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IRISH LIFE. 
 
LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SHOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET 
 
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REALITIES 
 
 OF 
 
 IRISH LIFE. 
 
 W. STEUART TRENCH, 
 
 LAND AGENT IN IRELAND 
 
 MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE, MARQUIS OF BATH, AND LORD DIGBV. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 1!Y HIS SON 
 
 J. TOWNSEND TRENCH. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON : 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 1869. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 Cardtown, Mountrath, Irelmid : 
 August, 1868. 
 
 Dear Lord Dunraven, 
 
 The following sketches of the ' Realities of 
 Irish Life' have been penned by me from time to 
 time within the last few years. The idea of placing 
 them on record was first suggested by your Lord- 
 ship and your accomplished cousin Miss Gallwey. 
 During the many pleasant hours we have passed 
 together in boating and other excursions on the 
 beautiful bay, and amongst the mountains and valleys 
 of Kenmare, Ireland in her various phases was 
 often discussed between us. Those incidents which 
 have occurred to me during a somewhat eventful 
 experience amongst her people on their native soil 
 were not unfrequently the subject of conversation ; 
 and your Lordship and your cousin often urged me 
 to commit them to paper. I have done so in the 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 following pages, and I now venture to lay them 
 before the public. 
 
 My reasons for publishing them are mainly three- 
 fold :— 
 
 First. My tales are of real life. Many of the 
 incidents described therein have been told in various 
 forms, often very incorrectly, in the newspapers 
 and journals of the day. My desire has been to 
 g-ive a clear and truthful account of occurrences 
 which virulent party spirit or local prejudices have 
 placed before the public, distorted through a false 
 medium. I have endeavoured calmly and dispas- 
 sionately to relate the facts as I believe them to 
 have occurred, and in most cases as I know them to 
 have happened to myself in person. From this 
 latter cause has arisen a more frequent use of the 
 first person singular than I should otherwise have 
 desired ; but under the circumstances, this could not 
 be avoided. 
 
 My second reason for publishing these tales is to 
 give the English public some idea of the difficulties 
 which occasionally beset the path of an Irish land- 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 lord or agent who is desirous to improve the district 
 in which he is interested. If he be wilHng to adopt 
 the ' Laissez aller ' system, and let everything take 
 its own course, he may have an easy Hfe of it in Ire- 
 land ; but if he ventures to interfere with old habits, 
 old prejudices, or old ways — however loud may be 
 the call for improvement — he must be prepared to 
 contend with difficulties which none but those who 
 have experienced them could have imagined. 
 
 Thirdly, I would wish to add my testimony to 
 the fact that Ireland — notwithstanding the many 
 difficulties which may beset the path of those who 
 earnestly desire to improve her condition — is never- 
 theless not altogether unmanageable. They will 
 doubtless meet with many disappointments, many 
 acts of apparent, and some of real ingratitude ; but 
 justice fully and firmly administered is always appre- 
 ciated in the end. I admit it will require much 
 firmness and discretion to carry justice to its 
 legitimate conclusions, torn as Ireland is by con- 
 tending parties ; but if this be truly done, I have 
 never yet known it fail.'''' 
 
 * I grant there may be, and are, individual exceptions to this rule, but they 
 are very rare. — W. S. T. 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 I have purposely abstained from offering any 
 opinion of my own on the various political and 
 social grievances of which Ireland complains — 
 real or imaginary. It is not that these questions 
 have not attracted my earnest attention, and perhaps 
 they may hereafter form the subject of another 
 volume. But Englishmen frequently complain that 
 they cannot obtain /ac^s concerning Ireland. I have 
 here endeavoured to supply some which have come 
 under my own observation. Whether they are 
 worthy of being recorded or not, the public must 
 decide. 
 
 It may perhaps be objected that some of my tales 
 are abrupt, and have no obvious or necessary con- 
 nection ; and also that they are descriptive of varied 
 scenes of a class and nature totally different from 
 each other. I fear I must to some extent plead 
 guilty to the charge. Were I to supply the missing 
 links, I should simply give a history of my life, and 
 this could scarcely prove generally interesting. 
 
 From youth to manhood, and from manhood to 
 the verge of age, it has been my lot to live sur- 
 rounded by a kind of poetic turbulence and almost 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 romantic violence, which I believe could scarcely 
 belong to real life in any other country in the 
 world. 
 
 I could describe numerous other scenes in which 
 from time to time I have been an actor or spectator, 
 more interesting perhaps to some than those I have 
 selected in this volume ; but they would not be so 
 essentially characteristic of Ireland, or of the life 
 which they who attempt to grapple with Irish diffi- 
 culties are sometimes compelled to lead. 
 
 I need hardly say that the several noble pro- 
 prietors whom I now serve, have kindly given me 
 leave to publish those portions of my sketches which 
 refer to their several estates. 
 
 Believe me sincerely yours, 
 
 W. STEUART TRENCH. 
 
 The Earl of Diinraven. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. SCHOOL ...... I 
 
 II. THE BARRING OUT . . . . -19 
 
 HI. EARLY LIFE . . . . , - 37 
 
 IV. THE RIBBON CODE . . . . -47 
 
 V. FARNEY. 1843 . . . . -63 
 
 VI. BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON . . . -79 
 
 VII. THE POTATO-ROT . . . . -97 
 
 VIII. THE EXODUS. KENMARE . . . .Ill 
 
 IX. MARY SHEA ...... I35 
 
 X. THE SEAL HUNT . . . . -153 
 
 XI. JOE M^KEY . . . . . • 17J 
 
 XIL THE CONSPIRACY . . . , .185 
 
 XIII. THE MURDER ..... 20I 
 
 XIV. ALICE M^MAHON . . . . . 2\^ 
 
 XV. THE ARREST . . . . • 23I 
 
Xll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XVI. THE CONFESSION 
 
 XVII. THE PRISONER 
 
 XVIII. THE EXECUTION 
 
 XIX. PATSY M^DERMOT 
 
 XX. GEASHILL MANOR 
 
 XXI. THE REVIVAL 
 
 XXII. FARNEY. 1865 1 868 
 
 CONCLUSION . 
 
 EXPLANATION OF THE MAP . 
 
 P.\GE 
 
 267 
 277 
 291 
 
 333 
 347 
 361 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 ' THE SHAN VAN VOCHT ' . . . . . 367 
 
 VISIT OF THE MARQUIS OF BATH TO HIS FARNEY ESTATE, 
 
 IRELAND 
 
 !68 
 
 LETTERS CONCERNING THE FAMINE IN SCHULL BY REV. 
 
 F. F. TRENCH ...... 392 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PLATE 
 
 
 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE 
 
 CRISIS 
 
 frontispiece 
 
 I. 
 
 BAGGING AN USHER 
 
 to face page 17 
 
 II. 
 
 SHOOTING NED GRIMES 
 
 27 
 
 III. 
 
 THE 
 
 RIBBON SCARF 
 
 47 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE 
 
 TENANT 
 
 57 
 
 V. 
 
 THE 
 
 INFORMER 
 
 60 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE 
 
 YOUNG MURDERER 
 
 61 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE 
 
 MESSAGE 
 
 72 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE 
 
 CAPTURE 
 
 73 
 
 X. 
 
 THE 
 
 SPEECH 
 
 77 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE 
 
 BATTLE 
 
 » 87 
 
 XII. 
 
 TRIAL BY BLOOD . 
 
 „ 89 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE 
 
 SPANISH BEAUTY 
 
 » 137 
 
 XIV. 
 
 DERRYNANE CAVE . 
 
 „ i6i 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE 
 
 GUIDE 
 
 „ 162 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE 
 
 OLD CAPTAIN . 
 
 . „ ^(^l 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE 
 
 SWIMMERS 
 
 „ T64 
 
XIV 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PLATE 
 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE ATTACK 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE CORMORANT . 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE COTTAGE 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE KITCHEN 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE DEFIANCE 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE SURRENDER . 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE PLEDGE 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE TRIAL BY JURY 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 CARRICKMACROSS, 1 85 I 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE ESCAPE 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THE SECRET 
 
 XXX. 
 
 THE ROCKY PASS . 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 to fact 
 
 •168 
 
 )5 
 
 165 
 
 •>1 
 
 174 
 
 f> 
 
 177 
 
 >J 
 
 180 
 
 ?) 
 
 i8r 
 
 15 
 
 182 
 
 11 
 
 183 
 
 11 
 
 190 
 
 11 
 
 213 
 
 11 
 
 215 
 
 11 
 
 238 
 
 11 
 
 245 
 
 XXKI. 
 
 THE MAP OF IRELAND 
 
 r To be placed, neatly folded, im- 
 I mediately before the Appendix. 
 
REALITIES 
 
 IRISH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SCHOOL. 
 
 I THINK it was about the year 182 1, that I was sent — 
 then a very httle boy — along with my elder brother, to the 
 College, as it was called, of Armagh. It was then in 
 high repute as a leading Irish school. The master was a 
 most learned Doctor of Divinity. He had been a Fellow 
 of Trinity College, Dublin, was admitted by all to be a 
 first-class scholar, and was a most amiable and estimable 
 gentleman. His wife was worthy of her husband — kind, 
 affectionate, and sensible ; and they had a large and clever 
 family of sons and daughters. The college itself was a 
 cold and dreary-looking place enough — bare stone walls 
 being almost the only object which met the view within 
 its precincts. It is still standing. It is one of the en- 
 dowed schools of Ireland, to enquire into the condition of 
 which an important commission, with the Marquis of 
 Kildare at its head, was issued a few years ago. An able 
 report, and several large blue books of evidence, appear 
 
 B 
 
 9- 
 
2 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 as yet to have been the only result which has come before 
 the public. It is not many years since I visited this scene 
 of my early youth ; and it then appeared to be in almost 
 exactly the same condition as it was when I first saw it, 
 some forty-five years ago. 
 
 The College of Armagh in the year 1821, and during 
 the whole six years of my residence therein, was one of 
 those old-fashioned Irish schools into which reform had 
 never penetrated. The former master had been an excel- 
 lent one ; he was a good scholar himself, and knew how to 
 teach others — the latter qualification being quite distinct 
 from the former. He was also a man of considerable ad- 
 ministrative ability. He understood the management of 
 men (and boys are little men), and, partly by his scholar- 
 ship, partly by his powers of administration, he had raised 
 the character of the school to a position of some celebrity. 
 ' The Doctor,' as the new master was called, had been ap- 
 pointed on the death of his predecessor ; and he succeeded 
 to a thriving school with about one hundred boarders, and 
 a considerable number of day-boys. 
 
 The old master had died, and the new master had begun 
 to reign in his stead, before I first entered the school. All 
 the old fashions had been retained ; and no alterations in 
 the customs — or what the boys called ' the rights of the 
 school ' — had been introduced. ' Fagging ' in its most 
 extensive application was in full force ; and as I was a 
 little boy, and put down into the lowest class, I was 
 seized on as a fag by one of the boys in the head form. I 
 was somewhat rudely treated at first ; and I commenced 
 my studies at the college by learning how to clean my 
 master's shoes — an art in which, I must admit, I had not 
 been previously instructed. 
 
 There were no railways in those days; and it took 
 twelve hours to travel by the stage coach from Dublin to 
 
i82i.] SCHOOL. 3 
 
 Armagh, a distance now traversed in less than one-third of 
 the time. ' The Armagh Lark ' — such, I think, was the 
 name of the coach — (and if early rising could give any 
 title to the appellation it certainly deserved the name) 
 started from Dublin every morning at six o'clock. 
 
 It was the middle of the month of January, but we were 
 up very early on the morning of our departure ; and re- 
 solving not to be outdone by ' The Lark,' we had secured 
 seats on the outside of the coach by half-past five A.M. 
 We started what the guard called ' a full coach ; ' and with 
 the usual blowing of his horn — a dreary attempt at hilarity 
 it seemed to me of a cold winter's morning — and a flourish 
 and cracking of his whip by the coachman, we cleared safely 
 out of the streets of Dublin. 
 
 ' The coach ' breakfasted at Ashbourne. The road was 
 bleak and treeless, and even at present it does not abound 
 in shade; but the novelty of sitting behind four fast-trotting 
 horses kept my spirits up, and what with the fresh air and 
 the exhilarating influence of galloping at full pace for the 
 last mile before reaching Ashbourne — as if we were in a 
 most tremendous hurry for breakfast, in which even the 
 horses seemed to participate — I got down in good heart 
 from my perch behind the coachman, and rejoiced to see a 
 roaring fire and a smoking breakfast already laid out most 
 invitingly before us. I hesitated for a moment to sit down 
 to anything so delightful ; but I was cheered and encou- 
 raged by a kind-hearted gentleman near me. He sweet- 
 ened my tea with plenty of sugar, poured half the contents 
 of the cream-jug into my cup, and heaped my plate with 
 an abundant helping of a hot beef-steak. I soon succeeded 
 in eating such a breakfast as I doubt if I have ever eaten 
 since. 
 
 In twenty minutes we were all astir again. The guard 
 blew his bugle loud and cheerily, and somehow it seemed 
 
 B 2 
 
4 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 to me that he sounded it much better than he had done in 
 the morning when leaving Dubhn. No doubt he did, for 
 he also had had his breakfast of a good beef-steak, with 
 plenty of bread and butter ; and even the weather-sea- 
 soned guard was not insensible to these cheering in- 
 fluences. We all scrambled up again to our seats ; con- 
 versation became general amongst the passengers, all of 
 whom seemed wonderfully thawed by the breakfast; the 
 coachman began to crack his jokes as well as his whip ; 
 and, the morning being fine, though cold and crisp, we 
 were all merry enough as we trotted on towards Drog- 
 heda. 
 
 ' Where are you going to-day, my little fellow .'' ' said 
 the kind-hearted gentleman who had put the sugar in my 
 tea at breakfast, and who I now saw was seated next me 
 on the outside of the coach. 
 
 ' I am going to school at the College of Armagh, Sir,' 
 replied I, laying stress on the word 'college,' as I was rather 
 proud of the name. 
 
 ' Have you ever been at school before, my little 
 man .'' ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, Sir,' replied I ; ' I was at a preparatory school, 
 where there were only little boys ; but now I am going to 
 the College of Armagh, where there are a great many big- 
 boys.' 
 
 ' Have you any sisters at home ? ' enquired my com- 
 panion. 
 
 * Yes, Sir — five.' 
 
 ' Well, take my advice, my little man, and don't tell 
 their names to the boys when you go to this same College 
 of Armagh,' replied my companion. ' If you do, I think 
 you will be sorry for it afterwards.' 
 
 ' Thank you. Sir,' said I ; ' I am much obliged. I'll try 
 not. But then, if the boys ask me, I don't see how I can 
 
iS2i.] SCHOOL. c 
 
 help it ; besides, I don't think my sisters' names are at all 
 bad ones.' 
 
 ' Never you mind that,' returned the kind gentleman ; 
 * you will find, as soon as you arrive, some one or other of 
 the boys will ask you to tell him your sisters' names, quite 
 in a confidential manner, as if he knew them before and 
 felt a deep interest in their welfare. But don't you tell 
 him one of them. Say, "you know a trick worth two of 
 that;" put your fingers to your nose this way' (spreading 
 out his fingers longitudinally from his nose), 'or anythin-^j- 
 else you like, to put him off; but mind you don't tell him 
 your sisters' names, or you will be sorry for it many a day 
 after.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Sir, I'll try not,' I replied. I was sorely 
 puzzled, however, to know why I was not to tell my sisters* 
 names, but I resolved nevertheless to act on the kind gentle- 
 man's advice. He got down at Dundalk, and I never to mv 
 knowledge saw him afterwards ; but the strange nature of 
 the only piece of advice he gave me, as I was just about to 
 enter on my career in the far-famed College of Armagh, has 
 remained strongly impressed on my mind ever since. 
 
 We changed horses at Drogheda, in the narrow streets 
 of which we very nearly ran over a little boy, and upon 
 our arrival at Castle Bellingham, some bread and cheese 
 appeared upon the table in the little inn, accompanied by 
 a long glass of foaming ale from the renowned brewery of 
 the town. I did not feel hungry at the time, and the glass 
 of ale looked far too good for a little boy like me ; so I was 
 about to decline taking it, when the coachman, who I 
 suspect had been privately ' tipped ' to look after me, 
 kindly insisted on my eating a morsel of bread and cheese, 
 and swallowing off the whole glass of ale. I must confess 
 it was sound advice, and I felt much the better when I had 
 done so. 
 
6 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 From Castle Bellingham we trotted on to Dundalk, 
 after leaving which the evening began to close in, and the 
 air grew cold and frosty; and by the 'time Newtown Ha- 
 milton was reached — a dreary and desolate town, situated 
 among the Fews mountains — I was cold, tired, and ex- 
 hausted. We had changed our coachman at Dundalk, and 
 the new driver knew not the poor little Joseph who sat 
 behind him. And as we passed on stage after stage, the 
 horses tired, the coachman cross and weary with flogging 
 them up the steep hills by which the Fews mountains were 
 then traversed, I have seldom felt more utterly desolate and 
 down-hearted. 
 
 But the longest day must have an end ; and at length we 
 arrived at Armagh. I was stiff, hungry, cold, and tired ; 
 and, though I was an active little boy enough, I was wholly 
 unable to get down off the coach by myself. The guard 
 kindly lifted me down, and handed us over to the porter, 
 who had come to meet us from the college. 
 
 Ned Grimes was the college porter. I remember him 
 well to this day. He was a short, thick-set, strong little 
 fellow, as hard as a nail, strong as an ox, and untiring as a 
 steam engine. He was up to any amount of work which 
 could be put upon him. He could clean sixty or seventy 
 pairs of shoes of a night with as much ease as I could clean 
 my master's boots, though he did not produce the same 
 polish upon their surface ; and he would have all ready for 
 the little boys — who had no fag but him — on a Sunday or 
 holiday morning. It would be hard to recapitulate the 
 multifarious duties of Ned Grimes, but he performed them 
 all cheerfully and well ; and when struck by the boys, as 
 he often was in somewhat rude fun, he would return blow 
 for blow with a good-humoured severity that made his tor- 
 mentors think twice before commencing an attack upon him 
 affain. 
 
iS2i.] SCHOOL. 7 
 
 ' Welcome to the college, young masters,' said Ned, 
 addressing myself and brother in a loud cheery voice. But 
 we were too cold and too tired to answer him in the same 
 strain. And when he took our trunks upon his brawny 
 shoulders, and trudged off lustily towards the college — talk- 
 ing all the way in a familiar manner peculiar to himself, 
 but by no means offensive, of the jolly life we were now 
 about to enter on — I could hold out no longer, and burst 
 out crying. 
 
 * Ah, my poor little fellow,' said Ned kindly, ' I fear you 
 are not hardened to these things yet ; and maybe you have 
 left a kind mother behind you, and are fretting after her ; 
 my own little chaps would do the same. But these wild 
 lads at the college would only laugh at you if they saw 
 you crying. So come along, and I'll bring you into the 
 Doctor's own room, where all the kind ladies are, and 
 to-morrow you may join the school.' 
 
 He led me accordingly into a warm and well-lighted 
 room, where a large family, consisting chiefly of ladies, were 
 collected round the tea-table ; and having respectfully stated 
 that the new young gentleman was too tired and cold to go 
 to the schoolroom that night, he left me to the care of the 
 kind family of the Doctor. I was given a cup of warm tea 
 and plenty of bread and butter ; and immediately after, I 
 became so sleepy from my journey and exposure to the 
 open air, that I could hold up my head no longer ; so I was 
 placed in bed — I knew not where or how — and slept, and 
 dreamed of home. 
 
 I breakfasted with the Doctor and his family next morn- 
 ing ; and after breakfast, I was taken by my kind-hearted 
 master into the schoolroom. He examined me in several 
 books — not one of which I had ever seen or heard of — 
 and, finding that I knew nothing about them, he placed me 
 in the lowest form, to begin at the beginning of the school. 
 
8 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 My brother was placed in the fifth form, which in school 
 life separated us necessarily a good deal from each other. 
 
 No sooner was my first lesson over, and the usual half- 
 hour's play in the middle of the day commenced, than a 
 boy, considerably bigger and older than myself, came up 
 to me and civilly asked my name. I told him at once. He 
 then asked me to join him in the playground, to which of 
 course I assented ; and we walked out together in a most 
 confidential manner. 
 
 ' Is it long since you left home .'' ' enquired my new com- 
 panion : — home was rather a sore subject with me just then, 
 and I felt my eyes filled with tears. He perceived this, and 
 said in a consolatory voice, 
 
 ' Don't cry, don't cry, you will be very happy here ; we 
 are all so fond of new boys, and do all we can to please 
 them.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' returned I, ' but when one thinks of home, 
 and all the kind people there, one can't help crying a 
 little.' 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' replied he, ' quite right and natural ; 
 all the boys do the same on first coming to school. And 
 so you left a great many people behind that you were 
 fond of .'' — you have some brothers I suppose .-' ' 
 
 ' O yes,' said I, * I have three brothers ; but it was not of 
 them I was thinking.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it was of your mother, or your sisters you were 
 thinking } ' 
 
 ' Indeed it was,' replied I, and my tears flowed afresh. 
 
 ' And how many sisters have you .-" ' asked my kind and 
 sympathizing friend. 
 
 ' I have five,' I answered, ' and I love them very much.' 
 
 ' Of course you do,' replied he ; ' and tell me now, are they 
 handsome girls .'' But first tell me what are their names .'' 
 The name of the eldest is .'' ' 
 
iS2i. SCHOOL. 9 
 
 Just at this moment I recollected the advice of the 
 gentleman who had put the sugar in my tea at the break- 
 fast at Ashbourne. So, affecting a very knowing smile, and 
 putting my spread-out fingers to my nose in the well-known 
 form which implies a superiority of wit and knowledge in 
 him who does it over all his fellow-creatures, I answered 
 with a wink, 
 
 ' I think I know a trick worth two of that ! ' 
 
 The words were scarcely out of my mouth, or my hands 
 down from my nose, when I received a tremendous kick 
 behind, and a cuff on the side of the head which sent me 
 spinning into the grass beside the walk. 
 
 ' You infernal young scoundrel,' cried he in the utmost 
 indignation, ' is it humbugging me you have been all this 
 time ? I'll teach you to humbug your betters ! ' And 
 thereupon he gave me a most tremendous thrashing, voci- 
 ferating all the time that ' he would teach me to humbug 
 my betters.' 
 
 I need hardly say that I was as devoid of any intention 
 to humbug him as the child unborn ; and I fancied I was 
 doing quite the right thing in carrying out the advice of 
 my breakfast friend. It certainly cost me a severe beating ; 
 but it was some comfort that my sisters' names remained 
 unknown all the time I was at school, though to this day 
 I could never understand the importance which was laid 
 upon this secret in almost every school in Ireland — and, for 
 aught I know, in England too, at that period. 
 
 This rough treatment, so early commenced, soon initiated 
 me into all the mysteries and ' rights ' of the College of 
 Armagh. The strictness with which these ' rights ' were 
 maintained and adhered to, by all parties, was one of the 
 most remarkable features of the school. It was true they 
 consisted of an ancient and unwritten code ; but they were 
 wonderfully well understood. Certain big boys in the school 
 
lO REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 were considered as the expounders of these rights ; and 
 when once a formal decision was given — after due reference 
 to these parties — there was usually no appeal from their 
 verdict. But the strange part of it was, that the masters 
 and teachers were considered quite as much bound by 
 the code of rights as we were ourselves ; and the Doctor 
 submitted to these rights and acknowledged them with a 
 willingness which even at that time surprised me. 
 
 It was, no doubt, a rude, rough school, but it had stringent 
 and wild codes of honour of its own. There was a constant 
 affectation of manhood amongst the boys — carrying them 
 so far, that upon one occasion the elder boys agreed to settle 
 some quarrel which had arisen between them with the pistol, 
 rather than the ordinary course of fighting it out with their 
 fists. I well remember the mysterious purchase of the 
 pistols, the buying at different shops of the powder and 
 ball, and the whispering and grave deliberations of the 
 seconds on this momentous occasion. 
 
 The intended duel was talked of and discussed amongst 
 all the elder boys for at least a fortnight before it took place. 
 Of course, it was kept a dead secret from the Doctor, and 
 I doubt if he ever knew of it even to his dying day ; as one 
 of the main points in our code of honour — and one rigidly 
 adhered to — was never, under any circumstances, to inform 
 upon a schoolfellow, no matter what his crime might be. 
 
 The duel at length came off with all the gravity of ex- 
 perienced performers. The spot chosen for the combat was 
 an out-of-the-way corner of the playground, near some steps 
 to a former landing, which bore the suggestive title of ' the 
 marrow-bone door.' The principals were duly placed, the 
 seconds retired the proper distance aside, and dropped a 
 handkerchief as the signal for both parties to fire. The 
 combatants fired precisely together, and then the two boys 
 — who had really no enmity between themselves, but fought 
 
1S2I.1 SCHOOL. I I 
 
 out of vanity to ape this supposed manly pastime of the day 
 — stared in real terror at each other, lest either should have 
 hurt his adversary. Fortunately, however, neither party fell, 
 or showed any symptom of being wounded. So they each 
 declared themselves ' perfectly satisfied,' and a cordial recon- 
 ciliation took place. It was considerably enhanced by one 
 of the seconds finding a flattened bullet immediately behind 
 the boy who had been placed against the marrow-bone 
 steps ! 
 
 It is remarkable how the introduction of one vicious boy 
 into a school — conducted as this was upon somewhat repub- 
 lican principles — can change the whole current and tone of 
 thought of boys not originally ill-disposed. We were a wild 
 lot, it is true ; but though we adhered rigidly to our rights, 
 our code of honour was also strictly enforced. I had risen 
 in a few years, by regular gradations, from the first to the 
 fourth form, when, unfortunately, a new boy came to the 
 school, who, had he been a Fenian or a Ribbonman, would 
 have set the whole side of a country in a flame. He was an 
 idle, bad, good-for-nothing boy ; and, having been severely 
 flogged more than once for his lessons (flogging was the 
 order of the day if a boy failed in his task at the College of 
 Armagh), he conceived a real hatred for the Doctor, whom 
 he looked upon, and endeavoured to set forth amongst us, 
 as a tyrant and a persecutor, whose aim and object was to 
 injure and ill-treat the boys. He so far succeeded in es- 
 tablishing these sentiments against the really kind-hearted 
 Doctor, that a series of annoyances of the most vexatious 
 and perplexing character was planned, and set on foot to 
 annoy him. The boys at Armagh had long had a fancy for 
 dabbling in gunpowder experiments, and, upon more than 
 one occasion, had scorched the skins ofi" their own faces, and 
 nearly blown the roof off the house, by accidental explosions 
 which took place during the manufacture of their fireworks. 
 
12 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 The new boy resolved to turn this fanciful peculiarity to 
 the detriment and annoyance of the authorities. One of his 
 contrivances was to make up small parcels of gunpowder, 
 wrapped tightly in numerous folds of brow^n paper. These 
 he placed at the back of the fire, amongst the coals which 
 had been recently heaped on the grate, but which had not 
 yet ignited. This performance he effected in play-hours, just 
 as school was about to open ; and explosion after explo- 
 sion, to the amazement of all the assistants, was of course 
 the result. This he called ' blowing up the ushers,' as the 
 assistant teachers were then called ; and he generally so 
 contrived it that the explosion should take place just as 
 the usher had gone to warm himself at the fire. Hitherto, 
 however, he had confined his practice to the assistants ; but 
 having been soundly flogged by the Doctor for some piece 
 of mischief or idleness, he intimated confidentially to some 
 of the choice spirits whom he had seduced to join him, that 
 he would certainly blow up the Doctor ! He accordingly 
 purchased about half a pound of gunpowder, and having 
 wrapped it in brown paper and placed it behind the coals, 
 just previous to the hour when the Doctor according to 
 custom came into the school, — he retired to his desk, and 
 gravely awaited the result. 
 
 The school bell rang for business soon after this bomb- 
 shell had been deposited ; and, as usual, the Doctor slowly 
 entered the room, and took up his place with his back to 
 the fire, and with his hands behind his back. He was of a 
 literary turn of mind, and an author of some celebrity ; and 
 the whole of the school-business being somewhat distaste- 
 ful to him, I suspect he often allowed his mind to wander 
 far away from the annoyances of his position into the culti- 
 vated fields of a literary elysium, which he was so fully 
 capable of enjoying. 
 
 Suddenly — in a moment — he was recalled to actual life, 
 
1S25.] SCHOOL. 13 
 
 and his position rudely forced upon his attention. A loud 
 explosion took place, which violently burst open the door, 
 and shattered every window in the large and lofty school- 
 room. At the same time a volley of grape-shot — in the 
 shape of small pieces of coal, aided by the severe concus- 
 sion of the air— sent the Doctor flying into the midst of 
 the schoolroom. He looked around in astonishment, not 
 knowing in the least what had happened ; but feeling his 
 hands in pain, he looked at the palms, and found them 
 blackened with the coal. Turning round rapidly, he per- 
 ceived that the fire was blown about the floor, and at once 
 the whole of the unworthy plot rushed upon his mind. 
 He looked round gravely upon the school, and said : 
 * Boys, which of you has done this .'' ' 
 There was a dead silence. Gradually the absurdity of 
 the v/hole scene forced itself upon the imagination of the 
 boys, inclined as they were to make fun out of everything, 
 and an almost universal titter ran through the school. The 
 Doctor waited until the titter had subsided, and then firmly 
 saying, 
 
 ' I will stop all the holidays until I know who did this, 
 he walked out of the schoolroom. 
 
 I have already stated that the boys at Armagh were 
 universally tenacious of what they termed the ' ancient 
 rights of the school' They submitted to those rights them- 
 selves without murmuring, although some of them were 
 occasionally very severely exercised. Amongst these rights 
 was the allowance of a half-holiday every Wednesday, 
 or, if a premium had been obtained in Trinity College, 
 Dublin, by any undergraduate who had been educated at 
 the school, a whole holiday was granted. The right to 
 these holidays had been the rule of the school from time 
 immemorial, and the privilege was guarded by the boys 
 with the utmost jealousy. It may, therefore, be supposed 
 
14 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 that the Doctor's announcement met with no sympathy 
 whatever. Had he appealed to our honour and good feel- 
 ing, and said, * Boys, this is a vile and dishonourable act 
 towards one who has ever treated you kindly and fairly — 
 an act quite unworthy of gentlemen ; I know it is against 
 your code to tell of each other, and therefore I do not ask 
 you who did it ; but I expect you will of yourselves punish 
 the ungentlemanlike individual as he deserves,' I firmly 
 believe we should have cheered the good old Doctor with 
 all our might; and having seized the mischievous culprit, 
 we should have made him run the gauntlet (our school 
 punishment for any breach of our code), and ' licked' him 
 to our heart's content. Indeed most of us would have 
 been only too glad to have an opportunity of doing so con- 
 sistently with our laws, and would have felt rejoiced at so 
 honourable an escape from the predicament in which his 
 pranks had placed us. But the Doctor made a fatal mis- 
 take in the course he now pursued ; and, instead of enlist- 
 ing the well-disposed upon his side, this unlucky announce- 
 ment banded every boy against him. We were well aware 
 it would be eternal disgrace for any boy to inform upon 
 the evil-doer, and we knew he was utterly deficient in that 
 generosity of character which would induce him to come 
 forward and confess his own fault ; but we considered we 
 had a full right to our holidays, notwithstanding his vicious 
 propensities. 
 
 But one injudicious act, even though well meant, will 
 sometimes turn a whole people against a ruler. And so it 
 was in this case. We considered it unjust in the Doctor to 
 class us all as accomplices, and punish us as such, unless 
 we sacrificed an acknowledged rule. 
 
 The whole bearings of this important case were fully 
 discussed by the boys. The threatened infringement of 
 our rights was looked upon as a most serious affair. The 
 
1825.] SCHOOL. le 
 
 head boys of the school sat day after day in deUbcration 
 on this knotty point ; and to this hour I cannot look back 
 without surprise upon the calm judicial spirit in which 
 the whole case was taken up and fairly argued out, before 
 any decision was arrived at. 
 
 At length the head boys gave out their final verdict ; — 
 that in threatening to stop the holidays, because we would 
 not break through our well-known code and turn informers 
 upon our schoolfellow, the Doctor had exceeded his 
 power, and broken through the long-established rights of 
 the school; and, although we deprecated the act which had 
 been done, we would not give up the delinquent. A state- 
 ment to this effect was written out upon a round piece of 
 paper, and left, neatly folded and directed to the Doctor, 
 on the table at which he usually sat. 
 
 This document was received on Tuesday morning. And 
 as it was usual for him, on the breaking up of the school on 
 each Tuesday evening, to announce whether the following 
 day was to be a half or whole holiday, according as we 
 might be entitled to either, the announcement of that 
 evening was looked forward to — I suspect by both parties, 
 but certainly on our side — with the utmost anxiety. 
 
 At four o'clock in the afternoon, the bell rang as usual, 
 and the boys all stood up, preparatory to dismissal for 
 the evening. The Doctor then announced, in a grave 
 voice, 
 
 ' Boys, there will be no holiday to-morrow.' 
 
 Not a word was spoken. The Doctor left the room in 
 silence, instead of being cheered, as he usually was when a 
 whole holiday was granted. We soon went in to dinner. 
 Not a word was uttered during the meal ; and it was 
 evident to him as well as to ourselves that war had broken 
 out between the parties. From that time, I regret to say, 
 the boy whom we all knew to be mischievous and vicious, 
 
l6 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [crap, t.- 
 
 became a popular hero amongst us. He was now com- 
 pletely in his element. 
 
 ' I told you,' he cried, ' that the Doctor was a tyrant and 
 oppressor, who delighted in harassing us by every act of 
 injustice in his power. Look at what he now wants to do : 
 to stop our holidays, one of the most ancient rights of the 
 school. I, for one, will never submit to it. Let us rise up 
 against it, and carry the war into his own quarters ; and 
 you may depend on it we will put him down.' 
 
 Irritated as we were at the moment by our supposed 
 wrongs, these sentiments were loudly cheered, and an ag- 
 gressive course was determined on. It happened, at this 
 time, that one of the ushers had rendered himself very un- 
 popular amongst the boys. He had ' reported ' this young 
 scoundrel on more than one occasion, and the boy had been 
 flogged in consequence — a punishment which he richly 
 deserved. That the usher should report him if he detected 
 him in improper conduct was considered all fair and right 
 amongst the boys. It was his acknowledged duty to do so ; 
 and no ill-will was ever entertained towards him for per- 
 forming it. Not so, however, with this worthy, who had 
 now become our hero. And possessing, as he did, the 
 peculiar art of making us the avengers of his own private 
 hatred, whilst we fancied we were performing a public duty, 
 he soon turned the current of popular indignation against 
 the unfortunate assistant. 
 
 In accordance with this tone of feeling, the assistant was 
 denounced as an enemy to the rights of the school ; and it 
 was resolved to punish him by giving him a judicial beating. 
 But inasmuch as he was a strong man, and we were well 
 aware that the consequences of such an act, if the perpetra- 
 tors were discovered, would be immediate expulsion from 
 the school, he invented a plan for meeting all difficulties. He 
 arranged, that in the evening, when the boys were preparing 
 
'Oil 
 
 PQ 
 
 
 ^i^i 
 
 
iS2i.] SCHOOL. 
 
 17 
 
 their lessons for the following day, a little boy should be 
 sent up to the usher to ask the explanation of some Latin 
 passage ; and, whilst he was thus engaged, some boy, bolder 
 than the rest, was to come behind, and put a bag with 
 running strings attached over the head of the unfortunate 
 assistant ; and the strings being drawn tightly around his 
 neck, his enemies were then to be let loose upon him, and 
 thrash him to their heart's content. 
 
 This diabolical plan was shortly afterwards put into 
 execution. A little boy, carefully kept ignorant of the 
 intended assault, was sent up to the usher to ask him the 
 explanation of a passage in Ovid ; and, whilst he was en- 
 gaged in the study of the sentence, a linen clothes-bag was 
 suddenly popped over his head. Two other boys, at a 
 little distance, immediately pulled tight the strings, which 
 were made sufficiently long for the purpose, and, before the 
 unfortunate man had an idea of the real position in w^hich 
 he was placed, every candle in the schoolroom was 
 ' doused,' and shoes, candlesticks, dictionaries, school-books, 
 and every kind of rubbish, were hurled at him by the dim 
 light of the fire, till he became the centre of a storm of mis- 
 siles. The wretched man, not knowing what had happened 
 or was about to happen, shrieked in the agony of his terror ; 
 and having at last succeeded in tearing the bag off his 
 head, he rushed from the schoolroom amidst the shouts of 
 the boys and an increased storm of books and shoes, and 
 disappeared like a flash of lightning ! 
 
 ' Now boys,' said our clever and malicious leader in a 
 rapid voice, ' he is gone for the Doctor. Light all the 
 candles again ; gather up the shoes and dictionaries ; and 
 be all hard at work learning your lessons like mad ! ' 
 
 In a moment all set to work. Feet were slipped into 
 every outlying shoe, no matter whose it might be, or 
 v/hether it fitted or not ; the dictionaries and books were 
 
 C 
 
iS REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. i. 
 
 collected in the twinkling of an eye ; the bits of candles, 
 which were lying in every part of the room, were crammed 
 into their sockets ; and, in a surprisingly short time, every 
 boy was hard at work at his own table or desk, with his 
 hands up to his ears in an attitude of intense study ; and 
 a general hum of business, such as one hears in a busy 
 crowded schoolroom, pervaded the whole assembly. 
 
 In less than five minutes the Doctor rushed into the 
 room, with a heavy horsewhip in hand, followed by the un- 
 happy usher as pale as death. 
 
 ' What is all this ? ' cried the Doctor. ' Who has been 
 guilty of this outrage .'' ' 
 
 He was going to proceed in his denunciations of this 
 most nefarious act, when he stopped short not two paces 
 within the door. 
 
 * How is this ? ' said he, turning round to the usher be- 
 hind him ; * I thought you told me the whole school was in 
 an uproar ; they seem all quiet enough, and minding their 
 business as usual ! ' 
 
 The wretched man could scarcely speak a word ; he was 
 completely confounded and overcome. And to this day, 
 if he be still alive, I have no doubt he looks back upon the 
 whole scene as the hallucinations of a frightful dream. 
 
 There was nothing, however, to be done; he had not the 
 faintest conception who had bagged him ; and even the 
 name of the innocent little boy who had been put forward 
 as a stalking-horse, to capture him, had wholly escaped his 
 memory. 
 
 No action was therefore taken in the case ; but a more 
 stringent determination than ever was arrived at by the 
 Doctor to allow no holiday, until the perpetrator of the 
 bomb-shell scene should be brought to justice. 
 
1825.] THE BARRING OUT. I9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE BARRING OUT. 
 
 War was now openly proclaimed. Plotting and con- 
 spiracies became the order of the day ; lessons were 
 neglected, and frequent floggings, not unaccompanied by 
 angry feelings on both sides, were the result. At length 
 another Tuesday came round, and again the Doctor 
 announced there would be no holiday on Wednesday. 
 The boys became highly exasperated ; whether rightly 
 or wrongly, they firmly believed that a deep injustice was 
 being done them ; and, after the most anxious consultation 
 amongst the influential leaders of the school, it was re- 
 solved, that if another holiday was stopped there should be 
 a ' barring out ! ' 
 
 A ' barring out ' at school may appear a very small and 
 foolish affair to some people now ; but it was neither one 
 nor the other to us then, nor did it prove either one or the 
 other to the Doctor. We looked upon it as ' the last resort 
 of a down-trodden and injured community!' and, to us, it 
 assumed all the importance of a serious and desperate 
 rebellion. 
 
 It was remarked that the mischievous young scamp who 
 had brought all this trouble and anxiety upon the school, 
 no longer appeared to take any active or leading part 
 from the time that a * barring out ' was decided on. For- 
 ■ward as he was in all petty mischief under cover of our 
 code of honour, so long as he knew that no boy would 
 
20 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ii. 
 
 betray him to the authorities, yet he shrank from the 
 responsibihty of open rebelhon, from the consequences of 
 which he foresaw he could not possibly escape. And 
 having made some mean excuse, he — who had been the 
 sole cause of the war — withdrew from our councils, and 
 left the planning of the rebellion to the bolder and more 
 daring spirits. 
 
 Up to this period I had not been taken much into council 
 as to the issues of peace or war ; but now, that war was 
 practically declared, I was accepted as a volunteer — though 
 only in the fourth form — and was one of the youngest who 
 joined in the 'barring out' The delight I then felt at the 
 prospect of a rebellion was beyond anything I can describe, 
 and indeed I may add, beyond anything I can now clearly 
 understand. But I was convinced our cause was just. I 
 had taken no part whatever in the bomb-shell assault upon 
 the Doctor ; I had in fact entirely disapproved of it, and 
 would most gladly, if I could, have dragged the perpetrator 
 to condign punishment — for I disliked him personally as 
 much as I disapproved of his proceedings. My feelings 
 were generally participated in by the leaders of the ' barring 
 out ; ' but we all felt so deeply indignant that the most 
 valued of our ancient privileges should be wrenched from 
 us as a punishment for a crime of which we were not guilty, 
 that we finally resolved — with a feeling of patriotism which 
 it is not easy to describe —that if one more holiday was 
 stopped we would ' bar out ' on that day week. 
 
 O'Connell used to say that ' Ireland was the most justice- 
 loving country in the world,' and also that she was ' a 
 country of combinations.' And certainly it does seem as 
 if there was not only a keen love of justice, but also a pro- 
 pensity of rebellion, circulating in the blood of almost every 
 Irishman. I cannot otherwise account for the universal joy 
 which the prospect of a ' rising ' occasioned amongst us all. 
 
1825. J THE BARRING OUT. 21 
 
 We could not even claim the excuse of being sprung from 
 an oppressed race. We were all Protestants ; all of us 
 amongst those who are now called the * dominant class.' We 
 were all gentlemen's sons, most of us landlords' sons, and 
 as such we had never laboured under any obnoxious land 
 code ; and with the exception of this one act of doubtful 
 justice on the part of the Doctor, I am not aware that any 
 of us had ever suffered an injustice in our lives. And yet 
 there is no denying that our delight was unbounded when- 
 ever we thought of a rebellion. 
 
 The momentous day again came round, and again the 
 Doctor announced that there would be no holiday ! Not a 
 word was spoken by the boys ; he left the room in silence ; 
 and after dinner we assembled in our usual place of meet- 
 ing to organise an immediate ' rising.' We had been so 
 long plotting it beforehand that our plans were quickl}' 
 matured, and it now only remained to put them into active 
 operation. What fun ! a rising in a just and righteous 
 cause ! A ' barring out ' that would maintain inviolate the 
 ancient rights of the school, and hand them down unsullied 
 to posterity ! We felt certain that our names w^ould be 
 emblazoned in all future records of the school as the suc- 
 cessful leaders in a glorious revolution. Our enthusiasm — 
 which was now at its height — had, perhaps, been some- 
 what stimulated by a little whisky punch which had se- 
 cretly been introduced into our meeting, and with which, 
 when business was over, we sat down to recruit our ex- 
 hausted spirits. Then and there we resolved to conquer 
 or die ! 
 
 But, however absurd the object of our rebellion might be, 
 our preparations were by no means contemptible. There 
 had been one or two previous, but abortive attempts at a 
 riot which had lasted only a few hours — in one of which, 
 however, the poor usher's hand had been nearly chopped 
 
2 2 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ii. 
 
 off with a hatchet ; * but these had been speedily put down. 
 Now we firmly resolved to enter upon a ' barring out,' 
 which should last for days or weeks, if necessary, until we 
 gained our sacred cause. 
 
 The most active preparations were immediately set • on 
 foot. Rope ladders were made with grappling irons 
 attached, to enable us to scale the walls of the playground 
 in the dark. And, having thus secretly effected our liberty, 
 we made extensive purchases in the town. An enormous 
 quantity of bread — sufficient to last our garrison for a 
 month at least — was provided, and loaf after loaf was 
 pitched over the wall into the playground. Some large 
 cheeses were also purchased as a food that would keep for 
 any length of time. Abundance of whisky found its way 
 in. Some wine was also secured, and several rounds of 
 salt beef, ready cooked, were bespoken from different 
 butchers. Some small kegs of beer were also with much 
 difficulty landed inside the wall ; and our preparations for 
 a siege were crowned by the purchase of seven or eight 
 pistols, a few bullets, some flasks of gunpowder, and a 
 quantity of ' sparrow-hail '—-a name given to the smallest 
 kind of shot in use.^ We also arranged that some tubs 
 should be prepared for getting in a supply of water on the 
 night of the actual rising. 
 
 The collection of these numerous stores, and the stowage 
 of them in safety, was a labour of considerable difficulty 
 and some danger. We hid them chiefly in caves which we 
 had excavated in the playground for the purpose. It was 
 necessary that every article we required should be got over 
 the playground wall at night, or rather during the long 
 dark evenings. The wall was twelve feet high, so that this 
 
 * The gentleman who so nearly effected the amputation of the usher's hand 
 is still alive ; no one less likely nrd) to be accused of such a performance ; but 
 should these pages ever meet his eye, he will not fail to remember the event. 
 
1825.] THE BARRING OUT. 23 
 
 was no light task, and the danger of detection was immi- 
 nent. Our code of honour stood by us on this occasion ; 
 and not a single boy ' peached,' though all knew perfectly 
 what was going forward. I have no reason to think that 
 the authorities had any precise idea of our intention. 
 
 The arrangements being now completed, twenty-four 
 volunteers were selected to take part in the rebellion ; and 
 they were formally sworn ' on their honours ' to stand by 
 their leaders, and never to surrender as long as their leaders 
 held out. We arranged to bar out in a large dormitory, 
 situated at the top of the house and in the western wing of 
 the building ; and our plan was — that when we went up 
 to bed in the evening and were, as usual, locked in by the 
 usher, we should wrench back the bolt of the lock, let out 
 some little boys, who were unfit to take part in the enter- 
 prise, admit some big boys who slept in another room, take 
 in our supplies — which had been brought up from the play- 
 ground cave to the head of the stairs ; and, all being ready, 
 on a given signal, hammers and nails were to be openly 
 and freely used, the doors fastened firmly with iron spikes 
 on the inside, the banner of rebellion raised, and war 
 declared. 
 
 Such were our plans ; and they were by no means feebly 
 executed. At nine o'clock the boys ascended gravely and 
 silently to their dormitory. The usher waited, walking up 
 and down the room, until he saw us all undressed and in 
 bed. He then took away the candle, locked the door, and 
 left us, as he thought, quietly settled for the night. No 
 sooner were his footsteps heard on the lowest landing place 
 of the stairs, than every boy leaped from his bed. It was 
 a moonlight night, and there were neither shutters nor cur- 
 tains to our windows ; so we had abundance of light for our 
 operations. In a few minutes each boy was completely 
 dressed — the bolt of the lock was silently forced back with 
 
24 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ii. 
 
 tools we had prepared for the purpose — the Httle boys were 
 quietly slipped outside, and our provisions as noiselessly 
 introduced — a few of the larger boys were let in from an 
 adjoining dormitory, out of which they had escaped by the 
 same means that we had opened our door. Mattresses, three 
 deep, were crammed against the panels, and beds were 
 dragged into the vicinity of the entrance to prop them up ; 
 and when all these preparations were completed, the pistols 
 were carefully loaded with handfuls of sparrow-hail, and we 
 gravely assured each other that, though we were most 
 anxious to avoid taking away any man's life, yet, if attacked, 
 we would defend ourselves and our rights to the last drop 
 of our blood ! 
 
 ' Well now, this is what I call fun ! ' shouted one of the 
 boys at the top of his voice, wholly unable to contain him- 
 self We had scarcely slept for a fortnight before in antici- 
 pation of this very hour ; and now it was come at last. 
 We could hold no longer, and we burst out into a ringing 
 cheer ! 
 
 ' Strike home, boys, for your lives ! ' shouted the leader 
 of the party, the moment his voice could be heard. In an 
 instant a dozen hammers were dashed against the heads of 
 a dozen enormous nails, and the door was made as secure 
 as iron spikes could possibly fasten it. 
 
 ' Up with the mattresses against the door,' again shouted 
 our leader. ' Let three rows of bedsteads be put against 
 them, nail the bedsteads firmly to the floor so that they 
 cannot possibly be pushed in, and let two of our steadiest 
 hands lie down under the bedsteads close to the door with 
 their pistols cocked, and be ready to fire when I give the 
 signal' 
 
 These orders were immediately obeyed ; and in less than 
 fi\-e minutes we were all quiet again, trembling and panting 
 
1825.] THE BARRING OUT. 25 
 
 with excitement, but ready for instant action at the word of 
 our leader. 
 
 Scarcely half a minute had elapsed after our preparations 
 were completed, when we heard the step of the usher — • 
 startled by the noise of the hammers above — hastily 
 ascending the staircase. He could almost have heard our 
 hearts beating within if he had listened. He applied 
 the key to the door, but the key-hole had been tightly 
 plugged. 
 
 ' Let me in,' said he in a trembling voice. 
 
 ' Not until we obtain our rights,' returned our leader in a 
 firm steady tone. 
 
 ' Boys, this is dreadful work,' replied the usher ; ' I beseech 
 of you to let me in. Let us talk a little over this matter, 
 before I call the Doctor. I will speak to him myself in your 
 favour — and, perhaps, something might be done.' 
 
 * Never,' cried our leader, ' Never, until we obtain our 
 rights : we have tried fair means long enough. We will 
 not open the door unless the holidays are at once 
 restored.' 
 
 The usher perceived in a moment that a rebellion — 
 which for some time past he had half suspected was brew- 
 ing — had now openly broken out. The rebels had taken 
 the field ; so he attempted no further parley, but instantly 
 went off and reported the case to the Doctor. 
 
 We had no means of knowing the precise effect produced 
 upon the really amiable and excellent Doctor by the sudden 
 announcement of his assistant ; but I believe it was a very 
 painful one. I think he had some reason to doubt whether 
 the course he had adopted was the most judicious; but, 
 having so far pledged himself, he now felt bound to adhere 
 to it. He told me afterwards, that he had long suspected 
 some serious mischief was being concocted, from the manner 
 in which the boys collected in little knots, and dispersed as 
 
26 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ii. 
 
 soon as he appeared ; but he had no idea whatever that so 
 formidable a rebellion was on the point of breaking out in 
 the school. 
 
 The Doctor, however, was by no means deficient in per- 
 sonal courage or pluck ; so he summoned the gardener, 
 whom he directed to arm himself with a heavy hatchet. 
 The porter, Ned Grimes, was not long in putting in an ap- 
 pearance with an iron crowbar in his hand ; and all three 
 came steadily up the staircase. A loud knock was heard 
 at the door of the dormitory. We all knew perfectly well 
 that the Doctor himself was outside ; no one made any 
 reply. 
 
 ' Boys,' said the Doctor calmly, ' I fear you are acting very 
 unvv'isely. I presume you are, what you call " barring out ; " 
 but you must know, upon calm reflection, that such an 
 attempt is perfectly futile ; I have men beside me with 
 hatchets and iron crowbars who can force in the door in a 
 moment. If you open it now quietly I will endeavour to 
 forget what has happened ; and perhaps we may be able to 
 make arrangements for the future which will satisfy all 
 parties. If you refuse, I will have the door instantly broken 
 open by force, and you may then take the consequences of 
 your folly.' 
 
 If the Doctor had stopped at the conclusion of his first 
 sentence, and had waited for an answer to his appeal — no 
 matter what his ultimate determination to force his way in 
 might be — I believe it was not unlikely the door would 
 have been opened to him on the spot, as, although we were 
 deeply irritated, we all bore feelings towards him of per- 
 sonal respect and regard. But his threat of breaking open 
 our door so easily, with his hatchets and iron crowbars, 
 which we had taken such pains to barricade, and which we 
 now believed to be as impregnable as the rock of Gibraltar, 
 wounded our pride and aroused our anger. Our better 
 

 •'P^^K 
 
 \, 
 
 
 o =; 
 
 GO 
 
 % ,' ' I'd 
 
1S25.] THE BARRING OUT. 2/ 
 
 feelings were driven back, and we determined on ' no sur- 
 render.' 
 
 ' No surrender! ' ' no surrender ! ' ran in a whisper round 
 the room. 
 
 * Sir,' said our leader respectfully, ' we mean you no harm, 
 and we bear you no ill-will ; but we consider we have been 
 unjustly deprived of our rights ; our holidays have been 
 stopped. We cannot, and will not surrender, unless you 
 promise to restore them to us.' 
 
 ' Break in the door ! ' cried the Doctor to his men. 
 Hitherto he had kept his temper well, but now he had 
 evidently lost it — and no wonder. 
 
 ' Look to yourselves outside,' shouted our leader ; ' we 
 have fire-arms, and we will use them.' 
 
 With a single stroke of his heavy hatchet, the gardener 
 smashed to pieces the lower panel of the door, whilst Ned 
 Grimes — who knew the boys thoroughly and saw we were 
 bent on mischief — dashed his crowbar into the opening, 
 and endeavoured to wrench the door off its hinges. 
 
 ' Smash it all to bits ! ' shouted Ned at the top of his 
 voice, as he worked with a will at the heavy crowbar ; and 
 thoroughly enjoying the fun, made the door creak with his 
 exertions. 'We'll show the young gentlemen for once in 
 their lives what a man can do when he goes at it ! ' 
 
 Again another stroke of the heavy hatchet sent the 
 second panel flying in splinters against the mattress ; and 
 then the steady voice of our leader was heard as he said 
 distinctly, 
 
 ' Give them the sparrow-hail in the legs ; maybe the 
 shower will be a little too hot for them — fire ! ' 
 
 Bang went one of the pistols right through the opening 
 which the gardener had made in the panel. Ned leaped high 
 in the air, and, with a loud scream, sent the crowbar flying 
 from his hands. A dead silence ensued. The awful sound 
 
28 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ii. 
 
 of fire-arms in such a place, discharged in real anger, pro- 
 duced an overwhelming eftect. But the silence was only 
 momentary. A tremendous scuffle w^as soon heard upon 
 the stairs as of persons hurrying away — the hatchet 
 was dashed loosely against the door — the crowbar fell with 
 a crash upon the boards ; and the gardener wildly shouting 
 * Murder ! ' ' Murder ! ' (as he saw the blood oozing 
 through Ned's stockings) rushed past the Doctor down 
 the stairs. 
 
 ' Give it to him in the back of his calves ! ' shouted our 
 leader ; and another volley of sparrow-hail took the gardener 
 behind, and tumbled him head-foremost down the first flight 
 of the stairs. 
 
 Ned Grimes, who, though startled at first, was really as 
 stout as a lion, refused to budge an inch, and muttering in 
 a voice of his own, which we all knew perfectly well, he 
 growled out, 
 
 ' Well, no matter ; my shins won't forget ye for some time 
 to come I'm thinking ; but see if I don't make the bones of 
 every one of ye sore enough for this job yet' 
 
 A roar of laughter from inside followed Ned's threat ; in 
 fact it was a great relief to us all, as we w^ere by no means 
 certain that, in the excitement of the moment, we had not 
 killed one or other of the party on the stairs. Ned was 
 going to lift the crowbar — though his legs were full of 
 sparrow-hail — and to set to work again at the door; but 
 the Doctor told him to desist ; and it was with no small 
 feelings of gratification that we heard them both go down 
 the stairs. The gardener picked himself up as well as he 
 could, shouting ' Murder ' until he reached the bottom flight, 
 and, probably, for some time after. 
 
 But the events of the night were not yet over. No doubt 
 we had repelled the first attack with considerable loss to 
 the enemy, and we heartily congratulated each other on our 
 
1825 ] "T^^ BARRING OUT. 29 
 
 success. Hands were warmly shaken, and we renewed our 
 protestations to stand by each other to the last. But we 
 did not forget our defences : the bedsteads were removed 
 in a twinkling — fresh boards, wrenched from the backs of 
 spare bedsteads, were nailed across the breaches the enemy 
 had made with the hatchet — the mattresses were placed 
 anew against the broken panels, so that we could fire from 
 behind them whilst they would stop any fire from the 
 enemy ; and, replacing the bedsteads, firmly nailed to the 
 floor again, we awaited in anxiety any further attempt upon 
 our citadel. 
 
 We did not wait long. The gardener, upon a close exa- 
 mination of the calves of his legs, found that the hail, though 
 exceedingly painful and smarting him much at the time, 
 had only entered skin-deep, fired as it was from an over- 
 charged and short-barrelled pistol. Moreover he was some- 
 what twitted by Ned for his hasty and inglorious retreat. 
 So, resolving to recover if he could his character for courage, 
 he commenced, along with Ned, reconnoitering the premises, 
 in the hope — if they could manage it safely — of renewing 
 the attack upon the door. They accordingly procured a 
 high barrel with one end open, which, with some difficulty, 
 they carried to the top of the landing. We could not con- 
 ceive what they were about, as we heard them laboriously 
 rolling the barrel up stairs. But they soon let us know 
 their plan ; for, standing inside the barrel so as completely 
 to ward off our shot from their legs, they again smashed in 
 our defences like egg-shells, and Ned Grimes began, once 
 more, to apply his crowbar to the door ; but a fresh dis- 
 charge made him drop the weapon as if it were red-hot 
 iron, and sent him and his companion again growling away. 
 Our marksmen had perceived ' the dodge' of the barrel; and, 
 aiming a little above its topmost rim, had peppered their 
 hands and sides, instead of their legs as before. 
 
30 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, ii. 
 
 During the whole of that eventful night, repeated skir- 
 mishes took place between the besiegers and besieged. The 
 engagement had now become general, and we kept up a 
 continuous fire upon the enemy the moment we heard foot- 
 steps upon the landing. At length the attack was aban- 
 doned, and the enemy seemed content to abide the result, 
 and endeavour to starve us out. 
 
 It is all very well to look back upon this and call it a 
 mere boyish frolic ; but, in truth, it was fast assuming a very 
 serious aspect, and both parties, beginning to feel that the 
 contest was of doubtful issue, exerted their energies accord- 
 ingly. Having silenced the attack at the door, and placed 
 sentinels with cocked pistols in their hands — giving them 
 stringent orders to fire forthwith through the broken panels 
 the moment they heard footsteps upon the landing — we 
 now turned our attention to the means of a lengthened 
 resistance. In doing so, we found to our dismay, that water 
 was the only article in which we were really deficient. All 
 washing was immediately prohibited ; water and beer were 
 served out to the garrison duly measured, and only in such 
 small quantities as was consistent with the quenching of 
 natural thirst. Of provisions we had abundance, for at least 
 a fortnight or three weeks ; but the water we calculated 
 could scarcely hold out three days. We made the best of 
 the matter, however; and taking care always to keep sen- 
 tinels at the door and windows, and at every point where a 
 sudden attack could possibly be made, we endeavoured to 
 pass the time in a jolly idle way. Lessons of course we had 
 none; and that, at least, was something gained. Books 
 had not been taken into account in laying in our stores, so 
 jokes and jibes and plans and anticipations for the future 
 held sway amongst us. But it was very plain to each 
 of us, though not admitted by any, that anxious thoughts 
 and perplexing doubts as to how all this wild work would 
 
1S25.] THE BARRING (JUT. 3 1 
 
 end rendered it, in our inmost thoughts, very bad ' fun ' 
 indeed. 
 
 The Doctor had retired from the contest immediately 
 after the first repulse ; but, having gone to consult the 
 Sovereign (as he was called) of the town of Armagh and 
 some of the other magistrates, it was resolved to apply for 
 the military to quell the riot which the ' College boys ' had 
 raised. A requisition was accordingly sent to the officer in 
 command for a company of soldiers, the mere appearance 
 of whom it was supposed would terrify us into submission ; 
 but the commanding officer had a keener knowledge of 
 human nature than either the Doctor or the Sovereign, and 
 on learning the nature of the duty for which the soldiers 
 were required, he positively refused to furnish them. ' Those 
 young scamps,' he promptly replied, ' will fire their sparrow- 
 hail into the men's faces, and put out the eyes of half the 
 regiment, whereas you well know I can neither run away nor 
 return their fire. I will take upon myself the responsibility 
 of positively refusing soldiers for such a duty as endeavour- 
 ing to frighten those young scapegraces ; and, moreover, I 
 tell you plainly they would only laugh at such an idea, and 
 perhaps commence to fire bullets, instead of sparrow-hail, 
 at my men.' 
 
 The officer was not far wrong in his estimate of the pro- 
 bable conduct of the rebel forces. 
 
 The excitement of the first night's attack, and the arrange- 
 ments of the following day, had kept us all employed both 
 in mind and body ; but no attack having been made during 
 the course of the second night, and being left during the 
 following day entirely to our own resources, it may well be 
 supposed that time began to hang heavily on the hands of 
 four-and-twenty boys — shut up in one room, and ' with no 
 fighting to keep them alive.' As to books, I have already 
 stated we had none ; and even had we such, reading was 
 
32 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ii. 
 
 out of the question. We amused ourselves, therefore, by 
 tormenting every person who passed along the road — 
 which our dormitory completely commanded — leading into 
 the town of Armagh. Some of the boys who were adepts 
 in the art of slang, kept up a constant fire of that weapon 
 of annoyance upon everyone, high or low, whose avocations 
 compelled them to pass along that road. The passengers 
 at last became justly irritated at this very doubtful species 
 of fun ; and some of them, of the lowest sort, began to pelt 
 us with stones as we leaned out of the open windows. A 
 council of war was immediately held to consider what should 
 be done to the stone-throwers ; and the majority were of 
 opinion that we owed it to our dignity to fire upon anyone 
 who assaulted us. Accordingly the next volley of stones 
 hurled against us by the indignant passengers was returned 
 with interest from the dormitories, and a shower of sparrow- 
 hail fell thickly around the assailants. In a short time a 
 rumour ran through the town ' that the College boys were 
 firing on the people, and had shot several of them as they 
 went to market.' It must be admitted that the rumour was 
 partially true ; as, though the sparrow-hail did not do much 
 damage at the distance from which we fired, yet it was 
 rather startling ; and the stoutest amongst the crowd by no 
 means liked to see a pistol fired right at him, followed 
 immediately by a shower of small shot around his person. 
 
 The contest between the passengers and ourselves soon 
 became so vigorous that a complete blockade took place at 
 that entrance into the town. It happened to be market-day ; 
 and, having voted that everyone who passed the road must 
 necessarily be our enemy, we fired promiscuously at all, no 
 matter what their calling might be. There were many 
 respectable people, who, although they saw the crowd, and 
 heard upon enquiry that ' the College boys were firing on the 
 people,' yet could not bring themselves to believe that there 
 
1825.] THE BARRING OUT. 33 
 
 was really any danger. And, accordingly, pushing their 
 way through the crowd, they walked gravely past across the 
 novv^ unoccupied space opposite the college windows. But 
 the delight of the boys was to undeceive these unsuspecting 
 innocents, and no sooner had they attempted to ' run the 
 blockade,' than three or four pistol-shots, fired in quick suc- 
 cession, and accompanied by a shower of small shot falling 
 around them, immediately dispelled their illusion. There 
 was something irresistibly ludicrous in seeing persons walk 
 gravely into the open space, with a defiant air, as if ' they 
 would like to see who would touch them ; ' and then, when 
 the volley came from the College boys, and the shot began 
 to fall thick around them, draw their coat up about their 
 ears, and rush past, amidst roars of laughter, not only from 
 us, but also from the crowd of lookers-on. 
 
 An incident occurred in the course of the second night, 
 which contributed to afford us some amusement. The gar- 
 dener managed to send up a letter to the boys, stating that 
 he was sorry he had gone against us in the beginning, and 
 that he would prove the sincerity of his repentance by sup- 
 plying us with water, if we would lower down a vessel. 
 Water was the only thing of which we stood in need ; we 
 therefore broke a hole in the floor over one of the dormi- 
 tories below, so as to let down the vessel which the gardener 
 promised to fill. We had our suspicions, however, and did 
 not quite trust his good faith. So we placed guards over 
 the hole with cocked pistols, to be ready for action if occa- 
 sion arose. The moment we let down our vessel, the 
 gardener made a tug at the rope, and endeavoured to 
 snatch it out of our hands, but the guards were too quick 
 for him, and a shower of sparrow-hail, fired right down upon 
 his head and hands, sent him off again howling with pain. 
 
 At length on the third day we became seriously in want 
 of water ; and, though we scarcely confessed it to ourselves 
 
 D 
 
34 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. n. 
 
 or each other, yet we certainly began to wish that some 
 compromise could be effected. Whilst these thoughts were 
 anxiously passing through our minds, the Sovereign of the 
 Town appeared opposite our windows, with a flag of truce 
 in the form of a white handkerchief in his hand, and asked 
 us could he be the medium of any communication with the 
 Doctor. 
 
 We replied, that if our rights were granted, we would 
 immediately submit. 
 
 ' But,' said he, ' what punishment do you expect for the 
 outrageous proceedings of the last three days ? You can- 
 not suppose that such conduct can be passed over by the 
 Doctor .' ' 
 
 We replied that he might do as he pleased as to punish- 
 ment, but that we would never yield our rights. 
 
 * Well,' returned the Sovereign, ' I come authorised to 
 make a proposition : the Doctor cannot pass over what has 
 happened ; but if you will now surrender at discretion, and 
 submit every one of you to be well flogged, and leave the . 
 question of the holidays to the Doctor himself and his own 
 kindness of feeling towards you, I will guarantee that none 
 of you shall be expelled, or any further punishment inflicted 
 for conduct, that, if pressed against you, would send every 
 one of you to gaol, and probably to the tread-mill' 
 
 The idea of being sent to the tread-mill for our pranks 
 had never, strange to say, occurred to any of us, and it now 
 alarmed us not a little. So we asked for an hour's truce to 
 consider, and this having been granted, we retired to discuss 
 the terms which had been offered. Much angry altercation 
 iollowed. Some were for holding out to the last. Others 
 thought the Doctor would never give in about the holidays, 
 and that the present proposition was only a trick to get us 
 into his power. But the majority were of opinion that it 
 was an honourable and dona fide offer. And as it was im - 
 
1825.] THE BARRING OUT. 35 
 
 possible, from want of water, that we could hold out for 
 twenty-four hours longer, it would be well to close with the 
 proposal. These better counsels prevailed ; and when the 
 Sovereign of the Town again appeared before us, we told 
 him we would accept the terms. 
 
 I have seldom felt more ashamed than when we issued, 
 one by one, from behind the barricades in the dormitory. 
 We had fastened the door so tightly with nails, that we could 
 not open it from the inside, and the gardener's hatchet 
 and Ned Grimes' crowbar had again to be brought into 
 requisition. The Doctor, and his wife and several members 
 of his family, all stood at the head of the stairs, looking 
 very solemn and grave, to see us emerge from our fortress. 
 We came out singly through the narrow opening which had 
 been made — unwashed, uncombed, dirty and ragged, and 
 with eyes red and blood-shot, having scarcely slept from 
 the commencement of the barring out. Not a word was 
 spoken ; we passed slowly down the stairs, and then we 
 all assembled in the schoolroom below. A vast pile of 
 birch rods heaped upon the table was the first thing which 
 met our view ; and, then and there, we were each stripped 
 in turn, and being held by Ned Grimes and the gardener, 
 neither of whom could conceal their delight at the turn 
 matters had now taken, we were flogged to the heart's con- 
 tent even of the gardener himself! 
 
 The holidays were never afterwards stopped. 
 
 D 2 
 
1S29.] EARLV LIFK. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EARLY LIFE. 
 
 Manhood leads to manhood's thoughts and manhood's 
 ways ; and before I had left school I had almost grown to be 
 a man. I was very happy at Armagh during the last two 
 years of my staj* The barring out had cleared the college 
 of all the troublesome spirits, and after a year or two, only 
 sixteen or seventeen boys remained. The Doctor therefore 
 dismissed several of his assistants, and I being now high up, 
 and having entered upon the responsible position of ' Head 
 of the school ' — that is, the highest in the head form — I saw 
 much of the kind old Doctor and his family. Nothing could 
 exceed his attention to me, and to the few other boys who 
 remained with him, and I often deeply regretted the pain 
 and annoyance our previous misconduct must have caused 
 him. He, however, seldom alluded to it, and though he 
 knew I had been one of the rebels on that occasion, yet he 
 forgave me with a frankness and generosity for which I 
 shall ever feel grateful, and which contrasted strongly with 
 the bitter feelings of animosity which had been entertained 
 towards him — not certainly by me — but by some of those 
 Avho had left. 
 
 At length it became my turn to leave, and having studied 
 assiduously during the last year of my school days under 
 the special tuition of the Doctor himself, I took a warm and 
 friendly farewell of the kind old man and his family. Im- 
 mediately after leaving I entered the University, and took 
 
38 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [CH.U". iii. 
 
 my place as an undergraduate in old Trinity- College, 
 Dublin. 
 
 Ha\Tng been bom a younger son. I soon began to feel 
 that I ought to do something for myself. My father, a 
 brother of the late Lord Ashtown, lived in the countn,-. 
 surrounded with all the luxuries and refinements of a highly 
 educated and jxjlished gentleman : so that while residing in 
 his house, as a young man, I lacked neither amusements 
 nor societ}- ; and I passed a pleasant time bet\\*een home 
 and my universit}- career. But I always felt that this could 
 not and ought not to last : and in my secret heart I resolved, 
 if possible, to obtain some emplojTnent suitable to my 
 natural tastes, and which at the same time might afford an 
 opportunity- of a useful and active hfe. I had long set my 
 heart upon the profession of an agent, as being the most 
 suitable, in its higher branches, to my capacities, and as 
 likely to afford the greatest opportunity' of being useful in 
 my generation ; and though I did not announce my inten- 
 tion, yet I lost no opportunity- of acquiring information 
 v»"hich might qualify me for such an office. Meantime I 
 passed steadily through my University' course, living some- 
 times in Dublin, and sometimes at my father's place in the 
 countr}-. 
 
 These were the days of O'Connell's supremacy ; and all 
 Ireland, and England too, rang with his fame. His usual 
 habit at that period, during term time, was, to walk home 
 from the ' Four Courts ' — the Irish courts of law — with an 
 immense gathering of wilcl and ragged followers at his 
 back. These he called, in jest, his police; and ' O'Connell's 
 police ' became, for a short time, one of the institutions 
 of Dublin. But the College young men could never be 
 forced into an acknowledgment of their authority, and the 
 consequence was that repeated rows took place between the 
 parties. 
 
1S29.] EARLY LIFE. 39 
 
 One of the rules this strange police insisted on establish- 
 ing was, that all those walking in the streets should take 
 off their hats as O'Connell passed by on his triumphant 
 return from the courts ; and anyone who refused was mer- 
 cilessly mobbed, and his hat knocked off or forced down 
 over his eyes. In general, for peace sake, most of the 
 passers-by took this new order of things good-humouredly, 
 and raised their hats rather than submit to the unpleasant 
 consequences of a refusal. But the College lads generally 
 resisted this homage ; so that a fight was almost certain to 
 take place whenever they and O'Connell's police chanced 
 to meet in the streets. 
 
 It happened one evening that a young college friend 
 and I were walking down one of the main streets of Dublin, 
 when O'Connell and his police appeared in view. We con- 
 sulted for a moment whether we should cross over to the 
 other side of the street and thus avoid a collision, but we 
 considered this would be ' infra dig' And we therefore 
 kept our course, resolving not to take off our hats. 
 
 ' Hats off! hats off! ' shouted the ragged police who 
 preceded ' the Liberator ' as soon as we approached ; but 
 we did not acknowledge the order, and continued to w-alk 
 steadily on. In a moment we were attacked, and sundry 
 attempts were made to force our hats over our eyes, or 
 knock them off in the street. My companion hovvever — a 
 ven,' powerful young man — gave two or three of the fore- 
 most of these ' policemen ' such a heart}' smash in the face 
 that they kept their distance for a little, and we walked by 
 O'Connell in safet}-. I well remember his smile as he 
 nodded good-humouredly to us as we passed him. and I 
 must say it was one of approval rather than otherwise at 
 our refusal to do him homage. Xo sooner, however, had 
 we got completely to the rear — O'Connell never allowed 
 his police to commit any violence in his immediate presence 
 
40 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iil. 
 
 — than a large party detached themselves on special duty, 
 and followed us with a full resolve to force us into com- 
 pliance. We continued to walk rapidly towards home, but 
 we soon heard the double-quick footsteps of a number of 
 men behind us, and again the cry of ' Hats off! ' resounded 
 through the streets. It had a new and most unpleasant 
 effect upon the nerves to find oneself pursued by a pack of 
 hungry-looking ragged men — the scum of the populace of 
 Dublin (there were no Poor Laws in those days) — who were 
 determined to force us into compliance with what we con- 
 sidered a deep indignity. 
 
 ' Hold on,' whispered my young friend to me : ' we may 
 get home before they become too many for us.' So we 
 held on still, and refused to take off our hats. 
 
 A violent blow in the back of the neck which sent me 
 staggering forward was the reply of one of the party to my 
 companion's whispered suggestions ; but it had scarcely 
 been given when the man who gave it was laid flat on his 
 back, bleeding and almost senseless, by a blow in the face 
 from my friend. After this, for some little time, they kept 
 a more respectful distance, but theystill followed us shouting 
 'Hats off!' and increasing in numbers as we proceeded. 
 We were frequently assailed, but the moment we turned 
 round, drawing our clenched fists for a blow, the ragged 
 policemen fell back, having evidently a keen recollection of 
 the punishment which the chief of the police had received 
 a few minutes before. 
 
 At length, however, the party became reinforced by 
 bolder members of this wild constabulary, and we began 
 to feel, as they pressed closer and closer upon us, that we 
 had no chance of reaching home in safety ; and resolving, 
 if we could, to make a stand until some relief might be 
 afforded, we rushed up a flight of stone steps, outside a 
 gentleman's door, and presenting our front to the crowd. 
 
1829.] EARLY LIFE. 4 1 
 
 we showed that we were determined to resist any further 
 aggression to the utmost. 
 
 There were no MetropoHtan PoHce, if I recollect right, in 
 those days, and if there were, none certainly came to our 
 assistance ; and in a wonderfully short time the street was 
 filled with a motley crowd of the very worst roughs of 
 Dublin, who came running from every quarter to take part 
 in their favourite pastime of a row. Twice, a vigorous and 
 direct attack was made upon our fortress ; but partly from 
 the determined resistance of my young friend, who forced 
 back his assailants staggering amongst the crowd by the 
 dint of his powerful blows, and partly from the advan- 
 tageous nature of our position the enemy was repulsed with 
 loss, and blood flowed freely from our enemies. At length 
 I bethought me of seeking admission to the gentleman's 
 house, on the steps of which we were, and I knocked loudly 
 at the door. It was opened immediately. 
 
 * Let us in,' cried I. ' Let us in, or this mob will murder 
 us.' 
 
 * Sir,' replied the man in a hissing voice, and with his 
 teeth clenched and grinning, ' I hate the rascals ten times 
 as much as ever you can do, but this is Lord Norbury's 
 house, and the gentleman within is old, and those villains 
 would pull it down about his ears if I let you in, should 
 they find out whose house it is ; and so you must only fight 
 them as best you can.' And before I could answer a word 
 he slammed the door in my face ! 
 
 But the act of the man had not been unobserved by the 
 mob ; and seeing now that all chance of our retreat was 
 cut off, they resolved to make a final rush upon our citadel 
 and tear us down from it. This was soon effected. The 
 strongest and boldest among them drew up two deep 
 before us, and with a wild shout, or rather scream, went at 
 us. In a moment we were surrounded, our hats knocked 
 
42 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. hi. 
 
 off, and we ourselves hurled violently into the middle of 
 the street. I got off with a bloody nose and the loss of 
 one of my shoes, and my friend with a split ear ; but our 
 hats were carried off by our assailants as trophies of war, 
 and were set on high on broomsticks, whilst the victorious 
 ' police ' of the Liberator marched off shouting and hurray- 
 ing with their prize. Whether they laid the hats at 
 O'Connell's feet or not I never heard : probably not, as we 
 never saw them after. 
 
 Such was Dublin in my College days. Lord Anglesea 
 was then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and in the midst of a 
 hundred scenes similar to that which I have just described, 
 levees, drawing-rooms, castle balls, and private entertain- 
 ments, in all of which I freely joined, flowed on, and people 
 never thought of these outrages but as passing trifles, 
 whilst the pleasures and business of life proceeded as if all 
 was going on in the natural course of things. 
 
 In the country parts of Ireland, the same wild ways, 
 though in a different and more dangerous form, prevailed. 
 The predominant idea amongst the peasantry at that time 
 was — and still to a certain extent is — that 'a big war' was 
 coming, and in preparation for this the ' taking up arms ' 
 was one of the most frequent outrages. Many gentlemen 
 living in remote districts, lost their lives in defence of their 
 arms, and in not a few cases the assailants were shot down 
 in their attempts to take them. My father's residence was 
 in the Queen's County about three miles from Portarlington, 
 and I well remember how in disturbed times, when several 
 murders had been committed in the neighbourhood, we 
 habitually took our arms with us into the dining-room, and 
 eat our meals with our loaded pistols on the table beside 
 us, and our guns leaning against the chimney-piece. It is 
 surprising, when one gets accustomed to it, how little this 
 affects the appetite or weighs upon the mind. It went on 
 
1829.] EARLY LIFE. 43 
 
 with US as a matter of course, and without the least feeling 
 ot uneasiness or apprehension affecting our spirits or our 
 daily life. 
 
 A remarkable instance of a successful raid to take up fire- 
 arms occurred about this time.* My eldest brother lived 
 on his estate at Kilmorony, in the south-east portion of the 
 Queen's County. His house was large, and surrounded 
 by extensive grounds, so that no one could approach it 
 without passing through at least half a mile of the * de- 
 mesne.' It was a Sunday afternoon, and my brother had 
 gone to church at Athy, leaving his wife, Lady Helena 
 Trench, and one of my sisters and their several children, at 
 home. He had taken his men-servants with him so that 
 none but women and children remained in the house. 
 
 My sister was sitting in the drawing-room, a little before 
 dinner on this fine summer's evening, her children playing 
 around her, when her attention was attracted by observing 
 one of the children standing in a fixed and frightened 
 manner near the door. She looked up immediately, and 
 saw a man, who had so quietly opened the door that she 
 had not observed his entrance, standing and looking in with 
 a large blunderbuss in his hand. My sister and he stared 
 for a moment at each other. 
 
 ' We want arms,' said the man in a husky coarse voice, 
 'we don't want to hurt anyone if we can help it, but we 
 want arms, and must get them.' 
 
 My sister's nerve did not fail her in the least. She rose 
 quietly from her seat, took one of her little children by 
 the hand, and going towards the door where the man was 
 standing, she said, 
 
 ' I am not the lady of the house ; she is upstairs ; I will 
 go and call her.' 
 
 The man seemed a little abashed by a bearing so different 
 
 * I think this happened about the year 1830. 
 
44 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. hi. 
 
 from what he probably expected. He made no reply, but 
 followed my sister upstairs. 
 
 She walked straight into Lady Helena's room, who at 
 that moment was washing her hands before dinner ; she 
 was followed by the man with the blunderbuss. 
 
 ' This man says he wants arms,' said my sister, address- 
 ing Lady Helena, ' and he says he must get them.' 
 
 ' Let him wait a little until I have dried my hands,' 
 replied Lady Helena calmly, ' and I will get them for 
 him.' 
 
 She continued the operation of drying her hands as she 
 would have done on the most ordinary occasion, and then 
 slowly led the way into her husband's dressing-room, and 
 pointing to some guns which were locked in a case over 
 the fireplace, she told the man that those were the only 
 arms in the house. 
 
 ' The case is locked,' observed the man. ' Give me the 
 key.' 
 
 ' I have not got it,' replied Lady Helena. ' Mr. Trench 
 is from home, and has the key with him.' 
 
 The man tore the holdfasts of the case out of the wall, 
 and without saying anything more, or doing any further 
 damage, although there were silver forks and spoons laid 
 out in abundance on the table in the dining-room which he 
 could have carried off with perfect ease, he walked away 
 with his prize of arms and disappeared. 
 
 The whole thing was done so quickly and so quietly, 
 that none of the female servants knew anything of what 
 had happened. One of them, however, afterwards observed 
 five men, all armed, assembling as it were from different 
 stations outside the house, and walking away together. 
 
 Such was the state of the country at the time of which I 
 speak, and many of the resident gentlemen in Queen's 
 County, Carlow, and Kilkenny were accustomed to ride 
 
1829.] EARLY LIFE, 45 
 
 armed to the cover's side, and to hunt all day with their 
 pistols in their pockets, lest they should be attacked going 
 home in the evening. 
 
 During all this time my earnest endeavours were turned 
 towards the acquisition of knowledge, which, in addition to 
 my classical and scientific course through College, would 
 tend to fit me for the profession I had set my heart on to 
 follow ; and after some time I exerted myself much, with- 
 out any emolument, in the improvement of the dwellings 
 and farms of the tenants on my brother's estate. In course 
 of time, I found myself a married man, settled in the county 
 of Tipperary, not far from Cangort Park, the residence of 
 a much loved and valued uncle, from whose vast experience 
 and knowledge of country life I derived miany and lasting 
 advantages. 
 

 pc: 
 
1838.] THE RIBBON CODE. 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE RIBBON CODE. 
 
 There are few who have not heard of the Ribbon Soci- 
 eties of Ireland ; those dark and mysterious confederacies, 
 which, springing- up from time to time in different local- 
 ities, have spread terror and dismay into the hearts of both 
 rich and poor, which have done so much to discourage the 
 influx of capital into Ireland, and to promote the absentee- 
 ism of hundreds of wealthy proprietors, who would be only 
 too glad to be allowed to reside upon their Irish estates, 
 and in the midst of their Irish tenantry, could they do so in 
 peace and safety. 
 
 But the terrible Ribbon Code is too formidable for most 
 men to face, who have the means of living elsewhere, and 
 who are not bound by any peculiar ties to Ireland. It is 
 the fashion to blame absentees ; but can they always be 
 justly blamed ? It is a fact, the bitter truth of which has 
 been felt and can be attested by many, that those who 
 have been most earnest and anxious for the improvement 
 of their estates, have come most frequently under the ban 
 of the Ribbonmen ; whilst the careless, spendthrift, good- 
 for-nothing landlord, who hunts, and shoots, and drinks, 
 and runs in debt, who even exacts the most exorbitant 
 rents from his tenants, provided only he does not interfere 
 with their time-honoured customs of subdividing, squatting, 
 conacre, and reckless marriages, may live in peace and 
 careless indolence on his estate, in high favour with the 
 
48 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iv. 
 
 surrounding peasantr5^ and with no fear or danger of being 
 ever disturbed by a Ribbonman. 
 
 It is not my intention to enter at present upon any dis- 
 sertation on this curious and strange phenomenon ; neither 
 is it my intention to enter into any analysis of the causes 
 which produced this state of things. We must look back 
 into the history of Ireland for these. Would that some 
 abler hand than mine would investigate and lay bare the 
 truth ! My present purpose is only to deal with facts, and 
 to tell of scenes and occurrences which have from time to 
 time come under my immediate observation. 
 
 The effects of the Ribbon Code were more keenly felt in 
 Ireland some fifteen or twenty years ago than they are 
 now; and indeed we might go back even farther than that. 
 Tipperary County might perhaps be named as the head- 
 quarters of the confederation ; and the King's County and 
 Queen's County, Meath and Westmeath, Louth, and even 
 Monaghan, where, as ' the gap of the north,' it adjoined the 
 midland counties, were from time to time the scene of its 
 unhallowed operations. 
 
 It is a mistake to suppose that the Ribbon Code was 
 terrible to the landlords only. The tenant, quite as fre- 
 quently as the landlord, became the victim ; and many a 
 thriving, harmless, well-conditioned man has perished under 
 its terrible laws. 
 
 The main object of the Ribbon Society was to prevent 
 any landlord, under any circumstances whatever, from de- 
 priving a tenant of his land. ' Fixity of tenure,' which has 
 lately been so boldly demanded by the advocates of tenant- 
 right, was then only secretly proclaimed in the lodges of 
 the Ribbon Society ; and ' fixity of tenure ' it was deter- 
 mined to carry out to the death, which almost necessarily 
 followed. 
 
 The second object was to deter, on pain of almost 
 
1838.] THE RIBBON CODE. 49 
 
 certain death, any tenant from taking- land from which any 
 other tenant had been evicted. These main principles of 
 the society were carried out with relentless severity ; and 
 numerous indeed were the victims in all ranks of life, from 
 the wealthy peer to the humblest cottier, who fell under the 
 hand of the assassin, sworn to carry out its decrees. 
 
 But it may well be supposed that a society, thus consti- 
 tuted in utter lawlessness, was not very likely to adhere 
 long or accurately to the precise objects for which it had 
 originally been formed ; and, accordingly, by degrees it 
 assumed the position of the redressor of all fancied wrongs 
 connected with the management of land, or with landed 
 property in any form whatever. I have known frequent 
 instances of landlords receiving threatening notices for 
 evicting tenants, although these tenants had refused to pay 
 any rent whatever, and of tenants receiving similar notices 
 for taking the land of the evicted occupiers. I have also 
 seen a notice, announcing certain death to a respectable 
 farmer, because he dismissed a careless ploughman ; and 
 a friend who lived near me, was threatened with death, 
 because he refused to hire a shepherd who had been recom- 
 mended to him and who was approved of by the local Ribbon 
 lodge. I myself received a letter, illustrated with a coffin 
 in flaring bloody red, and adorned with death's head and 
 cross bones, threatening the most frightful consequences to 
 myself and family, if I did not continue to employ a young 
 profligate carpenter, whom I had discharged for idleness 
 and vice ! 
 
