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.

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