mrs. Stanhope's late conduct; and, for some time, the impression which such levity as was discovered in her second ill-assorted marriage made upon a mind almost morbidly sensitive, threatened to impair the benevolence of a character formed to shed on all around an atmosphere of happiness; but a strong sense of religion, which is the pole-star of his every action, gained its second victory; and time gave him back, once more unshorn of his beams, to be the life and animation of that little society who enjoy the blessing of his presence. I must hurry you through the remaining part of my _memoir_, not only because we are arriving at Susan's cabin, but also because it is so interwoven with the sorrows of Glenalta, that I fear to trust myself with a theme too fresh in recollection to bear the light; suffice it to say, that Heaven has given us such a friend in Mr. Otway, as no measure of gratitude can ever repay."

Emily paused, and I expressed my warm interest in her narrative, and thankfulness for the eloquent sketch which she had thrown off; but as my evil genius never even _dozes_ in the county of Kerry, what should I unfortunately add, but "Phil. indeed is a treasure, and I rejoice for you all in such a tower of strength as his friendship affords to my aunt and her family. Frederick too is, I dare say, his object, and will inherit his possessions."

Emily blushed scarlet; her eyes were instantly suffused with tears, and she seemed ready to choke; but, recovering herself in an instant, with a little effort she said, "Arthur, I _will_ not attribute any thing of this sort to motives unworthy of you; I am determined to set down to the mode of your own education whatever may appear like want of feeling. You are mistaken in your surmises; but, while it pleases God to continue to us the happiness which we now enjoy, let us not embitter life by dreadful anticipations."

We reached the hut to which we were bound, and I had no time for reply: I could only remark, in my own mind, on the difficulty of accommodating the ways of the world to the peculiarities of these simple folks; yet, at the same time, no doubt it is a pleasanter sensation to be "_Alcibiade ou le Moi_," rather than cherished for the sake of one's money.--On entering the cabin, alias cottage, we found a boy of about twelve years old nursing a weeping infant, and vainly endeavouring with one hand to scrape together a few expiring embers, while a poor woman, apparently in the extremity of weakness, lay in a corner, upon a miserable bed. "Susan, how do you do?" was answered faintly by, "very ill, dear miss." "Where is Nancy?" "Gone to the fair to buy a bit of flannel for the child, and her father is gone with her to sell our _slip_ of a pig."

"Arthur," said Emily, throwing off shawl and bonnet in an instant, "here is work to be done, and we must not be idle. You have taken Frederick's place this morning, and will kindly, I am sure, perform his duty: fly and bring me a good bundle of dry heath, or any thing else that you can find of which we can make a fire. Paddy, bring me a pitcher of water directly; and you, Tommy, give me your little sister, and settle the turf in a moment." So saying, she took the child, and soon set the poor thing at rest with some milk, which the basket contained, while I, glad to make the _amende honorable_ by my alacrity, went off as if quicksilver were in my heels, to rummage up whatever combustible the mountain afforded. I was successful, and got credit for my speed. You never saw any thing like the magic of Emily's operations: as if she had been a peasant born, she broke up the sticks which I had gathered, and, blowing with her breath, for the cabin was unfurnished with bellows, she had a blazing fire in five minutes. Then, with a neatness and dexterity which would have done honor to a Welch inn, she washed an old sauce-pan, and put some meal into it to make gruel; hushed the baby to sleep, and, after laying it by the poor mother, and giving the latter a little weak wine and water, she desired Paddy to remain and stir the gruel till her return; then, taking my arm, hurried down the hill, and crossing a field which we had not come through before, tripped lightly up to a half-ruined gate, which was fastened by a twig to an old post, and disengaging this rustic band, lifted the frame, and we were in the adjoining space before I perceived that my fair cousin, to avoid interrupting our conversation, had performed the office of pioneer, which, according to all the laws of chivalry, should have fallen to my portion. I was going to apologize, when Emily pointed to a path, and turning into another herself, bid me fly, or I should be late at Lisfarne. We shook hands, and separated; and as I walked on alone, I could not help moralizing on the novelties which daily present themselves to my view. Lighting a fire, boiling gruel, sweeping up a cabin-hearth, and singing lullaby to a squalid infant in a dirty dress; and all this done and executed as if custom had rendered the whole business perfectly familiar, by a young lady of family and education; a scholar too, well read in Greek, Latin, Italian, French,--skilled in botany, chemistry, and I know not how much more; in short, a _Blue_ to all intents and purposes. It is certainly neither more nor less than an anomaly which as yet I am unable to account for.

