LAURENCE; BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IRELAND; 
 
 OK, 
 
 THE NEW LANDLORD. 
 
 Insula Sauctorum." Johannes Colganus, 
 
 "Acta SS. Hib." passim. 
 
 " A blessed island ! "Vulgar English translation. 
 
 BY WILLIAM ALQ&3HAM; 
 a 
 
 AUTHOR OF "DAY AND NIGHT SONGS," "FIFTY POEMS," ETC. 
 
 NEW AND CHEAPER ISSUE, WITH A PREFACE. 
 
 MAC MILLAR AND CO. 
 
 18G9. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 *P- 
 
 In Chapter Ir/or "Lord Crasher" read "Lord Crashton. 
 At page 12, top, insert a line omitted, 
 
 "Your blessed island I have also seen, 
 and omit the line, "And semi-savage," <fec. 
 At page 23, lint 45, for " apothegm ",put "apophthegm. 
 At page 92- Ime 92, read "On Ballytullagh, Muse of mine 
 
 disclose ' " 
 
 At page 255, line 1, for " Now " put " Whilst.' 
 \t page 255, Mne 2, for ; put , 
 At page 255. line 5, dfter "white '' put "loads. 
 
NEW PEEFACE. 
 
 SEVEN centuries are nearly finished since the political 
 connexion began between England and Ireland ; and 
 yet Ireland remains to this hour not a well-known 
 country to the general British public. To do some- 
 thing, however small, towards making it better 
 understood, is the aim of this little book. 
 
 Since it first appeared in Fraser's Magazine, the as- 
 pect of Irish affairs has changed in several particulars. 
 Instead of "Ribbonism," we now hear of "Fenianism;" 
 the latter being a development of the former, with its 
 republican element grown prominent under American 
 influence. Again : although the general British 
 public retains much, if not quite all, of its old 
 feelings (part apathy, part disgust), towards every- 
 thing Irish, the majority of the House of Commons 
 
 784376 
 
IV PREFACE 
 
 has taken a new view, and is acting on it with 
 determination. 
 
 That Ireland has a very different history and cha- 
 racter from England, and needs a very different kind 
 of management, and that Ireland has hitherto been 
 lamentably mismanaged, are facts, put forward from 
 time to time by rash or courageous individuals, by 
 degrees (after the usual ordeal of scorn, anger, and 
 contradiction) accepted and defended by men of high 
 public position, and now in process of being received, 
 as it were by filtration, into the general underlying 
 stratum of English opinion. 
 
 The poem of " Laurence Eloornfield " is likely to 
 repel many readers, those who shun books of verse, 
 and those who seek in them subjects and diction 
 more romantic. As a work of art it has glaring 
 faults and defects, of which no one is more aware 
 than the author; there is too much detail, and the 
 handling is often awkward ; yet some indulgence may 
 
PREFACE. y 
 
 possibly be conceded to an attempt to cultivate 
 English narrative poetry on entirely new ground ; 
 and he ventures to plead on its behalf, as a pre- 
 sentment of various characteristics of modern Ireland 
 derived from close acquaintance with life there 
 among all classes, that it has not one unmeaning 
 line or phrase written at random. The title of the 
 poem is intended to indicate that Laurence's work, 
 and its effects on his own life and character, make 
 him the central figure in the picture, not finally as 
 landlord, but as man. Several of the most im- 
 portant problems of life, Irish life and human life, 
 are dealt with in their principles, according to 
 the author's best lights. Tain would he have spoken 
 more acceptably (nobody fonder of sympathy), es- 
 pecially to his countrymen, more especially to his 
 particular friends, had such a consideration been 
 allowable. 
 
 A few words on the immediate question of the day, 
 " Disestablishment," may not be out of place. It is 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 to be hoped from the measure now in progress, 
 that its gradual effect will be to relieve the national 
 mind of Ireland from the unwholesome influences of 
 a mediaeval clerical authority, and to allow a healthy 
 lay public opinion to grow up, wanting which, Irish 
 politics must remain contemptible, except as sympto- 
 matic of disease and danger, and Ireland, in spite 
 of her many gifts, fail to reach a good position 
 or to exercise a respectable influence in the world. 
 Hitherto in that country politics and polemics have 
 been inextricably mingled, with results too obvious. 
 Among Irish Catholics and Irish Protestants equally, 
 the chief binding element has been hatred, he.nce in 
 each an aggravation of the evils of dogma and a 
 suppression of the benevolences of religion ; hence, 
 for the result of long-continued social intercourse, 
 not mutual tolerance and kindly feeling, and a 
 willingness to meet on ground common to both, but 
 constant exacerbation and inflammation, as from the 
 rubbing of two sore surfaces, perpetual anger and 
 conflict. 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 What is to be feared, I think, in consequence of 
 Disestablishment is this : all Irishmen, speaking gene- 
 rally, are partisans, of a singularly narrow and violent 
 type ; to an educated opposition of parties and 
 a reasonable discussion of contending views they are 
 totally unaccustomed; and now it is possible that 
 " agitation " may be bolder, and that new centres of 
 disturbance may become active. 
 
 But the bad consequences will, I trust, be transient, 
 and the good consequences permanent. 
 
 That there is any natural incapacity in Irishmen 
 to govern Ireland I nowise allow ; that the nation is 
 at present very unfit for self-government, being almost 
 entirely uneducated in the principles of it, I strongly 
 believe. To my countrymen, one and all, I would 
 fain say, If you desire to have the management of 
 your island in your own hands, strive earnestly to 
 prepare yourselves to manage it. Experience is a 
 great teacher, but there must be some reasonable 
 degree of fitness before undertaking so heavy a piece of 
 work If, as appears too evident, y u do not at pre- 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 sent possess any such degree of fitness, to give you 
 the absolute control of things would be to confer an 
 evil gift indeed. 
 
 To England, had I a voice to reach her ear to 
 mighty and, with all her faults, noble England I 
 would say: Ireland has been in your hands these many 
 long centuries, and you have woefully mismanaged 
 her. Past history, present facts, the consensus of 
 educated opinion throughout the civilized world, put 
 this beyond question. And to systematic maltreatment 
 you have added, in dealing with the most sensitive 
 of races, a coarse and invariable contempt. Justice 
 (as within recent years you have begun to acknow- 
 ledge) demands a new attitude on your part; gene- 
 rosity prescribes it ; nay, self-interest strongly enforces 
 it. Instead of Ireland a scene of chronic misery 
 and discontent harassing, costly, disgraceful, and 
 dangerous imagine Ireland tranquil, prosperous, and 
 loyal ; her warm-hearted, kindly-mannered people, 
 gifted with intellectual and artistic vivacity, and 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 brilliant in the battle-field, going hand in hand and 
 heart in heart with the people of England, mutually 
 learning and teaching many things, marching to- 
 gether in the vanguard of human progress. 
 
 Is this a mere dream 1 ? I believe the obstacles to 
 Its realization rest mainly in the foolishness the 
 obstinate, but |ill remediable, foolishness of those 
 men of either country who at every turn prefer paltry 
 and essentially selfish party-considerations to the 
 large, simple, and eternal views of truth and duty. 
 Such views carried quietly and fearlessly into action 
 would meet with no brutish resistance in the Irish 
 people, but with intelligence and gratitude. 
 
 One word more. England is justifiably proud of 
 her history ; yet her position at this moment is not 
 completely and finally satisfactory, and she would do 
 well to bear in mind that some of the so-called " Irish 
 Questions " have relation not merely to Ireland and 
 England, but to the Modern World. The modern 
 world is disturbed and discontented to the core j full 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 of vague but profound uneasiness, as though half 
 aroused from trance ; full of dim and deep longing 
 for a word of deliverance, for the example of a step 
 into freer and truer life. Will England, not timid 
 or laggard in old times, now speak the word ste 
 to the front] 
 
 * w. A. 
 
 May, 1869. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 [The scene is a district in Ireland, of extent such as might be seen in 
 panorama from a moderate eminence ; inland, but not far from the coast, 
 with mountain-range, hills, moors, and bogs, wide rich plain, a river, and 
 a lake. The parish is named Kilmoylan ; the hamlet, Bally tullagh, on 
 Tullagh Hill ; the town, Lisnamoy ; Sir Ulick's mansion, Lisnamoy House ; 
 Mr. Bloomfield's, Croghan Hall, under Croghan mountain and near Lough 
 Braccan.J 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 An Irish landscape in Autumn The young landlord, Laurence 
 Bloomfield His education and early phases of opinion on 
 Irish questions Travelling London Visits his estate in 
 Ireland His character Rides to a dinner at his uncle's 
 house. Sir Ulick Harvey's Reflections He resolves to pass 
 the winter in Egypt. -^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A disturbed county The principal landowners in Bloomfield's 
 neighbourhood described Sir Ulick, Lord Crashton, Finlay, 
 Dysart, Isaac Brown, the O'Hara. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A dinner-party at Sir Ulick's The guests and their conversation 
 the Honourable George, Duff, Nassau Blunderbore, Pigot, 
 Rev. Mr. Boyd, and others The threatening letter Landed 
 property, its rights and its duties Tea The ladies, the curate 
 Laurence rides home, meditative and undecided. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 An Irish peasant-family described Jack Doran, his wife, son, 
 and daughter Their history, struggles, and fears Their cot- 
 tage and bit of ground Visit from Sir Ulick's bailiff Fireside- 
 talk Neal Doran goes out in the dusk. 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Hamlet of Ballytullagh Its aspect and ways of life Humble 
 but not necessarily miserable Out of favour with Agent Pigot 
 Bad blood Ribbonism and landlordism The farmers The 
 priesthood Father Adam and his curate A wretched hovel 
 described Sunday Going to mass The sermon. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Young Neal Doran His patriotic visions Goes a-fishing on 
 Lough Braccan, watches the sunset from a ruined castle, and 
 muses on Irish history Is met and sworn-in by two members 
 of the Ribbon Lodge. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Eviction of the Ballytullagh people described Dr. Larmour, 
 his view of Irish affairs A raffle and dance. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 A Ribbon Lodge A wake and funeral. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Harvest Fair Neal Doran's misery His arrest The Rent- 
 Office. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Old Jack Doran at the rent-office Bloomfield and Pigot 
 Laurence takes the reins The murder. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Laurence Bloomfield and his wife How they manage people 
 and things Spring landscape A children's feast. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Midsummer A boating party Irish questions discussed 
 Bonfire-night Bloomfield's estate in its new condition 
 Mountain view Aims and attainments Love. 
 
LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IBELAND. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IBELAND. 
 
 A MODERN POEM, - - 1 
 IN TWELVE CHAPTERS. 
 
 I. 
 
 LAURENCE. 
 
 AUTUMNAL sunshine spread on Irish hills 
 Imagination's bright'ning mirror fills, 
 
 Wherein a Horseman on a handsome grey 
 
 I 
 
 Along the high road takes his easy way, 
 Saluted low by every ragged hat, 
 Saluting kindly every Teague and Pat 
 Who plods the mud or jolts on lazy wheels, 
 Or loudly drives a patient ass with creels, 1 
 
 i creels, panniers. 
 B2 
 
4 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 (Short pipe removed before obeisance made) 
 Or checks, regardant, his potato-spade ; 10 
 
 " Fine day," the young man says with friendly nod, 
 '. /Tine day, year honour, glory be to God!" 
 Then, too polite to stare, they talk their fill 
 Of Minor Bloomfield (so they call him still, 
 Though six-and- twenty now) come back of late 15 
 From foreign countries to his own estate, 
 And who in turn has no incurious eye 
 For each, and all the world, in passing by ; 
 The cornstacks seen through rusty sycamores, 
 Pigs, tatter' d children, pools at cabin doors, 20 
 
 Unsheltered rocky hill-sides, browsed by sheep, 
 Summer's last flow'rs that nigh some brooklet creep, 
 Black flats of bog, stone-fences loose and rough, 
 A. thorn-branch in a gap thought gate enough, 
 And all the wide and groveless landscape round, 25 
 Moor, stubble, aftermath, or new-plough'd ground, 
 Where with the crows white seagulls come to pick ; 
 Or many a wasteful acre crowded thick 
 
LAURENCE. O 
 
 With docken, coltsfoot, and the hoary weed 
 
 Call'd fairy-horse, and tufted thistle-seed 30 
 
 Which for the farm, against the farmer tells ; 
 
 Or wrinkled hawthorns shading homestead wells, 
 
 Or, saddest sight, some ruin'd cottage- wall, 
 
 The roof-tree cut, the rafters forced to fall 
 
 From gables with domestic smoke embrown' d, 35 
 
 Where Poverty at worst a shelter found, 
 
 The scene, perhaps, of all its little life, 
 
 Its humble joys, and unsuccessful strife. 
 
 Th' observant rider pass'd too many such ; 
 
 Let them do more (he thought) who do so much, 40 
 
 Xor, where they've kill'd a human dwelling-place, 
 
 Unburied leave the skeleton's disgrace. 
 
 Though Irish, he was of the absentees, 
 
 And unaccustoni'd yet to sights like these. 
 
 .At twelve years old his birthplace he had left, 45 
 A child endow'd with much, of much bereft ; 
 Returned a boy a lad the third time now 
 
CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 Returns, a man, with broad and serious brow. 
 
 A younger son (the better lot at first), 
 
 And by a Celtic peasant fondly nurst, 50 
 
 Bloomfield is Irish born and English bred, 
 
 Surviving heir of both his parents dead ; 
 
 One who has studied, travell'd, lived, and thought, 
 
 Is brave, and modest, as a young man ought ; 
 
 Calm sympathetic ; hasty full of tact ; 55 
 
 Poetic, but insisting much on fact j 
 
 A complex character and various mind, 
 
 Where all, like some rich landscape, lies combined. 
 
 From school to Ireland, Laurence first returned 
 A patriot vow'd ; his soul for Ireland burn'd. 60 
 Oft did his schoolmates' taunts in combat end, 
 And high his plans with one Hibernian friend, 
 Who long'd like him for manhood, to set free 
 Their emerald Inisfail from sea to sea, 
 With army, senate, all a nation's life, 65 
 
 Copartner in the great world's glorious strife, 
 
LAURENCE. 7 
 
 Peer in all arts, gay rival in each race, 
 Illustrious, firm, in her peculiar place. 
 The glories and the griefs of Erin fill'd 
 Heart and imagination. How he thrill' d 70 
 
 To every harp-note of her ancient fame, 
 How, to her storied wounds, his cheek would flame ! 
 And hearing some great speaker, on a day, 
 Whose urgent grasp held thousands under sway 
 While thus he thunder' d, " Tis for slaves alone 75 
 " To live without a country of their own ! 
 " Alas for Ireland ! she whose sons are born 
 "The wide earth's pity and proud England's scorn, 
 " England whose fraud and guilt have sunk us low. 
 " Speak, Irishmen, shall this be always so ?" 80 
 
 Judge how young Laurence felt. " Like a young fool," 
 His guardian growl' d, and shipp'd him back to school. 
 
 Not such was he at Cambridge ; for he found 
 Thought's new horizons daily opening round, 
 While History spread her pictures grave and vast ; 85 
 
8 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 And living Britain startled him at last 
 
 To recognise the large imperial tone, 
 
 And all the grandeur of a well-built throne. 
 
 joy, a part in England's pride to claim, 
 
 To flush with triumph in her force and fame, 90 
 
 See distant powers confess with wondering awe 
 
 Her martial strength, her majesty of law, 
 
 And every child of hers throughout the world 
 
 Stand safe beneath her banner, broad unfurl'd ! 
 
 A beardless Burke of college parliament 95 
 
 The loyal Laurence back to Ireland went, 
 On visit to a rich relation's house ; 
 Where boldly to Sir Ulick he avows 
 An alter' d mind, and sees with altered sight 
 Eeckless provincials, hating rule and right, 100 
 
 Busy for mischief without aim or sense, 
 Their politics mere factious turbulence, 
 Drawn this and that way by the word or nod 
 Of noisy rogues and stealthy men-of-God ; 
 
LAURENCE. 9 
 
 And checks them with a small ideal band 105 
 
 Who, brothers, round the British Ensign stand, 
 
 To face rebellion, Papistry, and crime, 
 
 With staunchness proved in many a perilous time. 
 
 At twenty-one, his too a place shall hold 
 
 With names ancestral in the Lodge enroll'd ; no 
 
 Or thus at least resolved the young man, eager- soul' d. 
 
 I then knew Laurence first, and could descry 
 Keen intellect and generous sympathy 
 In every look ; life's fountain fresh and bright 
 In him, for one man, freely sprang to light. 115 
 Full was his nostril, sensitive his mouth, 
 His candid brow capacious of the truth ; 
 Eyes, good Hibernian, warmest of all greys, 
 Fervent and clear, or veil'd in thoughtful haze ; 
 Locks loosely curling, 'twixt a black and brown ; 120 
 His lips and chin, though but in boyhood 7 s down, 
 Were sculptured boldly, to confirm the face ; 
 A slender figure swayed with careless grace 
 
10 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 To every impulse, every varying mood; 
 Nothing in him was formal, nothing rude. 125 
 
 The first five minutes rank'd him as a friend, 
 He still was new and rare at five years' end. 
 
 Gowns, books, degrees, will leave a fool a fool, 
 But wit is best when wit has gone to school. 
 In busy leisure 'mid those cloisters grey, 130 
 
 This young man communed many a happy day 
 With thoughts perennial of the mighty dead, 
 To which his soul, how often, whilst he redd, 
 Sprang up with greeting ; nor, in prose or rhyme, 
 Fail'd he to mark the Spirit of the Time; 135 
 
 Then wander'd forth, saw Germany and Greece, 
 France, fairer Italy, with large increase 
 For that eternal storehouse in the mind; 
 Saw, too, earth's younger half, whose western wind 
 Would bear across the sea, if wind could bear, 140 
 To Ireland many a wish and filial pray'r. 
 And now he treads again the shamrock shore, 
 
LAURENCE. 1 1 
 
 Of age, and half a fruitful decade more; 
 
 By books, by travel, and by life matured, 
 
 With words less ready, insight more assured, 14 5 
 
 A student still, of all beneath the sun, 
 
 And wishing good to each, and wrong to none. 
 
 His life, the first great impulse falling slack, 
 Has now begun to feel or fear a lack, 
 Unknown, undreamt-of hitherto, a void, 15 
 
 A need in truth for work ; to rise employ'd 
 Each morning-light on some progressive toil, 
 Itself not all inadequate, the foil 
 And clasp for ruby, pearl, and diamond hours, 
 Or say, the root and stem for life's best flow'rs. 155 
 Public ambitions are not to his mind, 
 His nature's proper work seems hard to find, 
 Grown sick of London's huge and flimsy maze, 
 Polite, luxurious, ineffectual days. 
 But no such turn suspect his English friends ; 160 
 This morning, Frederick Stanley's letter ends 
 
12 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 ( ^ou,r ^b/essccf &/a^d 
 
 'At Galway Claddagh, Dublin Castle, been, 
 
 'And view'd the savage natives, high, and low, 
 
 *And semi-savage thait io, high and low j 
 
 1 !S"ot nnanmsing for a month or so ; 165 
 
 ' But fancy living in the place ! take care 
 
 ' And don't get shot, old fellow, whilst you're there.' 
 
 So Stanley. Meanwhile, fain are other some 
 
 To keep the youth in Ireland, now he's come. 
 
 Greatly his friends and relatives desire 170 
 
 To colour staring blue the rich young Squire, 
 With vivid streaks of orange, to describe 
 A noble chieftain of their loyal tribe, 
 That in such war-paint he may lead their van 
 To fight the county with a fierce Green Man. 175 
 But soon they find this Bloonifield less and more 
 Than lived in their philosophy before ; 
 Direct and frank in motive, plan, and deed, 
 Cautious and mild in theory and creed, 
 There friendly , here reserved, but not by rule, 180 
 
LAURENCE. 13 
 
 Like those who send their cordial smile to school ; 
 Cold upon interests where the rest grow hot, 
 Intent, where they have never given a thought ; 
 Too apt to lightly leap 'the usual course,' 
 Turn, look about, he may perhaps do worse ; 185 
 He visits Phelim's farm, and Pat's, and Mike's, 
 And questions Pigot more than Pigot likes ; 
 Each tenant's history fain would understand, 
 Examines every corner of his land, 
 Day after day has freely seen and heard, 190 
 
 But of his general thought avows no word; 
 Perhaps, in secret, striving to arrange 
 Experiences so multiform and strange. 
 
 Thus much of Laurence Bloomfield, on his way 
 From Croghan Hall, this bright autumnal day, 195 
 Quickly, by turns, and slowly, man and beast, 
 To where Sir Ulick Harvey spreads the feast, 
 Twice, a well-arm'd police patrol he met, 
 To guard the dinner-party duly set. 
 
14 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 Beyond the dirty town an Irish mile, 200 
 
 Thick laurels round Sir Ulick's gateway smile ; 
 A mail'd arm cut on either pillar-stone 
 Defends the Harvey motto, doubly shown, 
 Meis, ut placet, utens; gravel-spread, 
 And dusk with boughs that whisper overhead, 205 
 A private drive at every turn displays 
 The vista'd park where silky cattle graze, 
 Through clumps of flow'rs and greensward sweeping 
 
 wide 
 
 Unfolds the heavy mansion's front of pride, 
 And whirls, if such felicity be yours, 210 
 
 Your chariot to the gently awful doors, 
 Where men of soft address and portly frame, 
 With gorgeous garments, wait to breathe your name. 
 Lisnamoy House can see far summits rise 
 In azure bloom, or cold on misty skies, 215 
 
 Above the broad plantation set to screen 
 Those dismal wastes of bog that stretch between ; 
 The Village, northward, only shows a spire, 
 
LAURENCE. 15 
 
 As humbly conscious of the haughty Squire, 
 Whose Lady visits but the Yicar's wife, 220 
 
 Each meaner building crouchant for its life ; 
 And groves yet thick, though change is on the 
 
 trees, 
 
 Their first light losses borne on every breeze, 
 Shut out from view a thousand vulgar fields, 
 Whose foison great Sir Ulick's grandeur yields, 225 
 With many a roof of thatch, where daily toil 
 Extorts the bread of man from earth's dull soil. 
 
 ' This must be : and if Toil receive his share, 
 ']STor Gather' d Power be selfish and unfair, 
 'Toil will not grudge Inheritance or Gain, 230 
 
 1 The part which these in manly mood sustain. 
 'Toil, Poverty, are tolerable things, 
 'Injustice every human spirit wrings; 
 ' Thence flows the bitter stream of discontent, 
 'For him that earns a wage or pays a rent, 235 
 
16 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 'As through the patriot's pulses, bom to feel 
 
 4 His country's wounds, and glow with angry zeal/ 
 
 Thus meditated Bloomfield, while his horse 
 
 Turn'd to familiar stableyard his course. 
 
 'A kind just man would make the poor his 
 
 friends, 240 
 
 1 And use his riches for no private ends ; 
 'Till rich and poor, harmoniously conjoint, 
 Torm'd alto, basso, in a counterpoint, 
 ' But could he so in this distracted isle ? 
 'Traditionary wrongs each heart defile, 245 
 
 ' Received, inflicted, rankling, arid renew' d ; 
 ' All passions shout the cries of ancient feud ; 
 ' God's worship is the pledge of endless hate : 
 'Who, linking class with class, these venoms can 
 
 abate 1 
 
 ' How, once I quit the glorious world of dreams, 250 
 6 Begin, where all a vile confusion seems ? 
 ' Perchance these Irish Captains, viewed aright, 
 ' Sustain as best they may an ugly fight. 
 
LAURENCE. 17 
 
 'So let them. I'll interrogate the Sphinx, 
 1 And Him who sleeps at Philse, for the links 255 
 1 Of past and future ; and behold the while 
 ' Great dawns and sunsets mirror' d in the 
 

 LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IBELAND. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 
 
 C 2 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMEIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 II. 
 
 NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 
 
 THIS Irish county bears an evil name, l 
 
 And Bloomfield's district stands the worst in fame, 
 For agitation, discord, threats, waylayings, 
 Fears and suspicions, plottings and betrayings ; 
 Beasts kill'd and maim'd, infernal fires at night, 5 
 Eed murder stalking free in full daylight. 
 That landlords and their tenants lived as foes 
 He knew, as one a truth by hearsay knows, 
 But now it stands around where'er he goes. 
 
 Blue mountains, dusky moorlands, verdant 10 
 plain ; 
 
22 CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 A lively river hastening to the main ; 
 Bog, arable, and pasture ; lake and pond, 
 And woody park ; a little Town beyond ; 
 Wide-scatter'd human dwellings, great and small ; 
 Glance round one rural scene ; and let me call 15 
 Its roll of petty princes, they are such, 
 If ruling little of our world, or much. 
 Laws and a suzerain above them stand, 
 But have they not dominion in the land? 
 
 The realm of Bloomfield, late his uncle's ward, 20 
 And that which owns Sir Ulick for its lord, 
 Pigot now governs, agent wise and great, 
 Eich man himself, grand juror, magistrate. 
 'Twas taught as part of Bloomfield's early creed, 
 e Pigot in-val-uable man indeed ! ' 25 
 
 And though Sir "Ulick loves to seem to reign, 
 Pigot' s least whisper never falls in vain. 
 You find in old Sir Ulick Harvey's face, 
 The looks of long command, and comely race ; 
 
NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 23 
 
 No small man sees a brother in those eyes 30 
 
 Of calm and frosty blue, like winter skies ; 
 
 Courteous his voice, yet all the pride is thero ; 
 
 Pride like a halo crowns his silvery hair ; 
 
 'Tis unmisgiving pride that makes him frank 
 
 With humble folk, and dress beneath his rank. 35 
 
 Born in the purple, he could hardly know 
 
 Less of the tides of life that round him flow. 
 
 The Laws were for the Higher Classes made ; 
 
 But while the Lower gratefully obey'd, 
 
 To patronize them you had his consent, 40 
 
 Promote their comfort, to a safe extent, 
 
 And teach them -just enough, and not too much ; 
 
 Most careful lest with impious hand you touch 
 
 Order and grade as plann'd by Providence. 
 
 pfi 
 
 An apothegm, no doubt, of weighty sense ; 45 
 
 Had he but ask'd, is prejudice of mine 
 A perfect measure of the Will Divine ? 
 Or, by how much per annum is one given 
 A seat as privy-councillor of Heaven? 
 
24 CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 He sometimes took a well-meant scheme in 50 
 
 hand, 
 
 Which must be done exactly as he plann'd ; 
 His judgment feeble, and his self-will strong, 
 He had his way, and that was mostly wrong. 
 The whim was such, that seized his mind of late, 
 To ' square ' the farms on all his wide estate ; 55 
 Tim's mountain grazing, Peter's lough-side patch, 
 This onion-field of Ned's that few could match, 
 Phil's earliest ridges, Thady's bog, worse hap ! 
 By mere new lines across his Honour's map 
 From ancient holdings have been dipt away, 60 
 
 Despite the loud complaints, or dumb dismay. 
 
 My Lady Harvey conies of Shropshire blood, 
 Stately, with finish'd manners, cold of mood ; 
 Her eldest son is in the Guards ; her next 
 At Eton ; her two daughters I'm perplex'd 65 
 
 To specify young ladies they are tall, 
 Dark-hair' d, and smile in speaking, that is all. 
 
NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 25 
 
 Joining Sir Ulick's at the river's bend, 
 Lord Crasher's acres east and west extend; 
 Great owner here, in England greater still. 70 
 
 As poor folk say, 'The world's divided ill.' 
 On every pleasure men can buy with gold 
 He surfeited ; and now, diseased and old, 
 He lives abroad; a firm in Molesworth Street 
 Doing what their attorneyship thinks meet. 75 
 
 The rule of seventy properties have they. 
 Wide waves the meadow on a summer day, 
 Far spread the sheep across the swelling hill, 
 And horns and hooves the daisied pasture fill ; 
 A stout and high enclosure girdles all, 80 
 
 Built up with stones from many a cottage wall; 
 And, thanks to Phinn & Wedgely's thrifty 
 
 pains, 
 
 Not one unsightly ruin there remains. 
 Phinn comes half-yearly, sometimes with a friend, 
 Who writes to Mail or Warder to commend 85 
 
 These vast improvements, and bestows the term 
 
26 CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 Of 'Ireland's benefactors' on the firm, 
 
 A well-earn' d title, in the firm's own mind. 
 
 Twice only in the memory of mankind 
 
 Lord Crasher's proud and noble self appeared ; 90 
 
 Up-river, last time, in his yacht he steer' d, 
 
 With crew of seven, a valet, a French cook, 
 
 And one on whom askance the gentry look, 
 
 Although a pretty, well-dress' d demoiselle, 
 
 . 
 Not Lady Crasher^ who, as gossips tell, 95 
 
 Goes her own wicked way. They stopp'd a 
 
 week ; 
 
 Then, with gay ribbons fluttering from the peak, 
 And snowy skirts spread wide, on either hand 
 The Aphrodite curtsied to the land, 
 And glided off. My Lord, with gouty legs, 100 
 
 Drinks Baden-Baden water, and life's dregs, 
 With cynic jest inlays his black despair, 
 And curses all things from his easy chair. 
 Yearly, the Honourable George, his son, 
 To Ireland brings his game-subduing gun ; 105 
 
NEIGHBOUEING LANDLORDS. 27 
 
 Who labours hard and hopes he shall succeed 
 To make the pheasant in those copses breed. 
 
 Finlay, next landlord (I'll abridge the tale), 
 Prince of Glenawn, a low and fertile vale, 
 "No fool by birth, but hard, and praised for no 
 
 wise 
 
 The more he learn' d all softness to despise, 
 Married a shrew for money, louts begot, 
 Debased his wishes to a vulgar lot, 
 To pence and pounds coin'd all his mother- wit, 
 And ossified his nature bit by bit. 115 
 
 A dull cold home, devoid of every grace, 
 Distrust and dread in each dependent's face, 
 Bullocks and turnips, mighty stacks of grain, 
 Plethoric purse, impoverish'd heart and brain, 
 Such Finlay' s life ; and when that life shall end, 120 
 He'll die as no man's debtor, no man's friend. 
 Who duns 1 who loves him ? he can pay his way ; 
 1 A hard but honest man,' as people say. 
 
28 CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 Unlike this careful management (between 
 The two, Sir "Click's townlands intervene) 125 
 
 Is that of Termon on the river-side, 
 Domain and mansion of insolvent pride, 
 Where Dysart, drawing from ancestral ground 
 One sterling penny for each phantom pound 
 Of rent-roll, lives, when all the truth is known, 130 
 Mere factor in the place he calls his own ; 
 Through mortgages and bonds, one wide-spread maze, 
 Steps, dances, doubles round by devious ways, 
 While creditor, to creditor a foe, 
 Hangs dubious o'er the vast imbroglio. 135 
 
 And thus, minute in bargain where he can, 
 There, closing quick with ready-money man, 
 Despised for cunning, and for malice fear'd, 
 Yet still by custom and old name endear' d 
 To Celtic minds, who also better like 14 o 
 
 A rule of thumb than Gough's arithmetic, 
 Dysart has shuffled on, to this good day, 
 Let creditors and courts do what they may. 
 
NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 29 
 
 The house is wondrous large, and wondrous mean ; 
 
 Its likeness year by year more rarely seen ; 145 
 
 A ragged billiard-table decks the hall, 
 
 Abandon'd long ago of cue and ball, 
 
 With whips and tools and garments litter'd o'er, 
 
 And lurking dogs possess the dangerous floor. 
 
 Ghost, from Proconsul Eutland's time, show in 150 
 
 To this great shabby room, which heard the din 
 
 Of bet and handicap, oath, toast, and song, 
 
 From squires and younger sons, a vanish'd throng, 
 
 Who drank much wine, who many foxes slew, 
 
 Hunted themselves by creditors all through, 155 
 
 And caught at last, or fairly run to earth ; 
 
 A cold and ghastly room of bygone mirth. 
 
 Above the dusty fox's-brush see hung 
 
 Our grandpapa the Major, spruce and young, 
 
 In faded scarlet; on that other side 160 
 
 The needy Viscount's daughter, his fair bride ; 
 
 And many portraits with once-famous names, 
 
 Of ancestors and horses, dogs and dames, 
 
30 CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 Now damp, or smutch' d, or dropping from, their frames. 
 
 Big doleful house it is, with many a leak ; 165 
 
 With dingy passages and bedrooms bleak ; 
 
 With broken window-panes and mildew'd walls ; 
 
 With grass-grown courtyard and deserted stalls 
 
 That proudly echoed to the hunting-stud, 
 
 Where still one stable shows its ' bit of blood. 7 170 
 
 Tom is not wed ; long wed is brother Hugh ; 
 
 They seldom meet, and quarrel when they do. 
 
 Tom is a staunch good Protestant by creed, 
 
 But half a Mormon, judged by act and deed ; 
 
 A dozen wives he has, but underhand, 175 
 
 Sub rosa, not confess'd, you understand, 
 
 And this makes all the difference, of course. 
 
