The dew hung shining upon the leaves, and fell in pattering showers from the trees, as a bird, alarmed at my approach, would spring from the branch and leave it vibrating in the air behind her; the early challenge of the cock grouse, and the quick-go-quick of the quail, were cheerfully uttered on all sides. The rapid martins twittered with peculiar glee, or, in the light caprice of their mirth, placed themselves for a moment upon the edge of a scaur, or earthly precipice, in which their nests were built, and then shot up again to mingle with the careering and joyful flock that cut the air in every direction. Where is the heart which could not enjoy such a morning scene? Under any other circumstances it would have enchanted me; but here, in fact, that intensity of spirit which is necessary to the due contemplation of beautiful prospects, was transferred to a gloomier object. I was under the influence of a feeling quite new to me. It was not pleasure, nor was it pain, but a chilliness of soul which proceeded from the gloomy and severe task that I had undertaken—a task which, when I considered the danger and the advantages annexed to its performance, was sufficient to abstract me from every other object. It was really the first exercise of that jealous spirit of mistaken devotion which keeps the soul in perpetual sickness, and invests the innocent enjoyments of life with a character of sin and severity. It was this gloomy feeling that could alone have strangled in their birth those sensations which the wisdom of God has given as a security in some degree against sin, by opening to the heart of man sources of pleasure, for which the soul is not compelled to barter away her innocence, as in those of a grosser nature. I may be wrong in analyzing the sensation, but for the first time in my life I felt anxious and unhappy; yet, according to my own opinions, I should have been otherwise. I was startled at what I experienced, and began to consider it as a secret intimation that I had chosen a wrong time for my journey. I even felt as if it would not prosper—as if some accident or misfortune would befall me ere my return. The boat might sink, as in 1796: this was quite alarming. The miraculous experiment on the pond here occurred to me with full force, and came before my imagination in a new point of view. The drenching I got had a deep and fearful meaning. It was ominous—it was prophetic,—and sent by a merciful Providence to deter me from attending the pilgrimage at this peculiar time—perhaps on this particular day: to-morrow the spell might be broken, the danger past, and the difference of a single day could be nothing. Just at this moment an unlucky hare, starting from an adjoining thicket, scudded across my path, as if to fill up the measure of these ominous predictions. I paused, and my foot was on the very turn to the rightabout, when instantly a thought struck me which produced a reaction in my imagination. Might not all this be the temptation of the devil, suggested to prevent me from performing this blessed work? not the hare itself be some———? In short, the counter-current carried me with it. I had commenced my journey, and every one knows that when a man commences a journey it is unlucky to turn back. On I went, but still with a subdued and melancholy tone of feeling. If I met a cheerful countryman, his mirth found no kindred spirit in me: on the contrary, my taciturnity seemed to infect him; for, after several ineffectual' attempts at conversation, he gradually became silent, or hummed a tune to himself, and, on parting, bade me a short, doubtful kind of good day, looking over his shoulder, as he departed, with a face of scrutiny and surprise.
After getting five or six miles across the country, I came out on one of these by-roads which run independently of all advantages of locality, “up hill and down dale,” from one little obscure village to another. These roads are generally paved with round broad stones, laid curiously together in longitudinal rows like the buttons on a schoolboy's jacket; Owing to the infrequency of travellers on them, they are quite overgrown with grass, except in one stripe along the middle, which is kept naked by the hoofs of horses and the tread of foot passengers. There is some tradition connected with these roads, or the manner of their formation, which I do not remember.
At last I came out upon the main road; and you will be pleased to imagine to yourself the figure of a tall, gaunt, gawkish young man, dressed in a good suit of black cloth, with shirt and cravat like snow, striding solemnly along, without shoe or stocking; for about this time I was twelve miles from home, and blisters had already risen upon my feet, in consequence of the dew having got into my shoes, which at the best were enough to cut up any man; I had therefore to strip and carry my shoes—one in my pocket, and another stuffed in my hat; being thus with great reluctance compelled to travel barefoot: yet I soon turned even this to account, when I reflected that it would enhance the merit of my pilgrimage, and that every fresh blister would bring down a fresh blessing. 'Tis true I was nettled to the soul, on perceiving the face of a laborer on the way-side, or of a traveller who met me, gradually expanding into a broad sarcastic grin, as such an unaccountable figure passed him. But these I soon began to suspect were Protestant grins; for none but heretics would presume by any means to give me a sneer. The Catholics taking me for a priest, were sure to doff their hats to me; or if they wore none, as is not unfrequent when at labor, they would catch their forelocks with their finger and thumb, and bob down their heads in the act of veneration. This attention of my brethren more than compensated for the mirth of all other sects; in fact, their mistaking me for a priest began to give me a good opinion of myself, and perfectly reconciled me to the fatiguing severity of the journey.
