Chapter 41

"Ascendency is their game. Would they be tolerant? Why ask such a question? When was Roman Catholicism tolerant, and where? Is not the whole system of Popery based on intolerance, on infallibility, on strict exclusiveness? Let me give you a few local facts to show their 'tolerance.'

"In the old times the Monaghan Town Commissioners were a mixed body. Catholics and Protestants met together in friendly converse, and the voting went anyhow, both religions on both sides, according to each man's opinion of the business. Nowadays, wherever in Ireland the two sects are represented the thing is worked differently, and you may know the voting beforehand by reference to the members' religion. We are not troubled with this in Monaghan, and for the very best of reasons--all the members but one are Roman Catholics, and the solitary Protestant is a lawyer who has always been identified with them, and has always managed their legal business. He is practically one of themselves, having always acted with them.

"When the modern political agitation became rife, the Romans of Monaghan, under the orders of their priests, at once ousted all Protestants, except the one I have mentioned, who does not count, and monopolised the Town Council ever since. They forgot something--Lord Rossmore has a claim on the market-tolls and other similar payments which amount to about three hundred pounds a year, but so long as the Town Council was worked by a mixed body of Catholics and Protestants he consented to forego this claim, and made the town a present of the money, which was expended in various improvements. Three hundred a year is a large sum in a small country town where labour is cheap, and in fifty years this sum, carefully laid out in ornamental and sanitary arrangements, quite changed the aspect of the place. When, however, the priests came on the scene and determined to have things exclusively in their own hands, Lord Rossmore did not quite see why he should any longer give the money to the town. And let it be understood that his agent had always been a prominent figure on the Monaghan Town Council, which was very right, having regard to the three hundred pounds given by Lord Rossmore, and to the agent's superior knowledge and business experience. He had been kicked out with the rest, and so it was made known that in future my lord would keep the money in his own pocket. They were astonished and suddenly cast down. 'Fear came upon them, and sorrow even as upon a woman,' &c.--you know the text. They said the money belonged to them, and really they had had it so long that they might be excused for believing this. Lord Rossmore was firm. They fought the thing out; but where was the good? They were beaten at every point. They had no case. So the town is three hundred pounds a year worse off, and Lord Rossmore three hundred pounds better. And still they will not allow a Protestant on the Council, although nearly all the best business men are of that persuasion. How's that for tolerance? And if such a thing be done in the green tree what will be done in the dry? If they flog us now with whips, won't they flog us then with scorpions?"

Another thraitor to his counthry's cause, said:--"A great idea with the priests is this--to get hold of the education of the country. They do not like the present system of National education. They do not approve of their youthful adherents growing up side by side with Protestant children. At first the Catholic bishops welcomed the scheme of National education, but now they are averse to it. They have seen how it works. It goes against them. It has been weighed in the balance and found wanting. The Catholic children grew up in amity with their neighbours, and got dangerously liberal ideas on the subject of religion. They were getting to believe that it mattered little whether Catholic or Protestant so long as a man's life was right. I went to school with Catholics, grew up with them, was always friendly with them, and we keep up the friendship to this day. The Catholic bishops disapprove of this. They want the line of cleavage sharp and distinct. Fifty years ago mixed marriages were common enough. Such a thing never happens now-a-days. It is most stringently forbidden by the Catholic Church. A priest told me that emigrants to America, such as had been educated in Irish National schools, along with Protestant children, were very apt to drop their Romanism when once separated from their native parish, and to become Protestants. I suppose he meant to say that long familiarity with the unclean thing had undermined the wholesome dislike of heresy which every Catholic should feel, and that therefore such familiarity should be, if possible, avoided. Years ago the priest would be friendly with his Protestant neighbours. We all lived together pretty comfortably. Of late a great change has taken place. The clergy as far as possible leave us, and cause us to be left, out in the cold. The question of Home Rule is entirely a religious question. Parnell was actuated by what might fairly be called patriotism; that is, comparatively speaking. The clergy saw in his fall a grand opportunity to use the movement he had created for the furtherance of their own ends. Home Rule is a purely Roman Catholic movement, and has had the most regrettable results on the amity of neighbours everywhere. Formerly the question of religion never arose. Now nothing else is considered. The Papists are almost unbearable, while they as yet have only the hope of power. What they would become if once they grasped the reality God only knows. I am not prepared to stand it, whatever it be. My arrangements to leave the country have long been made. At my age it will be a great grief, but I have always lived in a free country, and I will die in a free country. I was born in the town, and hoped to end my days at my birthplace. But I shall go, if it almost broke my heart, rather than see myself and the worthy men who have made the place domineered over and patronised by Maynooth priests. _Ubi bene, ibi patria._ Where I'm most happy, that will be my country."

