THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
| Number 27. | SATURDAY, JANUARY 2, 1841. | Volume I. |
THE IRISH MIDWIFE.—Part II.
BY WILLIAM CARLETON.
The village of Ballycomaisy was as pleasant a little place asone might wish to see of a summer’s day. To be sure, likeall other Irish villages, it was remarkable for a superfluity of“pigs, praties, and childre,” which being the stock intrade of an Irish cabin, it is to be presumed that very few villageseither in Ireland or elsewhere could go on properlywithout them. It consisted principally of one long street,which you entered from the north-west side by one of thoseold-fashioned bridges, the arches of which were much moreakin to the Gothic than the Roman. Most of the houses wereof mud, a few of stone, one or two of which had the honourof being slated on the front side of the roof, and rusticallythatched on the back, where ostentation was not necessary.There were two or three shops, a liberal sprinkling of public-houses,a chapel a little out of the town, and an old dilapidatedmarket-house near the centre. A few little bye-streetsprojected in a lateral direction from the main one, which wasterminated on the side opposite to the north-west by a pound,through which, as usual, ran a shallow stream, that wasgathered into a little gutter as it crossed the road. A crazyantiquated mill, all covered and cobwebbed with grey mealydust, stood about a couple of hundred yards out of thetown, to which two straggling rows of houses, that lookedlike an abortive street, led you. This mill was surrounded bya green common, which was again hemmed in by a fine river,that ran round in a curving line from under the hunchbackedarch of the bridge we mentioned at the beginning. Now, alittle behind, or rather above this mill, on the skirt of theaforesaid common, stood a rather neat-looking whitish cabin,with about half a rood of garden behind it. It was but[Pg 210]small, and consisted merely of a sleeping-room and kitchen.On one side of the door there was a window, openingon hinges; and on the outside, to the right as you enteredthe house, there was placed a large stone, about fourfeet high, backed by a sloping mound of earth, so graduatedas to allow a person to ascend the stone without any difficulty.In this cabin lived Rose Moan, the Midwife; and we needscarcely inform our readers that the stone in question washer mounting-stone, by which she was enabled to place herselfon pillion or crupper, as the case happened, when called outupon her usual avocation.
Rose was what might be called a flahoolagh, or portly woman,with a good-humoured set of Milesian features; thatis to say, a pair of red, broad checks, a well-set nose, allowingfor the disposition to turn up, and two black twinkling eyes,with a mellow expression that betokened good nature, and apeculiar description of knowing professional humour that isnever to be met with in any but a Midwife. Rose was dressedin a red flannel petticoat, a warm cotton sack or wrapper,which pinned easily over a large bust, and a comfortablewoollen shawl. She always wore a long-bordered morningcap, over which, while travelling, she pinned a second shawlof Scotch plaid; and to protect her from the cold night air,she enfold