The Wild Irish Girl: A National Tale

by Lady Morgan

  LETTER XI.

  TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.

  Here is a _bonne bouche_ for your antiquarian taste, and _Ossianic_palate! Almost every evening after vesper, we all assemble in a spacioushall, * which had been shut up for near a century and first opened bythe present prince when he was driven for shelter to his paternal ruins.

  * “Amidst the ruins of Buan Ratha, near Limerick, is a princely hall and spacious chambers; the fine stucco in many of which is yet visible, though uninhabitable for near a century.”--O’Halloran’s Introduction to the Study of the History and Antiquities of Ireland, p 8.

  In every town, every village, every considerable tract of land, the spacious ruins of princely residence or religious edifices, the palace, the castle, or the abbey, are to be seen.

  This _Vengolf_, this _Valkhalla_, where the very spirit of Woden seemsto preside, runs the full length of the castle as it now stands (for thecentre of the building only, has escaped the delapidations of time,)and its beautifully arched roof is enriched with numerous devices whichmark the spirit of that day in which it was erected. This very curiousroof is supported by two rows of pillars of that elegant spirallightness which characterises the Gothic order in a certain stage of itsprogress. The floor is a finely tessellated pavement; and the ample butungrated hearths which terminate it at either extremity, blaze everyevening with the cheering contributions of a neighbouring bog. Thewindows which are high, narrow, and arched, command on one side a nobleview of the ocean, on the other they are closed up.

  When I enquired of Father John the cause of this singular exclusion of avery beautiful landview, he replied, “that from those windows were to beseen the greater part of that rich tract of land which once formedthe territory of the Princes of Inismore; * and since,” said he, “thepossessions of the present Prince are limited to a few hereditary acresand a few rented farms, he cannot bear to look on the domains of hisancestors nor ever goes beyond the confines of this little peninsula.”

  * I understand that it is only a few years back, since the present respectable representatives of the M’Dermot family opened those windows which the Prince of Coolavin closed up, upon a principle similar to that by which the Prince of Inismore was actuated.

  This very curious apartment is still called the banquetting hall--where

  “Stately the feast, and high the cheer.

  Girt with many a valiant peer,”

  was once celebrated in all the boundless extravagance and convivialspirit of ancient Irish hospitality. But it now serves as an armory, amuseum, a cabinet of national antiquities and national curiosities.In short, it is the receptacle of all those precious relics, which thePrince has been able to rescue from the wreck of his family splendour.

  Here, when he is seated by a blazing hearth in an immense arm-chair,made, as he assured me, of the famous wood of _Shilelah_, his daughterby his side, his harper behind him, and his _domestic altar_ notdestitute of that national libation which is no disparagement toprincely taste, since it has received the sanction of imperialapprobation * his gratified eye wandering over the scattered insigniaof the former prowess of his family; his gratified heart expandingto the reception of life’s sweetest ties--domestic joys and socialendearments;--he forgets the derangement of his circumstances--heforgets that he is the ruined possessor of a visionary title; he feelsonly that he is a man--and an Irishman! While the transient happinessthat lights up the vehement feelings of his benevolent breast, effusesits warmth over all who come within its sphere.

  * Peter the Great, of Russia was fond of whiskey, and used to say, “Of all wine, Irish wine is the best.”

  Nothing can be more delightful than the evenings passed in this_vengolf_---this hall of Woden; where my sweet Glorvina hovers round us,like one of the beautiful _valkyries_ of the Gothic paradise, who bestowon the spirit of the departed warrior that heaven he eagerly rushes ondeath to obtain. Sometimes she accompanies the old bard on her harp,or with her voice; and frequently as she sits at her wheel (for she isoften engaged in this simple and primitive avocation,) endeavours tolure, her father to speak on those subjects most interesting to him orto me; or, joining the general conversation, by the playfulness ofher humour, or the original whimsicality of her sallies, materiallycontributes to the “_molle at que facetum!_” of the moment.

  On the evening of the day of the picture-scene, the absence of Glorvina(for she was attending a sick servant) threw a gloom over our littlecircle. The Prince, for the first time, dismissed the harper, and takingme by the arm, walked up and down the hall in silence, while the priestyawned over a book.

