Trim, OcL 30, 1814.

My Dear L.

Yesterday we walked to Summer-hill. We have seen the castle of the family of Britain’s hero, towering amidst its native woods, and venerable from its remote antiqnity. With what different feelings, and how much greater alacrity, did I hasten to view this Inanimate building, surrounded by rural beauty and simplicity, than to behold General Bonaparte, when styled a Consul, in a very splendid court, encompassed by princes, ambassadors, generals, and admirers!

The sun had not long appeared, when we arose and found the village of Summer-hill, which wc scarcely saw last night, to be an extremely pretty one, far surpassing the ordinary ones of Ireland. The demesne of Summer-hill joins the village. [216] The house is a large, plain, stone building. We walked througii the grounds till breakfast, and very much enjoyed a fiue autumnal morning there. The day brightened as we left the village, and we saw, at a mile’s distance, the gate and woods of Dangan. Finding some difficulty in gaining admittance, we passed down the side of the demesne wall, and pursuing a noble road, with woods on each side, reached an eminence from whence Dangan-castle burst on our view. From a spot where former warriors had resided (for the castle was built in King John’s reign), and English chieftains had ruled, Ireland had given back to the sister-country a hero, who was to raise her name through Europe, and aid in emancipating her nations! Of English extraction, the stock had been transplanted here, and at length produced the glorious fruit of which Britain is so justly proud. From a quarter, too, where, in Ireland’s early times, so many monarchs had resided — so many warriors assembled — where glory was, perhaps, the only thought of sq many heroic men, had issued, in these times, the leader of the armies of the whole empire, who had vied with Romans in patience and valour, and freed all Spain and Portugal from their ferocious invaders!

But not for the glare of arms did we admire him, as for the noblest and undaunted perseverance in relieving Europe. From the peninsula he fired signals of hope, by his numerous victories, [217] to the afflicted nations, till France’s oppressor sickened at their repetition. By Britain and her government was he well seconded. Had Hannibal been so supported at home, never had Rome trampled on the bleeding earth.

The windows of the castle glistened in the sun, and the many-coloured woods added highly to its beauty. We remained long gazing on the ancient edifice before us. Again and again did we look, without being satiated. What scope for reflection! What room for gratitude to Heaven! Hence proceeded the young noble who was designed by it to stem the career and conquests of France, and co-operating (though distant from them) with the kings and great captains of Europe, accelerate the fall of her last revolutionary leader: — the British isles, constitution, and laws, guarded from a truly barbarian hand; and the unhappy nations of the Continent saved from continued disgrace and degradation; — and all this so much through this hero’s means.

What numerous thoughts arose! What a manifestation of the will of the Deity, by means so unexpected, to overthrow the towering and bloodstained fabric of French ambition! It is the birthplace of one of the benefactors of mankind we behold! A selfish and arrogant 1nan conquers for himself and omits neither falsehood nor cruelty to secure his ends. This hero fought for his country and mankind; and is respectable by his truth and [218] candour. It matters not, that all possible good to be boped, has not been accomplished in France and Europe by his deeds. The evil removed was monstrous. We are not to presume that every thing is henceforth to be as we wish, or to forget benefits received, because greater and continued ones have not followed. It were vulgar and base ingratitude to Him who from on high dispenses all good! With many such thoughts, we beheld this interesting castle. The demesnes are very extensive, and the woods noble. We were permitted to see the interior, but it is quite a ruin. Since the Earl of Momington disposed of it, it has passed through several hands, and has undergone much alteration. It has lately suffered by fire, so that the external and distant view we had at first was more gratifying than the closer inspection. Besides, you know how much imagination acts in regard to a distant object. The shell of the castle, which had so fine an effect with its battlements and turrets amongst the crowding woods, had a different one when we were near. Still all appeared to us classic and historic ground, and if the state re-purchased it, as au occasional residence for the Duke of Wellington in this island, I think iiich a mark of public gratitude would be rightly conferred by his native island. It might yet be pleasing to him, in the evening of his days, to walk under his paternal shades. [219]

We lingered long in the demesne of Dangan. I made a sketch of the castle, whicfh I enclose; but, doubtless, on your return from England you will yourself visit it: the scene is worthy of your mind. The improvements and lakes, which once highly adorned it, are lost through neglect, and the fine gardens are uncultivated.

The rest of the evening we walked through the adjacent country, which is fertile and wellcultivated. From every part the woods, and frequently the castle of Dangan, were visible. We continued to walk on magic ground; the varied landscapes of a fine corn-country, always terminated by the widely-extended vroods of Dangan, could not but please! In a very humble cottage we procured potatoes and milk. It waa painful to observe throughout the country great audi general poverty. Though the conti, guous demesnes of Summer-hill and Dangan give a fine appearance in the vicinity of the village, yet other parts through which we walked were very different. The peace has now begun to operate, as I have always thought it must, and rents have fallen — or, rather, the produce of farms has fallen, and the rents are still held up by landlords. We learned that through Meaih, as far as Athboy, the misery thus occasioned has been already extreme. In another year it will become worse; for any small capital, means, or stock, farmers have, will be exhausted by an iniquitous [220] practice of extorting high rents, when war prices for land-produce have ceased, and the markets of the world are open.

The book we are studying is a large and instructive one; and let the entreat you, my dear L., to consider how much pains it costs the pedestrian to read it well. Consider, also, that all the readings of it I transmit to you are founded on, or connected with, facts. My statements shall be as impartial as possible; but often going through great fatigue, pressed for time, or harassed by the weather, must be imperfect enough. Wanting neither to exaggerate or diminish — "neither to extenuate, or set down aught in malice,” — I shall write to you, as fully as I can, on the complicated distresses of agriculture.

