LOYALTY IN THE "BLACK NORTH"--GENTLEMEN'S RESIDENCES--A MODEL IRISH
ESTATE--A GOOD MAN AND HIS WIFE--VISITING THE POOR.
Down in the North the loyalty is intense and loud. An opinion favorable
to the principles of the Land League it would be hardly prudent to
express. Any dissatisfaction with anything at all is seldom expressed
for fear of being classed with these troublers of Ireland.
The weather is very inclement, and has been ever since I landed. Snow,
rain, hail, sleet, hard frost, mud, have alternated. Some days have been
one continuous storm of either snow or sleet.
The roads through Antrim are beautifully clean and neat, not only on the
line of rail but along the country roads inland. The land is surely
beautiful, exceedingly, and kept like a garden. The number of houses of
some, nay of great, pretensions, is most astonishing. Houses set in
spacious and well-kept grounds, with porter lodges, terraced lawns,
conservatories, &c., abound. They succeed one another so constantly that
one wonders how the land is able to bear them all, or by what means such
universal grandeur is supported. There is an outcry of want, of very
terrible hard times, but certainly the country shows no signs thereof.
The great wonder to me is where the laborers who produce all this
neatness and beauty live? Where are the small farmers on whom the high
rent presses so heavily? Few houses, where such could by any possibility
be housed, are to be seen from the roadside. There are so very few
cottages and so very many gentlemen's houses that I am forced to believe
that the peasantry have almost entirely disappeared. Yet I know there
must be laborers somewhere to keep the place so beautiful,
Ballymena, always a bustling place, has spread itself from a thriving
little inland town into a large place of some 8,000 inhabitants.
Notwithstanding the depression in the linen trade, this town presents a
thriving, bustling appearance as it has always done. The number of
whiskey shops is something dreadful. The consumption of that article
must be steady and enormous to support them. There is squalor enough to
be seen in the small streets of this town, but that is in every town.
The public road from Ballymena to Grace Hill passes through the Galgorm
estate which passed from the hands of its last lord, through the
Encumbered Estates Court, into the hands of its present proprietor. On
this estate a most wonderful change has been effected, and in a short
space of time to effect so much. During the old _regime_, and the
good old times of absentee landlordism, squalor and misery crept up to
the castle gates. The wretchedness of the tenants could be seen by every
passer-by. The peasantry tell of unspeakable orgies held at the castle
even upon the Sabbath day. The change is something miraculous. The waste
pasture-like demesne is reclaimed and planted. The worst cabins have
entirely disappeared; the rest are improved till they hardly know
themselves.
They match the new cottages for which the proprietor took a prize. These
little homes with their climbing plants, their trim little gardens, look
as if any one might snuggle down in any of them and be content. The
castle itself looks altered; it has lost its grim Norman look, and
stands patriarchal and fatherly among the beautiful homes it has
created.
Not far from the castle gate is a pretty church and its companion, an
equally pretty building for the National School. I enquired of several
how this great improvement came about; the answer was always the same,
"The estate passed into the hands of a good man who lived on it, and he
had a godly wife." Passing the pretty little church I heard the sound of
children's voices singing psalms, and was told that the daughter of the
castle was teaching the children to sing; I noticed _In Memoriam_
on a stone in the building, and found that this church was built in
memory of the good lady of the castle, who has departed to a grander
inheritance, leaving a name that lingers like a blessing in the country
side. So the old landlord's loss of an estate has been great gain to
this people.
It is in the country parts, more remote from the public eye, that one
sees the destitution wrought by the depression in the linen trade.
People there are struggling with all their might to live and keep out of
the workhouses. Hand-loom weaving seems doomed to follow hand-spinning
and become a thing of the past. Weavers some time ago had a plot of
ground which brought potatoes and kale to supplement the loom, and on it
could earn twelve shillings a week. But alas! while the webs grew longer
the price grew less and they are in a sad case.
I called, with a friend, on some of these weavers: one, an intelligent
man, with the prevailing Scotch type of face. We found him, accompanied
by a sickly wife, sitting by a scanty fire, ragged enough. This man for
his last web was paid at the rate of twopence a yard for weaving linen
with twenty hundred threads to the inch, but out of this money he had to
buy dressing and light, and have some one, the sickly wife I suppose, to
wind the bobbins for him. He must then pay rent for the poor cabin he
lived in, none too good for a stable, and supply all his wants on the
remainder.
Another weaver told me that all this dreary winter they had no bed-
clothes. They think by combining together they will be able to obtain
better prices; but they are so poor, the depression in the trade is such
a fearful reality that I am afraid they cannot combine or co-operate to
any purpose. However, people in such desperate circumstances grasp at
any hope.
It is wonderful with what disfavor some of these people receive a hint
of emigration. It seems like transportation to them. Truly these Irish
do cling to the soil.
The weavers seem to blame the manufacturers for the reduction of wages.
They complain that the trade is concentrated into a few hands; that
therefore they cannot sell where they can sell dearest, but are obliged
to take yarn from a manufacturer and return it to him in cloth. They
complain that he still further reduces the poor wage by fines. As many
of these have only a hut but no garden ground, they have nothing to fall
back on. There are many suffering great want, and with inherited Scotch
reticence suffering in silence. There may be some injustice and some
oppression, for that is human nature, but the hand-loom weaving is
doomed to disappear, I am afraid.
There are some complaints of the high price of land here, and of the
hard times for farmers, but there is no appearance of hard times.
Laborers are cheap enough. One shilling a day and food, or ten shillings
a week without food, seems to be the common wage. The people of Down and
Antrim, as far as I have gone, are rampantly loyal to Queen and
Government and to all in authority. If a few blame the manufacturers, or
think the land is too dear, the large majority blame the improvidence of
the poor. "They eat bacon and drink tea where potatoes and milk or
porridge and milk used to be good enough for them." It is difficult to
imagine the extravagance.
I went through part of the poor-house in Ballymena. It is beautifully
clean and sweet, and in such perfect order out and in that one is glad
to think of the sick or suffering poor having such a refuge. What fine,
patient, intelligent faces were among the sufferers in the infirmary.
The children in the school-room looked rosy and well-fed, and the babies
were nursed by the old women. So many of them--it was a sad sight
indeed.