 It was during a period when the system was in full force 
 and vigour — about the year 1840 — that I was living at 
 Sopwell Hall, an old family residence, which I rented from 
 my cousin. Lord Ashtown. The small town of Cloghjordan 
 was about three miles distant from The Hall, and I usually 
 attended church there. The Rev. F. F. Trench was at that 
 
 £ 
 
50 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iv. 
 
 time curate of the parish. The country was very much 
 disturbed, by which I mean that wild deeds had been en- 
 acted by the Ribbonmen, within a short distance of our 
 residence. A most respectable tradesman, habitually in my 
 employment, had been barbarously murdered in the open 
 day, on his way between Shinrone and Cloghjordan, and 
 a well-to-do farmer, living within half a mile of our house, 
 had also been murdered for no cause that we could pos- 
 sibly ascertain, unless that he had taken two acres of land, 
 which had recently been thrown on the landlord's hands by 
 an insolvent tenant. 
 
 We were at church one Sunday, about this time, at 
 Cloghjordan, and whilst the Rev. F. F. Trench was preach- 
 ing, a messenger came to the pew pf Mr. Hall, a gentleman 
 of considerable fortune in the neighbourhood, a kind and 
 amiable and much respected man, and whispered a few 
 words to his son, who immediately left the church. A few 
 minutes after, another messenger came and whispered to 
 his son-in-law. He also instantly left the church. The 
 congregation became somewhat nervous at witnessing this 
 strange pantomime ; and I was on the point of leaving to 
 ascertain what had happened, when the preacher observing 
 the attention of the congregation to be diverted from him, 
 brought the sermon to an abrupt conclusion. 
 
 On going out, I heard that Mr. Hall's house, situated 
 about three miles from Cloghjordan, had been attacked 
 during church-time by four armed men ; that they had 
 carried away 200/. in cash, with all his arms, and behaved 
 rudely to the young ladies of the house, his daughters, who 
 had remained at home that day. Mr, Hall, if I recollect 
 aright, was himself absent. 
 
 Immediately on leaving the church, I mounted my horse 
 and galloped off to Mr. Hall's residence. I there found 
 that matters were not so bad as had been stated. Four or 
 five armed men had entered the house and demanded arms 
 
1838.] THE RIBBON CODE. 5 1 
 
 and money from the young ladies. They told them the 
 money, about 200/., was in their father's iron chest. The 
 chest was an immensely strong and heavy one. The rob- 
 bers carried it outside the house, and did their utmost to 
 force it open with crowbars, but it was too strong for them 
 to break, and too heavy to carry away ; and I saw the chest 
 afterwards, lying on the lawn outside the house, all battered 
 and dinged, but the 200/. was safe and untouched inside. 
 They then returned to the mansion, and took a few stand 
 of arms ; and the leader went into the parlour, where the 
 young ladies were, and asked for some wine. One of the 
 young ladies having heard the footsteps of the men, and 
 fearing they might become excited with drink, with much 
 presence of mind privately emptied out of the window the 
 contents of a large square flask of whisky which was on 
 the side table, so that when they came, there was nothing 
 but water to be found to drink. They treated the young 
 ladies courteously, and decamped. 
 
 The point now was to find out whither they had gone. 
 It was broad daylight, the country was tolerably open, and 
 yet no traces of the robbers could be found. I galloped 
 along all the roads leading in the most likely directions, 
 but could obtain no tidings whatever of them. Mr. Charles 
 Trench, Lord Ashtown's brother, then staying at Sopwell 
 Hall — which lay on the opposite side of a large bog 
 from Mr. Hall's — beat, as he thought, every part of a 
 thick holly wood immediately adjoining the bog, in which 
 it appeared not unlikely they might have hidden them- 
 selves, but could see nothing of them, and evening closed 
 in without our coming on their track. At night the police 
 searched some houses of suspicious character, and in one 
 of them several men with blackened faces and stained 
 with bog-mould were found concealed. They were arrested 
 and brought before a magistrate, and four of them were 
 
 E 2 
 
52 " REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iv. 
 
 ultimately prosecuted to conviction by the young ladies, 
 and were transported beyond the seas. We discovered 
 afterguards that two of the men with loaded fire-arms were 
 actually lying under a holly bush, in the small thick wood 
 called 'the Paddock' where Mr. Charles Trench had searched 
 for them. Had he come upon them at such a time and so 
 prepared, bloodshed would probably have ensued. Several 
 stand of fire-arms and some swords were afterwards found 
 in the Paddock, where the men had lain concealed. 
 
 Thenceforth, without any reasonable cause that I could 
 ascertain, ]\Ir. Hall became exceedingly unpopular and ob- 
 noxious to the peasantry. 
 
 A few months after this occurrence, on the i8th of May, 
 a beautiful bright sunny day at noon, I was riding with a 
 friend to the sessions at Borrisokane. I heard a faint report 
 at a little distance in the fields as of a gun or pistol, but 
 took no notice of it, when almost immediately afterwards 
 a man came running up a lane to meet us, saying, 
 
 ' Oh ! Sir, Mr. Hall has just been shot' 
 
 ' Shot ! ' cried I, pulling up my horse, * do you mean mur- 
 dered .'' ' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes. Sir,' replied the man, ' he is lying there in the 
 field.' 
 
 ' Is he dead .'' ' I asked. 
 
 ' Stone dead ! ' was the man's reply ; and as he said so, 
 I never shall forget the strange mixture of horror and of 
 triumph which pervaded his countenance. 
 
 We rode on rapidly down the lane, and just where it 
 emerged upon a little grass lawn, was the body of Mr. Hall. 
 He was a man apparently about fifty years of age, and 
 his bald head lay uncovered on the ground. He was quite 
 warm but ' stone dead,' lying in the open field. Numbers 
 of people were working all around, planting their potatoes ; 
 but not a trace of the murderer could be found. 
 
 It was a sessions day at Borrisokane, and several other 
 
1838.] THE RIBBON CODE, 53 
 
 gentlemen who were also going there joined us almost im- 
 mediately afterwards. There were a few country-people 
 standing by. I shall not easily forget my feelings on this 
 occasion. There lay the body of a murdered gentleman, 
 with whom I had been on terms of friendly intercourse — 
 shot on his own estate, and in his own field, in the noonday, 
 whilst on the faces of the peasantry could be plainly seen an 
 expression of triumphant satisfaction ; and there we stood, 
 several mounted horsemen — many of us armed, burning to 
 avenge his death and to arrest the murderer, and yet we 
 looked like so many fools not knowing what to do, though 
 it was scarcely more than ten minutes since the fatal shot 
 had been fired. 
 
 I turned to a gentleman of well-known courage, and a 
 daring rider, and said, 
 
 * Can we do nothing, Mr. Smith ? The murderer cannot 
 have gone far ; surely we might make a circuit round the 
 place across the country, and though no one will tell us 
 which way he ran, we may by this means come up with him or 
 see him. We are both well mounted and armed — let us try.' 
 
 ' Hush, my dear Sir,' replied he, ' the murderer never ran ; 
 that would at once betray him. He is surely in the field with 
 us at this moment, and is probably one of those now look- 
 ing at the body and expressing his wonder at who did it' 
 
 I saw the possible truth of his observation, and was com- 
 pelled to repress my feelings and remain an inactive spec- 
 tator. The police and stipendiary magistrate came up 
 soon afterwards ; and the body having been brought into a 
 neighbouring house to await the inquest, we rode from the 
 scene very sorrowful. On arriving at home I told a man 
 in my employment what I had just witnessed. He showed 
 neither surprise nor excitement, and his manner left a full 
 conviction on my mind that he had been aware beforehand 
 that such a deed was to be done. 
 
54 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE, [chap. iv. 
 
 Large rewards were now offered for the discovery of the 
 murderer, and a sum amounting to fifteen hundred pounds 
 was raised ; but for some time no one would come forward 
 to give intelligence and claim the reward. At last it was 
 announced by the magistrates ; that an accomplice had 
 turned informer — that the murderer was arrested and would 
 be tried at the ensuing assizes at Nenagh. 
 
 I was on the grand jury at those assizes, and attended 
 closely to the trial throughout. Mr. Blackburn, late Chief 
 Justice of Appeals and then Attorney-General, came down 
 from Dublin specially to prosecute. It was a most interest- 
 ing trial. The informer was a dark, intelligent, powerful, 
 and desperate-looking man of about forty years of age. The 
 prisoner was pale, slight, and thin, apparently about twenty- 
 five years of age, and without anything in his countenance 
 to indicate ferocity or passion. 
 
 The story told by the informer was a strange one. He 
 said that a farmer on Mr. Hall's estate had hired him for 
 five pounds to do the deed, and that the young man was to 
 have three pounds for accompanying him ; that the only 
 cause for the murder was that Mr. Hall had prevented the 
 farmer from burning some land for conacre, and ' that it 
 would be a good thing to rid the country of such a tyrant ; ' 
 that Mr. Hall was expected that day on the estate, and that 
 he (the witness) and his companion agreed to go there also 
 and see how the job could best be done. That he saw Mr. 
 Hall walking in the field with a sword-cane in his hand — 
 that he stole up quietly on the grass behind him with the 
 pistol up his sleeve, and that when he was quite close, Mr. 
 Hall heard him and turned round and asked him what 
 he wanted ; he feigned some excuse, saying ' he came to 
 ask his honour leave to sow conacre,' which Mr. Hall re- 
 fusing, he passed on. Again he stole up behind his victim 
 near a hedge, and again Mr. Hall turned round still unsus- 
 
1838.] THE RIBBON CODE. 55 
 
 picious of his design, but surprised at the occurrence. The 
 intending murderer, thus twice baffled in his design, went 
 aside to his companion, and dashing down the pistol on the 
 ground beside him, said with an oath, 'I see it is unlucky, I 
 will have nothing to do with it.' The young man coolly took 
 up the pistol : ' You are an infernal coward,' said he, ' watch 
 me if I don't do it.' 
 
 Mr. Hall was still walking in the fields, enjoying the fresh- 
 ness of this sunny day in May. The young man came up 
 unperceived within twenty yards of him. Mr. Hall heard 
 him, and turned round and faced him. The murderer 
 walked on still without speaking or showing his pistol, 
 straight up to Mr. Hall. Mr. Hall was amazed ; but seeing 
 him still coming steadily and silently on, he half drew his 
 sword-cane,at last suspecting that mischief must beintended. 
 The man still continuing to approach, Mr. Hall sprang back 
 a step or two in order to get his sword-cane free, and in doing 
 so, stumbled over a tussock and fell. The young man then 
 went steadily up to him, and before Mr. Hall could get up 
 or recover himself, he put the pistol down close to his head 
 and shot him dead upon the spot. The moment he had 
 done so he threw the pistol into the adjoining hedge, walked 
 quietly to meet his companion, put his hands into his 
 pockets, never left the ground, and was one of those whom 
 we afterwards saw standing near the body. 
 
 Such was the story as told by the man who had been 
 originally hired to murder Mr. Hall, but who had now turned 
 informer ; and his testimony was corroborated by a chain of 
 evidence, so clear and conclusive, that not a doubt of its 
 truth was left upon the mind of a single grand juror who 
 heard him. 
 
 The trial was rather a peculiar one; and, contrary to 
 general expectation, the judge's charge was decidedly in 
 favour of the prisoner. The jury were evidently puzzled. 
 
56 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iv. 
 
 but they threw the benefit of the doubts entertained by the 
 majority in favour of the prisoner at the bar — as they were 
 justly bound to do, and it was afterwards openly announced, 
 that eleven were for an acquittal, and only one for a convic- 
 tion. Nothing could turn this man from his unwavering 
 belief that the prisoner had done the deed ; and after the 
 usual time the jury was discharged, and the prisoner re- 
 manded to gaol. 
 
 The result of this trial, which excited the deepest in- 
 terest on all sides, both amongst the gentry and the 
 peasantry, was looked upon as a decided triumph by the 
 latter. They naturally thought that if, after such evidence 
 as that given on the occasion of the trial, the prisoner had 
 all but escaped, no jury could now be found to convict 
 him, and they threatened and persecuted the unfortunate 
 juror who had alone held out for a verdict. In consequence 
 of this failure on the part of the Crown, the state of the 
 country became rapidly worse, and three more murders 
 were committed. One of them was brought particularly 
 under my notice. I was on my way one Sunday with 
 my family to the church at Cloughjordan. My two sons, 
 then little boys, were riding on ponies by my side, and 
 were slowly ascending a steep hill beside the carriage on 
 the borders of Knocknacree Wood. One of the boys sud- 
 denly called my attention to a crowd in a field, not very 
 far from the place where we were. I looked, and seeing a 
 number of people bending over one object in the ditch, and 
 making gesticulations of grief, I immediately rode into the 
 field to ascertain the cause. The people made way for me 
 as I came up ; and the sight which then presented itself 
 was very horrible. A man comfortably dressed as a 
 peasant, lay flat on his back in the gripe ; nearly one 
 half of the hinder part of the head was severed from 
 the other half, apparently by the blow of some heavy 
 
s: 
 
i8j8.] THE RIBBON CODE. 57 
 
 instrument — as his brains were dashed out, and sprinkled 
 on the stones around. Close beside him lay the weapon 
 with which he had evidently been killed — it was a hatchet, 
 with blood and hair still adhering to it. The position of 
 the body was peculiar, and had an awful effect upon the 
 spectators. When first he was struck down, he had fallen 
 on his side, and had lain with his arms projecting from his 
 body, and his hands clenched in the agony of death ; but 
 when I saw him, the people had turned the body on its 
 back, in order more clearly to identify the face. The arms 
 had stiffened and grown cold, and remained in their first 
 position, stuck out in front, projecting from the body ; the 
 hands were shut close and tight, and were exactly in the 
 attitude of a man sparring desperately with his adversary, 
 and defending himself even in death. The sight was very 
 dreadful. A neighbour soon after brought a linen cloth, 
 and threw it over the body. I rejoined my family on their 
 way to church and told them what I had seen. Soon after 
 I gave information to the police resident in Cloughjordan, 
 who went out and scoured the country, but without 
 success. He was a tenant who had dared to take some 
 vacant land. 
 
 Such scenes as these could not fail to produce a strong 
 effect upon the gentry resident around, and urgent letters 
 were written by myself and other gentlemen to the Govern- 
 ment ; and at last a ' Special Commission ' was ordered at 
 Clonmel for the trial of several Ribbon cases, and of Mr. 
 Hall's murderer in particular, of the guilt of whom the 
 authorities had not a doubt. 
 
 The Special Commission was looked upon, and justly so, 
 as a very formidable affair. The judges chosen by the 
 Government to preside, were Judges Doherty and Penne- 
 father. They sat together, as is usual in a special com- 
 mission. Almost all the gentlemen in the country attended 
 
58 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iv. 
 
 and were prepared to serve as jurors ; and Clonmel, where 
 the Commission was held, was crowded to excess. The 
 opening of the Commission had a very solemn effect. The 
 first trial was that of Mr. Hall's murderer. The prisoner 
 was again brought to the bar and arraigned. He was 
 paler than when tried before at Nenagh, but he still pre- 
 served the same impassive resolution. The grand jury 
 was duly sworn, the bills were found, and then came the 
 swearing-in of the petty jury who were to try the case, and 
 on whom the cause of justice and the life of the prisoner 
 depended. The prisoner was allowed twenty challenges 
 peremptorily, and as many more as he could show cause 
 for. It was an exciting scene, and great quickness and 
 knowledge of character were required on the part of the 
 prisoner's counsel and attorney. Of course their object, so 
 far as their right of challenge would allow them, was to 
 challenge and reject all the firm, fair, and upright men in 
 the county, and to place upon the jury the timid, or those 
 whose sympathies, from political, religious, or other reasons, 
 might be supposed to lean towards the prisoner. 
 
 But they had not much time to decide. As the name of 
 each juror resounded through the court, and the person 
 called answered to his name, the crier handed the small 
 testament to the man now about to be sworn, and said 
 aloud, slowly and solemnly, ' Prisoner, look upon the 
 juror — ^juror, look upon the prisoner;' and then he com- 
 menced the oath. At this moment, and with no more 
 time to consult or determine than I have stated, the 
 prisoner's attorney cried out in a loud voice ' Challenge ! !' 
 if he thought the juror likely to be unfavourable to his 
 , cause. The effect was very striking. And as gentleman 
 after gentleman, and magistrate after magistrate were 
 'challenged,' it became a decided compliment to be re- 
 jected. 
 
1838.] THE RIBBON CODE. 59 
 
 At length my name was called ; I answered, came for- 
 ward to the front, and took the testament in my hand. I 
 felt that all eyes were upon me. It was well known that 
 the murder had been committed near my residence, and 
 that I had been almost present at the scene. ' Prisoner, 
 look upon the juror — ^juror, look upon the prisoner.' We 
 both looked steadily at each other, and just as I thought 
 the oath was about to be administered, ' Challenge ! ! ' re- 
 sounded through the court. I cannot describe my emotion 
 as I felt relieved from the onus of such a trial. 
 
 At length a jury — and by no means a bad one — was 
 sworn. So many good jurors had attended that the 
 prisoner had indeed no great choice ; his challenges were 
 soon exhausted, and a jury admitted in general to be a fair 
 one, proceeded now to listen to the intensely interesting 
 statement of the Attorney-General, who began to open 
 his case. The trial proceeded with all the grave solemnity 
 which was suited to such an occasion. The witnesses 
 gave their evidence clearly, consistently, and well, nor did 
 the cross-examination of the prisoner's counsel, though 
 conducted in the ablest manner, shake their testimony in 
 the least. All who heard the evidence plainly saw that a 
 conviction must ensue. 
 
 The disclosures which the informer had necessarily made 
 when examined on the previous trial, gave the prisoner's 
 counsel a great advantage over him. He now knew the 
 whole of the informer's story, and made the most of his 
 knowledge in his cross-examination ; but still he failed to 
 shake the frightful truthfulness of his evidence. One scene 
 struck me much. After the witness had detailed how he 
 had himself undertaken to be the murderer, and had twice 
 stolen behind Mr. Hall for the purpose of shooting him in 
 the back, and had only given up his design because he 
 fancied it was ' unlucky,' the prisoner's counsel said, 
 
6o REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iv. 
 
 * Then it was not your conscience which smote you ? ' 
 ' Not a bit ! ' replied the man. 
 
 ' And you stole up behind the poor old gentleman to 
 shoot him for money ? ' said the lawyer. 
 
 ' / did! 
 
 ' I suppose you would do anything for money .-* ' 
 
 ' / would', replied the man, quite unappalled and growing 
 desperate. 
 
 The lawyer still continued to excite him : — 
 
 ' You would shoot yonr fat hcj' for money, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' / wojild^ exclaimed the man furiously. 
 
 ' Or your mother ? ' 
 
 • / zvould! 
 
 ' Or your sister ? ' 
 
 ' I would! 
 
 ' Or your brother ? ' continued the counsel. 
 
 ' Ay, or yourself either I ' cried the infuriated ruffian, 
 almost leaping from his chair, and turning round so suddenly 
 within a few feet of his cross-examiner's head, that his 
 usually undaunted nerve seemed almost appalled by the 
 ferocity of the savage. A thrill of horror ran through the 
 court, whilst some however could not help smiling, and 
 S3me laughing outright at the unexpected start given to 
 the able cross-examiner. The effect upon the jury however 
 seemed to me to be the reverse of what the counsel had 
 intended. His object had been to impeach the witness's 
 veracity by making him admit his own depravity, never for 
 one moment believing that he would have acknowledged 
 to such frightful recklessness in crime ; but the admissions 
 he made of his willingness to commit any barbarity, and 
 the ferocity with which he turned upon his cross-exam- 
 iner, left not a doubt upon the mind of anyone who 
 had witnessed the scene, of the truthfulness of his tes- 
 timony. 
 
,.^^ 
 
o 
 
 
1838.] THE RIBBON CODE. 6 1 
 
 The jury soon after retired: no one left the court; and 
 during their absence no new trial was commenced. A pain- 
 ful suspense pervaded the whole assembly, and whispers 
 only were heard. The prisoner had been allowed to sit 
 down ; but he soon rose again, and stood undaunted in the 
 dock with the eyes of all upon him. At length the door of 
 the jury room opened— the jurors slowly took their seats — 
 the prisoner gave one rapid glance at the impenetrable 
 countenance of the foreman, and being unable to read his 
 fate immediately withdrew his eyes. The names of the 
 jurors were called over, and the foreman was asked whether 
 they had agreed upon their verdict. * Guilty ! ' was his 
 grave reply, as he handed in his written paper. A sup- 
 pressed murmur ran through the court. I could not say 
 that it was either approbation or the reverse; it seemed to 
 be the letting loose of pent-up feelings. The two judges 
 simultaneously assumed the black cap, and Judge Doherty 
 pronounced the sentence of the law in the awful terms — so 
 dreadful to hear when pronounced against a living being- 
 telling him to his face as he stands in health and strength 
 before you, that he must be taken from the place where he 
 now stands to the prison from whence he came, and from 
 thence to the common place of execution, and be there 
 hanged by the neck till he is dead, and that his body must 
 be buried within the precincts of the gaol — and — ' May the 
 Lord have mercy on your soul.' 
 
 The prisoner did not utter a word, but during the momen- 
 tary and oppressive silence which prevailed after the last 
 solemn words were spoken, an agonised and piercing shriek 
 rang through the hall — and a young woman was carried out 
 fainting. A terrible sensation thrilled through the whole 
 court — I saw the young man's frame quiver convulsively 
 as if a sharp knife had entered into his flesh, but he did 
 not otherwise move. He looked his judge steadily in the 
 
62 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. iv. 
 
 face — gave one glance around the court — saw his last hope 
 was gone — and then with a compressed lip, but quietly and 
 unmoved as before, he stepped down from the bar, and I 
 never saw him again. He was executed in a fortnight after 
 his conviction. 
 
 Tipperary for a long time after was quiet. 
 
1843] FARNEY. , 6^ 
 
 •J 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FARNEY. 1843. 
 
 About three years after the occurrences described in the 
 preceding chapter, whilst still residing at Sopwell Hall, in 
 the month of March 1843, I received a letter from a friend 
 in England, stating that Mr. Shirley's agent in the Co. 
 Monaghan had died suddenly, and that he had recommen- 
 ded Mr. Shirley to offer the agency to me. He mentioned 
 further that Mr. Shirley had consented to do so, on certain 
 conditions specified, and that if I was desirous of obtaining 
 a first-class agency, with a high salary attached, it would 
 be advisable that I should proceed at once to London, and 
 wait on Mr. Shirley in person. 
 
 I immediately resolved to accept of this proposal, and in 
 a few hours I was on my way to London. After a satis- 
 factory interview, during which all was arranged and the 
 terms mutually agreed on, it was settled that I should 
 return to Ireland in company with my new employer. 
 
 We arrived in due course at Carrickmacross on March 30, 
 1843, and we immediately put up at Shirley House, the 
 agent's residence, situated close to the town. But I was 
 somewhat startled on hearing during the first evening of 
 our arrival, that no sooner had the tenants ascertained that 
 Mr. Mitchell, the late agent, had suddenly expired in the 
 Court House of INIonaghan, than that very night, they 
 lighted fires on almost every hill on the estate; and over 
 a district of upwards of twenty thousand acres, there was 
 
64 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. v. 
 
 scarcely a mile without a bonfire blazing in manifestation 
 of joy at his decease. So remarkable an occurrence as this 
 could not pass unobserved by one who was now about to 
 succeed him. 
 
 The next day, being Friday, Mr. Shirley and I went 
 early into the office, where we had a long conversation with 
 the chief clerk, a most intelligent man. I found from him 
 that the tenants on the estate were much excited, that they 
 considered themselves (whether rightly or wron-^ly he did 
 not say) ground down to the last point by the late agent ; 
 that they had for some time previously meditated an open 
 rebellion against him, but now that he was dead, they 
 determined to rise and demand a reduction of rent and the 
 removal of the many grievances with which they stated that 
 they were oppressed. 
 
 After two or three hours of anxious consultation, without 
 anything very definite having been arrived at, we left the 
 office ; and on emerging into the open space before the 
 door we found ourselves surrounded by a large body of men, 
 who had quietly gathered outside whilst we were talking 
 within ; and the moment we appeared they demanded in 
 loud and threatening tones, a reduction of their rents and 
 the removal of all their grievances. 
 
 Mr. Shirley was taken much by surprise at this unex- 
 pected aspect of affairs : — 
 
 ' What do you want .-' ' said he, when some little silence 
 was restored. 
 
 ' We want a reduction of our rents,' said a man who 
 seemed to be the spokesman. ' We are determined to pay 
 the present rents no longer. We are pressed and ground 
 down, and we must have a removal of our grievances.' 
 Here shouting commenced, and sticks were whirled in 
 the air. 
 
 The sub-inspector of police now appeared upon the 
 
1843] FARNEY. 65 
 
 scene, and offered Mr. Shirley assistance from that body ; 
 but Mr. Shirley, under the impression that there was no 
 danger, declined it. 
 
 As soon as silence was restored, Mr. Shirley replied, 
 
 ' Well, I must say I am much surprised at your conduct, 
 which is anything but what I expected from my tenants ; 
 but if you will come to me on Monday next, you shall have 
 an answer to your demands.' 
 
 ' Monday ! Monday ! ' was shouted on all sides. The 
 most frenzied excitement ensued. Hats were thrown in 
 the air, sticks were flourished on all sides, and the men 
 actually danced with wild delight. After a little time how- 
 ever the crowd cleared away, and the news flew like wild- 
 fire over the town and country, that the whole tenantry 
 were told to come in on Monday next, that they might 
 know the amount of the reduction to be granted, and have 
 all their grievances removed ! 
 
 Such was the story put about ; and the tenantry resolved 
 accordingly to get up an imposing demonstration. Emis- 
 saries were sent round on Sunday to urge every man on the 
 estate to be in Carrickmacross next day. Those on the 
 Bath Estate adjoining were also invited to come in with a 
 view to add to the demonstration. 
 
 No sooner had the crowd dispersed than Mr. Shirley saw 
 the consequences of telling his tenantry to come in on 
 Monday without having limited them to a respectable depu- 
 tation. He therefore directed that a placard should be 
 printed and posted up, of which the following is a copy : — 
 
 * Mr. Shirley begs to inform the tenantry of the Shirley 
 property that having received an application from them 
 requesting a reduction of rent, in consequence of th epast 
 and present depressed state of prices of grain and cattle, 
 and having given that application the fullest consideration 
 in his power, he has to inform the tenantry that as it is his 
 
 F 
 
66 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. v. 
 
 opinion that the present distress has not been caused, so far 
 as the Shirley tenantry are concerned, by high rents ; and 
 that therefore, although both willing and anxious to relieve 
 the really distressed, yet he does not feel bound to make 
 at present, either a temporary or a permanent reduction in 
 the rent of the Shirley Estate, as it is generally admitted 
 that considering the rents charged on other properties; the 
 rental of the Shirley property is not unreasonable. 
 
 * Under these circumstances Mr. Shirley must decline 
 meeting the tenantry on Monday next as proposed, and 
 he trusts the tenantry will on that day remain at home 
 and attend to their ordinary business. 
 
 ' Carrickmacross, April I, 1843.' 
 
 This placard, posted up on Saturday, was torn down by 
 the people on Sunday. It exasperated them more than 
 before and they now foresaw and prepared for a fierce 
 struggle. Nothing could exceed the excitement which 
 prevailed throughout the entire day, especially at all the 
 chapels, and it was resolved that about ten thousand men, 
 selected from both estates, which comprised almost the 
 whole barony of Farney, should march on Monday into 
 Carrickmacross to receive Mr. Shirley's statement, and act 
 as circumstances required. 
 
 Up to this period I had scarcely spoken a word, and had 
 ventured no advice whatever. The whole thing was so 
 sudden and unexpected by me, who had just arrived an 
 entire stranger in the country, that I resolved to remain 
 passive and see the issue of this strange adventure. 
 
 I may here mention that the people of the barony of 
 Farney are a very peculiar race. The whole barony was 
 formerly granted by Queen Elizabeth to Walter, Earl 
 of Essex, in the year 1576.* It was then a wild and 
 
 * See 'Some Account of the Territory or Dominion of Farney,' by E. P. 
 Sliirley, Esq. 
 
1843] FARNEY. 67 
 
 almost unenclosed alder plain and consisted chiefly of 
 coarse pasturage, interspersed with low alder scrub. The 
 inhabitants at that time were few, and industrial pursuits 
 were almost wholly unattended to. War and plunder 
 were the chief occupations of the male portion of the 
 population, and under the leadership of their chieftains the 
 Macmahons, (Farney was then called 'the Macmahons' 
 country,') they carried on an almost continuous strife with 
 the neighbouring clans of the Co. Monaghan, sometimes 
 fighting amongst themselves, and sometimes joining against 
 the common enemy — the English, who had then a difficult 
 task to subdue the native inhabitants, and to locate them- 
 selves in Ireland. 
 
 Even up to the year 1606 the country of the Mac- 
 mahons was only partially subdued, so that when the 
 Lord Deputy, the Lord Chancellor, and the Chief Justice 
 of Ireland found it necessary to pass through this wild 
 district on their journey to the north of Ireland, to hold a 
 commission of assize, they were accompanied by ' a guard 
 of six or seven score of foot, and fifty or threescore 
 horse, which,' adds Sir John Davis who writes the account, 
 ' is an argument of a good time and a confident deputy, 
 for in former times (when the state enjoyed the best peace 
 and security) no Lord Deputy did ever venture himself 
 into those parts without an army of eight hundred or one 
 thousand men.'* 
 
 At this time, 1606, the estate of the Earl of Essex ap- 
 pears to have been but of trifling value to its noble owner, 
 inasmuch as a lease of the whole barony, with all its 
 profits, &c. was granted to Ever Macmahon for a yearly 
 rent of 250/. payable in Dublin,'^ the latter clause being 
 
 * See * Some Account of the Territory or Dominion of Famey," by E. P. 
 Shirley, Esq. 
 + Ibid. 
 
68 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. v. 
 
 apparently an important provision and one not very easily 
 accomplished. 
 
 In the peaceful times which followed the accession of 
 James I. the lands began to rise considerably in value, and 
 in the year 1618, the territory of Farney appears to have 
 been let to Brian Macmahon for one year at the greatly in- 
 creased rent of 1500/.* 
 
 In the year 1636, it appears by a * Rent Role' now in my 
 possession, and signed by Thomas Cromwell, that 'the 
 Earl of Essex ' land in Ferney and Clancaruile for ^ ye : 
 1633' amounted in value to 1021/. 19^. 2d., and the total 
 number of tenants (a full list of whom is given together 
 with the names of the lands they occupied) amounted to 
 38. Patrick McLoughlin and Richard Blaney, Esq. ap- 
 pear by this curious document to have been the highest 
 rent payers on the estate, the one paying 60/. \s. 8d. and 
 the other 40/. half-yearly. The total yearly rent then 
 amounted to 2022/. i8.f. 4^. 
 
 At this time also, 1636, a complete survey appears to 
 have been made, probably the first ever made of the barony, 
 and a beautiful set of maps were laid down on vellum, 
 executed in a masterly manner. This survey and set of 
 maps complete, giving all the denominations of the several 
 lands very nearly corresponding with the names at present 
 in use, are now in existence, carefully bound up in a large 
 volume, and are still in perfect preservation at Longleat, the 
 seat of the Marquis of Bath in Wiltshire, the present owner 
 of one moiety of the barony. 
 
 In 1646, Robert the third Earl of Essex died, and his es- 
 tates devolved on his sisters Lady Frances and Lady 
 Dorothy Devereux, the former of whom married Sir Wil- 
 liam Seymour afterwards Marquis of Hertford, and the 
 
 * See ' Some Account of the Territory or Dominion of Farney,' by E. P. 
 Shirley, Esq. 
 
1843] FARNEY. 69 
 
 latter married Sir Henry Shirley, Bart., the ancestor of the 
 present proprietor of the other moiety of the barony. 
 
 The barony (the church lands excepted) continued for a 
 considerable time in the joint possession of these two 
 families who derived from the co-heiresses Lady Frances 
 and Lady Dorothy Devereux, and at length in the year 
 1692, Thomas Thynne, Viscount Weymouth, ancestor of 
 the present Marquis of Bath, being possessed of one moiety, 
 and Robert Shirley, Lord Ferrers, being in possession of 
 the other moiety, a final division was agreed on and made 
 between the parties. 
 
 The division of the territory of Farney, effected in the 
 year 1692, was made under the direction of Mr. John Main- 
 waring and Mr. Richard Drakeford,'^ and the value of the 
 eastern moiety, or present Bath property, was set down by 
 them as worth 13 13/. 14s. 4^d. per annum, and the value of 
 the western moiety, or present Shirley property, was set 
 down as worth 13 13/. 14s. 2d. per annum. The centre of 
 the main street of Carrickmacross formed the boundary 
 line between the two estates. 
 
 In the year 1729, the estates above-described appear to 
 have been estimated at 2000/. per annum each, and in 1 769 
 Lord Weymouth's, now the Bath Estate, was estimated at 
 3000/. per annum, and the Shirley Estate at 5000/. Total, 
 8000/. per annum. 
 
 During almost the entire of the 1 8th century the lands 
 of Farney were held by * middlemen,' as the intermediate 
 tenant, between the landlord and the occupier of the soil, 
 was called, and it was during this period that the native 
 inhabitants, few or none of whom were ever displaced by 
 the aristocratic owners of the soil, increased and multiplied 
 to a vast extent ; and that the waste and wild lands were 
 
 * See 'Some Account of the Territory or Dominion of Farney,' by E. P. 
 Shirley, Esq. 
 
70 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. v. 
 
 fenced and enclosed, and ultimately brought into cultivation 
 to meet the wants of this rapidly-increasing population ; so 
 that in the year 1843, only 74 years after the estimated 
 value of the year 1769, I found on my arrival at Carrick- 
 macross, that the rent-roll of the two estates together 
 amounted to upwards of 40,000/. per annum, whilst the in- 
 habitants had increased in such an extraordinary manner 
 that by the census of 1841 the population amounted to 
 something upwards of 44,107 souls. 
 
 The brief outline which I have thus given of the history 
 of this remarkable barony will assist in explaining the 
 position in which I found matters at Carrickmacross on my 
 first arrival in the month of March 1843. The Celt in all 
 his purity had been allowed to increase and multiply. Irish 
 was the language at that time chiefly spoken by the people. 
 Schools for the education of the young were then few and 
 far between. The national system of education was only 
 in its infancy, and though the people were most docile and 
 easily led, and generally obedient to their superiors, yet 
 when once assembled in masses or roused by any common 
 cause, their old natural temperament seemed suddenly to 
 rise to the surface, and they became capable of the wildest 
 and most frenzied excitement. 
 
 The population of Farney amounted, as I have stated, at 
 that time to 44,107 souls. The extent of land was 41,567 
 acres Irish, or 67,335 acres statute measure. The valuation 
 of the land, including Church lands, was about 46,395/. per 
 annum. So that by the above it will appear that there was 
 more tJian one Jmman being for every Irish acre of land in 
 the barony, and nearly one human being for every i/. 
 valuation per annum of the land. Such were the masses 
 with whom we had now to deal. 
 
 Monday, April 3, was a warm and lovely day, and the 
 sun shone out in all the brilliancy of Spring. The people 
 
1843.] FARNEY. 71 
 
 poured into the town by thousands, and it was generally 
 considered that not less than ten thousand men, inclusive 
 of strangers and the tenants of the Bath Estate, had assem- 
 bled in Carrickmacross. 
 
 Shirley House, the agent's residence, is situated about two 
 hundred yards outside the town of Carrickmacross. There 
 is an open space before it, and exactly opposite, receding 
 a little from the road, is the agent's rent-office. So that 
 there is room for a very large crowd to assemble on the 
 road and in the space between the office and the house. 
 Looking out of the screened window, which commanded a 
 view of the open space, it was rather formidable to see the 
 vast and excited mass of people which had assembled to 
 hear Mr. Shirley's ultimatum. 
 
 Mr. Evatt, agent to the estate of the Marquis of Bath, 
 had also been called into council ; and it was his decided 
 advice not to yield to the demands of the people, that if 
 one estate gave way the other must follow, and the barony 
 would be completely disorganised ; but that if the people 
 were steadily met and their demands refused, they would, 
 he thought, all go home quietly at once. From what I saw 
 going on outside, I doubted much that matters could so 
 easily be disposed of. I was, however, an utter stranger, 
 supposed by all parties there to know nothing of the country 
 or the people, and I therefore remained silent. 
 
 At length it became necessary that some one should 
 address the tenantry, as they were becoming restless and 
 very noisy, and accordingly Mr. Shirley requested me to go 
 outside and tell them his determination : That he would 
 not reduce their rents. That they might give up their land 
 if they pleased, but that they had little or no cause of 
 complaint. 
 
 I went out accordingly, having received these instructions. 
 
72 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. v. 
 
 and passing through the people and across the open space 
 to the office, I endeavoured to address the crowd. 
 
 ' A chair ! a chair ! ' was shouted on all sides, ' put him 
 on a chair that we may hear him.' So a chair was brought, 
 and on it I stood facing this wild mob. 
 
 When raised on the chair I addressed the people. I told 
 them that I was a perfect stranger ; that at present I knew 
 nothing of their case, that I believed Mr. Shirley was a 
 most kind and indulgent landlord ; and that after the fullest 
 and most mature consideration he had come to the conclu- 
 sion that no reduction of rent was necessary. I said that I 
 hoped by better management, and more careful husbandry, 
 they would yet find that they could pay their rents without 
 any serious distress, and in short, I softened off as well as I 
 could a most unpleasant task. I added further that as to 
 the other grievances of which they complained, Mr. Shirley 
 had not yet had a full statement laid before him concern- 
 ing them, but if any such really existed he was willing 
 and anxious to afford a remedy — that I should be happy 
 to visit as many of the tenants as I could personally, and 
 wherever I found a real grievance or injustice to exist, they 
 might be assured I would have it removed. 
 
 There was a dead silence when I stopped speaking. It 
 was broken by a stentorian voice. 
 
 ' Then you won't reduce our rents } ' 
 
 ' I have already given you Mr. Shirley's answer upon that 
 point,' said I. ' Stranger as I am, it is impossible for me to 
 form any opinion as to whether they are too high or not.' 
 
 * Down on your knees, boys ! ' shouted the same voice ; * we 
 will ask him once more upon our knees ! ' and to my horror 
 and amazement the vast crowd, almost all at least who were 
 in my immediate vicinity, dropped suddenly on their knees, 
 and another dead silence ensued. 
 
 It was a dreadful spectacle. Their hats were on their 
 
1 843-] FARNEY. '] ^ 
 
 heads, and their sticks in their hands, some leaning upon 
 them as they knelt, others balancing and grasping them. 
 It was fearful to see the attitude of supplication, due only 
 to a higher power, thus mingled with a wild defiance. 
 
 ' We ask yon upon otir knees, for God's sake to get ns a 
 reduction of onr rents ! ' again the same voice cried aloud. 
 
 I was greatly shocked. I instantly got down off the 
 chair. I entreated them to rise. I told them that I was 
 distressed beyond measure, but that I had given them the 
 only message I was authorised to give ; and quite overcome 
 by such a scene, I endeavoured to move again across the 
 crowded space from the office, in order to enter the house, 
 and report proceedings to Mr. Shirley, intending to request 
 that he would himself appear and address his excited 
 tenantry. 
 
 The moment I moved towards the door, the vast crowd 
 leaped again to their feet ; I was instantly surrounded, 
 hustled, and prevented from getting near it. I bore this 
 good-humouredly, and the door being quite close to me, I 
 had no doubt they would ultimately let me in. But whilst 
 this scene was going on, a shout was raised by those who 
 were at a distance up the road leading to the town, and 
 who had not heard what had been said. * Bring him up — 
 bring him up, and let us see him ! ' In a moment I was 
 seized, and though I resisted to my utmost, I was dragged 
 up the narrow road which led from Shirley House to the 
 town. I was kicked and beaten, and pushed and bruised, 
 my hat knocked off, and my clothes torn ; and in this state 
 I was dragged into the main street of Carrickmacross, 
 
 Here a scene of the wildest excitement took place, some 
 cried one thing — some another. I was beaten again, my 
 clothes torn off my back, and sticks whirled over my head. 
 Four or five policemen met me as I was being dragged 
 along, but they might as well have attempted to stop the 
 
74 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. v. 
 
 rushing of an Atlantic wave, as to stem the crowd that had 
 assembled around me ; and they only looked on and let 
 me pass. 
 
 When in the main street, the people again wanted me to 
 get upon a chair and speak, but I refused. I could not do 
 so in the first place, and in the next I knew it would be 
 useless — so I kept as quiet as I could, determined to reserve 
 my strength till I should see the issue of this strange affair, 
 but with little hope, at the time, that I should ever get 
 out of their hands alive. 
 
 After a time, the people themselves being I believe as 
 ignorant of what to do next as I was, a rumour — totally 
 unfounded as it turned out — ran through the crowd that 
 Mr. Shirley had fled from the agent's residence, and had 
 gone out to his castle at Lough Fea, about a mile and a 
 half from the town. A cry was at once raised by those 
 around me, ' Bring him out, bring him out to the castle, 
 and we will put him face to face with Mr. Shirley ; ' and 
 immediately the whole body began to move towards the 
 castle, dragging me along with them. 
 
 By this time, however, all those who were tolerably well 
 disposed, and who had no wish at all events to be par- 
 ticipators in a murder, began to move off from my imme- 
 diate neighbourhood ; and some who had at first spoken 
 kindly to me, when they saw the ill-treatment I received, 
 fearing now that matters were becoming serious, and that 
 murder was likely to ensue, deserted me ; and I was left in 
 the hands of the vilest and most furious of the mob. 
 
 At length after walking some distance, I was so beaten 
 and ill-treated, that I felt myself becoming faint, and well 
 knowing that if once I fell, I should be trodden down 
 without a chance of my life, I asked to stop for a few 
 minutes to breathe, I shall never forget that moment. 
 I was then about a mile from the town on the broad 
 
1843.] FARNEY. 75 
 
 and open road leading to Loughfea Castle. I turned 
 and looked around me, thinking my last hour was come, 
 and anxious to see if there was one kind face, one coun- 
 tenance, I had ever seen before, who could at least tell my 
 friends how I had died. But I looked in vain. The hills 
 were crowded with people. The long line of road was one 
 mass of human beings, whilst those immediately around 
 me, mad with excitement, seemed only to thirst for my 
 blood. 
 
 Having got a few moments' breathing-time, and seeing 
 all appeal to be vain, I turned again on my way, deter- 
 mined, however, to hold out to the last, as I felt that to fall 
 or to faint must be certain death. Just then I became 
 conscious of an able hand and a stout heart beside me, and 
 I heard a whisper in my ear : ' They are determined to 
 have your blood, but hold up, they shall have mine first.' 
 The speaker grasped my arm firmly under his own, and 
 walked on steadily by my side. 
 
 By this time I was completely naked with the exception 
 of my trowsers. My coat, even my shirt, had been torn 
 off, and I walked on, still beaten and ill-treated, like a man 
 to execution ; my head bare, and without any clothes from 
 my waist upwards. To increase the misery of my situa- 
 tion, I found that my friend had been beaten and dragged 
 away in spite of himself, and again I was left alone in the 
 hands of those merciless men. I felt also I could now go 
 no further, and that a last effort must be made before my 
 senses left me from exhaustion. Stopping therefore once 
 more, I asked to be led towards a high bank at the road- 
 side, and leaning against this I turned and faced those 
 whom I now believed would soon become my murderers. 
 
 ' I can go no further,' said I ; ' what have you brought 
 me here for .-• What do you want me to do .-* ' Again the 
 same voice which I had first heard at the office, though I 
 
76 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. v. 
 
 could not identify the speaker from the shouting and con- 
 fusion around me, cried aloud, ' We want a reduction of 
 our rents, will you promise to get us that ? ' 
 
 There are times of instant danger, when it is said that 
 the whole of a man's past life rushes before him in the 
 space of a single moment. If ever there be such a time, 
 this was such to me. I stood there, exhausted, without one 
 friendly face on which to rest, and surrounded by the worst 
 of ten thousand men who seemed determined to have a 
 victim. I knew and felt all this. So I said very quietly, 
 as a last effort to save my life, and hoping they would 
 name something I could promise to ask, 
 
 * And what reduction will you be content with .'' ' 
 Again the same voice replied, 
 
 ' We will never pay more than one -half our present rents.' 
 
 * Then,' said I, ' there ends the matter. / never tvill 
 promise that.' 
 
 There was a pause, and a dead silence. I stood naked 
 and bareheaded before them. They stood opposite to me, 
 with their sticks clenched in their hands, ready to strike. I 
 looked at them, and they at me. They hesitated ; no one 
 zvould strike me first. I saw that they wavered, and 
 instinctively, in a moment I felt that I had won. This 
 sudden revulsion of feeling — though I was still externally 
 motionless — sent the blood throbbing to my temples with 
 a rush that became almost oppressive. But the strange 
 pause continued — when at length a shout was raised from 
 the old stentorian voice again, ' Stand off, boys — for your 
 lives ! no one shall harm him — he is a good man after all ! ' 
 and in a moment I was surrounded by a new set of faces, 
 who dashed furiously towards me. They raised me on 
 their shoulders, swept my old enemies away from me, 
 procured me some water to drink, and carried me, now 
 
1843] FARNEY. "]*] 
 
 completely overcome, exhausted, and almost fainting, into 
 the demesne of Loughfea. 
 
 Here again these suddenly converted friends desired me 
 to get up on a chair, and speak to the crowd now assembled 
 before the castle. I did so. A reaction for the moment 
 had taken place within me, and I felt some return of 
 strength. 
 
 I told the people I had never injured them. That it was 
 a shame, and a disgrace of which I had not believed any 
 Irishman to be capable, to treat a stranger as they had 
 dealt with me that day. That in my own county I could 
 have as many to fight for me as were now against me, and 
 in short I abused them right heartily and soundly. They 
 bore it without a murmur. My new friends cheered me 
 vociferously, and I was carried, now quite unable to walk, 
 into the Castle of Loughfea. Mr. Shirley's architect here 
 appeared upon the scene, and perceiving that the people 
 were much exasperated at not finding Mr. Shirley at the 
 castle, and that some of the most violent were disposed in 
 consequence to make a fresh attack upon me as I was being 
 carried exhausted inside the gates, he promised to speak to 
 Mr. Shirley in their favour, and in some degree calmed 
 their feelings. The excitement was past. Mr. Shirley had 
 not been there, and the people at last quietly dispersed. 
 
 In the evening I was conveyed in a covered carriage to 
 Carrickmacross, blackened with bruises, stiff and sore, and 
 scarcely able to stand — musing over the strange trans- 
 actions which had happened that day — and wrapped in a 
 countryman's frieze coat which had been borrowed to cover 
 my nakedness. 
 
1843.] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 79 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 
 
 It may readily be supposed that the causes of an outbreak 
 so serious as that which has been described in the pre- 
 ceding chapter, became a subject of very grave reflection 
 with me. 
 
 I felt confident that the Ribbon Confederacy, with the 
 operations of which I had become conversant through my 
 intercourse with the peasantry of Tipperary, had nothing 
 whatever to do with the outrage which had recently been 
 committed. It appeared to be a sudden rising of the people 
 by no means previously planned or premeditated. I had 
 been much struck whilst in the hands of the mob, by 
 the expressions which had occasionally escaped them, 
 and which at the time I did not in the least understand, 
 but which showed that other influences than Ribbonism 
 operated strongly on their minds. 
 
 ' By this and by that,' cried one, ' but we'll stand the 
 grippers no lo7igcr ! ' 
 
 ' Down with the coppers ! ' * cried another ; ' we won't 
 stand their being riz a farthing ! ' 
 
 * We'll hang the keepers, every mother's son of them,' 
 
 * Where there had been odd pence in the tenants' yearly rent, the previous 
 agent had raised the amount to what he called ' the even shilling. ' Thus, if a 
 tenant's yearly rent had amounted to, say, 6/. loj. (jd., he raised it to 6/. \\s. 
 The alteration was always on the side of increase. This they called * the 
 raising of the coppers.' 
 
8o REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vi. 
 
 cried a third ; and thus they continued in the midst of the 
 ill-treatment they inflicted upon me, making use of terms, 
 and alluding to circumstances, with which I was wholly 
 unacquainted, though the entire mob seemed to be con- 
 versant with them. These expressions, and many others 
 of a similar nature, accompanied as they were by the most 
 furious declarations that ' they would stand them no 
 longer,' left a deep impression on my mind, and con- 
 vinced me that the tenants, whether rightly or wrongly, 
 had a firm conviction that they had not been fairly treated 
 under the management of the late agent. 
 
 I therefore began, steadily, but unobserved by the 
 tenantry, to ascertain whether they really had, or had not, 
 any just grounds of complaint. Whilst thus engaged, I 
 found to my surprise, that I had suddenly grown into con- 
 siderable favour amongst them. They knew they had 
 ill-treated me ; that I was an entire stranger in the district, 
 and could not possibly have done them any injury, nor 
 have influenced the decisions which had been arrived at ; and 
 finding from my manner and intercourse with them, that 
 I retained no ill-will for the past, and made no attempt, as 
 they described it, * to revenge myself upon them,' but that 
 I spoke kindly to them as if no feelings of anger remained 
 — which was indeed true — they seemed at once to place 
 the utmost confidence in me ; and thus I found myself 
 unexpectedly possessed of a strange power over this wild 
 and excitable people. 
 
 Under these circumstances I felt convinced that matters 
 should not then be urged to any further extremities against 
 them ; believing that if a little time were allowed, they 
 would see they had made a mistake in the step they had 
 recently taken, and would soon concur quietly in whatever 
 might be really just. But my advice, urged strongly to 
 that effect, was unheeded by the authorities. 
 
1843-] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 8 1 
 
 Perceiving that my motives were liable to misconstruc- 
 tion, I resolved therefore to let matters proceed without 
 any further comment, being clearly of opinion, however, 
 unless I had learned my countrymen in vain, that it would 
 be no easy matter to bring things round to a satisfactory 
 issue. Neither party now seemed inclined for any active 
 hostilities. The tenants had been so far victorious in the 
 late struggle, that they had not only ' carried off the new 
 agent ' captive, but had released him again of their own 
 free-will, uncompelled by any legal force. 
 
 The contemplation of this feat seemed to afford them 
 immense satisfaction ; and though towards me personally 
 they were most respectful, and even kindly in their manner, 
 yet my capture was considered as a decided victory gained 
 over the authorities at Carrickmacross. After much de- 
 liberation it was at length resolved by Mr. Shirley that the 
 rents which were due should be at once demanded from all 
 defaulting tenants, and if they refused to pay, that the 
 most rigorous measures should be taken to force them 
 into compliance. The bailiff was accordingly sent out to 
 warn all backward tenants to come in and settle their 
 accounts. The reply to this summons was uniform : ' They 
 would pay no rent until their grievances were redressed.' 
 
 Every power conferred by the law was therefore brought 
 to bear upon them ; some were served with notices to 
 quit ; some with processes for rent ; some with a legal 
 document called a ' latitat ;' and besides all these, * driving,' 
 upon an extensive scale was adopted, as the quickest and 
 most effective mode by which the rents could be hurried in. 
 
 Grippers, process-servers, keepers, and drivers, were now 
 brought into full requisition. The ' grippers ' were directed 
 to arrest all tenants, againsfwhom decrees for non-payment 
 of rent had been obtained. The * process-servers ' were 
 employed to serve the tenants with legal processes for rent, 
 
 G 
 
82 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap vi. 
 
 whilst the ' keepers ' were employed to watch the crops, 
 lest they should be carried away in the night ; and a nu- 
 merous staff of ' drivers ' were engaged to drive all the 
 live stock in possession of the defaulting tenants, and to 
 lodge them in the pound at Carrickmacross ; from which 
 they were not to be released until the rent was paid. 
 
 But the tenants kept a watchful eye upon all these' pre- 
 parations, which soon became known through every part of 
 the country, and they took their own measures to frustrate 
 them. To effect this object they established a system of 
 what they called ' Molly Maguires.' These ' Molly Maguires* 
 were generally stout active young men, dressed up in 
 Avomen's clothes, with faces blackened or otherwise disguised ; 
 sometimes they wore crape over their countenances, some- 
 times they smeared themselves in the most fantastic manner 
 with burnt cork about their eyes, mouths, and cheeks. In 
 this state they used suddenly to surprise the unfortunate 
 grippers, keepers, or process-servers, and either duck them 
 in bog-holes, or beat them in the most unmerciful manner 
 so that the ' Molly Maguires ' became the terror of all our 
 officials. At last neither grippers, process-servers, nor 
 keepers could be got for love or money to perform any duty 
 or to face the danger of these dreaded foes. 
 
 Under these perplexing circumstances it was determined 
 at head-quarters that I and the bailiffs should go out in a 
 body and ' drive for rent,' taking a sufficient force of police 
 along with us to ensure protection to ourselves and the 
 drivers ; and thus bring the recusant tenants to order. I 
 may here mention that the term ' driving ' was applied to a 
 summary process for recovering rent, which the law in those 
 days conferred upon the landlord, whereby he could drive 
 to the pound the cattle of any tenant who owed any rent 
 whatever, without previous notice to the tenant or any state- 
 ment of the landlord's demand having been furnished to 
 
1843.] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 83 
 
 him, and the cattle so impounded might be kept in durance 
 until the rent was paid. 
 
 I shall not readily forget the appearance of our procession, 
 as we started on this expedition. Mr. Barry the sub-inspec- 
 tor of police, an excellent officer, attended with a large force, 
 which accompanied us as our escort. In front rode the 
 bailiff of the estate. He was a short fat man, more suited 
 to peace than war ; and he did not hesitate to confide to me 
 that he was at that moment ' shaking like a hare in her 
 form.' I rode beside him partly in my official capacity as 
 agent, and partly to comfort him by my presence. Behind 
 us tramped our escort of police, and the rear was brought 
 up by three or four magistrates who had been called into 
 requisition for the occasion, and who seemed to consider it 
 a most unpleasant duty, as it undoubtedly was. 
 
 No sooner had this formidable party appeared upon the 
 roads in the open country, than the people rushed to the 
 tops of the numerous hills with which the district abounds ; 
 and as we moved forward, they ran from one hill to another 
 shouting and cheering with wild defiant cries, and keeping 
 a line parallel to that in which our party was travelling. 
 
 The object of our expedition was clearly understood by 
 the people ; and the exact position of our company was 
 indicated to those in the lowlands by the movements of the 
 parties on the hills ; and accordingly as we advanced, every 
 beast belonging to every tenant who owed rent was housed 
 or locked up, or driven somewhere away. Thus as we had 
 no legal right to break open any door, or take any cattle out 
 of any house, but only to seize those we might find in the 
 open fields and upon the lands of the defaulting tenants, 
 we soon perceived (as we might have known before we 
 started), that we were likely to return without success. The 
 bailiff declared with a sigh, ' that not a hoof nor a horn was 
 left in the whole country-side.' 
 
84 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vi. 
 
 At length when about to return home, without having 
 secured any booty whatever, we came unexpectedly upon 
 a poor little heifer calf, browsing quietly on the long grass 
 beside a hedge. The bailifif having ascertained that she was 
 grazing on the land of a tenant who was a defaulter, we 
 seized upon the unhappy little beast, and drove it inglo- 
 riously home to the pound at Carrickmacross, a distance of 
 about two miles, amidst the jeers and laughter of the popu- 
 lace, at the result of our formidable day's driving. 
 
 * Bedad, it's not every day your honour would be able to 
 bring home such grand stock as that ! ' remarked one fellow 
 as the bailiff and I rode to the pound with our prize in all 
 the dignity we could muster. 
 
 ' Ah, shure his honour comes from a good country, and 
 should know good stock when he sees it,' said another. 
 
 * Sorra hap'orth else he'd be contint with,' said a third ; 
 ' and shure isn't he going to set up an agricultural show 
 upon the estate, and that's the very baste will bear away the 
 prize anyhow, as the greatest show of them all ! ' 
 
 Annoyed as I was at the result of our expedition, yet I 
 felt it impossible to avoid laughing at their fun, and I took 
 it all good-humouredly ; not so the bailiff, he sighed and 
 groaned at the thought of how low he must have fallen in 
 the opinion of the tenants before they could have dared to 
 use such language towards him whom they had always ad- 
 dressed with respect — which indeed he had always deserved 
 — and he whispered to me in a confidential voice, that ' he was 
 ready to sink into the airth with shame.' Fortunately for 
 the credit of all parties concerned we never again attempted 
 a ' driving ' expedition. 
 
 The grippers and process-servers were now pressed again 
 into more active requisition than ever. It was no easy 
 matter for these men to perform their duties. A few chance 
 captures of defaulting tenants were occasionally made, and 
 
1S43.] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 85 
 
 the victims we re carried off to Monaghan Gaol ; but the 
 l^rocess-serx^ers, from the nature of their duties, were unable 
 to conceal their proceedings, and with them the ' Molly 
 Maguires ' carried on a remorseless war : sometimes mis- 
 leading them by false information ; sometimes terrifying 
 them so that they were compelled to flee for their lives ; 
 and sometimes actually ducking them in bog-holes or beat- 
 ing them severely with sticks ; so that they soon declared 
 they were quite ready and willing to resign their posts, but 
 until the ' Molly Maguires ' were put down, they would be 
 wholly unable to perform their duties or serve a single 
 process. 
 
 A council of war was accordingly held to take this new 
 position of affairs into consideration. It was agreed on all 
 hands that the ' Molly Maguires must be put down.' But 
 how to ' put them down ' was not so easily solved. One 
 magistrate proposed that we should lie in wait, and fire on 
 them with light shot or ' sparrow-hail ' in our guns when 
 they appeared, and he was certain they would decamp at 
 once. But when it was announced that the ' Molly 
 Maguires ' carried pistols under their petticoats, and in such 
 case would certainly use them, this design was abandoned 
 as untenable. 
 
 At length it was resolved to apply to the authorities in 
 Dublin, for an order for ' substitution of service.' The pro- 
 cess of ' substitution of service ' was never adopted except 
 where all ordinary means had previously been fairly tried 
 to serve a party or parties with a legal notice, and had 
 failed. In such cases the law allowed a legal document 
 with the name or names of the parties on it, to be posted 
 in certain public places in the parish, or barony, as the 
 case might be ; and this having been duly performed, the 
 law considered that a proper service had been effected 
 even though the party intended to be served might have 
 
86 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vi. 
 
 succeeded in evading or resisting an actual personal 
 service. 
 
 An order for ' substitution of service ' was then usually 
 obtained from the Courts in Dublin, and upon sworn infor- 
 mation to the effect stated above. In this case there could 
 be no difficulty in obtaining the order, and it was necessary 
 that the substitution process should be posted, amongst 
 other places, on the walls of the Roman Catholic chapel of 
 Magheracloon. 
 
 An expedition was accordingly arranged to carry this 
 substitution of service into effect, and the bailiff, in real 
 terror at the new enemy which had suddenly sprung up in 
 the barony in the form of the ' Molly Maguires,' prepared 
 most unwillingly to perform this unusual duty, and to post 
 the substitution notice upon the walls of Magheracloon 
 chapel. 
 
 The police who were called out in force to protect the 
 bailiff in the accomplishment of this feat, were headed by 
 the sub-inspector, and accompanied by a stipendiary magis- 
 trate. I was not present on this occasion, having gone a 
 few days previously to the county of Tipperary, to arrange 
 some business there. The bailiff, however, minutely de- 
 scribed the whole scene to me. He rode in front, as he had 
 done on the celebrated driving day, backed up and sup- 
 ported by the police ; but as soon as he came near the 
 chapel grounds, a wild shout of defiance was raised by the 
 peasantry, who began to crowd into the chapel yard, and 
 with uplifted sticks and threatening gestures swore that 
 they would never allow the walls of the chapel to be 
 desecrated by such a notice. The bailiff, a most respect- 
 able and temperate man, did his utmost to pacify the 
 excited mob. He reasoned with them as best he could ; 
 and assured them that no desecration was intended — that 
 he was only carrying out the law, which required that the 
 
'''<?«», 
 
1843.] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 87 
 
 notice should be posted on the chapel walls. But his voice 
 had no more power than if he had spoken to a storm of 
 wind ; they leaped and danced madly about, whirling 
 their sticks over their heads, and shouting that they would 
 never allow him to touch the sacred edifice. 
 
 The stipendiary magistrate now ordered him to do his 
 duty, and that he would be protected in doing it by the 
 police, and he, trembling with fear, as well he might, at 
 length approached with the notice in his hand to post it in 
 due form. No sooner had he approached towards the 
 chapel than a volley of stones sent him staggering back, 
 though none actually struck him. The police were now 
 ordered to advance. They did so amidst another shower 
 of stones. The storm of missiles still continuing and 
 several of the police having been struck and injured, they 
 were at length ordered to fire. They aimed low, and 
 directing their fire straight into the crowd of stone-throwers, 
 they soon checked the vigour of the assault — six or seven 
 men fell under the volley and rolled upon the ground. There 
 was a short pause, a dead silence ensued — but it was only 
 for a moment, and before the police could recover them- 
 selves and load again, a furious rush was made upon them 
 by the enraged populace. Stones were seen flying as thick 
 as hail ; and finally the police, apprehending that they 
 must be annihilated if they remained, ran to their cars 
 which were waiting at a little distance, and drove into 
 Carrickmacross as fast as the horses could gallop, accom- 
 panied by the stipendiary magistrate ! 
 
 The field thus quickly won, remained in the possession 
 of the insurgents. One of the rioters was killed upon the 
 spot — shot through the body. The others who fell were 
 only slightly injured ; one had his ear taken off, another 
 was wounded in the finger, another shot in the arm, but 
 
SS REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vi. 
 
 strange to say, none were seriously hurt, except the un- 
 fortunate man already mentioned. 
 
 Thus ended what the people to this day call ' The Battle 
 of Magheracloon.' 
 
 Matters now began to assume a very serious aspect. It 
 was necessary that an inquest should be held on the body 
 of the man Avho had been killed ; and much angry excite- 
 ment prevailed. A great effort was made to obtain a 
 verdict of manslaughter against the police. But the jury 
 brought in a verdict of 'justifiable homicide,' or words to 
 that effect. 
 
 It is scarcely possible to conceive the excitement which 
 a case of this kind produces in the public mind in Ireland, 
 where party feeling runs so high. The most terrible 
 denunciations were indulged in. * Blood for blood ! ' was 
 the oft-repeated cry ; and it was resolved to show sympathy 
 with the friends of the deceased by an enormous attend- 
 ance at his funeral. The funeral was accordingly immense ; 
 but a large body of police was in waiting — no outrage 
 occurred — and after a few days, the excitement gradually 
 subsided. 
 
 Shortly after this occurrence I once more earnestly 
 pressed the importance, as well as the prudence, of ceasing 
 to carry on a war in which no possible credit could be 
 gained, and where every petty success on the part of the 
 tenantry in baffling the designs of the landlord, was hailed 
 as an important victory. At length my counsels prevailed. 
 I was allowed to discharge all the grippers and process- 
 servers from employment, to discontinue all operations 
 against the tenants, and to wait quietly until the following 
 October or November, that the harvest might come round 
 and be gathered, when I felt sure that property would re- 
 sume its rights, and the rents again be paid. 
 
 An incident occurred at this time which may prove 
 
t If '1 1' '' 
 
 
 
 '^ 
 
 '/'Kra> 
 
 w^'rv 
 
i843-] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 89 
 
 interesting as showing that the ancient Celtic feeling or 
 superstition about ' the trial by blood ' was still to a certain 
 extent in existence in that part of the country. 
 
 My wife happened in a few days after the ' Battle of 
 Magheracloon/ while driving in her pony carriage, attended 
 only by a single servant, to pass the chapel where the riot 
 had taken place, and being a stranger in the country, and 
 ignorant of the road, she stopped near the chapel yard to 
 enquire the way to Carrickmacross. 
 
 A lady driving herself in a pony phaeton was not a very 
 common occurrence in those unfrequented quarters, and as 
 she conversed with the people who lived near the chapel, a 
 crowd soon collected around her. Having mentioned that 
 she was my wife, the recent battle became immediately the 
 subject of conversation, and she, anxious to calm their 
 feelings, entered into the whole case, and allowed them to 
 tell her the story from beginning to end ; and she expressed 
 deep sympathy with them at the death of the unfortunate 
 man who had been shot. They seemed gratified by her 
 sympathy and general kindness of manner, and by her 
 trusting herself alone in the midst of a crowd of rather 
 wild-looking men at such a time, and at length one of the 
 party said, 
 
 ' Maybe your ladyship would just come yourself into the 
 chapel yard, and see the place where the dead man lay ; it 
 would be kind in you to do so, as we are sure you feel ten- 
 derly for the poor man whose blood has been spilled by the 
 police.' 
 
 She was naturally unwilling to leave her carriage and go 
 into the chapel yard amongst the tomb-stones and graves, 
 escorted by this wild-looking crowd of strangers, but they 
 evidently wished for and pressed it so much that she felt 
 unwilling to disappoint or refuse them, and having naturally 
 a high courage in any difficulty or danger, she at once got 
 
90 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vi. 
 
 out of her carriage and walked with the people to see the 
 spot where the dead man had lain. There was a little 
 heap of straw lying where he had died and both the straw 
 and the ground under it were saturated with his blood. 
 
 Her courage came to her aid, and she was able even in 
 the midst of the somewhat excited crowd to look calmly- 
 down upon the sickening spectacle, and having again heard 
 them recount all the circumstances of the battle, she quietly 
 left the spot, looking steadily at the blood and straw as she 
 left — a secret though undefined feeling coming over her, 
 that she ought not to quail even at this painful sight, lest it 
 should appear to the people that her husband had been 
 guilty of having spilled the blood. 
 
 The peasants watched her closely and attentively — 
 talked rapidly amongst themselves in Irish for a while — 
 and then followed her silently from the chapel yard, with a 
 softened, respectful, and altered manner. They assisted her 
 into her carriage, crowding anxiously around to show her 
 any little attention in their power, and just as she v/as 
 about leaving, one of them said to her in an earnest voice, 
 ' Well, Mrs. Trench, I am glad ye came to look at the 
 blood ; ye never could have looked at it as ye did, if you or 
 yours had any hand in the killing of the poor boy that's 
 gone. We all acquit ye of it now. The blood would have 
 welled up in your face, if it had been ye that had done it ! ' 
 Mrs. Trench drove quietly away, the people all exclaim- 
 ing, ' Safe home to your honour, safe home.' And never 
 once did she receive an unkind or uncivil word from any of 
 the people of Farney. 
 
 I now devoted myself constantly to visiting the tenants 
 in person, listening to their complaints against each other, 
 settling their disputes, often of the most ridiculous and 
 trivial character, and m.aking myself personally acquainted 
 with them ; letting them at the same time see the principles 
 
i843-] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 9 1 
 
 upon which when left to my own judgment, I wished in 
 future to conduct the administration of the estate. 
 
 During this interesting period the strangest scenes some- 
 times presented themselves. 
 
 The grippers, it is true, had been dismissed from all 
 office employment by me but the tenants themselves con- 
 tinued to make full use of them ; and if any tenant held a 
 decree against his neighbour for debt, he employed the 
 ' grippers ' secretly to watch him as he went to the office 
 and lie in wait for him as he came out, and then a struggle, 
 a race, or a fight generally ensued between the gripper and 
 his victim. Such scenes were both painful and ludicrous. 
 I have seen the unhappy peasant looking anxiously round 
 as he came out of my office, lest a gripper employed by 
 some neighbour should be on the watch to catch him ; and 
 suddenly I have seen him start at full speed — the hitherto 
 unseen gripper close in pursuit to arrest him. Away both 
 would run taking fence after fence in stroke, whilst numbers 
 of people in the office rushed out to see the chase, apparently 
 as much interested in it as if it were a steeple-chase across 
 country. Exclamations of excitement and anxiety would 
 constantly escape the spectators : ' Bedad he has him !' ' No 
 he hasn't.' 'Oh, murder, he's down!' ' Hoorah, he's up 
 again!' 'Well done, Paddy, hoorah! the gripper's beat at 
 last ! ' It was remarkable how the sympathies of the 
 people, even when the debt was due to one of their own 
 class, appeared to be generally on the side of the man who 
 was endeavouring to evade the law. 
 
 Another singular scene came before me as a grand juror 
 at the assizes of Monaghan. I was appointed one of the 
 committee to visit and inspect the county gaol. Whilst 
 performing this duty, we entered the debtor's yard, and to 
 my utter astonishment, about ten or twelve wild-looking 
 men dropped down suddenly on their knees before me. 
 
92 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vr. 
 
 ' What is the meaning of all this .'' ' I exclaimed, looking 
 in amazement at the kneeling figures. 
 
 ' Oh yer honour, won't you have mercy on us ? here we 
 are, all poor tinants, and oh ! for God's sake, let us out to 
 our families, and we'll be good tinants evermore hereafter.' 
 
 Shocked and surprised, I assured them I had not put 
 them in gaol, and that I would make immediate enquiry 
 into their cases. 
 
 * Oh long life to yer honour for that same,' cried one of 
 the party, who still remained upon their knees, notwith- 
 standing my earnest entreaties to them to rise ; ' but bedad 
 it v/as yer honour's own self and no else put us in ; sure 
 wasn't it at the suit of the landlord, and who else set the 
 grippers at us but his agent .-* ' 
 
 I was taken quite by surprise. I left the yard as quickly as 
 I could, and having made enquiry into the case, I found they 
 had stated the truth. The clerk in my office had asked me 
 in a quiet business-like tone, ' Should he go on with the 
 decrees as usual .'' ' ' By all means,' said I ; not wishing to 
 make any change in the ordinary course of business, but 
 ignorant at the time of the exact proceedings he had 
 alluded to. He had 'gone on with the decrees,' and had 
 placed them in the hands of the grippers ; and the result 
 was the sad spectacle of kneeling tenants in the yard of 
 Monaghan Gaol. They were soon afterwards liberated. 
 
 The most remarkable cases, involving the question of 
 * tenant-right ' in its fullest northern development, used 
 also frequently to come before me in my office. It was 
 then the common practice on the estate, when a tenant 
 became insolvent, say a man with five or six acres of land, 
 and when all his sources of raising money were exhausted, 
 that he should come to the office of the estate and request 
 leave to sell his interest in the farm as yearly tenant to 
 some other tenant, approved of by the landlord or his 
 
1843.] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 93 
 
 agent, and that the proceeds should be applied to clear his 
 rent, and pay his numerous debts. It was the usual cus- 
 tom of the estate, under such circumstances, to appoint a 
 day for the sale of the defaulter's ' good-will,' and the 
 bailiff was ordered to give notice to all parties who had 
 any claims against him to appear. A regular schedule of 
 debts was then drawn up by the clerk ; each party stated 
 his claim, which was decided upon by the agent to the best 
 of his ability, generally after much wrangling and disputing 
 among themselves, and the purchase-money, frequently 
 amounting to ten or twelve pounds per acre, having been 
 lodged in the office by the tenant selected to succeed to the 
 farm, was distributed to the creditors in the presence of the 
 insolvent, in proportion to their severally proved claims, at 
 as many shillings in the pound as the purchase-money 
 would afford to give. The landlord's rent, being the first 
 charge upon the land, was always paid in full. 
 
 I ought perhaps to mention that this purchase-money 
 was given subject to the clear understanding that a new 
 valuation of the estate should be made every twenty years, 
 or thereabouts. It by no means appeared to be given as 
 * compensation for improvements,' inasmuch as the land to 
 be disposed of under these circumstances was generally in 
 the most exhausted condition, and the buildings in the 
 most ruinous state. The money was given by the incoming 
 tenant, simply and solely for the opportunity of occupying 
 the land, as a spot on which to exercise industry, or (to use 
 the expressive phrase generally in vogue at the time) to 
 ' induster upon.' 
 
 The system, which I have thus endeavoured to describe, 
 of holding a petty insolvent court for the creditors of the 
 tenants, is still in use upon some of the most respectable 
 and largest estates in the county of Monaghan, and the 
 little insolvent court is duly presided over by the agent ; 
 
94 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vi. 
 
 but it has been discontinued on the estate which was at that 
 time under my management. 
 
 At length, as the harvest was gathered in and the month 
 of November drew nigh, at which period I had pledged 
 myself to demand the rents, I began to feel very nervous 
 lest my plan should have failed, and the combination 
 against the payment of rent be continued. I selected 
 therefore two or three tenants, whom I knew had abun- 
 dance of means to pay, and having visited them and talked 
 the matter over with them in a friendly way, I expressed a 
 hope that they would now come in and pay their rents as 
 usual. They were evidently surprised and very anxious, 
 not having in the least expected that such a demand would 
 be made in such a manner ; but though I pressed them to 
 come forward and pay, they declined, saying, * they would 
 do as others did, but they would not be the first to come in.' 
 
 ' Well,' said I, ' remember I have come to you now in a 
 friendly way, and asked you as a favour to hold out no 
 longer against your landlord's rights ; I know you are well 
 able to pay your rent ; if you decline, I shall of course 
 have no alternative but to proceed against you by law.* 
 
 ' Oh murder ! what will I do .'^ ' exclaimed the tenant I 
 addressed ; ' shure I always told them not to give in, and 
 now you want me to be the first to break the pledge.* 
 
 ' Quite true,* replied I, ' that is the very reason I came to 
 you ; I knew you were a ringleader against the landlord ; 
 but you must see the law will overcome you in the end.' 
 
 * Oh murder ! ' he cried again ; ' what will I do at all .'' * 
 
 ' Drive in your cattle to the poimdl said I ; ' I will never 
 go out driving again so long as I live ; so drive in yonr 
 ozvn cattle, and then I will immediately release them, and 
 you can pay your rent at once. I must have your sub- 
 mission ; and if you don't yield, I shall have to come down 
 heavily upon you and to eject you from your farm alto- 
 
1843] BATTLE OF MAGHERACLOON. 95 
 
 gether, a necessity I should greatly regret, even though I 
 am well aware you have been a ringleader in this re- 
 bellion.' 
 
 ' Will any others do the same if I do ? ' enquired he. 
 
 ' I can't say,' replied I ; ' but I am going to one or two of 
 your neighbours who were nearly as bad as you, and I will 
 put it to them in the same way. If you and they drive in 
 your cattle to the pound in the morning, I will forget all 
 your past misdeeds, and never punish you for them ; if you 
 refuse, you must blame yourself for the consequences which 
 may ensue.' 
 
 I left him, went to his neighbours, and had nearly the 
 same conversation with them ; and to my great delight, in 
 the morning I heard that the pound was filled with the 
 cattle of the ringleaders of the opposition, driven in by 
 themselves ! 
 
 I at once ordered the liberation of the beasts ; the ring- 
 leaders came in thankfully, and cheerfully paid their rents ; 
 others followed these ' bell-wethers ' through the gap, and 
 in a little time the whole estate crowded in to pay so fast 
 that the clerk was occupied receiving rent from ten in the 
 morning till four in the afternoon for several months after 
 the abov^e occurrence. 
 
 The combination was now wholly at an end. From that 
 time, until I left, I never had the least difficulty in the 
 management of that estate. The tenants all paid up well ; 
 and large arrears, which had been due on my first coming, 
 were quietly and rapidly cleared off. 
 
 When perfect order was restored and the rents in full 
 course of being paid, I suggested some alterations in the 
 management of the estate, in a full and detailed report, 
 which I then presented to the landlord. My recommend- 
 ations, however, were not approved. I thought it there- 
 fore my duty to leave ; and after two years of anxious 
 
96 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vi. 
 
 labour not unattended with danger, I respectfully resigned 
 my situation, and committed myself again to the old 
 ' battle of life.' * 
 
 * I feel bound to say that this estate is now managed upon very different 
 principles from those which prevailed when I succeeded to the agency in 1843. 
 Mr. George Morant, a near relative of the present and late proprietor, is now 
 the agent, and a more straightforward and honourable English gentleman — 
 one more courageous in danger, warmhearted in feeling, or less likely to com- 
 mit himself to a low or mean action — never trod upon Irish soil. — W. S. T. 
 
1846.] THE POTATO- ROT. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE POTATO-ROT. 
 
 None of those who witnessed the scenes which took place 
 in Ireland during the ' potato-rot ' and the ' famine years ' 
 are likely ever to forget them. These scenes came to pass 
 within a year or two after I had resigned my post as agent 
 to the Shirley estates in the county of Monaghan. 
 
 On leaving Carrickmacross I went to reside at Cardtown, 
 my place in the Queen's County. It adjoins an extensive 
 mountain tract of land which I had purchased, and which I 
 had for some years previously been engaged in reclaiming. 
 Having resigned Mr. Shirley's agency, I was able to devote 
 my time and energies more exclusively to this work, and 
 the mode of reclaiming being chiefly through the means of 
 the potato, as the only green crop which grows luxuriantly 
 in rough ground with previously imperfect tilth, I planted 
 each year larger and larger quantities of that root. Guano 
 having been at that time (1845) recently brought into use as 
 a manure, was found to be particularly suited to the pro- 
 duction of the potato ; I accordingly applied a liberal 
 quantity to the crop, which was most luxuriant, and well 
 repaid the labour, money, and attention necessarily bestowed 
 upon it. 
 
 My plan of reclaiming was very simple. The land to be 
 acted on consisted generally of rough mountain pasture 
 covered with heather. There were no stones, or few of 
 sufficient size, to impede the course of the plough. The 
 
 H 
 
gS REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vii. 
 
 land was first limed with eighty barrels* of lime to the 
 Irish acre (about fifty to the statute acre), spread broad- 
 cast upon the surface. The land was then ploughed down 
 into what were termed ' lazy beds,' that is, narrow ridges 
 about five feet in width, with a furrow between each ridge. 
 Into these ridges the seed of the potato was put by merely 
 sticking the spade into the rough ground, and dropping in 
 the seed or * set ' at the back of the spade ; the spade 
 being then withdrawn, the seed remained two or three 
 inches under the surface. Guano, six hundredweight 
 to the acre, was then scattered over the ridges, care being 
 taken that the guano should not come into immediate 
 contact either with the seed or with the lime. And this 
 being done, the furrows were dug, the clay shovelled over 
 the ridges, and the whole made up into ' lazy beds ' — rough 
 underneath where heather and sods lay rudely massed to- 
 "■ether, but when covered up with the fresh dug soil from 
 the furrows, presenting a neat and finished appearance 
 above. The potato grew to perfection in this rude de- 
 scription of tillage ; and whilst it was growing, the heather 
 rotted under the influence of the lime, and, together with 
 the other superabundant vegetable matter, was turned by 
 the action of the lime into a most valuable manure. The 
 o-uano stimulated an enormous and luxuriant growth, and 
 when the potatoes were in course of being dug out, the act 
 of dicro'ing mixed the lime, manure, and the several soils 
 too-ether into an even texture, leaving the land which had 
 hitherto been scarcely worth one shilling per acre, in ex- 
 cellent order for sowing corn crops or grass seeds, and per- 
 manently worth at least one pound per acre. 
 
 I had taken much pains for some years previously in 
 ascertaining, through repeated experiments, the success of 
 
 ♦ The ' barrel ' of the country contains thirty-two gallons. 
 
1846.] THE POTATO-ROT. 99 
 
 this system of cultivation ; and having found that in every 
 case the process of reclamation was repaid, or nearly so, in 
 the first year by the sale of the potato crop alone, leaving 
 behind it land, increased from ten to twenty-fold in value, 
 I planted in the year 1846 about one hundred Irish 
 acres* of mountain land under potatoes, counting, as surely 
 as any farmer can count on reaping any crop, upon a 
 produce worth at least 30/. per acre. I was living at 
 this time at Cardtown, where I had been engaged in 
 building large additions to my dwelling house, in fact 
 a new house as it stands at present. My reclamation had 
 succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations, and in 
 the month of July 1846, my potato crop, for its extent 
 and luxuriance, was the wonder of everyone who saw it; 
 and at the very moderate price of threepence per stone, 
 a price potatoes could always then command, I felt 
 certain, humanly speaking, of realising by their sale at 
 least 3,000/. 
 
 The reclamation of my mountain property had been a 
 subject of considerable interest to Tnany of the most in- 
 telligent agriculturists in Ireland. In the first instance, a 
 silver medal, and afterwards a gold medal,, had been offered 
 by the Royal Agricultural Society of Ireland, ' For the 
 best report on tlie largest quantity of waste land reclaimed 
 in Ireland,' and in both cases I succeeded in obtaining this 
 honorary distinction. The whole details of the plan, and 
 the cost attendant thereon, were published in the Transac- 
 tions of the Society, and many people thought, and I was 
 myself amongst the number, that at last one of the great 
 difficulties of Ireland at that day — namely, the reclamation 
 of her waste lands, and the profitable employment of her 
 superabundant labour — was about to be solved by this 
 
 * Equal to 162 English or statute acres. 
 H 2 
 
lOO REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vir. 
 
 hitherto successful experiment.* For some years I had 
 not less than two hundred labourers, employed constantly 
 at those works, draining, levelling, liming, and the heavy 
 work of sowing and digging out again enormous quantities 
 of potatoes. A more cheering sight it was scarcely possible 
 to conceive than to witness these numerous labourers, em- 
 ployed at good wages themselves, collected from all quarters 
 v.'here labour was abundant, producing food for thousands of 
 people whilst reclaiming one of the wastes of Ireland. But 
 all this passed away like a dream on the sudden failure of 
 the potato, and ' the happy valley,' as the sloping sides of 
 my mountain property o( Baureigh, with a clear trout 
 stream running in the hollow, was frequently called by 
 those who visited the works, was by that fearful calamity 
 turned into a valley of woe. 
 
 On August 1st of that calamitous year, 1846, I was 
 startled by hearing a sudden and strange rumour that all the 
 potato fields in the district were blighted ; and that a stench 
 had arisen emanating from their decaying stalks. I immedi- 
 ately rode up to visit my crop, and test the truth of this re- 
 port; but I found it as luxuriant as ever, in full blossom, the 
 stalks matted across each other with richness, and promising 
 a splendid produce, without any unpleasant smell whatever. 
 On coming down from the mounta.in, I rode into the low- 
 land country, and there I found the report to be but too 
 true. The leaves of the potatoes on many fields I passed 
 were quite withered, and a strange stench, such as I had 
 never smelt before, but which became a well-known feature 
 in ' the blight ' for years after, filled the atmosphere adjoin- 
 ing each field of potatoes. 
 
 The next day I made further enquiries, and I found the 
 
 * All the members of the Devon Commission, accompanied by Lord Devon 
 himself, visited these works in their official capacity, and mentioned thera 
 most favourably in their report. 
 
1846.] THE POTATO-ROT. lOI 
 
 disease was fast extending, and on rooting up some of the 
 potato bulbs under the withered stalks, I found that decay- 
 had set in, and that the potato was rapidly blackening 
 and melting away. In fields having a luxuriant crop, the 
 stench was generally the first indication of disease, and the 
 withered leaf followed in a day or two afterwards. Much 
 alarm now prevailed in the country ; people looked blank 
 enough, as they asked each other if they had seen this new 
 and formidable disease. Those, like me, who had staked a 
 large amount of capital on the crop, hitherto almost a cer- 
 tainty,* and at least as sure as the crop of wheat or turnips 
 or any other agricultural produce, became extremely un- 
 easy ; whilst the poorer farmers looked on helplessly and 
 v.'ith feelings of dire dismay at the total disappearance of 
 all they had counted on for food. 
 
 Each day, from the time I first heard of the disease, I 
 went regularly to visit my splendid mountain crop, and 
 each day saw it apparently further advanced in course of 
 arriving at a healthy and abundant maturity. 
 
 On August 6, 1846 — I shall not readily forget the day — 
 I rode up as usual to my mountain property, and my feelings 
 may be imagined when before I saw the crop, I smelt the 
 fearful stench, now so well known and recognised as the 
 death-sign of each field of potatoes. I was dismayed indeed, 
 but I rode on ; and as I wound down the newly engineered 
 road, running through the heart of the farm, and which 
 forms the regular approach to the steward's house, I could 
 scarcely bear the fearful and strange smell, which came up 
 
 * There is no greater fallacy than to suppose that the potato was at that 
 time an uncertain crop. I have been a tolerably extensive tillage-farmer for 
 n great many years, and, until 1846, I never had a failure. My turnips were 
 sometimes poor and thin in dry and parching weather ; my wheat was some- 
 times smutty, and did not turn out well under the flail ; but, if I manured my 
 land well, I was always certain of my potato crop. 
 
 In my judgment the potato has never been of so good quality, since the 
 disease of 1846, as it was before it. — W. S. T. 
 
I02 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vii. 
 
 SO rank from the luxuriant crop then growing all around ; 
 no perceptible change, except the smell, had as yet come 
 upon the apparent prosperity of the deceitfully luxuriant 
 stalks, but the experience of the past few days taught me 
 that all was gone, and the crop was utterly worthless. 
 
 I need not tell how bitterly I was disappointed, over- 
 thrown as all my anticipations of profitable results were 
 by this great calamity. Not only did I foresee the loss 
 of my 3,000/. — no small sum to a man who had just sur- 
 rendered an agency of 1,000/., per annum; but I felt also 
 that the hopes of future success, on which I had expended 
 a large capital, and much time and thought for years, were 
 gone — that it would be madness ever to venture on the trial 
 of such a crop again, and that all my labour and patient 
 experiments, which had hitherto turned out so completely 
 successful, were — by this new and fearful calamity, sent by 
 the special hand of God, and the like of which had never 
 appeared in nature before — utterly blasted. 
 
 But upon this I will not dwell. It is enough to say that 
 the luxuriant stalks soon withered, the leaves decayed, the 
 disease extended to the tubers, and the stench from the 
 rotting of such an immense amount of rich vegetable matter 
 became almost intolerable. I saw my splendid crop fast 
 disappearing and melting away under this fatal disease. I 
 tried to dig the potatoes rapidly, in the hope of saving some- 
 thing ; and, in accordance with the advice of Sir Robert 
 Kane and others,! set up a temporary machine for the con- 
 version of the tubers into starch. But the final result was, 
 that the produce of the entire crop yielded about forty pounds 
 in starch, whilst the cost of grinding the pulp, and erecting 
 machinery, amounted to aboiit tzvicc that sum ! My plans, 
 my labour, my 3,000/, and all hopes of future profit by 
 these means, were gone! 
 
