A Frenchman's Walk Through Ireland
By
The Chevalier De Latocnaye
Translated by John Stevenson

First Published in French 1797
English Translation 1917
Published by the Ex-classics Project, 2023
http://www.exclassics.com
Public Domain
Title Page 
A Frenchman's Walk Through Ireland, 1796-7

Translated from the French of DE LATOCNAYE
by JOHN STEVENSON
BELFAST:
McCAW, STEVENSON & ORR, LTD.
The Linenhall Press.
DUBLIN:
HODGES, FIGGIS & CO., LTD.
104 Grafton Street.
(1917)
Preface
The long preface is usually as great a fault as is the long 
speech of the chairman who introduces a lecturer. Yet there are 
cases in which its appearance may be justifiable. This is surely 
one of these. Here, out of the dust of a hundred and twenty 
years, is haled a Frenchman who has a story to tell of a tramp 
through Ireland; and the people of the twentieth century to whom 
the story makes appeal will wish to know something of the tale 
and how it comes to be told, before they lend their ears.
Of the man himself there is little known beyond what he reveals 
in his books. There are three of these—Les Causes de la 
Revolution de France, et les efforts de la Noblesse pour en 
arrêter les Progres, Promenade d'un Français dans la Grande 
Bretagne, Promenade d'un Français dans L'Irlande.' All are in 
French. A second edition of Promenade dans la Grande Bretagne 
was printed at Brunswick in 1801. From scattered statements in 
his books, it appears that De Latocnaye was a Breton, an 
officer, a Royalist; and that he was one of the thousands of his 
countrymen who sought shelter in England from the fury of the 
Revolutionists. He arrived at London on December 29, 1792, 
knowing, at that time, not a word of the English language.
He credits himself with a 'genius for observation,' and, tiring 
of idle life in London, he formed the resolution, or accepted 
the suggestion, to travel through England and Scotland with the 
intention to write a book containing his impressions of these 
countries and to publish it by subscription. His credentials 
made it easy for him to obtain, from persons of high social 
standing in London, letters of introduction or recommendation to 
wealthy residents throughout Great Britain. To these he was 
indebted for the hospitality which enabled him to carry out his 
purpose. In the execution of his project, he zigzagged across 
England and Scotland, making copious notes by the way. In 
Scotland he seems to have made numerous friends, for he stayed 
in it for the greater part of two years, receiving much 
assistance from Lord Dreghorn in the editing of jokes and 
correction of the proofs of his Promenade dans la Grande 
Bretagne, which was published at Edinburgh in 1797. Here he 
learned something of broad Scotch, which tongue he delighted to 
use, later, in Ireland, to the mystification of impertinent 
questioners. Partly because the country travelled was anciently 
settled and not remarkably different from France, and partly, it 
may be, because of the friendly editing of Lord Dreghorn, the 
Promenade dans la Grande Bretagne is not nearly so interesting 
as is the story of the tramp through Ireland. While in Scotland, 
came news of the sad fate of those who took part in the 
disastrous expedition to Quiberon, and De Latocnaye voyaged to 
London in a salmon boat to see his friends and, as he says, 'to 
be free to mourn with, and to console, the relatives of the 
lost.' But, the excitement over, and the causes which sent him 
out of France being still operative, he felt the need for giving 
opportunity to his 'genius for observation,' and, happily for 
us, he accepted the suggestion to travel through Ireland on 
foot, and published, by subscription, his observations on the 
country and its people. Before leaving England, he seems to have 
made the acquaintance of a wealthy Irishman, Mr. Burton 
Conyngham, who encouraged him in his plans, gave him many 
letters of introduction to the nobility and gentry of Ireland, 
and procured similar letters in his favour from others, 
including Lord Camden, Lord Lieutenant.
Just at the beginning of his Irish journey he had the misfortune 
to lose, by death, his friend and patron, and for a moment he 
hesitated. But he had nothing to do—had youth and good spirits 
for his possession, and he decided to trust Providence and 
proceed.
An Amenhotep may lead the troops of Egypt to victory over Syria, 
Mesopotamia and Nubia, with consequences vastly important to 
Amenhotep and Egypt and the subjected peoples; and the story of 
the conquests leaves us cold. But, out of a tomb of his time we 
take a string of beads or a child's doll, and we touch hands 
with the old Egyptians at once. And so, if our exile had heavily 
recorded only the important matters of trade and political 
economy of Ireland of his time, it would have been wise to let 
him sleep quietly in the dust of the years.
But it is the beads and the doll that he places in our hands. 
Travelling on foot over the island, east, south, west, north, 
his whole baggage in his pockets, in two silk stockings from 
which he had cut the feet, or in a handkerchief slung en sautoir 
on the end of a combined sword-stick and umbrella, which he said 
'made the girls laugh.' he got to the very heart of Irish life. 
At the end of nearly every day's journey he was able to find 
rest in very comfortable quarters, so many were his letters of 
introduction and so well did the majority of the recipients 
maintain the reputation of Ireland for hospitality. In six 
months, he says, he was only six times at an inn. But sometimes 
refuge failed. He encountered fleas in a miserable eating-house 
recommended by a priest—going from the house of a marquis, who 
could not or would not find him a bed, he spends the night in a 
beggar-woman's cabin in company with half a dozen nearly naked 
children, a pig, a dog, a cat, two hens, and a duck.
He has his troubles and vexations, for not everyone to whom he 
is introduced is willing to take him at face value. Hurt and 
indignant, he cries out on the narrow souls who wound the heart 
of the exile. Bankers are singled out for special condemnation—
they, he says, think of nothing but getting of gain. He resents 
patronage, and very sharply punishes any attempt to exploit him—
witness his handling of a certain Doctor Maunsell, inventor of a 
new way of growing potatoes, who immodestly wishes to make the 
author a sounder of his praise. The sorrows of France are heavy 
on his soul. But with all the pressure of saddening thoughts—of 
France's woes—personal loss—wounded dignity, he is, in the main, 
merry-hearted, giving way readily, as he says, 'to that native 
gaiety, which is the only good thing that adverse circumstances 
have been unable to take from me.'
In the north-east he enters the troubled area, and has a great 
deal to say about unrest and its causes. But neither of the 
great parties in conflict over Ireland at this moment will find 
him entirely on its side. He is all for the Irish against their 
detractors, bursts out again and again in generous defence of 
them against the men who mock them, laugh at their misery, and 
call them savages. He has an interview with one of the United 
Irishmen, and thinks that he has little to complain of. Who 
would touch the best of humanity in the Three Kingdoms should 
know the Merchants of London, the Lawyers of Edinburgh, and the 
Landlords of Ireland. He praises the Government for its kindness 
and moderation—sees the old religious and political prejudices 
weakening daily, and dares to hope that in twelve to fifteen 
years they will have entirely ceased to exist. If only the 
Government will continue its present policy of moderation—if 
England will really let Ireland share the advantages of living 
under the beneficent laws by which she, herself, is governed, 
she will acquire the love of four millions of subjects—Ireland 
will be flourishing and happy—as much respected by the 
neighbouring peoples as, formerly, she has been misunderstood 
and misjudged. Alas, that the vision has not been realised!
A word about the author's style. He has none. A well-educated 
man, at home in the highest circles of society, and doubtless a 
brilliant conversationalist, he is evidently unaccustomed to 
writing. His long paragraphs are characterised by imperfect 
relation of parts; the continuity of thought expression is 
frequently broken by the intrusion of an unimportant associated 
idea, to the detriment of sense. Therefore, in the rendering, it 
has been necessary, at times, to convey what he intended to say 
rather than what is actually set down. His book completed, he 
saw its faults—many of them due, as he explains, to the fact 
that the printer knew not a word of French (the work was printed 
in Dublin) and that he, unaccustomed to book-making when 
correcting proofs, 'read what should have been written for what 
was really written,' and he earnestly requests his readers to do 
the same, not merely with respect to nomenclature, but also to 
style and subject-matter.
He has a weakness for using the swear words of the country of 
his sojourn, and uses them unnecessarily and, at least once in 
the story, unwarrantably, in the case of the innkeeper at 
Dungarvan, who was also apothecary. Second-hand matter, in the 
form of stories 'lifted' from Irish authors, or antiquarian 
information inserted out of compliment to his friend General 
Vallencey, has been omitted as of no interest to the reader of 
to-day; and certain little sallies in the French manner, 
innocent enough, but which in English print might wear the air 
of indecencies, have been modified or suppressed. For the rest, 
the translation is as literal as a care for readability in 
English will allow.
JOHN STEVENSON. Coolavin, Belfast, 1917.
CHAPTER I 
London—Quiberon
After a sojourn of more than two years in Scotland, the famous 
'Land of Cakes,' well treated by everybody, but, like Partridge, 
'often in danger of starving in the midst of compassionate 
friends,' the late Lord Dreghom, who had had the goodness to 
read my observations on the country, persuaded me to print them.
The idea of publishing in Scotland a book on Scotland may be 
thought singular. 'Why should you take it on you to instruct us 
about our own country?' said some. 'We know Scotland only too 
well,' said others. After much reflection I came to the 
conclusion that talk about ourselves is precisely what we do 
like, and so I published my book, which succeeded perfectly.
Lord Dreghom was kind enough to read the proof sheets as they 
passed through the press. I was not in the best of humours at 
the time, and so there met his eyes a good many would-be 
satirical remarks. My good old judge was lenient. 'This is very 
funny, very original,' he said, 'everybody will laugh, ourselves 
excepted. My advice to you is, "Don't make the dogs bark until 
you are out of the village,"' and so I corrected and cut away 
until at last he himself could smile at the joke.
It was just at the time when the news came of that cursed 
expedition to the shores of France, in which so many of our 
exiles perished uselessly; and I resolved at once to go and see 
my friends at London, to bemoan our case and console those who 
were bereaved. My way lay through Berwick, where I met the good 
folk who welcomed me when I came to Scotland, and was glad to 
find that they had not forgotten me.
Two English companies who have leased the Tweed salmon fisheries 
maintain a service of smacks—light little vessels—from this 
port. Some of them have salt-water wells in the hold—these are 
supposed to carry the salmon alive to London, but many die on 
the way. Others take the salmon packed in ice, in deal cases—the 
fish in these arrive in good condition, although the voyage is 
one of more than four hundred miles.
In order to get a little profit out of these forced journeys, 
the proprietors carry a few passengers, who are not badly fed, 
getting tea twice a day and a good bed in the cabin for the very 
small sum of fifteen shillings. To make any money at this rate, 
the companies must calculate that the majority of the 
passengers, being unaccustomed to the sea, will be sick for 
three days, which is the average duration of the voyage.
I engaged a berth in one of these smacks, and made the voyage 
with the salmon. Unfortunately, bad weather and contrary winds 
delayed us, giving me occasion to tell the captain, after I had 
recovered from my sickness, that if he did not hurry I would 
certainly ruin him.
We were eight days en route, and during that time sailed often 
so near to the shore that the coast towns were easily 
distinguished. First appeared Flamborough; then Scarborough, one 
of those towns famous for the idlers who flock to it under 
pretence of sea-bathing; its castle situated on a rock is a 
striking and beautiful object. Off Yarmouth the sea was covered 
with boats passing to and fro like barges in a canal.
Several times when the vessel struck out for open sea I 
regretted having adopted this way of travel. It would have been 
disagreeable to have fallen in with Carmagnoles, who would have 
done me the kindness to take me to Paris when I wanted to go to 
London—it is always annoying to have one's travelling plans 
disarranged. It was with much pleasure then that, at last, I saw 
opening before us the mouth of the Thames, and as the customs 
authorities take no account of smacks, we kept straight ahead 
and disembarked at the Tower of London. It was a great joy to me 
to find myself once more in a city where I had so many relations 
and friends, after two years of separation spent entirely among 
strangers.
However, the time of my arrival was anything but gay. The news 
of the frightful disaster at Quiberon had just arrived; there 
was hardly a French family in London that had not to deplore the 
loss of a father, a husband, or a brother: people shunned each 
other—all the bonds of society seemed to be broken; a blind and 
sullen grief seemed to alienate the few friends who remained. 
These had divided into two parties, the one supporting M. 
D'Hervilly and the other M. de Paisaye, and mutually accused 
each other, or defended him whose cause they had adopted. I was 
a neutral, and could admire the fiery courage of the one without 
believing the other to be a traitor, although I was far from 
approving his conduct. Certain it is that what he promised was 
executed almost to the letter; only the relief which was to 
effect the junction between the disembarked and a great number 
of Chouans failed to arrive. This disastrous expedition cost the 
lives of a great part of the nobility of Brittany and of a very 
great number of former officers of the French navy who were 
uselessly sacrificed.
It appeared that when the corps made prisoners had laid down 
their arms, the intention of the republican chiefs was not to 
put them to death; there were more than fifteen hundred of them, 
while their escort was a guard of only three hundred men. The 
night was very dark, and to keep themselves from losing their 
way they held on to each other by the skirts of their tunics; 
some, however, did get out of touch, and were obliged to cry out 
loud and long before any came to secure them. Some republican 
officers, who foresaw what the fate of the captured would be, 
suggested, I am told, to several of their acquaintances—
prisoners—that they should make escape, but these, having given 
their word, did not wish to profit by the kindness of the 
captors making the proposal. They were taken to Vannes and kept 
there, prisoners on parole, for a few days; but at last the 
order for their death arrived, and after the mockery of a trial 
they were shot. A few, however, succeeded in escaping, and it is 
from these that the details of the bloody tragedy have been 
learned.
It appears from their story that the inhabitants of the town and 
the troops were horrified at their fate. The Chouans were 
masters of the country, but nevertheless a handful of strangers 
(Liegeois), ministers of the barbarous wills of the tigers 
employing them, succeeded by the terror they inspired in sending 
the prisoners to their doom. Thus it is that the most atrocious 
acts of the revolutionists have been committed. The nations of 
Europe have marvelled oft at the bravery and energy of the 
people of Paris—it is rather its cowardice and weakness that 
should astonish them. The bulk of mankind is a vile herd always 
ready to run at the bark of the dog whose bite they fear. Who 
can doubt that of the soldiers who assisted at the martyrdom of 
Louis XVI, seven-eighths of the number would have seen him 
escape with pleasure, and among the remaining eighth there were 
very many indifferent? It may seem paradoxical if I say that I 
do not believe that more than a dozen men were eagerly set on 
his slaughter, and the ardour of these twelve, which served the 
rage and ambition of a few, was, perhaps, not their own. I shall 
have cast up to me, of course, the astonishing victories and 
brilliant successes of the republican armies. But did we not 
see, before there was any French Revolution, the great Frederick 
beat the kings of Europe with their own subjects? Do we forget 
the 40,000 Saxons, his prisoners of war, enrolled, in spite of 
themselves, among his troops? When the armies face each other 
the opinions of individuals composing them go for nothing—they 
must fight for personal safety; the dangers of desertion are so 
great that, unless in very special circumstances, few will dare 
to brave them. Besides it was no longer a case of war for or 
against the king, it was, unfortunately, obvious that it was for 
or against France. In this case every individual had a powerful 
interest in defending his country, no matter what may have been 
the colour of his political opinions.
Reports of the expedition to Quiberon brought emigrants from the 
four corners of the earth, alas! only to hear, on arrival, the 
harrowing tale of its disastrous termination. The king's brother 
came from the heart of Germany, and learned the news only when 
he set foot on English shores. Nevertheless, the Vendéean war 
went on, and the brave defenders of royalty eagerly demanded the 
assistance so long promised. An expedition in their aid was at 
last decided on—had the forces lost at Quiberon been sent at 
first to them they would have effected a considerable diversion 
in their favour.
It does not seem that the project was taken very seriously. 
Certain landowners of this country offered their services as 
volunteers for the fleet, intending simply to be landed and then 
to endeavour to do something for the arming of the peasantry; 
but they were told that their offers must be refused unless they 
made a definite engagement. However the expedition did, at 
length, get away and carried the prince to L'Isle-Dieu, and 
then, after much fatiguing exertion, the fleet returned two 
months later without striking a blow. In spite of all sources of 
trouble, I found the emigrants in London, to my great 
astonishment, much better off than at the time of my departure 
for the north and Scotland two years earlier. In whatever 
situation Providence may see fit to place us, time and 
resignation make our case supportable. Some I found occupied by 
little industries which supplied the means for existence; the 
ladies embroidered, and the Government allowed them a small 
pension, as they did also to the priests and to persons over 
fifty years of age. Those who suffered most were the (formerly) 
rich landlords of France who, accustomed to live on their large 
revenues without work, and without thought for the morrow, were 
without the resourcefulness which developed in their poorer 
compatriots.
After a short time devoted to renewal of acquaintanceships my 
genius for observation would not permit me to rest. I frequented 
all places where men assemble, from tavern to parliament-house, 
from church to street-crowd, and everywhere, like Solomon, I 
found only vanity and vexation of spirit.
I was possessed of kindly-given letters of recommendation, some 
of them to men of great wealth. Oh the droll faces of some when 
I approached them!—they didn't like the name of émigré, and to a 
certainty it was still more displeasing to me.
Several, however, who had read my Walk through Great Britain 
suggested that I should go to Ireland and write a book about my 
travels in that country. I had nothing to do, it was a new 
country for me, magnificent passports and letters of 
recommendation were forthcoming, and I was tempted.
Before my departure I wished to find out what those amiable and 
learned (?) gentlemen, the booksellers, had done with my books, 
and I soon learned to distinguish the character of my man at the 
first step in his shop. If the book-monger met me with a smile 
and an honest look, I did no more than put my question and take 
my departure. If, on the contrary, he treated me to sour looks, 
I was sure that he had sold my books, and refused to leave him 
until he paid up.
I was witness of the civil way the king was received by 
Parliament at the beginning of 1796. The frenzy of the populace 
surprised me greatly, it seemed to me that the consequences must 
be alarming. I had with me an old English officer. 'It's 
nothing,' said he, 'they will be as quiet as ever in a short 
time; it's only their way of expressing their good will to His 
Majesty.' The yells were appalling, and two rather pretty young 
woman, frightened at the row, threw themselves, tremblingly, 
into our arms. After having examined the one who fell to mine I 
kissed her cordially by way of reassurance; as for my English 
friend he put his two hands into his pockets immediately, 
evincing fear and surprise: I am inclined to take the different 
actions on this occasion as fairly representative of the manners 
of the two peoples.
I found myself one day in a political club of a kind abounding 
in London. After having regulated the destinies of Europe, one 
of the speakers remarked in a loud voice, 'This Clairfaix must 
be a clever fellow, he has saved Germany by taking the Rhine'; 
then, turning with an important air to me. the self-revealed 
foreigner, he added, 'You have been in these parts, no doubt, 
and will know that it is a very strongly fortified town.' 'It is 
certainly a great place for water,' I replied. One of the 
company, laughing immoderately at this, put on a wise air and, 
addressing me, said, 'Will you please tell me what was the name 
of the French admiral on this occasion? '
When I let them know that the Rhine was a river not much wider 
than the Thames at Chelsea, they were astonished that they had 
heard so much about it—'for,' said they, with much sagacity, 
'there's nothing easier than crossing a river in a boat.'
By coach I made my way to Beacon's Fields and there, at the 
house of Mr. Blair, spent a very agreeable week. From here I 
went to Bath, where I gladly found amusement in the attractions 
and distractions of the gay city. But, spite of all that was 
done for them, I noticed that the idlers were bored to death, 
yawning from the springs to the card-table, from the card-table 
to the ball, from the ball to the bookseller's, and from the 
bookseller's to their beds, where, perhaps, for a few hours they 
cease to feel the burden of their existence.
This city, infinitely agreeable in so many respects, ceases to 
be so after a short stay, if one has not made or found friends. 
Everybody runs so much after pleasure that pleasure runs from 
everybody—and nobody seems to be able to catch it.
I found at Bath a few of my exiled compatriots doing much better 
than at London, where they only worried each other. I noticed 
how much the city had been enlarged since my previous visit—
entirely new quarters on magnificent scale had been built, 
proving that the place is still growing in favour with the 
dwellers in Great Britain.
Leaving Bath I travelled to Bristol, intending to embark at once 
for Ireland, but the wind being contrary I was obliged to stay 
for a few days. To occupy my time I went to one of the 
fashionable assemblies, where at once I found myself on familiar 
terms with the company, I was asked to play cards with the 
ladies; I accepted and—lost.
Tired of waiting for the wind I went after it. The machine which 
carried us with the mails, and with as little ceremony as was 
accorded to the mail-bags, rattled along with such speed that I 
saw on this long journey little or nothing, and wished that it 
had entered into the heart of the powers to make a decent road 
and a convenient port for the arrival and departure of the boat.
This part of Wales is broken up into little hills and shallow 
valleys which seem to be very fertile. The peasant women wear, 
ordinarily, a man's old coat over their petticoats, and a big 
straw hat which shades them entirely. The houses are not unlike 
those of the Highlands of Scotland; the language is a form of 
Celtic with a strong resemblance to our low Breton.
Swansea is a port of considerable size, and serves for Bristol 
and the South of England. All that I was able to remark in the 
way of special manners in these parts is, that at Carmarthen the 
inhabitants use for salmon fishing a boat, or rather a basket, 
covered with horse skin. They sit in the middle and preserve 
equilibrium very cleverly, and, fishing over, they carry the 
boat home with them, where it serves as a cradle for the 
children.
The cemeteries also attracted my attention. Instead of filling 
them with an incongruous assortment of tombstones with 
ridiculous inscriptions, the relations of the lost cultivate on 
their graves flowers and plants, coming often to care for them, 
so that the cemeteries are more like gardens than homes of the 
dead. People practising such a custom must be of gentle manners, 
and I was very sorry that I could not live for a while among 
them. But I was on my way to Ireland, and hurried on to Milford 
Haven, an ugly hole in which the anxious traveller may eat up to 
his last penny while waiting for a favourable breeze. Three or 
four times we set sail, and as many times were we forced by the 
waves to return to port. On the fourth endeavour we stopped at 
Dale, a little village at the mouth of the bay, and there we 
stuck for eight long days.
In the ordinary course of affairs, how impatiently I should have 
chafed at the delay, in spite of the sight of the large and 
beautiful bay and singular country! But chance had settled that 
I should engage a place in the same boat as that which was to 
carry an amiable Scotch family, and an Irishman who had served a 
long time in France, and I found myself in such good company 
that I began to fear, rather than to desire, a favourable wind. 
We made the crossing at last, and rather rapidly, for we reached 
the Irish coast within twenty-four hours.
The customs officers claim tribute on both sides of the water, 
demanding from the passengers half a crown per head, for the 
permission to ship or disembark their luggage. One who refused 
to pay had his bag tumbled and turned over in a cruel manner. 
The price of the passage is exorbitant—a guinea and a half in 
the cabin—and the packet was far from being either comfortable 
or clean. I had chosen the route from motives of economy, and 
found the charges to mount to double those of the Holyhead 
route. We entered the river Suir, at the mouth of which is a 
strong castle seated on a rock jutting out into the sea. Mr. 
Latin, who travelled in the boat, was kind enough to ask me to 
his house at Drumdouny, and so from the very first day I spent 
on Irish soil I had the good fortune to enjoy Irish kindness and 
hospitality.
CHAPTER II 
Dublin.
The banks of the Suir are lined with pleasant-looking country-
houses, and the water is deep as far as Waterford, a town with a 
great trade in salted meat, and which seems to be very 
prosperous. There is a quay which might be a very ornamental 
feature had the authorities not thought fit to place some boat-
building yards on it, along with several tasteless sheds for the 
public service. It would have been infinitely better for the 
workers to have had the ship-building industry on the other side 
of the river, and its settlement there would have left the quay 
an uninterrupted sweep, and saved the neighbouring houses from 
the unpleasantness of the overpowering odour of tar—but O! sweet 
smell of gain.
The bridge is the first in Ireland to be constructed in its 
manner—the wood piles have thirty feet of water round them at 
high-water. The beauty and solidity of the structure and 
adaptability to such deep water reflect great credit on the 
architect, who has designed several others on the same plan.
There was at the time, in the river, an American vessel, with 
passengers from Nantes for New York, which had suffered 
shipwreck on the Irish coast within a few days from leaving 
France. The inhabitants subscribed money and furnished 
provisions for the benefit of the poor voyagers. I questioned a 
few of the passengers about the country they had left—they were 
for the greater part artisans—but they could tell me nothing, 
except that bread was very dear, that they were very miserable, 
and that they were going to New York in the hope of finding 
work.
As it was my intention to reach Dublin as quickly as possible, I 
took place in a coach to convey me to Gowran, where I expected 
to join the Cork mail. Unfortunately when this arrived every 
place was occupied, and I was left in this miserable village 
with no way of proceeding with my luggage except by hiring what 
they call a car. Their car is a species of low cart on wheels 
two feet in diameter, made out of one or two pieces of wood, 
attached to a great axle of wood or iron turning with them. This 
singular construction seems to be well fitted for carrying heavy 
loads, but not for the country work in which they are commonly 
employed. I take it to be a farmer's invention.
Having then made a bargain with a driver to take me six miles at 
the price of a post-chaise, I mounted beside my luggage. My man 
stopped at every public house to drink or talk, leaving me in 
the middle of the road exposed to the rain. Two or three times I 
begged him, civilly, to proceed, but as he did not appear to pay 
the slightest attention to my requests, I commenced to repeat 
those eloquent compliments which one may learn about the docks 
and markets of London, and was pleased to see that I had, at 
last, impressed him, for I heard him say, when quitting some of 
his friends, 'By ——, I'm sure he's a gentleman for he swears 
most confoundedly.' After this little lesson I had not the least 
trouble with my charioteer, but the rain, and some annoyances 
due to my position at the horse's tail, put me in such bad 
humour that I vowed never again to expose myself to such 
discomfort.
I stopped at Carlow, where there has been established recently a 
seminary for Catholic priests. This town is situated on the 
Barrow, which joins with the Grand Canal of Ireland. Wishing to 
see something of this waterway I went to Athy, from whence every 
day there is a service of public boats to Dublin. At the 
entrance to the village I was stopped by four or five persons 
who asked for charity—they explained that it was to be used to 
give decent burial to a poor wretch who had died of hunger. I 
replied that since he was dead he wanted nothing. This answer 
did not appear to satisfy them, and so I contributed to the 
funereal pomp, the occasion being, perhaps, the only one in 
which the poor fellow's friends were interested in his concerns.
The canal boats are very comfortable, being indeed very like 
those of Holland, but the cost here is nearly double. The one in 
which I travelled carried a large number of political talkers of 
the type known in France as mouchards.<1> Seeing that I was a 
foreigner, one of them spoke to me several times on delicate and 
difficult matters affecting the Government. Fearing false 
interpretations I responded in ambiguous terms, and in the end 
found it politic to feign sleep—a very good way of getting out 
of such difficulties.
The canal is a magnificent piece of work, crossing immense 
tracts of moor, where ten or twelve feet of peat have had to be 
removed before reaching earth in which the waterway could be 
cut. Several aqueducts have been necessary, one of them of 
really prodigious length and height.
Dublin is a very considerable city, about one-fourth the size of 
London, of which it is the image in little—even the streets bear 
the same names; the beauty of the buildings may dispute for 
precedence with those of the capital; one is astonished at their 
magnificence and number. The Parliament House does honour to the 
nation's representatives; it is an immense circular building 
surrounded by a magnificent colonnade.
It is worthy of remark that the place where the deputies or 
representatives of the greatest nation assemble is commonly an 
old, irregular, ugly building, for which there is such 
attachment or affection that nobody thinks of displacing it by a 
new and more commodious structure.
The Bourse or Royal Exchange is somewhat like the Mansion House 
in London, but smaller. The Customs House is much too fine for 
its work, and the new building which they call the Four Courts 
of Justice gives Themis the pleasure to see herself decently 
lodged, a rare thing in European countries. Her old residence 
was a frightful place, as much on account of the members as by 
reason of the lugubrious and sombre appearance of the cave where 
they practised. I amused myself often by walking among them, and 
as it was extremely unlikely that I, in my circumstances, should 
ever have anything to do with them, I could laugh at their big 
wigs, in which the face is so buried that only a long nose 
protrudes. They reminded me of hawks dressed to pounce on their 
prey, with the beaks only visible. If rumour is to be believed, 
attorneys here yield in nothing to their brethren of our courts; 
indeed, from certain stories I have heard it would seem that 
they are even cleverer.
The squares are large and well built, only the port seems to me 
to be unworthy of the city. There has just been constructed an 
immense dock, which will make good certain shortcomings when 
some houses have been built to protect it from wind. It is 
singular that the inhabitants have never thought of building a 
beautiful church here; the churches are all old and without the 
least decoration. Among them all there are but two miserable 
bell-towers, and this want prevents the city from having the 
fine appearance it should exhibit from a distance.
As my object is not to give a topographical description of this 
great city, I shall not attempt to describe the Castle and the 
beautiful buildings associated. The splendid carriages and the 
apparent wealth of the principal houses render the more 
displeasing the sight of the beggars, whose abject poverty is 
horrible. They may be seen hanging on for hours to the railings 
of basement stories, forcing charity by depriving those who live 
in these places of light and air. Some of them are insolent, 
seeking to get in some fashion, by force, what is not 
forthcoming by goodwill. These disgusting scenes harden the 
heart little by little, and I never felt less disposed to alms-
giving than after having lived some time in Dublin.
I occupied my leisure in the early days of my sojourn as I do 
ordinarily in such times elsewhere, by moving from one place to 
another, and mixing as much as possible with the crowd. I joined 
one which seemed, on a certain day, to be expecting something 
with impatience, and found myself among them in front of a large 
building which had something of the look of an old castle. There 
was a little platform at the level of a window in the second 
storey; two men of somewhat disagreeable look made their 
appearance on it, and I thought I was about to witness some 
peculiar ceremony. But I was promptly disabused of this idea, 
for one of them passed a loop of rope round the neck of the 
other and fastened the cord to a bar of iron above him. I turned 
to get away, but the crowd was too dense for movement; the poor 
wretch stood for a moment, alone, in view of the people, then a 
bolt slipped, and the little platform on which he stood fell 
against the wall. The Irish have, perhaps, got the better of 
their neighbours in the matter of hanging people with grace, but 
to me it appears a great cruelty to make a sort of parade of the 
death of a man, and in diminishing the horror of the punishment 
crime is increased and executions multiplied. I think I am not 
far wrong in assigning this as the reason why there are more 
people hung in Great Britain and Ireland than in all the rest of 
Europe.
The crowd seemed to move steadily in one direction, and I 
followed again—this time to be led to Phoenix Park, where there 
was a horse race. I really could not say which of the two—
execution or race—gave the greater pleasure to the hundred-
headed monster.
Although the part of the city where the well-to-do people live 
is perhaps as beautiful as anything similar in Europe, nothing 
anywhere can compare with the dirt and misery of the quarters 
where the lower classes vegetate. They call these quarters 'The 
Liberties' of Dublin, and this made me think often of 
'liberties' of France under Robespierre, than which there was 
nothing more disgusting in the universe.
Among those to whom I had letters of recommendation were 
generals and doctors, bishops, and curates, bankers and authors, 
lords and professors, barristers and solicitors. Mr. Burton 
Conyngham was one of those who welcomed me most warmly; he was 
kind in encouraging me to carry out my plan. He was a most 
honourable man, a friend of the public good, a supporter of 
every effort made for the benefit of his country. I can say this 
now without fear of being accused of flattery, for he is dead. 
To him I owe my introduction to various learned societies, and 
the friendship of some of their members. There were among them 
some very amiable and highly educated men—there was not among 
them one without something peculiar or original in his manner.
In natural history collections the cabinet of which Mr. Kirwan 
has charge merits the attention of the curious. There will be 
found in it a most interesting assemblage of all known stones 
and minerals. Lord Charlemont's library is a gem of elegance and 
taste.
From seeing Irishmen abroad one would imagine them to be most 
gallant and incapable of living without society. The very same 
men who appear to find so much pleasure in dancing attendance on 
our ladies allow cavaliers to flirt with their own. When an 
Irishman presents himself at the door of a Jacques Roastbeef in 
England, the latter fears immediately an attack on his purse, 
his wife, his daughter, or his wine. In revenge Dublin is shy in 
receiving the foreigner. One would say that the Dubliners 
remember their own faults of youth.
There are few social functions except those that are called 
routs. With reason I might describe them as déroutes.<2> Where a 
house might comfortably entertain twenty persons, sixty are 
invited, and so in proportion. I have seen routs where, from 
vestibule to garret, the rooms were filled with fine ladies 
beautifully dressed, but so crushed against each other that it 
was hardly possible to move. A foreigner has cause for 
embarrassment in these too brilliant assemblies, for he may here 
see really charming women in greater number than in most cities, 
and he thinks it a pity to see them lose on a stairway the time 
which might be passed much more agreeably with a small number of 
appreciative friends.
Nearly all the rich, I am told, spend more than their incomes, 
and so are obliged to resort to ruinous expedients in order to 
keep up style. In most European countries such prodigality is 
not so injurious to society, in that the expense goes to 
encourage art and talents, which serve to make life agreeable. 
Here in Ireland there is no such redeeming result, for the 
things on which the money is spent are not products of the 
country, and those who practise the fine arts, being without 
encouragement, and being, indeed, despised, seek other lands 
where their work is more highly appreciated. To nobles who are 
bent on ruining themselves, I counsel the spending of their 
means on Irish-made goods. That would be real patriotism.
When it was known that I intended to write the trifles which 
occupy the attention of the reader at the moment, several people 
exerted themselves to procure for me entry to various 
establishments where never before had foreigner been admitted.
I was warned by the case of a certain Mr. Twiss to be careful as 
to what I should put on paper. This Twiss was an Englishman, not 
wanting in wit, but still an Englishman of a commonly-seen type, 
full of prejudice in favour of his own country and considering 
all peoples of other lands as very inferior species. After 
having travelled over the greater part of Europe he came to 
Ireland, and had the imprudence to express discontent when 
several persons for whom he had letters of recommendation did 
not invite him to their houses. He should have remembered that 
the usage had been copied from England, where people will 
sometimes pay you the compliment of inviting you to an inn and 
leave you to pay your own charge. Such treatment was, perhaps, 
responsible for some dry responses at which he was much 
mortified. Thereupon he proceeded on his travels, and found in 
the towns what I have myself experienced—that is to say, a too 
ceremonious hospitality, the person to whom you have presented 
your letter paying you a visit of ceremony and then sending you 
on the day following an invitation for three or four days ahead. 
Surely it is a curious compliment to oblige a traveller to 
remain so long in a little town, where he has neither friend nor 
acquaintance, in order that he may, at last, have the pleasure 
to see much beautiful silver shining beautifully on the 
sideboard, servants in livery, and a huge piece of beef on the 
end of the table with hungry executioners round it. But it is 
the custom, and those who practise it think they are acting with 
great politeness in not asking you on the first day. However, in 
all towns there are folk who follow the good old custom, and the 
thing to do is to avoid having letters for the other sort, then 
one can pass the time very agreeably.
This style of entertainment displeased Mr. Twiss very much, and 
as in the world disagreeableness is a coin which can be given as 
well as received, his retaliations were as bad as the 
provocations he had received. He finished his journey very 
quickly, and immediately on his return published a record, not 
of what he had observed, but of what had been told by travellers 
four or five hundred years ago, and certainly set down some 
things not generally known, as, for example, the manner of 
baking bread by Cork girls in the year 1400. He permitted 
himself certain pleasantries about the skins of potatoes and the 
legs of ladies—this latter is a delicate subject to treat, and 
one about which the narrator should keep to himself the 
observations he has been fortunate enough to make. The Irish 
were extremely displeased by his remarks, going so far as, 
childishly, to represent him pictorially in a very undignified 
position.<3> What may, perhaps, console him for the contumely 
with which he has been treated, is that his work, which had no 
great merit, had so much attention called to it by this angry 
fuss that the sales were good, and a copy could hardly be found 
in Dublin unsold. As for me, I have no spite against anyone; the 
prejudices of this country are foreign to me; the political and 
religious quarrels which have rent it for so long are as little 
to me as those of the Chinese. That being the case, why should I 
not say what I think, and what merit would my book have if I 
stooped to flattery on any occasion whatsoever.
One of my friends took me to the Society Theatre, assuredly the 
most sumptuous thing of the kind which I have seen anywhere. The 
house is very fine, the company numerous and select—the number 
of beautiful women seen there is something bewitching, and the 
only kind of crowd by which I don't mind being squeezed is one 
like that which here fills the hall where coffee is served after 
the performance. Nevertheless, I must say that this playhouse 
does a great injury to the public theatre, for the rich young 
folk who ruin their fortunes in trying to be actors at the 
Society Theatre will certainly not encourage their rivals at the 
public playhouse, and we cannot there expect good actors unless 
they are well supported and adequately paid. Men are not 
admitted to the Society Theatre unless they are subscribers, and 
the subscription runs to about a guinea per representation. Each 
gentleman subscribing may bring two ladies, and on the day of my 
admission this rule gave occasion to a young blade to rig 
himself out in petticoats, and find his way in as a lady through 
the introduction of one of his friends. Unfortunately, he was a 
bit merry and came out with some oaths of ill accord with 
femininity, which scandalised the hearers and occasioned his 
ejection. Some of the actors played their parts passably well, 
but I must say I do not take kindly to the sight of men of rank 
on the theatrical stage before the public, for the assembly was 
numerous enough to allow my use of the term.
The public playhouse is ugly enough, the theatre being poorly 
attended, and the actors nothing better than what are to be 
found in a little provincial town. They have devised in Dublin a 
rather singular form of entertainment, the proceeds of which are 
applied to the maintenance of a Maternity Hospital. It is called 
a Promenade, and the name made me wish to go and see one. The 
visitors walk in a circular hall called the Rotunda, and while 
there is somewhat more freedom than that which obtains at 
private entertainments, people only mix with, and speak to, 
members of their own circle. After a certain time a bell 
sounded, and the company hurried through a door just opened, and 
groups of friends settled round tea-tables. My society consisted 
of myself, and being unable to join any party I had opportunity 
to scan the various groups: everywhere there reigned a kind of 
quiet enjoyment which gave me much more pleasure than I had 
expected to find. The good mammas were not very numerous, and 
those who were present appeared to be absent-minded. The young 
folk, on the other hand, were very numerous and making good use 
of their time—I think, perhaps, the Promenade attained its 
object along more lines than one. The cash result is nearly all 
the hospital has to depend on for maintenance; balls are given 
sometimes, and for these the hall seems to be better suited than 
for Promenades.
There are several other hospitals, all maintained by 
subscriptions as in England. I hate to see the aid given to the 
poor depend on the caprice or fashion of the moment. If it were 
not here the fashion to subscribe, what would become of all 
these establishments! Formerly they had the revenues from lands 
to support them, but at the time of the Reformation these were 
taken possession of by certain rich families, in order to avoid 
malpractices of which the former administrators were accused.
The Hospital for old men does honour to the inhabitants of this 
city. Here are maintained a great number of aged men, fallen on 
evil times, near the end of their lives.
The House of Industry is a large establishment containing about 
1700 poor folk who, in part, support themselves by their 
labours. Their food is infinitely better than that found on the 
tables of the peasantry. They have meat once a week; bread, 
potatoes, and other vegetables every day; very clean beds; only 
their clothes remain as they were before entry. Any poor person 
has the right of entry; those who come of their own accord are 
allowed to go out one day weekly. Notwithstanding these 
advantages, the love of liberty is so rooted in the heart of man 
there are very few who come of their own will, and the others 
are constantly trying to escape. Artisans and tradesmen are 
generally occupied in making things foreign to their experience, 
and perhaps to this cause is to be attributed the mediocrity of 
the most of the goods manufactured.
While I was in Dublin it was the fashion for people of high 
style to attend the charity sermons of a famous preacher, Mr. 
Kirwan. It has happened often at these services that the 
collections have amounted to a thousand or twelve hundred 
pounds, the money being applied to the support of Schools for 
Orphans. The Dublin ladies carry on little industries, providing 
the materials at their own charge, and selling the finished 
products for the benefit of the same schools. In most of the 
rich houses to which I was admitted I found the ladies occupied 
in this way. As the class below the highest is always disposed 
to imitate its superiors, charity sermons are very frequent all 
over the city.
To my mind Mr. Kirwan is a perfect preacher, joining to 
excellent discourse an eloquence far from common. He draws from 
the purse of the sinner that aid which cold charity alone could 
never extract. And yet I must say that the fervour of his 
expressions and the animation of his gestures do not work for 
good of the pulpit of Dublin. They have tended to produce a 
breed of imitators, who by their ridiculous frenzies might well 
make the weaker folk of the congregations think the devil had 
tricked himself out in a chasuble to preach to them. Strange how 
fashion rules the world!—here in Dublin, to imitate a favourite 
preacher who certainly has great merit, the mob of preachers 
affect a declamation and gesture more than theatrical, while at 
Edinburgh, where Mr. Greenfield, the favourite minister, has 
adopted an entirely different manner, they stand motionless, 
eyes with a fixed stare, and articulate a cold sermon in a cold 
way, so lifeless and cold indeed, that the pulpit might as well 
be occupied by a billet of wood clothed in the Presbyterian 
cassock,—in both cases influenced by the desire to imitate a man 
admired, with reason, by the public. The excuse given by Mr. 
Greenfield for his immobility is that Nature has so built him 
that, if in the course of his sermon his eye caught sight of 
anything in the least degree absurd or ridiculous he could not 
abstain from bursting into laughter,—surely one of the most 
curious reasons ever heard of. Did any man less gifted offer 
such an explanation of his manner he would not be believed. Be 
that as it may, there is no reason for the herd to copy him in 
it at Edinburgh and to out-Herod Herod in the case of Mr. Kirwan 
at Dublin.
Justice is dispensed here very much in the same manner as in 
England. The cost of law and, I may add, of medicine is 
exorbitant—not only are the poor absolutely deprived of the help 
of the latter, but even those of moderate means cannot afford 
it. The middle classes can hardly expect to see one of 
Messieurs, the disciples of Hippocrates, under a guinea or two 
guineas per visit. However, it must be admitted that doctors 
often make it a duty to visit, for nothing, folk who cannot pay 
anything, and among these latter are some very well-educated and 
respectable persons.
There are also arrangements for facilitating the procuring of 
justice for the poor, but these means cannot be employed 
decently except by the man who has nothing at all. It is 
difficult for the poor pleader to bring his cause to the ear of 
a judge; nevertheless, there are examples of poor men obtaining 
justice, and quickly, but in the main these are cases where rich 
men have taken their cause and made it their own.
The profession of barrister in the three kingdoms is held to be 
very honourable, its members well educated and of good families. 
Whatever may be said of the attorneys they are not such devils 
as is shadowed forth by their blackness. I have known some very 
honest and amiable men in this class. Nevertheless, I have been 
assured that if you must have any transactions with them, 
whether at London or at Dublin, it is well to say your good-bye 
in the street, otherwise it will be chalked up against you as a 
consultation, and they say if you ask one to dinner it may 
happen that he will charge you for the wear of his teeth.
I have heard of one of these gentlemen who regularly charged his 
client for having thought about him while at dinner. While I was 
in Dublin, one of them was asked by a lady in the country to 
take charge of a letter for her sister in Dublin. Arrived in 
town he called a carriage, and drove to the lady's house. Not 
finding her at home he returned, daily, for fifteen days, when, 
having found the consignee and delivered his letter, he 
presented a bill for fifteen guineas for his trouble and 
charges. I should never finish if I started to tell all the 
stories in circulation about Dublin lawyers. To them one might 
apply the answer of Lord Chesterfield, when Miss Chudleigh 
(afterwards Duchess of Kingston) complained to him that people 
were going about seeking to destroy her reputation by saying 
that she had brought twins into the world. 'Oh,' said he, 'don't 
let that bother you. You know that people should only believe 
half of what they hear.'
It seems to me that in English jurisprudence too much is made of 
the oath—it appears at every point—and much importance, it 
appears, is attached to swearing of witnesses, &c. Is it not 
plain that the unscrupulous man will make very little of 
charging his conscience with an additional crime, if he thinks 
he is going to gain anything by it, and the good man has no need 
for the formality? Here is a little story which illustrates my 
views in this matter:
Pierre avait emprunté le chaudron 
De son voisin Lucas; puis le trouvant tres bon 
Ne voulut pas le rendre, et lui chercha querelle! 
De propos insultans une longue kyrielle 
S'en suivit: après quoi le juge déclara 
Qu'il fallait que Pierre jurât 
N'avoir pas du voisin emprunté la marmite! 
'De tout mon cœur, 's'ecria l'hypocrite, 
Et, sur le champ en l'air sa dextre il lui montra. 
'Mais, mechant,' dit Lucas, 'tu vas perdre ton âme.' 
'Toi, ton chaudron,' lui repartit l'infame.
"Peter had borrowed a kettle from his neighbour Lucas. Finding 
it very useful, he wished to keep it, and set himself to pick a 
quarrel with the lender. Hence a whole litany of insulting 
remarks. Peter was called on by the judge to swear to the truth 
of his statement that he had not borrowed the kettle. 'With all 
my heart,' he said, and held up his right hand. 'O wicked one,' 
cried Lucas, 'you are about to lose your soul.' 'And you your 
kettle,' answered Peter."
The Court of the Viceroy at Dublin is nearly as brilliant as 
that of the King at London, and the castle in which it is held 
is an ancient structure with an appearance as good at least as 
that of St. James' Palace. Mr. Burton Conyngham was good enough 
to present me to Lord Camden, who, having been informed of my 
plans, believed he could help me much, and urged me to put them 
at once into execution. Greatly encouraged by this, I set myself 
seriously to the task, and began to read all the books I could 
find dealing with the country's history.
If one believes all that is written by these old Irish authors 
he will find it difficult to imagine that what he reads relates 
to this island; the pompous descriptions of the High King and of 
the numberless kings who composed his Court make it appear that 
the splendour of this Grand Monarch was like that of Alexander 
after the conquest of Asia.<4>
I went one day to a grand review in Phoenix Park. They fired 
cannon and made the air thick with noises of sorts. For me, 1 
had seen quite too much of stepping and wheeling soldiers, and 
so I left the sillies to look at them while I reviewed the 
ladies who were crowded on the parapet of the garden. There were 
three yellow bonnets forming a battery much more attractive than 
that of the General, while nearly as formidable. If I had not 
the fate of poor Twiss before me, oh what could I not say! Let 
it suffice, ladies, to tell you that never was place better than 
your perch for demonstrating to the whole earth how greatly you 
were caluminated by the infamous Twiss when he spoke ill of your 
——; but I must be discreet.
I was present at the opening of the new dock—the importance of 
such a considerable work added interest to the pomp and 
ceremony. The Viceroy's yacht was the first to pass the gates to 
the sound of volleys of cannon, and when the centre of the dock 
was reached his lordship knighted, on the vessel, the contractor 
who had built, and furnished part of the cost of, this superb 
national work which completes on this side the junction of the 
canals with the sea. The Viceroy was afterwards rowed from one 
end of the dock to the other in an elegant barge, followed and 
preceded by the acclamations of the people. The enthusiasm of 
the immense crowd surrounding the basin made me fear that many 
would be crowded into the water, or, what I should have liked 
still less, that I should be pushed in myself. In all countries 
the populace is easily electrified by the sentiment of public 
joy, especially when there is reasonable motive for it, as on 
this occasion.
The party spirit, political<5> or religious, has weakened very 
much of late, and I would dare to hope that in ten years it will 
have ceased to exist. The Catholic religion has very many more 
followers than has the dominant, which is indeed only the 
religion of the rich. All the lower classes all over Ireland, 
the North excepted, are Catholics. They observe Lent and the 
fast days with a regularity perfectly horrible to a man who 
wishes only to fast after the manner of the Scotch. On Holy 
Saturday, by way of rejoicing, some butchers promenaded the 
streets bearing a gaily decorated herring, which they belaboured 
with a stick at every cross-road, while a crowd of children 
followed them, crying baa, baa, baa, like a flock of sheep.
The common folk call the English shilling a hog, and the 
sixpence a pig. As the English shilling is worth a halfpenny 
more than the Irish, a distinguishing title is needed, and so 
they have given it the name of the commonest and most useful 
animal to be found in Ireland. The Irish are very friendly with 
the pig; he lives on equal footing with the folk in the country, 
and often when nurses wish to say sweet things to their little 
brats, they jump them up in their arms, singing 'my dear little 
pig, pig, pig, sweet little pig,' meaning it as a most endearing 
expression, somewhat as one of our bourgeois will call his wife 
mon chou, ma poule or mon rat.<6>
There is a famous university at Dublin, its chairs almost too 
richly endowed—a statement which will not find favour with the 
professors, who number among them some very learned and very 
agreeable men. Before the Reformation one had probably to be a 
priest to gain a chair, as the professors were not allowed to 
marry. By a caprice singular for an old maid, Queen Elizabeth 
made the same stipulation in the new charter which she granted 
to the College. Although nearly all the professors are married, 
they make a show of compliance with the old law, for their wives 
do not bear their husbands' names.
There is a fine library at the College, well furnished with 
books and rare manuscripts, many of these in the Irish language. 
There is also a cabinet of Natural History and one of Anatomical 
specimens. In this latter is the skeleton of a man the whole of 
whose joints had ossified, and even a part of his flesh. In this 
way he lived for years until, at last, the malady attacked the 
vital parts.
