feature of
the case was that the Irish no longer cared to live in Ireland.

"Even the well-to-do want to go away. The people are weary of the
country; they have suffered too much. I think that they wish to lose
themselves."

"It will be a pity," the priest said.

"A sort of natural euthanasia," I said. "A wish to forget themselves."

"It will be a pity," the priest said again, and he began to speak of
the seventh century, when Ireland had a religion of her own, an art of
her own, and a literature of her own.

We drew our chairs closer to the fire, and we spoke of the Cross of
Cong and Cormac's Chapel, and began to mourn the race, as is customary
in these times.

"The Celt is melting like snow; he lingers in little patches in the
corners of the field, and hands are stretched from every side, for it
is human to stretch hands to fleeting things, but as well might we try
to retain the snow."

But as I grew despondent the priest grew hopeful, "No fine race has
ever been blotted out." His eyes, I said, are as melancholy as the
mountains, but nature has destined him to bring hope to the hopeless,
and my delight in his character caused me to forget to ask him about
the playhouse. He had started a school for lace-making, but instead of
keeping them at home it had helped them to emigrate; I said that this
was the worst feature of the case. But the priest found excellent
reasons for thinking that the weaving industry would prove more
remunerative; he was sure that if the people could only make a slight
livelihood in their own country they would not want to leave it. He
instanced Ireland in the eighteenth century,--the population had been
killed off until only two millions remained, and in the nineteenth
century the population stood at eight millions. I listened, letting the
priest talk on, delighting in his incurable optimism; and when the
servant opened the door and told the priest he was wanted, I saw him
put on his old coat, grown green with age; I said to myself, "No man in
the world is better at his own job than this one; hope is what they
want;" and returning to the study after seeing him off I stopped
suddenly, seeing his eyes filled with kindness as he sat by the
deathbed and hearing his kind wisdom. That day I had seen a woman
digging in a patch of bog under the grey sky. She wore a red petticoat,
a handkerchief was tied round her head, and the moment she caught sight
of us she flung down the spade and ran to th