Twice a year in each parish the priest names a Sunday which is consecrated to the collection of the dues—that is, to the subscription which provides his stipend. It seems that nothing can be more amusing than the scenes which take place on those days. It must be admitted that the parishioners are generous, and the pastor absolutely disinterested; but, after all, human nature is weak, as every one knows, and it never quite loses its ascendency; each parishioner is divided between the desire to eclipse his neighbours and yet to give as little as possible. The pastor, on his side, is not sorry to speculate on these conflicting sentiments, and since both of them are Irish—that is to say, as witty as possible—the tempest that stirs beneath their skulls, as M. Victor Hugo would say, produces the oddest incidents possible.
I was recommended to read a book, which I found charming, and which I am assured is very true. It is calledPictures from Ireland. The author, Mr. Terence McGrath, is not favourable to the Land League. He has devoted one chapter of his book to a description of one of these collections of the dues. I borrow this passage from him:—
“After mass a table is brought and placed in front of the altar; Father Morrissy stands by its side, and as the chief men of the parish pass before him, he declares aloud the amount deposited by each on the plate:—
“‘Michael Egan—one pound.’
“‘Martin Fruen—one pound. Martin Fruen, with one hundred acres of land, one pound. Just twopence an acre!’
“‘William Slattery, ten acres—ten shillings.’
“‘Mary Finnegan, a widow with eight children and five acres of land—six shillings. Verily, I say unto you, that this poor widow has cast in more than all they that have cast into the plate.’
“‘John Sweeney’ (Fruen’s bitterest enemy) ‘seventy acres—three pounds. I am glad to feel that John Sweeney is more liberal than some of those who would have no hesitation in robbing the Holy Church of her dues, and leaving their priest in want.’
“An interruption from Martin Fruen, who returns to the altar steps and says, ‘I beg your pardon, Father Peter, but I forgot to say that I have an acre of meadow for your reverence.’
“‘Thank you, Martin, I thought you must have forgotten’”—and so on.
I will not swear that the scene is not highly coloured; but it is very effective, and above all very characteristic of Irish humour. However, I am more inclined to believe that there may be a foundation of truth in these reproaches, from a fact that I often remarked in America. In the far west the only Catholics are Irish or Canadian. The priests invariably belong to one of these two nationalities. Now, I often noticed thatwhilst the Canadian priests are always much liked by their parishioners, by Canadians, as well as by Irish, the Irish priests, on the contrary, are constantly in difficulties with the Canadians, who accuse them of being too exacting. But, after all, this is of little consequence in Ireland, since the persons most interested, who are certainly the parishioners, declare they are quite satisfied with their clergy. Besides, the latter have already given so many proofs of their political talents, that we may be quite certain that they would know how to modify their requirements, should the necessity arise, and how to preserve intact the admirable spirit of union, and the community of aspirations, which bind them so closely to the population, and which gives them so much strength.
I happened to meet, to-day, with an opportunity of ascertaining the confidence which the clergy inspire and how much the Irish people are used to seeing in the person of their priests the natural interpreters of their claims.
The good town of Kenmare, although usually very quiet, is extremely excited at the present time. But any one would be the same, at least, for the inhabitants have just learned that they will probably be obliged this year to pay their taxes twice over, and, since they already find these taxes very heavy when they only pay them once, their state of exasperation can readily be imagined. The position is very curious, but, in order to make it fully understood, I must say a few words about the political and administrative state of Ireland. This organisation is infinitely less complicated than our own; but still that does not insure that it is better. The county and the barony correspond pretty nearly to ourdepartment and district, but thearrondissementdoes not exist; and we may say that the administrative division is not carried further than the barony. The baronies include a certain number of parishes. But the parish has no definite existence. A large borough like Kenmare has neither a municipal nor a local budget. The great cities only are provided with a “corporation,” to use the correct word. In one of our departments the public funds are managed by three different assemblies: the general council, the councils of thearrondissement, and, lastly, the municipal councils. In Ireland these are all replaced by one single assembly, the grand jury, and this assembly is not even elective. The sheriff chooses the members from a list of important persons. The law only exacts that each barony should be represented.
However this curiously formed assembly possesses very extensive power. In fact, it fills in the county almost as many posts as Molière assigns to Maitre Jacques in Harpagon’s house. The grand jury discharges at the same time all the judicial or administrative functions. First, it serves the county law court, and decides whether the accused should be sent to the assizes; it taxes the county and orders the execution of public works. It also, with the sheriff’s assistance, nominates all the functionaries, for the only representatives of the state in each county are the lord-lieutenant, whose duties are purely honorary, the sheriff, the deputy-lieutenants, and the magistrates, which are divided into two classes, although they are all nominated by the Lord Chancellor. Some are simply landowners, invested with a commission as justices of the peace, who perform their dutiesgratuitously: the others,stipendiary magistrates, are paid, and are obliged to reside on the spot.
Now that the reader is sufficiently enlightened upon the general principles that rule the administrative organisation of Green Erin, I will pass on to those particular events which have excited the inhabitants of the barony of Kilgawan. About eighteen months ago, the office of tax collector was vacant. In ordinary times there is no lack of candidates. This official has a right to a commission of 5 per cent. upon all the money he collects; so that if the taxes amount to 2,000l., this produces a sum of about 100l., which annually falls into the lucky official’s pocket, who, besides, usually adds these functions to the duties of some small business; but the post is much less in request lately, for the tax-payers have adopted the lamentable habit of responding to their summons by gun-shots. However, at last they found an amateur candidate. He was still a young man, alert, vigorous, and the best shot in the county, after Mr. Trenchbien entendu. Besides, he could furnish the two securities exacted by the law. He therefore appeared to unite all the requisite qualifications; and he had not long to wait for his nomination.
He commenced his duties about a year ago, and for some time everything went well. The taxes were admirably paid in, considering the hardness of times, and every one agreed that in him the barony had found a model official. The surprise was therefore great when it was discovered some days ago that he had disappeared, as all cashiers do disappear,i.e.with their cash boxes. By a singular coincidence his securities, two tradesmen in the place, had suspendedtheir payments at a few days’ interval. For a short time after this event, public opinion hesitated. Some were delighted and praised the patriot, who, sooner than pay into the oppressor’s Government the funds that would be used to pay its hired assassins, had simply appropriated them for his own necessities; but the more politic shook their heads and pointed out that if part of the funds were destined for the Government, the rest was intended for local expenses, whilst they asked themselves how all the wheels of the barony could work during the coming year.
