Chapter VI: Part 6

As the multitude stood compassionating the affliction of the widow and orphans, it was the most impressive and solemn spectacle that could be witnessed. The very house seemed to have a condemned look; and, as a single wintry breeze waved a tuft of long grass that grew on a seat of turf at the side of the door, it brought the vanity of human enmity before my mind with melancholy force. When the keening ceased, Kelly's wife, with her children, knelt, their faces towards the house of their enemy, and invoked, in the strong language of excited passion, the justice of heaven upon the head of the man who had left her a widow, and her children fatherless. I was anxious to know if Grimes would appear to disclaim the intention of murder; but I understood that he was at market--for it happened to be market-day.

“Come out!” said the widow--“come out, and look at the sight that's here before you! Come and view your own work! Lay but your hand upon the coffin, and the blood of him you murdhered will spout, before God and these Christian people, in your guilty face! But, oh! may the Almighty God bring this home to you!--May you never lave this life, John Grimes, till worse nor has overtaken me and mine fall upon you and yours! May our curse light upon you this day!--the curse, I say, of the widow and the orphans, that your bloody hand has made us, may it blast you! May you, and all belonging to you wither off of the 'airth! Night and day, sleeping and waking--like snow off the ditch, may you melt, until your name and your place be disremimbered, except to be cursed by them that will hear of you and your hand of murdher! Amin, we pray God this day!--and the widow and orphans' prayer will not fall to the ground while your guilty head is above it! Childhre, do you all say it?”

At this moment a deep, terrific murmur, or rather ejaculation, corroborative of assent to this dreadful imprecation, pervaded the crowd in a fearful manner; their countenances darkened, their eyes gleamed, and their scowling visages stiffened into an expression of determined vengeance.

When these awful words were uttered, Grimes's wife and daughters approached the window in tears, sobbing, at the same time, loudly and bitterly.

“You're wrong,” said the wife--“you're wrong, Widow Kelly, in saying that my husband murdhered him:--he did not murdher him; for when you and yours were far from him, I heard John Grimes declare before the God who's to judge him, that he had no thought or intention of taking his life; he struck him in anger, and the blow did him an injury that was not intended. Don't curse him, Honor Kelly,” said she, “don't curse him so fearfully; but, above all, don't curse me and my innocent childher, for we never harmed you, nor wished you ill! But it was this party work did it! Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands in utter bitterness of spirit, “when will it be ended between friends and neighbors, that ought to live in love and kindness together instead of fighting in this bloodthirsty manner!”

She then wept more violently, as did her daughters.

“May God give me mercy in the last day, Mrs. Kelly, as I pity from my heart and soul you and your orphans,” she continued; “but don't curse us, for the love of God--for you know we should forgive our enemies, as we ourselves, that are the enemies of God, hope to be forgiven.”

“May God forgive me, then, if I have wronged you or your husband,” said the widow, softened by their distress; “but you know, that whether he intended his life or not, the stroke he gave him has left my childher without a father, and myself dissolate. Oh, heavens above me!” she exclaimed, in a scream of distraction and despair, “is it possible--is it thrue--that my manly husband--the best father that ever breathed the breath of life--my own Denis, is lying dead--murdhered before my eyes? Put your hands on my head, some of you--put your hands on my head, or it will go to pieces. Where are you, Denis--where are you, the strong of hand, and the tender of heart? Come to me, darling, I want you in my distress. I want comfort, Denis; and I'll take it from none but yourself, for kind was your word to me in all my afflictions!”

All present were affected; and, indeed, it was difficult to say, whether Kelly's wife or Grimes's was more to be pitied at the moment. The affliction of the latter and of her daughters was really pitiable; their sobs were loud, and the tears streamed down their cheeks like rain. When the widow's exclamations had ceased, or rather were lost in the loud cry of sorrow which were uttered by the keeners and friends of the deceased--they, too, standing somewhat apart from the rest, joined in it bitterly; and the solitary wail of Mrs. Grimes, differing in character from that of those who had been trained to modulate the most profound grief into strains of a melancholy nature, was particularly wild and impressive. At all events, her Christian demeanor, joined to the sincerity of her grief, appeased the enmity of many; so true is it that a soft answer turneth away wrath. I could perceive, however, that the resentment of Kelly's male relations did not appear to be in any degree moderated.

The funeral again proceeded, and I remarked that whenever a strange passenger happened to meet it, he always turned back, and accompanied it for a short distance, after which he resumed his journey, it being considered unlucky to omit this visage on meeting a funeral. Denis's residence was not more than two miles from the churchyard, which was situated in the town where he had received the fatal blow. As soon as we had got on about the half of this way, the priest of the parish met us, and the funeral, after proceeding a few perches more, turned into a green field, in the corner of which stood a table with the apparatus for saying mass spread upon it.

The coffin was then laid down once more, immediately before this temporary altar; and the priest, after having robed himself, the wrong or the sable side of the vestments out, as is usual in the case of death, began to celebrate mass for the dead, the congregation all kneeling. When this was finished, the friends of the deceased approached the altar, and after some private conversation, the priest turned round, and inquired aloud--

“Who will give Offerings?”

