Real pictures of clerical life in Ireland

Front matter

RE^L PICTURES

OF CLERICAL LIFE

IN IRELHHD

Preface To The Second Edition

This book has long been out of print, and yet from time to time it has been sought after and its re-publication desired by many.

The best testimony to the truth of the views put forth in its pages is the Reign of Terror which prevailed in Ireland while the horrors of the Land League were brooding over the land, and a picture of which I have endeavoured to delineate in 'Bruce Reynell, or the Oxford Man in Ireland.'

England has not to contend against fortress or army in Ireland ; she has to overcome the deep-rooted feeling of enmity which prevails in the hearts of the great majority of the people of three provinces of the island against her rule. To overcome that hostility, the only effectual remedy is ' the Sword of the Spirit,' which is the. ' Word of God,' once more restored to its rightful place in the system of education for Ireland. The late Duke of York spoke golden words when, talking of Ireland, he said, 'Develop her resources; curb her agitators ; and give her an open Bible !'

J. DUNCAN CRAIG, D.D.

Preface To The First Edition

Some of the scenes recorded in this book may appear strange to the English reader, and yet they are true. The Burning of the Sheas, the Kate Costello Tragedy, The Two Wills, and Father Ulick's Conversion, are all realities and true to life.

I have changed the name of persons and of places when such seemed advisable, as many of those mentioned in these pictures are still alive.

Though entertaining an honest conviction that the great secret of Ireland's misery is to be found in the Ultramontane Roman Catholicism which broods over her, and which the recent suicidal Irish Church Disendowment Act has so sadly helped to rivet its galling fetters over the noble Irish race, I have still, I trust, spoken kindly and with affection of the adherents of that faith. The earnest prayer of my heart for them is, that they may be led by the guidance of God's Holy Spirit from error into the glorious light of the pure and simple Gospel of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

I have endeavoured also to enlist the sympathy of the reader for the dear old Church of Ireland.

If the perusal of this book will lead to the conclusion that the difficulties against which she has had to struggle have been much more formidable than those who are ignorant of ministerial life in Ireland have hitherto supposed, and if this conviction shall excite a lively and practical sympathy with her in her endeavours to keep the light of the Gospel burning in the land, I shall indeed rejoice.

J. DUNCAN CRAIG, D.D.

Contents

CHAPTER

I. RETROSl'ECTIVE ... -

II. VERY RAMBLING - - -

Chapter I. Retrospective

It was a beautiful June morning in last year when I found myself standing, in company with the worthy Rector of Strathblane, in his old churchyard.

The beautiful Stirlingshire district; when you have passed the Campsie Hills, offers in Strathblane a fitting portal to the Highlands. The shade of Rob Roy seems yet to linger in this, his beloved haunt, and his memory is as fresh to-day as though dim decades of years had not elapsed since the proscribed Macgregors mustered for their midnight forays.

My father's paternal ancestors had been for some four hundred years holding lands in Stirlingshire and Dumbartonshire ; a long line of Isobels, Bethias, Lilias, among the female portion, and of Archibalds among the men, appears in old, well-worn registers. One of the Craigs had been a martyr of the Covenant, and had sealed his testimony by his blood; and much have I felt of pardonable pride in this glorious triumph of his faith. It appears also, from my father's testimony, that an ancient forfeited peerage, to which documents proving fully his right were in his possession, was claimed by him.

In the year 1752 my great-grandfather, John Craig, was married to Miss Jean Edmonstone, who was daughter of Archibald Edmonstone of Spittal, and who was a direct lawful

I lineal descendant, through her father, of Robert III. of Scotland, who, in the twelfth generation, was a lineal descendant of Alfred the Great.

