TAIT'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. JANUARY, 1846. VISIT TO MR. O'CONNELL AT DERRYNANE. BY WILLIAM HOWITT. I BELIEVE it was in 1835, that, on occasion of a public meeting at Nottingham, to petition for some reform in Ireland, in the course of a speech, I alluded to the great men and women whom that country had produced, and the benefits which we had derived in politics, literature, and philosophy, through their means. When I came to the mention of the name of Daniel O'Connell, and had stated my opinions of his services, not only to his own beautiful but oppressed country, but to the great and general cause of liberty and humanity, the people, in a fit of generous enthusiasm, rose en masse, and cried, "We will have him down to dinner!" My friend Mr. Boothby, now of the London bar, immediately responded, as a towncouncillor, and leading person of the place, "We will!" The invitation was given; was accepted; and the public dinner to the Irish Liberator will be long remembered by the assembled thousands and tens of thousands who witnessed his entrance, as one of the most enthusiastic demonstrations of the noblest sympathies of Englishmen with the labours of the great champions of freedom. During that entertainment, I was necessarily thrown into close communication with Mr. O'Connell; and he was kind enough to say, that he hoped, some day, to have the pleasure of welcoming Mrs. Howitt and myself to Ireland. Being, therefore, this autumn, not only in Ireland, but at Killarney, I could not resist the temptation of paying my respects to Mr. O'Connell in his mountain home on the wild shores of the Atlantic. I know well how deeply interesting the account of such a visit, to such a man and such a place, will be to vast numbers, both in this and other countries; and shall therefore here describe it, so far as can be done without trenching upon that domestic privacy which no one has a right to infringe, and of which no one can demand the display. The wilds of Kerry, in which Derrynane lies, are by far the most bold and savage in their aspect of any part of Ireland which I have yet visited. To see as much as possible of them, I did not take the ordinary route from Killarney by Killorglin and Cahirciveen, but proceeded to the town of Kenmare, and thence, along the shores of the Kenmare river, to Derrynane. A finer drive is rarely to be found, than that from Killarney to the Pass of Coom Dhuv: it leads amid the mountains sur VOL. XIII. NO. CXLV. rounding the Upper Lake. On the left hand, the wild heights of Turk Mountain tower above you; on the right, you successively gaze on the beautiful Turk Lake, on the bold cliff of the Eagle's Nest, and then on all the desolate mountains around the Upper Lake; on its own winding waters, and brown wilderness-banks, scattered with crags and rocks. The whole way to Coom Dhuv is one continual ascent; now passing beneath the feet of the mountains, deep between woods and thickets, in which the foliage of the arbutus is conspicuous; and then emerging evermore to enchanting views, over waters and mountains of a solitary, stern, but magnificent beauty. Beyond the Pass of Coom Dhuv, the scenery becomes still more stern and desolate. You wind along the sides of the most naked hills, whose black crags have been rent through with gunpowder, to make the road you travel; and the whole country before you, as it opens out, is dreary moorland, with a few scattered and wretched huts. Alighting from the stage-car at Kenmare, one of those places which you hardly know whether to call a small town or a large village, I found the landlord of the inn where the car stopped, busily engaged in chopping a huge piece of beef into sundry lesser portions, amid a throng of ragged people, and a chaos of tubs, potato-baskets, and the like. The large rambling inn, with its dirty passages, its great peat-fire in its large desolate kitchen; its bare-legged women; its one great room—a sort of half lumber, half store-room; another filled with smoking guests, reminded me of many a similar gasthaus in out-of-the-world German villages. But what concerned me more nearly, the landlord coolly demanded just double the established fare for a car thence to Sneam, the next place. As I had received a hint at Killarney of the extortionate demands of this man, who calculates on strangers not being able to procure any conveyance elsewhere, I stepped across the road to a Mr. James Sullivan's, with whose name I had been provided. It was my destiny here, however, to have a specimen of the difficulty of getting out a small place, sometimes, in Ireland. Mr. Sullivan was out: gone to get his hay in the very neighbourhood to which I wished to proceed that of Sneam; and his wife had the horse and the car, but nobody to drive it. A "Could nobody be got?-Surely there were plenty of men in Kenmare who could drive a car?" I suppose there were some dozens at that moment standing about the streets, with not the slightest visible sign of any thing to do; but the good woman shook her head. "No; she was afraid not." She had two grown-up bare-legged daughters, and these she sent hither and thither, but they came back without success. "No; Murphy, nor Ryan, nor Coglan,-none of them would go." river, as it is called; that is, along a fine arm of the sea, running all the way from Derrynane, at its mouth hither, a distance of six-and-twenty miles. I do not know when I have enjoyed a drive more. To our left lay this fine sea-river, breezy and fresh, and beyond it rose wild moorland mountains, interspersed with patches of cultivation. The road, a new one, ran near the rocky shores of this ocean-stream, and the region into which we All round advanced became wilder and wilder. were nothing but naked and stony mountains, Surely," said I, "employment cannot be so the highest ranges of which were the greenest. very scarce in Ireland as it is said to be. Not a The lower regions were one chaos of bare stony man in Kenmare that is desirous, or has time to ridges, and through these the road was cut. They earn half-a-crown, by driving a car for one stage!" were of a sort of clay-slate-the strata turned up, "One would think not," said the woman. She as it were, edgeways, and all worn and rounded by paused to think.