Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry | Page 3

that all was not right, than as direct
assertions that they lived unhappily. Before strangers they were perfect
turtles.
Larry, according to the notices of his life furnished by Sheelah, was "as
good a husband as ever broke the world's bread;" and Sheelah "was as
good a poor man's wife as ever threw a gown over her shoulders."
Notwithstanding all this caution, their little quarrels took wind; their
unhappiness became known. Larry, in consequence of a failing he had,
was the cause of this. He happened to be one of those men who can
conceal nothing when in a state of intoxication. Whenever he indulged
in liquor too freely, the veil which discretion had drawn over their
recriminations was put aside, and a dolorous history of their
weaknesses, doubts, hopes, and wishes, most unscrupulously given to
every person on whom the complainant could fasten. When sober, he
had no recollection of this, so that many a conversation of
cross-purposes took place between him and his neighbors, with
reference to the state of his own domestic inquietude, and their want of

children.
One day a poor mendicant came in at dinner hour, and stood as if to
solicit alms. It is customary in Ireland, when any person of that
description appears during meal times, to make him wait until the meal
is over, after which he is supplied with the fragments. No sooner had
the boccagh--as a certain class of beggars is termed--advanced past the
jamb, than he was desired to sit until the dinner should be concluded. In
the mean time, with the tact of an adept in his calling, he began to
ingratiate himself with Larry and his wife; and after sounding the
simple couple upon their private history, he discovered that want of
children was the occasion of their unhappiness.
"Well good people," said the pilgrim, after listening to a dismal story
on the subject, "don't be cast down, sure, whether or not. There's a Holy
Well that I can direct yez to in the county--. Any one, wid trust in the
Saint that's over it, who'll make a pilgrimage to it on the Patthern day,
won't be the worse for it. When you go there," he added, "jist turn to a
Lucky Stone that's at the side of the well, say a Rosary before it, and at
the end of every dicken (decade) kiss it once, ache of you. Then you're
to go round the well nine times, upon your bare knees, sayin' your
Pathers and Avers all the time. When that's over, lave a ribbon or a bit
of your dress behind you, or somethin' by way of an offerin', thin go
into a tent an' refresh yourselves, an' for that matther, take a dance or
two; come home, live happily, an' trust to the holy saint for the rest."
A gleam of newly awakened hope might be discovered lurking in the
eyes of this simple pair, who felt that natural yearning of the, heart
incident to such as are without offspring.
They looked forward with deep anxiety to the anniversary of the Patron
Saint; and when it arrived, none certainly who attended it, felt a more
absorbing interest in the success of the pilgrimage than they did.
The days on which these pilgrimages are performed at such places are
called Pattern or Patron days. The journey to holy wells or holy lakes is
termed a Pilgrimage, or more commonly a Station. It is sometimes
enjoined by the priest, as an act of penance; and sometimes undertaken
voluntarily, as a devotional, work of great merit in the sight of God.
The crowds in many places amount to from five hundred to a thousand,
and often to two, three, four, or five thousand people.
These Stations have, for the most part, been placed in situations

remarkable for wild and savage grandeur, or for soft, exquisite, and
generally solitary beauty. They may be found on the high and rugged
mountain top; or sunk in the bottom of some still and lonely glen, far
removed from the ceaseless din of the world. Immediately beside them,
or close in their vicinity, stand the ruins of probably a picturesque old
abbey, or perhaps a modern chapel. The appearance of these gray,
ivy-covered walls is strongly calculated to stir up in the minds of the
people the memory of bygone times, when their religion, with its
imposing solemnities, was the religion of the land. It is for this reason,
probably, that patrons are countenanced; for if there be not a political
object in keeping them up, it is beyond human ingenuity to conceive
how either religion or morals can be improved by debauchery,
drunkenness, and bloodshed.
Let the reader, in order to understand the situation of the place we are
describing, imagine to himself