The wild Irish girl, a national tale

Front matter

OF THE

U N I VERS ITY Of ILLINOIS

5)25

Letter I

TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.

Dublin^ Murch^ — , 17 —

T REMEMBER, when I was a boy, meeting sorae« where with the quaintly written travels of Moryson through Ireland, and being particularly struck with his assertion, that so late as the days of Elizabeth, an Irish chieftain and his family were frequently seen seated round their domestic fire in a state of perfect nudity. This singidar anecdote (so illustrative of the barbarity of the Irish, at a period when civilization had made such a wonderful progress even in its sister countries,) fastened so strongly on my boyish imagination, that whenever the Irish were mentioned in my presence, an Esquimaux group circling round the fire which was to dress a dinner, or broil an enemy, was the image which presented itself to my mind ; and in this trivial source, I believe, originated

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that early formed opinion of Irish ferocity, which has since been nurtured into a confirmed preju* dice. So true it is, that almost ail the erroneous principles which influenco our maturer being, are to be traced to some fatal association of ideas received and formed in early life. But whatever may be the cause^ I feel the strongest objection to becoming a resident in the remote part of a countiy which is still shaken by the convulsions of an anarchical spirit ; where for a series of ages the olive of peace has not been suffered to shoot forth one sweet blossom of national concord, which the sword of civil dissension has not cropt almost in the germ; and the natural character of whose factious sons, as we are still taught to believe, is turbulent, faithless, intemperate, and cruel ; formerly destitute of arts, letters, or civilization, and still but slowly submitting to their salutary and ennobling influence.

To confess the truth, I had so far suffered prejudice to get the start of unbiassed liberality, that I had almost assigned to these rude people scenes appropriately barbarous ; and never was more pleasantly astonished, than when the morning’s dawn gave to my view one of the most splendid spectacles in the scene of picturesque creation I had ever beheld, or indeed ever conceived — the bay of Dublin.

A foreigner on board the packet compared the view to that which the bay of Naples affords : I cannot judge of the justness of the comparison,

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thoiigli I am told one very general and commonplace ; but if the scenic beauties of the Irish bay are exceeded by those of the Neapolitan, my fancy falls short in a just conception of its charms. The springing up of a contrary wind kept us for a considerable time beating about this enchanting coast; the weather suddenly changed, the rain poured in torrents, a storm arose, and the beautiful prospect which had fascinated our gaze, vanished in the mists of impenetrable obscurity.

As we had the mail on board, a boat was sent out to receive it, the oars of which were plied by six men, whose statures, limbs, and features declared them the lingering progeny of the once formidable race of Irish giants. Bare headed, they “ bided the pelting of the pitiless storm,” with no other barrier to its fury, than what tattered check trousers, and shirts open at neck, and tucked above the elbows afforded ; and which thus disposed, betrayed the sinewy contexture of forms, which might have individually afforded a model to sculpture, for the colossal statue of an Hercules, under all the different aspects of strength and exertion.*

A few of the passengers proposing to venture in the boat, I listlessly followed, and found myself seated by one of these sea monsters, who, in an accent that made me startle, addressed me in

♦This little marine sketch is by no means a fancy picture ; it was actually copied from the life, in the summer of 1806

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English at least as pure and correct as a Thames’ boatman would use ; and with so much courtesy, cheerfulness, and respect, that I was at a loss to reconcile such civilization of manner to such ferocity of appearance ; while his companions as they stemmed the mountainous waves, or plied their heavy oars, displayed such a vein of low humour and quaint drollery, and in a language so curiously expressive and original, that no longer able to suppress my surprise, I betrayed it to a gentleman who sat near me, and by whom I was assured that this species of colloquial wit was peculiar to the lower class of the Irish, who borrowed much of their curious phraseology from the peculiar idiom of their own tongue, and the cheeriness of manner from the native exility of their temperament ; “ and as for their courteousness.” he continued, “ you will find them on a further intercourse, civil even to adulation, as long as you treat them with apparent kindness, but an opposite conduct will prove their manner proportionably uncivilized.” *

“ It is very excusable,” said I, “ they are of a class in society to which the modification of the feelings are unknown, and to be sensibly alive to kindness or to unkindness, is, in my opinion, a noble trait in the national character of an unsO' phisticated people.”

While we spoke, we landed, and for the something like pleasurable emotion, which the first on my list of Irish acquaintance produced in my mind, -I distributed among these “ sons of the waves,” more silver than 1 believe they expected Had I bestowed a principality on an Englishman of the same rank, he would have been less lavish of the eloquence of gratitude on his benefactor, though he might equally have felt the sentiment. — So much for iiiy voyage across the Channel I This city is to London like a small temple of the Ionic order, whose proportions are delicate, whose character is elegance, compared to a vast palace, whose Corinthian pillars at once denote strength and magnificence.

