r T 
 
THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 From the collection of 
 James Collins, 
 Drumcondra, Ireland. 
 Purchased, 1918. 
 
 914-JS 
 
 m9 
 
LARRY LYNCH; 
 
 OR, 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 HRISXX LIFE, PAST J&.2&JD ZPRESEXCTT, 
 
 -NEW EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHARLES H. CLARKE, 23 a, Paternoster Row. 
 
Microfilm Negative 2-743 
 Humanities Preservation Project 
 
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 In 
 
 Of 
 
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 PADDIANA. 
 
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 INTRODUCTION TO IRELAND AND THE 
 
 My introduction to Ireland was made before steam- 
 packets came into general use, though they ran even then 
 between Holyhead and Howth ; but this I believe was the 
 only line. It is amusing, in these days, to recall to 
 memory the fears expressed at that time on the subject 
 of steam-power, not only by “ elderly ladies and eccle- 
 siastics,” but by a great majority of all ages and classes. 
 Sea-faring men of every kind were against it. “ None of 
 your tea-kettle ships !” was the common cry ; and the 
 possibility of a steamer crossing the Atlantic, or reaching 
 India, would have been thought too absurd to be enter- 
 tained for a moment. But, notwithstanding the fear of 
 its danger and the ridicule of its success, there was a sort 
 of undefined consciousness of its ultimate adoption, which 
 people wilfully, but unsuccessfully, tried to banish from 
 their minds, and which even sailors and old ladies could 
 
 I embarked at Liverpool one fine evening in September, 1 
 in one of the regular sailing packets, for Dublin. She 
 was a rather large cutter, something of the old Margate 
 hoy species, commanded by an Irishman ; her crew were 
 Irish, as were also her passengers to a man, excepting 
 myself. It was the fi J J ' * life that I had ever 
 
 IRISH. 
 
 not quite get rid of. 
 
 B 
 
4 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 mixed with the Irish, or even had any communication 
 with individuals of that country, and it was not without a 
 feeling of some interest that I found myself suddenly cut 
 off from all other people and plunged wholly amongst 
 them. 
 
 I was the first passenger on board; and having paid 
 my passage-money and secured the best berth in the 
 vessel, seated myself on the bulwarks of the ‘ Nora 
 Creina/ as she lay alongside the pier waiting the turn 
 of the tide, and watched the arrival of the other passen- 
 gers. As the time of high-water drew near, they dropped 
 in by twos and threes ; the cabin passengers coming hi st 
 to the number of about a dozen, all eagerly rushing below 
 to secure the berths (six altogether), and all coming on 
 deck again in apparent satisfaction at the arrangements 
 they had made. 
 
 On the pier above stood some hundreds of Irish 
 reapers, uniformly dressed in grey frieze coats, cor- 
 duroy breeches, unbuttoned at the knee, and without 
 neckerchiefs ; carrying their sickles wrapped in straw 
 slung over the shoulder, and every one with a large, 
 long blackthorn stick in his hand, the knob of the 
 stick being on the ground, contrary to the usage of 
 all other people, and the small end held in the hand. 
 As the vessel was preparing to cast off, a stream of 
 these people began to pour down the ladder to the 
 deck of our little craft, till the whole fore-part of the 
 vessel, and subsequently the waists were completely 
 choked up with them. Still they kept descending, till 
 the cabin-passengers were driven to the extreme after- 
 part, alongside the tiller ; but yet the stream flowed on, 
 till not only the fore-cabin but every available portion 
 of the deck was crammed with a dense mass of human 
 beings, — we of the state-cabin forming the small tail of 
 the crowd. 
 
 How the vessel was to be worked in this state it was 
 difficult to conjecture, and I heartily wished myself out 
 of it. Indeed, I mentioned something of an intention 
 
INTRODUCTION TO IRELAND. 
 
 5 
 
 of forfeiting my passage-money and taking the next 
 packet, but was dissuaded by the captain, who assured 
 me I should have to wait perhaps a month before all the 
 reapers returned ; and then bad weather might be ex- 
 pected. 
 
 “ Sure, we'll shake in our places by and bye/’ said 
 he; “they'll be quiet enough when they're out of the 
 river : it's then we'll pack 'em like herrings, and pickle 
 'em too. But I believe we won't take any more. 
 Hold hard there, boys ; we've no room for ye. Stop 
 that fellow with the hole in his breeches ; — no, not 
 him, th' other with the big hole, — sure we can't take 
 ye." 
 
 “ Ah, musha, captain, won't ye lave me come ? My 
 brother's in it." 
 
 (Captain sings), — 
 
 “ 1 Ah ! who’s this ?’ says he ; 
 
 * ’Tis my brother,’ says she.” 
 
 “ Can't ye sit down aisy where ye are, and wait till I 
 come back for ye ? The divle a one more — Cast off for- 
 ward there — Haul the jib-sheet to windward — Starboard 
 your helm ; aisy, don't jam the passengers — Haul aft the 
 jib-sheet !" 
 
 And in another minute we were bowling down the river 
 with a powerful ebb tide, and the wind dead against us. 
 
 If the reader has ever passed over London Bridge on 
 an Easter Monday or Tuesday, and happened to notice 
 the Greenwich steamers going down the river, he will be 
 able to form some idea of the state of our decks as to 
 number of passengers, substituting in his mind's eye for 
 the black and blue coats, the glaring satin waistcoats, 
 the awful stocks, the pink and blue ribands, and gay 
 silks of the holiday Cockneys, the unvaried grey of the 
 Irish cargo ; and imagining the majority of mouths on 
 board to be ornamented with the “ doodeen,"* instead of 
 
 * Short pipe, scarcely more than the bowl. 
 
 B 2 
 
6 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the cheroot, or clay, or full-flavoured Cuba, or labelled 
 Lopez. 
 
 The wind was right up the river, but l'ig-ht ; and it was 
 supposed that, by making* a good stretch down the 
 Cheshire coast on the one tack, we should be able to fetch 
 out to sea on the other. 
 
 The captain was right as regarded our passengers 
 settling down into their places : before the first tack was 
 made a great proportion of them were reposing in heaps 
 under the bulwarks and the boat, and a little moving- 
 room afforded to the crew. Most of the reapers had been 
 walking all day, and were happy enough in composing 
 themselves to sleep. 
 
 About eight o'clock our jolly skipper invited the cabin 
 passengers to supper and a glass of grog, and we stowed 
 ourselves as we best could in the little cabin, though not 
 half the number could get a seat at the table, the re- 
 mainder bestowing themselves upon carpet-bags and port- 
 manteaus about the floor,, each with his plate on his knees 
 and his tumbler beside him. 
 
 Our captain deserves some notice. He was a jolly, 
 short, rosy-cheeked old sailor, who had been quarter- 
 master on board a line-of-battle ship in Nelson's action 
 at the Nile, and was a rough, good-humoured, kind- 
 hearted, jovial fellow. I have met him often since : he 
 was an excellent sailor, a kind husband, a fond father, 
 and the most inveterate consumer of whisky-punch that 
 it has ever been my fortune to encounter. And much 
 good it did him, to all appearance. Like Mynheer Van 
 Dunk, “ he never got drunk," but he mixed the fluids in 
 fairer proportions than that worthy. He was opposed to 
 dram-drinking : his liquor was honest toddy, weaker than 
 half-and-half, but what might have been called stiff by a 
 young practitioner. It was the vast number of tumblers 
 that he took which surprised people. He owned to from 
 sixteen to twenty in the twenty-four hours, though his 
 friends said thirty-six, and his enemies (I doubt his 
 having any) were understood to say that forty-eight would 
 
INTRODUCTION TO IRELAND. 
 
 7 
 
 be nearer tlie mark. I take his own account, and pass it, 
 — say twenty. . He was full of good stories from first to 
 last. He was one of those ready fellows that require no 
 priming to set him going: — he was a self-primer. Per- 
 haps I should say that, if there was a difference, from his 
 tenth to his fifteenth tumbler was about the most jocose 
 period : but the difference was so small as not to be worth 
 mentioning. The worst of it was, that no man could 
 drink fair with him ; not that he was particular in insist- 
 ing upon that punctilio, but those who tried it were never 
 known to repeat the experiment. I speak of him in the 
 past tense, though I have no reason to believe that he is 
 is not still alive and drinking, unless indeed Father 
 Mathew's innovations have produced in him a disgust 
 of life : but one thing I think I may venture to say of 
 him, — he has not yet taken the pledge. 
 
 To proceed with our voyage ; the supper was composed 
 of bread and butter and hot potatoes, and followed by 
 whisky-punch, which I tasted then for the first time, and 
 glorious liquor I thought it. As it was my introduction 
 to that beverage, the honest skipper undertook to mix 
 it himself for me, adding, however, a trifle of water to the 
 just proportions, in consideration of my youth and inex- 
 perience. 
 
 Notwithstanding the seduction of the beverage, I was 
 soon fain to quit the insufferably close cabin and return 
 to the deck. The wind had nearly died away ; it was a 
 cloudy, sultry night, and a low growl of thunder came 
 occasionally out of the dark masses to the westward. 
 
 The captain was too experienced a seaman to neglect 
 his duty, and came up occasionally to see how things 
 went on. As the weather looked threatening, the mate 
 suggested a reef being taken in, but he decided upon 
 carrying on as we were. About ten o'clock we were 
 standing well out to sea, with a freshening wind coming 
 round fair, and I began to think of turning in for the 
 night. What, however, was my surprise on going below 
 to find nearly all the dozen passengers stowed away in the 
 
8 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 six berths, my own peculiar property not excepted, in 
 which were two huge black- whiskered fellows snoring 
 with up-turned noses, while a third was standing in shirt 
 and drawers by the bedside, meditating how he might best 
 insinuate his own person between them. On appealing 
 to the captain I got little consolation ; he looked placidly 
 at the sleepers and shook his head. 
 
 “ Faith, ye're better out o' this,” said he ; “ sure 
 there's no keeping a berth from such fellows as them. 
 That's O'Byrne — it's from th' O'Byrnes of the Mountains 
 he comes, and they're a hard set to deal with. By my 
 soul, you might as well try to drag whisky out of punch 
 as get him out of that. And th' other's Conray the 
 distiller — he's drunk ; and by the same token it wasn't 
 his own sperrits he got. Ye're better out of this. It will 
 blow fresh presently, and a fine state they'll be in. Get 
 your big coat, and I've a pea-jacket for you. You're 
 better on deck ; and if it rains towards morning, there's 
 my dog-hole you can go to. I'll not turn in myself. 
 It's not much I like this coast, and the wind chopping 
 about and coming round the wrong way. Faugh ! faith, 
 I'd hardly stand this cabin myself, much as I'm used to 
 it.” 
 
 By this time I began to partake largely in the skipper's 
 disgust, and was glad to make my escape. The wind 
 freshened every moment, and before morning there was 
 half a gale blowing, with a short cross sea enough to 
 turn a much more experienced stomach than I could boast 
 of. I will not enlarge upon the nauseous subject of sea- 
 sickness, but spare the reader both the scenes on the decl 
 and below. The captain's prophecy was fulfilled : the 
 deck passengers, as the morning dawned, were piled in 
 huge inert masses of grey frieze. There they lay, only 
 moved by the roll of the vessel. Now and then one more 
 cleanly than the rest would start up and run to the side* 
 but the great body of the fine peasantry lay a loathsome 
 heap of filth. Fortunately the spray came over abun- 
 dantly, and the man at the helm was not too careful to 
 
INTRODUCTION TO IRELAND. 
 
 9 
 
 save them a washing. As to getting the cabin passengers 
 up at breakfast time, it was out of the question ; not one 
 of them would stir, though they roared loudly for some- 
 thing to drink. I was pleased to find that the whiskey 
 disagreed extremely with the distiller, and that he of the 
 mountains was brought down as low as could be wished. 
 
 During the whole day and following night we were 
 beating against a foul w r ind and cross sea, and as much as 
 I have roughed it since in transports, yachts, and open 
 boats, in various countries, I have never seen anything 
 equal to those thirty-six hours. Let the traveller of the 
 present day bless his stars that he is living in the age of 
 steam by land an4 w r ater, and mahogany panels, and 
 mirrors, and easy sofas, and attentive stewards, and plenty 
 of basins, and certain passages of a few hours* duration ; 
 and that he could not if he w T ould find such a craft and 
 passengers as these I am describing. 
 
 Towards the afternoon of the second day all hands 
 began to feel hungry, and the more so as the wind had 
 lulled a little and the sea somewhat gone down, and ac- 
 cordingly the greater part of the evening was spent in 
 cooking potatoes, with a sea-stock of which every deck 
 passenger had come provided. It was not a very easy 
 thing for about two hundred people to cook each his 
 separate mess at one time and at one fire-place : but they 
 tried to do it, and great w r as the wrangling in consequence. 
 Sundry small fights occurred, but they w ? ere too hungry 
 to think of gratifying their propensities that w r ay, and the 
 quarrels were disposed of summarily. But towards the 
 close of the day, when they were more at leisure and had 
 time to look about them, a cause of quarrel was dis- 
 covered between two rival factions; whether Connaught 
 and Munster, or Connaught and Leinster, I forget, but it 
 was quite enough of a quarrel to produce a fight. It 
 commenced with talk, then came a hustling in the centre, 
 then the sticks began to rise above the mass, and finally, 
 such a whacking upon heads and shoulders, such a screech- 
 ing, and tearing, and jumping, and hallooing ensued as 
 
10 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 till that time I had never witnessed. The row commenced 
 forward among some twenty or thirty in the bows, and 
 gradually extended aft as others got up from the deck to 
 join in it, or came pouring up from the fore-cabin. In 
 a few minutes the whole deck from head to stern was 
 covered by a wild mob, fighting without aim or object, 
 as it appeared, except that every individual seemed to be 
 trying his utmost to get down every other individual, and 
 when down to stamp him to death. 
 
 At the first appearance of the “ shindy” the captain 
 went amongst them to try and stop it, but finding his 
 pacific efforts of no avail, he quietly walked up the rigg- 
 ing, and from a safe elevation on file shrouds he was 
 calmly looking down upon the scene below. With great 
 difficulty, and not without an awkward thump or two, I 
 contrived to follow his example, and took up a position 
 alongside of him. The crew were already either in the 
 top or out upon the bowsprit ; and even the man at the 
 helm at last abandoned the tiller, and getting over the 
 side contrived to crawl by the chains till he reached the 
 shrouds, and so escaped aloft. At the time the row broke 
 out, the vessel was lying her course with the wind a point 
 or two free. When the man left the helm she came of 
 course head to wind, and the mainsail jibbing swept the 
 boom across the deck, flooring every body abaft the mast. 
 Hardly were they on their legs again before the boom 
 came back with still greater force, and swept them down 
 in the opposite direction. If it had not been for the 
 imminent risk of many being carried overboard, it would 
 have been highly amusing to witness the traversing of the 
 boom backwards and forwards, and the consequent pros- 
 tration of forty or fifty people every minute. Notwith- 
 standing the interruption they still continued fighting, 
 and stamping, and screeching on, and even some who 
 were actually forced over the side still kept hitting and 
 roaring as they hung by the boom, till the next lurch 
 brought them on deck again. I really believe that, in 
 their confusion, they were not aware by what agency they 
 
INTRODUCTION TO IRELAND. 
 
 11 
 
 were so frequently brought down> but attributed it, some- 
 how or other, to their neighbours right and left, and 
 therefore did all in their power to hit them down in 
 return. 
 
 Meanwhile the jolly skipper looked down from his safe 
 eminence, with about as much indifference as Quasimodo 
 showed to the efforts of the Deacon while he hung by the 
 spout. He rather enjoyed it, and trusted to time and the 
 boom — as the head pacificator — to set things to rights. 
 He was not wrong; a lull came at last, and there was 
 more talking than hitting. Taking advantage of a favour- 
 able moment, he called out : 
 
 “ Well, boys, I wonder how we'll get to Dublin this 
 way ? Will ye plaze to tell me how I'll make the Hill o' 
 Howth before night ? Perhaps ye think we'll get on the 
 faster for bating, like Barney's jackass. Would ye like 
 another week of it, if the wind changes, before we get in ? 
 I hope the praties will hold out, but, at any rate, we’ll 
 have no water to boil them in after to-morrow. Better 
 for me to hang out a turf, and say, * Dry lodging for 
 dacent people ;' and dacent ye are, indeed ! Now, I'd 
 like to know which is the spalpeen that made fast this 
 English lad in the rigging V ' 
 
 Recalled to my own position by the eyes of all being 
 directed my way, I found that, while intent upon the pro- 
 ceedings on deck, one of the crew had slipped quietly up 
 behind, and lashed both my legs securely to the shrouds, 
 where I remained perfectly helpless till the complication 
 of knots could be undone, and I had promised, as is usual 
 in such cases, to “ pay my footing." 
 
 This circumstance, more than anything, contributed to 
 restore good humour. From a roaring and furious mass 
 of men, bent on each other's destruction, they went at 
 once to the opposite extreme, and there was a broad grin 
 upon every upturned face. 
 
 “ Faix, that was a cute thrick," said one : “ that's a 
 gallon o' whisky, at the very laste." 
 
12 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “ Och ! what's a gallon ? Sure that's a gintleman, and 
 will pay his footing handsome • long life to him !" 
 
 “ By me sovvl it is a raal gintleman, ye may be sworn ; 
 there's no half-and-half about him : sure I seen it when 
 I come aboord. It isn't a trifle of a few pounds he'd 
 mind, let alone shillings ; the better for him that's got it 
 to spare !" 
 
 “ Will ye have a knife, Sir ? it'll be aisier than undooin' 
 it. Ah, why would they tie him so fast ? bad luck to 
 them ! Will I cut your honour down ?" 
 
 “ Faith, ye may be glad of th' offer yourself, Mick, one 
 of those days !" 
 
 “ Well, I'd rather than five pound it had been Conray ; 
 by me sowl, we wouldn't have let him aff under ten 
 gallons." 
 
 “ Indeed we wouldn't, nor twenty neither. I'd like to 
 set that fellow's still running, and he tied up above, look- 
 ing out for the Hill o’ Howth ; we'd drink success to him, 
 and happy returns." 
 
 “That's right, Mick ! slice away at that one. Murther ! 
 mind ye don't cut the ladder !" 
 
 “ Here, yer honour, lane upon me." “ Take my hand, 
 Sir, for fear ye'd slip." “ Now jump this way — never 
 mind their feet : sure they've their brogues on." “ Were 
 ye hurted, Sir ? Faith, it's a shame to spancel the gentle- 
 man, and he looking out for the Hill o' Howth !" 
 
 Some whisky having been produced, and served out in 
 a small conical glass — the approved shape among dram- 
 drinkers— -every one holding it by the top rim, and making 
 a face afterwards, as if he had swallowed physic ; 
 
 “ Well, musha Pat, but that was a lucky tie," said one : 
 “ye couldn't get that out of every Englishman.’' 
 
 “ Ye may say that, a-vich ! They'd as soon part with 
 their blood as a drop o' drink." 
 
 “ Indeed they would so. If ye ask an Englishman for 
 a dhrink of wather, he'll tell ye there's a public-house on 
 the hill ! Wasn't he salt to give the sperrits ?" 
 
INTRODUCTION TO IRELAND. 
 
 13 
 
 From this time the good humour was unbroken. An 
 attempt then was made to get the distiller into the rigg- 
 ing, with some such insidious talk as this : — 
 
 “ That's the Hill o' Howth — it's well I know it." 
 
 (( Och, not at all ! — that fellow's in Wicklow." 
 
 “ Sorrow bit o' it : it's one of the Monies, that one- 
 sure I live nigh hand it." 
 
 “ I'll howld ye a quart it's the Hill o' Howth — Mr. 
 Conray knows it. Will ye tell us, Sir, if you plaze, if it's 
 the Hill o' Howth ? (Hivle a man in the ship can see 
 further than Mr. Conray !") 
 
 “ Faith there isn't, not one. Will ye decide, Sir, be- 
 tune us?" 
 
 “ Och, how will he see from the deck ? Will I help ye 
 up, Sir, a round or two ?" 
 
 “ Here, Sir, put one fut here and th'other upon that 
 boy's shoulther." 
 
 But the cajolery failed ; that sagacious individual know- 
 ing full well the kind of mercy which he might expect in 
 the matter of a fine of spirits. “ Sure it's he that makes 
 it, and divle a much it costs him," plainly betraying the 
 animus of the expectant consumers. 
 
 I shall spare the reader the particulars of my introduc- 
 tion to this turf- smelling country — easily to be distin- 
 guished by its “ native perfume," when the westerly 
 breeze <c whispers whence it stole those balmy spoils." 
 Neither shall I dwell upon the carmen, at present — a race 
 that, next to the cads, is the most original in the country. 
 How I was seized upon by at least ten of them, each 
 grasping me with one hand and flourishing a whip in the 
 other; each shouting at once the praises of his own car 
 and horse, and crying down all others. 
 
 “ An outside one, your honour ?" 
 
 “ An inside one, your honour ?" 
 
 “ A covered one, your honour ? Mine's the covered 
 car that will keep ye dhry." 
 
 tc I'll have you there under the hour, ye may depind. 
 Mine's the harse that will do it." 
 
14 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “ He’s spavined, Sir (confidentially), “ divle a fut 
 he’ll get beyant the town.” 
 
 “ Sure, yer honour wouldn’t lave me, and I first wid ye.” 
 
 “ Y ou first ! Sure I had him before he was out of the 
 boat.” 
 
 “ Here ye are, Sir — your portmanteau’s in it and 
 with scarcely an effort on my part, I found myself on an 
 outside car, dos-a-dos with the distiller, the flaps of my 
 great coat tucked in by half a dozen hands, a cloak wrapped 
 round my legs, a wisp of straw thrust under my feet, and 
 rapidly leaving the town of Dunleary (since Kingstown) 
 to the cry of 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 In the immediate neighbourhood of the city of Cork, 
 just at the town's end, there lived a gentleman of the 
 name of Catlin. He was a man of independent property, 
 sufficient to enable him to keep in with the society of the 
 place ; had a good house, an over- dressed wife, two daugh- 
 ters, three maid-servants, a footman, a horse and car, and 
 a rough unlicked-cub of a groom-gardener. We may 
 call him an under-servant generally, for he seemed quite 
 at the bottom of things in the establishment, and was so 
 far under all the rest of the household, that they seemed 
 agreed to lay upon his shoulders all the dirty work that 
 nobody else would do. Few orders w T ere given that Larry 
 Lynch did not come in for at second-hand. “John, I 
 want the car." — “ Larry, your missis wants the car." — • 
 “ Take this parcel to Mrs. Leary." — “ Larry, take this 
 parcel to Mrs. Leary's." — Run with the letter to the 
 post." — “ Larry, run with the letter to the post." — 
 “ Where's the beer ?" — “ Larry, where's the beer ?" — 
 “ Fetch the newspaper." — “ Larry, fetch the newspaper." 
 Nobody could have been in the house a day without 
 wondering how they did anything at all without him. 
 One would not have been surprised at hearing, “ Larry, 
 open my mouth, and put in a piece of meat ; — now, some 
 
16 
 
 PADDTADA. 
 
 potatoe; — now, a little beer:" so entirely indispensable 
 was he. 
 
 Mr. Catlin was a soft, easy-going man, who would 
 make almost any sacrifice for a quiet life. All he cared 
 for was a good plain dinner, a friend or two of his own 
 way of thinking, a sufficiency of pocket-money, and a room 
 to himself. People said he was hen-pecked ; perhaps a 
 strong expression applied to a man who seemed very 
 much to have his own way, and particularly as there was 
 no public demonstration of pecking. If he did catch it, 
 the infliction was of that private and mysterious nature 
 that, in all well-regulated families, is shrouded in the 
 sacred secresy of the bed-curtains. One thing there was no 
 doubt about — Mrs. Catlin had her own way in everything : 
 the domestic legislature was carried on without an oppo- 
 sition, organised or other ; the prime minister's measures 
 passed the house without an attempt at amendment ; and 
 the only bills Mr. Catlin was ever known to bring in 
 were those payable to the bearer at the Bank of Ire- 
 land. 
 
 Mrs. Catlin was of the world, worldly. She flowed 
 along with the grand stream ; and to be out of that was, 
 in her eyes, to be “ bound in shallows and in misery." 
 She liked bustling on, scrambling above other scramblers, 
 and was nowise particular as to kicking and treading 
 them down if they stood in her way. Rank was a great 
 thing with her ; she freely seized upon the handles of 
 people's names to help her up in the world, and took a 
 pride in exchanging cards with even the “Lady" of a 
 knighted pork-butcher. 
 
 Of her two daughters, the youngest is our heroine : the 
 other was like her mother. Julia Catlin was, — 
 
 “Ah ! now we shall have it," says Miss Tibbs. “Now 
 it's coming ! I know what it will be ! Her form is what 
 a Grecian sculptor would have delighted to model ; that's 
 quite clear. She has a high, pale brow, most likely ; and 
 these men-wr iters always dwell upon beautiful bosoms, 
 and that sort of trash ; a fairy-foot — a sweetly rounded 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 17 
 
 arm, and a soft hand with long slender fingers, well 
 adapted for moulding on occasion of love-scenes. One 
 can’t, of course, guess at the kind of eyes he may give 
 her; they will be either tender hazles, melting blues, too- 
 expressive blacks, or a thoughtful grey ; and she will 
 certainly have a Grecian nose ; a finely-chiselled mouth 
 with coral lips, just revealing the pearly teeth. I feel 
 convinced that she will be all frank, affectionate, gushing 
 innocence; a being to shelter from the rude storms of 
 life ; a holy thing, and all heart.” 
 
 We regret extremely that our description cannot keep 
 pace with Miss Tibbs' imaginary picture ; but truth 
 obliges us to declare that our heroine was none of these. 
 She was no beauty; had not a regular feature in her face; 
 and her figure, if formed upon the Grecian model, w T as of 
 the plumpest of that school. 
 
 She was not the “faultless monster” of a novel, but 
 something much better : an artless, good-humoured Irish 
 girl of nineteen. 
 
 In one thing she resembled the regular heroines — she 
 was in love. She went the reprehensible length of believ- 
 ing what a young gentleman told her; he said he loved 
 her ; and I am almost afraid she was silly enough to own 
 that she loved him in return. Artless girls do run into 
 these mistakes, till they have been schooled out of the 
 practice, and make the discovery that the whole truth is 
 only to be told in a witness-box. 
 
 The young gentleman, Mr. Henry Farnham, was a 
 subaltern in one of Her Majesty's regiments of foot, and, 
 at the period of our story, was on the point of embarka- 
 tion at Cove. His regiment was on board a transport in 
 the harbour, and only waiting a favourable wind to 
 bid adieu to the shores of Ireland for a distant tropical 
 climate. 
 
 “ The course of true love never did run smooth/' 
 
 and there was no exception made to the general rule in 
 favour of our lovers. It all went wrong: there was 
 c 
 
18 
 
 PADDTANA. 
 
 hatred of parents, difference of politics ; no rank, no 
 money. 
 
 “ It’s disgraceful in such a fellow to think of Julia !” 
 said Mrs. Catlin. 
 
 “ Well, I believe he is poor,” said Mr. Catlin. 
 
 “ He shall never enter this house again !” said Mrs 
 Catlin. 
 
 “ Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Catlin. 
 
 “ It shan’t be !” said Mrs. Catlin. 
 
 “ Just as you please, my love,” said Mr. Catlin ; and, 
 accordingly, Catlintown was declared in a state of siege, 
 and all intercourse with the enemy, Henry Farnham, 
 strictly forbidden, whether he should conduct his attacks 
 in person, or by the more covert machinery of notes or 
 messages. The co-operation of all the servants was 
 secured in carrying out this severe order ; excepting, 
 indeed, Larry, who, living in remote retirement over the 
 stable, was considered out of the garrison. 
 
 But here we think they made a mistake, for among 
 tacticians it is considered indispensable to make safe the 
 outworks before you invest the place ; and therefore 
 leaving Larry in a state of neutrality was decidedly a false 
 step on the part of those in command. 
 
 It was about two o’clock one fine midsummer morning, 
 that a gentle tapping was heard at the small window 
 of the room over the stable occupied by our friend the 
 groom-gardener; it was repeated again and again, for 
 the occupant slept soundly after his multifarious duties ; 
 but at length it succeeded in eliciting the shock head and 
 drowsy countenance of our indispensable serving-man at 
 the window. 
 
 “ Who the divle are ye ? and what do ye want ?” 
 
 “ A ladder. I want to get into Miss Julia’s room.” 
 
 “ Is that all ? ye’r aisily pleased ! It’s Mr. Henry, I 
 think ? Well, faith, it’s a quare time to be paying a 
 visit to a lady, and she in bed ! Ye’r airly in yer morn* 
 ing calls, I think ” 
 
 “ My good fellow, come down ; we sail soon after day- 
 
LARRY LYNCH* 
 
 19 
 
 break, and I want your assistance. She will be up, for 
 she expects me. I am come to take her away. You 
 must help to get down her things. A carriage is wait- 
 ing, and all ready.” 
 
 “ Well, bedad, ye seem to have the ball at yer fut. 
 But how could I get a laddher ? Will I ask for the loan 
 of a laddher to brake into the master's house, and carry 
 off the young crathur ? Sure it's draining ye are ! But 
 sorrow laddher ye'll get here any how : ye should have 
 brought one wid ye. Sure there's the pear-tree.'' 
 
 “But, my good fellow, 1 can't ask Miss Julia to climb 
 down a tree !” 
 
 " Faith, it's true for ye. And how would I come down 
 myself with the portmanty, and bag, and bonnet-box, and 
 maybe a dressing-case, and the work-box, and two or 
 three hair-thrunks, and the cloaks, and parasol, and 
 baskets ? But, anyhow, there's no laddher nearer than 
 Ryan the mason's, agin the chapel ; maybe he'd give ye 
 the loan of it, if ye'd ask.” 
 
 By this time the pair had approached the house, and 
 Larry's concluding observations were uttered under 
 Julia's window, up to which, and nearly encircling it, 
 there grew an aged pear-tree in full bearing. It would 
 appear that the fair inmate was aware of what was 
 passing below, for the window was softly opened and 
 Miss Julia Catlin appeared at it fully dressed. 
 
 To ascend was the work of a few seconds ; and an 
 animated conversation ensued between the lovers. The 
 enamoured young gontlemen explained his plan in few 
 words. He had a carriage waiting, a Catholic priest 
 (Miss Julia being of that persuasion) was engaged at 
 Cove to perform the marriage ceremony, and he had 
 made every arrangement to take her on board as his 
 wife, within three hours at furthest, and they would 
 sail to other and happier climes, safe from the thwarting 
 of unnatural parents, and pass their lives in love and joy ! 
 et catera ! et cater a ! 
 
 But an unexpected obstacle presented itself — Juba 
 
20 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 refused to leave her father's house clandestinely : she 
 was not to be moved. She declined it with many 
 bitter tears. He was her only love — her all — but the 
 step was too precipitate, nay indelicate; she could not 
 come — she must part from him, though her heart should 
 break in the effort ! et ccetera ! et ccetera ! 
 
 The young man urged his suit with every argument 
 that love is master of, but in vain : she was of a quiet 
 but determined character, and he felt that he pleaded in 
 vain. 
 
 “Whisht, for the love o' God!" said Larry, running 
 from the gate ; “ the polis is coming — they're just at the 
 corner; ye've no time for creeping — down wid ye! — 
 never mind the jargonels ! — jump ! the ground's saft." 
 
 But the young gentleman disregarded Larry's advice, 
 and instead of descending, mounted a step or two higher, 
 and disappeared into the room. 
 
 The police looked suspiciously at the open window, but 
 it was a hot night; and after carefully examining the 
 fastenings of the gate, and finding all safe, passed slowly 
 on. 
 
 How long the lovers remained together, or what they 
 said, is not for us to dwell upon : suffice it, that the 
 morning had already opened into broad daylight, and it 
 was absolutely necessary to part. It is a sad necessity ; 
 a bitter moment better avoided. To separate is bad 
 enough, but why tear each other's hearts with last 
 adieux ? 
 
 He came back again more than once. He was des- 
 cending for the last time, when a roar of laughter from 
 several persons proceeded from near the gate, and three 
 young men, who had apparently been watching the scene, 
 ran shouting away towards the town. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Haggard, pale, and unutterably miserable, poor Julia 
 appeared at the breakfast-table. Her life had hitherto 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 21 
 
 been all sunshine ; but now a change was come. Some- 
 thing like regret that she had resisted her lover's entrea- 
 ties to elope with him may have mingled with her grief, 
 or the bitter prospect of long-deferred hope. It is not, 
 perhaps, surprising, that she never for a moment thought 
 of the possibility of a change in her own affections during 
 the long years that might elapse before she again saw 
 him ; the wonder is, that she had not the most remote 
 conception that such a thing was probable on his part. 
 It is fortunate that at nineteen we are troubled with few 
 suspicions. 
 
 Mr. Catlin was not a man to notice such a trifle as a 
 woman's tears, even if he had seen them. Perhaps he 
 had the Frenchman's ingredients of happiness, “ mauvais 
 cceur , bon cstomac he had, at any rate, a heart of 
 extreme indifference to all human joys and sorrows ; and 
 as for a stomach, he would have tranquilly eaten his 
 muffin at the Sicilian Vespers. 
 
 Mrs. Catlin and her eldest daughter guessed at the 
 state of the case, and sundry sly looks were exchanged 
 between them. Shortly after the meal, a note was 
 handed in to the elder lady ; she started at the first 
 sentence : her face grew blacker in its expression as she 
 read on; she almost foamed at the mouth as she pro- 
 ceeded ; she turned white with rage at the conclusion ; 
 and, then, rising with terrific calmness, laid it, with a 
 deep courtesy, on the table before her daughter Julia, and 
 quietly returned to her seat. 
 
 The note was as follows : — 
 
 “Dear Mrs. Catlin, 
 
 “ I am truly sorry to be the means of conveying un- 
 pleasant intelligence to you, but I am sure you will duly 
 appreciate my motives, and make every allowance for the 
 distressing position in which I am placed. I assure you 
 I don't believe the report : and how it came to spread all 
 over the town I *ean’t conceive. Indeed. I said to Mrs. 
 
PADDIANA. 
 
 Conroy, when she told me, that I was satisfied there was 
 some mistake. I said I knew Julia Catlin too well to 
 think she could have acted with such imprudence ; but 
 Mrs. Conroy assured me, that she had it from one of the 
 young men (Pierce, I think), who say they actually saw a 
 gentleman come out of Julia's bed-room window at three 
 o'clock this morning, and that he returned up the tree 
 several times to kiss her (faugh !) as she stood at the 
 window. Although they persist in stating that it was 
 broad daylight, and they could distinguish the dear girl's 
 features, I yet am firmly persuaded it must have been 
 somebody else — one of the maids, probably. I thought, 
 dear Mrs. Catlin, that you would not like to hear this 
 first as the common talk of the town ; so I pen these few 
 lines in the certainty that dear Julia will be able to clear 
 herself. 
 
 “ With love to her and dearest Miss Catlin, believe me, 
 ever sincerely and affectionately, yours, 
 
 cc 
 
 “P.S. — Plow is dear Mr. Catlin? I dare say you will 
 laugh at this as a good joke. Adieu !" 
 
 Scarcely had Mrs. Catlin handed this to her daughter, 
 when another little three-cornered billet, on rose-coloured 
 paper, was presented on the silver waiter. It was dashed 
 and doubly dashed — nay, trebly dashed towards the close. 
 It was scored with emphasis ; but we will not inflict these 
 stripes upon the reader. 
 
 u 0, dearest Mrs. Catlin 
 
 “ There is such a report about ! I positively can 
 hardly bring myself to write it ! How can they say 
 
 so ! Say, say, is it true ? O, surely, surely no ! But it 
 is, alas ! too generally believed \ How can [ write it f 
 It is said, 0 dearest Mrs. Catlin, — what will they not 
 say ? — that your daughter Julia has been carrying on an 
 intrigue with a young man, who has been repeatedly seen 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 23 
 
 entering her bed-room by the pear-tree at night, and 
 leaving every morning after daylight. That some young 
 men (I am sure I forget their names), have watched your 
 house some time and seen it repeatedly. How shocking ! 
 how wicked ! never to have told you, and dear Mr. Catlin, 
 — so confiding, so good ! What a return ! but such is 
 life ! Ease my mind, dearest friend, on this most painful 
 subject. Say, oh say, that it is all a vile fabrication — 
 that these wretches never saw it — that dear, dear Julia is 
 innocent ! Have compassion on my excited feelings, and 
 write immediately. My heart bleeds for you. Will you 
 believe it ? I never heard the report till just now, though 
 I understand it has been long well known to every- 
 body in Cork. Cruel, cruel wretches ! Adieu, dearest 
 friend. 
 
 “Your ever affectionate, 
 
 c< , 
 
 “ P.S. — There is even a worse report — (can there be 
 such ?) — about poor Julia ; but I cannot bring myself to 
 write it. I am broken-hearted ! Farewell V 9 
 
 The reading of this was scarcely ended when a letter 
 was handed in, addressed to Mrs. Catlin, in the staid, 
 formal hand of the family physician. It ran thus : — 
 
 tg My dear Madam, 
 
 “ Although I am, as you know, no gossip, yet I cannot 
 altogether shut my ears to what is spoken of amongst my 
 neighbours. I regret to say that it is only within the 
 last half hour that I have been made aware of the event 
 which has taken place in your family. I allude, of course, 
 to the clandestine marriage, and accouchement , last night, 
 of your second daughter. The fact of the marriage is, I 
 am informed, disbelieved by many ; but I have too high 
 an opinion of Miss Julians principles, and also of the 
 correct way in which you have brought up your family, to 
 permit me to doubt this part of the story for one moment. 
 
24 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Although I have no doubt, my dear madam, that you had 
 cogent reasons for keeping this affair private, yet I cannot 
 help feeling that, as an old friend of Mr. Catlings and 
 yourself, I might have expected to have been made 
 acquainted with it confidentially ; as I do not apprehend 
 that anything has occurred during my long professional 
 attendance upon your family to render me unworthy of 
 such a proof of your good opinion. That you should, 
 however, in addition to this want of confidence, have 
 entrusted the safety of your daughter and her infant, in 
 the most trying crisis of her life, to the skill of an entire 
 stranger, has, I confess, hurt me very deeply, as the world 
 is but too ready to magnify such a circumstance into a 
 proof of professional incompetency, and the thoughtless 
 may naturally enough draw an inference to the prejudice 
 of my practice and reputation. With compliments to 
 Mr. Catlin, 
 
 “ Believe me, Madam, 
 
 “ Your very humble servant, 
 
 << « 
 
 The other was a card enclosed : 
 
 “MISS FALLADDLE, 
 
 MILLINER AND DRESSMAKER, 
 
 305, Patrick Street, 
 
 CORK. 
 
 Children’s Dresses in great variety. 
 
 N.B. AN EXTENSIVE ASSORTMENT OF BABY-LINEN ALWAYS ON 
 
 HAND.” 
 
 “ As when two black clouds, 
 
 "With Heaven’s artillery fraught, come rattling on 
 Over the Caspian ” 
 
 so did the united storm of Mrs. Catlin and her eldest 
 daughter break upon the head of the luckless Julia. 
 
LAllliY LYNCH. 
 
 25 
 
 “ Tell me, you horrid girl ! is this true V 9 said Mrs. 
 Cat! in, shaking the crumpled letters in her clenched fist 
 before the deadly-pale face of the poor girl. 
 
 “ Answer mamma, directly, you wretch V 9 said the 
 eldest daughter. “ I wonder you're not ashamed to 
 live !" 
 
 “ Bad job," said Mr. Catlin. 
 
 “ Who is it V 9 screamed the mother. “ Who is the 
 villain that has dared to treat us so ? But you are worse, 
 you miserable creature ! ten times worse than he !" 
 
 “ Yes, say who it is, if you are not ashamed to speak 
 to dear mamma." 
 
 “ Ah ! wonder if I know him ?" said Mr. Catlin. 
 
 “ You admit it, you horrid creature ? do you ? I've 
 a mind to strangle you, that I have !" said Mrs. Catlin. 
 
 “ She's beneath your notice, the base wretch !" said her 
 congenial daughter. 
 
 “ It's a queer thing altogether," said Mr. Catlin. 
 
 It was in vain that poor Julia protested — that she 
 implored them to believe her simple story. She did not 
 attempt to deny that a man had entered her bed-room ; 
 but no power on earth should force her to declare his 
 name. The admission was enough : she was loaded with 
 abuse — shaken — thrust in an old nursery with iron bars 
 to the windows, and the door locked upon her. 
 
 “ Puzzle him to get in there," said Mr. Catlin. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that so important a personage 
 as Larry Lynch was in the family, would be allowed to 
 escape unquestioned on such a momentous occasion as 
 this ; and particularly as, from his known early habits, 
 it was probable enough that he might have it in his 
 power to throw some light upon the transaction. He was 
 accordingly sent for, to be closely questioned by the 
 assembled family. 
 
 But Larry was not readily forthcoming on that eventful 
 morning. It was observed, that he had been unusually 
 civil in volunteering his services to the domestics gene- 
 rally, and had undertaken sundry commissions to the 
 
26 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 town, from the execution of which he seemed in no great 
 hurry to return. Messenger after messenger was sped 
 after Larry, and when these returned unsuccessful, a 
 general muster of all the servants was made to search, not 
 only the garden and stables, but every nook and corner 
 about the place ; and there was a shouting of his name in 
 the deep bass of the footman, assisted by several powerful 
 trebles, to a degree that rendered it quite impossible for 
 Larry to be thereabouts without knowing that he was 
 wanted ; unless, indeed, he had been afflicted with sudden 
 deafness. But the calling was all in vain ; and having 
 gone over the kitchen-garden and through the shrubberies 
 more than once, they were about to return in despair, 
 when a sharp-eyed housemaid peering behind the boards 
 of a broken-down summer house, which had been con- 
 signed to a corner for fire- wood, saw Larry quietly seated 
 and shaping a board with his knife. 
 
 “ Well done, ail of yees !” said Larry, jumping up, 
 when he found himself discovered, “ that *11 do right 
 well ! Divle such a routing the burds got since the fruit 
 come in. Faith, if ye'd on’y come every day, three or 
 four times in the morning, beginning airly, and once or 
 twice agin in til’ afternoon, ye’d soon scare ’em out o’ 
 this. I hn obleeged to ye, Dinnis, indeed ; ye’ve a grand 
 tone in yer voice, and I seen how ye rattled ’em out o’ 
 the cherry-tree. Sure, them ambers is no good for ’em. 
 I*d hardly get a dish for the masther’s table, let alone 
 taking any to Mrs. Macguire. Faith, Dinnis, ye went 
 bowldly through the bushes : when I seen ye in the 
 sweet-briar, I was ’most afeared ye’d be afther tearing 
 yer Angolys, or perhaps get a thorn in yer shorts. In- 
 deed, Pm greatly obleeged t’ all o’ yees, for it’s destroyed 
 entirely I am with the hooshing and screeching since 
 three in the morning, so I sits me down aisy to make me 
 a clapper, for my throat’s ’most done. 
 
 “ But, bad luck to ye,” said the footman, “ why didn’t 
 ye say where ye were, and we tearing mad afther ye ? 
 Sure, we’ve run ye like a fox through the town and over 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 27 
 
 the grounds since breakfast, and sorrow glass claned, or 
 any of the silver. I’ve been tuk three times away from 
 rubbing the spoons to look for ye.” 
 
 “ Faith, it's true for Denis, so it is ; and the beds not 
 made nor the slops emptied.” 
 
 u Ah, murther I” said Larry, “ to see the maids 
 cutting through the wet greens, houlding up their coats 
 and showing the long socks ! Faith, Katty, ye had ; em 
 of another colour at Skibbereen, and the brogues too.” 
 “No, nor so much as a praty got, nor a cabbage for 
 the sarvants’ dinners, nor the fish ordered — ye forget it's 
 Friday — and how’ll I get it in time?” 
 
 a Well indeed, cook, ye might have cut the cabbage 
 yerself when ye were in it ; ye made a pillalooing fit to 
 frighten the sprouts. Is it fish ye want ? Do ye re- 
 number the sort ye give us last week ? By my sowl I 
 haven’t got the bones out o’ my throat yit : I’d as soon 
 ate a sheet o’ pins.” 
 
 “ Sure, it’s too bad o* ye Larry to lade us after ye 
 through the wet and dirt : how will I go to attind the 
 ladies the state I’m in ? Did ye hear us calling ye ?” 
 
 “ Is it hear ye ? Faith, I’d have heered ye at Cove, let 
 alone Passage, with the wind down the strame. But who 
 ever heered tell of four people screeching together afther 
 one man, and he close by all the time ? Didn’t ye see 
 me down by all boords when ye passed ? I thought it’s 
 relaving me with the burds ye were. But who the divle 
 towld ye to go in the dirt ? Couldn’t ye keep yer fut out 
 o > the sallading, and that just sowed ? I’ve work for a 
 week wid ye. ‘’Tisn’t aisy to rake out the marks o’ 
 crubeens like them.’ Says I, ‘when ye first came out,’ 
 says I, ‘that’s the misses, long life to her; she’s sent ’em 
 out to pillaloo the blackbirds and th’ other varmint that 
 do be ating the currants, and sorrow bit we’ll have for 
 the presarves. Well, bad cess to them,’ says I; ‘why 
 would they be calling Larry, and alarming the town, and 
 making a holy show of me ? Sure, I’ll have the polls 
 sarching for me, and think I’m a robber. But at any 
 
28 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 rate/ thinks I, ‘ I’ll wait and see what they’ll do / 
 though, faith, I was hard set to keep quite wid yer 
 screeching, on’y I seen how ye started the t’rushes. And 
 what the divle do ye want wid me, afther all ? I’ve no 
 time to do anything. It’s four times I’ve been in town 
 to-day. I’d as lief be in a marching ridgement itself.” 
 
 But here the garrulous gardener was interrupted with 
 the information that he was wanted immediately in the 
 breakfast-room, to be examined by the master and 
 mistress touching his knowledge of the events of the 
 morning; and finding that no further evasions would 
 avail him, was marched under escort of the other 
 servants, till they lodged him safely at the breakfast-room 
 door : not, however, without his having made one dodge 
 into the stable under pretence of rubbing his shoes clean 
 upon the straw, and to collect his thoughts in the present 
 emergency. 
 
 “What I’ll do,” said Larry, muttering to himself as 
 he worked away at his shoes, while the other servants 
 stood looking on at the doorway, “ what I’ll do now, it’s 
 hard to say. I’ll get my walking-ticket now, sure 
 enough. But anyhow,” said Larry, cheering himself up, 
 “why would I mind? sure, it’s on’y five pound a-year, 
 and a shoot o’ fuss’ns !” 
 
 Fortified with this reflection, the under-gardener was 
 ushered into the awful presence of Mrs. Gatlin; not to 
 mention that of her daughter and Mr. C. 
 
 “ Presarve ye, ma’am!” said Larry, making his bow ; 
 “ and the same to the masther and miss, lucks round. I 
 heered ye wanted me, and I says to them as come, says I, 
 
 ‘ I hope the missis won’t keep me a minute, for,’ says 1, 
 c there’s work for ten hands, let alone two ; and the pays 
 to be sticked — and the grass cut — and the flowers tied — 
 and the walks weeded. Indeed, it’s most ashamed I am 
 when the quality do be coming up to the doore, the state 
 they’re in ’ ” 
 
 “ Well, never mind all that,” said Mrs. Catlin, in- 
 terrupting him. “ Answer me one thing ” 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 29 
 
 “With pleasure, ma’am,” said Larry briskly; “any- 
 thing at all, I ” 
 
 “ What time were you up this morning ?” 
 
 “What time, ma’am? Well, thin, indeed I couldn’t 
 justly say not to half an hour, or an hour, or maybe 
 more. The watch I have’s in for ten hog, and I’ve a 
 cowld and can’t hear the clocks. Maybe ’twas five, or 
 perhaps airlier ; but when I get the next quarther’s 
 
 r> 
 
 “Now, tell me,” said Mrs. Catlin, “when you first got 
 up did you see any one, and who did you see ?” 
 
 “I did, ma’am : I seen a man.” 
 
 “ A young man ?” said Miss Catlin. 
 
 “ Faith he was, miss.” 
 
 “ Where was he when vou first saw him ?” said 
 Mrs. C. 
 
 “ Is it where he was, ma’am ? Well, faith, I seen him 
 first looking over the wall at the corner, then he come on 
 to the gate and looked in a bit there, and then he come 
 on forenenst the stable.” 
 
 “ And you spoke to him ?” 
 
 “I did not, ma’am — he spoke to me first.” 
 
 “ W ell, what did he say ?” 
 
 “Faith, he heered me hooshing the burds, and up at 
 the wfindy he looks, and says he, ‘ Morrow, Larry,’ says 
 he. ‘Morrow kindly, Kit,’ say I; ‘how are ye since?’ 
 ‘Hearty,’ says he; ‘how’s yerself?’ ‘ Purty well,’ says 
 I, ‘ barring a cowld, and a hoarseness I’ve got hooshing 
 at the burds,’ says I. ‘ Sorrow bit of fruit we’d have for 
 the presarves, on’y I’m up airly to drive ’em.’ ‘ And 
 
 how’s things goan wid ye ?’ says he. ‘ Right well,’ says 
 I ; ‘ we’d a great crap o’ sparrowgrass, and the savoys 
 tuk, on’y they’re destroyed with the slugs, bad luck to 
 them ! and a purty sprinkling o’ banes we have ; and/ 
 says I, ‘ how’re ye getting on your way ?’ ‘ Faith, but 
 
 poorly,’ says he; whate’s down, and the praties is kilt for 
 the want o’ wather. But/ says he, ‘ do the masther go 
 fowling this year ? Sure he might have a day’s cracking 
 
30 
 
 FADDIANA. 
 
 with huz when the crap’s in, for there’s lashons o 
 pattridges, and as big as bins. Sure/ says Kit, ‘ the 
 masther’s the one to down them. Divle a better ever l 
 seen, barrin’ th’ officer from Kinsale ; and sure the 
 masther ’d bate him into fits with the laste taste o’ 
 practice ’ ” 
 
 Thus far had Larry run on without a perceptible stop, 
 looting hard at his master as least likely to interrupt him, 
 and entirely blind to the various impatient movements 
 of Mrs. Catlin, as well as. deaf to her exclamations. When 
 at last pulled up, and questioned if he saw any one about 
 the house, he answered with his usual readiness. In fact 
 the questions were no sooner uttered than his answers 
 were bolted out, and he plunged into a new stream of 
 narrative. 
 
 “ Is it about the house, ma’am ? Faith I did. That’s 
 when I come back from the garden I seen somebody at 
 the windy, half in and half out ; says I, ‘ They’re airly 
 stirring; what game will that be?’ But when 1 come 
 down to the corner, I seen it’s Katty Kane it was claning 
 the windy. And/ says I, ‘ mind yerself, for fear ye’d 
 fall, Katty/ says I; ‘for there’s choice plants under yees, 
 and ye’r a fine lump of a girl, so ye are; and if ye’d drop 
 out o’ that it’s the divle’ s game ye’d play with the lilies, 
 and the late tulips, and th’ other flowers/ says I ; ‘and the 
 missis do be proud o’ them ; and she’s the raison any- 
 how. Sure, there’s th’ Imperial Purple/ says I ; ‘ and 
 the Great Mogul/ says I; ‘and the Roossian Kaisar — and, 
 faith, I’d be hard set to tell ye the names of half o’ them. 
 And there’s the Blooming Bride/ says I ; ‘ that’s yerself 
 some day/ says I, ‘ Katty. And hould tight/ says I, ‘ for 
 fear ye’d slip ; and don’t ye be twisting round that away 
 to look, for ye’ve a narrow sate there, Katty, and ye over- 
 hang a dale ; so take a firm grip wid yer calves/ says I, 
 ‘ Katty, for fear ye’d let go ’ ” 
 
 “ But did you see any other person — any gentleman — 
 about the place ?” 
 
 “Did I see any gintlemen, ma’am? Faith I did, 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 31 
 
 ma’am, plenty o’ them. Gintlemen, and boys, and young 
 girls, and ould women — hapes o’ them. Sure, I seen 
 Mrs. Malone, o’ Patrick Street ; I wouldn’t mistake her : 
 but it wasn’t much notice I tuk o’ them.” 
 
 Mrs. Catlin had a very natural repugnance to mention- 
 ing the name of him whom she suspected of invading the 
 premises, but still it was of importance to set matters 
 right upon that point ; so, calling up all her dignity, she 
 proceeded in the examination with an air which was meant 
 to retain the excursive flights of the witness : and while 
 avoiding, if possible, the dreaded name, to lead him at 
 once to the point. 
 
 “ Now tell me, Sir, I desire you,” says Mrs. Catlin, 
 with sour severity. 
 
 “ Anything at all, ma’am, I ” 
 
 “ Answer me the question I am about to put to you. 
 Did you, amongst the people who were about the road or 
 near the house this morning, see any gentleman who is in 
 the habit of visiting at this house, or that you have ever 
 known to call here at any time ?” 
 
 “ Well, thin, indeed ma’am, I think I did : but I wouldn’t 
 be quite sure of the same, becase it’s running my eyes do 
 be with the cowld; but I’m ’most sure I seen Mr. 
 Raheny o’ Mallow : if ’twasn’t him, divle a more striking 
 likeness ” 
 
 “Now, if I was to mention the name ” 
 
 “ The divle fire ye !” said Larry, hitting his thigh a 
 violent blow with his fist, and rubbing his knuckles hard 
 down his leg as if in pursuit ; “ the divle fire and fly away ? 
 wid ye ! sure ye might lave off ating me before the 
 quality ! It’s destroyed entirely with the flays I am, 
 ma’am ; they’re ating me day and night. Faith, ye 
 might scrape ’em up in a spoon they’re so thick, and the 
 quilt o’ the bed do look like a carraway cake wid ’em. 
 It’s the powltry as does it ; sure they’ve a sloping boord 
 up to the windy, and sorrow bit I’m able to keep ’em out 
 o’ that. Divle a night that I don’t go to bed with a cock 
 and six kins, but the cock’s the worst o’ them. ’Twas 
 
S2 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 only last night I says to him, c Yowld rooster/ says I, 
 e can't ye lave clapping yerself till the sun's riz, and dis- 
 tarbing the folks ? Sure, ye might pay attintion to the 
 hi ns, 5 says I, ‘ without scraping yer leg that away. Ye've 
 tuk the sheet from me, so ye have.' And there's a good 
 flight o' pigeons in it, too, ma'am : c Coo, coo !' says they, 
 c when I'm hardly got to bed. The divle coo ye,' says I ; 
 c better for ye go out o' doores/ says I, c than to be 
 bowing and gallanting in my apartmint.' I aften says 
 Bad luck to yees !" said Larry, interrupting him- 
 self, and executing a sort of general screw of his whole 
 body, so as to scrape the clothes against every part at 
 once — f bad luk to yees ! ye're all on the move, are ye ? 
 Faith there's no bigger skamers than flays ! If they get 
 sight of a carpet, or a harth-rug, or anything the like o' 
 that, they're mad to get at it. Sure, I feel 'em coorsing 
 about. They're not confined wid me as th'are wi' Dinnis ; 
 there's no turnpike all down the road. Oncet they get 
 into yer sofys, let alone yerself ma'am (I ax yer pardon), 
 ye'd be hard set to get shut o' them. Bad manners to 
 me ! but they've tuk the masther/' said Larry, seeing 
 Mr. Catlin make a rapid movement to scratch his neck. 
 “I hardly thought they' got so far as that. Did they 
 bite smart or slow. Sir ? Ah, them's flays, divle a doubt 
 of it." 
 
 Whether the lively picture drawn by Larry — verified as 
 it appeared to be by Mr. Catlin — had not some effect in 
 bringing the examination to a close, cannot be more than 
 surmised, yet certain it is he was told that he might 
 retire ; a permission of which he quickly availed himself, 
 though with extreme softness, towards the door. 
 
 “ Yer sarvant, ma'am," said Larry, holding the door 
 while he made his last obeisance ; “ and his honour — and 
 miss. Sure I'm most afeered to move, else, maybe, I'd 
 shake more o' them out o' the fuss'ns." 
 
 Arrived in the hall, he executed a fling that nearly 
 brought his head in contact with the lamp, and then 
 rushed into the garden. As he passed the butler's 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 33 
 
 pantry, he took occasion to look in at the footman, busy 
 in rubbing the spoons. 
 
 “ Well, Dinnis,” said Larry, “ are ye ready to take 
 another turn at 'em ? Faith, ye’ve a grand tone for 
 burds, as I tould ye before; ye larned that in the 
 country attinding the young whate.” 
 
 sfc 5f: * * 
 
 While this scene was enacting in Cork, the only person 
 who could have cleared poor J ulia was rapidly leaving the 
 harbour behind him; the ample sails of the transport 
 caught the freshening breeze, and before the nursery door 
 had closed upon the wretched girl, the Wanderer w r as 
 below the western horizon. 
 
 And did nobody amongst the five hundred dear friends 
 of the family believe the story of her who had never been 
 convicted of a lie ? Not one ; excepting, indeed, Larry, 
 whose testimony would have been utterly worthless, or 
 only confirming the worst part of the story — the entrance 
 of young Henry at the window. Under such circum- 
 stances, no one believes. If she had murdered children 
 or a husband — burnt a family— poisoned a friend — des- 
 troyed a town — she might have been certain of sympathy. 
 Letters of advice and condolence would have flowed in 
 upon her ; sympathising females would have travelled up 
 by fast trains to sing hymns in her cell — elderly gentlemen 
 would have read to her, and wept. She would have 
 become the lion of a prison ; and, by a little well-feigned 
 eccentricity, of a madhouse ! A cold-blooded, calculating 
 murderer, who shoots a gentleman in broad day in the 
 street, is well lodged, and rendered interesting for the 
 rest of his life; and in the case of a would-be regicide, 
 sentimental young ladies club their pocket-money to make 
 his confinement endurable, by supplying him with enter- 
 taining books and lessons on the violin ! 
 
 “ Every woe a tear can claim, 
 
 Except an erring sister’s shame.” 
 
 B 
 
34 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 # * * * * 
 
 * ^ 
 
 Julia had an aunt in Dublin, the widow of a retired 
 tradesman, well to do in the world, but looked down upon 
 by the more aristocratic branch, of the family at Cork. 
 Indeed, Mrs. Gatlin would have considered it degrading- 
 in the extreme to hold any sort of communication with a 
 chandler's widow. But to this person poor Julia applied 
 for a refuge, and did not apply in vain. 
 
 Mrs. Slattery lived in Thomas Street : she scorned to 
 leave the old premises where her husband made his money ; 
 so converted the shop into a front parlour, and sat looking 
 into the street and watching her neighbours, and enjoying 
 herself from morning till night almost every day of the 
 year. 
 
 One might have supposed that nobody would have 
 thought it worth while to give any additional nickname to 
 a person called “ Slattery but those who think so 
 would form too favourable an estimate of mankind. 
 Perhaps her acquaintance thought that one bad name 
 deserved another ; so added the familiar contraction of 
 her baptismal apellation, and called her Peg Slattery. 
 And here, surely, we might imagine that even malignity 
 w ould stop ; but no, they angled still deeper in the pool 
 of vituperative nomenclature, and dragged up — what do 
 you think ?— 
 
 “ Snuffy Peg Slattery !" 
 
 in allusion to a cherished personal habit. Nay, I am not 
 sure if there was not a lower deep than even this, and that 
 “ Snuffy Peg" w T as not, if possible, more insulting from 
 its gross and unfeeling familiarity. 
 
 Mrs. Slattery received our heroine with real kindness ; 
 listened to her story, and, strange to say, believed it; 
 installed her in the best bed-room, gave strict injunctions 
 to the housemaid to attend to all her wants, offered her a 
 pinch of Lundy Foot's highest toast, and hurried back to 
 the parlour window. She would not have left that window 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 35 
 
 for half-an-hour, unless upon the most urgent business, 
 to have been made lady mayoress. 
 
 Poor Julia was sensibly touched with her aunt's kind- 
 ness ; though rather uncouth, she felt at once that it was 
 genuine; and in this commodity there is no mistaking the 
 real article, while the counterfeit is discovered by even 
 dogs and cats. In poor Julians position it was something 
 to find a friend even in Snuffy Peg Slattery. 
 
 But in opening her box, she unexpectedly lighted upon 
 another. Lying conspicuously on the top of her clothes 
 was an old and well- darned worsted- stocking, originally 
 intended for an adult wearer of the male sex, but now, by 
 dint of many washings, shrunk almost into the dimensions 
 of a child's sock. At the extreme end of the- toe was, 
 carefully wrapped in paper, the sum of four pounds, 
 seventeen shillings, and sixpence, in silver, and the fol- 
 lowing letter 
 
 > “ Honor'd Miss, — 
 
 “ Enclosed is a thrifle ov wages which sorrow bit ov me 
 knows what to do wid. I'm tould that the banks do be 
 braking, so I tuk it out ov the savings' bank ; for, says I 
 to meself, sure none but poor people puts into that one at 
 all, and how would they keep up a bank when the quality's 
 banks do be going to the bad ? Well, I got the money 
 hard enough, for they wanted me, whether or no, to lave 
 it wid 'em ; but faith, when I seen how anxious they were 
 for it, I seen it's purty near gone they were. Sure, I 
 wouldn't have it in notes at all, when they wanted to put 
 their paper upon me ; and, faith, I thowt it would save ye 
 the throuble to get change, which is mighty scarce here 
 anyhow, and it's aisier to spend in hogs and tanners, 
 which is what I'd wish ye to do, miss, and nothing else at 
 all. What would I want wid it when I git hapes to ate 
 and a sup o' dhrink, and a shoot o' fussons, let alone th' 
 masther's boots, and th' ould hats ? it would on'y be 
 burning me pocket, or, maybe, lade me into mischif ; and 
 now it's prefarmint for me to think I'm obleeging yer 
 
86 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 honour, miss, wid a thrifle, that if it was twenty pound, 
 would never come up to the half, nor the quarther, nor 
 hardly the laste taste of all the fevers Fve had from Mr. 
 Henry himself, let alone ye, miss, that was always the 
 kindest and best ov'em. So, wishing yerself and Mrs. 
 Slatthery, and Bess Mullally, that's from Carrigaline, 
 th'ousemaid I hear, lucks round, 
 
 “ I remain to command, 
 
 “ Yer humble sarvant, 
 
 “ Larry Lynch." 
 
 Mrs. Slattery was true to the parlour window as dial to 
 the sun ; and there were few events in that neighbour- 
 hood that she did not chronicle in her mind. There she 
 sat, with spectacle on nose, and box in hand ; and it was 
 owing to this latter habit, indulged in so conspicuous a 
 place as Thomas Street, that she acquired the sobriquet 
 already noticed. 
 
 (< Come here, Julia," said she, as her niece entered the 
 room, her eyes yet red from the effects of Larry's gene- 
 rosity. “ Come, quick ! quick ! there's Pickled Salmon 
 going in for his seventh naggin — he had his first at nine. 
 I wouldn't be surprised if he got one while I was up stairs 
 wid you when you came. How he'll mind his business 
 and attend to his family, and go on so, / can't think. 
 Them's a couple of fine flanty girls. I think I can guess 
 where they come from ; and its through the Castle-yard 
 
 they're going. Ah ! Lord ! look at Mrs. Mullins ! 
 
 if she isn't goin' into Sloper's again ; There's something 
 goin' on : Patty's to be married, I hear. Well, Jack 
 Mullins, I'd rather you'd pay the bill than me That's 
 a fine draggle-tailed one ; better for her mend the heel of 
 her stocking before she hold up her dress. Look at the 
 carriage ! Look at the carriage ! There's ringlets ! — 
 that’s grand, if they're not false ! — See old Pearon creep- 
 ing ! well he may have the gout, if all's true : any how, 
 bad as it is, he's glad to get out of the reach of his wife's 
 tongue, Poor fellow ! he'll take to th' other stick soon. 
 
LARllV LYNCH. 37 
 
 See, there, Miss, at the window ; she's come to show the 
 clean collar ; better for her help Katty to wash up the 
 dishes and turn down the beds. Sure they have but one 
 of all-work, and how that one does it's a wonder. 'Twas 
 on'y yesterday they had their wash : they couldn't dry it 
 to-day — so that's the way they have it all the week abotit; 
 and there's the blinds in this time, for they're all down. 
 But let what will stand, they must have their best muslin 
 dresses ready for Kingstown, Sunday. Look at Mrs. 
 Mias ! Faith, she's been and done it ! And Maria ! and 
 Bessy ! and Victorine ! and Sairey Lizzy ! They're aff 
 to-day ! Now, where'll that be to ? It's a covered car — 
 it's to Rathmines — to Marl^y Fad's ! Well done, Sairey! 
 you've the best ginger on. That's for young Fad : he's a 
 catch. And Sally, the plum-colour (that's a good wearing 
 thing: that's three-year old, all out). Ah! will ye look 
 at Bess in the pink silks ? Watch her step into the car. 
 Did ye ever see a pair of crushers like them ? Faith, she's 
 a true Mullingar heifer — beef to the heels. Little Vic's 
 the best of them ; it's she gets up all the fine : the mother 
 told me that. Och ! blessings to your heart ; if they 
 haven't dressed up Slack, the shop-boy, in a dark mixture 
 coat, and put a cockade in his hat, for the tay party ! 
 That'll frighten Fad out of a year's growth ; he never 
 could come that, though it's retired they are— that'll be 
 the talk o' Rathmines. I wonder what th' ould man 
 allows for all that. It's seldom they take him with them 
 — he's serving the customers." 
 
 ^ ^ % * * * 
 
 Though given to exercise her talent in small criticisms, 
 Mrs. Slattery was in the main a good-natured woman, 
 and did all she could to render her niece’s stay comfort- 
 able. On one point Julia was fixed as a rock — she w r ould 
 go into no society and it was only after some weeks 
 of persuasion that she could be prevailed upon to accom- 
 pany her aunt to the theatre, and this solely to oblige 
 her. 
 
38 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Mrs. Slattery prided herself upon her loyalty ; and on 
 the occasion of a “ command night," when the Lord- 
 Lieutenant attended the house in state, she was a regular 
 and successful candidate for a front place in one of the 
 most conspicuous boxes in the theatre. The late Mr. 
 Slattery had, during a long course of business, supplied 
 the Castle with wax and sperm, and the other articles he 
 dealt in ; and it was his widow's pride and boast, that she 
 would show her gratitude through thick and thin. 
 
 Persons at all notorious would do well to arm them- 
 selves with a good stock of assurance when they occupy 
 conspicuous places at the Dublin Theatre : there is no 
 place of public entertainment in any civilized country 
 where greater license is conceded to the mob. Not only 
 are names freely called out, but many pleasant allusions 
 to personal peculiarities and private history indulged in ; 
 and now and then the fun of the shilling gallery is 
 launched in the shape of a bottle or a brick at an ob- 
 noxious character on the stage or in the boxes. More or 
 less throughout the performance, there is a contention 
 between the pit, boxes, and galleries ; the latter generally 
 commencing it with “ Three cheers for O'Connell !" or, 
 u Hurrah for Repeal 1" answered from the pit and boxes 
 with the Conservative fire, produced by feet and sticks in 
 this measured cadence — Rap, rap, rap— Rap, rap, rap — 
 Rap, rap, rap. 
 
 Scarcely had our aunt and niece taken their seats, 
 when they were recognised by some friend from the 
 westward (Dublin fashion, contrary to that of London, 
 holding to the east of the city), who roared from the gal- 
 kry— 
 
 “ Blood an' ouns ! there's Snuffy Peg in the front ov 
 'em. Success to the candle trade ! Faith, that's a tidy 
 heifer along wid her — that’s a dip of ould Slattery's. 
 Look at ould Mother French in the brown jasey — long 
 life to ye, ma'am ! What's your husband doin' now ? — 
 A clap for the town- major ! Hurrah for the green satins: 
 there's a pair ov 'em ! A groan for Lady Blake." Then 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 39 
 
 a roar for “ Tom Mo-o-ore, Tom M 6-5-ore ! ” in a voice 
 such as nobody ever heard out of Ireland, till the National 
 Poet is forced to come to the front of the box and make a 
 speech a propos de rim , without which nothing would 
 satisfy them. 
 
 In the course of the evening a middle-aged gentleman, 
 with abundant black whiskers, and a mass of white neck- 
 cloths coming up to his ears, accosted Mrs. Slattery, and 
 begged an introduction to her niece, which was readily 
 aceorded, by the name of Major Sprainer. He was a 
 blustering, hard-speaking gentleman — -a noted duellist, 
 and consequently much shunned by the men. He was 
 one of your “ What d’ye mane }} people, a race now 
 happily becoming rare in the land. He had given, it was 
 said, a quietus to several of his friends, till his ardour was 
 considerably quenched by an unlooked-for wound from a 
 tyro in the art, and which his remaining associates looked 
 upon as a singular mercy ; next only to his having been 
 put out of the way altogether. 
 
 The gallant Major took most kindly to our heroine, 
 •and laid himself out to please both aunt and nieoe ; so 
 successfully indeed with the former, that he was asked to 
 call in Thomas Street at his earliest convenience. 
 
 The gallant officer was not a man to neglect an invita- 
 tion of the kind, fraught as it was with the abundant 
 hospitality of Mrs. Slattery, whom he had known long, 
 and whose good things retained a lively hold upon his 
 recollections j and the more readily did he promise her 
 the pleasure of his company, as he had taken a sudden 
 partiality to her niece. His attentions were rather parti- 
 cular for a first acquaintance ; but the Major was off-hand 
 in his dealings with the sex : like the chieftain men- 
 tioned by Spenser, “ he liked not to be long wooing of 
 wenches/’ and thought that the tactics recommended 
 towards a widow were equally efficacious when applied to 
 -a maid. 
 
 From that day forth, Major Sprainer became the re- 
 gular morning visitor of Mrs. Slattery’s, and stayed to 
 
40 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 dine whenever he was asked, which was about five times 
 a-week. The worthy lady of the house was too happy to 
 entertain a gentleman that brought all the gossip of 
 fashionable life, and filled up the long, vacant evenings, 
 when there was no supervision of the neighbourhood. 
 
 This was a sad infliction upon poor Julia, who was 
 subject to the perpetual pester of the man's attentions, 
 offered, as it seemed to her, with a familiarity in nowise 
 justified by so short an acquaintance ; and even the aunt 
 herself began to wonder what was to be the result 
 of his intentions : they were destined to an early deve- 
 lopment. 
 
 One day, the Major called when Mrs. Slattery was out, 
 and thinking the time so favourable for bringing matters 
 to issue, he requested a few minutes’ conversation with 
 Miss Catlin alone, and then proceeded with great deli- 
 beration to unfold his plans respecting her. What 
 these were may be probably inferred from the following 
 letter : 
 
 “ Larry, 
 
 “ This comes with many thanks for your letter ye sent 
 by Miss Julia. Sure, Fve attinded her careful as ye 
 desired, and a nice crater she is, and sorrow any trouble 
 she gives us, but the revarse ; but it's destroyed she is by 
 a big blackguard of a Major — Sprainer, they call him, 
 that has been coming here afther her ever sense she cam 
 up, bad luck to him. But the Missis said, ‘ Sure,' says 
 she, ‘ maybe they'd make a match, for he's a fine clever 
 man, and indipindent, and mighty fand of her, and I'd 
 be proud to have her settled nigh-hand me.' But any 
 how, one day Sprainer called, and the Missis was out, 
 and says Sprainer to me, c Betty,' says he, 'you'r a party 
 girl, and you've got a bright eye,' says he, * and a full 
 figure, Betty,' says he, taking a liberty. And says I, 
 c Hands aff's fair play, Major,' says I ; ( one at a time. 
 How saft I am ! Betther for ye keep yer attentions for 
 the quality,' says I : ( there's Miss J ulia you'r coorting.' 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 41 
 
 And says he, ‘ Faith, that's thrue, for ye, Betty/ says he, 
 ‘ and perhaps, you'd jist run down t' Essex Bridge, and 
 buy me an ounce of Foot's toasted snuff ; I like it fresh 
 and fresh ; and here's something to pay for it,' says he, 
 ‘ and keep the change for yerself, Betty, for ye desarve it 
 for the throuble I give ye opening the doore. And,' says 
 he, ‘ at Nowlan's, jist round the corner, I seen a sweet 
 purty ribbin, that will do ye right well; it's got the 
 blush of the rosebud, like yer own cheek/ says he, 
 making his fun of me. ‘And don't ye take anything 
 they give ye/ says Sprainer, ‘but match it/ says he, 
 ‘wid yer cheek, else, maybe, it would kill the colour. 
 And/ says he, ‘ if any one comes, I'll answer the doore/ 
 says he ; ‘ for I know th' ould cook's deef ; so don't be 
 fraid of laving the house, for I'm in no hurry for the 
 snuff.' ‘ Well, faith/ thinks I, ‘ he's not so bad, afther 
 all ; but who'd have thought o' Sprainer looking in at 
 a ribbin-shop, and remimbering the colour ov me cheeks ?' 
 Thinks I, ‘ that's too civil by half ; but anyhow, there's 
 no harm in looking at the ribbin.' So I just tuk a look 
 at Nowlan's windy, and sorrow one was there but two 
 ould greens and a blue. Well, I thought it quare 
 enough ; but I'd come so far, I'd like to see : so says I 
 to the young man, ‘Will ye plaze to show me the rosebud 
 ribbin ye had in the windy, while ago ?' And says he, 
 
 ‘ Miss, w T e don't keep the likes of that in the windy at 
 all, ony them as won't fade/ says he. ‘ Well/ thinks I 
 to meself, ‘ that Major's a skamer.' ‘ But have ye got 
 the ribbin ?' says I ; for, faith, I wanted to find him out. 
 
 ‘ What shade, Miss ? ? says the young man. ‘ Well/ says 
 I, puttin me hand to me face, ‘ something the colour/ 
 says I ; but, faith, I was shamed ov me life. ‘ If/ says 
 he, ‘ Miss, ye'd be afther pattherning yer cheek/ says he, 
 
 ‘ it's hopeless/ says he ; ‘ for art has no chance, not 
 
 the laste, wid nature.' Well, indeed, it's an iligant 
 shop and civil people ; ‘ but/ says I, ‘ I'll call agin, 
 young man: at present I'm pressed.' ‘And much ye 
 desarve it/ says he, mighty genteel. So I cuts aff to 
 
42 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Foot's for the snuff, and away wid me back again, hot 
 fut, and I found it all in a flurry, and Miss Julia locked 
 in her room sobbin' fit to break her heart; and the 
 Major was gone, and the Missis tould me never to let 
 him in agin; and they say the blackguard has been 
 telling all sorts of quare tales of Miss Julia all over the 
 town, what he says he beared from Cork. And the 
 Missis is sadly vexed. 
 
 “ So no more at present from 
 
 “ Elizabeth Mullally. 
 
 “ P.S. I most forgot to tell ye, that the Missis desired 
 me to say that she is in want of a man, and willing to take 
 ye, if out of place. It's ten pound and two shoots, 
 mighty aisy, and ony Molly and me." 
 
 We must now recur to the young gentleman to whose 
 inopportune visit, at an unseasonable hour, at Mr. Cat- 
 lin’s, so much misery was owing. He was barely in time 
 to catch the transport as she sailed between the two forts 
 which guard the entrance of Cork harbour, and looked 
 down upon so many thousands, “ leaving their country 
 for their country's good," that annually pass between 
 them. The weather, though fine at starting, soon showed 
 signs of change ; the coy east wind, so unfortunately fair 
 for master and agent, barely lasted till they had cleared 
 the land, when a heavy gale from the westward set in. 
 Being well at sea, the above-named functionaries had no 
 available excuse for running back, though ready enough 
 to seize upon the slightest excuse for so doing, both being 
 paid by the day, and in most instances having wives on 
 shore. Though keeping the sea, they had little hope of 
 progression, till at length, in a happy moment, they car- 
 ried away a fore top mast, when there was nothing for it 
 but to return to Cove for repairs, a month from the day 
 of sailing. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say, that Henry Farnham 
 hastened to Cork the moment the ship dropped her 
 
LAltRY LYNCH. 
 
 43 
 
 anchor, and almost the first person he saw, on entering 
 the precincts of the “ beautiful city/ 7 was our friend 
 Larry, puzzling, as he walked along the road, over the 
 Wetter lie had just received from Miss Mullally. 
 
 Larry could hardly believe his eyes. His first effort 
 was to shout — then to laugh — then to cry, and finally, 
 thrusting the letter into Mr. Farnham’s hand, to dance 
 about while he read it, incessantly hitting with his right 
 arm, as if armed with a stick, and employed in savagely 
 pounding some imaginary antagonist ; uttering all the 
 time cries of, “ Take that, ye blackguard, and that , ye 
 villain ! and that , ye rap ! and that, ye robber ! and then 
 ye may put that in yer pipe and smoke it/ 7 
 
 A few questions elicited a narrative of the whole course 
 of events since our youth departed, and such was the 
 stunning effect of the communication, that he remained 
 almost stupified with astonishment, grief, and remorse. 
 Speedily, however, rage came to his assistance, and he 
 fixed upon Major Sprainer as the first object of his 
 revenge. 
 
 After a brief consultation with Larry Lynch, it was 
 agreed that nothing should be said of Mr. Farnham’s 
 return ; but that Larry should at once take places in the 
 Dublin mail for that evening, whilst the young gentleman 
 returned to the ship to secure the co-operation of a 
 brother- officer, and both meet the mail on the Fermoy 
 road, about midway between Cove and Cork. 
 
 To Mr. Farnham’s surprise, when the mail drove up he 
 discovered Larry occupying a seat on the roof, dressed in 
 ' an uncommonly long drab greatcoat, which concealed all 
 his underclothing, though revealing a pair of thick nailed 
 shoes ; and wearing on his head a very indifferent hat, to 
 which he had added a cockade. 
 
 “ Here’s my master/’ said Larry, officiously jumping 
 down, and hustling the beggars right and left. “We 9 ve 
 no coppers, I tell ye — we’ll remimber yc coming down. 
 Has yer honours anything but the two portmantys ? 
 Whoop !” said Larry, catching sight of a pistol-case, 
 
44 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 which he seized and tossed into the air ; “ we'll tache ye 
 to behave yerself wid yer rosebud ribbins, ye c’ommon 
 robber ! let alone th' innocent crathur that's destroyed 
 wid ye, ye foul-mouthed blackguard that ye are !" 
 
 Arriving in Dublin, the two friends took private 
 lodgings, and the next day was spent in negotiations 
 with Major Sprainer and his friend: Larry being cau- 
 tioned to keep quiet, and on no account to betray the 
 confederates by any interview or communication with ■ 
 the beauty of Carrigaline. 
 
 The gallant major was too happy to indulge the young 
 Englishman in affording the most complete satisfaction; 
 laughed at any proposition of retracting the reports he 
 had spread abroad ; turned into ridicule the excited feel- 
 ings of the young man and his friend ; and, naming a 
 gentleman about his own standing and of kindred tastes, 
 requested that the arrangements should proceed with all 
 the formality usual on such occasions, and with as much 
 despatch as they pleased. 
 
 Larry was of course taken into confidence, and doubly 
 delighted at the prospect of punishing the major, not 
 only on Miss Julians account, but also for the small 
 matter of liberty he had thought proper to take with 
 the young lady of the rose-bud countenance, who, from 
 certain circumstances unnecessary to mention, we have 
 reason to think, was far from an object of indifference to 
 the late under-gardener. 
 
 It was with the greatest difficulty he could abstain 
 from paying that young person a visit, but the commands 
 of Mr. Henry were potent spells, and it occurred to him 
 that, unless he wished to employ an approved method of 
 advertising, he had better not confide his secret to a 
 woman. 
 
 But on the day preceding that arranged for the en- 
 counter, a feeling of something like remorse, not to say 
 fear, began to take possession of Larry Lynch's mind. It 
 occurred to him, more than once, that he was not going 
 exactly the right road to befriend a young lady by helping 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 45 
 
 the dearest object of her affections into fighting a duel 
 with a notorious man slayer — a fellow who would rejoice 
 to take his life ; and then how was she to be righted in 
 the eyes of the world, and who was to marry her ? And 
 besides it occurred to him, that his conduct in the matter 
 might not be considered as a particularly powerful recom- 
 mendation to the “ ten pound and two shoots a con- 
 sideration of some moment, as, in the fulness of his heroic 
 feelings, he had sacrificed a quarter's wages with his old 
 master. Altogether, he felt sorely perplexed by the 
 dilemma in which he found himself. 
 