They drink infinitely less in Dublin, and, indeed, all over 
Ireland, than I could have believed. Generally in the principal 
houses, an hour, or perhaps only half an hour, after the ladies 
have quitted the dining-room, the master of the house pushes his 
glass to the middle of the table and rises. I am not going to 
deny that there are such things as drinking parties where one 
may get straightforwardly drunk; I have indeed seen a somewhat 
original example of the outcome of one of these. Returning home 
one evening I saw a tipsy, rather, I should say, a drunk, man 
elbow a passer-by, and the latter standing the shock stiffly, 
the reaction carried the drunkard off his feet. In a fury the 
incapable arose, seized the man he had jostled by the collar, 
demanded his name, tendered his own, and insisted on fighting. 
The assaulted refused, and answered the challenger very coldly. 
'I see you're not the man to fight like a gentleman' said the 
aggressor. 'Well, I'll box you for sixpence.' The other appeared 
to consent, and then, as one must strip to box, the tipsy man 
let go his hold of the collar of his adversary, and the latter 
immediately slipped through the crowd and disappeared. When the 
warrior had stripped, he looked for his antagonist, and not 
finding him he began to swear and shout, 'Where is the lousy 
rascal? Where is the lousy rascal?' and he went through the 
crowd asking, 'Are you the lousy rascal? 'Having exhausted his 
rage—no one deemed it his duty to answer such a discourteous 
question—he looked for his clothes and found the shirt had 
disappeared. For boxing in earnest to be in order bets must be 
deposited, otherwise the vanquisher must accept responsibility 
for consequences. But if a bet has been made, you may with 
safety, and with an easy conscience, punch out the eye or break 
the jaw of your opponent.
After having seen all that was curious or interesting in Dublin, 
and having made such arrangements as would ensure the success of 
my project, I proceeded to put it into execution. Mr. Burton 
Conyngham was kind enough to procure a passport from the Lord 
Lieutenant for me, and to give me a number of letters addressed 
to his friends in the country. He engaged me to communicate 
results from time to time, and made me promise to begin my 
promenade from his house in the county of Wicklow. The 
Commandant-in-Chief, General Cunningham, also gave me a general 
letter of recommendation, and I fixed on May 25 as the day of my 
departure.
I intended to start in the forenoon, but I was asked to dinner 
by a charming family, and pretty women and a good dinner are two 
things I never could resist.
CHAPTER III 
La Lagenie or Leinster.—The Gold Mine, Wicklow—
Wexford
Having then definitely made my resolution, my baggage in my 
pocket, and my stick in my hand, gaily I commenced my voyage. It 
was a happy thing that I had this stick in my hand, for without 
it one of the children of St. Patrick would have broken his head 
on the pavement.
As I was making my way along one of the footpaths, I saw a young 
boy near me amusing himself by jumping over the iron railings 
along the way, and jumping back again. In one of these leaps his 
foot caught on a sharp point of the railings. With such force 
had he jumped that, if the foot had remained on the spike, his 
head would certainly have struck the pavement, and with a 
killing blow. With a sudden and violent blow with the stick from 
below, I disengaged the foot, just in time, and he fell on his 
feet. Examining the wound I found that the foot was nearly 
pierced through. I carried the poor boy to an apothecary's where 
the wound was bound up, and giving the sufferer a shilling, I 
told him not to be such a fool another time. My walk, I said to 
myself, is going to be fortunate, since at the very commencement 
I have saved a young creature's life. I looked on this incident 
as a happy omen and pursued my way.
I stopped at the door of a house to ask my way from a man on 
horseback, who was holding a conversation with a friend. When I 
had proceeded for about half an hour, the horseman joined me on 
the way and called out, 'I am an old soldier, I am going your 
way, if a share of my horse suits you it is at your service.' 
'Monsieur,' I answered, 'I am a young soldier and I am very much 
obliged to you.' I had barely finished the words when I was 
already up behind him, and we had some interesting chat about 
the old wars. It was with great regret that I separated, later, 
from this good creature. I have not the slightest idea of who he 
was.
I had not taken the trouble to calculate distances very 
carefully in starting, and now, late in the evening, I found 
myself still eight miles from my destination—and eight miles 
Irish count for something. It was past eleven o'clock when I 
arrived at the house where I expected to be received. The doors 
were locked, and to my distress I found that the owner, who had 
invited me to his house, was not at home. Further, that there 
was no inn nearer than four miles distant, and that on the side 
of Dublin which I had left. To go back on my way was a hateful 
idea—I preferred rather to go ten miles forward than four back—
and so I went on. At half-past twelve I found myself in a 
village, its name unknown to me. Everybody seemed to be asleep; 
however, at the last, I found a cabin with a light in the 
window, the dwelling of some poor labourers who had returned 
late from the city. I entered, asked for hospitality, and had 
placed before me immediately what was in the house. For rest I 
passed the night on a three-legged stool, my back leaning 
against the wall. This for the first day of my travels was not a 
very agreeable beginning, but I had to take troubles as they 
came.
There was no need to wake me in the morning. At dawn of day all 
the animals in the cottage, sleeping pell-mell with their 
masters, acquainted me with the fact that the sun was up, and I 
rose from my stool and left this unfortunate house of want. How 
profitable this night would have been to me had I been always 
the favoured child of fortune! I would advise parents to force 
their children thus to pass several nights in their youth; it 
would be more advantageous to them than years at school. Really 
to have compassion on the poor, and to have a real desire to 
help them requires that they should be approached; the careless 
rich, who have never seen the poor near at hand, think of them 
with disgust and turn away their eyes from the sight of poverty.
About four o'clock in the morning I came to the camp at Bray, 
and was able at leisure to admire the good order and even 
elegance of the barrack arrangements. Excepting a few sentinels 
no one stirred. I was scandalised to see the soldiers so lazy 
while I was up so early. However, after having made a tour of 
the enclosure a number of times, I felt tired, and sitting down 
at a little distance at the foot of a tree, I fell asleep 
myself. At seven o'clock in the morning I felt a hand fumbling 
in my pockets, while a voice said 'Are you dead, Sir?' 'Yes,' I 
answered, and the apparition, who must have been none other than 
the devil in person, or at any rate some ragamuffin of the camp, 
fled.
I quitted my hard bed without regret, and being informed that 
the residence of Mr. Burton Conyngham was not in the immediate 
neighbourhood, I started for a walk of three miles. I arrived at 
last at Rochestown, but it was still only half-past eight, and I 
could scarcely find anyone to speak to. They told me that the 
master of the house was sick, and that the breakfast hour was 
eleven o'clock. Patience was evidently necessary; one does not 
know the value of a good breakfast who has been lying in bed all 
morning, but after the night I had spent, and a light supper 
before it, I knew.
Mr. Burton Conyngham I found surrounded by his family and by an 
army of apothecaries, surgeons, and doctors. I was not allowed 
even to speak to him. This seemed to me very strange for a 
simple cold, but I was not otherwise uneasy. When a man is rich, 
I said to myself, and has a cut finger, his entourage puts on a 
sad air, and if he has a cold the doctor will gravely fill him 
with medicines in order to acquire a certain reputation, and to 
prolong the cough which fortunately fills his pockets. I was 
wrong, however, in this case, for the malady was mortal. There 
was nothing for it now but to pursue my way, and crossing the 
wild mountains which seemed to overhang Dublin, I arrived, after 
three or four miles of walking, at Enniskerry, where I was 
received by Mr. Walker, who has made great researches in the 
matter of Irish antiquities. This little town belongs to Lord 
Powerscourt. His park and his house arc among the greatest 
curiosities near the capital. It is through this park that the 
River Dargle flows in a charming valley to which it has given 
its name, a valley of which the inhabitants are proud with just 
reason. In this park also is the Powerscourt waterfall, which 
strangers come from afar to view. The mass of water is not very 
considerable, and it does not detach itself much from the rock, 
but the fall of the water is great, and to me it seemed to 
resemble the wind-blown, snowy hair of a venerable old man. This 
may not be a remarkably happy comparison, but it expresses what 
I felt. The valley into which it falls is, without 
contradiction, the most romantic and the best wooded in all 
Ireland.
It was spring, the trees were fully covered with new leafage, 
the charming verdure invited to repose. I fell into a dreamy 
state, and in it was safely delivered of the following rondeau. 
It has nothing to do with my travels, but let that pass:
A votre aise vous pouvez rire 
Du torment que cause l'amour: 
Vous connaitrez a votre tour 
Qu'aimer est un cruel martyre 
Quand on n'attend pas de retour.
Il me semble entendre en ce jour 
Pour vos mechants traits de satyre 
Le dieu d'amour, pique, vous dire 
	A votre aise.
De ce dieu, charmante... 
Craignez sur vous d'attirer l'ire, 
Aimez, que votre coeur soupire, 
Que pour moi son feu vous inspire 
Et je vous dirai sans detour. 
	A votre aise.<7>
I have seen so many beautiful books in which the author has been 
gracious enough to present his loved one to the public, that I 
hope I may be excused for this short apostrophe, and that the 
public will be pleased that I have not lingered longer over the 
fine qualities, the white skin, the black eyes, and the fingers 
full of roguishness of my Maria, Lodoiska, or Carolina.
The innkeeper at Enniskerry is a representative of the O'Tooles 
who owned this territory in the far past, and who lost their 
lands because they refused to submit to the English yoke. He has 
taken for sign the arms of the new proprietors.
If ever the exiles return to France, and if their estates are 
not returned to them, I am certain of this, that it is not on my 
own lands that I shall become innkeeper.
From the heights above the town one can see one of the singular 
openings which nature has made at several places in the 
mountains of this country. The road is carried through these 
chasms, as they are called, as they are the only places at which 
it is possible to cross the heights without climbing to the top. 
Returning eastward, nearly over the ground I had traversed, I 
fell in with a peasant who explained a number of things about 
the country with a good deal of sense. Generally the inhabitants 
of County Wicklow are very intelligent, and their country well 
cultivated, especially near the coasts. The low mountains and 
the numerous well-built houses give the district a very 
agreeable aspect.
I came at last to Hollybrook, where I was received by Lord 
Molesworth, of whose goodness I had already had experience 
during my sojourn at Dublin. Here laurel, arbutus, holly, and 
even myrtle abound, although they do not appear to fruit well, 
the fact being, I suppose, that to ripen berries more heat is 
required than is provided in this climate.
It was here that there lived Robert Adair, so famous in Scotch 
and Irish song. I have seen his portrait; he is the ancestor of 
Lord Molesworth and of Sir Robert Hodson, to whom Hollybrook 
belongs. They told me a curious story about him. A Scotchman, a 
champion drunkard apparently, having heard of the Bacchic 
prowess of Robert Adair, came from Scotland expressly to 
challenge him to drink with him. He had no sooner disembarked at 
Dublin than he demanded from everybody he met in his Scotch 
jargon—'Ken ye ane Robin Adair?' and in the end he found his 
man. He demanded a sight of him, and gave his challenge. Robert 
Adair was actually at table, and offered to begin the contest 
there and then; but the Scotchman declined, and invited him to 
where all was ready at the inn in Bray.
In due time the champions appeared on the field of battle, but 
after ten bottles the Scotchman fell under the table. Thereupon 
Robert Adair rang the bell, ordered another bottle, and in 
presence of the domestics set himself astride the poor 
Scotchman, in which position he drank off the eleventh bottle 
without drawing breath, and gave loud huzzas for his victory.
When the Scotchman recovered he returned to his own country, but 
the story had preceded him, and wherever he went he was met with 
the mocking question, 'Ken ye ane Robin Adair? 'And to this his 
invariable answer was 'I ken the de'il.'
Following the windings of a romantic valley, shut in by steep 
mountains which were for the greater part clothed with verdure 
to the summit, I arrived at Bellevue, the home of Mr. Peter 
Latouche. Madame Latouche holds here a school for twenty-four 
young girls, who are maintained at her charge. She herself acts 
as school-mistress. When the girls come of age, she gives them a 
dowry, and marries them to labourers of good character. This is 
one of the most noble and most reasonable amusements of the rich 
that I have ever met with. Nothing in the world is more likely 
to change the face of a country than a succession of young and 
virtuous women accustomed to industry and the well-being which 
attends it.
According to my usual custom I walked a good deal about the 
neighbourhood, entering into the cabins of the peasants and 
talking with them. This is the way to find, often, the falsity 
of certain reputations for benevolence; but it is also the way 
to find out the truth about other reputations, which have solid 
foundation in goodness. Many of the houses here are very clean 
and well kept, honest industry has brought comfort, and even the 
peasants who have not been amenable to influence exercised, 
blessed Providence for having here placed riches in good hands.
There is in the parish church a superb monument in white marble, 
erected to the memory of David Latouche by his three sons. This 
David came from France at the time of the Revocation of the 
Edict of Nantes, and, by continuous industry exerted for forty 
years, he acquired a very considerable fortune. Although a 
banker he was humane and charitable. They tell that, in his last 
days, he never went out without filling his pockets with 
shillings, which he gave to the poor as he met them. It was 
represented to him that if he gave to all who asked he was 
certainly giving to unworthy subjects, 'I know,' he said; 'but 
if my shilling falls right once in ten times that is enough.'
The church which contains his monument was built by him. Over 
the portal is engraved this touching inscription, 'Of Thy own, O 
my God, do I give unto Thee.'
It was at Bellevue that I received the sad news of the death of 
Mr. Burton Conyngham. Although I was now at the twelfth day of 
my march, and had really covered much ground, I was not, at this 
point, more than seventeen miles from Dublin, and I was much 
embarrassed as to the course which I ought to pursue. I saw 
clearly that after this misfortune I should have much labour and 
fatigue without any advantage to myself; in the end, however, 
after full reflection, the idea of the utility of which I 
believed my project to be susceptible made me set aside any 
personal considerations, and I determined to pursue my journey 
vigorously, and leave the rest to Providence. I resolved to 
present the letters of recommendation which Mr. Burton Conyngham 
had given me, even although the recipients might look upon them 
as messages from the other world.
Here I paid my respects to the oldest and biggest tree to be 
found, not only in Ireland, but I should say in the mountains of 
Nice or of Provence. It is to be found in the beautiful garden 
of Mount Kennedy. The body of the tree is at least three feet in 
diameter, and wind and time having bent it to the ground, it 
took root in this situation, and has sent out branches of 
extraordinary size, so that in itself it is a little wood. 
Leaving here I buried myself in the passes of the arid mountains 
of the County of Wicklow, and came to Luggala, one of the houses 
of Mr. Peter Latouche. One is surprised to find such a house in 
such a wild and lonely place. The next house to it is at a 
distance of five or six miles. There are not even peasants' 
cabins in the neighbourhood. It is seated on a little bit of 
fertile earth near a beautiful lake, a bit of earth as distinct 
from the rest of the country as an island is from the water 
which surrounds it. Following the course of the stream which 
flows from the lake, I came to Glendalough, a word which in 
means the valley of the two lakes. It is singular that there is 
not a single ancient name in this country which has not its 
special signification. The appropriateness here is evident, for 
there are really two lakes, which join at the portion of the 
valley called 'The Seven Churches.' It is here in this desert 
place that are to be found the most ancient remains of the 
devotion of past centuries, remains whose antiquity reaches back 
to the early ages of Christianity. St. Kevin here founded a 
monastery in the third or fourth century of the Christian era, 
probably on the ruins of a temple of the Druids, who sought 
always the wildest places for the practice of their cult. This 
was for long a bishopric, but now it is united to that of 
Dublin. There are still to be seen the ruins of seven churches, 
and one of those round towers of unknown origin which are so 
common in Ireland. They are all alike, having a door fifteen or 
twenty feet from the ground, generally opening eastward, some 
narrow windows, and inside not the slightest remains of a 
staircase, unless this may be found in a few projecting stones 
which may have served to support floors in which there must have 
been trap doors to allow of passing from one to another by means 
of ladders. These towers are always found at some distance from 
a church, and entirely isolated. The one which is to be seen at 
Brechin in Scotland is exactly of the same character.
I remember reading in the story of certain travels in the North 
of Asia a description of similar towers. The traveller, as far 
as I know, had no knowledge whatever of Ireland; he had escaped 
from Siberia, where, perforce, he had been living for years, and 
he reports having seen these extraordinary towers in that part 
of Tartary which lies to the north-east of the Caspian Sea. He 
gives a little engraving of one of them, with the ruins which 
are near, which ruins he says are those of 'a house of prayer 
near which these towers are always to be found.' If it were not 
for the dress and faces of the figures appearing in the picture, 
one would say that the illustration was that of an Irish ruin.
Whatever these ancient buildings may have been, the Irish have 
now for them the greatest possible veneration. They come here 
from afar for pilgrimages and penitences, and on the day of the 
Saint, which is June 3, they dance afterwards and amuse 
themselves until nightfall. In this sacred enclosure are to be 
found remedies for many ills. Have you a pain in your arm?—it 
suffices to pass the limb through a hole worked in a stone, and 
you are free from your trouble. There is another stone on which 
for another ailment you shall rub your back, and another one 
against which you shall rub your head. And there is a pillar in 
the middle of the cemetery which, if you can embrace, will make 
you sure of your wife. The Saint's Bed is a hole about six feet 
long, hollowed in the rock—a very special virtue belongs to it. 
It is only to be reached after much trouble in scaling a steep 
slope of the mountain above the lake, but whoever has enough 
strength and resolution to climb to it, and will lie down in it, 
is sure never to die in childbirth. Belief in this virtue makes 
a great number of wives, and of girls who hope to become wives, 
come here to pay their devotions.
All this seemed to come in very fitly at the beginning of my 
travels. I pushed my arm through the hole in the stone. I rubbed 
my back against the rock which cures the troubles of the back, 
and my head against another, thus ensuring my health for the 
remainder of my journey. I even tried to embrace the pillar, but 
I cannot tell with what result. As to the Saint's Bed, I thought 
there was little danger of my dying from the malady against 
which it insures, and therefore I did not climb.
Rathdrum is a little town at some distance from this famous 
place. It seems to me fairly prosperous, for they make there a 
prodigious quantity of flannel, and the peasantry seem to be 
more industrious and more comfortably off than elsewhere. On the 
first Monday of each month there is held a market, and I am 
assured that flannel to the value of £4000 sterling is sold on 
one of these market days. Lord —— (I do not remember his name) 
has built, at his own charge, a warehouse in which the material 
can be deposited. He it is who has encouraged this new 
manufacture. The action does him honour, and in the end it will 
be advantageous to his estate.
I found the peasantry very curious as to the time of day. Every 
minute women and children would run from cabins by the wayside 
to ask the traveller what o'clock it was, perhaps for the 
pleasure of seeing a watch, or of having a chat.
There is in this neighbourhood a very considerable copper mine. 
The first expenditure on it amounted to; £60,000 sterling before 
the company had any return whatever. It is at present in a great 
state of activity, and employs about three hundred workers. The 
water which is taken from the mine is made to pass over certain 
metal plates which partly dissolve the copper and hold it. They 
make use here of a rather ingenious plan for renewing the air in 
the bottom of the mine. The course of a little stream has been 
altered so as to make it fall into the opening over faggots of 
thorn, and the water falling as a fine rain induces a current of 
air.
The gold mine about which so much noise was made in 1795 is only 
about six or seven miles from here across the mountains. I had 
to ask my way to it pretty often, and my questions always seemed 
to excite the most lively curiosity. Peasants quitted their 
labours in the fields to answer me, and, in turn, put to me a 
thousand questions, wishing to know if I were going to work at 
the mine, if the Government had sent me, &c., &c.; and they told 
me how a certain Peter had sent his children to search for gold 
one Sunday morning after rain, and that they had brought him 
back more than twenty guineas worth. It is always the case that 
we hear about the lucky finds, but nothing is said about the 
many who have lost their time and even their lives in unfruitful 
searches. There are many workers who have passed days and nights 
in hard labour without finding anything to reward them for their 
trouble, and when at last, overcome by fatigue, they have 
returned to their families, they have died almost immediately.
On my way I came to a rather rapid river of several feet depth, 
which it was necessary to ford, or make a detour of four or five 
miles to find a bridge. The weather was warm, and I profited by 
the occasion to take a bath. A peasant, rather well-clothed, who 
had been talking to me about the gold mine, was much interested 
in this matter, and in order to have the pleasure of talking 
with me longer, he imitated my example, and was good enough to 
carry my clothes to the other side.
The place where the peasants have dug in search of gold is at 
the foot of a rather high mountain, called Cruachan, in the bed 
of a stream or rather of a torrent. Apparently the idea did not 
occur to any of them to dig on the slopes of the mountain, from 
whence it would seem that the gold had been washed into the 
stream.
This torrent is called in Irish 'The Golden Stream 'and in 
English 'The Poor Man's Stream,' and from this it may be 
gathered that gold had been found long ago.
I had a letter given me by my late friend, Mr. Burton Conyngham, 
for the officer of the regiment which the Government has placed 
here to guard the mine, and prevent the peasants from working. 
He walked over the ground with me several times. The number of 
holes which the thirst for gold has been the means of digging in 
this stream is inconceivable—some persons have assured me that 
they have seen as many as four thousand men at work at once. 
There is not a single one of these holes from which something 
has not been taken, although often it was not the worker who 
profited, but the women and children running about from one to 
the other who had nothing to do but use their eyes.
The total value of what has been found in this mine is estimated 
at three or four thousand pounds sterling. The largest piece of 
gold taken weighed twenty-two ounces, and is supposed to be 
worth over eighty guineas. It would seem that this piece had 
been in a state of fusion, and had been carried from the 
mountain by the torrent, with the stones, peat, and trees which 
are washed down with the stream. It was attached to a stone, as 
if it had been melted round it, and the labourer who found it 
could only detach it by hammering blows. The Government has 
entirely forbidden any work here for some time; if they had not 
done so, all the vagabonds, not only of Ireland, but of England, 
and perhaps the Continent, would have been here in crowds, and 
the most of them, finding so much less than they expected, would 
have finished by ravaging the country for the means to live. 
There is always a guard of twenty or thirty men at some 
distance, and a sentinel at the mine to prevent any attempt at 
digging. As to whether the ground would pay for proper 
exploitation, nothing is yet known. The Government certainly 
cannot always maintain a force here, and it is quite certain 
that as soon as the men are removed the peasantry will return to 
work. Even if the mine were properly worked, the profit would 
hardly pay the Government, for I am convinced that the expenses 
would be more considerable than would be covered by the value of 
the gold found, unless, indeed, it were possible, as in Peru, to 
employ slaves.
After having satisfied my curiosity I made a frugal dinner of 
potatoes and water in the neighbourhood, then turning eastward I 
came to Arklow, where I was received with great kindness by the 
Rev. Mr. Bailly, rector of the village He had the good nature to 
write out for me the following observations about the gold mine, 
and the large nugget of which I have spoken:
'The gold is found in marshy spots by the side of a small 
stream, in a gravelly stratum and in the clefts of the rock 
which lie beneath. If is of all forms and sizes, from the large 
nugget described down to the smallest perceptible pieces, all 
bearing the appearance of having been in a state of fusion. When 
the mud and gravel are carefully washed, they afford a 
considerable quantity of gold dust. The large nugget is the 
property of eight poor labourers, who agreed to share in the 
result of the search.
'The secret of the mine was discovered about eleven or twelve 
years ago by some poor people in the neighbourhood, who have 
since occasionally collected considerable quantities. It was 
not, however, publicly known until the beginning of September 
1795; from that time several hundreds, sometimes thousands of 
the country people have been daily employed in the search. It is 
computed that gold to the value of several thousand pounds has 
been collected. On October 14 two companies of the Kildare 
Militia marched into Arklow, and on the following day proceeded 
to guard the mine on the part of His Majesty.'
The country round the little town of Arklow is very pretty, well 
wooded, and diversified by mountain and plain. The company 
working the copper mines has the intention to render the river 
navigable as far as Rathdrum. It is a work which may be of the 
greatest utility, but the expenses are so very great that, 
unless the Government will come to the aid of the company, I do 
not think it will be possible to proceed. The port of Arklow, 
besides, is bad: rather, indeed, is it a roadstead, for the 
shore is flat, and vessels are obliged to remain nearly a mile 
out at sea and to set sail on the least appearance of bad 
weather.
Walking in a torrent of rain, and with nothing to protect me 
from it beyond a piece of waxed cloth which I had bought in 
Dublin, and which doubtless appeared a strange garment to the 
inhabitants of the villages through which I passed, I stopped 
for a moment at Ferns to examine a little round tower near the 
ruins of the cathedral, and the old castle. The Bishop's Palace 
here was much larger than the largest town of his bishopric. I 
accosted a man who appeared to me a good sort of creature, and 
asked him some questions. Instead of answering, he looked me 
over from head to foot, and then asked if I had been born in an 
out-of-the-way corner of the kingdom. As I am always prepared 
for such questions, I answered, smilingly, in broad Scotch, 'I 
dinna ken, I dinna mind,' on which he required to know from 
whence I came and whither I was going. 'I come hence,' I 
replied, pointing to the north, 'and I gang there,' I continued, 
pointing to the south. 'I know your language,' said he, and 
tapping me on the shoulderhe went on, 'You are a d—d canny Scot. 
You are come to this country to make your fortune; well, well, 
we shall hear of you, for you are a d—d lucky set.' 'Ne'er fash, 
mon,' I replied, smilingly, and after I had asked my way, he 
indicated it with good grace.
I used here a little ruse which has often been serviceable to me 
in my travels. Indeed, it rarely fails. Country folk could 
easily distinguish that I was a stranger, but they could not fix 
the nation to which I belonged, and when I addressed them a few 
words in broad Scotch, they always set me down as a Scotchman.
The Irish are pretty well accustomed to see people of every 
class coming from Scotland, and making, by the end of a few 
years, a very considerable fortune. It is really when he is 
abroad that the character of the Scotchman is remarkable. It is 
sufficient that there should be in a town one of them who has 
made a little money, to attract a great number of his 
compatriots. They range themselves round the first-comer, and he 
pushes them forward, protects them, helps them with credit, and 
starts them in the way of well-doing, and I suppose there is 
hardly any considerable town in Europe in which you will not 
find a Scotchman who has worked his way into a good position, 
and others of his country who have followed, attracted by this 
'smell of the roast.' It is all very creditable to them, and a 
foreigner who sees them at home has great difficulty in 
imagining how they can be so attached and so serviceable to each 
other far from their native hearths.
The rain in this country is terrible; it seems to penetrate to 
the bones, and would make you shiver with cold in the middle of 
summer. Happily, the succeeding wind nearly always dries you. 
This is what happened to me as I entered Enniscorthy, after 
having been wet all day as if I had been walking through a 
river. I did not stop in this town (which is one of some 
considerable size and with many manufactures) longer than to 
rest myself, and, this accomplished, I proceeded three miles 
farther, to Wilton, where the hospitality of Mr. Alcock soon 
made me forget my fatigue. I found there an old irrigateur, who 
was going from house to house with a plan for watering meadows. 
The good man was cute enough to exact for his services a guinea 
per day in addition to food for himself and his horse. He 
claimed to having been secretary to Pope Ganganelli. Unless a 
man like this has got a touch of the charlatan about him, it is 
safe to bet that he will have no success in this country.
From here I proceeded to Wexford, and without wishing it harm, I 
may say that it is one of the ugliest and dirtiest towns in the 
whole of Ireland. The excessive exercise in which I had 
indulged, and to which I had not been accustomed for a long 
time, compelled me to remain here eight days with a fever; and 
to make matters worse, the greater number of the letters I had 
for this town were those of my dead friend, Mr. Burton 
Conyngham. However, I received certain attentions. Wexford is 
situated on a large bay, which at low tide is almost entirely 
dry. Six or seven thousand acres of ground could here be 
reclaimed, and there would be an additional advantage of making 
out of the deepened river an important port. At Wexford I found 
the longest bridge I had ever seen joining two portions of land. 
I spent seven minutes walking from one end to the other, and 
from that I assumed that it is at least one-third of an Irish 
mile in length. This is a favourite walk with the belles of the 
neighbourhood. There are chairs on which folk may rest on 
Sundays, and there is a band which attracts a great many people 
and makes the promenade agreeable. Fortunes in this 
neighbourhood appear to be more equally divided than elsewhere; 
there are not to be found any of those monstrous whales of 
wealth who devour, for their needs, the produce of a province. 
On the other hand, there are many people in comfortable 
circumstances, and none excessively rich. The greater part of 
the proprietors are descendants of Cromwell's soldiers, but as 
these were numerous in this part of the country, it was 
necessary to make their lots smaller in order to give something 
to everybody. It was in this neighbourhood that Strongbow 
disembarked some of his troops to help the King of Leinster, 
MacDermot, who had been dethroned by his countrymen. We know 
what was the pretext for the invasion by Henry II, King of 
England, a little later, and how he compelled the different 
kings and princes of the island to render homage. Nevertheless, 
the English had to remain within strictly limited territory for 
more than three hundred years, and did not make themselves 
masters of the whole island until the time of Queen Elizabeth. 
The inhabitants of the Barony of Forth, near Wexford, are the 
descendants of the first followers of Strongbow. They have never 
mixed with the Irish, and still speak a singular language, which 
is more akin to Flemish than to modern English. They are like 
the Flemish also in manner, and marry among themselves. Their 
houses are cleaner and more comfortable than those of the other 
inhabitants, and they are also so much more clean in person that 
they appear quite as a different race.
In the month of July 1793 the White Boys experienced here a 
complete defeat, and since that time they have not shown 
themselves. As a great deal has been said and written about 
them, I believe it will be of interest if I give a few details 
about their existence. In every country of the world the peasant 
pays tithe with reluctance; everywhere it is regarded as an 
onerous impost, prejudicial to the spread of cultivation, for 
the labourer is obliged to pay on the product of his industry. 
In Ireland it seems to me a more vexatious tax than elsewhere, 
for the great mass of the people being Catholic, it seems to 
them hard that they should be obliged to maintain a minister who 
is often the only Protestant in the parish, and who exacts his 
dues with rigour. Beyond the ordinary tithe he has a right, over 
nearly the whole of Ireland, to one-tenth of the milk of a cow, 
one-tenth of the eggs, and one-tenth of the vegetables of the 
gardens. One can easily understand that these conditions may be 
very severe when the minister exacts his dues in kind, and 
especially when it is considered that these poor miserable folk 
have, as well, to supply a subsistence for their own priests. 
They have often made complaints and claims in connection with 
this subject, and to these it was hardly possible to give 
attention without overturning the whole of the laws of the 
Establishment, as it is called; that is to say, the Established 
religion. From complaints and claims the peasants came to 
threats, and from threats to the execution of the things 
threatened. They assembled at night in great numbers in certain 
parts of Ireland, and in order that they might recognise each 
other safely, they wore their shirts outside their clothes, from 
whence came the name of White Boys. In this garb they overran 
the country, breaking the doors and gates of ministers' houses, 
and if they could catch the cattle they mutilated them by 
cutting off their tails and ears. All the time they did no other 
violent act, and a traveller might have gone through the country 
with perfect security. For different offences of the kind 
indicated the magistrates of Wexford arrested a score or so of 
the culprits, and immured them in the town prison. Their 
comrades demanded their liberation, and were not able to obtain 
it. They threatened then to come and free them by force, and 
advanced on the town to the number of two or three thousand. 
There were at the time no troops at Wexford; all that could be 
gathered up did not number more than one hundred or one hundred 
and fifty soldiers, who marched to meet the country folk.
On their way to the town the White Boys arrested an officer who 
happened to be on the road, and sent a messenger to the Major 
that this officer would answer with his head for the surety of 
their comrades in jail. This caused much uneasiness in Wexford, 
where it was feared that they would carry their threat to 
execution. The Major in charge imprudently advanced before his 
soldiers in order to speak with the White Boys, and after some 
lively discussions, he received a blow from a scythe which laid 
him dead. Immediately on seeing this the soldiers fired, and in 
two or three minutes the whole force of the White Boys was 
broken up and put to flight, leaving behind them several 
hundreds dead. A few of the unfortunates who were wounded, 
fearing the punishment which would follow if they should be 
taken, dragged themselves as well as they could into the corn-
fields and hedges, and there perished miserably.
After this battle nothing has been heard of the rebellious 
peasants, and the country has been quiet. This revolt appears to 
me to be in little, a perfect parallel to the Revolution in 
France in its beginnings. I imagine that if, on the approach of 
these 3000 men, the Wexford authorities had given up their 
prisoners—and that might have been expected, since they had only 
150 soldiers to oppose the countrymen—the pretensions of the 
White Boys would have been greatly augmented. They would have 
proceeded to impose their wishes on the country, and perhaps to 
put the magistrates in prison, and if only the Government had 
left them alone for three weeks or a month, or had temporised, 
or parleyed with them, instead of 3000 they would have numbered 
30,000, and in all probability they would have destroyed the 
Government from which they had, at the beginning, asked favours.
I found here a French family who have been living in Wexford for 
five or six years. It appears that a vessel leaving Brittany in 
1791 was obliged by force of bad weather to disembark her cargo 
at Wexford. There were twenty or thirty passengers on board, of 
whom the greater part dispersed immediately. There remained at 
Wexford only a lady and her three daughters and her father, an 
aged man, with another daughter. By the end of two years their 
resources were entirely exhausted, and the inhabitants 
subscribed a sum to help them; this was enough to carry them on 
for three years longer, although miserably enough. Now, one of 
the daughters is married to a young man of the town, whose 
affairs seem to be fairly prosperous. I would not mention this 
little detail if the old man I had mentioned had not been the 
occasion of a trait of gratitude which does honour to human 
nature. Some English prisoners were dying of hunger and misery 
in the reign of Robespierre in a little town in Brittany. An old 
lady, touched by compassion, succeeded at the peril of her own 
life in helping them, and later in giving them money to help 
them to make their escape. They asked her how they could show 
their gratitude for her goodness. Her reply was 'I have a 
relative at Wexford. He is an émigré. That will let you know 
what his situation must be. Will you please carry this letter to 
him or arrange that he shall get it, and if you can do anything 
for him, I shall be obliged.' They had no sooner left France 
when they made inquiries at Wexford whether such a person as 
their benefactor described were still in existence. Very soon 
after, the old man received, from Lisbon, a very honourable 
letter from a merchant named MacGibbon, who, in acknowledging 
his obligations to Mademoiselle —— in Brittany, begged him to 
accept a bank-draft for twenty guineas. The old man also 
received another letter, which I have seen. It was from an 
English officer named Yescombe, promising a pension of twenty-
four pounds per annum until the exile could be restored to his 
estates, and having the first quarter in advance. On hearing of 
such acts the heart dilates, and one is glad to find gratitude 
and benevolence in man without the balderdash of fine language 
used by the common run of benefactors, who are more often 
affected by self-love and the desire for praise than by desire 
to help another.
I have so often met these amiable gentlemen, and I have been 
their dupe so often that I am nearly always tempted to treat 
very haughtily a man who offers me his patronage or protection. 
One day an individual of this type made me certain offers of 
service, to which I responded politely but rather coldly. 'It 
seems to me,' said he, 'that you do not believe what I say.' 
After a few moments of tergiversation, as he insisted, I 
answered, 'No, certainly I do not believe you. If you do me the 
services of which you speak, I shall be very grateful; but if, 
as so many others, you forget me the moment I am out of your 
sight, then, pray, allow me to take my way without troubling 
you.'
While I was at Wexford a republican corsair had the impudence to 
come to the entry of the bay and to lay the vessels departing 
under contribution, afterwards making its escape. I thought it 
well to make mine, and travelled a dozen miles to Golph-Bridge 
to the house of a rich Quaker, at which I arrived wet and dirty. 
But these kind folks gave me an exceedingly hearty welcome. 
Amongst other things they lent me a riding coat in which I 
appeared at table. It would have covered three persons such as 
I, and I am quite sure its amplitude affected one of the Quakers 
of the house.  For he cut fully half the roast beef and put it 
on my plate, saying, 'Friend thou ought to fill thy belly.' I 
noticed that they said no grace before or after dinner, only 
that the good wife rested for a few minutes with her head bent 
over her plate, sighing a little. Afterwards she said to me that 
'We believe it better to think without saying rather than say 
without thinking.' In the morning a pretty young girl of the 
house said to me with much charm and grace, 'Friend, hast thou 
slept well? 'And I verily believe that if the damsel had said to 
me the night before, in the same gracious tone, 'Friend, sleep 
well,' I would have lain awake the whole night.
CHAPTER IV 
La Momonie or Munster—Waterford—Cork—Bantry
In my travelling I came to a place called Passage. It is a 
little town where one crosses the river Suir below Waterford, 
and there I visited the new Geneva. It is a large caserne<> 
which was built by the Genevese to whom the Government had given 
shelter and protection. In one of the perpetual revolutions of 
their country some artisans had been so disgusted with the new 
administration that they quitted the Republic and came to 
establish themselves near Waterford, where they had obtained 
permission to build a town, the Government assisting in the 
expense. Afterwards they asked for privileges which would have 
placed them in nearly the same position in which they were on 
the Continent. They were perhaps rather turbulent friends of 
their benefactors in Ireland, but, on the other hand, their 
industry might have been of great use to the country. While the 
question of these privileges was being discussed, they learned 
that a new revolution at Geneva had placed their friends in 
position of power, and immediately they left their new town and 
hurried back.
The Government endeavoured to make some use of the buildings 
they had left behind them, and turned these into a caserne, 
whose isolated situation must make it rather a disagreeable one 
for the officers.
Moving farther south I stopped at Tramore, which is one of the 
places in Ireland most frequented by the idle folk who assemble 
by the sea for bathing. There, at the time, was a very numerous 
company, and charming ease and abandon. The sand is excellent 
for bathing. To vessels, however, which have the misfortune to 
be thrown on it, it is very different—they are inevitably lost.
At a short distance, a little stream which flows into the sea 
opens a passage for the waves to the interior of estates where 
the salt water covers, at high tide, three or four thousand 
acres of good ground. I am convinced that £2000 sterling, well 
used, would be sufficient for the construction of a dyke or lock 
or water-trap, which would save for agriculture the whole of 
this vast area.
At last I arrived at Waterford, fairly tired with my long walk. 
I have already made some observations about this town, and I can 
only repeat what I have already said on the subject of ship-
building yards and sheds on the quays; and, what may seem 
singular, this is the only thing in connection with the 
municipal administration here about which it is possible to say 
anything by way of fault-finding, for the police seem to be, 
here, infinitely better than in most other towns in this 
country. There seems to be in this town a care for the public 
weal which 1 have not found elsewhere. The markets are well 
supplied, and beggars and tramps were not allowed to show 
themselves in the streets long before the arrival of Count 
Rumford, for whom I had the pleasure to be taken when I visited 
the House of Industry. I was really astonished to find that 
everybody was alert to please me, running here and there, 
sweeping and polishing. I allowed them to go on and gave them 
great praise for their activity, but when, later, the caretaker, 
having conducted me into his private office, and submitted his 
accounts which I complacently examined, asked at what hour would 
I desire the Council of Administration to assemble to meet me, 
and when he told me that the Government had given orders that my 
directions were to be followed, it seemed to me desirable to ask 
to see this order, and when I saw it I found it was for Count 
Rumford.<9>
I am sure he would have been as satisfied as I was with the 
order which reigned in the hospital, which is maintained by 
subscription and, in part, by a small endowment. There are 
quarters for the weak-minded, and this is a matter of great 
importance, for one of the most painful spectacles to be seen in 
nearly all the principal towns in Ireland is the number of weak-
minded people in the streets. The famous Dean Swift was the 
first who built at his own charge a house in Dublin for these 
stricken ones. It would almost seem that his action indicated a 
sort of presentiment, for in his old age he was unfortunate 
enough to lose his reason, and came to be sheltered and cared 
for in the house which he himself had built.
The spirit of industry and commerce seems to me to be more 
active at Waterford than in any other Irish town, more active 
even than at Cork, although the size of the town is much less.
The Mayor of Waterford has the right to have carried before him 
a sword, even in presence of the Viceroy. The royal patents 
accorded to the town dispense with the necessity for laying it 
at the Viceroy's feet, and reserve this privilege to the Mayor 
alone.
I was introduced one day, by a lady of my acquaintance, to a 
rather grand assembly. The gentlemen were still at table 
drinking, and I was at first charmed, and afterwards much 
embarrassed, to find myself the only man in a circle of fifty 
pretty ladies, of whom I did not know a single one except the 
lady who introduced me. Up to that time I had always admired the 
role of Grand Seigneur, but that is all past and done with. 
True, if there had been a handkerchief to drop, I might have 
felt otherwise, but here not being able, unfortunately, to get a 
single response other than 'yes 'or 'no 'to a question, I was 
glad, at last, to be seated at a whist table, at which I was 
rather fortunate, for I won twelve or fifteen games. Next day 
another lady was kind enough to introduce me to another 
assembly, but this time they were the grandmamas of society, 
with rich mantles of black velvet, toothless, deaf, blind and 
grumbling. They made me play; I lost, and decamped as quickly as 
possible.
The same evening, during the act of a comedy in the theatre, I 
was a witness of one of those scenes which are exhibited too 
often in the towns of Great Britain. The public demanded the air 
of 'God Save the King,' and, according to custom, obliged all 
the actors who had appeared in the piece to present themselves 
and sing in chorus. Shouts of 'Off with the hats' were directed 
with singular fury against those who had forgotten to uncover. A 
good creature who had been so much interested in the play that 
he had fallen asleep was unmoved by the cries until a soldier 
came and gave him a sound blow on the side of the head, at the 
same time pulling his hat off and throwing it into the pit. The 
poor devil, who was perhaps in the middle of a beautiful dream, 
was much surprised to be awakened in this fashion, and commenced 
to howl in a frightful manner to the inexpressible joy of the 
pit and stalls.
I must admit that this act of violence seemed to be too much 
like what I have seen on the Continent to allow me to laugh at 
it. Why should politics be mixed up with public amusements? And 
in this case, after having had, already, this favourite air, 
which I admire as much as anybody, why should the scenes be 
interrupted and the theatrical illusion entirely destroyed in 
forcing all the actors of a piece to appear at once and in the 
costumes proper to the roles of the play? If this expression of 
opinion should displease anyone, I shall be sorry; it is far 
from my intention. I agree that, when one is in a public place, 
one must conform to the general taste or custom. I would indeed 
look upon it as an act of folly not to conform. All the same, if 
the public taste or custom was in favour of peace and quietness 
it would please me much better.
I had two letters from Mr. Burton Conyngham addressed to persons 
in the neighbourhood of this town. I thought it my duty to write 
to the Marquis of Waterford, telling him that I had a letter for 
him, given me by his late respected friend, and I desired to 
know when I could have the honour to present it. The Marquis 
replied, politely, that he would expect me two or three days 
later to breakfast. I thanked him for his politeness, and said 
that my manner of travelling did not permit me to make a journey 
of ten or twelve Irish miles before breakfast, and that I would 
do myself the pleasure of seeing him during the day. In the 
interval I presented my two letters to Mr. Cornelius Bolton and 
with him I passed some time very agreeably. It is only rarely 
that I make any mention of my experiences with the different 
persons to whom I have been introduced, and then only when I 
think the narration may be useful, and have the effect of 
encouraging the good. In this case I report the fact simply.
Mr. Cornelius Bolton lives a very retired life in the country, 
and has used a considerable part of his fortune to build a 
fairly large village, in which he has established weaving and 
other industries. The success which has attended his efforts 
makes it possible to predict that his charges will be repaid, 
and the industries will be, not only of public benefit, but a 
profit to him who established them from purely humane motives.
I returned to the town by the river, the banks of which are well 
cultivated and very romantic, and I started to walk to 
Curraghmore, where I arrived tired and breathless about four 
o'clock. I sent in my letter to the Marquis of Waterford, and, 
having been received by him very civilly, I asked permission 
after a few minutes' conversation to retire in order to dress. 
It was then explained to me that, while dinner would be 
willingly given, it would not be possible to give me a bed. That 
embarrassed me a little, as I had not the slightest notion where 
I could pass the night, but in the end I left the matter to the 
care of Providence, as is my usual custom.
The Marquis made me sit near him and treated me with singular 
politeness. He offered me his carriage, in order to conduct me 
to the inn; his house, he said, was full; he was very sorry, &c. 
&c. I thanked him for his offer, but declined it, and he then 
ordered a man to go with me and carry my parcel, which contained 
nothing other than the clothes which I carry with me. His son 
even offered me, in parting, another commodity which I 
absolutely refused, saying that I should be very sorry indeed to 
be a charge to the friends of the late Mr. Burton Conyngham. 
After having plunged through the mud in pumps and white silk 
stockings for two or three miles, I arrived at the inn at about 
half-past ten o'clock. I knocked and asked for a bed, and was 
told, rudely, by an ugly looking domestic that I could not have 
one. I snatched my package from the hands of my lord's servant, 
saying to report to his master that I had been refused a bed at 
his inn, and I started off at once at high speed. At the name of 
the Marquis everybody seemed to be turned upside down. They ran 
after me, begging me to return. 'I would rather pass the night 
in Hell,' I said, and promptly consigned them to the inhabitants 
of that place.
Behind a sheltered wall I put on my travelling clothes, with the 
intention of walking to Waterford, although it was already 
eleven o'clock at night. This stoppage gave me time to reflect, 
and to find that I was already fatigued. I thought it well, in 
the end, to return to the village and try to get lodging in some 
other house than the inn. On the way I met the priest of the 
parish, and explained to him my unfortunate position. My foreign 
accent determined him, charitably, to leave me to my own 
devices. This village resembles that to which, according to the 
fable, Jupiter and Mercury came seeking hospitality and finding 
their request refused at every door. Like them, in the end, I 
had to leave the village, and I perceived on the road, in the 
corner of a ditch, a miserable cabin, the horrible shelter of 
abjectest poverty. I knocked, and an old woman, another Baucis, 
clothed in rags, opened the door. I told her that I was a poor 
traveller who had lost his way, and was tired. She immediately 
asked me to come in and offered me all that her house afforded—a 
few potatoes, part of the alms she had received during the day.
Half a dozen nearly naked children were lying on heaps of straw, 
pell-mell with a pig, a dog, a cat, two hens, and a duck. Never 
in my life had I seen such a hideous spectacle. The poor woman 
told me that her husband was a sailor, that he had gone to sea 
three years ago, and that she had not heard a word from him 
since.
She spread a mat on a box, the only piece of furniture in the 
house, and invited me to rest on it. The rain was falling in 
torrents, I knew not where to go, and I accepted the offer and 
placed myself on this hard bed of misfortune. The animals 
saluted, with loud cries, the first rays of the sun, and 
immediately began to hunt through the apartment for something to 
satisfy their devouring hunger.
The novelty of the situation was so singular as to amuse me for 
a moment, and after I felt as if transported to the Ark, and 
believed myself to be Noah.
I must have appeared as extraordinary to the poor beasts as they 
appeared to me. The dog came and smelt me all over, showing his 
teeth; the pig examined me, grumbling the while; the hens and 
the duck devoured my powder puff; the children laughed; and I 
made haste to decamp before I should be myself devoured. I 
should add that I had a great deal of trouble to get my poor 
hostess to accept a miserable shilling.
My intention was at first to go to Carrick-on-Suir and Clonmel, 
and even to push on to Mallow, these three towns being situated 
in a most beautiful and fertile country. The last is especially 
favoured, for, in addition to other attractions, there are 
mineral waters which are esteemed, and which draw numerous 
visitors. I intended to return from there to Lismore, but, 
disgusted with the world, I preferred to bury myself in a wild 
and rarely visited country. After two hours' walk I felt that I 
needed breakfast, and without much ceremony I entered the house 
of some peasants who appeared to be fairly well off. I said 
simply that I wished to have something to eat, and would pay 
whatever was proper. These good folk, I am assured, took me for 
an escaped French prisoner. They conducted me to a rather dark 
room and brought me what I wanted with the appearance of 
mystery. When I had finished, I asked what I owed, but I could 
not get them, to mention any sum, and therefore I left some 
silver on the table. I had hardly proceeded a hundred yards when 
I heard one of the daughters running, and calling to me. She 
brought the money which I had left on the table, saying that her 
mother was 'quite affronted.' 'I am very sorry indeed,' I 
replied, 'it was far from my intention. I am much obliged to 
your mother, but I hope you will allow me the pleasure of 
presenting the money to yourself. It will buy a ribbon.' She 
made a little grimace, dropped a curtsey, put the money in her 
pocket, and wished me a good journey. After many turns and 
circuits of a winding way through this poor country I arrived at 
Kilmacthomas, which is a rather large town, where I dined. And 
here, too, I discovered that I had left the cabin which 
sheltered me in the night with some rather unpleasant 
companions. There was no remedy at hand, and so I made an effort 
and completed twenty-two Irish miles in the day and arrived in 
the evening, very tired, at Dungarvan, where the first thing I 
did was to go and drown in the sea the good friends of 
Curraghmore who had become attached to my person, and then 
retiring, I slept until noon the next day, by which time my 
strength had returned, and with it my ordinary good humour.
Dungarvan is a little town rather well situated on a large bay, 
which unfortunately is filled with sand. It is hardly anything 
beyond a place for sea-bathers. Although I was hardly quite 
recovered from my long walk of the day before, and the bad night 
which had preceded it, I thought it better, as I knew no one in 
the place, to leave in the afternoon. I was able to cover eight 
or nine miles and reached Cappoquin, which is very prettily 
situated on the river called the Blackwater. This river crosses 
the island nearly the whole way from east to west, and in part 
of its course waters a most beautiful country.