 But my own losses and disappointments, deeply as I felt 
 
1846.] THE POTATO-ROT. IO3 
 
 them, were soon merged in the general desolation, misery, 
 and starvation which now rapidly affected the poorer classes 
 around me and throughout Ireland. It is true that in the 
 more cultivated districts of the Queen's County and the 
 midland counties generally, not many deaths occurred from 
 actual starvation. I mean, that people were not found 
 dead on the roads or in the fields from sudden deprivation 
 of food ; but they sank gradually from impure and insuffi- 
 cient diet; and fever, dysentery, the crowding in the work- 
 house or hardship on the relief works, carried thousands to 
 a premature grave. The crop of all crops, on which they 
 depended for food, had suddenly melted away, and no ade- 
 quate arrangements had been made to meet this calamity, 
 — the extent of which was so sudden and so terrible that 
 no one had appreciated it in time — and thus thousands 
 perished almost without an effort to save themselves. 
 
 Public relief works were soon set on foot by the Govern- 
 ment. Presentment sessions were held, relief committees 
 organised, and the roads were tortured and cut up ; hills 
 were lowered,and hollows filled, and wages were paid for half 
 or quarter work — but still the people died. Soup kitchens 
 and ' stirabout houses ' were resorted to. Free trade 
 was partially adopted. Indian meal poured into Ireland ; 
 individual exertions and charity abounded to an enormous 
 extent — but still the people died. Many of the highest 
 and noblest in the land, both men and women, lost their 
 lives, or contracted diseases from which they never after- 
 wards recovered, in their endeavours to stay this fearful 
 calamity — but still the people died. We did what we could 
 at Cardtown, but though the distress there was far less 
 than in most other places, yet our efforts seemed a mere 
 drop of oil let fall upon the ocean of misery around us — and 
 still the people died ! 
 
 Before the close of this year, being wholly unable from 
 
104 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, vii, 
 
 private sources to grapple with the vast extent of misery 
 around us, and seeing also that there was no hope of the 
 recovery of the potato, and that my occupation as an ex- 
 tensive reclaimer of land through its medium was suddenly 
 brought to a close, I resolved to adapt myself as well as I 
 could to this new condition of affairs. By this time an 
 outcry had arisen against the public road relief works, and 
 everyone demanded some more useful and ' reproductive ' 
 employment for the masses, now dependent on public 
 charity. The Government thus was much in want of some 
 one to set on foot a practicable plan to meet this public 
 demand, and to organise a system of reproductive works, 
 such as draining, subsoiling, liming, &c., and thus as it were, 
 draw the people from the roads into the fields. Acting 
 therefore on the experience I had already acquired in the 
 reclamation of land, I drew up a complete plan, embracing 
 forms and specifications, &c., for draining, subsoiling, and 
 the like. I then went to Dublin and laid the whole project 
 before the Board of Public Works. Colonel Jones, Sir 
 Richard Griffith, and Mr. Mulvany were then the Com- 
 missioners of Public Works engaged in this department. 
 They carefully examined my plans, and at once closed 
 with my proposal for employment, granting me a salary of 
 500/. per annum, together with my travelling expenses, and 
 sent me forthwith to open the whole system, and prac- 
 tically to test its working in the old well-known ground 
 of the Barony of Farney. Here I remained five weeks, 
 apparently only laying out drainage and setting the people 
 to work, but really organising the system of employment 
 which was afterwards adopted and carried out under the 
 provisions known as ' Mr. Labouchere's letter.' The whole 
 of the forms of estimate, specifications, &c., were there pre- 
 pared and carefully tested by me, and at the end of five 
 weeks' hard work, during which I laboured at least fourteen 
 
1846.] THE POTATO-ROT. JQC 
 
 hours per diem, either at my desk or in the field, I was able 
 to send details of the whole system to be printed, and im- 
 mediately on their completion, the drainage works were 
 commenced in every county in Ireland. I returned soon 
 after to the Queen's County, over almost the whole of which 
 I had especial charge as far as those works were concerned, 
 and I continued for about two years superintending the 
 execution of drainage and other improvements, which, how- 
 ever imperfect in consequence of the weakness of the 
 labourers, and the difficulty of organising a new and ex- 
 tensive working staff, yet laid the foundation for that most 
 valuable law, the ' Land Improvement Act,' and the wide- 
 spread system of drainage which has since prevailed over 
 Ireland. 
 
 Such was my first practical acquaintance with the fearful 
 ' Potato-rot ' of 1846, the effects of which have produced a 
 social revolution in Ireland. It hurried on the introduction 
 of free trade. It indirectly brought about the arterial 
 drainage of many of the main rivers of Ireland. It created 
 the Land Improvement Act. It brought into existence 
 the Incumbered Estates Court, one of the most important 
 Acts ever passed in Ireland. It drove some millions of 
 people to the other side of the Atlantic, and sent many 
 thousands to an untimely grave. It broke up to a great 
 extent the small farms of Ireland. It relieved the plethora 
 of the labour market. It removed the needy country gentle- 
 men, and forced them to sell their estates into the hands of 
 capitalists. It unlocked millions of capital, since then laid 
 out on the improved cultivation of the land. It brought 
 over hundreds of Scotchmen and Englishmen w^ho have 
 farmed on an extended and more scientific system than 
 had before then been the practice in Ireland ; and, in short, it 
 has produced a revolution in the country which has lasted 
 ever since. Its immediate effects were so appalling, and its 
 
I06 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vii. 
 
 final results so remarkable, that these few notes descriptive 
 of its first appearance, as it came under my own immediate 
 observation, may not prove wholly without interest. 
 
 But I must record some features of the potato-rot as it 
 appeared in other districts less favoured than the Queen's 
 County. The population of that county was never very 
 excessive, the farms were moderate in size, and valuable as 
 the potato was as an esculent, and most useful as I had 
 proved it to be in the reclamation of waste lands, yet it 
 rarely formed, as in other districts, the sole food of the 
 people. During the period whilst I was engaged in orga- 
 nising the system of drainage for the Board of Works, 
 fearful scenes were being enacted in other parts, and 
 especially in the south and west of Ireland. There the 
 cottier system prevailed to its fullest extent ; and in the 
 mountain districts where but little corn was grown, and 
 where the people lived almost exclusively upon the potato, 
 the most dire distress arose. Dark whisperings and ru- 
 mours of famine in its most appalling form began to reach 
 us, but still we could scarcely believe that men, women, 
 and children were actually dying of starvation in thousands. 
 Yet so it zvas. They died in their mountain glens, they 
 died along the sea-coast, they died on the roads, and they 
 died in the fields ; they wandered into the towns, and died 
 in the streets ; they closed their cabin doors, and lay down 
 upon their beds, and died of actual starvation in their houses. 
 To us, even at the time, it appeared almost incredible 
 that such things should be. But a cry soon arose from the 
 west, and especially from the district of Skibbereen and 
 Schull in the county of Cork, which left no further doubt 
 as to the real position of affairs — hundreds, nay thousands, 
 of people had died and were dying in those districts of ab- 
 solute direct starvation. 
 
 It is not my object or intention here to enter into any 
 
1847.] THE POTATO-ROT. IO7 
 
 description of the arrangements which were made by Go- 
 vernment to meet this dire calamity. To those who seek 
 for accurate information on this head, I would recommend the 
 perusal of a small volume entitled 'The Irish Crisis, by C. E. 
 Trevelyan, Esq., reprinted from the " Edinburgh Review." * 
 In it they will find all the information they can require. 
 My present intention is merely to state what occurred under 
 my own observation, or that of my immediate friends. 
 When first this dreadful cry resounded through the land, 
 the question which occurred to every thinking and practical 
 mind was, ' IV/tj sJioiild these things be ? ' Ireland was not 
 like any part of India, cut off from extraneous supplies. 
 It was true the potatoes had rotted, and it was true the 
 people had depended on the potato almost alone for food. 
 But there was abundance of corn, abundance of flour, and 
 abundance of meal in the country, not to speak of herds 
 of sheep and cattle innumerable ; and in the midst of such 
 plenty, zahf should the p-eople die ? There was also abund- 
 ance of money to purchase food : money was freely offered 
 from many quarters, and was ready to flow forth in a mighty 
 stream from the charitable people of England to almost 
 any extent. If so, I may again ask, tvhy should the people 
 die ? 
 
 To solve this problem some friends and relatives of mine 
 proposed to visit the then notoriously distressed district of 
 SchuU, in the west of the county of Cork, and endeavour 
 to ascertain for themselves the cause of this extraordinary 
 position of affairs. Accordingly the Rev. Frederick F. 
 Trench, a gentleman well-known for his philanthropy, and 
 the Rev. Richard C. Trench, then rector of Itchenstoke in 
 Hampshire — now Archbishop of Dublin — agreed to visit 
 the district in person. The result of their enquiries was 
 very simple. There was, as I have stated, abundance of 
 corn and abundance of meal within some few miles of the 
 
I08 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vii. 
 
 district, and no lack of funds to purchase these provisions; 
 and yet in near proximity to this plenty, the people were 
 dying by hundreds, of actual dire starvation, merely for 
 want of some one with sufficient energy and powers of 
 organisation to bring the food and the people together. This 
 was the apparently simple problem to be solved, and to 
 effect it they set themselves vigorously to work. In one 
 place they found a most benevolent clergyman, who having 
 obtained large funds from England to mitigate the famine, 
 appeared in the morning at his own hall door, and threw 
 handfuls of shillings and sixpences amongst the crowd who 
 liad collected to receive the charity. Amiable gentleman 
 no doubt he was, and most honourable in the distribution of 
 all he had received ; but he forgot that starving people could 
 not eat sixpences or shillings, and the food was some ten 
 miles off.* The people had no strength nor energy to seek, 
 purchase, or cook meal or flour, and with the silver in their 
 hands, they died. In another place they found the priest 
 of the parish utterly paralysed by the magnitude of the 
 desolation around him. He had given all he had to tiie 
 people, there was no food whatever in his house, and he 
 stood really in danger of being starved himself, with money 
 in his pocket, and abundance of corn near at hand.f Such 
 was the position of affairs — the people dying, plenty of 
 food within reach, plenty of money to purchase it, plenty 
 of fish in the sea adjoining — but no one with forethought 
 and arrangement enough to cook the victuals, catch the 
 fish, draw the corn across the mountains, and bring the 
 food and the people together ! 
 
 * This excellent and amiable man died soon after from the effects of his 
 constant labours amongst the poor people around him. His constitution gave 
 way under the combined pressure of anxiety, sorrow, low fever, and putrid 
 air, and that, imder ordinary circumstances, in one of the healthiest spots in 
 Ireland. 
 
 "t* The sea along the coast abounded with fish, but there were no nets, no 
 boats, and no one to organise the simplest fishing operations. 
 
1847.] THE POTATO-ROT. IO9 
 
 The plan adopted by these energetic philanthropists was 
 very plain and simple. They first sought for funds; and 
 the appeal was immediately and most generously responded 
 to. They then engaged active earnest men, as temporary 
 agents, over a district containing some sixty-seven town- 
 lands. And having selected the places most suitable for 
 their operations, they opened what were then termed ' soup 
 kitchens,' but what were really depots of boiled meal, made 
 into a thick nutritious food which in Ireland is called 
 ' stirabout.' It is perhaps the simplest and most palatable 
 form in which a wholesome well- cooked food can be ob- 
 tained cheaply in half-an-hour. Those depots, of which 
 there were nineteen in the district, were placed within two 
 or three miles of each other, sufficiently near to enable 
 all those who wanted food, and who were willing and able 
 to walk a short distance, to obtain at least one good meal 
 each day, the only condition or stipulation being that they 
 should come as clean as their case admitted, to the food 
 depot. 
 
 I will not venture to describe the harrowing scenes which 
 presented themselves to these gentlemen and their assist- 
 ants. I will not dilate upon the 'sliding coffin,'* through 
 which so many bodies were passed into the same open 
 grave, it being impossible to procure coffins for all ; nor 
 upon the emaciated forms which crawled for food to the 
 newly-established depots. Suffice it to say, that in a very 
 brief period, namely, from April i, until May 10, 1847, they 
 distributed, free, to the starving population, 102,129 meals 
 within a district comprising sixty-seven townlands : in other 
 words, they fed with one good meal per diem 2,553 persons 
 for forty consecutive days at the wonderfully moderate 
 cost of 2d. per meal, inclusive of all expenses. 
 
 * A coffin made with a sliding bottom, so that, by drawing out the bottom, 
 the body fell into the grave, and the coffin would be used again for the same 
 purpose. 
 
no REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. vii. 
 
 A full statement of receipts and expenditure, by the 
 Rev. F. F. Trench, at Schull and other places in the south- 
 west of the county of Cork, which was published at the 
 time, gives a faithful, but brief description of the efforts 
 there made to save life. After giving a detailed list of 
 subscribers, and the sums subscribed by each, he gives a 
 'statement of the receipts and expenditure' of this trust 
 money (by far the greater portion of which was subscribed 
 amongst his own friends and relations in Ireland), showing 
 that he had received on the whole 1787/. 13^-. 2d., and had 
 expended 1016/. 6s. ^d., leaving a balance, then placed in the 
 funds for ulterior charity, of 771/. 6s. lod. 
 
 Mr. Trench's statement ' to the subscribers ' might be read 
 with interest by those anxious to inform themselves on this 
 subject, and also the letters addressed to him by the Rev. 
 James Barry, Roman Catholic priest at the Ballydehob. 
 They set forth in strong language the estimation in which 
 the efforts of these gentlemen were regarded ; nor were 
 they suspended until the Government itself undertook the 
 task of feeding the people which was here initiated by the 
 philanthropic men alluded to.* 
 
 I have purposely avoided giving any details of individual 
 suffering in the harrowing forms in which they presented 
 themselves to myself during that fearful period. A book 
 could be written on this subject ; but of what avail would 
 it be now .-' It is generally admitted that about 200,000 
 persons died of the famine in Ireland; and my object is to 
 show that if proper precautions had been taken in time — 
 by energetic men capable of undertaking the task — to feed 
 those who were unable to work, the famine would have been 
 stayed, and most of the people saved. 
 
 * Some interesting letters on this subject will be found in the Appendix. 
 
1S50.] THE EXODUS. I I I 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE EXODUS. KENMARE. 
 
 In the winter of the year 1849, I had nearly concluded my 
 public labours under the Land Improvement Act; and I 
 was then endeavouring, by other systems than that of the 
 potato, to continue the reclamation of my mountain pro- 
 perty, when I received a communication from Mr. Price, 
 then Lord Lansdowne's agent in the Queen's County, stating 
 that his lordship was desirous of appointing some gentle- 
 man upon whose judgment he could rely, to visit his estates 
 in Kerry, audit the accounts, and report to him generally 
 upon the condition of his property in that district. My 
 name had been mentioned to his lordship, and he had 
 approved of the nomination. 
 
 My terms were at once arranged, and I started for Kerry 
 on my new mission. On my arrival at Kenmare, I found 
 the agent of the estate waiting to receive me at the hotel. 
 He was an elderly gentleman of easy habits ; kind-hearted 
 and honourable, but scarcely capable of grappling with the 
 serious difficulties which at that time surrounded him as 
 responsible manager of so large and important a property. 
 
 I spent six weeks in Kerry ; and having completed an 
 elaborate report describing the past and present condition, 
 and probable future of the estate, I forwarded it to Lord 
 Lansdowne. 
 
 His lordship, shortly after its receipt, sent for me to 
 London, and offered me the agency of his Kerry property. 
 
I 1 2 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viir. 
 
 Having accepted the proposal thus kindly made, I left 
 London for Ireland, and proceeded forthwith to Kenmare. 
 
 The district of Kenmare at that period — January 1850 
 — was not in a desirable condition. ' The famine,' in the 
 strict acceptation of the term, was then nearly over, but it 
 had left a trail behind it, almost as formidable as its 
 presence. The mountain district around Kenmare had not 
 escaped its effects. The circumstances of that country 
 were peculiar. The Union of Kenmare consists of a vast 
 valley, with an arm of the sea, usually called the ' Kenmare 
 River,' running up the centre for the distance of about six 
 and twenty miles. On either side of this estuary, the 
 mountains rise continuously to a distance of seven or eight 
 miles from the shore, thus making an enormous valley 
 about thirty miles long and sixteen wide. Within this 
 district but little corn is grown. The portions of land 
 reclaimed from the rocky mountains, on which alone corn 
 could be raised, are so small, that they are barely sufficient 
 to grow potatoes and turnips enough for the consumption 
 of the people, and their cattle throughout the winter. The 
 exports of the district may be said to consist exclusively 
 of butter, young cattle, and sheep — whilst the inhabitants 
 subsisted on potatoes, milk, and butter, together with cured 
 fish, bacon, and a very small supply of oats, grown upon 
 the reclaimed portion of land amongst the rocks. There is 
 no access nearer than Killarney, which is twenty miles 
 distant, to any corn-growing country. 
 
 The estate of the Marquis of Lansdowne in the Union 
 of Kenmare had at this time been much neglected by its 
 local manager. It consists of about sixty thousand acres, 
 and comprises nearly one-third of the whole union. No 
 restraint whatever had been put upon the system of sub- 
 division of land. Boys and girls intermarried unchecked, 
 each at the age of seventeen or eighteen, without thinking 
 it necessary to make any provision whatever for their 
 
1S50.] THE EXODUS. II3 
 
 future subsistence, beyond a shed to lie down in, and a 
 small plot of land whereon to grow potatoes. Innumerable 
 squatters had settled themselves, unquestioned, in huts on 
 the mountain sides and in the valleys, without any sufficient 
 provision for their maintenance during the year. They 
 sowed their patches of potatoes early in spring, using sea- 
 weed alone as a manure. Then as the scarce seasons of 
 spring and summer came on, they nailed up the doors of 
 their huts, took all their children along with them, together 
 with a few tin cans, and started on a migratory and piratical 
 expedition over the counties of Kerry and Cork, trusting 
 to their adroitness and good luck in begging, to keep the 
 family alive till the potato crop again came in. And thus, 
 in consequence of the neglect or supineness of the agent, 
 who — in direct violation of his lordship's instructions, and 
 without his knowledge — allowed numbers of strangers and 
 young married couples to settle on his estate, paying no 
 rent, and almost without any visible means of subsistence, 
 not only the finances, but the character and condition of 
 the property, were at a very low ebb indeed. The estate, 
 in fact, was swamped with paupers. 
 
 The desolation which a sudden failure of the staple food 
 of the people, in a remote valley like this, must necessarily 
 bring along with it, may be imagined. The scenes in 
 Schull and Skibbereen were here enacted over again. As 
 the potato melted away before the eyes of the people, 
 they looked on in dismay and terror ; but there was no 
 one with energy enough to import corn to supply its 
 place. Half Ireland was stunned by the suddenness of the 
 calamity, and Kenmare was completely paralysed. Beg- 
 ging, as of old, was now out of the question, as all were 
 nearly equally poor; and many of the wretched people 
 succumbed to their fate almost without a struggle.* 
 
 * See note A at end of this chapter, p. 133. 
 I 
 
114 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 The agent of the estate, who on my first arrival was 
 my chief informant, did not seem to consider that anyone 
 in particular was to blame for this. He talked of it as ' the 
 hand of God.' The whole thing had come so suddenly, 
 and all those residing at Kenmare were so entirely unpre- 
 pared, and incapable of meeting it, that an efficient remedy 
 was utterly out of the question. 
 
 In the midst of this most dire distress. Lord Lansdowne 
 came forward in the most generous manner, and offered 
 money to any extent — in fact a carte blanche — to save the 
 lives of the people. But there was no one in the country 
 capable of undertaking the task. The magnitude of the 
 suffering seemed to paralyse all local efforts to avert it, 
 and his lordship's unbounded liberality was but little tested 
 or applied. And thus almost in the midst of plenty — for 
 there was abundance of corn within a few miles distant — 
 famine stalked unmolested through the glens and moun- 
 tains of Glanerought* 
 
 It was indeed admitted to me by many intelligent men, 
 that if there had been one man of firmness and energy in 
 the district, he might have saved thousands of lives by the 
 adoption of the same kind of plan as that so successfully 
 organised by the Messrs. Trench in the west of the neigh- 
 bouring county of Cork, and which had turned out so 
 effective even in a quarter with which they were wholly 
 unconnected. But the local gentry were paralysed, the 
 tradesmen were paralysed, the people were paralysed, and 
 the cottiers and squatters and small holders, who now saw 
 the consequences of their previous folly in unlimited sub- 
 division, unable from hunger to work, and hopeless of any 
 sufficient relief from extraneous sources, sank quietly 
 
 * The name of the barony in which Lord Lansdowne's Kerry estate is 
 .situated. 
 
1850.] THE EXODUS. II5 
 
 down, some in their houses, some at the ' reUef works,* and 
 died almost without a struggle.* 
 
 Such were the scenes which had taken place in that then 
 secluded valley, not long previous to my arrival. 
 
 When I first reached Kenmare in the winter of 1849-50, 
 the form of destitution had changed in some degree ; but it 
 was still very great. It was true that people no longer died 
 of starvation ; but they were dying nearly as fast of fever, 
 dysentery, and scurvy within the walls of the workhouse. 
 Food there was now in abundance ; but to entitle the 
 people to obtain it, they were compelled to go into the 
 workhouse and 'auxiliary sheds,' -f- until these were crowded 
 almost to suffocation. And although out-door relief had 
 also been resorted to in consequence of the impossibility of 
 finding room for the paupers in the houses, yet the quantity 
 of food given was so small, and the previous destitution 
 tJiroiigh wJiicJi they had passed zuas so severe, that nearly as 
 many died liow under the hands of the guardians, as had 
 perished before by actual starvation. 
 
 In illustration of this state of things, I may mention an 
 event which occurred to myself, soon after my arrival in 
 the district. 
 
 I was in the habit, at this time, of attending the meetings 
 of the Poor Law Board of Guardians, of which I had not 
 yet become a member. 
 
 The numbers at that time receiving relief in the whole 
 union of Kenmare were somewhere about ten thousand. 
 
 * Several of the respectable shopkeepers in the town of Kenmare hiformed 
 me that at this period four or five dead bodies were frequently found in the 
 streets, or on the flags, in the morning, the remains ©f poor people who had 
 wandered in from the country in search of food ; and that they dreaded to open 
 their doors lest a corpse should be found leaning against it. 
 
 + The workhouses being at this time quite unable to hold the numbers who 
 crowded in, large auxiliary timber sheds were erected in convenient places, 
 and in these were housed immense numbers of paupers, for whom room could 
 not be found in the main building. 
 
 I 2 
 
I 1 6 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 In June 1849, six months previous to my coming, they had 
 reached the highest point, about ten thousand four hundred 
 persons being then in receipt of relief. They had dimin- 
 ished slightly at the time to which I allude. 
 
 After a day of painful toil in the duty of admitting 
 paupers, I was obliged to leave before the board broke up, 
 as I had important business in Killarney, and I started on 
 horseback to ride across the mountains. I had not gone 
 far, when a messenger came posting after me to say, that 
 the government officer, then in attendance at the board, was 
 very desirous to see me. I asked if the case was urgent, 
 and was told that it was veiy urgent indeed. 
 
 I returned of course, and found the members of the board 
 looking certainly blank enough. The officer immediately 
 informed me that the contractor, to whom a very large 
 amount of money was due, had positively refused to give 
 another sack of meal unless he received an instalment in 
 cash that day. No one could well blame him. The board 
 was bankrupt ; repeated promises had been made to him 
 of payments, which had not been fulfilled, and credit was 
 utterly gone. At length I proposed that we should all put 
 our hands in our pockets, and offered, on my own account, 
 to double whatever total the rest of the board would sub- 
 scribe amongst them, and take chance for the union refund- 
 ing the money afterwards. The board however declined, 
 and I could not get a 10/. note subscribed. I called 
 the government officer aside into another room and said, 
 ' Will you tell me exactly what you think will be the con- 
 sequence if the contractor refuses to let us have another 
 load of meal .-'' 
 
 ' I have thought over this,' he replied ; ' and considering 
 the numbers who are depending exclusively on this food, 
 and who are already in the last stage of destitution, on 
 out-door relief, in distant parts of the union where this 
 
1S50,] THE EXODUS. II7 
 
 meal should now be sent, I feel confident that not less 
 tlian from twelve hundred to fifteen hundred persons will 
 be dead before twenty-four hours are over.' 
 
 ' Is it possible ? ' said I — ' Can this really be true ? ' 
 
 ' I think, Sir,' said he, ' I am rather under than over the 
 estimate.' 
 
 I could no longer hesitate. I fortunately happened to 
 have some private funds in bank. I made the necessary 
 arrangements for the payment of a portion of the debt, and 
 the contractor forwarded the meal. Even now I tremble to 
 think what might have occurred, either if I had gone too far 
 towards Killarney to be recalled, or if I had not happened, 
 at the time, to be in a position to make the necessary 
 arrangements. 
 
 It may readily be supposed that this was a very serious 
 state of things for a stranger to enter upon as the agent of 
 Lord Lansdowne's estate in this union, and consequently, 
 as such, the most responsible person in the district. I can 
 hardly describe my anxiety of mind, as day after day the in- 
 creasing responsibilities of the post I had assumed developed 
 themselves before me. No one else would now stir. They 
 had not done much before ; and now that I took a prominent 
 part amongst them, they held back and would do nothing. 
 All, indeed, cried aloud that ' something ought to be done,' 
 but few were able or willing to subscribe, and none had 
 energy enough to attempt to grapple with the difficulty. 
 Thus by degrees I felt myself placed almost alone, to meet 
 as I could this fearful mass of pauperism. 
 
 The position was a most anxious one; but I endeavoured 
 to meet it steadily. Lord Lansdowne had kindly intimated 
 to me that funds on the most liberal scale — in fact to any 
 amount required — would be at my disposal for anything 
 which would be for the advantage of the district ; and the 
 development of my plans was looked forward to with much 
 
I 1 8 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 anxiety. I remember a curious scene which took place about 
 this time. 
 
 I was sitting one evening in my study — I think it was in 
 the month of May 1850— when I heard a strange humming 
 noise as of the suppressed voices of many hundred people. 
 It came from the direction of the ' Brewery,' a short .dis- 
 tance from Lansdowne Lodge. The noise was a very 
 peculiar one, and unlike anything I had ever heard before. 
 I was on the point of rising to ascertain the cause, when 
 the servant rushed into the room, exclaiming, ' Oh, Sir, the 
 Brewery is on fire ! ' This brewery was an enormous 
 building, formerly used for the purpose designated by its 
 name, but then converted into an auxiliary poor-house, in 
 which about three hundred pauper children were lodged. I 
 went down without a moment's delay ; and just as I en- 
 tered the premises, I met the schoolmaster, who had charge 
 of the building and all the children in it. I found him in 
 great alarm. 
 
 ' What is the matter } ' I asked. 
 
 ' I don't know. Sir,' he replied. * I believe the brewery is 
 on fire; but I dare not open the door to see, as the children 
 have got the alarm inside, and have become actually mad 
 with fright ; they would surely rush down the high stone 
 steps, and half of them be killed in the panic' 
 
 ' Is there only one way out for the whole three hundred 
 children } ' I asked. 
 
 ' That is all,' replied he. 
 
 ' Give me the key,' and I went up the stairs to the door. 
 A set of stone steps, with a stone parapet along them, led 
 to a small square flagged platform immediately outside the 
 door of the building. I saw at once that the man was so far 
 right, that if the door were suddenly opened, a rush from the 
 inside would inevitably be made, which must drive numbers 
 over the parapet, and many would probably be killed by 
 
1850.] THE EXODUS. I I9 
 
 the fall, or smothered by the others passing over them, before 
 such a number of children, in the wild state of panic in 
 which they then were, could emerge from the building. 
 
 Seeing all this at a glance, I nevertheless opened the 
 door, and pressing my foot against the low stone parapet 
 on the opposite side of the platform, so as to retain firm 
 possession of the doorway, I looked into the building. The 
 sight which presented itself was strange and wild. Inside 
 was a large room, in which as many children as it could 
 possibly hold were crammed. The panic of the fire had 
 seized them, and they were fast losing their senses with 
 terror. The eyes of some were already staring wide, 
 almost idiotic in expression. Others clenched their little 
 fists, and ground their teeth, and threatened me in the most 
 furious manner. And in some cases grown-up women — 
 nurses they appeared to be — with infants in their arms, 
 cursed and swore at me, insisting that I was there to 
 prevent their getting out, and that I was determined to 
 burn them all together in the house. It was a dreadful 
 scene of terror and despair, and the panic was evidently 
 increasing. 
 
 I immediately entered the room, closing the door behind 
 me, and raising my hand, I said in a loud voice, 
 
 * I will let you all out this moment. There is no danger 
 whatever. Be quiet and you shall all get out.' 
 
 But I might as well have spoken to maniacs in Bedlam. 
 They raised a panic-stricken shriek in reply, and struggled 
 to get at the door. There was nothing now to be done but 
 to let them out as carefully as I could. So I got outside 
 the door again, and opened a few inches to prevent a rush 
 of the children over the parapet ; and thus, letting them out 
 one by one, kicking, screaming, and some of them actually 
 biting at my legs, they all got safely down the stone steps, 
 and not a single one of them was hurt. I then went inside 
 
1 20 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 to examine the house for the fire. There was none : it was 
 altogether a false alarm ! 
 
 On my return to the door, the scene in the courtyard 
 below was a very curious one. About eighteen or twenty 
 children, chiefly boys of about twelve years of age, were 
 lying on the gravel, some with their eyes staring and their 
 bodies working in hideous contortions, completely idiotic 
 from the fright. Some were quite motionless, but doubled 
 back as if under the influence of cramp or tetanus. Some 
 were apparently dead. So strange a scene of killed and 
 wounded I never saw in my life. The excellent doctor* 
 of the union soon afterwards arrived, and I handed over 
 the patients to him. To my surprise he seemed to think 
 but little of the matter, and assured me they would soon 
 recover. But he admitted that had I opened the door 
 suddenly, without insisting as I stood by that each should 
 have time to reach the bottom of the steps in safety, vast 
 numbers must inevitably have been killed. 
 
 In an hour or two most of them had recovered, and with 
 some difficulty we got them all again into the building and 
 to bed. I walked all through the wards just as the children 
 were going to rest, and it was curious to watch the starts 
 and mutterings and convulsive sobs which numbers ex- 
 hibited as they gradually dropped asleep. It was evident 
 that the panic had greatly affected the entire mass of 
 children. I had never seen a panic, though I had often 
 heard of one, before. It is not by any means a pleasant 
 thing to witness. 
 
 Such was the state of things in Kenmare at the time to 
 which I allude. 
 
 My first step was to endeavour to relieve, in some degree, 
 
 * Dr. George M. Mayberry. Nothing could exceed his courage and atten- 
 tion to the poor in those trying times as medical attendant at the workhouse. 
 I am happy to say he still holds his post, with advantage to all concerned. 
 
1850.] THE EXODUS. 121 
 
 the plethora of the poor-house ; and for this purpose I 
 offered employment, outside, to all those who had entered 
 it chargeable to Lord Lansdowne's estate. I promised them 
 reasonable wages in draining, subsoiling, removing rocks 
 and stones, and such like out-of-door labour. No sooner 
 had I made this proposal, than about two hundred gaunt 
 half-famished men, and nearly as many boys and women, 
 appeared in my field next morning, all of them claiming 
 my promise, but none of them having any tools wherewith 
 to labour ! Here was a new dilemma. The offer of em- 
 ployment had been accepted with only too great avidity ; 
 but the creatures had not a spade, nor a pick-axe, nor a 
 working tool amongst them. Fortunately a large depdt of 
 these articles had lain stored in a tool-house hard by — 
 remnants of the public works. These I immediately ap- 
 propriated, and before noon about one-half the people 
 were employed. The remainder I sent again to the poor- 
 house, telling them, however, to return the next day and I 
 would endeavour to procure implements to lend them. 
 They did so. And partly by buying, partly by borrowing, 
 and by making some of them work with their hands alone, 
 I managed to keep most of them employed. 
 
 But although at first this system met with great appro- 
 bation in the district, yet I found it quite impossible to 
 continue it. In the first place, not much more than one- 
 fourth of a reasonable value in labour could be obtained 
 from those who proposed to work ; and in the next, being 
 now in employment, they had of course to leave the work- 
 house. Where then were they to lodge at night .'' Every 
 lane, every alley, every cabin in the town was crowded to 
 excess with these unhappy work-people, and they slept by 
 threes and fours together wherever they could get a pallet 
 of straw to lie upon. But I plainly saw that this could not 
 go on. The townspeople began to complain of the scenes 
 
122 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 in the town at night ; and when a wet day came and the 
 people could not work, nearly one-half of them were obliged 
 to return for the day to the poor-house, creating immense 
 confusion by the sudden influx of such a body of famished 
 new-comers, and the remainder wandered about, objects of 
 the utmost compassion. 
 
 Accordingly, after the most anxious deliberation, I arrived 
 at the final conclusion that this system could not be carried 
 on. I felt it would be madness in me to assume the re- 
 sponsibility of keeping three hundred paupers in employ- 
 ment, most of them removed only one step from the grave, 
 as, if any accident should happen to prevent them from 
 obtaining daily pay, whether they had work or not, which I 
 had hitherto managed at great inconvenience to give them, 
 many lives might be lost in a night ; a result for which I — 
 not in law, but perhaps in public opinion — might imme- 
 diately be called to account. 
 
 I therefore resolved to put into practice a scheme which 
 I had meditated for a long time previously, namely, to go 
 myself to Lord Lansdowne at Bowood, to state to him the 
 whole circumstances of the case, and to recommend him to 
 adopt an extensive system of voluntary emigration as the 
 only practicable and effective means of relieving this fright- 
 ful destitution. 
 
 This plan, accordingly, I carried into effect. And in the 
 month of November, 1850, I went over to England; and 
 having been invited to visit his lordship at Bowood, I 
 remained there five days. 
 
 During my stay I had frequent and lengthened interviews 
 with that most enlightened and liberal statesman. The 
 broad sketch of the plan I laid before him was as follows : 
 I showed him by the poor-house returns, that the number 
 of paupers off his estate and receiving relief in the work- 
 house amounted to about three thousand. That I was 
 
1850.] THE EXODUS. 1 23 
 
 wholly unable to undertake the employment of these people 
 in their present condition, on reproductive works ; and that 
 if left in the workhouse, the smallest amount they could 
 possibly cost would be 5/. per head per annum, and thus 
 that the poor rates must necessarily amount, for some years 
 to come, to 15,000/. per annum, unless these people died or 
 left — and the latter was not probable. I stated also, that 
 hitherto the people had been kept alive in the workhouse 
 by grants from the rates in aid and other public money ; 
 but that this could not always go on. That the valuation 
 of his estate in that district scarcely reached 10,000/. per 
 annum ; and thus, that the poor rates necessary to be 
 raised in future off the estate to support this number of 
 people, would amount to at least thirty shillings in the 
 pound, I explained further to him, that under these cir- 
 cumstances, inasmuch as the poor rates were a charge prior 
 to the rent, it would be impossible for his lordship to 
 expect any rent whatever out of his estate for many years 
 to come. 
 
 The remedy I proposed was as follows. That he should 
 forthwith offer free emigration to every man, woman, and 
 child now in the poor-house or receiving relief and charge- 
 able to his estate. That I had been in communication with 
 an Emigration Agent, who had offered to contract to take 
 them to whatever port in America each pleased, at a 
 reasonable rate per head. That even supposing they all 
 accepted this offer, the total, together with a small sum per 
 head for outfit and a few shillings on landing, would not 
 exceed from 13,000/ to 14,000/, a sum less than it would 
 cost to support them in the workhouse for a single year. 
 That in the one case he would not only free his estate of 
 this mass of pauperism which had been allowed to accumu- 
 late upon it, but would put the people themselves in a far 
 better way of earning their bread hereafter ; whereas by 
 
124 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viil. 
 
 feeding and retaining them where they were, they must 
 remain as a millstone around the neck of his estate, and 
 prevent its rise for many years to come ; and I plainly 
 proved that it would be cheaper to him, and better for them, 
 to pay for their emigration at once, than to continue to sup- 
 port them at home. 
 
 His lordship discussed the matter very fully, and with 
 that kindness, good sense, and liberality which characterised 
 all his acts ; and on my leaving Bowood he gave me an 
 order for 8,000/. wherewith to commence the system of 
 emigration, with a full understanding that more should be 
 forthcoming if required. 
 
 I shall not readily forget the scenes that occurred in 
 Kenmare when I returned, and announced that I was pre- 
 pared at Lord Lansdowne's expense to send to America 
 every one now in the poor-house who was chargeable to 
 his lordship's estate, and who desired to go ; leaving each 
 to select what port in America he pleased — whether Boston, 
 New York, New Orleans, or Quebec. 
 
 The announcement at first was scarcely credited : it was 
 considered by the paupers to be too good news to be true. 
 But when it began to be believed and appreciated, a rush 
 was made to get away at once. 
 
 The organisation of the system required, however, much 
 care and thought. 
 
 The mode adopted was as follows :— two hundred each 
 week were selected of those apparently most suited for 
 emigration ; and having arranged their slender outfit, a 
 steady man, on whom I could depend, Mr. Jeremiah 
 O'Shea, was employed to take charge of them on their 
 journey to Cork, and not to leave them nor allow them to 
 scatter, until he saw them safely on board the emigrant 
 ship. This plan succeeded admirably ; and week after week, 
 to the astonishment of the good people of Cork, and some- 
 
1850.J THE EXODUS. 1 25 
 
 times not a little to their dismay, a batch of two hundred 
 paupers appeared on the quays of Cork, bound for the Far 
 West. 
 
 A cry was now raised that I was exterminating the 
 people. But the people knew well that those who now 
 cried loudest had given them no help when in the extremity 
 of their distress, and they rushed from the country like a 
 panic-stricken throng, each only fearing that the funds at 
 my disposal might fail before he and his family could get 
 their passage. 
 
 So great was the rush from the poor-house to emigrate, 
 and so great was the influx into the house to qualify (as I 
 generally required the application of that sure test of 
 abject poverty before I gave an order for emigration), that 
 the guardians became uneasy, and said the poor-house 
 would be filled with those seeking emigration, even faster 
 than it could be emptied. But I told them not to be 
 alarmed — that all demands should be met. And thus, two 
 hundred after two hundred, week after week, departed for 
 Cork, until the poor-house was nearly emptied of paupers 
 chargeable to the Lansdowne estate ; and in little more 
 than a year 3,500 paupers had left Kenmare for America, 
 all free emigrants, without any ejectments having been 
 brought against them to enforce it, or the slightest pressure 
 put upon them to go. 
 
 Matters now began to right themselves ; only some fifty 
 or sixty paupers remained in the house, chargeable to the 
 property over which I had the care, and Lord Lansdowne's 
 estate at length breathed freely.* 
 
 It must be admitted that the paupers despatched to 
 America on such a sudden pressure as this, were of a very 
 motley type ; and a strange figure these wild batches of two 
 hundred each — most of them speaking only the Irish lan- 
 
 * See note B, at end of this chapter, p. 134 
 
126 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 guage — made in the streets of Cork, as well as on the quays 
 of Liverpool and America. There was great difficulty in 
 keeping them from breaking loose from the ship, not only 
 in Cork but in Liverpool, where the ships touched before 
 they left for the West. Their chief device was to escape 
 out of the ships almost naked, to hide all their good 
 clothes which had been furnished them as an outfit, and 
 to appear only in their worst rags. In this costume they 
 took delight in rushing through the streets of Cork and 
 Liverpool in large bodies, to the real terror of the in- 
 habitants. In short, I do believe that so strange, unman- 
 ageable, and wild a crew had never before left the shores 
 of Ireland. But notwithstanding their apparent poverty, 
 they were all in the most uproarious spirits ; there was 
 no crying nor lamentation, as is usual on such occasions ; 
 all was delight at having escaped the deadly workhouse. 
 
 I need hardly dilate upon the abuse and vituperation 
 which the adoption of such an extensive system of emi- 
 gration brought down upon me from many well-known 
 quarters. The whole thing had been done so quickly, that 
 no efforts of opponents could in the least prevail against 
 it ; but no sooner was it completed than I became the object 
 of the vilest and most bitter abuse. I was accused of an 
 extensive system of * clearing the land by eviction^ though 
 I had not evicted a single tenant for the purpose, nor sent 
 one person away, except by the earnest entreaty of the 
 emigrant himself. But I pass over the system of false- 
 hood and misrepresentation which then prevailed, and 
 which has since then prevailed, even in a more virulent 
 degree. When necessary, I explained my conduct to my 
 noble employer, Lord Lansdowne ; and his lordship in 
 every case thoroughly approved of what I had done. By 
 degrees this abuse subsided,"^ and the most sensible people 
 
 * It has been revived with greater virulence tlian ever since the publication 
 of this book. — W. S. T., January, 1869. 
 
1850. j THE EXODUS. I 27 
 
 in the district admitted that an inestimable benefit had been 
 rendered to Kenmare. 
 
 I am happy to say that the most favourable accounts 
 have been received — and are to this day coming back — 
 from every quarter to which the emigrants were despatched. 
 Money in large quantities has been sent home by them to 
 their friends. Happily no accident ever occurred to a 
 single ship which carried out the Kenmare emigrants. 
 Almost all, down even to the widows and children, found 
 employment soon after landing, and escaped the pestilence 
 of the workhouse ; and to this hour I can never experience 
 any other feelings but those of pleasure and gratification 
 at having been the means of sending so many miserable 
 beings to a land far richer and more prosperous than 
 Ireland. The condition of the estate outside the poor- 
 house was also vastly improved. Great numbers of the 
 smaller class of tenantry, men whose holdings amounted 
 in value to five shillings, ten shillings, or one pound per 
 annum, and who could scarcely be expected to find the 
 means of decent support on such a holding — even though 
 they paid no rent at all — now voluntarily gave up their 
 plots of land, and most gladly emigrated to the Far West. 
 These plots were added to the adjoining tenant's farms ; 
 and thus the number of tenants on the rent-roll was con- 
 siderably reduced. Vast numbers of cottiers, or under- 
 tenants also, as well as the small farmers, left ; and at last 
 a fair equilibrium was established between the demand and 
 supply of labour. In short, the famine was over, and Lord 
 Lansdowne's estate was righted.* 
 
 * The following letter appeared in ' The Times ' of August 10, 1868, 
 To the Editor of ' The Times.'' 
 
 'Sir, — With reference to the interesting account in "The Times" of this 
 morning of the departure yesterday on board the "St. Lawrence " of a number 
 of emigrants from the East of London, I am anxious to state a few particulars 
 
128 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 I will here mention an anecdote of a newspaper reporter, 
 which occurred to me about that time. 
 
 refrardino- the "party of emigrants" therein mentioned as having been "sent 
 out by some benevolent ladies living in the West-end." 
 
 ' The East-end Emigration Society js doing- an excellent work in ernigrating 
 distressed families, principally from Poplar; but I am informed by the secre- 
 tary that the funds of that society can only be appHed to the assistance of 
 people whoae sufferings are caused by the depression in the London shipbuild- 
 ing trade (all men connected with strikes being, of course, excluded). Some 
 friends have therefore felt anxious to assist a few of the many half-starving 
 thouf^h respectable people to emigrate from other districts in the East of 
 London. 
 
 ' One party yesterday consisted of fifteen families, numbering, in all, seventy- 
 eight souls. Seven of these families came from Whitechapel, three from 
 Clerkenwell, one from St. Luke's, two from St. George's-in-the-East, and 
 one from Bromley. The men had been occupied in various trades and em- 
 ployments. There were labourers of all sorts. One man had been employed 
 in a sugar-boiling house, and, having been discharged on the closing of the 
 business with a thirty years' good character, has been since last winter com- 
 pelled to work in the Union stoneyard to keep his family from starving. 
 Owingto misinformation as to the hour of the departure of the " St. Lawrence " 
 from the docks, I was not present at the embarkation of the emigrants, but 
 Lady Mary Feilding, Mrs. Hobart, and myself and other friends went on 
 board the ship at Gravesend, and found all our people comfortably settled, 
 very grateful for the help they had received, and full of hope for the future. 
 Owing to the letters kindly written on the behalf of our party by the Hon. 
 John Rose, the Canadian Minister of Finance, to the authorities in Canada, 
 we have no fears as to the reception which the emigrants will meet with on 
 landing in Quebec. Mr. H. F. Lynn, who is much interested in the subject 
 of emigration, will leave this country for Quebec next week, and has kindly 
 promised to look after our emigrants, and let us know how they succeed. 
 ' I am, Sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 'F. J. Hobart. 
 
 ' 15 Eccleston Square, Aug. 8.' 
 
 See also a letter from Miss Maria Rye in 'Times' of July 4, 1868, giving 
 an account of the success of a number of emigrants taken out by her to Canada, 
 and a leading article thereon, highly commending the system : ' Emigration from 
 England appears now to be looked upon as the greatest blessing which can be 
 conferred upon her suffering poor ; and the promoters of it, whether male or 
 female, and in whatever rank of life they move — and there are some amongst 
 the highest — are held forth to the public as the benefactors and philafithropists 
 of the age. In Ireland, which may certainly be considered as much over- 
 populated as England, and whose poor are quite as miserable, should anyone 
 venture to advocate emigration as a remedy for their sufferings, no matter how 
 kindly or liberally it might be conducted, he is denounced as an enemy to his 
 country and as a heartless promoter of the emigrants' mournful wail. ' 
 
1850.] THE EXODUS. 1 29 
 
 I was walking one day in company with some other 
 guardians, from the poor-house to Lansdowne Lodge, after 
 a meeting of the Board, when a man dressed in thread- 
 bare black, but with a jaunty and impudent air, came up to 
 me and said — 
 
 ' Are you Mr. Trench, Sir ? ' 
 
 ' I am,' replied I. 
 
 * A few words with you apart, if you please,' said he. 
 
 I dropped a little behind with him, and asked him what 
 he wanted. 
 
 ' A nice country this, Sir,' he remarked. 
 
 * Yes,' said I — ' tolerably so.' 
 
 ' Strange doings down here, I believe ! ' 
 
 ' Really, Sir,' I replied, ' I am at a loss to understand 
 your meaning, or what you can want with me — will you be 
 good enough to state your business .'' ' 
 
 ' I will. Sir. I am the reporter of the : we have 
 
 heard strange accounts at our office of your conduct, 
 and the people where we publish our paper are anxious 
 to know the truth of them. I am come down to examine 
 into these matters myself — to go over the ground myself 
 — you know, Sir, it is the only way ; and to report the 
 facts to the public' 
 
 ' Well, Sir,' replied I, ' as that is your mission, I wish 
 you every happiness and fine weather. I have no doubt 
 you will meet many who will tell you a great deal which it 
 may suit your views to publish, and you will probably be 
 able to make out a very interesting story. I wish you a 
 good morning.' 
 
 ' Good morning, Sir,' returned he ; and we parted. 
 
 In about five minutes after, I heard his step behind me 
 again ; and turning round, he once more addressed me 
 and asked me still more mysteriously for a few moments' 
 private talk. I fell back with him again behind my friends. 
 
 K 
 
1 30 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 * Voti dont happen at present to have any money about 
 you. Sir ? ' he asked in a confidential manner. ' I have 
 just been at the post office, and to my great surprise, I find 
 that the remittances I expected have not come, and you 
 know I can't travel over the country without money.' 
 
 ' Really, Sir,' I replied, * your position is no doubt per- 
 plexing ; but in the first place, I have very little money 
 about me, and in the next, you could hardly expect me to 
 lend it to you if I had much.' 
 
 ' Oh, Sir, that is no doubt very natural in you, but — 
 you haven't got eveji five shillings about you at present — 
 have you ? ' 
 
 ' Sir,' said I, ' this is a most extraordinary application 
 upon your part. I have just five shillings about me, 
 neither more nor less ; but surely you, the reporter to a 
 public journal, cannot be in want of five shillings ! ' 
 
 ' Look at me, Sir/ he replied, assuming at once and in 
 reality an air of the most abject poverty, casting suddenly 
 off his jaunty air, and relaxing every muscle of his frame 
 as he stood before me the picture of hungry want. * Look 
 at me, Sir — I want food. Do I look like a man who had 
 broken his fast to-day .-* Not want five shillings .'' Give me 
 one shilling, Sir, to get something to eat, and I will give 
 you my heart-felt blessing.' 
 
 I was much shocked : I saw that truth was stamped upon 
 his face. 
 
 ' Oh, Sir,' said I, ' this really quite alters the case between 
 us. I cannot bear to see a man of your probable education 
 in want of so trifling a sum. Here is the only money I 
 have about me, and if I had more, I assure you it should 
 be yours ; ' and I handed him the only five shillings in my 
 pocket. 
 
 ' God bless you. Sir,' he returned, with a look of deep 
 thankfulness ; ' you may depend on it I will never forget it.' 
 
1850.] THE EXODUS. I3I 
 
 He left, and I saw him no more ; but in a short time 
 afterwards my attention was called to an article setting forth 
 the vast improvements which had taken place under my 
 ' enlightened superintendence ' on Lord Lansdowne's estate 
 in Kerry, and describing it as a Garden of Eden. 
 
 I can never think of this little incident without reflecting 
 what a strange amount of good or evil, usefulness or mis- 
 chief, truth or falsehood — nay, even the making or the 
 blasting of a man's character in the eyes of a large portion 
 of the world — may be thus placed in the hands of one who 
 was so pressed by want as to be influenced in the whole 
 tone of his remarks — which go forth to thousands on the 
 wings of the daily press — by the gift of a five-shilling piece ! 
 By me I can truly say it was given in sheer pity for his 
 hungry and wretched state, but if given with the basest 
 motives, it is possible the effect might in this case have 
 been the same. 
 
 It may here be asked what was the cause of all this 
 misery, and all this after-cost upon the estate of a kind- 
 hearted and generous nobleman .'' I answer at once, the 
 pernicious system of subdivision and subletting of land. No 
 one who has not tried it can conceive the difficulty in which 
 an Irish landlord or agent is placed with regard to this 
 matter. I can truly say its prevention has been the great 
 difficulty of my life as a land agent. The collection of rent 
 is almost always easy on a well-managed estate ; but the 
 prevention of subdivision is almost always difficult. The 
 desire to subdivide is by no means confined to the larger 
 tenants, nor even to those who hold land to the moderate 
 value of 30/., or 20/., or even 10/. per annum ; but tenants 
 possessed of holdings valued at only il. or 2/. per annum 
 frequently endeavour, openly or by stealth, to subdivide 
 these little plots of land, and erect huts or sheds, upon 
 them for their young people to marry and settle in, utterly 
 
132 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 regardless of the certain poverty which must necessarily 
 await them where there are no other means of support. 
 And yet if any landlord or agent is determined to resist 
 this system, and to evict those who in spite of all remon- 
 strances and entreaties persist in this pernicious course — 
 though the plot of land be scarcely sufficient to feed agoiat, 
 and the hut be of the most degraded class — he is attacked 
 with a virulence and bitterness of hostility which none who 
 do not live in Ireland can imagine ; sometimes by the local 
 press, sometimes by local agitators both lay and clerical, who 
 hold him up to public odium and indignation as an exter- 
 minator, and sometimes (though not in Kerry) by the 
 blunderbuss or bludgeon of the assassin ; so that really it 
 requires no little moral as well as physical courage to face 
 the storm which is certain to be raised against him ! 
 
 I am convinced that Lord Lansdowne's former agent — 
 an amiable and kind-hearted gentleman, who had presided 
 over the estate for more than thirty years — would have 
 resisted this system if he dared ; but he dreaded to meet 
 the storm of abuse which he knew awaited him from so 
 many quarters, if he attempted it. He therefore quietly 
 shut his eyes to the state of things which he must have 
 known was going on, in the vain hope, I presume, of 
 ' making things pleasant ' to his noble employer in England ; 
 and thus, when the potato suddenly failed, the whole 
 system collapsed, spreading death and misery around. 
 
 The extent to which subdivision and subletting to 
 squatters had been carried, may be estimated from the fact, 
 that notwithstanding the vast number — 4,600 people — that 
 were sent to America at Lord Lansdowne's expense, off this 
 estate alone, ivitJim a period of three or four years from 
 the commencement of the system ; and although little or no 
 subdivision has taken place since then, yet at this moment 
 the average rent of each farm is only i \l. per annum ; an 
 
1850.] THE EXODUS. 1 33 
 
 average far too small to enable tenants to support and 
 educate their families in tolerable comfort and respecta- 
 bility. 
 
 Ever since that terrible period, however, Lord Lans- 
 downe's estate has, in general, advanced rapidly in pro- 
 sperity. The numerous consolidations which were then 
 effected have invariably been attended with advantage ; 
 and although it is still very far from what one would wish 
 it to be, yet no one who knew the estate before, and who 
 visits it now, can be otherwise than struck with the extra- 
 ordinary change which has taken place upon it for the 
 better. His lordship did not confine his expenditure to 
 emigration : he entered largely upon the improvement of 
 the dwellings of the people and the better cultivation of the 
 land. And after a period of eighteen years I was enabled 
 during the last session of Parliament to give a statement 
 before the Select Committee of the House of Lords on the 
 Irish Tenure of Land Bill — of the improvements carried out 
 by Lord Lansdowne on this property, such as I question if 
 inany of the most liberal landlords have exceeded on their 
 estates in England.* 
 
 * Extract from Minutes of Evidence taken before the Select Committee on 
 the Tenure of Land (Ireland) Bill, (W. Steuart Trench under examination) : 
 ' On another estate, situated in the south of Ireland (Marquis of Lansdowne's), 
 the rental of which is about 11,000/. per annum, there has been expended, 
 within the last seventeen years, on drainage and land improvement, 8,829/. ; 
 on buildings and repairs of tenants' houses, 13,393/. ; on compensation for 
 surrender of tenements, 3,948/ ; on emigration (4,616 persons), 17,059/. ; and 
 on sundry improvements, not included in the above, 11,129/ '> niaking a total, 
 in seventeen years, of 54,358/. : average, inclusive of emigration, 3,197/.; 
 average, exclusive of emigration, 2,194/. The number of new houses built oa 
 this estate (by the proprietor) within the above period has been about fifty.' 
 
 Note A. 
 
 AboJit ^,000 people died within the Union of Kenmare, of starvation, 
 in the tifne of the fami?ie; with abundance of corn near at hand, and 
 abundance of money offered by Lord Lansdowne to purchase it! The 
 
134 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. viii. 
 
 diminution of population between 1841 and 185 1, was 6,924 ; my emi- 
 gration scheme at that time was only in its commencement. As the 
 census was taken in March 185 1, the year in which the emigration 
 from Lord Lansdowne's Estate began, and none then emigrated on 
 their own account ; so that, making the fullest allowance for deaths 
 by natural causes, and the partial emigration which took place, at 
 least 5,000 people must have died of starvation within the Union 0/ 
 Kenmare! They died on the roads, and they died in the fields ; they 
 died on the mountains, and they died in the glens ; they died at the 
 relief works, and they died in their houses ; so that little ' streets ' or 
 villages were left almost without an inhabitant : and at last some few, 
 despairing of help in the country, crawled into the town, and died at 
 the doors of the residents and outside the Union walls. Some were 
 buried underground, and some were left unburied in the mountains 
 where they died, there being no one able to bury them. The descrip- 
 tions which have been given me of these scenes, by trustworthy eye- 
 witnesses, would appal the stoutest heart, and are far too horrible to 
 relate. Nothing which happened in Schull could exceed the horrors 
 of the famine in Kenmare and the surrounding mountains, and all this 
 took place because there was no one there with sufficient administra- 
 tive capacity to import corn in time, and to bring the food and the 
 people together! It has been stated that I have committed an error 
 in saying that ' there was no one there with sufficient energy to import 
 corn,' and that the authorities were paralysed by the magnitude of this 
 sudden disaster. I adhere to my statement. The passage cannot 
 mean that corn was never, or under any circumstances, imported into 
 Kenmare, but that it was not imported in time to save the people's 
 lives. It may be true that large quantities of corn were ultimately im- 
 ported, and a flotilla of abundance of food may from time to time have 
 lain in the harbour of Kenmare. But either it was imported ' too late,^ 
 or the people did not get it when most wanted. Otherwise — why did 
 5,000 people die of sheer starvation witliin the Union of Kenmare ? 
 
 Note B. 
 
 By the Union returns there were only 45 paupers receiving relief 
 chargeable to Lord Lansdowne's estate in the beginning of this present 
 month, January, 1869. Twenty-five of these were chargeable to the 
 town of Kenmare, the remaining 20 chargeable to the country part of 
 his Lordship's extensive estate. When I arrived in 1850, there were 
 about 3,000 miserable recipients of relief, subsisting exclusively on 
 public charity, and chargeable to the same estate. 
 
1850.] MARY SHEA. 1 35 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MARY SHEA. 
 
 Incidents of a touching and sometimes of an almost ro- 
 mantic character came frequently before me in my official 
 capacity during the course of those trying years. One of 
 these I particularly remember, and as I had an opportunity 
 of tracing out the tale from the commencement to the end, 
 I will give it a separate chapter. 
 
 I have gone through much laborious work during my 
 life, but I never went through any which pressed so hard 
 upon my powers of endurance as the arrangements for the 
 emigration at Kenmare. The tide of emigrants was so 
 enormous, each pressing his individual claim, and terrified 
 lest all the money should be exhausted before his or her 
 name could be entered upon the emigration list, that I was 
 compelled to station several stout men at the door of my 
 office to keep the place clear, or the pressure of the crowd 
 outside would absolutely have burst it in. These strong 
 though kind-hearted porters prevented unnecessary crush- 
 ing, and having selected those from amongst the applicants 
 who seemed from their appearance least able to wait, they 
 let them in one by one to me. I carefully investigated the 
 case of each ; and having granted or declined the applica- 
 tion, as the merits of the case deserved (and at that time I 
 refused very few), they were passed on, their names having 
 been entered for America. The joy depicted on the coun- 
 tenances of those who came out, and to whom immediate 
 
1 36 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ix. 
 
 emigration was promised, contrasted with the anxiety of 
 those who were still awaiting the decision of their fate at 
 the entrance door, was one of the most striking incidents of 
 the scene. ^ 
 
 I frequently passed eight hours a day at this most dis- 
 agreeable and laborious work. From the very nature of the 
 case, none came before me except those upon whom want in 
 its severest form had fallen. A similar .state of things when 
 these creatures were pressing for admission to the work- 
 house, had brought many a poor-law guardian, Government 
 official, and many a kind-hearted Irish lady and gentleman 
 to their graves, by violent typhus seizing them in the midst 
 of their anxious duties. 
 
 One rule I felt compelled to make, namely, that I would 
 speak to no applicants during the short intervals of my 
 release from business. There was a constant but natural 
 endeavour on the part of the peasantry to waylay mc, as it 
 were, in the private grounds of Lansdowne Lodge, thinking 
 they might thus obtain greater time and a more quiet 
 opportunity to state their several claims, and press their 
 title to a share of Lord Lansdowne's bounty in the free emi- 
 gration which was going forward. So difficult did I find it 
 to prevent this constant invasion of my very few hours of 
 privacy — hours which were almost as essential to my health 
 as breathing to my existence — that I found it necessary to 
 place guards around the premises; and, as the grounds 
 were then wholly unenclosed, and consisted chiefly of wood 
 and underwood, through which shady walks had been cut, 
 I found myself frequently face to face with an applicant 
 for emigration, notwithstanding all the vigilance of my 
 patrols. 
 
 I was walking one evening in those private pleasure 
 grounds, after a day of heavy labour in the office, when I 
 thought I perceived a pair of bright eyes watching me 
 
1850.] MARY SHEA. 1 37 
 
 through the leaves of some holly bushes with which the 
 wood abounds. I stopped immediately and asked who was 
 there. 
 
 'Oh, indeed your honour, it's only me; and I know it's 
 against the rules of the office to come here. But shure 
 wasn't I waiting at the office door all day, and they 
 wouldn't let me in, because they said I was well able to 
 hold out still, and wasn't nigh so weak as many of the 
 creatures that was there. And that was true enough ; but 
 then they didn't know that I had ten long miles to go 
 home before night ; and so, as some said your honour was 
 a good man, though some said not, I thought I would just 
 chance it for once, and maybe your honour would find time 
 to speak to a poor desolate orphan like me, even though it 
 is against the rules.' 
 
 ' The desolate orphan,' who now came forward and ex- 
 hibited not merely her bright eyes but her full form to my 
 view, was somewhat singular in her appearance. She had 
 but little of the original Celt in her features. Her beauty 
 was purely Spanish, of which I have seen many perfect 
 specimens in Tuosist and around Kenmare : large soft eyes, 
 with beautiful dark downy eyelashes, the mouth well formed, 
 and cheek of classic mould ; whilst the figure, perfect in its 
 symmetry, is erect and active, and exhibits a lightness of 
 step and grace of motion which can rarely be attained but 
 by constant practice in walking over the mountains. The 
 form which now stood before me was a beautiful specimen 
 of this perfect Spanish type. She was clean and neat in 
 her person, though her clothes were of the coarsest kind. 
 Her gown, made of the light grey flannel or freize, manu- 
 factured in the mountains where she lived, was crossed 
 upon her bosom and extended up to her neck. Her hair, 
 as black as jet, was neatly parted on her forehead, and 
 hung in careless folds down her back. She had neither 
 
138 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, ix, 
 
 shoes nor stockings, and her dress did not come down to 
 within seven or eight inches of her feet. She wore no 
 shawl, which is common in the district, about her neck. 
 She held her head as erect as a startled fawn. Her hands 
 were clasped in an attitude of wild supplication, and the 
 symmetry of her form was enhanced by the unusual addi- 
 tion of a leather strap buckled around her waist, which, 
 though neither new nor ornamental in itself, had the effect 
 of showing off her naturally beautiful figure to the best ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 The moment she appeared from behind the holly bush, 
 she commenced her oration. And talking with a volubility 
 and amount of action which it would be impossible to de- 
 scribe, her features became animated, and the blood mounted 
 to her cheeks. In truth, I have rarely seen so beautiful and 
 so natural a girl. I think she knew she was a beauty, and 
 had ' chanced ' a little of the success of her visit upon that 
 score,as well as upon my ' goodness;' but there was no vanity 
 or coquetry in her manner— she was perfectly natural and 
 simple, and, as regards the knowledge of her beauty, so in- 
 telligent a girl as she was could not possibly look at her 
 reflection in one of her own dark mountain lakes, and not 
 see that she was different from her neighbours. 
 
 She had watched my countenance with the quickness of 
 an Irish peasant during the whole time she was speaking ; 
 and in fact I felt sure she had prolonged her statement for 
 that sole purpose, in order to form an estimate of her suc- 
 cess, or vary her line of advance according as circumstances 
 revealed themselves. I saw this perfectly at the time ; but 
 my interest in her vivacious courage was so great, and my 
 admiration of her beauty so impossible to conceal, that she 
 saw in a moment, though I had not yet spoken a word, that 
 she had won her point. 
 
 * Ah ! well I knew your honour had a good and kind 
 
1850.] MARY SHEA. 139 
 
 heart within you,' said she, coming forward with graceful 
 animation and under cover of her well-turned flattery. ' And 
 now maybe I'd never have another opportunity, and oh ! 
 just listen to me till I tell you what I have to say, for mine 
 is a sore, sore sorrow.' 
 
 In a moment her whole countenance — almost her form, 
 had changed. Her courage — some of which she had 
 evidently derived from her beauty, seemed to have de- 
 parted. Tears filled her eyes as she looked down upon the 
 ground, and even her form seemed to lose many inches of 
 its height. I could scarcely have thought that the same 
 human being was before me, as she now stood about to tell 
 her tale of sorrow. 
 
 ' What is your name .-* ' I asked, ' and where do you live } ' 
 'Mary Shea is my name,' said she, 'that is, my maiden 
 name, and indeed for that matter I am not married yet.' 
 
 * Married ! ' I exclaimed, * why you seem scarcely seven- 
 teen years of age.' 
 
 ' True for you,' replied she, * you guessed it very nigh, as 
 I'll only be seventeen next Shrove-tide.' 
 
 ' And what is your case ? what do you want me to do .'' ' 
 ' I'll tell your honour that,' replied she, resuming in a 
 moment a portion of her previous animation. ' What I Avant 
 your honour to do is, to put down Eugene's name in the 
 books, as tenant for the little place I have up in the moun- 
 tain.' 
 
 * And who is Eugene ? and how came you to have a little 
 place of your own, and you so young as you are .-* ' 
 
 ' I'll tell your honour all about it,' she replied : ' the way of 
 it all was this : ' and again in a moment her countenance 
 changed, her eyelids drooped, her form seemed to lose its 
 height, and with a little hesitation as to where she should 
 begin, she commenced her tale of woe. ' The way of it all 
 was this ; your honour was not here in the " hungry year," 
 
140 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ix. 
 
 (a term frequently used amongst the pea ry to describe 
 the famine) ; but them was terrible times. I was only a little 
 slip of a girl then — and sure for that matter I'm not much 
 more this minute. But my father had a little place up in 
 the mountains, the same as what I was now talking about. 
 Well you see, he was an ould man, and my mother was 
 sickly, and they had no other child but me, and the place 
 was very small, and when the potatoes blackened, sure they 
 had no one but God to look to. " Father," says I, " I fear 
 ye'll die, and mother too, if ye don't get something to ate." 
 " True for ye, child," says father, " but where are we to get 
 it .-* the great God has rotted the potatoes in the ground, and 
 what other support had we all, and sure the neighbours are 
 as bad off as we are." Mother said nothing : she looked at 
 father and me, she kissed me once or twice, as if to wish me 
 good-bye ; and when I got up in the morning, I found her 
 sitting in her clothes beside the fire quite dead and stiff — 
 not a month after the potatoes had blackened. 
 
 ' Well, ye see we lived far up in the mountains, and no 
 meal or anything could be got there, except what I brought 
 myself— and it was ten long miles from Kenmare. " But 
 still," says I, " I won't let father die if I can help it ! " So 
 we had a few hives of honey which the gentlemen liked, 
 because the bees made it all on the heather ; and I used to 
 slip over to Kenmare, now and then, with a hive, and bring 
 back a little meal to father — we had no cow, as the place 
 was too small to rear one. And I won't tell your honour 
 a lie when I say that sorra ha'porth we had to live on 
 except just the few hives of honey ; and I knew when they 
 were out, and I had no money to buy meal, we might 
 just lie down and die. However, I said nothing to father 
 about this, for I was only a slip of a girl ; but I thought it 
 for all that. 
 
 ' Well, sure enough, after a time the honey was all sold, 
 
1S50.] MARY SHEA. I4T 
 
 and I smothered the last bee I had — though in troth I was 
 sorry to do so, as I had reared them all myself, and I 
 think they knew me, as they never once stung me, though 
 I used to sit close to the hive watching them. However, I 
 knew well it was better for them to die than father, so I 
 had to smother them ; and I went down to Kenmare with 
 a sorrowful heart, and got 15^-. for the hive. Well, with 
 that I fed father and myself for another weary month: and 
 when the meal was out, father says to me — " Mary dear, 
 it's no use striving any longer against the hunger. I can't 
 stand it. I'm weak and faint, and not able to go out to 
 the public works, and I might as well die in the house as 
 on the roads ; and now mind, Mary dear, when I die, bury 
 me beside your mother in the garden, and don't be making 
 any noise about it — calling a wake or a funeral, for all has 
 enough to do these hard times for themselves." " Oh 
 father dear, don't talk that way," says I, " I'll just go out 
 and see if I can't get something that will keep the life in 
 ye yet." So father said nothing, but just lay down on the 
 bed, as if to wait till I came home. Well, I had some 
 strength and spirit in me yet. And as Eugene and I had 
 known each other since we were little children, I thought I 
 would just go to him and see if he could help me. But 
 when I went to his house he was far away on the public 
 works. So I had no more heart nor strength to go any 
 farther, and I had enough to do to get home. But oh ! 
 sorrow came heavy on me then : for when I called on 
 father as I came in to ask him if God had sent him any 
 food, he did not answer; and when I came to his bed, and 
 put my hand upon his forehead, I found that he was dead 
 and cold, and I was left alone in the world.' 
 
 Here the poor girl's voice failed ; and, commencing to 
 weep bitterly, she turned her head away. I found the tears 
 
142 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ix. 
 
 rising in my own eyes too, but endeavouring to turn her 
 thoughts from this sad scene, I said — 
 
 ' You have mentioned Eugene once or twice — who is 
 Eugene ? ' 
 
 She dried her eyes in a moment ; and, resuming the 
 natural vivacity of her manner, she called aloud to some 
 one who was evidently near at hand — 
 
 * Eugene ! where are you, Eugene ? I wouldn't wonder if 
 he was here this minute ! ' 
 
 And, truly enough, he was ; for slowly emerging from 
 the same holly bush where I had observed the young 
 damsel's eyes in the first instance, came a tall good-looking 
 youth, clean and fair, with a cheek as smooth and free 
 from beard as a woman's. He was about nineteen or 
 twenty years of age, and as bashful as a youth detected 
 under such circumstances — though she had evidently hid 
 him there herself — could be. 
 
 ' Don't be afeared, Eugene,' cried the damsel — ' don't be 
 afeared. The gentleman isn't angry. Come and spake to 
 him this minute.' — ' He is shy, your honour,' said she — 
 turning to me in a conciliatory voice, as if excusing and 
 patronising her lover, over whom she evidently considered 
 she had a great advantage in facility of speech and general 
 knowledge of the world : — ' He is shy, and doesn't know 
 how to spake to a gentleman ; and I hope you'll excuse 
 him ; but he is a good kind boy for all that, and well able 
 to become a tenant for the little place, if you will only put 
 his name in the book.' 
 
 * Well but,' I urged, ' if I put his name down in the book, 
 he will be the tenant and not you ; and how would that 
 answer your purpose .'' ' 
 
 ' Oh, sure your honour, it would be all the same ; we 
 would get married at once, and we would have the little 
 place between us, as I feel lonesome in it all by myself 
 
i8so.] MARY SHEA. 1 43 
 
 ' How large is the little place ? ' enquired I. 
 
 ' Well, for that matter, it is big enough,' she replied, 
 ' but indeed it is not good for much, as it's able to feed 
 nothing but the bees. And, troth, I don't know where 
 they find anything to gather except in autumn, when the 
 blossom comes upon the heather.' 
 
 ' What is the value of the place ? ' asked I. 
 
 'Well indeed, it is not much. The late agent said it 
 was good value, little cabin and all, for ys. 6d. a year, and 
 the rent was never raised since, and we made a few perches 
 of potato-garden near the house.' 
 
 ' And so you and Eugene really want to marry and set 
 up house upon a place only worth ys. 6d. a year, cabin, 
 mountain-land, garden, and all .'' ' 
 
 'Well indeed, your honour, I don't see what better we 
 could do. You see Eugene and I have known each other 
 a long time now, and all the neighbours knows we loves 
 each other very much — and why wouldn't I love him, poor 
 boy, when it was himself that saved my life.' 
 
 ' How did he save your life .'' ' I asked. 
 
 ' Well, you see, I was telling you all about it,' she re- 
 sumed, ' when you asked for Eugene, and I had to present 
 him to your honour. But shure enough, it was Eugene, and 
 no one else, that saved my life, that night I was telling you 
 of when father died. I found him cold and stiff in the bed 
 when I came home ; and I had nothing in the house my- 
 self — no meal, nor bread, nor potatoes, nor a ha'porth ; so 
 I just sat down on the bedside near him, and — God forgive 
 me ! — I prayed that He would take me too ; for I was help- 
 less and sorrowful, and weak and down-hearted, with the 
 hunger. And then I began to cry ; and I thought of mother, 
 how she had died, and how father was dead, and no one to 
 bury him. "And," thinks I, " if I die too, the cabin will 
 make a decent little grave over us all, and no one will 
 
144 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ix. 
 
 know anything about it ! " So I was crying on, thinking 
 of all these things, and wondering how it all came about, 
 when I heard a footstep at the door, and I guessed at once 
 it was Eugene's. So he never said a word to me at first, 
 but he sat himself down beside me. And after a little, he 
 says — "What is it, Mary dear.?" "Oh, Eugene," says I, 
 " mother is dead, and now father is dead : there he is before 
 you, and I'm going to die too, for I'm broken-hearted, and 
 have nothing to eat." " Eat this," says Eugene, and he 
 pulled an elegant loaf out of his pocket — " I guessed ye 
 came up to look for me to-day ; and when I came home 
 from the works and mother gave me my supper, I just put 
 it in my pocket as I was'nt hungry myself, and came off 
 with it to you. So eat it, Mary dear ; for I couldn't eat it if 
 a basket full of bread was before me ! " Well, I knew the 
 poor boy had stinted himself to give it to me ; but I was 
 well-nigh gone, so I just gave him a loving look, and says 
 I — " Eugene dear, I know well how it is ; but I'll eat it for 
 all that for your sake, and for fear I'd die before your face." 
 And so I did ; " And now, Mary," says he, " come home 
 with me, and mother will take care of you for a bit ; and in 
 the morning I'll come out myself and buiy father for you." 
 And so he did — the brave boy that he is, shy as he looks 
 before your honour now. And we dug the grave between 
 us, and put father into it, just as he was — for we had no 
 coffin — where would we get one that year ? and we laid him 
 beside mother. And when the great day comes, sure they'll 
 both rise together as well as if they were in a coffin of 
 gold ! ' 
 
 Again she began to weep ; but it was of short continuance 
 this time. 
 
 ' And now, won't you put Eugene's name in the book ? 
 and we'll go live there again, for it's hard to keep him away, 
 and he is always pressing me to go with him to the priest. 
 
1850.] MARY SHEA. I45 
 
 And we have put a new coat of thatch upon the Httle 
 cabin, and maybe God would be good to us, and the bees 
 would thrive, and the hungry year may never come on us 
 again.' 
 
 It was hard to resist such an appeal ; especially when so 
 easy an act would make a young and attached couple 
 happy. But when I reflected upon the prospects in life 
 upon which they were about to marry — nothing but a few 
 acres of worthless heather, the cabin and all the land 
 attached worth only js. 6d. a year, and fit for nothing 
 but to feed bees — I felt that in granting her request, 
 I was only perpetuating the very system which had 
 killed her father and mother ; and, if extended now again, 
 could not possibly lead to anything but the utmost want 
 and misery. To think of this noble youth and innocent 
 and lovely maiden — such a handsome loving couple as 
 they were — squatting on this miserable plot of irreclaim- 
 able mountain side ! I could not bear to think of it, so 
 I resolved if I could, to save them from so unworthy a 
 fate. 
 
 ' Well, Mary, I have heard all you have to say, and I 
 would gladly do anything in my power to serve you and 
 Eugene,* but I cannot b^ar the thought of a handsome girl 
 like you, and a fine manly boy like him, settling down for 
 life on this miserable patch on the side of a barren moun- 
 tain. I am thinking it would be far better to try your 
 fortune in America together, and go out like the other 
 emigrants, so many of whom were pressing to get their 
 names down to-day.' 
 
 Mary was silent for a little. At last she said, 
 'Well, your honour, I often thought it would be better — 
 sure enough — to try our fortune in America, than to marry 
 
 * ' Eugene ' is a common Christian name amongst the peasantry in that part 
 of the country, probably of Spanish origin. 
 
146 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ix. 
 
 and settle on that small patch of barren land where my 
 little place is ; but I couldn't bear to think of going out on 
 charity as a pauper. I never yet got poor relief from the 
 workhouse ; and I wouldn't wish to go to America with 
 the likes of the emigrants your honour is now sending 
 out.' 
 
 ' I understand your scruples,' I replied, ' so I will propose 
 another plan. What do you think if Eugene were to go 
 out first — just for one year — and see whether the country 
 would suit you and him .'' Let him return at the end of the 
 year ; and if he does not like America, then I will put his 
 name in the books as tenant for your own little place, or 
 probably I shall be able to give you and him a better farm 
 by that time.' 
 
 * I would be loth to part with him for a whole long year,' 
 said Mary, looking lovingly upon the bashful Eugene ; ' but 
 still I think it might be the best way after all ; for no doubt 
 it is a poor place to settle on. But Eugene has no money 
 to go out with, and I have little or none to help him, and 
 he couldn't go without that.' 
 
 ' He shall not fail for want of funds ; I will lend him the 
 money for his voyage. If he return rich, he will repay me ; 
 if not, why it can't be helped.' 
 
 ' Your honour is very good,' replied she, looking mourn- 
 fully at Eugene ; ' but what will I do without him ? and 
 where will I go while he is away ? ' 
 
 * You can stay at mother's, dear, while I am away,' broke 
 in Eugene, who seemed suddenly to awake to an energy 
 he had not before exhibited. ' You well know she always 
 loved you as a daughter, and she will care for you for my 
 sake as well as for your own.' 
 
 ' I believe your honour's right,' said Mary, turning to me ; 
 ' let him go and try his fortune for one year ; but mind,' she 
 added, as she looked towards the lad, ' mind, Eugene, you 
 
1S50.] MARY SHEA. I47 
 
 must swear to me on the Book you will come back — rich 
 or poor, I don't care which — within the one year.' 
 
 ' I will swear it to you freely,' replied Eugene, who seemed 
 suddenly to find his tongue and all his other energies at the 
 prospect of such an opening. 
 
 ' And will your honour promise, on the word of a gentle- 
 man, to give us back the little place, or get us another 
 better one when he returns, if he won't take me out with 
 him again .-' ' asked Mary with an appealing look. 
 
 * Indeed I will ; I faithfully promise it, if I am alive and 
 here.' 
 
 ' Well then, let it be so,' said the weeping Mary ; ' and 
 now the sooner the better. When will your honour give 
 him the money that he may go at once ? ' 
 
 'To-morrow morning. He shall also have a new suit of 
 clothes, as fast as the tailor can make them, and I have no 
 doubt he will get into immediate employment' 
 
 Mary looked at her intended husband, and at once 
 perceived that a man's energy and courage had suddenly 
 risen within him. He was no longer a sheepish boy, 
 patronised and brought forward by her ; and he took 
 upon himself the unaccustomed task of comforting and 
 patronising her. 
 
 ' Mary dear, don't fret ; as sure as the sun is in the 
 Heaven, I'll come back ; I know I will, and this will be the 
 last parting we will ever have. The gentleman has advised 
 us for our good. The barren lot on the mountain side is 
 no place for the likes of you and me to settle. I'll go seek 
 my fortune in America ; and, please God, I'll surely succeed ; 
 and then I'll come back for my own darlin', and take her 
 out along with me. For God's sake, master, let us be 
 quick ; for I dar'n't rest, or think of leaving Mary, or may- 
 be I couldn't go out at all' 
 
 Mary threw her arms about Eugene's neck, and — 
 
 L 2 
 
148 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ix. 
 
 utterly regardless of my presence — sobbed and wept like 
 a little child. Her patronising air was utterly gone, and 
 she addressed him as a lover who had proved himself 
 worthy of her affections. 
 
 ' Eugene,' said she, ' I know well I need not fear for 
 your love if you were ten thousand miles away. Ye have 
 proved it too often for me to doubt it for a moment now. 
 Go, and God be with you ; but — mind you come back 
 within the year, wJietJicr ye be rich or whether ye be 
 poor — if rich, ye will be welcome, and if poor, ye will then 
 be doubly welcome to your own darlin' Mary. Never 
 forget that! 
 
 She then turned to me, and — holding out her hand as a 
 countess might have done — she continued, 
 
 ' Thank your honour much for your kindness; I'll never 
 forget it, either in this world or the next.' 
 
 In a few days Eugene appeared before me, clad in a new 
 and comfortable suit. 
 
 I gave him his passage-money, and a couple of pounds 
 over, that he might be able to go up the country, and look 
 for employment at once. He thanked me in a manly open 
 way and departed. 
 
 My time and attention were so much occupied with 
 the onerous duties in which I was then engaged, that 
 though I often thought of Mary and her lover, yet I never 
 had an opportunity of making special enquiries about her ; 
 but one day, she sought me again as I was walking in the 
 same grounds ; and, coming up to me with a countenance 
 beaming with pleasure, she showed me a letter from Eugene. 
 It was not long, nor what most people would call very in- 
 teresting ; but he told her he was in full employment with 
 a good and kind man — that he had already saved 7/. out 
 of his earnings, and he hoped, before very long, to come 
 back and claim his prize, and carry his darling Mary off 
 
1S50.] MARY SHEA. 1 49 
 
 to a far home he was even then preparing for her. This 
 was about six or seven months after he left, and she had 
 remained sometimes in her ' own little place ' as she called 
 it, and sometimes with his mother, ever since. 
 
 About five months after the last interview, I was walking 
 alone along the sea-shore at Kenmare, when I was again 
 waylaid by the handsome Spanish beauty ; but this time 
 she was accompanied by a young man. She looked grave, 
 though happy, as she walked lovingly by his side, and her 
 patronising ways had altogether departed from her. I 
 looked carefully at the young man. He was tall and 
 strong ; his beard was massive, and reached almost to his 
 chest ; his face was handsome, but sunburnt and weather- 
 beaten ; and his whole appearance was as little like her 
 lover Eugene as it was possible for it to be. 
 
 I stood still as the pair approached me, looking intently 
 from one to the other. Mary and the man came quite 
 close up to me, and — as neither of them addressed me — I 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 ' How is this, Mary ? ' said I, ' and who is this man 
 who accompanies you .'' You surely do not mean to say 
 you have cast off Eugene, and taken up with another 
 man .'' ' 
 
 Mary leaped nearly a foot from the ground as I said so. 
 ' I knew your honour wouldn't know him ! ' cried she in a 
 sudden ecstasy of joy. 'Why this is Eugene himself! 
 sure didn't he deceive 7;/^, when he first came into the 
 cabin, and why would your honour know him ? Look at 
 him now, and tell me if he is not grown a real man in 
 earnest. Turn round, Eugene, and show yourself ; ' and 
 assuming her old patronising way for a moment, she turned 
 him round and round for me to look at and admire, whilst 
 he submitted with a loving tender look of admiration at his 
 bride. 
 
150 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. ix. 
 
 ' And so this is indeed Eugene come back,' I exclaimed, 
 ' and such a fine manly-looking fellow too. I hope you 
 have prospered, Eugene, and that you will now take out 
 Mary to a new and happy home far better and richer than 
 her little place on the barren mountain .'' ' 
 
 Eugene was about to reply, when Mary leaped up, and 
 caught him round the neck with her arms. 
 
 ' Oh, Eugene ! ' cried she — almost in hysterics between 
 joy and anxiety — ' take me away with you soon, oh take 
 me away, we cannot go too soon to please me ! ' Then — 
 turning rapidly to me — she said, in a joyous and altered 
 voice, 
 
 ' He has got a fine place of his own now, and twenty 
 acres of good land, and a grand wooden house, in which he 
 says I can live as comfortable as any lady. Oh, Eugene 
 darling,' cried she, turning to him again, ' take me away — 
 take me away, and let us go to our new home, and never 
 know sorrow or hunger more ! ' 
 
 She burst into tears, and clinging to his neck kissed him 
 over and over again, till he gently took her in his arms, and 
 placed her sitting — still sobbing like a child — on a bank of 
 grass close by. 
 
 ' Sir,' said he, ' I have to thank you for your kindness. 
 I have brought back wuth me the money you lent me, and 
 am now ready to repay you. I have a neat place to bring 
 Mary to, and all reasonable comforts for her. I could 
 have made it better, had I waited another year; but I 
 promised in your presence not to let more than one year 
 pass without returning — whether I came rich or poor. I 
 have come back according to my promise. If not rich, 
 at least with enough to give her plenty to eat, and a warm 
 comfortable home; and I hope soon to make it better. 
 To-morrow we go to Cork : we are to be married there. 
 The next day we sail for the West. May God bless you. 
 
1850. MARY SHEA. I51 
 
 Sir ! I will never forget your kindness.' And he placed his 
 passage-money in my hand. 
 
 Mary sat listening while he spoke, sobbing and crying 
 all the while. He lifted her gently up. She seized my 
 hand and kissed it, covering it with her tears. Then 
 suddenly smiling, whilst the large drops trembled in her 
 eyes, she gave me one grateful and happy look, and left 
 the sea-shore with her lover. 
 
1856.] THE SEAL HUNT. 1 53 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SEAL HUNT. 
 
 There are few places the climate of which is more 
 delightful than that of Kenmare in summer, or for about 
 eight months in the year. It is seldom cold in that region 
 even in winter; but during the months of August, Sep- 
 tember, and October there is a balmy softness combined 
 with freshness in the atmosphere which I have never felt in 
 any other part of the British Isles. The warm Gulf-stream, 
 which runs across the Atlantic, strikes full upon the Bay of 
 Kenmare, and as this is guarded by lofty mountains at the 
 entrance, about twenty-six miles from the upper end of 
 the bay, the moist and rain-charged clouds, striking these 
 guardian giants, are arrested and converted into rain, ere 
 they float inland from the sea. 
 
 These natural features have a strong tendency to render 
 the district immediately around Kenmare more free from 
 rain than it otherwise would be if exposed to the first 
 action of the clouds from the Atlantic. And many a time 
 I have seen shower after shower breaking on the distant 
 hills at the mouth of the bay, whilst all is sunshine at 
 Kenmare. But though the mountains arrest the clouds 
 and showers, they do not hinder the free access of the soft 
 breezes which find their way up the long valley and the 
 narrow neck of sea : and I know of nothing more delightful 
 than pushing oft in a shift" upon the bay on a summer's 
 
154 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. x. 
 
 evening and enjoying the freshness of the delicious air 
 after a day of fagging business. 
 
 I fear it was our practice to carry our love for boating a 
 little too far upon these charming waters, and to run risks 
 which were anything but prudent, merely for the pleasure 
 of adventure and the novelty of the scenes which every 
 aspect of the sea produces. My son, Townsend Trench, 
 now Lord Lansdowne's agent at Kenmare, was very fond of 
 boat-building, and contrived a sea-going skiff which has 
 been much admired, and many similar to which have since 
 been built for those residing on the coast. He had long 
 contemplated a trip in his skiff around the wild headlands 
 of Derrynane and Lamb Head to Valentia. One could 
 hardly undertake anything more dangerous, but he fancied 
 that his skiff could accomplish it, and I plainly saw that he 
 had made up his mind to the experiment. 
 