 “ Well, faix, I somehow think I've done meself now," 
 said Larry. “ There'll be somebody killed, sorrow doubt 
 of it ! and they'll lay the blame to me. It won't much 
 matter which, Sprainer or the young masther, I'll be the 
 one that's brought it round. Sure I know well enough 
 what his lordship will say, — it's aften I heered the like : 
 c Gentlemen,' he'll say to the jury, ‘ I don't wish to bice 
 your verdict — I'm laving ye to judge for yourselves : but 
 if any man ever desarved hanging it's the prisoner at the 
 bar. Ye'll be guided, av coorse, by th' evidence. Maybe 
 ye've read what they say of him in the papers, maybe not, 
 but let that have no hould upon ye. Root all that thrash 
 out ov yer thoughts, as the prisoner would docks and 
 nettles out o' Catlin's garden in his days of innocence ; 
 but if ye do bring him in guilty — I say, gintlemen of the 
 jury, if ye do bring him in guilty — I've the black cap 
 ready, that's r 11 . Perhaps ye've heard people talk of this 
 case out of doores *t let that have no weight wid ye ! 
 Cut it down at once, as the wretched man would a head 
 o' sparrowgrass. Keep yer minds, I say, gintlemen, as 
 clear as th' unfortunate criminal did his favourite flower- 
 bed. I'll jist go over th' evidence, and ye shall judge for 
 yourselves. Ye see the thing was all brought about by 
 the prisoner. If he hadn't showed the letter to Mr. 
 Farnham, he'd never have come to Dublin — never met 
 the Major; and if he hadn't met the Major, gintlemen, 
 I'd like to know how the Major could have been afther 
 

 PADDIANA. 
 
 shooting him ? Answer me this, gintlemen ! But ye 
 must judge for yerselves ; don't think I'm lading of ye,, 
 gintlemen; Fm merely recaptulating th' evidence. 
 Wasn't it the prisoner that tuck places for them in the 
 mail ? "Why would he do that same if he wasn't con- 
 thriving the murther beforehand ? Didn't he lave a good 
 place and give up a quarther's wages ? Suspicious cir- 
 cumstances, gintlemen, for a poor man. What would he 
 do that for if he warn't conthriving the murtherous meet- 
 ing ? Hadn't he got the poor young man like a pig in 
 a string, and was lading him, and pushing him, and 
 shouldering him an to the slaughter ? It's thru for ye 
 he didn't put the knife into him, or the ball into him, 
 but what's that to do wid it ? Wasn't he th’ agent and 
 the driver that brought him to them as did ? Wasn't it 
 the prisoner that canned the notes to and agin betune the 
 parties ? Didn't he clane the pistols ? Now, gintlemen, 
 let me draw your attintion to this part of the evidence — 
 haven't we it stated on the solemn oath of a credible 
 witness — one of the highest carracter — haven't we it 
 stated on the solemn oath of this one, that the prisoner 
 cast the. balls ? with one of which, gintlemen, the poor 
 young crathur was slaughtered. Didn't he cut the 
 wadding, and dhry the powther, and fix the flints, and 
 hire the car, and put the pistols into it, and stand by and 
 see it done ? Gintlemen of the jury, some people might 
 say them's all murtherous intin tions, but I repeat to ye,, I 
 don't wish to bice your verdict in any way at all ; but I 
 ony say, if the prisoner escapes hanging there's no justice 
 in Ireland."' 
 
 It was arranged by the seconds that the meeting should 
 take place in the Phoenix Park, half an hour after sun- 
 rise, and the repentant Larry Lynch was directed to have 
 a, ear in waiting, and take care that all the necessary 
 arrangements were made. Long before daylight Larry 
 was on foot, and seemed to have slept off his apprehen- 
 sions : a favourable change had come o'er the spirit of 
 his dream, and he appeared bent on carrying out the 
 
LARKY LYNCH. 
 
 47 
 
 preparations for some merry-making rather than to have 
 in hand the contriving of a mortal combat. Happy 
 thoughts seemed even to occur to him as he* bustled 
 about and made the coffee, and slapping his thigh, he 
 exclaimed repeatedly , — " That will do ! Why wouldn't 
 I ? I'm clane shaved.. Afther all, it's the fit out, and 
 the cut of the brogues, and the hodycoloony as docs 
 
 it r 
 
 Above all, he took care that the master and his friend 
 should be called in ample time, and a comfortable break- 
 fast prepared for them. He had also the pistols and 
 greatcoats, with comforters, shawls, and warm gloves 
 nicely arranged on the hall table : hats were scrupulously 
 brushed, and boots attentively polished, for the grand 
 occasion. In fact, it seemed to be Larry's object to 
 crowd as many comforts and attentions as possible into 
 the small remnant of his master's life, and to facilitate in 
 every way his arrival at the final scene. But, however 
 well meant may be such acts of officious kindness, they 
 are somewhat grating to one's self-love ; like the thought- 
 ful attention of some fussy member of the family on the 
 last day of a schoolboy's holidays : “ Now, my dear, you 
 know I don't wish to hurry you, but you had better 
 finish your breakfast, the coach will be here directly 1" 
 
 When Larry had the two gentlemen seated at breakfast 
 with every comfort that his forethought had suggested, 
 he seemed to derive the most intense satisfaction, and 
 requesting his master to lend his watch that he might be 
 sure of having the car at the door at the precise moment 
 agreed upon, requested the friends to stay where they 
 were, and to have no fear of his forgetting to call them in 
 time. Having received the watch, and a tacit ac- 
 quiescence in his plans, he withdrew from the room, and 
 on doing so, carefully and very quietly locked the door 
 behind him. 
 
 After looking through the keyhole to assure himself 
 that he was not suspected, Larry hurried into an ad- 
 joining apartment, and began in the utmost haste to 
 
48 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 throw off all his clothes, and then as hastily' to dress 
 himself in those of his master, which had been previously 
 laid out in readiness. But never was the old proverb 
 more fully verified than in this hasty toilet of Larry 
 Lynch. First he put on the trowsers, forgetting that the 
 straps were sewn on, and they must be preceded by the 
 boots — and these, indeed, were his great difficulty. How 
 he was to get a pair of full-sized Munster feet, encased in 
 thick worsted stockings, into a delicate pair of Gilbert's 
 dress-boots, little more than half their size, was a 
 problem. He began the attempt in stockings, but tore 
 them passionately off seeing the utter impossibility of the 
 thing, and made an attempt with the naked limb, which 
 was almost as fruitless ; but he tugged, and swore, and 
 stamped, and sweated ; carried away first one strap, then 
 the other — hurled down each boot in succession, and 
 paused a moment. Suddenly a thought struck him : 
 rushing into the kitchen, he seized a large piece of butter, 
 and after holding it for a moment at the fire, proceeded 
 to smear and plaster the whole of one foot and ankle with 
 the half-melted mass, and seizing upon the boot which 
 still retained its straps, contrived to force, after many 
 desperate efforts, his right foot into his left boot. But it 
 was too late to remedy it ; to get off that boot would have 
 been, if possible, more difficult than putting it on ; so 
 plastering the other foot with more butter, and cutting 
 holes in the sides to pull it by, he contrived to lodge the 
 other foot, and wiping the sweat from his brow with his 
 black and greasy hands, considered what was next to be 
 done. Then came the trowsers — and here a difficulty 
 occurred almost as inconvenient as that of the boots. 
 They were of the French fashion of the day, and ex- 
 tending in a gaiter-shape to the toe ; and Larry having a 
 leg very much shorter than his master's, the misfit was, if 
 possible, more apparent (to others at least) than in the 
 boots. In vain he hauled up the suspenders to the top 
 hole — took them off and tied knots in them — braced 
 away again with scarcely any diminution in the enormous 
 
LA11RY LYNCH. 
 
 49 
 
 slack of' tlie legs, though he hauled them painfully up to 
 the armpits. He somewhat resembled the American dog, 
 whose tail was curled so tightly over his back that he 
 could not put his hind legs to the ground. 
 
 “ Curse the throwsers, and the boots too !" said Larry; 
 “ how would I know I'd have all this work with them ? 
 Bad luck to me, but they'll find that they're locked in 
 before I'm half dressed. I'm destroyed intirely with the 
 boots. Sorrow fut I'll be able to walk in them at all, 
 bad luck to th' English spalpeen that made them ! And 
 the high heels do be forcing and jamming me toes till 
 I'm like standing upon tiptoe in a taycup ! But, any- 
 how, this is a grate waistcoat — purple velvet with goold 
 spots ; and the black and blue satin scarf — them's a fit ; 
 and the blue dress-coat with goold buttons and the crest 
 an'em— that's a hoont-coat. Faith, I'd desave Bess 
 Mullally herself now. Now the pin, and the goold chain 
 round my neck ; now I've ony the hat and gloves — " 
 
 But Larry was destined to meet with difficulty even 
 here, for the Paris kids could be by no means persuaded 
 to accommodate themselves to his well-buttered black 
 hands ; and neither coaxing nor force sufficed to insinuate 
 his bullet-head in the short-napped beaver; so it sat 
 insecurely perched on the top of his carrotty pole. 
 
 The rumble of the approaching car was just heard 
 as Larry put the finishing touch to his toilet, so emptying 
 the whole bottle of scent over his head and breast, he 
 hobbled into the street as well as the boots would permit 
 him, with the pistol-case under his arm, his finger-ends 
 just stuck into the gloves, the whole tops of which had 
 been torn aw T ay, and hung like bracelets round his 
 wrists. 
 
 In leaving the house, Larry listened for a moment, and 
 finding all was safe, quietly locked the street-door and 
 stuck into his waistcoat pocket the huge house-key, the 
 ling outside looking like a gigantic eye-glass. Telling 
 the carman to drive softly for a certain distance, he then 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 urged him onwards towards the Park at the top of the 
 horse’s speed. 
 
 The place of meeting had been very carefully selected; 
 it was in a retired spot amongst the trees, on the city side 
 of the Fifteen Acres, and well pointed out by certain 
 marks which Larry remembered. 
 
 Leaving the car at some distance from the spot, our 
 overdressed hero took the pistol-case with him and limped 
 through the wet grass towards the place of meeting.. It 
 happened to be a high wind, and Larry’s hat seemed to 
 be possessed with a strong desire to get back to Dublin. 
 After two or three painful runs in pursuit, he formed a 
 resolution to set that matter at rest ; so putting down the 
 pistols he joined both his hands over the crown of the 
 fugitive castor, and squeezed down the yielding material 
 till it came nearly flat upon his head, like those portable 
 folding beavers that are made to pack into a trunk. But 
 even this did not succeed ; so taking his knife he cut a 
 long gash in the back of the hat, and then crammed it 
 on down to his eyebrows. 
 
 Larry was first on the ground, and had time to make 
 his little arrangements before the enemy came up. He 
 opened the pistol-case, laid out the powder-flask*, caps, 
 and patches, in order, and placed on the ground a bag 
 containing about two pounds of balls, as if he was come to 
 pass some hours in pistol practice. “ Anyhow,” said 
 Larry, “ we won’t be short of matarials.” 
 
 Major Sprainer and his friend were punctual to the 
 time, but paused when they came up, and regarded the 
 extraordinary figure before them, shifting himself restlessly 
 from one foot to the other, as if the ground was too hot 
 for him. Neither had seen Mr. Farnham, but it was 
 impossible to conceive that the grotesque object before' 
 them was he ; still it was clear that he was waiting to 
 fight somebody, and had, perhaps, accidentally taken 
 possession of their ground. They looked at each other 
 with surprise. 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 51 
 
 " Morrow kindly to yees, gintlemen,” said Larry, 
 when they came up. "Ye’r rather afther yer time; but 
 no mattlicr, we’ll soon make up for it. Fm waiting for 
 Major Sprainer, and my name’s Earnham. Eve t’apolo- 
 gize to ye for th’ other gin tie man, my frind, but he’s tuk 
 sick, and can’t come this time ; so I wouldn’t put it aff 
 till I looked for another, so let’s begin if ye plaze.” 
 
 " I thought,” said Major Sprainer to his second, 
 "that the gentleman we expected to meet was an English- 
 man ?” 
 
 " Well, blood an ouns,” said Larry, " what do ye take 
 me for ? sure I’m an Englishman every bit ov me, to the 
 back-bone, ony you’r so much used to your own dirty 
 brogue that ye can’t apprayciate th’ iliigance of me furrin 
 discoorse. Not but what it’s thrue for yees that I have 
 the slightest taste in life of th’ accent, which I tuk in my 
 timpory risidince in Cork ; but barrin that, I think ye 
 might see that I’m not raised in this dirty country at all. 
 Sure, ye ought to know a Stooltz coat and throw sers, let 
 alone a Paris hat and London boots (the divle resave the 
 man that made ’em !) from any ye’d see in this blackguard 
 counthry.” 
 
 " Well, Sir,” said Major Sprainer, after a rather long 
 pause, " I must take the liberty to observe that ye’r a 
 singular specimen of an English gentleman ; but I’m 
 pledged to meet ye, such as ye are, and I suppose as ye 
 say yer name’s Earnham, and ye come to meet me, there’s 
 no mistake — anyhow, there shall be no mistake; we’ll 
 wave the trifle of having but one witness : so load the 
 pistols, O’Donnel, and let’s go to work.” 
 
 Though Mr. O’Donnel protested against the irregularity 
 of the proceeding, he was overruled by the major, who 
 insisted upon going through with it even without a 
 second ?t all, and said "he would load the pistols himself, 
 rather tnan be disappointed.” 
 
 " It’s thrue for ye, major a-vick,” said Larry ; " sure 
 it’s aisy to put in the pewther and ball — every man his 
 
52 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 bird — and up to the muzzle, if ye like; and when th' 
 ammunition's done, sure we'll finish with the butts." 
 
 There was, however, no occasion for farther irregularity ; 
 Mr. O'Donnel was persuaded, at last, to load and hand a 
 pistol to each, having previously stepped the ground, and 
 when he dropped his handkerchief, the instant the 
 cambric reached the ground, they were to fire. 
 
 The pistols went off at the same instant of time ; Major 
 Sprainer stood erect after the discharge, but poor Larry, 
 staggering back a few paces, fell heavily to the ground. 
 
 “You've killed him, Major," said O'Donnel, quietly; 
 “ you had better go ; get on the car and away with ye. 
 It was a bad job with only one second. I'll just see to 
 him for a minute, and cut across to Island Bridge after ye, 
 myself." 
 
 But the Major stirred not. He remained precisely in 
 the position he first took up, looking grimly to his front 
 towards the fallen man. 
 
 “ For God's sake make off with ye !" said O'Donnel, 
 pausing to look at him as he was about to kneel be- 
 side poor Larry. “What's the matter that ye don't 
 go ?” 
 
 But the Major uttered not a word. 
 
 “ Hollo !" said O'Donnel, running towards him; “what's 
 that on your trowsers ? You’re wounded !" 
 
 It was true : Larry’s ball had taken effect in the Major's 
 groin, and the blood was flowing rapidly down the front 
 of his dark trowsers ; and when his'second attempted to 
 move him, he uttered a deep groan and fell flat upon his 
 back. 
 
 At this moment, Henry Farnham and his friend came 
 up. Their first care was to see to poor Larry, who began 
 suddenly to show signs of animation, and opened his eyes 
 lively enough for a dying man. He seemed somewhat 
 confused at first, and rather puzzled to point out his 
 wound ; but gradually raising himself to a sitting posture, 
 he put his hand to his waistcoat-pocket and drew forth 
 
LARRY LYNCH. 
 
 53 
 
 the key of the house-door, with a flat piece of lead stick- 
 ing to the wards — no doubt the Major's bullet, so benevo- 
 lently aimed, and thus providentially arrested in its 
 progress towards Larry's body by the stout piece of iron 
 in his waistcoat-pocket. 
 
 When it was discovered that Larry was unhurt, or only 
 bruised by the hard knock at his ribs, they exhorted him 
 to run for medical assistance for the Major, who lay like 
 a dead man upon the grass. 
 
 “ Is it run, when I can't stand ?" said Larry. “ But 
 faith, here's a knife in the gun-case : it's soon I'll relave 
 myself of 'em." 
 
 So saying he cut at once through the trowser- straps, 
 regardless of the owner's presence, and then running the 
 knife down the side of each boot along the seams, he 
 quickly relieved himself of those fashionable incum- 
 brances, and made off at full speed towards the town. 
 Being, however, still impeded by the length of his trow- 
 sers, he stopped in his career, and slicing off about a foot 
 from the bottom of each leg, continued at a desperate 
 pace towards Barrack Street, exhibiting to the early risen 
 the extraordinary spectacle of a man dressed in the ex- 
 treme of fashion running barefooted through the town, 
 his trowser s cut off at the calves, and calling aloud for a 
 doctor. 
 
 The reader according to his habits and temperament 
 will rejoice or otherwise at Major Sprainer's misfortune. 
 The wound was not mortal, but sufficiently severe to 
 make him lame for life ; and, what was still more galling, 
 to affix upon him a lasting ridicule for the manner of his 
 acquiring the hurt. 
 
 As for the meeting of Henry Farnham and Julia 
 Catlin, it must, as pathetic writers would say, “ be seen to 
 be believed." Neither must our pen, unfamiliar with 
 such scenes, venture upon the delicate ground of Larry's 
 first interview with the rose of Carrigaline. We may, 
 however, mention that the rose-bud riband was purchased; 
 
54 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 and so far was it from killing, as was anticipated, the 
 natural colour, that an opinion pretty generally pre- 
 vailed that the riband had the worst of it in the com- 
 parison. 
 
 A s for Larry, he awoke and found himself famous ; he 
 was exalted into a hero ; and it is our opinion that, in 
 these piping times of peace, it would be no easy matter to 
 find any one more deserving of the name. 
 
STILL-HUNTING. 
 
 Disguise it as you will; but there is a natural love of 
 elbow-room amongst mankind which drives them into 
 w r aste places, — to the moors and the mountains, to Ben 
 Lomond or Barnes : and it is strongest in us of the Lack- 
 land family. We hate the gates and hedges ; they are 
 counsellors that “ feelingly persuade” us what we are. 
 We grasp at the ghost of a tenure, and on a wild heatli 
 seem to have and to hold by Nature’s own act and deed. 
 We have no friendly feelings towards him who threatens 
 man-traps and spring-guns, and detest those two magis- 
 trates who have stopped the footpath. How we feel the 
 insulting curtness of “ Beware,” “ No thoroughfare,” 
 and have our sympathies enlisted for the poor trespassers 
 so cruelly menaced at the corners of plantations ! But, 
 above all, we loathe the arrogant benevolence of him who 
 tells us to “ Mind the dog.” We see through this 
 fellow. It is an attempt to throw upon a generous 
 animal the odium of his selfish conservancy, and save 
 his grass under the cloak of philanthropy. We are 
 tempted to exclaim, “We don’t mind him the least!” 
 and have a rebellious excitement in the doubt of being 
 gnawed and worried. 
 
 It was with such feelings strong upon him that our 
 sportsman toiled, through an August day, over one of the 
 
56 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 wildest portions of the bog of Allen. There is beauty 
 and sublimity even in a bog ; it is vast, silent, solitary. 
 He had the dirty acres all to himself. Not a sound was 
 heard, save, perhaps, the low twittering of some siskin or 
 mountain-finch coming out to reconnoitre the intruder 
 upon his solitary reign. Neither tree, hill, nor living 
 creature broke the level uniformity of the horizon : “ the 
 wide overhanging firmament” rested upon an ocean of 
 purple flowers. 
 
 Choosing a dry spot, carpeted with young heather, 
 interspersed with huge bosses of fine grey moss, while the 
 air was scented with the delicious odour of the bog myrtle, 
 he threw his gun and game bag on the ground, and 
 stretched himself along to enjoy the tranquil beauty of the 
 scene. 
 
 There are times when the spirits boil over, and our 
 sense of happiness can only find relief in some overt act. 
 We would give the world for a gallop, or a game at leap- 
 frog, or the power to throw a summerset, or the license 
 to shout aloud ; and happy are they who can train the 
 outbreak into the semblance of music. In his ecstasy 
 the sportsman mangled several Italian melodies of the 
 day, ruthlessly tortured a gay little chanson a boire , 
 murdered “ Alice Grey” outright, and still finding that 
 the safety-valve required easing, leant his head against a 
 tussuck and gave with that hearty goodwill, — that unmis- 
 takeable con amove , only seen in those who sing without 
 an audience — the well-known morceau of Justice Wood- 
 cock 
 
 u When I courted a lass that was froward and shy, 
 
 I stuck to her stuff till I made her comply. 
 
 I took her so lovingly round the waist, 
 
 And I smack’d her lips and I held her fast. 
 
 Oh ! these were the joys of our dancing days,” &c. 
 
 “ Bedad, ye may say that !” said a voice within ten 
 yards of him; “that's the way I coorted Kitty. If ye'd 
 
STILL-HUNTING. 
 
 57 
 
 been consaled on the premises, ye couldn't have tould it 
 better I” 
 
 If a thunderbolt, or a meteoric stone, or a man of the 
 moon, had fallen into the bog beside the grouse-shooter, 
 he could not have been more astonished than at this most 
 unlooked-for greeting. And the object from whence the 
 voice proceeded was not of a kind to diminish his feeling 
 of wonder. Between two large bunches, or tussucks, of 
 the grey moss with which the place abounded, there peered 
 forth the good-humoured face of a man about thirty, 
 lying flat upon the bog, while the moss nearly meeting 
 above his head, and coming down in a flowing, pear-like 
 shape on either side of his face, gave him much the 
 appearance of wearing a judged wig, though the counte- 
 nance showed nothing of the judged gravity. 
 
 The first impulse of the shooter was to start up and 
 seize his gun, the second to burst out into loud laughter. 
 
 “ Faith, it's true for you !'' said the man, getting up 
 and taking a seat near him ; “ but how the divle ye came 
 to know it, sorrow know I know. It's shy enough she 
 was at first, but it's meself that stuck to her. I'll tell 
 yer honour all about it while we sit aisy here. Divle a 
 much I cared for Lanty (that’s her father) . c Let her be,' 
 says he ; f wait awhile, sure the heifer’s young. Any how' 
 ye'r rough in yer ways,' says he. ‘ Faith, Mr. Hickey, 
 says I, ‘ it's becase I'm in airnest.' f Divle a doubt of it,' 
 says he ; ‘ but that's no reason why ye'd be crushing my 
 choild wid yer hugs. Any how,' says Lanty, ‘ I'll not 
 consint to it yet ; sure I can’t spare her till we've got in 
 the praties. What could I do wid all the crap on my 
 hands ? So hands aff's fair play,' says he. ' Besides,' 
 says Lanty (sure he's a cute ould chap, that one), ‘ where 
 would ye take her if ye were married itself ? Ye'd bury 
 her underground, says he, ‘ in the quare place ye have 
 down along the canal. Faith it's no place to take me 
 daughter to, and she bred up in a slate house, and every 
 convanience, in Killbeggan. If she did consint, it's not 
 for want of better offers at home, never fear. There's 
 
58 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Burke of Athy, says he’s proud to discoorse wid her when 
 he comes this away; and it’s not a week ago/ says he, 
 ‘that Oolahan, the grocer, sent me the half-gallon of Par- 
 liament : it’s long since ye did the like o’ that, or even 
 poteen itself. Faith/ says he, ‘ the laste ye could do 
 would be to fill the keg in th’ other room, and build me 
 up a stack o’ turf for the winter/ says he. ‘ Och, mur- 
 ther !’ says I ; ‘ Mr. Hickey, ye’r hard upon me/ says I; 
 ‘ wid yer Burkes and yer Oolahans. Is it Oolahan ? sure 
 ye wouldn’t marry yer daughter to an ould man like him ? 
 The divle a taste of a grandfather ever ye’d be, barrin 
 what I’d be shamed to mention. Come/ says I, ‘ Mr. 
 Hickey, ye’ll give me yer daughter — she’s fand o’ me. 
 Clap hands upon that/ says I, ‘ and I’ll fill the keg with 
 the first runnings — the raal stuff/ says I ; ‘ oncet ye taste 
 it ye’ll put Oolahan’s Parliament in a jar and throw stones 
 at it. And I’ll build ye the stack if ye’ll wait till the 
 turf’s dhry; I’ve a rare lot o’ the deep cutting/ says I, 
 ‘as hard as stones.’ 
 
 “ Well, faith, I tuck him the sperrits, and the turf, but 
 the divle a Kitty I got ; and I heerd it’s aften they went 
 to tay wid ould Oolahan, and made game o’ me sperrits 
 and me. ‘ Faith/ thinks I, ‘ the next thing ’ll be I’ll 
 have the gauger (sure he’s Oolahan’s brother-in-law) and 
 th’ army destroying me still, and meself in Philipstown 
 jail. But, any how/ says I, ‘ I’ll be up to ouldXanty, as 
 cute as ye are. So when the next dark night come, I 
 tuck some of the boys wid me, and their harses, and went 
 to Lanty’s, and soon I brought the sweet crathur outside 
 wid a small whistle I have. ‘ Now/ says I, ‘ Kitty, sure 
 I want to talk to ye ; maybe I won’t discoorse so fine as 
 Mr. Oolahan/ says I, ‘ but, anyhow, bring out the kay of 
 the doore, and we’ll turn it upon Mr. Hickey the whilst 
 we’re talking. Sure he might be angry if he found me 
 wid ye unknownst, and I’d like to keep him safe/ says I. 
 
 “ ‘ What’s that ?’ says Kitty ; ‘ sure I thought I heard 
 voices beyant/ says she. 
 
 “ ‘ Oh, nothin, me darlint !’ says I, ‘ but a couple o’ 
 
STILL-HUNTING. 
 
 59 
 
 boys goan home from the fair o' Mullingar, wid their 
 liarses, and they'll stop for me till I go 'long wid 5 
 J em/ 
 
 “ Well, with that Kitty goes in and slips on her cloak, 
 ‘ and/ says she, ‘ Til jist step acrass to Biddy Fay's for 
 the liaarbes.' ‘ Well/ says Lanty, ‘ do so ; and while ye'r 
 gone I'll just take a sup o' Oalahan's sperrits. Faith, 
 it's great stuff/ says he, ‘ and agrees wid me better than 
 Mike Cronin's. It's raw stuff, his/ says Lanty. (Th' 
 ould villain, and better never came out of a still) ! ‘ Well/ 
 says he, ‘Kitty, I'm poorly to-night, and I'll take it 
 warm; make me a tumbler o'punch/ says he, ‘ Kitty. 
 Musha, bad luck to me/ says he, ‘ but I'd rather see ye 
 married to a steady man, that's got a license to sell good 
 sperrits, like Oolahan, than any one, barrin a distiller 
 itself, and that would be looking rather high/ says he, 
 ‘ for they're mostly of the quality, them sort. Anyhow/ 
 says Lanty, stirring the punch, while Kitty was houlding 
 the doore ready to come, while tli'ould fellow kept talking, 
 — ‘ Anyhow, Kitt} r / says he, ‘ ye must think no more o' 
 Mike (that's me) ; what'll he do for ye/ says he, ‘ down 
 in the bog ? Sure his sperrits is but quare stuff, and 
 what's the thrifle o' turf he sent ? it's 'most the top cut- 
 ting, and mighty light.' (The lying ould rap !) ‘ Well, 
 
 go 'long wid ye, Kitty/ says he, taking a dhrink ; ‘ go 
 'long to Biddy Fay's, and mind yerself,' says he ; ‘ sure 
 th'officers do be smoking their cigars upon the bridge/ 
 says he, ‘ and they're mighty blackguards afther dark. 
 And make haste back, for it's toired I'm getting.' 
 
 “ Well, faith, at last I heered her shut the doore ; so I 
 just stepped up, and turned the kay mighty quite, and 
 put my arm round Kitty, and tuck her away towards the 
 harses, and says she, ‘ Where ye goan ? Can't ye coort 
 me here?’ says she; ‘sure the people do be passing in the 
 lane.' Well, with that I catched her up, and away wid 
 me, hot fut, and the crathur squealed, ‘Ah, can't ye 
 stop ?' says she, ‘ I'd die before I'd go wid ye ! Sure 
 I thought ye an -honest boy, Mike. Be aisy wid me, 
 
60 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 for tli 5 honour o' God ; sure Pm young as yit !' But, 
 faith, we put her on the harse, and I held her on before 
 me, and cut out o' that full tare ; but divle such a pilla- 
 looing as Lanty made out o' the windy ye never heerd ! 
 Sure we had him safe, for the windy was too small for 
 him ; but anyhow he tried it, and stuck fast, half in and 
 half out, and Pat Sheahy stopped wid him a minute to 
 see if he'd aise himself out, but divle a taste. 6 Let me 
 out o' this ! 5 says Lanty, most choked. ‘Be quite, Mr. 
 Hickey/ says Pat ; ‘ don't alarm the town ; what would 
 folks say, and see ye stuck in yer own windy ? Faith, ye 
 must be swelled with the bad sperrits ye tuck ; sure 
 Cronin's sperrits never did that for ye. Betther for ye/ 
 says he, ‘ to marry your daughter to an honest boy that 
 does ye no harm/ says he, ‘ than an ould spalpeen that 
 blows ye out like a cow in clover. But it's getting late/ 
 says Pat, ‘ and I've far to travel ; so I wish ye good 
 night, Mr. Hickey. Well, well/ says Pat, ‘sure th' airly 
 boat do be passing up soon after daylight, and they'll 
 think it curous to see ye stuck that away in the wall !' 
 
 “ Well, faith, he left him, half out and half in, and 
 away wid us to the bog ; and I married Kitty with the 
 first convanience, and it's mighty happy we are, barrin 
 the gauger (that's Oolahan's brother-in-law), that do be 
 hunting me out for the still. Sure I expect him to- 
 night, and th' army wid him; and faith I lay quite, 
 watching yer honour, for I thought ye might spake to me 
 unknownst about their coming, for ye talked a dale to 
 yerself before ye began them outlandish songs. Faith, it 
 wasn't much I larned out o' them, wid yer banes and yer 
 pase,* till ye tuck up the right joke about Kitty. But, 
 any how, ye'll come inside and rest yourself, for ye've a 
 dale to travel, and the boat's gone." 
 
 “ Inside ! why there's no house here ! And where's 
 the canal ?" 
 
 * Mr. Cronin’s meaning is here obscure. “ Banes” we may, perhaps, 
 trace to “bene,” but I am quite at a loss for “pase.” 
 
STILL-HUNTING. 
 
 61 
 
 “ Faith, they're both nigh hand ye, — nearer than ye 
 think." 
 
 To the sportsman's astonishment, the canal was within 
 a hundred yards, cut deep through the bog, some forty 
 feet below the surface, and so completely out of sight that 
 he had not the most distant notion of its proximity. But 
 where the residence of his new friend was remained still a 
 mystery. 
 
 The bog had been cut down in several levels, like 
 steps, to the canal, but, looking up and down along 
 its straight course, no house, or any signs of one, could 
 be discovered. 
 
 c< Sure, it isn't every one I'd bring to me place," said 
 my companion, “ let alone th' army ; for I know yer 
 honour right well; and sure, if ye do come in, ye'll see 
 nothing." 
 
 On the deep steps or levels of the cutting were a great 
 many heaps of turf piled up, apparently with a view to 
 their convenient shipment in the large turf-boats, which 
 carry this admirable fuel even as far as Dublin. Mr. 
 Cronin, after pausing a minute to enjoy the wondering 
 looks his companion cast about in search of the “ place," 
 commenced removing one of the heaps upon the level 
 about midway between the surface of the bog and the 
 canal. The stack was about five feet high, and as the 
 upper portion was removed there appeared a hole, or 
 doorway, in the perpendicular face of the cutting against 
 which the heap was raised. 
 
 When the passage became practicable, the master 
 beckoned to his guest to enter the room, and leading the 
 way himself, ushered him into a house of fair dimensions, 
 in the centre of which was left standing a column of turf 
 to support the roof, on one side of which was a hole, or 
 window, cut down from the level above, and slightly 
 covered with dry bushes ; and, as it afterwards appeared, 
 was flanked by two large stacks of turf, which prevented 
 any one from passing that way, and so running the risk of 
 making an involuntary entrance into the premises. 
 
62 
 
 PAD DIANA. 
 
 But this room was merely the antechamber to the 
 principal apartment, which lay deeper under the bog ; 
 but the guest had no wish, neither did the host’ press 
 him, to make any further researches. 
 
 The walls, floor, and roof of this peat-cavem were per- 
 fectly dry and comfortable. There were sundry articles 
 of furniture about the place, several low stools, a small 
 table, and a rude old chest, from which last the owner 
 produced some excellent bread and butter, a bottle of 
 poteen whisky, and two small glasses. 
 
 It required no great pressing on the part of the host' to 
 make his guest partake of those good things, though 
 many apologies were made that no fire could be lighted to 
 cook him a better dinner, as the gauger was out. 
 
 “This is one of me houses,” said Mr. Cronin; “and, 
 by the same token, Flannagan, the gauger, would give 
 twenty pound to find it, and me in it. Sure, its sarching 
 after this he do be coming this way, but sorrow much I 
 care for him; it's long before he’ll put his nose in the 
 hole, barrin the smoke.” 
 
 “But where’s Kitty ?” said the stranger ; “you don’t 
 live here altogether ?” 
 
 “Och, murtlier ! ye’r mighty cute wid yer Kitty, and 
 yer songs. Well, how the divle ye hit it aff so well, it’s* 
 hard to say ! Faith, Kitty’s in tli’ other house, but I 
 brought ye here first for fear ye’d come some day with 
 th’ army, and sarch for it. Sure ye’ri not obliged to 
 hoont for it yerself — that’s Flannagan’ s place ; ye’r only 
 to seize the still — when ye find it.” 
 
 Although it struck the Englishman as being rather a 
 curious proceeding, though decidedly Irish, to show a 
 man a place with a view to his not finding it, yet he could 
 not help admiring the acuteness with which his new 
 friend had enlisted him on his side, and bought at* least 
 his neutrality, by making him eat of his bread and salt, 
 and drink of his illicit spirits, in the very stronghold and 
 secret spot in which those spirits were made ; while, with 
 equal cunning, all traces of the contraband manufacture 
 
STILL-HUNTING. 
 
 63 
 
 were carefully kept out of view. Not a pot or kettle, or 
 vessel of any kind, save the bottle and glasses, were to be 
 seen ; neither was there any fireplace, nor signs of a fire, 
 though lie must have been dull indeed not to have known 
 full well that all these things were carefully stowed away 
 in the inner room. But, being in for the thing, the 
 hungry sportsman thought that no further harm could 
 result from making a good meal ; and the small new 
 loaves, though tasting strongly of turf, and the fresh 
 butter, were fast disappearing. The whisky was first- 
 rate — the real stuff — and the long, fagging day he had 
 gone through above ground, rendered him peculiarly 
 sensible of the cool comforts and enticing beverage below. 
 True, there was some difficulty in mixing the grog, for the 
 water was contained in a large earthen jar, almost too 
 heavy to raise, and the glasses were less than an egg-cup; 
 but he took Mr. Cronin’s advice, and “ mixed it in th” 
 inside of him,” taking a sup of spirits and a drink of water 
 alternately. 
 
 During the progress of the meal Mr. Cronin had care- 
 fully built up the turf-stack, to prevent any untoward 
 intrusion ; and having finished the bread and butter, and 
 become tolerably perfect in “the meeting of the waters,” 
 having also made arrangements for the forwarding the 
 game-bag the next morning early, the stranger prepared 
 to bid adieu to his kind entertainer, and commence his 
 weary walk homewards. Suddenly the host started, then 
 listened attentively, and finally, applying his ear close to 
 the turf- wall of the hut, commenced making gestures to 
 remain still, as some one was approaching. After a time 
 there could be distinctly felt a vibration of the springy 
 ground, and it was evident, from its increase, that a party 
 of many persons was approaching. Suddenly a word or 
 two were spoken in a low voice, and immediately followed 
 by the loud word of command, “ Halt, front : order arms : 
 stand at ease.” 
 
 The sportsman knew the voice well : it was that of his 
 brother-officer, an elderly man, and the party was the 
 
64 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 detachment to which he himself belonged. Here was a 
 predicament ! If he had not stopped to eat that last loaf, 
 and take that last long drink, he had been safe on his 
 way homewards. As it was, he felt puzzled what to do. 
 To issue forth would have been to betray his hospitable 
 entertainer, confiscate his property, and consign him to a 
 prison : to remain hidden in a poteen manufactory, hear- 
 ing his own men outside, searching, with the revenue 
 officer, for the very place of his concealment ; and to be 
 there discovered would have had an awkward appearance, 
 and, with a fidgetty commanding officer, might have sub- 
 jected him to a court-martial. He knew not what to do ; 
 and, as is usual in such cases, did nothing. 
 
 But, in spite of the unpleasant position, it was impos- 
 sible not to be amused at the searching process that was 
 going upon outside, freely commented on, as it was, by 
 Mr. Cronin, in a whisper, within. Sometimes the party 
 was moved farther on ; then back again, past the door ; 
 then they halted close in front : but the dry turf left no 
 traces of footmarks, and all their attempts were baffled. 
 Several of the large stacks of turf they removed, but our 
 particular one escaped from its insignificance; and to 
 have removed all would have been the work of a week. 
 
 The old officer, a dry, matter-of-fact Englishman, was 
 becoming heartily sick of the adventure. He said some- 
 thing about being made a fool of, which Mr. Cronin 
 doubted, muttering something to the effect, as I appre- 
 hended, that nature had been beforehand with the gauger. 
 
 “ I shall not allow my men to slave here all night, 
 pulling down and building up stacks of peat after a ten- 
 mile march, and ten miles to return ; so fall in men, and 
 unpile arms. Show us the place, Sir, and we’ll make the 
 seizure.” 
 
 {Inside.) — “ Well done, old boy, stick to that.” 
 
 “ I’ll be upon my oath,” said the gauger, “ that I saw 
 the smoke coming out of the bog hereaway, when I passed 
 th 5 other day — here, in a line with the two stacks over 
 there— it’s right in this line.” (“ Thank ye, Mr. Flan- 
 
STILL-HUNTING. 
 
 6 ;; 
 
 uagan, we’ll move ’em to-morrow.”) “Fd rather than 
 ten pound I had that fellow by the scruff of the neck !” 
 (“ Thank ye kindly, Mr. Flannagan, the same to yerself.”) 
 “ It’s daring us he is ” (“ Likely enougjh.”) “ But Til 
 
 have him safe enough one of these days.” (“ Did ye 
 bring any salt wid ye to put on his tail ?”) “And Td 
 be glad we'd find him, Sir, that yer men may have a sup 
 of the stuff, poor fellows, after the march.” (“ How kind 
 ye are ! 'ye’r mighty free wid another man’s sp err its.”) 
 
 As the night advanced, the difficulty of finding the 
 still increased, and at last the gauger was fain to give up 
 the pursuit in despair, and the party was moved off. The 
 intruder lost no time in slipping out of liis hiding-place, 
 and reached home before the party. 
 
 Till a late hour that night he was edified with a full 
 and particular account of the adventure ; how they had 
 been hoaxed, and dragged over twenty Irish miles to a 
 place where there never was an illicit still ; where there 
 never could have been the smallest reason for suspecting 
 the existence of one. “ I looked pretty sharp,” said the 
 old officer, “and I can see as far into a mill-stone as 
 most people.” 
 
 But nothing could convince Flannagan, the gauger, 
 that he was wrong — such is the obstinacy of some people. 
 Nay, he dragged that detachment twice to the place after- 
 wards, in spite of all angry remonstrances, and, it is 
 needless to say, very much against the wish of all con- 
 cerned. 
 
 Now this officer may have neglected his duty; he may 
 have connived at a breach of the revenue laws, but he 
 certainly did not find the still, nor was it found in his 
 time. On the occasion of the two official visits, Mr. 
 Michael Cronin accompanied them, wearing an air of 
 lamb-like innocence, and wondering what they sought. 
 
 There was one thing the officer had to complain of, 
 which was, that on several market-days, a jar of whisky 
 was mysteriously left at his quarters : but he laid a trap 
 for the bringer, and at last caught Mike Cropin in the 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 fact, and the harmony of their acquaintance was a little 
 disturbed by his being made to take it away, under a 
 threat of certain pains and penalties. 
 
 Confound the fellow! he then sent his. wife, even 
 Kitty, so that the sportsman was obliged to compromise 
 by accepting a bottle or two; or else shut the gates 
 against all the grey cloaks on a market-day. 
 
A MYSTERY AMONGST THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Although the following narrative does not come pro- 
 perly under the head of an Irish story, seeing that it is 
 in nowise illustrative of Irish manners ; yet I am induced 
 to give it from its singular and mysterious interest. 
 
 A few years ago, an officer whom we will call Captain 
 G , received a sudden order to occupy with a detach- 
 
 ment one of those small barracks in the county of 
 Wicklow, built shortly after the great rebellion. The 
 district in which it is situated, appears on the map as. 
 a wild tract of mountains, fifteen square miles, if I rightly 
 remember, being noted on the large maps as uncultivated 
 and nearly uninhabited. In order to open out this wild 
 region, so favourable for the assembling of the masses for 
 unlawful purposes (and the more dangerous as being 
 within a march of the capital), a road was run through 
 the heart of it, and several small barracks erected as 
 military posts along the line. 
 
 It was in the autumn, and the weather singularly fine, 
 and, both as a sportsman and an admirer of Nature in 
 her wildest dress, it was with uncommon satisfaction that 
 the captain took up his quarters in the small unpretend- 
 ing tenement amongst the hills; shut out, as many would 
 have thought, from all the enjoyments of life. 
 
 f 2 
 
GS 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 The officer commanding the detachment he relieved 
 was not there to receive him, and the old serjeant who 
 commanded insinuated that the party had not been often 
 favoured with his presence. 
 
 A sportsman can well appreciate the enjoyment he felt 
 in wandering, gun in hand, over those noble mountains. 
 The game was not abundant, certainly, for it was very 
 partially preserved; but if he failed to get within reach of 
 the grouse upon the mountain sides, he was rewarded 
 with far-off glimpses of the sea, or the sunny plains of 
 Dublin or Kildare. And if his walk was purely of a 
 sporting nature, he never failed to find snipes in the 
 boggy hollows, or woodcocks in the little patches of cover, 
 nestled in the deep and narrow ravines. Hill mutton, as 
 well as good digestion, “ waited upon appetite,” and his 
 drink was the “ mountain dew V 9 
 
 But the singular, and to this day unaccountable in- 
 cident which nightly occurred, was this, he invariably 
 awoke at some period in the course of the night with all 
 the clothes off the bed ! There was no certain time for 
 the occurrence of this certain stripping. If from want of 
 exercise his sleep was light, he awoke very shortly after 
 being deprived of the covering ; but if, as was generally 
 the case, he slept the sound and deep sleep of a sports- 
 man, he awoke benumbed and cramped from lying long 
 in an exposed condition. In vain did he tuck up the bed 
 most carefully every night with his own hands ; in vain 
 did he savagely drive sheets, and blankets, and counter- 
 pane under the mattrass, and shift his bedstead about, 
 and fix it against walls, and take every precaution that 
 anxious thought could suggest : but still the invariable 
 nightly denudation went on. It was unaccountable. 
 
 If it had been an ancient mansion hung with tapestry, 
 or wainscoted with black oak, one might have fancied the 
 place was haunted, and the crusty old ghost bent upon 
 driving away an intruder upon his favourite promenade, 
 something in the manner of a Welsh ejectment. But who 
 ever heard of a ghost inhabiting a small, plain, white- 
 
A MYSTERY AMONGST THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 69 
 
 washed apartment, without even a closet to hide himself 
 in ? Whoever heard of a ghost in a barrack ? 
 
 If the bedding had been new, he might have fancied he 
 had stumbled upon an enchanted counterpane, or a pair 
 of volatile blankets ; or that the bedstead, like the sofa in 
 the Eastern tale, had been given to take flights through 
 the air, and so whisked off the clothes in its transit. But 
 as the whole set-out had been the time-honoured com- 
 panions of his wanderings, and had hitherto, under all 
 varieties of station and climate, behaved discreetly, he 
 acquitted them of all blame in the business. 
 
 If he had been ill, nervous, anxious, fidgetty, dyspeptic, 
 or hypochondriacal ; if he had been in debt, love, or 
 chancery ; if he had lived hard, or even increased his 
 usual potations : if he had been any of these, he might 
 have supposed that, in making an effort to relieve himself 
 of a mental or bodily load, he had kicked off the bed- 
 clothes instead. But he was free from any of these evils. 
 “ Perhaps,” thought our hero, “ there is some practical 
 joker at the bottom of this ; some funny fellow with a 
 hook and a string angling through an unsuspected 
 crevice.” A careful examination cured him of this sus- 
 picion. The only inhabitant of the barrack besides his 
 own detachment, was a veteran barrack-serjeant, who had 
 charge of the stores, and to accuse him of a joke, whether 
 practical or other, would have been obviously absurd. 
 Besides, such a thing was impossible, the house having 
 no communication with any other, and there was a sentry 
 at the door day and night. 
 
 Whatever the cause might have been, he was not there 
 long enough to find it out. At the end of a few weeks 
 he was relieved, and sent to a distant part of the 
 country. 
 
 When Captain G mentioned the circumstance to 
 
 his brother-officers, it was wondered at of course. He 
 was narrowly questioned as to his habits of living, but 
 nothing was elicited that could lead to a clearing up of 
 
70 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the mystery ; the prevalent conjectures being, perhaps, in 
 favour of nightmare and whisky-punch. 
 
 By degrees the story passed out of the daily talk, and 
 was reserved for those dismal winter evenings when people 
 crowd about the fire, and talk of shipwrecks, and ghosts, 
 and murders. 
 
 But the strangest part of the story is to come. Dining 
 at the mess of another regiment some months after, and 
 talking with one of his neighbours at the table of the 
 various places at which he had been quartered, Captain 
 
 G mentioned his short detachment in the county of 
 
 Wicklow, and dwelt upon the pleasure that its wild 
 scenery and mountain sport had afforded him. His 
 neighbour had some recollection of the name, and in- 
 quired of another if it was not the same place at which 
 “ poor Brown got into a scrape V 3 
 
 Wondering by what ingenious process a man could 
 contrive to involve himself in any difficulty, in a spot so 
 far removed, as it would appear, from every temptation. 
 
 Captain G made inquiries, and found that Mr. Brown, 
 
 a very young man, had found his mountain-quarters so 
 disagreeable, that he repeatedly left the detachment, con- 
 trary to orders, and passed most of his time in Dublin. 
 This conduct was at first treated with slight notice ; but 
 the irregularity going on, he received a severe reprimand 
 from his commanding officer; and it was intimated, that 
 if again found absent from his post, arrest and a court- 
 martial might be looked for. 
 
 A very few days after this, the Colonel met him again in 
 Dublin ; and the case appearing of a very serious nature, 
 he was put in arrest, the detachment recalled, and 
 
 Captain G ordered to supply his place, though the 
 
 circumstances attending his removal were not known at 
 the time. Although he escaped a court-martial, he was 
 allowed to do so only on condition of retiring from Her 
 Majesty’s service. 
 
 “ He was a good fellow/’ said the narrator ; “ and 
 
A MYSTERY AMONGST THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 71 
 
 being so very young, I really think he might have got 
 off, if he had not made such an absurd excuse. Imagine 
 a man being such an idiot as to say that he could not 
 remain with his detachment, because the bed-clothes were 
 taken off him every night , and he could not account 
 for it ! Why, it amounted to a positive insult to the 
 Colonel !” 
 
 Imagine the astonishment of his neighbour, when 
 
 Captain G gravely informed him, that the same thing 
 
 had happened to himself, night after night ! 
 
 The gentleman looked at him for a moment ; then 
 gravely passed his hand over his chin, executed a short, 
 dry cough, and finished with a long and sonorous pinch 
 of snuff, while he fixed his eyes upon the opposite wall. 
 
 But it was true, notwithstanding. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF TIM DALEY. 
 
 In the county of Limerick, about six miles from the 
 
 city of that name, is a place called , a scattered 
 
 village, on the slope of a low range of hills, facing the 
 north. It was peculiar, among other villages of that 
 county, as being clean ; the houses, for the most part, 
 tidily whitewashed ; and there were neither dunghills 
 nor “loughs” before the doors. The absence of the 
 latter might perhaps have been accounted for by the 
 natural slope of the ground ; but the general good order 
 of the place was certainly owing to the fortunate circum- 
 stance of its possessing a kind, gentlemanlike, and, in 
 every respect, most excellent resident landlord. 
 
 But the great peculiarity of the village was, that the 
 pigs were not on visiting terms with the inhabitants. 
 This had been a prime object with the landlord, who, 
 from having travelled much in other countries, had im- 
 bibed ideas of comfort and cleanliness at variance with 
 those of his native place, and, on settling down for life 
 at the family mansion, commenced a course of reforms ; 
 the first of which was, to put his tenants'’ pigs upon the 
 European footing. 
 
 This revolution was not effected without much outcry 
 of all concerned. The people, and their fathers before 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF TIM DALEY. 
 
 73 
 
 them, had lived with pigs, and they saw no harm in the 
 “ poor crathurs.” “ Sure, he do be picking up and 
 incrasing,” was urged by the anti-restrictionists ; and 
 “ It’s him that pays the rint,” was an argument, one 
 would think, likely to find its way to a landlord’s heart. 
 But the tenants pleaded in vain. The village was in 
 a state of siege ; doors shut, that had never been shut 
 before, at least in the day-time ; at every one, a long and 
 anxious face ; at every sill an inquiring nose, and a 
 general wailing along the street. 
 
 The oldest beggar never remembered such a state of 
 things as an Irish door to be shut at dinner-time : it was 
 tearing up a noble old custom by the roots, and all to put 
 their pigs upon the European footing ! 
 
 It was felt to be a case of partial legislation : nowhere 
 else were such goings on : there was darkness and grum- 
 bling in the houses; and I fancied,, when I visited the 
 place, that the pigs had combined to leave their tails out 
 of curl from sheer sulkiness and vexation. 
 
 But worse was to come. The pigs were soon to be 
 deprived of personal liberty. The ruthless agent went 
 about, and commanded that, from and after a certain day, 
 the right of wallowing or promenading, or otherwise 
 exposing themselves in public places, was utterly for- 
 bidden ; in a word, they were summarily sentenced to 
 close imprisonment, in little comfortable bastiles built by 
 the landlord, till brought out by habeas corpus at 
 Christmas. 
 
 No wonder the Insurrection Act was in force in this 
 part of the world ; no wonder that ricks and haggards 
 were set alight, and that a requisition of the magistrates 
 caused a subaltern officer, with an imposing force of 
 twenty men, to be marched to the rescue, to prevent, if 
 possible, an enlightened landlord, somewhat in advance of 
 the (Irish) age, and his innovating agent, from being 
 burned in their beds ! 
 
 What great events from trivial causes spring V 
 
74 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 One of the best men that Ireland ever saw, who spent al 
 his money amongst his tenants — who found employment 
 for all who were willing to work — who banished filth and 
 poverty from his estate, and gave his whole time and 
 energies to promote the comfort and welfare of those 
 about him — was threatened to be shot or roasted, because 
 he spent his money in doing good, and improving' his 
 property ; turned out a few worthless tenants, and put 
 good men in their place ; and discouraged the attendance 
 of pigs at the tables- d’hote. So the Insurrection Act 
 was put upon the barony; and every man found out of 
 his house after nine o^clock at night was liable to be 
 taken up, brought before the magistrates, summarily 
 convicted of Whiteboyism, and might, without further 
 trial, be transported beyond the seas for certain periods, if 
 not for the rest of his natural life. 
 
 This enactment afforded glorious opportunities for 
 getting rid of disagreeable people, whether personally or 
 politically obnoxious. In fact, there were very few, what 
 with bad roads, difference of clocks, whisky, forgetfulness, 
 or other casualties, that did not, sometime or other, 
 render themselves liable to a voyage to Australia. It was 
 giving the magistrates a fine “ shoot for their rubbish” at 
 the antipodes. 
 
 The principal duty of the troops was to patrol the 
 roads after nightfall, to catch, if possible, and detain all 
 they met, and to bring up a good bag of belated travellers 
 before the bench next morning. These were principally 
 composed of honest people from a distance, who were 
 proved next day to be “ comfortable farmers,” however 
 little they might have deserved such a description during 
 the night. 
 
 The officer commanding the small detachment in the 
 village was a simple-minded young man, prone to read 
 his orders literally, and execute them with strict im- 
 partiality. It was his first appearance in a constabulary 
 character, and he naturally looked upon himself as the 
 “ A 1” of the place. He was a new broom, and resolved 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF TIM DALEY. 
 
 75 
 
 to make a clean sweep of that particular locality. Num- 
 berless were the scrapes he got into : there was no late 
 courting after he took the place in hand : Romeos were 
 fain to adopt early hours ; the clergyman's groom was 
 caught as he went for some drugs to the doctor's; and 
 even his reverence himself had, it was whispered, one or 
 two narrow escapes, as he returned from his domiciliary 
 visits. Great was the wrath of the magistrates, but there 
 was no help : the orders admitted of no alternative : the 
 officer had no Coke upon his Littleton : he read the plain 
 text without gloss or comment, and felt it his duty to say 
 that the magistrates themselves would do well to keep out 
 of his way after nine o'clock. 
 
 But the people had another powerful curb upon them. 
 Inside every house-door was affixed a list of the inmates 
 of that house, with their ages and description : the 
 constable, with the patrol, was authorised to demand 
 admittance ; to call over the names from a corresponding 
 list which he had in his pocket, and make everybody 
 appear ; and such as should fail to do so were entered in 
 the “ Hue and Cry," and became at once liable to be 
 dealt with, when taken, as if actually found abroad upon 
 the road after hours. Ludicrous scenes would occur on 
 these occasions when the people came half asleep to the 
 roll-call, wrapped in such chance garments as they 
 pitched upon in the dark : and as in Ireland the custom 
 in farm-houses of brothers and sisters sleeping “ pro- 
 miscuously," at least in the same room, is of constant 
 occurrence, the mistakes in the hasty toilet were 
 abundantly laughable. A stout young fellow, not half 
 awake, would come blundering into the kitchen, strenu- 
 ously attempting to insinuate his brawny shoulders into a 
 dress or petticoat, in mistake for his “ big coat and a 
 fine young woman demurely present herself with a pair of 
 breeches over her shoulders, and nothing but the chemise 
 below. To the credit of the Irish character for good 
 humour and love of fun be it said, that seldom was there 
 any manifestation of sulkiness or ill humour on such 
 
76 
 
 PADDI ANA.. 
 
 occasions. On the contrary, the jokes were incessant, 
 and always proceeded from themselves. For instance, in 
 the case of the young lady with the corduroy shawl, it 
 was remarked when she answered her name, “ Och, there 
 ye are wid yer crackers ! pity ye didn’t get Mick to tache 
 ye how to put ’em an !” 
 
 About 11 o’clock one drizzly night in December, this 
 subaltern officer was cosily seated in the small room 
 allotted him in the temporary barrack, a house of five 
 rooms, into which it had been contrived to stow himself 
 and his detachment, and was listening to the ^pitiless 
 music of twenty noses all in full play around him. 
 Having some turn for melody, he was meditating how he 
 might best arrange the different instruments with a view 
 to their combined effect ; putting, for instance, the double 
 basses and shriller horns below, and keeping the tenors 
 more immediately about him, when an unshod foot was 
 heard upon the stairs, and the sergeant announced that 
 the constable desired an interview on business of pressing 
 necessity. 
 
 If there is anything more disgusting than another, it is 
 that of being caught at the timely hour of rest, and in the 
 easy luxuriance of dressing-gown and slippers, when you 
 have, as it were, one foot in the bed, and thence forced 
 into a wild-goose chase over bogs and mountains in a 
 chilly drizzle. But there was no help ; it was the head- 
 constable, who, gently closing the door, informed his 
 victim in an earnest whisper that certain information had 
 reached him that one Timothy Daley, a Whiteboy, a mur- 
 derer, an incendiary, an abductor of females, &c., &c., 
 had been certainly traced into a farm-house, some three 
 miles off, where he was unquestionably housed for the 
 night ; that there was a reward of one hundred pounds 
 offered by Government for his capture, and that, please 
 God, he, the constable, would, with the assistance of the 
 troops, undoubtedly succeed in effecting his capture, pro- 
 vided measures were taken with secrecy and despatch. 
 That the reward would be divided between himself and 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF TIM DALEY. 
 
 77 
 
 the men, and would be the making of all concerned, 
 &c., &c. 
 
 Although devoutly wishing either that Tim Daley had 
 led a virtuous life, or was safely lodged in Limerick jail, 
 the officer felt bound to afford the constable every assist- 
 ance : it was a requisition, and he had no choice ; so, 
 appointing a place of meeting beyond the village, he dis- 
 missed the functionary, and prepared to get out his men 
 with as little noise and display as possible. Rousing the 
 party out of bed, and darkly hinting at the prospect of 
 affluence held out to them by the expected capture, he 
 caused them to move one at a time through the back door 
 of the house, down the garden, and so into the fields ; and 
 by making a small circuit so as to avoid the village alto- 
 gether, to meet the constable at the place appointed. 
 
 Everything appeared to succeed admirably : they moved 
 with the stealthy pace of cats under cover of the “ ditch” 
 which bounded the village-garden, and in a few minutes 
 were on the high road to the devoted farm, where snoozed 
 in happy security the murderous, incendiary, and abduc- 
 tory Tim Daley. 
 
 Not knowing the kind of customers they might have to 
 deal with, the officer halted his party at such a distance 
 from the house as might prevent the “working” of the 
 ramrods from being audible, and there caused his men to 
 load; and all being ready, they moved upon the silent 
 premises in perfect confidence that the Whiteboy^s career 
 was drawing to its final scene; and no doubt, in some 
 sanguine bosoms, the shares in the undertaking were 
 already at a handsome premium. 
 
 Unlike the usual low, single-storied, whitewashed, 
 small-windowed farm-houses of the country, this was a 
 large, rambling edifice of grey stone, having one, if not 
 two, stories above the ground-floor. It had apparently 
 been a place of some note in former times, not only from 
 its size, but the number of offices and other buildings by 
 which it was surrounded ; now, however, in a state of 
 great dilapidation and decay. 
 
78 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 On one side of the house was an extensive garden en- 
 closed with a high, well-built wall, and adjoining the 
 garden, though separated from it by a wall of the same 
 description, was a rocky half-paved fold, filled with agri- 
 cultural implements : this division-wall between the fold 
 and yard abutting upon the house at one end, and the 
 other running straight out to the road. 
 
 It was not easy to invest such a place with nine men, 
 but they did their best. The constable knowing the locale , 
 undertook to plant them round the house in such a way 
 that every door and window had its watcher ; and having 
 made his arrangements, the officer, the sergeant, and 
 himself, repaired to the door. 
 
 It was not much to be wondered at that the efforts of 
 fists and feet should for some little time have remained un- 
 heeded at such a drowsy hour, and it was not till a long 
 course of pounding and hallooing had been gone through 
 that the head of an elderly man was thrust through one 
 of the upper windows. They of course only wanted to 
 call the roll of the inmates — sorry to disturb them so 
 late — and would not keep them out of their bed five 
 minutes, &c. 
 
 “ Av coorse," was the ready answer. “ Hurry, Biddy, 
 slip on yer skirt ! sure the captain's waiting ; bustle now, 
 don't ye be keeping them, sure it's cowld. We'll be wid 
 yer honor diracly." 
 
 This seemed innocent enough, and they prepared to 
 await with becoming pa’tience till the “boys" had got 
 into proper clothing and Miss Walsh had slipped on her 
 skirt. As no very elaborate toilet was usual on such 
 occasions, at the end of ten minutes the applicants became 
 impatient, and commenced another gentle application of 
 feet to the door. 
 
 Mr. Walsh was then heard slowly and heavily descend- 
 ing the stairs, like a man in the dark, talking loudly all 
 the time. 
 
 “We’ll be wid yer honor diracly ! Whisht, Mike ! sure 
 I can't hear the gentleman spaking — ah, will ye rake up 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF TIM DALEY. 
 
 79 
 
 the turf and show me a light ? — how the divle would I get 
 about at all, let alone to the doore, wid all the slanes and 
 the things that ye lave on the floore ? Bad luck to yees ! 
 it's a pail Pm afther falling over now ! Biddy’s as bad — 
 sorrow bit I know which is the worst. I’ll be wid yer 
 honor diracly ! Faith, I’ve barked my shin purty well 
 betune yees !” 
 
 Although the attention of the trio was pretty well taken 
 up by all this, it was not so entirely drawn towards the 
 door, but that the officer fancied he heard one of the 
 upper windows gently opened, and looking upwards, he 
 saw immediately after a figure in white, apparently a man 
 in his shirt, get hastily out, and hanging by his hands a 
 moment, drop with great precision on the top of the wall 
 which divided the fold, in which they were, from the 
 garden. Recovering himself in a moment, he ran swiftly 
 along the wall and dropped into the road, and an instant 
 after the white drapery was seen going at a rapid pace up 
 the side of the hill, which rose from the road to a con- 
 siderable height. 
 
 “ The curse of Cromwell upon him !” said the con- 
 stable, “ but that’s Tim Daley ! I’d be sworn to him 
 among a thousand. Run, boys, run ! there’s a hundred 
 pounds an him !” 
 
 Whilst this was uttered, they were scrambling out of 
 the fold in pursuit, while the men, impounded by the 
 high walls, were even later in clearing the premises. 
 
 For a body of soldiers, with firelocks and other encum- 
 brances, to attempt to overtake a naked man, knowing 
 the ground and running for his life, in a dark night, was 
 palpably hopeless, so hastily naming three of the fastest 
 runners, and desiring them to throw off their accoutre- 
 ments and follow up the hill with their side-arms only, 
 the officer started after the constable, who was already 
 some way ahead. 
 
 The officer was in those days an excellent runner, and 
 quickly succeeded in overtaking the constable, a short, 
 
80 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 husky fellow, and blown in the first hundred yards. The 
 pursuers had every disadvantage : the hill was steep and 
 rocky, partially covered with low bushes ; the night dark ; 
 and they were, besides, ignorant of the ground, in the 
 knowledge of which no doubt the chase was quite at 
 home. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, they 
 followed manfully up the mountain, and were occasionally 
 rewarded with an indistinct glimpse of the white drapery 
 through the gloom. The three soldiers were now well 
 up, and it was encouraging to hear their shouts as they 
 saw, or fancied they saw, the Whiteboy before them. 
 
 For some time the officer and his men held on nearly 
 together ; the constable was long ago left behind, though 
 they could hear him shouting as well as the shortness of 
 his breath permitted : 
 
 “ Run — boys — run — there* s — a — hundred — pounds — 
 an — him !** 
 
 Presently the soldiers, encumbered with their belts and 
 pouches, of which they had neglected to rid themselves, 
 began to drop behind, and eventually the officer was ahead 
 of his party, and decidedly gaining upon Tim Daley, whose 
 conspicuous drapery fluttered but a few yards in front of 
 him. It would be a glorious triumph to take him, the 
 outlawed ruffian, who set magistrates, military, constables, 
 and all at defiance; who walked abroad with impunity at 
 fairs and markets, and knew that none dare lift a hand, 
 or give evidence against him ; who existed through the 
 criminal sympathy of his wretched countrymen, ready at 
 any time to take part with any malefactor against their 
 common enemy the law. 
 
 “ Please God/* said the officer, as he sensibly gained on 
 his prey, “ I shall have him soon ! he*s beginning to show 
 the white feather !** And making a desperate rush 
 forward, he caught the fugitive Daley by the tail of his 
 shirt ; but the faithless dowlas gave way at the waist, 
 and he lost some yards by the failure. But the very 
 touch of the treacherous garment infused new vigour into 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF TIM DALEY. 
 
 81 
 
 the pursuer, and in a few strides more lie was fairly up 
 with, and had tightly clasped him in his arms. 
 
 Expecting a vigorous and ferocious defence, he at first 
 dealt rather roughly with his prize, and was in the act of 
 hurling to the ground, there to kneel upon and disable 
 the truculent villain till assistance came up, when he sud- 
 denly became aware of the astounding fact, that instead of 
 embracing in mortal conflict the body of the murderous 
 and fire-raising Tim Daley, he held in his arms the 
 particularly plump figure of a fine young woman, in her 
 chemise only, and that considerably damaged in the rear 
 by the first abortive attempt at the capture ! 
 
 The officer’s astonishment was immense ! it was far too 
 great for words ; and in the extremity of his confusion he 
 forgot to let her -go. 
 
 “ Ah ! what’s this?” cried the lady; “where am I 
 at all ? Sure it’s a drame !” And gently disengaging 
 herself, she proceeded to speculate upon the curious fact 
 of having walked in her sleep — ran, she might have said, 
 at the rate of ten miles an hour — and had no notion where 
 she was — not the least in the world ! “ Is it near Bally- 
 
 fagle I am ? Where’s Ballyfagle at all ? Sure it’s Walsh’s 
 daughter of Ballyfagle I am — behave yourself. Ah ! can’t 
 ye stop ? Indeed I believe it’s on the hill of Mogher we 
 are, and that’s Ballyfagle below. Well, faith, I’ll be kilt 
 for this !” 
 
 The soldiers now came up, and eventually the constable, 
 who, far too short of breath for utterance, was fain to 
 give vent to his triumph in the expressive pantomime 
 of slapping his breeches’ pockets, rubbing his hands, and 
 the still more personal jest of putting his thumb under his 
 ear with a hoisting motion of the head, intended as a 
 pleasant rallying of our victim upon his ultimate fate. 
 
 Had there been sufficient light, it would have been no 
 doubt highly ridiculous to note their expression of incre- 
 dulous wonder when informed of the upshot of the adven- 
 ture. They felt that they were sold. It was an incon- 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 testable and undoubted bargain. The swift-footed Biddy 
 had led them up the hill upon a fool’s errand, while 
 no doubt the real Simon Pure had quietly walked away 
 in the other direction. And then to put on the somnam- 
 bulist, and recognise with difficulty the hill of Mogher, 
 and the paternal roof of Ballyfagle ! To render the 
 constable’s confusion complete it was only necessary to 
 repeat, “ Run, boys, run ! there’s a hundred pounds 
 an him !” 
 
 So extremely absurd did the whole adventure appear to 
 the officer, that he sat down upon a rock and gave vent 
 to his feelings in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. In this 
 he was joined by the whole party, even Miss Walsh herself, 
 who stood a little distance apart holding up the skirt of 
 her damaged drapery. Fortunately the night was dark. 
 
 But there might yet be time to intercept the Whiteboy, 
 if the sergeant had kept up a watch upon the premises ; 
 so leaving the fair fugitive to find her way down to Bally- 
 fagle as she might, the party hastened back to the farm- 
 house. 
 
 Mr. Walsh affected to be greatly surprised at the sudden 
 abandonment of his premises without calling over the roll 
 of the inmates, and put some innocent questions touching 
 the chase up the hill. These were answered by informing 
 him of the grave charge of harbouring the notorious Tim 
 Daley, and requested that every facility might be given to 
 search the house ; to which reasonable request not the 
 slightest difficulty was shown. 
 
 “ ' Search then the room/ Alphonso said. c I will.’ ” 
 But no Tim Daley was to be found. Every closet and 
 cupboard was examined, nor did they forget the pregnant 
 advice of “ looking in the beds as well as under.” All in 
 vain ! Tim Daley, if ever there at all, had taken advantage 
 of the diversion in his favour and effectually secured his 
 retreat. 
 
 While the search was proceeding, Miss Walsh had 
 come in unperceived, and having taken her father’s advice 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF TIM DALEY. 
 
 83 
 
 to slip on tlie skirt, presented herself with an air of 
 arch simplicity, her good looks much improved by the 
 exercise she had taken, not to mention the triumph of 
 success. 
 
 Though baffled and defeated in their attempt at the 
 capture of Tim Daley, which must have succeeded but for 
 the readiness and address of this young woman, they could 
 not help entering into the spirit of the old farmer's banter, 
 which, truth to say, was not sparingly applied. 
 
 “ W ell, well ! that was a fine start 1" said the old 
 fellow, shaking his sides. “ Divle a chance would Tim 
 Daley have wid ye up hill, any how ! Murther ! to think 
 o' Biddy cutting aff in her sleep with th' army afther her, 
 and the polis (indeed, Mr. Maher, I'm afraid ye've 
 hardly got yer wind again) ! Faith, I wouldn't have 
 missed that for five pound, if I'd seen it ! Och ! blood 
 and ouns ; what a screeching ye made ! Sure I never 
 heered more at a hoont ! Ah, it's a shame for ye, Biddy ! 
 — ye see the state ye put Mr. Maher in, and never so 
 much as offer him a sup of buttermilk or a drink o' 
 wather ! Hurry, now, and give the captain a sate : sure 
 it's the laste ye can do for him ! Did ye go to bed in yer 
 brogues, ye rap, or was it in yer sleep ye put 'em an ? 
 Faith, I'm much obliged to yer honour for catching 
 Biddy : it’s drownded she might be now ! Sure there's a 
 lough at the top of Mogher. It's very careless I hear 
 they are that aways — it's not much they mind where 
 they're goan, divle a bit ! Well, indeed, it's a mercy ye 
 didn't put yer swoord into Biddy : it's an orphan she is, 
 barring myself and Mike. By the blessing o' God, it'll 
 be the last run she'll take up the Mogher at night any 
 ways : sure, we'll spancell her !" 
 
 Finding there was nothing better than such disjointed 
 talk as this to be got out of Mr. Walsh, the party pre- 
 pared to evacuate Ballyfagle and return to the village. 
 They looked, perhaps, a little foolish, the constable in 
 particular, who could have sworn to Tim among a thou- 
 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 sand — a fact of which he is probably reminded to this 
 day. 
 
 Miss Biddy was met with occasionally in the village, 
 and an allusion to her sleep-walking never failed to call 
 up an arch and meaning smile into her pretty face. She 
 never could be brought to confess that Tim was “ in it/* 
 though she admitted that he might have been. She 
 generally wound up the conversation with, “Well, it was 
 a quare drame I had, anyhow ! ” 
 
MRS. FOGARTY’S TEA-PARTY. 
 
 There is a satisfying richness about the name of 
 Fogarty which is very pleasing. It falls fatly on the ear. 
 It is pronounced thus — Fogarty, not Foggarty ; put the 
 stress on the first syllable, and the o well sounded. He 
 that did not make it a dactyl would have no ear for music. 
 It is in itself a brogue (what an expressive word !). When 
 a Fogarty is introduced — be it where it may — we feel it 
 unncessary to inquire further. No man ever asked his 
 country ; no man ever will. It was a name too utterly 
 and merely Irish to be even included amongst the five 
 bloods. It hath the true Milesian relish. No Fogarty 
 could have lived in the Pale. He would have felt himself 
 as uncomfortable as Giraldus’s toad when encircled by a 
 thong of Irish leather. The OTogartys had their strong- 
 hold in Thurles, a place wickedly Irish to the present day. 
 If I had had the fortune to be born west of the Channel, 
 I should have wished my name to be Fogarty. 
 
 The lady rejoicing in this sonorous appellation, who is 
 the subject of the present sketch, resided in a small town 
 in one of the midland counties, where it was my good 
 fortune to be located for several months. She was a widow 
 in easy circumstances and a comfortable house ; eminently 
 sociable in her habits, and devoted, heart and soul, to the 
 
86 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 small gaieties of the place. Here were no pompous and 
 stupid dinner-parties, given for the ostentatious purpose 
 of keeping up great acquaintances, turning the house out 
 of windows for a week before and another week after the 
 great event — no points of nonsensical etiquette as to who 
 should go out first or last. In such a case I am per- 
 suaded she would have said with Lady Macbeth, with, 
 perhaps, a slight difference of phraseology, “ Don’t stand 
 upon the order of your going, but go at once.” But there 
 was nothing of this : she bordered, in her manners, upon 
 the free and easy. Tea-parties were her forte , with a 
 slight supper and a tumbler of punch for the gentlemen 
 before starting. But the souchong part of the affair was 
 what she loved. She gloried in the dispensation of hyson, 
 and the conflict of cups and saucers was music to her ear 
 (she was slightly deaf, by the way). She had no great 
 opinion of coffee-drinkers, I suspect; for although her 
 sense of politeness caused her to ask her guests whether 
 they would prefer “tay-tay or coffee~tay,” yet it re- 
 quired but little penetration to see what answer she 
 expected. 
 
 Mrs. Fogarty was a gentlewoman of a certain age, of 
 prominent features, and a dry brown wig. She affected 
 the snuff-colour in her choice of silks, but had, commonly, 
 a showy ribbon in her cap, the alternate change of which 
 from green to yellow was the most striking variation in 
 her costume. 
 
 Domiciled with Mrs. Fogarty was a nephew, Mr. Denis 
 Fogarty, a young man of forty-five or better — a tall, 
 gaunt, long-visaged man, of enormous features, prodi- 
 gious amplitude of black whiskers, and a Connaught 
 brogue. He seldom spoke, and never more than a word 
 or two at a time; but what he did say was emphatic, and 
 delivered in a voice like a gong. Let who would be talk- 
 ing, or however large or noisy the party, his observation 
 was sure to tell, not only on your ear, but your nervous 
 system. He drove his word or two through the conver- 
 sation like a wedge ; and when he raised his voice, you 
 
mrs. fogarty’s tea-party. 
 
 87 
 
 felt a tingling at your fingers’ end like the touch of a 
 galvanic wire. Generally, his remarks had no reference 
 to the conversation. I do not remember that I ever saw 
 him laugh ; and if, at this time of day, I were promised 
 such an exhibition, I should prefer to witness it through a 
 telescope, with my ears stopped. I once went fishing 
 with him. It was at the rapids on the Shannon, a few 
 miles above Limerick. The wind blew so strongly against 
 us that we could with difficulty throw the lines in, and 
 were looking about for some means of crossing over. In 
 this emergency, Denis hailed a man working on a hill on 
 the opposite side, when the following short conversation 
 took place i 
 
 Denis. Whisp’r { 
 
 The Man [rising from his work). What’s this ? 
 
 Denis. Will I ford the strame anny where here ? 
 
 Man. Bedad ye may, but ye’ll be drownded. 
 
 Denis. Is there anny boat at all ? 
 
 Man. Faith, there is, Fad’s boat beyant. 
 
 Denis. How will I get the boat across ? 
 
 Man. Divle a know I know. Fad’s at the fair, and 
 the boat locked. 
 
 Denis. Anny how, I’ll ford it. 
 
 Man. Sure ye ought to thry. [Quietly resuming his 
 work.) 
 
 In this instance the “ whisper ’ of my friend Denis 
 overcame not only the opposing wind but the distance, 
 and the roar of the intervening river. 
 
 The tea-party I set out to describe consisted of three or 
 four very good-looking young ladies, and as many 
 mammas; the priest of the parish, a smooth, quiet, 
 fat-jowled gentleman, carefully shaved above the ears, 
 wearing a tight, white handkerchief round his neck; a 
 sort of single-breasted black surtout, with stand-up collar, 
 and buttoned to the chin ; grey shorts and black boots to 
 the knee. The only other male was a nice young man at 
 a small tea-party, Mr. Ambrose Casan, who did the 
 
88 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 amiable to the ladies generally , and to the young and 
 pretty ones in particular. He said soft things, and 
 affected the sentimental ; and Mrs. Fogarty said he was a 
 “ pote.” He also sang, “ When first I met thee, warm 
 and young and was decidedly an acquisition at a 
 soiree . 
 
 Mrs. Fogarty’s man-servant, or “ tea-boy,” as he was 
 called, was one Thady Falls, a short, sturdy fellow, with a 
 red bullet head, high cheek bones, and a projecting 
 under-jaw. He had not been very long in the establish- 
 ment, for Mrs. Fogarty had a way of changing her 
 servants frequently ; and at this time Thady (the h is not 
 pronounced) was not of sufficient standing to understand 
 his mistress’s ways; and being naturally a blunt fellow, 
 blurted out the family secrets before company in a way 
 which was amusing enough to the hearers, though it 
 sometimes happened that, like listeners in general, what 
 they heard might not be very complimentary to them- 
 selves. 
 
 Considering the difficulty there was of fitting Mrs. 
 Fogarty with a man-servant, it was a fortunate circum- 
 stance that her first had been a person of large size, so 
 that the family livery descended to the long train of his 
 successors without the inconvenience of a tight fit. In 
 the present case it was preposterously large. It would be 
 hardly an exaggeration to say that the suit fitted like a 
 sentry-box, or a purser’s shirt on a handspike. The tails 
 of the well-worn drab came nearly to Thacly’s heels ; and 
 the lower buttons of the green plush shorts, reaching 
 below his calves, had the appearance of a curious pair of 
 trowsers, with a jaunty bow of riband on the outsides ; 
 while the waistcoat descended into regions never meant to 
 be covered by that garment, at least since the close of the 
 seventeenth century. 
 
 Small men are apt to make the most of themselves 
 under any circumstances, and I believe that Thady Falls 
 would have suffered any inconvenience rather than turn 
 
mrs. fogarty's tea-party. 
 
 89 
 
 up either the legs or the sleeves of that livery. The 
 consequence was, that as he handed round the cake and 
 muffins, not even the tips of his thumbs could be seen, 
 leading the spectator to imagine that his arms terminated 
 in plates instead of hands. 
 
 Mrs. Fogarty was a hard task-mistress, for she required 
 her servants to forget as well as remember ; and she was 
 not easily put aside from her purpose, as the following 
 conversation will show : — 
 
 “ Thady, the kettle : you're sure it boils ?" 
 
 “ Faith, it does, ma'am : I seen it myself." 
 
 “ Well, put it on awhile longer ; I like to see the 
 smoke of it. Ah, hold it on for fear it would fall : sure 
 it might scald Mr. Rafferty." 
 
 “ Divle a fear ; sure lie's his boots an." 
 
 “ Ah, what are ye dancing about for, like a goose on a 
 hot plate ? It’s like a joint of meat you are, turning 
 round and round." 
 
 “ By me sowl ! it's mate I am, thin ; divle a doubt of 
 it 1 And a roasting I'm getting any how. Will I wet the 
 tay, ma'am ?" 
 
 “ Ah, you're mighty tender all at once ; sure you can't 
 mind a trifle of hate like that ?" 
 
 “ Hate ! — Faith, hate's no name for it ! Murther, let 
 me out o' this ! Will I wet the tay, ma'am ?" 
 
 “ Hold on awhile till it smokes at the spout. You're 
 getting quite affected, Falls." 
 
 “ Well, thin, it's time for me, roasting before a kish o' 
 turf, and the smalls sticking to me. Will I wet the tay, 
 ma'am ?" 
 
 “ Wait awhile, Thady; sure the tay wouldn't open." 
 
 “ By my sowl, I'll open meself this away. Will I wet 
 the tay now, ma'am ?" 
 
 “ Awdiile longer, Falls. Ah, why will you turn your 
 back ? — you'll dip your skirts in the fire, so you will." 
 
 “ Blood an' ouns ! will I wet the tay noiv , ma'am ?" 
 
 “Just a cup, Falls, to draw it. Ah, will. you mind 
 
90 
 
 PADDXANA. 
 
 what you’re doing, flourishing the kettle round Mrs. 
 Molloy ? I believe it's mad you are, shifting your 
 hands about. Can't you hold it steady, and fill up the 
 pot ?" 
 
 “ It's aisy to say, c Hould it steady,' an’ it red hot !" 
 
 “ Now you're taking the skirt of your coat to it ! 
 You're destroying the livery, so you are. Well, indeed, 
 Falls, you're a strange man.- — But what's this ? Sure 
 it's milk you’ve brought me instead of crame !" 
 
 Thady ( stooping confidentially). — Well, faith, ma'am, 
 you tould me milk yourself. 
 
 “ Indeed, Thady, I told you no such thing : I said 
 crame for the party." 
 
 Thady ( with great earnestness ). — You tould me milk ! 
 I'll be upon my oath to it. 
 
 “ Ah, not at all — you're strangely inattentive. Falls." 
 
