Their general character—Objections commonly made to them—Answer
thereto—Sir Charles Vernon’s mimicry—Moll Harding—Accident nearly of a
fatal nature to the author.
An Irish inn has been an eternal subject of ridicule to every writer
upon the habits and accommodations of my native country. It is true
that, in the early period of my life, most of the inns in Ireland were
nearly of the same quality—a composition of slovenliness, bad meat,
worse cooking, and few vegetables (save the royal Irish potato); but
with plenty of fine eggs, smoked bacon, often excellent chickens, and
occasionally the hen, as soon as she had done hatching them—if you could
chew her. They generally had capital claret, and plenty of civility in
all its ramifications.[37]
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Footnote 37:
I have visited many small inns, where they never gave a bill, only a
verbal—“_What your honour pleases!_” I once asked a poor innkeeper in
Ossory, why he did not make out his bills as other publicans did:—he
gave me many reasons for not doing so:—“The gentlemen of the country,”
said he, (“God bless them!) often give us _nothing at all_, and the
_strange quality_ generally give us _more_ than we’d _ask for_; so
both ends meet! But,” added he, proceeding to the most decisive reason
of all, “there is never a _schollard_ in the house—and the
schoolmaster _drinks_ too much punch, plaze your honour, when Mary
sends for him, to draw out a bill for us; so we take our chance!”
-----
The poor people did their best to entertain their guests, but did not
understand their trade; and even had it been otherwise, they had neither
furniture, nor money, nor credit, nor cattle, nor _customers_ enough to
keep things going well together. There were then no post-horses nor
carriages,—consequently, very little travelling in Ireland; and if there
had been, the ruts and holes would have rendered thirty miles a-day a
good journey. Yet I verily believe, on the whole, that the people in
general were happier, at least they appeared vastly more contented, than
at present. I certainly never met with so bad a thing in Ireland as the
“Red Cow” in _John Bull_: for whatever might have been its quality,
there was plenty of something or other always to be had at the inns to
assuage hunger and thirst.
The best description I ever recollect to have heard of an Irish inn, its
incidents and appurtenances, was in a sort of medley sung and spoken by
the present Sir Charles Vernon, when he had some place in the Lord
Lieutenant’s establishment at Dublin Castle: it was delivered by him to
amuse the company after supper, and was an excellent piece of mimicry.
He took off ducks, geese, pigs, chickens, cattle-drivers, the cook and
the landlady, the guests, &c., to the greatest possible perfection.
One anecdote respecting an Irish inn may, with modifications, give some
idea of others at that period. A Mrs. Moll Harding kept the _natest_ inn
at Ballyroan, close to my father’s house. I recollect to have heard a
passenger (they were very scarce there) telling her, “that his sheets
had not been aired.” With great civility Moll Harding begged his
honour’s pardon, and said,—“they certainly were, and _must_ have been
_well_ aired, for there was not a gentleman came to the house the _last
fortnight_ that had not slept in them!”
Another incident which occurred in an Irish inn is, for very good
reasons, much more firmly impressed on my recollection, and may give a
hint worth having to some curious travellers in their peregrinations to
Kerry, Killarney, &c.
The present Earl Farnham had a most beautiful demesne at a village
called Newtown Barry, County Wexford. It is a choice spot, and his
Lordship resided in a very small house in the village. He was always so
obliging as to make me dine with him on my circuit journey, and I slept
at the little inn—in those days a very poor-looking one indeed—but not
bad.
The day of my arrival was, on one occasion, wet, so that to proceed was
impossible, and a very large assemblage of barristers were necessitated
to put up with any accommodation they could get. I was sure of a good
dinner; but every bed was engaged. I dined with Lord F., took my wine
merrily, and adjourned to the inn, determined to sit up all night at the
kitchen fire. I found every one of my brethren in bed; the maid-servant
full of good liquor; and the man and woman of the house quite as
joyously provided for. The landlady declared, she could not think of
permitting _my honour_ to sit up; and if I would accept of their little
snug cupboard-bed by the fire-side, I should be as warm and comfortable
as my heart could wish, and heartily welcome too. This arrangement I
thought a most agreeable one: the bed was let down from the niche into
which it had been folded up, and, in a few minutes, I was in a
comfortable slumber.
My first sensation in the morning was, however, one which it is not in
my power to describe now, because I could not do so five minutes after
it was over;—suffice it to say, I found myself in a state of
suffocation, with my head down and my feet upward! I had neither time
nor power for reflection:—I attempted to cry out, but that was
impossible;—the agonies of death, I suppose, were coming on me, and some
convulsive effort gave me a supernatural strength that probably saved me
from a most whimsical and inglorious departure. On a sudden I felt my
position change; and with a crash sounding to me like thunder, down the
bed and I came upon the floor.—I then felt that I had the power of a
little articulation, and cried out “murder!” with as much vehemence as I
was able. The man, woman, and maid, by this time all tolerably sober,
came running into the room together. The landlady made no inquiry, but
joined me in crying out murder in her loudest key: the maid alone knew
the cause of my disaster, and ran as fast as she could for the
apothecary. I had, however, recovered after large draughts of water, and
obtained sense enough to guess at my situation.
The maid, having been thoroughly moistened when I went to bed, on
awakening just at break of day, began to set matters to rights, and
perceiving her master and mistress already up, had totally forgotten the
counsellor! and having stronger arms of her own than any barrister of
the home circuit, in order to clear the kitchen, had hoisted up the bed
into its proper niche, and turned the button at the top that kept it in
its place: in consequence of which, down went my head and up went my
heels! Now, as air is an article indispensably necessary to existence
(and there was none under the bed-clothes), death would very soon have
ended the argument, had not my violent struggles caused the button to
give way, and so brought me once more from among the Antipodes.—The poor
woman was as much alarmed as I was!
I felt no inconvenience afterward. But what has happened once may chance
to occur again; and I only wonder that the same accident does not
frequently take place among this kind of people and of beds.