-" Biddy, your brother must go. the action of the atmosphere, and of wintry temRun and fetch him." pests. Many of the rocky ranges resembled ships Away went the light-footed girl; and judge of turned keel upwards; and between these were stuck, my consternation, when I learned that this brother here and there, the huts of the peasantry. With -the eldest son of Mrs. Sullivan, a lad of seven- the exception of the house and plantations of Mr. teen- -was at plough some mile and half off! A Dennis Mahoney, which lay down below us, begood part of an hour was spent in waiting for this tween the road and the banks of the Kenmare youth; but at length came his sister, hot with river,- —one old tower, peeping over the woods with running, to say-" No; Egan would not leave the good effect, we saw scarcely any other than the plough." huts of the poor. At one place we crossed, by a bridge, the romantic stream of the Blackwater, a mountain river lying deep between its rocky banks, and its rapid waters, dashed from one stony ledge to another, sufficiently suggestive of its name from their dark hue. Here my driver, with a true feeling of the beautiful in nature, would not be satisfied without my getting down from the car to look over the bridge on each side. Far below lay the roaring stream; and the lofty banks, beautifully wooded, showed to peculiar effect in this naked and stony region. As we proceeded again, my driver lamented that the recent act of Parliament, regulating the salmon-fishing, had completely deprived the proprietors here of the fishery altogether. From some cause, which naturalists perhaps may be able to explain, the salmon ascends some rivers long after the usual time of its ascent of fresh streams. This was the case here; and the termination of the salmon-fishing, by the act, early in September, found the fish only beginning to ascend this and other rivers in Ireland; and thus terminated the fishing here at its very commencement. The same complaint I heard in other places in Ireland. The good woman was now in despair. "I never knew such a lad as that," said she. "But there is another car in the town. Run, Biddy! and show the jintleman." Biddy led me a good way down to a shop; but the person in the shop-a woman again— said, "No; their horse was out." Adding, with a significant look, "The landlord at the inn is the man for a car; a very raisonable man; and has iligant cars." A light now broke upon me. The people were all afraid of this landlord; and returning to Mrs. Sullivan, I told her my opinion. "There your honour has just hit on it," said she; "and that's the raison none of the men dare go to drive; for he'll not give any of them a day's work, that go with any opposition car." I now began to fear that I must submit to the man's charges, and return to him; but Mrs. Sullivan began to show a proper zeal, and said she would have a man if it cost double what the landlord wanted. So out the daughter ran again. They showed vast interest in the affair; and, after flying hither and thither, came in triumph to say, that Dennis O'Shaughnessy would go, and the watchman was coming to harness the horse, and get him into the car. Presently the watchman, a tall, thin old fellow, appeared; and after trying first one bridle, and then another, and finding the traces wrong, and then that the doors of the shed where the car stood could not be got open, and the two girls going to push and shake at the doors on the other side of the street,-and half the street being up, and one of the girls having to get in at a back window to undo the door inside, at length out came the car, and out, through the house where I was sitting, came the great black horse to be put into it; and Dennis O'Shaughnessy appeared too, and away we went. Our road lay along the banks of the Kenmare A little beyond the Blackwater, a man suddenly slid down from a wagon-load of hay that met us. It was James Sullivan, who recognised his own car. Sending his wagon home by the man, he insisted on driving me himself; and a more hearty, communicative driver it was impossible to have. He went on telling me of all that concerned the whole country round; of Lord Lansdowne's estate, that country of moorland and mountain, stretching, I suppose, twenty miles along the other side of the Kenmare river; of the subterranean forests, of which great pine trees lay by the roadside; and a hundred other things. Anon he jumped off at a small public-house to give his horse some meal and water; and here I must go in and have a glass of whisky-toddy. A strange scene it was. Half-a-dozen ragged people, old and young, squatted on the dirty mud-floor, round a peat-fire on the hearth, over which boiled a large kettle of cabbage, the savoury fumes of which seemed to disturb the dreams of a family of young pigs, which lay under a wooden couch by the wall, and pillowed their heads on pieces of turf. The landlord, posted within his counter, which partitioned off the business part of the apartment, and formed, in Irish fashion, a sort of half-bar, half-shop, with candles and bread also to sell,set us out our glasses of toddy, and told me his adventures in London, where he had gone to seek employment as a baker, but could get none; Irish bakers and butchers, as he assured me, not being patronized in London, owing to