In the morning I was surprised to see the host of the inn in 
which I had passed the night, seated tranquilly in an 
apothecary's shop, which was on the ground floor of the same 
building.
'You are an apothecary,' I said.
'Yes, sir, at your service.'
'D—n your service. I am not surprised if you have poisoned me. 
If I had known yesterday I would rather have been d——d than 
enter your house.'
I give this as an example among a thousand. What an appetising 
idea to find an innkeeper an apothecary! The cuisine of an 
apothecary!...
I came to Lismore on the Blackwater. Its old castle covered with 
ivy, and situated on an eminence upon the river, is a very 
striking sight. This is one of the most agreeably situated towns 
in Ireland; it is surrounded by woods and charming walks, but it 
is almost entirely in a state of ruin at present. It seems that 
there were here before the Reformation various colleges and 
seminaries. These no longer exist, only the great Cathedral 
Church remains. The Bishop, who is also Bishop of Waterford, the 
Dean, and two or three other ecclesiastics of the English Church 
have nothing else to do than lift the income from the estates 
which are set aside for their maintenance.
The Duke of Devonshire, to whom the castle belongs, and who has, 
in this neighbourhood, an estate which may be worth twelve to 
fifteen thousand pounds sterling per annum, has just built at 
his own charge a large inn and a superb bridge of a single arch, 
in order to make the inhabitants accept, patiently, his 
absenteeism, and keep them from grumbling too much about sending 
their rents. The arch is really magnificent. It rises about 
twenty feet above the level of the river and is about one 
hundred feet wide. At the risk of tumbling into the water I went 
below, and crept along a string course giving a foothold only of 
two or three inches. I wanted to hear the echo which will, very 
distinctly, repeat a word of one syllable seven times, and for a 
good quarter of an hour I tested it with 'What, What, What' to 
my great satisfaction. There was a man standing near who 
examined me with as much attention as I had given to the 
scrutiny of the bridge, and doubtless I appeared to him as a 
very strange being. To put him out of doubt I addressed him in 
broad Scotch. 'That's a muckle braw brig, mon,' I said. 'Yes, 
Mr. Scot,' he replied. 'Have you got such a one in your 
country?'
Here I was received by Dr. Power, at whose house I was very glad 
to rest. On Sunday morning I attended the Catholic Church and 
could hardly find room to stand, both church and cemetery round 
it being full of people. When the service was over I went to the 
Protestant Church, where I was able to seat myself at my ease in 
one of the Canon stalls. They have preserved in the Irish 
cathedrals the stalls of the Canons, with the titles of their 
benefices, although there are no dignitaries other than the 
Dean. I directed my course now to Castlelyons, and in the middle 
of the way, finding myself thirsty and seeing no inn, I asked my 
way of an old man—an old soldier—who was standing on a terrace 
near his house, and at the same time I told him my needs. 'Come 
in, young man,' he said, 'you shall have a good drink,' and a 
good drink I had. The castle of Castlelyons was a large square 
building which was burnt about thirty years ago. It had 365 
windows, and was then the principal residence of Lord Barrymore. 
There does not seem to be the least industry or manufacture in 
the little town—everything languishes and has a miserable air. 
Rathcormac is a little better, because it is on the main road 
from Dublin to Cork. The nearer one approaches to the latter 
town, the more the country takes on a neglected look. I was able 
to see it at my ease rather more than usual, having been offered 
a seat on a carriage by the conductor, who wanted to have the 
pleasure of talking to someone. I arrived at Cork, the dullest 
and dirtiest town which can be imagined. The people met with are 
yawning, and one is stopped every minute by funerals, or hideous 
troops of beggars, or pigs which run the streets in hundreds, 
and yet this town is one of the richest and most commercial of 
Europe. The principal merchants are nearly all foreigners, 
Scotch for the most part, and in the short period of ten years 
are able sometimes to make large fortunes.
There is no town where there is so much needful to do to make 
the place agreeable to a great number of the poor inhabitants. 
The spirit of commerce and self-interest has laid hold of all 
branches of the administration. For example, it would be very 
easy to furnish the town with a public fountain, but the person 
or company which has the privilege of bringing water in pipes to 
the houses thinks that by the building of such a fountain there 
would be lost a number of guinea subscriptions. Therefore, in 
order that the avidity of an obscure individual should be 
satisfied, thirty thousand inhabitants must suffer the 
punishment of Tantalus. I have seen poor people obliged to 
collect the water falling from the roofs on a rainy day, or to 
take it even from the stream in the streets. All the time there 
is perhaps hardly a place which it would be so easy to supply 
with water as Cork, by reason of the heights which surround it. 
There is even a spring or fountain about a mile away, which is 
called Sunday's Well, which appears to me to have sufficient 
water for the supply of a public fountain in the centre of the 
town. The water supply for private houses is drawn from the bed 
of the river a mile above the town. Why should it be so 
difficult to do for the public what interest has done for the 
richer classes?
The dirt of the streets in the middle of the town is shameful, 
and as if that were not enough, it would seem as if it were 
wished to hinder the wind and the sun from drying the filth, for 
the two ends of the street are terminated by prisons, which 
close the way entirely and prevent the air from circulating.
The grain market in a town of such considerable size ought 
naturally to be much frequented. Actually it has been placed on 
the first floor of a building, and the crowd can only reach it 
by a stairway two or three feet wide, exposed to all weathers; 
and to make matters worse, the steps are so much worn that they 
are slippery and dangerous. One would imagine that there should 
be nobody allowed on this stairway excepting those who come to 
or go from the market; but the most disgusting beggars have 
taken possession of the wall-side and assail the passers-by with 
their cries, while presenting a porringer or bag in which they 
are nearly obliged to throw a handful of meal. I have seen a 
poor woman fall the whole length of the stairs, upsetting nearly 
everyone on them, and breaking her own arm.
The meat market is the only one which is as it ought to be. It 
is new, and it is to be hoped that the magistrates will, in the 
end, think of the other places where the public must congregate.
Although the people are very poor, nothing or no one can 
persuade the mothers to send their children to the poorhouse or 
almshouse. They are afraid that they would be sent away to other 
places—a thing which formerly did happen, but a less cruel 
system is observed now. The mothers wish that their children 
should not be brought up in the Protestant religion, which is 
professed in these establishments. A frequent sight is one of 
these poor unfortunates with two children on her back and 
another in her apron, holding another by the hand, and 
beseeching for the cold charity of the passers-by, who being 
accustomed to such sights generally turn away their eyes. The 
poor woman, however, also accustomed to such indifference, 
consoles herself by smoking a black pipe, so short that the fire 
almost seems to be in her mouth.
The rich people accuse the poor of being content to live in dirt 
and to sleep with their cattle. They like it no better than 
their rich brethren and sisters; necessity, cruel necessity, is 
the reason for their manner of life. Their misery is such that 
they become indifferent to decencies. Let them be furnished with 
the means of changing this life. Let them be put in a position 
to cultivate the decencies, and know some of the comforts of 
life, and it will be seen how unjust are the accusations which 
have been made.
The peasant is idle here; but of what use would activity be to 
him? The price of his day's work hardly suffices to maintain him 
and his family. Costs of various food commodities have been 
multiplied by three, and yet the price of labour remains the 
same. Over nearly the whole of Ireland the labourer earns only 
sixpence a day; his wife and his children are hopeless about 
doing anything in a country where there are no manufactures. 
What can, then, such an unfortunate family do? The sixpence 
suffices only to furnish potatoes and water. Should the father 
fall sick or die, the poor mother is obliged to quit the country 
with her children and wander, begging a horrible subsistence. 
Cursed be the cruel man who first dared to make game of the 
misery of his fellow. It is one of the shocking artifices of the 
avaricious, for immediately when we have come to laugh at the 
ills of others, we feel ourselves freed from any necessity to 
help them.
I visited Cobh which is the port of Cork, ten or twelve miles 
lower down at the mouth of the river—it is one of the prettiest 
bays and one of the safest in Europe. There I was well and 
kindly received by the brave General Vallencey, to whom I 
presented the last letter I possessed of Mr. Burton Conyngham. 
The researches of the General in Irish antiquities are known 
through the whole literary world; perhaps he has pushed a little 
too far his enthusiasm for the Irish language, in which 
(although an Englishman) he has made surprising progress. He 
asserts, or pretends to believe, that it is as old as the world, 
and is perhaps the same which Adam and Eve made use of in the 
Garden of Eden, the general mother of all languages of the 
universe from the Huron to the Chinese. He quotes in his grammar 
singular examples of its agreement with about thirty living 
languages in all parts of the world.
It is certain that all the nations of Europe, the greater part 
of those of Asia and even of Africa, have had origin in the 
country from whence came the Irish. It may be that the isolated 
situation of these people has facilitated the preservation in 
its purity of the ancient language of their country of 
origin.<10>
General Vallencey has travelled over Ireland for fifteen years, 
and has made surveys for maps of the different counties; The 
Government in the end, as a reward for his labours, has given 
him the post which he occupies at the moment, that of Commandant 
of the Port of Cobh, which is now so strongly fortified that 
there is no danger that any hostile vessel can enter. It cannot 
be denied that he is a man of value to the State in more than 
one way, seeing that he has twelve children of a first marriage, 
ten of a second, and twenty-one of a third. There are very few 
men who have done their duty so well.
I presented my respects to Lady Colthurst, an amiable widow, and 
much too pretty to remain one for long. The General, to whom I 
showed the letters in my possession, planned my course towards 
the north, making it unnecessary for me to return immediately to 
Cork.
I walked the whole length of the island of Cobh, and, fatigued, 
I sat myself down to rest in a graveyard, amusing myself by 
reading the epitaphs. I had often heard of Irish 'bulls,' but 
had not been fortunate in finding one, and there I found on a 
tomb, on which, after the names of the family, I read with 
pleasure, 'Lord, have mercy on the souls here interred.' And so, 
I said to myself, these good folk have buried under this stone 
both soul and body. Over nearly the whole of Ireland, but more 
particularly in the south, I find a peculiar manner of 
expression which, as far as I can judge, comes from a mixture of 
the two languages, and this manner accounts for the 'bull 'or 
stupidity. The mistakes are not any greater than those made by a 
person speaking a language which is not his own. Here they 
commonly call the fosse dyke, the name which is given to the 
wall in England; and here they call the wall ditch, which is the 
name there given to the fosse.
Passing Inchiquin, the spot from which one has the finest view 
of the bay, I came to Castlemary, belonging to Lord Longueville, 
and saw in his park a Druid's altar. This was a large one, 
twenty or thirty feet long by about fifteen wide, supported on 
three large stones. One is astonished in reflecting on the power 
or apparatus that was necessary to lift such weights. These 
great stones prove that the people who placed them knew 
something of mechanical science, and consequently must have 
attained a high degree of civilisation. As to the use to which 
they put these stones there are doubts. Some say that the Druids 
offered on them human sacrifices, which may be true, but it is 
perhaps enough to say that they would serve on all occasions 
when the priests judged it necessary to expose any object to the 
view of the people. From here I went to Cloyne, and there 
attended a service of benediction which the Bishop bestowed on 
his clergy on the Sunday after the service. Near the cathedral 
is one of those round towers of which I have spoken. It is 
higher and bigger than the ordinary type. The peasants of the 
neighbourhood are persuaded that it was built by the devil in a 
single night, and that he brought the stones for it from a far 
country. I saw no difference between the stones of the tower and 
those at hand. All I can say is that if the devil built it, the 
devil is a good mason.
Cloyne is one of the principal bishoprics in Ireland in point of 
income. The episcopal town, however, is a little place, but 
rather larger than that of Ferns. Following the crowd of 
peasants going to mass, I took the road to Castlemartyr, and, at 
some distance from this pretty little town, I met a man of very 
respectable appearance riding on horseback and accompanied by a 
lady. I had a shrewd guess as to who this should be, and, by 
inquiring from a servant, I found that I was correct in 
supposing the gentleman to be Lord Shannon. I asked the domestic 
to say that a foreigner who had a letter for his lordship 
desired to speak with him. My letter was delivered on the king's 
highway, and, after it was read, his lordship asked me to 
continue my road to his house, where he would join me soon.
Castlemartyr is one of the most beautiful and one of the best 
cared-for places, not merely in Ireland, but, perhaps, in 
Europe. The garden, which Lady Shannon finds pleasure in 
cultivating, is a charming retreat where flowers of every 
species are arranged with singular skill. I spent five or six 
days here, and, on leaving, Lord Shannon was good enough to give 
me an extremely flattering general letter of recommendation. It 
was addressed only to his friends, but I have since shown it, 
practically, to everybody, and the manner in which it has been 
received is a testimony to the esteem in which his lordship is 
held by the public. Returning towards Cork I stopped at Midleton 
to see a large cloth manufactory. It is an entirely new 
manufacture in this part of Ireland, and has had a great many 
difficulties to surmount before attaining its present success. 
It is, however, not altogether as great as might be desired. 
Several persons in Cork have assured me that if this company 
could borrow £20,000 sterling for ten years, without interest, 
it would certainly become a very flourishing industry; but who 
is going to lend £20,000 without interest? Only the Government 
could do it, and there is a simple way of doing it. This would 
be to put a heavy tax on whiskey, and to put the resulting 
revenue in the hands of manufacturers. This would produce two 
desirable effects at once: it would encourage industry, and 
arrest the progress of drunkenness.
I spent some time in the island of Fota with a spoiled child of 
fortune, Mr. Smith Barry. He has travelled much, is very 
courteous and reasonable, appears to be well educated, is good 
natured, and would be happy if he had only £500 a year instead 
of £25,000; but his riches have so surfeited him and disgusted 
him with the world that he has almost totally retired from 
society, and lives a rather melancholy life in his island, which 
is not the island of Calypso. Calling at the little island of 
Cobh, I introduced myself to Mr. Silver Oliver, a gentleman who 
has given hospitality for a long time to an old, exiled French 
officer, who is treated as one of the house, and with much 
kindness. Mr. Oliver asserts that he has fulfilled all the 
duties that society can reasonably require from a man. He has 
been Member of Parliament two or three times, he has been Privy 
Councillor, he has been married, he has several children, &c., 
&c., and consequently he has a right to live according to his 
fancies, and these are sometimes rather original. I returned to 
Cork by the river, and had opportunity to observe that the 
boatmen here are very much of the bantering type we know on the 
great rivers of France. Necessity obliged me to return to this 
City of Yawns. This time, however, the people appeared to be 
animated, and bands of workers marched through the streets 
shouting. I asked what was the reason for the row, and was told 
that the apprentice-shoemakers had, by common accord, struck 
work, in order to force their masters to increase their wages. I 
followed them and saw them stop at different times before the 
houses of master-shoemakers, and have some warm exchanges of 
words with them. At last the magistrates interfered, and one of 
them at the head of some soldiers promenaded the streets, 
endeavouring to disperse the discontented apprentices; but these 
only made fun of him, and arranged matters so cleverly that he 
was always in the place where they were not. Night, as in 
England, made the tumult cease and sent everyone home to bed.
I had a recommendation to the Bishop, who received me very 
kindly, and this gave me great pleasure, for I think it proves 
that all animosities between the two religions are at an end. He 
sent me to the Catholic Bishop, Dr. Moylan, who is an educated 
man, and much respected in the country.
On the occasion of I know not what fête the children made a fire 
of bones (which is a common practice all over Ireland on days of 
rejoicing), and they amuse themselves by dancing around the fire 
and even by running over it with their bare feet. This gave me 
occasion to make some reflections on the etymology of bone fire 
in England, which term seems to me to come from this fire of 
bones, rather than from the forced French of bon feu or jeu de 
joie.
The climate of Cork is rainy in the extreme. It rains every day 
in life, and the temperature of the air has perhaps influenced 
the character of the inhabitants. It would not be incorrect to 
call this country 'The Land of Whim and Spleen.' There are a 
great number of people here who are called 'characters,' and who 
have all sorts of strange whims and crotchets. One will never 
sit down to table for fear of being suffocated by the odour of 
the viands, and takes his meals alone in the vestibule; another 
spends his income on favourite animals, or 'pets,' as they are 
called; a third, after having enchanted you by a beautiful voice 
and charming music, finishes up by boxing you. There is one with 
a red cap who gallops through the streets and enters shops on 
horseback, when he wants to buy anything. There is one who plays 
the bagpipes and who is willing to be disinherited from nearly 
two thousand pounds sterling per annum, rather than give up his 
pipes, which are at present his sole source of income. There is 
a man who believes that everybody wishes to poison him. He 
watches for the entry of any person into a baker's shop, follows 
him, and when the stranger has bought a loaf he seizes it and 
runs off with it, believing that the bakers are not anxious to 
poison anybody but himself. He acts the same way in butchers' 
shops. Another has constituted himself children's nurse, and 
washes, rubs, combs, and wipes them. I could mention many other 
examples of these 'characters,' but have said enough.
There is no place of shelter for the weak-minded of Cork—it is a 
hideous spectacle to see them in the streets. For the greater 
part, it is true, they are quiet, but it is so cruel and 
humiliating to see human nature degraded that an effort should 
be made to separate them from society.
Yet it must be admitted that the city of Cork has recently made 
great progress in commerce, in increase of houses, and of 
inhabitants, and, to some degree, in their amelioration. The 
city stands on several little marshy islands in the middle of 
the river, and it is from this circumstance that it takes its 
name, for Cork means 'muddy' in Irish, and it is passably well 
named. The narrow canals which separate the islands are only 
filled with water at high tide, and so destroy considerably the 
salubrity of the air.
It would seem to be absolutely necessary for the prosperity of 
the town that the principal magistrates, for a dozen years, 
should be strong and prudent men, whose judgment would not be 
narrowed to the dust of their offices, and who would not be so 
much accustomed to count halfpennies and farthings, or to think 
of interest at four, five or six per cent. In the whole of Great 
Britain, the Mayor or Provost is always elected from amongst the 
merchants and general traders, the inhabitants justly confiding 
their interests to one who has a commercial career. This 
arrangement works very well in towns that are much frequented, 
where the opinion of the merchant is enlightened by that of a 
large public, and of strangers who may visit the place; but in 
towns where the merchant can have no ideas other than his own, 
or where, being a foreigner, his sole aim is to gather as much 
money as possible, and quit the country afterwards, it must be 
evident that the embellishments and amelioration of the city, of 
which he is a principal magistrate for a year, will not interest 
him very much.
I believe that what I have said may explain the little progress 
which Cork has made in the arts and in matters of public welfare 
and interest. I imagine that if a man of character generally 
esteemed (Lord Shannon, for instance) would consent, during 
several years, to clean this Augean stable, he would be actuated 
by a desire for the public good, instead of by self-interest, 
and he would not be found to retard the construction of 
establishments required by the mass of the inhabitants because 
the revenues of the city might diminish by a few shillings or 
pounds.
Since I have extended my remarks on this subject so much, the 
reader will perhaps want to know what are the ameliorations of 
which I speak, and what I think the public-spirited Mayor might 
do. I shall mention a few of the principal, and in a manner most 
concise. First of all, demolish the two hideous prisons which 
are at the end of the bridges joining this muddy island with the 
banks of the river and build new, outside the town, in an airy 
position. Clean the streets—don't permit the inhabitants to 
allow their pigs to roam wherever they may seek pasture, and 
don't let these pigs be seen after their throats have been cut. 
Build a grain market in a suitable position. Establish public 
schools and hospitals where the people may be sure that their 
children are instructed in the religion they wish to follow, and 
not in that which others wish them to follow. Build an asylum 
for the insane. Furnish the city with public fountains. Clear 
the quays of the sheds which disfigure them. Encourage, as far 
as possible, manufactures of all kinds, and establish a House of 
Industry, so as to get rid of the beggars which dishonour the 
streets. Have public works in which every man wanting bread may 
find the means to earn it, &c.
I am convinced that if these plans could be carried out during 
fifty years, Cork would become more important than Dublin 
itself, on account of the safety and fine situation of its port. 
The principal exportation is at present of salted meat; beasts 
are killed in the season by thousands, and the season over, 
there is nothing to do. I have known a merchant who, from what I 
am told, kills every year between twenty and twenty-five 
thousand pigs, which statement gave me occasion to say to him 
that he was the greatest murderer of hogs I ever knew. This 
digression is a little long, and may perhaps appear fastidious 
to some who do not take much interest in Cork, but it is more 
for the Irish than the foreigner that I write, and I hope that 
the purity of my motive will be taken as excuse.
I quitted Cork at last, and took my way to Bandon, where, 
unfortunately, the Lord of the soil was not at home. Formerly, 
this town had a reputation for revolutionary zeal. It was said 
that the inhabitants had decreed that no Catholic could spend a 
night there. All I can say about the subject is that the nine-
tenths of the inhabitants must have been great cowards.
Lord Bandon is amusing himself by making a pas de côté<11> to 
the house; that is to say, he has built a new one beside the 
old. It will not be as good as the first, but it is no matter; 
the rich should build and demolish, it is good for the country. 
On leaving the town I was very happy to fall in with a young man 
who wished to be my travelling companion, since the inhabitants 
did not speak English, and my knowledge of Irish did nor enable 
me to do more than express the equivalents of 'How do you do?' 
and 'Give me.'
My travelling companion seemed to be a good sort of creature, 
and after we had tramped ten miles together, he said, 'I am very 
sorry, Mister, I am very sorry.' 'And what, my good fellow,' 
said I, 'is the reason for your sorrow? ''Ah, Sir, I am very 
sorry that I have no money so that I could offer you a drink of 
whiskey.' I found this manner of making a request rather 
original, and replied that he need not trouble himself, as I 
would offer the whiskey to him.
When he had taken with me a little drop of 'the creature' (which 
is an amiable name they have given to whiskey), he said to me, 
'To show my gratitude and do you a good turn, I will show you a 
well that heals all diseases.' He led me to the cemetery, and 
showed me there a stone vessel attached to a tomb. 'This stone,' 
he said, 'is always full of water, and yet no one ever puts any 
into it; the water is good for nearly all diseases. I came here 
from Bandon three weeks ago to get a bottle of it for my mother, 
who has dropsy, but she is not much better.' 'Don't you see why 
that is so? 'I said to him. 'The water is dirty, and the holy 
water basin full of filth; clean it out, and the water will be 
good.' Together we took handfuls of grass and scraped out the 
hollow in the stone, and so effectively that we took out, with 
the dirt, all the water. My friend was very much surprised to 
see that the vessel did not refill. He thought he saw in this a 
sign of some great misfortune. 'Let us hurry away,' he said, 
'for if the people here knew what we have done they would be 
ready to kill us.'
The huts of the poor in this district are really pitiable to 
see. Sometimes they lay two pieces of wood across the corner of 
a ditch, build up the third side with earth, and make a sort of 
roof over all with turf. Such dwellings make it possible to 
understand the story of a horseman falling from his horse into 
the middle of a frightened family.
At last I came to Macroom. At Cork I had got an umbrella 
addition made to my sword-stick. The form of the shelter was 
perhaps unusual, as about six or seven inches of the stick 
projected beyond the open umbrella. It was raining as I entered 
Macroom, and I noticed that the girls and women were giggling 
and chuckling as they looked at me, and soon I had such a troop 
of children at my heels that I could hardly walk. When I saw 
that I closed my umbrella and immediately they cried, 'Oh, it is 
nothing, it is an umbrella stick,' and they left me.
I inquired for the residence of Mr. Henry Hedges, and it was 
pointed out to me, far away, on a height at the end of a long 
avenue. On my way up this avenue I was met by Mr. Hedges, and 
after putting one or two questions to me, he said, 'You are a 
stranger'; and then, taking my hand, and before he had read the 
letter which I carried addressed to him, he said, 'All that is 
in my house is at your service.' This is the real, good, ancient 
hospitality of Ireland. How pleasant it is when one meets with 
such cordiality in this perverse world!
From Mount Hedges there is to be had a most agreeable view over 
a rich valley, and the river on the banks of which the town of 
Macroom is situated. One object in the landscape is an old 
castle, formerly the residence of the rulers of the country. It 
serves at present as a caserne<8> for the troops in garrison in 
this town.
The life of Wandering Jew agreed with me so well that, although 
I was wet to the skin nearly every day, and often much fatigued, 
I grew visibly fairer and fatter. If I met with good or ill, I 
knew how to enjoy the one without becoming desperate over the 
other. Allowing myself to be guided by a good Providence, I put 
the whole of the cares and anxieties of this world aside. My 
whole baggage slung over my shoulder, or in my pocket, I walked, 
I ran, I searched; nature appeared to me in many guises, new 
scenes occupied my attention and gave me instruction. Before the 
Revolution I was the inhabitant of a little corner of the earth; 
emigration had made me a citizen of the universe; the whole 
world seemed to belong to me—
All places that the eye of heaven visits 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 
... Now, no way can I stray 
Save back to France, all the world is my way.
After all it was not difficult to understand why my travels 
brought me more vigorous health, for the fatigues of the way was 
not more than moderate. Thanks to the great number of letters of 
recommendation which had been given to me, I was nearly always 
certain to find good quarters in the evening. I went, literally, 
from house to house; from some it was difficult to escape even 
on the third or fourth day, and if I could have believed some of 
the things said to me, I might have finished my walk at some of 
my resting-places. Although to many that would seem to be 
preferable to tramping the country, I was not a Breton for 
nothing, and I was determined to pursue, with perseverance, the 
plan of my journey.
I came to Dunmanway by the mountains, which are of the wildest, 
and crossed a large marsh which has been formed in this 
beautiful valley because the river has no fixed bed. Here and 
there little islands of fertile earth proved that nothing would 
be easier than to drain the valley; if they had here a few Dutch 
frogs it would be soon done.
I heard loud cries, and soon I perceived a crowd of people 
assembling on the road. I could not imagine the cause of the 
noise and the assembly, but drawing nearer I found that it was a 
funeral. This was the first time I had been witness of that 
singular custom, the Irish keen. The women cried in chorus one 
after the other—hu lu hi. They wept freely and tore their hair, 
throwing themselves down on the bier. They had all the air of 
being in extreme sorrow, but this was not the case; they believe 
they owe the duty to every corpse which passes their house to 
express sorrow in this violent way. When these good women have 
done what they think enough to satisfy the manes<12> of the 
dead, they retire and become immediately as happy as they were 
before. If a neighbour or acquaintance neglected to appear at a 
funeral without giving good reasons for his absence, his action 
would be the cause of interminable hatreds in the family.
This pille-lu or hu lu hi seems to have some connection with the 
ululatus of the Romans and the funeral cries of ancient peoples. 
The manner in which it is pronounced has also given me the idea 
that it may be a representation of the De Profundis which the 
priests in Catholic countries chant while following the dead to 
the grave, a ceremony of which the people in Ireland are 
deprived, but of which, perhaps, they have an unconscious 
recollection. I imagine it would not be possible, in the middle 
of the funeral ceremonies of the Catholic religion, to emit such 
cries without spoiling the pomp and hindering the priests from 
doing their duty.
I passed near to one of the ruined forts which are so common in 
Ireland, and which are commonly attributed to the work of the 
Danes. I think it possible that the Danes did construct some, 
but that the greater part were simply the dwellings of chiefs or 
kings of the country. They are called here gragun re<13> 
(meaning, I believe, the palace of the king). The inhabitants 
speaking of them call them rath or liss—I am not versed enough 
in the language of the country to indicate the difference 
between these, which may be one simply arising out of position. 
Thus one may be quite sure that all the towns of which the names 
begin with Rath or Lis, like Rathdrum or Lismore, had such 
fortification; or, to put it better, these towns had their 
beginnings in the enclosure. These forts were all constructed on 
the same plan—perfectly round with a double fosse, and in all 
those of any size, when trouble has been taken to excavate, 
there has been discovered a souterrain of four or five feet 
high, the roof being formed by long stones. I have gone into 
several of these and I have always found them perfectly dry, 
with, commonly, a little spring in the centre. They are all made 
Z fashion, and have two openings: the one is inside the 
enclosure, and the other is in the first ditch or fosse. The use 
of these souterrains has much troubled the antiquarians, who 
think that they cannot have been used for living spaces, seeing 
that they are too low and too narrow. It has been supposed that 
they were shelters for the cattle, and although I have seen one 
big enough to allow of cows and sheep taking refuge in it from 
the heat of the day, it is hardly likely that this was their 
proper use. The dryness of these chambers makes me think that 
the inhabitants used them as chambers in which to store food, 
and if the fort were surprised by an enemy they had by the 
souterrain the means of escape unperceived. I saw by the roadway 
one of those schools of which the English make such fun, and 
which are called hedge-schools. Among a peasantry so poor, it is 
not to be expected to find a fine house used as a school; 
consequently when it is a house it has usually a miserable roof, 
the chamber being not more than five feet high. Children and the 
master will certainly not feel comfortable in such a hut, and, 
when the weather permits, they establish themselves under a 
tree, or under a hedge, and the master gives his lesson in the 
open air. To my mind it is very much pleasanter to give or 
receive a lesson in the fresh air than in an overcrowded and 
ill-smelling school; but it is not the custom in England.
I arrived at last at Dunmanway, where I was welcomed by Mr. Cox. 
There are few men who have done so much as he for the 
amelioration of their country, and his work was very necessary 
in this remote corner of the world. In his village he has 
encouraged manufactures of all kinds, giving long leases to his 
workers at a very low rent, and furnishing them with the means 
of carrying on their work. He has drained bogs, cultivated 
fields, and planted woods; also, he has almost entirely rebuilt 
the little town. In time, doubtless, these things, from being 
expenses, will become sources of profit. Why do so few 
proprietors understand that it is for their own interest to 
place their money in the manner indicated here? The manufactures 
of calico are here the most numerous. They make also certain 
kinds of linen, and, in spite of Mr. Arthur Young, I am far from 
believing that one might as well introduce the plague in the 
south of Ireland as the cultivation of flax.
There were in this little town two hundred French republican 
officers, prisoners on parole, and I was glad to have the 
opportunity to know what kind of people these men might be. At 
Mr. Cox's house I dined with two or three of them, and found 
them polite enough. With pleasure I perceived that that 
ferocious enthusiasm which distinguished the partisans of the 
Revolution at its commencement no longer possessed them. But I 
noticed among them a sort of blind and unreasoning fury against 
the émigrés; they accused them of many things of which I had 
never thought, and reproached them with having borne arms 
against France, as if the greater number of émigrés, with the 
first campaign, had not been obliged to submit themselves to a 
requisition more despotic than that of Robespierre, the 
requisition of need, which they could not avoid, like that of 
France, by hiding themselves in caves. But at last peace... 
peace.... One day misfortune will unite us all and leave to all 
parties only the power of weeping over past ills, and the task 
of repairing in common what division and wrath have destroyed. 
God grant it! My sole wish is, one day, to see this 
accomplished. In the meantime the greater part of officers and 
republican soldiers fight for the republic because they have 
already done so, and the republic is victorious, and they hate 
the émigrés without knowing why.
One who spoke to me about the finances of the republic told me 
that they were certainly in a bad way; but, he added, Holland, 
Spain, Italy, Our Holy Father, the Pope, and part of Germany 
have already been good enough to come to our aid, and we hope 
that before long England herself will take pity on us and accord 
us the same grace. These gentlemen joke.
Mr. Cox is a gentleman greatly respected in the country; his 
good nature makes him to be beloved by all. I have noticed a 
rather original trait of this good nature. The minister of the 
parish came to him and complained that turnips were stolen from 
his fields every day. 'And from mine also.' said Mr. Cox. 'Then' 
said the minister, 'let us join forces and prosecute the ill-
doers.' 'Oh' said Mr. Cox, 'that would be too severe; but I will 
tell you what we might do. Let us sow arsenic among the turnips 
and we shall soon know who is the thief.' 'But,' said the 
minister, 'we would be the first to suffer ourselves.' 'In that 
case,' said Mr. Cox, 'it is perhaps better for you to let things 
alone as I do, and leave these poor folk to the eating of a few 
miserable turnips without making a noise about it.' The anger of 
the saintly man at this was small in comparison to the amusement 
of the servants who heard the discussion.
The Lords Lieutenant of Ireland, as I believe I have already 
said, have the right to confer the honour of knighthood on any 
person; they have done this indeed sometimes as a joke, and not 
a very good joke in my opinion. The Duke of Rutland, after 
having well drunk, was so charmed by the music of a certain 
player of bagpipes that he ordered him to kneel down, and then 
and there he created him knight by sword and accolade. This man 
has been called, ever since. Sir Denis.... He continues, 
however, the practice of his profession of player of bagpipes, 
and in this capacity accepts engagements to play in houses while 
a dinner is proceeding. He is really a clever man with his 
instrument, but I must admit that I am not a lover of bagpipes.
I have also been told that Lord Townshend, in one of his 
journeys through Ireland, stopped a night at an inn, where he 
was surprised and charmed to find an extremely good claret, of 
which he drank copiously; then he asked his host to drink with 
him, and finished up by making the innkeeper knight under the 
name of Sir Thomas. In the morning, according to the story, 
remembering his folly of the evening before, he called his host 
and said to him, 'We have been acting the fool after supper last 
night; you will say no more about it.' 'My lord,' said the good 
man, 'as far as I am concerned, that is all right, but I must 
consult my wife.' The wife's answer was 'I never did hope to be 
a lady, but since Fortune has made me one, I shall be a lady all 
the days of my life,' and, as a matter of fact, she is called My 
Lady and her husband is called Sir.
Crossing a rather wild bit of country I came to Bantry, where I 
was received by Mr. White in a most hospitable manner. Bantry is 
a poor little town, situated at the end of a superb bay of the 
same name, which has been much on the tongue lately on account 
of the appearance there of the French fleet. The Bay of Bantry 
must be about forty English miles in length by fifteen or twenty 
wide; it is at all parts very deep, except in the neighbourhood 
of the little town, and is everywhere surrounded by a sterile 
mountainous and rocky country, in which, nevertheless, one may 
find from time to time some charming little spots. Mr. White was 
good enough to take me in his boat to the Port of Glengariff, 
between Bantry and the island of Bear. This is a most ancient 
little spot. The way is literally sown with rocks, which are 
covered with plants and shrubs of every species. I went with my 
host a little way into the country to a small house belonging to 
him, and found to my surprise a well-wooded and romantic little 
valley in the middle of these rocky and arid hills. Plant life 
is here very vigorous. I have seen pretty large oaks and other 
trees growing in crevasses of rocks hardly large enough to admit 
a finger; surely they must draw their subsistence from the 
moisture of the air.
Between Glengariff and Bere Haven is seen a very high cascade, 
of nearly perpendicular fall from a mountain which has got the 
name of the 'Hungry Hill,' and not without reason. The island of 
Bere, where the French stopped for a few days, is at the mouth 
of the bay and, although pretty large, has very few inhabitants—
it is a mere mass of mountains and rocks. Whiddy is another 
island not nearly so large but very productive, with some of the 
best land in the country. At different places I saw the walls of 
buildings which had been erected in connection with the sardine 
industry, this little fish having formerly frequented this bay; 
but it has been said that they ceased to appear after the naval 
battle here between the French and the English in the time of 
King William III. At present the fish is never seen here, and it 
is almost entirely unknown in England or in Ireland, even under 
its English name of pilchard.
Cape Clear, the most southern point in Ireland, is only about 
twenty miles distant from Bantry, but as a visit to it would 
have necessitated a return over the same ground, I dispensed 
with the journey. I have never been so near the country of my 
birth since the day of the fatal emigration. The thought came to 
me that in one or two days, with a favouring wind, I might go 
from here, and land on my own property and calm the anguish of 
my relatives. Could I have believed years ago that ever my 
compatriots should one day look upon me as their enemy... their 
enemy! No, never. I could blame them, detest their atrocities, 
suffer by their follies and blind rage; I shall be a wanderer, 
miserable, without a stone on which to rest my head, and France 
will always be France for me. Always to my native land shall my 
thoughts return until the last day of my life, always my most 
ardent wishes shall be for her welfare.
I quitted with great regret the hospitable roof which sheltered 
me here. It was a sorrow for me to turn my back now on the south 
and set my face northward, but I had reached the end of the 
land. I climbed to the top of the high mountain by which is the 
only approach to Bantry from the west, and which is called 'The 
Priest's Leap.' The tradition of the good women of the country 
on this subject is, that a holy priest, coming from Co. Kerry to 
Bantry to visit a sick person, learnt on the summit of this 
mountain that the sick one was dying. Fearing to arrive too late 
to give him his passport for the other world, he knelt down and 
prayed, and immediately leaped from the summit of the mountain 
to his destination, a distance of five miles.
They will show you, near the town, the rock on which he 
alighted, and on which you will see the print of his knees, of 
his fingers, and of his nose. Assuredly this is proof positive. 
Nevertheless, I fear that there are hardened unbelievers in the 
world who will not believe the story—so perverse is the human 
heart.
CHAPTER V 
Killarney—Ardfert—The Shannon
After having travelled about a dozen miles among these wild and 
absolutely deserted hills, the eye is suddenly gratified by the 
appearance of a little cultivated valley round the village of 
Needen. The guide who came with me to take back my horse had 
never passed this way before, and on the lonely way he seemed 
sad and troubled. But when his eye caught sight of this little 
corner of the world, he cried out suddenly, 'Oh, at last, here 
is a place with a natural look!'
Lately the name of Kenmare has been given to the village 
situated in this valley, out of compliment to Lord Kenmare, for 
in this country, as well as in Great Britain, more than 
elsewhere do riches attract admiration and respect. One or two 
miles before arriving at this place there is to be seen in a 
peat moss, a hundred feet or so from the road, an isolated rock; 
it may measure about thirty feet in height by fifteen or twenty 
on each face. It has a circumference of about sixty feet, and it 
is a stone absolutely different from any found in the country on 
this side of the river.<14>
It is an enormous block of limestone which by some natural 
convulsion must have been thrown about four miles from the place 
from which it was torn. I went over to see it, and went round 
it; I even climbed with trouble to the top of it and found that 
formerly there had been on it a little tower, of which the ruins 
remained. It is covered with plants of various kinds—little 
shrubs, hollies, ivies, &c.—while the peat which surrounds it 
produces nothing but heath.
The inhabitants of the country pretend that a certain giant, 
whose name I have forgotten, amused himself by carrying this 
piece of limestone to a granite country and a smaller block of 
granite to the other side of the river, where he placed it in 
limestone territory. There is, really, a similar sized block of 
granite on the other side. This phenomenon could only be 
explained by supposing a great convulsion of the earth; but how 
terrific must have been the explosion which was capable of 
throwing a stone weighing more than one million pounds a 
distance of five or six miles!
The large bay, which is called Kenmare River, looks very 
imposing from this point. Two peninsulas approach in the middle 
and form a safe harbour for vessels. There is no country so well 
provided with deep and safe bays as the south of Ireland.
Hardly has one quitted the miserable village of Kenmare than he 
finds himself again in the mountains—a little less wild, 
perhaps, than those I had just quitted—and just when the 
traveller is most oppressed by this depressing continuity of 
wild scenery in the midst of arid mountains, he is greeted on 
coming out of a narrow passage at the foot of Mangerton with a 
delightful view of the charming lake of Killarney. The 
impression which the ravishing view of its numerous islands and 
cultivated banks made on me can only be compared to the 
sensation experienced by an unfortunate who quits a prison to 
see again the glorious light of day. I continued my journey very 
slowly, not knowing what to admire the most—the high mountains 
covered with wood, the beautiful piece of water shaded by them, 
the islands, the peninsula which divides the lake into two, or 
the beautiful country which borders it on the north.
I presented myself at the house of Lord Kenmare and passed there 
eight most agreeable days, during which I enjoyed several 
excursions on the lake. The soul most indifferent to beauty 
cannot but be charmed by this delightful spot.
Generally the visitor is taken about two miles from Killarney to 
the island of Ross, which is the largest island of the lake, and 
is only separated from the shore by a narrow stream crossed by a 
bridge. On this island is the castle of Prince O'Donoghue, to 
whom this country belonged in old times, and the inhabitants 
believe that they can still see him, on horseback, crossing the 
water on a certain day of the year. Following the coast to the 
east, the peninsula of Muckross is reached, and here is one of 
the most beautiful places I have ever seen in its singular 
melange of wood and plain.
The venerable ruins of the Abbey inspire a sentiment of 
religious melancholy which is almost agreeable. The yew which is 
planted in the middle of a cloister covers it entirely with its 
branches and allows only a few rays of light to fall on the 
tombs at its feet. The natives here are persuaded that the 
mortal who would have the temerity to cut its branches, or even 
to pierce it, would inevitably perish during the year. They have 
a most extreme feeling of devotion to the saint of the place, 
and they make long pilgrimages to this spot, and perform here 
penitences which, as elsewhere in Ireland, consist in making the 
tour of the buildings a certain number of times while reciting 
prayers. They bury their dead here also, bringing them often 
from great distances. Interments are only made on the southern 
and eastern sides of the church. The north is commonly reputed 
to be the devil's side, and the west is reserved for children 
dying without baptism, and for soldiers and strangers. They look 
upon it as scandalous impiety to carry away any remains of 
coffins. In the Abbey are two large vaults entirely filled with 
them, while they allow bones to be scattered here and there 
where the spade of the gravedigger has placed them; but nothing 
in the world would induce them to touch one of these. In a 
corner outside the church they appear in a hideous pile. 
Although, at the time of the Reformation, the rich divided the 
Abbey spoils, they have never attempted to displace the burying-
place. It is always round the ruins of an old church that the 
peasants wish to be buried, and nothing can be done to make them 
accept any other situation. Here attempts have been made often 
to find another burying-place, but such attempts have never 
succeeded. Nevertheless, it is a very necessary thing, for, 
beside the fact that over the rock there is hardly earth enough 
to cover the dead, the cemetery is so full that it should be 
closed, at any rate for some time. This crowding does not 
trouble the peasantry; they are content that the dead of a year 
or two should give place to those of to-day, and I have seen in 
this horrible vault more than one skull still covered with hair.
A few years ago a man of rather good appearance made his home in 
one of the ruined chambers of this Abbey. He made his bed out of 
boards which had formed part of coffins, and placed them in the 
embrasure of the window, which was the only covered part of the 
chamber. Soon he acquired a reputation for singular holiness, 
and the peasants carried food to him, while the rich invited him 
sometimes to their table, where he comported himself with the 
manner of a man accustomed to the best society. When he was 
asked for a reason for his penitence, he replied that he could 
never do enough to expiate his crimes. He was a fine-looking 
man, and it is reported that when a lady regarded him with some 
attention he said, 'Take care of those eyes, they have done a 
great deal of harm.' He lived about two years in this melancholy 
solitude, and then disappeared. Many conjectures had been formed 
as to who this singular personage could be, and many stories 
have been made to account for his conduct during his stay at 
Muckross, but they were only stories and doubtless with little 
foundation.
The peninsula of Muckross divides the lake of Killarney into two 
parts. The smaller one is very beautiful in its disposition and 
diversity. There is a spot on the mountain called the Eagle's 
Nest, where in reality eagles are to be found, and where the 
curious are amused by the extraordinary repercussion of an echo 
which does not repeat itself as others, but pauses for some 
time, and afterwards repeats the sound of a cannon shot like a 
roll of thunder. The banks of the little river which is followed 
for four or five miles on the way to the larger lake are very 
interesting, and this lake contrasts, by the wild and savage 
mountains which surround it, with the smaller lake, of which the 
banks are well cultivated.
The visitor is carried down the river to the lower lake, and 
brought to the O'Sullivan waterfall in the middle of the wood, 
afterwards being taken to Innisfallen, a charming island, on 
which at one time was an abbey. This island belongs to Lord 
Kenmare, and when one is fortunate enough to be numbered in the 
parties which he and My Lady arrange for visitors, after having 
admired the beauties of nature, homage should be rendered here 
to the hosts' politeness and their friendly hospitality.
There are some deer in the woods, and sometimes one of them is 
hunted in the mountains, and after many winds and turns, 
finishes by jumping into the lake, where the boats and dogs 
follow it and force it to land on one of the islands.
Numerous companies of people come here from all parts of 
Ireland, drawn by the beauty of the spot, but they only stay as 
long as is necessary to see this beauty. An effort ought to be 
made to keep them in the country by arranging some amusements, 
or finding mineral waters; these last established would greatly 
increase the wealth of the country, and I do not know of any 
place more agreeable and more fit for re-establishing broken 
health. There is a fountain of excellent mineral water in Lord 
Kenmare's park. Unfortunately, it has not yet attracted the 
fancy or attention of the disciples of Hippocrates, but that 
will come with time. The town is agreeable enough—it seems to be 
new, and is built nearly in the formation of the letter T.
Walking early one morning I heard dreadful cries, the sound 
coming from a house. Led by natural instinct and by curiosity I 
entered, and found myself immediately in a room among a crowd of 
fifty or more women, who cried and wept over an uncovered bier, 
on which lay the pale figure of an old man, dead two days 
earlier. Four of these women, in particular, cried louder than 
others, tearing their hair and often embracing the corpse. I 
remarked that at the end of a quarter of an hour, as they became 
fatigued, they passed into a neighbouring chamber, and were 
replaced by four others, who immediately commenced to cry and 
weep in desperate fashion, and this they continued until the 
first four, restored by a good glass of whiskey, were able to 
return and take up their wailing.
This sort of an assembly is called 'a wake,' and every peasant 
who dies is sure of having it every night up to the moment of 
his interment—all his friends and his acquaintances round him, 
crying, weeping, singing his praises in impromptu Irish verse, 
and drinking to his health. It is a rather costly custom, but 
the poor do not feel that they can, with decency, dispense with 
it. It was different formerly, for, according to the ancient 
Brehon laws, the quantity of drink and meat consumed were 
regulated according to the rank of the dead person, in order to 
prevent families from ruining themselves in trying to surpass 
the doings of others. This explains perfectly the answer of a 
good woman who had just lost her husband, and who was reproached 
with having allowed him to die without sending for the doctor. 
'Oh,' said she, 'I thought 'twas plenty for a poor woman like me 
to pay the cost of the burying.'
I think, perhaps, the poor woman was right. The doctor is for 
the rich, a sort of moralist who urges his patient to moderate 
his pangs, and repair by attention to diet the effects of his 
excess; but for the poor peasant who has never in his life done 
anything to excess, and whose best remedy would be, perhaps, 
nourishing food, of what use could the doctor's advice be to 
him? If he cure him of his malady, he would kill him with hunger 
through the charges he would make for his services. His wife 
then would have double expense.
I was witness here, a few days after, of a somewhat strange 
scene. Hearing the funeral bell, I went out to observe the 
procedure. It was the funeral of a poor woman who was being 
carried to her last resting-place, the coffin surrounded by a 
prodigious number of females who wept and chanted their 'hu lu 
lu' in chorus, the men looking on rather indifferently. When the 
funeral arrived at the head of the 'T,' that is at the end of 
the principal street of the town, a singular dispute occurred 
between the husband and the brother of the deceased. One of the 
parting ways led to the Abbey of Muckross, where it was the 
custom for the family of the husband to bury their dead; the 
other led to Aghadoe, where were buried the family of the 
brother. The latter assumed the right to direct the funeral 
towards Aghadoe, while the husband wished to go in the other 
direction to Muckross. The friends of the two parties took hold 
in turn of the remains of the poor woman, each wishing them to 
be carried to the side they favoured; but each finding 
themselves unable to succeed, by common accord they deposited 
the bier on the street and commenced a vigorous fight to 
determine by blows of sticks to which side the remains should be 
carried. I was at the time with the minister of the parish, Mr. 
Herbert, who was also a Justice of the Peace, With great courage 
he threw himself into the middle of the fight, seized the 
collars of the two principal combatants, and, after some 
explanation, he decided that the husband had the right to decide 
where his wife should be buried. He allowed the husband then to 
go without letting go hold of the brother-in-law, and the 
funeral moved in the direction of Muckross. I remarked that 
neither fight nor controversy which followed arrested the cries 
of the wailing women, who continued to beat their breasts, tear 
their hair, and cry 'hu lu lu'as if neither fight nor 
controversy proceeded. When I saw the Justice of the Peace throw 
himself into the middle of the crowd, I must say I imagined that 
the combatants would unite to tear him to pieces, as a stranger 
meddling with things which did not belong to him. I mounted on a 
little wall more conveniently to see the punishment, but I was 
soon disabused; the peasants showed the greatest respect to the 
magistrate, and submitted promptly to his decision. This was no 
doubt the best thing that could happen, and the magistrate did 
his duty, but it was so amusing to me to find the people 
fighting over a dead woman, that I rather regretted that the 
business was so soon terminated.
I went one day to the summit of Mangcrton, from which there is a 
view over a great extent of country, although that is far from 
being a sight of all the kingdoms of the earth. The eye wanders 
over arid mountains and parts of little lakes. That of Killarney 
appeared beautiful, with the serpentine peninsula of Muckross 
cutting it in two. Nearly at the summit of the mountain was a 
little round pool called 'The Devil's Punch-Bowl,' where I drank 
to the health of the patron, and to the health of his children; 
that is to say the bulk of humanity, pretty girls particularly.
As this town is much frequented in summer, beggars come from all 
parts. They build miserable huts along the road and importune 
the passers-by. I have often thought that this annoyance could 
easily be abolished by the establishment of a small House of 
Industry, in which the beggars should be forced to work.