The efforts to sustain rents by bills, prohibiting the entry of foreign grain till the price becomes high at home, seems a desperate resource, which I should never have expected a British senate to have had recourse to. It was a sure way to produce famine, and could only prolong the lingering agonies of the landed gentry and farmers. Was a great commercial and manufacturing empire to deprive itself of food from any quarter of the globe, in order that rents of land should remain high! That the experiment should have been made by so much congregated ability, information, and genius, is to me matter of gFeat surprise! [221]

We have heard of the high rents being demanded and exacted in parts of Meath with extreme severity. The most afflicting cases of the suffering small farmers, in consequence, are mentioned. It appears a plan to make general mendicity! Landlords do not think of the poet’s words: —

“But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied;"

and appear rather indifferent to the depopulation of their estates! Many great farmers too, and gentry, have most unpatriotically lost their temper, and cease to give employment to the people. They are rejecting the bounties of nature, when they are not to contribute sufficiently to the demands of avarice, and our great population will be shortly perishing amidst cheapness of provi* sions! What a disease in the mind does this avarice become, thus rendering man callous to the groans and sighs of his neighbour and fellowman! How totally repugnant to Christianity! Nay, how it cuts out the very heart’s-core, leaving that dry shell in which no "milk of human kindness," no compassion, no generosity remains! It is the god of self. But in its dreary territory exist no motives to noble deeds, no love of country, no soft benevolence — the fainting relative expires at its door, and thjp child of sorrow turns silently away! [222]

We returned to our little inn, at Summer-hill, with melancholy sensations! In the morning we had walked abroad with joy; for ideas of true glory elevate the mind — and who could be so dull as not to be inspired by them in the vicinity of Dangan? But now we felt the more awful and affecting sensations of sympathy for the anguish of so many millions through this fair island, and throughout the empire, reduced to the greatest wretchedness, by the termination of a war so full of that glory which had so lately dazzled us!

After a slight repast in our quiet and comfortable little inn; we were glad to exchange such reflections for trfinquil repose.

With the first gleams of a golden sun, illuminating the peaceful village of Summer-hill, we set out for Trim. This noble orb of day is so much the friend and cheerful companion of the pedestrian’s early path, that you need not wonder at, and must not blame my frequent mention of the delightful effects of his presence. — To see him so frequently light up various and new scenes, and covering the earth with his beams, is one of the many advantages of the true pedestrian. To see him thus is but to adore. For who can be then insensible to the existence, the bounty, and the magnificence of a God? As he now advanced "rejoicing in the east" we again approached Dangan-castle, on our way to Trim. Again we beheld it. The first dawn of [223] morning was on its walls; the autumnal woods reddened with the rising-sun .; the cheerful red-breast poured forth its song, and the harmless sheep grazed through the demesne. I shall not describe to you my sensations: — what new and pleasant reflections arose, and what harmony was In this scene!

Proceeding towards Trim, we passed through some of the finest and best cultivated country we had seen in Ireland. Good farm-houses, large fields, and every appearance of good crops and proper cultivation, again gave pleasing tokens of English improvement and early settlement.

We were now approaching the ancient residence of Hugh de Lacy, the favourite and confidant of Henry the Second; to whom he made the improvident, and, indeed, unwarrantable and unjust grant of all this territory. It was besides very impolitic, and renewing the old pernicious Irish system. Young de Lacy, in the reign of John, declared himselfindependent of the Crown of England. We now learnt a very interesting fact, from the country people, who were decent and obliging in these parts— that the Duke of Wellington had resided in a small country-house, with great modesty and privacy, (when Lord Wollesley was proposing to part with Dangan) for two or three years, near Trim. We had discovered more than we expected. This, then, was the [224]

chosen retreat and residence of the hero, before he distinguished himself in India. Here he formed his mind, and quietly studied that science which was to lead him to so great celebrity, and in his hands extinguish the vain boasts of revolutionary France! We heard of no wonderful excesses, or extraordinary premature actions. His mind was one of those which, like the oak, grows slowly; but attains a majesty and solidity of genius different from that of other men.

We proceeded, with much eagerness, to this little country-house; we soon saw it, near the road, within a mile of Trim, buried in trees. We reached the gate of its avenue, which is straight, of modest appearance, and lined with tall ashtrees. The house is perfectly rural, with a small lawn, and pretty shrubberies round it; but very simple, and just fit for a small domestic family. The apartments are commodious, and all the accommodations good, but on the most modest scale. The garden pleased us most; it is good and quite rural, suiting the character of the place. With what pleasure we walked in it! —

In a retired spot we found and cropt a fine cabbage-rose, in full bloom. This, in the end of October, and at the retreat of Wellington, was really charming. I could not help feeling the pleasing superstitious presentiment, that it was a precursor and harbinger of greater deeds by the [225] hero, and; indeed, expressed my sentiments to this effect I venture to transmit to you a few stanzas which the incident inspired, and the rose seemed to call, for:—

That gem that thus glisten’st on autumn’s cold breast,
Art the signal of glories more bright!
The herald of safety, to nations opprest
Thou breath’st O’er the senses delight!

Perhaps, from thy stem, has thy Wellington chose
Such a blossom — and fragiant as thou;
Or love has imposed such a favourite rose
Where laurel now circle his brow!

Thy leaves are all moist— 'tis that many shall die,
And the angel that bade thee to bloom,
ThO’ pleased that new glory thy hero was nigh,
Mingled tears with thy rose-bud’s perfume!"

I gathered this rose with care, and shall preserve it, even when its faded leaves shall no longer please the eye!

I send you a small sketch of Wellington’s house, which is become a great fovourite with us. I am inclined to thinks that when General Bonaparte began his splendid career in Italy, the Duke was residing here. That noble and almost Roman simplicity, which has distinguished so many of Britain’s heroes and great men early marked him.

