The number of
whiskey shops is something dreadful. The consumption of that article
must be steady and enormous to support them. There is squalor enough to
be seen in the small streets of this town, but that is in every town.
The public road from Ballymena to Grace Hill passes through the Galgorm
estate which passed from the hands of its last lord, through the
Encumbered Estates Court, into the hands of its present proprietor. On
this estate a most wonderful change has been effected, and in a short
space of time to effect so much. During the old _regime_, and the
good old times of absentee landlordism, squalor and misery crept up to
the castle gates. The wretchedness of the tenants could be seen by every
passer-by. The peasantry tell of unspeakable orgies held at the castle
even upon the Sabbath day. The change is something miraculous. The waste
pasture-like demesne is reclaimed and planted. The worst cabins have
entirely disappeared; the rest are improved till they hardly know
themselves.
They match the new cottages for which the proprietor took a prize. These
little homes with their climbing plants, their trim little gardens, look
as if any one might snuggle down in any of them and be content. The
castle itself looks altered; it has lost its grim Norman look, and
stands patriarchal and fatherly among the beautiful homes it has
created.
Not far from the castle gate is a pretty church and its companion, an
equally pretty building for the National School. I enquired of several
how this great improvement came about; the answer was always the same,
"The estate passed into the hands of a good man who lived on it, and he
had a godly wife." Passing the pretty little church I heard the sound of
children's voices singing psalms, and was told that the daughter of the
castle was teaching the children to sing; I noticed _In Memoriam_
on a stone in the building, and found that this church was built in
memory of the good lady of the castle, who has departed to a grander
inheritance, leaving a name that lingers like a blessing in the country
side. So the old landlord's loss of an estate has been great gain to
this people.
It is in the country parts, more remote from the public eye, that one
sees the destitution wrought by the depression in the linen trade.
People there are struggling with all their might to live and keep out of
the workhouses. Hand-loom weaving seems doomed to follow hand-spinning
and become a thing of the past. Weavers some time ago had a plot of
ground which brought potatoes and kale to supplement the loom, and on it
could earn twelve shillings a week.
