The priest and I dined _tete-a-tete_; and, for the first time, he had all the conversation to himself; and got deep in Locke and Malbranche, in solving quidities, and starting hypothesis, to which I assented with great gravity, and thought only of Glorvina. I again beheld her gracefully drooping over her harp--I again caught the melody of her song, and the sentiment it conveyed to the soul; and I entered fully into the idea of the Greek painter, who drew _Love_, not with a bow and arrow, but a lyre. I could not avoid mentioning with admiration her great musical powers. “Yes,” said he, “she inherits them from her mother, who obtained the appellation of _Glorvina_, from the sweetness of her voice, by which name our little friend was baptized at her mother’s request.” Adieu! Glorvina has been confined in her father’s room during the whole of the evening--to this circumstance you are indebted for this long letter. H. M. LETTER VIII. TO J. D. ESQ., M. P. The invitation I received from the hospitable Lord of these ruins, was so unequivocal, so cordial, that it would have been folly, not delicacy to think of turning out of his house the moment my health was re-established. But then, I scarcely felt it warranted that length of residence here, which, for a thousand reasons, I am now anxious to make. To prolong my visit till the arrival of my father in this country was my object; and how to effect the desired purpose, was the theme of my cogitation during the whole of the restless night which succeeded my interview with Glorvina; and to confess the truth, I believe this interview was not the least potent spell which fascinated me to Inismore. Wearied by my restlessness, rather than refreshed by my transient slumbers, I arose with the dawn, and carrying my _port-feuille_ and pencils with me, descended from my tower, and continued to wander for some time among the wild and romantic scenes which surround these interesting ruins, while “La sainte recueihnent la paisible innocence Sembler de ces lieus habiter le silence.” until almost wearied in the contemplation of the varying sublimities which the changes of the morning’s seasons shed over the ocean’s boundless expanse, from the first gray vapour that arose from its swelling wave, to that splendid refulgence with which the risen sun crimsoned its bosom, I turned away my dazzled eye, and fixed it on the ruins of Inismore. Never did it appear in an aspect so picturesquely felicitous: it was a golden period for the poet’s fancy or the painter’s art; and in a moment of propitious genius, I made one of the most interesting sketches my pencil ever produced. I had just finished my successful _ebauche_, when Father John, returning from matins, observed, and instantly joined me. When he had looked over and commended the result of my morning’s avocation, he gave my port-folio to a servant who passed us, and taking my arm, we walked down together to the seashore.