The Douglas girls are totally divested of affectation. Whatever they say or do, is said and done without the slightest reference to _effect_ farther than this, that the best tact seems to regulate every word and action. The desire to impart pleasure makes them sure to please, and the dread of giving pain must, I think, render it impossible that they should wound one's feelings. Beyond this limit my cousins know no art. I fancy that I see a half-suppressed smile curling on your lip, as you exclaim, _mentally_ at least, "What a revolution! Why here is Howard talking sense like a doctor of the _Sorbonne_!"

I confess to some very sober thoughts as I jogged on to Lisfarne; but as I was alone, I had nothing else to do except to muse and moralize; however, no triumph. I enter a caveat against any manner of rejoicing. I have not read my recantation, having a just dread of hasty judgments, and also of old Oliphant: he is the Mordecai sitting in my gate, and another week at Glenalta may bring out a very different story.

In four-and-twenty hours Kill-joy will have arrived, and then comes Sunday, as if at one blow to crush one's spirits to annihilation.

These were my lucubrations _en chemin faisant_, and just as I reached the hall-door at Lisfarne, the nine-o'clock bell ushered me in with _eclat_, though as little _hinging_ upon my _entrée_, as the thunder and lightning which happened to synchronise with the poor Jew's carousal over a pork steak at Genoa. I was met at the threshold by Mr. Otway, who smiled a delightful welcome, and, taking me by both hands, accosted me with, "My dear Howard, I am heartily glad to see you at Lisfarne, and not the less so, because you are _punctual_. You should have had your breakfast at _any_ hour; but I love to see young people recollective." I did not think it exactly _honest_ to appropriate this compliment of the old school to myself, as I certainly never deserved it in all my life, and therefore expressed my happiness at not having kept him waiting; but _handed_ over to Emily the whole merit of Cindarillaship in this my first visit at Lisfarne.

"Emily is a charming creature," answered mine host, "but that is nothing wonderful at Glenalta, where such a mother presides. Howard, you have the good fortune to reckon amongst your nearest relations, a little group whose virtues would save the universe from destruction, were the divine vengeance to over-take a guilty world, as in days of yore.--How do you like your aunt and cousin?" "Extremely, were I to judge by what I have seen; but we are new to each other, and they are very kind in excusing all the blunders which a man wholly unused to retirement is liable to make in a circle where a much higher standard of moral feeling prevails than that which governs what we call 'the world.'"

Mr. Otway looked benignly at me, saying, "Come, we must not get into a discussion now; you deserve your breakfast, and shall not be interrupted." And a capital breakfast we had.

A beautiful Newfoundland dog lay at his master's feet; a fine tortoise-shell cat purred upon the back of his arm-chair; and the windows were presently assailed by an army of supplicants in the shape of the finest pea-fowls that I ever saw.

"See what it is, Arthur, to be an old batchelor! I am obliged to keep my affections from becoming stagnant, you find, by practising them upon all these birds and beasts which you perceive are my companions as well as pensioners." After feeding the numerous host, we sallied from the breakfast-parlour, and Phil. escorted me to his study, a most comfortable apartment, and well lined with books. He has a beautiful collection of the classics, all the best modern works of science, and a rich assortment of history and _Belles Lettres_. While I was glancing over this, he pointed to a compartment in the far end of the room, desiring me to examine its contents. "There I keep my novels, reviews, and magazines; for you know, that 'all work and no play would make Jack a dull boy;' and as I suppose that you do not intend to read yourself into a consumption while you stay at Glenalta, I give you a letter of credit on whatever amusement these shelves can supply." In this Poets' Corner I found Scott's works, both in prose and verse; several other modern novels of good name; and all the early poems of Lord Byron. "I perceive," said I, "Mr. Otway, that you have not yet completed your set of Byron's works; you have not got Don Juan, nor--" "Nor never shall, my young friend," answered the sage of Lisfarne. "I cannot prevent people who have money to buy and inclination to peruse, from reading these works; but they shall not find them in _my_ library." "Then, sir, you are, I presume, of opinion that one cannot separate the poison from the poetry, and avoid imbibing the one, while we enjoy the exquisite beauty of the other."

