66 THE DROWNED SHEPHERD. 



tend the supporting of this idle and useless multitude, his reply 

 was so Irish. " Pshaw ! hang it ! sure they have no wages, and 

 what the devil signifies all they eat ? My father, before the landing 

 of the Paul Jones, fed two hundred men for a fortnight, and 

 used to declare, that never were there such plentiful times. It 

 killed the cook, however, poor woman ! she was literally 

 broiled into a pleurisy but such a wake as she had ! I 

 remember it as if it occurred but yesterday. She was carried 

 to the old grave-yard of Bunmore the very evening the Paul 

 Jones landed her cargo, and although five hundred men left 

 the house with the corpse, the cook remained over-ground 

 till the following morning, for want of sufficient persons to fill 

 the grave. The fact was, that just as the funeral reached 

 the church-yard, the lugger was suddenly discovered rounding 

 the Black Rock. Instantly the mourners absconded, the 

 bearers threw down the body the priest, who was deeply 

 concerned in the cargo, was the first to fly ; and the defunct 

 cook was left accordingly in peaceable possession of Bun- 

 more." 



To arrive at our mountain-quarters we were obliged to 

 cross the river repeatedly. When swollen with rain, the 

 stream is impassable, and the communication between the hill 

 country and the lowlands interrupted, until the flood abates. 

 At one of the fords, my kinsman pointed out a little cairn, or 

 heap of stones, erected on the summit of a hillock which 

 overhung the passage we were crossing. It is placed there to 

 commemorate the drowning of a, stfepherd, and, as an incident 

 in humble life, it struck me as being particularly affecting. 



"In 1822, when the western part of Ireland was afflicted 

 with grievous famine, and when England stepped forward 

 nobly, and poured forth her thousands to save those who were 

 perishing for want, a depot of provisions was established on 

 the sea- coast, for the relief of the suffering inhabitants of this 

 remote district. 



" A solitary family, who had been driven from their lowland 

 home by the severity of a relentless middle-man, had settled 

 themselves in this wild valley, and erected the clay walls of 

 that ruined hut before you. The man was shepherd to a 

 farmer who kept cattle on these mountains. Here, in this 

 savage retreat, he lived removed from the world, for the nearest 

 cabin to this spot is more than four miles distant. 



" It may be supposed that the general distress afflicted this 



