After Driving Some Time The Landscape Softened Down
Into Rolling Hills Beautifully Cultivated, And Sprinkled Here And There
With Grazing Cattle.
We are coming to Gartan Lake, and where there is a belt of trees by the
lake shore stands the residence of Mr. Stewart, another landlord.
He,
when cattle became high-priced, thought that cattle were much preferable
to human beings, so he evicted gradually the dwellers who had broken in
the hills, and entered into possession, without compensation, of the
fields, the produce of others' toil and sweat. His dwelling is in a
lonely, lovely spot, and it stands alone, for no cottage home is at all
near. He has wiped out from the hill sides every trace of the homes of
those who labored on these pleasant fields and brought them under
cultivation. Since the Land League agitation began he has given a
reduction of rents, and the whole country side feel grateful and
thankful.
There is no solitude so great that we do not meet bailiffs at their
duty, or policemen on the prowl.
We are now nearing Derryveigh. There are two lakes lying along the
valley connected with a small stream. My guide informed me that both
lakes once abounded with salmon. The celebrated St. Colombkill was born
on the shores of the Gartan Lake. Being along the lake one day he asked
some fishermen on the lower lake to share with him of the salmon they
had caught. They churlishly refused, and the saint laid a spell on the
waters, and no salmon come there from that day to this.
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