  I have already told you that this curious hall is the _emporium_ ofthe antiquities of Inismore, which are arranged along its walls, andsuspended from its pillars.--As much to draw the Prince from the gloomyreverie into which he seemed plunged, as to satisfy my own curiosity andyours, I requested his highness to explain some characters on a collarwhich hung from a pillar, and appeared to be plated with gold.

  Having explained the motto, he told me that this collar had belonged toan order of knighthood hereditary in his family--of an institution moreancient than any in England, by some centuries.

  “How,” said I, “was chivalry so early known in Ireland? and rather, didit ever exist here?”

  “Did it!” said the Prince, impatiently, “I believe, young gentleman, theorigin of knighthood may be traced in Ireland upon surer ground than inany other country whatever.” *

  * Mr. O’Halloran, with a great deal of spirit and ingenuity, endeavours to prove that the German Knighthood (the earliest we read of in chivalry) was of Irish origin; with what success we leave it to the impartial reader to judge. It is, however, certain, that the German ritter or knight, bears a very close analogy to the Irish riddaire. In 1394, Richard II, in his tour through Ireland, offered to knight the four provincial kings who came to receive him in Dublin. But they excused themselves, as having received that honour from their parents at seven years old--that being the age in which the kings of Ireland knighted their eldest sons.--See Froissart.

  Long before the birth of Christ, we had an hereditary order ofknighthood in Ulster, called the Knights of the _Red Branch_. Theypossessed, near the royal palace of Ulster, a seat, called the _Academyof the Red Branch_; and an adjoining hospital, expressively termed the_House of the Sorrowful Soldier_.

  “There was also an order of chivalry hereditary in the royal familiesof Munster, named the _Sons of Deagha_, from a celebrated hero of thatname, probably their founder. The Connaught knights were called the_Guardians of Jorus_, and those of Leinster, _the Clan of Boisgna_. Sofamous, indeed, were the knights of Iceland, for the elegance, strength,and beauty of their forms, that they were distinguished, by way ofpre-eminence, by the name of _the Heroes of the Western Isle_.

  “Our annals teem with instances of this romantic bravery and scrupuloushonour. My memory, though much impaired, is still faithful to someanecdotes of both. During a war between the Connaught and Munstermonarchs, in 192, both parties met in the plains of Lena, in thisprovince; and it was proposed to Goll M’Morni, chief of the ConnaughtKnights, to attack the Munstei army at midnight, which would havesecured him victory. He nobly and indignantly replied: ‘On the day thearms of a knight were put into my hands, I swore never to attack myenemy at night, by surprise, or under _any kind of disadvantage_; norshall that vow now be broken.’

  “Besides those orders of knighthood which I have already named, thereare several others * still hereditary in noble families, and thehonorable titles of which are still preserved: such as the _WhiteKnights of Kerry_, and the _Knights of Glynn_: that hereditary in myfamily was the _Knights of the Valley_; and this collar, ** an ornamentnever dispensed with, was found about fifty years back in a neighbouringbog, and worn by my father till his death.

  “This gorget,” he continued, taking down one which hung on the wall, andapparently gratified by the obvious pleasure evinced in the countenanceof his auditor,--“This gorget was found some years after in the samebog.”
***

  * The respectable families of the Fitzgeralds still bear the title of their ancestors, and are never named but as the Knights of Kerry and of Glynn.

  ** One of these collars was in the possession of Mr. O’Halloran.

  *** In the Bog of Cullen, in the county of Tipperary, some golden gorgets were discovered, as were also some corslets of pure gold in the lands of Clonties, county of Kerry---See Smith’s History of Ireland.

  “And this helmet?” said I--

  “It is called in Irish,” he replied, “_salet_ and belonged, with thiscoat of mail, to my ancestor who was murdered in this castle.”

  I coloured at this observation, as though I had been myself themurderer.

  “As you refer, Sir,” said the priest, who had flung by his book andjoined us, “to the ancient Irish for the origin of knighthood, * youwill perhaps send us to the Irish _Mala_, for the derivation of the wordmail.”