"No, my dear boy; these are idle notions. Wherever vice is an ingredient in any compound so mingled as to seize upon the passions, or delight the imagination, the draught will always be injurious more or less. Even those minds of finer mould than we commonly meet with, will not escape, though they hate the contact, they cannot shun its defilement; and that which is impure, must sully whatever it touches." "Well, I should have supposed that good taste would protect a man of refined education. In fact, such a man rejects whatever is coarse, and simply vicious: he reads Lord Byron, not _because_ of his occasional deviations from religion and morality; but in _spite_ of them he admires the splendid genius who of all modern writers best understands, if I may so express myself, the metaphysics of the human heart, while every man of feeling must lament the shipwreck of such talents. The broad-cast pollution which is necessary to season a mess for vulgar palates, _must_ be pernicious in the highest degree; but I confess I have never felt in the same way of those _polished_ compositions which are only read by people of superior attainment, and who are fortified against evil by knowledge of the world."

"Alas, Howard, these are nice distinctions, and lead but to delusion. Our morals are much like a taper lit at each extremity, they are consuming at both ends. You talk of coarse messes, seasoned to the taste of vulgar appetite: believe me, it is a melancholy fact, that there are cooks who undertake to cater for nicer stomachs, and who know how to insinuate their poisons with such skill as to secure the custom of all who are not proof against their temptation. That number, I fear, is small; and as to the difference between vice well and ill dressed, you will find that it is about the same with that which distinguishes Tilburina stark mad in white satin, from her confidante stark mad in white linen. Amongst the mal-contents of the present day, you hear the complaint continually repeated, that there is one law for the rich, and another for the poor: the charge is unfounded, and, generally speaking, _known_ to be so by the men who bring it forward. It will neither do to have two sets of laws, nor of _morals_, in any country. The tendency of all ranks in the community is to imitate those who are placed above them; and this aspiring inclination is to be traced from the lowest grade in society, till having reached the throne, you can rise no higher. The self-same rule applies to religion. I was glad to hear you say yesterday at Glenalta that you felt the absolute necessity of its influence in a state for the preservation of order and virtue; and that you considered women as the natural guardians of its altars. This is all right; but you are egregiously mistaken if you suppose that women will, generally speaking, take pains to nurture and cherish what is despised by the other sex. There are a few, and very few, such beings as your aunt, who appear to have dropped into our planet from some happier sphere, and who adjust their principles of action to a model of abstract perfection, with which common-place mortals are unacquainted. Such beings only think of how to please God; but the mass of men and women dress themselves daily in the mirror of each other's approbation, and act reciprocally on each others' characters. Let one sex degenerate, it matters not which, you will find the other follow in the downward course."

"But, my dear sir, these authors whom you decry, do not _create_ vice, they only _exhibit_ it; and though I do not advocate the practice, yet after all it would seem that men need not be much worse for _reading_, than for hearing and seeing what is exceptionable. If infidelity and immorality were only propagated by books, your argument against such writers as Lord Byron would be unanswerable. But allow me to say, that the Bible itself, in the strongest terms, insists on the depravity of the human species, and offers the most flagrant illustrations in proof of human delinquency. The hardness of heart, and unbelief of man, are frequently held up to view in Holy Writ; and what does a Rochefaucauld in prose, or a Byron in verse, do more than represent things as they _are_?"

