and carried me to Henry Wall’s wife to see whether she would do for Mrs. Cotton, Mary Nowlan having become so intolerable they cannot keep her. The old Irish story: for the first six weeks no one could behave better, but as soon as the good feeding had given her spirits and she had got some clothes and a little money, her senses seem to have deserted her. First she wanted five meals a day, she having never had but two in her cabin, and they only potatoes, with very seldom milk to them; then beer at command, which in her life before she never could have tasted; then angry at getting no presents; then sulky at the English nurse insisting that the baby should be kept cleaner, etc., etc. How can one help these creatures? And Mary Wall, whom we found to-day actually without sufficient clothes to cover her, will be perhaps just as absurd in her turn. Patience, time and care may improve at least the young.
29. John had no difficulty with the poor creatures whose crops he seized. He left them all that they would require for the support of their families, merely took what they would have improperly otherwise disposed of, and before May comes, when they will be dispossessed, we must see to get something done for them. Farm they never will—Quin from vice and Kearns from folly, and Doyle from something between the two. Doctor called to hear about the Colonel, as indeed he has done most days, and to ask me if I wanted money. Took a long walk, gave Mary Wall good advice and something better.
30. Not quite so comfortable a month as many, Hal having given his health another shake, not a very safe thing at his age, and spent money instead of saving it; but if it teach him wisdom we won’t grudge it; his own warm, luxurious, happy home is the place for him at his age with his health, and, when he sees the good train his affairs are now in, I think he will not again be tempted to wander.
THURSDAY OCTOBER 15. A melancholy end to the St. Servans expedition, [the Colonel being bed-ridden with asthma for a fortnight after his return] but one to be expected, for change of air very seldom suits his asthmatick disposition. He has had a great shake, and he is not recovering from it so well as he used to do. A warning to him to take better care of his valuable life, and stay in the home filled with comforts suited to his age.
17. I must get to the garden, now looking as it used to do under Paddy reformed—his temperance medal and the entreaties of himself and friends having softened my hard heart after some weeks of obduracy, for I was very angry with him. We had the Duke of Wellington’s Life here by Maxwell from our club—very badly done, I though—and now Beckford’s Travels, which the Colonel tells me are equally stupid. We ought to have a new round of books ordered, these being out; but our indolent secretary [Ogle Moore] is too busy rocking his babies and fondling his wife to attend to any thing besides—how can we expect him to mind a book society when he neglects his parish?
19. Old Mrs. Grant sent us some periodicals to amuse the Colonel, among them a number of Chambers’ Magazine, with which I am delighted. How is it that the Scotch always get to the top of every thing—do all best—early education of temper and habits, as well as school learning.
24. The Doctor was quite agitated yesterday in telling us of a most shocking piece of negligence—worse—neglect of positive duty in our Vicar and Curate. A girl thirteen years of age, for whom they are receiving an annuity from the County, allowed to live among papists, unacquainted with the nature of an oath, remembered two years ago to have said some prayers, etc. This shocks him and others because it came before them in a Court of Justice, where her testimony could not be received by the magistrates on account of her ignorance; but I could rake up fifty such cases or such like, where the total inattention of our clergy is every day increasing evils that a generation of better care will not eradicate. And people wonder that the reformed religion does not spread here. I wonder it is tolerated—it seems to fail to produce even in gentlemen an idea of their duty. What effect can it have on the poor. Mr. Moore is greatly more culpable than Mr. Foster—he knows his duty, which the other poor creature really does not—poor Ireland!
30. Poor Sarah spent her night in tears. She is fretting herself to death, and I feel for her leaving us after eleven years happy service, and I feel for myself losing such an affectionate and useful creature; and though I do not value James equally, thinking he has some of the cuteness and plenty of the selfishness of an Irishman, I full well feel that as a servant we can never hope to replace him. The whole house is weeping.
31. The last day of October—upon the whole a very harassing month to me. We were too prosperous, all was going on too brightly with us, we needed some little check to keep us in mind that we are but pilgrims and sojourners here below and can’t expect always to travel in pleasant places or in sunny weather. I hope, and I firmly believe, that the worst is over.
MONDAY NOVEMBER 2. I am no worldly mother, dear children, I wish for no splendour for any of you. If my two dear girls marry men of worth with a profession which their talents and industry will enable them to live comfortably by and to leave their children in the same station they hold themselves, it is all that I desire. A small establishment, some years of strict economy, would be no objections with me, but I think we owe it to our parents and to our children not to sink them below their birth, which we most certainly do when we cannot educate them for and in that rank in society they have a right to join.
3. Old Lord Seafield dead26 my Chief—puffed off in the papers as a noble Earl, which indeed he was, but it was a dignity he and his family and his race and his people think very secondary indeed to his being the head of the Clan Grant. In my young days, at least, and in our part of the Highlands the clannish feeling was as ardent as ever it could have been, though they tell me it is wearing out like other good old things that don’t seem to me to be replaced by better.
7. Hal rode and I walked, and then came the butcher with a quarter of beef and a poor man with a quarter of veal, which he had overbled and had to kill. I remember thinking it very disagreeable in your grandpapa, children, my dear father, that he made me, when I had grown up, attend the cutting up of the meat. The sight of so much raw flesh and the smell made me nearly sick at first, and I thought I should never learn the names of the pieces, nor understand where to look for them all. ‘If you don’t marry a rich man,’ said Grandpapa, ‘you will thank me for this.’ ‘Even if she do,’ said Grandmama. ‘she will not be the worse for her servants knowing she understands her business.’ I was a foolish little girl in some things. I used to faint when I saw blood, so Grandpapa made me attend the Doctor whenever he had to bleed any one, and very soon I could hold the cups and even assist him in many surgical operations. It is mere selfishness prevents women being thus useful. Nature intends them for nurses, and if they thought more of the sufferings they could relieve than of the unpleasantness to themselves, they would soon lose their nervousness.
8. Jane Cooper quite shocked at my family troubles. Caroline requiring more rubbing in consequence of disobeying the Doctor’s injunction—little naughty girl, one would have thought her seven weeks’ penance would have frightened her. And Mary Byrne needing several more ablutions before she will be free from a swarm of very unpleasant companions. Decent and clean as she looks with a neat bonnet and shawl and two tidy gowns, she has but one shift—one petticoat—so she must wash, and I must lay out her money for her in Linen if she is to stay here. Absentees, you ought to be at home instructing these poor savages.
Father Matthew to preach at Black Ditches to-day. Such crowds already on the road, the hill and the bridge swarming. All the country will be there; and no one before him ever did so much good to it, already rags are disappearing, the people are looking fat, clear, clean and more cheerful. In Blesinton, where I know every second house once sold whiskey, there are not above three in the whole town now where it is to be had. Coffee, tea and bread to be had in the teetotal shops instead, and on a market day quantities of meat bought. Drinking was the curse of the country, it is by no means so poverty stricken as it looked. The means of the people for the most part were
