At a little distance from the line of porters the jaunting
cars were stationed to convey passengers to the hotel. It did look
ridiculous to see full-grown people take the long way round in this
fashion.
At noon Saturday, the 19th of February, I had the blissful feeling of
rest connected with sitting in an easy chair before a coal fire, trying
to wake up to the blissful fact of being off the sea and in Ireland.
On Sunday it was raining a steady and persistent rain; went through it
to the Duncairn Presbyterian Church because it was near, and because I
was told that the minister was one skilled to preach the gospel to the
poor. Found myself half an hour too early, so watched the congregation
assemble. The Scottish face everywhere, an utter absence of anything
like even a modified copy of a Milesian face. Presbyterianism in Ulster
must have kept itself severely aloof from the natives; there could have
been no proselytizing or there would have been a mixture of faces
typical of the absorption of one creed in another.
Judging from the sentiments I have heard expressed by the sturdy
descendants of King Jamie's settlers, the sympathy that must precede any
reasonably hopeful effort to win over the native population to an alien
faith has never existed here. There is a great social gulf fixed between
the two peoples, with prejudice guarding both sides. The history, the
traditions of either side is guarded and nourished in secret by one,
openly and triumphantly by the other, with a freshness of strength that
is amazing to one who has been out of this atmosphere long enough to
look kindly on and claim kindred with both sides. Still there is a
perceptible difference between these Hiberno-Scotch and their cousins of
Scotland. Their faces have lost some of the concentrated look of a
really Scottish congregation. They are not so thoroughly "locked up;"
the _cead mille failte_ has been working into their blood
imperceptibly. The look of curiosity is kindly, and seems ready to melt
into hearty welcome on short notice.
It is not the minister of the Duncairn Church who preaches, but a
returned missionary, who tells us by what logical hair-splitting in the
regions of Irish metaphysics he confounds Hindoo enquirers after truth,
and argues them into the Christian religion. Pity the poor Hindoos upon
whom this man inflicts himself. In the afternoon I strayed into a small
Sabbath-School where the Bible never was opened; heard a stirring Gospel
sermon at night, and joined in a prayer-meeting and felt better.
III.
BELFAST - TEMPERANCE - "THE EVE OF A GREAT REBELLION" - THE POOR HOUSE -
THE POLICE - COUNTY DOWN - MAKING ENDS MEET - WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO
TURN UP.
Belfast seems a busy town, bustle on her streets, merchandise on her
quays. Did not meet one man on the streets with the hopeless look on his
face of the poor fellow who carried my trunk in Liverpool. There must be
distress however, for the mills are not running full time, and there are
entertainments got up for the benefit of the deserving poor. I saw no
signs of intoxication on the streets, yet the number of whiskey shops is
appalling. Had a conversation with a prominent member of the Temperance
League, who informed me that temperance was gaining ground in Belfast.
"Half of the ministers are with us now; they used to, almost entirely,
stand aloof." But where are the rest?
The land question is the absorbing topic. Every one seems to admit that
there is room for vast improvement in the land laws, that there has been
glaring injustice in the past. They acknowledge that rents are too high
to be paid, and leave anything behind to support the farmer's family in
any semblance of comfort. There is a very strong feeling against Mr.
Parnell among the Protestants of the north. In fact they talk of him
exactly as they did of Daniel O'Connell when in the height of his power.
Many whisper to me that we are on the eve of a great rebellion. One
strong-minded lady who informed me that she had come of a Huguenot stock
talked of the Land Leaguers as if they were responsible for the
revocation of the Edict of Nantes: but she acknowledged that the land
laws were very unjust and needed reform.
Visited the Poor House, a very noble building in well-kept grounds. Went
on purpose to see a sick person and did not go all over it. It was not
the right day, or something. It was very distressing to see the number
of able-bodied looking young men and rosy-cheeked women about the
grounds who begged for a halfpenny, and so many loungers in hall and
corridor - perhaps they were only visitors. If they were inmates there
was plenty of cleaning to be done - the smell in some parts was dreadful.
In the hospital part the floors were very clean, and the head nurse, a
bright, cheery woman, seemed like sunshine among her patients. She
showed us all her curiosities, the little baby born into an overcrowded
world on the street, the little one, beautiful as an angel, found on the
street in a basket. It was very touching to see the beggar mothers
sparing from their own babies to nourish the little deserted waif. A
poor house is a helpless, hopeless mass of human misery.
One thing that impresses a stranger here is the number of policemen;
they are literally swarming everywhere. Very dandified as to dress and
bearing, very vigilant and watchful about the eyes, with a double
portion of importance pervading them all over as men on whom the peace
and safety of the country depend.
