The Ashford demesne affords walks or drives for miles. Everything that woods and waters, nature and art can do to make Ashford delightful has been done. I got a companion, a pretty girl, a permit from some official who lived in a cottage at Cong, and set out by way of the Pigeon Hole to see at least part of the place.
I may as well mention here how surprised we were to hear the Antrim tongue from the recesses of the cave, and to find a group of strangers exploring on their own account. They were working men who had come from Belfast to work for Lord Ardilaun, and were making the most of a holiday before they began. I was very much surprised to see men from Antrim, where the wages are much higher than here, come down to work in the west where labor is so cheap, and want of work the complaint.
To show how cheaply men work here, I may mention that being at a village which lies outside of Lord Ardilaun's demesne, but on his estate, I was standing on the road and a clergyman was talking in Irish to a man who was employed at mason work in repairing the wall, a small quiet looking man who did not stop work as he talked. Of course I could not understand more than the scope of their discourse, but I understood distinctly one question asked; "How much do you get for a day's work?" "One shilling and two pence a day." "Without food of course?" "Of course." I had heard in the North that casual laborers get two shillings a day there, but they do not get two shillings when employed constantly. The laborers on one well-managed estate which I have been over in Antrim are paid ten shillings a week, and pay one shilling a week out of that for their cottages, which are kept in good repair at the expense of their employer. Of course these men must have been workmen skilled in some particular work, or they would not have come from the wages of the North to the West to work at the common rate of wage going here, which I am told is at the highest seven shillings a week and rent to pay out of that. Of course, when masons are paid one and twopence, laborers will be paid much less.
The avenue along which we travelled was a causeway made at great expense along the brow of a steep hill or rather ridge, one side being supported by a stone wall. This work, undertaken for the benefit of travellers to Ashford, must have afforded constant employment for a good many men for a long time. Arriving at a modern archway in the ancient style protected by an iron gate, we sought admittance, showing our permit from the office. The keeper's wife examined it and passed it over to the keeper, who examined it also, asked some prudent, cautious questions, and we were admitted to a part of the grounds.
This gate keeper, a remarkably gentlemanly old man, in his respectable blue broadcloth, his comely sagacious, weather-beaten face, his guarded manner of speaking, and his name, Grant, made me quite sure that he was a Highlandman, which he was not, but a Western Irishman. He informed us as we went along that only part of the grounds could be seen on account of the troubled state of the country. Whether there was any part of the demesne that an elderly woman and a pretty girl were likely to run away with became a subject of thought to me. Conscientiously this delightful old man kept us off tabooed walks and shunted us into permissible places. Where all was beautiful and new, and time having a limit, we were quite willing when brought to order, to follow on the allowed path.
I was admiring a tree of the regally magnificent kind, leaf-draped branches like green robes sweeping down to the emerald sward, that always remind me of the glorious trees which sunlight loves to gild in the grounds at Castle Coole; I remarked on its exceeding beauty to our guide, who said it would bear a nearer view, and we followed him on a path through the grass till we stood beside it. Parting the foliage we found ourselves at a natural grotto of light-colored stone, where a stream of "the purest of crystal" came from under the rock at one end, and glancing in the stray beams of sunlight that found their way in through the arch of leaves, flashed down a tiny cascade in a shower of diamonds, and with a little gurgling laugh hid under the rock again, racing on to join the subterranean waters that laugh together over the failure of the great canal.
The new tower is built after the fashion of the ancient towers with the spiral staircase, that was common to all castles and abbeys of the west. The mason work was much coarser and more roughly done, but the imitation of the ancient tower was very good other ways. I do not believe that modern masons could produce so perfect a specimen of workmanship as the tower of Moyne Abbey, with its spiral staircase of black marble. The view from the top of the tower at Ashford repaid well the expenditure of breath to climb up to it.
The house is a castle and made after the pattern of ancient castles; it is large and must contain any amount of lofty and spacious rooms, which it is to be supposed are furnished as luxuriously and magnificently as possible. It is certainly a very fine building, and looks as nice and new as stone and mortar can make it, but the ivy green will soon cover it all up with its green mantle. We were not able to walk over even the allowed portion of the grounds, as they extended for miles. We parted from our gentlemanly conductor at a certain gate. He was so nice that we felt almost ashamed to offer the expected gratuity which was, however, thankfully received.
I pondered a little way over the man's remarks who had been our guide through the demesne. He always kept repeating that we might have been shown the gardens and the house, but for the disturbance in the country. I wondered to hear hints of trouble on this estate, for no man, woman or child, with whom I conversed, but spoke highly of the generosity, magnanimity and kindliness of Lord Ardilaun, and his father before him. I have seen in his lordship's own writing and over his signature the statement that, during prosperous years, even, the rent has not been raised, that he had for years spent on his property more than double the rental in improvements and for labor. When I read this I thought of the causeway raised along the brow of a hill over which I walked in the demesne, I thought at the time what an amount of labor was expended to place it there. There has also been made an addition to the castle, which must have given a great deal of employment. Some, or rather a great deal of the property was bought from the late Earl of Leitrim, who had raised the rents, it is asserted, to the "highest top sparkle" before selling, to enhance the value.
I do not know anything of the value of land here; it is very stony land. I was pointed out a field which was not very stony, comparatively speaking, but still had more stones, or stony crust rather, than a good farmer would desire. I was told it paid L2 per acre. I wonder how it is possible to raise rent and taxes off these fields, never to mention support for the farmers. The land requires very stimulating manure to produce a crop. When bad years come, and render the tenant farmers unable to purchase guano, the crops are worthless almost. The necessity of buying artificial manure is a terrible necessity that American farmers know nothing of.
I dare say the tenants expect too much in many instances, for they are accustomed to be treated as children in leading strings. The amount of dependence on this one and that one in superior stations is very wonderful, but their utter helplessness to take the first step toward better times is also wonderful. I have heard of men, by the last bad seasons unable to buy guano, having to strip the roofs off their houses that the rain may wash off the soot into the land to fructify it. On account of shelter for game, it is not permissible to cut heather for bedding, for stock, or covering for houses. Breaking this prohibition even on land for which they pay rent and taxes is, they complain, punished with fines of from two and sixpence to seven and sixpence for as much as could be carried on the back.
For a farmer to get on here he must be able to buy manure. The crop on a farm has to pay rent, which is high, and taxes, which are heavy, even if no guard for somebody has to be paid for, or no malicious outrage is levied for on the county in compensation, and manure, which, if got before paying, is charged, I am told, twenty-five percent additional for waiting; all this must be met before the support of the family can be thought of beyond merely existing. The more one looks at the want of the people, the more one becomes bewildered with the perplexities of the situation, and the more hopeless about the setting of things right by the Land Bill or anything else.
It is pleasant to hear on all sides praises of Lord Ardilaun as a high- spirited, generous man. The slight difference of opinion between him and his people is blamed on the fact of his not being able to understand how poor the tenants are, or how what is little in his eyes may be life or death to them. There was some trouble, I believe, about the building of a causeway across to some sacred island, which was built by the people without leave asked, or in spite of prohibition given; but in the main I think that Lord Ardilaun is very much loved.
