s know nothing about it.
The tongue of the brutal Saxon is everywhere heard. The degenerate
Irish of these latter days cannot speak their own language. They
preach, teach, quarrel, pray, swear, mourn, sing, bargain, bless,
curse, make love in English. They are sufficiently familiar with the
British vernacular to lie with the easy grace of a person speaking his
mother-tongue. They are a gifted people, and a patriotic--at least
they tell us so, and the Irish, they say, is the queen of languages,
the softest, the sweetest, the most poetical, the most sonorous, the
most soul-satisfying. And yet the patriot members speak it not.
William O'Brien is said to know a little, but only as you know a
foreign language. He could not address the people on the woes of
Ireland, could not lash the brutal Saxon, could not express in his
native tongue the withering outpourings of his patriotic soul. He
always speaks in English, of which he thinks foul scorn. He is the
best Gaelic scholar of the rout, and yet he could not give you the
Irish for breeches.

Westport is splendidly situated in a lovely valley watered by a
nameless stream which empties itself into Clew Bay. A grand range of
mountains rises around, the pyramidal form of Croagh Patrick
dominating the quay. It was from the summit of this magnificent height
that Saint Patrick sent forth the command which banished from the
Green Isle the whole of the reptile tribe. "The Wicklow Hills are very
high, An' so's the hill of Howth, Sir; But there's a hill much higher
still, Aye, higher than them both, Sir! 'Twas from the top of this
high hill Saint Patrick preached the sarmint, That drove the frogs out
of the bogs An' bothered all the varmint. The toads went hop, the
frogs went flop, Slap-dash into the water, An' the snakes committed
suicide to save themselves from slaughter." Pity there is no modern
successor of Saint Patrick to extirpate the reptilia of the present
day, the moonlighters and their Parliamentary supporters, to wit.

The Westport people are very pious. As I have previously shown by
quotations from Irish authorities, Ireland has the true Christianity
which England so sadly needs. Unhindered by England, Ireland would
evangelise the world, and that in double-quick time. Every town I
visit is deeply engaged in religious exercises. In Limerick it was a
Triduum with some reference to Saint Monica. In Cork it was something
else, which required much expenditure in blessed candles.