Morning journal and courier., 1888-12-29
THE MIsKRIRs OF ICELAND.
Wess-Cheerful Despite Their Power
tY-Some Types of Irish Character.

GALWAY, ireland, Dec. 1S.
To the Editor of the JOURNAL AND COURIER:
It is wild and eerie way down through the
Irish counties of Fermanagh, Cavan, Rosg-
comon, Sligo, Mayo and Galway to the an
cient city of Galway by the sea. Between
the upper waters of the Shannon and the
ocean are desolate bogs, reaches of hideous,
verdureless rock, lakes of silence and mys-
terry, tarns gloomy and drear, mountains
around which ever fit the gray speotres of
the mist, and here and there silent old ruins,
lifeless, and hut and cabin with just enough
of the old Irish race left in them to intensity
the desolation brooding upon the countless
deserted cabins whose tenantry are evicted
and gone. AS I came through this land, once
known as that portion of Ireland geograph1-
cally west of the law, it so happened in my
trampings that scarcely heard the sound OF
human voice; for confess that the dry side
of some ruin-wall, or the sweet rim of some
stack of fax or oats, when wrapped snugly
in my blanket and poncho, mad more blessed
comfort in it of nights than sharing even the
glad hospitality of SO utterly wretched
people, Tramping and camping as tramp
had other returns. 1t brought me- chance
acquaintance, and that happening brought
me to the little inn where I am housed in
Galway, and that little inn and its owners,
John and Ellie Madigan, are two Irish souls
that should not only prosper in Galway but
live in literature; for, altogether, in all Ire
land and the wide, wide world "There's none
like 'em save their two blessed selves" as
Nell Morris, the Galway ish-wife, solemnly
pledged me over her bottle of stout, charged
to my humble reckoning at the cozy bar of
this wonderful Msdigsn inn.
Lettering by weird and romantic Corrib
Tough, crossed 1t at Clenmors, and linger-
ing too long in feasting on the marvellous
scenes upon its western shores, was belated
in my walk to Galway town. Coming into
the ancient walled Oughterard road where
the great rows of beech and sycamores sob
and plant in grewsome winter threnodies,
the night fell in with me on my way; and
along at the edge of nesting, moss-covered
Moycullen, found a snug old ruin where
the banked leaves gave fragrant bed for the
night when / awoke the sun WAS shining
clear upon a matchless Irish winter day.
The starlings swept through the crisp air
ioyously The feld-fares were never 30
busy. Wrens hoped in and out of the
hedges in timid elation. Blackbirds We'd
with DAVIS and rocks in satisfied, tumultuous
chattering And one true robin sang az if to
call from all the bird-life haunts to that one
spot the tender melodies of outdoor summer
days. And there over the wall, not three
feet from where lay, issued another song.
It was not one of even flow, but came in bits
and breaks as if some deeper purpose than
song let out the bars and slaves in spite of,
rather than on account of, the weightier i'm
mediate impulse:
'sYe Iasses and bucks lave of yer sly looks
While sing Of one Thady O'BFady-
an it's a fine country this, an fine state I'm
in wild nine months o. the year toilin' an
scrapin'-
While sing of enc Thady O'Brady-
Yeogh-h-h-E- -ham-m-m-O-ho
Bra-dyl An me toes lookin' fur me soies,
an me hair aiten by rats, an tn ould woman
consuunin' the poreens buyin' masses fur me
sowl while Pm wandherin' fur lost, to save
the price of the murdherin' rint-
Who courted Miss Reilly so snug an SO slyly-
and it's so snug an SO slyly I'm dhrampin',
the law
Determined to make her his lady;
But before he'd begin to commit that great sin
an the childer1l put the dog an me afore
can clutch the dure, an the ould woman'll
shame me afore thin with her blistherin'
tongue
Which the clargy they call matrimony-
the divil take Ireland and tnim that's 'hol-
den fur it, whin a daycent man finds no la
Dor to kape the roof above him
His furniture all he would tell at one call
That he'd give to his own dariln' honey
an there, me fine sundown, {Pufl-puffi)
ye'll burn like Cromwell's blszes now, an
the stew yell give me must carry me legs
that's failin' siven days beyant-Howly moth
er o. Mosesi-phat's thatf'
With my heel I had dislodge6 some rot
ting mortar and stones from the crumbllng
ledge upon this Irish song and circumstance;
and from the exclamation fearing that some
catastrophe had befallen, vaulted the wall,
coming down on my feet within the wretched
belongings of a poor, God-forsaken "Irish
| harvester" the most woebegone specimen OF
| human 1 had ever found in Ireland, pitifully
ragged and foot-sore, yet who, with grand
| and exalted bravery, to save few shillings
| for his wife and little ones far over there on
| the wild Conemara coast, had tramped and
| starved from Dublin; and now, as my un-
known fellow -lodger of the night under the
/ old ruin-wsll, was endeavoring to get little
| filthy food heated over dead furze fire he
| had kindled; still with song and a wall on
his hungry lips, just as the curse of Irish
| misfortuaes blend in every word. thought or
impulse from every lowly Irish heart.
| Ny new-found friend was not an Irish sui
| generis He was but one of o host OF
wretched beings whom Irish landlords have
| transformed into more than slaves; for slaves
| as ohattsls at least know the comforts OF
/ domestic beasts. For quarter of a century
past the great Irish landowners of the west
have mercilessly evieted tenants with heart
lsssness aud cruelty no pen can depict. The
land is depopulated. In a twenty-mile walk
you may see from five hundred to one thou,
| sand tenantless holdings, the oabin-roofl
| fallen in, the bare walls alone standing, as II
an angry army had swept Jshsf face -af tbs
earth with fire and sword A few sheep ON
fewer black CATTLE browse about the spot
that once were lsbor's, loves and hopes. Il
the great castles are the retinues and tn
guarded agents. The owners, titled or un
titled, are on the Riviera, or erowding Parli
angent corridors In London seeking more rig
oreus LAWS for Ireland. And God aion