New Ross, June 16, 1812

MY DEAR L.

You doubtless know that this town gained an unfortunate celebrity by a battle fought here in 1798, between his majesty’s troops and the Irish insurgents. I shall enter into no detail of it, but mention some particulars, which may assist you in forming a just opinion of this nation. It is said the rebels would certainly have succeeded in taking this town, but for the circumstance of vast numbers of them becoming intoxicated. Their plan was hot devoid of skill, and they advanced [69] to the attack with prodigious bravery. Perhaps they only wanted officers to be irresistible. Their numbers were very greats and, it was supposed, had they succeeded, they would have marched to Waterford. They repeatedly renewed their attack, and penetrated into the town in all parts. When the cannon of the army swept a long street, they afterwards divided themselves with great calmness and intrepidity to let the balls pass along. We were told of one man, who stood in a garden near a street where many of the military were, that fired with precision, again and again each time killing a soldier, till obliged to leave he position.

In another place, we were shewn the spot where a remarkable combat occurred. A very young Irishman was endeavouring quietly to make his way home from a battle in which his friends had totally failed. He was armed with a long and well-made spear or pike; a dragoon perceived him, and determined to cut him down. Others were about to join him, when some English infantry insisted that it should be a fair engagement between the two. The young man opposed his antagonist with great activity and courage; he wounded his horse, and, after a long struggle, finally killed the dragoon. He was permitted by the soldiers to return home without farther molestation. Is not this heroism worthy of the highest eulogium? Nor are the honour and justice [60] of the king’s troops less to be admired, who witnessed, we may say presided, at this very singular combat.

In this battle the people, as was natural, from want of discipline, arms, officers, and cannon, and the circumstance alluded to, were defeated, and lost every thing, if I may venture to use Francis the First’s words “except their honour.” In a military point of view, it certainly was a most extraordinary and valorous undertaking for these insurgents, destitute of every thing requisite for an army, to storm a town full of the king’s troops. I believe at one time they were considered to have possession of it, and the fate of the day was very doubtful. In fact, the Irish are naturally a military people, of strong and active bodies; bearing fatigue and want of food with great facility, meeting death with calmness and fortitude, sometimes with pleasantry, and, I had almost said, despising it. Such a people are always formidable to their own government, unless conciliated as well as regulated by an energetic hand.

In the rebellion of 1798, I imagine, they rose impelled by two powers: one party inflaming, their passions, and duping them by promises; another, goading and distracting them by cruelties and severity. The body of them were attached to the king.

We have often, in our walks, heard the farmer [61] and cottager praise his majesty in perfect sincerity and with warmth. They remembered his benefits and blessed his name, and as we went in the plainest manner and dress the testimony was quite unbiassed and honest. Such, my dear L., is one of the invaluable privileges of the pedestrian. Men dare speak truth to him as their equal; he becomes their companion and friend, and acquires that knowledge which more polished society could not give. Upon the whole, not more than 2000 rebels are said to have entered New Ross/

From the Barony of Forth* came a formidable body of sharp-shooters, as they have all fowling-pieces in that part of the country, and shoot well. They, however, left Ross before the battle ended, and it is believed did not much engage in it, being disgusted with the insubordination and confusion they saw. As they inhabit a quiet and fertile tract, great provocations must have been given before they were roused.

You will readily perceive what a tremendous instrument the spear or pike must have been, if

* The Barony of Forth were all forced to join the rebels in spite of their teeth, and after the defeat at Vinegar-hill, immediately returned peaceably to their homes. They are a sober, industrious, well-conducted set of men: indeed, the County of Wexford was generally forced out by the rebel leaders against their will.

[62] discipline and order had reigned among the rebels. On one occasion, we heard at Ross of a party of twenty-five dragoons attacking a body of pikemen. They opened, received them, and closed; not a man of the dragoons was alive in a few moments. Some respectable and impartial persons have, since I was at Ross, assured me, that the people of Wexford would never have become insurgents, being naturally orderly and peaceable, but for the excesses committed by the soldiery, such as the burning of houses, violation of females, and shooting the inhabitants. They have appeared to us people of very good conduct, applying successfully to agriculture, and more comfortable in every way than the people of Wicklow. This justifies such an opinion. But you ask me in a former Letter of your’s [sic], was this insurrection of 1798 a noble effort for liberty, founded on a plan likely to succeed? I shall answer you candidly; but assure you I wish to allude to no particular persons; to hurt no feelings; and to excite no resentment in one party or the other. It is an historical view I shall take of that disastrous period.

The successful effort for independence of the Americans had very much animated the mind of the Irish nation! They did not reflect that the cases of the two countries could never be similar. Their volunteers had acted an admirable part, but knew not where to pause; and began to deliberate [63] on public affairs when they should have retired to their homes.

The vanity of the nation was raised to a high pitchy by speeches and measures in parliament of lofty import, but little solid good; whilst Ireland was made to assume the tone of a great and independent nation, all within was misery and degradation, and no grand measure was attempted to relieve the body of the people from long continued, and various home oppressions. England was menaced, but Ireland really neglected by her loudest assertors of liberty!

When the French Revolution occurred, a new and worse flame was kindled; then his majesty and parliament wisely concurred in granting great relief to the Irish Catholics, in 1793. Till 1795 the country flourished in an unexampled manner; but the dazzling and infatuating example of Republican France, her victories, and her glowing declarations, speeches, and publications, began to have an effect on a people of equal sensibility; of military talent; and, certainly, long degraded and oppressed. The great grievances of the country had been left unredressed by the champions of 1783, when they had much in their power; pompous sounds had then occupied them: ministers had not much improved the old system: between both, the people still suffered. Ambitious leaders desire BO readier materials than a great and miserable [64] population. Such men arose in Ireland. Charmed, or deluded by the mania of republicanism in France, they resolved to make Ireland a republic, and the ally of France. The plan, it is believed, originated in the north of this country. Doubtless many leading men may have been inspired on this occasion with pure and benevolent motives, but they grossly deceived themselves, or were the dupes of designing and wicked characters, in forming a conspiracy that could not give liberty to Ireland; a thing she was then incapable of enjoying, and unable to support. Many of those who had been actors in 1782 had lost the moment of securing rational independence and liberal connection with England. They now pursued an ignis fatuus, and grasped at an impossibility. But minds heated by favourite views cease to reflect: how often do the people suffer from such leaders! An oath, or covenant, was disseminated, and rapidly taken by the people of the North of Ireland; Dublin and its vicinity followed, but for a long time the southern and western parts, the great Catholic body, looked coldly on, and never entirely or fully concurred.

The most inflammatory writings and papers animated the people. The very worst principle, on which to establish revolution — revenge — was too much and too efficaciously employed. At this crisis, the public mind became more inflamed [65] by the indecision, or mistake of the then English ministry. A popular nobleman was sent as Viceroy, who gave hopes of important relief and concessions to the Catholic body. He was suddenly recalled, and all those hopes frustrated. The Catholics were thus thrown into the hands of the conspirators: there is not sufficient ground, however, for exculpating Lord Fitzwilliam from the charge of rashness in his measures. It has not appeared on what plan he proceeded to arrange the affairs of Ireland.

