LETTER XXIII.

TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.

It is certain, that you men of the world are nothing less than men of _pleasure_:--would you taste it in all its essence, come to Inismore. Ah! no, pollute not with your presence the sacred _palladium_ of all the primeval virtues; and attempt not to participate in those pure joys of the soul it would be death in me to divide even with you

Here Plato might enjoy, and Epicurus revel: here we are taught to feel according to t. doctrine of the latter, that the happiness of mankind consists in _pleasure_, not such as arises from gratification of the senses, or the pursuits of vice--but from the enjoyments of the mind, the pleasures of the imagination, the affections of the heart and the sweets of virtue. And here we learn, according to the precepts of the former, that the summit of human felicity may be attained, by removing from the material, and approaching nearer to the intellectual world; by curbing and governing the passions, which are so much oftener inflamed by imaginary than real objects; and by borrowing from temperance, that zest which can alone render pleasure forever poignant and forever new. Ah! you will say, like other lovers, you now see the moral as well as the natural world through a prism; but would this unity of pleasure and virtue be found in the wilds of Inismore, if Glorvina was no longer there?

I honestly confess to you I do not think it would, for where yet was pleasure ever found where woman was not? and when does the heart so warmly receive the pure impressions of virtue, as when its essence is imbibed from woman’s lip?

My life passes away here in a species of delectability to which I can give no name; and while, through the veil of delicate reserve which the pure suggestions of the purest nature have flung over the manners of my sweet Glorvina, a thousand little tendernesses unconsciously appear. Her amiable preceptor clings to me with a parent’s fondness; and her father’s increasing partiality for his hereditary enemy, is visible in a thousand instances; while neither of these excellent, but inexperienced men, suspect the secret intelligence which exists between the younger tutor and his lovely pupil. As yet, indeed, it has assumed no determinate character. With me it is a delightful dream, from which I dread to be awakened, yet feel that it is but a dream; while she, bewildered, amazed at those vague emotions which throb impetuously in her unpractised heart, resigns herself unconsciously to the sweetest of all deliriums, and makes no effort to dissolve the vision!

If, in the refined epicurism of my heart, I carelessly speak of my departure for England in the decline of summer, Glorvina changes colour; the sainted countenance of Father John loses its wonted smile of placidity; and the Prince replies by some peevish observation on the solitude of their lives, and the want of attraction at Inis more to detain a man of the world in its domestic circle.

But he will say, “it was not always thus--this hall once echoed to the sound of mirth and the strain of gaiety; for the day was, when none went sad of heart from the castle of Inismore!”

I much fear that the circumstances of this worthy man are greatly deranged, though it is evident his pride would be deeply wounded if it was even suspected. Father John, indeed, hinted to me, that the Prince was a great agricultural speculator some few years back; “and even still” said he, “likes to hold more land in his hands than he is able to manage.”

I have observed, too, that the hall is frequently crowded with importunate people whom the priest seems endeavouring to pacify in Irish; and twice, as I passed the Prince’s room last week, an ill-looking fellow appeared at the door whom Glorviria was showing out. Her eyes were moist with tears, and at the sight of me she deeply coloured, and hastily withdrew. It is impossible to describe my feelings at that moment!

Notwithstanding, however, the Prince affects an air of grandeur, and opulence--he keeps a kind of open table in his servants’ hall, where a crowd of labourers, dependants, and mendicants are daily entertained; * and it is evident his pride would receive a mortal stab, if he supposed that his guest, and that guest an Englishman, suspected the impoverished state of his circumstances.

* The kitchen, or servants’ hall of an Irish country gentleman, is open to all whom distress may lead to its door. Professed indolent mendicants take advantage of this indiscriminating hospitality, enter without ceremony, seat themselves by the fire, and seldom (indeed never) depart with their demands unsatisfied, by the misapplied benevolence of an old Irish custom, which in many instances would be--“more honoured in the breach than the observance.”

Although not a man of very superior understanding, yet he evidently possesses that innate grandeur of soul, which haughtily struggles with distress, and which will neither yield to, nor make terms with misfortune; and when, in the dignity of that pride which scorns revelation of its woes, I behold him collecting all the forces of his mind, and asserting a right to a better fate, I feel my own character energize in the contemplation of his, and am almost tempted to envy him those trials which call forth the latent powers of human fortitude and human greatness.

H. M.