e saw, however, both men and women
working at a distance in the fields.

I was thirsty; and going up to an ancient crone, employed in the manner
which I have described, I asked her for water; she looked me in the face,
appeared to consider a moment, then tottering into her hut, presently
reappeared with a small pipkin of milk, which she offered to me with a
trembling hand. I drank the milk; it was sour, but I found it highly
refreshing. I then took out a penny and offered it to her, whereupon she
shook her head, smiled, and, patting my face with her skinny hand,
murmured some words in a tongue which I had never heard before.

I walked on by my father's side, holding the stirrup-leather of his
horse; presently several low uncouth cars passed by, drawn by starved
cattle: the drivers were tall fellows, with dark features and athletic
frames--they wore long loose blue cloaks with sleeves, which last,
however, dangled unoccupied: these cloaks appeared in tolerably good
condition, not so their under garments. On their heads were broad
slouching hats: the generality of them were bare-footed. As they passed,
the soldiers jested with them in the patois of East Anglia, whereupon the
fellows laughed, and appeared to jest with the soldiers; but what they
said who knows, it being in a rough guttural language, strange and wild.
The soldiers stared at each other, and were silent.

"A strange language that!" said a young officer to my father, "I don't
understand a word of it; what can it be?"

"Irish," said my father, with a loud voice, "and a bad language it is; I
have known it of old, that is, I have often heard it spoken when I was a
guardsman in London. There's one part of London where all the Irish
live--at least all the worst of them--and there they hatch their
villanies to speak this tongue; it is that which keeps them together and
makes them dangerous: I was once sent there to seize a couple of
deserters--Irish--who had taken refuge amongst their companions; we found
them in what was in my time called a ken, that is, a house where only
thieves and desperadoes are to be found. Knowing on what kind of
business I was bound, I had taken with me a sergeant's party; it was well
I did so. We found the deserters in a large room, with at least thirty
ruffians, horrid-looking fellows, seated about a long table, drinking,
swearing, and talking Irish. Ah! we had a tough battle, I remember; the
two fellows did nothing, but sat st