CHAPTER X.

I wish I were on yonder hill,'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,Till ev'ry tear would turn a mill.(Shool Aroon: 'Old Irish Folk Song.')

I wish I were on yonder hill,'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,Till ev'ry tear would turn a mill.

I wish I were on yonder hill,

'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,

Till ev'ry tear would turn a mill.

(Shool Aroon: 'Old Irish Folk Song.')

But after all this is not half so great an exaggeration as what the cultivated English poet wrote:—

I found her on the floorIn all the storm of grief, yet beautiful,Pouring forth tears at such a lavish rate,That were the world on fire it might have drownedThe wrath of Heaven and quenched the mighty ruin.

I found her on the floor

In all the storm of grief, yet beautiful,

Pouring forth tears at such a lavish rate,

That were the world on fire it might have drowned

The wrath of Heaven and quenched the mighty ruin.

A great dandy wears his hat on three hairs of his head.

He said such funny things that the company weresplitting their sideslaughing.

Matt Donovan (in 'Knocknagow') says of his potatoes that had fine stalks but little produce—desaversas he called them—Every stalk of 'em would make a rafter for a house. But put the best man in the parish to dig 'em and a duck would swallow all he'd be able to turn out from morning till night.

Sometimes distinct numbers come in where they hardly apply. Not long ago I read in an article in the 'Daily Mail' by Mr. Stead, of British 'ships all over the seven seas.' So also here at home we read 'round the four seas of Ireland' (which is right enough): and 'You care for nothing in the world but your own four bones' (i.e. nothing but yourself). 'Come on then, old beer-swiller, and try yourself against the four bones of an Irishman' (R. D. Joyce: 'The House of Lisbloom.')Four bonesin this sense is very common.

A person meeting a friend for the first time after a long interval says 'Well, it's a cure for sore eyes to see you.' 'I haven't seen you now for a month ofSundays,' meaning a long time.A month of Sundaysis thirty-one Sundays—seven or eight months.

Said jokingly of a person with very big feet:—He wasn't behind the door anyway when the feet were giving out.

When a man has to use the utmost exertion to accomplish anything or to escape a danger he says: 'That business put me to the pin of my collar.' The allusion is to a fellow whose clothes are falling off him for want of buttons and pins. At last to prevent the final catastrophe he has to pull out the brass pin that fastens his collar and pin waistcoat and trousers-band together.

A poor woman who is about to be robbed shrieks out for help; when the villain says to her:—'Not another word or I'll stick you like a pig and give you your guts for garters.' ('Ir. Penny Magazine.')

A man very badly off—all in rags:—'He has forty-five ways of getting into his coat now.' (MacCall: Wexford.)

A great miser—very greedy for money:—He heard the money jingling in his mother's pockets before he was born. (MacCall: Wexford.)

A drunken man is a terrible curse,But a drunken woman is twice as worse;For she'd drink Lough Erne dry.(MacCall.)

A drunken man is a terrible curse,But a drunken woman is twice as worse;For she'd drink Lough Erne dry.

A drunken man is a terrible curse,

But a drunken woman is twice as worse;

For she'd drink Lough Erne dry.

(MacCall.)

To a person who habitually uses unfortunate blundering expressions:—'You never open your mouth but you put your foot in it.'

A girl to express that it is unlikely she will ever be married says: 'I think, miss, my husband's intended mother died an old maid.' ('Penelope in Ireland.')

A young man speaking of his sweetheart says, in the words of the old song:—

'I love the ground she walks upon,mavourneen gal mochree'(thou fair love of my heart).

'I love the ground she walks upon,mavourneen gal mochree'

(thou fair love of my heart).

A conceited pompous fellow approaches:—'Here comeshalf the town!' A translation from the Irishleath an bhaile.

Billy Heffernan played on his fife a succession of jigs and reels that might 'cure a paralytic' [and set him dancing]. ('Knocknagow.')

In 'Knocknagow' Billy Heffernan being requested to play on his fife longer than he considered reasonable, asked did they think that he had the bellows of Jack Delany the blacksmith in his stomach?

Said of a great swearer:—'He'd swear a hole in an iron pot.'

Of another:—'He'd curse the bladder out of a goat.'

Of still another:—'He could quench a candle at the other side of the kitchen with a curse.'