I entertain the greatest respect and esteem for that nobleman; but apprehend he had brought no fixed plan in his own mind to Ireland; and gave way to party, rather than come, as a great legislator and governor ought, with a well-weighed arrangement for a divided country. He was not to follow the mere impulse of a benevolent mind. I believe the Irish party, with whom he acted had no statesman-like plans; we have never heard of them. Lord Fitzwilliam should, like Solon, have given the fittest constitution for the whole nation, including Protestants and Catholics. He was opening barriers, and raising no mounds. He would have left the Catholics dissatisfied, and the Protestants inflamed. It must be admitted, that there seems a want of plan in the minister himself. Ill events followed. The conspiracy assumed a dreadful aspect. A French alliance was formed. Money [66] was raised, bodies of men trained and disciplined by night, arms prepared, and a supreme directory of five leading persons created. Had Prance conveyed a force into the country at a proper time, it is impossible to pronounce the result. It arrived too early, and, by some mistake, the troops returned without disembarking. Suspicion and fear were now roused in the Irish ministry. Great severities were unwisely permitted, and the cause of the conspirators thereby strengthened. It seems to me, if I may venture to give an opinion, that some powerful and commanding genius was wanting amongst these leaders. Such a man might, for a time, have triumphed over England, and acquired glory an Kosciusko did. He would have wanted officers; and envy, perhaps, amongst his particular associates, would have wrought his fall; but in every valley, and on every mountain, he would have met genius and military ardour. If he had made a defensive war, he would have found a Tyrolese or Swiss people to lead, and when he breathed his last for liberty, that people would have enshrined him in their hearts, and the brave English themselves would have respected and pitied him. But no such man appeared. They are the blossoms of a century, and often come too early, of too late in their season, to be enabled to bear such fruit. But the conspirators appear to have placed every thing on a wrong basis. [67] Just independence, and participation of rights, with a friendly and close connection with England, might have satisfied any real patriot. They sought alliance with the despotic military governments of France, which must have ended in complete submission. They declared against England as a most cruel enemy, though joined by so many bonds of affection, language, intermarriage, and mutual good offices. Their proclamations stirred up the most vindictive feelings, and tended to produce tremendous blood-shed.

The form of government chosen by them was bad, and destructive to liberty. Nor is it probable those directors, who were selected to preside over it, would have held their station long. A love of power, more than honourable desire for constitutional rights, is too prevalent in Ireland. It is the morbid fruit of long degradation, want of education, and of continually defective , government. Divisions and bloodshed would have been the fruit of the conspirators’ toils, until a French Prefect, or English General, threw his word into the scale, and terminated them.

Treachery, however, (previous to the rebellion of 1798) did more for the Irish ministry than they could do for themselves. They were by it relieved from a perilous situation, which their too loyal adherents had made dreadful. The principal conspirators were arrested, and the [68] rebellion which followed was, rather the effervescence of a warlike and ill-used population, than a regular attempt to overthrow the English government. Nevertheless, many severe actions were fought, and the king’s troops were frequently defeated by these mistaken but incomparably brave people. Many heroic acts were performed in a vain struggle which had no end in victory. More numerous executions followed than the historian will contemplate with pleasure; and which, in some measure, discredit the ministry of the day, and the lustre of the British sceptre. But the times were awful, and the strides of the French to universal power alarming. I, who well know the disposition of the Irish, can assert, with safety, that they are easily won by kindness, and may be more beneficially governed by it,' than by the fear or inflictions of death. These executions left a rankling sting behind, which will long be felt.

The Irish are affectionately attached to their relatives, and long resent their loss. The torture and violences used during the rebellion, though in some peculiar cases of dangerous emergency (from malignant characters directing the people to the worst designs), perhaps excusable, in some degree, yet were to be lamented as offensive to the usages of civilized life, and uncongenial to a free constitution. However, we must allow for the times, and also the alarm French revolutionary [69] violence had given to men of property. The sanguinary proclamations also of the leaders of the rebels must have irritated, as well as terrified, the gentry into the strongest measures of precaution and self-preservation. When lenient measures were at length adopted, the country soon subsided into tranquillity. The principal conspirators were banished, and all parties began to look with horror on past scenes. This country, for a time so convulsed, is completely peaceable and harmonized. I have heard that one hundred thousand lives and more were lost in the whole, between the king’s army, the military of Ireland, and the people. But the population does not now appear at all diminished.

In this distressing short civil war various events occurred, as I have heard related on our tour, which place the Irish character in a high point of view. The female sex, with their usual tenderness and fidelity in this island, gave many bright examples of real heroism.

I have endeavoured to answer your question, but not without much pain. This unhappy people have suffered so much in former times, that my heart bled at recalling those recent scenes of misery. True, the chief actors had passed from the stage before I could appear on it; but the sensibility of this people is so great, and they are so easily contented with a little, that I can fully conceive that much pains and art; in addition to [70] their sufferings, must have been used to rouse them; and that, when involved, they may have been carried too far, and, in the end, been agonized in a multitude of ways. The Catholic body and their clergy, on the whole, remained firm to the throne. They never coalesced with the northern republicans, and this, it may be safely said, saved the state. May such scenes of horror never be renewed, and may both countries learn a useful lesson from the past! The one to make Ireland happy; and against happiness who will rebel? The other, to substitute a juster way of thinking, for any unreasonable antipathy to England, and to aim at rational and sufficient independence, instead of licentious liberty! always engendering, as it does, the worst government — military and despotic.

After I had written so far of this letter, which I began last night, we resolved to go today into the county of Kilkenny, to see Graig, and the beautiful ruined abbey there. It was fine looking weather, and the walk only eight miles. The road is wild, but picturesque enough. Yet it must be said that the want of trees, beyond measure, injures and, indeed, destroys the picturesque in Ireland. Venerable trees, (almost in ruins themselves), hanging over an old castle, or the moss-grown cottage, are always a fine part of the rural picture. The Kilkenny mountains appear to advantage in this walk. We passed [71 rapidly along a dry and stony road, and boon reached the Barrow, near Graig. It is there a very beautiful river. Graig soon appeared, and has the.air of an old Welch village. An ancient castle stands in mournful solitude at some distance. .Some small mountains hang over the Barrow, under which you pass along its banks towards this town. The whole population here and in the surrounding country is Catholic. Graig contains about two thousand inhabitants: it has no manufacture, little trade, add seems very poor. The people of Kilkenny are decent, well-dressed, and very civil: — the women. handsome. The celebrated abbey of Graignamanah now struck our view. I cannot describe how nobly venerable it looked. The aisles and arches afford beautiful specimens of the Gothic The. windows we thought remarkably handsome. The abbey was well enclosed, and good gates at different entrances. A very ancient tomb is to be seen near the entrance of the abbey. The figure of a man in armour is seen on it, and is said to be Lord Galmoy’s. He is reputed, I know not why, to have been a son of queen Elizabeth’s; We discovered a very small chapel, built and connected with this venerable abbey. A holy gloom seemed to pervade it. Crimson curtains nearly shut out the glare of day. We observed a few respectable people crossing the grand and deserted aisles of the great building, and enter [72] this chapel to perform their devotions. Never was place more suited for the solemnity and tranquillity of religious worship. These harmless and pious creatures stayed a short time and retired. I left my companions, and rested half-an-hour in a seat in the gallery. It is a melancholy, yet sweet moment, when the soul is thus abstracted from the world. And the melancholy is pleasing, for in such solitude we converse with the Deity, and repose all our cares and anxieties in his paternal breast.

I rejoined our small party in the ruins, and we set out on our return. As we passed under the mountains, the Barrow again foamed and struggled on his way. An ancient fisherman threw his long line for salmon across the river. The evening breeze rippled it, and sighed along the mountain sides. We reflected with concern that we should never see Graignamanah in its venerable ruinous state again, as it is thought a large and commodious chapel will be formed with part of the walls; — another instance of false taste; for I do not except the celebrated abbey of Tintern, in Monmouthshire, when I say that nothing could be found more venerable and beautifully interesting in the empire than Graignamanah abbey. I send you a pretty drawing of it with this letter; which a gentleman residing near it was kind enough to give to me.