  * At a time when the footstep of an English invader had not been impressed upon the Irish coast, the celebrity of the Irish knights was sung by the British minstrels. Thus in the old romantic tale of Sir Cauline:

  In Ireland, ferr over the sea,

  There dwelleth a bonnye kinge,

  And with him a young and comlye knight,

  Men call him Syr Cauline.

  “Undoubtedly,” said the national Prince, “I should; but pray, Mr.Mortimer, observe this shield. It is of great antiquity. You perceive itis made of wicker, as were the Irish shields in general; although I havealso heard they were formed of silver, and one was found near Slimore,in the county of Cork, plated with gold, which sold for seventyguineas.”

  “But here,” said I, “is a sword of curious workmanship, the hilt ofwhich seems of gold.”

  Sir Cauline’s antagonist, the Eldridge knight, is described as being “afoul paymin” which places the events, the romantic tale delineates, inthe earliest era of Christianity in Ireland.

  “It is in fact so,” said the priest--“Golden hilted swords have beenin great abundance through Ireland; and it is a circumstance singularlycurious, that a sword found in the bog of Cullen, should be of the exactconstruction and form of those found upon the plains of Canæ. You maysuppose that the advocates of our Milesian origin gladly seize onthis circumstance, as affording new arms against the sceptics to theantiquity of our nation.”

  “Here too is a very curious haubergeon, once perhaps impregnable! Andthis curious battle-axe,” said I--

  “Was originally called,” returned the Prince, “_Tuath Catha_, or axe ofwar, and was put into the hands of our Galloglasses, or second rank ofmilitary.”

  “But how much more elegant,” I continued, “the form of this beautifulspear; it is of course of a more modern date.”

  “On the contrary,” said the Prince, “this is the exact form of thecranuil or lance, with which Oscar is described to have struck Art tothe earth.”

  “Oscar!” I repeated, almost starting--but added--“O, true, Mr.Macpherson tells us the Irish have some wild improbable tales ofFingal’s heroes among them, on which they found some claim to theirbeing natives of this country.”

  “Some claim!” repeated the Prince, and by one of those motions whichspeak more than volumes, he let go my arm, and took his usual station bythe fireside, repeating, _some claim!_

  While I was thinking how I should repair my involuntary fault, the goodnatured priest said, with a smile, “You know, my dear Sir, that by onehalf of his English readers, Ossian is supposed to be a Scottish bard ofancient days; by the other he is esteemed the legitimate offspring ofMacpherson’s own muse. But here,” he added, turning to me, “we arecertain of his Irish origin, from the testimony of tradition, fromproofs of historic fact, and above all, from the internal evidences ofthe poems themselves, even as they are given us by Mr. Macpherson.

  “We, who are from our infancy taught to recite them, who bear theappellations of their heroes to this day, and who reside amidst thosevery scenes of which the poems, even according to their _ingenious_, butnot always _ingenuous_ translator, are descriptive--_we_ know, believe,and assert them to be translated from the fragments of the Irish bards,or seanachies, whose surviving works were almost equally diffusedthrough the Highlands as through this country. Mr. Macpherson combinedthem in such forms as his judgment (too classically correct in thisinstance) most approved; retaining the old names and events, andaltering the dates in his originals as well as their matter and form,in order to give them a higher antiquity than they really possess;suppressing many proofs which they contain of their Irish origin, andstudiously avoiding all mention of St Patrick, whose name frequentlyoccurs in the original poems; only occasionally alluding to him underthe character of a _Culdee_; conscious that any mention of the_Saint_ would introduce a suspicion that these poems were not the truecompositions of Ossian, but those of _Fileas_ who, in an after day,committed to verse the traditional details of one equally renowned insong and arms.” *

  * Samuir, daughter of Fingal, having married Cormac Cas, their son (says Keating) Modk Corb, retained as his friend and confidant his uncle Ossian, contrary to the orders of Cairbre Liffeachair, the then monarch, against whom the Irish militia had taken up arms. Ossian was consequently among the number of rebellious chiefs.

  Here, you will allow, was a blow furiously aimed at all my opinionsrespecting these poems, so long the objects of my enthusiasticadmiration: you may well suppose I was for a moment quite stunned.However, when I had a little recovered, I went over the arguments usedby Macpherson, Blair, &c., &c., &c., to prove that Ossian was a Highlandbard, whose works were handed down to us by _oral_ tradition, through alapse of fifteen hundred years.