A person is much puzzled, or is very much elated, or his mind is disturbed for any reason:—'He doesn't know whether it is on his head or his heels he's standing.

A penurious miserable creature who starves himself to hoard up:—He could live on the smell of an oil-rag. (Moran: Carlow.)

A man complaining that he has been left too long fasting says:—'My stomach will think that my throat is cut.' (MacCall: Wexford.)

'Do you like the new American bacon?' 'Oh not at all: I tried it once and that's enough for me:Iwouldn't touch it with a tongs.' Very common and always used in depreciation as here.

We in Ireland are much inclined to redundancy in our speech. It is quite observable—especially to an outsider—that even in our ordinary conversation and in answering simple questions we use more words than we need. We hardly ever confine ourselves to the simple Englishyesorno; we always answer by a statement. 'Is it raining, Kitty?' 'Oh no sir, it isn't raining at all.' 'Are you going to the fair to-day?' 'No indeed I am not.' 'Does your father keep on the old business still?' 'Oh yes certainly he does: how could he get on without it?' 'Did last night's storm injure your house?' 'Ah you may well say it did.' A very distinguished Dublin scholar and writer, having no conscious leanings whatever towards the Irish language, mentioned to me once that when he went on a visit to some friends in England they always observed this peculiarity in his conversation, and often laughed at his roundabout expressions. He remarked to me—and an acute remark it was—that he supposed there must be some peculiarity of this kind in the Irish language; in which conjecture he was quite correct. For this peculiarity of ours—like many others—is borrowed from the Irish language, as anyone may see for himself by looking through an Irish book of question and answer, such as a Catechism. 'Is the Son God?' 'Yes certainly He is.' 'Will God reward the good and punish the wicked?' 'Certainly: there is no doubt He will.' 'Did God always exist?' 'He did; because He has neither beginning nor end.' And questions and answers like these—from Donlevy'sIrish Catechism for instance—might be given to any length.

But in many other ways we show our tendency to this wordy overflow—still deriving our mannerism from the Irish language—that is to say, from modern and middle Irish. For in very old Irish—of the tenth, eleventh, and earlier centuries for instance, the tendency is the very reverse. In the specimens of this very old language that have come down to us, the words and phrases are so closely packed, that it is impossible to translate them either into English or Latin by an equal number of words.[3]But this old language is too far off from us to have any influence in our present every-day English speech; and, as already remarked, we derive this peculiarity from modern Irish, or from middle Irish through modern. Here is a specimen in translation of over-worded modern Irish (Battle of Gavra, p. 141), a type of what was very common:—'Diarmuid himself [fighting] continued in the enjoyment of activity, strength, and vigour, without intermission of action, of weapons, or of power; until at length he dealt a full stroke of his keen hard-tempered sword on the king's head, by which he clove the skull, and by a second stroke swept his head off his huge body.' Examples like this, from Irish texts, both modern and middle, might be multiplied to any extent.

But let us now have a look at some of our Anglo-Irish redundancies, mixed up as they often are with exaggeration. A man was going to dig by night for a treasure, which of course had a supernatural guardian, like all hidden treasures, and what should he see running towards him but 'a great big red mad bull, with fire flaming out of his eyes, mouth, and nose.' (Ir. Pen. Mag.) Another man sees a leprechaun walking up to him—'a weeny deeny dawny little atomy of an idea of a small taste of a gentleman.' (Ibid.) Of a person making noise and uproar you will be told that he was roaring and screeching and bawling and making a terrible hullabulloo all through the house.

Of an emaciated poor creature—'The breath is only just in and out of him, and the grass doesn't know of him walking over it.'

'The gentlemen are not so pleasantin themselves' [now as they used to be]. (Gerald Griffin.) Expressions like this are very often heard: 'I was dead in myself,' i.e., I felt dull and lifeless.

[Dermot struck the giant and] 'left him dead without life.' ('Dermot and Grainne.') Further on we find the same expression—marbh gan anam, dead without life. This Irish expression is constantly heard in our English dialect: 'he fell from the roof and waskilled dead.'

Oh brave King Brian, he knew the wayTo keep the peace and to make the hay:For those who were bad he cut off their head;And those who were worse he killed them dead.

Oh brave King Brian, he knew the way

To keep the peace and to make the hay:

For those who were bad he cut off their head;

And those who were worse he killed them dead.