Helas!The patriotic misgivings of these sages were only too well founded. Mr. Trench has consulted a lawyer. The answer arrived this morning. It is terrible. The collector is an official of the barony, but the barony undertakes to collect the Government taxes through him, at the same time as its own. Thus, on the one hand, since the money had not been paid into the Government, the barony was still responsible; and, on the other, a number of necessary expenses had been incurred and they must meet their engagements. Now the 2,000l.received, only representing the exact amount of these two deficits, it became necessary to raise another two sums of 1,000l.each,i.e.the taxes must be paid again. The argument is as clear as water from the rock, but it is not pleasant.
Now the grand jury are to meet to-morrow at Tralee, and this is why it was resolved to convene an indignation meeting in order that Mr. Trench, when discharging his duties on the grand jury, might convey to his colleagues the expression of the but too well justified complaints of the unfortunate inhabitants of Kenmare.
Mr. C—— and I started a few minutes after breakfast for the Town Hall, where the meeting was to take place. The hall, which is generally used for musical evenings and charitable associations, is of good size. However, when we arrived it was already crowded, but when we were recognised, those present made room for us so pleasantly that we ended by reaching the platform, where Mr. Trench and Father O’S—— were conversing with great animation. The types present offered a most interesting study. The peasants and farmers were crowded together at the back of the hall: the benches nearest the platform being filled by the inhabitants of Kenmare, small merchants and workmen. I noticed one man near to me, already aged, thin, very brown skin, white, closely cropped hair, an eager, very expressive face, the head of a Spanish priest. Mr. C—— told me that he was a poor workman, who had been some years ago one of the most active and energetic Fenian agents in the country. He has only lately left prison. Opposite to me a small crowd is pressed round a short man leaning against the wall. He has a collar of thick white beard, which frames a pale face, ornamented with a red nose, to which he applies snuff in a dignified way in those rare moments when he is not speaking. Under his frock-coat he wears a long brown waistcoat, and he keeps his left hand in one of its pockets whilst he gesticulates with the right, talking all the time in a loud voice. He is a tailor. He speaks at every meeting, is one of the most active members of the Land League, and enjoys great influence. In the first ranks of his audience are a dozen worthy citizens with fat, sheepish faces, who appear to drink in his words, and who undertake torepeat them, with their own comments, to the crowd that presses behind them endeavouring to catch his words. As I looked at first one and then the other, the liberated Fenian and the little tailor, I could not help thinking of the fable of “Bertrand et Raton.” I fancied that the little tailor would never go to prison, though he would probably be the means of others going there; sure to eat the chestnuts if others could find the means of taking them from the fire.
But the compressibility of the body has a limit. It soon became evident that the hall would not hold another person. Mr. Trench began to speak.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “before opening the proceedings, I think it would be advisable to elect a president.”
A great silence followed.
The little tailor longed to speak, for he rubbed his beard in a feverish way; but suddenly a voice was heard in the crowd—
“Suppose we nominate the French gentleman over there as president.”
Naturally, I made a forcible gesture of dissent. The hall echoed with a peal of laughter. The nervous tension relaxed a little. Mr. Trench seized upon the opportunity.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “it appears to me that we could not do better than invite the Venerable Archdeacon Father O’S—— to be kind enough to preside over us.”
Applause broke out from all sides. The arrangement had been so well provided for, that the Archdeacon was already seated near the presidential chair. He thanked the assembly in two words, seated himself comfortably,and leant back folding his two hands in the air, and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.
“Well, Mr. Trench,” said he, “we are listening to you!”
How well Mr. Trench knew with whom he had to deal! With the first words he managed to win the sympathy of his audience.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “you know that the grand jury is a body selected, not elected.”
“Hear, hear!” cried the little tailor, gesticulating like a devil in holy water. “It is not elected; it is another of those tyrannical institutions which crush poor Ireland.” (Prolonged murmurs.)
“I agree with you, that it is a great misfortune. I believe that it would be better, in every respect, if the representative of the barony could be chosen by you. But since that is impossible, I cannot do better than come and consult you, in order to learn your opinion of the serious business that now preoccupies us all, whilst promising to act according to your instructions.”
He then rehearsed the situation; but when he explained to them that in all probability the taxpayers would have to replace the 2,000l.carried off by the collector, the tumult became so formidable that the Archdeacon rose and began to speak.
This was, perhaps, scarcely correct for the president, but no one appeared to mind it. But then no one here seems to trouble himself particularly about the formalities that are so cherished at Bridoison. Father O’S—— stood upright, his two hands plunged into the pockets of his cassock, his hat still upon his head. Our unfortunate French priests are so accustomed to see their most elementary rights of citizenship contested,that, once outside their church, they always look embarrassed and awkward. They never speak without a thousand hesitations, carefully weighing every word. They conceal their thoughts as much as possible; insinuations are the utmost they ever venture upon. What a contrast from the attitude of this priest; what authority he evidently derives from the conviction that he speaks in the name of the whole people. He does not spare his words.
“Mr. Trench,” said he, “every one present renders justice to the feeling which prompted the step that you have just taken. We all thank you for it. You have described the situation very well. We are ruled by an assembly, the members of which are chosen by those who are masters of Ireland, but who are not elected by us. This assembly settles our taxes as it likes; appoints the agents charged with the collection of these taxes, and because the agent that it sent to us without consulting us on the subject, but armed with all its authority, is a thief, we are now told that our receipts are of no value; that the unfortunate inhabitants of this poverty-stricken barony will be forced to pay a second time. It is a disgraceful thing! We Irish are accustomed to submit to many shameful things, but I declare I never heard anything quoted that is more shameful than this!”
But here he was forced to pause. Whilst he was speaking one could hear the exclamations of the audience gradually increasing. At his last words the noise suddenly became indescribable. The Fenian near me could not control himself. He roared.
The little tailor was so excited that he gesticulated like a madman. At the back of the hall the farmerstapped with their shillalahs on the floor, from which issued clouds of dust.
The priest had only to raise his hand in the air; all stopped as by enchantment. He resumed, with the same calm manner:—
“Well, Mr. Trench, to-morrow the grand jury, of which you are a member, is to assemble. You propose to act as our interpreter to your colleagues. For the second time we thank you for this proposition, and we know that you will carry out your promise to us. Tell the grand jury——”
“Wait!” said Mr. Trench. “I will write down your resolutions.”
