The Reminiscences of an Irish Land Agent — Themes and Context

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In Category - Modern Nations
Hussey, Samuel Murray, 1824-, Gordon, Home, 1871-1956 [Editor] Project Gutenberg 2005 Not confirmed
Hussey, Samuel Murray, 1824-; Country life -- Ireland; Ireland -- History -- 1837-1901 Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 92,339
Reading time 402 min
Text sections 10

This digital edition of The Reminiscences of an Irish Land Agent — Themes and Context is described by source-level measurements including 92,339 words, 6 hr 42 min estimated reading time, and 10 detected text sections.

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Samuel Murray Hussey's conversational memoirs, compiled by Home Gordon, recount his life as a land agent in 19th-century Ireland. The book blends personal anecdotes, sharp observations on landlords and politicians, and unvarnished views on famine, Fenianism, and Irish society, all delivered in a colloquial, raconteur's voice.
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Dingle was the only town in this barony, and it was incorporated by Queen Elizabeth in 1585, when she granted it the same privileges which were enjoyed by Drogheda, with a superiority over the harbours of Ventry and Smerwick. The Virgin Sovereign also presented the town with £300 for the purpose of making a wall round it.

The Irish formerly called Dingle Daingean in Cushy, or the fastness of the Husseys. One of the FitzGeralds, Earl of Desmond, had granted to an ancestor of my own a considerable tract of land in these parts, namely, from Castle-Drum to Dingle, or as others say, he gave him as much as he could walk over in his jackboots in one day. That Hussey built a castle, said to be the first erected at Dingle, the vaults of which were afterwards used as the county gaol.

There is mention of this in the grant of a charter to Dingle by King James I. in the fourth year of his reign: 'The house of John Hussey granted for a gaol and common hall to the corporation.'

A grim interest lurks in the fact that the dedication of Smith's _History_ to Lord Newport, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, recites that 'this Kingdom, my lord, is a kind of Terra Incognita to the greater part of Europe.'

Is it not so to this day?

Do I not meet scores of people who tell me they would love to go to Kerry, but they have never been nearer than Killarney.

That is the sort of speech which makes me wonder how geography is taught.

It is on a par with the remark of a prominent Arctic explorer, that he had never been to Killarney because it was so far off.

People, however, who go there apparently like it.

The chief Elizabethan settlers in Kerry were William and Charles Herbert, Valentine Brown, ancestor of the Kenmares, Edmund Denny, and Captain Conway, whose daughter Avis married Robert Blennerhasset, while a little later, in 1600, John Crosbie was made Bishop of Ardfert and Aghadoe.

To-day the descendants of those settlers are still among the principal folk in Kerry, though that is more due to their own selves than to the support they had from any British Government.

This Valentine Brown, who was a worshipful and valiant knight, wrote a discourse for settling Munster in 1584. His plan was to exterminate the FitzGeralds and to protestantise Ireland; but by the irony of fate his own son married a daughter of the Earl of Desmond and became a Roman Catholic.

In the Carew Manuscript it is recorded that he estimated that one constable and six men would suffice for Cork, but for Ventry, 'a large harbour near Dingle,' one constable and fifty men were necessary; so he evidently had a clear apprehension of the villainous capabilities of the men of Kerry.

It is also recorded that in the parish of Killiney is a stronghold called Castle Gregory, which before the wars of 1641 was possessed by Walter Hussey, who was proprietor of the Magheries and Ballybeggan. Having a considerable party under his command, he made a garrison of his castle, whence having been long pressed by Cromwell's forces, he escaped in the night with all his men, and got into Minard Castle, in which he was closely beset by Colonels Lehunt and Sadler. After some time had been spent, the English observing that the besieged were making use of pewter bullets, powder was laid under the vaults of the castle, and both Walter Hussey and his men were blown up.

Prior to this, 'on January 31, 1641, Walter Hussey, with Florence MacCarthy and others, attacked Ballybeggan Castle, plundered and burnt the house of Mr. Henry Huddleston, and did the same to the house and haggards of Mr. Hore, where they built an engine called a saw, having its three sides made musket-proof with boards. It was drawn on four wheels, each a foot high, with folding doors to open inwards and several loopholes to shoot through, without a floor, so that ten or twelve men who went therein might drive it forwards. These machines were set against castle walls whilst the men within them attempted to make a breach with crows and pickaxes.'

