Henry Kingsley - "The Recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn"

Thames Ross Williamson - "Problems in American Democracy"

Anthony Trollope - "John Bull on the Guadalquivir from Tales from all Countries"

George Berkley - "The Querist"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Letters of Norah on her Tour Through Ireland

M >> Margaret Dixon McDougall >> The Letters of Norah on her Tour Through Ireland




Rappa Castle where we arrived with a beggarly feeling of having
exhausted our adjectives is a large comfortable building not very much
like one's idea of a castle. We drove up to the rear entrance--it is
always prudent to take the lowest room--and waited on the car while a
messenger was despatched with our request. Presently the messenger came
back with directions to us to drive round to the hall door. We were
received by a respectable servant in plain dark clothes, who looked like
a minister or a mild edition of a churchwarden. He ushered us from the
entrance hall--a comfortably furnished apartment--across a second, into
the crowning glories of a third, where we were requested to wait till
Captain Knox made his appearance, which was not a long time.

The owner of Rappa Castle, a landlord against whom nothing in the way of
blame is said, was assuredly of as much interest to us as the relics
which his house possessed. A tall, fine looking, kindly faced man, rosy
with health, courteous and pleasant, came into the room. We told our
errand and the Captain went for the Mias Tighernain and placed it in our
hands. It is evidently only part of the original dish, the socket where
the upper part rested being still there. It is very heavy, formed of
three layers of thin bronze bound at the edge with brass--evidently a
later thought, and done for preservation. There are three bands of
silver across it, which show the remains of rich figuring. There was
originally a setting of three stones, one of which still remains and
looks as if it might be amber. It is as large as a soup plate. Something
is among the layers of metal which rattles when shaken. It is one of the
oldest relics in the country. Whoever made it had no mean skill in the
art of working metals. According to a certain Father Walsh it was used
to wash the saint's hands in at mass. This dish, after lying at the
bottom of Lough Conn for a hundred years, came up to the surface and
revealed itself. It has been used as a revealer of secrets ever since it
came into the hands of the Knox family. We requested afterwards to see
the clock of Moyne Abbey, and were taken by the courteous captain across
other rooms to the flagged kitchen, where the clock ticked as it has
done for three hundred years--or since the Abbey was dismantled, how
long before history hath not recorded. The case is of some dark wood
beautifully carved. I thought it was bog oak; Captain Knox said
mahogany, which would make the case to be much younger than the clock.
The Captain assured us that it was the best time-keeper in the world. It
only requires winding once a month; used to show the day of the month,
but some meddler disarranged that part of the machinery. The dial plate
is of some white metal, brilliant and silvery. Captain Knox said it was
brass, but I have seen things look more brazen that were not so old.

Nothing could exceed the courtesy of Captain Knox. He made some
enquiries about Canada, and deplored the rush of cattle across, which
was injurious to the interests of graziers, of whom he was one. It would
have been discourteous to express the wish that lay in my mind, that
they might come in such numbers as to lower the price of cows and
grazing also till the poor man might be able to have a cow oftener and
milk to his "yellow male" stir-about till it might be not quite so
impossible to replace the cow seized for the rent and the County cess.

I saw a trial in the papers lately of a woman who was in bed, in her
shake-down, when she became aware that the cow--the only cow--was taking
a lawful departure. Up she got, in the same trim as that in which Nannie
danced in Kirk Alloway, and by the might of her arm rescued the cow. She
was condemned to jail, but one's sympathies go with the law breakers
here often. At least mine do. I did sympathize with this woman of one
cow and a large family. Why should any one have power lawfully, to
"lift" the only cow from half-starved children. The defence for this
woman was that through trouble she did not know what she was doing. It
was a mean, paltry defence; she did know that she wanted to keep her
cow, and the law should be altered to enable her to do so. The law that
enables men of means to strip these poor wretches of everything that
stands between them and their little children and starvation, is a
monstrous law for Christians to devise and execute, and is worse for the
rich and for the executive of the law than even for the sufferers. All
these things flashed through my mind as we conversed with Captain Knox.