When the one young man — half educated, ravenous for power, seizing it by any means, and already floating on the revolutionary tide, had [226] made his nature so well known on the Continent — the other — calm and studious, dignified, in this rural abode, and completing his education by repeated pains, fitted himself to command men, and to ensure the respect and admiration of his political adherents!

On bidding farewell to this very interesting little spot, which has considerable picturesque beauty within itself we passed on to Trim, a considerable town of about three thousand inhabitants. The jail is pretty good, and is well situated. The old castle is the only striking feature of the place.* It is seated on the memorable Boyne, which is here not large, though a very handsome stream, and beautifully blue, as all the rivers of Ireland we had seen; it is very large, and of a very commanding appearance, but was much injured by Cromwell’s artillery. Hugh de Lacy, probably, made this his principal position. An anecdote is recorded of the fate of that nobleman, strongly marking treachery and bigotry in the lower Irish of those days.

De Lacy had recovered his territory, after some of those irruptions often made by chieftains, and

*The castle of Trim once held imprisoned, in the reign of Richard the Second, one of England’s greatest heroes and ^kiogt, when a youth. — Henry the Fifth accompanied Richard the Second to Ireland, and was imprisoned, by that weak monarch, in Trim-castle, for some slight or imaginary offence.

[227] was engaged in repairing one of his strong places, which he had fixed on the scite of ruined abbey. The old noble superintended and even occasionally engaged in the works to encounage his labourers, when, as he stooped down, one of them drew out a concealed battle, axe, and smote off his head at a blow. He fled, aad was concealed and protected by his friends. It is said, howerer, that John de Courcey and Young de Lacy took a cruel revenge on the whole neighbourhood!

Trim is remarkable for the occasional residence of Swift, near it, at his parsonage of Laracor, in the last century. As this extraordinary and great man was a distinguished pedestrian, we should have felt more than usual pleasure in paying our respects to his transient residence, but a new. and greater object began to animate us; and, in walking, it is peculiarly necessary to apportion your time well to your distances, and not waste your power on too many objects. We resigned this pleasure very reluctantly, for Swift’s genius has claims to lasting admiration. Happy for him if he had never known courts or ministers, to embitter him by disappointment, and sadden the great remainder of his life by to painful recurrence to the past — a weakness unworthy so great a man; who ought not to have repined after, or been soured by the loss of what was so little worth regretting.

[228] We shall proceed to Navan thb evening, though somewhat late in the day. Having been gratified by seeing Dangan, and the interesting rural retreat of Wellington on our way; we shall hasten to explore the beauties of the Boyne till it falls into the sea at Drogheda. We shall behold the venerable spot where Williain crossed it, and the theatre of action where be decided the fate, of this island and of the empire. I must conclude this, therefore, by saying, how truly I am, &c. &c.

Slane, Oct. 31, 1814.

Mr DEAR L.

We arrived late last night at Navan, a considerable and populous country town of Meath, Our walk was tedious and very fatiguing. Add to this, we saw a great deal of wretchedness — mud-cottages without chimnies; — no gardens, no poultry; and, too often, the sad evidence of a joyless existence, from smoke issuing from the doors and windows of the cottages. Meath, however, is a fine arable county; but the want of comfortable dwellings, and of green crops, of trees, and all the minor appendages of rural life. [229] make it appear, except where demesnes occur, which in some places are numerous, very uninteresting. We had fine views of the Boyne from Trim and near Navan; beautiful places on it are very common. There it is joined by the Blackwater, a handsome river, and thenceforth it flows with greater grandeur.

Navan is a large populous country town, situate in the midst of a fertile country, having some internal trade, but very insufficient employment for its population. The long rows of miserable cottages which present themselves to the eye on entering Navan, kept in a very filthy manner in the interior, (and rendered unhealthy and odious, by pools of water and heaps of moist manure under their windows and before their doors) give an unpleasing picture of human nature, and almost realize the dreams of the satirical Swift. Navan, too truly, may be said to represent most of the small towns in Ireland, in this respect. Laziness and pride operate strongly on this people. The latter prevents them seeing their own faults, or admitting them — the former makes them live wallowing in a nasty manner, rather than using the exertions they ought to make their dwellings and themselves somewhat decent. It will not do to lay the fault solely on the degradation of the country, by a bad system. There is a foolish, and, indeed, incredible degree of family pride runs through this race, which gives [230] numbers of them, of the lowest class, a saucy insolence and contempt for othersj generating in itself a neglect of education and of industry; which makes so many towns, villages, and so much of the country not much superior to the approach to Navan! Family pride often obliterates, or choaks every good quality in man!

The vicinity of Navan is very pretty, and the junction of the rivers increases the beauty of part of the scenery very much. It was the close of their market-day when we arrived. We found a small inn, not very clean, as is mostly the case in Irish towns of this description; but which afforded us a good and plentiful dinner. From its windows we witnessed a scene strongly illus, trative of the extreme poverty of Ireland. A small farmer’s cart, with a quantity of butter-milk for sale, had arrived, in the market-place about the time we reached our inn. Heavy rain came on, and continued all the evening. The poor people, from every part of the town, hastened with various vessels, and with much anxiety, to buy this butter-milk at a halfpenny per quart. A woman and boy served out to them, during heavy and chilling rains, large quantities of it. The patience of the fanner’s wife was exemplary; she continued her fatiguing office till all was sold, though she had early become quite wet with the rain. Age and youth — the most wretched — and some quite respectable [231] — attended, and bought up this milk, which, in Engiand, is given to hogs. The spectacle was an affecting one, and made a deep impression oft our minds. Ah! my dear L., all is not right when the population of a whole town run with avidity to buy butter-milk in a cold, rainy October evening.

