Arthur Howard to Charles Falkland.

My dear Falkland,

Whether I blush or not is not for me to tell; but surely I feel that I ought to do so. Yes, it is an absolute fact, that I am ashamed to recollect the date of my last letter; and, therefore, if you please, we will hush it up. All that I will put forward in extenuation of my guilt is, that my journal bears weighty evidence to the truth of your not being forgotten. In that faithful repository you will find, one of these days, a minute registry of all that passes; and I promise myself much amusement at some future time in recalling to my own mind, while I read it to you, this record of the happiest period of my life. Hey day! here is a downright confession. Even so: and I am not inclined to retract the avowal. As I am not in love, (at least I do not believe that I am,) I suppose that I have less hesitation in proclaiming the state of my feelings than were Dan Cupid to be a witness to the declaration of my being more at home at Glenalta, and more happy with the Douglas family, than I ever felt at any place, and amongst any people, since I was born. I find one great disadvantage in having lost the thread of my good old diary, for I know not now where to begin or what to tell you, though I would have you to know that my difficulty does not arise from paucity of incident. On the contrary, my time has been so occupied, and so many novelties have varied the scene, that I am, to use a homely illustration, in the predicament of "not being able to see the wood for trees." The ground tint of life at Glenalta is soft and reposing, without being dead; and it has latterly been picked out (my simile savours, you will say, of Long Acre) by sundry events which have given contrast to its colouring. You are to be informed that I am up to the eyes in all the pursuits which afford constant delight to the Cousins: and would you believe that from morning till night I am never conscious of time, except by its rapid flight? Falkland, I am awakened as if from a heavy sleep, which had dulled my faculties, and my mind seems to take new views of everything. Will this last? If it should, the age of man is doubled by the animation of such feelings as have been evolved in this Irish world. I tread on air—the sun shines into my heart—and you will never hear me again envying an opium-eater while I live. In three days we set out for Killarney; and, as I will certainly devote a letter exclusively to the Lakes, this shall contain a sketch of some minor exploits in the way of sight-seeing.

But I ought not to have proceeded thus far without saying that our Fred. returned, after his short absence, wreathed with victory; and I would give more than I am worth to have been able to call back the shade of Titian by some magical incantation, that his glowing pencil might have fixed that arrival in perennial freshness. Domestic love, what an exquisite painter thou art! Not all the most skilful efforts of factitious refinement can group and touch like this artist of Nature.

It was Frederick's plan to be his own messenger; and, therefore, as no announcement of success or failure preceded his appearance amongst us, suspense hung upon the carriage-wheels as it drove to the very door, and only gave way to joyful assurance, from the uncontrolable gladness of Domine's eye, which sparkled a contradiction, detected at the first glance by Fanny, to the serious air with which the travellers had determined on playfully deceiving the sisterhood. "The Science Premium" presently resounded through the air, and a delighted group of servants, headed by old Lawrence, wafted the glad tidings to an outer circle, who stood peeping from behind the holly-hedge, ready to catch the first contagion that might reach them of joy or sorrow, without understanding how excited, or for what displayed.

When the transport seemed at its height, Mr. Oliphant abruptly exclaimed, "But how easily you are all satisfied! Not a soul has asked me what became of all my hard work at Greek and Latin." Here followed the news that Fred. was doubly crowned, and had also borne away the palm of classical triumph. This was too much; the cup of bliss was full before, and now it overflowed. No, I never saw any thing like it; and even this scene, I suppose, could never again produce the magical sensations which I felt. The intensity of emotion, and the gradations evinced in its exhibition, from the silent, grateful tear that trickled down the hectic cheek of aunt Douglas—then passing through the gentle transports of Emily and Charlotte, the mad delirium of Fanny, the honest pride of Oliphant, the full, yet chastened glow of Frederick, the paternal exultation of old Lawrence, down to the untutored burst of the barefooted mountaineers, reminded me forcibly of that admirable picture by Le Thiers of the Judgment of Brutus, in which you and I used to admire the author's tact in apportioning the varieties of expression in all those numerous countenances, to the exact measure of refinement in each which accompanied the feeling that gave it birth. After the first tumult of congratulations had subsided, I ran to the seashore, to get rid of some unwelcome thoughts, that were not in unison with the scene which I had witnessed, when I overtook a little band of young peasants, who were dragging along large bundles of what we call gorse, but is here yclept furze; and this circumstance soon turned the current of my musings.

"Where are you going, my lads?" quoth I. "Plase your honour, to get ready the bonfires for Maaster Frederick agin the evening." "I am a stranger in these parts, and should like to know what all this work is for," said I, turning to a fine, active youth, who led the van. "Why, indeed, sir, I don't rightly know; but, be what I can larn, Maasther Fred. is to be King o' the College from this time out." "Och! you fool, Jack!" cried another, "that isn't it at all. I heard my father say just now that he was (that's Maasther Fred.) cheered round the city like a Parliamint man, and that he flogged all the scholars in Ireland." "Well you're out too, Flurry," vociferated a third; "for Nance Hagerty tould Kit Lacy and she ought to know, be raison of being about the cows morning and evening at the big house, that Maaster Fred. got a power of money for making an illigant spaach about mancipashon."

