In offering the following “Sketches in Connaught,” the result of a short excursion made in that province during the early part of last summer, I assign one or two excuses for adding to the numerous works of a similar character that have latterly come before the public, and which, to use the words of the greatest of all publishers, have “worn the subject threadbare.”

My first plea is, that my volume had not been got up for the purpose of leading or misleading public opinion respecting Irish politics or economics. I aim not at being the precursor of any change, or the promoter of any speculation. The tour I took for my pleasure, and the volume I wrote at my leisure, and during those evenings when I allow myself to relax from the more serious occupations [v] of the morning. My own pastime, I offer to the public, if it so pleases them, as part of theirs; and all my hope is, that the reader will think better of Ireland than he will do of the author. The other reason why I publish is, that I write as a native, who has made the history, antiquities, traditionary lore, and social relations of the island, his study, and therefore may be supposed to be competent to afford information on subject not exactly within the convenient reach of an American or Briton. In a word, I assume that my ARTICLE is what an extern would not, and, perhaps, if he could, would not supply.

About ten years ago a volume of mine, purporting to be “Sketches in the North and South of Ireland,” was published, and though appearing under many disadvantageous circumstances, met with a favourable reception from the public; and therefore my publishers have not only determined to venture on the present speculation, but also contemplate a new edition of the former work.

It is but fair to state, that the three first chapters of the present volume have already, with some alteration, appeared in print; the two first under a different signature and form, in that humble though useful conveyance of popular knowledge, the Dublin Penny [vi] Journal, to the first volume of which I was a contributor. The third chapter, descriptive of Clonmacnoise, though now consideably changed, has appeared in the Dublin Christian Examiner.

The reader who is about to give these sketches his perusal is hereby warned, that I neither set down distances, nor attempt to describe or even notice every town or place I passed through. These details I leave to be supplied by a valuable road book, lately compiled by Mr. Fraser, and published by William Curry and Co. Sackville-street.

C.O      
Dublin, May 18 1839.

Appearance of the country on leaving Athlone — Nature of the soil and cultivation — Immense population — Usual consequences — Rockite disease — Rockite story — The conspiracy — The murder — The hired Bravo— His character — His conduct — His fate— The murderer murdered — The Coroner's Inquest — The detection of the Conspirators — The Informer — His remorse — Improvidence of the past generation of Irish Landlords the cause of much evil— The Middlemen— Good and bad — A Middleman's residence— Ballinasloe— River Suck— Trench family— Planting— Wise and unwise — Bog improvement.

ON leaving Athlone you proceed westward, through a district very ugly by nature, and instead of being improved, deformed by its inhabitants. Chains of limestone gravel hills, rising out of red flow bogs, stretch away, their ranges hieing nearly at right angles with the Shannon, and it would appear that at the subsidence of the waters under which this country was once submerged, the decreasing torrents, in seeking the great central drain of the island, left these enormous deposits of sand, gravel, and rolled stones. These gravel hills, covered with a shallow but kind and warm soil, support a superabundant population; a population, no doubt, encouraged to increase, more especially here, by the great facilities of obtaining fuel, the only comfort of the poor — this increase seems to have met no discouragement from the prudence or fears of the proprietors of the soil, and the consequence is, that, as you proceed to Ballinasloe, you pass through an almost continuous village, and are [118] forced to observe a wretchedly clad people inhabiting wretched houses, and carrying on a wretched and destructive tillage within minute enclosures, fenced by dry stone walls of the rudest construction possible ; indeed the soil seems miserably exhausted, and you see very deficient crops of potatoes and corn, and at once can explain the cause in the almost entire absence of cattle to make manure, and therefore burning of the already too light soil is resorted to as the only means of stimulating the ground to produce a crop — and such a crop, the white lumper — the tired earth unable to bring to perfection even a red potato — the people thus reduced to subsist on the very weakest and least nutritious variety of the lowest kind of food — moreover, (and indeed this must surprise an Englishman not a little, considering the great abundance of people and the actual idleness of the larger portion both of young and old,) the crops are not kept clear from weeds — weeds that children might pull up and collect for manure, are allowed to grow and run to seed, and as they do so, not only deform the face of the country, but actually help to exhaust the soil. It was to me, as I passed along, a matter of great wonder how the landlords could allow their properties to be so subdivided and maltreated — how allow a tenantry to increase and multiply beyond the means of subsistence, beyond the power of drawing much more than mere existence from the land they cultivate — and if such be the results already, what must be the more alarming ones hereafter — and what is to become of such a [119] people when one of those very frequent failures of the potato crop takes place; and how will a Poor Law then operate — how affect the relative states of landowner and occupier. Such considerations engrossed my mind as my jaunting-car swept along, and I could not help observing to my fellow-traveller — "Well, of all parts of Ireland I have seen, I know no portion that upon the face of it exhibits more symptoms of the perhaps now inert existence of the Rockite disease — as sure as effect follows cause, so must this plague spread amongst such an ignorant, half-fed, and abounding people, who cannot possibly be worse off, except under a famine of the potatoes; and who must ever remain under the apprehension of their onlymeans of subsistence failing, and thus their great poverty ending in absolute destitution. My friend, who was well acquainted with the state of the country, and had peculiar opportunities of knowing the habits and feelings of the people, told me (in corroboration of what I had apprehended) the following circumstance.