“Certainly! Tell the grand jury that the inhabitants of this barony protest with all their power against the odious injustice, which they think of imposing upon us, and which, by every legal means——”
“Not at all! I protest! I object to the word legal being used! I demand that we should put, by every means!”——
It was the little tailor shouting at the top of his voice. And then as every one looked at him, he proudly drew himself up and majestically applied a great pinch of snuff to his nose.
His interruption made a great sensation. The shillalahs recommenced to move at the back of the hall. The Fenian at my side uttered from the depths of his chest, a hurrah, which made me jump into the air; his eyes started from his head. Evidently, at this moment, he would give his chance of Paradise to be able to shoot an English policeman; the citizens who surrounded the tailor seemed slightlyembarrassed; they evidently considered that things were going too far. Only the Archdeacon retained his imperturbable air.
“Let us see, Mr. X——, you apparently advise us to take guns and blunderbusses and to attack the police?” said he.
The little tailor only answered by a gesture of the arms and head, which said clearly: “If everybody were like me, things would not end like that,” but which at the same time, had the great advantage of giving no handle for pursuit, if things turned out badly. But Father O’S—— soon re-established quiet; the resolution that he proposed was applauded and the meeting soon broke up without further incident.
I have, perhaps, dwelt too long upon the details of this meeting; but they appear to me very curious in many respects. In thinking over what I have seen and heard, I find food for much reflection.
It is the fashion in France to complain bitterly of centralisation, and of the great administration which results from it. M. de Tocqueville, in particular, expatiates everywhere on the beauties of the English system, which completely differs from our own. Amongst us, the Government appoints the officials charged with the collection of the taxes, and lends them to the Communes, or the Department, for the collection of the local rates. Here, on the contrary, the collectors are the agents of the local authorities and are lent to the Government by them. I acknowledge that this system has the advantage of leaving to the local power the greater part of the authority, which they have taken from the state; but this satisfaction appears to me a little platonic. Underthe French system if my collector absconds with the cash box, admitting even, though this is almost impossible, that his security were insufficient to meet the deficit, this deficit being divided between thirty-eight millions of taxpayers, I should suffer in an infinitesimal proportion from this theft; whilst, under the same circumstances, the poor people of Kenmare are forced to pay twice over, and they must pay, because in consequence of the decentralisation, they cannot employ a state official amongst them, and, therefore, as their agent is completely independent of the collective populace, there is no reason why the neighbours should suffer through his theft.
There is a school of men that is always lost in admiration of all foreign institutions, and that has the greatest contempt for all that passes at home. Is this a right sentiment? We know our own institutions through experience, but others only in theory. It therefore happens that, whilst we see quite easily the defective side of our own, we are I believe much too inclined to exaggerate the merits of neighbours. The English inhabit an old house. The arrangements, which were excellent in former times, are now frequently found very inconvenient. They make a few reforms, but those are done with the utmost prudence, because when workmen are placed in an old building there is always danger of the walls giving way. They know that if they decide to pull down the old house and build a new one they must spend a good deal, and also sleep outside for some time. In order to avoid this inconvenience, they prefer remaining where they are, as long as it will hold together. I think their argument is just, but they are not as well lodged as they might be.
We are not in the same position; our old house has fallen, we have had all the annoyance and expense of a removal: we had to sleep outside for a long time. Now, the great work of the new one is finished, the roof is in its place; the ensign is still missing and also many small interior fittings, but still, such as it is, we can certainly say, that the service is better done there than in most other establishments.
But to continue the comparison, it is but too evident that great reforms are needed in this country. For instance, this institution of a grand jury, almost omnipotent and absolutely irresponsible, is made to exasperate the people. It is not even a feudal institution, for the feudal law provided that “none could be judged save by his peers.” It is the application, pure and simple, of the rights of conquest. If the Land Leaguers confined themselves to demanding the abolition of such abuses, they would be so manifestly right that every reasonable man would sympathise with them, and the English would be forced to yield at once. Instead of doing this, they claim a number of things that cannot possibly be granted, which would manifestly be either useless or injurious to them if they obtained them, and no one really can tell whether they would reform existing abuses or whether they would not rather content themselves with using them against their political adversaries. Thus the other day the Lord Mayor of Dublin told me that Ireland suffered from too much centralisation. If such cases as that which formed the subject of the meeting at which I was present are of frequent occurrence, it seems to me that it is rather an excess of decentralisation from which she is suffering.
And besides, was it necessary to complicate by a political crisis, the agricultural and economic crisis, which is already so hard to bear in this country? And this political crisis, a little goodwill on all sides would suffice to check, at least in a great measure. I only require the facts that I see here as a proof of what I say. In every country in the world, where such an accident happened, the population would be much excited by it. Every one would feel it. Such an incident is a God-send for an opposition politician. It would not require many like the little tailor, or the old Fenian, to put a light to the powder. Luckily, the two conflicting parties are each headed by thoroughly honest men, benevolent and moderate. Mr. Trench came and said: “I agree with you, the grand jury is not what it ought to be; it is true that you are not represented in it. I cannot change the existing laws, but since I form part of the grand jury, allow me to act as though I were really your representative.” Father O’S—— took him at his word, and that sufficed to make the meeting pass off quietly. I therefore cannot help thinking that if really willing men were more common, peace would be less disturbed, and this is why I believe that the clergy have rendered a great service to Ireland by placing themselves at the head of the Land League. A few of its members are certainly hot-headed men, who do not use their influence in the right way; but a great many others act like Father O’S——; and, whilst tolerating what they cannot help, they act as mediators, and very efficacious mediators, in a movement which, if they were not there, would in each village be led by men like the little tailor.
This evening, Mr. Trench invited me to dine with theinspector of police for the district of Kilgawan. This young man, who discharges all the duties of a lieutenant ofgendarmerieamongst us, has about thirty constables (Irish constabulary force) under his orders. This corps seems copied from the Frenchgendarmerie. They are superb men, admirably disciplined, who render the greatest services. They are, however, abominated by the populace, although they are all Irish officers and men. But, at the same time, this does not prevent there being ten candidates for one vacancy. One of the reasons for this is that the pay is exceedingly high. This young man, who is dining with us, gets about 240l.per annum; more than a major receives in France. He is twenty-six years old. A simple constable has from 80l.to 100l.; there are 12,000 of them; 7,000 Catholics, and 5,000 Protestants. The maintenance of this corps is a heavy item in Irish finance.
