Through the groove or channel mentioned above the mass of water shoots from the highest point of the mountain, falls into the lake on the lower terrace, and filling that, rushes down afresh in four distinct cascades on the valley below. These form such vast arches, that the goats feed peacefully under them, while the streams convert the meadows below into a temporary lake.
As the spectator who stands below cannot see the division between the upper and the lower falls, nor the lake which lies between them, the whole appears one enormous cataract, the effect of which exceeds all description. Colonel W—— assured me that when the waters are at the highest he has seen the arch so enormous, that, to use his expression, a regiment of soldiers might have marched under it without a man being wetted; and, as he added, the noise would serve admirably for the thunder of the cannon.
One of the neighbouring glens was, according to the somewhat fabulous history of Ireland, the scene of a memorable battle between the great O’Sullivan and O’Donovan. The people show the remains of a very old arbutus, on which, as they relate, O’Donovan was hanged. It is very certain that money and jewels have recently been found buried deep in the earth in this enclosure.
The eagles of these mountains, who build on inaccessible rocks, play a very principal part in the popular stories. They are extremely large and strong, and it is certain that they sometimes carry off even children. Some time ago an eagle carried off a boy of three years old, and deposited him, probably because he was too heavy, nearly uninjured on a shelf of rock, to which the people below climbed and saved him. The new Ganymede, the ‘corpus delicti,’ is now living, and in full vigour. Another more tragical circumstance of the same kind occurred a few months ago. An eagle bore off a little girl before her father’s eyes, and disappeared with her among the rocks; nor could the least trace of the poor child ever be discovered.
October 3d.
Col. W—— is as great a ‘parkomane’ as I, but not quite such a ‘gourmet.’ Field-sports by land and water furnish his table with many delicacies. The grouse or moor-fowl are particularly good; and the oyster-bed on the edge of the park supplies oysters of a peculiar fine flavour, and as large as a plate. The bay swarms with fish and sea-dogs:—I saw one of the latter sitting on a projecting cliff just opposite my window, and listening with a delighted and almost dancing motion to the music of a bagpipe which resounded from a neighbouring public-house. These creatures are so passionately fond of music, that they follow the pleasure-boats, with bands of music on board, in herds of twenty or thirty. They are decoyed in this way by sportsmen. It is really barbarous thus to abuse their love of the arts!
Unfortunately it rained all day, so that I was obliged to remain in the house. In the morning I attended the daily worship of the family, the female members of which are somewhat bigoted as to form, though, as it seemed to me, sincerely pious. We all sat round in a circle, and the mother read one verse out of the Church of England Prayer-book, the eldest daughter the next, and so on, alternately, imitating the parson and clerk at a church. After this, the daughter, who has something reserved and enthusiastic about her, began a strange and very long prayer, which lasted a full quarter of an hour; during which all, (and of course I among the number,) turned decorously towards the wall, fell on their knees before their chair, and hid their faces in their hands. The mother sighed and groaned; the father seemed somewhat ‘ennuyé;’ the youngest daughter,—a charming girl, who is a good deal more mundane than her sister,—had now and then fits of absence; and the son had thought it expedient to absent himself altogether. I, who think every sincere feeling or virtuous aspiration, at whatever time of the day, a prayer to God, believed myself not impiously employed in observing a little what was going on.
After the company had all stood up, brushed their knees, and smoothed down their petticoats, (for English enthusiasm does not easily forget itself,) a chapter from the Gospel was read by the mother. The one chosen was that in which six thousand men were fed on three loaves and two fishes, if I remember right, and much was still left remaining.
Happily for us, our dinner was not measured out to us upon this scale, and the gifts of God were consumed with great cheerfulness and satisfaction. To this, however, I soon gave an involuntary shock: I happened to speak in jest of the comet of the year 1832, which, it is predicted, is to approach nearer the earth’s orbit than any hitherto known. I remarked that, according to Lalande’s reckoning, a comet which should approach within fifty thousand miles of the earth must inevitably exercise such a power of attraction as to raise the waters of the sea above the top of Chimborazo. If the one of 1832 comes so near us, said I, we shall infallibly all be drowned. “I beg your pardon, that is impossible,” replied Mrs. W—— very earnestly, “for that would be a second deluge, and you appear to have entirely forgotten that we are promised in the Bible that there should never be another deluge, but that the earth should at last be destroyed by fire.” (‘Il faut avouer que la faveur n’est pas grande.’) “That this destruction is at hand,” continued she, sighing, “I certainly believe; for the most learned of our pious men are agreed that we are now, probably, in the seventh kingdom of the Revelation of St. John, in which the end of the world is predicted, and in which our Saviour will come to judge us.” What singular people these ‘saints’ are! On this, mother and daughter fell into such a violent, and at last such a bitter dispute, that I, unworthy layman, was obliged to interpose, and endeavour to re-establish peace. The question was, whether, at the time of this final catastrophe, men were to be immediately judged and then burnt, or first burnt and then judged. The daughter indignantly asked (‘je vous jure que je ne brode pas’) if our Saviour, on his coming, was to wait to pronounce judgment till the world was burnt? She said it was plainly written in the Scriptures that he would come to judge the quick and the dead; and how would this be possible if all were first burnt? It was clear that the world would not be burnt till all were judged. This the mother declared was perfect ‘nonsense!’—that men must necessarily first die, before they could receive either eternal blessedness or damnation,—that the passage which speaks of the quick and the dead, regarded only on the one hand those who would be still living at the time of the conflagration, or on the other, those who had long lain in the grave. She insisted therefore, “first burnt, and then judged.” Both now appealed to me, in the hope of strengthening themselves by the accession of a partisan. I ventured to reply that I really was not much skilled in these details, and that their dispute appeared to me very like that in which Madame du Deffant was called upon to decide, viz., whether St. Denis had walked one mile or six without his head: to which she replied, “que dans ces sortes de choses ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute!” That I must confess that in the doctrines of Christ I had always chiefly sought to imbibe rules of duty, confidence in God, meekness, and love to man, though I had unhappily rarely succeeded to the extent of my wishes. I hoped, however, that I might dismiss all anxiety as to whether we were to be first judged and then burnt, or first burnt and then judged; that I believed whatever God did was perfectly well done. I must confess that I considered myself just as much in the hand of God, and just as near to his power, in the present life as after the close of my earthly career, or even after the destruction of the little globe which we call ‘the world.’ That judgment was in my opinion for ever going on, and was as eternally active as the spirit which creates and vivifies the universe. This confession of faith had the effect of entirely reconciling the combatants, by uniting them against me. I retreated from the field, however, in so dexterous a manner as not entirely to lose their favour.
In the evening, between torrents of rain, twilight, and sunset, we had another magnificent effect of light. Our waterfall in the park was so swollen that it took up itself to thunder a little too, and grass and bush were prettily illuminated with gay sunbeams. We walked about till it was quite dark, saw the Great Sugar-loaf gradually change its hue from dark blue into rose-colour, and feasted our eyes on the clear mirror of the lake, the leaping of the fish on its surface, and the peaceful sporting of the otters.