I heard a great deal about '98;
surely '98 ought to get away into the past and not remain as a present
date forever. I cannot for the life of me see what '98 has to do with
allowing a man to live by his labor in his own country. The land
question affects all and is outside of these old remembrances.
I must acknowledge that I have heard no Roman Catholic mix the land
question with religion; they keep it by itself. I was informed that when
I passed Clones I was in Ireland, as if Clones was an outpost of some
other country.
The Episcopal Church in Clones is built on an eminence and is reached by
a serious flight of steps; it looks down on the ancient cross which
stands in the market place. This church is being repaired and was
therefore open, so I climbed the long flight of steps and went in to see
it. It certainly is being greatly improved. A grand ceiling has replaced
the old one, a fine organ and stained glass windows add to the glory of
the house. I had an opportunity of speaking with the rector, and his
curate, I imagine. They pointed out the improvements in the church,
which I admired, of course, and they told me some news which was of more
interest to me than either organ tone or dim religious light streaming
through stained glass.
They said that the temperance cause was flourishing in connection with
their congregation. Both these clergymen were strict teetotalers, they
said, and workers in the total abstinence field. The number of pledged
adherents to the temperance cause had increased some hundreds within a
given time. There was every encouragement to go on in the fight with all
boldness. Truly these gentlemen had good cheer for me in what they said
on this subject, for the drinking customs are a great curse to the
people of the land wherever I have been.
From Clones to Belturbet Junction, where there were no cars, and there
was the alternative of waiting at the station from two to seven p.m., or
getting a special car. Waiting was not to be thought of for a moment, so
got a car and a remarkably easy-going driver. He informed me that the
rate of wages about that part of the country was one shilling a day with
food. He thought the people were not very poor. The crops were good, the
wages not bad, and he thought the people were very contented. Belturbet
is another quiet little town, larger than Clones I should say. Like
Clones it has no newspaper, no specific industry, but depends on the
farmers round.
Procured a car and drove out to the village of Drumalee. The land is
middling good as far as the eye can judge. This neighborhood abounds
with small lakes. Here for the first time I saw lads going to fish with
the primitive fishing rods peculiar to country boys. The country round
here is full of people and there is no appearance of extreme poverty.
The houses are rather respectable looking, comparatively speaking.
There is a fine Catholic chapel in Drumalee built of stone in place of
the mud wall of seventy odd years ago. Saw no old people about and found
that almost the recollection of Father Peter Smith, the blessed priest
who wrought miracles, had faded away from the place, also that of his
friend the loyal Orangeman who always got Orange as a prefix to his
name.
The police in these midland counties are not so alert and vigilant, like
people in an enemy's country, as they are in the west. They do not seem
to have "reasonable suspects" on their minds. The asses of Belturbet,
although some of them appear dressed in straw harness, and with creels,
are well fed and sleek and do not bray in a melancholy, gasping manner
as if they were squealing with hunger as the Leitrim asses do. It rained
pretty steadily during the time I was in Belturbet, and the principal
trading to be seen from my window was the sale of heather besoms. A
woman and a young girl, barefooted and bareheaded, arrived at the corner
with an ass-load of this merchandise. They were sold at one half-penny
each. They were neatly made, and the heather of which they were composed
being in bloom they looked very pretty. How it did rain on these
dripping creatures! Being shut up by the weather I took an interest in
the besom merchants and their load, which was such a heavy one that a
good-natured bystander had to help to lift the load off the ass's back.
It was a long while before a customer appeared. At length a stout woman,
with the skirt of her dress over her head, ran across the street to buy
a broom. She bargained closely, getting the broom and a scrubber for one
half-penny, but as she was the first purchaser she spat upon the half-
penny for luck. Then came some more little girl buyers, who inspected
and turned over the brooms with an important commercial air, with intent
to get the worth of their half-penny and show to their mothers at home
that they were fit to be trusted to invest a half-penny wisely. They
bought and others came and bought until the stock began to diminish
sensibly.
A little man who had arrived with his load of besoms somewhat later sold
none. I saw him glance from his load to the stock of mother and
daughter, fast selling off, and become aware that his stock as compared
with theirs was rather heathery, and he began to trim off roughnesses
with his knife.