A family once highly respectable, and possessed of considerable property in this district, in consequence of that inconsiderate extravagance, so much the characteristic of Connaught gentry, were reduced to very embarrassed circumstances, and so in order to meet the numerous charges on the estate — jointures, annuities, interest on younger children's portions, and on money borrowed, it was resolved to turn the fine old sheep walks, of which the estate principally con sisted, into tillage, and make settings to tenants who [120] flocked in, covenanting to pay high rents, and who, while the soil remained fresh, and markets for corn good, actually paid the rents they had engaged for. But by and by these tenants are allowed to underlet to other PROMISERS of higher rent, and from the small farmer springs up the cottier as sure as bad husbandry produces weeds; and then the war ceases, and prices fall, and Mr. Peel's bill for the resumption of cash payments comes into operation, and creditors insist on the payment of the debt in gold, which was lent in paper — and now arrives the time when there takes place a lamentable difference between the promise and the payment of rent; and in the mean time jointures must be paid, and the creditor must have his pound of flesh — and then ensue foreclosures of mortgages, custodiams, and law-court receivers. Attorneys alighted on the vexed estate and fastened their claws on it, and fattened as flesh-flies do on a festering sore. In this state of things the owner, who was a young man, did what was wise and honest — he broke up his establishment, he let the fire out on his paternal hearth, and went to live poorly but secretly on the Continent, leaving the nursing of the estate to a younger brother — perhaps he would have done better had he sold it; but those only who are reduced to the dire necessity of selling their ancestral inheritance can tell how bitter it is to take such a deep plunge downwards, and what way will not be tried before this last leap is taken ? — besides, perhaps, he could not sell — it is not easy in general to make out a clear [121] and marketable title to Irish estates — but be this as it may, the owner had confidence in the firmness, the integrity, and discretion of his younger brother, and he left him as his agent, and he honestly and with diligence set about to force the tenants that were solvent to pay the rents they had undertaken for, and those who were not solvent, and incapable from idleness, ignorance, and bad habits, of meeting their engagements, he endeavoured to force off the property, giving them every aid that the limited means at his disposal would permit, to remove to some other location — he gave them their potatoes and furniture, and if they desired it the materials of their cabins. It does not appear that he did any thing unjust or oppressive, either to those he allowed to remain, or those he evicted. But still he became exceedingly unpopular — even those who could pay, combined to refuse payment, either from fear of their neighbours, or from the expectation that they could evade it altogether, in consequence of the landlord's embarrassments, and in the midst of hostile legal proceedings. In all parts of Ireland attorneys are to be found who stimulate tenants to such evasions, and who live upon the differences between landlord and tenant. Such became now the state of this deranged property — some were forced off the estate — others under ejectment, by advice of their lawyers, were taking legal steps to retain their holdings, without paying rent at all.

Alas for the poor young man who undertook such [122] an agency. The dire spirit of Rockism rose in its wrath against him, and he must die.

In this vicinity, as in many others similarly circumstanced in the south and west, a character is to be found — a fellow from his youth up given to dissolute practices; with considerable natural ability, with great vigour and activity of body ; a violent temper * that never has been quelled, and strong passions that have always been indulged; such a person is given to no regular labour — he will work, it is true, more than any other at certain times, and under strong excitementhe will be found digging out a poor widow's potato field, or his reverence the priest's — and that more especially when whiskey and a dance are to be at the end of the job; but if inconstant at labour he is a regular attendant at fair, market, patron, wake, or hurlingmatch — if there ensue a row, and HIS presence almost insures such a result, he is at the head of it, the ready promoter of all kinds of RUXIONS — his skull, shins, and arms, are covered with scars of cudgel wounds received therein: you may be sure he does not go near the confessional — he dare not go down [123] and "whisper at a priest's knee" — and he never marries, but nevertheless is the neglectful parent of a multitude of children. In this way he is the cuckoo of the parish — his birds are found in many nests; — at times well, and at others shabbily dressed, he has always the air of a rake, and the leer of a profligate — he is sometimes sober and good-humoured, and goodnatured, and would go through fire and water to serve one of his own faction — he is oftener drunk, and that for days together, and then he is a ferocious dangerous brute; it is not exactly known how he lives, and no one can exactly tell his "whereabouts;" but he is known to be a good shot — killing wild duck by night, forms part of his ways and means, and though so often light-hearted and joyous in his deportment, it is known that he cares no more to shed human blood than he would to stick a pig.