A Government should always give its servants a rate of pay which is in accordance with the scale of salaries in the country. If it fixes too low a sum, it can only obtain very inferior men; if it pays them too much, there are ten candidates for one vacancy, and, since it can only give one appointment, it creates nine irreconcilable enemies in the persons of those it was forced to disappoint. The English Government, however, like every other, is influenced by this principle; only its pay is regulated by the scale of English salaries, and these salaries are very high. It can scarcely have a special scale for Ireland. An English constable who gains four or five shillings a day is not too well paid, because his brother or his father, who are workmen, earn about the same amount. Butbecause an English constable receives five shillings, it is necessary to give five shillings to an Irish constable, although he is living in a country where the workmen never earn more than one shilling per day. Now, since it is precisely upon these Irish workpeople, who earn so little, that the taxes producing the soldiers’ high pay weigh so heavily, they feel exasperated. The same events take place under all administrations. This is another of the Land League grievances, and one of its best arguments in favour of Home Rule, for they point out that if Ireland were completely separated from England, the pay could be reduced in proportion to the general distress, and this can never be done whilst the union lasts.
The inspector of police spoke to me about the state of the country, with which he is naturally better acquainted than any one else. The neighbourhood of Kenmare is relatively quiet. However, he knows that the tribunal of the Land League works regularly, and meets every Sunday: everybody obeys its decisions.
To-day, a constable seized eight or ten summonses issued in the name of this tribunal. This is an exact reproduction of one of them:—
“KILGAWAN BRANCH, I. N. LEAGUE.June 24, 1886.MR. THOMAS MURRAY, BALLINACARRIGA.Dear Sir,Your presence is requested in the league 2 p.m. On the 27th inst. On behalf of the committee,John Godfrey,Sec.”
“KILGAWAN BRANCH, I. N. LEAGUE.June 24, 1886.
MR. THOMAS MURRAY, BALLINACARRIGA.
Dear Sir,
Your presence is requested in the league 2 p.m. On the 27th inst. On behalf of the committee,
John Godfrey,Sec.”
He believes that he shall be forced to give James O’Leary two men as a protection, who will not leave him day or night. There are already several personsin the county in the same position. And it is only because the expense is so very heavy, nearly 200l.a year, that there are not more. However, the Government defrays this expense by levying a special tax from all the inhabitants of the district.
But, I repeat that the situation of this part of the county is exceptionally good. There is another barony in the neighbourhood where the situation is far worse. This property belongs to the Honourable Roland Wynne. Already two of his agents have been killed, and he is now vainly endeavouring to find a third. The last tax-collector having had a ball pass through his leg whilst discharging his duty, hastened to send in his resignation, and it is impossible to replace him.
This estate has not paid one penny either to the landlord or to the state for the last three years. In fact, then, the farmers have become the owners.[2]In all that concerns them, the programme of the Land League has been fully carried out, and it has been realised in the most economical fashion, since, to obtain this result, the people have only had to spend the sum necessary for the acquisition of a gun and three charges of powder. I may add that the inhabitants of this lucky barony can only lose by a change of government, since, however economical the new one may be, it will always be necessary to pay some taxes, whilst now they do not pay anything to anybody. It is therefore a golden age which reigns for the time in this corner of Ireland. Iask whether the fate of this population seems capable of amelioration?
I am answered that, the land being very bad, the distress is terrible; the people are literally dying of hunger, and that emigration is the sole resource of the population! But then, in that case, the crisis has not arisen from the land laws, and they cannot cure it by making the peasants landowners. I had always doubted it, but I am well pleased to have my opinion so convincingly proved.
[1]Mr. Toler was at the time (as well as my memory serves me) Solicitor-General, but sitting as Judge of Assize.
[2]Since my visit to Ireland, this estate has been seized by creditors, who have driven out all the farmers. The most lamentable scenes took place, and have been much discussed in the newspapers.
DEPARTURE FROM KENMARE—A BAILIFF UNDER PROTECTION—HOW PLAIN DAUGHTERS CAN BE ADVANTAGEOUSLY DISPOSED OF—BLARNEY CASTLE—TRALEE—BARON DOWSE’S SPEECH—AN IRISH MARKET—THE GRAND JURY AND ITS PRESIDENT—MEDITATIONS.
DEPARTURE FROM KENMARE—A BAILIFF UNDER PROTECTION—HOW PLAIN DAUGHTERS CAN BE ADVANTAGEOUSLY DISPOSED OF—BLARNEY CASTLE—TRALEE—BARON DOWSE’S SPEECH—AN IRISH MARKET—THE GRAND JURY AND ITS PRESIDENT—MEDITATIONS.
July 9th.—To-day the grand jury opens at Tralee, the capital of county Kerry. In his double office of magistrate and grand juryman, my host, Mr. Trench, is obliged to attend this ceremony. Besides, this year his presence is doubly necessary, because he must plead the cause of the taxpayers in the barony,[3]according to the promise given yesterday. He kindly suggested that I should accompany him, an offer which I hastened to accept, for I am very curious to see how this strange institution works.
In consequence of these arrangements, the faithful Dick brought his carriage to the door about eight o’clock this morning, just as we finished breakfast.Experienced travellers assert that if one would have a correct idea of a country, one should see it at the season which most characterises it. Thus one should see Russia in the month of January, when it is covered with snow, and Naples in the month of August. A cold country is only curious when it is cold; a moujik sweating violently being as little interesting as alazzaroneshivering in a corner by the fire.
This being so, one must arrange to see Ireland under heavy rain, for it is only necessary to consult the meteorological charts to be convinced that more rain falls in Green Erin than in any other country in Europe. But this is not my fate, at least not at present. It appears that I have unusual luck. Since I have been in Kerry, particularly, the weather has been splendid. This morning a brilliant sunshine illumined the lawns and old oaks of Lansdowne Lodge, when I turned round to give them a last glance, as the carriage passed through the gate. During breakfast, Mr. Trench and I had commenced a serious theological discussion. It had no visible result, as far as our conversion is concerned, for we still remain, he a Plymouth brother, and I an Apostolic Roman Catholic; but it continued with increasing animation during the whole journey from Kenmare to Killarney, and by this time we had reached such transcendental heights, we had “talked and retalked” with so much animation, that, absorbed in seeking my arguments, I had allowed myself to forget my duties as a conscientious tourist, and had scarcely paid any attention to the country we were passing through. I am, however, almost sure that the road we followed was the same as that we had arrived by the day before yesterday. I can thereforeaffirm, with a quiet conscience, that Derrygariff is always in the same place, that we have again followed the valley of Coom-a-Dhuv; that we skirted the lakes of Cummeen and Thommeen and I distinctly recollect that some one called me to admire the cascade of Derrycunihy, explaining to me that the mountain from which it issues is no other than majestic Garranthuohill! (I am anxious to give the exact facts, forà proposof my first articles an influential critic reproached me in his paper the other day because I did not give sufficient details.)
