Lately Published , HINTS TO SMALL FARMERS. In I*2mo. price Is. sewed. HINTS originally intended for the SMALL FAR¬ MERS of the County of Wexford, but suited to most parts of IRELAND, By Mr. MARTIN DOYLE, --^ a new edition, with Hints on the Cultivation of/ _ TOBACCO. ^ “ Take this Work * all in all,’ we have seldom met with its like, especially if we consider a most material circumstance, namely, its price, only one shilling-. The Peasantry of our neglected Country are, hv this humble and unpretending publication, put in possession of nearly all that is necessary to be known by the most ardent admirer of the Farming Trade.”— {Belfast) Northern Whig. OBSERVATIONS on the RURAL AFFAIRS of IRELAND ; or a Practical Treatise on Farming, Plant¬ ing, and Gardening, adapted to the Circumstances, Resour¬ ces, Soil and Climate of the Country, including some Re¬ marks on the Reclaiming of Bogs and Wastes, and a few Hints on Ornamental Gardening, by Joseph Lambert, Esq. I Vol. 12mo. with Cuts, 6s. Cd. extra boards. “ This Volume should be in the hands of even/ Irish Landlord and Tenant; indeed in the hands of every one engaged in Agriculture.”— British Farmer's Magazine, No. 12. “ It is a useful compilation of sound, practical views on the subject* of Farming, Planting, and Gardening, adapted to the climate of Ire¬ land .”—Quarterly Journal of Agriculture, No. 7. “ This is a valuable little volume—valuable because practical plain, and rational. It is not inflated by theoretical dreams of what should, but common sense directions of what may, be. done.—The Work should be in the hands of every rural improver, not in Ireland only, but every where else.”— London's Gardener's Magazine, October 1829. IRISH COTTAGERS BY MR. MARTIN DOYLE, AUTHOR OF “ HINTS TO SMALL FARMERS.” v DUBLIN: WILLIAM CURRY, JUN. AND CO. 9, UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET, HURST, CHANCE AND CO. LONDON, AND OLIVER AND BOYD, EDINBURGH. I John’ S. Folds, Printer, Great Strand-street. f • UmL HORARY BOSTON COILEGF PREFACE. It was not the Author’s intention to trouble his readers, (if indeed with readers he is doomed to be honored,) with any prefatory observations to the little Volume, which he now ventures to offer to the public eye. Indeed, the Work itself is so unpretending, as to render a formal intro¬ duction: to it as suitable an appendage, as a ves¬ tibule would be to a sentry box. In consequence, however, of some striking coincidences between certain passages in the fol¬ lowing pages, and some parts of the “ Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry,” lately pub- a3 PREFACE. lished—(which coincidences are so remarkable, as to lead to the very obvious conclusion, that the contents of the former, have been suggested by those of the latter, which happen to have had the priority in point of publication)—the Author deems it necessary to state, that he had not even seen the “ Traits and Stories of the Irish Pea¬ santry,until after he had completed and sold the “ Irish Cottagers,” to his very respectable publishers, whose liberal encouragement of Irish works, he is happy to embrace this opportunity of acknowdedging, they—(Messrs. Curry and Co.) are w r ell aware of the truth of this assertion, and ready to give it their unequivocal attestation. The Author’s object has been to convey sound practical advice to the rural population of his country, through a familiar and entertaining medium, free from the vulgar caricature, as well as the coarseness and blasphemies, with which too many Irish tales of the present day, so co* piously and offensively abound. PREFACE. Iii the occasional introduction of Anglo-Hiber¬ nian diction, phraseology, and pronunciation, he trusts he has not deviated from the faithful deli¬ neation of Irish Character, in the South Eastern parts of the Province of Leinster. Some of the prototypes of his impersonations, are, indeed, living objects of his every-day contemplation. I Ballyorley, June 1st, 1830. * ■ . . ' . - • •» CONTENTS. Chapter I. Page The Marriage of Mick Kinshella and Joanny Brady - 1 Chapter II. The commencement of Mick Kinsliella’s farm manage¬ ment, under his landlord’s directions—the building and occupation of his house - - - 9 Chapter III. Nick Moran, his character, and that of his wife—Nick sells a pony to a quaker at a fair—the sudden improve¬ ment of his house—the house-warming—the riot which succeeded—its results - - - - 18 Chapter IV. Scene at the Petty Sessions of Farnasheshery—Nick Moran and some of his company sent to the tread mill - - - - - - 29 Chapter V. 59 Characters of the schoolmaster and his wife CONTEXTS. Chapter VI. Page The Schools—male and female - - - 44 Chapter VII. Inspection of the cottages and farms on Mr. Bruce’s estate—those of Mick Kinshella and Dick Doyle contrasted—rotation of crops—and adjudication of premiums—the best mode of keeping a pig in its stye - - - - - - 49 Chapter VIII. Death of Peter Dempsey, deputy supervisor of roads— Lis funeral—conversations at it—scene at the burial place - - - - - - 60 Chapter IX. Intended petition against tithes - - - 70 Chapter X. Conversation in Mr. Bruce’s house—on tithes—tempe¬ rance—non-residence—Molly Moran and her bums - 77 Chapter XI. Mick Kinshella succeeds Peter Dempsey—extraordinary appearances in the church-yard at midnight—supersti¬ tious fears—supposed ghost - 90 CONTENTS. Chapter XII. Page The horrifying appearances of the preceding night, ac¬ counted for—the pursuit of body snatchers by the Famasheshery boys—disasters in Dublin—imprison¬ ment - 101 Chapter XIII. Dick Doyle’s letter to Mr. Bruce—Advertisement rela¬ tive to Peter Dempsey’s corpse - - - 114 Chapter XIV. Sickness and death of Willy Kinshella - - 121 Chapter XV. The horse race—Dennis the jockey—the steeple chase— Nick Moran engages in another riot—and emigrates to Canada - 130 ' 1 « — "J 1 * > ..ru • • i :> • <•* . - ■ a • • r { - ■ -» f ; ■ I • * .T v r ' " '• X Y ' ’ i" v -39 i — C lf M - - - * IRISH COTTAGERS. CHAPTER I. The marriage of Mick Kinshella and Joanny Brady. “Ah! then, could I be after spaking a few words to you, Peter Brady ?” said old Daniel Kinshella, some years ago, to the other, as they were leaving their parish chapel on the Sunday before Shrovetide, and proceeding together in the direction of their homes, which were in the same township. “ To be sure you can, Dan, 5 ' responded Peter; “ and why shouldn’t you ? Aren’t we neigh¬ bours, and neighbours’ childer, these hundred years and more ? And haven’t you a good right to ax me what you plase, when I know ’tis all in civility?” B ») IRISH COTTAGERS. 44 I’ll tell you, Peter,” said Daniel; 44 and if you’re not plased, wliy we won’t be any worse friends, I expect, after. My boy Mick lias a liking for your daughter Joanny(something like a grunt from Peter;) 44 and so I was think¬ ing, as we’re neighbours, and neighbours’ cliil- der ourselves, we might knock up a match between them: that’s what I wanted to say to you.” 44 Dan,” replied Peter, 44 Mick Kinshella is no match for Joanny Brady, barring you mane to give him the biggest half of your little liould- ing, a couple of cows, and lashings of money besides. The best boys in the parish are after Joanny, I can tell you, because they know I’ll give her”— 44 Ah! then, what will you give her?” so quickly demanded Daniel, as to embarrass, for a moment, his cautious companion, who had no intention whatever of having the depth of his purse fathomed, nor of prematurely committing himself in this, or in any other matter of bargain. 44 Why, I’ll give her penny for penny with you, Daniel Kinshella.” 44 No,” said the other, “that won’t do; but I’ll tell you what Mick Kinshella shall have, since he’s so entirely bothered about the girl. I’ll divide the parkeens equally with him, perch for IRISH COTTAGERS. 3 perch, and give him the brindled cow, and the year old breeding sow, and (after a pause,) five guineas in gold.” 44 It won’t do, Dan; you must mend your hand.” 44 Why, Peter Brady, man, you’re mighty hard upon me this day, of all blessed days in the year. Where would I get any more, barring a sheep or two ?” 44 Well, Dan, give me your hand,” taking and slapping it on the palm* 44 Double the five guineas, and it’s a match.” Here Peter Brady’s hand was seized by his friend, who, giving it a tremendous bang in re¬ turn, offered, by way of clincher, two guineas more. 44 Seven guineas, Peter; that’s the sum totial of what I’ll give Mick, provided that you give Joanny the thirty hard guineas you have in the box.” 44 No; make it the even ten guineas,” rejoined Peter, 44 and it’s a contract; arid I’ll give Joanny five-and-twenty guineas in hand.” 44 Split the difference,” sagaciously hinted Dick Doyle, who had just come up, 44 and let us have a naggin at Pat Colfer’s, for there’s no luck in a dry bargain anyhow.” 44 1 won’t brake your word, Dick,” added each 4 IRISH COTTAGERS. of the old boys: so, after a little more hard deal¬ ing, when matters were pretty well concluded, they drank—something more than one naggin, you may be sure, at Peter Brady’s expense, in Pat Colfer’s little parlour, without altering the terms already stated, farther than making mutual stipulations, through Dick’s management, that Joanny was to receive a bed, and some other articles of furniture, with two geese and a gan¬ der, from her father, while it was admitted by the other party, that the marriage money should be paid by the Kinshellas; and, what was of more importance to the young folks, that they should live, for the first year, turn about with their parents. These preliminary arrangements being thus concluded, and the marriage determinately fixed on, it only remained to consult Father Murphy, the aged and respected priest of the parish, as a point of duty; and to submit the matter, as an affair of courtesy, (a due proportion of self-inter¬ est, of course, involved in it,) to Mr. Bruce, the landlord, a gentleman of rank and character, who, a few years before, had left England, where he had been chiefly educated, to reside altoge¬ ther on his Irish estate, in the vicinity of which he became acquainted with a very charming woman, to whom he soon became united by IRISH COTTAGERS. 5 marriage. From the former, a wedding was almost sure of approval; from the latter, it met no discouragement in this case; and as the young people had long before made up their minds to the match, there was nothing to prevent it from taking place on the succeeding Shrove-Tuesday. It is true that there were a few trifling things to be looked to—beef and mutton, turkeys and / geese, chickens and bacon, puddings and pies,Y whiskey and sugar, and a few bottles of port for Father Murphy, his coadjutor, and the landlord, (whose condescension in promising to appear for an hour or two at the wedding, excited no little vanity in the two families so especially in¬ terested,) cakes and bread, tobacco and candles, were to be provided; besides petticoats, shifts, caps, shoes, stockings, cloak, bonnet, and gloves. However, as there was nearly a day and a ha for the buying, killing, scalding, plucking, and cooking, cutting out, stitching, sewing, washing, starching, and drying these necessaries for the inside and the outside; and as Joany Brady, always prompt and diligent, now laboured with double assiduity, the aforesaid preparations "were completed in due time. Fortunately there was no need of an attorney to draw up a settlement; the stipulated fortune was paid into Mick’s hands, an hour or two before the priests and the 6 IRISH COTTAGERS. ’squire had arrived, and just as nine or ten pair of young men and women were in view, riding double, and “ fiery red with haste” to win the bride’s garter. One of the jockeys in this sweepstakes, however, was so intent, as many a greater man has been, on the garter, that he left the companion with whom he started, pillion and all, sprawling on the spot where she had fallen from her seat, and arrived singly at the winning-post; but not having brought up his weight, he was sent back, very properly, for the girl he left behind him. But the secrets of this wedding shall not be disclosed by me. I might be extremely entertaining and communicative on this subject, if I thought proper to indulge my humour, and could relate many things which occurred at it; for instance, how, when the cloth was taken off, the plate of cake was handed round, first to the landlord, who took a bit, and laid down a guinea in its stead, and how crowns and half-crowns emulously followed, in contri¬ bution to the priest’s fees; and how Father Murphy drank a blessing to the newly married couple, in a bumper out of his own bottle, which nobody else presumed to meddle with ; and how the bride’s heart thumped against her ribs when she got up to dance before the gefitlemen, and how gracefully she did “ heel and toe,” and IRISH COTTAGERS. 7 “ covered the buckle,” and “ cut it acrassand how Nick Moran’s animal spirits evaporated in frequent kicks, introduced among his more regu¬ lar capers, on that part of his own body which ji t other times he used for sitting on, ^ and which lie would ~have^vefy^decldeSlydisapproved of any one else saluting in the same manner; and how Tom Duff came for the coadjutor to marry him to Mary Donohoe, although he had promis¬ ed the day before to have Biddy Doyle, and how Biddy got over her disappointment by taking Pat Whelan, not to let the pairing season pass over, and this the last night of it; and how the coadjutor had afterwards to perform the same ceremony for Mr. Bruce’s four dairy-maids and their lads ; and how tired both their reverences were from all the duty they had discharged in this way during the two days and nights pre¬ ceding; and how Father Murphy’s watch was an hour slower on this night, just to keep within canonical hours; and how the same accident, as to time, had annually happened at the same hour, for half a century preceding; and how he rode home on his own horse that night, which was remarkable, as he was a very absent man, and usually mounted the first horse that was~£ brought to him, provided that he was a steady, sober-going beast, like his own, and somewhat 8 IRISH COTTAGERS. of the same altitude and colour; and how Mick Kinshella, when he was retiring to the bridal bed-room, escaped from the volley of cabbage- stalks which was prepared for him, by cleverly throwing his coat and waistcoat over Nick Moran, who was drunk in a corner of the kit¬ chen, and only roused to sensibility by receiving on his own person the whole discharge of the vegetable artillery which had been designed, according to custom, as a feu dejoie for the body of the bridegroom; and many other events of that wedding I could also narrate, if I chose to do so; but I won’t disclose a single particular that happened, because, even if I had been there, (and no matter whether I was there or not,) I make it a point of honour to keep all matrimo¬ nial secrets to myself. I will, therefore, wish all the party, including you, my dear and respected readers, a good night’s rest; and I too will take a nap until the next chapter. IRISH COTTAGERS. 9 CHAPTER II. The commencement of Mick Kinshella’s farm management, under his landlord’s directions—the building and occupation of his house. During the year which they passed with their respective parents, our new-married folks were industriously employed. Mick having hired an able young fellow to assist him for a month or two, commenced his mud-walled house, and Joanny plied the wheel, (she had sown half a rood of flax on her father’s land during the pre¬ ceding year,) until she had as much thread spun ’ as furnished her with a good supply of strong i sheets and table-cloths; she also spun two stones V of wool for blankets, and made up cheap calico • \ curtains for the bed and window of the intended sleeping-room, as neatly as if they had been executed by the monitress-general of the Edu¬ cation Society’s model school in Dublin, which confessedly sends out some excellent hands, at all kinds of needlework; nor did she allow this occupation to prevent her from keeping Mick’s shirts and stockings in good order, nor even from adding a few pair to his supply. Mr. Bruce had recommended that their united 10 IRISH COTTAGERS. fortunes should be deposited in a saving bank, and only taken out as necessity required, a plan of good management from which the young couple afterwards derived profit and comfort. The building of the house, however, cost a smart sum in the first instance : and the hire of the man, during Mick’s busy time, came to four pounds, besides the sum expended in the pur¬ chase of an ass and cart, and a good heap of dung, and some lime, from a neighbour who was going to America, which, when paid for, left very little in the bank, but still the nest egg was there, a matter of great moment to the thrifty and provident. Mick at first had thought of buying a horse, but when Mr. Bruce shewed him that his capital would be totally sunk by doing so, and that the farm could never afford such an incumbrance, he adopted the plan of buying the ass for drawing the manure from the emigrant’s farm, and mate¬ rials for roofing and thatching the house from the wood, and his father’s bawn, where he got the straw for nothing. The first piece of farming work was to level the furze fences, (if crumbling and uneven banks deserve the name,) which, during the time of his grandfather and father, had, at dif¬ ferent times, on one foolish plea or another, IRISH COTTAGERS. 11 been raised to divide and subdivide the ill-tilled and dirty fields which they enclosed. By this process the tenth part of his land, previously lost to any useful purpose, was brought into cultiva¬ tion, and not an inch of his four acres (the total quantity of the little farm) left useless, and as much furze stumps and fagots were collected from these levelled fences, as afterwards supplied half a year’s fuel. While Mick was engaged in throwing down these mouldering banks, Mr. Bruce rode into the field, for this gentleman was constantly en¬ couraging and directing the rural improvements on his estate, as well as promoting the household comforts of his tenants; and seemed highly pleased with Mick’s economy of his land, and took the opportunity of explaining to him, that the only parts of those ditches* then valuable, were the tops and sides, though they had origi¬ nally formed the worst part of them ; he pointed out the fact, that if a bank be made for the purpose of a fence, suppose four or five feet wide at bottom, and diminishing to three at top, the stuff of which that bank (or ditch) is made, will, in the course of no great number of years, entirely alter its nature and condition; for in the * Hibernice. 12 IRISH COTTAGERS. construction of the bank, all tlie productive soil is at the bottom, and all the unproductive in the upper part; yet, after a lapse of years, when it comes to be levelled, the qualities or characters of its constituent parts will be found exactly reversed; the top will have become mel¬ low and kindly soil, and all parts of it which icere not too far removed from the action of the airf will be found to have improved, while even the fertile surface, or rather the surface which had been fertile when the bank was built, will be found to have changed its texture, to have become hard and stiff, and to have forfeited all claim to fertility. Mr. Bruce, therefore, advised Mick to lay off the upper part and sides of his old broken ditches, (the dykes of which were very narrow, and not deep,) and to dig the foun¬ dation part of the bank pretty deeply, filling up the small dykes with part of it, and covering the entire of the levelled surface with what had been laid aside; and assured his young tenant, that when the whole mass should have been ex¬ posed for two or three years, by repeated dig¬ gings, to the influence of the air, with the addition of some enriching substances, those new * Have any philosophic agriculturists satisfactorily account¬ ed for this ? IRISH COTTAGERS. 13 parts of his fields would become as productive as any other. “ But here,” continued Mick’s landlord, point¬ ing to half an acre of wet land, “ you have something to do. Is there a spring in this place to be cut off ? or has an under drain been closed? For surely it cannot have been left by your fa¬ ther and grandfather in this unprofitable state, without some effort to drain it?” Mick, however, honestly stated, that it had never been thought icorth while by his predeces¬ sors to mend such a small patch , (although they would at once have gone to law if a square yard had been damaged, or encroached on by a neigh¬ bour,) which had been found to answer grazing purposes well enough in summer. It appeared that there was no spring to be cut off, but that a stiff impenetrable bottom prevented the sur¬ face waters from soaking downwards; that, while in winter it was in a state of mortar, in dry seasons it was too hard, and apt to open in cracks, until saturated again with water. “ You must treat this,” said Mr. Bruce, “ in the Gloucestershire way. Lay it in ridges, thirty feet wide, a few of which will include all the diseased part, and raise them to the height of three or four feet in the centre.” Mick, who though he had never seen or heard 14 IRISH COTTAGERS. of such highly elevated and broad ridges, had judgment enough to enquire if corn crops would ripen evenly on land so formed, the sunny and sheltered side being likely to ripen sooner than that which would be exposed to the prevailing winds, and less open to the sun. “ It is true,” said the landlord, “ and I give you credit for your enquiry, that one side will ordinarily produce a better crop than the other, but on the whole , the return from a field so ma¬ naged will be much greater than from ridges laid in a flatter form, with a much greater number of furrows, which, from being always under water in wet weather, will never yield anything but sour grass in summer. Take your spade and shovel,” continued he, “ throw off all the corn earth, or upper soil, into rows, at the dis¬ tances I have recommended; then shape the hard under clay, in the intermediate space, into ridges, four feet high in the centre, (work, in short, as if you were making a road , except in making your ridges much higher tlian for that purpose,) and then spread the earth which you had removed, equally over this new surface: by this mode of treatment you will render your land perfectly dry at all times, which, with such an under soil, could not be the case, even if drains were cut in it as close as the bars of a gridiron ; IRISH COTTAGERS. 