University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE BLIND HARPER.

The current of emigration from the east to the
west, had run so rapidly during the foregoing period,
that our recluses began to find themselves
surrounded by civilized neighbors. Though this
circumstance would have been unpleasant to Willoughby
at an early period of his exile, he now
regarded it with no inconsiderable satisfaction.
He was formed for society, nor had his long exclusion
unfitted him for its enjoyments. Well
aware that these hardy enterprizing settlers were
not of that class he had been so eager to shun, he
felt no repugnance at their approach. Without
some social intercourse, the manners of his children
could not acquire a certain degree of refinement
indispensably necessary on their entering
the world.

He intended that his son, at a proper period,
should finish his studies at the university; but
without some graduating medium, the too sudden
transition from nature to art would be very unpleasant
to his feelings, if not deleterious to his
hopes; for among the latent qualities of the boy's
mind, which were daily unfolding and presenting
themselves to the parent's view, there was readily
discovered a large share of that exquisite sensibility
which shrinks from the approach of derision
or contempt, as the sensitive plant from the
touch.

In the year one thousand eight hundred and
nine, George was fifteen years of age, with a
stature and strength that would have passed for seventeen.
In the mean time, several little villages
had grown up around them, the nearest of which
was at the distance of five miles; a few scattering
habitations were somewhat nearer.

The sound of the exterminating axe was now
heard from a thousand directions, and the forests
melted before it. Fire followed the axe, and luxuriant
vegetation succeeded the fire. Roads
were levelled, waggons constructed, and intercourse
increased.

With the Willoughby family the ice was soon
broken. Acquaintances were formed, visits made,
and visitors received. The major had recovered
enough of cheerfulness to make every one pleased
with him and each other; and his sister, now
just on the right side of fifty, exhibited the rare
phenomenon of an agreeable old maid. George
was pleased, and Amelia delighted; for they at
length saw a specimen of that world of which
they had heard a little, read much, and thought
more.

Every thing, by degrees, assumed a different
aspect; and a taste for external accomplishments
was soon observable in these two children of the
desert. Their aunt encouraged and directed the
renovation, while the father smiled his approbation
of its progress. Thus the few seeds of refinement
accidentally dropt in the wilderness,
took such successful root, that in a few months
these “aukward rustics” were looked up to by
the villagers as the models of taste and good
breeding.

It was summer; and, invited by the peculiar
beauty of the scene, our young hero and his sister
had imperceptibly extended a morning ramble
beyond their accustomed circuit. The dew yet
glittered on the honey-suckle, where the bee had
just commenced his delicious vocation. The air
was lulled into a solemn stillness; not a leaf was
in motion, save that of the aspin; or when the
wild deer rustled through the clustering dogwood
and scattered its blossoms in their path. The
ground was carpeted with the richest verdure,
through which the wild strawberry lifted its purple
head.

Fatigued with walking, they sat down on a
bank of moss, around which crept the fragrant
sweet-briar and the fadeless laurel, to survey the
various beauties around them. The broad lake
was in view, like a polished mirror, in which the
swan was surveying her snowy plumage and
graceful neck as she sailed along its reflective
surface. At a distance were several vessels becalmed,
and here and there appeared a sportsman
in his skiff, dimpling the lake with his oar.
It was that kind of stillness which can seem to be
heard, that now surrounded them, interrupted
only by the solitary tap of the wood-pecker,

when a soft strain of music broke gently on the
ear. They listened with surprize and delight,
to an air of peculiar sweetness, but as new to
their ear, as were the tones which composed it;
now swelling with impressive energy and then
dying away in the softest murmurs. It seemed
the effect of enchantment, and they rose to discover
the unseen minstrel.

After proceeding some distance, they suddenly
emerged from the woods, and found themselves
at the door of a small log house, built in the Indian
style, of square timber, the joints and crevices
plastered with clay; a little further were
several workmen laying the foundation of a more
commodious mansion. The music which had
drawn them to the spot had ceased, but they believed
this cabin contained the performer; nor
were they mistaken, for while they hesitated
about entering, the strain was renewed, accompanied
by a female voice. They paused on the
threshold, and listened in breathless delight to
the following song:

All was again silent in the cottage; but the
curiosity of the delighted auditors was far from
sinking to repose with the closing strain. In
their eagerness to obtain a sight of the performer
and his unknown instrument, ceremony was forgotten:
they lifted the latch and entered unobserved.