The road to Kilmore is through a beautiful park-like country heavily timbered with oak, ash, beech, chestnut, and fir. Tall hedgerows twenty feet high line most of the way, which in many parts is completely overhung with trees in green arches impervious to rain. The country is undulating, with sharp descents and long clumps of beeches and imposing pine woods, bosky entrances to country seats and grassy hills, covered with thriving kine. From the church itself an extensive landscape is seen on every side. A deep valley intervenes between the church and a pretty farmhouse. I find a narrow lane with high hedges, covered with honeysuckles, which seems to lead thitherward. A man is toiling in a field hard by, digging for dear life, bare-armed and swarthy. I mount the gate and make for him. He remains unconscious, and goes on digging like mad. His brow is wet with honest sweat, and he seems bent on earning whate'er he can. Perhaps he wishes to look the whole world in the face, having an ambition to owe no rent to any man. I woke him and asked why the flags were flying on Kilmore steeple.

"To the pious, glorious, and immortal memory of William of Orange, who gave us an open Bible, and delivered us from Popery brass money, and wooden shoes. We put them up on the first of July and fly them till the twelfth, when we walk in procession through Monaghan."

"An Orangeman, and a black Protestant, I fear?"

He laughed merrily, and said he was proud and thankful to be both. "If we didn't hold together, and associate in some way, we might quit the country at once. By banding together we hold our ground, and we will do so until Home Rule comes on us. Then we'll have to give in, about here. We're in a minority."

"Don't you think the Papists would be tolerant?"

"Aye, aye! Toleration indeed. As tolerant as a cat to a mouse. As tolerant as I am to this thistle, bad scran to it," said my friend, fetching up the obnoxious weed with a vigorous stroke, and chopping it to pieces with the spade, after which he shovelled it to the bottom of the trench. "Why, sir, the Papists are beginning to assume mastership already. Before this Government had been a fortnight in office the dirty scum began to give themselves airs. I mean, of course, the lowest of them. They were not so civil as before. Tolerant, ye say! Sure anybody that heard ye say the like of that would know ye were a stranger in the counthry."

