Morning journal and courier., 1888-12-29

depopulation of great estates, transforma-
ton of countless comfortable holdings into
"grszing lands" as wild as when the barbar-
ic kings had their helots and herds, have an
initiated labor. Thers is no labor IN much
of the west of Ireland for those too poor to
live and stay, and in whom all hope has fed
that they may ever escape the lifelong hor-
ror Of their present existence. The very
dens in which they are permitted to remain
by these lords of the land yield an income
greater than that secured by many an Amer
lean money-king. This rent, which covers
the privilege of simply remaining, at the
agents will, as ''care-taker," in horrible dis
comfort, and the use of piece of earth from
an eighth to half an acre in area, is the slen-
der hold these unfortunate people have upon
the very breath of life in Christian land
So out of these generous conditions fur
nished by the ruling classes, have come from
fifteen to twenty thousand "Irish harvest
ers, !" who leave their wretched homes in ear
ly spring, tramp to Dublin, Belfast or some
other eastern seaport town, and, after CROSS
ing the channel, swoop down upon the Eng
lish and Scotch rural districts, and there bat
tie with the native peasantry in savage des-
deration for q share of the labor rightly
wholly the latter's; returning as 1t were curse
upon curse for the laws that have made them
helpless and hopeless in their own land.
Their belongings consist of the rags on their
backs, with usually a pair of hob-nsiled
shoes. sickle, cradle, scythe or fork, either
of which is wound with twisted rushes in
marvellous patience and care, perhaps cup
can, and always sort of covered stew
pan made Of tin or sheet-iron. It is their
habit to go in squads, for company's sake, for
messing purposes, and, of ohiefest impor
tance, for mutual protection in defence or
aggression in the ferociouS encounters often
waged with the English and Scotch farm Ia
borers, whose very source of subsistence is
thus constantly attacked by their brethren in
misery from Ireland. But their wages are
as nothing; they live outdoors like swine
and upon the most loathesome food; and
when the harvests are done work their way
back to the Irish Sea coast, picking up bit
of work here and there like rsvenous beasts;
finally cross the channel and again seek their
lightless homes. If they have saved enough
to pay their rant, aud, with whatever little
their families may have helped during their
absence. exist from one year to another in
the most horrible manner known to man,
they have truly done an almost superhuman
task. l have seen these Irish harvesters
landing in Dublin from the channel ships, or
being loaded into cars for the west at Dublin
stations, cursed at, hustled, cudReled and
pounded worse than though dumb animals,
and yet bearing all with the light of home-
saving shining from their gaunt faces and
hollow eyes, in way that wrung my heart
until could have shrieked in pain and pro-
test. Where under the sky above us all,
where within the civilization of which we
boast, where within the knowledge-and I
say it reverently-of the God that is, may be
found such inexpressible devotion, such pro-
longed and incalculable suffering, such pa
tience illimitable and supremea
elbows livery shovelful of yea" was the
laeopic greeting I received. SIN regards av
attn an drinkin' an the like" continued
the harvester, 'tye'll get nuth'n' fur nuth'n'
on the bridge o. Kilcock, an yell be only
lickin' me pan fur yer intrusion; though,
God knows, yer welcome as the day to that;
an will be attn to wonct, fur a bonny
| brides aisy dressed; an it's as good a world
as iver 'twas-ye can still buy two farthing
candles fur a ha'penny. Faith, now, I'll
hold ye it's true yer feelin' little pickish
(hungry) yersePp
Yes, yes, yes, and ever yes, from me, as he
| ratified on But bidding him wait little, I
brought from my tiny Moycullen post-sta-
l tion and shop such stores of good things as
| never before gladdened two belated winter
| tremps; and the warmed blood and grateful
| spirit set his tongue to a wondrous wagging,
1 in which I recall that he wished with intense
l earnestness, "May the top of yer herd never
4 folly yer hair" that despite "the ache O. the
l gout in the elbow of his leg," his unexpect-
1 ed happiness compelled him to dance furi-
Gus Jig upon the rotten stones of the ruin
| which proved SO forlorn performance that
he pleaded, f'what he lost in the dance he
| made up in the whirligig;" and called me
| over and over, with trembling pathos in his
! tones, ga suilligh machree" Qight of my
| heart) for the little human kindness he had
| perhaps for the first time in all his life been
4 shown. Then I got the sore-boned, sore
| looted wanderer upon his way. Far over
upon the savage Conemara coast, away above
Clifden, were his waiting ones; and l knew
/ it would brighten his tramp to travel beside
l him: So in the bright winter day we walked
| and talked along the walled road, having no
care for the scornful looks of passing nobili-
| ty, no fear for the suspicious looks of passing
constabulary, and only answering looks and
/ words Of cheer to the ragged peasantry
| whose tender hearts ever show responsive in
| terest to even the least indication of eHortfnl
priyation and sorrow. Towards midday a
strange cortege passed US, and we stood with
uncovered heads the while. An hundred
| petticoated men and women, from the Bally
| nshinch mountains to the west, starved
eaunt, ragged, wildly picturesque and
strange, bearing rude, unpainted deal-boz
| upon their shoulders within which lay one
dead, went by on their way to the Moycullen
| grave ward Now and then the coffin would
| be set upon the earth. Their piteous lamen-
tation arose. Pausing, lamenting, progress.
| ing, waiIing, the weird, wild living and dead
| passed from sight; but never from ones
memory could be effaeed that awful scene
/ and sound.
| At the side of all Irish roads are found
| every few miles walled compartments, open
| to the highway, called "stone-pockets" fol
storing broken stone required from time to
| time in road repairs In one OF these We
| found an old Irish pensioner breaking stone,
as he had done for quarter of century at
| shilling day. 1t was warm and sunny
| there in the ''stone- pocket" We divided
our feod with him, and the r-haired old
| white slave felt he must make an effort &c
interest and recompense the stranger. The
1 how orEy
| or sign, which ia chiseled into stone, if such
| be found at angles of survey. 1t is called
| the "broad arrow or scrow's foot" and
consists of tiny circle, from which radiate
like the sticks of a fan, three arrow-like Inv
dentations. Bringing US to one of these with
dignity, the old man withdrew his hat, and
pointing to the broad arrow, asked with I'M
pressive solemnity.
"D'ye mind that?"
| 'sI do" says I.
| stThim prints2' says he.
| fThe same" says l.
sThim, sir''-and here the old man seemed
| foot taller for the momentous revelation
upon his lips-"thim, sir, wor the tread o1
the aigle before the food"
And go we passed the day, We too tramps
in Ireland reaching lovely little OughterarG
as the shuddering winds brought the night
| and the great swIrls of fog from the sea-
| Here housed my Harvester" friend, with
an extra bit of silver in his pocket for the
needs of the dreary way he still had to go
came back with the roaring "long car" into
quaint old Galway town; overheard by
chance among the stablemen at the posI
stations of this marvellous little Madigan inr
| where nobody ever came; because of thai
| sought it out among the ghostly and silent ter
century old streets, hurried into its wondroui
warmth and sweetness by the startling echoes
of my own foot falls; receiving from Johr
Madigan, and Ellie, his wife, that sort of {
suspicious, boisterous, wondering, wonder
full, tender and awful, irish welcome, which
told, as best may, for most unique, charac
terful incident of these west of Ireland folk
the most unique and characterful people tina
live. EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.