In the church of Strathblane the worthy rector, the late Dr. Pearson, pointed out the spot, marked by a brass plate, where the Princess Mary Stewart, daughter of Robert III., and granddaughter of King Robert the Bruce, whose daughter was married to Robert III., first of the Stuart Kings, who was married to Sir William Edmonstone, lies buried."^ To him was granted, by her brother, King Tames II., in 1445, the lands of Duntreath, upon which the ancient castle of the Edmonstone race still stands — Duntreath in Gaelic meaning the Hill of the Chief, f Sir William's great-grandson, another

* I insert a curious circumstance relative to this Princess's grave, which the Rev. Mr. Monro related : ' A curious geological fact, bearing on the recent discussion on the antiquity of man, was mentioned at a Bible meeting held in the west of Scotland the other day, by the Rev. Mr. Monro, of Campsie. In the year 1440 — more than 430 years ago — the Lady Mary, daughter of Robert III. of Scotland, and married to Sir William Edmonstowne of Duntreath, died, and was buried in what is now the centre of the parish church of Strathblane. About 250 years afterwards her descendant, Archibald Edmonstowne, who was Icilled at the memorable siege of Londonderry, was buried in her grave. About twenty years ago, while the parish church was under repair, this grave was opened at the request of the present proprietor, a lineal descendant of these personages — Sir Archibald Edmonstowne. And now comes the curious part of the story. About five feet below the surface the workmen came upon the skeleton of a man, doubtless that of Archibald Edmonstowne. But on digging downwards they reached, not the skeleton of the Princess, but a deep bed of rough gravel, which appeared so obviously to have been undisturbed that they gave up the search for the remains of the body. They were encouraged, however, to persevere, and two or three feet further down they came upon the skull, but they were obliged to remove several large stones before they reached the other bones of the skeleton. The question is, How came that gravel and these stones there ? They must have come since the burial of the Princess, though there is neither record nor tradition of any inundation in the district. Yet, if this gravel has been drifted into Strathblane within the last 500 years, why not also at Abbeville, where the gravel is not smoother, or with fewer indications of having been disturbed ?'

+ Sir William Edmonstone, to whom the lands of Duntreath had been granted, was the second son of Sir John Edmonstone of Edmonstone by Isabel, daughter of Robert II., and widow of that Earl of Douglas and Mar who was slain at the Battle of Otterburn, chronicled in the ballad of Chevy Chase. The Princess Mary, whom he married, was thus his own first cousin, and sister to King James. This Princess had been previously married to the Earl of Angus ; Sir James Kennedy, ancestor of the Marquis of Ailsa ; Sir William Graham, ancestor of the Duke of Montrose, so that Sir William was her fourth husband, she having had children by all her husbands.

RETROSPECTIVE S

Sir William Edmonstone, governor of Doon Castle, fell, with the flower of Scottish chivalry, on the ill-fated field of Flodden. His second son was Archibald Edmonstone of Spittal,* whose grave is in Strathblane churchyard, the headstone bearing his shield with three crescents, in centre the ring, which is the mark of the Scottish second son, and graven underneath the words :

' Archibald Edmonstone, Second son of the family of Uuntreath, 151 5.'

The grave of his descendant, my great-great-grandfather, Archibald Edmonstone of Spittal, lies close alongside his resting-place.

The old Castle of Duntreath lies some two miles away from the kirkyard. The fortress is built upon the plain, and must have been erected before the general use of cannon. From the battlements a glorious view of Loch Lomond in the distance unrolls itself, shimmering like a silver mirror 'neath the deep green woods. On either side of the castle the two giant mountains rise up Titanic — Danqoiach on the one. hand, Dunglass on the other.

The castle itself was well worth seeing — the torture-chamber, the prison, the chamber of the deaf and dumb laird, who was set aside from the inheritance, and shut up in this solitary apartment, he being also supposed to have possessed the dread gift of ' second sight.' Many a time in the Chapel of Duntreath the Covenanters were sheltered and protected while •engaged in their spiritual and simple worship of the Most High. Many a time they were sheltered there from the fierce dragoons of Claverhouse. Its walls have often resounded with their sweet psalms of praise as these glorious old witnesses for the truth, daring death itself, assembled to worship the Lord their God.

It was very pleasing to observe how the late Sir Archibald Edmonstone had not only restored the castle, but, although himself an Episcopalian, had completely renovated the parish •church of Strathblane.