If legislators, or ministers, or princes, ever bestow a passing half-hour on these pages, which you persuade me may be of utility to the empire, if published, let them, in idea, visit every abode wbere this wretched milk was carried — let them behold the conclusion of this cold October evening, and examine if there be firing to boil the indifferent potatoes — if there be candle to light the sorry meal — if the roof keep out the rain, and, when the midnight-hour is near — if there be a bed to lie on! Then shall not some godlike measures follow this inquiry, which they have condescended to make? Shall not man in exalted station, surrounded by power and luxury, long to alleviate this misery? and, by deeds of beneficence, unconnected with party-feeling, or motive, rescue his fellow-creatures from nights, from winters, from years, such as this October night in Navan! — Have I said Navan? should I not rather write Ireland? The instance is particular — The suffering is general!

We left Navan this morning with the earliest dawn. A fine morning had succeeded the rain, [232] and the Boyne, swelled by it and the great accession of a tributary river, foamed and rolled away with majestic fury.

Anxious to reach the historic ground where the rival kings, the father and son-in-law, had contended for empire, we rapidly pursued our course, several beautiful villas and seats adorning the Boyne as we proceeded. Mr. Buxton’s charming place on the river, near Navan, pleased us very much. To enumerate all would be impossible. Sometimes the ruined, but still towering castle, stood near this fine stream, reminding us of ancient grandeur and feudal times; here and there an occasional good farm-house, or the tasteful cottage of some gentleman, with thriving plantations, noble woods, enriched the view. The "orient beams" of the pleasant sun made every thing gay, and we very soon came near Slane; when, from an impending hill, we suddenly opened on the view of the noble woods, castle, and village of Slane, whilst the Boyne glided amongst the former, and gently washed the green declivity on which this most beautiful of modern castles stood.

We passed through the demesne on our way to this village, and were delighted with every step. The castle is of that modern antique so much followed in these days, though not quite appropriate to modem times. Feudal grandeur had a sort of wild magnificence in its abode we can no [233] longer see. The powdered footman ill replaces the armed esquire, or soldier ready for war. The private gentleman, or the noble modestly dressed, and all the modem elegance of his family, are not substitutes for the war-like and haughty baron in armour, and his dames gorgeously apparelled. The ancient picturesque of the inhabitants, and of the interior and environs of the castle, no more exists. A century or two hence some of these buildings may make fine ruins; but at present, however handsome, want much of their proper picturesque. Slane-castle is a very noble building. The situation on the border of the Boyne, and enriched on all sides by the finest trees and woods, is truly charming. As the Marquis of Conyngham was from home, we did not seek to be admitted to see the apartments.

The servants, at great places in Ireland, are often more difficult of approach than their masters, and are frequently strongly tinged with the haughty insolence I formerly alluded to, as springing firom beholding an abject and wretched population crawling round the doors of wealth or power. On leaving the castle, we pursued a noble walk along the Boyne of great extent, and adorned with trees worthy of England.

This village, which we reached to breakfast, is certainly one of the best and prettiest in Ireland. It is formed into a sort of square; the houses are handsome and modern, inhabited by [234] private gentlemen; and there is none of the squalid wretchedness which shocked us at Navan and Trim. The views from this village are quite delightful, and the vicinity of Slane-castle, the Boyne, and Lord Conyngbam’s fine demesne, all placed in a fertile country, make it a most pleasing retreat. Having breakfasted, and ordered a late dinner, set out for the serene of war in 1690.

The walk proved a very beautiful one, the Boyne increasing in majesty as it flowed towards Drogheda. Its banks were thickly covered with fine seats; and on our way we found a luxuriance of trees very rare in Ireland. We had just visited the birth-place of a great man, .the enemy of French tyranny in our own tiines. We were now to behold the spot on which the immortal William defeated Louis the Fourteenth, in the person of James, and the much misguided Irish.

Permit me, my dear L., before we arrive there, to make a few remarks. The history of Ireland is do little studied here, or in England, that I may be excusable.

James the Second, and his royal brother, Charles the Second, had laboured for some years previous to the accession of the former to the throne, at the pernicious work of establishing arbitrary power in England. For this, Charles had become the mean pensioner of France. It appears, that this careless and unprincipled [235] prince was constantly urged on by his brother, the Duke of York, in this base design; but I fear the violence of a party, calling themselves patriotic, threw the king more into his brother’s and the French king’s arms than a man not inclined to tyranny, and fond rather of pleasure than of power (which he seems to have despised) would ohtherwise have been. The melancholy truth appears now too evident, that French gold and French arts operated on all sides.

Charles’s pleasures first made him the needy slave of France — be never felt as the monarch of England; — he was always a jeering voluptuary — when clothed in royal robes, or seated on a throne; if he had money, he cared not who supplied it; — faithless to his friends, and indifferent to the happiness or misery of inen, he had no country, for all his feelings centred in self; and he had no proper pride, for he laughed at all that was august and sacred in character or public life. The unprintipled fury of patty made this man decide to be a tyrant. Amidst his voluptuousness, his weaknesses, his easy indifference, and his polished and captivating manners, a vein of obstinacy was to be discovered. This, his brother James, who was a tyrant from principle, knew, and profit by. The factious leader, of the day pushed the king to extremities. Another republic seemed to be threatebed, and his life in danger. France wished for internal confusion in [236] Eagland, and her ambassador, Barillon, well seconded her odious schemes! She desired not to see Charles too powerful, therefore she seconded the views of the patriots of the time, who (and what will not party-revenge do?) accepted her aid: — she wished not the patriots should triumph and establish a powerful government, therefore she supplied Charles with money, and offered him troops! What a lesson to every country, but peculiarly to this empire, against all foreign interference!