How it does rain in this green land. I think it rained every day of the days I remained at Cong except the blink of sunshine that shone on the castle and grounds the day that I went over part of the Ashforddemesne.
At Cong, for the first time in my life, I heard the Irish lament or caoine for the dead. Some one was brought in from the country to be buried in the Abbey of Cong. It was a simple country funeral. The dead was borne on one of the carts of the country, followed by the neighbors, and accompanied by the parish priest of Cong. The day was very wet even for Ireland. After the burial service was over the women, kneeling by the new made grave, among the rank wet grass, and the dripping ivy, raised the caoine. It was a most unearthly sound, sweet like singing, sad like crying, rising up among the ruined towers, and clinging ivy and floating up heavenwards. I believe the stories of banshees must have arisen from the sound of the caoine. These mourning women were very skilful, I was told, and were relations of the dead whom they mourned, and whose good qualities mingled with their love and grief rose in wailing cry and floated weirdly over the ruins and up to the clouds.
I had at this time an invitation from Mr. Sydney Bellingham to come over to Castle Bellingham to see life from another standpoint. I was standing at the window debating with myself. I did not like to leave the West before seeing a little more of it, and I do want, in the interests of truth, to look at things from every available standpoint. If I go to Castle Bellingham I must go now, I reasoned, for after this they go to England. As I stood there thinking, a handsome car dashed past with a gentleman and lady on it, followed by another with a guard of policemen. I enquired who this guarded gentleman was, and was told it was that Mr. Bourke who went into the Catholic church armed to the teeth.
I have been nearly five months in Ireland, travelling about almost constantly, and as yet have only seen three persons who were protected by police, two men and one woman. I decided to leave Cong, and after studying on the map the nearest way to Castle Bellingham, determined to take that way.
Left Cong in the early morning to sail down Lough Corrib to Galway. For some reason the landing place has been altered, and is now some distance from Cong, at which it used to be. This change is a drawback to Cong. There are mills at Cong that used to grind indian corn, but they are not used now for some reason or other, and are falling into ruin. The shifting of the landing place was done by Lord Ardilaun, the stoppage of the mills by him also. The landing place where the little steamer waited for freight and passengers had a little crowd, who seemed to have more to do than just to look on, and there was a little hum of traffic that sounded cheerful.
It was a very windy day; Lough Corrib's waves had white caps on. The sun came out fitfully, and the clouds swept great shadows over the mountain sides. There were patches of green oats bathed in sunshine, and plantations of larch and fir standing close and locked in shadow. The wind was so strong that the little steamer seemed to plough her way with a bobbing motion like the coots on Lough Gill. We had a fine view from the lake of Ashforddemesne, and the castle looking still grander and newer in the distance, all its towers and pinnacles bathed in the cold sunshine.
There are many islands in Lough Corrib besides the islands that the priest and people of Clonbur built the causeway to. It is strange that two lords take their titles from islands in this lake, Lord Inchiquin and Lord Ardilaun. Some of the peasantry felt hurt because Lord Ardilaun took his title from an island instead of from some part of the mainland. I was pointed out in the distance from the lake, Moytura house, the home of Sir William Wilde; it stands where was fought the battle of Moytura in ancient times.
From the steamer we saw the ruined fortress, Annabreen Castle, said to be six hundred years old. The masonry is very curious, being all done within and without, quoins, doorways, window frames, of undressed stone, and yet most admirably done.
I stood on the deck of the little steamer while the wind blew in the teeth of the little boat and made her shiver and rock, and I endured sharp neuralgiac pain, and lost my veil, which was blown off and went sailing off into the lake because I would not miss seeing all Lough Corrib had to show. I saw the ivy plaided walls of Caislean na Cailliach, and on a little island the remains of an old uncemented stone fort, so old that antiquity has forgotten it. The scenery was very grand, the islands grassy and round, or waving with trees, the lake covered with white horses riding with tossing manes to the shore; the little boat with its broad breast holding its own against the swells, the shores with green mountains checked off into fields, with higher mountains blue in the distance rising behind them. All under
"The skies of dear Erin, our motherWhere sunshine and shadow are chasing each other."
The little steamer steamed up to the wharf and backed and stopped, in most American fashion, at a lonely backwoods-looking wharf, but the pillars for the snubbing rope were pillars of stone, and near were the ruins of a tall square castle in good preservation. There are also the walls of the bishop's residence here, with the bells of St. Brendan; they told me this was the saint who discovered the happy land flowing with milk and honey, the key to which lies hidden in Cuneen Miaul's tomb and the ruins of an extensive abbey, a monastery and a nunnery and other buildings.
Truly the banks and islands of Lough Corrib are made classic by ruins. They say the carved mouldings and stone work on these ruins are considered the most beautiful and most perfect in Ireland. We passed, farther on, the ruins of Armaghdown, the castle fort of the bog. After this the land got low and flat, and we saw Menlough Castle, where a baronet of the name of Blake resides, when he's at home. It is counted the most beautiful of all the ancient castles which are still inhabited. All I can say is, it looked well from the lake. Lough Corrib is calculated to cover 44,000 acres, and is well supplied with fish.
Went through Galway to the station as fast as a jaunting car could take me, and took the train for Dublin.
Crossing Ireland thus from Galway to Dublin, I noticed that the land got to be more uniformly fertile as we neared the eastern coast. From Dublin the road ran down the coast, in sight of the sea for most part. Through counties Dublin, Meath and Louth, the land looked like the garden of Eden. It was all like one demesne heavy with trees, interspersed with large fields having rich crops and great meadows waving with grass; the cultivation, so weedless, so regular, every ridge and furrow as straight as a rule could make it, every corner cultivated most scrupulously. It was a great pleasure to look at the farms. Truly this is a rich and fertile land. And yet in no place which I have seen so far have I noticed any laborers' cottages, fit to live in, except on a few places in Antrim.
This east coast was beautiful exceedingly, and yet I saw on this good land mud huts which were not fit to be kennels for dogs inhabited by human beings. I heard a shilling a week spoken of as rent for these abominable pigsties, collected every Saturday night. Twenty-five cents looks small, but it is taken out of a small wage. The country railway stations are very nice to look at.
Arrived at Castle Bellingham, received a very kindly welcome indeed. Felt inclined to snuggle down into enjoyment here, to the neglect of my work. The country is so fertile, so beautiful, the large fields waving with luxuriant crops. The roses are in bloom climbing over the fronts of the houses, clinging round the second-story windows and on to the roof. It is a feast to look at them, hanging their heads heavy with beauty in clusters of three, creamy-white or red of every shade, from the faintest pink to the velvet leaf of deepest crimson. I suppose that they flourish best amid frequent rains, for this has been a remarkably rainy season, and the wealth of roses is wonderful to see, the air is sweet with their breath.