I was greatly amused. It was all the same to these poor fellows. Joy was depicted on every face at Glenalta, and to enquire into whys and wherefores is quite too tame for the rush of Hibernian sympathy. The meeting with Phil. was another rich repast of mind; and young Bentley seemed so share the scene like a brother. When I returned to dinner, I found preparations going forward near the house which ended in a piper and a dance upon the green turf, in which the young people of the family took part. A great basket of bread-cakes sweetened with a little sugar, and a single draught to each of Kerry cider, made all the entertainment as related to eating and drinking; hilarity and affection supplied the rest, and I could not help remarking, that I had never till then seen so many people made supremely happy at so trifling an expense. With us at Selby it would have required the winning wiles of at least an ox, and tree tierces of ale, to have prevailed on so many people to come together. When assembled, they would neither pipe nor dance: the gladdest tribute would consist in a few deafening shouts, and, after some coarse and clumsy merriment, the well-fed sons of England would stagger home, filled to the throat, regardless of all sentiment which could not be identified with roast beef and brown stout. Only give an Irish population permission to share in your feelings, and you may have a crowd at your heels in a moment, in any part of the kingdom, as I am told; but I can now say from experience, that, if you deserve affection, you may have an honest flow of its choicest streams unbought, except by reciprocating kindness. These poor people would endure anything for my aunt, her children, and Mr. Otway; and though I have given you a ridiculous specimen of ignorance, in relating the conversation of the bonfire, I am bound in justice, as a set off, to add, that when the festivities of the evening were at an end, Mr. Oliphant beckoned to two youths, who appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen, and whom he called by the names of Cronin and Riely, saying, "Boys, I know very well that you are just longing to hear more about Mr. Frederick, so come in the morning, bring your Homer, and I will show you the part in which he was examined." The poor fellows seemed overjoyed, and kicking up a bare heel behind, pulled each a lock of hair on his forehead in token of thanks, neither of these young men having a hat with which to perform the ceremony of a bow, and this extra-ordinary mode of salutation serving as the substitute here for a more civilized mode of obeisance. To my amazement, I now learned that several individuals are to be found in these mountains who can read Horace and Virgil familiarly. The Homer which was brought in the morning was a curiosity too, for so filthy, so broken, and so disjointed a concern, I suppose you never beheld; and it astonished me, not only to hear these tattered academicians read passages with precision which were almost effaced, but translate with fidelity, of which Cowper would not have been ashamed. Frederick gave them each a new book, and I presented a trifling sum to be expended in shoes and hats, sending off our poor scholars as happy as kings are said to be in fairy tales. When Frederick had been at home a day or two, he proposed that we should make the first use of his liberty in extending our excursions both by land and water. "We will begin with the nearest object," said he, "and as you enter with so much zeal into our Irish character, I must take you to see a person whom we have given the name of Wise Ned of the Hill." The next day was appointed, and we were on horseback at four in the morning, each provided with a sort of wallet, containing an ample supply of sandwiches, a small bottle of brandy, a canister of snuff for Ned, with a large parcel of newspapers, and a tin box (which Fanny insisted on adding to our accoutrements) to be filled with any plants which Glenalta did not produce. In this rustic guise, accompanied by three fine dogs, one of which is a noble animal of a species now very scarce, namely, the Irish wolf dog, we commenced our campaign, halting at Lisfarne, to call for young Bentley, by whom we were speedily joined. As we rode along, I begged to know in the true Irish style what it was that we were going to see, and why "Ned of the Hill," was worthy of a pilgrimage to his shrine. "He is," said Frederick, "a most uncommon character, and one who will, I think, reward your trouble in getting at him, for I can tell you that his only neighbours are the eagles. Ned, like the poor boys of Homeric memory, received an education beyond the vulgar level, in the days of his youth. He was born of parents who were strict Roman Catholics; and having an uncle who was priest in a neighbouring parish, it was intended that young Edmund Burke (a promising name, you will say) should succeed to his relation's holy office. With this view he was taught Greek and Latin, though his temporal situation was scarcely raised above absolute want. His father was an idle profligate, his mother a bigot, entirely under the control of her brother, the priest. The boy grew up in the strange jumble of fastings and confessions, prayers and penances, with swearing, drinking, and all manner of profaneness, acted continually in his presence, till his father was suddenly seized with a fit of apoplexy, on recovering from which he had some 'compunctious visitings,' and desired his son, for the first time, to read the Bible for him. There was none to be had except one which had been left in pledge by a poor Protestant woman, who owed a trifle to the little shop kept by these people. Ned objected to read out of such an unholy book, but the father insisted, alleging that his time was hastening to a close, and it was no season to stand upon ceremonies. A Bible was a Bible; and, if it was good at all to read it, the Protestant version could not be very far astray. Ned reluctantly complied, and felt it necessary at first, I dare say, to perform a sort of quarantine after touching the sacred volume; but his father desired that neither his wife nor the priest her brother should hear a word about the matter. The invalid gradually recovered strength, which he ascribed to the fit of piety that had come upon him; and though he did not dream of changing his religion, and was punctilious in his observance of its rites, he still felt a sort of superstitious respect for the book that had been instrumental in keeping up a serious impression of divine things upon his mind; and was not displeased at seeing his son frequently poring over its contents after the daily task of reading to the old man was ended."

"At length Ned, through the single and simple force of truth, became convinced of the errors of the Romish Church; and, afraid to tell his parents, he quitted home, and sought the aid of an exemplary clergyman in an adjoining county. From this gentleman he received the kindest treatment, and the most judicious advice not to be precipitate in the adoption of a new creed. This good man gave him books, and protected his destitute youth from persecution, to which the poor fellow became subject, as soon as it was hinted that he was likely to renounce Popery; but Heaven had endowed Ned with one of those acute understandings which are rarely found in any class of men, and the books which were given him by the excellent pastor under whose tutelage he had placed himself, did not satisfy his inquiring mind. Contending between a sense of duty to his family, his temporal benefit, and the habits of his whole life, on one side, and his newly awakened, and, as he considered, providentially directed, search after truth on the other, he roamed about, suffering the greatest privations, sculking in the mountains, and indebted to charity for his scanty fare, till accident brought Mr. Otway to the spot where he lay stretched upon the heath apparently dead, and a ragged Bible clenched in his hands. He was conveyed to Lisfarne, where he found the asylum after which his soul panted. When his strength was recruited, he was supplied with such books as were calculated to meet the sagacity of his doubts, and a short time made him a fixed and conscientious believer in the superiority of the Protestant faith over that in which he had been educated. About this time his father died, leaving him a little profit-rent of fifteen pounds a year, arising out of a poor tenement in Tralee. This is Ned's all, and as soon as he became possessed of independence he resolved to quit his benefactor and devote himself to the good of his fellow creatures. No argument will tempt him to accept of a salary that would better his condition. A few books, newspapers, and a little snuff, are all that he will permit any of us to add to his hermit's fare. You will see his dwelling, and be surprized perhaps by his remarks. The mountain on which he resides belongs to an absentee nobleman, and Ned lives there unmolested amongst almost inaccessible crags. The singularity of his character, its natural force, and the genuine disinterestedness of conduct which he manifests, combine to produce unbounded influence on the minds of the people, who, notwithstanding the charge of heresy against him, seek his advice, and consider his wisdom as quite oracular. Ned's life is passed in doing good. He traverses hill and dale on foot in quest of all whom he can succour by his counsel or sooth by his kindness. His Bible travels with him, and in spite of the avowed hatred of the priests, and the heavy denunciations of punishment which two or three of them have fulminated against any one who shall listen to, or harbour, poor Ned, he is a universal favourite, and often let in at a back door when his hosts would not venture to receive him at the front of their miserable hovels. He reads the scriptures incessantly, expounding and applying them to the individual necessities of his needy neighbours. He attends the fairs, and prevents many a quarrel. His talents as an arbitrator are in such request that he keeps several paltry cases of contention from the petty sessions, and is even consulted as an almanack, for the signs of bad or good weather."

