My Tour in the West – Ireland 1915 (pt2)

I must admit that so far as comfort and arrangements were concerned the evening and the morning that were our first day augured well for the pleasure as well as the enlightenment of the trip. It is true we did not see much of Sligo, but we saw much of its bays and surroundings. But we saw enough of it to satisfy is that both this town and its local government might be better, and that it should be in better hands. But I am afraid that that could be said of many other Urban Councils, so perhaps we should not regard Sligo as the chief of sinners in that; respect. But I do think from all I saw and heard that it is entitled to a front place in the ranks. At the railway station we discovered what great things the Midland Great Western Company had done for us, as they have done great things for the West of Ireland, of which more anon. We had a special saloon car at our disposal, and it continued with us till we took leave of its system at Ennis. We also had in special charge of us, so far as the railway was concerned, Mr. Thomas Elliott, the traffic superintendent, who is not only a most careful and capable official, but a most courteous and obliging gentleman. He looked after our comforts, creature and otherwise, so long as we remained in his bailliewick, and we all feel grateful not only to him for his attention and care, but grateful to the company for having sent him. I may say that I here, too, met for the first time Prof. Cook, who edits one of the best Irish guide books, and is himself a cyclopedia of information on the district and its resources, and can tell as many and as strange "fishing" stories as ever entered into the mind of an angler to relate or invent. He is a great angler as well as a great raconteur. At Galway he almost made me weep over the sufferings to which the salmon are exposed by nets. I felt ashamed to finish the salmon I had for breakfast lest it might have been unmercifully netted and deprived of a sporting chance of life. However, he was a most interesting companion, and we were all sorry to find that professional duties in Dublin called him away before the end of our tour. Under pleasant auspices and in a spirit of combined jollity, observation, and inquiry, we set out for Claremorris, Castlebar, and Westport to Mallaranny, a railway journey of four hours' duration. But with the variety and charm of the scenery, and advantages of conversation and comment, the journey did not seem long, and was far from wearisome. There were many points on the route, and especially Westport, with its rich foliage, and the residence of the Marquess of Sligo in its neighbourhood. But we had to push on, only glancing at what we might have dwelt on, with Achill and the Atlantic as our farthest object for the day. But when we got to Mallaranny and to the picturesque and well-equipped hotel which the Midland Railway provided, we did not desire to leave the place, and nothing but the assurance that we were to come back and remain overnight could have reconciled us to the departure. There, indeed, one in search of rest could remain many days, the world forgetting, by the world forgot. It is a considerable descent from the level of the railway to the level of the sea, and through beautiful hedgerows with fuchsias in plenty, we reach the hotel, about midway to the shore. The hotel is not only picturesque itself, but has in front a beautiful bay, with islands and mountains, so that the prospect was one to charm and delight. I may just stop here to say that the rivers and bays seem as plentiful in Connemara as mountains, and that the disciples of Isaac Walton could find rest and enjoyment, with abundance of fish waiting for the hook, and scenes that would delight the eye of an artist, and give pleasure and repose to any wearied soul. It is fishing, fishing everywhere, and plenty of fish to catch, if one knows how and cares for the sport. For my part I neither know nor care. But if any do they cannot go astray in finding fish and kindred sport in almost any part of the route over which we were carried.

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Tourists arrive by horse-drawn cart at Slievemore Hotel, Dugort, Achill c1900.
 National Library of Ireland LROY 06798

After luncheon and a short run on the railway we were once more on motoring bent, and a pleasant run of an hour and a half or so brought us through Achill to Dugart. where we were entertained by Mr. Sheridan at the Slievemore Hotel, to tea and talk, for Mr. Sheridan is not only a custodian of many curiosities, but he is a curiosity in himself, being an artist as well as hotel proprietor, and whose pictures are as much a feature of the hotel as its cleanliness and cuisine. A lovely and restful spot in itself, it had a special interest for me in the fact that just in front lies Blacksod Bay, about which so much has been heard in connection with the all Red route from Ireland to Canada. It seems that war vessels, can anchor in the bay, so that Atlantic liners might do the same. It would be an expensive matter to construct railways and harbour for such a service, and it is a question if it will be ever, or at any rate for a long time, carried out. But those who profess to know say that it is feasible, except for the money, and would shorten the distance between this country and Canada. Here as elsewhere the rod and gun have fine opportunities for exercise.

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It was on our return to Mallaranny, I think it was at Achill station, that we witnessed an interesting sight, in the light of the fate that has overtaken the Canadian flour in the Dufferin Dock – namely, the distribution of some waggon-loads of Canadian flour to the supposed poor people of the district. There were fifty or one hundred people, chiefly women, looking carefully after the flour, which some men were carrying out for them. They were all dressed, in the now to us familiar red petticoats, and were pushing and rushing and jabbering away in what I suppose was Irish, and laughingly welcoming the treasure trove. I found that some got two bags and some four, whether according to their relative necessities or the scale of their valuation I cannot say. All I can say is that if there was much distress among these people they disguised it wonderfully. I did not see half a dozen of pinched faces or ragged clothes such as we would associate with distress in Belfast. There was a healthiness and a cheerfulness suggestive of anything but poverty. It is perhaps true, as suggested to us by a native looker-on, that the people who were getting the flour were not the real and deserving poor at all, but those who understood the gentle art of manipulating. At any rate, if there was much distress among the people they did not show it. It may be, however, that the air is a food in itself, and that that made them all look so healthy. I cannot say. Someone, however, a looker-on, made the remark, whether original or not I cannot say, that "If it was not for these famines we would be all starved." The saying has its meaning and the incident its moral.

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On our return to Mallaranny we were entertained to diner by the Railway Company, the proprietor's of the hotel, and in due time, and after toasting our hosts and Mr. Elliott, and discussing the incidents of the day, we retired to rest with that contented feeling that arises from something having been accomplished, something done, to earn a night's repose. We had done Achill, and got a Pisgah view of the Atlantic, wherewith we were content. Sufficient for the day were the ever-changing panorama of wild and picturesque beauty and the moderately bright sun thereof.

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We have now reached the third day of our journey, and I must hurry up, as I find I am spending more days at the tale than at the trip. We bade farewell, and a regretful farewell, to Mallaranny at ten o'clock in the morning. Though our enthusiasm remained high, our spirits fell, for the morning was wet and dull, and in great part the day was as the morning. This was the day reserved for some of the best scenery, especially of mountain – the mountains known as the Twelve Pins and Croagh Patrick coming within our line of route. But, alas! We could see little, if any, mountain except its base, for their caps were all covered with clouds, and while their fleeces may have had a charm of their own we should have preferred the mountains to have had a place in the sun rather than in the clouds. However, we had to make the best of it. And we did.

Bath Hotel, Westport c1911

Our first stop was at Westport, where the Midland Great Western had motors to meet us. We had not time to observe the surroundings of Westport, which are beautiful, but we had a drive in the town, and saw the river which glides through it. And then we made our entry into Galway. Here we had mountains and valleys, rivers and bays at every turn. We had more foliage and less stones than at Mayo, and picturesqueness everywhere. It was on part of this route, if I remember aright, we were pointed out the residence of the inventor of the submarine, Mr. Holland. It appears he offered it at first to the British Government, which refused it, as usual, and the inventor had to find a market for it in the United States, whence it proceeded to Germany, and we now know the use the Germans have made of it. As a counterblast to that we were told that the man who fired the shell that sunk the first German war vessel came from the same neighbourhood, so that Ireland produced quite as great a hero as Michael O'Leary, though we do not hear so much about him. I could not say whether our run was twenty, thirty, or forty miles for the forenoon, for miles seemed as nothing to the chauffeurs or the motors, but true to time and rule we reached the Grand Hotel, Leenane, at the head of the beautiful Killary Bay, of which we had many fine views, at the scheduled hour. It is remarked in my guide-book that this place is noted for its excellent lunch, and it well deserves to be. The situation is beautiful and central, and the proprietor, Mr. M'Keown, is a marvel, for not only does he run a fine hotel with beautiful grounds, but he makes cloth, and gives considerable employment. It is all conducted in a most primitive way, but the results are said to be satisfactory to manufacturer and wearer. I may just mention -- and it is not peculiar to this place – that programmes are provided for a week's visit, with tours or fishing provided for each day.

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Leaving Leenane our next stop was at Clifden. It was on this part of our route that we enjoyed some of the most picturesque scenes of our trip. One of the finest of these was at Kylemore. With a lough in front, and rich woodland all around, stands the baronial pile erected by the late Mr. Mitchell Henry, M.P., at one time member of the firm of Messrs. A. & S. Henry, and a beautiful church provided by the same lavish hand close by. The mansion is stately and its situation picturesque. Seldom have I seen a residence so beautiful and so far from the madding crowd. Here, indeed, can rest be found, with everything to delight the eye and charm and satisfy the artistic sense. None but a man of taste could have conceived such a residence, and none but a man of great means could have provided it. But then Mr. Henry was rich, and member for Galway at the time, and so he pleased him self, and delighted his constituents at the same time. In the evening we reached Clifden, and saw the little town and some of the artists who make ornaments out of the Connemara marble, which is found within measurable distance of it. Our next halt was at Recess, which, like so many other places, is an angling centre. If Recess has many inhabited houses we did not see any save the Railway Hotel, which is situated at the head of a beautiful lough, and embowered among beautiful foliage. We could have dwelt long on this beautiful spot, but the gong sounded for dinner on arrival, and we found ourselves the guests of the Midland Great Western Railway, with Mr. Brady. M.P. for Stephen's Green, one of the directors of the company, representing them. We did ample justice to the dinner, which was as fine as could have been provided in any hotel in the kingdom, and the attendance, which was excellent, was all provided by girls. Our guides and ourselves took advantage of this occasion to thank the directors of the railway company for their kindness, which was marked, and their hospitality, which was lavish. At a late hour we entrained for Galway, which we reached after midnight, when we had our first news about the settlement of the coal strike, for during the rest of the time we were out of range of newspapers.