 I confess, however, I was somewhat startled one morning, 
 when away from Kenmare, by receiving from him the 
 following letter, which, as it affords a full description of his 
 voyage, I give in his own words. 
 
 'Kenmare, April 1862. 
 
 ' My DEAR Father. — I have just successfully accom- 
 plished my long-cherished hope of running round to 
 Valentia in the skiff.^ The weather being settled, with a 
 steady south-east wind, I left Kenmare the day before 
 yesterday at half-past two in the afternoon. Bury and 
 Thade Downing accompanied me."}* We carried full sail, 
 and as the breeze freshened we ran with our gunwale to 
 the water's edge all the way to Lamb Head, intending 
 
 * The sea-going skiff in which this voyage was made was 25 feet long, 4 feet 
 width of beam, and 8 inches deep amidships, drawing about 4 inches of water. 
 The bow, which is very hoUow-sliaped, as well as the stern, is slightly turned 
 up or raised ; there is also a 4-inch combing round, where the party sit. Two 
 men could carry the boat. 
 
 f Two active boatmen. 
 
i862.] THE SEAL HUNT. 1 55 
 
 to sleep at Lord Dunraven's cottage at Derrynane, and 
 proceed to V/aterville next morning. The sea, however, 
 was so smooth, and the wind so fair and the aneroid so 
 high, that Bury proposed we should go on and sleep at 
 Valentia ! 
 
 ' It was now eight o'clock in the evening, and we calcu- 
 lated on reaching Valentia about an hour before midnight. 
 Of course it was no joke to venture such a run as that 
 across Ballinskelligs Bay and round "Bolus Head " at nigJit. 
 However, we reckoned that if we could live by day, we 
 could live by night, and the nights just now being usually 
 calmer than the days, we resolved to " chance it," and in 
 a few minutes we were flying along w^ith all sails set, at 
 the rate of seven miles an hour — Bolus Head right before 
 us, and Derrynane behind us. Thus in about an hour 
 we crossed Ballinskelligs Bay, that most dangerous of all 
 dangerous places, the sea still curiously flat, working a 
 little as if it intended mischief, but the breeze perfection. 
 
 ' At Bolus Head of course our greatest danger began. 
 It was now nearly dark, but the crescent moon was up. 
 My two boatmen did not seem to me at all to realise the 
 danger. However, I know well I never can describe to 
 you half the charms of that delightful run. We had toler- 
 able light to steer by, except when we went down into 
 the troughs of the sea, and then it was sometimes hard to 
 discern between the hill which stood beside us, and the 
 waves which seemed like mountains. 
 
 'Leaving Bolus Head, we scudded on at a clipping pace, 
 and the skiff yielded so much to the breeze that Bury said 
 we must reef the mainsail. I said not, that we would carry 
 on whilst we could, and then take it down altogether. 
 About this time we ran over some very foul ground just off 
 Bolus, and the sea every now and then gave a vast " hoist " 
 under us that was really nothing short of terrific. 
 
156 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. x. 
 
 ' Puffin Island soon came in view. We held a short con- 
 sultation, and decided to run inside it — that is, right 
 through the Puffin Sound ! We reached it I think about 
 10 P.M., and now the sea became rougher, and began to 
 tumble us about fearfully, which was very serious, running 
 at the pace we were going before the wind. So we took 
 down the mainsail, running still under the mizen, and with 
 two oars rowing. Nearer and nearer we came on to the 
 Sound, and the awful roar of the Atlantic swell was mag- 
 nificent. We saw nothing but a sheet of foam between two 
 gloomy cliffs. But it is needless to say that by this time 
 return was impossible — ahead we must go. 
 
 ' " Now, Sir, keep the island side for your life ! " shouted 
 Bury. And immediately we found ourselves between two 
 dark masses of mountain, with roaring crested swells on 
 the left, and on the right a terrible breaker off some rocks 
 close to the shore. 
 
 ' At this moment a dark canoe,* with six men in her, 
 glided out of the gloom like a phantom, and passed us. 
 
 ' " Where are you from .-* " cried they. 
 
 ' " Kenmare," was our brief reply, 
 
 ' " A dangerous craft for such a sea as this." 
 
 ' " Yes, good night ! " and we shot past them like an 
 arrow. 
 
 ' The Puffin Sound looked little else than a mass of foam 
 and breakers. I kneeled up in the boat to look ahead, 
 but could see no way through. So I instantly put the 
 helm about to try and catch our phantom friends, and 
 perhaps get an escort through the pass. But they had 
 disappeared in the gloom, and no calls could be heard ten 
 yards off in the midst of the roar around us. So I prayed 
 
 * The canoe of that district is made of canvas, painted black, and stretched 
 on light timber ribs. It floats, in a marvellous manner, on the top of the 
 roughest waves. 
 
i862.] THE SEAL HUNT. I57 
 
 to God for guidance, and went straight at the easiest and 
 smoothest-looking spot we could see. I never can forget 
 the power and peace of knowing Christ as my Saviour at 
 such a time as this. It removed all fear of death. 
 
 * We found the Sound one sheet of white foam, but no 
 breakers in the middle of it. In a few moments we were 
 through, and once more scudding like mad before the 
 wind, the sea being comparatively smooth, as the wind was 
 partly off the shore. During the whole of this critical 
 period, and indeed throughout almost the whole night, one 
 man was continually baling to keep the little craft from 
 filling with water, as she dashed on her way through the 
 sea. 
 
 ' We soon sighted Bray Head, that is Valentia ! The 
 strain of anxiety and work — having run over fifty miles in 
 a state of tension of both mind and body — was now be- 
 ginning to tell on us. Still we were, thank God, fresh and 
 game. Shortly afterwards we reached Portmagee Harbour, 
 and turning in from the Atlantic, we glided suddenly into 
 a smooth calm channel. I cannot describe the effect this 
 marvellous change had upon us. In another hour we had 
 our boat on Valentia Strand, after having run between fifty 
 and sixty miles in nine hours and forty minutes. 
 
 ' We roused up the hotel folk, who did not know what to 
 make of us. We were all drenched to the skin ; but we 
 got a good fire in the kitchen, and some hot tea. The 
 men slept on the kitchen table, and I got a kind of bed, in 
 which I slept soundly. Next morning having visited one 
 or two friends, we turned towards home. But a stiff sea 
 turn having set in, I resolved not to venture round the 
 headlands. So I ran the skiff ashore near a road, and 
 having hired a cart, I got her and her traps on it, and 
 started across the hills for Ballinskelligs. The horse was 
 young, and never before having had such a load behind him, 
 
158 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. x. 
 
 became frightened and ran away, skiff and all, up the hill. 
 The driver, however, held on, but, breathless and frightened, 
 he declared he would not try it again. We said he must. 
 But just as the dispute was rising high, we observed an old 
 horse quietly grazing on the road-side. So we turned out 
 the young one into the old horse's place, put the old one 
 into the shafts where the young one had been, and away 
 we went once more, and got safely to Waterville late that 
 evening, skiff and all. Next day I launched the skiff again 
 at Westcove, and reached Kenmare early this evening. 
 
 ' Such has been our most delightful adventure. I antici- 
 pate your rebuke for such monstrous rashness, but really 
 the chance was too attractive to resist. I may never again 
 get such a pet day, and, thank God, the most perfect 
 success attended us throughout. After all, I half suspect 
 that your chief rebuke will be, that I have made the trip 
 without you ! 
 
 * Your affectionate son, 
 
 ' J. TowNSEND Trench. 
 
 'W. Steuart Trench, Esq.' 
 
 I have given the above letter in extenso, as showing the 
 wild scenes and many charms which may be amply enjoyed 
 at Kenmare. 
 
 The Bay of Ballinskelligs is well-known to fishermen, 
 not only for its abundance of fish, but also as a deceitful 
 and dangerous harbour. I remember on one occasion 
 taking round a small ' hooker ' or fishing smack from Ken- 
 mare, and making a trial of the celebrated trawling ground 
 in the bay. I can truly say that in one ' scrape ' we almost 
 filled the little hooker with fish ! We took sixty-two pairs 
 of soles, four turbots, I don't recollect how many scores of 
 plaice — but I think at least eight or ten — sixty-three of 
 the largest and finest crabs I ever saw, and a quantity of 
 
1856.] THE SEAL HUNT. 1 59 
 
 skaite * and other waste fish. The bank is still there, alive 
 with fish as ever. Some few adventurers now and then take 
 a haul ; but as there is no good shelter from storms in Bal- 
 linskelligs, should it come on to blow, which, some way or 
 another, generally happens, the fish have it all their own 
 way in those regions, and devour each other at their leisure. 
 I found upwards of twenty small fish of various kinds in 
 the inside of one skaite which I opened. 
 
 But interesting as all this may be to those who love such 
 scenes, it is nothing to the excitement of seal hunting, if 
 any be adventurous enough to enter upon that wildest of 
 wild sports of Ireland. Having accompanied an expedition 
 against the seals myself, I will endeavour to describe it in 
 detail. 
 
 In one of the most remote and unfrequented spots in 
 Ireland, amongst the crags and rocks near Derrynane 
 Abbey, long celebrated as the seat of Daniel O'Connell 
 'the liberator,' there is a strange and curious cave. It lies 
 nearly opposite to ScarrifT Island, and is protected by a cor- 
 don of rocks which rise up out of the sea as if to guard its 
 mouth. But the great peculiarity of it is, that the interior of 
 the cave is only accessible for an hour or two during spring 
 tides, and as these only happen periodically once a fortnight, 
 or every month at full moon, the cave's mouth may be 
 considered as practically closed to mankind. But though 
 closed to men, it is at all times open to the seals, and these 
 remarkable animals have found it a most secure retreat ; and 
 when weary of fishing or amusing themselves sporting in the 
 Atlantic, they retire to this cavern in security, and make 
 it their resting place at night. 
 
 To attack these seals in their own cave was the object of 
 the expedition. This required much care, and to attempt 
 it was a service of some danger. But we heard that it had 
 
 * The fishermen on the western coast of Ireland will not eat skaite. 
 
l60 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. x. 
 
 twice been attempted before, and once with success. On 
 the first occasion the native who had agreed to accompany 
 us, had gone into the cave with his brother. But the seals 
 came down on them in force in a narrow part of the passage 
 and got entangled in his brother's legs, who lost his nerve, 
 and falling backward on one of the beasts was seized by 
 him and dragged into the water, whence he was rescued by 
 his companion with the loss of a considerable piece of the 
 flesh of his leg. We resolved, nevertheless, to make the 
 trial. 
 
 The necessary conditions were as follow : — a calm sea, 
 tolerably warm weather, a full moon, and of course the 
 high spring tides and consequent low strand which accom- 
 panies the full moon. Without calm weather no power 
 could get a boat into or even near the cave, as the swell of 
 the Atlantic would inevitably dash it on the rocks. The 
 high strand of the spring tide is necessary lest the entrance 
 to the cave should be covered with water as it is at all 
 other times ; and as no man could dive into its unmitigated 
 darkness and live, the spring tide must be waited for to 
 reveal its mouth and render its inner caverns accessible. 
 Warm weather is also an almost necessary condition, as 
 the length of space necessary for the seal-hunter to swim is 
 so considerable, that he might otherwise become numb 
 with cold at the very moment when all his energies and 
 strength would be required. 
 
 All these conditions appeared to be fulfilled during our 
 stay at Waterville in September 1856. My son and I had 
 taken up our abode at ' Tom Danahey's,' a little road-side 
 inn well known to all fishermen at Waterville. Tom 
 Danahey has his own way of doing business ; his establish- 
 ment is not showy, I admit, and cannot compare in ap- 
 pearance with the ' Lake Hotel,' which has recently been 
 built in the locality. But, some way or other, Tom gene- 
 rally manages to have his rooms pretty full in the season^ 
 
:.ii«»^' 
 
 M' 
 
 
 
 Jm?- 
 
1S56.] THE SEAL HUNT. 161 
 
 and whether it is that he understands how to cook the 
 delicious white trout which his customers catch, and the 
 curdy salmon fresh from the river, with the ' sea louse ' still 
 clinging to its sides, more delicately than they can manage 
 at the Lake Hotel, I know not ; but this I can vouch, that 
 Tom will do his best for his company, and Tom's best is 
 sufficiently good for any man fond of true sport, and who 
 is prepared to rough it a little in trying his luck at the well- 
 known salmon fishing in Waterville. 
 
 Tom Danahey is also celebrated for his port. Where he 
 gets it I never could make out, and I believe nobody but 
 he knows ; it is a little secret which he likes to keep to 
 himself But if anyone wishes for a good glass of port 
 wine, well suited to the cultivated taste of the English or 
 Irish gentleman, he may calculate on finding it at Tom's 
 simple little wayside inn. 
 
 As I stated before, all necessary conditions for the seal 
 hunt appeared to be fulfilled whilst staying a few years 
 ago at Tom Danahey's with my son, and we resolved upon 
 an attack on the seals. Mr. Clementi — a gentleman resid- 
 ing in that neighbourhood, and who had explored the cave 
 once before with success, having killed a magnificent seal 
 there — kindly offered us his escort ; and having secured the 
 services of the guide, who had first discovered this abode of 
 the seals by observing them swimming towards it in the 
 evening, our party was complete. We hired a good strong 
 fishing boat manned with ten oarsmen, and commanded 
 by a shrewd old ' captain,' as he was called by the crew, 
 who was well acquainted with every rock and shoal between 
 Ballinskelligs and Derrynane. 
 
 Our equipments were not numerous. My son and Mr. 
 Clementi, both of them good swimmers, had prepared for- 
 midable clubs, which of course floated, and which they 
 towed with them when in the water by a string which they 
 
 M 
 
1 62 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. x. 
 
 held in their teeth, so as not to impede their swimming. 
 In the bands of their low-crowned hats they had each a 
 long pliable sort of candle, made of a large double-plaited 
 wick, dipped repeatedly in tallow, which stuck up in a 
 strange way from their hats resembling an eagle's broken 
 feather. Inside their hats they had a supply of lucifer 
 matches, lest by any chance the candle should be extin- 
 guished. Their hunting dress consisted of two pairs of 
 woollen stockings each, to save their feet from injury on the 
 rocks. The guide w^ore a waistcoat on his body — nothing 
 else. In his hat was the same strange-looking candle, and 
 he had besides a quantity of chips of split bog-wood stuck 
 round its sides, which, in the moonlight, gave him the ap- 
 pearance of an American Indian chief! 
 
 I took nothing with me but my ordinary clothes and a 
 swimming belt, as I did not feel equal to such an adven- 
 ture as that now projected ; but should occasion require it, 
 I was prepared to go in and render any necessary assist* 
 ance. The distance from Waterville round Ballinskelligs 
 Bay to the scene of action near Scarriff Island, is not less 
 than eight or ten miles. Little more than an hour brought 
 us round the headlands and near to the outside of the 
 rocky cordon. 
 
 Hitherto I had been steersman, but now the old ' captain' 
 of the seine boat came to the stern, and without speaking a 
 word pushed me quietly aside, as if I were a log of wood, 
 took the helm from my hand, and giving one or two quick 
 orders to the men in Irish, we found ourselves suddenly 
 amongst the breakers, and so close to the rocks with their 
 dark shadows overhanging, that the men were compelled 
 to row with shortened oars. 
 
 ' Mind what you are about, captain ! ' shouted Clementi. 
 
 ' Never fear. Sir,' replied the old man in his quiet steady 
 voice. He stood firmly in the boat with an expression of 
 intense watchfulness, courage, and confidence in himself. 
 
^ 
 
f 
 
 ;^ 
 
 t 
 
 S 
 
 ■"* 
 
 ■< 
 
 'i^^m 
 
1856.] THE SEAL HUNT. 1 63 
 
 Though an old and poor and small man, so complete was 
 his influence not only over the men but over ourselves, that 
 I think had he dashed us straight at a rock I should have 
 looked with confidence to a safe result. 
 
 Our passage amongst the breakers was a dangerous one. 
 Though the sea appeared comparatively calm outside, yet 
 amidst the rocks a considerable swell was apparent. Some- 
 times we rowed with shortened oars, the rocks jutting out so 
 near that the men had scarcely room to pull. Sometimes a 
 sudden cry from the captain of * Back water, boys ! back 
 water for your lives ! ' made us aware that we were proceed- 
 ing at imminent risk. And when, at last, after poising the 
 boat for a few minutes on the top of each swell as it rolled 
 on, the captain wildly shouted, ' Now boys, pull, pull for 
 your lives ! ' I found he had been calmly waiting for a wave 
 of sufficient volume, on the swelling top of which we might 
 actually leap the cordon of rocks which surrounded the 
 mouth of the cave. In a moment we were inside the rocky 
 barrier, the immediate danger was past, and we found our- 
 selves within the smooth amphitheatre in which the mouth 
 of the cave is situated. The entrance is difficult to find. 
 It stands right opposite to Scarriff Island. A bold crew, 
 however, commanded by an experienced captain, can at 
 any time make it out. 
 
 We now rowed on, preserving the most perfect silence, 
 lest the seals should be disturbed. The hunters stripped off 
 their great coats and prepared for action, and by degrees 
 we approached the cave. The entrance is very narrow, 
 and the split on the outside of the rock which forms it 
 appears to be immensely high ; but the spot was so gloomy, 
 and we came so suddenly under its shadow, that I could 
 not measure its proportions. No one spoke aloud, but the 
 guide came stealthily up, and asked me for a knife. I lent 
 him one, and he put it into his waistcoat pocket. 
 
164 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. x. 
 
 The time of action had now arrived ; my son and de- 
 menti struck each a light, and applying it to the strange 
 candles in their hats, a bright flame blazed forth, which set 
 off the dark shadows of the cave in formidable contrast 
 Both now fixed their hats firmly on their heads, looked 
 carefully to their clubs, and slipped up quietly to the bow 
 of the boat. In a few moments we had entered the cave, 
 and pushing the boat forward with our hands (the sides of 
 the rocks being so close that we could not use the oars), we 
 advanced some thirty yards into the dark cavity. I now lit 
 a match, and applying it to a torch made of split pieces of 
 bog-wood tied tightly together and saturated with tar and 
 turpentine, a complete illumination of the cave was the re- 
 sult. We soon came to a stop, the boat having no room to 
 proceed farther v/ithin the narrow creek. In a moment — 
 silently, like a cormorant gliding from a rock — down 
 dropped the guide from the bow of the boat into the water. 
 He was instantly followed by my son and Clementi, all of 
 them as silent as death, and away the three hunters swam, 
 right up into the darkness of the cave. 
 
 To us who remained in the boat the whole scene had the 
 strangest effect, and raised feelings within us of the most 
 intense interest and excitement. Instantly, almost before 
 we could realise the fact, the three adventurers were seen 
 swimming rapidly into the depths of the narrow cavity, the 
 water many fathoms deep, and so clear that we could see 
 every stroke of their limbs by the torchlight, whilst the 
 candles in their hats gave a lurid and most unnatural effect 
 to the scene. And when we remembered that they were 
 bent on attacking the formidable seal in his own element, 
 and in his own chosen home, it may well be imagined 
 that feelings of no ordinary anxiety prevailed over our 
 minds. 
 
 ' My God ! ' briefly exclaimed one of the men as he saw 
 

1856.] THE SEAL HUNT. 165 
 
 the three swimmers drop silently and suddenly into the sea. 
 It was the only exclamation which escaped the lips of any 
 of us ; but the men rushed so violently to the bow of the 
 boat to watch them, that I had to force them back with my 
 torch. On they swam, the three lights rapidly diminishing 
 as they penetrated deeper and deeper in, until at length 
 they appeared like little twinkling stars glowing in a canopy 
 of jet. 
 
 I confess I felt nervous and excited to a degree I have 
 rarely felt before. My son was one of the three; and 
 the strangeness of the whole scene, the gradual dis- 
 appearance of the lights, the darkness rendered visible by 
 the blazing torches, and the knowledge that if disabled 
 by any accident, it would be almost impossible they 
 could return alive from a contest with the seals, produced 
 feelings of undefined apprehension which it is difficult to 
 describe. 
 
 At length we heard a strange sharp cry, and a curious 
 flapping noise, whilst we could plainly see the water 
 splashed violently about the distant lights. We were 
 much alarmed, and could not conceive the cause, but we 
 afterwards ascertained it had been occasioned by an absurd 
 adventure. A large cormorant, seeing the swimmers ap- 
 proach in this unusual fashion, had dashed at them with 
 extended wings and open beak, and seized my son first by 
 the cheek and afterwards by his bare arm. He caught the 
 bird by the neck and dragging it under water, cast it behind 
 him. No sooner had he let it go than it dashed still under 
 water at Clementi, who was close behind him, and caught 
 him by the foot. He, being ignorant of the attack the bird 
 had made upon my son, and finding himself caught be- 
 neath by some unseen animal, naturally thought that a seal 
 had laid hold of him, and uttered a sharp cry ! The cor- 
 morant, however, soon let him go, and, seeing that the 
 
1 66 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. X. 
 
 invaders were passing on and that no evil was intended to 
 her brood, returned to her place of ambush. 
 
 On the adventurers swam, deeper and deeper into the 
 cave; at times the lights were scarcely visible to us — some- 
 times only one appeared, and sometimes they disappeared 
 altogether. Again we could see them rise high in the 
 chasm as the bearers scrambled over rocks in their way, 
 and down they sank again as they plunged into the water, 
 until at last they reached a part of the cave where a great 
 rock projects down like an inverted cone from above, and 
 chokes up the entire mouth of the cave, except a small 
 opening of about eighteen inches wide by two feet high 
 which is exposed at low-water spring tides. Through this 
 narrow gate they passed, and we saw them no more for a 
 while. 
 
 But they soon reached the bed of the shelving beach 
 where the seals had made their home. We could not now 
 see even a twinkle of the lights, and all was perfectly silent 
 for a space of five or six minutes. Our anxiety increased 
 in intensity. 
 
 I knew that my son was deep in the recesses of the cave, 
 and in the act of attacking the seals. At last we heard a 
 distant shout, which I fancied was his voice ; and disabled 
 as I was by a recently sprained knee, I was just going to 
 fasten on a swimming belt, and place a lighted torch in my 
 hat, that I might make my way into the cave and render 
 what assistance I could, when I heard another shout, and 
 again another, repeated in a cheery tone. ' All right ! ' ex- 
 claimed the boatmen. ' Stay where you are, Sir : they 
 surely have one now ! ' We all sat silent as the grave, and 
 in ten minutes more we could again perceive the distant 
 twinkle of the lights : nearer and nearer they approached, 
 until at last we could plainly discern the swimmers. 
 
 We had brought a blue-light with us; and anxious to 
 
1856.] THE SEAL HUNT. 167 
 
 cheer them and show them where we were, I struck it against 
 a rock ; it instantly ignited, and to the amazement of all in 
 the boat, the scene became as light as day in a moment, 
 only tinged with the lurid colour of the blue-light. 
 Clementi was the first to arrive, and we hauled him into 
 the boat, his teeth chattering with cold. Then came my 
 son, his club broken in his hand. The light in his hat was 
 out, and he appeared to be much exhausted. We got him 
 up also, with some difficulty, into the boat, where he sat for 
 a time trembling with excitement and cold. Behind him 
 about fifty yards distant came the wild Indian chief. He 
 swam slowly but steadily along, towing by a cord behind 
 him a dead seal ! The men gave a ringing cheer of delight, 
 as the guide and his seal were lifted in triumph into the boat. 
 * Who killed him .'' ' said I in a low voice to my son. 
 ' I did,' returned he in a tone equally low. This was all 
 that passed between us. 
 
 The Indian chief was in great delight; he laughed and 
 talked and chattered Irish, and dashed about the boat, 
 rushing from time to time at my son, and almost upsetting 
 him by the encouraging blows he dealt him on the back. 
 And in less than two minutes every oarsman in the boat 
 was thoroughly acquainted by our loquacious guide with all 
 that had passed in the cave. 
 
 The swimmers now dried themselves as well as they 
 could, and put on their clothes and great coats. They had 
 had a long swim. The cave into which they had ventured 
 could not have penetrated less than two hundred yards 
 under the land. The ocean swell was difficult to manage ; 
 and as they neared the shelving beach, it dashed them 
 against the rocks and stones. The passage though long 
 was very narrow, scarcely ten feet wide ; so narrow that 
 had the seals rushed down in a body to the sea from their 
 resting-place, the conflict might have been most serious. It 
 
1 68 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. x. 
 
 appears, however, that our party had arrived too early. 
 * The seals had not come home from fishing^ — as our guide 
 expressed it ; only one was found in the cave, and that met 
 its fate from my son's club. Down the beast came shuffling 
 along close beside where he was standing ; and so terrible 
 was the blow he dealt it as it passed, that it fell quite dead 
 at his feet, the skull shattered like an eggshell, and the club 
 broken across in his hand. Had several seals happened to 
 be ' at home,' the encounter might have been most formid- 
 able. 
 
 There has been no attempt to interrupt the resting-place 
 of the seals since the attack I have described in September 
 1856. They have ever since enjoyed — and are likely still 
 to enjoy — their wild solitudes in the deep dark cavern of 
 Derrynane unmolested. But should any adventurous 
 sportsman, on reading these pages, be inclined for an ex- 
 pedition against these sea-girt animals, I doubt not some 
 hardy fisherman of the coast will guide him, as they did 
 us, to this most remarkable cave ; and, for aught I know, 
 the Indian chief may still be alive and well, and if so I 
 doubt not he will be most willing to lead them in the wild 
 pursuit. 
 
 The clear bright rays of the blue-light discovered the 
 strangest variety of birds, who had nestled high upon the 
 rocky ledges to roost. Some shrank back into the crevices 
 of the rocks almost paralyzed with terror at the strange 
 light which had so suddenly penetrated the cave ; others 
 peered down in wonder at the unusual scene in the boat. 
 And right under the very bow of the boat, swam the still 
 infuriated cormorant — no quailing with her, notwithstanding 
 our apparent superiority; she seemed to have no idea 
 of fear. There she stayed, swimming about, ducking her 
 head, and challenging us in the most defiant manner, by 
 every gesture she could exhibit, to come down and fight 
 
Tae atiacr; 
 
 
 L0NCMAN5 *.■■: LONL CN 
 
 oo (trnbir wcos the- hloM- he aecoli the o&cu i.ha( 
 ilu beast f'dl d^ad ai his feel , thf skjcU shaiWrd 
 i(.k-e ail (qacJidl. 
 
1856.] THE SEAL HUNT. 1 69 
 
 her fairly in her own element. She seemed so deter- 
 mined upon battle, that one of the men was about to 
 strike her upon the head with an oar, but I forbad him. I 
 could not allow the gallant little challenger to be injured. 
 
 Having pushed the boat backwards from out of the cave 
 into the open sea, we found the tide had risen considerably, 
 and the breakers were no longer formidable — the cordon 
 of rocks being now w^ell covered with water ; we flung the 
 still blazing torches and the blue-light into the water, and 
 turned our boat towards home. The seal lay dead in the 
 bottom of the vessel, his skull crunched and broken. Be- 
 side him lay the broken club. The excitement was passed, 
 and all save the rowers were silent. These latter kept up 
 a continual chatter in Irish with the Indian chief, rowing 
 vigorously all the while, and after an hour's hard pulHng 
 we arrived safely at Tom Danahey's again, having been 
 only three hours and a half absent. Some warm tea and 
 a little hot punch put us all into famous spirits. The seal 
 hunt was over : a seal had been bagged ; the danger was 
 past ; and we all went in high heart to bed. 
 
 It is not necessary to go to Africa to obtain that excite- 
 ment in sport which is now so greedily sought. It may 
 be obtained much nearer home in the wild caves of Derry- 
 nane. It is but right, however, to warn anyone who may 
 be induced to engaged in an adventure such as I have 
 described above, that should the seals come down upon him 
 suddenly as he is struggling out of the water, and in a 
 narrow pass where he cannot jump out of the way, he will 
 run a serious risk of having his bones crunched like a nut.* 
 
 * The body of a dead seal is generally worth from 40J. to 50X. , and when 
 boiled down, makes oil of a superior quality. 
 
1851.] JOE M-^KEY. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 JOE M^KEY. 
 
 In the year 185 1 I received a letter from my relative the 
 Rev. Richard Chenevix Trench, then rector of Itchenstoke 
 in Hampshire, and now Archbishop of Dublin, to say that 
 the Marchioness of Bath had requested him to offer me the 
 agency of Lord Bath's estate in the county Monaghan. 
 After some enquiry and correspondence, I wrote to say that 
 I should be happy to undertake it, on certain conditions and 
 under certain arrangements. These having been all agreed 
 to, I left Kenmare for Longleat, where I remained a few 
 days with Lady Bath. Lord Bath was then a minor, travel- 
 ling with a tutor abroad. 
 
 It is unnecessar}.' here to say more, than that I made it 
 one special condition — heartily acquiesced in by Lady Bath 
 — that I should not be required to eject any tenant off the 
 estate without being at liberty to provide for him by emigra- 
 tion or otherwise, at the landlord's expense : and thus that ; 
 no one should be turned out in misery on the roadside or 
 into the poor-house, without at least the offer being made 
 him of providing for himself and family by free emigra- 
 tion to America. 
 
 On Lord Bath's estate the tenants had been allowed to 
 fall into heavy arrears, so that not less than 30,000/. was 
 due upon the estate when I undertook its management. 
 Many of the tenants had not paid any rent whatever for 
 periods varying from two to six years. 
 
I 72 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xi. 
 
 My first step on coming to Carrickmacross — a locality with 
 which my previous experience on Mr. Shirley's estate had 
 made me well acquainted — was to offer free emigration, at 
 the expense of the landlord, to any tenant who chose to 
 accept it, and to his immediate family, provided he would 
 surrender his land ; giving him at the same time his stock 
 and crop and all that he had or could make money of, and 
 forgiving him all rent and arrears — no matter how much he 
 owed. I was aware that in making this proposal it would 
 not be accepted by any except those who could not pay ; 
 and from those, all I required on the landlord's part was, 
 the bare worn-out land. 
 
 A large number of the utterly insolvent availed themselves 
 of this proposal — resigned their land, and took shipping 
 forthwith for America ; but liberal as the offer was, it pro- 
 voked the bitter hostility of the most reckless and violent 
 of the tenantry. These at last saw that they must now be 
 forced to come to terms ; they must settle their accounts 
 or emigrate. Hitherto they had declined to do either. 
 They had paid no rent, and yet they held possession of 
 their land. This they plainly saw could now go on no 
 longer. 
 
 The plan acted most advantageously over the property. 
 Large sums were paid in by those who found themselves able 
 to do so, and the paupers prepared for emigration. A few, 
 however, stood out, and would neither emigrate nor pay ; 
 and one man, named Traynor, plainly told me * that he had 
 held the land for six years without paying any rent, that it 
 was worth fighting for, and " by the powers " he would never 
 pay while he could still hold out against the law ! ' This 
 man afterwards narrowly escaped being hanged for conspi- 
 racy to murder Patrick MacMahon, one of my bailiffs. He 
 was arrested and put into gaol, climbed over a high prison 
 wall, and ran for it, got himself packed amongst a hamper 
 
1851.] JOE M^KEY. 173 
 
 of eggs, slipped over thus to Liverpool, and was never heard 
 of afterwards. 
 
 Amongst the most obstinate and rebellious of this 
 portion of the tenantry was a man named Joe M'^Key. 
 He called himself a Presbyterian. He held a considerable 
 farm in a wild district bordering on the mountainous part 
 of the county of Armagh ; and he had paid no rent for 
 the past five years. Frequent ' latitats ' and other legal 
 missiles had been hurled at him, but no one ventured 
 to arrest him. He was a man reputed to be of singular 
 courage and daring, able, active, and desperate ; and he 
 prided himself on having defied any man in Ireland to take 
 him prisoner. 
 
 I was informed that this man was the acknowledged 
 leader of all the recusants over a large district of the estate, 
 that many had bound themselves to act as he did ; and, 
 in short, unless Joe M'^Key were put down or overcome, 
 that district would hold out in defiance of both law and 
 order. 
 
 My first step, accordingly, was to issue a warrant against 
 him for debt, and to offer 50/. to any man who would arrest 
 him. But my surprise was considerable to hear that no one 
 could be found who would undertake a mission so danger- 
 ous ; and a bailiff to whom I especially remarked upon the 
 large premium for the arrest of one man replied, ' Thank 
 your honour ; 50/. is very good, and not to be earned every 
 day ; but life is sweet ! ' and nothing I could say would in- 
 duce him to attempt it The report, whether true or not, 
 was, that he always carried a loaded horse-pistol with him, 
 that many people had seen the brass handle sticking out of 
 the breast pocket of his coat, and that he had sworn 
 solemnly to put the contents of the pistol into the body of 
 any bailiff who should ever attempt to take him. 
 
 Such was the leader with whom I had now to deal. I 
 
1 74 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xi. 
 
 had only been about six months in office ; and I was 
 plainly, but reluctantly, told by the head bailiff and clerk, 
 * That whilst Joe M'^Key held sway, no good could be got 
 of a large portion of the northern end of the estate.' 
 
 I confess I was much puzzled ; it would have taken a 
 year or more to eject him by the ordinary notice to quit, 
 and resistance to authority was beginning to spread over 
 the district. I determined accordingly to go myself and 
 at least take the measure of this redoubted hero, and see if 
 he was as formidable as he was reputed to be. I cannot 
 say that I had any specific plan in view ; but I wished to 
 see him and speak to him, and be guided afterwards by cir- 
 cumstances as they might arise. Nothing was then further 
 from my intention than to arrest him myself 
 
 The country at this time was very seriously disturbed. 
 Several murders had been committed in that immediate 
 vicinity bordering on the county of Armagh ; and the 
 people had become excited, and were in a very dangerous 
 temper. I therefore carefully loaded a brace of double- 
 barrelled pistols on which I could thoroughly depend ; and 
 having determined to go to the man's abode alone, but 
 wholly unexpected, I took with me a tracing of the estate 
 map to show me the way to his house, without the 
 necessity of making any enquiries along the road. And 
 mounting my horse, I started from Carrickmacross at ten 
 o'clock in the morning, telling no one of my destination. 
 
 M'^Key's residence was about seven miles from Carrick- 
 macross. I rode quickly to prevent the possibility of my 
 intention being suspected or anticipated, and I arrived at 
 the house of course wholly without notice. It had once 
 been respectable, but had fallen much into decay. The 
 hall door stood in the centre of the building with a long 
 narrow window on either side. I knocked at once, and 
 after a short interval, a man dressed only in his shirt and 
 
^' 
 
1851.] JOE M<^KEY. 175 
 
 trowsers came to the narrow window and asked what I 
 wanted. 
 
 * I want to get in,' said I. 
 
 ' You can't get in here,' he replied curtly, and with a clear 
 determined voice. 
 
 I at once suspected that this was the man I sought, and 
 I asked him immediately, 
 
 ' Are you Joe M'^Key .'' ' 
 
 ' And what if I am } ' said he boldly. 
 
 ' Nothing,' I replied, ' but that I want to speak to you, 
 and should be obliged if you would let me in.' 
 
 ' Speak to me as you are — you can't get in here.' 
 
 ' Do you know who I am .-• ' I asked. 
 
 ' No,' said he, ' nor I don't care a rap.' 
 
 ' I am Mr. Trench.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' returned he, ' I beg your pardon, Sir — I did not 
 know it was you ; but I am sorry to say I can't possibly let 
 you in.' 
 
 It was something, I thought, to have made him change 
 his tone — so I immediately changed mine. 
 
 ' I heard that you were a stout and daring fellow, and 
 that you feared no man when alone. I want to speak 
 to you, so I came alone, and I suppose you will let 
 me in.' 
 
 He looked at me suspiciously for a few moments, cast 
 an eye round to see if there was a bailiff concealed, seemed 
 very undecided in his mind, but at length shook his head 
 and said again, ' I am sorry to refuse you. Sir, but I can't 
 possibly let you in.' 
 
 I was annoyed ; and partly forgetting myself for a 
 moment, I replied, 
 
 ' I believe you are but a coward after all. I told you I 
 was alone. I pledge you my word of honour no one is 
 with me, or near me, nor knows that I am here. I came 
 
176 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xi. 
 
 to speak to you and to see you entirely alone — are you 
 afraid of one man ? ' 
 
 He did not hesitate now ; but, going to the door, unbarred 
 and unbolted it, and throwing it wide open with an air of 
 offended dignity, he said, 
 
 ' Walk in, Sir, walk in, if tJiafs the way you talk — walk in 
 and welcome ; you shall never say / hindered you ; ' and he 
 strode on before me into the kitchen or living room, push- 
 ing that door also as wide as it could be opened. 
 
 I gave my horse to a boy to hold, who came out at the 
 same moment, and I followed my conductor in. I felt 
 very much as if I was walking into a lion's den ; but there 
 was no help for it now, so I determined to make the best 
 of it. 
 
 The room into which he led me presented rather a sin- 
 gular scene. The furniture was of the meanest class ; but 
 sitting at the fire were two men — each between thirty and 
 forty years of age — able, athletic fellows, and they did not 
 seem to welcome me. They also were in their shirts and 
 trowsers, and their eyes looked somewhat bleared and in- 
 flamed; but they were all perfectly sober. They stood up 
 as I entered, made a slight obeisance, and remained quietly 
 in their places. Near them was a young woman, neat in 
 her dress, and ver}' good-looking, though perhaps somewhat 
 careworn, and apparently about twenty-three years of age. 
 She seemed frightened and uneasy, not at me — whom she 
 scarcely noticed — but at M^Key, off whom she never for a 
 moment took her eyes. Her gaze was so intense upon him, 
 that I turned round from the others whom I was going to 
 address, and sitting down to show that I intended no per- 
 sonal violence, I faced M'^Key himself. A bright fire was 
 burning, and the rays of the morning sun, which made their 
 way through a narrow window, threw a light over his entire 
 frame. It was not a common one. His hair and whiskers 
 

1851.] JOE M^KEY. 177 
 
 were black, and a dark stubble was on his chin and upper 
 lip, as of a beard unshaven for a day or two. His neck 
 was bare, and his shirt sleeves were tucked up above his 
 elbows, revealing an arm like a knotted rope. His trowsers 
 were fastened by a red handkerchief round his waist. He 
 stood perfectly motionless, following me with his eyes ; his 
 arms were folded, and he leaned somewhat back, with a 
 half-savage, half-sneering smile upon his face. His frame 
 was very muscular ; he stood above five feet eleven inches 
 in height. He was apparently in perfect health, but with- 
 out one bit on him save hard sinew and muscle strung as 
 tight as whipcord. Though I was by no means a weak man 
 at the time, yet I felt I could be no match for such an an- 
 tagonist in a personal struggle ; and as I looked at the man 
 before me, a model of activity and strength, with a daring 
 and almost insolent look in the manner in which he threw 
 back his head, I thought I had never seen a finer or a bolder 
 figure. 
 
 * You wish to speak to me. Sir .-• ' 
 
 * Yes,' said I — ' but who are these men, and what are they 
 doing here .'' ' 
 
 ' We were distilling poteen,' returned one of the men — 
 ' would your honour like to taste some ? ' 
 
 * No, thank you,' I- replied ; and drawing my chair near 
 the fire, I began to chat. 
 
 They were civil enough, but seemed perfectly uncon- 
 cerned as to what I might think of their illegal proceedings. 
 M'^Key stood apart all the time, his arms still folded, and 
 the young woman watching him intently. I suddenly ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 ' And so, M'^Key, you are the terror of the country, and 
 no one dares take you .'' ' 
 
 He made a quick and uneasy movement as I said this, 
 and cast a rapid glance at the window. 
 
 N 
 
178 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xi. 
 
 ' No one has taken me,' he replied — ' but you said you 
 wanted to speak to me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I wanted to ask you how you expect all this to 
 end. You owe five years' rent ; you will pay nothing, and 
 I hear you have sworn to shoot any one who attempts to 
 arrest you.' 
 
 He went over quietly to a great-coat which was hanging 
 against the wall, and turning the coat upon the peg on 
 which it hung, exposed the large brass-mounted handle of 
 a horse-pistol projecting out of the pocket. 
 
 ' Just so,' said I — ' no wonder they are afraid of you.' 
 
 ' You have a pretty set of bailiffs to be afraid of that^ 
 returned he — and he drew the pistol out — and I saw it had 
 neither lock nor barrel ! 
 
 ' That's what I frighten them with,' said he, as he replaced 
 the pistol in the coat-pocket, and laughed heartily — his 
 recollection seeming to recur to some ridiculous scene, 
 which probably had passed. The men laughed too, and so 
 did I ; and for the first time also the young woman smiled, 
 and seemed a little more at ease. 
 
 * Oh, that's all very well,' I remarked — rather put out of 
 sorts, however, as the laugh was decidedly against me — 
 ' but you know well that you keep the whole country at 
 bay, and no one dares take you.' 
 
 The laughter left his face now. * And why should they 
 take me .-' or — what I think worse of — why should they 
 want to take my little place } I built the most of this 
 house myself — look at the garden there,' he continued, as 
 he flung open a back door. ' I have planted every stick, 
 and I have raised every stone ; and they hunt me now to 
 give up my little place, and I will never give it up but with 
 my life.' 
 
 He was much excited, and he breathed very quickly — 
 not from speaking, but from anger. 
 
1851.] JOE M^KEY. 179 
 
 ' Never mind, Joe dear,' urged the young woman ; ' this 
 gentleman doesn't want to take it ; no one does.' 
 
 M'^Key was quiet again. ' Will you walk this way. Sir ? 
 we had better speak on this matter alone ; and without 
 waiting for an answer he left the kitchen, went past the 
 hall door, and entered a room at the other end of the 
 house. 
 
 He held the door open for me to follow. I did so ; and 
 as I entered he gave the door a peculiar slam after him, 
 which made me look at it attentively, and I saw that the 
 handle which turned the lock was gone, and that when the 
 door was shut, no one could open the lock without some 
 square instrument to turn it. Another glance thrown 
 around the room showed me that there was nothing in it 
 but two chairs and a small table, a bed, and beside the bed, 
 a bill-hook — a most formidable-looking weapon — leaning 
 against the wall. I took care to place myself between him 
 and the bill-hook, and we both sat down at the table. 
 
 ' That is your defender,' I remarked, pointing to the bill- 
 hook. 
 
 ' It is,' he briefly replied. 
 
 He then opened a drawer and took from it a petition or 
 statement which he had drawn up himself, intending to 
 send it to Lady Bath. This he read with great emphasis 
 and unction. It was not badly drawn up ; but it could 
 only state his poverty, and the hardship of being required 
 to leave his place because he was unable to pay for it. 
 
 ' I fear,' said I, ' that this will hardly induce Lady Bath 
 to leave you your land, unless you pay your rent — you will 
 never pay it by making illicit whisky. I have come to 
 ask you seriously what you are going to do, for you mt^si 
 know that things cannot go on with me as they did before.' 
 
 He rose up hastily, and stood opposite to me at the 
 table :— ' I never saw you before, Sir, and I don't know 
 
l8o REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xi. 
 
 what brings yoit of all men here now, but I tell you plainly, 
 I never will surrender ; I never will give up my little 
 place. I have planted every stick — I have raised every 
 stone,' he continued again, ' and I never will be taken, or 
 give up my place but with my life.' 
 
 He became so excited, and glanced so often at thewindow 
 and so often at the bill-hook, that I rose quickly too. His 
 ner\'es seemed wrought into a most extraordinary state of 
 tension, and he seemed gathering himself as if to spring at 
 the bill-hook. I drew my pistols from my pocket, cocked 
 them, and held one in either hand, my eye still fixed upon 
 his. We stood opposite to each other, the small table only 
 between us. I knew that if once a personal struggle should 
 commence with such a frame as that, I had not a chance of 
 my life, and feeling now convinced that he had got me into 
 that room to kill me, I was determined if he stirred to shoot 
 him. But a far different suspicion was in his mind, yet 
 urging him on equally to violence. He thought that I had 
 collected the bailiffs or police outside — that I had deceived 
 him — that I had got into his house to arrest him myself ; 
 and he was determined either to take my life or lose his 
 own, first. And there we stood, like two tigers, watching 
 who would spring first. His eye met mine, but it did not 
 quail in the least ; and after watching one another for 
 nearly half a minute — during which time almost a quiver 
 of his eye would have made me shoot him, so great was 
 the tension of my own nerves — I slowly and gradually 
 raised the pistol — without losing for a moment the hold of 
 my eye upon his — till it fairly covered his head. He 
 watched me till he must have seen straight into the barrels 
 of my pistol ; when quietly drawing himself up, and folding 
 his arms very slowly, as if to show that no sudden move- 
 ment was intended, he seemed to defy me to fire. A 
 feeling came over me as quick as lightning, with a convic- 
 
'^irr,. 
 
 1 
 
 ■^ 
 
 
 s 
 
 
 

i85i.] JOE M^vEV. l8l 
 
 tion and suddenness which only moments such as these 
 can bring — that I had mistaken him, that he was acting on 
 the defensive rather than the offensive, and, with an im- 
 pulse which to this hour I am wholly unable to account for, 
 I flung the pistols on the table within his reach, and said 
 in relief of my own excited feelings, 
 
 ' You scoundrel, you know you dare not hurt me ! ' 
 
 He looked at me steadily, and then sitting down gradu- 
 ally and quietly on the chair, without trusting himself to 
 look at the pistols which lay loaded and cocked on the 
 table before him, he put his hands to his head, leaned his 
 arms on the table, and said in a low voice — 
 
 * What do you want me to do, Sir ? ' 
 
 ' To give me possession of your house and place at once,' 
 said I, ' and to come with me now into Carrickmacross.' 
 
 ' I will, Sir,' he replied. 
 
 He rose, put his iron finger into the place where the 
 handle of the door should have been, and turned the bolt ; 
 and walking up to the other men in the kitchen, he said, 
 ' Begone out of that till I give up the place.' They stared 
 at him and were perfectly astounded : * Begone, I say,' he 
 repeated, and he pushed them out of the room. 
 
 The young woman then came up to him — * What is this, 
 Joe .'' ' she asked. 
 
 ' You must go,' said he kindly. ' Don't talk — leave the 
 house.' 
 
 She went at once. He put out the fire by kicking 
 it about the floor, took ' sod and twig ' from the garden, and 
 handed me legal possession of the house and grounds ! 
 
 ' And now,' I continued, ' come with me into Carrickma- 
 cross.' 
 
 He hesitated : ' Sir, I will /o//ozu you in, but don't ask me 
 to go with you.' 
 
 ' Why not .'' ' I asked. 
 
t82 realities of IRISH LIFE. [chap. xi. 
 
 ' Because I always swore no man should ever take me 
 alive, and if I was seen to go in with you the people would 
 say you had taken me prisoner.' 
 
 ' I understand you,' said I ; ' can I trust you then to follow 
 me } ' 
 
 He seemed almost hurt at the question. * I would not 
 fail in my word for a thousand pounds ! ' 
 
 ' I have not a doubt of it/ replied I ; and I mounted my 
 horse and galloped into Carrickmacross. 
 
 I told my head clerk and confidential man all that 
 had happened. He could not believe his senses and 
 thought I had lost mine. * Well,' I said, ' M'^Key will be 
 in here within an hour, or I have been dreaming all the 
 morning.' 
 
 ' He will never come,' was his reply. 
 
 As the hour approached, I confess I became very nervous 
 and anxious ; and at length about the time I had stated, the 
 clerk came into my inner room looking somewhat pale, and 
 said, ' M°Key wants to see you in the office, Sir.' 
 
 There he was — quiet, but firm as ever. I told him to re- 
 turn to his home for the present, and that I would see him 
 handsomely provided for in America. He left and said no 
 more. 
 
 The sequel was sad enough. He never reached America. 
 The Presbyterian clergyman came to me soon after, and 
 told me that M'^Key was ill, but that I had need to mind 
 myself, as he had it from a sure source that he was deter- 
 mined to take my life. In about a month after this, hear- 
 ing again that he was very ill, I resolved to go and see him 
 once more. I rode to the house, and found poor Joe 
 M'^Key lying on his bed, a corpse. The same stern mouth, 
 the same noble forehead, but hollow and sunken cheeks. 
 The young woman knelt beside him weeping. 
 
 ' When did he die } ' I asked. 
 
'J'ff^ 
 
 N^O 
 
 
■i}lr, . 
 
 PI 
 CD 
 
 Si 
 
 "'-^^y^ -zJr '^cc. 
 
 ^ilpiiiipH-^" 
 
 v»«' 
 
 ^^' 
 
1851.] JOE M'-KEY. 183 
 
 * This morning, Sir,' she replied, and her tears flowed fresh 
 and fast. 
 
 'What did he die of?' 
 
 ' A decline, Sir. He never got the better of that day. The 
 people said yoti took him — which your honoiir well knows ivas 
 a rank lie — and it broke his heart that they should say so.' 
 
 ' He was a noble fellow in his way,' said I ; ' but he had 
 never been tamed, and I always feared he would come to 
 grief 
 
 ' Oh, Sir,' replied she in an agony, * you did not know 
 him, you did not know him ! his heart was as tender as a 
 little child's, and he was the kindest of the kind to me.' 
 
 ' I fear you were never married to him ?' I observed. 
 
 ' And if I never was,' she replied, almost angrily, ' what 
 matter was it, when in the sight of God we were man and 
 wife .'' I loved him as few wedded wives love their hus- 
 bands, and wasn't Joe the best and truest of husbands to 
 me .'' You did not know him, Sir — you did not know him ! 
 He would not have hurt a hair of your honour's head for 
 worlds, but he was well-nigh maddened by the people.' 
 
 ' And how did the people madden him } ' I asked. 
 * Sure didn't they tell him over and over again that 
 the land was his and not the landlord's at all ? And then 
 they swore all the oaths you could think of, they would 
 soon have it all to themselves again. The poor boy that's 
 lying there before you, had a darin' heart, so he had, more 
 than all the rest of them together ; so they put him on for 
 beginning the war, which the bloody cowards were afeared 
 to face themselves. Oh Joe, my darlin' Joe ! ' cried she in 
 an agony of grief, as she turned to the corpse again, ' it 
 was yourself that had the kind and darin' heart, and now 
 they've broke it on you by saying you were took a prisoner, 
 when no one knows better than his honour here that the 
 power of man could never take my darlin' Joe alive. It 
 
184 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xi. 
 
 was the kind word that made him give in, and never the 
 fear of mortal man.' 
 
 He was buried the following day. She soon after left 
 the country. 
 
 From the moment that M^'Key had appeared in my 
 office, the feeling of that district changed, and the effects 
 which I had anticipated followed. The people came in 
 and paid their rents, or settled with me as best they 
 could. Some went to America, some paid up by instal- 
 ments ; but the district over which Joe M°Key held sway, 
 succumbed. 
 
1851.] THE CONSPIRACY. 1 85 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 The death of Joe M'^Key threw a temporary damp over 
 the plots of the Ribbon Confederacy ; but I soon perceived 
 that active steps were being taken by other parties to rouse 
 the people to resistance, and to effect the much-desired 
 object of * putting Mr. Trench out of the way.' A cautious 
 and organised conspiracy was now set on foot. I was 
 informed from private and trustworthy sources that large 
 subscriptions were being collected to pay the murderer 
 who would consent * to do the job ;' that 50/. was offered to 
 anyone who would shoot me ; and I was warned in the 
 most earnest but friendly manner that my life was in im- 
 minent danger. 
 
 At first I could scarcely credit the truth of all these 
 warnings. I was unconscious of having done one harsh 
 act ; I had not ejected one single tenant from the estate. I 
 had availed myself of my original compact with Lady Bath, 
 as arranged on my first accepting the agency of the estate, 
 that I should never be required to turn out any tenant, even 
 for non-payment of rent, without being able to offer him a 
 free passage to any port in America he chose, giving him 
 at the same time his stock and his crop, forgiving him all 
 arrears, and allowing him to take away all that he had, 
 provided he would only surrender the worn-out land when- 
 ever he became unable to pay for it. Liberality such as this, 
 I well knew, had not been always exercised by landlords in 
 
T 86 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 similar cases ; but I took care that there should be no mis- 
 understanding about it ; and I announced these regulations 
 in the most public manner in the estate office, at the Poor 
 Law Board, and whenever opportunity occurred. Notwith- 
 standing all this, however, I found a deep-rooted determi- 
 nation growing and increasing amongst a large body of the 
 tenantry that they would not, under any circumstances, 
 quit the land they had so long held almost rent-free ; 
 and perceiving that measures had been taken to provide 
 them with the means of living elsewhere if they could not 
 pay for their holdings, they resolutely determined to have 
 me murdered, which would at least afford them a temporary 
 respite, and perhaps deter, by the terror thus likely to be 
 established, any other man from undertaking so dangerous 
 a task as that of enforcing the payment of rent from that 
 portion of the tenantry of the Bath Estate who felt dis- 
 inclined to pay. 
 
 I need not say, that by no means all the tenants on the 
 estate joined in or approved of these proceedings. Amongst 
 the higher classes of tenants there were many who I firmly 
 believe would have risked their own lives to save mine ; 
 and the many friendly peasants who gave me private 
 warning of my danger, proved also that amongst a large 
 portion of the lower classes the system now entered on 
 was against their wishes. But partly through the terror 
 established by the Ribbon Confederacy, and partly from a 
 general feeling which then prevailed in the country, that all 
 landlords and agents ought to be * put down,' there could 
 be no question that a considerable number of the tenantry, 
 comprising even men 'well to do' in the world, subscribed, 
 or tacitly approved of the measures which were now in 
 progress for getting me put out of the way : — the ugly word 
 ' murdered ' is seldom used in Ireland when alluding to the 
 killing of a landlord or agent. 
 
1851.] THE CONSPIRACY. 1 87 
 
 The temper of a portion of the peasantry at this time 
 around Carrickmacross, and on the borders of the counties 
 of Armagh and Louth, was very bad indeed. Mr. Maul- 
 ev^erer, a gentleman residing near Crossmaglen, had been 
 most barbarously murdered a short time before.* He was 
 a magistrate and a land agent, and of a bold and fearless 
 disposition ; but mere boldness without caution is an unsafe 
 protection from the stealthy attacks of the Ribbonman. 
 Mr. Mauleverer usually carried pistols about him ; but on 
 this occasion he was going to meet the train at Culloville 
 station, only a short distance from his house ; and thinking 
 that there could be no danger during so short a journey, he 
 put his pistols in his hat-box and locked them up, intending 
 on his return to have them ready for use and to be well 
 prepared. He drove to the train on a hired outside car, 
 and just as he came to a lonely part of the road about a 
 mile from Culloville station, two men leaped out with 
 bludgeons in their hands. Mr. Mauleverer instantly snatched 
 at his hat-box to get his pistols ; but his arms were suddenly 
 seized, and he was pinioned so that he could not unlock the 
 hat-box ; and in this state held down by a false rufifian upon 
 the car, he was brutally murdered, and his brains dashed 
 out upon the road. Mr. Morant of Carrickmacross was in 
 the country at the time; he rode to the spot soon after- 
 wards, and saw the blood lying in pools upon the road 
 where the murder had been committed. 
 
 Occurrences like this had a decided tendency to rouse 
 the worst passions of the ill-disposed amongst the peasan- 
 try ; and having once, as it were, tasted blood, there was 
 no crime that sovie of them were not ready to commit, to 
 put down a landlord or an agent. 
 
 At length my secret friends informed me that matters 
 
 * Mr. Mauleverer was murdered on May 23, 1850. Two men were tried 
 for the murder, but acquitted. 
 
1 88 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 were drawing to a crisis ; that a meeting had been held 
 amongst the leaders of the Ribbon Association ; that I had 
 been formally tried by a judge and jury in a large barn at 
 one of the tenants' houses ; that I had been found guilty of 
 being ' an exterminator ' (though I had not evicted a single 
 tenant) ; and that they knew they had no chance of having 
 things any longer their own way ' unless Trench was put off 
 the walk : ' such was the expression used for a final deter- 
 mination that I should be deliberately murdered. 
 
 Steps were accordingly taken to have this sentence car- 
 ried into effect. Money was collected ; and after a little 
 time two men were chosen (neither of whom lived on the 
 estate, and neither of whom had I ever known or injured), 
 as the instruments of the intended crime. One of these 
 was a bold active young man named Hodgins — I believe he 
 had been a navvy employed at some railway works near 
 Castleblaney, and was quite a stranger in the locality. 
 The other was an idle good-for-nothing fellow, living in a 
 small hut between Carrickmacross and Inniskeen, near the 
 estate but not actually on it. He was a weak small man, 
 but clever and cunning to a degree, of great resource in 
 difficulties, and, I suspect, an arrant coward at heart. His 
 name was Thornton. He did not seem to be naturally of 
 a cruel or bloody disposition, but he took delight in way- 
 laying, and plotting, and hiding, and contriving my death, 
 much in the same way that, a deer-stalker of the present 
 day enjoys the various contrivances of stealthy approach by 
 which he can get a shot at the antlered monarch of the glen. 
 
 The description afterwards given to me of this Ribbon 
 trial, by Thornton himself, who was present at the whole 
 scene, was strange and curious. Notice had been sent 
 round a short time before to some of the most active 
 and trusted Ribbonmen that * Trench was to be tried ' on 
 a certain night. The parties met accordingly at one of the 
 
1S51.I THE CONSPIRACY. 1 89 
 
 chief Ribbonmen's houses situated centrally on the estate. 
 They did not confine themselves to the orthodox number 
 of twelve, as I believe there were fifteen or sixteen present. 
 They were presided over by the owner of the farm, a man 
 well known to me and holding a considerable quantity of 
 land. The house where the trial took place was a large 
 barn, in which was placed a long table, forms were arranged 
 for seats, and plenty of whisky was supplied by a bare- 
 footed girl in attendance. The president or judge sat on a 
 chair at the head of the table. The party drank for some 
 time in silence, or speaking to one another only in whispers ; 
 and when all were well steeped in liquor, the president — 
 with a curious silent leap over the whole of the accusation 
 and prosecution, and even the name of the accused, all of 
 which the jurors were supposed perfectly to understand — 
 broke the silence for the first time and said aloud : — 
 ' Well, boys, can anyone say anything in his defence .'' ' 
 There was a short silence, when one of the conspirators 
 said : — 
 
 ' He gave me an iron gate.' 
 
 * May your cattle break their necks in it ! ' replied the 
 president. 
 
 * He gave me slates and timber to roof my house,' said 
 another. 
 
 * May the roof soon rot and fall ! ' replied the president. 
 ' He drained my land,' said another. 
 
 ' May the crop sour in the heart of it ! ' replied the presi- 
 dent. 
 
 ' He gave a neighbour of mine wine for a sick child,' 
 observed another. 
 
 ' The child died ! ' said the president. 
 
 All were again silent. 
 
 ' Guilty,' said the president. * Boys, he must die ; and 
 now let us draw lots for the one that will do it' 
 
igO REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 There was some hesitation when this terrible process was 
 proposed ; at last one of the men said — 
 
 ' There is no occasion to draw lots ; the men to do the job 
 are here, and are both ready and willing.' 
 
 And so it proved. The two assassins had been intro- 
 duced, and were present at the whole scene ; and then 
 and there were sworn to follow me and hunt me from day 
 to day, from night to night, and from place to place, to 
 watch my movements, to make themselves acquainted with 
 my person, and never to leave my track night or day, until 
 they should leave me a bloody corpse. 
 
 The oath having been sworn, all again set themselves 
 round the table to drink. More liquor was introduced ; and 
 the business of the evening having been satisfactorily con- 
 cluded, much merriment and hilarity were indulged in. 
 Many wild and exciting stories were told of landlords and 
 agents who had been murdered, of the plots and contri- 
 vances by which they had been successfully waylaid, of the 
 hairbreadth escapes of the * boys who had done it,' and 
 many jokes were passed at the victims being so suddenly 
 ' sent to hell ! ' 
 
 By degrees as the liquor told upon the party the conver- 
 sation grew fast and furious, and various subjects were 
 introduced and commented on in their own wild way. 
 
 ' They say,' observed one of the leaders, * that if the 
 boys had held out well when they rose in 1641 they could 
 have had the country to themselves, and driven every 
 Saxon out of it. I hear there was great sport up at the 
 Castle at Carrickmacross that time, and that they put a 
 rope round the agent's neck and were going to hang him 
 at his own hall door.' 
 
 ' Bad luck to them for spalpeens that they didn't hang 
 him,' said another. ' If we had the country all to ourselves 
 now, I know how it would be 
 
I: 
 
 
 •yjet 
 
iSsi] THE CONSPIRACY. I9I 
 
 ' Some says it's the land laws that's mighty bad,' observed 
 another ; ' that it's them that's crushing us down, and that 
 they are going to bring in a bill — as they call it — to alter 
 them.' 
 
 ' A curse upon the land laws,' cried the president, ' and 
 all concerned in them. It's the land itself we. want, and 
 not all this bother about the laws. The laws is not so bad 
 in the main, barrin' they make us pay rent at all. What 
 good would altering the laws do us } sure we have tenant- 
 right, and fair play enough, for that matter, for Trench 
 never puts any one off the land that's able to pay his rent, 
 and stand his ground on it. But why luoiild ive pay rent 
 at all ? That's the question, say I. Isn't the land our own, 
 and wasn't it our ancestors' before us, until these bloody 
 English came and took it all away from us .-' My curse 
 upon them for it — but we will tear it back out of their 
 heart's blood yet' 
 
 * In troth then ye'll have tough work of it before ye do, 
 rejoined another. ' Them Saxons is a terrible strong lot 
 to deal with. They beat down ould Ireland before, and I 
 doubt but they'll hold on the land still, and beat her down 
 again, rise when ye may.' 
 
 , ' None of your croakin,' cried the president. * Sure it's 
 not more than three hundred years since they took it all 
 from us, and many a country has risen and held its own 
 again after a longer slavery than that. I say, THE LAND 
 we must have, and cursed be the hand and withered the 
 arm that will not strike a blow to gain it ! ' 
 
 ' Some say it's the Church that's crushing us,' suggested 
 one of the party who had not spoken before. 
 
 ' Damn the Church, and you along with it,' cried the pre- 
 sident in a passion. ' What harm does the Church do you 
 or any one else ? The gentlemen that owns it are quiet 
 dacent men, and often good to the poor. It's the land, I 
 
192 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 say again, Ws the land, we want. The Saxon robbers took 
 it from our forefathers, and I say again we'll wrench it out 
 of their heart's blood ; and what better beginning could we 
 have than to blow Trench to shivers off the walk .-' ' 
 
 * True for ye,' said another, ' so far as that goes ; but ye 
 are wrong about the Church for all that. Sure isn't it what 
 they call the dominan' Church, and what right has it to 
 dominate over our own clargy, who are as good as them 
 any day. Up wid our clargy, and down with the dominan' 
 Church ! say I. Besides,' continued he more softly, ' maybe 
 if we had once a hold of the Church lands, the landlords' 
 lands would be 'asier come at after.' 
 
 ' Why then that may be true too,' said the president ; 
 ' down with the Church, down with the landlords, down 
 with the agents, down with every thing, say I, that stands 
 in the way of our own green land coming back to us 
 again.' 
 
 'What wonderful grand fun we'll have fightin' among 
 ourselves when it does come!' said a thick-set Herculean 
 fellow at the lower end of the table. 
 
 * Well now, I often thought of that ! ' replied his neigh- 
 bour in a whisper. * It'll be bloody work then in airnest, as 
 sure as you and I live to see it. Anything that has hap- 
 pened up to this will be only a joke to what will happen 
 then.' 
 
 ' And what matter .'' ' cried the advocate for fighting. 
 * Sure wouldn't it be far better any day to be fightin' among 
 friends, than have no fightin' at all, and be slaves to our 
 enemies "^ By the powers,' cried he, and he gave the table 
 a salient stroke with his shilelagh that made the punch- 
 glasses leap, * but I would rather go out as our ancestors 
 did before us, with the skeine in our hands, and the skins 
 of wild beasts upon our backs, and fight away till the best 
 man had it, than be the slaves we are now, paying rint in 
 
1S51.] THE CONSPIRACY. 1 93 
 
 the office, and acknowledging them Saxons as our land- 
 lords ! ' * 
 
 ' True for ye, Larry/ said the president ; ' and noAV, boys, 
 be 'asy, and don't make so much noise, lest maybe the 
 polls would be down upon us. Ned dear,' continued he, 
 in a gentle voice, as he saw the necessity of appeasing the 
 rougher spirits of the gang, ' couldn't ye give us a song, or 
 a bit of poethry, or anything of that sort, just to sweeten 
 the liquor a bit, as sugar is mighty scarce down at this end 
 of the table .? ' 
 
 The young man thus addressed was a pale delicate- 
 looking youth, possessing a form and features which one 
 could hardly expect to find amongst such companions. In 
 early life he had been intended for the priesthood ; but 
 feeling a repugnance to that profession — being fond, as he 
 said, of poetry, and still fonder of the girls — he commenced 
 reading for the situation of a national schoolmaster 
 Whether the girls were unkind to him, or whether he liked 
 the excitement of a wild idle life — plotting and conspiring, 
 
 * That a strong feeling existed then amongst the peasantry of Ireland (and 
 to a certain extent exists even now), that the ancient families would yet recover 
 the forfeited estates, there is no douiit. In my intercourse amongst them this 
 idea has cropped up in many ways and on repeated occasions. I have ap- 
 pended a facsimile of a map which was given me some little time ago, 
 published in 1846, about the time when the repeal movement was in full force, 
 and immediately previous to Smith O'Brien's rebellion, at a time when this 
 idea pervaded the minds of the people in a peculiar degi"ee. 
 
 The map is worthy of study, as it professes to show the ' territories pos- 
 sessed by each of the high princes, lords, and chiefs, from the nth to the 17th 
 century,' and ' also of the great Anglo-Norman and old English families, from 
 the reign of Henry II. to that of Elizabeth, comprising the period from the end 
 of the 1 2th to about the middle of the i6th century.' 
 
 I also append a copy of the ' printed sheet accompanying the map, ' which a 
 gentleman was kind enough to send me in consequence of my note in the first 
 edition of this work, requesting the favour of such from anyone who possessed 
 a spare copy. Both the map, and the explanatory printed sheet, will be found 
 in the Annals of the Four Masters. The map was originally compiled by Philip 
 Mac Dermott, Esq., M.D., than whom it is generally admitted there could be 
 no more competent person. 
 
 O 
 
194 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 and telling tales to the unlettered peasantry of the tyranny 
 and oppression under which his native land groaned at the 
 hand of the relentless Saxon — I know not ; but at that 
 time he had joined the Ribbonmen, and was a favourite at 
 their meetings from his minstrel tendencies and capability 
 of finishing the evening with a song. 
 
 ' Well indeed, Mr. President/ said the minstrel modestly, 
 * I don't remember any neat and suitable song just now, 
 unless it be the great song of '98 ye would have — they 
 call it the " Shan Van Voght." ' 
 
 * The Shan Van Voght ! the Shan Van Voght ! ' shouted 
 all the party vociferously, ' give us the Shan Van Voght' 
 
 ' Well ye see,' continued the minstrel in the same modest 
 voice, * I'm loth to give it to ye, as it was made a present 
 to myself by a boy from a far country, and an illigant poet 
 that same boy was. Oh if ye only heard him ! he would 
 talk poethry as 'asy as say his A B. He told me he came 
 from the far off county of Kerry, and that they were 
 singing them songs night and day on the mountains in 
 those parts.' 
 
 ' Ah then how did ye come across him,' asked one of the 
 party, 'and he all the way from the county Kerry .'^ ' 
 
 ' In troth then I came across him 'asy enough,' replied 
 the minstrel. ' I met him in the fair of Mullacrew, where 
 he came up the country with some of the weeniest little 
 bastes that ever ye saw in all your life. Ye'd think they 
 were all young calves only for the horns of them ; and 
 when he had nothing better to do, and couldn't sell the 
 little bastes to his mind, ye'd hear him singin' and repatin' 
 poethry to himself. " What's that you're saying } " says I to 
 him when I heard him singin' to himself. " Only a bit of 
 poethry," says he. " What is it ? " says I. " It's what they 
 sing on the mountains down in Kerry," says he, and he 
 repated as much poethry and music as ever you heard tell 
 of in your life.' 
 
1851.] THE CONSPIRACY. I95 
 
 ' They're a cliver people down in them parts ?' said the 
 president. 
 
 ' Ye may say that and tell no lie,' replied the minstrel. ' I 
 only remember a few lines of all he told me ; but they were 
 something like this : — 
 
 ' Oh the land! the land! 
 
 Our own green land ! 
 And the song of " God speed the plough " my boys, 
 
 And Erin shall stand 
 
 With a harp in her hand. 
 And an emerald crown on her brow, my boys ! ' 
 
 ' Hurrah, well done ! ' cried the Ribbonmen. ' That's 
 your sort ! give us some more of that ! ' 
 
 ' Troth and I can't,' replied the minstrel. * Them is the 
 only lines I remember. But if we had the Kerry boy with 
 us, it's he that would keep you going all night.' 
 
 ' " Our own green larid!'' ' repeated the president thought- 
 fully ; ' Them will be glorious times no doubt. I wonder will 
 they ever come round.' 
 
 ' I doubt it,' replied the minstrel. ' They say the mills 
 of Louth will turn round three times with blood before 
 the land becomes our own again, but faix I often do be 
 thinking it's our own blood will turn the wheel ! and troth 
 if that be the case I would sooner it stood still for many a 
 twelve-month longer. Man alive ! ' continued the minstrel, 
 who in the midst of all his wildness and folly had acquired 
 some scattered knowledge from reading the newspapers 
 and books of the day, ' man alive, you'll hear the people 
 say that if Ireland would only rise against England in 
 airnest, she'd soon show them she'd be free. But I tell ye 
 they know nothing about it that says so. Ireland will never 
 rise against England. It's one Jialf of Ireland must rise 
 against the other half — the Catholics who haven't the land, 
 against the Protestants who have. It would be hard to say 
 which would win if they were left alone to fight it out be- 
 
196 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 tween themselves, for the Protestants are terrible chaps for 
 fightin' when they're put to it, and moreover maybe some 
 of the Catholics would join them. And then down comes 
 England with her army of soldiers and all her cannon at 
 her back to help the bloody Protestants, and what chance 
 would the people have then ? ' 
 
 * It's too true,' replied the president. 'It's all too true 
 entirely, but howld you your tongue about that, and don't 
 be putting it that way before the people. Wait till the 
 big war comes any way, and then we'll see what will turn up.' 
 
 * All right,' replied the minstrel. ' Leave it so ; but mind 
 I tell ye it's a worse look-out than many of ye think. And 
 now for the " Shan Van Voght." ' 
 
 His voice was sweet and musical, and possessed a rich 
 mellow softness that would have touched the sympathies of 
 a far more refined audience than that around the Ribbon 
 table. He rose from his seat, passed his hand conceitedly 
 through his hair, and assuming what he considered to be 
 an effective attitude, as he was in truth somewhat of a cox- 
 comb, he sang, 
 
 The Song of '98. 
 I 
 Oh, the French are on the sea, 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 Oh, the French are on the sea, 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 The French are in the bay, 
 They '11 be here without delay, 
 And the oi-ange shall decay, 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght. 
 
 2 
 What will the yeomen do ? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 What will the yeomen do? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 What should the yeomen do, 
 But give up the red and blue, 
 And promise to be true 
 
 To the Shan Van Voght. 
 
 J 
 
1S51.] THE CONSPIRACY. J 97 
 
 3 
 
 Where will they pitch their camp ? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 Where will they pitch their camp ? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 On the Curragh of Kildare, 
 And Lord Edward will be there, 
 And our pikes in good repair, 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght. 
 
 4 
 What colour shall be seen ? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 What colour shall be seen ? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 W'hat colour should be seen ? 
 But our own immortal green ! 
 That's the colour shall be seen, 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght. 
 
 5 
 Will Ireland then be free ? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 Will Ireland then be free ? 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ; 
 Yes, Ireland shall he free, 
 From the centre to the sea. 
 And hurrah for Liberty ! 
 
 Said the Shan Van Voght ! * 
 
 At length the party seemed incHned to break up, when 
 the president, with whom I was well acquainted, as he rose, 
 called out to the sworn assassins, who were sitting drinking 
 behind some sacks, 
 
 ' Well boys, don't shoot him until after next Thursday, 
 anyhow ; he promised to give me two iron gates for my 
 farm on that day, and I may as well get that much out of 
 him before he dies.' 
 
 A roar of laughter followed this disinterested respite of 
 
 * The air to which the above is usually sung in Ireland will be found in the 
 Appendix. I have met with quite an erroneous version of it, published some 
 time ago in London. 
 
198 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 my life, and the party were about to separate, when one of 
 them called out, 
 
 * Boys, oughtn't we to give him fair notice ? ' 
 
 ' For why and for what ? ' asked the president grimly, 
 'isn't he condemned to die, and what notice would he 
 want ? ' 
 
 ' By this and by that,' returned the first speaker, * but I 
 say he must have notice. I will never consent to his death 
 until he be fairly warned first ; it is the rule and the law, 
 and notice I say he must get' 
 
 ' Give it yourself, then,' said the president, ' and you had 
 better make a clean job of it while you are about it, and 
 inform on us all, and go off with the blood-money in your 
 pocket.' 
 
 ' I'm as true and darin' a man as you are,' said the bold 
 Ribbonman, * but I say he should get warnin'. Maybe 
 he'd be off quick enough if he heard that he was sure to 
 be shot, and then we'd have the land to ourselves without 
 rint, as we had before he came.' 
 
 * Sorra foot he'll go,' said another ; ' I know him well, 
 and ye'U only put him up to what's coming, and maybe 
 not find it so 'asy to come at him afterwards, for he's a 
 terrible sure shot.' 
 
 ' What's the good of them that's paid to do the job,' said 
 the first speaker, ' if they can't bring him down and they 
 at it day and night } I say he must get warning, and I'll 
 have it drawn out myself and sarved on him.' 
 
 'That's but fair, that's but fair,' shouted the other con- 
 spirators. 
 
 * Let it be posted on all the chapels next Sunday, and 
 he'll be sure to hear of it.' 
 
 * In troth I'll just do that same,' said this hero of 'fair 
 play ; ' and all severally went their way. 
 
 In accordance with this specimen of Ribbonite ' fair play,' 
 
iSsi.] THE CONSPIRACY. 1 99 
 
 a document was drawn up, and the next Sunday the pohce 
 found a notice, formally posted on every Roman Catholic 
 chapel in the district, of which the following is an exact 
 copy. I have the original at this moment in my posses- 
 sion : — 
 
 'To Landlords, Agents, Bailiffs, Grippers, process- 
 servers, and usurpers or underminers who wish to step 
 into the evicted tenants' property, and to all others 
 concerned in Tyranny and Oppression of the poor on 
 the Bath Estate. 
 
 'TAKE NOTICE. 
 
 * That you are hereby (under the pain of a certain 
 punishment which will inevitably occur) prohibited from 
 evicting tenants, executing decrees, serving process, dis- 
 training for rent, or going into another's land, or to assist 
 any tyrant, Landlord, or Agent in his insatiable desire for 
 depopulation. Recollect the fate of Mauleverer, on this 
 his anniversary. Dated May 23, 185 1.' 
 
 From the moment this notice appeared, I was considered 
 by the tenantry in general as a doomed, or, as they termed 
 it, ' a dead man.' It had a strange and depressing effect 
 upon the spirits to mark the difference in the bearing and 
 manner of the peasantry, from the moment that this docu- 
 ment was issued. It was thoroughly known that such a 
 document as that, posted simultaneously on three different 
 chapels in the district, could only have emanated from the 
 leaders of the Ribbon Conspiracy; none others would 
 have dared to take such a step ; and it was equally well 
 known that chosen men were under heavy pay to carry the 
 threat into execution. This being now well understood by 
 the whole population, I was looked upon as it were a cri- 
 
200 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xii. 
 
 minal condemned to die, and men, who before had saluted 
 me in a cordial and friendly manner when we met, now 
 passed me in silence with half-averted faces and pitying 
 looks, and a silent touch of the hat in salutation, as if they 
 scarcely dared to recognise the man who was doomed to be 
 so soon a corpse.* 
 
 * I quite feel that I have by no means done justice to the graphic description 
 given to me of this remarkable scene by Thornton when in his prison cell in 
 Monaghan. 
 
1851. THE MURDER. 20I 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE MURDER. 
 
 It may be supposed that my own feelings at this time 
 were anything but agreeable. I could not but perceive that 
 I was indeed ' a doomed man ; ' and unless I threw up 
 my post and left the country, I was w'ell aware I had 
 but a small chance of my life. There is something very 
 terrible in the knowledge that a cruel and vindictive enemy 
 is determined to pursue you, and to kill you whenever an 
 opportunity may occur — whether with bludgeon, stone, 
 pistol, or blunderbuss — that you are watched day and night, 
 your habits noted, your most private actions marked, and 
 that whether abroad or in the house, in your bedroom or on 
 horseback, never for one moment are you safe from a mur- 
 derous attack. It is a position which tells severely upon 
 the nerves. I knew all this, yet had no alternative but to 
 face it or leave the post of duty. So I resolved to look the 
 whole position of affairs calmly in the face. I began by a 
 thorough reconsideration of all my past measures, and 
 endeavoured to ascertain if I had in any degree outstepped 
 the plainest and most absolute duties of my office. The 
 mind at such a time becomes singularly lucid and unclouded, 
 and if one has done anything harshly or hastily, conscience 
 is sure to bring it out in the most uninviting colours. But 
 after the calmest reflection, I came to the conclusion that I 
 had done nothing but my duty ; that in offering emigration to 
 America at the landlord's expense, besides forgiveness of all 
 
202 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiii. 
 
 arrears, and his full stock and crop to every tenant and his 
 family who could not pay his rent, I had done all on behalf 
 of the landlord which he ought or could be expected to 
 do ; and hence I was bound to see either that rent was paid, 
 or that these liberal terms were accepted. Accordingly I 
 determined to remain and face my enemies, and see this 
 quarrel to the end. My health was good, my nerves were 
 firm ; and hoping to be as watchful as my foes, I let it be 
 clearly understood that I had entered the lists with the 
 Ribbonmen and would fight this matter out. 
 
 Both parties now began to take their measures cautiously. 
 The first step of the Ribbonmen was a clever and a curious 
 one. I have mentioned that the men chosen 'to do the job' 
 were altogether unknown to me. They were ignorant even 
 of my appearance. But lest there should be any mistake 
 as to my identity, the following plan was adopted. The 
 two men were taken into the Court House of Carrick- 
 macross, on Petty Sessions day, where I happened to be 
 sitting as chairman, amongst the magistrates, and they 
 were told to watch my countenance carefully. 
 
 ' You will see him,' said the stealthy Ribbonman who 
 conducted them, ' sometimes pleased and sometimes vexed ; 
 sometimes he will speak loud, and sometimes low ; some- 
 times you will see anger on his countenance, and sometimes 
 you will see him laughing ; and if you watch him cleverly 
 all day in court and then watch him as he leaves it with 
 his hat on, and follow him down the street as he walks, 
 you cannot fail to know him again whether by night or by 
 day.' One of the villains afterwards confessed to me per- 
 sonally, that he had done all this, and that he ' would have 
 known me out of ten thousand.' Their next step was to 
 procure a blunderbuss. The history of this blunderbuss 
 was a strange one. It had been purchased and brought 
 over from England by a man named Goodman, who sold 
 
1S51.] THE MURDER. 203 
 
 it to another named Muckian, who hved not very far 
 from Tullyvara, with a view, no doubt, to the performance 
 of some deed of blood. So careful and anxious was he 
 that no one should detect its presence on his journey, that 
 he hid it under his shirt, and placed it next his bare flesh. 
 From what cause I know not, but probably from the ver- 
 digris acting on an unhealthy skin, a large sore appeared 
 upon the spot where it had lain so long touching his person. 
 The sore increased gradually in size and virulence, until at 
 last he died of its effects in the most excruciating pain. 
 From him it passed into the hands of those who had under- 
 taken to be my assassins, and they kept it as bright as if it 
 had always been in a Police Barrack. One of the men was 
 armed with this, the other with a brace of pistols ; and the 
 plan agreed on was to fire the blunderbuss first, and if I 
 was knocked over to finish me with the pistols ; and if the 
 blunderbuss failed in its aim, then the pistols were to be 
 used offensively or defensively as circumstances might 
 require. Thus armed and prepared, they lay in wait for 
 me day and night. But neither had I been idle in my pre- 
 parations. I purchased two revolvers, each of them having 
 six barrels ; these I always carried about me when I went 
 out to any distance, and day and night, when in the house, 
 they were on a table close beside me, carefully loaded and 
 capped. Besides these I had two small double-barrelled 
 pocket-pistols to be used at close quarters if occasion re- 
 quired, and a pair of double-barrelled horse-pistols of 
 a larger size in holsters before me on my saddle ; thus 
 having twenty shots always around my person when I 
 rode out on horseback, which was my usual mode of 
 locomotion. 
 
 I could not, however, avoid perceiving that all this pre- 
 paration would probably be utterly valueless in a case of 
 cautious waylaying, as the Ribbonmen would thus have 
 
204 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiii. 
 
 the first shot at me — and if I were hit, my armament would 
 be of httle use ; so I made up my mind never to leave 
 the house, as long as this state of things lasted, without 
 two able young men (one of them usually my own son) 
 well armed, and riding one on either side of me if I went 
 on horseback, and if I went on a car, accompanying me 
 with loaded double-barrelled guns in their hands, ready to 
 fire at a moment's notice. 
 
 Having also observed from several preceding attacks 
 which had been made on other people, that the moment 
 anyone was shot a rush of his friends was made to raise 
 and support hirn, and that thus the murderers in the con- 
 fusion made their escape, I made it a request with my 
 young friends that if I was shot, and fell, no attention 
 whatever should be paid to me until they had first arrested 
 or shot the murderers, and then, and 7iot till then, were they 
 to come to my assistance. And it was fully agreed amongst 
 us that we should all act on this principle, no matter which 
 of us might fall. The driver of the car also got solemn 
 warning — on the pain of being considered an accomplice 
 and perhaps struck down as such — that the moment a shot 
 was fired, he was instantly to stop his horse, the young 
 men, and all who should happen to be unhurt, were then 
 to leap off the car, with the double-barrelled guns in their 
 hands and pursue, capture, fight, or shoot upon the spot, 
 as circumstances might require, whoever might be the 
 assassins — but, dead or alive, to secure them. 
 
 The vigorous measures which were thus adopted, soon 
 got wind amongst the conspirators, mainly, I suspect, 
 through the car drivers. We never concealed where we 
 were going. I made frequent appointments to be at 
 certain places at certain times, and always kept them, 
 anxious if possible to bring matters to a crisis and have it 
 out with the assassins in open fight. But they were far too 
 
1851.] THE MURDER. 205 
 
 cautious; and one of them afterwards confessed to me that 
 he had let us pass over and over again, he and his com- 
 panion lying quietly with cocked blunderbuss behind the 
 hedge, ' knowing,' as he said, ' that it would be sure death 
 to himself if he fired.' 
 
 At length having carried on this warfare for nearly a year, 
 during the whole of which time I steadily persisted in my 
 determination never to go out without my young stout 
 friendly guards, the assassins gave up the plans they had 
 agreed on, and proposed more stealthy arrangements. One 
 of these was to watch me as I passed at night from my 
 office to my dwelling-house across the street of Carrickma- 
 cross and to shoot me in the middle of the town. The 
 house I lodged in at the time was almost exactly opposite 
 my office. I was in the habit of sitting up late at business, 
 and between ten and eleven o'clock at night I was accus- 
 tomed to leave the office and cross the street, usually with- 
 out guards, not thinking there could be any real danger in 
 the midst of a public street. But I soon received private 
 information that even here they were on the watch for me, 
 and I was warned to let no one near me whilst crossing 
 to my lodgings, as an attempt would be made to present a 
 letter and shoot me while accepting it. The assassin was 
 then to drop his pistol on the ground, and be amongst the 
 first to rush to the aid of the ' poor gentleman that was 
 hurt ! ' 
 
 I soon discovered that the information of this formidable 
 plot was not given a day too soon, as several attempts to 
 approach me in the manner described were made imme- 
 diately afterwards. Forewarned, however, I was forearmed ; 
 and I now never passed to my lodgings without a brace 
 of large double-barrelled pistols openly in my hands, 
 and the moment anyone, no matter who, came near me 
 as I crossed the street in the night, I presented the pistols 
 
206 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiii. 
 
 at him while yet within fifteen or twenty paces, and 
 requested he would keep at a respectful distance, as I 
 would allow no one to come near me there. Thus all were 
 kept away; and I believe I very much astonished some 
 innocent people by accosting them in this strange manner. 
 
 Another plan was to shoot me as I walked alone from 
 the town of Carrickmacross to the Poor-house, when attend- 
 ing the meetings of the Board of Guardians, of which I was 
 chairman. Between the town and union-house there is 
 a space of open ground, without any houses immediately 
 near. This road I sometimes walked unaccompanied by 
 any guards, for the town was so close that I conceived 
 there could be but little danger in doing so. In this, how- 
 ever, I was mistaken. Twice was I waylaid there, the 
 assassin, armed with a pistol, intending to shoot me by 
 putting the pistol to my breast as I passed, fire it, then drop 
 the pistol, and run for his life across the country. His com- 
 panion afterwards confessed to me that on one occasion I 
 escaped only by his having failed to bring the assassin a 
 light pair of shoes in sufficient time, before I passed, to 
 enable him, after the attack, to run more quickly than he 
 could in his ' brogues;' and on another occasion, by my friend 
 Mr. Morant appearing at the very moment round a corner 
 close by, just as he was about to fire. Thus for upwards of a 
 year I was watched and waylaid, hunted and pursued by my 
 intended murderers, they being supported by subscriptions 
 all the time ; until at last, quite disheartened at their want 
 of success, they went to their employers, and swearing that 
 all the luck was on my side and against them, they deter- 
 mined ' to give me up as a bad job, but that they had no 
 objection to shoot Paddy M'^Ardle (the bailiff), who would 
 do nearly as well, and maybe the luck might not be so much 
 with him.' 
 