 His pretty little babes, except perforce, 
 
 He never knows, and never wants to know ; 
 
 Yet, clippings of his purse must that way go. 180 
 
 Pass on to Isaac Brown, a man elect, 
 Wesleyan stout, our wealthiest of his sect; 
 
NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 31 
 
 Who bought and still buys land, none quite sees 
 
 how, 
 
 Whilst all his shrewdness and success allow. 
 On Crashes' mortgage he has money lent, 185 
 
 He takes a quiet bill at ten per cent., 
 The local public business much he sways, 
 He's learn'd in every neighbour's means and ways, 
 For comfort cares, for fashion not a whit, 
 NOT if the gentry to their ranks admit. 190 
 
 All preachers love him ; he can best afford 
 The unctuous converse and the unctuous board ; 
 Ev'n the poor nag, slow-rattling up the road 
 In ancient rusty gig a pious load, 
 Wags his weak tail, and strikes a brisker trot, 195 
 Approaching Brownstown, Isaac's pleasant lot. 
 For though at Poor-House Board was never known 
 A flintier Guardian-angel than good Brown, 
 As each old hag and shivering child can tell, 
 Go dine with Isaac, and he feeds you well. 200 
 
32 CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 'And hear him pray, with fiercely close-shut eyes ! 
 Gentle at first the measured accents rise, 
 But soon he waxes loud, and storms the skies. 
 )eep is the chest, and powerful bass the voice, 
 The language of a true celestial choice ; 205 
 
 Handorgan-wise the holy phrases ground, 
 Go turning and returning round and round ; 
 The sing-song duly runs from low to high ; 
 The choruss'd groans at intervals reply ; 
 Till after forty minutes' sweat and din, 210 
 
 Leaving perhaps too little prayer within, 
 Dear Brother Brown, athletic babe of grace, 
 Resumes his bench, and wipes his reeking face. 
 And if among his audience may be found 
 One who received two shillings in the pound 215 
 When merchant Isaac, twenty years ago, 
 Then talking pious too, but meek and low, 
 Was chasten' d by the Lord, with what delight 
 Must he behold the comfortable plight 
 And sacred influence of this worthy man. 220 
 
NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 33 
 
 Isaac can put in awe, he only can, 
 The very preachers ; oily though his lip, 
 His will and temper have a stubborn grip. 
 His son, a scamp, and always in disgrace, 
 Skulks from the father's unforgiving face. 225 
 
 His timid, sickly wife is sore afraid. 
 His three stout daughters dare not go array 7 d 
 Too smartly, but read novels unconfess'd. 
 Brown, of all neighbouring owners handles best 
 Conacre and subletting ; he can boast 230 
 
 That poorest tenants profit him the most. 
 
 One other Landlord, to conclude our list : 
 O'Hara, The O'Hara, some insist, 
 Of princely Irish race, which sounds full well ; 
 But what an Irish prince was, who can tell ? 235 
 It more imports to study wisely how 
 They rule the world who stand for Princes now. 
 The present Chief, a thin-faced man of care, 
 Keeps here his Bailiff, but resides elsewhere ; 
 D 
 
34 CHAPTER TWO : 
 
 A widower he, some fifty-two years old, 
 A rigid Catholic, mild, formal, cold. 
 Children he had, but death removed his sons, 
 He locked his youthful daughters up as nuns ; 
 An heir for half his wealth he may select ; 
 His Clergy use him with profound respect. 
 O'Hara, once ambitious, all in vain, 
 And indisposed for action or for gain, 
 Disgusted long since with a public life, 
 Hates England's name, but censures noisy strife ; 
 Is proud, dyspeptic, taciturn, and shy, 
 
 Learn' d in forgotten trifles, dead and dry ; 
 
 i 
 
 Secluded from the troublous world he lives, 
 And secret help to church and convent gives. 
 Low-let, ill-tiird, and unimproved, his lands 
 Are left in lazy, sneaking flatterers' hands, 
 Most of them of his Bailiff-steward's tribe, 
 Nor any who withhold that rascal's bribe. 
 
 Lord Crasher, The O'Hara, Isaac Brown, 
 
NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 35 
 
 Sir Ulick, Dysart, Finlay, here set down 
 
 With touch of rapid pencil, not untrue, 260 
 
 Are one horizon's dominating few, 
 
 "With Pigotfs name to add, and Bloomfield's own : 
 
 Eight Lords of Land, terrestrial gods, are shown. 
 
 Some part of whom, with others not so great, 
 Consulting on the country's dreadful state, ' 265 
 Sir Ulick Harvey towering in the chair, 
 Impressively, resolved, that then and there 
 They sat assembled: that resolved they were 
 That something should be done : and what to do 
 But this was more than they exactly knew. 270 
 
 From first to last 'twas cordially agreed 
 That tenants had been kindly used indeed 
 By every landlord round. Who justly blamed? 
 With modest boldness for themselves they claimed 
 Approval of the world : their simple rights. 275 
 
 Were never half enforced. 
 
 Warm days and nights 
 
 D2 
 
36 CHAPTER TWO : NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 
 
 Fulfill'd the harvest to the reaper's hook ; 
 
 But souls of men dismay and passion shook. 
 
 It should have been a peaceful, grateful time ; 280 
 
 But o'er this landscape enmity and crime 
 
 Like shadow lay. The harvesting is done ; 
 
 That shadow stays, in spite of moon or sun. 
 
LAUKENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IEELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMPIELD 
 IN IRELAND.. 
 
 III. 
 
 A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 
 
 CHILLY and dim th' autumnal fields ; but bright i 
 
 Sir "Click's table glows with waxen light ; 
 
 Alternate fair and brown, the seemly guests 
 
 With smiling nonsense aid the varied zests ; 
 
 The solemn liveries with observance wait, 5 
 
 And smoothly pour the wine and shift the plate ; 
 
 Each thing fulfils a justly measured part, 
 
 And all like nature seems, where all is art. 
 
 The steps of banquet keeping time and place, 
 
 With bland succession and unconscious grace, 10 
 
 The dishes circle in a savoury train, 
 
 The small-talk bubbles with the brisk champagne ; 
 
40 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 Till Beauty now glides rustling from the room, 
 And men in freer groups their chairs resume. 
 
 Say who they are, whom Irish Fates combine 15 
 To crack those- filberts and to sip that wine ] 
 The pompous Head of all the Harvey clan; 
 Shrewd Vicar Boyd, who seems a simple man ; 
 Lord Crashers' son, with whiskers large and fair, 
 His chief distinction, and his fondest care ; 20 
 
 Hard Finlay ; Laurence Bloonifield next in place ; 
 Fat Agent Pigot with his joking face ; 
 James Duff, a northern tory, big and coarse ; 
 Dysart, who shrewdly bets on dog and horse ; 
 With these, great Nassau Blunderbore, whose fame 25 
 Fills all the journals, hear him now declaim, 
 When Bloonifield, sifting out some little fact. 
 Would fain have answer quiet and exact : 
 " All Papists are but rebels in disguise, 
 " And if they dared, this very night would rise ; 30 
 " The law from mere compulsion they obey, 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSF. 41 
 
 " Their priests and demagogues have genuine sway ; 
 " Mainly the first, a dark and dangerous band, 
 " The creeping rulers of this wretched land, 
 " Their faith a lie, their purity a cheat, 35 
 
 " (Want of detection proves their plans complete) 
 " Dogmatic vassals of insidious Eome, 
 " Courted by coward governments at home, 
 " Ambitious, cunning, false, yet firm of will, 
 " Improve them, you but help their power of ill. 40 
 " Each Papist is his Queen's and Landlord's foe, 
 " And every Priest conspires to keep him so ! " 
 Such is the well-worn theme. Such theme to- 
 night 
 
 Great Nassau pounds with fourfold main and might ; 
 For Eibbonism has flourished high its head, 45 
 Has sworn a trembling farmer, dragg'd from bed, 
 To quash his lawsuit, promised mortal harm 
 To him who ventures on the vacant farm 
 Snatch'd from a poor industrious innocent, 
 Whose only fault was owing five years' rent, 50 
 
42 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 Puts fear and hate, acknowledged or concealed, 
 To haunt each hearth, and lurk in every field. 
 
 Boyd listens blandly, Boyd the shrewd divine, 
 "Who loves his money, and who likes his wine, 
 Who travels, has a house in Mount] oy-square, 55 
 And to his parish conies for change of air, 
 Blames, ex-ofiicio, popery and dissent, 
 Though doctrines breed him little discontent, 
 Lets parish questions to the Curate go, 
 (The Curate's views are 'high,' his pay but 
 low) 60 
 
 A trim old parson, Boyd ; whose smile" urbane 
 Will soothe, although perhaps you talk in vain ; 
 Blest with four daughters, and, as fame resounds, 
 For each a fortune of five thousand pounds. 
 The first is clever write th books, be sure ; 65 
 
 The second Sunday-schools the drowsy poor 
 By rote, on unintelligible things ; 
 Another of the damsels plays and sings ; 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 43 
 
 The fourth professes, merely, flaxen curls. 
 
 What is their mother? slave to these four girls. 70 
 
 " I can't think ill of every popish priest/' 
 Says Boyd, "our own are harmless men, at least; 
 " Vulgar no doubt, and very wrong, of course, 
 " But still, admit the truth, we might have worse." 
 
 " Sir ! " responds .Nassau, (Bloomfield in his 
 eye) 75 
 
 " We live amidst one huge conspiracy ! 
 " For Papal Ireland hates, in common cause, 
 " The church, the constitution, and the laws. 
 " Priest, politicians, with their cunning views, 
 " The blindfold passions of the peasants use ; 80 
 " This wicked league if once their Altar spoke 
 " Would break and vanish, like a ring of smoke. 
 " Some feign rebuke, the clients comprehend, 
 "And feel them twitch the blood-stain' d Bibbon's 
 end. ;j 
 
44 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 " Why !" angry Duff breaks in, " to crown it all, 85 
 "Here's Pigot threaten' d in a murder-scrawl. 
 " Sooner than let this Ballytullagh stand, 
 "I'd tear it down, by Jove, with my own hand, 
 " For in such times as these, we, v by the Lord ! 
 "Must do our duty, and with one accord. 90 
 
 " Elections too draw near, and if we flinch 
 "They'll seize an ell a mile for every inch. 
 " By George I leave no man of mine in doubt, 
 "Vote as I bid you, or I turn you out!" 
 True Orangemen were Blunderbore and Duff, 95 
 
 Each spoke his mind, and each made noise enough; 
 The one on force of argument relied, 
 The argument of force was all the other's pride. 
 
 " These people, on the side of Tullagh Hill," 
 Says Agent Pigot, "merely hold at will 100 
 
 " Some spots of tillage in a mountain tract, 
 " O'er which they stray' d, and deeni'd it theirs in fact. 
 " Half-savage long, reduced to bounds at last, 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 45 
 
 " From grumbling to defiance they have pass'd ; 
 
 " With men and money help the Eibbon Lodge; 105 
 
 " Full time, I think, to ask our friends to budge ! 
 
 " To get his own, Sir Ulick would have paid, 
 
 " But this have I, on principle, gainsaid ; 
 
 " These folk deserve no kindness, have no claim ; 
 
 " Count down fee-simple, they would yell the same. 
 
 " Faith, gentlemen, this country sorely needs ill 
 
 " A quicker clearance of its human weeds ; 
 
 " But still, the proper system is begun, 
 
 " And forty holdings we shall change to one." 
 
 Bloomfield, his inexperience much confess'd, 115 
 Doubts if the large dispeopled farms be best, 
 Best in a wide sense, best for all the world, 
 (At this expression sundry lips were curl'd) 
 " I wish, but know not how, each peasant's hand 
 " Might work, nay, hope to win, a share of land ; 120 
 " For ownership, however small it be, 
 " Breeds diligence, content, and loyalty, 
 
46 CHAPTER THREE I 
 
 " And tirelessly compels the rudest field, 
 
 "Inch after inch, its very most to yield. 
 
 " Wealth might its true prerogatives retain ; 125 
 
 " And no man lose, and all men greatly gain." 
 
 This, Bloomfield chiefly to the Yicar said, 
 
 Who courteously demurr'd with shake of head. 
 
 " Ah, my dear sir, our philanthropic dreams 
 
 " Are fine but human nature mars our schemes ! " 130 
 
 If Boyd had such, he well knew how to shake 
 
 Those dreams away, and thus live wide-awake. 
 
 Loud hemrn'd Sir Ulick, in his pompous tone, 
 A platitudinarian too-well known, 
 Whom meetings with respectful torpor heard, 135 
 And all his private circle duly fear'd. 
 How polish' d, grave, and dignified he is, 
 Strutting along in dull periphrasis, 
 With mental back impossible to bend ! 
 Pinchbeck he quotes, his economic friend, 140 
 
 That ' tenant-right ' is robbery or worse ; 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 47 
 
 That ' little holdings ' are a country's curse ; 
 Does he that merely tills turn owner ? Why, 
 Who could inherit land, who sell or buy ? 
 Which may have reason in it : but at best 145 
 
 Pinchbeck in some poor scrap of truth is drest, 
 And, like the Kaffir who has chanced to find 
 A coat of Europe, dons it front-behind. 
 
 Now Finlay, of the cold sarcastic eye, 
 And voice for ever tuneless, hard, and dry : 150 
 
 " Land is of course, like other things you buy, 
 " Investment for your money. Find or make 
 " A contract, law will punish if you break. 
 "Supposing legal contract there be none, 
 " Then, he who occupies your house in town, 155 
 " Or country farm (what matters which) must know 
 " That when the owner bids him, he should go. 
 ' He has no lease, though he desires to stay, 
 " Why, then, so much the worse for him, you say. 
 " He has a lease, and pays but little rent, 160 
 
48 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 " A lucky man ! and you must bide content ; 
 
 " He wants a lease j then, such and such the terms, 
 
 " Or you declare you will not let your farms. 
 
 " Contracts are contracts ; law is law ; and land 
 
 " Is property : thus much I understand.' 165 
 
 Fat Pigot turn'd to every one who spoke, 
 And laugh' d when each was done, as at a joke. 
 His fun is somewhat threadbare, but you half 
 Believe it rich, so hearty is his laugh ; 
 And not ill-furnish'd he with jest and tale. 170 
 
 Beetroot beside his glowing cheek were pale. 
 Kind to his household, jolly with his friends, 
 Business begun, all Pigot's feeling ends ; 
 With jovial voice and look, his hand, like Fate's 
 Can freeze the dwellers upon four estates, 175 
 
 Whose slavish flattery finds a self-redress, 
 A sort of freedom, in its own excess. 
 Their mother-wit, debased through dismal years 
 Of rapine and oppression, blood and tears, 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 49 
 
 To craft and cunning, twists in reptile form, .180 
 A slimy, soft, and poison-bearing worm. 
 Be silent, noisy tongues on either shore ! 
 Denounce, defend, recriminate no more ! 
 In history's record England reads her blame, 
 Ireland her grief, her folly, and her shame; 185 
 
 Let each peruse with humble soul and sage. 
 And, from the past, amend the future page. 
 
 But, meanwhile, of the Present shall be redd 
 One dirty lea a coffin decks its head, 
 From Pigot's bulky pocket, by desire, 190 
 
 Emitted, for the table to admire : 
 < Take Notis, Big gut, if one claw you lay 
 ' On Tullah, you'll for ever roo the day 
 ' So change your tune, and quickly, or by God 
 'This warnin is your last we'll have your blud. 195 
 'Sined, Captin Starlite.' 
 
 "Funny letter, eh?" 
 The Honourable George is heard to say. 
 E 
 
50 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 " Good mark " says Dysart, with a nod and laugh. 
 
 " For pot-shots," Duff observes, " too good by half." 
 
 " Got a six-shooter ? " Tom rejoins : " let's see." 200 
 
 " No ! " cry the rest. Says Pigot, " Trust to me," 
 
 And hides the weapon. Tom approves not such : 
 
 " I'll bet, with your revolver, you don't touch 
 
 " My hat at twenty yards, two shots in five. 
 
 "You must have daily practice, man alive! 205 
 
 " Practice is everything, and firing quick, 
 
 " Before a lazy finger does the trick j 
 
 " That's how my uncle finish'd Major Crowe, 
 
 " A splendid marksman, only rather slow. 
 
 "Fire from the hip !" cries Tom in cheerful mood, 210 
 
 And cracks a nut in proper attitude. 
 
 "Mayn't get the chance," growls Finlay. 
 
 It was time, 
 
 Sir Ulick thought, to meet this growth of crime, 
 But how *? shall counter-terror bid it cease 
 By Proclamation and more big Police 1 ? 215 
 
 Spies and rewards, thought Dysart j turning out 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 51 
 
 All tenants, Duff said, in one rabble-rout. 
 
 " Where should they go to?" " They may go to h ." 
 
 But Bloomfield to his own reflections fell : 
 
 ' Owners are owners we decide in haste, 220 
 
 ' Might three men choose to keep a county waste 1 
 
 ' Is there no spirit in the world of things 
 
 * Whereon his gyve in vain the lawyer flings 1 
 t Can we, by politics of coin or birth, 
 
 1 Own, like a house or hunter, God's round earth? 225 
 ' Or, is that different property ? We're tried 
 
 * In turn as leaders. Families subside, 
 
 ( As they have risen, like billows of a tide, 
 1 Heirs lifted to the top-surge one by one. 
 ' But continuity from sire to son, 230 
 
 6 No further, quibbles in the North-star's face : 
 6 One man is dead another's in his place. 
 ' A trust, to help our fellow-men, we own ; 
 ' True right of property is this alone. 
 ' Chieftains there must be ; and the low man 
 clings 235 
 
 E 2 
 
52 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 1 With long affection to unworthy kings ; 
 * Ev'n here, would fain be faithful to his lord ' 
 And Bloomfield sigh'd and look'd around the board. 
 1 To throw my life to loss with men like these 1 
 4 "Why should I ? ' of a sudden this brought 
 ease. 240 
 
 ' Where earth gives most of what to me is best 
 ' To live is mine, my privilege confess'd, 
 ' My duty too > but here some side-wind caught 
 The sail out-spread of his quick-moving thought : 
 Duty with duty it is hard to weigh, 245 
 
 To rule the very power you must obey, 
 Doubt Judgment, of your doubting doubtful too. 
 The pain of too much freedom Bloomfield knew. 
 For all the choice was in his proper hand ; 
 jN'o shadow-barrier in his road to stand 250 
 
 Of others' expectation ; none could say, 
 Parting next week, that he had plann'd to stay, 
 Nor wonder if th' ensuing seven years' rent 
 In banker's bills should over sea be sent, 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 53 
 
 While Pigot, well-accustom' d viceroy, reign' d, 255 
 
 And far off tenants fruitlessly complain' d. 
 
 While Blooinfield's mind experienced this unrest, 
 
 His face was calm, his converse self-possest ; 
 
 The noble sprig beside him sees no gloom ; 
 
 " Come down to shoot the country, I presume 1 260 
 
 " Good cocking in Sir Ulick's upper wood 
 
 " Cover for grouse on Croghan, doocid good. 
 
 " Queer fellows, though, the common fellows round 
 
 " And every one a poacher does your ground 
 
 "Touch on the river 1" 
 
 So we sit and talk, 265 
 A finger round the crystal flower-bell-stalk 
 Brimm'd with cool claret, fruit and biscuits 
 
 munch, 
 
 And some in secret pine for whisky-punch, 
 Or vapour of the soothing weed. But soon 
 All reassemble in the White Saloon, 270 
 
 With decent forms of speech and gestures fit, 
 Which clothe mere dulness with a kind of wit. 
 
54 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 Though pressed to stay, and bid with serious brow 
 Eemember he is not in England now, 
 Laurence will homeward ride, and ride alone ; 275 
 Deaf, blind, insensible as stock or stone 
 To three Miss Harveys and to four Miss Boyds, 
 The charm of song and every smile avoid^, 
 Yielding that bower of beauty and of tea 
 To George's whiskers, and our mild A.B., 280 
 
 Too busy Curate to present more soon 
 His well-brush' d hair and voice's gentle croon. 
 How does a man with seventy pounds a-year 
 In virgin linen every day appear ? 
 Spotless his shirts are, spotless too his life ; 285 
 Stiff in cravat, and dialectic strife, 
 He shuns the popish priests, and flogs the Pope, 
 NOT may the Methodist for mercy hope ; 
 Much milk of human kindness, too, he carries, 
 A little sour'd with dogma, through the parish, 290 
 And plays a half-divine, half-human part 
 With many a pious flirting female heart. 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 55 
 
 Enough on dangerous matter we presume ; 
 
 Shut smoothly, door of silken drawing-room ! 
 
 Let Lady Harvey lead the reverend man 295 
 
 Profoundly to discuss his favourite plan 
 
 Whereby we might convert all Papists, in 
 
 Say three short years, and crush the Man of Sin : 
 
 li Dear Lady Harvey ! this benighted land " 
 
 " Ah, yes ! your trials we can understand ... 300 
 
 " Those dreadful Priests 7 ' "The cause of Scriptural 
 
 Truth ... 
 
 " Our Church in danger . . . Government . . . Maynooth" 
 And leaving lovely damsels as they may 
 To quote Evangeline, Traviata play, 
 We move with Laurence on his homeward way. 305 
 
 All down the leafy way as Bloomfield rode, 
 O'er man and horse the latticed moonshine flow'd, 
 Like films of sorcery, or sacred rite 
 Of sprinkling by the holy priestess, Night; 
 Strange pools of mist were on the lower ground, 310 
 
56 CHAPTER THREE : 
 
 Moonlight above, and silence deep around, 
 
 Except the measured footfalls. In a shade 
 
 By thicker growths of laurustinus made, 
 
 Our young Squire heard not, or unheeding heard, 
 
 One whispering bough that stealthily was stirr'd ; 315 
 
 Saw not the glitter of an ambush' d eye 
 
 That glared upon the landlord moving by. 
 
 In meditation through the leaves he rode ; 
 
 O'er man and horse the web of moonshine flowed ; 
 
 Then on the open highway swiftlier sped, 320 
 
 Where spectral gates and walls behind him fled. 
 
 Within, his soul was seething. Should he stay, 
 Toil, wrangle, risk his blood, from day to day? 
 Or from the tumult quietly withdraw, 
 And soon forget what he no longer saw? 325 
 
 Was all his duty to his rental bound? 
 Might he not better serve on other ground ? 
 It matters not for whom, or how, or where 
 Be what you're fit for, all the world has share. 
 
A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 57 
 
 ' These men are in their element, and do 330 
 
 ' Much work ; it may be, are victorious too. 
 1 Novels and newspapers alone afford 
 ' Th 7 angelic peasant and his fiendish lord. 
 ( Ev'n Duff has kindness ; Harvey's wit is small 
 ( Yet leaves him average mortal after all ; 335 
 
 ' Pigot is business-like and bold, not base, 
 6 One looks not there for Shelley's mind or face. 
 ' Such have a manly spirit of their own, 
 ' Which roughly in a rugged world is shown. 
 ' And what know I of tenants or of land 1 ' 340 
 Here conscience took once more the upper hand : 
 ;* ' Somewhat you know of men, and Heavenly Laws ; 
 1 Permit not selfish sloth to win the cause ; 
 ' The right choice wins a strength, wrong choice a plea.' 
 Perplex' d in mood, his mansion enters he, 345 
 
 With varying step along the lonely floors 
 And dismal dark neglected corridors. 
 
 A long discussion may, for good or ill, 
 
58 CHAPTER THREE 4 
 
 \ 
 
 Be sharply ended by despotic will. 
 
 ' I'll quit tlie place before to-morrow night ! 350 
 
 ' Party with party, church with church may fight, 
 
 1 Eich fools with poor, I cannot set them right/ 
 
 But to the council-chamber of his head 
 
 Kush'd in a tale that he had long since redd, 
 
 An ancient story, putting all astray, 355 
 
 As Csesar's self was stopt upon his way. 
 
 Imperial Hadrian, with his lofty knights, 
 
 Prancing through pillar'd gateway, Dion writes, 
 
 There saw a Widow kneeling to implore, 
 
 Since none could rescue save her emperor, 360 
 
 An audience of her suit ; to whom he said 
 
 " I have no time to hearken." Hope and dread 
 
 Together gone, she cried " Then cease to reign ! " 
 
 Whereat, amidst a checked and wondering train, 
 
 The Eoman wheel' d his horse and heard. 365 
 
 This wrought 
 
 Another change of hue upon his thought. 
 "Twere hard to reign, to abdicate more hard. 
 
A DINNEK AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 59 
 
 1 Is living free,' like other men, debarred 1 
 
 6 Shut eyes, and open (says the World) your 
 
 mouth, 
 
 ' And take what fortune sends you, foolish youth ! 370 
 1 Would things go better here, supposing I, 
 ' Not Pigot, govern'd ? ought I not to try 1 
 ' Or are they dreams, my poetry and art, 
 ' And love and faith too, all life's finer part 
 1 Fit but for conversation, books, the stage, 375 
 
 ' And not for men whom actual toils engage ? ' 
 His heart beat, and he felt as faint within 
 As one who has a whole day fasting been, 
 Irresolution's sickness ; so combined 
 Are all the powers of body and of mind. 380 
 
 Moreover, looking on himself, he saw 
 A crisis of his life. There was Heaven's Law, 
 Cloudy, but firm and sure. He saw the crime 
 (Touching all future pleasures with a slime) - 
 To stand before a true task face to face, 385 
 
 Then turn away, though secret the disgrace. 
 
60 CHAP. THREE : A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 
 
 Man's life is double : hard its clues to give 
 Within, Without, and thus completely live. 
 
 Custom of praj'r with wandering soul he kept ; 
 Desired to sleep, but not till daylight slept. 390 
 
LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IEELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE DOKANS. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMEIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE DORANS. 
 
 JACK DORAN'S cottage, from a bare hillside, 1 
 
 Look'd out across the bogland black and wide, 
 
 Where some few ridges broke the swarthy soil, 
 
 A patch of culture, won with patient toil. 
 
 The walls were mud, around an earthen floor, 5 
 
 Straw ropes held on the thatch, and by his door 
 
 A screen of wattles fenced the wind away, 
 
 For open wide from morn till dusk it lay, 
 
 A stool perhaps across, for barring out 
 
 The too familiar porker's greedy snout. 10 
 
 Thieves were undreamt-of, vagrants not repell'd, 
 
 The poor man's dole the pauper's budget swell' d, 
 
CHAPTER FOUR I 
 
 A gift of five potatoes, gently given, 
 
 Or fist of meal, repaid with hopes of Heaven. 
 
 There Jack and Maureen, JSTeal their only son, 15 
 And daughter Bridget, saw the seasons run; 
 Poor but contented peasants, warm and Mod, 
 Of hearty manners, and religious mind; 
 Busy to make their little corner good, 
 And full of health, upon the homeliest food. 20 
 
 They tasted flesh-meat hardly thrice a-year, 
 Crock-butter, when the times were not too dear, 
 Salt herring as a treat, as luxury 
 For Sunday mornings and cold weather, tea; 
 Content they were if milk the noggins crown' d, 25 
 What time their oatmeal-stirabout went round, 
 Or large potatoes, teeming from the pot, 
 Descended to the basket, smoking hot, 
 Milk of its precious butter duly strip t, 
 Wherewith to Lisnamoy young Biddy tripp'd. 30 
 !N"ot poor they seem'd to neighbours poorer still, 
 
THE DORANS. 65 
 
 As Doran's father was, ere bog and hill 
 Gave something for his frugal fight of years 
 'Gainst marsh and rock, and furze with all its spears, 
 And round the cottage an oasis green 35 
 
 Amidst the dreary wilderness was seen. 
 Two hardy cows the pail and churn supplied, 
 Short-legg'd, big-boned, with rugged horns and wide, 
 That each good spot among the heather knew, 
 And every blade that by the runnels grew, 40 
 
 Eoved on the moor at large, but meekly came 
 With burden'd udders to delight the dame, 
 And in its turn the hoarded stocking swell'd 
 Which envious neighbours in their dreams beheld ; 
 At thought whereof were bumpkins fain to cast 45 
 Sheep's eyes at comely Bridget as she pass'd 
 With napkin-shaded basket many a morn ; 
 But every bumpkin Bridget laugh'd to scorn. 
 
 Who at an evening dance more blithe than she ? 
 With steps and changes, modest in their glee, 50 
 F 
 
66 CHAPTER FOUR : 
 
 So true she foots it, and so hard to tire, 
 Whilst Phil the Fiddler's elbow jerks like lire, 
 That courting couples turn their heads to look, 
 And elders praise her from the chimney-nook 
 Amidst their pipes, old stories, and fresh news. 55 
 From twenty decent boys might Bridget choose ; 
 For, put the jigs aside, her skill was known 
 To help a neighbour's work, or speed her own, 
 And where at kemp or kayley could be found 
 One face more welcome, all the country round 1 60 
 Mild oval face, a freckle here and there, 
 Clear eyes, broad forehead, dark abundant hair, 
 Pure placid look that show'd a gentle nature, 
 Firm, unperplex'd, were hers ; the Maiden's stature 
 Graceful arose, and strong, to middle height, 65 
 
 With fair round arms, and footstep free and light ; 
 She was not showy, she was always neat, 
 In every gesture native and complete, 
 
 kemp, a meeting of girls for sewing, spinning, [or other work, ending 
 
 with a dance. 
 Tcayley, a casual gathering of neighbours for gossip. 
 
THE DOBANS. 67 
 
 Disliking noise, yet neither dull nor slack, 
 
 Could throw a rustic banter briskly back, 70 
 
 Eeserved but ready, innocently shrewd, 
 
 In briefj a charming flower of Womanhood. 
 
 The girl was rich, in health, good temper, beauty, 
 Work to be done, amusement after duty, 
 Clear undistracted mind, and tranquil heart, 75 
 
 Well-wishers, in whose thoughts she had her part, 
 A decent father, a religious mother, 
 The pride of all the parish in a brother, 
 And Denis Coyle for sweetheart, where the voice 
 Of Jack and Maureen praised their daughter's 
 choice. 80 
 
 More could she ask for ? grief and care not yet, 
 Those old tax-gatherers, dunn'd her for their debt ; 
 Youth's joyous landscape round her footsteps lay, 
 And her own sunshine made the whole world gay. 
 
 Jack and his wife, through earlier wedded years, 85 
 
 F2 
 
68 CHAPTER FOUR I 
 
 Untroubled with, far-sighted hopes and fears, 
 
 Within their narrow circle not un skill' d , 
 
 Their daily duties cautiously fulfill 7 d 
 
 Of house and farm, of bargain and of pray'r ; 
 
 And gave the Church and gave the Poor a share ; 90 
 
 Each separate gift by angels put in score 
 
 As plain as though 'twere chalk' d behind the door. 
 
 The two themselves could neither write nor read, 
 
 But of their children's lore were proud indeed, 
 
 And most of Neal, who step by step had pass'd 95 
 
 His mates, and trod the master's heels at last. 
 
 When manly, godly counsels took the rule, 
 And open'd to her young a freer school, 
 Poor Erin's good desire was quickly proved ; 
 Learning she loves, as long ago she loved. 100 
 
 The peasant, sighing at his own defect, 
 Would snatch his children from the same neglect ; 
 Erom house and hut, by hill and plain, they pour 
 In tens of thousands to the teacher's floor; 
 
THE DORANS. 69 
 
 Across the general island seems to come 105 
 
 Their blended voice, a pleasing busy hum. 
 
 Our little Bridget, pretty child, was there, 
 
 And Neal, a quick-eyed boy with russet hair, 
 
 Brisk as the month of March, yet with a grace 
 
 Of meditative sweetness in his face ; 110 
 
 To Learning's Temple, which made shift to stand 
 
 In cowhouse form on great Sir Ulick's land 
 
 (Who vex'd these schools with all his pompous might 
 
 ISTor would, for love or money, grant a site), 
 
 Each morn with merry step they crossed the hill, 115 
 
 And soon could read with pleasure, write with skill, 
 
 Amaze from print their parents' simple wit, 
 
 Decypher New- world letters craniply writ ; 
 
 But ISTeal, not long content with primers, redd 
 
 " Kings round him/' as his mother aptly said ; 120 
 
 Sought far for books, devour' d what e'er he found, 
 
 And peep'd through loopholes from his narrow bound. 
 
 Good Maureen gazed with awe on pen and ink, 
 
70 CHAPTER FOUR : 
 
 On books with blindest reverence. Whilst we think 
 
 The Dark and Middle Ages flown away, 125 
 
 Their population crowds us round to-day ; 
 
 So slowly moves the world. Our darne believed, 
 
 Firmly as saints and angels she received, 
 
 In witchcraft, lucky and unlucky times, 
 
 Omens and charms, and fairy- doctors' rhymes 130 
 
 To help a headache, or a cow fall'n dry ; 
 
 Strong was the malice of an evil eye ; 
 
 She fear'd those hags of dawn, who skirnm'd the well, 
 
 And robb'd the churning by their May-day spell ; 
 
 The gentle race, whom youngsters now neglect, 135 
 
 From Mary never miss'd their due respect ; 
 
 And when a little whirl of dust and straws 
 
 Rose in her pathway, she took care to pause 
 
 And cross herself; a twine of rowan-spray, 
 
 An ass's shoe, might keep much harm away; 140 
 
 Saint Bridget's candle, which the priest had blest, 
 
 Was stored to light a sick-bed. For the rest, 
 
 She led a simple and contented life, 
 
THE DORANS. 71 
 
 Sweet-teinper'd, dutiful, as maid and wife ; 
 
 Her husband's wisdom from her heart admired, 145 
 
 And in her children's praises never tired. 
 
