Tintern, June 30, 1812.

My Dear L.

This morning as the sun was rising, gilding, at the same time, the trees and cottages of this village with his earliest beams, we set out on a smaH expedition to Barmah, a place of great antiquity here; and by some writers mistaken for the scene of the first English landing. We carried a small basket of provisions, and passing through the village, saw the Abbey, just then struck and lighted by the early rays’, to great advantage. Its venerable pile was an affecting memorial of the past. What a change since a Lord Abbot ruled, and sent his [115] excuses thence for non-attendance on Parliament; since then, the tranquillizing reign of Henry the Seventh, and the cruel stormy ones of Henry the Eighth and of Elizabeth, have passed away. All the wonted inmates of the Abbey appear no more. On the grassy mead, or in the lonely wood, contemplative and religious men no longer walk!

The villagers had not opened their doors, and it was but here and there a little smoke began to steal from a cottage chimney. Human life had not commenced another day of toil. Morning, which, as Hesiod well describes, sends forth laborious man on the high way, was not advanced enough to rouse every body. We passed silently along; the dew yet fresh, and the perfumed air reviving every sense: Mr. Archdall’s rural church then appeared, and the church-yard, the silent abode of departed mortality! As we were to cross the Bay of Tintern in going to Bannah, two young gentlemen of this place had promised to accompany us in their own boat. We soon discovered them waiting our approach, and we embarked without delay. The sea was unruffled; its surface glowed with the rich hues of the dawn: never do I recollect any thing more charming: we were cheerful too — undisturbed by cares for wealth, and unmolested by that foolish drawback on human happiness, ceremony. We were at peace with ourselves and the world! The boat soon brought us across the bay, but a very violent [116] current, formed by the tide, had yearly carried us out to sea. Having escaped this threatened event, we landed and gaily proceeded to Bannah. We reached a very ancient church in ruins, and the long level banks of the main ocean, and were told this was the desired spot. In its way we thought it beautiful; as we had brought tea and bread, we proposed breakfasting in a cottage, and afterwards surveying the ruins; we found one, and a very hospitable reception. The family were all more than civil — they were kind; thus too we see rural life; thus we study a nation’s habit and character.

The Irish are universally hospitable in, their cottages; and religion and custom have inculcated this virtue, a second nature with them. But when we must not carry this praise too far; curiosity enters into the business, also; these islanders see few strangers; they are secluded from the continent of Europe, and find a void they are often glad to fill, by having the company of strangers, especially something, as it is called, of the higher order. They are also cunning and sagacious in the extreme. Various questions are put, with which, the poor traveller is often more fatigued than the road; the price of distant markets, news from abroad, the events of war, the business, the occupation, of the stranger, &c., on these innumerable questions, suspicious glances and doubts arise. This frequently happens; but, on the [117] whole, these people are mild and obliging. Our breakfast was extremely good, and we sallied out to view the very ancient and ruined church of Bannah!

It is small, but they assign to it the most remote antiquity. We had no book to instruct us as to this, but I hae resolved not to invade the antiquarian’s province, and did not greatly regret it. We shall leave him his dates, his conjectures, and pertinacious opinions, upon God knows what! How much would he be displeased did he know I laugh sometimes at his solemn airs, his unwearied investigation regarding the little contrivances of man, and all the monuments of his empty pride — and the feeble aspirings to live in this world after the mortal scene is closed! I am but the passing traveller, looking on on and reading, as well as I can, the great living book of nature, and sending you such unlearned observations as occur! In the church of Bannah, however, we saw with pleasure a striking and beautiful large old vase, or water vessel, of good form and workmanship. The carving was handsome and curious. There was here also a tomb-stone of singular construction, and stone coffin, very different from any thing we had seen. There is an air of almost awful antiquity about the place. The green banks of Bannah spreading along the edge of the great ocean, are in themselves a striking wild beauty of Nature. Here the nascent orator — [118] a future Demosthenes, might declaim without fear of disturbance; — the fond lover roam; or man, satiated with pleasures of the world, find a desirable change! I do not quite know, if I am correct in ascribing a celebrated song, said to be written by the late Mr. Ogle of this country, an amiable and accomplished gentleman, to this place. It begins some way thus:

“On Bannah’s lonely banks I strayed;”

and every couplet ends with —

“Adieu! Adieu! thou faithless world.
Thou ne’er wert made for me.”

So powerful are some early impressions, that I recollect learning the words of this song many years ago when a school-boy. It then seemed to me the perfection of poetry. Its melancholy strain, so often repeated, of-—

“Adieu! Adieu! thou faithless world,
thou ne'er wert made for me;”

filled me with mournful pleasure. Careless of the plays and sports usual with boys, I have often pored over these verses, unknowing their full import, but devouring and dwelling on them with secret and indescribable satisfaction! I knew not then what a “faithless world*' meant; I had never seen or heard of Bannah’s banks, and comprehended not what was misfortune or disappointment. [119] These were the topics which had inspired the author of this pleasing , song. By what mysterions sympathy did I conceive feelings which I neyer imparted! or by what presentiment did I anticipate the afterwards foo well understanding this song! and how unexpectedly did I find mytelf on the spot which had partly inspired it! All this train of ideas arose in my mind on beholding these beautifully solitary and wild banks of Bannah for the first time! I then remembered the song! I compared the scene with the description, and I felt two distant moments of time suddenly brought together.

Mr. Ogle was a man of fortune, and probably wrote the verses in a moment of weariness, or disgust with a world where he had played a brilliant part. It was another kind of melancholy, when a boy, that I felt, yet sympathised with the lines. Can you analyse these emotions, my dear Li., or are they worth it? Is not all melancholy — early, or at a later period — a foreboding as to the emptiness and insignificance of what is called the world? — and a longing for something immortal and better? Early or juvenile melancholy is in itself something peculiar. The young mind soars into and expatiates on the past and future, and, without fully comprehending, grasps by intuition the nature of immortality and the destiny of man. Most indulgent is that all-seeing Heaven, which [120] does not permit it to foresee, or understand too much!

Returning from our long and pleasing stroll on the banks of Bannah, vre partook of an humUe dinner in the same cottage where we had breakfasted. The good creatures were sorry to part with us, and intreated us to return. The evening had changed, and promised rather a tempestuoua voyage. Our friends were, however, courageous and active. We passed the formidable current now running in another direction, and arrived at Tintern in safety.

To-morrow morning we purpose setting out for Wexford, and following the march of Fitzstephen and the King of Leiuster from Bag and Bun, to that city! From thence I shall dispatch this letter.

Wexford, May 2, 1812.

Two days ago, my dear L., we left Tintern village early in the morning, and crossing the bay near Clonmines, by a ferry-boat, commenced our walk through the barony of Bargie, which I think joins that of Forth. They are both remarkable for distinctly preserving the marks of early English settlement, in language, manners, and agriculture, to this day. We saw nothing, however, very striking on the beginning of our excursion. The language, or jargon, once spoken [121] ia these parts, which I imagine resembled that of the old Saxon, is nearly extinct. There is much improvement spreading over this part, and evident proof of good landlords, and a better system of agriculture. It is to the barony of Forth, however, (the more retired part of the English settlement), we look for what is most curious and interesting. We learn it is still highly so.

In our walk this day. we arrived at the very small village of Duncormack, where we dined. It very much resembles a Welch one. It is situated at the bottom of a little hill, and opposite to it arises another. A stream runs near, and the houses have an antique air, and are much better than the common Irish farm-houses. They have almost ail good gardens, and vegetables of different kinds; a tiling very unusual in an Irish hamlet. Continuing our walk, we saw several small ruined casties on the way. It was a good corn country through which we passed, and the people were industrious and civil. There is in general, however, in the county of Wexford, a want of green crops, and the land is too much exhausted by frequent corn ones. We saw a good deal of clover near Ross, but little elsewhere.

