Many entertaining letters describe this period. We are rather alarmed in these days by the Race to the North between the trains of rival railway companies; the same spirit was not unknown sixty years ago, and showed itself in racing coaches!
The first letter describes such an event: two opposition coaches raced down a Welsh valley; one passed the other at full gallop, but soon began to sway fearfully, and at last went over with a terrible crash. Providentially and most marvellously no one was injured; had it happened a few yards farther on several lives would have been lost. Our travellers were deeply thankful for their escape, and proceeded on their journey viâ Holyhead to Dublin, and thence, after a short stay in the Irish capital, which they much admired, travelled southwards to the famous lakes. The exquisite scenery made a great impression upon the young Englishmen. “Fairy-land” was the first brief summary of opinion, and they agreed that it had surpassed all their expectations.
Great thankfulness is expressed frequently for the excellent parish clergyman, Mr. Bland, and his sermons are often described with interest. All were reading steadily, but frequent excursions were made, and rowing, fishing, and climbing of mountains kept them well occupied. One difficulty not met with on former occasions was the great hospitality of the surrounding gentry, who would have entertained them at dinners and balls every evening of the week if they had been disposed to go. Some of the young men could not resist the social charms of the place, and their chief writes a little despondently of the responsibility upon him of managing so large a party. He does not shrink from it, however, and the first letter mentions the regular “family reading” every day, to which they invited their landlord and his family. The condition of the poor Celtic population around served to excite at different times feelings of amazement, humour, and almost of disgust. It must be remembered that some considerable changes have taken place in the manners and customs of the poor of Ireland since then; still much that is said in the following letter is true, not only of that neighbourhood, but also of large portions of the South and West; and yet, as he used often to remark in later years, this ignorant, pauperised, and superstitious population have proportionately more representatives in Parliament than the intelligent artisans of England!
“I had no idea of such want of comforts. You may travel for miles and yet meet with scarcely any one whom a Brewhouse Lane pauper would condescend to speak to. I do not complain of their having no shoes and stockings, because that is not their misfortune but their choice, but what few clothes they have are a mere bundle of rags: you see women about in worn-out men’s coats, and the men do not cast them off till no strings can hold them together any longer. And then their cabins! you never saw such places; they generally consist of one room, though sometimes there are two. In the better sort there is a hole in the side by way of a window, but nowhere any glass in it; then there is a large aperture above the fire, which I believe is intended for a chimney, but the smoke decidedly prefers to proceed (after it has spent some time with its masters) by the more fashionable entrance of the door. This is a great convenience, as they smoke all their dried meat on the ceiling instead of in the narrow passage of the chimney. Their furniture consists of perhaps a table, two or three low chairs, a long box which serves for a bed for two or three by night and a seat by day, and a long bench for the younkers. Besides this there is some straw in one corner for those of the family who have no room in the box, and in another for the pigs; a large coop to fat the young chickens in, and some bars across the top which serve to dry the hams on and as roosting poles for the hens. In the third corner they may stow a young lamb, and in the fourth throw a heap of potatoes. I went to a place arranged as I have attempted to describe. At first I could not see for the smoke, but was soon told that if I were to stoop low enough I could breathe if not see; I accordingly sat me down on the low form, and when I was accustomed to the darkness I perceived the form of my hostess, bustling about with no shoes or stockings, and scolding hard at all the little urchins. Then there ensued a conflict with the pig, who could not understand on what grounds he was to be excluded, more especially when he saw the woman pour out a whole pot of hot potatoes on the table, and give a basin of goat’s milk to each of us, which I can assure you that we and the chickens feasted on with no inconsiderable relish. Now for mathematics!
“Your most affectionate Son,
“Edward Hoare.”
Men who have not forgotten the sensations of College life will recollect the rapid way in which age accumulates at the University! This comes out amusingly in some of the Killarney letters, e.g.:—
“There could not be a place better suited to our purpose, nor a party better suited to each other; the worst of it is I feel such an old man in comparison to the other two. Still we get on uncommonly well.”
And again:—
“I am not reading hard, for we have all agreed that, as we have come so far, we will see the country well, and that I am too old and the others too young to fatigue ourselves with reading.”
A vast gap of about two years separated the leader of this reading party from his juvenile companions, and though the outer world may not recognise much difference between young fellows of twenty and twenty-two, University men will recognise at once the historical accuracy of the feeling and its expression! It is very hard to put aside all the amusing letters written at this time, with their picturesque descriptions of the exquisite scenery, their accounts of duck-shooting and stag-hunts and expeditions of various sorts, and their droll description of novel experiences in his present surroundings. The following extract from a letter to one of his sisters must suffice as a specimen:—
“I must tell you of our evening yesterday. I was reading away as hard as could be when I heard the bagpipe in the next room. I found it was Gandsey, the celebrated piper, and all the village crowded into the house to hear. However, the ladies who had him would shut the door, because, as our landlord said, ‘one of them was a dumpey,’ i.e. deformed, and did not wish to be seen, so that we were disappointed. When he had done with them we thought that we must give ourselves and all the listeners a treat, so we said he must play for us too; and as our room was not large enough for the party, we adjourned to the kitchen, which, though a large room, was soon as full as it could comfortably hold. We had several famous tunes, to the great delight of all parties. As I felt my own feet quite a-going with the music, I proposed that those who wished should have a dance. We soon had some volunteers, and a famous Irish jig was the consequence. The partners were to me so un-tempting, as by far the best was the cook-maid, that, though I longed to dance too, my pride would not come down, and I looked on. Upcher and Merivale, however, danced hard with two of the maids, but they could not learn the jig, so the latter gave up. Upcher, however, went on with more perseverance than skill. But I can assure you it was a grand scene—a fine old blind man, the best piper in Kerry, playing with all his might, and the more active dancing in the middle of the room to correspond, and, if any by chance had a pair of shoes, taking them off to be the more active; while all along the walls were the ragged Irish watching the dance and sucking in the music with the greatest animation. Now just think what a difference there is between our two situations: you sitting quietly in the comfortable library with my father and mother, and I giving a ball in the kitchen, with nothing but a clay floor and naked walls; with scarcely another sound coat in the room except our own!”