The wondrous extent of London excites our amazement ; the compact uniformity of Dublin our admiration. But a dispersion is less within the coup-d^ceil of observance, than aggregation, the small, but harmonious features of Dublin sieze at once on the eye, while the scattered but splendid traits of London, excite a less immediate and more progressive admiration, which is often lost in the intervals that occur between those objects 'vhich are calculated to excite it.

In London, the miserable shop of a gin seller, iud the magnificent palace of a Duke, alternately • reate disgust, or awaken approbation.

In Dublin the buildings are not arranged upon ';ch democratic principles. The plebian hut ofrs no foil to the patrician edifice, while their ^ ;>lendid and beautiful public structures are so - ‘Osely connected, as with some de^ee of policy a

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to Strike at once upon the eye in the happiest combination.*

In other respects this city appears to me to be the miniature copy of our imperial original, though minutely imitative in show and glare. Something less observant of life’s prime luxuries, order and cleanliness, there are a certain class of wretches v/ho haunt the streets of Dublin, so emblematic of vice, poverty, idleness, and filth, that disgust and pity frequently succeed in the minds of the stranger to sentiments of pleasure, surprise, and admiration. For the origin of this evil, I must refer you to the supreme police of the city ; but whatever may be the cause, the effects (to an Englishman especially) are dreadful and disgusting beyond all expression.

Although my father has a lage connexion here, yet he only gave me a letter to his banker, who has forced me to make his house my home for the few days I shall remain in Dublin, and whose cordiality and kindness sanctions all that has ever been circulated of Irish hospitality.

In the present state of my feelings, however, a party on the banks of the Ohio, with a tribe of Indian hunters, would be more consonant to my inclinations than the refined pleasures of the most polished circles in the world. Yet these warm-

* Although in one point of view, there may be a policy in this close association of splendid objects, yet it is a cir« cuinstance of general and just condemnation to all stranr gers who are not confined to a partial survey of the city.

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hearted people, who find in the name of stranger an irresistible lure to every kind attention, will force me to be happy in despite of myself, and overwhelm me with invitations, some of which it is impossible to resist. My prejudices have received some mortal strokes, when I perceived that the natives of this barbarous country have got goal for goal with us, in every elegant refinement of life and manners ; the only difference I can perceive between a London and a Dublin rout is, that Lere, amongst the first class, there is a warmth and cordiality of address, which, though perhaps not more sincere than the- cold formality of British ceremony, is certainly more fascinating.*

It is not, however, in Dublin I shall expect to find the tone of national character and manner ; in the first circles of all great cities (as in courts) the native features of national character are softened into general uniformity, and the genuine feelings of nature are suppressed or exchanged for a political compliance with the reigning modes and customs, which hold their tenure from the sanction and example of the seat of government. Before I close this, I must make one observation, which I think will speak more than volumes for the refinement of these people.

♦ Every unprejudiced traveller who visits them [the Irish] will be as much pleased with their cheerfuiness aa obliged by their hospitality; and will find them a Drave, polite, and liberal people.” — Philosophical Survey through Ireland by Mr. Young.

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During my short residence here, I ha\e been forced, in true spirit of Irish dissipation, into three parties of a night ; and I have upon these occasions observed that the most courted objects of popular attention, were those whose talents alone endowed them with distinction. Besides amateurs, I have met with many professional persons, whom I knew in London as public characters, and who are here incorporated in the first and most brilliant circles, appearing to feel no other inequality, than what their own superiority of genius confers

I leave Dublin to-morrow for M house. It

is situated in the county of , on the north-

west coast of Connaught, which I am told is the classic ground of Ireland. The native Irish, pursued by religious and political bigotry, made it the asylum of their sufferings, and were separated by a provincial barrier from an intercourse with the rest of Ireland, until after the Restoration ; so I shall have a fair opportunity of beholding the Irish character in all its primeval ferocity.

Direct your next to Bally , which I find is

the nearest post town to my Kamskatkan palace , where* with no other society than that of Black stone and Co. I shall lead such a life of animal existence, as Prior gives to his Contented Couple —

** They ate and drank, and slept — what then?

Why, slep‘ and drank, and ale again.” —

A.dieu. H. M.

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LETTER 11.

TO J. D. ESQ., M. P.

M HcMse.