Agriculture in Ireland is, in fact, in the hands of the gentry only, in its improved state. The farmers all want capital; and, indeed, the high rents extracted from them prevents their ever having any. Taxes of various kinds press them [122] down, and yet men gravely speak of this becoming an agricultural country; as if capital were not as much wanting for agriculture as manufacture. Human existence is preserved by it in Ireland; but till a grand beneficial system pervade and re-animate it, agriculture can never effectually flourish. As things are now, the farmer cannot afford to manure, to buy sufficient stock, nor proper utensils; it is often difficult for him to purchase seed. Potatoes, it is true, flourish every where, but these vegetable roots, by supporting innumerable small farmers and cottagers, are detrimental to agriculture as a science; and causing labour to be too cheap, make the large farmer lazy and improvident — often tyrannical. Our walks have frequently given us extreme pain, by presenting to our view the persevering and humble efforts of the small farmer, (a character almost unknown, in England), to cultivate and improve his morsel of land. At his door he collects what manure he can gather from the ditches — decayed vegetables and dung casually scattered. He has thus, however, seldom more than answers for ground prepared with the spade for his potatoes. He must borrow a horse and plough, or rather hire them, to break up the remainder of his land. To manure this he will pare and burn, if permitted, and scour and scrape ditches. Lime he cannot afford. The vicissitude of corn and green crops he understands not. He [123] must oftea use bad seed. Dung from housed cattle be cannot command. Pigs are the chief assistance be has for paying a heavy rent, and these animals he domesticates for want of outhouses. Irish forming is thus frequently a struggle to maintain existence, scarcely worth possessing, under a load of misery from which the small farmer can never rise. Early and improvident marriage contributes to overwhelm him by a numerous and starving offspring, whilst we must allow that he requires some domestic comforts 9nd pleasures, to lessen the bitterness of his lot.

Our route, which was quite different from that of the main road to Wexford, brought us past the residence of the late Mr. Bagenal Harvey; who, for a short time, carried away by warm feelings and mistaken views, acted as a general to the insurgents. He was said to have shewn much humanity whilst he enjoyed his temporary command. There is a romantic story told of his and Mr. Colclough’s concealment for along time in a cave in one of the islands on this coast. The rebellion having ceased, they hoped either to escape to France, or to profit, by some act of amnesty, when the heat of the moment had passed away. They were both amiable and spirited young men, and, perhaps, led into the criminal act of opposing the government in arms, by that military ardour so common to this country, rather than by any deliberate wish for change. Day [124] after day they spent in their melancholy retreat, till discovered accidentally by the soldiers, they were dragged to trial and execution.

As we advanced farther on our way, musing, on this melancholy story of these misguided and unfortunate gentlemen, to whose fate we could not refuse a tear, we began to approach Wexford. A noble country, well cultivated, with fine prospects of the sea, offered themselves to our view. We also saw the noble mansion-house, park, and demesne of the late Mr. Grogan, another unhappy, and, it is said, blameless victim to the fury of the times. Mr. Grogan was a country gentleman of this county, very far advanced in years, and of the most quiet manners, and inoffensive life*. The rebels assailed, invited, and threatened him by turns, to induce him to countenance their dangerous and unwarrantable plans. Timid and confused, he is thought to have feared to refuse them altogether, however he disapproved. His property and life were in their hands. We have heard that he unguardedly went in his carriage to some assemblage of them, whether to remonstrate with them on their violence, or to gain time, till the storm abated, is not known. He joined them at Slieve Coilte. In this island, at that distressing period, that species of men so admirably described by Tacitus, were but too common. They are the growth of unfortunate times; avarice and rage inflame them; false representa[125]tions ware made of Mr. Grogan’s conduct; he was brought to a summary trials and forfeited his life. The good old man died, we understand, with calmness. He must have considered it was shortening his days but very little, and his conscience reproached him with no guilty act. Such are the miserable consequences of party exasperation, heightened by civil war! We had passed through the late Mr. Grogan’s park by a pleasant short path, and were near his gateway on the road, when a mournful dead march, played by several instruments in full band, struck our ears; it was solemn, loud, and skilfully played; it electrified our very souls! We stood fixed with horror! This ill-fated old man’s death — every thing rose before us. We could not proceed till the mournful music ceased. We passed on, very much affected.

The incident, however romantic it may seem, really occurred as I have described. The present Mr. Grogan is fond of military music, and has a small band attached to a corps of yeomanry which he commands. They happened accidentally to be practising near his porter’s lodge, within his gate, as we approached. This music had powerfully affected, and in so melancholy manner assailed us when just conversing about the late Mr. Grogan, and lamenting his fall. None of the party, I am convinced, will ever lose the impression it made. The association of ideas [126] was quick and striking. Alas, my dear L., what a direful thing it is, when the bonds of society are dissolved, and government shaken, by designing and ambitious men; thirsting for power they would not know how to use, if possessed of; and careless of the blood to be spilt, and the various tragical catastrophes which must ensue from their attempts. Party rage once unchained, government cannot bridle it, and the innocent suffer with the guilty! We reached Wexford very much fatigued, and found a decent small inn, whence I now write, and were glad to hasten to rest.

Believe me, &c.

Wexford, July 3, 1812.

My Dear L.

Wexford is a large and populous town of about 12,000 inhabitants. They are, as in Ross, chiefly catholic. Its principal church is handsome, and there is a very large catholic chapel here. It is finely situated on the Slaney, and has considerable trade. The streets are, however, narrow and dirty. The jail is large and new, but ill contrived, though a large sum of money was granted by the county for building it. Here [127] we found a worthy and respectable Englishman, a Mr. Gladwell, who was jailor, and, shewed us every part of it. The accommodation for debtors IS peculiarly bad. Cells, with iron doors and stone ceilings and floors, opening into a common corridor, which terminates in a kitchen, shock the spectator, especially when he reflects that all debtors must thus be mingled together, and that the gentleman with refined feelings, torn from a happy, comfortable home, may be consigned suddenly to these dismal accommodations, and to the still more revolting association with rogues and drunken rioters of the lowest class. And who, my dear L., is more to be pitied than a gentleman thus situated, seized by treachery, and oppressed by cruel circumstances? Does he want the misery I have described, arising from ill accommodation, to add to his sorrows?

Wexford has acquired a melancholy celebrity in modem times. Rebellion and bigotry reigned triumphant here for a considerable time, when the rebels had possession of the town, and their camp was not far distant in the country; I believe near the mountain of Forth. The hand trembles at recording the dreadful scenes which occurred here. Inexorable truth compels me to mention, them. A furious and bigotted populace, guided and led by some sanguinary demagogues of low class, stained the bridge and streets with the blood of their prisoners.

[128] On entering Wexford I could not avoid feeling something of the sensation I had experienced in beholding the prison of the Abbaye in Paris! Popular fury, with revenge, hatred, and love of plunder in its train, always exercise the worst species of despotism. It is truly unfortunate when the populace can justify their acts, on the ground of retaliation. Fortunately this state of things lasted but a short time. The town was evacuated, the king’s troops entered, and soon after, (the rebellion subsiding) general peace and amnesty succeeded to those horrors. The misguided population had certainly been maddened by great sufferings or by the miserable fate of many relatives and they were inflamed by some licentious and malignant incendiaries, such as will always come forward at those times; but nothing can palliate their deeds at Wexford, and near their camp, where some dreadful cruelties were exercised: the man who could attempt to do so, must be ignorant of all the fundamental principles of law, morality, and religion. He must defend the excesses of brutal and physical force, and, abandoning all principles of government, declare for anarchy and savage life. Yet how much do these dreadful clashings of infuriate parties call for a wise system to obliterate their baneful sources for ever, and cause men, cooped up in a small island, to contend in affections rather than blood?