We found great animation reigning at the Killarney railway station when we arrived there. Mr. Trench met there, first of all, a number of his colleagues, who, like himself, were going to Tralee, and who, as a rule, profited by the opportunity to take their families for a little excursion. Whilst he was speaking to them I went to a corner of the station from whence nasal exclamations had reached me, riveting my attention. They proceeded from a group of American tourists of both sexes, who were contemplating with much interest a fat Irishman, dressed like a farmer, who passed to and fro, attended on each side by an enormous constable, as stiff as though he were made of wood, his little black jacket fitting his figure without a wrinkle, his policeman’s cap inclined 45° over one ear, his stock mounting to his teeth, a small staff in his hand, and a revolver at his side.
This unusual spectacle interested me greatly. Could this stout man be a victim of perfidious Albion, who was about to expiate his patriotism by rotting on the mouldering straw of a dungeon? Is he a common criminal? These two hypotheses are manifestlyinadmissible. The stout man has not the air of a prisoner; far from wearing handcuffs, he grasps an enormous shillalah, and his two guards, instead of leading him, appear to regulate their movements by his: in any case they allow him to communicate freely with the Americans, who all, one after the other, advance and ask him to inscribe his name in their albums. Trench is too far off to explain this enigma. Luckily, I noticed close to me a native, well dressed and benevolent-looking, whom the stout man had greeted as he passed. I spoke to him, for he looked very polite—but that all Irishmen are, at least as long as they remain in Ireland. From the time they arrive in America, they too often become as rough as barley bread. “Certainly, sir,” replied the obliging native, “I can tell you. I know that man very well. His name is Denis McGrath, and he lives near to me. He is bailiff to one of my neighbours.”
“Well, sir, what has happened to him? Why is he followed by those two constables? Is he a prisoner?”
“Oh, no! Quite the contrary. For the last two years he has been protected by the police.”
“But why do the police protect him?”
“Ah! That is because he was mixed up in an eviction case that ended badly. The Land Leaguers in our barony have condemned him to death. He has been shot at already three times during the night through his window. He was not hurt; the balls went into his mattress. But since he has every reason to believe they intend trying again, the police have given him two men to protect him. The parish defrays the expenses.”
“Sir, you interest me greatly! Do these constables live with him?”
“Certainly. Since they never leave him, day or night!”
“That must be a great inconvenience in a small household.”
“Ah! you see the administration does all in its power to render the existence of those whom it protects as agreeable as possible. Before choosing the men for this office, the officials first make thorough inquiries respecting the people with whom they have to deal; and they try to send them constables whose similarity of tastes can make their society pleasant to them. Thus, for instance, they are careful not to send a Protestant constable to a Catholic household. McGrath certainly has nothing to complain of. He has five daughters, all freckled, and very plain. He would assuredly have had a great deal of trouble in marrying them. They sent him two bachelor constables, both very fine men. You see them there. Naturally, living amongst the five daughters, they inevitably commenced a courtship. They have married two of them!”
“Then are they now all living together?”
“Yes; but things no longer go smoothly.”
“Ah, the deuce! What has happened then?”
“Listen. The three younger daughters are very anxious to marry too. That’s very natural. They therefore try to persuade their father to complain of their brothers-in-law, in order that they may be replaced by two other unmarried constables. Only the two married sisters will not hear of such a proceeding, because, they say, that it would cause bad marks to be placed against their husbands, which would hinder their promotion; and, besides, they might also be sent to protect other families where they could not follow them. There are, therefore, such terrible scenes in the house thatMcGrath passes his life outside. He has become a real support to the public-house: only, since his sons-in-law follow him everywhere, their wives are furious because they fear their husbands will contract bad habits. They blame their father, who finds himself between the anvil and the hammer. Ah! he hasn’t a pleasant life of it. So now he is going to Tralee I shall not be surprised to find that he has decided to yield to the three younger ones. He is probably going to ask for two new constables!”
Not far from here, at Blarney, near Cork, there stands a strong old castle, dating from the fifteenth century. It was built by Cormac M’Carthy, a celebrated personage in the history of the county. Very important ruins still remain of it. Above the principal dungeon is seen a carved stone, to which a very ancient legend attributes magic power.[4]Every one who kisses it devoutly immediately receives the gift of a special eloquence known by the name ofblarney, which ensures for them the most varied successes.Only this advantage is counterbalanced by one defect—they all become horribly untruthful. Unfortunately this pilgrimage is extremely run after. During the summer the railway companies organise special trains that bring excursionists from every corner of Ireland.
The amiable native who so kindly enlightened me upon the incidents of the domestic drama now being enacted by the McGrath family, can he be one of those called in this country Blarney pilgrims—the same thing that at home we call vulgarfumiste? Even whilst I effusively thank him for his extreme kindness, I ask myself this question. Another idea has also crossed my mind. I distinctly saw in the station the manager of the Killarney hotel, who only yesterday I advised to organise some evictions as an attraction for tourists. He seemed to appreciate the notion; and now he is explaining McGrath’s case to the Americans. This interesting bailiff, his five daughters and two sons-in-law, can they be only supernumeraries? After all, this is quite possible.
But these reflections were rudely interrupted. The train was starting, and I was forced to run in order to catch Mr. Trench in his compartment. He introduced me to one of his colleagues, who, with his son and daughter, were, like ourselves, going to Tralee.À propos, some people have a fancy for knowing the exact pronunciation of foreign words; here are a few directions for their use:—
If you wish to pronounce Tralee in the Irish fashion, you must first commence by uttering a hoarse sound drawn from the bottom of your throat, the lower the better. Gradually swell this sound, imitating a dog growling before he bites. Inthis way you will modulate something that can be written thus: Trrreull! And then, when your breath is nearly gone, suddenly jerk out the last syllablelee, which you must of course pronouncely. It is fairly difficult, but if you practise it for a little while, scrupulously following my instructions, I am convinced that you will attain such a pure pronunciation that you will astonish every inhabitant of Kerry who hears you. But, I repeat, I only mention this for those who think they must pronounce foreign words in foreign fashion. Personally, I am not of their opinion, and an illustrious Academician who honours me with his friendship, assures me that I am right; and this is the reason why, in Paris, I always say “Rue Va-sin-je-ton,” and not “Rue Washington.”