15 and all your upper soil will be of uniform depth; and when once these ridges are formed, they are completed for ever.” At the same time, this judicious gentleman explained to Mick, that in dry land, ridges being only necessary to mark out the land for the operations of the plough, it is better to have them, on such soil, of the breadth of twelve or fifteen feet, which will answer equally for drill and for broadcast sowing, the sower being able, at one cast, to throw the seed on the entire ridge, which afterwards is covered by the harrow at a single draught. 44 These,” proceeded he, 44 my good fellow, are matters of close calculation in England, where even the number of turnings in drawing furrows may be of importance in the expense. By such little farmers as you and your father are, these things are not considered, the difference being trifling in labour and ex¬ pense; but in England, where there are no such occupiers, these points are narrowly looked into.” 44 But, sir,” demanded Mick, 44 do they make the wide ridges in England on the wet soils, and where I hear the fields are so desperate big entirely, with spades and shovels, or with ploughs ?” 44 With ploughs,” said Mr. Bruce, 44 drawn by four or five large horses or bullocks, (often 16 IRISH COTTAGERS. more than are necessary,) which are able to force through the stiff lands, and, by repeated plougli- ings, [father the ridges in the centre. But de¬ pend on it, that when such a small holder as you are has to execute this work, the spade and sho¬ vel will be the best and cheapest instruments. Mick had no reason to question this, particu¬ larly-as he had the satisfaction of knowing that the price of a horse was saved, that there was no outgoing for hay or oats, and that lie had health and strength to use the spade and which ate and drank nothing. In occasional conversations of this kind, Mick acquired much solid knowledge from his benevo¬ lent landlord, which he immediately applied to practice, to the surprise of his neighbours, who could not be persuaded that he was not making a fool of himself by changing the ould method . One notion, however, quickly got into their heads, namely, that he was only trying to hu¬ mour the master, and that all his losses (for losses they anticipated as certain,) would be made good by him. But this never proved to be the case, because Mick became a gainer, and not a loser, by following the new system recom¬ mended to him; and Mr. Bruce, on principle, abstained from giving any undue advantages to this man, whom he designed for a model to his shovel^/ IRISH COTTAGERS. 17 other small holders. It is true, that he gave a fair and accommodating time for paying up the rent; and in this way was more indulgent to him than lie would have been, had Mick’s gene¬ ral habits been different, and his husbandry practices unimproving. I shall now leave Mick and his wife, (who, with the addition of a new-born infant, took possession of their house precisely at the end of a year after their marriage,) and pass on to some other matters, without, however, losing sight of these favorites. 18 IRISH COTTAGERS. CHAPTER III. Nick Moran, his character, and that of his wife—Nick sells a pony to a quaker at a fair—the sudden improvement of his house—the house-warming—the riot which succeeded— its results. Mick Kinshella had a married neighbour, Nick Moran, introduced to the reader’s notice in the first chapter, a man of very different cha¬ racter from himself. Several years before this time, Nick had been left by his father a well- stocked farm of twenty acres, which, by con¬ tinued care and assiduity, had become extremely productive; he also found fifty pounds in a well- tied old leathern case, which had long been the bearer of his treasure, and which, for safety, knowing how many fingers were itching for it, he always carried in his breeches-pocket. But, unfortunately, Nick married, as soon as he be¬ came his own master, a young woman, who, though of no very bad character in the main, was yet an idle, extravagant slattern, never found to a certainty at home, except when lying- in, if wake, or funeral, or patron , or gathering of any kind, was within her reach. Nick himself had been always a roystering IRISH COTTAGERS. 19 blade, fond of company and sport, yet shrewd and cunning in some tilings; a good judge of cattle, and a keen hand at a bargain, for his father had been in the habit of sending him as a cattle-jobber to distant fairs, to purchase cows or pigs, which they often afterwards sold to advantage. The habits of tippling which Nick had contracted in his rambling excursions, owing, in a great degree, to a very evil custom among his humble countrymen, of never buying or sell¬ ing without the whiskey-bottle, as a party, did not contribute any good qualities to his charac¬ ter ; and to render matters worse, his wife was a tea-drinker, and a company-keeper in his absence, occasionally pilfering a bag of potatoes, a stone of meal, or a barrel of oats, for the publican, or the liuxter who supplied her with tea and sugar, whiskey and tobacco. The candle was thus melting at both ends, and every thing went wrong within the house, and without it. The fields in which the job cattle were confined between one fair and another, were poached in wet weather; the fences were broken down, and left so; the drains were choked up, and not cleared again; the crops were half weeded; in a word, every thing denoted carelessness, mis¬ management, and want of economy. The fifty pounds at length went to clear off rent and 20 IRISH COTTAGERS. arrears, which had been accumulating for three J O years, and the cattle vanished also. The last struggle which Nick made to replace them was in vain, and so it deserved to be. He had picked up, for two pounds, an abominably vicious, untractable little pony, that would neither lead nor drive, unless when overpowered by flog¬ ging and fatigue, and its determination to draw anything was insuperable. Nick, however, con¬ trived to force the animal to a very distant fair, and to exhibit him, his own long legs astride on him all the time, at the green where horses were ranged for sale. It soon happened that one of the Society of Friends, attracted by the excel¬ lent points of the animal, enquired his price; but the bargain shall be stated exactly as it was made, in the presence of a crowd of petty horse- dealers. Friend .—What will t.liee take for thy pony? Nick .—Fifteen guineas, your honour. Friend. —Don’t honour me; “honour to whom honour.” But won’t thee take less ? Nick .—(Scratching his head, and considering, perhaps, that the quaker was not to be huxtered with.) May be I might give a good luck-penny. Friend. —But, first, will he draw a car, or little carriage ? Thee must engage him. Nick .—Och ! let him alone for that. IRISH COTTAGERS. 21 Friend .—Will thee warrant him to plough ? Nick .—To plough, is it? I tell you what I’ll warrant—that car, cart, and plough, are all alike to him. (Aside. The devil a one of ’em will the same baste ever put his back under.) And I won’t ax the money till you get on his back and try him, how pleasant and aisy he travels. For Nick knew v£ry well that the pony was sobered enough by this time to carry any per¬ son ; and quietly and smoothly did he now move under the “friend” who, finding no reasonable fault with him, at once offered the sum which, on coming to the fair, he had intended to expend in the purchase of horse-flesh—ten pounds— a very old saddle and bridle included in the bargain. Nick. —Why, then, if I take ten guineas this day for him, may I be— Frierid .—If thee swears, thee may keep thy horse. I’ll give thee no more. (Going.) Nick. —Well, well, you’re a quaker, sure enough, then, and I must be at a word with you. You must give me a luck-penny, anyhow, to drink. Friend. —I’ll give thee a shilling to refresh thyself, but don’t thee exceed. After Nick had reiterated his protestations of the pony’s excellencies, the simple and upright 2 *2 IRISH COTTAGERS. quaker paid him his money, which Nick might have carried home, had not his besetting sin assailed him in a critical moment. There was a tent hard by ; the luck-penny was in his hand; in went Nick, and changed not only his shilling, but a pound-note afterwards; and there he re¬ mained for that day, and part of the succeeding one, until some acquaintances of the quaker, witnesses of the bargain, came in with a con¬ stable, took Nick before a magistrate, proved to the engagement, implied , though not, perhaps, expressed in the straightest form of words, and obliged him to surrender the purchase-money, ten shillings of which, however, had been spent in the tent, where the fascinations of a drunken piper had so long detained him. Nick’s dishonesty, for such his conduct really was in principle, however disguised by the trickery of words, and the character of his pony being now completely bloicn through the fair, our unfortunate jobber had to come home again just as he went, only that the pony died on the road, from ill-usage and exhaustion. The gale-d ay soon came round again, and Nick was at length ejected from his farm, and glad to find shelter for himself and his family in a wretched cabin, on the road-side, with a small potato-garden behind it, for which he was IRISH COTTAGERS. 23 charged, by a man almost as poor as himself, Q^ily four times its value. He was ever afterwards, as may be supposed, in one perplexity or another, from his total want of discretion, economy, and self-restraint; care¬ less, idle, and improvident, while his potatoes lasted; compelled, when they were consumed, which was usually at the end of December, to slave unremittingly, in order to preserve himself from beggary; and still there was no trusting him with a shilling in his pocket, although that shilling was earned by the sweat of his brow. Mr. Bruce, in the hope of his reformation, and seeing that he was occasionally a laborious and ready workman, often employed him, and he was perhaps inclined to judge favourably of him now, from having observed certain indica¬ tions of a desire in Nick and his wife for comfort and cleanliness. These symptoms appeared from their having renewed the thatch of the hovel with tolerable trimness, dashed and whitewashed its walls, and inserted windows where there had been only apertures before, so small as to require no other shutter at night than a wisp of straw, or the tattered breeches, out of which Nick had slipped on tumbling into bed; and above all, by their having filled up, for a cabbage gar¬ den, the green and stagnant pool which had 24 IRISH COTTAGERS. /long been in front of the door. All these im- )rovements had been effected by Nick’s energy and assiduity, within a single week, the materials having been supplied by Mr. Bruce. The Morans, however, in all this had something farther in view than merely pleasing their em¬ ployer ; they speculated (or rather Nick specu¬ lated, for his wife, sobered by continued misery, disliked the scheme, as tending to excite Mr. Bruce’s disapprobation,) on making a guinea or two, and a belly-full of whiskey to boot, by the contributions of their friends; his plan was to invite every neighbour, cousin, and well-wisher, within six miles of him, to a subscription house¬ warming , to collect within his metamorphosed habitation all those who were willing to pay for every tumbler of bad punch, and worse tea, which might be served out to them in the course of a winter’s night. Such was the short cut by which Nick’s cunning and idleness , combined with a love of company and drink, expected to accu¬ mulate what diligence and temperance alone can acquire. Nick’s invitations were answered by few apologies ; some came from love of drinking, some from love of gossiping, many from the love of whiskey, which the entertainer’s taste gave reason to expect in abundance, and a few, but IRISH COTTAGERS. 25 very few, alas ! from the simple motive of assist¬ ing the Morans with their money. The rooms, kitchen and bed-room, (and, by the way, there were three or four children in the measles huddled into a corner of the latter,) were filled as well as Nick’s hopes could have anticipated; and the piper, and the whiskey, and the tobacco, were in as great demand as if every man in the room had his landlord’s receipt I . in his pocket, a very problematical point, at least with most of them. For a considerable portion of the night all was good-humour and pleasantry; but at last, as ill-luck would have it, Brien Foley, the blacksmith, who had got the cross sup in him, revived an old quarrel with Jemmy Cas¬ sidy, the carpenter, a man remarkable for his great size * and good humour ; but on this occa¬ sion his temper was tried beyond the limits of endurance, as will appear in the sequel. Brien, whose fist, in the course of his passion, came in contact as forcibly with Jemmy Cassidy’s nose as if he had been sledging his anvil, ap- \ plied an epithet so very galling to the heart / \ of the carpenter, as to make him return the blow' with interest. This brought on a rejoinder in * One of those Irish giants, whose portraiture was well conveyed by the following description : “ Plaze your honour, a boy that would pull a bullock out of a bog.” 26 IRISH COTTAGERS. kind; Brien struck Jemmy, and Jemmy floored Brien; Brien’s wife ran at Jemmy, and Jemmy’s sister pummelled her again; party formed against party; every one striking at his particular oppo¬ nent, except Nick, who, being too drunk to discriminate, struck at random amongst them all. Luckily for the children, the combatants rushed into the road, which was soon a scene of clamour and contention; stools and tables torn asunder, pots and pot-hooks, kettle and frying- pan, were all in requisition ; blows and screams, curses and oaths, mixed together in undistin- guisliable uproar, were the sounds which that night broke the rest of the few orderly persons who had staid at home, and gone to bed quietly. But let us take a peep at Nick’s house the next day, and see whether matters were improv¬ ed by the speculations of the past night. The very few articles of furniture which the Morans had possessed, were broken ; the whiskey keg, a borrowed one too, was staved to pieces; cups and saucers were smashed; and, alas ! disturbed by the riot of the night, the closeness and im¬ purity of the air, the pungent fumes of tobacco, and the punch which had been given to them from mistaken kindness, the miserable children were considerably worse. Nick himself was stretched, only half dressed, and still half drunk, IRISH COTTAGERS 27 on the bedstead; his wife sat crying by the chil¬ drens’ side, alternately accusing herself for the catastrophe, and calculating the probable pro¬ ceeds of the past night, for much had been sold on credit, and, in the confusion of the fight, the leg of the table, on which she had scored her accounts, was shivered into a hundred frag¬ ments, and scattered on the high-way: it was, therefore, impossible to arrange her accounts; and worse, far worse than this, her mind was now reproaching her for her childrens’ condi¬ tion, which was obviously most alarming. Things were in this state when a policeman abruptly entered the house. Molly Moran’s heart sunk within her as she aroused her hus¬ band, and tremblingly asked the visiter what he had come for. 44 To give your husband a sum¬ mons to attend the petty sessions at Farnashc^ shery, next Wednesday,” said the sub-constable. Nick was now sufficiently aroused to be fright¬ ened, and to enquire into the nature of the charge against him. 44 It is for selling spirits,” said the official messenger, 44 without a licence.” 64 God help you, Nick, and all of us,” ex¬ claimed the repentant Molly ; “ and bad luck to the hour when you thought of this unlucky party ! Oh ! what will become of me and my 28 IRISH COTTAGERS. childer,” sobbed out the unfortunate mother, as she threw herself on the only bed, and that one of straw, which the house afforded, and buried her face in her apron. The summons having been duly served, the policeman departed, but not before he had driven away to the pound (as if to verify the old saying, that “ misfortunes come seldom alone,”) Nick’s only pig, which, without a ring in its nose, was operating upon the sides of the road, in a way } very unlikely to please the supervisor or the public. IRISH COTTAGERS. 29 CHAPTER IV. Scene at the petty sessions of Farnaslieshery—Nick Moran and some of his company sent to the tread-mill. Wednesday at length arrived; and, at the appointed hour, the two magistrates, on whom usually devolved the decision of every case which the love of law could by any ingenuity bring before them, entered the session’s room. One of them was Mr. Bruce, the other Mr. Geele, the most intelligent and judicious magis¬ trate of his district, the umpire of all differences, the counsellor of all parties; clear in his inves¬ tigations, humane in his judgment, and sys¬ tematic in his proceedings. Such were the qualifications of Mr. Geele, who on this day, an important one to Nick Moran and some of his guests, acted as chairman, a distinction which was usually offered to him. The magistrates and clerk being seated, the chief and sub-con- stables in attendance, and the people admitted, the court proceeded to business. Bench .—Call the first case. Clerk. —Mr. Gilbert Finem against Nicholas Moran, of Drumadeclough, farmer, for selling IRISH COTTAGERS. SO spirits without a licence, on Monday night, De¬ cember 2d. Bench .—State your complaint, Mr. Finem. Guager .—I have received information that Nicholas Moran sold some gallons of whiskey in his house, last Monday night, without a licence. Bench. —Moran, what have you to say to this? Nick .—Plaze your worship, I defy man, wo¬ man, or child, to say that I handled a penny that same night for sperits. Guager .—Will your worship ask him what his wife was selling that night, and scoring with chalk on the leg of the table. Bench .—Answer that question, Moran. Nick. —I’ll make your worships sensible, and I’ll tell the truth; and Mr. Bruce, God bless him ! knows that I wouldn’t tell a lie for the whole world. Molly was noting down, just for her satisfaction, on the leg of the table, the number of dishes of tag that Judy Flynn and the rest of the womankind were after sweeten¬ ing, bekase, you see, they were sitting up with us that night, on account of the children being bad with the measles; and, by the same token, one of them is mighty bad entirely to-day. I’ll give my oath that I sould nothing (and ’twasn’t I, but my wife, all the time,) but tay. Not a IRISH COTTAGERS. 31 drop of sperits crossed the threshold of my door that day, and why should it when the law is again it ? 1*11 swear to that. Bench .—You are not required to ^criminate yourself by any admission, nor can you defend yourself in this way; if the court were to allow you to take what you call a clearing oath, you would be unquestionably perjured in this case. How could you, unprincipled man that you are, swear that no whiskey crossed your door that day, when you know that it did, or perhaps the day before. Nick ,—No plaze your worship, nor any other day this month past, I’ll take my bodily oath of that. Guager .—The whiskey was seen going into his house for sale. Bench. —Where’s your witness, Mr. Finem. Guager .—I cant persuade him to appear. Bench .—Then he shall be fined 10/. (To the clerk,) Let the fine be entered. You are an incorrigible fellow Nick, but perhaps we may have you by and by.—Call the next case. Clerk .—James Cassidy against Brien Foley for using a malicious and slanderous expression against him, in Nick Moran’s house on Monday night, the 2nd of December, and also for an assault. IHISH COTTAGERS. ‘ 3-2 Bench. —Cassidy take the book—now state what you have to complain of. Cassidy. —Plaze your worships, there was a small party of betewkst 50_or y 49, (I wont prove to more than 49, barring the childer are to be counted.) Bench. —Don’t mind unnecessary particulars, come to the point. Cassidy. —There was, as I was obsarving, be¬ tewkst 49 or 50 of us in the two rooms, very plea¬ sant and neighbourlike together, taking a tumbler of punch to sarve Nick Moran’s new house, I mean the ii£\y ould house, bekaze he had to buy windys and to put up a cliimley. Bench. —What do you mean by serving Nick Moran’s house ? Cassidy. —Giving him the benefit plaze your honor, of the whiskey. Bench. —Do you mean that you paid him for the -whiskey ? Cassidy. —No, plaze your honor, by no means, it was for the punch only we paid—that is, we owehim for it. Bench. —By virtue of your oath did you un¬ derstand that the punch there was to be paid for ? Cassidy. —Every sup your honor, barring what Nick drank himself, and why not ? sure we’re on honor to pay now, that the score stick is broke. IRISH COTTAGERS. 