Charles was supposed by some to have had his moments of compunction, but they were few — and the malignant and narrow-minded James was ever ready to stifle them, and prevent the deluded king reconciling himself with England, by conduct worthy the monarch of a free and great people. In Ireland, impelled by James, he took the worst measures, and by grossly favouring the Catholic party, which he deemed subservient to his views, prepared the way for civil war. He attempted to destroy the just balance which ought to exist in that countryj and to acquire partisans there at the expence and welfare of the empire.

The patriots rushed into the other extreme, and became sanguinary persecutors of men, vast numbers of whom had no fault but a difference of religion. These patriot leaders, once but too much admired, grew inquisitors in the state, and [237] condemned for religion, when they could find no other crime in their fellow-citizens. Ireland, essentially Catholic — credulous, and too full of vindictive passions to be guided by reason; — was thus fitted as an arena of discord by king and patriots. Each had his adherents — by each were they pushed to extremes — by each were terms confounded; — Catholic religion was taken for arbitrary power, and Protestant faith for republicanism. How much did such a scene suit the Machiavelian policy of France! Can we possibly teli, my dear L., whether to blame king or patriots most? Must we not pity, however we blame, this unfortunate island, which had already suffered a great deal by the same practices in the reign of Charles’s father? The empire was already confused — France looked malignantly on — Charles seemed to waver. He died suddenly, not without strong appearance of poison.

At such a period, James the Second came to the throne. This man had all the faults of a tyrant, and none of the qualities of a great prince. Narrow, bigotted to the Catholic faiths with a most perverted and corrupt accommodation of religion to his own baseness — never to be depended on, but when cowardice made him sincere — vain of talents which were of the lowest order — sanguinary, where he could venture — mean whenever danger approached — willing to [238] have set up any religion that seemed to him to favor despotic power — ready to be a Tiberius, if a Sejanus and pretorian guards had been near to support him — moved as a puppet by priests of great zeal and little understanding, when he thought himself most supreme and uncontrolied. This man attempted to subvert the glorious constitution of England, and govern it like a petty and emasculated Italian state. Then true patriotism raised her voice, expelled this unworthy kitig; and, in William and James’s daughter, preserved the hereditary line, the constitutioo, and the empire.

James had, in his short reign, done enovjgfa to complete the misery of Ireland. With a frantic hand, he had overset the whole labours of England, since the time of Henry the Second. The Irish, blinded by their passions, saw not the abyss he was preparing for them, or rather hoped to profit by the divisions and weakness of England, and through the means of this infatuated king, eject their neighbours, friends, and relations of English race, long settled amongst them, who had improved their country and themselves — whe felt Ireland to be their common country too — and who knew, if all settlers and invaders were to be denied a right to inhabit it, that the Irish themselves fell within the proscription.

Property, so often, and so cruelly unsettled, was again to be unhmged; and the innocent — [239] and unjust — the most amiable, as well as those rapacious or severe — all were to be cast forth on a distant and unfeeling world. It is most melancholy to reflect, but historic justice pronounces the truth — that religious prejudice entered into this cruel plan, the religion of Christ — admonishing men "to love one another" and "visit the fatherless and widow in their affliction"!

It is to be feared, that the Irish Catholics of that day despised, and were insincere to James, whilst they made use of the sanction of his royal authority; and he on the other part, clearly, both disliked and held the Irish in contempt, but endeavoured to make them a stepping-stone to recover his authority in England. With such motives, as some of the violent party of the Catholics seem to have had, they never could, and ought not to have succeeded. With those the king entertainecl, he deserved the signal overthrow and lasting disgrace he met. In either, or any case of success, Ireland must have become the slave of France, and the scene of future bloody wars.

James, who, on the .English throne, had begged for money from the French ambassador, with tears in his eyes, was not at all likely, when a fugitive, and going desperate to a nation he contemned, to retain any sentiment of decent or even outward independence. Accordingly, on [240] landing in Ireland, and holding a parliament, where the whole Protestants of the country were proscribed, he seems the double instrument of the malice and bigotry of Louis the Fourteenth. This monarch abhorred in William, the defender of the liberties of Holland, of the continent, and now of England. He was a prince of a very narrow intellect, but of great activity and ambition — bigotted and despotic in the extreme — hating find persecuting genius, if not subservient to his will — and quite unprincipled as to any means he pursued to attain an end. Having imagined himself a great man, he endeavoured to sustain the part, by trampling down Europe. In William he found a determined opposer.

The divisions of England had given Louis a sort of false strength; but his fraudulent policy, weak as it was vile, had terminated, by causing the expulsion of James, and the male line of the Stuarts. He clung to the hope of repairing, things in Ireland, and sent the unhappy James there to perpetuate discord and perplex William. Accordingly, the abject king made the French ambassador, D’Avaux, a privy-councillor, and undertook nothing without his permission. In his speech from the throne, he had the folly and meanness to acknowledge his obligations to the French king, and praise, in warm terms, his foreign ally and master.

It is plain that James came over to Ireland in [241] an ill temper, vrhich he probably carried from England to France on his ejection. His intellects needed not that great disadvantage to man in public affairs. This is quite obvious, and may partly account for his excessive impolicy, cruelty, and persecution, in addition to his natural bias, and the orders of Louis.