South Gate House, Castle Bellingham, is one of the houses that tempts one to the breach of the tenth commandment. I have stood in the front garden and looked at it trying to learn it off by heart. It is draped with a wonderful variety of roses climbing over it, wreathing round it, heavy with bloom. Every inch of land in the front garden is utilized with the taste that creates beauty. Inside the house is a constant surprise; the comfort and cosiness, the space to be comfortable in, room after room appearing as a new revelation, made it appear a very desirable residence to me.
At the end of the house, from the conservatory, can be seen the tree under which His Majesty, of glorious, pious and immortal memory, eat his luncheon on his way to fight for a kingdom at the Boyne. The Bellinghams were an old family then. Some say proudly, "We came over with good King William." Others can say, "He found us here when he came."
The evening after my arrival was taken up looking at the house, looking at the grounds, wondering over the ferns and flowers, and deciding that it was rather nice to be an Irish country gentleman. The next morning found me through the gardens wondering over the abundance of fruit and the perfect management that made the most of every corner.
Mr. Bellingham drove me over to Dunany Castle, where Sir Allan Bellingham resides at present. The road lay through the usual beautiful country that spreads along this east coast, plantations of fine trees, large fields of grain, great meadows and bean fields that perfumed the air. We passed a large mill; I took particular notice of it, because mills do not often occur as a feature in the landscape on the western coast. There were mills at Westport belonging to the Messrs. Livingstone, but they were not as obtrusive as American mills are. One became aware of them by the prosperity they created. In Cong, the corn mill standing idle and falling to ruin, was the last mill which I had observed. This was one reason of my noticing this mill, which was busily working.
When we came where the road lay along the shore, Mr. Bellingham stopped the carriage that I might see the salmon fishers hauling in their nets. This salmon fishery is very valuable. In 1845 the right to fish here was paid for at the rate of L10 per annum; in 1881 the right to fish brings L130. Still, I am told, the man who has the fishing makes a great deal. The fish are exported. This salmon fishery belongs to Sir Allan Bellingham. It was a strange sight to me to see so many men and boys walking unconcernedly waist deep in the sea. I wondered over the number of men and boys which were required to haul in one net. Truly, fishing is a laborious business, but still, how pleasant to see the busy fisher folk, and to know that work brings meat. I remembered the silent waters on long stretches of the western shores. I remembered the rejoicing at Dromore west, over the Canadian given boats. God bless, and prosper, and multiply the fisher folk. In from the sea, through the pleasant land, we drove a little farther into the solemn woods that surround Dunany Castle. As we neared the castle the woods became broken into a lawn and pleasure ground, and at a sudden turn we found ourselves before the castle. I am not yet tired of looking at castles, whether in ruins, as relics of the past, or inhabited as the "stately houses where the wealthy people dwell."
Dunany, with its court-yard, where wines, climbing roses and Virginia creepers grew luxuriantly over the battlemented walls, reminded me of descriptions I had read of Moorish houses in sunny Spain. Every house has a history, and it is no wonder if these great houses tell a story of other times and other scenes that has a powerful influence on the minds of the descendants of those who founded these houses and carved out these fortunes. There were little children playing before the castle, happy and free, that ran to meet their uncle.
We were received by Sir Thomas Butler, Sir Allan's son-in-law, whom I had met with before on the evening of my arrival at Castle Bellingham. My errand to Dunany Castle was, strictly speaking, to gather the opinions of these gentlemen on the land question, but the quaint, foreign look of the castle, and the historic names of Butler and Bellingham, sent my mind off into the past, to the battle of the Boyne, and into the dimness beyond, when the war cry of "A Butler" was a rallying cry that had power in the green vales of Erin.
In the cold Celtic times when men held by the strong hand, the numerical fighting power of the clan was of the utmost importance, a chieftain being valued by the number of men who would follow him to the field. As a consequence, men were precious. In these more peaceful times, when the lords of the soil are rated by their many acres, lands, and not likely lads, are the symbol of greatness.
Sir Allan Bellingham is such a fresh-looking active gentleman that I could hardly bring myself to think that he had reached, by reason of strength, the scriptural fourscore. I was almost too much taken up admiring to think of the Land Question, but, after the fashionable five o'clock tea, had some conversation with Sir Allan and Sir Thomas on the subject.
Sir Allan thought the Land League much to blame for the present miserable state of affairs. Men well able to pay their rents, and supposed to be willing to pay their rents, were prevented from paying from a system of terrorism inaugurated by the Land League. Some instances were given. One was of the man who had the mill which we passed on the road, who being behind in his rent, was willing to pay but dare not do it. Certainly by the busy appearance of the mill and by the style of his dwelling-house it did not seem to be inability that kept him from paying. Another instance was that of a man holding a large farm, on which he had erected a fine house, which I saw in passing, a very nice residence indeed, with plate glass windows, and carpeted throughout with Brussels carpets, I am told. The large fields were waving with a fine crop; there were some grand fields of wheat, the stack yard had many stacks of last year's grain and hay. This man had given his son lately L2500 to settle himself on a farm. It certainly would not be poverty that prevented him paying his rent, for there was every evidence of wealth around him. I heard of men, who, having paid their rent, could not get their horses shod at the blacksmith's shop. For breaking the rules of the Land League they were set apart from their fellows.
I can well imagine that serious embarrassments must arise to landlords when their rents, their only income, are kept back from them. How I would rejoice to know that landlord and tenant were reconciled once more, that lordship and leadership were united in one person.