* I consider the lower classes in Ireland to be particularly negligent in curbing the tempers of their children. The little ones of the cabin are, year after year, accustomed to be over fondled or over punished, and all according to the instigation of the present passion — and victims as they are of an affection that palliates serious faults, and of a wrath that punishes without reason — no wonder we see so many instances of passionate excess — no wonder that the savage hand is so often lifted up to strike and commit homicide. [123]

The aggrieved party on the estate in question, consisting of fourteen, having resolved to take the agent's life, cast their eyes on a man of this character, and they hired him as one whose heart was firm and aim sure, to fire the shot; but still fearful of their bravo, they determined that one of them should accompany him, and that individual was fixed on by lot. Accordingly the two waylaid their victim at a spot they knew he must pass, on his return from dining with a neighbouring gentleman. The scheme succeeded — the bullet was true to its mark — Mr. was shot through the heart, and the murderer and his companion walked leisurely away — known as they were [124] to thousands, not a man gave information — the event, of course, for a time made a great noise — rewards were offered — the police were on the alert — and then all blew over. The bravo for a time kept out of the way. This was not extraordinary in one who had no settled home; but by and by the money he was supplied with was spent, and he returned to give his employers very broad hints that he must have more. The Rockites now took counsel together — they saw the danger they were in from being in such a reckless ruffian's power, and they resolved on their remedy. He was called to their meeting — he got more of their money — he was then informed that they wanted another cast of his hand in order to put out of the way another obnoxious gentleman who lived on the other side of the Shannon, and they engaged him, nothing loath, to come along with them to do the deed. On a dark blustry night they accordingly embarked in a cot on this dreary river, that here steals throxigh bogs and morasses its deep and silent course, and while in the middle of the stream, the bravo was suddenly caught hold of, and before he had time to collect himself for resistance, was tossed overboard, and as he rose after the plunge and attempted to catch the boat, a heavy oar's blow, aimed with vigour and certainty at his head, sent him again to the bottom, and as it was hoped, never more to rise. But in this they were mistaken, for by and by he was seen swimming steadily and lustily towards shore, and then it was that one of the party, resting the ruffian's own gun on the [125] gunwale of the cot, fired with sure aim, and sent the bullet through his brain. The fellows waited till they saw that he would now rise no more — they then went home — kept their own secret, and all was safe. But some time after in the usual process of decomposition the body rose to the surface, and was found amongst the reeds. A coroner's inquest was summoned, a doctor, pro forma, called in, and after a cursory inspection, the usual verdict of "found drowned" was about to pass; but while the coroner was writing out the proceeding, one of the jury passing a small switch through the profuse curls of the dead man's head, found his switch enter, and as through a hole, pass out at the other side — this, of course, led to a more exact examination, and the man was found to have died of a gun-shot wound inflicted by some person unknown. Still a year or more passed on, until, in the dusk of a winter's evening, as the chief constable of the district was sitting by his fire, a message was brought to him stating, that one in his hall wished to speak with him. He accordingly had him introduced, when in a way not at all common with the Irish, and in apparently the deepest agony of remorse, he told the guilty story from beginning to end. He said that though he had confessed all to the priest, and gone through many penances, yet he could not find ease for his conscience — that life was a burthen — that he desired to die, even suppose it was by the hangman's hand. He named to the constable all the individuals concerned — said that a [126] arge portion of them were at that very moment on their way to the gaol of Galway, to visit others of the confederates who were confined for some other crime. By means of this information the constable succeeded in arresting almost every one of them. I do not know what became of the repentant murderer, for he was the one upon whom the lot fell to go along with the bravo to shoot the agent. I must conclude this, I fear, too long narrative by stating, that the chief constable, a most trust worthy and efficient officer, declared that in all his experience of Irish criminality, this informer showed the only evidence of genuine and uncontrollable remorse. And reader, after all, I do not regret having told this story — because I think it goes a great way to explain much of the predial evils of Ireland. I think it goes to show that Ireland's over population, with a barbarous reckless vindictive multitude, is, in a great measure, owing to the improvidence and pecuniary distresses of the landlords. Are not the present race blamed for the faults of many generations ? This would qualify the censure — that there has not been that watchful and protective guardianship on the part of their fathers — that they have been as improvident in the selection of their tenants as they have been profuse in their hospitalities, and heedless in the choice of their guests. The truth is, that 'the present generation is suffering for the sins of their progenitors — the fathers have sown the wind, and the children must reap the whirlwind. (pp.126.)

