Went out into County Down by rail about twenty miles. No words can do
justice to the beauty of the country, the cleanness of the roads, the
trimness of the hedges, and the garden-like appearance of the fields.
The stations, as we passed along, looked so trim and neat. The houses of
small farmers, or laborers I suppose they might be, were not very neat.
Many of them stood out in great contrast as if here was the border over
which any attempt at ornament should not pass.
On the train bound for Dublin was a little old woman travelling third
class like myself, who scraped an acquaintance at once in order to tell
me of the disturbed state of the country. She emphasized everything with
a wave of her poor worn gloves and a decided nod of her bonnet.
"They are idle you know, they are lazy, they are improvident. They are
not content in the station in which it has pleased God to place them. I
know all about these people. They are turbulent, they are rebellious;
they want to get their good, kind landlords out of the country, and to
seize on their property. It is horrid you know, horrid!" and the little
old lady waved her gloves in the air. "If they had a proper amount of
religion they would be content to labor in their own station. I am
content with mine, why not they with theirs? You understand that,"
appealing to me.
"Have you a small farm?" I enquired.
"Indeed I have not," said the little old lady with the greatest disgust,
"I live on my money."
It was quite evident I had offended her, for she froze into silence. As
I left the train at Tandragee she laid her faded glove on my arm and
whispered, "It is their duty to be content in their own station, is it
not?"
"If they cannot do any better," I whispered back.
"They cannot," said the little old lady sinking back on her seat
triumphantly.
It is rather unhandy, that the names of the stations are called out by a
person on the platform outside the cars, instead of by a conductor
inside.
The manufacturing town of Gilford is a pretty, clean, neat, little place
clustered round the mills and the big house, like the old feudal
retainers round the castle. Here, as in Belfast, a certain amount of
distress must exist, for the mills are not running full time.
The wages of a common operative here is twelve shillings (or three
dollars) per week. If they have a family grown up until they are able to
work at the mills, of course it adds materially to the income. Girls are
more precious than boys, I have heard, as being more docile and easier
kept in clothing.