33 Bench. — (To the Guager.) This will prove your case, clerk make out a conviction for Nick Moran. Cassidy. —Bad luck to this tongue, ’twasn’t to bring Nick Moran (my own wife’s half sister’s son) into trouble, I was intending—quite the contrary your worships, I have no more to say. (retiring). Bench. —Stay, you have not told one word of your own affair yet—What’s your complaint against Foley ?. Cassidy. —Sure enough—why then plaze your honour, I’d rather not be axed about Foley’s business, it’s enough to be an informer, in spite of one’s self too, wanst in a day.—Foley riz the skrimmage, that’s all. Bench .—Oh, since you have nothing more to say, we dismiss the case, with costs against you, sixpence the summons—a shilling—the- Cassidy. —Will I have to pay for the summons your honour ? Bench. —Certainly, if you have nothing to prove against the person you have summoned. Cassidy. —Why then your worship if that’s the case, I’ll tell you all about it from first to last, and I’ll be on my oath- Bench. —You’re on your oath already. Cassidy. —Well then I’ll be on my oath again c 5 34 IRISH COTTAGERS. and leave it to my dying liour, that Brien Foley used a slanderous and terrible word against my character, that is not fit to be repeated before your honours and the people. Bench. —Come, sir, don’t keep us here all day, what did he say ? Cassidy .—Why then, saving your presence, he called me before 100 people- Bench .—You said just now there were only between forty-nine and Jifty (whatever number tlmt.may be) present—take care. Cassidy.— You’re right, I stand corrected your worship—well then before fifty of the neighbours -—he called me—but would’nt it be dacent plaze your worships to send the women out of coort— the young girls any way, the ould ones a’nt so delicate. To this suggestion, so very creditable to Jemmy Cassidy’s delicacy, the worthy magistrates readily assented. The court was accordingly cleared of all females. And after the confusion which this occasioned had subsided, the complainant stated that Foley after having called him nearly twenty times a gimlet eyed rascal (Cassidy squinted a little) and a rogue and a liar, which he did’nt much mind, as Foley had the cross sup in him, at last called him a— -^Golumpus. V- Here there was an indication of merriment in IRISH COTTAGERS. 35 the court, in which to say the truth, the Bench were constrained to participate, and this did not diminish when Mr. Bruce drily informed poor Cassidy that Golumpus was not an actionable word—humorously asserting that it was com¬ pounded of Goliali the Giant, and Olympus the Mountain, and therefore must mean a Man- Mountain , so, added his worship, instead of making little of you, as you had imagined, the defendant has been really making the most of you—We, are however, to consider the assault. Cassidy .—I don’t care about that, since my character is cleared. I believe he got as good as lie gave—so if your worships are willing to » excuse him, why I won’t be the one to spake again him—forget and forgive is the word with me. Bench .—You act like a man and a Christian, but the offence is against the law in your person, and the law must be satisfied. We are clear that an assault has been committed by the de¬ fendant—aggravated too by drunkenness and bad temper, which intoxication always excites in him. We shall punish Brien Foley by com¬ mitting him to gaol for one month. After this matter had been disposed of, several charges were preferred for assault and riot, all concurring to prove that much whiskey had been 36 IRISH COTTAGERS. sold in Moran’s house, that this whiskey had caused the ‘skrimmage,’ and that the ‘skrimmage’ had occasioned all the law cases which had come before the magistrates at Farnasheshery that day. Mr. Geele having ranged Nick Moran and the other prisoners before him, addressed them in the following terms :— “ Nick Moran, we have given every considera¬ tion to your case, and would willingly lessen your punishment, for the sake of your helpless family, not on your own account, because you have ad¬ ded to your first offence by a gross and deliberate lie, in having' so boldly denied that a drop of spirits had crossed the threshold of your door, at the time when it was known to be taken in.” (Here Nick protested that he had told the truth, because the whiskey wa s admitted not over th e, threshold, but through a window.) “ And this you call Telling truth ? endeavouring to de¬ ceive by the mere sound and play of words, well knowing that the meaning which you intended that your w T ords should convey, is widely different from the truth, and consequently a lie in disguise, which is just as base as if told in a more direct way, for the falsehood is not lessened by the mode of conveying it: you stand therefore here as a con¬ victed liar, and “ lying lips are an abomination to the Lord,” who cannot be deceived. Unfortu- IRISH COTTAGERS. 37 nately for you, but happily for the community, the law empowers us to send you to gaol for one calendar month, and if you come before us again, we shall deal more severely with you.—None are allowed to sell those intoxicating spirits to which so many evils are attributable, but those who are under the controul of the law, and who are responsible for every disorderly offence com¬ mitted within their houses, and we have no autho¬ rity to alter one tittle of that salutary act. We are but agents of the law, and owe to our consciences and to our country the duty of enforcing it.” “ What are the results of your offence ? separati¬ on from your wife and children—from those whom it is your duty to guard and watch over, and oh ! with what feelings must you now leave those children in a malady which we are informed may render you fatherless, (here Nick sobbed aloud,) aggravated greatly by the crowded state of your rooms on Monday night. Many of your friends and neighbours are involved in the consequences of your transgression, and must exchange the honorable labours of honest industry at home, so essential to their support for the disgraceful drudgery of the Tread Mill. Few of your class of life can be trusted with intoxicating liquors, more especially in crowds; you cannot control your turbulent passions when acting under their 33 IRISH COTTAGERS. influence, and you know not when to take the maddening poison from your lips, after you have once tasted it. Think not that we should not feel happy in seeing the poor man joyful, or that we should visit him with penalties which the rich man might escape. But innocent and mo¬ derate enjoyment of any pleasures, is widely dis¬ tinct from the abuse of them. Wherever excess is, there is guilt.—Wherever the laws of tempe¬ rance are broken, whether in the palace or the hut, there—is immorality. We delight in seeing you under the influence of social merriment, where no vice is mingled with that mirth, but when mirth becomes riot, when harmony be¬ comes discord, when blows succeed to words, when oaths and curses take place of sober con¬ verse, the ministers of God’s and your country’s laws must interfere to punish the violation of them. You, Nick Moran, are committed to the county gaol, since you are unable to pay even the mitigated penalty, for one month, there to be kept at hard labour. And we shall take in¬ formations against you, Brien Foley, who ap¬ pear to have been the aggressor in this riot, and shall require good bail for your appearance at the next quarter sessions, where we hope to attend in order to represent your character and conduct in proper colours.” IRISH COTTAGERS. 39 CHAPTER V. Characters of the Schoolmaster and his Wife. , _ . * $ ■+ * * Among the advantages which resulted from the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Bruce at Far- nasheshery, was to be reckoned the establishment of two excellent schools, male and female—the latter under the special superintendence of Mrs. Bruce, who was an object of general and unbound¬ ed admiration, not only to the rustics around her, but also to the more refined classes of the gentry who visited occasionally at the u great housenor was it matter of wonder that she should be so high¬ ly estimated, for to all the charms and graces of womanhood, she added the essentials of a culti¬ vated understanding, a benevolent heart, and the utmost activity and perseverance in the ex¬ ecution of every good and useful work—she was a Christian in principle, and her life was a com¬ mentary on her profession. George Edwards and his wife, the Master and Mistress of the schools, were exemplary teach¬ ers—George who had seen much of the world in his earlier days when a petty officer in the Royal Navy of Great Britain, in which service he had occasionally acted as schoolmaster to the “ young 40 IRISH COTTAGERS. gentlemen” of tlie cockpit, had a mind admirably well informed and enlightend for his situation in life, and greatly elevated above the vulgar pre¬ judices, superstitions, and characteristic habits of the general run of his countrymen. He had married his wife in America, while on the Hali¬ fax station, during the last war with that country, where, when occasionally on shore, he had expe¬ rienced the hospitalities of her family, who con¬ tinued them with such disinterested generosity after he had been shipwrecked and deprived of all the property he had previously possessed, that he fell like a grateful and warm-hearted tar, over head and ears in love with Miss Clarke , who consented to accompany him to his native Ireland, where Mr. Bruce found him out and made proposals sufficiently tempting to induce him and his wife to become the managers and teachers of the Farnasheshery schools. Edwards had very narrowly escaped with life from the shipwreck referred to, and the devout impressions made upon his mind by the mercy of God, who had preserved his life in circum¬ stances so very critical and awful, were deep and permanent, yet he had never at any period of his life partaken of the recklessness and incon¬ sideration so general among seamen—though now forty years of age, he retained much of the IRISH COTTAGERS. * 41 enthusiasm (and who is worth any thing without some tincture of it?) of his earlier days, and in the ardour with which he pursued his present du¬ ties, he exhibited an accurate specimen of the com¬ plete schoolmaster; he never lost an opportu¬ nity of conveying instruction, though sometimes his zeal and professional characteristics would show themselves under circumstances almost lu¬ dicrous—for instance—when at one time he had been affected so violently with inflammation in his chest, as to require bleeding, he sent for the boys of his head class, to whom he had been giving some scientific lectures, in order that they might see the parabolic curve in which the blood flowed from his arm, which he con¬ tracted and extended occasionally, for the mere purpose of making his pupils familiar with all the varieties of angles—right—obtuse, and acute, which the movement of his elbow joint enabled him to describe in different degrees, nt pleasure ; the moment his arm was tied up he proceeded to something else—instructive or entertaining-— in short he never lost an opportunity of commu¬ nicating the knowledge he possessed—once in¬ deed, and but once did mischief result from his philosophical propensities. To show the power¬ ful effects of confined air, lie had corked up a bit of unslacked lime, (first dropping a little 4*2 IRISH COTTAGERS. water on it,) in a stone bottle, which he then thoughtlessly shut up in his oven—when the air was disengaged from the lime, it burst not only the bottle, its immediate prison, but the oven itself, and with it the greater part of the chim¬ ney, which happily only killed an unfortunate cat which had been reclining on the hob —with the possession of such information as was pecu¬ liarly calculated to excite the wonder and admi¬ ration of the peasantry about him, he was singu¬ larly free from the pomposity and self-import¬ ance, so generally indicative of the pedagogue. His language was simple and unaffected, and his habits precisely suited to his office ; he was really too well informed, not to feel how ignorant is man at best, and too prudent to indulge in the petty dogmatism which so often marks the scho¬ lastic tribe. There was one kind of knowledge which he pursued with unceasing diligence, because with¬ out it he “ counted all things loss”—“ the know¬ ledge of our Lord Jesus Christ,” which causing him as it did to “grow in grace,” rendered him “ fruitful in every good work,” his actions criti¬ cally corresponded with his professions, and never violated the spirit of amity which was deeply in¬ fused into his heart; when a sense of duty com¬ pelled him to chastize, or severely reprimand a IRISH COTTAGERS. 43 transgressing pupil, he felt sorrow, not anger at the delinquent’s fall. Divided, as his scholars were, into Protestant and Roman Catholic, he carefully abstained from offending those from whom he differed in religi¬ ous views ; instead of attacking their ignorance, and prejudices, or insulting their superstitions (the surest mode of perpetuating their errors,) he went, though without any compromise of principle to the utmost limits of toleration—he never imposed an arbitrary obligation, forced the recognition of his own doctrines, nor directed a Z'/zWobedienceto his authority—the consequence of which conduct was, that all his pupils loved and respected him; his urgent and animating exhortations led many of them to practical vir¬ tue, and the few who deservedly trembled at . his reprehension, were ultimately reclaimed from their immoralities. The outlines of his wife’s character are easily and quickly sketched—she was a smart, clever, and bustling little woman—a good reader, and expert at all kinds of needlework, from simple sewing up to satin stitch; of a pious, contented, and happy disposition, and like her husband devoted to the avocations of the school; tidy in her own person, and waging uncompromising war with dirt and cobwebs. Where is such another couple to be found ? ^ IRISH COTTAGERS. | . CHAPTER VI. r ** « f r T »i * . * * The Schools—Male and Female. The schools mentioned at the commencement of the last chapter were not of the ordinary kind. * Sensible of the defective husbandry on his pro- * r *■, • » f * _ f * perty, Mr. Bruce resolved to afford an opportu¬ nity of improvement to every one of his te¬ nants—he accordingly appropriated ten acres of excellent land for the purpose of a model farm, attached to the schools, in which every descrip¬ tion of suitable crop was neatly and judiciously cultivated by the sons of his tenantry who at¬ tended the school. The general instructions were issued either by Mr. Bruce himself, or his steward, and Edwards saw that these orders were implicitly executed. This farm soon be¬ came perfect in every way—with its little offices —cows—pigs—and two asses , which drew a jiglit drilling plough, and small scotch carts, it pre¬ sented a very desirable model to the small holders around. The hours for school instruction, and occu¬ pation were alternate—in summer, from six IRISH COTTAGERS. 45 to eight, work—then breakfast—afterwards from half past eight to twelve, school—then dinner, (provided as well as the morning meal, from the produce of their field)—after dinner, school for an hour—then work until six, when the scholars were dismissed for their suppers and beds athome. In winter, they breakfasted at their own homes —school from eight to ten—afterwards work if dry, until twelve—then dinner, and an hour in school—then work again until dark.—Thus the labours of the field were a wholesome and pleasing mode of bodily exercise ; and the school a channel of agreeable relaxation. In the school-room, the boys were taught reading, writing, and arithmetic, and according to their ages and capacities, geometry, mensura¬ tion, surveying, plan drawing, agricultural che¬ mistry, and a little botany. They were made to calculate the quantities of seed, and the pro¬ bable value and produce of crops, and their best rotations, and learned the natures and proper- / ties of manure, as suited to different soils. 6 In the field, the whole routine of draining, ploughing, digging, trenching, planting, weed¬ ing, hoeing, reaping, and harvesting, &c., was practically taught. And on wet days the lathe and carpenter’s tools amused and employed them in the workshop, where they learned how to 46 IRISH COTTIERS. ; • make' implements of husbandry. Idlers, and irregular attendants were dismissed, and conse¬ quently deprived of their landlord’s good opinion, while the assiduous and improving had the pro¬ spective hope of obtaining farms from him, when they should become qualified to cultivate them to advantage. One fact deserves to be here no¬ ticed, as it shows the importance of this kind of education, namely, that if any occasional pettish¬ ness, or childish jealousy of preference ever ap¬ peared among the scholars, it was totally devoid of party feeling ; some of them were of different churches, yet in no case whatever was there even a word expressed or implied on any side that could wound religious feeling, or momentarily interrupt the mutual cordiality which so uniformly and so happily prevailed; their unexceptionable conduct in most instances, thanks to the indefa¬ tigable Edwards, was even in itself alone, an ample recompense to their benefactors for the care and expense, and responsibility incurred on their account; in scarcely any case was corporal punishment inflicted—the dread of public disgrace in graver matters, and the infliction of fines in trifl¬ ing ones, were found to be sufficient instruments of punishment and preventives of impropriety. It may appear difficult to have trained boys and girls—many of them very young too, to fRISHL COTTAGERS. 47 habits of systematic occupation, yet Edwards and his helpmate contrived to do so ; combining talent with assiduity, authority with mildness, and zeal with patience, they perseveringly watch¬ ed over all the interests of the school, and strange to tell, made the youngest as well as the oldest pupils work in the field, and apply in school, as cheerfully and earnestly, as if they had been able to foresee all the remote effects of industri¬ ous and attentive habits. One of the methods was to divide the business of the farm into seve¬ ral departments of labour, to open a regular account for each, and to debit or credit each boy with merit tickets of fixed and positive value —the pupils lost or gained these rewards, in proportion to their industry or idleness, and took rank in the classes accordingly, and it was inva¬ riably found that the dread on one side of losing caste , of being placed perhaps in the fag or dunce’s division, or of being ill received at home,, (the books being always open for parental inspection,) and on the other, anxiety to be raised to the highest and most advanced classes, were sufficient motives to exertion. The con¬ sequence of this and similar arrangements, was great solicitude among the older boys especial¬ ly, to establish characters for good conduct at school. 48 IRISH COTTAGERS. Nor were the advantages of this agricultural school confined merely to the boys who attended it —the girls were in turns taught to milk the coics , to keep the dairy utensils in order, to dress din¬ ner for themselves and the boys, (for the girls who thus attended in rotation had their dinner too,) to wash, to make and mend clothes, to., brew, and to bake—and they too had their gar¬ den, and their bees which being lodged in a house of peculiar construction, multiplied ex¬ ceedingly. Pleasurably did they pass the day in the varied employments of school, and gar¬ den, and household duties, and every hour appeared but too short for its appropriate em¬ ployment. Thus did both sexes of Mr. Bruce’s tenantry begin to acquire knowledge suited to the state of life in which they were destined to act—happy in themselves, and a blessing to their friends, and to society. In the school-room or the field every favourable moment for making good and useful impressions, was seized on and turned to account, and a judicious division of time and labour, regulated by seasons and wea¬ ther, facilitated the teacher’s task, and aided the children’s progress. ft x IRISH COTTAGERS. 