In the same parish of Strathblane for some centuries lived the ancient family of the Duncans of Drummiskirk, who held their lands, prospered, and were intermarried with the Lyles, Grahams, Craigs, and, finally, by the marriage of my grand-

* Spittal, now called Ballewan, is about a mile from Duntreath Castle.

father, Archibald Craig of Dalsholme,* with his cousin, Miss Duncan — when two of her brothers, after emigrating to America, and returning thence at the Secession War, ultimately settled in Dublin at the close of the eighteenth century — the occasion arose of my father's leaving Scotland. The Duncans were all very tall, powerfully made men. My grandfather Duncan, at the time of '98, commanded as colonel the Linen Hall corps of volunteers ; and my grand-uncle, Duncan, served as private in the same corps.

I have often seen the huge musket with which the latter was reported as having mounted guard at the time of the troubles, with a large bullet stuck in the muzzle thereof. There was a great rivalry between the Linen Hall corps and the Lawyers' corps. Both were smart regiments, both were well drilled, good shots ; each of the corps was solely composed of gentlemen ; and upon one occasion, when there was a field-day in the Phoenix, and after a hot day's parade, the regiments were marching back to town — colours flying, bands playing — the Lawyers' corps unluckily attempted to pass the Linen Hall corps at a narrow part of the road. Colonel Duncan, as the foremost ranks of the Lawyers' corps came up at ' the double,' seized a musket from the nearest volunteer, and with one sweep of his long, powerful arms absolutely brushed the leading files into the ditch. It is needless to add that the Lawyers' corps did not wait for a sequitur, but prudently fell back.

The earlier years of my father's life were eventful enough. Having realized an independence in the joint proprietorship of a Cheshire salt mine, he then set up a line of steamboats between Calais and Dover and Ostend and Dover. One of his captains was an old French privateer-man, Souville, a splendid type of the real French seaman. At this time steam was in its infancy, and many a narrow escape the I^od Roy had, in which boat my father exercised a general management.

Upon one occasion they were drifting with a paddle-wheel disabled upon the Goodwin Sands. All despaired of life;

* My father, leaving Dalsholme, came over to Ireland to his uncle, John Duncan, who lived in Granby Row about the year 1804.

The Duncans have passed away. Some went to the United States and became Southern planters. My uncles, another Colonel Duncan and his brother, served under Bolivar in South America, and have large plantations there.

It lingers in my memory still how the tale was told me of the two Misses Agnes Duncan, cousins-german, each very beautiful, and each dying on the same day, being brought on the same day and interred in St. Michan's churchyard.

RETROSPECTIVE 5

even the weatherbeaten old captain thought their position desperate, when my father, lashing the helm to keep the rudder against the solitary paddle-wheel, beat her over the Goodwins, and, by God's blessing, they were saved.

The Rob Roy was sold by him to the French Government, and, I believe, was the first steamer France possessed. He was appointed by the French Government instructor in steam navigation, and I have heard how, upon one occasion, the

Marquis de , a French naval captain, who thought, after

a lesson or two in steam, that he could dispense with his instructor's services, assumed himself the command, and my father, standing on the pier at Calais, waited for the marquis to bring in the steamer from the outside, which he did in a most remarkable manner ; for, getting up a full head of steam, he drove in stem on against the pier, and nearly went to the bottom — the marquis standing, cocked hat, sword, full uniform, Hessian boots, on the gangway, and his instructor, convulsed with laughter, on the pier.

In early life my father had been an ardent admirer of the first Napoleon, and upon one occasion declined the honour of being presented to the French King ; although by so doing, he lost the title of Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, which, it was intimated, would have been given him by the Sovereign.

After years of wandering abroad, returning to Dublin, my father, after his marriage with my mother, the daughter of David Taylor of Edendale, settled down in Dublin.