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Church Street, Ennis

Reserving what I might have to say about Galway I content myself to-day with a brief account of our next day's run, which in many respects was among the most pleasant of our tour. We travelled by the Midland Great Western through Athenry to Ennis, the capital of Clare, where we bade farewell to that railway that had done so much for us. Here we were transferred to a light railway, that of West Clare, and introduced to its veteran manager, Mr. P. Sullivan, the doyen of railway managers, and the finest specimen of a good-natured and kindly Irishman I have met. Here we were also joined by Mr. Smith, the traffic superintendent of the Great Southern and Western Railway, which company interests itself in this movement, and is co-operating heartily in every effort to develop touring in the South and South-West. Mr. Smith proved an interesting companion as well as a most capable and experienced railway official. Here, as in the former part of our route, we had a special saloon carriage, but it was like a toy compared with the other. But if smaller in size, it was a model of taste and neatness, with fine coloured glass windows, more suggestive of a Cathedral than a railway carriage. And, what is more, it was all of home manufacture, this small railway making all its own carriages. We had a pleasant run through Clare, which is more noted for pasture than tillage, and more noted for crime than either. Our first stop was at Lahinch, a lovely little spot by the sea, with an hotel constructed of Norwegian pine, and removed from its natal place in sections. It is picturesque and comfortable. In addition to the sea, the pride of Lahinch is its golf course and its hotel, which is named after golf, and its charming scenery. Here we were entertained to an elegant luncheon, presided over by Mr. Murray, who is chairman of the company. I had an idea I had seen him before, and after an introduction I was sure, for he is Mr. Murray, of Limerick, head of one of the finest drapery establishments in the South – Tod & Co. – and connected with many of the most flourishing concerns in the city. He is a member of the Presbyterian Church, and I then remembered I had met him at the Assembly in Belfast in the old days of instrumental music, in which he took a great interest. I was proud to hear that he is held in honour all over Limerick, where his name and work for the promotion of industry and all good work is a household one. From Lahinch we were motored by the coast to Ballyvaughan, and then by a serpentine or cork-screw road over the mountains to Lisdoonvarna. With the Atlantic on one hand and for the great part mountains covered with stone, on the other, the experience of this drive was as novel and interesting as the scene was picturesque and suggestive. For mile upon mile, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but mountains of huge boulders that at a distance suggested heather till you realised that they had another covering. Lisdoonvarna, celebrated for its spas and its health-giving propensities, is situated at the top of the mountain, and is mainly a town of hotels and boarding-houses. My part of the company was entertained at the Queen's Hotel, which has a charming prospect, and is well equipped with all comforts and conveniences. Lisdoonvarna is a favourite health resort not only for the people of the South, but from many other parts of the country, and not least by Roman Catholic clergy, of whom there were many. We sampled the waters, and were shown over the grounds. I must say that the spot seems ideal as a health resort, and its arrangements are most modern.

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Having done justice to Lisdoonvarna, we were motored to Ennis, a station on the Clare Railway, and driven by a special train to Kilkee, where we were put up at Moore's Hotel, of which Miss M. Fulham is the manageress. It was morning before we could see Kilkee, but the sight of it was worth the whole journey. It is one of the most picturesque watering-places in Ireland, with a beautiful strand and ruggod rocks that add to its picturesque grandeur. The morning was bright and beautiful, and we saw the place at its best, with hundreds of children enjoying themselves in the sands and in the surf. It has a local Council, but its guide, philosopher, and friend seem to be the Rev. Canon Glynn, who did the honours of the reception for us, and explained what he and others had done for modernising the town in the matter of sanitation and water. Pure water to drink and the waters and waves of the Atlantic to sport in Kilkee must surely have a great future before it, as it is very good and growing in the present.

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At noon we left for Kilrush, a fine shipping port a few miles from Kilkee. It seems an industrious and thriving little town. Here we joined the Limerick Steamship Company's Shamos, and steamed up to Limerick, which we reached at four o'clock.

– "The Man in the Street," in "The Ulster Echo."

Source: The Witness, 6 August 1915.

The Call

See from the hills that river run
Red as the rays of the setting sun.
What is there in that ripping rill
That makes my saddened senses thrill?
’Tis blood! red blood! It cries to me
From the storm-swept hills of Gallipoli.

List to the mother’s mournful moan,
As she nurses grief; unseen, alone.
“Oh, river of death; Thou hast borne away
My joy, and turned to night my day,
For the child of my love and prayers, ah me!
Is filling a grave in Gallipoli."

Hark to her voice within that cry
Pleading with pent-up agony,
’Tis my Master speaks: “Would My servant share
My glorious crown and mansions fair?
Take up thy cross and follow Me
To the moaning hills of Gallipoli.”

Humbly I follow on, spurred by that call,
Seeing through cloud and mist His love o’er all,
Bruised and torn, maybe, yet not dismayed,
Looking to Him for strength and aid,
Hastening to that glad day, when all shall see
The Christ of the Cross in Gallipoli.

Riddell’s Creek. J.S.

The Witness, 22 October, 1915

My Tour in the West – Ireland 1915

Monday.

I have just returned from a tour in Connemara and in the West and South-West of Ireland. It was most interesting and illuminative. It was a lightning tour, but it was unaccompanied by any thunder except the thunder of eloquence, and occasionally the thunder of the Atlantic. Tt was carried out under the most pleasant auspices. We had as guides, philosophers, and friends two of the leading spirits of the Irish Tourist organisation, Mr. J. Maher Loughnan and Mr. C. Hartnell, with Mr. Moore, of the celebrated Cook Touring Agency, and Mr. Hewitt, of the Lunn and Polytechnic Touring Organisations, and we had as hosts the Midland and Great Western Railway Company, and we had saloon carriages, special trains, and, motors placed at our disposal. But if our programme was interesting it was also exhausting. We were assured there was "no time" in Connemara, but we found if there was none among the natives, our guides and our guardians took good care to keep us up to time – and a good time I admit it was. We were conducted over all the principal spots of interest in the West, from the Corrib to the Shannon, from Achill Point to Kilkee and Limerick. Regarded as pleasure it was delightful; regarded as work the most tolerant trades unionist would have rebelled. There was no eight hours' day. From early morn to dewy eve we were on the run and rush, and on one memorable occasion it was after midnight before we were delivered safe and sound in the City of the Tribes. But we know that the pleasure we delight in physics pain; in this case physicked work -- for there was no pain and no grumbling.

Between sleeping and rushing between dining and driving, between talking and listening, between rest and refreshment, between posing for the camera and watching nature's poses there was little time left for either blessing or cursing, for writing, or even reading. News travelled so slowly compared to us that it hardly overtook us. We were all interested in the fate of Warsaw and the Welsh coal strike, but we could hear nothing about either until any that was bad become stale to the rest of the world. Forced to forget the world, and by the world forgotten, we pursued the even, and occasionally the uneven, tenor of our way. We knew there was day or night, but we had difficulty in remembering the day of the week; in fact, often we had to look up our itinerary to discover what day of the week it was at any time any of us found leisure to inquire.

I set out with the intention of writing up each day's proceedings in the form of a diary, and I made an attempt at the outset, part of which I hope to reproduce. But while I hoped to present my narrative in the form of a diary I assure my readers it will be as great though as pleasant a task on my memory to do so as it was on my energies to keep pace with the young men in a hurry, who dragged me at their heels. Reserving my diary for future day or days, as my pen will provide or my readers endure, I wish, to-day

Reserving my diary for future day or days, as my pen will provide or my readers endure, I wish, to-day to present a brief outline of our tour, and a few general impressions. If I happen to bore my readers by my narrative it will be my fault, for I assure them they would not be bored by travelling over the same ground. But I would advise any who would do so, and I hope many will to hasten more slowly than we did; to tour in a more leisurely fashion, though I would not ask them to do it in a more lordly fashion. We were through all Connaught, and witnessed, or were within easy reach, of all places of scenic interest, from Sligo Bay to Blacksod Bay, and round by Clew Bay to lough Corrib and Galway Bay. Thence we proceeded through Gaffe to Ennis and Kilkee and the Atlantic. Then we sailed for four hours on the Shannon, winding up our tour to Limerick, where among many other cases I was snapshotted beside the Treaty Stone. There was little worth seeing that We were not shown, and little worth telling that we did not hear. The only disability we suffered from that the sun did not shine on us with the brilliancy it did this morning, as I peered out at my temporary home from home, at Whitehead. The clouds and the rain, were too dense for even him to peer through, and too dense to enable us to see the various mountain pinnacles that rose majestically along our route. But the sun gave us an occasional peep and an occasional beam. He seems, however, to have partially sulked while we were in Connemara, but he came out of his tent on the lordly Shannon, and made our journey there so pleasant that we unanimously decided to forgive him for his neglect of us in Connemara. I may say, however, in justice to ourselves and our hosts, that we did not miss him much, for with the combined warmth of our own hearts and theirs quite a summer heat and brightness pervaded us everywhere. I hope to prove this before I conclude.