We returned to Ross, pleased and gratified [73] with our excursion In short, my dear L., we are more and more pleased with this interesting people. Far from the metropolis, unmixed and unvitiated; — intelligent, decent, and friendly, they soon engage one’s affection and respect. Yet is there a degree of melancholy visible on the countenances of too many, of which I wish every trace was removed. Rents are becoming intolerably high, and every other pressure increases on them. Add to this that they know they are a degraded cast in the state - know it well — and feel it most sharply. The high sense of honour this people have, makes them acutely sensible to whatever appears an affront; and they deem their long degradation both a grievance and an insult. They are not, therefore, happy. Statesmen judge superficially, when they say, the lower classes in Ireland desire not political relief. It is to rate their understandings far below their value, and their memory of the past too slightly.

Reflections similar to these beguiled our way, and brought us to Ross in the evening, to a comfortable repast, and welcome rest. How well seasoned by hunger is the pedestrian’s meal! How sound his repose! To-morrow we propose going to Dunbroady Abbey, erected by Harvey de Monte Marisco, uncle of the Carl of Chepstow. We are told it is a very fine one, and pleasingly situated. Harvey de Monte Marisco was an able and experienced warrior who did the English much [74] service in Ireland, but suffered many vexations, as most all these warriors did, from various causes. At lengthy worn out with military fatigues, and disgusted with the world, he formed the resolution of retiring to Dunbroady which he had built and endowed. There the warrior spent the evening of his days, and closed a turbulent life in cloistered repose.

The pen falls from my hand, and I gladly retire to rest, assuring you how truly I always am

Yours, &c..

New Ross, June 70, 1812.

My Dear L.

This morning we prepared for our excursion, by providing ourselves with dinner, which we carried with us. The walk from New Ross to Dunbroady is, at the commencement, very pretty. The views near it are often most beautiful. The country, however, soon became uninteresting, and very little of the picturesque was to be seen. The Irish language is almost universally spoken. We saw many wretched cottages, but no want of inhabitants was any where perceptible. I am sorry to observe public-houses in general too numerous on the road-side. But the absence of trade and manufacture makes many resort to such establishments, [75] as the only way of making money, and the habits of the people in this moist climate too much concur to support them. Intoxication often disgraces and ruins the Irishman, and Mr. Mackenzie, in his admirable ballad of “Will and Jean,” too faithfully describes the fate of many an Irish couple. In fact, drinking spirituous liquors is one of the most prevalent and fatal vices in Ireland. It obliterates all the fine feelings and virtues of youth, and makes them careless of a future state, negligent of their families, and bad subjects and neighbours. I have no doubt that constant and excessive drinking of spirits harden and render the character ferocious. The temper becomes peevish or sullen; industry hateful; and all remonstrance of friends unpleasant. A faithful monitor, who endeavours to restrain the victim to such ruinous indulgence, grows odious in his eyes, and domestic life unpalatable. In the public-house the worst characters too often assemble — the vain, the profligate, and the idle. Low and base flattery sweeten the pernicious glass, as long as the drinker’s purse is supplied; and the habit grows interwoven with his happiness. When money fails him, he must and will procure it, by any dishonourable means. His credit must be sustained. The coolness of his reception, when he manifests poverty, at his favourite house, cannot warn or detach him. He grows a dangerous and detestable character in [76] society. His mind becomes retrograde; and brutality of manners, with too frequently cruelty of hearty distinguish him. He becomes fit for desperate enterprize, for lawless and midnight deeds, and is soon one of the worst members of the state: Death in removing him “ere half his race be run” makes no chasm, and bestows on his family and society the greatest relief they could experience. There is no country where this vice has been more triumphant than in Ireland; but there certainly is much improvement in recent days in this respect. The rebellion of 1798, and the distresses of the times, have given it a check: more civilized manners are spreading. If the legislature amply encouraged the use of malt liquors, by reducing the tax on malt to a very slight one, and the licence on ale to be lowered, while they pressed heavily on distillation; and, if the gentry took pains to encourage the use of good ale, a beneficial change would soon result in Ireland. But the tower of Dunbroady appears, and we hasten to it. We soon approached it.

It had been a large and magnificent abbey. Its ruins are still noble. These abbeys were built in the form of a cross, with a very grand and lofty square tower springing from the central part. The aisles, the windows, the cells, and halls of the friars are very perfect at DuBray, and the traveller can scarcely any where discover a more venerable pile. It was the great feature of the [77] times to erect such buildings. Every violence or enormity of the great was sought to be expiated by erecting them, and they frequently afforded a tranquil refuge when misfortune, or that weariness of the world natural to man at some period or another of his life, induced them to retire there.

The situation of Dunbroady Abbey is eminently beautiful. It is placed at the confluence of the Suire and the Borrow, which form here a noble and spreading stream. Verdant and gently undulating meadows spread around it, and touch the water-edge. The opposite Waterford coasts, and distant mountain-scenery on all sides, render the scene strikingly fine. Alas! it wants the umbrageous foliage which, doubtless, once graced and decorated every walk. Gardens, orchards, and groves, have disappeared. The lonely and almost awful ruins of Dunbroady sit in naked solitude on the edge of the whispering waves. The “pealing anthem” no longer “swells the note of praise.” Clergy, attendants, the poor fed at these gates, the benighted traveller, Harvey de Monte Marisco, wandering dejected and old, on the green margin of the lovely rivers, all are gone! No sound reverberates through the lofty aisles — the humblest friar, and the warrior allied to royalty, sleep undistinguished in the grassy grave! Nature still blooms — her vegetative powers have suffered no change; the [78] meadow is still green, and, with her plastic hand, she adorns the mouldering and yet proud walls of Dunbroady with moss and ivy, and dresses the frowning ruin with careless elegance. Ah, my dear L., dare I tell you how deeply this contemplation affects me! What is man, that he exults in the short pride of a passing hour! Why does he hoard his imaginary wealth, and doat over the foolish accumulation of time! Why does he devote two-thirds of his life to the pursuit of what, at length, he cannot enjoy, or long retain! and which he bequeaths to some secretly ungrateful heir, panting for his departure and the seizure of his wealth. Why does he restlessly seek for some vain and swelling addition to his name, and when he has obtained it, fancy himself elevated above his brother man, till the fierce hands of disease and death convince him how egregiously he has deceived himself! Why does he rage in war, and hurl destruction amongst thousands, making innumerable widows, orphans, and desolate homes in one direful day! Why does he bum for a throne, and seated on it, whether inherited from ancestors, or obtained by a profusion of blood and crimes, why does he despise his fellow-men, and form idle schemes of pageantry, as if he were immortal! Why does he assume the hypocrisy of religion, and, fastening on the frailties of others, disguise his own, and surreptitiously try to forestall the benevolence of [79] Heaven! Why all these foolish efforts for pre-eminence and power, which cannot last longer than the passing moment! Who was greater, or more honoured than Harvey de Monte Marisco? Who among men is now more forgotten or neglected? We could not any where trace the warrior’s tomb! Dark and mysterious eternity — into thy bosom how many millions have passed since this vast globe was clothed with animal and vegetative life by the Creator, and gently impelled into the azure confines of space, to revolve round its brilliant centre, with* majestic career! How must the immortal Lord of all despise the avarice, the ambition, and the hypocrisy of creatures born to fulfil lits great purposes of wisdom and benevolence, but counteracting them by the meanest passions, and most ridiculous pride.