 Jack was a plodding man, who deem'd it best 
 To hide away the wisdom he possessed ; 
 Of scanty words, avoiding all dispute; 
 But much experience in his mind had root ; 150' 
 Most deferential, yet you might surprise 
 A secret scanning in the small grey eyes ; 
 Short, active, though with labour's trudge, his legs ; 
 His knotted lingers, like rude wooden pegs, 
 Still firm of grip ; his breath was slow and deep ; 155 
 His hair unbleach'd with time, a rough black heap. 
 Fond, of a night, to calmly sit and smoke, 
 While neighbours plied their argument or joke, 
 To each he listened, seldom praised or blamed, 
 All party-spirit prudently disclaim' d, 160 
 
 Repeating, with his wise old wrinkled face, 
 
72 CHAPTER FOUR : 
 
 "I never knew it help a poor man's case;" 
 And when they talk'd of "tyrants," Doran said 
 Nothing, but suck'd his pipe and shook his head. 
 
 In patient combat with a barren soil, 165 
 
 Jack saw the gradual tilth reward his toil, 
 Where first his father as a cottier came 
 On patch too poor for other man to claim. 
 Jack's father kept the hut against the hill 
 With daily eightpence earned by sweat and skill ; 1 70 
 Three sons grew up ; one hasted over sea, 
 One married soon, fought hard with poverty, 
 Sunk, and died young ; the eldest boy was Jack, 
 Young herd and spadesman at his father's back, 
 With every hardship sturdily he strove, 175 
 
 To fair or distant ship fat cattle drove, 
 (Not theirs, his father had a single cow), 
 And cross'd the narrow tides to reap and mow. 
 A fever burn'd away the old man's life ; 
 Jack had the land, the hovel, and a wife ; i&o 
 
THE DOBANS. 73 
 
 And in the chimney's warmest comer sat 
 His good old mother, with her favourite cat. 
 
 Maims, now dead, (long since, on ' cottier-take/ 
 Allow' d cheap lodgment for his labour's sake) 
 Contriving days and odd half-days to snatch, 185 
 By slow degrees had tamed the savage patch 
 Beside his hut, driven back the stubborn gorse, 
 Whose pounded prickles meanwhile fed his horse, 
 And crown' d the cut-out bog with many a sheaf 
 Of speckled oats, and spread the dark-green leaf 190 
 Where plaited white or purple blooms unfold 
 To look on summer with an eye of gold, 
 Potato-blossoms, namely. Now, be sure, 
 A larger rent was paid ; nor, if secure 
 Of footsole-place where painfully he wrought, 195 
 Would Manus grumble. Year by year he sought 
 A safeguard; but the Landlord still referr'd 
 Smoothly to Agent, Agent merely heard, 
 And answer' d ' We'll arrange it by and by ; 
 
74 CHAPTER FOUR : 
 
 Meanwhile, you're well enough, man j let it lie/ 200 
 
 Eesolved to grant no other petty lease, 
 
 The ills of petty farming to increase. 
 
 Old Manus gone, and Bloomfield's father gone, 
 
 Sir Ulick Harvey's guardian rule came on ; 
 
 And so at last Jack found his little all 205 
 
 At Viceroy Pigot's mercy, which was small. 
 
 With more than passive discontent he look'd 
 
 On tenacies like Jack's, and ill had brook'd 
 
 The whisper of their gains. He stood one day, 
 
 Filling the petty household with dismay, 210 
 
 Within their hut, and saw that Paudeen Dhu, 
 
 The bailiff, when he call'd it 'snug,' spoke true. 
 
 The patch' d, unpainted, but substantial door, 
 The well-fill* d dresser, and the level floor, 
 Clean chairs and stools, a gaily-quilted bed, 215 
 
 The weather-fast though grimy thatch o'erhead, 
 The fishing rods and reels above the fire, 
 
THE DORANS. 75 
 
 deal's books, and comely Bridget's neat attire, 
 Express'd a comfort which the rough neglect 
 That reign'd outside forbade him to expect. 220 
 
 Indeed, give shrewd old cautious Jack his way, 
 The house within had shown less neat array, 
 Who held the maxim that, in prosperous case, 
 Tis wise to show a miserable face; 
 
 A decent hat, a wife's good shawl or gown- 225 
 
 
 
 For higher rent may mark the farmer down ; 
 
 Beside your window shun to plant a rose 
 
 Lest it should draw the prowling bailiff's nose, 
 
 ^Nor deal with whitewash, lest the cottage lie 
 
 A target for the bullet of his eye ; 230 
 
 Rude be your fence and field if trig and trim 
 
 A cottier shows them, all the worse for him. 
 
 To scrape, beyond expenses, if he can, 
 
 A silent stealthy penny, is the plan 
 
 Of him who dares it a suspected man ! 235 
 
 With tedious, endless, heavy-laden, toil, 
 
 Judged to have thieved a pittance from the soil. 
 
76 CHAPTER FOUR : 
 
 But close in reach of Bridget's busy hand 
 
 Dirt and untidiness could scarcely stand ; 
 
 And Neal, despite his father's sense of guilt, 240 
 
 A dairy and a gable-room had built, 
 
 And by degrees the common kitchen graced 
 
 With many a touch of his superior taste. 
 
 The peasant draws a low and toilsome lot ; 
 Poorer than all above him? surely not. 245 
 
 Conscious of useful strength, untaught to care 
 For smiling masquerade and dainty fare, 
 With social pleasures, warmer if less bland, 
 Companionship and converse nigh at hand, 
 If sad, with genuine sorrows, well-defined, 250 
 
 His life brought closer to a simpler mind ; 
 He's friends with earth and cloud, plant, beast and 
 
 bird ; 
 
 His glance, by oversub tie ties unblurr'd, 
 At human nature, flies not much astray; 
 Afoot he journeys, but enjoys the way. 255 
 
THE DORANS. 77 
 
 Th ? instinctive faith, perhaps, of such holds best 
 
 To that ideal truth, the power and zest 
 
 Of all appearance; limitation keeps 
 
 Their souls compact ; light cares they have, sound 
 
 sleeps ; 
 
 Their day, within a settled coarse begun, 260 
 
 Brings wholesome task, advancing with the sun, 
 The sure result with satisfaction sees, 
 And fills with calm a well-earn 7 d hour of ease. 
 ISTay, gold, whose mere possession less avails, 
 Far-glittering, decks the world with fairy-tales. 265 
 Who grasp at poison, trigger, cord, or knife 1 
 Seldom the poorest peasant tires of life. 
 
 Mark the great evil of a low estate ; 
 Not Poverty, but Slavery, one man's fate 
 Too much at mercy of another's will. 270 
 
 Doran has prosper'd, but is trembling still. 
 Our Agent's lightest word his heart can shake, 
 The Bailiff's bushy eyebrow bids him quake. 
 
78 CHAPTER FOUR : 
 
 Jack had been urged, and thought the counsel good, 
 " Go, delve the prairie, clear the "Western wood ; 275 
 There, with your little purse and vigorous arm, 
 Be king (for so you may) of house and farm." 
 But kindly to his native nook he clung, 
 Too old his mother, and his babes too young, 
 His wife too timid, till he found at last 280 
 
 His own brisk day for enterprise gone past, 
 And hoped with trembling, that, without a lease, 
 The LORD would let them pass their days in peace, 
 And leave the children settled well in life : 
 Such was the prayer of Doran and his wife. 285 
 
 School-teaching some, and some the Church advised 
 For Neal ; but Jack, from lifelong habit, prized 
 His hard- won and uncertain 'bit o' ground/ 
 And in his son's increasing vigour found 
 A welcome help, till soil and seasons claim'd 290 
 Neal's constant hand. But far too high it aim'd, 
 
THE DORANS. 79 
 
 On house and field improvement bravely bent. 
 
 "My boy," said Jack, "you'll only rise the rent, 
 
 "Or get us hunted from too good a place/' 
 
 And back'd his fears from many a well-known case. 295 
 
 He praised their added room, but shook his head, 
 
 The small new dairy fill'd his soul with dread, 
 
 To cut a drain might dig their own pitfall, 
 
 'Twas ostentation to rebuild a wall, 
 
 And did they further dare to stub the whins, 300 
 
 The Great-Folk soon would visit all their sins. 
 
 " We'll buy/ 7 " But they won't sell."" More rent 
 
 we'll pay." 
 
 " They'll charge three prices, or snap all away." 
 What could Neal do ? his parents getting old, 
 Detain' d him ; but his early hopes were cold. 305 
 Improve they must not ; if permitted still 
 To merely stay, 'tis at their Agent's will. 
 They long have struggled, with some poor success, 
 But well they know, should harder fortunes press, 
 
 whins, gorse. 
 
80 CHAPTER FOUR : 
 
 Their slow prosperity is thin and poor, 310 
 
 And may not even petty rubs endure. 
 
 From day to day th' unresting finger steals 
 Of Heaven's great clock, with all the stars for wheels, 
 Transmuting worlds, and every small thing too ; 
 The boy to man, the girl to woman grew ; 315 
 
 Jack stiffened; Maureen's hair was streak' d with white ; 
 The good old grandame vanish' d from their sight. 
 And day by day, on both estates, Jack sees 
 Old tenants losing place by slow degrees ; 
 No leases granted or renew 7 d ; the serf 320 
 
 Henim'd from his former space of moor and turf; 
 To grazing, here, the various tillage yields ; 
 There wide-spread farms absorb the petty fields ; 
 Gain, luxury, and love of power, inspire 
 NQW selfish schemes, that more and more require 325 
 All privilege and profit from the land 
 To rest completely in the Great-Folk's hand, 
 Accorded, changed, withheld, at their command. 
 
THE DORANS. 81 
 
 JSTeal sometimes argues that, whilst yet in plight, 
 'Twere well to dare at last the distant flight. 330 
 " Let's go while go we may ; if things get worse 
 " They soon must leave us empty byre and purse. 
 " You're fresh, thank God, and lively, mother dear ; 
 " Father, we'd work and prosper well, no fear ; 
 " And rise to something, anywhere but here. 335 
 " There's Coyle, besides, in tiptoe haste to start ; 
 " One word, and Coyle is with us, hand and heart." 
 But age's caution, added to their own, 
 Still held the parents back from risks unknown. 
 
 One cool and grey autumnal night the same 340 
 That sees Sir U lick's banquet round the flame 
 Of fragrant fir that branch'd a waving tree 
 Before the human form began to be, 
 And countless years lay sunk in black morass, 
 Are drawn this humble household. Slowly pass 345 
 Their quiet evening hours. If Maureen doze, 
 Her needles fail not, adding rows to rows 
 G 
 
82 CHAPTER FOUR: 
 
 Of knitted wool; nor less untiring spins 
 
 Her daughter, who with skilful finger wins 
 
 The flowing yellow flax from rock to reel, 350 
 
 And chants a ditty to her murmuring wheel ; 
 
 The son and father bask, as well they may 
 
 Who handle flails as these have done to-day, 
 
 The sweet-milk-and-potato supper done, 
 
 Their out-door creatures cared for, every one, 355 
 
 The cat and dog, too, comrades old and tried ; 
 
 In drowsy warmth reposing side by side. 
 
 Jack thinks the times look bad. "God help the 
 
 poor ! " 
 
 Sighs Maureen; " "We're not cowld or hungry sure, 
 u The Lord be praised ! but rising rints, mavrone, 360 
 " And failing crops, would soon scrape flesh from 
 
 bone." 
 
 The girl had met a keeper, hung with grouse ; 
 She talks of banquet at the Moy Big House : 
 "They're at their dinner now, and so polite, 
 
THE DOBANS. 83 
 
 " With lovely dresses, to see the sight !" 365 
 " A glorious wish !" arousing, mutters Xeal, 
 ^Though envy's pang he could not choose but feel. 
 " Our Landlord's on the -start again, they say." 
 " To us what matter, let him go or stay?" 
 " Well now," says Bridget, " he's a fine young man." 
 Her thoughts on Bloomfield's recent visit ran. 371 
 "A gintleman o' plain discoorse, in troth, 
 "Good luck to him!" says Maureen. "Chips and 
 
 froth!" 
 
 Cries Neal : " I half began to speak my mind, 
 " But ." " All no use, no use, my son, you'd 
 
 find. 375 
 
 " 'Twould only," Jack thinks, " drive our Agent mad." 
 The young man sat fire-gazing, sullen- sad. 
 
 " Maychance you'd read us something Nail 
 
 asthore ?" 
 
 The less 'twas understood, believed the more, 
 Her son's vast learning made Maureen rejoice ; 380 
 
84 CHAPTER FOUR : THE DORANS. 
 
 Her ( heart was aisy, listenin' to his voice.' 
 
 " Goin' out you are avic ? You won't be late ? " 
 
 "No, mother dear." They heard the garden gate 
 
 Clap loud behind him. "-He's across the hill 
 
 " To Bally tullagh," which but pleased them ill ; 385 
 
 This neighbouring hamlet being a noted place, 
 
 By Pigot, their Pasha, cast out from grace. 
 
 Jack lit his pipe ; the mother deeply sigh'd ; 
 The girl in thought her humming spindle plied ; 
 Young Neal, the while, on glooming path, well-known, 
 That winds by clump of gorse and boulder-stone, 391 
 Mounted the ridge, and saw in shadowy skies 
 A red enormous moon begin to rise. 
 
LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IIs T IEELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 BALLYTULLAGH. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMPIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 Y. 
 BALLYTULLAGH. 
 
 THE hamlet Bally tullagh, small and old, 1 
 
 Lay negligently cluster' d in a fold 
 
 Of Tullagh Hill, among the crags and moor ; 
 
 A windy dwelling-place, rough, lonesome, poor ; 
 
 So low and weather-stain' d the walls, the thatch 5 
 
 So dusk of hue, or spread with mossy patch, 
 
 A stranger journeying on the distant road 
 
 Might hardly guess that human hearts abode 
 
 In those wild fields, save when a smoky wreath 
 
 Distinguish'd from huge rocks, above, beneath, 10 
 
 Its huddled roofs. A lane goes up the hill, 
 
88 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 Cross'd, at one elbow, by a crystal rill, 
 
 Between the stepping-stones gay tripping o'er 
 
 In shallow brightness on its gravelly floor, 
 
 From crags above, with falls and rocky urns, 15 
 
 Through sward below, in deep deliberate turns, 
 
 Where each fine evening brought the boys to play 
 
 At football, or with camuns drive away 
 
 The whizzing nagg ; a crooked lane and steep, 
 
 Older than broad highways, you find it creep, 20 
 
 Fenced in with stooping thorn-trees, bramble-brakes, 
 
 Tall edge-stones, gleaming, gay as spotted snakes, 
 
 "With gold and silver lichen ; till it bends 
 
 Between two rock-based rough-built gable ends, 
 
 To form the street, if one may call it street, 25 
 
 Where ducks and pigs in filthy forum meet ; 
 
 A scrambling, careless, tatter' d place, no doubt ; 
 
 Each cottage rude within-doors as without ; 
 
 All rude and poor; some wretched, black and bare 
 
 And doleful as the cavern of Despair. 30 
 
 camuns, sticks bent at one end. nagg, wooden ball. 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 89 
 
 And yet, when crops were good, nor oatmeal high, 
 A famine or a fever-time gone by, 
 The touch of simple pleasures, even here, 
 In rustic sight and sound the heart could cheer. 
 With voice of breezes moving o'er the hills, 35 
 
 Wild birds and four-foot creatures, falling rills, 
 Mingled the hum of huswife's wheel, cock-crow, 
 The whetted scythe, or cattle's evening low, 
 Or laugh of children. Herding went the boy, 
 The sturdy diggers wrought with spade and loy, 40 
 The tether' d she-goat browsed the rock's green ledge, 
 The clothes were spread to dry on sloping hedge, 
 The colleens did their broidery in the shade 
 Of leafy bush, or gown-skirt overhead, 
 Or wash'd and beetled by the shallow brook, 45 
 
 Or sung their ballads round the chimney-nook 
 To speed a winter night, when song and jest 
 And dance and talk and social game are best : 
 For daily life's material good enough 
 
 loy, a half-spade. beetling, thumping clothes with a truncheon (beetle). 
 
90 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 Such, trivial incidents and homely stuff. 50 
 
 Here also could those miracles befall 
 
 Of wedding, new-born babe, and funeral ; 
 
 Here, every thought and mood and fancy rise 
 
 From common earth, and soar to mystic skies. 
 
 This ancient Woman crown' d with snow-white hair, 
 With burden of a hundred years to bear, 56 
 
 The marvels and enchanting hopes of youth, 
 The toil of life, and disappointing truth, 
 Delights and cares that wives and mothers know, 
 The turns of wisdom, folly, joy, and woe, 60 
 
 The gradual change of all things, year by year, 
 While she to one Great Doorway still draws near, 
 All good and ill from, childhood to old-age, 
 For her have moved on this poor narrow stage. 
 A cottage built ; farm shifting hands ; big thorn 65 
 By midnight tempest from its place uptorn ; 
 The Church's rites, the stations, and the priests ; 
 Wakes, dances, faction-fights, and wedding-feasts ; 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 91 
 
 Good honest neighbours ; crafty wicked rogues ; 
 
 The wild youth limping back without his brogues; 70 
 
 The moneyed man returning from the West 
 
 With beard and golden watch-chains on his breast ; 
 
 He that enlisted ; she that went astray ; 
 
 Landlords and agents of a former day ; 
 
 The time of raging floods ; the twelve weeks' frost ; 75 
 
 Dear summers, and how much their oatmeal cost; 
 
 The Tullagh baby- daughters, baby-sons, 
 
 Grown up, grown grey ; a crowd of buried ones ; 
 
 These little bygones Oona would recall 
 
 In deep-voiced Gaelic, faltering now they fall, 80 
 
 Or on her faint lips murmur unaware ; 
 
 And many a time she lifts her eyes in pray'r, 
 
 And many an hour her placid spirit seems 
 
 Content as infant smiling through its dreams, 
 
 In solemn trance of body and of mind ; 85 
 
 As though, its business with the world resign'd, 
 
 The soul, withdrawn into a central calm, 
 
 brogues, rough shoes. 
 
92 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 Lay hush'd, in foretaste of immortal balm. 
 
 Secluded Ballytullagh, small, unknown, 
 
 Had place and life and history of its own. 90 
 
 Great Pigot's wrath, which brought unnumber'd woes 
 On Ballytullagh^ Muse of mine disclose ! 
 These upland people, paupers as they were, 
 Eetain'd almost an independent air, 
 Drawn from old times, for clearly could they trace 95 
 Long generations in the self- same place ; 
 Game-laws they scorn' d, and mearings on the moor, 
 And all new-fangled things could ill endure ; 
 Landlord and agent were their natural foes ; 
 Old custom for their simple guide they chose ; loo 
 All Pigot's plans appear'd to them unjust ; 
 They murmur' d ; and he only said, "You must!" 
 So, when he took away their mountain-run, 
 Enclosing half the heath for dog and gun, 
 And half to feed a stranger's herds and flocks, 105 
 A sturdy coarse disciple of John Knox, 
 
BALLYTULLAGH, 93 
 
 Sheep were soon missing, cattle night by night 
 
 Dock'd of their tails, hamstrung, or kill'd outright ; 
 
 The grazier too, at last, was waylaid, left 
 
 Of breath and blood and all but life bereft; no 
 
 And every witness questioned in the case 
 
 Mere falsehood swore, with calm unblushing face. 
 
 Pigot, and Pigot's bailiff, Paudheen Dhu, 
 Are still prepared for war, and like it too ; 
 Costs, fees, drop in, and profitable * takes,' 115 
 
 While every change the rental higher makes, 
 Clears petty claims aside, a vexing swarm, 
 And brings estates to new and better form. 
 Herein Sir Ulick, for himself and ward, 
 Was soon with Pigot's plans in full accord ; 120 
 One half this upland being Sir Ulick's ground, 
 One half engirt by nephew Bloonifield's bound. 
 A day was fix'd, arrears must then be paid ; 
 For more police a tax on all was laid, 
 
 Paudheen Dim, Little Black Paddy. 
 
94 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 New little barracks dropt in lonely spots 125 
 
 Where moping constables bewail'd their lots, 
 For now the Ribbon- Snake was known to glide 
 With secret venom round this country-side ; 
 Till Tullagh Hill became a place accurst, 
 And Bally tullagh stood for blot the worst 130 
 
 On Magisterial map. In two year's time 
 The tranquil nook was grown a nest of crime, 
 A den of were-wolves to a landlord's sight ; 
 And Pigot only ask'd for legal right. 
 
 Eich neighbouring farmers, noway ill-disposed, 135 
 Their cautious lips, if not their eyes, keep closed \ 
 They dread revenge, they dread the public shame 
 That clings and reeks around th' informer's name ; 
 For Ireland's long tradition, lingering yet, 
 Hath in two scales the Law, the People set. HO 
 Nay, Eibbonism keeps Landlordism in check : 
 They blame, they fear, but will not break its neck ; 
 To them belongs no sense of commonweal, 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 95 
 
 Authority as alien still they feel, 
 
 Euled, without partnership or wholesome pride, H5 
 
 By Government that governs from outside. 
 
 Their native Church, where peasant sons might rise, 
 
 The rulers first despoil' d, and now despise. 
 
 Trade, wealth, flow elsewhere, why they cannot 
 
 guess, 
 
 Save by constraint of ruling selfishness. 150 
 
 In their own narrow bound, the constant fight 
 For land goes on, with little ruth or right, 
 So far as they can see ; but every man 
 Takes all advantage that he safely can. 
 And so, as in the chamber of a mist 155 
 
 Moving as they move, sadly they persist, 
 And let the puzzling world be as it list. 
 
 Our Agent twice a year sent forth a show'r 
 Of Notices to Quit, and kept his power 
 Suspended in terrorem: now at length 160 
 
 Shall these atrocious tenants feel his strength. 
 
96 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 On two or three a swift eviction falls, 
 
 And then on Pigot Captain Starlight calls, 
 
 High on the gatepost nailing up his card. 
 
 But sturdy Pigot perseveres : 'twere hard 165 
 
 If rampant ruffianism could overfrown 
 
 All right and rule, and grossly beat them down ! 
 
 For desperate ill a desperate remedy. 
 
 Some suifer guiltless, that must always be ; 
 
 Ev'n in fair war the necessary blow 170 
 
 Sets distant hearts to weep ; but here the foe 
 
 From general sympathy his courage draws, 
 
 In that alone lies ambush' d from the laws. 
 
 A plain sharp lesson, read to all and each, 
 
 Is here the true and only way to teach. 175 
 
 Therefore let Ballytullagh's natives know, 
 
 In due and legal form, that out they go. 
 
 The priesthood, meanwhile, gave its usual aid, 
 Fulfill'd its wonted rounds and duly pray'd, 
 Condoled in general words, and censured crime, 180 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 97 
 
 
 
 And watch' d with care the movements of the time. 
 For this alone its mystic flag unfurl' d 
 The warfare of the Church against the World, 
 Each minor human interest has a claim 
 So far as mingling with the one great aim. 185 
 
 Imagination to the Church must cling, 
 A grand, accustom'd, venerable thing, 
 Which dignifies the chief events of life, 
 Securing Heav'n, avoiding vulgar strife ; 
 The more withdrawn from regions of dispute, 190 
 The more within its bounds made absolute ; 
 The citadel impregnably maintain' d, 
 So bit by bit may all the rest be gain'd. 
 Priests' characters are various priests are men ; 
 The system single to a bird's-eye ken ; 195 
 
 The method changing with the world's events, 
 And still providing needful instruments, 
 Which may, as men, do nothing, bad or good, 
 And their own work have seldom understood. 
 Blame if you must, but scorn not, over-bold, 200 
 H 
 
98 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 This Great Association, deep and old; 
 
 With, guidance for the wandering soul of man ; 
 
 Sure dogmas to believe, for those who can ; 
 
 One step, one blindfold step, and all goes right, 
 
 Your weakness guarded by celestial might. 205 
 
 This wide Kilmoylan Parish own'd the care 
 Hills, plain, and town of Father John Adair. 
 And Father Austin was his curate now, 
 A strong-built man of thirty, black of brow, 
 A silent man, with heavy jaws and chin, 210 
 
 Close-shaven, and a heavy soul within ; 
 You look, and guess him dangerous and deep, 
 Full of dark plans that make your flesh to creep, 
 A mine of mystic secrets ; but alas ! 
 The narrow bounds he never may outpass 215 
 
 Constrict him, and it eats his heart to know 
 How short a way his seeming power can go. 
 The tedious years will slowly wear him tame, 
 Or else some channel for the smouldering flame 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 99 
 
 Give altar, platform, journal, one more voice 220 
 To bid the foolish, furious mob rejoice, 
 But those above him, on sharp watch to stand, 
 And gather up the reins with cautious hand. 
 
 Adair the priest is bland and dignified ; 
 The curate Austin sullen, sidelong-eyed ; 225 
 
 Both do their office punctually and well, 
 And duly are revered; but, truth to tell, 
 The people, when their crimes they plan and plot, 
 Eegard the blessed clergy scarce one jot, 
 Some few, the leading scoundrels and the worst, 230 
 Would laugh at Pio Nono if he curs' d ; 
 From under conscience many slip aside, 
 Transgress, and somehow back to ' duty' glide ; 
 "While others meeting form with form (no more 
 Demanded), by interpretation's lore 235 
 
 And casuistry to equal Dens's own 
 Arrange what's best to be conceal'd and shown. 
 
 duty, observance of the rules of the Church, especially as to Confession. 
 H2 
 
100 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 Erom either side of that mysterious screen 
 
 Of plain fir-boards, in every chapel seen, 
 
 The usual whisper flows in much routine ; 240 
 
 It were not wise the suppliant soul to press 
 
 Which now, being there, is yielding, more or less ; 
 
 The Mother keeps on terms, can watch and wait, 
 
 Expecting full submission, soon or late, 
 
 And overlooking much, if, on the whole, 245 
 
 A man will not refuse to save his soul. 
 
 Life's daily details, counted great or small, 
 
 The Church absorbs and dominates them all, 
 
 Takes her own silent course with conscious might, 
 
 As earthly Judge Supreme of wrong and right, 250 
 
 To rule at last, in great and trivial things, 
 
 The Servants' Servant grown to King of Kings. 
 
 Hot grew men's passions : golden harvest came 
 And ended : hotter wax'd this evil flame, 
 Turning all wholesome thoughts to dread and hate. 
 Jack to his own fireside kept close of late, 256 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 101 
 
 But Neal was not afraid to cross their hill 
 
 To Ballytullagh, welcomed with good-will, 
 
 When nightfall shadow'd mountain, moor, and glen, 
 
 To chat the girls and argue with the men, 260 
 
 OB study in the Firebrand, Dublin- prirt: 
 
 Seditious rhetoric and murderous hint 
 
 Best scholar there, with skill and force he redd, 
 
 Explain' d, declaim' d, and on their flattery fed ; 
 
 Until at last, however unprepared, 265 
 
 To lead an army would the Youth have dared. 
 
 One dismal Sunday morning, such a day 
 As brings the message, 'summer's past away,' 
 Xeal with a sigh awoke ; nor when awake 
 Could free his bosom from a nameless ache, 270 
 
 The misery of his slumber; ill-content 
 Into the damp and sunless air he went. 
 The fowls, with stretching wings and eager screech, 
 Kun up in vain his bounty to beseech ; 
 He rests his arms upon a wall, to gaze 275 
 
102 CHAPTER FIVE: 
 
 Across the scene, not sad in other days, 
 
 But now, all round, with dark and doleful hues 
 
 A sombre sky the sluggish bog imbues ; 
 
 Black pit and pool, coarse tuft and quaking 
 
 marsh, : 
 
 Stretch u away to mountains chill and harsh 280 
 Under the lowering clouds ; while, near at hand, 
 The waters grey in trench and furrow stand. 
 Beneath those mountains dim Lough Braccaii lies, 
 A stream wherefrom to join the river hies, 
 Around their northern buttress bends a vale, 285 
 Where ocean's breath is blown in every gale, 
 And o'er the lake, far- seen from many a roa<J, 
 Is Bloomfield's long-untenanted abode. 
 To Lisnamoy from Tullagh, either side, 
 Eough hills descend, and mingle with the wide 290 
 Grove-tufted, house-and- village-sprinkled plain ; 
 And far from north to south a roof of rain 
 Hangs heavily this morning ; dark and dead 
 The dismal view, and deal's own heart like lead. 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 103 
 
 Call'd in to breakfast by a mother's care, 295 
 
 His sister and himself for Mass prepare ; 
 But Mary is not well, and doubts the weather ; 
 She and her husband bide at home together. 
 Tranquil, at Neal and Bridget's pausing feet 
 (Yet there is discontentment's chosen seat) 300 
 
 The little hamlet lies in sheltering bend, 
 Whereto with quicker steps they now descend ; 
 The sister carrying in a jug her boon 
 Of precious milk for sickly Eose Muldoon. 
 
 Inside the poorest hovel of the place, 305 
 
 The seal of death was on a young girl's face, 
 ' Far through in the decline,' beside whose bed 
 Her haggard father sat with drooping head ; 
 A neighbour woman, taking turn as nurse, 
 Upheld the sufferer when her cough grew worse. 310 
 "God save you, kindly. How is she to-day]" 
 Then Eosy's feeble voice was heard to say, 
 "Is that you, Bridget darlinT White and thin 
 
104 CHAPTER FIVE I 
 
 Her fingers rested clammily within 
 
 The other maiden's healthy palm ; death-bright 315 
 
 Her eyes met Bridget's, brimm'd with living light. 
 
 Bare grimy walls, a roof with many a flaw, 
 
 This corner strewn with turf, and that with straw, 
 
 A borrow'd bedstead, two old stools, no more, 
 
 To furnish round the damp uneven floor, 320 
 
 Three plates, three broken cups, an iron pot, 
 
 A batter' d black tin-porringer kept hot 
 
 Beside the gaping hearth, enough to choke 
 
 The unaccustom'd lungs with lazy smoke, 
 
 Such was the house : yet Eose with many a tear 325 
 
 Implored "0 not the Poorhouse, father dear!" 
 
 Quick with her broidery needle once was she, 
 
 The youngest and the busiest girl of three, 
 
 And now her father's last companion left ; 
 
 Long sickness had his home of every comfort reft. 330 
 
 Most of these peasants, (portion out the blame 
 Who can: on whom have such a rightful claim?) 
 
BALL YTULL AGH. 105 
 
 When all goes well, are one degree, no more, 
 From want; grim Hunger, always at the door, 334 
 With scarce a push comes in when aught goes wrong. 
 Why hold their land? Why marry? Why this throng 
 Of naked children? Would you heap the rates 
 By help beyond the loathsome Poorhouse gates ? 
 Why not take other work ? I tell you why : 
 There is no work : they needs must beg, or fly, 340 
 (0 happy chance !) or else lie down and die. 
 
 Soon from each doorway issue comrades, drest, 
 Both 'boys and girls/ in humble Sunday best, 
 And all together, laughing, down the lane 345 
 
 They pick their steps, a smoother road to gain ; 
 The trailing cloud has falling drops at edge, 
 But not enough to ask a sheltering hedge; 
 Discourse curtails the league to Lisnamoy, 
 And Bloom field's doings many a tongue employ, 
 Till near the Town they draw, and each cross-road 350 
 Gives friendly increase to the moving crowd. 
 
106 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 Old Father Flynn and his plain chapel walls 
 Are both no more ; from a great steeple calls 
 A bell that dins the rival church to shame, 
 And pseudo-gothic art asserts its claim 355 
 
 For pence and wonder in the un finish' d pile, 
 A dull burlesque on mediaeval style, 
 Stone nightmare, lumpish, set with eye and horn, 
 Of architectural indigestion born. 
 Roofless and ruin'd each old stately fane, 360 
 
 Or if a living voice in some remain, 
 The rich usurper's, now on Irish skies 
 These new-born proofs of ancient faith arise. 
 Adair, the zealous, careful parish-priest, 
 Is gentle, smooth, and mild to man and beast, 365 
 With comely presence and colloquial skill, 
 Of secret thoughts, and cool tenacious will ; 
 An Irish mitre is perhaps his hope ; 
 A proper man for cardinal or pope. 
 Outside the Church, all teaching is a crime, 370 
 All strength diabolism : he bides his time 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 107 
 
 To gain at last the public purse for schools 
 
 In strict accordancy with holy rules ; 
 
 The dark unlawful oath he blames no less 
 
 Than Pigot; all must One Great Power confess. 375 
 
 (What Power ? enough ! each wandering thought 
 
 suppress.) 
 