It would not be very difficult to join the lake with the sea by 
a canal which could be brought to the Bay of Kenmare, or by 
taking the bed of the river to that of Dingle. If it were taken 
to Kenmare this would be better, as the bay is much safer and 
deeper than that of Dingle, which is sandy. To one or other 
there would be not more than seven or eight miles of cutting to 
do, and the connection would add much to the importance of the 
town and neighbouring country by encouraging commerce.
On the road to Tralee I was accosted by a man who pointed out to 
me three old castles which had belonged to three brothers who 
were the masters of this country, and had been chased from it by 
the English. I asked why they had been chased, and his answer 
was 'It was because they were not the stronger.' This is what 
may be called the argument ad hominem.
Tralee is rather a nice place, and is not wanting in trade. 
These coasts, as far as Limerick, were formerly the principal 
residence of the Danes, who seemed to have scattered, nearly at 
every step, their round forts, which the inhabitants call by the 
name of rath or lis. There are four of them, not more than two 
hundred feet from each other, near the mouth of the river in the 
Bay of Tralee. This town is well frequented by bathers, and the 
people who come to drink the mineral waters found a mile or two 
away.
I came to Ardfert, where I presented myself to the Dean, Mr. 
Grave, and was received as usual with that charming hospitality 
which always makes me forget, immediately, the fatigues of the 
road. Ardfert was formerly a bishopric; at present it is united 
to that of Limerick. In old times there were here many 
ecclesiastical establishments; the ruins of the old cathedral 
are the most remarkable remains, although nothing very great. 
The air of the place is said to be extraordinarily healthy. This 
has induced a celebrated surgeon to choose it for his place of 
burying; his tomb is constructed, and his epitaph engraved on it 
while he is still alive.
In ancient times there stood, in the cemetery of this cathedral, 
a high round tower with not more than the ordinary appearance of 
wear. It crushed itself, if the expression may be used, some 
twelve or fifteen years ago. I say 'crushed 'because one would 
expect that such a building would naturally fall to one side or 
other, but in this case the stones appeared to tumble straight 
down, forming a large mass on the spot where the tower had 
stood. I went a little distance to see the venerable ruins of a 
Franciscan abbey, and, passing through the scattered debris of 
remains, I found myself in the presence of the two most 
beautiful and amiable ladies of Ireland, Lady Glandore and Mrs. 
Woodcock, who had resolved to be cruel enough to society to 
absent themselves from it for more than a year. I do not know 
whether it was their good example which affected me so much at 
the moment. Certain it is that never in my life did I feel such 
a desire to become a hermit.
At a little distance there is to be found one of those holy 
wells round which the inhabitants perform their devotions. This 
well is very famous, and the people come from afar. They pretend 
or assert that it can cure all evils, and the devotion consists 
in going round the well, bare-footed, seven times while reciting 
prayers, kneeling for a moment at each turn before a black 
stone, which seems to have been a tombstone, and, while 
kneeling, they rub the hand over three heads which are cut in 
the stone, and which are much worn by reason of this hand-
rubbing and kissing. Afterwards they pass the hand which has 
touched the stone over the part of the body which is afflicted, 
drink a large glass of the water, and wash their feet in the 
current. Children are sometimes plunged seven times into the 
cold water, and I have seen people, well clad and having the 
appearance of being in comfortable circumstances, perform these 
ceremonies just like the others. I have also seen a very pretty 
young girl kissing these ugly stones, and I could not help 
thinking that I would have been a much better restorer if she 
had paid the reverence to me.
This well is widely renowned in the country, and even the 
Protestants, who are not very numerous here, when they have 
tried other remedies in vain, will make up their minds to try 
the well and go through the usual performances like their 
Catholic friends. The greater part of these peasants, however, 
come in a rather careless spirit, seemingly more with a desire 
to meet their friends than to perform penitences. Speaking to 
one of the visitors I asked him what was the benefit to be 
derived from this water. His reply was that he could not tell, 
and when I asked him why he went through the usual performances, 
all he could say was 'to do what the others do and to see the 
women.' In effect, it is at these wells that a great number of 
marriages are arranged. It is in vain that the priest of the 
parish has often forbidden his people to go to such places; they 
have followed this custom so long before the establishment of 
Christianity that they cannot be broken of it.
In reality, there can hardly be anything more innocent than to 
go round one of these wells a number of times reciting prayers, 
and afterwards drinking a glass of water. I will go so far to 
say that it must be very good for the health of the poor women, 
since it forces them to take some exercise and to clean 
themselves. The only thing left to the priest is to see that 
order is observed in these gatherings, and by his exhortations 
to warn his people against any impropriety or indecency, and in 
this the priest of this parish has perfectly succeeded. The good 
folk come here on Saturday morning and finish their devotions by 
two o'clock. Then the young fellows make up to their girls and 
see them safe home to their mothers, chatting the while.
Nearly all the people in this part of the country are Catholics, 
but Catholic and Protestant agree here very well. The priest 
performs mass, and the minister preaches, and the two flocks 
seem not to trouble themselves about each other's religion for 
the rest of the week. I went on Sunday to the Catholic chapel. 
The women are always separated from the men here. I suppose this 
to be to avoid distraction. In the middle of the service the 
priest made a long discourse in Irish, afterwards translating 
the principal part into English. He consigned to all the devils 
(although in highly proper terms) all those infamous enough not 
to pay his dues.
The priests have great power over their people. They are, in 
fact, the judges of the country and settle everything connected 
with morals and manners. They excommunicate a peasant and oblige 
him to leave a parish. Great care, then, must be taken not to 
displease them, and especially care must be taken that they get 
their dues. The Government knows perfectly well that the priests 
have their people in the hollow of their hand, and, 
nevertheless, they make enemies of them and treat them badly. 
Can they make the peasants go whatever way they wish? Well, make 
them your friends and you have gained the people. I am convinced 
that a dozen benefices in favour of Catholic priests, at the 
disposition of the Viceroy, would make them all as flexible and 
courteous and as desirous to please as their dear brethren in 
God, the ministers and bishops of the Protestant Church.
The churches are all placed east and west—when the priest is at 
the altar he always looks towards the east. It is singular that 
this should be such a common practice over the whole of Europe, 
even in the case of the Lutheran churches, and perhaps there is 
not one person in a thousand who has noticed it. I remember 
perfectly that, in France, all the old churches are built in 
this manner, and I had not noticed it. It is true that the new 
were often placed indifferently, but even in the new the great 
number will have the door at the west and the altar at the east. 
It is a custom introduced into the world long before the 
establishment of Christianity, and which is yet followed by 
nearly all the people of the earth. The usual reason given is 
that the Christian religion took birth to the east of Europe, 
and that it is a mark of respect for the holy places where were 
manifested the first mysteries of religion. If that is so. 
Christians in Persia should look to the west, but I believe that 
this reason has been used simply to sanctify ancient custom, as 
Mohammedans look also to the east out of respect for the town of 
Mecca. Although I am not in a position to give the real reason, 
I cannot take the one mentioned as the true one. I would rather 
believe that the custom is simply a universal homage which men 
in old time rendered to the rising sun as the symbol of 
divinity.
The neighbourhood of the flat and sandy bay of Ballyheigh brings 
some visitors to Ardfert for sea-bathing. Following the line of 
the coast, and crossing a tongue of land infrequently visited, I 
arrived at last at Kerry Head, at the mouth of the Shannon. This 
river is the largest in Ireland; the inhabitants have for it a 
singular veneration of which it seems to be worthy. He is not 
truly an Irishman who has not yet plunged into it, and as I 
desired to do always in Rome as the Romans do, a plunge into the 
Shannon was my first operation here. The river is seven or eight 
miles wide at its mouth. Its shores are lined with high rocks, 
in which are deep caves, the waves breaking at their mouths with 
astonishing fury. At a little distance, on an isolated rock, are 
to be seen the remains of fortifications, and at another place 
the traces of a little town, among which can be distinguished 
lines of streets and the foundations of houses. These seem to 
have been no larger than ordinary cabins, although the fortified 
enclosure is very considerable.
Following the coast I passed the Cushin,<15> which throws itself 
into the Shannon. It takes its source at the foot of some rising 
ground from the other side of which the Blackwater flows. There 
is no country in the world better situated than this for 
commerce, and there is none where with so little trouble 
communications with the interior could be made easy.
Whenever the Royal Canal is finished and the Liffey and the 
Shannon joined, I believe it will be found to be a matter of 
great public usefulness to deepen the bed of these two rivers, 
the Cushin and the Blackwater, and to join them by means of 
canals. After that it will not be difficult to find means to 
join the Blackwater to the Suir and even to the Lee. Ireland 
would then have interior and circular navigation of more than 
five hundred miles in length, which would pass by the four 
principal cities of the south—Dublin, Limerick, Cork, and 
Waterford. Drogheda might even be joined, since it would be 
possible to make the Boyne navigable as far as the end of the 
canal.
CHAPTER VI 
Limerick—Killaloe—The Holy Mountain
At some distance from the ferry by which the Cushin is crossed 
there is to be seen in the middle of a courtyard a tree of 
extraordinary size and entirely covered with foliage. Its 
singularity made me approach to examine it, and when I reached 
it I found that it was one of the so often mentioned round 
towers covered with ivy from top to bottom. Probably there were 
some churches here. At present there is not the slightest trace 
of them. At three miles from Tarbert I saw very considerable 
ruins of an abbey, and fell in with several men, pilgrims, 
walking barefooted round the walls. From this spot can be seen 
the Holy Island<16> in the middle of the Shannon, where formerly 
were eleven churches. These are now in ruins, and near them is 
one of the round towers which have such a charming effect when 
seen from afar. There are at Tarbert two batteries of cannon, 
well situated at the narrowest part of the Shannon. These are 
all the more effective, since at the other side of the river 
there is scarcely any depth of water, and vessels are obliged to 
pass within five hundred feet of the cannon, which are well 
placed and in perfect order. Fatigued by the long walk of the 
day before, and by the great heat, I thought it well to stop at 
the village of Glin, which gives the title of Knight to its 
proprietor. There are but four places in the whole of Ireland 
which have this privilege, and all are in this part of the 
country. It is not a title of English origin. It was given by 
the sovereign to four brave men of the country before or at the 
time of the conquest, and those who bear the titles at present 
are their descendants.
I asked a big priest whom I met where I could find lodging, and 
he led me to a miserable eating-house, assuring me that it was 
the only inn in the place and that it was very good. I passed 
the night defending myself from the monsters who regarded me as 
their lawful prey, and when the sun rose it was on a bloody 
scene. I had the appearance of having taken part in a battle, as 
really I had. Happily the sea was not far off; to it I fled 
quickly to drown unwelcome guests, and that operation finished, 
I saw my friend the priest going, himself, to the water. I told 
him of my miserable hap, but this he took to be merely an 
everyday matter and made light of it—in fact, he laughed very 
heartily. I felt inclined to wish him in a warm place, but 
calmed myself and only wished him, for the good of his soul, 
several nights such as the one I had just passed. I went on my 
way, and finding at the entry of the village a beautiful inn, 
the sight made me so angry with the priest that I could hardly 
resist returning to seek him and administer to him some well-
deserved chastisement. However, I resisted the impulse and 
proceeded on my way. I saw on a height the ruins of an old 
castle, which sustained a siege by the forces of Queen 
Elizabeth. It is still surrounded by its ancient fortifications 
and outworks; there are also in the neighbourhood some ancient 
raths. I had already walked ten miles, and I had been on foot 
since three o'clock in the morning, and began to hear the 
wailings of my stomach; there was no inn to be seen, but I saw 
on the heights a pleasant-looking house, and made inquiry as to 
the name of the owner. The answer was John Evan.
I had observed several times that while the poor are very 
hospitable and offer to the tired stranger according to his 
needs, yet if this same traveller presented himself at the house 
of well-to-do people he could get nothing more than a glass of 
water. The occasion seemed to me fit for making an experiment, 
and I presented myself at the door.
The owner, Mr. John Evan, appeared. 'Monsieur,' I said, 'I have 
not the honour of your acquaintance, and I have no letter of 
recommendation to you, but I declare to you that I am extremely 
hungry, and if you will give me something to eat, I shall be 
extremely obliged.' 'Faith,' said he, 'you could not have come 
at a better time, for breakfast is ready.' He brought me into 
his house, where I found everything I could desire. I was 
charmed to find myself wrong in my conjecture, but promised to 
myself that I would not try such an experiment again, lest I 
should find my first opinion to be justified.
Making a little zigzag of ten or twelve miles I came to 
Newcastle, where I was received by Mr. Locke and his brother, 
who is the minister of the place. This town is situated in a 
long, fertile valley, which is only separated from that of the 
Blackwater by a little range of heights. This castle formerly 
belonged to the Templars, and must have been at one time of very 
considerable size. It is now in the possession of Lord 
Courtenay.
If the great English proprietors had the wit to place on their 
estates men of the type found here, the country would have no 
occasion to complain about their absence. Mr. Locke has founded, 
at his own charge, a manufactory of linen, in which children can 
be employed from a very early age. There is no doubt that such 
establishments cannot make a profit at present, but they are 
useful for the country, and cannot be too much encouraged. The 
proprietor will find himself amply rewarded for his trouble and 
cost by the new spirit of industry which will be fostered among 
the peasants.
The price of labour in this country is very low, not more than 
twopence halfpenny or threepence.<17> The observation is 
commonly made that the price of provisions is, in consequence, 
very low, but this is false, and very false, for, if potatoes 
are excepted, everything is just as dear as in England. True, 
the people live entirely on potatoes and water or buttermilk; 
but why can the English not live in the same manner? If anyone 
tried to get the English peasantry to work on such food, he 
would soon find that he had no labourers. A great number of the 
peasantry in Ireland know perfectly well that for the same work 
they would receive in England two shillings, and in Ireland only 
sixpence. And further, they would be much more sure of getting 
their two shillings in the one country than their sixpence in 
the other. Many of them have made the journey, and these same 
people who are accused of indolence at home are, in England, 
very active. There they practise the same sobriety of life to 
which they are accustomed in their own country, and they are 
always eager to return home as soon as their work has procured 
them a little sum of money.
I know that, with all the goodwill possible, the proprietor 
cannot increase the price of labour without exposing himself to 
the just reproaches of his neighbours, but, in encouraging 
manufactures, hands would become more scarce and the price of 
labour would necessarily advance.
From Newcastle to Limerick the country is superb. This is, 
without contradiction, the most fertile stretch of land in 
Ireland. Near Rathkeale I had occasion to visit three or four 
villages inhabited by the descendants of a German colony from 
the Palatinate, established by the owner of the soil nearly 
eighty years ago. Until now they have always married among 
themselves, and have preserved the customs of their country. At 
the time of my visit there was only one man living of the 
original members of the colony. There is no doubt that they were 
received on very advantageous conditions, each family receiving, 
in perpetuity, ground for house and garden, as well as several 
acres of farm land at a very moderate rate. The rich and fertile 
country on which they were established was uncultivated before 
their arrival. Their industry is still very remarkable. Their 
farms are certainly better cultivated than others near, and 
their houses, built after the fashion of their former country, 
are of a comfortable character, and so clean that they look like 
palaces in comparison with the poor cabins of the Irish. The 
women still wear the large straw hat and short petticoat as worn 
in the Palatinate. The natives hated them cordially at the 
beginning, and do not love them much better now, as they are 
very jealous of their successes, and such feelings do not tend 
to make them attempt to imitate the foreigners with intention to 
equal or even surpass them in results. Naturally, I suppose, the 
Palatines will finish by becoming Irish like their neighbours.
Passing through the long town of Rathkeale I directed my steps 
to Adare, where I was received by Sir Richard Quin. This town 
was formerly full of colleges and ecclesiastical establishments. 
The ruins of several well-preserved buildings are still to be 
seen, and four or five miles away, at Skelton, are ruins of 
abbeys, which are perhaps the largest I have seen in this 
country.
The ruins in the west of Ireland are of a style of architecture 
absolutely different from that in the east, where they are 
commonly rather small, while here they are somewhat of the 
grandeur and style of the Gothic churches of the Continent.
In reflecting on the prodigious number of ruins of churches and 
abbeys, and on the immense riches which still remain in the 
hands of the clergy of the established religion, one is tempted 
to believe that at one time the whole island belonged to 
priests, for if the Anglican clergyman could make the most of 
his estates himself, I imagine that his part would still be not 
very far away from the half of it. The manner in which these 
lands are let or farmed out is a hindrance. No beneficiary can 
let his land for longer than twenty-one years, but this time is 
pretty long for a man who is advanced in years, and who is 
pressed to make some provision for his family. To rectify the 
trouble as much as possible, the Bishop or other beneficiary 
renews his leases every year with his tenant, on condition that 
he will be given what we call un pot de vin,<18> which puts a 
certain sum into his pocket and makes him patient. Every 
clergyman who takes possession of a benefice is sure by this 
custom to find a tenancy renewed from the year before, and is 
obliged himself in some fashion to follow the same practice. I 
am convinced that there are certain bishoprics which are not let 
at the tenth part of their value, and which would produce in 
case of renewal of holding, sums of fifty, sixty, or even one 
hundred thousand pounds sterling per annum, instead of five, 
eight, or ten thousand. The Lord is mindful of his own.
I took the road to Limerick, and saw on the way a 'wake 'in the 
house of a dead man. It was Sunday, and the women do not cry so 
loudly on that day, but the scene was, nevertheless, a rather 
singular one. The dead lay on a table, and the house was so full 
of women sitting on their heels that a bullet dropped among them 
would not have touched ground. The men were outside on the road, 
to the number of about two hundred, on foot or on horseback, and 
a great number prudently waiting at a neighbouring inn until it 
would please the dead to move.
It was the time of the horse races at Limerick, and also it was 
the duelling season. The confusion everywhere was extreme. The 
town was full of people coming and going. The workers were doing 
nothing. Everything had given way to the desire to see some 
breakneck performances on horseback; there were on the course 
more than twenty thousand persons. What made the people anxious 
to see was that three of the jockeys were peers; or was it that 
three of the peers were jockeys? You can take it whichever way 
you wish. The one is as bad as the other.
There came to the races some bullies from Cork and Youghal, with 
the laudable intention of putting lead into the brains of the 
Limerick folk. They went about saying to anyone they met, 'Do 
you want powder and ball? for we can give it.' During the eight 
days of the races there were ten or twelve duels—an officer of 
the Irish brigade was killed. Then it occurred to the Chancellor 
to put an end to these quarrels by proceedings for criminal 
acts, and the warlike gentlemen took their departure.
The races finished at last, and happily for the country, for had 
they lasted three weeks longer, the inhabitants were so given 
over to sport that the harvest would have lain in the fields 
ungathered.
The city of Limerick is famous in history as having sustained a 
long siege by the troops of King William, holding out for the 
cause of his unfortunate father-in-law; famous also for the 
capitulation which the besieged troops made in the name of all 
Ireland. The terms of this capitulation were most scrupulously 
observed during the lifetime of King William, but, without 
assignment of reason other than the desire to discourage the 
religion of the inhabitants, and force these to adopt the 
established form, they were most cruelly violated in the reign 
of Queen Anne. Priests were condemned to be hung for saying 
mass, and any person convicted of hearing it said, suffered 
severe penalties. I must add that the excessive severity of 
these laws was its own antidote, for judges often sought 
pretexts for acquitting the accused.<19> These laws were rarely 
or, indeed, it may be said, never put into execution; but the 
son, the brother, or even the distant relation of a Catholic 
could make himself possessor of his friend's property by 
becoming a Protestant. These cruel laws existed for nearly 
eighty years, and it is only about fourteen or fifteen years 
since they were abrogated, and that necessity was felt to make 
the laws supportable to the inhabitants. In this short space of 
time Ireland has attained to an extraordinary degree of 
prosperity, giving occasion to hope that, with a continuance of 
the present system of moderation and kindness, Ireland will soon 
rival the country that held her in bondage, and this will mean 
good fortune for both.
The new city of Limerick is very pretty and very regular, but 
just to as great degree is the old disgusting. One can hardly 
believe that there are here fifty thousand inhabitants.
I had here the unspeakable pleasure of receiving the visit of 
two bankers, who were kind enough to give me an invitation for 
four or five days ahead. As I have no money which can bring 
profit to these gentlemen, and as they on their side rarely 
think of anything but gain, I am not often the subject of their 
favours, and so when I receive such civilities I am more than 
ordinarily grateful for them. In a certain Scotch Society to 
which I was introduced I met a Mr. A——, an Edinburgh banker, 
who, hearing that I was to pass the winter after my travels in 
his city, did me the favour, publicly, to give me his card and 
bind me in a promise to visit him. I kept that card very 
carefully—I am sure I carried it twelve hundred miles—and at the 
end of my journey I went to present it to its owner. The reader, 
I take it, will not be astonished, I am sure, to learn that my 
reception was of the coolest.
I met in this town a certain reverend doctor, inventor of a new 
method of growing potatoes. This consists in cutting out, in 
spring, the shoots or eyes and planting them. It appears that 
the result is just as good as if the potatoes were cut up and 
planted, and with this benefit, that the tubers furnishing the 
shoots are still available as food—for pigs at any rate. This 
good man, knowing that my intention was to write the story of my 
travels, did me the favour to give me, in writing, the details 
of his method, in order that I should translate the notice and 
convey it to the public. Thinking that, possibly, it may be 
useful, I print the document exactly as he wrote it out 
himself:—
'In Limerick the Rev. Doctor Mansell, about three years ago, 
made the most useful discovery in agriculture that ever was 
made, and reduced the culture to a certain system, and that is 
the producing potatoes from the shoots that heretofore had been 
thrown away as of no kind of value. This discovery promises fair 
for feeding the lower orders of the people with food at a very 
cheap rate, when the culture comes to be in general practice. 
This gentleman, I am informed, has taken very great pains to 
disseminate the culture, and deserves great credit from the 
public for the very disinterested manner in which he has 
conveyed his discoveries to the world.'
Since I have enlarged so much on potatoes, it is perhaps right 
that I should mention very delicate roots called 'pig-nuts,' 
which I have seen here for the first time. Possibly the pigs are 
as clever in finding them as they are in scenting truffles in 
Languedoc, hence the name. This root is never larger than a 
filbert and has a flavour as delicate as that of the nut. 
Children amuse themselves by digging them up in the fields and 
eating them raw. I have an idea that these might be so improved 
by cultivation as to become a very nourishing and agreeable 
food, and this is my reason for mentioning this product of 
nature.
The Shannon is not navigable, properly speaking, above Limerick; 
its course is thereafter often interrupted by rocks and cascades 
through which a plank could hardly pass in safety. To make 
navigation possible there have been cut, lately, certain canals 
making connection between those parts of the river which are 
deep enough for boats. One of these canals, a mile long, ends at 
Limerick, and in its short course there is a fall of not less 
than thirty feet. Boats can only ascend, by the locks, at a 
suitable time of tide, which here rises or falls from twelve to 
fifteen feet, although the town is sixty miles from the mouth of 
the river. One or two miles higher up, there is another canal, 
newly-finished, joining the river seven or eight miles from 
Castle Connell, which place I reached after, perhaps, a needless 
roundabout, and where I was received by Mr. George Bruce, to 
whom the estate belongs.
My travels have always been delightful in the country. Were I 
able to jump over the towns on my way, I would do it with all my 
heart. Hospitality in them is too ceremonious, and although in 
the course of life a little ceremony is sometimes not 
disagreeable, in my quality of pilgrim I found it very irksome. 
It would be very unjust, however, not to acknowledge the 
kindness shown me by Dean Crosbie, and by General Walsh, who, 
finding me embarrassed in procuring lodging at the time of the 
races, had the goodness to receive me in his own house.
At Limerick I was obliged entirely to renew my wardrobe, which 
at the time of my departure from Dublin consisted only of my 
clothes and what could be contained in two silk stockings from 
which I had cut the feet. Although my baggage was 
inconsiderable, I wanted for nothing, and had the means of 
appearing in society as well dressed as others.
For the information of future travellers on foot, it is my 
pleasure here to give details of my complete equipment.
A powder bag made out of a woman's glove. 
A razor. 
Thread. 
Needles. 
Scissors, 
A comb, carried in one of a pair of dress shoes. 
A pair of silk stockings. 
Breeches, fine enough to be, when folded, not bigger than a 
fist. 
Two very fine shirts. 
Three cravats. 
Three handkerchiefs. 
The clothes in which I travelled.
The sundries I divided in three, two lots going into the silk 
stockings which served as bags, the third packet contained my 
shoes. I had six pockets: in three of them were stowed the 
packets, as described, when I was about to enter a house of 
consequence; but as this packing would be very inconvenient 
while walking, I was accustomed, on the road, to tie my three 
packets in a handkerchief and carry the load over my shoulder at 
the end of my sword-stick, on which I had grafted an umbrella 
which excited, everywhere, curiosity, and made the girls laugh—I 
can't tell why. The remaining pockets were reserved for letters, 
my pocket-book, and ordinary uses.
The persons who received me, and whose offers of linen I always 
refused, were much astonished to see me reappear in the drawing-
room in silk stockings and powder, as if I had travelled with 
considerable baggage at my ease, and in a fine carriage. Hey! 
Mr. Sterne, what do you think of the wardrobe with which I 
travelled for six solid months?—putting up at the very best 
houses. My portmanteau was as good as yours, I trow.
Castleconnell is a charming spot situated on the bank of the 
Shannon, which here flows like a torrent through stones and 
rocks. The beauty of the place and the mineral waters draw here 
a great number of Limerick's idlers, who pass the summer in the 
village and drink, every morning of their stay, a glass of the 
water. The rich strangers attract beggars from afar, and there 
are already more here than elsewhere in Ireland. It may seem a 
strange remark, but it is true, that the richer the country in 
Ireland, the poorer are the people and the lower the labourer's 
daily wage.
The misery of the people is generally attributed in Ireland to 
the manner in which estates are let. A rich man who does not 
wish to trouble himself with details will let a large extent of 
ground to a single man, whose intention is not to work, but to 
underlet to three or four others. These in their turn, having 
still very large areas, underlet perhaps to twenty persons; 
they, again, will let to perhaps a hundred peasants moderately 
well off; and these, once again, will let at an exorbitant rent 
to perhaps a thousand poor labourers. Necessity obliges these 
last to take their little corner of land at a rent enormously 
over real value. They cultivate the greater part of it in 
potatoes, which serve to nourish a family, and to fatten a great 
pig and a few fowls, by the sale of which they commonly find the 
money to pay their rents. It can easily be understood that, with 
all these 'cascades,' it is probable that the proprietor 
receives not more than one-third of the money which the lowest 
under-tenants are obliged to pay, and the remainder goes to the 
profit of the rent-farmers. I ought to say that such abuses have 
been apparent to many proprietors, and that to my knowledge 
several of them in the north combined and resolved to let their 
estates themselves directly to the working farmers; but with 
what result? These latter, finding themselves no longer harassed 
by the small rent-farming class from whom they held, have not 
paid the rents, and proprietors have been obliged to revert to 
the old method. I know little or nothing of cultivation, but I 
believe that it should be possible to find a means of arranging 
matters so as to avoid the dangers of the two extremes.
Several persons near Castleconnell (among others the Lord 
Chancellor and Mr. Bruce) in multiplying industries have 
increased the rate of wages—there can be no better way for the 
rich man to employ his money. Often I have heard the peasant 
reproached for his idleness and drunkenness, but when one is 
reduced to danger of dying from hunger, is it not a better thing 
to do nothing, since the most assiduous work will not hinder the 
evil from arriving? In such a situation also, is it not natural 
to drink when one can, a drop from the waters of Lethe, in order 
to forget one's misery? If the poor man could really feel that 
work would ameliorate his situation, he would quickly abandon 
that apathy and indifference which are born of despair.
Mr. Bruce has built, at his own charge, a great number of 
comfortable houses for the peasantry, and these people, so often 
accused with injustice of defects which really do not belong to 
them, have proved very careful. When he has needed workers he 
can always find them, even in times when his neighbours cannot 
get a sufficiency I have been assured that his labourers do not 
wish to take from him the price which they are willing to 
receive from others.
The inhabitants of Castleconnell were assessed with a rate to 
provide means to build a Catholic chapel. 1 do not know what 
fault had been committed by the priest of the parish, but the 
Catholic bishop of Killaloe interdicted the work, and the church 
remained half built, and without a roof. Mass, however, was 
celebrated in a corner covered by a few planks, and the people 
continued to come as before, but resolutely resolved not to 
finish the church unless or until the favourite priest should be 
recalled.
Crossing the mosses which surround this village, I came by 
O'Brien's Bridge to Glanamore to Mr. Thomas Arthur, with whom I 
spent several days. His house is at the end of a fertile, little 
valley, surrounded by mountains covered with peat. I saw with 
him bones representing almost an entire skeleton of that 
monstrous animal which is called in this country 'moss' or 
'moose deer,' and the name of which I do not know in French.
The race has been so long extinct in Ireland that history, and 
even tradition, have nothing to say about it. It was a species 
of deer which, from the size of the horns and bones which are 
found in the peat moss, must have been at least three times as 
large as any we know now. These horns are generally seven or 
eight feet high—they have been found indeed to be ten feet. The 
bones of the legs are at least double the thickness and three 
times the length of those of an ox.
It is extremely strange that no tradition whatever makes mention 
of this animal in Ireland. It is no less strange that trace of 
it has never been found on the continent. What was Nature 
thinking of to lodge in an island an animal which must have felt 
itself imprisoned?
In my quality of traveller it is permitted to me to dream 
dreams, and in that of writer of travels to make these, in some 
fashion, known to the public. When I have travelled a few 
hundred miles more, I shall have arrived at a place where it may 
be possible for me to propound some beautiful, conjectural 
matter about the singular traditions of this country.
I returned to O'Brien's Bridge, and after having taken a plunge 
into the Shannon in order to put him in a good temper with me, I 
ascended the river with Mr. Waller in a little boat, for which 
my umbrella served as sail. The river was charming, beautiful, 
calm, and it seemed to be deep, but soon we came to a waterfall 
and were obliged to land. They are here digging a little canal 
of about one hundred paces long, to join the two navigable parts 
of the river. Returning in the boat we travelled about ten miles 
and were again obliged to land and even to leave the boat. Here 
they are making a canal which shall be about a mile long, and 
which will terminate near the beautiful palace of the bishop of 
Killaloe. The fall of water here is very considerable, and in a 
distance of about fifty feet it falls fourteen or fifteen 
through large, round stones. This is the kind of obstruction in 
the rivers which forms the lakes. This one makes an immense lake 
of thirty miles long by twelve or fifteen wide, and although it 
offers, at different parts, interesting and pleasing views, like 
the greater part of the lakes of Ireland, it has rather the look 
of a great inundation, and the islands through it give 
vraisemblance to the appearance. A company offered to drain 
nearly the whole of this lake, provided that the riverside 
proprietors would give them half the new-formed land. 
Difficulties arose, and the matter has not been carried through. 
This company had calculated that, in lowering the bed of the 
river at Killaloe by twelve feet, they would drain fourteen 
thousand acres. The cost of the works would have amounted to 
over twenty thousand pounds sterling. It would not have been a 
great deal to pay for seven thousand acres of land, but it is to 
be presumed that this would not produce very much in the early 
years, and perhaps one-third of it would be sandy or unfit for 
cultivation.
The proprietors are usually very jealous about companies 
executing such works. Often they oppose the designs and prefer 
to have their land under water than divide with the interfering 
company; but it should be possible to find a way of arranging 
the matter to the satisfaction of both parties. A proprietor 
might be persuaded to pay four or five pounds sterling for every 
acre of land, good or bad, that the company should drain for him 
at its risk and expense.
The little town of Killaloe is very ugly; the cathedral is large 
and appears to be fairly well built. The stone bridge which 
crosses the Shannon here has eighteen arches, but they are very 
small, and the bridge will have to be rebuilt—a modern one need 
not have more than nine or ten arches. I paid a visit to the 
minister of the parish, who has a superb house at a little 
distance from the town, on a height dominating Lough Derg. From 
there is to be had a really magnificent view of this vast sheet 
of water, whose banks are almost everywhere high, and cultivated 
with care. There is a bay of seven or eight miles, which cannot 
be seen without climbing to the summit of a fairly high mountain 
in the neighbourhood. From this height the Shannon can be seen 
winding through the plain as far as Limerick, with all the 
little towns which are on its banks, the principal of these 
being Nenagh.
It is disappointing that there is nowhere to be seen any 
appearance of industry. There are no manufactures. Beyond the 
labouring of the soil there is nothing to do, but patience!—a 
certain time must be allowed to a nation to come out of its 
stupor of seven hundred years. It is only fourteen years since 
its genius made effort to fly, and already thought is being 
taken to find means to surmount the immense difficulties which 
the navigation of the Shannon presents. A certain measure of 
success has followed through the use of communicating canals. 
The Grand Canal is proceeding very slowly, but it will be 
finished in a few years, when interior communication will be 
opened across Ireland from Dublin to Limerick, and industry will 
grow in proportion as the means are provided for the disposal of 
its product.
The new movement has not stopped here. I have seen several maps 
of the Shannon, on which are indicated communication canals 
between the larger lakes, from that of Derg to Lough Allen 
beyond Leitrim, a distance of more than two hundred miles Irish. 
I do not see why the effort should not be made to do better 
still, and join Lough Allen, the last, or rather the first, lake 
of the Shannon with the river and Lough Gill and the river which 
flows into the sea at Sligo. The distance between the two rivers 
is not really more than five or six miles. They are certainly 
separated by heights, but not nearly so considerable as one 
would imagine for the head of such a river which rises fifteen 
or sixteen miles from the sea, and has a course of about two 
hundred and fifty miles in the same way and same direction as 
the Severn in England.
It must be admitted, however, that the navigation of the great 
lakes found in its course would be very difficult for canal or 
river boats. These lakes are subject, like the waters of the 
Mediterranean, to sudden tempests, which may overturn even the 
strongest boats. The only remedy I can see is to drain the 
lakes, and with money and good-will this should not be a very 
difficult thing, and it would give Ireland two hundred thousand 
more acres of earth.
The first step in the civilisation of a country is to cut the 
woods, drain the marshes, lower the beds of rivers, and allow 
stagnant waters to flow away. The people of this country have 
succeeded perfectly well in the matter first mentioned, seeing 
that they have not left wood enough to make a toothpick in many 
places, but they have hardly yet commenced to think about the 
remaining works.
Near Killaloe is to be seen one of those round forts which are 
so numerous in Ireland. This one is called 'O'Brien's Palace.' 
Tradition reports that Brian Boru, who defeated the Danes at 
Clontarf, and perished in the battle, lived here. It is well 
situated for defence at the point where the river leaves the 
lake. The fort is not as large as several that I have seen, but 
the parapets seem higher and the fosses deeper. I cannot 
conceive the sort of palace or, indeed, dwelling of any kind 
which could be erected inside such an enclosure, unless it were 
simply an arrangement of plank shelters or tents.
I followed the western course of Lough Derg, and on the way met 
an honest attorney going gaily to put the surrounding country 
under contribution. He pointed out to me, at some distance from 
the shore, a square tower situated on a rock. Some determined 
contrabandists had there established a distillery, with 
intention to pay no duties. They barricaded the place, and being 
provided with firearms, no customs officer dare hazard his life 
in approaching these friends of the 'creature.' To dislodge 
them, it was necessary to send troops with cannon, but the 
distance from the bank being considerable, and there being also 
a wish not to proceed to extremes, they proceeded to starve out 
the illicit distillers, who did not surrender until the 
fifteenth day, and then only after having effected an honourable 
capitulation.
I paid a visit to Mr. H. Brady at Tuamgraney, which is a rather 
pretty village situated at the end of the bay of which I have 
already spoken. From it can be seen many of the islands in the 
lake, among others one which is called Holy Island, which has a 
high round tower, and where formerly were seven churches, the 
inhabitants still going, with great devotion, to make their 
pilgrimages round the ruins. The Catholics of the country have 
taken exclusive possession of the cemetery, and will not permit 
that the bones of a Protestant should there be deposited. A rich 
man of the parish threatened to send a labourer out of it. 'All 
right,' said the other, 'but I have more right in the parish 
than you, for you can't take from me my six feet of earth in 
Holy Island, and with all your riches you will never have that.'
Walking through the ruined town of Mountshannon, I came to 
Meelick to Mr. Thomas Burke. Near his house was formerly an 
abbey, and its ruins are still regarded with veneration. Near 
the chapel is a species of cell which is of singular form. There 
is just room for a person standing in it to turn round—it would 
seem to have been a confessional. Above a tomb there is a stone, 
squarely hollowed and full of the water of heaven, which water 
is said to have the virtue of curing corns. How charming it is 
to travel in Ireland! I hope by the time my promenade is 
finished that I shall be cured of every ill.
The borders of the lake in this district were some time ago 
covered with wood, but this has all been cut down, and the whole 
country is naked and arid. Near Woodford the landscape begins to 
improve, and is rather pretty near a village called Abbey, on 
the confines of the provinces of Munster and Connaught. Formerly 
there was a considerable abbey here, with a church dedicated to 
the Virgin. It was a fête day on which I saw it, and the place 
was crowded. This ruin is one of the few of which the 
inhabitants have had the good sense to make use, so as to avoid 
the trouble and expense of building a new church. Catholics have 
lately obtained permission to use two of the lateral chapels, of 
which the vault remained intact; it is hardly possible to 
exaggerate the miserable look of these chapels and of the poor 
folk who frequent them. In the cemetery two or three priests 
were occupied in confessing the penitents. They sat on stones, 
and each held a little flag, which was used to separate the 
penitent from the crowd. The priests, as I am told, receive 
something for their trouble, according to a fixed tariff; this 
is said to be their principal source of income. After all, they 
must live, and it is only through the little charges they exact 
from the faithful that their kitchen can be kept going. I have, 
however, seen some, to my great surprise, who are by no means 
badly off, having between one and two hundred pounds sterling 
per annum of income, besides a passable house, and, according to 
custom, dinners without end with their parishioners who are in 
easy circumstances.
The law allows to every Catholic priest who will turn Protestant 
the sum of forty pounds sterling per annum, to be paid by the 
county in which he lives; he has also the promise of the first 
curacy vacant. The insults which the people heap on the few who 
profit by these advantages are sufficient to disgust those whose 
conscience would allow them to place their temporal interests 
before all other considerations. However, the law is on the side 
of these, and yet I do not believe that there are a dozen of 
them in the whole of Ireland. I went to visit near this abbey a 
holy well of the place. It is not, like most of them, in open 
country; it is surrounded by houses, and although I was prepared 
for what I was to find there, I confess it was very difficult 
for me to retain a serious countenance before a score of women 
with their clothes tucked up, moving in single file round the 
enclosure on their bare knees. One had to think of the serious 
intention to avoid bursting into laughter on seeing the 
contortions of the devotees occasioned by the pebbles 
underneath, and in noticing the devices adopted to prevent the 
soiling of fine red petticoats.... Oh, Monsieur Twiss! What an 
occasion this would have been for you, and what remarks you 
would have made!... But I shall be more discreet than you were.
A decent man was standing at a little distance and, seeing that 
I was a stranger, approached. I asked for what was the water of 
this well good. 'Oh, Sir,' said he, 'it is good for everything,—
the blind return walking, the lame speaking, and the deaf 
seeing. If you have any infirmities, just go round on your knees 
seven times and see what happens.'
I did not need to make the experience myself in order to learn 
what would happen, for after the pilgrimage was over, and the 
poor folk were washing at the well, I saw many a scarred and 
bloody knee. I wonder if this severe penitence can prevent 
faults through fear of the pain and hurt of the stones! What 
matter! I am of those who think it preferable to prevent faults 
by folly rather than that they should be punished, after 
committal, by the sword of justice.
CHAPTER VII 
La Conacie or Connaught.—The Road of The Dishes—
Galway—Eyre Connaught
When I crossed the stream separating Conacie from Momonie or 
Munster from Connaught, it really seemed to me that I was no 
longer in the same country! The features of the people were not 
the same, their dwellings were not arranged in the same manner. 
Here were long villages with fields through them, on the other 
side they were compactly ordered. Following a road carried along 
the crest of a long hill which seemed artificially to be set in 
the middle of a plain, I reached Pallas, the residence of Lord 
Riverston.
The tithes here are not nearly so onerous as in Munster, being 
collected only on grain and sheep, while in Munster the milk of 
the cows, the hens and their eggs, and the vegetables of the 
garden are liable, if the minister likes to exact his dues.
At Portumna they have begun to build a bridge over the Shannon. 
The type is that of Wexford, Ross, and Waterford, a type 
beginning to be common, but losing nothing of its beauty 
thereby. Here, where the Shannon flows into Lough Derg, there is 
an old and fine castle, the property of the Marquis of 
Clanrickard.
Twelve miles to the west there is a charming sheet of water 
called Lough Rea. It gives its name to a pretty little town 
situated on its banks, which seems even more prosperous than 
Galway, although the latter is a seaport. It is a pity that the 
inhabitants do not pay some attention to the shore of the lake; 
a quay should be constructed, which, leaving improvement aside, 
would make a very agreeable promenade.
I heard of a proposal to effect a junction of this lake, on the 
one side with the bay of Galway, on the other with the Shannon. 
The work should not offer any great difficulty, the country not 
being very mountainous, and the lake situated at the highest 
level.
I had two letters of recommendation for places at nearly equal 
distance from the town, and I had to determine which should be 
presented. Meeting a wayfarer, I asked him if he knew Mr. So-
and-so, mentioning the name on one of my introductions. 'Oh 
yes,' he replied, 'he is a very rich man.' 'And what sort of a 
man is he? 'I asked, but asked in vain, for all the countryman 
would say was that he was 'a very fine gentleman.' 'Well, do you 
know Mr. So-and-so?' said I, mentioning the name of my second 
letter. And immediately I had the response that he was 'a good, 
honest, hospitable, well-informed man.' This settled the doubt 
for me, and I made my way to Castle Taylor.
On the way I fell in with several Irish-speaking peasants who 
wished to hold conversation with me, but my very small 
acquaintance with their language made exchange of ideas 
difficult. They managed to make me understand, however, that 
they wished to relieve me of the trouble of carrying my packet, 
and they really did carry it for me until I reached Castle 
Taylor, where I met with one of those flattering receptions 
which banish all thoughts of sorrow and fatigue.
There are more curious things to be seen on this estate than are 
to be found in many a province, and Mr. Taylor was good enough 
to show them to me. At a little distance is a great round fort, 
called the palace of Dondorlass, once the seat of Guaire, King 
of Connaught. Unlike similar forts elsewhere, there is not on 
this the smallest vestige of vegetation. This palace was close 
to a once-famous town called Ardrahan. This is at present only a 
village, but tradition rather than history affirms it to have 
been, at one time, immense, and from traces along the road 
leading to it now, it really does appear that it, the road, had 
formerly double the width it has at present. Unless the space 
included a planting on each side, it is difficult to say what 
was the need for such a broad highway. This road is called in 
Irish Bóthar lean de na mias—"the road over which they followed 
the dishes," and this curious name is accounted for by the 
following story:
A certain Saint Macduagh, brother of the king, had retired with 
a monk to a lonely mountain, there to offer up prayers. After 
two days the monk, who was not sufficiently interested in 
devotions to neglect the calls of his interior, commenced to 
grumble, and said to the saint, 'Saving your holiness, you have 
brought me to this desert mountain to die of hunger. I know 
that, to-day, your brother Guaire gives a great feast to his 
nobles, I would rather be at it than here.' 'O man of little 
faith,' said the saint, 'do you really think that I have brought 
you here to die of hunger?' And, forthwith, he began to pray 
with greater ardour than ever. All at once the delighted monk 
saw an excellent dinner arrive, and its various dishes range 
themselves round him.
Meanwhile King Guaire and his nobles, returning famished from 
the chase and various combats, had the misfortune to see the 
dishes prepared for them leave the table and fly off. In the 
surprising circumstances they did at once what was eminently 
reasonable, for, seeing their dinner in flight, the cook with 
his spit, domestics and grooms, dogs and cats fell in behind the 
king and his court; and the whole party, on foot or on horse, 
joined at full speed in the hunt of the flying dishes.
The dinner arrived a full quarter-hour earlier than the court; 
and the monk, who had commenced to do himself well with the 
delicacies, saw approach, with horror, a crowd which threatened 
to take the food from his mouth. He made a new complaint to the 
saint, protesting that it had been better not to bring the food 
than to bring it and with it the hungry court of Guaire to kill 
and perhaps devour him. 'O man of little faith,' said the saint, 
'let them all come.'
They did come, and when they were within thirty feet of the 
provisions, the saint placed them in a situation as disagreeable 
as can be conceived. He fastened their feet to the rock, and 
obliged them to be unwilling witnesses of the monk's junketing 
with their dinner. There can be seen yet, in the rock, the marks 
of the feet of men and horses and dogs, and even of the ends of 
the lances, which were secured lest their owners should have 
taken the notion to throw them at the monk. As must be admitted, 
this is proof positive of the truth of the story, and 
justification of the name of the road.
O great Saint Macduagh! how thankful should I be if only you 
would repeat this little miracle from time to time in favour of 
your humble servant!
The good saint is still much respected in these parts;—there was 
a very considerable abbey which bore his name, and, indeed, a 
bishopric which is at present united to that of Killaloe. I have 
seen the ruins of it, very fine they are and very extensive,—
seven or eight little churches, and a cathedral which must have 
been rather imposing. Near it is a round tower which is very 
high and in perfect state of preservation. Cromwell's soldiers, 
passing through the country, were base enough to attempt its 
destruction, firing at it cannon balls, the marks of which are 
still visible. Here are also the ruins of several colleges and 
seminaries for the education of priests.
The penitences round these churches are very rigorous. First the 
circle is made on bare feet, and afterwards on the knees, and, 
as the course is rather long, the penitent is allowed the 
comfort and support of two bones of the dead. There is a tree in 
the cemetery specially dedicated to the saint—the devout wear 
scraps of it as protection against fire. I have seen Protestants 
who, half mocking, half believing, carried these scraps about 
with them, and there are tales told of the virtue of the wood 
proving effective in the extinguishing of fires on several 
occasions. What a pity that I neglected to secure a supply! It 
would have been of value to a London Fire Insurance Company.
Mr. Taylor conducted me to one of his estates called Capavarna, 
where he showed me several large hollows which were full of 
water when I passed five hours earlier and were now dry; also he 
showed me a little lake which in the morning had a circumference 
measuring a mile, and which later in the day had shrunk to the 
dimensions of a cattle drinking-pond.
This country appears to be supported on vaults in limestone; 
there is no running water on the surface, but I have seen 
subterranean rivers in caverns. Sometimes the roof of the vault 
has fallen in, and in the hollows thus produced is seen the 
phenomenon of the disappearing ponds and lake; the rising tide 
drives or holds back the subterranean river water, which falls 
or disappears from sight at low tide. In winter, when the rivers 
are full, wide lakes are formed where in summer was meadowland.
It would seem that this country has been swept by the ocean in 
some great convulsion of the globe, and that the covering earth 
has been in this way removed. Here are to be seen plains of 
seven or eight miles long without the least vestige of soil, and 
without verdure other than that of a few hazel-nut bushes which 
grow in odd corners among the stones. Such wild and desolate 
places were commonly chosen by the Druids for the practice of 
their rites. Two of their altars are here, enormous stones 
twenty to thirty feet long, and nearly as wide, supported on 
three stones seven or eight feet in height. I climbed on both; 
it is really inconceivable how these ancient people were able to 
place such rocks so high, and so solidly set that I imagine it 
impossible to dislodge them unless by breaking the supporting 
stones.
It has been concluded that, since these altars are commonly 
supported by three stones, the Druids held this number in 
reverence, and associated with it some idea of the Trinity, as 
do the Brahmins of India. I am inclined to believe that they 
attached no importance to the number, and that they placed their 
altars on three stones simply because that number was the best 
for their purpose. Eight miles from Dublin, in Brennan's Glen, 
on the road to Bray, I have seen one of these slabs supported on 
four stones, and General Vallencey figures a representation of 
one sustained by two stones, and of another supported by six. To 
give an idea of the size of these great slabs of stone, I may 
say that, under that which I saw near the village of Cabinteely, 
a father, a mother, a family, of ten children, with their dog, 
cat, goat, pig, and fowls lived for years, and only quitted 
their dwelling when the proprietor, wishing to allow the public 
to inspect this ancient monument, built for the family a cabin 
in the neighbourhood.
The little valley of Capavarna<21> presents a very striking 
contrast to the desert which surrounds it. The land in it is 
very fertile, and the view is agreeably diversified by a mixture 
of wood and cultivated fields through which, by easy paths, the 
different extraordinary things I have mentioned are reached. I 
noticed there a large stone commemorative of the restoration of 
her just rights to Ireland in 1782.
This corner of the earth, so little known, so seldom visited, 
seems to me to have more claims on a traveller's curiosity than 
many of the places made famous by fashion. Returning by way of 
the Road of the Flying Dishes to the famous town of Ardrahan, I 
passed near to a cromlech, or great circle of stones. The 
learned are much exercised in deciding what this is or was, some 
holding that these circles were formed round the burying-place 
of a chief, others that the origin is religious. For my part I 
think the reason for their construction to have been the same as 
for the raths, that is, defence. On a little eminence, the only 
one in this plain of stones, in digging in what has the 
appearance of burnt earth, there has been found a hideous statue 
which is supposed to be that of Beal.