The Taylors were originally a Virginian family who came from America to Ireland, leaving behind them members of their race, one of whom. General Zachary Taylor, a cousin of my mother's, was the President of the United States, and representatives of which still exist in Virginia."^ After my mother's early death, my father was on the eve of settling, with his cousin Duncan, on the banks of the Lloire, whither a cavalry friend of theirs had preceded them, when the Bank of Ireland offered him, though he had never had any knowledge of banking or served in a bank, the managership of the Sligo branch of their establishment. Sligo at that time was very different from the Sligo of to-day. The people at that period were, especially at contested elections, prone to exhibit some rather striking propensities. One of the earliest recollections I have of the time is seeing the carriages, laden with voters, pursued by a

* President Taylor's son was the late brilliant Confederate cavalry officer — General Richard Taylor.

howling, stone-throwing mob, the dragoons, with drawn sabres, endeavouring at full gallop to escort them safely into the town. Another vivid mental picture still remains of the cavalrycharging at full speed, and the infantry pressing on after them with levelled bayonets into an immense surging mob, waving sticks, and hurling paving-stones against the forces.

My father's second wife's brother, Henry Griffith, D.L.^ of Ballytivnan House, county Sligo, a most active magistrate, and who, as such, had the privilege of being shot at more than once, possessed a large property in Tyreragh Barony. Upon one occasion, while driving home on a side car, he saw a man covering him with a blunderbuss from the covert of a ditch. Instantly presenting his umbrella at the fellow's head as though it were a gun, the man, confused and taken off his guard, fired — but only to miss his intended victim.

I have known, on one occasion, while travelling in a post-chaise, a pair of fine athletic Connaught peasants holding ' the crown of the causeway ' by keeping in the very middle of the road, and not allowing the vehicle to pass ; and when the postilion at last, losing patience, put the horses to speed, the peasants at once laid hold of them by their heads, and were coolly proceeding to drag the man from the saddle, until my father, bending forward out of the front window, presented a brace of long hair triggers at their respective heads, which proved an effective disperser. Indeed, some thirty-five years ago there was a great deal of barbarism in Connaught.

I can recollect when an obstinate horse refused to go on, quite a popular remedy was lighting a heap of straw between his legs. I have seen the operation with my own eyes.

The managership of the Cork branch being offered to my father by the Bank of Ireland directors, he removed thither. Great and varied changes have swept over the southern metropolis and its great county within the last thirty years. Who can recall the wondrous temperance wave which the Rev. Theobald Matthew, Rev. Nicholas Dunscombe, and others caused to pass over Ireland, without contrasting that great movement with the lamentable state of drunkenness now prevailing in the land, especially in the great cities ? But when temperance processions became political gatherings, and the hundreds of thousands of marching men, with banners and emblems, caused the disaffected to know their own strength, and the rapidity of concentration, these monster arrays became sources of danger.

RETROSPECTIVE 7

Who can forget, too, the well-known singular characters of the past thirty years ? Dan Callaghan, the member, now a memory of the past, whose burly person, loud voice, and deep laugh were well known among the Irish members, lingers still in memory.

Of him, I have heard that he used to relate that when

F , a well-known merchant returned to Parliament by the

Repealers, asked him, ' Now, my dear Callaghan, as you know well the kind of oratory that does best for the House, tell me, like a friend, what species of oratory would you advise me to adopt ; whether the Demosthenian or Ciceronian ?' ' And what did you tell him ?' inquired his listener. ' I told him to mix fhefn,' responded the worthy M.P.

My father, who was an accomplished linguist, and a profound mathematician, took a deep interest in savings banks, and invented the system of keeping savings banks' accounts in such a way as to afford the maximum of security to the depositor. This system, known as the 'Craig system,'"^ was adopted in the Cork, Limerick, and Carlisle savings banks with the greatest success. In fact, even in the worst and most depressed years, no run ever took place on the Cork Savings Bank since its adoption.

A full-length portrait of my father by Fisher, who was brought over from London to paint it, was taken by desire of the trustees of the Cork Savings Bank, and now hangs there in recognition of his services, which were all quite gratuitous ; indeed, the preparation of the very large volumes which contain his system cost him many an anxious hour, but he felt that it was labour sweetened by the certainty that the hard-earned deposits of the poor were amply guarded in whatever savings bank adopted the system.