With this outline of Ned's character and history we approached his extra-ordinary tabernacle, which had no appearance whatsoever of human dwelling, till we reached it close enough to see a little wreath of blue smoke curling up from an orifice in the rock, and were assailed by the sharp and angry bark of a terrier, who lay sunning himself, with a cat lying close by him on a tuft of dried heath. A few great stones piled one upon the other, at each side of a natural aperture in the craggy face of the mountain, seemed to indicate the hand of man in bringing them together, and likewise to afford shelter to the entrance. A stout wooden door opening inwards appeared the only means of ingress to admit even the light of heaven, for windows I saw none.

A few goats were roused from their meditations by our arrival, and I had just pronounced the name of Robinson Crusoe to my companions, when, at the end of our scramble, which had occupied three hours in its performance, Ned himself started from his lair, and stood before us clad in a strong comfortable loose coat of a greyish frize, manufactured in this country by the poor people. He had shoes and stockings of coarse but warm materials; and moreover, a hat, which, though it had seen better days, defended his head from the rude blast of this desolate wilderness, and was fastened to a button-hole by an old red worsted garter. Such was his joy at sight of Frederick, that some minutes elapsed before he seemed sensible that his friend had any companions. "Oh, sir," said he, "the news came to me just as I was lying down last night; Tom Collins sent off little Maurice his son to Tim Scannel, who put his brother across the bay in the fishing-boat; and he ran every step o'the way over the hills till he brought me the account."

To have asked what account would have been a direct insult to all Ned's best feelings, and so Frederick thought, for he replied, "Well, though I am grateful to poor Collins, and also to Scannel, I am very sorry that they have been beforehand with me; I thought to have had the pleasure of telling you myself." "Never mind," answered Ned, "they, poor fellows, have not so many pleasures as you have, don't begrudge them that, for they had a sore trot of it bare legged over the stones to bring me the news; and by the same token I had nothing but two or three potatoes that were cold in the dish after my supper to give Jack after his long tramp over the mountain, and he was afraid of being late for work in the morning, so would not wait till I could get him a drop of milk."

Here was a journey of at least eight miles, by the shortest route, across the bay, performed at the end of hard day's work without the refreshment of food or sleep, and without the expectation of a single sixpence to reward the toil! La Bruyere, Rochefaucauld, and all the host of the Machiavelian school to boot, could hardly concoct a bad motive out of the given materials, with all the maceration and trituration which they could put this action through in their moral crucible, which can contrive to disfigure so much of human nature. The worst incentive to such a deed which ingenuity could extract from its analysis, might perhaps be discovered in that love of stimulus common to all lively people, and of which the Irish are peculiarly susceptible: they love to surprise, and be surprised; but I feel certain that Tom Collins would have performed the part of Speaking Trumpet to "Ned of the Hill," without the aid of this excitement. I am becoming enthusiastic about these Hibernians: but to return to our mountain sage. He received us with native courtesy: his small deal table was quickly spread with the sandwiches which we had brought, to which Ned added a pot of fine smoking potatoes, and a red-herring or two which he took from a stick on which they were hanging in the chimney. Brandy and water (the latter from a stream clear as chrystal that babbled by his door) finished our repast; and, whether from the effect of novelty, my long ride, the purity of the mountain air, or all united, I cannot tell, but I never remember to have thought the best dinner in London half so good as this upon the top of an almost trackless waste, from which we could see nothing but a boundless expanse of ocean lying to the west. When we had finished our luncheon, or whatever you please to call it, Ned invited us to come and sit by the stream in which he said that we should find the finest water-cresses that ever were seen; and "Gentlemen," said he, "I will get you an oaten cake, and new laid eggs, and plenty of milk, before you quit me."

In the first part of his invitation we acquiesced, but told him that my aunt would be uneasy if we were not at home early, and would wait dinner. "Go, then," said Ned, "and my blessing go with you; for I would not have her suffer the smallest fretting or vexation for all the pleasure of your company during a whole week. She is a good mother, and a good Christian; and deserves all the love and duty that you can shew her."

We then walked with poor Ned, and I begged of Frederick to draw him out in conversation, that I might hear some of his opinions. When we were about a quarter of a mile from his fortress, Ned invited us to sit down in a sunny nook, formed by the rock, where the stream widened into a large surface, and here we found the cresses with which our host had promised to crown our simple repast. "I often," said he, "bring a handful of potatoes here, with a grain of salt, and gather a few of these to make out my dinner. It is a fine thing, sir, to think how easily a man may live, and that too upon food better for him than a lord mayor's banquet."

"You are very happy, Ned, I should think," said Bentley, who looked at him with the most profound admiration.—"No one is happy," answered the hermit; "but I believe that I am as much so as anybody, for I am contented with the lot in which Providence has placed me, and would not desire to exchange it. Man is a poor creature, his life is but a vapour, and the less that he is in the way of temptation the better is it for him in time and in eternity."

"Ned," said Frederick, "you have leisure for meditation, and wish that you would tell me what you think of public affairs at present?"

"Why, sir, I should be considered a bad judge of what the public are about, I who live in the desert; but as every man has his own way of thinking, I have mine."

"This is," said I, "a time of great stir, and a great deal is doing that ought to tell either one way or the other for much good or evil."

"Ned smiled, and answered, "Sir, you might set up for an oracle, for you are sure to be right, as your prophecy will answer either way: and that is the method that a great many take to get over a knotty point, when they do not know how to get through it. No offence, sir, I hope."

I really felt a little disconcerted, and my companions laughed; but I begged Ned to explain what he thought himself of king's ministers, men, and nations.

"Why, sir, indeed we all flatter ourselves, even such a poor humble being as I am, that we can see all the working of the puppets, little and big, but people are often mistaken who have better means of coming at the truth than I have: all the way, sir, that I have to know what is doing in the world is by the newspapers, which my young master there (looking at Frederick) kindly brings me, and my notion is, from spelling and putting together, that though I may never live to see the day when such a matter will come to pass, a revolution is hanging over these countries as sure as you are sitting there opposite to me."