 He likes not England's rule, nor will he curse ; 
 The Church's children's ofttimes please him worse ; 
 Dark oaths and alien bonds are things of sin ; 
 Yet agitation doth concession win ; 380 
 
 He favours loyalty of much that kind 
 Which in a doubtful-temper'd dog you find, 
 That fawns and growls, obeys and shows his teeth, 
 Servility with danger underneath ; 
 For so must selfish England understand 385 
 
 That Ireland is not wholly in her hand, 
 Yet want that old excuse to knit a frown, 
 Cry * rebel!' and with fury smite her down. 
 Irish Eepublic 1 Irish Kingdom 1 none 
 Could less desire such thing beneath the sun 390 
 
108 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 Than Father John Adair : your ship may roll, 
 
 But will you run her straight on rock or shoal 
 
 For mere impatience? Of all men that live, 
 
 Such clerics are the most conservative ; 
 
 Perusing somewhat bitterly, no less, 395 
 
 Their map and daily roll-call of distress, 
 
 When scores around them, with the name of land, 
 
 Staring on hungry wife and children stand, 
 
 Unused by beggars' art to seek and shift, 
 
 And dreading from their only hold to drift. 400 
 
 To pay their clergy these are ill-prepared ; 
 
 The clergy's hard- won purse with them is often shared. ~ 
 
 Between the Latin prayers the small quire sings; 
 In silence deep a tinkling handbell rings ; 
 The little altar-boys in white array 405 
 
 Kneel round the altar; heads, black, fair, and grey, 
 Through all the crowded chapel, row on row, 
 Bow trembling and expectant : and with slow 
 And solemn gesture, mystic-robed, the Priest 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 109 
 
 Lifting the body and the blood of CHRIST, *-' 410 
 Hath once again the miracle reiiew'd 
 Of that old sacrifice on Holy Eood. 
 
 The Mass completed, all prepare to go ; 
 But hush ! the Father will not have it so. 
 He speaks; th' arrested crowd is turn'd to stone; 415 
 Familiar, but commanding, is his tone ; 
 The subject, Ribbonism ; and, word by word, 
 His fervour kindles, and his strength is stirr'd, 
 To caution, warn, iniplore, denounce, forbid. 
 " Think not," says he, " that what you plan is hid : 420 
 " The spy, the stagg, the traitor's at yonr heels!" 
 The straining throng its interest now reveals 
 By stirs and murmurs. "Picture, every one, 
 " Your husband, or your brother, or your son, 
 " March' d off to Carrick jail " here women's cries 425 
 And och ! och ! och ! through all the building rise. 
 " Whisht ! hold your tongues ! attend to what I say ! 
 
 _sto.rjg, informer. 
 
110 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 " My children, shun the dark and dangerous way. 
 " Have any stray 'd 1 let these, while yet there's 
 
 time, 
 
 " Withdraw. To swear a wicked oath's a crime ; 430 
 " To keep it, worse. The Church, to whom is given 
 " All power to bind and loose in Earth and Heaven, 
 " Declares such oath is void, of no effect. 
 " And mark me well, you sinners that neglect 
 " This warning, from God's altar I declare 435 
 " You are not Catholics; you cannot share 
 " The Holy Sacraments ; and he that dies 
 
 " In this condition " sobs and groans and cries 
 
 Ring through the chapel. 
 
 On their homeward way, 
 
 By reddening hedge, bare stubble, heather gay, 440 
 To distant hamlet, or thatch'd cottage lone, 
 Or through the street and byways of the town 
 (Some to the ruin'd abbey first repair, 
 Among its graves to breathe a special pray'r), 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. Ill 
 
 The scatter' d congregation closely sift 445 
 
 The reverend Father's lecture, and its drift. 
 
 Here are the sage remarks of Bill M'Cann, 
 
 Oracular and disputatious man, 
 
 Who, while he stitch'd and hammer'd at a shoe, 
 
 Would argue with the Pope, and 'sack' him too : 450 
 
 " Some things a Parish Priest is bound to say. 
 
 " The clergy, mind you, have their game to play ; 
 
 " And whilst they always take the people's part, 
 
 " Keep in with powers that be, no aisy art. 
 
 " Adair himself, Sir, has in private said 455 
 
 " That England gives us nothing but from dread ; 
 
 " And I myself heard Father Austin say, 
 
 " At Jack O'Keilly's door last market-day, 
 
 " l Eject them all ! It's bad, and far too bad! 
 
 " No wonder if they drive our people mad I" 460 
 
 And Curate Austin was at times too rash ; 
 
 He mourn'd the peasants 7 sufferings ; and the lash 
 
 Of Protestant contempt which made him sore, 
 
 sack, overcome in argument. 
 
112 CHAPTER FIVE : 
 
 Impatiently, being young and proud, he bore. 
 
 Perhaps he said it, and perhaps said more 465 
 
 In dingy room above the grocery shop, 
 
 ISTo senior's eye his rhetoric to stop, 
 
 With Curate Michael of the neighbouring parish, 
 
 (He sole familiar there, and he was rarish, 
 
 Church keeping always, like a ship at sea, 470 
 
 Its hands all busy), quaffing dreary tea. 
 
 At least our Crispin Critic did not fail 
 
 To clap the Curate in th' opposing scale ; 
 
 And though the elder folk and womankind 
 
 Found this day's lecture greatly to their mind, 475 
 
 Young men and politicians, not a few, 
 
 Discussed the words, and freely blamed them too. 
 
 Among the rest our Neal and Denis talk'd, 
 
 Then both to Tullagh Hill with Bridget walk'd ; 
 
 A flask of holy water carrying she, 480 
 
 And Neal two ounces of the best black tea, 
 
 "For Maureen. Though the miles were long and rough, 
 
 They seem'd to Denis short and smooth enough, 
 
BALLYTULLAGH. 113 
 
 NOT cared he when the rain at nightfall flow'd 
 And made a torrent of his downward road, 485 
 
 A stout young cartman, whistling bold and gay, 
 Well used to vanquish weather and the way. 
 Priests, Eibbonmen, and Landlords, what are 
 
 these? 
 
 At every turn a girl's bright face he sees ; 
 Eich poor the dead unmeaning phrases ! Love 490 
 Is monarch, earthly kings how far above ! 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 NEA.L AT THE LOUGH. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 
 
 So fared it with the folk behind the hill 1 
 
 From Doran's who did all his Agent's will, 
 
 And bade his son the same wise course pursue 
 
 But ]N"eal had thoughts his father never knew. 
 
 Old Jack is cautious, as a beast that knows 5 
 
 His little burrow watch'd by natural foes ; 
 
 But Xeal is rash, and some there are who bring 
 
 To Pigot's Bailiff stories with a sting, 
 
 To seat themselves, perchance, in Doran's place, 
 
 Or at the least enjoy the Viceroy's grace. 10 
 
118 CHAPTER SIX : 
 
 Private and patriotic griefs combined 
 To trouble and perplex deal's youthful mind. 
 At loose imagination's utmost pitcli 
 He rates the powers and graces of the rich, 
 Not life in Saturn more beyond his grasp ; 15 
 
 And pictures, till the thought is like a wasp, 
 The narrow toils and hardships of the poor, 
 Which no kind hand assists them to endure ; 
 For rich and poor, contrasted lots at best, 
 Here plainly mean oppressors and opprest. 20 
 
 With this, Old Ireland's glories, and her wrongs, 
 Her famous dead, her landscapes, and her songs, 
 Were fever' d fancy's beverage, things well known 
 Mingled with names and dreams confus'dly shown. 
 Poetic visions hover'd ; every page 25 
 
 For Erin's glory, every fireside sage 
 Whose shanahus a brooding audience drew, 
 Were pleasant to his soul, and gospel-true. 
 Since dumb her school-books upon Ireland's tale, 
 
 shano.lms, old stories. 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 119 
 
 Other and looser teaching must prevail, 30 
 
 And ardent boyhood drink its greedy fill 
 
 Of every wild-sprung legendary rill 
 
 And holy fount not in their virgin shade 
 
 So oft as lower channels, hot and clay'd. 
 
 But better thus, than dry and dusty live, 35 
 
 Devoid of all th' ancestral past can give, 
 
 And every human touch from hill and shore 
 
 Being blotted out, let memory claim no more 
 
 In this her ancient realm, than where, exiled, 
 
 The shepherd sadly tracks th' Australian wild. 40 
 
 By fits, moreover, hide them as we may, 
 It frets us all, this tedious every-day ; 
 A longing throb, a germ of bold romance, 
 Is deep in every bosom ; thirst for chance 
 And change, and rich adventure. Sadly brave 45 
 This sends us wandering on the dismal wave, 
 Or earth's remotest mountains ; this gives war 
 Its frenzied life, and stirs more crime by far 
 
120 CHAPTER SIX : 
 
 Than moralist or lawyer ever guess'd; 
 Soul-fermentation, anxious blind unrest, 
 That, sick of all the barren hours afford, 
 Will seize on dice, the tankard, or the sword ; 
 Or burst its limits in a headlong flood, 
 A mingling overflow of fire and mud, 
 To do a deed, of glory, or of shame, 55 
 
 As outward things take hue from vulgar fame. 
 To this unquiet, lawless, dangerous mood, 
 The present seems a prison-house ; all good 
 (Though mainly shadows from our fancies cast) 
 Being in the boundless future, boundless past; 60 
 Great things that have been, greater things to be ; 
 As if a man could, save in soul, be free. 
 
 Neal fain would join that secret brotherhood, 
 The rich men's terror; but his father shrewd, 
 Who saw the 'Mnety-eight, and blamed alike 65 
 The yeoman's pitch-cap, and the rebel's pike, 
 Whose earliest memories were of houses burning, 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 121 
 
 Dead men from branches hung, and slowly turning, 
 Jack oft admonish' d him ; and on her knees 
 Maureen implored her son from thoughts like these. 70 
 Yet still he hanker' d for the fruit forbid : 
 A thousand gliding scenes the curtain hid 
 Of plot profound, and daring enterprise ; 
 And he himself, acknowledged brave and wise, 
 Head of the mystic band was seen to rise. 75 
 
 Great, too, this charm of mystery; to swear, 
 Fling stealthy signs, enchant the common air. 
 When whispering schoolboys to a corner creep, 
 Bedim their shallow plans and call them deep, 
 Whilst uninitiates vainly pry and dodge, 80 
 
 Behold in bud the sacred cryptic lodge, 
 For evil or for good, a power confessed 
 In that old east, as in our modern west. 
 
 To check the tyrant Eich ; perchance to see 
 His injured country ' glorious, great, and free'; 85 
 
122 CHAPTER SIX : 
 
 To help 'the patriot cause 7 with heart and hand; 
 So Neal aspired; and all was vague and grand. 
 
 Not always prisoner by the dull bog-side 
 Was he ; not always heavy skies abide. 
 Among those mountain-skirts a league away 90 
 
 Lough Braccan spread, with many a silver bay 
 And islet green; a dark cliff, tall and bold, 
 Half-muffled in its cloak of ivy old, 
 Bastion'd the southern brink, beside a glen 
 Where birch and hazel hid the badger's den, 95 
 And through the moist ferns and firm hollies play'd 
 A rapid rivulet from light to shade. 
 Above the glen, and wood, and cliff, was seen, 
 Majestically simple and serene, 
 
 Like some great soul above the various crowd, 100 
 A purple mountain-top, at times in cloud 
 .Or mist, as in celestial veils of thought, 
 Abstracted heavenward. 
 
 Creeps a little boat, 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 123 
 
 Along the path of evening's golden smile, 
 
 To where the shattered castle on its isle 105 
 
 May seeni a broad- wing' d ship ; two massive tow'rs 
 
 Lifted against the yellow light that pours 
 
 On half the lough and sloping fields, half-laid, 
 
 Creek, bush, and crag, within the mountain shade. 
 
 Dark bramble-leaves now show a curling fringe, no 
 
 And sallies wear the first autumnal tinge ; 
 
 With speckled plumes high wave the crowded reeds, 
 
 Amongst whose watery stems the mallard feeds. 
 
 Full many a time, on deep Lough Braccan's wave, 
 
 Has Neal inveigled from its liquid cave, 115 
 
 With youthful comrades, in a fragile keel, 
 
 The pike, the perch, the trout, the twisting eel ; 
 
 Alone, and musingly, he glides to-day, 
 
 Has fish'd an hour in vain, and coil'd his line away. 
 
 The coble beach' d at lonely Innisree 120 
 
 High at a rifted window, musing free 
 
 * sallies,' or sallows (salix.) 
 
124 CHAPTER SIX I 
 
 On ancient sky and water, freshly fair, 
 
 A poet's or a painter's rich despair, 
 
 And on the fame of olden times, which threw 
 
 Across the firm world a transcendent hue, 125 
 
 No more with petty toils and cares dismay 'd, 
 
 The yonng man watch'd that glowing landscape fade. 
 
 South-westward, where th' autumnal sun went down, 
 A lake-reflected headland heaved its crown 
 Of darkling trees, and, knew you where to search, 130 
 The hoary ruins of a little church, 
 That mingled there with human skulls and bones 
 The mossy downfall of its sculptured stones ; 
 While, like one poem scatheless and sublime 
 Amid the vast forgetfulness of Time, 135 
 
 Slender and tall a Hound Tower's pointed crest 
 Rose dimly black against the gorgeous west. 
 
 Methinks I stand with Neal, and, wide-eyed, gaze 
 Far through the wondrous world of former days. 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 125 
 
 In clear-obscure extends th' Ogygian Isle, 140 
 
 Deep-forested, but lit with many a smile 
 
 Of lake and river, and empurpling air, 
 
 The mantle of its mountains; wolf and bear 
 
 In rocky cave and wild-wood shadow skulk ; 
 
 Free rove the stag and heavy-headed elk ; 145 
 
 Broad plain and valley spread their brilliant green, 
 
 With pathless fen and sombre moor between; 
 
 The changeful waste of ocean circling all ; 
 
 Whose tides in frith and channel flow and fall 
 
 To dance the wild man's curragh, till, some day, 150 
 
 Poops of strange wing are gliding up his bay ; 
 
 An era, whilst he stares with dread and wonder, 
 
 Closes its portals, without crash of thunder ; 
 
 Portals to us (yet sun and moon were bright) 
 
 That seem the barriers of a realm of night. 155 
 
 At history's dawn, the sons of the great east, 
 
 Gigantic, spectral, doubtful, move in mist, 
 
 Old Afric, Scythic, or Phenician fames, 
 
 ' curragh,' or coracle, a little boat of hide stretched on wicker. 
 
126 CHAPTER SIX : 
 
 Nemidians and Fomorians, dusky names, 
 
 Firbolgs, Danaans, and Milesians proud, 160 
 
 Fair shadowy queens, like floating forms of cloud, 
 
 With, rugged Kings, Druids white-raiinented, 
 
 A thin gold crescent on each awful head, 
 
 Sage Brehons, Bards, and Minstrels ; and a roar 
 
 Of battles, like a sea on distant shore, 165 
 
 Sounds from the mighty hollow of the Past. 
 
 Let the huge stones be desolate ; the last 
 Man's blood smoke up to Crom. That solemn night 
 Of Beltane, when King Layorie's hand must light 
 The mystic blaze on Tara first of all, 170 
 
 Behold on distant hill, at twilight-fall, 
 A fire, for which the penalty is death. 
 Whilst frowning Druids pour prophetic breath, 
 Spears bring the malefactor ; on whose face 
 Of heavenly calm, doth every prince in place 175 
 Mute-wondering stare, until with awe-struck sense 
 
 1 Crom/ a pagan deity. 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 127 
 
 Horc, son of Dego, bows in reverence 
 
 Before SAINT PATRICK. Slave, lie herded swine 
 
 In Dalaradia once ; the will divine, 
 
 By messengers at midnight when he dream' d, 180 
 
 Bade him return to Ireland, and it seem'd, 
 
 At Tours within Saint Martin's cloister-wall, 
 
 He heard the voices of the Irish call, 
 
 1 We pray thee come to us ! ' 
 
 loving, mild, 
 
 And docile people ! as to parent, child, 185 
 
 To Patrick, Bridget, fearless Columbkill, 
 Knelt all the land. * Their bones one grave do fill.' 
 A luckless land at length ; a grave much wrong'd. 
 Meantime, for learning and religion throng' d 
 All Europe to the furthest western isle, 190 
 
 With many a studious and monastic pile 
 Thick-sown, and many a blessed man she sent 
 To bring the souls of people nourishment 
 In kingdoms far away, 
 
 But ships came forth 
 
128 CHAPTER six : 
 
 For plunder, from the pagan pirate North, 195 
 
 Who tore this isle ; and these were not the worst. 
 Dermot MacMurrough, be thy name accurst ! 
 And, wert thou Pope (as Pope thou wast indeed), 
 Thine, Nicholas Breakspeare ! who to Norman greed 
 Sold what to neither could belong of right. 200 
 Strongbow, De Courcy, many a mail-clad knight, 
 Drive in the wedge of steel with stalwart blows ; 
 Vainly the saffron-shirted kerns oppose 
 With axe and sling, their feet and bosoms bare, 
 No helmet but their matted glibbs of hair; 205 
 
 Vain the swift javelin, vain the furious rush 
 On bareback' d horses from deep woods, to crush 
 The Sassenach; slow lives of plotting pain, 
 Outbursts of fever' d frenzy, all are vain. 
 King Brian he is dead, who smote the Dane. 210 
 
 Alas, no bond the troubled chieftains know 
 To weld their strength against the common foe ; 
 
 'glibb/ the natural hair grown in a thick mass. 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 129 
 
 Each power in turn promoted and suppressed, 
 
 Through Desmond, Thomond, Brefney, and the West. 
 
 Edwards and Henrys waste the land by turns, 215 
 
 The bloated king her ancient worship spurns, 
 
 Entrenched within the fortress of her frill 
 
 His sour-faced daughter works her shrewish will, 
 
 Cajoles or strikes, unpitying, to destroy 
 
 Fraternal patriotism, her worst annoy. 220 
 
 Ultonia last its undulating fields 
 
 And dark-bine mountains to th' invader yields; 
 
 From far Tyrconnell, like a northern gale, 
 
 O'Donnell sweeps upon the English Pale ; 
 
 O'Neill defends the passes of Tyrone ; 225 
 
 Last of the princes, these are also gone. 
 
 Let pedant James now parh the plunder' d lands, 
 And chaffer out his bag of Bloody Hands ; 
 Let slippery Charles depute his squire, Black Tom ; 
 The blacker 'Curse of Cromwell' spread its gloom; 230 
 From Orange William sneaking Shemus fly, 
 
130 CHAPTER SIX : 
 
 And brave men for a coward vainly die ; 
 
 Where slaughter ends let treachery begin ; 
 
 Ireland must lose, no matter who may win ; 
 
 Derided in her torture and her tears, 235 
 
 In sullen slavery dragging hopeless years ; 
 
 Of social ties mere cruel scourges made ; 
 
 A ban upon her learning and her trade ; 
 
 Possessions, rights, religion, language, torn 
 
 And crush' d by Law a word to hate and scorn 240 
 
 For those taught English in oppression's school, 
 
 And reading good words by the witches' rule ; 
 
 A name for powerful wrong, with no appeal ; 
 
 Since law at every moment made them feel 
 
 To live an Irishman on Irish ground 245 
 
 The sole unpardonable crime was found. 
 
 Island of bitter memories, thickly sown 
 From winding Boyne to Limerick's treaty-stone, 
 Bare Connaught Hills to Dublin Castle wall, 
 Green Wexford to the glens of Donegal, 250 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 131 
 
 Through sad six hundred years of hostile sway, 
 From Strongbow fierce to cunning Castlereagh ! 
 These will not melt and vanish in a day. 
 These can yet sting the patriot thoughts which turn 
 To Erin's past, and bid them weep and burn. 255 
 
 The dusk has gather'd, vapour chill unfurls 
 Down all the mountain-height, and creeps and curls 
 Along the glens and edges of the lake, 
 Like slumber on a mind still half-awake; 
 While round the small and broken winding-stair 260 
 In the wall's thickness, Neal descends with care, 
 And stooping through the pointed arch below 
 Is strongly seized by some expectant foe. 
 He struggles hard, his elbows pinion'd tight, 
 Bursts up, and writhes, and strains with all his 
 might ; 265 
 
 Till now the hat from his assailant flies, 
 And shows Tim Nulty's merry-twinkling eyes, 
 A Kibbonman of note, who oft has fill'd 
 K 2 
 
132 CHAPTER six : 
 
 The stripling's ear with flattery not unskill'd. 
 
 " Yourself, man ! searchin'. for the pot o' gold 1 ? 270 
 
 " By japers, you're no aisy bird to hold ! 
 
 "Tis you, Nail, not a spy, I'm glad to see it. 
 
 " Luck's in our meeting : now or never be it ! " 
 
 Tall, in the shadow of the ruin, stood 
 A silent Stranger, draped in cloak and hood. 275 
 "Sir, I have heard of you!" he took deal's hand; 
 " We count on you to join our patriot band." 
 "I'll join, sir!" "On the minute ? " " Yes ! " 
 
 "Well said! 
 
 " Doran, there's powerful interest at our head, 
 " As by degrees you'll know, but that must wait. 280 
 " I'm from the Grand Lodge, County Delegate. 
 "Hats off! grip tight the Gospels ! now attend, 
 " And word for word say with me, to the end : 
 
 " ' I swear by the Most Holy Trinity 
 
 lii A true and faithful Eibbonman to be; 285 
 
NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 133 
 
 " ' To do niy best to strike off England's chain ; 
 
 " ' The poor against the rich man to sustain ; 
 
 " l Ever to help and never to betray 
 
 " ' My brethren ; my superiors to obey 
 
 "'At all times, without question or delay, 290 
 
 " ' Pity or mercy. If I break this oath, 
 
 " ' Destruction seize my soul and body both ! 
 
 " ' Amen, by kiss ! Amen, by cross ! Amen ! ' 
 
 " Here is your card. To-morrow night at ten. 
 " The place Shawn Eoe's. King Malachi the pass." 295 
 "Now come," the other says, "one christnin' glass. 
 " Brother, your noble health ! You've done what's 
 
 right. 
 
 "There's more to tell you, Neal, to-morrow night. 
 "We'll then admit, in form and order due ; 
 "And proud the boys will be, at sight of you." 300 
 Both boats lay dark where ivy-trailers hid 
 A little cavern, whence the coble slid 
 Into the dim expansive lough, and broke 
 
134 CHAPTER SIX. 
 
 Its hush'd and starry dream with rippling stroke, 
 No other sound between the earth and sky 305 
 
 Save from the misty shore, the plover's cry. 
 
 But shortening days that flit on silent wing 
 Near and more near the fate of Tullagh bring. 
 Has Pigot shown relentment ? " Out they go ! " 
 Says Pigot, and will keep his tryst they know. 310 
 When Bloomfield sought to move his uncle's mind, 
 'Twas vainly : " Pigot's views are right, you'll find. 
 "Pigot has vast experience thirty years'. 
 "No wise man with his agent interferes 
 "At such a crisis; strengthen well his hands, 315 
 "Good sense advises, honour too demands. 
 "Your trusty general, with the foe in face, 
 "Would you, on little cause or none, disgrace? 
 " Ihis is no time" "But/oe," said Laurence, " why?" 
 "Such is the world," Sir Ulick made reply, 320 
 "At least in Ireland here: I wish I knew 
 " Much less about it : how I envy you ! " 
 
LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IEELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 TENANTS AT WILL. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMPIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 VII. 
 
 TENANTS AT WILL. 
 
 THE steady world pursued its common way 
 Yet some good luck, before that evil day, 
 Might intercept the hand outstretch'd to tear 
 Those cottage roofs, and leave their hearthstones bare. 
 If coming ills be distant half a mile, 5 
 
 Poor Paddy can forget, and gaily smile, 
 From carelessness, or fatalism, or sense 
 Profound of overruling Providence. 
 
 But Pigot's ruddy cheek and sharp black eye 
 Display no softer hint, as months go by ; 10 
 
138 CHAPTER SEVEN: 
 
 And now the trembling tenants whisper sad, 
 " Queen of Heaven ! and would he be so bad ? 
 " And will they send us begging, young and old, 
 " And seize the fields, and make the firesides cold, 
 " Where, God's our witness, poor enough we live, 15 
 " But still content with what the Lord may give, 
 " Our hearts with love and veneration tied 
 " To where our fathers' fathers lived and died?' 7 
 Or else more fiercely, " 'Tis our native land ! 
 " But cruel tyrants have us at command, 20 
 
 " To let us grow, if best it serves their needs, 
 " Or tear and cast us forth like poison-weeds. 
 " The law's their implement : who make the law ? 
 " The rich men for the rich, and leave no flaw. 
 " And what's the poor man's part ? to drudge and 
 sweat 25 
 
 " For food and shelter. Does the poor man get 
 " Bare food and shelter ? praties, cabin, rags. 
 u Now fling him out to famish or he drags 
 " His weary body to that gaol and grave 
 
TENANTS AT WILL. 139 
 
 " The Poorhouse ; he must live and die a slave, 30 
 " Toil; starve, and suffer, creep, and crouch, and crawl, 
 " Be cursed and trampled, and submit to all, 
 " Without one murmur, one rebellious trace 
 " Among the marks of misery on his face !" 
 
 Each tongue around old Oona feared to tell 35 
 The great misfortune, worse than yet befell 
 In all her length of journey. When they tried 
 To move her "Would they take her life ?" she cried ; 
 At which it rested, hap what happen might. 
 And scarcely one, in truth, prepared for flight ; 40 
 Contempt of prudence, anger, and despair, 
 And vis inertice, kept them as they were ; 
 " God and the world will see it," so they said, 
 " Let all the wrong be on the doer's head ! " 
 
 In early morning twilight, raw and chill, 45 
 
 Damp vapours brooding on the barren hill, 
 Through miles of mire in steady grave array 
 
140 CHAPTER SEVEN : 
 
 Threescore well-arm' d police pursue their way ; 
 
 Each tall and bearded man a rifle swings, 
 
 And under each greatcoat a bayonet clings ; 50 
 
 The Sheriff on his sturdy cob astride 
 
 Talks with the Chief, who marches by their side, 
 
 And, creeping on behind them, Paudeen Dhu 
 
 Pretends his needful duty much to rue. 
 
 Six big-boned labourers, clad in common frieze, 55 
 
 Walk in the midst, the Sheriff's staunch allies ; 
 
 Six crow-bar-men, from distant county brought, 
 
 Orange, and glorying in their work, 'tis thought, 
 
 But wrongly, churls of Catholics are they, 
 
 And merely hired at half-a-crown a day. 60 
 
 The Hamlet clustering on its hill is seen, 
 A score of petty homesteads, dark and mean \ 
 Poor always, not despairing until now; 
 Long used, as well as poverty knows how, 
 With life's oppressive trifles to contend. 65 
 
 This day will bring its history to an end. 
 
TENANTS AT WILL. 141 
 
 Moveless and grim against the cottage walls 
 Le"an a few silent men : but some one calls 
 Far off; and then a child ' without a stitch' 
 Runs out of doors, flies back with piercing screech, 70 
 And soon from house to house is heard the cry 
 Of female sorrow, swelling loud and high, 
 Which makes the men blaspheme between their teeth. 
 Meanwhile, o'er fence and watery field beneath, 
 
 The little army moves through drizzling rain ; 75 
 
 
 A l Crowbar ' leads the Sheriff's nag ; the lane 
 
 Is eiiter'd, and their plashing tramp draws near; 
 One instant, outcry holds its breath to hear ; 
 " Halt ! " at the doors they form in double line, 
 And ranks of polish' d rifles wetly shine. 80 
 
 The Sheriff's painful duty must be done ; 
 
 He begs for quiet and the work's begun. 
 
 The strong stand ready ; now appear the rest, 
 
 Girl, matron, grand sire, baby on the breast, 
 
 And Bosy's thin face on a pallet borne ; 85 
 
142 CHAPTER SEVEN I 
 
 A motley concourse, feeble and forlorn. 
 
 One old man, tears upon his wrinkled cheek, 
 
 Stands trembling on a threshold, tries to speak, 
 
 But, in defect of any word for this, 
 
 Mutely upon the doorpost prints a kiss, 90 
 
 Then passes out for ever. Through the crowd 
 
 The children run be wilder' d, wailing loud; 
 
 Where needed most, the men combine their aid ; 
 
 And, last of all, is Oona forth convey' d, 
 
 Reclined in her accustom' d strawen chair, 95 
 
 Her aged eyelids closed, her thick white hair 
 
 Escaping from her cap ; she feels the chill, 
 
 Looks round and murmurs, then again is still. 
 
 Now bring the remnants of each household fire ; 
 On the wet ground the hissing coals expire ; 100 
 And Paudeen Dhu, with meekly dismal face, 
 Receives the full possession of the place. 
 
 Whereon the Sheriff, " We have legal hold. 
 
TENANTS AT WILL. 143 
 
 " Eeturn to shelter with the sick and old. 
 
 " Time shall be given ; and there are carts below 105 
 
 " If any to the workhouse choose to go." 
 
 A young man makes him answer, grave and clear, 
 
 " We're thankful to you ! but there's no one here 
 
 " Going back into them houses : do your part. 
 
 " Nor we won't trouble Pigot's horse and cart/' no 
 
 At which name, rushing into th' open space, 
 
 A woman flings her hood from off her face, 
 
 Falls on her knees upon the miry ground, 
 
 Lifts hands and eyes, and voice of thrilling sound, 
 
 "Vengeance of God Almighty fall on you, 115 
 
 " James Pigot ! may the poor man's curse pursue, 
 
 " The widow's and the orphan's curse, I pray, 
 
 " Hang heavy round you at your dying day ! " 
 
 Breathless and fix'd one moment stands the crowd 
 
 To hear this malediction fierce and loud. 120 
 
 Meanwhile (our neighbour Neal is busy there) 
 On steady poles be lifted Oona's chair, 
 
144 CHAPTER SEVEN : 
 
 Well-heap'd with, borrow'd mantles ; gently bear 
 The sick girl in her litter, bed and all; 
 Whilst others hug the children weak and small 125 
 In careful arms, or hoist them pick-a-back \ 
 And, 'midst the unrelenting clink and thwack 
 Of iron bar on stone, let creep away 
 The sad procession from that hill-side gray, 
 Through the slow-falling rain. In three hours 
 more 130 
 
 You find, where Ballytullagh stood before, 
 Mere shatter' d walls, and doors with useless latch, 
 And firesides buried under fallen thatch. 
 
 The Doran household, shadow'd with dismay, 
 Can still perform a pious part to-day ; 135 
 
 Jack Doran' s mother, now deceased a year, 
 Was Oona's cousin ; Oona's welcomed here ; 
 NOT will her grandson in his duty fail, 
 Though now across the sea compell'd to sail. 
 
TENANTS AT WILL. 145 
 
 " Man, woman, child, they're gone, dear ! " Mary 
 said, 140 
 
 " And here we sit and mourn them like the dead. 
 " It falls like death, as cowld upon the heart, 
 " For kin and kindly neighbours thus to part. 
 " There won't be one face left we used to know, 
 " Not one companion out of long-ago. 145 
 
 " The good ouT people ! why should this befall ? 
 " Och, murneen boys and girls, where are ye aU ? 
 " Through the wide world they're scatter'd, farcer 
 
 gair I 
 
 " Sarch for them, barrin' Ireland, everywhere. 
 " Sure Ireland once was blest, and was she curst 150 
 " Since then? or what has made her last and 
 
 worst ? 
 
 " The Heretics that robb'd the Church, some say : 
 " But glory be to God, aniin, this day !" 
 For gentle Maureen seldom said so much ; 
 And this was theme too perilous to touch. 155 
 
 murneen, darling. farcer gain bitter grief! 
 
 L 
 
146 CHAPTER SEVEN : 
 
 So was the little Hamlet's crowd at last 
 Whirl' d off like leaves before misfortune's blast. 
 Some from a seaport, and their lot the best, 
 On Neptune's Highway followed, east or west, 
 The myriads of their kindred gone before, 160 
 If Irish still, yet Ireland's nevermore. 
 Some wander'd through the country; some went 
 
 down, 
 
 Like Rose, to back-lane lodgings in the Town ; 
 And some to those high-built repulsive walls 
 Where Doctor Larmonr paid his daily calls. 165 
 
 Dispensary and workhouse own'd his care, 
 An Antrim Presbyterian, short and spare, 
 Quick, busy, cool ; with lancet or with pill 
 Acknowledged first in ^Esculapian skill. 
 Catholicism he openly despised, 170 
 
 But ailing Papists cleverly advised, 
 And men of every creed his talent prized. 
 Him Bloomfield knew. For Bally tullagh's fall 
 The Doctor's pity, Bloomfield found, was small. 
 
