" There was no medicine--no drink--no fire.
The wretched creatures, dying from thirst, were constantly crying
"Water, water," but there was no Christian hand to give them even a cup
of cold water for the love of God.
Towards the end of April, the Rev. Mr. Barry estimated the deaths from
famine, in Bantry alone, at four thousand.
Some time ago, speaking with a gentleman, a distinguished public man,
about the hinged coffin, he said: "At the time of the Famine I was a
boy, residing not far from Bantry. I have seen one of those hinged
coffins, which had borne more than three hundred corpses to the grave. I
have seen men go along the roads with it, to collect dead bodies as they
met them."
Good God! picking up human forms, made to Thy image and likeness, and
lately the tenements of immortal souls, as fishermen may sometimes be
seen on the seashore, gathering the _debris_ of a wreck after a storm!
With such specimens of the Irish Famine before us, we cannot but feel
the justice, as well as the eloquence, of the following passage: "I do
not think it possible," writes Mr. A. Shafto Adair, "for an English
reader, however powerful his imagination, to conceive the state of
Ireland during the past winter, or its present condition.
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