Disturbed Ireland : $b being the letters written during the winter of 1880-81Becker, Bernard H. (Bernard Henry)
History
Disturbed Ireland : $b being the letters written during the winter of 1880-81
Becker, Bernard H. (Bernard Henry)
Ireland -- Social conditions; Working class -- Ireland
Mr. Drinkwater has thus the satisfaction of knowing that his
neighbour, Lord Inchiquin, who has commenced improvements on his own
account, has obtained 8,000l. at 1 per cent., while he pays 5 upon the
large sum employed on the Clare Slob Reclamation; a state of things
greatly enjoyed here as turning the laugh against "the Saxon."
Being sceptical about the "slob," I went to see it. When I started the
moon was shining so brightly that it would have been impossible to
miss a landlord at forty yards. The sky was as blue and clear as that
of Como or Lugano; but the wind which swept over Ballyala's sapphire
lake was of a "nipping and an eager" quality, not commonly encountered
in Italy. The ground was as hard as steel and as slippery as glass,
and the first half-mile convinced us that the best thing to be done
was to get off the car, catch hold of the mare's head, and try to hold
her on her legs while struggling to keep on our own. It was three
miles to the nearest blacksmith's, but there was nothing for it but to
walk to Ennis as well as might be along the slippery road.
This mode of progression was very slow, and it was nearly half-past
eight when we reached that centre of political and alcoholic
existence. Leaving the mare to be "sharpened" we strolled through the
town in contemplative mood. Not a shop was open. Not a blind was
drawn. Not a soul was stirring excepting the blacksmith, who had been
knocked up comparatively early by the market folk. There was ample
time and space to inspect the fierce but sleepy-headed town. In the
main street I observed six grog-shops, side by side, actually shoulder
to shoulder, cheek by jowl. Another street appeared to be all
grog-shops but for the ominous exception of an undertaker. About nine
o'clock a few people came out of chapel, and shortly afterwards the
butchers' shops gave signs of life, one opening on each side of the
main street, and blinking like a bloodshot eye upon the slumbering
groceries and groggeries, drapery stores, and general drowsiness.
Ennis was evidently sleeping off the previous day's whisky, and
preparing to renew the battle with "John Jamieson."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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