The farm house was a model of cleanliness and neatness, James Hanna a model of a hard-working, debt-paying, honourable farmer. The living rooms had every accommodation required for the decent bringing-up of a family; and the parlour, with its carpets, knick-knacks, and highly-polished solid furniture, showed both taste and luxury. Mrs. Hanna, a buxom lady of middle age, was hard at work, but for all that, the picture of comeliness and neatness. The children were just coming in from school, well clad and good-looking, the boys ruddy and strong, the girls modest and lady-like. Mr. Hanna was hard at it in some contiguous field, but he came round and told me that he held twenty acres of land, that the rent was £24 10s., that his father had the farm for more than fifty years, that he was a Protestant, a Unionist, and a strong opponent of Home Rule. I have visited two other farms of the same size in Mayo and Achil, both held by Catholic Home Rulers. The rent of the Achil farm described by its holder, Mr. McGreal, as "very good land," was seventeen-and-sixpence for the whole twenty acres. McGreal was very poor, and looked it. His house was of the type described in my previous letters. Mr. James Hanna pays more for each acre than McGreal for his whole farm, and yet the Kilmore man is prosperous, his house, his family, all his belongings suggestive of the most enviable lot. A gun was hanging over the fire-place, which was a grate, not a turf-stone. I asked him if he used the shooting-iron to keep his landlord in order. He said No, he was no hunter of big game. I may be accused of too favourable an account of this farmhouse and its inmates, but I have (perhaps somewhat indiscreetly) given the name and address, and Monaghan people will agree with me. A more delightful picture of Arcadia I certainly never saw. Cannot Englishmen reckon up the Home Rule agitation from such facts as these, the accuracy of which is easily ascertainable by anybody? Everywhere the same thing in endless repetition. Everywhere laziness, ignorance, uncleanliness, dishonesty, disloyalty, ask for Home Rule. Everywhere industry, intelligence, cleanliness, honesty, loyalty, declare that to sanction Home Rule is to open the floodgates to an inrush of barbarism, to put back the clock for centuries, to put a premium on fetichism, superstition, crime of all kinds, to say nothing of roguery and rank laziness. What are Englishmen going to do? Which party will they prefer to believe? When will John Bull put on his biggest boots and kick the rascal faction to the moon?

Monaghan, July 8th.

No. 46.--A BIT OF FOREIGN OPINION.

The military call and spell the name Inniskilling, which corruption is probably due to the proverbial stupidity of the brutal Saxon, and is undoubtedly another injustice to Ireland. The Inniskilling Dragoons have won their fame on many a stricken field, and to them the town owes any celebrity it may possess. From a tourist's point of view it deserves to be better known. It is a veritable town amidst the waters, and almost encircled by the meandering channels that connect Upper and Lower Lough Erne. It consists almost entirely of one long, irregular, but tolerably-built street, at both ends of which you cross the river Erne. A wooded knoll, crowned by a monument to Sir Lowry Cole, who did good service under Wellington, is a conspicuous object, and through openings purposely cut through the trees, affords some very pleasing views. A hundred steps lead to the top, and the ascent repays the climb. The Cuilgach range, source of the Shannon, the Blue Stack mountains of Donegal, the ancient church and round tower of Devenish, an island in the Great Lough Erne, and due west the Benbulben hills, are easily visible. Devenish island is about two miles away, and, although without a tree, is very interesting. Some of the Priory still remains, and I have found a Latin inscription in Lombardic characters which, being interpreted, reads Mathew O'Dughagan built this, Bartholomew O'Flauragan being Prior, A.D. 1449. There is a graveyard next the ruins, and a restored Round Tower, eighty-five feet high, not far away, the door of which is ten feet from the ground. These towers are sprinkled all over the country, and in nearly all the door is eight feet to twenty feet from the ground. The process of eviction seems to have been present to the minds of the builders. The sheriffs' officers of a thousand years ago must have been absolutely powerless in presence of a No Rent manifesto. Steamers are running on the Lower Lough from Enniskillen to Belleek, about twenty-two miles. You can sail there and back for eighteen-pence. The Upper Lough is said to be still more beautiful, the tourist agents have recently been trying to open up this lovely island-studded lake. The beauties of Ireland are as unspeakable as they are unknown. The strip of sea holds some tourists back, and others seek the prestige of holiday on the Continong. A German traveller, hight Bröcker, declares that Ireland beats his previous record, and that the awful grandeur of the Antrim coast has not its equal in Europe, while the wild west with its heavy Atlantic seas, is finer far than Switzerland. Germans are everywhere. The Westenra Arms of Monaghan boasted a waiter from the Lake of Constanz, and I met a German philologist at Enniskillen who had his own notions about Irish politics. He ridiculed the attitude of England, or rather of Gladstonian England, and rated Home Rulers generally in good set terms.

"The business of England is to rule Ireland. Justly, of course, but to rule. That is if England has any regard for her own reputation. A colonel must rule his regiment, a teacher must rule his class, the captain must rule his crew, or disorder and damage to all parties will be the inevitable result. England stands to her acquisitions, whether conquered or peacefully colonised, in the relationship of head of the family. She has one member who is troublesome. There is always one black sheep in the flock. There was a Judas among the twelve. England has one, only one, at present, of her numerous family who gives extraordinary anxiety. And why?