The fact is, with regard to the middlemen, we are too apt to argue against the use from the abuse: the respectable, careful, well-educated middlemen in process of time rose above their condition ; they became to all intents the resident landlords; they formed a sort of intermediate proprietary between the owners of the large and unwieldy grants from the crown, and the people incapacitated by the penal laws ; they increased and improved their holdings — they generally farmed their own lands — they restricted their under-tenants from subletting; — they discouraged rack-rent tillage, and are now the principal stock-farmers who supply Ballinasloe fair with the sheep and black cattle that are so much in demand. It is only the hunting, racing, duelling, punch-drinking, carousing, squireen middleman, that has been, and is, a nuisance in the land; who takes ground on speculation, to sublet it — who gambles on land as he does on the cards — who plays, as I may say, spoil acres as he does spoil five, — who, because he is a spendthrift, must be a tyrant, [128] and as he knows nothing of economy, cares not a fig for the political economy of his country; — such middlemen, and they are, alas, still too numerous, having long leases, and who still cling to the determination of extracting all they can out of the soil, no matter in what way, are the curse of the country. (p.127-28.)

The road from Cong to Maam Inn passes over the ridge of high land that divides Lough Mask from Lough Corrib, and you see the best and most pic- turesque ends of both waters.
 Across Lough Mask you see a succession of lofty and variously formed mountains, with all their glens and gorges, and pushing out their great shoulders into the lake; and you see wooded islands and grey cliffs, and between two dark headlands a long lonely inlet running far away amongst the hills, up which you desire to sail and to explore, where, no doubt, are sweet solitary vales untrodden yet by guides and tourists; and then on the other side, towards the south, the broad expanse of Lough Corrib, the second largest lake in Ireland - a water thirty miles in length, flat and uninteresting, no doubt, in some places, as indeed almost all Irish and Scotch lakes are where their superfluity is discharged by some river - but up here to the north, having the mountains of Connemara, and Joyce [227] country to the west, and very lofty hills that rise to the east, and separate it from the Galway lowlands - it is, in truth, a noble sheet of water, here and there studded with islands - some large and fertile, others rugged rocks - some embattled with the ruins of an old fortress - some made holy by the crumbling remains of a still older church, where some Culdee made his desert - a disciple of Columba or Fursey, or Fechin his retreat. If such a lake as this were in Scotland, or indeed any where else in Europe, it would be covered with steam boats and yachts; and there would be hotels and accommodation on its shores - and a country as rich, if not richer, than Cumberland would be opened out and planted and built on - but here all is left to nature’s waste, and except a planted island, that we a minute before saw on Lough Mask, (belonging to Lord Leitrim, I believe,) - the whole seems no more improved than if it were Van Dieman’s Land we were travelling through.
 The drive along the northern shore of Lough Corrib is really very fine - for looking across the water, studded as it is with many islands, you have before you the Connemara mountains, in all the variety of their forms - by and by you come to where the lake narrows and assumes the form of a broad inlet, like the estuary of a large river; and just at the entrance is an island covered almost entirely, so small is it, with the ruins of a noble castle, having four round towers as flankers. It put me in mind of Lochleven Castle in Scotland, but it is a much finer ruin. [228]
 It was now getting dusky, and though the lake and the mountains, and the fine island and castle looked grand, perhaps grander in their indistinctness, yet I would have been glad to have seen this scene in a clearer light. I was anxious to inquire about the castle, and therefore stopped at a range of cabins that stood in all their low dirty wretchedness on the road- side, and saluting the inmates, as I always do, with the usual Irish accost - “God save all here,” out came a young woman with a child in her arms, and a better specimen of a fine Irish woman of the lower class I think I have not often seen. There was a freshness in her complexion, and a laughing lustre in her eye, that made her otherwise irregular features very comely; and her figure was so light, her step so elastic and yet firm, that she seemed admirably adapted to be the mother of a fine race of men.