[129] Wexford, after the death of Charles the first of England, was doomed to suffer severely from the general of the republic, Oliver Cromwell,. This man, by religious hypocrisy and great talents, had nearly usurped supreme power in England, and omitted neither fraud nor cruel violence in subduing Ireland. Having besieged Wexford some time, it was surrendered to him by treachery, and, on entering it, he ordered a general massacre. It is afflicting, dear Mr. L., to mention all these painful circumstances; and from these times I return to others with satisfaction.

Dermot and Fitzstephens marched here without any interruption, and prepared to attack the city. The Danes, unwilling to be disturbed in their hold, joined with some Irish dependents, marched out to give the besiegers battle; but when they saw the shining arms, and well-accoutred horses — the discipline and composure of the Britons — they declined the combat, and retired to their city — first burning the suburbs and adjacent villages. The Britons were led to the assault by Fitzstephens; but, after a very obstinate conflict, were repulsed. This hero was undismayed; and, leading his troops to the sea-shore, set fire to his ships, to show his men they had no retreat, and must depend on their own valour.

The next day, having ordered divine service [130] to be performed in his camp, he disposed his forces with great care, and again led them to the town. The Ostmen and Irish, surprized and terrified at this persevering valour, after some delay surrendered the town to Dermot and his allies, who entered Wexford in triumph. FitzStephens used his victory with humanity and moderation, and no blood was spilt. Fitzstephens and Fitzgerald (then expected) were jointly invested with the lordship of Wexford and its domain, and Harvey de Monte Marisco was declared lord of two considerable districts on the coast between Wexford and Waterford, which are now called the baronies of Bargie and Forth. To the latter we shall set out to-morrow, and on my return, I shall be able to give you some idea of this first British colony.

Wexford, July 4, 1812.

This morning we viewed Wexford. Its market is most plentifully supplied with fowl, flesh, fish, vegetables, &c. &c. This town is extremely populous, and far exceeds many towns on the continent of the same size, in its appearance of wealth and population. Calling at a shop to purchase a newspaper, we fortunately met with a lady both polite and intelligent, from whom we received considerable information as to Forth, and the road we should take. She seemed fully to enter into all out ideas, and with a degree of promptness and grace which very much distinguish [133] Irish ladies, even, conducted us through her house and a back garden, to a door opening on the street and road directly leading to the longwished-for Forth. After taking leave of our hospitable and kind directress, whose mind, and manners seemed equally pleasing, we set forward with great alacrity. We reflected that we were going to the first colony planted by the English, above six hundred years ago, the estates and territory of Harvey de Monte Marisco, uncle to the Earl of Chepstow, a nobleman of high rank, one of the first who had come to Ireland, and a man of consummate prudence.

This new settlement enjoyed the protection of Fitzstephens himself, who became seated in Wexford, and who manifested humanity and conciliating wisdom in his whole career in Ireland; and who aided, in all respects, as the prudent ally and sincere friend of the King of Leinster — never as the master or the invader!

For some miles after leaving Wexford, nothing remarkable struck us. We at length reached the hamlet called Clinhin; here an immediate change was visible. The houses are large and commodious, much after the English manner; good gardens, orchards, and pleasant fields surround them. We pressed on with great satisfaction, and, walking briskly, soon found ourselves advanced in the barony of Forth. A new scene, to those accustomed to [134] and funerals are numerously attended here. We saw many rustic tomb-stones, and several of the simple garlands of white cut paper, curiously adorning a number of sticks bent as hoops, so often placed on the grave, as a last mark of respect and affection, and so common in Ireland. For it is observable, that the Irish and English customs and manners are happily blended in Forth. Neither are conquered, but both harmoniously assimilated. There is all the valuable independence of character which has made England a great nation; and there is a great deal of the sweetness and pleasantness of the Irish mind and manner united to it. We entered the farm-house, near this great burying-place, in Forth, where —

Each, in his narrow cell, for ever laid.
The rude fore-fathers of the hamlet — sleep;

and found a civil reception from the good woman of the house. She gave us excellent milk, and we carried our own bread. Their accent is very peculiar, but we heard nothing of their ancient and celebrated, dialect. It appeared to us very like the retired mountaineers of Wales speaking English. The tone and pronunciation was nearly the same.

The Catholic religion prevails universally through Forth, These descendants of the English, who have never changed, their ancient faith, [135] retain their honest simplicity, and manly characters. They are an excellent people in Forth — are not addicted to drinking; — and few or no crimes are heard of amongst them. They preserve their own manner of speaking English, and have never adopted the Irish language. I forgot to say, that the man of the house entered as we rested near the Church of the Island. He was curiosity personified. Not one, but a hundred questions assailed and oppressed us. Had we been Arabians or Chinese, we could not have met more inquisitorial research. His small piercing eyes seemed to dive into our every thought, as he sifted us; and required to know our occupation, our objects, and pursuits. Nor was he easily satiated by reasonable answers to his enquiries, or repulsed by any reserve. Again and again he renewed the attack, till, sufficiently rested after our long walk, we were happy to bid himself and family farewell.

As we pursued our pleasant way through this interesting Forth, the variations of the landscape, by swelling hills and little vales, improved the scene. Hitherto we had proceeded pretty much on a level, as the country is generally flat. The perfume of beans charmed us. The rich crops of wheat and barley, clean and well enclosed, waved on every side. The tender green of numerous spots of flax was pleasant to the eye; and, above all — man happy — and, as he ought to [136] be rationally independent — his walk erect — his neck unbent; no Irish cringe — the badge of domestic wretchedness — but comfortable, contented, and orderly. Man, thus seen, gave the scene a dignity and interest which captivated us, and scattered flowers along our way! As we verged towards the sea, new marks of successful industry appeared. Nets, fishing-rods, and oars, were at many houses. These respectable people neglect nothing which assists virtuous independence. We passed a respectable and handsome place of a clergyman, near Carne.

Mr. Nunn has also in Forth a large mansion-house; but, in general, the scene is as I have described it, and certainly surpasses any thing I have ever seen in Ireland, in various points of view, but especially in agriculture. The prudent division of property, excluding the miserable subdivision so ruinous to the advantageous cultivation of land, has also had the effect of preventing that redundancy of population lurking on spots of earth unable to support them comfortably. Their overplus of youth emigrate everywhere, to find new modes of support, and return enriched in middle age, or establish themselves abroad. All this is done by the people themselves; they want no farming societies to incite them; one sound understanding pervades them — that justness and precision of mind, which regulates agricultural England, governs them here. [137] Yet I must not conceal, my dear L., that these independent people of Forth did not escape fatal mania of 1798; and, as I have mentioned, formed a most formidable body of marksmen at Ross, but were soon sensible of their folly, and returned home. It is to be feared, that their tranquillity had been unwisely disturbed, and that some gross provocations had roused them to this otherwise inconsistent conduct. The restless and despotic Joseph, Emperor of Germany, certainly goaded into insurrection the peaceful and agricultural people of Flanders:— such people are difficult to move in such manner, but are terrible when they come forth in their strength!

The people of Forth did not, it is probable, forget their ancestors. They might have faticcied the intrepid spirits of a Fitzstephens, an Harvey de Monte de Marisco, or of a Raymond le Gros, frowning on them, if they quietly submitted to the tyrannic insults of a heated party. The military renown, too, of their Irish protagonists, might have concurred to rouse anid urge them to the field. But i incline to think the motives of such people must have been to assert domestic security and independence, not by any means to set aside a great and good government, under which England, for which they must have felt affection, had so much flourished, and under which also, Ireland might hope, when prejudice withered on the soil of illiberality, to become [138] completely happy. Such a people could have no relish for French rulers, and very little for an Irish Directory, formed on their model, and likely to be the obsequious Haves of sanguinary France!