Tradition records that Beal (which is a word signifying the sun 
or a quality of the sun) was worshipped at this spot. A bishop's 
cross and keys are carved on the stone; but we know that 
Christianity was obliged to make terms with the ancient cult and 
to observe some of its practices. In other countries of Europe 
the traces of the ancient religion are not so marked as they are 
in this island. What appears to me most markedly Druidic in 
present day Irish devotions is the attachment to holy wells. 
Their use is the same all over Ireland, though with variation in 
the religious sentiment to fit the degree of veneration of the 
saint who has displaced the god or nymph adored of old time.
This country is covered with old castles to which the new 
proprietors have commonly given their names; but if you wish to 
ask the way to any, it is better to learn what it was called in 
Irish, for the peasants have not taken the trouble to learn the 
new names, perhaps do not want to learn them, unless they happen 
to wish well to the owners. There is not a particle of peat in 
these parts, and the inhabitants are obliged to bring it from 
the other side of Galway Bay. For wood there is none but what is 
found in the valley of Capavarna, and it is not surprising that 
the proprietor there finds considerable difficulty in preventing 
the peasants from cutting down his trees.
The nakedness of the poor near Galway is most unpleasant—is it 
not possible to organise industries which would enable these 
people to lead a less painful existence? Their huts are not like 
the houses of men, and yet out of them troop flocks of children 
healthy and fresh as roses. Their state can be observed all the 
easier, since they are often as naked as the hand, and play in 
front of the cabins with no clothing but what Nature has given 
them.
These poor folk, however, reduced to such misery as cannot be 
imagined by a man of better fortune, are humane, good, patient, 
and, notwithstanding what avarice may advance, would be 
industrious and hardworking if they could believe that work 
would ameliorate their lot. They live on potatoes, and they have 
for that edible (which is all in all to them) a singular 
respect, attributing to it all that happens to them. I asked a 
peasant, who had a dozen pretty children, 'How is it that your 
countrymen have so many and so healthy children?' 'It's the 
praties, Sir,' he replied.
One finds numerous schools in the hedges—always for the reason I 
have indicated already. It is a mistake to think the peasant of 
this country so ignorant or so stupid. Misery, it is true, does 
stupefy him and make him indifferent. Yet, I declare that it is 
among these people that I find indications of disposition to do 
everything that could render society happy and prosperous, where 
it has been possible to inspire them with interest in their 
country.
I called at Ardfry, the home of Mr. Blake. From his house can be 
seen a most beautiful view of the bay of Galway. Inside his 
house was a view still more interesting, but the gentle A—— was 
far too pretty to allow of any hope of seeing her again. Nearly 
all the inhabitants in this district are Catholics, rich as well 
as poor; only the rich submitted, formerly, to the Anglican 
form, in order that they might possess their goods in peace, 
and, now, in order that they may be eligible for election to 
Parliament. Thirty years ago the proprietor of a very fine 
estate called Oranmore, fearing that some cousin might turn 
Protestant in order to filch it away from him, sought the bishop 
and offered to renounce the superstitions of the Church of Rome. 
'What motives, my son,' said the pastor, 'urge you to enter the 
fold of the faithful, and to abandon the Babylonish Woman?' 
'Oranmore,' said the convert, and to all the customary questions 
he had but the single word—'Oranmore'—for answer. The bishop was 
not inclined to admit him to communion on such exhibition of 
worldly motive, but the convert had offered to submit to the 
law, and nothing more could be demanded.
Crossing the beautiful bay of Galway I came to the town of same 
name. It is situated between a great lake and the sea without 
deriving much advantage from one or other. The river leaving the 
lake a quarter mile from the sea flows like a torrent, no effort 
has been made to construct a canal, and the port is outside the 
town.
One is surprised, on entering Galway, to see the disposition of 
the streets, and especially the placing of the houses, which is 
different from that in other Irish towns. Almost everyone has 
the gable turned to the street, and has a porte-cochère,<22> 
such as is found in old towns on the Continent. Galway was built 
they say, by the Spanish, to whom it belonged.<23> It is still 
possible to follow the regularity of the plan, although 
disfigured at present. It is said also that thirteen 
families,<24> whose names are still common, laid the city's 
foundations, and tradition avers that, while a good lady of the 
name of Joyce watched the masons who built Galway Bridge at her 
expense, an eagle dropped a chain of gold in her lap, and placed 
a crown on her head. The gold chain is still preserved by the 
Joyce family—according to the story told to me. The people have 
always loved fables—had Galway become a Rome this one would 
certainly have been believed.
This city had formerly an extensive commerce, but it is much 
decayed in recent times. Efforts are needed for the 
encouragement of industry, and it is desirable that some means 
should be adopted to make beggars work, and prevent lunatics 
from running about the streets.
A wine merchant gave me, in good faith, an explanation of the 
decay of commerce. 'Before France knew how to make wine,' said 
he, 'we made it here.' 'What,' said I, 'I never heard that you 
grew grapes at Galway.' 'Oh, we never did,' he replied, 'but in 
France the wine was simply juice of the grape, and we brought it 
to Galway to make it drinkable. Unfortunately, the Bordeaux 
merchants can prepare it now as well as we did, and that has cut 
the feet from under us.'
23. I report this as it was stated to me. The period during 
which the Spaniards were masters of a part of Ireland is not 
well defined in history. All places on the western coast, 
however, from Galway to Bantry, have the tradition of their 
occupation, and some placenames are Spanish, such as Valentia, 
&c.—Note by Author.
The natives are not accustomed to see much of foreigners, and 
they paid me the compliment of assuming me to be a Croesus. 
People were so fond of making me pay the costs of the war that I 
should have been hard put to for boarding charges had not Mr. 
Anthony Lynch, to whom I had been recommended, done me the 
kindness to offer me a bed at his house.
Lough Corrib, which discharges its waters at Galway, may be 
thirty miles in length, and I am convinced that, with one or two 
locks, it would be possible to bring boats from the port into 
the river. The existence of this lake is due to an accumulation 
of enormous stones near the mouth of the river, and to the peat 
mosses where the river begins its course. It appears that, 
formerly, there was a canal which circled the old walls and 
discharged into the bay, but it was long ago filled up and built 
over, and since there is no desire at present to incur the cost 
of a similar waterway, the Galway people might, at least, 
utilise the waters of the river above the town to provide a 
stream in each of the streets. There are few places where such a 
precaution is more necessary. I would suggest, too, that the old 
walls, which are ruinous and no longer of any use, should be 
pulled down, and if they would build quays along the sea and 
river fronts, these would be a great embellishment to the city.
The shops here are open on Sunday nearly as on other days—
perhaps the whiskey-shops more than others. However, everybody 
goes to church, one set after another. The merchants have a 
custom of keeping a few shutters on a shop window, but the door 
is open just as usual. There are various clubs to which people 
resort to read the newspapers. To have entry to one—The Amicable 
Society—one must be a subscriber, but anyone can go to the 
Mercantile Coffee House.
The principal church dignitary here is called 'The Warden,' that 
is to say 'The Guardian.' He has as much authority as have 
bishops elsewhere—it is a privilege which the Pope granted at 
one time to the Chapter, permitting them to make election from 
among the canons. The Protestants have adopted the same 
procedure since the Reformation. Here the people are all 
Catholic, and it is fortunate that there are plenty of Anglican 
ministers, for, otherwise, there would not be anyone to 
represent the dominant religion.
Young Irishmen travel far to seek their fortunes, and have a 
trick of hooking on to rich old widows, by whom, with great 
address, they manage to make themselves beloved, in spite of 
brothers, sisters, children, and even grandchildren. Those who 
have not the means to travel the world seem to make of Galway 
general rendezvous. They come here from all parts of the 
province under pretence of sea-bathing, but I venture to say 
that the attraction is quite other, and more important. There 
are few countries which can show prettier brunettes, or such a 
number of them, and all things here seem to conspire to further 
their humane projects. The milliners furnish them, on credit, 
with ribbons and finery to any extent, refraining from any 
request for payment until after the wedding, when the poor man 
finds himself in much the same situation as vanquished nations, 
forced by their conquerors to pay for the bombs and bullets by 
which they have been brought into subjection.
There are Assemblies, with very moderate price of entry, nearly 
every day, sometimes full-dress, sometimes half-dress, sometimes 
undress, and called as they are one or other—Assembly, Drum, or 
Promenade. The price of entry varies with the name, but the 
thing itself is always the same. There is an air of merriment 
and good-humour about these gatherings, and the Galway belles 
frequenting them could certainly teach their French sisters 
something in coquetterie. It is to be expected that such 
concourses of pretty women should attract a great number of 
young men, who, for the most part, go at first for simple 
amusement, but finish, often, by returning to their homes with 
one rib more. There is in the city a certain clergyman, formerly 
a Catholic priest, who, having nothing to live on but the £40 
sterling per annum which the law allows to Catholic priests 
embracing the Anglican religion, augments his meagre income by 
solemnising marriages according to the Scotch manner.
In the morning the young damsels, packed five or six on a car, 
legs dangling, go to refresh their charms in the sea about two 
miles from the city. In the evening—if there is no assembly—they 
wander from shop to shop, buying, laughing, chatting with the 
friends they meet. The stay at Galway for three summer months 
is, for the young folks, a veritable Land of Cockaigne.
All, however, do not marry. There are maids who grow old in this 
city without knowing it, and who continue to shop, dance, and 
bathe until they have reached the mature age of fifty or more 
years. Sure I am that nowhere else in any country could they 
pass the ageing years more agreeably or happily.
The neighbourhood of Galway is the most arid and stony in 
Ireland, but the rock to the east of the river being limestone, 
it has been possible to cultivate some patches with success. It 
is a singular thing that I have often had occasion to note that 
the uglier the country the prettier are the women—they are 
charming here. Connemara is said to be the most abominably ugly 
place in nature, and therefore ought to be inhabited by angels. 
I had thought of visiting it, and this sweet reflection 
confirmed me in my resolution.
It is most extraordinary that this country, forming part of the 
County of Galway, and not more than fifteen miles from the city 
of that name, should be less known than the islands of the 
Pacific Ocean. Of the persons from whom I asked information some 
replied vaguely, others begged me not to visit such a barbarous 
country, where I should not find a dry stone to sit down on, and 
where the few inhabitants were as barbarous as the Iroquois. But 
the more I was dissuaded the stronger became the desire to see a 
country so dreadful. The Galway men in former times held it in 
such dread that, over the city gate leading to it, they engraved 
the words 'Lord deliver us from the ferocious O'Flahertys,' and 
they made a law that any man of the name of O'Flaherty who 
should spend a night in their town should be put to death.
Arming myself with all my courage I crossed the spot where once 
stood the gate of prayer, and, after a walk of fourteen or 
fifteen miles, I came to Lemonfield, the seat of Sir John 
O'Flaherty, where, so far from meeting with ferocity, I received 
a most charming welcome. The country between this place and 
Galway I found to be called Eyre Connaught. I was not yet in 
Connemara. In many parts it was fairly well cultivated, and 
although seldom visited, had nothing frightful about it. The 
view of Lough Corrib had in it something of the majestic, 
compelling the spectator's admiration. The lake is full of 
little islands, most of them cultivated. If you should ask the 
number of them, the answer is certain to be 365, one for every 
day in the year. I have seen three lakes in Ireland which have 
exactly the same number; perhaps it would be more correct to say 
that the peasantry have adopted this number to save themselves 
the trouble of actual count.
Although this mixture of land and water is pleasing to the view, 
it suggests to the stranger the idea of floods of great rivers, 
and this association somewhat diminishes the pleasure of the 
scene. Nothing in the world will make me believe that these 
lakes exist of necessity, and I am convinced that when industry 
has progressed, these water spaces will disappear one after the 
other.
Certain curiosities are to be seen in the neighbourhood. The 
rock is of the same character as that near the Abbey of 
Kilmacduagh, and, as in that place, there are here subterranean 
rivers which appear and disappear often. Advantage has been 
taken at one place of a natural vault to carry the road through 
it; at another place this honeycombed rock has been used, in old 
times, in the construction of a castle which offered a strong 
resistance to the soldiers of Cromwell. This resistance was so 
strong that the besiegers commenced to retreat, but the poor 
governor, overjoyed at the baffling of his enemies, was 
imprudent enough to show himself at a window, when a gunshot put 
an end to his life, and the castle surrendered immediately 
afterwards. These countries of Connemara and Eyre Connaught are 
almost quite separated from the rest of Ireland by the two great 
lakes, Lough Corrib and Lough Mask, between them sixty miles 
long. A patch of mountainous land and the bridge of Galway are 
the only means of reaching the territory by land. Armies have 
never been able to penetrate to the interior of the country, 
which has been of old time the refuge of deserters and 
contrabandists. Even at present there are poor peasants who 
descend from their mountains and hire themselves on the other 
side of the lakes. Then when they have been clothed and paid, 
one fine morning they recross the water, and are heard of no 
more.
Lough Corrib is about nine or ten miles wide. There is a public 
boat which crosses to a little town called Cong, where is a deep 
cavern into which some of the waters of the lake are poured. The 
only trading which seems to require the use of boats here is not 
very important. It is that in turf, which is used often to hide 
hogsheads of brandy and French wines which the boatmen bring 
from Connemara, where never customs official dare appear.
Many Irish peers take their titles from these expanses of water, 
and from rivers; I am told that in Ireland there are Lords 
Corrib, Neagh, Erne, &c. One of the most respected among those 
who had received me takes his title from the Shannon, another is 
named from the bay of Kenmare, a third from the bay of Glandore; 
sometimes a title has been taken from a high mountain, a 
striking object in the landscape. I have heard of a man who 
wished to take the title of Lord Peloponnesus, Earl of Greece. 
Since great things flatter self-love, why has nobody thought of 
calling himself Lord Atlantic? The sound of Lady Ocean seems to 
me to be very delightful.
I remarked, at several places in the country, great piles of 
stones, and could not imagine what the use of these could be. I 
was told later that these were erected as a sort of homage to 
the dead. When a funeral cortege reaches one of these places, it 
is stopped, and does not proceed until a pile has been erected 
to the honour of the deceased. I suppose that this respect is 
only accorded in the case of those who have been much loved and 
are greatly regretted.
The word for one of these piles is, in Irish, carn, and the 
higher the erection the more honourable or celebrated has been 
the deceased. 'I shall throw no stone on your cairn' is a phrase 
used by inhabitants of this country to express anger at, or 
dissatisfaction with, the person to whom the words are 
addressed. It is very much as if a wife should tell her husband 
that she hoped to dance on his grave.
Here is a holy well of character somewhat different from the 
ordinary. The water appears at two places. At one the water is 
used for the ordinary needs of life; at the other only penitents 
may drink or take of the water to rub on their eyes. It is 
really a subterranean stream, similar to those I have already 
described, but much smaller in volume. When the good folk have 
said their prayers, they hang rags on the surrounding thorns, 
and for nothing in the world would they allow these to be 
removed. I do not know what idea attaches to the act; the 
penitence is not performed on the knees, but simply barefooted. 
There may have been here, formerly, a chapel in which mass was 
said, or perhaps it was celebrated in the open, for an altar 
exists, and I could not see any remains of buildings.
Oughterard is the last village of Eyre Connaught. It possesses a 
mineral water spring and a waterfall which attract a good many 
Galway people. From this point the view of the lake and its 
numerous islands is very remarkable. There are here large 
barracks situated on an arm of one of the subterranean rivers of 
which I have spoken, and serving as hospital for the troops in 
garrison at Galway.
CHAPTER VIII 
Connemara—Manner of Baking Unleavened Bread—
Ante-Diluvian Reveries
I resolved at last to commence my travels in the redoubtable 
Connemara. Hardly had I left the village of Oughterard than the 
horses which Sir John had been good enough to supply commenced 
to behave badly. They did not seem to care for this excursion, 
and jumped and sidled into the heath at the side of the road, 
the one on which I was mounted expressing his displeasure at 
last by lying down, and it was only with great difficulty that I 
could get him to rise and walk. Balaam's ass was not more 
troublesome to his master than was this beast to me. The only 
thing in which he differed was in his lack of voice, but finding 
in the end that I was resolute, he determined to proceed, and I 
entered the territory of Connemara.
This is certainly a most extraordinary country, almost entirely 
uncultivated, and covered with mountains or lakes. In some 
places, however, green grass can be seen, which makes it 
possible to believe that the ground is capable of culture. The 
district is about sixty miles long by forty wide, and belongs 
almost entirely to Colonel Martin. It is a very large estate, 
and, in spite of its wild appearance, it brings him in from ten 
to twelve thousand pounds sterling per annum, which, after all, 
is hardly more than twopence an acre. Some years ago he gave to 
an intelligent French valet-de-chambre some ground to cultivate, 
and built a house for him. This man really did succeed in 
cultivating a pretty large space near his house, which space is 
yet to be seen as a little oasis in the desert, but finding 
himself alone and too far from society, he tired of his 
situation and disappeared.
I quickly arrived at Ballinahinch, the home of Colonel Martin, 
who, for a man of such fortune, has chosen a strange retreat in 
this wild country. The house was built by his father for an inn, 
and the nearest town is Galway, which is thirty miles away, and 
it is necessary to send to it for all provisions needed; even 
for the bread, which often they cannot bake at home for lack of 
barm or yeast of beer, which is used as leaven. It is very 
singular that in Great Britain and Ireland they do not know how 
to make bread as it is made in France or Germany, and that they 
have always to send to a brewer for this barm, a very difficult 
thing to get in remote districts. I never could have imagined 
that the making of bread was such a difficult thing. Our good 
women on the Continent make it with the greatest ease. The whole 
operation consists in allowing a certain amount of fermented 
dough to sour, then mixing it with the flour from which the 
bread is to be made, but taking, of course, care to put only the 
exact quantity needful, otherwise the bread will be sour. I am 
quite sure that a very short experience would teach anyone how 
this operation should be conducted, but people in this country 
are but little disposed to change their customs.
As it is my intention in writing this book to try to make it as 
useful as possible, I have taken some pains in this connection, 
and I have written out with most minute detail the procedure of 
people on the Continent in making leaven and using it. The 
instructions which I give below were sent to me from London by 
one of my friends who, at my request, had procured the 
information from Germany, and it describes accurately how our 
peasants make bread. He sent me the matter in French, but in the 
effort to make it more generally available I have translated it 
into English, perhaps English in French guise; but provided I am 
understood, that is all I ask. Those who know how to make bread, 
or those who don't wish to know, will do well to skip this bit 
of English, although I am persuaded that it is in a somewhat 
unusual style.
Manner of Baking with Leaven.<25>
They give the name of leaven to a quantity of dough put into 
fermentation, occasioned by the addition of some of the old 
dough preserved from the precedent kneading.
The manner of getting it good, is to mix (the day before one 
intends to bake, and before going to bed) a little of the old 
dough before mentioned, with a third of the flour intended to 
make bread: the whole is to be mixed and diluted with cold 
water: this forms a firm and compact dough, which ought to be 
left all night in a corner of the trough, covered with a 
proportion of flour, raised in rolls and pressed hard to give it 
more solidity and to prevent the leaven from extending itself 
out of its limits. The day after, at about six in the morning, 
it is fit to be used; with cold water it takes commonly seven or 
eight hours to be ready, with warm water about three, but the 
dough is always soft.
If found that on the following day, the leaven was passed, that 
is, already turned sour, as may happen in the great heat of 
summer, or when a storm has taken place during the night; it is 
sufficient then to renew and to refresh it, by adding to it half 
its weight in new flour and cold water: three hours after, it is 
fit to be used.
When the leaven is thus prepared, they begin by putting it 
entire without breaking it, with a proportion of water, and it 
ought to be diluted very quickly and very exactly, to prevent 
any lumps from remaining; when it is sufficiently diluted, they 
add to it the remainder of the water, which ought to be cold in 
summer, and tepid or warm on the contrary in winter, to 
counteract the effects of the hands in the two seasons, and to 
produce an opposite one. They then mix all the flour destined to 
be employed with the leaven, and assemble the whole in a lump 
which they work with the hands, carrying it from left to right, 
heaving it up, cutting and dividing it with the open hands, 
nipping and pulling the dough with the fingers folded and the 
thumbs stretched out; that is what is called thrilling; they 
work it up several times in the same manner, scraping the trough 
every time; they introduce afterwards in the lump the dough that 
has been detached from it with a little water and carry s it, in 
the same manner on the other side; that is what is called 
'contre fraser,' or thrilling in the opposite way. The kneading 
is ended by making a hollow place in the dough and pouring water 
in it; this labour serves to confound and divide the coarsest 
part of the flour, and by the continued, quick and speedy 
motion, forms new air, which renders the dough more viscous, 
more equal, longer, and lighter, and it produces a bread better 
tasted and whiter; this third labour is called 'bassinage' or 
fomentation. To add yet to the perfection which the fomentation 
gives to the dough, they strike it with the hands, pressing it 
by the sides and folding it up on itself, extending and cutting 
it with the hands closed, and letting it fall with effort.
The dough being thus sufficiently worked out, is taken from the 
trough and divided into such parts as are judged proper, cutting 
and striking it still, and placing it in a lump near the oven, 
where it must remain half an hour in winter, to enable it to 
preserve its warmth and to ferment; it must be turned and 
divided on the contrary, when the weather is hot.
The effect of fermentation is to divide and to attenuate the new 
dough, to introduce in it a good deal of air, which as it cannot 
disengage itself entirely, being prevented by its viscosity and 
consistency, forms in it eyes, or little concavities, raises it 
up, widens and swells it; it is for that reason, that this 
portion of flour kneaded with the old dough, which determines 
all its effects, has obtained the name of leaven or 'levain 
'from the French lever, to raise.
This operation requires a certain degree of heat to be made 
slowly and gradually: it is essential to accelerate or to stop 
the fermentation, according to the season of the year, to make 
it produce its effects about in the same time summer or winter; 
for that purpose the dough ought to be put in baskets covered, 
with linen or flannel, in a warm or cold place, according to the 
season; fire must be put in the oven, as the necessary time to 
heat it is much about that required for the fermentation to come 
to its point, or for the bread to have taken what is called, its 
due preparation.
I am sure, this is an eloquent piece, filled with fine hard 
words, which I have got with hard labour in the dictionary. I 
could have delivered this fine method, as a physician does his 
pills, perhaps also some people will think me a fool not to have 
done it; everybody has his way of seeing things: as for me, had 
I discovered a marvellous receipt to cure the plague, the ague, 
and even the Ministerial or Antiministerial fever, I would think 
it my duty, to give it to the public as generously.
I perceive after all, that I have no great difficulty in writing 
English. I regret now, that my promenade is in French, but since 
I have begun I must continue, and come back to the wild 
Connemara, where I think, this dissertation is placed with more 
propriety than at London, where likely 'John Bull' would have 
scorned and d——d my labour.
I have never in my life been in the house of a rich man who 
appeared to care so little for the things of this world as 
Colonel Martin. He is a man of the best intentions, and thinks 
of nothing more than how to improve the country which belongs to 
him. Unfortunately some adventurers have abused his confidence, 
and have swindled him out of considerable sums under pretext of 
finding mines on his estate, or of clearing land for 
cultivation. The kind of clearing done was clearing out, after 
they got the money.
The fortune of any private individual could not possibly suffice 
to people or cultivate a territory as large as Connemara. If the 
Government would make an arrangement with the proprietor to 
build cabins for sixty thousand inhabitants, and to supply them 
with instruments of labour, ground for nothing, seed for sowing, 
and provisions for the first two years, I am convinced that they 
would be able to maintain themselves from the third year onward.
The only good plan which a proprietor can adopt is that which 
Colonel Martin has lately followed. He gives refuge to the 
unfortunate victims who have been obliged to leave the north of 
Ireland. I have seen quite a number of families who have been 
obliged to leave their country, and who have here formed new 
homes. Colonel Martin has given them ground for nothing for a 
certain number of years, and afterwards he lets the land to them 
at an extremely moderate rate.
The manner in which these unfortunate families have been chased 
from their country is cruel. They receive usually a card signed 
and conceived in these terms: 'Peter, James &c. &c., you have 
(so many) days to sell your things and go to Connaught or to 
Hell, for here you must not dwell.' I shall explain later, when 
I am at the various places, the character of these political and 
religious quarrels; here I content myself with saying that those 
who have not obeyed the orders of their antagonists have often 
been massacred, or had their houses burned.
I have seen several of these new establishments, which seemed to 
be in a state of prosperity hardly to be expected on such soil. 
If a proprietor would put aside every year the wherewithal to 
build twelve or fifteen cabins, and would buy as many cows, it 
would be easy for him to attract cultivators. Attention has been 
given to the subject, but it is necessary that the labourer 
should be attracted by advantageous terms, in order to induce 
him to come and make his dwelling in a corner of the earth far 
removed from society, covered with peat mosses, and so drenched 
with water that, from the summit of Leitrig mountain<26> which I 
climbed, it looks like a sea sown with mountains and tongues of 
earth, so numerous are the lakes and so near do they approach 
each other.
The Colonel had commenced to build a superb mansion on the 
borders of a pretty little lake at foot of this mountain, but 
when the foundations had reached the ground level, he saw that 
it was going to be so costly that he has abandoned the work, for 
the present at any rate. A palace would certainly seem an 
extraordinary thing in the middle of these mosses.
In some places near these lakes are to be found little woods, 
and some small patches of verdure which ameliorate the view. It 
is evident that, with a little care, it would be possible to 
increase these oases. It is not to be believed that the 
inhabitants of this country are more wicked or barbarous than 
elsewhere; they seem indeed to be better clothed than those who 
live near the capital. It is very easy to call them savages and 
to make sport of their misery. Will you believe it, readers and 
good people, if I tell you where I have really found savage and 
barbarous men? I tell you it was in Paris, in London, in Dublin, 
in Edinburgh—in fact in all the large cities. What animal in the 
universe is more ferocious and cruel than these men, who, proud 
of their riches, often badly acquired, treat with disdain all 
who are not like them covered with gold; who insult indigent 
genius and merit; who, far from attempting to help a friend more 
honest and honourable than they are themselves, will see him 
languish in prison for a debt, the repayment of which would not 
be of much advantage to them, a repayment which they know to be 
impossible.
I feel calmer. I get angry in writing as in speaking, but in 
both cases the anger soon passes. Yes, it is true, there are 
savage and barbarous members in every society of men, but there 
are also good souls who think of nothing more than the well-
being of their fellows, and the pleasure of meeting one of these 
makes one forget entirely the detestable sight of these who, 
like the devils, are never happy except when they are doing 
evil. I have finished my reflections; let us return to 
Connemara.
The safe and deep bays into which this coast is cut, as well as 
the freedom from fear of customs officials, accounts for the 
presence of a number of people who are here for what is called 
quite openly the 'smuggling business,' as if it were an ordinary 
trade. I have gone into different cabins and asked, straight 
away, for brandy or claret without finding any surprise to be 
expressed. One good woman, like many others, said to me, 'There 
is nothing at present in the house, but my husband is at sea, 
and if you come back in a month you can have all you want,'
Although the coasts are somewhat of the same character as the 
rest of the country, they are more populous by reason of the 
commerce; they are also drier and commonly covered with large 
stones, the little places between these being carefully 
cultivated.
In every country men are found willing to make profit out of the 
misfortunes of their fellows. The shipwreck of vessels 
especially excites the avidity of the ordinary man. It is only 
with infinite trouble that the law is able to save vessels from 
being pillaged, and it has even happened that the crew have been 
put to death when they attempted to oppose the wreckers' will. 
To prevent such wrong, the Government gives to every proprietor 
who saves a vessel from pillage, certain rights by way of 
recompense for his expenses, this remuneration being called 
'salvage.' While I was in Connemara a vessel was unfortunate 
enough to be wrecked on the estate of a proprietor who was 
absent: the people of the country proceeded at once to board and 
pillage the wreck. The captain of the vessel, who was on board, 
sent to Colonel Martin begging for aid, which was readily given, 
the Colonel sending some of his tenants with fire-arms, who 
restored order and dispersed the pillagers.
This country may be called the boundary of the ocean on the 
eastern side; there is only one small single island between 
these coasts and those of America. Below the sea, however, is 
traced a wide bank, or rather chain of mountains, in the same 
direction as those of this country, and this bank or range 
reaches to Newfoundland, and forms the cod-fishing grounds.
The ancient Greek authors, Plato particularly, record the old-
world tradition of an immense island, or rather vast continent, 
which was swallowed up in the sea to the west of Europe. It is 
more than probable that the inhabitants of Connemara never heard 
of Plato, nor of the Greeks, nevertheless they also have this 
tradition. 'Our country will one day reappear,' say the old men 
to the young, leading them on a certain day of the year up a 
mountain and pointing to the sea. The fishers of the coasts also 
believe in this vanished land, and pretend that they have seen 
towns and villages at the bottom of the sea. The descriptions 
which they give of this imaginary country are as bombastic and 
exaggerated as those of the Promised Land; milk flows in some 
streams and wine in others. This appears to indicate that the 
tradition was not invented here, for, otherwise, they certainly 
would have made some of the streams to run with whiskey or 
porter.
They cannot fix the time at which their country, as they call 
it, was engulfed in the waves, but they are convinced that this 
misfortune did happen in what they call the old times; and they 
believe that the destruction was operated by wicked magicians, 
and that a time will come when the country shall come forth from 
the sea as flourishing as it was when submerged by the waves.
This singular opinion induces reflection on the situation of 
Ireland and the different things which are found in it, things 
of which there are no traces in the European Continent. Ireland 
seems to be a vast rock situated in the middle of the sea. 
Contrariwise to the state of other countries in which the ground 
rises gradually from the coast to the centre, the coasts here 
are, particularly to the west, always the highest point of the 
country. The great rivers do not take their sources in the 
interior of the island, but within a few miles from the sea; 
thus the Shannon rises near Sligo, the river Derg near 
Ballyshannon, &c., &c. Everything seems to point to a vast 
territory on foundations less stable than those of the island, 
which has been detached and swallowed up in the sea.
This idea may appear to be ridiculous, but after the description 
which I have made of the country near Galway, who would be 
surprised to hear one day that the whole of that part of the 
counties of Clare and Galway had disappeared suddenly, and that 
where there were wild rocks supported on vaults the waves of the 
sea now roll? I am indeed convinced that this misfortune would 
have happened to this territory long ago had it not been for the 
high mountains which rise on the coast side and defend it from 
the attacks of the sea. This chain of mountains which can be 
followed along the bottom of the sea to America, does it not 
make it appear that the island formed part of a large continent 
which may perhaps have been joined to the new world?
No tradition whatever has concerned itself with the monstrous 
animal with enormous horns which is to be found so often in the 
bogs. Certainly it would be considered remarkable that such an 
animal should originate in a confined country, the whole length 
of which it could run over in two or three days without fatigue. 
Could anyone suppose that this gigantic species of deer would be 
placed by Nature, always wise and always uniform, in an island 
so small as to become for it a prison, while the continents of 
Europe, Asia, Africa, and America show not the slightest remains 
of it, and even Great Britain, which in the north is separated 
from Ireland by only a dozen of miles, shows no trace of it?
This race, however, existed in the woods of North America, 
although it would seem to have been a much smaller beast than 
that of which the horns and bones are found in the bogs of 
Ireland. But it may have degenerated, as have done all the 
species of animals which have been found in the two worlds.
Anyone may propound a theory. Mine is that the globe has 
experienced, in its existence, many terrible revolutions and 
overturnings, that what was earth in many places is now water, 
that where the fishes once swam there are now flourishing towns, 
and that, according to observations I have actually made, 
Ireland was a rocky cape of an immense continent which has 
disappeared, and Ireland is the only part which has escaped, 
simply because the abyss which was under the continent did not 
extend below that part which is now the island.
Here, again, let me make another observation. The sudden 
submersion of such an extent of territory, which I would imagine 
joined Spitzbergen on the one side, and, forming a large gulf, 
to have joined Ireland, the Azores, and Newfoundland on the 
other, would naturally displace the waters of the abyss and 
cause them to mount suddenly over land which rested firmly on 
its foundations; hence the Deluge, according exactly to the 
words of the Bible, which say 'les portes de l'abîme furent 
ouvertes et qu'elles se fermerent ensuite.'
In such a tremendous overturning all matter lighter than water 
would float on the surface at the mercy of the waves, and on the 
receding of the waters would be deposited in the valleys or 
against the sides of mountains opposed to the current. In the 
warm countries the heterogeneous matter by the constant 
alternations of drought and rain would soon be reduced to dust, 
which the wind would disperse and unite with the earth, so that 
it could not be distinguished from it, while matter of a more 
solid nature would keep its original form. In moist countries, 
on the contrary, the deposits of light matter would remain and 
would be increased in bulk by plants which could grow on them. 
Hence the morasses or bogs so frequent in Ireland, and which are 
also found in the north of Scotland, always to the east of 
mountains which have stopped them when the waters were retiring 
to the west, and deposited them on the eastern hill-sides. If 
their origin was entirely due to moisture they would be found 
more often on the western sides of hills, since that is the most 
exposed to rain, which comes from the west.
They say that bogs grow, and examples are given showing that 
where once were woods, bogs are now found. This, however, is for 
the same reason which I have given. If these woods had been cut 
down or burned in a dry and warm climate, they would soon have 
been destroyed or made to disappear by the perpetual change from 
cold to heat, and from drought to humidity. But in a humid 
climate they are covered quickly by moss and other plants, 
forming a mass which becomes a bog on account of the continuity 
of condition which never changes from moist to dry. There can be 
no doubt that the plants which cover the top of these bogs 
increase its size in time, and it may even be that peat mosses 
which have been cut may grow again if the plants have not been 
entirely extirpated, and if the waters have not been drained 
away.
Oh what a noble thing is dreaming! I am not astonished that 
there are so many fools who practise it—it is so easy to go back 
nearly to the creation of the world, and arrange things 
according to one's ideas. Nothing is more amusing to me, the 
author, than such speculations; but it may be that they do not 
please you, the reader, so let us put an end to them and get 
back to Connemara.
I plunged into the mountains without other guide than my horse, 
who did not seem to trouble himself much about the road. It is a 
wolfish country, although there are no wolves. From time to time 
the view is beautified by the magnificent large bays which are 
so common, and which may be said to 'tooth' the coast. They are 
all very deep, and their shores exhibit more verdure than the 
rest of the country. Here and there are seen one or two 
comfortable-looking houses and some villages.
I had to get down from my horse pretty often, in order to avoid 
quagmires—he had so much trouble in getting out of some of them 
by himself that I believe he never could have succeeded while 
carrying weight. Often I met women who, as they passed on their 
way, industriously knitted those thick woollen stockings by 
which alone, to so many people, and even to Irish people, it is 
known that Connemara exists. I found it very difficult to know 
my way—in some parts it dwindled to a mere track—and I saw very 
few cabins where I could go for direction. I met several men 
who, in passing, did me the honour to stop, take off their hats 
and make a lowly reverence, saying in their language, 'God bless 
you. Sir, may you arrive safe and sound at the end of your 
journey.' If I spoke to them they appeared very pleased; one of 
them, for the sake of the pleasure of talking to a stranger, and 
in English, followed me for quite a mile, his hat under his arm, 
and nothing I could say could induce him to put it on his head.
At one of the places where the road seemed to disappear 
altogether, I fell in with the guide of Colonel Martin, who, 
from the summit of a hill he was crossing, on seeing me in 
embarrassment, made the valley resound with the echo of his 
voice. He came to my aid, but just as he arrived my horse, 
putting his foot on a large round stone, fell on his nose and I 
on my side. While I lay in this position, my good friend, like 
his compatriots, cried out 'God bless you. Sir, God bless you'; 
and when he saw me rise he added, 'Please, your honour, you are 
hard to hurt.'
Following the line of a considerable bay which penetrates into 
the mountains, I arrived without further accident at the house 
of Mr. Anthony O' Flaherty of Renvyle, on the margin of the 
magnificent bay of Killary. This water stretches for quite nine 
miles into the interior of the country, but everywhere is very 
deep, and vessels, once entered, are in perfect shelter from 
every wind that blows. If this Connemara should ever become 
populous and industrial, these numerous, beautiful, and safe 
bays will be a great advantage for its commerce.
This country along the coast would seem to have been inhabited a 
long time ago. Often there are marks of furrows in places where 
the inhabitants have no recollection whatever of cultivation, 
and here, as elsewhere, where there is no knowledge or 
tradition, the work is attributed to the Danes. The ancient 
cultivation of this country has certainly been the work of an 
intelligent people; whoever they were, they have drained peat 
mosses of considerable size and cultivated them, and it would 
seem that their method was, after having effected drainage, to 
cover the peat with coarse sea sand and pebbles. This operation 
alone, without the use of lime, has been sufficient to firm the 
ground and make it fit for working.
On this side of the mountains of Connemara there is no limestone 
whatever to be found, but formerly there was here a large 
deposit of oyster shells, out of which was manufactured an 
extremely hard lime. It has been used in the building of an old 
castle at the edge of the sea, and in this the stones are so 
excellently joined and laid that the whole appears as if cut 
from a rock. Mr. O'Flaherty himself used it for building his 
house. Unfortunately, the supply is now exhausted.
The inhabitants burn the seaweed on the coasts, and out of it 
form a greyish hard matter which they call kelp, a material 
which is used in glass making, and this is the most considerable 
industry of the neighbourhood. Hardly a tree is to be seen, but 
the country at one time must have been covered with them, for 
they are frequently found in the mosses, and the way of 
discovering them on the surface is very simple. The inhabitants 
go over the ground in the morning while the dew is on the 
ground, carrying with them long spits or rods of iron. They 
observe places where the dew has disappeared, and there they 
pierce the ground, nearly always finding wood, and being able 
immediately to say, pretty accurately, its length, size, and 
quality by renewing the operation at different places. When they 
have located the wood they proceed to dig. These trees are 
generally pretty sound, and furnish the only wood which the 
inhabitants can use in the building of their cabins.
CHAPTER IX 
Westport—Sligo—The Source of the Shannon
I crossed the beautiful bay of Killary, and following the shores 
of Clew Bay, I came easily to Westport House, to Lord Altamont. 
It was a real joy for me to offer my respects to the amiable 
daughter of the victorious Howe. The little town of Westport has 
been entirely built by the father and grandfather of the present 
lord, who, following the good examples set him, has commenced to 
lay the foundation of another town, to be called 'Louisburg.' 
Here he affords shelter to the unfortunates who are obliged to 
leave the north of Ireland.
Lady Altamont takes a great interest in the poor, who come to 
consult her about sickness. She listens to them, and afterwards 
gives them an order on an apothecary for any necessary 
medicines. Passing through the country I heard of a benevolent 
project of hers which may soon improve the state of affairs. 
This is to establish a manufacture in which children and women 
may be employed. I was also shown a hospital which she has 
founded, and which she maintains at her own charge.
Whenever, on my travels, I have had the good fortune to find 
virtues such as here exhibited, I felt it to be a duty to 
mention them, without the least intention of flattery, but 
simply that I may incite others to follow such a good example.
The country in the neighbourhood of Westport is very well 
cultivated, and the view from the house and park of Lord 
Altamont seemed to me very pleasing and satisfying after my 
journeys through the wild and black mountains. In this 
neighbourhood is situated the famous mountain on the summit of 
which Saint Patrick assembled all the devils and venomous 
beasts, in order that he might cast them into the hole which is 
still to be found on the mountain top.
The mountain is called Croagh Patrick, and is a very celebrated 
place for the penitences of the faithful, who come from all 
parts on certain days of the year. They climb the mountain 
partly on their knees, or barefooted—I do not know which—and I 
have been assured that on the fête day of the saint there may be 
as many as four or five thousand persons on the mountain. On the 
summit there is a little chapel at which mass is celebrated on 
this day, and in it is a black bell for which the inhabitants 
have a peculiar veneration. It is used as a thing to swear on in 
legal matters, and no one will dare to perjure himself on it. 
They have strange ideas on the subject of this bell, and believe 
that the devil will carry them off immediately if they dare to 
affirm on it anything that is not true.
Croagh Patrick is cone-shaped, and looks as if it had been a 
volcano of which the hole, celebrated in St. Patrick's story, 
may possibly have been the crater. The country round about is 
covered with ruins of abbeys and buildings round holy wells. 
There has been specially pointed out to me a large stone on 
which there are two fairly deep holes, and the inhabitants 
venerate it as having been used by St. Patrick, the holes having 
been worn by his knees while he prayed. Catholics and 
Protestants here made use of the same building for services 
while their churches were being built. King James established 
several cannon foundries in the valleys in the neighbourhood, 
and the ruins of these are also visible; the intention was to 
profit by the neighbourhood of the sea and of the woods.
I had intended to make a tour in Erris, a considerable country 
and almost as wild as Connemara, but the season was so advanced 
that I was obliged to give up the project, and to proceed to 
Castlebar, which I found to be a very pleasant little town. As I 
stayed there some time, I could not help noticing the form of 
the church tower, which is exactly shaped like a syringe. This 
will not appear surprising when I say that the architect was an 
apothecary. I was here well received by the Dean of Killala.
In the mountains I fell in with a man who had the air of being 
something of a bon vivant. He told me that his profession was 
that of inoculator, and that he was about to inoculate the 
children of the peasantry in this wild country. He assured me 
positively that of 361 children inoculated by him this year only 
one died. When it is understood that if he has been unfortunate 
enough to have a child die on his hands, not only is he not 
paid, but he must escape promptly in order to avoid a beating by 
the afflicted parents, it will be seen that the poor devil must 
take great pains with his patients. I have often thought that 
this practice of the peasantry would not be a bad one to 
introduce into towns, to encourage the doctors, to whom the 
death or cure of their patients is indifferent, for they are 
sure to be paid in either case, and are never beaten.
In travelling beside this decent creature, who appeared to be 
very light-hearted, he told me his whole story. He was born in 
this country, and had been brought up by his poor parents with 
the intention that he should enter the Church, the while 
depending for aid and protection on a rich man, who 
unfortunately died at Dublin. Finding himself then without 
friends, without promise of aid and without money, he thought 
for some time how he could employ himself. It was just the time 
when inoculation had begun to be put into practice, and the 
terrible effects often produced by smallpox on these mountain 
folk gave him the idea of visiting them and taking up the 
profession of inoculator, after he had taken some lessons in the 
hospitals. Now he has been practising with success for thirty or 
forty years, but all he makes by way of income is not more than 
thirty or forty pounds sterling per annum. It cannot be denied 
that this man is really useful to society, and I believe him to 
be worthy of the attention of the Government, who might give him 
a small pension by way of recompense for past efforts and for 
encouragement to continue them.
When he had told me his whole story he naturally wished to know 
mine. 'Pray, Sir,' said he, 'what do you follow yourself?' 'You 
perceive,' I answered, 'I follow the road.' Tapping me on the 
shoulder he said, 'You take me short.' It was a new idea for 
him, perhaps, that a stranger's affairs are his own affair.
After this little story, can people take for truth the tales 
which represent the common folk of Ireland as idle, stupid, and 
incapable of improvement, when people reputed more clever have 
refused up to the present to adopt the sanitary practice of 
inoculation? On the Continent, not only would the peasants 
refuse to allow their children to be inoculated, but even people 
comfortably off would make a like refusal. In England well-
meaning proprietors are often obliged to beg the parents to 
submit; in Scotland they have not yet succeeded in securing 
adoption of the method, and yet it is generally adopted in 
Ireland even in its wildest parts. The children are not in any 
way specially cared for; they run about and amuse themselves, 
nearly naked, after inoculation as before. When the fever takes 
them, it is only then that the inoculator is called to see them, 
when he administers a few simple remedies, which, pardonably, he 
may make somewhat mysterious in order to increase his credit, 
and to prevent the parents from becoming accustomed to apply 
these remedies themselves—a procedure which would mean to him 
the loss of his daily bread.
Following the banks of Lough Conn, which is a very large piece 
of water, and which should have been drained and dried long ago, 
I came to Mr. Cuff's at Castle Gore. I was told that he had gone 
to see his uncle, but I was received with much kindness by his 
young wife and by an aged man in the house, who had been his 
tutor. I went to see the little town of Killala, where there is 
one of those round towers of which I have had so often occasion 
to speak. This one is situated at a little distance from the 
church, and does not seem to have been joined to it. It stands 
alone on an elevated portion of ground; it seems rather to have 
been built as a sort of signal tower for ships at sea than as a 
bell-tower or building in connection with a church. It is the 
only one I have seen in Ireland in such a situation. I went also 
to see the palace of the bishop, which in these provinces is the 
subject of a proverb used in connection with anything of rather 
poor quality, 'It is as bad as the palace of the bishop of 
Killala,' and this proverb seems to be in common use all through 
the province of Connaught. Unfortunately the present bishop has 
repaired it, and added to it a considerable wing, so that the 
proverb is no longer justified. This bishopric is reputed to be 
the poorest in Ireland, the bishop having only an income of 
£3000 sterling per annum. Poor man! The deanery also is reputed 
to be very poor and not worth more than £500 sterling yearly.
As I rode through the streets, a man, who from his appearance I 
took to be the schoolmaster, stopped me, and with an air of 
importance said, 'Pray, Sir, what is your name?' 'Pray, Sir,' 
said I quite as gravely, 'what is yours?' He was a little 
surprised at my question and did not think fit to reply. I found 
this kind of curiosity to be very common, being questioned on 
the road as to my country, my name, my business, &c., &c.
I returned to Castle Gore by Ballina, which is a fairly well-
built little town; there is a salmon fishery in the river which 
flows out of Lough Conn and forms the bay of Killala. The 
situation of this bay shows at once that it is filled with sand. 
I stopped between Ballina and Killala to look at the 
considerable ruins of an abbey two miles from the latter town; 
it seems that formerly there was here a college, and some other 
public establishments; the bell-tower is perfectly preserved, 
and, like all others of the abbeys of this island, it is placed 
in the middle of the church between the nave and the choir. This 
building is still held in reverence, and is one of the places to 
which the inhabitants come to perform their devotions. There is 
also a holy well, but it is quite evident that it is not of 
nature's making like so many others; indeed, begging pardon of 
the faithful, I would say that this is quite another thing. It 
is a little chamber four or five feet wide behind the buildings, 
and situated over a little stream. I have seen many such 
cabinets in which people do not go down on their knees. The 
banks of the river, which flows out of Lough Conn, are very 
picturesque, and there are many charming houses. On my way to 
Scurmore, to Mr. Nisbet, I saw a large round fort such as I have 
described. The souterrain (which I imagine is to be found in 
all) was here large enough to admit cattle, who took shelter in 
it from the heat of the day. Several of them having broken their 
legs and given great trouble to the peasantry in searching for 
them, the entry has now been closed with stones and earth.
It had been devil's weather during the night, and all the roads 
were watercourses. On one of them I found a man riding a rather 
good horse. We talked on various subjects for a while, and, 
knowing that the horse which I had was not fit to carry me much 
farther, he offered me another, and in the end, without other 
recommendation than the passport of my face, he took me to his 
house near Sligo and presented me to his family. It is very 
pleasing to me to have this opportunity to offer my compliments 
to Mr. Holmes for the fine Irish hospitality which he accorded 
to me. He called my attention, on the way, to a cavern in which 
the waves of the sea were sounding while it is yet a distance of 
two or three hundred feet from the shore. At the village of 
Ballysadare I saw a waterfall of considerable height, falling 
directly into the sea, and near it was one of the thorn-covered 
holy wells to which the good folk go to say their prayers.
Sligo is an ancient city, and consequently a badly-built one and 
very irregular. The port, however, is not bad, although rather 
narrow. I only stayed in this town long enough to provide myself 
with a wrap against the bad weather now coming at the gallop, 
although I saw clearly that my walk could not be finished inside 
two months; in other words, I made an addition to my wardrobe of 
a spencer. I went also to visit a cattle-fair at the entrance to 
the town, and I found the farmers every bit as big as our Bas-
Bretons, and finishing up their dealings exactly in the same way 
as at home, giving and receiving their guineas four or five 
times before coming to an end of the transaction by drinking a 
bottle. I presented myself immediately at Hazelwood, where Mr. 
Wynne lives. This is one of the most beautiful places I have 
seen in my travels, and it is also one of the places where I had 
the best of treatment and experienced every kindness. I have had 
a great many troubles in my long pilgrimage of exile. I have 
been often, very often, vexed by narrow souls who sought 
pretexts to wound me. One wrote me down as a democrat, another 
an aristocrat, a third as an atheist, and a fourth as Popish 
bigot; in fact there is no sort of ridiculous and cruel vexation 
which sordid interest has not made me feel, but the esteem of 
people of sense and the glad welcome of even one noble-minded 
family has made me glad to forget such annoyances.
I passed five or six charming days at Hazelwood. On the evening 
of my arrival here I was invited to a concert at Sligo It was 
given in the Hall of Sessions, and appeared like a complete 
revolution of the usual sittings. The big drum was on the Throne 
of Justice, the fifes and flutes in the barristers' quarters, 
and the audience in the place of the culprits.
Next day I committed the folly of going out in a boat on Lough 
Gill alone, a sudden tempest sprang up and proved nearly fatal 
to me and my poor boat. Like another Robinson Crusoe I was 
fortunate enough to find safety on an island, one of a number of 
others, all covered with wood, as are also the banks of the 
lough. There is not here the variety of foliage that one finds 
at Killarney, but there are, nevertheless, some very interesting 
and beautiful places. The lough is about eight miles in length, 
the river which flows into it passes through the mountains, from 
which, on the other side, the Shannon takes its source. I have 
been assured that a canal of seven or eight miles would very 
easily connect Lough Gill with a navigable part of the Shannon; 
this would be a good work, and would open up valuable 
communications with the interior.