Although James, at first, with an affectation of heroism which suited him not better than Manbrino’s helmet did a celebrated character, had refused any troops from the French king, he was soon glad to accept of them; yet, when they arrived, they and their commander treated the self-degraded king with no respect, and cleariy shewed they came to conquer for France. Without abilities — without means, — without confidence in the people he came to induce to shed their blood, and risk every thing for him, James, with the cowardice of a degraded tyrant, was meditating flight before he fought a battle. He had not dared to attack the brave Schomberg, though his army had suffered to extremity by the climate and sickness; and, on hearing of William’s arrival and approach, he betrayed in council the darkest duplicity and the most extreme folly. Perhaps he wished to involve the Irish in the war, and, having lighted the flame, to abandon them; or his vanity led him on quitting the stage of royalty, to make some shew of magnaiiiinity. Be it as it may, on hearing of [242] William’s march, he left Dublin, contrary to the most prident opinions, and joined his army, now fallen back near Drogheda, on the Boyne. With 33,000 men, Irish and auxiliaries, he was posted near Oldbridge, on that river, when his son-in-law, at the head of 36,000 men, also Irish and auxiliaries, arrived on the opposite bank.

William was one of those truly great men who are bom to save nations, not to destroy them. Calm, modesty and even reserved, he sought not admiration, and was free from every species of ostentation. A good soldier, a provident and active general, a faithful friend, without religious prejudice or acrimony of any sort; there was a sublime composure in his mind and manner, quite above vulgar intemperance, and scarcely mortal; and William, in his early defence of Holland, — in all his struggles for the liberty of Europe, and in finally emancipating this empire from an odious impending tyranny, was, to the end of his career, the friend of man, and the upright guardian of his subjects. He had now a painful but necessary duty to perform: he must meet James in the field, and one day might deprive his excellent consort of a father and a husband!

To view the scene of this engagement, my dear L., has been the object of our long walk of yesterday and to-day! With what strong emotions on descending a small declivity, did we open [243] on the noble Boyne — the village of Oldbridge — the opposite ground, the very field of battle, where James stood amongst his guards — the ford where the English army crossed — the spot where Schomberg, the Blucher of his day, fell — where Walker, the heroic defender of Derry, received his wound, and expired — where the cannon, treacherously pointed at William, and but too well-directed, was placed — all appeared before us! — We paused a long time.

So well known are this battle and its results, that I need not detail them to you. Already you see the Boyne crossed — and behold William, in every place, the active hero! Now his dormant fire kindles, and transports him through the thickest and hottest parts of the action, well seconded and supported by his valiant troops! James, torpid and pusillanimous, remains at Donore, till told he is in danger of being taken. He flies — and surrenders empire and fame for ever!

The brave Irish, who with another leader had made a different day — ashamed of the dastardly king — after a hot conflict, and the loss of many lives, retreat, in good order, by Duleek. Shall I venture to conclude thus—

The battle has ceased, and the silence that reigns
Is more dreadful than all its uproar!
Ah I see how the valiant are spread on the plains.
As the flutter of life is no more!

[244]

The soft dews of evening lie coM in each head. *
And those Arms that were proudly display’d
In the struggle, repose on the moss-covered bed
Where the war-horse has dolefully stray’d.

Those eyes, that were yesterday sparkling with life,
Are fix’d with the dull glare of death;
And the passions that reigned through the torturing strife,
Yet are speaking — -though gone is that breath.

And shail the sun of to-morrow behold
All this verdure besprinkled with gore?
Shall these generous bosoms for ever be cold
And throb on that morrow no more?

Thy soft wave, oh, Boyne! is yet redden’d with blood.
And glares in the twilight’s last ray;
Sad fragments deform thy late unspotted flood.
And around thee thy dark eddies play.

Now dark grows the night! — Oh, Moon, shroud thy beoams!
Long be hidden those horrors from view; —;
And Morn, if thou canst, let thy tremulous gleams
Kiss slowly the blood-mingled dew!

Oh, Discord! how mournful the glory that’s thine.
When brothers — unkindly oppos’d,
Thus warring — destroy ev’ry patriot design;
Thus lie — when the battle is closed!

How charming was the evening-scene at the Boyne! though somewhat saddened by these thoughts. The golden sun shed a mellow lustre on the river — the trees — the equestrian statue of the hero William — and the distant landscape, spreading to Drogheda. We reluctantly left it, [245] visiting, pn our return, Douth, the noble and very beautiful seat and demesne of Lord Netterville, a venerable Catholic nobleman, and arrived at an excellent inn here, to a good dinner and vrelcome repose.

Believe me, &c.

Dublin, Nov. 3, 1814.

My Dear L.

Anxious to reach Dublin, and to complete our excursion soon, we arose before day. Our preparations for departure were easily made. The pedestrian depends on few besides himself. As the twilight wrapt the castle and woods of Slane in awful obscurity, and almost totally shrouded the beauties of the Boyne from our sight, we crossed the bridge of Slane. The twilight has its own peculiar charms — the obscurity of every object, and the silence everywhere (unless the murmur of a river break it), are awfully pleasing. It is a moment which writers on the sublime might study with advantage. The dim gleam which seem, to hover over twilight scenery, well exemplifies the expression of the prince of English poets, of "darkness visible." We have a painful feeling, as if existence were vibrating on the very globe. [246] and eternity opening its vast bosom to man! By slow degrees, the dawn breaks — the loud cock is heard: then the stealing smoke of the lowly cottage, and the patient step of rural industry appear!

We proceeded some miles from Slane before the sun arose. A great fog was spread everywhere, and his beams with great difficulty penetrated it; nor till several hours elapsed did nature gain its usual cheerful look. Conversation on the battle naturally engrossed us; for, among the many advantages of walking, it is one, that we seize the best moments for contemplation or communication of idea. You have encouraged me to proceed with historical disquisition, and say it renders Ireland more interesting, and her past story likely to be really useful. I shall follow the plan; and, indeed, think myself, that if we do fiot travel historically when we go forth from home, it is scarcely worth our pains to go abroad. You will then accompany us with the victorious hero of yesterday; and the examination of his progress and conduct, as we pass along a dreary road, wjU shorten the way. I sometimes fancy you with us as we converse, and, in general, I pretty faithfully transmit to you the conversations and ideas that arise.