In the various modes of penance invented by the various penance mongers of pious austerity, did you ever hear the travelling in an Irish postchaise enumerated as a punishment, which by far exceeds horse-hair shirts and voluntary flagelation ? My first day’s journey from Dublin being as wet a one as this moist climate and capricious season ever produced, my berlin answered all the purposes of a shower hath^ while the ventillating principles on which the windows were constructed, gave me all the benefit to be derived from the breathy influence of the four cardinal points.

Unable any longer to sit tamely enduring the penalty of Adam, the season^ s change f or to sustain any longer the “ hair-breadth ’scapes,” which the most dismantled of vehicles afforded me, together with delays and stoppages of every species to be found in the catalogue of procrastination and mischance, I took my seat in a mail coach which I met at my third stage, and which was going to a town within twenty miles of Bally . These twenty miles, by far the most

agreeable of my journey, I performed as we once (in days of boyish errantry) accomplished a toui to Wales— on foot.

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I had previously sent my baggage, and was happily unincumbered with a servant, for the fastidious delicacy of Monsieur Laval would never have been adequate to the fatigues of a pedestrian tour through a country wild and mountainous as his own native Savoy. But to me every difficulty was an effort of some good genius chasing the demon of lethargy from the usurpations of my mind’s empire. Every obstacle that called for exertion was a temporary revival of latent energy ; and every unforced effort worth an age of indolent indulgence.

To him who derives gratification from the embellished labours of art, rather than the simple but sublime operation of nature, Irish scenery will afford little interest ; but the bold features of its varying landscape, the stupendous attitude of its “ cloud capt” mountains, the impervious gloom of its deep embosomed glens, the savage desolation of its uncultivated heaths, and boundless bogs, with those rich veins of a picturesque champaigne, thrown at intervals into gay expansion by the hand of nature, awaken in the mind of the poetic or pictoral traveller, all the pleasures of tasteful enjoyment, all the sublime emotions of a rapt imagination. And if the glowing fancy of Claude Loraine would have dwelt enraptured on the paradisial charms of English landscape, the superior genius of Salvator Rosa would have reposed its eagle wing amidst those scenes of mysterious sublimity, with which the wildly magnifi-

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cent landscape of Ireland abounds. But the liberality of nature appears to me to be here but frugally assisted by the donations of art. Here agriculture appears in the least felicitous of hel aspects. The rich treasures of Ceres seldom wave their golden heads over the earth’s fertile bosom ; the verdant drapery of young plantations rarely skreens out the coarser features of a rigid soil, the cheerless aspect of a gloomy bog ; while the unvaried surface of the perpetual pasturage which satisfies the eye of the interested grazier, disappoints the glance of the tasteful spectator.

Within twenty miles of Bally I was liter-

ally dropt by the stage at the foot of a mountain, to which your native Wrekin is but a hillock. The dawn was just risen, and flung its gray and reserved tints on a scene of which the mountainous region of Capel Cerig will give you the most adequate idea.

Mountain rising over mountain, swelled like an amphitheatre to those clouds which, faintly tinged with the sun’s prelusive beams, and rising from the earthly summits where they had reposed, incorporated with the kindling aether of a purer atmosphere.

All was silent and solitary — a tranquility tinged with terror, a sort of “ delightful horror,” breathed on every side. — I was alone, and felt like the presiding genius of desolation !

As I had previously learned my route, after a minute’s contemplation of the scene before me, I

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pursued my solitary ramble along a steep and trackless path, which wound gradually down towards a great lake, an almost miniature sea, that lay embosomed amidst those stupendous heights whose rugged forms, now bare, desolate, and barren, now clothed with yellow furze and creeping underwood, or crowned with misnic forests, appeared towering above my head in endless variety. The progress of the sun convinced me that mine must have been slow, as it was perpetually interrupted by pauses of curiosity and admiration, and by long and many lapses of thoughtful reverie ; and fearing that I had lost my way (as I had not yet caught a view of the village, in which, seven miles distant from the spot where I had left the stage, I was assured I should find an excellent breakfast,) I ascended that part of the mountain where, on one of its vivid points, a something like a human habitation hung suspended, and where I hoped to obtain a carte du 'pays: the exterior of this hut^ or cahin^ as it is called, like the few I had seen which were not built of mud, resembled in one instance the magic palace of Chaucer, and was erected with loose stones,

“ Which, cunningly, were without mortar laid.”

thinly thatched with straw ; an aperture in the roof served rather to admit the air than emit the smoke, a circumstance to which the wretched inhabitants of those wretched hovels seem so perfectly naturalized, that they live in a constant state