their making bread, and dressing meat, in a totally different style from the English. Arrived at Sneam as night was setting in, what was my consternation to find that there was no such thing as a car kept in the place; and James Sullivan was obliged to go back! Here I was, at some dozen miles from Derrynane, in a miserable Irish village, with no apparent means of escaping the next day. The landlady said that nothing in the world was there on wheels, but the common cars of the peasantry, except the gig of the Catholic priest; but that Mr. Welch was so good a man, that "Sure if he knew where I was going, he would lend it me." The thing did not appear quite so probable to me. Why should the good priest lend his gig, the sole decent vehicle in the place, to any perfect stranger that came there? But necessity has no law; and so away I went, guided by two bare-legged damsels, across some dark fields, to make this unconscionable request of the worthy priest. Mr. Welch, a clever and gentlemanlylooking man, received me and my statement with the greatest possible courteousness, and said that he would lend me, with all the pleasure in the world, both gig and horse, if I could wait till twelve o'clock; but that, having to go out to do duty at early mass, he could not be back before. If I could wait! The question was, if I could, by any means whatever, get away. I accepted the benevolent priest's offer with all possible thanks; and, after a long conversation with himself, and two other gentlemen whom I found there, took my leave. My stout landlady, who kept every now and then giving the greatest sighs and groans, as if she was in some deep trouble, - and yet, when I talked to her, laughed as heartily and merrily, declared that I should find "the most iligant entertainment in her house, to be had any where between there and Dublin ;" and though it did not quite come up to that amplitude of promise, it was far better than could have been expected, from the aspect of the wild country, the rueful village, and the inn itself, which, instead of a back-door, had a nice little pigstye, just where it should have been, opening into the house. But what a blow awaited me in the morning! The good woman informed me-how could it have been otherwise?—that the priest had been up betime, and had come there to say that he had got a call into the country, and had the rheumatism so bad in his back that he could not go without his gig; and, indeed, why should he? And, therefore, he was extremely grieved; but he could not have the pleasure of obliging the gentleman. I had an inward fear of this. The state of things had appeared really too supernaturally good; but what was to be done? At this moment, a car, with only a single gentleman in it, drove by, and out darted the landlady, with a wild cry, and pursued it, shouting amain. The car stopped. There was a short parley. The good woman appeared all tongue and eloquence. The jolly, broad-backed gentleman gave a shake of the head, and drove on. "Oh! the mane man. Oh! the mane, unfeeling cratur!" came Mrs. M'Guin back, exclaiming ; "And he to be going to Darrynane, and all alone; and to lave a poor, strange jintleman, that would ha' bin sich good company for him, when he's nobody but himself in the car? Och! it's quite unchristian althegither!" "How could you ask him such a thing?" said I. "How could I ask him! Why, wouldn't any body but a brute baste be glad to take a rale jintleman along wid him, that was left all shipwrecked, as one may say, and no manes of getting along ; and he, the great fat cratur, wanting somebody all the time, if it were only to balance the car! Ah! he's a rale jintleman-a rale out and out jintleman,' says I to him, 'an' is going to the Liberator's.' And what does he say but, 'Why don't you keep a car yourself, Mrs. M'Guin? This is my own private car, and I'll take nobody at all up on the road,' says he. Will the gates o' heaven take him in, I wonder, when he gets there?" concluded the indignant Mrs. M'Guin. I was no little amused at this singular appeal to a gentleman on the highway, but the difficulty remained; and Mrs. M'Guin said now there was nothing for it but to take a peasant's car, and do as well as we could. Soon, therefore, this vehicle appeared at the door, with a bony, black pony in it, and a boy of sixteen or so as driver. Let my countrymen, who have not seen what a peasant's car is, only imagine the vehicle on which I was about to take my journey to the great Liberator's! It was no other than a cart without any sides; simply a cart bottom with a pair of shafts. A little straw was spread on this bottom, and upon this was set my portmanteau ; and seating myself on this as on a throne, and my driver taking his place at one corner, partly on one shaft, and partly on the car, away we went! It was a fine Sunday morning, and the roads were black with people streaming along to chapel for six, and even eight and ten, miles round the country; the women all in their dark-blue cloaks. My driver had furnished himself with a bundle of willow switches, to beat on his horse; and of these he seemed to have great need. The horse appeared to have a particular aversion to motion; and before we had got half-way, the bundle of switches was used up, and the lad descended from the car, and propelled the animal by poking him in the sides with the sole remains of one of the sticks, now reduced to a mere peg. Tree there was none in the country; it was one wilderness of rocks and "Yes, but you have taken good care that we should hear of you from time to time, by your writings. What delightful books those are which Mrs. Howitt has given us from the Swedish and Danish!" "Why, do you really find time and inclination to read such books?" "To be sure. I have read every one of them, except