[26]. That lovely district extends about thirty miles in length, and from four to seven in breadth: it commences near Dublin, and ends at a short distance beyond Avondale: the soil is generally a warm gravel, with verdant valleys, bounded by mountains arable to their summits on one side, and by the sea upon the other. The gold mine is on a frontier of this district; and it is perhaps the most congenial to the growth of trees and shrubs of any spot in the British dominions.
The scenery of Wicklow is doubtless on a minor scale, quite unable to compete with the grandeur and immensity of continental landscape; even to our own Killarney it is not comparable; but it possesses a genial glowing luxury, a contrast and a variety, whereof more elevated extensive scenery is often destitute. It is small, but it is in the world: its beauties seem alive. It blooms: it blossoms: the mellow climate extracts from every shrub a tribute of its fragrance; and the atmosphere, saturated with the perfumes of nature, creates that delicious medium through which refreshing showers descend to brighten the hue and revive the odour of the lively evergreen!
I frankly admit myself an enthusiast as to that lovely district. In truth, I fear I should have been enthusiastic on many points, had not law, the most powerful antidote to all refined enthusiasm, interposed to check its growth.
The site of my sylvan residence, Drummon, was nearly in the centre of the Golden Belt, about fifteen miles from the capital;—but owing to the varied nature of the country, it appeared far more distant. Bounded by the beautiful glen of the Downs, at the foot of the magnificent Bellevue, and the more distant sugar-loaf mountain of the Dargle, Tynnehinch, (where is seated that cottage celebrated for its unrivalled scenery, and honoured by the residence of Ireland’s first patriot,) the dark deep glen, the black lake, and mystic vale and rocks of Luggelough, (that nursery of eagles and of falcons,) contrasted quite magically with the highly cultivated beauties of Drummon: (the parks, and wilds, and sublime cascade of Powerscourt, and the newly-created magnificence of Mount Kennedy, abundantly prove that perfection itself may exist in contrasts:) in fine, I found myself enveloped by the hundred beauties of that enchanting district, which, though of one family, were rendered yet more attractive by the variety of their features; and had I not been tied to laborious duties, I should infallibly have sought refuge there altogether from the cares of the world.
One of the greatest pleasures I enjoyed whilst resident at Drummon, was the near abode of the late Lord Rossmore, at that time commander-in-chief in Ireland. His lordship knew my father, and, from my commencement in public life, had been my friend, and a sincere one. He was a Scotsman born, but had come to Ireland when very young, as page to the lord lieutenant. He had married an heiress; had purchased the estate of Mount Kennedy; built a noble mansion; laid out some of the finest gardens in Ireland; and, in fact, improved the demesne, as far as taste, skill, and money could accomplish. He was what may be called a remarkably fine old man, quite the gentleman, and when at Mount Kennedy quite the country gentleman. He lived in a style few people can attain to: his table, supplied by his own farms, was adapted to the viceroy himself, yet was ever spread for his neighbours: in a word, no man ever kept a more even hand in society than Lord Rossmore, and no man was ever better repaid by universal esteem. Had his connexions possessed his understanding, and practised his habits, they would probably have found more friends when they wanted them.
This intimacy at Mount Kennedy gave rise to an occurrence the most extraordinary and inexplicable of my whole existence—an occurrence which for many years occupied my thoughts, and wrought on my imagination. Lord Rossmore was far advanced in years, but I never heard of his having had a single day’s indisposition. He bore, in his old age, the appearance of robust health. During the viceroyalty of Earl Hardwick Lady Barrington, at a drawing-room at Dublin Castle, met Lord Rossmore. He had been making up one of his weekly parties for Mount Kennedy, to commence the next day, and had sent down orders for every preparation to be made. The lord lieutenant was to be of the company. Every second week his house was filled by persons of the highest circle, interspersed with neighbours.
“My little farmer,” said he to Lady Barrington, addressing her by a pet name, “when you go home, tell Sir Jonah that no business is to prevent him from bringing you down to dine with me tomorrow. I will have no ifs in the matter—so tell him that come he must!” She promised positively, and on her return informed me of her engagement, to which I at once agreed. We retired to our chamber about twelve; and towards two in the morning, I was awakened by a sound of a very extraordinary nature. I listened: it occurred first at short intervals; it resembled neither a voice nor an instrument; it was softer than any voice and wilder than any music, and seemed to float in the air. I don’t know wherefore, but my heart beat forcibly: the sound became still more plaintive, till it almost died away in the air; when a sudden change, as if excited by a pang, changed its tone: it seemed descending. I felt every nerve tremble: it was not a natural sound, nor could I make out the point whence it came.
At length I awakened Lady Barrington: she heard it as well as myself, and suggested that it might be an Eolian harp; but to that instrument it bore no similitude: it was altogether a different character of sound. She at first appeared less affected than myself, but was subsequently more so.
We now went to a large window in our bedroom which looked directly upon a small garden underneath: the sound, which first appeared descending, seemed then obviously to ascend from a grass-plot immediately below our window. It continued: Lady Barrington requested that I would call up her maid, which I did, and she was evidently much more affected than either of us. The sounds lasted for more than half an hour. At last a deep, heavy, throbbing sigh seemed to issue from the spot, and was shortly succeeded by a sharp but low cry, and by the distinct exclamation, thrice repeated, of “Rossmore!—Rossmore!—Rossmore!” I will not attempt to describe my own sensations; indeed I cannot. The maid fled in terror from the window, and it was with difficulty I prevailed on Lady Barrington to return to bed: in about a minute after the sound died gradually away, until all was silent.