August 14th.
Another friend, of yet older date, Mr. W——ts, to whom I had once an opportunity of rendering some service in Vienna, paid me a visit this morning, and offered me his country-house as a residence.—He had scarcely quitted me, when I was told that Lady B——, an Irish ‘peeress,’ and one of the most beautiful women in the country, whose acquaintance I had cultivated during the last season in the metropolis, was in her carriage below, and wished to speak to me. As I was still in the most absolute ‘negligée,’ I told the waiter, (a perfect ‘Jocrisse,’ whose ‘Irish blunders’ daily amuse me,) that I was not dressed, as he saw, but that I would be ready immediately. He announced the state of my toilet; but added, ‘de son chef,’ that “my Lady had better come up.” Imagine my astonishment when he came back and told me that Lady B—— had laughed very much, and had bid him say that she would willingly wait, but that to pay gentlemen morning visits in their chambers was not the custom in Ireland.
In this answer appeared the cordial, frank, and good-natured character of the true Irish woman, which I had already learned to love and admire. A prudish Englishwoman would have driven away in high displeasure, and perhaps have ruined the reputation of a young man for such a ‘qui pro quo’ as this: for in English society people do not only stumble at things which in other countries produce quite a contrary effect; but the ‘it is said’ in the mouth of an influential person is a two-edged sword. ‘He has a bad character’{*} is sufficient to shut a hundred doors against a stranger. An Englishman is much less guided by his own observation than is generally imagined: he always attaches himself to some party, with whose eyes he sees.
{*} Character, in England, means (most characteristically, in a country where appearance
has more weight than in any other,) not the result or sum of a man’s moral and intellectual
qualities, but his reputation, what is said of him.—Editor.]
In the afternoon I went to dine at my friend’s villa. The road was very agreeable. It began with the Phœnix Park, and followed the course of the Liffey, the river which flows through Dublin, where its beautiful quays, stone and iron bridges, add so much to the embellishment of the town. Here it has a rural and romantic character, bordered with the broad leaves of the tussilago, and enclosed by soft hills and verdant thickets. I asked a beggar whom I met, how far it was to W—— park, and whether the road continued equally beautiful all the way. ‘Long life to your honour!’ exclaimed he, with Irish patriotism, ‘only keep right on, and you never saw anything more beautiful in this world!’
The entrance to W—— park is indeed the most delightful in its kind that can be imagined. Scenery, by nature most beautiful, is improved by art to the highest degree of its capability; and without destroying its free and wild character, a variety and richness of vegetation is produced which enchant the eye. Gay shrubs and wild flowers, the softest turf, and giant trees festooned with creeping plants, fill the narrow glen through which the path winds by the side of the clear dancing brook; falling in little cataracts, it flows on, sometimes hidden in the thicket, sometimes resting like liquid silver in an emerald cup, or rushing under overhanging arches of rock, which nature seems to have hung there as triumphal arches for the beneficent naïad of the valley to pass through. As soon as you leave the glen, the enchantment suddenly ceases: the rest in no respect answers your high-raised expectations. Scanty grass, stunted trees, and thick stagnant water, surround a small Gothic castle, which looks like a poor scene in a play. In it, however, you find some interesting objects:—among others, some good pictures; and the best and most cordial host that one can desire. I must also mention a curious ‘pavillon rustique’ which is built in a suitable spot in the ‘pleasure ground.’ It is hexagonal, three sides solid, and fashioned of pieces of rough branches of trees very prettily arranged in various patterns; the other three consist of two windows and a door. The floor is covered with a mosaic of little pebbles from the brook, the ceiling with shells, and the roof is thatched with wheat straw on which the full ears are left.
August 15th.
Although my chest continues to give me pain, and my doctor sometimes makes solemn faces, I go on with my expeditions, which afford me great pleasure.
I had already fixed a longing eye on one of three hills, four or five miles from the city, on the summit of which stand three distinct upright masses of rock, from which it takes its name, ‘The Three Rocks.’ The view from it must needs be beautiful. I got up, therefore, earlier than usual, that I might reach the top in good time. I asked repeatedly in the villages through which I passed, which was the best way, but could never get a distinct answer. At length I was assured by the inhabitants of a house at the foot of the hill, that I could not ride up, and must dismount. This in the present state of my chest was not practicable; but as I have long learned what people’s impossibilities are, I took the path they showed me, on horseback, without hesitation. I could safely trust my little compact mare, for the Irish horses climb over rocks or walls like cats. For sometime I followed a tolerably beaten foot-path, and when this ceased, the dry bed of a mountain stream, along which I rode without much difficulty for about two miles. I now found myself on a large and naked ‘plateau,’ and saw the three rocks, like witches’ stones, rearing their heads before me. The intervening space, however, seemed an impassable bog. I tried it very cautiously, and found a shingly bottom at about eight or ten inches under the boggy soil. This continued all the way; till after some time I reached firm ground, and stood upon the highest point. The wished-for prospect lay before me: Ireland, like a map; Dublin, like a smoking lime-kiln in the green plain, (for the coal-smoke did not allow me to distinguish one single building;) the bay with its light-houses; the boldly marked headland of Howth; and on the other side, the mountains of Wicklow, stretching away to the horizon, lay beneath me bathed in sunlight, and rewarded me for all my fatigue.
But the scene was yet further animated by a sweet-looking young woman, whom I discovered in this wild solitude, busied in the humble employment of straw-platting. The natural grace of the Irish peasant-women, who are often truly beautiful, is as surprising as their dress, or rather their want of dress; for though it was very cold on these hills, the whole clothing of the young woman before me consisted of a large very coarse straw hat, and literally two or three rags of the coarsest sackcloth suspended under the breast by a piece of cord, and more than half disclosing her handsome person. Her conversation was cheerful, sportive and witty; perfectly unembarrassed, and in a certain sense free; but you would fall into a great error if you inferred from that, any levity or looseness of conduct.