The father was called the Earl of Stairs, because his little house was
just on the side of Black Stairs, looking towards Puck’s Bridge. One
eave rested on the side of the rock, and the walls were good strong
stone walls (there is no scarcity of stones in them parts), and the
roof was as snug as scraws and heath could make it. The Earl enclosed
as much land off the common as he could till; so there was no scarcity
of oaten bread, or potatoes, or eggs, or goats’ milk; and small thanks
to him for keeping up a good fire, for the turf bog was within a hen’s
race of his castle. Both he and his wife were of old respectable
families; and so, as they had the good drop of blood, and some larning,
and were mighty genteel in their manners, they were called Lady Stairs
and the Earl of Stairs. One day, an ignorant omadhaun of a mountaineer
came in on some business, and he sat down, and kept looking at a bunch
of keys that was hanging from a table-drawer, and says he, after a long
pause, “Ma’am,” says he, “do you sell kays here?”
Well, when the little boy was about fifteen years old, and knew more
nor any school-master within ten miles of him, he was so eager after
the learning, that he set out over the mountain, and through Carlow,
and Kilkenny, and whatever lies at the back of them, till he came to
Munster. He got into a capital school there, and learned all them
branches I mentioned while ago, ay, and grammar along with them; I
forgot the grammar. A Mr. Blundell teached in that school about twenty
years ago, but I don’t know the name of the young Earl’s master who
lived long before that time. He paid nothing for his knowledge, but
helped the master now and then; and the farmers’ children going to the
school were glad to take him home at night, as he was so ready to share
his knowledge with them. No wonder he should find it so easy to pick up
learning in Munster, where they say the little boys minding the cows
converses with one another in Latin.
At last and at long, he returned home, a fine genteel young man; and
did not his poor mother cry with joy, when she heard him talking to the
priest the next Sunday, after Mass, and conversing with him in Latin,
and French, and Portugee.
Well, there was nothing to hinder him now from being a priest himself,
if he chose, as the old people had some guineas laid up in the thatch
in an old stocking; but though he was pious enough in his own way, he
said he had no vocation; and that any one becoming a priest without a
vocation, would be only endangering his own soul and the souls of his
flock. Every week he used to get an invitation to some great farmers’
house for tay and hot cake, and wherever the priest had a station, he
was sure to be there. The girls had an eye on him, but though he was
polite enough, he paid no particular attention to any one; and then
they began to find out that his parents were below their own rank in
life, and that his geese were all swans in his own eyes, and that the
concait of some people was astonishing. He used to ramble about the
rocks with a book in his hands; and though he was ready enough to help
the Earl at his work, the deuce a hand would the old fool let him lay
to a single thing.
At last as they were sitting round the fire on a winter’s night, the
young fellow up and told the old couple, that he was tired of doing
nothing and having nothing to do, and that he would set out on his
travels, and that he hoped he would have something pleasant to write
home about before long.
The poor old people were sad enough at this; but after doing all they
could to persuade him to stay at home, and marry, and take a farm, or
open a shop in Newtownbarry (it was only Bunclody then), or
Enniscorthy, or New Ross, he still held out, and one fine day he set
forward to Dublin, and took ship there, and tale or tidings were not
heard from him for two years, except one letter that he sent them from
Paris about five months after he set sail; and in this letter he said
he was well off teaching English to a merchant’s children.
A last one fine summer afternoon, a fine looking gentleman with a
foreign appearance, and speaking English in a queer style, and
travelling in a post-chaise, stopped at the inn at the cross of
Rathduff, and put up there till next day; but said he wanted a guide to
show him the way to the Earl of Stairs’ castle. The people knew the
nickname well enough, and after he got some refreshment, a boy was sent
to show him the way. When they came nigh the cabin which was on the
open common, and near the ending of a lane that came up straight
through the enclosed fields, they heard a great grunting and squeeling,
and there they saw two stout two-year old pigs with their noses to the
half-door, shrovellin’ at it with all their might, and only for the
rings in their snouts they’d have it down in less than no time; and the
squeelin’ they kept up all the time was enough to vex a saint. A
puckawn [15] and eleven meenshogues [16] were surnadin’ along the ridge
of the roof, and cantherin’ round the bawn, and givin’ a puck now and
then to the musicianers at the door to quicken the tune a bit. Well,
the gorsoon got through the goats and gave a welt or two to the pigs,
and got them out of the way, and then he bawled out, “Earl of Stairs,
are you within if you please, sir? Here’s a gentleman from foreign
parts come to see you.” So with that the Earl came and opened the
half-door, and requested the gentleman to walk in. There was as fine a
dish of white eyes on their little table as you could wish to see, and
a couple of noggins of boiled goats’ milk by the side of it, and a
plate of butter, and the moment the gentleman entered, they pressed him
to sit down and join them; and Lady Stairs filled out a mug of milk,
and laid a knife and a pat of butter for the stranger.