Setting out with Colonel Cole, I crossed the mountains to the 
house of his father, Lord Enniskillen at Florence Court. His 
lordship had to leave for Dublin, but I found shelter here for 
two days in a most beautiful castle. I passed here near two 
lakes of considerable size, which are joined by a little river; 
their banks are wooded, and beautiful to the eyes of the 
traveller fatigued by the aridity of the mountain roads he had 
travelled.
I met here, on the way, a funeral, and I noted that the women 
did not cry as in the south or west of Ireland, from which it 
would seem that the south and north of this island are inhabited 
by people who have not the same origin. As a matter of fact, 
those of the north of Ireland are much more of a mixed race, 
their ancestors for the most part having been Scotch.
On the day I left Colonel Cole I brought into execution a 
project which I had formed some time previously, to go and visit 
the source of that venerable patriarch of Irish rivers, the 
Shannon, and offer to him my respects. I commenced my expedition 
by visiting that deep cavern which is called the Marble Arch. 
The stone is really of rather finely-veined marble. The caves 
are formed by a stream which sometimes is visible, and at other 
times runs like a torrent under enormous masses of rock. The 
whole mountain appears to be hollowed by the effect of this 
stream, and it would appear that at a former period it ran at a 
higher level—one indeed can see at several places the former bed 
of the river. On entering the Marble Cave my guides did not 
neglect to tell me all the horrible stories that ever were heard 
about the goblins, hobgoblins, witches, ghosts, &c., &c., who 
haunted these shades; one of them certainly told his tales in a 
rather mocking manner, but the youngest seemed to believe in the 
stories. At the entrance to the cave the elder of the two 
stopped, saying that he knew all about the inside, and that the 
young man would be quite able to show me all that was to be 
seen. As it turned out, this was rather a fortunate arrangement, 
for, otherwise, I should have been compelled to remain 
unwillingly for a time in this dwelling of fairies and ghosts.
After walking for nearly an hour among the rocks and precipices 
and waterfalls without end, I took the candle from the hands of 
my guide in order to look over a precipice, at the bottom of 
which I thought I could hear water running. How it came about I 
cannot tell, but the candle went out. 'Now,' said my guide, in a 
melancholy voice, 'we're done for ever, I would not move my foot 
from this place for a guinea.' After having, with a great deal 
of trouble and effort, made the man at the entrance to the 
cavern hear, I was certain that he would go for lights, and set 
myself down tranquilly to pass the time, being much amused at 
the fright of my companion. 'Have you ever seen him?' I said. 
'Who?' he answered. 'The great devil who put out the candle with 
his cloven foot.' 'Oh no. Sir!' he said, 'it must have been the 
fairy. Oh, I am sure it was the fairy; she is jealous, and does 
not like anyone to come and bother her.' 'Oh,' said I, 'was it 
the fairy; then she is a d——d b——h to have played us such a 
trick.' 'Oh, Sir, Sir!' he cried, 'don't speak in that way about 
the good folk. You are on the edge of a precipice, and they 
could push you into it. I have never offended them, I respect 
them, and I am sure they will not harm me.' At this last 
statement I could not refrain from laughing, and I called his 
attention to a faint ray of light which appeared at the bottom 
of the precipice, and this seemed to reassure him a little. 
Patiently we waited for our guide with the lights, who came 
about an hour later, and released us from this disagreeable 
situation.
On leaving the cavern my guides tried to dissuade me from 
attempting to visit the source of the Shannon, by representing 
the great number of difficulties I should encounter. It would be 
six miles there and six miles back, they said. Six Irish miles 
there and six back would be equal to fifteen English miles, and 
this distance over peat-bogs simply to see the source of a river 
was, they thought, a great labour for nothing. But Mr. Bruce, 
said I to myself, spent seven or eight years in searching for 
the source of another river (the Nile), why should I not spend 
four or five hours on a similar search! and off I started across 
the mosses to find the source of the Shannon.
As with all great personages, the approach to this one was very 
difficult. As with them, too, access gained did not reveal 
anything very remarkable. However, there are few rivers which, 
having such a beginning—a stream of four or five feet wide by 
two or three deep, flowing out of a round basin about twenty 
feet in diameter, and, they say, without bottom—can show such 
result in such short space. Within a mile of westward course the 
Shannon forms Lough Clean<28>, three miles long by one mile 
wide, and then, proceeding southward, it expands into an 
infinite number of lakes, of which the principal are Lough 
Allen, Lough Bofin, Lough Ree, and Lough Derg. The two last-
mentioned are each about thirty miles long with a width of nine 
or ten, and are dotted with numerous islands.
The country near Lough Allen is full of coal and iron mines. 
Forges have been established, and will become very profitable 
enterprises when the river has been rendered navigable for the 
whole length of its course.
After satisfying my curiosity and drinking a deep draught of the 
spring from the crown of my hat, I took my leave of the Shannon, 
and wished him, sincerely, the happiness of seeing prosperous 
the hospitable banks of the waters. 'It is very surprising,' 
said I to my conductor, 'that they have not made a holy well out 
of the source of the Shannon.' 'Only the saints can do that,' 
said he. But why have the saints not thought of it?—that is what 
surprises me. My conductor was evidently a lover of good living, 
for he reproached me, often, for neglect to bring with us 
something to eat. 'You are always talking of eating,' I said; 'I 
am sure you must be an Englishman.' 'Don't call me names,' was 
his response. 'But,' said I, 'an Englishman is as good as an 
Irishman—is he not? 'Thereupon my friend shook his head in a 
very significant way, and muttered a proper G——d d——n which gave 
me understanding of held opinion he cared not otherwise to 
express. It is very strange that, so many centuries after the 
conquest of Ireland, the two peoples should not be united—
probably they never will be. In France a Provençal is as proud 
to be French as the Breton or inhabitant of Old Gaul. They have 
no prejudices against each other, except such unimportant ones 
as are born of distance.
With the wish to satisfy the needs of my conductor I entered a 
cabin, and the good folk dwelling in it counted it a pleasure to 
offer to us such as they had, refusing absolutely any payment in 
return.
Quitting the castle of Florence Court, I crossed a fine stretch 
of country and came to Enniskillen, where I was very warmly 
received by the Rev. Dr. Stock.
CHAPTER X 
L'Ultonie or Ulster—Enniskillen—Inismurray—
Donegal Sweating-Houses—St. Patrick's Purgatory
Enniskillen is a pretty little town, situated on an island 
formed by the great Lough Erne, in a place where it narrows and 
forms a river of rapid current. This lake is the longest in 
Ireland, if included with it is taken the length of river which 
joins the upper to the lower part. The lake is nearly forty 
miles long, and at many places is from ten to twelve miles wide.
This town boasts of its attachment to King William; it sustained 
a siege against his father-in-law. I saw on the gate this 
inscription, which had been placed there recently: 'THE GLORIOUS 
MEMORY OF THE FIRST OF JULY.' I do not like these memorials, 
they serve but to humiliate and anger the vanquished—that is to 
say, not those who are really wrong, but who happen to be the 
weakest; it would be more generous and more politic to let the 
past be the past. This inscription reminds me of one at Dublin, 
in Nassau Street, where I have seen, cut on a stone, the words: 
'MAY WE NEVER WANT A WILLIAM TO KICK THE BREECH OF A JACOBITE.' 
These inscriptions anger me, I admit; they prove, however, that 
there is still existing a great deal of animosity between 
sections of the people, while not one of the members of these 
sections had anything to do with the original quarrel, and 
consequently ought to forget all about it.
Lord Belmore has just built in this neighbourhood a superb 
palace, the masonry alone of the building costing him £80,000 
sterling. The colonnade of the front elevation is of an 
architecture too fine, perhaps, for an individual and for a 
country house. The interior is full of rare marbles, and the 
walls of several rooms are covered with rare stucco work 
produced at great cost, and by workers brought from Italy. 
Comfort has been almost entirely sacrificed to beauty; the rooms 
intended for visitors are like cellars, although at the top of 
the building. Light comes to them only through little windows 
eight feet below the level of the ceiling, and against these 
windows there is a stone balustrade, so that they may not be 
perceived in the design from the outside. My taste perhaps is 
odd, but I confess that a house that is comfortable appears to 
me to be preferable to a palace which is not. The temples should 
be left to the gods.
The whole of this country seems, at one time, to have been 
covered by a prodigious number of little lakes or small branches 
of the principal one, which have now been drained; the land is 
cut up entirely into little hills, and valleys without outlet. 
Lough Erne, they say, has still 365 islands, and this is said 
also about Lough Derg, Lough Ree, and Lough Allen. On one of 
these islands are the ruins of an ancient abbey and of several 
churches, which I went to see. The round tower is not so high as 
several I have seen in the province of Connaught. I was able to 
hoist myself up to the door, which is only about ten or twelve 
feet above the level of the ground. I have already mentioned 
that ingenious people have given themselves a great deal of 
trouble to find out how the summit of these towers was reached, 
but a simple inspection of the interior enables one to form a 
very good idea. There are always four or five projecting stones 
from storey to storey, and it is evident that they were intended 
to support beams on which floors were laid. There are several 
bell-towers on the Continent which have similar interior 
construction. That tells me—but I would be very sorry to take 
away the pleasure of dreaming from antiquaries. The ruins on 
this island are somewhat of the character of those on the east 
side of Ireland; they are smaller than those of the provinces of 
Munster or Connaught, and have not been built with the same 
taste. There is here a vaulted chapel which resembles that at 
Glendalough which is called St. Kevin's Kitchen. In the cemetery 
is seen a stone coffin, and the folk of the neighbourhood are 
accustomed to lie down on it. I do not know of the evil it 
cures, the miracle is that it fits perfectly to all heights. I 
tried it myself, and certainly it fitted me very well. It is a 
sort of frock-coat of which the folds give no trouble, and which 
the tailor<29> is always sure to cut according to fashion.
The estates of the last Prince of Ulster were confiscated, and 
he himself hung at London, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth; 
part of his lands were at that time assigned for the maintenance 
of a public school for the town. In consequence the place of the 
schoolmaster at Enniskillen has become a sort of bishopric; it 
brings in about two thousand pounds sterling per annum. One 
would think that the sure way of having no school would be to 
give the master two thousand pounds of annual income; as a 
matter of fact, the result which I would anticipate is that 
which has arrived at Enniskillen. However, the person who 
occupies the situation at present, Dr. Stock (with whom I passed 
the two days I stayed in Enniskillen), is a very highly educated 
man, and besides having twelve or fifteen children of his own, 
has five or six nieces or nephews that he brings up himself, and 
seven or eight boarders at one hundred guineas per annum. I have 
seen very few houses in which there were so many children, where 
such order reigned; but, on the other hand, I never saw such a 
schoolmaster.
I quitted the hospitable roof of Dr. Stock, and following the 
romantic and rocky borders of Lower Erne I came to Belleek, 
where is the first cataract on the river flowing from the lake. 
It is about three miles from the point of issue, and up to this 
point the river hardly seems to have any current, the level 
being almost exactly that of the lake. Here it falls suddenly, 
in the length of one hundred paces, more than sixty feet—the 
first fall may be twelve or fifteen feet.
I do not say anything here about the possibility of making this 
river navigable, because from here to the sea, which is only 
four miles off, it is simply a furious torrent. A canal had been 
commenced, half the cost was incurred, and then the whole thing 
was shamefully abandoned. Is it not evident that in removing the 
first cataract nearly the whole of the lower lake could be 
drained? The operation would be so much easier here by reason of 
the fact that the river forms a large sheet of water just before 
the falls. This could be forced to take its course to one side 
of the waterfall, and so allow the work to proceed on the lower 
side protected by a dyke.
It may be objected that the lake is superb, and many other nice 
things may be said, but I should hardly imagine that the Irish 
are such lovers of water. They need not fear—they will always 
have plenty of this; for my part I must say I would rather see 
fertile fields and meadows than the most beautiful sheet of 
water in the universe.
I was received at Ballyshannon by Mr. Gamble. This town is a 
small and little-used seaport on the bay of Donegal. It is 
situated at the last cascade of the river which flows from Lough 
Erne, and which falls fifteen or twenty feet perpendicularly 
into the sea. There is one side on which the flow is not so 
rapid, and it is curious here to watch the salmon in their 
efforts to proceed against the current. Enormous quantities are 
taken at this spot, so that I think very few manage to reach the 
lake.
Fifteen miles seawards, at the entry of the bay, is an island 
called Inishmurray, famous for the ruins of its expiatory vaults 
or cellars, and for the Sun-stone or Muidhr, from which the 
island takes its name. General Vallencey assumes that this 
Muidhr is the Mithra of the Persians and the Mahody of the 
Gentoos. He draws certain conclusions which seem to be well 
founded, and which are in agreement with ancient Irish tradition 
as to the origin of these stones. In his published work he gives 
a little engraving of the stone dedicated to Mahody, the supreme 
god, which Captain Rike discovered in a Gentoo temple in the 
island of Elephanta, India. He is sure it resembles very much 
the stone dedicated to Muidhr in Inishmurray. The two stones are 
cut in cone shape, and both are surrounded by a circle to 
prevent profanation, and are placed in both islands with the 
same design. The first Christian missionaries, seeking to use 
the prejudices and customs of the people in order to make them 
adopt the new faith more easily, built two chapels in the 
enclosure of this temple, dedicated the one to St. Molaise and 
the other to St. Columba, and in this way appropriated to 
Christianity the rites and devotions which they were not strong 
enough to terminate.
Formerly the herrings frequented this bay on the south coast of 
Donegal. The late Mr. Burton Conyngham, who was always anxious 
to support enterprises which he believed to be of use to his 
country, spent £30,000 sterling of his fortune and £20,000 of 
Government money in establishing fisheries on these coasts. He 
even built a little town on an island for the fishers, but the 
herrings were, with reason, frightened by these immense 
preparations which seemed to menace their entire destruction, 
and took themselves off and have not reappeared since. The 
result is that all these warehouses, the town, and all its 
connections rest, uninhabited, in a desert country, where no one 
is ever seen. It looks very funny, but it must not be forgotten 
that the intention was praiseworthy, and that it could not have 
been foreseen that the herrings would desert the neighbourhood. 
It is, of course, just possible that they may return, I have 
often thought that they move from one coast to another for food 
reasons. When they have entirely eaten the grass on which they 
are nourished at one place, it is to be expected that they will 
go elsewhere. Why, then, not try to find out what is this marine 
grass or weed, and propagate it at the places to which it is 
desirable to attract the herrings?
I went from here to Brown Hall, near Ballintra, to Mr. Hamilton, 
and there passed several days very agreeably. In the park 
enclosure there is a little lake, out of which flows a river 
which I look upon as one of the principal natural curiosities of 
this country. At times it flows slowly through subterranean 
caverns, filled with petrifactions, and along its side one can 
walk at ease; at other times it is an impetuous torrent. It 
appears and disappears, and advantage has been taken of the 
natural vault, at several places, to carry the roads or paths 
over it. In one of the caverns pigeons have made a home and 
occupy it by themselves; in another, bats have taken possession. 
At another cavern there is a sudden fall of twenty feet. In 
other hollows there are surprising echoes. Altogether it is the 
most singular piece of natural work I have seen, and as it is 
enclosed here in a well-kept pleasure ground or garden, it 
appears all the more remarkable. I take it that the river flows 
underground, in the different sections, altogether for about two 
miles.
I had heard of a peculiar practice of the inhabitants of this 
part of the country, and I desired to make some inquiries about 
it. I refer to what are called 'Sweating-Houses,' which are 
looked upon here as a remedy for all ills, Mr. Hamilton was good 
enough to take me to see one in the neighbourhood. I am sure it 
will trouble the reader to imagine what a sweating-house can be, 
and for his benefit I may say it is a species of oven five or 
six feet high by about three in width, with a hole for entrance 
of about one and a half feet high at the level of the earth, the 
whole construction being the shape of a thimble.
To use the sweating-house they heat it with turf, exactly in the 
way such a construction would be heated for the purpose of 
baking bread. When it is pretty hot, four or five men or women, 
entirely naked, creep in as best they can through the little 
opening, which is immediately closed with a piece of wood 
covered over with dung. The unfortunates stay in this for four 
or five hours without the possibility of getting out, and if one 
of them takes ill, he or she may sit down, but the plank will 
not be taken away before the proper time. As soon as the 
patients enter, an abundant perspiration starts, and, commonly, 
when they come out they are much thinner than when they went in. 
Wherever there are four or five cabins near each other there is 
sure to be a sweating-house, and no matter what may be the 
malady of the peasant, he uses this as a means of cure. The man 
who showed me the one I examined had been in it the day before 
for sore eyes.
To know exactly what it felt like to be in one I crept in 
myself, and although no fire had been in it for twenty-four 
hours, and although the hole through which I crept remained 
open, I must say that there are few maladies which I would not 
prefer to the sweating-house remedy. However, if breathing air 
can be provided for, a violent perspiration may be useful in 
many cases; it is certain that many peasants here are cured by 
this means of rheumatism and other maladies caused by chills. On 
going out of the sweating-houses some are accustomed to lie in 
bed in the cabin and keep themselves warm for a little time, 
others do not trouble to do this, but simply put on their 
clothes and go back to their work as if nothing special had 
happened. The fowls seem to be fond of the sweating-house, it is 
always their shelter in time of bad weather—to be sure they only 
stand in the opening.
The Tuatha Dé Danaan, who were, according to history, magicians 
and sorcerers, and who for the greater part dwelt in the north 
of Ireland in the county of Donegal, 'established,' says General 
Vallencey, 'an oracle on an island in a little lake named Lough 
Gearg, Dearc, or Derg. There is in it a cavern called Uamh 
Treimh-Oin—the cave of the tribe of Oin, which was afterwards 
called St. Patrick's Purgatory.' This is the principal 
pilgrimage of Ireland, and here, in summer, come crowds of 
devotees from different parts of the island. The number of 
persons visiting the place is stated to be over thirty thousand. 
The ferry boat by which they cross is insured for £200 sterling, 
and sometimes the crowds crossing are so large that the passage 
is dangerous. Four or five years ago a boat, too heavily laden, 
was swamped in the passage and thirty persons were lost. In 
ancient times the devotees submitted to terrible trials; at 
present penitences are made on the belly, on the back, and on 
the knees. However, 'this famous and ancient cavern was broken 
open and filled up in the year 1497, on the day of the fête of 
St. Patrick, and condemned as a fabulous thing by the head of 
the Franciscans of Donegal, and other persons, by order of Pope 
Alexander the Sixth.'(Sir Richard Ware)
The mountains, and even the villages and territories in the 
neighbourhood of the lake, have all names which in Irish relate 
to sorcery of some form. Rughd-Cruach, Cruach-Brioct, Sceir-
Gearg or Gearog, the Mountain of Charms, of the Sorcerers, the 
last the Rock of Destiny, which has given the name to the lake 
Gearg, or Dearg.'<3>
The approaches of the lake are by impregnable marshes and across 
mountains where one can scarcely get a safe or sound footing. 
The description given by Mathew Paris in a Latin work written in 
the twelfth century, and which I have read at Brown Hall, seems 
to be intended for the mysteries of Eleusis or for the grotto of 
Trophonius. The extraordinary things which the Irish captain 
declares he saw, require faith at least as great as that of a 
grain of mustard to be believed. He saw the devils and the 
damned stretched on burning wheels or stewing in cauldrons of 
sulphur; he himself was roasted and boiled for some time, and 
after many trials of this kind he arrived at last in the Champs 
Elyseés,<31> where he was received by bishops and monks, who 
showed him the Gate of Paradise, complimented him on his 
courage, fed him on celestial food, and then sent him back to 
Hell, that is to say back to this world for
Ce monde, hélas, est bien un autre enfer.<32>
It will not be out of place to add that Mathew Paris explains 
that before entering into this cavern it is customary to confess 
the penitent, and make him fast, in order to prepare him for the 
surprising things he is about to see. We have an old French 
proverb which says 'A hungry belly has no ears,' and it may be 
said that the proverb is wrong, and that it is very easy to make 
a man so prepared hear and see everything that it is intended he 
should hear and see.
I come back to my travels. I came through the little town of 
Donegal, and, turning immediately westward, came to that 
singular opening in the mountains which seems to have been made 
by the wish of nature in order to allow of communication between 
one country and another; it is the only pass in the mountains 
from the sea. I saw an old castle standing alone among the wild 
hills, and my conductor told me that formerly it was the home of 
troops placed there to keep the country free from Tories, who, 
he said, were highway robbers. At last, after a fatiguing day, I 
was able to present myself to the Bishop of Raphoe, who received 
me with great kindness. The county of Donegal, which I omitted 
from my tour by coming immediately to Raphoe by the mountain 
pass I have described, is a country almost as little known as 
Connemara. It is said, however, by people who know it to be much 
better. Ireland is very populous at parts, and if a dispersion 
could be effected so that the remote corners should be filled, 
it could contain and nourish at least double its present 
population. To keep them in the country would certainly be 
better than to allow them in crowds to emigrate to America, as 
they have been doing now for a long time.
After Sligo the Catholics appear to be less numerous; the 
inhabitants in this district appear to be divided as to religion 
almost equally, being Anglican, Catholics, and Presbyterians. On 
Sunday I went with the good bishop whose hospitality I enjoyed, 
and his church was full. From his house I went to that of the 
dean, and after staying with him for a day or two, I proceeded 
to Londonderry, passing near the arm of the sea which is called 
Lough Swilly. It is a bay of very considerable size, very deep 
and very safe almost everywhere, but the country round its 
shores is rather wild, and that was the reason why the English 
company making settlements here during the reign of Queen 
Elizabeth established themselves at Derry and not here. It was 
at that time that Derry had the addition of 'London' made to its 
name.
CHAPTER XI 
Londonderry—The Giant's Causeway—Ballycastle—
Fair Head.
The approaches to Londonderry are charming, and indicate the 
wealth of a great city. The borders of the pretty river Derg<33> 
are cultivated and cared for like a garden, and dotted with 
country houses. The city itself, situated on an eminence, is 
seen from afar, and has a fine appearance, which is increased by 
the tall spire which Lord Bristol (Bishop of Derry) has had 
built by subscription.
The city enclosure, proper, is not very much, but the suburbs 
are very fine. The old walls exist and are used as an agreeable 
promenade, disfigured very little by an Arc De Triomphe which 
has only the look of a large door or gate; on the keystone is 
cut the date, 1689, in large figures, being the year in which 
this city was besieged by King James. There should, at least, be 
a stairway made to allow of communication between the two ends 
of the promenade. As these ramparts are of no present utility, 
it seems to me that if they were put out of existence and used 
as material to extend the hill platform on which the city is 
situated, it would be infinitely better for the place, and would 
allow the air to circulate in the streets. However, the 
inhabitants are jealous of attempts on their walls, and still 
recall the memorable siege the city sustained against King 
James. Certainly the walls would be of no use now in resisting 
an attack.
I went to visit the place of James' camp, as well as the 
different French posts. These latter seem to me to be cleverly 
chosen, but what astonished me was, how it was possible for the 
English frigate to force a passage in spite of the chain which 
barred the river, and the batteries which were on the banks. It 
was known that the city was almost on the point of surrendering, 
and that the English fleet had been obliged to retire to Lough 
Swilly, where it had waited nearly six weeks, without finding 
means of conveying succour to the besieged. Knowing, however, 
the extremity to which the inhabitants of the city were reduced, 
it was resolved to take the risk of forcing the passage by a 
frigate, accompanied by two or three transport vessels.
As the surrender of the place depended on the success or non-
success of the enterprise, it can be imagined what interest this 
excited for both parties. The frigate, carried by a good breeze 
and by the tide current, struck the boom with violence, and by 
the rebound was thrown so far out of the channel as to be 
stranded; but, happily, the captain, profiting by the rising 
tide, freed his ship by the expedient of firing the whole of the 
cannons on the side on which the vessel had touched ground, and 
the tide carried the ship through the boom, which had been 
broken by the first shock. When the frigate had passed through, 
the captain and crew cried 'Huzza, huzza!' (called here 'three 
cheers'), and had the misfortune in commencing the third 'huzza 
'to have his head carried off by a cannon ball.
Londonderry has not the air of an Irish town. There is there an 
activity and an industry which are not generally to be found in 
other parts of the country. The principal trade consists in 
linens, of which there is a market once or twice a week. It is 
surprising to note the speed with which the linen merchants 
examine the cloth. They stand on a sort of platform with a 
little desk before them, while the peasants carry their webs 
past and stop for just a moment. The merchant looks, and 
immediately mentions a price; if it is accepted, he marks it on 
the cloth, and the peasant goes to the office for payment. There 
is one merchant who, on every market day, buys in a single hour 
cloth to the value of three or four hundred pounds sterling.
It is very strange that, although the flax from which this linen 
is made grows in the country, they have never been able to save 
seed, and are obliged to bring it from America. The first 
manufactures of linen were established in Ireland by the 
Protestants who quitted France under the reign of Louis XIV, and 
carried their industry to another country. The exportation of 
this linen is a source of immense profit to Ireland. According 
to the researches I have been able to make into the subject of 
the exportation of linen, salted beef, and grain, it would 
appear that in the last ten years (in spite of the great number 
of absentee rich who draw away enormous sums) Ireland has 
received annually about two hundred thousand pounds sterling 
more than she has paid out of the country. If such a state of 
affairs can be continued for some time, this country will soon 
reach a pitch of prosperity which few nations can hope to 
equal.<34>
When I was at Londonderry there was there, exhibiting himself, a 
Polish dwarf who called himself Count Boralosky,<35> He may have 
been two and a half feet high. This is a most extraordinary 
little being. He speaks four or five languages, and has been 
very well brought up. His age is put down as between fifty and 
sixty years, and he has travelled much in Great Britain, where 
there are few towns which have not made his acquaintance. It is 
said that his wife, who is of ordinary stature, in a matrimonial 
quarrel, one day lifted him and set him on the mantelpiece. 
There was also in the same town a certain learned man, whose 
opposition to femininity was such that I have seen him throw his 
glass into the fire because, without his knowledge, it had been 
filled in order that he might drink to the health of the ladies.
The bishopric of Derry is one of the best of Ireland. They say 
it is worth £12,000 per annum. Oh, what a lovely thing it is to 
be an Anglican bishop or minister! These are the spoiled 
children of fortune, rich as bankers, enjoying good wine, good 
cheer, and pretty women, and all that for their benediction. God 
bless them! Oh, if I could one day wear the philibeg<36> of 
black satin—how much better than being exiled that would be! 
Lord Bristol, besides his bishopric, has a fortune of fifteen to 
twenty thousand pounds sterling per annum. He is a man of 
talent, a learned man, but of singular habits. He travels nearly 
all the time in foreign countries, and spends nearly his whole 
income in superb houses, which are of use to the country through 
the money they cost.
It is rather singular to remark how in Ireland there is so 
little ceremonious politeness in public, while there is a great 
deal of it in private houses. In the inn at which I stopped 
there was given a grand ball. When the supper was announced, it 
was not without interest for me to observe how the whole company 
ran to table, everybody hurrying for a place without regard to 
others. It happened one day that Lady ——, who was queen of the 
ball, by not hurrying enough, was left without a seat. The same 
thing happened to me on this occasion, for, while I was 
philosophically regarding the spectacle, all the places were 
filled, and it was only with some trouble that I found a seat at 
the end of a form. I do not cite this as peculiar to 
Londonderry, it is an amusing moment at the public balls in 
Ireland when supper is announced.
It was only at Londonderry that I began to observe the spirit of 
contention then reigning in this northern province. Leaving this 
pleasant town, and passing through Newton Limavady, I came to 
the house of Mr. M'Causland at Fruithill, and after a sojourn of 
a day or two there, he conducted me to the house of the Rev. Mr. 
Sampson, for whom I had a letter. This reverend gentleman is 
reputed to be a violent anti-ministerialist. Nevertheless, he is 
still esteemed by many who have political opinions differing 
from his. I found him a most agreeable and well-educated man. It 
is strange how I find it so easy to accommodate myself to 
persons whose opinions are totally different from mine, while it 
has often happened to me that I have had quarrels with people 
who were very much of my own way of thinking.
The shore began already to take on some of the character of the 
famous Giant's Causeway. The perpendicular rocks under which I 
passed are basaltic, and cover a stratum of limestone of 
singular whiteness.
The Bishop of Derry has built a superb palace in an unfrequented 
spot, or rather a place that was entirely desert before the 
erection of the building. It is with pleasure that one notices 
here a large number of houses for the peasants, built by the 
bishop at his own charge. They seem very fit and comfortable, 
and the peasants themselves, the tenants, seem to be greatly 
attached to their bishop, although they have never seen him. The 
house of Downhill is full of beautiful paintings, which Lord 
Bristol has brought with him from Italy. He has built a temple 
of fine architecture on the edge of a precipice, as if to brave 
the waves and winds. The sea furiously beats against the 
perpendicular rocks at its base, and rises at times to a height 
of 150 feet. The temple is, not without reason, dedicated to 
Æolus.
From here one can distinguish perfectly the coast of Scotland, 
and I looked at it, not without pleasure, having the intention 
to pass the winter in that country. Although my travels here, on 
the whole, have been agreeable, one tires towards the end, and I 
was now in my sixth month of a rather uncommon pilgrimage.
I was received here by the Rev. Mr. Burrowes, who is Archdeacon 
of the diocese, and it was just at this point that the public 
excitement showed itself most particularly. One of the domestics 
of the house, returning from Coleraine, reported that the house 
of one Captain O'Hara had been burned, and his family murdered, 
I thought at the time that it was an imposture of the lackey, in 
order to see what effect the news would produce on his master. 
The next day I went to Coleraine and found that nothing of the 
kind had happened. There had been a fight in the fair, in which 
blows of sticks had been received and given, but that was all.
I was received with much kindness in this town by Mr. 
Richardson, with whom I passed three or four days. The country 
women-folk at Coleraine are, on Sundays, very like the Scotch 
peasant women in the neighbourhood of Montrose. They are 
extremely well dressed, their shoulders usually covered by a red 
mantle. One can hardly believe that this is Ireland.
I walked one day along the river Bann, which flows out of Lough 
Neagh, a lake of which I shall speak later. Wishing to inform 
myself of the state of the country, I stopped Mr. Richardson's 
servant with the horse, and risked going into a cabin and 
talking with the family, as I was accustomed to do when moving 
on foot. I praised the country, and said that it was a cruel 
thing that any should say that the country people were not ready 
to defend the Constitution, &c., &c. The good folk were very 
reserved as long as I remained in the cabin, but as soon as I 
left, I was followed by a young man who had more confidence in 
me, and who commenced to retail to me the kind of trifling 
nonsense on which the people of France fed themselves before the 
Revolution. I was really surprised to hear all this talk about 
equality, fraternity, and oppression. After a little I asked him 
what was the oppression of which he complained. He named taxes 
on wine and beer, and when I asked him if he ever drank the one 
or the other, he said it was all the same; it was very hard on 
those who had to pay, with more nonsense of this kind. He spoke 
also about the reform of Parliament, and complained much of 
abuses in elections, preached of tolerance, and indulged in 
philosophical discourse, such as was heard from our foppish 
talkers before the Revolution. To tell the truth, I returned 
from my excursion with a poor opinion of the United Irishman.
It is possible that there may be really some cause for 
complaint, for where is the country which has a government free 
from abuses? But it is evident here that the murmurings of the 
peasants have been put into their heads by people of another 
feather. What difference to the peasants do plurality of votes, 
parliamentary elections, impediments of commerce, taxes on wine, 
and other goods, make? He need not trouble himself about any of 
these things, provided he is allowed peaceably to enjoy the 
fruit of his labour, and that he is assured of personal liberty. 
Save in these matters; what need he care whether it is Peter or 
James who occupies such and such a place, whether the Government 
under which he lives is republican or monarchical; he need think 
of none of these things. To make him believe that he has cause 
for complaint, he must be led to believe that his ills come from 
things which have not the smallest relation to them. Thus it has 
always been in France; thus it will be always.
The evening before my departure, Mr, Richardson asked me how I 
liked the horse which he had lent me for riding about the 
country, and on receiving my answer he said, 'The season is far 
advanced, the weather is bad, he will be a good travelling 
companion for you.' I refused the gift, but in the end he gave 
orders to a servant to take the horse to a house which I was 
going to. It is often agreeable to have a Rosinante with whom to 
speak when travelling a bad road. This is the second time that I 
had experienced such an act of goodness in my travels, the first 
offer was made to me by Mr. Peter Latouche. Then it was in the 
middle of the summer, and the dread of being indiscreet joined 
to the fear that I should not know what to do with the poor 
horse made me, at that time, absolutely refuse. Here the 
circumstances were quite different.
I paid my respects to the famous work of the Giants, and stopped 
for a moment to see an old castle belonging to the Marchioness 
of Antrim, to which alone the goats have access. The only 
passage for man is an arch one foot wide, without protection and 
over a deep precipice. I observed, along the way, several 
quarries in which the basalt is arranged in pillars of five or 
six sides like those of the Causeway. The coasts all along here 
are very high, and everywhere below the basalt there is a thick 
stratum of limestone, white as snow, and studded with flints. 
After a long circuit, I arrived at last at the famous Giant's 
Causeway. Persons who come here in the hope of seeing something 
unnatural and extraordinary are commonly disappointed, and find 
it unlike the idea they had formed of the place from 
description. The Causeway is not any more astonishing than the 
quarries through the country, where the basalt is found disposed 
in the same manner. What is most striking is the perpendicular 
rock face, four or five hundred feet high, springing from the 
bosom of the sea. The different strata of which it is composed 
are easily distinguished. Sometimes there is a reddish tufa-like 
layer, at other points it is basalt in a confused contorted 
state, sometimes ranged in regular columns, and in one place 
having really some resemblance to the pipes of an organ. The 
Giant's Causeway, as they call it, is a part of the same matter 
detached from the mountain,—at low tides one can follow it 
pretty far. The waves break against it with singular fury. Here 
it forms a species of pavement about thirty or forty feet wide, 
the ends of the straight columns forming the pavement. There is 
no space between them, although their conformation is not very 
regular; some have six, some seven, some eight, others only four 
sides, but the greatest number are pentagonal. The Causeway 
proceeds about two hundred paces by a gentle slope, finally 
disappearing under the water. The most remarkable thing about 
these pillars is that they are not of a single piece, but 
composed of detached stones, always convex at the upper end, and 
adjusting themselves perfectly to the concavity of the next 
stone above.
In the same direction, at ten or twelve leagues distance over 
the sea, on the coast of Scotland, is the island of Staffa, of 
which I have already made mention in the volume on Great 
Britain. It is composed of smaller stones and is not less 
curious.
Many people have examined this formation, and have formulated 
ingenious theories accounting for its origin. Some pretend that 
it is the product of a volcano, others that the basalt was at 
first soft, and according as it contained more or less mineral, 
its columns are more or less perfect.
I have seen, in many other places, stones of the same character. 
The city of Edinburgh is situated on a rock of like material. 
Arthur's Seat, a mountain near Edinburgh, is entirely of this 
stone; on the southern side, the basalt is even formed of 
pillars of five or six faces. Near the city there is exhibited a 
singular phenomenon: a line of basalt six or seven feet wide, 
which extends for an immense distance, and of which the end is 
really not known. It crosses stones of other species and coal, 
and it has been remarked that the coal which is found on its two 
sides has lost nearly all its quality, and resembles burnt coal. 
This observation has been the cause of many speculations, and of 
a theory which is perhaps not ill-founded. This assumes that the 
basalt is the product of remarkable convulsions, in which the 
earth has opened and vomited the basalt in a state of fusion. 
The columns which form at such places depend on the quantity of 
mineral contained in them. Examples are given of extraordinary 
effusion of basalt in the Isle of Arran at the mouth of the 
Clyde. There the principal mountain is of granite, and, in the 
middle, there is observable a line of basalt ten or twelve feet 
wide, right up to the summit. These theory-makers assert that 
this basalt in the interior of the rock at Arran and in the long 
line appearing at Edinburgh fill gigantic cracks, the result of 
some terrible earth convulsion, the basalt in a state of fusion 
rushing into openings made in the crust of the earth.
On going to the Causeway, to Mr. Moore, I saw a hill and some 
fields dotted over by a great number of peasants, or people of 
the small farmer class. I asked how they came to be there, and 
was told that they were occupied in raising the potatoes of a 
man for whom they had a friendly feeling; such action, it 
appears, is not uncommon. It is always somewhat disagreeable to 
be caught in a crowd, especially if one is a stranger, and I 
hesitated whether to advance or take another road. In the end, 
however, reflecting that I had no potatoes to unearth, and the 
people seeming to work very peaceably, I went on and passed 
through the crowd, no person taking any notice of me whatever. I 
am told that it is an old custom with the peasantry here to 
assemble at the end of the autumn and to dig up the potatoes of 
persons for whom they have any sort of affection. What caused 
some uneasiness to the Government, on this occasion, was the 
fact that the potatoes which were raised were those of persons 
who had been arrested for high treason, or of persons who were 
known to be disaffected, although, to my knowledge, they had 
shown the same favour to persons who were attached to the 
Government. Mr. Moore, for example, whose hospitality I enjoyed 
that day, found that he could not refuse to allow the favour to 
be bestowed on him without attracting ill-will.
These gatherings are conducted with the greatest order. A man, 
with nothing special to distinguish him, exacted obedience and 
directed affairs by signs with the hand or by certain calls. The 
whole time the work went on men, women, and children sang, 
accompanied by one or other kind of instrument. No one is 
allowed at such gatherings to drink any strong liquor, and this 
certainly requires a great effort in this part of the country. I 
can say with truth that the regulation is observed most 
literally, for I have never seen a single person under the 
influence of drink near these potato gatherings. I do not say 
that there were not a few in the neighbouring villages, it would 
have been a miracle had it been otherwise. For the occasion the 
peasantry had put on their best clothes; the air of gaiety and 
good-humour which showed itself among them would have made any 
spectator believe that he had arrived on a fête day. The road 
was covered with horses belonging to the farmers who assisted in 
the gathering. If a similar gathering took place in France, or 
even in England, I very much doubt if matters would proceed so 
peacefully. I believe that these gatherings, if allowed to 
continue, might have become dangerous, when the spirit of 
discontent which reigned at the time in the country is 
considered. The Government acted wisely in forbidding them some 
time afterwards, and it is to be reported in favour of the 
character of the people of this country, that they did not 
attempt to act against the wish of the authorities.
To me it is very strange to see that these Irish, with their 
mutinous dispositions, submit to rule so readily. I have already 
said, and I repeat with pleasure, that, guided by capable men 
who are actuated by motives of public welfare, there is no 
people I have known so easily led for good. These frequent 
seditions prove nothing more than the sensibility of the race, 
and if the Government would only give up at once and absolutely 
the attempt to Anglicise the Irish at any cost, and would lead 
them through their prejudices and customs, it would be possible 
to do with them anything that could be wished.
Following the coast along the summit of the hill, which is 
composed of the same materials as the Causeway, my attention was 
called to the different phenomena of the basalt, the different 
figures it takes, sometimes in the form of pillar, sometimes in 
matter confused and without order. The weather was magnificent; 
the sea beat against the foot of the rocks four or five hundred 
feet below; Scotland and the islands of the west showed on the 
horizon over a calm, blue sea. Even my horse seemed to joy in 
the beauty of the scene, approaching to the edge of the 
precipice and letting his eye range the horizon with a look of 
admiration. This need not be considered astonishing. Who has not 
read in travels and romances the affecting declarations of far 
more stupid beasts on some scene, sometimes only on the beauty 
of moonlight? I never come across these beautiful descriptions 
in books without turning over twenty or thirty pages, so as to 
come to the dawn if the author spoke of the moon, or to the 
night if he spoke of the sun.
I stopped at a little village where I saw numbers of people 
assembled, and I had the pleasure of being present at the 
baptism of an infant. In the north of Scotland in such cases 
they make the poor little creature swallow a spoonful of 
whiskey, to keep it from crying; here, for the same reason, they 
put a little butter into an eggshell, and mix it with bread and 
sugar, and the nurse on the end of her finger puts a little of 
the mixture into the infant's mouth. I do not know if this is 
the custom in any other country, but I think the result must be 
very much as if they should put into the child's throat a little 
flax tow with cider mixed through it.
After a long walk I arrived at Ballycastle, where I was received 
with much kindness by Mr. Ezekiel Boyd. On the day of my arrival 
the company in garrison in this little town left, and was 
replaced by one of a Scotch regiment. These were very well 
received by the inhabitants, who, during the night, may it 
please you, stole the whole of the ammunition and the half of 
the arms of the soldiers! Just imagine—stealing the arms and 
ammunition of soldiers. I'd rather that they would steal the 
shirts and breeches off my soldiers if they would leave them 
their arms and ammunition. All that was done here was to hale a 
few people before Mr. Boyd, who is a Justice of the Peace. They 
all swore on the Gospel, one after the other, that they had no 
knowledge whatever of the powder and guns stolen.
In one of my walks I came to Fair Head, a great cape pointing 
Scotlandwards and the extreme northerly point of Ireland. The 
rocks rise gradually from near Ballycastle, and the most 
northern portion is also the most elevated above the sea.
The singular disposition of the various strata in this mountain 
merits attention, especially at the part where the coal mine is 
worked, almost on the margin of the sea. I have marked the 
different layers as they appeared from the sea level, and 
measuring them, by look of eye only, the order and thickness 
appeared to be as I have marked down here.
Basalt: 18 feet 
Mixed coal: 3 
Tufa, reddish stone: 10 
Sulphurous coal: 3 
Tufa, grey stone: 10 
Mixed coal: 6 
Tufa, red: 8 
Mixed coal: 1 
Tufa, red: 8 
Coal, the true vein: 7 
Tufa, red stone . . .
I had the fancy to enter this coal mine, and I went through it 
to the very end; it is a little amusement which, like marriage, 
one may try once, but I shall not indulge in it again. The mine 
stretches for about half a mile underground, in a horizontal 
direction, with sufficient elevation in the line to allow of 
water flowing away. There is another mine above, and the workers 
in the two sometimes approach near enough to hear each other 
working. Possibly the two workings will join soon. The 
proprietors should consider the question of digging a 
perpendicular shoot, or well, into the mine, in order to allow 
the air in it to be renewed, for when the wind is in the west 
the vapour is carried into the interior, and makes it 
suffocating. If this shaft were made, there would be a current, 
and no inconvenience would be felt. The coal which they take 
from this mine is the best I have seen in Ireland. It is exactly 
like Scotch coal, but does not burn so quickly, and the mine 
seems inexhaustible. The Irish Parliament, sensible of the 
immense advantage which may result to the country from the work 
of this mine, has spent enormous sums in the endeavour to make a 
port out of Ballycastle, but the tide is so strong and carries 
so much sand that the port is entirely filled up, so that there 
is no water in it even at high tide.
I followed the shore from the coal mine to the point of Fair 
Head, and, climbing the rocks by a goat path, I arrived with 
much trouble at the top, where the scene which lay before me 
amply recompensed me for my pains. The Causeway is praised with 
reason, the regularity of the columns is something surprising; 
but here the pillars of basalt are nearly six hundred feet high, 
and some of them stand out separate from the body of the 
mountain, at a distance of two, three, or four feet, clear from 
top to bottom, sustained only by a few stones in the middle. At 
a little distance from the edge of the precipice there are 
crevices, and from throwing a stone down any of these, it is 
made clear that they extend to the foot of the mountain.
From place to place hollows are observable, which seem at one 
time to have served as river or torrent beds; the slope is 
always regular from the sea to two little lakes at some distance 
in the peninsula. From this I took it that formerly the cape or 
Head extended much farther out to sea, and that perhaps there 
was even a country beyond, and considerable mountains which 
supplied the water which filled these channels. This observation 
is justified by the frequent fall of these separate pillars, and 
even by the fall of portions of the principal mass. The young 
men of Ballycastle have assured me that they have ridden twelve 
or fifteen feet beyond what is now the face of the precipice. 
This agrees with my famous Connemara theory. It is so diverting 
to dream and theorise that I return to the task frequently. If I 
dare to continue, I would say that in the course of centuries 
this cape of Fair Head will entirely disappear, and the ocean 
will open for itself a wider passage into the Irish Sea.
The tidal current here is extremely rapid. It can be seen from 
the top of Fair Head, running like a torrent, sometimes from the 
ocean to the Irish Sea, and sometimes from the Irish Sea to the 
ocean. Scotland seems very near, but Fair Head does not exactly 
point to it. According to my Connemara theory, there must always 
have been a strait between the two, and afterwards an immense 
gulf extending westward to Greenland. After having conceived, 
written, and even printed all the beautiful reflections, dreams, 
and theories presented to the reader when I was speaking of 
Connemara, I had the misfortune to read in the 'Vindication of 
the Ancient History of Ireland' by General Vallencey, that 
others have amused themselves in exactly the same way, and have 
drawn conclusions almost similar to mine, among others Messrs. 
Whitehurst and Hamilton. The two are not exactly in agreement as 
to the rocks near the Giant's Causeway; they do agree in saying 
that an immense territory must have been swallowed up by the 
sea, with the volcano which supplied the basalt of which the 
pillars are made.
'Add to this,' says General Vallencey, 'the tradition of the 
ancient Irish that a great part of the Island has been swallowed 
up by the sea. The peasants believe that at times portions of 
this rise above the waters to the north-west of Ireland. The 
inhabitants of these parts give to these appearing lands the 
name of Tir Huddy, or the country of Hudd. They say that they 
contained a city, formerly possessing immense riches, and that 
the key of this city was buried under a certain altar of the 
Druids.'
The General, always thinking of his theory of Ireland peopled by 
tribes from the Levant, adds: 'This city is evidently the lost 
city of the Arabs mentioned in the preface of the Alcoran and 
visited by their false prophet Hudd.'
What is still more cruel for a theory-spinner is that, in the 
comparison which the General makes between the Japanese, the 
Peruvians, and the Irish, I have found that a certain Varinius 
said exactly what I have thought out. A certain Bertius also 
asserts that the Deluge of Deucalion has been wrongly placed in 
Thessaly, and that it belongs to the coast of Scotland, or 
Caledonia, as it should be called, because Dur in Irish means 
water, and Deucalion is a corruption of Dur Caledonia—the Deluge 
of Caledonia
It is such a terrible thing to find one's pet theories 
appropriated in this way that I have determined never more to 
make any, or, at any rate, never again to read the books of 
those who have made theories like mine. It is some satisfaction, 
however, to find that the opinions of these gentlemen give 
weight to the theories of my invention.
CHAPTER XII 
Lough Neagh—Belfast—Donaghadee
The coast nearly everywhere is of the same boldness from Fair 
Head to Cushendun, ten or eleven miles further to the east. The 
strait here between Scotland and Ireland resembles a large 
river, and, in fact, the distance between the two countries is 
not more than eleven Irish miles or fourteen English. It happens 
often, in calm weather, that open boats can cross from one side 
to the other.
It would seem to be quite easy to establish a regular packet 
between Campbeltown, in the Mull of Kantyre, and Cushendun, or 
if not regular, at any rate when wind and bad weather do not 
allow of the crossings to Holyhead, or even to Portpatrick. The 
different sects are separated in districts in the Province of 
Ulster. The inhabitants of Cushendun, as well as those of the 
country in the neighbourhood, are Catholics, and they have this 
peculiarity, that they do not speak English as do the 
inhabitants in other parts of the province, who for the most 
part would not understand Irish. From here to Glenarm the coast 
is followed by a road of difficult construction between the 
rocks and the sea. The coast is always high, and often presents 
the most extraordinary appearance. The rock is nearly always 
crowned by basalt, but the Causeway pillar formation is no 
longer found. The limestone which is beneath the basalt is not 
so white, being rather grey near Glenarm, a village which has 
nothing remarkable about it except the castle of the Marquis of 
Antrim, Quitting the coast, I had to cross the mountains to get 
to the interior, and I stopped at Broughshane, where most of the 
inhabitants are Presbyterians, One could hardly imagine that he 
is among the same people. The way of speaking, and even of 
dressing, is much more Scotch than Irish. Making a vigorous 
spurt, I reached the borders of Lough Neagh, or rather, I should 
say, Sea Neagh, and was received, with a kindness and politeness 
truly remarkable, at Shane's Castle by Lord O'Neill.
Lough Neagh is an immense sheet of water—they say forty to 
forty-five miles long by fifteen to twenty wide. It would appear 
that this lake did not always exist. It has very little depth, 
and at many places trees are found with their roots still in the 
bottom. Its greatest depth, at one place only, is seventy feet; 
at no other place does it exceed forty-two, and, commonly, it is 
not more than six to twelve feet deep. At certain parts its 
waters seem to have a mineral quality, as in the neighbouring 
soil numerous pieces of petrified wood have been found. On one 
of the days I went to the point where the river Bann leaves the 
lake, in order to see for myself what sort of obstruction had 
caused the formation of this inland sea. This cause I found to 
be, principally, the bed of the river; it is much too narrow for 
such a mass of water, and the river makes a curve of about two 
miles (although in a direct line the distance is not more than 
half a mile) before throwing itself into another lake, five or 
six miles long by two or three wide, and called Lough Beg. At 
the point of departure from this lake, there is a pretty 
considerable waterfall. If an effort were made to drain a large 
part of Lough Neagh, and render the river Bann navigable to the 
sea, the first thing to do would be to cut a deep canal in the 
direct line from Lough Neagh to Lough Beg, taking care to 
commence above the sand bar which wind and the current have 
caused to form at the spot where the river begins. This alone 
would diminish the volume of the water by five or six feet, and 
afterwards when the land drained had time to consolidate, and if 
it were found to be good for cultivation, and the vapour did not 
prove unhealthy,<37> the waterfall at Lough Beg could be 
attacked, and communicating canals could be made at other parts 
of the river where there are rocky obstructions. The sea is 
about thirty miles off, and there are not more than seventy feet 
of fall in all that great length, and the river, except at the 
rocky portions, hardly seems to flow. Through some of these 
obstructions, it seems to me quite feasible to cut passages for 
boats—a lock at each place would do all that is wanted—and then 
there would be communication by water between the principal 
towns of the North of Ireland, for Belfast has a canal to Lough 
Neagh, and there is another which goes to Newry.
