The Irish standard., 1904-11-26

The following notes have been writ
ten by an English publicist who is liv-
ing among "congests'' in one of the
widest parts of Ireland, says the New
York Evening Post:
Nearly year ago 1 unpacked my
traps in tiny fishing-box in the west
ernmost west of Irish Ireland. The
fishing-box clings to the side Of a third
rate mountain in the middle of pro-
montory which thrusts it's granite head
lands right out into the Atlantic. am
a mile from the nearest cabin, three
miles from the nearest village, dozen
miles from railway station, and 80
miles from anything resembling a
town. The soil is bog, the fuel is peat,
the food is pig and potatoes, the reli
.gion is exclusively Roman Catholic,
the natives all speak Irish, and the
fairies dance on the hilltops every St..
Johns Eve.
On my way hither from England 1
was an object Of wonder to Dublin.
That a towny Briton, who was not
keen on slaughter with either rod or
gun, should transplant himself from
London and strive to strike root in a
waste place of Connaught excited
equal admiration and suspicion. Also,
it drew out immeasurable quantities Of
advice, especially from patriots who
had never Travelled SO miles west Of
Dublin in their lives. The advice had
an extensive range and covered all sub
jects from drinking water to Home
Rule; but only one of it's items has
anything to do with the present notes.
"Above all things" said one man Of
Dublin after another, don't expect
to meet the stage Irishman." I was
even presented with cutting from a
Nationalist weekly in which was faith
fully shown the harm that the stage
Irishman has done, is doing and will
do to the putative land Of his birth.
Good little Nationalists were solemnly
warned against supporting with their
.sixpences and shillings the theaters
and music halls where the stage Irish
man is known to flourish, and to the
managers of such establishments was
given a quite plain enough hint of an
:impending boycott.
I pulled up last in uttermost Con-
,naught and found that the newspaper
cutting had spoken truly. There was
mo sign of the stage Irishman in the
train, on the road, at mass, or any
where else. Not single Irishman
said ''Faix" or "Bedad." Not single
1rishman walked on both sides of the
highway at once with bottle of
whisky sticking out of the pocket Of
"a green tailed coat. Not single Irish
,man wore knee breeches, or green
stockings, or buckles, or "a silk hat
made of CLOTH" Not single Irish
man brandished shillelagh, or fell
over the pig, or called me "darlint'
4or begged drop of the "craythur." 1t
was true. The stage Irishman was Of
the stage, STACEY, and Connaught
knew him not at all.
Perhaps a month or five weeks
passed before I finally gave up the
Paddy of the playgoer's dreams, and
dismissed him into the land of myth.
Plainly the Nationalists knew their
ireland and their Irishman. But one
morning I was shocked by sudden
thought. Granting that the vogue of
the stage Irishman was founded on
fiction, what about the Connaught Ma
-tionilsts? My Dublin counsellors had
told me not only that the Pats and
Mikes of the theater-boards were an
anvention of the enemy, but also that
the cottars and fishermen Of the west
were in truth and in deed earnest pat
riots. clear-minded and ole-hearted
in their designs upon agrarian and po.
1itical reform. Yet this patriot of the
Dublin Nationalist ecstasies seemed as
fllusory as the comic servant of the
melodramas. When political topics
were broached, my Connaught neigh.
bors looked blankly stupid. If spoke
in their hearing. as 1 did often and
warmly, of England's misgeyernment