Sir Thomas Butler informed me that, "when a landlord dies and his son succeeds him the Government do not charge him succession duty on his rental but on Griffith's (or the Poor Law) valuation of his estate, plus 30 per cent. If his estate is rented at only 10 per cent over the valuation, he has to pay Government all the same, and is consequently over charged 20 per cent because in the opinion of the Government authorities, the fair letting value of land is from 25 to 30 per cent over Griffiths valuation, and they charge accordingly." (I suppose it is founded upon this law of succession duty that when a tenant dies the widow has the rent raised upon her.) "Under the Bright clauses of the Land Act of 1870 the Government is authorized to advance to the tenant two-thirds of the purchase money for his holding. At first the Treasury fixed 24 years' purchase of the valuation as the scale they would adopt, and under that they lent 16 years' purchase to the tenant, who at once remonstrated that their interest was a great deal more. After numerous enquiries, &c., the treasury changed the 24 years into 30 years, and consequently let the tenants 20 years value of their valuation, they finding the other ten years, clearly showing that in the opinion of the tenants themselves and the Government land was worth 30 years' purchase of its valuation. What is the proposal now by the tenants and agitators? That they should clearly only pay at the rate of Griffith's valuation, which, a few years ago, they themselves asserted was fifty percent below the selling value, and which valuation was taken when wheat, oats, barley, butter, beef, mutton and pork were much below the present value. Landlords have not raised their rents in proportion. My own estate in 1843 had 116 tenants, in 1880 it had 105 tenants on 5,760 statute acres. The difference in the rent paid in 1880 over that paid in 1843 is L270, barely six percent on the whole rental, which is almost 16 percent over valuation. Over L2,000 was forgiven in the bad years after potato famine, and over L1,000 has been lost by nonpaying tenants, and a considerable sum has been expended in improvements without charging the tenant interest; in some cases the cost has been divided between landlord and tenant. It is a very common practice in Ireland to fix a rent for a tenant and to reduce that rent on the tenant executing certain improvements. No improving tenant, or one who pays his rent, is ever disturbed in possession of his farm—it is only the insolvent one that is put out, and by the time the landlord can obtain possession of the farm it is always in a most delapidated condition. An ejectment for non-payment of rent cannot be brought till a clear year's rent is due, and usually the tenant owes more before it is brought, and he has always from date of decree to redeem the farm by paying what is due on the decree with costs. The landlord has, in case of redemption by the tenant, to account for the profits he has made out of the land during the six months. When dilapidation and waste have taken place no compensation for the loss can be obtained by the landlord from the the tenant. In cases of leases, the landlord finds it quite impossible to enforce the covenants for good tillage and preservation of fences, buildings, &c. Poor rates, sanitary, medical charities, election expenses, cattle diseases and sundry other charges are paid by the poor rate, which is levied on the valuation of house or farm property, consequently the funded property-holder, banks, commercial establishments pay far less in proportion to business done than the landholder, who cannot make as much out of a L50 holding as a banker or publican ought to do out of a house valued at L50. The present agitation against rents is political, and the rent question has been brought prominently forward by the leaders with the view of getting the farmers on their side as the great voting power. It would have been quite useless their endeavoring to enlist the farmers without promising them something to their own advantage; but the interest in the land is only a veil under which the advances for total separation from England can be made, and will be thrown aside when no further use can be made of it."
These are Sir Thomas Butler's sentiments and opinions. His opinions, formed from his standpoint, are worthy of consideration. With a lingering look at bonnie Dunany, we bade adieu to Lady Butler and the two baronets, and were driven back to South Gate over another and more inland road.
For good and sufficient reasons the railway carriage whisked through the rich country, carrying me from Castle Bellingham to Rath Cottage by the Moat of Dunfane. There is one beautiful difference between the North and the West; the North is full of people, the hill sides are dotted thickly with white dwellings—so much for the Ulster Custom. It pleases the people to tell them that the superior prosperity of their northern fields is due to their religious faith. Some parts of Lord Mount Cashel's estate, when sold in the Encumbered Estates Court, did not pass into hands governed by the same opinions as to the rights and duties which property confers as are held by Mr. Young, of Galgorm Castle. Their tenants complain of rack rents as bitterly as if they lived in the west. They are looking eagerly to the new law for redress. In fact when they find their tenant-right eaten up by a vast increase of rent they consider their faith powerless in the face of their landlord's works.
I do not think any one can pass through this country without noticing a vast difference which is not a religious difference, between one property as to management and another, between one part of the country and another. In some parts the tenants build the houses, whatever sort of houses they are able to build; they repair them as they are able, and the landlords get the rent of them. If by any means they can improve them, the landlord improves the rent to a higher figure.
I was over one property in the County Antrim, the property of a man who combines landholding as a middleman, with trade in linen fabrics and manufacturing or bleaching, or both. I cannot say that this gentleman is excessively popular, but he is exceedingly prosperous. His private residence, as far as taste goes, a taste that can be gratified regardless of expense, is as perfectly beautiful within its limits as the property of any lord of the soil which I have come across. Indeed, the arrangements made at such cost, kept up to such perfection, spoke of one who owed his income to trade and not to his land alone. His hot- houses, heavy with grapes, rich with peaches and nectarines, and fragrant with rare flowers, were verily on a lordly scale. It was his tenement houses that attracted my attention chiefly. They were well- roofed, slated in almost every instance; not a roof was broken that he owned. The cottages were rough cast and washed over with drab; they were covered with roses that were in as rich bloom as if they were blooming for gentry. Truly the tenants planted them, but a tenant who plants roses is not living in a state of desperation as to the means of existence. When he sent men to wash over the tenement houses, and the good wives trembled for the roses. "The gardener shall come and arrange them again and see that they are not harmed in the least," he said.
They tell me that this gentleman, being a trader with a commercial mind, takes for his tenements the utmost they will bring. If so, when he builds the houses, and keeps them in thorough repair, it is surely doing what he will with his own. Others who do not build, who never repair, surely raise the rent on what is, strictly and honestly speaking, not their own.
There is a difference between this gentleman, whose tenants say, "He will send his own gardener to fix up the roses again after the white, or rather gray washing," and the lord in the West whose tenants say, "If he saw a patch of flowers at the door, he would compel us to grub it up as something beyond our station."
The agent on the Galgorm estate told me that during twenty-five years, when he was in Lord Mount Cashel's land office, there was but one eviction, and that man got four hundred pounds for his tenant right before he left the yard. This is one man's testimony of one landlord.
Ulster, as a whole, has had more evictions, pending the Land Bill, than any other of the provinces. It is true that she has more people to evict. Her rent-roll during the last-eighty years has risen from L124,481 to L1,440,072. One million, three hundred and fifteen thousand five hundred and ninety one pounds of a rise.
Away from the North once more, this time direct southwards; paused on the Sabbath-day in the neighborhood of Tandragee, and went to a field- meeting at a place called Balnabeck—I wonder if I spell it right? This gathering in a church-yard for preaching is held yearly as a commemoration service because John Wesley preached in this same graveyard when he made an evangelistic tour in Ireland. Although this is only a yearly service, and a commemoration service of one whom the people delight to honor, they made it pretty much a penitential service. There were no seats but what the damp earth afforded, no stand for the officiating minister but a grave; it was not, therefore, a very attentive congregation which he addressed. The speaker, a Mr. Pepper, had emigrated from thence when a lad to America. He now returned to the people who had known him in earlier days. It was certainly listening under difficulties, and we were obliged to leave, by limb-weariness, before the service was over.
I had an opportunity on the morrow of seeing the handsome weaving of damask. The looms are very complicated and expensive affairs, and do not belong to the weaver but to the manufacturer. The pattern is traced on stiff paper in holes. Was very much interested in watching the process of weaving; of course did not understand it, and therefore wondered over it. The web was two and a half yards wide, was double damask of a fern pattern. The weaver, a young and nice-looking man, with the assured manner of a skilled worker, informed me proudly that he could earn three shillings a day—75 cents. Out of this magnificent income he paid the rent of his house—which was not a palace either—and supported his wife and family. His wife, a pretty and rather refined looking young woman, had a baby, teething sick, in the cradle. It must wail, and mother could only look her love and coo to it in softest tones, for if she took the little feverish sufferer up the pirns would be unwound and the husband's three shillings would have a hole in it, so both wife and baby had a share in the earning of that three shillings—baby's share the hardest of all.