Similarly the words 'dead and buried' are used all through Munster:—Oh indeed poor Jack Lacy isdead and buried for the last two years: or 'the whole family are dead and gone these many years.'

A very common Irish expression is 'I invitedevery single oneof them.' This is merely a translation from Irish, as we find in 'Gabhra':—Do bhéarmaois gach aon bhuadh: we were wont to win every single victory.

'We do not want any single one of them,' says Mr. Hamilton Fyfe ('Daily Mail'). He puts the saying into the mouth of another; but the phraseology is probably his own: and at any rate I suppose we may take it as a phrase from Scotch Gaelic, which is all but the same as Irish Gaelic.

Emphatic particles and words, especially the pronouns withself, are often used to excess. I heard a highly educated fellow-countryman say, 'I must say myself that I don't believe it': and I am afraid I often use such expressions myself. 'His companions remained standing, but he found it more convenient to sit down himself.' A writer or speaker has however to be on his guard or he may be led into a trap. A writer having stated that some young ladies attended a cookery-class, first merely looking on, goes on to say that after a time they took part in the work, and soon learnedto cook themselves.

I once heard a man say:—'I disown the whole family,seed, breed and generation.' Very common in Ireland. Goldsmith took the expression from his own country, and has immortalised it in his essay, 'The Distresses of a Common Soldier.'

He was on the tip-top of the steeple—i.e., the very top. This expression is extended in application: thatmeadow is tip-top, i.e., very excellent: he is a tip-top hurler. 'By no means' is sometimes expanded:—'I asked him to lend me a pound, but he answered thatby no manner of meanswould he do any such thing.'

'If you do that you'll be crying down salt tears,' i.e., 'you'll deeply regret it.'Salt tearsis however in Shakespeare in the same sense. ('Hen. VI.')

'Down with you now on your two bended knees and give thanks to God.'

If you don't stop, I'll wring the head off o' your neck. (Rev. Maxwell Close.)

The roof of the house fell down on the top of him. (Father Higgins.)

The Irishair sé('says he') is very often repeated in the course of a narrative. It is correct in Irish, but it is often heard echoed in our English where it is incorrect:—And says he to James 'where are you going now?' says he.

In a trial in Dublin a short time ago, the counsel asked of witness:—'Now I ask you in the most solemn manner, had you hand, act, or part in the death of Peter Heffernan?'

A young man died after injuries received in a row, and his friend says:—'It is dreadful about the poor boy: they made at him in the house and killed him there; then they dragged him out on the road and killed him entirely, so that he lived for only three days after. I wouldn't mind if they shot him at once and put an end to him: but to be murdering him like that—it is terrible.'

The fairy says to Billy:—'I am a thousand years old to-day, and I think it is time for me to getmarried.' To which Billy replies:—'I think it is quite time without any kind of doubt at all.' (Crofton Croker.)

The squire walks in to Patrick's cabin: and Patrick says:—'Your honour's honour is quite welcome entirely.' (Crofton Croker.)

An expression you will often hear even in Dublin:—'Lend me the loan of your umbrella.'

'She doats down on him' is often used to express 'She is very fond of him.'

'So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave meAll alone by myself in this place.'(Lady Dufferin.)

'So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave meAll alone by myself in this place.'

'So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me

All alone by myself in this place.'

(Lady Dufferin.)

He went to America seven years ago, and from that day to this we have never heard any tale or tidings of him.

'Did he treat you hospitably?' 'Oh indeed he pretended to forget it entirely, and I never took bit, bite, or sup in his house.' This form of expression is heard everywhere in Ireland.

We have in Ireland an inveterate habit—from the highest to the lowest—educated and uneducated—of constantly interjecting the words 'you know' into our conversation as a mere expletive, without any particular meaning:—'I had it all the time, you know, in my pocket: he had a seat, you know, that he could arrange like a chair: I was walking, you know, into town yesterday, when I met your father.' 'Why in the world did you lend him such a large sum of money?' 'Well, you know, the fact is I couldn't avoid it.' This expression is often varied to 'don't you know.'

In Munster a question is often introduced by thewords 'I don't know,' always shortened toI'd'no(three syllables with theIlong and theovery short—barely sounded) 'I'd'no is John come home yet?' This phrase you will often hear in Dublin from Munster people, both educated and uneducated.

'The t'other' is often heard in Armagh: it is, of course, English:—

'Sirs,' cried the umpire, cease your pother,The creature's neither one nor t'other.

