Blue-Stocking Hall, (Vol. 2 of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill

As we were moving towards the place where our palfreys were in waiting, I said to Burke, "tell me how is it that the mass of the people in Ireland speak so much purer English than we do, though it is our native tongue, and with you not so?"

"That is the very reason of it, sir, I suppose," replied this extra-ordinary man. "You speak English amongst your poor, as we speak Irish, by ear, and so we speak it badly enough, and differently in different places; but our English we learn out of books, because it is not our natural language, and so perhaps we may speak it nearer to the manner in which it is written than you do at your side of the water."

With intelligence thus superior to his humble lot, did this desert "Hampden" (for "village" would not suit with his desolate dwelling) discourse with us till we were mounted. Frederick made him promise to come to Glenalta, where he told him that a present of books awaited his arrival: and we promised to visit him again on our return from Killarney. With affectionate and mutual adieus, we parted, and left the wide blank of a deathlike solitude and silence, to contrast with the merry din of our voices and the cheerful shew of life which had been produced by the group of men, dogs, and horses, on the gloomy heath.

I shall never forget Ned of the Hill while I live, and though his brogue is the ne plus ultra of possible discord to a musical ear, I would rather listen to him than to almost any West-Endian of my acquaintance. Bentley is beside himself with admiration of Ned, and I believe would like nothing better than a cave next door to our mountain sage, where some future bookmaker, travelling this way, might set down the neighbours as a settlement of the Troglodites, who, by some wonderful chance, had been cast on shore upon the coast of Kerry. I am not yet sure how to classify Bentley. He is very worthy of a place in my Irish Pantheon, but I have not a niche ready for him, and as I hardly think that I shall be able to unravel his character without help, I will ask Mr. Otway about him, some day or other, if I cannot satisfy myself respecting certain incongruities which I perceive in his manner.

As we neared Glenalta, Frederick observed several traces of carriage wheels on the road, and, on examining them more nearly, prophecied that we should find company on reaching home.

"Not at this hour, surely," said Bentley. "Mr. Otway would not drive to Glenalta when he is able to ride or walk thither; and my uncle being an absentee at present, who is there that could venture to pay a visit at five o'clock with any hope of being at their more distant homes in reasonable time for dinner?"

"Depend upon it," answered Frederick, "that whoever came to Glenalta this day, is there still. Like Cacus' den, it exhibits no returning footsteps. All the marks of the horses' feet are in the same direction." See what it is to live in this out of the way sort of place!

The speculation of who could have come in our absence kept our minds for the last mile in the most animating state of inquiry and suspense. We rode up directly to the stable-yard, on entering which, a nice calêche and smart dennett were drawn up in order. The stable-boy could not tell more than that "quality" had come, and old Lawrence, whom we met, could only add, that they were to stay, and were English, but every body was in such a bustle that, he told us, he could learn no more. On entering the house, we found the rooms deserted, and Fanny, who came radiant with excitement, skipping down stairs to meet us, was the only living thing that presented itself to our view. To our eager inquiries she would only reply, that we must go and dress, and that when we appeared in the drawing-room that we should know who were the guests. There was no use in expostulating, Fanny was inexorable, and to our toilettes we were sent. As soon as mine was completed, I hurried down stairs, and Fanny again was the first to me. She took me by the hand, and throwing open the drawing-room door, I found my aunt, Emily, and Charlotte all dressed, and looking full of some mystery, respecting which I was proceeding to ask questions, when two figures bounced from behind the large Indian screen, and who should stand confessed before me, but Russell and Annesley. Astonishment was no adequate word to express what I felt at sight of them. How to account for the vision, how to express amazement, pleasure, at the unexpected rencontre, I knew not. What a creature of circumstance is man! Though I am fond of both Russell and Annesley, and they are the only people besides yourself, of whom I have spoken as friends since I came here, and introduced by character to my relations, yet a meeting with either of them in the Regent's Park, in Bond-street, at the Theatre, or the Opera, how insipid! Nay, sometimes even a bore. Yet here at Glenalta, county of Kerry, South of Ireland, it was rapture to behold their faces, though neither their personal identity nor my own can have undergone any material alteration since we met last at Cambridge. Is it that I, without knowing it, have got a drop of Irish blood in my veins, or that the features of my countrymen, my schoolfellows, my College friends, operate naturally in a strange place, like the Ranz des Vaches on Swiss hearts in a foreign land? I must leave you to develope the cause, I have only to do with effects.