On leaving Rappa Castle we paused a little on the doorsteps to take one
more look at the beauty of the grounds. I wish I had words to convey to
others a little of the delight which the scene gave to me. The trees,
branched down almost to the ground, have gotten themselves into so many
graceful attitudes. The bending thick-leaved branches look like green
drapery, the larch flings its tassels down in long pendants fluttering
in the breeze, the spruce and balsam--they are a little unlike ours of
the same name, but I do not know any other names for them--rise in
pyramids of dark green tipped with sunny light green, the cedars fling
their great arms about cloaked with rich foliage, the laburnums shake
out their golden ringlets and tremble under the weight of their beauty,
the copper beeches stand proudly on an eminence where every graceful
spray shows against a background of blue sky. There are vistas opening
among the trees giving glimpses of the brightest green and dashes of
waters like bits of captured sky.

I gave a glance at the owner, tall and stately, with ruddy, pleasant
face and kind blue eye, and acknowledged that he looked every inch an
English squire.

With many thanks for his kindness we took our departure. Were glad to
hear from both friend and car driver that nothing of cruelty and
oppression could be laid to the charge of this man. As I stood beside
him at his own door, drawing all of the beauty I could into my soul
through my eyes to carry away with me, I thought if I were born into
that place with its associations, could I, would I mar any corner of it
to make a homestead for starving Thady, ragged Biddy, and the too
numerous children? Who knows what transformation might lie in the pride
and power of possession!

There was a single laborer working before the castle raking up the
gravel walk, I think. "I would he were fatter!" If he were only in as
good condition as the beautiful dogs of superior breed which we saw in
the castle yard; but the dogs are fed at the expense of the proprietor
of this fair domain, the thin laborer at his own. We returned by another
way. After we left the grounds we noticed with sad eyes the miserable
cabins and barren fields at his gates. People of the upper, middle and
comfortable classes are so used to horrible cabins, thin laborers, old
women, barefoot, toothless, ragged and wretched, begging by the wayside
to keep out of the dreaded workhouse, that the sight makes not the
slightest impression. People tell me over and over again that they
deserve their poverty, for it is the result of extravagance and
drunkenness. This assertion makes one stare and then consider whose
faces show the greater evidence of the action of different liquors. It
would be an easy matter in a national gathering to pick out the class
and the strata of society that is the support of the liquor traffic in
Ireland.




XXXV.

WORKHOUSES--THE POOR LAW--A REASONABLE SUSPECT.


Returning from Rappa Castle we must pass the Ballina workhouse. My
friend had business there. As it was Board day, and I had about an hour
to spare, I thought I would look in and see what I thought of it in the
light of a possible refuge for many evicted ones. There were some
wretched looking people, applicants for out-door relief, waiting about
the entrance when we went in. I have been informed and have seen it
confirmed in newspaper reports of the proceedings of Boards of
Guardians, that it is a rule of universal application by every means
possible to discourage out-door relief in every form. "Let the poor come
into the union altogether," is the spirit that actuates the Boards of
Guardians, so it was pointed out to me that these applicants for out-
door relief had small chance of success.

It was a Board day, and the master of the house, a polite little man,
apologized profusely for not accompanying me over the building. He
deputed the schoolmaster of the establishment to show me through in his
place. I followed the Ballina Schoolmaster of the Union from the
entrance along the gravel walk bordered with flowers to the house
proper, and into the refectory or eating room. One does not want in
every workhouse to look at the same things, when they see they are the
same as in the last. I noticed the set of printed rules hung up on a
card and lifting it down sat down to read the rules contained on it.
They were very strict, and conceived in such a spirit that a naturally
tyrannical man could make a pauper's life a very miserable burden to
him.

After I read these rules I questioned the schoolmaster, a very nice
person, as to the administration of this workhouse. He casually
mentioned that able-bodied paupers only got two meals in the day. This
was such a surprising statement to me that I said, "Your workhouse then
is harder to the poor inmates than the workhouses elsewhere. I have made
enquiry in several places as to the diet given, and they invariably told
me of three meals, mentioning also that they had meat allowed them three
times per week."--They have given you "the infirmary diet," said the
schoolmaster, gravely. We conversed a little while on this subject, and
as I was to go by train to Castlebar, fearing my time was too short, I
did not penetrate into the workhouse any further.