He thought to explain his business at once, but they would not hear a
word till he would first eat and drink. So he hung his hat on a peg,
and taking the knife in his hand, he cut one of the potatoes in two,
and watched to see how the master and mistress managed theirs. And he
was so polite that he laid down his knife, and began to peel off the
potato skins with his fingers. Well, he did not relish that way of
going to work much, so he took up the knife again and dispatched a
couple of potatoes, and took a pull at the milk which I’m sure was good
enough for a queen. Well, the table was small, and the mistress
thinking that the potatoes were not much to their visitor’s taste, took
down a wooden bowl, filled with good home-made cakes; and laying it on
her lap, as the little table was crowded, she buttered a good slice,
and asked him to try it if he pleased. He done his best to seem to
relish every thing, and the Earl holding a lighted dipped rush in one
hand, pressed him to make a hearty supper.
When the cloth was off the table, the Earl wiped his hands on a wisp of
straw in the corner: you will know by and by, why I mention this straw,
and the other things. When he was done with it he threw it into the
blaze, and it was burnt. Now, don’t forget the dish held on the lady’s
lap, nor the rush in the Earl’s hand, nor the straw.
At last says the Frenchman in broken English, as soon as they would let
him speak, “Madame, the mistress of the house, havn’t you a son that
left you about two years ago?” The poor woman got into such a tremble,
that some of the cakes fell out of the bowl, and the father opened his
eyes and his mouth, but couldn’t say a word. “Oh sir, dear,” says the
mother, “have you seen our poor boy!” “Yes,” says he, “I have seen him,
and he is alive and well, and well to do, and likely to be better.”
“And when is he coming home, and why didn’t he write, and how does he
look, and why didn’t he come with you?”
“As I can’t speak the English very easily, you may better let me tell
my story in my own way,” says the Frenchman, for a Frenchman he was: “I
am the head man of business to a merchant in Paris; and about a year
and half ago, a young genteel looking Irishman was engaged by my
employer to teach his children English. There was something so mild and
engaging about the young fellow, that the children and the elder people
got very much attached to him, and the young lady their eldest daughter
began to like him better than the others. Your son, for so he was,
never took any airs on himself, and the young lady seeing that he paid
no particular attention to her, began to mope and be dismal, and at
last took to her bed, and was sick in earnest. The mother, by some
means, found out what ailed her, and let her husband know; but he was
very angry, and indeed herself was not much better, but still the girl
was ailing without making any complaint. The young teacher made a great
many mistakes in the lessons from the first day he missed the young
lady from her place; and some of the servants remarked him several
nights in the street at late hours, and looking up at the light of one
of the windows. At last, fearing that they would lose their daughter
altogether, the mother began to question the young Irishman about his
family at home. He made no boast, except that he was descended from
good old Irish families on both sides; and that the lands belonging to
his forefathers were taken from them, because they would not renounce
their religion nor their king; and he mentioned that his own father and
mother were still called in jest, Earl and Lady Stairs.
“Well they had no great occasion to ask him what he thought of their
daughter, for one of her young brothers happening to call one day at
his lodging, and stepping in on tiptoe, and peeping over his shoulder,
he found him sobbing and kissing a little picture which he had made of
his sister, unknown to any body.
“So the old gentleman at last gave his consent, on condition that a
person he’d send over to Ireland, to his father’s place, would be able
to give a satisfactory account of the state of things here. I think he
expected that by getting time, and leaving the lady to herself, she
might change her mind; especially as there is no end to the balls and
entertainments going on, and as all the young gentlemen of their
acquaintance are invited to the house, night after night. Miss Mary is
a very lively, rattling young damsel, with dark sparkling eyes; and we
all wondered how she was so taken with your son, who is very quiet in
his manner, and used to say so little. My master hopes from the
briskness of her character, that she will get tired of his quietness;
but I am sure he will be mistaken; and now a good deal depends on the
news I am to send home in a day or two.”