 “ By me sowl, I was attinding to all you said. Sure 
 you were talking all the time I was rubbing the waither. 
 Kit Slane heered you. Says you, ‘ Milk will do for 'em 
 — why would I get crame ? Sure I wouldn't make a 
 stranger o' Mrs. Molly and the Griers. There's on'y th' 
 officer,' says you ; ‘ he'll be sitting by Miss Kilally. Ah, 
 wdiat'll he know about milk or crame ? sure it's a purty 
 girl he comes for, not tay. Faith, I 'most forgot Am- 
 brose Casan,' says you. ‘ Ah, poor Ambrose !' says you, 
 ‘he's a pote; it's hard to know whether he knows a cup 
 from a taypot, wid his rhymes and his songs. Sure it's 
 draining he is, mostly."' 
 
 It is unnecessary to say what effect such a conversation 
 (which, though spoken aside, was distinctly audible) pro- 
 duced upon the hearers, being all the time under the 
 necessity of concealing their merriment. Handkerchiefs, 
 hands, boas, shawls, and all other available impediments, 
 were held over mouths ; but still a giggling girl would 
 now and then betray herself, and it required all the tact 
 of her neighbours to turn off the joke in any but the 
 right direction. Meantime Denis Fogarty sat the picture 
 
mrs. togarty’s tea-party. 
 
 91 
 
 of gravity and silence, only occasionally broken by bis 
 gong-like voice roaring “ Thade !” (he made one syllable 
 of it) to minister to his wants. 
 
 But our hostess was a model of attentive politeness. 
 
 “ Is the tay to your mouth, Mrs. Shanahan ?” 
 
 “ Indeed, ma’am, I’d beg the fever of another lump.” 
 
 “ Then sweeten yourself, Mrs. Shanaham. Hurry with 
 the sugar. Thady ! Are you right in crame, ma’am ? 
 (Ah, Falls ! Falls!)” 
 
 “ Quite, indeed, Mrs. Fogarty. Were you in the shees 
 to-day, ma’am V s 
 
 “ Is it the car you mane ? Indeed we were. Sure 
 Falls drove us, and ’most scraped me off against a kish of 
 turf. It’s careless he is, indeed.” 
 
 “ Thade, the toast !” 
 
 Indeed, Mrs. Fogarty, your tea’s superior. Where 
 do you get it ?” 
 
 “At Kinahan’s, ma’am. What’s this they call it, 
 Denis ?” 
 
 “Fokien Bohay.” 
 
 “ Ah, Mr. Rafferty, won’t you try a dish of it ? Sure 
 it’s greatly favoured.” 
 
 “ Well, indeed, ma’am, I’m sure you wouldn’t seduce 
 me out of my night’s rest, Mrs. Fogarty ; I’d be tossing 
 about in a faver with half a dish. It’s surprising the 
 effect it takes of me, ma’am ; especially late.” 
 
 “ Will I fetch his rivirence the matarials, ma’am ?” 
 
 “ Wait awhile, Thady, you’re mighty handy; better for 
 you look where you singed the coat-tails when you curt- 
 sied into the fire. Indeed the livery won’t last long with 
 your -strange ways, Falls. — Miss Grier’s cup, Thady. 
 Now the muffins to th’ officer. — Will I milk it, my dear, 
 or would you prefer doing it yourself? (Aside) — You’re 
 looking beautiful, so you are ! That’s a sweet thing ! — 
 that’s tabinet ? Mrs. Lynch made that, sure I know her 
 cut. Hasn’t she given you a great skirt ! And you 
 don’t want it. You’ve nine breadths there, all out. But 
 haven’t you it cut too high ? Sure you musn’t hide all. 
 
92 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Ah, wliat did she draw it for ? Sure it’s disguising your 
 bussom. Sure you don’t want fulling at all; it’s very 
 well for a stick like Jane. Miss Kilally, were you along 
 the canal to-day ? Indeed I was sure it was you. 
 (Aside) — That’s the bonnet you wore Mr. Kilally brought 
 you from Dublin ? Faith, I knew it ! I seen who you 
 had with you ! What did he say to it ? Sure you can’t 
 hide anything from that fellow.” 
 
 “ Indeed, Mrs. Fogarty, he called it a coal-scuttle !” 
 
 “ Well then, upon my honour and word, it’s a shame 
 for him ; and a prettier shape never came out of Dame 
 Street ! You had it from Madam e’s ? Better for him to 
 make you a present of another, to see which you like best. 
 Well, what did he say ?” 
 
 “ Indeed, he said the present fashion was never meant 
 for pretty faces ; and it was a shame to shut up my black 
 satin hair in a great box.” 
 
 “ Well, faith, you have beautiful hair; you can sit upon 
 it. Is it black satin ? Well, indeed, it shines a’most like 
 your eyes. (Whisper.) Did he say anything parti- 
 
 cular ? Ah, w r hy would you mind me ?” 
 
 * * * * 
 
 “ Won’t you have a trifle more cake, Mrs. Murphy ? 
 Did you enjoy yourself, ma’am ? You’re quite strange 
 lately. (Aside) — Indeed, I’ve a deal to say to you. You 
 seen me talk to Margaret ? It’s getting on she is right 
 well. Sure they’re walking out every day along the 
 canal ; and it’s often he dines with them. It’s ready 
 to ate her up he is. He’ll soon propose, any how. I’m 
 surprised, Mr. Kilally don’t ask his intintions.” 
 
 “ Did he hear about Magra ?” 
 
 “ Ogh ! not at all ! How would he hear of that 
 fellow ? I always said he was no good. It’s the dinners 
 he wanted, and a glass of wine now and then : it’s not 
 much he gets at home, barring punch. He flirted with 
 three at once. This lad’s fand of her. It isn’t much 
 
mrs. fogarty's tea-party. 
 
 93 
 
 notice he takes of Bessy Grier. Faith, Bessy's a fine 
 lump of a girl. — Aisy sailing there, Mrs. Murphy. — She'd 
 jump at him." 
 
 “ Indeed, ma'am, I believe you. If they expected him 
 to call, they wouldn't tie up the rapper." 
 
 “Did you see the tabinet her mother bought her ?” 
 
 “ Business must be brisk to stand that, Mrs, 
 Fogarty." 
 
 “ You may say that, ma'am. Tom Grier's a smart 
 man : he'll give her a thousand. Ah, look at Casan and 
 Kitty Leahy !" 
 
 “Thade, turf !" 
 
 “ Sure, Kitty's a fancy for him. Better for him to go 
 talk his nonsense to Juliana Molloy, and not to be hurn- 
 boging this poor crater. It's all talk he is, and singing. 
 Well, Kitty's not so bad in her own hair : it's a pity they 
 mix it. The second curl on this side's false, and the 
 same th' other : they’re too tight to be true. Sure th' 
 others can't stand the steam of the tay. Did ye see the 
 new tooth she got ? She went all the way to Dublin to 
 get that one." 
 
 After the important business of tea-drinking we sat 
 down to “ loo," excepting a few of the elderlies ; wdiile 
 Mrs. Fogarty hovered round the table, and occasionally 
 addressed the priest or Denis. Meanwhile Mr. Casan was 
 not idle. 
 
 “ Do you want a good heart, Miss Leahy ?" 
 
 “ Ah, I'm afraid of knaves." 
 
 “ Sure it's the best out." 
 
 “ Maybe your price is high, Mr. Casan ?" 
 
 “Not at all. What'll I give for your own hand?" 
 
 “Indeed I wouldn't sell — it's not my game at all. Ah, 
 Mr. Ambrose, would you plase to move, — you’re crushing 
 my thoigh !" 
 
 After cards succeeded oysters and punch, when Denis 
 Fogarty came out uncommonly strong, astonishing the 
 company as well as the natives. 
 
94 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “ Great fish, Mr. Fogarty/' said the priest. 
 
 “ Rale Poldoodies/' said Dennis as they descended 
 into the vast profound of his stomach. 
 
 Then came the break-up — the shawling — the bonneting 
 — the walk home. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ * 
 
 If it be true that the pleasantest party is that where 
 cc the jokes are rather small and the laughter abundant,” I 
 might back Mrs. Fogarty's tea-parties against all society. 
 
A QUIET DAY AT FARRELLSTOWN. 
 
 The writer, during liis temporary stay in one of the 
 midland counties, received one morning the following 
 note : — 
 
 “ Dear , 
 
 “We will have a few friends to dine with us Thurs- 
 day, and hope you will give us the pleasure too at six. 
 Don't dress, but come any way : it's only Hurd, and 
 the Magras, and Harty Kavanagh, and perhaps the 
 Murphys, any how, Dan. I would like to persuade the 
 Slopers and Dunn, and we'll get Ambrose Casan and his 
 cousins. My brother has asked a few, but we'll have a 
 quiet party, and perhaps some spoiled-five and a knock. 
 If you can oblige us with your spoons and forks and some 
 plates, and the tureen and your servant, if he's doing- 
 nothing, we would be glad ; and as our tables are short, 
 he might bring one with him. You'll not be late. We'll 
 have great fun with Ambrose. 
 
 “Your's very truly, 
 
 “ Manly O'Dwyer Farrell." 
 
 “You could not lend us your castors, for our sauce is 
 all done ?" 
 
96 
 
 PA I) DIANA. 
 
 The writer of the above was a young gentleman who 
 kept house with his brother, both bachelors, a mile or two 
 from the town, at a mansion called “The Domain of 
 Farrellstown.” It was a rough kind of establishment, as 
 might be inferred from the invitation. 
 
 The Farrells were an ancient family, originally wealthy ; 
 but somehow the estate, though retaining its full amount 
 of acreage, was becoming, as men said, more a nominal 
 than a real property. It was well eaten into by all sorts 
 of claimants ; and though its ring-fence, as was the boast 
 of the owner, remained unbroken, yet it rather resembled 
 a curiously preserved old cheese, with a nest of mortgagee 
 mice for ever preying upon its entrails. The laud was Jet 
 and sublet to the extent of three or four removes between 
 the owner and the occupier, and the rent having to be 
 filtered through so many sponges, flowed into the land- 
 lord’s pocket a mere dribblet compared to the stream it 
 had originally set forth. But this was the custom of the 
 country: it saved trouble and obliged friends. The Squire 
 let the land to his friend the Squireen, over a bottle of 
 claret : the Squireen let it again to his friend the attorney, 
 over a jug of punch : the lawyer let it to Tim Mahoney, 
 or Jack Lynch, or Pat Murphy, who finally retailed it out 
 in small patches to the actual holders, who again divided 
 their portions with their sons when they married and 
 settled. Was there ever such a system as this in any 
 other country ? In Ireland, however, it is the case with 
 nine-tenths of the property. 
 
 I was punctual to my time : that is to say, I managed 
 to arrive not later than an hour after the appointed time, 
 knowing that to obey the invitation literally would be only 
 going in “ to vacuity.” 
 
 It was a racketty place, as any one could see. The 
 lodge- gate stood wide open — emblem of the family hos- 
 pitality ; and, hanging by a single hinge, proclaimed that, 
 as in most things Irish, there was a screw loose. The 
 house was a pale-faced, rakish, moist-looking edifice, 
 sho vying in its cracked and neglected plaster the crow’s- 
 
A QUIET DAY AT FARRELLSTOWN. 
 
 97 
 
 feet of premature age. It was a kind of devil-may-care 
 tenement that set the proprieties at defiance, and was 
 plainly given to dissipation and late hour.*. You could 
 see at a glance it was a house that had never made both 
 ends meet. Even in the morning there was a debauched 
 and maudlin look about it, as if it had been up all night ; 
 and the dishevelled shrubbery, coming down in a long 
 strip of faded green and yellow on either side, looked 
 like a tawdry, half-ragged scarf, hanging untied round its 
 neck. There was not a single flower to stick in its button- 
 hole, but the frowsy herbage came up like an un shaved 
 beard to its chin. No female hand was there to train it 
 into taste and neatness : in a word, it was in the forlorn 
 condition of an Irish Bachelor’s Hall. 
 
 The windows of both drawing-room and dining-room 
 opened to the ground, affording great facility for the in- 
 gress of equestrians; as it was a standing joke at Farrells- 
 town to raise the sash and ride into one of those rooms; 
 and when the servant answered the drawing-room bell, 
 he found, belike, the visitor riding about the room. 
 The reader is not to suppose that the carpets suffered 
 much from these incursions ; for, alas ! they were long 
 past injury : and, in fact, had been so roughly treated by 
 the feet of man and beast, that the little which remained 
 had retired for protection under the table, leaving only a 
 very ill-conditioned border timidly peeping out of the 
 sanctuary. The dining-table itself had suffered severely, 
 and exhibited various impressions of horse-shoes upon its 
 surface ; it being a frequent practice to “ school’'’ over it 
 after dinner. In fact, to ride over Farrell’s mahogany 
 was a sort of test of manhood and horsemanship, which 
 few aspiring youths eared to forego. On one occasion, 
 on a frosty day, a few couple of hounds being in the 
 stable, they ran a drag through the house, throwing off 
 in the dining-room — taking the upstairs country — so 
 through the suite of bed-rooms, and down the back- stairs 
 into the kitchen. It is recorded by one who described 
 this “ night with the Farrell hounds,” that all the field 
 
98 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 were up in the bed-rooms — that there was some tailing 
 in the passages and a few falls in the attics ; but they all 
 shut up at the back-stairs except the master, who was 
 well up to the last. 
 
 I believe it would have puzzled any man to discover a 
 chair with four sound original legs at Farrellstown ; three 
 and a substitute was a lucky find ; it was, mostly, two 
 and a cracked one. When, therefore, you heard of a man 
 being under the table before the cloth was off, his mis- 
 chance was not to be attributed altogether to the drink. 
 
 It would have puzzled any calculating boy to tell how 
 many horses there were at any given time in the stables ; 
 for what with knocking, swopping, obliging a friend, and 
 the general course of dealing, it even puzzled the brothers 
 themselves, without time taken to consider. Generally 
 the answer began : “ Horses ! why there/s the Lottery 
 Mare — and Naboclish — and Gruel — and the Glazier (so 
 called from carrying his master through the window with- 
 out the trouble of opening it) — and Hieover— no, he's 
 sold, only I haven't got the bill — and the Thoroughbred — 
 
 and Waxy — and faith I dunnow how many there is 
 
 of them !" Equally difficult would it have been to say, 
 off-hand, how many servants there were in the establish- 
 ment. There was always a kitchen-full ; but to distin- 
 guish those who hung loose upon the family, such as 
 “sportsmen," dog-breakers, cads, &c., &c., from those 
 who received wages — ahem ! — I mean those who slept and 
 lived altogether in the house, would have puzzled the 
 master as much as the extent of the stud. Abundance of 
 young women were there running about in loose drapery 
 and bare feet, enough to make the beds of half-a-dozen 
 houses, and that must have been their principal occu- 
 pation, for cleaning the house they certainly never did ; 
 but they were always scuttling through the premises like 
 rabbits in a warren ; and there was a calling of Biddy and 
 Kitty, and Katty and Judy, over the house, from morning 
 till night. Not counting grooms and helpers, there was 
 only one regular man-servant — a grave old man named 
 
A QUIET BAY AT FARRELLSTOWN. 
 
 99 
 
 O’Reilly, who had been all his life in the family, and was 
 the main stay of the establishment. He w T as always 
 sober, and always ready. Call him when you would, day 
 or night, he never failed to come at once ; and from his 
 never having omitted to do so in the memory of man, it 
 was inferred that he neither undressed nor slept : if he 
 did so, it must have been very lightly. He never laughed 
 and seldom spoke ; but what a fund of rollicking anecdote 
 he must have possessed daring his service with his late 
 and present masters ! There was generally a fool in the 
 house — a half-cunning, half-idiotic character, dressed in 
 an old hunting-coat, the original scarlet fast merging into 
 a bluish black ; and wearing a threadbare hunting-cap. 
 This fellow followed the hounds on foot, with a horn 
 slung over his shoulder, and occasionally relieved his 
 mind with a most unearthly yell, not unlike a steam- 
 whistle with a bad hoarseness, which was distinctly heard 
 over the whole house — I may almost say parish — and 
 never failed to produce a roar of laughter. This indi- 
 vidual slept either in the stable or kennel, though occa- 
 sionally by the kitchen fire ; his whereabouts being pro- 
 claimed during the night by the peculiar impromptu 
 above-mentioned, alarming strangers with the notion of a 
 anshee, or family demon, being kept on the premises. 
 
 A few pictures there were of the O’ Farrells of former 
 times. One of them represented a rosy good-humoured 
 old gentleman, in a white uniform, smiling in a most con- 
 vivial and pleasant way out of a background of guns and 
 smoke : gentlemen in low hats and long wigs, upon f^t 
 prancing horses, exchanging pistol-shots : and a frightful 
 amount of killed and wounded. Upon all this busy scene 
 the gallant officer turned his back, and smiled, as if no- 
 wise concerned in the issue of the fight. This individual 
 w r as a General O’ Farrell, of the Austrian service. Pretty 
 liberally scattered over the picture were certain small, 
 round, black marks, which at first sight might be taken 
 to represent balls flying about, one of which had struck 
 the general on the side of the mouth, giving a most pecu- 
 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 liar expression to his face. On inquiry, I found that my 
 guess had not been very far from the mark : the round 
 spots being the holes of bullets actually fired into the pic- 
 ture by the young gentlemen in the course of their study 
 of pistol practice. Their object in this, O’Reilly told me, 
 was to c< take the grin off the Gineral.” If such, indeed, 
 had been their intention, it must be confessed that they 
 failed most lamentably in the effect produced; for the 
 ball which hit him upon the face had not only elongated 
 one side of the mouth, but considerably opened and turned 
 it up, aggravating the original smile into a paralytic 
 laugh, as if even the palsy could not restrain his merri- 
 ment. With this result it would appear, either that they 
 were satisfied or had given up their emendations in despair. 
 The back of the sideboard, and the wall above it, were 
 also considerably damaged by bullet-holes, from the 
 practice of snuffing candles with balls instead of snuffers. 
 
 On making my appearance at the Domain I found 
 assembled a male party of ten or a dozen, and the dinner 
 passed off as bachelors’ dinners usually do — rough and 
 enough being the usual feature : the food plain and the 
 drink plentiful. 
 
 At dinner, and for long afterwards, one subject en- 
 grossed the talk. Horses — horses — horses : even the 
 
 ladies came in for no share till the claret had gone its 
 round some hours. Songs then commenced, Ambrose 
 Casan leading the way, as was to be expected in a culti- 
 vator of the gentle science. Yet, in spite of this small 
 digression, the old subject held its ground. The great 
 day with the Kilkenny — the grand day with the Kildare 
 — the tearing day with the Waterford — the rasping day 
 with the Galway — were amply discussed. 
 
 Deep was the devotion to the claret ; and it deserved it. 
 The late Mr. Farrell had left a glorious cellar full ; binn 
 upon binn, full to the ceiling. There lay the mouldy 
 magnums, buried in rotten sawdust, and netted over with 
 cobwebs : a noble, but, I fear me, a rapidly “ dissolving 
 view.” It was interesting to watch the grave O’Reilly 
 
A QUIET DAY AT FARRELLSTO WN. 
 
 101 
 
 bring up the huge bottles, one at a time, partially wrapped 
 in a cloth, and carrying it tenderly like a ricketty baby. 
 Then the careful decanting of the precious liquor into a 
 huge jug, so gratefully cool that it raised a steam upon 
 the glass. No occasion to ring for O'Reilly. He knew 
 the duration of a magnum to a minute, and the last 
 glassful was hardly poured out before he quietly presented 
 himself with another baby. 
 
 What capital songs were brought forth ! Quiet fellows, 
 who had scarcely spoken before, coming out with some of 
 the richest chants I ever heard. What matches were 
 made ! enough to have kept the sporting neighbourhood 
 in a state of excitement for a month, if they had come off. 
 Nabocklish was backed, to any amount, to go four miles 
 across country, with any number of stone walls, against 
 any horse in the known world, barring Harkaway : and 
 Mr. Kavanagh consented to ride the foxy thoroughbred 
 over a seven-foot wall for a wager of ten pounds. About 
 a dozen steeple-chases were booked, mostly for a long 
 figure ; and a great handicap flat-race was arranged to 
 come off that day fortnight. There were some little 
 interruptions to the harmony, arising in sarcastic allusions 
 to the cattle ; but they were speedily arrested without any 
 prospect of an appeal to arms the next morning. I do 
 not think that the Irish are, nowadays, more prone to 
 fighting than their neighbours. The race of professed 
 duellists is, I believe, happily extinct. Truculent fellows 
 they were, as I well remember some twenty years ago, 
 walking about with big sticks, and looking hard at every 
 one they met, as much as to say, “ What do ye mane. 
 Sir V* 
 
 About ten came devils and <c morrowbones,” after which 
 the “ materials” were called for, and then the business of 
 the evening seemed to commence. A huge array of 
 whisky-bottles and hot water, lemons, &c., came upon 
 the board ; and there was placed before every man a small 
 jug, holding near a pint, with a long spoon in it, and a 
 glass. In these jugs every person brewed his own punch. 
 
102 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 pouring it out from time to time into the glass to 
 drink. 
 
 Soon after supper “ knocking” commenced. As the 
 English reader way not understand the word “ knock” in 
 its Irish sense,. some explanation may be necessary; and I 
 will give an example, as more explanatory than a defini- 
 tion. Mr. Magra says to Mr. Farrell, “I challenge your 
 grey horse, Moses.” Whereupon Mr. Farrell challenges 
 any article of Mr. Magra' s which he feels inclined to take 
 in exchange for Moses, — say a Rigby gun. An arbitrator, 
 acquainted with the respective value of the property at 
 stake, is appointed, who, taking into consideration that 
 Moses is a screw, and the gun a new and good one, 
 awards that the horse shall pay the gun ten pounds. He 
 directs the parties to put “ hands in pockets — draw 
 whereupon Messrs. Magra and Farrell, having inserted 
 their hands m their waistcoat-pockets, draw them out 
 closed ; and if, upon their being opened, it shall appear 
 that both have held money, the exchange of the gun for 
 the horse is a good one, Mr. Farrell handing over to 
 Magra the difference of ten pounds awarded. If neither, 
 or only one, holds money, the exchange does not take 
 place ; it is no “ knock.” In cases where wearing apparel, 
 watches, snuff-boxes, or anything else on the spot, is 
 “ knocked,” an immediate exchange takes place, so that a 
 man frequently returns at night a very different figure 
 from that which he presented when he went forth, not 
 only in the quantity but the quality of his habiliments. 
 Sometimes a brace of dogs accompany their new master 
 instead of his coat or waistcoat ; or he takes home a 
 “ shocking bad hat” in place of a satin stock. I have 
 known a man leave his boots behind, and carry with him 
 a set of tandem harness. On the present occasion, busi- 
 ness commenced by Dan Murphy challenging Mr. Magra's 
 wig, who in return challenged Dan's false collar. The 
 collar was to pay the wig ten shillings. Both held money, 
 but “ the collar was a shirt,” as some one found out, so 
 not easily transferable. A question arose whether the 
 
A QUIET DAY AT FARRELLSTO WN. 
 
 103 
 
 transaction was valid : wlien the arbitrator decided that as 
 Dan held money he admitted the falsity, and, therefore, 
 transferability of his collar ; and if the collar were not 
 false it ought to be, and must be made false. So a pair 
 of scissors was sent for, and it was taken off on the spot; 
 Mr. Magra adopting the table-napkin instead of his wig, 
 which Dan wore over his own bushy hair. A considerable 
 amount of property changed owners : an embroidered 
 waistcoat went against a salmon-rod, and the Lottery 
 mare was exchanged for the foxey thoroughbred ; Mr. 
 Farrell congratulating himself that he “ had parted the 
 mare.” 
 
 There was some by-play, in the way of practical jokes, 
 going on all the time. Ambrose Casan was fast asleep 
 with his face blacked. The artist had drawn a line round 
 each eye, and favoured him with moustaches and an impe- 
 rial, with a slight black tip to his nose. In this state he 
 was roused with the information that some one had chal- 
 lenged his trowsers ; and, hardly aware of what was going 
 on, a friend whispered, “ Have a knock at his hat, it's a 
 new one.” The hat paid the trowsers five shillings ; and 
 before the troubadour was well awake, he was divested of 
 his pantaloons and crowned with a white gossamer, put 
 on sideways to the front, and well bonnetted down upon 
 his brows by his attentive neighbours. Anything more 
 truly ludicrous than the appearance of the “ pote” at this 
 juncture cannot well be conceived : sitting in his drawers, 
 with a pair of Wellington boots, much too large in he 
 calf; his intensely white face contrasting with its black 
 ornaments ; and the maudlin roll of his leaden eyes con- 
 verted into a ghastly stare by the black circles drawn 
 round them. Being called upon for a song, he favoured 
 the company, in a tone of deep pathos, with 
 
 “ I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 
 
 (A voice , aside . “ The throwsers you mane.”) 
 
104 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 If thy smiles had left me too ; 
 
 [Aside. “ Not likely, the figure you cut.”) 
 
 I’d weep when friends deceive me, 
 
 If thou wert like them untrue. 
 
 [Aside. “ Faith, ’twas your own dune.”) 
 
 ’Tis not in fate to harm me” 
 
 (Aside. “Don’t be too sure, — you may get a crick 
 going home.”) 
 
 Warming with the subject, he got through the song 
 with eclat , and from that time till the party broke up he 
 was never wholly silent. Snatches of songs, amatory and 
 heroic, maiden and pollard, followed each other in strange 
 confusion, and were repeated again and again without the 
 necessity of an encore on the part of the audience. A 
 young gentleman or two were taken away by O’Reilly 
 soon after supper, the experienced butler contriving to 
 carry them off quietly, notwithstanding their previous 
 vociferations, and they were heard of no more. 
 
 About twelve o’clock horses, gigs, and jaunting-cars 
 were announced, and a general break-up took place : 
 some of the guests in their confusion taking the wrong 
 direction, as might be surmised from the squealing of the 
 Kittys and Kattys in the kitchen. Ambrose Casan was 
 led out between two into the night air in his stockinets, 
 shouting heroically, — 
 
 “ We tread the land that bore us, 
 
 Her green flag glitters o’er us ; 
 
 The friends we’ve tried are by our side, 
 
 And the foe we hate before us !” 
 
 “ Here he is, your honour ! Mr. Casan’s liarse !” 
 presenting a pony highly spiced, and in a corresponding 
 state of excitement. “ Will I help yer honour ? Faith, 
 he’s shuck. This away, Sir. Will you lend me your 
 
A QUIET DAY AL FARRELLSTOWN. 
 
 105 
 
 leg ? sure you’re not goin’ over the harse ? It’s mighty- 
 airy ye are ; won’t ye be cowld acrass the bog ? Have ye 
 no big coat ? Sure Flaherty (the fool) must go wid ye. 
 Hooroosli ! Flaherty ! come out o’ that and attind to 
 Mr. Casan.” The huntsman V yell was heard from the 
 back of the premises in answer, and with his assistance 
 the poet was safely lodged in the saddle, where he sat 
 tranquilly ^warbling 
 
 “ Oft in tlie stilly night,” 
 
 with frequent interruptions from the kicking pony, who 
 did not carry his ginger gently. The troubadour changed 
 his song more than once before he was out of hearing. 
 The last we could make out was 
 
 “ And though of some plumes bereft. 
 
 With that sun too nearly set ; 
 
 I’ve enough of light and of wing still ^ 
 
 For a few gay soarings yet.” 
 
 Flaherty [obligato). “ Yroaraowli&t V s 
 
A DUEL. 
 
 While seated at breakfast next morning, after the 
 quiet day at Farrellstown, I was startled by the sudden 
 appearance of Mr. Ambrose Casan, who bolted into the 
 room in an evident state of excitement. As this was a 
 frame of mind so unlike that usually exhibited by my 
 poetical friend, I marvelled at the provocation which 
 could have produced such an unwonted exhibition. My 
 curiosity did not seem likely to obtain an immediate 
 gratification. He stamped and raved about the room, 
 uttering cruel threats against somebody, but so many 
 names were mixed up in his wrathful denunciations, that 
 I was long before I made out what was the matter. He 
 was in one of those humours when a man curses the 
 world generally and his friends in particular ; when, 
 perhaps, the imprecations had been more fitly directed 
 against his own folly. 
 
 “ What, in Heaven's name, is it V 9 I said at last, trying 
 him in the poetical vein ; “ is it, — 
 
 * The loss of love, the treachery of friends, 
 
 Or death of those you dote on ?’ ” 
 
 “ Friends, Sir \” said Ambrose, fiercely j “ what friend 
 would have sent me home in such a state to meet 
 
A DUEL. 
 
 107 
 
 Juliana? They knew it was there I was goan. It 
 was a trick, a conspiracy. Murphy was at the bottom 
 of it. Ah, how will I meet her again ! Any how, I'll 
 shoot Misther Dan ; it'll be the last pair of throwsers 
 ever he'll take off, barring his own to-night ! Ah, what 
 satisfaction is it to Juliana to tell her I lost them in a 
 ‘ knock?' And Farrell was as bad. By my soul, I'll 
 have him out after I've finished Dan Murphy. And 
 that cursed Flaherty, to bring them into the hall with 
 his screeching! Well, I’ll never meet her again. No 
 wonder she was stiff with me when I took her hand and 
 said, — 
 
 1 Come o'er the sea, 
 
 Maiden, wih me.' 
 
 c Not in your present state, Mr. Casan, if you plaze,' says 
 she, looking down, mighty surprised at my state. Sure 
 Juliana blushed, and she’d the raison any how ; and all 
 the girls were stuffing things into their mouths, and 
 Barney screeching fit to split. 
 
 1 Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows/ 
 
 says I, little thinking what ailed them. f Indeed, you're 
 ill prepared for it,' says Juliana, with the sweetest mo- 
 desty ever you see, still looking down, and I fancied a 
 tear in her eye. f Indeed you're ill prepared for your 
 travels, Mr. Casan,' says she ; f and I'd beg to suggest an 
 addition to your costume before you undertake to remove, 
 unless to bed. And really, Mr. Ambrose,' says she, 
 ‘ I’m quite surprised at your proposition; and besides, 
 upon my word,' says she, ‘ I think it rather curious that 
 you'd bring a friend home with you to make faces at us.' 
 Faith, I turned to see what friend, and there was Flaherty, 
 the sportsman, close behind, bad luck to him ! grinning 
 fit to turn the milk. By my soul, I footed him out of 
 that pretty quick ; and while I was struggling with the 
 sportsman^ there was more laughing than ever, and the 
 
108 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 blackguard screeching through the keyhole. Faith, it's 
 tearing mad that I was. And who the divle should come 
 down but Mrs. Molloy herself, and she stared harder than 
 any of them. ‘Well, indeed, Mr. Ambrose/ says she, 
 6 your appearance is rather singular in a party of ladies. 
 I congratulate you upon being made a horse-officer/ says 
 she ; ‘ for you’ve very much the touch of a hussar about 
 your face/ says she, r though I can’t say it’s becoming to 
 your appearance. And a strange fancy you have to un- 
 dress coming home, considering the time of the year, and 
 alarming my child, Mr. Casan,’ says she. Well, faith I 
 looked down, when I saw their eyes upon my legs, and it 
 was only then I found out I was after parting my trow- 
 sers ! Ah, how will I meet her again !” 
 
 The meaning of all this, I found out, was that Ambrose 
 had been spending a few days with Mrs. Molloy, a widow 
 lady, residing a few miles from Farrellstown, and to whose 
 daughter, Juliana, he was paying his addresses. The 
 whole family had waited up for him on the eventful 
 occasion in question, and being alarmed at the sports- 
 man’s yell, given as he entered the gate, the whole 
 household, visitors, servants, and the fair Juliana herself, 
 hastened to the hall; when no sooner was the door 
 opened, than in rushed the trowserless troubadour in a 
 high state of excitement, with Flaherty at his heels, and 
 seizing the hand of his lady-love, addressed her in the 
 words of the melody above quoted. The result has been 
 pretty well explained in his own words. 
 
 As he went on with his narrative, I was very much 
 grieved to find that early in the morning, while his anger 
 was at the hottest, he had sought out Mr. Murphy and 
 abused him in no measured terms, rendering difficult of 
 adjustment that which otherwise might have been so 
 -easily explained away and apologised for, as a harmless 
 frolic. Ambrose’s visit to me was with the most hostile 
 intentions towards Mr. Murphy. He was to be called 
 out and shot without loss of time. 
 
 “ Six' paces, Sir,” said Ambrose; “half the usual 
 
A DUEL. 
 
 109 
 
 distance in sucli a case as this ! All ! how will I meet 
 her again ! ” 
 
 I promised to do the needful in the business, and 
 placing a volume of soothing poetry in the hands of my 
 excited friend, set forth upon my journey to Dan Murphy. 
 I found him in consultation with his friend, and in a 
 state of scarcely less excitement than Ambrose. After 
 long consultation between myself and the other, it was 
 decided that as the matter had gone so far a meeting 
 could scarcely be avoided, as the only means of silencing 
 any awkward reports touching the reputation of the prin- 
 cipals, always so readily circulated by one’s good-natured 
 friends. We were also of opinion, that when both parties 
 were cooled down to a reasonable point, little or no 
 damage was to be apprehended, as old 'friendship would 
 operate to disarm them, and they would not fail to see 
 the business in its true light. We knew them, too, to be 
 thoroughly well-disposed, good-humoured fellows, and as 
 far from blood-thirsty as possible. It was also under- 
 stood, that if not quite cooled down by the next morning, 
 we would put off the affair for another day. In the 
 meantime the pugnacious poet took up his quarters in my 
 house. 
 
 The next morning was bitterly cold and uncomfortable 
 — sleety, drizzly, misty, miserable ; the thermometer at 
 33° feeling colder than a frost, with the additional dis- 
 comfort of wet. Of all the days in the year, it was that 
 particular one which a man would have selected to 
 indulge himself with a snooze of two hours longer than 
 common, instead of being taken into a wet field to be 
 shot at. The thought of cold iron was unpleasant on 
 such a morning, and your finger felt a disinclination to 
 touch even a trigger. Hailing my friend about seven 
 o’clock, I communicated the unpleasant fact that it was 
 time to turn out. “ What ho ! Master Ambrose,” quoth 
 I, in the words of the Clown to Barnadine, “ You must 
 be so good, Sjir, to rise and be put to death !” But my 
 friend did not appear to see any point in the jest. 
 
110 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 After a cup of hot coffee we proceeded to some retired 
 fields about half a mile from the town, just as night was 
 “ at odds with morning," the hedges and herbage heavy 
 with the cold wet of the night, and the pitiless, sleety 
 drizzle pelting in our faces — enough to cool the courage 
 of a hero, let alone a “pote." Early as it was, I fancied 
 that we were not the only persons on foot, for I thought, 
 now and then, that I caught sight through the mist of 
 other figures moving parallel to us across the country. 
 We were first on the ground, however, and for full twenty 
 minutes submitted to the disheartening process of cooling 
 our heels, but still the valiant troubadour kept up his 
 spirits surprisingly. At length we perceived two figures 
 moving towards us, and a few minutes sufficed to arrange 
 the preliminaries. The men were placed at twelve fairly 
 measured paces, standing sideways to the rising sun, or 
 rather the quarter where he usually rose, and the spot was 
 chosen with a careful avoidance of all straight lines, 
 whether of trees, banks, marks on the ground, or else, 
 that might be supposed to afford a guide to the eye in 
 bringing up a pistol to cover the body of an adversary. 
 
 The reader may depend upon it that there are few 
 things in this life more unpleasant than being brought 
 out on such a morning to fight a duel. I have said that 
 Ambrose kept up his spirits well ; the troubadour behaved 
 like a preux chevalier . Taking the station allotted to 
 
 him, he dug his heels into the ground, as if planting him- 
 self on the spot, and whirling the corner of his large 
 cloak round his shoulders, in the Spanish fashion, till the 
 flap came down upon his right breast, he stood the picture 
 of passive resistance, and rather like an Egyptian mummy 
 than otherwise. I felt certain that he repeated to himself, 
 
 “ Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
 From its firm base as soon as I.” 
 
 It was found necessary partially to uncase him that he 
 might have the use of a hand ; and when all was ready. 
 
A DUEL. 
 
 Ill 
 
 it was intimated to the parties that on the words “ Are 
 yon ready? Off !” they were to fire. My brother-second 
 was to give the signal, and in a deep, sonorous voice had 
 already got out the words, “ Are you ready V 9 when from 
 behind the ditch, about fifty yards off, arose the well- 
 known demoniac yell of Flaherty the sportsman, who, 
 supplying the word “Off!” himself, started across the 
 field, screeching and yelling as if the hounds were before 
 him, and throwing about his arms like a madman. Mes- 
 sieurs Casan and Murphy turned towards the wild hunter 
 as he ran; and the same impulse moved them both — 
 “ Bang, bang,” went the pistols at Flaherty, who dodged 
 and screeched still louder as the balls whistled over him. 
 “ T1F other pistols ! T1F other pistols !” cried both im- 
 patiently, and “bang, bang,” they went in the same direc- 
 tion, but the sportsman was now safe behind the ditch. 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said one of the seconds, gravely, “this 
 business can proceed no further. You, Mr. Murphy, 
 have already admitted that no insult was intended in de- 
 priving Mr. Casan of his pantaloons. Mr. Casan, there- 
 fore, can have no objection to retract the offensive language 
 used by him in a moment of irritation and misconception ; 
 and on his doing so I have no hesitation, on the part of 
 my principal, of withdrawing that used by Mr. Murphy, 
 with expressions of regret that it was ever uttered. We 
 who play the second parts in this little drama have already 
 made up our minds that it is, from beginning to end, a 
 foolish affair, and may be settled without bloodshed, parti- 
 cularly as you have both done your best to punish the 
 chief offender. So now make haste and shake hands, for 
 Fm in a hurry for my breakfast.” 
 
 Mutual apologies were given to the satisfaction of all 
 parties. They not only came to breakfast, but stayed to 
 dinner, and as many of the “ quiet party'* as could be got 
 at a short notice to meet them. 
 
 Few jollier parties than this, I am inclined to think, 
 have ever met. Soon after supper, surprising though it 
 may appear, they had a knock at Ambrose's trowsers, and 
 
112 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 not only carried them off, but subsequently his coat and 
 waistcoat too. In this state he gave us : 
 
 “ When first I met thee, warm and young,” 
 
 in a way wnich his oldest friends say he never equalled, 
 and was eventually carried to bed with all the honours. 
 Neither did we forget to send for the sportsman to pass 
 the evening, which he interpreted to mean the whole 
 night ; but care was taken that he had a sufficiency of 
 whisky to make him safe in the way of screeching. 
 
 To show how perfect was the reconciliation of all parties, 
 it will be only necessary to say that this last-named indi- 
 vidual was entrusted during the morning with the con- 
 veyance of a small, three-cornered note, from Ambrose 
 Casan. The sportsman was too faithful a messenger to 
 betray the address; but an occasional blast of his steam- 
 whistle had been heard in the direction of Mrs. Molloy’s. 
 
Mr. H. 
 
 The matchless intrepidity of an Irishman's face is 
 become proverbial ; but I once met a man who in this 
 regard out-Iieroded all Hibernian Herods. He paid a 
 bill with his face; he positively defeated a dun by the 
 unassisted force of impudence ! 
 
 It was at the sorrowful sea-port of Holyhead. Three 
 days had we been detained by such a gale of wind, as 
 for steady continuance, if not for violence, I never saw 
 before or since. During three mortal days and nights 
 was the wind howling and tearing through the streets, 
 the sign-boards swinging, the shutters banging; cloaks 
 standing upright, held on by the collar, and hats on the 
 way to the mainland. Never for a moment did the rain 
 cease to beat upon the streaming windows, the mist and 
 spray to smoke along the streets, or the sea to pound 
 and roar against the rocks of that iron-bound coast. 
 The place was beset ; coaches, carriages, mails, kept 
 filling the town, fuller and fuller, from the landward; 
 while every hour brought some sail-split, mast-broken, 
 nigh-foundered vessel, scudding helplessly before it, with 
 half her crew at the helm, cramming the wide- steering, 
 scarce-manageable craft as near as they could to the 
 middle of the harbour's mouth. 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 What should we have done without Mr. H. ? There 
 was no sinking of spirits near him. I was almost sorry 
 when the gale subsided, and on a pleasant morning we 
 were bidding adieu to the miserable town. 
 
 There's no place on the earth's surface more hateful to 
 me than Holyhead. Either you have been sick when you 
 come to it, or are going to be sick when you leave : you 
 have no comfort, and the certainty of imposition while 
 you stay. Besides, I dislike the Welsh • they are grasp- 
 ing, stolid, and grossly inquisitive ; they have no tact or 
 delicacy ; they are dirty, and prone to “ do." I was not 
 sorry, in this instance, to see one of them “done." 
 
 Mr. H. was an ample, loose-made man, eminently dirty 
 in his person, of foul linen, ill-cut clothes, and a shocking 
 hat. He was — yes, I really think he was — the pleasantest 
 fellow I ever met in my life, and his laugh was the most 
 powerful weapon I ever saw used ; it foiled every one, 
 supporting, as it did, his consummate impudence and 
 wit : he could hold a position against the whole talking 
 world. You could do nothing with him — he was impas- 
 sive. The most cutting irony, the most searching sar- 
 casm ; open abuse, covert inuendo, it was all the same to 
 him : he treated every attack the same way, or nearly so. 
 Talk at him as long as you would, he received the torrent 
 upon his smooth, unwrinkled face; and when it had 
 ceased, when all the ammunition was expended, the last 
 shot bred, and the enemy had fairly run himself out, 
 you might see a gentle movement of the lips ; it stole to 
 the nose, which acknowledged the receipt by a slight 
 twitch ; it went on to the eyes, and slightly contracted 
 the lids; it seemed a telegraphic communication, passing 
 from feature to feature. When they were all ready, 
 a smile began to mantle over his acre of face, Jike a 
 catspaw of wind on a summer sea. The smile became a 
 laugh — a hearty laugh — a horse laugh — a roar — an in- 
 describable gasping chuckle — a husky hurricane of merri- 
 ment. The opponent, who fancied he had hit him hard, 
 and had all the joke on his own side, was astonished. 
 
mr . ti- 
 
 ns 
 
 astounded — fancied he had committed himself, especially 
 as all the room involuntarily joined the adversary: he was 
 confused, dumb-founded, and defeated. When the hurri- 
 cane had passed off, our laughter subsided into a plaintive 
 whine, ready, however, for another explosion^if need were. 
 I once knew a man whose laugh saved his life ; but 
 it was of a different nature from that of Mr. H., and 
 may perhaps be noticed, some time or other, in another 
 place. 
 
 We had paid our bills at the hotel, and were on our 
 way to the steamer, when a man thrust himself forward, 
 and with an air of great insolence, presented a paper to 
 Mr. H. He was a priggish, impertinent dan, and exe- 
 cuted his office (always an unpleasant one to all parties) 
 in a way which made it doubly offensive. He did not ask 
 for, but demanded, the money. 
 
 Mr. H. looked carefully over the account, and then 
 over the presenter. Lettjng his hand fall by his side, 
 with the bill extended in it, he turned his face bene- 
 volently upon the creditor, and eyed him from head to 
 foot, then carefully and steadily from foot to head ; 
 finishing with a broad and continuous stare in his 
 face. 
 
 Whilst this process went on, the creditor was boiling 
 with rage.. He became red and white, and yellow, and 
 red again, and blue ; he looked the concentrated essence 
 of bad creditors, and nothing seemingly kept him from 
 open abuse, but the hope of immediately touching his 
 money. 
 
 Mr. H., after an attentive look of some seconds full in 
 the Welshman’s face, began gradually to open his mouth 
 wider and wider. The man shrank from the portentous 
 cavity ; but still the mouth went on in its enlargement, 
 till, arriving at its utmost width, there was shot forth 
 such a charge of obstreperous laughter, as positively made 
 the creditor start back aghast. This only renewed the 
 volley, and another rattling shower was poured into him, 
 like the streaming fire of a steam-gun. 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 The Welshman was frantic : he stamped, he raved, he 
 cursed him by his gods, in Welsh; he thrust forward his 
 clenched fists towards the roaring acre of face ; he seized 
 his own hat from his head, threw it upon the ground, 
 stamped upon it, spat upon it, and finally, tossing his 
 arms aloft, ran howling down the street like a de- 
 moniac. 
 
 We slowly went on to the vessel, Mr. H. turning 
 occasionally to fire a stern-chaser at the place whence 
 he expected the enemy to reappear ; but he came not, 
 and probably went and hanged himself. 
 
 It was, however, subsequently whispered in the steamer 
 that the steward was instructed to settle the account on 
 his return. * 
 
 Mr. H. — rest his soul — is no more; but hundreds 
 (if they ever see this page) will recognise him -in the 
 description, and thank me for raising the ghost of the 
 most jovial companion of their lives. 
 
THE OLD HEAD OF KINS ALE. 
 
 Seafaring people, and most others, know that the 
 Old Head of Kinsale is a bluff promontory, jutting out 
 into the Atlantic, on the southern coast of Ireland. It is 
 surmounted by a lighthouse, and the cliffs to the seaward 
 are naked precipices of rock, rising perpendicularly from 
 the water to a height of several hundred feet. It is five 
 miles south of the town of Kinsale, and in calm, summer 
 weather occasionally resorted to by the inhabitants, and 
 the garrison of Charles Fort, for the purpose of sea-bird 
 shooting and other parties of pleasure. 
 
 It is well worth a visit at any time ; but they who 
 would view it in its sublimest aspect, should take their 
 station on the cliffs while a south-west gale is blowing. 
 The whole power of the ocean seems then directed 
 against this devoted headland, and the roar of the waters 
 in the caverned cliffs is awfully grand; while sea-birds 
 are screaming arouud in countless thousands. 
 
 On a delightful day in the latter end of the summer, a 
 large party assembled together at the Old Head. Some 
 — the cautious — proceeding by land ; others, more ad- 
 venturous, trusting themselves to the bosom of the deep 
 in such boats as the town afforded ; and all agreeing, 
 after a few hours* scrambling over and about the Head, to 
 
118 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 eat a pic-nic dinner in one of the sea-caverns with which 
 the southern side of it is perforated. 
 
 It is a spot well adapted for such parties. The rocks 
 are slippery and dangerous, the paths precipitate. Ladies 
 must be handed, or lifted, or carried ; and delicate atten- 
 tions are not only called for, but indispensable. 
 
 This pic-nic seemed likely to be exempt from the usual 
 miseries of a party of pleasure. The elements, for a 
 wonder, were in good humour, and appeared disposed, for 
 once, to remit their peculiar spite against water-parties. 
 The clouds kept out of the way, as having made up their 
 minds to throw no damp on the arrangements ; baro- 
 meters looked up with confidence, and the sun had a 
 heartiness in his cheery old face, and a warmth in his 
 manner, that brought out the daintiest of silks and the 
 most gossamer of bonnets. The “ level brine” slept in 
 the sunshine ; and the sdent heaving of its breast against 
 the polished rocks seemed like the breathing of the great 
 deep. 
 
 We dined, in boats, in a cavern large as a village 
 church, and the clear green water, thirty feet deep, 
 revealed every object on the fine sand below. Half way 
 down, hanging by the neck, might be seen champagne 
 and punch, and other malefactors of that class. Then 
 there was singing worthy of the syrens ! “ Here in cool 
 
 grot” was given, and we laughed, and quaffed, and drank 
 old sherry, to that happily chosen old glee. It was 
 almost too delicious ; and would have been entirely so, 
 but for some faint prospect of a difficulty on the way 
 home. 
 
 The Old Head is a sort of peninsula, and the isthmus 
 connecting it with the mainland, though lofty, is some- 
 what lower than the Head itself. Underneath this neck 
 of rock there is a passage practicable for a boat at low 
 water, though entirely filled when the tide is in. This 
 natural tunnel is probably between two and three hundred 
 yards long ; the depth of water varying considerably, as 
 does also the height of the roof; in some parts rising into 
 
THE OLD HEAD OF KINSALE. 
 
 119 
 
 lofty caves, in others the low-browed rocks barely per- 
 mitting a boat to pass under them. 
 
 Having, on more than one occasion, traversed this tunnel 
 before, I was instrumental in persuading the party in the 
 boat to which I belonged to trust themselves for a brief 
 space to the bowels of the earth, in preference to encoun- 
 tering a long pull round the headland. Everything 
 seemed favourable : it w r as low-water, the tide just flowing, 
 and a small stream perceptibly set into the cavity ; an 
 additional argument, as it seemed, in favour of the adven- 
 ture. The boat, which was of very moderate size — an old 
 Portsmouth wherry, which had somehow found its way to 
 Kinsale — was manned by the proprietor, old Sullivan, his 
 son, the writer, another amateur, and a precious freight 
 of three ladies, two of whom were young. 
 
 It is not very surprising that the elderly lady should, 
 in the outset, have raised some objections to chaperoning 
 her charges into the dark and rather forbidding aperture ; 
 but these were eventually overcome by the rest. The 
 boatmen having a direct interest in a scheme which pro- 
 mised to shorten their labour, came to the rescue with 
 assurances of perfect safety and an early return home ; 
 the amateur had his bit of romance about visiting “the 
 azure sisters of the silver flood” in their stronghold ; and 
 the syrens warbling a stave of the “cool grot,” Mrs. 
 Mahony was driven from all her positions, and finally 
 consented to go under the hill. How the boatmen came 
 to overlook the changed appearance of the weather seemed 
 afterwards not easy to account for ; unless, indeed, their 
 shortsightedness might be referred to the cold punch. 
 
 All objections being happily got over, we slowly en- 
 tered the hole under the isthmus, poling the boat along 
 with the oars and boat-hook, and enjoying the singu- 
 larity of the situation. It was a spring-tide and very 
 low water, so that we passed the low parts of the tunnel 
 with ample room to spare ; and the current becoming 
 rapid, helped the boat along with little effort on our parts. 
 Meanwhile the other boats had gone round the Head, and 
 
120 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 we pitied the obstinacy and folly of their crews in choosing 
 that circuitous and heavy pull in preference to the cool 
 and refreshing shortcut we had taken ourselves. The 
 picture we drew of their long labouring to windward w T as 
 far from unpleasing to us; and not a few jokes were 
 cracked at the well-known incapacity of some of our 
 friends to handle an oar in the rising swell of the weather 
 side. Imagining the crabs they would catch, and their 
 other awkwardnesses, we much wished it were possible to 
 ask them at what hour they would like their supper 
 ordered at home, in the same spirit of benevolence that a 
 gentleman in his well-appointed tilbury, on the Derby 
 evening, inquiries of a broken-down party if he can 
 bespeak beds for them at the half-way house. 
 
 “ I’m thinking we’ve done Corcoran now,” said the old 
 boatman. “ Sure, he bate us down ; but we’ll be to 
 windward of him now. We’ll get a slant off the land, and 
 run in a’most before he’s round the Head. Long life to 
 the ladies that give us a chance !” 
 
 “ Faith we will, maybe,” said Jem; “but I don’t much 
 like the flurry beyant. I’m ’most doubtful the wind’s 
 getting round to the astward.” 
 
 “ Ogh ! go along wid ye ; ye’r al way doubting, Jem. 
 Be lively wid yer hook and shove her along, for fear the 
 ladies would be cowld. Aisy ! don’t stave her in, Jem ; 
 there’s a difference betune haste and hurry, as I’ve towld 
 ye before. Sure, Mrs. Mahony, ma’am, ye find it plea- 
 sant under the hill here ? It’s seldom I bring ladies 
 this away, but they mostly like it when they’re in. It’s 
 cool afther we’ve had a taste o’ sperrits, ma’am !” 
 
 “ Well, indeed, Mr. Sullivan ! I hope you don’t accuse 
 me of the like, when it’s rare that I taste wine, let alone 
 punch. You’re rather free in your observations, Sullivan, 
 I think. I fear you’re rolling about yourself, for there’s 
 a strange motion in the boat lately. Indeed, I fear you’re 
 hardly sober, Sullivan.” 
 
 There was a strange motion in the boat, indeed. She 
 was heaving in a ground-swell, and the “ flurry” that the 
 
THE OLD HEAD OF KINSALE. 
 
 121 
 
 young man had noticed a-head of ns now increased to 
 something very like the roar of a breaking sea at the 
 mouth of the tunnel towards which we were steering. 
 
 The wind, instead of coming off the land, as it had done 
 all day, had drawn round to the east, as surmised by Jem, 
 and blew fresh down the coast and right into the mouth 
 of our tunnel; where, meeting the full flow of the tide 
 round the Head, it raised a formidable sea. 
 
 As the noise of the breakers became too evident to be 
 doubtful, I observed old Sullivan look seriously at his 
 son, and taking an oar proceeded silently, but with all his 
 strength, to assist in poling us along. The ladies held on 
 by the gunwale; and the amateur, pressing his hand 
 against his stomach, made a discovery that lemon had 
 been too liberally used in the punch — a thing that never 
 did agree with him. 
 
 As we advanced, the noise increased, and the small 
 boat became much agitated : one moment we were raised 
 so suddenly as to endanger the knocking of heads against 
 the roof; the next, were partially landed on some rock in 
 the channel, from which the little craft, much too frail 
 for such usage, slipped again into deep water, nearly 
 depositing some of us there also. Still all hands 
 worked confidently onwards ; the small spice of danger 
 adding, not unpleasantly, to the excitement of the scene. 
 But the water became much too rough to be either plea- 
 sant or safe, jamming the little wherry against the rocks 
 in a way which theatened immediate ruin to her frail 
 timbers. Notwithstanding all this, the ladies, ignorant 
 of the extent of the danger, showed little fear, even when 
 we came within a few yards of the tunnel’s mouth, and 
 saw the white crests of the waves breaking fearfully into 
 the opening. 
 
 Obstructed as the passage was by rocks of various sizes, 
 some of them just under water, it required some manage- 
 ment to steer a boat through the tunnel even in calm 
 weather; but it was apparent, at least to the male part of 
 the crew, that any attempt to force her out against such a 
 
122 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 sea as this would be attended with almost certain destruc- 
 tion. If not stove in by the sunken rocks, the probability 
 was that she would be swamped, with her unsteady crew, 
 amongst the breakers ; in which case, our escape over the 
 huge masses of slippery rock with the sea washing over 
 us, an occasional plunge into deep water, with three 
 screaming women clinging to us, would be worse than 
 doubtful. But even if, by a miracle, we escaped drowning 
 in the first instance, what chance was there of all, if in- 
 deed, of any of us, ascending the face of the cliff before 
 the rising tide ? The amateur was as little of a crag’s- 
 man as the young ladies themselves ; and the idea of 
 Mrs. Mahony scaling a precipice that might have baffled 
 a chamois-hunter, was too palpably absurd to be thought 
 of with gravity, even in our precarious condition. 
 
 After making an attempt, in which the apprehended 
 catastrophe nearly occurred, and getting the boat half 
 filled with water, we were glad to make our retreat again 
 into the friendly shelter of the tunnel. 
 
 After a short consultation, it was unanimously decided 
 to return by the way we came, land on the other side of 
 the Head, and make the best of our way home in 
 any conveyance which the country might afford. But a 
 fearful apprehension — silently felt, though finding no 
 vent in words — came over us, that we might be too late ! 
 The rapid set of the tide into the passage we have noted 
 before ; and obstructed as it was in its exit by the freshen- 
 ing wind, and blown back into the tunnel, it became 
 extremely doubtful whether the low parts of the passage 
 were not already closed up ! 
 
 Old Sullivan, now silent and sober enough, worked hard 
 with his son in forcing the boat stern-foremost along. 
 Nor were the amateurs idle; while the white breakers, 
 roaring past, forced the boat deeper and deeper into the 
 hole. 
 
 “ Work ! work ! for the love o* God \" cried the old 
 man. “ 1 fear wehe too late ! Ochone ! oclione V 9 
 
 There was no occasion to exhort us to labour. The 
 
THE OLD HEAD OF IUNSALE. 
 
 123 
 
 adventure had become awfully serious: and, to make 
 matters worse, it was nearly dark. 
 
 Hitherto the ladies had remained surprisingly quiet, 
 setting their bonnets to rights, or bringing home a wan- 
 dering curl whenever a momentary lull permitted them 
 to let go of the gunwale ; but an unlucky question 
 suddenly roused them. 
 
 “ If/* said the amateur, “ we can’t get out the way we 
 came, I suppose we’ll have to wait in here till low tide 
 again ?” 
 
 “ We will, indeed !” said old Sullivan ; (e and many 
 more low tides after that, unless we can live twelve hours 
 under water. There’s not a place the size of your hat in 
 all this passage that won’t be full in less than an hour. 
 And I’m thinking it’s full now in two places. Work, 
 Jem, for the love an’ honour of God !” 
 
 Then arose the three ladies and began to scream : then 
 to run wildly about the boat, doing, in their distraction, 
 everything most likely to impede our progress. To reason 
 with them was in vain ; but some heavy blows against the 
 roof reduced them to a quieter state. 
 
 By this time we had reached the first of the low passages, 
 and happily got through it, lying down in the boat and 
 pushing along with our hands against the rocks above, 
 though the timbers were sorely tried by the heaving swell, 
 and we ourselves suffered from protruding portions of the 
 roof being forced in upon us as we lay between the 
 thwarts. 
 
 We were now between the two narrows, and if unable to 
 pass the smaller one our fate was sealed. To go back was 
 utterly impossible ; and the passage before us was lower 
 than that which we had just found it all but impossible to 
 pass. Bitterly and audibly did all parties repent not 
 having taken our chance amongst the breakers — where at 
 least we had daylight and a fair struggle — instead of being 
 gradually closed up in this frightful hole. The thin line 
 of light which marked the low passage before us was 
 barely enough to render visible the darkness of this 
 
124 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 dreary vault ; and when the heaving swell closed up the 
 passage, we were left in total darkness. There was a 
 fearful sense of suffocation, induced by the feeling that we 
 were buried alive under the mountain — the cavity of 
 unknown dimensions slowly but certainly filling up — while 
 the gulphing sound of the air, which forced its way back 
 into the cavern on the swell subsiding, seemed like the 
 difficult breathing of some asthmatic monster enclosed 
 with us underground. 
 
 With a feeling of utter desperation we approached the 
 low passage. The light increased, which raised our hopes, 
 but the low rocks almost touched the water, and at every 
 heave which filled the passage our hearts sank within us. 
 We tried to force the boat through and failed : she could 
 not be brought within several yards of the strait, and 
 while we were exerting our utmost strength in the attempt, 
 every returning sea seemed to cling longer and longer to 
 the roof. The ladies were quiet, or only moaned in 
 agony. It was now the male part of the crew that gave 
 way. The younger boatman, who had scarcely spoken 
 before, now bewailed his hard fate. He called upon 
 his wife and child. The old man beat his breast and 
 prayed. 
 
 There seemed some faint chance of escape by swim- 
 ming-, or, rather, partly diving through the passage ; but 
 the ladies, as if anticipating some attempt of the kind, held 
 firmly on to their natural protectors. Mrs. Mahony, 
 indeed, clung so tightly round old Sullivan's neck, that 
 she nearly choked him before his time, and he was obliged 
 to use some force to disengage himself. 
 
 At this crisis a lucky thought struck some one : 
 
 “ Swamp the boat 1" 
 
 It was no sooner said than done. Leaning heavily on 
 the gunwale, we suffered the water to enter till she was 
 nearly full, while the ladies were, with some difficulty, 
 made to lie down in the water under the thwarts with 
 barely their faces above the surface. Getting out of the 
 boat ourselves, and partly swimming, partly supporting 
 
THE OLD HEAD OF K1NSALE. 
 
 125 
 
 ourselves against the sides of the tunnel, or on such rocks 
 as rose within reach from the bottom, we urged the boat 
 on. It was a near thing — all but a failure. More than 
 once we were entirely under water for some seconds, with 
 the boat jammed against the roof; but, fortunately, having- 
 no ballast, and the ladies forced to continue lying down, 
 she could not sink. But what a spluttering and screaming 
 there was when the subsiding water gave a moment’s 
 breathing time ! "We were nearly giving up from sheer 
 exhaustion and the stunning blows we received, but our 
 efforts were eventually crowned with success, and we 
 emerged half- drowned into the open sea. The water on 
 this, the lee-side, was perfectly calm, with a scarcely per- 
 ceptible swell, though the rising gale flying over the 
 headland told what must have been our fate amongst the 
 breakers on the weather-side. 
 
 The thankfulness, the rejoicing of the party, may be 
 imagined. To bale the boat with our hats was the work 
 of a few minutes, and the ladies were landed on a rock 
 to get rid of some of the water which streamed from their 
 clothes. Strange figures they were, certainly : the white 
 and pink bonnets flattened into shapes never contem- 
 plated by the curious modiste ; and veils, long hair, and 
 artificial flowers, all tangled and jumbled together about 
 the necks of the fair owners. 
 
 But Mrs. Mahony was in the most woful plight : for 
 old Sullivan, in his struggles to free himself from her 
 strangling embrace, had knocked off bonnet, cap, and 
 wig, and the poor lady exhibited a perfectly bald head, 
 with the exception of a grizzled stubble round the back 
 part and over the ears. She was a little ruffled at this 
 sad expose, but we were all too happy to permit such a 
 feeling to last beyond the moment. It was too ridiculous : 
 and she joined at last in the roar of laughter. Old 
 Sullivan, as soon as he recovered from his hoarse cackle of 
 enjoyment, made all the amends in his power by tendering 
 his hat for her use — an offer which she promptly accepted. 
 
126 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 It was a glazed, low-crowned sailor’s hat, with flowing 
 riband, and the brim rather turned up all round, and 
 being much too large for Mrs. Mahony, was obliged to be 
 worn well cocked over the brows, which revealed the grey 
 stubble at the back of the old lady’s head, and gave an 
 inexpressibly rakish look to her features. As one never 
 happens to see a lady either with a bald head, or wearing 
 a tin hat over a grey cropped one, it was impossible to 
 imagine Mrs. Mahony anything but a little stumpy old 
 man. 
 
 Leaving the boat in charge of young Sullivan, we 
 ascended a zigzag path to the top of the Head, intending, 
 if possible, to procure some change of clothes at the light- 
 house. We had hard work to get the ladies up, for the 
 path precipitous in all parts, was dangerous in some 
 The chill east wind which we encountered on the summit, 
 blowing through our wet clothes, was so uncomfortable 
 that Mrs. Mahony asked old Sullivan for his pea-jacket in 
 addition to the hat. 
 
 If anything could have increased the absurdity of her 
 appearance, it was this huge round jacket, which reached 
 nearly to her heels : and being confounded in the twilight 
 with her dark silk dress, gave her the appearance of a 
 large long-bodied seaman, whose legs had by some acci- 
 dent been omitted, and his feet joined on to the bottom 
 of the trunk. 
 
 Near the lighthouse we encountered the old sailor who 
 had charge of it, and much surprised he was at the recep- 
 tion of so motley a group. But it would have puzzled 
 the cleverest delineator of funny features to do justice to 
 the perplexed astonishment of his face when Mrs. Ma- 
 hony briskly passed him in her way to the house. He 
 stepped back and rubbed his eyes, in doubt apparently 
 whether it was some creature of the element or a razeed 
 old seaman that was making for his stronghold : and she 
 nearly reached the door before he found words to address 
 her. 
 
THE OLD HEAD OF KINS ALE. 
 
 127 
 
 “ Who are ye at all?” said he, at last. “Are yeFalvey? 
 Is it Andy Falvey, of Skibbereen ye are ? and where are 
 ye goan V’ 
 
 “ To bed !” 
 
 “ Is it to bed ? sorrow bed ye’ll get here : sure, this is 
 a lighthouse ; maybe ye take it for a dhry lodging. It 
 isn’t much I like the cut of your jib ; so come oat of that, 
 if ye plaze. None of yerthricks, Mr. Falvey, if it’s Falvey 
 ye are — but it’s hard to say from the back of ye what ye 
 are!” 
 
 But Mrs. Mahony was already housed, and through 
 the kindness of the men’s wives was provided, as were the 
 other ladies, with a change of clothes ; though their 
 astonishment was extreme when the hat and jacket were 
 taken off. Jackets and trowsers were put into requisition 
 for ourselves, and a jaunting-car being procured from a 
 family in the neighbourhood, we proceeded home in a cos- 
 tume scarcely less ridiculous than that in which we entered 
 the lighthouse. 
 
 It may be scarcely necessary to say that no person has, 
 as yet, prevailed upon Mrs. Mahony to re-enter the tunnel 
 at Old Head ; and we apprehend that those who may 
 desire to see her in the costume attempted to be described 
 above, must content themselves with a feeble representa- 
 tion in possession of one of the amateurs. 
 
BARNEY O’HAY. 
 
 On the eastern slope of the Galtee mount ains, near the 
 bottom, is a small, retired, unsuspected village. It is 
 enclosed between two spurs of the mountain, which 
 stretch out with an easy declivity beyond the rest into the 
 plain, and hold the village, as it were, in their arms ; 
 while it partly inclines up the hill, and a few cabins have 
 strayed out upon the level ground. There is only one 
 house above the rank of a cabin in the place, inhabited by 
 the agent of the great proprietor, to whom the neigh- 
 bouring range of hills, the village, and the land about it, 
 belongs. * 
 
 Over this portion of the mountain a sportsman had 
 obtained permission to shoot ; and being accredited with 
 a letter from the great man, proceeded to introduce 
 himself to Mr. O'Hay, the respectable agent, as having 
 the only house capable of affording him accommodation 
 for the few days he purposed to sojourn there. Inn 
 there was none; neither could the village boast of possess- 
 ing a lawyer, or a doctor; and some said there were 
 neither quarrels nor sickness : m fact, the place was sadly 
 behindhand in civilization. 
 
 Mr. O’ Hay's family consisted of his wife (a middle- 
 aged lady), two daughters of eighteen or twenty, and a 
 son, Barney, a hobbledehoy of fifteen. 
 
BARNEY O’HAY. 
 
 129 
 
 The master of the house was an active little man ot 
 business, knowing in rents and the value of land, curious 
 in crops, awake to the markets, perpetually bustling 
 about, and besieged, go where he would, by a crowd of 
 grey-coated hangers-on, tenants, or would-be-tenants, 
 with whom he was always laughing and joking, and doing 
 business, and pushing about, and putting life into. It 
 was curious to mark the difference before and after their 
 interviews with him. To see them enter the house with 
 their faces down to their waistbands, you would have 
 fancied there was some falling-sickness of the features in 
 the place ; and the meditative scratching of heads as they 
 came up to the door, might have suggested to a stranger 
 a prevalent epidemic of the scalp. But Mr. Q'Hay sent 
 them away with jocund features and a springy step ; and 
 many, when outside the gate, would indulge in that 
 peculiar caper which so well expresses an Irishman's 
 happiness, whether he is going to dance a jig or to break 
 a head. 
 
 A great shortener of faces was Mr. O'Hay : in fact he 
 had the trick — 
 
 “ Of scattering smiles on this uneasy earth.” 
 
 He was one of those happily constituted persons who 
 seem to have a natural right to take liberties without their 
 being considered such, because it was plain from his 
 honest and hearty way that they were never meant to be 
 liberties. He could punch in the ribs, and set in a roar a 
 gouty old fellow, that nobody else could venture upon at all ; 
 and as for chucking the girls under the chin, and pinch- 
 ing the widows' cheeks, nay, kissing the wives before 
 their husbands' faces, there was not such a man in all 
 the Galtees. He was a chartered libertine in the way 
 of small practical jokes. Happy in himself, happy in 
 his wife and family, he gave a happy infection to all 
 who came near him ; and if you did not catch it from 
 him, you were sure to do so from some of the family. 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 They belonged to that kind of people that we occa- 
 sionally stumble upon in our walk through the world, 
 with whom we become at once intimate : we are at home 
 with them before they have spoken a word ; and, even 
 without knowing their names, we feel that a regular 
 introduction is almost an impertinence. 
 
 It is astonishing how little is required to make us 
 happy, if we only knew it. Here they were, the bustling 
 little man of business, the blooming matron, two fine 
 healthy girls, and a hobbledehoy, shut up in a little valley 
 of the Galtees, that nobody ever heard of; ten miles from 
 the smallest town ; knowing nobody ; without a “ Times;” 
 ignorant of Grisi ; reading no “ Punch ;” benighted as 
 regards the colour of the late premier’s waistcoat; even 
 doubtful about Lord Brougham’s profile : and asking if 
 Sivori was a fiddler ! There they were ; not crushed by 
 their heavy lot, but chirping, and singing, and working 
 from morning till night. You might have searched the 
 world without finding a nest of five happier birds. Five ! 
 there was another, Judy, with a face the colour of a 
 peony, and the size of a moon. 
 
 It was too good to last. They had a friend somewhere 
 - — save us from such a meddling fellow ! — who thought, 
 no doubt, to do a fine thing, and get Barney a writership, 
 or a cadetship, or some place that was to make his for- 
 tune, in India. This unsettled them at once. What to 
 do for the best ? Till the friend did them them this good 
 turn, they had never shed a tear. 
 
 I have often regretted that tyrants have been wholly 
 discontinued in this country. If there had been one 
 situated conveniently to the Galtees, it would have been 
 pleasant to make interest with him to get that friend 
 soundly flogged for his ill-judged interference; and I 
 would have had the executioner of the sentence proclaim, 
 in an audible voice, at every stroke, the words, “Let 
 well alone!” and have had the same inscribed in the 
 public places of the city ; and should have wished that 
 the tyrant would call for his secretary to bring his tablets, 
 
BARNEY O’HAY. 
 
 131 
 
 and write down the history of that punishment, for a 
 warning to all meddling people in time to come, as 
 was the custom of the illustrious tyrants of the Cali- 
 phate. 
 
 Why did they want to make him a writer ? Had not 
 he enough to do at home ? and could the little man last 
 for ever ? and when he dropped, who was to keep the 
 books and the family ? Is it pleasant to look forward to 
 be turned out of house and home in the course of Nature, 
 and all because you have a son getting bilious and rich in 
 India ? Are there not enough of the friendless to feed 
 their oriental frying-pan, without dipping into happy 
 families for victims ? Does it never occur to people that 
 their livers swell with their capital ? and, however plea- 
 sant may be the anticipation of cutting up fat, it is 
 paying very dear for it to lead the life of a Strasburg 
 goose. 
 
 And what is it, after all, when he does get rich, and 
 comes home in twenty or thirty years a lone man, his 
 friends dead and gone, the world gone a-head of his old 
 ideas, his habits changed, and he finds himself the mark 
 of every sordid flatterer, the hunted-up of long-forgotten 
 cousins, the besieged of scheming widows and manoeu- 
 vring mammas ; the wearer of those reversionary shoes so 
 anxiously looked for from dead men ; talking about Chin- 
 gleput and Conjeveram, and ghauts, and nullahs, and 
 nautches, and dingys, and dandys ; and full of pestilent 
 anecdotes of Nawaubs. What a helpless creature it is ! 
 Going to Covent Garden market at five in the morning, 
 as if it was the Bazaar at Bangalore ; and in bed while 
 other people are getting their dinner ! Instead of being 
 a shortener of faces like his father, the happy husband of 
 another Mrs. O’Hay, the father of other Janes and Bessys, 
 and the master of another moon-faced Judy, he sinks into 
 the querulous twaddle of a club. 
 
 They made a mistake and accepted the appointment. 
 The next morning he was to go. As the coach came bv 
 
 k 2 
 
132 
 
 PADDTANA. 
 
 betimes, the breakfast was early, too early for the guest 
 to get away before it. Nothing is more painful than 
 intrusion upon scenes of sorrow ; but he could not 
 escape : the little man held him ; Mrs. O' Hay intreated : 
 the girls looked imploringly; he saw they felt his pre- 
 sence a relief, so he stayed. 
 
 Poor simple creatures ! they were easily seen through ; 
 and what they said they meant. If the whole family 
 mass had been tried by the most searching analysis, I 
 verily believe that not a single grain of deceit would have 
 been found in it. 
 
 At breakfast they came out in a new character ; they 
 were positively noisy. There was an incessant torrent of 
 jokes, and the stream was showered most upon Barney. 
 Every ludicrous incident of that young man's life was 
 called up, and they laughed till their eyes ran over ; nay, 
 to see how red and swollen they were, you would have 
 supposed they had laughed till they cried all night. 
 
 Then came the brave old stories of how Barney was 
 tossed by the cow ; how he was followed over the moun- 
 tain one night by a ghost, which turned out to be 
 Shawn's white goat ; which, however, was not whiter 
 than Barney when he came in. How once he tried his 
 hand at roasting an egg, and hatched it without any 
 sitting ; and what a joke it was among the tenants 
 when the eagles carried off their chickens, that they 
 had only to come to Mr. Barney, long life to him ! 
 who would do the like, or anything else for them, for 
 he was a good young gentleman, and kind to the 
 poor. 
 
 And then the guest put in his small joke, borrowed 
 from the authentic Miller, and not altogether unknown in 
 the civilized world — but, Lord, anything will go down in 
 the Galtees ! — of how a certain Scotchman eating, as he 
 thought, an egg, heard the plaintive cry of a chicken 
 going down his throat, and exclaimed apologetically, 
 “Eh, mon, ye spak too late!" 
 
BARNEY o’lJAY. 
 
 133 
 
 And it was pronounced a good story, and a new, and 
 was applauded, and honourably received, and laughed at. 
 
 Never did people behave in a more frantic and wasteful 
 way than they all did at that breakfast. It was incredible 
 the quantity of bread and butter they cut and handed 
 about, and which nobody seemed to eat ; and while Jane 
 was wildly cutting up the loaf, Bessy was as madly but- 
 tering toast. In fact the bread seemed the grand point 
 to fall back upon, when nothing else occurred to them to 
 do ; and they all had a turn at it. If Barney had eaten 
 all the good things they heaped upon his plate, it would 
 have been doubtful if he ever saw the morrow’s sun. 
 Why, his share of the slim-cake alone would have fur- 
 nished him with indigestion for a month ! Then the 
 water did not boil, or they had put too much or too little ; 
 and everybody was ready to jump up and set it to rights. 
 And when any one turned away from the rest, they had a 
 way of dashing their hands across their e)^es ; but still 
 they kept up the joke, and laughed louder than ever. A 
 blind man would have fancied that he had fallen in with 
 a set of the most restless and inveterate jesters it was 
 possible to conceive. 
 
 And the little man was as active as any of them, for at 
 least twenty times did he bolt out of the room, either to 
 make a memorandum or to fetch something from his 
 office, where you could hear him blowing his nose as if he 
 had a shocking cold in the head. 
 
 At last Barney fairly gave in. cc Hoo, thin, I can’t ate 
 any more,” said he, and taking occasion to wipe his eyes 
 as he wiped his mouth ; but they only plied him the 
 faster ; and this was a crowning jest. 
 
 With what shallow artifices we try to deceive ourselves 
 and others ! as if this thin mask of merriment could hide 
 the tears that fell upon their plates and bosoms ! as if, 
 with their red eyes and swollen noses, they could pass 
 themselves off as a happy party ! as if, with the poor 
 pantomime of a pocket-handkerchief and an attempt at a 
 
134 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 cough, they could lead people into an idea of catarrhs and 
 colds, or foist upon them the choking of sobs for a hoarse- 
 ness ! 
 
 They were but shallow impostors, and little knew the 
 task they had in hand ; love, fear, joy, anger, may be con- 
 cealed or feigned, but intense grief, never. 
 
 “ Hoo, thin, I hear the horn !” said Barney, rising up. 
 “ Good-bye, father ; good-bye, mother throwing an arm 
 round each of their necks : u good-bye, Bessy ; good-bye, 
 Jane;” adding them both to the family embrace: “I'll 
 never see — never see ye agin !” 
 
 “My boy ! my Barney ! good-bye, good-bye !” They all 
 hung together, it was their last embrace — they were a 
 compound animal, a human polypus, and they went out 
 clinging to each other, all crying, sobbing, choking, and 
 blubbering together. 
 
 In the passage there was another explosion : it was the 
 moonfaced Judy adding herself to the family mass, and 
 Hoo, thin, good-bye, Judy,” was heard above all. 
 
 Barney^s box was on the roof of the coach, himself on 
 the wheel, another step would have done it, when he 
 turned and saw old Bush, the rough old dog who had 
 gone up the mountain with him since he could walk, and 
 was as old as himself. The old dog was standing midway 
 between the family tree and the severed branch ; doubt 
 and wonder were in his ears, and deep despondency in his 
 tail — he clearly did not know what to make of it. 
 
 No creature is gifted with such power of mute expres- 
 sion as the dog, he has it at both ends. Can any one be 
 so insensible as not to see in the ears thrown back the 
 most engaging smile, increasing to a laugh, as the tail 
 takes up the feeling? And how unmistakeably does 
 doubt sink into sadness, sadness to grief, grief to despair, 
 an inch at a time, till with a frantic re-action the feature 
 rises into terror between the legs ! People when they 
 trim their puppies should remember that they are de- 
 priving the poor dogs of their laugh ; cutting away smiles 
 
BARNEY 0*HAY. 
 
 135 
 
 as well as gristle, and chopping off the silent eloquence of 
 the passions with every curtailment of the caudal ver- 
 tebrae. 
 
 “ Hoo, thin, how will I lave him at all V 9 said the poor 
 boy, jumping down and sobbing till he was half stifled 
 upon his neck; “how will I part him, the cratur, that 
 knows me so long ? Will I ever go up the mountain agin 
 with him ? Pll never, never, see the ould cratur agin !” 
 
 In another minute Barney CTIiay was on his way to 
 Bengal. 
 
HEAD-BREAKING. 
 
 An Irishman may be called, par excellence, the “ bone- 
 breaker” amongst men, the homo ossifragus of the human 
 family ; and in the indulgence of this, their natural pro- 
 pensity, there is a total and systematic disregard of fair 
 play : there is no such thing known, whether at a race or 
 a fight. Let an unfortunate stranger — a man not known 
 in the town or village — get into a scrape, and the whole 
 population are ready to fall upon him, right or wrong, 
 and beat him to the ground ; when his life depends upon 
 the strength of his skull or the interference of the police. 
 There is no ring, no scratch, no bottle-holder. To set a 
 man upon his legs after a fall is a weakness never thought 
 of. “ Faith, we were hard set to get him down, and why 
 would we let him up again ?” expresses the feeling on such 
 an occasion. 
 
 “ Sure, it*s a Moynehan !” was repeated by fifty voices 
 in a row at Killarney, where all who could come near 
 enough were employed in hitting, with their long black- 
 thorn sticks at an unfortunate wretch lying prostrate and 
 disabled amongst them. Fortunately, the eagerness of 
 his enemies proved the salvation of the man, for they 
 crowded so furiously together that their blows fell upon 
 each other, and scarcely any reached their intended 
 
HEAD-BREAKING. 
 
 137 
 
 victim on the ground. It was ridiculous to see the wild 
 way in which they hit one another ; but so infuriated 
 were they, that no heed was taken of the blows, or 
 probably in their confusion the hurts were ascribed to the 
 agency of the man on the ground. It was no uncommon 
 thing to see columns, of many hundreds strong, march 
 into Killarney from opposite points, for the sole 
 purpose of fighting on a market-day. Why they fought 
 nobody could tell — they did not know themselves ; but 
 the quarrel was a “ very pretty quarrel,” and no people 
 in the best of causes could go to work more heartily than 
 they did. The screams, and yells, and savage fury of the 
 combatants would have done credit to an onslaught of 
 Blackfeet or New Zealanders, whilst the dancing madness 
 was peculiarly their own. But in spite of the vocal efforts 
 of the combatants, and the constant accompaniment of the 
 sticks, you could hear the dull thud which told when a 
 blackthorn fell upon an undefended skull. 
 
 Next to these faction fights at Killarney, the wildest 
 collection of people I ever saw was at the races near Clo- 
 nakilty. There they were all friends, at least no rival 
 factions, and if knocking down be a proof of Irish friend- 
 ship, the general amicability of the assembled multitude 
 was abundantly proved. It was painfully ludicrous to see 
 a man rush from a tent, flourishing his stick, dancing 
 about, and screaming, “ High for Cloney !” 
 
 He is speedily accommodated with a man who objects 
 to the exaltation of Cloney, and pronounces a “ High !” 
 for some other place. A scuffle ensues, and many hard 
 blows given and taken by those who know nothing of the 
 cause of the row. But in this case the fight is soon over. 
 The women rush in, in spite of the blackthorns — tender 
 Irish epithets are lavished — every man finds himself en- 
 circled with, at least, one pair of fair but powerful arms ; 
 dishevelled hair is flying, pretty faces in tears, caps awry, 
 handkerchiefs disarranged. Pat is a soft-hearted fellow, 
 he can’t stand it at all, they still squeeze him close ; so 
 he lowers his stick, and is led away captive to some dis- 
 
138 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 tant booth, where in a few minutes more he is “ on the 
 floore” in a jig, as if nothing had happened. 
 