Coming out we encountered the doctor, a very courteous person. Hoping to
get further information, confirmatory or contradictory of this most
astounding piece of news respecting the food allowance, I referred to it
before the doctor, who qualified the statement by informing me that if
actually engaged at work for the house they were allowed a third meal. I
was thoroughly surprised at this. The conviction forced itself upon me,
that the poor having taken refuge in the house from actual starvation,
the house considered itself justified in keeping them on short commons
ever after.

As I left the building feeling very sad over this information, I could
not help wishing that these creatures, guilty of the crime of poverty,
had the nourishing fare given to the criminals in our common gaol at
Pembroke on the Ottawa. Now the workhouses are by no means crowded; the
Ballina workhouse, for instance is empty enough to afford a wing as a
temporary barracks for some military. I have been told by what I
consider good authority, that for every shilling levied of the
distressingly great poor rate eightpence is needed to pay the
administrative officials. While thinking of these things, I take up the
Castlebar local paper and notice in the report of the proceedings of the
Board of Guardians, that a doctor not attending to his duty through
being "in a state of health not compatible with much exposure to rough
weather or country professional work," was to be allowed for a still
greater length of time a substitute at three guineas per week. During
the debate on this motion a member reminded the Board that last year
they paid L54 for substitute work for one official on the plea of ill-
health; another complained that sums of L50 were voted to officials,
while paupers were denied shillings of out-door relief. Still another
complained that the auditors would disallow the relief given to cases
which require relief, while they never disallow sums paid incurred by
leave of absence of officials.

The whole administration of the poor law is complained of pretty
universally in this style. The poor rate is excessively high, the
administration very expensive, and the economy is practised where it is
least needed, is the complaint I hear again and yet again.

At the station a great crowd and a rather excited one was assembled. A
Mr. Moffany had been arrested as a reasonable suspect, and was to be
taken to Kilmainham. The man who was arrested was a small, sickly-
looking, by no means interesting specimen of humanity, slightly lame. He
was in some sort of shop-keeping business. The crowd on the platform was
dense and composed mostly of the poorer class, who were enthusiastic
enough for anything. The policemen in charge, civilly and politely, with
no fuss or force, got their suspect into a second class carriage and got
in beside him. The suspect put his head out of the window and addressed
the crowd, expressing his willingness to suffer for the good cause, and
said he was not likely to come out of the prison alive owing to his
state of health. He advised them to be law-abiding and to go home
quietly.

Oh, the cheering there was; the endeavors to get near enough to shake
him by the hand; the surging to and fro of the crowd, the half-crying
hurrahs of the women; the waving of handkerchiefs and caps was something
to be remembered. As the train moved off slowly the people ran alongside
cheering themselves hoarse, shouting words of encouragement and
blessing, of hope and farewell till the train quickened its speed and
left them behind.




XXXVI.

DEPARTURE OF EMIGRANTS--TURLOUGH--THE FITZGERALDS--FISH--THE ROYAL
IRISH WATCHDOGS.


The day on which I had to return to Sligo from Castlebar an immense
crowd was gathered at the station, and I wondered what was the matter.
It was a gathering to see emigrants start for America. The emigrants
took the parting hard. If they had been going to instant execution they
could not have felt worse. Three young girls of the party had cried
until their faces were swollen out of shape. The crowd outside wept and
wailed; some clasped their hands over their heads with an upward look to
heaven, some pressed them on their hearts, some rocked and moaned, some
prayed aloud--not set prayers, but impromptu utterances wrung out by
grief. The agony was so infectious that before I knew what I was about I
was crying for sympathy.

I was not to say sorry for them, for I knew the fine, healthy, strong
girls were likely to have a better chance to help their parents from the
other side of the water than here, and the young men might make their
mark in the new world and make something of themselves over there. Still
it was hard to witness the agony of their parting without tears.

When the carriage moved off, the cry "O Lord!" with which the passengers
started to their feet and the relatives outside flung up their hands,
was the most affecting sound I ever heard. It was a wail as if every
heart-string was torn. A countryman explained to me that the Irish were
a people that wept tears out of their hearts till they wept their hearts
away. By the conversation of the emigrants, I found that one girl had
turned back. "She failed on us, my lady," said her comrade. "Her heart
gave up when she saw the mother of her in a dead faint and she turned
back. One has but the one mother and it is hard to kill her with the
bitter grief of parting before the time."