'Sirs,' cried the umpire, cease your pother,

The creature's neither one nor t'other.

COMPARISONS.

Some of the items in this chapter would fit very well in the last; but this makes no matter; for 'good punch drinks well from either dandy or tumbler.'

You attempt in vain to bring a shameless coarse-minded man to a sense of the evil he has done:—'Ye might as well put a blister on a hedgehog.' (Tyrone.)

You're as cross all this day asa bag of cats.

If a man is inclined to threaten much but never acts up to his threats—severe in word but mild in act:—His bark is worse than his bite.

That turf is as dry as a bone (very common in Munster.)Bone-dryis the term in Ulster.

When a woman has very thick legs, thick almost down to the feet, she is 'like a Mullingar heifer, beef to the heels.' The plains of Westmeath round Mullingar are noted for fattening cattle.

He died roaring like Doran's bull.

A person restless, uneasy, fidgety, and impatient for the time being, is 'like a hen on a hot griddle.'

Of a scapegrace it is said he is pastgracelike a limeburner's brogue (shoe). The point will be caught up when it is remembered thatgreaseis pronouncedgracein Ireland.

You're as blind as a bat.

When a person is boastful—magnifies all his belongings—'all his geese are swans.'

She has a tongue that wouldclip a hedge. The tongue of another wouldclip clouts(cut rags). (Ulster.)

He wentas fast as hops. When a fellow is hopping along on one leg, he has to go fast, without stopping.

Of a coarse ill-mannered man who uses unmannerly language:—'What could you expect from a pig but agrunt.' (Carlow.)

A person who seems to be getting smaller is growing down like a cow's tail.

Of a wiry muscular active man people say 'he's as hard as nails.'

A person who acts inconsiderately and rudely without any restraint and without respect for others, is 'like a bull in a china shop.'

Of a clever artful schemer: 'If he didn't go to school he met the scholars.'

An active energetic person is 'all alive like a bag of fleas.'

That man knows no more about farmingthan a cow knows of a holiday.

A tall large woman:—'That's a fine doorful of a woman.' (MacCall: Wexford.)

He has a face as yellow as a kite's claw. (Crofton Croker: but heard everywhere.)

Jerry in his new clothes is as proud as a whitewashed pig. (MacCall: Wexford.)

That man is as old as a field. (Common in Tipperary.)

'Are you well protected in that coat?' 'Oh yes I'mas warm as wool.' (Very common in the south.)

Idle for want of weftlike the Drogheda weavers. Said of a person who runs short of some necessary material in doing any work. (Limerick.)

I watched him as closely as a cat watches a mouse.

He took up the book; but seeing the owner suddenly appear, he dropped itlike a hot potato.

'You have a head and so has a pin,' to express contempt for a person's understanding.

How are your new stock of books selling? Oh they aregoing like hot cakes. Hot cakes are a favourite viand, and whenever they are brought to table disappear quickly enough.

He's as poor as a church mouse.

A person expressing love mockingly:—'Come into my heart and pick sugar.'

An extremely thin emaciated person islike death upon wires; alluding to a human skeleton held together by wires.

Oh you need never fear that Mick O'Brien will cheat you:Mick is as honest as the sun.

A person who does not persevere in any one study or pursuit, who is perpetually changing about from one thing to another, is 'like a daddy-long-legs dancing on a window.'

A bitter tongue that utters cutting words is like the keen wind of March that blows at every side of the hedge.

A person praising strong whiskey says:—I felt it like a torchlight procession going down my throat.

A man with a keen sharp look in his face:—'He has an eye like a questing hawk.' Usually said in an unfavourable sense.

If any commodity is supplied plentifully it is knocked aboutlike snuff at a wake. Snuff was supplied free at wakes; and the people were not sparing of it as they got it for nothing.

A chilly day:—'There's a stepmother's breath in the air.'

Now Biddy clean and polish up those spoons and knives and forks carefully; don't stop till you make them shinelike a cat's eye under a bed. (Limerick.)

It is foolish to threaten unless you have—and show that you have—full power to carry out your threats:—'Don't show your teeth till you're able to bite.'

Greasing the fat sow's lug: i.e. giving money or presents to a rich man who does not need them. (Kildare.)

I went on a visit to Tom and hefed me like a fighting cock.