 It was very difiicult during the whole of this trying 
 
1851.] THE MURDER. 207 
 
 period to keep sufficiently on the alert. One soon becomes 
 familiar with danger, especially a hidden danger ; and were 
 it not for some fearful lessons which occurred about this 
 time in the neighbourhood, to warn me, I feel convinced 
 that by degrees I should have relaxed my caution, and 
 thus become an easy victim. 
 
 Two of these I particularly remember. One was an 
 attack made upon Mr. Chambre,"^ a magistrate, who lived 
 in a somewhat remote district in the mountains in the 
 county of Armagh. I was not personally acquainted with 
 this gentleman, but I had heard of him as a most active 
 and improving resident landlord. As is usually the case 
 under these circumstances, he had incurred the displeasure 
 of the Ribbon Society, and they determined to put him out 
 of the way. The plan adopted was to lie in wait for him 
 as he returned on his car from Petty Sessions, and shoot 
 him near his own house. On the evening of the day ap- 
 pointed for his murder, he was returning on an outside car, 
 accompanied by his servant and one or two friends, all, I 
 believe, well-armed, as he was aware of his danger ; when, 
 from behind a low wall, a volley was fired which soon 
 emptied the seats of the car. Mr. Chambre fell to the 
 ground severely and dangerously wounded ; none of the 
 others, I believe, were hurt ; but, as is usual under such 
 circumstances, seeing Mr. Chambre wounded and bleeding 
 on the ground, his friends and the servant rushed to his as- 
 sistance, and in the meantime the murderers — of whom it 
 was generally believed there were four or five behind the 
 wall — ran away and escaped detection at the time, though 
 a man named Barry or Barret was afterwards hanged for 
 the offence. When the car was emptied, the horse, terri- 
 fied by the shots — and I believe wounded and bleeding — 
 
 * Mr. Chambre, if I recollect aright, was attacked in January 1852. 
 
208 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiii. 
 
 dashed off towards the house, and Mrs. Chambre, who was 
 anxiously expecting her husband home to dinner, was 
 startled, as she walked out with the hope of meeting him, 
 by seeing the horse and empty car coming furiously up the 
 approach. Her feelings may be imagined. Assistance 
 was immediately procured, and Mr. Chambre was brought 
 home bleeding and weak, and with but little hope of his 
 recovery. Contrary to general expectation, however, he did 
 recover, after a long and serious illness, and I believe he 
 is now alive. Such was the account I heard of this attack. 
 
 It was the example of this case which made me and my 
 young friends agree, that, as soon as a shot was fired at the 
 party, all who were unhurt should immediately dash at the 
 assassins, without waiting for a moment to give assistance 
 to the wounded party, whoever he might be, as two or 
 three minutes' delay could make but little difference to him. 
 
 But another serious lesson of warning was brought more 
 immediately under my own observation. The circumstances 
 having happened to an acquaintance and friend, with whom 
 I was in familiar social intercourse, I will relate them more 
 in detail, 
 
 Mr. Bateson was a gentleman of good family and po- 
 sition in the north of Ireland. He was a well-educated and 
 intelligent man, in appearance about sixty years of age. 
 He was kind-hearted, social, and liberal ; and he had un- 
 dertaken the management of the Templetown Estates, near 
 Castleblaney. 
 
 Mr. Bateson, being a bachelor, lived in the excellent hotel 
 in Castleblaney, close to which the main bulk of the Temple - 
 town Estate in that district is situated . * Tenant-right,' in 
 the full northern acceptation of the term, had always pre- 
 vailed over the estate, and the tenants were for the most 
 part comfortable and respectable. 
 
 With a view to improve the agriculture of the district. 
 
1851.] ■ THE MURDER. 209 
 
 Mr. Bateson had formed the plan of estabHshing a model 
 agricultural farm, on which could be tried every new experi- 
 ment, at the cost of the landlord, and for the information 
 and instruction of the tenants. On this farm the newest 
 improvements in draining and subsoiling, green cropping, 
 manuring, and machinery of every kind, were in daily use 
 and operation ; the whole was open to the inspection of 
 the public, whilst the tenants of the Templetown Estate 
 were specially invited to visit the works, and derive what 
 advantage they could from the improved systems of hus- 
 bandry which were there adopted. 
 
 I have not any accurate knowledge of the details with 
 reference to the process of taking up the land for the 
 purpose of establishing this model farm ; but I was given 
 to understand that it had been taken into the landlord's 
 hands in the famine years of 1848 and 1849. Although a 
 considerable portion of it had then lain vacant, yet to form 
 a compact farm, lying well together and fit for the purposes 
 designed, it was necessary to make several small changes 
 and consolidations, and to remove some of those tenants 
 whose land lay contiguous to the model farm and was 
 required for its completion. These tenants were placed in 
 other holdings on the estate ; yet from these changes, which 
 were absolutely necessary to the establishment of the 
 proposed design, some ill-will appears to have been created 
 towards Mr. Bateson. Such was the account of the matter 
 which I heard at the time from apparently reliable sources, 
 and I have every reason to believe that the account was 
 substantially true. 
 
 The spirit of disaffection, which has been already de- 
 scribed, was not confined to the district of Carrickmacross : 
 it extended into the county of Armagh, and the town and 
 neighbourhood of Crossmaglen obtained an unenviable 
 notoriety. Castleblaney had hitherto been quiet, but it was 
 
 P 
 
210 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xm. 
 
 determined that the ramifications of the Ribbon Confederacy- 
 should extend there also ; and Mr. Bateson being an im- 
 prover, and, above all, having established a model farm (a 
 precedent which it was thought might lead to other and 
 more important innovations), it was arranged that he should 
 be ' put out of the way.' 
 
 I had no eye-witness in his case, such as was afforded me 
 by a strange accident in my own trial, to describe the details 
 of the scene which was enacted when Mr. Bateson's death 
 was determined on. But doubtless in his case also a jury 
 of * the right sort ' was summoned ; whisky in abundance 
 being probably on the table ; his guilt, I suppose, was also 
 silently presumed, and the gulf of the indictment against 
 him was leaped over in a silent bound, as it was with me ; 
 and when anyone ventured, half in mockery, to suggest a 
 few words in his favour, or to tell of any acts of kindness 
 which he might have shown — perhaps to some of the jurors 
 themselves — I doubt not they were silenced by the presi- 
 dent in the same grim and cruel manner as had been done 
 in my own case. To Mr. Bateson also it appears that the 
 strange law of Ribbon ' fair play ' was accorded, and he 
 duly received a 'threatening notice,' warning him of his 
 intended murder. 
 
 Mr. Bateson was a man of a bold and confident disposi- 
 tion ; and though his friends were much alarmed when he 
 received this notice, yet he scarcely paid any attention to it. 
 He also received sundry warnings of a friendly nature, 
 apprising him of his danger ; but these also he disregarded, 
 and he continued day after day walking out alone to his 
 favourite model farm, which was situated about a mile 
 from the town, armed sometimes with a pocket-pistol, 
 and sometimes not armed at all. His friends seeing him 
 so confident, as time passed on without any attempted 
 violence, at length began to forget the danger, and it was 
 
1851.] TpE MURDER. 211 
 
 hoped the notice he had received might have been only an 
 idle threat. 
 
 But Ribbonmen in a disturbed district do not generally 
 threaten idly. They had abided by their wild rule of fair 
 play in giving their victim warning, and they were now 
 steadily and stealthily plotting his sure destruction. 
 
 On the evening of December 4, 1851, Mr. Bateson was 
 quietly and without the least suspicion of danger returning 
 home from his model farm along the public road leading 
 from Castleblaney to Armagh. He was walking carelessly 
 and slowly along the footpath, not half-a-mile from the town 
 of Castleblaney, when a man overtook him, and touching 
 his hat with the usual salutation of a peasant, bid him a 
 ' good evening,' remarked on the fineness of the weather, and 
 entered into friendly discourse. Mr. Bateson, who was of an 
 accessible disposition, kind and courteous to the humblest 
 peasant, at once joined with him in conversation, and thus 
 they continued walking and talking for a few hundred yards. 
 Suddenly Mr. Bateson felt his collar grasped from behind 
 by a person hitherto unseen, and a pistol was fired into his 
 neck ; the ball penetrated and passed through the throat. 
 As he was staggering from the shot, and about to call on 
 his companion for help, he received a violent blow from the 
 miscreant to whom he had been talking which felled him 
 to the ground ; and when down, both assassins set upon 
 him, and beat in his skull with the pistol, and with stones, 
 until his brains protruded. In this state he was found by 
 a carman who drove a public conveyance from Armagh 
 to Castleblaney. He was then unconscious, but still 
 breathing. Immediate information was given to the police 
 and to his friends in the town, and the unfortunate gentle- 
 man was carried, still senseless, into the hotel where he 
 resided. 
 
 The news of such a murder as this spread like wildfire 
 
 p 2 
 
2 1 2 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiil. 
 
 over the country, and early the following morning Mr. 
 Morant and I received information of the event. The intel- 
 ligence that a friend, with whom you have been on kindly 
 and intimate terms, has been barbarously murdered in your 
 immediate neighboudiood, has a peculiar effect upon the 
 nerves and temper. I was well aware that Mr. Bateson was 
 a marked man — that for him, as well as for myself, assassins 
 were lying constantly in wait ; but when the news arrived 
 that they had actually succeeded in laying low their victim, 
 it was hard to keep down a feeling of the most intense 
 revenge. 
 
 Mr, Morant and I resolved at once to ride to the scene of 
 the murder. I cannot say that we expected any good result 
 from doing so ; but we wished to manifest our abhorrence of 
 the deed, to offer our services in any form in which they 
 could be effective, and to show sympathy with the sufferings 
 of our friend, whom we heard was still alive. 
 
 Feeling assured, however, that our ride to Castleblaney 
 v/ould not be unattended with danger, we resolved to go 
 well armed and prepared. I duly arranged my fire-arms 
 around my person, and Mr. Morant — who had also passed 
 through some trying scenes — rigged himself out in a most 
 extraordinary suit of armour. On his head he wore a steel 
 hat covered with black cloth; a short coat of buffalo-hide en- 
 cased the upper part of his person ; so stiff, tough, and thick 
 was this coat, that though certainly not proof against a 
 modern rifle-ball, yet I really believe it was fully capable of 
 turning aside any slugs or bullets likely to be discharged 
 from an ill-loaded blunderbuss or pistol. He delighted to 
 think, ' how disappointed the rascals would be when he did 
 not fall to their shot ; ' and though he admitted ' being 
 hit on the legs would not be pleasant,' yet he seemed cer- 
 tain that he would get the better of the Ribbonmen in an 
 encounter. 
 
1851.] THE MURDER. 21 1, 
 
 We were accompanied by my son, J. Townsend Trench, 
 also well armed ; and in this trim we mounted our horses 
 opposite my temporary lodgings in the street at Carrick- 
 macross. It was ludicrous to watch the faces of the 
 peasantry who had collected in the street to see us mount. 
 There was a curious mixture of triumph, fear, and amuse- 
 ment on their faces at the appearance of Mr. Morant's 
 buffalo-hide, which had a most comical effect ; and as I 
 proceeded before them all to put my pistols carefully into 
 my holsters, the winks and nudges were incessant. Several 
 other pistols peeped out from the breast-pockets of my coat 
 in all the brightness of their silver-mounted handles. Mr. 
 Morant, who had mounted at his own hall door, and had 
 now called for us, sat upon his horse, coolly smoking his 
 cigar, looking down upon the admiring peasantry, with the 
 most supreme indifference and contempt for his enemies 
 expressed in every feature of his face. 
 
 We met but few people upon the road during our ride, a 
 distance of some ten Irish miles, and the town of Castle- 
 blaney seemed almost deserted as we entered it. Those we 
 met did not offer the usual salutation, and a dark scowling 
 air of triumph was expressed upon their faces as we passed. 
 We rode straight to the hotel, where we dismounted, and 
 gave our horses to the hostler, taking care to withdraw 
 our pistols from the holsters, lest they should be tampered 
 with whilst we were absent. 
 
 On entering the hotel we asked for our friend, and found 
 that he was still alive, though wholly unconscious. His 
 relations had been summoned, but had not yet arrived. 
 His clerk, taking a small roll of paper out of his pocket, 
 unfolded it, and exhibited a handful of bones, which he 
 told us were shattered fragments of the skull which the 
 doctor had succeeded in removing from his unfortunate 
 patient. 
 
214 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xiii. 
 
 As usual in such cases, we found that we were wholly 
 useless. A set determination existed among the peasantry 
 to give no information whatever ; we were told, falsely as 
 was afterwards proved, that no one had seen the deed except 
 the assassins themselves ; that ' the police were on the alert,' 
 as usual, but that no information existed which afforded the 
 slightest clue to the motive for the murder, and still less to 
 the detection of the murderers. 
 
 We were pressed to go up-stairs and see Mr. Bateson in 
 his agony ; but this we declined. A sickening feeling stole 
 over our hearts, though unacknowledged by any of us, that 
 \ve might soon perhaps be in the same state ourselves, and 
 delicacy forbade any useless intrusion on so painful and 
 sorrowful a scene. He breathed his last soon after we left 
 the hotel. 
 
 With hearts sad, shocked, and angry, we mounted our 
 horses to ride home. It was a bright moonlight night ; and 
 though we knew we were in imminent danger, and likely to 
 be waylaid on our return, as our destination was known to 
 all, yet I well remember as we trotted briskly on in the 
 sharp and fresh night air, how our spirits gradually rose 
 within us, and a reaction of almost joyous lightheartedness 
 came over each ; and, as our horses bounded towards 
 home, we mutually, though silently, determined to throw 
 off the painful feelings which had so lately filled our minds 
 and pressed so heavily on our spirits. Like soldiers in the 
 midst of a campaign, we talked and laughed and planned 
 for the future, as if the certainty of long and happy lives 
 lay before us. And yet that very night, as I afterwards 
 ascertained, we were waylaid by the sworn assassins ; 
 and had not two mounted police been sent out, through 
 the forethought and care of Mr. Barry, the sub-inspector of 
 the force, to escort us home as the night closed in, a fierce 
 attack would certainly have been made upon our lives. 
 
1851.] THE MURDER. 215 
 
 One of the assassins afterwards confessed to me that ' their 
 blood was up at the boys in Castleblaney being before 
 them in having Bateson down, and Trench still upon the 
 walk,' and that they were determined ' to chance their 
 lives,' and fire a volley on us as we came home that night. 
 But just as we rode up and they were preparing for the 
 attack, we were joined by the mounted police within a few 
 hundred yards of the very spot where they were lying in 
 wait! 
 
 We reached our homes in safety and in perfect ignorance 
 of the imminent danger we had escaped. 
 
•1851.] ALICE McMAHON. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ALICE McMAHON. 
 
 I WAS SITTING in my office one evening in the month of 
 December 185 1, and shortly after the occurrence narrated 
 in the preceding chapter, when an incident took place so 
 characteristic of the people and of the times, that it may 
 be worth recording. 
 
 It had been an * office day,' and a great variety of cases 
 had come before me for adjudication. I was tired, and 
 weary of my work ; when just as darkness closed in, a 
 young woman presented herself and requested a private 
 audience. Her appearance was not altogether that of an 
 ordinary peasant. She wore a neat modern bonnet, a veil 
 so thick that I could not see her features, and her dress in 
 other respects showed symptoms not only of comfort but 
 of taste. 
 
 No sooner had I taken her into my private office, than 
 to my utter astonishment she dropped down upon her 
 knees before me, and placing her hands in an attitude of 
 agonised supplication, she exclaimed : 
 
 ' Oh Mr. Trench, what shall I do, what shall I do ! you 
 •only can help me ! ' 
 
 I was shocked and distressed at the attitude assumed 
 towards me ; and insisting upon her rising at once, which 
 she seemed somewhat unwilling to do, I placed her on a 
 chair and requested her to let me know her name and 
 what it was that distressed her. 
 
.2.1 8 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiv. 
 
 She appeared very uneasy lest our conversation should 
 be overheard, and went herself to the door to make sure it 
 was closed and that no one was listening outside ; then, 
 having in some degree recovered her composure, she said, 
 ' My name is Alice M^Mahon — though that does not 
 matter much ; but oh ! tell me, Sir, isn't it true that 
 the police have a warrant in their hands to arrest Ned 
 Cunningham ? ' 
 
 ' Really,' replied I, * I am not sure ; I don't recollect at 
 present any man of that name for whose apprehension I 
 have issued a warrant.' 
 
 'Mr. Trench, I may as well tell you the real truth, 
 and when you know all, perhaps you will tell me what I 
 had best do — for God knows I am fairly broken-hearted. 
 Ned and I were to be married soon. My people were not 
 satisfied with the match, for they always held their heads 
 high amongst the neighbours ; and Ned had only a few 
 acres of land, and they said he wasn't good enough for me. 
 God help me ! if they knew what a poor miserable unhappy 
 girl I am now, they would think anything good enough for 
 the like of me. Well, as I was saying, my people weren't 
 satisfied at the match, and mother was stiff and distant, 
 and father swore he would never consent ; and at last they 
 made me promise to tell Ned I would never see him any 
 more.' 
 
 * Was that Ned Cunningham a fine tall young man 
 with sandy hair, and as active a chap as any in the 
 barony .'' ' 
 
 ' The same,' said she ; * I knew well you must have 
 known him for reasons there is no use in telling now.' 
 
 * I know him well,' replied I ; * that is, he was pointed 
 out to me more than once ; but his character is none of 
 the best, and I fear he is in danger of being arrested even 
 now.' 
 
i85i.] ALICE M'^MAHON. 219 
 
 ' I know it/ said the girl calmly, ' I know it but too well. 
 But let me tell you my story — it won't keep you very 
 long ; and then you can do what you please.' 
 
 Here she took ofif her bonnet quietly, and laid it on the 
 table beside her ; then for the first time, by the light of a 
 lamp which was burning, I saw the face of my visitor. She 
 appeared to be about twenty or twenty-one years of age. 
 Her countenance was decidedly prepossessing, but of a 
 cast which is generally termed interesting rather than 
 strikingly handsome. Her features were very regular, and 
 she had a quiet composed manner, and a clear calm eye, 
 which indicated a mind not devoid of thoughtfulness as 
 well as courage. Her figure was slight and feminine, 
 rather below the average height, but singularly well-propor- 
 tioned, and — if I may use the term- — lady-like. All her 
 motions were graceful, and appeared to be those of a girl 
 who had been educated far beyond the ordinary average of 
 an Irish peasant. 
 
 Her manner was so calm, that I could scarcely believe it 
 to be the same figure who, a few minutes before, had been 
 kneeling in the attitude of supplication ; and when she 
 laid her bonnet on the table, and pushed back her hair 
 from her pale and somewhat careworn cheek, I thought I 
 had seldom seen a more interesting girl. 
 
 ' I knew well,' she continued, ' that you must have heard 
 something about Ned ; but now just listen to me till I tell 
 you what you never heard from his enemies. I was telling 
 you a while ago, that I promised father to let Ned know I 
 would never see him more : so one night about a month 
 ago we met as usual : he never could stay long away ; for 
 when his work was over, he was always coming about the 
 house where he thought he'd see me. And then we'd have 
 a little walk together, and Ned was always pressing ^me 
 to go away with him ; but I never would, for I told him 
 
2 20 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiv. 
 
 whatever I did I would never bring disgrace upon my family. 
 Well, one night Ned came as usual, and after we had 
 walked a bit in the moonlight — " Ned," says I, " father says 
 we must never marry, and that I'm not to be walking or 
 talking with you any more." Ned stopped short and stared 
 in my face by the moonlight — " You're not in airnest, 
 Alice," said he, " you're surely not in airnest : I knew they 
 were never free to like the match ; but sure you're not in 
 airnest that you're not to walk with me or see me more } " 
 " Ned," says I, " I am in airnest : father and mother was 
 always good to me, and I can't go against their wishes now — 
 and I fear I must break off with you." " Alice, you were 
 never fond of joking — is it truth you're telling me .'' " " It is, 
 Ned," says I, as quiet to him as I am this minute. " I be- 
 lieve it's yourself that don't care for me," says Ned angrily ; 
 " but any way you would never say what you now do, un- 
 less you were in airnest. The boys were often wanting me 
 to join them, but I always refused up to this. Alice — though 
 I never told them so — it was for yo2ir sake I refused ; but 
 now I'll refuse no longer. There's to be a meetin' to-night, 
 and I'll go straight and join them that's bound to give 
 freedom to Ireland." 
 
 ' " Oh Ned, Ned," says I, " for God's sake don't join the 
 bloody Ribbonmen that's bringing all this trouble on the 
 country, and some of them will be sure to suffer yet. Oh, 
 Ned dear, don't join them ! whatever you do, don't join 
 them ; they'll surely bring you to the gallows ! " " What 
 matter what they bring me to," says he, " when you draw 
 off from me. Alice, you are the only living being I care 
 for in the world. I've neither father nor mother, nor brother 
 nor sister ! but I thought I had you for my own, and that 
 you would soon be my wife. And now you tell me that's 
 all over ; and what can I do better than j oin them that's 
 striving to free our country 1 — But come away with me now. 
 
1851.] ALICE M'^MAHON. 22 1 
 
 Alice dear," says he — " come off with me this minute, and 
 I'll do whatever you bid me, and never take the oath, let 
 them all talk as they will." ' 
 
 Here she stopped for a few moments in her story : her 
 face grew paler than before, and her eyes filled with tears ; 
 then, after a few convulsive efforts to overcome her feelings, 
 she continued — 
 
 ' I think I would have gone with him that very minute, 
 for I loved Ned dearly ; but just then, father came to the 
 door, and called out to know what was I doing so long out 
 of the house. So I told him I w^as coming in ; and giving 
 one last look at Ned, I said, " Ned, don't ask me ; I can't do 
 it." " Very well," said Ned, " mind you have refused, and 
 you are not the girl to refuse unless you meant it — good 
 bye, r 11 join the boys to-7iig]it ! " And he was gone across 
 the ditch by my side before I could say another word.' 
 
 * I fear,' said I, ' he has kept to his threat ; for I know he 
 is one of the Ribbonmen now.' 
 
 ' I will not deny it,' replied she calmly ; * I knew well 
 your honour knew it, and that is what brings me to you here 
 to-night' 
 
 ' And what do you want me to do } ' asked I. 
 
 * The police have nothing, against him yet,' she replied ; 
 * they have a warrant in their hands to arrest him, but that 
 is only for some assault — as they call it — which one of his 
 enemies swore against him. He has done nothing yet 
 with the boys which could bring him into trouble, except 
 taking the dreadful oath. But oh ! Sir, I'll tell you what 
 I dare scarcely tell to mortal man — he is on for the next 
 
 job: 
 
 ' On for the next job ! ' said I ; ' what do you mean .-* ' 
 ' Your honour knows well what I mean,' replied the girl 
 
 calmly. 
 
 * Do you mean,' said I, ' that he is to murder the next 
 
222 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiv. 
 
 man that those blood-thirsty villains condemn to die ? — 
 perhaps it may be myself?' 
 
 ' There is no fear of his hurting a hair of your honour's 
 head,' said she steadily. ' They tried him about that, but 
 he was near killing the man that said it to him, and they 
 never spoke to him of it since ; but they have put him on 
 for the next job barrin' yourself ; and now that he is regu- 
 larly sworn in, he can't refuse.' 
 
 * Well,' said I, * and what do you propose that I should 
 do?' 
 
 ' I'll tell you, Sir,' replied she. * Ned came to me the 
 other night; I was sitting up late, thinking. Father and 
 mother had gone to bed ; but I said I wanted to sew a bit, 
 so I sat up thinking over the fire. After a while I heard a 
 tap at the window, and then a low whistle, which I knew 
 well was Ned's. So I made no noise nor stir, but I just put 
 out the candle as if I was going to bed, and then went to 
 the door and opened it, and sure enough there was Ned 
 before me. Oh Sir, you wouldn't know him he was so 
 changed in that one month. It was full moon again, and 
 when he turned to look at me the moon shone bright upon 
 him ; and it wasn't Ned at all, but some ghost that was like 
 him, I saw. " Ned," says I, " is that you ? " " It is," says he, 
 and his very voice sounded different from what it used. 
 Well, I was glad to see him anyhow ; so I took his hand in 
 mine, and says I, " Ned, what has happened, for you're not 
 the same as you were ? " " How could I," says he, "when 
 you told me you wouldn't see me any more ?" " Ned," says 
 I, " don't deceive me, that's not it, there is worse than that 
 come over you." " Nothing could be worse than that," says 
 he. " Ned, you must tell me. I know you well, and I 
 know there is worse than the loss of me upon you now." 
 *' Well, Alice," says he, " and if there is, it was the loss of 
 you that drove me to it." " I won't deny but that might 
 
1851.] ALICE M^MAHON. 223 
 
 be true too," says I ; " but, Ned, you must tell me what is 
 the matter now. Are you sworn in ? " " I am," says Ned, 
 "though the bloody villains would murder me if they knew 
 I told you." " You have done nothing yet, Ned ? " says I. 
 " No, Alice," says he ; " dut Fm on for the next job, after 
 Trenchr Well, Sir, what came over me then I don't know ; 
 but I lost my sight and my senses, and I never knew where 
 I was or what had happened, till I found myself down at 
 the well below the house, and Ned pouring water on my 
 face with his two hands. He looked so terrible when I first 
 opened my eyes, that he brought me to my senses quick 
 enough ; and in a minute all that had happened was before 
 me. " Ned," says I, " break off with them villains, and 
 ril go zvith yoic where you please." " My God ! " cried Ned, 
 " why didn't you say that before .-• I'm sworn in now, and 
 I must be true to my country ; though it's little of their 
 country that them bloody villains thinks. But I'm sworn 
 in now, and I'm bound to obey." 
 
 * " Ned," says I, " you shall do no such thing — I'll 
 go with you where you go; I'll leave father and mother 
 now. You know, Ned, I always loved you ; and what's the 
 use of love if it wouldn't stick by a friend in trouble .-' You 
 must leave the countr}'-, Ned, and that at once ; and I'll go 
 with you, and they'll never know where we are. Let us go 
 off at once to America." Well, Sir, Ned was silent for a 
 minute, and then he says, "Alice dear, don't ask me to 
 peach, or tell on one of them, for I'll never do it — no, not 
 even to win you." " I'll never ask you, Ned," says I ; 
 " only come away and leave them there, before any job 
 turns up that will ruin your soul and body." " There is 
 a warrant out against me," says Ned, " for a stroke I hit 
 another boy a few days ago ; it's in the Police Barrack this 
 minute, and they will be out searching for me soon. And 
 if they arrest me on this warrant, I'll be kept to see if 
 
2 24 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiv. 
 
 they can get anything else against me, and maybe some- 
 thing bad will happen before it's all over." 
 
 '"Will you come away if I get the warrant stopped?" 
 says I. " Alice," says he, " I'll have to break a solemn oath 
 if I do; but it's better to be damned for breaking an oath 
 to those bloody villains than for killing some one ; so if I'm 
 not taken this week, I'll go, if you will come with me ! " ' 
 
 She stopped and looked at me. ' Well,' said I, ' and 
 what do you want me to do ? ' 
 
 * I want you to stop the warrant just for one week,' said 
 she: 'he has done nothing yet; the warrant is only for- 
 cutting another boy's head, which did him no great harm ; 
 and moreover that same boy deserved it well. But if Ned 
 stays in the country, he'll surely do whatever the bloody 
 villains he's joined with bid him. Keep back the warrant 
 for one week, and you'll save his soul and body.' 
 
 The poor girl could hold out no longer, but dropping 
 again on her knees before me, she put her hands to her 
 eyes, and as the tears streamed through her fingers, she 
 sobbed out, almost choking with agitation, — ' Oh Sir, save 
 him if you can ! save poor Ned, who never would hurt the 
 hair of a child's head if he was not sworn to it by them 
 terrible men.' 
 
 I have seldom felt in a greater difficulty. Here was a 
 man who it was now acknowledged was a sworn Ribbonman, 
 and I was asked to hold back the warrant for his arrest so 
 as to enable him to leave the country and escape the law. 
 True, but then I reflected, he had done nothing yet as a 
 Ribbonman that the law could lay hold of, except taking' 
 the oath. I fully believed the weeping girl before me, that • 
 they were deeply attached to each other, and I also believed 
 her statement that in a moment of anger at her father's, 
 rejecting his suit, he had joined the Ribbonmen, and was 
 sworn in to their bloody code. She saw that I hesitated; 
 
1851.] ALICE MCMAHON. 225 
 
 between what at first sight appeared to be my duty as 
 a magistrate, and my desire to save her lover from crime 
 and death. I have said she was educated above her class, 
 and she perceived my difficulty in a moment. 
 
 ' Oh Sir,' said she, rising gently from her knees and 
 calming down her countenance again, ' you'll do no wrong 
 in holding back the warrant for a week ; though Ned is 
 sworn in, he has done no bad act yet ; and surely it is better 
 to save him now, than to hang him after he has committed 
 some terrible crime. I know him well : he is as daring 
 when his blood is up, as he is gentle and kind in heart ; he 
 would not hurt a little child. But they have told him it's 
 for the good of Ireland ; and when he gets warmed with 
 that, he'd kill a hundred men.' 
 
 ' And does he really believe it is for the good of Ireland," 
 I asked indignantly, ' to waylay and murder some unfortu- 
 nate man who has never injured or wronged him } ' 
 
 ' That's a long story. Sir,' replied she ; ' and maybe you 
 wouldn't understand it all if I told you. But they think 
 the English have no right to the land at all, and they hope 
 to get it all back again yet, if they can only frighten you — 
 and such as you — out of it, and kill any of themselves that 
 takes the land over the old stock's head ; and they have 
 persuaded Ned it's all right — or at least they were near 
 doing so. But I think he hates them in his heart ; and 
 though nothing would make him come out and inform 
 against them — and I would be the last to ask him — yet if 
 he can only slip away quietly it will be all well yet, and I 
 have promised to go with him.' 
 
 ' Have you money enough to go .^ ' I asked. 
 
 ' I'm sorry to tell you I have not,' replied she ; ' father 
 has plenty, and would give me what I wanted if it was for 
 anything else ; but I dare not ask him for it now. Ned, 
 too, has been idling and drinking with those blackguards, 
 
 Q 
 
226 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE, [chap. xiv. 
 
 and they took care to get out of him all he had. I must 
 trust to your honour to give us the means, and that is 
 another thing I came for.' 
 
 ' Well,' I said at last : ' it is a serious thing, and a great 
 responsibility to take upon myself to hold back the warrant 
 in such a case as this ; but considering that Ned has done 
 nothing yet except to take the oath, and we have nothing 
 to prove against him as a Ribbonman, I think that if I could 
 see him myself, and make sure of what his real intentions 
 are, I would manage to hold back the warrant, so that it 
 should not be executed for a few days at all events.' 
 
 ' May God bless you, Sir ! may God for ever bless you ! ' 
 cried she ; but suddenly checking herself, she added in a 
 frightened tone — ' But did your honour say you wanted to 
 see Ned yourself .'* ' ^ 
 
 ' Yes,' replied I, ' certainly ; I will do nothing unless I 
 see him myself He may have deceived you, and sent you 
 on this mission only to enable him more securely to per- 
 petrate some dreadful crime.' 
 
 ' Ned is as surely true to his word as your honour would 
 be yourself,' replied the girl, a little indignantly. * But 
 after all,' added she gently, ' why should you not see him .-' 
 I am sure I can trust you to take no advantage of Ned. 
 He is not far from the town this minute ; I could go for 
 him, for I know where he is, and he would meet you any- 
 where you please.' 
 
 ' If I meet him, it must be alone,' said I ; ' I cannot 
 have you with me.' 
 
 * Just as your honour pleases,' replied the girl. 
 
 ' Very well. Let Ned meet me at the back of the Gallows- 
 hill, near the old windmill, at eight o'clock this evening. 
 It will be dark then, and no one will know anything 
 about it.' 
 
 The girl looked at me very steadily for a few moments, 
 
1851.] ALICE M^MAHON. 227 
 
 evidently endeavouring to pierce into my inmost thoughts, 
 and then quietly taking her bonnet from the table, she 
 said in a calm voice, ' I am sure and certain your honour 
 would not deal unfairly with us. Ned shall meet you at 
 the time and place you say, for I know well he will do 
 whatever I bid him now.' 
 
 She put on her bonnet, drew down the veil carefully over 
 her face, so that it would be impossible to recoo-nise her 
 features, and left the office by a private door. 
 
 No sooner had she gone than I began to feel I had 
 made a somewhat foolish assignation, and I felt a little 
 uneasy as to the issue. However, the girl had trusted me, 
 and I resolved to trust her, and, come what would, to keep 
 the appointment. 
 
 I ate a hasty dinner, and having carefully examined a 
 brace of double-barrelled pistols which I usually carried 
 with me, I muffled myself up in a large great-coat, and 
 walked out unobserved into the street. There was no gas 
 in those days in Carrickmacross, and the night being cold 
 and cloudy, I was not recognised by the few passers-by I 
 met. The ' Gallows-hill ' is a vacant unfrequented height 
 at the back of the Court-house at Carrickmacross ; and 
 on such a night and at such an hour, there seemed to be 
 no danger of interruption. I will not deny that my heart 
 beat a little more rapidly than the up-hill walk would 
 warrant, as I ascended the dreary, waste-looking grassy 
 hill on the top of which stands the windmill. However, I 
 walked on steadily ; and holding one of my pistols cocked 
 in my hand, but concealed inside my great-coat pocket, I 
 found myself at the place of appointment. I could see no 
 one ; but having given a low whistle, a form emerged from 
 inside the old windmill walls, and I stood face to face 
 with Ned. 
 
 I was the first to speak. 
 
 Q2 
 
2 28 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiv. 
 
 ' You have come here at Alice's request ? ' 
 
 ' I have ; and she tells me she has let you know all. 
 It is dangerous work for me to be here ; but I'm sure your 
 honour won't betray me.' 
 
 ' You need not fear my betraying you,' replied I ; ' but 
 you have entered on a fearful course; and unless I am 
 satisfied that Alice's story is true — that you are not de- 
 ceiving her, and that you are really willing to leave at 
 once for America — I shall certainly think it my duty to do 
 my utmost to have you brought to justice.' 
 
 ' And what makes you doubt Alice's story .'' do you 
 think she would deceive you ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not,' replied I ; ' my only doubt is, whether 
 you are not deceiving her.' 
 
 ' Did she throw any doubt upon that herself .'' ' 
 
 ' She did not ; she firmly believes every word you 
 told her, or she would not have brought me to meet 
 you here to-night : she is ready and willing to go any- 
 where with you, provided you will only leave the country 
 at once.' 
 
 ' Alice was always true and good,' replied Ned in a 
 softened tone ; ' she never deceived me, and I never de- 
 ceived her. Your honour knows I am on for the next job ; 
 but, please God, I'll disappoint those blood-thirsty villains ; 
 and if you can only stop the warrant for three days more, 
 I'll be gone for ever from Ireland, and Alice will go along 
 with me.' 
 
 ' I believe you,' returned I — ' I believe you are telling 
 me the truth ; I do not think you would have ventured to 
 meet me here, if you had not intended to be true. I 
 understand you have little or no money : I will give Alice 
 what is necessary. Good-bye ; it is dangerous our talking 
 here, as the police are on the patrol, and I could not save 
 you if they came upon you. I will endeavour to hold back 
 
1851.] ALICE M^MAHON. 2 29 
 
 the warrant for three days more ; so make the best of your 
 time, and above all, be kind and good to the girl Alice, 
 for she loves you dearly.' 
 
 ' I would give my heart's blood for her,' said Ned in 
 an altered tone. ' She has saved my body and soul. I 
 suppose your honour would not shake the hand of a man 
 like me, but if you would I'd be thankful' 
 
 ' Freely,' I replied ; and I held out my hand to him at 
 once. He shook it warmly. 
 
 ' God bless you, Sir, — I dare not and cannot say more.' 
 
 * I wish you a good life and a happy one with Alice,' 
 replied I. 
 
 He turned rapidly away, disappeared behind the ruined 
 windmill, and was gone. 
 
 I returned to the town, and calling at the Police Barrack 
 I expressed a wish to one of the policemen in authority 
 that the warrant should not be executed against Ned 
 Cunningham for three or four days more. The policeman 
 touched his hat in acquiescence, but said, 
 
 ' I fear. Sir, he is a bad boy.' 
 
 ' I know it,' replied I, ' but I have reasons for what I do." 
 
 The policeman bowed. 
 
 The scene I have described happened on a Thursday. 
 On the following Saturday Alice came into my office 
 again. A look of intelligence from her was enough to 
 make me take her again into my private sitting-room. 
 
 * Well, Alice, is all ready ? ' 
 
 ' He is outside, Sir,' she replied ; ' he said he would never 
 leave Ireland without one word more of blessing to you for 
 your goodness. He has a new suit of clothes and all ; but 
 he was afraid to put it on, for fear the boys would find out 
 what he is at. But our passage is taken, for he borrowed 
 a few pounds from a neighbour, who will pay himself out 
 of the crops Ned leaves behind him ; so we are ofi" on 
 
230 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xiv. 
 
 Sunday to Dundalk, we will get married on Monday, and 
 sail on Tuesday night. God bless you, Sir, you have saved 
 his soul and body.' 
 
 I put a ten pound note into Alice's hand, and went out 
 to a back lane near the office, whither she had preceded 
 me. There was Ned. He did not come near me ; but 
 taking off his hat, he bowed almost to the ground, his 
 countenance beaming with joy, as he saw Alice coming 
 towards him. 
 
 They gave me one parting grateful look, walked rapidly 
 down the lane together, and I saw them no more. 
 
1852.] THE ARREST. 2 •; I 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE ARREST. 
 
 The MURDER of Mr. Bateson' created a great sensation in 
 the district. He was a gentleman so well known and so 
 universally respected, that a general feeling prevailed that 
 no one could now be safe. The list of landlords and agents 
 who had been murdered or severely wounded by the hands 
 of the assassins had become seriously large. It was well 
 known also that several gentlemen were under sentence of 
 death — Mr. Morant and myself amongst the number — and 
 a general feeling of the utmost alarm prevailed ; the timid 
 fled from the country altogether, whilst the bolder residents 
 never stirred out of their houses unless armed to the teeth 
 and prepared for an attack. 
 
 Within a circle of a few miles, four most barbarous out- 
 rages had been committed. Mr. Mauleverer, Mr. Bateson, 
 and Mr. Coulter * had been murdered, whilst others had 
 been attacked and severely Avounded. Matters seemed to 
 be growing worse instead of better. Threatening notices 
 and warnings became numerous. I received several of both 
 kinds myself,t and feelings of deep animosity were rapidly 
 
 * Mr. Coulter was murdered at Hack-balls-cross on May 2, 1851. 
 
 + The following specimens I happen to have retained. I give them ver- 
 batim : — 
 
 ' Take Notice. The Writer 
 
 Cautions Wm. St. Trench, Esq. from going unguarded at any Time. 
 This is not an Idle Notice. It's from a sincere Friend and Obliged Tenant.' 
 
 Another notice ran thus : — 
 
232 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 springing up between the peasantry and the resident 
 gentry. 
 
 In the midst of this state of things, it was announced by 
 the stipendiary magistrate of the district that the mur- 
 derers of Mr. Bateson had been arrested ; they had been 
 identified by parties who, having been hidden at the time 
 in a field close by, had actually seen them do the deed ; 
 and that the crime could now be fully proved against the 
 prisoners. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the Government resolved to 
 issue a special commission, mainly to try the murderers 
 
 'Notice. 
 ' All Landlords and Bailiffes may look out in this part Countery, for the will 
 get the same as that of Beatson, and Trench may look out, for he will get the 
 same as Beatson with Gun and Bludgeon.' 
 
 The original of this notice was posted somewhere in the neighbourhood of 
 Carrickmacross, and underneath the copy forwarded to me was a note from 
 the sub-inspector of police : 
 
 ' February 18, 1852. 
 ' Dear Sir, — The above is a true copy, and I am happy to say everything 
 is quiet since the notice was found. ( ! ) 
 
 ' Yours faithfully, 
 
 'Thomas R, Barry.' 
 Another notice, of a rather curious nature, was also sent to me by Mr. Barry : 
 
 ' Notice. 
 ' Take notice, good friends and neighbours, and do not censure agents, for 
 possitively they must show either waste land or rent, and never shall there be 
 an Agent shot any more. But every person who shall occupy said place 
 without the blessing of the family who was dispossessed of it shall mark the 
 consequences of the family who shall attempt to dwell. This is a notice from 
 the Lady of Cross. God bless the Queen ! ' 
 
 The latter part of the above is i-ather obscurely expressed ; but it means that 
 any tenant who should dare to take land from which any other tenant had been 
 evicted for non-payment of rent should 'mark the consequences,' i.e. be 
 ' shot ' instead of the agent. 
 
 Perhaps I may be permitted to take this opportunity of bearing testimony 
 to the active, zealous, and efficient services of Mr. Barry, then sub-inspector 
 of the police of the district of Carrickmacross. His services in those difficult 
 and dangerous times deserve my warmest approbation. He has, since then, 
 been most deservedly promoted to the office of county inspector of one of the 
 northern counties. 
 
1852.] THE ARREST. 233 
 
 of Mr. Bateson, and in the hope of striking terror into the 
 Ribbon Confederacy by a severe and immediate example. 
 There were also some minor cases of agrarian outrage to 
 be disposed of on the same occasion. 
 
 A Special Commission — a kind of emergency assize, as- 
 sembled for the purpose of trying cases of a peculiar 
 nature, which are either so numerous or so pressing that 
 they cannot be allowed to wait for the ordinary assizes — is 
 always a serious afifair. The gentry and magistrates are 
 summoned from their ordinary avocations to act as grand 
 jurors and jurors. A heavy expense is entailed on the 
 county, and the Commission is never issued unless the Go- 
 vernment have good reason to calculate upon some impor- 
 tant convictions. The Commission being determined on, 
 Mr. Morant and I were summoned as grand jurors on the 
 occasion. 
 
 I shall not readily forget our starting on the journey from 
 Carrickmacross to Monaghan ; the latter is the county town, 
 and is situated about twenty Irish miles from the former. 
 We hired a ' long car ' — that is, an outside car on four wheels, 
 long enough to hold several persons on each side, and 
 drawn by two horses. Rumours of the wildest nature were 
 everywhere afloat — that we should be attacked by a large 
 body of Ribbonmen on our way, that our progress would 
 be interrupted in Castleblaney, &c. I confess I scarcely 
 believed all this ; the threatened attack was of too open a 
 nature for Ribbonmen. All parties, however, were so much 
 excited that there was no saying what might happen ; and 
 we determined to prepare for the worst. 
 
 Our pistols and guns were accordingly fresh cleaned and 
 loaded ; one or two of my young friends proposed to ac- 
 company us on the car, as they said, * to see the fun ; ' two 
 sub-constables were told off to attend us as far as Castle- 
 blaney, and two mounted policemen, fully equipped, were 
 
234 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 ordered to ride beside us ; and in this state of preparation 
 for war we started from Carrickmacross. 
 
 There is a winding pass on the way between Carrick- 
 macross and Castleblaney, with high banks and rocks on 
 either side, which is singularly well suited for an attack. 
 We used to call it the ' Khyber Pass,' from the peculiar 
 manner which those passing through it on the road were in 
 the power of an enemy on the rocks above. Through this 
 pass we rode slowly, our pistols cocked and our double- 
 barrelled guns resting upon our knees. All, however, went 
 off quietly, and we arrived at Monaghan without any inci- 
 dent of importance. 
 
 The Commission was duly opened. Mr. Hatchell * 
 was then Attorney-General for Ireland, and he made, 
 as he never failed to do, an admirable speech, in which 
 he sketched the terrible state of the country, neither life 
 nor property being for one moment secure, owing to the 
 fearful nature of the Ribbon Confederacy; and he called 
 upon the jurors of the county to come forward without fear, 
 favour, or affection, and put down by an impartial verdict 
 the reign of terror under which the country was suffering. 
 
 Two prisoners indicted for the murder of Mr. Bateson 
 were now brought forward ; they were duly arraigned, and 
 asked were they guilty or not guilty. 
 
 ' Not guilty,' declared each of them in a full and firm 
 voice. 
 
 The jury list was called over, and many -were 'chal- 
 lenged,' and bid to * stand aside,' both by the prisoners and 
 the Crown. At last a jury was chosen, and duly sworn to 
 give their verdict ' according to the evidence, without fear, 
 favour, or affection.' 
 
 * Mr. Hatchell was Attorney-General at the Special Commission. He was 
 succeeded by Mr. Brewster, who was Attorney-General at the Assizes afterwards, 
 when Hodgens and Breen were tried for conspiracy to murder. 
 
1852.] THE ARREST, 235 
 
 'There will be no conviction,' remarked a grand juror to 
 me. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' Because,' replied he, ' there is a man on that jury who 
 will never find those men guilty.' 
 
 ' I trust that is not so — that is, if their guilt can be sub- 
 stantiated.' 
 
 ' There will be no conviction ! ' he replied. 
 
 The trial proceeded : and the witnesses in the clearest 
 manner detailed the whole of the terrible events of the 
 murder, as they have already been described. Nothing 
 could be more accurate or circumstantial than their narra- 
 tive. They had been working in a field close by at the 
 time, and seeing Mr. Bateson walking slowly towards them, 
 they stooped down to hide, not wishing him to see them. 
 Whilst thus hiding, without any express object, as they 
 stated, they saw the prisoners steal up behind Mr. Bateson. 
 One of them entered into conversation with him, and the 
 other put a pistol to the back of his neck, just below 
 the ear, and fired. Both then attacked him when he fell ; 
 they beat out his brains, and then made off across the 
 fields. 
 
 There was some little hesitation about whether a third 
 party had not been seen at a distance ; but this did not 
 seem materially to affect the evidence as concerned the 
 two prisoners at the bar. 
 
 The witnesses to this terrible scene declared that for 
 some time they did not know what to do. They were 
 themselves afraid of being murdered if they informed ; and 
 they dreaded to keep such a fearful secret, lest they should 
 be accused of being parties to the crime. Whilst thus in 
 doubt, they saw placards posted all over the county 
 offering a large reward to anyone who would give in- 
 formation concerning the murder, and prosecute the guilty 
 
2 ';6 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 parties to conviction. They no longer hesitated ; but went 
 secretly to the stipendiary magistrate, told him the whole 
 story, gave him intelligence as to where the parties who 
 had done the deed were to be found, identified them fully 
 to the satisfaction of the stipendiary magistrate, and now 
 appeared in court to prosecute them to conviction. 
 
 I watched the trial closely as it went on ; and it struck 
 me that when the witnesses were called on to identify the 
 prisoners, and to put the long white wand or rod of the 
 crier upon the head of each, there was much uncertainty 
 and hesitation in their manner, and so very strong was this 
 impression, that I said to one of the grand jurors who was 
 near me at the time — 
 
 ' I don't like the manner in which the witnesses identified 
 those prisoners : it was by no means satisfactory to my 
 mind ; and I should be sorry to be one of the petty jury, 
 to give a verdict of guilty in such a case.' 
 
 ' I never heard clearer evidence in my life,' said my com- 
 panion, ' and I wonder how you can doubt it for a moment.' 
 
 This matter was afterwards a good deal discussed 
 amongst the magistrates and grand jurors ; and I found 
 the prevailing opinion was so strong against the prisoners, 
 that throwing a doubt upon the case seemed almost to be 
 considered as siding with the Ribbon Conspiracy, and 
 therefore as my opinion in the matter could be of no avail 
 one way or the other (the case being now in the hands of 
 the petty jury), I held my peace. 
 
 The trial did not last very long. The judge charged the 
 jury fairly and impartially, observing that if they believed 
 the statement of the witnesses, there could be but one 
 verdict given ; but at the same time he went closely into 
 the evidence, and recapitulated all that had passed when 
 the prisoners were identified before the magistrate. The 
 jury retired; and after some hours' absence, returned into 
 
1852.] THE ARREST. 237 
 
 court, declaring through their foreman that there was not 
 the slightest chance of their agreeing. 
 
 It was not of course openly announced, but all in court 
 seemed fully to understand that eleven were for a convic- 
 tion and one only for an acquittal. The jury were sent 
 back again to their room, as is usual on such occasions ; but 
 they returned after some hours' absence only to repeat 
 their decision. And at length a doctor having been called, 
 he declared that the lives of some of the jury would be 
 endangered if they were kept any longer locked up in con- 
 finement without food — which is the law on such occasions. 
 They were therefore called into court, and dismissed by the 
 judge without any verdict being obtained. The prisoners 
 were remanded again to their cells to stand over for a fresh 
 trial at the next ordinary assizes of the county.* 
 
 It was well for the cause of justice that no verdict was 
 obtained on this occasion ; for it was afterwards clearly 
 proved that the prisoners then at the bar had not com- 
 mitted the murder — that the witnesses who swore so posi- 
 tively against them were either mistaken as to the identity 
 of the parties, or swore falsely to obtain the reward. And 
 thus, by the so-called 'obstinacy' of the one juror alluded 
 to — the only one of that jury who saw the real truth of the 
 case — the lives of these men were saved. The narrow 
 escape which these men had of undergoing the fearful 
 penalty of the law for a crime they had not committed, 
 produced an effect on me, and I doubt not on others also, 
 which will not readily be effaced ; and shows the caution 
 which is necessary in such matters before a prisoner, 
 especially in times of excitement, be condemned to die. 
 
 Before the next assizes came round, these prisoners were 
 
 * If I recollect aright these men were tried twice at the Special Commission, 
 by two separate juries, for the same offence. The juries in both cases dis- 
 agreed. 
 
238 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 released from confinement; three others were arrested, 
 charged with the same offence, their crime was brought 
 home to them beyond all reasonable doubt, and they were 
 executed with the full belief of the population in their 
 guilt. 
 
 But I must now revert to a strange scene which was 
 being enacted at the very time that the Special Commission 
 was sitting in all its formidable array at the county town of 
 Monaghan. 
 
 On the day following that on which Mr. Morant and I 
 had made our journey in such preparation for battle from 
 Carrickmacross to Monaghan, the trusty and well-known 
 Paddy M'^Ardle, bailiff of the Bath Estate, was walking 
 through the town of Carrickmacross, crowded with people 
 as it usually is on a market-day, when a man came up 
 close beside him, and said in a low voice, 
 
 ' Paddy, you are a corpse if you go home to-night ! ' 
 
 Paddy M°Ardle was, and is still, a man of considerable 
 firmness of nerve, and had gone through many dangers on 
 the Bath Estate. He could ' handle a shillelagh ' and ' clear 
 the fair ' as well as the stoutest Ribbonman of them all. He 
 was of a powerful frame and build, and yet as active as a 
 wild cat upon his legs ; and few could ride across the 
 country, whenever occasion required, better than Paddy 
 M*=Ardle. 
 
 But Paddy had other qualifications beside these. Born 
 amongst the people, and of the people, he understood them 
 thoroughly and well. He was up to all their sharpest 
 tricks, and could interpret a nod or a wink more quickly 
 and accurately than anyone I ever met. He understood 
 every turn and twist of the wiliest neighbours he had ; and 
 they were all well aware that he did so. But with all these 
 qualities, I ever found Paddy brave, honourable, and true ; 
 faithful to me and kind towards the people ; never bringing 
 

 ^ 
 
 ?^ 
 
 ^•' 
 
1852.] THE ARR'EST. 239 
 
 in small tales or stories against anyone, and always giving 
 ' the good word ' and doing the ' kind thing ' when he could, 
 even towards those who were his bitterest enemies. He 
 was true in his allegiance to his employers, stout in heart 
 and ready of hand, and as such, a most important party 
 for the Ribbon Confederacy to get out of the way of its 
 designs. 
 
 Such was the man who now heard in a low but clear and 
 startling voice, 
 * Paddy, you are a corpse if you go home to-night ! ' 
 Paddy's nerves by no means failed him at such an an- 
 nouncement. He ' pulled up short,' as he expressed it to 
 me afterwards, gave a rapid glance to see who had ' given 
 him the word ' ; and averting his face in a moment again, 
 as if talking to some one else, he said, 
 
 * Do you mean myself in airnest, or is it Mr. Trench you 
 mean .'' ' 
 
 ' I mean you — you are a dead corpse if yoji stir out of the 
 town this night! 
 
 ' Tear an' ages ! ' muttered Paddy ; ' take a turn through 
 the market that no one will see you, and meet me again at 
 the office.' 
 
 The man nodded intelligence ; and both went their ways 
 for the time, having scarcely looked in each other's faces 
 whilst holding this singular conference. Paddy met him 
 again at the office door. 
 
 ' In with you,' whispered he, ' I want to talk to you in- 
 side.' 
 
 The man sauntered slowly in as if on the most ordinary 
 business, whilst Paddy — taking a turn through the market 
 as if to show there was no appointment between them — at 
 length followed him into the office of the Bath Estate. He 
 beckoned him into a private room, where at once all his 
 
240 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 afifected calmness vanished, and wiping the perspiration 
 from his forehead he said, 
 
 ' Is it truth you're telling me, or do you only want to 
 frighten me ? Do you mean to say that the boys are lying 
 in wait for me this minute ? ' 
 
 ' As true as you're a living man now, ye will be a corpse" 
 if ye go home to-night,' said the man solemnly again, 
 ' They were looking for Trench before, but now they have 
 turned upon ye ; and oh ! Paddy dear, mind yourself or 
 they'll shoot ye as dead as a wild duck.' 
 
 ' Tear an' ages ! ' ejaculated Paddy again, ' and where- 
 abouts are they lying now ? ' 
 
 ' I dar'n't tell ye,' replied the man, ' They'd have my life 
 — if I had a thousand — if it was known I told ye what I 
 done ; and if they were took now, it would be known 
 that I had done it, and nothing could save me,' 
 
 * It's tar'ble news ! ' said Paddy, as he reflected for a 
 moment. ' What will I do at all ? ' 
 
 * Stay in town to-night,' replied his friend ; ' it's your only 
 chance. Say ye were ill and took something, and go home 
 in the morning fair and aisy ; for they'll never stay there 
 watching all night' 
 
 'Well, any way, I'm beholden to you,' said Paddy, 'let 
 what will come of it, for I don't think you'd desave me at 
 such a time as this.' 
 
 ' Go home and try it, if ye doubt me,' answered the man 
 shortly, ' and then ye'll be sure to know whether I tould 
 the truth or not.' 
 
 ' Faix that's fair,' returned Paddy. ' But I'll just go and 
 talk to Mrs, M°Ardle about it — I came in with her in the 
 gig ; and if anyone can give me good advice, she can.' 
 
 ' Paddy dear,' whispered his friend in a soft conciliatory 
 tone of voice, ' sure ye won't forget me about the little bit of 
 land nigh hand my house that ye know of ,-* it just lies into 
 
1S52.] THE ARREST. 24 1 
 
 me neatly you know, and I'd be sorry to lose it for a trifle ; 
 and, Paddy dear, mind now ye take care of yourself, for 
 maybe if ye were down, there would be no one to spake a 
 kind word for me in the office but yourself, to get the bit 
 of land ye know of 
 
 ' In troth ! ' replied Paddy, ' but it's well for me that ye 
 wanted that bit of land any how ! if it warn't for that same, 
 maybe it's little ye would be warning me about the boys 
 this blessed night. However, I'll not forget ye if I get 
 over this bout, come what will.' 
 
 ' Ye are the right sort, Paddy ; I knew ye would always 
 stand to a friend.' 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Paddy strolled out of the 
 office, as easily and lazily as if the day's work had been 
 pleasantly and well got through, and went slowly down to 
 the inn, where he had appointed his wife to wait for him. 
 The evening was beginning to close in, and he found Mrs. 
 M°Ardle ready to start for home. 
 
 Paddy called his wife aside into a private room of the 
 inn where he had put up his horse, and at once related to 
 her the whole story. ' My confidence (as he told me) in 
 her pluck and good sense was unbounded, and why would 
 I keep anything from her ? ' 
 
 ' Man alive ! ' said Paddy to me afterwards, when de- 
 scribing the whole of what had passed, ' sure I know Mrs. 
 M'^Ardle well ; you'll not believe it, Sir, when I tell you, 
 but never a word of lie in it, if she wouldn't kill fozul \w\\.\\ 
 the best man of them all ! ' 
 
 * Kill fowl,' said I ; ' I dare say she could do it well 
 enough, but what good would that qualification be if you 
 were waylaid by those scoundrel Ribbonmen — she could 
 not cut their throats as easily as those of the ducks and 
 chickens .'' ' 
 
 R 
 
242 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 ' Ah ! sure it's not that I mean at all, Sir ! ' said Paddy, 
 rather affronted ; ' she could kill fowl with the best of 
 them. Shoot them, Sir — sJioot zvild ducks flying, so she 
 could, and maybe make a surer offer at it than many a 
 chap that goes out with all them straps on his shoulders 
 and leggins on his thighs.' 
 
 It was to this sensible and really stout-hearted woman 
 that Paddy now confided his cares and difficulties. She 
 waited until he had told her all, and then turning quietly 
 to him she said, 
 
 'Well, Mr. M'^Ardle, and what do ye intend to do now .''' 
 
 ' Well, ye see,' replied Paddy, ' I just have my own 
 opinion on that same, but I would be glad to have yours 
 also, seeing you came in with me in the gig, and I wouldn't 
 like to do anything in a tarr'ble case like this without your 
 consent' 
 
 ' Then I'll tell ye what ye will do, Mr. M'=Ardle ; get out 
 the gig this minute, and come home like a man, and I'll 
 sit beside ye all the way. We afraid of them chaps ! never 
 let such a thing be said in the country. Out with the gig, 
 man, this minute, and get your pistols ready, and see if 
 they dar' attack us.' 
 
 Paddy, stout as he was, was scarcely prepared for such 
 an explosion as this. However, he heartily approved of 
 his wife's advice ; so he told her to get the gig out, and he 
 would run over to the office a bit, to get his pistols, &c. 
 This, however, was only a ruse ; for as soon as he was in 
 the office he briefly recapitulated the whole story to Mr. 
 Lang, my confidential clerk, and he with much prompti- 
 tude, on application to the sub-inspector, got out four 
 policemen well-armed, who were instructed to walk beside 
 Paddy and his wife, the whole way to their house — nearly 
 four miles from Carrickmacross, and to look behind every 
 hedge and wall along the road which could possibly conceal 
 
1852.] THE ARREST. 243 
 
 a Ribbonman, beating the bushes as it were for woodcocks, 
 all along the way. 
 
 Mrs. M'^Ardle made no objection to this sensible ar- 
 rangement (though I believe in her heart she considered 
 it a little infra dig.), provided Paddy would sit in the gig 
 beside her — ^just to show they were not afraid. And in this' 
 position she and Paddy drove quietly on, greatly to Mrs. 
 M^'Ardle's delight — forming a perfect cock-shot to the 
 Ribbonmen if they chose to fire. Paddy's habitual caution 
 made him mentally question the prudence of his wife's 
 arrangement, but he could not think of opposing it. 
 
 The plan, however, was not a bad one, though some 
 courage was required to carry it into effect. Had the 
 police gone far on in advance, the Ribbonmen would have 
 seen them, and probably escaped ; but seeing only Paddy 
 and his wife approaching in the gig, their attention was 
 turned to the execution of their murderous designs, and 
 they never saw the police, who were on foot, until it was 
 too late to run away. 
 
 The whole party had now proceeded about three miles 
 from Carrickmacross. Darkness had nearly closed in ; and 
 though they had entered the rocky defile— before described 
 as having the name of the ' Khyber Pass ' — no sign of the 
 Ribbonmen could be found. Here, being undoubtedly the 
 spot of most danger, the police drew in more closely to 
 their companions. Suddenly one of the men exclaimed — 
 
 * I think I see something on the rock above, but I can't 
 tell whether it is a bush or a man.' 
 
 ' Jump over the fence, you and another,' said the leader 
 of the party, ' and see what it can be.' 
 
 The object they saw was on a high rock at some distance 
 from them, but completely commanding a view of the road 
 towards Carrickmacross. 
 
 The men leapt to the crest of the fence at a bound. It 
 
244 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 was a high grassy bank with some small whitethorn bushes 
 on the top. And just as they were going to leap down on 
 the other side, they perceived two men crouching close 
 under them, not a yard from the spot where they stood. 
 
 ' We have them ! here they are ! ' shouted the policemen ; 
 and in a moment they were upon them, each gripping his 
 man. Paddy sprang from the gig, and the waylayers were 
 secured almost without a struggle. So sudden and unex- 
 pected had been the whole thing that they were taken 
 completely by surprise. 
 
 Some little delay occurred in handcuffing and securing 
 the prisoners ; when at length Mrs. M^^Ardle, in a state of 
 high excitement, cried out from the gig, 
 
 'Ah then, what are ye all about ! shure it isn't going to 
 make prisoners of them ye are ? I wonder ye would to 
 demane yourselves to do the like. Shoot them, the blood- 
 thirsty villains — weren't they going to shoot us just now .'' 
 and shure shooting is better for them than hanging any day. 
 Shoot them this minute — why don't ye .-' ' 
 
 However sound this advice might have proved for the 
 prevention of such waylayings in future, the police, as well 
 as Paddy, declined to put it into execution. And having 
 handcuffed the prisoners, they proceeded to search the 
 premises around ; and close beside where the men had lain 
 they found the celebrated blunderbuss, which had been so 
 frequently described and reported to us as the unfailing 
 weapon by which we were doomed to die. A pistol was 
 also discovered upon the ground close by, and some slugs 
 and gunpowder were found in the pockets of the prisoners. 
 
 The whole party now set out for Carrickmacross. Paddy 
 was wild with excitement at having at last caught the Rib- 
 bonmen in the very act ; though his wife seemed scarcely 
 satisfied that summary justice had not been inflicted upon 
 them by a trial of the powers of their own blunderbuss. 
 
^i0^Mid^ ^£ 'A 
 
iS52.] THE ARREST. 245 
 
 The formidable weapon, bright and clean as if fresh out of 
 a royal armoury, was paraded as a trophy of war and 
 carried into Carrickmacross.* 
 
 The place which the assassins had selected for the per- 
 formance of their intended deed of blood had been chosen 
 with singular judgment. The road becomes somewhat 
 narrow as it enters the rocky defile, and a steep ascent 
 commences at the foot of the pass. About half way up 
 there is a turn in the road, and any person at the upper 
 side of this winding turn, would have an uninterrupted 
 view of the road both above and below it. On this spot 
 the assassins had stationed themselves. They were thus 
 enabled to see the road towards Carrickmacross, and to 
 have a full view of anyone coming towards them along it ; 
 whilst the moment the travellers passed the turn, their 
 backs became necessarily exposed to the fire of the as- 
 sassins, nor would they be able to see their murderous 
 enemies unless they faced completely round. 
 
 In this well-chosen position the Ribbonmen had carefully 
 planted themselves ; and having cleared a small hole in the 
 bushes, so as to enable them, by raising their heads above 
 the bank, to look up and down the road, they had reason 
 to consider themselves perfectly secure of their victims. 
 
 We were not at the time able clearly to ascertain 
 whether the object which appeared to be a figure on the 
 top of the distant rock, and which first attracted the atten- 
 tion of the police, was a man or a bush. There was a bush 
 near the spot which might well be mistaken in the dusk of 
 a winter's evening for a human figure. Paddy maintains, 
 and I believe correctly, that it was a man who had been 
 placed there to watch, so that the assassins could see a signal 
 
 * This celebrated weapon is now in my possession. It was given by Mr. 
 Barry, then Sub-Inspector of Police, to Mr. Morant. And the latter most 
 kindly made it over to me this day. — W.S.T. January 20, 1869. 
 
246 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 given from their own side of the bank, and thus give notice 
 of the approach of the gig, without running the risk of 
 discovery by raising their heads above the bank to look out. 
 He has even mentioned to me the name of the man — which 
 was secretly confided to him — but which, for obvious reasons, 
 I think it prudent to omit. It was a wonderful interposition 
 in favour of the intended victims, that the very man (if man 
 it was) employed by the assassins as a watch to secure suc- 
 cess in their murderous purpose, should have attracted the 
 attention of the police, causing them to leap over the fence 
 at the very spot where the Ribbonmen were lying hidden, 
 without having the slightest notion of their immediate 
 proximity. The Ribbonmen considered there had been a 
 wonderful run of ill luck against them all along. There 
 were some who traced all that had happened to other 
 causes rather than ill luck. 
 
 I have already stated that on the very day that these 
 reckless Ribbonmen were lying in wait for my friend Paddy 
 M^'Ardle, the Special Commission was actually sitting in 
 the county town of Monaghan, trying the supposed mur- 
 derers of Mr. Bateson. The assassins, I presume, selected 
 this time with a strange mixture of cunning and audacity, 
 because they knew that most of the gentry, as well as the 
 great majority of the police, had left their country quarters 
 for the county town. Thus, when they had done the deed, 
 they believed pursuit would not be so vigorous or imme- 
 diate as if Mr, Morant and I, and all the police, were on the 
 spot. 
 
 Their sudden arrest, however, baffled all their plans. 
 When the blunderbuss was examined, it was found loaded 
 almost to the muzzle, having ten inches of charge in the 
 barrel. A large quantity of powder was rammed down with 
 a piece of paper torn off the corner of a local newspaper of 
 somewhat democratic tendency, a number of leaden slugs 
 
1852.] THE ARREST. 247 
 
 and iron nails were then thrust in, and — the paper having, I 
 suppose, run short — the slugs were rammed down with a 
 piece of fustian, evidently torn off some coat. When the 
 police examined the dress of the prisoner named Hodgens, 
 they found on him a fustian garment of the same quality as 
 the piece used for wadding ; and on placing the piece to a 
 rent which appeared newly torn in his coat, they found that 
 the wadding fitted precisely into the hole ! 
 
 Under these circumstances, it was arranged to take the 
 men without delay for trial at the Commission then sitting; 
 and accordingly they were despatched forthwith from 
 Carrickmacross to Monaghan — Paddy, and the policemen 
 who arrested them, starting simultaneously for the county 
 town. 
 
 I was attending in the Court House in Monaghan, when 
 I was informed that my Bailiff, Paddy M°Ardle, wanted to 
 see me immediately. I confess I was startled, for I knew 
 that nothing but a matter of importance would have made 
 him leave Carrickmacross at the time. And I was wonder- 
 ing who had last been shot, or what new outrage had been 
 committed, when Paddy rushed up and seized my hand in 
 a state of the highest excitement as he exclaimed, 
 
 ' By the powers. Sir, we have them at last, blunderbuss 
 and all ! we took them in the very act.' 
 
 ' You have whom .'' ' said I ; ' whom did you take, and 
 what blunderbuss have you got ? ' 
 
 * Never you mind. Sir ! ' cried Paddy ; ' we have the right 
 boys this time and no mistake ; and sure they can hang 
 them now out of hand as the assizes has the luck to be 
 going on.' 
 
 In a few brief words, and with many lively gesticulations, 
 he explained to me the circumstances of the capture of the 
 Ribbonmen. I asked him where the prisoners were, and he 
 
248 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 told me they were just going to be brought before Colonel 
 Brownrigg* for examination. 
 
 I immediately followed Paddy to the place where the 
 parties were assembled in the Crown Solicitor's room. 
 Colonel Brownrigg sat at the table with writing materials 
 before him. The two prisoners were standing in the room 
 guarded by policemen ; and lying on the table was the 
 large blunderbuss, which Paddy silently pointed out to me, 
 with delight expressed upon his countenance. 
 
 The policemen who had effected the capture gave their 
 evidence briefly, clearly, and well ; and Paddy also told his 
 part of the tale, though with gesticulations and language a 
 little more earnest than the police. The case seemed as 
 clear as noonday as to the circumstances under which the 
 men were found, and as to what had been really their object ; 
 but no evidence whatever appeared to warrant a committal 
 for ' conspiracy to murder.' It was true they had been dis- 
 covered behind the ditch with a blunderbuss close beside 
 them. It was true that Paddy had got secret intelligence 
 of their object, and it was quite true also that he fully 
 expected to be ' blown to shivers ' as he expressed it, if the 
 parties had not been discovered ; but inasmuch as Paddy's 
 informant had not come forward, and consequently there 
 was no witness to prove that the prisoners had ever entered 
 into any conspiracy, Colonel Brownrigg was compelled to 
 content himself with having them indicted for the lesser 
 offence of * carrying arms in a proclaimed district.' And 
 had it not been that the Barony of Farney was ' pro- 
 claimed ' -j- at the time, the men would actually have 
 escaped altogether from want of evidence to prove any 
 
 * Now Sir Henry Brownrigg, C.B., late Inspector-General of Police in 
 Ireland. 
 
 + The barony being ' proclaimed, ' no one could legally carry arms without 
 a license. 
 
1852.] THE ARREST, 249 
 
 conspiracy. They had neither fired a shot, nor committed 
 any overt act which could be construed into an attack upon 
 Paddy M'^Ardle or anyone else. 
 
 Fortunately, however, the barony being at the time pro- 
 claimed, Colonel Brownrigg was enabled fully to commit 
 them for trial for the lesser offence of carrying arms. 
 
 'Well, my men,* said Colonel Brownrigg, addressing the 
 prisoners, 'if you wish to say anything in explanation of the 
 circumstances under which you were taken, you can do so 
 now ; but I wish duly to caution you that you are not called 
 on to say anything, especially anything which may criminate 
 yourselves ; but whatever you do say will be taken down in 
 writing and may be produced in evidence against you.' 
 
 ' I have nothing to say at all about the matter,' replied 
 Thornton, ' except that I don't know " at all at all " what 
 it is ye are all about — going on in this way against two 
 dacent poor innocent boys like us.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! ' said Colonel Brownrigg, ' then of course you 
 never saw that blunderbuss before in your lives .-*' 
 
 ' Oh, Ned,' exclaimed Thornton to his companion 
 Hodgens, ' that's a blunderbuss ! Well now I often heerd 
 tell of a blunderbuss,' continued he, stooping down towards 
 the weapon to view it with the most intense interest as a 
 rare curiosity, ' and I never seen one before. Oh, Ned, look 
 how bright it is, and the big barrel of it ! well, well, now, 
 but I'm glad I seen a blunderbuss at last !' 
 
 The colonel was a little taken aback by this entirely new 
 light thrown upon the transaction ; so he said somewhat 
 stiffly, 
 
 ' You have heard, sir, what the policeman has sworn — that 
 you and your companion were taken with arms in your 
 possession in a proclaimed barony, and you must be sent to 
 trial for this offence forthwith.' 
 
 * Bedad then, your honour,' replied Thornton with as in- 
 
250 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xv. 
 
 nocent a face as before, ' the policeman never swore anything 
 of the sort. Why would he, the dacent man ? He leapt over 
 the ditch sure enough, and he found him and me quietly 
 down there mindin' our business ; and after a while, more of 
 them polis came, and left one thing or another near where 
 we were — that same bright blunderbuss I suppose among the 
 rest, and now they want to make believe it was zve had the 
 blunderbuss ! sure they will tell you themselves that they 
 never found us with arms in our possession at all.' 
 
 'Oh, indeed!' observed the colonel, 'this is quite a new 
 view of the matter — and pray would you have any objection 
 to say what business you were about at that time of night, 
 in that remarkable position ?' 
 
 ' Not in the laste,' replied the prisoner, looking a little 
 sheepish and modest, 'only maybe your honour wouldn't be 
 pleased : but sure there's many a time a poor man might 
 hide himself behind a bank of a ditch, and needn't be 
 called on this way to account for his conduct as if he was a 
 robber.' 
 
 ' Take those men away,' said Colonel Brownrigg, ' and let 
 them be sent up for trial forthwith ! ' 
 
i8s2.] THE CONFESSION. 25 1 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 The ARREST of the two conspirators created quite a sensa- 
 tion in the town of Monaghan, and was a most agreeable 
 surprise to the officers of the Crown, who, suspecting that 
 the jury were not likely to agree to a verdict in Mr. 
 Bateson's case, became uneasy lest the Special Commission 
 should be entirely barren of results. 
 
 Thornton and Hodgens were accordingly put at once 
 upon their trial. They were indicted for unlawfully carry- 
 ing arms in a proclaimed district ; and notwithstanding 
 the earnest protestations of innocence on the part of our 
 ingenious friend Thornton — who insisted that he had been 
 in the ' Khyber Pass ' without any evil intent, and that the 
 police themselves had left the blunderbuss lying close to the 
 spot where he lay — they were both speedily convicted and 
 sentenced to the utmost penalty of the law allowed for this 
 offence — namely, two years' imprisonment with hard labour. 
 
 Thornton declared ' they might as well hang him at once 
 as give him two years of hard labour, for he never could 
 stand labour at all, let alone two years of it inside a gaol ;' 
 but the judge was inexorable, and the prisoners were re- 
 moved and sent to Mountjoy Prison near Dublin. 
 
 Some other cases were then disposed of; the supposed 
 murderers of Mr. Bateson were remanded to take their trial 
 at the next assizes, and the Special Commission was closed. 
 
 The result of the Commission was not upon the whole 
 
252 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvr. 
 
 considered favourable to the peace of the district. The 
 marvellous recklessness and audacity of men who could 
 deliberately select the very day when the supposed mur- 
 derers of Mr. Bateson were being tried for their lives at a 
 special commission, as the best and safest for them to en- 
 deavour to commit another murder of equal atrocity, struck 
 everyone as a remarkable instance of the little effect the 
 fear of the law or the risk of penal consequences seemed 
 to produce on these hired assassins. And though Paddy 
 M'^Ardle was highly delighted, and I myself was not a little 
 pleased, that the parties who had been specially engaged 
 for our destruction were at last captured, yet we all re- 
 turned to our homes by no means feeling that much addi- 
 tional security had been acquired through any wholesome 
 terror inspired by the Special Commission. 
 
 In some degree, however, I now felt entitled to relax the 
 incessant vigilance which I had so long deemed it necessary 
 to observe. I was sure that for a time at least my life was 
 not in danger. New arrangements would have to be orga- 
 nised and new assassins hired before any serious attack could 
 be made upon me. I was well aware that my intended 
 murder was not the result of the anger or passion of any 
 individual, or of any number of individuals, who fancied 
 they had been injured by me, but rather that it was a general 
 precautionary measure deliberately undertaken to prevent 
 any person hereafter enforcing the payment of rents, or 
 depriving the tenants of the land which they had so long 
 held practically free. Under these peculiar circumstances, 
 I felt certain that no sudden or immediate attempt was 
 likely to be made upon my life. 
 
 Matters were thus resting for a time— the baffled Ribbon- 
 men not knowing exactly what steps to take next — when I 
 was privately informed that Thornton had ' peached ' in 
 prison, that he could not stand the hardship and vexation 
 
1852.] THE CONFESSION. 253 
 
 of constant labour, and that, sooner than undergo the 
 remainder of his sentence, he was prepared to betray his 
 accomphce. 
 
 I was not in the secrets of the law officers of the Crown, 
 and I have but little knowledge as to the means by which 
 these matters are brought about. A ' reward', as such, 
 cannot be offered to bribe a man to betray his companion 
 in guilt, but the inducement of a free pardon can be held 
 out, and also 'protection ' can be promised — the meaning 
 of which is generally well understood by those who afford 
 this * protection ' to others, or who receive it themselves. It 
 generally includes a free passage to some region in the Far 
 West selected by the individual, and unknown to anyone 
 but the government and the informer, together with a suffi- 
 cient sum of money to enable him to purchase land, or in 
 some way to live for the future in tolerable comfort and in- 
 dependence. As far as we in this coimtry are concerned, 
 all we know is that parties of this class disappear, and we 
 never hear of them afterwards. This may be somewhat 
 ' dirty work,' but it is considered necessary for the preserva- 
 tion of the lives and properties of honest people. 
 
 Up to the hour of the opening of the ordinary assizes, I 
 had no information of the course likely to be pursued, or 
 the evidence likely to be brought forward by the Crown. 
 All I heard was that Thornton had ' peached,' not only on 
 his accomplice Hodgens, but also upon a man named 
 Breen, who had been concerned in hatching the conspiracy 
 in Carrickmacross. Breen was a mere ignorant tool — a 
 ' barrow-man,' earning his living by wheeling sacks to be 
 weighed at the market scales, and was the instrument of 
 the two clever Ribbonmen who were soon about to be con- 
 fronted with each other. 
 
 The approaching assizes were accordingly looked forward 
 to with much interest by the people, especially those around 
 
2 54 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvi. 
 
 Carrickmacross and resident on the Bath Estate. In due 
 course the judges arrived ; the poHce mustered strongly in 
 the town of Monaghan ; the bugle sounded as the judges 
 drove up in their carriage to the Court House, and the 
 lawyers took their places with that easy half-jocular air so 
 peculiar to these gentlemen on such occasions, as if about 
 to enter upon the most agreeable occupation in life. 
 
 Far different were the thoughts and feelings of the two 
 men who were now placed at the bar for trial. 
 
 Hodgens— the most active in body and daring in mind 
 of those who had engaged in the conspiracy — appeared to 
 be about twenty-five years of age. He was a well-formed, 
 able young man, without any of those features expressive 
 of atrocity which one is accustomed to connect with a 
 person who has engaged to commit a cruel murder. His 
 manner was singularly composed, exhibiting indications of 
 passive endurance rather than of active violence. No one 
 could have dreamed, had they seen him elsewhere, that 
 this was the man who had twice endeavoured to put a 
 pistol to my breast, shoot me on the spot, and run for his 
 life across the country. 
 
 His bearing in court — calm, collected, and determined — 
 did not alter from what it had always been ; and when 
 brought up from the dock to the rails in front, he looked 
 round on the many hundred faces turned towards him with 
 an unmoved aspect, wholly devoid of excitement, and 
 almost impressing the beholders with the feeling that he 
 could not possibly be guilty. 
 
 Breen was a contrast to Hodgens in almost every par- 
 ticular. His head was large and coarse, he was low in 
 stature, thick-necked and high-shouldered ; his countenance 
 was wholly devoid of any manly expression, and he seemed 
 to affect a kind of stupid indifference to the scene before 
 him. He never ventured to look around him or gaze upon 
 
1852.] THE CONFESSION. 255 
 
 the numerous spectators, but every now and then a close 
 observer might have detected a rapid movement of his 
 small sparkling eye, when each person came into court, as 
 if watching for the appearance of some dreaded or hated 
 object. His countenance presented a curious mixture of 
 cunning, cruelty, and stupidity. 
 
 At length the judge was seated; the jury were sworn ; 
 the prisoners were formally arraigned for conspiracy to 
 murder Patrick M'^Ardle, the bailiff of the Bath Estate ; 
 and when asked, as usual, the solemn question, ' Are you 
 guilty or not guilty .-' ' each answered in a clear and firm 
 voice, * Not guilty, my lord ! ' 
 
 The first witness produced upon the table was the 
 informer, Thornton. 
 
 His appearance was totally dift'erent from that of either 
 Hodgens or Breen. He was light and small, with dark 
 hair and sunken eyes, ill-formed, though without any 
 absolute physical defect. He came upon the table with an 
 easy jaunty and self-satisfied air, as if he also, like the 
 lawyers, was about to enter upon the most agreeable oc- 
 cupation in life. I remarked, however, that with all his 
 assumed indifference, he never once ventured to look round 
 upon his old companions at the bar, who, he well knew, 
 were standing close behind him. 
 
 I carefully watched Hodgens' face as Thornton ascended 
 the witness table. He stared steadily at his false friend. 
 He evidently tried hard to catch his eye, but failed, as 
 Thornton gave him no opportunity. He became deadly 
 pale ; an expression of intense hate mingled with an almost 
 lofty scorn, seemed to pass like a shadow over his counte- 
 nance, and then all was calm, unmoved, and passionless 
 again. 
 
 The look with which Breen greeted his old associate, as 
 he saw him opposed to him on the witness table, was one 
 
256 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE [chap. xvx. 
 
 of such intense ferocity, cunning, and hate, that I almost 
 expected to see him leap across the rails and stab the in- 
 former to the heart. 
 
 The tale of remorseless villainy which Thornton unfolded 
 to the attentive and astonished ears of the court and jury, 
 has seldom been equalled in atrocity even in the annals of 
 Ribbonism. 
 
 It will be recollected that the prisoners were indicted for 
 * conspiracy to murder ' Patrick M^'Ardle, the bailiff of the 
 Bath Estate. 
 
 The informer detailed in full, how in the beginning they 
 had conspired against me. He told how they had lain in 
 wait for me again and again, but had been afraid to fire in 
 consequence of my being well armed and guarded : how 
 they had watched me and plotted against me for upwards 
 of a year, and how at last they gave it up in despair, in the 
 belief that it was ' an unlucky job,' as something had always 
 turned up against them when they seemed most sure of 
 ' having me down.' He then went on to tell how they deter- 
 mined, as the next best thing, to shoot Paddy M'^Ardle, the 
 bailiff. How it had been explained to them that if he were 
 put out of the way it would be hard to find another like 
 him ; and that all ejectm.ents or legal remedies to recover 
 rent would necessarily be quashed for the time, and perhaps 
 altogether abandoned. They did not enter upon Paddy's 
 trial with the usual formalities of the Ribbon code, as they 
 thought it necessary to do in my case ; they ' knew he was 
 guilty as he stood,' and they acted at once upon this know- 
 ledge. They ' sat upon him,' as Thornton expressed it, in 
 a public-house in Carrickmacross — a house well known to 
 me and to the police for hatching conspiracies of the kind ; 
 and having laid their plans carefully, it was determined 
 to shoot Paddy as he returned home from the market 
 of Carrickmacross. They were well aware that he always 
 
1852.] THE CONFESSION. 257 
 
 carried arms, and dreaded to face him openly even by a 
 sudden surprise ; they therefore examined the road to see 
 from whence they could best shoot him in the back. They 
 fixed on the spot in the ' Khyber Pass,' as exactly suited to 
 this purpose. They watched him as he drove with his wife 
 into the town ; and when some mention was made of the 
 woman being with him, a coarse and brutal exclamation 
 followed, that ' it would be well to send both of them to 
 Hell together.' The conspirators then crouched in what 
 they considered their safe ambuscade, ' to blow him and his 
 wife to shivers,' when they should turn their backs at the 
 winding of the road. 
 
 Thornton detailed with the utmost precision the w^iole 
 scene at the loading of the blunderbuss. How he himself 
 had put in the powder and rammed it down with a piece of 
 the democratic newspaper which thfey had been reading — 
 how they had put in nails and slugs ' enough for them both ; ' 
 and when the loading was so heavy that they were afraid it 
 might fall out at the muzzle, Hodgens tore off a piece of his 
 working dress of fustian, and rammed it also into the barrel. 
 Thornton mentioned further, that he had remonstrated with 
 Hodgens against doing this, but that he had replied, ' there 
 was no fear, everything would be blown to shivers with 
 such a charge as that.' 
 
 So they lay, crouching down, with a watchman set upon 
 the rock (whose name he did not then disclose) to give the 
 signal when their victims were approaching. He described 
 their anxiety as so great, that they could not resist looking 
 out to see their victims as they came on ; when to their 
 terror they perceived that they were guarded on either side 
 by policemen ; that the moment they saw this, they laid the 
 blunderbuss on the grass, and moved three or four yards 
 stealthily away from it, leaving it under the bank : and in 
 
 S 
 
258 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvi. 
 
 this position they were pounced upon by the police, ar- 
 rested, and made prisoners without a struggle. 
 
 The details of this terrible plot against the lives of their 
 unsuspecting victims were given without the least appear- 
 ance of remorse, ill temper, or malignity on the part of the 
 narrator, who had himself taken so active a part in the 
 arrangements. And when his cross-examination commenced 
 he seemed to lay himself out to baffle the able counsel for 
 the prisoner with what he well knew was his only chance of 
 success, a narration of the most exact truth, however appal- 
 ling it might be. During the whole course of his cross- 
 examination I never once saw him angry or annoyed, or in 
 any way discomposed ; and it was manifest that he had 
 considerable enjoyment in the recollection of the plots and 
 schemes he had suggested, even though the result was a 
 failure. When pressed by the cross-examiner on the hor- 
 rible barbarity of consenting to the murder of an innocent 
 woman rather than lose the opportunity of killing her 
 husband, he treated it as a mere matter of detail — as a 
 somewhat unpleasant necessity, but unavoidable under the 
 circumstances of the case ; as if a hind had crossed the 
 sportsman's line of sight whilst aiming at a ' royal stag,' 
 but that rather than lose the prize he had gone through so 
 much labour to secure, he would fire and let the hind take 
 her chance. 
 
 The other witnesses produced were sufficient to corrobo- 
 rate the evidence of the approver, and to establish beyond 
 a doubt the guilt of the parties on their trial ; and after a 
 most humane charge from Judge Jackson, in which every- 
 thing which could be said in the prisoners' favour was 
 carefully put forward, the jury, without much delay, brought 
 in a verdict against both Hodgens and Breen of 'guilty.' 
 
 The solemn verdict pronounced by the foreman of the 
 jury, in a suppressed, but clear tone of voice, produced no 
 
1852.] THE CONFESSION. 259 
 
 apparent effect upon the firm nerves of Hodgens. He 
 remained as unmoved as before. His face was pale, but 
 fixed and determined, and exhibited no symptoms of 
 wavering or fear. Breen was also unmoved; his small, 
 fierce, cunning eye seemed to traverse the court more 
 rapidly than before, but no other feature in his face or 
 member of his body moved. They both stood steadily 
 opposite their judge to hear their doom pronounced. 
 
 With a feeble and unsteady hand the humane and ex- 
 cellent old judge proceeded to place the black cap upon 
 his head ; and with a faltering and broken voice, he pro- 
 nounced upon the prisoners the dreadful sentence of the 
 law — that they should be taken from the place where they 
 now stood to the prison, and from thence on the appointed 
 day to the common place of execution, and that they should 
 there be hanged by the neck until they were dead — and 
 with an earnestness, in the sincerity of which no one could 
 have a doubt, he added, — ' and may the Lord have mercy 
 on your souls ! ' 
 
 They heard their sentence without the quiver of a muscle, 
 and were removed from the court, amidst a silence that 
 was painfully oppressive. 
 