The people were acquainted with the manner in which this matter is conducted, and accordingly knew what to do. When the priest put the question, Denis's brother, who Was a wealthy man, came forward, and laid down two guineas on the altar; the priest took this up, and putting it on a plate, set out among the multitude, accompanied by two or three of those who were best acquainted with the inhabitants of the parish. He thus continued putting the question, distinctly, after each man had paid; and according as the money was laid down, those who accompanied the priest pronounced the name of the person who gave it, so that all present might hear it. This is also done to enable the friends of the deceased to know not only those who show them this mark of respect, but those who neglect it, in order that they may treat them in the same manner on similar occasions. The amount of money so received is very great; for there is a kind of emulation among the people, as to who will act with most decency and spirit, that is exceedingly beneficial to the priest. In such instances the difference of religion is judiciously overlooked; for although the prayers of Protestants are declined on those occasions, yet it seems the same objection does not hold good against their money, and accordingly they pay as well as the rest. When the priest came round to where I stood, he shook hands with my brother, with whom he appeared to be on very friendly and familiar terms; he and I were then introduced to each other.

“Come,” said he, with a very droll expression of countenance, shaking the plate at the same time up near my brother's nose,--“Come, Mr. D'Arcy, down with your offerings, if you wish to have a friend with St. Peter when you go as far as the gates; down with your money, sir, and you shall be remembered, depend upon it.”

“Ah,” said my brother, pulling out a guinea, “I would with the greatest pleasure; but I fear this guinea is not orthodox. I'm afraid it has a heretical mark upon it.”

“In that case,” replied his Reverence laughing heartily, “your only plan is to return it to the bosom of the church, by laying it on the plate here--it will then be within the pale, you know.”

This reply produced a great deal of good-humor among that part of the crowd which immediately surrounded them--not excepting his nearest relations, who laughed heartily--

“Well,” said my brother, as he laid it on the plate, “how many prayers will you offer up in my favor for this?”

“Leave that to myself,” said his Reverence, looking at the money; “it will be before you, I say, when you go to St. Peter.”

He then held the plate over to me in a droll manner; and I added another guinea to my brother's gift; for which I had the satisfaction of having my name called out so loud, that it might be heard a quarter of a mile off.

“God bless you, sir,” said the priest, “and I thank you.”

“John,” said I, when he left us, “I think that is a pleasant and rather a sensible man?”

“He's as jovial a soul,” replied my brother, “as ever gave birth to a jest, and he sings a right good song. Many a convivial hour have he and I spent together; and a more hospitable man besides, never yet existed. Although firmly attached to his own religion, he is no bigot; but, on the contrary, an excellent, liberal, and benevolent man.”

When the offerings were all collected, he returned to the altar, repeated a few additional prayers in prime style--as rapid as lightning; and after hastily shaking the holy water on the crowd, the funeral moved oh. It was now two o'clock, the day clear and frosty, and the sun unusually bright for the season. During mass, many were added to those who formed the funeral train at the outset; so that, when we got out upon the road, the procession appeared very large. After this, few or none joined it; for it is esteemed by no means “dacent” to do so after mass, because, in that case, the matter is ascribed to an evasion of the offerings; but those whose delay has not really been occasioned by this motive, make it a point to pay them at the grave-yard, or after the interment, and sometimes even on the following day--so jealous are the peasantry of having any degrading suspicion attached to their generosity.

The order of the funeral now was as follows:--Foremost the women--next to them the corpse, surrounded by the relations--the eldest son, in deep affliction, “led the coffin,” as chief mourner, holding in his hand the corner of a sheet or piece of linen, fastened to the mort-cloth, called moor-cloth. After the coffin came those who were on foot, and in the rear were the equestrians. When we were a quarter of a mile from the churchyard, the funeral was met by a dozen of singing-boys, belonging to a chapel choir, which the priest, who was fond of music, had some time before formed. They fell in, two by two, immediately behind the corpse, and commenced singing the Requiem, or Latin hymn for the dead.

The scene through which we passed at this time, though not clothed with the verdure and luxuriant beauty of summer, was, nevertheless, marked by that solemn and decaying splendor which characterizes a fine country, lit up by the melancholy light of a winter setting sun. It was, therefore, much more in character with the occasion. Indeed--I felt it altogether beautiful; and, as the “dying day-hymn stole aloft,” the dim sunbeams fell, through a vista of naked, motionless trees, upon the coffin, which was borne with a slower and more funereal pace than before, in a manner that threw a solemn and visionary light upon the whole procession, this, however, was raised to something dreadfully impressive, when the long train, thus proceeding with a motion so mournful, as seen, each, or at least the majority of them, covered with a profusion of crimson ribbons, to indicate that the corpse they bore--owed, his death to a deed of murder. The circumstance of the sun glancing his rays upon the coffin was not unobserved by the peasantry, who considered it as a good omen to the spirit of the departed.