  “And yet,” said the priest, having patiently heard me out--“Mr.Macpherson confesses that the ancient language and traditional historyof the Scottish nation became confined to the natives of the Highlands,who falling, from several concurring circumstances, into the last degreeof ignorance and barbarism, left the Scots so destitute of historicfacts, that they were reduced to the necessity of sending Fordun toIreland for their history, from whence he took the entire first part ofhis book. For Ireland, owing to its being colonized from Phoenicia,and consequent early introduction of letters there, was at thatperiod esteemed the most enlightened country in Europe: and indeed Mr.Macpherson himself avers, that the Irish, for ages antecedent to theConquest, possessed a competent share of that kind of learning whichprevailed in Europe; and from their superiority over the Scots, foundno difficulty in imposing on the ignorant Highland seanachies, andestablishing that historic system which afterwards, for want of anyother, was universally received.

  “Now, my dear friend, if historic fact and tradition did not attest thepoems of Ossian to be Irish, probability would establish it. For ifthe Scotch were obliged to Ireland, according to Mr. Macpherson’s ownaccount, not only for their history but their tradition, so remote a oneas Ossian must have come from the Irish; for Scotland, as Dr. Johnsonasserts, when he called on Mr. Macpherson to show his originals, hadnot an Erse manuscript two hundred years old. And Sir George M’Kenzie,though himself a Scotchman, declares, “that he had in his possession, anIrish manuscript written by Cairbre Lifteachair, * monarch of Ireland,who flourished before St Patrick’s mission.

  * Mr O’Halloran, in his Introduction to the study of Irish History, &c.. quotes some lines from a poem still extant, composed by Torna Ligis, chief poet to Niai the Great, who flourished in the fourth century.

  “But,” said I, “even granting these beautiful poems to be the effusionsof Irish genius, it is strange that the feats of your own heroes couldnot supply your bards with subjects for their epic verse.”

  “Strange indeed it would have been,” said the priest, “and thereforethey have chosen the most renowned chiefs in their annals of nationalheroism, as their Achilleses, their Hectors, and Agamemnons.”

  “How!” exclaimed I, “Is not Fingal a Caledonian chief? Is he notexpressly called King of Morven?”

  “Allowing he were in the ori
ginals, which he is not,” returned thepriest, “give me leave to ask you where Morven lies?”

  “Why, I suppose of course in Scotland,” said I, a little unprepared forthe question.

  “Mr. Macpherson supposes so too,” replied he, smiling, “though certainlyhe is at no little pains to discover where in Scotland. The fact is,however, that the epithet of _Riagh Mor Fhionne_, which Mr. Macphersontranslates King of Morven, is literally King or Chief of the Fhians, orFians, a body of men of whom Mr. Macpherson makes no mention, and which,indeed, either in the annals of Scottish history or Scottish poetry,would be vainly sought. Take then their history as extracted from thebook of Howth into the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy,in 1786. *

  * Fionn, the son of Cumhal, [from whom, says Keating, the established militia of the kingdom were called Fion Erinne,] was first married to Graine, daguhter to Cormac, king of Ireland, and afterwards to her sister, and descended in a sixth degree from Nuagadh Neacht, king of Leinster. The history, laws, requisites, &c., of the Fionna Erin, are to be found in Keating’s History of Ireland, p. 269.

  Cormac, at the head of the Fion, and attended by Fingal, sailed to that part of Scotland opposite Ireland, where he planted a colony as an establishment for Carbry Riada, his cousin-german. This colony was often protected from the power of the Romans by the Fion, under the command of Fingal, occasionally stationed in the circumjacent country “Hence,” says Walker, “the claims of the Scots to Fin.” In process of time this colony gave monarchs to Scotland, and their posterity at this day reign over the British empire. Fingal fell in an engagement at Rathbree, on the banks of the Boyne, A. D. 294; from whence the name of Rathbree was changed to Killeen, or Cill-Fhin, the tomb of Fin.

