Took a car for this journey which was driven
by the only sullen and ill-tempered driver which I had seen on my
journey through Ireland. The road passed through Lismore, a little town
about four miles from Cappoquin, which is in a red hot state of
excitement just now; the bitterest feelings rage about the land
question. Evictions and boycottings are the order of the day. The
feeling of exasperation against the police is so determined that
supplies of any kind for their use could not be purchased for any money
in Lismore. The police feel just as exasperated against Miss Parnell,
who attends all evictions as a sympathizer with the tenants, and reports
all the proceedings. The police made an effigy of her and stoned it to
pieces to relieve their feelings.
The road to Lismore lay along a fair valley; the town itself was a
pleasant surprise. It looked as peaceful and peaceable as possible when
I passed through it; there was neither sight nor sound to reveal the
present state of things among the people. From the grand castle of
Lismore the road wound along between low range walls, ivy-covered and
moss-grown, that fenced in extensive woods, clothing bold hills and deep
valleys with wild verdure.
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