Mr. Corscadden
said to this man; "You are a bad farmer and you know it. You have about
L150 worth of stock; I will give you L40; leave my place and go to
America. He took the money," said the old gentleman pathetically, "and
did not go to America, but rented another farm. The woman at Glenade
whom you went to see I have kept - supported - for years. Her husband did
not pay his rent, and I gave him L10 to pay his passage to America. He
is a bad man. It is rumored that he has married another woman; his wife
never hears from him."
"It is wonderful, Mr. Corscadden," I remarked, "when you are so kind
that you have such a bad name as a landlord. Mr. Tottenham and you are
the most unpopular landlords in Leitrim."
"I do not know why; I act as I would wish others to do to me. I do not
forget that I have to give an account to the Holy One."
"You are accused of wasting away the tenants, because cattle and sheep
are more profitable than people."
"I transferred two to places down near the sea and gave them better land
than I took from them. I have been speaking about the others whom I paid
to remove."
"People complain that you took the mountain pasture from the tenants and
then raised the rent of the remainder to double of what they had paid
for all."
"Not double, nearly double. As to the mountain, I called them together
and proposed taking the mountain, as they had nothing to put on it; they
had not a beast. They consented, at least they made no objections. I
wanted the mountains for Scotch sheep. I put on about a hundred; there
are few to be seen now; they have disappeared."
He then mentioned the shooting at his son, the burning of the office
houses with hay and potatoes stored there, the trouble he had had about
the police hut which the constabulary had drawn to Glenade that morning.
"That will cost the country as much as L500," said Mr. Corscadden. "They
are unthrifty in this country, they eat all the large potatoes, plant
all the little runts, till they have run out the seed." (Alas, what will
not hunger do!) "They come into market with their butter in small
quantities, wasting a day and sacrificing the butter." (Need again: time
is wasted here, for labor is so plentiful and men are so cheap that time
has no value in their eyes.)
I asked Mr. Corscadden what he thought would be a remedy for this
dreadful state of things. He did not see a remedy except emigration. Mr.
Corscadden took his leave politely, wishing me a pleasant tour through
my own country.
