Irish Inns. Objections made to them. A near-fatal accident.

Chapter XIII

Irish Inns.

Their general character - Objections commonly made to them - Answer thereto - Sir Charles Vernon’s mimicry - Moll Harding - Accident nearly of a fatal nature to the author.

An Irish inn has been an eternal subject of ridicule to every writer upon the habits and appearances of my native country. It is true that, in the early period of my life, most of the inns in Ireland were nearly of the same quality - a composition of slovenliness, bad meat, worse cooking, and few vegetables, save the royal Irish potato; but plenty of fine eggs, smoked bacon, often excellent chickens, and occasionally the hen, as soon as she had done hatching them, if you could chew her. They generally had capital claret, and plenty of civility in all its ramifications.

The poor people did their best to entertain their guests, but did not understand their trade; and even had it been otherwise, they had neither furniture, nor money, nor credit, nor cattle, nor *customers *enough to keep things going well together. There were then no post-horses nor carriages, consequently very little travelling in Ireland; and if there had been, the ruts and holes would have rendered 30 miles a-day a good journey. Yet I verily believe, on the whole, that the people in general were happier, at least they appeared vastly more contented, than at present. I certainly never met with so bad a thing in Ireland as the “Red Cow” in *John Bull: *for whatever might have been the quality, there was plenty of something or other always to be had at the inns to assuage hunger and thirst.

The best description I ever recollect to have heard of an Irish inn, its incidents and appurtenances, was a sort of medley sung and spoken by the present Sir Charles Vernon, when he had some place in the Loord-Lieutenant’s establishment at Dublin Castle: it was delivered by him to amuse the company after supper, and was an excellent piece of mimicry. He took off ducks, geese, pigs, chickens, the cook and the landlady, the guests, &c. to the greatest possible perfection.

One anecdote respecting an Irish inn may, with modifications, give some idea of others at that period. A Mrs. Moll Harding kept the *natest *inn in Ballyroan, close to my father’s house. I recollect to have heard a passenger, they are very scarce there, telling her “that his sheets had riot been aired.” With great civility Moll Harding begged his honour’s pardon, and said, “they certainly were and *must *have been *well *aired, for there was not a gentleman came to the house the last fortnight that had not slept in them!”

Another incident which occurred in an Irish inn is, for very good reasons, much more firmly impressed on my recollection, and may give a hint worth having to some curious travellers in their peregrinations to Kerry, Killarney, &c.

The late Earl Farnham had a most beautiful demesne at a village called Newtown Barry, County Wexford. It is a choice spot, and his lordship resided in a very small house in the village. He was always so obliging as to make me dine with him on my circuit journey, and I slept at the little inn, in those days a very poor one indeed.

The day of my arrival was, on one occasion, wet, and a very large assemblage of barristers were necessitated to put up with any accommodation they could get. I was sure of a good dinner, but every bed was engaged. I dined with Lord F---,took my wine merrily, and adjourned to the inn, determined to sit up all night at the kitchen fire. I found every one of my brethren in bed, the maidservant full of good liquor, and the man and woman of the house quite as joyously provided for. The lady declared she could not think of permitting fly *honour to sit up, and if I would accept of their little snug cupboard-bed by the fireside, I should be warm and comfortable. This arrangement I *thought a most agreeable one: the bed was let down from the niche, into which it had been folded up, and in a few minutes I was in a comfortable slumber.

My first sensation in the morning was, however, one which it** is not in **my power to describe now, because I could not do so five minutes after it was over; suffice it to say, I found myself in a state of suffocation, with my head down and my feet upwards! I had neither time nor power for reflection:

I attempted to cry out, but that was impossible; the agonies of death, I supposed, were coming on me, and some convulsive effort gave me a supernatural strength that probably saved me from a most inglorious and whimsical departure. On a sudden I felt my position change, and with a crash sounding to me like thunder, down the bed and I came, upon the floor. I then felt that I had the power of a little articulation, and cried out “murder!” with as much vehemence as I was able. The man, woman, and maid, by this time all sober, came running into the room together. The woman joined me in crying out murder; the maid alone knew the cause of my disaster, and ran as fast as she could for the apothecary to bleed me. I had, however, recovered after large draughts of cold water, and obtained sense enough to guess at my situation.

The maid having been drunk when I went to bed, on awakening just at break of day to begin to set all matters to rights, and perceiving her master and mistress already up, had totally forgotten the counsellor, and having stronger arms of her own than any barrister of the home circuit, in order to clear the kitchen, had hoisted up the bed into its proper niche, and turned the button at the top that kept it in its place; in consequence of which, down went my head and up went ‘my heels! and as air is an article indispensably necessary to existence, death would very soon have ended the argument, had not my violent struggles caused the button to give way, and so brought me once more out of the position of the antipodes. The poor woman was as much alarmed as I was!

I felt no inconvenience afterwards. But what has happened once may chance to occur again; and I only wonder that the same accident does not frequently take place among this kind of people and of beds.

Barrington Index. Home.