TENANTS AT WILL. 147 
 
 " They lived in filth, perpetual sickness bred, 175 
 " Lazy of hand, and obstinate of head ; 
 " Gave rent too much for all they really made, 
 " Being well-nigh savage in the farming trade, 
 " Too small for what they wasted and o'erran. 
 " At risk of bloodshed let another plan 180 
 
 " Improvement, lawful owner though he be, 
 l( Mere owner ! what the devil right has he 1 
 " Poorer, of course, they could not fail to grow ; 
 " But humble, willing to be taught ? no ! 
 " See vice and crime and folly now array'd 185 
 
 " Conspirators, in ragged masquerade ; 
 " Erin-go-bragh ! yet, scoundrels ten times worse, 
 " And more deserving the true patriot's curse 
 " Than these poor scurvy rogues, are some who claim 
 " With public voice the patriot's lofty name ; 190 
 " That mimber, soaring on the rabble's yell ; 
 " This journalist, his rotten page to sell ; 
 " Or briefless barrister, whose frantic word, 
 " A cry for victuals, must and will be heard. 
 L 2 
 
1 48 CHAPTER SEVEN : 
 
 " Ireland, forsooth, 'a, nation once again!' 195 
 " If Ireland was a nation, tell me when? 
 " For since the civil modern world began 
 " What's Irish History ? Walks the child a man ? 
 " Or strays he still perverse and immature, 
 " Weak, slothful, rash, irresolute, unsure; 200 
 
 " Right bonds rejecting, hugging rusty chains, 
 " Nor one clear view, nor one bold step attains ? 
 " What Ireland might have been, if wisely school' d, 
 " I know not : far too briefly Cromwell ruled. 
 " We see the melting of a barbarous race, 205 
 
 " Sad sight, I grant, sir, from their ancient place ; 
 " But always, everywhere, it has been so ; 
 " Red-Indians, Bushmen, Irish, they must go !" 
 
 The Doctor harshly spoke; yet did his best 
 To cure the sick, and comfort the distressed ; 210 
 And tended Rosy kindly, to whose aid 
 A rill of Bloomfield's bounty he convey'd. 
 
TENANTS AT WILL. 149 
 
 Those, too, with less to spare, and those with 
 
 nought, 
 
 To this poor girl their friendly succour brought. 
 Here in a neighbouring house, but whence no noise 215 
 Can reach her, some well-wishing girls and boys 
 Have clubb'd their moneys, raffling for a shawl ; 
 Of Eose's other shreds the pawn has all. 
 Three simple pence entitle to a throw ; 
 Down on a slate the names and numbers go ; 220 
 The wooden cubes mark'd with a red-hot wire 
 (No better dice or dice-box they require) 
 In old tin porringer flung rattling fast, 
 A warmer interest watches every cast ; 
 " Follie' your han' !" "You're lucky, throw for 
 
 me !" 225 
 
 " More power !" "Tim Eyan has it fifty-three !" 
 Then silver, copper, mix'd, a bulky pound 
 Makes haste to Eosy, feebly turning round 
 With grateful smile ; and back the shawl comes too, 
 The winner swearing 'twas for her he threw. 230 
 
150 CHAPTER SEVEN : 
 
 Meanwhile, no raffle ends without a dance : 
 My boy, choose out a partner, and advance 
 To ask the fiddler for her favourite tune, 
 Slipping into his hand the penny boon ; 
 Polthoge, or Washerwoman, let him play, 235 
 
 Heart of my Kitty, or The Fields in May ; 
 She makes a pretty quibbling with her toes, 
 But he his agile power untiring shows 
 In many a double-shuffle, stamp and fling ; 
 Nor slack in praises are the crowded ring, 240 
 " Success to both ! my bouT you wor' ! ay that ! 
 "Don't spare him, Peggy dear! Hurroo for Pat!" 
 They meet, change sides, the rapid steps renew, 
 A second wind inspires the fiddler too, 
 Till Colleen Dhas, well-flush' d in cheek, but grave 245 
 As courtly dames in minuets behave, 
 Signals ; when hand in hand the two give o'er, 
 Bow to the music, and resign the floor ; 
 Where other pairs achieve with equal zeal 
 The busy jig, or winding four-hand reel. 250 
 
TENANTS AT WILL. 151 
 
 The dance-house, all the better for being bare, 
 Its broken roof admitting fresher air, 
 This poor and merry company befits ; 
 With jest and mimicry and clash of wits 
 Con ' Pastime' keeps them, laughing long and loud; 255 
 Sweethearts draw close together in the crowd ; 
 Gay groups of damsels, gathered near the door 
 Banter to death each awkward bachelor, 
 And dart some flying jokes at Denis Coyle, 
 Whose travell'd wit such weapons well can foil, 260 
 For, do their utmost, Denis will not dance, 
 And slips away upon the earliest chance. 
 
 But all is not amusement. Near to these 
 Stands one at watch; and ever when he sees 
 A man expected, pushing through the line, 265 
 
 By look or touch conveys a rapid sign. 
 As Denis goes, the grip salutes his hand 
 Which greets a Brother of the Midnight Band ; 
 And soon the whisper none may safely slight 
 
152 CHAPTER SEVEN : TENANTS AT WILL. 
 
 Commands his presence on to-morrow night 270 
 
 With hour and place; for Neal and Denis hoth 
 Have sworn the Bibbonman's unlawful oath. 
 
 The dark and lonely street young Denis treads, 
 With mind confused, and fill'd with shapeless dreads ; 
 Where Doctor Larniour's lamp shoots forth a ray, 275 
 He shuns the light, and slinks across the way. 
 
LAUBENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IEELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER Yin. 
 A RIB BON LODGE. 
 
LAUEENCE BLOOMPIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A RIBBON LODGE. 
 
 AT Lisnamoy, my friendly reader, deign 1 
 
 To pick your steps along a narrow lane, 
 
 And stop at Matthew Gorman's dirty door. 
 
 A sow is lodger upon Mat's ground-floor, 
 
 And grunts a welcome ; follow me with care, 5 
 
 I'll guide you up the dark, the shaky stair ; 
 
 And here is Matthew's schoolroom, rather say 
 
 It was, for now its glory's past away, 
 
 Though still a night-school struggles to exist 
 
 For boys of larger growth, a bearded list. 10 
 
 Not merely copybooks are written there, 
 
156 CHAPTER EIGHT: 
 
 Noi much for reading do the students care, 
 Except the Firebrand, redd aloud by Mat, 
 A lazy, pompous man, unclean, and fat; 
 And oft goes round, when learning proves too dry, 15 
 A jar that never met the ganger's eye. 
 Big is the hearth, the fire is mostly small, 
 Rough desks and benches range along the wall, 
 The panes are patch' d with inky leaf and clout ; 
 A useful though unsavoury pile without 20 
 
 May help again, as it has help'd before, 
 Eetreat more quick and private than by door, 
 'Mong filthy narrow yards and tumbling walls. 
 
 To Matthew's house to-night, as twilight falls, 
 With passwords, from the lane, and grip of hand, 25 
 By ones and twos arrive a secret band, 
 " Where are you from?" " South-aist." "The night 
 
 is dark." 
 
 '' A star will shortly rise." "You know the mark?" 
 " Milesius must be ready." "What's your sign?" 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 157 
 
 " Lamhdearg an ouyliter !" " Tubbermore is mine : 3d 
 " Pass, brother." Past the sow, and up the stair, 
 They grope through darkness into ruddy glare, 
 The two old grimy windows, looking back, 
 Being curtain'd for the nonce with plies of sack. 
 The Lodge is filling fast ; in various groups 35 
 
 Lounge Captain Starlight's famed and dreadful troops ; 
 Two score in count at last, the most of whom 
 Are young and brainless, fill the stifling room. 
 
 Beside the door, a knot of ' labourin'-boys,' 
 The farmer these, and those the squire employs, 40 
 Yawn wide and mope, till whiskey in their brain 
 Kindle its foolish fire, with flashes vain 
 Wrapt in dull smoke, to' send them blundering back 
 O'er field and fence upon their homeward track. 
 From outhouse loft, at need, or barnfloor bed, 45 
 The clumsy body and the stupid head 
 * 
 
 Lamh dearg an cwghter, the red hand uppermost. 
 Tubbermore, the Great Well (name of a place). 
 
] 58 CHAPTER EIGHT : 
 
 Escape, with matchbox, or with stick in fist, 
 
 To bum or batter as their leaders list, 
 
 With knife to maini the cows, or loaded gun 
 
 To rake a peaceful window, and to run. 50 
 
 A broken tradesman's aspect of disgrace, 
 Torn coat, big eyes, and pale unwashen face, 
 Shrink in a corner. Bold sits Bill McCann, 
 The keen, small, withered, disputatious man, 
 With spectacles on nose, and quid in jaw, 55 
 
 Keady to argue histh'ry, po'thry. law, 
 Eeligion, science, or the latest news. 
 Bill earns his frugal crust by making shoes ; 
 Debate his recreation, most of all 
 With 'Lordy' Mullan glad to try a fall. 60 
 
 But now to Dublin Firebrand Bill gives heed, 
 As Mat in solemn voice goes on to read : 
 " Who plotted for a famine 1 who was gay 
 " To see the Celtic millions melt away, 
 
 ' Lordy,' a hunchback. 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 159 
 
 " Foodless and fever'd, while their native soil 65 
 
 " Outpour' d the wealthy produce of their toil ? 
 
 " Answer, Lord Russell, answer ! King of Heav'n ! 
 
 " Must Ireland's flocks and herds be always driv'n 
 
 " To glut the maw of England ? must our corn 
 
 " To her huge bursting granaries be borne 1 70 
 
 " And each hard penny saved from Paddy's rent 
 
 " On Indian corn and English ships be spent ? 
 
 " While year by year the London Rulers count 
 
 " So many less in Ireland's gross amount 
 
 " Of human beings, on the other score, 75 
 
 " So many thousand sheep and oxen more. 
 
 " England has no religion, has no heart ; 
 
 " By force and fraud she plays a tyrant part ; 
 
 " Fat in the purse, and torpid in the brain, 
 
 ' Her prayer is pudding, and her God is gain ; 80 
 
 "By all mistrusted, and abhorr'd by all ; 
 
 " In power unblest unpitied be her fall!" 
 
 Some harken'd well ; but others, growling round, 
 
 The voice of Mat in rising murmurs drown'd. 
 
160 CHAPTER EIGHT: 
 
 " It's grand, by japers ! " " But the night gets late/' 85 
 " Ts it for Coyle and Doran we must wait?" 
 " I dunno', Barney ; be du Jmst ! see yonder 
 " What can thim two be talkin' of, I wonder." 
 Captain and Delegate, in muttering speech, 
 With cool but searching glances, each at each, 90 
 Stand by the hearth. Big, elderly, and spare, 
 With serious begging-letter-writer's air, 
 Some thin locks train' d across his yellow skull, 
 His features large, yet all the lines are dull, 
 Small watery eyes, but not a watery nose, 95 
 
 Huge fungoid ears, harsh skin befitting those, 
 O'er many countries has the ' Delegate,' 
 Through by-paths foul, by unheroic fate 
 Been hounded ; greedy, discontented, coarse, 
 Mean, bragging, cringing, full of bad resource ; 100 
 A man that never could have turn'd to good, 
 (But might have been to harmlessness subdued) 
 And to a base perfection rankly grew, 
 A living lie, a falsehood through and through. 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 161 
 
 Alone by natural cowardice restrain' d, 105 
 
 With blood no less his trembling hands are stain' d, 
 
 By murderer, hangman, he in turn has gain'd. 
 
 None trusts him less than he with whom he speaks, 
 
 That light-built, long-neck'd man with ' brocket' cheeks. 
 
 Spoilt priest, attorney's extra clerk, and then no 
 
 Sub-tax-collector, handy with his pen, 
 
 But self-conceited, and too sharp of tongue, 
 
 Chance after chance Tim Kulty lost, while young, 
 
 And now upon a farm (too dear at best), 
 
 His brother's transfer when he sail'd out West, 115 
 
 Tim poorly keeps a spouse and children five, 
 
 And also keeps perpetual war alive 
 
 With all above him, caring not the least 
 
 For landlord, agent, lawyer, parson, priest ; 
 
 Yet talk with Tim, as any stranger might, 120 
 
 You'd find him pleasant, lively, shrewd, polite, 
 
 With liberal notions, and could scarcely guess 
 
 The Eibbon Parish-Master, Tim's no less. 
 
 M 
 
162 CHAPTER EIGHT : 
 
 Who next among the various crowd are seen? 
 That brisk old boy, distiller of potheen, 125 
 
 A Connaught-man, mellifluous of tongue, 
 Most plausible of cheating knaves unhung, 
 Supple, inquisitive, and tough as wire. 
 Son Jack, a heavy youth in coarse attire, 
 Begotten by the evil in his sire, 130 
 
 Sits next his father, resolute but tame ; 
 His mode of life adventurous in its frame, 
 He's still no better than a lumpish clod, 
 (As doth a mule through alpine passes plod) 
 Well train'd on moonless nights to watch the still, 135 
 When light peat-smoke upon the heathery hill 
 Creeps among rocks and brambles from its cave, 
 And o'er the dark world, silent as a grave, 
 The sentry strains his ear for warning shout 
 Or whistle shrill from valley-guarding scout, 140 
 
 Till now the moment long-delay' d bids rush 
 Their fiery liquor forth in fragrant gush, 
 
 quickly tasted. All to-night shall taste 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 163 
 
 The recent venture. Eoger cries, "Make haste!" 
 A perilous ruffian, black-brow 7 d, strongly built, 145 
 And through whose face the demon of his guilt 
 With bulldog's winking eyes of sulky flame 
 Scowls at the world, and knows not fear or 
 
 shame. 
 His voice, like all the man, is coarse and 
 
 rough, 
 
 " Why bluranages, Mattha' ! where's the stuff?" 150 
 "A lad or two that jined us t'other day, 
 " We're waitin 7 for."" Nail Doran ? " " So they 
 
 say/'- 
 
 " And Dinis Coyle." To blazes wid the pair ! " 
 " Doran," says one, " consated cub, I'd swear. 
 " Larnin ! " say others, "What is he to Dan 1 155 
 "And sure he's giandson to a beggarman." 
 " See Phil where are you, Phil ? descinded 
 
 straight, 
 
 " Or crooked, from King Flaiithach ; what consate 
 " Has Phil at any time ? he'll stand a trate 
 M 2 
 
164 CHAPTER EIGHT: 
 
 " All roun' if lie has money, won't you, Phil 1 " 160 
 " We'll taehe them better manners, so we will." 
 " Dan, whisper, are you bringin' down the jar?" 
 "The divil saze them both!" "Whisht! here they 
 are." 
 
 Sharp-toned his voice, decision on his brow, 
 With sudden gesture stepping forward now, 165 
 
 Their Captain (' Order! silence!') takes the chair, 
 And keeps his hat, while other heads are bare. 
 "All doors well-tiled and. truly 1 I declare 
 " The Lodge is open. Murty, call the roll. 
 " I'll punish all defaulters, by my soul ! 170 
 
 a And now, reports : Young Pat Devanny saw 
 " Our friend the Scotchman, Alexander Shaw, 
 " Buying a gun in Lisnamoy last week. 
 " James Houlahan, the Bear, intends to seek 
 " For part of Tullagh; James must get a hint; 175 
 " Well write him on a coffin, in large print. 
 " Four boys will execute the sentence pass'd 
 
A EIBBON LODGE. 165 
 
 " On Jemmy Burke, convicted at our last 
 
 " Of sending in proposals for a farm 
 
 " At Meenabo ; they'll do him little harm ; 180 
 
 " Dry-beating only, this time. Next fair-day 
 
 " Help from beyond is coming down our way. 
 
 " Burke, with his two brown colts will stand the fair, 
 
 " You, Quigly, you, O'Toole, must both be there, 
 
 " To keep all day a cat's eye on your man, 185 
 
 " And put some whiskey in him if you can. 
 
 " You, Doran, that he won't suspect, must draw, 
 
 " With two strange lads (they're men you never saw) 
 
 " Alongside Jemmy, take him by the hand, 
 
 " Call out his name, you know, and make him 
 
 stand, 190 
 
 4jp 
 " Until the boys are sure of Mister Burke ; 
 
 " Then go your ways for once ; they'll do the work." 
 Some brethren laugh' d, but all turn'd round to stare 
 On Doran' s face with keen and hideous glare. 
 " This was submitted and approved. All's right. 195 
 " You'll get your passwords upon Tuesday night ; 
 
166 CHAPTER EIGHT: 
 
 " Next day at three o'clock attend the scout." 
 
 Say some, " He hardly likes the job, I doubt/' 
 
 " Why, blood an' ouns, Nail Doran, you're 
 
 afear'd !" 
 
 " Are you a stagg V and so they scowl' d and jeer'd. 
 "No stagg!" says fiery Denis; "on my troth 201 
 " The word, Jack Farry, ill becomes your mouth." 
 "Who cares for you 1 ? 7 ' Jack Farry quick replies. 
 " Be done, you blasted fool !" the Captain cries, 
 " Attention ! silence all ! I now declare 205 
 
 " The Lodge is closed. Be lively Mat, and share, 
 " The little drop of whiskey j glorious news 
 " Next night, plase God, and then we'll have a 
 
 booze." 
 " What news,"" OuT Pigot's * wages will be 
 
 paid," 209 
 
 "Ay, troth! well arn'd, and long enough delay'd." 
 "When is it?" some one whispers. "Be du 
 
 hust ! 
 
 Be du hust, be silent. 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 167 
 
 " The Grand Heads must approve it, so they must. 
 " And what about young Larry ]" " Soon we'll hear. 
 " He's well-watched in the manetime, niver fear." 
 
 The Captain show'd impatience, but the rest 215 
 Would fain have lingered o'er the fiery zest. 
 " Come, Dan, at all evints, a toast, a toast ! " 
 Dan Mullan being as orator their boast ; 
 A little man with shoulders set awry, 
 Huge head, flat nose, a grey and furious eye ; 220 
 Lame in one leg, he limps upon a stick, 
 Yet few with all their limbs can move so quick ; 
 Daniel's chief joy is hearing Daniel speak ; 
 Strong words are his, though utter' d in a squeak ; 
 And first he flings a fiery glance around, 225 
 
 Like chief to warriors on the battle-ground. 
 " Spake up, Dan ! " " Mount him on a chair ! " 
 
 " Whirroo ! " 
 " Audience for Dane! ! " 
 
 " Drink, ye pathriot crew, 
 
168 CHAPTER EIGHT : 
 
 " Our frinds in sweet Ameriky an' France ! 
 
 " To liberate us may they quick advance, 230 
 
 " An' with five hundre' thousan' Paddies bould, 
 
 " The Sunburst on their great green flag unrowl'd, 
 
 " Sweep every Englishman from say to say 
 
 " Into perdition ! trice glorious day ! 
 
 " Immortal cause of Ayrin ! broadsoord, pike, 235 
 
 " An* faugh-a-ballagh, boys ! well nobly strike 
 
 " For libertee, for " 
 
 So the shrill-voiced Dan, 
 "With furious gestures like a frantic man ; 
 When lo, the crazy chair whereon he stood 
 (Which also felt oppressed, although but wood) 240 
 Eesolving suddenly to bear no more, 
 Demosthenes lay sprawling on the floor. 
 His friends approved the soaring words employ 'd, 
 The speaker's downfall they still more enjoy' d, 
 With shouts of laughter each prolong'd the fun ; 245 
 But shatter' d lay their glass, their only one. 
 
 faugh-a-ballagh, clear the way 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 169 
 
 A broken teacup soon supplied the want; 
 Then oozed the mob away, as drink was scant. 
 The Delegate, the Captain, and three more, 
 Eemain'd behind : they lock'd and barr'd the door : 
 Wheels within wheels. The others into night, 251 
 Some to the merry wakehouse took their flight, 
 The crowded wake of Rose Muldoon, poor child, 
 Whose face upon the pillow, pale and mild, 
 On all her troubles now serenely smiled. 255 
 
 Meantime the secret Five their business do, 
 And quickly, for the Captain's words are few. 
 He pulls a scrap of paper from his breast, 
 And beckons round him, with a nod, the rest, 
 " Here is our answer, boys," (below his breath) 260 
 " Verdict approved on Pigot : sentence Death : 
 " Ourselves to fix a proper time and way. 
 " Our spies, you know, are watchin' every day, 
 " Moreover, trusty help is close at hand ; 
 " The strangers are in town: you understand. 265 
 
170 CHAPTER EIGHT : 
 
 ce They only have a certain while to stop ; 
 
 " First chance that comes, we'll take it at the hop. 
 
 " Meet the Fair-day, my boys, in any case ; 
 
 *' Pass number twenty usual hour and place." 
 
 The night before, when Rose was ' taken bad, 270 
 ' The crathur ! ' off her father ran like mad 
 For Father Austin. " Blessed Saints ! " they say, 
 " He'll hardly overtake her ! that he may ! 
 " Och Wirrastrua !" and this awe increased 
 Moment by moment, till the grave young priest 275 
 Arriving quickly, set their minds at rest. 
 Alone with him, the dying girl confessed 
 Her slender sins ; then touch' d with sacred oil, 
 The timid soul from terror to assoyle, 
 In Bridget's arms her weary head reposed, 280 
 
 And Bridget's hands ere long her eyelids closed. 
 All knew, all cross'd themselves with pious care, 
 And help'd the parting spirit with a prayer. 
 
 Wirrastrua ! Mary who art merciful ! 
 
A RIBBON LODGE 171 
 
 The candles soon were lighted for the wake ; 
 The father saw the tedious morning break, 285 
 
 With Bridget, and old women two or three, 
 Who propped their eyelids with perpetual tea. 
 
 But this night is the great night ; throng enough 
 In two small rooms, with pipes and plates of snuff, 
 Laughter and conversation without end. 290 
 
 Young Neal, and Denis Coyle his sturdy friend, 
 Have separate chairs, in token of respect. 
 Dan Mullan warms upon the sad effect 
 Of landlords' and their agents' cruel sway 
 In Kosy's early death, " Look round, I say ! 295 
 " A white and purty corpse she's lying there, 
 " By these five crosses solemnly I swear 
 " The girl was murther'd ! " Eeason as you will, 
 You could not have escap'd the sudden thrill 
 Which all who heard, and JN"eal not slightliest felt. 
 Yet cautiously his cooler judgment dealt, 301 
 
 five crosses made by laying together the fingers of both hands. 
 
172 CHAPTER EIGHT ; 
 
 While hasty rhetoric in confused debate, 
 
 Heap'd on its bulky rubbish, of no weight. 
 
 Their own affairs, he saw, they managed ill ; 
 
 Their chief proficiency, to lie with skill, 305 
 
 Ev'n to each other. For this very wake, 
 
 To which he gave his niite for Eosy's sake, 
 
 Her lazy father, Doran knew full well, 
 
 What came to hand would never fairly tell. 
 
 " Bloomfield 1 who'd ax the tyrants help ! " " My 
 
 plan 310 
 
 " Would be to take it aff them where we can." 
 " Whisper ! he ax'd, and got it too." "How 
 
 much]" 
 
 " What signifies it ] aisy thing for such, 
 " Danderin' about the worl' wid pockets full 
 " 0' what they niver arn'd, to sometimes pull 315 
 " Their han' out." " True enough ; but don't ye 
 
 think 
 
 " Muldoon is boun' to show a drop o' drink ? " 
 " Av coorse he is, and that we'll make him do, 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 173 
 
 " But later in the evenin' thigemihu?" 
 Though Keal and Denis had thought well to come, 320 
 They never tried to make themselves at home 
 With this Muldoon, an idle craving sot, 
 Complaining always of his self-made lot. 
 View'd from above, the People, widely spread, 
 Appear a vast and level plain, but tread 325 
 
 The lower country, hill and vale are found, 
 Brooks, thickets, fences, intersect the ground ; 
 The Many, if with careful eyes you seek, 
 Among themselves show also class and clique; 
 !N"or fail'd the friends of Bridget to oppose, 330 
 
 At first, her playing nurse's part by Eose. 
 
 " I thought so," said the Doctor. " Hum! I see 
 " You gave it, Mr. Bloomfield, on the plea 
 " Of burial charges ; but it went astray. 
 " One can't believe a single word they say. 335 
 
 " Muldoon had quite enough for proper ends ; 
 
 thigemtJm, do you understand. 
 
174 CHAPTER EIGHT 1 
 
 " You made him drunk with all his mourning friends. 
 
 " The child was long upon my hands ; and now 
 
 " I've plaster'd up the foolish father's brow, 
 
 " Who ran his useless head against a wall 340 
 
 " When staggering homewards from the funeral. 
 
 " Heed him no further ; let him go his gate, 
 
 " And reach the workhouse, better soon than late, 
 
 " His lawful refuge, and his fitting fate." 
 
 The corpse from door of poverty was borne, 345 
 And yet, of funeral honours not forlorn. 
 Although Muldoon himself was never sworn, 
 There march'd the Lodge, from greatest man to least, 
 Her coffin lifted, and would pay the priest. 
 The heavy bell, which stopt the hearer's breath, 350 
 At every boom loaded the day with death. 
 His Curate on his right hand, Priest Adair 
 Sprinkled the water, said the rapid pray'r. 
 Clay fell on clay. Some knelt by cross or stone 
 Before they too departed, leaving lone 355 
 
A RIBBON LODGE. 175 
 
 The ruin'd cloisters, haunted of the wind, 
 
 Low-murmuring secrets which no man can find. 
 
 Tim Nulty hasted homewards, to compose 
 
 A timely burst of dithyrambic prose, 
 
 ' Another Victim' ; will he sign the letter 360 
 
 * Eman-ac-knuck V would ' Nemesis ' be better ? 
 
 Proudly shall Tim behold his eloquent rage 
 
 Emblazon' d on the Firebrand's classic page, 
 
 Already fierce on Bally tullagh's woe, 
 
 And ' Tiger Pigot'.or 'The Poor Man's Eoe.' 365 
 
 Eman-ac-knuck/ Ned of the Hills, an Irish brigand. 
 
LAUKENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE FA IE. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE FATE, 
 
 ERE yet the sun has dried on hedge and furze i 
 Their silver veils of dewy gossamers, 
 'Along the winding road to Lisnamoy 
 The drover trudges and the country boy, 
 
 With cows that fain would crop its fringe of sward, 5 
 
 
 
 And pigs, their hindfoot jerking in a cord, 
 And bleating sheep ; the farmer jogs his way, 
 Or plies his staff, and legs of woollen gray ; 
 The basket-bearing goodwives slowly move, 
 White-capped, with coloured kerchief tied above, 10 
 On foot, or in the cart-front placed on high 
 N 2 
 
180 CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 To jolt along in lumbering luxury ; 
 
 Men, women, pigs, cows, sheep, and horses tend 
 
 One way, and to the Harvest Fair they wend ; 
 
 Jack Doran with the rest, with sorry cheer, 15 
 
 Condemned at Pigot's Office to appear, 
 
 To him a place of awe, and doubt, and fear. 
 
 'Tis where the road-side rivulet expands, 
 And every stone upon its image stands, 
 The country maidens finish their attire, 20 
 
 Screen'd by the network of a tangled briar ; 
 On grassy bank their shapely limbs indue 
 With milk-white stocking and the welWblack'd shoe, 
 And court that mirror for a final grace 
 With dazzling ribbons nodding round their face. 25 
 Behold our Bridget tripping to the fair; 
 Her shawl is splendid, but her feet are bare ; 
 Till, quick the little bundle here untied, 
 The shoes come forth, the skirts are shaken wide, 
 And Biddy enters Lisnarnoy in pride; 30 
 
THE FAIR. 181 
 
 Nor be it long ere Denis she espies, 
 To read her triumph in his joyful eyes. 
 
 But first of all, with calm submissive face, 
 Beads in her hand, within the Holy Place 
 She kneels, among the kneelers who adore 35 
 
 In silent reverence on that mystic floor ; 
 Then with a curtsey, and with symbol meet 
 On brow and breast, returning to the street. 
 
 Crowds push through Lisnamoy, shop, street, and 
 
 lane, 
 
 Archway, and yard, corn-store, and butter-crane. 40 
 Say, as we push, could anywhere be found 
 A Town more ugly, ev'n on Irish ground? 
 With dwellings meanly low or meanly tall, 
 With ragged roads, and harsh straight workhouse wall, 
 With foul decrepit huts, and here and there 45 
 
 A roof half-stript and smoky rafters bare ; 
 With churches that on rival mounts encamp, 
 
 s 
 
182 CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 One praised for neatness, one admired for pomp ; 
 This, which combines the gaudy and the mean, 
 (Alas ! the white old chapel on its green) 50 
 
 With misplaced ornament that leads your eye 
 To note the baldness, like a wig awry ; 
 That, less prodigious, odious not the less, 
 All prim, and trim in tidy ugliness, 
 A square box with a tall box at the end, 55 
 
 While through the wall a stove-pipe's arms extend. 
 What more 1 these gates are wide, the passing pray' r 
 Finds when it will a solemn welcome there ; 
 Those gates are lock'd, the sexton lets you through, 
 And shows for sixpence every empty pew ; 60 
 
 Here climbs a gilded cross above the roof, 
 There turns a glittering weathercock aloof; 
 Here, every day, the watchful power of Eonie, 
 The English rite on Sundays there at home. 
 Clean police-barrack perch'd a-top the hill, 65 
 
 At foot the dusty slating of a mill, 
 Townhall betwixt, with many a broken pane, 
 
THE FAIR. 183 
 
 A squat Wesleyan chapel down a lane, 
 
 Make up the total which, though you despise, 
 
 Kindles ad -miring awe in rustic eyes. . 70 
 
 Mud hovels fringe the ' Fair-green' of this town, 
 A spot misnamed, at every season brown, 
 O'erspread with countless man and beast to-day, 
 Which bellow, squeak, and shout, bleat, bray, and 
 
 neigh. 
 
 The ' jobbers ' there, each more or less a rogue, 75 
 Noisy or smooth, with each his various brogue, 
 Cool wiry Dublin, Connaught's golden mouth, 
 Blunt Northern, plaintive sing-song of the South, 
 Feel cattle's ribs, or jaws of horses try 
 For truth, since men's are very sure to lie, 80 
 
 And shun with parrying blow and practised heed 
 The rushing horns, the wildly prancing steed. 
 The moisten' d penny greets with sounding smack 
 The rugged palm, which smites the greeting back ; 
 Oaths fly, the bargain like a quarrel burns, 85 
 
184 CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 And offc the buyer turns, and oft returns ; 
 
 Now mingle Sassenach and Gaelic tongue ; 
 
 On either side are slow concessions wrung; 
 
 An anxious audience interfere ; at last 
 
 The sale is closed, and whiskey binds it fast, 90 
 
 In cave of quilting upon oziers bent, 
 
 "With many an ancient patch and breezy rent. 
 
 This afternoon, within the largest tent 
 Our Bridget sat, with Denis by her side, 
 A burly boy in youth's full strength and pride ; 95 
 A froth of poetry his ale-cup bore, 
 For Bridget's sake he fierier draughts forswore ; 
 Love over whiskey joying to prevail, 
 She sipp'd a cordial, and he quaff 'd strong ale. 
 Her lover's trade was weekly to escort 100 
 
 Dead pigs and butter to an eastern port, 
 To glut the maw of England. "Could we keep 
 " All food at home, our food would then be cheap," 
 Dan Mullan cried in oratorio flow, 
 
THE FAIR. 185 
 
 "The very eggs we lay to England go!" 105 
 
 But Denis meanwhile profited, and crept 
 
 From less to more while patriots groan'd and slept ; 
 
 Three busy carts and horses of his own 
 
 Along the fifty miles of road were known, 
 
 And village after village on the route 110 
 
 Heard his loud whip fire off a gay salute ; 
 
 Farmer and housewife trusted him to sell, 
 
 He sold and traded for himself as well ; 
 
 A sturdy generous nature, noway mean, 
 
 All saw in him 'tis ever gladly seen. 115 
 
 Children love truth, and men, though train' d to lie, 
 
 Confess the glowing power of honesty. 
 
 Thus let them rest in comfort, happy pair, 
 While pedlars, tinkers, gamblers, 'work the fair/ 
 Merchants of apples, cakes, and spoleen beef, 120 
 Most eloquent old-clothesman, silent thief; 
 And beggars, thrusting out a blind man's chin, 
 Or hideous crooked arm or leg, begin, 
 
186 . CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 " In Jesus', Mary's, and Saint Joseph's name, 
 " Bestow your cliaritee ! I ax the same 125 
 
 " For your dear father's sowl, for your dear mother's, 
 " If they have parted you and for your brother's 
 " And for your sister's sowl ; and that it may 
 " Appear before the throne o' God this day 
 " To draw thim out o j Purgathory's flame ! 130 
 
 "I ax it in the Holy Yargin's name ! 
 " I pray that all your sins may be forgiven ! 
 " And may the comfort and the light of Hiven 
 " Eesave you and your people!" few would miss 
 For one poor ha'p'ny such a prayer as this. 135 
 
 Murder, and love, and treason, chanted strong 
 By voices hoarsen' d with perpetual song 
 Draw each its group ; and ere the rustic buys, 
 With open mouth to catch the strain he tries, 
 Then pushing in a rudely bashful fist, 140 
 
 Crumples the ill-spelt paper. Who'll enlist ? 
 Make way ! the Queen's recruiting party come, 
 Eed fluttering flag, assiduous fife and drum, 
 
THE FAIR. 187 
 
 The haughty sergeant with drawn sword upright, 
 
 And two bold swains, their caps with ribbons dight. 145 
 
 Now pass the Showmen, with a stronger noise 
 
 Of music, and a greater rush of boys, 
 
 To mount anew the platform, and invite 
 
 Our tardy pence with all their main and might ; 
 
 The small boy bangs the loud big drum, again, 150 
 
 The wheezy pipes renew their shrill refrain, 
 
 The shining ladies waltz with wondrous grace, 
 
 Loud laughs Tom Fool, and twists his painted face, 
 
 Till Irish Damon and his Phillis do 
 
 ' Walk up ' at last. In turn, well pleased, we view 155 
 
 The Peepshow, Nut-gun, Loop, and Fortune's Wheel, 
 
 We daff away young chapmen's fly -like zeal, 
 
 Whips, pins, bootlaces, crying shrill and loud, 
 
 And slowly penetrate th' increasing crowd, 
 
 To that worst corner of the noisy Fair 160 
 
 In which the furious Tinkers thump and swear. 
 