 The informer, Thornton— as is usual in such cases — ' 
 disappeared off the stage of Ireland. He was never seen 
 afterwards by anyone but the gaol officials and myself I 
 was on a visit at Lord Rossmore's during the assizes ; and 
 partly through his influence, and partly owing to the peculiar 
 circumstances of my position, I obtained a private interview 
 with the man who had just succeeded in convicting his 
 friends and accomplices, and who had been upwards of a 
 year in good pay, and under a solemn oath to shoot me. 
 
 It was on the day after the scene above described, that 
 I was introduced into the cell of this accomplished scoun- 
 drel; and by my own special desire. I was left alone — 
 
26o REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvi. 
 
 locked in with my sworn assassin in his cell — having given 
 instructions to the gaoler that we should not be disturbed 
 for a couple of hours at least. 
 
 I carefully examined and prepared my pistols, lest the 
 ruffian should make any attack upon me ; but my pre- 
 cautions were quite unnecessary. I found him as cheery 
 and well pleased with himself — now that all was over — as 
 he had been at the commencement of the task he had 
 undertaken of giving evidence against his companions. 
 Not one feeling of remorse — not one shade of pity or pain 
 at what he had done, seemed ever to cross his mind. My 
 object in visiting him, however, was not to attempt to 
 raise up emotions of the softer kind in his breast ; I wanted 
 to find out from him the truth of the deep and complex 
 ramifications of the whole Ribbon Confederacy. 
 
 He appeared to be perfectly willing to tell me all he 
 knew ; but it was evident he had never been deeply trtisted 
 by any of the Ribbon leaders. Their schemes and ultimate 
 designs had never been laid before him. He knew, how- 
 ever, a vast deal about their practices and overt acts. To 
 these he had himself been a witness. He described to me 
 the public-house in Carrickmacross in which the Ribbonmen 
 met, and where they had concocted their plans — the owner 
 of which is still alive, and now a wandering pauper, his 
 house having passed into other hands. He told me how 
 a man named Mixy M'^Mahon, of Tullyvara, had agreed 
 upon Paddy M'^Ardle's murder — in managing which he 
 was to take an active part ; but how, going home one 
 night ' a little the worse for liquor,' Mixy M*=Mahon was 
 drowned, having been found next morning, quite dead, 
 with his face in a pool of water scarcely eighteen inches 
 deep. He related to me the whole scene of my trial in the 
 barn, which has been already described, giving me the 
 names and residences, in full, of all the parties then present. 
 
1852.] THE CONFESSION. 26 1 
 
 He chuckled and laughed over the idea of the president 
 proposing that my execution should be postponed until he 
 should get from me the two iron gates for his farm. He 
 also gave me the names of all the Ribbon leaders, and told 
 me traits and circumstances about them which left not a 
 doubt upon my mind but that he was telling the strict truth. 
 
 He described in graphic terms the means which he took 
 so as afterwards to be able to identify me ; how^ he had 
 Avatched my countenance, as I sat as chairman of the 
 Petty Sessions in the court-house of Carrickmacross, ex- 
 amining the changes of expression in my face, as the several 
 cases came before me ; and how he had followed me down 
 the street, and marked my air and gait — so that he could 
 not fail to know me wherever we might meet again. He 
 described the whole plan of attack which I have told in a 
 preceding chapter, and laughed outright at the disappoint- 
 ment of Hodgens when he was baffled in his intention of 
 shooting me between the poor-house and the town. 
 
 By degrees, as he warmed by these tales, and by the 
 recollection of past scenes of such pleasurable excitement, 
 he recounted to me the sundry hair-breadth escapes that I 
 myself had had, and his spirits rose immensely as he talked 
 over these delightful expeditions ! 
 
 ' Do you remember, Sir, the night you were returning — 
 you and Morant and another chap ' (my son), — ' the day 
 after they killed old Bateson } — well, Sir, there we were, 
 lying behind a w^all, determined to have you down, when 
 those bloody polls came up and saved }'Ou ; w^e were an- 
 gered that you should still be " on the walk," and the boys 
 in Castleblayney get down a man that was not wanted nigh 
 as much as you. And do you remember, Sir, the evening 
 you were returning home from Culloville, and two chaps 
 riding, one on each side of you, and you with the big pistols 
 in the holsters ? — and we let you pass that night too.' 
 
262 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvi. 
 
 ' And why did you not fire ? ' I asked. 
 ' Bedad we were afeard, Sir,' he replied ; ' we heard how 
 you could shoot a crow on a bush with a pistol, and that 
 the other chaps were darlint shots too, and bedad we were 
 afeard to fire lest maybe we'd miss you, and then we were 
 sure to be dead men.' 
 
 * Then my always riding with armed men alongside of 
 me, was not a bad plan } ' said I. 
 
 ' Bedad if it hadn't been for that, you were a ghost long 
 since, as sure as you're now flesh and blood ! Shure 
 weren't we watching day and night to catch you without 
 them, and didn't we try to get at you in the street when 
 going home at night from the office ; and faix I suspect 
 somebody must have told you about it, as I was just going 
 up to you myself — as innocent a& a lamb — one night with 
 a letter, and Hodgens, poor fellow that's now no more (the 
 man was not hanged at the time), was to have put a pistol 
 to your side as you took the letter, and just pulled the 
 trigger, and sorra more anyone would know about it.' 
 
 ' Now did anyone tell you .-' ' he enquired after a 
 pause, and with an inquisitive smile ; as if it was a little 
 mystery he would like to see cleared up before he left the 
 country. 
 
 ' Well indeed, I was told of your kind intentions.' 
 ' Bedad I always said so ! ' he exclaimed, slapping his 
 thigh with satisfaction at having his previous suspicions 
 confirmed on the best authority. 
 
 ' Well then,' he continued, as if he delighted in recounting 
 his adventures to me the intended victim— an idea which 
 seemed rather to heighten than damp the zest of the recital 
 — 'well then, do you remember the day you were out at 
 Annacrofif, and the big dog with you ? We knew it was 
 you by the sound of the big dog, and we were all ready that 
 day, for you had only one chap with you ; when just a 
 
1852.] THE CONFESSION. 26 
 
 J 
 
 you were coming up, you called out to the dog and wheeled 
 right round and away with you back again. Now did you 
 see us that day, Sir ? I've a reason why I'd like to know.' 
 
 ' No,' replied I, ' I did not, nor had I the least notion you 
 were there.' 
 
 * Bedad I always said so,' he broke in again. ' Hodgens 
 and I had a bet about it, for he said you surely saw us ; 
 " no," says I, " it's the luck that's always stickin' to him." 
 But sure there's no use in a bet with that poor boy that's 
 now no more, the decent lad ; he has only one debt more 
 to pay now, and he's likely to pay that soon, and without 
 any money in his pocket ! ' 
 
 Thus this strange man went on, now delighted to tell me 
 of how nearly he had succeeded, on sundry occasions, in 
 killing me, and now lamenting Hodgens' fate in an easy 
 sentimental way ; talking of him sometimes as ' him that 
 was no more,' and sometimes as ' the deceased,' as if he had 
 nothing whatever to do in bringing about his death. He 
 alluded more than once to my ' big dog.' I had, at that 
 time, an enormous Cuban blood-hound called Pluto, so 
 fierce that no one dared contend with him. This dog was 
 very much attached to me ; and though I had no reason to 
 suppose he would defend me from an attack, yet I always 
 took him with me when I went out riding — partly as a com- 
 panion, and partly under the impression that his well-known 
 fierceness to strangers might tend to keep the assassins from 
 attempting a personal onslaught. His bark, or rather 
 ' boom ' of delight, as we went along the road, had a deep 
 musical sound, such as I have never before or since heard 
 from any other dog, and one which those who were lying in 
 wait could not for a moment mistake. How little do we 
 know what will add to our safety, or the reverse ! The joyous 
 boom of the dog I took with me as a protection, was in fact 
 
264 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvi. 
 
 the trumpet-sound by which my enemies prepared for an 
 attack upon my Hfe. 
 
 It was impossible to be otherwise than deeply interested 
 in this remarkable interview. Here was I, the intended 
 victim, talking with my paid and sworn assassin, who had 
 done all in his power to kill me, and both of us chatting 
 over old times as if the reminiscences were delightful, and 
 I must confess also, both laughing heartily at some of the 
 scenes of disappointment he described. Thornton was in 
 the height of good humour, and seemed delighted at an 
 opportunity of recounting all his former exploits to one so 
 much interested in them as I was. 
 
 At length I took out my pencil and paper — ' Now tell me, 
 the names and residences and particular acts of those who 
 were foremost in hiring you and plotting to have me and 
 Paddy M^Ardle murdered.' 
 
 He paused for a moment at what I proposed; then sud- 
 denly resuming his cheerful tone he said, ' Bedad, why 
 shouldn't I ? Sure they never cared for me, and why should 
 I care for them > I'm going away now, and I may as well 
 make a clean breast of it, just to show you I never had any 
 ill will in life to you at all. And sure it's not every gentle- 
 man would come and cheer up a poor fellow like me here, 
 condemned as I am to banishment, and all the world against 
 me ; so what does your honour want to know, and I will 
 tell you all the raal truth 1 ' 
 
 I saw he was in a communicative mood, so I asked him 
 for the names and residences, and particular acts and parts 
 which each of the leading Ribbon tenants had taken in 
 the conspiracy. 
 
 He gave me the names of about twenty men who had 
 been actively engaged in plotting against the lives of myself 
 and Paddy M^'Ardle. He told me their sayings and their 
 jokes, their threats and their denunciations, and unfolded to 
 
1852.] THE CONFESSION. 265 
 
 me a history of all that went on behind the scenes which 
 was absolutely appalling to listen to. I dare not tell here 
 all that he then described. But he gave me the occurrences 
 and the dates, the spots where the occurrences had taken 
 place, and the residences of the parties involved ; so that I 
 soon had a minute history of the most diabolical proceedings 
 that I believe any man in my position ever yet possessed. 
 His history was so circumstantial, and his facts so dovetailed 
 into each other, and, above all, his memory was so clear and 
 accurate when I cross-examined him on particular points, 
 that I could not doubt the general truthfulness of what he 
 told me. 
 
 'And now, Sir, I have told you what I never thought to 
 have told to living soul on this side of eternity, and I believe 
 you think me a terrible villain — and so I am, and a clever 
 villain too. Well I don't deny but I am 'cute enough, or I 
 wouldn't be here now — it's in the place of the poor boy 
 that's deceased I'd be. I tell you what. Sir, the out and 
 out boys never let me right into their secrets at all, for they 
 always misdoubted me, and good cause they had. It was 
 Hodgens they let into it all. He knows twice as much as I 
 do, only he was always dark and silent ; but if you could 
 get him to let it out now, you'd have all the Ribbonmen in 
 the barony in your hand. I've told you some twenty of the 
 worst of them ; but bedad your honour could make a clear 
 sweep of them all then, and of the others outside the barony 
 that's leading them on, and that's worse than them itself. 
 You think me a clever chap I know, but bedad / couhhit 
 hold a candle to Hodgens ! ' 
 
 ' And what do you think would induce him to tell me all 
 he knows } ' 
 
 'His life, Sir!' replied he quickly, 'nothing but his life. 
 Give him that, and he will tell you all he knows, and he 
 knows more than anyone else.' 
 
266 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xvi, 
 
 ' I will look to this,' said I. ' And now I must leave you, 
 and we shall probably never meet again : you will get money 
 enough from the Government, so I will not offer you that — 
 and I suppose you would not thank me for any good advice 
 even if I were disposed to give it ?' 
 
 * Why then, not much, Sir,' he replied rather sadly ; 
 'what's the use of good advice to a chap that had all a 
 father and mother could say, and never minded one of 
 them ? It's too late for that now; but I thank your honour 
 kindly all the same.' 
 
 ' Good bye then. I wish you a better life ; and I hope what 
 you have seen and gone through will lead you to a change 
 towards God and man,* 
 
 ' Good-bye to your honour anyway,' he answered, ' and 
 long may your honour live and reign ! ' and he waved his 
 hand in farewell. 
 
 I left the cell, and we parted to meet no more. 
 
1852.] THE PRISONER. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PRISONER. 
 
 The information I had received in my interview with 
 Thornton, I considered to be most vakiable and important ; 
 and, having taken accurate notes at the time, I had now a 
 complete summary of the misdoings of many persons who 
 httle dreamed that I knew anything whatever about them 
 in their relation to the Ribbon Conspiracy. 
 
 I had not, however, forgotten the last words of Thornton 
 concerning Hodgens, that he, and he only, had been ad- 
 mitted into the knowledge of all the deeper plots of the 
 Ribbonmen, and that the prospect of his life being saved 
 was the only motive likely to induce him to tell what he 
 knew. 
 
 My first step, therefore, was to call upon her Majesty's 
 Attorney-General, Mr. Brewster, who received me very 
 kindly. I sketched generally to him the nature of my 
 interview with Thornton ; I gave him to understand that 
 Hodgens, now lying under sentence of death, knew all the 
 ramifications of the Ribbon Conspiracy in its darker and 
 deeper features, and I urged upon him how important a step 
 it would be towards the breaking up of the whole system, 
 if we could get such information from Hodgens as would 
 enable us to arrest some of the chief leaders outside the 
 Barony of Farney ; I also pressed upon his consideration 
 my conviction that if these men could be secured, a general 
 rush would be made by the rest to ' peach ' upon each 
 
268 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvii. 
 
 other, and thus the whole system could be unfolded and 
 broken up. 
 
 The Attorney-General quite admitted the importance of 
 the matter, but said that he did not see how it could be 
 done, as it would be impossible for the Government to 
 spare Hodgens' life unless he gave information which would 
 lead to the immediate apprehension and conviction of the 
 offenders, and under his circumstances, as a convicted felon, 
 this could scarcely be. 
 
 I admitted the importance of the proposed conditions. 
 The difficulty was how to ascertain the nature of the 
 information the prisoner was capable of giving, so as to 
 justify a promise of his life ; and I asked the Attorney- 
 General if he would confide this task to me, and if I 
 claimed from the Government that Hodgens' life should be 
 spared, whether he would promise that my request should 
 be granted. 
 
 He hesitated a little at this proposition, and then replied : 
 ' I assure you, Mr. Trench, if you can obtain information 
 from Hodgens of such a nature as that it may prove of real 
 practical value to the Government, you may depend upon 
 it they will deal fairly with this wretched man, and we shall 
 have no objection to spare his life.' 
 
 * But how are we to judge of this } ' I asked ; ' you might 
 perhaps obtain information from him which you would not 
 think sufficiently valuable to warrant you in sparing his 
 life. And if you acted on it against his confederates, it 
 would appear like a breach of faith.' 
 
 ' I perceive the difficulty,' said he, ' but I do not see how 
 it can be met — I should not be justified in promising to 
 spare this man's life, merely because asked by an indi- 
 vidual. The Lord-Lieutenant alone could take such a 
 responsibility upon himself — neither should I be justified 
 in declining to make use of such information as might 
 
1852.] THE PRISONER. 269 
 
 come to my knowledge if I could thereby put an end to 
 this atrocious system of Ribbonism.' 
 
 ' I cannot deny the justice of your observations,' I ob- 
 served, ' but under these circumstances it would be impos- 
 sible for me to interfere.' 
 
 I returned to Rossmore Park, sad enough, for I felt sure 
 that such an opportunity might never be found again of 
 unravelling the whole Ribbon Conspiracy, and exposing its 
 inmost workings. 
 
 I told all that had happened to Lord Rossmore, and he 
 recommended me to go up at once to the Lord-Lieutenant, 
 and obtain a personal interview with him, and ascertain 
 whether he would promise to spare the prisoner's life 
 on condition of valuable information being given : or — 
 if he thought it desirable for the good of the country that 
 he should be executed — to abstain from using any of the 
 information obtained, against his accomplices. So deeply 
 did I feel interested in this matter, that I resolved at once 
 to follow his Lordship's advice, and accordingly I started 
 for Dublin early the next morning. 
 
 I found no difficulty in obtaining an interview with the 
 Lord-Lieutenant, and he heard me patiently and kindly 
 but he did not at first seem to think it possible that my 
 request under these conditions could be granted. He 
 stated that he could not promise to abstain from using 
 against the Ribbonmen any information of which the Go- 
 vernment might become possessed. At the same time he 
 would be very glad indeed to. spare the life of Hodgens, if 
 in so doing he could expose and bring to justice the leaders 
 in this dreadful system. 
 
 ' Then I fear, my Lord, under these circumstances, I can 
 do nothing. I would not for worlds be the means of in- 
 ducing this wretched man to betray his accomplices on the 
 understanding that his life would be spared, and then that 
 
270 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvii. 
 
 he should be hanged afterwards, if his information should 
 not prove to be sufficiently important to justify the com- 
 mutation of his sentence.' 
 
 ' I see your difficulty,' replied his Excellency: 'can you 
 suggest anything yourself which would meet it .'' ' 
 
 ' Nothing which I could well venture to propose,' I 
 answered, ' unless it were that your Excellency would 
 entrust the matter to my discretion, and promise me to 
 spare the man's life if I ask it. I will then go to him and 
 tell him plainly how matters stand. He is clever and 
 intelligent, and I am sure he will thoroughly comprehend 
 his position. I will tell him that I have your Excellency's 
 promise of pardon in my hand. That if he will really tell 
 me all he knows, and that the information he gives is im- 
 portant and such as can lead to important results, his hfe 
 shall surely be spared ; but if his information is of no real 
 value it shall never pass beyond myself — that no advantage 
 shall be taken of it against his accomplices — but that his 
 life cannot be spared.' • 
 
 ' And will he believe you .'' ' said his Excellency ; ' will 
 he not think you have betrayed him into giving informa- 
 tion, and then that you do not apply for his pardon .'' ' 
 
 ' I think he will believe me,' replied I ; ' and at all events, 
 whether he does or not, I shall then have it in my own 
 power to act truly by him in the matter, as no one can 
 know what he tells me but myself; and I will risk the 
 danger, if your Excellency will give me your promise.' 
 
 ' Recollect what you ask, Mr. Trench,' observed his 
 Excellency ; ' you ask no less than that I should promise 
 you to spare this man's life, if yon ask it, and on your 
 judgment, and yours only, as to whether his information 
 may be of any value to the Crown or not ! ' 
 
 ' Quite true, my Lord ; I am well aware I have no right 
 to expect such powers to be placed in my hands, but at 
 
1852.1 THE PRISONER. 27 1 
 
 the same time unless I obtain them, it is impossible I 
 could be the medium of any communication whatever with 
 this condemned criminal' 
 
 ' Do you think he is able to give you any really impor- 
 tant information such as the Crown can afterwards make 
 use of ? ' asked his Excellency. 
 
 ' I am satisfied he is able,' replied I ; ' and if I am allowed 
 to come to a clear understanding with him, I think also I 
 can obtain it from him.' I then recounted briefly my extra- 
 ordinary interview with his accomplice Thornton, and gave 
 my grounds for believing that Hodgens knew everything 
 about the Ribbon Confederacy, and that nothing but the 
 certainty of his life being spared would induce him to make 
 any disclosures. 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Trench,' said his Excellency, ' I will take the 
 responsibility upon myself, and I will spare Hodgens' life if 
 you assure me you have sufficient grounds for making the 
 request.' 
 
 ' Then I have your promise, my Lord, that if I ask you 
 to spare his life you will do so, leaving it to me to 
 decide whether the information I receive is worthy of such 
 a gift' 
 
 ' You have my distinct promise,' returned his Excel- 
 lency. 
 
 I thanked him for his confidence, expressed my hope 
 that it would not be abused, bowed and retired. 
 
 No sooner had I left his Excellency's presence than I 
 felt, in all its force, the delicacy of the task I had under- 
 taken. I resolved, however, to go through with it honestly, 
 and to the best of my ability, and if I failed, to bear both 
 the blame and the danger. 
 
 My first step was to proceed to Carrickmacross, and 
 there to unfold to my confidential clerk all that had passed 
 between his Excellency and me; and thinking that 
 
272 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvir. 
 
 Hodgens would speak more freely to him than to my- 
 self, I directed him to proceed at once to Monaghan, 
 to get access through proper credentials to the cell of 
 Hodgens, and there explain to him, that if he would really 
 tell all he knew about the Ribbon Conspiracy, and those 
 concerned in it, so as to enable the Government practically 
 to get at his accomplices, his life would surely be spared. 
 But if he declined this offer, he was a dead man and had 
 not the remotest chance of pardon. 
 
 My clerk executed his commission with all the delicacy 
 I had expected. He found Hodgens calm and firm ; little 
 or no change had apparently taken place in him since his 
 conviction and sentence. He had braced his nerves to the 
 worst, and he was prepared to abide the consequences of 
 his crime. 
 
 By degrees my clerk began to unfold to him the real 
 nature of his mission. For a time Hodgens was wholly 
 unmoved, as if he thought it was only a plot to get some- 
 thing out of him which he was determined not to give. 
 
 ' Are you aware,' said the clerk at last, ' that Mr. 
 Trench has your pardon in his pocket, and that he has 
 only to say the word and your life is spared?' 
 
 Hodgens leaped up from his seat as he heard these 
 words. 
 
 ' Is it lies you're telling me .-' ' he exclaimed ; ' why do 
 you come here with lies to me at such a time as this .'' ' 
 
 ' It's not lies,' replied the clerk ; ' I'm telling you the real 
 truth. Mr. Trench went up himself to the Lord-Lieutenant, 
 and got a promise of pardon for you, if you would only 
 tell all you know about the Ribbon Conspiracy, and those 
 who are concerned in it.' 
 
 ' And what makes Mr. Trench think I know anything 
 at all about it } ' asked Hodgens. 
 
 * He knows it right well/ answered the clerk. ' He has 
 
1852.] THE PRISONER. 273 
 
 got everything out of Thornton, and he knows that you, 
 and you only, can give the information he now requires.' 
 
 A shade passed over Hodgens' countenance as the name 
 of Thornton was mentioned, but it was only momentary. 
 
 ' I always said I would die hard ; but it's a terrible 
 temptation to a man ; and sure, after all, it's no great harm 
 to tell on all them that brought me to this end. But how 
 am I certain that Mr. Trench can save my life even if I do 
 peach ? ' he exclaimed, as if suddenly recollecting himself 
 
 ' He will tell you so himself,' said the clerk. ' He is now 
 in Monaghan, and has the promise of your pardon from the 
 Lord-Lieutenant in his hand. You know him well, and 
 though you tried to take his life often enough, you know 
 he would not deceive you.' 
 
 ' Lm sure of it,' observed Hodgens thoughtfully, ' I know 
 he would not ; but it's a terrible disgrace to a man to go 
 and do what Thornton done — Ld a'most as soon die 
 hard.' 
 
 ' It's a terrible thing to be hanged ! ' — remarked the 
 clerk. 
 
 ' That's true, too,' replied Hodgens ; and the clerk saw 
 the whole of his powerful frame beginning gradually to 
 shake and tremble with agitation, and large drops of per- 
 spiration to stand out distinctly upon his forehead. 
 
 ' Well, maybe I might as well tell it all out. Come to 
 me to-morrow morning, and you shall have all I know ; but 
 Mr. Trench must come himself, as I will not trust anyone 
 else. I must have it from his own lips that my life will be 
 surely spared.' 
 
 ' You shall have it from himself,' replied the clerk ; ' but 
 why not to-night .'' he is waiting now to see you ; let me 
 call him now, and tell him all you have to say.' 
 
 Again a dreadful tremor seemed to shake the whole of 
 the young man's frame. 
 
 T 
 
2 74 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xvir. 
 
 ' Not to-night,' said he — ' not to-night ; I am to see the 
 priest in the morning, and I will tell nothing to anyone 
 till I see him.' 
 
 ' Tell Mr. Trench all about it noiv', entreated the clerk ; 
 ' let me call him this minute, maybe it will be your last 
 chance.' 
 
 ' I can't, and I won't,' said Hodgens doggedly ; ' I must 
 see my clargy first, and there's no use in pressing me any 
 more.' 
 
 His agitation had now increased to the most painful 
 degree — his voice trembled and his knees shook under 
 him. He rose and walked rapidly up and down his small 
 cell, as if to throw off his agitation, and at length he finally 
 addressed the clerk. 
 
 * It's no use your waiting or pressing me any more. 
 Come to me to-morrow morning, and bring Mr. Trench with 
 you ; but I won't see him or tell a word of anything until I 
 see my clargy first.' 
 
 The clerk unwillingly retired ; he saw further pressing was 
 useless, and he came and told me all that had passed. 
 
 ' You could do no more,' I said. ' We must await the 
 result of his interview with the priest. I trust he will in- 
 duce him to tell us all he knows.' 
 
 The clerk shook his head doubtingly, but made no 
 reply. 
 
 At ten o'clock next morning, my clerk obtained access 
 to the condemned cell of the criminal. The first glance at 
 the prisoner showed that a great change had taken place 
 since the interview of the preceding day. All traces of 
 doubt, uncertainty, and agitation had completely vanished, 
 and Hodgens stood before him calm and unmoved, with 
 a quiet placidity of manner and countenance, as if all 
 anxiety about his fate was gone. He could scarcely re- 
 
1852. THE PRISONER. 275 
 
 cognise, in the placid features of the man now before him, 
 the shattered and agitated frame he had left the evening 
 before, and he saw at a glance that Hodgens had made up 
 his mind, and was at peace within himself 
 
 * Well,' said the clerk, disguising his fears as well as he 
 could, ' may I send for Mr. Trench, and will you tell him 
 all you know about what we were talking of yesterday ? ' 
 
 * I will tell nothing! returned Hodgens calmly, and 
 with a composed and resigned countenance. ' I will tell 
 nothing, neither to Mr. Trench, nor to anyone else. I have 
 seen my priest, and I'm now prepared to die, and maybe I 
 would never be as well prepared again. So I am content 
 to die, and there is no use in asking me any more. I will 
 tell nothing, except to them that has a right to know it, and 
 who should that be but the priest. So now let me alone, 
 for you'll never get another word out of me ; / aui content 
 to die for my country ! ' 
 
 He calmly sat down, and remained in perfect silence, 
 until the clerk, who had addressed him several times with- 
 out effect, was compelled to leave the cell. 
 
 What passed between the prisoner and the priest I know 
 not, but Hodgens adhered to his determination, and his 
 secret died with him. 
 
1852.] THE EXECUTION. 277 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE EXECUTION. 
 
 The sentence of death which had been pronounced 
 against Hodgens and his companion in guilt produced a 
 profound sensation in Carrickmacross and the surrounding 
 neighbourhood. The Ribbonmen and their sympathisers 
 could scarcely be led to believe that ' conspiracy to 
 murder ' was really a capital crime ; they had been so 
 long accustomed to conspire, to lie in wait behind hedges, 
 and to plot death to landlords and agents with impunity, 
 that although aware if they succeeded in their object 
 their lives would be in jeopardy, yet they considered 
 they were safe from the power of the law so long as 
 their bloody purpose was unfulfilled. The lookers on 
 and abettors of this fearful game had held the same 
 views ; never dreaming that by merely subscribing to the 
 murder fund, and debating on the best mode of attack- 
 ing those they had condemned to die, they had thereby 
 laid themselves open to the most extreme punishment 
 known to the latw of England. They would admit that 
 ' blood for blood ' was a reasonable and natural law, but 
 blood for the mere plotting and conspiring to kill had not 
 become familiar to their minds. 
 
 A deputation of Ribbonmen was accordingly appointed 
 to attend at Monaghan Gaol on the day announced for the 
 execution of Hodgens and Breen. They were instructed to 
 watch the proceedings on the part of the Farney Ribbon 
 
278 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xviii. 
 
 Lodges, and to bring back a faithful report as to whether 
 or not their friends were really put to death. It was 
 agreed that there should be no gathering there of sym- 
 pathisers, no show of lamentation on the one hand, nor 
 hectoring encouragement to ' die hard ' upon the other. A 
 simple commission of a few trusted partisans of the Ribbon 
 Confederacy was considered to be the best mode of ascer- 
 taining the real facts of the case ; and the members were 
 directed to report cautiously, so that immediate steps might 
 be taken, if necessary, to secure the safety of the confede- 
 racy, either by flight or otherwise. 
 
 The scene of the execution was very thinly attended by 
 spectators. The ' Farney Boys ' — that is, the inhabitants of 
 the barony of Farney — are not general favourites over the 
 rest of the county of Monaghan ; and, therefore, there were 
 but few warm sympathisers with the criminals in the 
 county town, situated twenty miles from Carrickmacross. 
 In Ireland an execution has not the same attraction, on its 
 own account, for idlers and roughs, that it seems to possess 
 in England, and very few such attended on this occasion. 
 It was expected by the authorities that there would have 
 been a large influx of people from Carrickmacross, and a 
 considerable force of police were accordingly in attendance 
 on the ground. An undefined notion seemed to prevail 
 that something unusual would take place. Some spoke of 
 a rescue being about to be attempted by the Farney Boys ; 
 others that the criminals would be vociferously cheered 
 when they appeared upon the scaffold ; and though no one 
 could tell why, yet there was a general anticipation that 
 some unpleasant event would take place at the time of the 
 execution. None such, however, occurred, beyond that of 
 the execution itself The Ribbonmen had planned it other- 
 wise, and few dared to dispute their arrangements. They 
 had not yet been able to bring their minds to realise the 
 
1852.] THE EXECUTION. 279 
 
 fact that the men were actually about to die ; but even 
 should this prove to be true, the}^ knew well the authorities 
 would be too strong for them to attempt a rescue with any 
 chance of success. If the execution were really and indeed 
 to take place, they considered that the less said about it 
 the better, lest they themselves might be blamed by the 
 people for having led the unhappy victims to the bloody 
 end from which they had always promised them impunity ; 
 and if their friends should by any means escape, they 
 knew there would be time enough to make arrangements 
 for a demonstration, and to plot a surer vengeance and a 
 certain death to those who had endeavoured to bring them 
 to the scaffold. Such were the thoughts, and such the lan- 
 guage, of those who attended, as the Ribbon deputation, to 
 witness the scene about to take place in the front of Mona- 
 ghan Gaol. 
 
 Some twelve or fourteen men were employed upon this 
 strange commission. They divided themselves into two or 
 three parties on their road from Carrickmacross to Mona- 
 ghan, so as not to attract observation. When within a mile 
 or two of the town they dispersed into still smaller bodies, 
 and entered the street singly or in pairs, having arranged a 
 rendezvous at a well-known public-house frequented by 
 the Ribbonmen. They were surprised as they entered to 
 find so little stir in the town. Everything appeared to go 
 on the same as usual, except that there was rather less 
 bustle and less business doing than upon ordinary days. 
 The inhabitants remained in their houses except where 
 some special cause required them to go abroad. A few 
 strangers had come in from the country, and some idlers 
 loitered in front of the gaol ; but there was no appearance 
 whatever of any sensational excitement. 
 
 As the hour for the execution approached, the Ribbonmen 
 emerged singly from their rendezvous, and strolled towards 
 
200 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xviii. 
 
 the precincts of the gaol in a lazy careless manner, as if 
 they were the most unconcerned of spectators. They had 
 previously agreed not to appear to recognise each other 
 should they chance to meet in the crowd ; and taking up 
 their positions in different places, each of them as near as 
 convenient to ' the drop,' they awaited with apparent apathy 
 the approach of the final catastrophe. 
 
 The spot from whence the unhappy culprit undergoes 
 the extreme penalty of the law in Ireland, is not usually 
 what is termed ' a scaffold ' in the ordinary sense of the 
 word. In most counties it consists of an iron balcony per- 
 manently fixed outside the gaol wall. There is a small 
 door in the wall of the gaol, commanding the balcony, and 
 opening out upon it. The bottom of this iron cage is 
 so constructed, that on the withdrawal of a pin or bolt, 
 which can be managed from the inside of the gaol, the trap- 
 door on which he stands drops from under the feet of the 
 victim of the law, so that on a signal given by the sheriff, 
 he is instantly launched into eternity. There are usually 
 two or three trap-doors so constructed on the same balcony, 
 so that, if required, more than one man can be hanged at 
 the same time. The upper end of the rope is in each case 
 fastened to a strong iron bar which projects over each trap- 
 door. 
 
 The Ribbonmen managed quietly to push their way as 
 close as the police would allow them, immediately under 
 the gallows, so that on the trap falling the bodies of the 
 victims must hang within a few yards of where they stood. 
 Exactly at the hour named for the execution the small 
 door leading out upon the iron balcony was seen slowly to 
 open, and Hodgens walked out bareheaded on the platform. 
 He was followed by Breen, each attended by a priest of the 
 Roman Catholic Church. Hodgens looked steadily and 
 firmly at the crowd below. He was very pale, but he 
 
i852.] THE EXECUTION. 28 1 
 
 showed no other sign of fear, and he did not speak a word. 
 The rope was adjusted around his neck ; but even then he 
 did not falter nor flinch in the least, yet neither was there 
 any appearance of defiance or braggadocio in his manner. 
 He stood like a brave, firm man, whose mind was made 
 up, calmly awaiting his death. 
 
 Breen was less firm ; he scarcely dared to look at the 
 crowd below. He turned his eyes rapidly from side to 
 side, as if looking for an opportunity to escape, and seeing 
 none, he cast them down till they appeared to be almost 
 closed, and did not raise them again in this world. At the 
 moment the cap, usual on such occasions to conceal the 
 distortions of the countenance, was drawn over the faces of 
 the culprits, a single wild whoop was heard amongst the 
 crowd. It was answered by a shrill whistle, and for a 
 moment there was a pause. It was only for a moment : the 
 death-signal was given by the sheriff, the iron bolt was 
 withdrawn, the conspirators dropped through the balcony, 
 and their bodies hung suspended in the air within a few 
 yards of their Ribbon confederates. Hodgens scarcely 
 struggled at all ; he apparently died at once, his neck 
 having been dislocated by the shock. Breen, a strong thick- 
 set man, appeared to struggle hard for life, but his efforts 
 became feebler and feebler, until at last they ceased ; and 
 after hanging perfectly still for about half-an-hour, during 
 which the attentive Ribbonmen never left the spot, the 
 bodies were slowly lowered down to the ground, and close 
 under the eyes of their former confederates, the lifeless 
 corpses were carried within the precincts of the gaol. 
 
 If it be asked who it was that gave the ' whoop,' and 
 who answered it by the whistle, I answer frankly, I can- 
 not tell. The Ribbonman who afterwards confided to me 
 the whole story which I have just related did not himself 
 know. By many it was not heard at all — or at least it was 
 
282 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xviii. 
 
 scarcely noticed — so earnestly was the attention riveted 
 upon the painful scene before them. Not so with the 
 Ribbonmen. The moment the whoop was heard a sudden 
 gleam of hope flashed simultaneously upon their minds, 
 each man grasped his stick, and held his breath, wait- 
 ing for a further signal, when a dash would have been 
 made, and a rescue at all hazards attempted. But there 
 was no further signal. Whether it had been intended or 
 not, none came in time : and in the height of this tension 
 of the nerves of every Ribbonman present, the bolt was 
 drawn, and their companions met their doom. 
 
 Scarcely a word was spoken by the crowd. There was 
 an audible, deep, internal groan of pain from the lookers-on 
 as the dreadful trap-doors fell with a loud clang, and the 
 bodies shot down through the balcony till checked by the 
 tightened rope; but beyond this scarcely a sound was 
 heard. The crowd silently dispersed. The Ribbonmen 
 again strolled with apparent carelessness towards the 
 public-house, and after a glass or two of whisky each, they 
 left for Carrickmacross, sad and crestfallen enough, but 
 thoroughly convinced they should never see their old com- 
 panions alive again in this world. 
 
 ' It is all up with the good ould cause for this bout 
 any way,' observed one of the Ribbonmen, at last breaking 
 silence to his companion. 
 
 ' True for you,' replied the other. * The ould stock will 
 not come by their rights this time, I fear, but there is a 
 good time coming.' 
 
 ' It is a long while about it, then,' said his companion. 
 ' The people said that if Trench and Morant and the other 
 Saxons like them were down or banished, the ould M^Mahon 
 blood would rise and own the country again.' 
 
 ' Sorra bit,' replied the other. ' It's our own fault, they 
 say, for not rising and banishing them all long ago, but n :)w 
 
1S52.] THE EXECUTION. 28 
 
 J 
 
 they have a howld of it so long, I doubt we will ever get 
 our own land back again.' 
 
 * How long is it since they first took it from us ? ' asked 
 the first speaker. 
 
 'Not a one of me knows,' replied the other; 'some say 
 it's nigh three hundred years. It was in the time of her 
 they call Queen Elizabeth, any way, be that long or short.' 
 
 * That's a long time ago,' said his companion, ' but, long 
 or short, we are bet this time, any way, and I fear the 
 English will howld their grip for some time longer, before 
 the Farney boys will be able to get the land out of them.' 
 
 * I say, Ned,' said one of the party, addressing the tem- 
 porary leader, ' did ye hear t/ic sJiont and tJie whistle ? ' 
 
 ' Didn't I .? ' replied Ned. ' If I didn't I felt it in every 
 vein of my heart. I thought then in airnest we were on for 
 work ; but whoever gave it, it was none of us, and of course 
 we couldn't answer it until we saw something more. I'm 
 thinking it was the Armagh boys done it : but what good 
 was it when they done nothing more 1 Any how if they 
 intended work they should have been quicker at it. The 
 signal came too late.' 
 
 ' Aye, true enough,' replied his companion. ' I gave 
 such a start that the sight nearly left my eyes when I 
 heard it, and if one more shout like that had come, by the 
 powers I'd have laid open the head of the next man to me 
 with the blackthorn in my hand and chanced it, come what 
 would and whoever he might be ; maybe in the scrimmage 
 some good would be done for the poor boys that's gone.' 
 
 ' It's well for ye that ye didn't then,' said the leader, ' or 
 it's dancing after them ye'd be yourself It was too late 
 any way.' 
 
 ' Aye,' replied the other, ' too late ! — everything is too 
 late to free Ireland ; ' and they proceeded on their way in 
 silence. 
 
284 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xviir. 
 
 The moral effect of this execution upon the Ribbon- 
 men and their sympathisers in Farney was perfectly mar- 
 vellous, and far beyond anything I could have anticipated. 
 I will enter into no discussion here about the advantages 
 or otherwise of the abolition of capital punishment. It 
 may be wise and humane that it should be altogether abo- 
 lished. Tt is a fair and reasonable question for any nation 
 professing to be Christian, whether it can be consistent with 
 the law of the New Testament, by which all Christians 
 profess to be guided, to strangle a fellow-creature in cold 
 blood, and in the method described above, no matter what 
 his crime may have been. Our system of hanging crimi- 
 nals is not a pleasant thing to witness, and not a whit 
 more merciful or civilised than the simplicity of the 
 Turkish bowstring. But be this as it may, I cannot ap- 
 prove of the principle which has lately been adopted by 
 our governors. It seems now, that no matter how diaboli- 
 cal the attempt to murder may be, no matter how atro- 
 ciously planned or with what ferocity carried on, if the 
 perpetrator fails in actually killing his victim, the punish- 
 ment awarded is different from what it would have been 
 if he had succeeded. In the latter case it is death, in 
 the former only penal servitude for a limited period of 
 time, often a very short time. The moral guilt appears 
 to me to be precisely the same in each case ; and if the 
 object of a public execution be to deter men from the 
 perpetration of crime, rather than to take vengeance on 
 them after it has been committed, surely this object would 
 be more effectually obtained by punishing to the full 
 extent the initiative rather than the completion of the 
 crime. 
 
 But leaving this difficult question to be determined by 
 more experienced moralists, there can be no doubt what- 
 ever but that the execution of these would-be murderers 
 
1852.] THE EXECUTION. 285 
 
 had a wonderful effect in Farney ; and many ' snug far- 
 mers,' who had previously no idea that they had placed 
 themselves within the power of the law by joining in con- 
 spiracies, became now thoroughly alarmed. This alarm 
 was increased by the arrest of two or three of their own 
 class upon a charge nearly similar to that for which Hod- 
 gens and Breen had suffered ; and feeling the insecurity of 
 their position, and not knowing the moment that some 
 informer might rise amongst themselves and convict them, 
 the terror of a large body of ' respectable farmers ' was 
 beyond what could be conceived. 
 
 Under these circumstances it occurred to me that a rare 
 opportunity now presented itself of ridding the country of 
 the baneful effects of Ribbonism; and that if judicious 
 advantage were taken of the panic which the execution of 
 Hodgens and Breen had created, a clearance of conspira- 
 tors might be effected, which could not be done at any 
 other time. 
 
 In accordance with these views, I made a minute exami- 
 nation of the notes I had taken during my remarkable 
 interview with the informer Thornton in the prison. I care- 
 fully separated the various transactions which in his details 
 he had huddled together, and wrote out a concise history 
 of the misdemeanours of each of the several conspirators. 
 Having completed this task, I sent for the men, separately, 
 to my office in Carrickmacross, and having called each into 
 my private room, I briefly recapitulated the evidence I had 
 against him. I told him the dates on which he had met 
 his fellow-conspirators, the places where they had assem- 
 bled, and even the very words he had spoken ; and hold- 
 ing up a photograph of his misdeeds to his frightened and 
 astonished view, I charged him point blank with his crime. 
 The conspirators seemed confounded beyond measure, and 
 utterly at a loss to conceive from what source I had derived 
 
286 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xviii. 
 
 my information. They had not courage to attempt a 
 denial. 
 
 One scene I particularly remember. I had sent for a 
 man, well known, the same who had sat as judge or 
 president at the mock trial where I was condemned to 
 death by the Ribbonmen in the large barn. He came 
 accordingly to my office. He was a tall man, strong and 
 muscular, apparently about thirty-five years of age, with 
 a lazy slouching gait and manner, like that of one who 
 would prefer idleness and pauper indolence to active ener- 
 getic wealth. His hair and whiskers were red and bushy, 
 his eyes small and grey. He had by no means a savage 
 aspect ; cunning in his countenance appeared to predomi- 
 nate over ferocity. 
 
 ' I heard your honour wanted to see me,' said he, as he 
 entered my private office. He spoke with a quiet smile 
 upon his countenance, having evidently determined, if pos- 
 sible, to master his emotions, though I believe he suspected 
 the object for which I had summoned him. 
 
 * Yes,' I replied ; ' how are the crops down in your part 
 of the estate .'' ' 
 
 ' Pretty fair, your honour, barrin' the potatoes ; they are 
 getting black, and I doubt we will ever have the raal ould 
 mealy potato again.' 
 
 ' It looks like it certainly,' I observed, ' But how is 
 your own farm going on? Is there any little thing you 
 want just now, to make it look a little neat and tidy ? ' 
 
 The man looked at me for a moment, evidently doubtful 
 of my meaning, for he well knew that he deserved no 
 kindness at my hands ; but he replied with affected cheer- 
 fulness, 
 
 ' Not a ha'porth, your honour, unless maybe you would 
 allow me a little lock of lime for the land, it is a long time 
 now since it got any : and a barrel or two of lime would be 
 
1852.] THE EXECUTION. 287 
 
 no harm to whitewash the dwelHng house also, just to tidy 
 it up a little for your honour's inspection.' 
 
 ' By the bye,' said I, somewhat suddenly, keeping my 
 eye steadily fixed upon his countenance, * did you ever get 
 those two iron gates I promised you some time ago ? ' 
 
 ' Troth I never did,' answered the man, growing a little 
 pale. 
 
 ' Why not } ' 
 
 ' Well, indeed, now your honour, I don't know, barrin' 
 that I was loth to give trouble, and you with so many 
 things to think about.' 
 
 'Oh! never mind that, I am always ready to fulfil my 
 promises. I was thinking that perhaps you might have a 
 little delicacy in asking me for the gates after what yoii 
 said in the barn that night, when the boys were all met to- 
 gether — the night I was tried for my life and condemned, 
 you know — so I thought I would send for you and remind 
 you of my promise about the gates.' 
 
 The man turned deadly pale, and stared at me with a 
 fixed look of terror, speechless and almost motionless. 
 
 ' Don't you remember,' continued I, ' that night in the 
 
 big barn, when you, and Pat C , and Bryan R , 
 
 and Hugh M , and all the other true boys of the right 
 
 sort, met to have me tried, and you condemned me to be 
 shot and put out of the way .'' " Guilty, boys," says you — 
 "he must die !" and Hodgens and Thornton were there that 
 same night ; and you remember after I was condemned, 
 and all comfortably settled about me, you told the boys, as 
 you sat at the head of the table as president, with the 
 black cap like one of the judges upon your head, " Boys," 
 says you, " don't shoot him until after next Thursday any 
 how; he promised me two iron gates on that day, and I 
 may as well get them out of him before he dies ! " And 
 then the boys all began to laugh, and told you to be quick 
 
288 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xviii. 
 
 about it, as not a day would they give me after that ; and 
 don't you remember the sport you had when the girl 
 brought in fresh whisky and hot water, and all the funny 
 stories the rest of them told about shooting all tyrant 
 landlords and agents ; and ' 
 
 Suddenly as I was rapidly proceeding with my tale, my 
 eye still fixed upon him, I saw his countenance assume a 
 glazed look; he tottered for a moment, endeavouring to 
 balance himself as he stood, but losing all consciousness, 
 his muscles relaxed, his whole frame quivered, and falling 
 back against the wall, he dropped in a fainting fit upon the 
 floor! 
 
 My clerk ran to his assistance ; but recovering himself 
 quickly, he stared for a few moments wildly around him, 
 and then sat down upon a chair which was near, to hear 
 my final sentence. 
 
 ' You see I know all about you,' said I, in a grave and 
 altered tone. ' You must not remain upon the estate ; if 
 you give up possession of your farm, and leave the country 
 whenever I require it, I will probably never bring up this 
 matter against you. If you refuse to leave, you must take 
 the consequences.' 
 
 ' I will go, Sir,' replied the man, ' whenever you require it.' 
 
 I left the room. He soon recovered himself, and 
 returned to his home, with what feelings may be con- 
 jectured. 
 
 In a somewhat similar manner, though with scenes less 
 striking, I had interviews with many of the several con- 
 spirators, concerning whom I had received information 
 from Thornton ; and it was manifest from their counten- 
 ances and admissions, and even by their denials, when I 
 travelled in the least out of the correct path, that the 
 account the informer had given me was in each case 
 substantially true. They could not conceive, and to this 
 
i8S2.] THE EXECUTION. 289 
 
 day they are wJiolly ignorant (they will be surprised should 
 this book ever fall into their hands) of the source from 
 which my information was derived, and perceiving- that I 
 really knew a great deal, they fancied I knew much more 
 than I did, and their fears persuaded them I could brino- 
 them to justice any moment I pleased. Having once 
 established this influence over them, I had but little trouble 
 in inducing them to quit the estate for good ; in fact they 
 were themselves in a hurry to be off I therefore allowed 
 them to. take their stock and crop, and all that they had 
 (forbidding only that they should sell their usual tenant- 
 right interest), and to pass away quietly out of the country. 
 Their vacated farms were re-let to new tenants of less 
 exceptional character. 
 
 The whole of these events had a wonderful effect in 
 Farney. The Ribbonmen and their abettors had been every- 
 where worsted and unsuccessful. After sixteen months' con- 
 stant watching, they had been unable to get a shot at me 
 without exposing themselves to the most imminent danger 
 of being shot dead upon the spot themselves — a risk they 
 by no means fancied. They had then turned their atten- 
 tion to the murder of Paddy M'Ardle ; but here also they 
 had failed, and in preparing, as they thought with safety to 
 themselves, ' to blow him to shivers ' with the heavily loaded 
 blunderbuss, two of the conspirators had been arrested and 
 hanged. Four or five more had been confined for a long 
 time in prison upon suspicion, and others had been tried 
 for their lives; and, though ultimately acquitted, they had 
 never recovered the loss of money and character sustained 
 in their imprisonment and trial. And now eleven more of 
 their number, who had hitherto escaped the immediate 
 action of the law, but who they themselves well knew 
 were guilty, were forced to leave their farms, and go forth 
 wanderers upon the earth. In short, as Paddy M«Ardle 
 
 U 
 
290 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap, xviii, 
 
 described it, 'we had bagged a dozen or more of them, 
 whilst they had never taken a feather out of one of us ! ' 
 
 All who are well acquainted with Ireland know the 
 immense effect which success, or the reverse, has upon the 
 confidence of the multitude. Indeed it is a feeling by no 
 means confined to Ireland ; and seeing that in everything 
 the conspirators had been outwitted, worsted, or punished, 
 the remainder of the sympathisers gave up their losing 
 game, and returned to industrial pursuits. 
 
 In a very short time — so short that I could scarcely 
 realise the change — the whole tone of the estate had 
 altered ; industry and activity took the place of apathy and 
 indolence. Those who at one time were fired with senti- 
 ments that Ireland would soon become ' free,' as they chose 
 to call it, and all landlords and agents banished off the 
 land, returned with a suddenness, which only those who 
 know Ireland well could believe, to the patient labour of 
 their farms ; a wholesome acknowledgment of the power 
 of the law pervaded the mass of the population ; the 
 Ribbonmen suddenly collapsed or disappeared out of the 
 country ; their sympathisers no longer seemed to take any 
 interest in their fate ; and order, good feeling, and comfort 
 in the management of this large and important district 
 prevailed over the length and breadth of the Bath Estate, 
 and, with one or two interruptions, consequent upon that 
 greatest of all Ireland's curses, a contested election, which 
 creates more general ill-feeling than any other incident I 
 have ever known, have continued so ever since. 
 
 It is now twelve years since the last of the events I have 
 described above took place. Since then I have never 
 carried arms, nor have I thought any protection to my 
 person necessary. My friends have sometimes urged upon 
 me that my conduct in this respect was rash. I did not, 
 and I do not think so. My present impression is that I 
 shall never carry them again. 
 
1S52.] PATSY AFDERMOT. 29 1 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PATSY M^DERMOT. 
 
 There was nothing which surprised me more during the 
 whole of this period of anxiety and excitement, than the 
 perfect trust which appeared to be reposed in me by the 
 peasantry, at the very time when it was considered by a 
 large party amongst them that I ought to be put to death. 
 
 It is true the desire to ' put me off the walk ' did not, in 
 any case, appear to be the result of private hatred or 
 revenge ; it seemed to be the consequence of a fixed belief 
 that, in demanding ' rent for the Saxon,' I was necessarily 
 a tyrant and oppressor, and that if I, and such as I, were 
 laid low, ' they would have the country to themselves, as of 
 old.' Strange as such an idea may now appear to be, and 
 absurd as in reality it was, yet there is no doubt that it 
 existed, and that it was the main-spring of the conspiracy 
 against my life. 
 
 But at the very time that these efforts were being made 
 to effect my murder, the most unbounded confidence ap- 
 peared to be reposed in me by those who in difficulties 
 sought assistance or advice : and I should scarcely be 
 credited were I to tell of the large sums of money which, 
 from time to time, I was earnestly besought to take care 
 of, and the strange secrets of which I was made the de- 
 pository. 
 
 I remember on one occasion remonstrating with an 
 apparently pauper peasant, who, expecting that ' the big war 
 
 u 2 
 
292 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 would soon begin,' entreated me to receive from him a sum 
 of 200/. in sovereigns, in order that it might be safely kept. 
 He asked no interest for it; he did not even require a 
 written acknowledgment for its receipt ; all he wanted was 
 that I would take it and keep it for him. ' It would make 
 my mind 'asy,' he said, ' if once I knew it was safe in your 
 honour's hands.' 
 
 * But,' replied I, ' you know well the Ribbonmen have 
 sworn to shoot me, and perhaps if I were down your money 
 would not be so easily forthcoming.' 
 
 * Oh, great luck to your honour ! ' replied the man, ' I 
 have no fear of that. I always said you would bate them 
 blackguards yet ; never fear but the luck will stick to you 
 still, and ye'll get the better of them in the end, with all 
 their devil's devices ; but sure if you were down yourself, 
 wouldn't the money be safe enough in the office, and I'd 
 have it as big as ever when I wanted it' 
 
 ' Why not put it in the bank } ' I asked ; ' it would 
 surely be much safer there : and, besides, they would give 
 you interest for its use.' 
 
 ' Troth, and that is the very thing I'm afraid of,' replied 
 this accomplished financier ; * it's spejidmg it themselves 
 they'd be, or may be lending it to some one else, and then 
 it wouldn't be 'asy to come at when I'd want it most 
 Just lock it up yourself in the office safe, and there is no 
 place I'd be so sure of coming at it all right again.' 
 
 The importance of obtaining the identical sovereigns 
 back again which he was now anxious I should receive, 
 appeared to take a strong hold upon his mind. 
 
 I refused, however, in this, as in all similar cases ; and 
 he was compelled to decide between the bank and — what 
 he conceived to be the more secure place of deposit — the 
 thatch of his own cabin. The latter, I afterwards under- 
 stood, had got the preference. 
 
1852.] PATSY M^DERMOT. 293 
 
 But it frequently happened that far more delicate trusts 
 than those of a financial nature were committed to my 
 care ; and as in the case of Mary Shea and Alice M'^Mahon, 
 so in others also, I became the depository of little secrets 
 of a very different class, and especially amongst the in- 
 tending emigrants. In no case, I admit, did they consult 
 me, unless they thought they could obtain some valuable 
 assistance ; but on such occasions they did not hesitate, in 
 the most open and unrestrained manner, to confide to me 
 all their hopes and fears. 
 
 An instance of this nature, and illustrative of what I 
 have stated, occurred about this period. 
 
 There was at that time a young man living on the 
 Bath Estate, named Patrick M''Dermot, or ' Patsy,' as he 
 was generally called in the country. He was an idle, rol- 
 licking, pleasant fellow, remarkably good-looking, and a 
 general favourite amongst the girls. Not a fair, nor a 
 wake, nor a race, nor a funeral, could go on with advantage 
 unless Patsy graced it with his presence. His father and 
 mother had died during the famine. They had held a 
 small plot of ground, about two acres, and a house or 
 cabin attached ; but not having been naturally of an indus- 
 trious disposition, they sank at once — as did thousands of 
 others — when ' the hungry year ' came upon them. Patsy 
 was only a 'slip of a boy' in 1847; but he was so hand- 
 some and good-natured, and of such a genial pleasant dis- 
 position, that he readily obtained the run of most of the 
 neighbours' houses; who, partly from pity, and' partly 
 because he seldom failed to enliven the social circle with 
 his presence, were always glad to grant him ' his bit and 
 sup ' whenever he chose to call in. 
 
 The natural indisposition to labour which Patsy had in- 
 herited from his father, was by no means amended by this 
 vagabond sort of life ; and he grew up, as I have stated, a 
 
294 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 good-looking, attractive youth, with manners superior to 
 most of the hard-working young men around him, but 
 without having acquired any habits of labour or steady 
 industry. 
 
 This was all very well, and proved to be a pleasant life 
 enough, so long as he was not forced to pay any rent what- 
 ever ; but when a firm demand was made, and a clear 
 understanding come to, that the rent must be paid or the 
 land surrendered, poor Patsy ' lost his presence of mind,' as 
 he expressed it, and frankly confessed he did not know 
 what to do. It was in this position of affairs that my first 
 interview occurred with Patsy M'"Dermot. 
 
 ' Well, M'^Dermot,' said I, as he appeared one day in 
 reply to a summons from my office, ' what are you going to 
 do } You owe four years' rent. Are you going to settle 
 the amount ? ' 
 
 ' Couldn't your honour call me " Patsy ? " ' replied he, 
 evading my question with adroitness ; ' it's a kindly sort 
 of name the neighbours has for me, and I'd know far 
 better how to spake to your honour if you was to use it 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' I have no objection,' I answered, ' and shall be happy 
 to call you Patsy in future ; but that does not affect my 
 question ; and I must know at once what your intentions 
 are, as I cannot allow you to remain in possession of your 
 land unless you come to some settlement about your 
 rent.' 
 
 ' For the matter of that,' replied Patsy, ' there are plenty 
 holding their land still, who owe as many years' rent as 
 I do.' 
 
 ' Quite true,' said I ; ' but I don't intend they shall do so 
 long.' 
 
 ' Maybe your honour won't find it so 'asy to put them 
 out of it as you think,' remarked Patsy. 
 
1852.] PATSY M^^DERMOT. 295 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' replied I ; ' and perhaps, also, I estimate 
 the difficulties of the situation quite as highly as you do. 
 But let other people take care of their own business, and 
 let me bring you back to yours, which you are so uncom- 
 monly quick at evading; once more — do you intend to 
 pay up, or to emigrate ? ' 
 
 * Your honour is mighty tight upon a poor desolate 
 orphan boy like me, without father or mother to care for 
 him,' answered Patsy, with a slight affectation of whimper 
 in his tone of voice. ' But truth is best,' continued he, 
 seeing this would not go down, ' and I may as well tell 
 you at once, that I haven't a ha'porth of goods in the 
 world, nor as much money this minute in my pocket as 
 would buy me a breakfast of Indian meal.' 
 
 ' And how have you lived up to this .'* ' I asked ; ' you 
 don't seem starved, or as if you had wanted anything ; 
 even your clothes are better than most people can afford 
 to wear these times. How have you got on so well 
 hitherto .-' ' 
 
 * Well, your honour,' replied Patsy, ' it would only be 
 troubling you too much, and takin' up your time to tell 
 you all about it ; but the neighbours was always good to 
 me, and the girls was kind and more than good, as they 
 always are ; and, what with one thing or another, I never 
 wanted up to this — that is always barrin' a trifle of cash. I 
 could get victuals and clothes 'asy enough ; but, somehow, 
 whenever I axed the loan of a few shillings, sorra farthing 
 there happened to be in the house just then, and I never 
 could get money to pay my rent. And now if your honour 
 takes the little place from me, maybe the neighbours 
 wouldn't be quite the same to me as they were ; and bedad 
 I'm tellin' no lie when I say that maybe the girls themselves 
 — good as they always were — wouldn't think me so comely 
 or clean-looking a chap as they always thought me before.' 
 
296 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 ' Nonsense, Patsy/ said I ; ' you know well half the girls 
 in the country are in love with you, and there is no such 
 favourite, I hear, in the Barony.' 
 
 ' Was your honour ever a bachelor ? ' asked Patsy with an 
 innocent lock, 
 
 ' To be sure I was,' replied I. 
 
 * And ye got married after a while I suppose } ' enquired 
 Patsy, still retaining his affected innocence. 
 
 ' Of course I did/ said I ; ' you know well I have a wife 
 and family.' 
 
 ' I was thinkin' as much,' rejoined Patsy with a reflective 
 air; 'and I was just turning in my mind whether your 
 honour ever remarked that the noble young ladies you would 
 be courtin' ever found out by any chance that you were 
 not nigh so handsome and clean-lookin' a young gentle- 
 man after your weddin' as what you was before it.' 
 
 * You are a shrewd fellow,' replied I laughing, ' and 
 uncommonly active at changing the venue from your own 
 case to that of someone else. But all this won't do ; 
 you must give me an answer — Will you pay up or 
 emigrate .'' ' 
 
 ' Well, well, now,' observed Patsy, scratching his head in 
 a puzzled manner, ' but your honour is mighty strict in 
 wanting to get a straight answer from a poor orphan boy 
 like me, that's not accustomed to give it : but sure I 
 suppose if you must have it, you must ; and as I have no 
 money to "pay up/' as you call it, and as I don't want to 
 put your honour to any trouble, I suppose I must only cross 
 the says like the rest of them, and seek my fortune in 
 America. And yet,' he continued, in an altered tone, ' I 
 think there is one girl, and only one, who would fret in 
 earnest after me. But it can't be helped, she must put up 
 with some other boy, for I'm not able to pay nor stay; 
 and I'd never ax her to bear the hardship of coming out 
 
1852.] PATSY M'^DERMOT. 297 
 
 with me even if she were willin' to do it — which in troth I 
 doubt she would be ; for the girls likes them best as can 
 always sail with a fair wind — why wouldn't they poor 
 things ? So when will your honour send me out ? I have no 
 money to pay for my passage, nor to buy a ha'porth for 
 the journey ; so I will give you up my little place freely, 
 and I only hope your honour will act by me like a gentle- 
 man, as no doubt you always won' 
 
 I told him that Lord Bath always wished those who 
 emigrated from his estate to go out comfortably, and that 
 I would provide for him as well as I could ; that he should 
 have a free passage to any port in America he pleased, 
 a respectable outfit, and a sovereign in his hand on 
 landing. 
 
 'Well, your honour,' observed Patsy, on hearing what 
 could be done for him, ' it's all very fair, and as much as I 
 could expect ; and the world will go harder with me than 
 ever it's done yet, if I don't knock as good a living out of 
 them chaps in America as ever I did in ould Ireland ; so 
 I will give you up my little place whenever your honour 
 wishes it, and — what is better— I'll give you my blessing 
 along with it. You may put me down for Boston' 
 
 About three or four days after my interview with Patsy, 
 a young woman came into my office ; and asking if she 
 could see me alone, she addressed me in a quick and 
 abrupt manner. 
 
 * Has Patsy M'^Dermot got a ticket } ' 
 
 * I don't know what you mean,' I answered. 
 
 * Has your honour given Patsy M^Dermot a ticket for 
 America .'' ' asked the girl. 
 
 ' I never give tickets,' said I ; ' but M^Dermot has ex- 
 pressed his intention to emigrate, and I have entered his 
 name upon the list ; he is to have a free passage to Boston 
 whenever he chooses to go.' 
 
298 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 ' To Boston ! ' exclaimed the girl, ' to Boston ? and why 
 to Boston ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' replied I ; ' I gave him his choice of any 
 port he wished to select, and I think he named Boston as 
 the one ; but I would as soon send him anywhere else. 
 I suppose you are his sister from your likeness to him .-' ' 
 
 ' It would be better for me maybe if I was,' observed 
 the girl, ' but I'm not, though the neighbours often said we 
 was like.' 
 
 When first the girl came into the room she had kept her 
 face partly concealed, by pressing her shawl up to her 
 mouth ; but in her anxiety to obtain information concern- 
 ing Patsy she had gradually lowered her hand, so that her 
 full features were now before me. She was a pure Celt, both 
 in her appearance and manner. Her hair was black as jet, 
 her eyes dark and flashing, and as rapid as lightning in 
 their motion ; her nose — though it did not warrant the un- 
 pleasant designation of being ' cocked ' — yet had certainly a 
 tendency upwards ; and her short upper lip and small chin 
 appeared to have a similar inclination. I have heard it 
 remarked that the distinctive difference beween an English 
 and purely Irish face is, that the former looks as if the 
 hand of nature had been passed over it downwards, when 
 coming into the world, whilst the Irish face looks as if, on 
 that occasion, the hand had been gently passed over the 
 features in a contrary or upward direction. 
 
 The features of the girl before me seemed exactly to 
 answer to this latter description. She was decidedly hand- 
 some, intelligent, and vivacious ; but it was evident that 
 the hand of nature had been passed, very gently, but still 
 in an upward direction over her countenance. 
 
 It struck me at once, from the excessive anxiety of the 
 young woman to obtain information concerning Patsy, that 
 as she was not his sister, she was probably the girl to 
 
1852.] PATSY MCDERMOT. 299 
 
 whom he had alluded as the ' only one who would fret in 
 earnest after him.' So, without appearing to take any 
 peculiar interest in the case, I merely asked her name. 
 
 * Catherine Farnan,' answered the girl ; ' why does your 
 honour want to know it .'' ' 
 
 ' You told me,' I replied, ' that you were not Patsy 
 M'^Dermot's sister, and I wanted merely to enquire why 
 you are specially interested in ascertaining what port he 
 goes to. If you have any good reason for wishing to know 
 this, and if Patsy won't tell you himself, come to me, and I 
 will tell you where and when he goes.' 
 
 ' Your honour called him " Patsy," ' observed the girl ; 
 ' did you ever know him before now .-• ' 
 
 * No,' replied I ; ' that is, I never saw him to my know- 
 ledge until he came before me the other day when sent for. 
 I was forced to bring him to some settlement, as he owed 
 four years' rent, and I could not get him to pay anything ; 
 but I hear he is always called Patsy in the country, be- 
 cause he is such a favourite, and especially amongst the 
 girls.' 
 
 Her countenance changed a little as I said this ; but she 
 was silent for a few moments. She then said firmly, but 
 with a strange suppressed energy — 
 
 * He might have a nice place, and plenty in it of the 
 best as long as he lived, if he would only once spake the 
 word ; but he didn't spake it yet, and now I suppose he 
 never will. Well, let him go ; I'd die sooner than I'd tell 
 him!' 
 
 Passion was in her countenance and resolution in her 
 manner as she said this; and, without another word, or 
 even a motion of farewell to me, she suddenly left the 
 room. 
 
 I could not but see exactly how matters stood; but I 
 did not know how to remedy the case unless by revealing 
 
300 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE, [chap, xix, 
 
 the young lady's feelings to the object of her affections. 
 And this I did not think it fair to do, as they had certainly 
 been inadvertently betrayed to me. I resolved, however, 
 on my next interview with Patsy to try if I could not give 
 him a hint as to how matters really were. I made en- 
 quiries, accordingly, about the girl, and found that her 
 father was owner of some eight or nine acres of land, on 
 which he had a comfortable house ; that he was compara- 
 tively rich, and had saved some money, and was, on the 
 whole, well-to-do in the world. He had one only child, his 
 daughter Catherine. Her mother had died soon after her 
 birth, and he, having been much attached to his wife, had 
 never married again. Catherine, accordingly, was sole 
 mistress of the establishment. Her father dearly loved her, 
 and in some respects she was a spoilt child. But she also 
 dearly loved her father ; and, though wayward and quick- 
 tempered towards others, she was always kind and gentle 
 towards him. She felt he had no female companion but 
 herself; and that perhaps it was partly for her sake that in 
 after life — when his grief for his wife had worn off — he had 
 not married another, lest he should bring in one who must 
 necessarily be put over her in the house. Accordingly, 
 with the quick wit of her race — mainly on her father's ac- 
 count and in repayment for his self-denial, and partly on 
 her own account, lest he should become lonesome and 
 supersede her — she did her utmost to render her father 
 happy ; and when this is truly done towards man what 
 woman can ever fail .-' 
 
 But Catherine soon began to have other objects, hopes, 
 and aspirations besides those of attending on her father. She 
 never neglected him or his household for a moment, and the 
 latter was well known as a model of neatness, comfort, and 
 thrift ; but, as she grew up to womanhood, and her beauty 
 and engaging qualities became developed, she naturally 
 
1852.] PATSY M<:DERM0T. 3OI 
 
 attracted many suitors amongst the young men of the dis- 
 trict. She was considered in the country as an heiress of 
 much wealth ; and happy would the ' boy ' be considered 
 who could secure her affections and her farm. 
 
 But Catherine knew her good looks and her position 
 quite as well, and valued them quite as highly, as her 
 lovers. 
 
 Her chief amusement was satire. When her work was 
 over on a summer's evening, she would go out 'just for a 
 little walk ' in the green lane near her house ; and, strange 
 to say, she generally met one or two of ' the boys ' of the 
 neighbourhood, who happened to come out about the same 
 time, and to walk in the same place. It was near her 
 father's house, so all was right in point of propriety; and 
 Catherine enjoyed playing off her country lovers against 
 each other, and hitting them right and left in her quick- 
 witted and vivacious manner. 
 
 Amongst these wanderers after Catherine, Patsy used 
 sometimes to come. But he did not care to be so often 
 with her as others. The fact was. Patsy was not a marry- 
 ing man. He found his course of life so pleasant as a 
 bachelor, that he had just then no inclination to change it. 
 He was known to have a ' nice little place of his own,' and 
 Patsy prudently kept his own counsel about not having 
 paid any rent, and the consequent accumulation of arrears. 
 He was handsome, and always pleasant ; and like many a 
 bachelor in high life, under not very dissimilar financial 
 circumstances, he was a capital diner-out in his own more 
 humble way ; and he lived most joyously on the fruits of 
 his good looks. Under these peculiar circumstances, and 
 for private reasons besides, which Patsy did not choose to 
 disclose, he had no desire whatever to lay siege to the af- 
 fections of the heiress, but contented himself with such a 
 modest amount of attention as would secure him a welcome 
 
302 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE, [chap. xix. 
 
 whenever any amusement was on foot at Catherine's hos- 
 pitable home. 
 
 But it sometimes happens that those who show least 
 attention to an heiress, attract her special observation ; 
 and Catherine being naturally of a quick and jealous 
 nature, became quite annoyed at the easy way in which 
 the chief beau amongst the young men of the country 
 treated her. She set herself accordingly to win him. In 
 undertaking a task of the kind — which in the first instance 
 was done purely from pique — she soon became interested 
 beyond what she had originally intended ; and observing 
 the better manners, quiet deportment, and admitted good 
 looks of Patsy M"'Dermot, she was unintentionally caught 
 by the very man whom she had intended to capture. 
 Patsy saw all this, and knew it quite as well, or far better, 
 than she did. With all his apparently careless habits, he 
 was a shrewd and thoughtful fellow ; and in truth he was 
 rather afraid that Catherine would be too many for him if 
 he were bound to her in matrimonial links. He admitted 
 the beauty and attractions both of her person and her 
 place ; but her temper was high, and her wit quick, so that 
 — as Patsy acknowledged — ' he would be afeard of his life to 
 vex her.' And accordingly, though he perfectly saw, from 
 her manner towards him, how matters really stood, yet he 
 kept a respectful distance — always going there accompanied 
 by others, and taking care to avoid anything which could 
 lead to a disclosure of her feelings. 
 
 Affairs were in this state when my interview with Patsy 
 occurred ; and, if the truth must be told, I believe his 
 readiness to give up his place and emigrate was accelerated 
 by an undefined feeling which came over him occasionally, 
 that if he stayed long in the country he would have to 
 marry Catherine whether he liked it or not ; as everyone 
 told him she was such a self-willed girl that ' Faix she'd 
 
1852.] PATSY M^DERMOT. 3O3 
 
 marry any man she pleased, and do what she Hked with 
 him afterwards ! ' 
 
 Under these discouraging circumstances, Patsy thought 
 prudence the better part of valour, and he was by no 
 means unwilling to take the opportunity now afforded him 
 to fly. 
 
 For about a fortnight after Catherine's appearance and 
 abrupt exit from my office, I neither saw nor heard any- 
 thing of either party ; but at the end of that period Patsy 
 came to me, and told me he was prepared to go. 
 
 ' Where to .'' ' I asked. ' Are you going to Boston, as you 
 told me before .-* ' 
 
 ' Whisht your honour, spake 'asy! ' replied Patsy, dropping 
 his voice to a low key, * that was only a make-believe ; it's 
 to New York your honour must send me. I never intended 
 to go to Boston at all' 
 
 ' And why did you name Boston to me in the first 
 instance.''' I enquired. 
 
 * Why ye see,' replied Patsy, a little confused, ' I didn't 
 v/ant the neighbours to know anything at all about it. 
 When a poor boy goes oat to seek his fortune anew, it's 
 better no one should know anything about him before- 
 hand.' 
 
 * That depends on what sort of a " poor boy " he has been,' 
 said I. ' But do you know, Patsy, I doubt if you are wise 
 in leaving the country at all; a good-looking, likely chap, 
 such as you are, might have plenty of girls glad to take 
 him; and if you got anything of a fortune it would be 
 easy to clear off the little debt upon the place, and you 
 might live well enough in the old country yet' 
 
 Patsy watched me attentively all the while I was speak- 
 ing, and at last he said with a sly look, but without moving 
 a muscle of his face — 
 
 * I heard tell she was with your honour since I saw you "i ' 
 
304 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 I could hardly keep my countenance, as I felt that I 
 was found out. I kept it, however, and replied — 
 
 ' You heard who was with me ? ' 
 
 ' It's your honour's self that knows well what I mean,' 
 said Patsy, ' for all you look so grave as if you was going- 
 to a burying ; but in troth it's no go this time neither. I'll 
 tell your honour a secret — whisper! ' and he put his hand 
 to the side of his mouth, as if to prevent some imaginary 
 person from hearing the announcement of his solemn but 
 secret conviction, ' whisper ! your honour, I'm ashamed to 
 confess it to anyone but yourself, but by this and by that, 
 r^Ji afcard of her ! ' 
 
 I could not help laughing outright as he committed this 
 awful secret to my keeping. 
 
 ' Well, perhaps you are right ; away with you to New 
 York or wherever else you please, and no one shall know 
 your destination from me until you are gone six months 
 at all events. After that you must look out for your- 
 self 
 
 * All right, your honour,' replied Patsy, apparently much 
 relieved, ' only give me six months' start of her ; and if 
 she ever ketches me after, it's not yourself I'll blame.' 
 
 Patsy left accordingly with an order for New York, tell- 
 ing everyone, as he did so, that Boston was his destina- 
 tion, as he had often heard his mother say that a sister's 
 husband lived there, and ' got mighty rich by keeping a 
 grand hotel,' where he hoped to have free quarters for 
 the remainder of his life, and die there eatin' and drinkin' 
 and no one to hinder him. 
 
 About a year after the occurrence I have related, and 
 long after Patsy and his affairs had completely escaped my 
 memory, a young woman presented herself in my office. 
 Her dress was unusually good, for one evidently of the 
 peasant class ; her countenance was intelligent, and her 
 
1852.] PATSY M'-DERMOT. 305 
 
 manner and appearance far beyond the ordinary type. I 
 thought I recognised her features ; but I had been in 
 communication with so many thousands of people since 1 
 had seen her, that I could not remember who she was. 
 She addressed me in a quiet manner — 
 
 ' Could I see you inside — in your private room, Sir ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, if you wish it.' And I rose and led the way. 
 I asked her to take a seat, which she did ; and then throw- 
 ing back a veil which she wore over a somewhat quaint hat, 
 she said, 
 
 ' Perhaps you don't remember me. Sir } ' 
 
 ' I am ashamed to say I do not,' replied I ; ' I know I 
 have seen your face before, but I don't recollect where, or 
 under what circumstances.' 
 
 * Do you remember Catherine Farnan .'' ' 
 
 The whole affair between Patsy and her rushed back 
 upon my memory in a moment, and I exclaimed, rather 
 suddenly — 
 
 ' Oh ! yes, I know all about you now. Is there anything 
 I can do for you .' ' 
 
 ' And zi'/mt do you know about me } ' asked the girl, 
 raising her handsome and flashing eyes, and looking me 
 straight in the face. 
 
 It was my turn now to look a little confused ; however 
 I merely said, 
 
 ' Are not you the young woman that I mistook for 
 Patsy M°Dermot's sister, when you asked me where he 
 was going, and were so surprised when I told you it was to 
 Boston .'' ' 
 
 ' I see you remember me,' observed the girl quietly, 
 her suspicions being calmed by my reply. ' But did he go 
 to Boston .'' ' 
 
 ' He did not' 
 
 ' Where did he go .^ ' 
 
 X 
 
3o6 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 ' He went to New York,' I answered, feeling now fully 
 absolved from my promise of six months' secresy to 
 Patsy. 
 
 ' I thought so,' she observed in a reflective tone ; and 
 she was silent for a few moments ; she then said calmly, 
 ' I buried father last week.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I did not know he was dead. I suppose 
 then you have come to consult me as to what you had best 
 do about the farm. May I ask have you been married 
 since I saw you ? ' 
 
 ' No/ replied the girl, ' nor I won't marry in this 
 country. I have made up my mind to sell all I have 
 here — for all father had he left to me — and I'll go out to 
 New York at once.' 
 
 * To New York ! ' I exclaimed ; ' why to New York .^ 
 
 You do lit mean .'' ' 
 
 ' I do mean,' said the girl, interrupting me, ' though your 
 honour did not let on about it even to myself — and I am 
 obliged to you for that same ; yet sure enough you know all 
 about it just as well as I do. Whether Patsy ever cared for 
 me or not I don't know ; but this I know — I never cared for 
 anyone but Patsy. I'm determined to see him in New 
 York, for I hear from others as well as from yourself that 
 he is there. I am not going out poor, for father had a bag 
 of gold sovereigns that he kept secret, always expecting 
 that " the big war " would come on, and then he'd have 
 some money to leave the country. I have two hundred gold 
 sovereigns with me now, and plenty of goods besides at 
 home, which I can sell. So — as I said — I won't go out 
 poor. If Patsy is married when I go out, why then I can 
 set up some business for myself, or perhaps come back to 
 the old country again — for I'll never share myself or the 
 gold sovereigns with anyone else. But if Patsy is of the 
 
1852.] PATSY M'^DERMOT. 307 
 
 same mind as I am now, why I'll take care and let him 
 know it some way or other. What's the use of two people 
 being unhappy for life on account of a false shame ? I tried 
 that long enough, but I've got more sense now.' 
 
 * I think your resolution an excellent one,' said I, ' sound 
 common sense ; and I have no doubt it will be appreciated 
 by Patsy. He was always a light-headed young fellow, 
 who liked living amongst his friends, and amusing himself 
 up and down in preference to steady industry. I hope if 
 you meet him in New York, and if matters turn out as 
 you and all of us must wish, that you will cure him of 
 those idle habits.' 
 
 ' Maybe I won't be able to find him after all!' exclaimed 
 the girl — with a look of intense pain, as if the idea had 
 suddenly shot across her mind. ' Maybe I'll never see him 
 again ! Oh ! what would I do if, after my long weary jour- 
 ney, I'd never see Patsy again .-• ' 
 
 She sat silent for a moment as if almost stupefied at the 
 reflection ; and then recovering her previous train of thought 
 with a rapidity and vivacity almost marvellous, she burst 
 out in a joyous and triumphant tone — 
 
 * But if once I do ketch him, won't I give it to him ! well, 
 well — no matther! But if I won't give it to Patsy in 
 earnest, when once I ketch him, you may say my name 
 isn't Catherine Farnan ! ' 
 
 She rose, held out her hand to mc ; and half crying at 
 the possibility of being unable to find him, and laughing 
 almost hysterically at the idea of what she would do to 
 him if she did ' ketch him,' she left the apartment. 
 
 Her uncle came in next day to make some arrangement 
 about her farm : — 
 
 * Catherine seems quite determined upon going,' I re- 
 marked to him when we were alone. 
 
 ' She is. Sir. She has had her mind made up to it this 
 
308 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 long time, and nothing but unwillingness to leave the old 
 man kept her here until now.' 
 
 ' Did her father know of her regard for Patsy ? ' I en- 
 quired. 
 
 ' He knew it well/ replied her uncle ; 'and good cause he 
 had too, as it was that broke him down in the end, though 
 Katty did her best to satisfy him. He was always be- 
 moaning the fancy she took for " that idle spalpeen," as he 
 used to call Patsy M'"Dermot, and wanting her to marry 
 some of the quiet dacent boys in the neighbourhood.' 
 
 * Had she many offers ? ' asked I. 
 
 ' Is it offers, your honour .-' ' exclaimed he ; 'as many as 
 you'd count apples on a tree. It's jostling one another to 
 come near her they were ; but faix she would have none of 
 them. " Katty," says he, " why ain't you willin' to take up 
 with some of the dacent boys in the neighbourhood, and 
 not be always thinkin' of that idle chap that's gone out of 
 the country .-' There's Mick Callan, and Jemmy M''Mahon, 
 or Billy Cunningham, better than either — clean, neat, well- 
 to-do boys, all of them ; and why wouldn't you put up with 
 one of them like an honest young girl as you are ? There 
 is two hundred goold guineas, as you well know, in the old 
 purse up in the thatch, and sure you are as welcome as the 
 flowers of May to take them — all for your own ; and I'll 
 give you the little place besides, dear, and all that's on it, 
 if you'll only marry Billy Cunningham that's always askin' 
 me after you ; and Mr. Trench will put his name in the 
 book instead of mine — that's little or no good now. And 
 Katty, dear, I'd lie 'asy in my grave if I only knew you 
 war married to Billy for good and all." 
 
 ' " Whisht, father, whisht," Katty would say, " I can't 
 marry Billy Cunningham, or anyone else either ; and you 
 know the reason why well enough. And don't be tellin' me 
 you can't lie 'asy in your grave, for I'd be sorry to think you 
 
1852.] PATSY M^DERMOT. 3O9 
 
 was walkin' and un'asy after you was buried. Father dear, 
 I'll never lave you while you live, and sure that ought to 
 be enough, and not talk to me about walkin' after you was 
 dead." " Well," says the old man, " Katty dear, I'll never 
 say any more about it, and you'll have my blessin' what- 
 ever you do, for you've been a good child, ever-and-all to me. 
 So do what you plase after I'm gone, and it's not long I'll 
 trouble you. The two hundred goold guineas is your own, 
 Katty, and the house and place, and all I have ; and plase 
 yourself with it, and my blessin' rest upon you my darlin' ; 
 and my curse upon the man, whether he be far or near, 
 that ever does you wrong." And with that he turned in 
 his bed, for the poor man was mighty weak, and had been 
 lying a couple of days before, and he just gave a long 
 breath and never spoke after. The priest was sent for and 
 did all the Church could do, and the doctor came soon after 
 that, and said there was no more to be done in his line, 
 and troth he said true enough, for he died that same night 
 before morning.' 
 
 ' A sad story,' said I ; * but I am glad he gave his 
 daughter his blessing before he died. And so now she is 
 off to America to seek Patsy M'^Dermot that has taken 
 so strong a hold upon her, though he hardly knew it him- 
 self.' 
 
 'Just that, Sir,' replied the uncle; 'I did my best with 
 her, but it was all to no use. I even told her at the wake 
 that maybe her father wouldn't stay 'asy in his grave if she 
 left the old country; but it was all no use — she would go. 
 She said she had his blessin', and he was sure to lie 'asy 
 enough. She bid me not sell the little place till she'd 
 write herself from America ; as maybe, if she failed to 
 ketch Patsy, she'd like to come back and die here. So I 
 hope your honour will let the little farm rest awhile in my 
 
310 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xix. 
 
 name, and I'll pay the rent regular, and be a good tenant 
 as ever her father was before.' 
 
 ' Well, let it be so,' said I. ' The case is a singular one, 
 and I would not wish to put it out of her power to come 
 back and live and die here, if her mission to America 
 should turn out a failure.' 
 
 ' God bless you, Sir,' replied he ; 'if anything would keep 
 the old man 'asy it would be that. I don't think he'll ever 
 walk when he hears that the little place isn't sold to a 
 stranger.' 
 
 Catherine Farnan left Ireland soon after the above con- 
 versation, and she has never since returned. I heard that 
 she did 'ketch' Patsy in New York. He was still a 
 bachelor, and living the same pleasant idle life that he 
 loved to pass in Ireland. Patsy, as might have been ex- 
 pected, succumbed to his inevitable fate soon after the 
 arrival of Catherine. And though some of his former boon 
 companions whispered that ' he was afeard of her ' still ; yet 
 she wielded her power well ; and with a firm and steady 
 eye to the benefit of her handsome, though somewhat 
 frolicsome husband. Her uncle announced to me with a 
 triumphant smile, that ' she did ketch him in the end sure 
 enough.' And doubtless — to use her own expression — 
 ' she gave it to him well* She gave him all she had to 
 give ; her ' two hundred goold guineas,' her handsome per- 
 son, and her sweetest smile, and above all, the true, chaste, 
 unbounded love of a warm and faithful Irish heart. Patsy, 
 I hope, still lives, a happy monument of what a spirited 
 Irish girl can do when she sets herself in earnest about it. 
 
1857.] GEASHILL MANOR. 31I 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 GEASHILL MANOR. 
 
 In the spring of the year 1857, a proposition was conveyed 
 to me — in the first instance by Lieutenant-General Portei, 
 the confidential friend of Lord Digby, and afterwards by 
 Mr. Brewster (now Lord Chancellor of Ireland) — that his 
 lordship was desirous of obtaining my services in the 
 management of his extensive estates in the King's County. 
 After some preliminary correspondence, it was arranged 
 that I should meet Lord Digby in Dublin in the month of 
 May with a view of settling details. An interview accord- 
 ingly took place, when all matters being finally agreed on 
 between us, I was installed as Lord Digby's agent. It 
 was also arranged that my son, Thomas Weldon Trench, 
 should be joint agent with me, and make the Castle of 
 Geashill his residence. 
 
 The circumstances under which his lordship succeeded 
 to this somewhat remarkable estate were peculiar. The 
 barony of Geashill has long been in possession of the noble 
 family of Digby. The bounds of the estate are co-terminal 
 with those of the ancient barony, the whole of which belongs 
 to Lord Digby. The barony, or estate, contains about 
 31,000 acres, 5,000 of which may be considered as deep red 
 bog. The remainder consists of arable, pasture, and wood ; 
 of which last there is a considerable extent. 
 
 The Digby family derive their title to this estate from 
 the only daughter of Gerald, Lord Offaly, eldest son of the 
 
3 I 2 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 Earl of Kildare. This nobleman was born on December 
 28, 1559, and died 1580.* He had an only daughter, Let- 
 tice, who married Sir Robert Digby of Coleshill, in War- 
 wickshire. He died in 161 8 ; but his wife, Lady Digby, 
 laid claim to the barony of Ofifaly, and the estates of her 
 grandfather, the eleventh Earl of Kildare, as heir general ; 
 the cause, however, was decided against her ; and in order 
 to settle this difference, James I. created her Baroness of 
 Ofifaly for her life, and awarded to her and her heirs under 
 the Great Seal of England, on August 11, 1619, the manor 
 of Geashill and the lands of the monastery of Killeigh, 
 comprising the whole barony of Geashill, in the King's 
 County. The castle — some remains of which still exist — 
 was besieged by Lord Clanmalier, in the year 1642. He 
 wrote several letters to Lady Ofifaly, in which he generally 
 designated himself, ' Your loving cousin,' but in which he 
 threatened to ' burn the whole town, kill all the Protes- 
 tants, and spare neither man, woman, nor child,' unless the 
 castle was surrendered to him. Lady Ofifaly, who was re- 
 siding in it at the time, wrote some beautiful and remark- 
 able letters to ' her loving cousin ' in reply, declining to 
 surrender her castle.f Lord Clanmalier then besieged it, 
 but he failed in his attempt, and her ladyship was relieved 
 by Lord Lisle, son of the Earl of Leicester, then Lord- 
 Lieutenant of Ireland, accompanied by Sir Charles Coote, 
 with 120 foot and 300 horse. Soon after this, her castle 
 being further threatened by the Dempsies of Clanmalier, 
 her ladyship retired to Coleshill, in Warwickshire, where 
 she died in 1658, and was buried in the church there. Her 
 eldest son, Robert, was created Lord Digby of Geashill, 
 from whom, by direct descent, the present lord derives his 
 title to the barony. 
 