"That would be a strange event, Ned," said I, "as the consequences of those changes to which I alluded, I meant the change from darkness to light, from ignorance to knowledge."

"Sir, I mean the same thing, though I do not give such good names to what I think undeserving of them."

"Why, Ned," "said Bentley, "I know a place within three miles of this spot where you go three or four times a-week to teach: how does your conduct consist with what you have said?"—"It fits like a pea in the pod, sir," replied Ned; "I go to give what instruction I can to a few poor things who are longing to know God through His word; and as some are too young, and others too weak to climb this rugged height, I go to the foot of the mountain to meet them; and don't you think that I would teach every man, woman, and child, if I could make them learn the road to heaven?" I told him that Nature herself seemed to point a finger to the course of education in Ireland, for that such surprising faculties as I found in the poor sons and daughters of Erin could never have been designed by their Creator to lie dormant. "Young man, we know," replied Ned, "nothing of God's designs, and your reason for teaching right hand and left, is about as just as if you were to burn a hay-rick in your neighbour's farm, and when you were asked why you did such mischief, you were to answer, that a heap of combustibles was lying convenient, and that as combustibles were by nature made to be burned, you thought proper to set them on fire. But, sir, my notion is, that the gentry are, as fast as they can, changing sides with the mob of the country, for they are winding off at the upper end of the spindle as much as they are winding on at the bottom, and so it will be only one thing in the place of another after all. Education seems to be declining amongst the heads of the community, as much as it is flourishing amongst the tails, and, before long, it will be found that the tails will take the post where the heads are now."

"Upon what grounds do you prognosticate this up-side-down, this new order, or disorder, of things?" said Bentley.—"Why, sir, upon two grounds: first, upon the ground of my natural reason, which tells me that it cannot be otherwise; and, secondly, upon the ground of the newspapers, which shew me that the matter is already coming to pass under our own eyes. Without any help to my own thoughts, I should be a fool outright if I did not know that education is bringing out all the faculties that were rolled up like those daisies there, before you, in their winter-quarters, till the sun warmed the mountain, and untied the cords that bound every button of them tight and hard in their green cases. Now, sir, God is no respecter of persons: His providence has given understanding to the poor as well as to the rich, which only wants what it is now receiving to bring it into full bloom, and if the rich, who are the smaller number, neglect the instruction which the poor, who are the greater number, are eagerly devouring, you will find how it will be by-and-by: the lean kine will swallow up the fat; and when men find out that their hungry wits, sharpened by want, have gained the power belonging to knowledge, they will use it, and not rest contentedly upon a wild heath like this, without asking themselves the question, "Why should not we take those places that are held by men who do not know how to fill them, and benefit ourselves and the country by shoving out a set of pampered geese, and coming down upon their snug nests with all the force, as I may say, of those eagles yonder?' Sir, when things are ripe for this question, the end is at hand."

"But, my good Ned, why suppose this neglect in the higher classes? What should lead you to conclude that, though the blessings of light and knowledge are spreading over the mass of mankind, the upper ranks are not holding their own, and cultivating as before, the benefits, which, with increased liberality, they are now determined to share?"

"Why, sir, I know very well that 'as the twig is bent the tree's inclined,' and if I look to your great schools, and your colleges, what do I see but an undisciplined rabble, doing what they please, and the masters, who ought to control youthful vice and folly, become like so many ciphers. At one of your great seminaries I see murder committed in a boxing-match, and the whole affair hushed up, as if no harm were done. At another of your great schools, the man to whose care the morals of your English youth are intrusted, runs away without saying a word to any one, leaving a debt of £50,000 behind him.

"Did I not hear young Master Fitzallan tell his father the other day that after being at a third of your great English establishments he had never spoken but twice to the head Master of it? Don't I read of Oxford and Cambridge time after time expelling the young lords and high gentlemen, for every sort of misconduct and disorder? What do they learn at the University, but to gamble away their money, and drink French wines? Sir, my notion is, that the times are out of joint. Children don't respect their parents and rulers. Parents and rulers suffer children to get the upper hand, and think themselves before their time, and without taking the trouble to gain wisdom. The wholesome restraint of the old school is out of fashion; bit and bridle are taken off, and all the world scamper in the way they like best; while, to crown all the folly, the grandees are whetting knives to cut their own throats.

"Suppose now, sir, that there was in all England, or any other country, but one single regiment of men who had arms and ammunition; and that it was the business of this single regiment to protect the king, and stand sentry over your banks, and prevent all commotions in your capital. If neither gun nor pistol, a dust of powder, nor a grain of shot could get into any other hands, would not that regiment, of only perhaps a thousand strong, be able to keep down a multitude that we could hardly reckon? but if the tower is opened, and a hundred thousand stand of arms taken out, and given to the people with plenty of balls and cartridges, and they are drilled from morning till night, learning all the new modes of squaring and filing off, the new this and the new that, while the old regiment does nothing at all, but stand as if it was cut of paste-board, at the palace gates, and the gates of your city; where will the rulers be then? Why, to be sure, in the young and vigorous recruits, who only wanted what you have put into their hands to knock your train-bands upon their faces on the ground, like the poppy heads that some ancient warrior cut down for a sign to let the enemy know what he intended to do."

"But Ned have we not some long heads in Parliament that will keep watch over our interests?"

"Yes, sir, you have a few long, and a great many short ones. Lord Liverpool is an honest man and a sensible man. Mr. Peel is a man that I believe would not tell a lie to make himself a duke; and the greatest fault I see in him, is that he is so fond of sporting, and so afraid that any of poor Dick Martin's feeling for the suffering dumb creation, should interfere with his diversion, that he stifles the voice of humanity within his breast; but it will not be so always, I hope, for the best courage is ever to be found in a tender heart. The lion and the lamb, sir, make a fine mixture in a man's character."

"Then you think cruelty to animals a sin, Ned?"

