The women of this class in Ireland are, almost universally, extremely chaste, and still more disinterested. If one of them ever strays from the path of virtue, she is very rarely seduced by those considerations of gain, which are so degrading, and, in such matters, so unnatural.
After I had descended the mountain on the other side, leading my horse, who scrambled after me as well as he could, I reached the high-road, and came upon an open park gate, (for in this also Ireland resembles the continent, where every proprietor, from the king to the humble country-gentleman, enhances his own enjoyment by sharing it with the public,) and rode in. I soon gave up the enterprise, however, on seeing two gigantic capuchins with gown and cross cut out of painted boards, standing in a cross-way, and each of them holding a book on which was written—“To the Pheasantry,” “To the Abbey.” Such bad taste is rare here.
In the street I met a London ‘dandy,’ who called out to me, (for I did not recognize him,) laughed heartily at our meeting ‘in such a horrid place,’ ran on for some time in a satirical vein on Dublin society, and at last concluded by informing me, that through the influence of his family, he had just obtained a place here, which, indeed, brought him in 2000l. a year, and gave him nothing to do, but which compelled him ‘pro forma’ to pass a part of every year in this ‘shocking’ abode. With such, and even much richer sinecures, are the younger sons of the English aristocracy provided in countless numbers, and in all parts of the empire. I think, however, that even here, the pitcher will not always go to the well without breaking; though I must confess that these defects in the English government, compared with the arbitrary power exercised in other states, are but spots on the sun.
I of course entirely except Ireland, which appears to experience, in almost every instance, a step-mother’s care; which contributes largely to the power and splendour of the English nobility, without receiving back the smallest portion of those advantages of which England receives so much.
August 18th.
Your letters are still so melancholy, dear Julia * * *
* * * * * * *
You see, then, that it is not events themselves, so much as your own view of them, which years have tinged with a more gloomy colour. But alas! this is the most irremediable of all evils! We are not what we were; and the one eternal and universal error remains—that we think we can help ourselves by an exertion of strength, when the strength is no longer there:—as soon can we be or look young again! I too begin to feel traces of this—but only there, where the world lays its fetters around me; when alone with God and nature, the gloomiest horizon has no power to darken my inner sun.
I accompanied Lady B——, of whom I have already spoken, to breakfast to-day at the country-house of a much admired young lady. The master of the house excused himself on the plea of headache, and I was therefore left to take a long walk in the grounds with the two ladies alone. On our arrival at the gate which was to lead us to one of the most beautiful parts of the wood, it was locked—no key to be found; and according to the report of the old gardener, the lady’s maid had gone in, and taken it away with her. A servant was ordered to jump over the wall, and to seek the offender: he came back, however, without any tidings of her. I now got a ladder, and helped my laughing companions to climb over the wall; they professed great awkwardness, but acquitted themselves most gracefully. After walking a quarter of an hour we met the unfortunate lady’s maid, and—as she thought herself safe—not alone: it may be imagined in what company. A mute domestic scene followed: and as I am too good natured to laugh, it really grieved me that my ladder had been the cause of such distress. I declined staying to dinner, and hastened back to town to call on Lady M——, to whom I had a letter of introduction, and who had already sent me a polite invitation which I had not been able to accept. I was very eager to make the acquaintance of a woman whom I rate so highly as an authoress. I found her, however, very different from what I had pictured her to myself. She is a little, frivolous, lively woman, apparently between thirty and forty, neither pretty nor ugly, but by no means disposed to resign all claim to the former, and with really fine and expressive eyes. She has no idea of ‘mauvaise honte’ or embarrassment; her manners are not the most refined, and affect the ‘aisance’ and levity of the fashionable world, which, however, do not sit calmly or naturally upon her. She has the English weakness,—that of talking incessantly of fashionable acquaintances, and trying to pass for very ‘recherché’ to a degree quite unworthy of a woman of such distinguished talents; and she is not at all aware how she thus underrates herself.
She is not difficult to know, for with more vivacity than good taste, she instantly professes perfect openness, and especially sets forth on every occasion her liberalism and her infidelity; the latter of the somewhat obsolete school of Helvetius and Condillac. In her writings she is far more guarded and dignified than in her conversation. The satire of the latter is, however, not less biting and dexterous than that of her pen, and just as little remarkable for a conscientious regard to truth. You may think that with all these elements two hours flew rapidly away. I had enthusiasm enough to be able to utter some ‘à propos’ which pleased her, and she treated me with marked attention: first, because I happened to have a distinguished title; and secondly, because she had seen my name as dancing at Almacks, and as present at several ‘fêtes’ of the great leaders of Ton—a circumstance which appeared so important in her eyes, that she repeatedly recurred to it.