the last, Only a Fiddler,' which we have not received yet from Dublin.” stony hills; but, by a piece of extraordinary good fortune, we observed a few more willows growing in a garden hedge; and the boy made for them, and began to supply himself anew. From a hill above, however, there came a loud and gruff cry of wrath. There sat aloft, over our heads, several great fellows, who were furious at this plunder of so much valuable timber; and the lad was glad to make his escape with a whole skin. Anon we overtook a poor woman, whose foot was bleeding from a cut with a sharp stone, and I invited her While this was saying, we had advanced into to mount the car; and so we went on for some five the entrance-hall; my upper garment was removed, or six miles, to the chapel to which she was going. my portmanteau was already in charge of the staid Here she descended, drew on her shoes and stock-old servant, so well known to visiters there, and ings on the bank, and then joined the singular we were ascending to the drawing-room, where I and picturesque group of worshippers. These was introduced by Mr. O'Connell to those of his were assembled in crowds round the chapel, which family then present, his amiable daughter, Mrs. stood on a little hill close to a small village. The French, Mr. and Mrs. Maurice O'Connell, and dark dresses of the people gave strong effect to various guests. the scene, and to an English eye it was striking. Not only in the chapel yard were hundreds kneeling, but in the streets of the village itself, under the walls of the cottages, where they could not even get a peep at the chapel. This is a very common sight; more people, often, are kneeling during mass outside than inside of an Irish Catholic church, or chapel, as it is always there styled. If you ask them why they kneel where they can neither see nor hear the mass performed, nor even catch a glimpse of the chapel, they always reply, "Oh, it seems to do them good!" And truly, as is the case with all Catholic worshippers in every country, they have an air of singular devotion. Amongst the people stood a numerous group of young men, with their huge, bandy sticks, ready for a game of hurling, as they there call it, after mass was over. The way grew ever more and more wild. "Can Derrynane be in so wild a country as this?" asked I of the driver. "Ay, faith is it, and far wilder," said he. "The Counsellor's house is all amongst the wild mountains; but he has a meadow such as ye'll hardly see any where else." On turning the brow of a hill, there lay a descending country at the foot of the mountains, of some two miles in extent; there spread out the broad Atlantic to the left; and there, on its margin, amid its mass of embosoming wood, stood forth the gray pile of Derrynane. As I approached the house, rain came on, and the wild, misty clouds gave a still more impressive aspect to the scene, while the white spray of the ocean was seen flying high against the rocks, and the roar of the sea came full of majesty on the wind. I made my driver stop at a respectful distance from the house, though I believe, and as it may be imagined in such a country, it was not the first time that a stranger had arrived in such a vehicle; and advancing towards it, saw the stalwart form of the Liberator passing up the court before me. Turning round, he looked at me for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Ha! Mr. Howitt, do I see you in Ireland? I am very glad to see you." "It is long since we met," I observed. But before we make farther acquaintance with these, we must endeavour to receive a clear impression of the place itself, and its environments. It I believe no good view has ever been taken of Derrynane. We have heard a deal of the princely style in which O'Connell lives there, and are therefore led to suppose that his ancestral abode is something quite magnificent. This is not the fact. The house at Derrynane is a good and capacious, rather than a grand house. On the contrary, taking into consideration the fame and standing of the great Irish Liberator, and the hospitality that both his position and his disposition dictate, it strikes one, on arriving at it, as a somewhat modest one. It is the fitting residence of a substantial country gentleman, and nothing more. is of rather an irregular form, and has evidently been, from time to time, enlarged as became requisite, rather with regard to convenience than to one general design. Thus, you approach it by a sort of open court, formed by two projections from the main building. The one to your right consists of a part of the house, where, I suppose, the household affairs are transacted, as visiters seldom enter that portion; and of a small chapel which Mr. O'Connell has recently erected, and which is, indeed, not yet internally finished. projection to your left, of two stories, contains, on the ground-floor, Mr. O'Connell's private study, and over it the library, with the windows overlooking the ocean. A small lobby in this projection first receives you; and advancing from it, you find yourself in a large one; in fact, in the very centre of the house, and where the grand staircase conducts you to the rooms above. Here you find the drawing-room, a fine spacious apartment, running at right angles with the projection containing the study and library, and towards the sea; and the windows on all sides give you views over the ocean, and the rocky hills around, with the plantations close under the house, and the green expanse of meadow between the house and the sea. Beneath this room is the dining-room, of the same dimensions. On the other side of the main staircase, you see a long passage leading to a variety of rooms; but to these, except it be to his bedroom in that direction, the visiter seldom pene The |