Harvey de Monte Marisco had been, in the latter part of his career, rendered unhappy by his struggles for superiority with Raymond le Gros, a more successful and popular general. Earl Strongbow, the army, and the English government, had favoured the latter. Harvey though a great man, appears to have been envious; the fault, in general, of little minds. He was tormented by beholding the success, and witnessing the promotion, of his rival. He long struggled, and not ineffectually, against Raymond’s claims to superiority. At length age, and the good conduct and fortune of his popular antagonist [80] concurred to make him abjure the world. He retired for ever to Dunbroady abbey, and left to Raymond the undisputed field of ambition and glory. Perhaps he found true happiness at last. Perhaps in the cultivation of a garden, in his walks in the truly charming environs of Dunbroady, in the exercises of religion, and the conversation of learned and good men, he found more pleasure than he had done from the tumult of war, or gratification of ambition. Doubtless, too, he may have had many acts of severity, and some of injustice towards the native Irish, to regret and to endeavour to make his peace with Heaven lor: unfortunately, we have no record of this celebrated man’s life. We know not who, if any, visited him in his retirement; whether he ever revisited Wales or England, to take a last view of the natale solum, or at what age he died. There was, however, something of dignity and just disdain of the world in quitting the stage voluntarily, as Harvey de Monte Marisco did. Too many men cling to profit, to place, and to emolument, till decrepid age makes them despised by their junior rivals, fast treading on their heels, and anxious to run the same career they have done. Harvey was not one of those. We regretted we could not discover the brave chieftain’s tomb: we were prepared to look on it with respect, and to bestow on it a tear. He was valiant, and of much skill in war, but his abilities [81] were not of a shining nature. He was one of the first and original leaders in the great enterprise of assisting Dermot, King of Leinster, against a weak despot, and his prudence and caution must have materially contributed to its early success, No great blemishes of rapacity attach to him.

At length we took our leave of Dunbroady, with a pensive regret; On our return we found a cottage where we made a short repast and were received with much civility and hospitality. As we had sufficient time, we determitted to ascend a small mountain, called Kieve [sic for Slieve?] Cailté in the neighbourhood of Dunbroady. This I recommend to all pedestrians, who despising fatigue as we did, and admire the glorious views of nature obtained by ascending to such elevations. We soon ascended Kieve Gailté though the ascent was laborious enough. What a prospect from its green and level summit! How animating, how varied, almost divine! On this beautiful and romanltc eminence, the insurgents had a camp in 1798, for a short time! This heightened the interest of the scene at Dunbroady Abbey, now distant, lay below us. Its ruins stood in melancholy [sic] grandeur on the magnificent river, of which, with its various windings to New Ross, we had an extensive view. Here and there it appeared divided into fine lakes; and a well-cultivated country, speckled with cornfields, and farm-houses, and villages, on all sides of them. The sun was sinking fast in the horizon. His [82] united gIories warmed and coloured the river, and its seeming [sic for teeming?] lakes, the surrounding mountains, and the far distant sea. The Wexford, Kilkenny, and Waterford mountains, formed a grand view at this golden moment. We descended quite delighted, and pursued our way to Ross. New pleasures awaited us to reward the toils of the day, and as it were, abridge our walk, by making us unobserving of its distance. We had scarcely proceeded a mile, when the moon arose from the mountain vale; she threw her silver light on every cottage, in all of which we heard Irish spoken as we passed through the valley; — the inmates were all usefully employed, and very cheerful. Our walk grew quite enchanting; we saw numerous bonfires lighted up on the surrounding hills and mountains, and their sparkling radiance was wonderfully pleasing. Suddenly the cuckoo, startled by some peasant, or thinking it was still day, flew through the fields near us, and joined her well-known notes to the rural sounds, every where so pleading to our ears. It was Midsummer-eve, and this practice of lighting bonfires in Ireland on that evening is, I believe, universal, and most religiously preserved. It occurred very happily and opportunely for us. It seems to be a very old custom, existing before the Milesian invasion, and, consequently, long before the introduction of Christianity into Ireland; announcing the future decline of the year, and the [83] shortening of the days. In dark and remote ages of antiquity, I should also think the sun “was worshipped in Ireland, and that the bonfires of this Midsummer Eve were one of the ceremonies of that worship.* Be that as it may, they had a delightful effect on our walk this evening. Among the peasants and farmers we found the greatest urbanity. They directed us with friendly care, and as most of them spoke English as well as Irish, we found no difficulties, though we returned to Ross by a different and more romantic walk than in the morning. The placid lustre of the moon lighted the now reposing world. Every thing harsh in the landscape was softened down, The want of trees was no longer felt; we scarcely perceived the way till we arrived at Ross. We. have been greatly gratified by our visit to Dunbroady. How much I regret that you and Mrs. L. could not have been with us! Believe me, however, my dear L. yours, &.

* The name of Baal is preserved in many appellations in Ireland, and be is supposed to have been the heathen deity worshipped before the introduction of Christianity. The manner of his worship is also indicated. Several places are called Beltony, a corruption of Baal tinné, the fire of Baal. In the county of Donegal, near Raphoe, is a town-land of this name, in the centre of which stands a circular enclosure of upright stones, with an altar, which the tradition of the country points out a, having been an altar on which fire %i as ofiVied to. Baal. In the Highlands of Scotland, where Gaelic or Irish is spoken, the tree burnt at Midsummer-eve is called the Beltane tree, anii the fire lighted in Ireland is universally called Balthin.

MY DEAR L.

We left New Ross this morning after breakfast: We previously walked on the heights above the town: hence the wooden bridge made by Mr. Cox, some years ago, is observed, and proves a handsome object over the noble river, flowing past Ross. We explored a beautiful path-way along the bank I mentioned before, and were, amused at beholding the lime-stone and sand-boats passing down, whilst large, muscular, and fine-formed men, standing erect, rowed them with the stream: their loud conversation in Irish, and vehement gestured, as they passed, made a novel and animated scene. They return with great labour, bringing up loads of sea-manure and sea-sand into the interior of the country.

It is quite surprising what vast labour Irishmen will undergo, and with very little food. In the river near the town we also perceived great numbers of small cots, in which men were fishing for salmon, which are plentiful here, and sent to Dublin from hence; it is sold in these parts at two-pence halfpenny the pound. Fowls, butter, vegetables, and meat, are also very reasonable in price. If no party prejudices interfere, I know [85] no town more desirable for a respectable and tranqail retirement in Ireland than New Ross. From some gentlemen in it we experienced much civility, and we left it with regret. Having arrived at this point in our tour, I cannot help recurring to a subject which in Wicklow, Wexford, and Kilkenny, has powerfully forced itself on the mind. You will always recollect, too, that I do not give you the theories of the study, but the reflections arising from recent and close observation.

This country seems to me to have been populous from time immemorial. In one mode or another the island has always produced great quantities of food, and it has been reserved foar modem days and modern avarice to drain it away by exportation, in a manner very injurious to the great cities, and inhabitants at large. Population is either a blessing or a curse to a state; not, as the ravings of vanity make it, a source of exultation and an undoubted mark of prosperity. It supplies the despot with vassals and soldiers; or agriculture, manufacture or commerce, with useful hands. From the most ancient history of Ireland we derive no pleasing and satisfactory evidence of its having been at any time well distributed, and happily and generally employed. It may once have been so, for the traces of agriculture on mountains, and the presumption that, before the formation [86] of bogs, all the land was in a better state than we have seen it, favour the idea, as well as the hardly distinguished and glimmering tradition that the island was once peaceful and happy. But in the view history permits us to take, we behold the population of Ireland always a source of misery to herself and her governors down to the present moment. Her petty kings unfortunately found in it materials wherewith to form so many little despotisms, and to feed their intolerable pride and rapaciousness. No country on earth exhibits such scenes of anarchy and blood, as Ireland in those times of her kings, of whom stie has been so unreasonably proud. Cooped up in small island, without shipping, or much intercourse with Europe, the unhappy population, victims of not one, but twenty, or thirty bad governments, were literally the materials used by these royal gladiators, wherewith to renew continual battles and invasions. The happiness of the population was little studied by men devoured by all the violent and uncorrected passions of the human heart. “Quicquid delirant Regis, plectuntur Achini” could never be better applied than to the Irish people, before the arrival, and indeed before the name was known in Europe, of the English.