The Bishop of Derry has built a magnificent palace on the other 
side of Lough Beg. The architecture is rather singular for a 
country house. It seems to be modelled on that of the Pantheon 
at Rome. Ballyscullion is absolutely circular, and light comes 
only from the roof. The edifice indeed has the air of a public 
building rather than that of a country house. The apartments of 
the interior are very richly furnished, and decorated by a great 
number of valuable paintings and pieces of sculpture. I am told 
that this house has cost Lord Bristol nearly eighty thousand 
pounds sterling. His Lordship has a mania for building superb 
palaces in Ireland and England, while he lives in ugly rat-holes 
on the Continent.
The spirit of the people was here in such a state of 
fermentation that it could easily have become dangerous in the 
absence of precautions. However, I am satisfied that there was 
not so much danger as some people pretended, although, 
certainly, there were some assassinations and other crimes, the 
authors of which cannot be traced. It would, however, be an 
injustice to accuse the entire mass of people for these crimes 
of a few individuals, and the greater part of them appear to 
have been committed through fear of being denounced by the 
persons who suffered. I have seen suspected persons arrested 
without the least difficulty and taken to prison, crossing, on 
the way, a market filled with country people, not one of whom 
showed any disposition to interfere. I saw here examples of 
excesses, but they are to be characterised as ridiculous rather 
than criminal. The curate of the parish had been a Catholic, and 
had been employed as chaplain in France and in Ireland. Seeing 
himself abandoned by his patrons, he renounced what are called 
the abominations of the Babylonish Woman, and immediately 
obtained a pension of £40 sterling per annum and the first 
vacant curacy.
The peasants, who always judge actions and their motives in a 
matter-of-fact, common-sense way, left him in peace, and 
contented themselves by staying away from his church. But he, 
wishing to show himself at this time ardently in favour of the 
Government and taking its side openly, they took a dislike to 
him, and hardly allowed a day to pass without showing him some 
insult or impertinence. They cut the tail, the horns, and the 
ears off his cow, and nailed them to his door. The poor beast, 
being no longer able to show itself respectably in public, he 
bought another, and four days after, it suffered from the same 
operation, and so a third. In the end, however, he thought it 
better to keep this last as it was, and when it was allowed out 
in a field, the people sent dogs after it. The curate 
complaining and protesting, they broke his windows and stopped 
his chimney.
The town of Antrim, capital of this county, is a poor little 
market-town without any appearance of trade or industry. Some 
distance off there is a round tower, which, according to the 
country folk, was at one time in the centre of the town. At 
present it is at least a mile from that centre, in the park of a 
country house. To go from here to Belfast, it is necessary to 
cross the mountains, which follow the coast round nearly the 
whole of Ireland.
I had heard so much about the troubles, the assassinations, and 
the conspiracies of which Belfast was the centre, that I felt 
considerable reluctance to proceed there. I was, however, 
agreeably surprised to find the town in perfect peace and 
quietness. Thus wags the world: if a storyteller, in going along 
the street, knows that there is in a building some six or seven 
hundred persons, and passing beneath the windows hears some 
noisy talk, he will say, and naturally, that there were seven 
hundred persons there making a frightful noise, while really the 
noise perhaps proceeded only from four or five excited persons, 
although it is put to the debit of the 695 quiet people. So it 
was at Belfast, the inhabitants seemed perfectly calm, and even 
less occupied by thought of politics than was the case in many 
other parts of the country.
Belfast has almost entirely the look of a Scotch town, and the 
character of the inhabitants has considerable resemblance to 
that of the people of Glasgow. If you start a conversation with 
them about the Emperor or General Clairfaix, they will possibly 
talk about the prices of sugar or linen, according as they are 
trading in one or other, or may remark that if peace is not made 
promptly they do not know how they are going to get rid of their 
muslin or how they are to buy wine. I do not say that they are 
wrong. I wish for peace, but, at the same time, care must be 
taken not to excite civil war in the country in order to have 
peace abroad. In any case, like marrying, the making of peace is 
not a thing to be done by one party; the other party must 
consent.
One day I went to Carrickfergus to see the castle that Thurot 
surprised during the late war. It is situated on a rock near the 
mouth of the bay of the same name. The French, to the number of 
3000, arrived in two vessels, and within an hour or two took the 
castle by assault. If the commandant had known to profit by the 
terror which his expedition caused in the country, he certainly 
would have put Belfast under contribution. But he had with him 
an officer of genius, his superior, who was not willing to 
hazard the attempt until he had further support. His delay gave 
time for troops to arrive, and he was obliged to re-embark. At 
some distance by sea, he met the English vessels and fought 
them; the two French frigates were taken, and he himself was 
killed in the fight. The prison of the county is situated at 
Carrickfergus. It was at the time of my visit full of State 
prisoners, arrested on charges of murders which had been 
committed in the neighbourhood of Belfast. I remarked with 
pleasure that the town seemed perfectly peaceful, and that 
justice was allowed to have her way; further, that there was 
only a single sentinel at the prison gate.
It is said that it was near this town that the first King of 
Scotland was drowned in returning to Ireland.
Belfast is a rather pretty town, and trade in it seems to be 
very flourishing. Its principal industry is the manufacture of 
textiles; the Linen Hall is a building of considerable size. I 
have already mentioned that it is to the French refugees under 
Louis XIV that Ireland owes these establishments. More than once 
the ills of France have been the benefits of her neighbours.
In a terrible frost, which made me think that it was time to 
finish my travels, I returned to the house of Mr. Birch near 
Comber. The proprietors in this neighbourhood were this day 
assembled in order to take measures for the surety of the 
country, in case of riot. The peasantry had stolen the arms of a 
party of cavalry a few days earlier. I cannot, for the life of 
me, understand how troops can allow their arms to be stolen. 
Perhaps it was here due to great confidence in the people round 
them. The thing might happen once—but twice—but thrice—!!!
All this country is made up of little hills of nearly equal 
height, and these continue on to Lough Strangford, which is 
nothing more than an arm of the sea, very wide, but with very 
little depth. The little town of Newtownards at the end of the 
lough is fairly well built, but it must suffer from the damp 
rising from this arm of the sea at low tide, when much of it is 
almost entirely dry. I may be reproached with having introduced 
this subject of drainage and drying lands too often, but 
certainly there is no country has such need for it. I shall 
repeat here what I have already said twenty times, and that is, 
that it is a shame to allow all these lakes and arms of the sea 
to exist, when the ground below them could be turned so 
advantageously to account. Nothing will better indicate the 
quantity of good land, which might be taken here from the sea, 
than the statement which I can make, that at four or five miles 
distant from the town it is customary, at low tide, to cross the 
bay on horseback, and even on foot. Although on this great space 
there may be certain stony places, by far the greater part of it 
is made up of a mixture of loam, sand, and shells.
I was received at Mount Stewart with much kindness by Lord and 
Lady Londonderry. My Lady is sister to the Viceroy of Ireland. 
She lives here a very retired life in the bosom of her amiable 
family, to the education of which she devotes the whole of her 
time. Lord Londonderry and his son were at this time raising a 
corps of volunteers and administering the oath of allegiance to 
peasants who presented themselves, Man is a sheep everywhere; 
they had much trouble in getting the first ten or twelve to 
join, and in the days following, seven or eight hundred came 
forward. The peasantry in this district seemed to be comfortably 
situated and are well clad. Not far away are the ruins of 
Greyabbey; the minister's house, which looks like a fine castle, 
is in the enclosure. I saw a spring which had some resemblance 
to the holy wells of the west, and I asked if it were customary 
for the peasantry to come here for devotions; but here the 
inhabitants are for the most part Presbyterians. They told me 
that the common belief is that any person drinking the water of 
this spring will never leave Ireland. As it was my intention to 
leave in a couple of days, I took care not to take it. Going 
back to Donaghadee, I was received by the postmaster, Mr. Smith, 
whose assistance in arranging my passage was very valuable. The 
number of cattle taken from here to Scotland is something 
inconceivable, and the farmers are obliged to submit to the 
impudent impositions of the owners of the boats which take the 
cattle. They ask as much as twenty guineas for a crossing, and 
as they hold the farmer in the hollow of their hands, he is 
obliged to pay what they ask, and this means that the cost of 
transport for horned cattle is as much as one guinea per beast. 
It seems to me that the country authorities ought to establish a 
regular tariff as is done at many places. Here the distance is 
scarcely twenty miles.<38>
In two hours and a half I was carried to the opposite side of 
the water, saluted anew the coast of Scotland, and counted 
myself happy that I had at last arrived at a place where I could 
rest in peace.
I had left Dublin on May 25, and I landed at Portpatrick on 
December 21, so I had spent more than six months on this walk, 
travelling without provisions, without cares, and without any 
baggage beyond what my pockets were able to contain.
My time, I must say, had been well employed; I had never spent 
time, indeed, with greater pleasure; my ideas had been enlarged; 
I had made the acquaintance of an interesting people too little 
known of their neighbours, and, unfortunately, too often the 
prey of avidity and caprice, leagued together during centuries 
for their vilification.
The surprising advance which this country has made during the 
last fifteen years leaves no doubt of the certainty of the 
prosperity which awaits it if the system of moderation lately 
adopted should be continued. Far be it from me to encourage any 
idea of revolt. The moderation of which I speak is that which 
every wise Government should exhibit in dealing with its 
faithful subjects, no matter what their religion may be. Too 
long these fatal quarrels have torn the bosom of Ireland. The 
cares of Government now are doubtless employed to extinguish 
them entirely. A happy experience will prove to England that the 
prosperity of this beautiful kingdom, far from being hurtful to 
her, will increase her own, and that in destroying the 
ridiculous prejudices which have been for ages existing against 
the most beautiful and richest part of her possessions, and in 
really making Ireland share the advantages of the beneficent 
laws by which she is, herself, governed, she will acquire the 
love of 4,000,000 of subjects, which her armies have conquered, 
but which justice alone will bring to submission.
CHAPTER XIII 
A Short Visit to Scotland—Edinburgh
The Scotch accent appeared very strange to me although I had 
been accustomed to it during my previous sojourn, but while 
their tongue may be uncouth, it must not be denied that the 
cleanliness and air of industry apparent everywhere are 
extremely creditable to the inhabitants who use it. I travelled 
through Stranraer, and following my way along the coast I had 
soon from the heights a magnificent view of the sea which 
separates Ireland from Scotland, and of the passage which opens 
to the ocean between Fair Head and the Mull of Kintyre. It 
seemed to me almost, that I could distinguish the surprising 
column of Fair Head, and in spite of the hard frost, and that 
was obliged to conduct my horse by the bridle on account of 
slippery roads, I took a singular pleasure in the outlook. 
Doubtless there are many folk who in a similar case, would think 
only of the pleasure of being opposite a good fire.
I crossed the pretty town of Ayr, paying toll at every step, and 
when I asked a passer-by for directioin to the house of Mr. Reid 
at Adamton, I was told 'Tak the corner o' the hoose when ye'll 
be to th'end o' the toon, and ye'll gang stracht for it.' An 
Englishman hearing such a jargon would imagine that he heard 
Greek, but having spent two years in Scotland I understood 
perfectly well what it meant.
An Englishman who had lived long in Scotland pretended to know 
the language perfectly. A young and pretty girl for whom he had 
an attachment, having bet that she could say to him something 
that he could not understand, said, 'Ye're a canty callant, will 
ye pree mee mou.'<39> He could not make any meaning out of it, 
and when it was explained to him, he had the double sorrow of 
losing his bet and the happy occasion. But when I come to think 
of it, neither English nor Irish will understand the phrase, and 
I am not going to take the trouble to explain it. But if they 
wish to know its sense, let them say to the first Scotch girl 
they meet, 'Bonny lassie, pree mee mou.' If she is pretty they 
will have something to laugh at, and if she is not, they will 
remember it at another time.
On the way to Glasgow the frost was so violent that, they say, 
it split rocks. I ought not, therefore, to be astonished that it 
split my riding-breeches so badly that, notwithstanding the 
handkerchiefs and hay I used, I was nearly frozen. Passing the 
night at Cathcart with the Rev. Mr. Dour, I came to Glasgow, 
where I had already been in my Scotch journey. I admired its 
beauty as much or even more than at the time of my first visit, 
and saw again with pleasure the people who had welcomed me then, 
among others, the family of Mr. Oswald, to whom I paid a visit 
at Scotstown. It is but just to acknowledge that, failing the 
kindness which he and his family showed to me, the cold 
passivity of other people in Edinburgh to whom I was introduced 
would have left me without means to carry out my project. I had 
anew on this occasion a proof of this friendship, for, the frost 
continuing, I had the shoes of my poor companion in the journey 
sharped, and the smith in the operation lamed the poor beast 
badly. Not knowing what to do, and the expense of keeping it at 
the inn being very considerable, I thought of ridding myself of 
him by simply leaving him behind. I spoke about the matter to 
Mr. Alexander Oswald, who came to see the horse, and having 
examined it, he asked me what it was worth. I said to him that, 
wounded as it was, it was worth nothing. 'In the situation in 
which it is,' said he, 'would twelve guineas suit you?' 'They 
would suit me perfectly well,' I answered, and the bargain was 
made. This frank and generous way of acting, made me wish that 
my poor beast should become in his hands a courser of Araby.
I think I really feel more pleasure in acknowledging a benefit 
than in reproving an impertinence. I may be found sometimes 
biting, but I shall never be found ungrateful.
Being at Scotstown, I crossed the river on the ice, although it 
was entirely concealed under water, and went to see the 
manufactories at Paisley. They are truly surprising in their 
immensity. The machines, alone, in the manufactory which I 
visited, had cost more than twenty thousand pounds sterling. It 
must take a devilish lot of muslin and ties and petticoats to 
make this pay, and yet this is nothing compared with what I saw 
at Lanark, of which I shall speak later.
I quitted Glasgow, alone, and contrary to usual custom I took a 
place in the coach which travels to Falkirk; the rest of the way 
I accomplished on foot, crossing the Forth in spite of the ice 
at Alloa. Here I had the pleasure of finding myself again in a 
country where I had received hospitality, and happily it was 
again forthcoming from Mr. Bruce of Kennet and Major Mayne, with 
whom I had lived a long time. Leaving there, and following the 
line of the Forth near the iron mines, or rather iron earth, for 
at certain places the whole soil seems to be iron ore, I crossed 
the river at Queensferry, and arrived, at last, at Edinburgh.
It was the same town, the same buildings, the same places, but 
manners had changed very much since my departure. Everybody was 
armed; the doctors, the barristers, the attorneys, even the 
ministers of the Gospel, and professors of colleges were 
exercising and sweating in the uniforms of grenadiers.<40> I do 
not say that this was anything but very honourable on their 
part. All I have to say is, that it made a great difference in 
society.
All the street porters, the chairmen, the lackeys, and artisans 
of every description had been forced to carry arms, and the sum 
of two shillings per week was paid to them by way of 
compensation for time lost in going through exercises.
This singular energy certainly did honour to Great Britain, but 
remembering what has been said to me so often when I first set 
foot on English shores, I cannot see the necessity for it. I had 
been told then that one Englishman was always as good as three 
Frenchmen, and in the north it was held that one Scotchman was 
as good as three Englishmen.
It is very strange, when one comes to think of it, to find the 
menace of invasion renewed in every war with France, and always 
with the same success. These menaces do not lay any burden on 
the Government, beyond the maintenance in the Channel of twenty 
vessels of war which perhaps could be employed elsewhere; but, 
after all, they make access to the purses much more easy through 
the terror which they inspire. 'The secret of Government,' said 
Cardinal de Rets, 'is to govern by terrors of which the governed 
make themselves the instruments.' This secret is known in Great 
Britain.
The spirit which reigned among the inhabitants of Edinburgh at 
the time of the formation of the volunteer forces was very like 
that which influenced our people at the time of the formation of 
the National Militia, although in a different way. Some people 
suggested to me that I should be enrolled among the volunteers. 
It was vain for me to say that when I came to England or 
Scotland it was in order to submit myself to a policing force, 
and not to become a member of it;—to be protected myself, and 
not to protect. These reasons seem to me very good, but they 
were not accepted. I was pressed to take sides, and was 
seriously reproached for abominable conduct in eating, without 
remorse or prick of conscience, a good dinner with the partisans 
of the Opposition, with as much appetite as if the hosts 
belonged to the Ministerial side.
Unless one has been in Great Britain at a stormy time, it is 
impossible to conceive of the animosity between parties, and the 
bitterness with which they defend their two patrons;—the one 
side has done all the wrong, the other alone can repair it. If 
the king himself should make choice of one or other of these two 
precious mortals, I should not be very much astonished to see 
the two parties unite against him, and perhaps there might 
follow a revolution if the new Premier should not be able to get 
a majority.
It is not for the principles of a Minister that the people 
plague themselves. It is simply a matter of persons, the reason 
being that one has received a favour or hopes to receive one. 
There are, of course, people who without any thought of self-
interest take sides violently, but these are rare. 'He is the 
greatest man that ever was at the head of the nation,' say one 
set, while the people on the other side cry 'Oh, the monster, 
the rascal, he has dragged the nation to the brink of ruin—we 
are lost. There is only one thing that can save us, and that is 
to hang Mr. Dupuits, and put Mr. Renard in his place.'
During the course of the winter the Anti-ministerialists at 
Edinburgh and over Great Britain made a humble petition to the 
king to dismiss his 'weak and wicked ministers.' Signatures were 
received to these documents at every public -house, and in order 
to encourage the people to add their names, I am told that a 
glass of wine was given to everyone who signed. It is said that 
some people signed so many times on the same day that they were 
drunk in the evening. The partisans of the Opposition on this 
occasion only did what others had taught them, for when the 
corps of volunteers was being formed from the lower classes, a 
great hogshead of porter was drawn through the town, and some of 
its contents was given to everyone who presented himself as a 
defender of his country.
There was here a great cry of misery, nevertheless there were 
seven or eight balls daily; comedy, concert, circus, panorama, 
wild beast show, all were filled. A certain Italian who knew how 
to attract the help of people in high station drew crowds to 
what he called his 'Literary Exhibitions,' at which he read, 
with a Milanese accent, the tragedies of Corneille and the 
comedies of Molière. This country is really the Promised Land 
for charlatans. This one made use of a little Italian 
compliment, changing the name of the country to the one in which 
he happened to find himself. Here it is: 'Foolish lovers, why do 
you go to Paphos; Venus is no longer there, she has fixed her 
dwelling among the charming women of Scotland.' My word! Reading 
this, I was charmed and thought how happy I should be at 
Edinburgh to have the chance of meeting the beautiful goddess. 
In the middle of these diversions there was a movement to send 
missionaries to the Indies, to preach the Gospel to the Gentoos, 
Arabs, and Chinese. There was a subscription even got up for 
this purpose.
The circus where Astley exhibited his wonders of horses was 
changed to a church on Sunday, and I have seen in it nearly two 
thousand persons, the stalls (although they smelt of the 
stables) being filled by the fashionable folk, and the minister 
preached from the prompter's perch. How everything passes, 
everything changes! Twenty years ago, the people of Edinburgh 
demolished and burnt the theatre, as the work of the devil, and 
now they go there for the Lord's Supper. Another twenty years 
and perhaps they will be playing comedy in the churches.
Several sects have been formed, even since my first visit, among 
others one (the name of which I have forgotten), disdaining the 
sombre carriage of Presbyterianism, pretends that God is only to 
be honoured by gaiety. This sect sings the Psalms in the gayest 
manner, and, for Anthem, laughs most seriously.
People who had not taken orders were often to be found preaching 
in public. Sailors in the pulpit dealt warningly with the fire 
of Hell, and I myself have seen—oh, strange thing!—an attorney 
discourse to his clients on the precepts of the Gospel.
I am much astonished that ministers do not discourage such work, 
seeing that it will take the bread from their mouths, if the 
people should come to understand that without their aid they can 
enjoy a sermon of six or seven hours, and for nothing. With this 
understanding will come an end to benefices—in Scotland at any 
rate, where it is the people who pay.
Sunday was still observed with the same regularity; that is to 
say, the ladies spent it at church, and the men over their 
bottle. I knew one minister who shaved on Saturday, because 
shaving is labour, and labour should not be undertaken on the 
Sabbath. Happily he did not class the putting-on of one's 
trousers as labour. It is not so long since there was a law 
which prevented barbers from exercising their profession on this 
day. However, nobody says anything about stopping the work of 
the chair-porters, the cab-drivers, nor the cooks.
I have heard that some twenty years ago, an enthusiastic 
minister made a journey to Rome with the laudable intention of 
converting the Pope to Protestantism. When, at a certain moment, 
the Pope lifted his blessed fingers, and the audience bowed to 
receive the benediction, he, instead of abasing himself, cried 
out with anger, 'Abomination of abominations! Behold the 
Babylonish woman about to accomplish her work of iniquity!' 
Everybody was confounded, and the man was arrested. The Pope, 
knowing that he was a subject of Great Britain (for which 
country, although it condemns him and his work, he has always a 
paternal tenderness), had him brought before him, and questioned 
him. The minister avowed his intention naively and commenced to 
preach. After the Pope had listened to him very patiently, he 
said: 'My dear son, what would you think of me, and how do you 
think I would be received, if I went to Scotland, and shouted 
suddenly in the middle of your preaching, that you and your 
people were heretics doomed to everlasting burning? Moderate 
your zeal, go back to your own country, do the best you can for 
the flock over which you are set, and which you have left for 
the moment without a shepherd. I have given orders that you 
shall not want for anything on the way.' Leaving the audience, 
the good minister found a person waiting for him, who conducted 
him to Ostia, handed him some money and saw him embark on a 
vessel for Edinburgh.
I have seen the King's birthday celebrated in this city with 
remarkable solemnity. The Lord Provost (Mayor of the City) and 
the other magistrates invited the Judges of the Court of 
Session, the Officers of the different Corps, and many other 
persons to solemnise the day of the King's birth in the Grand 
Hall of the Parliament House. There were four or five tables, 
one of them among others large enough to allow nearly two 
hundred persons to stand round it. All were covered with dried 
fruits, bon-bons, and, especially, with bottles. The Lord 
Provost, at the head of the table, in the costume of office 
(which, parenthetically, I may remark is very like that of 
Nantes), cried with a loud voice, 'Gentlemen, fill your 
glasses.' The request had not to be repeated, and he then said, 
'The King,' which words everyone repeated, and then drank. The 
Lord Provost did not allow much time to pass before he said 
again, 'Gentlemen, fill your glasses,' giving another toast, and 
this went on for three full hours. I should add that, although 
everyone present had at the end nearly three bottles, I do not 
remember to have seen a single person drunk, nor even tipsy, 
which goes to prove that the Scotch heads require a great deal 
to upset them.
I had not noticed on my previous visit a courtesy intended as a 
compliment to the Royal Family, and to celebrate the Union of 
the two Kingdoms. It consists in the nomenclature of the five 
parallel streets in the new town. The southern one has been 
called 'Princes Street 'in honour of the Prince of Wales; that 
to the north, 'Queen Street' in honour of the Queen; one of the 
two smaller near that of Queen Street is named 'Thistle Street,' 
because the thistle is an ancient device of Scotland. The other 
near Princes Street is 'Rose Street,' because white and red 
roses are heraldic devices of England (I may say that there are 
few streets smell less of roses). To that of the middle, between 
England and Scotland, they have given the King's name—George 
Street, which street, at the end, touches on the place called 
after the Queen—Charlotte Square, and at the other end touches 
on one called after the Patron Saint of Scotland—Saint Andrew 
Square.
Behind this fine quarter, and as if out of the way, they have 
hid poor James—James Square—which is not to be reached until 
after one has made the grand tour over a hill, and a rapid 
descent down the side, next the sea. It will be seen that the 
folk who planned this out were very ingenious.
I went to see an establishment which cannot be too highly 
praised. It is an institution for the maintenance of the blind, 
who by their labour are able to pay nearly the whole of the 
expenses. There are also charitable establishments which supply 
work at one shilling per day to poor people and old men. There 
are always one hundred or more employed here in breaking stones 
and preparing them for the roads. A great store of these has 
been accumulated, but they find means to employ all who present 
themselves, and the poor folk are able to live. The greatest 
security reigns in this city at all hours, although there are 
very few watchmen;—it is due to the good disposition of the 
inhabitants that more are not needed.
I do not remember to have heard of any theft during the whole of 
the time I was in Scotland, and although I have permitted myself 
sometimes to make certain little jokes—for which I hope no one 
will censure me too much—Edinburgh is certainly the best-
informed and most agreeable place of habitation in the whole of 
Great Britain. It can show at present something rather 
remarkable. The Professors of the College are not only very 
learned, they are, also, nearly all celebrated for their 
works.<41> The greater number of famous authors who have 
appeared in Great Britain during the last century were Scotch. 
It suffices to mention the names of Hume, Robertson, Fielding, 
and Smollett. I have often thought that the most generally well-
informed and at the same time most sociable class is that of the 
lawyers of Edinburgh. A stranger who would desire to know the 
best of the inhabitants of the three kingdoms should try to 
become acquainted with the rich merchants of London, the lawyers 
of Edinburgh, and, in their country houses, the landlords of 
Ireland.
I should be ungrateful if I allowed this occasion to pass 
without offering my thanks to the amiable family of Mr. Clerk of 
Eldin, to Baron Gordon, Lord Ankerville, Sir Henry Moncrieff, 
the Lord Provost, Mr. Elder, and other esteemed persons who 
treated me with so much kindness, helping me in all the little 
troubles and bothers which attended the printing and publication 
of my first volume.<42>
Having then rested as long as my business required, I started 
one fine morning with the intention of returning to Ireland, 
there to finish my travels and fulfil the engagements I had 
entered into with the persons who had received me, by publishing 
the reflections which my journey had occasioned, and the details 
of matters I had observed.
According to my usual custom on leaving or returning to 
Scotland, I went to pay my respects to the persons who received 
me on my first arrival. I took, therefore, a place in the 
Stirling coach, and seeing a young and fairly well-clothed man 
disappointed of a place on the imperial, without saying a word I 
took him by the hand and made him sit down in my place on the 
coach, while I took his place, to the great astonishment of my 
travelling companions, who were astonished that anyone could be 
so polite. However my action in the end touched them, and one of 
them at the first change of horses offered to take my place, for 
there is really good material in these folks, and you only need 
to get at it to make them do what is right. The coach stopped at 
Linlithgow, a little town prettily situated on a lake. After the 
battle of Falkirk, the Royalists were so terrified that, without 
stopping, some of them ran to Edinburgh, others passed the night 
in this town, and by misadventure set fire to the Royal Palace, 
the walls of which are still standing. In the middle of the 
street there is a fountain with this inscription below the 
figure of an angel—'St. Michael kind to strangers.' It is really 
very kind, although the beverage which it offers to a traveller 
is not much used in this country. The offer is at any rate 
generous, and it is offered to all comers for nothing, which is 
an act rare enough in all countries, and not very common in 
Scotland.
Falkirk was what it was when I had passed before, a rather ugly 
hole, and the Carron works always smoking. I saw again with 
pleasure the persons who had been kind to me in Stirling. There 
was competition as to who should take me to church, but I gave 
the preference to the Established religion, and I had the 
pleasure (?) of hearing in the society of the faithful a sermon 
three hours long.
It was a great pleasure to me to see again the places I had 
frequented two years before. I found an inscription upon the 
door of the hospital at Stirling which had escaped me on my 
earlier visit, and I think it merits quotation here. Three or 
four hundred years ago a certain tailor having, by his industry, 
amassed a considerable fortune, left part of it to the hospital, 
and this legacy is the reason for the existence of the 
inscription I have mentioned. Round a pair of scissors, cut on 
white marble, there are these remarkable words—
Remember, you reader. 
That the scissors of this honest man 
Do more honour to human nature 
Than the sword of the conqueror.
The view from the castle here to me is beautiful as ever. I made 
a little excursion to the summit of Craigforth, and remarked 
with much pleasure that the great works on the Blair Drummond 
Moss were proceeding, and promised the entire uncovering of this 
immense area. Passing the Abbey boat I heard, with pleasure, a 
discussion among the boatmen on the mutiny in the navy, which 
was then at its worst, and it was said that the sailors had hung 
their Admiral. 'Weel, mon,' said one, 'I'se warrand ye mony a 
ane'll swing for this.'
'But, dear mon,' said another, 'it's no' that they want, they're 
only seekin' bread and drink.' 'Weel a weel, Jock will gie them 
that,' replied the first speaker.
As a matter of fact this 'Jock'<43> had really the last word in 
the matter, as he must have in any Government that is absolutely 
determined to maintain established order. Revolutions never come 
unless the Government believes itself to be stronger than it 
really is, and is glad to profit by the effervescence of the 
populace to overturn its opponents. At this moment the example 
of France was too recent for the Government to draw any 
conclusions from it, and the chiefs of the insurrection were 
hung. If the Government had been weak enough to Machiaveliser 
with them, as did the French Government, they would have been 
treated exactly as the latter has been treated.
I went to see my old host. Major Mayne, with whom I had passed a 
time of peace, and during the few days of my sojourn I travelled 
the country round about. It is always a great pleasure to one to 
revisit the places where he has already spent some time, it is a 
sort of gratitude or homage which should be rendered to Nature.
The adjacent mountains are full of veins of copper. There is, 
however, only one mine open, and that has been working but a 
short time. A short distance from the Devil's Bridge, there was 
found here in the time of Charles II a mass of silver, which 
produced, I am told, more than fifty thousand pounds sterling, 
but it was what the mineralogists call a nest of silver—there 
was no vein.
This part of the country is cultivated to great perfection. In 
order to encourage emulation among the labourers, the 
proprietors organise, annually, a ploughing match; that is to 
say, they choose a field and turn into it all the ploughmen of 
the neighbourhood with their ploughs, these and the horses being 
decorated. The men and ploughs are ranged in line and are 
started together—he whose furrow is the best and straightest, in 
the judgment of the other ploughmen and the owners, receives a 
prize of some value, a profusion of compliments, and is sure 
never to want a place. One can easily understand the emulation 
which this ceremony or practice encourages among the ploughmen 
of the country, and of the good effects it must produce. 
Certainly, I have never seen better cultivated or more fertile 
fields.
During the troubles of the invasion of Prince Charles in 1745, a 
lady of the country, according to the story told me, used a 
singular method to prevent her husband from taking any part in 
the operations. The husband was a partisan of the house of 
Stuart, and had announced his intention to join, next day, the 
last Prince of that House appearing in Great Britain. After 
having exhausted her rhetoric in the effort to dissuade him, his 
wife begged him, as a special favour, that he would breakfast 
with her before setting out, a favour which the husband could 
not well refuse. Next morning he was booted, spurred, and ready 
to start, his horse already at the gate. The good lady, under 
the pretext of making the tea, took the boiling kettle from the 
fire, and by a sudden movement overturned it in one of his 
riding boots. These, at that time, were made with a wide leather 
expansion above the knee. The anger of the man and the pain 
caused by the burning can easily be imagined. 'Kill me if you 
will,' said the woman, 'this was the only way to save you from 
the rage of one or other of the parties. Neither of them can 
complain that you have not appeared, since for a long time you 
will not be able to budge.' There are a good many people who 
would not have been sorry to have been scalded in this fashion.
Shocks of earthquake accompanied by subterranean noises occurred 
regularly near the Roman camp of Ardoch; I have described them 
on page 232 of my 'Promenade dans la Grande Bretagne.' This 
phenomenon should attract the attention of the learned of the 
country, and they should endeavour to discover the cause of it. 
I myself have felt the shocks in the mountains in the 
neighbourhood; the water of the lakes is sometimes visibly 
agitated, and it has often happened that it has fallen or risen 
several feet at such times. I have often wished for the country 
that a brave volcano would break out in the middle of these 
desert mountains; it would attract the curious from all parts of 
the earth.
The inhabitants of the mountains are reputed to be subject to a 
malady, which is politely called 'Scotch Fiddle.' One of their 
kings, who seemed to have known something of the malady, 
asserted that the rubbing of one's back against a stone was an 
enjoyment too great for a simple subject. I should say that I 
have not seen more of this instrument of music in Scotland than 
elsewhere; and, in spite of the long time I have spent in that 
country, I left without learning to play.
It is hardly forty years since tea was first introduced into 
Scotland. Someone in London, having returned from China, sent 
four or five pounds as a rare gift to a lady of his 
acquaintance. She, as the story goes, boiled the leaves a full 
hour, then threw the water away and dished the leaves with 
melted butter.
Everywhere throughout Great Britain little use is made of 
vegetables, especially in winter. I have been told, however, 
that a certain man called Montrose, not being able to do without 
them, kept asking his wife continually, 'Give me something 
green,' even when she had told him that vegetables were wanting. 
In the end the good lady, to try and satisfy her spouse, boiled 
an old pair of green velvet breeches, and placed them on the 
table round the beef!
It is perhaps fit that I should not indulge here in jokes about 
Scotland, for the bile of these honest folk is easy to raise, 
and I am here reminded of a story. One of the chiefs of the 
American League having said in a joking way to a Scotchman who 
was dining with him, 'I hope, Sir, that you will not be offended 
if I speak ill of the Scotch when I am a little tipsy, it is my 
custom, and I cannot help it,' the other replied, 'I hope, Sir, 
that you will be good enough to excuse me a rather bad custom 
which I really cannot help, and that is to slay anyone whom I 
hear saying a word against a Scotchman.' The ill custom of the 
Scotchman freed the American from liability to indulge in the 
practice of his bad habit. I left here, after having passed a 
little time in this beautiful and good country in the enjoyment 
of rest which was so necessary to me after my winter's work. 
Well received, well treated by persons whose goodwill and esteem 
I had the good fortune to gain, my sojourn would have been 
extremely agreeable, but for this cruel division of the people 
into partisans of Mr. Pitt or Mr. Fox. Always it was Mr. Pitt 
and Mr. Fox, and I, as a foreigner, found it impossible to take 
any more interest in them than I did in Mahomet or Ali. Like 
these rival prophets, Pitt and Fox are no doubt very clever men, 
but I must admit that the weariness which their follies caused 
to me made me (I beg their pardon) wish them many a time with 
the devil for company.
It is strange that in all these disputes I never once heard the 
name of the King mentioned. What is heard of him is—the King 
took a walk on the terrace at Windsor—the King eats—the King 
drinks—the King gets up—the King goes to bed—everything else is 
Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox.
I had the chance at Glasgow of being presented to Mr. Dale, one 
of the most extraordinary characters I have seen. He began as a 
simple weaver, and by long continued industry he has acquired a 
brilliant fortune. He was good enough to take me, with a Glasgow 
merchant, to his cotton mills at Lanark, near the Falls of 
Clyde. Passing through Hamilton, he showed me a house, saying, 
'There is a house where for many a year I worked at a loom.' His 
mills consist of four great buildings each of four storeys, and 
each storey with seventeen or eighteen windows in line, I saw 
here more machines, more wheels, and more cotton than in any 
other place I had visited.<44> All the machinery is put in 
movement by water power drawn from the Clyde, the water carried 
at great cost through a rock of more than two hundred feet 
thickness. Before there were any manufactures here, the place 
was wild and desert. Now it has two thousand inhabitants.
Mr. Dale maintains at his own charge nearly five hundred 
children who work for him, and whom he has taught to read, 
write, and to know arithmetic. They are all kept in excellent 
trim, well dressed, and well fed. When they have attained the 
age of fifteen or sixteen years, and after they have acquired 
the taste for work and industry, they leave and easily find 
places. It is on account of this that I find the mills of Lanark 
so very interesting. This is the real glory of the merchant. Mr. 
Dale has the praise of maintaining more than two thousand 
persons, and of turning into useful members of society a 
prodigious number of little friendless orphan children, who are 
for the most part simply a charge on him.
Several persons in Ireland having appeared to me to wish to form 
such establishments in which to give occupation to the children 
of their neighbourhood, I took the liberty to question Mr. Dale 
as to the best way to make use of his plans in a small way. He 
has assured me that it is impracticable, and that the best way 
to employ the children of the poor in spinning cotton is for a 
simple individual to follow the old method unless he can bring 
together a great number, and make the enterprise his sole 
business. The smallest establishment of the kind I saw would 
cost at least seven or eight hundred pounds sterling—the Lanark 
Mills have cost over one hundred thousand pounds.
The Falls of Clyde are two miles from these mills. They are 
reached by a charming promenade cut through the woods of the 
park of Lady Ross. I have seen waterfalls much more 
considerable, but never any so romantic. On my way I found a 
little key. 'Oh, you are a happy man,' said my conductor, 
'that's a sign of good luck.' 'Good or bad,' I answered, 'it is 
certainly a sign of a lock.' Returning to Glasgow, my travelling 
companions, as is the custom in this good city, overwhelmed me 
without mercy with their talk of money, banks, cotton, goods, 
bills, &c., until I wished to have my ears stopped. Money, money 
was always there. If, instead of taking the way to my ears, it 
had found its way to my pocket, I might have become accustomed 
to it in the end.
Again I had the pleasure to pass two or three charming days with 
Mr. Oswald at Scotstown. I think I may say without vanity that I 
have profited by my exile. There is not a corner of Scotland or 
of Ireland where I have not been received with politeness, and 
often with most remarkable kindness. Besides the amiable family 
at Scotstown, Dr. Wright and Mr. Brown treated me in a very 
friendly way. If ever the glorious days of France come back, and 
if I am able to return to my penates,<45> I shall have very 
agreeable remembrances of my days here.
Trade in Glasgow was pretty good in spite of the war. The shows 
were all going as in ordinary times, and I had the pleasure to 
see an audience bursting with laughter at the agonies of 
Beverley, and nearly weeping at a farce. It must be horrible for 
an actor to find his efforts accepted in this manner. Next day I 
travelled in the coach to Ayr with the comedians I had seen 
playing, and they were still stunned. They found at Ayr a vessel 
which took them straight to Dublin, the voyage lasting one or 
two days, and the charge for the passage very moderate. But I, 
wishing to finish my travels, let them go that way while I 
proceeded to Portpatrick, and embarked there. After being tossed 
for thirteen or fourteen hours I found myself again in the land 
of St. Patrick.
CHAPTER XIV 
Belfast—Armagh—Newry
The importance which was given in Scotland to the Irish troubles 
made me almost fear to set foot again in the country, but at 
Donaghadee I was happily reassured, and welcomed by Mr. Smith 
with the same hospitality which I had experienced at the time of 
my first crossing. Although the country was 'out of the King's 
peace,' it seemed to me that everybody was perfectly calm. 
During the two or three days which I stayed in the little town, 
I had opportunity to take note of a custom which had hitherto 
escaped me. In spite of the facilities for marriage-making in 
Scotland, since a single word there is sufficient to make a 
contract valid, there are not a few illegitimate children. The 
minister of Portpatrick, a holy man of God, not being able to 
punish the guilty parties as they deserve, makes the 
chastisement pass to the unfortunate child, and absolutely 
refuses to him the rite of baptism. The parents, however, 
sinners though they may be, do not like to have their children 
deprived of this benefit, which perhaps they have more need of 
than others, and so they send their children over to Ireland, 
where it is not difficult to find an Anglican minister who is 
more reasonable.
On the other hand, the Anglican minister is extremely reluctant 
to marry persons who are not known to him, and requires all the 
formalities of banns, &c. And so, for the purpose of avoiding 
delay and ceremony, the marriageable people go over to Scotland, 
and if the couple, with the fathers and mothers, present 
themselves to the minister at Portpatrick, he questions none and 
says, 'You men and women I declare you married.' As a matter of 
fact, his refusal, if he made it, would not amount to anything, 
for in Scotland, as I have already stated elsewhere, a word 
before witnesses, even in joking, or a letter by way of joking, 
suffices to render a marriage valid.<46>
I learned here something of a trade of which I had previously no 
knowledge, the trade in rags. I had indeed seen, at Edinburgh, 
different houses with the inscription—
RAG WAREHOUSE 
OR 
MONEY FOR RAGS
but I always thought that the rags were intended for paper 
making. I have since ascertained that there are people who go 
about buying from the lower classes the clothes which they think 
not good enough to wear (the Scotch peasant is always well 
clad), and these they send to Ireland, where they are sold with 
a large profit.
Feeling partly reassured as to the danger to which a traveller 
on foot might be exposed in proceeding through a country where 
the Government were obliged to act rigorously, I slung my small 
baggage over my shoulder and started for Newtownards. About 
halfway on the road I found a man who had a car laden with turf, 
and who seemed to be in some embarrassment. He called out 'Pray, 
Sir, will you push my cash.' My head still full of the terrible 
stories which the Scotch had told me about poor wretches in 
Ireland, I took this to be an Irish way of asking me to push my 
cash; that is to say, I interpreted his saying as a demand for 
my purse. Taking care, then, to stand at a respectful distance, 
I asked him what he meant. 'I want you to help me up with my 
turf cash,' he said, and then I learned that the basket or 
pannier which carried the turf is called a 'cash.' 'With all my 
heart,' I answered, and with a lift and shoulder-push, the 
pannier was placed in proper position.
Entering the inn I saw a notice fastened to the door which read, 
'If there is another shot fired over the sentinels, orders will 
be given to burn the town.' 'The devil!' I said.
I was received with much kindness by Mr. Birch, whom I had seen 
on my first arrival, and I proceeded again to Belfast, where I 
arrived in time for the celebration of the King's birthday, and 
heard the volleys fired by the garrison in honour of His 
Majesty. The people of this town, who were represented some time 
ago as about to rise, appeared now in a sort of stupor hardly 
distinguishable from fear. In the evening the town was 
illuminated, and the soldiers ran through the streets armed with 
sticks, breaking the windows of those who had not lit up their 
houses, and of a great number also who had done so. They went 
into all sorts of holes and corners breaking back-windows and 
the fanlights of doors. They seized their officers and bore 
them, in turn, on their shoulders through the streets. The 
yells, coming from the soldiers, and the huzzas were simply 
terrible. Three weeks earlier it was the people who assembled 
tumultuously and made a racket. If I may say it, I think a crowd 
of soldiers and a crowd of people differ very little in point of 
the danger to be expected; in the former case, however, if the 
officers have their soldiers well in hand there is less danger, 
as by the terror they inspire they are able to prevent the 
excess to which the populace might give way.
I imagine that the people of Belfast will not for long forget 
the terror in which I found them. General Lake, however, walked 
the streets the whole night and arrested some soldiers who were 
becoming unruly; he dispersed the crowd, too, as soon as the 
time fixed for the illumination was past. The row was so 
agreeable and entertaining to the soldiers that they would have 
been very glad to begin it again; a report was, indeed, 
circulated that there would be a second illumination next day. 
In every country soldiers are delighted with the chance of 
making a rumpus, than slashing and cutting they like nothing 
better, and it required all the activity of General Lake to keep 
them within bounds.
The next day, desiring to see the Sovereign, as the first 
Magistrate or Mayor is here called, his house was pointed out to 
me by a poor woman who was near the door. 'There it is,' said 
she, 'but he is not in, and I am waiting,' she added, 'to make 
him pay for my broken panes.'
On the same day a man with whom I dined, and who was in a state 
of alarm, said to me: 'France is in great trouble, Italy is 
ravaged, a revolution is coming in Spain, Germany is ruined, 
Switzerland is about to declare war, Holland no longer exists; 
here we are breaking our windows, and we shall finish, perhaps, 
with slaughter;—where is peace to be found?' 'Faith,' said I, 'I 
know one sovereign who has not been troubled, and to whom anyone 
can go very quickly.' 'And who is he? tell me, Sir.' 'The big 
Devil in Hell,' I answered.
The troubles, however, having made Belfast a somewhat 
disagreeable resting-place, I provided myself with passports and 
started out. I was much surprised to see that the soldiers had 
taken the trouble to break windows as far as two or three miles 
from the town. I travelled by coach, thinking it not desirable 
to risk myself on foot, on the road, after what I had seen. I 
passed successively through Lisburn, Hillsborough, and Dromore; 
the two first-named are situated in beautiful and perfectly-
cultivated country. Hillsborough, where is the castle of the 
Marquis of Downshire, is on a height dominating a most fertile 
and rich country. It was at Lisburn that the French refugees 
first established the linen manufacture which has become the 
principal industry in Ireland, especially in the north. The 
three towns were full of soldiers and volunteers. Although I 
regretted that I could not stop in them a little while, the 
thought that my stay here might be very far from agreeable, made 
me push on to a place which I thought might be more settled, or, 
at any rate, to the place of residence of someone to whom I had 
a letter of recommendation. Influenced in this way, I came to 
Banbridge, and was there received at the house of Mr. Ross 
Thomson.
This country is entirely occupied in the manufacture of linen, 
but the late troubles have made trade to languish. The mills, 
however, are still going, and it is hoped that a year of peace 
will restore order and prosperity. Military law was rigorously 
enforced here on the inhabitants; they were not permitted to 
have lights in their houses after nine o'clock, and any person 
found in the streets after that hour was in danger of being 
arrested. A fair was held during the time I stayed in this 
little town, and it passed over quite peacefully; the soldiers 
promenaded through the market-place and obliged women who wore 
anything green, ribbon or otherwise, to take it off.<47> Had 
one-fourth of the precaution taken here been observed in France, 
there would certainly have been no Revolution, I was much struck 
here by the thought of the different results which different 
characters in government may produce. It is remarkable how in 
France a weak government and foolish ministers have led a people 
entirely Royalist to slay a King they loved, and whose good 
qualities they respected, and to destroy a flourishing monarchy 
for whose prosperity they had been enthusiastic; while here, 
surrounded by enemies, a vigorous government in Ireland has been 
able to repress, and hold in the path of duty, a people 
discontented and seduced by the success of the French 
innovations.
The boldness of the United Irishmen increased each day as long 
as the Government did not interfere; many who had joined them 
had done so out of fear, and there were with them a number of 
weak, undecided people ready to range themselves on the winning 
side, and so immediately on the Government's determination to 
act vigorously, it was only necessary to let the soldiers appear 
upon the scene, and the difficulties disappeared.
The poor peasant on this occasion, as in so many others, was the 
dupe of rogues, who put him in the front, and were very careful 
themselves to stay behind the curtain. The troops went through 
the country, burning the houses of those who were suspected of 
having taken the 'Union' oath, or of having arms, and on many 
occasions they acted with great severity.
On the way to Armagh I passed through a superb country; there is 
a charming valley, and well-wooded, near Tandragee. Between this 
town and Armagh I met a company of Orangemen, as they are 
called, wearing orange cockades, and some of them having ties of 
the same colour. The peasantry seemed very much afraid of them. 
I went into one or two cabins to rest myself, and was offered, 
certainly, hospitality in the ordinary way, but it did not seem 
to be with the same air as before, and at last, near the town, a 
good woman said to me, 'You seem to have come from far, my dear 
Sir, I hope that your umbrella or the string of it will not 
bring you into trouble.' I laughed at the good woman's fears, 
but, on reflection, I felt that since she had remarked that my 
umbrella was greenish, and the cord of a bright green, soldiers 
might make the same observation, and that in any case it would 
be very disagreeable to have any trouble over such a silly 
thing, and I cut the green cord off my umbrella.
Arriving in the town of St. Patrick, I went immediately to pay 
my duty to his metropolitan church. The foundations of this, 
they say, were laid by the Saint himself on the ruins of a 
Druidic establishment. History relates that there was here a 
lively passage at arms between the Saint and the Druids in 
presence of the great monarch who was then King of Ulster, and 
the Saint, having convinced his Majesty, baptised him and all 
his court, and afterwards sent missionaries into the other 
kingdoms of Ireland. The old cathedral has been destroyed and 
burned several times, and has been rebuilt always on the same 
spot.
The city had been reduced to the miserable state of a little 
country town, but the last Archbishop, the Rev. —— Robertson, 
being a man of learning and friend of the public welfare, 
liberal, and without family, set himself to improve and increase 
it, so that at present it is really a very handsome little city. 
The cathedral is situated on a rocky height (as the name Ard 
indicates), and here, a few years ago, among some ruins was 
found an ancient cross of stone in one piece, with strange 
looking figures thereon carved, and appearing to be a 
representation of a man baptising converts. It has been erected 
in the market-place.
Primate Robertson has built at his own charge an observatory, 
and has furnished funds to give it an annual income of £300 
sterling, which is paid to the person in charge. He has also 
established, at great cost, a well-furnished library, which is 
open to the public four hours every day. He has erected a 
hospital and several other edifices, and certainly merits as 
much gratitude from the inhabitants of the diocese as may be 
considered due to St. Patrick himself.