That little chap is as cute as a pet fox.

A useless worthless fellow:—He's fit to mind mice at a cross-roads. (Kildare.)

How did he look? Oh he had a weaver's blush—pale cheek and a red nose. (Wexford.)

When a person clinches an argument, or puts a hard fact in opposition, or a poser of any kind hard to answer:—'Put that in your pipe and smoke it.'

'My stomach is as dry as a lime-burner's wig.' There were professional lime-burners then: alas, we have none now.

I want a drink badly: my throat is as dry as the pipe of Dick the blacksmith's bellows.

Poor Manus was terribly frightened; he stood shakinglike a dog in a wet sack. (Crofton Croker: but heard everywhere in Ireland.)

'As happy as the days are long': that is to say happy while the days last—uninterruptedly happy.

Spending your money before you get it—going in debt till pay day comes round: that's 'eating the calf in the cow's belly.'

He hasn't as much land as would sod a lark; as much as would make a sod for a lark in a cage.

That fellow isas crooked an a ram's horn; i.e. he is a great schemer. Applied also in general to anything crooked.

'Do you mean to say he is a thief?' 'Yes I do; last year he stole sheepas often as he has fingers and toes' (meaning very often).

You're as welcome as the flowers of May.

'Biddy, are the potatoes boiling?' Biddy takes off the lid to look, and replies 'Thewhite horsesare on 'em ma'am.' Thewhite horsesare patches of froth on the top of the pot when the potatoes are coming near boiling.

That's as firm as the Rock of Cashel—as firm as the hob of hell.

That man would tell lies as fast as a horse would trot.

A person who does his business briskly and energetically 'works like a hatter'—'works like anailer'—referring to the fussy way of these men plying their trade.

A conceited fellow having a dandy way of lifting and placing his legs and feet in moving about 'walks like a hen in stubbles.'

A person who is cool and collected under trying circumstances is 'as cool as a cucumber.' Here the alliteration helps to popularise the saying.

I must put up the horses now and have them 'as clean as a new pin' for the master.

A person who does good either to an individual or to his family or to the community, but afterwards spoils it all by some contrary course of conduct, is like a cow that fills the pail, but kicks it over in the end.

A person quite illiterate 'wouldn't know aBfrom a bull's foot.' The catching point here is partly alliteration, and partly that a bull's foot has some resemblance to aB.

Another expression for an illiterate man:—He wouldn't know aCfrom a chest of drawers—where there is a weak alliteration.

He'll tell you a story as long as to-day and to-morrow. Long enough: for you have to wait on indefinitely for 'to-morrow': or as they say 'to-morrow come never.'

'You'll lose that handkerchiefas sure as a gun.'

That furrow isas straight as a die.

A person who does neither good nor harm—little ill, little good—is 'like a chip in porridge': almost always said as a reproach.

I wason pins and needlestill you came home: i.e. I was very uneasy.

The story went round like wildfire: i.e. circulated rapidly.

Of a person very thin:—He's 'as fat as a hen in the forehead.'

A man is staggering along—not with drink:—That poor fellow is 'drunk with hunger like a showman's dog.'

Dick and Bill are 'as great as inkle-weavers:' a saying very common in Limerick and Cork.Inkleis a kind of broad linen tape: a Shakespearian word. 'Several pieces of it were formerly woven in the same loom, by as many boys, who sat close together on the same seat-board.' (Dr. A. Hume.)

William is 'the spit out of his father's mouth'; i.e. he is strikingly like his father either in person or character or both. Another expression conveying the same sense:—'Your father will never die while you are alive': and 'he's a chip off the old block.' Still another, though not quite so strong:—'He's his father's son.' Another saying to the same effect—'kind father for him'—is examined elsewhere.

'I'm a man in myself like Oliver's bull,' a common saying in my native place (in Limerick), and applied to a confident self-helpful person. The Olivers were the local landlords sixty or seventy years ago. (For a tune with this name see my 'Old Irish Music and Songs,' p. 46.)

A person is asked to do any piece of work which ought to be done by his servant:—'Aye indeed,keep a dog and bark myself.'

That fellow walks as straight up and stiff as if he tooka breakfast of ramrods.

A man who passes through many dangers ormeets with many bad accidents and always escapes has 'as many lives as a cat.' Everyone knows that a cat has nine lives.