 Who lays thick cudgel upon ass's hide ? 
 
188 CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 Who shouting gallops, leg on either side 
 Grazing the ground? his head behind is shorn, 
 Thin curls the lean and cunning cheek adorn ; 165 
 Short coat of frieze, cord breeches to the knee, 
 A low-crown' d hat, a shirt-neck flying free, 
 Declare the Tinker, gipsy of our isle, 
 Tramping with rude black budget many a mile ; 
 His tribe a partner yields ; his donkey bears 170 
 At need his children, furniture, and wares ; 
 Donkeys at many a fair he buys and sells, 
 And here, among his like, swears loud and yells. 
 Beyond them are the horses ; there, sweet kine ; 
 There, flocks of sheep; there, fulsome-smelling swine. 175 
 
 Observe Neal Doran. Two in pushing past 
 Give signal due ; the dreadful day runs fast. 
 He knows the torture now which books reveal ; 
 Thus, thus it is that malefactors feel ; 
 Weak, angry, full of fears, condemn'd to know 180 
 Himself his own inexorable foe. 
 
THE FAIR. 189 
 
 In front he sees thick tempest, and behind, 
 
 The sunny country of his peace of mind, 
 
 As from dark billows a receding shore ; 
 
 The simple busy days, now his no more, 185 
 
 The perfect slumber in a tranquil bed, 
 
 The conscience free of guile and free of dread, 
 
 The heart that look'd on every face with love, 
 
 The soul that childlike turn'd to God above. 
 
 With downcast or unquiet eyes he slinks 190 
 
 Among the crowd; in tent and tavern drinks 
 
 Unusual draughts; then to the Fair-green strides, 
 
 Eegardless of th' opposing human tides, 
 
 To mark the bludgeon's victim, Jemmy Burke, 
 
 Most Judas-like : ' the boys will do their work.' 195 
 
 The horse-fair ISTeal is bound for, and his road 
 Lies through the tinkers, where to shout and goad 
 The dullest ass his lazy hooves must ply. 
 'Tis three o'clock ; each noble tinker's eye 
 Is wet ; the trim shillelaghs wave on high ; 200 
 
190 CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 Woe to the skull of him who now offends ! 
 
 In harsh and high-strung temper Doran wends 
 
 Amid the tumult; jostled there, he smites 
 
 The intrusive donkey ; fervent word excites 
 
 A sharp retort ; all turn to watch the fun ; 205 
 
 " Come, hit me !" 'tis no sooner said than done. 
 
 Our Youth ('tis all a dream) with rapid blow 
 
 And cunning fence, stands foe at face with foe, 
 
 ISTor, peaceful though his life, unskill'd to wield 
 
 The Paddy's wooden pistol, sword, and shield. 210 
 
 With planted feet the men are in the lists, 
 
 The blackthorns twirl around their nimble wrists, 
 
 The meeting weapons play, crick-crack, crick-crack ; 
 
 Whilst all push forward, all exclaim ' Stand 
 
 back !' 
 
 More tinkers join ; deal's partisans pour in ; 215 
 A wider conflict rages; fierce the din, 
 Loud the men's oaths, and sharp the women's 
 
 screams ; 
 The general fair to this mad whirlpool streams. 
 
THE FAIR. 191 
 
 At first the tinkers have it all their way ; 
 Till carman Denis flings apart like spray 220 
 
 The clustering mob, and two tremendous blows 
 Whirls right and left at deal's two foremost foes ; 
 On either hand, to earth a tinker goes. 
 Then shouted Doran's party, pressing on ; 
 Then shrunk the tinker band, their leaders gone ; 225 
 .Nor had they not been routed, man arid ass, 
 Save for a new event that came to pass. 
 Lo ! the tall green-coat Guardians of the Law 
 Wedge through the fight, which feels a sudden awe, 
 And force away six prisoners to the cells, 230 
 
 Deaf to entreaties, protestations, yells, 
 Eegardless of the mob whose stumbling paces 
 Trot alongside with eager half-turn' d faces. 
 One tinker's faithful wife pursues their track, 
 A dirty baby on her dirty back, 235 
 
 The bright tin porringers that round her cling 
 Clashing and flashing gaily as they swing. 
 She's used to scenes like this ; but not so Neal 
 
192 CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 And Denis. "What a black disgrace they feel, 
 
 In marching thus along the public street ! 240 
 
 Their misery, for the moment, is complete. 
 
 Since Neal is Pigot's man, the Justice sends 
 For him ; the brother Justice quick attends ; 
 Pigot is at his office in the town, 
 And gladly comes, for reasons of his own. 245 
 
 " Receive the tinkers' bail j detain these two. 
 " I'll show you grounds enough for what we do." 
 " Your "Worship, why keep Denis Coyle and me." 
 " Drunk, drunk, you're drunk, sir," says the old J.P. 
 " Lock, lock them up !" and jerks his bunch of 
 seals. 250 
 
 They go; th j untiring rabble at their heels. 
 
 In Pigot's gig came Bloomfield to the fair. 
 " Evictions please me little, I declare," 
 Says Pigot ; " but if men won't pay the rent, 
 "Or fix conditions, forcing our consent ; 255 
 
THE FAIR. 193 
 
 " Claiming, when once let in, a better right 
 " Than ours, for ever, in the law's despite ; 
 " If still you find to cheat and overreach 
 " The study, the delight, of all and each ; 
 " A servile, plausible, and lying brood, 260 
 
 " Devoid of honesty, of gratitude ; 
 " If among people ignorant and misled 
 " Worse lawlessness begins to grow and spread, 
 " Till from chicane to murder they aspire, 
 " And all the foolish mass is catching fire ; 265 
 
 " What then ? are we to sit with folded hands, 
 " And yield ourselves to Captain Eock's commands ? 
 " Though Tullagh was a sad affair, I know, 
 " Twill do great good. Your lands of Meenabo 
 " Must follow next. These Dorans, whom you 
 praise, 270 
 
 " I once thought well of, till I knew their ways. 
 " I'll show you at the office now (as far 
 " As may be quickly shown) how these things are ; 
 " A certain List you also shall peruse, 
 
 o 
 
194 CHAPTER NINE : 
 
 " The which I only bide my time to use. 275 
 
 " To manage folk like these is hard indeed; 
 " Tis well for you, sir, that escape the need ! " 
 
 Pigot's fast mare by thickening crowds restrained 
 By slow degrees the office-door has gain'd ; 
 " Eoom !" cries the stable-boy, and backward tread 280 
 Th' obsequious throng, hats fly off every head ; 
 But ere a tenant's foot may pass the door 
 The private talk endures an hour or more. 
 Outside, old Paudheen waits to say his say ; 
 A short thick man, with sleek head wiry-gray, 285 
 Projecting underlip, and stunted nose, 
 Whereon the huge horn-spectacles repose, 
 When to the service of a writ he swears, 
 Or 'copy' with * original' compares; 
 A sneaking, dauntless man, who disregards 290 
 
 Menace or flattery, smoothly plays his cards, 
 And might perhaps have soar'd, in wider sphere, 
 Lord Chancellor, Archbishop, or Premier, 
 
THE FAIR. 195 
 
 But now, victorious in a meaner form, 
 
 Has built a nest, and works to line it warm. 295 
 
 'Tis Paudheen carries in the message sent 
 By brother Justice. Bloomfield's ear is bent 
 To Pigot's statements ; and he understands 
 This chiefly plotting heads and violent hands, 
 Mad folly, discontentment, fear and hate, 300 
 
 In servile seeming, on their footsteps wait. 
 
 In public-house, upon an upper floor, 
 A thin keen watchful man and some few more 
 Sit round their drink, but not with laugh or song. 
 The Parish-Master's summons through the throng 305 
 Is flitting darkly up and down the street, 
 And one by one he sees his best men meet ; 
 The sign said urgent business. No delay 
 A certain case admits of not one day. 
 " Let Jemmy Burke go home ; far higher game 310 
 " Our sportsmen mark, with license for the same, 
 o 2 
 
196 CHAPTER NINE: THE FAIR. 
 
 " The young bird promised fair and smooth at first ; 
 " But he can't change things won't, in case he durst. 
 " And now the old one's up has all our names, 
 " The List lies in his pocket. Burning flames 315 
 " To bed the traitor ! that comes by-and-by." 
 Glasses were fill'd, refill' d, the quart ran dry; 
 Then fist caught fist, and eye shot flame to eye, 
 " Bail, too, for Coyle and Doran they refuse ! 
 " If we're for action, there's no time to lose. 320 
 " Well said, my boys ! for though the hazard's great, 
 " The ball's with Pigot if we hesitate. 
 " They came to Lisnamoy, but don't go home 
 " Together ; Minor Bloomfield's horse is come. 
 . " Bill keeps our friend in talk. I understand 325 
 " Grimes has his noble Honour's gig in hand, 
 " Some twist the patent axle to unscrew 
 " A job 'twill take him just an hour to do. 
 " Tis four at present. To your places, boys !" 
 The whisper done, they vanish without noise. 330 
 
LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PIGOT. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 x. 
 
 PIGOT. 
 
 ALAS, you count me a prosaic bard, 
 
 Good reader ! Think what Horace says, how hard 
 
 It is to sing of every-day affairs. 
 
 More willingly by far the minstrel dares 
 
 Three flaming dragons than a single pig; 5 
 
 Knights in full armour, giants church-tower big, 
 
 Are easy folk to handle, by the side 
 
 Of one policeman. I have sometimes cried, 
 
 ' Afford my verse a little touch of aid, 
 
 ' Thou grave, good-humour' d, venerable Shade, 10 
 
 6 Who once Comptroller of the Customs wast, 
 
 ' Edwardo Rege /' but my pray'r is lost ; 
 
200 CHAPTER TEN: 
 
 For though our modern telegraph extends 
 Into that Other World's extremest ends, 
 Old Chaucer deigns no syllable to say, 
 And I must only do the best I may. 
 
 Bloomfield is also Justice of the Peace, 
 But has not used his power, but for increase 
 Of knowledge ; he lets Pigot go alone 
 To hear this case, its merits not yet known; 20 
 And meanwhile in the office musing sits, 
 Or glancing towards the Kibbon Eoll by fits ; 
 Yet, as it sometimes falls that when we meet 
 Some wondrous thing, the quest of high conceit, 
 See, touch, possess, we hardly care to look, 25 
 
 To other paths his thought itself betook ; 
 And still the spy's Black List he chose to hold 
 As Pigot gave, unloosen'd from its fold. 
 What he must do, determined, Bloomfield now 
 Perplex'd is puzzling over 'when?' and 'how?' 30 
 
PIGOT. 201 
 
 The careful faces of the tenant throng 
 Sank with new sense of pity and of wrong 
 Deep in his heart, their anxious courtesies, 
 The timid movements of their watchful eyes, 
 Their air of suffering, which was no pretence, 35^ 
 Their piteous lack of manly confidence ; 
 And most of all, Jack Doran's toilworn face, 
 Who knows that he has lost his Agent's grace. 
 
 Tight has he clung to that poor spot of earth 
 Which, sixty years since, saw his humble birth. 40 
 This patch first yielded to his father's spade; 
 Those barren hills his life's horizon made ; 
 To this, a poor, and yet a happy home, 
 His kindly Maureen, fair young bride, had come; 
 Their children here were born, here long reposed 45 
 His mother's age, and here her eyes were closed. 
 Content with constant toil and slender gain, 
 If he and his might there in peace remain, 
 Old Jack has trudged this morning to the town 
 
202 CHAPTER TEN : 
 
 
 
 To meet bad news ; his heart is sore cast down. 50 
 
 Jack had been ' noticed;' 'twas a usual thing/ 
 
 Familiar as a dash of hail in Spring; 
 
 A mode of keeping tenants under thumb : 
 
 To-day he hears his fate ; his turn is come. 
 
 In short three weeks, Black Paddy tells him so, 55 
 
 The Mighty Man has will'd it, he must go. 
 
 In vain the tenant asks to learn his crime, 
 
 In vain seeks hope at least of winning time ; 
 
 Paudheen is mild, and shakes his cunning pate, 
 
 " You'll see himself," and sad old Jack must wait 60 
 
 In crowded hall, through many weary hours, 
 
 His mind, deserted now by half its powers, 
 
 Struggling to set itself in some array. 
 
 What can he do ? first, what to Pigot say 1 
 
 If every other hope and chance should fail, 65 
 
 May plea, perhaps, for longer time prevail ? 
 
 Not wholly bare, as some do, must he fly, 
 
 Yet, seasons have been bad and taxes high, 
 
 "Wasting away their little store ; let all 
 
PIGOT. 203 
 
 Be gather' d, and 'tis pitifully small. 70 
 
 Not much has half a century's labour giv'n 
 
 This prudent man, who well has watch'd and striv'n, 
 
 Industrious, patient, peaceful ; in a land 
 
 Less cruel to her sons, his strenuous hand 
 
 Had won some better comfort for old age ; 75 
 
 The tedious fight he well knew how to wage 
 
 With wind and flood, with stubborn rock and clay ; 
 
 But selfish men are fiercer foes than they. 
 
 Poor useful wrestlers with the rugged soil, 
 Children of narrow poverty and toil, 80 
 
 Who spread the waving plenty o'er the land, 
 And give the sumptuous palace room to stand. 
 How much ye do and suffer, to supply 
 Some easy man with careless luxury ! 
 The wife, the babes, that Heavenly Bounty gave 85 
 Increase his load of fetters on the slave; 
 His sweat absorbed into a patch of earth, 
 His life-long labours held of little worth, 
 
204 CHAPTER TEN: 
 
 Dependent hourly on a rich man's whim, 
 
 Whose busy idleness regards not him. 90 
 
 No foot of ground, however wild, he owns, 
 
 Till in the graveyard rest his weary bones, 
 
 Too happy if beside his fathers laid, 
 
 Nor coldly cover'd by a poor-law spade. 
 
 O Ireland ! home of hardship ! why do yet 95 
 Thy children cling to thee? thin cheeks are wet, 
 Hearts long opprest with care feel poignant woe 
 As hence from gloom to brighter climes they go. 
 To each the country of his birth belongs, 
 Its landscapes, seasons, faces, memories, songs, 100 
 And he to it; removed to foreign scene, 
 Though fat in purse, his life is poor and lean ; 
 Forget the past, and flourish as he may, 
 An exile now, his home is far away. 
 
 Shall Jack to Bloomfield speak? a tempting 
 thought, 105 
 
PIGOT : 205 
 
 Dismiss' d with, terror ; what could thus be wrought 
 But swift destruction of his every hope ? 
 'Twere dragging tight around his neck the rope ; 
 High-treasonable conduct, merely mad ; 
 Training, experience, custom, all forbade. 110 
 
 No, the young Landlord neither would, nor could : 
 If Jack had only guess' d his Landlord's mood ! 
 So there the Tenant stands disconsolate, 
 There sits the sturdy Bailiff, big with fate, 
 Within, the Landlord, thinking; all await, 115 
 
 These and the rest, their Agent's quick return, 
 With various minds, and faces sad or stern. 
 
 But Bloomfield hears a whispering in the hall, 
 An exclamation, and a sudden fall, 
 " 'Tis oul' Jack Doran fainted, 'cause his son 320 
 " Is taken up on Eibbon business." None 
 Was quick enough with help when th' old man's brain, 
 Quite overtroubled, strove no more in vain ; 
 Anxiety, fatigue, and frugal fast 
 
206 CHAPTER TEN : 
 
 Had worn him ; then this new blow, and at last 125 
 
 From all his limbs the vital vigour fled, 
 
 And on the flagstone smote his grey unconscious head. 
 
 Strange was the sight before the tenants' eyes : 
 Young Bloomfield, kneeling on the hall-floor, ties 
 His handkerchief, a bloodied bandage now, 130 
 
 To staunch the wound on old Jack Doran's brow ; 
 Then to an arm-chair helps him ; soon convey'd 
 To neighbouring house, where in a bed he's laid ; 
 While Bloomfield calls to audience Paddy Dhu 
 In private, which was also something new. 135 
 
 When Pigot's eyes met Bloomfield's, instantly 
 Each felt a moment come, they knew not why. 
 What's accident 1 ? Aware or unaware, 
 We to a verge have drawn, reposing there, 
 Or balanced fine ; until a moment flashes 140 
 Down from its level seat firm custom dashes; 
 
PIGOT. 207 
 
 Broken, destroy' d, imprison 7 d powers escape, 
 
 And lo ! our life is in a different shape. 
 
 "These two young men]" "Are on that Eibbon 
 
 List." 
 
 " Much better proof, a lawyer would insist, 145 
 " Were needful, ere we clapt them into jail ; 
 " The present charge is trifling, take their bail." 
 " Full informations will be laid to-night." 
 " So be it meanwhile, do them legal right." 
 Pigot, his landmarks of a sudden lost, 150 
 
 His mind with novel perturbation tost, 
 Consented to a message of release ; 
 When more his rage and wonder to increase, 
 With quiet voice and look, but grave and steady, 
 Bloomfield spoke thus, and held his papers ready, 155 
 " All things considered, it perhaps were best 
 " This tenant Doran be not dispossess' d, 
 " Nor any men of mine, in fact, but three, 
 
 " And those are " 
 
 " Mr. Bloomfield, pardon me, 160 
 
208 CHAPTER TEN: 
 
 " I cannot be half-agent for your lands. 160 
 
 " Unless you leave such business in my hands, 
 " Allow me to resign the whole to you. 
 " This I have long, indeed, desired to do." 
 "I take your offer." 
 
 Half an hour is flown, 
 
 And Pigot in his gig has left the town; 165 
 
 While Bloomfield, with his tenants face to face, 
 Sees hope and joy, unwonted in that place, 
 Alive in every look. They warmly felt 
 When by the poor old man their landlord knelt ; 
 'Tis known that Keal and Denis are set free ; 170 
 And Pigot's gone, dismissed? but that could never 
 
 be! 
 
 If Bloomfield were an angel from the skies 
 They could not hunger more with ears and eyes. 
 
 " I am your Agent and no other man. 
 "Til try to do you justice if I can. 175 
 
 "Easy for me to live abroad, content 
 
PIGOT. 209 
 
 " To see of my estate the half-year's rent ; 
 
 " But with the help of Heaven I'll take in hand, iso 
 
 " As mine it is by law, this piece of land, 
 
 " Think first of men, think second of the soil, 
 
 " Discourage lies and sloth, back honest toil, 
 
 " The good folk ranged on my side, let me trust, 
 
 " At war with knaves and fools, if so we must. 185 
 
 " If threatening letters fly as thick as snow, 
 
 " If murderers dog me every step I go, 
 
 " They shall not turn me from a settled course, 
 
 " Unless I fall, and then you may have worse. 
 
 " Here are the names, within this folded sheet, 190 
 
 " Of Eibbon Lodge Two-Sixty, all complete. 
 
 " I have not redd it I'm not fond of spies 
 
 " Now ! see it burn : in ashes there it lies. 
 
 " This paper is my list of tenants' names, 
 
 " Their families, their holdings, debts, and claims. 195 
 
 " Slowly we must proceed ; but with good will 
 
 " We may, perhaps, together climb the hill." 
 
210 CHAPTER TEN : 
 
 Pigot of late, in health or soul deprest, 
 Had felt a frequent wish for change or rest 
 As pictured by his wife, but would not yield 200 
 To her, still vanquish'd in discussion's field. 
 He will not own what sometimes he suspects, 
 " 'Tis but my wife's timidity infects. 
 " Hard work these hyppish fogs will soon dispel ; 
 " I know my business, and I do it well. 205 
 
 " Let others please their fancy and their taste, 
 " Let others fling their idle days to waste, 
 " This is no more than fog, by sleep or dinner 
 
 chased." 
 
 Yet sometimes, in his own despite, began 
 The shrewd, experienced, unromantic man, 210 
 
 Since now the newness of success was fled, 
 And years were numbering thickly on his head, 
 And sense of power had lost its pungency, 
 To say, what profits it? what comes to me? 
 What is indeed accomplished by my life 1 215 
 
 The fears and sad forebodings of his wife, 
 
PIGOT. 211 
 
 Renew' d by every tale of peasant crime, 
 
 Struck heavier on his spirit time by time : 
 
 " Throw off this yoke we've money and to spare, 
 
 " Come, let us travel, pitch our tent elsewhere, 220 
 
 " And for our children and ourselves enjoy 
 
 " A wider world, a life without annoy." 
 
 Still, Pigot knows, though discontentment lurk, 
 
 He's most at ease in his habitual work, 
 
 Within his line, courageous, strong, and tall, 225 
 
 Beyond it, even timid, weak, and small; 
 
 His narrow education, flowerless mind, 
 
 By no artistic faculty refined, 
 
 Are then exposed, himself can partly see. 
 
 Like ancient groom or stableman is he, 230 
 
 At home on horseback, spite of prance and bound, 
 
 A waddling cripple, place him on the ground. 
 
 And now a vile vexation, bitter sting! 
 He, both of landlords and of tenants King, 
 Intending by-and-by to abdicate, 235 
 
212 CHAPTER TEN : 
 
 With fitting dignity, his power and state, 
 
 For private wealth and ease O sudden shame ! 
 
 Dismiss'd by one he thought so mild and tame; 
 
 Dismiss' d, discharged, ejected as it were 
 
 On shortest notice this was hard to bear. 240 
 
 Himself, no doubt, had in a moment's heat 
 
 Flung out the startling hint, but self-conceit 
 
 Expected never such response to meet. 
 
 Long years he has been shaping to his mind 
 
 The Harvey-Eloomiield properties combined : 245 
 
 Now all his plans are snapt, with bitter sense 
 
 Of broken power of standing on defence. 
 
 True, the Young Man, with cautious words and 
 
 kind, 
 
 Which well announced a gravely settled mind, 
 Left to his easy choice the time and mode : 250 
 
 But, all things alter' d, and with guard and goad 
 Tormenting him, can Pigot trace the threads 
 Of that intricate web that round him spreads, 
 And disengage it smoothly? well aware, 
 
PIGOT. 213 
 
 Amid his mind's perturbed and formless care, 255 
 
 Of many questions asking quick replies, 
 
 Of many dubious doings that arise 
 
 From dusty corners where they lay forgot 
 
 Small days of judgment bring forth many a blot. 
 
 Yet here too came experience to his aid, 260 
 
 And whisper'd, this confusion once allay'd, 
 To-morrow's light a clearer path will show, 
 And all go well enough, as such things go. 
 " Come up, old mare ! " with cheery voice he cried ; 
 And Doyle the under-bailiff, by his side, 265 
 
 At Pigot's moody silence wondering much, 
 Felt comforted; as, to the light-thrown touch 
 Of whip and voice, the bay mare quickly stept, 
 And from the high-road to the bye-road swept. 
 
 Pigot had seen his fine new house arise, 270 
 
 With promise of an earthly paradise, 
 Amidst a broad, well-cultivated plain, 
 
214 CHAPTER TEN : 
 
 Trimm'd off with new plantation, fence, and drain ; 
 Window and door in city-villa taste, 
 With stucco-ornaments and columns graced, 275 
 
 Square spacious rooms, fill'd full of splendid things, 
 Bright rosewood tables, gilded curtain-rings j 
 But, ten years old, the place shines rawly still, 
 Th' instinctive touch of strong yet tender skill 
 Quite absent, which we name artistic sense ; 280 
 Glaring the want, for glaring the pretence ; 
 Harsh lights upon discordant colours fall, 
 Large, costly, dull engravings deck the wall ; 
 Chair, ottoman, by some unlucky doom, 
 Door, window, fire, stand wrong in every room; 285 
 Lawn, green-house, garden, wear no magic beauty, 
 Shrub, flower-bed, border, stand as though on duty ; 
 Best thing the farm-yard, practical and neat, 
 With swine, calves, poultry, stacks of hay and wheat ; 
 With huge farm horses, and sleek, patient cows, 290 
 Byres, sheds, and new machines, carts, tools, and 
 ploughs. 
 
PIGOT. 215 
 
 See at the window Mrs. Pigot stand, 
 The latest empty novel in her hand; 
 A fading woman, but she once was fair, 
 Whose wealth and pride have many a thorn of care; 295 
 A full-dress visit to receive or pay, 
 Her chief engrossment, 'tis a chalk-white day 
 That gives a chance to study well the style 
 Of Lady Harvey's toilette, tone, and smile. 
 Her servants plague her; and her children vex, 300 
 Tearing their clothes, imperilling their necks. 
 On shaggy Sheltie in and out through trees 
 Flits Percy at full gallop'; now she sees 
 Bold Jem and little Ulick at the pond 
 Sailing forbidden ships ; then looks beyond, 30 5 
 With sigh at such perversities, to catch 
 (Behind the time a full hour by her watch) 
 The coming gig. Her husband's jolly face, 
 Fond of his Bess, his children, and his place, 
 Good-humoured and indulgent for the most, 310 
 
 Nor tender pleasure from his glances lost, 
 
216 CHAPTER TEN : 
 
 Still makes for her the sweetness of her life ; 
 
 In short, he is her husband, she his wife ; 
 
 Whatever teasing troubles they endure, 
 
 The gentle bond is always firm and sure. 315 
 
 To Newbridge House the pretty bye-wa} T goes, 
 'Tween scarlet-berried hawthorn and wild rose, 
 Eowan and woodbine ; the dark-fruited briar 
 Beads to its bordering grass, through which aspire 
 The yellow hawk- weed and blue scabious-ball; 320 
 Grass full of grasshoppers, and flies, and small 
 Innumerable things. You sometimes hear 
 A distant voice, or warbling near and clear 
 Poor-Eobin's plaintive melody, at one 
 "With the mild glory of the sinking sun, 395 
 
 Which now, completing this autumnal day, 
 Looks from the great world's end with parting 
 
 ^y, 
 
 O'er all the golden landscape with its sheaves, 
 And through the curtain of the wayside leaves. 
 
PIGOT. 217 
 
 Across the road a new-cut holly lay. 330 
 
 Doyle must alight to drag it from their way. 
 Through Pigot's heart and brain a sudden gush 
 Whirl'd all his life to fever : mad thoughts rush - . 
 Around their burning prison : " I am caught !" 
 And hasty fingers his revolver sought. 335 
 
 One terrible moment courage all drawn dry 
 To earthquake- ebb and ere the wave pour high 
 Returning, from the hedge beside him broke 
 Two sharp explosions, two white puffs of smoke ; 
 The mare leap'd round, and gallop' d off pell-mell, 340 
 But heavily to earth her master fell. 
 
 No longer Mrs. Pigot bears to wait; 
 She sends a horseman by the lower gate; 
 Who rides not far. A man came running fast; 
 'Twas bailiff Doyle, pale, breathless, all aghast ; 345 
 "He's shot! they've kill'd him!" and the servants 
 
 found, 
 Three furlongs distant, prostrate on the ground] 
 
218 CHAPTER TEN : 
 
 Amidst a pool of blood, James Pigot's form, 
 A dreadful burden, lifeless, though still warm. 
 
 James Pigot's race is run: and shall we call 350 
 This man a victim, or a criminal? 
 Or one who with men's natures coarsely dealt, 
 Drew out their evil, and its fury felt? 
 He did so; but not his alone the blame. 
 Elsewhere he might in peace have lived the 
 same, 355 
 
 And breathed away at last a quiet breath, 
 No worse than most men in his life and death. 
 But where the subtle powers of Circumstance, 
 Multiplex operations that advance 
 Out of the boundless Bygone World, and make 360 
 The Present with the flitting forms they take, 
 Are in an evil seethe like wizard's pot, 
 Who stirs the same, 'tis now and then his lot 
 To catch the spurted venom. Where one dies, 
 Hundreds escape ; and danger ever tries 365 
 
HGOT. 219 
 
 To wear a mask of innocence ; no less, 
 They cook and finger a strong poison-mess. 
 
 Fair-evening as it was, no friendly hand 
 Lifted the dead; the people chose to stand 
 Far-off, or take the fields, or else turn back, 370 
 But not to follow on the murderers' track ; 
 Xot one made haste to give policemen word ; 
 By special message first the news was heard. 
 
 For many weeks from every wall and gate 
 Stared ' MURDER' and 'BEWARD' in letters great, 375 
 Two Hundred Pounds the Lord Lieutenant's bribe, 
 One Thousand which the gentry round subscribe, 
 But all in vain; for, his employer dead, 
 The Spy took mortal fear to heart) and fled. 
 Few even dared to read the bills, and they 380 
 
 Walk'd off in silence ; if they said their say, 
 'Twas said with caution and in secrecy. 
 A huge converging crowd of low and high 
 
220 CHAPTER TEN : PIGOT. 
 
 Had swell' d the costly funeral, and flow'd 
 
 In solemn poinp, outstretch' d along the road. 385 
 
 The native press was vocal, and the Times 
 
 Anew said something old on Irish crimes. 
 
 And meanwhile, bringing softly night and day, 
 The round Earth rolTd on her appointed way, 
 With dead and living, 'mid the starry quire, 390 
 Brimm'd with material and celestial fire, 
 And to and fro, with emmets' briskness, ran 
 The shifting, multifarious brood of Man. 
 
LAUBENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IKELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 LORD AND LADY. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 XL 
 
 LORD AND LADY. 
 
 VIRGIL, Tom Tusser after him, have sung 
 
 The rules of farming with melodious tongue ; 
 
 And shall my Muse make venture? not afraid, 
 
 If need there were, to call a spade a spade. 
 
 Too oft, neglecting fashion, she incurs 5 
 
 The public's coldness and the publisher's ; 
 
 Yet now she will not rival Martin Doyle 
 
 On farms, and drains, on light and heavy soil, 
 
 Clod-crushing, ploughing, and rotation meet 
 
 Of grass, potatoes, barley, turnips, wheat, 10 
 
 Ovine and bovine breeds 
 
 Thou youngest Grace ! 
 
224 CHAPTER ELEVEN : 
 
 Dear Maiden of the shy and eager face 
 
 In drooping darkness framed, or ripply gold, 
 
 And spirit like the fresh bud half unroll'd 
 
 To morning's light ! Boy of many dreams, 15 
 
 Through sacred woods and by enchanted streams 
 
 Far wandering forth in reverie divine ! 
 
 Ye cannot love such dismal verse as mine. 
 
 Sweet friends, forgive me ! I have sung for you 
 
 Erewhile, if but a little song or two ; 20 
 
 For you I dearly hope to sing again ; 
 
 Though now, perhaps, with labour all in vain, 
 
 Striving to melt and mould of stubborn stuff 
 
 (It could be rounded, were there fire enough) 
 
 A living shape harmonious, part and whole 25 
 
 Completed fitly by th' informing soul. 
 
 And yet 1 will not rival Martin Doyle, 
 Mechi, or Stephens ; 'twere a thankless toil. 
 For, every rule and detail strictly given 
 Whereby our Laurence in his course has thriven, 30 
 
LORD AND LADY : 225 
 
 (With labour, and with stumbling, and mistake, 
 
 And disappointments and defeats, that break 
 
 The fragile purpose, but confirm the strong) 
 
 Another man were scarcely help'd along, 
 
 Who deals with different people, different facts. 35 
 
 Mere sons of action, piecing up their acts 
 
 Of work and life, incalculable deem 
 
 The soul, or quite omit it from their scheme, 
 
 Or, like Napoleon, use it, while they scorn : 
 
 A miracle as true as birth of morn, 40 
 
 As simple as the imperial sun's broad light 
 
 Bathing earth's planet ; with as vast a might 
 
 It works in silence on the spaces vast 
 
 And crowds of things within its influence cast. 
 
 
 
 Bloomfield had plunged, as though into the sea ; 45 
 But soon recover'd equanimity 
 Amidst the new demands and powers unknown, 
 Nor any force to help him save his own. 
 Confused, and dim, and dangerous appeared 
 Q 
 
226 CHAPTER ELEVEN I 
 
 His enterprise, but soon the prospect clear' d : 50 
 
 Most men can do as much for duty, gain, 
 
 Opinion, pleasure ; call it a campaign 
 
 At worst, but that's too serious; travel brings 
 
 More toil and risk ; or fifty other things. 
 
 Arithmetic's plain rules his purse shall guard, 55 
 
 And every lesser luxury he'll discard 
 
 Till this of playing king be fairly tried. 
 