“Oh dear,” says the poor mother, “what will you be able to say about
such humble people as we, to make your employer think well of the
match?”
“At all events,” says the stranger, “I can say of you, that before you
knew anything of my business, you shared the best you had with me, and
what more could you do if you were a real lady? Now if you have any way
for me to sleep, I’ll let my guide go back and bring up my
dressing-case from the inn; and we will take to-morrow to go to the top
of this mountain here, and walk about, and settle how every thing is to
be; and next day I’ll write home.”
Well, then, he pulled out a letter from their son; and, between
laughing and crying, they read, how at first he wrote after getting
into business, and then when the trouble came, he did not wish to send
any letter till he would have something pleasant to say. He put in
everything to make them cheerful; and now and then something about the
young lady would slip out, and her mother’s kindness, and the love he
had for the little brothers, and what a charitable good young lady she
was, etc. So when the evening got late, Mounseer was put to rest in a
snug little room where their son had his bed long ago, and well he
might sleep too, for there was a feather pallet, with a nice dry mat
under it; and the fresh air of the mountain got in through chinks and
crannies, and did not let the place feel too close; and the sheets were
clean and well aired, and the quilt had all the beautifulest flowers in
the world cut out on it in the neatest patterns.
Lady Stairs going in and out took notice that he spent a good deal of
time about his razhurs and other dressing implements; but if he passed
any time on his kness, it was a mighty short one entirety. Next morning
they contrived to give the Frenchman a decent breakfast of tay, and
white bread, and butter, though them things didn’t often get so high up
in the mountains; and they say that the French don’t use tay at
breakfast; and after that he walked in his thin boots along with the
Earl, to the very top of Blackstairs. I’m sure they had a delightful
view from it, over the castles and demesnes of Mr. Colclough, Mr.
Blacker, Mr. Carew, and all their plantations, and the woods of
Kilaughrim, and Tombrick, and the Slaney flowing along, and the towns
of Enniscorthy and New Ross looking so small, and all the snug farmers’
houses down in the county Carlow, with the green paddocks around them,
and the bogs here and there, and the dry stone fences to the fields,
and the town of Carlow, and the fine broad Barrow flowing off towards
Graigue and New Ross. If they turned around to the sunrise, they could
enjoy the view of Mount Leinster, and the Wicklow hills, and Ferns, and
Corrig Rua, and the far-off sea beyond all.
Well, that evening he pulled out his letter paper, and his pen, and
ink-horn; and began a letter to the merchant in Paris, and this is the
way a part of it was wrote.
“Most respected sir,
“I write these few lines to you, hoping they shall find you in
health as it leaves me at present, thanks, etc., etc., and the
mistress, and Miss Mary, and the young Irish gentleman, and the
other children. This country is very different from France; land is
so cheap and plenty that they cut away a great deal of every field
to make a big dyke, and they build up a great big ditch with the
clay and stones they take out. The people are cheerful, and
hospitable, and obliging; but they are too fond of staying in their
chapels, and saying long prayers. Our young gentleman was rather
modest in speaking of his father’s rank and possessions. I can
hardly make a guess at the extent of the demesne that spreads round
his mansion for miles and miles, without hedge or ditch, and the
sheep and cattle that graze on it are beyond counting. When I drew
nigh to the castle, up an avenue half a mile long, it was in the
evening, and the Earl and his Lady were at their supper. There were
two musicianers stationed before the hall-door, and they played
during the whole time, such music as you never heard in your life
at any entertainment, no nor the King of France himself. Twelve
halberd-men were drawn up in front by way of royal guard; so
venerable as they looked, and such beards as they had! and while
they were on duty they would not return a salute, nor answer a
question to the King nor the Lord Lieutenant himself. Though the
Earl and his Lady were at their supper in state, they showed me the
greatest respect, when they heard from where I came. Will I ever
forget the splendour of that supper! The side table could not be
valued by the owner at less than fifty thousand pounds; and I am
sure that the Earl would not part with the chief candlestick that
gave light to the feast for ten thousand any way.
“After supper, the nobleman dried his hands on a towel with gold
fringes, at least they looked very like gold; and so little regard
had he for it that when he was done he thrune it into the fire.
Moreover, he need not go out of his own demesne for firing for a
hundred years to come; and by the end of that time, I’m sure you
would hardly miss the trees that would be cut down. Such is the
wonderful splendour of every thing here that I can hardly believe
my own account of it; and I’m sure the young Earl when he came to
Paris, and ever since, pretended to be poor, that he might find
some good young lady who would marry him for his own sake, and not
for his rank nor his riches.
