Who will excuse the man in a better grade who panders to prejudices, and not only forgets the country of his birth, but aids, by consent, to let her remain in misery? But must we not excuse the low and helpless, who are driven by such prejudices to keep themselves in existence by following the example of those above them? who, thus, have double sin to answer for; their own, and that which their dastardly conduct creates. Still, why should the unhappy labourer who feels that the tone of his voice keeps bread from his mouth, not wish it changed?
"Move on," said a policeman to a poor Irishman, who was gazing with astonishment at a shop window in the Strand, his eyes and mouth open equally, with intensity of admiration. But Paddy neither heard nor moved. "Move on, Sir, I say," came in a voice of command delivered into his very ear. "Arrah, ph-why?" said the poor fellow, looking up with wonder, and still retaining his place. "You must move on, you Irish vagabond," now roared the policeman, "and not stop the pathway," accompanying the "must" with a push of no very gentle nature. Paddy did move, for he could not help it; but as he turned away from the sight which was yielding him harmless enjoyment, to the forgetfulness of misery for the moment, and perhaps to create in him desires for better things, and give him greater energy to work and labour for them; he was rudely branded, with a mark of debasement, and I could see in the poor fellow's eye and gait, though labourer he was, pride and degradation contending for the mastery; but the latter conquered, and he did "move on," almost admitting by the act that he was "AN IRISH VAGABOND."
The position of the lower class of Irish in England is evidently not to be envied, but what is it in Ireland?
In the paper annexed, on "The Potato Truck System of Ireland," will be found the ground-work of the misery of the peasantry. The whole recompense for their labour is the potato. If it fail, they starve. In summer's heat and winter's cold the potato is their only food; water their only drink. They hunger from labour and exertion—the potato satisfies their craving appetite. Sickness comes, and they thirst from fever—water quenches their burning desire. Nature overcomes disease, and they long for food to re-invigorate their frame. What get they?—the potato! The child sinks in weakness towards its grave. What holds it betwixt life and death?—the potato. It is the Alpha and Omega of their existence. A blessing granted by Providence to man, but made by man a curse to his fellow-beings. From what causes come the charges made, and made with truth, against the Irish peasant, of "indolence" and "filth in and about their habitations?"—One and all from that dreadful system, the "potato truck!"
Tourists tell that "the cabin of the Irish peasant must be approached through heaps of manure at either side, making it necessary to step over pool after pool, to reach the entrance." This is no more than fact, but the cause should be told too.
From the detail of the truck-system, it will be seen that the unfortunate peasant is paid for his labour by land to cultivate the potatoes which sustain his existence, and these potatoes cannot be effectively grown without manure. His cabin is usually situate on some road-side, his potato-garden rarely with it, and the only spot he possesses, upon which he can collect manure to obtain food for himself and family throughout the year, is the little space reserved before his door. He has nothing else, it may be said, in the world, but that manure. It is that which is to yield sustenance to his family, and if he have it not, they starve. If put outside the precincts of his holding it is lost to him, and that which he collects scrap after scrap from the road side, or elsewhere—that upon which his life actually depends, is too precious to be risked beyond his care. Why should he be blamed then for the apparent "filth" which surrounds it? Whether is it his fault, or that of the system which has driven him to this degrading necessity? Not his, surely!
Then he is described as to be seen "supporting his door-frame, and smoking his 'dhudeen,'[1] while he should be at work." It is true; but whence his seeming idleness? The truck system again! He is engaged by the year to some farmer, and is bound to do his work, for which he gets his potato land; but the farmer is not bound, as he should be, to give him continuous labour throughout the year. And many a day, and half-day, and quarter-day is cut off his year's labour, when the weather, or the farmer's absence, or his mighty will and pleasure, may make him think it fit to stop the work. When this occurs, and it is sadly frequent, it is impossible that the poor labourer can either seek or find a half, or even a whole day's labour. He has no garden, or patch of ground upon which he might expend with profit his leisure, or his extra time; he has nothing to occupy him; nor can he make an occupation perhaps, for he has not the most trifling means to obtain even lime to whitewash his cabin. Then, if he do smoke his "dhudeen, leaning against his door-way," where so proper for him to be, as with his wife and children? And is the so-named "weed of peacefulness" sought for by the highest in the land as a soothing enjoyment; by those who have but to wish for and obtain every luxury and blessing that wealth can give—is the scanty use of the meanest portion of it, improper or slothful in him who knows no single blessing but his wife and family? But it cannot be fairly deemed so. The custom is universal, and the Irish peasant, declared by the Legislature it may be said, to endure more privation than the peasant of any other country in Europe, ought not to be set down as slothful, because, to soothe his care, he smokes his "dhudeen."
Again, we are told by tourists of the fearful fact, that men, women, children, a cow, a horse, a pig, congregate together at night in one cabin; one bed for all! How dreadful the truth—for it is true to the letter. But we are not told the cause; on the contrary, subsequent commentary ascribes the fact, in no gentle terms, to the "slothful, filthy habits of the people." Yet, when such realities exist, it is not wonderful that they who so patiently bear, should be set down as the producers of their own misery—still they are not only not so, but they have no power to release themselves from the thraldom which sinks them day by day deeper in degradation.
Once more I return to the truck system of the potato. If 4,000,000 of the people of Ireland have sustained life, and barely, on that root alone—many and many a day without even salt—how well may it be understood that they have not means to buy proper clothing. In fact, their only hope for this, is on "the woman," as they express, whose sole dependance has been on eggs from her few hens—knitting stockings, in some localities, in others, spinning. But the numerous calls for family necessities swallow up these little means; and it may with truth be said, that except a single blanket, or a coarse rug, there is rarely to be found any thing in their cabins as covering for the night. The clothes of all are clubbed together to do the office of the blanket and the counterpane. Then, think of the cabins they live in. In one county alone, Mayo, there are 31,084 composed of one apartment only, without glass windows, and without chimneys; and the door so frail and badly made, that every blast finds its way through it. The floors are mud, the beds straw or ferns strewed sometimes on stones raised above the ground. The father and mother sleep in the centre, the children at each side, and the pig and horse, or goat, as may be, at one end. How dreadful it is to contemplate that such should be a fact existing in a Christian country—and worse, that this most fearful reality, which arises from the people's helpless misery, should be made a charge of "filthy habit" in place of being urged as the ground-work for the perfect change of a system which could allow so crying an evil. It is a truth, that men, women and children, pigs and cattle, lie in one bed!—but what causes it? Their hopeless, helpless, poverty. They have not a sufficiency of clothes to cover them at night in winter; and if they did not bring in the pig and cattle to create warmth in their cabins, they must perish of cold. This is the cause, and the only cause, and the true proof is, no tourist will pretend to tell you it occurs in summer.