49 CHAPTER VII. Inspection of the cottages and farms on Mr. Bruce’s estate. — Those of Mick Kinshella and Dick Doyle, contrasted— Rotation of crops, and adjudication of premiums—The best method of keeping a pig in its stye. To stimulate his tenantry to the improvement of their farms, and the cleanliness and even embellishment of their cottages, Mr. Bruce had, two years before this time, proposed annual pre¬ miums, which after a very careful and rigid in¬ spection at midsummer, were distributed accord¬ ing to a fixed scale, among those whose houses, fields, gardens, orchards, and cattle, were in the best condition—there was at the same time a minute enquiry into the moral state of each com¬ petitor’s family, with a well understood condition that no candidate whose children were of proper age to receive benefit from the schools provided for them, should, under any pretences, be excused from neglecting to avail themselves of the ad¬ vantages which those seminaries afforded. On one of those days in June, when even in comparatively rude and unimproved districts, the face of nature has that smiling appearance which gladdens the heart of man, which makes D 50 IRISH COTTAGERS, liim feel that even merely to exist is happiness— (happiness how infinitely increased, if while his bodily energies are excited by the renovating influence of a cloudless sky, he has reason to feel that at the same time he is dwelling in the sun¬ shine of God’s love, and that the rays of divine goodness are beaming on his heart, making his “ path as the shining light that shines more and more unto the perfect day!”) the Bruces, the Gumbletons, Father Murphy, Doctor O’Neill the medical superintendent of the dispensary, and several strangers invited for the occasion, assem- » bled at the “ great house” to breakfast, after which the visiting procession issued forth in all the pomp of visitorial dignity. The list of prizes comprehended many heads:—cottage premiums —green crops—including clover and vetches for summer, and mangel wurzel, turnips, cabbage and rape for winter food—stall feeding— dairy management—hedges—trees, &c. &c. The respective claims being minutely examined into, each successful candidate was classed according to his merit. The state of Michael Kinshella’s house and farm was as follows: first as to the interior of his house; the floors which had been remarkably well and evenly laid with a composition of yel¬ low clay and lime, were as clean as possible; IRISH COTTAGERS. 51 the dresser well scrubbed, and filled with its pewter garniture, as bright as silver—the tables perfectly clean—a coarse clean piece of rubber cloth hung suspended from a roller for the pur¬ pose of wiping the face and hands, before and after meals, a process especially necessary in a labouring family, whose manual operations are so varied and unceasing—the sleeping room, was equally neat and comfortable, its floor boarded, its window opening on hinges to admit the air, its curtain, as well as that of the bed, neatly ar¬ ranged, the sheets white and clean though coarse, and the quilt (Joanny’s patchwork while a spin¬ ster) corresponding in cleanliness—there was a decent chest of cherrytree drawers too, and a rack on which Joanny’s bonnet and Mick’s Sunday clothes were usually hung—nor was the parlour without its appropriate furniture; a cupboard full of cups and saucers, with a some¬ what ostentatious display of china plates, bro¬ ken at the manor house, but ingeniously reunited, and here “ wisely kept for shew,” gave an appear¬ ance of snugness to the household economy, which was rendered complete by the appearance of two chubby children—the younger just learning to walk, tidily dressed in good strong linsey of home manufacture, and gazing with amazed yet delighted eyes on the group of gentry visitors. ; 52 , IRISH COTTAGERS. The dairy was next inspected, it was a very little room outside the house, and with a nor¬ thern aspect, just large enough for the pur¬ pose; the small churn, and milk pail, cooler, strainer, wooden bowl and skimming dish, were each and all of them just as they should be, untainted to the smell and perfectly clean to the eye. The garden before the house was small but well cropped, the walks clean, fruit trees growing in the borders, and the young thorn quicks which had been planted in the breast of the surrounding fence, carefully preserved from weeds; carrots, parsnips, turnips, cabbages, onions and beans thriving well, and in a sheltered corner there stood nine or ten bee-hives. The outside of the cottage presented a very agreeable appearance, being neatly dashed and coloured; the windows of the cottage were large, and a few hop plants and roses appeared over the front wall, nor were these plants unprofitable, Mick had sold the hops on the preceding year for five shillings, and the roses were taken by a neighbouring Apothecary in exchange for some medicines which the children required—the cow was in her shed feeding most voluptuously on vetches, secure from the attack of the gad-fiy and the relaxing effects of a hot sun, and most IRISH COTTAGERS. 53 liberally adding to the accumulations of the dung- lull—there were two sheep also, confined in a little yard with a covered shed in it, fattening on the refuse of the garden vegetables and clo¬ ver—a very fat pig in a dry and well littered stye, completed the stock of this improving small holder. Nor were all these matters arranged merely for the day—and then suffered to fall in¬ to disorder. Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, who had been in the habit of unexpectedly popping in on the Kinshellas, always found them in the same state, they never embarrassed these cottagers by a visit, for in their little establishment there was time and place for every thing, and every thing was timed and in its place. The field, too, which three years before had been in a miserable condition, now showed the effects of skill and industry, it was divided and cropped as follows:— A ores. Roods. Perches. 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 2 0 1 1 0 0 2 0 0 0 10 0 1 0 0 0 30 Drilled Potatoes. T urnips. Clover. Oats. Meadow. Flax. Orchard. House, Offices, Yard and Garden. i/o Fuxk k 54 IRISH COTTAGERS. The lower end of Mick’s field, which had been so judiciously drained, was of a moory quality and consequently inclined to grass; this was laid down for meadow, and though but half an acre in extent, it produced as much as sup¬ plied his cow in winter, aided by the turnips. According to the proposed premiums, Mick w r as awarded— For his House and Garden— the first prize £2 0 Os Bees, ... ... ... ... 0 5 0 - Clover, ... ... ... ... 0 10 0 ' Turnips, ... ... ... ... 0 10 0 ‘ Fences, ... ... ... ... 0 5 0 i Feeding a Cow in House winter and summer, 10 0 £4 10 0 The visitors after expressing their admiration of the Kinshellas, proceeded on their inspection and viewed Tim Gaffney’s Cottage, which ob¬ tained the second prize. Tim had only a single acre wdiich maintained a cow all the year round, and also produced him a good supply of garden vegetables, and half an acre of com wdiich w r as better for him than the same quantity of potatoes, because it enabled him, with his cow, to make manure, with wdiich every year he enriched one- fourth of his acre; his crops w r ere invariably as foliow’S:— IRISH COTTAGERS. 55 A. R. F. Turnips (Swedes) Cabbages, Kitchen Vegetables 0 10 Bsrlcyj • ••• »M 0 1 0 Clo\ Gfj nt ••• »it m pa t fT UCrttj ••• «»• ««• 0 1 0 0 1 0 *, 1 0 0 Tim obtained prizes also :— . For his House, £1 0 0 Turnips and other Green Crops, 0 j 10 0 Clover, 0 5 0 Feeding a Cow in House all the year, 1 0 0 £2 15 0 He bought a small quantity of hay for his cow in winter, and potatoes from the proceeds arising from the sale of his wheat and barley. On Dick Doyle’s farm, there was a good show of crops, but unfortunately for him joined with a large portion of weeds—there was obvi¬ ously much appearance of independence and comparative wealth about his farm, but at the same time a very perceptible want of system and of cleanliness both in the house and on the ex¬ terior premises—things were evidently arranged for the occasion—Dick’s wife too was but half fit for receiving the judges; in her hurry she had . forgotten to throw off an abominably filthy cap,| although she had a new and rather tawdry gown slipped over a flannel petticoat, the tail of which 56 IRISH COTTAGERS. peeping below it, showed that the garment, of which it formed the lower end, had not been in a wash-tub for many months before. The cattle, too, instead of feeding on rich and juicy grasses in the cow house and increasing the manure, were very unprofitably standing in the middle of a running stream which bounded the farm, and weeds of every kind were growing in the pasture fields. Dick had, in reality, but one objection to the large docks, and luxuriant thistles, namely, that they indicated the richness of the soil, a point which, with .true Irish cunning, he studiously laboured to conceal from his landlord, who however took care to observe them, and also to notice the irregularity of the potato drills; “ your drills are very crooked, Dick,” “ to be sure they are your honor, and I can’t help it” said Dick, “ for the ould bound’s ditch beyant, is’nt very strait, and I always plough according to the run of the ditch, but if your honor would be after giving me the next field when Jem Cronin goes to America (and my blessing to him when he goes,) though indeed it’s but a poor worn out piece all the time, I’d thry and make the ditch something straiter;” “but in the mean time” said Mr. Gumbleton, “ why don’t you draw a straight line for your drills, and not follow all the windings of the boundary, year after IRISH COTTAGERS. 57 year; don’t you know that the cattle work at great disadvantage when drawing the plough in a curved line instead of a direct one,” 44 why then I don’t know, plaze your reverence,” replied Dick, 44 but I believe the horses are so used to it now that they would’nt draw aisy in any other way, and as the ould saying is, 4 a crooked loaf* may make a straight belly,’ if the handful of corn — ,0 * —i _ t comes up, it’s all one which way the furrows run 44 where are your green crops Dick ?” en¬ quired one of the judges, 44 why then sure I have a fine field of clover forenent you there, is’nt that worthy of a premium,” said Dick, pointing to a field in which there were certainly symptoms of clover, which had been sown the year before, and would have now afforded luxuriant soiling, had it been kept up for the purpose, but from the time that it had begun to peep up in the preceding spring, cows, sheep, horses and pigs had been turned out on it, and on this day it was almost as bare and as red as the high road. Dick’s house, however, was in such tolerable order, that he was adjudged the lowest rate of reward, viz. 10s.; had he exercised care and judgment in husbandry, he might have been sure of at least half as many pounds as he now re¬ ceived of shillings, not to take into estimation the d a / 58 IRISH COTTAGERS. certain profits which an improved system would have carried with it. Many others, however, of Mr. Bruce’s te¬ nantry proved on inspection to be much more improving than Dick, but at the same time im¬ measurably inferior to Michael Kinshella. The last upon the list for a cottage premium was un¬ fortunate Nick Moran, whose house had been so recently trimmed lip for the expected remunera¬ tion that there was hardly yet time for its decay; the panes of glass were still unbroken, so that there was not need for stopping up vacancies with the remnants of Nick’s corderoy unmentionables, the crown of his caubeen , or the tattered frag¬ ments of Molly’s dirty petticoat. The little cabbage garden in front was yet untouched by the pig, because the pig had been sold before cabbages had been planted, to support Nick in gaol; and the neighbours’ pigs and goats had not found an entrance through the little gate in front, because the bars of that gate had been torn to pieces, in lieu of better weapons, on the memorable night of the “ skrimmage,” and the passage had been soon stopped up with stones, leaving one or two projecting ones, in the way of style, for the accommodation of those who went in and out; the advantages, indeed, of this style, appeared so obvious to the judges, IRISH COTTAGERS. 59 that they recommended Nick, whose term of confinement had some time before expired, to block up somewhat in the same way, within its stye, the next pig which he might fortunately obtain, as the surest mode of keeping him with¬ in bounds, of saving his cabbage plants, and avoiding the sundry fines which would otherwise, in all probability, be consequent on his erratic tendencies. 60 IRISH COTTAGERS. CHAPTER VIII. Death of Peter Dempsey, deputy supervisor of roads—His Funeral—Conversations at it—Scene at theburial place. About this time Peter Dempsey, whom Mr. Bruce had employed as his deputy supervisor of roads, died; Peter had many friends and relatives in the neighbourhood, this circumstance with his having had the power of giving much regular employment to labourers in repairing eight miles of road, ensured him a crowded funeral. No one would work in the parish on the day of the burial, and men and women, young and old, ugly and pretty, filled the wake house for three successive days and nights. Among the various gossips, who, in straggling parties, either preceded or followed the corpse, many matters besides those connected with the deceased were discussed; and in one of those little detached companies, Mr. George Edwards, Dick Doyle, (already introduced to the reader,) and Murphy, who for many years had been in the practice of working near Liverpool, during the haryest seasons, were sauntering along, with Mr. Mac Duncan a Scotch steward, whom Mr. Bruce IRISH COTTAGERS. 61 had imported for the improvement of his estate; and it would not have been easy in the vast as¬ semblage of people collected on that occasion, to have brought together individuals, whose feel¬ ings and habits were more completely different; but let us have their conversation exactly as it proceeded. Dick Doyle —(looking hard at Murphy) you have a mighty dthrowsy look about you Peter; were you in bed at all last night, my good fellow ? Murphy. —No, nor these three nights, (with a very natural and hearty yawn,) sure I was at the wake, man. Dick .—What, every night? Murphy. —Aye, and sorry I am ’tis all over, ’twas the pleasantest wake I ever was at, since ould Katty Dowd’s night. Mr. Mac Duncan .—(A little inquisitive to as¬ certain the peculiar circumstances which had made Pat Murphy, neither a relative nor a par¬ ticular friend of the deceased, so very assiduous in his attendance in the wake house,) inquired “ why he gaed there sae often ?” Murphy .—For fun, for raal fun, sir—we had the barn full of the boys and girls. Mac Duncan .—And what were you aboot there, did the minister lecture ? ’twas a favour¬ able opportunity. 62 IRISH COTTAGERS. Murphy —Lecture agra! ’twas a quare lecture we had—but I’ll tell you all about it Mr. Mac Duncan, since your’e after axing about the wake ; first and foremost some of us sat down to play five and forty, and more of us to hunt the slipper, and more of us to smoke, and more of us to tell stories, and more of us, (this is the truth of it,) were coortin. Mac Duncan. —What! in the very hoose, and room with the dead man ! Murphy. —Oh, by no manner of manes (all the voices of the party chimed in here,) the corpse was inside the other house, and the dead wall between us and it. Mr. Mac Duncan .—And no respect for the widow and the family in grief! Murphy .—And who hindered them from cry¬ ing their fill ? and crying they were, poor things, and a good right they had to cry. Dick —Have you no wakes in your country Mr. Mac Duncan. Mr. Mac Duncan.- —Yes, we have, but not like yours; none but the relations and the invited friends assemble, and there’s no merry making nor sin in the house: na, na, death is a lesson my friends, for young and old. Murphy .—Maybe you’ll tell us then, why you came to Peter Dempsey’s berrin to day since you’re no ways related to liim ? IRISH COTTAGERS. 63 Mr. Mac Duncan. —Why, when at Rome do as Rome does—but this is one of your idle holy- days, and the men would’nt work, and so I walked out with you, as I had nothing partee- cular to do. Murphy. —Well, I like good nature any how, and if I did’nt go to the neighbour’s wake, how would I expect they’d come to mine ? Mr. Mac Duncan. —So, your good-nature turns out to be all for yourself in the end. Edwards .—(For the first time speaking.) True —all this pretended kindness, is selfishness dis¬ guised with most of us, lest our poor bodies should not be honored with a mob procession in turn—but did any of the family go into the barn, Pat? Murphy .—Miss Dempsey came out, and used us very dacently poor thing, and bitter was her heart all the time; she sarved out the whiskey herself, and a piece of wheaten bread for them that liked it, four times in the night, and rowls of tobacco, but myself didn’t trouble her for the bread nor the tobacco; but seeing her concarn, “ you’re troubling yourself too much,” says I, “ Miss Dempsey,” “ Oh ! by no manes entirely,” says she, 4 ‘will you be after taking another glass, Pat,” says she, “ why then, Miss, I won’t baulk your hand,” says I, “if it was to take two 64 IRISH COTTAGERS. glasses itself of worse liquor, wishing you health and spirits, and a happy judgment to your father,” says I; and with that the most of us sat down again to the cards, and the divarsion, and the coortin. Dick Doyle .—Well, Peter Dempsey was a quiet honest man any how, and a good neighbour, and barring an odd glass, or a curse sometimes, he was a good Christian, and is in heaven now, for surely he desarved a place there! Edwards —Don’t say so Dick Doyle, (placing his hand lightly, yet impressively, on Dick’s shoulder,) dont say, or think that any one is deser¬ ving of the glory of heaven; what would become of us, if we we were to be reckoned with by our deservings! God’s mercy, his free and unde¬ served mercy for the Redeemer’s sake, is all that the best of Christians has to look to, believe this Dick, though a protestant says it to you, and many a protestant thinks as foolishly as you do about this matter. Murphy .—True for you then, Mr. Edwards, and I’ll tell you what a protestant said about that; every year, for the last ten years, I worked in the summer with one Mr. Tull, a great big bos- thoon of a farmer, near Liverpool, and I know his childer and his wife well; there were four of us from this parish mowing the hay for him one IRISH COTTAGERS. 65 day, and lie watching us; well, just as we were whetting, out comes his wife, a very clane, da- cent, friendly woman; “ what’s your wull woife,” says he, “ Caroline doyed just now,” says she, (Caroline was their daughter, seventeen years of age, who had been in a decay for two years,) “ Eh what,” says he, “ Caroline dead! wull, wull, if there’s a heaven she’ll be there, for she was a foine hand at making a poyeand without as much as a drop in his eyes, the ould fellow staid with us for three hours longer, and went to market himself next day with a load of hay, and we never stopped the work, nor went to the berrin itself.* Edwards .—That fellow had no heart, nor Chris¬ tianity neither, else he would’nt have thought that heaven could be merited by making pies, though this maybe as meritorious as many another action more plausibly set forth for salvation; with this sentiment Mr. Mac Duncan fully agreed, as did indeed the other two, so far at least as the merit of pie-craft went; but as religious doctrine is forbidden ground for Irishmen of different creeds, if they wish to preserve good terms with one another ; the subject was quickly turned by Dick Doyle, saying, “ I wonder who’ll be after get- * Fact. 66 IRISH COTTAGERS. ting Peter Dempsey’s place, ’tis a good thirty pounds a year to a man that’s cute.” (Here Mac Duncan cocked up his ears.) Edwards .—How so ? sure a man can’t get more than his salary, three halfpence a perch, for the imperial perch, for eight Irish miles—about twenty pounds a year. Dick. —Can’t he do as M‘Quirk, in the next barony does? Edwards .—How ? Dick .—Charge the full price for every man, and then stop two pence out of every shilling for advancing the money to them from ’sizes to ’sizes, if the poor cratures can’t wait (and how can they,) for their money till it comes round, and can’t he sell the meal and potatoes on usury, and can’t he make them volunteer gift days for his own jobs at home, whether they ivill or not , and can’t he buy the field stones for two-pence a load, and can’t he charge the county four- pence, and can’t he ?- Edwards .—But Is’nt he sworn to every item in the account at the sessions ? Dick .—So he is, but what does M‘Quirk va¬ lue an oath ?—he says himself he has a right to charge full price for a man, and if he gets one to work for less, ’tis his lawful parquisite. Murphy .—Peter (glory be with him,) never IRISH COTTAGERS. 67 did the like of this, nor could he do it, if he was inclined itself, unknownst to Mr. Bruce, who watches every hands turn of the work with his own eyes, and sees the men paid off every Sa¬ turday night. Dick .—My blessings to him for that then, he’s a raal gentleman, and if every one of his sort was like him, and would look to the poor and see them rightified we would’nt be so much again the cess, but when so many of the gentlemen are putting in for presentments, just to help the backward tenants to pound out the rint, and don’t divide fairly, it’s enough to bother our lives out. Murphy .—Well there’s great justice now, any how, to what there was formerly; I myself re¬ member a few years ago, fifteen shillings a perch for mending roads, and now they can be repaired for five shillings a perch. Dick .—Sure enough, and they used’nt to last any time, did’nt M‘Quirk get a presentment three years running for the same bit of a road, when his ould landlord was alive, and used to dictate to the grand jury; but Mr. Bruce knows the way that work should be done, and makes it be done right, ’tis’nt working away fora spurt just before the assizes, that Peter Dempsey would be, but alway mending little ruts, and filling hollows, and keeping the water channels clear. 68 IRISH COTTAGERS. Mr. Mac Duncan .