Drung
Taken From Inishowen (Its History, Traditions, and Antiquities) Maghtochair

There is a small chapel at Drung, on a commanding eminence on the shore of the lough. The building is a plain unpretending edifice. Some years of the present century elapsed before it was built; previous to this there was a little altar near the same spot, and on a Sunday morning the good people of the district might be seen tripping along the mountains and across the fields to the Sunday mass, which was celebrated in the open air, a broad stone for an altar, and the blue vault of heaven for its covering; and on a cold day in winter one could hardly imagine a more dreary and exposed locality. At last the good priest of the district made an appeal to the people, but the appeal was for the most part unheeded; he appealed again, and with no better effect. On a cold day in February, and while the wind blew a perfect hurricane, the people knelt around the rude altar, and the priest read the morning prayer, previous to which the good man made a third appeal for subscriptions to raise a chapel, but, as before, without effect. He was a venerable old man, his locks were as white as the snow that fell thickly around him, his tremulous hands were pinched with cold, and there knelt his flock around him - the old, the decrepid, the infirm, as well as the strong and the stalwart. They, too, felt the excessive rigour of he cold; it was a good opportunity, and the priest did not allow it to pass. "How long," said the venerable old man, "shall ye continue to worship God in the open air? Time was when ye were not allowed to build a church; fortunately that time has passed away. I have appealed to you before, I appeal to you now again." The words of the good priest produced their effect, a subscription was organised, and the church, as it now stands, was built. I may observe, however, that as this church is found inadequate for the accommodation of the people, another is about to be built in its place, and there is a large sum of money on hand for the purpose.

Passing that little chapel of Drung reminds me of an old story that occurred some years ago up in the Drung mountains. An old man was dangerously ill; he had no family, and his patrimony consisted of two cows and the little articles of furniture which his house contained. The priest was sent for, and, as usual, was prompt in his attendance. After administering the consolations of religion to the dying man, his attention was attracted by a noise in the kitchen. He proceeded to see what it was; he returned again to the sick man's room, and was asked what they were disputing about. "Well," said the priest, "they are disputing about those two cows of yours." "Is that the regard they have for me" said the dying man; "Do you know what it is father dear, if I thought I could get grass for them where I'm going, they would never enjoy a hair of their tale!"

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