Putting on the big potmeans empty boasting and big talk. Like a woman who claps a large pot of water on the fire to boil a weeny little bit of meat—which she keeps out of sight—pretending she haslauna-vaula,lashings and leavings, full and plenty.

If a man is in low spirits—depressed—down in the mouth—'his heart is as low as a keeroge's kidney' (keeroge, a beetle or clock). This last now usually said in jest.

James O'Brien is a good scholar, but he's notin itwith Tom Long: meaning that he is not at all to be compared with Tom Long.

If a person is indifferent about any occurrence—doesn't care one way or the other—he is 'neither glad nor sorry like a dog at his father's wake.' (South.)

THE MEMORY OF HISTORY AND OF OLD CUSTOMS.

Church,Chapel,Scallan. All through Ireland it is customary to call a Protestant place of worship a 'church,' and that belonging to Roman Catholics a 'chapel': and this usage not only prevails among the people, but has found its way into official documents. For instance, take the Ordnance maps. In almost every village and town on the map you willsee in one place the word 'Church,' while near by is printed 'R.C. Chapel.' This custom has its roots far back in the time when it was attempted to extend the doctrines of the Reformation to Ireland. Then wherever the authority of the government prevailed, the church belonging to the Catholics was taken from them; the priest was expelled; and a Protestant minister was installed. But the law went much farther, and forbade under fearful penalties the celebration of Mass—penalties for both priest and congregation. As the people had now no churches, the custom began of celebrating Mass in the open air, always in remote lonely places where there was little fear of discovery. Many of these places retain to this day names formed from the Irish wordAffrionn[affrin], the Mass; such as the mountain called Knockanaffrinn in Waterford (the hill of the Mass), Ardanaffrinn, Lissanaffrinn, and many others. While Mass was going on, a watcher was always placed on an adjacent height to have a look-out for the approach of a party of military, or of a spy with the offered reward in view.

After a long interval however, when the sharp fangs of the Penal Laws began to be blunted or drawn, the Catholics commenced to build for themselves little places of worship: very timidly at first, and always in some out-of-the-way place. But they had many difficulties to contend with. Poverty was one of them; for the great body of the congregations were labourers or tradesmen, as the Catholic people had been almost crushed out of existence, soul and body, for five or six generations, by the terrible Penal Laws, which, with careful attention to details, omitted nothingthat could impoverish and degrade them. But even poverty, bad as it was, never stood decidedly in the way; for the buildings were not expensive, and the poor people gladly contributed shillings coppers and labour for the luxury of a chapel. A more serious obstacle was the refusal of landlords in some districts to lease a plot of land for the building. In Donegal and elsewhere they had a movable little wooden shed that just sheltered the priest and the sacred appliances while he celebrated Mass, and which was wheeled about from place to place in the parish wherever required. A shed of this kind was called ascallan(Irish: a shield, a protecting shelter). Some of thesescallansare preserved with reverence to this day, as for instance one in Carrigaholt in Clare, where a large district was for many years without any Catholic place of worship, as the local landlord obstinately refused to let a bit of land. You may now see that veryscallan—not much larger than a sentry-box—beside the new chapel in Carrigaholt.

And so those humble little buildings gradually rose up all over the country. Then many of the small towns and villages through the country presented this spectacle. In one place was the 'decent church' that had formerly belonged to the Catholics, now in possession of a Protestant congregation of perhaps half a dozen—church, minister, and clerk maintained by contributions of tithes forced from the Catholic people; and not far off a poor little thatched building with clay floor and rough walls for a Roman Catholic congregation of 500, 1000, or more, all except the few that found room within kneeling onthe ground outside, only too glad to be able to be present at Mass under any conditions.

These little buildings were always called 'chapels,' to distinguish them from what were now the Protestant churches. Many of these primitive places of worship remained in use to a period within living memory—perhaps some remain still. When I was a boy I generally heard Mass in one of them, in Ballyorgan, Co. Limerick: clay floor, no seats, walls of rough stone unplastered, thatch not far above our heads. Just over the altar was suspended a level canopy of thin boards, to hide the thatch from the sacred spot: and on its under surface was roughly painted by some rustic artist a figure of a dove—emblematic of the Holy Ghost—which to my childish fancy was a work of art equal at least to anything ever executed by Michael Angelo. Many and many a time I heard exhortations from that poor altar, sometimes in English, sometimes in Irish, by the Rev. Darby Buckley, the parish priest of Glenroe (of which Ballyorgan formed a part), delivered with such earnestness and power as to produce extraordinary effects on the congregation. You saw men and women in tears everywhere around you, and at the few words of unstudied peroration they flung themselves on their knees in a passionate burst of piety and sorrow. Ah, God be with Father Darby Buckley: a small man, full of fire and energy: somewhat overbearing, and rather severe in judging of small transgressions; but all the same, a great and saintly parish priest.