"Think it a sin!" replied Ned, with an expression of countenance that would had have brought thunders of applause at Drury-lane; "Yes, sir, it is a crying sin, and one of the very worst signs of our time. It is a foul blot upon our scutcheon. When I was a younker, the gentlemen did not set their poor neighbours such examples as they do now, and we see the fruits. What right has a man, who is returning home from a bull-bait himself, though he rides a fine horse, and has ten thousand a year, to talk to an ignorant savage that he sees on the high road for goading a jaded bullock to market, or belabouring an overloaded ass up the hill? or what right has any man who encourages the wicked amusement of prize fighting, which teaches people to become brutes, and mangle each other in cold blood, to abuse others for doing the same in hot blood, when they meet at a fair, and meet too as enemies who think that they are bound to revenge some real or imagined wrong? No, no, sir, preachers must be doers, or they will only be laughed at."

"Whom else do you think well of in our great National Assembly, Ned?" asked Bentley.

"Sir, I like Mr. Robinson. He knows his business. He found things in a bad condition, and it is more troublesome to mend than to make. He is going the right way to work, and he is not frightened by opposition. Mr. Huskisson too, sir, is a sensible man, and knows what he is about."

"What say you, Ned, to Mr. Canning?"

"Why, sir, I think that at all events he can talk well, and I love him better for one thing that he said the other day, than if he had given me a hundred pounds in hand. Do you remember, sir, when he defied the house to shew him any act of liberality, any treaty upon a broad generous foundation, that was not proposed by the Tories. That was nuts and apples, to my heart, for it was truth, and very well they all knew it, for not a man dared to contradict him; even Mr. Hume, who contradicts every thing and every body, let him alone when he threw that challenge in their teeth."

"You do not then like Mr. Hume, Ned.?"

"I should like him better, sir, if he took the trouble of being better informed. He, sir, is the watch dog in the orchard, but he barks so often when no harm is at hand, or when he mistakes a crow for a band of robbers, that when the thieves come in earnest, people do not mind him, and the uproar that he makes then, passes by unheeded, which is a pity. However, sir, he does some good, though not so much as he might do, and the fear of giving tongue keeps many a pilferrer out of the apple trees."

"Well, Ned, will it not be a fine thing for Ireland, if we live to see the day when emancipation is proclaimed, and all animosity, discontent, and rebellion, are laid in the dust?"

Ned laughed heartily. "Wait a while," said he, "and if we live to see that day I am a pickled herring. No, sir, 'tis not because I am no longer a Roman myself that I say it, but the never a bit of good would emancipation do in this country. The name of it indeed, would make the people light fires, and drink a double dose of whiskey, when they heard of it; and they would shout, and those that have hats would throw them up into the air. You would have more noise, and drunkenness, and bloodshed, and battery for a week or so, and when that was over, and not a rap was to be found in their pockets, or a tatter left on their backs, they would begin to look about them, and ask one another, what they had got? Whether the potato-garden was lowered in its rent, or leather in its price? Whether wages were raised or the necessaries of life cheaper than they were before; and when they discovered that all the difference in their condition was, that Daniel O'Connell and his partner Shiel, might stun the House of Commons in London, with their blustering speeches as they do now the Catholic Association in Dublin; the people would find that they had gained nothing but broken heads."

"But though it were only a shadow, a mere name," said I, "if the people's hearts are set upon obtaining it, will they not be happier and more tranquil, if they succeed in the object of their wishes?"

"Why, sir, as to wishes, you may set an ignorant multitude wishing for anything you please. You might make them wish, like an infant, for the moon, though they know no more about it, than that it looks like a fine big Gloucester cheese; but if the moon dropped down to them, and they discovered that they could not neither eat, drink, nor wear it; that it would neither relieve them from tithe, nor cess, pay their rent, nor manure the ground; nor, in fact do anything but set a few learned men in the college talking about the length and the breadth of it; I would not go security for their being satisfied with ther bargain. Sir, when people are set on wishing, without knowing what they are wishing for, it is well for them if it ends as well as the fable, in a yard of good black pudding."

We were excessively amused by Ned's dry sarcastic manner. Bentley continued: "I think, however," said he, "that let Parliament decide as it may, the bonds of affection between landlord and tenant will be drawn closer by the discussions that have taken place. The poor will love the rich better from finding the sympathy so general in their suffering, whether the wrongs of which they complain be real or imaginary."

"Not at all, sir," answered Ned, with energy, "the people are poor and wretched; they have many wants and many grievances to complain of, but those, which their landlords might relieve or redress are never thought about, unless now and then by such a blessed man as Lord H. or Mr. Otway. They make their tenants happy, they treat them like Christians, and among their poor people you hear no cant about emancipation, they have enough to eat and drink, they are encouraged in their industry, protected in their rights, they enjoy all the freedom that they require, and as much as is good for them. But, sir, the talking landlords spend their breath and spare their purses; and the people, who are not such fools now-a-days as to be caught in springes, know the difference between saying and doing; they understand the decoy ducks much better than you seem to suppose. I know a great man, not a hundred miles off, who is building a house as fine as Solomon's temple, and he makes long speeches, and shakes hands with every ragamuffin who can give him a vote; but he is not a whit the better loved for all that, and why should he? He is a hard landlord, and they say that he makes his poor tenants pull down their stone walls, and raise mud cabins for themselves, that they may bring the materials of their former habitations to help in constructing his palace Ah, sir, words cost nothing, and a poor man would depend more upon the kindness that assisted him with a sack of oatmeal, or a warm blanket, than upon all the talk, empty and flourishing, that takes up the newspapers, and gives the county gentlemen the pleasure of seeing themselves in print. When the people had not so much experience as they have at present, it was easier to deceive them; but you can hardly now 'find an old weazel (as we say) asleep on his perch;' and the true characters of the landholders are very well known."

Then said I: "Ned, if you have many such landlords, it is the less to be lamented that they are so fond of going abroad. The absence of such men is as good as their presence."

"No, sir, bad as they are, they could not help being of some use if they stayed at home, and spent their money in their own country. Never believe any one who tells you that the absentees are not one of poor Ireland's greatest curses."

"Ned," said I, "while I listen to you, and hear so many sensible remarks from your lips, I cannot help thinking what a fine thing is universal education, and how great a change must be effected by learning which will enable the mass of any nation to reason with the force which you can bring to meet every subject that we have discussed to day."