Making our walk through Forth, we could, not stop to investigate causes and effects in this poiut. It is not always prudent or delicate to ask questions which tend to former crimination. Fact, speak sufficiently there. The men of Forth were injured, and they shewed the spirit of men; but, discovering their error in joining any tumultuous rising against his Majesty’s government, they instantly returned to their homes, and as speedily as they could repaired their fault. Irish ardour, and English firmness, were thus seen acting, blended together, and no disgraceful excess marked the people of Forth.

To its high honor be it recorded, the Irish government ordered no severe or impolitic measures against them. Here was no massacre of Glencoe. The government, with paternal wisdom, seemed to know nothing of the short military excursion of the people of Forth. They resumed their agricultural pursuits, and are still, as we have just witnessed, an happy, independent, and unbroken race! The extreme point of our walk through their little territory was Carne, ten or twelve miles from Wexford. This village we reached about the middle of the day. [139] It is seated on a hill, commanding a view of and very near the ocean. It is quite a Welch village; the houses squall and neat, the streets narrow, and the people of it themselves of small stature, with small, dark, piercing eyes, and neatly dressed. They were shy and distant in manner, as if unused to the worlds and their accent was very peculiar indeed, without Irish brogue, and rather sharp and shrill. All their household utensils were bright and clean, and the smallest cottage white-washed and neat The women followed knitting, and the men were chiefly fishermen. The church of Came is extremely small, whitened and enclosed by a decent church-yard. It is just such as are seen 8o frequently in Wales, At Carne terminated our progress from Wexford through Forth.

We set forth on our return by something of a different line, and walked on a sandy shore, as the foaming waves thundered along it, to St. Margaret’s, the mansion-house of Mr. Nunn, near the sea; rather a melancholy and solitary place! As none of the family were at home, we passed on, without making any delay, to Wexford.

We regretted we had not had time to call on the clergyman of Carne; but pedestrians have their disadvantages as well as advantages. Going through much bodily labour, and pressed for time, as it is peculiarly desirable, for those to [140] return to their inn or lodging always before night, they cannot make every enquiry, or perhaps see all that is necessary. You, my dear L., will therefore make some allowace for our imperfect view of Forth, and give us credit for what we gleaned; it may induce you some time or other to inspect this early nest of your countrymen, and examine at leisure this wonderful phenomenon of a small colony incorporated with a populous country, but preserving a great deal of its own original manners, customs, and language. There appear there, what has not been accomplished in any other part, the symptoms of a judicious settlement in Ireland. The wise hand of Harvey de Monte Marisco, and the benevolent care of Fitzstephens, planted and fostered seeds which have flourished into good plants, and bearing wholesome fruit. It is much easier to improve country thus, than has been imagined. it is but to begin well, and things go on right. Nature must not be rudely violated in attempting to colonize an inhabited country; but with all the ancient customs, manners, and institutions, which have long become part of herself, should rather be venerated and conciliated, and gently modelled by the hand of friendship; — never rudely cast away by the sword of the warrior, or arm of power. Forth is a signal monument that Ireland might have been better moulded. The first leaders of the English began rightly; the baronies [141] of Forth and Bargies to this day prove it; they joined some of their countrymen by mild measures to the Irish of a certain district; they soon made alliances, and intermarried; the new-comers became respected, and liked; and their acquirements and knowledge admired and followed. Foree was not used, and no rankling feelings were engendered to endanger them, and make even improvements hatefuL

Harvey de Monte Marisco, assisted by Fitzstephens, appears to have acted in these his estates in the very spirit of the good Duke of Normandy, Rollo. These nobles were of Norman extraction, and followed his noble example.

But a new order of things very soon took place in Ireland at large, after Henry the Second began to conceive its acquisition of importance. He grew jealous of all the great men who had done so much there for him at the first and critical period. Accordingly, under these impressions, a deputy came over to discountenance them and their plans. Similar governors succeeded FitzAndelm; avarice and prejudice swayed them. Ireland was constantly misrepresented to England. The barony of Forth, therefore, remains a solitary comer of unfinished improvement. We got late to Wexford, and I bid you hastily farewell.

Tintern, July 5, 1812,

My Dear L.

We wished to see Enniscorthy, a considerable town within twelve or thirteen miles of Wexford; and resolved to make a Sweeping rounds in that line, to this village. It added to our fatigue, and, at the same time, to our information and pleasure. You urge me at one time or other to publish these letters; but who will be so indulgent to them as you, or, as you have expressed yourself, think me ', well qualified to write on the affairs of Ireland?" — One valued and protecting friend was lost to me, by death, in 1806, whose candid mind, like your’s, might have encouraged, and corrected them. But I shall continue them through this, and any future excursion, and leave the decision to time. That constitutional melancholy which haunts me, makes these walks agreeable and salutary; and the hope one day of humbly promoting the happiness of millions, and the welfare of our great empire, brightens the dark and mournful path Providence has willed me to follow.

I have mentioned to you, that Wexford is situated on the Slaney, which, near it, becomes a very noble river. On leaving it, for Enniscorthy, we proceeded half a mile, er more, [143] when we again approached the river, and had a very fine view of it and the castle of Carrig, at some distance. We soon reached it, and, crossing a wooden-bridge, stopped to examine this castle, , whose situation is the most commanding and romantic you can conceive; the remains are not large, but the castle is situated on a lofty rock, and must once have been impregnable. It was built by Fitzstephens, as a place of security, and to be a check on Wexford. I am grieved to relate the story which belongs to it.

After a pacification made between Fitzstephens and the King of Leinster on one part, and Roderick O’Connor, Monarch of Ireland, on the other, Dermot departed to Dublin, to chastise that city, where his father had been murdered, and to advance his views, which were now becoming greatly extended. The people of Wexford besieged Fitzstephens in this castle immediately, but could make no impression on so strong a place, commanded by a man of so much courage and understanding. They had recourse to fraud. A deputation, asking a conference, assured him that Strongbow was killed; that Roderick had taken Dublin; that all Fitzstephens’s countrymen were exterminated; and this they offered to confirm by solemn oaths. Fitzstephens hesitated, when they produced two bishops, in their robes, who solemnly affirmed that the whole was true. The gallant warrior [144] delivered up his castle, but was immediately made prisoner, and cast into chains! — his men insulted, tortured, and killed! — and himself, finally, conveyed to an island in the harbour, called Holy Island, with those of his soldiers who had survived the cruelties practised on them! — On hearing of the march of the victorious Britons, these treacherous people had retired there, after setting fire to Wexford, I would gladly believe this was the act of the Ostmen, or Danes of Wexford. There is a shameful mixture of fraud, perjury, and cruelty in it, which disgusts to a great degree.

Earl Strongbow had been arrived some time, so that the folly of the undertaking was as great as the guilt attending it. Probably a false report of the defeat of Strongbow induced the people of Wexford to commit this fraudulent and ungrateful action, which must ever be a disgrace to their annals. The perpetrators added to it the effrontery of an hypocritical message to Henry the Second, complaining against, and denouncing their prisoner. Fitzstephens was carried by them to Waterford; but, after some time, set at liberty by his sovereign, who well knew his great value, and soon learned his innocence of all the charges of cruelty and tyranny made against him.

The walk from Carrig castle for nearly mx miles on the road to Enniscorthy, is extremely [145] fine; the country resembles many beautiful parts of England. It is interspersed with handsome seats, on which is grown much timber, and the farming seems very respectable. The breaks of the Slaney, seen here and there, vary and beautify the landscape! — Since we left Dublin, we have met with nothing more charming.

