In 1844, Mrs. Asenath Nicholson had come to Ireland from New York to learn the true condition of the poor Irish at home. The redoubtable New England widow spent the next year traveling the length and breadth of Ireland, usually on foot, but sometimes by canal or steamer, and occasionally by Bianconi car. Some excerpts from her diary: She had written, "I had walked more than twenty miles, ten of which had been on round or sharp pebbles for a carpet; sometimes getting upon a cart, and carrying my boots in my hand for a little mitigation. I had eaten nothing but a deliciously sweet dry crust in the enchanted morning when I had sat singing upon a moss-hillock. I came at last to a cabin where a woman let me have some straw for a bed. Potatoes were in readiness, and while we were eating them, the husband entered, intoxicated, wild and noisy." She passed a most disagreeable night; at one moment the husband, brandishing a set of tongs, threatened to throw her into the river that passed just outside the cabin if she attempted to stir or speak. (Perhaps it was hard for Asenath to be silent!). She left next morning as soon as the cock crowed, though it was pouring with rain, to walk the four weary miles to Killarney, Co. Kerry. In Kilkenny, determined to entertain her, in spite of her demurs that it was the Sabbath, neighbours had gathered, "The eldest son of my hostess advanced, made a low bow, and invited me to lead the dance. I looked on his glossy black slippers, his blue stockings snugly fitting up to the knee, his corduroys above them, his blue coat and brass buttons, and had no reason to hope that, at my age of nearly half a century, I could ever expect another like offer. However, I was not urged to accept it. The cabin was too small to contain the three score and ten who had assembled, and with one simultaneous movement, without speaking, all rushed out, bearing me along, and placed me upon a cart, the player at my right hand. And then the dance began. Not a laugh - not a loud word was heard; but as soberly as though they were in a funeral procession, they danced for an hour, wholly for my amusement, and for my welcome. Then each approached, gave me the hand, bade me God-speed, leape! d over the stile, and in stillness walked away." At none of the big houses was she received so kindly - She took a steamer from Cappoquin down the Blackwater to Youghal, in order to consult Sir Richard Musgrave, whom she had heard had a condescending manner with a peculiarly kind heart, to ask him if he though the English Government was taking the liberty of opening and retaining her letters. Sir Richard Musgrave peered at her over his spectacles and said that he had no advice on the subject, then taking out his watch added pointedly that he was in the middle of his lunch. As he firmly ushered her out, he did ask if she would take something to eat, but Asenath, deeply offended by her reception, said she was not hungry. Even at Derrynane (Daniel O'Connell was away), though she was shown the house and given a lunch of bread and cheese, the housekeeper whose countenance she thought, "was better fitted to drive away an enemy than to invite a friend," turned her out into a storm with a walk of five miles over the mountains in the gathering darkness. Excerpts from her diary -