“But while your days and nights are thus devoted to Milesian literature,” you will say, “what becomes of Blackstone and Coke?”
Faith, e’en what may for me--the mind, the mind, like the heart, is not to be forced in its pursuits; and, I believe, in an intellectual, as in a physical sense, there are certain antipathies which reason may condemn, but not vanish. Coke is to me a dose of ipecacuhana; and my present studies, like those poignant incentives which stimulate the appetite without causing repletion. It is in vain to force me to a profession, against which my taste, my habits, my very nature revolts; and if my father persists in his determination, why, as a _dernier resort_, I must turn historiographer to the prince of Inismore.------ Like the spirit of Milton, I feel myself, in this new world, “vital in every part:”
“All heart I live, all head, all eye, all ear.
The more I know of this singular girl, the more the happy _discordia consors_ of her character awakens my curiosity and surprise. I never beheld such a union of intelligence and simplicity, infantine playfulness and profound reflection as her character exhibits. Sometimes when I think I am trifling with a child, I find I am conversing with a philosopher; and sometimes in the midst of the most serious and interesting conversation, some impulse of the moment seizes on her imagination, and a vein of frolic humour and playful sarcasm is indulged at the expense of my most sagacious arguments or philosophic gravity. Her reserve (unknown to herself) is gradually giving way to the most bewitching familiarity.
When the priest is engaged, I am suffered to tread with her the “pathless grass,” climb the mountain’s steep, or ramble along the sea-beat coast, sometimes followed by her nurse, and sometimes by a favourite little dog only.
Of nothing which concerns her country is she ignorant; and when a more interesting, a more soul-felt conversation, cannot be obtained, I love to draw her into a little national chit-chat.
Yesterday, as we were walking along the base of that mountain from which I first beheld her dear residence, (and sure I may say with Petrarch, “Benedetto sia il giorno e’l mese e’lanno,”) several groups of peasants (mostly females,) passed us, with their usual courteous salutations, and apparently dressed in their holiday garbs.