‘The country is doomed,’ he said. ‘The people are lazy, thriftless, and priest-ridden. The best of them are flying to America, and those that remain are dying away, drifting into lunatic asylums, hospitals, and workhouses. There is a curse upon us. In another twenty years there will be no Irish people--at least, none in Ireland. Then the English and Scotch will come and make something of the country.’ From Canon Beecher he met with scarcely more sympathy or understanding. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘no doubt we ought to make more efforts than we do to convert our fellow-countrymen. But it is very difficult to see how we are to go to work. There is one society which exists for this purpose. Its friends are full of the very kind of enthusiasm which you describe. I could point you out plenty of its agents whose whole souls are in their work, but you know as well as I do how completely they are failing.’ ‘But,’ said Hyacinth, ‘I do not in the least mean that we should start more missions to Roman Catholics. It does not seem to me to matter much what kind of religion a man professes, and I should be most unwilling to uproot anyone’s belief. What we ought to do is throw our whole force and energy into the work of regenerating Ireland. It is possible for us to do this, and we ought to try.’ ‘Well, well,’ said the Canon, ‘I must not let you make me argue with you, Conneally; but I hope you won’t preach these doctrines of yours to my daughters. I think it is better for them to drop their pennies into missionary collecting-boxes, and leave the tangled problems of Irish politics to those better able to understand them than we are.’ CHAPTER XV