As we went up the street which had been the scene of the quarrel that proved so fatal to Kelly, the coffin was again laid down on the spot where he received his death-blow; and, as was usual, the wild and melancholy keene was raised. My brother saw many of Grimes's friends among the spectators, but he himself was not visible. Whether Kelly's party saw then or not, we could not say; if they did, they seemed not to notice them, for no expression of revenge or indignation escaped them.

At length we entered the last receptacle of the dead. The coffin was now placed upon the shoulders of the son and brothers of the deceased, and borne round the church-yard; whilst the priest, with his stole upon him, preceded it, reading prayers for the eternal repose of the soul. Being then laid beside the grave, a “De profundis” was repeated by the priest and the mass-server; after which a portion of fresh clay, carried from the fields, was brought to his Reverence, who read a prayer over it, and consecrated it. This is a ceremony which is never omitted at the interment of a Roman Catholic. When it was over, the coffin was laid into the grave, and the blessed clay shaken over it. The priest now took the shovel in his own hands, and threw in the three first shovelfuls--one in the name of the Father, one in the name of the Son, and one in the name of the Holy Ghost. The sexton then took it, and in a short time Denis Kelly was fixed for ever in his narrow bed.

While these ceremonies were going forward, the churchyard presented a characteristic picture. Beside the usual groups who straggle through the place, to amuse themselves by reading the inscriptions on the tombs, you might see many individuals kneeling on particular graves, where some relation lay--for the benefit of whose soul they offered up their prayers with an attachment and devotion which one cannot but admire. Sometimes all the surviving members of the family would assemble, and repeat a Rosary for the same purpose. Again, you might see an unhappy woman beside a newly-made grave, giving way to lamentation and sorrow for the loss of a husband, or of some beloved child. Here, you might observe the “last bed” ornamented with hoops, decked in white paper, emblematic of the virgin innocence of the individual who slept below;--there, a little board-cross informing you that “this monument was erected by a disconsolate husband to the memory of his beloved wife.” But that which excited greatest curiosity was a sycamore-tree, which grow in the middle of the burying-ground.

It is necessary to inform the reader, that in Ireland many of the church-yards are exclusively appropriated to the interment of Roman Catholics, and, consequently, the corpse of no one who had been a Protestant would be permitted to pollute or desecrate them. This was one of them: but it appears that by some means or other, the body of a Protestant had been interred in it--and hear the consequence! The next morning heaven marked its disapprobation of this awful visitation by a miracle; for, ere the sun rose from the east, a full-grown sycamore had shot up out of the heretical grave, and stands there to this day, a monument at once of the profanation and its consequence. Crowds wore looking at this tree, feeling a kind of awe, mingled with wonder, at the deed which drew down such a visible and lasting mark of God's displeasure. On the tombstones near Kelly's grave, men and women were seated, smoking tobacco to their very heart's content; for, with that profusion which characterizes the Irish in everything, they had brought out large quantities of tobacco, whiskey, and bunches of pipes. On such occasions it is the custom for those who attend the wake or the funeral to bring a full pipe home with them; and it is expected that, as often as it is used, they will remember to say “God be merciful to the soul of him that this pipe was over.”

The crowd, however, now began to disperse; and the immediate friends of the deceased sent the priest, accompanied by Kelly's brother, to request that we would come in, as the last mark of respect to poor Denis's memory, and take a glass of wine and a cake.

“Come, Toby,” said my brother, “we may as well go in, as it will gratify them; we need not make much delay, and we will still be at home in sufficient time for dinner.”

“Certainly you will,” said the Priest; “for you shall both come and dine with me to-day.”

“With all my heart,” said my brother; “I have no objection, for I know you give it good.”

When we went in, the punch was already reeking from immense white jugs, that couldn't hold less than a gallon each.

“Now,” said his Reverence, very properly, 'you have had a decent and creditable funeral, and have managed every thing with great propriety; let me request, therefore, that you will not get drunk, nor permit yourselves to enter into any disputes or quarrels; but be moderate in what you take, and go home peaceably.”

“Why, thin, your Reverence,” replied the widow, “he's now in his grave, and, thank God, it's he that had the dacent funeral all out--ten good gallons did we put over you, asthore, and it's yourself that liked the dacent thing, any how--but sure, sir, it would shame him where he's lyin', if we disregarded him so far as to go home widout bringing in our friends, that didn't desart us in our throuble, an' thratin' them for their kindness.”

While Kelly's brother was filling out all their glasses, the priest, my brother, and I, were taking a little refreshment. When the glasses were filled, the deceased's brother raised his in his hand, and said,--

“Well, gintlemen,” addressing us, “I hope you'll pardon me for not dhrinking your healths first; but people, you know, can't break through an ould custom, at any rate--so I give poor Denis's health that's in his warm grave, and God be merciful to his sowl.”

The priest now winked at me to give them their own way; so we filled our glasses, and joined the rest in drinking “Poor Denis's health, that's now in his warm grave, and God be merciful to his soul.”