Having said this in the interest of the ultra-refined in linguistic details, I resume my narrative.
The grand juryman with whom we are travelling is a descendant of O’Connell the great agitator, as he is called. I rather suspect him of privately thinking that his illustrious ancestor succeeded in agitating Ireland only too well; for, from what he and his son tell me of the state of the country, it is certain that no one has any reason to complain of excessive tranquillity. We happened to pass through their properties. The father was installed by one door, the son by the other. Every moment these gentlemen very pleasantly directed my attention towards the ruins of some house that had been destroyed by dynamite, the remnants of a haystack that had been burnt, a meadow where all the cows’ tails had been cut off, or a tree beneath which a bailiff had been found with a ball through his head. As landlords, and boycotted landlords, they assuredly cannot approveof these acts; but, as Irishmen, they enumerate all these facts with a certain complacency. National pride is always worthy of our respect. I remember an American who described to me the collision between two trains; he spoke of carriages precipitated into the Mississippi, of two or three hundred persons drowned, and then he ended by saying, with a patronising air: “Nothing equal in Europe, I guess, stranger!”
We reached Tralee about one o’clock. I was first taken to a club, where we found most of the grand jurymen preparing for the discharge of their duties by taking an excellent luncheon. Even whilst following their example I was introduced to five or six of these gentlemen, who, like Mr. Trench, are “agents.”
The information which they gave me confirms all that I have already heard about the state of this county. The rents continue to diminish. One of them quotes figures to me. The income of the property which he superintends amounted to more than 8,000l.; its remittances equalled 4,000l., taking good and bad years together. This year it will not receive more than 600l.Besides this, the people recently placed a charge of dynamite under his windows. The explosion was so violent that the whole front fell down. Sixteen persons were in the house; no one was hurt, but it was a miraculous escape. I asked him if, on his soul and conscience, he really believed that the heads of the Land League are responsible for deeds of this kind. He replied that he was absolutely sure of it, and that if the country were not terrorised he could arrest the perpetrators; if he has not done so, it is simply because he knows that no witness dare appear against them. He is giving up the struggle. He intends retiring frombusiness at the end of the year, and his son intends using the family capital in starting a ranche in Colorado.
The Land Leaguers are very indignant when any one predicts that their success will be the signal for the general emigration of capital. Yet here is an instance which seems to prove that this prediction has some foundation. And frankly, is it possible to blame those who adopt this course? I own that I am only astonished at one thing, and that is that it does not happen more often. Leading such an existence as this is not life.
In order to realise the point which affairs have reached in Kerry, it is enough to read the speech pronounced by Baron Dowse, President of the Assizes, at the opening of the session.
“Scarcely four months,” said he, “have elapsed since the last session, and now I am again summoned to preside over you. After a careful examination of the situation in County Kerry, in respect to the criminal law, I am forced to tell you that it is worse than ever. In four months 119 criminal cases have been inscribed on the list, and their details are very significant:—
“You see, gentlemen, that nearly all these crimes are of the same character; they are agrarian. In counting up all the events coming under the same category that have taken place in this county during one year, we find a total of more than 500. Whatever political or religious opinions one may hold, it is impossible not to consider the situation lamentable. In former times the moral state of this county was very different. Criminal cases were rather less here than elsewhere. Now there is not a single county in Ireland that can be compared to it. County Clare has certainly a very bad reputation, but yet it has not fallen so low as this.”
When I read these edifying figures, I sincerely congratulated myself upon not being a landowner in County Kerry, and I thought that if I had the ill luck to possess any land there I should have real pleasure in selling it, as soon as possible, for any price it would fetch, and in getting away. I can quite sympathise with landowners who never go near their estates, and I cannot see how the Nationalists can reproach them. Still, possibly whilst creating this state of affairs, the latter may have some mental reservations. No doubt they think that by rendering life intolerable to the landowners, they will depreciate the price of land so much that they will be able to share it gratuitouslyamongst themselves. Perhaps they will attain this result. But as I have already said several times, what advantage will they find in that? At the commencement of the Revolution the French peasants made the same calculation; they pillaged the castles, massacred the owners when they could, and divided the estates of those who had succeeded in emigrating, to punish them for getting away. The operation has been fairly profitable for many of them. That is because at that time, and particularly a little later, the land, through the difficulty of transport, had a real value. But now the situation is quite altered; in every country in the world the land tends to have only the value which the capital employed in its cultivation may give it. What is the use of pasturage, if, on one hand, there are no more farmers, and if, on the other, one has not money enough to buy the cattle necessary to place on it before a profit can be obtained? Therefore, in our days, the emigration of capital from a country is an irremediable disaster. Now they can scarcely have any idea of making the landowners emigrate, yet of retaining their capital. I humbly venture to suggest a few of these reflections to my friends in the Land League. I think they would be wise to ponder over them in their own interest, for if they realise their programme, it may happen that as soon as the population see the results of the campaign they have led them through, a reaction may be produced, and they would be its first victims.
In another part of his speech Baron Dowse again laid stress upon the fact that a few years ago County Kerry, now so disturbed, was quoted throughout Ireland as the model county. It appears that this is absolutely true. In this little Arcadia even politicsnever caused any divisions. The inhabitants had discovered an excellent method of avoiding all those quarrels which they usually engender. Still there were two parties; but since the county returned precisely two members, it had been agreed, from time immemorial, that each side should have its own representative. It was always a member of the family of Herbert of Muckross, who stood for the Liberals, whilst the eldest son of the Kenmares undertook in Parliament the defence of the Conservatives. When one died, his son replaced him, and everything went smoothly in this most quiet county.
In 1871 an unforeseen circumstance put an end to this peaceful arrangement. The old Lord Kenmare died in that year. His son, Lord Castlerosse, heir to the peerage, sent in his resignation as member. Now it happened that his son was not old enough to succeed him. It was arranged that until he attained his majority the seat should be occupied by his cousin, Mr. Dease. Conservatives and Liberals assisted to secure this combination. But the opportunity seemed favourable to the Nationalists, who, precisely at the same time were commencing to draw public attention towards themselves; they decided that the party should open a struggle in Kerry. Naturally, the excitement was very great; the partisans of each candidate were soon in position. A very curious event took place, which makes the want of discipline, the weak point in the religious organisation of Ireland, very conspicuous. Mr. Dease was a great landowner in the county, a resident, highly respected and Catholic. It appeared therefore as though his candidature would be approved by all the clergy, and this seemed stillmore probable because Mgr. Moriarty, the bishop, had accepted the presidency of his committee.