People who have travelled much, and are loosely tied to any spot on
earth, ridicule the affection of these mountain people for their cabin
among the hills, but love of home is a glorious instinct, and if the
country of these people could afford them a little bit of the soil for a
home--liberty to live and toil--they would be both loving and loyal. All
the poor want is permission to live in a corner of their own country.

Castlebar is reached by rail. The station is a little out of town.
Castlebar is the first town where my few belongings were fought for. The
victor in the strife was a most determined old man. I thought he had a
car, but he had only his sturdy old legs. He shouldered my big bag,
little bag and bandbox and trudged off. I ventured to ask him had he not
a car. "Sorra a car, miss. After all your sitting in the cars sure it
will do you all the good in life to walk a bit." They think to flatter
elderly women by calling them Miss individually.

I had an introduction to a member of the Royal Irish Constabulary in
Castlebar. He was son to a gentleman who was kind enough to claim
kindred with me in Antrim. When I alighted from the cars I noticed a
sub-constable with quiet face taking note of all arrivals, and saw that
he was good enough looking to be an Antrim man. Found I was right and
entered Castlebar protected by a member of the force. Paid the
victorious old heathen who had walked off with my luggage the price of a
car, partly for his bravery and partly for his impudence. The approach
to Castlebar from the station, about a mile, is bounded on one side by
Lord Lucan's demesne, shut in behind a high wall, over which the tall
trees wave their arms at you. Another domain, Spencer Park, I think, is
on the other side, and as it is only shut in by a hedge, one gets
delicious peeps at it as one goes along.

Went, with my new acquaintance, who got leave and put on plain clothes
for the occasion, to the small Presbyterian Church in Castlebar. There
were about a dozen present. Presbyterianism does not, as a rule,
flourish in Mayo, though there are a good many small congregations and
many mission schools.

My friend of "the force" got leave of absence for a day and having got
into plain clothes drove with me to Pontoon Bridge between Lough Conn
and Lough Cullin. As we passed the poor-house he told me of the awful
crush that took place round its doors, where the relief was served
during the scarcity. The press and struggle of the hungry creatures were
so dreadful that no serving could be attempted for some days. I could
not help pitying the force standing in mud ankle-deep trying to beat
back the frantic people, to make serving the relief possible. But, oh!
the despair of the people who had to go and come again because the press
was so great. It seemed to a civilian like me that the matter was badly
planned and by heartless people, or two or even three places would have
been appointed for the distribution of the relief and not send them home
without. I often wonder if I am too tender-hearted, too easily moved.
The want of feeling toward the very poor strikes me forcibly wherever I
turn. I think that it was not so to such a perceptible degree before the
poor-houses were built. I solemnly think the Poor Law system educates
people into hardness of heart.

The road out from Castlebar was very beautiful but thinly populated. All
gone to grass near the town, hardly any cottages at all. Our first visit
was to Turlough where there is a round tower with an iron gate quite
close to the ground. The other two which I had seen before at Devinish
and at Killala had their doors about eleven feet from the ground. The
top of this round tower was broken and it had been mended by the
Government. There is a story among the peasantry to the effect that it
never had been finished at all. They say it was the work of the
celebrated _Gobhan saer_, an architect who seems to have had a hand
in every ancient building almost. The finishing of the rounded top of
this tower was done by an apprentice who was likely to rival his great
master. He, in a sudden fit of jealousy, before it was quite finished
pulled away the scaffolding and the too clever apprentice was killed.

There is a ruined abbey adjoining the round tower. It is roofless and
open, yet still an iron gate opens from one part to another. Here in
this abbey has been the burying-place of many of the sept of the
Fitzgeralds, and it was interesting to pass from tablet to tablet and
read of the greatness that had returned to dust. The most remarkable
dust which moulders here is the celebrated George Robert Fitzgerald, a
man who was handsome, well educated, who had spent much of his time at
the French Court. In Ireland he felt himself as absolute as King Louis
(le petit grand). In pursuance of a private feud he arrested his enemy,
and with a slight color of law murdered him. The act was too glaring, he
was tried and to his great surprise hung. The rope broke twice, and the
country people believe that the breaking of the rope gave him a right to
a pardon. They tell me that the sheriff, a personal enemy, in spite of
the signs and tokens of the breaking ropes, hung him while he had a
reprieve in his pocket. There is a kind of Rob Royish flavor about the
memory of this man in the country side.