When this was finished, they then drank ours, and thanked us for our kindness in attending the funeral. It was now past five o'clock; and we left them just setting into a hard bout of drinking, and rode down to his Reverence's residence.

“I saw you smile,” said he, on our way, “at the blundering toast of Mat Kelly; but it would be labor in vain to attempt setting them right. What do they know about the distinctions of more refined life? Besides, I maintain, that what they said was as well calculated to express their affection, as if they had drunk honest Denis's memory. It is, at least, unsophisticated. But did you hear,” said he, “of the apparition that was seen last night, on the mountain road above Denis's?”

“I did not hear of it,” I replied, equivocating a little.

“Why,” said he, “it is currently reported that the spirit of a murdered pedlar, which haunts the hollow of the road at Drumfurrar bridge, chased away the two servant men as they were bringing home the coffin, and that finding it a good fit, he got into it, and walked half a mile along the road, with the wooden surtout upon him; and, finally, that to wind up the frolic, he left it on one end half-way between the bridge and Denis's house, after putting a crowd of the countrymen to flight. I suspect some droll knave has played them a trick. I assure you, that a deputation of them, who declared that they saw the coffin move along of itself, waited upon me this morning, to know whether they ought to have put him into the coffin, or gotten another.”

“Well,” said my brother, in reply to him, “after dinner we will probably throw some light upon that circumstance; for I believe my brother here knows something about it.”

“So, sir,” said the priest, “I perceive you have been amusing yourself at their expense.”

I seldom spent a pleasanter evening than, I did with Father Miloy (so he was called), who was, as my brother said, a shrewd, sensible man, possessed of convivial powers of the first order. He sang us several good songs; and, to do him justice, he had an excellent voice. He regretted very much the state of party and religious feeling, which he did every thing in his power to suppress. “But,” said he, “I have little co-operation in my efforts to communicate knowledge to my flock, and implant better feelings among them. You must know,” he added, “that I am no great favorite with them. On being appointed to this parish by my bishop, I found that the young man who was curate to my predecessor had formed a party against me, thinking, by that means, eventually to get the parish himself. Accordingly, on coming here, I found the chapel doors closed on me: so that a single individual among them would not recognize me as their proper pastor. By firmness and spirit, however, I at length succeeded, after a long struggle against the influence of the curate, in gaining admission to the altar; and, by a proper representation of his conduct to the bishop, I soon made my gentleman knock under. Although beginning to gain ground in the good opinion of the people, I am by no means yet a favorite. This curate and I scarcely speak; but I hope that in the course of time, both he and they will begin to find, that by kindness and a sincere love for their welfare on my part, good-will and affection will ultimately be established among us. At least, there shall be nothing left undone, so far as I am concerned, to effect it.”

It was now near nine o'clock, and my brother was beginning to relate an anecdote concerning the clergyman who had preceded Father Molloy in the parish, when a messenger from Mr. Wilson, already alluded to, came up in breathless haste, requesting the priest, for God's sake, to go down into town instantly, as the Kellys and the Grimeses were engaged in a fresh quarrel.

“My God!” he exclaimed--“when will this work have an end? But, to tell you the truth, gentlemen, I apprehended it; and I fear that something still more fatal to the parties will yet be the consequence. Mr. D'Arcy, you must try what you can do with the Grimeses, and I will manage the Kellys.”

We then proceeded to the town, which was but a very short distance from the Priest's house; and, on arriving, found a large crowd before the door of the house in which the Kellys had been drinking, engaged in hard conflict. The priest was on foot, and had brought his whip with him, it being an argument, in the hands of a Roman Catholic pastor, which tells so home that it is seldom gainsaid. Mr. Molloy and my brother now dashed in amongst them: and by remonstrance, abuse, blows, and entreaty, they with difficulty succeeded in terminating the fight. They were also assisted by Mr. Wilson and other persons, who dared not, until their appearance, run the risk of interfering between them. Wilson's servant, who had come for the priest, was still standing beside me, looking on; and, while my brother and Mr. Molloy were separating the parties, I asked him how the fray commenced.

“Why, sir,” said he, “it bein' market-day, the Grimeses chanced to be in town, and this came to the ears of the Kellys, who were drinking in Cassidy's here, till they got tipsy; some of them then broke out, and began to go up and down the street, shouting for the face of a murdhering Grimes. The Grimeses, sir, happened at the time to be drinking with a parcel of their friends in Joe Sherlock's, and hearing the Kellys calling out for them, why, as the dhrop, sir, was in on both sides, they were soon at it. Grimes has given one of the Kelly's a great bating; but Tom Grogan, Kelly's cousin, a little before we came down, I'm tould, has knocked the seven senses out of him, with the pelt of a brick-bat in the stomach.”

