In mercy to the readers, I will only say that Miss Gardner has intense
courage and an intellect of masculine strength, and resembles Queen
Elizabeth in more ways than one. It is a great pity that she has not
Queen Bess's popularity or her care for her people.
Westport, when I have time to look at it, is a very pretty town. Its
buildings, its hotels and the warehouses on the quay look as if it once
had an extensive and flourishing trade, or was prepared for and
expecting it. There was, I am told, once a flourishing linen trade here,
but it has gone to decay. The town is in a little hollow, with pleasant
tree-crowned green hills rising all round it; at one side is the demesne
of the Marquis of Sligo, which is open to the public. These grounds
extend for miles, and are as beautiful as gorgeous trees, green grass,
dark woods, waters that leap and flash, spanned by rustic bridges, can
make them. There are winding walks leading through the green fields,
under trees, into woods, up hill and down, into shady glens, where you
might wander for miles and lose yourself in green-wood solitudes. Crowds
of Westport folk, in the calm evening, saunter through the grounds and
enjoy their beauty.
The little town has a subdued expression of prosperity. You feel
conscious that some business is going on that enables the inhabitants of
the town to live comfortably and to dress respectably. You hear of the
mills of the Messrs. Livingstone, of their business in trading and land-
owning, until you are convinced that they are the centre round which
this little world revolves.
I had a lady pointed out to me here as being in such embarrassed
circumstances, owing to the non-payment of rent, that her son was
obliged to join the police force to earn a living. I heard also great
sympathy expressed for another gentleman in Dublin who has many sons,
whom he has brought up to do nothing, and who has been reduced by the
strike against rent to absolute poverty. I am told that banks in Dublin
are glutted with family silver left as security for loans. These people
are to be pitied, for poverty is poverty in purple or in rags; but when
poverty comes to actual want, it is still more pitiful.
XLI.
GOING TO ENGLAND FOR WORK - CANADA AND AMERICA.
I have been going against the stream on my travels. I am reminded,
incessantly that I should have begun at Dublin. Going backward, as I am
doing, the orthodox route is to Leenane, passing Erriff and the Devil's
Mother, but the regular cars were not yet running, I was told, nor were
they likely to run this summer, as, owing to the exaggerated reports of
outrage, tourists are not expected in any numbers. Was persuaded to take
a special car to go by Leenane round the coast. Would have liked to do
so, but not to bear all the expense myself. The further west the more
expensive the car, I find. Instead, I returned to Castlebar, and on to
Balla. Balla is the small town where the Land League was born.
In the compartment to which I was consigned there were some gentlemen,
for gentlemen and ladies of very great apparent respectability do travel
in the cars devoted to the humbler people; there were also some
respectable looking laborers who were going over to England to look for
work. A discussion arose in our compartment as to what constituted
politeness. One gentleman defined it as ceremonious manners, the result
of early training; while another objected that that was only the veneer
of manners, as all true politeness arose from the heart. I listened
awhile and then spoke across the seat to a decent, dejected looking man
with a little bundle beside him tied up in a blue and white check
handkerchief. "Yes, he was going to England to look for work; many had
to go for the work was not to be had at home." "The rents were so high,
and the taxes, what with one thing and another, there was a new cut
always coming heavier than the last." "The people are being crushed out
of the country very fast, and that was God's truth." "And you are from
America? It is a fine country they say. I would be there long ago but
for the heavy care I have here that I can neither take with me nor leave
behind." "Yes, I go over to England every year. For a good many years
past I have always worked for the same man, ever since I went there
first." "It grows harder to live in Ireland every year."
I told this man amid the craned necks and open mouths of his companions,
some of the advantages of Canada as a home. I do not know why it is that
the people know so little of Canada. I was listened to with exclamations
of "Well, well!" "Boys a boys!" "Dear O dear!" "Hear that, now! A man
might live there!"
Getting at last across the Mayo plains to Claremorris, I parted from my
acquaintances with many a "God bless you," while many hands lifted out
my travelling bags. At Claremorris a car man asked if I was a pilgrim
for Knock which was the first intimation that I had that I was in the
vicinity of Knock. Hired this car man, who was also owner of the car, to
drive me there. I have always heard that those born on Christmas Day are
privileged to see apparitions. I have not yet come into that part of my
inheritance, but do not know how soon I may.
On the way, which led through a well-cultivated, fertile country, waving
with trees, and showing glimpses of great houses peeping out among them,
the driver asked me if I had ever heard of Captain Boycott.