The radical fault in the government of Ireland was such, it could not be otherwise, as to the miserable population. Every king sought [87] to defend himself or enlarge his territories Could such characters have leisure for introducing manufacture and commerce, and improving agriculture? Their vassals, or rather slaves, were trained to a lawless, violent kind of life, suiting each despot’s purpose. The people were consequently unhappy, and, as well as the soil, unimproved. The natural consequence in the end was, that they, did not resist the English when they entered the country. The interest of twenty or, thirty despots was not theirs. Ireland could have felt no greater blessing than this intervention, if a wise, liberal, and impartial administration of affairs had then ensued, in place of the dreadful system by which her population had been so long previously afflicted. A very different result followed. No English monarch of sufficient abilities applied himself to this noble undertaking, and Ireland’s population continued a curse to herself, and began to cause a serious drain of troops and money from England. The great English captains in time became little despots, and joined the Irish chieftains, by assuming their manners and language, and by intermarriages in their families; religion was then the same. The Irish princes still held formidable power. There was but one line for the English government to pursue, and they disregarded it. It was to make the population happy, by imparting English law, privilege, and protection [88] universally. This was to sap every despot’s power, whether of English or Irish extraction. To this purport all the well-disposed, but suffering people petitioned Edward the First to grant them protection and the English laws, in the year 1278, and renewed their prayers in 1280. The king had the best intentions, but faction prevailed against this poor people, as it has too often done with English sovereigns. Again they petitioned in Edward the Third’s reign; again were baffled by the same means. Misrepresentations of this unhappy people provoked the king, and instead of wise concessions and benevolent protection, he treated the Irish as savages and outlaws: we have scarcely any thing on record more affecting than this cry of a whole population to the throne, imploring protection from the despotism of the great men of the day, and nothing more shocking than the refusal of their petitions! These steps, in the reigns of Edward the First and Third, were clearly the acts of the population, guided by moderate residents of English and Irish births and they spoke with the audible voice of good sense, pointing out great public good, which kings should never refuse to listen to! Exasperation, perpetual wars and discords followed the impolitic conduct of the English kings. So miserable had the country become in the reign of Henry Fourth, that we find an Act of Parliament made against the emigration [89] of the wretched population, whilst they could not be admitted to the privileges of the English, as they had implored, provided with sufficient employment, nor in any manner protected from the despots of the day.

In the contention of the Houses of York and Lancaster, by the irruption of Edward Bruce and his Scots, and the frequent bloody civil wars, which England’s own want of policy very much nurtured and caused, the population of Ireland was greatly diminished, but still not materially impaired, when the statesmen of Elizabeth’s day conceived the most crude and inhuman idea that ever occurred to rational men! Contemplating the perpetual disturbance of Ireland, a country they never had seen, and knew only by misrepresentation, never unfolding, with the hand of impartial consideration, the page of history, and blinded by the false, petty, and mercenary thought of obtaining great confiscations of land for England, of which she had gained sufficient for all her purposes, these men formed the plan of settling Ireland, as it was called, entirely with English. In plainer terms, the plan must be pronounced one of extermination. What a bribe for needy adventurers, desperate soldiers, profligate courtiers, and avaricious men! A whole island! Sancho Panza did not fly to the government of his island with more zeal and rapidity than did this host of locusts. Every man [90] was in fancy a governor. They construed the decree for settling Ireland, as they would have done an Act of Parliament for destroying vermin. The population of Ireland was to be removed, or cooped up. The spirit of the Statutes of Kilkenny under Clarence was revived, and the impolitic and sanguinary plan of an almost fiend-like devastation of this beautiful island prepared. Much as I revere and admire the glorious character of your Elizabeth, my dear L., I can, neither approve of her conduct, nor absolve her from much of the blood spilt in Ireland in pursuance of this detestable and ignorant kind of policy! a policy which had not altogether ceased till the reign of his present majesty, which, like the star of morning, has arisen in this long benighted land, to cheer it with its lovely rays! The population of Ireland presented to Elizabeth and her ministers, the fairest 6eld for exercising talents in government, and for repairing the long course of error in their predecessors! Must I touch a jarring string? Religious party-rancour inflamed these statesmen; her majesty I exonerate from that charge; her noble mind was above the odious feeling, but she acceded to the views of her English ministers, and listened to the misrepresentations of her Irish government too readily. Some expressions of hers are handed down, as encouraging the idea of extirpation by that of confiscation, which I shall not relate. I [91]love not to dwell on the faults of a truly great character, and whilst in my mind, the unprincipled, cruel, and vicious monarch deserves severe chastisement from the historian, or historic writer, I would throw a veil over the casual blemishes of a great sovereign, encompassed by difficulties as Elizabeth was! I always reverence royalty when it respects itself. The plan of settlings which Elizabeth’s forty years war did not accomplish; which the pacific but unfeeling James; the coldly tyrannic Charles; the sanguinary Cromwell, and the voluptuous and contemptible Charles the Second pursued; and from which the virtuous and magnanimous William is not quite clear; at length totally and signally failed! What an alarming and direful precedent in Europe, if it had succeeded; and the once sacred isie of the muses been made a lonely desert! “Quando desertum, faciunt pacem appellant” was always the language of tyrants. What falsehood; and misrepresentation must have been used by a thousand petty ones to blind the penetrating and really liberal mind of the immortal Elizabeth! Providence frowned on a plan of “settlement” which must destroy so many of the creatures of its hand, and the more deserving its pity as having endured so much from fellow man! The population of this island could not be wiped away by little expedients and partial military expeditions. [92]

An Englishman, and a great man too, introduced in the reign of Elizabeth, a vegetable root, which has more counteracted the system of colonising by depopulating, than all the most vigorous efforts of the Irish could have done. The potatoe [sic] was brought to the south by Sir Walter Raleigh, and by its extraordinary spread, has put the question to rest for ever. When vast portions of land were parcelling out, with not much more consideration for its inhabitants than for cattle, this gallant English warrior presented this island with the germ of such inexhaustible future food,* as has contributed [93]

* It has been questioned by many, whether the introduction of the potatoe [sic] in Ireland has been, upon the whole, so great a blessing as it may appear to be, and as it has been generally considered. If the facility with which it is obtained, has not induced indolence amongst the poorer classes, and thus helped to keep alive ihat pride which forms so remarkable a feature in the Irish character; and whether, depending too much upon this food, they are not disposed to indulge in indolence, for which they compromise their health.

The very cultivation of it seems to enjoin the necessary accumulation of every kind of filth and dirt, under the denomination of what the author of Waverley, in his description of Scotland, “sixty years since,” calls the “family dunghill.” The situation of this receptacle of all kinds of dirt, this emporium of corruption, close to the door, oftentimes the only inlet to the vital air of the inmates of the abode, is frequently unavoidable, from the want of back ground to the cabin. When the hot weather sets in, fever is the necessary consequence, aided, I may say perpetuated, by the raggedness and poverty of the [93] too easily contented inhabitants. Where there are no poor laws, or provision of any kind, for infirmity and old age, and where the wages are but small, and the families in general large, it is hard to blame the cottager, or attribute to his habits or inclination, what probably is the result of necessity. As, however; many of the rich have fallen victims to this terrible scourge of man, it is to be hoped self interest will induce exertion, and that efforts will be made throughout the country to eradicate the cause. Much has been done in the metropolis. Let the country follow the example, and co-operate in the suppression of mendicity and filth, the nurse of disease. That it is an Herculean task, there can be but little doubt. It is one, however, that is to be performed, provided the higher ranks set their shoulders to the work; provided that every parish would act in unison; be willing to make the necessary sacrifice to receive the aged and infirm under their protection, to employ the young and effectually to check the wandering habits of the poorer classes. Contamination is too frequently spread in Ireland by an intercommunication of families peculiar to the people of this country. The wives and children of those who emigrate to England in the time of harvest compose these wandering tribes, or at least add to the number of the licensed beggars, and like them, wander through the island with their families. The women with a kettle, the children armed with a can each, and a dirty blanket fastened round their necks with a skewer, a moving and pestilential class of degraded and abject beggary, boding ill to man, and repaying the humble but kind- hearted cottager, who gives them a night’s rest, or perhaps invites them to partake of their scanty fare, with contagion, perhaps with death!

