Ballinrobe, On The River Robe, Is Near Lough Mask, And Is Another Quiet,
Pretty, Leisurely Little Town.
I was troubled with neuralgia and did not
see much of it.
Opposite the hotel was the minister's residence, amid
gardens, all shut in behind a stone wall high enough for a rampart.
Through an archway from the street was the church where he ministered,
sitting meditating among the tombs. I wandered into this place one day
on my way to the post-office. Noticed the great number of the name of
Cuffe who were buried there. Cuffe is the family name of Lord Tyrawley.
The Catholic church sits back from the street a good way and the ground
before it is laid out in flowers. There are some images of saints
through the grounds, which are set in arches of rock work, over which
climbing plants are trained. There is also a community of Christian
Brothers, who have a school here. Their building had so much glass in
front, with so many geraniums in flower, a perfect blaze of them behind
the glass, that it looked like a conservatory.
Left Ballinrobe behind and drove to Lough Mask Castle, where the
celebrated Captain Boycott managed to kick up such a fuss. We passed a
couple of iron huts occupied by policemen, who came out to look at us. I
may as well mention that after I left Ballinrobe I found that the driver
was more "than three-quarters over the bay." He had a way of talking to
himself on the land question, of Captain Boycott, Lord Mountmorris and
Lord Ardilaun, that was not pleasant to listen to, especially as he
spiced his monologue with many words that savored strongly of brimstone.
I was not without hope that the fresh air might dissipate the fumes of
liquor from his brain as we drove along. I had the more hope of this as
I could see that he was a habitual drinker, poor man, as his face but
too plainly testified. Drink is universal here, as medicine a universal
remedy, as a daily, almost hourly, stimulant for young, and old, rich
and poor, man and woman. They tell me that Scotland is worse; if so,
Scotland should be prayed for. I confess that I have not seen much
drunkenness. I saw very few that I could call drunk, but it is constant,
steady, universal, or almost so, sipping and tippling.
XLII.
LOUGH MASK CASTLE - CAPTAIN BOYCOTT AND HIS POLICY - LORD MOUNTMORRIS.
Well, my Jehu did sober up considerably before we halted at the
entrance gates of Lough Mask Castle. The sharp hi! hi! of the driver
brought out the gate keeper, a poor looking and sour looking woman, who
admitted us into the drive which lay through some fields and beside some
young plantations. In one place the driver pulled up, our way lay
through a large field divided by the road into two unequal parts.
He told me to look round me, which I did.
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