 The jockey who rides against a popular horse under- 
 takes a service of some danger, for there are no means, 
 however unfair, which they will not adopt to cause him to 
 lose the race. They will hustle him, throw sticks and 
 hats in his way, in the hope of throwing over horse and 
 rider. I had once an opportunity of seeing a little sum- 
 mary justice done by the priest of the parish in such a 
 case. The rider of a steeple-chase was struck heavily by 
 some of the mob as he rode over a fence, and the circum- 
 stance reported to the priest, who properly required that 
 the offender should be pointed out to him. His reverence 
 was a hearty, powerful fellow, mounted on a strong horse, 
 who, report said, was much given to run away with his 
 master on hunting-days, and could seldom be pulled up 
 till the fox was killed. Riding calmly up to the offender, 
 he inquired if the report were true, and taking the sulky 
 shuffling of his parishioner as an affirmative, he proceeded 
 to lash him heartily over the head and shoulders with a 
 heavy hunting-whip. The culprit writhed and roared in 
 vain ; his reverence, warming with the exercise, laid on 
 thicker and faster, now whacking him heavily with handle 
 and lash together, then double-thonging him upon the 
 salient points as he wriggled and twisted ; and when the 
 man bounded for a moment as he thought out of reach, 
 he was caught with such an accurate and stinging cast of 
 the whipcord under the ear, as argued in the worthy 
 pastor a keen eye for throwing a line. At last he fairly 
 bolted, trying to doge the priest amongst the crowd, but 
 his reverence had a fine hand on his well-broken horse, 
 besides a pair of sharp hunting-spurs over the black boots, 
 and was up with him in a moment. Accustomed as one 
 is to the delays and evasions of courts in this our artificial 
 state, it was positively delicious to witness such a piece of 
 hearty, prompt, un-quibbling justice. 
 
 But when the popular horse wins, then indeed the 
 scene is fine. No sooner did a certain chestnut get a-head 
 
HEAD-BREAKING. 
 
 139 
 
 of the rest than there arose a cry from ten thousand 
 people of “ The Doctor’s harse ! the foxey harse ! the 
 Doctor’s harse !” accompanied by such a rush as fairly 
 swept the winner off the course towards the weighing- 
 stand ; and when, after the weighing, the favourite was 
 walked to a distant part of the ground, he was accom- 
 panied by the same thousands, shouting, “ The Doctor’s 
 harse ! the foxey harse !” &c. &c. Never, except on this 
 occasion, have I seen five hundred persons trying to rub 
 down one horse at one time, with ten times that number 
 anxious to assist, and only prevented by the evident im- 
 possibility of getting near enough. Hats, handkerchiefs, 
 coats, handfuls of grass — all were in requisition, w T hile 
 the vast mass of excited people roared, screeched, vocife- 
 rated the endless virtues of the horse and master, though 
 probably not one in a hundred knew anything of either, 
 only that the horse opposed to him was owned by an 
 anti-repealer. 
 
 But there is a wild love of head-breaking in an Irish- 
 man, in the abstract of all quarrels and feuds. One 
 instance I will mention. It was at the races of Cions kilty, 
 where, as I have observed, they were all friends. I was 
 walking among the long drinking-tents or booths, which 
 occupied a considerable portion of the central part of the 
 ground, round which the course was marked out. In one 
 of the large tents filled vfith people, the floor, or central 
 part, being occupied by jig-dancers, and the rest of the 
 company disposed of on benches all round, — these being- 
 close to the canvas walls, showed to the spectators outside 
 the bulging indications of the heads, shoulders, elbows, 
 &c. of those who leaned against them. Amongst them 
 was one wdio leaned more backward than the rest, and 
 his head protruded much beyond the others. A man who 
 happened to be passing eyed the tempting occiput, and 
 paused. He was provided with a tremendous “ alpeen.” 
 He looked again at the head — a destructive feeling was 
 evidently rising within him. He raised the stick a bit; 
 surely he is not going to hit the man ! No ; he puts the 
 
140 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 stick under his left arm, and rubs his hands. He smiles : 
 some happy thought has crossed him. Suddenly he looks 
 upwards to the sky, with an expression of wild joy — 
 wheels quickly round — makes a short prance of three 
 steps — utters a screech — whips the stick from under his 
 arm, and giving* it a flourish in the air, brings down the 
 heavy knob, with all his force, upon the skull protruding 
 from the canvas — whack ! ! The heavy sound was awful : 
 surely no human bones could stand this ? — the man must 
 be killed ! Meantime the skull-breaker dances about, 
 screaming and flourishing the stick. 
 
 But he was not destined to escape without paying some 
 penalty for his frolic. A hubbub of noises arose from the 
 interior of the booth, and men and women poured out 
 tumultuously together. He was instantly surrounded by 
 those who came out first, and, in the commencement, had 
 decidedly the worst of the fight ; but he laid about him 
 gallantly, right and left. As the crowd thickened, so did 
 the confusion as to the identity of th« offender ; and in a 
 few minutes it became a wild hubbub, fighting together 
 without aim or object. 
 
 Now, this might have been his father, brother — nay, 
 his mother or sister, or dearest friend. What cared he ? 
 — there was a head to break, and the opportunity was not 
 to be neglected. 
 
 On entering the tent to see after the dead man, I found 
 only the piper and the proprietors of the booth, calmly 
 awaiting the return of their customers. 
 
 In some parts of the country, the police have inter- 
 fered with the use of alpeens, which has brought stones 
 more into play, and particularly a very fatal weapon — 
 a heavy stone dropped into the foot of a long worsted 
 stocking : this has the advantage of being portable, and 
 not seen beforehand by the police. 
 
CADS, FOOLS AND BEGGARS. 
 
 The Irish cads are a singular generation, apart from 
 every other class of the community. The Cad , properly 
 so called, is only to be found in perfection in the large 
 towns, Dublin, Cork, Limerick, &c. Doubtless they are 
 to be met with in all towns, nay, villages, in the country; 
 but in these latter they merge, more or less, into the 
 juvenile mendicancy of the place, and cannot be said to 
 form a distinct class. But the cad of a large town, a 
 garrison one particularly, is a being of a superior intelli- 
 gence ; acquainted, to minuteness, with the history of 
 everybody in the place — their birth, fortune, and expecta- 
 tions ; above all, no scandal escapes him. He is, emphati- 
 cally, “ downy has a curious judgment in car-horses, 
 knows their capabilities to a mile, and may be safely 
 trusted to bespeak and procure this indispensable article. 
 In a word, he is the faithful messenger, the much-trusted 
 guide, the procurer-general of the place. 
 
 There are mysteries about cads. I have never, except 
 in one instance, seen a cad older than five-and-twenty. 
 What becomes of the old cads, is a question more easily 
 asked than answered. Generally, they move off the scene 
 about the age of puberty. 
 
142 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Are they worn out, and die of superhuman exertion at 
 this period, or do they retire upon a competence ? Do 
 they marry, and settle in the country ? Bah ! the thing 
 is impossible. Some curious inquirer would have found 
 their retreats. “ Cadville ” would have been heard of. 
 The problem has not yet been solved ; but I am inclined 
 to think they die in the prime of youth. 
 
 I place the Cork cad at the head of the whole fra- 
 ternity for intelligence, trust-worthiness, and long-suffer- 
 ing. Now and then, a genius will appear in other places; 
 but, as a body, none come up to the cads of Cork. 
 The Dublin cad is a very inferior animal; be is a sad 
 bunch of wretchedness. Hat, shoes, or stockings, he has 
 none : he is in a flutter of small brown rags, looking as if a 
 portion of hashed mutton had been thrown at him, and, 
 by some unknown influence, hung about his person in the 
 semblance of a dress, as a handful of nails adhere to a 
 magnet. He is invariably very young ; used up, perhaps, 
 at an earlier period in the capital. He is too young for 
 confidence. He may hold a horse, perhaps; but who 
 would entrust such a creature w r ith a delicate commission ? 
 How unlike this are the Cork cads of the senior depart- 
 ment. What a comfort to the stranger ! What a guide, 
 philosopher, and friend, does one of them prove to the 
 new-comer; Like their brethren in Dublin, they begin 
 in hashed mutton (happy could the metaphor be realised!) 
 and toil many weary years, without any outward sign of 
 an ameliorated condition; for it is something for their 
 crude energies to procure a subsistence. Their ultimate 
 success is, however, certain. 
 
 First, trowsers come, with a leetle shirt out behind; 
 then a jacket ; then old boots, of immense proportions, 
 and no toes ; then a shirt ; then perhaps stockings may 
 be surmised; and ultimately the greasy, leather cap is 
 exchanged for a hat — some seedy gossamer, discarded by 
 an embarking ensign. 
 
 When a cad arrives at the dignity of a hat, he may be 
 
CADS. 
 
 143 
 
 said to enter the senior department of the order. His 
 manners undergo a marked change. 
 
 “ Manners with fortunes, humours change with climes, M &c. 
 
 He is quieter, more civil, and respectful — even polite 
 The hat has conferred importance, and he is proud to 
 touch it, conscious of the happy fact. His phraseology is 
 refined : the blunt request, “ Will yer honour give me 
 the butt ?'”* is usually changed to, “ Would yer honour 
 obleege me with the butt ?” Nay, at my last visit, I ob- 
 served that trowser-straps began to obtain among them. 
 So enormous a stride in refinement may justify one in 
 supposing that breast-pins and zephyrs may not un- 
 reasonably be looked forward to at no very distant 
 period. 
 
 No country but Ireland produces cads, as far as I am 
 aware of. There is a cadie in Edinburgh, but I take it 
 he is of a much lower order. England has no cads — 
 the horse-holders of England are not to be named with 
 them. Gibraltar has its Jew boys, but they are a feeble 
 imitation ; they are sadly deficient in enterprise and 
 pluck, are weakly afraid of Spanish knives, and apt to 
 howl at the practical joking of midshipmen : they have 
 no elasticity of spirit to support them through the trials 
 of their order. 
 
 The Cork cads are wont to attach themselves to leading 
 individuals of the garrison, and to urge the connexion, as 
 a recommendation to new-comers. “ Pm Mr. Stewart’s 
 cad, Sir.” “ Pm Captain Smith’s boy, Sir.” And there 
 was one called, par excellence , “ The Intelligent Cad,” 
 who simply showed you a card, on which was written, 
 te Recommended by me, George Browne.” If quires of 
 paper had been expended in a laboured panegyric, it 
 could have gone no further than this. You felt at once 
 it was enough. Browne’s cad must be an impersonation 
 
 * The last inch, or so, of a cigar, usually thrown away. 
 
144 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 of vigilance, and you looked with mute reverence upon the 
 eloquent pasteboard. 
 
 From cads it seems an easy transition to Fools ; not 
 from their resemblance, but their association. Every town 
 in Ireland has its fool — the poor, privileged, harmless 
 natural of the place. To call him the jester, would be 
 wrong, for his wit is more of the passive than the active 
 order. 
 
 He is not so much a “poker” of fun himself, as the 
 recipient of the jokes of others : above all, he is the 
 authorised and well-established butt of the cads. He is 
 the target of their jokes; but he rarely, unless much 
 enforced, gives out a return. When, however, the retort 
 is extracted, it is sure to tell. Independent of any merit 
 of its own, there is mostly an idiotic leer, a queer contor- 
 tion, a horrible grimace, accompanying the jest, which 
 adds a sting to its point. 
 
 The poor fool is not, perhaps, altogether deficient in 
 knavery, but his foible is a love of finery. He is great in 
 a procession. His usual costume is some worn-out mili- 
 tary coat, and his passion is a band. He ushers in and 
 out every regiment that passes ; and usually carries some 
 quaint emblem of arms — a lath-sword or a broom fire- 
 lock. He is a sort of local drum-major; and it is 
 amusing to see the pompous indignation of the regular 
 functionary at the disreputable association, as they march 
 side by side at the head of the band. Even the dusty 
 and strapless major looks with no favourable eye at the 
 implied ridicule of the companionship. 
 
 The Beggars are, I fear, a hackneyed subject : no one 
 can treat of Ireland without a notice of them. But I may 
 mention, that in no other country have I seen a mounted 
 beggar. This mendicant field-officer flourished some 
 years ago at Killarney — and I have no doubt still con- 
 tinues to flourish, for he was a hale, old cripple. W r e 
 have all heard of a beggar on horseback, but mv friend 
 
BEGGARS. 
 
 145 
 
 had not quite arrived at that dignity — his monture was a 
 donkey, and I am inclined to think the speculation 
 answered. I shall never forget the beggars of Killarney. 
 They were the sturdiest of their kind. With what punc- 
 tuality they assembled at the arrival of the Cork mail ! 
 and last, but not least, came our mounted friend, slowly 
 turning the comer as the distant horn was faintly heard 
 in the suburbs : his two crutches protruding in front, and 
 giving him something of a lancer character. 
 
 To hear the piteous tales that were addressed to the 
 passengers, you would suppose that the concentrated 
 wrath of Heaven had fallen upon the place, and its poor. 
 They were quite a crowd. What a yell of expectation, 
 and a crowding forward of the poor cripples, at any indi- 
 cation of the coming halfpenny ! How the lancer charged 
 home to the window at the faintest movement of a hand 
 to a pocket! How he passaged and wheeled about to 
 clear the way and secure it all to himself ! It was sadly 
 ludicrous to see them ply their sticks and crutches, and 
 wretchedly maimed limbs, to gain the other window 
 before him. They generally beat him in the race, and 
 mostly turned the first wheel before he was under weigh 
 (for the donkey did not spring into a gallop at once). 
 But when he did get round, poor devils, they had little 
 chance. What could they do with a man who was 
 executing the tricks of the manege among their naked 
 feet ? Their greatest triumph was when a halfpenny was 
 chucked upon the ground amongst them : then the 
 infantry had it all to themselves ; and the demoniacal 
 expression of the lancer's face might have furnished a 
 study for Michael Angelo. I trust Cruik shank will try 
 him. When the mail drove off, it was instructive to see 
 them congregate and compare notes. What concentrated 
 scowls of hatred used to possess the features of the unsuc- 
 cessful candidates ! and what a deal of imagination was 
 shown in their figurative curses ! The lancer usually rode 
 quietly away. 
 
 I know not whether any former scribbler has taken 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 P ADD I AN A. 
 
 note of a class of beggars who are continually tra- 
 velling about the country at the expense of the in- 
 habitants, and are actually moved from place to place by 
 them. These are helpless cripples deprived of the use of 
 their limbs. They are usually placed in a sort of hand- 
 barrow, or sometimes a small car, their own property, and 
 carried from house to house ; the inmates, after supplying 
 them with a small quantity of food, carry them on to the 
 next house, from whence they are forwarded to the next, 
 and so on. In this way they traverse the country during 
 their whole lives ; the inmates of the house at which they 
 may be left at night hospitably affording them the shelter 
 of the roof, and carrying them forward at the earliest 
 dawn. It would be curious to trace on a map the jour- 
 ney in gs of one of these involuntary travellers. 
 
 What strange chances must befall a man in this his life- 
 long pilgrimage. Sitting in a hand-barrow for forty, fifty, 
 sixty years ! and carried east, west, north, or south, at 
 the caprice of any one. What trials of temper, if he had 
 any local predilections or antipathies — passing within 
 sight of a wished-for spot and never reaching it ! What 
 a dashing of long-cherished hope by a single turn of his 
 handbarrow ! Not to be a Smellfungus would argue him, 
 in disposition, an angel of light. Then the helpless 
 lingering in a spot he might from his soul detest : dodg- 
 ing for a week about Kilmacthomas, for instance, when 
 his heart was set upon Dungarvon ! 
 
 Take a single trial : — He has passed the bridge, and 
 all goes well ; he is on the long-desired road. Seated on 
 his second or third dunghill he would seem to command 
 success. Hurrah for “ Jolly Dungarvon \” — there is no 
 offstreet — no corner to turn — the road is straight and 
 plain before him. How old thoughts and recollections 
 come back upon him ! Through the present fragrance 
 he seems to recognise a whiff of the old town — “the 
 ancient and fishlike smell” he was wont to inhale in 
 infancy. 
 
 Make it more touching : — say he had an early love, or 
 
BEGGARS. 
 
 i 47 
 
 an aunt in imagined affluence, with a cabin in reversion, 
 and a probable sedentary evening to his roving live. 
 Every potatoe is sweeter as he gets on. In unison with 
 some happy chord within, his professional whine is 
 getting out of the minor key, and is thrown out as a 
 cheerful recitative. Hurrah ! through dung, and pigs, 
 and children he goes gloriously on — he almost topples off 
 the mixen in his ecstasy, and cracks his joke when they 
 set him down in the cesspool. Hurrah ! hurrah ! Every 
 breeze is fresher as it blows over a dunghill the less — he 
 is now positive as to the hake and poor John. He has 
 reached the last house — the ultimate vertebra of the 
 town's tail — it can't go wrong now — another move will 
 do it ! 
 
 Alas! he has overlooked a checkmate — he has, indeed, 
 reckoned without his host. 
 
 “ Why, sure, the next house is a mile beyant the hill 
 Sorrow fut I could take ye there at all ! Try th' other 
 side." Beggars must not be choosers, and up he goes 
 from dunghill to dunghill for another week of the hated 
 town, and then — ! away, away, from Dun gar von — early 
 love — affluent aunt and settling for life — dragging his 
 lengthening chain eastwards, westwards, northwards — 
 anywhere but where he wants, for perhaps the rest of his 
 ricketty life. 
 
 Of all the beings on the earth's surface, these unhap py 
 beggars are the most out of the world, though daily 
 mixing with it. The most inveterate recluse would be 
 more easily found. Let him settle in Japan, or Timbuc- 
 too, or hug himself in fancied retirement with the lost 
 colony in Greenland, Smith, or Jones or Brown, would 
 sooner or later ferret him out. But to catch such a 
 wanderer as this is hopeless. The many-handed messen- 
 gers of St. Martin's-le-Grand may clatter at all the doors 
 of the empire for him in vain. He is alike beyond an 
 estaffette or a poste restante. His whereabout would 
 baffle Nadgett ; and even Joseph Ady could tell him 
 nothing to his advantage. 
 
 l 2 
 
148 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 But the most curious exhibition of begging I ever saw, 
 — in fact, the most extraordinary sight I ever witnessed, 
 — was at the fair or “ pattern ” of Aghadoe, in the south 
 of Ireland. I hardly know in what terms to describe it, 
 such is the squeamishness of modern refinement; but 
 surely that which was publicly exhibited by the roadside 
 in a civilized country, cannot be unfit for the pure pages 
 of this little volume. It was a woman, w r hose whole 
 posterior person was the seat of some extraordinary 
 disease — a sort of elephantiasis, perhaps, for it was not 
 unlike, though much rougher, than the appearance of the 
 skin of patients afflicted with that complaint. It was, 
 however, much more like the gnarled and tuberculous 
 surface of one of those huge excrescences one sees on the 
 trunk of an aged witch elm. It was a curious spectacle, 
 and publicly shown a little outside the town in a most 
 conspicuous and public place. The beneficiaire was in a 
 kneeling posture, leaning with her elbows on a green 
 bank by the road-side, attended by an exhibit or (a 
 female) on one side, and on the other was a bowl to 
 receive the contributions of the charitable. Some slight 
 drapery covered the part, and this was slowly raised by 
 the attendant to all passers-by. It was curious to stand 
 a little apart and watch the effect this exhibition had 
 upon the spectators. The educated classes, I grieve to 
 say, were too apt to regard it as a ludicrous sight, and 
 after dropping their gift in the bowl, to pass on with 
 roars of laughter. Not so the peasantry; to their honour 
 I must say that it was by no means considered by them 
 in the light of a joke. They contemplated it in wonder 
 and seriousness, and dropping their mite into the bowl, 
 passed on whispering. Many of them remained long 
 looking at this most singular phenomenon ; and one 
 young and pretty girl seemed perfectly fascinated with 
 the sight, and remained with eyes and mouth open, and 
 hands uplifted, in a perfect ecstasy of amazement. What, 
 however, rendered the thing particularly ludicrous to one 
 who watched the proceedings was, that scarcely a single 
 
CARMEN. 
 
 149 
 
 person passed without putting their hands to a corre- 
 sponding part of their own persons, in order, apparently, 
 to assure themselves by the sense of touch that they, at 
 least, were all right behind. This may be thought to 
 savour of the marvellous, but it is literally true, and can 
 be vouched for by many credible witnesses. As only a 
 few years have elapsed (it was in 1836), no doubt the 
 curious in such matters may, by attending the pattern of 
 Aghadoe, near Youghal (sometime in the summer), be 
 witness of it yet. 
 
 Would such an exhibition answer in London? No 
 doubt the spectator would make a fortune, unless, indeed, 
 it were considered a fit subject for the interference of the 
 police ! In the meantime, should the public express any 
 wish for a graphic representation of the above, I would 
 beg to observe that there is a sketch in existence, which 
 may be brought out in a future edition. 
 
 The circumstance of the spectators in the above case 
 assuring themselves by feeling of their own exemption 
 from the dreadful malady exhibited to them, reminds me 
 of a circumstance which occurred many years ago on my 
 first visit to the Sister Island. It was on occasion of a 
 ball being given by a certain distinguished regiment in 
 one of the midland counties, at which myself and two 
 friends intended to assist. We had about sixteen miles 
 to go, and it was intended to start in time to reach the 
 regimental mess at dinner-time. The journey was to be 
 performed in a jaunting-car hired for the occasion, and 
 one of the party facetiously proposed, that with the view 
 of giving an imposing appearance to our entree , the car 
 driver, honest Miek Molony, should be invested with a 
 dress of honour for the nonce, instead of the grey frieze 
 coat and shocking bad hat, usually adorned with a short 
 pipe in the band, which was his common wear. The idea 
 was no sooner conceived than acted upon : a company of 
 strolling-players were in the town, and a civil note was 
 
150 
 
 PADDIANA 
 
 despatched to the manager, making the project known, 
 and requesting the loan of a servant’s costume, such as 
 would fit and show off the person of Mick, who carried 
 the note himself. Of course it was expected that some 
 old taffeta suit would have been the result — some well- 
 worn stock-dress of universal application to serving-men, 
 that had graced the persons of Diggorys and Dubbses and 
 J abels without end ; and after “ playing out its play” at 
 the metropolitan theatre, had descended, in its old age, 
 to the ambulatory wardrobe of Mr. Mac Guffin’s company. 
 
 What, then, was the astonishment of the party when 
 Michael returned with a magnificent court suit — on its 
 last legs, certainly — but an undoubted, genuine court suit 
 of the finest cloth, and most elaborate and beautiful work- 
 manship ! The coat and breeches were of the same cloth, 
 the waistcoat was satin, handsomely embroidered about 
 the pockets and button-holes, and was, altogether, a very 
 curious and interesting costume. From its great age and 
 the fineness of the workmanship and materials, I have 
 little doubt of its having figured at the court of Louis le 
 Grand, worn, perhaps, by the Due de Roquelaure, or more 
 probably brought to this country by Count Anthony 
 Hamilton, or De Grammont. It was really interesting to 
 an antiquary. Accompanying this dress was a wig of the 
 most extraordinary device. To say what species of wig it 
 was, would, indeed, puzzle a conjurer. It was not a 
 judge’s wig, nor in fact had it anything of a forensic air 
 at all : neither was it a bob, or a Jerome, or a Farr, or a 
 Johnson wig ; but it was a sort of buzz enclosure for the 
 head, not unlike a bee-hive, with a Gothic window in it 
 just large enough to permit the central features of the 
 face to peer out, but enveloping completely the ears, 
 cheeks, and forehead. 
 
 But if the wig was extraordinary, the tail appended to 
 it was so, at least, in an equal degree. It might have been, 
 perhaps, fifteen inches long, and at the point of junction 
 with the wig was fully the size of a man’s wrist, from 
 
CARMEN. 
 
 151 
 
 whence it became “ fine by degrees and beautifully less,” 
 till it finished in a point like a marlin -spike, the end being 
 adorned with a huge bunch of hair as large as a fist, 
 curiously interwoven with ribands. To be affixed on the 
 top of this wig was sent the smallest possible cocked-hat, 
 turned up on three sides, the point in front being pitched 
 well forward over the forehead, and the upright back of 
 the hat not extending further than the centre of the 
 crown of the head. 
 
 Now, anything more profoundly ridiculous than the 
 angular features of Mick Molony looking out of the 
 Gothic window of such a wig, surmounted with such 
 a hat, and adorned with such a tail, cannot be con- 
 ceived, arranged too as the rest of his person was in 
 the De Grammont suit ; and Mr. Manager Mac Guffin 
 must have been an arch wag to have hit upon it. To our 
 great surprise, Mick made no kind of objection to the 
 costume : he saw nothing in it apparently to ridicule, and 
 whether he was proud of it or not could not be seen. 
 Whether he was one of those dry fellows who can enjoy a 
 joke without laughing at it, I can't say, or whether he 
 saw any joke at all, certain it is he arrayed himself 
 promptly in the clothes. The wig seemed rather to strike 
 him, for holding it aloft on his finger, and gently turning 
 it round, he exclaimed gravely, but with a comic expres- 
 sion, “Bedad, that's a grate jazey !'' 
 
 I shall not easily forget his appearance on entering the 
 room to say that the car and himself were ready. Such a 
 roar of laughter, I will answer for it, never greeted the 
 entrance of that costume before, from the days of De 
 Grammont to those of Mac Guffin ; but Mick was un- 
 moved; he was anxious to be off, for the day was 
 declining, and he urged that the roads were bad. In 
 fact, he seemed to forget* the costume he was in, and 
 thought only in his character of carman. It was very 
 absurd to see this courtier of Louis Quatorze dancing 
 round the car, arranging the luggage, fastening the har- 
 
152 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 ness, &c., with the huge tail bounding from shoulder to 
 shoulder with his erratic movements. It required some 
 little dexterity to fix the small three-cornered hat upon the 
 bee-hive wig, and we were at last obliged to have recourse 
 to small pieces of packthread to lash it down fore and aft : 
 the wig itself was effectually secured with springs. 
 
 All things being adjusted, Mick took his seat on the 
 small driver’s seat in front, the coat being so arranged 
 that the ample skirts came outside the iron frame, which 
 they hid completely, and flowing down into the car and 
 all round the box, gave him the appearance of sitting on 
 the same level as ourselves, and being, consequently, of 
 enormous size. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the wonder of the country 
 people : they were dumb with astonishment : they did 
 not laugh, but stood staring and awe-struck. The tail 
 seemed to strike them most, for scarcely a man passed 
 who did not put his hand to the back of his head to feel 
 if he had such an appendage himself. What tickled Mick 
 Molony amazingly was the respect that was paid to him. 
 All touched their hats, many took them off with a low 
 bow, and the women curtsied. 
 
 “ Och ! murther,” said Mick, “ to see the bow Andy 
 Poor give me ! That bangs Bannagher ! Divle a scrape 
 
 of a leg ever I got before Och ! to see Kit Flannagan 
 
 give me the courtesy, and she as grave as a sitting hin. 
 Sure I’m surprised at it, for it’s aften she sees me. Faith, 
 I believe Corny Falls tuk me for the judge going to hould 
 
 the coort at Mullingar ; and me, Mick Molony ! I’m 
 
 greatly changed with the jazey any how ! Well ! well ! 
 look at Biddy Whelan, ’most slipped up wid the fright ! — 
 and by my sowl, it’s a purty good howlt of the floore she’s 
 got, too. Sure, it would be hard to catch her in saft 
 
 ground : but it’s the jazey thafs done it ! Och ! Tar 
 
 an’ ouns ! did you see Father Rafferty lift his hand to 
 his hat ! Well ! bad manners to me, but I desaved his 
 rivirence !” 
 
CARMEN. 
 
 153 
 
 With a choice variety of such exclamations we reached 
 our journey's end. That night came on one of the most 
 destructive and awful hurricanes that has ever afflicted 
 these countries. The barracks we were bound to were 
 unroofed — houses were blown down, and the roads ren- 
 dered impassable from fallen trees. As neither Mick 
 Molony nor, I presume, any body else, ever appeared 
 abroad in this quaint costume again, I have no doubt that 
 in the minds of the superstitious country people honest 
 Mick passes for the genius of the storm, kindly passing 
 through the country to give warning of its approach. 
 
 In consequence of the gale, the ball could only par- 
 tially come off on the day fixed ; but it was proceeded 
 with under happier auspices the next. And here I will 
 mention, for the pleasure the recollection gives me, that 
 on this occasion I did drink stronger and hotter punch 
 — in greater quantities, and at a faster pace — than it has 
 ever been my fortune to do before or since — nay, in any 
 three months of my life. 
 
 When the ladies were fairly on their way homewards, 
 a large and extremely convivial party rallied round a 
 gentleman — unanimously called to the chair — for the 
 purpose of a slight and friendly finish of warm liquor. 
 By some peculiarity in his organisation, this individual 
 was endued with a miraculous capacity for boiling punch ; 
 and, such an imitative animal is man, his supporters 
 seemed for the time to catch a portion of his superhuman 
 powers. If asphalte had been in vogue, one might have 
 fancied that his throat had been laid down by Claridge or 
 Polonceau ; and some, not knowing the man, suspected 
 that some such trick was played as Jack passed off upon 
 the giant in the matter of the hasty pudding. But no ! 
 his honesty was unimpeachable — Caesar could not have 
 wished his wife to be more? unsuspected than our friend's 
 integrity. He would have done the same in the dark. 
 
 Jug after jug came in, each holding a trifle of half a 
 gallon or so — small, that the stuff might be hot and hot. 
 
154 
 
 PADD1ANA. 
 
 No need to call for it, the manufacture went on perpetually, 
 and the supply was in exact proportion to the demand. 
 No sooner were the boiling portions poured out, than this 
 fire-drinking president's was poured down, and, — 
 
 “ Put in your glasses, gentlemen ; I've another toast 
 for you !” greeted our ears. 
 
 But this is a digression from Irish beggary — a subject 
 which should not be concluded without some mention 
 
 of,— 
 
 T "V ^ 
 
 c 
 
THE MENDICITY ASSOCIATION. 
 
 Until the Poor-law came into operation in Ireland, 
 the Mendicity Association was the only institution for 
 the relief of the destitute poor of the city of Dublin. It 
 was supported by voluntary contribution, most of the 
 principal inhabitants being yearly subscribers ; and it was 
 one of the few things in Ireland not subject to the influence 
 of religious bigotry or party politics. It saved the lives 
 of thousands annually, and hundreds were indebted to it 
 for their daily bread. But the subscriptions were insuf- 
 ficient, and the daily papers of the capital teemed with 
 the most imploring appeals to the benevolent. 
 
 To eke out the daily diet of the poor creatures, carts 
 were sent round to the houses of the upper and middle 
 classes, to collect such fragments of broken victuals as in 
 other countries find their way to the dogs or the dusthole ; 
 and one can hardly reflect with an unmoved stomach upon 
 the heterogeneous mass of substances — the sweepings of 
 the kitchens of an Irish city* — so gathered together. Fish, 
 flesh, and fowl — raw and cooked, fresh and tainted — bones, 
 puddings, potatoes, crusts, pastry, flaps, scraps, confec- 
 tionary, and kitchen-stuff, all jumbled together in a cart, 
 and dragged about through a sweltering summer- day, 
 till the festering mass was shot down at evening before 
 
156 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the squalid and famishing crowd in the yard of the 
 Institution. 
 
 Will it be believed that human creatures in a civilized 
 country were reduced to feed upon such a revolting 
 farrago as this, till pretty deeply into the nineteenth 
 century ? 
 
 I have marked the cart and its contents often. Passing 
 along a street near Mountjoy Square, I once saw brought 
 out from an area the fragments of a roast fowl, the head, 
 feet, and raw entrails of the same, some cold potatoes, the 
 heads of herrings, and a large piece of mouldy custard- 
 pudding : all of which excepting the entrails, which the 
 collector declined., were turned over amongst the mass of 
 filth, and the smeared dish handed back with thanks. 
 
 But if the collection was nasty, what shall we say of 
 the distribution ? Imagine its arrival among the poor 
 creatures, their appetites whetted with a breakfast of thin 
 gruel. Was it served out in shovelfulls, or emptied out 
 in a mass before the famishing throng ? What a study 
 of faces there must have been as they gloated over the 
 garbage, and scrambled and dived into it ! 
 
 And all this was going on while the frequenters of 
 Exeter Hall were collecting tens of thousands of pounds 
 for the conversion of the Jews : and pious young ladies 
 were toiling from house to house gathering pence for the 
 education of the “ poor African !” 
 
 Did they ever convert a Jew? Or, having converted 
 him, did they on any single occasion retain their convert 
 a moment longer than it was his palpable interest to 
 profess a belief in Christianity ? 
 
 But there was no excitement in simply relieving a mass 
 of misery at our own doors. It was of too practical, and 
 vulgar, and obvious utility to touch the far-reaching sym- 
 pathies of Exeter Hall benevolence. The subject was not 
 sufficiently dramatic to suit the smug black-coated gen- 
 tlemen on the platform. To introduce a ragged pensioner 
 of the “ Mendicity” with a plateful of his daily food 
 would have brought the scented cambric to the noses, 
 
THE MENDICITY ASSOCIATION. 
 
 157 
 
 instead of to the eyes, of the fair audience : when the 
 appearance of a strapping blackamoor — once Quashie 
 Mumbo, a howling savage, now Thomas Wilberforce 
 Smith, in sable surtout and snowy “choker/* a sainted 
 member of the mission — opened every purse and mois- 
 tened every eye. 
 
 Could Irish eloquence compete with his ? 
 
 “ Once I bery bad man (“ Poor thing !”) — go quite 
 naked. (Sensation.) Kill fader, moder, shild. (“ How 
 dreadful !”) Fader, King Falaba, go fight Mandingo — 
 roast de men — (“Isn’t it shocking!”) — use de women 
 bery bad — (sighs) — roast him shild — (“ How horrid !”) — 
 ven meet Mr. Smith, blessed Mr. Smith ! him say, No 
 roast shild — bery bad roast shild — (“ Dear Mr. Smith !”) 
 — good book say no roast shild. Go home Mrs. Smith, 
 she give pair o’ shoes, no roast shild — plenty pork, no 
 roast shild. Mr. Smith give pair trowsers, no roast shild 
 • — (“How interesting!”) — teachee me good book, no 
 roast shild. Sing hymn Mrs. Smith, no roast shild. 
 Soon go back preachee oder Falaba no roast shild. No 
 Falaba, no black man, never no more roast shild. (“ Poor 
 love !”) Now den, no mo’ palaba, all sing hymn fort- 
 four long blessed Mr. Smith !” 
 
 The Poor-law has now happily alleviated some of the 
 misery which, before its introduction, was forced upon 
 one at every moment and in every place. Loathsome 
 diseases, which in other countries are studiously kept out 
 of sight, were, and still are in a less degree, in Ireland 
 the stock-in-trade of the successful beggar, and exposed 
 in loathsome publicity at every fair and race-course. The 
 New Poor-law may, no doubt, be improved : but such as 
 it is, it is an immense boon to Ireland. 
 
THE DOG-FANCIER. 
 
 There is no place in Ireland where poverty is more 
 conspicuous than in Cork, in the old town in the purlieus 
 of the market. Can filth and misery go beyond this ? 
 Hundreds of people are to be seen, their persons barely 
 covered with filthy rags, and the black mud squeezing up 
 between their naked toes. This is the place for baths 
 and wash-houses. London in its most miserable quarters 
 can show nothing like this. Our poor may starve, but 
 they starve in comparative cleanliness. That part of 
 Dublin called “ The Liberties” is much the same. I 
 had occasion once to visit a house in it somewhere be- 
 tween Thomas Street and St. Patrick's Cathedral. I had 
 lost a dog, and it occurred to me that by putting myself 
 in communication with the professional dog-stealers who 
 inhabit that locality, under pretence of purchasing, I 
 might happily find my own again. I found that these 
 persons were extremely averse to bring their stock for my 
 inspection, but had no objection to my visiting their 
 houses for that purpose: and many a i( region dolorous” 
 I explored in my adventures. One man was reported to 
 live in so dangerous a neighbourhood that my servant, an 
 Irishman, dissuaded me from venturing upon him. I 
 
THE DOG-FANCIER. 
 
 159 
 
 should be robbed — perhaps stripped or eaten — possibly- 
 killed. “Why the polis themselves wouldn't go to it, 
 barrin they had thirty together." This was likely 
 enough, but reports are exaggerated, and I had passed 
 through so many queer scenes with civility and the 
 disbursement of a few coppers, that I was not to be 
 put aside from my intention of trying every chance of 
 success. I carried no bag of gold with me, and if 
 destined to be stripped, I made arrangements for losing 
 the worst suit in my wardrobe. 
 
 It is no easy matter to dress down to the level of the 
 “ Liberties" of Dublin : but such disguise as studiously 
 concealed linen, a beard a day old, an out-at-elbow pea- 
 jacket, and a tin hat conferred, rendered me, I thought, a 
 safe passenger even there. My dog-fancier was possessed 
 of only one animal at that particular time, and in whose 
 person I hoped to recognise my lost favourite, though it 
 was impossible to gather any information of the nature of 
 the beast from his description, excepting that the dog 
 was the most wonderful ever known : a “ great dog en- 
 tirely" for everything — never exceeded in swiftness or 
 bottom ; and as for backing and standing, “ Faith, your 
 ridgement might fire over him and he not stir, barrin ye 
 riz the fowl." 
 
 Leaving tne mam street somewhere beyond Christ- 
 church, we plunged down to the left, threading our way 
 through streets and lanes, each more dirty and crowded 
 than another, till we seemed approaching the heart and 
 core of the wretched neighbourhood. The weather was 
 moist and muggy, rendering clothing an unnecessary 
 luxury, and accordingly it was more and more dispensed 
 with as we left the main thoroughfare behind, and I 
 began to think that we should ultimately arrive at 
 an Eden of the most primitive simplicity — at least in 
 costume. 
 
 I saw more children this day than in any twelvemonth 
 in my life, and more suckling mothers than during my 
 
160 
 
 PA1)DIANA. 
 
 whole existence. It was the afternoon, and the supper- 
 time of the infants, and they at least had a hearty meal. 
 The few females not engaged in this maternal duty were 
 evidently destined to take a share in it at no distant 
 period, if “ coming events” might be guessed at from 
 their foreshadowing. Girls of all ages, in excessive dis- 
 habille, were seated, with a fair sprinkling of boys leaning 
 against the walls. “Boys” should be understood to 
 mean men of all ages; Judge Moore having decided in 
 my hearing, that in Ireland the word “Boy” has no 
 reference to age. The mothers were mostly w r edged 
 together in groups, blocking up the doorways. The 
 young children, unable to stand, and rolling happily 
 about upon the ground, were absolutely in a state of 
 nature ; but, excepting these little smeared Cupids, all 
 above the age of rollers — the toddlers and runners — 
 had some kind of attempt at dress, but so slight in 
 most instances, as to give them the appearance of having 
 contracted a ragged network of cobwebs while groping 
 round some dark and neglected room. But all looked 
 healthy and happy, in spite of the fulsome nastiness of 
 the place. 
 
 But we may take a lesson from these Irish children ; 
 they are never put upon their legs until Nature herself 
 sets them going; no silly go-carts, or holding them up to 
 stand, as our nursemaids are wont to do — consequently 
 no bandy or crooked legs. The Irish are the straightest- 
 limbed people in Europe. What cruel perversity has 
 prevailed with regard to the management of children all 
 over the world, and is even now far from exploded ! 
 It is no long time since we left olf swaddling them. In 
 Germany, they are still packed up tight and immovable 
 in a linen case, with only their heads out, which are not 
 suffered to be washed for some years after birth, lest the 
 water should loosen the sutures of the skull ! At Aix-la- 
 Chapelle, they may be seen running about with little caps 
 of dirt on their heads from this cause. Compare the 
 
THE DOG-FANCIER. 
 
 361 
 
 straight limbs of an Irish labourer to those of our clod- 
 hoppers, tightly encased in leather and high-laced boots. 
 A more unhappy object than a farm-house boy, just put 
 into his new smalls at some fair, cannot well be seen. 
 The leathers are sold in sizes, and the tightest fit is the 
 cheapest See him coming out of the slop-shop, after 
 riding down the banisters to get them up ; mingled pain 
 and pleasure in his features, and perhaps the additional 
 agony of a new hat. 
 
 Leaving the narrow street, my ill-favoured guide sud- 
 denly turned into a court, which seemed the lowest sink 
 of all the region. Here they were squatted and crawling- 
 all over the flags, and it was no easy matter to pick one's 
 way amongst them. There were few unbroken windows 
 in that court ; and on a cursory view, one might have 
 supposed the people had denuded themselves to dress 
 up the sashes. From some of the windows protruded 
 sticks, with waving flags of drying raiment, generally a 
 woman's gown in its final state as a garment, and about 
 to take its place by instalments in the windows, as it 
 dropped away in rags from the wearer. 
 
 My friend lived in a two -pair back, where we arrived 
 ’ after much cursing of children, who occupied the whole 
 staircase, and there rolled about in their own filth. Could 
 anything be found more revoltingly dirty than that com- 
 mon staircase ? The rooms were bad enough — never 
 washed, of course; but the stairs were evidently con- 
 sidered “ out of doors," to all intents and purposes, and 
 especially so regarded by the children. As all the doors 
 were open, some singular interior views presented them- 
 selves as we slowly mounted. Of bedsteads, there were 
 few ; of chairs and tables, very few. The sleeping-place 
 was mostly indicated by aheap of rags in a corner. " How- 
 ever numerous, or of whichever sex the individuals of 
 each family were, it was evident that they all slept 
 together. But there were no indications of mental misery 
 — no cowering or brooding heart-broken in corners ; on the 
 
162 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 contrary, a general hilarity prevailed; least perhaps amongst 
 the old women, who went maundering about, and 
 who, I could see, were collecting at the doors, with 
 a view to such small alms as they hoped to extract 
 from me in my descent, “for the love an’ honour o’ 
 God.” 
 
 My guide's room was the best in the house ; giving 
 the lie, I fear, as far as worldly prosperity went, to the 
 proverbial advantages of honesty. He had a bedstead, 
 two low stools, and a table : a large iron pot, suspended 
 over a turf fire, containing the potatoes for supper. In a 
 corner, chained to a strong staple in the wall, was a large 
 Russian pointer, which I instantly saw was none of mine.* 
 He had clearly seen better days, and had the discernment 
 to know a gentleman, though disguised in a tin hat and 
 out-at-elbow coat. The poor fellow seemed to recognise 
 in me a deliverer of the class with whom he had passed 
 his life, and bounded towards me, nearly to the breaking 
 of his chain. Fond visions of a change from potato-skin 
 to greaves and stir-about, were probably passing througl 
 his mind, and the luxurious remembrance of bones wi J 
 happily excited. 
 
 “ Will ye have him, Sir ?” 
 
 “ Not I : he is not the dog I want.” (His tail fell ; 
 he saw the unfavourable expression). 
 
 “ Sure he's a great dog.” (He was indeed) 
 better in Ireland.” 
 
 “Will he set snipes ?” 
 
 “Faith he will: you may let him alone 
 Oncet he sets, divle a much ye'll move him. 
 at thirty shillings/' j 
 
 “Dog cheap,” (the tail began to move again), “butf 
 I wouldn't give you ten for a rough brute like that. 
 Why, he's neither pointer nor spaniel, but a cross between 
 a sheep-dog and a donkey. I wouldn't have him at a 
 gift.” (He was a real Russian). 
 
 “Well, will yer honour give me the ten shillings 
 
 “Divle a 
 
 for setting. 
 He's chape 
 
THE DOG-FANCIER. 
 
 163 
 
 itself? There isn't a betther in Ireland than himself." 
 (He believed him to be utterly worthless). 
 
 Some haggling took place, during which the dog 
 stood trembling to the last joint of his tail. I finally 
 agreed to give the ten shillings. There was no occasion 
 to lead him : he knew that he had changed masters, and 
 in his hurry to get away from the potato-skins, nearly 
 dragged the man down stairs. In an unlucky moment, 
 I gave a few halfpence, and suddenly the whole population 
 rose upon me. Mothers, children, boys, and old women, 
 crowded round, and blocked up the way with their squalid 
 persons. The men looked sulkily on. Every moment 
 the crowd thickened ; and I could see them pouring down 
 the stairs, and out of every door, into the court. Mean- 
 time, the Russian got loose, and increased the confusion. 
 I had only one way to extricate myself. Taking all the 
 remaining coppers in my hand, I ostentatiously mixed 
 with them a few silver coins. 
 
 “Now, boys, for a scramble. Are you ready ?" 
 
 “ Divle a fear of it ! This way, Sir. Give it us here, 
 yer honour. It’s we that are the poor crethurs. Go 
 'long, ye blackguards ; it isn't for the like o' you to take 
 the bread out o' the poor widdy's mouth. Don't ye be 
 thrusting me now, or I'll brake yer face. Lave it with 
 us, Sir ; that's the chat," &c. 
 
 And while the contending candidates were pushing 
 each other violently about, as they thought by my motions 
 they could guess the direction of the cast, I threw the 
 money to the far end of the court, whither rushed the whole 
 mass — fighting, tearing, screaming, and finally rolling 
 in a confused heap upon the ground ; a few bare legs, 
 arms, and heads, appearing violently agitated above the 
 surface. Making a sign to my new purchase, I bolted 
 out of the place, the screams and curses of the scramblers 
 ringing in my ears, till I nearly reached the upper air of 
 Thomas Street, having gained a stolen dog and an ex- 
 tended experience of Irish poverty. 
 
164 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Parliamentary commissioners do not, I apprehend, visit 
 such scenes as these ; they may venture down the narrow 
 streets — may even penetrate to the court's mouth, amongst 
 the suckling and teeming mothers. Perhaps one, more 
 adventurous than the rest, may look into the court itself ; 
 but I think I may venture to say, that not one would 
 ascend the two-pair back of my friend the dog-fancier. 
 Nor would it indeed be necessary ; for abundant evidence 
 of the poverty of the land would be found far short of it. 
 
 ( 
 
DUBLIN CARMEN. 
 
 The Dublin carmen deserve a few words. As Cork is 
 celebrated for its cads, so is Dublin for its carmen : they 
 are decidedly at the head of their profession. The cars, too, 
 are of the old-fashioned sort, unmixed with the affected 
 improvements of flies as at Cork. A Cork fly is highly 
 dangerous, top-heavy, and frequently upsetting on the 
 hill ; but no man ever heard of an accident happening to 
 an outside jaunting-car, or rather to the riders upon it. The 
 horse may fall, the wheel may come off, but you are only 
 where you were ; there is no upsetting : all this I have 
 proved. I have also proved what it is to be upset in a 
 covered car, and been on the under-side. If a wheel 
 come off you are gone. What an indifferent protection is 
 the canvas head to save the human one from a rude 
 contact with the ground ! What an unequal fight you 
 have in the scramble with those who are pitched upon 
 you, who, in their hurry to escape, tread without cere- 
 mony on your face, put a foot in your mouth, or dig your 
 eye out with the heel of a boot in effecting that object ! 
 Why, I have had a gross and agitated old lady walking 
 for minutes on my countenance, and vaulting now and 
 then from the bridge of my nose in a vain effort to quit 
 the fallen vehicle. It is dreadful to think of ! 
 
166 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 But nothing of this can occur in an outside car. There 
 all is fair and above-board. Not that I should much 
 covet to go through the city of London, about three 
 o’clock in the afternoon, in one of these, my favourite 
 vehicles. To find one’s self between two racing omni- 
 buses coming down Ludgate Hill, at ten miles an hour, 
 would be a sorry lounge ; but, most happily, in Dublin 
 they are as yet exempt from such dangerous conveniences. 
 This is one reason why I like the retired virtues of that 
 quiet city. No eternal cry of “ Benk ? Benk ? Elephant ? 
 Oxford Street ? Bake’ Street ? Pic’dilly ?” Nothing 
 of this : no contention of vindictive and unfigurative slang 
 between rival conductors, and the equally great ruffians 
 on the box ; but a quiet %( Car, yer honour ?” occasionally 
 greeting your ear. 
 
 There is great capacity for fun among the Dublin car- 
 men. Let any man pay attention to those at the Bloody 
 Bridge stand, near the Royal Barracks, and see how feli- 
 citously the peculiarities of any remarkable individual of 
 the garrison are hit off as he passes them : and this not 
 offensively, and decidedly not to his face ; for as he comes 
 up they hail the wished-for customer with the most atten- 
 tive civility, but being passed, there is no occasion to 
 spare him. There is a marked difference in the expres- 
 sion of the faces before him and those behind. No note 
 is taken of his long nose or the size of his boots as he 
 advances, but the one is happily shown off in some appro- 
 priate grimace when the back is turned, and the other 
 alluded to, perhaps, more directly in words. “ Blood an’ 
 ouns, look at his bo-o-ots !” was the never-failing excla- 
 mation whenever a certain jolly doctor passed them ; who, 
 sensibly eschewing the risk of corns and bunions, was 
 wont to luxuriate in a loose and easy high-low. Another 
 individual, who, from being a countryman and well- 
 known, was familiarly called “ Dinnis,” or still more 
 familiarly, “ Ould Spalpy,” from a trick he had of singing 
 “ Di tanti palpiti in his way down the Quay, was usually 
 received in this way : — 
 
DUBLIN CARMEN. 
 
 167 
 
 (Aside.) “ Here comes Dinnis, bedad !” 
 
 “ Car, your honour ? Good horse, Sir !' 7 (Lifting up 
 his whip.) 
 
 “ Will you have one, your honour V 7 (Rising up and 
 stretching out hs arms like St. Paul preaching at Athens.) 
 
 “ Will you have one, captain V 7 (Jumping down and 
 running after him.) 
 
 It was no go. Returning and taking his seat quietly, 
 
 “ Divle a one for ould Spalpy to-day.” 
 
 It was rich to hear them imitate the affected accent 
 of some English ensign, who talked of “ cigaas, and brandy 
 and wataa.” What a fine expression of comic humour on 
 their features, as they echoed the word “ cigaas,” with 
 something of the intonation of a dying wild goose, and the 
 widest development of their Milesian mouths ! And 
 when a young lady came to the stand towards evening, — 
 “ Covered car, there.” 
 
 “ Here you are, ma'am !” 
 ec This is it, my lady.” 
 
 “ Sure Pm first, you blackguard.” 
 
 “ Wasn't I first, my lady ?” 
 
 “ Where to, ma'am ?” 
 
 “ Palatine Square, letter D.” 
 
 “ Whew-w-w !” 
 
 The gentle whistle he gave, and the comic look at the 
 others as he drove off, were droll in the extreme. There 
 is really no impertinence in all this : and I pity the man 
 who cannot quietly join in the laugh at such an innocent 
 exhibition of his peculiarities. How different is the 
 dogged ruffianism of the London cabman ! His whole 
 life is a course of extortion : he knows it, and defies you. 
 The victim also knows it, and submits, rather than be 
 slanged in the street, or, what is worse, attend twice at a 
 police-office. 
 
 Not that I mean to say that a Dublin car is preferable 
 to a London cab; far from it — particularly the “Han- 
 som” — the very top and ultimate perfection of all street 
 conveyances. I speak only of the drivers. 
 
168 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Ireland has this peculiarity, that there are no waggons 
 of any description, neither are there any vans for the 
 conveyance of goods : the whole road traffic, as well as 
 the agricultural business, is performed in cars, each drawn 
 by one horse. Goods are sent from one end of the king- 
 dom to the other on these conveyances, which, though 
 slow, are safe. I never yet heard of a car being robbed on 
 the road, which is saying a great deal for the poorest 
 country in Europe. The baggage of troops is conveyed 
 upon these one-horse cars, and is never unloaded from 
 one end of the kingdom to the other, the same horses, 
 cars, and men going throughout the march. Those who 
 have marched with troops in Ireland know how to appre- 
 ciate an advantage which spares the perpetual knocking 
 about of boxes, and saves the toil of packing and unpacking 
 the baggage every day, as in England. What endless bicker- 
 ing and quarrelling attends the transport of baggage here ! 
 The pressing the waggons, the enormous piles of chests 
 to be loaded each morning, and unloaded by tired men 
 after the day’s march ! The sulky drivers, forced to go 
 against their will, and the perpetual appeals to magis- 
 trates and constables. 
 
HORSES, 
 
 Ireland is the hell of horses : not only are they 
 harder worked and worse fed than in any other country, 
 but treated with more wanton barbarity. To say nothing 
 of the jaunting-cars, which nominally carry six besides the 
 driver, and are, in fact, unlimited as to numbers, but the 
 posters and stage-coach horses are the w T orst-conditioned 
 cattle in Europe. The Irish horse is naturally a most 
 enduring and serviceable animal, superior as a hack to the 
 English breed. Excepting the mail horses, the best on the 
 road are those in Bianconi's cars. The establishment of 
 this enterprising Italian originally commenced at Clonmel, 
 but is now extending over nearly the whole of the south and 
 south-west of Ireland. It is an admirable adaptation of the 
 national carriage to the purposes of quick and convenient 
 transit, and the spirited enterprise is understood to have 
 been productive of great and merited profit. The old 
 Irish slow coach is a very cruel affair. I never saw horses 
 endure the whip, and endure it with apparent indifference, 
 like the rough- coated cattle in the Carlow coach. It was 
 either flanking or double- thonging from beginning to end 
 of the journey. According to the coachman they were 
 “ Skamers,” the inference being that they took the punish* 
 
170 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 ment with affected indifference, to convince him of its 
 absurdity and uselessness. Being a wag, and addicted to 
 figurative language, he called it “ putting the flax into 
 them” (he might have added, the leather and the stick), 
 and had his jokes about the comparative merits of Riga 
 hemp and the national plant. No man living could be a 
 better judge of the enduring qualities of whipcord 
 than he. 
 
 Did the reader ever see the Drogheda car start from 
 some obscure street to the north of Newgate gaol ? A 
 similar exhibition may be found in many another place in 
 the country. What an expressively absurd, and at the 
 same time highly national exhibition, irresistibly ludicrous, 
 in spite of the apparent and shocking cruelty ! but the 
 full amount of cruelty could only be conceived by those 
 who had visited the stables, and seen the horses with 
 their collars off*. To describe this would make the reader 
 sick; suffice it to say, that every sort of “raw” was 
 there, from the recent and superficial to the deep-seated 
 ulcer, eating daily inward to the heart. Neither were the 
 poor creatures let alone when in the stable, but some 
 devil's composition was applied to their sores which drove 
 them frantic, to the infinite amusement of the thoughtless 
 and brutal horsekeepers. There was no hope of release 
 for these poor creatures, except by death, for they were 
 all worked to death. There was no lower deep beyond 
 this lowest deep of the Drogheda stables. Purchased for 
 a few pounds, or perhaps shillings, their capability of 
 endurance for a remunerating period was most accurately 
 calculated, and they were “used up” as a matter of 
 course. I am speaking of 1839, and no doubt the same 
 system is going on in hundreds of other places, though I 
 trust the railway has taken the cruelty- vans off this parti- 
 cular line of road. 
 
 But the start ! it was the great daily event of the 
 neighbourhood, and never failed of a numerous audience. 
 In truth, to those not in the secret, the event was comic 
 in the extreme. No sooner were the two horses attached 
 
HORSES. 
 
 171 
 
 to the lumbering half-inside, half-outside car, than you 
 could tell, from the excited faces of the crowd, that some 
 fun was expected. The coachman shook his arms free, 
 and gathered himself up for an effort. Tim placed him- 
 self on one side of them with the broom, and Larry on 
 the other, with a short stumpy horsewhip, worn away in 
 the service. The fat unshaved tallow-chandler opposite 
 came with a look of interest to his door, and even the 
 book-keeper of the coach-office put his pen behind his 
 ear, and indulged in a grim smile. Pat and Mike arranged 
 themselves at one hind-wheel, and Jem and Dennis at the 
 otner, wniie the whole army of cads opened their faces to 
 an extent that, had their heads been inclined backward, 
 would have made you apprehensive that all above the 
 mouth might have fallen off, like the lid of a fiddle-case. 
 There was only one class of persons unobservant of the 
 fun — the beggars, who steadily kept repeating their dis- 
 mal cases at the coach-window. 
 
 When all was packed, passengers and baggage, and 
 more passengers on the baggage, the book-keeper would 
 look at his watch : 
 
 “ Are you right, Mahony ?” • 
 
 “ We are, Sir.” 
 
 “ Then let 'em go.” 
 
 It was a nicety indeed. Poor devils, they no sooner 
 felt the collar, than throwing themselves backwards on 
 their haunches and planting their fore legs firmly out, 
 they looked the picture of absolute despair. Then began 
 a belabouring with the long whip and the short whip, 
 and the broom-handle, and the sticks and feet and fists of 
 the by-standers, and a screaming of “ Hup, hup, get out 
 of that !” (happy, indeed, if they could) “go long wid ye! 
 Ah, ye skamer ! we'll have to light the fire under 'em,” 
 and the like ; while Pat and Mike, and Jem and Dennis, 
 assisted by many others, were trying to move round the 
 wheels and force the car along. Ever and anon, the poor 
 creatures would try the collar again, and then fall back 
 with shaking heads into the resolute position, till at last. 
 
172 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 finding the agony of standing still greater than the pain 
 of moving on, would make a few wild plunges and start 
 at a gallop, followed by the yells and shouts of the by- 
 standers, and with the running accompaniment of the 
 short whip and the broom-handle as long as Tim and 
 Larry could keep up. As for the coachman, he lashed 
 away without ceasing till they were clear of the town, for 
 fear of a relapse. During the month that I spent at 
 Ashbourne, no week passed without at least one horse 
 dying either on the road or in the stables. 
 
 On witnessing such scenes, one would almost wish that 
 tfhe story of the Yahoos and Hounhvnms were noi a 
 fable. 
 
PRIESTS: CATHOLIC AND OTHERS. 
 
 A Protestant will find it difficult to believe the degree 
 of slavish reverence which is paid by the inferior Irish 
 Catholic Clergy to those of high rank in their church. 
 Whether such is the case in other countries I am not in a 
 condition to say, but I was a witness of it in Ireland. 
 
 At the house of a gentleman with whom I was intimate, 
 and who, though a Protestant, was equally respected by 
 all sects and classes, there was staying a Roman Catholic 
 Bishop. This gentleman, whom I met more than once, 
 was one of the most agreeable, as well as gentlemanlike 
 persons I ever encountered : indeed, it is enough to say, 
 that he was a well-educated Irish gentleman of the old 
 school, who had resided much abroad. Many of my 
 readers must have had the good fortune to meet such a 
 person, and will at once understand the kind of man he 
 was. His Irish assurance making him a perfect master 
 of all the polite observances of life ; his native humour 
 sharpened by collision with the world, his buoyant animal 
 spirits chastened into the happiest tone by a long admix- 
 ture with the best society, and his thorough good-nature 
 breaking out, as it were, in spite of the restraints of modern 
 conventionalities. There was no ascetic nonsense about 
 him ; indeed, a pleasanter companion, even on a fast day, 
 
174 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 I never met ; no downcast looks, half-sly, half-sheepish, 
 which characterize the Irish priest of these days. Neither 
 had he the blue and congested look which marks their 
 complexions, and which I never see without feeling my 
 benevolence moved to recommend them a prescription, if 
 I thought there would be a chance of their taking it at 
 my hands. My gaillard of a bishop had nothing of all 
 this, though I believe him to have been at least as good a 
 man as those who have. 
 
 To wait upon his lordship, of course came the whole 
 neighbouring clergy, and at their first presentation it was 
 their “ hint” to fall upon their knees and ask his blessing. 
 Young and old, fat and slender, threw themselves on their 
 marrow-bones before their spiritual superior, and humbled 
 themselves in the dust before a man. Is this seemly? 
 and what greater personal homage can they pay to the 
 Deity? We certainly bow the knee to kings, but We 
 don't, even to them, prostrate ourselves, in grovelling 
 abasement, as these men did. 
 
 ' Whether the Bishop, a gentleman and a man of the 
 world, did not feel a little ashamed of all this before 
 Protestants, is not for me to say ; but he was uncommonly 
 active in picking them up before they fell, and after awhile 
 received them in a separate room. 
 
 But the Romish priest is, as regards a sojourner in the 
 land, inoffensive. I wish I could say as much for his r 
 evangelical brother, vulgarly called a Swaddler; we have*, 
 not, happily, any parallel to him on this side the Channel., 
 A more conceited and obtrusively offensive person, taken 
 as a class, than he is, I know not. An evangelical hyena, | 
 who passes his whole life in restless and untameable efforts 
 to find holes and flaws which he may tear open wider and 
 wider, and as blind as his caged-up prototype. 
 
 An example or two. I was travelling with some friends 
 in a public boat on the Grand Canal, and the conversation 
 was carried on amongst us in a group at one end of the 
 table. At the other end, and having several persons 
 between him and us, was a gentleman in black ; his 
 
PRIESTS : CATHOLIC AND OTHERS. 
 
 175 
 
 throat tightly compressed with white muslin, and reading, 
 no doubt, a religious book. Our conversation was, I will 
 venture to affirm, anything but profane, though a strong 
 expression, remnant of those dissolute times when “ Our 
 armies swore so terribly in Flanders,” might have escaped 
 us. Suddenly the reverend gentleman started to his 
 feet, and addressed to us an angry remonstrance upon 
 using language grossly offensive to his pure ears, and 
 hoped it would not be repeated. We, of course, regretted 
 the circumstance, and resumed the conversation with 
 caution and good heed, while our friend, anything but 
 ' satisfied, with pale face and quivering lip, read savagely 
 on. 
 
 Alas for our good intentions ! In a moment of impa- 
 tience, one of our party regretted that he had been in- 
 duced to take his passage in “ such a devilish slow coach,” 
 when up started the reverend gentleman more fiercely 
 than before — he could not surely have been on the watch, 
 and 
 
 “ Nursing his wrath to keep it warm ?” 
 
 ' said that it was impossible he could endure such language, 
 and, in fact, should be obliged to go on deck. One of the 
 party, who had scarcely spoken, and certainly not sworn 
 before, I regret should have so far forgotten himself as to 
 
 say, “ Then go, and be d advice that was promptly 
 
 ffeken, and where he remained, impatiently pacing over 
 our heads for the rest of the voyage. No doubt, as he 
 ground the heel of his holy high-low into the planks, he 
 congratulated himself that he was not as other men are — ■ 
 violent, acrimonious, uncharitable ; or even as these re- 
 probates below. 
 
 0 short-sighted Swaddler ! is this the way to deal with 
 people ? Was ever man led away from evil by such a 
 course as this ? Is this the example handed down to you 
 from the Fountain Head? Have you read, without pro- 
 fiting, of that excellent gift of charity, and the strong 
 
176 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 condemnation of a too-hasty judgment ? And do you 
 remember by whom it was said, “They know not what 
 they do ?” A mild reproof, delivered in gentlemanlike 
 language, would have won our respect, saved us one hearty 
 and wickedly expressed oath, and perhaps acted as a check 
 upon us in future ; we should have parted with mutual 
 good-will, and you would have been spared a long walk in 
 the rain ; which, so effectually did you stir up the 
 “ offending Adam” in us, we rejoiced at exceedingly. 
 
 Another example. Sitting in my quarters, in a 
 small temporary village barrack, a gentleman was an- 
 nounced whose name and person were equally unknown 
 to me. He was not so peppery as the last specimen, but 
 more of the sour variety — a vinegar-faced fellow — and 
 had come to lecture me on the impropriety of not attend- 
 ing regularly a place of worship, and taking occasion, in 
 pursuance of this theme, to notice, cursorily, my other 
 peccadilloes. 
 
 Above all preface or apology, he plunged at once into 
 the subject, and harangued m so bitter, and, as it seemed 
 to me, so uncalled-for a style, that carnal thoughts of 
 throwing him out of the window more than once arose in 
 my mind. I beat them down, however, and sat silently 
 and patiently on. It is best to meet an acid fellow like 
 this with the alkali of excessive politeness ; he will most 
 likely effervesce and go off in a huff. So, inclining my 
 head to an attentive angle, I resolved to wait for a pause, 
 and then put into execution a little plan which occurred to 
 me. Whether my friend suspected some civil design upon 
 him, or that it was his system of tactics to pour in such a 
 cannonade as would effectually level all argument or op- 
 position, and then walk unopposed over the breach he 
 had made, it were needless to guess ; but I began to think 
 he never would have done. If I had been disposed to 
 criticize his harangue as a composition — supposing me 
 on sufficiently intimate terms to justify the freedom — I 
 might, perhaps, have ejaculated, “ Mind your stops V 9 
 for anything longer than a comma, or at most a semicolon, 
 
PRIESTS : CATHOTJC AND OTHERS. 
 
 177 
 
 he did not trust himself to indulge in : and when fatigue 
 or impatience caused me to assume the slightest change 
 of position, he quickened his pace, and poured in the 
 stream without any perceptible pause. Good Lord ! how 
 he laid open, and then causticked, my little irregularities ! 
 — little I thought them before, but now held up and 
 magnified till they were frightful to contemplate. I could 
 scarcely forbear interrupting him with some such penitent 
 exclamation as, “ Dear Sir, I feel myself a rascal — don’t 
 spare me — scarify! scarify!’ 5 But there was no occa- 
 sion: he had fully ^nade up his mind both as to the case 
 and the treatment, and required neither confession nor 
 exhortation. I believe, however, that a groan must have 
 escaped me, for he became almost cheerful as he probed 
 and dug into my tender places. If the mention of a 
 talking automaton had ever reached my ears, I might, 
 perhaps, have been driven to despair by fancying that the 
 wicked proprietor, after winding up the eight-day engine, 
 and charging it with the concentrated bitterness of all the 
 Calvinists, had thrust it in upon me, and fastening the 
 door, there left it to talk me to death. But at length a 
 huskiness was perceptible ; nature was giving in. I felt 
 that a pause was coming, and judged its advent to a 
 moment. Suddenly producing a bottle and glass from 
 the cupboard close at hand, 1 said, with a bland smile : 
 
 “ Won’t you take a glass of brown sherry before you 
 begin again ?” 
 
 “ Phoof ! !” 
 
 The reader has perhaps seen a chestnut jump out of a 
 shovel. In much the same style did this reverend person 
 leave my small apartment. 
 
 Now, although I had my hand upon the cupboard door, 
 and kept myself in readiness to pop the bottle and glass 
 under his nose at the appropriate moment, yet his argu- 
 ment was not lost upon me. It went to prove that, let a 
 man’s life be ever so blameless — not that he went any 
 length at all towards conceding such a point to me — ■ 
 unless he punctually attended public worship it was of 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 no avail. If he were not already bad, he would become 
 so — he would go from bad to worse — he was a lost man 
 — he would infallibly be damned. This, in an abridged 
 form, is what he said. He was not a man to wrap up his 
 meaning in mysterious phrases ; he drove the naked nail 
 home and clenched it, and was pleased if it rankled and 
 festered in the wound. I am sorry to say that such of his 
 sect as I have encountered used the same arguments, and 
 the same manner of enforcing them. 
 
 Good Heavens ! is it for one of ourselves to lay down 
 such a doctrine ? Has any man, in -virtue of a black 
 coat and white neckcloth — and say a blameless life, if you 
 will — has such a one a right to judge us before our time ? 
 Is it right to assume the attribute of Him to whom all 
 hearts are open, and decide upon our guilt or innocence ? 
 Did it never occur to him that the Founder of our faith 
 went up into the mountain to pray, and into the temple to 
 cast out thieves ? Is there no devotion of the heart unless 
 we are enclosed in bricks and mortar ? No prayer with- 
 out a hassock ? Cannot the spirit be humbled before the 
 Great Being when we are surrounded by His works ? and 
 are tiles and rafters more appropriate to worship than 
 
 44 This majestical roof fretted with golden fire ?” 
 
 It is a pity that these gentlemen should remain in 
 ignorance of the fact, that people are more easily led than 
 driven along the narrow path ; that there is a natural dis- 
 inclination to have even good things forced upon us ; and 
 that, however, beautiful the naked truth may be, its 
 charms are rendered more attractive by a slight drapery 
 of tact. 
 
 Far be it from me to decry the expediency and necessity 
 of public worship ; but I may be permitted to say, that 
 my devotional feelings are little encouraged by contem- 
 plating the majority of our congregations, especially those 
 holding the same opinions as my sour friend. There is 
 too much indifference in the one sex, and far too much 
 
PRIESTS : CATHOLIC AND OTHERS. 
 
 179 
 
 pretty-bonnetry in the other ; and the feeling is most 
 deadened in our fashionable chapel s, where affectation and 
 coxcombry are too often disgustingly pampered and puffed 
 up, and where so many upturned faces betray the expres- 
 sion of “ Dear man ! I wonder if he ever wears the 
 slippers I worked for him \” 
 
 No ; a glance through Ehrenberg’s microscope, or a 
 sweep of the heavens with Lord Rossers leviathan glass, 
 would produce more religious feeling in me, make me 
 more happy as a man, more charitable to my fellow- 
 creatures, and more humbly devout, than all the preach- 
 ings of all the Puritans, if they were concentrated upon 
 me in a perpetual fire for every remaining moment of my 
 natural life. 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 In the western part of the King’s County there is a 
 tract of land called the Barony of Bally co wen. It is not 
 
 exactly what a tourist would call picturesque, seeing that 
 a great portion of it is bog, nearly all flat, except some low, 
 bleak hills ; and it is almost destitute of trees. Here and 
 there, certainly, the humble residence of a small pro- 
 prietor, or first-class farmer, is partly enclosed on the 
 northern side by an amphitheatre of unhealthy firs, some- 
 thing in the fashion of a Dutch oven ; but, upon the 
 whole, it is a rough and scrubby country. The most 
 marked feature about it is an occasional lofty square tower 
 of former times, the stronghold of some intrusive pro- 
 prietor settled down among the native Irishrie. These 
 towers are of beautiful masonry, and the walls in good 
 preservation. The fine grey limestone of which they are 
 built has been most carefully cut and fitted ; and, in some 
 instances, the arms of the proprietor are finely carved 
 above the doorway, together with various ornaments over 
 doors and windows. In some instances there are dates : 
 those I have seen are of the early part of the 17th 
 century. 
 
 In the midst of this bleak country is a tract of flat, 
 marshy land, nearly covered with low, scrubby bushes, 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 181 
 
 and through which a deep and winding river creeps 
 sluggishly along. This place abounded with wild-fowl, 
 and the facility of approaching them under cover of the 
 low scrubs, frequently tempted to the place the individual 
 who is the subject of the present little history. 
 
 It was drawing towards evening one bitter day in 
 December, and our sportsman had turned his face home- 
 wards, after a long and pretty successful day's sport, when 
 he perceived at some distance a black patch of ducks 
 within reach of a clump of bushes, under cover of which it 
 seemed practicable to approach within easy shot. The 
 river had overflowed, and nearly the whole plain was under 
 water; though, for the most part, only to the depth of a 
 few inches. Moving gently through the tangled scrubs, 
 the sportsman had nearly reached the clump behind which 
 the fowl were pitched, and there only remained a small 
 space of open water to wade through before his two 
 barrels were to carry death and confusion amongst their 
 ranks. It had set in sharply to freeze as the day was 
 closing, and a thin coat of ice had formed, which rendered 
 caution necessary, to pevent the noise of his approach 
 being heard. Gently breaking the crust, he insinuated 
 one foot, and put it down, in the full confidence of 
 meeting with firm footing, when behold ! instead of this, 
 he plunged head-over-heels into the river, which, in its 
 meanderings, had taken a turn much nearer him than he 
 had expected. How he contrived to scramble out without 
 losing his gun is a wonder ; but he did so in time to 
 hear the sonorous host rising within fifty yards, and, 
 seemingly, with a triumphant cackle at his misadventure. 
 
 All further sport, was of course, over for that day ; and 
 the duck-shooter made the best of his way towards terra 
 firma , the pockets of his shooting-jacket distended with 
 water on either side, like the well-filled pig-skins of a 
 Spanish wine-carrier. To get rid of this incumbrance, he 
 was fain to take off the coat when within a few yards of 
 the road ; and while in this state, was absolutely forced 
 to stamp and dance about to prevent becoming quite 
 
182 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 benumbed and helpless — such was the extremity of the 
 cold. 
 
 Whilst engaged in this way, the face of an elderly man 
 might be seen peering through the bushes that bordered 
 the road, and silently, but with some interest, regarding 
 his gambols, and indulging in a smile at witnessing his 
 incomprehensible antics. 
 
 Hailing the old man, the shooter urged him, as well as 
 his chattering teeth would permit, to assist in wringing the 
 wet coat, and explained the nature of the predicament in 
 which he unhappily found himself. The honest farmer 
 entered warmly into the case, and urged the shivering 
 sportsman to go home with him, that at least some of 
 his wet clothes might be dried before encountering a walk 
 of six or seven Irish miles in wet and half-frozen garments : 
 an undertaking which, he urged, would be not only ill- 
 advised, but impossible, from the increasing frost. He 
 further tempted the shooter with an offer to be his guide 
 at daybreak to some unfrozen parts of the river, which he 
 knew well would be, after such a night, the resort of 
 countless wild-fowl, then much more accessible ; and he 
 wound up his friendly offer by volunteering to dispatch a 
 gossoon, his own son, to the sportsman’s quarters for a 
 fresh stock of ammunition and clothing, engaging that 
 the boy should return in four hours at furthest. 
 
 Mr. Geoghegan’s arguments prevailed, and the more 
 readily as the few steps made in his company convinced 
 the shooter how absurd it would be to attempt such a walk 
 as that before him in a pair of trowsers, already frozen 
 nearly as stiff as the wooden legs at a hosier’s door; so 
 they set out at a round pace for the farmer's residence. 
 
 The old man laughed heartily at the circumstance of 
 the meeting. 
 
 “ Well, thin,” said he, “ I couldn’t think what ye were 
 afther at all. ‘The divle resave me,’ says I to myself, 
 when I seen ye prancing, ‘ but that’s a quare fellow !’ 
 It’s aften I heered of whistling jigs to a milestone, but 
 sorrow bit of me ever heered tell of a man dancing jigs 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 183 
 
 in the wather without his coat, and it hailing. Faith, it's 
 little I thought yer honour was dancing mad with the 
 cowld." 
 
 They soon reached the house, an unpretending edifice 
 of mud and turf, but superior to the general run of 
 cabins, as being thatched with straw instead of sods and 
 grass, and so betokening the residence of what the Irish 
 newspapers would call a “ comfortable farmer." There 
 were also two or three out-buildings, but of very humble 
 pretensions indeed ; and the pig had a tenement to him- 
 self near the door, which he used, apparently, only as a 
 sleeping-apartment, or occasional boudoir, preferring to 
 bestow the greater portion of his leisure upon the family 
 in the house. Poor fellow ! he was in happy ignorance of 
 the coming rent-day : perhaps the near approach of this 
 anniversary might have accounted for the favour with 
 which he was treated, his fat and jovial condition, and 
 the indulgence extended to his little whims. But, in 
 spite of all entreaty and remonstrance, they turned him 
 out of doors on the sportsman's entrance, though the 
 expulsion was not effected without a great many hard 
 words in Irish, and the cuffs and pushings of the whole 
 family. In vain did the stranger protest that he desired 
 to be made no stranger of — that he wanted to take pot- 
 luck with the pig : it was of no avail ; out he must go. 
 It is so invariably ; they disown their old chum as v^e 
 cut a seedy friend when a grand acquaintance comes up : 
 it is the way of this bad world. At once they all rise 
 upon him as if he was an intruder ; — “ Go 'long out o' 
 this !" “ What the divle brings ye here ?" — as if he ever 
 
 was anywhere else! — they open upon him in full cry; 
 and even the toddling children, who have been at bed 
 and board with him all their lives, give him a dig in his 
 fat ribs as he passes. 
 
 But Nature has armed him for passive resistance : he 
 has nothing about him to lay hold of— his ears are out of 
 the way, and his tail is a mere trinket, affording the 
 assailant little or no help in the scuffle. Besides, he has 
 
184 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 voice that few nerves ean stand. He is, moreover, the 
 father of artful dodges : to show him the door is a fruit- 
 less courtesy : into the bedroom he will go with pleasure, 
 or to the closet, or under the table, or to the dresser ; but 
 he has no eye for the doorway, neither can his snout be 
 steered for it by any combination of ingenuity. 
 
 In this instance he did not belie his race ; but the 
 allies were too many for him, so making up his mind for 
 a dash, he charged under the table and between Miss 
 Geoghegan's legs, — taking both defiles gallantly — and 
 effected his retreat, leaving the young lady in an un- 
 seemly posture on the floor. 
 
 Retiring into an inner apartment, occupied as a sleep- 
 ing-room by the master and mistress, two grown-up 
 daughters and the gossoon, the shooter put off his wet 
 attire, and came forth in a complete suit of Mr. Geoghe- 
 gan's, consisting of a clean, homespun shirt, coat and 
 waistcoat of grey frieze, corduroy breeches, long worsted 
 stockings, and shoes : the sleeves of the coat not ap- 
 proaching the stranger's hands by four inches, nor the 
 waistcoat the breeches by at least six. 
 
 Such is the natural good-breeding of the Irish pea- 
 santry, that not one of the family would have betrayed a 
 smile at his absurd appearance, had he not afforded them 
 a pretext by leading Miss Katty to the “ floore' 5 and 
 attempting a jig. 
 
 Let me in this place say, that I have never met with, 
 in any country, more natural politeness than amongst the 
 Irish peasantry ; and this opinion is formed after tra- 
 versing many countries of Europe. Though as inquisitive 
 as any people on the face of the earth, they never, as far 
 as my experience extends, offend a stranger by an imper- 
 tinent intrusion into his affairs. For this most offensive 
 form of ill-breeding I should say that, next to the Ameri- 
 cans, the lower orders of Welsh are pre-eminent. 
 
 This is a digression from Mr. Geoghegan's fireside, 
 where the turf was piled up profusely, a duck stewing for 
 the sportsman's supper, and a pot of potatoes boiling for 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 185 
 
 his individual use, which would have sufficed for the 
 dinners of half-a-dozen English families. There was, 
 besides, new bread, sweet butter-milk, and fresh butter, 
 to say nothing of a bowl of eggs — such eggs as one 
 never eats out of Ireland, creamy, genuine new-laid, 
 ready to be put to roast in the ashes, and make their 
 appearance on the board when the duck-bones should be 
 carried away. 
 
 Never boil your eggs, at least, if you can get them 
 roasted : but as this is an operation requiring prover- 
 bially an exercise of superior judgment, besides turf or 
 wood-ashes, the luxury is not always attainable. The 
 great secret I take to be in breaking the egg-shell 
 slightly at one end before putting it in the ashes, which 
 should not be very hot. Notwithstanding the French- 
 mans boast of his five hundred ways “ d’ accommoder les 
 ceufs ” he has nothing equal to an accommodation of 
 plain roasting. 
 
 In addition to the good things above enumerated, there 
 was a certain black bottle brought from a chest, contain- 
 ing a liquor, which, though produced by the humblest 
 means, I defy the distillers, with all their appliances and 
 means to boot, to rival. 
 
 Dinner over, the sportsman prevailed upon the two 
 young women, both under twenty, to favour the company 
 with a jig, which they performed in the serious and 
 demure way usual on such occasions, keeping the arms 
 and body perfectly still, and moving only the feet, which, be 
 it said, were in all their native naked beauty. Madame 
 Melnotte might, perhaps, have been puzzled to find in her 
 magazine a fit for four such feet, but it would have puzzled 
 her equally to match the brilliant black eyes, faultless 
 complexions, or well-rounded, though somewhat robust, 
 forms of the host's fair daughters. 
 
 As the evening wore away, the family became anxious 
 for the return of the gossoon, Jody, a boy of twelve or 
 fourteen years of age, with the clothing and ammunition 
 he had been despatched for. He had already overstayed 
 
186 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the time allowed him by at least an hour, and the night 
 had set in with great severity. It froze intensely, and the 
 wind brought a rattling shower of sleet against the small 
 windows of one pane each, with three of which the house 
 was provided. With an unlimited supply of turf, how- 
 ever, and sundry jugs of a reeking and most grateful 
 compound, of which the sportsman persuaded all the 
 family to partake, they contrived to set the cold at de- 
 fiance. Eleven o'clock came, and the propriety of retiring 
 to rest was debated, but the night arrangements were not 
 easily made. Old Geoghegan insisted upon his daughters 
 giving up their bed to the guest, consigning them, for 
 that night only, to the kish , — a large oblong basket, com- 
 monly placed upon the rude country car, and used in 
 bringing turf from the bog. 
 