"If you consider the matter for a moment," replied my opponent, "I fancy that you will be at no loss to discover some striking differences which will sufficiently answer your question. The evil tendency of such writers as Rochefaucauld, and all the class of satirists, who represent man as a debased and hypocritical animal, does not proceed from the truth of the picture, but from the manner of the painter. The scriptures indulge us in no 'lying vanities;' they speak of the human race as born in sin and the children of wrath; and Conscience, when we attend to her voice, confirms the humiliating charge, with uncompromising fidelity. But while the Bible, and those who preach its doctrines, point out the disease, they likewise present the antidote. If they proclaim the deformity of the natural man, it is to shew how the crooked may be made straight; if they expose his weakness, it is to impart strength; if they display his corruption, it is but to invite him to wash in those waters which cleanse from all impurity. But such moralists as you support, if moralists they can be called without absurdity, would seem intent on excusing vice. The effect of their books is, as it were to _legalize_ iniquity, by representing it as invincible, and to destroy all sense of shame by laying bare its concealments. Whatever produces this result by means of a pungent and sententious brevity, is doubly injurious; for the authority of a maxim is thus combined with the stimulus of evil: the form is thus rendered portable and adhesive; and truths conveyed in an epigrammatic shape at once flattering to our sagacity in an appeal to its accuteness, and soothing to our faults by pronouncing them to be universal, are not likely to be viewed as subjects for serious lamentation; and the danger is, that the generality of men will contemplate the moral sketches with feelings similar to those commonly inspired by a spirited cariacature; namely, a desire that the object of ridicule may continue to exist, rather than not be so strikingly pourtrayed. As to Lord Byron, who stands pre-eminent, like Milton's Satan, at the head of all the mischief-workers of the present time, his poison is of another kind: slow and penetrating, it is inhaled in the breeze, and absorbed into the circulation; its effects are of the morbid class; it seduces, it insinuates, and, like opium too freely used, destroys every healthful function of the mind, and substitutes the distempered energy of an over-wrought imagination for the wholesome exercise of reason and the sweet charities of the heart. His beautiful poetry, and an inexhaustible source of talents, rare as they were brilliant, operate as cords which draw all mankind after him in bonds of submission. Descriptions of nature or character, external to ourselves, however happy in their delineation, interest but feebly in comparison with what you justly call the '_metaphysics_' of sentiment. This is the most fascinating of all possible studies; it requires no labour, it asks no preparation; and all people, whatever their pretensions in other respects, conceive themselves qualified for the school of mental analysis which Byron has instituted and endowed. A bad husband, a bad son, a bad father, has but to retire to some 'rose-leaf couch, where, nursing his dainty loves and slothful sympathies,' he may find, in a volume of this too-attractive bard, an apology for every sin of temper, every violation of duty; nay, so contagious is the influence of this Byron-mania, that our young men _cultivate_ the failings of their chief, and seem to fancy that in becoming imitators of Childe Harold's eccentricities, they may slide into his unrivalled genius. Selfishness and egotism are to be found in the fallows of many a mind; but where are our youth to learn Lord Byron's recipe for compounding them?"

Though not convinced, I was excited, and ventured again into the field, by asking Mr. Otway whether good does not grow out of evil? "Surely," said I, "Truth, like a lazy corporation, would rely upon its charter, and have nothing to do but fatten on its revenues, were it not for opposition.

'Si Lyra non lyrasset,
Lutherus non Saltasset.'

"The publication of wrong principles stirs up our slumbering virtue; and besides, is it not useful to _see_ exactly what we should avoid, that we may have no doubts regarding what we ought to follow? If I had not been the advocate of Lord Byron as a poet, I should not have had the pleasure of hearing your excellent remarks." "No, no, young man; a specious sophistry is not sound argument. I cannot allow you to misapply a scripture rule. Though Providence has decreed that all things should work together for good, it offers us no latitude to do evil that good may come of it. _Our_ duty is defined; we must perform our part as well as we can, and keep ourselves unspotted from the world, leaving events in which we have no power given us of interference to the wisdom of Him whose ways are not as our ways. We learn much better from positive than from negative precepts: do you remember the pretty little French song--

'Jongeant à ce qu'il faut qu'on oublie,
On s'en souvient.'

"The mind of man is easily corrupted, and clings with tenacity to what it were better to forget. Believe me, that whatever we desire to keep a stranger from the heart should not be familiarized to the imagination. Vice is so alluring, that all the penalties appended to its indulgence by the laws of God and man, are found unequal to its suppression; but if the charms of wit and humour be employed to palliate its criminality, and trifle with its punishment, we may anticipate the conclusion, and expect to see the day when its progress will be unresisted. Do not fancy that there is any class of men exempt from the danger of infection. The stately quarto, like a whited sepulchre, may hide its contents under a splendid covering, but death and destruction are its inmates: rank and wealth confer no privilege, and afford no amulet to preserve from the contamination of immorality, alike fatal in its effects to high and low--rich and poor; but though I would guard you from giving yourself up to such a pilot through Parnassus as Lord Byron, I love poetry too well myself to withhold its enjoyment from my young friends. I am an old bachelor, but I hope that you will not find me a severe ascetic; all things in their season--buds in spring, blossoms in summer, and the fruit to crown our autumn board. Youth is the natural period in which Hope and Fancy delight to weave their golden tissues, and life is too changeful a scene to make it necessary that we should voluntarily abridge its harmless gratifications. We must not, however, sit here all day, while such a brilliant sun is inviting us to walk; I have a great deal to shew you, and we shall have many opportunities, I hope, for conversation."