"Sir, I thank you," answered Ned, "for the compliment, but I cannot return it without telling a lie. Your reasoning, sir, is not of the best, if you will consider the matter again, when you would say, all as one, as that books make brains. Why should the knowledge of reading and writing, and casting sums in arithmetic make wisdom amongst the poor, any more than amongst the rich; and you have plenty of dunces, sir, in the higher walks of life, who cannot argue a bit the better for any thing that they ever got hold of in school, or at college. But even if learning gave understanding, which it does not, for that is God's gift, still, sir, it might be, with all its worth, not fit for us in our present condition. If you gave me a barrel of the best seed corn that your rich country ever grew, I could not say but that it was a good gift, and the grain fine grain; but if I threw it on the surface of that barren rock yonder there, what return would it make? Wouldn't it only bring the mag-pies in flocks about me, to eat not only that, but what little I had before? First, fence in a bit of ground; then, burn it, and dig it, and clear it; after that, you may sow your grain, and it will come up and yield increase. In like manner, sir, if you gentry would make your tenants more comfortable, give them a little property in their labours, encourage them to decent habits, reward the sober and peaceable, punish the bad, live amongst them, and employ them, you would soon find your soil prepared for sowing a crop which at present is thrown to waste, or only devoured by birds of prey."

I could have staid till midnight with poor Ned, and Bentley seemed rivetted in attention to his acute observations and sound common sense; but Frederick looked at his watch, and gave the signal "to horse."

As we were moving towards the place where our palfreys were in waiting, I said to Burke, "tell me how is it that the mass of the people in Ireland speak so much purer English than we do, though it is our native tongue, and with you not so?"

"That is the very reason of it, sir, I suppose," replied this extra-ordinary man. "You speak English amongst your poor, as we speak Irish, by ear, and so we speak it badly enough, and differently in different places; but our English we learn out of books, because it is not our natural language, and so perhaps we may speak it nearer to the manner in which it is written than you do at your side of the water."

With intelligence thus superior to his humble lot, did this desert "Hampden" (for "village" would not suit with his desolate dwelling) discourse with us till we were mounted. Frederick made him promise to come to Glenalta, where he told him that a present of books awaited his arrival: and we promised to visit him again on our return from Killarney. With affectionate and mutual adieus, we parted, and left the wide blank of a deathlike solitude and silence, to contrast with the merry din of our voices and the cheerful shew of life which had been produced by the group of men, dogs, and horses, on the gloomy heath.

I shall never forget Ned of the Hill while I live, and though his brogue is the ne plus ultra of possible discord to a musical ear, I would rather listen to him than to almost any West-Endian of my acquaintance. Bentley is beside himself with admiration of Ned, and I believe would like nothing better than a cave next door to our mountain sage, where some future bookmaker, travelling this way, might set down the neighbours as a settlement of the Troglodites, who, by some wonderful chance, had been cast on shore upon the coast of Kerry. I am not yet sure how to classify Bentley. He is very worthy of a place in my Irish Pantheon, but I have not a niche ready for him, and as I hardly think that I shall be able to unravel his character without help, I will ask Mr. Otway about him, some day or other, if I cannot satisfy myself respecting certain incongruities which I perceive in his manner.

As we neared Glenalta, Frederick observed several traces of carriage wheels on the road, and, on examining them more nearly, prophecied that we should find company on reaching home.

"Not at this hour, surely," said Bentley. "Mr. Otway would not drive to Glenalta when he is able to ride or walk thither; and my uncle being an absentee at present, who is there that could venture to pay a visit at five o'clock with any hope of being at their more distant homes in reasonable time for dinner?"

"Depend upon it," answered Frederick, "that whoever came to Glenalta this day, is there still. Like Cacus' den, it exhibits no returning footsteps. All the marks of the horses' feet are in the same direction." See what it is to live in this out of the way sort of place!

The speculation of who could have come in our absence kept our minds for the last mile in the most animating state of inquiry and suspense. We rode up directly to the stable-yard, on entering which, a nice calÊche and smart dennett were drawn up in order. The stable-boy could not tell more than that "quality" had come, and old Lawrence, whom we met, could only add, that they were to stay, and were English, but every body was in such a bustle that, he told us, he could learn no more. On entering the house, we found the rooms deserted, and Fanny, who came radiant with excitement, skipping down stairs to meet us, was the only living thing that presented itself to our view. To our eager inquiries she would only reply, that we must go and dress, and that when we appeared in the drawing-room that we should know who were the guests. There was no use in expostulating, Fanny was inexorable, and to our toilettes we were sent. As soon as mine was completed, I hurried down stairs, and Fanny again was the first to me. She took me by the hand, and throwing open the drawing-room door, I found my aunt, Emily, and Charlotte all dressed, and looking full of some mystery, respecting which I was proceeding to ask questions, when two figures bounced from behind the large Indian screen, and who should stand confessed before me, but Russell and Annesley. Astonishment was no adequate word to express what I felt at sight of them. How to account for the vision, how to express amazement, pleasure, at the unexpected rencontre, I knew not. What a creature of circumstance is man! Though I am fond of both Russell and Annesley, and they are the only people besides yourself, of whom I have spoken as friends since I came here, and introduced by character to my relations, yet a meeting with either of them in the Regent's Park, in Bond-street, at the Theatre, or the Opera, how insipid! Nay, sometimes even a bore. Yet here at Glenalta, county of Kerry, South of Ireland, it was rapture to behold their faces, though neither their personal identity nor my own can have undergone any material alteration since we met last at Cambridge. Is it that I, without knowing it, have got a drop of Irish blood in my veins, or that the features of my countrymen, my schoolfellows, my College friends, operate naturally in a strange place, like the Ranz des Vaches on Swiss hearts in a foreign land? I must leave you to develope the cause, I have only to do with effects.

