LIFE IN CONNAUGHT.* Tam is one of the most melancholy
books we have read for a long time, and all the more melancholy because the condition of Ireland in its most backward quarter remains as hope- less and unsetiled as ever. The English traveller who has visited the sublime but gloomy scenery of Connaught must have witnessed, in the hovels of the peasantry, scenes of destitution and misery to which there is no parallel in the rural districts of England. The people in that wild district possess many good qualities, and some equally striking faults. Their circumstances are unfortunate, and the training they receive is often unfriendly to such manly virtues as courage, truthfulness, honesty, and the sense of justice. The tourist who sees only the surface of the country will be attracted by the friendly greeting he receives from the poor people. For such a traveller, the roughest parts of the wild West will be found pleasant and safe ; but the Englishman or Scotchman who is unfortunate enough to own land in Connaught, and is determined to work it at a profit, will find his position one of constant annoyance and frequent peril. The soil of the barren mountain solitudes and sterile plains, which is fitted only for feeding sheep, is regarded by these poor people as theirs by divine right, and the Saxon who becomes an owner of the thankless soil is treated as an interloper.
Mrs. Houstoun's husband leased a large tract of land about twenty miles from Westport, in the wildest part of this wild country, and there for nearly a quarter of a century, and until the death of her husband, the writer's lot was cast. It was a position of discomfort, and even of danger. Rain is probably more persistent in Connaught than in any part of Great Britain, and the great loneliness of the residence built by the master of the estate must have been all the more felt in a climate wrapt in perpetual mist. The " Lodge" was three miles distant from Killery Bay, and lay in a cell de sac, with precipitous mountains, varying in height from two to three thousand feet, enclosing it on every side. The troubles of the Saxon adventurers—for such they may be truly called—soon began. Every one seemed in league to make the place too hot for them, and the priests denounced them from the altar. At one time, an attempt was made to murder the " Captain" and his wife, by upsetting their carriage at the brink of a precipice ; at another, incendiaries tried to burn their flocks, by simultaneously firing the sedge upon the hills. Sheep were often stolen, but conviction for such an offence " was, in almost every instance, unattainable." Once, indeed, the crime of sheep-stealing was proved, and the thieves im- prisoned ; but the conviction was sadly revenged, for that night poisoned meal was administered to the dogs, and in the morning six fine Irish setters lay dead upon the kennel-floor. All attempts to obtain proof against the perpetrators of this cruelty proved vain. ." From long experience of the Irish character, I think myself," says the writer, "justified in saying that the majority of the people take a positive pleasure in the mere act of concealing crime, and thus defying laws which it is their nature (simply because they are laws) to hate." Is it not the English who are responsible for this disastrous state of feeling The farm was divided by the bailiff, a Scotchman by birth, into separate districts, which were overlooked by nine High- landers. The house of one of these men, John Shaw by name, was one night fired into by ruffians, and the shots went through the window of the room in which his children lay asleep. The aim, happily, was " just an inch too high." The guilty men, it is scarcely needful to say, were never brought to justice. On another occasion, the miscreants were more successful. John Hunter, the bailiff of the " Captain's " large farm, took eventually a farm of his own. He is said to have been a man possessed of indomitable perseverance, and a rectitude of principle which gained him " universal confidence and respect." These feelings, however, were not shared by the neighbouring cotters, and Hunter, after taking out a summons • Twenty Years in the Wild West; or, IAA in Connaught. By Mrs. Houstoun. London: John Murray.
against one of them for trespass, became a doomed man. On driving to church one August afternoon, the poor man, sitting by his wife's side, was shot through the heart by a cowardly assassin, who, according to the usual course of things in Ireland, escaped all punishment for the crime. A servant-girl, who gave evidence against the murderer, had to flee for her life, and found safety and a home in the United States.
Mrs. Houstoun, though far from friendly to the Protest- ant clergy and to the Irish Church Missions, is still less friendly to the priests. Their greed, their ignorance, their pre- judice, the power they exert so freely by naming at the altar; all combine, according to the writer,—whose authority is obviously not to be taken as in any way final,—to debase the character of the peasants. Mrs. Houstoun has some pointed stories to tell of priestly intolerance, and considers that the faults of the peasants in the Wild West are due in great measure to the religious despotism under which they tremble.
She is blind to the other side of the question, and there is another side.
With regard to another evil that afflicts Ireland—absenteeism
—she has also much to say. This, indeed, is regarded by the writer as the principal curse of the country:— "In the County Mayo," she writes, " one of the most extensive in Ireland, the proportion of landlords who, from selfishness and lack of patriotism, live away from, and spend their income out of, the country, is very large. ' Is it absentees you mane ?' an Irishman is known once to have said ; allure we've lashings of 'em [lots of them] be- tween this and Dublin.' Laugh as we may at the blunder, who that has ever witnessed the results of the fact can think of it without reprobation and regret ? During the long years that I, an English- woman and a stranger, wearily passed in a land which so many wealthy Irishmen avoid as they would one plague-stricken, I can safely enunciate my belief that in the no inconsiderable portion of it which came under my notice, very few-landlords practically evinced the slightest inclination to sojourn on their estates . . . . no sense of duty and no willingness of self-sacrifice prompted that expendi- ture in the country of the money that they derived from it which alone could effectually benefit that country, and be a lasting credit to themselves."
Mrs. Houstoun may be forgiven if she takes a gloomy view of Irish life and character. Her book, we have no doubt, is
true as to its facts, viewed from her own point of view ; but it does not follow that we need accept all the infer- ences of the author, and iu some respects she has formed, we think, a one-sided judgment. Though she represents priests and peasantry as bent upon killing and " smashing up 'r the Saxon invader of their rights, the " Captain " did, not- withstanding, make his so-called invasion successful, and in due time, spite of all opposition, covered the hills with more than 20,000 sheep. We can believe, however, that the venture was a risky one, and shepherds armed with revolvers afford a painful proof of the difficulties under which farming may be carried on within a two days' journey from London. The priests, indeed, took the praise to themselves that the " Cap- tain" had not been shot years ago. Yet he seems, to judge from this narrative, to have proved a just and kindly master ; and Mrs. Houstoun, in the absence of medical aid, acted the part of a Good Samaritan, whenever her help was called
for. It is evident, however—and whether her state of feeling were wholly reasonable or otherwise, we need not inquire—that she never trusted the people among whom her lot was cast. Perhaps we have said enough of a book which is
written in a sentimental, feminine style, and has no value apart from the facts contained in it. Yet these facts assuredly claim notice, at a time when public attention is especially attracted to the condition of Ireland, and to the attempts made by agitators to turn the destitution of the people to political account. It is not necessary to accept all Mrs. Houstoun's judg- ments—from some of them, indeed, we entirely dissent—in order to discover in her pages much which, owing to the cir- cumstances of the time, is fruitful of suggestion.
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