—And why should lie not, twenty jiunds a year is-at this critical point of the conversation, at the junction of two roads, another funeral was seen rapidly advancing, on its way to the same church yard, the cry of “ run, run, my boys,” was immediately set up by Peter Dempsey’s party, who in turns support¬ ing his coffin, trotted smartly so as to pass the point where we have said the roads met, before the rival procession had come up,* this was a point of great importance, and luckily for Peter Dempsey’s repose, his remains had the advantage of being fairly laid dowm at the grave half a minute before the corpse of Sarah Flannagan had reached the church yard. This preliminary haste, led to a corresponding celerity in depositing the coffins in their narrow beds, which were covered with a promptitude and energy of dispatch which would have astonished a Dutchman, or even Mr. Mac Duncan the Scotchman, if he had staid for the last Operations; and this scene, so devoid of solem¬ nity, was quickly followed by argument, which brought on abuse, and abuse ended very naturally in the flourishing of cudgels, which might have brought about more wakes, and more berrins, if the distant appearance of Mr. Bruce, had not * The last corpse is supposed to watch and wander until a succeeding one is introduced to the burial ground. IRISH COTTAGERS. 69 awed into perfect quiet, tlie angry and warlike dis¬ putations of these two parties, which happily for their harmony, recollected, that some individuals of the neighbouring parish, who had met both funerals on the road, had passed on without the usual courtesy of turning back , even for a few yards, with either of them—a breach of etiquette, which now excited the common and united dis¬ approbation of all the “ boys” present, whether followers of Peter Dempsey, or of Sally Flan- nagan. 70 * IRISH COTTAGERS. CHAPTER IX. Intended Petition against Tithes. Of the different subjects of conversation which occupied the colloguers at the funeral, there was one which I was going to tell of, when the race (so indecorously commenced, but so fortunately ended without any practical mischief,) put it out of my head, and made me glad to escape with whole bones—the payment of tithes. A few days before Dempsey’s death, a neighbouring cler¬ gyman had been forced to proceed against a refrac¬ tory farmer for tithe; the sum was a trifle, three or four shillings, but the principle involved was im¬ portant ; without entering now into the details of the case, which by the way was misrepresented in all its particulars, it is sufficient to state, that the clergyman’s right was admitted in law, and that a decree was issued for the sum claimed; still the farmer would not pay it, but raised up a cry of oppression against the clergyman, who instead of sending him to gaol, where he deserved to be lodged for his obstinacy, cancelled the decree, and gave him his liberty, being satisfied with IRISH COTTAGERS. 71 establishing the justice of his claim. Agents had been employed at the wake and the fune¬ ral, to stimulate resistance to tithe payments of all kinds, and this subject was uppermost in the minds of many, when the conversation took place among the Scotch steward and the other persons in his party. Dick Doyle, who had been canvassing for signatures or marks to a requisition for a parochial meeting on the subject, was going to open on the matter when the inter¬ ruption occurred; a few days after he was ha¬ ranguing Mick Kinshella about this mighty grie - vious taxation, when Mr. Bruce suddenly pop¬ ping on them as tkey were putting their wise heads together, looked at the paper, and read it—and violent, absurd, and inflammatory it was. “ What’s this ?” said he, “ a recommendation to the people to resist tithe payments! pray Mr. Doyle are rents to be prohibited too ?” “ Oh no, your honor,” said Dick, a little discomposed at being thus caught, “rents are quite different, for sure a gentleman has a right to his land, or the value of it, and your honor does’nt think we’d do the likes of that, it would be fair robbery entirely.” “ Pray, Dick, how much land have you ?” “ Thirty acres, plaize your honor, only the road’s measured in on me, and I hope you’ll consider that, and there’s three perches and a 72 IRISH COTTAGERS. half that’s gone with the floods, and-,” 44 Lis¬ ten to me, Dick, you have thirty acres 44 not all out,” muttered Dick; 44 and what do you pay an acre for tithe composition ?”* 44 Is. 6d. an acre, one with another,” replied Dick, 44 well then,” pursued Mr. Bruce, 44 I’ll let you into a secret: when this estate was given or sold, I don’t know which, nor does it signify, to one of my forefathers, the tenth part was reserved by the grantor or seller of it for the church, and if it would be robbery to deprive me of nine-tenths, it w’ould be as great a robbery to take away the other tenth from the right owner, the Protestant es¬ tablished Church ; my ancestor got it subject to tithes, and if he bought it, he paid less than if it was tithe free, and how can I or any succeed¬ ing possessor claim more than the nine-tenths which he became possessed of? and, when I lived in England, who was the only person in this parish (and I say it with shame to myself,) who gave wine, or vinegar, or medicine, or nou¬ rishment, or money to the poor? answer me that.” 44 Mr. Gumbleton, the minister, was, I’ll de¬ clare,” said Mick Kinshella, 44 and a good kind gentleman he always was to the poor;” 44 well,” * See the line of argument introduced in death bed scenes. IRISH COTTAGERS. 73 _ r t f t pursued Mr. Bruce, (I am speaking against my- felf you see, but common honesty makes me do so)—“was it not better for the parish that Mr. Gumbleton should have had one-tenth of what you might perhaps think was my right, since that tenth at least was spent in the very place whence it was drawn—in building at the glebe— employing tradesmen and labourers, and assisting the poor with money and advice—than if it had been sent to me with the other nine-tenths to be spent out of the country”—“ I allow that much, Sir,” said Dick, “ very well,” continued his landlord, “now, how many parishes are there circumstanced as this ivas before I came here, from which all the rents are taken away, and to which none are returned?”—“a great many en¬ tirely,” admitted Dick, “ and that’s the ruination of poor Ireland;” “ then since the clergy are com¬ pelled to live in their parishes and spend their incomes there, and provide schools for the poor, and the landlord cannot be forced to do so, is it not better to leave the property as it is, than to take it from them to give it to the land-owners ?” “ Why, Sir,” observed Dick, “ I believe there’s no talk of giving the tithes to the landlords, but just the taking them off the tenants’ backs, which would lighten the cratures a little,” “ pooh, you blockhead,” continued Mr. Bruce, “ do you E 74 IRISH COTTAGERS. think that if your lease was out to-morrow, and your tithe composition taken off, I would not raise your rent to more than it is, and add at least Is. 6d. (what you now pay to Mr. Gumbleton,) to your rent, you would call it m*££hat’s all, instead of tithe” 44 but plaze your honor, if I may make so bould as to be bothering your honor any longer, some of ’em says that the government will give the tithes some way or other to the poor, and not leave them behoulden to the gen¬ tlemen for charity.” Mr. Bruce shook his head, 44 no, no, Dick, if the government takes hold of the tithes from the clergy, who are the right owners of so much property, and certainly as useful possessors of it, as far as it goes, in their glebe houses, as the lay landlords are in their ibreign palaces, or even in their family seats at home, it will be collected and applied in ways that will but little relieve you in the end; and if once this property is touched, there will be no security either to landlord or tenant for theirs.” 44 But, Sir, and I’ll say no more about it for fear of angering your honor, is’nt it hard for catholics, and metliodists, and quakers, to be paying the protestant clargy, when they don’t go to church ?” 44 All! Dick, there’s the rub,” thought Mr. Bruce; he, however, explained to both his hearers, that looking on it as it truly IRISH COTTAGERS. 75 is, merely a -property in possession of the clergy, instead of the laity, there is no greater hardship to Roman catholics and dissenters, in paying to the clergy one-tenth of the produce of the land, which they purchase or take on lease, with their eyes open, subject to this tax payment, than there is in their paying the other nine-tenths to their landlords.” “ Suppose Dick, that I spent every shilling of my property in keeping two or three packs of hounds, and a full table, at which every guest was obliged to get drunk, if he appeared there at all; would not my good and sober neighbour and tenant, John Elly the quaker, have more reason to say, is it not a very hard thing that I should pay nine parts out of ten of the value of my land to Mr. Bruce, in order to keep up his hounds, and a riotous table, when my principles prohibit me from hunting or drinking with him ?” than to exclaim, “is it not unjust that I should pay one-tenth of the produce of my farm to Mr. Gumbleton, though I cannot in conscience either , pray with him, or hear him preach ?”—he, like every other sober minded man derives some be¬ nefit from having such a neighbour as Mr. Gumbleton to assist him in public schools, and charities; to co-operate with him in many things, to converse with him, to associate with him in 76 IRISH COTTAGERS. private life, while such a man as I am supposing myself, his landlord to be, would be a plague and a curse to him; is this a fair argument, Dick ?—depend upon it that I will put my face against your friend’s proceedings, and if you, or any of my tenants join in this unjust attack upon the church property, to gratify the discontented, unprincipled persons who are goading the peo¬ ple to mischief, I shall turn my back upon you, and leave you to yourselves.” “ Oh! then, Good¬ ness forbid that such a day should come about to us ? I’ll be bound, plaze your honor, that I’ll never say a word more about the tithes, and that the other tenants will be asy too.” With this understanding, Dick took his leave, hoping over and over again that he had given no offence, and that his honor would’nt be angry. IRISH COTTAGERS. 77 CHAPTER X. Conversation in Mr. Bruce’s house—on tithes—temperance— non-residence—Molly Moran and her bums. “What do you think, Mr. Gumbleton,” said Mr. Bruce, (as these two gentlemen were taking their wine in the dining room of the latter, after their ladies had retired to the drawing room,) 44 of the tithe composition act ? how does it ope¬ rate ?”— 44 it works well, I think,” said the other, 44 disputes are avoided, and it is no small ad¬ vantage to those who pay, and to those wdio are entitled to receive the tithe rents, that both par¬ ties know to a fraction what they are to give, or to get, and that the obnoxious machinery of proctorism is put an end to, wherever the new act is in force; besides, the pressure, which was very unequal before the introduction of the present system, and often fell with disproportionate weight on the small farmer, or the cottier, is now equally laid:—the graziers who, indisposed to tillage , were useless as employers to the labouring poor, and were very inequitably exempted from tithe, must now bear their portion of assessment; in short, I hear few complaints at present, except from 78 IRISH COTTAGERS. those graziers, with whom there is no public sympathy.” 44 Then how does it happen, that many pa¬ rishes are still contented with the old law ?” en¬ quired Mr. Bruce, 44 because,” replied the rec¬ tor, 44 there are many short sighted, and very selfish landlords, who will not consent to pay for their lawns and paddocks, but prefer leaving the load as it now rests, on their tenants’ backs, not having either judgment, or liberality enough, to perceive their own advantage in relieving those tenants from unequal taxation, and rendering the burden comparatively trifling to all.” These gentlemen combining with the great body of graziers, warmly exercise an undisguised, or underhand hostility to any change of measures in the tithe arrangements, and either deceive the tillage farmers by false representations, regarding the new Act, or over rule by authority, the opi¬ nions of their tenants, who, if uninfluenced, and fairly acquainted with the bearings of this Act, would insist, if allowed to vote (and it is matter of regret, that every tithe payer is not allowed a voice where his own pocket is concerned so nearly,) on availing themselves of its benefits:” 44 and yet,” said Mr. Bruce, 44 I have been fighting your battle this very morning, on the subject of tithe-rents, as we must now call them.” IRISH COTTAGERS. 79 44 How ?” enquired the rector, 44 by setting my face against a certain petition, for the aboli¬ tion of tithe payments, which, the parish brain’s carrier, Dick Doyle, was slyly at work about.” 44 I thank you,” said the other, 44 and should have expected such conduct from your good sense and judgment, even independently of our in¬ dividual friendship; but is it to th e principle, or to the rate or mode of charging, that the objec¬ tion is urged?” 44 To the principle I apprehend,” answered the other, 44 the agitators of the day basely pursuing their own selfish ends, have en¬ deavoured to convince the people, that they are robbed and oppressed by the protestant clergy; but in our parish, I think we shall hear no more of this folly or mischief, as I have convinced at least some of the agents in the opposition, that it would be 4 out of the frying pan into the fire’ with them if they were to exchange the protestant cler¬ gy, for any other tithe recipients whatever.” 44 1 wish,” said the other, 44 that the really influential, and well educated part of our landed proprietors were more generally resident; in such case, the great blessing of domestic peace might be ex¬ pected—the employment of our poor would be more steady and extended, and we all know that active occupation is ever accompanied by good order , and tranquillity; but as matters now un- 80 IRISH COTTAGERS. fortunately stand in many parts of Ireland, it is not a subject of surprize, that a neglected, un¬ employed, and half-starved peasantry, should be ready for every novelty, and every mischief; no ’people bear, and have borne more real misery — and, as far as my experience of them has gone, no people are more alive to kindness than they are, nor more practically grateful for it, unless (for the exception must certainly be made,) where religion , or the line of politics which they are artfully taught to look upon as religion, is interposed; they are faithfully attached to the persons, and the interests of their benefactors, and with total indifference to their own personal case or comfort, would, in their own emphatic phraseology, go 4 a thousand miles barefoot to serve them;’ but, Sir, it is of men of rank, and high character that we stand in need—men who will not take advantage of the necessities of the poor, and grind them, and extort from them, in the way in which the tribe of mushroom, and half- gentlemen, so often treat them in the absence of their legitimate protectors—if we had a fair pro¬ portion of landlords, possessing your means and influence, and using them in the same way, we should soon be a regenerated people.” 44 As to that,” observed the landlord, 44 tastes are so different, that we can hardly expect a # IRISH COTTAGERS. 81 very great number of country gentlemen to turn their thoughts as mine happen to be directed— one person likes company and conviviality—- another field sports—another show and equipage, and so on; and each claims (and has too) a right to spend his rents as he pleases”— 44 unquestion¬ ably,” said Mr. Gumbleton, 44 provided that he neither runs in debt, nor mischievously, nor im¬ morally applies his money—but I must at the same time insist, that every owner of landed pro¬ perty has many duties to fulfil to his tenantry, and that if he has a proper sense of his duty in that state to which God has called him—of his moral responsibility—he will, especially in this period of agricultural embarrassment, avoid all unneces¬ sary, and merely selfish expenses, in order to relieve the rural occupants about him; and thus eventually serve himself, his successors, and his country.” 44 But happily,” said Mr. Bruce, 44 a great deal is actually in progress; the gentry in many parts of this kingdom are very actively at work as improvers of the soil, and of the peo¬ ple; and I really believe, in spite of the vulgar prejudice in favor of good old times, that we (gentry,) are much better educated, and more usefully disposed, than our forefathers were.— The squireens, have nearly become extinct, and gentlemen of rank and property are beginning e 5 IRISH COTTAGERS. 8*2 to estimate aright the advantage of improving their properties by personal effort —as to myself, I perceive very clearly the beneficial effects of my residence here, both to myself and to others; you know what the condition of this parish was seven years ago.” “ I know” answered the other, (who by the way was by no means a sycophant,) “ that though we paid our full share of county rates—our roads were almost impassable, because no grand juror travelled this way; you, the owner of three-fourtlis of this parish, seldom had seen us, and the noble proprietor of the other part, has been an absentee for at least twenty years, and his agent, an attorney living in Dublin, to my own knowledge has not, during six years, once set his foot in the parish, indeed some say that he has never been in it—twice a year he comes down to a town, twelve miles from this, and there he is paid by the tenants—did a crop fail ?—did fever invade us in consequence ? there was no one to bear his part with me, in assisting the poor, and grievously have they suffered re¬ peatedly.” “ Now, matters are indeed altered—you have got us good roads, which enable us to draw home our turf, and our coals without difficulty— and the farmer can take at least a third more of corn to market with considerably less labour to IRISH COTTAGERS. 83 horses—you have established a dispensary— a fever hospital, and good schools—and to all these advantages, you have added, your own residence , which in itself is a point of imjnense moment.” Doctor O’Neill, the humane and indefatigable superintendent of the fever hospital and dispen¬ sary already alluded to, was now announced; it ap- • peared that he had been delayed so much beyond the dinner hour, by attendance on a patient at the hospital; assuring Mr. Bruce, that he had al¬ ready dined at home, on his way, he declined the offer of something more to eat, but readily joined the other gentlemen in a glass or two of wine. 44 Whom have you in the hospital at present,” enquired Mr. Bruce, who was acquainted with the name and family of almost every poor person in the parish ? 44 there are two of the Quiglans, and Terry Redmond,” said the Doctor, 44 and I much fear that the latter must be sent to a lunatic asylum, as there is little chance of the recovery of his senses; the other two have the common typhus fever of this country, brought on by poverty and insufficiency of food—but Redmond is deranged from intemperance, in drink.” 44 1 never knew before,” said Mr. Gumbleton, 44 that Redmond was a drunkard, he was a hard work¬ ing blacksmith, and though I have frequently employed him, I was ignorant of his having been 84 IRISH COTTAGERS. addicted to drink”—“ he was in the habit” said the Doctor, “ of taking many glasses of raw spirits in the course of the day, but was consi¬ dered sober, because he never indulged so far as to be incapable of attending to his work; but he has long been, like too many tradesmen, an habitual tipple r, indulging in the dreadful habit of taking whiskey in such quantities, as to keep up a certain degree of excitement in the system, tho’ seldom exceeding, so as to be actually drunk— this unfortunate Redmond has gone on in this way, requiring of course an increasing quantity of li¬ quor, until now, in the very prime of life, he has been reduced to the degraded condition of insanity,* and I fear that his state is incurable.” “ Is such a case more hopeless” asked Mr. Bruce, ‘ ■ than one of furious madness ?” “It is,” continued the physician, “ the brain fever which attacks those who occasionally in¬ dulge their passion for ardent spirits, but who, when they once begin, continue drinking for days together, until they are saturated with it, after a cooling regimen and abstemious diet, are often cured,and continue well, until another drinking fit seizes them, and sends them back to the hospital * See “ A second letter on the effects of Wine and Spirits, by a physician”—with the appendix in this valuable pamph¬ let—passim. IRISH COTTAGERS. 85 raving mad again—but I must observe—that each attack is more severe and of longer duration than the preceding one, and if the exciting cause is not totally abandoned, will terminate in imbeci¬ lity, or death.” “ Have you witnessed many such instances of human crime and folly ?” enquired Mr. Bruce, u several,” said the Doctor; “ when I attended a public Lunatic Asylum in Dublin, I found at one time, that out of *286 patients, viz. 120 males, and 166 females, there were no fewer than 115, 58 males, and 57 females, whose madness was ascertained to have been occasioned by drink¬ ing whiskey. I am perfectly convinced too, that a large proportion of all the patients in all our hospitals, are victims of the deplorable infa¬ tuation, with which they indulge their desire of ardent spirits, and I think it may safely be said of a drunkard, that if he escapes the gallows, he will die in an hospital?” u I should like to know from you, Doctor O’Neill,” enquired Mr. Gumbleton, “ whether there is any foundation in truth, for the vulgar notion, that a person who has persisted in the constant abuse of wine or spirits, and resolves with the grace of 4 Him who came to seek and to save that which was lost,’ to be no longer a slave to such a habit, ought to free himself gradually, 86 IRISH COTTAGERS. or at once ?” 