 Of Indolence, for ever at our side, 
 
 Subtlest of demons, Laurence knew full well 
 
 The sleepy goblet, drugg'd and dregg'd with hell, 60 
 
 And hung upon his neck the counterspell 
 
 Of daily work sufficient for his force, 
 
 And so set bravely forward on his course, 
 
 With much to hinder, but with nought to stay, 
 
 Finding undreamt-of help along the way. 65 
 
 For still to him who on himself depends 
 
 The lumbering, veering world its succour lends ; 
 
 The bold are help'd by poison, storm, and fire, 
 
 Against the weak, flow'rbuds and lambs conspire. 
 
LORD AND LADY. 227 
 
 Thus, when young Bloomfield had surveyed his ground, 
 He certain chances in his favour found. 
 No legal right existed but his own, 
 He was the State, like Lewis, he alone, 
 Or rather raised to an autocracy 
 Temper' d with murder, as in Muscovy ; 75 
 
 There, sole, stood he, there lay his subject lands, 
 
 To do, or not do, resting in his hands. 
 
 * 
 
 Moreover, if the Celt be rash and wild, 
 Quick, changeful, and impulsive, like a child, 
 He looks with somewhat of a childlike trust 80 
 
 To those above him, if they're kind and just; 
 Be tender to his moods, allow a whim, 
 No surly independence lurks in him ; 
 Content with little, easy to persuade, 
 The man who knows him speaks and is obey'd. 85 
 If sprung from history, circumstance, or race, 
 Or all together, Bloomfield well could trace, 
 With aid from childhood's memory, manhood's 
 thought 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 CHAPTER ELEVEN : 
 
 And into every plan his knowledge wrought 
 
 A special Irish character. With those 90 
 
 Of higher station, harder to oppose, 
 
 His even temper, frank and courteous speech, 
 
 And true unselfishness, with all and each, 
 
 His firmness and concession, sped him well; 
 
 His sense and knowledge soon began to tell ; 
 
 Till all who dealt with public plans descried 
 
 The need to weigh him, on whatever side. 
 
 To men and books an open ear he lent, 
 He studied silent Nature much, and went 
 With careful tireless footstep after hers ; 100 
 
 The cheer which knowledge flowing in confers 
 Was his, and then the artist's joy, to find 
 The rugged world take pressure from his mind. 
 His rental, even, to his own surprise, 
 Reach' d its old mark, and then began to rise ; 105 
 A sort of proof he could have done without, 
 Yet good firm hold against the twitch of doubt. 
 
LORD AND LADY. 229 
 
 Look round from Croghan Lodge, and not in vain 
 You seek the records of a seven years' reign ; 
 So long have Laurence and his Queen borne rule, no 
 The smoky hovel with its fetid pool 
 Has disappeared poor Paddy's castle-moat, 
 Which kept the foulness, let the use run out ; 
 White walls, gay rustic gardens meet your eyes, 
 Trim gates and fences, haggarts, barns and styes; 115 
 Down the wet slope a net of drainage spreads ; 
 The level marsh waves wide with ozier-beds ; 
 Among the barren folds of windy hills, 
 Bound solitary loughs, by rock-strewn rills, 
 And up to crags that crown the heathery steep, 120 
 Larch, pine, and sycamore begin to creep ; 
 Old bog and scraggy moorland, parcelled out, 
 Have busy hands at work, no fear or doubt 
 To dry up half their strength, for Bloomfield chose 
 The likeliest people, lent waste ground to those, 125 
 " The first year so much done so much in five 
 " Push onwards, win the battle, you shall thrive 
 
230 CHAPTER ELEVEN : 
 
 " Kent-free so long so long at little rent 
 
 " And then a lease that makes us both content." 
 
 New roads run round the hills, and to the shore ; 130 
 
 By-lanes engulf the hapless wheel no more ; 
 
 While certain paths defended tooth and nail 
 
 By Pigot, often sending men to jail, 
 
 Without another word of wrong or right 
 
 Lie free as air is to the swallow's flight. 135 
 
 Broad open too lies Bloomfield's own domain, 
 Park, fields, and wood, from mountain-top to plain ; 
 The lough's green isles in wavy silver set ; 
 The cool crypts of the rocky rivulet. 
 Sunk fence, light paling, leave the prospect free : 140 
 Fair run the road and path, by sward and tree ; 
 No churlish prison-wall defeats your eye, 
 Kobs of the landscape every passer-by, 
 Shuts up the great horizon in a box, 
 Boon Nature's beauty in a harem locks H5 
 
 For one rich Turk; no board devoid of shame 
 
LORD AND LADY. 231 
 
 * 
 
 Tickets the world with one poor selfish claim ; 
 
 For no proud porter must you ring and wait ; 
 
 The stile is low, and easy swings the gate ; 
 
 The devious wood-walk, far-commanding hill, 150 
 
 The ferny dingle, these are yours at will; 
 
 Or in that high fir-temple would you be, 
 
 Which makes perpetual music like the sea, 
 
 And on the sunset lifts its pillars black? 
 
 Across the lough, across the plain look back. 155 
 
 Look back : no single cottage-roof is there 
 
 In Bloomfield's charge, that knows not Bloomfield's 
 
 care. 
 
 In spots the best for landscape or for shade 
 You find the solid rustic-benches laid; 
 And on the highroads, also, weary feet 160 
 
 Approach with grateful haste the new stone seat, 
 Here, nigh a well, or there, with slanting shed 
 To guard from rain or sun the traveller's head. 
 
 In Croghan Hall, when new, the famous Dean, 
 
232 CHAPTER ELEVEN : 
 
 Upon his journeys, nioody guest hath been. 165 
 
 Well-built at first, but mouldy with neglect, 
 
 Young Laurence as his own chief architect 
 
 Chose out the shrewdest workmen that he might, 
 
 And made the mansion safe and weather-tight, 
 
 Improving all, yet zealous to retain 170 
 
 Each stone and tile, each form, each weather-stain. 
 
 His own true touch alive on every part 
 
 Gave without cost the luxury of Art, 
 
 Which foolish Wealth on ostentation set 
 
 Can dearly pay for, but can rarely get. 175 
 
 'Tween lough and mountain, grove on either hand, 
 
 A solid, stately House you see it stand, 
 
 Of broad, low stairs, and windows deep recess' d ; 
 
 In front, a boundless prospect to the west, 
 
 In rear, a terraced garden. Order reigns, 180 
 
 But not with costly and elaborate pains, 
 
 A disproportion of the means and end, 
 
 Whereby so often wealthy homes offend, 
 
 With vile adornment oft offending worse, 
 
LORD AND LADY. 233 
 
 Slapping across our teeth, a heavy purse. 185 
 
 Good sense, refinement, naivety, reconcile 
 Man's work and nature's, and the genial smile 
 Is brotherhood's, not condescension's, here; 
 No bitterness flows in, but strength and cheer 
 From every aspect ; 'tis a kindly place, 190 
 
 That does not seem to taunt you with its grace, 
 But, somehow, makes you happy, stray or stay, 
 And pleased to recollect it when away ; 
 For manners thus extend to house and field, 
 And subtle comfort or discomfort yield. 195 
 
 Enter : you find throughout the spacious rooms, 
 If bright, or mellow'd with delicious glooms, 
 Instead of gaudy paper, silk, and paint, 
 Statues and pictures, books, wood-carvings quaint, 
 Dim-splendid needlework of Hindostan, 200 
 
 Grave solid furniture of useful plan ; 
 Here a soft blaze of flow'rs in full daylight, 
 There, ivied casement, shadowing aright 
 
234 CHAPTER ELEVEN t 
 
 The mournful relics of the secret Past, 
 
 Waifs, liftings, from that ocean deep and vast, 205 
 
 The thought and work of many a vanished race ; 
 
 The life of ancient Erin you may trace 
 
 In Druid's torque, moon-shaped, of thinnest gold, 
 
 Square bell that to St. Patrick's preaching toll'd, 
 
 Cups, coins, and fibulse, and ogham-stones, 210 
 
 Spear, axe, and arrow-heads, of flint or bronze. 
 
 Whatever knowledge (at the best but small) 
 
 Of such is extant, Laurence knows it all, 
 
 And sometimes to his neighbours far and near 
 
 Imparts a modest lecture, short and clear, 215 
 
 On things Hibernian, chiefly those around, 
 
 The Giant's Grave, the Fort, the Fairy-Mound, 
 
 The crumbling Abbey- wall, the Eound-Tower grey, 
 
 Still rising smooth and firm as on the day 
 
 Its taper cap received the topmost stone ; 220 
 
 The mountain Cairn, to distant counties shown; 
 
 The Norman-English Keep on river brink ; 
 
 His light firm hand connecting link with link 
 
LORD AND LAPY. 235 
 
 Of Irish, history, so that none complain 
 
 To find it gall them like a rusty chain. 225 
 
 This large room is for music ; violin, 
 
 Piano, voice, at times the merry din 
 
 Of Bloomfield's rustic band, its echoes wake, 
 
 And rustic hearers oft an audience make. 
 
 .N"ay, all with ears to hear, with eyes to see, 230 
 To every sight and sound have welcome free. 
 To make our costly luxuries right and fair 
 All human beings who are fit must share. 
 So Bloomfield said, was laugh' d at, yet he tried, 
 Found all come easy, nor the rule too wide. 235 
 
 But haste we ! 'Tis that merry time of year, 
 Once more brought round upon our whirling sphere, 
 (The days of darkness and of snow gone past, 
 Of chilly sunbeams and the freezing blast), 
 When eager skylarks at the gate of morn 240 
 
 Keep singing to the sower of the corn 
 
236 LORD AND LADY. 
 
 In his brown field below; the noisy rooks 
 
 Hold council in the grove-top ; shelter' d nooks 
 
 Bring forth young primroses and violets ; 
 
 The woodland swarms with buds, the ash-tree sets 245 
 
 Dark lace upon his bough, with tenderest green 
 
 The larch-spray tufted, pallid leaflets seen 
 
 Unfolding and uncrumpling day by day. 
 
 Nigh Croghan Hall the herons lean and grey 
 
 Hover and float upon those wide-spread wings 250 
 
 Around their lofty cradles, with the Spring's 
 
 Breath rocking slowly ; braird is pushing through ; 
 
 The clever mavis and the soft cuckoo 
 
 Untiring sing their olden songs anew ; 
 
 In fields of freshest grass the bold young lambs 255 
 
 Jump lightly round their anxious bleating dams ; 
 
 And little Mary Bloomfield, blithe as they, 
 
 Greeting a happy morn of holiday, 
 
 The sunshine glittering on her golden head, 
 
 Euns races through the lawn with brother Fred 260 
 
 (" He's but a child," says Mary ; he is four, . 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN : 237 
 
 His comrade and protectress two years more,) 
 Among the clumps of yellow daffodils. 
 Light blows the breeze, a vernal freshness fills 
 The morning sky, green plain, and dappled hills, 265 
 As run the merry babes with floating hair, 
 Watch'd by their* parents. After morning pray'r 
 And breakfast, and while busy hands complete 
 A children's banquet-hall with flow'r and sweet, 
 " What say you, Jenny, young folk, shall we drive ? 270 
 " ; Tis four long hours before our guests arrive." 
 Smoothly the simple carriage speeds along 
 Behind two chestnut ponies brisk and strong, 
 By Laurence guided : he looks older now, 
 But bears his candid, smooth, and open brow 275 
 "[Increased with petty cares, fine mouth unseam'd 
 With policy ; the ripening years have spread 
 His tall and goodly frame ; free lifts his head 
 Its brownish clusters. By him sits Queen Jane. 
 No queen ? look closer she deserves to reign. 280 
 How is she drest 1 Madam, in shawl cream- white, 
 
238 CHAPTER ELEVEN : 
 
 Straw bonnet, trimmed with purple, if I'm right. 
 
 She is not tall, and rather dark than fair, 
 
 Her forehead fitted close with soft black hair, 
 
 Brows sloped the right way, over eyes so true, 285 
 
 Eyes darkly clear, I cannot tell their hue, 
 
 That faith and courage kindle where they gaze, 
 
 Earth is not vulgar, lighted with those rays ; 
 
 Fine ear, a nostril flexible and thin, 
 
 Lips mildly proud, a full but gentle chin, 290 
 
 Compact and firmly-moulded foot and hand, 
 
 Gesture and look accustom'd to command, 
 
 Or rather to be willingly obey'd 
 
 As having never o'er the boundary stray'd 
 
 Of others' rights and feelings, such is she ; 295 
 
 A trustier human creature cannot be ; 
 
 Mild, gracious, and undaunted, every line 
 
 Of soul and body nobly feminine. 
 
 Instinctive wisdom, humour swift and gay, 
 
 A simple greatness, sure to do and say 300 
 
 The best, belong to her, and in her voice 
 
LORD AND LADY. 239 
 
 A tone to make the dullest heart rejoice. 
 
 No marvel if the servants of her home 
 
 Are humble friends, if cordial blessings come 
 
 To every peasant's lip that forms her name, 305 
 
 If my poor stumbling pen forebears for shame. 
 
 happy Husband ! happy Wife no less ! 
 
 In perfect mutual trust and tenderness. 
 
 Whatever joys await the Blest above, 
 
 No boon below like happy wedded love. 310 
 
 Down the park-slope, Lough Braccan full in view, 
 Boss'd with green islands floating on the blue, 
 Through well-kept farms, by neat white cottages, 
 Boglands reclaimed, new belts of rising trees, 
 Paddock and croft, with many a feather 'd brood, 315 
 Lambs, calves and foals, (life everywhere renew' d) 
 That send their voices on the lightsome air, 
 And of the vernal day enjoy their share, 
 Gay speed we. That's the steward's house, his name 
 Neal Doran (he's the same, and not the same) ; 320 
 
240 CHAPTER ELEVEN ! 
 
 His wife and he are up at Croghan Hall, 
 
 Best aids to trim our little festival. 
 
 There's Lisnamoy church-spire, and further down 
 
 The Romish steeple ; midway in the town 
 
 Stands up the clock-tow'r, whose melodious tongue 325 
 
 Calls noon, a civic voice to old and young 
 
 To draw them in a circle, voice of Time 
 
 To each and all hearken ! says the chime : 
 
 Reckless, who will now and then respect 
 
 That preaching, if all others they neglect. 330 
 
 There, to new Market-place a pipe conveys 
 
 A cold perpetual water-vein, which plays 
 
 All day and night with cheerful soothing tone, 
 
 Falling into its shallow tank of stone 
 
 In curving crystal fringed with showery spray ; 335 
 
 
 
 Where sometimes, doubtless, girls and dames delay 
 With rested pitchers, till a warning stroke 
 Cuts short at last the gossip and the joke. 
 Carved shamrocks, mixt with field-flow'rs, grass, and 
 corn, 
 
LORD AND LADY. 241 
 
 The stone rim of the dial-lace adorn; 340 
 
 Atop, a sleeping infant, left and right 
 Stout peasant-man and woman, holding tight 
 A sickle and a basket ; rudely true, 
 The sculpture to a rustic hand is due 
 And Bloomfield's brain, who, whilst his neighbours 
 smiled, 345 
 
 With jutting balcony and roof red-tiled, 
 Built his Town-hall at less than half the cost 
 (The which in sooth impress' d his neighbours most) 
 Of Pigot's plan, in classic British taste, 
 "With sequences of scroll and bracket graced. 350 
 Each year the town receives improvements, planned 
 By no expensive, by no vulgar hand; 
 New house with window' d gable to the street, 
 Euin displaced, and ragged wall made neat, 
 Good drains, and whitewash, footwalks, and young trees ; 
 The change in Lisnamoy each traveller sees, 35$ 
 
 And almost sings aloud with joy to win 
 ' The Bloomfield Arms/ a clean and cosy inn, 
 R 
 
24:2 CHAPTER ELEVEN I 
 
 Where Denis Coyle and Bridget welcome you; 
 Not as the dismal 'Koyal' wont to do, 360 
 
 With shabby waiter, old and drunk, proud host 
 And sluttish chambermaid, poor fare, high cost. 
 
 We drive through Lisnamoy. Who bows so low ? 
 "Father Adair : but well does Bloomfield know 
 Of Bloomfield's favourite School the deepest foe. 365 
 There stands the building, comely brick and stone, 
 A little backward from the causeway thrown, 
 Mower-beds and paths in orderly array, 
 And greensward for the noon's half-hour of play ; 
 All empty now, for eldest child and least 370 
 
 Must share at Croghan Hall the Vernal Feast. 
 The School has prospered, and is prospering still, 
 Though absent every clergyman's good-will, 
 Who each would make a primer of his creed, 
 Since now the vulgar must be taught to read, 375 
 The bigot duly with the scholar train, 
 Weed out man's brotherhood from breast and brain, 
 
LORD AND LADY. 243 
 
 Twist every thought and feeling as they grow, 
 Neighbour baptized to live his neighbour's foe. 
 Home's churchmen seized the new scholastic dower, 
 Secure to swell by just so much their power, 381 
 While haughty shepherds of the legal rite 
 Declared this vulgar partnership a slight, 
 And loud demanding separate purse and place, 
 Flung a big Bible in the statesman's face, 385 
 
 Who handed back the volume with a bow. 
 So wrath was kindled, and is burning now, 
 In minds too Christian or perhaps too proud 
 To fill the legal hour for them allow' d, 
 Since Popish pastors that same right enjoy' d 390 
 With their own lambs, nor left it unemploy'd. 
 But now the people's alphabet in turn 
 Must from its first supporters feel the spurn. 
 How, for one day, could we, shrewd Men of Eome, 
 Forget th' experience, now again brought home, 395 
 That Knowledge acts as poison, if 'tis not 
 /ook'd in the black ecclesiastic pot, 
 
 B2 
 
244 CHAPTER ELEVEN : 
 
 From cardinals' and bishops' high discourse 
 
 Down to the a b c of babes at nurse ? 
 
 As Spain puts garlic into every mess, 400 
 
 So must the sacred flavour more or less 
 
 Be mix'd in every atom of the food, 
 
 To dye the bones and circle with the blood; 
 
 Arithmetic the one true Church must own, 
 
 And Grammar have its orthodoxy known ; 405 
 
 Or else, keep free from learning's dangerous leaven, 
 
 Guided, in blessed ignorance, to Heaven. 
 
 But well the People know how great the boon : 
 
 We must not drive, but lead and coax them : soon, 
 
 Whene'er the wind political turns fair, 410 
 
 Help'd by our foes, who also seek their share, 
 
 We pull the* pagan system down perforce, 
 
 Its wealth and strength made chiefly ours, of course. 
 
 Meanwhile, wherever possible, let schools 
 
 In strict accordance with our holy rules, 415 
 
 With every fitting gesture, form, and phrase, 
 
 Supplant these others, yet no war-cry raise. 
 
LORD AND LADY. 245 
 
 Pigot, who did but little know or care, 
 Was wrought upon by Father John Adair, 
 Slighted the ' National/ and had almost 420 
 
 (For keeping with the clergy was his boast) 
 Promised the ' Christian Brotherhood ' a site. 
 But Bloomfield came, and alter' d things outright, 
 Obtained a Model School for Lisnamoy, 
 Built other schools, and saw that girl and boy 425 
 Who might go, did go, for he knew his ground, 
 And soon the People in his party found ; 
 Whereon Adair, the smooth and patient man, 
 Howe'er he felt, lock'd up his favourite plan, 
 And neither bann'd nor bless'd the Model School, 
 Paying due visits, as by legal rule. 431 
 
 The parish was improved, his income raised ; 
 He oft (perhaps sincerely) Bloomfield praised. 
 
 Inn, fountain, clock, we pass, and quit the town 
 Close by the Workhouse, where with Isaac Brown 435 
 Hath Bloomfield many a tedious battle fought, 
 
246 CHAPTER ELEVEN I 
 
 And many a good reform full slowly wrought; 
 For weekly there, sat once a Guardian Board 
 To guard the landlords' purse from pauper horde, 
 To guard the bed where age and sickness lie 440 
 From touch of comfort let them live or die, 
 What matter how their drop of life runs by ? 
 To guard poor children, trembling little slaves, 
 Cast on our pity by misfortune's waves, 
 From spade and needle, watching lest they learn 445 
 The skill that might a scantest living earn, 
 Using, faith, hope and charity being dead, 
 Political- economy instead, 
 Training with anxious negligence a race 
 To live their country's burden and disgrace. 450 
 
 Sad without guilt, and punish' d without crime, 
 Those joyless children dragg'd their weary time, 
 Or issuing from their prison two by two 
 Distress' d the road with cheeks of ghastly hue, 
 Unlike the brisk though tatter'd urchins there, 455 
 Not highly fed, but free from Guardians' care. 
 
 . 
 
LORD AND LADY. 247 
 
 Now much is alter' d : it were long to tell, 
 
 But now both young and old are nourish'd well, 
 
 The Master's not a drunkard or a fool, 
 
 No roguish dunce pretends to teach the school, 460 
 
 Each boy or girl receives an honest trade, 
 
 And starts in life with small sufficient aid. 
 
 NOT is it found to swell the pauper list : 
 
 The Board on steady discipline insist, 
 
 Make all those work who can, and seldom fail 465 
 
 Where punishment is due. 'Tis worse than jail 
 
 For all the bad and lazy ; but the child, 
 
 The sick, the hoary head, meet liberal hand and mild. 
 
 Next the neat Vicarage gate we swiftly reach, 
 Where Eeverend Mr. Jones's little speech 470 
 
 Upon the weather gives a moment's pause, 
 Deliver' d sweetly with due hems and haws. 
 The gout one day despatch' d old Vicar Boyd ; 
 Whereon since craft had vainly been employ' d 
 To draw from Laurence Bloomfield what he meant, 
 
248 CHAPTER ELEVEN I 
 
 For he, lay-rector, could his choice ' present/ 476 
 And two far cousins of the reverend class, 
 And ten times more their lady wives, alas ! 
 Had loathed each other on this ground for years 
 Behold an aguish time of hopes and fears. 480 
 
 "What urill you do, then?" " Nothing ! "with a 
 
 smile. 
 
 " I leave it with the Bishop." (Is this guile, 
 Or idiot folly, or unfeeling jest?) 
 " With him, entirely, Bishop must know best." 
 His Lordship sent a parson mild and tame, 485 
 
 Glad of the glebe ; and when his Lordship came 
 On confirmation tour, with whom was he 
 So cordial as with Bloomfield, or so free? 
 At Croghan Hall, too, did the great man dine, 
 And made himself delightful o'er the wine. 490 
 
 But now for home. Our merry wheels forsake 
 Close hedgerows for the margin of the lake, 
 Edged with these water-gnawn fantastic stones 
 
LORD AND LADY. 249 
 
 That show its winter level, white as bones. 
 The unimprison'd eye skims, miles on miles, 495 
 The silver distance, and the verdurous isles 
 That slumber on their shadows in the smooth, 
 And back to where fine lipping ripples soothe 
 Its nearer beach. High snort the ponies proud, 
 Fish leap, young Fred and Mary laugh aloud 500 
 For very joy of life. We quit the shore, 
 Wind up the hill, and halt at Croghan door. 
 
 At two all's ready. Gathering, trooping fast, 
 Bright happy faces, all are here at last ; 
 Clad, boy and girl, blue, red or duffel-grey, 505 
 
 In homespun garments most, a trim array. 
 Their entertainers greet them, recognise 
 One here, one there : now break we, and devise 
 All merry games among the grass and trees, 509 
 < Tig,' < Hide & Seek/ * High Windows/ what we please ; 
 Till, like a bee-drum, sounds the welcome call 
 To tea and dainties in the music-hall ; 
 
250 CHAPTER ELEVEN: 
 
 music silent, of the rustic band ; 
 Laurence and Jane with friendliest eye and hand 
 To each in turn attentive. Banquet done, 515 
 
 Forth draws them once again the westering sun, 
 Some dancing in the many-circled mound, 
 Thick with primroses, others seated round ; 
 And there they sing in chorus, till the light 
 At last begins to fade. Lo ! rushing bright, 520 
 
 A culminating rocket bursts aloft 
 In gold and crimson meteors, drooping soft ; 
 Another follows ; wondrous wheel and gyre 
 Spin on the grovy background shapes of fire ; 
 A blue ecstatic splendour, mildly strong, 525 
 
 Bathes tree and mansion, mound and gazing throng; 
 Then dusk, as of a sudden, wraps the scene, 
 All memory now ; remembered well, I ween. 
 In careful cart and wagon home are sent 
 The smaller children, sleepily content ; 530 
 
 The rest, drawn up in order at the door, 
 March with their trusty Captains as before. 
 
LORD AND LADY. 251 
 
 " All children can be govern'd : with the best 
 " Much may be done ; and something with the rest. 
 " Of men, to help you or be help'd, choose first 535 
 " The best you know of; and avoid the worst:" 
 Thus Bloomfield, though, like Dunstan, he could dare 
 To pinch the Devil's nose, if need there were. 
 He found, being active yet averse from strife, 
 'Twas not so hard to live a manly life ; 540 
 
 Or call it godly life, and thereto read 
 The learn' d and holy necromantic Swede; 
 "Wildest and wisest of the dreamers he. 
 All dream, but foolish visions most men see. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELI) IN IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 MIDSUMMER. 
 
LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD 
 IN IRELAND. 
 
 XII. 
 
 MIDSUMMER. 
 
 t 
 
 early sink away the starry Twins, 
 Pursuing sunset - ^eastern heaven begins 
 To lift Arcturus, with that Coronet 
 Upon the brow of Summer glittering set ; 
 And rich the country now, with shady roads 
 And hollow lanes embank' d with fern ; white /i 5 
 Of fragrant hawthorn-bloom, but when this bloom 
 Grows fainter, bramble-roses in its room ; 
 And sunny paths for milkmaids, winding through 
 The grass thick-set with yellow flow'rs and blue, 10 
 Millions of little blue and yellow flow'rs ; 
 Rich are the warm, long, lustrous, golden hours, 
 
256 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 That nourish, the green javelins of the wheat, 
 The delicate flax, the tufted clover sweet, 
 And barley's drooping beard, and speckled oats. 15 
 The yorlin's trembling sigh of pleasure floats 
 On sultry wind ; the landrail's hoarse crake-crake 
 Still keeps the meadows and cornfields awake 
 When two clear twilights mingle in the sky 
 Of glowing June. 
 
 A broad white margin dry 20 
 
 Around Lough Braccan, yet our four-oar'd boat 
 At this long jetty's end lies well afloat. 
 Your hand, fair London girl ; your hand, my Jane ; 
 Lord Camlin lifts wee Molly; Fred is fain 
 Of Pictor's hand, the glowing P. E. B. 25 
 
 Two elder guests embark more leisurely, 
 Grave William Downing, an official man, 
 George Eoe, as grave, but on a different plan, 
 Our Irish antiquary, both exact, 
 Elaborate and minute, but every fact 30 
 
 Turns here to poetry, and there to prose. 
 
MIDSUMMER. 257 
 
 Bloomfield himself is steersman : off she goes, 
 Cleaving the glassy flood ; blue summer smiles 
 
 I Above, below ; green headlands, wooded isles 
 Shift past them ; and the mountain's royal folds, 35 
 With shadows such as purple velvet holds. 
 A softer landscape and a fairer sky 
 
 j Around the moving boat in mirror'd beauty lie. 
 Bloomfield and Canilin talk, old friends and dear, 
 
 | Of much ; of horses, flax-mills, home-brew' d beer ; 40 
 Of London ; of Ned Stanley, said to be 
 
 j Lazy and blase in sublime degree ; 
 
 (And of elections. Laurence said, "You know, 
 " My rebel grandsire, sixty years ago, 
 t( With Grattan gave his vote in College-green, 45 
 " Or else Lord Lisnamoy I might have been/' 
 " Stand for the county, Bloomfield." "So I might. 
 u Under what banner would you have me fight 1 " 
 "They ask'd you]" "Yes, with watchword 
 
 Tenant-right : 
 " But what had I to promise ? All my lore 50 
 
258 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 " Leaves this a darker matter than before. 
 
 " Tory I'm not ; yet have no pocket plan 
 
 " To re-divide the world. Besides, a man 
 
 " With place and solid work, had better stay 
 
 " And do what comes to hand the best he may." 55 
 
 u You have done much." " To make good tenants 
 
 sure, 
 
 "And weed away the bad; attempt a cure 
 " Of sloven habits, ignorance, and waste, 
 " (All step by step, for such things bear not haste ;) 
 " To teach the children ; to forbear to mix 60 
 
 " With Church affairs, or party politics 
 " The simple programme, less or more fulfilTd." 
 " And here you are, not ruin'd yet, nor kill'd." 
 " So has it happened. Still, I never saw, 
 " Nor yet can see, foundation for a law, 65 
 
 " Amidst our manifold complexities, 
 " Perplexities, (and what a web are these !) 
 " But here alone : waste and indebted lands 
 "Being wisely bought into 'the nation's hands, 
 
MIDSUMMER. 2f)9 
 
 " You might thereon create a novel class 70 
 
 " Of Irishmen, to leaven all the mass 
 
 " With hope, and industry, and loyalty, 
 
 " (My favourite crotchet well, so let it be) 
 
 " Small Owners, namely. North, south, east, and west, 
 
 " I'd plant them, and they'd surely do their best ; 75 
 
 " With great and permanent results, if slow." 
 
 "I wish it had been though t-of years ago!" 
 
 "I mean to try it now, on petty scale. 
 
 " Dysart's estate was brought at last to sale 
 
 " A week since, and one good-sized lot is mine, 80 
 
 " Which, parcelTd out with care, I shall assign 
 
 " To various peasant purchasers. 'Tis plain 
 
 " Already that I shall not lose but gain 
 
 " On the mere bargain. Money must be paid, 
 
 " But part may on the land itself be laid. 85 
 
 " No burdensome conditions I inflict, 
 
 " And all on both sides shall be clear and strict." 
 
 Downing has listened ; his dry cautious mind 
 s 2 
 
260 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 Can many doubts and difficulties find. 
 
 " Ireland and England, make the two as one." 90 
 
 " May Heaven forfend, in case it could be done," 
 
 Says Roe, and gently shakes his silver' d head; 
 
 And Bloomfield, " As some measure England's thread, 
 
 " (Do nations last for ever ?) 'tis a date 
 
 " For closer partnership a day too late ! " 95 
 
 Quoth Downing, "What can Ireland singly do?" 
 
 " Nothing as yet : to-morrow's always new. 
 
 " Small nations to conglomerates I prefer ; 
 
 " Ireland has individual character ; 
 
 " But with her very rudiments to learn 100 
 
 " Of self-command. Blind Fortune's wheel must turn 
 
 " In vain, till much be alter'd. I for one, 
 
 " Save my own task, see nothing to be done." 
 
 " No patriotism. ? " says Camlin. " Eire and sword 
 
 " In a fool's hands ! Could Ireland now afford 105 
 
 " One footplace for Astrsea 1 Will our Age 
 
 " On ground like this her noblest battle wage ? 
 
 "We suffer ; pow rful England suffers too ; 
 
MIDSUMMER. 261 
 
 " Hot writhing France lias still her work to do. 
 " Kegard the nations ; name them one by one ; no 
 " More pregnant time than ours th' all-seeing Sun 
 " Has not beheld. But Ireland what of her ? 
 " She's nothing by herself : amidst the stir 
 " Flung under foot or bandied to and fro, 
 " What comes at last? Our grandsons, they may 
 know. 115 
 
 " Scarce worth a struggle now to re-arrange 
 " What's old, effete, departing, let it change ! 
 " I would that Irishmen could Ireland rule. 
 " They cannot Irishmen are still at school ; 
 " Their master, England, unbelov'd 'tis true, 120 
 " But can we find a better one 1 can you ? 
 " Things must (in Pistol's words) be as they may, 
 " Time and the hour wear out the longest day, 
 " Well do our best, because the best is best, 
 " (The only reason) and let slide the rest." 125 
 
 From grassy slope the Eound Tower springs aloft, 
 
262 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 With grey and orange lichen tinted soft, 
 
 Like some huge tree-trunk; its long shadow falls 
 
 Across the rough and ruin'd Abbey-walls, 
 
 And creeps o'er headstone, cross, and weedy mound, 
 
 The dial of this consecrated ground; 131 
 
 While near the shining margin of the lake, 
 
 Where crooked elder-shrubs an arbour make, 
 
 (Grotesquely stuck with many-coloured rags 
 
 By grateful devotees, as pilgrim-flags) 135 
 
 At noon its finger finds the Holy Well, 
 
 \ 
 Nature's pure hermit of a rocky cell. 
 
 To this in few days more, with one consent, 
 
 Throngs of devout, of sick, of penitent, 
 
 Will come to do their prayerful pilgrimage, 140 
 
 As hath been since the good Columba's age. 
 
 " Much longer," guesses Roe ; " for Pagan shrines 
 
 " Were Christianized old bottles held new wines." 
 
 " Forms faiths," Lord Camlin murmurs, " old and 
 
 new?" 
 " See," exclaims Pictor, " how that mantle's blue 145 
 
MIDSUMMER. 263 
 
 ""Comes out against the grey-green shrubs and rocks." 
 
 " A Pilgrim surely ! " cries fair Goldy locks, 
 
 And claps her pretty cockney hands for joy. 
 
