Murtoch endeavoured to convince me it was, even upon a selfish principle: “For (said he) it is thought right lucky to have a stranger sleep beneath one’s roof.”
If superstition was ever thus on the side of benevolence, even reason herself would hesitate to depose her. We had now reached the door of the cabin, which Murtoch opened without ceremony, saying as he entered—“May God and the Virgin Mary pour a blessing on this house!” The family, who were all circled round a fine turf fire that blazed on the earthen hearth, replied, “Come in, and a thousand welcomes”—for Murtoch served as interpreter, and translated as they were spoken these warm effusions of Irish cordiality. The master of the house, a venerable old man, perceiving me, made a low bow, and added, “You are welcome, and ten thousand welcomes, gentleman.” *
* “Failte augus cead ro ag duine nasal.” The term gentleman,
however, is a very inadequate version of the Irish nasal,
which is an epitthet of superiority that indicates more than
mere gentility of birth can bestow, although that requisite
is also included. In a curious dialogue between Ossian and
St. Patrick, in an old Irish poem, in which the former
relates the combat between Oscar and Ilian, St, Patrick
solicits him to the detail, addressing him as “Ossian uasal,
a mhic Fionne”, “Ossian the Noble—the son of Fingal.”
So you see I hold my letter patent of nobility in my countenance, for I had not yet divested myself of Murtoch’s costume—while in the act, the best stool was wiped for me, the best seat at the fire forced on me, and on being admitted into the social circle, I found its central point was a round oaken stool heaped with smoking potatoes thrown promiscuously over it.
To partake of this national diet I was strongly and courteously solicited, while as an incentive to an appetite that needed none, the old dame produced what she called a madder of sweet milk, in contradistinction to the sour milk of which the rest partook; while the cow that sup plied the luxury slumbered most amicably with a large pig at no great distance from where I sat, and Murtoch glancing an eye at both, and then looking at me, seemed to say, “You see into what snug quarters we have got.” While I (as I sat with my damp clothes smoking by the turf fire, my madder of milk in one hand, and hot potatoe in the other) assured him by a responsible glance, that I was fully sensible of the comforts of our situation.
As soon as supper was finished the old man said grace, the family piously blessed themselves, and the stool being removed, the hearth swept, and the fire replenished from the bog, Murtoch threw himself on his back along a bench, * and unasked began a song, the wild and plaintive melody of which went at once to the soul.
When he had concluded, I was told it was the lamentation of the poor Irish for the loss of their glibbs or long tresses, of which they were deprived by the arbitrary will of Henry VIII.—The song (composed in his reign) is called the Coulin ** which I am told is literally, the fair ringlet.
* This curious vocal position is of very ancient origin in
Connaught, though by no means prevalent. Formerly the
songster not only lay on his back, but had a weight pressed
on his chest. The author’s father recollects having seen a
man in the county of Mayo, of the name of O’Melvill, who
sung for him in this position some years back.
** The Cualin is one of the most popular and beautiful
Irish airs estant.
When the English had drawn a pale round their conquests in this country, such of the inhabitants as were compelled to drag on their existence beyond the barrier, could no longer afford to cover their heads with metal, and were necessitated to rely on the resistance of their matted locks. At length this necessity became “the fashion of their choice.”
The partiality of the ancient Irish to long hair is still to be traced in their descendants of both sexes, the women in particular; for I observed that the young ones only wore their “native ornament of hair,” which sometimes flows over their shoulders, sometimes is fastened up in tresses, with a pin or bodkin. A fashion more in unison with grace and nature, though less in point of formal neatness, than the round-eared caps and large hats of our rustic fair of England.