44 at once,” replied the other, 44 for it is easier to practice total abstinence than tem¬ perance, as Johnson’s sagacity observed—if a man, accustomed to drink a large quantity, is restrained to one glass, or two, he has more anxiety for a second or third one, than he had for the first.” 44 It is reported, in corroboration of that posi¬ tion,” said Mr. Bruce, 44 that in the prison at Auburn, (New York,) the most besotted drunk¬ ards have never suffered in their health by break¬ ing off at once from the use of spirits, but on the contrary, that their health has been uniformly improved by so doing; they seem indeed, it is said, to be very uneasy for a few days, and to have little appetite for food—and I know my¬ self, that in the neighbourhood of Swansea, where severe and exhausting labour is performed at the mouth of a furnace, in a smelting house, the men who drink only water, or milk, if they can obtain it, are considerably stronger and healthier, than those who are in the habit of dram drinking. I have never seen a confirmed drinker of daily drams, voluntarily relinquish their use,” said the Doctor, 64 it is scarcely in human nature to do so—a drunkard may be fully sensible of the destructive effects of his besetting sin, both to soul and body, and he may intend, as most IRISH COTTAGERS. 87 drunkards do, to become temperate, 4 at a more convenient season;’ but if he does not imme¬ diately make the attempt, the allurements of drink will prove too strong for his resolution; he labours, as it were, under a disease of the stomach, the principal symptom of which, is a thirst for strong liquors, and which nothing but the attack of some other disease is likely to displace—how¬ ever,” added Doctor O’Neill, 44 1 admit that a gradual discontinuance of either wine or spirits, were it equally certain, n>iglit sometimes be pre¬ ferable to their abrupt abandonment; but know¬ ing the magnitude of the danger, and the dif¬ ficulty of escaping it, I would as soon advise a man who had barely time to escape from a mad dog, not to be in haste, as I would a drunkard, who had resolved to lay aside strong liquors, to do so by degrees.” 44 Then in truth,” concluded Mr. Gumbleton, 44 a drunkard’s safest attitude is that of Christian in the Pilgrim’s Progress, he ought to put his fingers in his ears, and having done so, run for his life, not looking behind him—but while we are thus preaching about temperance, the ladies may think that we have forgotten to practice it, and (turning to his entertainer,) if your servants take it into their heads, that we are too much indulging in our bottle of wine, you can hardly 88 IRISH COTTAGERS. expect that they would complacently acquiesce in a prohibition of their glass of whiskey.” Just as they entered the drawing-room, a ser¬ vant told Mrs. Bruce, “ that Nick Moran’s wife was crying at the hall door, and begged to speak to his mistress”—she was admitted into the hall, and met there by Mrs. Bruce, and her party— “ Oh ! madam Bruce, my lady, down on my knees, (and down on them she dropped in a moment,) “I’m come to your ladyship for as¬ sistance—oh—oh—oh”—Molly Moran seemed in such pain, either of mind or of body, as at once excited the compassion of Mrs. Bruce, who first insisting on her standing up, desired “ that she would explain the cause of her suffering, and the reason of her going there at such an hour”—“ oh, where would I go but to the quality for relief?— oh, my lady—oh, gentlemen honies—oh, Mrs. Gumbleton—all of ye’s—I have two bums on me —Who’ll relieve me—if you dont take them off me ?”— u Two what?” enquired Mrs. Bruce in a whisper to Doctor O’Neill, “ shall we send her to the dispensary, or the lunatic asylum, or can you do any thing for her here ?”—“ my dear madam,” explained the Doctor, who saw that there was a misapprehension on the subject, u this is not a surgical case, she wants you to have two bailiffs removed from her cabin I sup- IRISH COTTAGERS. 89 pose,” “ oli, yes sir,” said Molly, “ the two bums are on me since I was sitting down to the bit of dinner, and they’ll cant the potatoes, and the bed, and the blanket.” Mrs. Bruce, now enlightened on the subject, enquired into parti¬ culars, and ascertained that Nick’s landlord, a poor wretch himself, had distrained Moran’s ho¬ vel (calculating perhaps, on the good-nature of the squire, or the parson,) for a year’s rent; if he had so calculated, his speculation was realized, for in consideration of Nick’s absence from home, and his unprofitable exercise at the tread mill, where he earned nothing for his family, the kind-hearted owners of the “ great house” cleared olf the debt, and relieved Molly Moran from the weighty incumbrance of her bums.*/^ * The vernacular phraseology of the Irish Peasant, has al¬ ways adopted this classical appellative, to designate the calling of a keeper or bailiff. 90 IRISH COTTAGERS. CHAPTER XI. Mick Kin shell a succeeds Peter Dempsey—extraordinary ap¬ pearances in the Church-Yard at midnight—superstitious fears—supposed ghost. “ But whom did Mr. Bruce appoint as his deputy supervisor in the room of Peter Demp¬ sey ?” “Michael Kinshella to be sure, whose good management and persevering industry had rendered his little field so perfect in its husbandry, that his landlord was glad of an opportunity of rewarding such an excellent tenantthis eleva¬ tion of Mick, with the consequent jealousies it occasioned in many of his apparent well wishers, had scarcely begun to be talked of in Paddy Breen’s 4 forge,’ and the neighbouring cabins, when a circumstance happened of more absorb¬ ing interest to the gossipping part of the parish. A few nights after the funeral, Dick Doyle and Pat Murphy, who had been mowing that day, had remained until a late hour in the school-house (which overlooked the old burial ground,) with Edwards, who, at Mr. Bruce’s desire, was draw¬ ing a plan or map of Dick’s thirty acres; this at length was completed, but not until midnight, when Dick and Ins comrade took their departure. IRISH COTTAGERS. 91 Edwards went to bed, but liad hardly lain down, when the barking of his little dog announced the approach of footsteps quickly advancing to the door; a loud rap was given, and another, and another with unceasing rapidity. The school¬ master jumped up, and so did his wife. “ Who’s there ?” from the window, asked S’ 7 Edwards, as he thrust out his head enveloped in a red worsted nightcap, tied on with a garter,^/ “ Let us in, let us in, for pity’s sake,” feebly re¬ plied the men who had so recently left the house. Edwards admitted them, and luckily for them, for the door had scarcely closed, when Dick was on the floor, flat in a swoon, and the other standing up, was the picture of terror; his eye-balls were- fixed and staring, his hair upright, his mouth open, the colour of his face pale and livid, and his whole frame (the fellow was more than six feet high and broad in proportion,) trembling all over. Mrs. Edwards herself terrified exceed- ingly, had no power to ask, even if he could \ have answered, a question, but had presence of mind enough to judge that in such a case, the great Irish restorative—whiskey—might bring about recollection and speech. Murphy took a glass of it eagerly, like a maniac; still not a word—another followed it, and then a third suc¬ ceeded. “ What has happened,” asked Edwards 92 IRISH COTTAGERS. and his wife in a breath?—“ tell us Dick, tell us Patalternately looking at the men. “ We—seen—a—sperit,” slowly articulated Murphy,—“we—seen—it—with—our—eyes— in—the—church-yard—below—there.” “ Bah ! you blockheads,” answered Edwards, “ what a pair of fellows to frighten my wife in this way, with your folly and your cowardice ! I’ll go down myself, and convince you of your folly.” “ No—no—no”—was the response. Mrs. Edwards clung to her husband; “ dont go, dont go George, or if you do, (seeing his determina¬ tion to ascertain the cause of such agitation,) let us all go togetherthe whiskey by this time had imparted some courage to tine other two, who were ashamed to stay back when a woman was about to advance.' “ Go up for your cloak,” said her husband to Mrs. Edwards, while he was putting on a coat which hung by ; in a moment she was on the stairs, but there she gave a scream, —“ there’s something in the church-yard—look here, look here ;” George was in a moment at her side, and plainly saw a light, (blue, Dick Doyle said it was,) twinkling in the burial ground, it rested steadily on a grave—then dis¬ appeared—then flickered on it—then darkened again; they all saw it, and watched it, three of the party hardly breathing, and not daring to IRISH COTTAGERS. 93 speak; the light again glimmered. 44 This is strange,” said Edwards, 44 but follow meand they did follow him; his wife from apprehension for his safety, and the men, because they were afraid to stay behind; out then they went, Ed¬ wards armed with his pistol and ammunition; ^Dick with a pitch-fork, which he had found in the cow-house ; Murphy with the scythe, which he had been using in the day, and Mrs. Edwards with a poker; stealthily they crept along, like Indians on a marauding party, until they plainly saw the light again, at intervals, gleaming on the graves; at length, when they had reached a corner of the field which bounded the church¬ yard, and ventured to look into it, a figure ap¬ peared, as if in its shrouding—white, gigantic in size, and fixed in its position; a slight breeze stirred the bushes around them, and a mournful sigh seemed to issue from this scene of loneli¬ ness and horror; 44 It is the wind,” said Edwards, no other word was uttered; the light trembled again, the figure was less distinctly seen, and all was darkness then; our party still listened and watched; sounds came close to them; a passing moon-beam threw its light upon the figure which had been at the grave—it advanced towards them .— 44 Who’s there,” said Edwards ? No answer to his challenge. Edwards boldly ran at 94 IRISH COTTAGERS. the figure, though unsupported by his male asso¬ ciates, but was fairly caught and clasped in the arms of Mrs. Edwards, who shrieked aloud; Dick Doyle, and his companion fell upon their knees, and prayed most earnestly—Edwards at length extricating himself from the conjugal embrace, rushed forwards. Figure, light, and footsteps, all had gone ; our party were hasten¬ ing homewards, “ Stop,” said Murphy, “ ’tis there—I see it again !” and three figures were seen in another gleam of moonshine, slowly moving to and fro, and Murphy, desperate with terror, made a tremendous cut with his scythe at their waistbands, in the very moment of their bending their heads towards him—they fell! but nothing was to be seen, except what had given this alarm—three peculiarly tall stalks of rag- iveed , which the wind had been agitating, until "the scythe had cut them in the middle, but what had become of the shrouded figure, of the light, and of the footsteps ?—they had been unquestion¬ ably seen and heard, and that even the weeds had been spirits of the other world in vegetable masquerade , was by no means problematical to the mower who had beheaded them, nor to Dick, who had been an accessary to the execution, and nothing ever afterwards could convince those men that something evil would not in conse- IRISH COTTAGERS. 95 quence betide them. Nor would they venture home that night, but actually returned to the school-house, with the Edwardses, and George . consented to sit up with them till day break. The fire being renewed in the little parlour, conversation commenced, and turned, as may be supposed, on the occurrences just past. “ Well, Mr. Edwards,” said Dick, “ I never seen the like of you any how, for courage; but the na-vy men beats the world out for that, but troth we’ve seen a raal spirit now, at any rate, the four of us with our own eyes.” “ I think not,” observed Edwards, “ and I ex¬ pect to clear up this whole matter to-morrow, though it certainly will not turn out a mere phantom, like the ragweed.” “ Why then won’t you allow,” exclaimed Dick, “ that you saw the slirowd and the ghost, and the light, and did’nt you smell the sulphur ?” “ I saw a figure in white,” rejoined the other, “ and a dead one too, perhaps, but certainly no ghost.” “Well,” cried out Pat, “you are as hard of belief as a Turk, or the likes of them foreigners, but I’m certain we saw something not right“ something not right, I believe, too,” said the school-master, “ but what do you think Pat of the three ghosts you mowed down?” .“maybe they were’nt what they seemed,” re- 96 IRISH COTTAGERS. plied the mower, could’nt sperits change their shapes and their looks if they liked ? does’nt Katty Dowd’s ghost take the shape of a spinning wheel whenever any one meets it of a sudden t, v K and says 4 any good words,’ or speaks latin to it ? and still its Katty Dowd herself all the time.” 44 Tell me,” asked Edwards, 44 did either of you ever see any one that saw Katty, or her spinning school-master, 44 this is the way that ghosts are always seen, one person hears a story from a second, and a second from a third, and so on, and every one adds something to it, just like the story of the 4 three black crows,’ have you heard that story ?” being answered in the negative, he went on— 44 but you need’nt draw your chair so close to me, as there is nothing very frightful in it.” 44 One Jerry Donovan was about to be married to a girl with a very pretty fortune, and after he had bought the ring, and paid down the marriage money, one of his neighbours whis¬ pered to him, take care of Biddy Delany, for it is said, and I tell it to you out of regard, that v she has a * ' you?” said the lover, horror-struck by this in¬ telligence; “Torn Dempsey told me,” said the rookery in her stomack.” 44 Who told wheel, since she died ?” 44 1 can’t say I did,” answered each of his hearers, 44 but I saw them, that saw others that saw her”— 44 aye,” said the IRISH COTTAGERS. 97 I I i i l informant; off went poor Terry to Tom Dempsey, “ Tom,” said lie, “ who told you that Biddy Delany has a rookery in her stomach, w who told me that,” exclaimed Tom, “ why nobody said a word about the rookery, but James Flannagan happened to tell me that Biddy Delany vomited up three live crows, and that’s all he said.” To James Flannagan, next applied Terry—“ oh, James Flannagan what made you tell Tom Dempsey that Biddy Delany has three black crows in her stomach 66 1 said no such thing,” said Flannagan, “ and he’s a liar for saying so, but I told him what Dennis Carthy told me, and I wont belie any one, that the girl had two black crows in her stomach, and you may ask Dennis and Dennis was asked his authority for the report —“ I only happened to mention,” said he, “ and I thought there was no harm in it, that poor Biddy has a live crow in the pit of her stomach, or somewhere thereabouts, and sure I heard it from the Doctor at the dispensary.” As Terry was so far on his way; to the Doctor he went for the true version of the story, pretty well convinced by this time that Biddy had nothing very unna¬ tural about her, and the fact turned out to be, that the girl in a fever, or immediately after it, had discharged from her stomach something as black as a croic. F * 98 ^ IRISH COTTAGERS. *•“ Now,” proceeded the master, addressing him¬ self to both his hearers, “the stories which you hear of ^iosts are exaggerated and unfounded in this way, and you will find that none but those who are beforehand cowardly and credulous enough to believe in their appearance, are ever found to affirm that they have seen them, nor will you ever hear of two persons together seeing a ghost (‘barring to night,’ interrupted the auditors,) “ which is also a strong proof that not even one has ever seen them; you have never heard more than a single person’s word at a time, for seeing Katty Dowd or her spinning wheel, and be as¬ sured that if there were a second person present, the reality w’ould come out, and prove to be not more alarming than Pat Murphy’s rag weeds; if we had’nt been with him to-night, when he saw the moon shining on them, he’d have run away, and sworn that he had seen twelve ghosts at least.” “ But, and dear bless you, and don’t be talk¬ ing so disrespectfully of sperits, for you don’t know what may happen,” (said Dick again,) “ didn’t four of us this blessed night, that’s now almost gone, see one as plain as I see you now ?” “ No, Dick, I wont admit the possibility of it, and I’ll tell you my reasons.” “ God would never send the dead back to this world for foolish purposes, such as ghosts by all IRISH COTTAGERS. 99 accounts are busy about, perhaps to find an old receipt, or a lease, or a crock of money: he would not condescend to declare his purposes by such messengers, scampering about their fooleries at midnight, when they might as well call by day, ( 4 save us from all harm/ murmured Dennis and Dick,) waiting until they are first spoken to, and then only giving a groan, or a sign, or a word, and perhaps transforming them¬ selves into spinning wheels, or running about in the shape of dogs, or foxes, or calves.” 44 But might’nt they come to tell of murder , or to warn people ?” enquired Dick, 44 the Scriptures tell us,” replied Edwards, 44 all that we should know about our duty, and 4 he that will not hear Moses and the prophets, will not be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.’ ” 44 Besides ghosts are so fidgetty in their na¬ ture, that they seldom stay long enough to tell their business, or to give any good advice,” 44 Now be asy, as to that point,” said Dick, 44 did’nt Judy Flinn, the week after she was bu¬ ried, appear to a workman belonging to her son, and tell him to warn the master to look for the stocking full of balloon hard guineas, that she sent to Dempsey’s mill in a bag of wheat by mistake before she died—and did’nt she tell the same boy that it was’nt ground into wheaten flour, at ail, 100 IRISH COTTAGERS. at all, but was hid in Dempsey’s house, where, by the same token, it was never found—and did’nt my own grandfather’s fetch come to him when he was in the fever and tell him he’d die— and did’nt he die sure enough, and why should’nt he on such telling?” 44 As to these cases my good man,” said Edwards, 64 if Judy Flinn’s ghost had come upon such an errand, (here Dick look¬ ed significantly over his right shoulder,) it would certainly have gone at once to her son, and not to a mere foolish blundering workman, or, it would have appeared to a magistrate, with her infor¬ mations ready drawn, or gone to the 4 quarter sessions’ more probably at once, and your grand¬ father, by your own statement, having been in a fever, was very likely to have a disturbed head, (in which case, spectral appearances are fre¬ quently presented to the disturbed imagination,) and also very likely to think he was to die.” 44 But now that the day has returned, let us revisit the church yard, and ascertain if my sus¬ picions are well founded, in which case I hope you will no longer believe in ghosts.” IRISH COTTAGERS. 101 CHAPTER XII. The horrifying appearances of the preceding night, accounted for—The pursuit of “ body snatchers, 1 ’ by the Farnasheshery boys—Disasters in Dublin—Imprisonment. On going to the church-yard appearances con¬ firmed the conjecture of Edwards, that the dis¬ turbance and alarm of the preceding night had been occasioned by body stealers, or “resur¬ rection men.” The coffin of Peter Dempsey, raised from its earthy bed, had been wrenched open, and now lay without its insensate occu¬ pant—the winding sheet hastily thrown on the adjacent wall, remained on the very spot where the corpse had been seen, andalowland Dumbarton bonnet lying near, seemed to indicate, that the robbers had been catering for the disciples of the knife and the lancet in Edinburgh or Glasgow; but this was matter of mere surmise, the peculiar and national shape of the cap, did not necessa¬ rily suggest the idea of its being the property of a Scotsman, nor, admitting this, prove that he might not have been employed in his execrable vocation by the practitioners of the Dublin schools of anatomy; against this supposition, 102 IRISH COTTAGERS. however, Dick Doyle’s shrewdness suggested presumptive evidence of considerable force, namely, that the judges had only three months pre¬ viously concluded the Munster circuit, and that consequently the usual and never-failing half- yearly supply of subjects, transmitted after the periodical ceremony of a little hanging in Clonmel or Limerick, to all the surgical schools of the Irish metropolis, could not have been yet exhausted, or as Dick himself expressed the opinion, “ sure there were plenty of line, clever, and clane corpses that died naturally upon the gallows in Tipperary, last ’sizes, besides the Limerick boys, that ar’nt any way backwards in such bu¬ siness ; and sure the nautomy house in Dublin is’nt half clear of them yet, especially since they’re presarved in whiskey ever so long en¬ tirely, from ’sizes to ’sizes any-how; and who’d be bothered in Dublin with poor Peter’s little ould shrivelled carcase, or the likes of it, (that myself would carry on my sliowlders to Cork, and would’nt be tired by that same,) let alone pay¬ ing for it besides, when those murdering villians of surgeons have such line cutting, for nothing at all, at all, (bad luck to their scalping knives,) on the Munster boys, every one of them six or seven feet high,—the craturs,—and young and sound besides! assure as daylight, Mr. Edwards, ’ tis some IRISH COTTAGERS. 