“Confessed from yonder slow extinguished clouds,
All ether softening, sober evening takes
Her wonted station in the middle air;
A thousand shadows at her back.”—Thomson.
Castle Carberry, to which our travellers were going, was a large gothic pile, erected in the rude and distant period when strength more than elegance was deemed necessary in a building. The depredations of war, as well as time, were discernible on its exterior; some of its lofty battlements were broken, and others mouldering to decay, while about its ancient towers
“The rank grass waved its head,
And the moss whistled to the wind.”
It stood upon a rocky eminence overhanging the sea, and commanding a delightful prospect of the opposite coast of Scotland; about it were yet to be traced irregular fortifications, a moat, and remains of a drawbridge, with a well, long since dry, which had been dug in the rock to supply the inhabitants in time of siege with water. On one side rose a stupendous hill, covered to the very summit with trees, and scattered over with relics of druidical antiquity; before it stretched an exten[Pg 138]sive and gently swelling lawn, sheltered on each side with groves of intermingled shade, and refreshed by a clear and meandering rivulet, that took its rise from the adjoining hill, and murmured over a bed of pebbles.
After a pleasant journey, on the evening of the fourth day, our travellers arrived at their destined habitation. An old man and woman, who had the care of it, were apprised of their coming, and on the first approach of the carriage, opened the massy door, and waited to receive them: they reached it when the sober gray of twilight had clad every object. Amanda viewed the dark and stupendous edifice, whose gloom was now heightened by the shadows of evening, with venerable awe. The solitude, the silence which reigned around, the melancholy murmur of the waves as they dashed against the foot of the rocks, all heightened the sadness of her mind; yet it was not quite an unpleasing sadness, for with it was now mingled a degree of that enthusiasm which plaintive and romantic spirits are so peculiarly subject to feel in viewing the venerable grandeur of an ancient fabric renowned in history. As she entered a spacious hall, curiously wainscoted with oak, ornamented with coats of arms, spears, lances, and old armor, she could not avoid casting a retrospective eye to former times, when, perhaps, in this very hall, bards sung the exploits of those heroes, whose useless arms now hung upon the walls. She wished, in the romance of the moment, some gray bard near her, to tell the deeds of other times—of kings renowned in our land—of chiefs we behold no more. In the niches in the hall were figures of chieftains, large as life, and rudely carved in oak. Their frowning countenances struck a sudden panic upon the heart of Ellen. “Cot pless their souls,” she said, “what the tefil did they do there, except to frighten the people from going into the house.”
They were shown into a large parlor, furnished in an old-fashioned manner, and found a comfortable supper prepared for them. Oppressed with fatigue, soon after they had partaken of it, they retired to rest. The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Amanda, attended by the old woman and Ellen, ranged over the castle. Its interior was quite as gothic as its exterior; the stairs were winding, the galleries intricate, the apartments numerous, and mostly hung with old tapestry, representing Irish battles, in which the chiefs of Castle Carberry were particularly distinguished. Their portraits, with those of their ladies, occupied a long gallery, whose arched windows cast a dim religious light upon them. This was termi[Pg 139]nated by a small apartment in the centre of one of the towers that flanked the building. The room was an octagon, and thus commanded a sea and land prospect, uniting at once the sublime and beautiful in it. The furniture was not only modern but elegant, and excited the particular attention and inquiries of Amanda. The old woman informed her this had been the dressing-room of the late Countess of Cherbury, both before and after her marriage: “one of the sweetest, kindest ladies,” continued she, “I ever knew; the castle has been quite deserted since she died—alack-a-day! I thought my poor heart would have broke when I heard of her death. Ah! I remember the night I heard the Banshee crying so pitifully.” “And pray what is that?” interrupted Amanda. “Why, a little woman, no higher than a yard, who wears a blue petticoat, a red cloak, and a handkerchief round her head; and when the head of any family, especially a great family, is to die, she is always heard, by some of the old followers, bemoaning herself.” “Lort save us!” cried Ellen, “I hope his lortship, the earl, won’t take it into his head to die while we are here, for I’d as lief see one of the fairies of Penmaenmawr, as such a little old witch.” “Well, proceed,” said Amanda. “So, as I was saying, I heard her crying dismally one night in a corner of the house. So, says I to my husband, Johnaten, says I, I am sure we shall hear something about my good lord or lady. And sure enough we did the next day, and ever since we have seen none of the family.” “Did you ever see the young lord?” asked Amanda, with involuntary precipitation. “See him! aye, that I d............