Called in to see another weaver of damask to-day; he could earn fifteen pence a day. He was a melancholy little man, of a pugnacious turn of mind, I am afraid. He said that fifteen pence a day was but little out of which to pay rent and support a wife and family. Thinking of the wife and baby at the other house, we said that seeing the wife wound the bobbins, cooked, kept house, nursed and washed for her family that she earned her full share of the fifteen pence. Would not be surprised to hear that there had been a controversy raging on this very subject before we came in, the man's face became so glum and the woman's so triumphant. It was an enthusiastic blessing she threw after us when we left.
Visited a great thread factory, where the yarn is made ready that is woven into double damask, and thread for all purposes supplied to all parts. In whatever part of Ireland the tall factory chimney rises up into the air the people have not the look of starvation that is stamped on the poor elsewhere. Still, if we consider a wage of seven to twelve shillings a week—twelve in this factory was the general wages—and subtract from that two shillings a week for the house and three shillings a week for fuel the operators are not likely to lay up large fortunes. As they have no gardens to the houses owned by the factory, nor backyard accommodation of any kind, the cleanliness and tidy appearance of houses and workpeople are a credit to them. But when times grow hard, and the mills run half time, and not even a potato to fall back upon, there must be great suffering behind these walls.
There are large schools, national schools, in this village, and the children over ten years of age, who work in the factory, go to school half time. They are paid at the rate of two-pence halfpenny a day for the work of the other half of the day—that is equivalent to five cents. The teachers of the schools informed me that, when the little ones came in the morning, as they did on alternate weeks, that they learned well, but when they came in the afternoon they were sleepy and listless. On that morning they had to rise at five o'clock.
The schools which I have seen in Ireland, for so far, are conducted on the old plan; children learn their lessons at home, repeat them to the teachers in school, who never travel out of record, are trained in obedience, respect to superiors, and in order, more or less, according to the nature of the teacher. They still adhere to the broad sound of A, which has been so universally abandoned on the other side of the water.
The factories at Gilford are very remunerative; great fortunes, allowing of the purchase of landed estates and the building of more than one castlelike mansion have been made in them. From Tandragee to Portadown, in Armagh, which we travelled in a special car, took us through the same green country waving with crops, and in some places shaded heavily with trees. In the environs of Gilford—as if that very clean manufacturing town set an example that was universally followed—all the houses are clean and white as to the outside, further away the dreadful-looking homes abound. Portadown, all we saw of it, just passing through, is a clean and thrifty little town.
We would have liked to linger in Armagh a little while, but we must hurry down to the South. Got a glimpse of Armagh Catholic cathedral—a very fine building, not so grand, however, as the Cathedral at Sligo. Took notice of a very fine memorial window, with the name of Archbishop Crolly on it. I remember him very well, saw him frequently, got a pat on the head from him occasionally. He seemed partial to the little folks, when we played in the chapel yard—a nice place to play in was the chapel yard in Donegal street. He was then Bishop Crolly, and I was a very small heretic, who loved to play on forbidden ground. Walked about a little in Armagh between the trains, saw that there were many fine churches and other nice buildings from the outside view of them, and passed on to Clones. The land as seen from the railway is good in some places, poor in others, but in all parts plenty of houses not fit to be human habitations are to be seen.
Clones is a little town on a hill, with a history that stretches back into the dim ages. It has a round tower that threatens to fall, and will, too, some windy night; an abbey almost gone, but whose age and weakness is propped up by modern repairs, as, they say, the tenure of some land depends on the old gable of the abbey standing; a three-story fort, that, as Clones is built on a hill and the fort is built on Clones, affords a wide view of the surrounding country. Clones has a population of over two thousand, has no manufactory, depends entirely on the surrounding farming population, does not publish a newspaper, and is quietly behind the age a century or two. The loyal people who monopolize the loyalty are in their own way very loyal. It is delightfully sleepy, swarming with little shops with some little things to sell; but where are the buyers? If a real rush of business were to come to Clones I would tremble for the consequences, for it is not used to it.
I was quartered in the most loyal corner of all the loyal places in Clones. Every wall on which my eyes rested proclaimed that fact. Here was framed all the mysterious symbols of Orangeism, which are very like the mysterious symbols of masonry to ignorant eyes. There was King William in scarlet, holding out his arm to some one in crimson, who informed the world that "a bullet from the Irish came that grazed King William's arm." On the next wall is the battle of the Boyne, with some pithy lines under.
"And now the well-contested strand successive columns gain,While backward James' yielding band is borne across the plain;In vain the sword that Erin draws and life away doth fling,O worthy of a better cause and of a nobler king!But many a gallant spirit there retreats across the plain,Who, change but kings, would gladly dare that battlefield again."
I read that verse, like it, transcribe it, and turn to study the handsome face of Johnston of Ballykillbeg, who is elevated into the saint's place alongside of King William on many, many cottage walls, when the hostess appears. Noting the direction of my glance, she informs me of the martyrdom which Mr. Johnston has suffered from Government. She has a confused idea that Mr. Johnston is at present returning good for evil by holding our gracious Queen upon the throne in some indirect way.
After carefully finding out what my religious opinions are, she informs me of evangelistic services that are held in a tent at the foot of the hill on which Clones sits. These services are not, she says, in connection with the "Hallelujahs" or the "Salvations," but are authorized by the Government, and are under the wing of the Episcopal Church. Of course tent services under the wing of the Episcopal Church are worth going to, so we attend.
The service is quite as evangelical as if it were preached by "Hallelujahs." There is a very large audience, and the people seem very attentive. My hostess is much affected. She tells me that if she can work hard and manage well and be content with her station, reverencing her betters as she ought to do, she hopes to get to heaven at last. Almost in the same breath she informs me that all the people of Mayo will go to hell, if any one goes, for that is theirdesarvings. Yes. The Mayo people are sure to be damned. "God forgive me for saying so," adds my hostess, as a saving clause. I am afraid the evangelistic services have failed as yet as far as my hostess is concerned; and Mayo, beautiful and desolate Mayo, may be glad that the keys of that inconveniently warm climate are not kept by a Clones woman whom I know.
There are few who have not something to be proud of. My woman of Clones is proud of the fact that she entertained and lodged for a night the potato pilgrims—thirty-five of them—who went to Captain Boycott's relief down to Lough Mask. After she had mentioned this circumstance a few times, and did seem to take much spiritual comfort from the face, I ventured to inquire if she were paid for it. Oh, yes, she was; but if she had not been—she was all on the right side, she was that; and if she had the power would sweep every Papist off the face of the earth. She was wicked, she said, on this subject.
I did not believe this woman; her talk was mere party blow. The whole street about her was full of Papists, small and great. I do not think she would sweep the smallest child off the face of the earth, except by a figure of speech. There are those who really know what language means who are responsible for this bloodthirsty kind of talk. It means little, but it keeps up party spirit.
I thought of speeches which I heard on the 12th of July by ministers of the Gospel, with all the Scripture quotations from Judges, and Samuel, telling an inflamable people—only they were too busy with their drums and fifes to listen—that "God took the side of fighting men—Gideon meant battle—an angel was at the head of the Lord's host—Scotland was especially blest because it was composed of fighting men." Does the Gospel mean brother to war against brother for the possession of his field? How much need there is for our loving Lord to rebuke His disciples by telling them again, "Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of, for the leaders of my people cause them to err."