[94] mainly to raise up and multiply that immese population we now see; and which has overthrown, by its mighty and overwhelming [94] force, the feeble plans of Elizabeth’s and her successors’ reigns. The awful hand of Providence, which acts by mysterious ways, thus stayed and obliterated the designs of iniquitous men regardless of the lives and happiness of millions, and willing to counteract the very laws of Providence, to further their own mercenary or mistaken purposes! That this great well-spring of life can be. dried up in I;-eland, therefore, no one now thinks of asserting.

Modern governments must all now learn, that extreme compression of a population makes it more elastic. It imparts to it the powerful ingredient of the feeling of self-preservation. The sense of an attack on existence pervades the community like electric matter. If religious persecution be added to this compression, the population becomes invincible, and always foils its government in its attempts to coerce. The conscience of man cannot be assailed with impunity. Thus the whole power of Spain, then the greatest empire in Europe, could not exterminate the population of a few provinces, and a barren march. France could not destroy her Hugonots. England in vain attempted for centuries the plantation of Ireland, and eradication of its people. Population, tortured by impolitic coercion, is capable of the most serious re-action on its government: and that re-action temporary and severe laws never can conquer. It is an absolute absurdity in [95] legislation to attempt it. Man may be regulated and improved by laws; but they cannot change his nature, and take out of his heart those passions no doubt wisely implanted there.

Many English statesmen have bewildered themselves by endeavouring to annihilate all commotion in Ireland, whilst the cause of these commotions lay in their own conduct. Those engineers in politics have never thought of providing a salutary vent for what was overflowing, and began to be injurious: at length the mighty torrent has reached to their own feet! In the late rebellion of 1798, its awful movement was able, without leaders, without plan, without arms or ammunition; to send dismay into the councils of England; to terrify some individuals of her Irish government into preparations for flight; to invite the foreign enemy, and maintain a four month’s war against the whole power of England, her disciplined and well-supplied armies, and the yeomanry and militia of Ireland!

But, on the other hand, a great population ill-managed is equally unfortunate for the country itself. It generates every kind of misery; makes land high, as I have described in my second letter, and labour low; thus inverting the just older of things, and giving to the better classes an unnatural elevation over the body of the people. It affords a theatre for the inflammatory demagogue, and the baleful foreign emissary. [96] It makes men an article of export in time of war, and a useless drug [for drudge?], in the market at home, in time o( peace. Yet, what is so truly venerable? In it are found the patient and hardy cultivators of the soil! The ingenious mechanic and laborious tradesman — the sailor and soldier, the protectors of the empire — all the grand support and stay of human life. How melancholy that materials so invaluable should be ill-used by statesmen! How simple the remedies for their disorder! A good system pursued by landholders. Manufacture generally diffused — fisheries encouraged — commerce unshackled, inland and external — a salutary channel of emigration — and the just administration of constitutional and wise laws!

Ah! my dear L., what is it statesmen have so long feared, that has withheld their hands from better moulding the population here? Have they feared liberty? How mistaken! Have they not, by their fears, themselves generated and perpetrated the licentiousness of which they complain, and from which they have suffered. Liberty, by which I mean rational, internal independence, and security from internal and external tyranny, is not to be feared by statesmen. She is their safest ally against malignant faction, ambitious leaders, or the foreign enemy. Such liberty I hope may be granted Ireland, by wise and benevolent statesmen in England, before the evening [97] breeze sweeps over my grave. Then, and then only, will her population cease to be formidable to the empire. Its yet troubled and tumultuous waves will then, after the agitation of centuries, subside. This will prove as oil scattered on their rough surface, and all will be peace, strength, and wealth. But trifling measures can never operate these great results. May Heaven inspire the hearts of your countrymen, my dear L., to bestow, and also fashion the minds of men here, to receive, with gracious and mutual goodwill, such inestimable benefits! The sublime feeling of attempting, in the humblest manner, to accelerate such a consummation, almost overpowers me!

As our conversation and various reasoning on this interesting subject drew to a close, we saw the distant towers and battlements of Tintern Abbey. The cheering view of the sea behind it, and the verdant vale and beautiful village of Tintern, appeared peculiarly delightful after a long and fatiguing walk on a dull road. We had dined, in a small farm-house, on bread and butter, which we carried with us, and some milk which we procured. Do not smile at our simple fare; we relished it much; and pedestrians learn cheerfully to partake of what they can get.

It was the close of evening as we entered the village of Tintern. It was a peaceful scene; — a scene, I am sorry to say, too unusual in Ireland. [98] Neat and good cottages, with fine trees before them, in one large street, with all the appearance of happy, decent, and well-employed inhabitants, struck Qs with pleasing surprize. “Here,” cried I, “is what applies to our conversation. Here is a portion of Ireland’s population well-managed and happy. There will be no insurrection against the Lord and Master of this charming spot. Here are all the marks of a wise and beneficent hand;*' and in this I found I was not mistaken. The whole scene — the beautiful abbey situated on a small river surrounded by woods and lovely meadows; a rural church at a distance, embowered and hid in trees; and some farm-houses in the true English rural manner, pleased us very much. We almost fancied we saw the great Earl of Pembroke, the founder of the picturesque abbey before us, arrive, dripping from the sea, and making his pious vow to dedicate a religious building to heaven in gratitude for his escape. We felt in some measure proud in treading the ground which received, at that period, one of the greatest and best men England ever saw, William Mareschall, Earl of Pembroke, the guardian of his king, and the friend of the people!

We soon found an hospitable roof in Tintern, and in a pleasant little room, whence we could see a great deal of its simple and captivating beauty, and village scenery. We lost all sense of fatigue as we drank our tea. But it is quite [79] time to conclude this letter, and bid you heartily farewell.

I am, &c.

My Dear L.

The golden beams of the sun this morning poured fresh and encreased beauty around this place. I was sorry to perceive some symptoms of decay in the village, and found the proprietor of Tintern Abbey, to which his mansion is annexed, did not desire the village to be so near it. I grieve to think that in a few years this charming spot may lose all its cottages, and that animating soul of industry, cheerfulness, and peace, which now enlivens it.

Tintern Abbey belongs to Mr. Colclough, who was once confined in France under her late ruler’s fantastic and ill-tempered decree. Mr. Cæsar Colclough, a former proprietor, had greatly encouraged manufacture in Tintern. It once possessed thirty-six looms. Linen, diaper, check jane, and woollens, were woven in it. There was a yam market and market-house here-— no# no longer existing. Col. Colclough encouraged the [100] best workmen from all parts. There is still a good number of looms, and the village is yet respectable and interesting. It stands on a gentle declivity, running from bottom to top of it, and commanding a sweet view of the Abbey and demesne. The perspective is curiously beautiful from our window, as the figures rise or descend this pretty street, lined with fine trees. The inhabitants are orderly and obliging. Opposite our door is a family of Palatines, descended firom those brought over from Germany. Their large figures, good clothing, tranquil manners, remind one of the Flemings or Germans. At this moment there is an excellent rural family-picture across the street at their house. Some of the females sit on a bench under the shade of their own trees, knitting and sewing. The young men are preparing to go out to their farm: their horses are ready, good conditioned, and well taken care of. A respectable looking farmer, the father, directs them.