Every thing within wore an air of comfort and
neatness; but this was not yet observed by the
curious intruders, for their attention was riveted
to a more interesting subject. On a bench directly
opposite the door, sat the most venerable
figure they had ever beheld, in front of whom
stood an elegant formed girl, holding a cup of
milk to his lips, with a hand of the most delicate
whiteness; and beside him stood the instrument
from which he had drawn such enchanting melody.
The “harp of Erin” was instantly recognized,
of which George and Amelia had often
read, but which they had never seen nor heard
until this fortunate morning. The position of
the female prevented her seeing the visitors; and
the old harper, as they immediately suspected,
was bereft of sight.

It has been intimated that our young foresters
possessed sensibility and enthusiasm. Both had
been excited by the adventure, and were now
heightened by the scene before them.

“Enough, my child,” said the old man, as
she took the cup from his lips, and wiped his
silvered temples with her white handkerchief;
“thank you, my love—thank you.”

George never took pains to suppress his feelings,
unless they were accompanied by a consciousness
of criminality, and then he generally
conquered them. But he felt no such conscious

ness on the present occasion, but exclaimed with
considerable vehemence—“An angel! Amelia,
an angel!” The old harper uttered an exclamation
of surprise, while the cup fell from the
hand of the startled damsel. An apology, however,
was instantly made, with so much grace
and good-breeding, that the whole group were
perfectly satisfied and pleased with each other,
and after half an hour's conversation, felt less
like strangers than they did like old acquaintances.

In the course of this interview, our adventurers
learned the following particulars: that the
name of their beautiful little hostess was Catharine
Fleming; that Ireland was her native country;
that the old blind harper (Dennis O'Hara)
was her grand-father, and that her parents were
just gone over to the neighboring village, from
whence she every moment expected their return.

While Catharine and Amelia were engaged in
conversation, George had approached the harp,
and begged permission to examine its form and
construction. He touched the wires, and they
complained in discord. Both then united in a
request to hear its aged master perform, who politely
complied, and charmed his guests with several
popular airs of his native country. He
commenced with the ancient Gradh gan fios,[1]
which is perhaps one of the most pleasing compositions
that any country has produced, and his
auditors were in extacies during its performance.
He next played Ad ccoigreac ma bin tu,[2] which
he informed them was the oldest air now extant.

“It is so ancient,” added he, “that the name of its
author is unknown, and no trace can be discovered
of the century in which it was produced.
At the Belfast meeting of harpers, on the twelfth
day of July, in the year one thousand seven hundred
and ninety-two, it was sung by only one
person, who was of great age, and although numbers
were present, few knew it even by name;
but we were all greatly delighted with the composition,
and I learned it on hearing it repeated.”
He then performed Carolan's Fairy Queen, and
the ancient air Ta an samradh teacht,[3] and ended
with the celebrated Scarfuint na Gompanach.[4]

In these performances his very soul seemed
engaged, bursting its tangible fetters, and floating
in melody to another world. His feelings, at
length, became too ardent, tears fell on his hand,
and his grand-daughter prevailed on him to stop,
and attend to some cheerful topic of discourse.
But the instantaneous change of a key, is as difficult
in feeling as in music.

“Be not surprized, young man, that these
poor blind eyes should weep—they have seen too
much. Yes,” he continued with increased emotion,
“they have seen one of my sons expire on
a scaffold for his contempt of tyranny, and another
dragged like a slave on board the tyrant's
floating dungeons. No wonder their sight was
blasted.”

The curiosity of George was excited, but he
saw the propriety of restraining it for the present,
and joined with his sister in diverting the
old man from the subject. “My poor uncle

Patrick,” said Catharine, in answer to Amelia's
enquiring glance; “he was—” but the theme
was too painful, and she paused. “Uncle William
is in the navy,” she resumed, wiping a tear
from her eye—“on board the Majestic, please
God he be living.” The old harper groaned
heavily.

In a few minutes they were joined by the parents
of this charming girl, just returned from the
next village, whither they had been to make
some necessary purchases. A mutual introduction
took place, and the conversation became
general, pleasing and animated; till, alarmed at
the height of the sun, Amelia proposed to return,
and these new friends separated with mutual promises
of improving their intimacy.

On their way home, George suddenly awoke
from a deep fit of musing, and exclaimed, “I
must learn to play the harp, Amelia, and O'Hara
shall be my teacher.” At breakfast, the relation
of their adventure was closed with the same suggestion.
His father was always ready to indulge
every innocent wish; a harp was purchased by
his agent at New-York, and George soon became
a player of no inconsiderable merit. In the
mean time, his sister, under her aunt's tuition,
could touch the guitar with judgment and taste.
Her voice was melody itself, and George turned
poet to furnish her with songs.