At the same time this gentleman confirmed
the Athleague gentleman's statement that rents were raised past the
possibility of the tenant's paying, that eviction was cruel and
persistent, the belief being that large grass farms were the only paying
form of letting land. In fact, he said, he himself had evicted the
tenants on his property on pain of being evicted himself. He held land,
but at such a rent that if living by farming alone he would not be able
to pay it.
He gave some instances of boycotting. One was that travelling in the
neighboring county of Longford he had occasion to get a smith to look at
his horse's shoes, and was asked for his Land League ticket. On saying
he had none, the smith refused to attend to the horse's shoes. Roscommon
had boycotted a Longford man who had taken willow rods to sell because
he had not a Land League ticket, and a Longford smith in reprisal would
not set the shoe on the horse of a Roscommon man unless he had a Land
League ticket. When the gentleman explained that he had bought five
hundred of those same rods from that same man the smith attended to the
horse, and the boycotting was over.
I heard of other cases of boycotting. It is not by any means a new
device, although it has come so prominently before the public lately.
From Roscommon I crossed country past Clara and Tullamore, across King's
county into Portarlington on the borders of Queen's county.
Portarlington is the centre of a beautiful country full of cultivated
farms as well as shut-up and walled-in gentlemen's seats.
Walking down the principal street, I noticed a large placard fastened to
a board hanging on a wall; thought it was a proclamation and stopped to
read it. It was an exposition of the errors of the Catholic Church in
such large type that he that runs may read it. I have some doubts
whether this is the best way of convincing people of an opposite belief
of their errors. I went into the shop thinking I might perhaps buy a
newspaper. I fear me the mistress of the establishment, a timid, elderly
woman, imagined me to be a belligerent member of the attacked church
come to call her to account, for she retreated at a fast run to the
kitchen from which she called an answer in the negative to my enquiry.
Returning to my abiding place, I asked the hostess if the town contained
many Catholics. "Oh, dear no," she replied, "there are few Catholics.
The people are nearly all Protestants." In this neighborhood the
celebrated John George Adair, of Derryveigh celebrity, has a magnificent
residence called Belgrove Park. He has the name of being a very wealthy
man. He is not praised here, but has the reputation of being hard-
hearted, exacting and merciless. I doubted a little whether it was
really the same man, as they called him, irreverently enough, Jack
Adair, but to convince me they immediately began repeating the verses
with their burden of five hundred thousand curses on cruel John Adair,
which they could repeat readily with variations.
The railway facilities are very slow and conservative in their motions.
I could not get on to Limerick the same day, but had to remain over
night in Portarlington.
At Limerick Junction there was another wait of two hours, and at last we
steamed into Limerick. It is a large city of tall houses, large churches
and high monuments. The inhabitants say it was celebrated for its tall
houses five or six hundred years ago.
L.
THE CITY ON THE SHANNON.
The Shannon is a mighty river running here between low green banks. The
tide comes up to Limerick and rises sometimes to the top of the sea
wall. A fine flourishing busy town is Limerick with its shipping. I have
discovered the post-office, found out the magnificent Redemptorist
Church. Noticing this church and the swarm of other grand churches with
the same emblems and the five convents as well as other buildings for
different fraternities, noticing also the queer by-places where
dissenting places of worship are hidden away, one concludes that they
are in a Catholic city, and so they are. On Sunday found out a little
Presbyterian Church hid away behind some houses and joined its handful
of worshippers.
In the afternoon walked along the streets for some way and found myself
all at once in what is called the English part of the town, but which
looked more foreign than any place I have yet seen on my own green isle.
The houses were tall, and had been grand in King Donagh O'Brien's time,
I suppose. The streets were very narrow. The last week's wash, that
looked as if the Shannon was further away than it is, fluttered from the
broken windows of the fifth story. All the shops were open; there did
not seem to be any buyers, but if there were, they might get supplied.
The very old huckster women sat by their baskets of very small and very
wizened apples, and infinitesimal pears that had forgotten to grow. Two
women, one in a third-story window and one on the street, were
exchanging strong compliments. In fact, as our cousins would say, "there
was no Sunday in that English quarter worth a cent." I made my escape
with a sick longing for some one to carry a gospel of good tidings of
great joy in there.
Next morning I found out the English Cathedral, which is at the very
border, so to speak, of that forgotten place. It stands in pretty
grounds. The elderly gentleman who has the care of it, and who shows it
off like a pet child, happened to be there, and took charge of me.
