The grassy
condition of every place strikes one while passing along; but Roscommon
seems to be given up to meadow and pasture land almost altogether. The
hay crop seems light in some places. The rain has been so constant that
saving it has been difficult in some places. I saw some hay looking
rather black, which is an unbecoming color for hay. Roscommon is a very
level country as far as I saw of it, and very thinly populated.
The town of Roscommon has a quiet inland look, with a good deal of
trading done in a subdued manner. There is the extensive ruin of an old
castle in it; the old gaol is very castle-like also. I drove over to
Athleague as soon as I arrived, a small squalid village some four Irish
miles away. The land is so level that one can see far on every side as
we drive along, and the country is really empty. The people left in the
little hamlets have one universal complaint, the rent is too high to be
paid and leave the people anything to live on. It was raised to the
highest during prosperous years; when the bad years came it became
impossible.
I enquired at this village of Athleague what had become of all the
people that used to live here in Roscommon. They were evicted for they
could not pay their rents. Where are they? Friends in America sent
passage tickets for many, some, out of the sale of all, made out what
took them away; some were in the poor house; some dead and gone. The
land is very empty of inhabitants.
CHAPTER XLIX
AN EMPTY COUNTRY - RAPACIOUS LANDLORDS.
From Roscommon I drove to Lanesborough where Longford and Roscommon
meet at a bridge across the Shannon, and where a large Catholic church
stands on each side of the river. The bridge at Lanesborough, a swing
bridge, substantial and elegant, the solid stone piers - all the stone
work on bridge and wharves is of hewn stone - speak of preparations for a
great traffic which is not there, like the warehouses of Westport.
Seeing all facilities for trade and all conveniences for trade prepared,
and the utter silence over all, makes one think of enchanted places
where there must come a touch of some kind to break the charm before the
bustle of life awakes and "leaps forward like a cataract."
One man stood idle and solitary on the wharf at Lanesborough as if he
were waiting for the sudden termination of this spell-bound still life.
My glimpse of Longford from the neighborhood of Lanesborough showed a
place of wooded hills and valleys covered with crops, and with this
glimpse we turned back over the plain of Roscommon. The road lay through
peat bog for a good part of the way, and the mud-wall cabins were a sad
sight indeed.