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of fumigation ; and a fracture in the side \s r\\ (meant 1 suppose as a substitute for a casement) was stuffed with straw, while the door, olf its hinges, was laid across the threshhold, as a barrier to a little crying boy, who sitting within, bemoaned his captivity in a tone of voice not quite so mellifluous as that which Mons. Sanctyon ascribes to the crying children of a certain district in Persia, but perfectly in unison with the vocal exertions of the companion of his imprisonment, a large sow. I approached — removed the barrier : the boy and the animal escaped together, and I found myself alone in the centre of this miserable asylum of human wretchedness — the residence of an Irish peasant. To those who have only contemplated this useful order of society in England, “ where every rood of ground maintains its man,” and where the peasant liberally enjoys the comforts as well as the necessaries of life, the wretched picture which the interior of an Irish cabin presents, would be at once an object of compassion and disgust.*

* Sometimes excavated from a hill, sometimes erected with loose stones, but most generally built of mud, the cabin is divided into two apartments, the one littered with straw and coarse rugs, and sometimes, (but very rarely) furnished with the luxury of a chaff bed, serves as a dor mitory not only to the family of both sexes, but in general to any animal they are so fortunate as to posses-s ; the other chamber answers for every purpose of domesticity, though almost destitufe of every domestic im.plement, except the iron pot in which the potatoes are boiled, and the stool on which they are flung. From those wretched hovels C

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Almost siiflbcated, and not surprised that it was deserted pro tempo, I hastened away, and was attracted towards a ruinous barn by a full chorus of female voices — where a group of young females were seated round an old hag who formed the centre of the circle ; they were all busily employed at their wheels, which I observed went

(which often appears amidst scenes that might furnish the richest models to poetic imitation} it is common to behold a group of children rush forth at the sound of a horse’s foot, or carriage wheel, regardless of the season’s rigours, in a perfect state of nudity, or covered with the drapery of wretchedness, which gives to their appearance a still stronger character of poverty ; yet even in these miserable huts you will seldom find the spirit of urbanity absent — the genius of hospitality never. I remember meeting with an instance of both, that made a deep impression on my heart; in the autumn of 1804, in the course of a morning ramble with a charming Knglishwoman, in the county of Sligo, I stopped to rest myself in a cabin, while she proceeded to pay a visit to the respectable family of the O’H — ^s, of Nymph’s Field: when I entered I found it occupied by an old woman and her three granddaughters ; two of the young women were employed scutching flax, the other in some domestic employment. I was instantly hailed with tiie most cordial welcome ; the hearth was cleared, the old woman’s seat forced on me, eggs and po tatoes roasted, and an apology for the deficiency of bread politely made, while the manners of my hostesses betrayed a courtesy that almost amounted to adulation. They had all laid by their work on my entrance, and when I requested 1 might not interrupt their avocations, one of them replied “ I hope we know better — we can work any day, but we cannot any day have such a body as you under our roof.” Surely this was not the manners of a cabin but a court.

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3^ merrily round in exact time with their song, and so intently were they engaged by both, that my proximity was unperceived. At last the song ceased — the wheel stood still — and every eye was fixed on the oldpnmwm mohile of the circle, who, after a short pause, began a solo that gave much satisfaction to her young auditors, and/taking up the strain, they again turned their wheels round in unison. — The whole was sung in Irish and as soon as I was observed, suddenly ceased ; the girls looked down and tittered — and the old woman addressed me sans ceremonie^ and in a language I now heard for the first time.

Supposing that some one among the number must understand English, I explained with all possible politeness the cause of my intrusion on this little harmonic society. The old woman looked up in my face and shook her head ; 1 thought contemptuously — while the young ones, stifling their smiles, exchanged looks of compassion doubtlessly at my ignorance of their language.

“ So many languages a man knows,” said Charles V., “ so many times is he a man,” and it is certain I never felt myself less invested with the dignity of one, th^n while I stood twirling my stick, and “ biding the encounter of the eyes,” and smiles of these “ spinners in the sun.” Here you will say was prejudice opposed to prejudice with a vengeance ; but I comforted myself with the idea that the natives of Greenland, the mosi gross and savage of mortals, compliment n stranger by saying, “ he is as well bred as 9 Greenlander.”

While thus situated, a sturdy looking young fellow with that figure and openness of counte* nance so peculiar to the young Irish peasants, and with his hose and brogues suspended from a stick over his shoulder, approached and hailed the party in Irish : the girls instantly pointed his attention towards me; he courteously accosted me in English, and having learnt the nature of my dilemma, offered to be my guide — “ it will not take me above a mile out of my way, and if it did two, it would make no odds,^' said he. I accepted his offer, and we proceeded together over the summit of the mountain.

In the course of our conversation (which was very fluently supported on his side,) I learnt, that few strangers ever passing through this remote part of the province, and even very many of the gentry here speaking Irish, it was a rare thing to meet with any one wholly unacquainted with the language, which accounted for the surprise, and I believe contempt, my ignorance had excited.