It all went for nothing. The diocesan priests in a body openly and passionately exerted all their influence in favour of the opposing candidate, Mr. Blennerhassett, quite a young man and a Protestant! And this was only because he was the candidate for the popular party. The reason was that, in Ireland, a priest dare not get embroiled with his parishioners. This situation is often his greatest strength, but it sometimes involves him in very delicate relations with others. I believe it was M. Ledru-Rollin who one day made this striking remark: “I am forced to obey them, since I am their chief!” More than one Irish priest could say the same thing.
It was a grand electoral campaign. Political veterans still speak feelingly about it. At that time the votes were given openly. The landowners brought their tenants to the poll under safe escort and never lost sight of them until their votes had been registered. Besides, each party had recourse to heroic measures. The Isle of Valencia, which is entirely owned by the Knight of Kerry, had no polling office. Its electors, who were fairly numerous, were believed to be thoroughly devoted to their landlord, who had energetically declared himself in favour of Mr. Dease. He chartered a steamboat to take them over to the mainland to Cahirciveen, where they ought to vote. The Nationalists managed during the night to stove in the bottom of the steamer and to hire every fishing boat in the neighbourhood for the day, so that not one of the Knight of Kerry’s men was able to vote. Elsewhere, when they came in contact with timidfolks, who, although partisans of Blennerhassett, dared not run full tilt at their landlord, the Nationalists made them vote not for Mr. Dease but for Lord Kenmare, so that their votes were lost; afterwards they assumed a dismayed expression and excused themselves to their furious landlord by saying that they thought they were voting for the candidate he patronised.
Is it necessary to add that Blennerhassett was elected by a large majority? Alas! the world becomes sadder. Every time one meets with a really lively institution, one feels sure that it will speedily be abolished! Open voting has submitted to the universal law. The Blennerhassett election was the last of its kind that took place in Kerry. Some months afterwards, in 1872, the new electoral law was passed. Since that time the Irish elections are, like all others in the world, horribly dull.
It is needless to add that now the county only returns Nationalists to Parliament. Tralee, the capital, which is a small town containing 10,000 inhabitants, claims to be a sea-port because they have made a canal two miles long between it and the coast, and this enables a few coasting boats to anchor in a miniature dock situated near the town. They probably come in search of pigs, for I have met almost as many of them in the streets as at Limerick. But I do not think they bring women’s shoes, for I do not remember seeing a single one walking except with bare feet.
But the streets are full of animation when we leave the club. The market has just ended. Buyers and sellers are preparing to return home. Before the smaller inns men commence harnessing grey donkeys to littletwo-wheeled carts which stand in rows two deep, the shafts in the air. Five or six women squeeze into each of them, their backs leaning against the sides of the cart, the chin between the knees, or even lying flat one against the other lengthways, their muddy feet and bare legs hanging outside. The husband or brother seats himself at the side on one of the shafts, and when they have wished the neighbours good-bye, they slowly start on their way home to the small thatched house standing on the edge of some bog, which they will only leave once more during a whole week, when they go to mass on Sunday next.
In front of the houses on the market-place there is an interminable line of old women; each has in front of her on the edge of the pavement a small heap of nuts, potatoes, or turnips. The purchasers do not seem numerous, but the poor old women do not appear uneasy about it. They evidently return there every market day, less to sell anything than to see the people, to meet each other, to gossip together about the good old times, when potatoes were more plentiful, the sun hotter, the girls prettier, and the “boys” more gallant than they are now! There they are, seated in the mud, their bare legs twisted on one side to leave room for passers by, their heads wrapped in old shawls, a few grey locks peeping through the holes in them, the majority smoking short black pipes. Myriads of children, charming, but very dirty, roll in the gutter around them. Poor old women! In their dull, sad lives these market days stand out like nails placed at intervals in a wall, on which their recollections are hung. I remember at Tamatave seeing the old Malagachy women arrive from all sides, almost naked, their ribs projecting under theirsickly skin, emaciated, hideous, yet having walked twelve or fifteen miles to sell two eggs and a cabbage palm—in reality to gossip with their neighbours. Human nature is the same everywhere.
But I have not time now to continue my observations. As soon as the grand jury had finished luncheon they started to go to the town-hall, and since these gentlemen had kindly invited me to be present at their work, I hastened to accompany them.
It is evident that the principles on which the composition of the grand jury rest are no longer tenable. I have already said so, and I repeat it. They are contrary to every idea of right, since the taxes are voted by these men, who are, but very indirectly, the representatives of those who ought to pay them, and who at all events are not elected by them. The best medicine in the world usually works only harm if the patient takes it against his will. A peasant may be obliged to pass over the bridge in front of his house every day, but if he is asked for a shilling to keep it in repair, and if the man who imposes the shilling is the great landowner next to him, he will always remain convinced that it is only the great landowner who will profit by the shilling he has made him pay. Formerly, when the different classes agreed, it was not the same thing; but now that war is declared, it is manifestly impossible that an Irish peasant will be anything but exasperated by the thought that it is only his political enemies who have any voice on the subject, and who administer the affairs of his barony or county. This institution of the grand jury must then disappear: it is fatal. So much for the question of principle. But, this once admitted, we may ask ourselves whether, practically, matters would beimproved if the people had as magistrates and grand jury men such men as the little tailor of Kenmare. It seems very doubtful to me.
I made these reflections this morning whilst watching the assembly of the grand jury. After its members had taken the oath, they honoured me by admitting me into the council hall, and giving me a chair behind the president’s, Colonel Crosbie’s, seat. He was placed in the middle of a table, shaped like a horseshoe, around which all his colleagues were seated. When I entered they were occupied with the public works. A secretary standing behind the president read aloud the contractors’ tenders—tenders which, I believe, had already been examined by a sub-committee. From time to time a member asked for a few words of explanation from the county engineer or from the contractors, who stood apart at the end of the hall. No one made any speeches. No one wished to raise an election cry by asking for impossibilities, as occasionally happens amongst us. One felt that there were only competent well-bred men present. It must be owned that that is a good deal.