William, without delay, proceeded to Dublin, and encamped near it. James had precipitously fled to Waterford, where a vessel awaited, prepared by [247] his orders, before he left Dublin for his army on the Boyne, was ready. Without the smallest remorse, he abandoned a gallant but deluded people, who had risked so much, for him. He did not attempt to make any terms for them. The tyrant feels but for self. Hence, in disaster and reverse, he always flies. He is sure of no friend; he has none, nor does he deserve any. Looking on men as mere instruments of his will, he regrets their loss, when they are destroyed, merely for the frustration of his purpose. When an army is broken and dissolved, he thinks not of the citizens of the state who remain; there is no sympathy between him and them; he must find another army — other instruments — or his "occupation" is gone.

James appears to have ill-naturedly prejudged the Irish, and to have himself been glad of an excuse for running away. In Dublin he exclaimed against their cowardice, and received the reprimand he deserved. In France he endeavoured to cast the imputation on them, but their character in that respect stood high. Their prudence may often be doubted, but the valour oi the Irish stands on the basis of immemorial record; James thus added falsehood to his base desertion.

Happy had it been for this unfortunate island, if William, now unshackled by the presence of ihe late king, could have followed the bent of [248] his own benevolent and wise mind. A general amnesty, and a judicious re-consideration of the Act of Settlement, would have instantly conciliated to a hero, whom they naturally admired as much as they despised his dastardly rival; the whole island would have armed him with formidable power against France. The further attempts of Louis the Fourteenth in Ireland would at once have been ended, the French army still remaining expelled. It is most painful to say, that interested party prevailed with the new king. A proclamation was published by him, pardoning the lower classes, but proscribing, without exception, the gentry who had sided with Jame, the hereditary, and by many still considered the lawful, sovereign of England. Such a pardon might better have been styled a proclamation in favour of France. The sordid idea of forfeitures, unworthy such a king as William to countenance, seems to have prevailed in the party now victorious; and, blinded by its influence, they risked the empire for its gratification. Never would a king have appeared to more advantage than William, by a contrary conduct. A violent party, and a bigotted monarchy had led the Irish far astray. The bulk of the people were innocent, and not hostile to William. That party had been chastised; that bigotted monarch had pusillanimously resigned his crown and fled. The interest of the empire strongly demanded [249] rconciliation and peace in Ireland. the interest of party required the continuation of civil war. They prevailed. The laurels of the Boyne were tarnished by the mean and vindictive persecution of a whole nation, and Wiliiam cast away the best fruits of his labours and his victory in Ireland, when they invited his band to gather them. The Irish now rallied in despair around the standard of France.

The war was revived in a more dangerous manner, and the flight of James was soon perceived to be a great advantage, to the cause of Louis. Such, my dear L. is the miserable effiact of the sordid passions of avarice and revenge mingling with the administration of public affairs! Whilst James and a most intemperate and blind faction reigned, the greatest horrors were threatened. The total want of understanding and policy in that king, and his Irish ministry and advisers (as well as of humanity) make their measures, however revolting and intolerable, not to be surprizing. But that William, the generous vindicator of liberty in Holland, should permit the despotism of a party to set itself up in Ireland, and torture and manacle the whole community before his eyes, is quite melancholy! Since Henry the Second, no English king had done so much good there — by one blow he had terminated civil war! — and, having acted the victorious hero the more glorious character [250] of legislator and pacificator was wanting to crown his fame. But, like Henry, he was involved and interested in continental affairs; like him, he was surrounded by interested and rapacious men; and, like him, he neglected the solid internal good of our great empire, for foreign arid too-extended views! I am sorry to add, that, like Henry, he possessed little happiness or tranquillity on the throne of England. From the time he landed at Torbay to the last hours of existence, he was the minister of great public good, but the slave and almost victim of party. Unlike him, however, in domestic life, his noble-minded and faithful consort diminished, as much as possible, every care; and, during his stay in Ireland, guarded against France, and provided for her husband’s safety, as the guardian and protecting angel of both! William, after issuing his declaration, (the bitter consequences of which he was soon to feel) divided his army, and sent General Douglas to the west to besiege Athlone, where his own presence, in a conciliating manner, would have gained all Connaught. He himself proceeded to the eastern and southern parts, where he met little opposition.

The great body of the Irish, so much harassed since the reign of Henry the Eighth, saw in this new monarch a spirit of equity, and all the magnanimity of a real hero. They adored his dauntless valour, and were disgusted with French [251] insolence. His army under his eye preserved good discipline, and the great want of the presence of an active and benevolent king was in part fulfilled. Whatever depended on William himseif was beneficial, just, and tolerant. But his western army treated Ireland as a conquered and rebellious country. The peasantry were shamefully and cruelly used, and the king’s authority and example little respected. Douglas suffered a most disgraceful repulse at Athlone, and war assumed a most serious aspect on the Shannon, from the preparations made by the French, and the desperate valour of Irish gentlemen, and soldiers, driven against their will to join them and defend their honor, their properties, and their lives! We shall, I hope, visit that Shannon, my dear L., so much admired as the noblest of rivers, and, through William’s fatal declaration, formerly made the theatre of a sanguinary and far from inglorious struggle!

You like these historical paintings, and if our wanderings carry us next year to the west, which I very much desire to see, you shall be supplied with more of them. We must now proceed on our way.

This country, from its vicinity to Dublin, and the goodness of the market for the sale of the produce of land, has afforded peculiar temptation to land jobbers, and the small ancient farmers are neither disappearing, or involved in absolute poverty. [252] Amongst those speculators, however, failures are now frequent.