Soon after this, however, the quarrel was got under; and, in order to prevent any more bloodshed that night, my brother and I got the Kellys together, and brought them as far as our residence, on their way home. As they went along, they uttered awful vows, and determinations of the deepest revenge, swearing repeatedly that they would shoot Grimes from behind a ditch, if they could not in any other manner have his blood. They seemed highly intoxicated; and several of them were cut and abused in a dreadful manner; even the women were in such a state of excitement and alarm, that grief for the deceased was, in many instances, forgotten. Several of both sexes were singing; some laughing with triumph at the punishment they had inflicted on the enemy; others of them, softened by what they had drunk, were weeping in tones of sorrow that might be heard a couple of miles off. Among the latter were many of the men, some of whom, as they staggered along, with their frieze big coats hanging off one shoulder, clapped their hands, and roared like bulls, as if they intended, by the loudness of their grief then, to compensate for their silence when sober. It was also quite ludicrous to see the men kissing each other, sometimes in this maudlin sorrow, and at others when exalted into the very madness of mirth. Such as had been cut in the scuffle, on finding the blood trickle down their faces, would wipe it off--then look at it, and break out into a parenthetical volley of curses against the Grimeses; after which, they would resume their grief, hug each other in mutual sorrow, and clap their hands as before. In short, such a group could be seen nowhere but in Ireland.

When my brother and I had separated from them, I asked him what had become of Vengeance, and if he were still in the country.

“No,” said he; “with all his courage and watchfulness, he found that his life was not safe; he, accordingly, sold off his property, and collecting all his ready cash, emigrated to America, where, I hear, he is doing well.”

“God knows,” I replied, “I shouldn't be surprised if one-half of the population were to follow his example, for the state of society here, among the lower orders, is truly deplorable.”

“Ay, but you are to consider now,” he replied, “that you have been looking at the worst of it. If you pass an unfavorable opinion upon our countrymen when in the public house or the quarrel, you ought to remember what they are under their own roofs, and in all the relations of private life.”

The “Party Fight,” described in the foregoing sketch, is unhappily no fiction, and it is certain that there are thousands still alive who have good reason to remember it. Such a fight, or I should rather say battle--for such in fact it was--did not take place in a state of civil society, if I can say so, within the last half century in this country. The preparations for it were secretly being made for two or three months previous to its occurrence, and however it came to light, it so happened that each party became cognizant of the designs of the other. This tremendous conflict, of which I was an eye-witness,--being then but about twelve years of age--took place in the town, or rather city, of Clogher, in my native county of Tyrone. The reader may form an opinion of the bitterness and ferocity with which it was fought on both sides when he is informed that the Orangemen on the one side, and the Ribbonmen on the other, had called in aid from the surrounding counties of Monaghan, Cavan, Fermanagh, and Derry; and, if I mistake not, also from Louth. In numbers, the belligerents could not have been less than from four to five thousand men. The fair day on which it occurred is known simply as “the Day of the great Fight.”

THE LOUGH DERG PILGRIM.

In describing the habits, superstitions, and feelings of the Irish people, it would be impossible to overlook a place which occupies so prominent a position in their religious usages as the celebrated Purgatory of St. Patrick, situated in a lake that lies among the bleak and desolate looking mountains of Donegal.

It may also be necessary to state to the reader, that the following sketch, though appearing in this place, was the first production from my pen which ever came before the public. The occasion of its being written was this:--I had been asked to breakfast by the late Rev. Caesar Otway, some time I think in the winter of 1829. About that time, or a little before, he had brought out his admirable work called, “Sketches in Ireland, descriptive of interesting portions of Donegal, Cork, and Kerry.” Among the remarkable localities of Donegal, of course it was natural to suppose, that “_Lough Derg_,” or the celebrated “_Purgatory of St. Patrick_,” would not be omitted. Neither was it; and nothing can exceed the accuracy and truthful vigor with which he describes its situation and appearance. In the course of conversation, however, I discovered that he had never been present during the season of making the Pilgrimages, and was consequently ignorant of the religious ceremonies which take place in it. In consequence, I gave him a pretty full and accurate account I of them, and of the Station which I myself had made there. After I had concluded, he requested me to put what I had told him upon paper, adding, “I will dress it up and have it inserted in the next edition.”

I accordingly went home, and on the fourth evening afterwards brought him the Sketch of the Lough Derg Pilgrim as it now appears, with the exception of some offensive passages which are expunged in this edition. Such was my first introduction to literary life.

And here I cannot omit paying my sincere tribute of grateful recollection to a man from whom I have received so many acts of the warmest kindness. To me he was a true friend in every sense of the word. In my early trials his purse and his advice often supported, soothed, and improved me. In a literary point of view I am under the deepest obligations to his excellent judgment and good taste. Indeed were it not for him, I never could have struggled my way through the severe difficulties with which in my early career I was beset.

“Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my early days;
None knew thee but to love thee,
Or named thee but to praise.”