 It is indeed a woman, with a boy, 
 
 A ten-year baby, pined in face and limb, 150 
 
 Whose mother many a mile has carried him, 
 
 And v now bends low in pray'r, her sick one laid 
 
 Gasping and white within the elder- shade. 
 
 " Let's go," says Bloomfield, and they turn away. 
 
 Great awe to see a human being pray 155 
 
 Had Laurence ; but in thought and word and deed 
 He stood aloof from every stated creed ; 
 Aloof, yet, if you question' d, fairly dealt, 
 Had thought your thoughts, had felt as you have felt, 
 And many men were cheer'd at inmost heart 160 
 That some-one dared an independent part. 
 The vulgar Scripture-Header, meddling Priest, 
 One could not argue which he loved the least ; 
 Subscription-lists of theologic kind, 
 
264 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 Whatever their party, found him deaf and blind ; 165 
 No wish, he harbour' d to convert the Jews, 
 Turks, Eussians, Catholics, Chinese, Hindoos, 
 Cared not a pin for High Church or for Low, 
 Itfor by what various names Dissenters go. 
 At last the world made up its mind to say: 170 
 " An odd man truly ! he must have his way," 
 For thus old habitudes themselves protect, 
 As our own body, failing to eject, 
 Sheathes an intrusive particle. 
 
 What plan 
 
 " With Irish Priests 1 " " Why, talking as a man, 175 
 
 " T say, avoid them. But a statesman might 
 
 " Have in his calculations found it right 
 
 " To yield them a less humble place at home ; 
 
 " Since now they're nothing save as part of Kome." 
 
 Bloomfield to Downing thus : and Eoe agreed, 180 
 
 " Of countries Catholic we find indeed 
 
 " Ireland most Popish ; poor and trodden-down, 
 
 " She claims the glories of the Triple Crown, 
 
MIDSUMMER. 265 
 
 " The famous temple of Saint Peter shines, 
 
 " For head -cathedral of her humble shrines." 135 
 
 " Ireland/' said Bloomfield, " too much tends to cast 
 
 " Her thought upon the distant and the past, 
 
 " Amidst intangibilities to live, 
 
 " Her sad imagination scope to give 
 
 " In longings, in regrets, to make her boast 190 
 
 " Of fine things due or coming, fine tilings lost 
 
 " That once were hers, and hers would still be found 
 
 " If but the rolling world had kept its ground." 
 
 " And yet," sigh'd Eoe, " 'tis gentle heart that 
 
 clings 
 
 " To hope's and memory's fond ideal things. 195 
 " Poor Erin with her harp ! This very night 
 " The ghosts of immemorial ages light, 
 u From Howth to Connemara, Donegal 
 " To furthest Kerry, for their festival, 
 " On every hill and head a mystic flame." 200 
 
 The time of evening- conversation came 
 
266 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 With new and various talk. A question starts 
 
 Of Meyerbeer's stage-cunning, and M.ozart's, 
 
 For Jane's a good musician feminine, 
 
 A connoisseur Lord Camlin, skill'd and fine; 205 
 
 Of Scotch and Irish music, whereof Eoe 
 
 Doth more than any living mortal know; 
 
 The modest, mild, and gravely cheerful man, 
 
 Who with the race of statisticians can 
 
 Converse as well. The ' facts ' for which they care, 210 
 
 His mind will group, distinguish, blend ; as air 
 
 And light do landscapes. Now we shoot a glance 
 
 Into the heart of Poland, China, France, 
 
 America, or aim at least ; return 
 
 To handle Ireland, yet no fingers burn. 215 
 
 Amelia thinks Pre-Eaphaelites are wrong, 
 
 Complains of Eobert Browning's knotty song, 
 
 And Pictor, hot in cheek, confutes the fair, 
 
 But soon forgives her for her gold-red hair. 
 
 The voice of Bloomfield " Search the world around, 220 
 
 " Where are you safer than on Irish ground 1 
 
MIDSUMMER. 267 
 
 * No burglar reconnoitres your abode, 
 " No footpad dogs you on the lonely road, 
 " No ruffian's arm or cowardly garotte, 
 " Walk where you please, is flung across your 
 
 throat ; 225 
 
 " No pistol-pointing mask, with stealthy light, 
 " Across your slumber stoops at dead of night ; 
 "No friendly neighbour, spouse, or next of kin, 
 " Mixes your glass, to drop the powder in ; 
 " Confess, when you have search'd the wide world 
 
 round, 2 SO 
 
 " You're nowhere safer than on Irish ground. 
 " We Paddies, Downing, you must understand, 
 " Count England as a dangerous heathen land !" 
 " I own, though we of Irish things complain 
 " Your native manners are of gentler strain. 235 
 
 " Your Scotch and English settlers still I find 
 " Of boorish bearing and slow stubborn mind." 
 " Yet these, per contra" Bloomfield must admit, 
 " Are loyal, truthful, though of sluggish wit. 
 
368 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 " I like them, sturdy, sulky, jealous tribe, 240 
 
 " Though to their Orange Hall I can't subscribe. 
 
 " And Bibbonism?" " How much I used to hear 
 
 " Of Eibbonism, the landlord's hourly fear!" 
 
 "And you have quell'd it 'twas a noble task!" 
 
 "I know not if I have ; I never ask. 245 
 
 " It sometimes said, Take Notice, I took none, 
 
 " And what we plann'd was resolutely done ; 
 
 " My own folk saw me willing to be just 
 
 61 And something more ; I told them, ' I intrust 
 
 " ' My life to you/ When any lost his land, 250 
 
 " 'Twas mildly managed ; all could understand 
 
 " The need ; and so on." " Would you not be loth 
 
 " To trust a man who took the Eibbon oath'?" 
 
 " Men's lives, and human character, are such, 
 
 " Perhaps it puzzles most to know too much ; 255 
 
 " I ask no questions." 
 
 No : but Laurence knew 
 
 Some things unsought, as frank men always do. 
 Whilst yet his reign was but a few weeks old, 
 
MIDSUMMER. 269 
 
 The Doran's lifelong heartburn he consoled 
 
 With much-desiderated lease, and more 260 
 
 Of moorland joined to what they had before. 
 
 Warmly towards their youthful king they felt, 
 
 Who also his especial favour dealt 
 
 To Neal, but knew not what a burden lay 
 
 On the boy's mind. Xeal told the truth one day. 265 
 
 " A Kibbonman am I, send me to jail, 
 
 " Or where you will, sir." Laurence heard his tale, 
 
 And sent him round by Ailsa Craig, to watch 
 
 Awhile how Sandy farms, and learn broad Scotch. 
 
 Much happens in a year. A spy betray' d 270 
 
 The poteen-still, and by the heels was laid 
 
 The cunning Connaughtman, who in his turn, 
 
 Enraged and ruin'd, thought it well to earn 
 
 The public money, not indeed for blood, 
 
 He could not prove enough ; but much he could, 275 
 
 Which sent Tim Nulty, and five other men, 
 
 To fifteen years of punishment, and ten, 
 
 And broke the Lodge in pieces, with dismay 
 
270 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 And heavy dread, not passing soon away. 
 
 First Bloomfield's folk, then nearly all the rest, 280 
 
 At * God's Tribunal ' now their sin confessed, 
 
 And from their oath absolved, with penance due, 
 
 Felt thankful great relief, and started new; 
 
 Some, if not all, upon a wiser course. 
 
 Of these was Denis ; who with generous force 285 
 
 His gratitude to generous Laurence gave, 
 
 And Laurence liked the sturdy man and brave, 
 
 Steadfast to Bridget, made at last his wife 
 
 When Neal returned to prop the old folks' life. 
 
 Since Laurence built his Inn, the bustling pair 290 
 
 With honest pride are host and hostess there, 
 
 Small show, much comfort, and each liquor's name 
 
 The one it has authentic right to claim ; 
 
 ]STo vitriolic whiskey, fit to sear 
 
 Your vitals up, no sour malignant beer. 295 
 
 Poor Paddy of all Christian men I think 
 
 On basest food pours down the vilest drink ; 
 
 'God's Tribunal,' the confessional. 
 
MIDSUMMER. 271 
 
 But not in Bloomfield's kingdom ; long did Jane 
 Endeavour, and at last not all in vain, 
 That wives and daughters should know how to 
 cook. 300 
 
 Upwards, they both say, bid the humbler look ; 
 Appropriate wishes breed not discontent; 
 For strength's renewal petty hopes are lent; 
 So live we, so improve. A tidy cottage, 
 Garb of stout homespun, mess of savoury pottage, 305 
 Such grows the fashion ; him that duly tries 
 His Honour helps with all goodwill to rise. 
 " And what then/' Downing ask'd, "is Kibbonisru'?" 
 " A morbid sign, a proof of social schism. 
 " JSTo one can tell you is it widely spread ; 310 
 
 " All tails I guess it, and without a head ; 
 " A sort of stinging zoophite, that breeds 
 " In rotten places, and from vagrant seeds." 
 " Well, comfort and contentment hand in hand 
 " Grow strong or feeble over every land : - 315 
 " And your folk are contented T " Why, so far 
 
272 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 " As Sons of Erin may, perhaps they are. 
 
 " But common evils which to life belong 
 
 " Patricias will account a personal wrong ; 
 
 " Suckled on grievances, his mind is bent 320 
 
 " To charge on others all his discontent ; 
 
 " Half curses England when his tooth-ache stings, 
 
 " Half blames th' Established Church for frosty springs 
 
 " And rainy summers ; thinks it passing hard 
 
 " From any joy of life to live debarr'd, 325 
 
 " As though the English, Erench, or German poor 
 
 " Lead plenteous lives, with nothing to endure." 
 
 " What's this !" said Jane ; " yes they are, I'm sure, 
 
 " Contented." " Well, perhaps they are, my dear; 
 
 " As much as may be ; yet I always hear 330 
 
 " The human discontent in murmuring motion 
 
 " Hound every limit, like the murmuring ocean. 
 
 " Come, let us go. The bonfires are alight. 
 
 " I'll hold you safe from Captain Eock to-night. 
 
 " Now, Miss Amelia ; " 
 
 From the fir-grove mound 335 
 
MIDSUMMER. 273 
 
 They view the shadowy country, leagues around, 
 Spotted with fires ; upon the mountain ridge 
 One like a rising star; and one a bridge 
 Of quivering gold across the dusky lake ; 
 Successive torches, like a fiery snake, 340 
 
 Wind creeping through the foliage, in and out, 
 With black figures athwart, whose muffled shout 
 Hurts not the whispering airs that come and go 
 Among the fir-boughs and warm grass below. 
 Now by sweet-scented path they take their way 345 
 Between the dusky swathes of new-mown hay, 
 Down to the cross-roads' patch, enclosed with trees 
 And flower-girt walls of peeping cottages, 
 To find the nearest Bonfire crumbled wide 
 In glowing ruins, and on every side 350 
 
 The women snatching ruddy coals, for fear 
 Their hearth should miss good luck throughout the year. 
 But quickly now approach, with clamorous noise, 
 The torches, in a mob of men and boys, 
 Who draw to Bloomfield's gazing group, extend 355 
 T 
 
274 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 The loose array to left and right, and bend 
 All round them, not too closely, in a ring, 
 Prom which the huge reed-flambeaux towering fling 
 Wild flare upon the crowd, with shadows wild, 
 And on the trees' dark wall above them piled. 360 ! 
 Amelia shrinks to Jane's courageous arm, 
 Who smiles away her pretty friend's alarm. 
 Forth steps a torch-man. " Hats off, boys ! be ready ! 
 " God bless his Honour, and his daiiin' Lady ! 
 <c God bless the two fine childre', that's not here ! 365 
 " Cead millia faltia, noble guests ! " a cheer 
 Thrice o'er the glimmering lake swells out and dies. 
 Faint echo from the mountain-land replies. 
 
 Gaze from the Hall : the fires are well-nigh dead, 
 But in the clear dark summer vault overhead 370 
 A mild three-quarter moon and stars a few 
 Burn quenchless, and the heaVn is lighted through 
 With faintest daylight, whereof none can say 
 
 Cead millia faltia, a hundred thousand welcomes. 
 
MIDSUMMER. 275 
 
 It that it be the old or newborn clay. 
 
 Alas ! the year has touched its height of hope, 375 
 
 And lessening day on day begin to slope 
 
 To gloomy winter. All, we know, must die : 
 
 .But when we feel it, who forbears to sigh 1 
 
 To bed, to bed ! amidst the doubtful gleam ; 
 
 And mingle Past and Future in a dream. 380 
 
 Says Downing, brought by Bloomfield round the land 
 Next morning, "Now at last I understand. ^ 
 " I knew your liberal notions, never knew 
 " How you contrived to raise your rental too. 
 " I see you have, as groundwork, study made, 385 
 " Close, persevering, of the farmer's trade. 
 " Hard work, no doubt, at first." 
 
 " Plans fail'd, beside, 
 
 " And many cheated, more to cheat me tried ; 
 " All has work'd round by slow and sure degrees, 
 "To something doubtless, but one never sees 390 
 " His hope come true ; in daylight disappear 
 T2 
 
276 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 " The vision's glories. . . . Let me show you here 
 " A solid thing enough. Seven years ago 
 " With gorse above, and plashy bog below, 
 " This was a dreary wilderness and wide, 395 
 
 " With one poor cottage on the moorland-side. 
 " Twelve little households now possess a place, 
 " And each the centre of a widening space 
 " Of useful ground. Besides their work at home, 
 " The men and youths to farming labour come 400 
 " In Spring or Harvest on the neighbouring lands, 
 " But not as once, with slavish hungry hands, 
 " Toiling for husks, and as they toil'd the more, 
 " More helpless, pinch'd, and poorer than before." 
 "Wages are higher?" "Yes, I gladly say, 405 
 " And far more work too finish' d in a day. 
 " Every day-labourer, if worthy found, 
 " Ere long obtains a cheap small bit of ground ; 
 " Help with a house ; with more ambitious eyes, 
 " May look to win a waste-plot if he tries ; 410 
 " But first probationary powers must show, 
 
MIDSUMMER. 277 
 
 " And on the list with all his rivals go. 
 
 " There should be, as the soldiers have in France, 
 
 " In humblest work an opening to advance. 
 
 " Best government gives every man his chance. 415 
 
 " That's justice, but still more the weak may claim, 
 
 " And merely justice in the strong were blame. " 
 
 " This house is Doran's, who was pioneer 
 " Amid the waste, and lived in constant fear 
 " Of those above him. He and his at length 420 
 " To other shores had turn'd their heart and strength : 
 " But here remain the old man and his wife, 
 " A healthy couple still, of easy life. 
 " A year ago their son, so things befell, 
 " Essayed my stewardship, and does it well. 425 
 
 " Their daughter, married, lives at Lisnamoy, 
 " Fair hostess of the Inn ; her six-year boy 
 " Lives mainly with the old folk, who employ 
 " A sturdy youth's assistance for their land, 
 " And keep their place, you see, with tidy hand." 430 
 
278 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 Trim oil its farm the little mansion stood, 
 Amidst, e'en yet, a seeming solitude 
 Of craggy hills above, brown bog below. 
 Cheap all- enriching ivy (sure to grow 
 Where Bloomfield's likings are a law of love) 435 
 Clasping the gable, show'd its sprays above 
 White wall and well-kept thatch; field, fence, and 
 
 lane, 
 
 Once vile as beggar's garb, now carried plain 
 The look of thrift and hopeful industry, 
 Proud, not ashamed, to toil successfully. 440 
 
 A regiment of young trees stood well in rank, 
 To guard from swooping gale an open flank, 
 And here and there, with due entrenchment round, 
 Green larches held the rugged bits of ground. 
 They entered : rows of dish and cup shone bright 445 
 Along the dresser; and a warm delight 
 Made Maureen's good old face more shining still 
 As Bloomfield shook her hand with right good- will; 
 While grandson Johnny timidly must creep 
 
MIDSUMMER. 279 
 
 And sidle off, and round a corner peep. ^ 450 
 
 Would they sit down ? And, oh it was too much, 
 
 But could their Honours any one thing touch? 
 
 " Your bunya-rowa to my friend I've praised," 
 
 And each the milky bowl rejoicing raised. 
 
 They saw the garden, with its homely space 455 
 
 Of onions, parsley, cabbage, catching grace 
 
 .From bordering marigolds, high hollyhocks, 
 
 Tufted queen-daisies; under mossy rocks 
 
 Stood beehives ranged along its upper end, 
 
 And willows to a bow'r were taught to bend; 460 
 
 Then passing to the door were met by Jack, 
 
 A sturdy toiler still, though bow'd in back, 
 
 Who show'd his fields and methods, old and new, 
 
 Yet with a lingering touch of caution too. 
 
 With humble cough he prefaced each reply, 465 
 
 And glanced at Downing with suspicious eye. 
 
 Next to Neal Doran's house, in central site, 
 
 bunya-rowa, thick milk. 
 
280 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 Warm Ijrick emboss' d with, roses red and white. 
 
 His wife, a comely, smiling little dame, 
 
 Was busy with her baby when they came ; 470 
 
 And soon arrived the Steward, young and stout, 
 
 With face of active boldness looking out 
 
 Through calm intelligence; his words but few, 
 
 Eespectful, grave, and confidential too. 
 
 Master and servant lived in mutual trust. 475 
 
 How sweet is life when men are kind and just ! 
 
 " A fortnight hence we go, Neal, must prepare," 
 
 And so they talked of this and that affair. 
 
 The guests are gone. Midsummer time is past. 
 Laurence and Jane a longing wish have cast 480 
 To Thor and Odin's land, resolved to see 
 (Bold travellers they in many a far countrie) 
 The rough and jagged edge of Europe, where 
 White Sulitelma looks through purest air 
 Over pine-forests, cataracts, deep still fiords; 485 
 And Gulbrandsdal hath for its peasant-lords 
 
MIDSUMMER. 281 
 
 Maintain'd tlieir old inheritances; each. 
 "Warm in his fir-built palace, out of reach 
 Of winter and the wolf, on those long nights 
 That arch the waste of snow with mystic lights. 490 
 A country poor and perilous; yet kind, 
 As (ramie Norge's grateful children find. 
 
 Mary and Fred to Jane's good sister go, 
 In Dublin; one whose marriage fails to know 
 The joy of blest maternity, but scant 495 
 
 In no good office that becomes an aunt. 
 Sir Ulick's house tlie children seldom see; 
 Infirm in body and in mind is he; 
 My Lady Harvey, as a woman can, 
 Makes wretched all around her. On her plan 500 
 One daughter's married; one remains to fret; 
 Richard, her eldest son and former pet, 
 Has mingled wormwood in her bowl of life 
 By choosing for himself a charming wife. 
 Dick, when he comes, of Bloomfield's talk is fain, 505 
 
282 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 And Mary Harvey bosom-friends with Jane. 
 Meanwhile the old regime creaks lumbering on, 
 A crawling flattering creature, hight Malone, 
 Once clerk to Pigot, now for agent placed; 
 Some think a cheat, and sure to be disgraced. 510 
 
 Sir Ulick's younger daughter, so they say, 
 Was jilted by Lord Crashton well-a-day ! 
 I mean the young Lord, when the old Lord died. 
 He to the last on Satan loudly cried, 
 And cursed his only son with parting breath, 515 
 A son right joyful of his father's death. 
 The young Lord's ways 'tis wisdom not to know; 
 The firm in Dublin, meanwhile, smoothly go 
 From year to year with all his bonds and lands, 
 Which rest completely in their skilful hands; 520 
 And Phinn and Wedgely well their secrets keep. 
 A slice is theirs of every ox and sheep, 
 Or, some think, lion's share. For good or harm, 
 This broad estate is one huge grazing farm. 
 
MIDSUMMER. 283 
 
 How fare the other neighbours of our Squire ? 525 
 Dysart, sold up, to Dublin will retire, 
 And live there, Heaven, or else the Deuce, knows how. 
 O'Hara died at Eome : trustees have now 
 His large bequest, to found a nunnery, 
 And college, when convenient; squeezing dry 530 
 The land and tenants meanwhile. Finlay, cold 
 And hard at all times, now is too-too old, 
 Is turn'd a very walking icicle, 
 From which no sun or fire can coax one rill, 
 One drop of kindness. "With his silent spouse 535 
 And cloddish sons he keeps a dismal house, 
 Bargains at every fair, and has not thought 
 How he is with his cattle sold and bought. 
 Tough Isaac Brown, because the times grew bad, 
 Much conflict with his petty tenants had, 540 
 
 And, beef and mutton rising every day, 
 Drove men and women by the score away ; 
 Some on the Union (his Division) came, 
 Which vex'd him. Twice his rick-yard roar'd in flame. 
 
284 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 He thinks assassins on his footsteps wait, 545 
 
 And four policemen live beside his gate. 
 
 His wife, long-lingering, dead, this tough old Brown 
 
 Soon made a young and florid lass his own; 
 
 And for the purse-strings they have many a fight. 
 
 His son enlisted; daughter Nell took flight 550 
 
 With stolen money, and a labouring lad. 
 
 Old Isaac's temper now is bitter-bad ; 
 
 Ghoul-greedy grows his appetite for gain ; 
 
 Some think him softening, not in heart but brain. 
 
 Has Bloomfield mov'd these men? Small sign 
 appears. 555 
 
 They learn but little from, the days and years. 
 " I thought," said he to Jane, " that by degrees 
 " Persuasive reason would have wrought on these 
 " To join for some good ends : with what disgust, 
 " What rage they always listen, if they must, 560 
 " To mere proposals for the general good ! 
 " A stupid rich man's gross tyrannic mood 
 
MIDSUMMER. 285 
 
 " Enrages one in turn, and goads to fight, 
 
 " And some wrong things have thus been twisted 
 
 right 
 
 " With weary work. What pleasure (here's reward) 565 
 " In one's own limits to make some accord 
 " Of wish and fact, with aidance always near 
 " From speckless mind and loving heart, most dear ! . . . 
 " How little can be done, my Jane, at best ! 
 ii The landscape here is noble; shall we rest?" 570 
 Thus on Croghmore said Laurence, just a day 
 Before they started on their northern way. 
 Two mountain ponies bore them up as far 
 As that grey limestone crag, with rift and scar, 
 Which keeps the summit like a castle-wall, 575 
 
 Titanic, dreadful. Sunshine over all 
 The world was spread, and on a knoll or crown 
 Warm-scented with wild thyme, these two sat down. 
 
 The verdant mountain slopes from stair to stair ; 
 A cottage whitely nestling here and there ; 580 
 
286 CHAPTER TWELVE: 
 
 Atop stands built the dizzy limestone ledge ; 
 Below, smooth curves embrace the water's edge, 
 And round the clear lough, gemm'd with islands green, 
 Kise lower crags, with darkling glens between, 
 Thick-grown with nut and fern and rowan-spray, 585 
 Through which the falling streamlets find their way. 
 Far-distant, clothed in soft aerial blue, 
 A peaky summit bounds the wider view, 
 A brother mountain, swept by ocean-gales, 
 Where fishers' roofs are hid in wider vales ; 590 
 Mountain to mountain looks, as king to king, 
 And embassies of clouds high message bring; 
 Great thunders roll between, when storm-eclipse 
 Shuts either landmark from arriving ships ; 
 The starry dome suspended high aloof 595 
 
 Bows on these pillars its perennial roof. 
 But now, bright sunshine broods upon the world, 
 With silence ; save the boom of bee uncurFd 
 From bed of thyme ; or when a marvellous thing, 
 Horns, beard, and yellow eyes, with sudden spring GOO j 
 
MIDSUMMER. 287 
 
 Cresting some fragment like a hippogriff, 
 Is gone, its goat-bleat echoing from the cliff. 
 
 They see the lake and islands mapp'd below, 
 Through broad green plains the river's glittering flow, 
 Partition' d farms, and roofs where men abide, 605 
 The Town's light smoke, on grovy hill descried; 
 Corn-fields and meadows, rocky mounts they see, 
 Dale, sheep-walk, moorland, bog, and grassy lea; 
 But all, from mountain-skirts to distant coast, 
 In one expanse and one impression lost ; 610 
 
 A wavy ten-league landscape, light and large, 
 Lonely and sad, on Europe's furthest marge. 
 " ' A plenteous place of hospitable cheer 
 " * Is Holy Ireland ! ' often did I hear 
 " That song in Gaelic from my nurse. Poor land ! 615 
 " l There's honey where her misty vales expand.' 
 " Her sons and daughters love her; yet they fly 
 " As from a city of the plague; and why? 
 " Poor Madge herself, when I was still a boy, 
 
288 CHAPTER TWELVE : 
 
 " Sail'd westward, beyond search : at Lisnamoy 620 
 
 " I could not find one creature of her race. 
 
 " The people flee by myriads, and their place 
 
 " Knows them no more. On whom or what to blame 
 
 " We disagree, and struggle without aim. 
 
 " Some J wish us joy; we're losers all the same. 625 
 
 " Yet would I merely stop the current ? No. 
 
 " How many I myself have help'd to go. 
 
 " 'Tis best for them and sad it should be so." 
 
 " But, Laurence, you in this desponding mood ! 
 
 " "Who've done your land and people so much good, 
 
 " In joy of work accomplished, on this eve - 631 
 
 " Of happy holiday ! " 
 
 " 'Tis sad to leave 
 
 " One's home, on gayest journey : Shall we find 
 u Again the very things we've left behind ? . . . 
 " But past our bounds my thought o'er Ireland flew, 
 " And only saw a dreary dismal view. 636 
 
 61 This mild green country in the western sea, 
 " With guardian mountains, rivers full and free, 
 
MIDSUMMER. 289 
 
 " Home of a brave, rich-brain'd, warm-hearted race, 
 "This Ireland should have been a noble place." [640 
 
 "It will be," Jane replied. 
 
 And so they left 
 
 Their purple couch, and clomb a rocky cleft, 
 Steep, narrow, known to mountaineers, and stood 
 On the bare summit, kingly solitude, 
 Apart, yet public to the earth and sky. 645 
 
 Drunken with bliss, the proud exulting eye 
 Swept o'er the billowy hills, cloud-shadow'd, roll'd 
 Like spotted sultan-serpent, fold on fold; 
 Faint violet valleys; specks of burning gold 
 On brook or tarn; a world below spread fine 050 
 Of delicate rainbows, to the far-off shine 
 Intense but dim of Ocean, like Heaven's gate; 
 All over-canopied with pomp and state 
 Of clouds, pure gulfs, and glowing light profound 
 Wherewith the sun o'erflow'd th' horizon round. 655 
 u 
 
>90 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE : MIDSUMMER. 
 
 Their bosoms with a wordless rapture swell' d, 
 Grazing upon these glories. Laurence held 
 The wifely hand, with little ring wherethro' 
 Her life-stream, coursed in wandering veins of blue, 
 And press'd it to his lips with perfect love. 
 A psalm was in their souls to GOD above. 660 
 
 Earth, ocean, spreading round them, and on high 
 The regions of the everlasting sky. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Absenteeism, 40, 41, 52, 56 60. 
 
 Adventure, love of, 119. 
 
 Agent Pigot, 44 ; described, 
 48 ; his wrath, 92 ; notices 
 to quit, 95, 96 ; resignation 
 accepted, 208 ; his house, 
 his wife, &c. 213215 ; his 
 death, 216220. 
 
 Agriculture, 223, 275. 
 
 Architecture : Koman Catholic, 
 106, 182 ; Protestant, 182 ; 
 Irish town, 181 ; Bloom- 
 field's improvements, 240 
 242. 
 
 Bailiff, Paudeen Dhu, 93. 
 
 Bloomfield, Laurence ; edu- 
 cation, 5 11 ; phases of 
 opinion, 6 9 ; described, 9 ; 
 what is his duty? 17, 52, 
 57 60 ; becomes his own 
 agent, 206209 ; his work, 
 225, 229, 268, 275, 276. 
 
 Bloomfield, Jane, 237, 239. 
 
 Bonfire-night, 265, 273. 
 
 Chaucer, 199. 
 
 Children's feast, 249, 251. 
 
 Church living, 247 (see also 
 
 E. and R.). 
 Confessional, 270. 
 Constabulary, 191. 
 Crimes, 21, 267. 
 Croghan House and Park, 230 
 
 235 ; guests at, 256, &c. 
 Dance, 150. 
 Doran, family, 201, &c. ; Jack, 
 
 71, 201, 202, 205, 206 ; 
 
 277, 279 ; Maureen, 6971; 
 
 Bridget, 6567, 277 ; Neal, 
 
 188, 269, 279, 280. 
 
 Education, National, 68, 242 
 245. 
 
 England, 7, 75, 94, 95,107,130, 
 
 159, 261, 267. 
 Established Church, 247 ; a 
 
 vicar, 42 ; a curate, 54. 
 Emigration, 204, 287. 
 Eviction,' described, 138 144. 
 
 Fair, Harvest, 179, 183191. 
 Farmers, 94, 95. 
 Funeral, 174. 
 
 Harvey, Sir Ulick : his house, 
 14 ; described, 23 ; dinner- 
 tab] e, 39, &c. ; Lady, &c., 
 54, 281. 
 
 Ireland,260,261 ; a safe country, 
 267 ; emigration, 204, 287 ; 
 Old Ireland, 125 ; saints, 
 126 ; English invasion, 128. 
 
 Irish character, 173 ; praised, 
 227, 289 ; dispraised, 146 
 1 48 ; buoyancy, 105, 150 ; su- 
 perstition, 70 ; trust, 137, 
 227; discontent, 272; against 
 law, 93 ; peasant girl, 66 ; 
 aged woman, 90. 
 
 Irish history, 118, 124131. 
 
 Irish fair, 183191 ; beggar, 
 195; carter, 184; Town, 
 181 ; inns, 242. 
 
 Land : an agent's view, 44,134, 
 193; Bloomfield's, 45; Sir 
 Ulick's, 46, 134 ; Finlay's, 
 47 ; a special kind of pro- 
 perty, 51 ; land question, 
 259. 
 
 Landlords, 22 et seq. ; per- 
 sonal duties, 13, 16, 51, 57, 
 
292 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 58 ; rich, haughty, dull Sir 
 Ulick, 2224, 46 ; absentee 
 man of pleasure, Lord Crash- 
 ton, 25, 26 ; hard Finlay, 27; 
 involved Dysart, 2830 ; 
 Isaac Brown, unctuous dis- 
 senter, 30 33 ; dry Catholic 
 recluse O'Hara, 33, 34; Duff 
 the violent, 44. 
 
 Landscapes : in autumn, 4, 5 ; 
 moonlight, 56 ; lake at 
 sunset, 122124; dusk, 134; 
 gloomy morning, 101; .in 
 spring, 235, 237, 239 ; mid- 
 summer, 256 ; lake, &c. 
 262 ; bonfires, 272 ; moun- 
 tain, 285, 287. 
 
 Law, not liked, 93. 
 
 Love, 113 ; wedded love, 239, 
 285, 290. 
 
 Lough Braccan, 122, 124, 134, 
 
 257, 262. 
 
 Manners, 3, 4, 66, 267. 
 Murder, 217220. 
 
 Newspaper, The Firebrand, 
 
 101, 158, 175. 
 Norway, 280. 
 
 Orangeism, 12, 40, 41, 43, 44. 
 Orangemen, 267, 268. 
 
 Peasant-life, 63 ; a cottage, 63, 
 et seq. ; labour, 72 ; diffi- 
 culties, 7380 ; fireside, 82 ; 
 a hamlet, 87. 
 
 Peasant proprietors, 45, 46, 229, 
 
 258, 259, 276. 
 
 Poverty, 203 ; not necessarily 
 wretched, 76, 77, 89 ; a very 
 poor hovel, 103, 104 ; want 
 of work, 105. 
 
 Poor and rich, 15, 118, 138 ; 
 the weak should have more 
 
 thanjustice,277; SirUlick's 
 view, 23 ; Bloomfield's, 51. 
 
 Poor-house, 104, 105, 139,146, 
 246. 
 
 Poetry, readers of, 224. 
 
 Priests(*ee R.). 
 
 Raffle and dance, 149. 
 
 Rent-Office, 200. 
 
 Rebellion of '98, 120. 
 
 Religion, 263, 264. 
 
 Ribbon lodge, described, 155 
 et seq. ; oath, 132 ; Rib- 
 bonism,41, 271; threatening 
 letter, 49, 93, 94; public 
 opinion, 94, 111 ; murder, 
 217 ; lodge broken up, 269 
 271. 
 
 Rich house, 14. 
 
 Rose Muldoon, 103. 
 
 Roman Catholicism, 97, 98 ; 
 priesthood,96 100,106,111, 
 243, 264 ; parish priest, 98, 
 106; curate, 98, 111; a 
 deathbed, 170; going to 
 mass, 105; at mass, 108; 
 sermon, 109 ; discipline, 
 98, 112; described by 
 Orangemen, 39, 4043. 
 
 Secret societies, 121. 
 Shillelagh fight, 190, 191. 
 Squires, 22, 35, 284. 
 
 Tenants at will, 7280, 201 ; 
 
 eviction, 138144. 
 Tinkers, Irish, 188. 
 
 Una, very old woman, 90,142, 
 144. 
 
 Wake, 170, 171. 
 Workhouse, 104, 105, 139, 
 146, 246. 
 
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