Both Protestants and Catholics are here—I am even told that for some years the sheriff has always taken care to introduce a certain number of Nationalists—opinions are therefore much divided. However, politics do not appear in any way. These gentlemen only seem to occupy themselves with the affairs of the county. What a lesson for us! At this moment, in Paris, one cannot be a Republican and yet believe in the efficacy of Pasteur’s method; in revenge one cannot be a Conservative and doubt it! These Irishmen would seem very far behind the Parisian municipal councillors!At all events they are good-humoured, and that, in my humble opinion, is always an advantage. They exchange little jokes even while despatching business. The order of the day involved a most interesting discussion. “In consideration of the annual payment of a sum of 16l.13s.the undernamed Joseph A. Connell offers to undertake the maintenance of the road from Knocknagasher to Ballinascreena, between the cross of Ballinagerah and that of Meendhorna! Does this offer conceal a trap, or should it be accepted?” At the moment that each grand jury man mentally and with some anxiety asks himself this question, a lamentable voice is heard.
“Mr. President!” exclaims an old, wretched-looking grand jury man, who is seated at the end of the table, to the left facing the door—“Mr. President! Could not the window behind me be closed? I am in such a draught that I feel my hair blowing off my head.”
“Sir,” replied the president with serene courtesy, “although I am secure myself from the danger you foresee,” (the honourable president is as bald as an apple,) “I consider it my duty to accede to your request. Constable, shut the window!”
The clerk, convulsed with laughter, buries his face in his papers; the grand jury men shake in their chairs; the contractors at the end of the hall laugh out loud; and even one of the constables smiles. He is a young man, and has not yet attained the Olympian impassibility that is distinctive of this select corps.
Unfortunately the train is due. I am obliged to hastily shake hands with Mr. Trench whilst thanking him for his kind hospitality. I penetrated, with some effort, through the groups of peasants who thronged the porch of the town-hall, and I had but just time tojump into the carriage which was to take me back to Ballinacourty.
Travelling by railway is singularly favourable to reflection, particularly when one is alone in the compartment and the country on either side utters little of interest. Whilst the locomotive speeds on, without too much hurry, in the direction of Limerick, I reflect over all that I have seen in the last three days. What a singular social organisation exists in this country. Positively, one cannot conceal it from one’s self, the country is, from a material point of view, entirely at the mercy of half a dozen agents. These agents offer, in most respects, every possible guarantee. They are men of great experience, because in nearly all cases they fill the office of estate managers from father to son. They are intelligent and upright; if they were not their business would soon suffer from it, for it is not unusual for a landowner to change his agent. But no one denies their possession of all these qualities. Every morning I read all the newspapers on both sides. I have not yet found a single accusation against the respectability of the agents. It is certain that no other nation owns a body of officials who can be compared to them.
But they are not officials, they do not seek any part of the public power, and they are not elected for any. They have not, therefore, to render any account of their actions, either to the Government as though they were officials, nor to the electors as though they were their representatives; and yet, at a time when the system works regularly, the force of circumstances gives them over almost all the citizens power nearly as absolute as that of the pachas over the raias of theTurkish empire. They cannot impale an individual who offends them, but they can easily transport him. In fact, in this country, where agriculture is the only industry, a man can only live, on condition of having some land, the necessary tool for the exercise of this industry. Now an agent can take this tool from him, and, if he does, the man has no resource but to emigrate. One can therefore say that thousands of families are dependent upon one man to such an extent that he can transport them if he wishes to do so. It must unquestionably be very hard to feel one’s self so completely in a man’s power, however honourable he may be. This position of affairs results from an economic situation which laws cannot affect. It is not the less true that it is dangerous, for it is easily understood that in certain dispositions it produces a state of exasperation which may lead to any crimes.
You must notice that it is not the administration of the land which is the chief source of this state of things. Most of the estates are very large, that is true, but there are also a fair number of middle-sized ones. If they were managed by their owners or by different agents, the situation would be less serious. A farmer dismissed from Lord X——’s estate could find a farm under Lord Y——, or Messrs. A——, B—— or C——; but here he is prevented from doing so by the fact that the same agent manages the properties of all these gentlemen. As I said in the commencement, the whole county is therefore in the hands of five or six men, who are all interested in keeping on good terms with each other. When there has been a rupture with one of them, a man may feel sure that he will not be accepted by either of the others.
In England the situation is very different. A man dismissed from Lord X——’s land may perhaps be unable to become a tenant of Lord Y——, another great landowner in the neighbourhood, but there are twenty factories in the environs where he can always earn his living. Expulsion from the farm where he is working does not necessarily end in emigration.
It is now more than a hundred years since France commenced her evolution towards absolute political liberty. Of the orators and authors who have placed their thoughts on paper to aid their ideas, every one without exception has taken Great Britain as an example. To all those who feel alarm at the rapidity of the movement, they always answer, “What are you afraid of? The absolute freedom of the press, the right of meeting, the right of association—all these liberties of which you dread the abuse, have existed in England for centuries, and have never injured either order or property.”
I will not give an opinion on the root of this question, that would entail too long a digression. I would only prove that the comparison is fundamentally wrong, and consequently, argument is of little value. It is very true that at all epochs the Irish or English agricultural labourers have had the right of assembling, when they liked, on the highways, around one of their number, and of there comfortably listening to the most furious diatribes against the established laws. The police had no right to interfere, and so they abstained from interference.
Only, the following day the orators, and, if requisite, some of the assembly, receive notice from the agent that they would have to remove, sometimes at twenty-fourhours’ notice, more frequently at the end of the lease; and this notice is equivalent to a sentence of transportation, at least as far as concerns the Irish. In England the consequences are less serious; but it is not less true that in most of the rural counties, only an infinitesimal number of electors have the right of avowing political opinions which differ from those of the chiefs of the two great national parties. The result is that an action, which, although illegal in France, would only entail a fortnight’s imprisonment to the man who committed it, is in England followed by the most terrible consequences, although it is perfectly legal in the country. The English Government, ultra Liberal in theory, which now poses to all Europe as a model of Liberalism, has therefore only worked until a very recent period through a system which suppressed in an almost absolute degree all political liberty amongst the lower classes. Now, for some years, particularly in Ireland, these classes have begun to appreciate the situation; they wish to have in fact the rights they had only in theory; and they have been able, by coalition, to paralyse the anonymous powers which formerly ruled them, and above all, which encircled them so efficaciously.
And now the Government has ceased to act at all! I require no other proof than the speech made by Baron Dowse.