As we arrived within two or three miles of Enniscorthy, new beauties presented themselves; and the Slaney glided beautifully along, between verdant meadows, groves, and handsome mansions. We found a very pleasant short way, along its banks, to Enniscorthy, through a copse wood, diversified with many simple charms. This is a handsome and large town, of from four to five thousand inhabitants; and the Slaney is there exquisitely beautiful. Certainly, from all I have seen of the rivers of Ireland, they seem to well merit the notice Spencer [sic for Spenser] takes of them in his Fairy Queen. That poet’s long residence in Ireland gave him full opportunity of knowing their great beauty.

As Ireland is mostly of a lime-stone and gravelly soil, and has little clay or chalk, the rivers glow with pellucid streams — blue as the heavens they reflect, and curling in white and pure foam over the rocks that impede them. Such a river is the Slaney at Enniscorthy, with which we had already become acquainted at Newtown Barry; but we thought it most beautiful at Enniscorthy! [148]

[ pp.146-49 missing from all digital copies at Internet Archive. ]

[148] of human nature, to be forced to say — that appetite increases the more it feeds.

Enniscorthy has some cotton manufacture, and is a place of considerable trade. There is an exceedingly large and handsome chapel building here, and a great Catholic population to attend it. The Irish people appear to great advantage on Sunday-mornings, hastening to worship the Deity. Their zeal and sincerity, cannot a moment be doubted. Simple, affectionate, and pious naturally, it does not occur to them as a thing to be occasionally excused, or omitted, that they should attend divine worship. You meet them in Sunday-morning walks, male and female, and of all ages, dressed in their best clothes, clean, and prepared for walking, by pinning up the cloak and gown, and throwing back the great coat. They go cheerfully and speedily, and are never then seen to loiter, which on other occasions they so much do. These observations have been often suggested on our peregrinations.

Finding nothing very interesting on our return to Tintern, we walked on rapidly, but did not, notwithstanding our exertions, reach it till late in the evening. The twinkling lights of the cottages in that charming little village were to us a very welcome sight. Our walk was above twenty miles.

[149] We have now formed the plan — somewhat romantic, you may say, my dear.L., but yet, I think, very rational,*— to fix our abode for some time at the sea, eight miles from this, in one of the most solitary, yet noble situations imaginable. It is a long, narrow promontory, running into the extremity of St. George’s channel, on which stands a light-house, and two very small hamlets, and is above two miles in length. — Great part of it is fertile and well cultivated, and a handsome seat of the Marquis of Ely’s, now inhabited by Mr. Tottenham, his relative, to which is annexed a deer-park, that stands in the centre of it. Somewhat lower down, and in a farm-house near one of the hamlets, we propose to domesticate ourselves, and reside a few months. In no way shall we better be able to judge of a people, than by being thus among them. Besides, the solitude and grandeur of the place will be very pleasing, after having walked about two hundred miles and upwards on our tour. Rest is very sweet to pedestrians: we have books, among which is your favorite Mneid; and shall fish, and amuse ourselves pleasantly. We leave this to-morrow. — Believe me always, &c.

Church Town, Hook, Aug. 4, 1812

MY DEAR L

Behold us removed here, and far removed from all the noise of the worlds fixed for some time on the shore of the entrance of Waterford harbour. Our farm-house affords us very comfortable apartments, and the family supply us with milk, butter, fish, and potatoes, as also some garden vegetables, at a cheap rate. We bade farewell to Tintern with real regret. That peaceful and beautiful spot, abounding with picturesque views, and having a kind of charm in the very name, which is the “Lesser Tintern;” and thus allied, as it were, to the venerable and highly-admired Greater Tintern, in Monmouthshire, on the Wye, had won all our regards. Could we be insensible to its amiable clergyman and family’s hospitality, and ever-pleasing conversation?— Could we forget how swiftly, and how advantageously time had passed over so many evenings, in their delightful villa? — Could we take leave of our humble hostess, and of the good cottagers of Tintern, and not be sorry? — However, we wished to enjoy the air and fine views of the ocean, and to have a more perfect seclusion. I wished to study Irish history; — [151] abstraction fro m the world, for that purpose, is necessary, at least if one wishes to do so with effect.

We have now spent a fortnight here, and are every day more pleased with so tranquil imd truly rural au abode. The eastern side of the peninsula of Hook is extremely curious, and and deserves inspection. We spend whole days there, aad have examined many wonderful caves and and vast ledges of black rock, curiously diversifying the tremendous front it presents to the sea. How awful in some of her forms is nature? — Deep gulphs, and perpendicular flat masses of the gloomy rock, here terrify, yet please; as, at times, below, on some low projecting point, the fisherman stands and throws his line to the waves, whilst their foam frequently swells round his knees. He pursues his labour undaunted; but so awfully dangerous is this shore, that melancholy accidents frequently have deprived Hook of some of its hardy youth. Woe to the ship which, when the storm drives her here, and the night is dark, touches these fatal rocks! Sometimes we see small row-boats, or fishing-smacks — sometimes small trading-sloops, pass near these stupendous iand massy walls. They seem at our feet. We hear every voice, and see every gesture. We dread overy moment their striking against the mighty waves which threaten them. Soon they steal gently [153] from us, and their white sails are lost in the distant horizon, as we gaze!

Our amiable and worthy friend, the Rev. Mr. Archdall, of Tintern, had pointed out and recommended to our notice the sublime and curious scenes on this shore. We found how correct was his taste; and, at a distance from him, his friendship, still served us. Often in great caves, and awful grottos, rendered accessible when the tide is out, we find a natural bench of the dark rock, canopied by huge impending masses, while the sea, mildly illuminated by an evening sun, gently spreads, curls, and foams over the great ledges, which form an inclined plane from our grotto to it. There we bring the divine work of Virgil, and I read aloud to our little party for a long time in Pitt’s translation, till the coming twilight darkens the sea and our grotto, when we retire to our farm-house, and to a simple but happy meal.

Thus frequently pass our evenings; and, at other times, we devote them to walking to the light-house of Hook, a mile distant, and having a commanding view from all sides of the ocean. It is placed on the extreme point of the promontory, and is very lofty. It appears to have for its basis the remains of an old castle. Of this castle an affecting story is handed down by tradition; I do not vouch for its truth. It is said to have in ancient times belonged to a [153] noble Irish lady, who resided here, and had two sons. When grown up to manhood, they went abroad, and continuing a long time, the mournful mother often looked to the sea from her castle for their coming, but in vain. At length, apprised of the joyful fact that they were on their way from foreign parts homeward, she made every preparation tor their reception. In a dark and stormy night their vessel approached the fearful shores on the eastern side of Hook. No light in the castle appeared; nothing warned them of their danger. Need I relate the fatal catastrophe — they perished! — From that time, the disconsolate and widowed mother carefully preserved a light in her castle of Hook, on dark and dangerous nights, a memorial of her own lamentable loss, and a pious endeavour to preserve others, distressed at sea, from the cruel fate of her sons.

In modem times, a very good light-house has judiciously been erected. You cannot imagine any thing finer than its situation, which, if you cast your eyes on the map, you will perceive to be grand and commanding. Often, as we return from this in the evening, the long cry of the curlew, and the shrill one of the sea-snipe, strike us. We are amused too with the heavy diver, on some jutting rock, startled, and taking his’ low and unwilling flight. Samphire grows abundantly on some of these rocks, which forms so good a pickle, [151] and, for our evening occupation, we bring home quantities of it. We also visit Slade, our neighbouring hamlet, beautifully seated on a small harbour, where the fishing-boats of Hook find security. Here are salt-works, not now carried on, whether from want of capital, or some bickerings among proprietors, I know not. A small romantic castle joins the village, and almost touches the briny waves. How sweet is an evening sometimes here! The good people quietly employed, some at their boats, others at household or garden occupation; ׆the playful children, just let loose from school;” the placid surface of an undisturbed ocean, glowing with the last refulgence of the sun. — What a picture!

The fishing for hake, cod, mackarel, ling, seacarp, and herrings, in their seasons, attract a great number of Munster and Leinster boats, at times, here. Traul-boats [sic] come in now and then; they are said to injure the other fisheries.