Clones takes its name from a word that may signify the meadow of Eois, or high meadow. It has a history that goes back to grope about Ararat for the potsherds thrown out of the ark. It has a very old and famous round tower, used at some time as a place of sepulchre, for a great quantity of human bones have been found in it. In one stone of this tower is the mark of two toes printed into the stone, or the mark of some fossil remains dislodged by a geological hammer.
As Clones sits upon a hill, and the fort sits on the highest part, it commands an extensive view. There is also an ancient cross in the market square, once elaborately carved in relief, but the figures are worn indistinct. There are the remains of an old castle built in among the modern walls and hidden out of sight. There are stories of an underground passage between the abbey and the castle. In fact, they came on this underground way when levelling the market space, but did not explore it. There is such a romance about mystery that it is as well, I suppose, not to let too much daylight shine in upon it.
Clones, with its abbey, was burned by De Lacy in the thirteenth century, which was, perhaps, its last burning.
I was glad on the evening on which I climbed to the top of the fort to find little gardens lying up the slope at the back of the poorer houses. Clones is better off in this respect by being behind the age. In Antrim and Down, in too many instances, the farmers have taken the cotter's gardens into their fields. I wished to be sure if the gardens belonged to the people who lived in the thatched cottages, and I spoke across the hedge to a man who was digging potatoes in one of them, a man with a leather apron, marking him out as a shoemaker, and a merry, contented face. Yes, the gardens belonged to the cottages at the foot of the hill. All the cottages had gardens in Clones. The people had all gardens in Clones. They were not any of them in want. They had enough, thank God. There was every prospect of a good harvest and a good harvest brought plenty to every home.
A few words often change the world to us. I climbed the three-storey fort at Clones feeling sad and hopeless in the grey evening, everything seemed chill and dreary like the damp wind, and this man's cheery words of rejoicing over the prospect of good crops, over the yield of the little gardens, touched me as if sunset splendor had fallen over the world, and I came down comforted with the thought that our Father who gives fruitful seasons will also find a way for Ireland to emerge from the thick darkness of her present misery.
I was referred to the Presbyterian minister of Clones for information on the antiquities of Clones, and from his lecture, which he with great kindness read to me, I gathered what historical hints I have inserted here. At the minister's I met with a pleasant-faced, motherly looking lady who talked to me of the Land question, the prevailing topic. From remarks she made I gathered that she was an enthusiastic church member, but on the Land question she had no ideas of either justice or mercy that could possibly extend beyond the privileged classes. I referred to the excessive rents, she gave a mild shake of her motherly chin and spoke of the freedom of contract. I spoke of new landlords making new and oppressive office rules and raising the rents above the power to pay of the tenants he found there when coming into possession. She said they might suffer justly if they had no written guarantee. She actually considered that a gentleman was not bound by his word of promise, nor did he inherit anyverbalagreement entered into by the man from whom he inherited his property. I spoke of the hardship of a long life of toil and penury ending in the workhouse. She said when they knew they must go into the workhouse eventually why did they not go in at once without giving so much trouble. I asked her if she, who seemed to know what it was to be a mother, would not if it were her own case put off going into the workhouse, which meant parting with her children, to the very last. The idea of mentioning her name in the one breath with these people precluded the possibility of answering. She threw down her knitting and left the room.
Was it not sad to think that this Christian lady had yet to learn the embracing first two words of the Lord's prayer, Our Father. Looking at the strength of this caste prejudice, as strong here as in India, I often feel sad, but Our Father reigns. Protestant ministers belongingex-officioto this upper caste, and being, so to speak, a few flights of stairs above their people, cannot speak with the power of knowledge which our Lord had by His companionship with the poor of His people.
I was more astonished than I can describe at the sentiments that met me in this red hot corner of Monaghan. "The people were armed," they said, "the people had revolvers and pikes, they would rise and murder them if they were let up at all." They did not exactly know what this let up meant, and I am sure I did not either. I heard a great deal about '98; surely '98 ought to get away into the past and not remain as a present date forever. I cannot for the life of me see what '98 has to do with allowing a man to live by his labor in his own country. The land question affects all and is outside of these old remembrances.
I must acknowledge that I have heard no Roman Catholic mix the land question with religion; they keep it by itself. I was informed that when I passed Clones I was in Ireland, as if Clones was an outpost of some other country.
The Episcopal Church in Clones is built on an eminence and is reached by a serious flight of steps; it looks down on the ancient cross which stands in the market place. This church is being repaired and was therefore open, so I climbed the long flight of steps and went in to see it. It certainly is being greatly improved. A grand ceiling has replaced the old one, a fine organ and stained glass windows add to the glory of the house. I had an opportunity of speaking with the rector, and his curate, I imagine. They pointed out the improvements in the church, which I admired, of course, and they told me some news which was of more interest to me than either organ tone or dim religious light streaming through stained glass.
They said that the temperance cause was flourishing in connection with their congregation. Both these clergymen were strict teetotalers, they said, and workers in the total abstinence field. The number of pledged adherents to the temperance cause had increased some hundreds within a given time. There was every encouragement to go on in the fight with all boldness. Truly these gentlemen had good cheer for me in what they said on this subject, for the drinking customs are a great curse to the people of the land wherever I have been.
From Clones to Belturbet Junction, where there were no cars, and there was the alternative of waiting at the station from two to seven p.m., or getting a special car. Waiting was not to be thought of for a moment, so got a car and a remarkably easy-going driver. He informed me that the rate of wages about that part of the country was one shilling a day with food. He thought the people were not very poor. The crops were good, the wages not bad, and he thought the people were very contented. Belturbet is another quiet little town, larger than Clones I should say. Like Clones it has no newspaper, no specific industry, but depends on the farmers round.
Procured a car and drove out to the village of Drumalee. The land is middling good as far as the eye can judge. This neighborhood abounds with small lakes. Here for the first time I saw lads going to fish with the primitive fishing rods peculiar to country boys. The country round here is full of people and there is no appearance of extreme poverty. The houses are rather respectable looking, comparatively speaking.
There is a fine Catholic chapel in Drumalee built of stone in place of the mud wall of seventy odd years ago. Saw no old people about and found that almost the recollection of Father Peter Smith, the blessed priest who wrought miracles, had faded away from the place, also that of his friend the loyal Orangeman who always got Orange as a prefix to his name.