When I enquired into the nature of those choral strains I had heard, he replied — “ 0 ! as to that, it is according to the old woman’s fancy and in fact I learnt that Ireland, like Italy, has its improvisatores, and that those who are gifted with the impromptu talent are highly estimated by theii rustic compatriots ; and by what he added, I dis-

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covered that their inspirations are either drawn from the circumstances of the moment, from one striking excellence or palpable defect in some of the company present, or from some humourous incident, or local event generally known.

As soon as we arrived at the little auherge of the little village, I ordered my courteous guide his breakfast, and having done all due honour to my own, we parted.

My route from the village to Bally- lay part-

ly through a desolate bog, whose burning surface, heated by a vertical sun, gave me no inadequate idea of Arabia Deserta; and the pangs of an acute headache, brought on by exercise more violent than my still delicate constitution was equal to support, determined me to defer my journey until the meridian ardours were abated ; and taking your Horace from my pocket, I wandered into a shady path, “ impervious to the noontide ray.” Throwing my “ listless length” at the foot of a spreading beech, I had already got to that sweet ode to Lydia, which Scaliger in his enthusiasm declares he would rather have written than to have possessed the monarchy of Naples, when somebody accosted me in Irish, and then with a;

God save you, Sir!” I raised my eyes, and beheld a poor peasant, driving, or rather soliciting, a sorry lame cow to proceed.

“ May be,” said he, taking off his hat, “ your Honour would be after telling me what’s the hour ?” ‘ Later than I supposed, my good friend,”

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replied I, rising, “ it is past two.” He bowed low, and stroking the face of his companion, added,

“ well, the day is yet young, but you and I hav^e a long journey before us, my poor Driminduath.”

“ And how far are you going, my friend ?”

“ Please your Honour, two miles beyond Bally ”

“It is my road exactly, and you, Driminduath, and I, may perform the Journey together.” The poor fellow seemed touched and surprised by my condescension, and profoundly bowed his sense of it, while the curious triumviri set off on their pedestrian tour together.

I now cast an eye over the person of my compagnon de voyage. It was a tall, thin, athletic figure, “ bony and gaunt,” with an expressive countenance, marked features, a livid complexion, and a quantity of coarse black hair hanging about the face ; the drapery was perfectly appropriate to the wearer — an under garment composed of ' “ shreds and patches,''* was partially covered with an old great coat of coarse frieze, fastened on the breast with a large wooden skewer, the sleeves hanging down on either side unoccupied,* and a pair of yarn hose which scarcely reached mid-- leg, left the ankle and foot naked.

Driminduath seemed to share in the obvious

* This manner of wearing the coat, so genera, amonc the peasantry, is deemed by the natives of the county o? Galway a remnant of the Spanish mode.

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poverty of her master — she was almost an anatomy, and scarcely able to crawl. “ Poor beast said he, observing I looked at her, ‘‘ Poor beast* little she dreamed of coming back the road she went, and little able is she to go it, poor soul ; not that I am overly sorry I could not get nobody to take her off my hands at all at all ; though tobe-sure ’tis better to lose one’s cow than one’® wife, any day in the year.”

“ And had you no alternative ?” I asked.

“ Anan !” exclaimed he, starting.

“ Were you obliged to part with one or the other?” Sorrow is garrulous, and in the natural selfishness of its suffering, seeks to lessen the weight of its woe by participation. In a few minutes I was master of Murtoch O’Shaughnassey’s story :* he was the husband of a sick wife the father of six children, and a labourer, or cotter^ who worked daily throughout the year for the hut that sheltered the heads, and the little potatoe rick which was the sole subsistence of his family. He had taken a few acres of ground,, he said, from his employer’s steward, to set gras® potatoes in, by which he hoped to make something handsome ; that to enable himself to pay for them he had gone to work in Leinster during the last harvest, “ where, please your Honour,” he added, “ a poor man gets more for his labour

mug

♦ Neither the rencontre with, nor the character or fitor5» of Murtoch, partakes in the least degree of fiction.

than in Connaught;* but there it was my luck (and bad luck it was) to get the shaking fever upon me, so that I returned sick and sore to my poor people without a cross to bless myself with, and then there was an end to my fine grass potatoes, for devil receive the sort they’d let me dig till I paid for the ground; and what was worse, the steward was going to turn us out of our cabin, because I had not worked out the rent with him as usual, and not a potatoe had I for the children ; besides finding my wife and two boys in a fever: the boys got well, but my poor wife has been decaying away ever since ; so I was fain to sell my