That little chapel has long been superseded by a solid structure, suitable to the neighbourhood and its people.

What has happened in the neighbouring town of Kilfinane is still more typical of the advance of the Catholics. There also stood a large thatched chapel with a clay floor: and the Catholics were just beginning to emerge from their state of servility when the Rev. Father Sheehy was appointed parish priest about the beginning of the last century. He was a tall man of splendid physique: when I was a boy I knew him in his old age, and even then you could not help admiring his imposing figure. At that time the lord of the soil was Captain Oliver, one of that Cromwellian family to whom was granted all the district belonging to their Catholic predecessors, Sir John Ponsonby and Sir Edward Fitzharris, both of whom were impeached and disinherited,

On the Monday morning following the new priest's first Mass he strolled down to have a good view of the chapel and grounds, and was much astonished to find in the chapel yard a cartload of oats in sheaf, in charge of a man whom he recognized as having been at Mass on the day before. He called him over and questioned him, on which the man told him that the captain had sent him with the oats to have it threshed on the chapel floor, as he always did. The priest was amazed and indignant, and instantly ordered the man off the grounds, threatening him with personal chastisement, which—considering the priest's brawny figure and determined look—he perhaps feared more than bell book and candle. The exact words Father Sheehy used were, 'If ever I find you here again with a load of oats or a load of anything else,I'll break your back for you: and then I'll go up and break your master's back too!' Thefellow went off hot foot with his load, and told his master, expecting all sorts of ructions. But the captain took it in good part, and had his oats threshed elsewhere: and as a matter of fact he and the priest soon after met and became acquainted.

In sending his corn to be threshed on the chapel floor, it is right to remark that the captain intended no offence and no undue exercise of power; and besides he was always careful to send a couple of men on Saturday evening to sweep the floor and clean up the chapel for the service of next day. But it was a custom of some years' standing, and Father Sheehy's predecessor never considered it necessary to expostulate. It is likely enough indeed that he himself got a few scratches in his day from the Penal Laws, and thought it as well to let matters go on quietly.

After a little time Father Sheehy had a new church built, a solid slate-roofed structure suitable for the time, which, having stood for nearly a century, was succeeded by the present church. This, which was erected after almost incredible labour and perseverance in collecting the funds by the late parish priest, the Very Rev. Patrick Lee, V.F., is one of the most beautiful parish churches in all Ireland. What has happened in Ballyorgan and Kilfinane may be considered a type of what has taken place all over the country. Within the short space of a century the poor thatched clay-floor chapels have been everywhere replaced by solid or beautiful or stately churches, which have sprung up all through Ireland as if by magic, through the exertions of the pastors, and the contributions of the people.

This popular application of the terms 'chapel' and 'church' found—and still finds—expression in many ways. Thus a man who neglects religion: 'he never goes to Church, Mass, or Meeting' (this last word meaning Non-conformist Service). A man says, 'I didn't see Jack Delany at Mass to-day': 'Oh, didn't you hear about him—sure he's going tochurchnow' (i.e. he has turned Protestant). 'And do they never talk of those [young people] who go to church' [i.e. Protestants]. (Knocknagow.)

The term 'chapel' has so ingrained itself in my mind that to this hour the word instinctively springs to my lips when I am about to mention a Catholic place of worship; and I always feel some sort of hesitation or reluctance in substituting the word 'church.' I positively could not bring myself to say, 'Come, it is time now to set out for church': it must be either 'Mass' or 'the chapel.'

I see no reason against our retaining these two words, with their distinction; for they tell in brief a vivid chapter in our history.

Hedge-Schools.Evil memories of the bad old penal days come down to us clustering round this word. At the end of the seventeenth century, among many other penal enactments,[4]a law was passed that Catholics were not to be educated. Catholic schoolmasters were forbidden to teach, either in schools or in private houses; and Catholic parents were forbidden to send their children to any foreign country to be educated—all under heavy penalties; from which it will be seen that care was taken todeprive Catholics—as such—altogether of the means of education.