"Difference of race and difference of religion. The double difference is too much. The races would amalgamate but for the religious difference. They would intermarry, and in time a sufficient mixture would take place; would have taken place long since but for the action of Rome. Rome keeps open the old wound, Rome irritates the old sores. Rome holds the two nations apart. We in Germany see all this quite plainly. We have no interests at stake, and then, you know, lookers-on see better than players. Rome keeps Ireland in hand as a drag on the most influential disseminator of Protestantism in the world. Ireland suits her purpose as a backward nation. We have quite snuffed out the Pope in Germany. Education is fatal to the political power of Rome. Ireland is not educated, and suits her purpose admirably. You will not succeed in satisfying Ireland, because Rome will not allow the Irish to remain quiescent. Rome will not permit Ireland to rest and be thankful, to fraternise with England, to take the hand of friendship, and to work together for good. This would not do for the Church. Any Romish priest will tell you that his Church is destined to overspread and conquer every country in the world, and that of all possible events that is a thousand times the most desirable. An independent Ireland, whose resources would be in the hands of the Romish Clergy, and whose strategetical position would be the means of aiding some Catholic power to crush the prestige of England--that is not a possibility too remote for the imagination of Romish wirepullers. Are Englishmen acquainted with the history of Papal Rome? Have they adequate knowledge of the subtlety, the craft, the dissimulation, the foresight of this most wonderful religious system? I think not, or they would be more on their guard against her Jesuitical advances. The idea of your Gladstone going to your Parliament to hand over this country to Rome under the specious pretence of remedying Irish grievances, is too ridiculous. I ask myself where is the English commonsense of which we have heard so much in Germany?

"England must be master. Not with tyranny; of that there is no danger, but with a judicial firmness. Your system of party government has good points, but it has weak points, and the Irish make you feel them. You pay too much attention to Irish clamour. I have been partly living in England for twenty-two years, and I have seen your Gladstone 'finally' contenting the Irish three or four times. Now, if he understood the subject at all, he ought to know that for the reason I have stated satisfaction is impossible. No use healing and dressing a wound which is constantly re-opened. No use in dressing a sore which is deliberately irritated. Rome will keep England going. With your Home Rule Bills, your Irish Church Bills, your successive Land Bills, how much have you done? How far have you succeeded in pacifying Ireland? Are you any nearer success now than ever you were? On the other hand, does not appetite grow with what it feeds on? The more you give, the more they want. They are far more discontented than they were before the passage of the three Land Bills, by each of which your Gladstone, your amusing Gladstone, declared he would pacify and content the Irish. And now your Gladstone is at it again. Funny fellow! He is like the Auctioneer with his Last time, for the Last time, for the very Last time, for the very _very_ Last time. And the grave English nation allows itself to be made a sport. It is mocked, derided, by a number of lawyers' clerks and nonentities from third-rate Irish towns. It is bullied by a handful of professional politicians, paid by your American enemies, and governed by the flabby-looking priests you see skulking about the Irish railway stations and parks and pleasure resorts. As I said before, England must be master, as the captain is of his crew, as the tutor of his class, as the colonel of his regiment; or she will go down, and down, and down, until she has no place nor influence among the nations. And she will deserve none, for she knew not how to rule.

"England is at present like a ship's captain, who in his futile endeavours to please one of his crew first neglects the management of the ship, and, then (if she grants Home Rule) allows the discontented person to steer the course. And all to please one silly old man, who should long ago have retired from public life. What man at eighty-four would be reckoned competent to manage a complicated business enterprise such as a bank, or an insurance business, or a big manufacturing affair, or a newspaper office? Yet you allow Gladstone to manage an Empire! Where, I ask is the English sense, of which we hear so much in Germany? You want a Bismarck to make short work of these Popish preachers of sedition. You want a Bismarck to rid your country of the Irish vermin that torment her. The best Irishmen are the most brilliant, polite, scholarly men I ever met. None of them are Home Rulers. That should be enough for England without further argument. Your House of Lords has sense. That will be your salvation against Gladstone and Rome."

