178 Walks in Ireland: \_AvG. 



stitious reverence for the memorials of elder times ; I love to peep 

 into the dim nooks of ancient cathedrals, and hallowed cryptSj while 

 some hoary-headed peasant tells me reverend lies of their saintly 

 founders. I love to uncover my reason of its tiny cap of knowledge, 

 and to wander bare-headed among the dusky solitudes, where Fable 

 mutters her lulling spells over sleeping History. By Jove, I would duck 

 the officious antiquary who would attempt to awaken her. Peace be 

 with the pleasant days of childhood, when schooled by my simple nurse 

 (a mere Irishwoman, I confess*), I had mysterious knowledge in the 

 genera and species of faeries, and could class them as you would butter- 

 flies, by their painted wings. IMany a golden day-dream I have lost 

 since they left me. Farewell to the charmed harmony of the lonely 

 Kath — the graceful revelry of tlie ancient oak — a long farewell to the 

 lively train that peopled the moonlight vigils of the harmless peasant, in 

 better and less enlightened days — before Saint Patrick's Alien Act was 

 broken — before venomous reptiles returned from transportation — before 

 misrule and absenteeism brought forth her noxious brood of middlemen. 

 to vex the land. The squireens appeared, and the faeries vanished ; the 

 orgies of the rack-rent votaries of freedom of election smothered them- 

 like bees : the Peace Preservation Bill interdicted them ; they dare not 

 appear after night-fall, and vulgar daylight is too coarse for their deli- 

 cate frames ; I wish I could give them a little dusky corner in my mind, 

 to play at hide and seek with sturdy reason. 



It is a pleasant thing to sit in the creative twilight of an autumnal 

 evening, in the ruined strength of some ancient castle, when the season 

 and the hour seem gently to acquiesce in your feelings, and to sadden 

 while you moralize upon the downfall of the strong, — it is then pleasant, 

 I say, above all pleasant things, to bid that jewel of a pyrotechnist, the 

 imagination, light up the scene with the splendour of chivalry and 

 beauty, — to lean from the lofty gallerj over the dazzling festival — to 

 listen to the daring vows of the youthful aspirants, " before the peacock 

 and the ladies/' while they bind the golden chain that a valiant deed 

 must loosen, or to watch the heaving of the noble and gentle bosom^ and 

 the softened lustre of the downcast eye, " struggling through tears 

 imbidden," as the high-born maiden, half in fear and half in love, turns 

 from the glittering pledge that devotes her faithful knight, or the bro- 

 ther of her heart, to glory or the grave ; while high above the splendid 

 scene, the gallant minstrel blending poetry and music into a lofty har- 

 mony, invokes immortal fame upon the beautiful and the brave. 



" Could I have kept my spirit to that height, 

 I had been happy." 



But the longest vision will have a close — a moping owl will scare the 

 phantom train; the uncourteous elements, that would not spare the 

 fairest " queen of beauty and of love," that ever crazed a troubadour, 

 will wash away the picture in a trice ; or fail all else, the sullen night 



• The ignorance of this poor mountaineer would make a cockney's hair stand on end ; 

 the Ionic of Bow bell was to her a foimtain sealed ; she would call a teter a " pratie," or a 

 vinder, a " windy ;" this last coiruption was natural enough, however, considering that her 

 mountain cabin was glazed, as my memory serves me, with two caitbeens, Anglice hats, 



and ^how shall I express it — what would have occupied the position of a coat, had the 



wearer walked on his head, all three stuffed with straw. I cannot, however, deny, that in 

 spite of her ignorance, she had some quaint phrases that a Spenserian would cliuckle over. 

 The name of this aboriginal would choke an Euphunist. 