103 of Burke’s gang that have whipped away -Peter Dempsey to them Scotch doctors, that bribes them with 10/. a head, by all accounts in the newspapers, and Peter will be after crossing the salt ocean, which he never did in his life-time before, barring it was over the Wexford ferry, when the bridge was brack down, unless some one goes after him and lays hoult upon him be¬ fore lie’s aboord ship.” The reasoning of Dick appearing to be con¬ clusive, he and Murphy ran off to spread the occurrences of the night, and to urge a prompt and energetic pursuit of the fugitive thieves, for so they might fairly be denominated, although, as if aware of the technicality of the law, they had not stolen the shrowd, nor the coffin. Edwards was almost the only person in the parish not shocked by this profanation of the grave, he had been too long familiar with scenes of real pain in living subjects, to feel for that which existed only in idea, and cared little about what might become, even of his own earthly tabernacle, when abandoned by its im¬ mortal inmate; he would therefore have been but little moved, by the spoliation of Dempsey’s grave, had not the kindliness of his nature caused him to compassionate the feelings of horror and dismay with which Peter’s wife and children 104 IRISH COTTAGERS. would hear the soul harrowing intelligence, that the remains of the husband and the parent, were devoted to the mangling knife of the unsympa¬ thizing dissector. And, there is a strong and almost universal feeling, against even the rude and disrespectful removal of the dead. This may be called a pre¬ judice, and a foolish one too, perhaps, though it is instinctive in us; but the heart sickens, and the mind revolts still more at the thought of exposing in a state of loathsomeness to the gaze of strangers, those frames which, when breathing with a living soul, we had viewed with affection or respect, and unless we should divest ourselves altogether of some of the best feelings of our na¬ ture, (depraved at best though it be,) we could not yield the perishable parts of those whom we had loved or reverenced, to be hacked and mangled, even though the advancement of a ne¬ cessary and a noble science, depended on the con¬ cession, and if the learned and the enlightened part of mankind be thus impressed, it was not to be expected that the rustics of Farnasheshery would patiently receive the news of Dempsey’s furtive abstraction from the common sanctuary of their dead, so grossly violated, without manifesting strong sensations of excitement. Information having been soon conveyed to the IRISH COTTAGERS. 105 widow and daughter of Peter Dempsey, whose feelings on hearing the circumstances of the past night were most painfully acute—that two men, followed by a dog, who was described with great minuteness, (whether accurately or not re¬ mained to be ascertained,) had been met at peep of day on the Dublin road at a short distance from Farnasheshery, driving a black horse very rapidly under a car with a barrel on it; it was resolved to commence an immediate and hot pur¬ suit of the supposed fugitives; indeed the pro¬ bability, that the above persons were taking the corpse to Dublin, was rendered almost a matter of certainty by the additional intelligence, which the same informant communicated, namely, that one of the men, a fellow nearly six feet in height, had a handkerchief tied round his head ; this circumstance seemed to indicate that he was the owner of the cap found in the church-yard. A party was accordingly soon assembled, con¬ sisting of all the male connexions of the deceased able to undertake the proposed chase, with Dick Doyle and Murphy, who had been eye witnesses of the recent horrors in the church-yard, and Nick Moran, whose mercurial temperament would not brook the slavish labour of the spade or the shovel at home, when the contemplated pursuit held forth a prospect of fighting with, or f 5 106 IRISH COTTAGERS. rather of executing summary vengeance on the detested resurrection men, or the eclat of taking them prisoners; besides he considered, that the Dempseys, for the credit of their family, would treat such an able-bodied volunteer with whiskey and tobacco, which he had no chance of getting in his own cabin, where Molly’s house-keeping was of the most miserable order; flourishing his cudgel, and swearing vehemently, “ that he would split the sculls of the two rascals, if wanst he could come up wid’em,” he hurried off his com¬ panions almost before they had time to pocket the few shillings which the agitated widow di¬ vided among those of them, (Nick of course among the number,) who, without a penny in their pockets, were preparing to set off, on a pro¬ bably long and fatiguing journey. Dick, however, was not one of those who were now’ unprovided with travelling charges, for he always carried in the very deep pocket of his small clothes, a pouch which vtis never with¬ out half-a-dozen pounds at least in it: being the oldest and cutest of the 4 boys’ (lie wanted nearly a year of sixty,) the direction of the party was committed by an understood, though unex¬ pressed acquiescence to his judgment, in the ex¬ ercise of which he divided his force into tw r o divisions ; with that, in which were three of IRISH COTTAGERS. 107 Dempsey’s relatives and Nick Moran, he pro¬ ceeded on the mail coach road towards Dublin, fifty /miles from Farnasheshery, and the other he sent towards the same point, by a parallel line, more hilly, but not more distant from that city, where, if they did not previously overtake the body stealers, who had unhappily six or eight hours start of them, they arranged to meet, at a public house in the “ liberties.” Though Dick has been frequently named to my readers, I have not hitherto depicted him as to dress and appearance ; and yet, there was great peculiarity in both—his face, of a truly Milesian character, was long and swarthy, seldom enlivened in its dark expression by the sunshine of a smile, even at the pointed and sarcastic wit which occasi¬ onally issued from his lips: his hair lank and grizzled, more grey than black in it, hung over his shoulders and ears, and rarelyLexperi- enced the discipline of the reaping hook or scis¬ sors; he was tall, gaunt, and muscular; and now strode along, ever y pace fi ve feet, before his little party, which trotted to keep up with him, as he moved on his bow.legs, with his feet turned in, his stockings ungartered, and the knees of his breeches open, no one indeed had ever seen them buttoned, and there was much wonder in Farnasheshery, that a man so thrifty as Dick, IRISH COTTAGERS. ‘i* 4 108 should go to the expense of buttons, which were never used: in the hottest days of summer, (and he carried it now in the dog days,) as well as in the most inclement winter weather, when he went to chapel, fair, or any other place of public resort, his heavy frieze great coat was always as¬ sumed, and generally with the tail thrown over his right arm; cravat he never wore, but pre¬ ferred the exhibition of a huge and sinewy throat, at the lower extremity of which, commenced the hirsute covering of coarse black hair, which over¬ spread his expanded chest; though his pocket was never empty, as I have already stated, Dick never admitted that he had a shilling to spare ; and when paying his rent more particularly, he was sure to be always something short , at first, \(L though afterwards he contrived shilling by shil¬ ling’ from the different hiding holes and corners which his habiliments contained, to pull out slow¬ ly and reluctantly, the precise balance, which the agent well knowing his ways, invariably insisted on receiving; a penny, eve n a half- penny, he would struggle to keep back, and never paid the utter¬ most farthing without a growl. Such was the leader of the boys from Far- nasheshery, whose exertions to keep pace with him would have been laborious indeed, had he not been obliged now and then to halt for a mo- IRISH COTTAGERS. 109 merit, in order to tuck up his great coat, to tighten his stockings, or to examine such pas¬ sengers as were likely to give any information of the objects of their pursuit. However, not¬ withstanding the alertness and energy, with which this little troop traced the supposed route of the resurrection men, it was noon on the second day of their travelling when they reached one of the canal bridges near Dublin, still un¬ successful in their search; the information which they had collected on the road, and in the .shebeen houses {where Dick, never having any .small change about him , took his glass, and re¬ plenished his pipe, .at the cost of his less prudent companions,) was vague, and conflicting in its details; sometimes the suspected car, and its drivers, critically corresponded according to the testimony of the respondents, with the wishes of the querists, at other times it differed in a few particulars, and then again, very widely and essentially from the tokens given by the en¬ quirers ; sometimes the horse was black, some¬ times grey, and then neither black nor grey; at one time the ear was “a good mile,” or “a short mile” before its wearied followers, who, if they walked pretty lively might overtake it, and in half an hour afterwards, it was ten or fifteen miles in advance, and the next minute, perhaps, 110 IRISH COTTAGERS. “ at tlie first turn of the roadin no one point did all informants agree, except in the admission, that “ the body stealers,” when caught, deserved to be torn to pieces, without waiting for judge or jury. Harrassed and disappointed, Dick and his fel¬ low travellers had reached the bridge before men¬ tioned, on their way to the house of rendezvous in the ‘liberty,’ when they descried a car on the track way of the canal, almost under the bridge, as if removed to that spot, in order to avoid pub¬ lic observation; there was, however, no barrel in it, nor had the driver a handkerchief round his head, nor was the horse black, but there was a large hamper very carefully roped, and this might have been mistaken for a barrel, as it was scarcely day-light when the strange car was first seen, on the road from Farnasheshery, and one of the two men then accompanying it, (probably the owner of the scotch cap,) might have now preceded the other into town, to apprize the surgeons of the arrival of the “subject,” and the horse being of a very dark bay colour, might have appeared as black in the uncertain light in which he had been viewed by the original informant. In the mean time, the carman judging from the scrutinizing and suspicious glances, with IRISH COTTAGERS. Ill which lie was viewed by the “ boys,” (as they, leaning over the battlements of the bridge, clenched their sticks and communicated their ob¬ servations to each other,) seemed apprehensive of some violent interruption to his journey, which, however, he prepared to recommence; cracking his whip with the true carman’s smack, a smack which he might have spared on this oc¬ casion, for the horse on hearing this gentle hint to advance, firmly and resolutely planted out his fore legs in the position of a buttress to his body, and the attached load, and refused to stir a single inch; this circumstance above all, changed into certainty the previous conceptions of the party over head, some of whom concluded, in the ge¬ nuine spirit of superstitious ignorance, that Peter Dempsey, though dead and closely en¬ veloped in a hamper, had bewitched the horse, so as to disable him from taking his now disin¬ terred corpse away from the spot where his re¬ latives and friends had then assembled near him, and who woidd bear him back to his violated resting place, out of which he doubtless felt as uneasy and uncomfortable, as a fish would be out of water. Dick himself was convinced that he had at length overtaken the object of search, from the unexpected refusal of the horse to lean to his draught, which he, however, attributed 112 IRISH COTTAGERS. not to supernatural agency, but to the instinctive terror which all horses manifest, when within sight or smell of dead flesh; in this case it was in Dick’s opinion, almost certain that the saga¬ cious and sensitive animal had smelled Peter Dempsey in the basket. In a shorter time than I shall occupy in telling it, a shout was raised, cudgels -were flourished, the carman was at once unceremoniously knocked down, the horse unyoked, the rope was cut from the hamper, and there was taken out, with much agitation and trembling, the flesh, not of the late deputy supervisor, but, of four turkey pouts, and a couple of crammed foul, a ham, and some sausages, which, it subsequently appeared, the carman had been employed to take from the Wexford market, to a gentleman in the Dublin post-office establishment, who would, doubtless, have most reluctantly bartered those little white and plump carcases, for the goodliest corpse in the church-yard of Farnasheshery. A considerable crowd had now collected on the bridge, and the carman, as soon as he had recovered from the quieting effects of the blow which he had received, called loudly on the bye- standers to seize his assailants; in vain did they apologize and endeavour to explain the causes, which had led to the mistake ; neither their protes- IRISH COTTAGERS. 113 tations of innocence, nor the physical resistance of Nick Moran, availed to prevent the forcible detention of the Farnasheshery boys, until an adequate number of constables arrived to conduct them to a police office, from whence, after the necessary informations had been lodged by the carman, the whole of the accused party, who were of course unprovided with bail, was com- ’* mitted by the sitting magistrate to the county gaol. 114 IRISH COTTAGERS. CHAPTER XIII. Dick Doyle’s letter to Mr. Brace—Avertisement relative to Peter Dempsey’s corpse. To men unaccustomed to lie on soft beds, to handle a comb, or a half whetted razor more than once in a week or fortnight, and totally unused to the luxury of daily ablution, and those changes of raiment, which in higher grades are deemed so essential to personal comfort, the ac¬ commodations afforded in Kil mainh am, appeared by no means defective; the use of the pipe, however, was forbidden, and this was avowedly a grievous privation. As to Moran he seemed to be quite at home there, and evidently piqued himself on his qualifications for the office of mas¬ ter of the ceremonies to uninitiated companions, to whom every thing there, was strange and as¬ tounding, and the elasticity of his spirits, en¬ abled him to excite the more obtuse and dead¬ ened energies of his desponding friends. But how were they to procure bail for their future appearance, a matter indispensable to their liberation ? how were they to trace out the body IRISH COTTAGERS. 115 of Peter Dempsey, which they were convinced was by this time in Dublin, and above all, by what means could they satisfy the magistrates, that they had erred without motive, and unin¬ tentionally, and acquaint their friends at home with the woeful result of their precipitate expe¬ dition? these were points which required delibe¬ ration. “ Ar’nt you a scollard,” enquired Murphy, of Dick Doyle, who nodded a kind of modest acqui¬ escence, “ have’nt you laming enough to write a bit of a line to Mr. Bruce, and won’t one word from his pen send us out of this lodging any how ?” “ thrue for you, Murphy,” added one of the Dempseys, rubbing his hands with delight at the suggestion, “and can’t he draw up an advertizment about Peter, and stick it up like any other notices, on every church and cha¬ pel door in the parish of Dublin?” the only remaining difficulty, was to get the stump of a pen, a tent of ink, and a dacent sheet of writing paper, a penny or two, however, enabled the party to procure these indispensable materials, and Dick, thus nominated, the secretary of the committee, conceived, and transcribed out clean and cleverly, in something less than six hours, the following letter and advertisement. 116 IRISH COTTAGERS. “ Honored Sir, “ I make bould to trouble your honour, about the poor sityation your tennants are in, and all for nothing, at all, at all, but a bit of a mistake, that happened to us joust as we overtuck the car that we thought had Peter’s corpse in it, and if your honour does’nt see us ritified, and taken out of lioult, which one line from your honour, would do, supposing it was for a worse thing itself that we were in for, let alone looking for our own flesh and blood, (which Peter is to most of us consarned,) we’ll be destroyed for good, intirely, and the busy sason going on, and we fifty miles from Farnasheshery. Your honour needs to be informed, that we are all taken afore one Mr. Justice Gabit, (and his own share of gab he has, sure enough,) and he said that we must give bail to appear at the next quarter sessions, for stoping the car on the high road, and salting the driver ; and sure there could’nt be an asalt, when no one touched him, only Nick Moran /i^tfhim grip blow , that would’nt hurt a sucking child, just to make him asv, till we looked into the basket for the poor corpse, and the justis would’nt belive one word about Peter Dempsey being stolen away to Dublin, though I tried to incense it into him, and to IRISH COTTAGERS. 117 , make him sensible, but he turned the bothered ear to us intirely; and so if your honour will joust write a bit of a letter to see us ritified, he’ll let us out, for sure he would’nt dar to brake your honour’s word.” Your humble sarvant, « Richard Doyle. “ P. S. Jem Cassidy will deliver this, ’tis he had the luck of the world to go the other rode.” TAKE NOTIS, “ This is to sartify, that one Peter Dempsey was stolen out of his greave and he hardly set¬ tled in it, last tuesday night, by some evil minded Scotch villians, who left their marks and tokens behind them; one of them is well known by them that seen him, as follows : there was a dog alonge wid im, with a croped ear, and a very shart tale; wore when he went away, a pare of blew throwsers, and hussian boots, and had a large white speck on his back besides; the baste had a very starved looke, and was about five foot eleven inches in his stocking feet, had 118 IRISH COTTAGERS. a collor about bis neck, and was seemingly lame in one of his hind legs, from a bite from another dog; his head was covered with a blewish han- ketcher, having left his scotch cap in the church¬ yard, being in a hurry, I suppose, when the hul- laboloo was set up. Any one that brings intilli- gence of Peter’s corpse, so as it is’nt already nautomized by the doctors, to any of us, whose names are described below, will receive a re¬ ward, which we can settle the amount between ourselves when we meet. PATRICK DEMPSEY—Brother’s son of same. liis Jeremiah Sullivan—^ Brother’s daughter’s husband. mark his Tim Del any— X Son’s daughter’s husband of same. mark Richard Doyle. his Nicholas Moran— X mark “ N. B. Any one that is lotlie to give informa¬ tion, except in private, will be trated accord¬ ingly ; and I promis to tell it to no man, ex¬ cepting my wife, which is all as one as myself. HB Richard Doyle.” “ Postcrip—Pleas inquire at the gaol.” IRISH COTTAGERS. 119 When the tidings conveyed by Jem Cassidy, and his party, (who so happily for themselves had been out of the scrape on the bridge, and had quietly taken up their lodgings in the “ liberty,”) reached Farnasheshery, no words can describe the unhappiness which they occasioned. The widow Dempsey was almost heart-broken, on hearing that the search for her husband’s re¬ mains had been so unsuccessful, and she grieved also, that her warm hearted and zealous neigh¬ bours should have fallen into trouble, in conse¬ quence of their good-nature. The whole parish, in short, was in confusion ; Mr. Bruce, Father Murphy, Mr. Gumbleton, and the coadjutor, were each, and all applied to for comfort and counsel in the general perplexity. Mr. Bruce, however, (himself in the commission of the peace,) by a judicious representation of the case to the magistrates in Dublin, after the de¬ lay of a few days, which the correspondence ne¬ cessarily occupied, effected a satisfactory arrange¬ ment ; the carman, who had been so unfor¬ tunately stopped, and struck by Nick Moran, very readily consented to withdraw his accusa¬ tion, on privately receiving a pound note, (which Dick Doyle was prevailed on to advance,) and an assurance of being well treated at M ; Car tv’s in the “liberty,” on the liberation of the prisoners; H20 IRISH COTTAGERS. a condition which they most honourably fulfilled. But notwithstanding the notices which Dick had so carefully written, and circulated, no tidings were ever received respecting Dempsey’s body, which it was generally conjectured had been ra¬ pidly conveyed to Glasgow; the daily intercourse by steamers, from Dublin to that city, render¬ ing its transmission, a matter of easy perfor¬ mance. IRISH COTTAGERS. 