 “ Anyhow," said Mr. Geoghegan, “ Katty can roost in 
 the kish, and Bess will come with huz. Sure, what does 
 it matter where the likes of them sleeps ? And Jody, 
 the crathur, he'll stop by the fire, and glad enough 
 too." 
 
 But here the stranger interposed, and claimed the 
 neighbourhood of the fire for himself, with a shake-down 
 of straw from the outhouse ; an arrangement ultimately 
 agreed to, though not without much opposition. 
 
 When twelve o'clock came, the whole family were really 
 alarmed about the boy, and many whisperings in Irish 
 took place, though to the guest they affected to make light 
 of the matter. The quick ears of the young women at 
 last caught a distant sound, and almost immediately after 
 a hurried step was heard approaching, the door was vio- 
 lently burst open, and the boy Jody rushed, almost breath- 
 less and in the utmost excitement, into the room. Without 
 speaking a word, he commenced in a hurried manner to 
 make fast the door with a large bar of wood, and then 
 pushing his way through to the fireplace, began kicking 
 about the lighted turf on all sides, rapidly talking in Irish 
 all the time. 
 
 An exclamation of grief and dismay was raised at once 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 187 
 
 by the whole family, and in a moment all was hurry and 
 confusion. The father and mother, who wore shoes, 
 busily aided the boy in his frantic efforts to stamp out the 
 fire, calling upon the rest to help them. 
 
 Although quite in the dark as to their proceedings, and 
 marvelling much what on earth could be the meaning of 
 such extraordinary conduct, the sportsman saw that they 
 were in earnest, and that some pressing and immediate 
 necessity existed for doing as they told him ; so, setting 
 to work with a good will, he threw himself at once into 
 the action and the fire — the more readily, perhaps, as he 
 wore another man's shoes and stockings — and danced 
 and stamped about with the best of them. They had warm 
 work of it, for the turf had been heaped up to the height 
 of a couple of feet, and was in a red glow throughout ; but 
 they pounded away like people possessed, and sent a 
 shower of sparks through the room. Neither could our 
 sportsman restrain his sense of the ludicrous at seeing a 
 whole family prancing about in the fire and smoke without 
 any apparent aim or object ; and especially when his own 
 football practice sent the fiery turf into all corners of the 
 house, eliciting unwonted agility from the two bare- 
 footed girls, who vaulted and capered, and straddled to 
 avoid the blazing missiles. At length one of them put a 
 finishing touch to the confusion by sousing a pail of water 
 amongst the feet of the dancers, and almost suffocated the 
 whole party with smoke and steam. 
 
 However astonishing to Mr. Geoghegan may have been 
 the sportsman's original jig in the hailstorm without his 
 coat, yet this demon- dance in the fire was more utterly 
 incomprehensible to himself, though he joined in it ; but 
 all explanation was cut short by the old man's frequently 
 repeating, in an earnest, low voice, “ Whist ! whist ! — not 
 a word, for your lives !" 
 
 While engaged in this way, one of the daughters had 
 fastened blankets, or something resembling them, over the 
 windows; and the door had received additional strength 
 by t ;V o or three slcmes (long-handled Irish spades), being 
 
188 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 propped up against it, after the manner that Charles XII. 
 hastily fortified his house at Bender against the Turks. 
 
 Having no doubt that some very unwelcome visitors 
 were expected, the shooter proceeded to load his gun, now 
 dry and in good order, with the fresh powder. Neither 
 did he neglect to appropriate a small iron poker, worn to 
 a sharp point, to be used as the above-mentioned fighting 
 monarch did his sword on the parallel occasion, “ Qu’il 
 enfonqa dans Vestomac du Janisaire ” who first entered. 
 
 All preparations being completed, Mrs. Geoghegan and 
 her daughters retired into the inner room, where they 
 kept up a low moaning. The boy stood with his ear at 
 the keyhole, in the attitude of the listening slave ; while 
 the poor host, sitting on a low stool in the doorway 
 between the two rooms, was rocking himself backwards 
 and forwards, and occasionally beating his breast with his 
 clenched hands, a personification of misery and despair. 
 
 u Now what can be the meaning of all this V * said the 
 sportsman to himself. “ Here we were happier than 
 princes : a jolly old frieze-coated farmer and his wife, 
 splendid punch, a roaring fire, and a couple of dancing 
 girls, when in comes a half-mad boy, gabbling Irish, 
 jumps into the fire, where we all follow him, destroying 
 the family brogues, blistering the pretty pink feet, setting 
 the women crying, and the old man beating his breast, and 
 then sit down to pass the rest of the night in cold and 
 misery ! Surely my friend Geoghegan cannot have ren- 
 dered himself amenable to the law ? Has he committed 
 some great crime, and expects the officers of justice ? in 
 which case my having joined in his little convivialities, 
 and co-operating in his defence, may have an awkward 
 appearance. Perhaps,” thought the sportsman, “ 1 have 
 been taking my ponche dansant with a murderer, and am 
 now going to aid and assist, and comfort and uphold, and 
 do all sorts of kind things, to be enumerated in a second 
 or third count, on behalf of a dreadful ruffian, who de- 
 serves to be hanged with his whole family. Now 1 think 
 of it, there is a sort of dry horror about the man — a 
 
AN IRISH STEW, 
 
 189 
 
 quiet, murderous maimer with him, as who should say, 
 
 ‘ Stab me that guest !' — c Stifle me that sportsman in the 
 bog !' — ‘ Cut me that stranger's throat !' And that silent 
 and composed old woman ; she's a likely one to lay out 
 a body in a ditch ! And the girls, with their vaulting 
 and jumping when I sent the turf at them ; it looks like 
 a prophetic tendency to dance upon nothing." 
 
 In order to clear up the mystery the sportsman took a 
 chair, and seating himself close to Mr. Geoghegan, asked 
 him in a whisper what was the matter, and whom he 
 expected ? 
 
 “ Whiteboys ! — Ribbonmen ! — Carders ! — Villains ! — - 
 Thieves of the world !" cried the old man with energy. 
 “ They're coming to murder me and mine ; to burn my 
 house, to destroy my all ! My poor boy ! my poor boy ! 
 no doubt they're afther coming from him. Ochone ! 
 ochone !" 
 
 A few questions drew from him the whole story — un- 
 happily not a rare one. His eldest son had lately married ; 
 and being prevented by a clause in the lease from making 
 over to the young man any portion of the farm he himself 
 occupied, the newly-married pair had removed to a neigh- 
 bouring barony, and settled down on a very eligible farm, 
 “ offered," as Mr. Robins would say, “ to public com- 
 petition but unfortunately coupled, as the occupancy 
 in such cases is in Ireland, with the hostility of the natives 
 and the chance of suffering under a Lynch law, which it 
 is notorious and incontestible flourishes to the exclusion 
 of the law of the land. As was to be expected, the friends 
 of the unsuccessful candidate had risen upon the intruder, 
 and combined not only to drive him from the farm, but 
 to inflict, as is too frequently the ruthless practice, sum- 
 mary vengeance upon all his relations. The discovery of 
 their intentions was made accidentally by the boy Jody ; 
 who, sitting by the roadside to rest himself, had been 
 passed by a large body of men. Hearing them speak of 
 his father, he followed unperceived, and gathered from 
 their talk that they were going to collect others in their 
 
190 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 way, and intended afterwards to pay a visit of no friendly 
 character to Mr. Geoghegan’s house. This, at least, was 
 the inference drawn by the boy from the few sentences 
 he heard ; so taking the earliest opportunity of quitting 
 them, he hastened home with the unwelcome tidings, 
 and caused the commotion which we have attempted to 
 describe. 
 
 This, indeed, was a serious affair. The sportsman, who 
 also filled the respectable situation of a subaltern in a 
 marching regiment, too well knew the vindictive feelings 
 let loose on such occasions, extending not only to the 
 destruction of property, but to the savage maltreatment, 
 and frequently murder, of obnoxious persons ; and he felt 
 that having, during day, literally “ put his foot in it” as 
 regarded fire and water, so had he now again done so in a 
 very serious metaphorical sense. 
 
 To desert his new friends was a baseness he never 
 thought of, but still he wished them and their feuds far 
 enough. 
 
 “A plague o* both your houses!” quoth he. “ What 
 could have induced that silly fellow, Geoghegan the 
 younger, to set up for himself at a distance amongst 
 strangers ; thrusting himself into farms where he was 
 clearly not wanted? It was, to say the least, a conceited 
 and ill-judged proceeding, bringing down the wrath of a 
 set of ruffians upon his father’s house, to say nothing of 
 his father’s guest ; one who, having eaten of his duck and 
 drank of his uncommonly fine-flavoured illicit whisky, 
 makes it a point of honour to stay and partake also of the 
 family maltreatment : roasted, perhaps, within doors, or 
 taken out in the snow and beaten to a jelly. Why not 
 stay at home and work the old farm better, or cut and 
 dry more turf, and keep a second pig ? Who could 
 desire a better country ? To be sure the hills are rocky, 
 but that proves the abundance of limestone, so indis- 
 pensable in agriculture ; and the flats are soft enough to 
 satisfy any one (fine alluvial soil, however). He must 
 really have been an idiot to leave the place ! The house 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 191 
 
 is roomy — in fact, as people are packed in this country, 
 too large for the present family; and they might have 
 slept in the kish ! The man must positively be mad ! 
 But why not thrash him well and send him home at 
 first ? Why not check at once such an absurd spirit of 
 wandering ? ' A plague o' both your houses ! I'm 
 
 peppered, I warrant, for this world ! Ask for me to- 
 morrow, and you shall find me a grave man !' I wonder 
 how they mean to deal with us ! Pick a hole in the 
 mud-wall and draw us individually like a brood of 
 badgers, or, setting fire to the thatch, bake us collectively 
 into a noble pie ? Ah, I remember my poor dear grand- 
 mother's receipt for a pasty, — f Bone your meat, and beat 
 well before cutting up !' Singular if they should hit 
 upon the same process here, substituting blackthorn 
 sticks for rolling-pins. Perhaps some of them, with a 
 taste for ornamental pastry, may suggest the crossing of 
 the Miss Geoghegan's pink feet out of the top of the 
 crust. And the same fire will do a nice little pig-tart 
 adjoining the larger pasty. r Let me off this once/ said 
 the stranger, 'and catch me accepting hospitality in a 
 lone house in this country again, and running the risk of 
 assisting in a pate de Geoghegan au sous-officier ” 
 
 While these thoughts were passing through the 
 stranger's mind, he exchanged reluctantly the host's 
 warm coat for his own half-dry shooting-jacket, not 
 thinking it incumbent upon him to put his own shoulders 
 unnecessarily in the way of receiving that which might be 
 meant for those of the right owner. Having made these 
 little arrangements, and put the poker in his pocket, the 
 sportsman sat down calmly to await the result in any- 
 thing but a comfortable frame of mind, and certainly a 
 most chilly state of body. Still nobody came, and he 
 heartily regretted the frantic haste which they had shown 
 in putting out the fire. The boy, Jody, kept his place at 
 the door, and the same low moaning went on unre- 
 mittingly inside. 
 
 “ Why not leave the house ?" said the sportsman, a 4 
 
192 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 last, to old Geoghegan. “ Why should we wait here to 
 be killed or beaten, or frozen or roasted ? Why not take 
 refuge in some place a little more defensible — a house 
 with a slate roof at any rate ? — here we have no 
 chance.” 
 
 But the old man would not hear of it ; urging, 
 however, his guest to leave them to their fate, as, being a 
 stranger, he might reckon confidently upon suffering no 
 interruption on the highway, encounter whom he might. 
 
 The sportsman comforted the old man by assuring him 
 he meant to see him and his through the adventure, 
 good or bad, and received the low-murmured blessings of 
 the whole family. There seemed nothing for it but 
 patience and a pie. 
 
 More than half an hour was spent most uncomfortably in 
 this way, when the watchful sentry began to show signs 
 of animation. Some sound had caught his* ear, so en- 
 tirely inaudible to the rest, that they thought it the boy’s 
 fancy ; but in a moment they were startled by three or 
 four loud raps against the door, and a gruff voice spoke a 
 few words in Irish, among which might be recognised the 
 name of the family. No answer being returned, after a 
 pause of a few seconds a louder demand was made, accom- 
 panied by a violent kicking at the door. 
 
 Old Geoghegan said something from the inner room, 
 as if just roused from sleep, and a conversation of some 
 length took place ; during which the old man came 
 reluctantly forward towards the door, where he stood 
 expostulating, as it would seem, with the man outside. 
 This latter appeared to be getting impatient, by the in- 
 creasing loudness of his voice, but still there was no great 
 incivility in his tone. To the guest’s unbounded as- 
 tonishment, the old man at last, after much misgiving, 
 slowly and with great hesitation, removed one of the 
 slanes from the door ; and was about to do the same 
 with the others, when the guest thought it high time to 
 interfere, and prevent his evident intention of surrendering 
 at discretion. The women also came out, and joined in 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 193 
 
 urging the absurdity of such a proceeding — poor Katty 
 falling on her knees, and imploring her father and the 
 stranger alternately to keep fast the door till they at least 
 knew who they had to deal with. Poor Geoghegan 
 wrung his hands in despair, but told the man outside 
 that he declined to open the door. This produced a 
 pause, and then another application, which being also 
 unsuccessful, there arose all around the house a most 
 ferocious yell, by at least twenty voices, repeated by others 
 at a greater distance. The three windows were simul- 
 taneously beaten in, and such a pounding of fists, and 
 feet, and sticks, or the butts of guns, was given to the 
 door, that the frail tenement shook throughout. Three 
 shots were fired through the windows, and others at the 
 gable end of the house : violent blows and kicks were 
 also inflicted on the mud-walls j and the assailants, frantic 
 with rage at being foiled in their attempt to get the door 
 opened, went round the house roaring and screaming like 
 a troop of famished wolves. 
 
 Fortunately the windows of Irish cabins are too small 
 to admit a man. More shots were fired at the gable end, 
 which seemed strange, as there were no windows there ; 
 and then a consultation took place, during which old 
 Geoghegan came to the sportsman, and said, that having 
 failed in setting fire to the thatch by firing shots into it 
 to windward, they had despatched some of the party to 
 procure lighted turf to put under the eaves. 
 
 “ And now/’ said the old man, “ wefll be obliged to 
 open the doore, or be burnt alive.” 
 
 The alternative was not a pleasant one ; but the guest 
 differed entirely from his host as to the propriety of sur- 
 rendering even then. If it had been dangerous while 
 the assailants were cool, how much more so was it now 
 that their passions were excited, and they felt enraged at 
 being baffled by the passive resistance of the garrison. 
 
 A sudden thought struck the sportsman. Going to 
 one of the windows, he called aloud in English, and re- 
 quested that those outside would listen a moment to what he 
 
 o 
 
194 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 was going to Siy. There was a pause immediately, and 
 he proceeded to tell them who and what he was ; and 
 asked if any one amongst them knew or had heard of 
 him, and if so, he would be glad to speak with him. 
 A voice answered, in good English: “I know the man 
 you speak of, but you are not him : I seen him myself 
 going off in the canal boat this morning.” 
 
 The shooter answered that it was true he had gone a 
 few miles in the boat to shoot, but that, on his return, he 
 found a requisition for a party to come to this house to 
 protect it, as their visit had been expected. “ And now,” 
 said the shooter, “ I have only waited to prove the unlaw- 
 ful nature of your intentions, and if you do not imme- 
 diately quit the premises, I shall order my men to fire. 
 With ball cartridge , load !” 
 
 Hereupon, with the butt of his gun between his knees, 
 he made a clinking of the two locks, followed by a work- 
 ing of the ramrod to serve for a party of a dozen at 
 least. 
 
 “ Now,” said the commander of the garrison, going- 
 close to the window, “ 1 don’t wish to shed blood, but 
 you know I must do my duty. Ready ! Geoghegan, 
 unbar the door.” 
 
 While they were pretending with some bustle to do 
 this, the representative of the troop fired a shot through 
 the front window, followed as quickly as he could wheel 
 round by another through that at the back ; but this, it 
 appeared, was unnecessary, for the gossoon, leaving his 
 post, said they began to retire rapidly at the first working 
 of the ramrods. * 
 
 It may be readily supposed that they rejoiced not a 
 little at the unexpectedly peaceable termination of the 
 adventure : and that the culinary anticipations, instead 
 of resulting in a pie, had gone no further than putting 
 the party into a bit of a stew. 
 
 But the man of many ramrods was by no means satis- 
 fied of their final departure, and thought it probable that, 
 upon conferring together, and finding no sortie take place 
 
AN IRISH STEW. 
 
 195 
 
 on the part of the garrison, a suspicion of the truth might 
 obtain amongst them ; in which case they would return 
 more bloodthirsty than ever, and not to be put off by any 
 pretence a second time. This notion, however, was 
 scouted by the whole family. 
 
 “ Divle a fear of their coming back to-night, any how,” 
 said old Geoghegan ; “ they cut aff quick enough when 
 yer honour towld ’em of the scrimmage ye were going to 
 give em. Faith, it’s most out of the barony they are by 
 this time. Pll engage they’re afther fancying th’ army’s 
 at the tail ’o them. Well, anyhow I’ll swear to Andy 
 Leary and the Nowlans.” 
 
 Jody also said that he recognised several more, so that 
 it seemed to the stranger advisable, instead of retiring to 
 bed, as counselled by the old man, that he should make 
 the best of his way home, and being furnished with a 
 magistrate’s warrant, and accompanied by a sufficient 
 force, to attempt the apprehension of those recognised 
 without further delay. 
 
 The gossoon again came to their aid, and volunteered to 
 procure within half an hour “ a grate harss entirely,” 
 upon which the sportsman might ride home, and bring 
 back again with his party in the morning. This feasible 
 plan was at once adopted, and the boy poked with some 
 difficulty out of one of the small windows to procure the 
 loan of this valuable animal. 
 
 As good luck had attended them all along, so it did not 
 fail them now. Jody found the thatch, which had been fired 
 into, though damp, was actually ignited, and a red glow 
 of fire was observed on the weather-side of the house, 
 which, in a very short space of time, would have spread 
 to an extent beyond what their feeble means could cope 
 with. Sallying forth, all hands set toi work in earnest in 
 the encounter of the new enemy, and with the aid of 
 water, snow, and tearing down a portion of the thatch, 
 succeeded in saving the house. 
 
 I will not inflict upon the reader a relation of how the 
 subaltern-sportsman jolted back to his quarters, six of the 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 longest miles he ever rode, upon the back of the “ grate 
 harss entirely” (which turned out to be a miserable half- 
 starved pony) ; how he gave in the names of those recog- 
 nised to a magistrate, who returned with him and his 
 party at daybreak ; and how the greater portion of the 
 ensuing day was spent in the search for, and eventual 
 apprehension of, several of the offenders. 
 
 I may, however, mention here that Geoghegan the 
 younger, the cause of all the mischief, after experiencing 
 some rough usage and many threatening notices, gave up 
 his land and returned to his father's house till some small 
 farm should fall vacant nearer home. 
 
 The shooter had ample revenge upon the wild fowl, 
 after all, under the guidance of the boy Jody, who proved 
 himself an invaluable marker: and for the purpose of 
 procuring his assistance our sportsman paid many visits 
 to the house of Geoghegan, where they never could make 
 enough of him. 
 
 The united families seemed very happy, and for the 
 present found plenty of room, but it was never revealed 
 who slept in the kish. 
 
 It has been forgotten that the poor pig was shot on the 
 night of the onslaught — a catastrophe not, perhaps, to be 
 much deplored, as he would have been called upon in a 
 few weeks to pay the rent; and from the absence of all 
 outcry in the execution, he was probably rather a gainer 
 on the score of pain than otherwise. 
 
EXECUTIONS. 
 
 I have been compelled to witness many executions 
 during the seven years of my sojourning in Ireland. 1 
 shall take the first, as it was most characteristic of the 
 country and people. It happened at Clonmel, and will 
 follow, appropriately enough, the story of the adventure 
 with the Geoghegans. An individual of the name of 
 Mara had, notwithstanding the cautioning of friends, 
 threatening letters, intimidating notices, and all the means 
 usually resorted to on such occasions, persisted in taking 
 some land c: over the heads,” as it is called, of the former 
 tenants ; and for this Irish crime, not only the offending 
 individual himself, but all his family, kith and kin. were 
 condemned to die. Upwards of a dozen men, if I remem- 
 ber rightly, were banded together by solemn oaths to 
 shoot down the Maras like wild beasts, wherever they 
 could do so safely ; and they went about armed for that 
 purpose. The man who had actually taken the land was 
 to be the first victim, and the conspirators waited long for 
 a favourable opportunity of carrying their plan into 
 execution, dodging him to fairs and markets, and lying 
 in wait for him by the roadside on his return. More than 
 once they fired at the wrong person, and people in nowise 
 connected with the offending party had narrow escapes. 
 
198 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 The proceedings of this atrocious gang were assisted, and, 
 in a great measure, regulated by a woman. She went 
 from house to house among them, carrying messages and 
 arranging meetings ; and she brought them food and 
 drink while lying in wait for their prey. Being unsus- 
 pected, she obtained intelligence of the movements of the 
 doomed family, which was immediately reported to the 
 gang. At last the unfortunate Mara was successfully 
 waylaid and shot on the high road as he was returning 
 home from market ; and a large reward being offered by 
 Government for the apprehension of the murderers, this 
 woman — this fiend in human form — came forward as 
 approver, or king's evidence, against the rest. She 
 calmly and callously denounced them all ; and it almost 
 became a question whether she had not, all along, calcu- 
 lated upon their destruction, and led them on to commit 
 the murder that she might profit by the expected reward. 
 It was shocking to mark the callous indifference with 
 which she gave her evidence against her former friends ; 
 and the details of her supplying them with food, as they 
 lay behind banks and in ruined cottages, waiting for their 
 prey — sometimes playfully levelling their guns to cover 
 the person of some unsuspecting traveller — made your 
 blood run cold. Another approver there also was at these 
 assizes, connected, I believe, with the bringing to light 
 of the same conspiracy. He was lodged in an officer's 
 quarters in the barracks for weeks before the trial ; and 
 air and exercise being recommended for him, he took his 
 walks about the town with a policeman on either side, 
 each armed with a huge horse-pistol, for his protection. 
 Five, if not more, were executed for this murder and 
 conspiracy. Of the two that suffered first, one was the 
 most muscular man that I ever saw. He was upwards of 
 six feet high, and of Herculean proportions. Excepting 
 Cribb, Spring, and one or two other professional fighters, 
 I never saw a chest and shoulders of such enormous 
 development. His face was far from good, though not 
 utterly villanous ; but the phrenologists might have 
 
EXECUTIONS. 
 
 199 
 
 triumphed in his head. He had scarcely any forehead, 
 the skull receding backward and upward from immediately 
 above the eyes, expanding fully round the back of the 
 crown, and coming straight down, without any marking 
 of the roundness of the skull, in an enormous column of 
 neck. In the muscles of his neck, he certainly came 
 nearer than any man I ever saw to the unnatural exagge- 
 rations of Michael Angelo. On the morning of this 
 man ; s execution, two companies of infantry were formed 
 across the street in which stood the gaol, leaving a clear 
 space about twenty yards broad facing the drop ; and 
 outside the infantry, two small bodies of cavalry were 
 formed, also across the street. In the open space imme- 
 diately below and facing the drop, were the officers and a 
 few magistrates and amateurs. The balcony of iron rail- 
 ing which formed the drop, and to which large folding- 
 doors opened, was immediately over the gaol gate, and 
 about as high from the ground as the first-floor windows 
 of an ordinary London house. Two men were to be 
 turned off at a time, the balcony not affording accommo- 
 dation for more. 
 
 On the opening of the folding-doors, when the prisoners 
 came forward, each attended by a priest, it was shocking 
 to see the effect of forty-eight hours* mental agony upon 
 their persons and countenances. The stout man was 
 perceptibly reduced in size : and the faces of both were 
 changed from the sanguine and ruddy glow of health to 
 an ashy and cadaverous paleness. 
 
 One would naturally have expected, that on the appear- 
 ance of such enormous malefactors — the head and front 
 of as foul, as ferocious, as cowardly, and as utterly wicked 
 a conspiracy as ever existed, some symptom, of disappro- 
 bation, at least, if not execration, would have been shown 
 by the crowd — (in England it would have been yells and 
 hootings, and an universal disposition to tear them to 
 pieces) — but they were received with a long and melan- 
 choly wail, an indescribably plaintive cry, extending to 
 the utmost limits of the countless throng assembled, 
 
200 
 
 PABDIANA. 
 
 accompanied by beatings of the breast, rapid crossing oi 
 themselves, and prayers. This wail, never entirely ceasing, 
 was renewed at every sad act of the tragedy, and even the 
 least movement of the prisoners. Then came the tying 
 of the arms behind, the adjusting of the ropes, clums ly 
 performed by a nervous executioner, his face covered with 
 black crape, and whose first appearance was hailed with 
 some execration. The white night-caps were then drawn 
 over the men*s faces, and they were placed each 
 upon the centre of the two trap-doors, which, opening 
 outwards, were held up by a bolt passing under the 
 centre of the balcony. The two priests, all this time, 
 were repeating Latin prayers in a loud, hard, monotonous 
 tone, occasionally whispering to the prisoners, who also 
 prayed aloud. I cannot think that this part of the 
 ceremony was what it should be. Surely a clergyman 
 might be better employed than in roaring Latin to a dying 
 man, who does not understand one word he is saying, and 
 cannot even join in the prayer. 
 
 When all was ready, the priests stepped back into the 
 doorway, raising their voices higher as they receded, and 
 nothing remained but to draw the bolt which held the 
 trap-doors together. The harsh grating of the rusty bolt 
 was dreadful. It was some seconds before it would move 
 at all — more till it was completely drawn out (ages to 
 men standing between life and death) ; and when, at last, 
 the bolt was fairly extracted, only one door fell ; that 
 upon which the large man stood, descending only a few 
 inches, leaving him partly suspended by the rope, and 
 partly standing upon the points of his toes upon the 
 sloping grating. What a shout arose ! The executioner 
 promptly seizing the man by the arms, drew him back 
 into the doorway, where he was supported by the priest 
 and others, and getting on the grating while he held by 
 the rail in front, jumped upon the trap-door till he forced 
 it down. Having been helped back again, he unceremo- 
 niously pushed the wretched criminal oif the doorway, 
 literally launching him into eternity ! 
 
EXECUTIONS. 
 
 201 
 
 It was a shocking exhibition ; and I believe there were 
 not many present who would have regretted if the efficiency 
 of the apparatus had been next tried upon the hangman 
 himself, or at least, upon the person whose duty it was to 
 see to the state of the drop. 
 
 The man on whose side the door had readily fallen died 
 instantly, but the sufferings of the other were long and 
 dreadful ; even after at least ten minutes had elapsed of 
 the half-hour we were compelled to remain, a writhing of 
 his muscular frame occurred, which again raised the wail, 
 and excited the prayers of the by-standers. 
 
 Executions were conducted with most culpable careless- 
 ness some years ago in Ireland. At Kilkenny, on one 
 occasion, the rope broke, and an unfortunate man fell upon 
 the pavement and badly fractured his leg, in which state 
 he was taken up and executed; and I witnessed an 
 execution at Naas, where the rope was left so long that 
 the man fell completely through the trap- door, till his 
 feet came within a few inches of the ground, nearly 
 bringing about the same catastrophe. But by this mer- 
 ciful negligence he never moved after. 
 
 I have seen many executions, civil and military, in 
 various countries, including the beheading of Fieschi and 
 his associates, and I never saw a man come forth to be 
 put to death who did not appear already more dead than 
 alive, excepting this criminal at Naas. He had murdered 
 his wife, and the fact was proved undeniably. He came 
 out with a placid smile and a healthy complexion, and I 
 fancied, familiarly acknowledged some acquaintances in 
 the crowd. Perhaps he was nerved with the hope of 
 reprieve — an expectation certainly indulged in by the 
 priest who attended him, and whose cold, and as it ap- 
 peared irreverent praying, extended to fully twenty 
 minutes. It was dreadful to see a man stand smiling and 
 nodding on the very brink of the grave, and the more so 
 as again and again lie calmly asserted his innocence of the 
 crime for which he was about to suffer, though he admitted 
 that he had been a murderer before. That such examples, I 
 
202 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 fear, are of little use, may be inferred from the fact of how 
 readily the spectators are moved to joke and laugh at any 
 ludicrous occurrence, even at the most solemn moment. In 
 this case the priest had inadvertently placed himself 
 beside the man upon the drop itself, just previous to the 
 bolt being drawn, and was there loudly praying. Recalled 
 by some circumstance to a sense of his situation, he 
 jumped nimbly back to the standing grating without 
 pausing in the prayer, and then holding firmly by the 
 railing, extended his other hand to prevent the prisoner 
 following his example. There was an audible laugh at 
 the priest's agility, in which I have no doubt the man 
 about to be turned off would have joined, if he had not 
 been blindfolded with the nightcap. 
 
4 
 
 RONAYNE’S GHOST. 
 
 It was a calm, clear day, in the early part of 
 December, that the writer departed from Killarney on 
 a shooting expedition to the neighbourhood of the Upper 
 Lake, some ten or twelve miles distant. Hiring a couple 
 of men to navigate one of the boats so liberally placed 
 at the disposal of the officers of the detachment by Lord 
 Kenmare, we left Ross Castle soon after mid-day, and 
 arrived at the Upper Lake just as evening was closing 
 in. The oak woods still retained the russet beauties of 
 autumn ; the waters of the lake were the most perfect of 
 Nature's mirrors ; and it was impossible to distinguish 
 the real rocks and arbutus that rose from them from 
 their <e counterfeit presentment" in the placid lake below, 
 so perfect was the illusion. 
 
 Whatever may be the case now, there was not at that 
 time any inn or place of public entertainment near the 
 Upper Lake ; but I remembered a desolate cottage stand- 
 ing alone upon a little island, and it appeared not im- 
 possible, with such small comforts as we were able to 
 transport with us in the boat, to make it available as a 
 shelter for the night, or perhaps two nights, that we 
 proposed to remain there. In our way up the narrow 
 passage which connects the Upper with the Lower Lake, 
 
204 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 we procured a heap of dry herbage — a haycock of the 
 long-deferred harvest; and with this for a bed, and a 
 good fire, it seemed reasonable enough that a sports- 
 man should calculate upon passing a comfortable night. 
 
 It was a quiet, melancholy scene. A small dilapidated 
 house, having, however, in its decay, the air of “a 
 cottage of gentility,” stood upon a green bank within 
 a few yards of the lake, backed and partly inclosed by 
 the tangled wood. It was in a sadly forlorn condition; 
 the moss-covered thatch of the roof had a damp and 
 spongy air of decay ; the neglected walls were green 
 with the rains of many a winter : there was no door to 
 hide the utter . desolation of the interior, and the only 
 shutter hung diagonally by an upper hinge beside the 
 paneless frame of the window. A drooping china rose- 
 tree was bending forward from the wall, as if trying to 
 escape from the inefficient support of the tottering edifice ; 
 while a stump of “ old-man,” with scarcely a sprig left, 
 made a sturdy effort to flourish by the doorway. An 
 ancient laurel stretched its withered arms out of the 
 encroaching wood, and a few Michaelmas daisies were 
 scattered about, half-choked by the rough herbage and 
 the rotting leaves. There w as no sign or sound of life, 
 save the “ tit, tit, tit,” of a robin, who came bowing 
 down to the landing-place in his best red waistcoat, and, 
 hopping from twig to twig, marshalled us to the house- 
 door with much fussy civility. 
 
 There is always, more or less, a feeling of mysterious 
 interest about an old house thus abandoned and left to 
 rot away by itself. The masonry is nothing; but you 
 wonder why the doors, and floors, and shutters were 
 neither burnt, sold, stolen, or otherwise carried off. Was 
 it a place to be shunned ? Had it a bad name ? You 
 come to the inevitable conclusion that it is either in chan- 
 cery or else a wicked old tenement, gibbetted by common 
 opinion, and left to fall, bit by bit, to the ground. About 
 such houses there is an uncomfortable suggestion of ghosts 
 and cold chills, aguish vapours, the smell of vaults, newts. 
 
ronayne’s ghost. 
 
 205 
 
 owls, bats, toads ; and you go cautiously about, expecting 
 every moment to stumble over a skeleton. 
 
 But this house had an interest peculiarly its own. 
 Here had lived for thirty years, the world fogetting, by 
 the world forgot, a recluse of the name of Ronayne. 
 What his motives may have been for such a seclusion 
 had never transpired ; and whether crossed in love or 
 ambition was never more than surmised. He was a man 
 totally estranged from his kind, a being of impenetrable 
 mystery and reserve ; and the Paul Prys of the country, 
 who at first dropped in upon his solitude, were baffled by 
 his civil manner, and never went again. He avoided no 
 one ; he sought no one, — 
 
 “ Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends 
 
 and with such he was content. The ladies said it was a 
 case of “ crushed affections •” but there was no admission 
 on his part of the soft impeachment. The men said he 
 hid himself from his creditors ; but there was no appear- 
 ance of poverty : he paid his rent and had no bills. His 
 history died with him; and his motives will assuredly 
 now never be known. But certain it is there he resided 
 during thirty years; and, dying, was buried on the island 
 beside the house. 
 
 If the ghost of such a being had not walked about the 
 premises, it would, indeed, have been a subject of wonder; 
 but that it did so was a fact established beyond all ques- 
 tion by the concurrent testimony of all the neighbouring 
 peasantry. Not only at the “ witching hour/* but, occa- 
 sionally, at all others, was the form of the old man to be 
 seen slowly perambulating his favourite walks. He was 
 a silent, melancholy ghost : no “ curious perfume or melo- 
 dious twang” revealed his presence, but he glided noise- 
 lessly about the island, as had been his wont when alive ; 
 and generally took refuge in the cottage as before, about 
 bed-time. 
 
206 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 I somehow fancied that the boatmen half repented them 
 of the adventure when they confronted the melancholy 
 dwelling. They addressed some serious talk to each other 
 in Irish, and looked blankly round at the oppressive deso- 
 lation of the scene. One of them even went so far as to 
 hint at the probability of finding more comfortable quar- 
 ters on the mainland, and he was quickly seconded by 
 his companion. But this would never have done : I was 
 bent upon taking a bed with the respectable Ronayne, 
 and had even incurred a certain outlay in the matter of 
 the haycock ; so to have abandoned the adventure was 
 not to be thought of. 
 
 Our first care was to examine the cottage. It was not, 
 strictly speaking, in tenan table repair. Glass in the win- 
 dows there was none ; but the shutters had not been all 
 removed, and this was our first glimpse of consolation. 
 The interior doors, too, were at their posts ; but altogether 
 it was just the sort of house that the wind would take a 
 pride to whistle through, or a ghost to walk about in. I 
 observed that my companions showed much disinclination 
 to be left behind in the dark rooms, and gave a stealthy 
 look round when they passed through the doorways, as if 
 expecting that our visionary host was in attendance to do 
 the honours of his dilapidated mansion. 
 
 We began our operations with vigorous measures. A 
 fire was lighted : two of the interior doors dismounted, 
 one to do duty as a table, supported on logs of wood, the 
 other to stop the front entrance, though the frame of the 
 latter was a world too wide for its diminutive proportions, 
 and afforded ample room for even the body of the former 
 tenant, let alone his ghost, to drop in, if so disposed. 
 But it had the appearance of a door, and when the para- 
 lytic shutter had been set upright, things assumed a more 
 comfortable shape ; and a blazing fire sent a genial and 
 unwonted feeling through the room. The haycock was 
 equally divided ; one moiety being reserved for myself, 
 and placed against the wall opposite the window and door, 
 
ronayne’s ghost. 
 
 207 
 
 while the other portion for the men’s bed was under the 
 window : the ricketty, ill-conditioned table, occupying the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 Soon the grateful odour of broiling beef began to 
 arise, and a pot of potatoes merrily simmered in the 
 corner. 
 
 As I lay tranquilly on the hay, watching the progress 
 of our little culinary operations, I could not help fancying 
 that from the holes about the room I could occasionally 
 perceive small black eyes curiously watching, as I was, 
 the progress of the coming meal ; but this I attributed to 
 fancy. 
 
 Having despatched the solid portion of the supper, a 
 kettle of hot water made its appearance on the board, 
 into which a portion of spirit being poured, with a due 
 allowance of sugar, a certain harmonious compound was 
 the result; which, let Father Mathew say what he may, 
 
 I hold to be a grateful, and, in moderation, innocuous 
 liquor. Nay, I go far towards agreeing with an ingenious 
 friend, who on the fly-leaf of Dr. Beecher’s “ Sermons on 
 Temperance,” thus relieved his mind : 
 
 “ Be ruled by me : this counsel take, 
 
 And never mind old Beecher; 
 
 For head, or heart, or bellyache, 
 
 There’s nothing like a screecher.”* 
 
 Dipping from time to time our cups into the kettle, the 
 boatmen recounted for my amusement many tales of the 
 eccentricities of the romantic and melancholy Ronayne ; . 
 and especially how his spirit was wont to stroll about the 
 premises in the dead waste and middle of the night. How 
 the Sullivans, father and son, had seen him ; and Kear- 
 ney, “aften.” How old Mahony, the fisherman, pulling 
 round the back of the island just at nightfall, saw the 
 figure standing close above him on a rock, and dropping 
 his oars, hid his face in his hands ; and when he looked 
 
 * A jorum of hot punch. 
 
208 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 again, there was nothing but a small old stump of a tree 
 where the vision had disappeared. How Mr. Maher, of 
 Bantry, thought to enter the house one summer evening, 
 when, behold ! as the boat approached, old Ronayne was 
 standing in his doorway, and they backed their oars and 
 pulled hastily away from that haunted spot ; and during 
 the recital of these tales, when the gentle wind caused a 
 branch to rustle against the eaves, or the ill-fitting door to 
 tap against the post, the men looked hastily round, and 
 hitched the haycock nearer the fire. 
 
 The recluse was described as a small, withered man, of 
 features intelligent but sad, and dressed in the common 
 grey frieze of the country, which he wrapped closely 
 round him, as if chilly from the damps of the grave. 
 He was not, I was pleased to hear, an importunate or 
 obtrusive spectre ; had, apparently, no pressing secret to 
 reveal — clanked no chains : neither did he give way to 
 the weakness of squeaking, gibbering, groaning, or the 
 like. There was a native dignity about him which re- 
 pressed any disposition to pounding or stamping over- 
 head, or tramping rudely up the staircase, or making 
 any fuss in the cellarage. He seemed, from all accounts, 
 a spectre of much negative hospitality, not offended by 
 the presence of visitors, or at any rate contenting himself 
 with a “ dumb resentment.” The only suspicion of a 
 sound escaping him was the smallest possible howl having 
 been heard about his premises during high winds. Above 
 all, I was gratified to hear that he expected no questioning 
 on the part of his guests ; but, on the contrary, had a 
 habit of vanishing when confronted, as if shunning any 
 impertinent inquiries. All this was satisfactory ; and 
 since we had a ghost to deal with, how fortunate it was 
 to find a conscientious and easy-going one. Fresh logs 
 were heaped upon the fire, and a reinforcement piled up 
 in the corner to recruit it during the night. 
 
 I would with pleasure exchange stomachs — nay, throw 
 in a bit of liver to boot — with the man who can sleep 
 undisturbed after a supper of provincial beef-steaks. 
 
ronayne's ghost. 
 
 209 
 
 1 never could ; and as I lay warmly wrapped in my boat- 
 cloak, I envied the efficient laboratory of the boatmen, 
 which left them at leisure to execute a nasal duet loud 
 enough to frighten all the ghosts in the parish. 
 
 While tranquilly awaiting the issue of the ‘fight between 
 fatigue and indigestion, my attention was again attracted 
 to the bead-like eyes peering out of the crannies of the 
 walls. There they were — now looking out of a crack in 
 the skirting-board, then glancing from a hole in the 
 plaster; and there was the smallest perceptible rustling 
 under the floor, which made me disposed more than once 
 to doubt the accuracy of the quiet character which had 
 been given to Mr. Ronayne. 
 
 Soon there was no mistake about the cause, for the 
 eyes were accompanied by sharp-pointed, whiskered noses 
 innumerable, thrust further and further into the apart- 
 ment. They were rats. In all my life — and I have 
 lived much in Her Majesty's barracks — I never saw such 
 multitudes. They seemed to occupy every cranny and 
 hollow of the walls and floor. They were cautious at first, 
 a few only venturing from their hiding-places, and those 
 mostly of a tender age — enfans perdus — sent out to 
 skirmish by the wily seniors in the background. Rut 
 soon they all took courage, and almost literally covered 
 the floor and table with their numbers ; and getting 
 bolder as they found us inoffensive, ran without scruple 
 not only over the snoring boatman, but myself. 
 
 The table was the grand point of attack. Fortunately 
 the remainder of the meal had been covered over with 
 
 2 dish, as a reserve for breakfast ; and it was amusing to 
 watch their efforts to uncover the provisions. They tried 
 to pull off the dish, then to get a purchase under it with 
 their noses, then to remove the whole bodily towards the 
 side of the door. What a squeaking and whisking of 
 tails, and a frolicking, there was amongst them ! I never 
 saw so much of the manners and customs of rats before. By 
 far the greater portion were young, but others were of a 
 patriarchal age ; in particular, a grey old buck, of huge 
 
 v 
 
210 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 dimensions, probably one of the original colonists. This 
 fellow, cross with age and infirmities, chased the younger 
 fry in all directions, and was unquestionably the Robinson 
 Crusoe of the island. 
 
 It was long before I felt disposed to sleep in such a 
 busy scene ; and frequently, when I closed my eyes, I was 
 roused by some new tour de force , a louder squeak, 
 or a more general skurry before the old master of the 
 revels. 
 
 But as I lay, half-dozing, towards the “ witching hour,” 
 my thoughts began to revert to the recluse. I wondered 
 if he was even then taking the air ; and whether, having 
 satisfied himself with the pale starlight, he would come in 
 to the fire for the night. I wondered, in my dreamy 
 state, whether he liked punch while in the flesh ; and 
 imagined that, even now, the warm fragrance of our 
 kettle must agreeably vary to him the general cold- 
 without of the cottage. Then I fell off into a dream of 
 the spectre-ballet, and thought how fortunate was the 
 Devil Robert to be visited by such very agreeable ghosts, 
 all lifting up their heels to soft music, and making it 
 quite a pleasure to be haunted. Then I was wandering 
 in interminable catacombs, and finally woke myself pelt- 
 ing Ronayne out of his own house with his own bones. 
 Then I thought upon him waking, and pictured to myself 
 an elderly gentleman, of pale and benevolent aspect, 
 seated by the table, and gravely dipping his cup into the 
 kettle, while he pledged himself to some toast or senti- 
 ment that touched upon his early history. I fancied the 
 ashy paleness of his cadaverous features as the remem- 
 brance of “ some distressful stroke that his youth suf- 
 fered” passed through his mind ; and then, moved by 
 that irresistible curiosity which will come over us at such 
 times, I opened my eyes to assure myself that he really 
 was not there; when, behold ! the rats were gone. Not 
 a single tail was whisking over the table, or about the 
 floor ; not a squeak was heard ; the grey old general had 
 drawn off his forces, and they had silently and unaccount- 
 
ronayne’s ghost. 
 
 211 
 
 ably vanished, without leaving a single straggler behind. 
 I looked under the table, into the corners, along the 
 skirting-board ; and then, raising my eyes, examined the 
 walls, when, as my inquiring gaze passed across the door- 
 way, it suddenly rested upon the pale features of 
 an elderly man, sternly, but curiously, looking into the 
 room. 
 
 I shut my eyes — pooh, pooh ! it could not be : a touch 
 of nightmare, begotten of punch out of beef-steaks — 
 excited imagination. I must look again — nonsense ! 
 better go to sleep. 
 
 I did look, and there was the face still, and figure, 
 partly seen through the ill-closed doorway. He was 
 dressed in the common frieze usually worn by the 
 peasantry, and his coat hung loose and limp on his 
 attenuated form. He moved not, but kept a steady, 
 unearthly gaze upon me as I lay. 
 
 I had no power to close my eyes a second time; a 
 rustiness came over the hinges of the eyelids, and they 
 became stiff and distended with the intensity of my gaze. 
 A sensation passed over my head as if each particular 
 hair was raising itself independently up, and there was a 
 cold, crawling feeling down my back like the tickling of a 
 dead man’s hand under my clothes. 
 
 How long I should have remained fascinated it is 
 impossible to say, but at last the figure spoke. It said, 
 in a clear and somewhat peremptory tone, — 
 
 “ What the divle are ye doing here, at all ? Sure I 
 thought the place was a-fire !” 
 
 We were upon our legs in a moment. Don’t be disap- 
 pointed, gentle reader, it was no ghost after all, but the 
 body of Corney Sullivan, who, having seen the blaze of 
 our fire from his cottage on the mainland, pulled across 
 the lake to ascertain the cause of such an unusual 
 appearance. 
 
THE LAST PIGTAIL. 
 
 The more I consider pigtails, the more confirmed am I 
 in the opinion that they are the heir-loom of some 
 practical joker. No man could adopt them for ornament, 
 still less for use. No, they were “a bargain,” hung 
 upon the heads of men for sport, by some dry humorist, 
 who victimised himself that he might turn others into 
 ridicule — one of those incomprehensible fellows who pull 
 a sad face while they are roaring inwardly, and hug 
 themselves in a fraudulent merriment. How he must 
 have shaken his sides when he saw his tails taking with 
 the million ! — hanging at the polls of princes, adopted of 
 orators and statesmen, greedily seized upon by martinets, 
 indispensable to men of fashion, disfiguring youth and 
 beauty, giving a handle to satirists, and an inconvenience 
 to all. With what relish he must have watched the 
 spread of his bad fashion from country to country, and 
 thought how, when mankind have spent countless ages in 
 rubbing off their tails, he in one short lifetime should 
 have succeeded in putting them on again ! With what 
 intense delight he must have heard our great pig-tailed 
 orators — our Burkes, and Wyndhams, and Pitts, and 
 Foxes, and moralized upon the sublime and the ridi- 
 culous, only divided — as it, doubtless, occurred to him — 
 
THE LAST PIGTAIL. 
 
 213 
 
 by a mere hair’s breadth ; and listened to the noblest 
 oratory, the most impassioned eloquence, this country 
 ever produced, accompanied by the jerks of a pig-tail ! 
 
 But the progress of tails amongst mankind must have 
 been slow ; so, probably, our humorist’s joke was mostly 
 prospective, and hung upon the fixing of tails upon gene- 
 rations yet unborn. He must have been a poker of 
 posthumous fun, like him who caused fireworks to be 
 hidden under his pall, and, leaving directions with his 
 executor when to light the match, died chuckling at the 
 thought of blowing up the chief mourner. 
 
 I feel disposed to hope that the last illness of our 
 merry friend may have been attended by a physician who 
 w r ore a tail ; and also that the lawyer who made his will 
 may have been so decorated. He was too crafty to make 
 any testamentary mention of tails, lest men should smell 
 a rat, and suspect his great scheme ; and no doubt endured 
 with firmness the discomfort of his tie, however it may 
 have interfered with the “ smoothing down” of his last 
 pillow. 
 
 But, perhaps, it was in His Majesty’s land service that 
 this facetious encumbrance was most felt. Heroes were 
 forced to be on foot, hours before they otherwise would 
 have risen, in order to get their tails tied in time for 
 parade ; and when once tied, and soaped, and powdered, 
 there was no further rest for those wicked men : the 
 head must be kept as in a vice ; and a nod to an acquaint- 
 ance or a turn of the face might have caused a shaking of 
 the tail involving the certain exercise of the rattan, if 
 not consigning the wearer to the stocks or the picquets. 
 
 As is usual in most cases, those of lowest rank fared 
 worst : the tying of the private soldiers’ tails commenced 
 at two or three in the morning ; then came the non- 
 commissioned officers ; after them the officers of the com- 
 pany, beginning with the ensign, and contriving that 
 the captain should be tied just in time for parade. 
 Different occasions had different ties. There was the 
 full-dress tie for review or guard- mounting, when the 
 
214 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 tail was exhibited in its fairest proportions and most 
 ample length of riband, with a tuft at the tip, of which 
 endless general orders had established the exact and 
 infallible length and breadth. In marching order the 
 tails were “ clubbed,” or made up into a knot out of the 
 way; and the troops “ clubbed” their tails before going 
 into action. 
 
 On one occasion, during the Duke of York’s campaign 
 in Holland, a certain distinguished regiment, remarkable 
 not only for attention to such matters, but for their 
 excellent discipline and conduct under all circumstances, 
 were in position, expecting to be immediately engaged 
 with a large force of the enemy moving up to the 
 attack, when a sudden halt took place in the advancing 
 column. 
 
 “ What can they be halting for ?” cried the Colonel, 
 impatiently. 
 
 “ Perhaps, Sir,” suggested a young officer, quietly, “ they 
 are halting to ‘ club !’ ” 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, Jack ;* hold your tongue,” said 
 the good-natured chief, not quite insensible to the ridi- 
 cule. 
 
 The military parted with their tails with silent satisfac- 
 tion, and the happy event is chronicled in a popular song. 
 Not so the sailors : when the order to cut off tails reached 
 the fleet, it was appointed to be carried out at noon the 
 next day, when the tails, having been cut, were collected 
 into a vast bale in each ship (imagine a bunch of a thou- 
 sand pigtails, each as long and as thick as your arm !), 
 and hove overboard with three cheers. 
 
 The last pigtail, that I at least have seen, was in 
 Ireland, and I place the fact on record for the benefit of 
 future antiquaries. 
 
 In a certain town in the King’s County there lived, 
 and probably still continues to live, a small, dusty, faded 
 old gentleman, conspicuously furnished with a pigtail. 
 
 * The late Col. John Tucker, of the 29th Regiment. 
 
THE LAST PIGTAIL. 
 
 215 
 
 He was something the colour of antiquated parchment, 
 and looked as if he had been laid ages ago in some neg- 
 lected chest, and subsequently brought to light, and set 
 going in the old-fashioned coarse wrapping in which he 
 had been stowed away. He was a brown man : he wore 
 a brown wig ; a brown hat much too large, and coming 
 out wide at the top of the crown ; a brown great coat, 
 reaching nearly to his heels ; brown worsted stockings, 
 and brown shoes, unconscious of the modern inventions 
 of Warren, Hunt, or Day. Where brown only is seen, 
 brown will be presumed ; he was suspected of brown 
 breeches, but these no man had ever seen, and under his 
 surtout all was pure conjecture : he had no wife to reveal 
 the secret — no man, no maid : he lived alone with his 
 tail. A question arose amongst the curious, Who tied 
 his tail? — but there was no proof that the tail was ever 
 untied, though the raising the question was enough to 
 cast a slur of falsehood on it. Was it a maiden or a 
 pollard tail ? This none could answer. It was far from 
 being a drooping or a downcast tail, but, on the contrary, 
 it sat up with an air of obtrusive pertness. The old 
 gentleman wore a coat which belonged to that epoch when 
 collars were worn high ; not so much deep, as coming 
 high up the back of the head, and the tail resting upon 
 this, gave it something the air of being mounted “ en 
 barbette ,'' for the convenience of traversing in all directions. 
 
 This gentleman in brown — this homo caudatus — lived 
 mysteriously in a small house inclosed with high palings, 
 at the town's end. It was not a cabin — neither was it a 
 cottage, exactly : it was a small, contracted, narrow- 
 minded little tenement, such as one might have sus- 
 pected would be occupied by the man who wore the last 
 pigtail. 
 
 His manners and ways, and walks and language, all 
 partook of the same narrow-singleness. Three hundred 
 and thirteen times in the year did he go up the same 
 street, at the same hour, and call at the same shop, and 
 utter the same sentence : 
 
 “ It's cruel cowld, Mr. Caffin !" 
 
216 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 He never, as far as I could hear, went beyond, or fell 
 short of this. What were seasons to him ? December 
 or the Dog-Days — “ India's fires or Zembla's frost" — it 
 was all the same. He snapped his fingers at Fahrenheit 
 and Reaumur, took no heed of muffs or muslins : people 
 might enjoy their own opinions — he had his : it was 
 always, “ Cruel cowld, Mr. Caffin !" 
 
 To this Caffin had but one answer, — “ 'Tis cowld \" 
 
 Mr. Caffin was a heavy, fat, dirty, unshaved, black- 
 muzzled general dealer. He sold everything : brooms, 
 barley-sugar, huckaback, treacle, Bath bricks, oatmeal, 
 gridirons, tar, tea, tamarinds, toys, towelling, and mouse- 
 traps. This, perhaps, may account for the respect with 
 which he treated the brown man's one observation. “'Tis 
 cowld !" was Caffin's invariable answer. It was not for a 
 general dealer like Caffin to bandy opinions about the 
 temperature with his customers, or indeed with any one ; 
 for no man could live through a single day without 
 wanting some article which Caffin dealt in. 
 
 “ 'Tis cowld \” he would cheerfully observe, thrusting 
 his hands deeper into his sleeves, w r hen the weather was 
 frosty, or even moderately fresh ; but when the sun of 
 July cast a varnish over Caffin' s countenance, or the flies 
 of a sultry August buzzed about his head, a slight impa- 
 tience might be detected in his tone. 
 
 u 'Tis cowld !" he would say, in a louder voice than 
 common, turning half round, and taking three steps from 
 the window — his usual station, and at the same time 
 pushing his fist impatiently across his stomach, as if in 
 spirit he “ fibbed" the brown man in revenge for the false 
 admission, while he quieted his conscience by turning his 
 back upon the sun. 
 
 The brown man was a Protestant ; and on the fifty-two 
 days of the year when Caffin's shop was shut he betook 
 himself, as a respectable man should do, and by a short 
 cut, to the parish church, where he had a sitting imme- 
 diately in front of that which the narrator was accustomed 
 to occupy. 
 
 Sitting in the centre of the pew, his tail, mounted on 
 
THE LAST PIGTAIL. 
 
 217 
 
 the barbette principle, was wont to intrude upon the 
 premises in rear, to which it had no sort of claim, and 
 traversing about as the owner moved his head from side 
 to side, it seemed to look us all, in turn, saucily in the 
 face ; a liberty to which, as an intruder, it had clearly no 
 right, and which was in fact adding insult to injury. 
 
 All people, nations as well as individuals, hate in- 
 truders, whether kings or pigtails. They dislike having 
 even a good thing foisted on them — they are sore at the 
 intrusive principle. The French, the Spaniards, the 
 Dutch, the Neapolitans, all are uneasy — they rebel 
 against it — they won't have it at any price. 
 
 Now it came to pass that there was in the town, and 
 seated in that pew behind the tail, a practical joker : one 
 of those pestilent fellows who jest with their hands, and 
 are funny through the medium of tricks and grimaces. 
 And the better to enable him to carry out his manual 
 pleasantry, Nature had gifted him with a face of imper- 
 turbable sadness. It was the longest, most lonesome, 
 lugubrious countenance ever seen : the “ knight of the 
 woful countenance’' was a joke to him — he was a “sadde 
 dogge." He never laughed ; seldom smiled : and never 
 was the face so oppressively solemn as when its owner was 
 pregnant with some atrocious conceit, and intent upon a 
 happy delivery. 
 
 He would have made his fortune as a mute — almost 
 have drawn tears from an undertaker ; and he might, on 
 the sole credit of his physiognomy, have raised any 
 amount of subscription for any serious project brought 
 forward at Exeter Hall. Why, they would have paid him 
 a handsome annuity, seven years in advance, if he had 
 only undertaken to form a congregation in Sandwich 
 Land, or promised to reside amongst the Tchukchi till 
 they were perfect in nasal psalmody. 
 
 I have said that the tail occupied a conspicuous place 
 in the centre of our front pew, and immediately behind it 
 sat the practical joker ; the intrusive tuft looking him 
 straight in the eyes, and ever and anon it would pertly 
 
218 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 whisk from side to side, and then settle down again to its 
 former bearing upon the mournful countenance of the 
 practical joker. 
 
 But, of all the congregation, there was not one appa- 
 rently more edified with the service than the proprietor of 
 that doleful and impressive face. Its oblong outline was 
 gently inclined to an attentive angle : its dovelike eyes 
 fixed in meek attention upon the eloquent reader: the 
 scanty hair was smoothed down upon that pallid fore- 
 head : and the corners of that expressive mouth solemnly 
 drawn down — that mouth, in which a casual observer 
 might have fancied that summer butter would have re- 
 mained unmelted. 
 
 There are times when we feel an oppressive conscious- 
 ness that something is about to happen. It is like a 
 weight upon us : we hold our breath — the shadow of the 
 coming event casts a chill over the spirit : it becomes 
 painfully intense, and we long, whatever it may be, to 
 have it over. There may be something mesmeric in this : 
 the tail was making passes at the joker — I trembled for 
 the consequences. 
 
 Stuffing a bandana into my mouth, as a precaution 
 against the worst that might happen, I leaned my fore- 
 head on my hand, and followed the sonorous voice of the 
 clergyman. 
 
 The lesson was being read impressively : the church, 
 otherwise, silent as death. It was the story of Balaam 
 and the Ass ; and I marvelled at the nerves of Balaam, 
 who could keep his seat upon a talking donkey. We 
 came to the unreasonable question, — 
 
 “ What have I done unto thee that thou hast smitten 
 me these three times V* 
 
 “And Balaam said unto the ass, Because thou hast 
 mocked me : I would there were a sword in mine hand, 
 for now would I kill thee.” 
 
 “ And the ass said unto Balaam ” 
 
 “ Blood an' ouns, will ye lave go o’ my 
 Tail ! ! !” 
 
THE LAST PIGTAIL. 
 
 219 
 
 The man in brown was on his legs looking angrily 
 round, but confronted only the placid and composed face 
 of assured innocence ; with perhaps a shade of severity 
 on the features, as scandalised at the strange interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 One fact, however, was clearly established by this 
 event, viz. that the owner of the last pigtail could vary 
 the eternal sentence he was wont to bestow upon Caffin — 
 a truth which, up to that day, had been very generally 
 doubted. 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 At a time when anonymous travellers are springing up 
 every day, it may be well to distinguish him to whom the 
 following adventure befel from all others : we will there- 
 fore call him the Green Traveller. 
 
 It was an afternoon about the middle of winter, that 
 the Green Traveller was walking along a road in one of 
 the midland counties of Ireland. It was a cultivated part 
 of the island thereabouts, and the fields were enclosed 
 with high banks of earth, called perversely by the natives 
 “ ditches/’ a high specimen of which bounded either side 
 of the road. Against one of these ditches were seated 
 three persons, or, rather, two out of the three, and they 
 would probably have escaped the traveller’s notice had it 
 not been for the somewhat unusual duties of one of them. 
 He was a young man of Herculean proportions, who 
 would have graced the front rank of any grenadier com- 
 pany in Europe, and there are very few regiments in 
 w r hich he would not have taken the right of the line. 
 But his occupation was a very singular one : he was 
 nursing an aged and apparently helpless woman, as 
 nursery-maids are wont to nurse babies, and occasionally 
 tossing her up in the air, after the most approved manner 
 of the aforesaid female functionaries, for five or ten 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 221 
 
 minutes together. There was nothing at all jocular in 
 this ; on the contrary, a mere passing glance was suffi- 
 cient to inform the most unobservant that anything rather 
 than playfulness or a joke was intended. The old woman 
 showed no signs of animation ; in fact, she looked more 
 dead than alive ; but as the strapping young nursery- 
 man kept soothing, and coaxing, and croning over her, 
 the traveller naturally concluded that she was not quite 
 dead. 
 
 Beside the young man, thus strangely occupied, there 
 sat a woman — a young one it would seem from her abun- 
 dant black hair, but who kept her elbows planted on her 
 knees and her face buried in her hands ; and, from certain 
 slight convulsive motions, it would appear that she was 
 crying bitterly. 
 
 The Green Traveller was passing on : what was it to 
 him ? A man may not marry his grandmother certainly, 
 but the rubric says nothing against his nursing her, if so 
 minded, or tossing her about in any way most congenial 
 to his feelings ; and, therefore, if he derived gratification 
 from such a pastime, there seemed to be no reasonable 
 objection to his indulging in it. It was entirely a matter 
 of taste. 
 
 But there was something odd in it upon second 
 thoughts, this dandling an old woman in his arms, 
 while a young one was sitting crying by -his side. It 
 was a proceeding, to say the least, unusual — out of the 
 common course of dandling. “I should be half in- 
 clined,” said the Green Traveller, thinking aloud, and 
 turning towards them, " I should really be half inclined 
 to give the young one a turn, if it were only by way of a 
 change.” 
 
 Perhaps the strapping young man detected something 
 verdant about the look of our friend, thinking him, 
 mayhap, a soft and likely nest in which to drop the egg 
 of a family secret ; for he suddenly ceased to toss the old 
 lady, and a short cough and one or two hems indicated 
 
222 
 
 PADPIANA. 
 
 that he had a purpose of relieving his mind if an oppor- 
 tunity were afforded him. 
 
 “ You seem to have hard work there,” said the Green 
 Traveller, alluding to the man's occupation. 
 
 “ Faith, we have, Sir; we're destroyed entirely — we're 
 poor crathurs, God help us ! Indeed, it's kilt she is 
 with the hard master. Sorrow friend we have nearer 
 than Mallow, and how will I carry here there ?" 
 
 “ Is she your mother ?'' said the traveller. 
 
 “ She is my grand ; that is, she was to be — she is 
 
 my grandmother,'' said the strapping young man taking 
 courage, and laying an emphasis upon the verb. “ She 
 is my grandmother,” repeated he; “and this is my 
 wife !” 
 
 “ Never !” said the young woman, rising up, and 
 speaking for the first time. “You shall never marry a 
 beggar, James, nor have a beggar for your grandmother 
 through me : the worse luck for us all,” said she, cover- 
 ing her eyes with her hand. 
 
 “ But where do you live ?” said the traveller. 
 
 “ Here ! here on the road itself !” said the young 
 man, laying the helpless woman across his knees, and 
 bringing the backs of his hands to the ground with a 
 sort of desperate salaam, till the nails nearly touched the 
 road. 
 
 “ They did live there,” said he, pointing across the 
 road to a small house with a few farm-buildings about it ; 
 “ but Fay, the villain ! turned them out. And the furni- 
 ture's seized, and the bed's taken from under her, and 
 they've left her to die of the cowld.” 
 
 “ But have they no friends or neighbours ?” 
 
 “ Not one, plaze yer honour ; they're strangers from 
 the county Limerick : they took the land of Fay a year 
 ago, and their crap was burnt, and the man died, and 
 she's a cripple, and all they had is seized, and sorrow house, 
 or bed, or anything else have they got. And we were to 
 be married to-morrow,” said he, turning to the young 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 900 
 
 woman; “ and, by the blessing o’ God, so we will yst, 
 if— — . But anyhow,” said the young man quickly, 
 
 seeing the girl about to speak, “ all we want is, to 
 put her somewhere for the night till we see what 
 we'll do.” 
 
 When the strapping young man said they were stran- 
 gers, and had taken the land to the exclusion of the native 
 candidates for it, the traveller saw it was a hopeless case 
 to seek for charity or even the shelter of a roof there- 
 abouts : they must, at least, get beyond the gossip of that 
 neighbourhood before they could look for the charities of 
 a fellow-creature. 
 
 It is said that by the laws of Howel Dha, or the Good, 
 a stranger and a leper might be killed with impunity ; 
 and there was another kind of game abandoned to the 
 general sportsman by the same benevolent legislator, 
 though just now it escapes my memory. What the Irish 
 may do with their lepers we have no means of judging, 
 but they dispose of their agricultural strangers in quite as 
 summary a way as the illustrious Welshman could have 
 desired. 
 
 The Green Traveller soon got the history of these poor 
 people. The young man, who was so thoughtfully quali- 
 fying himself for the duties of married life — though he 
 took his lessons at the wrong end of the family — was 
 engaged to her of the sable locks before she left Mallow ; 
 and now, on hearing of the death of the old man, had 
 walked all the way here, either to settle down with them 
 in their intrusive occupancy, or to take them back with 
 him. The little stock of money he brought was absorbed 
 in the funeral expenses and helping to lighten the balance 
 of the debts ; and instead of the happy bridegroom he 
 thought to be, he found himself left in charge of his 
 betrothed wife, her helpless grandmother, and not one 
 farthing in his pocket ; or, what was still worse, the 
 means of getting one. 
 
 It was a fix : at least most people would have thoxight 
 
PADDIANA. 
 
 And who is Mr. Fay, and where does he live ?” said 
 Green Traveller. 
 
 “ Sure, he's the attorney,” said the girl, “ and lives at 
 the big house this side the town. It's little I thought 
 him such a hard man” 1 
 
 “ Then shoulder the old lady and come along,” said 
 the traveller to the Mallow man, “and I’ll go before 
 you.” 
 
 “ But where will I take her, Sir ?” 
 
 “ To Fay's, to be sure; — come along, it's getting late. 
 I'll call there, and say you are coming.” 
 
 “But what will he say to us ? Sure it's he that's done 
 it all !” 
 
 “ Never mind. Pull away at his bell — rap at the door 
 till they come. Say you want beds for three, and are 
 ready for supper. I'll tell them to put on the potatoes. 
 Why would you be shy at taking a bed with him ? — 
 he has done the same by you.” And he strode away. 
 
 Now I have reason to believe that he of the verdant 
 designation was averse to strangers — strange attorneys in 
 particular; and this weakness was rather increased than 
 otherwise by the consciousness that he carried with him to 
 the lion's den a tail of a houseless young woman, a bed- 
 ridden old one, and a strapping young fellow from Mal- 
 low ; all of whom he was bent upon quartering, if pos- 
 sible, on the attorney ; or, at any rate, of using a display 
 of their helpless condition as a means of extracting some- 
 thing out of him in the way of mitigation, or composition 
 of the debt ; or, at any rate, some temporary relief for 
 them. 
 
 “I ^should like amazingly,” said the traveller, “to 
 smuggle the old woman into the lawyer’s best bed. 
 
 ‘ Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows,' and 
 why not sharp practice, too ? He could not, for shame, 
 turn her out in her present state. I am disposed to look 
 at the thing as practicable, at a small pecuniary sacrifice 
 and a few soft words to the housemaid. 
 
 K I wonder,” said the traveller, musing as he walked. 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 225 
 
 along*, if these lawyers do feel any compunction when they 
 have such jobs as this in hand ; or whether, as I am in- 
 clined to suspect, their whole energies are so entirely 
 thrown into the scale of professional triumph and ad- 
 vancement, that any trifle of right or justice is a mere 
 dust in the balance ? They certainly have an immense 
 capacity for bearing other peopled pain. How warm and 
 cosily they can sit and listen to the dismal misery of a 
 client in chancery, put off from year to year, throwing to 
 him the sop of ‘ next term* four times every twelvemonth ! 
 Poor fellow ! he finds out in the course of time that he 
 has to do with an animal ‘ what wouldn’t go/ and who 
 unhappily, ‘ gains, like Pabius, by delay.* Have we not/’ 
 said the traveller, pursuing his musing, “ seen them take 
 Heaven to witness that they are ignorant of a murderer*s 
 guilt, having at the time the man’s confession of it in 
 their pocket ? Did they not shed tears for Thurtell, and 
 even for Tawell ? — a villain worse than a mere murderer, 
 — calmly sitting with the fatal phial in his hand, till the 
 mother of his children, in the busy zeal of contributing to 
 his comfort, should afford him an opportunity of pouring 
 the deadly poison into her cup ! And yet this was a case 
 for professional tears ! Surely,** said the Green Traveller, 
 “if ever the devil laughs, it must be when a lawyer 
 cries.** 
 
 There was no mistaking the attorney*s house; there 
 was nothing like it in that small town. Clean, well-kept 
 grounds gave an earnest of interior comfort - p and the 
 well-closed gates — unlike Irish gates in general — 
 seemed to indicate that what he had he meant to 
 keep. j 
 
 “ A nice man, no doubt, you are, Mr. Pay !** thought 
 the Green Traveller, as he slowly paced along the smooth 
 gravel and mounted the well-whitened steps r “ a nice 
 man ! This is squeezed out of widows ; orphans have 
 something to do with this green door and brass knocker. 
 No doubt you are a worthy successor of that old solicitor, 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 PADD1ANA. 
 
 Moloch, and batten upon ‘ human sacrifice and parents' 
 tears/ " 
 
 The Green Traveller was anxious to see this man of 
 sharp practice, and gave a sonorous appeal upon the well- 
 burnished brass. 
 
 “I will lead him/' thought the traveller, “into the 
 idea of a client, impatient and rich, and not contented 
 with a mere sneaking f double/ Perhaps it may soften 
 him for the purpose I have in hand/' 
 
 “ Mr. Fay was not at home, but w r as expected very 
 shortly/' 
 
 “ In the squeezing of a widow, perhaps," thought the 
 traveller. “ I must wait." 
 
 “ But missis is at home," said the man; “would you 
 like to see her ?" 
 
 “ Certainly. This is better still," thought the traveller : 
 “ I can deal better with a woman ; and if I can only 
 manage to enlist her on my side, we may have a chance 
 to get something out of him." 
 
 It was a fine house, and everything seemed good about 
 the place — except the owner. The furniture was hand- 
 some, the room luxurious. Fine paintings, in beautiful 
 frames, hung upon the walls ; downy sofas wooed you to 
 repose, and easy chairs held out their arms to clasp 
 you. - 
 
 “ All squeezed out of widows," said the Green Tra- 
 veller, looking round the room. 
 
 Mrs. Fay was announced — a delicate-looking lady in 
 her prime ; fattish, pale, and soft. 
 
 “ Come," thought the traveller, inwardly chuckling, 
 “this will do. Widows are looking up — orphans are 
 rising. Nothing of the nether millstone here. She can 
 have no hand in grinding the poor. The husband may 
 be a squeezer, but, judging from appearances, I should 
 say that the wife is rather in the nature of a squeezee." 
 
 The lawyer's lady sat gracefully down, placed a pair of 
 very white hands upon her lap, accidentally pushed forward 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 227 
 
 rather more than half of a pretty foot from under the 
 drapery, and raising her blue eyes to the traveller’s face 
 seemed to say, cc Well, what do you want ?” 
 
 The Green Traveller is not by nature eloquent, but he 
 did his best. He drew a little sketch of the helpless 
 family, turned adrift into the road without a friend, 
 without money, almost without hope — of the nursing* 
 Mallowman, and the firm, pale, determined, independent, 
 broken-hearted girl, who was to have been married to- 
 morrow. The traveller dwelt upon this ; it was a strong 
 point. He begged her co- operation in getting, at least, a 
 little delay, and perhaps a temporary re instatement in 
 the house. Warming with the subject, he stepped beyond 
 the bounds of prudence in touching upon Mr. Fay’s part 
 in the transaction, and was inadvertently betrayed into 
 some rather strong expressions relating to that worthy. 
 
 As he proceeded, the lawyer’s wife grew colder and 
 colder ; she did not usually interfere — her husband’s 
 profession was necessarily an unpopular one— -no doubt 
 Mr. Fay could explain all — she was very sorry that she 
 could suggest nothing — he would shortly be at home, 
 &c. &c. Then she made a show of retiring — called in 
 the foot, disunited the hands, thought she heard her 
 husband’s key in the office-door, rose, moved with 
 graceful languor across the room, and vanished like a 
 Juno made of ice. 
 
 iC Widows and orphans are decidedly flat,” said the 
 Green Traveller. “ There is nothing doing in them at all 
 — there is a frightful want of firmness about them. 
 Nobody will take a lot of them at any price; their bill is 
 thrown out — it is all up with them. And this precious 
 lawyer’s wife — this comely she-fiend ! ‘ the devil has 
 
 power to assume a pleasing shape !’ she is privy, no 
 doubt, to all her husband’s squeezings, soft as she looks. 
 Yes, there’s a pair of them ! She’s a downy Sally Brass 
 — a Mrs. Moloch, and no mistake.” 
 
 “ Mr. Fay would be happy to see the gentleman in his 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 office, if he would step that way — here, out at the front 
 door — this room at the corner of the house/' 
 
 The traveller strode towards it. “ Mind yourself !" 
 said the man, catching him by the elbow ; “ your fut's in 
 the flower-bed ! Master won't stand that, nohow." 
 
 “ Well, upon my word," thought the Green Traveller, 
 “ this lawyer is a curious fellow ! he devours widows' 
 houses, and yet won't nohow stand a fut in his flower- 
 bed ! He's like the giant in Rabelais, who could swallow 
 a windmill and was choked with a pound of butter." 
 
 The lawyer received the traveller complacently. He 
 was a short, square man, with a square face, a long upper 
 lip, small sharp grey eyes, looking from under heavy 
 bushes of eyebrows like a snake in a hedge ; and he had 
 a small, shapeless, bridgeless nose, full of black snuff. It 
 was absurd to call it a nose — it was a pimple. It seemed 
 to have been bullied into insignificance by a long course 
 of ill-usage, and was finally turned into a dust-hole. But, 
 insignificant as the nose was, it occupied a great deal of 
 the lawyer's attention ; he seemed to have two objects in 
 view — to cram the little feature full of black snuff, and 
 then to blow it sonorously out again. If this oppressed 
 nose had belonged to anybody but such a widow- 
 squeezing, orphan-crushing man as this, one might have 
 pitied its hard case. 
 
 The lawyer started when he heard that the old woman 
 and her grand-daughter had been ejected from the 
 premises; and pished and poolied a good deal at some 
 stupid fellow whom he did not name — the bailiff most 
 likely, for not taking them to goal ; laughed at the 
 Mallowman and his nursing the grandmother to keep the 
 life in her : but upon the whole made light of the matter, 
 and, strange to say, heard without surprise that the 
 family were on their way to his house, and might be 
 expected every moment. 
 
 When the traveller opened his little plan of doing 
 something for the poor people, provided the lawyer would 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 229 
 
 do his part in staying proceedings, and soften as much as 
 he could the customary practice in such cases, he looked 
 grave, and forced the rappee further and further into his 
 nose, till the poor little thing was at last driven to get up 
 a sneeze in its own defence. 
 
 After taking a few turns about the room, the attorney 
 sat down and began to talk of the old woman's debts. 
 
 “ What does she owe to the landlord ?" asked the 
 traveller. 
 
 " Nine, sixteen, eight," said the lawyer, dryly, looking 
 at his nails. “ It's really a pity," said he, “ that the 
 poor devils have been turned out for a trifle like this." 
 
 “ A trifle to you, no doubt," thought the traveller ; 
 "you might lose such a sum without feeling it. You 
 could soon find ways and means of making it up again • 
 it would be only squeezing another widow, or putting the 
 screw upon a few orphans, and the thing is done." 
 
 “ Nine pound, six — teen shillings, and eight — pence," 
 said the lawyer, very slowly, and dividing the syllables. 
 •" Are you ready to pay it ?" said he, turning quickly 
 upon the traveller, and bringing the two edges down 
 upon his eyes till you could see nothing but a couple of 
 grey sparks under them. 
 
 f Why," said the traveller, rather taken aback at the 
 lawyer's bluntness, and colouring at the imputation of 
 verdure conveyed in the question, " I'm a stranger, you 
 know, to these people; but I'll do what I can." 
 
 “ Ah !" said the lawyer, leaning back in his chair with 
 an expression which said plainly enough, “ you'll do all 
 you can , but you can't part with your money." 
 
 " Well, I will pay the money," said the traveller, 
 desperately ; " and I dare say you think it green enough 
 in me to do so." 
 
 “ Well, upon my honour and word,' said the lawyer, 
 bursting into a loud laugh, I do : it is green, indeed — 
 it's jolly green : ha, ha, ha ! ho, ho, ho ! — I should say 
 it's invisible green, for you will not see your money 
 again for some time. You may call it — ho, ho ho, haugh, 
 
230 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 haugh, haugh,” said the lawyer, half choked — u you 
 may call it ever green, for I doubt if it will ever be 
 paid/” 
 
 And so saying, the lawyer fell back in a perfect storm 
 of merriment, rubbing his hands and even clapping his 
 feet together in his eestacy, as if he was not contented 
 without laughing in the legs at the perpetration of his 
 vile puns. 
 
 When the Green Traveller saw T this nefarious attorney 
 chuckling and screaming at his magnanimous offer, and 
 heard him making his puns and cracking his jokes at his 
 philanthropy, he thought him, without any exception, 
 the most hateful incarnation of pettifogging villany that 
 he had ever seen or heard of. 
 
 c< But here they are,” said the lawyer, jumping up, and 
 running to the door. “ Come along, bring her in ; here, 
 drop her into the easy chair by the fire, and give her the 
 footstool. Well, Beauty !” said he, pinching the girl by 
 the chin, “ sit you down opposite. And now, ma'am, 
 how are you since ? It's cold weather you've come out in 
 — put up vour feet and toast them well — have a pinch of 
 snuff ?” 
 
 (C Well, surely,” thought the traveller, “ this must be a 
 fiend in human shape ! He turns a bedridden old woman 
 out of house and home, and then banters her about coming 
 out in the cold ! He seizes her furniture, he sells her pig, 
 and then tells her to toast her feet and make herself 
 comfortable ! He brings utter ruin upon the old woman, 
 and breaks off the young one's marriage, and then chucks 
 the one under the chin and offers the other a pinch of 
 snuff ! I positively ask pardon of Moloch for comparing 
 this fellow to him; the horrid king was incapable of any- 
 thing like this. 
 
 “ ‘ My sentence is for open war : of wiles, 
 
 More unexpert, I boast not.’ ” 
 
 “ Of course ; he was an above-board devil, lie would, 
 doub less, have cut her throat with pleasure, or even 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 231 
 
 toasted her feet after a fashion of his own, but I entirely 
 acquit him of adding insult to injury, such as chucking 
 the girl under the chin, or offering* the old one a pinch of 
 snuff. 
 
 “ And so they turned you out ?” said the lawyer, with 
 an air of hilarity. 
 
 “ Faith ye did,” said the expectant grandson, adroitly 
 changing the person of the pronoun ; “ the worse luck, 
 she was nigh-hand kilt w T ith the cowld.” 
 
 “ And you tossed her about to keep the life in her ? 
 Well, Fd like to have seen that ! Fd have given a pound 
 to see that ! But you never gave her the letter,” said he 
 to the young man. “ Why didn't you give her the letter 
 I gave you for her ?” 
 
 The Mallowman looked rather blank at this unexpected 
 discovery. It was very true he had never given it. He 
 had heard of lawyers’ letters before — perhaps had had some 
 experience of the same. No ; it was not very likely that 
 he should serve a process upon his grandmother : rather 
 too 'cute for that, he flattered himself. 
 
 “ But what did you do with the letter ?” said the 
 lawyer : “ put it behind the fire, I suppose ?” 
 
 c< No, faith, your honour; I have it here safe enough,” 
 pulling it out with some little triumph. “ Sure I wouldn't 
 destroy your honour's letter !” 
 
 “ Then open it yourself.” 
 
 He was caught in his own trap : he had some awful 
 ideas about that letter ; it was most likely a process — or a 
 writ — or a ca. sa.— or a fi. fa ., or a some infernal thing 
 which he knew no name for. He had too much regard 
 for the old woman to deliver it, and now he must serve it 
 on himself. He w r as iX hoist with his own petard.” 
 
 “ Come, open it, man,” said the lawyer, it w^on't bite 
 you” (seeing him twist it carefully round by the corners) : 
 “ don't be shy — perhaps it's a love-letter.” 
 
 The young woman threw back the black hair and 
 looked sharply up. 
 
232 
 
 PADDJANA. 
 
 " Well, faith,” said the lawyer, relapsing into a laugh 
 as the remembrance of the Mallowman’s exploit came 
 back upon him ; “ Fd give him something handsome to see 
 him nurse any one the way he did Mrs. Donellan.” 
 
 “ Murther ! !” said the Mallowman, in a voice of 
 thunder. 
 
 <c What is it, dear James?” said the black-haired girl, 
 running to him and seizing him by the arm. 
 
 “ Honaman d’Hiaoul !” said the Mallowman, throwing 
 her rudely aside, “ let me at him !” 
 
 Before any one could guess what he was going to do, 
 he had seized the lawyer with one arm round the waist, 
 and the other under the legs, and was throwing him 
 wildly up to the ceiling. 
 