We were soon in the fields. After seeing a great deal of well-kept and tastefully disposed pleasure-ground immediately contiguous to the house, excellent kitchen garden, and admirable farm-yard, stables, &c. we visited an inclosure, called here the _paddock_, where were at least a dozen old horses, which were turned to graze as superannuated pensioners. "When any of these my old and faithful servants," said Phil., "can enjoy life no longer, I have him despatched by a friendly bullet." "But, sir, you might get money for these; they do not seem by any means past their labour." "Not _quite_, perhaps, but they have worked diligently, and shall now have a holyday while they live." From the paddock we proceeded to a line of neat cottages, furnished each with a strip of garden at the back, and ornamented in front by a little rustic paling, thickened into a fence impervious to pigs and dogs, by privet, sweet brier, and roses. "Here are some of your tenants' houses, Mr. Otway, I suppose." "Why not exactly tenants in the _usual_ sense: these are poor people, who, like my old horses, have seen their best days in my service, and it is fair that _they_ too should rest from their labours."

Showers of blessings were shed from these humble dwellings as we passed along, which were repaid by kind greetings from their benefactor. With one poor soul who sat in an arm-chair made of straw at her door, and who was blind, the good Phil. shook hands, and said aloud, "Mr. Howard, this is Kate Sullivan, the Queen of _Pastime Row_, which is the name given by your cousin Fanny to this line of houses." Old Kate appeared to feel as much delighted by this distinguishing compliment, as an autocrat of the proudest empire could be in seeing all the nations of the earth paying homage to his supremacy.

"God bless Miss Fanny, and all the misses of the Glynn," cried old _Cathleen_; "they are the Lord's own children; and glory, honour, and praise be to his holy name; he will make a wide gap for 'em whenever they are going into heaven; and _Maaster_ Arthur, my heart (for 'tis I that very well has a right to know that you're he, and nobody else), if his honour would'nt be after telling you the _maining_ of Miss Fanny's _concait_, why, sir, 'tis, that she's a pleasant, funny craiture in herself, and she have a _double aim_ in _wording_ the houses; for _pastime_ they say is all as one as games, and sport-like; and it _mains_ too, that (God be praised for all things) _we_ are going down the hill, as I may say, and past our time for being any good-for."

I charmed this old soul as much by laughing heartily, and entering with spirit into Fanny's humour, as if I had presented her with fifty pounds. She called an aged man from the next door to hobble out and join in the merriment, which I dare say ran before it stopped, like an electric stream through every conductor of the whole series. As we walked on, "I perceive," said I, "that her majesty of _pastime_, is a Protestant, by her assurance that my cousins are all travelling the high road to heaven." "You are mistaken my dear fellow,--Kate has an _ave_ for every bead in her _paddreen_, which is the Hibernian version of Corona, or Coronach; and blind as she is, is conveyed by one of my paddock horses annually on the eve of St. John, to a holy well, not far distant from Lisfarne. This little journey is all the work that the queen and her cattle are able to accomplish; and the same beast, that 'roan barbary' which came up to welcome us at the gate, has drawn Kate and her truckle for so many years, that were True-penny to die, I believe that blind as is his mistress, she would find out that she had lost him, and be uneasy till the priest was sent for, to _shrive_ and anoint her, in the full persuasion that _her_ hour was also come."

"Well, you really do surprise me, but to confess the truth, you deal in nothing but miracles in this county of Kerry. In less than a week I have seen some strange things, which had any one presumed, ere I beheld them, to say were existing realities, I should have laughed as the king of Pegu is said to have done when he heard of nations being governed without a monarch. I have seen _Blue-stockings_ without pedantry, refinement that has never been learned in the world of fashion, religion free from cant, retirement unaccompanied by _ennui_; and now, as my list goes on increasing like the story of the house that Jack built, here is the Roman Catholic creed divested of bigotry; in the shape of an old woman too, who fully expects, though a Papist herself, to meet a Protestant family in the skies."

"Aye, my boy, and I hope that you will soon cease to wonder at any of these things. The poor people of this island are brim-full of intelligence and feeling; qualities which are of _adjective_ character, and increase the measure of good or bad exactly as they happen to be associated. Were our peasantry fairly dealt with, the tables would speedily be turned, and instead of that cold-hearted sarcasm which would seem to be 'the badge and sufferance of all their kind,' you would see their accusers glad to steal away, and hide their diminished heads."