1*21 CHAPTER XIV. Sickness and death of Willy Kinshella. Happiness is seldom long uninterrupted ; though the Kinshellas continued to'prosper in their affairs, as might have been expected, from their steady habits of temperance, indus¬ try, and skill, they were not exempted from some of the calamities incident to the journey of life: their second boy, unobserved by his usu¬ ally most watchful mother, had pursued a stray¬ ing kitten, his favourite pet, into Moran’s house, where the noxious matter of the measles still maintained its contagious property; this little fellow was only three years and a half old, but affectionate, and intelligent beyond his years. Joanny doated on him, and Mick regarded him with an intensity of tenderness, very unusual to men of his class of life, who too frequently view their offspring, with the mere selfish anticipation of the prospective advantage which the future labour of those children is likely to afford them ; but Willy, (so was this child named,) was the object of parental love—the purest, the most un¬ mixed with worldly feelings. 122 IRISH COTTAGERS. From the earliest days of infantile discernment, he, more than his brother, or his sister, had in¬ stinctively fastened on his father’s heart; his little hands were ever stretched out to rush into the arms of that parent, when he returned to his home after a day of toil on his roads, or his farm; and the blush of delight mantled on Willy’s round and velvet cheek, when Mick re¬ ceiving him from his fond and happy wife, folded him in a warm and close embrace. As he ad¬ vanced in age, he would watch at the door for his father’s approach, and clap his little hands, and dance with joy “ when Pappy was coming,” then he would climb up into his arms, and kiss him again and again, and tell him in the broken prattle of that most endearing age, of all the little matters which occupied his opening mind. This sympathy, in its very nature alone intelligible to the feelings of fond and idolizing parents, (for indefinable it must ever remain to those, who know not the expansion of heart, which objects of affection create, nor that withering sense of desolation, which makes the heart shrink within itself, at the disruption of tc the silver chord,” which binds together, as it were in a common existence, the parent and the child)—this natural sympathy—increased with everyday—and every night too added to its power, IRISH COTTAGERS. 123 for Willy was accustomed to sleep by his father’s side, in a small bedstead, (Mick’s own workman¬ ship, ) from which, whenever he awakened, whether at midnight or at dawn, he crept into the larger bed and nestled in his father’s bosom, and never did that father, however disturbed by the natural restlessness of the child, however wearied and sleepy, he himself might be, repel the dear intruder, or move him one inch from the lodgment which he loved to make. For a considerable time after Willy had been seized with the disorder, there seemed to be no danger, for the ordinary error of giving punch, and other stimulants to the patient, had been avoided by Joanny Kinshella, who, under Dr. O’Neill’s directions, had pursued a cooling regi¬ men ; the dry cough which attends the measles 7 J o had been relieved by blistering, and by pectoral mixtures, so that inflammation was kept down, and the respiration rendered free; but unhappily, after the lapse of three or four weeks, when the inexperienced parents thought, that the period for using care and caution had passed over, the hooping cough succeeded to the measles; it in¬ creased in violence, and the fever which it ex¬ cited, soon became alarming; during three weeks the mother never went to bed, and seldom slept an uninterrupted hour, and Mick too, watched 124 IRISH COTTAGERS. his little sufferer, whenever lie could leave the unavoidable business which demanded his time and his attention; and every feverish movement which the child made and every rambling word which he uttered, went to the hearts of his dis¬ tracted parents — 44 where is my Pappy?” 44 where is my Mammy?” was his frequent question, though each was at his side, holding a little burning hand, and those little burning hands were not withdrawn pettishly, for Willy felt the tears which dropped upon them, and seemed to know that they were proofs of love, and asked 44 what is ou crying for pappy—pa ?” 44 is it, cause poor Willy—sick—and die ?”—and then the parents’ tears would start afresh, and flow upon the pressed hands, and cheek, and fore¬ head of their boy—then he would ask for a drink, and his little lips would just touch the cup of whey, and his slender fingers would motion it im¬ patiently away, and then a fit of coughing would come on, and the protracted moan of pain and exhaustion would succeed, and the teeth would grind loudly and fearfully against each other. He was in this condition when l)r. O’Neill called in; the Kinshellas rose up to receive him, and to watch his looks, as he gazed with profes¬ sional observation on the child’s face, and felt his pulse, and laid his hand upon his swollen sto- IRISH COTTAGERS. 125 mach ; “ wliat do you think about him ?” Mick, at length summoned fortitude to ask, “ he’s very ill to day,” said the physician humanely, sym¬ pathizing in his tone and manner with the agi¬ tated pair, but still he may recover; “ Oh ! lie'll do no good , he'll do no good," exclaimed poor Mick, striking his hand at the same time forcibly against his brow; “1 knew—I knew it all along—I knew he’d be the one to go first—I always said so— did’nt I, Joanny?” “he’s not gone yet, how¬ ever,” said Dr. O’Neill, “ and while there’s life, there’s hope—God may yet bless the means which I shall use for the child’s recovery ; at the same time, I must in candour tell you, that this terrible hooping cough which keeps up the fever, cannot be arrested in its course by any art of mine; unless, therefore, the little fellow’s strength of constitution can struggle against it, until the regular time for its abatement shall come, I much fear for the result—be prepared therefore, my good friends for the worst.” Before he went away, he gave some new directions to Joanny, among which, was an order to get ready a warm bath, in which Willy was to be held for four or five minutes. As soon as he had gone, Mick, who in some degree had restrained himself in his presence, threw himself on his wife’s neck, and there 126 IRISH COTTAGERS# burying his face in her handkerchief, burst out into a convulsive paroxysm of tears; 44 there’s hope yet, Mick honey,” said this excellent young wo¬ man, struggling to check her own tears, and to stifle her own agony, in hopes of soothing the violent and uncontrolled anguish of her 1ms- band; “he may do yet”— 44 no—no”—sobbed out Mick; 44 he’s gone—lie’s gone—my child is all as one as dead," 44 and if it be God’s will,” whis¬ pered the other, 44 we must be content, Mick— though it’s a sore—sore blow—to us—there are the other two children still, and many a one lias’nt that same comfort left”— 44 they’ll all die soon,” cried Mick, impatiently, and bitterly— 44 now that death has entered into the house—if it was even one of the other childer, and not Willy ! and yet—the poor innocent craturs,” and he caught the other children in his arms, and hugged them, and laid his hands on their heads, and blessed them, and ran hastily out of the house, to give full and free vent to the new, and yet unsubdued feelings, which a father’s first woe had aroused within him. By the time the bath was ready, he was, however, back again, and composed enough to lift his darling from the bed, and place him in the tub of warm water, in which, after he had been immersed a minute or two, he seemed to experience ease ; IRISH COTTAGERS. 1*27 lie even moved his little hands in the water, . dabbling with it, as if in play, and looked up smilingly ; the other little ones were standing by him, perplexed and frightened by a scene so new to their experience, so unintelligible to their comprehension; they cried, and bitterly too, 44 because Willy was so sick, and could’nt play with them,” and what a skeleton had the invalid become ! the three weeks preceding, of the fever’s continuance, during which he had eaten nothing, and been supported by medicines, or a little drink alone, had wasted his once rounded limbs to the merest spindles, and Mick, when raising him from the bath, felt as if he held this most precious burden, in his arms for the last time; and yet there was a moment of joy and hope, for on the next day’s dawn, when the poor man had gone to the cow house to supply the cattle with turnips and hay, his elder boy ran out and told him, 44 that mammy, who thought that Willy had got a turn for the better, wanted to see him in a moment, breathless with haste, and with a beating heart and brightening eye, Mick was at the sufferer’s side; Joanny took her husband’s hand, scarce able to utter, 44 courage Mick, the fever’s gone all of a suddent—feel how slow and fallen his pulse is!” and, as if to confirm her favourable judgment, Willy for the first time IRISH COTTAGERS. 128 t during many days, rose in liis bed, asked to be taken up for a moment, called for a drink, and took it freely—“ glory be to tlie Father of mer¬ cies/’ ejaculated Joanny, “ lie’ll do after all but alas ! the fever, which hitherto had imparted artificial strength, having now subsided, debility and exhaustion succeeded; the little creature gave a convulsive start, and threw an agitated look on the persons around him, (some neigh¬ bouring women had sat up with Joanny on the preceding night, and indeed on almost every other one since the illness had assumed a dange¬ rous type,) and then fixed his glistening eyes, glancing from under their half closed lashes, on his father and his mother, and then—“ but why should I go on ?” he soon sunk into stupor, and in two hours afterwards he ceased to breathe- and those who had seen him the day before, while the fever still flushed his rounded cheeks, could now scarce recognize the former expression of his face, for when the spirit had fled from its “ frame work of mortality,” to the mansions of its hea¬ venly Father, his cheeks fell in, the flush was changed to the pale and livid hue of death, his features were altogether altered, and the ema¬ ciation of his countenance, plainly shewed the consuming nature of his malady. The wake and the funeral, which closed the IRISH COTTAGERS. 1*29 scene, were mournful and solemn; the too fre¬ quent course of rustic merriment, as if in mockery of death and its attendant sorrows, none dared to indulge in, at the habitation of the Kinshellas; their grief was respected, even by their most reckless neighbours, and the delicacy of feeling which in general they evinced, was creditable, if not to the sympathies, at least to the judgment of the people around; and there was one person —Edwards—who spoke words of comfort and AxUlM instruction, not much heeded, indeed, at the time, but, when they were in after years remem¬ bered, their truth and force were sufficient almost to reconcile the Kinshellas to their bereavement, and make them feel experimentally, that the Christian triumphs where the Parent faints. g 5 130 IRISH COTTAGERS. CHAPTER XV. The horse race—Dennis the jockey—The steeple chase— Mick Moran engages in another riot, and emigrates to Canada. The neighbourhood of Farnasheshery was oc¬ casionally blessed with that most edifying spec¬ tacle, a country horse race—a sport of all other the most engaging, and the most popular. was proposed now to superadd the gratification of a steeple chase, to that of an ordinary sweep- stake, which was to be contested on the flat sum¬ mit of a hill, unhappily too, notorious in the an¬ nals of the country. The day appointed, was, as may be supposed by every one acquainted with the Irish love of excitement, rendered an absolute holiday by every person around, whom age, infirmity, extreme youth, or religious scru¬ ples, (of the latter class there were but few,) did not incapacitate from, or indispose to, partici¬ pation in the expected pleasure. Those who frequent the Curragh, or any other great race ground, where they see the finest of animals, proudly and emulously stretching with their riders, whose varied and showy dresses add not a little to the general effect, over a course of IRISH COTTAHERS. 131 three or four miles in as many minutes, know how exciting the contest is, even to those who have no special interest in its termination, “ Who care not a pin “ Who’s out or who’s in. V Yet I doubt if even the great stakes, at the moment when that most capricious of all horses, Rainbow, took it into his head to bolt, and disappoint his noble owner, of I know not how many thousands, created more intense in¬ terest, or attracted a greater crowd than was congregated on the top of the barren and heathy hill, to which I have alluded, to see the padreen mare, and Dennis Carty’s cock-tailed colt, ridden over hedge and ditch by two bootless and jacket¬ less men, who, amidst the shouts and screams of their respective friends and backers , without skill and judgment, belaboured the poor ani¬ mals, which were doomed to carry them. “ Five naggins on the padreen mare,” roars out one, as she cleared a double ditch, and worked gal¬ lantly through a heavy fallow—“ done,” shouts another—“ who’ll bet a sovereign ?” vociferates a third—“ down with your money,” roars a fourth —“ five shillings to a crown on the € 0 ^#,” is heard in another quarter, a minute before the said colt had missed his footing and tumbled IRISH COTTAGERS. 13*2 head foremost into a deep ditch, with his rider under him—“ Dennis is kilt!” every where is heard; a matter apparently placed beyond a doubt, when the people on the hill saw a gentleman, whom they soon recognized as Doctor O’Neill, standing over his body, in vain endeavouring to resuscitate it. The Doctor had been riding, on his return from the house of a patient, across a road which intersected the course prescribed for the steeple chase, and at the critical moment of his coming up to that place, Dennis was endea¬ vouring to force the coult over a very stiff fence which bounded the road, intending to cross at the opposite side of it, and pursue his career to the winning post, which was placed on the hill, to be ascended in an oblique direction. The Doctor (he was a surgeon also,) was some seconds alone with the unfortunate jockey whom the fall had rendered senseless—his back was evi¬ dently broken, and his neck, sunk between his shoulders, was apparently broken also; having just raised Dennis’s head, which dripping as it was with water, fell helpless again on his shoulder, the ope¬ rator was in the act of labouring with his utmost force, (having made a vice of his knees for the re¬ ception of Dennis’s head,) to stretch the patient’s neck to its proper length, when the pain aroused poor Dennis’s suspended powers of sensation, lie IRISH COTTAGERS. 133 hoarsely, yet feebly muttered—“ born so—born soa fact soon vouched for by many in the crowd, which rushed down from the heights, to the scene of this accident, and who now told the operator, that Dennis’s back had been broken in childhood by a fall from an apple tree. ^ The Doctor’s hand was at once withdrawn from the strong pull which he had been giving, and up jumped Dennis, having extricated his neck from the “ durance vile,” in which it had been held, for he had been only stunned and well soused by the fall; after shaking himself well, and literally feeing the good natured doctor with the drippings of his long and shaggy hair, he was promptly lifted upon the back of his colt again, (which had been panting by his side, from the moment that he had floundered out of the dyke,) and he actually passed the padreen , while stuck to her middle in a swampy part of a neighbouring field, with the localities of which her rider was un¬ acquainted, and reached the winning post in triumph. Never was conqueror at the Olympic games more flattered and caressed; borne on the necks of his party, he was taken to one of the many tents which had been erected on the hill, and there treated to as much liquor as he chose to in¬ dulge in ; but Dennis had to ride again, in the 134 IRISH COTTAGERS. sweepstake, and those who were interested in his success, took care to keep him tolerably sober, and permitted him to remain in proximity to the whiskey, only while a mule race was in progress; but the animals concerned in this trial of speed, true to their characteristic obstinacy stop¬ ped short in the middle of their course—whips, spurs, oaths, and imprecations, prevailed at length, so far as to excite them to accomplish a V canter, but alas ! not in the line prescribed; they darted with a simultaneous impulse across the course, trampling a little boy nearly to death, over¬ setting an old woman with a gingerbread basket, and finally rushing^into the very middle of a tent, 1 where with a ludicrous agility they executed sun¬ dry mischiefs. But the sweepstake which suc¬ ceeded, in a great measure compensated for the previous mortification; the tent owners, all of them whiskey venders, had contributed to pur¬ chase a saddle and bridle, and several horses were entered for this important stake. Again commenced betting, cursing, swearing, jostling, crossing, and horse whipping ; the latter operation, was, indeed, in some degree neces¬ sary on the part of the bloods , who had under¬ taken to exhibit themselves and their horses in clearing the course, and who galloped over, and IRISH COTTAGERS. 135 struck at the unmounted spectators, in a manner truly Irish. Dennis tried his luck again on a neighbour’s horse, but not with his former success, for though he had a spur in the head, 44 as well as two in the heel,” a jockey from Ballyhogue, with a fine green jacket, and cap of the same colour, won the saddle and the bridle. But those who had given the saddle and the bridle, were now to have their share of the fun, and of the profits too; their tents were quickly filled with the crowds, who remained to drink, and to talk of the delights of the day, and to re¬ pay the generosity of the publicans, by taking liberal potations of the poison which they vended. And whether it was the whiskey, or the atmosphere of the hill, or the natural talent of his countrymen, which on this day affected him, I know not, but never was Dick Doyle so wondrous- ly witty. 44 Is it for the chap that won the saddle, your letting out that shout?” said he to Nick Moran, (who from having roared twice as loudly as any body else for 44 Ballyhogue,” had been re¬ warded by his rider with the means of making an unrestrained libation, and was now in the very act of 4 wetting his whistle.*!) 44 thrue for you it is, my ould cock,” said Nick, 44 and here’s long life to them that gave the saddle too,” taking a 136 IRISH COTTAGERS. long unbreathing pull at the contents of a teem¬ ing punch jug. “ ’Twould be a pity to put a saddle on your back, Nick,” said Dick, who had been watching his unintermitting swallow, 44 why so ?” enquired Nick, at length drawing his breath, and laying down the empty vessel— 44 bekaze you take so kindly to the draught ,” said Dick, with a knowing nod, “why then your’e a mighty droll man,” rejoined Nick, to be after making a baste of burden of me,” 44 take care you don’t make a baste of yourself,” said Dick, 44 go home like a good fellow,” whispering to him, 44 and don’t anger Mr. Bruce, and be after rising another 4 skrimmage;’ ” but Dick’s caution came unhappily, too late; Nick was already excited; and who could stop him ? the very hint he had received, set him in a blaze, in order that he might shew his independence of Mr. Bruce and of the law; and I grieve to tell, that after all his warnings, all the wants and miseries which he had already experienced, in conse¬ quence of his intemperance, the early and long indulged habits of this wretched creature, were so deeply rooted in him, its to render him on this occasion an active participator in, if not the originator of, a desperate affray which took place about midnight, between the Cassidys and Foleys , two families and factions, in which ill IRISH COTTAGERS. 137 blood bad been fermenting since the session’s scene related in chapter the fourth, the result of which was, that Mr. Bruce, disgusted by the incurable dissipation, and total worthlessness of Moran, gave him a few pounds, (after he had paid a second visit to the tread-mill, in company with half a score of the most turbulent of his party,) to banish himself to America, there with the incumbrance of a useless wife, and a help- j \ less family, after undergoing all the hardships and danger of a long and sickening voyage, to commence at the age of fifty, and without cha- ", racier , the hardships and privations of a Canadian location. FINIS. ERRATA. Page 2, line seven from bottom, for “or” read “ nor.” 13, bottom line, for “ or” read “ nor.” 18, line ten from top, for “his” read “ the old man’s.” WORKS PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM CURRY, JUN. AND CO. 9, UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET, DUBLIN ; SOLD BY HURST, CHANCE AND CO. LONDON; OLIVER AND BOYD EDINBURGH ; AND ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS. ON IRELAND. TRAITS and STORIES of the IRISH PEASAN¬ TRY, containing Ned M‘Keown—The three Tasks, or the little House under the Hill—Shane Fadh’s Wedding —Larry McFarland’s Wake—The battle of the Factions —the Funeral—the Party Fight—The Hedge School— The Abduction of Mat Kavanagh—The Station. 2 vols. crown 12mo. with Etchings, price 14s. Admirable, truly intensly Irish—never were that strange, wild, imaginative people so characteristically described ; and amidst all the fun, frolic and folly, there is no dearth of poetry, pathos and passion.— Blackwood's Magazine, for May. Genuine and capital Traits and Stories these are. 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