Towards 1740 a long and terrible corn famine fell upon our island. The
fisheries had failed that season, and the crops had been blighted
two years running. Miserably poor at all times, ill-clad, ill-housed,
ill-fed at the best, the people were in danger of sheer destitution. In
that day of their bitter trouble the poorest of the poor trooped off to
Bishop's court. The Bishop threw open his house to them all, good and
bad, improvident and thrifty, lazy and industrious, drunken and sober;
he made no distinctions in that bad hour. He asked no man for his name
who couldn't give it, no woman for her marriage lines who hadn't got
them, no child whether it was born in wedlock. That they were all
hungry was all he knew, and he saved their lives in thousands. He bought
ship-loads of English corn and served it out in bushels; also tons of
Irish potatoes, and served them out in _kischens_. He gave orders that
the measure was to be piled as high as it would hold, and never smoothed
flat again. Yet he was himself a poor man. While he had money he spent
it. When every penny was gone he pledged his revenue in advance.
After his credit was done he begged in England for his poor people in
Man--_he_ begged for _us_ who would not have held out his hat to save his
own life! God bless him! But we repaid him. Oh yes, we repaid him.
His money he never got back, but gold is not the currency of the other
world. Prayers and blessings are the wealth that is there, and these
went up after him to the great White Throne from the swelling throats of
his people.