A young Englishman representing the Society of Friends, who in that tragic time did work worthy of the Good Samaritan, reported what he saw in Mayo and Galway in language which for plain vigor rivals the narratives of Defoe.

One day I was walking over some marshy land in Galway with a friend when we found an old, hard-featured man digging a ditch.

I mean to beat the Smiths at plums, Jim Galway at alfalfa, even rival Bob Worther at pumpkins and peonies.

She was breathing a prayer of thanks when a remark from Galway to Jack brought back her apprehension.