Infernal machines are, after all, not confined to our own times, and this same rascally ancestor of my own appears to have had predatory habits more likely to be appreciated by his followers than by his foes.

Samuel Murray Hussey, born at Bath but a Kerryman by ancestry and inclination, opens his reminiscences with a characteristic blend of self-deprecation and defiance. 'It was my misfortune, but not my fault, that I was born at Bath,' he writes, immediately establishing the colloquial, talkative tone that his editor Home Gordon warns will provoke criticism. The book is not a polished memoir but a transcription of a raconteur's voice—Hussey had long resisted writing, and the text retains the rhythms of oral storytelling. Gordon notes that Hussey supplied seven volumes of newspaper cuttings and two magazine articles, but the core is Hussey's own talk, shaped by a 'retentive memory' and a willingness to name names.

A Talker's Recollections, Not a Written History

Gordon's preface frames the book as a deliberate departure from conventional memoir. Hussey, he explains, 'has never been addicted to writing' and was persuaded to appear in print only on the condition that his reminiscences remain 'conversational.' The result is a text that reads like an extended monologue—full of digressions, asides, and pointed judgments. The chapter on 'Lord-Lieutenants and Chief Secretaries' exemplifies this: Hussey dismisses Lord Cowper as 'an honest nonentity,' describes Lord Kimberley as 'a pre-eminently respectable mediocrity,' and notes that Lord Spencer's red beard earned him the nickname 'Rufus.' These are not balanced assessments but the sharp, personal opinions of a man who had dealt with these figures directly. The book's structure—twenty-three chapters on topics from 'Famine and Fever' to 'Drink' and 'Priests'—reflects the associative logic of a talker, not the orderly progression of a historian.

Land, Law, and the Texture of Daily Conflict

Hussey's role as a land agent placed him at the center of Ireland's most bitter social and economic tensions. The excerpts reveal a world where petty sessions, pig trespass, and landlord-tenant disputes are woven into everyday life. One anecdote from Ballyporeen Petty Sessions captures the blend of humor and resentment: a tailor summoned for letting his pig wander pleads that the animal was 'curious' to see the constabulary, and the magistrates nearly let him off—until Mr. Crosbie Moore insists on the fine. The tailor pays his shilling and quips that 'no live man could keep a woman or a pig in the house when she wanted to be off,' then collects twenty-three shillings from a subscription raised outside the court. The story is told not as a legal precedent but as a piece of local character, illustrating how Hussey's world operates through a mix of official procedure and unofficial solidarity.

Politicians, Nicknames, and the Viceregal Court

Hussey's portraits of British officials in Ireland are laced with irreverent nicknames and blunt assessments. The Duke of Abercorn, who claimed a French dukedom, was known among malcontents as the 'French Frog'; his wife's connection to the Duke of Bedford led to the viceregal lodge being called the 'Dukeries,' and the handsome A.D.C.s became the 'Duckeries.' Lord Kimberley was 'Pussy' to disrespectful subordinates. These epithets are not mere gossip—they reveal a social world where power is constantly scrutinized and deflated through language. Hussey's praise for the Duke of Marlborough is measured: 'He was frankly the friend of the landlords, and did his best for them.' But his criticism of Lord Cowper is withering: 'an honest nonentity who left the country in disgust because he was not backed up by the Government.' The book offers a insider's view of how viceregal authority was perceived on the ground, filtered through the eyes of a man who dined with lords and survived assassination threats.

Readers should approach this book as they would a long evening's conversation with a sharp-tongued, elderly Kerryman. Hussey's memory is prodigious, but his judgments are personal and often partisan. The value lies not in objective history but in the texture of lived experience—the nicknames, the anecdotes, the offhand verdicts on men and events. Gordon's editing preserves the oral quality, but the reader must supply context from other sources. The book is best read as a primary document of a land agent's perspective, one that shaped and was shaped by the turbulent decades it describes.

Some evenings, after the shelves grow still, I think of Hussey’s blunt, worn voice, so full of practical trouble, and then I find myself reaching for that other quiet volume, Drake, Nelson and Napoleon — Reading Notes. Both men saw greatness up close—its mud, its temper. There is a peculiar comfort in that shared, unhurried honesty.

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