My father's place, Horsehead House, near the town of Passage West, is very beautifully situated. The great broad reach of Lough Mahon, with Blackrock Castle guarding it at one side, and the wide sweep of Foti Bay before it, with the tall rampart-walls of the old castle of Belvelly. How delightful it used to be in days of college life to float about dreamily upon the waters, listening to the ripple of the tide against the bow, as the boat glided on past sandy creek and the fringed shore. The house itself is a modern structure, but portions of the old habitation still remain, which are as ancient as Elizabeth's time.

* See Encyclopadia Britannica^ article ' Savings Banks.'

We had, too, traditions of a ghost there ; a lady who, in rich silk and high-heeled boots, used to descend the stairs nightly, and some of the domestics had even professed to have been disturbed by her unwelcome presence while holding some down-stairs festivity.

My sister Alice, now Mrs. Worthington of Derwent Bank, Derbyshire, had early manifested a considerable poetic power ; and a published volume of hers contains some poems which evidence great taste and pathos.

My father died at Horsehead at a good old age.

There is a way of presenting what is the happiest life on earth, that of a Christian, in a gloomy and repulsive form ; and, in early life, he had fallen in with some who had repelled him by dreary repellent views of Christianity, instead of showing it as the most delightful and consoling existence amid the cares and sorrows of life.

His large Bible bore traces of having been well studied, and towards the closing days of life his whole mind seemed set on eternal things. When troubled with the remembrance of sin and sinfulness, that precious promise of God brought great comfort to his soul :

' Who is a God like unto Thee, that pardoneth iniquity and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of His heritage ? He retaineth not His anger for ever, because He delighteth in mercy. He will turn again, He will have compassion upon us : He will subdue our iniquities ; and Thou shalt cast all their sins into the depth of the sea' (Micah vii. i8, 19).

My elder brother Archibald died but two months after him ; his eldest son John played a man's part during the Franco- German War. He had charge of the Ludwigsburg Hospital, and after giving evidence of great ability, died of fever.

After my father's death Horsehead was left by the family.

How strange a drama is life — how wonderful its changes. How soon even the happiest home may prove too sorrowful for the survivors to enter into it again ; for

' It is not bricks and mortar make a home ; It is the hearts and voices —

And these change every day. '

Chapter II. Very Rambling

I HAVE lived to see many a change in Ireland, and I sometimes am led to think, when one contemplates the ' blundering and plundering ' Liberal administration of latter years, that, had Mr. Gladstone continued much longer in the premiership, if the English power were by any chance removed from Ireland, scarce a single vestige of English rule would be left in the land, save the names of the different viceroys borne by the squares, streets and buildings of the metropolis and leading towns.

One great improvement I have myself seen, viz., the abolition of duelling ; even within my own recollection, that unchristian murderous custom prevailed.

One October evening at Kinsale, a stranger called at the vicarage, and introduced himself as a Welshman, who, finding himself in Ireland, had run down to our quaint old town with the intention of discovering, if it were possible, in what portion of the large churchyard of St. Multose might be found the grave of a kinsman of his family, who some sixty years before had been slain in a duel by a brother officer, and who was buried there. He had to return by the evening train to Cork, and our search proved ineffectual ; however, I ascertained that a very old man, living in the Gift House, an institution in whose rows of small houses some poor old respectable yet decayed persons lived, and were supported by a small weekly grant, could throw some light on the subject. Poor old Thomas Hyatt was reading his large Bible by the aid of glasses and a tallow candle as I entered ; he was an aged shoemaker, one of the happiest, most simple-minded believers that I have ever met. Hyatt was exceedingly deaf, and when we both entered his little room and asked whether he remembered the lo REAL PICTURES OF CLERICAL LIFE IN IRELAND

circumstance referred to, he at once said that he did, and told that the poor officer was buried in the corner of St. Multose Churchyard, as you enter from the large gate. An old officer also recollected the occurrence. It was too late for the stranger to stay, so I found out the grave and copied the inscription for him, and sent it to him.