It would, of course, be impossible to keep politics and religion out of the minds of any of us, but we never touched it with our tongues, except in chaff, or in sadness for what these had done, or not done, for Connemara. Out hosts differed as much in politics and religion as we did. There were among the twenty odd journalists both Unionists and Nationalists, Roman Catholics and Protestants. There was the "News-Letter" and "Evening Telegraph" and the "Freeman" and the "Independent," and there was "The Witness" and the "Irish Catholic." With such comminglings it would hove been folly to spoil our pleasure by arguing and quarrelling with each other as if we represented rival factions of Nationalists. We agreed to conceal our differences and unite in our points of agreement, which was to enjoy the scenic charms of Connemara, Clare, and the Shannon, and ask others to enjoy them for themselves. Unionism and Nationalism, Protestant and Catholic were only names to us, and only mentioned as matters of fact and not as matters of controversy. And to do the Tourist Organisation Society justice, I am perfectly satisfied that the one feeling that animates them is to do practical good to the country by attracting visitors from one part to another, and to bring plenty in their train to North and South. The one thing needful for this season and for all summer seasons is that people should find rest and change, and how could they find both better than by exploring and exploiting their own country, and making more prosperous those parts of our beautiful island that are most dependent on tourists far their livelihood; and in many of these districts the people have nothing but their scenery to live on and what it can bring in the way of tourists.

I may just say in conclusion that during the week I must have covered between trains and motors and steamers over seven hundred miles – not a bad week's work in itself.

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Thursday.

The best laid schemes of mice and journalists often gang agley. Between the best intentions and their execution there is sometimes a great gulf fixed. I set out on my Western trip with the idea of writing it up in diary form, but as I did not write it up daily, as I meant to do, and I now find days and places so inextricably mingling in any brain that I must content myself with a general rather then a diurnal record. Our tour began on Monday, and continued until Saturday, when the Northern contingents took leave of their colleagues. Having enjoyed the sweet toil of travel far a week we have all resumed the less sweet toil of labour, abandoning high jinks in the drawing room of life for the more simple enjoyments of the kitchen. That we had a good time goes without saying. No one could have been sad in such company and amid such varied scenes.

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According to the original programme, we from the North should have joined the party in Dublin, and left that Capital on Monday morning, paying a visit to Lough Gill on the way. Two Belfast journalists and myself chose the shorter route via Enniskillen. But we missed not only a scene of beauty, but of great joy, for the Mayor and Corporation of Sligo entertained the party in the little vessel with that generous hospitality so characteristic of the West from the days of Charley O'Malley to the present time. Even with the cost and waste of war to face, and with the local rates in the locality running from 12s to 15s in the £, the hearts of the people of the West are given to hospitality. I do not say this in a churlish, but rather in a disappointed way, for I was told by my colleagues that the welcome and the hospitality were alike cordial and characteristic. But if we missed the treat of the Mayor and Corporation in the morning we enjoyed it in the evening, and it was all the heart or home of man could expect anywhere, to say nothing of the West.

Lough Gill, Sligo – Atlas and Cyclopedia of Ireland (1900) Library Ireland

It was four o'clock on Monday afternoon when we reached Sligo by way of Clones and Enniskillen, and the Sligo and Leitrim Railway. At Enniskillen we met Mr. Armstrong, the excellent manager of the latter, who is doing so much to develop the district which he serves. We had half an hour in Enniskillen, where we met an old journalistic colleague, Mr. William Ritchie, who has crowned a life of labour by an age of ease, as the successful proprietor and Editor of the "Fermanagh Times," and who hospitably entertained us. The only thing that troubled Mr. Ritchie, and I may add Mr. Armstrong also, was that Lough Erne, with its picturesque islands and rich woodland surroundings, had hot been included in our tour. But Mr. Ritchie was not the only journalist we met there. Mr. Trimble, a local Editor and proprietor, and the organiser of the Fermanagh Horse, was out travelling companion till the borders of Sligo, and from him we learned all that need be known about the grandeur of Fermanagh.

What we did notice, however, that as soon as we left the County Fermanagh we left something like a cold shiver come over us. While Fermanagh showed abundance of rich lands and fine woods, Leitrim was bare of both. We passed at once from timber to stones, from rich lands to poor lands. The trees were few and far between, and the soil was more like that associated with Connaught than with Ulster, or whose borders it lies. Rain began to fall at the time, which added to the chilling and depressing effect. Sligo brightened us up a little, for we began to see green trees and arable land instead of stones and barrenness. This was not my first visit to Sligo. I spent some days in it nearly forty years ago when the Land League was in its infancy and only in training for an age of crime and outrage. The occasion was the trial of Michael Davitt, the founder of the League; John Daly, of Castlebar; and John B. Killen, then a young Irish barrister with advanced leanings on land and national questions. He, I am told, is still alive. They were summoned for language used in speeches at a meeting somewhere in the county, is regard to which one of the best professional reporters of his day and some police shorthand writers, among whom, if I remember right, was Mr. Jerry Stringer, afterwards a head constable in Belfast, gave evidence.

I may here say that part of the contention of the Crown was that the speakers, or some of them, made suggestive reference to the fate that landlords deserved; but the case of the defendants was that it was landlordism and not landlords the threats were made. Mr. John Rea, I have little doubt on the inspiration of Mr. Killen, was specially engaged to defend the prisoners, which he did with a vigour and thoroughness that surprised not only the local magistrates, but the local public. But, to do his memory justice, he did it in his best style. I cannot remember the results of the trial, but I think a short imprison, but followed. I may here recall that Mr. Davitt stopped at the same hotel as myself, so that I saw a great deal of him. He was a very dark, sinister-looking man, and devoid of the right arm. But at the time he had taken to journalism, and between his writing in the court, and he wrote at a rapid rate with his left hand, and in his hotel must have turned out reams of copy during the trial. As I am writing, the impression comes to me that Davitt conducted his own defence, but I am not quite sure.

Castle Street, Sligo c1910 – National Library of Ireland

There was a difference between my first arrival in Sligo and my second. The first was in the middle of the night, and in very cold weather, so that I was muffled up. Some one had given me the name of the Imperial Hotel to stop at, and at the station I made my way to the hotel 'bus to find myself alone, all my colleagues from Dublin having booked for the Victoria. No sooner had I got seated than I observed a band forming up in front of the 'bus as if to escort some occupant to the hotel. As I did not think such a distinction was intended for me, I questioned the hotel boots as to the meaning or occasion for this unexpected tribute. His reply was that Mr. Parnell had been expected that night, and the members of the band had mistaken me for Mr. Parnell – my beard was more brown than it is to-day, and that was almost all of me they could see, and Mr. Parnell had a brown beard. I hurriedly explained to the man that I was not Mr. Parnell, whereupon the band melted away, and so I had to go to the hotel unhonoured and without a musical escort. It was the only time in my life when I had the chance of a Nationalist ovation, and I sometimes regret that I had not taken advantage of it. Still I dreaded what would have been the consequence when my hour of repose and speech had come.
On my late tour, in common with my two friends, I had been booked for the Victoria Hotel, and we all got into the 'bus, glad of a change from our long journey. But we were no sooner seated than a young man came up and asked if we belonged to the Tourist Organisation party. I am not quite sure if he did say organisation, but we understood him, and we said we did. He told us that he had a motor, and had been told to convey us somewhere or other. We took him on trust. No sooner were we seated in the car than we discovered that there was something distinguishing about it. I have sometimes seen motors engaged in special Unionist or legal work displaying a couple of small "Union Jacks." Our motor sported a couple of flags, too, but they were of a different colour. One was the Irish flag, and the other the Belgium flag. I may just here say that from I entered the gateway of the West till I left it I did not see a Union Jack, except, perhaps, on a recruiting poster. The only sight suggestive of the red, white, and blue was three young and pretty girls at a station in Clare, one of whom wore a red jacket, the second a white jacket, and the third a blue one, and whether from accident or design they walked abreast with the colours in the order, mentioned.

In a few minutes we met nearly half a score of motors containing the members of our expedition from Dublin and several members of the Dublin Corporation, who had been doing the honours of Lough Gill to our colleagues. We then set out on a twenty or thirty mile motor drive, which included the Falls of Glencar and Rosse's Point, a fine watering-place within short distance of Sligo, where we were entertained by the heads of the Golf Club, and where there is an excellent golf course that the members claim to be a champion course. I did not go over it and I cannot say; and, to be candid, I could not have said if I had gone ever it. This was our first motor drive in the West. The scenery was interesting, but the land was not. We saw little tillage and little ground that could be tilled, and we did not see many cattle on the land that appeared suitable for grazing.