After breakfast we went to see the Abbey. It has nothing striking within, and is quite small compared to Dunbroady. We thought, however, that the arches of the windows and aisles were very handsome, and the top of the tower afforded us one of the finest views of the sea and country which we had seen. It is called the Lesser Tintern, to distinguish it from the Abbey of the same name in Monmouthshire in Wales, whence [101] its founder supplied it with monks of the Cistertian order. Though its interior is not very striking, it presents externally a roost beautifully picturesque as well as venerable object, on every side, and adorns the lovely valley, at the extremity of which it is placed, in the highest degree. The abbey came to the Colclough family in Queen Elizabeth’s time; I know not exactly how; perhaps by purchase from a family of Powers, who had contrived to eject the friars. Lady Colclough treated us with great civility.

Having wandered through the demesne, which is wild but not the less interesting, sufficiently to gratify ourselves with various views of the abbey, we resolved to walk in the evening to the spot where the English force first landed, which we understood was scarcely four miles distant. A plain and cheerful dinner awaited us in our village cottage. Pleased with all we had seen, and particularly with this abbey, we enjoyed it much. The evening promised to be fine, and, exhilarated and refreshed, we set out on this long wished-for excursion to Bag and Bun. Are you prepared, my dear L., to join the party, with all the anxious feelings we possessed? To view the promontory — where that army landed which decided the fate of this kingdom? In my first letter 1 spoke of tracing the steps of the English. Come then in idea, and examine with us the interesting ground, where these heroes landed. We shall soon arrive [102] there! I have called them heroes, for if we consider the smallness of their numbers, the military renown of Ireland, its popularity, and the turbulent character of its people, their enterprise must be deemed bordering, on romantic, and proceeding, from the most heroic fortitude and valour. Robert Fitzstephens, the leader of the little band, was a Welch gentleman of great valour and generosity. Though distressed,. he had refused to join a Welch chieftain in an insurrection against his sovereign, and rather than yield to his request, had suffered a long imprisonment. He was destined to be the first means of opening the way for the acquirement of a noble island for the same monarch.

In the summer of 1169, and month of May, he embarked with thirty knights, sixty men in armour, and three hundred archers, probably at Milford, for Ireland: and after a speedy and prosperous voyage, landed at Bag and Bun. Our walk there was short and pleasant, passing through Featherd, and very soon afterwards conducting us to the sea. We sprung forward to the spot! It is a small promontory, neither very high, nor projecting far into the sea. A creek, with a fine sandy bottom on one side, and a rocky inlet on the other, where the water is pretty deep, were the facilities Fitzstephens met with for disembarking his men. A considerable hill, on which is now a martello tower, (one of the formidable [103] defences against France in the iate war), overlooks the promontory. There is a trench, yet perfectly plain, cut across its neck, and something of a rude bank thrown up.

When we found ourselves on this long-desired place, a thousand sensations arose. Fitzstephens and his men had made a voyage of discovery, as well as a military attempt. All was new to them. They were completely to succeed, or annihilation awaited them. They had no spies — no agents in the country. Its language was unknown to them. If their ally the King of Leinster was unfaithful, or fickle — if he made peace with his superior monarch and oppressor — if death or sickness had overpowered him — if unanimity and patriotism were roused from their long and oblivious lethargy, and the country forgot their selfish broils, on the appearance of an external enemy — if Roderick had been deposed or died, and a great man, a warrior and stateman, had been found to fill his place — if any or all of these cases had occurred, the destruction of this warlike little band was certain!

Like Leonidas and his Spartans at Thermopylæ, they might have fallen honourably, and sold their lives dearly; but not a man had returned to tell the tale in England. They remained a few days without seeing enemy or ally. A few country people gazed at them with stupid wonder, and doubtless vexed to see petty marauders, [104] pirates and Danes in this way, little calculated what a change now threatened Ireland. Fitzstephens and Harvey de Monte Marisco acted in this awful moment with equal prudence and courage. They remained at the promontory of Bag and Bun — made no incursions into the county of Wexford — gave no provocation to, and committed no injury on the harmless people; and, resigning themselves to the care of Providence, firmly awaited intelligence from Dermot. That king had spent a winter of almost intolerable anxiety in the monastery of Ferns. His situation there was still more distressing than that of Fitzstephens on landing. He had applied to England for assistance. This must be known, if not then very soon, to the monarch of Ireland, his enemy. Certain destruction must follow, if his new allies disappointed him or delayed long.

Neither Henry the Second nor Earl Strongbow had acted in a decisive manner with the King of Leinster. The former was engaged with foreign affairs and wars; and at this time seems to have thought Ireland of too small consequence to bestow much attention on it. He left Dermot in a great measure to his fate. Strongbow acted a cautious and chilling part, and the most dangerous of all others to the King of Leinster; — he waited to see what would happen, and coolly sent his uncle, the gallant Harvey de Monte Marisco, to report to him the success of Fitzstephens, or to [105] perish in his dangerous enterprize! All depended therefore on Fitzstephens. His delay had already mortally alarmed Dermot, but at length he learned, with transports of joy, that he had arrived at Bag and Bun. His fears were at an end. He instantly dispatched his favourite son Donald, with five hundred men, to his assistance.

Until Fitzstephens and his men were certain that it was the King of Leinster’s troops who advanced, some painful moments must have occurred. Donald’s presence assured and saved the gallant band. The army of Dermot met the English warriors as friends, and this their first introduction into the country was neither by violence nor fraud. It was no invasion of a happy, well-governed, and prosperous people; but a junction, in open day, with the forces of an ally, according to treaty and stipulations. It was not like a modem conqueror and adventurer’s practice — the rousing the populace against their government and institutions which had made them happy, then sharing with them in bloody plunder, and finally deceiving and destroying all; — but it was supporting an injured ally, who had claimed protection against, perhaps, the most defective, and (whenever it had sufficient strength), the most vexatiously tyrannic government in Europe! Oh the Continent such an occurrence would have been obvious and natural. The insular situation of Ireland, and the false glare which has been [106] foolishly thrown round the wretched despotism of Roderick O’Ckmnor, and his brother kings’ governments, have given it the air of an unprovoked and unprincipled invasion.

As Maurice of Pendergast, a valiant Welchman, had immediately followed, and soon joined Fitzstephens with ten knights and two hundred archers, his whole force, when joined by Donald, amounted to forty knights, sixty men in armour, and five hundred archers. The King of Leinster soon followed his son, and received his new allies with equal joy and respect. Their treaty was ratified perhaps on this very spot of Bag and Bun, and mutual satisfaction prevailed. They resolved to march to Wexford, which was promised by treaty to Fitzstephens. That gallant leader sent round his shipping to that harbour, and all matters being fully adjusted, the united army of Irish and Welch departed from this memorable scene on their way to Wexford, which was garrisoned by Irish and Danes.

We could not but admire the successful valour of this gallant man. His superior mind made him discern all the advantages of a junction with Dermot in Ireland; but few would have had heroism, like his, to plan and execute the expedition with six hundred men. His great soul comprehended the benefits and the risk in one glance, and intuitively weighed both rightly; neither was he dazzled with one, nor overawed by the other. [107] Nothing is more easy, or usual, for common minds than to under-rate services or exploits which, once performed, appeared no longer difficult. Had not Fitzstephens made his daring attempt, Henry the Second might not have acquired Ireland. Strongbow was by no means an enterprizing character, and would probably have never crossed the sea; and Henry, in the multiplicity of his cares and vexations, must have forgotten that such a person as the petty King of Leinster existed. But the ways of Providence are inscrutable and grand. The means chosen by it, to work great ends, are selected by wise and invisible hands, and when they are accomplished, feeble man has only to admire the beauty and simplicity of the plan, of which his limited views afforded him no conception.

