The New York herald., 1922-08-06

4 dIQ machines. w ITO VIII l1dQ ltl
Those are the questions which four
and "a quarter millions of Irish at
home and nearly thirty millions of
Irish descent abroad are asking The
writer at least believes that the events
of the European war and the Irish
war with Great Britain have cast their
shadows so clearly on the screen of
time that he who runs may read. Ire
land is at last emerging from her
twilight of the gods to take her place
upon the stage of the world with NOR
tails who are shaping a world of con-
crete fact rather than a world of the
imagination.
Natural Resources Enough
For Nation of Fifty Millions
The future of economic Ireland turns
upon two pivots--the one man power,
the other machine power. OF the man
power she has a plethora. because to-
day, working as she is with obso-
lete methods, she is not utilizing
more than third of her brain and
Drawn. OF machine power. because
OF her immense natural resources.
whether from coal. water OF industrial
alcohol. she has enough to run the
productive side of a country of fifty
millions, as will be shown later.
Within the last year OF two the
writer has spoken with nearly every
leading man or woman in Ireland
and in the Ireland of tomorrow the
woman is going TO play leading role
upon the constructive as well as the in
spirational side. CThe Irishman him
self is half woman in his intuitions.
his feline subtlety. his unconscious
contempt for the intellectual process.)
Within that time | have criss-crossed
north, south, cast and west perhaps
some four or five thousand miles.
chatting here on some bleak Come
mara roadside with half starved
peasant snatching sustenance from
the stony adversely of the western
strip of which Cromwell thought when
he said, ITO hell or Connacht' track
ing there the crooked labyrinth of the
mind of the "gombeen" king. or
usurer: sitting by the peat fire in some
mid-Irish farmhouse with its shrewd,
gray eyed owner his eye glued to the
land, not to Ireland; exchanging the
time of day now with Dublin shop
keeper. nov with n little grocer in the
Donegal hills: marveling at the un-
romantic mind of the fisherman of the
west in his currdch, his dark blue eye
set on the main chance and his little
potato patch or in some Dublin or
Belfast tenement house listening to
the dark secrets OF some patriot gun
man TO whom the shooting out Of a
,.1s
a candle.
| have dned and wined with the
Irish hierarchy as with the Irish
priests, from men like the Bishop
of kilaloe TO the little curate of some
western village, men like Father Grif-
fin, shot and thrown into Galway bog,
who paid for their devotion to country
with their lives. Or perhaps I have
sensed the story of the future Ireland
at midnight in the Clare hills at some
Sim Fein midnight court, or in "the
Black North heard it within the
walls of the Ulster Reform Club. the
sdnctum sdnctorum of Carsonism,
from the lips of men like Andrews and
Pollock. tho present Ulster Ministers.
hospitsble in the free Ulster way TO
Within that period | have met Ire
lands half hundred Bolsheviks tthere
are not morel. from the /. w. w.
Celts fresh from the copper mines of
Butte. Mon, breathing death against
the capitalist. to that beautiful young
Arran islander, fair and tall as Angus
the Irish god. who himself scarcely
knowing English believed himself a
Leninte and mixed up most dolefully
Lenin and Kathleen nj Houlahan.
There passes before the minds eye
In the human labyrinth that is Ire
land lace and button factories set
within tho purple Of the everla asting
hills Of Mayo and Donegal: zoo
mile ribnon Of brown road fla nked hy
bogs stretching into eternity on either
side IN the wastes OF the west. where
one imagined the lenrechopn and the
clUricoure. the fairy inhabitants. to
look wondering from the edge Of some
iridescent pool as tho stink devil swept
past to the dismay Of the land of
fserie. Here. by the side Of the road. Is
lying an overturned mail cart with
the driver dead under the wheels and
. little beyond the wild eyed children
C1 IOfInWeEI ndHli'i are NlnElnZ 10
the stranger the songs Of tho Gael in
their native tongue Here curing
station clings desperately TO the fore
shore Of Galway inlet with FIVE miles
beyond the ruins ~ gutted police
barracks and a disconsolate "Peeler'
10 mourn the lost glories not Of Erin
but Of the r. &c.
Congested District Board officials
end inspectors Of the Royal Irish con
stabulary now passing into limbo,
burly parish priests Of the old Nation
alist type bcwldered by the coming Of
Sim Fein and the unwonted turbu-
lence of their curates. cooperators
dreaming not ~ hlue lake Or purple
mountain but Of shining gold. million.
sfre brewers dour trlatermen with
the turn of snndle and tho plonk of
power machine IN their faoea. prov-
ainnai Government officials hleasine
Griffith and cursins De Valera. or Re-
publican hercticn sending Griffith n
hell and their chief 10 high HEAVIER
This medley cf tho Ireland of to-day
passes as IN = sort of gigantic cine
matovrarh show and leaves
behind gathering # not very distinct