On our return to Sligo part of us were housed at the Victoria and part at the Imperial Hotel. I was among those at the Victoria. We found the hotel clean and comfortably, and were hospitably entertained by Mr. Hall the proprietor. I had not sufficient time to see how far Sligo had improved or otherwise since my visit, but did notice some good business houses, especially that of Lyons, as well known and popular in the West. I had hoped to see Mr. Jackson, a Belfast man, who is at the head of a large milling add shipping industry in Sligo, but unfortunately he was not at home, as I hoped to learn from him something of the business and labour conditions of the city. There is here, as in many other places in the West, a magnificent Roman Catholic church; I think, indeed, it must be a Cathedral, it is so grand. I understand Sligo is a good business town, but cannot be nailed a progressive or prosperous one. Yet it seems a fine centre for business, but its local government is none of the best. I am told that the local rates ran from 12s 6d to 14s or 15s in the £. That is a great charge upon the ratepayers, and they do not seem to get very much for it all. As a rule Sligo comes in as the end of Connemara touring, but we made it the beginning, so that Sligo and not Galway was, as the guidebooks say, our gateway to the wonderful West.

– "The Man in the Street," in "The Ulster Echo."

Source: The Witness, 30 July 1915.

Punctuation or The importance of getting it write

Grammar and punctuation... two words that split the nation. From the Philistines at one extreme who say "Who cares? Whats the point?" (pun intended) to the Purists at the other who shiver at the thought of using a hyphen instead of a dash and endlessly debate the use of the Oxford comma.

Most of us do our best to muddle through but the advent of text messaging – removing most of the vowels making a few words of English look like ancient Klingon – has done much for tipping the scales in favour of the Philistine cause.

And whether you are asking hunters to "Please Use Caution When Hunting Pedestrians Using Walk Trails", informing the public that "No Trespassing Violators Will Be Prosecuted" or reading that the latest celebrity will tell us how they "find inspiration in cooking their family and their dog", remember, they are two powerful words that could change your life. (Ducks as the Purists throw a fit at starting that sentence with a conjunction!)

Knowing just where to put that little mark could make a big difference as the tale below, related in the Dublin Penny Journal over 180 years ago, shows:

Want of Point, a Nice Point.

An ingenious expedient was devised to save a prisoner charged with robbery, in the Criminal Court at Dublin. The principal thing that appeared in evidence against him was a confession alleged to have been made by him at the police office. The document purporting to contain this self-criminating acknowledgment, was produced by the officer, and the following passage was read from it.

"Mangan said he never robbed but twice
 Said it was Crawford."

This it will he observed has no mark of the writer's having any notion of punctuation, but the meaning he attached to it was that

"Mangan said he never robbed but twice:
 Said it was Crawford."

Mr. O'Gorman, the counsel for the prisoner, begged to look at the paper. He perused it, and rather astonished the peace officer by asserting, that so far from its proving the man's guilt it established his innocence. "This," said the learned gentleman, "is the fair and obvious reading of the sentence:

"Mangan said be never robbed;
 But twice said it was Crawford."

This interpretation had its effect on the jury, and the man was acquitted.

Irish Proverbs

The Milesian Irish believe that their ancient Kings, Brehons, and Fileas were men of great intelligence and wisdom, — that the sayings of Ollamh-fodhla, Fithil the wise, Moran, and Cormac Mac Art, were so many lessons of human wisdom, — that the venerable dicta of Finghin, Kicran, Columbkille, &c. were so many maxims of sacred truth, and their actions so many examples of virtue; and the wit of Goban Saér, the celebrated Deadalus of Ireland, is yet remembered and told with vivacity.

Amongst a people who entertain so high an opinion of the talent of their predecessors, it should be expected that some trace of this wisdom would still remain, and that a few at least of these proverbial sayings should be discovered; but whoever makes the enquiry, through the medium of books, will find that, amongst all the nations of the world, the proverbs of the Irish are the most vulgar, awkward, incoherent, and ridiculous, indicating a lowness of sentiment, and a total lack of mental refinement.

Proverbs owe their origin to the sayings of wise men, allusions of ancient poets, the customs and manners of nations, they are adapted to common use as ornaments of speech, set rules of instruction, arguments of wisdom, to which time has given assent, and maxims of undeniable truth. The peculiar veneration which the Irish have for their ancient proverbs, has given rise to a well known assertion: Ni feider an sean-fhocal do sharúghadh. It is impossible to contradict the old word (proverb.)
From this it will, I think, be granted, that a perfect list of the proverbs of any people is, as it were, an index to the national character, or the elements of the moral notions, customs, and manners of a people.

In Ray's splendid collection of English, Scotch, Italian, Spanish, Danish, and Oriental Proverbs, the following list of Irish ones are given, which shows how Ireland has been made known to the world, by the circulation of that learned and excellent work, as a nation of blunderers and blockheads!! And no Irishman has ever since come forward to defend the wisdom of Ollav Fodhla, by translating and publishing a list of genuine Irish proverbs!! Shame Ireland!

Ray says, "The following proverbs are presumed to be Irish:"

1.	"She is like a Mullingar heifer, beef to the heels.
2.	"He is like a Waterford merchant, up to the -------- in business.
3.	"His eyes are like two burnt holes in a blanket.
4.	"Full of fun and foustre, like Mooney's goose.
5.	"He looks as angry as if he were vexed.
6.	"'Tis as bad as cheating the devil in the dark, and two farthing candles for a halfpenny.
7.	"He'd skin a louse, and send the hide and fat to market."

These are, without doubt, modern English-IRISH proverbs of the lowest order, and rudest nature, but they have no more to do with the wise sayings of the ancient Milesian Irish, than with the proverbs of Solomon, or the wise savings of the Brahmins; the following list of genuine Irish proverbs, translated principally from Hardiman's Irish Minstrelsy, will satisfy the philosophic enquirer of national character, on this head:

1.	An t-scod dofhaghála's i is áilne. The rare jewel is the most beautiful.
2.	Air li ni breith fear gan suilibh. A blind man is no judge of colours.
3.	Annair a bhidheann an cat a muigh bidheann na lacha a g rainnceadh. When the cat is out, the mice dance.
4.	Annair is cruadh dón chailligh caithfidh si rith. When the old hag is in danger she must run.
5.	Bidh ádh air Amadán. Even a fool has luck.
6.	Beul eidhin a's croidhe cuilinn. A mouth of ivy, a heart of holly. [The leaves of ivy are soft and smooth, those of holly rough and prickly — a metaphorical proverb.]
7.	Beatha an Staraidhe firinne. The historian's food is truth.
8.	Bidh borb fo sgeimh. Fierceness is often hidden under beauty.
9.	Bidh boirbeacht i n-geal ghaire. There is often anger in a laugh.
10.	Bidh cluanaidhe a n-deagh-chulaidh. A good dress often hides a deceiver.
11.	Buaine clá na saoghal. Fame is more lasting than life.
12.	Briathar baoth baothantacht. A foolish word is folly.
13.	Bocht an Eaglais bhios gan cheol. The church that has no music is poor indeed.
14.	Cnuasaigh an am oireamhmach. Lay up in time.
15.	Caoin re ccannsa. Mild to the meek.
16.	Briseann an duthchas tre shíalibh an chait. Cat after kind. "Da mheid Eolais, radhare is foghlaim "Do gheibheann an cóbach, mac an Daoi "Briseann an duthchas tres an m-bruid "Tar eis gach cúrsa do chur a g-crích. Whatever knowledge, education, or learning. The clown, son of the low-bred man, acquires. His own congenial nature still appears, After passing through every course.
17.	Claoidheann neart ceart. Force overcomes justice.
18.	Caomhnann dochas ant-ingreamach. Hope consoles the persecuted.
19.	Ni thuigeann an Sáthach an seang. The satiated forget the hungry.
20.	Codlda fada spaideann leanbh. Long sleep renders a child inert.
21.	Deineacht gan luas. Hurry without haste.
22.	Dearbhralhair leadranachta olachán. Drunkenness is the brother of robbery.
23.	Dóchas liagh gach anró. Hope is the physician of each misery.
24.	Duilghe an t-uaibhreach do cheannsughadh. It is difficult to tame the proud.
25.	Diomhaoineas mian amadain. Idleness is the desire of a fool.
26.	Dearc sul leimir. Look before you leap.
27.	Dearbh caraid roimh riachtanas. Prove a friend before necessity (poverty.)
28.	Eadtrom ór ag Amadan. Gold is light with a fool.
29.	Feárr deire fleidhe 'ná tus bruighne. The end of a feast is better than the beginning of a quarrel.
30.	Feárr dreoilin i n-dorn 'ná corr air cairde. A wren in the hand is better than a crane out of it.
31.	An te Chidheann amiúgh fuaruigheann a chuid. He who is out, his supper cools.
32.	Fada cuimhne sein-leinbh. The memory of an old child is long.
33.	Foillsighthear gach nidh re haimsir. Every thing is revealed by time.
34.	Féadann Cat dearcadh for righ. A cat can look at a king.
35.	Foighid leigheas sean-ghalair. Patience is the cure of an inveterate disease.
36.	Foghlaim mian gach Eagnaidhe. Learning is the desire of the wise.
37.	Fearŕ clú 'ná conach. Character is better than wealth.
38.	Gan oileamhain, gan mhodh. Without education, without manners, i.e. he who is without education, is also &c.
39.	Gan lon, gan charaid. Without treasure, without friends.
40.	Gan chiste is fuar an chlu. Without treasure, character is cold.
41.	Gach nidh ghabhthar go holc imthigheam go holc. Whatever is ill acquired, passes away ill; or whatever is got on the devil's back, falls under his belly.
42.	Gnidheann bladar caradas. Flattery procures friendship.
43.	Gnath ocrach fiochmhar. A hungry man is angry, (peevish.)
44.	Gach am ni h-eagnach savi. No man is wise at all times.
45.	Gach ni daor mian gach mná. Every dear article is woman's desire.
46.	Is treise gliocas 'ná neart. Wisdom exceeds strength.
47.	Is milis fion, is scarbh a ioc. Wine is sweet; to pay for it bitter.
48.	Iomhaigh am bháis codhla. Sleep is the image of death.
49.	Is sodh daochain. Enough is a feast.
50.	Is Dall an gradh baoth. Foolish love is blind.
51.	Is fearr an mhaith a ta 'na an mhaith a bhi. Present good is better than past good.
52.	Is eagnach deaghdhuine. A good man is a wise man.
53.	Loiteann aoradh mor-chlá. Satire wounds a great character.
54.	Lnidheann proimpeallan for otrach. A BETTLE buries himself in DUNG.
55.	Luidheann cruadhtan for dhiomhaoineas. Hardship attends idleness.
56.	Liagh gach boicht bas. Death is the physician of the poor.
57.	Mairg dárb ceilc baothan borb. Woe to her whose husband is a surly fool.
58.	Mairg fheallas air a charaid. Woe to him who betrays his friend.
59.	Mairg a threigeas a thighearna. Woe to him who abandons his lord.
60.	Má's maith leat a bheith buan caith fuar agus TEITH. If you wish to be long-lived eat cold and hot; or if you wish to be long-lived eat cold and flee. (fuge.) The ambiguity lies in the last word, which signifies either the adjective hot, or the imperative form of the verb to fly. [This is not properly speaking a proverb; but we must admit it affords a striking instance of the happy inventive powers, comprehension, and shrewdness, of the lower classes of the Irish: perhaps few instances could be adduced more happy in conception, or successful in application than this sentence, as will appear from the circumstance from which it is said to have originated. It was given as a friendly advice, a long time since, to a celebrated Irish freebooter in the town of Naas. The freebooter it appears called at an inn and ordered a hot dinner to be prepared for him, but the innkeeper recognized the freebooter, and, as a good member of the community, he deemed it his duty to send for the authorities in order to have him secured; fortunately for the freebooter, it happened that the waiter, who was preparing the dinner, had been heretofore his intimate friend and companion in many a desperate and perilous enterprize of misguided valour, but as the master was present, the waiter was afraid to inform the freebooter in plain terms that his enemies were at hand; he therefore gave him the hint as conveyed in the above ambiguous sentence, which the freebooter (being a man of the quickest apprehension) immediately comprehending, mounted his horse, which had on many previous occasions borne him in safety from his pursuers, and flying with the swiftness of the Arabian steed escaped, for that time, the strong arm of justice.]
61.	Ni fhuil gaol ag aon re saoi gan seun. No one is related to a man without prosperity.
62.	Ni car gach bladaire. Every flatterer is not a friend.
63.	Ni uaisleacht gan subhailce. There is no nobility without virtue.
64.	Ni fhuil ro aosta re foghuim crionachta. Never too old to learn wisdom.
65.	Ni fhuil saoi gan locht. There is no one without fault. Nemo sine crimine visit.
66.	Or iodhal na santach. Gold is the idol of the covetous.
67.	Olc síon nach maith d'aon. That weather is bad which is not good for some person.
68.	Otracht sodh an Liaigh. Sickness is the physician's feast.
69.	Righ miofhoghlamtha is asal corónta. An ignorant king is a crowned ass.
70.	Saruigheann Eagna gach saidhbhreas. Wisdom exceeds riches.
71.	Soightheach folamh is mo torann. An empty vessel makes most noise. [Applied to a talkative man.]
72.	Saidhbhreas sior subhailce. Virtue is eternal wealth.
73.	Sgeitheann fion firinne. In vino veritas. Wine pours out the truth. [Applied to a drunken man who foolishly blabs out his secrets.]
74.	Tig grian a n-diaidh na fearthana. Sunshine follows rain; i.e. joy succeeds affliction.
75.	Tig iomchar re foghlaim From education comes conduct.
76.	Tos mhaith leath na h-oibre. A good beginning is half the work.
77.	Tosach coille a's deirc móna. The beginning of a wood; the end of a bog.
78.	Umhlacht d' uaisleacht. Obedience to nobility.
79.	Fion a n-diu, uisge amarach. Wine to-day, water to-morrow.
80.	Buail an ceann a's seachain an muineul. Strike the head, but touch not the neck; i.e. there are two ways for killing a man.
OF WEATHER.
81.	Dearg aniar is ionann a's Grian. Red in the west portends sunshine; i.e. when, after the setting of the sun, the west appears red, it portends that the next day will be fine.
82.	Dearg anoir is ianann a's sioc. Red in the east is a sign of frost.
83.	Bogha fliuch na maidne, bogha tirm na trathnona. Rainbow in the morning is a sign of rain; in the evening, of dry weather.*
84.	"Mathair eatha oigh. "A thair sailla sneachta. "Tuarfola fleacha. "Tuar teadma tart. "Deach do sionuibh ceb' "Acht do mhuir ni torthach torann."                               Cormac Mac Art. Frost favours the growth of corn; (i.e. it prepares the earth for its production.) Snow favours the growth of trees.† Much rain is an omen of blood. Drought is an omen of plague. Fog is good for the seasons. Thunder destroys the fertility of the sea.                             JOHN O'DONOVAN.

* A rainbow can only occur when the clouds, containing or depositing the rain, are opposite to the sun, and in the evening the rainbow in the east, and in the morning in the west; and as our heavy [--?--] this climate, are usually brought by the westerly wind, a rainbow in the west indicates that the bad weather is on the road, by [--?--] us; whereas the rainbow in the east, proves that rain in thes[--?--] passing from us. -- Salmonia.
† La nieve per otto di é madre allaterra da indi in la é matrig[--?--] Snow for a se'ennight is a mother to the earth, for ever after a step-mother.


Source: The Dublin Penny Journal, Vol. 1, No. 20 (Nov. 10, 1832), pp. 158-159

King O'Toole and St. Kevin - A Legend of Glendalough

"By that lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er.
Where the cliff hangs high and steep
Young St. Kevin stole to sleep. – Moore.

Who has not read of St. Kevin, celebrated as he has been by Moore in the melodies of his native land, with whose wild and impassioned music he has so intimately entwined his name? Through him, in the beautiful ballad, whence the epigraph of this story is quoted, the world already knows that the sky-lark, through the intervention of the saint, never startles the morning with its joyous note in the lonely valley of Glendalough. In the same ballad, the unhappy passion which the saint inspired, and the "unholy blue" eyes of Kathleen, and the melancholy fate of the heroine, by the saint's being "unused to the melting mood," are also celebrated; as well as the superstitious finale of the legend, in the spectral appearance of the love-lorn maiden.

"And her ghost was seen to glide
Gently o'er the fatal tide."

Thus has Moore given, within the limits of a ballad, the spirit of two legends of Glendalough, which otherwise the reader might have been put to the trouble of reaching after a more round-about fashion. But luckily for those coming after him, one legend he has left to be

"------ touched by a hand more unworthy" –

and instead of a lyrical essence, the raw material in prose is offered, nearly verbatim as it was furnished to me by that celebrated guide and bore, Joe Irwin, who traces his descent in a direct line from the old Irish kings, and warns the public in general that "there's a power of them spalpeens sthravaigin' about, 'sthrivin' to put their comether upon the quality, [quality – the Irish gentry generally call the higher orders 'quality,'] and callin' themselves Irwin, (knowin', the thieves o' the world, how his name had gone far and near, as the rale guide,) for to deceive dacent people; but never to b'lieve the likes – for it was only mulvatherin people they wor." For my part, I promised never to put faith in any but himself; and the old rogue's self-love being satisfied, we set out to explore the wonders of Glendalough. On arriving at a small ruin, situated on the south-eastern side of the lake, my guide assumed an air of importance, and led me into the ivy-covered remains, through a small square door-way, whose simple structure gave evidence of its early date; a lintel of stone lay across two upright supporters, after the fashion of such religious remains in Ireland.

"This, Sir," said my guide, puttiug himself into an attitude, "is the chapel of King O'Toole – av coorse y'iv often heerd o' King O'Toole, your honor?"

"Never," said I.

"Musha, thin, do you tell me so?" said he, "I thought all the world far and near, heerd o' KiDg O'Toole – well, well!! but the darkness of mankind is ontellible! Well, Sir, you must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that there was wonst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in the ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that ownded the churches in the airly days."

"Surely," said I, "the churches were not in King O'Toole's time?"

"Oh, by no manes, yer honour – troth, it's yourself that's right enough there; but you know the place is called 'The Churches,' bekase they wor built afther by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the churches iver more; and therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that the king ownded the churches – and why not Sir, seein' 'twas his birth-right, time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well, the king you see was the right sort – he was the rale boy, and loved sport as he loved his life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o' the sun, up he got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer: and the fine times them wor; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth, far plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the king, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast."

"In this counthry, Sir," added he, speaking parenthetically in an under tone, "we think it onlooky to kill the redbreast, for the robin is God's own bird."

Then, elevating his voice to its former pitch he proceeded. –

"Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health; but, you see, in coorse o' time, the king grewn owld, by raison he was stiff in his limbs, and when he got sthricken in years, his heart failed him, and he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a huntin', no longer; and, by dad, the poor king was obleeged at last for to get a goose to divart him."