On our return from these evening walks, the family at our farm-house always receive us in the most cheerful and pleasant manner. They are correctly well-behaved, orderly, and regular. Our hostess is a venerable old woman, nearly eighty, possessing a sound and masculine understanding. She had been the mother of a hero, and seemed worthy to have produced one. Mrs. King’s eldest son had an early inclination for the sea, and was [156] well qualified to prove an honor and support to the British navy. Large and robust, and of extraordinary strength, he was quite unacquainted with fear, and found in the sea his proper element. On board his Majesty’s navy he accordingly long served with great honor to himself. In every action he was foremost and undaunted. In one, near Guadaloupe, where Sir George Rodney commanded, the colours of young King’s ship were shot down. The battle was warmly contested on both sides. As the cannon thundered, the cries of wounded and dying were heard, and the waves dashed round him. King snatched the colours, and resolutely nailed them to the stump of the mast! The French fired repeatedly at him, while thus occupied, but this naval hero calmly continued, and accomplished his work: Confidence revived in the shattered vessel: King was cheered: soon were the Britons victorious!

After this tremendous conflict. King went to look among the numerous dead for his own particular messmates. He perceived with joy that all had escaped; shewing as much of an affectionate heart after the engagement, as he had done of a brave one before it This is peculiar to the Irish character. Sir George Rodney made the brave fellow his boatswain. Many extraordinary facts are related in the family of his courage and enterprize; but he is no more! His [156] mother is proud of his memory. Her sentiments are exalted and noble, though she dwells in a modest cottage. We often converse with her with pleasure and satisfaction.

She lost at sea three other fine young men and a few years ago, one who resided with her died suddenly, One remains, living near her, and she has two daughters. Her husband has been dead some time. To survive five sons, and they among the finest young men in the country, was trying! Mrs. King bears all this with admirable resignation; but, I think, would be pleased if Heaven called her away. She never entirely recovered the loss of her eldest son. I sometimes observe this venerable and respectable matron on her knees at night, in their rustic kitchen, when all is silent, and a glimmering lamp scarcely shews her aged figure and pale cheeks, her hands and eyes raised to God, and the tear wetting her furrowed face! her clear and audible voice penetrates the very soul; it trembles only when the memory of the departed occurs, and she prays for their eternal repose. It is a solemn and affecting scene!

The habits of the family are peaceful and industrious; the daughters spin wool, sew, and take care of their mother and the house. Mrs. King’s son-in-law, who manages the farm she holds, prepares in the evening for the morrow’s labour; no noise ever disturbs us. In the [157] evenings, some neighbouring lads come in and join the family at their kitchen fire-side; then they begin to relate stories, of which all are passionately fbnd, and this they will prolong to a late hour. Mrs. King, in her old straw-made arm-chair, presides with quiet dignity, and sometimes intermingles her own sensible and keen observations, and always restrains the party from any tumultuous mirth, lest we should be annoyed in our apartment.

It was exceedingly pleasing to find in our old hostess the justest sentiments as to the unhappy insurrection in 1798. She appreciated the blessings bestowed by a good and powerful government very correctly; and I recollect a late strong expression of hers, in speaking of the rebels: she said, “if they had got the better for a little, they would soon have betrayed one another. But what fools, or worse, to bring destruction on themselves and so many innocent creatures!” On one occasion, some years ago, I am informed, she fully sustained in practice the decision and fortitude she shewed herself in conversation to be possessed of. In returning from Waterford to Duncannon-fort, by sea, a storm arose; the sailors of the market-boat were alarmed, and the passengers huddled together in the greatest terror. The gale increasing, Mrs. King alone preserved her courage and presence of mind, pointed out to the sailors the right measures, [158] what sails to pull down, and how to steer. Her voice and gesture — ia a word, her courage reanimated the men! The boat got safely to Duncannon, and Mrs. King walked quietly home. Such was our venerable friend, for so we soon considered her; and ever at the close of our evening’s walk did she receive us kindly, and took constant care that our fire burnt pleasantly; that our tea things were laid, and our kettle ready.

Believe me, &c.

Church Town, Hook, August 16, 1812.

My Dear L.

After residing here some time, we find the situation so pleasant and healthful, that we shall remain till the cold autumnal blast warns us to terminate our tour and my historical studies, and bid farewell to these worthy people and Wexford — perhaps for ever!

We have, with the assistance of Mrs. King’s son, and her family, erected a tent on the shore, in a small green field, not six minutes walk from our farm-house. This completes our satisfaction. There, we breakfast, dine, and generally [159] drink tea. Consequently, aa the golden dawn kindles along the waves, and illuminates the opposite shore and mountainous hills, I repair to this tent, and our party always join me with breakfast.

What beneficence, my dear L., has not the Creator shewn in his wonderful and every delightful plan of this globe’s rotary and annual motion! By the latter, he gives to us, inhabiting these climates, the pleasing changes of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. By the former, he secures for us, if we avail ourselves of his goodness, of the ever-lovely charms of silent mom, and reposing eve! The morning, in its earliest dawn, seems the renovation of the existence of man — and of all things — and a pledge of another more glorious, and an immortal dawn! — What a tribute ofjoy every little bird pours forth! — How do the young cattle frolic! — How freshly flows every river and stream! — And bow beautifully swells and ripples the sea, floating, in gilded majesty to the shore! — Then, too, the mind of man, refreshed and invigorated, as weH as charmed, by this picture of sweet and virgin beauty, which heaven lights up for him, blooms and flourishes in the midst of animated nature.

One of our party has become a very good fisher, from the stupendous rocks on the east-side, and sallies out frequently before dawn with the large long rod and strong line they use here. He relates to me an extraordinary and interesting [160] piece of natural history, with which he became acquainted yesterday morning. He set out to fish while twilight was goings and he scarcely discerned his path. Arrived at the rocks, he waited farther lights as he had come out so early. In some time, the sun peeped from the waves! This mighty orb began faintly to redden the sleeping waves, when suddenly a vast play of fish, not far distant from shore startled and delighted our fisherman. There was instantaneously an innumerable concourse in motion, beating the surface of the water, playing their gambols, their silvery sides glistening in the rays of the dawn! The sun slowly emerged from his bed, and when he was a few moments risen, this “;play” (as it is termed by seafaring people) suddenly ceased. This singular mark of adoration to Heaven, paid by animated and reviving, nature, when dawn appears, is not commonly known, unless to very early risers, who frequent or fish on solitary rocky shores like those of Hook. I regret greatly that I never witnessed this peculiar and pleasing phenomenon. It may occur but rarely.

In our tenty I am now able to prosecute those studies I wished for some time to apply to. The indefatigable and impartial Ware — the upright and sensible Leland — Smith’s History of Waterford, and some other works on Ireland — Hume, the prince of English historians, enlightened, and full of knowledge. — The Æneid, Iliads and [161] Odyssey, those productions of the most divine of all bards (in translations for evening reading), and a small volume of Petrarca, in his original language, form the little library of the tent. We never move our chairs or table, and rarely our books; and, with the earliest dawn, I find them always untouched. The sailors land for water frequently, from stratige boats, but we tiever lose any thing. This shews much honesty; and besides, the Irish, un vitiated by towns, or party madness, as we see them in these remote parts, among many good traits, have a great respect for any thing of what they term “scholarship.” My studies, therefore, proceed pleasantly and unmolested in our tent. In such situations and occupations the mind grows more in a few months than elsewhere in years. It puts forth vigorous shoots on all sides; it has its proper cultivation, and abundant and unpolluted air; it soon towers and spreads.