 * See the ' Earls of Kildare and their Ancestors, ' by the Marquis of Kildare, 
 p. 227. + Ibid. pp. 230-232. 
 
iSs7.] GEASHIIX MANOR. 313 
 
 The late Earl Digby rarely visited his Irish estate, 
 though it had been in his possession for upwards of sixty 
 years. But he was a liberal and generous, though perhaps 
 somewhat injudicious, landlord, and he intended well and 
 kindly by his tenantry. Living in England in his splendid 
 residence at Sherborne, surrounded by one of the noblest 
 parks and finest estates in the empire, and having the full 
 command of all that wealth could give, he believed that he 
 was doing his duty by his Irish tenantry in granting them 
 long and advantageous leases. Leaving them in other 
 respects almost entirely to themselves, he took no further 
 trouble, and enquired but little into the state of his pro- 
 perty at Geashill, 
 
 But Earl Digby did not know, that in granting these 
 advantageous leases for lives and periods extending far 
 beyond the probable term of his own life, he was exceed- 
 ing his powers, and making engagements to which his heir- 
 at-law had solid grounds of objection. When, therefore, the 
 late earl died, without having ever mentioned his cousin, 
 the heir to his title and Irish estates, in his will — and having 
 left his vast English estates, the princely family residence, 
 and more than a million of money, away from him — the 
 present lord, who was legal heir to the Irish property, most 
 naturally and fairly considered, that although the late earl 
 had a perfect right to leave his English domains and his 
 vast sums of ready money to any person he pleased,* yet 
 he had no right, moral or legal, to lease away his Irish pro- 
 perty (settled as it was absolutely on the present lord — and 
 in which he had only a life interest) for about two thirds of 
 its real value. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Lord Digby determined to 
 
 * The late Earl Digby left his noble estate and domains in Dorsetshire, and 
 the greater part of his vast funded property, to his nephew, Mr. George Digby 
 Wingfield, now Mr. George Digby Wingfield Digby. 
 
314 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 act upon his legal rights, and to break the leases which his 
 predecessor had illegally granted, leaving the tenants to 
 look for redress and compensation to the executors and 
 successors to the enormous fortune of the late earl. 
 
 It may readily be supposed that circumstances so pecu- 
 liar as these created considerable anxiety in the district. 
 The tenantry, many of them large and respectable land- 
 holders, now learned, for the first time, that their leases 
 were good for nothing in law. They had been duly 
 * signed, sealed, and delivered ' to them under a full belief 
 on their part that the contract was not only just and 
 honourable, but also perfectly legal ; and their feelings 
 may be imagined when they found that they were sud- 
 denly threatened with a total loss of the property which 
 they had always looked upon as secure. In this strait 
 they naturally applied for compensation to the executors 
 of the late earl ; but they were told that no compensation 
 could be granted, unless they could succeed in proving 
 their title to it by law. Again they appealed to Lord 
 Digby, urging, in terms of the most unaffected distress, the 
 serious dilemma in which they were placed. But his lord- 
 ship, though expressing deep commiseration for their posi- 
 tion, could only refer them back again for compensation to 
 the successors of the late earl, who had promised them, in 
 the usual wording of their leases, that if they paid their 
 rents, and fulfilled the other covenants therein enjoined, 
 they should have and hold peaceable possession of the pre- 
 mises during the several lives or terms defined in their 
 several leases. 
 
 Under these painful and perplexing circumstances, the 
 tenants found themselves threatened with a double law- 
 suit. In the first issue they must appear as defendants 
 against their landlord, the present owner of the estate, who 
 had already commenced proceedings against them for the 
 
1857.] GEASHILL MANOR. 315 
 
 recovery of the farms, which he contended had been ille- 
 gally leased away. And in the second issue they must 
 appear as plaintiffs in an action to recover from the execu- 
 tors of the late earl the full amount of compensation for 
 the losses they might sustain by the breaking of the leases 
 which had been granted. 
 
 Lord Digby did his utmost, as far as his personal influ- 
 ence and representations could go, to urge upon the execu- 
 tors of the late earl the justice of yielding to the tenants' 
 claims ; and in order to facilitate a settlement he had a 
 valuation made, at his own expense, by a competent per- 
 son, of the value of the several leases, according to the 
 periods yet unexpired in each case. These amounted in 
 the aggregate to a considerable sum, the total value of the 
 leases having been estimated by an official notary-public at 
 30,600/. 
 
 Matters had now come to a most perplexing point upon 
 the estate. Lord Digby had already commenced the neces- 
 sary legal proceedings for the recovery of the leased 
 lands ; the executors had refused compensation, unless the 
 right of the tenants to it was proved by law ; whilst the 
 frightened tenantry held meeting after meeting amongst 
 themselves, unwilling to enter upon such extended law- 
 suits, against two such powerful antagonists, and yet seeing 
 no loop-hole by which they could escape. Some were for 
 fighting the matter out vigorously, others looked on in 
 blank despair, whilst the majority agreed that at all events 
 it was better to pay no rent whatever whilst these proceed- 
 ings were pending. 
 
 It was in the midst of this complicated dead-lock that 
 my services were engaged ; and in undertaking the man- 
 agement of the estate under these difficult circumstances, 
 I felt that I had assumed a very serious responsibility. 
 My first step was to take up my quarters for some weeks 
 
3l6 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 in the town of Tullamore, situated about a mile from the 
 estate, so that I might be able personally to visit the 
 tenantry, and ascertain, as far as possible, the real nature 
 of their sentiments. I remained there for a period of six 
 weeks, riding out almost every day upon the estate ; and 
 having made myself master of the facts, I arrived at the 
 conclusion that the tenants were by no means anxious to 
 go to law, but were actuated only by a bond fide desire 
 to secure what all must admit they were entitled to — 
 either a continuance of their leases, or compensation for 
 the breach of contract. I drew out accordingly a full 
 statement of the whole case to lay before the executors, 
 exhibiting, in the strongest light I could, the deep in- 
 justice of refusing to give fair compensation (out of the 
 vast fortune left by the late earl) to the tenants he had 
 unintentionally misled by the granting of these illegal 
 leases. I also urged upon the executors the serious re- 
 sponsibility they must necessarily assume if disturbances 
 should arise, and lives be lost in attempting to enforce the 
 existing landlord's rights. I endeavoured to show them 
 that even under the most favourable circumstances, many 
 difficulties were likely to accrue in the event of the raising 
 of the rents consequent on the breaking of the leases ; and 
 if, in addition to these, the tenants were made to feel that 
 a real injustice was being perpetrated, and all compensa- 
 tion for their loss refused, I had hardly a doubt upon my 
 mind but that violence, bloodshed, and murder would be 
 the result, from the moral responsibility attendant on 
 which the executors could not altogether escape. 
 
 It happened that immediately preceding my appoint- 
 ment. Lord Digby had received official warning from the 
 police, that a bloody death awaited him, if he pressed 
 matters to issue with his tenants. This notice appeared as 
 a further confirmation of my views, and justified my worst 
 
1857-] GEASHILL MANOR. 317 
 
 apprehensions ; and having called with Lord Digby on the 
 police authorities in Dublin, and consulted for his lord- 
 ship's safety with Sir Duncan Macgregor — at that time 
 Inspector-General of Pohce in Ireland — I proceeded to 
 London, armed with full powers by Lord Digby to nego- 
 tiate matters with the executors of the late earl, and taking 
 with me the threatening notice as a proof that in persisting 
 to refuse justice to the tenants, they were exposing Lord 
 Digby to very serious danger. I took with me also a 
 statement of the notary's valuation of all the leasehold 
 interests. 
 
 I found the executors — as I had expected — just and 
 reasonable, and anxious to do what was right, but at the 
 same time somewhat uncertain as to the bond fide claims 
 of the tenantry. They appeared also to be apprehensive 
 that if they once admitted any claims whatever by the 
 payment of any sum in compensation, demands might be 
 made to such an unreasonable extent, that it would be 
 practically impossible to yield to them. 
 
 I endeavoured to prove to them, in the first place, that 
 the claims of the tenantry for compensation for the loss of 
 their leases were just and fair, and might perhaps, on 
 trial, be proved to be legal also. And, in the second 
 place, I assured them, that if they yielded the principle 
 of compensation, no unreasonable demands should be 
 made. 
 
 ' How can we be sure of that .'' ' enquired they. ' How 
 can we be certain if we once admit any claim, without its 
 being proved in each case by law, that numerous unjust 
 demands may not be made .'' Some may require more than 
 the fair amount, and others, who have no claim whatever, 
 may then make demands to any amount they please. 
 And what means have we, living in England, of ascer- 
 taining who the parties are who ought, or ought not, to be 
 
3l8 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 paid, or the several sums which ought to be given to 
 each ? ' 
 
 I saw at once that this was the main practical difficulty, 
 and that there was no unwillingness to grant what was fair 
 and just. So I produced the notary's list of lease- 
 holders, showing opposite to each name the valuation of 
 the several interests. The total amounted, as already stated, 
 to 30,600/. 
 
 The executors looked carefully over the list, and then said, 
 
 ' But suppose we were willing to pay these several sums 
 as here stated by the notary, how can we be certain that 
 we might not be subjected to a lawsuit in each individual 
 case, to endeavour to enforce a larger sum from us than 
 what is here set down as the value .■' or whom could we 
 employ to distribute so large a sum of money fairly } ' 
 
 Here was a new difficulty. But Lord Digby having 
 conferred upon me full powers to negotiate for him, I under- 
 took on his part, that if the executors would at once pay 
 into Lord Digby's hands the full sum here stated as the 
 value of the leasehold interest, viz. 30,600/., his lordship 
 would undertake to be answerable for the distribution of 
 the same, and would also undertake to protect the executors, 
 and defend any lawsuits at his own cost and trouble, which 
 might afterwards be commenced against them for any 
 further compensation or other claim whatever. 
 
 ' That alters the whole aspect of affairs,' replied the 
 executors ; ' and if you are authorised to undertake this 
 on the part of Lord Digby, immediate arrangements shall 
 be made for the payment of the whole sum.' 
 
 I at once undertook that a formal engagement of this 
 nature should be signed by Lord Digby, and armed with 
 a written promise that the money should be immediately 
 paid, I proceeded to L'eland to negotiate with the tenants. 
 The lawsuit was to come on in a few days at the ensuing 
 
1857.] GEASHILL MANOR. 319 
 
 assizes in Tullamore, Mr. Brewster, and other able counsel, 
 having been specially retained for Lord Digby. 
 
 My interview with the tenants was of a more difficult 
 and critical nature than that with the late lord's executors. 
 The former had been so harassed and knocked about in 
 appealing from one party to another, that they had made 
 up their minds to abide by the issue of the coming law- 
 suit ; and now an entirely new proposition was being laid 
 before them, which some of them candidly acknowledged 
 they viewed with much suspicion. 
 
 No time, however, was to be lost. The English witnesses 
 had all been duly summoned, and only three or four days 
 could intervene before they must start for Ireland to give 
 evidence at the coming trial. The position was a critical 
 one. I was most anxious on every ground to avoid a law- 
 suit. Even if Lord Digby should win, it would be a severe 
 hardship on the tenants were he to break their leases un- 
 less compensation could be secured from the executors of 
 the late earl ; the effort to obtain this would entail another 
 and perhaps a doubtful suit, and compensation money had 
 only been promised on condition that no lawsuit should 
 take place. If once a lawsuit were to begin, no one could 
 tell where it would end, nor in whose favour it might be 
 decided ; whilst the estate affairs must inevitably run into 
 confusion, no rents having been received or demanded 
 from the leaseholders since the late earl's death. The 
 tenants' blood was up now, and they appeared determined 
 to fight. 
 
 After much anxious thought, I resolved to wait until the 
 
 last moment possible, and then to call a few of the leading 
 
 and most respectable tenants together, offer them severally 
 
 ^erms as might appear just and reasonable in each of 
 
 I'al cases, and try and induce them to sign a 
 
 dgment,' so that no lawsuit could then go on. 
 
320 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 I accordingly waited until the very last day on which 
 it was possible to have a conference before the lawsuit 
 commenced ; and having written to ten of the most influ- 
 ential tenants, I requested them to meet me at Geashill, 
 to endeavour to make a final arrangement. All who had 
 received my invitation attended. I opened the proceedings 
 by explaining that the executors had handsomely consented 
 to pay down 30,600/., to be divided in such proportions 
 amongst the leaseholders and their under-tenants, as 
 Lord Digby deemed just and fair, in accordance with the 
 value of their several interests. That his lordship had 
 undertaken to distribute this fund, and to hold the executors 
 harmless in any lawsuit which might be brought against 
 them by the tenants ; and that I now called on them to 
 determine whether they would accept the several sums I 
 was prepared to name to each, as a full compensation for 
 the loss of his lease, or whether they preferred to go to 
 law ; in which latter case, if the lawsuit went against them, 
 they could of course expect no compensation whatever. 
 They appeared puzzled and anxious, and very uncertain 
 what to do. At length one of them proposed that they 
 should do nothing until they had had an opportunity of 
 consulting the remainder of the leaseholders, of whom 
 there were upwards of one hundred and twenty upon the 
 estate. 
 
 ' No,' replied I, ' you must come to a decision now ; there 
 is a messenger at the door on horseback, to ride to the tele- 
 graph station at Portarlington to stop the English witnesses 
 coming over. This must be done within an hour, or they 
 will start for Ireland, and then it will be out of my power 
 to stop the lawsuit. You must determine nozu, each man 
 for himself, or the lawsuit must go on.' 
 
 ' Will you state the amount of money you will give to 
 each of us .'' ' asked one of the party. 
 
1857] GEASHILL MANOR. 32 1 
 
 ' Certainly,' replied I, ' if you will each come separately 
 with me into another room.' 
 
 They did so. I named to each an amount something 
 less than the sum set down by the notary, partly as a 
 reserve, lest any tenants holding under these leaseholders 
 should afterwards require to be paid, and partly lest it 
 might be supposed we were yielding to a legal claim already 
 granted. After a little consideration, they all severally 
 signed the ' consent for judgment.' 
 
 Just as I was about to send off the messenger to the 
 telegraph station to stop the English witnesses, one of the 
 cleverest of the tenants, who had always been doubtful 
 whether he would sign or not, came forward and said, 
 
 ' We have all now signed the " consent for judgment," 
 and the lawsuit is at an end so far as we are concerned, 
 and probably so far as the other leaseholders outside are 
 concerned also, as they will naturally follow us ; but may 
 I ask, where is the money yojt proviised tisf I presume 
 you have it with you in the house, for as yet we have 
 nothing but the word of one who is a stranger to us, as our 
 security for a sum amounting, even amongst those present, 
 to about 10,000/.' 
 
 Here was indeed a difficulty. By an unfortunate mistake 
 in the arrangements, the money had not yet been sent 
 over from England, and I had of course no funds to meet 
 a demand for such a large amount. I felt the position 
 keenly ; but knowing there could be no question ultimately 
 about the full security of the case, I put the best face I 
 could upon the matter, and freely admitting I had not 
 brought the money with me, I pledged Lord Digby's honour 
 and my own, that unless they were forthwith paid the 
 several sums promised, no advantage should be taken of 
 the document they had signed, and it should immediately be 
 returned to each. I assured them at the same time that 
 
 Y 
 
322 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 I could not dare to appear before them on such a mission 
 unless I had the sanction and pledge of an honourable man, 
 like Lord Digby, that every engagement I made in his 
 name should be redeemed. 
 
 ' I fully believe you, Sir,' said one of the most upright 
 and respectable of the tenants ; ' and I think I speak the 
 sentiments of most of us, if not all, when I say that we 
 have not the slightest doubt the whole transaction is bond 
 fide, and that we are as sure of the money which has been 
 promised as if we had it now in our hands. We therefore 
 thank you much for having been the immediate means of 
 bringing this vexed question to so satisfactory a conclusion, 
 and saving us from the very unpleasant position of being at 
 law with our landlord or any of his family. We heartily 
 hope and expect that all the other leaseholders will act 
 as we have done, and we wish you a very good morning.' 
 
 I cordially shook hands with each ; the messenger was 
 despatched post-haste to the telegraph to stop the English 
 witnesses ; and this most difficult and critical matter was 
 thus brought to a satisfactory conclusion. The other lease- 
 holders, as had been anticipated, all followed the example 
 of their chiefs, and the 30,600/. was in due course forwarded 
 and divided between them and their under-tenants. 
 
 But the difficulties in which the Geashill Estate was in- 
 volved had by no means come to an end. The tenantry, 
 both leaseholders and others, had been allowed to run 
 deeply into arrears. Many of them owed three, five, and 
 some even up to ten and twelve years' rent ; an amount 
 which it is needless to say they were wholly unable to 
 pay. Lord Digby was not entitled by law to any of these 
 arrears, but a proposal had been made to him to purchase 
 them from the executors, at a sum much less than their 
 full amount. The actual sum due was upwards of 42,000/. 
 an average of upwards of three years' rent. I earnestly 
 
1S57.J GEASHILL MANOR. 323 
 
 pressed upon his lordship the importance of purchasing 
 these arrears. Were they to continue in the hands of the 
 executors, I felt certain they could never be collected, and 
 any attempt to do so (by them) would be met by the most 
 determined resistance, and the barony would thus be kept 
 in a flame. Besides, whatever they did collect would be to 
 the impoverishment of Lord Digby's tenants, and thus be 
 much to his lordship's disadvantage, and perhaps might 
 also form an excuse for refusing the payment of all rent 
 whatever. So strongly did I feel the importance of this 
 point that I urged the purchase of these arrears at almost any 
 price. At length a bargain was concluded with the execu- 
 tors at a rate which admitted of a large percentage being 
 granted to the tenantry. It was arranged that the lease- 
 holders (who were generally the least in arrear) should be 
 required to pay up this arrear in full, out of the purchase- 
 money allowed them as compensation for their several 
 leases, and then be reinstated in their farms as yearly 
 tenants, under a new valuation made generally over the 
 whole estate ; and that a reduction of seventy-five per cent, 
 on the arrear should be allowed to all yearly tenants, on 
 condition that they paid up the remaining balance of 
 twenty-five per cent, in full. 
 
 It may be supposed that even this arrangement, liberal 
 as it was, by no means suited the purposes of a large num- 
 ber of the tenants, who had been in the habit, by one con- 
 trivance or another, of evading the payment of any rent 
 whatever. Accordingly, when thus pressed for a settle- 
 ment of accounts, they answered they could pay nothing. 
 And being loth to quit the lands on which they had so 
 long lived free, they soon began to enter upon the old sys- 
 tem so often practised in Ireland — to conspire with the 
 Ribbonmen of other districts as to the best mode of resist- 
 ance, and as to the means whereby they could best ' rid 
 
324 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 the barony of the new tyrants who had come there, and 
 who were bent on the extermination of the people ! ' 
 Such were the terms in which the moderate demand for 
 twenty-five per cent, of the whole amount of arrears due 
 was characterised by some of the occupiers ! 
 
 Conspiracies for various purposes became now the order 
 of the day, and large subscriptions were set on foot to pay 
 for the murder of myself and my son. But we were kept 
 tolerably well informed of all that was going on, and more 
 than once, by warnings from our secret friends, we escaped 
 the murderous aim of assassins, who were lying behind 
 hedges to shoot us. 
 
 Having passed through much danger, and run many 
 risks of being shot, we resolved to take the ' bull by the 
 horns,' and to eject from their holdi'ngs and banish off the 
 estate a few of the foremost Ribbonmen, and face the 
 danger as best we could which must be necessarily in- 
 curred thereby. 
 
 The announcement of our determination to carry this 
 plan into execution fell like a thunderbolt upon the Rib- 
 bonmen. They never thought that we would dare to turn 
 the tables on them, and act thus boldly on the aggressive, 
 and they set on foot the most active operations to have us 
 ' put out of the way.' But our friends were active also, and 
 almost daily we received information of the proceedings of 
 the conspirators. A young woman, from the county of 
 Kerry, who had received some kindness from my family 
 at Kenmare, was our chief informant. She lodged near 
 the ' Cross Keys,' at that time a place of by no means 
 good repute upon the estate, and she confided to us the 
 names and bloody intentions of all the chief Ribbonmen — 
 the various oaths she had heard them swear, and the ex- 
 pressions they had severally used — giving details con- 
 cerning the language made use of by each, that left nat a 
 
1857.] GEASHILL MANOR, 325 
 
 doubt upon my mind but that her information was perfectly 
 correct. 
 
 The Ribbonmen were well aware all this time that some 
 one in their secrets must have given us constant informa- 
 tion, but they were never able to ascertain who it was. 
 Had they discovered the girl who told us of their proceed- 
 ings, her life would inevitably have paid the forfeit. 
 
 At length the time arrived when the chief leader in the 
 conspiracy was to be ejected. We had made full prepara- 
 tions beforehand, so that resistance would have been im- 
 possible, or at least utterly unavailing. A large number of 
 assistants were in attendance to protect the sheriff in the 
 execution of his duty. All were brought suddenly and un- 
 expectedly to the ground ; and before half an hour was 
 over, or any row whatever could be got up, possession of 
 the premises which the Ribbon owner had always sworn 
 he never would surrender but with his life, was quietly 
 taken by the sheriff, and handed over to the officer of Lord 
 Digby. 
 
 The suddenness, the rapidity, and the determination to 
 carry out the law against this notorious Ribbon conspira- 
 tor, and drive him off the estate, had an immediate and 
 most wholesome effect on the district. His prestige was 
 completely gone. The premises he had so often sworn to 
 defend with his life (they consisted of a ruinous thatched 
 cabin and a few acres of worn-out land) were now no longer 
 his own. His supporters felt that want of confidence in 
 their leader which a failure almost always produces in 
 Ireland ; and we perceived that other Ribbonmen were 
 quietly leaving the country. In a short time it was mani- 
 fest that a complete change had taken place in the feeling 
 of the barony. 
 
 Order was now rapidly restored. Several of those whom 
 we well knew to be deeply involved in the conspiracy— = 
 
326 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 though we could bring no proof against them in a court 
 of law — now came forward and expressed an earnest wish 
 to resign their land and emigrate, if they could obtain 
 a few pounds to bear their expenses from Ireland. This 
 was at once given; and in a very short time after the eject- 
 ment against the chief of the conspirators had been carried 
 into effect, the country had become perfectly tranquil ; in- 
 dustry and peace became general, and have remained so 
 ever since. 
 
 It may perhaps prove interesting to some, were I here to 
 give a brief description of the nature of the improvements 
 which have been carried out upon this estate, and which 
 have converted it — formerly one of the most wretched and 
 discouraging in Ireland, abounding in squatters, mud 
 hovels, and moors saturated with water — into a district, 
 which, although much undoubtedly still remains to be 
 done, may even now bear a favourable comparison with 
 many an English property. 
 
 No doubt the most unceasing opposition — which unfor- 
 tunately is so frequently given in one way or other to any 
 improving landlord in Ireland — was not withheld from 
 Lord Digby ; and during the first five years of his owner- 
 ship of the estate, an amount of the most ingenious ob- 
 struction was made to his designs, sufficient to baffle the 
 most earnest philanthropy. But Lord Digby was not dis- 
 couraged ; and having persisted steadily in his improve- 
 ments, the operations of drainage and building and 
 reclamation of land were gradually introduced and ex- 
 tended, until the estate became what it is now acknow- 
 ledged to be by all who have seen it, one of the most 
 industrious, progressive, and improved estates in Ireland. 
 
 Lord Digby's first efforts were directed to the getting 
 rid of all the numerous squatters, who through previous 
 neglect had been allowed to establish themselves over the 
 
1857.] GEASHILL MANOR. 327 
 
 estate. Of these there were not less than from thirty to 
 forty separate holders, none of whom had paid any 
 rent for upwards of twenty years, and whose names were 
 unknown upon the rent-roll. They lived in mud hovels, 
 generally without windows, and a hole in one end of the 
 roof, out of which stuck a piece of wicker-work like a 
 badly made turf-basket, formed the chimney. They had 
 usually squatted upon the sides of the roads, which in that 
 district were in many places wider than necessary; and 
 having cribbed a little ' garden ' off the field of a neigh- 
 bouring tenant, they lived — no one but themselves knew 
 how — sometimes labouring, generally idle, and not unfre- 
 quently eking out an existence, scarcely raised above ani- 
 mal life, by petty thefts from the neighbouring farmers. 
 
 We found these people less difficult to deal with than we 
 had expected. They were perfectly aware that they had a 
 presumptive title, by upwards of twenty years' occupation, 
 to the fee-simple of the soil on which their huts and gardens 
 were placed. But the free admission of their undoubted 
 right, combined with a little liberal dealing, soon brought 
 them to ask as a favour that Lord Digby would purchase 
 up their cabins. And by giving them sums varying from 
 5/. to 20/. we were able, in a short time, to induce them all 
 to surrender possession, and to throw down their unsightly 
 hovels. Most of the occupants who were able-bodied, or 
 who had able-bodied families, were placed in new and 
 comfortable cottages, at an almost nominal rent, and full 
 employment was provided for them at drainage and other 
 improvements on the estate. Many widows also, whose 
 friends had built these huts, and placed them there to get 
 rid of them, were gladly taken back again into their families, 
 when they brought a sum of ready money along with 
 them. Thus all were provided for in a more or less satis- 
 factory m.anner. 
 
328 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 The drainage and reclamation of the extensive district 
 of wet land lying between Geashill and Tullamore was 
 now entered upon with vigour. The tenants who had pre- 
 viously held these lands had, many of them, paid Ao rent 
 for a long period. The lands were of the worst description 
 of wet moor, lying on a barren and retentive sub-soil. The 
 fields had been so cut up and subdivided that it became 
 necessary to lay out all the lands anew, to level the old 
 fences, square and enlarge the fields, and sink a deep drain, 
 almost amounting to a ' canal,' to carry off the waters from 
 this extensive district. All this was done with much care 
 and accuracy ; but the lands were naturally of so unfertile a 
 quality that it became necessary to till them thoroughly to 
 bring them to an even texture, and lay them down in good 
 heart with grass seeds of first-rate quality. This was done 
 at considerable cost; and turnips, potatoes, wheat, and 
 oats were all grown most successfully, by means of a large 
 application of Peruvian guano, generally seven to eight 
 cwt. to the Irish acre. The crops were enormously large, 
 and well repaid the cost of their production. The land 
 was then thoroughly cleansed by repeated ploughings, har- 
 rowings, and pickings ; and when fully pulverised and in 
 proper order for the sowing of the grass seeds, it was laid 
 down with rape, the grasses and clovers being sown along 
 with the rape, and the whole afterwards fed off by sheep. 
 The land was thus left in good heart and in a high state of 
 productiveness. 
 
 Land treated in this manner — which had previously been 
 difficult to let at 4s. per Irish acre — now readily brings 
 from 25.$'. to 30^. per acre; whilst the whole face of the 
 country — changed from sterility and waste, to rich and 
 abundant pasture, well fenced, and divided into fields of 
 sufficient size, and sheltered by belts of plantation — pre- 
 sents a most improved and gratifying appearance. These 
 
1857.] GEASHILL MANOR. 329 
 
 and similar works, such as main or arterial drainage, being 
 carried on simultaneously over various districts of the 
 estate, have prevented any pauperism whatever ; and since 
 Lord Digby came into possession of the property there 
 have been no unemployed labourers upon it. So great, in 
 fact, has been the stimulus to industry, that the only diffi- 
 culty now is to procure a sufficiency of hands both for the 
 drainage and farmers' work. 
 
 But whilst extensive works of drainage have been and at 
 this present time are being carried into effect, the dwellings 
 of the farmers and labourers are by no means neglected. 
 The houses of both were in general very bad — most of 
 them composed exclusively of mud and thatch. Many of 
 these have been replaced with well-built stone and mortar 
 houses, roofed with slates and timber; whilst the existing 
 houses and cottages have been much improved by win- 
 dows, chimneys, &c., and numerous smaller dwellings for 
 the daily labourers have been erected over the estate. 
 All these works, thorough drainage, main drainage, build- 
 ings, and other improvements are still in active operation 
 whilst I write, carried on under the immediate superin- 
 tendence of a drainer who understands his business, and 
 a well qualified clerk of the works in the building depart- 
 ment ; the whole having been previously planned and 
 arranged by Lord Digby and his agent, and proper esti- 
 mates and specifications of the works drawn out before the 
 works are commenced. 
 
 In addition to the works I have briefly described above, 
 Lord Digby has procured the best and most improved 
 threshing machines to work upon his estate, as well as 
 mowing and reaping machines, all of which are let out at 
 reasonable rates for the use and convenience of the tenantry ; 
 and these, together with the crops grown upon the waste 
 lands which were eminently successful, have given an 
 impetus to industry and activity which is at present most 
 
330 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xx. 
 
 gratifying to witness. I may also mention that his lordship 
 has three times, in three separate years, succeeded in 
 obtaining the gold medal ofifered by the Royal Agricultural 
 Society of Ireland, for the best labourers' cottages in the 
 province of Leinster ; he held for three successive years the 
 Duke of Leinster's challenge cup for the best built labourers' 
 cottages in all Ireland, and he now holds the Hall chal- 
 lenge cup for the most extensive and best drainage in 
 Ireland. 
 
 When I recollect the miserable condition of this estate 
 not quite ten years ago — the tenants disaffected, industry 
 paralyzed, Ribbonism rampant, and conspiracies to murder 
 those who were most anxious for their welfare filling the 
 minds of many of the peasantry — it is some consolation to 
 find that steady and persevering determination, combined 
 with kind and liberal treatment, will ever, in much abused 
 Ireland, produce the most satisfactory results. And Lord 
 Digby, and those who have worked under him, can look 
 back with pleasure at having obtained a moral victory over 
 what, at one time, appeared as dangerous and unpromising 
 a subject, as any Irish landlord or Irish agent could pos- 
 sibly undertake to manage. 
 
 The expenditure on Lord Digby's estate within the last 
 ten years, from 1857 to 1867, has amounted to a total of 
 32,795/.; out of this, 12,811/. have been expended on 
 drainage and land improvement; 14,056/ upon buildings 
 and repairs of tenants' houses, &c. ; 3,362/. have been given 
 as compensation for surrender of tenements, whereby 
 numerous consolidations have been effected; 589/, have 
 been expended on emigration of paupers; and 1,977/ on 
 sundry numerous estate improvements, such as roads, 
 bridges, and other general improvements not included in 
 the previous amounts.* The greater part of this expen- 
 
 * See ' Evidence before Lords' Committee on Land Tenure Bill, July 2, 
 1867, by W. Steuart Trench, Esq.' 
 
i857] GEASHILL MANOR. 33 1 
 
 diture has returned a fair interest upon the outlay, and 
 the income of the estate has been accordingly largely in- 
 creased. The money expended on drainage and land 
 improvement has been the most remunerative, and much 
 of that expended on buildings has also brought a fair 
 return. The average expenditure upon the estate within 
 the last ten years has amounted to 3,279/. per annum. 
 
 Were this system more generally adopted on their 
 estates by wealthy proprietors, it would be found to pay 
 well, and Ireland would soon become a very different 
 country from what it is. 
 
1858.] THE REVIVAL. 333 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE REVIVAL. 
 
 There have been few more remarkable incidents, and 
 none more characteristic of Ireland, than the religious 
 ' revival/ which took place not many years ago in the north 
 of the island, spreading from thence to the extreme south- 
 west, and finding a somewhat permanent home in the 
 midst of the city of Dublin. 
 
 It is difficult, in a work intended only as a record of 
 facts, to give any account of a ' revival ' which can be inte- 
 resting to the general reader. At the same time, having 
 myself seen much of the operations of the movement, and 
 the circumstances and facts relating thereto having been 
 naturally misrepresented and misunderstood, I conceive 
 that a brief outline of what came under my own immediate 
 notice, and that of others upon whose truthfulness and 
 fidelity of description I could thoroughly rely, may not be 
 uninteresting to those who wish to study Ireland in all her 
 various phases. 
 
 The first wave of the so-called ' revival ' arose about the 
 year 1858, in a remote district in the extreme north of 
 Ireland. A number of young men resolved to meet to- 
 gether for prayer, and they prayed to God very earnestly 
 that he would send a revival of religion amongst them. 
 Whether owing to this mode of commencing the movement 
 or not, I leave it to my readers to determine, but beyond 
 all question a deep anxiety began immediately to perv^ade 
 
334 ■ REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxi. 
 
 the minds of the people in that quarter about the state of 
 their souls ; and many of those who had never before 
 entertained a serious thought upon the subject, became at 
 once alarmed, and got into a real fright lest they should be 
 going, as they described it, ' straight to hell' 
 
 This overwhelming feeling, to which they gave the name 
 of ' conviction of sin,' appears to have pervaded the minds 
 of Protestants only, inclusive of members of the Church of 
 England, as well as of the Presbyterian assemblies : the 
 Roman Catholics, whether because they thought they were 
 leading better lives, or from an entire separation of feeling 
 on religious matters from the Protestants, were rarely 
 affected by the movement. 
 
 It miay readily be supposed that such a strong sense of 
 sinfulness upon the mind, and such an anxious desire for 
 the safety of the soul, was not long in drawing to their 
 assistance men who undertook to lead those who were 
 anxious about the matter into a position of safety ; and 
 many were accordingly forthcoming, who, having them- 
 selves, as they conceived, passed through stages of similar 
 suffering and anxiety, professed to understand all its diffi- 
 culties, and by their counsel and sympathy became a source 
 of comfort to the afflicted. 
 
 Prayer meetings, on an extensive scale, were soon set on 
 foot and organised in all the surrounding parishes and dis- 
 tricts ; sometimes in schools, sometimes in barns, sometimes 
 in private houses, and not unfrequently in the open air. 
 The people, men and women, young and old, flocked to 
 these meetings in thousands. The most fervent and 
 energetic prayers were offered up ; persons who had never 
 prayed before seemed urged on by some unseen power or 
 influence, and poured forth the most eloquent and fervent 
 petitions, without any apparent difficulty, or the least 
 hesitation in expressing themselves. The excitement 
 
1S58.] THE REVIVAL. 335 
 
 seemed catching and on the increase, and yet all seemed 
 perfectly truthful. It was excitement certainly, such as 
 one may suppose to exist if a theatre or assembly-room 
 was on fire, and it amounted almost to a panic ; but it did 
 not appear to be a fanciful excitement, such as people can 
 sometimes work themselves into without any reasonable 
 cause. The cause in this instance was manifest — the ap- 
 prehension of going to hell if they died. This danger had 
 previously been unperceived or disbelieved, and now it came 
 upon them in all the vivid colours of a terrible reality. 
 The way to escape was accordingly earnestly sought, as 
 those only seek it before whose eyes a pit of horror is 
 suddenly disclosed into which they believe they are liable 
 at any time to fall. By degrees the excitement increased. 
 The magnitude of the danger became to their minds more 
 apparent and real, and the anxiety to escape more in- 
 tense. Preachers of various denominations came forward 
 professing to point out the way of escape, and were listened 
 to with the most marked attention ; whilst with one voice 
 they declared the only way of safety, the only door of 
 escape, the only path of Hght, to be an implicit trust and 
 reliance upon the blood of Jesus Christ, applied to their 
 souls through faith, as a sufficient atonement for sin, and 
 as able to wash away their guilt 
 
 The Roman Catholics looked on at all these proceedings 
 in mute wonder and astonishment. They could not make 
 out what it was all about. They had always considered 
 their Protestant neighbours as prudent sensible men, and 
 as a class, generally better educated than themselves, and 
 the puzzle to know what new thing had seized upon their 
 imagination was very sincere and perplexing. 
 
 By degrees the movement acquired such force and power 
 that even the most careless of the clergy amongst the 
 different denominations — Church of England, Presbyterian, 
 
336 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxi. 
 
 and Methodist — could no longer ignore its existence. Some 
 of the most earnest amongst them, men who had long been 
 endeavouring to awaken their flocks to a sense of their 
 danger, now that they were thoroughly aroused, placed 
 themselves at the head of the movement, with a view to 
 control and guide it. Others opposed it with all their 
 might, denouncing it as fanaticism and madness. But the 
 movement spread and increased independent of either 
 of these classes, and extending from parish to parish, 
 and from town to town, acquired every day increased 
 energy and force. The circumstances of the case were so 
 peculiar, and the renown of the movement had attracted so 
 much attention in other places, that numbers of steady, 
 earnest, religious men came from far to witness the 
 strange scenes which were in almost daily course of being 
 enacted. 
 
 The description given to me by one of these, an elderly, 
 quiet, unromantic man, who went fully determined to see 
 and judge of things as they were, and for himself, may be 
 interesting here to relate. 
 
 Having heard that the town and neighbourhood of Bally- 
 mena, in the county of Antrim, was one of those on which 
 the movement had taken considerable hold, he went there 
 in order to attend some of the assemblies ; and observing a 
 placard posted on the walls that a meeting would be held 
 in a large school-house that evening, he resolved to go 
 and see what went on. 
 
 The meeting was numerously attended, some 300 or 400 
 persons being present ; and several who could not obtain 
 access inside remained outside the doors. One Presbyterian 
 clergyman, and two other men who appeared to be laymen, 
 stood at the head of the room, on a little platform raised a 
 few inches above the floor. Seats as closely packed as they 
 could well be were ranged in rows opposite to the platform, 
 
1858.] THE REVIVAL. 337 
 
 and these were filled with well-dressed, respectable-looking 
 people, both men and women, generally of the farming and 
 trading classes. The meeting was opened by the Presby- 
 terian clergyman with an extempore prayer, and audible 
 ' Amens' were frequently heard to issue from the congre- 
 gation when any petition especially touching the feelings 
 of those present was offered up. When the prayer was 
 concluded, all rose from their knees, and a hymn was then 
 given out and read aloud, each verse separately and clearly, 
 by one of the laymen already alluded to ; this the congre- 
 gation sung with evident zest, almost every person in the 
 room joining in the singing. There prevailed throughout 
 the hymn a sort of triumphant determination to ' believe 
 the gospel,' as if the singers recognised some strong power 
 or influence present amongst them, urging them to dis- 
 believe and reject it. 
 
 ' I do believe, I will believe, that Jesus died for me, 
 
 ' That on the cross He shed His blood, that I might happy be.' 
 
 This couplet was sung as a sort of chorus at the end of 
 each verse of the hymn, and was repeated with a vigour that 
 showed a firm determination on the part of the singers 
 that hell itself should not shake them in the adoption of 
 their creed. 
 
 When the hymn was concluded, the congregation was 
 requested to be seated ; and then a young man, one of the 
 laymen, stood up, and began very quietly and in a low 
 voice to address the meeting. He did not preface his dis- 
 course with any text. His bible was in his hand ; but re- 
 jecting the ordinary conventionalities of orthodox preachers, 
 he appealed at once to the consciences and hearts of his 
 audience, and having brought vividly before them the im- 
 portance of the question he was about to put, he asked 
 them in plain and simple language — * were they saved .'' ' 
 
 z 
 
338 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxi. 
 
 A dead silence ensued. No one spoke, but, the au- 
 dience having been wound up by the prayer and hymn to 
 a pitch of intense fervour, and being asked so home a 
 question, showed considerable manifestations of uneasiness. 
 ' Once more,' continued the preacher, ' I ask you, are 
 you saved ? You cannot escape the dilemma. You are at 
 this moment either in a position of perfect safety, or in a 
 position of dreadful danger. If you died now, your souls 
 must either be saved or lost. Which is it .'* Are you 
 bound for heaven or for hell ? Are you now, now at this 
 present moment, believers in Christ, washed in his blood, 
 and safe, or unbelieving sinners, living without God, and 
 without hope in the world, and lost ? ' 
 
 The voice of the preacher was fervid and earnest, and 
 his action and demeanour that of one who firmly believed 
 that a great crisis in the fate of those before him was at 
 hand, and that their everlasting destiny might hang upon 
 the reply which their consciences were able to give to this 
 question. 
 
 He paused, and again there was a dead silence. At last 
 some half-suppressed sobs were audible, and a young man 
 apparently of a strong frame, fell convulsively into the 
 arms of a companion near him, moaning and sobbing in a 
 state of violent hysteria. The fact of one, well known to 
 many of the congregation as a young man of singular firm- 
 ness and courage, having been thus ' stricken ' (as it was 
 termed), became a general signal for others to give way 
 also, and in a few minutes a most extraordinary scene pre- 
 sented itself. Men and women dropped from their seats 
 moaning and sobbing, and, completely carried away by 
 their feelings, gave themselves up to the most tumultuous 
 expressions of sorrow and ' conviction of sin,' of lamenta- 
 tions for past misdeeds, and the most earnest supplications 
 for mercy. 
 
1S58.] THE REVIVAL. 
 
 339 
 
 It was impossible to view such a scene as this and not to 
 beheve that the parties were in earnest and sincere. Seve- 
 ral were in a state almost bordering on delirium. Others 
 clapped their hands, and cried with loud voices for mercy ; 
 and many at last became so excited, and appeared to have 
 hell so vividly before their minds, that their lips quivered, 
 their eyes rolled, and they soon became quite insensible. 
 A panic had evidently seized the congregation, and those 
 whose nerves were naturally weak sank under it, and lost 
 all control over their actions — much as if a cry of fire had 
 been raised in a crowded building. It was like the after- 
 scene of the children in the brewery at Kenmare, enacted 
 amongst men and women. 
 
 The lay preachers and the clergyman now set them- 
 selves earnestly to calm the feelings of the audience, and 
 by degrees, with the aid of much kind attention and mani- 
 festations of sympathy, order and decorum were in some 
 degree restored. 
 
 When all was quiet, and nothing but a few convulsive 
 sobs could occasionally be heard, the young lay preacher, 
 whose words had had such effect, again stood up, and pour- 
 ing forth a volume of the most affectionate solicitation to 
 his audience to close then and there with the free offers of 
 salvation which God now made to them through Christ, he 
 urged them not to lose an hour in coming to the foot of 
 the cross. 
 
 * Now is the accepted time,' cried he in an imploring 
 voice, ' now is the day of salvation. Do not let Satan 
 make any of you believe that God is unwilling to receive 
 you. No matter how vile you may be, God is acting now 
 in grace. You cannot tell how soon He may come in judg- 
 ment. You cannot count with certainty upon your own 
 lives for a single hour. There is no difficulty of access to 
 Him now. God beseeches you to be reconciled to Him. 
 
340 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxi. 
 
 He has given His Son to die for you. He loves you even 
 in the midst of your sins, for He says that "whilst you 
 were yet sinners Christ died for you." He is ready and 
 willing to receive you, polluted as you now stand, if you 
 will only believe His gospel, and take Him at His word, 
 that "Whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but 
 have eternal life," — that " He that believeth on Him hath 
 everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation, but 
 is passed from death unto life." ' 
 
 Such was the outline of his discourse. Once more he 
 gave out a hymn, and closing the meeting with a short 
 prayer, he dismissed the assembly, and all returned quietly 
 to their homes. 
 
 On another occasion a scene still more remarkable was 
 brought specially under my notice. The circumstances 
 took place at Newtown Limavady, in the county of Antrim, 
 and as I have had them in detail from the lady in whose 
 place the scenes happened, and with her permission to 
 publish them, I have no hesitation in stating them here in 
 full. 
 
 A gentleman named Lancey, formerly a major in the 
 army, had long been very earnest in his religious views, 
 and conceiving that he might attract the notice of careless 
 people by collecting ' a revival meeting,' he issued the fol- 
 lowing notice, an exact copy of which has been furnished 
 to me. Major Lancey himself is now no more in this world. 
 
 ' NOTICE. 
 
 ' It is proposed, the Lord willing, to hold an open-air 
 meeting, in the lawn of the lodge, to-morrow, the Lord's 
 day, June 5, at half past three o'clock, P.M., when Mr. Lan- 
 cey will give some interesting details respecting the revival 
 at present going on in the County Antrim. 
 
 ' Newtown Limavady. June 4, 1859.' 
 
1858.] THE REVIVAL. 34 1 
 
 The meeting, in accordance with the above plain notice, 
 was held, and whilst Major Lancey was speaking in the 
 open air, two ' cases,' as they were called, took place, 
 ' attended as usual by violent and irresistible screaming, 
 the body prostrate and reduced to a helpless condition.' 
 
 On the next day another meeting was held, and six 
 ' cases ' of a similar nature occurred, and the interest seem- 
 ing rather to increase than diminish, the meetings were 
 continued throughout the whole week. On Wednesday 
 about thirty persons were struck down. On Thursday all 
 parties assembled in a public place of worship, but there 
 was no ' manifestation ' or visible effect produced. On 
 Friday, on the lawn in front of Major Lancey 's house, an 
 astonishing ' manifestation ' occurred, and not less than one 
 hundred persons were suddenly and by an unseen power 
 struck down to the ground, and Major Lancey, in an ac- 
 count of the circumstances published by him, and now 
 before me, states that ' the lawn was literally strewed like a 
 battle-field with those that were stricken down in this mys- 
 terious manner.' 
 
 On the following day not less than 5,000 to 7,000 per- 
 sons attended the meeting, when another marvellous scene 
 occurred, the lawn being covered with those who were 
 'stricken,' and the same strange 'manifestations' pervading 
 the whole assembly. 
 
 ' During the services on the following Sunday,' Major 
 Lancey continues, ' the wonderful manifestation broke forth 
 in two places of public worship in the town, and afterwards 
 spread over the country with great rapidity. Persons were 
 struck down everywhere ; in the cabins, fields, highways, 
 and hedges. And now the whole country is greatly re- 
 formed as to its outward conduct. Everywhere you may 
 find persons meeting together, singing, praying, reading and 
 rejoicing. The results appear to be abiding ; men and 
 
342 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxi. 
 
 women who were abandoned characters, others well trained 
 in all the morality of religion, are now alike rejoicing in 
 the knowledge of sins forgiven.' And he concludes the 
 account by mentioning two cases in which ' wild young 
 men who came to mock were themselves suddenly struck 
 down, and brought under the same influence as the 
 rest.' 
 
 It may naturally be asked by any plain and sensible 
 man, ' What could have caused such strange physical 
 effects as all admit were manifested on the occasions 
 alluded to, and mainly amongst a staid and peculiarly 
 unexcitable race, the Scotch Presbyterians in the north of 
 Ireland ? ' 
 
 It is difficult to answer such a question, but still I think 
 its solution may reasonably be found in the nature of the 
 doctrines preached by almost all of those who addressed 
 them. The salient principle, so to speak, in each of the 
 addresses delivered on such occasions was, instant, free, 
 unconditional, perfect and present salvation, proclaimed to 
 all, no matter how sinful and vile their past lives had been, 
 if they would only accept the pardon proclaimed, and 
 believe on the blood of Christ as a full and sufficient satis- 
 faction and atonement before God for all their manifold 
 sins. 
 
 Such a doctrine as this, preached to those who had 
 become really anxious about their safety, seemed almost to 
 electrify the hearers. The proclamation of perfect safety 
 for ever, to those who had almost made up their minds that 
 they were altogether excluded from mercy, that the door 
 of heaven was irretrievably shut against them, produced 
 such a sudden reaction upon their feelings, that they became 
 quite hysterical. 
 
 I must leave it to the physiologists to judge whether 
 this be a rational explanation of the manifestations, which, 
 
1858.] THE REVIVAL. 343 
 
 whatever be their cause, undoubtedly took place. Its cor- 
 rectness depends on whether those affected have a down- 
 right real belief in their danger, and an equally firm belief 
 in the means of escape which was opened to them. Subject 
 to both of these conditions, the tendency to hysteria is not so 
 very surprising, and scarcely more unnatural than it would 
 be to the condemned criminal when a sudden reprieve 
 arrived. 
 
 A little pamphlet has been recently published by a 
 country gentleman, a man of position and fortune in the 
 county of Kerry, which states so accurately the main doc- 
 trines of the revivalists — doctrines which produced the sen- 
 sations which have been described — that I quote the opening 
 passage of the letter in full. Each of my readers will be 
 able to form his own judgment as to whether the doctrines 
 are true or false. But at all events they are clearly put, 
 and there is no mystification about them. It runs as follows. 
 ' There are, I suppose, very few persons in our country 
 before whose notice the existence of an extraordinary reli- 
 gious awakening has not been brought within the past few 
 years. Intelligent people have considered the matter, as it 
 has more or less attracted their attention, and have, doubt- 
 less, formed their own opinions upon it. Some imagine the 
 persons concerned in it to be well-meaning, but misguided 
 and enthusiastic — suffering themselves to be carried away 
 by the excitement of novelty ; and in their religious orgies 
 overleaping the restraint, not only of conventional ritualism, 
 but even of the reverence and order inseparable from true, 
 intelligent worship. 
 
 ' Others have arrived at the conclusion that vanity and 
 a spirit of innovation have misled some of the devotees ; 
 while hypocrisy and some undefined idea of self-advance- 
 ment have added numbers to swell the ranks of the new 
 religion. 
 
344 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxi. 
 
 ' To such as have not drawn their inferences from per- 
 sonal observation, it may not be uninteresting to receive a 
 plain description of one great characteristic feature of this 
 movement from one who has attentively studied it in all its 
 phases. One great leading dogma is put forward by all 
 these so-called enthusiasts, who hold that if there be an 
 eternal heaven and an eternal hell, a living God and a 
 judgment to come, it is the extreme of irrationality not to 
 give Christianity the first place in their thoughts and esti- 
 mation. It is no misty, uncertain theory : it is a down- 
 right, simple, unmistakeable statement, suited to the prac- 
 tical mind of the nineteenth century ; and it is this — that 
 eternal salvation is a free, present, attainable, inalienable, 
 imperishable gift. In other words, that any man or woman 
 in this world, be he or she the blackest sinner in it, may, 
 in one moment, through God's grace, be justified for ever 
 from every charge of sin ; and may know, beyond all 
 doubt, that he is justified ; and may rest as sure of eternal 
 happiness, as he is certain that in himself he never has 
 deserved, and never will deserve, anything but eternal 
 damnation. 
 
 ' There is no mistake about the meaning of this state- 
 ment. It may appear presumptuous and blasphemous ; 
 but it is, at least, intelligible to anyone of ordinary under- 
 standing. 
 
 ' Now, if it be not true, it is one of the most daring 
 forms of blasphemy and high treason again.st the Divine 
 Majesty; for, if it be false, it is a doctrine which lays hold 
 of the statute-book of heaven, and over-writes the laws of 
 God's unalterable justice with rebellious words of human 
 invention. 
 
 ' But if it be true, you who read this paper, may, by 
 God's grace, be saved before you lay it down, and saved 
 for ever. 
 
•] THE REVIVAL. 
 
 345 
 
 * Let us examine the authority on which this statement 
 is put forth.' 
 
 For his proof of these statements, somewhat new and 
 starthng to the generahty of mankind, I must refer the 
 reader to the book itself "^ 
 
 I have heard a story that upon one occasion the Bishop 
 of London asked the celebrated actor Garrick, if he could 
 explain how it was that he and his clergy failed to arrest 
 the attention of their audiences, although they preached 
 every Sunday of the realities of the world to come, whilst 
 he, Garrick, filled crowded houses with the most rapt atten- 
 tion, although they knew perfectly well that all he was 
 saying was fiction. 
 
 ' The reason is very plain, my Lord,' replied Garrick, 
 * you deal with facts as if they were fictions ; I deal with 
 fictions as if they were facts.' 
 
 Manifestations of a similar kind to those described above 
 have not unfrequently taken place on various occasions 
 where powerful preachers set forth in plain and vigorous 
 language the glories and terrors of the world to come. In 
 Southey's life of Wesley may be found a description of 
 physical demonstrations during the preaching of that 
 remarkable man, almost exactly analogous to those which 
 occurred in the revival meetings of the north of Ireland. 
 In America, similar demonstrations under similar circum- 
 stances are not very uncommon. Mere eloquence, no 
 matter of how high and exciting a nature, seems never to 
 produce this result. These manifestations rarely occur 
 except where plain men urge upon their hearers in plain 
 and strong language the impending dangers of the next 
 world, and point out a certain way of escape, they themselves 
 evidently believing whilst they do so that both are downright 
 
 * Eternal Salvation : a Letter to his Friends by a Country Gentleman. 
 lo D'Olier Street, Dublin ; and g Paternoster Row, London. 
 
346 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxi. 
 
 facts. This appears to be a necessary condition of these 
 manifestations. 
 
 The remarkable scenes described above, extended over 
 a great breadth of country, and could hardly be omitted 
 from a description of the ' Realities of Irish Life.' 
 
1865-1868.] FARNEY. 347 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 FARNEY, 1865-1S6S. 
 
 A GREAT and notable change has passed over the Barony 
 of Farney. Ribbonism, so far as I am informed, has ceased 
 to exist Avithin its borders. Industry, order, punctuality in 
 the payment of rents, and a desire for, and tendency 
 towards improvement, are the general characteristics of 
 the day. 
 
 It is true that every now and then the course of peaceful 
 advance is disturbed and retarded by that most odious of 
 all odious calamities in Ireland, a contested county election. 
 I know of nothing more detrimental to the peace and 
 prosperity of a district, than an election for members of 
 Parliament, conducted as such elections generally are in 
 Ireland. The worst passions of the people are aroused to 
 their utmost pitch on both sides, and sectarian animosity 
 and virulence seem, demon-like, to possess the whole com- 
 munity. This is not the place to enter upon a discussion 
 as to how all this might be avoided. It is enough to say 
 that it prevails to such a degree as to embitter society on 
 each occasion of its recurrence, so that we have scarcely 
 had time to recover from the angry feelings of one election 
 before another springs into its place. 
 
 I am well aware of the unhappy position of affairs in 
 Ireland which renders these unfortunate differences almost 
 natural and indigenous to the soil. The owners of landed 
 property are in general Protestants. The occupiers are in 
 
348 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxii. 
 
 general Roman Catholics. And in many of the great 
 questions of the day which come before Parliament, and to 
 which the county representatives are called on to pledge 
 themselves, the interests of the owners and those of the 
 occupiers are considered by each class as antagonistic. 
 
 The landed proprietor feels that in the selection of a 
 Member of Parliament he has only one vote ; and no 
 matter how large his interest or stake in the country may 
 be, he has constitutionally nothing to throw into the scale 
 against those who would overturn the most cherished insti- 
 tutions of the realm, except this unit vote. He sees with 
 ill-suppressed indignation that the smallest holder and most 
 ignorant peasant on his estate has by law the same power 
 as himself, and, if uninfluenced by him, will probably make 
 use of it in overturning all that he has been accustomed 
 to hold sacred. The tenant again, on his side, maintains 
 that if he pays his rent, cultivates his farm, and fulfils 
 his other engagements with his landlord, the latter has no 
 right to make any further demand upon him, and, backed 
 by his priest^ he resists all interference with his vote. 
 
 Such is the dead-lock — such the block-up — of the way. 
 It is difficult to induce the noble proprietor or the highly- 
 educated gentleman, the owner of, say 20,000/. per annum, 
 with a stake and investment in the country which if capi- 
 talised might be worth half a million of money, to take up 
 the position the Constitution has legally allotted to him, 
 and to claim no more power in the selection of a represen- 
 tative than the most ignorant peasant on his estate, the 
 occupier perhaps of only a few acres of worn-out land, 
 without 10/. worth of capital in the world beyond his bone 
 and sinew. And yet so it is. The priest on the one side 
 urges vehemently the constitutional rights of the tenant ; 
 and the landlord on the other is indignant that all the 
 influence he might naturally expect from his position. 
 
1865-1868.] FARNEY. 349 
 
 education, and wealth, should, from this difiference in creed, 
 be rudely forced from his hands under the sanction of what 
 he must admit to be the tenant's constitutional right. 
 
 But I digress ; and yet it is well that the real position of 
 affairs, and the feelings consequent upon them, should be 
 clearly understood in England, as being the main causes 
 of the violence, turbulence, and misery which occur at 
 an Irish election. 
 
 Let us now change the scene in the barony of Farney 
 from 1852 to 1865 ; and passing by the agony which has 
 been caused on more than one occasion by a contested 
 election, let us look at the present position of that district, 
 which some years ago was the scene of such wide-spread 
 disaffection. 
 
 In the month of May 1865, the Marquis of Bath visited 
 his estates in Farney. His reception was such as a prince 
 might be proud of Nearly 50,000/.* had been expended 
 on his estate since he first came into possession, on per- 
 manent and substantial improvements. And the warm 
 welcome of a warm-hearted and contented tenantry greeted 
 him at every step.i* 
 
 Having once overcome, and to a great extent eradicated, 
 the Ribbon Confederacy by the means described in a former 
 chapter, I resolved to forgive and forget all past misconduct, 
 and never to hold those who had been concerned in Ribbon- 
 ism, but who had at the time escaped punishment, as any 
 
 * The expenditure on this estate within the last sixteen years has been as 
 follows. On drainage and land improvement, 10,155/. On various buildings, 
 and repairs of tenants' houses, 23,829/. On compensation for surrender of tene- 
 ments (whereby consolidations were effected), 2,831/. On emigration (2,459 
 persons), 7,988/. On sundry improvements not included in the above, 4,178/. 
 Making a total of 48,981/., within the last sixteen years. Yearly average, in- 
 clusive of emigration, 3,061/. Exclusive of emigration, 2,562/. 
 
 See Mr. Trench's Evidence before Lords' Select Committee on Tenure of 
 Land [Ireland] Bill. 1867. 
 
 t In the Appendix will be found a detailed account of this remarkable visit 
 of an English Peer to his Irish estate. 
 
350 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxii. 
 
 longer responsible, or in the shade of discountenance 
 for the past. The people were very quick in perceiving 
 this, and at last they seemed to consider they were safe in 
 openly acknowledging their error, and confessing their 
 sorrow for their past misdeeds. 
 
 Some curious instances of how completely they feel that 
 these matters have been all forgiven, occurred a few months 
 since, and may perhaps prove interesting to the reader. 
 
 I was riding not long ago (March 1868), in company with 
 our old friend Paddy M'^Ardle, to visit a distant portion 
 of the Bath Estate, and settle some petty quarrels which had 
 arisen amongst the tenants. My business led me to visit, 
 amongst other places, a spring well, which had become a 
 subject of dispute between two neighbours. The well was 
 situated exactly in the middle of the fence which separated 
 their several farms, and each accordingly claimed it as his 
 own. There ought to have been no real difficulty in the 
 case whatever, as the supply of water in the well was ample 
 for the requirements of both tenants, but the quarrels which 
 took place between them were nevertheless incessant. 
 The last complaint which came before me was, that one 
 of the parties had turned the drippings of the manure heap 
 into the well, and that the other had then filled up the well 
 with stones, and thus it became useless to both ! 
 
 It appeared absolutely necessary therefore that I should 
 go myself and decide upon this knotty point, as Paddy 
 assured me he had done his utmost, but was quite unable to 
 settle it. I went accordingly, and having heard the state- 
 ment of each party, I settled the case to the satisfaction of 
 both, by directing that the well should be covered over with 
 a flag stone, but that each side should be open to the field 
 belonging to each separate farm, and that the boundary 
 fence (a stone wall) should be carried right over the top of 
 the well in a straight line, so that neither could claim the 
 
1865-1868.] THE GUNPOWDER PLOT. 35 1 
 
 well as being specially his own. This arrangement was 
 highly approved of by all parties concerned, and by the 
 neighbourhood generally, especially as it gave a decided 
 victory to neither of the contending parties. 
 
 But it happened that one of the men concerned in this 
 frivolous dispute had allowed his temper to be so roused 
 and irritated that he was led to confide to me the strangest 
 stories concerning things which had long since gone by. 
 The dispute about the well was enhanced by another 
 dispute about some land, of which he complained that he 
 had been unjustly deprived, and this caused many of the 
 neighbours to side with one or the other of the disputants ; 
 and the man at last, desiring to revenge himself upon his 
 opponents, related to me the following story, all of which I 
 have reason to believe strictly true. 
 
 During the period when the Ribbonmen were most active 
 in plotting the murder of myself and Paddy M'^Ardle, 
 sundry meetings were held in different tenants' houses to 
 discuss the best mode of 'getting at us.' One house 
 
 especially, in the Townland of L , was a favourite 
 
 place of resort ; and many were accustomed to join company 
 there and sit till midnight, or later, discussing this most 
 interesting question. At length it was resolved to hold a 
 final meeting of the choice spirits amongst those who could 
 be most safely trusted, with a view to a night attack on 
 Paddy M'^Ardle's house. 
 
 A number of men, some twelve or fourteen, were accord- 
 ingly selected, and were ordered to bring with them crow- 
 bars, sledges, and spades, as well as fire-arms; and the 
 
 house in L , having been chosen as usual for the 
 
 place of rendezvous, a full attendance took place. But it 
 happened that the elder brother of the disputant about the 
 well was one of those selected for this expedition, and he let 
 it ooze out to my informant, who was then a boy of some 
 
352 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxii. 
 
 fifteen or sixteen years of age, that the performance of a 
 serious job was contemplated that night. 
 
 The lad, being most anxious to take part in this manly 
 feat — the attacking and breaking into Paddy M^Ardle's 
 house and murdering all the inmates — entreated his brother 
 to allow him to join the expedition. His brother, however, 
 would on no account permit it, and the disappointed boy 
 determined to have his revenge. He watched the party 
 from behind a ditch hard by, as they assembled one by one 
 at the little cabin : some brought pistols, some pickaxes, 
 some crowbars, and one of them brought a heavy sledge- 
 hammer. 
 
 They sat on forms and three-legged stools around the 
 fire, a good blaze having been made as the night was cold 
 and stormy. The discussion was long and serious, as the 
 intended attack on Paddy's house and the murder of its 
 inmates was the boldest and most formidable overt act 
 the Ribbonmen had yet contemplated. The boy watched 
 them through a chink in the half-fastened window shutters. 
 He saw the whisky introduced and circulating freely, as 
 the favoured individuals inside discussed their plan of 
 attack. It was arranged that at midnight they should issue 
 from their den, and on arriving at the house, one of them 
 should ask in a feigned voice, ' if he could see Mr. M^Ardle, 
 as Denny Callan's house had taken fire nigh at hand, and 
 all the neighbours were up stirring to put it out, and none 
 would be so good at the work as Mr. M^Ardle himself ' ! 
 
 If the door was opened by Paddy to this false story, the 
 others were to rush in and despatch him with pistols or 
 spades, according as circumstances at the moment might 
 enable them most easily to kill him. But should it happen 
 that Paddy became suspicious of their designs and refused 
 to open the door, then the owner of the sledge-hammer, a 
 well-known blacksmith in the neighbourhood, was to use 
 
1S65-1S68.] THE GUNPOWDER PLOT. 353 
 
 his implement with vigour, smash in the panels of the door, 
 and ' the crowbar brigade ' being close at hand were to 
 wrench it off its hinges, dash up to Paddy's room or find 
 him wherever he might be, and not quit the premises until 
 they left him a corpse. 
 
 Such were the arrangements w^hich the ambitious youth 
 heard discussed and settled, and he became half-maddened at 
 the idea that he was not allowed to take part in so glorious 
 an enterprise, from which it was expected the heroes would 
 come out victorious and arrive at a high pitch of honour and 
 credit in the country. The district, it seems, had at this 
 time fallen into very low repute amongst certain classes of 
 the people. Bateson, Mauleverer, and others had been mur- 
 dered on neighbouring properties, whilst not even an attack 
 had yet been made on anyone connected with the Bath 
 Estate. Irritated at his exclusion from such an opportunity 
 of distinguishing himself, and observing that the men were 
 settling themselves for a short sleep previous to the hour of 
 midnight when they were all to sally forth, this baffled boy 
 resolved, as he could not join them, at least to dim their 
 glory. Accordingly, he stole quietly home to his own 
 cabin, which was situated a short distance off, and having 
 seen his brother, on a former occasion, hide some gunpowder 
 under the bed, he searched and found about a pound 
 of it. This he wrapped up tightly in brown paper. He 
 then got a long piece of cord, and having fastened the 
 package of powder to one end of the cord, he returned to 
 the place of rendezvous, and looking in through his former 
 hole of observation he perceived that all v/ere asleep, except 
 one who had been placed as a sentinel. Some slept on the 
 floor near the hearth, others on stools, leaning their backs 
 against the wall, but the whole party had gathered them- 
 selves as closely as they could around the expiring embers 
 of the fire. The boy went round stealthily to the back of 
 
 A A 
 
354 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxii. 
 
 the cabin, and climbing up by means of a wheelbarrow upon 
 the thatch, he cautiously let down the package of gunpowder, 
 by means of the string, upon the coals inside, and leaping 
 nimbly to the ground again, he darted off a few paces and 
 ensconced himself behind a high ditch to watch the result in 
 safety. The brown paper in which the parcel had been tied 
 was tolerably stiff and strong, so that half a minute or so 
 elapsed before any result took place, and the package 
 having been let down gently through the chimney, not the 
 slightest idea of what was going on had occurred even to 
 the sentinel himself, much less to the sleeping Ribbonmen. 
 Suddenly, however, they were roused from their slumbers ; 
 an explosion of a terrific nature took place. The cabin, 
 consisting only of one small room, felt the full force of the 
 shock. The roof was blown into the air; the sleeping 
 Ribbonmen were hurled about the floor and sent rolling to 
 the other end of the room. One or two who were sitting 
 up had their faces blackened and scorched, whilst the 
 sentinel was tumbled over and dashed against the opposite 
 doorway. The walls were burst out and split ; and, in short, 
 no bombshell, exploding unexpectedly in the midst of an 
 enemy's camp, could have produced a more appalling effect. 
 The astonishment of the conspirators may be imagined. 
 They rushed into the open air, each entreating the other 
 to tell him what had happened ; and none of them being 
 able to explain it, they concluded that the police had 
 come upon them and blown them up as they were sleeping. 
 Away, therefore, they ran in a sudden panic, each believing 
 that a policeman was close at his heels ; and they never 
 stopped until, out of breath and weary, they found them- 
 selves in different directions nearly a mile from the scene of 
 the explosion. Observing, however, that no pursuit took 
 place, they plucked up courage, and coming together again 
 in twos and threes, they endeavoured to ascertain what had 
 
1S65-1S6S.] THE GUNPOWDER PLOT. 355 
 
 occurred ; but all attempts at doing so were vain ; so they 
 commenced accusing and abusing each other, each swearing 
 ( most happily for Paddy !) that he would never join such 
 villains again in any enterprise of the sort. 
 
 The mischievous young scoundrel who had occasioned 
 all this turmoil, ran at full speed towards home immediately 
 on the explosion taking place, and then came out of his 
 cabin again to meet his brother, pretending to have been 
 frightened at the noise, and enquiring what was the matter. 
 When informed of the occurrence he expressed the greatest 
 surprise, and immediately asked where the blacksmith had 
 left his sledge. 
 
 ' Why do ye want to know .'' ' returned the blacksmith, 
 by no means pleased that he should be singled out from 
 amongst the other conspirators, even by this impudent boy. 
 
 ' Because,' replied the lad, 'your name was on the JiandL\ 
 burnt in by yourself; and as sure as you're alive, if the 
 police get hold of it, you'll swing by the neck for it yet.' 
 
 ' Blood alive ! ' exclaimed the blacksmith, ' what will I do 
 at all 1 ' 
 
 ' Away ! back with you, life or death, and get the sledge 
 handle any way, or else ye'U surely be hanged,' urged the 
 boy. 
 
 Back stole the wretched blacksmith, going as he thought 
 almost into the jaws of death, to recover the tell-tale sledge, 
 whilst the boy laughed in his sleeve at the terror and con- 
 fusion he had occasioned. He was not discovered. 
 
 Such was the story detailed to Paddy M'^Ardle and 
 myself a few months since by the very man who when a bf^y 
 had performed the exploit, and we were shown the spot on 
 which the cabin had stood— now levelled and sown with 
 potatoes — and where these strange proceedings had taken 
 place. But the oddest part of the story consisted in the 
 fact that it was all told now under somewhat similar 
 
356 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE, [chap. xxii. 
 
 feelings to those which had originally urged him on to 
 perform the deed — namely, vexation at a fancied wrong. 
 He had quarrelled about the well, and he had quarrelled 
 about the piece of land, which he maintained had been 
 unjustly taken from him by another family; and to bring 
 this family and their friends into disrepute with me, he 
 had laid open the whole of that night's proceedings as I 
 have detailed them above, giving me the names and resi- 
 dences of all the parties concerned, and not shrinking from 
 telling even his own part in the transaction ! He dared 
 not have done this a few years ago. 
 
 Another incident, which happened about the same time, 
 may perhaps be worth recording. An artisan who has 
 long been, and still is, employed in the works upon the 
 estate, applied to be accepted as tenant to a nice httle farm 
 which had recently become vacant, and was well circum- 
 stanced and suited to his purpose. As he had been long 
 in the employment, I consented to accept him as tenant, 
 though I well knew he had been one of those who had 
 formerly conspired against my life. We had made it up, 
 however, long since, and had been good friends for some 
 twelve or fourteen years. I had directed the man to come 
 to my private residence to make arrangements about the 
 farm ; and when all was settled, as I passed out of the house 
 with him, I heard my daughter playing on her harp in tlie 
 drawing-room. 
 
 'Would you like to come in and hear the young lady 
 play ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' Bedad, I would, your honour, if it wouldn't be making 
 too bold,' replied the man. 
 
 I took him in to the drawing-room at once, and having 
 requested my daughter to play a few airs on the harp which 
 I thought would please him — such as 'Patrick's day,' and 
 ' Garryowen,' the man was leaving the room in high delight 
 
1865-1S6S.] FARNEY. 357 
 
 at the music and the compliment thus paid to him, when I 
 said suddenly to my daughter, 
 
 ' Do you know who this man is ? ' 
 
 ' No,' she replied, ' I don't recollect having ever seen him 
 before.' 
 
 ' This is ,' said I, giving the man's name in full ; 'and 
 
 you will be surprised when I tell you that this is one of the 
 old conspirators against my life when the times were dis- 
 turbed some few years ago.' 
 
 My daughter looked with wonder at us both, scarcely 
 believing that I spoke in earnest as she saw a half smile 
 upon my face. 
 
 ' It is true, I assure you,' I replied, in answer to her incre- 
 dulous look. 
 
 ' Well indeed now,' urged the man, appealing to my 
 daughter, ' what his honour says is all true enough ; but 
 sure he knows well I wasn't as bad as others ; and any way 
 there is not a man on the estate would be less willinsf to 
 see a hair of his head touched now, but sure none of us 
 knew him then.' 
 
 I could not help laughing outright at the curious inno- 
 cence of the man's confession, so I only replied, 
 
 ' Well, if you were a bad boy then, I hope you will be a 
 good boy now; and as you escaped hanging then, I'm not 
 going to remember it now. Perhaps you thought I didn't 
 know of your proceedings, but I have been aware of them 
 these twelve years past. I believe you are a changed man, 
 so you shall have the little farm.' 
 
 The man bowed and retired, and is now in possession of 
 the holding. 
 
 One more recent incident, and I have done. 
 
 Scarcely six weeks ago, in May 1868, I was riding with 
 two young friends over one of the most distant portions of 
 the Bath Estate. My business led me to visit a man's farm 
 
358 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxii. 
 
 which he complained was too highly rented. Having 
 examined the land, I was passing out of the last field when 
 another odd-looking man, unshaven and ragged, came up 
 to me, and told me that his rent needed reduction as much 
 as his neighbour's. I replied that he had made no formal 
 application to that effect, and I could not therefore at 
 present entertain his case. 
 
 ' Well, yourhonour,' said the man, ' I wouldn't trouble you, 
 only I wouldn't like to see this chap's rent reduced and I 
 not get the same favour.' 
 
 ' But he does not ask it as a favour,' I answered ; ' he says 
 his land is too highly rented, and he wants me to examine 
 it myself I have formed my own opinion on that matter, 
 and he shall know it when he comes to the office next 
 Thursday.' 
 
 * Don't mind a word that blackguard says, your honour,' 
 returned the ragged man ; ' he's the biggest villain in the 
 country, and it's well he knows it's too' cheap he has the 
 land entirely ! ' 
 
 It may well be supposed that such an onslaught as this 
 set the disputants at high words at once, and to the aston- 
 ishment of myself and friends these wordy warriors fired 
 into each other's characters with the most remorseless 
 severity. 
 
 ' You are the biggest villain in the barony ! ' cried the 
 ragged man ; ' you know well I had ye in Monaghan gaol 
 for six months : you thief of the world, you stole my pro- 
 perty, so you did ! ' 
 
 'You're a liar!' shouted the other; 'ye well know ye 
 wrongfully accused me, and perjured yourself when }'e 
 swore against me ; and anyhow my character is better than 
 yours, let his honour ax the priest or any dacent man in 
 the country.' 
 
 ' I'll hould ye a five-pound note agen that,' cried the 
 
1865-1868.] THE PUBLIC ROBBER. 359 
 
 ragged man. ' I'll bet ye a five-pound note this minute, 
 and let his honour hould the stakes, that my character is 
 far preferable to yourn.' 
 
 * Five pounds! ' returned the other contemptuously, 
 ' where would the likes of ye get five pounds .'' and ye 
 boasting there to get his honour to hould the stakes ! it would 
 be fitter for ye to give five ha'pence to some ould tailor 
 and get your clothes mended ! Five pounds indeed ! ' 
 
 ' I'll prove it ! ' shouted the ragged man in a high state of 
 excitement ; ' I'll prove it to his honour this minute ! ' and 
 rummaging amongst his rags, he pulled out an old greasy 
 purse, and taking from thence two five-pound notes, he 
 walked up to me in a majestic manner, and requested me 
 to hold one of them as the stake in this characteristic 
 wager. 
 
 Of course I declined ; but the whole scene was so absurd 
 that it was impossible we could help laughing ; when his 
 antagonist, seeing the cause going against him, and that 
 the stakes were really forthcoming, became excited be- 
 yond measure, and at last losing all control of himself, he 
 said — 
 
 ' Ye are z. public robber, so ye are, and I could tell that of 
 ye which if his honour knew, he'd banish ye off the estate, 
 as he did better men than ye are.' 
 
 ' I defy ye ! ' returned the ragged man ; ' say what ye like, 
 only down with the five pounds first, and let his honour 
 hould the stakes.' 
 
 ' Why do you call him a public robber } ' I enquired, 
 having observed that the man laid particular stress upon 
 this unusual description of his ragged opponent. 
 
 ' Because he chated the public,' replied the man. 
 
 ' How so .^ ' I asked again. 
 
 The man gave a look at his ragged neighbour to see if 
 
360 REALITIES OF IRISH LIFE. [chap. xxir. 
 
 he shrank from what he was now about to tell ; but his 
 look was answered by a bold defiance. 
 
 * I defy ye — do your worst now, if ye can.' 
 
 'Then I'll tell his honour all about it,' said his opponent. 
 ' That same public robber there before ye, put down his 
 name for a one-pound note to get Paddy M'^Ardle shot, 
 that's alive and well now ; and when them that was to do 
 the job came round to him afterwards for the money to 
 pay the heavy expenses they were under, the thief of the 
 world only buttoned up his pocket, and refused to pay a 
 farthing ; and that's why I call him a public robber ! ' 
 
 ' A nd why would I pay them a farthing, the rogues that 
 they were, wheu they didnt do the job ? ' shouted the 
 ragged man. ' Sure isn't Mr. M'^Ardle safe and sound this 
 minute — long life to him and long may he reign, himself 
 and his big white horse ! May I never but I wouldn't for 
 a five-pound note this minute that they got him down, and 
 yet the thieves of the world watited me to pay tJiem for 
 shootin him when they never done it all ! That's a quare 
 way of doing business. Pay the one-pound note indeed ! 
 In troth I'll pay nothing of the kind ! ' 
 
 Having thus fully admitted his original engagement, but 
 indignantly repudiated the obligation his opponent wanted 
 to fasten on him, inasmuch as the contract had never been 
 performed, he put his two five-pound notes quietly into his 
 purse again as if he thought this awkward claim might 
 possibly be revived, and walked away with the air of an 
 indignant and injured individual. 
 
 Those who would live happily and peaceably in Ireland, 
 of whatever rank or creed they be, have much to forgive on 
 both sides. 
 
CONCLUSION. 361 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Possibly some may ask why the faults of my country 
 should have been brought to light in such undraped sim- 
 plicity as in the preceding tales ? 
 
 The reply is simple. All admit that remedial measures 
 are required for Ireland ; and that until her actual condition 
 is known, and her people understood, these are not likely 
 to be well devised. It would, therefore, be manifestly unwise, 
 as well as unkind, to conceal her real condition and her 
 real feelings. But neither have the virtues of her people 
 been concealed. Where can be found more true, and 
 tender, and devoted love, than in the Irish girl — of which 
 Mary Shea and Alice M'^Mahon are samples .'' And where 
 more manly affection and fortitude than in their lovers ? 
 Even the untamed Joe M^'Key was a hero in his way, and 
 by no means devoid of noble qualities. 
 
 We can scarcely shut our eyes to the fact that the cir- 
 cumstances and feelings which have led to the terrible 
 crime of murder in Ireland, are usually very different from 
 those which have led to murder elsewhere. The reader of 
 the English newspaper is shocked at the list of children 
 murdered by professional assassins, of wives murdered by 
 their husbands, of men murdered for their gold. In Ire- 
 land that dreadful crime may almost invariably be traced 
 to a wild feeling of revenge for the national wrongs, to 
 which so many of her sons believe that she has been sub- 
 jected for centuries. 
 
362 CONCLUSION. 
 
 The cry from Ireland is invariably for 'Justice.' But to 
 ascertain what is just we need, first, a knowledge of the 
 facts of the case, and then, an unbiassed judgment to deal 
 with them. 
 
 Many think that the same measure should not be meted 
 to the two great parties into which Ireland is now mainly 
 divided — the Protestant rich and the Roman Catholic poor. 
 Some think this because they look upon the wealthy Saxon 
 and prosperous Protestant as an invader and interloper who, 
 notwithstanding the prescription of three hundred years, 
 ought now to be deprived of his possessions, and expelled 
 from the soil of Ireland. Others shrink from treating both 
 sides alike because they look upon the Roman Catholics as 
 rebels both by nature and by creed. Can Ireland look with 
 hope or confidence to either of these extremes } Surely 
 a line of justice to both parties exists, and surely it may be 
 found without closing the ear to the claims of the one class, 
 and without inflicting upon the other the very wrongs of 
 which the first complains. 
 
 Should the foregoing records contribute in any measure 
 to the attainment of real justice to Ireland, one great 
 object in their publication will have been accomplished. 
 
EXPLANATION OF THE MAP. 
 
 The topographical and historical Map, which accompanies the Annals of the Four 
 Masters, has been compiled chiefly for the purpose of illustrating the events recorded, 
 and pointing out the territories possessed by the Princes, Lords, Chiefs, and Clans, 
 mentioned in the course of the Annals, thus elucidating the History, Topography, 
 and Antiquities of Ireland. The Map has been arranged by Philip Mac Dermott, 
 Esq., M.D. and compiled partly from the ancient Topographies of O'Dugan and 
 O'Heerin, which are given in the Annotations to the Annals, and explained in the 
 Preface and Introduction, and partly from the Annals of the Four Masters themselves, 
 one of the best and most accurate authorities, on the rank, titles, and territories, not 
 only of the Irish Princes, Chiefs and Clans, but of the great Anglo-Norman or Anglo- 
 Irish families. A great mass of materials has been also collected from various other 
 sources. Abraham Ortelius, a celebrated geographer of Antwerp, who died in 1598, 
 published a Map of Ireland, giving the names of the principal Irish and English pos- 
 sessors, in the reign of Elizabeth, and this Map was republished by the learned Charles 
 O'Connor of Belenagare, about the year 1770, showing the principal Irish and Eng- 
 lish proprietors in the reign of James I., or beginning of the 17th century. An 
 account of the Map of Ortelius is given in the Introduction to the second volume of 
 Shaw Mason's Statistical .Survey of Ireland. 
 
 The JMap of Ortelius is, however, veiy defective, for it does not contain one-seventh 
 of the Irish Chiefs and Clans, besides, as there are no baronies marked, it is impos- 
 sible accurately to ascertain the territories possessed by the various tribes. The Maps 
 accompanying the State Papers of the reign of Henry the VIII. published in 1834, 
 were compiled from about A. D. 15 15 to 1567, and are very valuable, as containing 
 the names of the principal Irish and English possessors at that period, but many of 
 the names are misspelled, and difficult to be ascertained ; on those Maps are given 
 curious representations of the three Mac Sweeneys of Donegal, each accompanied 
 with the figme of a battle-axe, as they were celebrated commanders of galloglasses. 
 The Map of Ortelius and those of the .State Papers, as far as they go, have been made 
 available, but materials have been collected from numerous other sources, as the various 
 ancient Histories, Topographies, and Genealogies found in Keating ; in Cambrensis 
 Eversus ; O'Flaherty's Ogygia ; the Dissertations of Charles O'Conor ; O'Brien's 
 Irish Dictionary ; O'Halloran ; Mac Geoghegan ; the works of Ware, Usher, Valan- 
 cey, Camden, Hanmer and Campion ; Cox's Hibernia Anglicana, Harris's Hibernica, 
 Colgan, De Burgo, Archdall and Lanigan ; the Public Records and Inquisitions pub- 
 lished from 1825 to 1829, particularly the Books on Ultonia and Lagenia ; all the 
 Topographical Dictionaries, County Histories, and Surveys hilherto published ; ancient 
 Peerages, by Lodge and others ; Burke's Peerage and Landed Gentry ; and personal 
 information collected from various sources. The Census of 1 821 has been consulted, 
 which gives the names of the families in every parish in Ireland, and many Clans have 
 been collected from it ; for where an old tribe name is very numerous at the present 
 day, it may be inferred that they have been located there for centuries. 
 
 As the Danes make a remarkable figure in Irish History, in the 9th, loth and nth 
 centuries, they are marked on the territories where they were chiefly located along the 
 sea coast, and the great lakes. The Anglo- Irish on the Map, are the great Anglo- 
 Norman Barons, who came with Strongbow and his successors, and were commonly 
 called Strongbownians, together with many English families of note, who came to 
 Ireland before the reign of Elizabeth, or down to about A.D. 1 560; and as this Map 
 is chiefly intended to elucidate Irish History to that period, the great Anglo-Irish 
 families are placed on it, most of them being historical, and often mentioned in the 
 Annals of the Four Masters ; but the names are necessarily limited to those who came 
 
564 
 
 EXPLANATION OF THE MAP. 
 
 to this country before the reign of Elizabeth, for to give all the families of note who 
 were located in Ireland, since that period, through successive revolutions, would require 
 a Map of three times the size ; and it is to be observed, that this is intended, not as a Map 
 of modern, but of ancient Ireland ; but, at the same time it maybe mentioned, that in the 
 topographical Notes to the Annals, accounts have been given of the nobility and chief 
 families of English descent, in the different counties, down to modern times. It has 
 been mentioned in the Notes, that ancient Ireland was made into two great divisions, 
 one denominated Leath Mogha, which constituted the southern half, and comprised the 
 kingdoms or ancient provinces of Leinster and Munster, the other, forming the 
 northern half, was called Leath Cuinn, and comprised the ancient provinces or king- 
 doms of Meath, Ulster and Connaught. Those two great divisions were marked by 
 a boundary-line, drawn from the bay of Dublin to the bay of Galway. The five 
 ancient provinces or kingdoms, of Meath, Ulster, Connaught, Leinster, and Munster, 
 which constituted the Irish Pentarchy, are marked on the Map, together with the 
 chief ancient principalities, and large territorial divisions, but though it might be very 
 desirable to give all the ancient territories, and remarkable places, with their names in 
 Irish as well as in English, that object could not be accomplished, except on a Map 
 at least twice the size, which could not be made available to accompany these Annals. 
 Many ancient names of territories and remarkable places are given, as anglicised and 
 latinized by various writers, to suit the general reader, for if in Irish these names 
 would convey little information, except to Irish scholars. On reference to the names 
 of the various territories in the Index to the Annals, full accounts will be found of the 
 extent and boundaries of all the ancient kingdoms or provinces, principalities, and 
 minor districts, from which a coloured Map could be formed, showing the exact 
 extent of every territory. The counties, and all the baronies in Ireland, are laid down 
 on this Map, for otherwise it would be impossible to ascertain accurately the modern 
 localities, corresponding to the ancient possessions of the Chiefs and Clans, and the 
 object was to make it of general utility. The names of many remarkable places are 
 given, such as fortresses, and seats of kings, ancient cities. Bishops' sees. Colleges, 
 celebrated battle-fields, &c. ; but, as before stated, it would require a far larger Map 
 to give all the interesting objects connected with Irish Antiquities. 
 
 On reference to the names of persons and places in the Index to the Annals, a full 
 account will be found of the Irish princes, chiefs, and clans, and of the Anglo-Irish 
 families of note, with their rank, titles, and territories. In the Topographical Notes, 
 accounts are given of the territories possessed by each of the Irish princes and chiefs, 
 from the loth to the 17th century, comprising a period of seven hundred years of well 
 authenticated history ; but it may be observed, that before surnames were established, 
 in the loth and nth centuries, and a regular succession of families ascertained, the 
 ancestors of those princes and chiefs had possessed these territories for more than a 
 thousand years. In the notes from p. 550 to 552, and at pp. 579, 580, an account is 
 given of the rank, titles, and extent of territory held by each of the Irish princes, 
 lords, and chiefs ; and as a guide to a general reference to the Map, it is to be 
 observed, that in the topographical notes to the Annals, the ancient territories, and 
 the corresponding counties and baronies, are described under the following heads, 
 which can easily be found on reference to the Index ; and a full account will be thus 
 obtained of all the Irish princes, lords, chiefs, and clans, as well as of the old families 
 of note of English descent in every county : 
 
 I. In the Notes on Meath, Teffia, Bregia, Moy Liffey, Annaly and Off"aley, 
 are described the counties of Meath, Westmeath, Longford, Dublin, and parts of 
 Kildare and King's County, with their chiefs, clans, &c. 
 