  “In Ireland there were soldiers called _Fynne Erin_, appointed to keepthe sea-coast, fearing foreign invasion, or foreign princes to enterthe realm; the names of these soldiers were Fin M’Cuil, Coloilon, Keilt,Oscar, M’Ossyn, Dermot, O’Doyne, Collemagh, Morna, and divers others.These soldiers waxed bold, as shall appear hereafter, and so strong,that they did contrary to the orders and institutions of the Kings ofIreland, their chiefs and governors, and became very strong and stout,and at length would do thing without license of the King of Ireland,&c., &c--It is added, that one of these heroes was alive till the comingof St. Patrick, who recited the actions of his compeers to the Saint.This hero was Ossian, or, as we pronounce it, _Ossyn_; whose dialogueswith the Christian missionary is in the mouth of every peasant, andseveral of them preserved in old Irish manuscripts. Now the Fingal ofMr. Macpherson (for it is thus he translates _Fin M’Cuil_, sometimespronounced and spelled Fionne M’Cumhal, or _Fion_ the son of Cumhal) andhis followers appear like the earth-born myrmidons of Deucalion, forthey certainly have no human origin; bear no connexion with the historyof their country; are neither to be found in the poetic legend orhistoric record * of Scotland, and are even furnished with appellationswhich the Caledonians neither previously possessed nor have sinceadopted. They are therefore abruptly introduced to our knowledge asliving in a barbarous age, yet endowed with every perfection thatrenders them the most refined, heroic, and virtuous of men. So thatwhile we grant to the interesting poet and his heroes our boundlessadmiration, we cannot help considering them as solecisms in the theoryof human nature.

  * I know but of one instance that contradicts the assertion of Father Johu, and that I borrow from the allegorical Palace of Honour of Gavvin Douglass, Bishop of Dunkeld, who places Gaul, son of Morni, and Fingal, among the distinguished characters in the annals of legendary romance; yet even _he_ mentions them not as the heroes of Scottish celebrity, but as the almost fabled demi-gods of Ireland.

  “And now the wran cam out of Ailsay,

  And Piers Plowhman, that made his workmen few

  Great Gow Mac Morne and Fin M’Cowl, and how

  They suld be goddis in Ireland, as they say.”

  It is remarkable, that the genius of Ossianic style still prevails over the wild effusions of the modern and unlettered bards of Ireland; while even the remotest lay of Scottish minstrelsy respires nothing of that soul which breathes in “the voice of Cona;” and the metrical flippancy which betrays its existence, seems neither to rival, or cope with that touching sublimity of measure through whose impressive medium the genius of Ossian effuses its inspiration, and which, had it been known to ihe early bards of Scotland, had probably been imitated and adopted. In Ireland, it has ever been and is still the measure in which the Sons of Song breathe “their wood notes wild.”

  “But with _us_, Fingal and his chiefs are beings of real existence,their names, professions, rank, characters, and feats, attestedby historic fact as well as by poetic eulogium. Fingal is indeedromantically brave, benevolent, and generous, but he is turbulent,restless, ambitious: he is a man as well as a hero; and both his virtuesand his vices bear the stamp of the age and country in which he lived.His name and feats, as well as those of his chief officers, bear anintimate connexion with our national history.

  “Fionne, or Finnius, was the grandsire of Mile-sius; and it is not onlya name to be met with through every period of our history, but thereare few old families even at this day in Ireland, who have not theappellative of Finnius in some one or other of its branches; and alarge tract of the province of Leinster is called _Fingal_; a title inpossession of one of our most noble and ancient families.

  “Nay, if you please, you shall hear our old nurse run through the wholegenealogy of Macpherson’s hero, which is frequently given as a theme toexercise the memory of the peasant children.” *

  “Nay,” said I, nearly overpowered, “Macpher-son assures us theHighlanders also repeat many of Ossian’s poems in the original Erse:nay, that even in the Isle of Sky, they still show a stone which bearsthe form and name of Cuchullin’s dog.” **

  * They run it over thus: Oscar Mac Ossyn, Mac Fion, MacCuil, Mac Cormic, Mac Arte, Mac Fiervin, &c., &c. That is, Oscar the son of Ossian, the son of Fion, &c.