I have had occasion to remark, while upon this pilgrimage, or rather long afterwards,—for I was but little versed then in the science of reflection—that it is impossible to calculate upon the capabilities of either body or mind, until they are drawn out by some occasion of peculiar interest, in which those of either or both are thrown upon their own energies and resources. In my opinion, the great secret or the directing principle of all enterprise rests in the motive of action; for, whenever a suitable interest can be given to the principles of human conduct, the person bound by, and feeling that interest will not only perform as much as could possibly be expected from his natural powers, but he will recruit his energies by drawing in all the adventitious aid which the various relations of that interest, as they extend to other objects, are capable of affording him. It was amazing, for instance, to observe the vigor and perseverance with which feeble, sickly old creatures, performed the necessary austerities of this dreadful pilgrimage;—creatures, who if put to the same fatigue, on any other business, would at once sink under it; but the motive supplied energy, and the infirmities of nature borrowed new strength from the deep and ardent devotion of the spirit.
The first that I suspected of being fellow pilgrims were two women whom I overtook upon the way. They were dressed in gray cloaks, striped red and blue petticoats; drugget, or linseywoolsey gowns, that came within about three inches of their ankles. Each had a small white bag slung at her back, which contained the scanty provisions for the journey, and the oaten cakes, crisp and hard-baked, for the pilgrimage to the lake. The hoods of their cloaks fell down their backs, and each dame had a spotted cotton kerchief pinned around her dowd cap at the chin, whilst the remainder of it fell down the shoulders, over the cloaks. Each had also a staff in her hand, which she held in a manner peculiar to a travelling woman—that is, with her hand round the upper end of it, her right thumb extended across its head, and her arm, from the elbow down, parallel with the horizon. The form of each, owing to the want of that spinal strength and vigor which characterize the erect gait of man, was bent a little forward, and this, joined to the idea produced by the nature of their journey, gave to them something of an ardent and devoted character, such as the mind and eye would seek for in a pilgrim, I saw them at some distance before me, and knew by the staves and white bags behind them that they were bound for Lough Derg. I accordingly stretched out a little that I might overtake them; for in consequence of the absorbing nature of my own reflections, my journey had only been a solitary one, and I felt that society would relieve me. I was not a little surprised, however, on finding that as soon as I topped one height of the road, I was sure to find my two old ladies a competent distance before me in the hollow (most of the northern roads are of this nature), and that when I got to the bottom, I was as sure to perceive their heads topping the next hill, and then gradually sinking out of my sight. I was surprised at this, and perhaps a little nettled, that a fresh active young fellow should not have sufficient mettle readily to overtake two women. I did stretch out, therefore, with some vigor, yet it was not till after a chase of two miles or so that I found myself abreast of them. As soon as they noticed me they dropped a curtesy each, addressing me at the same time as a clergyman, and I returned their salutation with all due gravity. Upon my inquiring how far they had travelled that day, it appeared that they had actually performed a journey seven miles longer than mine: “We needn't ax your Reverence if you're for the Islan'?” said one of them. “I am,” I replied, not caring to undeceive her as to my Reverentiality.
The truth was, in the midst of all my sanctity I felt proud of the old woman's mistake as to my priesthood, and really had not so much ready virtue about me, on the occasion, as was sufficient to undeceive her. I was even thankful to her for the inquiry, and thought, on a closer inspection, I perceived an uncommon portion of good sense and intelligence in her face. “My very excellent, worthy woman,” said I, “how is it that you are able to travel at such a rate, when one would suppose you should be fatigued by this time, after so long a journey?”
“Musha?” said she, “but your Reverence ought to know that.”—I felt puzzled at this: “How should I know it?” said I.
“I'm sure,” she continued, “you couldn't expect a poor ould crathur o' sixty to travel at this rate, at all at all; except for raisons, your Reverence:”—looking towards me quite confidently and knowingly. This was still more oracular, and I felt very odd under it; my character for devotion was at stake, and I feared that the old lady was drawing me into a kind of vicious circle. “Your Reverence knows, that for the likes o' me, that can hardly move to the market of a Saturday, Lord help me! an' home agin, for to travel at this rate, would be impossible, any how, except,” she added, “for what I'm carryin', sir, blessed be God for it!”—peering at me again with more knowing and triumphant look.
“Why that's true,” said I, thoughtfully; and then, assuming a bit of the sacerdotal privilege, and suddenly raising my voice, though I was as innocent as the child unborn of her meaning,—“that's true; but now as you appear to be a sensible, pious woman, I hope you-understand the nature of what you are carrying—and in a proper manner, too, for you know that's the chief point.”
“Why, Father dear, I do my best, avourneen; an' I ought of a sartinty to know it, bekase blessed Friar Hagan spent three dys instructin' Mat and myself in it; an' more betoken, that Mat sent him a sack o' phaties, an' a bag of oats for his trouble, not forgettin' the goose he got from myself, the Micklemas afther.—Arrah how long is that ago, Katty a-haygur?” said she, addressing her companion.