The police in these midland counties are not so alert and vigilant, like people in an enemy's country, as they are in the west. They do not seem to have "reasonable suspects" on their minds. The asses of Belturbet, although some of them appear dressed in straw harness, and with creels, are well fed and sleek and do not bray in a melancholy, gasping manner as if they were squealing with hunger as the Leitrim asses do. It rained pretty steadily during the time I was in Belturbet, and the principal trading to be seen from my window was the sale of heather besoms. A woman and a young girl, barefooted and bareheaded, arrived at the corner with an ass-load of this merchandise. They were sold at one half-penny each. They were neatly made, and the heather of which they were composed being in bloom they looked very pretty. How it did rain on these dripping creatures! Being shut up by the weather I took an interest in the besom merchants and their load, which was such a heavy one that a good-natured bystander had to help to lift the load off the ass's back. It was a long while before a customer appeared. At length a stout woman, with the skirt of her dress over her head, ran across the street to buy a broom. She bargained closely, getting the broom and a scrubber for one half-penny, but as she was the first purchaser she spat upon the half- penny for luck. Then came some more little girl buyers, who inspected and turned over the brooms with an important commercial air, with intent to get the worth of their half-penny and show to their mothers at home that they were fit to be trusted to invest a half-penny wisely. They bought and others came and bought until the stock began to diminish sensibly.
A little man who had arrived with his load of besoms somewhat later sold none. I saw him glance from his load to the stock of mother and daughter, fast selling off, and become aware that his stock as compared with theirs was rather heathery, and he began to trim off roughnesses with his knife. I hope he succeeded in selling.
Drove out to Drumlane, where are the ruins of a large church and abbey and round tower. The driver, a Catholic, talked a little, guardedly, of the high rents. A broken-down looking man, who opened the iron gates for us into the ruins, complained heavily of the rents. He was only a laborer himself, the farmer he worked for was paying fifty-five shillings an acre for part of his farm and L3 for the rest. The land on which I looked was rented at L3. My only wonder is that the lands thus rented pay the rent alone without supporting in any manner the tillers of the soil. It was all pasture at this particular place. The ruins here of the church are very extensive, of the abbey only the fragment of a wall is standing. My guides informed me that there was an underground passage in old days between the abbey and the church, so that the bishop was not seen from the time he left the abbey until he appeared on the high altar.
They remarked that a story handed down from father to son as a true record of a place should be believed before a written account. They made no allowance for the coloring given to a story as it passed through the imaginations of successive generations. I assured them that I accepted all legends as historical facts to a certain extent. They were made happy, and were in a fit state of mind toinsinseme into the facts of the case about the round tower. It is of great thickness, the area enclosed would make a good sized room. The stone work is remarkably solid and good, and every stone smoothly fitted into the next with no appearance of mortar. It is wonderful to see how the projection of one stone is neatly fitted into a cavity made to correspond in its fellow. On one stone a bird is cut in relief, another nearly the same in the attitude of following is cut on another stone. There is also a representation of a coffin. The beautiful stone work goes up a great way, and suddenly stops, the remainder of the building being done in a much rougher manner.
Seeing that I was of a reasonable turn of mind, they informed me that the lower portion of this round tower was built by a woman, but she being jeered at and tormented by the men masons, jealous of her work, disappeared in the night, leaving the masons to finish it, which they did, but not nearly so well, as we could see.
On the way from Drumlane to Ballyconnell the driver began to talk of the bitter feeling that was kept up in the country on party subjects. He said that religion forbid it, for if we noticed in the Lord's prayer it was a prayer to forgive us as we forgave others. He thought Ireland could not prosper or have God's blessing until the bitterness of party spirit went down.
Found Ballyconnell just such another sleepy little town as Clones and Belturbet. Here I had the comfort of meeting a friend who had puzzled a little over the land question in a misty sort of way, and was willing to give the benefit of his observations and conclusions.
From Clones to Belturbet and on to Ballyconnell, as I have mentioned before, I believe, is pretty much the same sort of country, good fields, middling and good pastures alternating with stretches of bog and many small lakes dotted about here and there. Every appearance of thrifty, contented poverty among the people as far as met the eye. They were better clad, the little asses shod, and sleek and fat, so different from other places. Still, the best of the common people all along here is not very good to trans-Atlantic eyes, and the houses one sees as they pass along are dreadfully bad.
I spoke of this to my friend in Ballyconnell, who informed me that the people were harassed with ever-increasing rent, that as soon as they could not meet it they were dealt with without mercy. A man who had toiled to create a clearing—put a life's labor into it—was often not able to pay the increased rent and then he was put out, while another man paid the increased rent on his neighbor's lost labor.
This friend of mine held the opinion that landlords of the old stock never did wrong, never were rapacious or cruel; it was the new landlords, traders who bought out in the Encumbered Estates Court, who had no mercy, and the agents. Here again was brought up the story denied before that the agents had a percentage on the rents collected.
One cannot agree with the fact of all landlords of the old stock being considerate and kind and all new landlords rapacious; for Lord Leitrim was of the old stock, and who would wish to succeed to the inheritance of hatred he left behind him, and Lord Ardilaun, a new landlord, is well spoken of by all his people. Every one with whom I spoke of him, including the parish priest, acknowledged him to be a high-toned, grandly benevolent man, who, if he differed from his tenants, differed as one on a height of grandeur may misjudge the ability of the poor.
As an instance of hardships of which the poor had to complain, my informant mentioned the case of one very old man, whose children had scattered away over the world, which meant that they had emigrated. He held a small place on a property close beside another property managed by my informant's brother. This old man had paid his rent for sixty-nine years; he and his people before him had lived, toiled and paid rent on this little place. He was behind in his rent, for the first time, and had not within a certain amount the sum required. He besought the intercession of my friend's brother, who, having Scotch caution in his veins, did not, though pitying, feel called upon to interfere. The old man tendered what money he had at the office and humbly asked that he might have time given him to make up the rest. It was refused with contempt.
"Sir," faltered the old man, "I have paid my rent every year for sixty- nine years. I have lived here under three landlords without reproach. I am a very old man. I might get a little indulgence of time."
"All that is nothing to me," said the agent.
"Sir," said the old man, "if my landlord himself were here, or the General his father, or my Lord Belmore who sold the land to him, I would not be treated in this way after all."
"Get out of this instantly," said the agent, stamping his foot, "How dare you give such insolence to me."
"You see," explained my friend, "he was very old, it was not likely that any more could be got out of him even if he got time, for he was past his labor. Besides there was a man beside him who held a large farm, and he wanted this old man's little holding to square off his farm, so the old man had to go to the wall, but I was sorry for him."
There is a good deal of this unproductive sorrow scattered over Ireland among the comfortable classes. There are a good many also who feel like that motherly Christian lady in Clones who said to me, "When they have to go into the poor-house at the last, and they know it will come to that, why not go in at once?"
I am convinced more and more every day of the widespread need there is that some evangelistic effort should be made to bring a practical Gospel to bear on the dominant classes in Ireland.