But to my theme, which will be better understood, as will my description of the wild rites performed on the shores of its most celebrated island, by the following extracts, taken from this able and most vivid describer of Irish scenery:

“The road from the village of Petigo leading towards Lough Derg, runs along a river tumbling over rocks; and then after proceeding for a time over a boggy valley, you ascend into a dreary and mountainous tract, extremely ugly in itself, but from which you have a fine view indeed of the greatest part of the lower lake of Lough Erne, with its many elevated islands, and all its hilly shores, green, wooded, and cultivated, with the interspersed houses of its gentry, and the comfortable cottages of its yeomanry--the finest yeomanry in Ireland--men living in comparative comfort, and having in their figures and bearing that elevation of character which a sense of loyalty and independence confers. I had at length, after traveling about three miles, arrived where the road was discontinued, and by the direction of my guide, ascended a mountain-path that brought me through a wretched village, and led to the top of a hill. Here my boy left me, and went to look for the man who was to ferry us to Purgatory, and on the ridge where I stood I had leisure to look around. To the south-west lay Lough Erne, with all its isles and cultivated shores; to the north-west lay Lough Derg, and truly never did I mark such a contrast. Lough Derg under my feet--the lake, the shores, the mountains, the accompaniments of all sorts presented the very landscape of desolation; its waters expanding in their highland solitude, amidst a wide waste of moors, without one green spot to refresh the eye, without a house or tree--all mournful in the brown hue of its far-stretching bogs, and the gray uniformity of its rocks; the surrounding mountains even partook of the sombre character of the place; their forms without grandeur, their ranges continuous and without elevation. The lake itself was certainly as fine as rocky shores and numerous islands could make it: but it was encompassed with such dreariness; it was deformed so much by its purgatorial island; the associations connected with it were of such a degrading character, that really the whole prospect before me struck my mind with a sense of painfulness, and I said to myself, 'I am already in Purgatory.' A person who has never seen the picture that was now under my eye, who had read of a place consecrated by the devotion of ages, towards which the tide of human superstition had flowed for twelve centuries, might imagine that St. Patrick's Purgatory, secluded in its sacred island, would have all the venerable and gothic accompaniments of olden time; and its ivied towers and belfried steeples, its carved windows, and cloistered arches, its long dark aisles and fretted vaults would have risen out of the water, rivalling Iona or Lindisfarn; but nothing of the sort was to be seen. The island, about half a mile from the shore, presented nothing but a collection of hideous slated houses and cabins, which gave you an idea that they were rather erected for the purpose of tollhouses or police-stations than any thing else.

“I was certainly in an interesting position. I looked southerly towards Lough Erne, with the Protestant city of Enniskillen rising amidst its waters, like the island queen of all the loyalty, and industry, and reasonable worship that have made her sons the admiration of past and present time; and before me, to the north, Lough Derg, with its far-famed isle, reposing there as the monstrous birth of a dreary and degraded superstition, the enemy of mental cultivation, and destined to keep the human understanding in the same dark unproductive state as the moorland waste that lay outstretched around. I was soon joined by my guide and by two men carrying oars, with whom I descended from the ridge on which I was perched, towards the shores of the lake, where there was a sort of boat, or rather toll-house, at which the pilgrims paid a certain sum before they were permitted to embark for the island. In a few minutes we were afloat; and while sitting in the boat I had time to observe my ferrymen: one was a stupid countryman, who did not speak; the other was an old man with a Woollen night-cap under his hat, a brown snuff-colored coat, a nose begrimed with snuff, a small gray eye enveloped amidst wrinkles that spread towards his temples in the form of birds' claws, and gave to his countenance a sort of leering cunning that was extremely disagreeable. I found he was the clerk of the island chapel; that he was a sort of master of the ceremonies in purgatory, and guardian and keeper of it when the station time was over and priests and pilgrims had deserted it. I could plainly perceive that he had smoked me out as a Protestant, that he was on his guard against me as a spy, and that his determination was to get as much and to give as little information as he could; in fact, he seemed to have the desire to obtain the small sum he expected from me with as little exposure of his cause, and as little explanation of the practices of his craft as possible. The man informed me that the station time was over about a month, and he confirmed my guide's remark that the Pope's jubilee had much diminished the resort of pilgrims during the present season. He informed me also that the whole district around the lough, together with all its islands, belonged to Colonel L------, a relation of the Duke of Wellington; and that this gentleman, as landlord, had leased the ferry of the island to certain persons who had contracted to pay him L260 a year; and to make up this sum, and obtain a suitable income for themselves, the ferrymen charged each pilgrim five pence. Therefore, supposing that the contractors make cent, per cent, by their contract, which it may be supposed they do, the number of pilgrims to this island may be estimated at 13,000; and, as my little guide afterwards told me (although the cunning old clerk took care to avoid it), that each pilgrim paid the priest from 1s. 8d. to 2s. 6d., therefore we may suppose that the profit to the prior of Lough Derg and his priests was no small sum.

“In a short time I arrived at the island, and as stepping out of the boat I planted my foot on the rocks of this scene of human absurdity, I felt ashamed for human nature, and looked on myself as one of the millions of fools that have, century after century, degraded their understandings by coming hither. The island I found to be of an oval shape.