The proper remedy of moderate rents may bring things more to their natural level; but, I fear, numbers of these old farmers’ families are quite ruined, and can never resume their station or lands. Agriculture may in time recover itself; but the tremendous debt which oppresses the state, and exacts its full annual interest, makes its struggle a most severe one. We had an opportunity on the road, to-day, of observing a very old custom amongst the Irish, which surprized us; as being so near the metropolis. We met a funeral, attended by a great number of country people. They were orderly, extremely clean, and well dressed. All the women wore bright-red cloaks. A select party followed the corpse, and sung the Irish lament in a very impressive, and far from unpleasing, manner; sometimes the tones were very low, and then rose as if in excess of grief. All was slow, solemn, and dirge-like. The women all followed the mourners, then the old and young men in separate bands, and, finally, a compact party of horsemen, well dressed and respectably mounted, closed the procession! At a distance the scarlet cloaks, and horsemen behind, with the wailing cry indistinctly heard, made a singular impression on us. When the procession was passings we could not but admire the great decency, [253] (which, indeed, the Irish observe at all religious ceremonies) composed demeanour, and remarkable regularity, which were manifested by this concourse of affectionate and pious people! Where customs are entwined with nature, it is impossible, and very unwise to attempt, to root them out. This funeral-dirge is retained in every part of Ireland. Nothing, I apprehend, is more ancient ip the world; and surely, for that alone, it is venerable. What can be more pathetic . than to behold friends, relatives, and neighbours, in simple rural garb and religious procession, accompany the dead to the grave, as the farewell cry of grief is heard with solemn attention! Prejudice may deem a people barbarous, though they are exactly the reverse. But nature is a sure guide, and when we see them following her pure dictates in their simple way, ajid with affecting propriety, ought they not to be respected? — not ridiculed, or insulted!

In the very territory of Hugh de Lacy, one of the first great English nobles and adventurers, we find the oldest customs of the Irish prevalent and flourishing, whilst this proud lord and all his bands are forgotten, and little traces of his dominion exist. Hence conquerors land settlers may learn the useful lesson — that force may do much, but nature will ever assert her rights, and do more! [254]

This day we saw many fine places — Sir Marcus Sommerville’s, Sir Charles Dillon’s, and others. Meath is certainly a noble county, and, in many parts, resembles the finest spots in England. They complain much of the burthen of tithes, but not with so much reason as in other places in Ireland. All this you will thoroughly understand soon, if you fulfil your intention of residing in this country, and will forget, for a little, all the advantages and comforts of England, in alleviating the misery around you. You can pity, without despising, the Irish nation, and with that true magnanimity, which I have ever perceived in well-educated gentlemen, be often more indulgent to their errors and faults than their own resident gentry. As our way inclined near Killeen-castle by the circuitous route we had taken, and we proposed to rest at Dunshaughlin, I took the opportunity, which might never again occur, of calling on Lord Fingall at his country residence. You, my dear L., know the urbanity and unclouded understanding of this worthy nobleman. Esteemed by all parties, possessing a fine hereditary fortune in Ireland, and an ancient earldom, he yet finds himself excluded from the privileges of the constitution, and of his rank, and consigned to total obscurity in an empire of which he is calculated to be, in his proper place, an ornament and support. Perfectly liberal, and [255] of very enlarged views for the welfare and grandeur of this empire, he finds himself treated as an alien and suspected man, because his religion differs from the king’s, and he adheres to the faith of his ancestors in Ireland! Independent of the very great and sincere regard I entertain for the Earl of Fingail, I should think this a very hard case, if pointed out to me as a mere traveller in this island. I should be inclined to ask if former restrictions were necessary! have not the times and the state of Europe totally altered? — Is it the papal power, (which is rather become the ally of England) or some new and hidden enemy, which threaten the English constitution, perhaps, with mistaken strictness, denominated Protestant? Does not England owe a long arrear to Ireland, and will she not rather anticipate and preclude future convulsions by a benignant alliance with all her people, than vainly endeavour to perpetrate the degradation of so many excellent and enlightened subjects?

My reflections were stopped by the proximity of Killeen-castle. It is a very noble building, repaired, improved, and almost re-built by the present noble possessor. It stands on the side of a fine vale, and has a grand and commanding appearance. I found Lord Fingall at home, and busied with the internal improvements of the castle. He has very happily succeeded in preserving [256] the best gothic style, united to every degree of modem elegance and grandeur! After partaking of some refreshment, we had a long and pleasing conversation. In Lord Fingall none of the acrimony of party exists. His mind is finely harmonized, and one vulgar vindictive thought never appears to have dwelt in his breast. He spoke with that profound respect for the legislature, and that degree of patient forbearance, under his privations, which marked the dignity of his mind, and the propriety of all his conceptions. Respecting a high quarter, where the most pleasing hopes had once fixed themselves, his lordship was silent. None could grieve more heartily than I, my dear L., to think that such silence conveyed much, and that, after the glorious termination of our foreign war, this gallant and highly-endowed people should sit unnoticed at the steps of the throne, and their sighs be disregarded.

I left this amiable nobleman’s castle with regret. He accompanied me through a pleasant and shady walk, leading to a gate which opened on the road. His lordship has been at great expence in new-modelling and building so much of Killeen-castle; and he spoke on our way with great feeling of the disheartening thing it was to live in Ireland, deprived of all privilege, as he was. Such a resident [257] nobleman’s patriotism is unquestionably of high merit.

On our way to Dublin, nothing farther of an interesting nature presented itself. In a year or two I hope to be able to send you some letters from Connaught, a county we are very desirous of seeing.

I am, very truly, yours, &c.