They cease work
when a death occurs in the parish. If an infant three days old should
give up the ghost, every man shoulders his spade and leaves the field.
And he does not return till after the funeral. If another death
occurred on the funeral day, he would leave off again, and so on. No
matter how urgent the state of the crop, he must leave it to its fate,
or leave the country, for no one would know a person who would work
while a corpse lay in the parish. They would look upon him as an
infidel, and, if possible, worse than a Protestant. Luckily we don't
often die hereabouts, or we'd never get the praties set or the turf
cut. Sometimes they won't go to work because someone is expected to
die, and they say it isn't worth while to begin. I have known a
lingering case to throw the crops back a fortnight or more. Oh, they
don't grumble; any excuse for laziness is warmly welcomed. They
complain when people die at inconvenient times, and will say the act
might have been delayed till a more convenient season, or might have
been done a little earlier. The whole population turn out for the
funeral, but they don't dig the grave until the procession reaches the
graveyard. Then the mourners sit around smoking, both men and women,
while a couple of young chaps make a shallow hole, and cover the
coffin with four to six inches of earth. No, it is not severely
sanitary, but we are not too particular in Achil."

These unsophisticated islanders are decidedly interesting. Their
customs, politics, manners, morals, odours seem to be strongly
marked--to have character, originality, individuality. I fear they are
mostly Home Rulers, for in Ireland Home Rule and strong smells nearly
always go together.

Achil Sound, June 20th.

No. 38.--THE ACHIL ISLANDERS.

Dugort, the capital city of Achil, is twelve miles from the Sound, a
terrible drive in winter, when the Atlantic storms blow with such
violence as to stop a horse and cart, and to render pedestrianism
well-nigh impossible; but pleasant enough in fine weather,
notwithstanding the seemingly interminable wastes of bog and rocky
mountain, dotted at infrequent intervals with white cottages, single
or in small clusters of three or four. After Major Pike's plantations,
near the Sound, not a tree is visible all the way to Dugort, although
at some points you can see for ten miles or more. Here and there where
the turf has been cut away for fuel, great gnarled roots of oak and
fir tr