Suppose twenty men were tenants on a townland; one would pay, and the other nineteen after being evicted would also squat down on his patch. Unless caretakers at a cost of about three times the rent were put in under excessive police protection, all the nineteen farms would promptly become derelict.
It would have been far better if the Government had given a free grant of one quarter of the purchase money, had compelled the tenant to himself find another quarter, and had lent the remaining half for a comparatively short term, say twenty-five years.
Then the tenant would have had genuine interest in the redemption of his own property.
But, asks the English tourist impressed by the apparent beggarliness of all he sees, how could the tenant procure a quarter of the money?
Naturally it would be alleged by the agitators that he could not. All the same you may confidently contradict any such denial as that.
It is clear that almost any tenant could get the money, if you bear in mind that though rents are so reduced, the most unimproving tenant can get from ten to twenty years' purchase for the good-will of his farm.
Of course, just now the old order is changing considerably in Ireland, but the loss of their old landlords is not appreciated by the better class of tenants, though the good have of course to suffer for the bad—a thing even better known in my country than elsewhere. I heard an interesting confirmation of this from a lady of my acquaintance, who having asked a respectable woman what had become of her son, received the reply:—
'Ah, for sure, he has got a situation with a farmer.'
'Well, that's a good start in life, is it not?' asked my friend, to which the woman retorted in melancholy accents:—
'That may be, but my family have always been rared (i.e. reared) on the gentry until now,' thereby expressing a feeling very prevalent in Ireland to-day.