At the _Imperial_ was a warm discussion anent the propriety of keeping alive the memory of the Battle of the Boyne, which the Orangemen celebrate with great pomp on July 12. "The counthry's heart-sick of Orange William an' his black-mouths," said a dark-visaged farmer. By black-mouths he meant Protestants.

"The blayguards are not allowed to shout To Hell wid the Pope now-a-days. In Belfast they'd be fined forty shillin's. An' they know that, and they daren't shout To Hell wid the Pope, so they roar To Hell wid the Forty Shillin's. That's what I call a colourable evasion. But the law favours them."

A man of mighty beard looked on the speaker with contempt. "Sure, 'tis as raisonable to celebrate King William, who _did_ live as a Saint like Patrick, Phadrig as ye call him, who never existed at all. At laste, that's what some of them say. Ye mix the life an' work of half-a-dozen men, an' ye say 'twas all Saint Patrick. Sure, most of him is a myth, a sort of a fog, jist. Ye can't agree among yerselves as to whin he was born." Turning to me, the bearded man said, "Did ye ever hear the pome about Saint Patrick's birthday?"

I regretfully admitted that the masterpiece in question had escaped my research, but pleaded in extenuation that I came from England, where the rudiments of polite larnin' and the iliments of Oirish litherature have not yet permeated the barbarian population. Barbatus then recited as follows:--

"On the eighth day iv March, as sum people say, St. Patrick at midnight he furst saw the day. While others declare on the ninth he was born, Sure, 'tis all a mistake between midnight and morn! Now, the furst faction fight in Oireland, they say, Was all on account of St. Patrick's birthday. Some fought for the eighth, for the ninth more would die-- Who didn't say right, they would blacken his eye. At length both the parties so positive grew, They each kept a birthday, so Patrick got two. Till Father Mulcahy (who showed them their sins) Said, No man can have two birthdays (barrin' he was twins). An' boys, don't be fightin' for eight or for nine; Don't be always disputin', but sumtimes combine. Combine eight wid nine, seventeen is the mark, Let that be his birthday." "AMEN," said the clerk. "Tho' he wasn't a twin, as history does show-- Yet he's worth any other two saints that we know. So they all got blind drunk, which complated their bliss, An' they kept up the custom from that day to this."

"An' why wouldn't we remimber King William? An' why wouldn't we remimber that the Enniskillen Protestants went out an' smashed up the Papists under Lord Mountcashel, at Newtownbutler, on August 1, 1689? The very day of the relief of Derry--so it was. An' more than ever now we need to keep our heads above wather. Ye've an old fule over there that's thryin' to upset the counthry wid his fulery an' his Home Rule. But we'll not have it! Never will we bow the neck to Rome. In the name of God, we'll resist to the last moment. Every man will stand to his arms. Leave us to settle with the Papists, and we'd hunt them like flies. Thim an' their Army of Independence! 'Twas an' Army of Independence they levied to help the French invasion. The poor parleyvoos landed at Killala (ye can see where they entrenched their camp), and marched with the Irish Army of Independence to Castlebar, where the English smashed them up, the Irish Catholic levies bolting at first fire or before it." Four or five nameless stones mark the graves of French officers killed in this engagement. I saw them on my way from Castlebar to Turlough's Tower. My Orange friend went on:--"We'll send a hundred Orangemen to fight their Army of Independence. They shall be armed with dog-whips, to bring the brutes to heel. No, we'll not send a hundred, either. We'll send thirty-two, one for each county of Ireland. 'Twould be a trate to see the Army of Independence hidin' thimsilves in the bogs, an' callin' on the rocks an' hills to fall down an' cover thim, an' the airth to swallow them up."