 “ Twopence more, and up goes the donkey,” said the 
 Green Traveller. “ He’ll catch it now. Don’t let him 
 fall. No ; be very careful that you don’t drop him. No, no, 
 it would be a pity if he hurt himself — it really would ; 
 and yet the floor’s not so very hard, I dare say — wood, most 
 likely — soft deal ; there are harder things about him 
 than that ; but still be careful, do. And yet, after all, if 
 he were to fall, and even break some unimportant bone 
 — say a tibia — it would be no very great harm. Strong 
 man of Mallow, be careful.” 
 
 But the man of Mallow had set him on his legs again 
 unhurt, and had fallen on his knees, and was shaking 
 the lawyer’s one hand up and down between his own, as 
 if he had some frantic scheme of pumping the attorney, 
 and was making a strange spluttering noise, like decant- 
 ing a bottle of wine. And what was equally strange, the 
 black-haired girl was soon kneeling by the young man’s 
 side, and had got hold of the lawyer’s other hand ; and 
 was snivelling too, or something very like it. 
 
 And the Green Traveller, stooping down, picked from 
 the floor an envelope, directed to Mr. Donellan, in which 
 was a paper without writing, but enclosing a bank-note 
 for ten pounds ; and the envelope, and the paper, and 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 233 
 
 the note, were considerably crushed and crumpled by 
 being carried about for two days in the Mallowman's 
 pocket. 
 
 ***** 
 
 And the lawyer was not a squeezer of widows, after all ; j 
 at least, we will hope not, for Mrs. Fay's sake. I wish , 
 we could go the same length for him, as regards orphans. 
 The first use that he made of his liberated hands was to 
 raise the black -haired girl to his own level, and, folding 
 her in his arms, to inflict one, two, three deliberate smacks 
 upon her rosy mouth, pausing between each to look into 
 her black eyes, and perpetrating the several outrages with 
 a relishing intonation that might have been heard into 
 the road. 
 
 “ I am very strongly disposed to hope/' said the Green 
 Traveller to himself, “that this respectable solicitor will 
 not, like the giant, die of unmelted butter/’ 
 
 “ Dear me, Mr. Fay, what is all this about ?" said a 
 lady, coming very quietly into the room at the third 
 smack, with a heightened colour, and a rather bright 
 spark in her naturally soft blue eyes. 
 
 I have often observed, that when a man finds himself 
 caught in a scrape, he has recourse to the palpably unjust 
 bullying of some wretched dependant, who has no means 
 of retaliation or defence probably to assure himself of 
 his own consequence. In this instance, the lawyer fell 
 upon his nose, in the sense of an onslaught, and probably 
 because it had served him at a pinch before, and forced 
 such a quantity of rappee into it, that he seemed in a 
 fair way soon to have “ his fine pate filled with fine 
 dirt," unless provided with some hidden receptacle, such 
 as that in which the celebrated Jack disposed of the 
 giant's pudding. 
 
 Perhaps it may be thought, that in this instance the 
 punishment was not wholly undeserved, seeing that the 
 punished feature was first in the trespass. Though the 
 
234 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 mouth secured the game, the nose was clearly the leading 
 poacher on the preserve. 
 
 But nobody answered the lady’s reasonable question ; 
 and the red spots were getting larger on her cheeks, 
 her eyes rounder, a thought more sparkling, and she was 
 rapidly enlarging into a Juno. 
 
 But nobody spoke. The lawyer was busy punishing 
 the poacher. “ I’ll give it you, you villain ! I’ll teach 
 you to respect private property ! I’ll give you a taste of 
 the strong-box for this.” 
 
 The Mallowman had fallen back upon his hat, which 
 he appeared to have a purpose of turning up, and mould- 
 ing into a Repeal cap. Miss Donellan was examining 
 the binding of her cloak, having previously drawn down 
 the black-fringed curtains over her eyes ; and the old 
 lady had turned her feet as well as she could, and was 
 toasting the other sides. 
 
 “ My dear Madam,” said the Green Traveller, seeing 
 that nobody else came forward, “ the fact is, that there 
 has been a little misconception here — ” 
 
 “ There appears to be some still, Sir,” said the lady, 
 with an accent and manner but very little above zero. 
 
 “ And yet not of such a nature as cannot be explained 
 to the satisfaction of all parties. It appears that the 
 little domestic tragedy in which I some time since at- 
 tempted to excite your interest, was brought about by the 
 miscarriage of a note ; and the scene you witnessed on 
 coming in was the result of that note’s being found, 
 acting, as it could not fail to do, most powerfully on the 
 grateful feelings of these poor people. It may have been 
 wrong, perhaps, in the young person to kiss a gentle- 
 man’s hand ; but gratitude, and the securing of a good 
 husband when all seemed lost, will lead people into 
 strange vagaries. With respect to his thinking it neces- 
 sary to make a return in kind, no doubt it can be easily 
 explained to your entire satisfaction.” 
 
 But here the Mallowman came to the rescue. 
 
 “ Faith, I wouldn’t for fifty — no, not for a hundred 
 
THE GREEN TRAVELLER. 
 
 235 
 
 pound — I hadn’t got the note. Divle a bigger villain 
 ever I thought a man than him, till I got the note. And 
 now he’ll have the blessing of th’ ould and the young. 
 Well, thinks I, if it’s nursing he wants, it’s meself that 
 will give it him ; and, faith, if it was your ladyship’s 
 
 self, I’d be ready for the same, day or night, or any of 
 
 the family. But, by the blessing o’ God, will be married 
 the morn’s morning : ’tis not long will be having her 
 into Mallow. But, sure, if his honour’d send, I’d be 
 ready at any time ; it isn’t the distance I’d mind, for the 
 likes of him, if it was twice as far, when we’re settled, 
 barring it was harvest, or while we’re digging the 
 praties.” 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 It is recorded, that the Green Traveller was persuaded 
 to remain a day in that small town, and partake of 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Fay’s hospitality. What is singular, too, 
 his little scheme of putting the old woman to bed at the 
 lawyer’s was carried out without the necessity of the 
 little sacrifices he meditated. That next morning the Green 
 Traveller accompanied the lawyer and his wife to the 
 Mallowman’s wedding, Mr. Fay acting as father in church ; 
 and how, when the ceremony was over, that shocking 
 solicitor insisted upon being paid for his trouble in a kind 
 of coin much current among brides and bridegrooms, 
 Mrs. Fay kindly insisting that he must be reasonable in 
 his charges ; and how, after the ceremony, when the 
 Mallowman and his wife began to talk of shouldering the 
 old lady, and taking a stage towards their own country, 
 the lawyer persuaded them to mount with himself and his 
 wife, and the Green Traveller, upon a car which was 
 waiting, and take another look at the old house before 
 they went ; and how, on their arriving there, to the 
 immense astonishment of all, they found the old lady 
 comfortable in her own bed again ; and there was another 
 and a better bed on the premises than had ever been seen 
 there before ; and the furniture was come back “ fat,” as 
 
236 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 they say at school ; and the pig was at home, as if nothing 
 had happened ; and the potatoes were boiled, and there 
 was a hamper and a bottle or two ; and the lawyer was 
 obliged to bolt from the house to escape another nursing, 
 which might have been attended with serious damage to 
 the unfortunate scapegoat feature of his face, seeing that 
 the ceiling was scarcely so high as the Mallowman’s 
 head. 
 
 Now, however strange may be the title of " the Green 
 Traveller,” the creature is not very difficult to find ; and 
 perhaps the interest in the story might have been in- 
 creased by naming it after something much more rare — 
 a Soft Attorney. 
 
MR. SMITH'S IRISH LOVE. 
 
 He must be a sulky fellow who cannot speedily make 
 himself at home in Dublin. They have an off-hand way 
 with them. 1 hardly know what it is ; but it saves a deal 
 of trouble. 
 
 “ Allow me to present you to mamma. This is my 
 aunt. Would you like to go to Mrs. Burkes* ? or Mrs. 
 French*s ? or Mrs. Bodkin*s ? or Mrs. 0*Connor*s ? or 
 Mrs. 0*Rafferty*s ? May 1 send you a card ? Ask for 
 me : I shall introduce you — I shall be delighted !** 
 
 In fact, there was a something so enticing about them, 
 that even John Smith — plain, plodding, prosy Smith — 
 cold, calculating, unimaginative Smith, could do no less 
 than fall in love. 
 
 Louisa Donovan was an Irish beauty of the first class : 
 it is therefore unnecessary to say that she came very near 
 perfection ; nay, I suspect that, physically, she attained 
 it. The hypercritic might perhaps have taken exception 
 to the size of her foot and ankle, but I think, upon refer- 
 ence to the best models, your ancient Venuses will be 
 found of substantial under-standings, and rather leaning 
 to the Irish development than the beau ideal of a French 
 ladies* shoemaker. 
 
 Her hair, eyes, and eyelashes were nearly black, but 
 her skin was of a dazzling fairness. She was a fleshy 
 beauty — a lolloping, lazy, languishing love. She took no 
 trouble about anything : laisser aller was her motto. 
 
238 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 When she crossed the room, she dragged her slow length 
 along as if the effort was really too overcoming : and she 
 flopped into an easy chair with such an air of indolent 
 happiness, that it positively made yon yawn to see it. 
 
 How she mustered up energy enough to dress herself 
 was a mystery ; certain it is, that whether the operation 
 was performed by self or deputy, it was but indifferently 
 done. Her clothes looked as if thrown on by chance ; 
 and although the dress had contrived somehow to get 
 fastened, it seemed to have been done in the dark. Hook 
 No. 1 was generally in conjunction with eye No. 2. 
 Sometimes she wore an ear-ring, sometimes two, oftener 
 none ; and when she did display those ornaments, they 
 were generally foul with the tangles of her dark, dark 
 hair. Such hair I never beheld ! I doubt the fact of its 
 ever being brushed ; but for length, fineness, and exces- 
 sive luxuriance, it had no equal, out of Macassar. Then 
 her collar was always wrong : tucked in on one side, per- 
 haps, and on the other, wandering away over the shoulder. 
 One was sometimes tempted to think there was a spice of 
 coquetry in this to draw attention to the fair skin and 
 rounded contour ; but, on second thoughts, you acquitted 
 her of taking any trouble at all about the matter. What 
 a fat, soft hand she had ! and what long, slender fingers ! 
 tipped, not with oriental henna, but — I grieve to say it — 
 more frequently Irish ebony. Poor dear ! she was sus- 
 pected of having very vague and unsettled notions about 
 soap and water, and to be rather averse than otherwise to 
 their application. Even Smith, enamoured as he was, 
 rather dreaded to see her in short sleeves, lest high-water- 
 mark should be too apparent about the wrists; and no 
 one could look at the back of her neck without thinking 
 of the invaluable services of Tom Pipes. 
 
 It must be conceded to Miss Donovan, that she had 
 none of the “ adulteries of art” in the scheme- of her toilet. 
 Hers was the “ hair loosely flowing, robes as free,” and 
 there was about her altogether a “ sweet neglect,” enough 
 to have taken the fancy of Hare Ben himself. 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 239 
 
 Though rather disposed to fastidious nicety in personal 
 matters, Mr. Smith somehow became enamoured of this 
 piece of angelic nastiness — “ so full of shapes is fancy ;” 
 and yet he was more than half angry at it. But what 
 can you expect from a raw fellow but little over twenty ? 
 Why, there was an archness in her dear, dirty face, that 
 might have bothered a sexagenarian. 
 
 She had a brogue, too — the richest and most teeming 
 brogue that ever came from an Irish mouth. How the 
 straight and narrow passage of her lips could give vent to 
 anything so broad was a puzzle, but it came rolling out, 
 like everything she did, without an effort. 
 
 But Smith had it not all his own way : that would have 
 been too much to expect. There was a snag” — a 
 “ sawyer,” that ruffled the dimpling course of his true love. 
 
 There was a First Cousin ! 
 
 Now it does appear to be a sad mistake, that this par- 
 ticular relationship should have been left out of that 
 “ Table of Kindred and Affinity, wherein whosoever are 
 related are forbidden, in Scripture and our Laws, to 
 marry together.” Considering the excessive caution with 
 which we are guarded against our grandmothers, this 
 omission is really an unaccountable laxity. 
 
 But there was a First Cousin — Alexander Casey, of 
 the county of Roscommon, Esquire — Sandy Casey with 
 his intimates, Sandy alone at his aunt’s. This fellow was 
 the bane of Smith ; whether he turned out, eventually, 
 his antidote, I will not anticipate by informing the reader. 
 He was always in the way, there was no getting rid of 
 him : his time was his own, and he imparted it to his 
 friends with ruinous liberality. The sacrifice which he 
 made at his aunt’s of this valuable commodity was awful. 
 If it had been really money, as some pretend, he was 
 clearly in the high road to bankruptcy. Wherever the 
 fair Louisa might be lounging, wherever driving, wherever 
 walking, there you might be sure was the eternal Sandy. 
 
 He was a cool, good-humoured, placid-featured fellow, 
 without much to say for himself; but from his being a 
 
240 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 general favourite with the ladies, it was presumed that he 
 had hit upon a style of silent eloquence to the full as 
 effective as words. 
 
 Once, in a party, the buzz of conversation suddenly 
 ceased ; yet one soft voice was heard from a corner to say 
 in a demi-whisper, audible to all the room : — 
 
 “ Ah, Sandy, don't you be squeezing my hand !" 
 
 Fourteen pairs of eyes, belonging to as many dowagers, 
 were instantly brought to bear upon the place with the 
 intensity of burning lenses. They went like augers 
 through the scattered furniture, by which Miss Donovan 
 and her cousin were partially screened, and traversed with 
 a searching focus every line of space between the pair ; 
 but nothing was brought to light save the fair Louisa 
 “ looking tranquillity" in an easy chair, with one hand a 
 little over the elbow, and Mr. Casey picking up a fallen 
 book from the floor, his face unruffled as a summer 
 lake. 
 
 In dress, Sandy Casey was unrivalled. He was the 
 extremity of the extremes of Grafton Street. Were rough 
 over-coats the fashion, he was a biped bear. Were low 
 collars the mode, his was little wider than a hem. Were 
 gaiter-trowsers correct, he merely showed a patent-leather 
 toe. Of whiskers, nature had as yet withheld more than 
 a reasonable supply ; but the summer's growth might be 
 anticipated from the vernal promise, and “ mirific balsams" 
 and “ incomparable oils" were called upon to foster the 
 incipient forest. 
 
 No one could have been in Sandy's company ten 
 minutes without hearing of the “ grate harss that th' 
 officer bought," or the details of a “ killing day with the 
 Kildare." 
 
 Although hating him for his attentions to his dirty dear, 
 Mr. Smith could not but allow that he was a good fellow 
 enough, though a shocking bore. It has been already 
 said that he was a general favourite with the sex : with 
 the young he was “delightful;" with the elderly, “a 
 dear cratur and even the most censorious of the four- 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 241 
 
 teen dowagers, pronounced him “ a foine young man, if 
 possible. 5 ' 
 
 But notwithstanding his popularity, he was a shocking 
 nuisance in Harcourt Street ; the more so from the doubt 
 that hung over Miss Donovan's preference. He was too 
 well established to be got rid of, and walked about the 
 house a sort of pet lamb of the family ; though from cer- 
 tain scarcely perceptible twitches about the mouth of Pat, 
 the tea-boy, when inquiries were made about him, Smith 
 shrewdly suspected that doubts were entertained by that 
 functionary whether his lamb -like appearance was alto- 
 gether to be relied upon. With his aunt he had esta- 
 blished a character for remarkable modesty and retiring 
 diffidence ; and Smith was an involuntary listener to dis- 
 cussions upon that subject between Mrs. Donovan and 
 her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. D. Ah ! he's a humble lad ; sure, he’s not like 
 an Irishman at all ! It's his modesty, poor cratur, '11 
 be the ruin of him. What he'll do for employment it's 
 hard to say. 
 
 Miss D. Don't you think, mamma, he'd rise at the 
 bar ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh ! the bar ! What's the use of putting 
 the poor cratur to the bar, when he can't say “bo !" to 
 a goose, and he so shy ? It's he that's the bashful 
 boy ! 
 
 Miss D. Sure he might practise, but not in the coorts ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Is it a chamber-counsel you mane? Ah! 
 he'd never be able for the attorneys. Sure, he's too good 
 to be loose. It's his mother he takes after, — poor Milley ! 
 Indeed it's Milley Casey that was the pride of Roscommon 
 before she met the Colonel. But what could she do when 
 her husband left her ? Ah ! that was the bad man — 
 
 The conversation generally dropped when they arrived 
 at the history of Milley Casey. It might be inferred, 
 however, that her adventures had been of a chequered 
 character, and that she had eventually eloped with a field- 
 officer, Mr. Casey having previously set her the example. 
 
 R 
 
PADDIANA. 
 
 242 
 
 Although Smith’s liking for Miss Donovan was not 
 without alloy, yet was it of such a nature that suspense 
 became intolerable, and he at length screwed up his 
 courage to the point of being enlightened on the momen- 
 tous question whether he or Sandy was the favoured man. 
 “ I will call early/’ thought Smith, “ long before that 
 fellow comes abroad. I will catch this pretty sloven at 
 her harp or her drawing, if she ever practises either. I 
 will lead her to talk of this incessant cousin, narrowly 
 watch her smiles and frowns, above all, that dimple, which 
 has more meaning than all the rest of her face, and then 
 be guided by circumstances. I am rather disposed to 
 look at the bright side of this question,” quoth Smith, 
 complacently, and just turning his eye on the glass; “and 
 yet that was a dashing attempt in the corner ; a plucky 
 effort to cut off an outsider of the flotilla, and an able 
 retreat without loss upon discovery under the heavy fire 
 of the dowager battery. But supposing for the sake of 
 argument,” thought Smith, “ I were to come off second 
 best ? Bah ! the thing’s impossible !” 
 
 The next morning he was early on foot. “ Aha ! my 
 friend,” said Smith, triumphantly, as he passed through 
 Stephen’s Green, and saw the blinds still down in Sandy’s 
 bed-room, “ this is a dodge you little suspected ! You 
 have to do with an early bird — perhaps another time you 
 may remember the proverb — you little dream of the 
 activity of some people while you are f turning your sides 
 and your shoulders and your heavy head.’ I feel persuaded 
 that the perusal of that pretty effusion of Mrs. Barbauld’s 
 was withheld from you in early youth, or perhaps had 
 never penetrated to Roscommon. I rather think, friend 
 Sandy,” said Smith, looking cheerfully back at the bed- 
 room as he turned the corner, “ I rather think, to use a 
 figurative expression, your goose is cooked !” 
 
 “ Well, Pat, are the ladies at home ?” 
 
 “ Bedad, they are — so ” 
 
 “ Where’s the mistress ?” 
 
 " Beyant, with Mrs. Ryan.” 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 243 
 
 “ And Miss Donovan, is she alone ?" 
 
 “ Och ! why wouldn’t she be ? Sure it’s airly." 
 
 “ You are sure the mistress is not with her ?" 
 
 (c Ochgh ! not at all !" with great emphasis and a 
 twist of the mouth. 
 
 “ Well, you have no occasion to go up — I can find my 
 way." And he plodded silently and slowly up the well- 
 carpeted staircase. 
 
 Many think, that next to calling upon a dentist, or 
 having to wait upon Liston or Guthrie by appointment, 
 there are few things more formidable than venturing in 
 cold blood upon a tete-a-tete with a lady in the early part 
 of the forenoon, with the avowed determination of bringing 
 matters to issue on a tender subject. These little expla- 
 nations, I am instructed, usually come off at balls or parties, 
 in walks or rides, in wanderings in shady lanes or by 
 purling streams, in recesses in back drawing-rooms, or 
 the protracted transit to down stairs refreshment. Some- 
 times it appears to happen when sisters have silently and 
 singly left the room, and mamma suddenly recollects some 
 pressing engagement, “ so nearly forgotten !" and retires 
 in haste to execute it. It is a formidable affair under 
 any circumstances, but I think he deserves a mural, or 
 some other crown, who gets up early on a raw morning, 
 with a touch of sleet in the wind, to pop the question. It 
 requires the resolution of a Greenacre. 
 
 Mr. Smith paused a moment on the first step from the 
 bottom. 
 
 “ I really and positively like this girl," said he, in his 
 homely way. “ What a beauty she is !" (a step higher.) 
 
 “ What a skin !" (another step.) 
 
 “ It might, certainly, be cleaner !" (a pause.) 
 
 “ Then her eyes — her figure !" (up to the landing- 
 place.) 
 
 “ Her bust !" (mounting the second flight.) 
 
 “ Her rosy lips ! her teeth ! I wish she had a better 
 tooth-brush !" (a pause.) 
 
 “ But when we are married, we’ll see what Metcalf can 
 
244 
 
 PAD DIANA. 
 
 do ; and then we can get our brown Windsor at the same 
 time — cheaper, no doubt, by taking a quantity. But I 
 am approaching the door, and how to attack her ? Shall 
 I rush to her feet, and in a burst of impassioned eloquence 
 declare my intintions , as that fellow in Stephens Green 
 would say, or steal in on the pensive tack ? No, that will 
 never do : she may drop off in a doze before she fully 
 comprehends the state of the case. The dashing system 
 is the best; no doubt that was the way the Colonel 
 carried off Milley.” (A slight hesitation on the last step.) 
 “ ( Brisk confidence still best with woman copes. J So 
 here goes ” 
 
 “ But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.” 
 
 Two persons, evidently, were in the room, and one of 
 them, assuredly, a man. The conversation was carried on 
 in too low a tone to enable Smith to catch the words, 
 even if he had been disposed to listen. That he did so 
 for a moment cannot be denied, and a sickening convic- 
 tion came over him that the male voice was that of the 
 accursed Sandy ! 
 
 Now Mr. Smith hated listeners as much as any man — 
 we all hate them. Nobody ever has, or ever will, admi 
 that he listened. The Roman sculptor put a slave in the 
 humiliating posture. It is a practice repudiated by high 
 and low. The officer who hid his adjutant in a cupboard, 
 denied that he listened by deputy; and there is not a 
 maid-of-all-work, from Hammersmith to Blackwall, that 
 would not “ scorn the haction,” however caught in the 
 fact. 
 
 But if any man ever had an excuse for listening, it 
 must be admitted that, all the circumstances considered, 
 Smith was that man. To resist the temptation would 
 have been superhuman ; Smith was a mere mortal, so he 
 advanced to such a position as gave him a full command 
 over the interior of the drawing-room. 
 
 There, sitting, or rather lying back in the corner of a 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 246 
 
 sofa, was the voluptuous form of Miss Donovan; and 
 seated next to her — and very close indeed — was Mr. Sandy 
 Casey ; her left hand held in his, and his right arm ex- 
 tended behind the fair neck, which he was in the act of 
 drawing towards him, till, by a corresponding advance on 
 his own part, the four lips met ! 
 
 cc Well done, Mr. Sandy Casey !” said Smith to himself, 
 with a bitter merriment ; “ very well done, indeed, for the 
 humble lad, whose modesty, poor cratur ! would be the 
 ruin of him !” 
 
 “ c It’s he that’s the bashful boy !’ ” repeated Smith, 
 quoting Mrs. Donovan, “ who took after his mother, poor 
 Milley, the pride of Roscommon !” 
 
 “ ‘ Sure he’s too good to be loose !’ ” Poor Smith 
 thought so. 
 
 “ 6 Chamber-counsel,’ quotha ! Most admirably adapted 
 he seems for that particular line of business.” 
 
 “ ‘ Sure, he might practise, but not in the coorts !’ Not 
 a doubt about it, and with immense success !” 
 
 It was a fix — a dilemma — a wet blanket : it was a break 
 on the wheels to Smith. 
 
 But, after all, there are few situations so utterly bad 
 and barren as not to afford a trifle of balm. 
 
 “ At any rate,” thought Smith, calling upon his White- 
 chapel notions for comfort, “ at any rate there will be 
 something saved in the article of brown Windsor !” 
 
 He was getting over the sublime, and soon began to 
 see the matter in another light. 
 
 “ A change came o’er the spirit of his dream.” 
 
 He nearly laughed outright, and passing quickly into the 
 room, was before them almost before the lips had sepa- 
 rated — actually before Sandy had time to resume his 
 modesty, or the lady energy enough to call up a blush. 
 
 Seizing a hand of each, he joined them together, saying, 
 “ I publish the banns of marriage between Alexander 
 Casey, bachelor, and Louisa Donovan, spinster. This is 
 
246 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the last time of asking. ‘ Dearly beloved/ et cetera , et 
 cetera , et cetera , — 'And be not afraid with any amaze- 
 ment/ Permit me to claim the fee V ’ 
 
 Retaining the fair Louisans, hand, the wretched Smith 
 drew her towards him, and fastened a long, good, savage 
 kiss on her beautiful mouth ; and then, like “ The Pride 
 of Roscommon,” he bolted. 
 
 ^ * 
 
 Seven years after the above passage in Mr. Smith's 
 early life, he found himself again strolling about the well- 
 known streets of the Irish capital. During that awful 
 period his connection with Dublin, and almost with Ire- 
 land had been suspended. He had 
 
 11 Put a girdle round about the earth/’ 
 
 and, excepting some passing notice in a chance newspaper, 
 was ignorant of the births, deaths, and marriages amongst 
 his Irish acquaintances. 
 
 That Sandy Casey and his fair cousin had taken the 
 pretty broad hint given them at his last interview, and 
 married, he thought there could be little doubt ; and as he 
 wandered about the streets, he looked into every carriage 
 in the hopes of recognising the beautiful features of Mrs. 
 Casey, and at every horseman expecting to discover Sandy. 
 
 But all in vain. Grafton Street exhibited the same 
 description of good-looking, athletic, free-and-easy young 
 fellows ; the same abundance of whiskers and exaggera- 
 tions of the reigning fashions as formerly. The ladies 
 were the same examples of lovely untidiness ; they had the 
 same straggling hair, the same long points to the fingers 
 of their badly-fitting gloves, the same expression of arch 
 simplicity in their features ; and were, in short, the same 
 lovely, fascinating creatures, that Smith had formerly 
 known them to be. 
 
 There was the country cousin, in his seedy cut-away 
 coat and long-haired rabbit-skin hat, walking arm-in-arm 
 
MR. SMITH* S IRISH LOVE. 
 
 247 
 
 with the ultra-metropolitan a swell there were quite as 
 many bare-footed beggar-women at the carriage-doors, 
 and the cads seemed to have about the same bunch of 
 rags hanging to their shoulders by the one suspender. 
 He saw many a well-known feature at Dycer’s ; and there, 
 indeed, he could almost have identified the individual 
 duck-hunters. He could almost have sworn it was the 
 same spavined mare that he saw trotted out seven years 
 before, warranted sound wind and limb, up to any weight 
 in any country — the same groom riding her over the bar ; 
 and the first words he heard the auctioneer utter were 
 precisely those delivered by him when last he left the 
 yard : 
 
 “ If there’s no advance upon ten pound, she’s gone !” 
 
 Ruminating upon the immutability of men and things 
 in this interesting country, Mr. Smith found himself in 
 Harcourt Street, • abreast of the well-known residence of 
 Mrs. Donovan. 
 
 If there is anything more rash than another, it is 
 revisiting an early love, especially one that has been 
 married seven years. In nine cases out of ten it is an 
 impertinent intrusion. Pass on, Smith, let bygones 
 be bygones ; don’t disturb the peace of families, and be 
 voted a bore. Hurry, Smith ; remember you are a 
 “ have-been” yourself, and make no exchange of recol- 
 lection for reality. Permit yourself, for a moment, to 
 imagine what a slovenly spinster may be after a seven 
 years’ marriage ! Think of crows’ feet, embonpoint , and 
 six children ? Are you prepared to nurse the baby ? 
 
 At this thought Smith made two rapid steps in ad- 
 vance, when the dining-room curtains caught his eye. 
 They were evidently the same moreen — faded, but the 
 same. Old scenes began to reappear ; and his thoughts 
 having taken their cue in the upholstery line, settled upon 
 the “ mahogany,” under which his feet had so oftei* 
 nestled. He thought of Mrs. Donovan’s boiled mutton 
 and capers, and the glorious old port of Mr. Donovan — 
 Brookes’ s, with the black seal, as it was called. He 
 
248 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 bethought him of the many festive passages that had 
 come off over that polished Honduras, and remembered 
 the treasured joke of the deceased Donovan, that a table 
 was never so brilliant as when there was plenty of wet 
 upon it. Then, the centre spike of the area railing was 
 wanting, as of yore ; and the lowest step of the door- 
 flight had not yet been either mended or replaced where 
 he well remembered a piece to have been chipped off, 
 tradition said, by an eccentric cornet of heavies, who had 
 a trick of riding up to the door to ring the bell. 
 
 Still, Smith might possibly have passed on had not a 
 sudden thought struck him. “ Who knows,” thought he, 
 “but matters may have remained unchanged within as 
 without ? It is far from impossible that Mrs. Donovan 
 may still be in the flesh and the brown tabinet ; and per- 
 chance her fair daughter may be even now a Miss. She 
 must be — let me see — why, certainly, not more than 
 seven-and-twenty. These Irish ladies wear well. By 
 Heaven !” said Smith, running nimbly up the steps, “ she 
 is at this moment in the absolute perfection of the prime 
 of life ! A magnificent woman, no question : decidedly 
 improved in every way. Poor dear girl ! her mother, 
 though an excellent person, was one of the old school, 
 and, I have no doubt, neglected to inculcate with vigour 
 a knowledge of the duties of the toilet. By this time her 
 own good sense will have set her right on this point ; and, 
 besides, I am pretty sure that, of late years, there has 
 been an exemption in favour of Ireland as regards the duty 
 on soap. I am for measures, not men,” said Smith, as 
 he gave a thundering rap at the door; “and whoever did 
 this, whether Whigs or Tories, I honour them for it !” 
 
 Just as he was preparing to inflict another double on 
 the door, and getting ready to give a hearty shaking to 
 Pat when he opened it, behold ! a gentleman in a strange 
 livery presented himself — a staid, formal footman, with 
 ample calves in unwrinkled cottons, and a well-powdered 
 head, emitting an odour of bergamot pomatum. 
 
 Mr, Smith was rather taken aback. “ The spirits he 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 249 
 
 had raised abandoned him.” The man knew nothing of 
 Mrs. Donovan, nor of Mr. Casey. Could not possibly 
 tell where they might be ; had lived in that house upwards 
 of three years, and never heard of such people. Not 
 impossible that the charwoman might know something 
 about them. (Here a slight movement, as if to make 
 inquiry, when, seeing Smith eye the hats and coats, a new 
 idea appeared to arise.) 
 
 “ Oh, no, Sir, quite sure the charwoman knows nothing 
 about them. Don’t think you are likely to obtain in- 
 formation hereabouts.” (Gradually closing the door.) 
 “ Good morning, Sir ; sorry I can’t obleege you and 
 finally shutting him out, as he glanced at the coats, while 
 an expression of “ Don’t you wish you may get it !” 
 passed over his intelligent features. 
 
 Smith had very much the feeling of having been 
 kicked out of doors, and had at once a painful aggra- 
 vation of the sense of solitude one feels, when alone 
 and unheeded in a great city — a solitude passing that of 
 Selkirk. 
 
 Slowly he retraced his steps towards Stephen’s Green, 
 and had hardly the heart to look up at Sandy’s old bed- 
 room, where, by a singular coincidence, the blinds were 
 still down, as on that eventful morning when he had 
 last passed the place. He tried the house, in the hope of 
 being still the earlier bird, but in vain. Sandy had not 
 been heard of for years. They thought he had married, 
 and believed he had settled in the country ; but where 
 they knew not. 
 
 “ He had a small property in Roscommon,” said the 
 landlord, laying an unpleasant emphasis upon the past 
 tense ; “ but — ” I question whether he has it still — he 
 would have said, if politeness had allowed him to finish 
 the sentence. 
 
 Smith gave up the chase in despair; he abandoned 
 the pleasing vision of his well-washed Irish love, and 
 concluded that Miss Donovan, as well as the Ros- 
 common property, were things of the past. 
 
250 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Some months afterwards, chance conducted Mr. Smith 
 to a desolate part of the island, westward. Desolate it 
 appeared on the map, for there were few names to indicate 
 that thereabouts the natives were gathered together into 
 towns or even villages ; but, in place of these, the inge- 
 nious hydrographer had ornamented his canvas with tufts 
 of grass, as they 
 
 “ On Afric downs 
 Place elephants for want of towns 
 
 while here and there a range of hills showed faintly on 
 the surface, like a fossil centipede. 
 
 He took up his residence in a long, straggling, one- 
 street village, boasting of a single slate-roofed house — 
 the inn ; all the others being cabins, covered with thatch, 
 or inferred to be so, under the weeds, and barley, and 
 moss, which hid the original material ; and amongst 
 which the domestic poultry, and an occasional u scald 
 crow,” found a scanty picking. Before every house was 
 a dunghill ; beside every dunghill a filthy pool, in which 
 they washed the potatoes. At almost every door, propped 
 against the wall, was a man in a huge grey great-coat, in 
 the sleeves of which his hands were buried, a short pipe 
 in his mouth, his breeches* knees unbuttoned, and his 
 stockings wrinkled down to the ankle. Then there was a 
 bustling barefooted, bareheaded, generally comely wfife, 
 a swarm of all but naked children, and a most inde- 
 pendent pig. This last was perhaps the busiest of all ; 
 now giving a curious little eye to the potato-washing, then 
 walking in-doors as if to see how the turf burned ; rudely 
 scraping against the bare legs of the females, or rooting a 
 baby out of his way with a toss of his snout, as he passed 
 backwards and forwards ; and all the while keeping up a 
 small, querulous, maundering cry, that seemed to come 
 from his lower stomach, and doubtless, in his language, 
 meant “ cupboard.** 
 
 On the morning after Mr. Smith*s arrival, and when 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 251 
 
 just upon the point of starting in the pursuit of snipes, 
 a gentleman rode into the inn-yard, and commenced a 
 conversation with the ostler. There was something in 
 the voice that Smith remembered ; but, paying little 
 attention to it, he would probably to this day have 
 remained in ignorance of the owner, had it not been for a 
 little by-play on his part with the red-legged maid of the 
 inn, and her exclamation : 
 
 “ Ah, Mr. Casey, go ’long wid ye ! Ye’r a sad man. 
 Sure ye ought to repint.” 
 
 Smith looked at the horseman, but in the full-grown, 
 muscular, black-whiskered individual before him could 
 recognise little that belonged to the humble lad of former 
 times; and yet a second glance convinced him that it 
 was the same. It was Sandy; and going up, Smith 
 shook him cordially by the nearest hand, without saying 
 a word. 
 
 Sandy for a moment looked perplexed, and then uttered 
 a screech, that you might have heard half-aeross the 
 bog ; and not contented with this, he deliberately rose in 
 his stirrups, and putting his finger to his ear, gave a 
 holloa, that set all the cocks and hens in the village 
 gabbling, and might have been envied by any huntsman 
 or master of hounds on the face of the earth. His next 
 move was to jump from his horse, and catch the English- 
 man in his arms, in a hug the most affectionate bear 
 could scarcely have rivalled ; and seeing the red-legged 
 servant, with round eyes and open mouth, in an ecstasy 
 of amazement at his proceedings, he would have served 
 her in like manner, but for the superior nimbleness of her 
 pink heels. 
 
 “ Och, murther !” said Sandy, dropping naturally into 
 the vernacular, “ but this will be a great day at Casey’s 
 Town ! Sure, it’s Louisa that will be right glad to see 
 you. Mick, ye villain, put old Jack in the car, till we 
 have hirn up at the Place ! Katty, will you run now, 
 and fetch down his portmanteau, or I’ll pinch you into 
 smithereens !” Here he suited the action to the word. 
 
252 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “ Ah, can’t ye stop ? Sure, it’s a shame for ye ! ” 
 
 “ Will you run now, and take his things to the ear ?” 
 
 “ Faith, I couldn’t take it at all, nor the half of it. 
 It's fowling he’s come. Sure, there’s bags fit to load the 
 mail/'’ 
 
 As soon as Smith could get in a word, he interfered to 
 overrule his friend’s hospitable intentions; and it was 
 finally agreed that each should pursue his original sport- 
 ing plans — Smith to the bog, the other to the fox-hounds, 
 some seven miles off; while a note was despatched to 
 Mrs. Casey, apprising her that a few friends were coming 
 to dinner, though without mentioning names. 
 
 “ Faith, we’ll take a start out of her, any way,” said 
 Sandy. “ I wouldn’t for five pounds Pat knew you were 
 here; he’d spoil it all.” 
 
 A few minutes before the appointed time, the guest 
 was seated on the car, behind old Jack, and on the road 
 to Casey’s Town, or The Place, as it was called, par excel- 
 lence, from being almost the only habitable place within 
 some miles of the village. It stood upon a slightly rising 
 ground, which afforded it from the windows a wide 
 prospect, bounded only by the horizon, of that description 
 of country which the map-maker had so truly and inge- 
 niously indicated with his tufts of grass; it was a level 
 waste of bog, fertile in snipes, turf, and wild-fowl, but 
 little else. 
 
 Passing a dilapidated lodge, crowded with dirty chil- 
 dren, they approached the Place by a moss-covered gravel- 
 walk. The house was a plain white building, without 
 pretensions to architectural beauty, and with a meadow 
 in front sloping to the road. There was no attempt at 
 either garden or flower-bed, but a scrubby plantation 
 flanked the building making some attempt to hide the 
 offices, in which it signally failed. 
 
 The wheels of the Irish chariot had been heard as they 
 drove up, and the master and Pat were at the open door 
 to receive him. It was clear that Pat had not been let 
 into the secret of Mr. Smith’s coming, for on recognising 
 
MR. SMITH’S IRISH LOVE. 
 
 253 
 
 him, which he did at once, he uttered a wild howl, and 
 wheeling quickly round, made a bolt for the door. This 
 movement, however, had been foreseen, and before he 
 could possibly gain the house, Sandy had him by the 
 skirt of the coat. The well-worn livery was not proof 
 against this rude assault, and the one tail coming clear 
 off at the waist, remained in his master’s hand. Pat, 
 nothing daunted, would have succeeded in effecting his 
 purpose, had not his master seized him by the collar, 
 and, with a curious variety of imprecations, threat- 
 ened him with present death, if he did not hold his 
 tongue. 
 
 “ Murther !” said Pat ; “ why wouldn’t I tell the 
 missis ?” * 
 
 “ Whisht, ye villain, or I’ll have the life out of ye !” 
 
 Not without a struggle they managed to reach the 
 drawing-room, Pat ever ready to rush to the front, and 
 only kept back by either a fist in his face, or an arm thrown 
 out on either side. At the unopened door of the drawing- 
 room Mr. Casey made a pause, and addressing his servant 
 in an impressive whisper, referring, no doubt, to certain 
 audible clearances of the throat, which he had noticed on 
 the way : 
 
 “ If ye call his name out till I see if she knows him, 
 I’ll stifle you.” 
 
 But Pat w as a man not easily baffled ; he had made 
 his mind to the announcement, though willing to keep on 
 the windy side of suffocation ; and the door was no sooner 
 opened, than he raised himself on tiptoe, to get, if pos- 
 sible, his mouth above his master’s shoulder, and shouted, 
 with the full force of his lungs : 
 
 “ Th’ Army, Ma’am !” as Mr. Smith was w r ont to be 
 announced in former times, when wearing Her Majesty’s 
 uniform. 
 
 Mr. Casey w r as called to account for having planned 
 and executed such a surprise ; the scuffle in the hall, and 
 struggling ascent of the staircase, having been more cal- 
 culated to raise, in an imaginative mind, unpleasant ideas 
 
254 
 
 PAD DIANA. 
 
 of a resisted sheriff's officer, than the entrance of a wel- 
 come guest. 
 
 “ Sure, I tould him so/' said Pat, backing out of the 
 room to conceal the lost tail ; “ 'twas a shame for him ! 
 and the mistress, maybe, in a delicate situation." 
 
 Before we proceed to the dining-room, it may be neces- 
 sary to give a short description of this eccentric serving- 
 man. 
 
 In person, Pat Finn was rather under the average 
 height, and there was nothing very striking or peculiar 
 in his figure, but his physiognomy was extremely droll. 
 His eyes and nose are soon dismissed ; the first were of a 
 greenish-grey, and the last neither Grecian nor Roman, 
 but a fair specimen of the Irish variety ; flattish about the 
 bridge and rising into a small tump at the end, with nos- 
 trils well seen from the front. But the mouth was, in 
 every sense, the great feature in Pat's face. It was sin 
 gular in having no facings to the lips, but the upper lip 
 shut down so exactly on the under one, that at a little 
 distance the only indication of a mouth was a faint hori- 
 zontal line drawn across the face from ear to ear. It 
 looked as if some adept in the sword exercise had produced 
 it by the cuts five and six. Cut five having entered 
 shortly below the left ear, the sw'ord cleared itself under 
 the nose, and the returning cut six, taking up the gash 
 under the right lobe, finished at the same point as number 
 five, producing the most capacious receptacle for all edible 
 substances that could be seen. As far as this mouth was 
 concerned, no man had less cause to complain of being 
 t( cheated of feature by dissembling Nature." 
 
 Pat rarely laughed, but he had a way of screwing his 
 upper lip to a point which was very comic. For his 
 manners, it must be confessed that they bordered on the 
 familiar ; but then it must be remembered that he was an 
 old and trusted servant, who had been born in the family, 
 and most assuredly meant to die in it. So impossible an 
 idea as that of parting with Pat Finn had never entered 
 the head of either his master or mistress still less into 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 255 
 
 Fat's : in fact, he was as much a fixture as the roof of the 
 house. Then he was ready for anything. Such a system 
 as a division of labour had never occurred to him. He 
 drove the car, took a turn in the stable, was butler, foot- 
 man, valet, and occasionally cook, particularly at a late 
 hour at night. In this last capacity, devils were his 
 forte : he imparted a pungent relish to a gizzard or a 
 drumstick that set the assuaging power of drink at de- 
 fiance — they positively made you sneeze as they came in ; 
 and for compounding a “ screecher" of punch, he might 
 have been backed against Father Tom himself. Indeed, 
 I never knew but one man come near him in this point, 
 and that was the codjiitor, as they called him, of a place 
 near Cahirconlish. But to proceed with the story. 
 
 Pat having cautiously backed out, as if from the pre- 
 sence of royalty, contrived, with the assistance of a few 
 pins, to remedy the mishap of the torn coat ; and at his 
 next appearance to announce an arrival, had resumed with 
 his skirt the habitual gravity of his manners. 
 
 From half an hour to an hour after the appointed time, 
 the party, amounting to half-a-dozen, came dropping in, 
 and they sat down to a plain and plentiful repast. 
 
 Scarcely had the fish been helped, when Pat (the only 
 waiter) had occasion to leave the room, and on his return 
 presented himself with only one skirt to his coat. It has 
 heen mentioned that the original accident had been par- 
 tially remedied by the skirt being pinned on, but now 
 some practical joker in the kitchen had slily taken out 
 the pins, and suffered the much-trusted domestic to return 
 into the dining-room in the unseemly condition above- 
 mentioned ; and the absurdity of his appearance was in- 
 creased by the red plush breeches being patched on the 
 seat with some dark-coloured cloth — something in the 
 shape of a heart, sewn, or rather coarsely tied on, with 
 packthread. 
 
 Mr. Casey was the first to notice the circumstance, 
 when he lost no time in calling the attention of the guests 
 to it, by a variety of telegraphic signs when Pat's back 
 
256 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 was turned ; imploring and threatening, by all sorts of 
 emphatic gestures, that no one would apprize him of his 
 caudal deficiency. 
 
 There are two little traits in Pat’s behaviour to which it 
 may be necessary to advert, and which w T ould have been 
 needless to mention, had not the habits been so promi- 
 nently brought forward by the circumstance of his lost 
 tail. One was a remarkably springy and jaunty carriage : 
 he did everything with an air ; and on the grand occasion 
 of a dinner party, he indulged in this peculiarity to excess. 
 For instance, when asked for anything he would gently 
 sink down a few inches on one leg, by bending the knee 
 while he wheeled round, the other leg being extended 
 straight like the wheeling limb of a pair of compasses in 
 describing a circle. Having brought himself facing that 
 part of the sideboard containing the article required, he 
 would gently bound forward with an en avant step, such 
 as dancing-masters were wont to teach their pupils at a 
 time when prancing through quadrilles was the fashion. 
 This flourish, which would have attracted little notice 
 under ordinary circumstances, was absurd in the extreme 
 when performed by a man totally unconscious of the ridi- 
 culous exposure he exhibited at each evolution. The other 
 peculiarity was a habit of thinking aloud : his sentiments, 
 though murmured in a low tone, and without any move- 
 ment of the lips, being pretty generally audible to the 
 whole party. 
 
 Sandy Casey had no sooner discovered the state of Pat’s 
 rear, than he adopted a plan the best possible for showing 
 it off with effect to the company. He called for water, 
 bread, beer, fish-sauce, and kept the unfortunate serving- 
 man in a perpetual wheel. Pat bore this wonderfully well 
 for a time, but became at last rather scandalised at his 
 master’s manners, which he justly considered to savour 
 more of looking to his own interests than attending to 
 his guests, as a hospitable Irish host is wont to do; and 
 in this view of the case \\e was strengthened by the un- 
 controllable laughter of the whole party, which he coil- 
 
MR. SMITH’S IRISH LOVE. 
 
 257 
 
 eluded to be excited by such an unusual course at a man’s 
 own board. 
 
 They were soon made acquainted with what was passing 
 in his mind by an occasional “ aside/’ heard during a 
 pause in the merriment. 
 
 Pat ( aside .) — “ Bedad ye’re taking care of yourself 
 anyhow ! Ketchup ! Sure I’ve tuk it twice to you. 
 Soy! anchovy! vinegar! Hervey ! Divle such a man 
 ever I see for sauce ! Faith, ye’re making a holy show 
 of yourself wid your pickles ! By my sowl, ye don’t give 
 the rest a chance : ay, well they may laugh. Is it beer ? 
 Sure ye might ask them to take a glass of wine, they’re 
 most choking. Och, murther ! is it mustard with salmon ? 
 That bangs all !” 
 
 This last order went far to produce some act of open 
 rebellion, so monstrous did it appear in Pat’s eyes. He 
 affected at first not to hear it, and kept his eyes sternly 
 fixed on the opposite wall. When, however, there was no 
 mistaking the reiterated command, he moved with slow 
 and faltering steps, and a deprecating look, towards his 
 master, with the mustard-pot in his hand, and holding it 
 at arm’s length behind him, he lowered his mouth to 
 Mr. Casey’s ear, and addressing him confidentially : 
 
 “ It’s salmon ye’re ^ting ! Sure ye wouldn’t ate mus- 
 tard with salmon ?” 
 
 The order, however, was repeated, and Pat, almost 
 doubting the evidence of his senses, saw his master help 
 himself desperately to the obnoxious condiment, and eat 
 it with great apparent satisfaction. The expression of 
 surprise mingled with disgust and doubt in the serving- 
 man’s face was so extremely ridiculous, that it produced 
 a fresh roar, which very much scandalised and not a little 
 chafed him. 
 
 “ That you may die roaring like Doran’s bull ! what 
 the divle you see to laugh at, it’s hard to say. Bad man- 
 ners to you, but it’s a quare thing to be screeching at a 
 man at his own table, anyhow. Perhaps it’s a way they 
 have in England. Faith, I believe you — so !” 
 
 3 
 
258 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 After this fashion the dinner passed off, Pat remaining 
 in uncomfortable ignorance, and his master losing no 
 opportunity of showing him off. At last, when he was 
 removing the cheese, Mr. Casey turned to him innocently, 
 and asked why he mended his small clothes with a wax- 
 end, when there was a tailor in the town ? Pat, pausing 
 in his career, quickly reconnoitred the part, when the 
 whole truth flashed upon him. The look he gave his 
 master, and then the company, was the most exquisitely 
 comic that the human face could represent, but the pre- 
 dominant expression was certainly joy at the extraordinary 
 conduct of*all parties being so happily explained. 
 
 Dropping the cheese hastily upon the sideboard, he 
 rushed to the kitchen, and by the squealing that ensued 
 might be guessed the kind of punishment he was inflict- 
 ing on the originator of the practical joke. 
 
 * ^ # * * * * 
 
 Passing over some years subsequent to this merry party, 
 and the jovial fortnight which succeeded it — the dinners, 
 the dances, the shootings, the huntings, the runaway 
 mare, and Mr. Smith's imminent risk of suffocation in a 
 bog, we will wind up this sketch of Mr. Finn with a 
 characteristic letter written by him to our friend Smith, 
 on the occasion of a serious illness which had befallen 
 Mrs. Casey. 
 
 Pat Finn's Letter. 
 
 <c Pleas your Honour, — 
 
 " This comes with my humble duty, hoping that your 
 honour is in good health, as it laves me at present, thank 
 God, barrin the missis, who is sadly changed for the 
 worse since Dunn went. Sure the master could never 
 abide him, becase it's always getting worse she was, and 
 so he tould him; and says Dunn, says he, ‘ Sure I can't 
 controul events/ says he, c Mr. Casey ; but with the 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 259 
 
 blessing o’ God/ says he, we’ll see what the spring will 
 do/ says he. And with that the master says, ‘ Mr. Dunn/ 
 says he, ‘ in the multitude of counsellors there’s safety’ 
 (but it was doctors he meant, and I tould him so) ; ‘ in 
 the multitude of counsellors/ says he, repeating it, for 
 he’s most like a child now, ‘ there’s safety, and I’m think- 
 ing of asking Mr. Kisbey to meet you/ says he. And 
 with that Mr. Dunn, drawing himself up, says he, ‘ Mr. 
 Casey/ says he, ‘ I’ve nothing to say against Mr. Kisbey/ 
 says he, ‘but I’d rather not meet him. Anybody else I’ve 
 no objection to/ says he. And with that the master got 
 vexed, and some words passed betune them, and Dunn 
 tuk himself off, not to come back. ‘Ah, sure/ says I, 
 ‘ you would not send for Kisbey ! Is it Kisbey, the coult, 
 you’d have to the missis ? Sure he killed Father Shea/ 
 says I, ‘ divle a lie in it, for I seen it / but he wouldn’t be 
 ruled. 
 
 “ I’ll tell your honour how it was. It was ony last 
 spring, and Father Shea was confined to the house, and 
 the master tould me to run down to the town and inquire 
 for him, and take him a hare, ‘ for/ says he, ‘ he’s fand of 
 hare soup/ says he, ‘and perhaps a drop will do him 
 good.’ And with that I went, and the door was open, 
 and divle any one in it that I seen ; so I walks into the 
 kitchen, and there was Kit Flynn hating water. So I 
 axed for Miss Biddy, that’s t’housekeeper, and says Kit, 
 says she, ‘Sure she’s up with the master, and Mr. 
 Kisbey’s attinding him, and the codju tor’s* in it; so/ 
 says she, ‘ go up, Pat, for he’s mighty fand of hare, and 
 the sight of it, maybe, ’ll revive him/ says she. So with 
 that I goes gently up stairs, and the door was open, and 
 I walks in with a ‘ God save all here !’ says I. ‘You’re 
 kindly welcome, — come in/ says Mr. Ryan (that’s the 
 codjutor) ; ‘ come in/ says he, ‘ Mr. Finn ; that’s a fine 
 hare you’ve got/ says he, feeling it ; ‘ that will make a 
 
 * Coadjutor, or curate. 
 
260 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 great soup/ says he, c for our poor friend : but Fm think- 
 ing he's most past it/ says he. And with that poor 
 Biddy began to cry again, for I seen that her eyes were 
 red, and it's full of trouble she was, the cratur. And I 
 looked to the bed, and his rivirenee was lying, taking no 
 notice at all, but looking mighty flushed, and breathing 
 hard, and Kisbey was mixing some stuff at the table in a 
 taycup, and a quare face he made, sure enough. And 
 Biddy couldn't stop crying and sobbing fit to break her 
 heart, poor cratur ! and she lifted her apron to her eyes, 
 and faith I seen it's very stout she was. And Kisbey was 
 moving an to the bed, stirring the stuff, and looking hard 
 at the patient. 
 
 “ ‘ Whisht, Biddy/ says Kisbey, ‘ you'll disturb his 
 rivirenee, and maybe it's not long he'll be spared to you ; 
 sure it's a smart faver he's got : but anyhow/ says 
 Kisbey, c I think this will do him, for it's a febbrifewdge/ 
 says he, ‘ and will rouse him in the bowels/ says Kisbey ; 
 ‘ and besides, there's a touch of the saline in it/ says he, 
 stirring the cup again, and making a face ; ‘ it’s my 
 favourite medicine/ says he, c in a crisis.' 
 
 “ ‘ Och hone !' says poor Biddy, crying out, 6 what 
 would I do if I lost his rivirenee ? Ah, Mr. Kisbey, you 
 see the state I'm in/ says she : c it's a poor case that you 
 can't relave him/ says she, ‘wid your crisis, and he 
 hearty o' Thursday.' f Ah, be aisy, Miss Biddy/ says 
 the codjutor, stipping up behind her mighty quiet (sure 
 it's him that got the parish after Shea), e be aisy, Miss 
 Biddy/ says he, laying the heel of his hand upon her 
 shoulther, and his fingers came down rather far, indeed ; 
 ‘ be aisy, Miss Biddy/ says he, ‘ for, by the blessing o' 
 God, it will all be right wid him. Sure, if human manes 
 can do it/ says he, ‘ Mr. Kisbey can do it ; he's a man 
 of skill/ says he, ( and his practice extensive. So keep up 
 your heart, Biddy/ says the codjutor ; f but it's well to be 
 prepared for the worst. We're frail creatures, and life's 
 but a span/ says he, drawing her towards him, mighty 
 
MR. SMITHES IRISH LOVE. 
 
 261 
 
 kind; ‘ sure I feel for him/ says he, ‘ greatly/ pressing 
 her bussom. 
 
 “ And while the codjutor was offering the consolation 
 to Miss Biddy, I seen Kisbey houlding his rivirence by 
 the nose, and trying to put the febbrifewdge into him ; 
 but divle a taste he’d have of it at all, but kicked and 
 struggled like mad. 
 
 “ ‘ Ah ! hould still, Mr. Shea, and take it/ says Kisbey ; 
 ‘ it’s the cooling draught/ says he, * that will aise you. 
 Sure it’s mighty pleasant when you get it down/ says 
 Kisbey, forcing it an him. Faith, I did not like to see his 
 rivirence treated so rough. 
 
 “ ‘ Well, Mr. Finn/ says the fodjutor, e you’d better go 
 down wid your hare, and give it to Kitty/ says he, c for 
 the soup. Maybe my poor friend will like it,’ says he, 
 ‘ when the draught has aised him.’ But the divle any 
 aising did Father Shea get, barrin death, for he died that 
 night. Oh ! I’m fearful of Kisbey. But, anyhow, on 
 Monday, he came to the missis, and when I tuck his 
 horse. 
 
 “ ‘ Good morning/ says I, c Mr. Kisbey.’ ‘ Morrow to 
 vou, Pat/ says he ; ‘ how’s the missis V c Faith, she’s 
 but poorly/ says I. ‘ But, Mr. Kisbey/ says I, ‘ I hope 
 you won’t give her the febbrifewdge you gave Father 
 Shea, the day he died.’ ‘Mr. Finn/ says he, mighty 
 grand, ‘ it would be more becoming for you/ says he, e to 
 attind to your own affairs, and lave me to mine.’ 
 
 “ Sure’s he’s angry because I see what he done to his 
 rivirence, but divle a much I care for the coult. So no 
 more at present from your humble servant to command. 
 
 “ Pat Finn.” 
 
« MICK DOOLAN’S HEAD.” 
 
 (first published in “the sporting magazine.”) 
 
 It was drawing towards the close of a winter’s day, 
 when an English sportsman plodded his way homewards 
 across the country towards the capital town of the King’s 
 County. Being a stranger, and somewhat out of his 
 beat, he ascended a low, rocky hill, in hopes to catch a 
 sight of the distant tower, and ascertain, if possible, 
 whether any road might be discerned tending in a direc- 
 tion towards it. Here a flat surface of bog met his view, 
 stretching from the foot of the little eminence on which 
 he stood, till it faded away into a distant and scarcely 
 defined horizon. 
 
 It was just the kind of “ waste” to puzzle an improver 
 and distract an agriculturist ; and even a “ reclaiming ” 
 committee man might be excused for giving it up in des- 
 pair. Contrary to the form of bogs generally, it des- 
 cended from the edge inwards, and there was a faint 
 twinkle on its otherwise hazy surface, which gave promise 
 of a central lake or lough. 
 
 But it had charms for our Englishman. He was a “ man 
 of many snipes,” a persecutor of the duck family, and Ilia 
 life had been, in more senses than one, a wild-goose 
 chase. 
 
MICK DOOLAN'S HEAD/ 
 
 263 
 
 At the foot of the little hill, and on the very edge of 
 the bog, stood a solitary cottage or cabin, built of the 
 black bog-earth, and thatched with a material so exactly 
 resembling the ground on which it stood, that it might 
 have escaped detection but for a thin, wavering line of 
 blue smoke, like a halfpenny riband, escaping by the 
 chimney. 
 
 The Englishman pounced at once upon the house ; and, 
 walking through the ever open door, laid his gun against 
 the wall, and with the usual salutation, “ God save all 
 here !” drew near the little pyramid of turf that was send- 
 ing the blue riband up the chimney. 
 
 Seated in the recess of the fire-place — and one might 
 say in the chimney itself — was a man in the primest con- 
 dition of human happiness. The hinges of his body were 
 at acute angles ; his elbows upon his knees ; his chin 
 upon his fists ; his eyes upon the fire ; and the bowl of 
 a very dark pipe occupied, without any perceptible stalk, 
 the corner of his mouth. There was only one break in 
 the bland repose of his figure, and that was w T here his 
 pleasant vice had made an instrument to plague him. 
 Had it not been for the effort observable in his closed eye 
 as the tobacco-smoke ascended from the bowl of his doo- 
 deen, you would have said that the picture of still life 
 was perfect. 
 
 Moving about the house, with her hand in a worsted 
 stocking, in the foot of which was sticking a darning- 
 needle with its pendant thread, was an exceedingly plump 
 and comely woman. Her fair skin, though not of the 
 cleanest, showing to advantage in the interregnum be- 
 tween the black locks of her capless head and the choco- 
 late-brown of her dress, which, both in substance and 
 colour, resembled a tanned fisherman's sail. Her naked 
 arms and legs were also set off by the same contrast, 
 aided by the black floor of the cabin. 
 
 The stranger’s entrance caused a small sensation. The 
 man made a dive into the waist of the house to welcome 
 him ; and the lady, taking a handful of her petticoats as 
 
264 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the readiest duster, swept them over the top of a three- 
 legged stool, and placed it by the fire for his accommoda- 
 tion. 
 
 The intruder plunged at once into the subject of wild- 
 fowl ; and if, instead of an Irish bog, it had been a sum- 
 mer lake in Lapland about which he made inquiry, the 
 accounts could scarcely have been more promising. From 
 pretty good experience, he had learned to receive with 
 caution the flattering accounts of game afforded by the 
 Irish peasantry under such circumstances. He well knew 
 their habit of telling what they thought would be most 
 agreeable news to the anxious sportsman. They see his 
 eye brighten as they tell of countless flights of ducks 
 and impossible strings of geese — of snipes. “ Ogh !" — as 
 who should say, “ Would you have me count the sands 
 on the sea-shore ?" 
 
 And who has not felt that they have touched the right 
 chord ? Can we help attaching some credit to the veriest 
 quack that ever puffed, when he forces his nostrums upon 
 us in every paper we read ? — or totally disbelieve the pro- 
 spectus of the most shameless bubble that ever came 
 under the 7th and 8th of Victoria ? We are almost warmed 
 into a belief in Irish patriotism, hammered into us as it 
 is by the orators of Conciliation Hall. 
 
 “ Bedad," said Larry Rooney, “ if ye came here airlier 
 ye'd have grate cracking. Sure there's a power of fowl, 
 and a grate deal of hares in it." 
 
 “ Thrue for you," said his wife; “ sure the geese do 
 be passing over the house for a quarther of an hour 
 together." 
 
 “ Ogh ! many times I wished I'd had a gun. 'Twas 
 ony Thursday I was goen through the bog, and I seen 
 thirty an 'em ; you might a'most have knocked 'em down 
 with a turf, and they tired." 
 
 “ Faith, then, it's at night they do be coming to the 
 lough. Murther ! they're in such hapes ye'd think they'd 
 ony the one lough to come to !" 
 
 Who can wonder that the Englishman fixed an early 
 
tc MICK DOOLAN*S HEAD.” 
 
 265 
 
 day to open a campaign against such an unsuspecting 
 enemy, never disturbed, by all accounts, since the bog 
 was formed, and went home on his way rejoicing ? 
 
 The appointed day was lowering and threatening — all 
 the better. Plenty of wind was an assurance of good 
 sport : if a touch of rain, so much the better. He had 
 chosen his time well — there was no moon ; and a black 
 bank of clouds seemed spread like a cushion for the brassy 
 sun to fall upon. 
 
 The sanguine fowler dined early ; encumbered himself 
 with a Macintosh, filled his whisky-flask, put a comforter 
 in his pocket, loaded himself with No. 3, and, provided 
 with a coil of small rope to tie together the proceeds of 
 the adventure, trudged some four miles to Larry Rooney's 
 cottage. 
 
 Arriving there, half-an-hour after the appointed time, 
 iiis disappointment was excessive to find the master from 
 home. He had gone across the bog on some business — 
 bad weather threatened, and such a thing as a gentleman, 
 for the sake of a few ducks, going out in a dark night, with 
 the prospect of a hurricane coming on, upon the wettest 
 and most dangerous bog in the county, when he might 
 stay by the fire and wait for better weather, was, to his 
 simple notions, too great a folly to be expected. So, when 
 the hour passed, he held himself absolved from the 
 engagement. 
 
 Mrs. Rooney bore with much patience the vituperative 
 epithets freely bestowed upon her absent husband by the 
 irascible sportsman, and put many innocent questions 
 touching the nature of flight-shooting, and the proceed- 
 ings of those interested in that diversion ; much wonder- 
 ing, amongst other things, how gentlemen delicately 
 reared can take pleasure in leaving their warm beds before 
 daylight in the frost, and compass the destruction of fowl 
 at a cost cheaply estimated at twenty times the amount of 
 what the same could be purchased in the market, with 
 other wonderings, showing her to be lamentably ignorant 
 of human nature. 
 
266 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 At last the fowler lost all patience. 
 
 “ You have brought me here at much inconvenience/* 
 quoth he. “ I have suffered the misery of an early dinner. 
 I am ridden by a nightmare before her time. You hear 
 this howling wind, and see how rapidly it is getting dark. 
 It is the very night for the purpose. There was a blast ! 
 it almost took us into the bog, house and all. To go I 
 am determined, and as your husband is out of the way, 
 you must come and show me the lough.** 
 
 But here an unexpected difficulty appeared. 
 
 “Ah ! I*d be afraid of my life to go into it afther dark 
 — sure it*s haunted !** 
 
 “ Nonsense !** said the fowler ; “ come along ; show me 
 the lough, and you can come back before it*s quite dark, 
 leave me to find my way off the bog, and, never fear, 111 
 defend you from banshies !** 
 
 “ Faith, it*s not the banshies I*m fearing, but Mick 
 Doolan ! Sure his sperrit walks ! It*s as thrue as ye*r 
 sittin there. He was murthered down in the hollow 
 beyant, and the murthering villains cut the head aff of 
 him, and buried him and it in the bog. Sure, I wouldn’t 
 crass it afther dark for all the goold ye could give me !’* 
 
 A considerable time was spent in this idle talk, but the 
 fowler at length prevailed; and Mrs. Rooney, fairly teased 
 into compliance, gave a reluctant consent to show the 
 wished-for lough ; covenanting that, when she had pointed 
 out the place, she should be allowed to return and send 
 her husband to guide the fowler back again ; the dan- 
 gerous nature of the bog being such that no one, unless 
 “ to the manner born/* could traverse it, even by day, 
 without imminent risk. 
 
 The lady’s scruples being overcome, she was ready 
 enough to start before the evening quite closed in. Throw- 
 ing a cloak over her shoulders, she was in her walking 
 dress without further preparation ; and after the unneces- 
 sary precaution, as it appeared, of shutting the door, she 
 steered straight for the heart of the bog. 
 
 They had scarcely entered upon that part from whence 
 
" MICK DOOLAN's HEAD." 
 
 267 
 
 the turf had been cut, before the fowler perceived how 
 difficult it would have been for him to find his way amongst 
 the endless labyrinth of ditches, which intersected the 
 place in all shapes and directions. Sometimes they had 
 to be taken at a leap, and the stranger, as he marked the 
 course of Mrs. Rooney's white feet over the dark water, 
 envied the agility she displayed, and the extraordinary 
 sagacity with which she steered her course. It was warm 
 work, for the lady held on at a killing pace ; and when 
 her companion halted for a moment to take breath, she 
 urged him on with such phrases as “ Hurry wid ye ! it's a 
 mile aff." But as they got into the bog the difficulty 
 increased. They had to cross a part w T here the pools of 
 mud covered with water entirely ceased, and the whole 
 surface of smooth herbage, matted together by its roots, 
 rested on a thin mass of fluid of unknown depth. It was 
 what is called a “ Skaking Bog," from a surface undu- 
 lating as you traverse it like the swell of the sea. No 
 jumping was there required, but a brisk movement is 
 indispensable, since at the slightest pause you sink down 
 bodily upon the unbroken crust, till you appear in the 
 bottom of a basin. Mrs. Rooney was indefatigable ; 
 though she neither stopped nor turned, she indicated 
 the parts to be avoided by pointing with her hand, and 
 having more than once floundered, knee deep or so, 
 through the vegetable carpet, she struck off from her 
 former course at an angle, loudly calling upon her com- 
 panion to avoid the “ well." 
 
 No man could have been better disposed to pay respect- 
 ful attention to the proverb than our Englishman. It 
 was his first appearance upon a shaking bog, and perhaps 
 the dangers were somewhat magnified in his eyes. He 
 remembered to have seen, in the Dublin Museum, the 
 body of a man dressed in a hair shirt, which had been 
 extracted from some such place as this, after lying there 
 for centuries in his uncomfortable guernsey. He imagined 
 the company that might be still below, and the possibility 
 of his dropping in amongst them. He mooted the case of. 
 
288 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 being himself an occupant of some museum in a far-off 
 century, and wondered if his fit-out would be ascribed to 
 Stulz or Moses. He thought of Shane O'Neile and his 
 luxurious habits, and hesitating a moment at a bit of sus- 
 picious green before him, saw the horizon gradually rising 
 round him, and the black water rushing through the 
 carpet with a gasping sound. Somehow, in the con- 
 fusion, his heavy-nailed boots got entangled in the wiry 
 herbage, and in the effort to pull them out, he got deeper 
 and deeper. The guide was nowhere to be seen — hidden, 
 perhaps, behind the “ swell,” or (not impossibly) foun- 
 dered herself. But help was nearer than he thought. 
 Running rather than walking, or perhaps with a motion 
 most like skating, was seen the dishevelled form of Mrs. 
 Rooney, her cloak flying in the wind, her hair adrift, 
 her arms thrown upwards, and screaming, in the extre- 
 mity of excitement : 
 
 u Stamp ! yer sowl ! if ye wish for life ! Drag out 
 ver legs and hurry. This way — any way — stamp through 
 it — oncet ye go through ye'r gone.” 
 
 The fowler was not slow to profit by the hint, re- 
 assured as he was by the presence of the guide. It 
 required but an effort; though where to tread was a 
 matter of chance, since the oozing water had covered 
 all the neighbouring surface. Onward skated Mrs. Rooney, 
 unencumbered and light of foot ; the waves grew less and 
 less, and in a few minutes she paused upon a firmer sur- 
 face, to wait the coming up of her companion. 
 
 The first thought of the latter, on escaping, was to 
 register a vow against shaking bogs generally, this one 
 in particular ; and passing a resolution to the effect, that 
 when he ventured next upon any bog at all, it should be 
 by broad daylight. 
 
 (C But where's the lough ?” 
 
 cc Faith, yer honour, I believe we’ll be there diractly ; 
 hurry this away,” said she, striking off at a right angle. 
 “ Sure we wouldn't miss it ?” 
 
 The stranger began to entertain some doubts upon 
 
“ MICK DOOLAN's HEAD.” 
 
 269 
 
 that point, and even of his guide. It was clear, either 
 that she had missed her way, or that the lough was a mere 
 creature of the brain, invented by this respectable couple 
 to lure him into the adventure, with a view to securing 
 the small gratuity he might give them for their trouble. 
 When, however, he heard the repeated ejaculations of 
 surprise and anxiety, not unmixed with terror, which 
 escaped from his companion, and saw the pace at which 
 she led, requiring his utmost exertion to keep up with 
 her, he dismissed such unworthy suspicions. 
 
 At last Mrs. Rooney stopped. “ Faix, I believe this is 
 it,” said she, with an air of doubt ; “ anyhow, if it isn't 
 we've missed it !” 
 
 “ This ! — what ! this piece of water, about as large as a 
 good-sized blanket ! ” 
 
 “ Faith, there do be a grate deal of fowl here mostly.” 
 
 “You can't mean that they come to such a place as 
 this ?” 
 
 “ Faith, they do so. Sure if yer honour was to take a 
 sate on the dhry part, maybe ye'd get a duck.” 
 
 Although exceedingly annoyed at the total failure of the 
 expedition, it was impossible to help laughing at the cool- 
 ness of this proposition. 
 
 “ And so you would leave me sitting up here, waiting 
 for the ducks, while you go comfortably home ?” 
 
 “ Faith, I wouldn't go home by meself — sorrow fut. Ye 
 tazed me to come, and sure I must stay wid ye, short or 
 long. Ah, why did ye taze me to come ?” said she, giving 
 way to her fears, and putting a fragment of her drapery to 
 her eyes. “ Sure I thought I'd repint it.” 
 
 Things certainly looked unpromising. The night had 
 fairly set in, and the wild fowl, if ever they did come there 
 at the evening flight, which was extremely doubtful, had 
 assuredly been scared away and gone elsewhere. There 
 seemed but one course to pursue — to return to Mr. 
 Rooney's house with all speed, to abuse that respectable 
 personage, to doubt him and his on all future occasions, 
 
270 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 and to cherish the remembrance of the adventure as a 
 valuable piece of experience in Irish character. 
 
 But how to recross the shaking bog? Mrs. Rooney 
 admitted it to be impossible : and here was discovered the 
 cause of her anxiety ; for, in making a detour , they must 
 pass over the scene of Mick Doolan’s murder, — in her 
 opinion a spot much more to be dreaded than the most 
 dangerous shaking bog in the land. 
 
 It was such a night as Burns might have said “ the 
 devil would take the air in.” The rain began to pelt in 
 large drops against them, and the low, ragged scud, seemed 
 only just to clear their heads. 
 
 As they approached the fatal spot where Doolan had 
 fallen, Mrs. Rooney’s terror increased. She took especial 
 care to keep the Englishman between her and the hollow, 
 and gradually came closer and closer to his side. Yet 
 with an unaccountable curiosity she continued to look out, 
 now before, then behind him, in the dreaded direction. 
 At first she took him by a pinch of the sleeve, then she 
 had him by the pocket ; till at length, as her scruples gave 
 way to terror, she fairly took his arm and held it tightly 
 with both her own. 
 
 The fowler, who was not without some sense of the ludi- 
 crous, could not fail to see the extreme absurdity of his situa- 
 tion. Here was he on a wild bog, in a dark stormy night, 
 with a terrified woman hanging on his arm, and almost pre- 
 venting his moving by her dodging about to look out for 
 a ghost. He thought of the fair arms that had hung 
 upon the place now heavily occupied by Mrs. Rooney, and 
 contrasting the difference of the circumstances, began to 
 extract amusement from the inconvenience. He con- 
 trasted in his mind’s eye the splendid dresses of the Castle 
 drawing-rooms with the sailcloth gown of his present com- 
 panion, and the spotless chaussures of the one scene with 
 the black stockings which Mrs. Rooney had found in the 
 bog. In a spirit of buffoonery, to which he was no 
 stranger, he imagined himself in some brilliant ball-room. 
 
“ MICK DOOItAN^S HEAD.” 
 
 2:71 
 
 and assuming such a mincing step as the nature of the 
 surface admitted of, with an air conforming, proceeded to 
 address his companion with some of those fade gallantries 
 which he had known to pass current on the like occasions. 
 Now he was promenading with her in the intervals of the 
 dances, then whispering soft things in a corner. Presently 
 he took her down to supper, and spread before her a repast 
 that the Barmecide would have delighted to feign. 
 
 To these polite attentions the poor woman, mystified by 
 terror, and perhaps doubting the sanity of her companion, 
 answered by such phrases as “ Whisht !” — “ Lord save 
 us !” — “ Will ye whisht, if ye plaze ?” And such answers, 
 together with her unmistakeable earnestness of terror, 
 gave a zest to this absurd hilarity. 
 
 “ Do take some more champagne V 9 
 
 “ Ah, will ye whisht ? it's a shame for ye !” 
 
 “ Try a jelly !” 
 
 “ Ah, can’t ye stop ?” 
 
 “ How divine was that last waltz of Strauss ! We 
 seemed to float in bliss ! I never saw you look so divine ! 
 Pull a cracker V 9 
 
 “Whisht, for the love of God V 9 said the poor woman, 
 almost beside herself, and speaking close to her com- 
 panion’s face in a tremulous whisper : “ It’s down beyant 
 there, in the hollow, it was done ! Ah !” cried she, with 
 a shriek, “ what’s that ?” 
 
 She trembled so violently, he was obliged to hold her 
 arm to prevent her falling. 
 
 “ I’ll be upon my oath,” she said, very earnestly, “ I 
 saw something moving there to the right, by the clear 
 sky under the dark cloud. I’ll swear,” she cried, with 
 increased earnestness, “ if I was to die this minute, I saw 
 the figure of a man ; and I know who it is ! Ah ! why 
 did ye taze me to come ?” 
 
 The fowler looked towards the spot indicated, but could 
 see nothing. The wind had now risen to a gale, and the 
 darkness had increased to such a degree, that no object, 
 however near, could be seen except against the clearest 
 
272 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 part of the sky. He gave the poor woman credit for a 
 lively imagination, and set down the appearance which had 
 terrified her so much as a phantom conjured up by terror, 
 knowing that they were in the act of traversing the scene 
 of a horrible murder, and that popular superstition had 
 peopled it with a spectre. The increased roaring of the 
 gale almost prevented conversation, though Mrs. Rooney 
 walked as close as might be to her protector, and still 
 obstinately kept a look-out in the dreaded direction. 
 
 Perhaps the Englishman began to think that the poor 
 woman's fears were becoming too serious for jesting, for 
 he ceased the bantering tone of his talk, and, when the 
 wind and rain permitted, bestowed upon her such small 
 store of comfort as he was able to call up on the occasion. 
 But while he was thus trying to rally her out of her fears 
 she seized him violently by the coat, and pointing with 
 her other hand across his body, exclaimed, — 
 
 “ There ! — there ! — there ! Do you see it now ? — 
 do you see it now ? Ah ! why did you taze me to come V* 
 
 The fowler did look ; and certainly some object was 
 moving in the direction pointed to, but was only visible 
 now and then as it appeared above the horizon. He called 
 aloud, but no answer was returned ; perhaps the roaring 
 wind may have rendered the question or the answer in- 
 audible. 
 
 Without giving way to the superstitious fears of his 
 companion, the Englishman felt that there was something 
 very suspicious in being dogged in this way, for he had 
 now no doubt whatever of the reality of the first appearance 
 which Mrs. Rooney had noticed, but with a loaded double 
 gun he felt pretty secure from any open attack. Still he 
 thought it right to keep a sharp look-out upon his flanks 
 and rear, and cocked both barrels in case of the worst. 
 
 They had proceeded but a short distance when Mrs. 
 Rooney screamed again, and directly to their right there 
 was, at the distance of a few paces only, a tall figure 
 standing motionless. There could be no mistake this 
 time, and the Englishman demanded in a loud voice who 
 
“ MICK DOOLAN’s HEAD.” 
 
 273 
 
 it was ; when the figure gradually began to sink into the 
 bog apparently, slowly at first, then more rapidly, till it 
 entirely disappeared. The Englishman knelt down as it 
 descended to watch it against the sky, and saw it fairly sink 
 into the ground, not rapidly, like a man plunging by a false 
 step into the bog, but with an equal and steady motion, 
 It it was level with the surface. While he was rising 
 from his knee, the attention of both was even more 
 powerfully arrested than before, by seeing a sort of ball 
 raise itself slowly from the surface of the bog to the 
 height of six feet or so ; and there, without any apparent 
 support, become stationary. 
 
 “ It’s his head!” shrieked Mrs. Rooney, catching the 
 fowler round the waist, and trying to hide her face under 
 his arm. “ Ah ! why did you taze me to come ?” 
 
 It was indeed, extraordinary, and, it may as well be 
 confessed, alarming. It was a head ! He could have 
 sworn to it. 
 
 “ Holy Father !” cried the poor woman, sinking on her 
 knees, and covering her face; “Holy Father! I see his 
 eyes ! It’s Mick Doolan^s head ! I know him V* 
 
 The fowler looked at the suspended head, and felt a 
 weight of cold clay at his breast. He saw, as far as he 
 could believe his eyes, and in spite of every effort of reason 
 to banish the idea, a human head standing bodiless and 
 without support against the sky. He strained his eyes in 
 silent horror, when suddenly, to his excited sense, the head 
 seemed to grow larger, and began to advance with a steady 
 motion towards his own face. It was too much ; and with 
 an unaccountable desperation he rudely shook off Mrs. 
 Rooney, who was clinging to his knees, and fired a barrel 
 at the advancing object, which instantly fell. No sooner 
 was the shot fired than there was heard a peculiar tone, a 
 sort of whine, and ending in what seemed a low mocking 
 laugh, scarcely audible. 
 
 But what was become of the lady ? She was lying 
 motionless on the bog : she had fainted. Here was an 
 embarrassing situation ! The Englishman’s first care was 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 to recover the unfortunate woman, which after a plentiful 
 application of water and mud, he effected; and having 
 loaded again, left her sitting up half stupified, while he 
 went towards the spot where the extraordinary appearances 
 had shown themselves. Here he walked about in every 
 direction, called aloud, but no answer was returned ; 
 neither were there any signs of Mick Doolan or his head. 
 
 Whilst occupied in this way, the fowler’s attention was 
 drawn to a plashing noise in the direction of the place he 
 had left, and he instantly became aware that Mrs. Rooney 
 had decamped, and, “ winged with terror,” was making 
 her way across the bog with astonishing speed. 
 
 To lose her would be to be lost indeed ! He called after 
 her, but it seemed to have the effect of increasing her 
 exertions to get away. In an instant the thought flashed 
 through his mind, how persons lost in such places were 
 prone to wander about in circles without a hope of escape, 
 and that such a way of passing the lingering winter’s 
 night would be extremely unpleasant, setting out of the 
 question the company of the headless Doolan. He pic- 
 tured to himself how in his wanderings he might come 
 again upon the shaking bog, and totally unable, 
 
 “ Through the palpable obscure, to find 
 His uncouth way,” 
 
 should, without doubt, there perish miserably. His imagi- 
 nation, wrought up to a painful state of excitement, pic- 
 tured to him the scene of the horrible murder and its 
 circumstances; — the scuffle, the shrieks, the very sound 
 of the heavy blows, the fall, the savage exultation of the 
 murderers, and the groans of the dying man, mixed with 
 the grating of the rough knife used in the savage act of 
 decapitation. All this he saw in detail, yet at a glance 
 and in an instant of time ; and a cold and creeping tremour 
 passed over his flesh. He was by no means superstitious, 
 but he felt that the objects he had seen were not of this 
 world. He had actually watched the figure of a man as it 
 
“ MICK DOOLAN’S HEAD.” 
 
 275 
 
 slowly sank into the earth, and a head rise from the spot 
 where the body disappeared, and sustain itself unsuppoted 
 in the air! Nay, he had seen the features of the face, 
 in his heated fancy; and Mrs. Rooney, who knew the 
 murdered man, had recognised him, and proclaimed aloud 
 that she did so. If the object he had fired at had been of 
 flesh and blood, it must have been struck and killed at 
 such a distance ; but supposing it to be missed, the body 
 of a living man could scarcely have escaped the search, or 
 retired without noise. He might, perhaps, have been 
 ashamed to say that he gave way to superstitious terror, 
 but he felt almost persuaded that the spiritual trunk of 
 Doolan was before him, while the “ mopping and mowing” 
 head was manoeuvering to turn his flanks and attack him 
 in the rear. In a word, he felt a sensation which few 
 people care to acknowledge ; but certainly his predominant 
 feeling was an anxiety to quit that “ blasted heath and 
 that he might affect that purpose, it was absolutely neces- 
 sary that he should catch Mrs. Rooney. 
 