Here an involuntary smile was produced by this regal mode of recreation, "the royal game of goose."

"Oh, you may laugh, if you like," said he, half affronted, "but it's truth I'm tellin' you; and the way the goose diverted him was this-a-way: you see, the goose used for to swim across the lake, and go down divin' for throut, (and not finer throut in all Ireland than the same throut,) and cotch fish an a Friday for the king, and flew every other day round about the lake, divartin' the poor king, that you'd think he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his goose; so in coorse o' time the goose was the greatest pet in the counthry, and the biggest rogue, and diverted the king to no end, and the poor king was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it was; and all went on mighty well, antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken in years, as well as the king, and grewn stiff in his limbs, like her masther, and could'nt divert him no longer; and then it was that the poor king was lost complete, and did'nt know what in the wide world to do, seein' he was done out of all divarshin, by raison that the goose was no more in the flower of her blume.

"Well; the king was nigh hand broken hearted, and melancholy intirely, and was walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, an' thiukin' o' drownin' himself, that could'nt got no divarshin in life, when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.

"'God save you,' says the king (for the king was a civil-spoken gintleman, by all accounts,) 'God save you,' says he to the young man.

"'God save you, kindly,' says the young man to him, back again, 'God save you,' says he, 'King O'Toole.'

"'Thrue for you,' says the king, 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince and plennypounytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem you to know that?' says he.

"'O, never mind,' says Saint Kavin.

"For you see," said old Joe, in his under tone again, and looking very knowingly, "it was Saint Kavin, sure enough – the saint himself in disguise, and no body else.' 'Oh, never mind,' says he, 'I know more than that,' says he, 'nor twice that.'

"'And who are you?' said the king, 'that makes so bowld – who are you at all at all?'

"'Oh never you mind,' says Saint Kavin, 'who I am; you'll know more o' me before we part, King O'Toole,' says he.

"'I'll be proud o' the knowledge o' your acquaintance, sir,' says the king, mighty polite.

"'Troth you may say that,' says Saint Kavin. 'And, now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?" says he.

"'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?" says the king.

"'O, no matther; I was given to undherstand it,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the king; 'bekase myself and my goose is private frinds,' says he; 'and no one could tell you,' says he, 'barrin the fairies.'

"'Oh thin, it was'nt the fairies,' says Saint Kavin; 'for I'd have you to know,' says he, 'that I don't keep the likes of sitch company.'

"'You might do worse then, my gay fellow,' says the king; 'for it's they could show you a crock o' money, as aisy as kiss hand; and that's not to be sneezed at,' says the king, 'by a poor man,' says he.

"'Maybe I've a betther way of making money myself,' says the saint.

"'By gor,' says the king, 'barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, 'that's impossible!'

"'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high, 'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he.

"'Then, what are you?' says the king, 'that makes money so aisy, by your own account.'

"'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Well, honest man,' says the king, 'and how is it you make your money so aisy?'. -

"'By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Blur-an-ouns, is it a tinker you are?' says the king.

"'No,' says the saint, 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; Ive a betther thrade than a tinker,' says he 'what, would you say,' says he, 'if I made your ould goose as good as new.'

"My dear, at the word o'mankin' his goose as good as new, you'd think the poor ould king's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head, 'and,' says he – 'troth thin I'd give you more money nor you could count,' says he, 'if you did the like: and I'd be behoulden to you into the bargain.'

"'I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Faith then, I'm thinkin' a thrifle o' change would do you no harm,' says the king, lookin' up sly at the ould caubeen that Saint Kavin had an him.

"'I have a vow agin it,' says the Saint; and I am book sworn,' says he, 'never to have goold, silver, or brass in my company.'

"'Barrin' the thrifle you can't help,' says the king, mighty cute, and looking him straight in the face.

"'You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin; 'but though I can't take money,' says he, 'I could take a few acres o' land, if you'd give them to me.'

"'With all the veins o' my heart,' says the king, 'if you can do what you say.'

"'Thry me!' says Saint Kavin. 'Call down your goose here,' says he, 'and I'll see what I can do for her.'

"With that, the king whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as a hound, waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like him as two pups. The minute the saint clapped his eyes on the goose, 'I'll do the job for you,' says he, 'King O'Toole!'

"'By Jaminee," says King O'Toole, 'if you do, but I'll say you're the cleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.'

"'Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, 'you must say more nor that – my horn's not so soft all out,' says he, 'as to repair your ould goose' for nothin'; what'll you gi' me, if I do the job for you? – that's the chat,' says St. Kavin.

"'I'll give you whatever you ax,' says the king; 'isn't that fair?'

"'Divil a fairer,' says the saint; 'that's the way to do business. Now,' says he, 'this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole; will you gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer afther I make her as good as new?'

"'I will,' says the king.

"'You won't go back o' your word,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Honor bright!' says King O'Toole, howldin' out his fist.

"'Honor bright,' says Saint Kavin, back agin, 'its a bargin.' says he. 'Come here!' says he to the poor ould goose – 'come here you unfortunate ould cripple,' says he, 'and its I that 'ill make you the sportin' bird.'

"With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two wings – 'criss o' my crass an you,' says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute – and throwin' her up in the air, 'whew!' says he, jist givin' her a blast to help her: and with that, my jewel, she took to her heels, fly-in' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many capers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there, right foreninst you, along the side o' the clift, and flew over St. Kavin's bed, (that is where St. Kavin's bed is now, but was not thin, by raison it was'nt made, but was conthrived after by Saint Kavin himself, that the women might lave him alone,) and on with her under Lugduff, and round the end iv the lake there, far beyant where you see the watherfall, (though indeed it's no watherfall at all now, but only a poor dhribble iv a thing; but if you seen it in the winther, it id do your heart good, and it roaring like mad, and as white as the dhriven snow, and rowlin' down the big rocks before it, all as one as childher playing marbles,) – and on with her thin right over the lead mines o' Luganure, (that is where the lead mines is now, but was not thin, by raison they wor'nt discovered, but was all goold in Saint Kanin's time.) Well over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and sturdy, and round the other ind ay the little lake, by the churches, (that is, av coorse where the churches is now, but was not thin, by raison they wor not built, but aftherwards by Saint Kavin,) and over the big hill here over your head, where you see the big clift; (and that clift in the mountain was made by Fin Ma Cool, where he cut it across with a big sword, that he got made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, a cousin av his own, for to fight a joyant [giant] that darr'd him an the Curragh o' Kildare; and he thried the sword first an the mountain, and cut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith, sure enough, it's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and suddent, and chopped him in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and owld Ireland;) well, down she flew over the clift, and fluttherin' over the wood there at Poulanass, (where I showed you the purty watherfall; and by the same token, last Thursday, was a twelve-month sence, a young lady, Miss Rafferty by name, fell into the same watherfall, and was nigh hand drownded; and indeed would be to this day, but for a young man that jumped in afther her; indeed a smart slip iv a young man he was; he was out o' Francis-street, I hear, and coorted her sence, and they wor married, I'm given to undherstand; and indeed a purty couple they wor.) Well, as I said, afther flutterin' over the wood a little bit, to place herself, the goose flew down, and lit at the fut o' the king, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his dominions, just as if she had'nt flew three perch. Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the king standin' with his mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a lark, and betther nor ever she was; and when she lit at his fut, he patted her an' the head, and 'ma vourneen,' says he, 'but you are the darlint o' the world.'

"'And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, 'for makin' her the like?' 'I say,' says the king, 'that nothin' bates the art o' man, burrin' the bees.' 'And do you say no more nor that?' says St. Kavin. 'And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the king. 'But will you gie me all the ground the goose flewn over?' says St. Kavin. 'I will,' says King O'Toole, 'and you're welkim to it,' says he, 'though it's the last acre I have to give.' 'It's well for you,' says St. Kavin, mighty sharp, 'for if you did'nt say that word, the devil receave the bit o' your goose id ever fly again!' says St. Kavin.

"Well, whin the king was as good as his word, St. Kavin was plazed with him, and says he, 'King O'Toole, you're a dacent man, I only came here to thry you. You don't know me,' says he, 'I'm deceavin' you all out, I'm not myself at all!' 'Blur-an-agers thin,' says the king, 'if you are not yourself, who are you?' 'I'm Saint Kavin,' said the saint, blessin' himself. 'Oh, queen iv heaven,' says the king, makin' the crass betume his eyes, and fallin' down an his kness before the saint, 'is it the great Saint Kavin,' says he, 'that I've been discoorsin' all this time, without knowing it,' says he, 'all as one as if he was a lump iv a gossoon? and so you're a saint,' says the king. 'I am,' says Saint Kavin, 'the greatest of all the saints!' For Saint Kavin, you must know, Sir,' said Joe, 'is counted the greatest of all the saints, bekase he went to school with the prophet Jeremiah.

"Well, my dear, that's the way that the place came all at wanst into the hands of Saint Kavin; for the goose flewn round every individyal acre o' King O'Toole's property, bein' let into the saycret by St. Kavin, who was mighty cute; and the king had his goose as good as new, and the saint supported him, afther he kern into his property, antil the day av his death; and when he was gone, Saint Kavin gave him an illigant wake and a beautiful berrin;' and more betoken, he said mass for his sowl, an' tuk care av his goose."