After the first tumult of surprise was over, I gained in ten minutes the following outline respecting the hows, whys, and whens of this sudden incursion into the wilds of Kerry. From the time when first Russell heard of my being here, he began to devise a scheme for slipping over in summer, but as his father wanted him to join a party who were going to the Highlands, he did not find it an easy matter to accomplish his plan; having been told, however, by my sisters, that I was bound to Killarney, he determined on coming to Ireland; and, meeting Annesley, offered him a seat in his dennett. The project resolved on by these wags was, to keep me in profound ignorance of their movements, while they watched ours, and to meet us in some romantic spot of our Lake scenery; but in pursuing their route, they fell in with a travelling carriage which had just smashed down in the bog, and, having left all their English sang froid behind them, they immediately jumped from their own vehicle to make a proffer of every assistance in their power to bestow. A lady, her maid, and footman, were the party submerged by fate beneath the murky waves of Acheron. Literally they were all struggling out of a dyke full of water as black as if it flowed direct from the forge of Vulcan. The knights flew to the rescue with all the zeal of chivalric adventure, and conveyed their fair charge to a neighbouring cabin, where a blazing fire, for which they were indebted to the same morass that had treated them so uncourteously, repaired the evil, and set them moralizing on bogs and bees, which, together with the bane, provide an antidote. They found the lady very agreeable, and moreover they discovered that she was steering for Glenalta, upon which they drew up their visors, proclaimed their names, and told her that a friend whom they were seeking was a guest under that roof. This coincidence pleased the lady, as savouring of a regular adventure, and she at once invested herself with the responsibilities of a godmother, and (one good turn deserving another) prevailed on her deliverers to step into her carriage, and resign theirs to the charge of her servant, promising to introduce them to the Douglas family. Well now, you naturally inquire who is the lady whose intimacy at Glenalta warrants such a stretch of privilege? She is a Mrs. Fitzroy, with whom my aunt became well acquainted, during her long sojournment in Devonshire, and whose society beguiled her sorrows in the deep retirement of Linton. Mrs. Fitzroy is a highly-gifted person, and a most agreeable addition to our party; but to proceed with my narrative, her visit was not a surprise to my aunt, though a very great one to the rest of the family.

A letter came just about the time when Emily and Frederick had finished their works in the Glen, and the unlooked for pleasure which they had prepared for their mother, in introducing her to the rustic temple which they had with filial fondness dedicated to her, suggested the idea of concealing Mrs. Fitzroy's intentions, and thus repaying the young people in kind, by a pleasant necromancy. Nothing could be better managed, and my aunt enjoyed, to use the language of old Du Deffand, a grand succÈs. I was put in possession of all this before Mrs. Fitzroy made her appearance. Frederick, who came next into the drawing-room, was now informed of all that had happened; and as to my two English comrades, they were at home in a quarter of an hour, a delightful reception for them having been doubly secured by their sponsors. Mrs. Fitzroy now completed our circle, in which Mr. Otway and Bentley had previously taken their posts, and a merrier group you never saw.

Mrs. Fitzroy deserves to be distinguished by a separate portrait, and therefore I must prepare my canvass, and endeavour to sketch her likeness. She appears to be about forty; her features are well defined; replete with intelligence, and when lit up by a gay expression, singularly playful and pleasing. Her faculties are strong and clear, her understanding comprehensive, and her mind apparently equal to any exercise of its powers which she chooses to put into action. She is evidently possessed too of considerable sensibility, which makes her peculiarly alive to whatever is interesting in the character of others. She and my aunt do not in the least resemble each other, but the difference between them is not such as to impede the growth of a very warm friendship. The young people are excessively fond of her, and her arrival at Glenalta is considered quite a jubilee. Though an English-woman by birth, and living almost continually amongst people of her own country, all her sympathies are Hibernian, and she has much of that raciness in her own composition which she says is so attractive a composition in the Irish. The delight with which she goes into the cottages to converse with the peasantry, is something very amusing to witness. She says that, "Irish thoughts are so fresh, and the expression of them so eloquent," that she feels as if transported amid a new order of beings. She seizes on every idea, presented in whatever guise, with such intuitive quickness, that she charms the poor people in return, and Tom Collins paid her an odd sort of compliment yesterday which brought tears into her eyes: "Indeed, God bless your honour, you're just as if you were bred and born in the bog among ourselves." This is her second visit to Ireland, though her first at Glenalta; and she runs about in raptures collecting traits of disposition which seem to have a native affinity with her own. I shall tell you more of her in a future letter.

We are to set out, a formidable muster, for Killarney, at six o'clock to-morrow, and I shall not seal this till the last moment, reserving my next exclusively for a report of our expedition. As I tell you every thing, I cannot conclude without mentioning a letter which I have lately received from my eldest sister, and which has caused me much disquietude; she tells me that my uncle the General is coming home from India, which is fully confirmed by a letter direct from himself to Mr. Otway, and it is my mother's wish that I should be in England when he arrives. What is still worse, there is an evident anxiety expressed by Louisa, who, I conclude, conveys the general feeling of the family conclave in this case also, that I should quit Glenalta directly. The rustication which I am enduring will, she says, totally disqualify me for polite society; my manners will become boorish, my person unsightly, and, in short, it is voted, that as it is supposed my health is perfectly re-established, I shall quit my banishment, and revisit the regions of civilization, which it is apprehended I may forget, if my recal be not speedy and imperative. Then certain hints are thrown out respecting Adelaide, and that ass Crayton, whose coronet, were it of ducal form, and decorated with strawberry leaves imported from Brobdignag, could never hide the length of his ears. How short a time has elapsed since these things which now perplex would have given me joy? I should have been thankful for a good excuse to bid adieu to Ireland for ever; and I should have thought my mother the first of human manoeuvrers, and Adelaide the most fortunate girl in London to have succeeded in hooking that first-rate blockhead, who, it is likely, I am told, may be my brother-in-law. Another subject of painful reflection is added to these, and it is a relief to my spirit to tell you all that oppresses it. Such a change has taken place in my own mind, that I see the character of others with new organs. My personal identity almost seems doubtful to myself, and I can hardly believe what is nevertheless true, that Louisa's letter, independently of the intelligence that it communicates, has shocked me in a manner difficult to be explained within my own breast, and scarcely possible to be expressed intelligibly to another. My sister's language is lively; she speaks of people familiar to me, of amusements in which a few months ago I used constantly to participate; of fears and hopes, in all of which I could have sympathized, and of events which would have excited my vanity and gratified my pride. Surely it is something savouring of magic that can have converted these things into their very opposites. You have often said that I was not formed for the society in which I was placed; that my character would have taken another direction had it not been trained by habit to a distorted deviation from its natural bias. Perhaps you were right; but, allowing that you were so, still I cannot account for the metamorphosis. Apply a ligature that shall bind the branch of a tree, or a limb of the human body, in any particular curve, and there it rests. The bark, the wood, the pith of the one; the muscles, tendons, arteries of the other, obey the rule of distortion, and the removal of restraint effects no alteration; the crooked will not become straight. On the contrary, here I am a changeling in my mother's house; I see all objects with new powers of vision, and such as, I lament to add, render me ill satisfied with those who stand in the relations to me which I have now learned to appreciate. With a mind just awakened to affection, and a heart just opened to the genial influence of domestic love and harmony, my feelings, which this soft climate of Glenalta has unfolded, are blighted by the very thought of Selby. Yes, I sicken at the bare idea of return, and a consciousness which I only felt before upon great occasions, now represents the whole mechanism of that artificial compact sealed by fashion in the most intolerable view to my imagination. I cannot call things by their old names; the words no longer appear to suit their purposes, and the new nomenclature, which now seems most appropriate, disgusts me. How can I apply the terms bold, indelicate, unfeeling, unaffectionate, to a sister, and not turn with horror from such sounds; or attribute the base design of selling a child's happiness, carrying a daughter to market, and disposing of her to the best bidder, with all the cunning and trickery of professed jockeyism—how can I attach such devices to the character of a mother, and not shudder as I write the word? Yet all this is but an unexaggerated picture of those relations, as I have hitherto known them; an epitome of that world in which I have had my being, and though a fugitive feeling, perhaps, occasionally whispered disapprobation, and I have now and then shrunk from certain violations of modesty or integrity in the conduct of those around me—such starts were but momentary. I quickly rejoined the beaten track, and pressed forward with the giddy throng. When I look at my aunt Douglas, I feel how I could worship such a parent. When I am with Emily, Charlotte, and Fanny, I say to myself, if I had such sisters how I could love them; then comes the sting, I have a mother, I have sisters, and my mind revolts from their society. Poor Ned of the Hill told Bentley that "man is never happy." He was right, Glenalta would be Paradise did not the unwelcome intrusion of such reflections disturb its felicity.

