The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1851-12-31
An Irish Moorland.


In the last number ol Harper's Maga>
zine, we find a beauii'u ly written sketch
If II" Scene from IRISH life D. We make
~ eVirac' VI very Gra rhc description Of
ihe 1u'wari appearance of ihai lll-laled
I,.au1
The curse Of Ireland was Oh the place
-Landlo d and tenant, gentleman and
peasant, each with The roots and the shoots
OF many virtues in their hearts, thrown it,
10 false position by the mutual injuries
OF ages, had wreaked on each other the
mlseries sown broadcast by their ancestors
beneath This foul spell men who would, iu
any other circumstances, have been the
bappiest and The noblest Of mankind, be-
came tyrants; and peasants, who would
have elowed with grateful affection to-
wards them, cxuled in being their assassin<.
AS The traveller rode past the decaying
hall, The gloomy woods, and the waste black
moorlands of Sporeen, he read the riddle
o! lreland's fate. and asked himself when
an Giipus would arise to solve it.
he moorland was wide. level and bac L;
black as night, IT you could suppose nigh,
condensed on the surface o.! the earth, aud
'h't you could read on solid darkness in
the mlds of day. The day itself was last
dr 'ppIns INTO night. although It was drear,
aud gloomy at the best lor it was a No
vcmber day. The moor, for miles around,
was ueeless and houFeless devoid OF veg
citation, except heather which clad with
its gloomy ffieze coat The shiverng lane
scape. At n distance you could disco rn.
through the misty atmosphere the outline
Of mountains apparently as bare and stony
hs lhls wilderness, which they bounded.
There were no fields, no hedperows. no
marks OF the hand Of man, except the ma.
kedness itself, which was the work Of man
IN past ages when, period after period, he
had tramped over the scene with fire and
sword, and left all that could not hy be-
fore him, either ashes 10 be scattered by
the savage winds, or stems Of trees, and
carcasses of men trodden into the swRmpy
earth. AS the Roman Historian said oi
other desltoyers, They created solitude
and called it peace" That all this was
the work Of man. and not of Nature, any
one spot Of this huge and bowling wilder
ness could testify, If you would only turn
up its sable surface. In its bosom Law thou.
sands Of ancient oak and pines, black as
ebony ; which told, by their gigantic bulk
that forests must have once existed on this
spot. as rich as the scene was now bleak.
Nohler things Than trees lay buried there,
but were, for the most part, resolved into
the substance of The inly earth The
dwellings Of men had left few or no traces,
Tor they had been consumed in flames and
The hearts that had loved, and suffered
and perished beneath the hand of violence
and insult, were no longer human hearts,
but slime. II a man we're carried blind,
fold to that place aud asked when his eyes
were unbandaged where he was, he
"Nuiu say lTeidHu
He would want no clew to the identity o,
the place, but The scene before him There
is no heath like an Irish heath. There is
no desolation like an Irish desoiation.
Where nature herself has spread The ex>
panse of d solitude, il is a cheerful soil
Jude The air flows over it lovingly the
flowers nod, and dance in gladness the
soil brealhes up spirit OF wild fragrance,
which communicates II buoyanl sensation
10 the heart. You feel that you tread on
ground where the peace of God, and not
the peace Of man, created in the mer-
c'less hurricane OF war, has sojournedi
where the sun shone on creatures sporting
on GROUND or an iree. as the Divine Cool
ness Of The Universe meant them to sport
where the hunter disturbed alone the en-
joymenl Of The lower animals by his own
boslerous Joy where the traveller sung as
he went over it, because he felt spring of
lneIpressible music in his heart, where The
weary wayfarer sat beneath bush, and
blessed God, though his limbs ached with
travel, and his goal was far oG-ln Gods
deserts dwells gladness; in INNS deserts,
death. A melancholy smites you as you
enter them. There is darkness from the
pas. that envelopes your heart, and the
means and signs of ten timos perpeirated
misery seem still to live in the very winds.