ned man who
said, in his wrath, all men are liars, would have found ample
justification for his stern judgment on the Connemara sea-coast at the
present moment; but the Roman centurion immortalised in Holy Writ
would make a novel experience. He might say "Go," but he would have to
wait a while before the man went, and if he cried "Come" would need to
possess his soul with patience. Yet the people are not dull. In fact
the dull Saxon is worth a hundred of them in doing what he is told,
and in doing it at once. This simple fact goes far to explain the
unpopularity of English land-agents. Prepared to obey their own chief,
Englishmen, especially if they have served in the army, expect instant
obedience from others. Now that is just what they will not get in
Clifden or elsewhere in the neighbourhood. Almost everybody is as
fearfully deliberate in action as in untruth, and the Saxon who
expects instant attention and a straightforward answer, and is apt to
storm at procrastinators and shufflers, appears to the poor native as
an imperious tyrant. Now the native is always as civil as he is
deceptive. About the middle of my journey yesterday, I discovered that
the pair of horses who were to bring me twenty-six Irish miles from
Clifden to Oughterard had been driven ten miles before they began
that long pull. Of course the poor creatures dwindled to a walk at
last, and I sank into passive endurance lest the driver might inflict
heartless punishment upon them. My remarks on arriving at Oughterard,
where an excellent team awaited me, were vigorous in the extreme; but
I am bound to admit that they were accepted in a thoroughly Christian
spirit.

My long car-drives from Letterfrack and Clifden were directed mainly
towards the spots mentioned in a former letter as of specially evil
reputation for agrarian crime, and as being heavily amerced by the
grand jury. A very slight acquaintance with them excites amazement
that cess, rent, or anything else can be extracted from the utterly
wretched cabins looking on the broad Atlantic. A large number of these
are built on the slope of a lofty peninsula rising to 1,172 feet from
the sea-level, and marked on the maps as Rinvyle Mountain. It is
better known to the natives as Lettermore Hill, and forms part of the
Rinvyle estate, one of the encumbered properties alluded to in my last
letter. The hill-folk, who appear, on the best evidence procurable, to
have had hard measure dealt to them by the Mr.