Page:The Irish problem (Hibernicus).djvu/22

18 market about 1s 4d per lb. at present. It had been as high as 1s 9d.

We feel sure that our farmer-readers have not failed to remark on the rent paid by this holder of sixteen acres. "With some £20 or so of rent to pay more than they would have to do, they might expect that his house would look a bit bare. Par from it. Here is the kitchen:—A nicely sanded stone floor; a well-polished kitchen range; four presses and cupboards, with their brass knobs all shining; at each side of the fire a rocking arm chair with chintz cushions, scrupulously clean; a sofa, ditto; a little cosy round tea-table, with a white cloth on it, and a larger table hinged up against the wall when not in use; pictures on the walls, which were colour-washed; a long latticed window with three lights, and enlivened with pots of geranium; the lookout, not on a dunghill or a dirty yard, but on a gooseberry garden, bordered with flower plots. It was " cleaning-up day," and the daughter of the house apologised for the litter.—Litter!—We could have bit our lips through with vexation when we thought of the litter which a similar occasion would present on this side of the water. Why, it only consisted of a string of very cleanly washed clothes across the room, and well above our heads, and a pile of brass and tin utensils near the fire-place, which she had finished rubbing so bright that they shone again. And the comely lass who had made this " litter" was clad in a coloured cotton bedgown, striped linsey petticoat, and clean, though coarse, white apron. No dirt. Not the faintest appearance of a tatter or a tear. The pig was in his own proper abode, the poultry were in theirs, and—part of the secret of so clean a kitchen—there was a scullery, where all the dirty work was done. But that, on the occasion of our (unexpected) visit, was clean too.

From all we witnessed here, and all that we had previously heard and have already detailed, a variety of reflections arose within us.

The first was—Why do so many of our Irish small farmers fall short—too often lamentably short—of this picture of tidyness and comfort? It can't be want of leases, or want of security of tenure in some other form; for the chief ingredients to comfort which we have named are such as would be at the command of a family which had a positive certainty that it would have to quit the premises in a twelvemonth. It can't be want of means; for the English working-farmer, with nearly twice the rent to pay, ought to be the poorest of the two. The English land may be something more productive; but from such comparison of soils as we have made, we would prefer to lay that to