They said the manufacture on the hills, whiskey
being so easy to be had, nourished drinking customs among men and women
alike, and what was made one way was lost one hundred-fold in another. A
priest, recently deceased, a certain Father Elliott, had devoted talents
of no mean order and great loving-kindness to the work of stemming this
great evil. At his funeral there were between three and four thousand
members of the temperance bands, which were the fruit of his labors. He
died of typhus fever, and I heard his name mentioned with respectful
regret by all creeds and classes.
XV.
A GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST - THE DERRY OF TO-DAY - PURCHASING TENANT
RIGHTS - NIBBLING AT THE TENANT RIGHT - INSTANCES OF HARDSHIP - "LIBERTY OF
CONTRACT."
At Moville I heard that there were some who had become peasant
proprietors by purchasing out and out their holdings, and that they had
bitterly repented of so doing; for they had tied a millstone about their
necks. I was advised to go to Limavady and see the Rev. Mr. Brown, who
had made the purchase for these people, and knew how the bargain was
turning out.
I was still at Moville. I was to return to Derry by boat, a much
preferable mode of travelling to the post car. I mistook the wharf.
There are two, one hid away behind some houses, one at the Coast Guard
Station standing out boldly into the water. I walked over to the most
conspicuous wharf and had the pleasure of hearing the starting bell ring
behind me, and seeing the Derry boat glide from behind the sheltering
houses and sail peacefully away up the Foyle like a black swan. Why do
they paint all the steamers black in this green Erin of ours? Well, as
my belongings were on board, there was no help for it but to take a
special car and go after my luggage, a long, cold drive to Derry. So
much for being stupid.
I have been in Derry for some time. At different times I have tried to
admire it, and it is worthy of admiration; but some way it is a little
difficult to think up thoughts as one ought to think them. Thoughts will
not come to order. Besides, Derry "is an old tale and often told."
Still, it is an event in one's life to go round the old Derry walls.
Owing to the kindness of Mr. Black, I have had that sensation. The
gateways, without gates now of course, look like the arches of a bridge,
and the walls like streets hung up out of the way. When one looks
through a loop hole or over a parapet, there does a faint remembrance
come up, like a ghost, of the stirring times that have wrapped
themselves in the mist of years, and slid back into the past.
