We felt as if we
were in the wrong place, as, after glancing at the handsome cottage, the
trim lawn fringed with shrubbery and then at the ruins we took the lower
walk hoping to get round under the shelter of some trees to the ruins. A
small river brawled over the stones below - far below where we were
walking. A detached portion of the ruins sitting on a rock overlooked
both us and the river. Was it in any part of this building that the
naughty lady watched for her lover?
A little further on we looked down some steps into gardens stretching
along beside the river - gardens blazing with flowers and sweet with
blossomed fruit trees. It was so unexpected, so splendidly beautiful, it
surpassed a dream of fairy-land. We passed on, saw a shadowy lady among
the flowers on the lawn, knew it was the wraith of the unhappy and
guilty Dearvorgill. Stole out of the farther gate - at least I did -
feeling naughty and intrusive. Found ourselves in the clean little town
of Drumahaire, a pretty little village, straggled over a hillside among
the trees.
Went into a shop to enquire for the veritable Brefni Castle. A sad and
hungry-looking man scenting a possible sixpence started forward as
guide. He piloted us back by the way we came into the ruins we had
passed. Was determined to see visions and dream dreams amid these
historical ruins. Alas, it was a disgraceful failure. Not only was the
back of the modern tyrannical cottage laid up against the tyrannical
castle of history, but the ancient and modern were dovetailed into one
another, trying to bewilder you as to where ancient history and legend
ended, and modern anecdote began. We looked into the great hall with its
deep fire-place at the side, and upwards where another stately apartment
had once been, a lofty presence room over the great hall, but the week's
wash of the La Touches was flapping in the wind that moaned through the
deserted halls of the O'Ruarke. Looked into a tower to find a peat
stack, climbed over a load of coal to see the withdrawing room of the
departed, but not forgotten great lady, or the kitchen that cooked for
the men-at-arms, who waited on the lord's behest. Peeped into a turret
and was insolently asked what we meant by a splendid but ill-tongued
peacock; admired the ivy green that happed the bare walls and noticed
that the chickens roosted there in its shelter.
We drove home by another way, among gay, green woods under the shelter
of mighty rocks, passed more ruins. We stopped to examine these older
ruins of the ancient O'Ruarkes. A Milesian gentleman showed us through
them. It is the correct thing to have a ruin on your place; it is a kind
of patent of gentility. If a banshee could be thrown in along with a
ruin, a new man would give a great price for an old place. But banshees
are getting scarce and decline to be caught. This ruin has been patched
over, clumsily but earnestly, so that hardly a speck of the original
ruin is left. It was delightful to listen to our Milesian guide. My
companion was bound to get some information out of him. He was cautious,
not knowing who we were or what design we might have to entangle him in
his talk; he was determined that he would not give the desired
information. He conquered. The ruins were not worth sixpence altogether
to look at, but I gave him sixpence as a tribute to genius. And so in
the dim evening we drove back to Sligo.
XXX.
SLIGO'S GOOD LANDLORDS - THE POLICE AND THEIR DUTIES - A DOUBTFUL
COMPLIMENT - AN AMAZON.
It has been something wonderful to me that when I left Leitrim, I
seemed to have left all bad landlords behind me. Every one I came in
contact with in Sligo, rich or poor, had something to say about a good
landlord. Some were thoughtfully kind and considerate, of which they
gave me numerous instances; others if the kind actions were unknown,
positively unkind ones were unknown also, so their portraits came out in
neutral tints. I conversed with high Tories and admirers of the Land
League, but heard only praise of Sligo's lords of the soil. I thought I
should leave Sligo, believing it an exceptional place, but just before I
left I heard two persons speak of one bad landlord of Sligo.
On May 18th I left the green valleys of Sligo behind and took passage on
the long car for Ballina. I found that the long car was to be shared
with a contingent of police, who were returning to their several
stations after lawfully prowling round the country protecting bailiffs
and process-servers in their unpopular work. I cannot believe that these
quiet, repressed conservators of the peace can possibly feel proud of
their duties. These duties must often - and very often - be repugnant to
the heart of any man who has a heart, and I suppose the majority of them
have hearts behind their trim jackets. I liked to look at these men,
they are so trim, clean, self-respectful. They have also a well-fed
appearance, which is comfortable to notice after looking at the hungry-
looking, tattered people, from whom they protect the bailiffs.
We passed Balasodare - I did not stop, for I felt that it was better to
get this disagreeable journey over at once.
We stopped at a place called Dromore west, to change horses and to
change cars. We had dropped the police, a few at a time, as we came
along, so that now the car was not by any means crowded.
