It is needless to add, that I determined to answer this letter in person, and I only waited to embrace my loved and long estranged son on my arrival in Ireland. When I set out for Inismore I found the castle deserted, and learned, (with indescribable emotions of pity and indignation,) that the Prince and his daughter were the inhabitants of a prison. I flew to this sad receptacle of suffering virtue, and effected the liberation of the Prince. There was a time when the haughty spirit of this proud chieftain would have revolted against the idea of owing a pecuniary obligation to any man: but those only who have laboured under a long and continued series of mental and bodily affliction, can tell how the mind’s strength is to be subdued, the energies of pride softened, and the delicacy of refined feelings blunted, by the pressure of reiterated suffering, of harassing and incessant disappointment. While the surprise of the Prince equalled his emotion, he exclaimed in the vehemence of his gratitude—“Teach me at least how to thank you, since to repay you is impossible.” Glorvina was at that moment weeping on my shoulder, her hands were clasped in mine, and her humid eyes beamed on me all the grateful feelings of her warm and susceptible soul. I gazed on her for a moment,—she cast down her eyes, and I thought pressed my hand; thus encouraged I ventured to say to the Prince, “You talk in exaggerated terms of the little service I have done you,—would indeed it had been sufficient to embolden me to make that request which now trembles on my lips.”
I paused—the Prince eagerly replied, “there is nothing you can ask I am not anxious and ready to comply with.”
I looked at Glorvina—she blushed and trembled. I felt I was understood, and I added, “then give me a legal claim to become the protector of your daughter, and through her to restore you to that independence necessary for the repose of a proud and noble spirit. In a few days I shall openly appear to the world, with honour and with safety, in my own name and character. Take this letter, it is addressed to the Earl of M————, whom I solemnly swear is not more your enemy than mine, and who consequently cannot be biased by partiality: from him you shall learn who and what I am; and until that period I ask not to receive the hand of your inestimable daughter.”
The Prince took the letter and tore it in a thousand pieces; exclaiming, “I cannot indeed equal, but I will at least endeavour to imitate your generosity. You chose me as your protector in the hour of danger, when confidence was more hazardous to him who reposed than him who received it. You placed your life in my hands with no other bond for its security than my honour! In the season of my distress you flew to save me: you lavished your property for my release, not considering the improbability of its remuneration! Take my child; her esteem, her affections, have long been yours; let me die in peace, by seeing her united to a worthy man!—that I know you are; what else you may be I will only learn from the lips of a son-in-law. Confidence at least shall be repaid by confidence.” At these words the always generous, always vehement and inconsiderate Prince rose from his pillow and placed the hand of his daughter in mine, confirming the gift with a tear of joy and a tender benediction. Glorvina bowed her head to receive it—her veil fell over her face—the index of her soul was concealed: how then could I know what passed there? She was silent—she was obedient—and I was—— deceived.
The Prince, on his arrival at the castle of In-ismore, felt the hour of dissolution stealing fast on every principle of life. Sensible of his situation, his tenderness, his anxiety for his child survived every other feeling; nor would he suffer himself to be carried to his chamber until he had bestowed her on me from the altar. I knew not then what were the sentiments of Glorvina. Entwined in the arms of her doating, dying father, she seemed insensible to every emotion, to every thought but what his fate excited; but however gratified I might have been at the intentions of the Prince, I was decidedly averse to their prompt execution. I endeavoured to remonstrate: a look from the Prince silenced every objection: and——. But here let me drop the veil of oblivion over the past: let me clear from the tablets of memory those records of extraordinary and recent circumstances to which my heart can never revert but with a pang vibrating on its tenderest nerve. It is, however, the true spirit of philosophy to draw from the evil which cannot be remedied all the good of which in its tendency it is yet susceptible; and since the views of my parental ambition are thus blasted in the bloom, let me at least make him happy whom it was once my only wish to render eminent: know then, my imprudent but still dear son, that the bride chosen for you by your father’s policy has, by an elopement with a more ardent lover (who followed her hither,) left your hand as free as your heart towards her ever was.
Take then to thy bosom her whom heaven seems to have chosen as the intimate associate of thy soul, and whom national and hereditary prejudice would in vain withhold from thee. In this the dearest, most sacred, and most lasting of all human ties, let the names of Inismore and M———— be inseparably blended, and the distinctions of English and Irish, of Protestant and Catholic, for ever buried. And, while you look forward with hope to this family alliance being prophetically typical of a national unity of interests and affections between those who may be actually severed, but who are naturally allied, end your own individual efforts towards the consummation of an event so devoutly to be wished by every liberal mind, by every benevolent heart.
During my life, I would have you consider those estates as yours, which I possess in this country; and at my death such as are not entailed. But this consideration is to be indulged conditionally, on your spending eight months out of every twelve on that spot from whence the very nutrition of your existence is to be derived; and in the bosom of those from whose labour and exertion your independence and prosperity are to flow. Act not with the vulgar policy of vulgar greatness, by endeavouring to exact respect through the medium of self-wrapt reserve, proudly shut up in its own self-invested grandeur; nor think it can derogate from the dignity of the English landholder openly to appear in the midst of his Irish peasantry, with an eye beaming complacency, and a countenance smiling confidence, and inspiring what it expresses. Show them you do not distrust them, and they will not betray you, give them reason to believe you feel an interest in their welfare, and they will endeavour to promote yours even at the risk of their lives; for the life of an Irishman weighs but light in the scale of consideration with his feelings; it is immolated without a murmur to the affections of his heart; it is sacrificed without a sigh to the suggestions of his honour.
Remember that you are not placed by despotism over a band of slaves, creatures of the soil and as such to be considered; but by Providence, over a certain portion of men, who, in common with the rest of their nation, are the descendants of a brave, a free, and an enlightened people. Be more anxious to remove causes than to punish effects; for trust me that it is only to
“Scotch the snake—not kill it,”
to confine error, and to awaken vengeance.