Continued our drive to Pontoon. As soon as the land became rugged, boggy
and comparatively worthless the tenant houses became more plentiful. Saw
some sheep about, which is always a cheering sign amid the utter poverty
of the people. On the way to Pontoon, on the top of a rock stands one of
the famous rocking stones of the Druidical time in Ireland. A party of
soldiers in their boisterous play determined to roll it down from the
rock. This they were unable to do, easy as the matter looked, but they
destroyed the delicate poise of it, and it rocks no more.

The rocks become bolder and the scenery wilder as you come to the shores
of Lough Conn. Lough Cullen, or lower Lough Conn, has bare round-
shouldered rocks sleeping round it, reminding one of the rocks on the
Ottawa about the Oiseau. The Neiphin Mountain towers up among the rocks
far above them all, looking over their heads into the lake. Lough Conn
is three miles long, and in its widest place three miles wide. Where the
upper and lower lakes meet it is narrow as a river, and over this the
bridge is placed. The marvel here is that a strong current sets in from
Lough Conn to Lough Cullen half the time, and then turns and sets from
Lough Cullen to Lough Conn. The bridge is called Pontoon because a
bridge of boats was made here at the time of the French invasion.

Saw some fishermen fishing in the lakes. There were many boats here and
there lying on the sandy shore, or anchored out in the lake. These
fishermen had no boats; they had waded out waist-deep, and stood fishing
in the water dressed in their shirts. As the fishing is strictly
monopolized, I should not wonder if these breekless, boatless fishermen
were poaching.

The quantum of fish in the waters, the scarcity of fish on the shore is
often referred to as a proof of the people's laziness. The fishing is so
severely monopolized that fish diet and fishing are to the people almost
lost arts. I heard of the delicious oysters found on the coast, but one
would require to go to England or Dublin to test their flavor. Lobsters
could be purchased in their season at Montreal, but not at the seaports
in Mayo. I asked for a bit of fish at Castlebar, where I remained some
time, and once succeeded in buying a small herring, for which I paid 2
1/2 pence.

To return to Pontoon; we stood on the bridge in the sunlight and drank
in the scene--broad blue waters, spotted with islands, guarded by the
munitions of rocks, watched over by the eternal mountains, bald and
wrinkled, every wrinkle scored deep on their brows, heather on the
cliffs, ivy creeping some places, ferns waving their delicate fronds in
another; bare, desolate grandeur here, tree-crowned hill tops waving
their magnificence before you there. This was the scene spread out on
either hand.

We came back over the bridge to the police barracks, sitting on a rock
with its back to a grove of trees, and reached by a flight of stone
steps. I was introduced to the sergeant in charge, a fine specimen of
the Donegal men. Tall and straight, strong and kindly are the men of
Donegal. The sergeant took us to a hill back of the barracks where was a
very lonely vale surrounded by steep hills wooded to the top. Down the
perpendicular sides of this hill a waterfall dashes in the rainy
seasons, but it was only a tinkling splash at this time. The sergeant
and I had some conversation about Donegal, and of course Lord Leitrim.
This noblemen has graven his name with an iron pen and lead on the rocks
for ever.

We bade adieu to the kindly sergeant and drove back to Castlebar in the
quiet evening. Opposite the Turlough round tower is the charming
residence of a Fitzgerald, one of the race whose dust moulders in an
aristocratic manner in the ruined abbey of Turlough. This gentleman, not
thinking himself safe even under protection, has left the country. Only
fancy a squad of police marching from their barracks in the dusk, five
or ten miles as the case may be, pacing round a gentleman's house in
rain or snow, sleet or hail, no shelter for their coercion heads, no
fire at which to warm their protecting fingers; pace about from dusk
till dawning, march back to barracks and to a few hours' rest. I was
silly enough to suppose that the protected family would provide a bowl
of hot coffee for their protectors through the silent watches of the
night, or a glass of the handier and very popular whiskey, but dear, oh
no! the most of them would not acknowledge the existence of the Royal
Irish protectors with a word or a nod no more than if they were watch
dogs.