But priests and schoolmasters and people combined all through the country—and not without some measure of success—to evade this unnatural law. Schools were kept secretly, though at great risk, in remote places—up in the mountain glens or in the middle of bogs. Half a dozen young men with spades and shovels built up a rude cabin in a few hours, which served the purpose of a schoolhouse: and from the common plan of erecting these in the shelter of hedges, walls, and groves, the schools came to be known as 'Hedge Schools.' These hedge schools held on for generations, and kept alive the lamp of learning, which burned on—but in a flickering ineffective sort of way—'burned through long ages of darkness and storm'—till at last the restrictions were removed, and Catholics were permitted to have schools of their own openly and without let or hindrance. Then the ancient hereditary love of learning was free to manifest itself once more; and schools sprang up all over the country, each conducted by a private teacher who lived on the fees paid by his pupils. Moreover, the old designation was retained; for these schools, no longer held in wild places, were called—as they are sometimes called to this day—'hedge schools.'

The schools that arose in this manner, which were of different classes, were spread all over the country during the eighteenth century and the first half of the nineteenth. The most numerous were little elementary schools, which will be described farther on. The higher class of schools, whichanswered to what we now call Intermediate schools, were found all over the southern half of Ireland, especially in Munster. Some were for classics, some for science, and not a few for both; nearly all conducted by men of learning and ability; and they were everywhere eagerly attended. 'Many of the students had professions in view, some intended for the priesthood, for which the classical schools afforded an admirable preparation; some seeking to become medical doctors, teachers, surveyors, &c. But a large proportion were the sons of farmers, tradesmen, shopkeepers, or others, who had no particular end in view, but, with the instincts of the days of old, studied classics or mathematics for the pure love of learning. I knew many of that class.

'These schools continued to exist down to our own time, till they were finally broken up by the famine of 1847. In my own immediate neighbourhood were some of them, in which I received a part of my early education; and I remember with pleasure several of my old teachers; rough and unpolished men many of them, but excellent solid scholars and full of enthusiasm for learning—which enthusiasm they communicated to their pupils. All the students were adults or grown boys; and there was no instruction in the elementary subjects—reading, writing, and arithmetic—as no scholar attended who had not sufficiently mastered these. Among the students were always half a dozen or more "poor scholars" from distant parts of Ireland, who lived free in the hospitable farmers' houses all round: just as the scholars from Britain and elsewherewere supported in the time of Bede—twelve centuries before.'[5]

In every town all over Munster there was—down to a period well within my memory—one of those schools, for either classics or science—and in most indeed there were two, one for each branch, besides one or more smaller schools for the elementary branches, taught by less distinguished men.

There was extraordinary intellectual activity among the schoolmasters of those times: some of them indeed thought and dreamed and talked of nothing else but learning; and if you met one of them and fell into conversation, he was sure to give you a strong dose as long as you listened, heedless as to whether you understood him or not. In their eyes learning was the main interest of the world. They often met on Saturdays; and on these occasions certain subjects were threshed out in discussion by the principal men. There were often formal disputations when two of the chief men of a district met, each attended by a number of his senior pupils, to discuss some knotty point in dispute, of classics, science, or grammar.

There was one subject that long divided the teachers of Limerick and Tipperary into two hostile camps of learning—the verbTo be. There is a well-known rule of grammar that 'the verbto betakes the same case after it as goes before it.' One party headed by the two Dannahys, father and son, very scholarly men, of north Limerick, held that the verbto be governedthe case following; while the other, at the head of whom was Mr. Patrick Murray of Kilfinane in south Limerick, maintained that the correspondence of the two cases, after and before, was mereagreement, notgovernment. And they argued with as much earnestness as the Continental Nominalists and Realists of an older time.

Sometimes the discussions on various points found their way into print, either in newspapers or in special broadsheets coarsely printed; and in these the mutual criticisms were by no means gentle.

There were poets too, who called in the aid of the muses to help their cause. One of these, who was only a schoolmaster in embryo—one of Dannahy's pupils—wrote a sort of pedagogic Dunciad, in which he impaled most of the prominent teachers of south Limerick who were followers of Murray. Here is how he deals with Mr. Murray himself:—

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