My friend and I walked up to the church to search for some graves in the churchyard that lies around it. He drew my attention to the socket where a monument had been erected but which was gone, and mentioned the circumstances under which it had disappeared. A gentleman of the country, an Episcopalian, had fallen in love with and married a Catholic lady. The usual bargain had been made, the daughters to follow the mother's faith, the sons to go with the father. There was one son who was a member of the Episcopalian church. It seemed that the son loved and reverenced his Catholic mother, and that she was also loved and reverenced by her Catholic coreligionists. When she died she was buried in the family burying plot of ground in the Episcopalian churchyard. Her son erected there a white marble cross to his mother's memory. At this cross, on their way home from mass, sundry old women used to turn in, and, kneeling down there, say a prayer. This proceeding, visible from the church windows, used to annoy and exasperate the officiating clergyman very much. At the time of the disestablishment of the Church a committee was being formed to make some arrangements consequent upon this event. The Episcopal son of this Catholic mother was named on the Committee, and a great opposition was got up to his nomination on account of his being only Protestant by half blood. There was no objection to him personally, his faith or belief was thought sound, except that part of it which was hereditary. My friend considered this very wrong, and ranged himself on the side of the gentleman who was the cause of the dispute. The dispute waxed so hot that the parties almost came to blows in the vestry room.
During the time this war raged some bright genius, on one of the days of Orange procession, had a happy thought of putting an orange arch over the churchyard gate, in such a manner that the praying women should have to pass under it if they entered. I am not quite sure whether the arch was destroyed or not; as far as my memory serves I think it was. Something happened to it anyway. Something also happened to the monumental cross, which was torn down, broken up and strewed round in marble fragments. The gentleman prosecuted several Orangemen whom he suspected of this outrage. There was not evidence to convict them. An increased ill-feeling got up against the gentleman for a prosecution that threw a slur on the Orange organization. The Orange society offered a reward of L60 for the discovery and conviction of the offenders, but nothing came of it. My friend thought it was done by parties unknown to bring reproach on the Orange cause. The gentleman of the half-blood had not been so much thought of by his fellow church members since this transaction.
I spoke to my friend upon the unchristian nature of this party spirit, which he agreed with me in lamenting, but excused by telling me outrages by the Catholic party which made me shudder. All these outrages were confirmed by the ancient woman who kept the key of the church, and who stood listening and helping with the story, emphasizing with the key. I asked when these outrages had taken place, and was relieved considerably to hear that they happened about 1798 and 1641. Asked my friend if the other side had not any tales of suffered atrocities to tell? He supposed they had, thought it altogether likely. Why then, I asked him, do you not bury this past and live like Christians for the future.
I am often asked this question about burying the past, said my friend. My answer is, let them bury first and afterwards we will. Let them bury their Ribbonism, their Land Leagueism, their Communism and their Nihilism (making the motion of digging with his hands as he spoke) and after that ask us to bury our Orangeism, our Black Chapter, our Free Masonry, and we will do it then.
As we came down the hill from the church, I said to my friend, "You acknowledge that there are wrongs connected with land tenure that should be set right. You say that you see things of doubtful justice and scant mercy take place here, that you see oppression toward the poor of your country; why, then, not join with them to have what is wrong redressed, fight side by side on the Land Question and leave religious differences aside for the time being?" "I would be willing to do this," said my friend, "I do not believe in secret societies, although I belong to three of them, but a man must go with his party if he means to live here. There are many Orangemen who have become what we call 'rotten,' about Fermanagh, over one hundred have been expelled for joining the Land League."
Party spirit is nourished, and called patriotism; it is fostered and called religion, but it is slowly dying out, Ireland is being regenerated and taught by suffering. In all suffering there is hope. This thought comforted me when I shook hands with my friend and turned my back to Ballyconnell and to Belturbet and took the car for Cavan, passing through the same scenery of field and bog and miserable houses that prevail all over.
The only manufacture of any kind which I noticed from Clones to Cavan, a large thriving town bustling with trade, was the making of brick, which I saw in several places. These inland towns seem to depend almost entirely on the agricultural population around them.
From Cavan down through the County Cavan, is swarming with Land Leaguers they say, although I met with none to know them as such. Poor land is in many places, a great deal of bog, many small lakes and miserable mud wall cabins abounding. In every part of Ireland, and almost at every house, you see flocks of ducks and geese; raising them is profitable, because they do not require to be fed, but forage for themselves, the ducks in the water courses and ponds, while the geese graze, and they only get a little extra feed when being prepared for market. Ducks can be seen gravely following the spade of a laborer, with heads to one side watching for worms. Neither ducks nor geese, nor both together, are as numerous as the crows; they seem to be under protection, and they increase while population decreases.
As one journeys south the change in the countenance of the people is quite remarkable. In Down, Antrim, Donegal, the faces are almost all different varieties of the Scottish face—Lowland, Highland, Border or Isle—but as you come southward an entirely different type prevails. I noticed it first at Omagh. It is the prevailing face in Cavan; large, loose features, strong jaws, heavy cheeks and florid complexion, combined mostly with a bulky frame. You hear these people tracing back their ancestors to English troopers that came over with Cromwell or William the Third. They have a decided look of Hengist and Horsa about them.
The feeling against the Land League among the Conservative classes in the north is comparatively languid to the deeper and more intense feeling that prevails southward. The gulf between the two peoples that inhabit the country widens. After leaving Cavan we crossed a small point of Longford and thence into Westmeath, passing quite close to Derryvaragh Lake, and then to Lake Owel after passing Mulingar, getting a glimpse of yet another, Westmeath Lake.
After passing Athlone and getting into Roscommon we got a view of that widening of the Shannon called Lough Ree, sixteen miles long and in some parts three miles wide. A woman on the train told me of that island on this lough, Hare island, with Lord Castlemaine's beautiful plantation, of the castle he has built there, decorated with all that taste can devise, heart can desire or riches buy. A happy man must be my Lord Castlemaine. Lough Ree is another silent water, like the waters of the west unbroken by the keel of any boat, undarkened by the smoke of any steamer, the breeze flying over it fills no sail.
I have mentioned before how completely the County Mayo has gone to grass. The same thing is apparent in a lesser degree elsewhere. There is not a breadth of tillage sufficient to raise food for the people. Cattle have been so high that hay and pasturage were more remunerative, and the laborers depend for food on the imported Indian meal. The grassy condition of every place strikes one while passing along; but Roscommon seems to be given up to meadow and pasture land almost altogether. The hay crop seems light in some places. The rain has been so constant that saving it has been difficult in some places. I saw some hay looking rather black, which is an unbecoming color for hay. Roscommon is a very level country as far as I saw of it, and very thinly populated.
The town of Roscommon has a quiet inland look, with a good deal of trading done in a subdued manner. There is the extensive ruin of an old castle in it; the old gaol is very castle-like also. I drove over to Athleague as soon as I arrived, a small squalid village some four Irish miles away. The land is so level that one can see far on every side as we drive along, and the country is really empty. The people left in the little hamlets have one universal complaint, the rent is too high to be paid and leave the people anything to live on. It was raised to the highest during prosperous years; when the bad years came it became impossible.
I enquired at this village of Athleague what had become of all the people that used to live here in Roscommon. They were evicted for they could not pay their rents. Where are they? Friends in America sent passage tickets for many, some, out of the sale of all, made out what took them away; some were in the poor house; some dead and gone. The land is very empty of inhabitants.