“The buildings on it consisted of a slated house for the priests, two chapels, and a long range of cabins on the rocky surface of the island, which may contain about half an acre; there were also certain round walls about two feet high, enclosing broken stone and wooden crosses; these were called saints' beds, and around these circles, on the sharp and stony rocks, the pilgrims go on their naked knees. Altogether I may briefly sum up my view of this place, and say that it was filthy, dreary, and altogether detestable--it was a positive waste of time to visit it, and I hope I shall never behold it again.” *

* Fire at Lough Derg.--On the 15th Aug 1842, the
station at this celebrated place was brought to a
conclusion; but in the course of the night it was
discovered that some of the houses were on fire, and
four dwellings which, we believe, were recently
erected, were altogether consumed. The people of the
neighboring country directed their efforts chiefly to
the preservation of the prior's house, which adjoined
those in flames, and by pouring a continued supply of
water against its windows, succeeded in saving it. The
night being calm, and the wind in a favorable
direction, the injury sustained was less than must have
existed under different circumstances. The houses burnt
were occupied as lodgings for pilgrims when on station.

The following is extracted from Bishop Henry Jones's account, published in 1647:

“The island called St. Patrick's Purgatory is altogether rocky, and rather level; within the compass of the island, in the water towards the north-east, about two yards from the shore, stand certain rocks, the least of which, and next the shore, is the one St. Patrick knelt on for the third part of the night in prayer, he did another third in his cell, which is called his bed, and another third in the cave or purgatory; in this stone there is a cleft or print, said to be made by St. Patrick's knees; the other stone is much greater and further off in the lake, and covered with water, called Lachavanny: this is esteemed of singular virtue; standing thereon healeth pilgrims' feet, bleeding as they are with cuts and bruises got in going barefoot round the blessed beds.

“The entrance into the island is narrow and rocky; these rocks they report to be the guts of a great serpent metamorphosed into stones. When Mr. Copinger, a gentleman drawn thither by the fame of the place, visited it, there was a church covered with shingles dedicated to St. Patrick, and it was thus furnished: at the east end was a high altar covered with linen, over which did hang the image of our Lady with our Saviour in her arms; on the right did hang the picture of the three kings offering their presents to our Saviour; and on the left the picture of our Saviour on the cross; near the altar, and on the south side, did stand on the ground an old worm-eaten image of St. Patrick; and behind the altar was another of the same fabric, but still older in appearance, called. St Arioge; and on the right hand another image called St. Volusianus.

“Between the church and the cave there is a small rising ground, and on a heap of stones lay a little stone cross, part broken, part standing; and. in the east of the church was another cross made of twigs interwoven: 'this is known by the name of St. Patrick's altar, on which lie three pieces of a bell, which they say St. Patrick used to carry in, his hand. Here also was laid a certain knotty bone of some bigness, hollow in the midst like the nave of a wheel, and out of which issue, as it were, natural spokes: this was: shown as a great rarity, being part of a great, serpent's tail--one of those monsters the blessed Patrick expelled out of Ireland.

“Towards the narrowest part of the island were six circles--some call them saints' beds, or beds of penance. Pilgrims are continually praying and kneeling about these beds; and they are compassed around with sharp stones and difficult passages for the accommodation of such as go barefooted.

“In the farthest part northward of the island, are certain beds of stone cast together; as memorials for some that are elsewhere; buried; but who trust to the prayers and merits of those who daily resort to this Purgatory. Lastly, in this island are several Irish cabins covered with thatch, and another for shriving or confession; and there are: separate places assigned for those who come from the four provinces of Ireland.

“In all, the pilgrims remain on the island nine days; they eat but once in the twenty-four hours, of oatmeal and water. They have liberty to refresh themselves with the water of the lake, which, as Roth says, 'is of such virtue, that though thou shouldst fill thyself with it, yet will it not offend; but is as if it flowed from some mineral.'

“The pilgrims at night lodge or lie on straw, without pillow or pallet, rolling themselves in their mantles, and wrapping their heads in their breeches; only on some one of the eight nights they must lie on one of the saints' beds, whichever they like.”

* * * * *

I was, at the time of performing this station, in the middle of my nineteenth year--of quick perception--warm imagination--a mind peculiarly romantic--a morbid turn for devotion, and a candidate for the priesthood, having been made slightly acquainted with Latin, and more slightly still with Greek.

At this period, however, all my faculties merged like friendly streams into the large current of my devotion. Of religion I was completely ignorant, although I had sustained a very conspicuous part in the devotions of the family, and signalized myself frequently; by taking the lead in a rosary. I had often out-prayed and out-fasted an old circulating pilgrim, who occasionally visited our family; a feat on which few would have ventured; and I even arrived to such a pitch of perfection at praying, that with the assistance of young and powerful lungs, I was fully able to distance him at any English prayer in which we joined. But in Latin, I must allow, that owing to my imperfect knowledge of its pronunciation, and to some twitches of conscience I felt on adventuring to imitate, him by overleaping this impediment, he was able to throw me back a considerable distance in his turn; so that when we both started for a _De Profundis_, I was always sure to come in second. Owing to all this I was considered a young man of promise, being, moreover, as my master often told my father, a youth of prodigious parts and great cuteness. Indeed, on this subject my master's veracity could not be questioned; because when I first commenced Latin, I was often heard repeating the prescribed tasks in my sleep. Many of his relations had already, even upon the strength of my prospective priesthood, begun to claim relationship with our family, and before I was nineteen, I found myself godfather to a dozen godsons and as many god-daughters; every one of whom I had with unusual condescension taken under my patronage; and most of the boys were named after myself. Finding that I was thus responsible for so much, in the opinion of my friends, and having the aforesaid character of piety to sustain, I found it indispensable to make the pilgrimage. Not that I considered myself a sinner, or by any means bound to go from that motive, for although the opinion of my friends, as to my talents and sanctity, was exceedingly high, yet, I assure you, it cut but a very indifferent figure, when compared with my own on both these subjects.