  ** There is an old tradition current in Connaught, of which Bran, the favourite dog of Ossian is the hero. In a war between the king of Lochlin and the Fians, a battle continued to be fought on equal terms for so long a period, that it was at last mutually agreed that it should be decided in a combat between Ossian’s Bran and the famous Cudubh, or dark greyhound, of the Danish monarch. This greyhound had already performed incredible feats, and was never to be conquered until his name was found out. The warrior dogs fought in a space between the two armies, and with such fury, says the legend, in a language absolutely untranslatable, that they tore up the stony bosom of the earth, until they rendered it perfectly soft, and again trampled on it with such force, that they made it of a rocky substance. The Cudubh had nearly gained the victory, when the baldheaded Conal, turning his face to the east, and biting his thumb, a ceremony difficult to induce him to perform, and which always endowed him with the gift of divination, made a sudden exclamation of encouragement to Bran, the first word of which found the name of the greyhound, who lost at once his prowess and the victory.

  “This is the most flagrant error of all,” exclaimed the Prince, abruptlybreaking his sullen silence--“for he has scynchronized heroes whoflourished in two distant periods; both Cuchullin and Conal Cearneathare historical characters with us; they were Knights of the _RedBranch_, and flourished about the birth of Christ. Whereas Fingal, withwhom he has united them, did not flourish till near three centuriesafter. It is indeed Macpherson’s pleasure to inform us that by the Isleof Mist is meant the Isle of Sky, and on that circumstance alone to resthis claim on _Cuchullin’s_ being a Caledonian; although, through thewhole poems of Fingal and Temora, he is not once mentioned as such; itis by the translator’s notes only we are informed of it.”

  “It is certain,” said the priest--“that in the first mention made of_Cuchullin_ in the poem of Fingal, he is simply denominated ‘the son ofSe-mo,’ ‘the Ruler of High Temora,’ ‘Mossy Tura’s Chief.’” * So called,says Macpherson, from his castle on the coast of Ulster, w
here he dweltbefore he took the management of the affairs of Ireland into his hands;though the singular cause which could induce the lord of the Isle of Skyto reside in Ireland previous to his political engagements in the Irishstate, he does not mention.

  * The groves of Tura, or Tuar, are often noticed in Irish song. Emunh Acnuic, or Ned of the Hill, has mentioned it in one of his happiest and most popular poems. It was supposed to be in the county of Armagh, province of Ulster.

  “In the same manner we are told, that his _three_ nephews came fromStreamy Etha, one of whom married an Irish lady; but there is no mentionmade of the real name of the place of their nativity, although thetranslator assures us in another note, that they also were Caledonians.But, in fact, it is from the internal evidences of the poems themselves,not from the notes of Mr. Macpherson, nor indeed altogether from hisbeautiful but unfaithful translation, that we are to decide on thenation to which these poems belong. In Fingal, the first and mostperfect of the collection, that hero is first mentioned by Cuchullin asFingal, _King of Desarts_--in the original---_Inis na bf hiodhuide_, or_Woody Island_; without any allusion whatever to his being a Caledonian.And afterwards he is called King of Selma, by Swaran, a name, withlittle variation given to several castles in Ireland. Darthula’s castleis named Selma; and another, whose owner I do not remember, is termedSelemath. _Slimora_, to whose fir the spear of Foldath is compared, is amountain in the province of Munster, and through out the whole, evenof Mr. Macpherson’s translation, the characters, names, allusions,incidents and scenery are all Irish. And in fact, _our Irish spuriousballads_, as Mr. Macpherson calls them, are the very originals out ofwhich he has spun the materials for his version of Ossian. *

  “Dr. Johnson, who strenuously opposed the idea of _Ossian_ being thework of a Scotch bard of the third century, asserts that the ‘Erse neverwas a written language, and that there is not in the world a writtenErse manuscript a hundred years old.’ He adds, ‘The Welsh and Irish arecultivated tongues, and two hundred years back insulted their Englishneighbours for the instability of their orthography.’ Even the ancientIrish _letter_ was unknown in the Highlands in 1690, for an Irishversion of the Bible being given there by Mr. Kirk, was printed in theRoman character.