The slain officer was a young captain in a regiment of foot, and the man who shot him was a captain in the same regiment; the latter was a wild, reckless, dissipated man. Some trifling dispute about one of their servants led to a challenge, and a meeting took place. The murdered officer was of quiet gentlemanly demeanour and much esteemed in the regiment. His opponent was afterwards killed in a duel in Paris. ' I remember well the funeral of the young officer as it came down the Barrack-hill ; many a tear was shed that day for the poor young fellow, and the churchyard was filled to overflowing. Ah, sir ! the sight was a sore one, to think of that fine young man hurried into the awful presence of his God.' And old Hyatt crossed his hands on his knees and relapsed into meditation.

Trinity College, when I entered it in October 1847, was very difl"erent in many respects to what it is now. Very little attention was then paid to the religious improvement of the students. Now the men themselves have instituted a weekly prayer meeting, which is very largely attended by the undergraduates. Then such an assembly was unknown within its courts. A barrier stood in the way of the Dublin parochial clergy becoming acquainted with the students, and I regret to say that some of the fellows, from the very fact of their being obliged to become ordained to retain their fellowships, did not seem to realize the awful responsibility of the clerical office as they should. There were some bright exceptions to this. ' I shall for ever,' said one of the most distinguished divines of the Church of Ireland, 'feel grateful to that man ' (mentioning an eminent Fellow of Trinity) ' for the great pains which he took in showing me the truth. I knew not the Gospel until I met with Dr. .'

The college man, when he comes up from home to his dreary rooms, is of all men most lonely at first. The farewells of the loved ones are still ringing in his ears. He knows no one in Dublin, or no one that he cares to know. He sits after Commons in his room, and that terrible nostalgia creeps over him. That home-sickness that wrested the firelock out of the Swiss

VERY RAMBLING ii

soldier's hands in the wars of the first Napoleon, and sent him at the first note of the J^anz des Vaches flying with desolate heart to his snow-crowned alpine chalet, now comes in upon his heart. He knows no one as yet among his fellow students. Now is the hour when the Evil One plies his subtlest forms of temptation, and suggests the music-hall, the theatre, the billiard-room. One of the ablest young men I ever knew in Trinity said to me once : ' I was so wretchedly lonely when I first came up to my rooms, that that first night I fluttered like a moth round the candle, near the gas-lighted windows of the music-hall, and I feel that if I had gone in that night I would have become a drunkard.'

How happy is that student who joins a set of quiet reading men — men who are living not for life alone, but for God. And how much good may be effected by the Christian, whether he be clerical or lay, who will try to become acquainted with young men just joining Trinity, and will open his house to them for a happy evening, like the sweet home-life of the loved vicarage, or distant home that they have left.

Being anxious to obtain my degree as speedily as possible, I entered Trinity as a Fellow Commoner, by which, upon the payment of double fees, three months are saved in the time of graduation, and the doubtful privilege of being called ' Mr.' and having a tassel pendant from one's cap is secured, besides wearing the robe which sextons in churches adopt.

At breakfast, previous to that entrance examination in my tutor's chambers, my companion, poor Tom Esmonde, sat opposite to me, and the doctor poured out tea. I must say I felt gloomy. It was a dread ordeal this entering the University. I shall never forget that gloomy sugar basin ; it was black ebony, and was shaped and carved into the similitude of a human skull.

Poor Tom Esmonde, a member of an ancient Roman Catholic family, a fine manly fellow, with his blithe laugh and light step, as he swung out robed and capped towards the examination hall — little did the prospect of those worthies who, in their gilded frames, looked down from the canvas on the walls, afftct his spirits. I never entered that hall, but it seemed to me as though they were each and all saying, 'The College is going to destruction, since the half of you are not cautioned.' Ah me ! the tremors of mind when the batch of men came down from the end of the hall, and to our anxious inquiries, * Where is he examining now?' the gloomy response is given, showing that it is precisely in those concluding chapters which, alas ! you never opened. The frantic haste in which you turn to the fatal page, and take a hurried inspection to mark the pitfalls hidden therein. Poor Esmonde ! — we both passed, and not long after he forsook Trinity for the service, and in the Crimea, with great gallantry, was first man in one of the captured forts ; then he rose to be second in command of the Royal Irish Constabulary after having left the army, and now, poor fellow ! mourned and lamented by very many, rests in a soldier's grave.