“I will take a look at Dublin, and the Wicklow and the Welsh
mountains on my return; and I hope to see my young mistress with
the ring on her hand when I get home.
“I am, etc., etc.”
Well, the clever Frenchman was asked to the priest’s house to take tea
that evening, and two or three of the gentlemen-farmers met him there.
He was very glad to get in company with the priest, as he spoke French
well, having studied at a place abroad called Louvain, and he told him
the sort of letter he was sending home. The clergyman wondered at it,
you may be sure, but he said that the young lady would be thankful for
the invention; and that her mother was won over already; and that the
father only wished to make the thing look well in the eyes of their
acquaintance; and so the letter would satisfy everybody; and from all
he could hear of the young man from his old neighbours, his young
mistress would never meet a better husband; for he had good manners and
a good appearance, and was a good scholar, and what few young Paris
gentlemen were, he was a good Christian into the bargain.
Well to make my long story short, the Earl of Stairs soon made an
addition of two rooms to his castle, a parlour and a bed-room, and the
next year, there was joy and merriment in his house, for his son and
his beautiful black-eyed bride came home; and they brought only a boy
and a girl to wait on them; and the servants were harder to please than
their master and mistress; and the merry young lady ran about among the
heath and rocks, and her serious young husband and she were as fond as
fond could be of one another; and she laughed till the tears ran down
her cheeks at the notion of the halberd-men, and the musicianers, and
the demesne, and the side table, and the candlestick, and the towel
with the gold fringes; and she was as serious and devout at the little
chapel as the poorest person there. They came to spend a part of every
summer at Blackstairs during the life of the old people; and if they
didn’t live happy, THAT WE MAY!”
“These stories,” continued the guest, “are pretty fair examples of such
as are still related at Irish hearths.”
“We once had stories told here,” said the host, “which were full of
action and adventures, but they are forgotten now. Instead of such old
tales, we have now mere quibbles on words, or modern anecdotes, with
but little in them worth remembering. As Henny Quick said, years ago,—
“Our Cornish drolls are dead, each one.
The fairies from their haunts have gone;
There’s scarce a witch in all the land,
The world has grown so learn’d and grand.”
“Henny wrote many short pieces,” continued our host, “had them printed,
and he sold them, with his mother’s help; yet what Henny called his
copies of verses were on very doleful subjects when there was any new
matter in them.
“There was also a rhymster in Sancras, called Billy Foss, who would
talk for ever so long in doggerel verse, but the greater part of it was
very abusive; this es what he said of Boslow:—
“As I traversed Boslow
I saw an old cow,
A hog, and a flock of starved sheep;
Likewise an old mare,
Whose bones were so bare
They made her old master to weep:
A few acres of ground
As bare as a pound,
An old house just ready to fall;
Beside, there was no meat
For the people to eat,
And that was the worst thing of all:
No grass for the flocks,
But a carn of dry rocks,
Which afforded a horrible sight;
If you chance go that way,
You must do so by day,
For you’d smash out your brains in the night.
No crock, pan, nor kettle;
No goods, much nor little,
Was there to be found in the house;
No tables nor chairs,
No bedding upstairs—
Not so much as to cover a mouse.”
“There are rhymes enough in that,” said the guest, “and whether there’s
any reason you may best know.”
About this time the Cap’n of the tin-stamps and other old men rose and
came to wish us good night, saying, “we must love ’e and leave ’e my
dears, for we haave to get to work early; the time es gone quickly, es
past our landlord’s hour for closean; ef you are goan away to-morrow we
wish ’e well, and hope you may come to ‘Sennor’ agen soon.”
We were glad to get sleep too, having had a long ramble in the morning,
and expecting a tiresome walk back to Penzance before the next night.
In Zennor church we noticed, on a bench-end, the curious carving of a
mermaid, which has probably given rise to a legend [17] well known in
the neighbourhood.
The following epitaph on a mural tablet, in the same church, is also
somewhat remarkable:—
Here rest the Mortal part of
John Quick, of Wicka, Yeoman.
He was hospitable, sociable, peaceable, humble,
honest, and devout in manner.
HE EXCELLED HIS EQUALS.
In piety he was their example.
He met death with composure.
Sept. 12th, 1784, aged 74.
“The Memory of the Just is Blessed.”