  “When Dr. Young, ** led by tasteful enterprize,

  * “Some of the remaining footsteps of these old warriors are known by their first names at this time [says Keating] as for instance, Suidhe Finn, or the, Palace of Fin, at Sliabh na Mann, &c., &c.” There is a mountain in Donegal still called Alt Ossoin, surrounded by all that wild sublimity of scenery so exquisitely deliniated through the elegant medium of Macpherson’s translation of Ossian; and in its environs many Ossianic tales are still extant.

  In an extract given by Camden from an account of the manners of the native Irish in the sixteenth century--“they think, [says the author] the souls of the deceased are in communion with the famous men of those places, of whom they retain many stories and sonnets--as of the giants Fin, Mac Huyle, Osker, Mac Osshin, &c., &c., and they say, through illusion, they often see them.”

  ** Dr. Young, and Bishop of Clonfert, who united in his character the extremes of human perfection the most unblemished virtue to the most exalted genius.

  visited the Highlands (on an Ossianic research) in 1784, he collected anumber of Gællic poems respecting the race of the Fiens, so renowned inthe annals of Irish heroism, * and found, that the orthography was lesspure than that among us; for, he says, “the Erse being only a writtenlanguage within these few years, no means were yet afforded of forminga decided orthographic standard.” But he augurs, from the improvementwhich had lately taken place, that we soon may expect to see the Erserestored to the original purity which it possesses in the _mother_country. And these very poems, whence Mr. Macpherson has chieflyconstructed his Ossian, bear such strong internal proof of their Irishorigin, as to contain in themselves the best arguments that can beadduced against the Scottish claimants on the poems of the bard. But intheir translation, ** many passages are perverted, in order to depriveIreland of being the residence of Fingal’s heroes.”

  * See Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, 1786.

  ** “From the remotest antiquity we have seen the military order distinguished in Ireland, codes of military laws and discipline established, and their dress and rank in the state ascertained. The learned Keating and others, tell us that these militia were called Fine, from Fion Mac Cum-hal; but it is certainly a great error; the word fine, strictly implying a military corps. Many places in the island retain to this day the names of some of the leaders of this body of men, and whole volumes of poetical fictions have been grafted upon their exploits. The manuscripts which I have, after giving a particular account of Finn’s descent, his inheritance, his acquisitions from the king of Leinster and his great military command, immediately adds, ‘but the reader must not expect to meet here with such stories of him and his heroes as the vulgar Irish have.’”--Dr. Warner.

  “I remember,” said the Prince, “when you read to me a description of asea fight between Fingal and Swaran, in Macpherson’s translation, that Irepeated to you, in Irish, the very poem whence it was taken, and whichis still very current here, under the title of _Laoid Mhanuis M’hoir_.”

  “True,” returned the priest, “a copy of which is deposited in theUniversity of Dublin, with another Irish MS. entitled, ‘_Oran cadasAilte agus do Maronnan_’ whence the battle of Lora is taken.”

  The Prince then, desiring Father John to give him down a bundle ofold manuscripts which lay on a shelf in the hall dedicated to nationaltracts, after some trouble produced a copy of a poem, called “TheConversation of Ossian and St. Patrick,” the original of which, FatherJohn assured me, was deposited in the library of the Irish University.

  It is to this poem that Mr. Macpherson alludes, when he speaks of thedispute reported to have taken place between Ossian and a Culdee.

  At my request he translated this curious controversial tract. Thedispute was managed on both sides with a great deal of polemic ardour.St.

  Patrick, with apostolic zeal, shuts the gates of mercy on all whosefaith differs from his own, and, with an unsaintly vehemence extendsthe exclusion in a pointed manner, to the ancestors of Ossian, who, hedeclares, are suffering in the _limbo_ of tortured spirits. *

  * Notwithstanding the sceptical obstinacy that Ossian here displays, there is a current tradition of his having been present at a baptismal ceremony performed by the Saint, who accidentally struck the sharp point of his crozier through the bard’s foot, who, supposing it part of the ceremony, remained transfixed to the earth without a murmer.

  The bard tenderly replies, “It is hard to believe thy tale, O man of thewhite book! that Fion, _or one so generous_, should be in captivity withGod or man.”

  When, however, the saint persists in the assurance, that not eventhe generosity of the departed hero could save him from the house oftorture, the failing spirit of “the King of Harps” suddenly sends fortha lingering flash of its wonted fire; and he indignantly declares, “thatif the Clan of Boisgno were still in being, they would liberate theirbeloved general from this threatened hell.”