 II. Orgiall, or the counties of Louth, Monaghan, and Armagh. 
 
 III. Dalaradia, Ulidia, and Dalrieda, or Down and Antrim. 
 
 IV. Tir-Eogain and Tir-Conal, or Tyrone, Derry, and Donegal. 
 V. Brefney and Fermanagh, or Cavan, Leitrim and Fermanagh. 
 
 VI. Connaught North, or Sligo and Mayo. 
 VII. Connaught South, or Galway and Roscommon. 
 VIII. Thomond, or Clare and Limerick. 
 IX. Desmond, or Cork and Kerry. 
 X. Ormond and Desies, or Tipperary and Waterford. 
 XI. Hy-Kinsellagh and Cualan, or Wexford, Wicklow, and Carlow. 
 
EXPLANATION OF THE MAP. 365 
 
 XII. Ossory, Ofifaley, Leix and Moy Lififey, or Kilkenny, King's and Queen's 
 Counties, and Kildare. A reference can also be made to the head, County Histories^ 
 in the Index. 
 
 To make this Map as correct as possible, great labour has been encountered in col- 
 lecting the materials, which have been carefully and accurately arranged, the compiler 
 and publisher being most anxious to render it a document that can be relied on as 
 perfectly authentic. The Map has been engraved, with great accuracy, by W. H. 
 Holbroke, of Crow Street, Dublin, who also executed the ancient Irish Orjtainental 
 Letters in the Annals, and the Ilhiminated Title-page. The art of illuminating MSS. 
 was practised from very remote ages, chiefly by the monks, who embellished their 
 works on ecclesiastical history with paintings in beautiful and brilliant colours. These 
 artists were called Illuminators, and decorated their books with elegant ornamental 
 letters, emblematic figures, portraits of Saints, Angels, &c., exquisitely coloured, and 
 gilt or burnished with gold. Many magnificent specimens of this ancient art are to 
 be found in various Libraries throughout Europe, particularly in ecclesiastical works, 
 Lives of Saints, Books of the Gospels, Missals, &c. The Irish ecclesiastics exten- 
 sively practised this art, and many of their Books, of great antiquity, still remain, such 
 as the Book of Armagh, or of St. Patrick, the Book of Kells, or of St. Columkille, 
 which is preserved in Trinity College Dublin, and many more in various Libraries, 
 all exquisitely illuminated. After the invention of printing, the practice of illuminat- 
 ing books fell into disuse, but has been again partially introduced in modern times, 
 particularly in England, by the celebrated Pugin, who is the great revivor of this art, 
 and has published a book of splendid specimens. The illuminated Title-page to the 
 Annals of the Four Masters does great credit to the taste and talents of Mr. Hol- 
 brooke, who has executed, in a very elegant style, that and other specimens of this 
 costly and difficult embellishment, and has the merit of being the first who has 
 attempted to revive this beautiful and ancient art in Ireland. 
 
 Ancient Colonies. — On a Map of ancient Ireland, the Colonies that peopled the 
 country from the earliest ages should be placed ; but as its size was not suitable for that 
 purpose, the following account of them is here subjoined. The Celts were descended from 
 Gomer, and the Scythians from Magog, two sons of Japhet, son of Noah, and both 
 these people originally dwelt in the countries near the Euxine and Caspian seas, on the 
 borders of Europe and Asia. (See Azotes in Annals, p. 363 to 365.) 
 
 1. The Partholanians came from Scythia near the Euxine sea, and were located 
 chiefly in Ulster, at Inis-Samer in Donegal, and also at Binn-Edair now the Hill of 
 Howth, where they were all, in number nine thousand, cut off" by a plague, after they 
 had been in Ireland thirty years. 
 
 2. The Nemedians, who were Celto-Scythians, came from the country near the 
 Euxine, and were located chiefly in Ulster at Ardmacha, or Armagh ; in Derry and 
 Donegal ; and at the hill of Usneach in Meath. 
 
 3. The Fomorians, who were African pirates, of the race of Ham, and considered 
 to be Canaanites or Phenicians, who were expelled from their country by Joshua, were 
 located along the coasts of Ulster and Connaught, mostly in Antrim, Derry, Donegal, 
 Leitrim, Sligo and Mayo, and had their chief fortress, called Tor-Conaing, or Conang's 
 Tower, on Tor Inis, or the Island of the Tower, now Tory Island, off the coast of 
 Donegal ; and another at the Giant's Causeway, which was called Clochan-na-Fomo- 
 raigh, according to O'Brien, in his Dictionary, signifying the Causeway of the Fomo- 
 rians, as it was supposed to have been constructed by this people, who are represented 
 as a race of giants. These three colonies came to Ireland at different times, about 
 1600 to 1500 years before the birth of Christ, and had many fierce contests with each 
 
 ■ other. 
 
 4. The Fir-Bolg or Belgiatis, according to some accounts, were Scythians, and 
 came from Greece, but are more correctly considered a Celtic race from Belgic Gaul, 
 and came to Ireland about 1300 years before the Christian era ; they were located in 
 Meath and Leinster, but chiefly in Connaught, where the Fir-bolg kings ruled for more 
 than a thousand years. 
 
 5. The Tiiath-de-Danan, considered by some to be Celto-Scythians, by others 
 Chaldeans, Persians, Phenicians or Pelasgians, arrived about 1200 years before the 
 birth of Christ, and conquered the Fir-bolg. The Danans came from the East, some 
 say from Greece, to Scandinavia or Denmark, and thence to North-Britain and 
 
366 EXPLANATION OF THE MAP. 
 
 Ireland. They were located chiefly at Teamur or Tara, and Tailtean in Meath, at 
 Cruachan in Connaught, and at Aileach in Donegal. Their kings ruled over Ireland 
 197 years, and this people being represented as highly skilled in the arts, they are by 
 some Antiquaries supposed to have built the Round Towers. 
 
 6. The Milesians or Gael, originally Celto-Scythians, near the Euxine Sea, on the 
 borders of Europe and Asia, settled in Spain in very remote ages, and were mixed 
 with the Celtiberians and Phenicians. They came to Ireland from Gallicia, in north 
 Spain, about 1000 years before the Christian era, and conquered the Danans. The 
 Milesians were divided into three great tribes, the Heremonians, Heberians, and 
 Irians, so called as descendants of three brothers, Heremon, Heber, and Ir, the sons 
 of Milesius king of Spain. The Irians had Ulster ; the Heremonians possessed 
 Meath, and Leinster, and afterwards, also, Connaught and Ulster ; the Heberians had 
 Munster. The Clanna-Breogain, or Brigantes, were a branch of the Milesians, and 
 so called from their ancestor Breogain, king of Spain, who was grandfather of 
 Milesius ; they were also called Ithians, from Ith, the son of Breogain, and some- 
 times Liigadians, from Lughaidh, the son of Ith. The Brigantes were located in 
 South Leinster, and under the name of Ithians and Lugadians, in Cork and Kerry, or 
 ancient Desmond. 
 
 7. The Criithneans or Picts were Celto-Scythians, and, according to our ancient 
 historians, came from Thrace, soon after the arrival of the Milesians, or about 1000 
 years B. C, but not being permitted by the Milesians to remain in Ireland, they 
 sailed to Albain, or Scotland, and became possessors of that country ; in the course of 
 many centuries, colonies of them came over and settled in Ulster, about the begin- 
 ning of the Christian era, and at subsequent times ; they were located chiefly in the 
 territories which now form the counties of Down, Antrim, and Derry. An account 
 of all these colonies, and of the tribes in Ireland, mentioned by the Greek geographer 
 Ptolemy, in the 2nd century, is given at p. 340 to 345 ; 361 to 369, and 391 to 394, 
 in the Notes to the Annals. 
 
 8. The Danes and Norwegians, or Scandinavians, a Teutonic race, of Scythian 
 origin, came to Ireland in great numbers, in the 9th and lOth centuries, and were 
 located chiefly in Leinster and Munster, in many places along the sea-coast, their 
 strongholds being the towns of Dublin, Wexford, Waterford, Cork, and Limerick. 
 
 9. The Anglo-Normans, a Teutonic race, descended from the Normans of France, 
 who were a mixture of Norwegians, Danes, and French, and conquered England in 
 the nth century, came to Ireland in the 12th century, and got possession of a great 
 part of the country, under their chief leader, Richard de Clare, Earl of Pembroke, 
 who was named Strongbow, hence his followers have been called Strongbownians. 
 
 10. The Anglo-Saxons or English, a Teutonic race, came from the 12th to the 
 1 8th century. The Britons or Welsh, a mixture of Celts and Saxons, came in the 
 1 2th and 13th centuries. These English colonies were located chiefly in Leinster, 
 but also in great numbers in Munster and Connaught, and partly in Ulster. 
 
 1 1. The Scots, who were chiefly Celts of Irish descent, came in great numbers from 
 the lOth to the i6th century, and settled in Ulster, mostly in Antrim, Down, and 
 Derry ; but on the Plantation of Ulster with British colonies, in the 17th century, the 
 new settlers in that province were chiefly Scotch, who were a mixture of Celts and 
 Saxons. Thus the seven first colonies were a mixture of Celts, Scythians, and 
 Phenicians ; but the four last were mostly Teutons, though mixed with Celts ; and a 
 compound of all these races in which the Celtic blood is predominant, forms the 
 present population of Ireland. 
 
 Ancient Names of Ireland. — I. Inis Ealga, or the Noble Isle. 2. Fiodh-Inis, or 
 the Woody Island. 3. Crioch Fuinidh, the Final, or most remote Country. 4. Inis- 
 Fail, or the Island of Destiny. 5. Fodhla. 6. Banba. 7. Eire, Eri, Eirin. and 
 Erin, supposed to signify the Western Isle. These were the Irish names of Ireland. 
 8. lerne, lerna, lernis. Iris, and Irin. 9. Ivernia, Ibernia, Hibernia, Juvernia, 
 louernia, Hiberia, Hiberione, and Verna. 10. Insula Sacra, or the Sacred Isle. 
 II. Ogygia, or the most ancient Land. These were all names given by the Greeks 
 and Romans. 12. Scotia, or the land of the Scots. 13. Insula Sanctorum, or 
 the Island of Saints, were names applied by various Latin writers and ecclesiastical 
 historians. 14. Eire-land, or Ireland, by the Anglo-Saxons. 15. By the Danes, 
 Irlandi and Irar. 16. By the Anglo-Normans, Irelande. — See Annals, p. 388. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 THE SHAN VAN VOCHT. 
 
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368 APPENDIX. 
 
 The following account of the visit of the Marquis of Bath 
 to his Farney Estate was published in a local journal, and 
 affords a true record of the change of feeling which had 
 taken place upon the property, between 1852 and 1865. 
 
 VISIT OF THE MARQUIS OF BATH TO HIS 
 FARNEY ESTATE, IRELAND, 
 
 ' Carrickmacross, Tuesday, May i6, 1865. 
 
 ' To-day was what might aptly be termed a special car- 
 nival in the quaint old town of Carrickmacross. It being 
 generally understood that this was the first visit of the 
 Marquis of Bath to his estates in Ireland, nothing was 
 spared on the part of the inhabitants and his tenantry of 
 the surrounding country to render everything worthy of 
 the occasion, and from the active preparations, which for 
 some time past have been going on, it was evident that a 
 true Irish welcome was in store for his lordship. Indeed 
 to do justice to all parties concerned, the reception was one 
 that cannot be forgotten by the noble stranger, for it was 
 at once unmistakeably cordial and sincere. From an early 
 hour the town presented an appearance such as it rarely 
 has occasion to do. The triumphal arches, with appropriate 
 devices, the floating banners and gay streamers were looked 
 upon by the old people with wondrous eyes, for it was not 
 every day that such sights broke in upon their quietude. 
 All joined, however, in the rejoicing, when it was known 
 that their landlord, who had already endeared himself to 
 them by his kind and benevolent actions, was about to pay 
 his first visit to Ireland. A holiday being the order of the 
 day, everything in the town looked animated. The prin- 
 cipal buildings and houses, as well as those belonging to 
 the humble classes, were decked out with laurels and ever- 
 greens, arches were erected from either side of the road 
 
FARNEY. 1 865-1 868. 369 
 
 entering the town, and conspicuous amongst the many 
 inscriptions was the old Irish " cacd millc ftiilthcr 
 
 ' At four o'clock precisely, his lordship alighted at the 
 Inniskeen railway station, and was received by W. Steuart 
 Trench, Esq., and several other influential gentlemen. 
 Having proceeded to the " Broken Bridge " in a carriage 
 and four handsome greys, the Marquis was met by his 
 tenantry, who greeted him with loud cheers, and imme- 
 diately formed into procession, marching into the town in 
 great order. The scene was considerably enlivened by the 
 performance of the musical band. The entrance into the 
 town was one which was characterised by those marks of 
 welcome which a loving people never fail to bestow on the 
 deserving. At this time the streets were thronged to a 
 great extent, so much so that in some parts there was 
 scarcely room to pass. His lordship having adjourned for 
 some time to Essex Castle, proceeded to the spacious 
 Market Hall, where it was intended the address should be 
 presented. The place was adorned with flags and festoons, 
 and everything appeared appropriate to the occasion. At 
 the head of the hall a throne was erected, and superb 
 carpets were strewn on the floor. Shortly after six o'clock 
 the noble Marquis entered, and immediately a large num- 
 ber of the people availed themselves of the space in the 
 body of the room, where a hearty cheer had been kept up 
 for a long time. 
 
 The following gentlemen comprised the deputation : — 
 ' Rev. Dr. M-'Mahon, Rev. Mr. M'^Cullagh, Rev. Mr. 
 Smith, H. Kernan, Esq., T. M'E. Gartlan, Esq., 
 E. Gibson, Esq., T. Johnston, Esq., Captain Leslie, 
 C. Kenney, Esq., T. Shaw, Esq., J. Reid, Esq., Ham. 
 M-^Math, Esq., Peter M^'Caul, Esq., J. Marron, Esq., 
 Messrs. J. Duff, J. Maguire, J. Cunningham, W. Cox, 
 P. Agnew, Peter Byrne, E. Woods, Patrick M'Mahon. 
 B B 
 
370 APPENDIX. 
 
 ' Thomas M'Evoy Gartlan, Esq., then read the following 
 address : — 
 
 '"TO THE MOST HONOURABLE THE MARQUIS OF BATH. 
 
 ' " We, the tenants of your lordship's estate in the Barony 
 of Farney, Ireland, beg leave to assure you of the deep 
 pleasure and gratification we feel at seeing you amongst 
 us, and we offer you a cordial and respectful welcome. 
 
 ' " The connection that we and our ancestors have had 
 as tenants with your lordship and your noble house has 
 been of long standing, and we trust it may continue unin- 
 terrupted, and with satisfaction and confidence on the part 
 of both landlord and tenant. 
 
 ' " We venture to believe that a personal knowledge of 
 the character and condition of your tenantry and your 
 estate may induce you to repeat your visit, and the fact of 
 your lordship being allied to a family high amongst our 
 Irish nobility tends to strengthen this hope. 
 
 ' " Whilst surveying the fruits of your own liberality in 
 the improvements which have been carried out by your 
 agent, Mr. Trench, with that energy and intelligence for 
 which he is so eminent, we hope your lordship will also see 
 cause to appreciate the improvements which have been 
 effected, remotely as well as recently, both by our prede- 
 cessors and ourselves, and we trust that in the present cul- 
 tivation of the soil your lordship may recognise indications 
 of industry and perseverance. 
 
 "'We have experienced from your lordship and your 
 ancestors much kindly consideration, not only in the rela- 
 tions which subsist between us as landlord and tenants, 
 but also in the ready response by which any claims for 
 contribution to local purposes, charitable or otherwise, 
 have been met ; and thus, as well as in the liberal expendi- 
 ture which you have directed to be made in the judicious 
 
FARNEY. 1865-1S68. 
 
 0/ 
 
 improvement of your estate, your lordship, though absent, 
 has not been unmindful that 'property has its duties as 
 well as its rights.' 
 
 '"We sincerely hope that the cordial feelings of mutual 
 kindness and confidence which now exist between your 
 lordship and your tenantry may long continue to prevail ; 
 and again welcoming you to Farney, and tendering every 
 kind wish for the welfare and happiness of yourself and 
 your noble family, 
 
 ' " We have the honour to be, my lord, your lordship's 
 faithful friends and tenants. 
 
 ' " Signed on behalf of the tenantry, 
 '"Thomas M*^E. Gartlan, 
 
 * " Chairman of Public Meeting-." 
 
 * His lordship replied as follows : — 
 
 '"Gentlemen, — I thank you for the kind welcome 
 with which you have met me on this my first appearance 
 amongst you. 
 
 ' " I thank you for the respect with which you are 
 pleased to speak of the memory of those who have gone 
 before me. 
 
 ' " I sincerely hope that the happy relations which at 
 present subsist between me and my tenants may long con- 
 tinue on as satisfactory a footing as they now are ; no 
 effort on my part shall, I assure you, be wanting so to 
 maintain them, and to deserve that good will and kind feel- 
 ing with which you are now pleased to receive me. I regret 
 that important engagements will render my stay here so 
 short. I hope, however, before long to renew my visit, 
 and make that intimate acquaintance with the country 
 and its inhabitants, which both so well deserve. 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 APPENDIX. 
 
 ' " Lady Bath deeply regrets that the state of her health 
 has prevented her accompanying me on this occasion : she 
 will, I trust, be with me here before long; the recollections 
 of her own home are so pleasant and still so recent that 
 she would wish to let no opportunity escape her of ex- 
 tending her acquaintance among the people of her native 
 land. 
 
 '"I am glad that your testimony justifies the entire 
 confidence which I have and do place in Mr. Trench, 
 whose character and abilities are too well known to need 
 any praise of mine. I feel that during my necessary ab- 
 sence he has been a faithful representative of my wishes 
 and intentions. In the management of affairs here, while 
 protecting the interests of my property, he has been the 
 advocate of just and liberal dealing with those who reside 
 upon it, and has, I assure you, been ever most willing to 
 bear testimony to all that the estate owes, to the past as 
 well as present enterprise and industry of the tenants. 
 
 ' " Again thanking you for the cordiality of your wel- 
 come, I trust that our mutual relations may long subsist on 
 the friendly and pleasing footing I now find them." 
 
 ' Mr. Trench then introduced several of the tenantry to 
 his lordship, who warmly shook hands with them, and ex- 
 pressed himself highly pleased with the reception which 
 had been accorded to him. 
 
 ' His lordship, accompanied by Mr. Trench, then with- 
 drew amid loud expressions of welcome. 
 
 ' Shortly after nine o'clock the whole town was bril- 
 liantly illuminated. A series of fireworks were exhibited 
 opposite the Court-house, and about half-past nine the 
 town of Carrickmacross could be compared to nothing but 
 a glare of dazzling splendour. 
 
 ' When all had subsided the people retired with that 
 order and decorum which had characterised the proceed- 
 
FARNEY. 1 865- 1 868. 2)7 O 
 
 ings all through, proud in themselves at the reception 
 which they had given to a worthy and benevolent land- 
 lord. 
 
 WEDNESDAY — DINNER TO THE TENANTRY. 
 
 * On Wednesday last the tenantry on the Bath Estate 
 were entertained at a dinner which took place in the Mar- 
 ket-house of Carrickmacross. The reception which had 
 been accorded to the noble marquis on his entry into the 
 town the day previous was all that could have been hoped 
 for or desired. The spacious Market-house presented a 
 very gay appearance, indeed the whole interior of the 
 building was one scene of attractiveness, inasmuch as no 
 available space was left unoccupied where taste and 
 beauty could be displayed, Mrs. Trench and Mrs. Grims- 
 ton having kindly undertaken the arrangements. At half- 
 past six o'clock his lordship, accompanied by his agent, 
 W. Steuart Trench, Esq., entered the hall amid the loud 
 greetings of welcome from his assembled tenantry, of whom 
 there could not have been less than 250. 
 
 ' Over the head table was suspended a coronet worked 
 in ivy leaves, the production of Mrs. Trench's hands. Be- 
 neath this were the branching antlers of the ancient Irish 
 elk, which had been found on the estate. A large B stood 
 out in bold relief between them, while underneath crossed 
 banners, with the arms and motto of the Marquis, had an 
 exceedingly pretty effect. At the other end of the room 
 was another elk's head, over which were, in large charac- 
 ters, worked in green leaves, the words " Erin go bragh." 
 The side walls were similarly decorated, while from the 
 ceiling drooped the banners of all nations, their rich hues 
 and various devices giving an air of richness and elegance, 
 and, at the same time, festivity to the apartment. 
 
 ' The dinner was of the most recherche character ; it 
 
374 APPENDIX. 
 
 reflected every credit on the parties concerned. The wines, 
 too, were of the most excellent quality, champagne flowed 
 in abundance, and all the delicacies of the season were dis- 
 played along the table with great taste and elegance, elicit- 
 ing as it did the admiration of many present. 
 
 ' The chair was occupied by the Most Noble the Mar- 
 quis of Bath. 
 
 ' To the right of the chairman sat H. M*=Math, Esq., the 
 Very Rev. Dean M'^Mahon, — Jackson, Esq., W. S. 
 Trench, Esq. (his lordship's agent). On the left were 
 George Morant, Esq., Captain Foster, Thomas Johnston, 
 Esq., Longfield ; E. Gibson, Esq., Thomas M^'E. Gartlan, 
 Esq., Moynalty, Hubert Kernan, Esq., Cabra, Charles 
 Kenny, Esq., Rocksavage, Rev. William M^Cullough, Rev. 
 Mr. Smith, J. Reid, Esq., Thomas Shaw, Esq,, Captain 
 Leslie, Rev. Mr. M°Cormick, Rev. Mr. Byrne. 
 
 ' The vice-chair was occupied by D. T. Grimston, Esq. 
 We also noticed — Peter Hoey, Esq., P. Dowdall, Esq,, 
 " Dundalk Examiner," Dr. Taggart, C. Townsend, Esq., 
 Messrs. Fitzmaurice, Mahony, Gartlan, jun., John Duff, P. 
 Ward, J. O'Hagan, Mr. Trench, jun., Mr. Lang, Mr. H. 
 Quinn, Mr. J. Marron, &c., &c. 
 
 * When the dinner had been discussed and the cloth re- 
 moved — 
 
 'The noble chairman, amidst loud and enthusiastic 
 cheering, rose to propose the usual loyal toasts, which 
 were drunk with every demonstration of respect and 
 loyalty, the band playing the National Anthem, and " God 
 bless the Prince of Wales." 
 
 ' His lordship, on rising to propose the next toast, said : 
 — Connected as he was with Ireland through his estates, 
 and connected also by stronger and dearer ties (cheers), he 
 felt he could not do otherwise than take a warm interest in 
 its welfare, or leave to others to propose the next toast — 
 
FARNEY. 1 865-1 868. 375 
 
 namely, " The health of his Excellency the Lord Lieute- 
 nant, and prosperity to Ireland" (hear, hear). Whatever 
 might be their opinions on politics, there was no one who 
 would refuse to admit the individual merits of the present 
 Lord Lieutenant (Lord Kimberley) and his predecessors. 
 Lord Clarendon and Lord Carlisle. 
 
 ' The toast was drunk with cheers, the band playing 
 " St. Patrick's Day." 
 
 ' The chairman, in proposing the next toast, said they 
 had drunk to the prosperity of the country generally, and 
 he hoped they would allow him to give them next the wel- 
 fare and prosperity of that especial district. If ever he had 
 taken an interest in his estates, surely he would do so now 
 after having received so kind and hearty a welcome, which 
 had been beyond his utmost expectations (cheers). It 
 was indeed difficult for him to express his feelings of grati- 
 tude towards them for the manner in which both that day 
 and the day previous they had accorded him so welcome a 
 reception. He hoped they would allow him to propose 
 the next toast, which was " The Prosperity of Farney," 
 coupling with it the name of Mr. M'"Math, who was the 
 largest tenant landholder on the estate. 
 
 ' Amidst loud cheers this toast was fully honoured, the 
 band playing " Nora Creina." 
 
 ' Mr. M^Math returned thanks in eloquent and suitable 
 terms. 
 
 ' Mr. Thomas M'"Evoy Gartlan then rose to propose the 
 health of " The Most Noble the Marquis of Bath." He 
 said — Mr. M'^Math had almost exhausted the subject con- 
 nected with the agriculture of the country, but he wished 
 to refer to one of equal importance. It could not fail to be 
 satisfactory to his lordship upon this his first visit to Ire- 
 land, to find amongst his tenantry that one material quali- 
 fication for prosperity existed amongst them. They 
 
376 APPENDIX. 
 
 enjoyed social peace and harmony. They were devoid of 
 all sectarian dissension (hear, hear). Mr. Gartlan continued 
 in a highly interesting speech to contrast the past and 
 present state of the Barony, and concluded by referring to 
 the visit of his lordship's grandfather to the property, and 
 said he believed he was a link between the past and the 
 present, and as such he was only exercising the privilege 
 of old age, and he would, therefore, call upon the company 
 to drink the health of their noble landlord, the Marquis of 
 Bath. 
 
 ' The toast was drunk with loud and prolonged cheers. 
 ' The noble Marquis, on rising to respond, was cheered 
 most lustily. He said at the commencement of the 
 evening he felt a considerable amount of diffidence and 
 hesitation in speaking for the first time in so large an 
 assembly. He felt assured he was not asking them to 
 believe too much when he stated that he felt deeply thank- 
 ful for the manner in which they had received the toast 
 proposed by Mr. Gartlan, and also to the inhabitants of 
 Farney generally, for the warm and cordial reception they 
 had given him on entering the town the day previous (hear, 
 hear). The reception was more enthusiastic than he had 
 expected, and he could not help feeling it was the more 
 sincere when he remembered the unpropitious state of the 
 weather. As one goes through life there were few who 
 had not felt how much easier it was to make new friends 
 than to retain the affections of old ones. He felt he had 
 not lost, and he hoped he would long continue to retain, 
 the friends by whom he was surrounded ; and when he 
 considered their kindness and expressions of regard to- 
 wards him that day, and the evening before, he felt he 
 was fully justified in feeling as though he were amongst 
 old and valued friends (loud cheers). Mr. Gartlan was 
 good enough to couple Lady Bath's name in the toast 
 
FARNEY. 1865-1868. -i^"]"] 
 
 with his. In her name he hoped they would allow him to 
 offer them his grateful thanks for the manner in which 
 they had received her name also. It had been her earnest 
 desire to accompany him there, and it was only the refusal 
 of permission by her medical advisers that prevented her 
 doing so. She was deeply attached to this country, and 
 was most anxious to find that amount of interest and friend- 
 ship from the people of Farney that she had experienced 
 at Abbeyleix. He hoped she would soon be amongst 
 them (cheers). No doubt he would then make himself 
 really acquainted with those about him, in whom he felt so 
 deep an interest, and with whom he was so closely con- 
 nected. At all times England has been able to boast of 
 her great men, whether as statesmen, soldiers, or men of 
 letters, but many of those whose names are now household 
 words owe their birth and origin to Ireland (immense 
 cheering). At that moment he would just mention the 
 names of one statesman and of one soldier, the greatest 
 that have ever swayed the destinies of England. He need 
 hardly say that in the latter, he alluded to the Duke of 
 Wellington. Of statesmen he might name Mr. Edmund 
 Burke, who, by birth and parentage, was clearly and en- 
 tirely Irish (hear, hear, and cheers). Ireland, he thought 
 was scarcely done justice to by Irishmen. He had heard 
 many around him talk of improvements. Well, that day 
 he was engaged in going through the country, and really, 
 he never saw better cultivation or less waste land, even in 
 England, than he had seen that day. With regard to the 
 question of pasture versus arable land, some people be- 
 lieved that the only manner in which they could make their 
 rent was by putting it all under grass, while others thought 
 the cultivation of flax an essential requisite for the fur- 
 therance of the agricultural prosperity of the country. No 
 one would deny that, great as had been the improvements 
 
378 APPENDIX. 
 
 in England of late years, those in Ireland have been still 
 greater. Allusion had been made to those times of diffi- 
 culty and distress which came upon Ireland some years 
 back. The emergency was bravely met by all classes 
 putting their shoulders to the wheel, and extricating them- 
 selves and the country from the trials and drawbacks by 
 which they were surrounded. These efforts had been 
 crowned with success. Whilst going over, as he did, only 
 a portion of the estate on that day, with Mr. Trench, 
 certain improvements that have been made by the tenants 
 were pointed out to him. Great praise was due to those 
 tenants who had taken so much pains in improving the 
 face of the country. He was glad to be able to bear 
 testimony to all that Mr. Trench had done in carrying out 
 his wishes, and in representing him in the manner he had 
 to the tenantry (loud applause). It gratified him to see, 
 both by the way in which they had received him (his lord- 
 ship) the previous day, when entering the town, and 
 incidents that afterwards occurred, and by the unmistake- 
 able signs of respect and approval with which his (Mr. 
 Trench's) name had been received whenever mentioned by 
 the speakers who had preceded him, that they fully ap- 
 preciated the public spirit, energy, and justice of his agent, 
 Mr. Trench (loud cheers). He felt that it was owing to 
 Mr. Trench's righteous and straightforward dealing between 
 them and him that they had received him so kindly (cries 
 of hear, hear). He assured them he (Lord Bath) had been 
 totally guided by his advice, and in being so he rested 
 assured that his interests were as well cared for and studied 
 as though he had been present himself among them (loud 
 cheers). Before sitting down he would ask them to join 
 him in drinking "The health of Mr. Trench," a tribute of 
 appreciation of his many good qualities, merits, and ability. 
 In proposing Mr. Trench's health he felt it would be un- 
 
FARNEY. 1865-1S68. 379 
 
 becoming not to propose that of Mrs. Trench also (applause), 
 to whose taste and exertions the beautiful decorations of 
 the room were owing. 
 
 ' The toast was drunk with all the honours amidst pro- 
 longed cheering. 
 
 * Mr. Trench, in rising to respond, said — I feel deeply 
 grateful to you, my lord, for the kind and flattering man- 
 ner in which you have proposed my health, and I also feel 
 deeply grateful to my kind friends around me, your lord- 
 ship's tenants, for the generous and cordial manner in 
 which they have responded to that toast. My lord, I will 
 not deny that the scene which now presents itself before 
 me has raised sensations of deep emotion in my heart. It 
 is now some fifteen years ago since first I undertook the 
 management of this princely and noble estate ; they were 
 troubled times then, my lord. Famine, gaunt famine, with 
 her hideous train, had recently stalked through the land, 
 and left the frozen imprint of her frightful foot embedded 
 in the soil. Even rebellion had ventured to raise her head 
 and look around her to see what sympathy she could ob- 
 tain, not in Farney, thank God, but in other parts of Ireland, 
 and wild thoughts filled the minds of Irishmen, and wild 
 deeds were done even in the heart of Farney, so that when 
 I look upon the scene which is now before me, w^hen I see 
 what Farney now is, and think of what she was then, I can 
 scarcely recognise her identity. And yet never, my lord, 
 never even in the worst of times, did I bate one jot of 
 heart or hope in the noble people of Farney ; never for one 
 moment did I doubt their loyalty to their Queen, their 
 loyalty to their country, their respect for their landlord, and 
 above all, that they would be true and loyal to themselves. 
 The reception which your lordship met yesterday, and the 
 manly and independent address which was then presented 
 to you, have justified all my anticipations, and if I wanted 
 
380 APPENDIX. 
 
 further proof I have only to look upon the scene around 
 me, and conviction is at once produced. My lord, I feel 
 that in confiding to me the management of this great 
 estate for so many years you confided to me a great and 
 a deep trust. I do not now allude to the financial trust. 
 That in itself was large, and if I had failed in that, the blot 
 and the shame would have fallen upon my head alone. 
 Your lordship's purse might have been the worse, but 
 your honour would have been untouched. But, my lord, I 
 feel that you confided to me a much higher trust than that 
 — to a large extent you entrusted to me the honour 
 and character of your estate (hear, hear). An estate, 
 I conceive, has a character as well as an individual, 
 and the owner of the estate, no matter how high a 
 nobleman he may be, can scarcely choose but that the 
 character of his estate must reflect more or less upon 
 himself Had your agent, my lord, during your absence 
 ever broken his promise or left his promise unfulfilled, had 
 he ever given a single pledge, and not redeemed that 
 pledge, had he even kept his promise to the ear, but 
 broken it to the heart and understanding, and thus de- 
 ceived your tenants, the honour and character of your 
 estate must necessarily have been tarnished and degraded 
 — nay, I will say more, my lord, had your agent during 
 your absence ever once received a gift, a compliment, a 
 present, or to speak more plainly, a bribe, from a single 
 tenant on your estate, either in goods or money to the 
 value of a single shilling, the honour of your estate must 
 necessarily have suffered in his hands. In Ireland, my 
 lord, we can hardly separate the honour of the estate from 
 the honour of the man who owns it, and my experience of 
 the world has been that the character of an Irish estate, 
 and the treatment of his Irish tenantry is capable of 
 adding brilliancy to the lustre, or casting a dark shadow 
 
FARNEY. 1 865- 1 868. 381 
 
 over the path of the highest nobleman In England, no 
 matter how gorgeously he may move in the brilliant circles 
 of the sister isle, or in the highest metropolis of the world. 
 The duties and position of an Irish agent over a large 
 estate like this are seldom understood and appreciated by 
 the world at large, and indeed I may also add, are rarely 
 appreciated even by those who hold the office. He cannot 
 choose but that his conduct must have a large influence in 
 the district, and amongst the people over whom he is 
 placed ; he cannot help it, and be it for good or evil, his 
 conduct must and will be felt extensively. Take for in- 
 stance his position as an arbitrator between the landlord 
 and the tenant ; put it how you will he can scarcely avoid 
 acting frequently in this capacity. Take the question of 
 rents : there are three modes in which the rents of an estate 
 can be settled, ist. By the landlord himself fixing the 
 rents he will take, and saying he will take no less, whether 
 his tenants take or leave his land. This, I need scarcely 
 say, is not the way in which your lordship has ever acted, 
 nor is ever likely to act. 2nd. By receiving proposals from 
 the tenant, leaving the tenant to fix the rent he will give. 
 Were this plan to be adopted, which it never has been, I 
 should almost be afraid to tell your lordship the increase 
 which would immediately be made to your rental. The 
 3rd mode is to settle the rents by a public and experienced 
 valuator. But put it how you will, shuffle it about from 
 one to another as you will, still as a practical fact the 
 agent over a large estate like this must necessarily, in 
 almost all disputed cases, become the arbitrator between 
 the interests of the landlord and the tenant, I am well 
 aware that many will tell you that the interests of the 
 landlord and the tenant are identical. It is a favourite 
 aphorism this, especially at all landlord dinners, and agri- 
 cultural societies; but go to a tenant-right meeting and see 
 
382 APPENDIX. 
 
 if they will admit its truth. There they will tell you that 
 their interests are directly antagonistic. The saying is 
 true or false, according to the point from which you view 
 it, and really I think it would be well to clear up the con- 
 fusion and dispute which exists upon this subject. In one 
 sense, my lord, it is perfectly true that the interests of the 
 landlord and the tenant are identical. They are both 
 partners in a great concern. The landlord supplies the 
 main fixed capital of the partnership — the land ; this is 
 clearly proved by the fact that if your lordship chose to 
 sell this estate to the land jobbers who are now spread 
 over the country, the price of every acre of it would go 
 into your lordship's pocket. I therefore say that the land- 
 lord supplies the main fixed capital in the partnership — 
 the land. The tenant supplies the floating capital — that 
 is, the stock, the labour, the skill, and the industry, and in 
 some cases a portion of the fixed capital, in the buildings. 
 If the concern thrives and succeeds, botJi parties must and 
 ought to benefit. The tenant feels the benefit first ; but in 
 the long run, the other partner— the landlord — must and 
 ought to come in for a share of the benefit. If the concern 
 languishes or fails, both parties must necessarily suffer. 
 The tenant feels it first, as also in the case of success, but 
 in the end both must feel the loss. And so far those are 
 quite right who say that the interests of the landlord and 
 the tenant are identical. But then comes another point of 
 view from which it must also be looked at, namely — how are 
 the profits of the concern to be divided .'' Here their 
 interests, as in the case of all other partnerships, must 
 necessarily be antagonistic. Now, who on a large estate 
 is to settle this dispute, to put it on a just and equitable 
 ground } (hear, hear). On a small estate the landlord can 
 make all these agreements himself, and the agent there 
 becomes little more than a receiver (hear, hear). But this 
 
FARNEY. 1 865- 1 868. 383 
 
 could not possibly be the case on a large estate like this, 
 and possessed by a nobleman like yourself. Your lordship 
 has extensive estates in England, a rentroll more than 
 double the rentroll here, the most beautiful demesne, and 
 the noblest mansion in England, not to talk of your high 
 duties in the counsels of the nation and the duties of 
 your position in England. How could your lordship pos- 
 sibly undertake the duty of settling with each of your 
 1,600 tenants on 24,000 acres of land, how much of the 
 profits of the concern each of your numerous partners 
 should enjoy .'' The thing is simply impossible — this duty, 
 therefore, must necessarily devolve upon your agent. But 
 then his position is one of great delicacy indeed, inasmuch 
 as he is paid for his trouble by only one of the partners in 
 the concern, and therefore there is a tendency either to 
 follow him who bears the purse, or, in some honourable but 
 not well-balanced minds, to run into the opposite extreme, 
 and do an injustice to his employer, for fear he should be 
 accused of doing it to the other side. Such are some of the 
 difficulties in which an Irish agent on a large estate — on 
 which the landlord cannot possibly reside, consistently with 
 his other duties — is placed, and really they are very serious ; 
 one false step, even though well-intentioned, is liable to set 
 the whole side of a country in a flame ; and if he happens 
 unfortunately to be so constituted as to fail either in physical 
 or moral courage, or to give way to passion or revenge, he 
 will soon have the whole country in an uproar. My lord, I 
 have felt all these matters very keenly, and have passed 
 many an anxious day and many a sleepless night thinking 
 over them for the last fifteen years, during which your lord- 
 ship has trusted me so much ; and were it not for certain 
 indications of success, which from time to time developed 
 themselves, I should almost have been tempted to throw 
 up the office in despair. With your lordship's permission 
 
384 APPENDIX. 
 
 I will mention a few of these indications. The first is the 
 harmony and peace which for many years past have 
 uniformly reigned in this barony ; not only has there been 
 great freedom from any serious crime, but sectarian ani- 
 mosity is almost unknown amongst us. Your lordship is 
 at this moment surrounded by Church of England men, 
 Church of Scotland men, and Church of Rome men, and 
 the clergy of the several denominations are also at the 
 table at which your lordship sits. I think I can say with 
 truth that from the time I first came here until the present 
 moment I have never uttered one disrespectful word against 
 any denomination of Christians — nor would I permit it to 
 be uttered in my presence (hear, hear, and cheers) ; not, my 
 lord, that there is indifference on the subject here — far from 
 it. I know of few places in which there are men more anxious 
 to put forward what they believe to be the true gospel of 
 Christ than here. Neither in public nor in private do we 
 hesitate to raise the banner of His cross ; but I also believe 
 it to be a part of that gospel " if it be possible, as much as 
 lieth in us, to live peaceably with all men ; " and so, my 
 lord, we have done. And though I am well aware one 
 angry word or injudicious act might raise passions on both 
 /isides which years could scarcely quell, yet we have all 
 lived in harmony and peace, and respectful deference each 
 towards the opinion of the other (cheers). Another indica- 
 tion which gives one good hopes of comparative success is 
 this — that whilst in other quarters Irishmen are rushing from 
 their native land, I can't now get a single family to leave 
 your lordship's estate. Often and often I have proposed to 
 some of the smallest holders to pay their full passage- 
 money to America, to allow them to take all their stock 
 and crop along with them, if they would only leave the 
 poor worn-out land, that I might consolidate it with a 
 neighbour's holding ; but no, I can't get them to stir ; and 
 
FARNEY. 1 865-1 868. 385 
 
 though a few young men and women leave occasionally to 
 better themselves, yet anything like emigration from the 
 estate — to call it such — is utterly unknown here now, and 
 has been for many years past. I confess I should like a 
 little more elbow-room on the estate ; but, as they won't go, 
 it is at least satisfactory to see that they are not yet tired 
 of your lordship. Another indication which gives one some 
 hopes of success is, that for the last twelve years, during 
 which your lordship has had possession of the estate, there 
 have been only three appeals to your lordship against the 
 thousands of decisions which I have thought it my duty to 
 make. I think I am right in saying that there have been 
 only three complaints made for the last twelve years, and, 
 for the last five years, none at all. About one of these 
 there still hangs a mystery. In another your lordship 
 sanctioned my decision, and another was some trifling case, 
 the details of which I forget. I will only mention one 
 more indication, which cannot but be gratifying to all parties 
 concerned, and that is the reception your lordship met with, 
 and still more the manly address which was presented b}" 
 so respectable and intelligent a deputation, as the unanimous 
 feeling of all your tenants. In that address one expression 
 was used to which I may be permitted to call attention : I 
 allude to the famous aphorism of Mr. Drummond, that 
 " property has its duties as well as its rights." I remember 
 well when this .saying was looked upon as an insult by the 
 vast majority of the landlords of Ireland; and glad I am to 
 see the day when it can be quoted as the highest compli- 
 ment which can be paid a landlord, as it was quoted to 
 your lordship in the address, that " though absent, you 
 were not unmindful that property had its duties as well as 
 its rights." I stated a little while ago that a certain 
 mystery hung still about one of the cases of appeal against 
 my decisions, which came before your lordship, and with 
 
 c c 
 
-g^ APPENDIX. 
 
 your permission I will tell the story to your tenants as I 
 am certain none of them here present ever heard >t before. 
 A well-to-do, comfortable-looking man of the farmer class, 
 appeared before his lordship at Longleat, and sa,d he 
 Ze all the way from his Irish estate to -mp am of 
 Mr Trench. He was a well-shaven, corpulent-lookmg 
 man, who looked as if he dined every day as well as we 
 have done now. "What has Mr. Trench done? sa,d 
 Lord Bath. " He has driven my stock, thirty head of 
 cattle, and put them to starve in the pound," sa,d he 
 ■■ and that when my rent was as well pa,d up as any other 
 tenant on the estate, and all out of spite to me. 1 
 
 am sorry to hear it," said Lord Bath, " but what do you 
 want me to do ? " "I want a letter to Mr. TrencK sa.d 
 he "to tell him to give me back my stock. Well, 
 don't know," said Lord Bath, " there may be two sides to 
 the story, and I should like to hear what Mr. Trench has to 
 sav " " Oh," says he, " Mr. Trench, no doubt, will give you 
 plenty of good reasons for what he does, but I want my 
 Lck. and nothing but a letter from your lordship will make 
 him give them up." " I really can't do that," said his lord- 
 ship " without hearing what Mr. Trench has to say, but I 
 will'writeatonce. What is your name > " '; ^7 "ame is 
 Thomas Johnston," said he, (loud laughter, in which Mr 
 lohnston, who sat near Lord Bath, heartily joined); he did 
 not say he was from " Longfield," and he mentioned a 
 townland which I now forget. " And so you won't give me 
 the letter?" said he. "No, I will not," said Lord Bath, 
 .. until I hear Mr. Trench's account of it." " Well, give me 
 something to pay my expenses, at all events " said he loud 
 laughter). " No, really I won't do that either, said Lord 
 Bath Here Lord Henry Thynne came in, and seeing him a 
 jolly,' open-looking chap, took a deal of fun out of him, and 
 I beUeve he told many a story about me which Lord Bath 
 
FARNEY. 1 865- 1 868. ;^S'j 
 
 did not repeat (hear, hear and loud cheering). Well, 
 Lord Bath, of course, wrote to me immediately the whole 
 story, which I now tell you. You may imagine my amaze- 
 ment, and you may imagine his, when I wrote back imme- 
 diately to say that there was but one man named Mr. John- 
 ston on his estate, the respected gentleman now sitting 
 near his lordship, and I need not say he does not answer to 
 the photograph — that there was no such townland as that 
 named on the estate ; and, above all, that never since I 
 came to the estate had I ever driven cows in my life to 
 pound (hear, hear). I hate the law of distress, and I never 
 or rarely make use of it. Well, gentlemen, from that day 
 to this, though I generally manage to know if so much as 
 a dog barks on the estate, yet I never could make out who 
 had originated or carried out that plan (hear, hear). I 
 presume the object was to ascertain whether relations of 
 mutual confidence subsisted between me and Lord Bath, 
 but who took this curious plan to find it out, and sent this 
 clever gentleman over, I never was able to ascertain (hear, 
 hear). And now, my lord, let us turn to another subject. 
 Your lordship to-day has visited only a portion of your 
 estate. It is quite true you have as yet only seen the 
 cream of it, but even in going over this you have been 
 struck, as all strangers must be struck, by the extraordinary 
 differences in the farming (hear, hear). In one place you 
 have seen a large farm held by a first-rate farmer, farming 
 as high, and as well, and as profitably as any in the 
 Lothians of Scotland — (hear, hear) — and on the other side 
 of his fence you see just as bad farming as any I know in 
 Ireland (hear, hear). I don't mean that there is indolence 
 or idleness, far from it — the land is cultivated up to the 
 roots of the hedges, no waste headlands, no vacant ground 
 (hear). I think this estate can challenge Ireland in that 
 respect; but still bad and injudicious farming, and conse- 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 APPENDIX. 
 
 quent bad and light crops (cheers). I doubt if most of the 
 farmers here present have fully considered the importance, 
 if they farm at all, of a good crop. I am sure they think 
 they have, but I doubt it. Have you ever considered that 
 the seed is the same, the rent is the same, the tillage is 
 nearly the same, the taxes are the same, the sowing is the 
 same, the reaping is nearly the same — in fact, all the ex- 
 penses are the same, or nearly so ; if it be a good crop all 
 is repaid ; if it be a bad one all is lost ; and yet a very little 
 increase in the manure would have made the whole differ- 
 ence (hear, hear). Take a field of turnips : have you ever 
 considered how much bigger a turnip six inches in diameter 
 is than one three inches in diameter .'' Oh, twice as big, 
 many will answer. Not at all ; but eight times as big 
 (cheers). Now, I daily see both these crops growing on 
 land of the same quality, and side by side with each other; 
 and yet one acre of — say Mr. Johnston's crop — which 
 averages six inches, is worth eight acres of my friend's at 
 the other side of the fence, who scarcely has eight acres in 
 the world. Or take an extreme case — how much is a 
 turnip a foot in diameter bigger than one an inch in dia- 
 meter .'* There is no trick in it : — it is a simple fact. Some 
 will say twelve times as large, others 144 times as large ; but 
 I never yet met a man who would at once guess it to be 
 what it is, namely, 1728 times as large (hear, hear). And 
 yet this is true. Suppose a loaf of bread a foot in diameter, 
 cut it into inch-thick slices, and then cross-cut it so as to 
 divide it into inch-cubes, and you will have 144 cubic or 
 square inches in each inch-thick round ; but there are 
 twelve rounds, and consequently twelve times 144 is the 
 amount that the one is bigger than the other, so that if any 
 man had his field covered with turnips 12 inches in dia- 
 meter, and his neighbour had his covered with inch-sized 
 turnips, equi-distant both, the one acre of this field would 
 
FARNEY. 1 865-1 868. 389 
 
 be worth 1728 acres of the others. This may give you some 
 idea of the importance of a good crop, if you farm at all. 
 Now these good crops cannot be raised without manure, 
 and farmyard manure cannot be raised without cattle, and 
 cattle cannot be kept without green food — and thus the 
 importance of green food on a farm. His lordship has now 
 engaged an agriculturist who will explain all this to any 
 farmer who desires it, and who will show him how to raise 
 green crops in abundance if he will only follow his advice. 
 But, my lord, I do not rise here to find fault with your 
 tenantry — far from it. I have found them as industrious, 
 as reasonable, and as intelligent a tenantry as in any part 
 of Ireland. I have had much experience in many parts of 
 Ireland, south, midland, and north, and never have I found 
 any tenantry to surpass your lordship's in these qualifica- 
 tions, and very few to come up to them. There are two 
 main points, my lord, which have rendered my position 
 here less difficult than it would otherwise have been ; one 
 is a liberal and generous landlord, who never once refused 
 any claim I have made upon him, either for charity, libe- 
 rality, or reasonable expenditure on his estate. I think it 
 right, my lord, that your tenants should know this fact, 
 that never once, during the whole time I have been yonr 
 agenty have yon ever checked or discountenanced me in any 
 act of liberality or expenditure zvhich I recommended as 
 desirable on your estate, and this, though you were fully ac- 
 quainted every year both by my accounts, and annual 
 report, of every item which was going forward. I believe 
 there are few agents who could say this of an absent land- 
 lord ; and that large sums have been expended everyone 
 who knows this estate must be very well aware. But there 
 is another fact also, without which my duties would almost 
 have become intolerable, and that is, that I have found 
 your tenantry, as a general rule, truthful, honest, upright, 
 
390 APPENDIX. 
 
 and industrious. I never met a tenantry I would sooner 
 deal with, or one more generally guided by fair justice and 
 reasonable conduct. My lord, it is a deep gratification to 
 me this day to have the happiness of being the medium of 
 introduction between such a generous landlord and such 
 an upright and honest tenantry (loud cheers). Mr. Trench 
 then resumed his seat amidst prolonged applause. 
 
 ' The Chairman then proposed, in eloquent terms, the 
 health of the Members for the County. 
 
 ' The toast was drunk with all the honours. 
 ' Captain Foster, on the part of his father, Sir George 
 Foster, returned thanks. He regretted the absence of the 
 gentlemen whose health had been so warmly responded to, 
 but he was sure did not important business prevent the 
 attendance of his father, nothing could give him greater 
 satisfaction than to participate in the pleasure which every- 
 one present appeared to evince consequent on his lord- 
 ship's visit to Ireland (hear, hear). After some further 
 remarks. Captain Foster resumed his seat amid loud ap- 
 plause. 
 
 ' The Chairman again rose and proposed " The Army 
 and Navy." Air—" The Red, White, and Blue." 
 
 ' Mr. Morant responded. He thanked them sincerely for 
 the kind and cordial manner in which they had received 
 the toast proposed. The speaker in glowing terms referred 
 to the glorious services rendered by Irishmen, both in the 
 army and navy, and eloquently adverted to several facts in 
 connection with the high position which at different times 
 Irishmen had attained in the two great institutions. 
 
 ' " The Press " was next given and responded to, and 
 after a most agreeable evening the company separated. 
 
 ' His lordship then entered into the carriage, which was 
 in waiting, and as it rolled through the gates of the Market- 
 house the noble occupant was hailed with loud cheers 
 
FARNEY. 1 865- 1 868. 391 
 
 from the vast assemblage which had congregated outside. 
 BrilUant illuminations were seen on all sides, and amongst 
 the rest was a magnificent transparency, outside the resi- 
 dence of Mr. Lang, under-agent, displaying, to the admira- 
 tion of every one who perceived it, the coat of arms of the 
 Marquis. The National Bank, too, was very beautifully 
 lit up, throwing, as it did, a glare of light for a consider- 
 able distance round it. It is most creditable to observe, 
 that notwithstanding the great enthusiasm which univer- 
 sally prevailed in Carrickmacross, the decorum of the inha- 
 bitants was characterised by that order which elicited from 
 the many strangers that thronged the town expressions of 
 the greatest admiration. His lordship's stay, we under- 
 stand, will not be long, but when he takes his departure he 
 will leave behind him recollections of a pleasing nature. 
 The favourable impression he has already created cannot 
 be easily effaced, and if we are not greatly mistaken the 
 Marquis of Bath, under the direction of his worthy agent, 
 will realise the fullest expectations of the tenantry on this 
 great estate. Mr. Trench in an able and masterly speech 
 has described the Bath tenantry as industrious and trust- 
 worthy, which with a good and benevolent landlord, a 
 conscientious, painstaking, and considerate agent, nothing 
 surely can be wanting in Farney to spread peace, happi- 
 ness, and content.' 
 
 To the Editor of the ' Examiner! 
 
 Carrickmacross, May 20, 1865. 
 
 * Sir — I perceive that in any of your notices of the visit 
 of the Marquis of Bath to his Irish estate, you make no 
 mention of his lordship's thoughtful kindness to THE POOR 
 of his estate, whereas it should not be forgotten that his 
 lordship visited the Union Poorhouse during his stay, and 
 
392 APPENDIX. 
 
 went round all the wards in person, and on leaving or- 
 dered that a meat dinner should be given to every pauper 
 in the workhouse, to whom the medical attendant would 
 allow the same, the whole to be paid for out of his lord- 
 ship's private funds ; also, on Thursday, the day after the 
 splendid banquet given to his tenantry, he directed that a 
 dinner equally good with that of the preceding day should 
 be provided for every one of the workmen and artisans 
 usually employed on the estate ; and these all sat down to 
 the number of seventy-one to a splendid repast, of the 
 same quality, both as to wine and viands, as had been fur- 
 nished to his tenantry. 
 
 ' These acts of kindness and liberality should not be for- 
 gotten in the midst of the more splendid arrangements of 
 
 another kind. 
 
 ' A Correspondent.' 
 
 The following letters, written in March, 1847, will afford 
 some idea of the scenes which must have occurred along 
 the south-western coast of Ireland, where no attempts 
 were made, similar to those made by the Rev. F. F. Trench, 
 to save the lives of the people. 
 
 FAMINE IN SCHULL. 
 
 ' Cloghjordan, March 22; 1847. 
 ' Sir — My attention was first directed to the famine in 
 Schull by Captain Caffin's letter. It was painful to myself 
 and others to think that within two or three days' journey 
 from our homes thousands of our fellow-creatures should 
 be dying of absolute starvation. 
 
 *We felt that though there were multitudes around us 
 suffering most severely from insufficiency of food, yet that 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 393 
 
 there was an immeasurable distance between their state 
 and that of persons dying from extreme hunger. It was 
 therefore proposed that I should visit those localities 
 with a view to administering such relief as appeared most 
 judicious and practicable. I accordingly did so, and have 
 just returned. 
 
 ' And as the testimony of an eyewitness totally uncon- 
 nected with the county of Cork by property or family 
 relations, may possibly gain the attention of some who 
 may disregard the representations of those whose interests 
 and feelings are more closely bound up with those places, I 
 think it my duty to make the public still better acquainted 
 with the present condition of the poor in those parts ; and 
 I do so the more readily, because I do not accede to the 
 often repeated statement that the evil is irremediable and 
 beyond the reach of human aid. When I have described 
 the existing state of things I shall venture to propose the 
 adoption of a measure which has not as yet been tried 
 in those districts, but which has been successfully tried 
 elsewhere (and which has preserved life and health to a 
 great degree) at the cost of three halfpence per day for 
 each person. 
 
 ' The account which Captain Caffin gave of what he 
 saw at Schull seemed too dreadful to be true, but there is 
 one broad and astounding fact which indisputably proves 
 that it was far, very far, below the truth, and that is that 
 every family which Captain Caffin visited, and of which he 
 writes, was a Protestant family. Dr. Traill, the rector of 
 the parish,, and Rev. Mr. M'^Cabe, the curate, stated this to 
 me. Now, it is well known, that in every part of Ireland 
 the Protestants are a wealthier class than the Roman 
 Catholics. If here, then, the Protestants are in the state 
 which Captain Caffin describes, what must be the condition 
 of the Roman Catholics ? Dr. Traill himself said to me, 
 
394 APPENDIX. 
 
 after returning to the hovels to which he accompanied me 
 — " until to-day I did not know the real state of the people." 
 
 ' In travelling through the parishes of East and West 
 Schull, containing the villages of Ballydehob and Schull, 
 and a population of about 1 6,000 still living, I did not see 
 a child playing in the streets or on the roads ; no children 
 are to be seen outside the doors but a few sick and dying 
 children. I made this same remark in Bantry, and along the 
 road for twenty miles leading to it. I did not see a child in 
 the streets, and this I remarked to several persons, clergy and 
 magistrates, whose experience was the same as my own. 
 
 ' In the districts which are now being depopulated by 
 starvation, coffins are only used for the more wealthy. In 
 every village the manufacture was remarkable at the doors 
 of the carpenters' houses, and in the country parts I often 
 met coffins carried on the backs of women, and boards for 
 making coffins. At Glengarifif, strange to say, the Roman 
 Catholic Chapel is turned into a place for making coffins. 
 Seeing two men at work there, I went in, in company with 
 Rev. Mr. Morgan, the curate of the parish. I said to one 
 of the carpenters, " What are you making, boys ? " " Coffins 
 and wheelbarrows. Sir ; " and I saw the planks marked out 
 for the sawyer to the length of coffins. At Bantry, I saw 
 lying at the corner of one of the streets, two coffins for the 
 use of the poor ; they call them " trap coffins ; " the bottom 
 is supported by hinges at one side, and a hook and eye at 
 the other. In these coffins the poor are carried to the grave, 
 or rather to a large pit, which I saw at a little distance 
 from the road, and the bodies are dropped into it. On 
 my return to the spot where I first saw these two coffins, 
 I found them occupied with corpses, and placed on a car 
 about to be drawn by a horse to the grave. Another coffin of 
 the same kind had been sent in another direction for another 
 body ; but I was told in this district the majority were 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 395 
 
 taken to the grave without any coffin, and buried in their 
 rags : in some instances even the rags are taken from the 
 corpse to cover some still living body ; but in the neigh- 
 bourhood and parish of Schull, coffins are not thought of 
 by the very poor, and funerals are unknown amongst them. 
 At Ballydehob, Mr. and Miss Noble both informed me 
 that on the morning of the day I arrived, they had seen 
 five dead bodies carried through the village in a cart with 
 a little straw under and over them. 
 
 ' That bodies are left in the fields for weeks unburied is a 
 matter perfectly certain, and also that they have been left 
 unburied in houses so long that they have been eaten by 
 rats, and indeed so long that they could not be buried, and 
 it became necessary to burn the houses over the bodies. 
 
 ' Captain Harston (the commander who brought the 
 " Eclaire " from Africa), the agent of the British Relief As- 
 sociation, informed me that on Sunday, March 7, he had 
 seen a woman with a basket on her back, and the crooked 
 corpse of a child fastened outside it. In company with 
 Dr. Traill, the Rector of Schull, I met Dr. M'^Cormick, the 
 dispensary physician of the parish of Kilmoe ; he stated 
 that on Tuesday, March 9, he had met a man, a father, 
 tottering along the road — a rope was over his shoulder, 
 and at the other end of the rope, streeling along the 
 ground, were two dead children, whom he was with difficulty 
 dragging to the grave ! ! 
 
 ' Mr. O'Callaghan, of Kilmanus, informed me that he 
 used the meal bags for burying the people; graves are 
 frequently made in ditches, and corners of the fields, and 
 in the gardens behind the cabins. I saw in one garden, 
 not far from Ballydehob, close to the mail-coach road, two 
 graves in a garden — one large, in which I was told were 
 three bodies, the smaller one in which there were two 
 bodies ; and the house had been burned, in consequence of 
 
396 APPENDIX. 
 
 the whole family, nine in number, having died in it of 
 fever. 
 
 ' After public worship on Sunday, March 14, I met the 
 Ballydehob Relief Committee. As I had so little time at 
 my command, and remembering our Lord's instruction — 
 that it is lawful to save life on the Sabbath day — I asked 
 the committee to meet me, and received their fullest and 
 most cordial approval of my plan of establishing eating- 
 houses in the more remote districts of the parish. We 
 made arrangements whereby the duplicate of funds given 
 for this purpose would be secured from Government. The 
 rules for the conduct of the eating-houses were stated by me ; 
 and the Protestant minister and the Roman Catholic priest 
 were constituted a sub-committee to carry them into ex- 
 ecution, pledging themselves to the observance of the rules 
 in the strictest manner. I then proceeded to Cappagh, 
 which is a coast-guard station, in the midst of a starving 
 population, which had been collected round mines which 
 are not now worked. It was proposed to establish the first 
 eating-house in this place. On the evening before, I had 
 heard of a boy living on the road to Cappagh, who had 
 seen a dog tearing the head, and neck, and ribs of a man. 
 I wished to learn the truth of this from the boy himself 
 He told me that the fact was so, and that his little brother 
 had on another occasion seen another dog tearing the head 
 of a man. The younger boy remarked that he had seen 
 the remains of the head the day before in an adjoining field. 
 I asked him to lead me to the spot, which he did, and I 
 there found a part of the human head and under-jaw, 
 gnawed, but marked with blood. I placed it under 
 ground. 
 
 ' On arriving at Cappagh I found the coast-guard and his 
 wife (a tidy little Englishwoman) placed under circum- 
 stances almost as pitiable as the poorest of those who sur- 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 397 
 
 rounded her, inasmuch as she was daily witnessing absolute 
 starvation without the means of relieving it. Within a few 
 yards of the coast-guard house were three families which I 
 saw starving to death. Moore, the coast-guard, told me 
 that he had buried numbers of bodies himself — that he was 
 obliged to do so in self-defence, for fear that they should 
 breed a pestilence. In the first house I entered I saw a 
 dead child lying in a corner of the house, and two children 
 pale as death, with their heads hanging down upon their 
 breasts sitting by a small fire. Mrs. Moore, who accom- 
 panied me into the house, told me the sad history of the 
 family. The father had died on the road coming home 
 from work. One of the children, a lad seventeen years of 
 age, had been found in the absence of his mother who was 
 looking for food, lying dead, with his head leaning on the 
 hob close to the fire, and with his legs held out of the fire 
 by the little child which I then saw lying dead. Two 
 other children had also died. The mother and the two 
 children still alive had lived on one dish of barley for 
 the last four days. For these famished children I obtained 
 from Mrs. Moore a cake of brown bread, and sent it to 
 them by the mother. In about* a minute after I entered 
 the house again, to see whether they were eating this cake 
 voraciously, and found the children sitting in the same 
 posture. I feared they had not got the bread, but they 
 had devoured it. I questioned them closely — asked them 
 what colour it was. The child who replied said it was 
 black ; it was coarse brown bread. 
 
 ' In the next house which I entered I learned that the 
 father a few days before had been found dead at a turf 
 clamp, where he had gone for turf; the mother had buried 
 one child (as they said) off her back, meaning that she 
 carried the child on her back to the grave ; and I saw three 
 others apparently dying. In the third house I entered 
 
398 APPENDIX. 
 
 there was a family — a father, mother, and five children — 
 all of whom were dying slowly of simple weakness, the 
 consequence of hunger : half a stone of meal a week was 
 their sole support. The man said he knew they were all 
 dying ; he said their appetites were all good, and they had 
 no sickness. After administering some little present relief, 
 and having had in some degree cheered these families by 
 the hope that food would be brought within their reach, I 
 proceeded about four miles to Schull. I shall now state 
 what I saw immediately in and around the village of Schull, 
 together with cursory observations made by Dr. Sweetman. 
 
 ' In order to understand aright the position in which I was 
 placed during the time when the remarks which I am about 
 to relate were made, I should mention that Rev. Dr. Traill 
 (the rector of the parish), Rev. Mr. M^Cabe (the curate), 
 Dr. Sweetman, and myself, were going from house to house, 
 and occasionally standing in the street or road, surrounded 
 by hundreds of clamorous beggars and wretched objects, 
 many of them with evidently dying children in their arms. 
 We went into three houses close to each other, and more 
 dreadful objects I never saw. Dr. Sweetman said, " Now, 
 nothing can recover those you saw ; they must all die. 
 Sir, the people die unconsciously to themselves ; they are 
 foolishly delirious ; they die before your eyes. The pulse 
 does not average fifty ; there is water between it and your 
 hand. Look down the street — you need not select any 
 house — and it's worse in the country." This I afterwards 
 found to be the case. 
 
 * On entering another house the doctor said, " Look there. 
 Sir, you can't tell whether they are boys or girls." Taking 
 up a skeleton child, he said, " Here is the way it is with 
 them all ; their legs swing and rock like the legs of a doll," 
 and I saw that it was so in this instance. " Sir, they have 
 the smell of mice." After I had seen a great number of 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 399 
 
 these miserable objects, the doctor said, " Now, Sir, there is 
 not a child you saw can live for a month ; every one of them 
 are in famine fever, a fever so sticky that it never leaves 
 them." 
 
 'Rev. Dr. Traill and Dr. Sweetman both told me that there 
 were not one hundred out of the three thousand families 
 in Schull parish which could command their breakfast 
 the next morning. I said to Dr. Sweetman, " If you were 
 on your oath in a court of justice would you say so.''" " I 
 would say so if I was before the judgment-seat of Christ: 
 there are no exceptions ; east, west, north or south, it is 
 all the same. The police officer, Mr. Garney, was present. 
 I said to him, " Do you, Sir, believe that statement, that 
 there are not a hundred families in the parish of Schull 
 who can command a breakfast of their own independently 
 of charity to-morrow .'' " He replied, "There are not fifty." 
 Pointing to what might be called the outline of a fine 
 young man in the crowd. Dr. Sweetman said, " There, Sir, is 
 the remains of fever and dysentery " — this was a very 
 affecting case, the young man was foolish. Again — " There 
 is a woman, and finer curly-haired children than hers were 
 not in the Queen's dominions; now they are all gone, hus- 
 band and children, and see what she is." " Here is a man, 
 and there is no perceptible motion at all in his pulse." Soon 
 after the Doctor said, " There is a man, his child died last 
 night — he is unable to dig his grave ; I sent my man to 
 dig it." I asked had he any coffin, and was answered, " Oh 
 no ; " and then turning to the man himself he said, " And 
 you will die surely, my poor man," meaning that he could 
 not live many days. 
 
 ' The above details, though neither the worst, nor one- 
 fifth part of those which I have to give, are sufficient, 
 perhaps too much, for the present. I hasten to state the 
 remedy which I propose, and what I have done towards it. 
 
400 APPENDIX. 
 
 The new poor law * is designed to be as complete a remedy 
 as possible ; but until it is in full operation, which may 
 not be for a considerable time, the people must die by 
 thousands. 
 
 ' The remedy which I propose is the establishment of 
 eating-houses within reach of those upon whom disease has 
 not as yet made mortal inroads. 
 
 ' The sending of a sufficient number of suitable agents 
 to arrange for, or if necessary manage, those eating-houses ; 
 and physicians should be sent to prescribe the food and 
 medicine which is necessary for them. This would cost 
 large sums of money ; but if the rich could be assured it 
 would save life, the required sums would be given. 
 
 ' It appears to me that eating-houses, where a meal of 
 wholesome substantial food might be given daily to all who 
 were certified in danger of perishing from hunger, would be 
 the cheapest and surest plan of preventing starvation. 
 Soup may be anything, everything, or nothing ; it may be 
 thin gruel or greasy water, and I have tasted it of both 
 descriptions ; or it may be the essence of meat, and very 
 wholesome where there is some substantial food taken with 
 it ; but when given to those who have nothing else to use 
 with it, and who often expend, by coming miles for it, more 
 strength than the soup restores, it is very inefficient for sus- 
 taining life. But there can be no mistake about a meal of 
 substantial Indian meal stirabout or porridge ; and I know 
 that one meal daily of this food so given to the poor, who 
 have been obliged to come clean and partake of it, has pre- 
 served life and health to a great degree, and does not cost 
 more than i^d. per day. 
 
 ' In none of the districts where I was did the case appear 
 to me to be desperate ; there was no want of food in any 
 place (delightful consideration !) nor want of medicine, but 
 
 * The Irish Poor Relief Act was then in its infancy. W. S. T. 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 4OI 
 
 there was the most deplorable want of available agency, 
 and a consequent want of suitable measures to bring the 
 food and the medieine within the reach of the people. 
 
 ' Take for example the one parish of Schull (and there 
 are many like it). Here there are scarcely any gentry and 
 none rich. What can one physician do amongst 18,000 
 people in such a state (and oats for his horse so dear) ? 
 What can the ordinary number of local clergy do in such 
 an extensive district .•' They cannot visit one-tenth part of 
 the sick, even if they had horses, and oats to feed them, 
 which some of them have not. Can Dr. Traill be expected 
 to carry meal to the people in the mountains across the 
 pummel of his saddle, as he has done .'' Can Mr. M'^Cabe, 
 the curate, be expected to push in the door and look for a 
 vessel, and wash the vessel previous to putting a drink into 
 it for the sick, who were unable to rise, as he has done .-' 
 But let there be provided a sufficient staff of fit men to 
 prescribe for the sick, and to place cooked food within the 
 reach of the poor, and I feel confident that the supply of 
 money that the public have proved themselves ready to 
 give would pay for all, and so prevent absolute starvation, 
 and restore health in many instances. 
 
 ' It does appear to me that without any special inter- 
 position of divine power the plague might be stayed, and 
 " the dearth and scarcity " easily turned, not, indeed into 
 " cheapness " (for man cannot create food), but " into 
 plenty," for the preservation of human life. 
 
 ' I shall add, that I made arrangements with the local 
 clergy and the relief committees for the opening of four or 
 five such eating-houses. 
 
 ' By cooperation with the clergy and the relief commit- 
 tees I have the prospect of a duplicate from Government of 
 every sum which my friends have entrusted to my care. I 
 have sent my lay assistant from my own parish, who has 
 
 D D 
 
402 APPENDIX. 
 
 been conversant with the details of the management of such 
 eating-houses, to assist in immediately carrying out the ar- 
 rangements made ; and I have requested Evory Kennedy, 
 Esq., i\I.D., to select a physician, who shall immediately go 
 to SchuU, and act under the directions of the local clergy. 
 
 ' I only add, that the case is literally, and to the eye of 
 sense as well as of faith, a case of life and death ; and I feel 
 that relief should be sent with the speed with which a 
 reprieve is conveyed to the malefactor about to be executed. 
 
 ' We may indulge a hope that the new poor law will ere 
 ver}^ long be in full operation. I am sure the Government 
 is doing all it can to expedite matters, but in the meantime 
 it is to be feared that the loss of life will be dreadful. Here 
 is a case indeed where it may be said — 
 
 Bis dat qui cito dat. 
 
 ' F. F. Trenxh, 
 ' Perpetual Curate of Cloghjordan. 
 
 ' P.S. — Since writing the above I have waited on JNIr. 
 Redington and Sir J. Burgoyne, and feel assured that no 
 time will be lost in bringing the new law into operation. 
 But the arrangements are complicated, and the lives of 
 thousands depend on what is done //c'tc' 
 
 ' Cloghjordan, April 2, 1S47. 
 ' Sir — You occupied a large portion of your paper on a 
 former occasion with my statement relative to the south- 
 west of the county of Cork. I ask permission to make a 
 further statement concerning what I witnessed pursuing 
 my course through the village of Schull, and the straggling 
 houses surrounding it, accompanied by Dr. Traill and the 
 Rev. Mr. JNPCabe, the curate, and Dr. Sweetman, physician. 
 In one house which I entered Dr. Sweetman proceeded 
 into a dark corner, and feeling with his hand, tc' 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 4O3 
 
 there were six in the bed — father, mother, and four chil- 
 dren, all unable to rise — but I was particularly struck with 
 the question which the doctor put to the poor people, 
 when he was feeling for them in the bed, " Are there any 
 dead here ? " None were actually dead at that time, but 
 one had died. 
 
 ' In another house we entered there were four in fever, 
 two having died, and the doctor said to me, " The father, 
 he will be down in fever before Thursday, though gone to 
 make his appearance on the road." * 
 
 ' In another house (Minahan's), I saw the father lying 
 dead, his wife and sick daughter only remained. 
 
 ' In another house, without a door, I saw a dying man, 
 who had been taken off the roads, a dying woman, and a 
 boy sitting with his legs burst with dropsy. 
 
 ' In another house I saw a sick man who had a pecu- 
 liarly foetid smell, which Dr. Sweetman remarked to me. 
 Mr. Limerick, J. P., told me afterwards that the doctor had 
 given directions that the man should be buried instantly 
 upon his death, as otherwise it would be impossible to bury 
 him. In the same conversation, at Dr. Traill's house, Mr. 
 Limerick told me that one day he had employed thirty- 
 five men (who were on the roads)"^ in gangs of four or five 
 to bury the dead. 
 
 ' Going to the next cabin, pointing to a woman who met 
 us, the doctor said, " Now, there's a woman actually in 
 fever, the other members of the family are all worse than 
 her; she had no messenger to send for anything." While 
 I was in company with Mr. M'^Cabe on this occasion, he 
 gave two tickets to women to get work on the roads in 
 place of their husbands who had died ; telling me at the 
 same time, that as Secretary to the Relief Committee, 
 he had altered in the course of the last eight days in a 
 
 * Relief works. 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 APPENDIX. 
 
 hundred instances the names of the men who had died to 
 the names of their wives, and that in that space of time 
 there had been six cases in which he had altered the name 
 from the father to the son, and from the son to the widow, 
 and from the widow to the daughter, all having died. 
 
 ' In this morning's walk, which occupied between two 
 and three hours, Dr. Traill and I calculated that I had en- 
 tered between thirty and forty houses, and that I had seen 
 about 120 sick persons. 
 
 ' Several dreadful and affecting anecdotes were related 
 to me, the repetition of which would serve no good pur- 
 pose. One I may relate, descriptive merely of the charac- 
 ter of the things to which I allude. Mr. M'Cabe mentioned 
 that he had seen a child lying upon the bosom of the dead 
 father, and in that position the child died twelve hours 
 after ; and that the remnant of that family, six in number, 
 were now dying. 
 
 ' There is a degree of filth amongst the people here 
 which 1 had never seen elsewhere — not only dunghills be- 
 fore the door, but dunghills close to the door, and several 
 feet higher than the level of the threshold of the door. In 
 many of the houses straw was scattered over the whole of 
 the floor, and the people lived, I may say, exactly like pigs 
 in a stye, with the worst possible filth in the houses. And 
 one house (the abominable filth of which was particularly 
 observable) was one of those which had been previously 
 visited and mentioned by name in Captain Caffin's letter. 
 
 * Feeling that there was no use in witnessing more of 
 this misery, I turned back. In doing so a house at a little 
 distance was pointed out to me as having eight persons 
 lying sick in it. I went to it, and on entering, found six 
 lying sick on straw, or rather dung, and one man walking 
 about the picture of death, and, I was told, dying. 
 
 ' But before I leave off my record of misery in this one 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 405 
 
 spot I again say that all this evil is not irremediable. I 
 remarked to Mr. M^'Cabe, " This ought to be a healthy 
 place " (it is situated at the end of a pretty little bay sur- 
 rounded by rocks). "Yes, Sir," Mr. M'^Cabe replied, "and 
 there is a great rally for life here; a drink of rice milk 
 gives great strength. A poor woman to whom I gave 
 some rice said, ' I was weak yesterday ; I feel strong to- 
 day.' " Mr. M'^Cabe has had the pleasure of seeing conva- 
 lescent families, and had seen that day one poor woman 
 combing her hair, and in her right mind, who had been 
 delirious in fever a few days before. 
 
 ' In the afternoon of the same day I proceeded, in com- 
 pany with the Rev. Mr. M'^Cabe, to Keelbronogue, a district 
 which was stated to be famishing and requiring an eating- 
 house. On my way thither I met Captain Harston, the 
 agent of the British Association, and he kindly turned 
 about and accompanied me. When we arrived at Keel- 
 bronogue we met the Roman Catholic priest of the parish, 
 Mr. Barry; and he also kindly proposed to go with me 
 and give me any information in his power. I asked 
 Mr. Barry to point out to me the most distressed houses. 
 He said, " In every direction it is all the same." 
 
 ' In the first house I entered there was a man lying in 
 fever, and wife and child sitting up. I found the door 
 shut. A young man who lived near told me that he 
 had not seen the door open except once or twice in the 
 last fortnight. There was a can of water near the bed : 
 four of the family had died. The sick people said they 
 had eaten nothing and expected nothing that day. I 
 immediately sent to a farmer's house, at a little distance, 
 for some oatenmeal, and gave some to them and took the 
 remainder with me. 
 
 ' In the second house I entered (Patrick Driscoll's) there 
 were eight in family; three sick ; one man lay dead beside 
 
406 APPENDIX. 
 
 the fire. I asked did he die of fever ? " No, Sir, of starva- 
 tion," was the reply. 
 
 ' Third house (Regan). Here I heard the groaning of a 
 sick and (I was told) a dying man. The place was so dark 
 I did not go in far. Eight in family; pictures of death. 
 Two girls and a young child said they had eaten nothing 
 all day. Mr. Barry said he had been a decent farmer. 
 
 ' Fourth house (Widow Driscoll). Here I saw a young 
 man. He was groaning, and as it appeared to me in the 
 agony of death. There were five in family. They said 
 they had eaten nothing since Saturday, i.e. for two days 
 and a half They were all sick ; all were swelled ; and the 
 gentlemen with me said, " None of them can live!' 
 
 * Fifth house (Mat Sullivan). We knocked here. None 
 were able to open the door. Two very young children sit- 
 ting by the fire, and two lying pale as death. 
 
 ' Sixth house (Widow Cunningham). She had buried 
 her husband and three of her children. She had been ill 
 for eight weeks. Her last boy had taken fever the day 
 before. She had no one to go for anything now. The 
 last drink she got was a jug of water from a woman going 
 along the road, and knew not where the next was to come 
 from. 
 
 'Seventh house (Phil. Regan). He had died, and the 
 widow was dying. Three children had died. She was 
 awfully swelled. 
 
 ' Eighth house (Paddy Ryan). Eight, all sick. One 
 had died. Child scarcely able to open the door, 
 
 ' Ninth house (Charles Regan). Of eleven only three 
 remaining. We had met the woman of this house on the 
 road and she accompanied us to most of the houses. 
 When we arrived at her cabin she said, " I have within a 
 fine young man, of nineteen years of age, and you could 
 carry him in the palm of your hand!' I entered, and saw 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 407 
 
 a bundle of skin and bone naked, and partly wrapped up 
 in a blanket, sitting by the fire. The mother said, " Sir, 
 we have no sickness, but hunger." 
 
 ' I had seen enough. These houses were not all in a 
 row, but scattered in the fields and along the roadside. I 
 did not pass by a single house. Turning round, I said to 
 Mr. Barry, the Roman Catholic curate, " Are the houses I 
 see lower down as bad.'" He said, "They are. Sir; and 
 all along the place; they are in fact worse below; it is 
 more populous ; I have come from a house there, in which 
 I saw two stretched." But being quite as tired in mind 
 and body as I ought to be, I did not proceed farther, and 
 returned to the hospitable dwelling of Doctor Traill. I 
 need say no more respecting the extent of the evil at pre- 
 sent ; I come to the remedy. 
 
 ' I solicit free contributions of personal service from in- 
 telligent and devoted men. Money I know will be required 
 to keep such men at work, but we want MEN now to make 
 the money which we have work in the most effective 
 manner for the preservation of the lives of the people. 
 
 * The confidence which I expressed in my last communi- 
 cation that the rich were willing to contribute whatever 
 funds were necessary has been more than realised. One 
 subscriber sends 100/.; another has allowed me to draw 
 upon his purse to an unlimited extent ; another subscriber 
 sent me so much that I thought it right to decline re- 
 ceiving more than half the subscription. Another sub- 
 scriber of 10/. says, "The slightest intimation will bring a 
 similar sum." Under these circumstances, I ask for the 
 free contribution of the personal services of a few intel- 
 ligent men, who heartily recognise and sincerely endeavour 
 to love God supremely, and their neighbour as themselves. 
 Those who have money at their disposal have contributed 
 most liberally. Let those who have time at their disposal 
 
408 APPENDIX. 
 
 do likewise; their business should be to assist the com- 
 mittee and clergy in superintending the management of 
 the eating-houses, to see that the food was properly cooked 
 and properly distributed, that none but proper objects 
 received it, and to see that the regulations were observed, 
 that the accounts of the expenditure were daily kept, and 
 that there was no waste incurred in any department. We 
 would gladly pay the travelling and all other expenses of 
 any gentleman fit for this work, and willing to engage in 
 it ; and in order to avoid all unnecessary delay, Evory 
 Kennedy, Esq. M.D., 27 Merrion Square, and Sir E. Waller, 
 Bart, 13 Waterloo Road, are authorised at once to accept 
 the proffered service of any gentleman whom they may 
 consider qualified for the task. — I remain, dear Sir, yours 
 faithfully and obliged, 
 
 ' F. F. Trench.' 
 
 Extract of a letter from the Rev. Richard Chenevix 
 Trench, Professor of Divinity in King's College, London, 
 and now Archbishop of Dublin, to the Rev. F. F. Trench: — 
 
 ' " I have just returned from Killbronogue. All is pro- 
 gressing there most satisfactorily. Excellent order kept, 
 all your rules observed, and had not this day been rainy, 
 nothing could have been pleasanter than the sight of the 
 200 or more eating their food, certainly with thankfulness 
 to men, I trust also with thankfulness to God. But they 
 did not seem to mind the rain, and we got the children 
 under cover. 
 
 * " To-morrow a neighbouring townland, Rossbrin, is to be 
 taken into the system : about a hundred Rossbrinites will 
 be fed by an earlier distribution from the Kilbronogus 
 boiler. They are now dying there, as they did at Killbro- 
 nogue before the eating-house was established. I know 
 not what is to be done with Ballydehob ; the mass of wild 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 409 
 
 fierce hunger there is almost unmanageable. We shall be 
 spending {and economically and honestly spending) I cannot 
 think much less than 100/. weekly. Some imposture must 
 and will creep in, for everything is obliged to be done in 
 somewhat of a rough manner, but many lives will be saved ; 
 and what Dr. Sweetman said to-night — ' This is the first 
 efficient plan for feeding the people which has been in the 
 parish' — will, with all drawbacks, remain true. This is a 
 matter to thank God for. 
 
 ' " I found the distress not deeper (for that had been im- 
 possible) but quite as deep and far wider, covering a vaster 
 extent of territory than from your letter I had gathered. 
 When, however, I left, in the middle of last week, there 
 were already eight or nine eating-houses in active operation, 
 and new ones opening every day. These, at which severally 
 from 300 to 5ooor 600 were being fed, relieved an immense 
 amount of misery, and yet left vast regions, even in these 
 two parishes alone, which were as yet untouched. 
 
 ' " I visited several of the stations and witnessed the distri- 
 bution of the food, which in every case was either nutritious 
 stirabout, or excellent biscuit. * There would not be twenty 
 of us alive here but for this,' said a woman to me in one 
 place ; and Mr. Kennedy observed to me how wonderful 
 was the alteration already visible in the looks of those who 
 partook of the food. The mortality, too, though it had not 
 ceased (for many who were death-stricken before the eating- 
 houses were opened, could not be saved by them), yet had 
 been arrested, and we might humbly hope the famine 
 would have in those districts at least no new victims. 
 Altogether, I saw enough to show me that very much is 
 being done, and being effectually done ; but that as yet 
 things are very, very far from the point we aim at — namely, 
 that ' every destitute person in these parishes shall have a 
 meal of wholesome food within their reach daily.' There 
 
4IO APPENDIX. 
 
 is all zeal on the part of those engaged with you in this 
 work on the spot to hasten such a consummation ; and I 
 see no reason why, through God's blessing, and through 
 many and large efforts, it may not be attained." ' 
 
 * Before I conclude I wish to mention the very small cost 
 of these eating-houses. I have before me the returns of 
 five of the eating-houses, and I find that 9,409 substantial 
 meals have been given at an average cost of less than i^d. 
 each ! and at that trifling daily cost for food, I believe that 
 the Lord will enable us to save life to whatever extent 
 funds may be entrusted to our care. The agency which is 
 essentially necessary, and for want of which, more than for 
 want of food, life was lost, will necessarily cost much. But 
 supposing the agency to be fully provided, the food where- 
 with we can save the lives of our '' neighbours," and preserve 
 them also in tolerable health, does not cost more than i^d. 
 daily. The lives of the people in that district seem to be 
 marvellously given into our hands, and who can tell what 
 a blessed influence our charity may have upon their spiritual 
 welfare ! Yes, while deprecating in the strongest possible 
 manner the holding out of any carnal inducements to the 
 reception of spiritual good, and while loathing from my 
 innermost soul the iniquity of holding out an inducement 
 to the miserable to do that to which their poverty and not 
 their will might consent — still I say, who can tell the extent 
 to which in this very district the Saviour's word may be 
 ultimately fulfilled — " Let your light so shine before men 
 that they may see your good works and glorify your Father 
 which is in heaven ! " 
 
 * I have this morning received copies of letters from 
 Schull addressed by Doctors Lamprey and Sweetman to 
 the Board of Health, asking for more food and medicine. 
 This I have pledged myself to supply. 
 
FAMINE IN SCHULL. 4 II 
 
 ' I intend, if the Lord will, to go to Schull on Monday 
 next, and the extent to which new arrangements may be 
 made for saving life must depend upon the amount of funds 
 which are placed at my disposal. 
 
 ' In my last letter I intimated that / wanted men more 
 tJian money. The men have been provided (and I have 
 more men ready to engage in the work) — I now want 
 more money ; for, as my valued brother, the Rev. Richard 
 Trench, has intimated, I did not know the vast extent of 
 the misery when I wrote my last letter — to use his own 
 expression, " Wherever he tapped it he found it all the 
 same." 
 
 ' For the information of my English friends I mention 
 that Cloghjordan is a post town, to which place all commu- 
 nications made to me should be addressed. 
 
 ' I remain, dear Sir, yours faithfully and obliged, 
 
 ' F. F. Trench, 
 ' Perpetual Curate of Cloghjordan. 
 
 ' P.S. — April 23. — I deeply regret to say that I have 
 just heard of the death of Dr. Traill, Rector of Schull. He 
 was " pressed above measure," and " beyond strength," and 
 doubtless " his reward was on high." ' 
 
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