Source: The Dublin Penny Journal, Vol. 1, No. 1 (Jun. 30, 1832)
Image: St. Kevin’s Bed and the Church of the Rock, Upper Lake Glendalough

The Poteen

Ireland has long been famous, or, as the Temperance Society men would say, infamous, for her love of the bottle. Now, without declaring ourselves on the side of the abstinent folks — without saying that we ought never to take a drop, and without binding ourselves never to be hearty over a tumbler of whiskey punch — we may venture to say, that it would be decidedly better for Ireland, in the long run, if she never had a distillery in the island. We say this on looking at the mischief which ardent spirits have always created in our isle. The misery, the degradation, the fightings, and even the murders, which it has been the fatal origin of, may well justify such a wish — if our countrymen could be brought just to take it temperately. A great alteration for the better has already taken place in this respect; and we sincerely trust that the improvement will be progressive. We extract the following account of a visit to a Poteen Distiller from "Sketches in Ireland," published by Curry and Co. of Dublin, and printed in 1827.

"One morning in July, as I was dressing myself to walk out before breakfast, I heard a noise at my back door, and observed one of my people remonstrating with a man who was anxiously pressing into the house. I went down and met the man whose demi-genteel dress and peculiar cut marked him to be a guager. 'O! for mercy's sake,' cried the man when he saw me, 'let me into your house; lock me up somewhere; hide me, save me, or my life is lost.' So I brought him in, begged of him to sit down, and offering him some refreshment, requested him to recover his courage, and come to himself, for there was no danger. While I was speaking, an immense crowd came up to the house, and surrounded it; and one man more forward than the rest, came up to the door, and demanded admission. On my speaking to him out of the window, and inquiring what his business was, he replied, 'We find you have got Mr.---------, the guager, in your house: you must deliver him up to us; we want him.'
'What do you want him for?' 'Oh, Doctor, that's no business for you to meddle in; we want him and must have him.' "Indeed that I cannot allow; he is under my roof; he has come, claiming my hospitality, and I must and will afford it to him.' 'Doctor there are two words to that bargain: you ought to have consulted us before you promised; but to be plain with you, we really respect you very much; you are a quiet and a good man, and mind your own business; and we would make the man sore and sorry that would touch the hair of your head. But you must give us the guager; to be at a word with you doctor, we must tear open, or tear down your house, or get him.' What was I to do? What could I do? — nothing, I had not a gun or pistol in my house; 'so,' says I, 'boys, you must, it seems, do as you like, and mind I protest against what you are about; but since you must have your own way, as you are Irishmen, I demand fair play at your hands. The man had ten minutes law of you when he came to my house: let him have the same law still; let him not be the worse of the shelter he has taken here; do you, therefore, return to the hill at the rere of the house; and I will let him out at the hall door, and let him have his ten minutes law.' I thought that in those ten minutes, as he was young and healthy, that he would reach the river Lennan, about a quarter of a mile off, in front of the house, and swimming over it, escape. So they all agreed that the proposal was a fair one; at any rate, they promised to abide by it; and the man seeing the necessity of the case, consented to leave the house; I enlarged him at the hall door, the pursuers all true to their pledged honour, stood on a hill about two hundred yards in the rere of the house, a hanging lawn sloped down towards a small river that in all places at that season of the year was fordable; about a quarter of a mile further off still, in front of the house, the larger river, Lennan, ran deep and broad between high and rocky banks. The guager started off, like a buck, and as a hunted deer he ran his best, for he ran for his life, he passed the little river in excellent style, and just as he had ascended its further bank and was rising the hilly ridge that divided the smaller from the broader stream, his pursuers broke loose, all highland men, tall, loose, agile, young; with breast and sinews strong to breast a mountain; men who many a time and oft, over bog and brae, had run from the guager, and now they were after him with fast foot and full cry. From the hall door the whole hunt could be seen — they helter skelter down the lawn rushing — he toiling up the opposite hill and straining to crown its summit; at length he got but of sight, he passed the ridge and rushed down to the Lennan; here, out of breath, without time to strip, without time to choose a convenient place, he took the soil in the hunting phrase, and made his plunge, — at all times a had swimmer — now out of breath, encumbered with his clothes, the water rushing dark, deep, and rapid, amidst surrounding rocks; through whirls and currents, and drowning holes, the poor man struggled for life; in another minute he would have sunk for ever, when his pursuers came up, and two or three of the most active and hast swimmers rushed in and saved him from a watery grave. The whole party immediately got about him, they rolled him about until they got the water out of his stomach, wiped him with their frize coats: twenty warm hands were employed rubbing him into warmth, they did every thing humanity could suggest to bring him to himself. Reader, please to recollect, that we are not describing the feats or fortunes of Captain Rock or his myrmidons; we are not about to detail the minutiae of a cold-blooded, long calculated murder; we are not describing the actions of men who are more careful of the life of a pig than of a human creature. No, the Donegal mountaineers had a deed to do, but not of death; they were about a deliberate work, but not of murder. The moment the guager was restored to himself, and in order to contribute to it an ample dose of the poteen that he had persecuted was poured down his throat, they proceeded to tie a bandage over his eyes, and they mounted him on a rahery, or mountain pony, and off they set with their captive towards the mountains. For a whole day they paraded him up and down, through glens and defiles, and over mountain sides, and at length, towards the close of a summer's evening, they brought him to the solitary and secluded Glen Veagh; here they embarked him in a curragh, or wicker boat, and after rowing him up and down for some hours in the lake they landed him on a little island where was a hut that had often served as a shelter for the fowler, as he watched his aim at the wild water birds of the lake, and still oftener as the still-house for the manufacture of irrepressible, unconquerable poteen; and here, under the care of two trusty men was he left, the bandage carefully kept on his eyes, and well fed on trout, grouse, hares, and chickens; plenty of poteen mixed with the pure water of the lake was his portion to drink, and for six weeks was he thus kept cooped in the dark like a fattening fowl, and at the expiration of that time his keepers one morning took him under the arm, and desired him to accompany them; then brought him to a boat, rowed him up and down, wafted him from island to island, conveyed him to shore, mounted him on the pony, brought him as before for the length of a day here and there through glen and mountain, and towards the close of night, the liberated guager finds himself alone on the high road to Letterkenny. The poor man returned that night to his family, who had given him over as either murdered, or gone to America. But he stood not as a grimly ghost at the door, but as fat and sleek, and as happy as ever.

Now wherefore all this trouble; why all those pains to catch a guager, fatten him, and let him loose? Oh, it was of much and important consequence to these poor mountaineers. A lawless act it surely was; but taking into view that it was an act big with consequences affecting their future ruin or prosperity, it might almost be pardonable. Amidst the numerous parliamentary enactments that the revenue department of the country caused to he passed in order to repress the system of illicit distillation in Ireland, one was a law as contrary to the spirit of the British legislation as to the common principles of equity and conventional right — a law punishing the innocent in substitution for the guilty. This law made the townland in which the still was found, or any part of the process of distillation detected, liable to a heavy fine, to be levied indiscriminately on all its landholders. the consequence of this law was, that the whole North of Ireland was involved in one common confiscation. It was the fiscal triumph of guagers and informers over the landlords and proprietors of the country. They were reaping their harvest of ruin, under a bonus offered for avarice, treachery, and perjury. Acting on this anti-social system, the guager of the district in question had informations to the amount of £7,000 against the respective townlands of which it was composed. These informations were to be passed or otherwise at the approaching assizes, and there was no doubt but that the guager could substantiate them according to the existing law — and thus effect the total ruin of the people.

Under those circumstances the plot for the seizure and abduction of the revenue-officer was laid. It was known that on a certain day about a month prior to the assizes he was to pass through the district on his way to the coast — it was known that he kept those informations about his person, and therefore they waylaid him, and succeeded in keeping him out of sight until the assizes were over, and shortly after this imprudent and unconstitutional law was repealed.

But to return to Glen Veagh: as we were rambling along its rocky strand, admiring the stillness of its waters — the sublime solitariness of its mountain shore; here a ravine, climbing up amongst the hills; its chasms and its dancing waterfalls, fringed with birch and stunted oak; there a white silicious peak, protruding itself on high, over which the hawk cowered, as if priding itself on its inaccessible nest; before us the sleeping lake, extended itself —

"Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle."

and these isles' set like precious gems, with just enough of trees for ornament: the birch, the rowan ash, the service, the holly; and high from the central, largest, and most distant island, arose a blue and wreathed smoke, that bespoke the manufacture of mountain dew; the smoke certainly added much to the picturesque accompaniment of the scene, and we could just discern a small cabin or shading in the island, half concealed amidst the copsewood in which it was enveloped.

Gather up the pots and the old tin can; And the mash, and the corn, the barley, and the bran;
And then run like the devil from the excise man; Keep the smoke from rising, Barney

I could not help expressing a wish to see the process whereby this admired liquor was compounded, that in the estimation of avery Irishman — aye, and high born Englishmen too — is so superior in sweetness, salubrity, and gusto, to all that machinery, science and capital can produce in the legalized way, and which verifies the observation of the wise man, "that stolen waters are sweet." Just as we were conversing in this way, a man turning the point of a rock, stood unexpectedly within a few yards of us. He was one of the largest men I have ever seen amongst the Irish commonality. He was tall, that is not unusual; but he was lusty, his bones and muscles were covered with flesh; there was a trunk-like swell in his chest, and a massiveness in his body, a pillar-like formation of limbs bespeaking that he was a man moulded to be a giant, and was fed up to the full exercise and capability of his frame. He had a bull-like contour of head and neck short and crisp curls appeared from under a small hat which seemed unable to settle itself over his ears, from the full development of the organ of combativeness that protruded itself in this region of his cranium.