"But, sir, this is peculiarly the age of reason, and you will soon be able to bring your assertion to the proof. All the world is mad now upon the subject of education, and I suppose the light of modern liberality, which scorns the narrow principle of a churlish exclusion, has with the eagle eye of truth, borne down and pierced the shades of prejudice that may have hung upon your sea-girt Isle. Have you not schools at Lisfarne, and Glenalta? and if you will let me ask one question allied to the last, _may_ I venture to enquire why you, whom I should imagine of all men, the last to countenance ignorance and superstition, should abet them both by sending old Kate upon her pilgrimage of folly, instead of endeavouring to open her mind to the sun of knowledge?" Otway smiled, and taking me by the hand, jocosely said, "why, Arthur, thou art fit for a senator; we must have you in the House of Commons; you are an orator:" then, resuming his usual expression of features, "you will despise me perhaps," added he, "if I tell you that I am not bitten with the fashionable school mania to the extent which you deem requisite to constitute a _liberal_. I have two schools,--one of them, and by far the most numerously attended, is for works of industry exclusively. To the other I only admit such children as by a previous discipline in moral conduct, and regularity of demeanor, earn the reward of being taught to read. To this promotion there are two conditions annexed, which form a _sine qua non_ of admission. The first is, that the scriptures without note or comment, should be read daily, the master selecting, according to my instruction, such parts as are best adapted to the age and capacity of his pupils; the second, that each child should bring a penny per week, to create a fund for winter clothing, books, or whatever occasion may require. In this way I endeavour to prevent the abuse of letters, by preparing the soil for their introduction. Respect for learning is increased, when it costs something to obtain it; and I find a test of sincerity is established to a certain degree by this small pecuniary condition, as people never pay for what they do not really desire to possess. Though the money thus collected returns whence it came, it goes back in another form. Like the dew, it rises in imperceptible vapour, and falls in palpable, and refreshing showers. It requires a slight degree of self-denial, _even_ to allot a penny per week in this manner; and there is a feeling of independence connected with every benefit which exercises individual frugality in its acquisition, while gratitude is still kept alive towards the fostering hands which deal out the fund so husbanded for general good. Then again, by not offering gratuitous teaching, I prevent many from coming, who would not turn their learning to good account, while I may always provide for an exception to my rule in supplying a worthy object who is too poor to _qualify_, with means of contributing the appointed mite."

"Then, sir, I conclude that you think education may be spread too widely."

"Certainly; in _this_ country we cannot interfere with the religion of the _Mass_. If I could plant a Bible in every cottage, I would teach all men, women, and children to read it; but the accomplishment of reading considered, without reference to religious instruction, is about as necessary and suitable to a poor labouring man, as a gold snuff box would be; and it is to me quite astonishing, that so many sober minds should give into the opposite absurdity which prevails at present, with a _rage_ equal to that in the medical world for white mustard seed. We never think of silk gowns or fine cloth for the poor; we do not dream of serving up venison and turtle for them at a charity dinner; and, when sick, we do not order them the South of France, or prescribe hock, ice, and all the expensive delicacies become necessary to the luxury of our opulent higher classes. All things should _be in keeping_. A man who works for a shilling a day, eats his potatoes, and lies down to be refreshed by sleep for the morrow's labour, has no need of literature. It will neither make him happier nor better, unless you could secure the _use_ of his acquirement in increased knowledge of the word of God. Our Irish Priests will not permit this. I do not mean to be hard upon them; they are a needy class, usually taken from the lowest conditions of life, and depending for subsistence on the measure of their influence with the people. To keep the minds of their flocks in absolute subjugation to their authority, is essential to their very existence; and they are fearfully aware, that free access to the Bible would quickly destroy their power, by undermining its foundation."

"At least," said I, "though the men cannot leave their spades, why not teach the women? _They_ could instruct the children, and the next generation would reap the profit."