As we set out on our return from Bag and Bun, you may suppose Fitzstephens was the theme of our discourse, nor did we forget Harvey da Monte Marisco, the Ulysses of the expedition, the scene of whose last mortal retreat at Dunbroady we had so lately visited. Ungenerous and bigotted must the mind be, which cannot admire heroism even in a supposed adversary. I hope Fitzstephens is as much a favourite with you as he is with me. We shall presently see him in a most exalted point of view at Wexford, where we mean to follow his steps to-morrow, or the ensuing day. You will, my dear L., I am [108] convinced, do me the simple justice to thinks that I write my sentiments of the past and present in. Ireland, without any ignoble wish to court or gratify an English or an Irish interest in this country. I labour, or think I labour, for the interest of the empire. I reverence the valour, the integrity, and ability of Fitzstephens, as I do that of a Roman or Grecian. Posterity has to bestow on his name that meed of applause, heretofore too sparingly granted, and too long delayed. Assist me, my dear L., to raise the long slumbering warrior from his tomb; and let us choose the freshest laurel to crown his venerable brow. Shall not your muse, too, grace the long past glories of one of Briton’s elder heroes? Such pious efforts to revive and increase the honours of departed, and too much forgotten valour, may not be grateful to some unreflecting men, and will not attract the approbation of the voluptuous courts of modern times, on which I avow I look with calm indifierence, but they will not be despised by the generous and just. Mrs. L., too, shall bestow a poetic wreath on our hero, and her charming music thrill to his praise! From the moment Fitzstephens landed, the empire became one. Behold him then, as a true hero, consolidating its strength, civilizing a distracted portion of it, and devoting the rest of his life to these sacred purposes! He rises in awful majesty to our view, and we see the expansive minded [109] patriot and the undaunted general combined in him! The utility and solid glory of Fitzstephens’ successful enterprize, far exceed in value the splendours of the reigns of an Edward the Third or Henry the Fifth. Their exploits have left no trace behind; but those of Fitzstephens have contributed to form an empire, to give England a powerful domestic ally and friend, and to relieve Ireland from the many-headed hydra of, perhaps, a hundred despots, preying on her vitals, and perpetuating the grinding slavery of her devoted race!

As we passed through the neat town of Featherd, the sky began to be overcast, and to threaten rain; we quickened our step but in vain; a torrent descended, and we became in a short time completely wet. This is one of the casualties a pedestrian must prepare for; nay more, it teaches him to be a man; to bear patiently, and with cheerfulness, something of the hardships so many of our fellow-creatures, ill clad and badly fed, almost daily endure. We bore our wetting with perfect resignation, and arriving at Tintern, were quickly dried and refreshed. You will not wonder, however, that I hasten to bid you farewell.

Tintern, June 27, 1811

My Dear L.

We have employed several days in enjoying the beauties of Tintern and its environs, and experienced much civility from Lady Colclough, the present venerable lady of the abbey mansion; from her worthy agent, and from the clergyman of Tintern, Mr. Archdall, and also from the friendly priest of this parish, Mr. Doyle. Mr. A. inhabits a beautiful and tasteful cottage near this, and in the bosom of a charming family, and the most exemplary performance of his duty, leads a respectable life, well meriting, however, amore exalted situation in the church. This hospitality, and pleasing converse, have left an impression not to be erased. We have heard him too in his modest church, impressive, and elo* quent, so that those of his rural audience (a small one no doubt) that

“Came to scoff, remained to pray.”

His church is absolutely buried in trees and is highly picturesque. Mr. Archdall lives here in modest seclusion, as a gentleman and clergyman, and is beloved by every one in the vicinity. His kindness has completed the charm of Tintern.

The Priest lives three miles from this, and has a very genteel house and handsome gardens. He [111] complains that the excessive population of his parish makes his fatigues very great You may, probably, imagine that this body of men are sunk in vulgarity, and deeply tinged with antipathy to England. It is by no means so. We have breakfasted with several on our tour, and have met unaffected hospitality, and polished manners, in their modest abodes; sound understandings and excellent education distinguish great numbers of them. A better system would make them a host of strength to the government. As it is, they contribute powerfully (it must be admitted) to regulate a population possessing great sensibility and warm passions.

I should now mention, that this village produced, some years ago, a painter of some merit and natural genius. His name was Carey. He attempted historical and scripture subjects, and painted some altar-pieces for country chapels; we have not seen them, but we learn they do him credit. We saw some kind of cartoons done by him in chalks with spirited outlines. Poor Carey had bad colours, no encouragement, and having never been farther than Ross, had seen nothing to expand and improve his ideas and taste. He had considerable humour, and had contrived to read a good deal. But Carey made an unhappy marriage, and like Burns, also fell victim to early intemperance. His memory is still respected. This is the short story of one of the flowers, “born to blush unseen” [112] which have long sprung up, and thus withered in this island. We found several young men and lads here respectable scholars. To two of them I lent Pope’s translation of the Iliad. They both read the poem through with very little delay. The latter of them singled out the passage between Hector and Andromache, and said, “it was very mournful.” Among these people, where there. has been any cultivation of their minds, I find a strong taste for poetry, and much sensibility for its beauties.

We dedicated this evening to Clonmines, an abbey, or monastery, in ruins, a few miles from Tintern. We |ursued great part of our way by a small, wild country road, which had its own peculiar beauties, and frequent fine bursts of views of the sea. The remains of the monastery are most extensive, but have not the grandeur of Dunbroady, or elegance of Tintern. They are also scattered over a great deal of ground, and have therefore less effect. They are placed on an arm of the sea. I have observed that almost all these abbeys and monasteries are situated near water. It is always a pleasing object to the contemplative mind. At a certain period, in Europe, a great cry arose against convents and monasteries, doubtless not without considerable reason; they had accumulated enormous wealth, and in England and on the Continent of Europe had become, in many cases, I fear, lax in discipline [113] and morals. But the indiscriminate abolition of them nevet seemed to me politic or just. They afforded hospitality to strangers, and assistance to the needy; and a sovereign goes yery far when he prohibits religious retirement to clergy or laymen in his dominions! To the melancholy, the devout, or care-worn mind, such retirement is a first want. The soul, often wearied with, the repetition of the endless follies of mankind, and sick of its own share of them, turns to solitude as to a sweet and healing balm. It is relieved by withdrawing from them, and in the study of nature and converse with God, feels new and purer pleasures, than it ever had done before. Who can read the soul-moving letters of Abelard and Eloisa from their respective convents, and not feel the value of asylums which shelter the broken-hearted, and cover from the persecuting world the victims of passion or error?

We should not lightly c6ndemn what has been sanctioned by so many pious, and generous, and exalted characters. Is not this world, my dear L., very stormy?, oftentimes cruel? oftentimes cheerless? - and should we not regret so many peaceful havens being destroyed? I venerate religion, and do not feel entitled to ascribe any abuses in her institutions to herself. Must not such retreats, fo females, have often proved advantageous in the extreme? To contemplative men, and those of timorous and sickly sensibility, - how [114] welcome! In a word, to mediocrity of circumstances, bordering on poverty, how invaluable! The gloomy grandeur of an abbey or monastery, shaded by majestic trees, and defying the howling storm, well represents to me the soul of man that has found refuge far from his fellow, from unkind relatives, and the treachery and ingratitude of characters once fondly relied on! Still wandering amongst the cells, the towers, and church of Clonmines, the shades of evening surprised us. We hastened to return to Tintern, and I have just time to say farewell, &c.