As Henry the Second passed the very shore where our tent stands, on his way to Waterford, I think I shall send you some observations, not yet matured, on that monarch’s policy in Ireland, before we leave the Hook. How often do we imagine his numerous and pompous fleet passing to Waterford, as we sit in the evenings in this tent! What gallant warriors crowd the deck! Does not that seem the King, of majestic [163] air, anxiously exploring these unknown coasts in what ships! What cries! What animation! Yet, my dear L., where are all their projects of ambition now? The monarchy and the humblest soldier, alike are dust! The gaudy dream is ended, and Henry can live on earth but in the memory of his benefits!

I forgot to mention, that yesterday produced an event of some importance in our farm-house, and this day another. The latter has been also productive of agreeable consequences to us, for it has procured a sensible and valuable acquaintance.

Yesterday Mrs. King’s eldest daughter presented her with a grandchild — to-day it was christened; and to-day we have seen the Rev. Mr. O’Flaherty. It was necessary for our good people to send for their respectable priest to christen this young addition to our rural society. Let not your noble and fiashionable friends io England or in this country be startled, if they see this letter, at my introducing into the picture of life at Hook, a catholic priest of Ireland! Humane, generous, and perfectly well-educated; having the true polish of a gentleman, blended with the humility of a christian pastor, he has afforded us a most agreeable specimen of the Irish character in some of its best points of view. The ceremony of the christening over, he was kind enough to visit our tent, to offer me some [163] French, books, and to all the party every civility in his povrer. He resides about two miles and a half from this, and has invited us to breakfast tomorrow.

We now frequently turn our evening walks towards Loftus’ Hall. It stands immediately on the sea, and its beautiful shores command the finest views of the Waterford coast, and the bay stretching up to Duncannon fort. Mr. Tottenham called once at our cottage; but we have not yet seen him. He is said to be a fin, old gentleman, and not severe on this tenantry of Lord Ely’s, for whom he acts — a thing to be admired and applauded, in Ireland, wherever it is met.

But after a short walk, the remainder of our evenings are now regularly, devoted to the Iliad of Homer, translated by Mr. Pope, and which we read aloud alternately. The Æneid we have finished.

The scenery here is very suitable to such a poem; and, frtm its repeated recurrence to, and description of the sea, it is very probable that that noblest of bards composed his work in a similar situation. He is thought to have been an Ionian Greek, and perhaps lived near the shore. How much superior is this scene, for the full enjoyment and comprehension of the endless and sublime beauties of his masterly work, to the melancholy inspiring walls of dull colleges — or the splendid apartments [164] of wealth and insipid fashion? In the midst of these simple children of nature we are never disturbed by the least rudeness, or a loud voice near our tent. Frequently are we all so enraptured with the story, of the Grecian genius, that we have candles brought to the tent on very calm evenings, and prolong, our readings to ten or eleven O’clock. We catch his enthusiasm, and are hurried irresistibly on. His object — to teach concord to Grecian states and kings was a fine one, and how inimitably has he executed his plan! What can surpass the speeches of the jarring chiefs at the commencement } — the march of Chaleas along the shore? — How much has he conveyed in the original by “[Greek words] the silent Walk of Chaleas — but I stay my pen. To enumerate his sublime passages, his beauties, and various skilful modes of instructing mankind, were, perhaps, impossible, at least it would require volumes! You must, therefore, take up the work in your own delightful rural residence, and, in the bosom of a happy and accomplished family, read the immortal bard’s verses, as we have done, aloud, and accompany us from time to time in our progress, which is considerable, (as we read one or two, and some-times three books of the Iliad, every evening.) At present, on one of the loveliest evenings I ever beheld — the sea placid, and rich with the golden [165] glow of a declining sun, and small sail-boats gliding along near us — we are commencing the fourth book; and I have only time to say, how truly, I am, &c.

Church Town, Hook, August 20, 1812.

MY DEAR L.

This morning we breakfasted with Mr. O’Flaherty. He resides in a very pretty country-house, with an amiable old lady and her niece, his relatives and friends. The walk to Little Grange, the name of their place, is cheerful and pleasant, and on emerging from our peninsula (that lonely world in itself) of Hook, we ascended nearly all the way very gradually, and had some very fine views of the sea, of Waterford harbour, St. George’s channel, and, on the extreme point of the peninsula, of the distant tower of Hook. The rich colours of the ripening harvest painted the tranquil face of a happy country. The wild poppy, so happily styled in the Hon. Mrs. O’Neil’s charming ode — a “brilliant weed,” was sprinkled on the ditches and through the fields. Not melancholy, as the admirable authoress when she wrote one of the sweetest odes extant: we both —

[166]

“For the promise of the laboured field"

And—

“for the good the yellow harresti yield,
Bent at Ceres’ shrine,”

And—

"gaily bail’d the goddess for her scarlet flower”

On our way to Mr. O’Flaherty’s, the poppy shewed itself quite splendidly The wild scabious, with its tender blue, also, was every where around us. I am a most indifferent botanist, but love the science. I have not in this tour attempted to give you difficult names, which I imperfectly understand; but I know a good and enlightened friend, who may be induced to send me a sketch on the plants of Ireland; and, if he gratifies me, I shall send you a copy. Botany sprinkles perpetual charms on the pedestrian’s path; he learns to admire the hidden beauties of plants, and the ineffable wisdom of the Creator, with never-cloyed raptures. I regret that I do not know this charming science better.

Mr. O’Flaherty received us with great cordiality at his door, and conducted us to a genteel apartment, where a plentiful and elegant breakfast of the best tea, coffee, and rolls, we had for a long time tasted, awaited us, laid on a snowy cloth, and served with handsome china. But the modest and pleasing ladies of the house, added to our benevolent entertainer’s very spirited and liberal conversation, gave it no small charm. The house commands a good view of the country and Featherd; and Mr. O’Flaherty promises [167] to introduce us to the Rev. Mr. Kennedy, rector of that place, an excellent man, clergyman, and magistrate, who has already shewn us some civility.

We left this happy mansion with regret; and afterwards prolonged our walk to Tintern. With new pleasure we re-visited every spot, our late humble abode, and our ever-valued friend Mr. Archdall. We surveyed the Abbey with fresh interest, and some of us began even to prefer it to Tintern, in Monmouthshire. We said, though not so grand, it was more picturesque; that the appearance of the latter was spoiled by ruined cottages huddled round it, and that the Wye, when the tide fell, was muddy and disagreeable below the Abbey; that the vale of the Leaser Tintern, if improved, would equal any thing whatever in Wales; and that the contiguity of an arm of the sea, stretching near it, and joining its beautiful little stream, gave it advantages, in point of varied and exquisite views, far beyond those of Tintern, in Monmouthshire! — One day, perhaps, my dear L., you and Mrs. L. may inspect these rival beauties of Ireland and Wales, and help us to decide this friendly dispute on the picturesque of the two Tinterns. I must acknowledge I think there is a natural partiality on one side to the Irish Tintern, and that the Tintern of Wales is almost unrivalled in the empire;— certainly, however, the Wexford Tintern [168] forms one of the most picturesquely beautiful places yon cau imagine.

Our argument on the two abbeys of Tintern nearly carried us home; and, as usual, our evening was devoted to the Grecian bard

Church Town, Hook Sept. 1 1812

Since I last wrote we have been often at Mr. O’Flaherty’s house, and always hospitably and pleasantly received. The following little anecdote will raise your opinions of him, as it did mine. It will also throw some light on the situation of Ireland.

Wexford has been, in every respect, quite tranquil since the rebellion; and no part of it more so than this neighbourhood. Some short time ago a house, belonging to a farm lately taken, was set on fire and burnt. This happened in our friend’s parish. It made a great sensation, and every gentleman and respectable person around, anxiously wished to stop and punish so pernicious a practice. Mr. O’Flaherty was also much concerned, and took every pains to detect the incendiaries. They were not discovered, however, and it was supposed they might have come from Munster to introduce this nefarious system. There was thence a greater hope of checking it by vigilance and determination. The exertions of the gentry had an excellent effect, and no more houses were burned.