The revenues of the Archbishop amount to eight or nine thousand 
pounds sterling per annum, but it is known that the estates 
belonging to the seat bring in to those who have farmed them 
£150,000 (3,750,000 francs). If the Archbishop had such an 
income, it might well excite the jealousy of the Government, as 
well as the discontent of the rent-farmers, who regard these 
estates as heritages belonging to their families, thus, 
prudently, the leases are renewed every year at the same price, 
plus a considerable pot-de-vin.<18> The demesne of the 
Archbishop is superb; the Palace, although very large and well 
built, does not seem too magnificent for the embellishments of 
the park surrounding. There is in it a chapel, brilliant in 
architecture, in which there is some very fine stained glass.
There are four Archbishops in Ireland, who all take the title of 
Primate. He of Armagh is called Primate of All Ireland, the 
Dublin Archbishop is called Primate of Ireland, that of Cashel, 
Primate of Munster, and that of Tuam, Primate of Connaught. This 
is pretty well for Primates. In England there are only two: the 
Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of All England, and that of 
York, Primate of England. I am sorry I cannot remember how many 
there were in France; but perhaps the reader is pleased to be 
without the information.
The country in the neighbourhood of Armagh is charming, full of 
little hills and plains and pretty little lakes. Among the 
places I saw I remarked, especially. Castle Dillon and Drumilly, 
where I was received by Colonel Spencer, whose acquaintance I 
had made at Westport in the summer. Certainly there could not be 
a more agreeable quarter; the country is a little paradise, it 
is impossible to conceive anything better cultivated or more 
romantic. What a pity then, that the spirit of discord and fury 
has laid hold of the inhabitants to a point that might well make 
one fear to live among them. Every morning there is news of 
crimes committed during the night. Not a day passes without 
murders or the burning of houses. For the sake of a walk I 
accompanied one of the officers who was going to verify 
information by visiting a man who had been beaten. We found the 
man with one eye punched in, it is true, but I thought the 
injury might just as well have been the result of a private 
dispute with which politics had nothing to do. The house of one 
good woman had certainly been 'wrecked,' as they say, by some 
armed men, but that was all we were able to learn.
I think it my duty to give here a little information on the 
subject of the troubles, which for so long have desolated this 
beautiful country. The quarrel between Catholics and Protestants 
of this county began with a private dispute between two peasants 
at a fair. The one was Catholic and the other Protestant. During 
the fight ill-advised words passed from one side to the other, 
and these had the effect, as is unfortunately the custom at most 
fairs, of ranging the friends of the two combatants into parties 
who fought each other with sticks. That day the Protestants were 
beaten, but at another fair they took their revenge, falling, 
armed, on the Catholics, and a number were killed. The animosity 
between the parties manifested itself for a long time before the 
Government appeared to take any notice; in the end, however, the 
magistrates, although not very energetically, took certain 
proceedings, and put into execution a part of the law which at 
that time forbade Catholics to have possession of arms. It 
followed that, as there was no power to disarm the other side, 
the former were entirely at the mercy of the latter.
I have been assured that there were certain persons who thought 
it their duty to take the Protestant side in order not to lose 
their votes in the parliamentary elections. This unfortunate 
partisanship increased the audacity of the triumphant side, who 
formed a military corps, to which they gave the name of 'Orange 
Boys,' in memory of the Prince of Orange (King William) and of 
the Revolution. The other side took, correctly enough, the name 
of 'Defenders,' for it is true that, at first, they only thought 
of defence. The Orange Boys had the advantage over their 
adversaries, seeing that they were armed, and the others were 
not. Matters came to such a point that Defenders, who were 
obnoxious, received letters in these terms:
'Peter —— or James ——, you have time to sell your things and go 
to Connaught, or you will go to Hell.'
Some disdained to submit to these barbarous orders, and during 
the night their cabins would be overturned or demolished over 
their heads, or a dozen of shots would be sent into a bedroom. 
These horrors started the Defenders to commit excesses no less 
cruel. The atrocities were not repressed with the necessary 
vigour to put an end to them, in fact it seemed as if very 
little attention was given to them. Peaceful families of both 
religions, frightened at these disorders, hastened to sell their 
effects at loss, and retired to the province of Connaught, where 
I have seen a number of them welcomed by Colonel Martin and Lord 
Altamont.
While, here, matters were in this distressing state, it is very 
singular that troubles of a totally different character appeared 
in the neighbouring counties. Those of Armagh really belonged to 
a religious war, those of the Counties of Down, Antrim, and 
Londonderry had, for pretext, the reform of Parliament, and the 
discontented affected to speak with indifference of all 
religions. I have known cases of men who, having practised the 
most barbarous cruelties on their compatriots on religious 
pretexts, affected, in the name of United Irishmen, to say that 
all religions were equal, while they appeared not to believe in 
any.
They assembled, appointed chiefs, announced republican opinions, 
and declared that they only waited the arrival of the French to 
join them.
It is certain that this new spirit of dissension by throwing 
ridicule at, and treating with contempt, the troubles of Armagh 
succeeded in settling these to a great extent. But the new 
ideas, by their immediate connection with the revolution in 
France, were likely to become much more dangerous than the 
first. It is well known to what indefensible excesses the United 
Irishmen proceeded. I have mentioned some of them which happened 
before I reached Scotland. I was convinced then, by the 
knowledge I had of the people of this country, that this frenzy 
would calm down, and that unless there were really an invasion 
on a large scale, there was absolutely no fear about the surety 
of the Government. Such was the situation of the country at the 
time I started for Scotland. Perhaps on my return I would have 
found things in the same state, if the arrival of the French 
Fleet in the bay of Bantry had not opened the eyes of the 
Government as to the dangers they ran, and convinced them of the 
necessity for rigorous methods in dealing with the 
dissatisfaction.
Before the French appeared off the coast of Ireland, although 
the project of the invasion had been much talked about, little 
or no precaution against it had been taken. After the disorder 
occasioned by the first moment of alarm had commenced to 
disappear, the Government set themselves, seriously, to take 
efficacious measures for putting Ireland into a respectable 
state of defence. Volunteer corps were formed in all the 
different towns. Many troops were sent over from England, and 
these were quartered particularly in places in the North where 
there had been any manifestation of seditious inclination. These 
troops were commanded by active and experienced men, and it was 
only at last, after the Government had wisely and prudently 
taken all the steps necessary to ensure success, and not before, 
they set themselves to act with severity against the 
discontented.
Orders were issued by all the generals to the peasants in the 
districts under their command to deliver up their arms and take 
the oath of allegiance. The United Irishmen, who for long had 
been accustomed to obey no orders but those of their leaders, 
and to despise the soldiers and the Government, paid no 
attention at first to these commands; but finding soon that the 
Government had serious intentions, and seeing that their houses 
were burned and that imprisonments followed illegal assembling, 
they broke up immediately, passing, it may be said, in the 
winking of an eye, from audacity to fear, most of them hurrying 
to make submission and to do what was required of them.
It is an extraordinary thing that just at this moment the 
troubles at Armagh recommenced, and the religious quarrels 
helped powerfully to neutralise the political troubles caused by 
the United Irishmen, as these latter some months earlier had 
almost made the religious difficulties of Armagh to disappear.
The renewal of religious strife at Armagh was followed by 
frightful excesses on both sides. The Orangemen accompanied the 
magistrates when these went on an expedition, and some of these 
having been previously of the Society of United Irishmen, they 
knew where to discover arms, and often committed such excesses 
as may always be expected in the action of the lower classes of 
people when they are allowed to have arms and to feel themselves 
under protection. The Catholics could not be received amongst 
the Orangemen, even if they were willing to take the oath of 
fidelity. The greater number of the inhabitants of this faith 
swore that they had never been United Irishmen, and that they 
would not become such; perhaps they spoke truly, for their 
quarrel was entirely of a different nature, and it could be 
understood that they had not abandoned one trouble in order to 
take up another. I knew one brave commandant who tried to steer 
clear of favouritism in any shape or form, and who was always 
ready to succour the oppressed or weakest, without regard to 
party. This was very good in him, but it was necessary for him 
to have a strong force in command to deal with the mutinous, for 
otherwise there was a risk of the two parties joining against 
him. Although such divisions are a great misfortune, they are, 
in certain circumstances, of value to a clever government which 
knows how to manage them, and to make use of these animosities 
to keep different parties in check through their own action, and 
to prevent them from combining against the Government.
Although I did not hear, this time, that the Orangemen used the 
old menace of Connaught or Hell, it was easy to see that their 
dominating idea was still the expulsion of the Catholics, but 
their manner of action was no longer so terrible. Trade was at 
the time, in the North, in a very bad state, and many of the 
workers, being idle and exposed to the fury of their opponents, 
they circulated adroitly among the peasants an old prophecy of 
St. Columba which warned the faithful that 'A time will come 
when war and famine will destroy in this part of the country all 
those who have not embraced the new errors,' but, adds the 
prophecy, 'the massacre will not extend beyond the Shannon, 
where the faithful shall prosper.'
It was also stated that everything was very cheap in the 
neighbourhood of Limerick, Galway, and Westport, and that the 
workers would there find all the industries they could desire, 
and at good wages. The poor folk, who are after all the most 
timid and credulous of the universe, with their families and 
small remains of furniture, started in crowds to put themselves 
in safety on the other side of the Shannon. I myself have met 
often these wandering families moving to the line of safety; the 
father and mother carrying, with their few effects, the children 
unable to walk, and followed by others carrying part of the 
baggage, and accompanied by the faithful pig and often a few 
fowls. It was in talking to some of these on the road that I 
learned of the prophecy of St. Columba, and the tempting reports 
which had been circulated about the country to which their faces 
were turned.
The inhabitants of the city of Armagh were so accustomed to 
hear, in the morning, of excesses committed during the night, 
that they spoke about them in a very indifferent manner. The 
neighbouring country had very little information about them, and 
I imagine that not a hundredth part of the knowledge filtered to 
Dublin. Revenge was always the motive where the crimes were 
committed by one party or the other, and the complaints that the 
peasants came into the city to make were always presented in the 
way least effective to excite interest. I saw a man, absolutely 
drunk, coming to complain that his brother-in-law had been 
murdered by a party of four or five hundred men who were 
marching into the city. His brother-in-law had indeed been 
killed, but it was in a private quarrel, and the troops found no 
one to oppose them. It happened also, at times, that through 
sheer wickedness, the peasants sacked and burned their own 
houses, to throw the blame on their enemies. The following story 
may appear incredible. I am told that a peasant, who had been 
obliged by the magistrate to come to terms with another, 
returned the next day, accusing his adversary of having torn his 
ear off with his teeth, and in proof of his story he produced, 
from his pocket, the ear, which he showed to the Judge, who, as 
may be imagined, was much shocked, and who, without asking 
proof, sent at once and seized the offender and put him in 
prison. The poor man denied all that had been alleged against 
him, and a surgeon being called, it was proved that the ear had 
been cut off with a razor, and not torn by teeth. In the end it 
was proved that the man to whom the ear belonged had cut it off 
himself, in order to get his opponent punished. This country, 
which is, certainly, the most beautiful in Ireland, is also that 
in which the inhabitants are the least tractable, and approach 
nearest to the character which the English call 'Wild Irish.' 
The animosity between the different sects certainly contributes 
to this savagery, but if this pretext for it were not available, 
another would soon be found. The real reason is that the 
fertility of the country attracted a great many strangers, who, 
having multiplied exceedingly, have become too numerous to allow 
of equitable division of the land with the descendants of the 
ancient stock, and therefore wish to expatriate these, and to 
remain alone the occupiers. The others, naturally, wish to see 
the expulsion of the colonists or settlers, and the land 
remaining in their sole possession. Hence the continual quarrels 
between neighbours, such as are not found elsewhere. Sides are 
taken, disputes multiply, the sticks rattle, and the side which 
the Government for the moment favours profits by the sense of 
protection, and does its best to inflict the greatest possible 
injury on the other.
Charlemagne conceived the idea of transplanting a part of his 
subjects from a too-populous area, in which he feared the spirit 
of insurrection, to another insufficiently peopled, and where he 
had nothing to fear, and without ceremony he ordered the 
inhabitants of the one part to leave their country and proceed 
to another indicated. This method of dealing with subjects would 
seem very cruel and arbitrary in a country governed by the 
British Constitution; it would, however, spare a great many 
rows, and would prevent the interminable quarrels which will end 
in ruining this beautiful country.
I have hesitated for some time in deciding whether I should 
publish these details, but as the Armagh troubles have excited 
the most lively public curiosity, I have thought it my duty to 
explain the situation frankly and freely. An honest man may keep 
silent, but if he speaks, he should tell the truth.
It is somewhat strange that these animosities, being such as I 
have described, have not however destroyed the safety of the 
roads for the traveller, nor indeed for anyone during the 
daytime. Being assured of this, I resolved to continue my 
travels, on foot, in my accustomed manner, and made my way to 
Newry. I spoke to several peasants on the way, and went into one 
house on the road where they gave me milk and potatoes in the 
same frank way as they are offered in other parts of the island. 
If I had not known of the night troubles I would have taken the 
country to be in a perfectly peaceful state. I fell in with a 
car returning empty to Newry, and the driver offered me a seat. 
He told me that his business was the carrying of goods from one 
end of the kingdom to the other, and that he was returning from 
Westport at the moment. When this good creature caught sight of 
the Newry clock-tower, he took off his hat and cried 'Huzza! I 
have been fifteen days away from my folk and it revives me to 
see the steeple of my place.' It was impossible not to see that 
the man was really happy.
When we had nearly reached the town, following usual custom, he 
asked my name and what was the country to which I belonged. I 
following my usual custom told him I was Scotch, and that my 
name was MacTocnaye.
Newry is situated among high mountains, and nevertheless enjoys 
all the advantages of the plain. The sea is only at three or 
four miles distance, and vessels reach the town easily by the 
river mouth and the canal, which is continued from here to Lough 
Neagh. There is here a very considerable trade in linen, but the 
late troubles have reduced it.<48>
The divisions here have very little connection with those of 
Armagh; they were more like those of Belfast, being entirely 
political. Some time before my arrival, the military had used 
severe measures, and once, unfortunately, on false information 
and inconsiderately. On this occasion eighteen men were killed. 
Some story-tellers came to the town saying that a troop of the 
United Irishmen were encamped in a little wood, that they had 
committed various depredations, and had attacked the militia. On 
this information the troops took horse, and going to the place 
indicated, sacked several houses and shot a few unfortunates, 
who fled before them. The gathering in the wood turned out to be 
merely a number of people who from fear had there sought 
shelter. They were neither armed nor provisioned, but before 
this was discovered eighteen were shot.
The cavalry regiment then at Newry was Welsh, a newly raised 
troop. When they came to Ireland they came with all the English 
prejudices, expecting to find the Irish to be half-savages, in 
complete insurrection. In consequence, they disembarked with the 
idea that they were in an enemy's country, and at the 
commencement of their stay made themselves much to be feared by 
the inhabitants. With all that, it is to be admitted that the 
terror which they inspired was perhaps in many cases salutary, 
and I have no doubt that the inhabitants of Newry for a long 
time will remember the ancient Bretons.
I left these parts, and although I had been politely received, 
it was with pleasure, for I hate quarrels. Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox 
had tormented me enough during the winter. In politics it must 
be said that the people are fairly reasonable in Ireland, and 
little division from this cause is found in the middle classes 
of society, among whom everyone is supposed to be of the same 
opinion. There is not much talk about the troubles, certainly 
there is less than in Great Britain. My letter of recommendation 
to Newry was addressed to a man who had been arrested some time 
before, and was now out on bail. Far from wishing me ill because 
I had accepted the hospitality of his house, persons of entirely 
different opinions said to me, 'It's all right; when you get the 
chance to take anything from the devil, take it.'
I crossed the narrow chain of mountains near Newry, and 
perceived with sorrow that the inhabitants had there suffered 
much more than their neighbours. I saw many houses which had 
been burned in order to force the owner to give up his arms. The 
peasant conducted himself in a peculiar way on these occasions. 
First of all he would deny that he had any; then he would be 
threatened with the burning of his house and unshrinkingly he 
would stand by to see the act performed; but when it was really 
burned his courage would abandon him, and it has happened more 
than once that he has gone quietly to unearth from the ruin a 
gun, which he would hand over to the magistrates. One would 
think it would have paid him much better to have found it before 
the fire.
It cannot but be true, however, that many innocent people have 
suffered through false information supplied by rascally enemies; 
these destructions of the property of the innocent are very 
regrettable, but it is absolutely impossible that there should 
not be some such cases in such time. It seemed to me that the 
peasant made the difficulty about giving up arms simply because 
he feared to lose their intrinsic value. If they had offered to 
pay him even half the cost, there would have been no trouble.
CHAPTER XV 
Drogheda—Battle of the Boyne—Slane—Return to 
Dublin
To be in the middle of such disorder was very disagreeable to 
me, and I saw myself, with great pleasure, on the other side of 
the mountains. If I presented myself to a man in favour of the 
policy of the Government, the name of Frenchman was to him 
suspect; if I went to one of contrary opinions, he did not know, 
at first, on what footing to receive me, and when he had seen my 
passports he did me the honour to believe me an agent of the 
Government sent to inquire into the conduct of the discontented, 
and to terrify them afterwards. A certain man with whom I talked 
on the way gave me in a very confidential manner his opinions on 
Union, whereupon I advised him for his good to be very careful 
as to whom he talked before opening his mind in this way. I saw 
his eyes sparkle, and had I not quickly, by way of changing 
subject, called his attention to my umbrella invention, there 
might have been an unpleasant union of his cudgel and my ears. 
As it was, disunion was effected promptly, for he cleared off.
Dundalk is a rather good-looking little town situated in a 
charming plain on the margin of the sea, and near the foot of 
the Newry mountains. It was fair day, and patrols were in the 
market-place, but there did not seem to be much uneasiness. The 
idea that the farther I should get away from the country I had 
just travelled the less should I find of that air, terrified on 
one side, defiant on the other, made me set out immediately. I 
passed by Castlebellingham and did not stop until I came to 
Dunleer—twenty-five Irish miles—not a bad day's walk. Nothing 
special happened on the way; I went too quick for 
investigations, and really did not wish to investigate closely.
I remarked at Dunleer that it was not linen which was being 
bleached, but yarn. The cloth is not so white as what has passed 
through the mills in the north, but it ought to be more durable, 
for the beetling in the mills is very severe.
The inn where I put up was really good, nevertheless a big 
Englishman there was disgusted, and could find nothing to his 
taste. He stormed and swore and longed for the roast beef and 
plum pudding of Old England. His conduct made me think of a 
certain story well known in the island of St. Patrick, and which 
does honour to the subtle wit of one of its children.<49>
In spite of the rain I went on to Drogheda, and amongst the arid 
mountains which separate this town from Dunleer saw, at some 
distance, a round tower, which seemed to be very high and very 
well preserved. By the wayside a good, benevolent soul had 
placed the inscription 'THIS IS A SPRING OF WATER' over a well. 
The words are in large characters, and on a pole carrying a 
board just like the finger-posts at the partings of roads. If it 
had been a spring of whiskey, it would have been more uncommon I 
thought, and certainly more frequented.
Drogheda was formerly a place of great strength. At present it 
seems to have a fairly good trade. Its situation is most 
agreeable. I should certainly have stayed here for some time had 
the persons for whom I had letters of introduction been at home. 
As, unfortunately, they were absent, and I am not gifted, like 
my brethren the professional travellers, with the art of talking 
to stone walls, I thought it well to decamp.
I went up the Boyne which passes through the town.
As is well known, it was on the banks of this river that were 
finally determined the fortunes of King James. His partisans 
accuse him of losing this battle through the same weakness which 
cost him his throne—he ran away long before the issue was 
decided. Some days after his flight his generals gave battle for 
the second time, and succeeded in effecting a retreat to 
Limerick. It was with a sad kind of pleasure that I trod this 
soil, witness of such high deeds a century ago. A peasant 
pointed out to me the position occupied by the two armies, the 
place on a height from which King James watched the progress of 
events, and the place where King William crossed the river at 
the head of his troops and routed the opposing forces. An 
inspection of the ground makes it difficult to conceive how King 
James' army could have been forced to fight, and still less how 
its retreat could have been cut off. It is an indubitable fact 
that on its side were all the advantages of numbers and 
position. A high obelisk has been erected at a short distance 
from the spot where King Wiliiam crossed the river and where his 
general Marshal Schomberg was shot. It is situated on a rock 
which juts out into the river—the pedestal covered with 
inscriptions in English and Latin.
Whatever the issue, an obelisk on this spot was inevitable. Had 
King James won, what high-flown words in his honour would have 
been here for the traveller to read!
Success decides all; justifies all. A hundred years hence, if 
the republic maintains itself, monarchy will be abhorred by 
everybody. If, on the contrary, royalty is restored, the 
abhorrence will be of republicanism.
The peasant who showed me the different places in a routine way 
had not the least idea of the story of the battle. 'Why was this 
obelisk erected? 'I asked. 'Oh,' he replied, 'that's the place 
where the man was killed.' 'What man? 'I queried, and his reply 
was 'Why, to be sure, King William.'
Voltaire records an original epigram current in Paris on the 
subject of the piety of King James when he was at St. Germain. 
Here it is as I remember it, but it is eight years since I read 
it:
Quand je veux rimer à Guillaume, 
Je trouve qu'il a conquis un royaume 
Qu'il a su soumettre a ses lois. 
Mais quand je veux rimer a Jacques, 
J'ai beau rêver et me tordre les doigts, 
Je trouve qu'il a fait ses Pâques.<50>
Leaving, at last, these places so famous in the history of Great 
Britain, and continuing my walk through the fertile valley of 
the Boyne, I arrived at Slane. To leave the sea coasts is to 
find oneself, immediately, among a people differing from those 
who inhabit them. It was not without pleasure that I found again 
the extraordinary customs and the singular monuments which had 
excited my interest and curiosity in the south and west of 
Ireland.
I met a funeral. It was preceded by a child carrying a white rod 
decorated with paper cuttings, and followed by a number of 
wailing women. The procedure, however, was not exactly like that 
of the South. More order was observed; the women paused in their 
cries, at intervals, and did not beat their breasts or tear 
their hair. The cries too were not the same, and instead of the 
pi lu lu or hu lu lu of the south, the sounds were more like 
Presbyterian psalm-singing.
I could distinguish Oh, Ah, Oh, Ah, Oh, Ah, and then followed an 
interval of silence as long as the time required to sing the 
melancholy notes, which at a little distance were not 
unmelodious. The cut papers carried by the child are placed at 
the head of the grave, with a handful of osiers, and if one of 
these take root I imagine that it is looked upon as a happy 
omen, for the tree is allowed to grow.
The town of Slane was built by Mr. Burton Conyngham. He had a 
park, and a superb house on the smiling banks of the Boyne. Here 
I was received by Lord and Lady Conyngham with the most kindly 
hospitality. My first act after arrival was to go and pay a 
solitary visit to the tomb of the honoured and honourable man 
who had befriended me, and whose loss to Ireland cannot easily 
be repaired.
On the summit of a hill near the little town there are extensive 
ruins of what was, anciently, a college.
From the top of the bell-tower, still in a tolerable state of 
preservation, is to be had an extensive view over the field of 
the Battle of the Boyne, and in sight are two of those round 
towers of which I have had so often occasion to speak. Near the 
seminary there is a rath or Danish fort with very high 
breastworks. I imagine that, on the south side, there has been a 
little Druids' altar, for two of the side supports are still 
standing, and the principal stone now covers a vault inside the 
ruins of the church. It is in this neighbourhood, at Newgrange, 
that is to be found the most extraordinary remains of the 
constructions of these ancient priests.<51>
But I wander too often, carried away by interest in a subject 
about which, in commencing my journey, I had not a single idea. 
It is time to get back to my journey and wind up its story.
*     *     *     *     *     *
The Boyne is a charming river. It is well supplied with fish—the 
salmon are caught in basket boats such as are used at Carmarthen 
in Wales. Coming back from the monument I have been describing, 
I saw a fisherman who, seeing a storm approaching, landed and 
turned his boat over his head as an umbrella. In partnership 
with three others, Mr. Burton Conyngham had built on the river 
bank an immense flour-mill, which supplies the needs of 
Drogheda.
Inside the park of Slane is a fountain round which the 
inhabitants perform their devotions. Although the well has been 
filled up, and water is not to be seen within a considerable 
distance from it, the poor folk still come and go through their 
performances on their bare knees, circling the space where once 
was the well and hanging rags on a neighbouring tree afterwards. 
On the height, near the remains of the ancient college or 
seminary, is another well, its virtuous quality being the 
removal of the curse of sterility. The women here, it seems to 
me, have no need to use its waters. It is dedicated to St. 
Patrick, and this great saint, to whom the Irish owe so much, 
still assures to those who render homage here a numerous 
posterity. It is stated, however, that the well has lost credit 
to some extent in modern times. It would really appear that it 
was more efficacious before the destruction of the college.
I remarked that some of the children of the neighbourhood wore 
round their necks little linen bags hanging by woollen thread. A 
good countrywoman explained to me that these are Gospels, given 
by the priest of the parish for the prevention of many evils. 
There are countries where the priests excite the people to 
superstitious practices—there is one, evidently, where the 
people oblige the priest to lend himself to such doings.
I continued to follow the smiling banks of the Boyne, and saw, 
near Slane, a pillar of stone carved with strange figures and 
some Irish characters which I could not read or have explained 
to me, for here it is difficult to find an English-speaking 
person when the workers are at their employ. A mile from Navan I 
saw, at Donaghmore, the round tower I had seen from the heights 
near Slane; this one has something about it which makes it 
appear that it has been built since the introduction of 
Christianity. On the keystone of the doorway, here, as in 
others, fifteen or twenty feet above the level of the soil, is 
carved a crucifix, but I have been told since that the date of 
placing this stone on the curve is very well known. It is 
generally believed that these round towers existed long before 
the Christian era; their use is differently interpreted by 
antiquaries, some holding that they were the receptacles of the 
sacred fire, others that they were the abodes of hermits living 
in far retirement from worldly things, and the story of St. 
Simeon Stylites owes its origin to the fact that he lived in one 
of these towers. I have no carefully thought-out theory on the 
subject; I would observe, only, that among the peoples of the 
Levant there have been, from time immemorial, round towers, 
called minarets, near temples, mosques, and churches, and other 
large buildings, and that at the hour of prayer a Dervish mounts 
to the top of one such, and by instrument of some kind, or by 
voice, calls the people to their duty. I shall not be far wrong, 
I think, if I hazard the guess that the use of these was 
similar, let the time of their building be what it may.
The only difficulty persons may have in accepting my theory is, 
that the windows near the top are very small—the tower of 
Swords, near Dublin, is the only one I have seen with large 
windows at top, opening to the four points of the compass. It 
would seem that its construction is different from that of 
others, for its door is at the earth-level, and looking into the 
interior one can see holes cut in the wall, evidently with the 
intention that beams should be placed in them.
In the cemetery, in front of the stone on which is carved the 
crucifix, is a large boulder on which the people of the country 
have knelt so often that it is worn hollow. On a neighbouring 
tomb I saw the inscription: 
'Here lies O'Connor who was gathered here at the age of 104 
years.' 'Gathered' I thought rather good.
Navan is an entirely Irish town, and although that does not mean 
that it is either beautiful or clean, I must say that I like it 
better than many others. I wish the tastes and customs of the 
country could prevail in its buildings and other matters. Let 
them be bettered, certainly, but don't destroy to replace them. 
I believe sincerely that the course I indicate would be the best 
and shortest way to improvement, but here England is thought of 
in everything, and for everything, and I do not think this to be 
for good.
By means of a canal it is intended to carry the navigation of 
the Boyne to Trim, and afterwards to the Grand Canal of Ireland, 
which will cross the country from Dublin to Limerick.
Returning to the Boyne, I trod its picturesque banks for three 
or four miles to reach a bridge, by which I crossed to take the 
Dublin road. Indolence is figured for us in many ways—lying on a 
flower-covered bed for one example. I saw here, below the 
bridge, a sight which might have served as an entirely novel and 
hitherto unthought-of model. It was a worthy Irishman who had 
brought his horse, harnessed to a car, to the water, and who, 
while the animal drank, had fallen asleep. The poor beast having 
finished, and hearing no word from his master, rested tranquil 
and motionless in the middle of the river.
At a little distance I saw an immense rath called Rathlema —the 
only one I have seen of such size; it covered a considerable 
stretch of land, certainly the circumference of the circle must 
have measured a full mile.<52> Certain worthy folk told me that, 
here, in ancient times, was the dwelling-place of the King. It 
is not far from the castle of Fingal, near which the 
inhabitants, it is stated, belong to the ancient Irish race.
Not feeling very much fatigued at nine miles distance from 
Dublin, I thought of going farther, and inquired if there were 
any inn on the road. I was told 'Yes—at Clooney.' 'Clooney,' I 
said to myself, and certain remembrances made me accept the name 
as one of good augury, and I proceeded. But, alas! Clooney no 
longer existed, I found only a most miserable village. I went 
farther and found nothing—it seemed as if I should have to 
finish my journey just as I had commenced it, and pass the night 
in a cabin. I was not more than four miles from Dublin, but it 
was already eleven o'clock at night, and the remembrances of the 
martial strictness I had observed in the north made me fear an 
encounter with road patrols, which might prove rather 
disagreeable. The knowledge, too, which I had of the frightful 
number of mendicants in the capital was not reassuring, and I 
knew that I should hardly reach my destination before one 
o'clock, and then only to find all the inns closed, with the 
prospect of spending a night in the open. While I pondered, a 
chaise came along, travelling northward. I stopped it, 
bargained, and retraced my path.
Starting early next morning I made my way to the capital, 
crossing immense plains sparsely inhabited by a people who have 
absolutely no ordinary fuel, and are obliged for heat to burn 
the weeds they gather in the fields. I have seen a pot of 
potatoes boiling on a fire of hay.
Near ten o'clock I found myself in the pretty village of 
Finglas, and had just stepped into the shelter of a great door 
to avoid a rain-storm when a man came out of the house, pressed 
me to enter and to take breakfast. I do not believe that there 
is another town in Europe, especially among those of 300,000 
inhabitants, where a traveller on foot could hope to experience 
a similar politeness.
I pushed on, and eastward, to Clontarf, to the field of the 
battle in which Brian Boru defeated the Danes on April 23, 1014. 
From here is a fine view of Dublin Bay and the Hill of Howth, 
which juts out into the sea, and has a certain resemblance to 
Gibraltar as we see it in picture. From here, too, the eye can 
follow the line of the immense embankment constructed to prevent 
accumulation of sand at the mouth of the river Liffey. Not far 
off is the charming park of Marino, and in it the temple built 
by Lord Charlemont, a gem of architecture in which I think the 
most critical eye will fail to discover any defects and 
negligences such as disfigure several of the public buildings of 
Dublin.<53>
And so I re-entered, from the north, this city from which a 
little more than a year earlier I had departed, travelling 
southwards. And there was this agreement of circumstance in my 
outgoing and incoming, that on the day of my arrival I was 
invited to dinner at the house I quitted on starting my journey, 
I took tea with the person I had seen on the eve of my 
departure, and was housed at night in exactly the same quarters 
which were mine at the beginning of my journey.
I shall think little of the fatigues of my journey if any 
expressed ideas of mine can be of service to the country of my 
exile; at same time one must think, at least a little, of 
personal matters, and unless the friend persuading and 
encouraging me to further travels of this kind will give me his 
word of honour not to die before the journey be completed, I 
shall not be found tramping the highways in like manner again.
The changes brought about by the critical state of circumstances 
seemed to me to be less marked in Ireland than in Great Britain. 
The inhabitants of standing had enrolled themselves as 
volunteers, and formed companies made up of members of various 
professions and trades. Thus, there were the Companies of 
Barristers and of Solicitors,<54> foot and horse, of Custom-
House Officers,<55> of Merchants, of Students, &c., all of them 
commanded by principal men of their own calling. The students 
had for colonel one of their professors.
Among these companies were several which, on several accounts, 
must be considered as excellent. The cavalry especially, mounted 
on horses accustomed to the dangerous hunting of the country, 
deserve notice. More than once has the spectacle been presented 
of an entire squadron jumping hedges, ditches, and walls on the 
way to disperse gatherings. The formation of a Volunteer Corps 
here bore much resemblance to that of the émigrés at Coblenz. No 
one entered a company otherwise than by right of profession, 
that is to say, it was never attempted to increase the size of a 
company by drafting to it men not of the profession giving it a 
title. Society was therefore much less mixed than at Edinburgh, 
where the volunteers formed only a single corps. The city seemed 
to be perfectly peaceful, in spite of the severe measures which 
troubles in adjacent counties had obliged the authorities to 
take. Although Mr. Grattan and the other members of the 
Opposition exhibited much passion, and even left the House of 
Commons, their partisans were not nearly so hot-headed as those 
of Pitt and Fox. The opinions of persons in society seemed to 
approximate; one might have said, indeed, that the 
Ministerialists leaned to the Opposition side, and that the 
partisans of the Opposition favoured the Ministry. This 
rapprochement of opinion calmed passion—there was no such 
pronounced division as in Great Britain—and, consequently, the 
opposing parties treated each other with respect.
Charity sermons were still in fashion and produced large sums. 
There is perhaps no city which does more in the way of public 
charity than this, and as a consequence there is no city better 
supplied with beggars. The late troubles, and the continuation 
of the war, have left an immense number of poor workers without 
occupation—I have been assured that in the city of Dublin alone 
there are more than twenty thousand of them. A committee of 
well-known persons undertook the duty of distributing the funds 
collected for charity, and while the amount distributed reached 
a sum of about four hundred pounds per week, the number of 
applicants was so great that it was never possible to give more 
than fivepence at a time to any individual. Such a miserable 
pittance, however, was sufficient to attract to Dublin poor 
people from all parts of Ireland. The number of disgust-
inspiring beggars seen daily is unimaginable.
Everybody speaks of the laziness of the common people in 
Ireland, but nobody tries to cure it. The charities, small 
though they may be, are sufficient to draw to the capital more 
miserable creatures than are to be found in the whole of the 
remainder of the kingdom—the great object of the administration 
ought to be to disperse them. It is not the need of the moment 
which should be considered, so much as the means by which 
recurring need can be prevented. Industry should be encouraged, 
not laziness.
The industrious class is certainly the one more worthy of public 
assistance. The spinners, for example, who, lately, have been 
selling their yarn for almost the price of the dressed flax out 
of which they spun it, deserve consideration, and should receive 
help in order to encourage them to continue at work. To sum up, 
although the almsgiving of Dublin is extremely creditable, and, 
in some part, necessary, I believe it would be better if it were 
spread over the country.
However, I must admit that it would be difficult to say too much 
in praise of the zeal and activity of the kind persons who have 
done their best for the suffering humanity of this city. The 
number of charitable institutions is inconceivable—it would take 
too much space to attempt to describe them. The one which, to 
me, seems best designed is that called the Sick Poor's 
Institution, to which anyone paying a guinea a year can send a 
poor sick person, who will receive medicine gratis, and visits 
at home from the doctor when these are necessary.
I revisited the House of Industry, finding it to be still 
carried on as I have described at the beginning of this volume. 
The changes and improvements recommended by Count Rumford have 
not been made—in great establishments like this it is difficult 
to persuade the governing body to change the methods to which 
they have been accustomed. As a matter of fact, the economical 
heater and hot pipes which the count constructed are suited only 
for a small building with twenty or thirty inmates. There are 
here over seventeen hundred.<56>
The drunkenness which prevails among the lower classes 
contributes much to their degradation, and to perpetuate 
poverty. There is nothing more disgusting than the spectacle of 
rag-covered women coming out of the public houses, carrying two 
or three nearly-naked children and begging for alms. At such too 
frequent sight the heart's door closes, pity and compassion 
disappear, leaving behind only feelings of disgust and horror, 
and a desire to fly from the unpleasant company. Some people 
have told me that, formerly, drunkenness was just as common in 
England, but that since 'The Gin Act,' which, by a heavy duty, 
has put strong liquors beyond the purchasing power of the 
people, they drink now only porter, or ale, healthy and 
strengthening drinks on which one could hardly manage to get 
drunk. A 'Whiskey Act' for Ireland would be a great benefit to 
the country, and would soon destroy this odious vice which kills 
the industry of the poor and keeps them in idleness, dirt, and 
the most abject poverty.
As I have spoken in the course of this work of manners and 
customs which seem to me to be different from those of England, 
I do not propose to recapitulate these. Every county, nearly, 
has its own peculiar customs, and this diversity makes a journey 
in Ireland much more amusing for the minute and careful 
observer. The traveller by coach cannot observe these 
peculiarities. Generally it may be said that all the reports 
which have occasioned English prejudice are either false or much 
exaggerated.
The infatuation for ancient descent exists certainly, but to 
much less extent than asserted. It is the adventurer who leaves 
his country who boasts himself of, and terrifies you with, the 
great names in 'Mac 'and 'O'. In the country itself no attention 
is paid to such things. It is quite true that the Irish still 
distinguish the old families from the new (so-called)—these 
latter being all who arrived in Ireland since the time of 
Strongbow, six hundred years or more ago—but this is more by way 
of remembrance of independent times than from pride. Here it is 
possible after such long lapse of time to see the peasants, in 
certain districts, pay ceremonious respect to the representative 
of their ancient prince. He who is perhaps the most 
extraordinary is Roderick O'Connor, descendant of the kings of 
Connaught and of the last great monarch of Ireland at the time 
of the English invasion in 1171. I have been told that his 
domestics serve him kneeling, and that no one may sit down in 
his presence without his permission. When he is addressed or 
written to one must say O'Connor, without any style or title 
whatever.
I am very sorry that I did not see him; I was not within forty 
Irish miles of his house. The crown of gold of the last monarch 
is said to be in possession of his family, although there are 
those who think it has been disposed of to a jeweller. I suppose 
I shall be considered very barbarous, yet I must avow that I 
find something touching and honourable in these ancient usages.
There are many persons of the name of O'Neill—the O'Neills were 
kings of Ulster—O'Briens, and MacDermotts, which are old royal 
names of Munster and Leinster, but I have not heard whether 
there be any living representative of these royal families; at 
any rate I have heard of none receiving homage such as I have 
described.
The changes which the moderation of the Government has brought 
about, of late years, in Ireland, permit the hope that, in the 
absence of violent crises, the whole of the inhabitants, no 
matter what may be their religion, will soon come to regard 
themselves as one people, and will cease to look on each other 
as conquerors on the one side, or vanquished on the other. The 
landlords who, until lately, feeling their position insecure, 
tried to draw the most they could out of their estates, without 
troubling about the misery of their compatriots, see, at last, 
the prejudices arising out of the manner in which their 
ancestors acquired the estates weakened and dying—they feel 
themselves real owners. On the other side the people have become 
accustomed to see them occupy the place of the ancient families. 
Out of this mutual desire for forgetfulness of the past, it 
results naturally that the rich, no longer looking on themselves 
as usurping proprietors, take an interest in the affairs of the 
country which furnishes their riches, and now, far from wishing 
to drain the wealth of an estate which they are certain of 
passing to their children, they strive to improve it and make 
life more easy and comfortable for the peasants who cultivate 
it.
Out of such happy change of the state of affairs we may expect 
prosperity to come to this land, and I have no doubt that, if 
such measures as have been adopted of late years are continued, 
and if the Government succeeds in extirpating the seeds of 
sedition and in preserving peace, Ireland will become a nation, 
happy and prosperous, and as much respected as in former times 
she has been despised and misjudged.
Notes.
Some of these were footnotes in the original; those by the 
transcriber are indicated by [TN]
1. Mouchards: Informers or provocateurs.[TN]
2. Déroute: A total defeat.[TN]
3. Twiss's book is available on this web site at 
https://www.exclassics.com/twiss/twissintro.htm. The "very 
undignified position" was at the bottom of a chamber pot, with 
the inscription "Let everyone piss on lying Dick Twiss."[TN]
4. At this point are omitted several pages of imperfectly 
digested history dealing with the Tuatha de Danaan, the 
Milesians, the Danes, and Brian Boru's victory over the last-
mentioned. Following this account are some pages devoted to the 
language theory of the author's friend, General Vallancey, who 
had satisfied himself that the language of ancient Carthage and 
Irish of its period were alike. The author finishes the tale of 
his reading with the story of St. Patrick and the venomous 
beasts. This second-hand matter is of no modern interest.—
Translator's note.
5. I speak of Jacobite party spirit.—Note by Author.
6. Mon chou, ma poule or mon rat: "My cabbage, my chick or my 
rat."[TN]
7. A votre aise, &c.: 
"When you are tranquil you can laugh 
At the torment that love causes: 
You will know in your turn 
That to love is a cruel martyrdom 
When it is not returned.
I seem to hear on this day 
For your wicked satyr traits 
The god of love, stings, you will say 
When you are tranquil.
Fear to attract this lovely god's rage 
Love what your heart sighs for 
And let his fire inspire you 
And I will talk to you in plain words. 
When you are tranquil."[TN]
8. Caserne: A military barracks.[TN]
9. Count Rumford is an Englishman and has been employed by the 
Elector Palatine for the maintenance of good order and the 
suppression of begging in his territory. He has shown much 
talent in the execution of these interesting projects, and in 
the short space of five or six years it seems he has succeeded 
in making the poor disgusted with a life of mendicancy, and has 
accustomed them so to work that there is no longer any need for 
compulsion in bringing them to the industrial establishments he 
has founded, and where they are clothed and lodged in return for 
their labour. 
The spirit of economy there exhibited had apparently attracted 
the attention of the Irish Government, who consulted Count 
Rumford. The advice he gave has already produced happy effects, 
but, as I believe that begging in Ireland is not so much the 
product of indolence as of other more serious causes, his 
efforts will perhaps not succeed so completely as might be 
desired until these serious causes have been removed. Count 
Rumford has also invented a method by which the cost of heating 
is much diminished, and which does away with smoky chimneys. It 
consists principally in the contraction of the chimney close to 
the hearth, thereby augmenting the current of air.—Note by 
Author.
10. At this point are omitted various notes connected with 
General Vallencey's speculations about the language of Carthage 
and its affinity to Irish.— Translator's note.
11. Pas de côté: Literally, a sidestep; here, a replacement 
building beside the original. [TN]
12. Manes: The soul of a dead person. [TN]
13. Gragun re: Probably Gráig an rí "The king's compound." [TN]
14. It is singular that nearly everywhere in Ireland stones on 
one side of a river are of a different nature from those on the 
other. Limestone, for example, is found on one side of the Suir 
and not on the other. The same thing is also to be noticed at 
Cork and in the case of the rivers Kenmare, Shannon, and 
Galway.—Note by Author.
15. The Cushin: Actually the Feale, of which the Cashen is a 
tributary. [TN]
16. Holy Island: Scattery Island, Co. Clare. [TN]
17. Twopence halfpenny or threepence: The author says 'cinq a 
six sous.' Possibly he meant 'five to six pence.'— Translator's 
note.
18. Un pot de vin: A sweetener or deontas. Literally, "a jug of 
wine." [TN]
19. I have been told that a witness in one of such actions, 
having sworn that he had seen so-and-so at mass, the judge asked 
him if he knew what mass was. Not being able to answer, the 
judge said, 'Wretch, how can you swear to what you do not know?' 
and acquitted the prisoner.—Note by Author.
20. Vraisemblance: "Likelihood."[TN]
21. Capavarna: Probably Kilcornan. [TN]
22. Porte-cochère: A gateway for carriages, leading into a 
court-yard. [TN]
23. I report this as it was stated to me. The period during 
which the Spaniards were masters of a part of Ireland is not 
well defined in history. All places on the western coast, 
however, from Galway to Bantry, have the tradition of their 
occupation, and some placenames are Spanish, such as Valentia, 
&c.—Note by Author.
24. Thirteen families: Sic, actually fourteen. [TN]
25. In the English of the author—Translator's note.
26. Leitrig mountain: Ben Lettery. [TN]
27. Les portes de l'abîme furent ouvertes et qu'elles se 
fermerent ensuite. "The doors of the abyss were opened and then 
closed afterwards."[TN]
28. Lough Clean: There is no lake of this size on the Shannon 
before Lough Allen. Possibly the author means Lough Mcnean, 
which is nearby but not on the river.[TN]
29. Tailor: In the original there is a play on the word 
tailleur, which the author prints in italics—Translator's note.
30. Here, in a lengthy note, the author quotes the theories of 
General Vallencey based on an assumed agreement in form and 
meaning of words belonging to the Irish and Arabic and Persian 
languages. The General's speculations are sometimes more curious 
than valuable, and some of the derivations he gives would not be 
accepted now as correct. The author's spelling of Irish words is 
retained. —Translator's note.
31. Champs Elyseés: Heaven, not the Parisian street. [TN]
32. Ce monde, hélas, est bien un autre enfer: "This world, alas, 
is just another hell." [TN]
33. River Derg: sic, actually the Foyle; the Derg is a small 
tributary of it. [TN]
34. See the Journals of the Chamber of Commerce on Importation 
and Exportation, the Reports from the Customs, and the 
calculations of Arthur Young at the end of his book on Ireland.—
Translator's Note.
35. Jozef Boruwlaski's memoirs are available on this site at 
https://www.exclassics.com/dwarf/dwarfint.htm. [TN]
36. Philibeg: The Anglican bishops wear, as mark of their 
dignity, a small petticoat which descends only to the knees, and 
which is like what is worn by the Highlanders of Scotland, but 
with this exception, that in the case of the bishops, breeches 
are worn below.—Note by Author.
37. The doctor to whom I spoke about the possibilities of 
draining the lake, after making many objections, all of which I 
met, said: 'To tell the truth, it is not in my own interest that 
I am speaking, for the draining would produce a delightful 
fever, which would make my fortune.'—Note by Author.
38. On the day I crossed there were four hundred horned cattle 
taken over to Scotland, and in the six weeks previous there had 
been transported nearly thirty thousand.—Note by Author.
39. Ye're a canty callant, will ye pree mee mou: "You're a 
lively lad, will you take my mouth [i.e kiss me.]" [TN]
40. A corporal who wore himself out without success in 
endeavouring to teach manoeuvres to a professor, became very 
angry, and, swearing at him, said, 'I would rather teach fifty 
ragamuffins than one philosopher.'—Note by Author.
41. Mention may be made of the works of several of the 
professors: Ferguson's Discourse on Roman History; Stuart's 
Moral Philosophy; Munro's work on Medicine; Black's Chemistry; 
Blair's Sermons, &c., &c.—Note by Author.
42. My First Volume: Referring to his book entitled Promenade 
d'un Français dans la Grande Bretagne.—Translator's note.
43. Jock: The hangman.—Translator's Note.
44. The Manchester people make a great many faces if they are 
asked to show their mills, some of them absolutely refuse. But 
what are their mills in comparison with those of Lanark!!—Note 
by Author.
45. Penates: Household gods. [TN]
46. In the month of June 1795 the Court of Session at Edinburgh 
decided a case of this kind in favour of the plaintiff. A young 
man, falling in with the wishes of his family, was accustomed to 
write to a young girl living more than two hundred miles away, 
and in his letters commonly called her 'my little wife.' She in 
return called him in her letters 'my little husband.' 
Correspondence went on for two years, at the end of which time 
the young man tired of the distant intended whom he had never 
seen, and fell in love with a girl he saw very frequently at 
home. The distant young lady soon heard of this and in the end a 
lawsuit was entered. The Court of Session decided in favour of 
the young woman, who was then duly recognised as married 
although by letter only. 
Will it be believed that with all the facilities for marrying, 
Scotland is the country of the world which has the greatest 
number of old maids? The number of them is truly frightful.—Note 
by Author.
47. The green ribbon was the distinction adopted by the United 
Irishmen.—Note by Author.
48. The year before the troubles, in 1794, a Newry merchant 
sold, to my knowledge, to the value of £80,000 sterling in 
linen, and made on it a profit of £30,000.—Note by Author.
49. The story, which is given in the original at a length of 
three pages, is not worth the space occupied.—Translator's Note.
50. Quand je veux rimer à Guillaume, &c.: "When I rhyme about 
William, I find that he conquered a kingdom which he made obey 
his laws: but when I rhyme about James, I must dream and twist 
my fingers, I find he performed his penance." [TN]
51. At this point are omitted several pages of the original, 
descriptive of Newgrange, with further speculations of the 
author's friend, General Vallencey, based on the similarity of 
Irish and Sanskrit.—Translator's Note.
52. Rathlema: Probably Danestown Ringfort.[TN]
53. The Parliament House, Dublin, is a magnificent building, but 
through a strange remissness in its design a Doric entablature 
is set on columns and capitals of Corinthian order.—Note by 
Author.
54. I have been assured that there were five hundred persons in 
the Foot Company of Solicitors, and there were many who did not 
enrol themselves. The Horse Company of Barristers or Pleaders 
and Solicitors appeared much in exercises, and a current 
pleasantry explained the excellence of their horsemanship by 
asserting that before their enrolment they knew pretty well how 
to charge.—Note by Author.
55. The joker also said that it was wise to form a corps of 
Custom-House Officers as they were adepts in hindering or 
preventing a landing. Joking aside, the Companies were really 
very fine, and would have done credit to any army.—Note by 
Author.
56. The room in which Count Rumford placed his furnace did not 
allow, perhaps, for a large size. The installation is only a 
model one.—Note by Author.
THE END
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