The man stood before us with the assured look of one who was prepared saucily to say, what business have you here; two grey hounds were at his heels, and a lurking grisly cur, half bull-dog, half terrier, shewed his white teeth and began to growl. 'Oh, how are you Teigue?' cried my friend (who, I believe, knows every one in Donegal) 'how are you, my gay fellow; I am glad to see you, for you are just the man in all these mountains that I wanted to see.' 'Why, then, your honour, I am entirely obliged to you; and in troth when I just came upon you now, I did not know your honour; for as I was just walking over the mountain, I saw some strange unco people, and I only slipt down to see the cut of their countenances.' 'Ah, Teigue,! I know rightly you do not like unco people, for fear that a guager might be amongst them.' 'Ah, then, now, is it I fear a guager? Teigue O'Gallagher fear a guager! — no, nor a commissioner from Dublin Customhouse, barring he had army and guns at his back — not I by my troth, for it's little I'd matter just taking one of them by the waistband of the breeches and filipping him, do you see, into the middle of the lake, and there leave him to keep company with the trouts — no, no; but the likes of you — no offence master, the likes of you I mean, not in the inside, but the teeth outwards, might come and give information, and put dacent people to trouble, and be after bringing the army here to this quiet place, and put us out of our way and all that.'

'Well, Teigue, you know me, don't you?' — 'I do, your honour, and am certain sure that you are true, and of the right sort, and every inch about you honest.' — 'Well, Teigue; I want to get this gentleman who is a friend of mine, on the lake; he desires to get into a boat to see its beauties more conveniently, besides he has a longing wish to see how the hearty drop is made, can you indulge him?' 'That I will, and a thousand welcomes;' so away he wint towards the point of the rock, which jutted out into the water, and putting his finger to his mouth, he sent forth a whistle that sounded over the lake, and thus reverberating, echoed from bay to bay, and multiplied itself through the glens and gorges of the mountains; at the same time he made some telegraphic signal, and in a minute we saw a boat push off from the island of Smoke, While Teigue was absent, I asked my friend who he was? — Why, says he, that is one of the most comfortable and independent follows in all this mountain district — he exerts a muscular and moral influence over the people; he has a great deal of sense, a great deal of determination; a constant view to his own interest and luckily he considers that interest best promoted, by keeping the country in peace. Those that fall out he beats into good humour, and when the weight of his argument cannot prevail, the weight of his fist enforces compliance with his wishes. Then he is the patron of illicit distillation — he is co-partner in the adventure, and is the watchful guardian over its process; there is not a movement of a gauger that he does not make himself acquainted with; there is not a detachment leaves a village or town that he has not under watch, and before a policeman or a red coat, comes within three miles of these waters, all would be prepared for them; still and worm sunk, malt buried, barrels and coolers disposed of, and the boat scuttled. There is not a man in Ireland lives better in his own way than Teigue: his chests are full of meal, the roof of his kitchen is festooned with bacon, his byre is full of cows, his sheep range on a hundred hills: as a countryman said to me the other day, "Teigue O'Gallagher is the only man of his sort in Donegal that eats white bread, toasted, buttered, and washed down with tea for his breakfast."

In the mean time the boat came near, and Teigue joined us, and after some difficulty in getting aboard from the rocks, and adjusting ourselves in proper trim in the most frail bark that perhaps was over launched on water, we rowed out into the lake; and here really the apparent peril of our situation, deprived me of the pleasure that might otherwise be enjoyed in the picturesque scenery around; the bottom of the boat was covered with water, which nosed in through a sod of turf, that served as a plug to the hole in its bottom, the size of my head; and Teigue O'Gallagher, who sat at the head of the boat surrounded by his dripping dogs, almost sunk it to the gunwale, and every now and then, the dogs uneasy at their confinement, tumbled about and disturbed our equilibrium; if a gust of wind had come, as often as it does on a sudden from the hills, we should have been in a perilous state. As it was, the two young men who rowed us, and who, it is to be supposed, could swim, enjoyed our nervous state, and out of fun told us stories of sudden hurricanes, and of the dangers and deaths that have happened to navigators on this lake; we, therefore, declined a protracted expedition, and only desired to he landed on the island, where we arrived in a short time, and then had opportunity of witnessing the arcana of illicit distillation. The island that at a distance looked so pretty with its copsewood, its sheeling, and its wreathing smoke, when we reached it, presented us ugly and disgusting a detail as possible; and a Teniers or a Cruikshank, could only do justice to the scene, and present a lively picture of its uncouth accompaniments.

A half roofed cabin, in which was a raging fire, over which was suspended the pot with its connected head and worm; two of the filthiest of human beings, half naked, squalid unhealthy looking creatures, with skins encrusted with filth, hair long, uncombed, and matted, whore vermin of all Borts seemed to quarter themselves and nidificate; and whore (as Burns says,) "horn or bone ne'er dare unsettle their thick plantations;" these were the operatives of the filthy process which seemed in all its details, to he carried on in nastiness.

John Barleycorn, though hero bold,
     Of noble enterprise;
When Irishman distil his blood.
     They cleanliness despise.

The whole area of the island was one dunghill composed of fermenting grains; there were about twenty immense hogs either feeding or snoring on the food that lay beneath them; and so alive with rats was the whole concern that one of the boatmen compared them in number and intrusiveness to flocks of sparrows on the side of a shelling-hill adjoining a corn-mill. I asked one of the boatmen where the men who attended the still slept. "Och, where should they sleep but on the grains with the pigs; they have never been off the island these six months, they have never changed their clothes, and, I believe, though they are convenient enough to the water, they have never washed themselves." "And are they not afraid?" "Why, who would they be afraid of but the rats." "And do they never go to divine worship?" "Ah, that they don't, it's little they care about religion — one of them is a Protestant, and he curses so much that it's enough to keep ghost, angel, or devil off the place — and in troth the Catholic is not much better, maybe the Priest wont have work enough with him yet."

I was truly disgusted with the whole scene, and anxious to quit it.* I was vexed and disappointed to find such a romantic and beautiful spot so defiled, so desecrated, I might say, by a manufacture that has proved of incalculable mischief to the peaceful habits, the moral character, and religious duties of the people of the country — but we would not be allowed to part before we partook of the produce of the pot. With all his faults, Pat is not deficient in generosity, and he is ever ready to share — yes, and often to waste the liquor which he has a peculiar delight in manufacturing: because, perhaps, the undertaking is attended with risk, and gives birth to adventurous engagements, and escapes; and, as the song says,

"An Irishman all in his glory is there,"

To the above description, we add a few reflections from Letters from the Irish Highlands:—

"Among all the striking peculiarities which arrest the attention of an English stranger, on his first visit to Ireland, there is none, I have often thought, that must at once excite such surprise, and lead the mind to such sad and sober reflections, as the hostile feelings of the majority of the people towards the law of the land. They will make use of its strong arm occasionally to oppress an inferior, or to wreak their vengence on an equal; but they never look to it with the feelings which an Englishman cherishes; they have not learned to regard it as the protector of their persons and properties, and the guardian of their dearest rights and liberties. From the rebellious code of Ribandism, which dooms him to destruction who ventures to appeal to the tribunals of justice against the hand of midnight violence, to the easy good nature of the peasant, who, without advantage to himself, assists his neighbour, in concealing the keg of illicit whiskey, or the bale of smuggled tobacco, the spirit is the same. The hand of the law has been against every man — and now, every man's hand is, in turn, raised against the law. But it is not for me to lead you back in the trodden path of history, to point out the wrongs which poor Ireland has received at the hands of her conquerors. You know that her sons were once limited like wild beasts, through the woods of Connaught; and where is the wonder then, if they failed to recognise a benefactor, when they beheld, it is true, law's and civilization in one hand, but in the other a frightful accompaniment of whips and scourges? Need I remind you that until the reign of James I. who, perhaps never more truly than on this point deserved the title of the English Solomon, the poor Irish pleaded in vain to be governed by the English law? This was a favour granted only to a few, while the majority of the natives, the mere Irish, as they were disdainfully termed, were denied a participation in the rights and privileges of English subjects, and were thus compelled to govern themselves by their own barbarous usages and customs, while they were exposed, almost without protection, to the outrages of their more favored neighbours.

A more enlightened policy has at length succeeded to these days of darkness; and let us hope that after a time the governors and the governed will form but one people. As they carried on a continual warfare against the law, and all its ministers, it became necessary that they should be acquainted with its intricacies, and estimate well the terrors of its sanctions. And this they have done. The lower orders of Irish, though an uneducated, are not an uninformed people, and upon this subject, which is of such vital importance to them they often show a knowledge, not only of the common points, but also of the technical niceties, which is far beyond any thing that would be met with in an English peasant. They understand exactly how far they may go without hazarding the animadversion of a magistrate; and often as they exceed the bounds of moderation, yet still oftener do they venture upon the very verge, and there stop short, to the surprise and admiration of all spectators."


* The the visit to Glen Veagh, took place some years ago. I have reason to believe, that in consequence of better arrangements in the revenue department, illicit distillation has ceased long ago in Glen Veagh.


Source: The Dublin Penny Journal, Vol. 1, No. 6 (Aug. 4, 1832)