[169] At that period a threatening notice appeared posted upon Mr. O’Flaherty’s chapel-door, denouncing severe vengeance against all enemies of the people. A large concourse had assembled when he arrived to officiate at divine service. He saw and read the paper, and calmly took it down and tore it in pieces. A loud murmur was heard. — “My friends,” said Mr. O’Flaherty, “I would have done so if ten or twelve swords had been pointed at my breast! This country shall not be disgraced and disturbed by any ruinous, nightly, or other unlawful practices!”

The crowd was silent and abashed, and Mr. O’Plaherty did not neglect to enforce his sentiments in the discourse of the day. No outrage whatever has since occurred, and the whole country has remained peaceable as before.

We shall soon, my dear L., I believe, bid adieu to these rural scenes. The autumn fast advances. They are reaping busily on all sides of our teht; and the numerous fleet of fishing-boats, which often lie in full view between us and the Waterford coast, will soon take their departure.

The cold breeze begins to render our hitherto delightful little daily abode on the shore, uncomfortable. Our readings in Homer cannot be prolonged to so late an hour, and we are glad to adjourn to our own apartment pretty early, where a cheerful fire is ready to warm us. My studies [170] in history draw to a close; and I shall to-morrow morning, if the weather prove fine, sketch out some thoughts on the undertaking and policy of Henry the Second, in regard to Ireland: — I say if the weather prove fine, because the habit of studying and writing on such subjects, has become so established a theory, that I could not, with half the satisfaction or ease, perform my promise to you in any other spot than our beloved tent.

Church Town, Hook, Sept. 1, 1812

The morning is quite charming, and full of that melancholy interest which the autumnal season gives at such moments, as well as in the evenings. The cool and searching air inspires deep thoughts of the decay of all things. It tells that summer’s bloom and joys are gone, and man startles as if he found himself approaching a precipice — when he thinks that he too must fall! — Spring, reviving all the vegetable world, may find him no more! What a mournful eloquence, sometimes, in nature’s most silent operations!

The fields around this spot are stripped of their late rich harvest. The fishing-boats have retired, dreading the coming storms of winter. . A clear blue sky, and a few distant clouds resting on the horizon, streaked with reddish gold shew a tendency to firost. Here and there, a vessel is passing silently on in full sail. I am placed on the bank [171] of that arm of the sea which leads to Waterford; how beautiful the opposite shore, just lighted by the morning sun!

Early in the autumn of 1171, Raymond le Gros, the renowned and valiant general of thei English, passed this way, accompanied by Harvey de Monte Marisco (who had revisited England), and a small band of seventy men. In a short period followed Strongbow, Earl of Chepstow, with a gallant train of twelve hundred; and, in the autumn of the following year, 1172, Henry the Second, Monarch of England and of part of France, sailed past here with a valiant army of from four to five thousand men, and a brilliant train of nobles.

If you throw your eyes over Tacitus’ “de Moribus Germanorum" you will, find it give a strong idea of the measures of the Irish nation, in many respects, at and before this period. Their government itself seems never to have been placed on a right basis. The aborigines, and early invaders, always divided it into petty dynasties. Hereman and Heber, sons of Mileius [sic for Milesius], transmitted to their posterity a pentarchal one. Hugony established twenty-five dynasties. Odlam Fodla had legislative talents, but the soil was uncongenial to his labours. Conn, Cormack O’Conn, and his son, shewed great abilities; but two of these were murdered, and they were unable to leave lasting institutions in their states. [172] The genius of the Irish did not turn to make or permit permanent ones. The splendour of a day, the gratification of evanescent vanity, and the too intemperate pursuit of revenge, satisfied them; but estranged them from real advancement in glory, and in the true science of government. They wished to be great, at a small expence of labour, time, and self-denial. Such institutions as those of Lycurgus, or Romulus, or Alfred, were never imagined by these inconsiderate and haughty islanders. Constant divisions and internal weakness naturally rewarded their ignorant presumption. Before the Christian era, the twenty-five dynasties of Hugony had again, nominally at least, merged into a pentarchy. The chief monarch was elective, and the inferior monarchs sometimes hereditary — sometimes elective, as the peculiarity of the law permitted. The latter paid a very uncertain tribute in kind to the chief monarch, which they sent when they pleased.

The assembly at Tarah was a meeting of numerous petty despots and bards. We find nothing done there to meliorate the condition of the long-afflicted people. The bards ministered to these tyrants’ pride. They regulated genealogies, and taught congregated princes and nobles to fancy valour, wisdom, and virtue hereditary, whilst many of them were the most worthless of mankind. Their numbers and rapacity [173] made these bards, at length, quite intolerable, even to their patrons.

The ministers of Christianity did a great deal to meliorate the country. They raised up the prostrate people, and restrained the selfish despots, who had long trampled them on their native soil, or made them unhappy instruments of blood and rapine. Patrick did much good; and this venerable bishop appears to have joined the talents of the legislator with those of the Apostle of Christ. In time, as there was no other eligible profession for men of literature and talent, the Christian clergy became rather numerous, and the religious houses in Ireland too many for so small a country. But the latter were the only depositories of learning; and, as a bright lustre shone from many of them, should be viewed with respects However, notwithstanding the efforts of ihe Christian clergy to better the condition of the people of Ireland, and raise them from their degraded situation, they could do nothing to rectify a form of government essentially bad. The Danes, in the mean time, began to invade and ravage Ireland. Under Turgesius they exercised the powers of the sole monarchy. Though checked, they did not abandon their hold. They possessed several maritime little kingdoms in the east, souths and west. Afflicted by the double grievance of the tyranny of their [174] own numerous despots, and of Danish rapacity and oppression, Ireland saw Henry the Second of England approach as a deliverer and friend. He landed at Waterford without opposition. That city, chiefly inhabited by Danes, and pne of their establishments, had been taken by Strongbow. Previous to the King of England’s arrival, some of the Irish, of Dublin and Leinster, had applied to the King of Man and the northern Princes for aid against the English; so that Lord Lyttleton’s opinion seems a very probable one, that they would have fallen totally under the yoke of Norwegians and Danes, if that plan had succeeded. Revenge had blinded them; and, as usual, the passions of the moment reigned instead of sound policy and amicable adjustment.

If the English and Henry the Second had never approached the shores of Ireland, she might, perhaps, have become subject to other states of the Continent than the Norwegian and Danish ones, to which, from her western situation, she lies exposed. The construction of her internal policy was such as to ensure success to any bold and united adventurers, supported by a powerful parent state.

Henry came as the ally and protector of the King of Leinster, and the enemy of the despotism of Roderick O’Connor. Almost immediately [175] on his landings the petty kings began to tender their submission to him. The defective old machinery, of above a thousand years infirm existence, fell to pieces on this great monarches appearance. Had the system of government in Ireland possessed one particle of good, some respectable resistance would have been made to Henry at Waterford. No feeling of public good animated this unhappy country. Its virtuous clergy had long seen and vainly lamented the feuds, assassinations, and predatory warfare of her infatuated kings and chieftains, as well as the violence of the perfidious and ferocious Danes — the enemies to religion and good order; and looked with a very favorable eye on Henry the Second, as the only corrector of all these intolerable grievances. That king had only to pause, and decide on good and wise measures; to remain a sufficient time in the country to give a lasting impulse; and to leave behind him men of understanding, valour, and temper, at the head of affairs. The fate of future millions in Ireland, and much of the future comfort and security also of England, depended on this great monarch’s decision.

Breakfast appears — they are bringing it to the tent, so that I am obliged to postpone our historical enquiry till to-morrow morning. I shall, therefore, say no more than how sincerely I am, &c. &c. [176]