 She was already at a considerable distance, as could be 
 inferred from the faint noise of her passage, but the fowler 
 started with a good-will and strained every sinew in the 
 chase. Sometimes he evidently gained upon her, for she 
 was floundering close in his front, but some untoward 
 plunge into the mud would cause him to lose ground 
 again. But it was a sort of life-and-death chase, and he 
 dashed forward, hallooing and entreating her to wait till 
 he came up, but all in vain : his shouting rather increased 
 her speed, as doubtless suggesting to her terrified senses 
 that she had some demon at her heels. 
 
 Accident favoured the pursuer at last. Just as he 
 began to despair of overtaking the fair fugitive, a lull of 
 the wind enabled him to hear a low moaning close before 
 him, and there was Mrs. Rooney up to her arm-pits in a 
 hare-hole (a pitfall dug in the runs of those animals), and 
 from which she was vainly trying to extricate herself. So 
 confused and terrified was the poor woman, that she 
 screamed and struggled still more when she was ap- 
 
275 * 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 proached, and made astonishing efforts to escape from 
 the pitfall, which, however, is cut away on all sides as 
 it descends, to take from the poor animal any chance of a 
 purchase in endeavouring to raise himself out of the 
 water. 1 
 
 Having caught his game, the fowler was secure of not 
 remaining all night upon the bog ; and he trusted that, if 
 left to herself for a short time, Mrs. Rooney would learn 
 to distinguish between him and the ghost. 
 
 Seating himself, therefore, on the turf, he calmly 
 allowed her to struggle, throwing out a remark occa- 
 sionally upon the extreme folly of plashing in the water 
 when, by accepting a little assistance, she might be so 
 easily extricated from her difficulties. The event justified 
 his expectations; and after much pulling and hauling, 
 several relapses into the pitfall — for she was a compact 
 and rather heavy figure — Mrs. Rooney was dragged up 
 completely exhausted, and in a condition that might be 
 guessed at, but, fortunately, could not be seen. 
 
 After a little rest, and a sup from the whisky-flask, 
 which did wonders, the pair proceeded on their way ; and 
 after various flounderings in deep holes — numberless falls 
 amongst the small turf-stacks set up to-day, arrived at 
 Larry Rooney’s cottage at last. 
 
 The master had not yet returned, so, administering 
 another drop of cordial to the lady, the sportsman plodded 
 his solitary way homeward. 
 
 It is not easy to paint the astonishment with which he 
 was received in the well-lighted dining-room, or the roar 
 of laughter that succeeded when his friends recognised 
 him. A looking-glass was speedily produced, and cer- 
 tainly a more grotesque object could scarcely have been 
 seen, coated as he was from head to foot with bog mud, 
 and not only his face, but everything about him of a deep 
 black. 
 
 He must have been a man indeed devoid of curiosity, 
 who had not felt curious to clear up the mysteries which 
 hung upon this night’s adventure. At an early hour next 
 
“ MICK DOOLAN's HEAD.” 
 
 276 
 
 morning our Englishman was on his way to Larry 
 Rooney's cottage. The worthy couple were at home, 
 but there was an air of reserve and sheepishness about 
 them which he could by no means account for. The 
 woman blushed and pouted, and Larry was fidgetty. He, 
 however, took his seat by the fire, and trusted that a little 
 time would bring matters to light : he also brought out 
 his whisky-flask, which had done such wonders the night 
 before, and insisted upon “ glasses round.” Larry soon 
 began to thaw. 
 
 “ Bedad, Captain, that was a great shot ye made at the 
 hat!” 
 
 “ Hat ! what hat ?” 
 
 “ Och ! murther ! ye thought it was Mick Dooian's 
 head ye were fowling; but here's the head /” So saying, 
 he produced a hat pretty considerably riddled with No. 3. 
 
 A little cross-questioning drew out the whole truth. 
 Larry, it appeared, despairing of the appointment being 
 kept in such weather, crossed the bog to see a farmer on 
 some business on the other side. On his way back, he 
 thought it as well to make a cast towards the lough, in 
 case his guest should have come after all. He had nearly 
 overtaken the pair just as they started on the way home- 
 ward, and being struck with the jocose tone of the con- 
 versation, certain misgivings crossed his mind ; the foolish 
 fellow became jealous, and resorted to the dangerous 
 experiment of watching his wife. Relying upon the 
 darkness, he kept parallel to them in a stooping posture, 
 and it was only when passing a part of the sky brighter 
 than the rest, or fancying himself safe in the distance, 
 that he ventured to stand upright, when his presence 
 became revealed. On these occasions he had sunk down 
 on the bog; and in the last instance, having incau- 
 tiously approached very near, he calculated rightly upon 
 frightening his wife at least, by raising his hat upon the 
 long slender stick he carried, when it was mistaken, as he 
 rightly conjectured it would be, for Mick Doolan's head 
 suspended in the air. 
 
276 * 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Mrs. Rooney was naturally a little put out at her 
 husband’s unjust suspicions, hence the passing cloud 
 upon her comely face ; and the flight-shooter felt that 
 his share in the adventure, if not of consequence enough 
 to “ point a moral,” would assuredly “ adorn a tale” if 
 it became known ; so he thought it prudent to bestow a 
 small amount of hush-money upon Larry, under the name 
 of remuneration for the old hat, with some sage advice 
 touching unworthy suspicions and too practical experi- 
 ments on the nervous system. 
 
 “ Well, faith,” said Larry, at last, in his usual cheery 
 tone, “ I believe yer honour’s right ; but when I heered 
 ye talk of yer bliss and yer crackers, the divle a bit of me 
 knew what to make of it all !” 
 
POTATOES, 
 
 There is no kind of food, however savoury or delicious, 
 which an Irish peasant will choose in preference to plain 
 boiled potatoes. This is a “ great fact ” in taste. No 
 doubt he might be brought in time to munch without 
 making faces a “ Saute de filets de Volaille a V Ambassa- 
 dricefi or even to get through without wincing “ le 
 Buisson d’ Ecrevisses pagodatique , au vin de Champagne a 
 la Sampayofi but at the first offer he will prefer the pota- 
 toes. Shade of Charles Lamb ! will you believe that the 
 delicate flesh of a young roasting pig is among their anti- 
 pathies ? No wonder, then, that a marine delicacy of 
 mine own cooking should have been rejected. 
 
 Sailing in a little yacht on the south-eastern coast of 
 Ireland, and having with me a young fisherman from 
 Youghal, a sudden north-' west gale arose and blew us off* 
 the coast. For some hours it was impossible to carry sail 
 at all, so violent were the squalls that came off that iron- 
 bound coast ; and there seemed every probability of our 
 bringing up somewhere on the Welsh coast should the 
 gale continue, and our boat weather the short, heavy seas, 
 which rose higher and more dangerous as we left the land. 
 Fortunately towards evening the wind lulled, aad we were 
 able, under a close-reefed mainsail, to stagger back 
 
278 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 towards the coast, shaping our course with many weary 
 tacks for Ardmore Bay, at the rocky, southern side of 
 which we arrived in thick darkness, the black outline of 
 the cliffs being only recognised against the equally black 
 sky by their immovable position amongst the driving 
 clouds. Relying upon the conning of the trusty Mike, 
 we stood into the bay, and finally dropped anchor abreast 
 of the village and under shelter of the cliffs. Of food we 
 had a lump of hard mouldy bread, left forgotten from 
 some former trip ; but there was a keg of fresh water, a 
 cooking apparatus, and good store of sea-birds killed before 
 the gale came on. 
 
 To make a fire, skin and prepare the birds for stewing, 
 we busily addressed ourselves. And let not the fastidious 
 reader imagine that such a mess is a mere unpalatable 
 make-shift : sea-birds produce a rich and savoury soup, 
 little, if at all, inferior to hare soup, especially if after 
 skinning they are allowed to soak for some hours in cold 
 water. 
 
 Each time that the lid of our kettle was removed arose 
 a more grateful fragrance from the simmering fluid, till 
 about midnight a supper was ready that an alderman 
 might not have disdained, let alone two hungry men 
 fasting since an early breakfast, and who had been 
 working hard in the wet for nine or ten hours. As presi- 
 dent of the mess, I made an equitable division of the fare, 
 and handing Michael his portion, fell furiously upon the 
 Guillemot soup. Anything more exquisite to my taste on 
 that occasion I never encountered, but behold ! the trusty 
 Mike stirred not, neither did he lift up his spoon. He 
 would not touch it I 
 
 “ Faith, I never see any one ate them things at all P 
 
 u But you have nothing else, man, except that mouldy 
 crust P 
 
 “ Faith, I wouldn't ate it at all P 
 
 “ Is it fast day V* 
 
 “ NoP 
 
 “ Come, nonsense ! try a puffin — or this cormorant 
 
POTATOES. 
 
 279 
 
 you'll find exceedingly juicy and tender. No ? Perhaps 
 you are not hungry ?" 
 
 “ Faith, it's meself that is, then. Sorrow bit I had to- 
 day !" 
 
 “ Would you like a kettle-full of Connaught lumpers 
 well boiled V ' 
 
 “Be my sowl I would !" (With much energy.) 
 
 u Suffering from the heat with their coats unbut- 
 toned ?" 
 
 “ Just so !" 
 
 “ But as you haven't got the praties, try a bit of wil- 
 lock ?" 
 
 u Ogh ! I wouldn't taste it all ! I'd be sick !" 
 
 So he munched in preference the mouldy bread. But I 
 have to record another peculiarity in the trusty Michael's 
 taste. 
 
 The next morning a boat came off and took us ashore, 
 and we steered at once for the best cabin in the place (bad 
 enough though it was), but bearing on the white-washed 
 wall the* encouraging hieroglyphic of a bottle and glass, 
 and above the doorway this inscription, contrived ingeni- 
 ously to fit the space, and reading somewhat like a rude 
 rhyme : — 
 
 BEAMISH and CRAWFORD’S PO 
 RTER Licensed for SPIRITS and to 
 BACCO. 
 
 Here the Saxon called for eggs and bacon — it is un- 
 necessary to mention the order of the Celt. But the 
 bacon was not to be procured in the village, and a boy 
 dispatched to a house “ convanient," did not return till 
 the Celtic breakfast was heaped upon the board. In vain 
 did the Saxon call upon him to stop — to pause — not to 
 throw away so glorious an appetite upon a peck of tubers 
 — at least to keep a corner for the bacon. But Mike was 
 mounted on an irresistible hobby, and, like the Lady 
 Baussiere, he “ rode on." 
 
 “ Well, hoMhard before you go into your second peck 
 — see, here’s a rasher ready !" 
 
280 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “No l” 
 
 “ What ! you don't like bacon ?” 
 
 “Faith, I dunnow !” 
 
 “Not know if you like bacon V 3 
 “ Sure, I never tasted the like !" 
 
 He had never tasted bacon ! He, an Irishman, of the 
 age of twenty — who had been brought up with pigs from 
 earliest infancy — whose ears, probably, received a grunt 
 before all other sounds — whose infant head had been 
 pillowed upon living chitterlings, and whose earliest play- 
 thing was souse — who had bestridden chines and griskins 
 before he could walk, and toddled through boyhood with 
 pettitoes — nay, who could not at the present hour, when 
 at home, put forth hand or foot without touching ham or 
 flitch ; — and yet he had never tasted bacon, nor wished to 
 taste it ! 
 
 Poor creatures ! no wonder we can do nothing for 
 them. What hope is there for a man who, half starved, 
 will yet dine upon a boiled potato — nay, go without even 
 that rather than try a new dish ? — who will sell a young 
 pig weighing ten pounds for tenpence to lay out in 
 potatoes, in preference to eating the pig V y 
 
 The universal example of the higher ranks throughout 
 Ireland has gone to diffuse a love of sporting and a 
 hatred of work. The younger brother will drag on his 
 shabby life at the family domain, rather than make an 
 effort to be independent by means of a profession ; and 
 as for a trade, he would call out the man who suggested 
 such a degradation. The shopkeeper, as much as he can, 
 shuffles out of the business and leaves it to his wife, while 
 he is either indulging his half-tipsy grandeur in the back 
 parlour, or out with the hounds. The farmer, even in 
 harvest-time, will leave the loaded car — throw aside the 
 business of the day — to follow the “ hoont,” if the hounds 
 come in the neighbourhood. Even a shooting sportsman 
 is sufficient to attract them : they follow the example set 
 them by their betters, and have had no other. 
 
 Of course they will attend monster meetings, and listen 
 
POTATOES. 
 
 281 
 
 with delight to an orator who addresses them as the finest 
 peasantry in the world, condemned by Saxon misrule to 
 hereditary bondage ; who calls their country 
 
 “ The first flower of the earth, the first gem of the sea 
 
 who offers to procure them, on the easiest conditions, 
 “ Justice for Ireland” — a phrase which, in the minds 
 of the audience, means what each most desires — a good 
 farm, easy rents, dear selling and cheap buying — and all 
 to be had by repeal ! Then “ Hurrah for Repeal !” of 
 course. How can they refuse to go heart and hand with 
 a gentleman who promises all this — cracks his jokes with 
 a jolly, good-humoured face — praises Irish beauty and 
 boasts of the power of Irish limbs — irresistible in cajolery 
 and matchless in abuse — never confuted, or even ques- 
 tioned, except by some “ Gutter Commissioner,” who, if 
 he was not kicked out of the country, deserved to be ? 
 
 I am far from presuming to suggest a remedy for Irish 
 disorders ; but I am convinced that a stronger power than 
 that afforded by our present laws is required in so desperate 
 a case. To w r ait till the age of reason dawns upon a 
 people, whose besotted ignorance is such that you cannot 
 make them understand what is best for them, or that you 
 are trying to benefit them, is hopeless ; who have a native 
 cunning and aptitude to defeat your schemes; who have 
 no sense of independence or shame of beggary ; and 
 (which is the worst feature in the case), they are upheld 
 in their opposition to all improvement by those in whom 
 all their confidence is placed, who teach them that England 
 is their great and grinding oppressor, from whom spring 
 all their wrongs and all their misery. This is rung in 
 their ears by all whom they are taught to look up to ; 
 their journalists, their poets, their patriots, their priests, 
 have all the same cry : 
 
 “ On our side is virtue and Erin — 
 
 On theirs is the Saxon and guilt.” 
 
 This is the never-ending burden of all the speeches 
 
282 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 and all the writings addressed to the Irish people. It is 
 in vain you feed and clothe them, pay them to make 
 their own roads, drain their own bogs, nay, sow their 
 own land. It is quite sufficient to render the boon dis- 
 trusted, when it is associated with “ the Saxon and 
 guilt !” But still the lesson is, Get all you can, take 
 every advantage, still cry for more, hate the giver, but 
 take the gift, “ cram and blaspheme your feeder.” 
 
 Education may do something ; but when you have 
 taught them to read, will they be allowed to read ? 
 Did anybody ever see an Irish peasant reading in his 
 cabin? —and yet education is very general. The great 
 difficulty is to teach them to think. This once attained, 
 they will gradually shake off their “ old men of the 
 sea.” 
 
 In the meantime, our law-tinkers may meddle with 
 their system of tenure, their poor, and their relation of 
 landlord and tenant; for it will be hard to put them 
 into any position more deplorable than that in which they 
 are now. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Antiquity of Irish origin — Their three kings at the conquest — St. Patrick 
 — Brehon law — Paying — Eric — Monster meetings — “ Ireland and the 
 Irish ,, — Troops — O’Connell’s quotations — 1641 — State of the country 
 in the sixteenth century — Lawyers and clergy — Irish innocence — Eng- 
 lish crimes — Irish mercy and love of justice — Despair of authors. 
 
 €> 
 
 The Irish have a commendable pride in tracing their 
 history up to a very remote antiquity ; and in this respect 
 are, perhaps, second only to the Welsh. Mr. Moore, 
 indeed, has the modesty to commence his book at only a 
 thousand years before Christ ; but as great men were 
 living long prior to that era, whose lives and times may 
 not be familiar to the general reader, I will take the 
 liberty of introducing him to such as strike me to be the 
 most remarkable ; and conclude this little book with such 
 bits, taken here and there from the old chronicles, as 
 I may think illustrative of the national character and 
 manners at various period's, and likely to afford amuse- 
 ment to such kind readers as have gone with me so far. 
 And I will anticipate the cavils of such as may complain 
 that this touch-and-go system is unworthy of the gravity 
 of history, by reminding them that this is a book of 
 
284 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “Scraps and Sketches/* without form or method, and 
 written for Jean qui rit, not Jean qui pleure. 
 
 In carrying out this design, I must endeavour to touch 
 as little as may be upon sore places ; for though history 
 may be falsified to blacken the English character, the 
 truth must be kept back, if it tell against the Irish. 
 
 “ It is the nature of the Irishman/* says Holinshed, 
 “that albeit he keepeth faith for the most part with no 
 bodie, yet will he have no man to break with him.** 
 
 It is considered quite fair to talk of the “ bloody 
 Saxon/* but not a word of Irish mid-day murders and 
 midnight burnings. The ladies of England are, to a 
 woman, no better than they should be ; but no “ Times 
 Commissioner** shall dare to criticise even a feature here. 
 English landlords and English companies, however pros- 
 perous their tenantry may be, are grasping and grinding, 
 if you please, but not a word of Cahirciveen ! and touch 
 Derrynane Beg, if you dare ! We were a great and 
 glorious nation, till we fell under Saxon misrule. You 
 may believe those who tell you that we held synods, 
 and sent forth learned men ; but not that our people 
 were sunk in utter barbarism, and only bent upon cutting 
 each other*s throats. You may say that our kings built 
 monasteries, but not of mud; that they lived in palaces, 
 but not with dunghills at the doors ; that they were brave 
 and warlike, but not that they bit off their enemies* noses, 
 or rooted out their brother’s eyes ; and, whether we can 
 prove it or not, you shall say that our ancestors wore 
 breeches as well as bracelets. 
 
 The first great attempt to colonise Ireland — for I hold 
 all previous accounts to be fabulous — was made by 
 Noah*s niece, “ one Cesara (or Cesarea, for they are very 
 particular), who, when others neglected her uncle*s warn- 
 ing of the coming deluge, ‘ rigged a navy/ committing 
 herself, with her adherents, to the seas, to seek adven- 
 tures, and to avoid the plagues that were to fall. There 
 arrived in Ireland with her three men — Bithi, Laigria, 
 and Fintan, and fifty women.** 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 285 
 
 Considering the sex of the person who planned this 
 expedition, the company seems an ill-chosen one ; and 
 there is, besides, a shadow of scandal cast upon the com- 
 modore, which we hope is the translator’s doing: they 
 are, however, unfortunately caught in the flood within 
 forty days of their arrival, and all drowned but Fintan, 
 who was transformed into a salmon, and “ swoome all the 
 time of the Deluge about Ulster; and after the fall of 
 the water, recovering his former shape, lived longer than 
 Adam, and delivered strange things to the posterity ; so 
 that of him the common speech riseth, ‘ If I had lived 
 Fintan’s yeeres, I could say much.’ ”* 
 
 From this submarine historian, we come to the “ Plan- 
 tation of Bartholanus,” one of the giants, who kept pos- 
 session of the land from “ two thousand three hundred 
 and thirty-three for many yeares, without foreign in- 
 vasion.” 
 
 But even in those days there was a cry of “ misrule.” 
 
 (S They began,” says Campion, “ to kicke at their 
 governours,” “ and in all that space their mindes not 
 being set upon any goodnesse, but altogether upon mis- 
 chiefe, they made no good lawes, framed no common- 
 wealth, they obeyed no magistrate, but fell at variance 
 amongst themselves, measuring things by might [no 
 wonder], and seditiously vexed each other.” 
 
 It is, therefore, from these turbulent giants that we 
 must trace much of the hot blood of their descendants. 
 One of them, Ruanus, the personal friend of St. Patrick, 
 deserves some mention. 
 
 “ He, from time to time, kept true record of their his- 
 tories, else utterly done away by sundrie casualties of 
 death, warre, spoile, fire, foreign e victories, and he (for- 
 sooth) continued till the yeere of Christ 430, and told 
 St. Patrick all the newes of the country, requiring of 
 him to be baptised, and so died, when he had lived no 
 more but two thousand and forty-one yeares.”f 
 
 * Hanmer, p. 5. 
 
 t Champion’s “ History of Ireland,” p. 34. 
 
286 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 A stupendous newsmonger, indeed! and fortunate, 
 when having the gossip of twenty centuries to relate, in 
 finding a listener with the patience of a saint. We may 
 sympathise with Campion in the regret, that this chatty 
 giant did not live a few thousand years longer, 
 
 “ Had it been my chaunce,” says he, “ in Ireland, to 
 meete and conferre with this noble antiquarie, hee might 
 have eased me of much trouble.” 
 
 One more notice of him. He had taken refuge in a 
 cave, to avoid a pestilence caused by the stench of dead 
 giants, and from whence he was driven by hunger. This 
 is the way in which he seeks a change of air : 
 
 “ So hungry was hee, that everything was meate that 
 came to his mouth — hee, covering his face with mosse 
 and grasse, fled to the furthest parts of the land into the 
 winde, to avoid the infection ; and so, having taken ad- 
 vantage of the ayre, escaped death.” * 
 
 The spectacle of a giant, at his time of life, “ flying 
 into the winde,” with a respirator of moss and grass, 
 must have been a remarkable sight. 
 
 “ In the necke of these troubles, came over a new army, 
 under Roderick, a Red-shank of Scythia ; . . . a people 
 from their cradle dissentious; landleapers, mercilesse, 
 soure, and hardy.” “ The Britains also put in a foot ; 
 then the Egyptians, the Piets ; and lastly came the 
 Spaniards and the Milesian kings. Of a hundred and 
 seventy-one of these illustrious monarchs, only forty-one 
 died natural deaths ; Arthur the Melancholy having 
 given the Welsh the unnecessary trouble of putting him 
 to death. 
 
 These were the days of Ireland's ancient grandeur, 
 though an u alien ” might find it difficult to reconcile its 
 flourishing state with such perpetual throat-cutting. Mr. 
 Moore even acknowledges the difficulty. 
 
 “ Nor can any one,” says he, u who follows the dark 
 and turbid course of our ancient history . , , . suppose, 
 
 * Hanmer’s “ History of Ireland,” p. 4. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 287 
 
 for an instant, that any high degree of general civiliza- 
 tion could co-exist with habits and practices so utterly 
 subversive of all the elements of civilised life.” 
 
 But, notwithstanding, we subsequently come to such 
 a lament as this, on occasion of their being about to 
 relinquish their ancient glories, and fall under Saxon 
 “ misrule :” 
 
 cc How melancholy was the pride of this now-doomed 
 people, in thus calling up around them the forms and 
 recollections of ancient grandeur, at the very moment 
 when even their existence, as an independent nation, was 
 about to be extinguished for ever.” * 
 
 Let us see the sort of government they exchanged for 
 “ Saxon misrule.” 
 
 “ The three last contemporary monarchs of Ireland 
 were Murtagh O'Loughlin, King of Ulster; Roderick 
 O'Connor, King of Connaught ; and Dermot Mac Mo- 
 rough, King of Leinster. Of the first it is recorded, that 
 having treacherously seized upon another King (Each ad) 
 and put out his eyes, having previously sworn friendship 
 to him on the crozier of St. Patrick, and committed other 
 enormities, an army is sent against him, and he is de- 
 feated and killed. He was,” says Mr. Moore, “ a muni- 
 ficent friend to the church.” 
 
 Roderick O'Connor the Second, having been kept in 
 chains for a year by his father to curb his wild ways, no 
 sooner took possession of the throne of Connaught than 
 he caused the eyes of his two brothers to be put out; and 
 “ combining with this ferocity a total want of the chival- 
 rous spirit which alone adds grace to mere valour,” he 
 causes a chieftain to be loaded with fetters, and kills him 
 with own hand. 
 
 “ But Dermot Mac Morough, King of Leinster, is the 
 most important personage of these three kings, as having 
 invited the English when he had been driven from his 
 kingdom by O'Ruarc, whose wife he had carried away. 
 
 * Moore, vol. u, p. 198. 
 
288 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 In tlie year 1140, he had treacherously seized seventeen 
 of the principal nobles of Leinster, some of whom he put 
 to death, and plucked out the eyes of the rest. He also 
 was a munificent friend to the church, and founder of 
 several religious houses/”* 
 
 “ The most graphic scene in the history of this monarch 
 is on occasion of a victory in Ossory, where he is accom- 
 panied by his English allies, by whose onset of cavalry 
 the enemy were overpowered and beaten down. 
 
 The native infantry of the King then rushing upon 
 them with their long battleaxes, cut off their heads. 
 After the battle, three hundred of these heads were laid, 
 as a trophy, at the feet of Dermot ; who, turning them 
 over, leaped with delight as he recognised the different 
 faces ; and then, holding up his hands, shouted aloud 
 thanksgiving to God. It is likewise added, though hardly 
 to be credited, that perceiving in the midst of this fright- 
 ful heap the head of a man whom alive he had mortally 
 hated, the barbarian seized it by both ears, and lifting it 
 to his mouth, ferociously bit off the nose and lips.”t 
 
 Any one who has witnessed an Irish faction-fight, will 
 have this scene vividly before him. He will see the 
 excited monarch flourishing his weapon aloft, and giving 
 vent to his passion in a mad-stamping caper. He will 
 fancy the “ whoop !” and the “ hoorroo !” and the 
 savage darting at the prostrate victim. He has only to 
 go to an Irish fair to see something very like this scene at 
 the present day. 
 
 “ ’Tis from high life high characters are drawn." 
 
 If such were the Irish kings, what must have been the 
 common people ? These were the kings they exchanged 
 for Henry II. 
 
 Some advantages they certainly had under a change 
 of masters; their eyes would not be rooted out, neither 
 
 * Moore's “ History of Ireland," vol. n, p. 202. 
 
 Ibid. p. 217. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 289 
 
 would the English monarchs (except metaphorically) snap 
 off their noses. 
 
 We hear much of the palaces of Tara and Emania — 
 “ the halls of our ancestors and this is Sir William 
 Petty’s opinion of them : — 
 
 “ There is at this day [ 17 th century] no monument or 
 real argument that, when the Irish were first invaded, 
 they had any stone housing at all ; any money, any 
 foreign trade ; nor any learning but the legends of the 
 saints, psalters, missals, rituals ; nor geometry, astro- 
 nomy, anatomy, architecture, engineery, painting, carving; 
 nor any kind of manufacture, nor the least use of naviga- 
 tion, or the art military.”* 
 
 This last, considering their constant practice, is the 
 most unaccountable deficiency. 
 
 Let us take a picture of the “ bloody Saxon,” who 
 came to oppress these Irish innocents, Eitz Stephen, 
 having with him for an army to conquer all Ireland. 
 “ thirty knights, sixty men in coats of mail, and three 
 hundred of the most skilful archers of South Wales.” 
 
 “ The townsmen (of Wexford), a fierce and wilful 
 people (to the number of two thousand), sally forth 
 with full purpose to give them battaile in the field ; 
 but when they heard the trumpets sound, the horses 
 neighing, and beheld their glittering armes, the rat- 
 ling of their furniture, horse and men in complete armes, 
 and all most comely in battaile array (the like of them 
 not formerly seene, neither heard of) ; they alter their 
 mindes, they retire into the town : they make fast their 
 gates, and fire the suburbs. ”f 
 
 Mr. Moore does ample justice to the knightly bearing 
 of the chiefs who conducted this famous invasion, and the 
 immense superiority of the troops it is unnecessary to 
 notice. 
 
 The famous palaces of Tara and Emania are acknow 
 
 * Sir William Petty’s “ Rebellion in Ireland,” p. 26. 
 
 f Hanmer, vol. ii, p. 226. 
 
 U 
 
290 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 ledged to have been built of wood. Ware tells us that, 
 when Roderick O’Connor built a stone house at Tuam in 
 1161, “it was a thing so new and uncommon, that it 
 became famous among the Irish at that time, by the name 
 of ‘the Wonderful Castle.’”* 
 
 The residences of their chiefs had the dung-hills at 
 their doors, as the cabins have now ; and were, Mr. 
 Moore says, “ constructed of earth and hurdles.” Their 
 “ cities were of mud and thatch.” Even so late as the 
 16th century the houses in Dublin were thatched; as we 
 find that Lord Thomas Fitzgerald, in attacking the Castle 
 of Dublin, was forced to retire by the thatched houses in 
 Ship Street taking fire; and the churches built by St. 
 Patrick were of wattles and mud. 
 
 People of strange contradictions ! While their princes 
 were breechless, and lived with dunghills at their doors, 
 they wore necklaces of gold, and kept a family harper. 
 St. Patrick drove up to his mud edifice in his own chariot. 
 Kings who rooted out eyes, bit off noses, slaughtered, 
 burnt, ravished, and perjured themselves, founded monas- 
 teries, and were munificent friends to the church ; and 
 while the people were wallowing in every moral and 
 physical filth, their learned men were corresponding with 
 Charlemagne about the solar eclipse ! 
 
 It is noticed as a remarkable circumstance, that St. 
 Patrick’s coachman is the only martyr on record who, in 
 “ the course of this peaceful crusade in Ireland, fell a 
 victim by the hands of an Irishman.” This he did to 
 save his master’s life. Hearing of a conspiracy to waylay 
 them on a journey, the honest fellow persuaded the saint 
 to take the ribands, while he occupied his master’s place, 
 and so fell a sacrifice to the murderers. 
 
 Much obloquy is cast upon the English Government 
 for not having introduced the English law into Ireland ; 
 and Sir John Davies, Attorney- General in Ireland to 
 James I., is quoted to prove that the people desired it. 
 
 * “ Antiquities of Ireland/' vol. ii, p. 181 . 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 291 
 
 But, however they may have done so, the chiefs opposed 
 it, as finding the old Irish law more profitable. They 
 had a direct interest in encouraging murder and theft, as 
 they shared with the judge and the friends of the mur- 
 dered man the fine levied on the murderer : and the same 
 in all other cases of felony. Under such circumstances, 
 it was not likely that a prisoner would be acquitted. By 
 the Brehon law, “ murder, manslaughter, rape, and 
 robbery,” were punished by a fine, which was adjudged 
 by the Lord Brehon, “who adjudgeth, for the most 
 part, a better share unto his (the murderer’s) lord ; that 
 is, the lord of the soyle, or the head of that septe, and 
 also unto himself, for his judgement, a greater portion 
 than unto the plaintiffes or parties grieved.”* 
 
 No wonder they encouraged such profitable crimes, 
 and were opposed to the introduction of laws which would 
 have diminished their revenues. 
 
 This was their simple court of justice. 
 
 “The Breighoon (so they call this kind of lawyer) 
 sitteth him down on a hanke, the lords and gentlemen 
 at variance round about him, and then they proceed.”t 
 
 These sittings in banco had two decided advantages : 
 they were not likely to be very protracted in a moist 
 climate; and they had only one lawyer in the court. 
 This is the kind of justice they had under the Brehon 
 law. “ Inferior persons could have no right against the 
 lord of the cunt re, for the .judge wolde give no judge- 
 ment against the lord of the cuntre, but by his awne 
 assent. J 
 
 Juries and witnesses, it appears, were not more to 
 be relied upon three hundred years ago than now. 
 
 “ Eudoxus . — But doth many of that people (say you) 
 make no more conscience to perjure themselves in their 
 verdicts, and damne their soules ? 
 
 * Spenser’s “ View of the State of Ireland,” p. 7. 
 
 4* Campion’s “ History of Ireland,” p. 26. 
 
 J Cusacke to the Council in England. State Papers, 347. 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “ Irenceus . — Not only in their verdicts, but also in all 
 other their dealings, especially with the English, they are 
 most wilfully bent : for though they will not seeme mani- 
 festly to doe it, yet will some one or other subtle-headed 
 fellow amongst them put some quirke or devise, some 
 evasion whereof the rest will likely take hold and suffer 
 themselves to be led by him to that themselves desired . . . 
 you would wonder whence they borrow such subtiltyes 
 and slye shiftes.*** 
 
 They have, unfortunately, never been without these 
 u subtle-headed fellows/* and we continue daily to wonder 
 at their “slye shiftes.** An Irish judge once tried to 
 expose them, but, as it seems, with little effect. 
 
 “ Modain M*Tolbain, a judge under Constantine Cen- 
 timachus, King of Ireland (a.d. 177), wrote a book of 
 Laws called f Maillbreatha ; or, a Collection of Judg- 
 ments for discovering the Arts of designing Men, who 
 usually set Traps to deceive the ignorant and unwary.* **f 
 
 It is much to be wished that one of our spirited 
 publishers would bring out an edition of this at the 
 present crisis. 
 
 The price put upon every man*s head was called his^ 
 “ erick /* it was his calculated value, to be paid by his 
 murderer to his relations (shared by the chief and thp 
 lawyer — the latter, according to Ware, getting the 
 eleventh part), and was probably in many cases the most 
 valuable of his assets. It was a sum of money assured to 
 every one on dying a violent death, and differing from 
 such transactions at the present day in requiring no 
 annual premium. By whom a man*s erick was calculated 
 does not appear; but if every one assured himself ac- 
 cording to his own estimation, we may in most cases pity 
 the poor murderer who had to pay upon the policy. 
 Some remnant of this custom may be traced to the 
 alleged fact, that still in Ireland every man has his 
 price. 
 
 * Spenser’s “ State of Ireland,” p. 35. 
 
 f Ware’s “ History of the Writers of Ireland,” p. 2. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 293 
 
 It appears that when the individual murderer could not 
 be discovered, they came upon the county for the 
 payment of the erick. 
 
 “ When Sir Williams Fitzwilliams (being lord-deputy) 
 told Maguyre that he was to send a sheriffe into 
 Fermanagh, ' Your sheriffe (said Maguyre) shall be 
 welcome to me, but let me know his ericke (or the price 
 of his head) aforehand ; that if my people cut it off, I may 
 put the ericke upon the country/ ” * 
 
 They had their monster meetings formerly as now. 
 
 “ There is a great use among the Irish to make great 
 assemblies together upon a rath, or hill, there to parlie 
 (as they say) about matters and wrongs betweene town- 
 ship and township, or one private person and another. 
 But well I wot that in their meetings many mischiefes 
 have been practised and wrought ; for to them doe 
 commonlie resort all the scumme of the people, where 
 
 they may meete and confer of what they list besides, 
 
 at these meetings, I have knowne divers times that many 
 Englishmen and good Irish subjects have been villanously 
 murdered by moving one quarrell or another against 
 them. For the Irish never cometh to these raths but 
 armed, whether on horse or foot ; while the English, 
 suspecting nothing, are then commonly taken at ad- 
 vantage like sheepe in the peinfolde/^f 
 
 By Mr. (FConnelhs account, all this was entirely the 
 other way. In his veracious history, which, as everybody 
 has read, of course, it may be unnecessary to mention the 
 title of, the benevolent object of the work is thus 
 stated : — 
 
 “ I am very desirous to have it unequivocally under- 
 stood (says the author, p. 46), that one great object of 
 mine is to involve the people of England in much — in very 
 much of the guilt of their government. If the English 
 people were not influenced by a bigotry, violent as it is 
 
 * Sir J. Davies’s “ Historical Tracts,” p. 135. 
 
 f Spenser’s “ State of Ireland,” p. 127. 
 
294 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 unjust, against the Catholic religion on the one hand, and 
 a strong national antipathy against the Irish people on 
 the other, the government could not have so long per- 
 severed in its course of injustice and oppression. The 
 bad passions of the English people, which gave an evil 
 strength to the English government for the oppression 
 of the Irish, still subsist, little diminished and less 
 mitigated.” 
 
 The best comment upon this will, perhaps, be found in 
 the Reports of the Relief Committees, and one item in 
 the Civil List. For Irish gratitude, we may consult the 
 speeches in Conciliation Hall, the speeches and writings 
 of some of the “ Sweet doves of Repeal,” and the invoices 
 of provincial gun-smiths. But, in this history, the author 
 has quoted too shortly from his authorities, omitting 
 passages which bear upon his subject : as, for instance, he 
 cites this character of the Irish from Holinshed’s 
 “ Chronicles :” — 
 
 “ The people are thus inclined ; religious, frank, 
 amorous, sufferable of infinite paines, verie glorious, 
 manie sorcerers, excellent horsemen, delighted with wars, 
 great alms-givers, passing in hospitalitie,” &c.* 
 
 The “ manie sorcerers” probably referred to the political 
 charlatans of those days. Further on he might have dis- 
 covered a less favourable account : — 
 
 “ And here you may see the nature and disposition of 
 this wicked, effrenated, barbarous, and vnfaithfull nation, 
 who, (as Cambrensis writeth of them) are a wicked and 
 perverse generation, constant alwaies in that they be 
 alwaies inconstant, faithfull in that they be alwaies un~ 
 faithfull, and trustie in that they be alwaies treacherous 
 and vntrustie. They doo nothing but imagine mischeefe, 
 and have no delite in anie good thing. They are alwaies 
 working wickednes against the good and such as be quiet 
 in the land. Their mouths are full of vnrighteousnesse, . 
 and their toongs speak nothing but cursednesse. Their 
 
 * Holinslied’s “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 67. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 295 
 
 / 
 
 feet swift to shed blood, and their hands embued in the 
 blood of innocents. The waies of peace they know not, 
 and in the pathe of righteousnesse they walke not. God 
 is not knowne in their land, neither is his name called 
 rightlie vpon among them .... For such a pervers 
 nature they are of, that they will be no longer honest and 
 obedient than that they cannot be suffered to be rebelles. 
 Such is their stubbornnesse and pride, that with continuall 
 feare it must be brideled .... For withdraw the sword 
 and forbeare correction, deale with them in courtesie and 
 forbeare correction, and entreate them gentlie, if they can 
 take anie advantage they will surelie skip out.”* 
 
 “It is not going too far to say,” says Mr. CFC., “that 
 a people capable of such high and generous attachment 
 to each other and to their duty, ought to rank high in the 
 estimation of good men.” And yet Campion says — 
 
 “ Covenant and indent with them never so warilie, 
 never so preciselie, yet they have beene founde faithlesse 
 and periured. Where they are joined in colour of surest 
 amitie, there they intend to kill. This ceremonie, re- 
 porteth Cambrensis, the parties to be coupled in league 
 meete at church, become God septes, or allies, beare each 
 other on their backe certain paces in a ring, kisse together 
 holy reliques, take blessing of the bishoppe, offer each to 
 other a droppe of their own bloude, and drink it up 
 betweene them ; even in the doing hereof, they practise 
 mutuall destruction. ”f 
 
 Mr. (FC. dwells complacently on their military virtues, 
 and quotes Spenser, as follows ; — 
 
 “ I have heard some great warriors say, that in all 
 the services which they had seen abroad, they never saw a 
 more comelie man than the Irishman, nor that cometh up 
 more bravely to his charge.” No one ever doubted it. 
 
 Pity that, according to the same authority, their moral 
 qualities were not conforming : — 
 
 * Holinshed’s “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 370 
 f Campion’s “ History of Ireland,” p. 23. 
 
296 
 
 PABDIANA. 
 
 “ The evil and wilde uses which the gallow-glasses and 
 kerne (horse and foot-soldiers) do use in their common 
 trade of life . . . those be the most barbarous and loathly 
 conditions of any people (I thinke) under Heaven : for 
 from the time that they enter into that course, they do 
 use all the beastly behaviour that may be ; they oppresse 
 all men, they spoile the subject as the enemy, full of 
 revenge and delighting in deadly execution, licencious, 
 swearers and blasphemers, common ravishers of women, 
 and murderers of children.”* 
 
 And thus they are handled in Holinshed : — 
 
 Kerne signifieth (as noblemen of deepe judgment 
 informed me) a shower of hell, because they are taken for 
 no better than for rakehells or the divePs black gard, by 
 reason of the stinking sturre they keepe wheresoever 
 they be.”t 
 
 Excepting an expedition into Scotland, the first instance 
 that we have where Irish troops co-operated with English 
 on foreign service is, as far as I am aware of, that of the 
 Prior of Kilmainham, and the force which accompanied 
 him in Henry the FiftlPs celebrated expedition into France, 
 when their eccentric habits and strange manner of warfare 
 appeared to have created some surprise amongst the 
 natives. This is HalPs account of them : — 
 
 “ The Irishmen overcame al the Isle of Fraunce, and 
 did to the Frenchmen dammages innumerable (as these 
 writers affirme,) and brought dayly praies to the English 
 armye. And besides that, they would robbe houses and 
 lay beddes on the backs of the kine, and ride vpon them, 
 and carry yong children before them, and sell them to the 
 Englishmen for slaues ; which strange doyngs so feared 
 the Frenchmen within the territory of Paris and the 
 coutry about, that the rude persons fled out of the villages 
 withal their stuffe to the cytie of Paris.”! 
 
 * Spenser’s ‘‘View of the State of Ireland,” vol. i, p. 118 ; see also 
 p. 132. 
 
 f Ilolinshed’s “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 68. 
 
 { Hall’s “ Chronicles,” p. 92. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 297 
 
 Their picturesque return from foraging, riding on beds 
 upon the cows^ backs, with children before them, may be 
 imagined. 
 
 But we have, fortunately, preserved to us a more par- 
 ticular description of a body of Irish troops who accom- 
 panied Henry the Eighth to the siege of Boulogne, in 
 
 1544. They were mustered previously in St. James's 
 
 Park, where their costume and general appearance must 
 have afforded quite a treat to the London citizens. 
 
 There was some difficulty in raising these men, as the 
 chiefs objected to part with their followers, and the men 
 themselves required a leader in whom they placed confi- 
 dence. It was no easy matter to find a leader ; for the 
 
 Irish chieftains do not appear to have been capable of 
 
 taking command of troops in a regular army, and the 
 English noblemen were too fat. 
 
 “ Considering that none of the Yrishe Lordes were 
 mete for that purpose, ne yet convenyent to send any of 
 tip Erles or other of the nobilitie of the Englishery, being 
 onweldy men for to go with light kerne ; fynally, we had 
 no choise but either the Lord of Dunboyne or the Lorde 
 Power, and accordingly have appoynted the saide Lorde 
 Power, which is a toward and an hardy yong gentle- 
 man/'’* 
 
 There was some difficulty in getting them across the 
 Channel when collected, on account of “pyrotes and 
 Brytons nowe kepynge uppon these costes . . . for if 
 these kerne which shall pass but in pickards shulde be 
 taken (besydes the dishonour of the thing) it were no 
 small displeasure ... if there be not some defence upon 
 their sees, the Bryttons wyll be lordes betwyxte Brittayne 
 
 and Scotlande.”t 
 
 In the State Paper Office is said to be a complete 
 muster-roll of these u piked and chosen men,” specifying 
 
 * The Lord Justice and Council to Henry VIII. State Papers, p. 406. 
 
 f Ibid. 
 
298 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the name of every officer and man after the contingent 
 found by the different chiefs. This was their strength : — 
 
 “ Summa totalis .... 1154 
 
 Inde 
 
 Abate in bois .... 234 
 
 So . ^ 
 
 Remanet in fighting men . . 920 
 
 but ther be more shipped.”* 
 
 The letter contains this curious notice of their organisa- 
 tion : — 
 
 “ Within this realme every two kerne use to have a 
 page or boye, which commonly ys nevertheless a man, to 
 bear their mantelles, weapons, and vyctailles for 2, 3, or 
 4 dayes, when they goo in a volant journey ; for whome, 
 and other shares of the marsh alles, pypers, surjions, and 
 such like, according ther usage, they recyve like enter- 
 taynment as for themselffes.”+ 
 
 The “ pypers, surjions, and such like,” is speaking 
 slightingly of the “ Faculty” of the period ; but one is 
 surprised at their having surgeons at all. 
 
 “ According to this authority,” says Mr. Moore (mean- 
 ing Holinshed's ‘ Chronicles'), “ such were the wild feats 
 of courage performed by these kerns, that the French, 
 astonished, sent an ambassador to inquire of Henry 
 whether he had brought with him men or devils.”* 
 
 To read this, one would suppose that it was simply the 
 extravagant gallantry of the Irish troops that so astonished 
 the natives ; but this is the original account, in which, at 
 least, he acquits them of body-snatck*ng : — 
 
 “ If they (the Irish kerns) took anie Frenchmen pri- 
 soners, lest they should be accounted couetous in snatch- 
 ing with them his entire bodie, his onelie ransome should 
 
 * The Lord Justice and Council to Henrv VIII. State Papers, p. 406. 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
 X “ History of Ireland/* vol. hi, p. 326. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 *99 
 
 ' be no more but his head. The French, with this strange 
 kind of warfaring astonished, sent an ambassador to King 
 Henrie to learne whether he brought men with him, or 
 diuels that could neither be won with rewards nor pacified 
 by pitie.** 
 
 No wonder they were astonished; doubtless at their 
 headlong valour, but certainly quite as much at the 
 thoughtless and improvident cruelty of these savages, 
 which led them to prefer the pleasure of cutting off their 
 prisoners* heads to bringing them alive to the camp, with 
 a view to their being ransomed by their friends, as was 
 the custom amongst the French and English. He goes 
 on to say : 
 
 “ Which when the King had turned to a ieast, the 
 Frenchmen ever after, if they could take anie of the Irish 
 scattering from the companie, vsed first to . . and 
 
 after to torment them with as great and as lingering paine 
 as they could deuise. ** 
 
 The Tudors loved a grim “ ieast/* as witness the father 
 of this funny king chuckling at the pleasantry of Kil- 
 dare’s intention of roasting the Archbishop in Cashel 
 Cathedral : and the chronicler is not without his waggery 
 when he acquits the Irish of any covetous tendency. 
 
 This detachment made themselves very useful as fo- 
 ragers : — 
 
 “ They stood the armie in very good steade. For they 
 were not onlie contented to burn and spoile all the villages 
 thereunto adjoining, but also they would range twentie or 
 thirtie miles into the maine land : and having taken a 
 bull, they vsed to tie him to a stake, and scorching him 
 with faggots, they would force him to rore, so that all 
 the cattell in the countrie would make towards the bull, 
 all which they would lightlie lead awaie, and furnish the 
 camp with stoore of beefe.**f 
 
 Their device of roasting the bull to make him call the 
 
 * HolinshecTs “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 315 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
300 
 
 PADPIANA. 
 
 cows by his “ rore” is perfect of its kind, and was, no 
 doubt, a familiar practice in their own little domestic 
 troubles. 
 
 But it would be doing no more that justice to this cele- 
 brated detachment to record an act of gallantry in one of 
 its members : — 
 
 “ After that Bullongue was surrendered to the King, 
 there encamped on the west side of the towne, beyond the 
 hauen, an armie of Frenchmen, amongst whom there was 
 a Thrasonicall Golias that departed from the armie and 
 came to the brink of the hauen, and there, in ietting and 
 daring wise, challenged anie one of the English armie 
 that durst be so hardie as to bicker with him hand to 
 hand. And albeit the distance of the place, the depth of 
 the hauen, the neernesse of his companie imboldened 
 him to this chalenge, more than anie great valour or pith 
 that rested in him to indure a combat ; yet all this not- 
 withstanding, an Irishman named Nicholl Welch, who 
 after reteined to the Earle of Kildare, loathing and dis- 
 daining his proud brags, flung into the water, and swam 
 over the river, fought with the chalenger, strake him for 
 dead, and returned backe to Bullongue with the .French - 
 man, his head in his mouth, before the armie could over- 
 take him. For which exploit, as he was of all his com- 
 panie highlie commended, so by the lieutenant he was 
 bountifully rewarded.”* 
 
 No doubt Nicholl Welch did his duty by the “ Thra- 
 sonicall Golias,” though his manner of “ retrieving” the 
 head savoured, perhaps, a little too much of that “ wild- 
 ness ” which rendered these troops so notorious. 
 
 This is Holin shed's description of a horse-soldier : 
 t( The fourth degree is a gallow-glasse, vsing a kind of 
 pollar for his weapon. These men are commonlie weie- 
 ward rather by profession than by nature ; grim of 
 countenance, tall of stature, big of lim, burlie of bodie, 
 
 * Holinshed’s “Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 315. 
 
IRISH HISTORY# 
 
 301 
 
 well and stronglie timbered, chiefly feeding on beefe, 
 porke, and butter.” * 
 
 But, undoubtedly, the most authentic, as well as the 
 most flattering, picture of the Irish troops, is that given 
 by Sir Anthony Sentleger to Henry VIII., in answer to 
 the King’s order for sending those kerns to accompany 
 him to Boulogne. 
 
 “ There is no horsemen of this lande but he hathe his 
 horse and his two boyes, and two hackeneys, or one 
 hackeney and two chieffe horse at the leste, whoose wages 
 must be according, and of themselffes they have no 
 ryches to furnyshe the same. And assuredly I think for 
 ther feate of warre, which ys for light scoorers, ther ar 
 no properer horsemen in Christen grounde, nor more 
 
 bardie, nor yet that can better endure hardnesse 
 
 And as to their footemen, they have one sorte, which be 
 harnessed in mayle and bassenettes, having every of 
 them his weapon called a sparre, moche like the axe of 
 the Towre, and they be named gallowglasse ; and for the 
 more parte ther boyes beare for them thre dartes they 
 throwe, or they come to the hande stripe : these sorte of 
 men be those that doo not lighty abandon the fielde, but 
 byde the brunt to the deathe. 
 
 “ The other sorte, called kerne, ar naked men, but 
 onely ther sherter and small cotes; and many tymes, 
 when they come to the bycher, but bare-naked, saving 
 ther shurtes and shorte bowes ; which sorte of people be 
 bothe hardy and delyver to serche woddes or maresses, in 
 the which they be harde to be beaten. And if your 
 Majestie will converte them to more spikes and hand- 
 gonnes, I thinke they wolde in that feate, with small 
 instructions, doo your Highnes greate service; for as 
 for gonners, ther be no better in no lande than they be, 
 for the nomber they have, which be more than I wolde 
 wishe they had, onles it were to serve your Majestie. 
 And also these two sortes of people be of such hardnes, 
 
 * Holinshed's “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 68. 
 
302 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 that ther ys no man that ever I sawe, that will or can 
 endure the paynes and evill fare that they will sus- 
 tayne; for in the sommer ; whan corne ys nere rype, 
 they seche none other meate in tyme of nede, but to 
 storke or swyll the eares of wheate, and eate the same ; 
 and water to ther drinke ; and with this they pass ther 
 lyves, and at all tymes thei eate suche meate as few other 
 could e lyve with.” * 
 
 According to Froissart, there appears to have been little 
 safety in running away from an ancient Irishman. 
 
 “ For a man of armes being never so well horsed, and 
 ron as fast as he can, the Yrisshmen wyll ryn afote as 
 faste as he and ouertake him; yea, and leape vp vpon his 
 horse behynde hym, and drawe hym fro his horse ; for 
 they are strong men in the armes, and have sharpe wea- 
 pons with large blades and two edges, after the manner of 
 darte heedes; .... and they repute not a man ded till 
 they have cutte his throte, and open his bely, and taken 
 out his herte, and cary it awaye withe them : som saye, 
 suche as knowe their nature, that they do eate it, and have 
 great delyt therein : they take no man to ransome, and 
 whanne they see at any encountre that they be ouer- 
 matched, than they will departe a sonder, and go and 
 hyde himselfe in busshes, woodes, hedges, and caves, so 
 that no man shall fynde them.”t 
 
 A more unpleasant companion upon a double horse it 
 would be difficult to fancy, or one from whom mercy was 
 so little to be expected. No wonder Sir John Froissart 
 should come to the conclusion, that “ Ireland is one of the 
 yuel countries of the world to make warre upon.” 
 
 Mr. O’Connell, in his History, gives us a picture of 
 Irish country life, in the time of Queen Elizabeth ; the insi- 
 nuation being, that it was upon such innocents that she 
 brought all the horrors of war. He quotes from Hooker’s 
 continuation to Holinshed. After the stunning repetition 
 
 * Sentleger to Henry VIII. (1543). State Papers, p. 385. 
 f Froissart's 4i Chronicle/' vol. ii, p. 620. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 303 
 
 of English barbarities, which are set forth in large capi- 
 pitals, much in the fashion of a quack doctor’s posting- 
 bill, we are unexpectedly refreshed with the following. 
 It relates to the state of Munster, under Sir John Per- 
 rot’s administration : 
 
 “ Everie man with a white sticke only in his hand, and 
 with great treasures, might and did travell without feare 
 or danger where he woulde (as the writer hereof by triall 
 knew it to be true), and the white sheepe did keepe the 
 blacke, and all the beastes lay continually in the fields, 
 without stealing or preieing.” * 
 
 And here we may pause a moment upon this Irish 
 Arcadia. We see the simple natives sauntering about, 
 u everie man with a white sticke the roads enlivened 
 with unmolested virgins ; the cattle unhoughed in the 
 fields ; the capitalist ostentatiously parading his money- 
 bags ; and barns and haggards wooing the incendiary 
 in vain. A few sentences preceding this well-chosen quo- 
 tation will show how it was brought about : 
 
 “ This worthy knight (Sir John Perrot), knowing that 
 he should have to do with a sort of nettles whose nature 
 is that, being handled gently, they will sting ; but being- 
 hard crushed together, they will doo no harme : even so 
 he began with them. The sword and the law he made to 
 be the foundation of his government ; by the one, he 
 persecuted the rebell and disobedient ; and by the other, 
 he ruled and governed in justice and judgment. Great 
 trouble he had in both, but little did he prevaill in the 
 latter before he had overcome the first; and therefore, 
 minding to chastise the rebelles .... he followed and 
 chased them from place to place : in the bogs he pur- 
 sued them, in the thickets he followed them, in the 
 plaines he fought with them, .... and in short time 
 brought the same (Munster) to such a state of quietness 
 and peaceable estate, that whereas no man before could 
 passe through the countrie but was in danger to De ruir- 
 
 HolinshecTs “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 327. 
 
304 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 dered and robbed, and no man durst to turn his cattell 
 into the fields without watch, and so keepe them in 
 the barnes in the night-time, now everie man with a white 
 sticke,” &c. 
 
 It is a subject of regret that all this good conduct was 
 not, as insinuated, spontaneous ; and that the only 
 instance on record (at least in those times) when 
 
 “ Erin’s sons were so good or so cold 
 As not to be tempted by woman or gold !” 
 
 was brought about by the exertions of an Englishman. 
 
 This lord-deputy seems to have been of the same 
 opinion, as regards the mode in which Ireland should be 
 governed, with Sir John Davies, who is much quoted by 
 Mr. O'Connell. He gives as a reason w r hy the manners of 
 the Irish were so altered since the time of Henry II., 
 that they were never sufficiently conquered — the nettle was 
 not squeezed tight enough. 
 
 “ For it will appear . . . that ever since our nation had 
 any footing in this land, the state of England did earnestly 
 desire, and did accordingly endeavour, from time to time, 
 to perfect the conquest of this kingdom, but that in every 
 age there were found such impediments and defects in 
 both realms as caused almost an impossibility that things 
 should have been otherwise than as they are ... A bar- 
 barous country must be first broken by a war before it 
 will be capable of good government ; and when it is fully 
 subdued and conquered, if it be not well planted and 
 governed, it will often return to the former barbarities . . 
 The English forces were ever too weak to subdue and 
 master so many warlike nations or septs of the Irish . . . 
 and besides their weakness, they were ill paid and worse 
 governed.”* 
 
 May it not be still questionable whether people in so 
 uncivilised a state as to combine, on all occasions, to 
 
 * “ Historical Tracts,” vol. i, p. 3. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 305 
 
 defeat the law, where a murderer is fostered and protected, 
 where an agriculturist ploughs under the protection of 
 armed policemen, and an improving landlord is forced to 
 take a blunderbuss to church ; whether such a people are 
 fit to be placed on the same level as the English ? To 
 extend the franchise to them seems very like presenting 
 Held with a reading easel, or making Twanketaee a 
 Fellow of the Royal Society. 
 
 In this book of Mr. O'Connell's every atrocity com- 
 mitted by the English upon the Irish is ostentatiously 
 paraded, while the causes which brought about these 
 awful retaliations are entirely suppressed ; and even the 
 sufferings of the Irish, by the dreadful famines which they 
 brought about by destroying the farms and cattle of the 
 English settlers, are all to be laid to our charge. All the 
 horrors of the great rebellion of 1611, all Coote's excesses 
 and Cromwell's massacres, are carefully set forth ; but 
 not a word of the 37,000 English murdered, starved, and 
 drowned in Ulster (taking the lowest account, and 300,000 
 from first to last), and the inconceivable horrors perpe- 
 trated upon unoffending men, women, and children. The 
 reader is referred to Leland, Sir John Temple, Sir 
 William Petty, and to the masterly summary of Hume, 
 chap. Iv. In Temple, especially, he will see the unex- 
 ampled massacres, the wholesale drownings, the faithless 
 execution of prisoners admitted to quarter, the frightful 
 obscenities, which it is impossible to quote in the plain 
 language of the seventeenth century. 
 
 I must take the liberty to cite one passage from Sir 
 John Temple's preface, which is so appropriate to Mr. 
 O'Connell's book, that it seems almost like a prophetic 
 notice of the work : — 
 
 “ Histories are called ' Testes temporum , lux veritatis, 
 vita memories ;' and certainly he doth offend in an high 
 degree, who shall either negligently suffer, or wilfully 
 procure them to bring in false evidence, that shall make 
 them dark lanthorns, to give light but on the one side ; 
 or, as ignes fatui , to cause the reader to wander from the 
 
 x 
 
306 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 truth, and vainly to follow false shadows, or the factious 
 humour of the writer’s brain. To be false, to deceive, to 
 lye, even in ordinary discourse, are vices commonly 
 branded with much infamy, and held in great detestation 
 by all good men. And, therefore, certainly those that 
 arrive at such a height of impudency as magisterially to 
 take upon them, not only to abuse the present, but future 
 ages, must needs render themselves justly odious. They 
 stand responsible for other men’s errours ; and whereas, 
 in all other notorious offenders, their sin and their life 
 determines at the farthest together, the sin of these men 
 is perpetrated after their decease ; they speak when they 
 are dead, make false infusions into every age, and court 
 every new person that shall, many years after, cast his 
 eyes upon their story to give belief to their lyes.”* 
 
 If any man more than another was qualified to write 
 upon this rebellion, it was Temple, who was Master of the 
 Rolls and a Privy Councillor in Ireland, at the time. He 
 thus speaks of his qualifications : — 
 
 “ I have perused the public despatches, acts, and 
 relations, as likewise the private letters and particular 
 discourses sent by the chief gentlemen out of several parts 
 of the kingdom, to present unto the lords justices and 
 counsel, the sad condition of their affairs. And having 
 been made acquainted with all the most secret passages 
 and counsels of the state, I have, as far as I could without 
 breach of trust, and as the duty of a Privie Counsellor 
 would admit, communicated so much of them as I con- 
 ceived necessary and proper for public information .... 
 I may confidently avow that I have been so curious in 
 gathering up my materials, and so careful in putting them 
 together, as very few passages will be found here inserted 
 which have not either fallen within the compasse of my 
 own knowledge, or that I have not received. from those 
 who were chiefly intrusted in matter of action abroad ; or 
 that came not to my hands attested upon the oaths of 
 
 Sir John Temple's “ History of the Irish Rebellion," 4to. Preface. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 307 
 
 credible witnesses, or clearly asserted in the voluntary 
 confessions of the rebels themselves.”*' 
 
 The assertions, which Mr. O’Connel supports by quo- 
 tations, are, in almost every instance, either wholly con- 
 futed, or much softened down by the context. As an 
 example, we will take an instance almost at random. He 
 is describing the dreadful state of the country, as brought 
 about by the war in Munster, and dwells with shocking 
 minuteness upon the people feeding on the dead carrion, 
 with other details of the famine and pestilence — caused, 
 of course, by the English troops ; and he thus quotes 
 Spenser : — 
 
 “ Out of every corner of the woods and glynns they 
 came creeping forth upon their hands, for their legs 
 could not bear them ; they looked like anatomies of 
 death ; they spake like ghosts crying out of their graves ; 
 they did eate the dead carrions ; yea, and one another 
 soone after ; insomuch as the very carcasses they spared 
 not to scrape out of the graves ; and if they found a plot 
 of watercresses or shamrocks, there they flocked as to a 
 feast for the time ; yea, not able to continue there withal ; 
 that in shorte space there was none almost left, and a 
 most populous and plentiful country suddainelie left voyde 
 of man and beast ;”t 
 
 Here he stops short without finishing the sentence, 
 which goes on thus : — 
 
 “ Yet sure in all that warre, there perished not many 
 by the sword, but all by the extremitie of famine, which 
 they themselves had wrought .” 
 
 Anybody but an Irish patriot would see that the last 
 words of this extract, like a lady’s postscript contain the 
 pith of the whole, and transfer the blame from the English 
 to the Irish themselves ; but such passages are not quoted 
 in “ Ireland and the Irish.” 
 
 Those who feed upon the delusion of “ Saxon misrule” 
 
 * Temple’s “ History of the Rebellion,” Preface. 
 
 f “ State of Ireland,” p. 166. 
 
308 
 
 PADDJANA. 
 
 may, perhaps, like to see the following description of such 
 rule, as the Irish had amongst themselves. It is from a 
 paper on the state of Ireland, drawn up for presentation 
 to Henry VIII. and the English Council : — 
 
 “ What corny n folke in all this worlde is so power 
 [poor], so feble, so ivyll besyn in towne and fylde, so 
 bestyall, so greatly oppressid and trodde under fote, and 
 farde so evyll, with so greate myserye, and with so 
 wretcheid lyff, as the comen folke of Irelande ? . . . Where 
 regneith more than 60 cheyf capytaynes, whereof some 
 ealleth themselves kynges, some kynges peyres in ther 
 langage, some princeis, some dukes, some archdukes, 
 that lyveth onely by the swerde, and obeyeth to no other 
 temporall person, but onely to himself that is stronger : 
 and every of the said capytaynes maketh warre and peace 
 for himself and holdeth by swerde; and hath imperiall 
 jurysdyction within his rome, and obeyeth to noo other 
 person, Englyshe ne Iryshe, except only to suche persones 
 as maye subdue hym by the swerde . . . Also the sonne 
 of eny of the said capytaines shall not succede to his fader 
 without he be the strongeist of all his nation ; for ther 
 shalbe none chief captayn of eny of the said regions by 
 lawfull succession, but by forte mayne and election : and 
 he that hath strongyst armye and hardeyst swerde among 
 them, hath best right and tytill ; and by reason thereof, 
 ther be but fewe of the said regions that be in pease 
 within themselff, but comynly rebellyth alwaye agaynst 
 ther cheyff capytaine.*’ 
 
 This one would have thought quite sufficient to furnish 
 them with quarrels and wars to their hearts* content : but 
 these chief captains had very able assistants in stirring up 
 quarrels 
 
 “ Also in every of the said regions ther be dy verse pety 
 captaines, and every of them makeith warre and pease for 
 hymselff without lyeence of the chief captayne. 
 
 “Also every of the said regions is devydeid and de- 
 parteid betwyxt the cheyfe captayne and the deputy 
 captaine of the same . . . and so every of the said captaines 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 309 
 
 laboryth dayly, by all the means that they can, whereby 
 he may be moste stronge of men. 
 
 “ Also ther is more than thirty great captaines of the 
 Englvshe noble folke that followyth tho same Iryshe 
 order, and kepeith warre and pease for hymselff, with- 
 out any licence of the King, save to him that is 
 strongyst, and of suche that maye subdue them by 
 the swerde." 
 
 These last, it appears, “ would have been right gladde 
 to obey the King's lawes, yf they might be defended by 
 the King of the Iryshe enemies."* 
 
 No wonder the country got a bad name. “ Pandar 
 sheweth . . .that the holly woman, Brigitta, used to 
 enquyre of her good angell many questions of secrete 
 dyvine, and among all other she inquyryd ‘of what 
 Chrystyn lande was moste sowlles damned V The 
 angell shewed her a lande in the west part of the 
 worlde . . . and the angell dyd shew tyll her the lappes 
 of the sowlles of Chrystyn folke of that lande, how 
 they fell downe into hell as thyk as any haylle shewrys. 
 And pytty thereof moveid the Pandar to consayn his 
 said booke . . . for after his opinion this is the lande that 
 the angell understoode; for ther is no lande in this 
 worlde of so long contynuel warre within himselffe, ne 
 of so greate shedeing of Chrysten blodde; ne of so 
 greate rubbing, spoyleing, praying (preying), and burn- 
 ing, ne of so greate wrongful extortion contynually as 
 Ireland. Wherfor it cannot be denyed by very estima- 
 tion of man but that the angell dyd understand the 
 land of Ireland."+ 
 
 Catholic writers of the present day are loud in their 
 praises of the Romish clergy, at all times and under all 
 circumstances ; praise which is received with much com- 
 placency by those “ sweet doves," as if most of the re- 
 bellions had not been brought about, and their horrors 
 aggravated, by them. In concocting the great rebellion 
 
 * State Papers, Henry VIII. vol. i. 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
310 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 of 1641, Temple joins the lawyers with them, and, in 
 after times, we have seen them go hand-in-hand : — 
 
 “ I find two sorts of persons who did most eminently 
 appear in laying those main fundamentals w r hereupon 
 their bloody superstructions were afterwards easily reared 
 up ; and these were such of the Popish lawyers as were 
 natives of the kingdome, and those of the Romish clergy 
 of severall degrees and orders. For the first, they had in 
 regard of their knowledge of the lawes of the land very 
 great reputation and trust : they now began to stand up 
 like great patriots for the vindication of the liberties of 
 the subject, and redress of their pretended grievances; 
 and having, by their bold appearing therein, made a 
 great party in the House of Commons . . . some of them 
 did there magisterially obtrude as undoubted maxims of 
 the law the pernicious speculation of their own brain, 
 which, though plainly discerned to be full of virulence, 
 yet so strangely were many of the Protestants and well- 
 meaning men in the House blinded with an appre- 
 hension of ease and redresse, and so stupified with their 
 bold accusations of the Government, as most thought not 
 fit, others durst not stand up to contradict their fond 
 assertions.”* 
 
 Many are still, unfortunately, so stupified : and some 
 who do "stand up to contradict their fond assertions” 
 are overborne by the matchless impudence of these long- 
 tongued orators, the ingenuity with which they garble 
 facts, and the intrepidity of their direct lying. 
 
 Of their reverences he thus speaks : — 
 
 “ For the facilitating of the worke and stirring up of 
 the people, with greater animosity and cruelty to put it 
 on at the time prefixed, they loudly, in all places, de- 
 clamed against the Protestants, telling the people that they 
 were hereticks, and not to be suffered any longer to live 
 among them : that it was no more sinne to kill an Eng- 
 lishman than to kill a dogge, and that it was a most 
 
 * “ History of the Rebellion,” p. 76. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 311 
 
 mortall and unpardonable sinne to relieve or protect any 
 one of them.*'* 
 
 The “ Protestant historian,” Leland, whom Mr. 
 O'Connell quotes so triumphantly, has this passage, 
 not quoted by him : — “ Early in the month of October, 
 a considerable meeting of the principal Romish clergy, 
 together with some laymen of their faction, was held 
 in the Abbey of Multifarnam, in the county of West- 
 meath . . . Some recommended that the English should 
 be simply driven out like the Moors from Spain ; others 
 exclaimed against this indulgence, and recommended 
 ‘that a general massacre was the safest and most effectual 
 method of freeing the kingdom from such fear' (the 
 
 English returning) 
 
 Such is the slavish obedience of the lower orders of 
 Irish to their priests, that the following ruse might be 
 assuredly practised in these days : — 
 
 “ So light are they in believing whatsoever is with any 
 countenance of gravitie affirmed by their superiors, whome 
 they esteem e and honour, that a lewd prelate within these 
 few years, needy of money, was able to persuade his 
 parish that St. Patricke, in striving with St. Peter to 
 let an Irish gallowglass into heaven, had his head broken 
 with the keyes, for whose reliefe he obtained a colec- 
 tion."J 
 
 It must be confessed that their reverences, however 
 quietly they may operate under ordinary circumstances, 
 have been ready enough to take an active part in any 
 actual outbreak, and have done good service, though in a 
 somewhat un clerical fashion. On the surrender of a 
 castle in Longford for want of provisions, and given up 
 on promise of quarter, — 
 
 “ A Popish priest, with his skeane in his hand, watch- 
 ing for the coming forth of a minister then amongst the 
 
 * Temple, p. 79. 
 
 f LelancTs “ History of Ireland,” vol. in, p. 106. 
 
 X Campion, p. 25. 
 
312 
 
 PAD DIANA. 
 
 English, did, by thrusting that skeane into the minister’s 
 guts, and ripping up his belly, give that as a signal to 
 the rebels for falling upon the rest of the English, which 
 they did accordingly assoone as the minister was mur- 
 dered, killing some and hanging the rest most per- 
 fidiously/’* 
 
 A more complete picture, however, is afforded in the 
 last rebellion (1798), which Mr. O’Connell calls a “fo- 
 mented” rebellion ; an assertion which, if true, places us 
 in the exceedingly false position of having burnt our 
 fingers most cruelly in the fomentation, saddled our- 
 selves with a profitless and burdensome union, and en- 
 sured the lasting abuse of those we are condemned to 
 support. Father Clinch, an Enniscorthy priest, is thus 
 described : — 
 
 “Being of huge stature, with a scimetar and cross- 
 belts, and mounted on a large white horse, with long 
 pistols, he made so conspicuous a figure on the hill 
 during the action and the day preceding it . . . The Earl 
 of Roden, having singled him out among the fugitives, 
 overtook him after a mile’s pursuit, and received his fire, 
 which his lordship returned, and wounded him in the 
 neck. He then discharged his second pistol at Lord 
 Roden, on which an officer rode up and shot him. He 
 wore his vestments under his clothes/’f 
 
 The saintly lives which the Irish clergy are said, by 
 modern patriots, to have led in all ages, is rather dis- 
 proved by the following letter of Cowley to Cromwell 
 (1536) : — 
 
 “ The abbayes here doo not kepe so good divine service 
 as the abbayes in England, being suppressid, did kepe ; 
 the religious personnages here lesse contynent or vertuous, 
 keping no hospitalitie, saving to theyme silves, theire 
 concubynes and childerne, and to certaine bell wedders, 
 to eclypse theire pernycious lyevinges and to beare and 
 
 , * Temple, letter dated 14tli Dec. 1641. 
 f Musgrave’s " History of the Rebellion/’ p. 478. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 313 
 
 pavesse theire detestable deed.es : which ryng leaders 
 have good fees, fatte profitable fermes, the fynding of 
 their children, with other daily pleasures of the ab- 
 bayes.”* * * § 
 
 There is a concentrated bitterness in the following 
 custom, which could only have occurred to a highly ima- 
 ginative people : — 
 
 “ In some corners of the land they use a damnable 
 superstition, leaving the right arms of their infants un- 
 christened, to the intent it might inflict a more ungracious 
 and deadlie blow.”t 
 
 Dr. Hanmer, I fear, is somewhat profane in his notion 
 of the ancient Irish priesthood 
 
 “ And yet, gentle reader, I may not overslip one 
 thing, namely, how that (for all the sanctitie of the 
 prelates in those dayes) Satan with all the infernal spirits, 
 sent greeting, with great thankes, unto the Ecclesiastical! 
 State upon Earth, in dreadfull characters. For that they, 
 wanting no aide in their delights from hellish places, sent 
 such a number of damned soules into the sulphureous 
 pits, through their remissness of life and slacknesse in 
 preaching, as in former ages had not beene seene.”J 
 
 We may be, I hope, excused for a curiosity to see the 
 “ dreadful characters” of this diabolical missive, and to 
 learn its delivery. He mentions a summary way they had 
 of checking a disposition to controversial divinity. At 
 “a great disputation and parlie” it was suggested “to 
 take two monkes, one of thy side, another of mine, and 
 cast them both into an house set on fire : he that cometh 
 out safe, let him carry the truth.” To which is appended 
 a note, — “ If they were as fat in those daies as most of 
 them proved after, there would have beene old frying.” § 
 
 This is a rhapsody upon Irish mercy and loving kind- 
 ness : 
 
 * State Papers, p. 149. 
 
 f Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 69. 
 
 X “ History of Ireland,” p. 130. 
 
 § Ibid. p. 123. 
 
314 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “ Join with me,” says Mr. O’Connell, “ in blessing 
 Providence, who gave the Irish nation a soul so full of 
 humanity, a disposition so replete with mercy, that, 
 excepting in the actual war itself, the Irish shed no blood, 
 committed no crime, perpetrated no barbarity, exhibited 
 no intolerance, exercised no persecution.”* 
 
 None but a special pleader — and an Irish special 
 pleader — could have written this. It is very much like 
 saying, that except when a murderer is actually cutting 
 throats he is the best fellow alive — when a burglar is not 
 actually breaking into houses, he is a steady, honest man 
 — except when priests are hounding on a rabble to roast 
 hundreds of Protestants in barns — to hang up by the hair 
 and disembowel pregnant women alive —to promise life 
 on condition of people changing their religion, and then 
 have their throats cut to ensure their salvation ; except on 
 such occasions, they u exhibited no intolerance, exercised 
 no persecution.” “ Actual war,” of course, had com- 
 menced when armed ruffians broke into houses in the 
 night, and butchered the defenceless inmates. “ Actual 
 war” had commenced when the Irish borrowed arms from 
 the English, and shot them down with their own 
 weapons. It was an “ actual war,” indeed, when 37,000 
 peaceable English were destroyed in cold blood by every 
 species of refined and brutal cruelty, urged on by the 
 “ sweet doves,” and that most atrocious monster, Sir 
 Phelim O’Neil, of whom Mr. O’Connell is the apologist ; 
 and in describing the horrors of the retaliation he 
 exclaims , — “ I am sickened and disgusted with the 
 hideous catalogue of English crimes.” 
 
 Man of a sensitive stomach ! He reminds us of that 
 famous giant before mentioned, who choked himself with 
 melted butter. 
 
 He is “ consoled and soothed by the recollection of the 
 glorious contrast of the humanity and mercy exhibited by 
 the Irish Catholics with the fiendish cruelty and barbarity 
 
 * “ Ireland and the Irish,” p. 385. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 315 
 
 of the English .... On the side of the Irish there cannot 
 be quoted any letter, any writing, any document, any 
 general or particular order, edict, law, or command, 
 enjoining, suggesting, or palliating murder or pillage — 
 plunder or crime. No — not one ! 1 repeat, not 
 
 ONE !”* 
 
 This only goes to prove that they committed these 
 horrors of their own free will, without prompting; that 
 they did commit them is as well proved as any fact that 
 history has ever recorded. 
 
 The writer of “ Ireland and the Irish” has committed 
 the mistake of trying to prove too much. It is true, that 
 with the great majority of his readers, the garbled 
 extracts will never be collated with the books they are 
 taken from — the falsehood goes forth and is believed — - 
 the reckless and unsupported assertions are taken for 
 truth — the agitation is continued, and the Rent is raised. 
 Pity he should forget that 
 
 “ Spirits are not finely touched but to fine issues 
 
 that the enormous power he possesses of doing good 
 should only be exercised the other way ; and the 
 smouldering prejudices of two great nations kindled to 
 warm an inordinate vanity, and bring pence into the 
 begging-box. 
 
 “ The Irish,” says Mr. O'Connell, “ are lovers of 
 justice, of equal and impartial justice.” 
 
 This, perhaps, is the very last quality their best friends 
 would have discovered, if by impartial justice is meant 
 fair play ; and we may be permitted humbly to inquire 
 where it is to be found? At Conciliation Hall, or at 
 Donnybrook fair ? — to an in-coming tenant, or the crew 
 of a wrecked vessel ? Is it exercised towards improving 
 landlords, or conspicuous amongst the candidates for the 
 relief funds ? 
 
 * “ Ireland and the Irish,” p. 383. 
 
316 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Before I take leave of Mr. 0* Connell’s book, I must 
 notice one piece of unquestionable truth which it 
 contains, embodied in the following happy allusion to the 
 pelican : 
 
 u No ! thv chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, 
 
 But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons ! 
 
 Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird’s nest, 
 
 Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast.” 
 
 Let those who rashly say that the great Agitator’s life 
 is one entire falsehood, read this and recant : his most 
 inveterate enemy will feel disposed to believe that, as long 
 as the parent-land shall continue to bleed, so long will 
 she retain the affections of her patriot son ; but not one 
 moment longer. 
 
 The despair with which Ireland has been regarded in 
 all ages is curious, though fully accounted for in the 
 perpetual opposition to improvement on the part of the 
 leading men, whether kings, priests, or agitators, for their 
 own selfish ends. Henry VII I. ’s council admit that 
 they break down when required to find a remedy for Irish 
 disorders : 
 
 “Also there is a proverbe of old date, the pryde of 
 Fraunce, the treason of Ingland, the warre of Ireland, 
 shalle never have ende; which proverbe twycheing the 
 warre of Irland, is lyke allwaye to contynue without 
 Godde sett in menne’s brestes to fynde some newe 
 remedye, that never was founde before.”* 
 
 And three hundred years after this was written, the 
 “ newe remedye” appears as difficult to find as then. 
 Spenser’s lament on this subject, taken in connexion with 
 the present deplorable circumstances, and the dark 
 prospects of the future, seems like an awful prophecy : 
 
 “They say it is the fatal destiny of that land that no 
 purposes whatsoever which are meant for her good will 
 prosper or take good effect, which, whether it proceed 
 
 * State Papers, vol. i. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 317 
 
 from the very genius of the soyle, or influence of the 
 starres, or that God Almighty hath not yet appointed the 
 time of her reformation, or that He reserveth her in this 
 unquiet state still for some secret scourge, which shall by 
 her come unto England, it is hard to be knowne, but yet 
 much to be feared.”* 
 
 * “ State of Ireland,” vol. i, p. 1. 
 
 The news of Mr. O’Connell’s death is announced while these sheets 
 are passing through the press, and on this account the writer would have 
 wished to suppress some of the foregoing remarke. It is, however, to be 
 considered, that “ the evil that men do lives after them the book which 
 has been noticed is still doing its work, and is probably not concluded, 
 and the true character of the political charlatan but yet partially found 
 out. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Dress — Froissart's description of the four kings — Glibs — Ladles' dress 
 and persons — Enormous shirts — Henry VIII. ’s letter on dress — Acts cf 
 Parliament to regulate dress — Dress of nobles — Lord Roche and the 
 White Knight — Training the Earl of Desmond for a courtier — Changing 
 horses — Death of the last Earl of Desmond — Earl of Kildare at Slide- 
 groat — Retainers — Timely submission — English degenerate in Ireland 
 • — Law of inheritance — Kildare before Henry VII. — Countess of Ossory 
 — Efficacy of Irish water — Hospitality — Dress of the ancient Irish. 
 
 Mr. Moore notices a curious law on the subject of 
 dress : 
 
 “ In the reign of Achy, who was the immediate 
 successor of Tighernmas (that is, about 963 years before 
 Christ), a singular law was enacted, regulating the 
 number of colours by which the garments of the different 
 classes of society were to be distinguished. Plebeians 
 and soldiers were, by this ordinance, to wear but a single 
 colour ; military officers of an inferior rank, two ; com- 
 manders of battalions, three; the keepers of houses of 
 hospitality, four; the nobility and military knights, five; 
 and the bards and ollamhs, who were distinguished for 
 learning, six; being but one colour less than the number 
 worn by the reigning princes themselves.”* 
 
 * " History of Ireland," by Thomas Moore, Esq., vol. i, p. 109. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 319 
 
 So that the higher a man’s rank, the more he became 
 like a harlequin. And what must have rendered their 
 appearance still more strange was, that all these colours 
 were probably crowded into a single garment, and that of 
 the scantiest proportion. It is ascertained, however, from 
 the discoveries made in bogs, that ornaments, such as 
 necklaces, armlets, &c. of line gold, and very creditable 
 workmanship, were worn in these remote times ; and 
 Ware says the Irish kings wore pearl ear-rings. The 
 most curious and useful of these ornaments was certainly 
 that celebrated collar of Moran, the Chief Judge, under 
 King Feredach, the son of Crimthan, “which is said to 
 have given warning by increased pressure around the neck 
 of the wearer, whenever he was about to pronounce an 
 unjust sentence.” * 
 
 It is a pity that this admirable property of “choking* 
 off” the Judge, when disposed to worry and browbeat, 
 cannot be applied to some modern article of dress, and 
 extended to the bar as well as the bench. The original 
 collar, it seems, has been found in a bog near Limerick, 
 and might be presented with much advantage to the 
 importunate patriots of the day. 
 