  The Saint, however, growing warm in the argument, expatiates on thegreat difficulty of _any_ soul entering the court of God: to which theinfidel bard beautifully replies:--“Then he is not like _Fionn M’Cuil_,or chief of the Fians; for every man upon the earth might enter _his_court without asking his permission.”

  Thus, as you perceive, fairly routed, I however artfully proposed termsof capitulation, as though my defeat was yet dubious.

  “Were I a Scotchman,” said I, “I should be furnished with more effectualarms against you; but as an Englishman, I claim an armed neutrality,which I shall endeavour to preserve between the two nations. At thesame time that I feel the highest satisfaction in witnessing the justpretentions of that country (which now ranks in my estimation next to myown) to a work which would do honour to _any_ country so fortunate as toclaim its author as her son.”


  The Prince, who seemed highly gratified by this avowal, shook meheartily by the hand, apparently flattered by his triumph; and at thatmoment Glorvina entered.

  “O, my dear!” said the Prince, “you are just come in time to witness anamnesty between Mr. Mortimer and me.”

  “I should much rather witness the amnesty than the breach,” returnedshe, smiling.

  “We have been battling about the country of Ossian,” said the priest,“with as much vehemence as the claimants on the birthplace of Homer.”

  “O! I know of old,” cried Glorvina, “that you and my father are naturalallies on that point of contention and I must confess, it wasungenerous in both to oppose your united strength against Mr. Mortimer’ssingle force.”

  “What, then,” said the Prince, good humouredly, “I suppose you wouldhave deserted your national standard, and have joined Mr. Mortimer,merely from motives of compassion.”

  “Not so, my dear sir,” said Glorvina, faintly blushing, “but I shouldhave endeavoured to have compromised between you. To you I would haveaccorded that Ossian was an Irishman, of which I am as well convincedas of any other self-evident truth whatever, and to Mr. Mortimer I wouldhave acknowledged the superior merits of Mr. Macpherson’s poems, ascompositions, over those wild effusions of our Irish bards, whence hecompiled them.

  “Long before I could read, I learned on the bosom of my nurse, and inmy father’s arms, to recite the songs of our national bards, and almostsince I could read, the Ossian of Macpherson has been the object of myenthusiastic admiration.

  “In the original Irish poems, if my fancy is sometimes dazzled bythe brilliant flashes of native genius, if my heart is touched by thestrokes of nature, or my soul elevated by sublimity of sentiment, yetmy interest is often destroyed, and my admiration often checked, byrelations so wildly improbable, by details so ridiculously grotesque,that though these stand forth as the most undeniable proofs of theirauthenticity and the remoteness of the day in which they were composed,yet I reluctantly suffer my mind to be convinced at the expense of myfeeling and my taste. But in the soul-stealing strains of ‘the Voice ofCona,’ as breathed through the refined medium of Macpherson’s genius,no incongruity of style, character, or manner disturbs the profoundinterest they awaken. For my own part, when my heart is coldly void,when my spirits are sunk and drooping, I fly to my English Ossian, andthen my sufferings are soothed, and every desponding spirit softens intoa sweet melancholy, more delicious than joy itself; while I experiencein its perusal a similar sensation as when, in the stillness of anautumnal evening, I expose my harp to the influence of the passingbreeze, which faintly breathing on the chords, seems to call forth itsown requiem as it expires.”

  “Oh, Macpherson!” I exclaimed, “be thy spirit appeased, for thou hastreceived that apotheosis thy talents have nearly deserved, in theeulogium of beauty and genius, and from the lip of an Irishwoman.”

  This involuntary and impassioned exclamation extorted from the Princea smile of gratified parental pride, and overwhelmed Glorvina withconfusion. She could, I believe, have spared it before her father, andreceived it with a bow and a blush. Shortly after she left the room.

  Adieu! I thought to have returned to M--------house, but I know not howit is----

  “Mais un invincible contraint

  Maigre, moi fixe ici mes pas,

  Et tu sais que pour aller a Corinth,

  Le désir seul ne suffit pas.”

  Adieu, H. M.