I was called away, or you might have had more of my melancholy musings. We have had a charming ride to-day, and seen some patches of scenery so beautiful, that I can hardly suppose any thing to surpass them at Killarney, but like the fine beryls which were shewn to you and me, that had been found in the Kremlin, and looked as if they were set in a mass of pewter, these favoured spots are surrounded by such savage wildness as I can scarcely describe. You could hardly imagine any part of the dominions which own a British Monarch for their Sovereign to present such desolation to your view as met our eyes in this morning's excursion; but now and then we lit upon an oasis in the desert, the fertility and romantic loveliness of which would teach the veriest wilderness to smile. Annesley, who sketches admirably, took some hints for his port folio, which will astonish you some time or other. Emily and Fanny were of our party, and are excellent horsewomen. Our guests were delighted, and we had another cheerful meeting at dinner, but the evening was marked by a discovery which has knocked up poor Russell's repose for this night, I fancy, if not for a longer season. You know his devotion to music, in which he excels, and you are aware of his enthusiasm in collecting national airs, amongst which he thinks none so melodious as the old Irish strain. When the harp and piano-forte were opened this evening, we were listening to a descant of Russell's on the favourite theme, when Frederick said, "I do think Charlotte that you might now accompany yourself. I saw you practising some days ago, and never heard you touch the strings more sweetly."

"I am only trying to recover a little of what I have lost," answered Charlotte, "but, if mamma does not say no, I will do the best that I can. My old Irish airs are in the dressing-room, will you bring them here?"

Till this moment I had never remarked that Emily or Fanny had always accompanied, and that Charlotte only joined in glees and duets, which she sings with her brother and sister in excellent style; but just before I came to Glenalta she fell, as she was dismounting from her horse, and hurt one arm so much, that it has been ever since regaining its ordinary strength. In any other family your ears would have been persecuted from morning till night with the details of such an accident. At Selby, I know that Eau de Cologne, Arquebusade, and every nostrum ever invented, would have been arrayed, and there would have been an incessant demand on the attentions of every mortal throughout the house, but such is the difference of education, that self, in all its branches, is banished from Glenalta. I had nearly forgotten that Charlotte was hurt, and as no one boasted of her powers, I never heard a word of her peculiar talent in music till in this unpremeditated manner it was called forth by Russell's dissertation on the character of Irish melody. The book was brought, Emily saved her sister the labour of tuning, and Charlotte, for the first time, saluted our ears with such divine enchantment as quite baffles every attempt of mine to convey a sense of it to your imagination. Russell furnished a study to Mrs. Fitzroy, who was watching the variety of his emotion with the deepest interest. His account of Charlotte's music, perhaps, may give you the best idea of it that words can impart:—"it is not," he says, "earthly harmony. No mortal finger touches that harp; no human voice is uttered in the song; that strain floats in mid air, and the soft southern breeze has sighed through the strings"—

It is not in nature to conceive any expression of sorrow more penetrating than that which mourns in the wail of an ancient Irish ditty. Charlotte has contrived to procure several airs which are not in Moore's collection, and which carry internal evidence of antiquity in the irregularity of their rhythm, if I may apply such a term to music. No sea bird's note was ever more sweetly sad; and she has picked up translations from time to time of some poetical fragments which she has adapted with great taste, as well as judgment to the music, for which she has often been indebted to the peasants as they pursued their daily toil; not that they sing agreeably in almost any instance, I am told; the extreme barbarism which is induced by such poverty as reigns in the South of Ireland, is very unfavourable to the Muses; yet they will linger amongst a people who possess such uncommon tact in appreciating their charms, notwithstanding the homely reception with which they are obliged to be contented. A death-song (vulg. caÖne or keen), the words of which, I believe, are published in a late work on the Antiquities of this Kingdom, by Mr. Croker, and which Charlotte has set to an old howl that she heard a poor woman uttering (for singing would be a misnomer) with nasal twang, as she milked her cow, is the most heart-rending melody that I ever heard; and a march which she plays, to which the famous Brian Boirombh led his troops forward at the battle of Clontarf, is remarkable for a character of pathetic grandeur that I never found before in martial music. Russell's feelings underwent such excitement during the evening, that had not his sex preserved him from the simile, we should have compared him to a Sybil in the contortions of forthcoming inspiration. I now perfectly comprehend the pleasure which, I am informed, some of our first-rate public performers profess in exhibiting their powers to an Irish audience. The Irish feel music in the "heart of heart," and express what they feel with peculiar energy. Our English guests are bitten I promise you; I heard them both emphatically declare their gratitude to Mrs. Fitzroy for her introduction to this "charming family," but I must have a nap before we sally out upon Lake adventures, so fare thee well. On my return you may expect a budget.

Vale, vale, yours ever,
A. Howard.