 In answer to many questions, she, with a sort of suppressed smile, said she did not know. The Irish never like to answer questions until they see what is the drift of the interrogator; but when I expressed admiration at the beauty of the country, and the fine position of the old fortress, and how sorry I was that I could not know any thing about it, she then said, “Och for that matter she’d tell me and welcome all she ever heard about it, but how could the likes of her know any thing for sartain? The place was called Castle Hen, and all the neighbours said that it was built by a witch, who came there one night when the Joyces were driving the old residenters, the [229] 0’ Flahertys, out of the country - and she appeared on the little island with a black hen following her, which all allowed must not be nathural; but, at any rate, before morning, up sprung that great building - and then she gave it to king O’Flaherty and the hen along with it; and she told him to take good care of the hen, for that when the Sassenach besieged him, and with their boats would be keeping off all provisions from him, the black hen would lay white eggs enough to keep him from starving; and so it was the Joyces often besieged it, and tried, when they could not take it by force, to starve out the O’Flaherty, but the eggs kept him alive. But sure enough, one Easter Sunday, after a long lent, the master, poor man, was mighty craving for a bit of meat; and indeed, I suppose, the potteen had got into his head; any how, he could’nt be in his right mind, for he takes the hen, do you see, cuts her throat, boils her for his dinner - and a heavy dinner it was for him - for, from that day forth he had neither luck nor grace; the Joyces soon surrounded the place with their boats not a morsel of meal or meat would they let near it; and you see that as the black hen was no more, he could have no eggs, and then he had to give up the last hold of the O’Flahertys in this place he had to quit before the Joyces, and go to the wild country beyond Mamturc, and the twelve pins.”
 “I suppose,” said I, “as you know so much about the O’Flahertys that you are come of that people.”
 “No, in troth, sir, I am more akin to the Joyces - my father and mother were both of that name.” [230]
 “So I thought,” says I. “And what reason has your honour to know any thing about the likes of me?” I did not choose to say that her complexion, her figure, and her light blue eye, bespoke the Saxon cross, that had produced a finer sort of animal.
 [...; the story of Castle Hen is told differently by a subsequent interlocutor, one Barney, as follows:]
 Barney’s narrative being rather disjointed, and occasionally digressive, we shall here render it into plain English for the benefit of those who may not be conversant with the peculiar phraseology of the lower order of Irish:
 Castle Hen, of which the above is a representation, is generally supposed to have been one of the inland castles of Grana Uaile, or Grace O’Maley, in whose time the fortresses around this secluded spot must have been almost unknown, if not inaccessible. Tradition says it was held by one of the O’Flahertys, who owed fealty to this chieftainess, and it is even supposed by some that it was here the heir of Howth was carried when stolen by the O’Maleys as a punishment [244] for the inhospitality of his parents, and only restored upon condition of the gates of Howth castle remaining open during dinner time. Be this as it may, this castle, at the period of our history, was in possession of O’Flaherty but whether the soubriquet of “Na Cullugh,” (the cock,) was applied from his great personal courage, or his quartering a “ Gallus Gallinaceous” upon his escutcheon, history is silent: suffice it to say, that he was known as O’Flaherty na Cullugh, and at constant war with the Joyces, by whom he was surrounded, each party looking upon the other as an intruder.
 As long as they feared the assisting arm of the chieftainess of the west, O’Flaherty remained the victor; but upon the death of that heroine, O’Flaherty being reduced to his own resources, the Joyces began a most fearful retaliation, and much blood was spilt on both sides. At length O’Flaherty and a few of his followers were surprised upon a hunting excursion in the neighbouring mountains, cut off from the castle, and O’Flaherty na Cullugh slain.
 The Joyces now imagined the castle theirs; but though the cock was slain, his wife defended it with the greatest skill and heroism against all their attacks, acquiring for her the title of “The Hen.” Hence the real origin of Krishlane na Kirca.
 History or tradition is silent upon much of the after life of this lady. Some say the Joyces made a road into the castle, and demolished both it and its inmates. There certainly are the remains of a rude [245] causeway leading from the nearest point of land towards ithe island, which can be easily seen on a clear day. We know that Lough Corrib has risen much, owing to the number of dams, &c. that obstruct its fall toward the sea. Besides, it differs from other lakes, in being more a congress of water from a number of rivers running together and subject to increase from obstructions to drainage and other causes; it seems more than probable that this causeway was once above the level of its waters. So far my friend.
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