 In Ware’s “Antiquities,” we find this regulation for 
 the dress of a clergyman and his wife . It is from a 
 canon of a synod held in St. Patrick’s time : 
 
 “ If a clergyman,” says the canon, “ from the door- 
 keeper to the priest, shall appear in publick without a 
 tunick, and not cover the nakedness and turpitude of his 
 belly, or who shall not wear his hair shorn after the 
 Roman fashion, and if his wife does not wear a veil 
 when she goes abroad, let such be separated from the 
 Church.” f 
 
 “ Respecting the dress of the ancient Irish,” says 
 Mr. Moore, “ we have no satisfactory information. In 
 an account given of them by a Roman writer of the third 
 century, they are represented as being half naked ; and 
 
 * Moore, vol. i, p. 122. 
 
 f Ware, vol. 11 , p. 239. 
 
320 
 
 PAD DIANA. 
 
 the Briton Gildas, who wrote about three hundred years 
 after, has drawn much the same picture of them. It was 
 only in battle, however, that they appear to have per- 
 sonated themselves in this barbarian fashion 
 
 enough may be collected from the accounts of a later 
 period, when they had become more known to Europe, 
 to satisfy us that the Milesian lord of the rath, and the 
 plebeian of the hovel, had as little advanced in the scale 
 of civilisation in their dress as in their dwellings; and 
 that, while the latter was most probably clothed, like the 
 lower order of Britons, in sheepskin, the chief himself wore 
 the short woollen mantle, such as was customary at a 
 later period among his countrymen, and which, according 
 to some authorities, reached no further than the elbows ; 
 leaving, like the rhenb, or short mantle of the ancient 
 Germans, the remainder of the body entirely naked.” * 
 
 We are fortunate in being able to witness, any rainy 
 day, a garment which will give us a fair idea of this 
 ancient mantle ; supposing it to be of a woollen fabric, 
 and patchworked with as many colours Sts you please. 
 We have to imagine a modern policeman in his cape 
 only, “ the remainder of the body entirely naked,” wear- 
 ing a long beard, an enormous bunch of hair on the top 
 of his head, which could be pulled over his face occa- 
 sionally, to serve the purpose of a veil ; and we have 
 before us a chieftain of the time of Feredach, the son of 
 Grim than. 
 
 Anything more entirely absurd, to our notions, than 
 a man wearing pearl ear-rings and other expensive articles 
 of jewellery, in such a state as this, it would be difficult 
 to fancy ; and their solicitude about covering their elbows 
 under such circumstances, would seem to show a national 
 perverseness in fixing the point of interest where it would 
 never have occurred to anybody else. 
 
 Mr. Moore, on the authority of Giraldus, enters a pro- 
 test in favour of “braccse,” or breeches; but, judging 
 
 * Moore, vol. i, p. 196. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 881 
 
 from what will presently appear, I think the plea scarcely 
 admissible. It is not to be supposed, that, having once 
 proved the comfort of that now indispensable part of 
 dress, they would ever have so far degenerated as to 
 leave them off again ; and that, in the time of Richard II., 
 their kings wore nothing in the nature of pantaloons, 
 is proved by incontestible evidence. The following extract 
 from Hanmer, which describes Prince John's reception of 
 the Irish chieftains on his landing, also shakes us in the 
 advocacy of early small-clothes : 
 
 “ At the first landing and entering of the King's sorme 
 at Waterford, a great many of the chiefest commanders 
 of those parts, being advertised of this his arrivall, came 
 and resorted to him in peaceable manner, after their best 
 manner, to salute and gratify his comming. One made 
 curtesie, another kneeled, some took him by the hand, 
 other some offer to kisse him. The new gallants and 
 Normans, such as had not beene before acquainted with 
 the country, neither the homelinesse of the people, set 
 them at nought, laughed at their mantles and troosses, 
 derided their glibbes and long beards : one takes a sticke, 
 and pats the Irishman on the pate ; another halls the 
 mantle, and pricks him behind with a pinne , some have 
 their glibbes and long beards pulled, and departing have 
 flappes on the lippes, thumpes in their neckes, and the 
 doore clapped on their heeles, with diverse other abuses 
 and incliscreete entertainment." * 
 
 The simple manners of these good-humoured savages 
 contrast very favourably with the “ indiscreete enter- 
 tainment" of Prince John's thoughtless young courtiers. 
 By the word “ troosses," perhaps, may be meant the very* 
 inefficient substitute for trowsers figured in the first edi- 
 tion of Holinslied's “ Chronicles of Ireland." The man 
 in armour is of the date of Elizabeth's time, one of the 
 force accompanying the Lord-Deputy into Munster. 
 Though armed cap-a-pie , his Celtic prejudice peeps out 
 
 * HanmerV “ History of Ireland/’ p. 332. 
 
 X 
 
PADDIANA. 
 
 in on unseemly fashion, and would argue an instinct not 
 unlike that of the ostrich. 
 
 The following account of the dress and behaviour of the 
 four Irish Kings, who submitted to Richard II., as it was 
 narrated to Froissart by the good Knight, Sir Henry 
 Christall, or Castide, “ an honest man and a wise,” is 
 not only very curious in itself, but conclusive evidence on 
 the great pantaloon question, at least in the fourteenth 
 century. Sir Henry, from his knowledge of the Irish 
 language and manners, is chosen to train these four 
 monarchs to civility. The account of his being carried 
 amongst the Irish by a runaway horse, whilst engaged in 
 a skirmish, is exceedingly graphic ; and how “ Brine Cos- 
 teret ” overtook him on foot, leaped up behind the horse, 
 and, instead of cutting his throat, as was usual, took him 
 home, married him to his daughter, and kept him seven 
 years ; at the end of which time, Costeret was carried 
 amongst the English by the same runaway horse, taken 
 prisoner, and exchanged for his son-in-law. 
 
 Sir Henry thus speaks of his charges : — 
 
 €€ For though they be kynges, yet no man can deuyse 
 nor speke of ruder personages. I shall shewe you som- 
 what of their rudenesse, to the entent yt maye be 
 ensample agayne people of other nacyons .... They 
 wolde cause their mynstrelles, their servauntes, and 
 valets, to sytte with them, and eate in their owne 
 dysshe, and drinke of their cuppes ; and they shewed 
 me that the vsage of their countre was good, for they 
 sayd in all thynges (except their beddes) they were and 
 liued a comen. So the fourthe day I ordayned other 
 tables to be couered in the hall, after the vsage of 
 Englande, and I made these four kynges to sytte at 
 the hyghc table, and there mynstrels at another horde, 
 and their servauntes and varlettes at another byneth 
 them, whereof by semynge they were displeased, and 
 behelde eche other, and wolde nat eate, and sayd howe 
 I wolde take fro them their good vsage, wherin they 
 hadde been norisshed. Than I answered them, smylyng 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 323 
 
 to apeace then); that it was nat honourable for then* 
 estates to do as they dyde before; and that they must 
 leauc it and vse the custom of Englande, and that it 
 was the kynge’s pleasure they shulde do so ; and how 
 he was charged so to order them. Whan they had harde 
 that they suffred it because they had putte themself vnder 
 the obey sauce of the Kynge of Englande; and parceuered 
 in the same as long as 1 was with them ; while yet they 
 hadde one vse which I knewe well was vsed in their 
 coutre; and that was they dyde were no breches, I caused 
 breches of lynen clothe to be made for them. Whyle I 
 was with them I caused them to leave many rude thynges; 
 as well in clothyng as in other causes. Moche ado I had 
 at the fyrst to cause them to were gownes of sylke, furred 
 with myneuere and gray; for before these kynges thought 
 themselfe well apparelled when they hadde on a man tell. 
 
 . . . They rode alwayes without saddles and sty ropes, and 
 with great payne; I made the to ryde after our vsage.” 
 
 They are made knights after the English fashion ; 
 watching all night before the church. 
 
 " These kynges sate that day at the table with Kynge 
 Iticharde. They were regarded of many folkes because 
 their behauing was straunge to the maner of Englande 
 and other coutries, aud euer naturally men desyre to see 
 newelties.”* 
 
 The reader will be disposed to agree with Froissart, “ I 
 wolde it had cost me largely that I had beene there.” 
 To inquiries as to their reasons for submitting, he says 
 the King tarried there nine months, "and euery man 
 well payed abasshed she Yrisshmen.” 
 
 One word more on the “ braccae question.” In that 
 bantering conversation between the Dauphin and the 
 Constable, in Shakspeare's Henry the Fifth, the former 
 says, “ O ! then belike .... you rode like a kerne of 
 Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait 
 trossers.” 
 
 y 2 
 
 * Froissaii, vol ii, pp. 620 — 623. 
 
324 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 Ware invests them with tight pantaloons, stockings, 
 and shoes, all in one; and ascribes the thick legs, of 
 both men and women, to wearing no heels to their 
 brogues, and so continually straining the sinews. 
 
 The “ glib” was an important part of their head- 
 dress. 
 
 “ Proud are they of long, crisp bunches of heare, which 
 they terme glibs, and the same they nourish with all their 
 cunning. To crop the front thereof they take it for a 
 notable piece of villanie.”* * * § 
 
 The glib was useful as a veil. 
 
 “ Whenever he hath run himself into peril of the law, 
 and will not be knowne, he either cutteth off his glibbe 
 quite, by which he becometh nothing like himself, or 
 pulleth it so low downe over his eyes, that it is very hard 
 to discern his thievish countenance. 
 
 And it was not less useful in a fight. They “ go into 
 battle bareheaded and without armour, trusting to the 
 thickness of their glibbes.^J 
 
 In the speech put into the mouth of the Danish Com- 
 mander, their accoutrements are represented as of a very 
 homely description. 
 
 “ Excepting a few of their princes and gentlemen, the 
 rest are but poore and needy slaues, bare . . . bare-legd, 
 and bare-footed, and of small strength. For armes they 
 were a skull, a sword by their side, hanging in a wyth 
 that compasseth their middle, and a target : other some 
 have darts : the best thing in them is that they are swift 
 of foot.Ӥ 
 
 It would appear that in Spenser’s time the mantle had 
 much increased in size beyond that mentioned by Mr. 
 Moore, since he describes it as — 
 
 “ A fit house for an outlaw, a meete bed for a rebel], 
 and an apte cloake for a thiefe, .... and being, as 
 
 * Holinshed’s “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. G7. 
 
 t Spenser’s “ State of Ireland,” p. 90. 
 
 t Ibid. p. 96. 
 
 § Hanmer’s “ History of Ireland,” p. 58. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 325 
 
 they commonlie are, naked, it is to them all in 
 
 all.”* * * § 
 
 This would scarcely have been applicable to a garment 
 that only covered the elbows. It is equally convenient to 
 the ladies. To 
 
 “ The wandering wo emeu, called of them mona-shull, 
 it is half a wardrobe ; for in summer ye shall find her 
 arrayed commonly but in her smocke and mantle, . . . and 
 as for all other good woemen which love to doe but little 
 worke, how handsome it is to lye in and sleepe, or louse 
 themselves in the sunshine, they that have been but a 
 while in Ireland can well witnes.**t 
 
 “ In another place, the ladies* dress is thus de- 
 scribed : — 
 
 “The great linnen roll which the women weare to 
 keepe their heads warme, after cutting their haire, wdiich 
 they use in sicknesse : besides their thicke folded linnen 
 shirts, their long-sleeved smockes, their half-sleived coates, 
 their silken fillets, and all the rest, they will devise some 
 colour for, either of necessity, or of antiquity, or of come- 
 lynesse.* J J 
 
 Sir John Perrot, amongst the other reforms which he 
 introduced into Munster, took in hand the dress of the 
 inhabitants : “ suffering no glibs nor like vsage among 
 the men, nor the Egyptiacall rolles upon women’s heads 
 to be worne; whereat, though the ladies and gentle- 
 women were somewhat grieved, yet they yeelded, and 
 giving the same over, did weare hats after the English 
 manner.” § 
 
 Ware, in his “ Irish Antiquities/* makes mention of a 
 clergyman who once got into trouble for meddling with 
 the ladies* hair. There was “ a strange kind of tonsure 
 introduced by iEd, an Irishman, who, from a long beard, 
 
 * Spenser’s “ State of Ireland,” p. 87. 
 
 t Ibid. p. 89. 
 
 t Ibid. p. 114. 
 
 § Holinshed’s “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 370. 
 
326 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 was commonly called the bearded clerk. He had ob- 
 tained a wonderful reputation for his learning and 
 sanctity; yet in the year 1053 or 1054, he was driven 
 into banishment, because in his school (wherein he had a 
 great number of clerks, inaids, and laicks), he took upon 
 him to introduce a new custom of shaving the girls after 
 the manner of the clerks ; as may be seen in Marianus 
 Scotus and Florence of Worcester/ 7 * * * § Ware also invests 
 the ancient Irish with “ a bonet or cap shaped like a 
 sugar-loaf/ 7 
 
 Their personal charms are thus described : — 
 
 “ Their women are well-favoured, cleane-coloured, fair- 
 handed, big, and large; suffered from their infancie to 
 grow at will, nothing curious of their feature and pro- 
 portion of bodie”f 
 
 Campion’s description of their morals I do not venture 
 to quote. Of the connubial habits of the chiefs he says, 
 “ One I heard named which hath (as he called them) 
 more than ten wives in twentie places.”! 
 
 He also says, “ Where they fancie and favour they are 
 
 w r onderfull kinde they have utterly no coyne 
 
 stirring in any great lord’s houses ; their ladies are 
 trimmed rather with massie jewels than with garish 
 apparell : it is accounted a beutie in them to be tall, 
 round, and fat.Ӥ 
 
 But if their garments were few in number, they made 
 up for that scantiness by the size of their shirts. “ They 
 wore their shirts and smockes of an immoderate size 13 or 
 14 yards of cloth in each.”|| And Campion more than 
 doubles even that liberal allowance. 
 
 King Henry the Eighth appears to have been much 
 scandalised at the size of the Irish chemises, and fixes the 
 
 * Ware, vol. n, p. 67. 
 
 f IIolinshetTs “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 67. 
 
 X ** History of Ireland/’ p. 27. 
 
 § Ibid. p. 28. 
 
 || Ware’s “ Antiquities,” vol. it, p. 178. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 327 
 
 quantity of cloth in each at five standard ells. He thus 
 writes, on the subject of dress generally, to the authorities 
 of Galway, in 1535 : — 
 
 “ Item . That every inhabitant, as well within the sayde 
 towne as the suburbis of the same, doo shave their over 
 lippes, called crompeanlis ; and suffer the here of their ’ 
 heddys to grow, till it cover their earys ; and that every 
 of theym were Englyshe cappes. 
 
 cc Item. That no man nor man-child do were no mantyls 
 in the stretes, but clokes or gownes, eootys, doublettes, 
 and hose, shapyn after the Englyshe facion, of the contry 
 cloth, or anny other cloth, shall please theym to by. 
 
 “Item, That no man, woman, or child, do were in 
 theyr shurttes or smockys, or anny other garmentes, no 
 sauffron, ne have anny more cloth in theyr shurttes or 
 smockes but fyve standart elles of that eontry cloth. 
 
 “ Item, That every man provyde with all spede, long 
 bowys and Englyshe arrows, and haunt shotying, and 
 specially every holyday, and to leave all other unlawful 
 gamys."* 
 
 His exhortation to them to draw the longbow seems to 
 have been attended with much success. 
 
 “ Their infants of the meaner sort are neither swaddled 
 nor lapped in linen, but foulded up starke naked in a 
 blankett till they can goe, and then if they get a piece of 
 rugge to cover them, they are well sped. Linen shirts 
 the rich doe wegire for wantonness and bravarie, with wide 
 hanging sleeves play ted : thirtie yards are little enough 
 for one of them." So that an Irish shirt of that time 
 must have taken about the same quantity of cloth re- 
 quired to make a pair of sheets of the present day. They 
 grew at last to such enormous dimensions as to be re- 
 strained by act of parliament. Till the time of Henry 
 the Eighth they dyed their linen with saffron to save 
 washing ; but, in Campion's time, this custom was fallen 
 
 * State Papers, p. 172. 
 
328 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 into disuse, and they had become so cleanly as to change 
 their shirts once a quarter. 
 
 “They have now/' he says, “left their saffron, and 
 learne to wash their shirts foure or five times in a 
 yeare."* 
 
 Several Acts of Parliament were passed to regulate the 
 dress in Ireland, as well to prevent the English from 
 adopting the Irish customs, as to force the latter to dress 
 like the English. An Act was passed in 1447, “ That he 
 that will be taken for an Englishman, shall not use a 
 beard upon his upper lip alone ; the offender shall be 
 taken for an Irish enemy, for that now there is no diver- 
 sity in array betwixt marchours and the Irish enemies, 
 a id so by colour of the English marchours, the Irish 
 enemies do come from day to day to enter into the 
 English marchours, and do rob and spill by the liigh.- 
 ways, and destroy the common people, by lodging upon 
 them in the night, and also do kill the husbands m the 
 nights .... wherefore it is ordained, that no manner 
 (of) man that will be taken for an Englishman, shall 
 have no beard above his mouth ; that is to say, that he 
 have no haire upon his upper lip ; so that the said lip be 
 once at least shaven every fortnight, or of equal growth 
 with the nether lip." f 
 
 In the fifth of Edward IV. it was enacted, that every 
 Irishman dwelling among the English, in the four counties 
 of the Pale, “ shall goe like to one Englishman in apparel 
 and shaving of his beard above his mouth, and shall take 
 a surname of one town, as Sutton, Chester, Trym, &c. ; 
 or colour, as White, Black, Brown." J 
 
 In the twenty-eighth of Henry VIII. (1537), it was 
 enacted, “ That no person or persons .... from and after 
 the 1st day of May, 1539, shall be shorn or shaven above 
 
 * “ History of Ireland,” p. 24. 
 
 + Statutes at Large (Ireland), vol. i, p. 7. 
 
 i Ibid. vol. i, p. 29. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 329 
 
 the eares, or use the wearing of haire upon their heads, 
 like unto long lockes called glibbes ; or have or use any 
 haire growing on their upper lippes, called or named a 
 crommeal, or use or weare any shirt, smock, kerchor, 
 bendel, neckkerchour, mocket, or linnen cappe, coloured 
 or dyd with saffron; ne yet use, nor weare in any their 
 shirts or smockes above seven yards of cloth, to be 
 measured according to the King's standard ; and that also 
 no woman use or weare any kyrtell, or cote, tucked up or 
 imbroydred or garnished with silke, or couched ne layde 
 with usker, after the Irish fashion ; and that no person 
 or persons, of what estate, condition, or degree they be, 
 shall use or weare any mantel], cote, or hood, made after 
 the Irish fashion ; and if any person or persons weare 
 any shirt, smocke, cote, hood, mantell, kerchor, bendell, 
 neckkerchor, mocket, or linnen cap, contrary to the forme 
 above received .... then it shall be lawful for every 
 the King's true subject to seize the same .... but 
 mantles may be worn on a journey." 
 
 It must be confessed, that the Act is sufficiently liberal 
 in the allowance of seven yards — sufficient for two shirts 
 of these degenerate days. 
 
 The Irish Lords seem to have been put to some incon- 
 venience, by an Act passed by the Lord-Deputy, Sir Ed- 
 ward Poyning, compelling them to appear in Parliament 
 in their robes ; “ which," says Fuller, “ put a face of 
 grandeur and state upon their convention. And, indeed, 
 formalities are more than formalities in matters of this 
 nature, essential to beget veneration in barbarous people, 
 who carry much of their brain in their eyes." 
 
 As the Lords appear to have dressed in much the 
 same way as the lower orders, and probably attended the 
 House in their saffron shirts and mantles, such an enact- 
 ment was loudly called for. 
 
 The following is Lord Thomas Fitzgerald's description 
 of his state when in prison : 
 
 “ I never had eny mony sins I cam into pryson, but a 
 nobull, now I have had nothyr hosyn, dublet, nor shoys, 
 
330 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 nor shyrt, but on ; no eny other garment but a syngyll 
 fryse gowne, for a velve furryd wythe bowge, and so I 
 have gone wolward and barefote, and barelegyd, diverse 
 times (whan ytt hath not ben very warme) ; and so I 
 shuld have done styll and now, but that pore prysoners, 
 of ther gentylnes, hath sumtyme geven me old hosyn, 
 and shoys, and old shyrtes.”*'’ 
 
 And his younger brother, when he fled abroad, was 
 “convayed aborde the ship in the nyght, in a small 
 cocke, havyng on but a saffronyd shurtt, and barheaddyd, 
 lyke one of the wyllde Yreshe.”t 
 
 CPNeill, on his submission, and being made Earl of 
 Ty rone, begged of Henry VIIL a gold chain ; and his 
 Majesty appears to have acceded to the request most 
 handsomely : “ And for his reward, We gave him a chayne 
 of threescore poundes and odd, and We payd for his robes 
 threescore and five poundes, and the charges of his crea- 
 tion, threescore and five poundes, ten shillings, and two 
 pens ; and We gave him in redy money oon hundred 
 poundes sterling.” J 
 
 The following request of the Earl of Desmond, “the 
 noblest man in all the realm,” “ lets in more light,” says 
 Mr. Moore, “ on the social condition of the Irish Dynasts 
 of that period, than could ever be collected from such 
 merely public events as form the whole and sole materials 
 of our general history.” lie requests “that the King 
 would provide him with robes to wear in Parliament, and 
 likewise with apparel for his daily use, whereof he hath 
 great lack.” 
 
 Sir Anthony Sentleger, the Lord-Deputy, “ had already 
 given this Earl a gown, jacket, doublet, hose, and other 
 articles of dress, for which he was very thankful, and 
 wore m all places where he accompanied the Lord-Deputy. 
 
 . . . . Mac Gilpatrick, also, who shortly after was 
 
 * His letter to Rotli. Moore, vol. in, p. 280. 
 f Warner : Moore, p. 287. 
 
 J Letter of Henry VIIL to the Lord-Deputy. State Papers, p. 381. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 331 
 
 created Baron of Upper Ossory, and CPReilly, who was 
 to be made Viscount of Cavan, were provided in like 
 manner with robes for Parliament by the King; while 
 the Chief CPRourke, who is described as a man some- 
 what gross, and not trained to repair unto his Majesty, 
 made petition only for a suit of ordinary apparel.”* 
 
 It certainly does give a curious picture of a nobleman, 
 who ruled over three counties, asking not for Parlia- 
 mentary robes only, but common wearing apparel, and 
 thankfully accepting what was given. But still more 
 amusing is the account of “the two Geraldine Lords of 
 Munster, the Lord Roche and the White Knight, who 
 having, by their constant quarrels and inroads, entirely 
 wasted each others territories,” are seized and delivered 
 up “ to be poonysshed “ and so I have laid them 
 bothe in your Castell of Dublyn, where now they 
 agree very well together, and lye bothe in one bedde, 
 that before could not agree in a countrey of fourty myles 
 in length betweene them^ and under ther rule. I pur- 
 pose they shall there remayne till ther amytie be better 
 confyrmed, and then, God willing, and your high plea- 
 sure so knowen, I entende to sende them home free, and 
 apparaill them lyke Englishmen, for now they be in 
 their saffron shurtes and kernoghes cotes. I must of 
 force so doo, or elles drive them to great extremyte, for 
 I think they bothe, with all their ryches, wolde not bye 
 themselffes one apparell, and pay for ther bourdes in 
 your saide Castell for one quarter of a yeare; and yet 
 I am sure ther landes, well orderid, wold make them 
 bothe greate Lordes.”f 
 
 The English reader will, perhaps, be surprised that 
 their wearing dirty shirts, asking for old clothes, taking 
 thankfully anything that is offered — as well as the great 
 CPNeilPs being unable to write his own name, was entirely 
 owing to Saxon misrule. 
 
 * Moore, vol. in, p. 318. 
 
 + Sentleger to Henry VIII. State Papers, p. 394. 
 
3S2 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 (e There needs no further or stronger evidence of the 
 embruting effects of the policy of the Pale and the sort of 
 frightful retribution by which it debased as well the rulers 
 as the ruled.”* 
 
 But (PDonnePs dress is a splendid exception to the 
 general fashion, — “a coat of crimson velvet with aiglets of 
 gold, twenty or thirty pair; over that a great double cloak 
 of crimson satin, bordered with black velvet, and in his 
 bonnet a feather set full of aiglets of gold.” No wonder 
 he is supposed, “in point of civilization, to be somewhat 
 advanced beyond the generality of his brother chiefs.”f 
 The following is a curious instance of a wish to avoid 
 notoriety in an Irish Member of Parliament ; a feeling of 
 which there are few examples at the present day : 
 
 “ Sir John Perrot summoned the Parliament to meet in 
 Dublin, 26 April, 1585 ... but only in English attire. 
 And although it appeared uncouth for some of them to be 
 so clad (who preferred Custom before Decency, and 
 Opinion before Reason), yet he constrained them . . . 
 The better to encourage them hereto, the Lord-Deputy 
 bestowed both gownes and cloakes of velvet and satten on 
 some of them . . . and yet they thought not themselves 
 so richly, or at least so contentedly, attired as in their 
 mantles, and other their country habits. Among them 
 we may remember one, who, being put into English 
 apparel, came unto the Lord-Deputy and besought one 
 thing of him, which, was, that it would please his lordship 
 to put one of his chaplains, whom he termed his priest, 
 to accompany him, arrayed in Irish apparel ; f and then/ 
 quoth he, f they will wonder as much at him as they do 
 now at me, so shall I pass more quietly and unpointed 
 at/ ” J 
 
 The chaplain’s astonishment at this proposition may be 
 imagined ; and it would be hard to say which was probably 
 
 * Moore, vol. in, p. 319. 
 f Ibid. vol. hi, p. 321. 
 
 X Ware’s “Antiquities,” vol. ii, p, 177. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 333 
 
 the more absurd figure, the reverend gentleman in his 
 Irish costume, or the honourable member in his velvet 
 and satin. 
 
 It is, perhaps, being a little too fanciful to imagine the 
 parliamentary language of those days, — “ The noble lord 
 in the glib ; the honourable gentleman in the saffron 
 shirt; the gallant officer in the kernoghe coat; or the 
 last speaker in the Irish trossers.” 
 
 Long before this the municipal authorities seem to have 
 set the nobles a splendid example of finery in their apparel. 
 In Ap. Parry’s letter to Cromwell (1535), narrating the 
 expedition of the Lord Butler into the south, he says 
 they were received by the Mayor of Cork, with his 
 brethren, in their scarlet gownes and typetts of velvett, 
 after the Ynglyshe faschyon.”* 
 
 He notices the good cheer at Youghal, and that Gascon 
 wine was at fourpence a gallon. 
 
 We have seen that O’Rourke, not being “trained to 
 repair unto his Majesty,” required only a common dress. 
 The following is the kind of training by which Desmond 
 is made a courtier : — 
 
 “ It happened that upon some occasion he (the Lord- 
 Deputy, Sir Edward Bellingham) sente for the Earle of 
 Desmond, who refused to come unto him, whereupon 
 
 calling vnto him his companie he forthwith rode 
 
 into Munster vnto the house of the earl ; being then 
 Christmas, and being unlooked-for and unthought-of, he 
 went in to the earl, whom he found sitting by the fire, and 
 there took him . . . and there carried him with him to 
 Dublin. This earle was verie rude, both in gesture and in 
 apparel 1 : having, for want of good nurture, as much 
 good manners as his kerns and his followers could teach 
 him. The deputie having him at Dublin, did so instruct, 
 schoole, and inform him, that he made a new man of him, 
 and reduced him to a conformitie in manners, apparell, 
 and behauiour apperteining to his estate and degree, as 
 
 * State Papers, p. 106. 
 
334 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 also to the knowledge of his dutie and obedience to his 
 souereigne and prince, and made him to kneele upon his 
 knees, sometimes an houre togethir, before he knew his 
 dutie .... That though it were verie strange to the 
 earle, who having not beene trained up in anie civility, 
 knew not what apperteined to his dutie and calling . . . 
 yet thought himself most happy that ever he was acquainted 
 with the said deputie ; and did for ever after so much 
 honour him, as that continuallie all his life-time, at euerie 
 dinner and supper, he would praie for the good Sir 
 Edward Bellingham ; and at all callings he was so obedient 
 and dutifull as none more in that land/’* 
 
 A powerful nobleman put to kneel by the hour together 
 for practice, is, perhaps, as curious a trait of manners as 
 any that could be noticed ; and his patience and gratitude 
 under the circumstances are not the less so. Of the rude- 
 ness of the times, volumes might be quoted. This is the 
 way they changed horses on a journey. Fitz Morris is 
 on a pilgrimage to the Holy Rood in Tipperary. 
 
 “ And when he came so farre, his carriage-horses 
 (which they terme garons) waxed faint, and could not 
 travele anie further, whereupon he commanded some of 
 his men to go before and look what garons they found in 
 the fields. . . . And it fell out they espied a plow of 
 garons plowing in the field, which they forthwith tooke 
 perforce .... and carried them awaie. Whereupon, 
 according to the custome of the countrie , the hohub , or 
 hue-and-crie, was raised. Sir William Burke and three 
 or four of his sonnes, and verie tall gentlemen at home 
 with him, they tooke their horses and a few T kernes, and 
 two shot with them, and followed the track . . . James 
 Fitz Morris, standing upon his reputation, thought it too 
 much dishonourable vnto him to depart with that which 
 he had in hand .... and whereupon each party set 
 spurre to the horsses, and encountered the one the other. 
 The skirmish was verie hot and cruell, and Theobald 
 
 * Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 324. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 885 
 
 Burke and one of his yoonger brethren were slaine, and 
 some of their men. Fitz Morris likewise and his companie 
 had the like success; for he himself was first hurt and 
 wmmded, and then with a shot stricken through the 
 head, &c."* 
 
 The off-hand w r ay in which they cut people down with- 
 out inquiry, may be instanced the death of the Earl of 
 Desmond, when in rebellion in Queen Elizabeth's time. 
 A party is out in search of him. 
 
 “ And in the dark night (on a mountain near Tralee), 
 one of them had espied through the trees a fire not farre 
 off, whereupon they caused one of themselves closelie and 
 secretlie to draw towards the fire .... and when he 
 returned backe unto them, he told them there was an old 
 bad house, and about five or six persons therein . . . And 
 when they were come to the house, they found in it but 
 onelie one old man, for the residue were gone. Then 
 Kollie drew his sword, and strake the old man, with which 
 blow he had almost cut off one of his armes; and then he 
 strake him again, and gave him a greate blow' on the side 
 of his head, wherewith the old man cried out, desiring 
 them to save his life, for he was Earle of Desmond, and 
 then Kollie staid his hands; but the earle bled so fast,- 
 that he w^axed verie faint, and could not travel anie further, 
 whereupon the said Kollie bid and willed him to prepare 
 himself to die ; and then strake off the carle's head .... 
 They sent the earle's head vnto the lord-general ; who 
 foorthwith sent the same into England for a present to hir 
 Maiestie ; which foorthwith was put upon a pole, and set 
 on London Bridge/’f 
 
 The old chronicles abound in personal traits, in which 
 consist the great charm of their pages. Take this scene 
 in the Tower, where Kildare is confined : 
 
 “ One night when the lieutenant and he, for disport, 
 were playing at slide-groat, suddenly commeth from the 
 
 * liolmshed, voJ. vi, p. 412. 
 
 f loiu. vol. vi, p. 454. 
 
336 
 
 PABDIANA. 
 
 Cardinell (Wolsey) a mandet to execute Kildare on the 
 morrow. The earle, marking the lieutenant's deep sigh 
 in reading the bill, ‘ By Saint Bride/ quoth he, f there is 
 some mad game in that scrolle ; but, fall how it will, this 
 throw is for a huddle.' " 
 
 The lieutenant goes to the King at midnight, to 
 ascertain from his own mouth if it were so ; and we 
 rejoice to find that “ King Henry, controlling the sauci- 
 nesse of the priest, gave him his signet in token of 
 countermand."* 
 
 The hangers-on of Irish families, who would do 
 nothing for their own living, have always been a 
 grievance. 
 
 “It was also ordered (1575, by Sir Henry Sidney), 
 that for the cutting off and abolishing of the great 
 swarmes and clusters of idlers which, like waspes> 
 troubled the whole land, and lived onlie by spoile and 
 rapine : that everie nobleman and gentleman should give 
 and deliver in the names of everie servant and follower 
 which he had, and should see the same to be booked and 
 registered. And if anie of them were found vnbooked 
 .... he should be vsed as a Tellon wheresoever he was 
 taken ; and for all such as whose names were registered, 
 his lord and master should answer for him."+ 
 
 In answer to the perpetual outcry against the English 
 governments of every age since the conquest, for their 
 constant wars against the Irish, and the cruelties exercised 
 towards them, it may be answered, that in no single 
 instance was any expedition undertaken by the English, 
 except to repel an attack and defend their own borders, 
 or to put down some enormous rebel, such as Shane 
 O’Neill, or Desmond, or Tyrone. 
 
 “If," says Sir John Davies, “he (Richard II.) had 
 broken the Irish with a war, and after established the 
 English laws amongst them, and not have been satisfied 
 
 * Campion, vol. i, p. 172. 
 
 Holinshed, vol. vi, p, 381. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 337 
 
 with their light submissions, wherewith in all ages they 
 have mocked and abused the state of England. . . . 
 
 This is the way they softened the young king. 
 
 “The Irish chieftains, laying aside their skins (skeins?) 
 and their caps, and falling down at his feet upon their 
 knees, which when they had performed, the earl (marshal) 
 gave unto each of them oseulum pacis.”f 
 
 “ With these humilities they satisfied the young king ; 
 and by their bowing and bending avoided the present 
 storm, and so broke that army which was prepared to 
 break them. The king feasted them ; gave the honour of 
 knighthood to diverse of them, did break up and dissolve 
 the army, and return into England with much honour 
 and small profit. . . . He was no sooner returned into 
 England, but those Irish lords laid aside their masks of 
 humility. . . . and began to infest the borders.”! 
 
 The readiness with which every English government 
 has pardoned the great mischief-makers of Ireland is 
 remarkable, even down to the present day, and in almost 
 every instance their submission has been rewarded with 
 honours and advantages ; gold chains and earldoms 
 formerly — good appointments now. 
 
 Instead of the Irish becoming degenerate from their 
 intercourse with the English, it seems to have been quite 
 the contrary. 
 
 u I remit their repudiation of their wives, their pro- 
 miscuous generation of children, their neglect of lawful 
 matrimony, their uncleanness in apparel, diet, and 
 lodging, and their contempt and scorn of all things 
 necessary for the civil life of man. 
 
 “ These were the Irish customs which the English did 
 embrace and use. . . . whereby they became degenerate 
 and metamorphosed. . . . and were turned into beasts ; and 
 yet took such pleasure in their beastly manner of life, as 
 they would not return to their shape of men again. . . . 
 
 * “ Historical Tracts,” p. 36. f Ibid. p. 39. $ Ibid, p. 37. 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 They not only forget the English language, but grow 
 ashamed of their very English names, though they were 
 noble and of great antiquity, and took Irish surnames and 
 nicknames/* * * § ** 
 
 And Spenser says, 
 
 “ It is more than ever I heard that any English there 
 should bee worse than the Irish. Lord, how quickly 
 doth that country alter men's natures !”+ 
 
 Campion is of the same opinion, 
 
 “Againe, the verie English of birth, conversant with 
 the brutish sort of that people, become degenerate in 
 short space, and are quite altered into the worst ranke of 
 Irish rogues ; such a force hath education to make or 
 marre/'J 
 
 The Irish character is in extremes. 
 
 “ In which virtue and diverse other how farre the best 
 excell, so far in gluttonie and other hatefull crimes, the 
 vicious they are worse than too badde/’§ 
 
 He makes the conquest their greatest blessing. 
 
 “ Secondly, it may appear how Ireland is beholding to 
 God for suffering them to be conquered, whereby many of 
 these enormities were cured, and more might be, would 
 themselves be plyable/'|| 
 
 Thi« was their law' of inheritance : 
 
 “ The inheritance descendeth not to the sonne, but to 
 the brother, nephew, or cousin-germaine, eldest and most 
 valiant : for the childe, being oftentimes left in nonage, 
 were never able to defend their propertie, being his no 
 longer than he can hold it by force of armes. 
 
 <c But by that time he grow to a competent age, and 
 have buryed an vncle or two, lie also taketh his turne, 
 and leaveth it in like order to his posterity. This 
 
 * 44 Historical Tracts/’ p. 147. 
 
 f 44 State of Ireland,” p. 237. 
 
 t Campion’s 44 History of Ireland,” p. 20. 
 
 § Ibid. p. 19. 
 
 fl Ibid. p. 21. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 339 
 
 custome breedeth among them continuall warres and 
 treasons.”* 
 
 The following anecdote is familiar ; but not, perhaps, 
 in the language of the old chronicler : 
 
 “ Gerald Fitz Gerald, Earl of Kildare, a mighty made 
 
 man, full of honour and courage . . , . open and passion- 
 
 able, in his moode desperate being charged 
 
 before King Henry the Vllth for burning the church of 
 Cashel, and many witnesses to avouch against him the 
 truth of that article, he suddainly confessed the fact, to 
 the great wondering and delectation of the councell, when 
 it was looked how he would justify the matter. 
 
 ‘ By Jesus/ (quoth he,) ‘ I would never have done it, 
 had it not beene told me that the archbishop was within . : 9 
 And because the archbishop was one of his busiest accusers 
 there present, merrilie laughed the king at the plainnesse 
 of the man to see him alleadge that intent for excuse, 
 which most of all did aggravate his fault. The last 
 article against him they conceived in these tearmes — 
 
 * Finally, all Ireland cannot rule this earle/ f No V 
 (quoth the king) ; * then, in good faith, shall this earle 
 rule all Ireland/ Thus was the accusation turned to a 
 jest ; the earl returned Lord-Deputy, shortly after created 
 knight of the garter, and so died.”+ 
 
 This is a picture of the Countess of Ossory, who 
 undertakes to civilise the Irish : — 
 
 “ He bare out the charge of his government very 
 worthily through the singular wisdome of his countesse, 
 a lady of such part, that all estates of the realme couched 
 to her ; so politique, that nothing was thought substan- 
 tially debuted without her advice; manlike and tall of 
 stature, very rich and bountiful], a bitter enemy, the only 
 meane of those dayes whereby her husband’s countrey 
 was reclaymed from the sluttish and uncleane Irish 
 
 * Campion’s “ History of Ireland/’ p. 28. 
 t Ibid. p. 148. 
 
340 
 
 PABDIANA. 
 
 custome to the English habite, bedding, housekeeping, 
 and civilitie.”* 
 
 The efficacy of the Irish water in cases of worms or 
 snakes, may not be generally known. 
 
 u It happened also in my time/’ saith Giraldus Cam- 
 brensis, “that in the North of England a knot of yonkers 
 took a nap in the fields. As one of them laie snorting 
 with his mouth agape, as though he would have caught 
 flies, it happened that a snake or adder, slipped into his 
 mouth, and glided downe into his bellie, where harboring 
 itself it began to roame up and downe, and to feede upon 
 the yoong man his entrals. The patient being sore 
 distracted and above measure tormented with the biting 
 pangs of this greedie ghest, incessantlie praied to God 
 that, if it stood with his gratious will, either wholie t 
 bereave him of his life, or else of his unspeakable mercie 
 to ease him of his paine. The worme would never cease 
 from gnawing the patient his carcasse; but when he had 
 taken his repast, and his meate was no sooner digested, 
 than it would give a fresh onset in boring his guts. Divers 
 remedies vrere sought .... pilgrimages to saints .... 
 
 but he was at length schooled to make his 
 
 speedie repair to Ireland. He did no sooner drink of 
 
 the water of that iland but forthwith he killed 
 
 the snake and so being lustie and livelie, 
 
 returned into England. 
 
 The hospitality of Dublin, in old times is thus spoken 
 
 ■M-— 
 
 “ Ancl not onelie their officers so farre excell in hospi- 
 talitie, but also the greater part of the ciuitie is generally 
 addicted to such ordinarie and standing houses, as it would 
 make a. man muse which waie they are able to bear 
 
 out/’J 
 
 * Campion’s “History of Ireland,” p. 1G3. 
 
 t Holinshed’s “ Chronicles,” vol. vi, p. 10. 
 
 X Ibid. p. 23. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Food of Ancient Irish — Drink — Shane O’Neill — His nuid-bath and rush- 
 light — Harper — Ancient cads — Coshering — Act to put down — Gam- 
 bling — Card-party in straw — Vanity-Hoaxing — Merlin taken in— 
 Ploughing by the tail — Act to prevent — Plucking sheep — Cow’s Com- 
 pulsion Bill — Burning corn instead of threshing — All owing to Saxon 
 misrule. 
 
 Op the Irish diet, this is the account in Holinshed : — 
 cx Water cresses, which they terme shamrocks, roots 
 and other herbes, they feed upon ; oatmeale and butter 
 they cram together ; they drinke wheie, milk, and beefe 
 broth. Flesh they devour without bread, and that halfe 
 raw, the rest boileth in their stomach with aqua vite, 
 which they swill in after such a surfet by quarts and 
 pottels. They let their cows blood, which growne to a 
 gellie, they bake and overspread with butter, and so eate 
 it in lumps. No meate they fancie so much as porke, 
 and the fatter the .better.”* 
 
 They sat down to table in this way : — 
 
 “ When the Irish met together at their ordinary enter- 
 tainments, they sat down in a ring on rushes or beds of 
 
 * Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 67. 
 
342 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 grass, instead of benches or conches. When they were 
 placed, three-legged wooden tables were set before them 
 covered with victuals .... Such as bread baked on a 
 gridiron or under the ashes, milk, meats, flesh and fish, 
 both broiled and boiled. The waiters in the mean time 
 serving drink about in cups made of wood or horn, and 
 sometimes of brass."+ 
 
 Speed, quoting St. Hierome, makes the Irish of early 
 times cannibals, “ who used to feed on the buttocks of 
 boies and women's paps, as their most dainty and delicate 
 dish."* * * § 
 
 Their taste for rumpsteaks showed itself in the 17th 
 century : 
 
 “ They roasted Master Watson alive, after they had 
 cut a collop from either buttock ." % 
 
 What can exceed this picture of diabolical revenge, 
 extended from the murdered English to their cattle? — 
 
 “ At the siege of Augher, they would not kill any 
 English beast and then eat it, but they cut collops out 
 of them being alive, letting them then rore till they 
 had no more flesh upon their backs ; so that sometimes 
 a beast would live two or three days together in that 
 torment. "§ 
 
 It will not be out of place here to mention a monster- 
 brewing of beef-tea introduced at the coronation of the 
 Kings of Ulster, and which differs from all other culinary 
 preparations in this, that the consumers formed a portion 
 of the ingredients. Campion says, — 
 
 “ In Ulster thus they used to crowne their king : a 
 white cow was brought forth, which the King must kill 
 and seethe in water whole, and bathe himself therein 
 starke naked; then sitting in the same cauldron, his 
 people about him, together with them he must eat the 
 flesh and drinke the broath wherein he sitteth, without 
 
 * Ware’s “Antiquities,” vol. n, p. 182. 
 
 f Speed’s “ Chronicles,” p. 167. 
 
 X Temple’s “ History,” p. 123. 
 
 § Ibid. p. 124. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 343 
 
 cuppe or dish or use of his hand. So much for their old 
 customes.”* 
 
 A pleasant party in a soup-tureen. But the chronicler 
 is not so explanatory as could be wished. Were the 
 subjects, as well as the monarchy restricted to the use of 
 their mouths only ? in which case the gnawing of a tough 
 cow must have been a work of much labour. Were they 
 tied to time ? Were they allowed to get out of the soup, 
 or obliged to finish the whole at a sitting ? Did they 
 keep the soup warm ? It is uncomfortable to be left in 
 the dark on these points. Perhaps the origin of Beef- 
 eaters, as attendants upon the Court, may be traced to 
 this ceremony ? A derivation of such high antiquity 
 must be more satisfactory than merely bringing them 
 from the “ Beaufettiers” of Henry VII. 
 
 In another part of Ulster it seems they preferred horse- 
 broth; and in the following extract we see how his 
 Majesty went down to dinner: — 
 
 “ There is,” says he (Giraldus), “ in the northern and 
 more remote parts of Ulster, namely, at Kenelcunil, a 
 certain people who use savage and abominable rites in 
 the creation of their kings. The whole people of their 
 territory being assembled together, a white horse is led 
 out in the midst of them, to which the person to be 
 created, not a prince but a beast, not a king but an out- 
 law, makes his approaches on all-fours in the presence of 
 the whole assembly, and there, without any sense of 
 shame or regard to civil prudence, professes himself to be 
 also a beast. Presently the horse is slain, cut in pieces, 
 and boiled ; a bath is prepared of the broth for the new 
 monarch, in which he seats himself, and he and his 
 subjects, in a circle round him, eat upon the meat. This 
 done, he drinks of the same broth wherein he bathed, 
 without using any vessel, or his hand, but laps it up with 
 
 * Campion, p. 24. 
 
344 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 his mouth. The ceremony thus barbarously finished, his 
 kingdom or dominion is confirmed to him.”* 
 
 The disregard to civil prudence which these monarchs 
 evinced in making beasts of themselves has been unhap- 
 pily shown by others of later date. The Kenelcunilians 
 had a decided advantage over the Coweaters, in that their 
 piece de resistance was cut up for them ; though we may 
 imagine the picturesque confusion of seizing upon the 
 joints with their teeth only, and then lapping up the 
 soup. 
 
 As their eating partook of a monster character, so it 
 appears did their potations. This is an anti-Mathewite 
 of those days : — 
 
 “ One Theoricus wrote a proper treatise of aqua vite, 
 wherein he praiseth it unto the ninth degree.” (A 
 delicate way of saying he was a nine-tumbler man). 
 “ He distinguished three sorts — simplex, composita, and 
 perfectissima.” (A simple dram, punch, and probably 
 a peculiar toddy of his own brewing). a He wisheth it 
 to be taken as well before meat as after. Being mode- 
 rately taken, it lightened the mind, it quickened the 
 spirits ... it keepeth and preservith the head from 
 whirling, the eyes from dazeling, the toong from lisping, 
 the mouth from maffling, the teeth from chattering, the 
 throat from rattling, &c.”t 
 
 At the present day we find the direct contrary of some 
 of the symptoms recorded by the chronicler, those in 
 particular which relate to the eyes and the “ toong 
 though many people will be disposed to agree with him, 
 that “ truly it is a sovereign liquor if it be orderlie 
 taken.” 
 
 Here is a picture of a convivial gentleman of the 
 sixteenth century— the celebrated Shane O’Neill, an in- 
 stigator of one of the “ notorious and main rebellions” of 
 Elizabeth’s time, and a man who so detested the English, 
 
 * Ware’s “ Antiquities,” vol. n, p. 65. 
 t Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 8. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 345 
 
 that he called his place “ The Hatred of Englishmen/' 
 and hanged one of his servants for eating an English 
 biscuit. 
 
 “ Subtill and craftie he was, especiallie in the morning ; 
 but in the residue of the daie verie vncertaine and vn- 
 stable, and much given to excessive gulping and sur- 
 fetting. And albeit he had most commonlie 200 tunnes 
 of wine in his cellar at Dundrun, and had his full fill 
 thereof, yet was he never satisfied till he had swallowed vp 
 marvellous great quantities of vskebagh, or aqua vite of 
 that countrie ; whereof so vnmeasurable he would drinke 
 and bouse, that for the quenching of the heat of the 
 bodie, which by that means was most extremely inflamed 
 and distempered, he was eftsoones conueied (as the 
 common report was) into a deepe pit, and standing vp- 
 right in the same, the earth was cast round about him up 
 to the hard chin, and there he would remaine untill 
 such time as his bodie was recouered to some tempera- 
 ture/'* 
 
 Shane O'Neill was in the habit of burning a rushlight 
 at night ; a wise precaution, considering the state in 
 which he went to bed. As in his drinking, so in his 
 night-light, he ran into extremes. 
 
 “ When Coloah O'Donnell sent spies into Shane 
 O'Neill's camp . . . they saw (in his tent) a light made 
 of rushes and tallow, and twisted together to so large 
 a size that it was as thick as a man's waist, and gave 
 light to a great distance."f 
 
 To the luxurious habits of this chieftain we are, per- 
 haps, indebted for the modern mud-bath; though to a 
 true appreciation of its delights — at least as a cold appli- 
 cation— it would be necessary to “ drinke and bouse," 
 like the great originator. When covered up to the 
 a hard chin" — a phrase which conveys to us some idea 
 of his style of countenance — as inferring a double chin, 
 
 * Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 331. 
 
 + Ware’s “ Antiquities/' vol. n, p. 184. 
 
346 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 as well as the comfort of not having the trouble to 
 support his head — with his “ glibbe” let down to shade 
 his eyes, he was doubtless attended by the family harper 
 and story-teller, to beguile the time “till such time as 
 he was recovered to some temperature.” 
 
 “ One office in the house of noble men is a tale-teller, 
 who bringeth his Lord asleepe with tales vain and frivo- 
 lous, whereunto the number give sooth and credit.”* * * § 
 
 The harper seems to have required some management, 
 like the artistes of the present day : 
 
 “And when the harper twangeth or singeth a song, 
 all the companie must be whist, or else he chafeth like 
 a cut-purse, by reason his harmonie is not had in better 
 price.” t 
 
 The cads of old are thus noticed : 
 
 “ They observe divers degrees, according to which 
 each man is regarded. The basest sort among them are 
 little yoong wags, called Daltins : those are lacqies, and 
 are serviceable to the groomes, or horse-boies, who are a 
 degree above the daltins.” J 
 
 This is a picture of the young gentlemen, who hung 
 loose upon the country, and ready to bestow their tedious- 
 ness upon any who would receive them : 
 
 “ The fifth degree is to be an horsse man, which is the 
 chiefest next the Lord or Captein. These horsse men, 
 when they have no staie of their owne, gad and range 
 from house to house, like arrant Knights of the Round 
 Table ; and they never dismount untill they ride into the 
 hall, and as farre as the table.” * 
 
 The practice, which we moderns call sponging, was 
 formerly coshering, and grew to such a ruinous excess, 
 that Acts were passed to put it down. Sir John Davies 
 thus describes the system : 
 
 * Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 68. 
 
 f Ibid. p. 67. 
 
 j Ibid. p. 68. 
 
 § Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 69. 
 
 '] 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 347 
 
 “ Cosherings were visitations of the Lords amongst 
 their tenants .... wherein he did eat them out of 
 house and home .... which made the Lord an absolute 
 tyrant, and the tenant a very slave and villein ; and in 
 one respect more miserable than bond slaves ; for com- 
 monly the bond slave is fed by his Lord, but here the 
 Lord was fed by his bond slave.”* 
 
 In the report of the Irish Council to Henry VIII., the 
 practice is thus noticed : 
 
 “ Item : The said Erles of Desmond, Kildare, and 
 Ossory, their wiffis, childrene, and servauntes, do use 
 after the custumbe and usage of wylde Iryshemen to cum 
 with a gret multitude of peple to monasterris and gentle- 
 men ys howsis, and ther to contynue two dais and two 
 nightes, taking met and drink at ther plesurs, and the 
 horssfs and kepers to be sheiffted or dvvydyt un the pore 
 far mors, next to that place adjoynyng, haing nothing 
 therfor; so as they be found in thys maner in other 
 men is howsis moo than halff the yere by this wild Irish 
 custume off extorcion, and spare their own howsis.” f 
 
 In the third year of Edward II. was “an Act to 
 restrain great Lords from taking of prizes, lodging and 
 sojourning against the will of the owner. Forasmuch 
 as merchants and the common people of this land are 
 much impoverished and oppressed by the great Lords of 
 the land, which take what they will throughout the 
 countrey without paying anything, or agreeing with the 
 owners for the same; and also forasmuch as they will 
 sojourn and lodge at their pleasure with the good people 
 of the countrey against -their wills to destroy and em- 
 poverish them, &c. It shall be holden for open robbery, 
 and the King shall have the suit thereof, if others will 
 not dare to sue.”{ 
 
 * Davies’ “ Historical Tracts,” p. 143. 
 t State Papers, p. 69. 
 
 X Irish Statutes at Large, vol. i, p. 1. 
 
348 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 In the tenth and eleventh of Charles I., this subject 
 again occupies the attention of the Legislature. 
 
 An Act for the suppression of cosherers and idle wan- 
 derers : “ Whereas there are many young gentlemen of 
 this kingdom that have little or nothing to live on of 
 their owne, and will not apply themselves to labour or 
 other honest or industrious courses to support themselves, 
 but doe live idely and inordinately, coshering upon the 
 country, and sessing themselves, their followers, their 
 horses, their greyhounds, upon the poore inhabitants; 
 sometimes exacting money from them to spare them and 
 their tenants, and to goe elsewhere to their eaught and 
 adraught, viz. supper and breakfast ; and sometimes 
 craving helpe from them ; all of which the poore people 
 dare not deny them, sometimes for shame, but most com- 
 monly for feare of mischief to be done .... And by 
 that lawless kind of life of these idle gentlemen and 
 others, being commonly active young men, and such as 
 seek to have many followers and dependants upon them 
 .... for they are apt, upon the least occasion of dis- 
 turbance or insurrection, to rifle and make bootie of his 
 Majesty's loyale subjects .... and in the mean time 
 doe and must sometimes support their excessive and 
 expencefull drinking and gaming by secret stealths or 
 growing into debts; or oftentimes filch and stand upon 
 their keeping, and are not amesnable to the law .... 
 Be it enacted .... that any person that shall walke up 
 and downe the countrie with one or more greyhound or 
 greyhounds, or shall exact meat or drink or money .... 
 or shall crave any helps in such sort as the poore people 
 dare not denie the same, for feare of some scandalous 
 rime or song to be made upon them, or some worse incon- 
 venience to be done them," &c. &c.* 
 
 Their requiring to be bought off, where they invited 
 themselves to breakfast or supper, has a parallel in some 
 
 '* Irish Statutes at Large, vol. n, p. 170 (1635). 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 349 
 
 of our vile street musicians, who levy a somewhat similar 
 exaction upon the lovers of peace and quietness, under a 
 threat of their “ scandalous rimes and songs/' 
 
 The love of gambling is thus noticed : — “ There is 
 among them a brotherhood of karrows, that proffer to plaie 
 at cards all the yeare long .... they plaie away man- 
 tell and all to the bare skin, and then trusse themselves 
 in straw or leaves. For defaulte of other stuffe they 
 pawne their glibs, the nailes of their fingers and toes, 
 their dimissaries, which they lease or redeame at the 
 courtesie of the winner."* 
 
 The extreme discomfort of a gentleman moving in 
 society with his nails in a state of mortgage, liable to 
 foreclosure at the caprice of the mortgagee — or even with 
 his head of hair at the mercy of a spiteful creditor — need 
 not be dwelt upon. In these hard times we feel how 
 difficult it would be to negotiate a loan upon such 
 personal security, even from the most liberal of the “ pure 
 race of the Caucasus." 
 
 Though by the modem practice of “ knocking" (see 
 ante) the dress is sometimes much reduced, yet I have 
 never known a man to go home in leaves, or straw ; and 
 a person “ cutting in," “ trussed" in this way, must 
 have given quite a rural feature to their card parties. 
 The “ glib," in its modern form of peruke, is not unfre- 
 quently parted with. 
 
 The “ knocking" system, no doubt, originated in the 
 scarcity of money ; for, according to Campion, “ they 
 have utterly no coyne stirring in any great lords' 
 houses." 
 
 There is something characteristic in the following : 
 
 “ For the Irishman standeth so much upon his gentilitie 
 that he termeth anie one of the English Septe, Bobdeagh 
 Galteagh, that is, English Churl ; but if he be an English- 
 man born, then he nameth him Bobdeagh Saxounegh, 
 that is, Saxon Churl. So that both are churls, and he 
 
 * Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 69. 
 
350 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 the only gentleman. And thereupon, if the basest pez- 
 zant of them name himself, he is sure to place himself 
 first, as ‘ I and O’Neile/ ‘l and you/ ‘1 and he/ ‘ I and 
 my master/ whereas the eourtesie of the English lan- 
 guage is clean contraries* 
 
 This is a notice of the Dublin beggars : u Furthermore, 
 there are so manie extraordinarie beggars that dailie 
 swarme there, so charitablie succoured, as that they make 
 the whole ciuitie in effect their hospitall.”+ 
 
 The propensity to hoax, or mystify — or by whatever 
 name it may be called — of which the “ Times Commis- 
 sioner” complains, is not confined to modern times. 
 Even Merlin was taken in by one of their cute noblemen : 
 
 “ A nobleman of Ireland had a suit to the King of 
 England, with whom Merlin was great, to whom he said : 
 
 * Merlin, if thou wilt effect my sute, come to Ireland and 
 I will give thee as much land as thou shalt see round 
 about thee : it was done ; after his arrival Merlin de- 
 manded his promise ; the nobleman put him into a cellar, 
 where was a grate, and without a bawne with an high 
 wall. ( Looke out! ? saith the Irishman. The Welch 
 Prophet could not see a quoit’s caste from him, and thus 
 was he deceived, having left his spirit of prophecy at 
 home.”{ 
 
 A caution to all prophets in future not to visit that 
 country so unprovided. 
 
 Perhaps the most extraordinary statute which appears 
 on record is that which prohibits ploughing by the horse’s 
 tail. Although it has already appeared in a recent publi- 
 cation, yet I am disposed to enter more fully into its 
 history, and give it in its entire form. The first mention 
 made of it appears under the date of July 26, 1634, as 
 follows : 
 
 “It is this day ordered by the committee for preparing 
 
 * Holinshed, vol. vi, p. 67. 
 f Ibid. p. 23. 
 
 X Hanmer, p. 19. 
 
‘ IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 351 
 
 Acts, &c., that His Majesty's Attorney and Solicitor 
 General shall with all conveniency, by the advice of His 
 Majesty's Judges of the several Courts, or the more-part 
 of them, make a draught of one or more Acts to be passed 
 for restraining the barbarous custom of plowing by the 
 tail, of pulling the wool off living sheep, of burning com 
 in the straw, of barking of standing trees, of cutting- 
 young trees by stealth, of forcing cows to give milk, and 
 of building houses without chimneys ; and likewise for a 
 condition to be inserted unto those Acts, that in case any 
 grant or licence shall hereafter be made or granted by any 
 authority from His Majesty for dispensing with the said 
 law to be made, that then and therefore the said Act or 
 Acts respectively shall be merely void, as to that part to 
 be dispensed with."* 
 
 It may be said with confidence, that such a jumble of 
 offences was never brought before the legislature of any 
 other country on the face of the earth. It is a thousand 
 pities that they did not proceed with the Cow's Compul- 
 sion Bill, as it might have enlightened us as to the 
 measures taken in cases of obstinacy ; they were probably 
 of much the same kind as those by which they made the 
 bulls “ rore " at Augher. 
 
 The Tail-ploughing and Wool-pulling Act received the 
 royal assent on the 18th of April, 1635. It is entitled, — 
 
 “An Act against ploughing by the tayle and pulling 
 the wooll off living sheep. 
 
 “ Whereas in many places of this kingdome there hath 
 been a long time used a barbarous custome of ploughing, 
 harrowing, drawing, and working with horses, mares, 
 geldings, garrons, and colts by the taile, whereby (besides 
 the cruelty used to the beasts) the breed of horses is much 
 impaired in this kingdome, to the great prejudice thereof : 
 and whereas also divers have and yet do use the like bar- 
 barous custome of pulling off the wooll from living sheep 
 instead of clipping or shearing of them : Be it therefore 
 
 * Journal of House of Lords (Ireland), vol. I, p. 10. 
 
PADDIANA. 
 
 3. r 2 
 
 enacted by the King's Most Excellent Majesty, and the 
 Lords Spiritual and Temporall and the Commons in this 
 present Parliament assembled, that no person whatsoever 
 shall, after one year next ensuing the end of this present 
 Parliament, plough, harrow, draw, or worke with any 
 horse, gelding, mare, garran, or colt, by the taile ; nor 
 shall cause, procure, or suffer any other to plough up or 
 harrow his ground, or to draw any other carriages with 
 his horses,, mares, geldings, garrans, or colts, or any of 
 them, by the taile ; and that no person or persons whatso- 
 ever shall, after the end of this present Parliament, pull 
 the wool off any living sheep, or cause or procure to be 
 pulled, instead of shearing or clipping of them ; and if any 
 shall doe contrarie to this Act, and the intention thereof, 
 that the justices of assize at the general assizes to be holden 
 before them, and the justices of the peace at their quarter 
 sessions, shall have power by this Act to inquire of, heare, 
 and determine all and every offense and offenses done con- 
 trary to this present Act, and to punish the offendors 
 which shall do contrary to the same by fine and imprison- 
 ment, as they in their discretion shall think fit/* ** 
 
 As the Act prohibits “ working and drawing" as well as 
 ploughing, by the tail, no doubt carriages — introduced 
 into Ireland long before this period — were so drawn, from 
 St. Patrick's chariot downwards. 
 
 But our satisfaction at the emancipation of the garrons 
 from this heavy infliction, is somewhat damped by finding 
 in the Journals that on the 11th June, 1640, in the com- 
 mittee of privileges and grievances, “An Act against 
 plowing by the tail and pulling the wool off living sheep, 
 thought fit by the Lords for a time to be suspended. "t 
 Did they think to stave off a rebellion by throwing this 
 boon to them ? or, being barred the tail, did they plough 
 by the leg, or the neck, and so hang their horses ? That 
 
 * The Statutes at Large, passed in the Parliaments held in Ireland, 
 «1. 11, p. 168. 
 
 t Lords' Journals, a.u. 1640, 16 Car. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 353 
 
 the Act was not effectual to prevent the practice is proved 
 by the fact that, till very lately, if not to the present day, 
 they harrow by the tail in parts of Mayo, Donegal, and 
 Roscommon.* 
 
 But the following is, perhaps, even more illustrative of 
 the Irish character : — 
 
 “ An Act to prevent the unprofitable custom of burning 
 corne in the straw. 
 
 “ Whereas there is in the remote parts of this kingdom 
 of Ireland, commonly a great dearth of cattell yearly, 
 which for the most part happeneth by reason of the ill 
 husbandrie and improvident care of the owners, that 
 neither provide fodder nor store for them in the winter, 
 nor houses to put them in in stormy weather, but a 
 natural lazie disposition possessing them, that will not 
 build barnes to house and thresh their corn in, or houses 
 to keep their cattell from the violence of the weather, but 
 the better to enable them to be Hitting from their lands 
 and to deceive His Majestie of such debts as may be owing 
 at any time and their landlords of their rents, doe for a 
 great part, instead of threshing burn their corn in the 
 straw, which might relieve their cattell in winter and 
 afford materials towards the covering or thatching their 
 houses and spoiling the corne, making it black, loathsome, 
 and filthy ; for prevention of which," &c. (ten days' im- 
 prisonment in the common gaol of the county). 
 
 “ Provided in late seasons it may be lawful for the 
 owner of as much corne of any kinde as shall be sowed 
 after one plough yearly, for the space of two years after 
 the making of this Act, to burn six bartes of corn (ac- 
 counting twenty ordinary shaves to the barte.)"t 
 
 Can anything show the Celtic character better than 
 this ? Here was a people living in houseless roofs for 
 want of straw, and their cattle dying for lack of fodder, 
 yet too lazy to take the trouble of threshing out their 
 
 * See post. 
 
 f Statutes at Large (Ireland), vol. u, p. 171 . 
 
 A A 
 
354 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 corn, and so supplying themselves with what they needed ; 
 so they threw the wheatsheaves into the fire, and, when 
 the straw was consumed, raked up the black, loathsome, 
 and filthy” grain out of the ashes ! No doubt this burn- 
 ing of their corn, ploughing by the tail, and plucking 
 their living sheep, as well as their breechless nobles 
 wearing dirty shirts and begging for old clothes, were all 
 brought about by “ Saxon misrule.” One thing, how- 
 ever, we may defy even an Irish patriot to assert — they 
 ear nt none of these practices from Saxon example. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Facts from Gweedore — M‘Kye’s inventory — Going to bed — Houses in 
 Donegal — A schoolmaster at home — A gutter Samaritan — Anecdotes — 
 A harrowing spectacle — Comparison of ancient and present state of 
 cabins — English settlers settled — Welsh settlers — Conclusion. 
 
 I shall conclude with a short notice of a very pleasant 
 little pamphlet entitled “ Facts from Gweedore/” compiled 
 from the notes of Lord George Hill, who some years ago, 
 purchased a considerable property in the wildest part of 
 Donegal — a tract of country that had been all but worth- 
 less* to all former proprietors, from the difficulty and 
 almost impossibility of collecting rents — where the tenants 
 fixed their own rents and paid when they pleased, some 
 being in arrear twenty years — where a landlord or his' 
 agent were afraid to show their faces, and where on one 
 occasion, a sheriff's officer was escorted by a whole corps 
 of yeomanry — where the people were huddled together in 
 a state of inconceivable misery and filth, always on the 
 borders of starvation, and where the subdivision of land 
 had been carried to such an extent, that in one place half 
 an acre was held by twenty-six tenants ! — here Lord 
 George settled down among his tenantry, built a store, 
 opened a shop to supply the poor people with what they 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 wanted, without the ruinous delay and expense of going 
 twenty miles for the commonest article ; and after num- 
 berless difficulties and opposition, completely succeeded in 
 the object which he had in view; for the amusing and 
 instructive details of which the reader is referred to the 
 book. 
 
 Attention was first drawn to this forlorn district by a 
 memorial, or petition, forwarded to the Lord-Lieutenant 
 by Patrick M‘Kye, the master of the National School in 
 the parish of Tullaghobegley, barony of Kilmacrennan, 
 county of Donegal, and which found its way into the 
 newspapers. In this very curious document the happy 
 thought occurred to him to introduce an inventory of all 
 the goods and chattels in the parish, and many which they 
 had not; the latter being quite as instructive as the 
 former. There is a serio-comic vein in this petition (as in 
 most things Irish) which is irresistible, and rendered the 
 more touching by the earnestness of the man. The 
 sensitive philanthropist, as he reads it, will hardly know 
 whether to laugh or cry. I shall give a few extracts. 
 This is the inventory of the effects of about 9000 people : — 
 
 “ 1 cart, 
 
 No wheel car, 
 
 No coach or any other vehicle, 
 
 1 plough, 
 
 16 harrows, 
 
 8 saddles, 
 
 2 pillions, 
 
 11 bridles, 
 
 20 shovels, 
 
 32 rakes, 
 
 7 table-forks, 
 
 93 chairs, 
 
 243 stools, 
 
 10 iron grates, 
 
 No swine, hogs, or pigs, 
 
 27 geese, 
 
 8 turkeys, 
 
 2 feather beds, 
 
 8 chaff beds, 
 
 2 stables, 
 
 6 cow-houses, 
 
 1 national school, 
 
 No other school, 
 
 1 priest, 
 
 No other resident gentleman, 
 
 No bonnet, 
 
 No clock, 
 
 3 watches, 
 
 8 brass candlesticks, 
 
 No looking-glasses above 3 d. in 
 price, 
 
 No boots, no spurs, 
 
 No fruit-trees, 
 
 No parsnips, 
 
 No turnips, 
 
 No carrots, 
 
 No clover, 
 
 Or any other garden vegetables, but 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 357 
 
 potatoes and cabbages ; and not house, the priest's house, Mr. Dom- 
 niore than ten square feet of glass brain’s house, and the constabu- 
 in windows in the whole, with the lary barrack.” 
 exception of the chapel, the school- 
 
 Seven forks among 9000 people is scanty ; and especially 
 if the stock of the priest, like himself, is included in the 
 inventory. One of the feather beds would most likely 
 belong to his reverence, and the other to Mr. Dom brain 
 leaving a trifle over a thousand occupants for each of the 
 other beds. The most astonishing thing is, there were no 
 pigs in the parish. But no coach ! no boots and spurs ! 
 he might almost as well have said, — no powdered footman, 
 no pink champagne. 
 
 He proceeds with a little domestic scene : — 
 
 “None of their either married or unmarried women can 
 afford more than one shift, and the fewest number cannot 
 afford any; and more than one-half of both men and 
 women cannot afford shoes to their feet ; nor can many of 
 them afford a second bed, but whole families of sons and 
 daughters of mature age indiscriminately being together 
 with their. parents, and all in the bare buff.” 
 
 All things considered, it may be taken as a fortunate 
 circumstance that there were only eight candlesticks in 
 the parish. 
 
 “ They have no means of harrowing their land but with 
 meadow-rakes. Their farms are so small, that from four 
 to ten farms can be harrowed in a day with one rake.” 
 Farms ! they were about the size of the bit of ground 
 in front of a Camberwell villa. 
 
 We hate ourselves for laughing at his pathos. 
 
 “Their children crying and fainting with hunger, and 
 their parents weeping, being full of grief, hunger, debility, 
 and dejection, with glooming aspect, looking at their chil- 
 dren likely to expire in the jaws of starvation.” 
 
 We have seen the state in which they lay: these are 
 the houses they lay in : — 
 
358 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 “Also man and beast house together; i. e. the families 
 in one end of the house and the cattle in the other end of 
 the kitchen. 
 
 “ Some houses having within its walls from one cwt. of 
 dung, others having from ten to fifteen tons weight of 
 dung, and only cleaned out once a-year !” 
 
 Not the least interesting part of the “ Memorial” is the 
 sketch of his lucrative appointment as the “National” 
 schoolmaster, modestly given in the third person. 
 
 “ I have also to add that the National School has greatly 
 decreased in number of scholars, through hunger and 
 extreme poverty ; and the teacher of said school, with a 
 family of nine persons, depending on a salary of 8/. a-year, 
 without any benefit from any other scource.” 
 
 Hear this, ladies and gentlemen interested in the 
 diffusion of useful knowledge. A “National” school- 
 master of this great empire was supporting a family of 
 nine persons on less than three farthings a-day each, till 
 near the middle cf the nineteenth century ! He thus 
 concludes the paragraph : — 
 
 “ If I may hyperbolically speak, it is an honour for the 
 Board of Education !” 
 
 Poor fellow ! there was no occasion for hyperbole to set 
 off his simple memorial. The force of the naked facts 
 which he lays before us defies the power of any figure of 
 rhetoric to heighten. 
 
 It will very naturally be supposed, that on the publica- 
 tion of this statement in the newspapers there was a rush 
 of “ patriots” to Tullaghobegley — a portion of the “ rent” 
 found its way there, of course — barrels of flour or a cargo 
 of potatoes were shipped, or packing-cases inscribed “ A 
 trifle from Conciliation Hall,” were forwarded. This, 
 however, does not appear in Lord Ceorge’s book, though 
 the following paragraph does : 
 
 “Amongst the advantages that resulted from the fore- 
 going petition, which appeared in some English news- 
 papers, was the distribution in the district of supplies of 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 359 
 
 shirts, shifts, flannel petticoats, and bed-ticks, furnished by 
 an English gentleman, whose name has never transpired.* 
 
 What a pity that this sneaking fellow — this gutter 
 Samaritan — was ashamed to declare himself! We might 
 have discovered perhaps that he was a “ bloated buffoon,” 
 or a “ one-armed miscreant,” “ a slobbering pedant,” “ ugly 
 always,” or having some other personal peculiarity on 
 which to hang our jests : at any rate, we might have 
 coined a story of his being well kicked, for as a Saxon 
 he, of course, deserved to be. 
 
 The anecdotes in this book are amusing in the extreme ; 
 as, for instance, that of the horse that was the property of 
 three people, each of whom shod his own foot, and the beast 
 fell lame because it belonged to nobody to shoe the fourth 
 foot ! Of the farmer, who being put into a good house 
 apart from his neighbours, complained that he could not 
 much longer stand the expense, as he was obliged to keep a 
 maid-servant to talk to his wife. And that of the “ rustic 
 Raleigh,” who, when the Lord-Lieutenant and his suite 
 were stopped by a bog in the road, unshipped the door of 
 his house and laid it down for the party to ride over ; then 
 shouldering the door, he accompanied the cavalcade, lay- 
 ing down his flying-bridge when required. 
 
 Such a harrowing spectacle as that presented in the plate 
 might have been seen in this district 
 
 “The land,” says Lord George, “has been seen to be 
 harrowed with the harrow made fast to the pony's tail.” 
 And in a note, — “This custom of harrowing from the 
 horse's tail prevails in Erris, county Mayo. A gentleman 
 in giving evidence before the Land Commissioners, says, 
 c Harrowing by the horse's tail was practised there until 
 I put an end to it. I had a good deal of trouble in 
 effecting that object, for I was obliged to make an experi- 
 ment upon one of the countrymen, by getting him to draw 
 a weight after himself by the skirts of his coat. That man 
 is still living upon whom I performed the experiment.' 
 
 * “ Facts,” &c. p. 7. 
 
360 
 
 PADDIANA. 
 
 You might see the poor horse, with the rope fastened to 
 his tail, and then to the harrow, and when thus harnessed 
 the man mounted upon him and drove over the field/'’* * * § 
 The picture of the Irish houses in M‘Kye’s memorial 
 shows that, at least in Donegal, they are no better than 
 they were in Spenser’s time, who says, because they are 
 “ Eather swyne-styes than houses is the chiefest cause of 
 his so beastly manner of life and savage condition, lying and 
 living with his beast in one house, in one roome, in one 
 bed, that is clean strawe, or rather a foul dunghill/’f 
 And a century later Sir Wm. Petty says , — “ Six or 
 eight of all the Irish live in a brutish, nasty, condition, as in 
 cabins with neither chimney, door, stairs nor window ; 
 feed chiefly upon milk and potatoes/’ J 
 
 And Sir John Temple charges it upon the priests that 
 they urged on the hatred of the Irish against the English 
 by a comparison of the manner of living of the two people. 
 “ To see the English live handsomely, and to have every- 
 thing with much decency about them, while they (the Irish) 
 lay nastily buried, as it were, in mire and filthiness ; the 
 ordinary sort of people commonly bringing their cattle into 
 their stinking creates, and then naturally delighting to lye 
 among them.Ӥ 
 
 Irish patriots, who contend for the superiority of the 
 Celtic race over the Saxon, must be puzzled to get over the 
 fact, that the English, whatever their religion, when set- 
 tled in Ireland, have invariably thriven ; and their flourish- 
 ing state, as contrasted with that of the natives, is dwelt 
 upon by every writer of every age. Sir Phelim O’Neill, 
 one of the most atrocious ruffians that ever existed, and 
 the great instigator of all the horrors of 1641, boasted to 
 Sir John Temple that he encouraged the English to take 
 his land, as it was better cultivated by them, and the rent 
 more punctually paid, than by his own countrymen : and 
 
 * “ Facts,” &c. p. 11. 
 
 f “ State of Ireland,” p. 135. 
 
 X “ Hist. Rebellion,” p. 27. 
 
 § Ibid. p. 79. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 361 
 
 yet by his instigation were 37,000 of them murdered in 
 cold blood ! 
 
 In truth, from the conquest to the present day, there 
 have been few inducements held out to settlers in Ireland. 
 This is the picture Ap. Parry (before quoted) gives of the 
 lands of the English, over-run and laid waste by the Irish 
 (1535) : — 
 
 “ Same day we rode sixteen mile of waste land, the 
 whyche was Ynglysh men’s grown d, yet saw I never so 
 goodly wodes, so goodly meadowes, so goodly pastures, 
 and so goodly reverse (rivers), and so goodly grown de to 
 to here corne ; and wher the regis (ridges) were, that hathe 
 borne corne, to my thynking ther was no beste dyd ett yt, 
 not these twelve yere, and that it was the moste part syche 
 wast all ower jurney.”* 
 
 The most persevering race of settlers that Irish— or 
 perhaps any other history — records, is to be found in a 
 Welsh family of the name of M'Gwyllen, the first of whom 
 went over with Strongbow, and they continued to hold 
 their own till the time of Henry VIII., when the head of 
 the family petitioned the king to pardon him for joining in 
 O’Neill’s rebellion ; and Sentleger, in his letter to the 
 king, says, “ He confesseth none of his name, sithe the 
 first conquest of their saide lande, being captain, have died 
 in their beddes, but all slayne by Irisshemen.”f 
 
 That the IVPGwyllens should have persevered, and every 
 head of the family regularly killed off during 470 years, 
 gives us a fair idea of Welsh obstinacy. We are pleased to 
 find that they were not only pardoned, but assistance 
 given them when invaded by one called O’Chaan, “ a 
 prowde, obstynate Irysheman,” who is taken, as is also his 
 castle on the Ban, 
 
 It is impossible to live amongst the Irish without liking 
 them, in spite of their faults. Their errors are of the 
 head. They have no individuality : they go in crowds to 
 do things, and can resolve upon nothing without talk and 
 
 * State Papers, 106. 
 
 f Ibid. 366. 
 
362 
 
 JADDIlfi. 
 
 agitation. Their excitable temperament has rendered them 
 in all ages the ready tools of the powerful and designing. 
 
 “What did they ever get,” says Sir Wm. Petty, “by 
 accompanying their lords into rebellion against the Eng- 
 lish ? What should they have gotten if the late rebel- 
 lion (1641) had absolutely succeeded, but a more absolute 
 servitude ? And when it failed, these poor people lost all 
 their estates, and their leaders increased theirs, and enjoyed 
 the very land which their leaders caused them to lose. 
 The poorest now in Ireland ride on horseback, when 
 heretofore the best ran on foot like animals. They wear 
 better clothes than ever ; the gentry have better breeding, 
 and the generality of the plebeians more money and 
 freedom.”* 
 
 And here I take leave of the reader, if any, indeed, have 
 accompanied me so far. To the great majority of us 
 unimaginative Saxons, the Irish character is a profound 
 mystery. It is a jumble of contradictions ; a mixture of 
 shrewdness and simplicity; unbounded credulity and the 
 most foolish distrust; a keen sense of honour with the 
 most dishonest jobbing; high spirit and abject depen- 
 dence ; industry and laziness ; hard work abroad, apathy at 
 home; a constant clamouring for equal justice, but prac- 
 tising none themselves. 
 
 They spend without thought and accept without shame : 
 the old spirit of “ coshering” is still strong amongst them, 
 and they are ready to bestow their burdens or their 
 company upon any one who will, under any circumstances, 
 accept the charge. Their sense of right and wrong is 
 different from ours. A man occupying the high post of a 
 legislator will, for factious and selfish purposes, falsify all 
 history to make out a case ; and readily enough abuse any 
 writer who may expose his nefarious practices. A respect- 
 able landlord thinks it a clever trick to put his tenants 
 upon the relief list, and there is not a farmer in Ireland 
 
 * u Ilist. Rebellion,” p. 100. 
 
IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 363 
 
 who w T ould blush to withhold his seed-wheat and let his 
 land lie fallow, if he thought there was a probability that 
 the Government would find him seed and till his land for 
 him. His long-tongued orators know this and clamour 
 for him; and even English gentlemen will, for factious 
 purposes, join in the unworthy cry. 
 
 It may seem harsh and unkind to say that kindness and 
 conciliation, are thrown away upon the Irish in their pre- 
 sent state, unless, indeed, it be accompanied by a pretty 
 strong demonstration of power. Savages, or even half- 
 savages, must feel the strong hand to inspire them with 
 respect. Try the conciliatory system in the East, and not 
 even ready money will get you on. Are the Irish civi- 
 lised ? Are they in a condition to be placed on the same 
 footing as the English ? Can a people be called civilised 
 where farm-labourers work under an escort of police ? 
 where murderers are fostered and improving landlords 
 shot ? where they harrow by the horses* tails ? where 
 ball-proof waistcoats are lucrative articles of manufacture ? 
 where they believe in O* Higgins ? and up to the present 
 moment have paid an impostor a princely income to 
 disunite them from their only friend ? 
 
 In truth, when we reflect upon the scrapes which this 
 brave, good-humoured, generous, and nose-led people have 
 been brought into in all ages by their kings, their chiefs, 
 their priests and their patriots, we are astonished to read 
 in Holinshed that 
 
 “ There is no Irish terme for a knave . ” 
 
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