"Pooh, my dear Arthur, you are a young theorist, and float with the fashionable tide. Whatever be the situation of one sex must be shared by the other. A pair of diamond earrings would be about as appropriate an appendage to the head of poor Susan, whom you visited this morning, as the History of England, or a Treatise on Political Economy would be in her hands. The thing is not wanted--it is out of place. The sordid cares of life leave little time for bodily rest or mental repose; and unless, as I said before, you can be sure of planting the one thing needful, every moment which could be stolen from household toil, and devoted to books, would be employed on the trash which is placed through the licentious _liberality_ of the press, within the grasp of all who desire to quaff at the feculent stream. Music is a pleasing resource, drawing is another, but you do not conceive these to be requisite for the well-being of our cottagers. How are reading, writing, arithmetic, and geometry, more allied to the happiness of an agricultural labourer than the former? Remember _always_ that my argument only applies when the Bible is excluded or made subservient to the base purposes of secular advancement by hypocrites, who employ it as a stepping-stone to the favour of their superiors. Physicians do not read law, lawyers do not read physic, nor either of them military tactics--and why? Because they do not want a species of knowledge out of their department. The same rule may be generally applied. A poor cottager has nothing to do with letters, unless he be made better and happier by acquaintance with them; and should his attention be directed to the tirades of Messrs. Shiel and O'Connell, to the demoralizing details of practical vice with which our newspapers unfortunately abound; to the ethics of Mr. Cobbett or the religion of Mr. Carlile, instead of to the Sacred Volume, I think that you must agree with me in doubting the growth of virtue and contentment as the result of such studies."

I felt shaken, I must own, but replied, "The tide of public opinion is so forcible, that we are often drawn along with it before we are aware how far it will lead us. I confess that I have joined a hue and cry in favour of universal education, without thinking much about the matter. Experience, undoubtedly, must confirm or contradict the utility of its unlimited extension, and I shall be happy to hear your farther sentiments upon the subject, if you are not tired of my questions."

"Indeed, my dear Howard, you shall ever find me ready and willing to discuss this and every other topic upon which I am capable of offering an opinion; but we must not pass the day of your first visit to Lisfarne, _at school_. We must have a little recreation this morning, or I should despair of your coming again to see old C[oe]lebs in his cell. I want to take you a walk along the sea shore, and, as the day is fine, I am going, with your permission, to send one of my young _footpads_ over to Glenalta, to say that you will dine here; and should Oliphant arrive, as I think he probably will by this evening's coach, you will not regret being absent at the meeting, as you are a stranger to the good man."

The name of Oliphant caused a sudden revulsion, and produced a complete _bouleversement_ in all my pleasurable sensations. A stripling mountaineer was despatched, who flew like an arrow across the fields with Mr. Otway's message, and behold us arm in arm skirting the wood, and, ere long, approaching a bold headland which stood beautifully out into the bay. As we jogged on together, I felt growing more and more at ease with mine host, and at last ventured to give a vent to my _Oliphantphobia_, by saying, "How I dread this tiresome piece of parchment divinity that we are expecting! Adieu now to the cheerfulness of Glenalta. This old bookworm is, I suppose, my aunt's domestic sense-carrier, and will disapprove of every thing but black letter lore in the mornings, and snuffling canticles for our evening diversion."

"I think," said Phil. "that having found yourself deceived in so many preconceptions respecting Glenalta, you ought not to condemn poor Domine without benefit of clergy. Suspend your judgment. If you do not like him, you will differ widely from your family, but let him have fair play; I will not bespeak your favour, nor stand sponsor to your taste."

We walked on, stopped now and then to look at the views, and, at length turning into a zig-zag path, arrived by a short circuit at a little spot of exquisite beauty. It was an arch-way rather than cavern in the rock, extending inwards no farther than to form a bower of stone, if you will admit such a description. Lined with ivy, which actually grows like a tissue fitted to the irregular surface, and almost buried in arbutus, it seemed as if the very Genius of Contemplation had selected this natural alcove for her favourite haunt. I stood wonder-struck by the scene, innumerable sea-birds wheeling round us, and uttering their plaintive wailings to the wind. Rocks, ocean, solitude wherever the eye could reach, while the sun-beams dancing on the calm surface of the "green one," seemed to say, "you shall not indulge melancholy here."

Mr. Otway appeared much pleased with my silent rapture, and, after a little pause, took me to a seat covered with the same luxuriant drapery which hung upon the rocky walls, and which, without any apparent assistance from art, formed a bench entirely round the cave.

When we were seated, Mr. Otway, with a sigh which seemed to break from his heart, told me that this rude temple, hewn by nature from the wild mass of stone under the shelter of which we were now conversing, was sacred to my uncle.