I very well remember that the first sly attempt I ever made at a miracle was in reference to Lough Derg; I tried it by way of preparation for my pilgrimage. I heard that there had been a boat lost there, about the year 1796, and that a certain priest who was in her as a passenger, had walked very calmly across the lake to the island, after the bout and the rest of the passengers in her had all gone to the bottom. Now, I had, from my childhood, a particular prejudice against sailing in a boat, although Dick Darcy, a satirical and heathenish old bachelor, who never went to Mass, used often to tell me, with a grin which I was never able rightly to understand, that I might have no prejudice against sailing, “because,” Dick would say, “take my word for it, you'll never die by drowning.” At all events, I thought to myself, that should any such untoward accident occur to me, it would be no unpleasant circumstance to imitate the priest; but that it would be infinitely more agreeable to make the first experiment in a marl-pit, on my father's farm, than on the lake. Accordingly, after three days' fasting, and praying for the power of not sinking in the water, I slipped very quietly down to the pit, and after reconnoitering the premises, to be sure there was no looker-on, I approached the brink. At this moment my heart beat high with emotion, my soul was wrapt up to a most enthusiastic pitch of faith, and my whole spirit absorbed in feelings, where hope--doubt--gleams of uncertainty--visions of future eminence--twitches of fear--reflections on my expertness in swimming--on the success of the water-walking priest afore-mentioned--and on the depth of the pond--had all insisted on an equal share of attention. At the edge of the pit grew large water-lilies, with their leaves spread over the surface; it is singular to reflect upon what slight and ridiculous circumstances the mind will seize, when wound up in this manner to a pitch of superstitious absurdity. I am really ashamed, even whilst writing this, of the confidence I put for a moment in a treacherous water-lily, as its leaf lay spread so smoothly and broadly over the surface of the pond, as if to lure my foot to the experiment. However, after having stimulated myself by a fresh pater and ave, I advanced, my eyes turned up enthusiastically to heaven--my hands resolutely clenched--my teeth locked together--my nerves set--and my whole soul strong in confidence--I advanced, I say, and lest I might give myself time to cool from this divine glow, I made a tremendous stride, planting my right foot exactly in the middle of the treacherous water-lily leaf, and the next moment was up to the neck in water. Here was devotion cooled. Happily I was able to bottom the pool, or could swim very well, if necessary; so I had not much difficulty in getting out. As soon as I found myself on the bank, I waited not to make reflections, but with a rueful face set off at full speed for my father's house, which was not far distant; the water all the while whizzing out of nay clothes, by the rapidity of the motion, as it does from a water-spaniel after having been in that element. It is singular to think what a strong authority vanity has over the principles and passions in the weakest and strongest moments of both; I never was remarkable, at that open, ingenuous period of my life, for secrecy; yet did I now take especial care not to invest either this attempt at the miraculous, or its concomitant failure, with anything like narration. It was, however, an act of devotion that had a vile effect on my lungs, for it gave me a cough that was intolerable; and I never felt the infirmities of humanity more than in this ludicrous attempt to get beyond them; in which, by the way, I was nearer being successful than I had intended, though in a different sense. This happened a month before I started for Lough Derg.

It was about six o'clock of a delightful morning in the pleasant month of July, when I set out upon my pilgrimage, with a single change of linen in my pocket, and a pair of discarded shoes upon my bare feet; for, in compliance with the general rule, I wore no stockings. The sun looked down upon all nature with great good humor; everything smiled around me; and as I passed for a few miles across an upland country which stretched down from a chain of dark rugged mountains that lay westward, I could not help feeling, although the feeling was indeed checked--that the scene was exhilarating. The rough upland was in several places diversified with green spots of cultivated land, with some wood, consisting of an old venerable plantation of mountain pine, that hung on the convex sweep of a large knoll away to my right,--with a broad sheet of lake that curled to the fresh arrowy breeze of morning, on which a variety of water-fowl were flapping their wings or skimming along, leaving a troubled track on the peaceful waters behind them; there were also deep intersections of precipitous or sloping glens, graced with hazel, holly, and every description of copse-wood. On other occasions I have drunk deeply of pleasure, when in the midst of this scenery, bearing about me the young, free, and bounding spirit, its first edge of enjoyment unblunted by the collision of base minds and stony hearts, against which experience jostles us in maturer life.