ey are at Dugort. An'
Jumpers is worse than Soupers. For Soupers only changed once, but
Jumpers is thim that turned once an' then turned back again, jumpin'
about from one religion to another. Ye can have Jumpers in anythin'.
Ye can have thim in politics. Owld Gladstone is a Jumper and a
Double-Jumper an' a Double-Thribble Jumper. An' if we get a Parlimint
for ourselves, 'tis because he daren't for the life of him say No--an'
divil thank him. Yes, we'll take the bill; what else will we do? We
can amend it whin once we get it. But afther so much jumpin', owld
Gladstone's a man I wouldn't thrust. A man that would make so many
changes isn't to be thrusted. I wouldn't be surprised if he wouldn't
bring in a coercion bill at any minute. Ah, the thricks an' the dodges
iv him! An' the silver tongue he has in his head! Begorra, I wouldn't
lave him out o' me sight. 'Tis himself would stale the cross off a
donkey's back."

The Achil ditches are full of ferns, and a hundred yards from the sea
are clumps of _Osmunda regalis_--otherwise known as the Royal
fern--spreading out palm-like fronds four feet long. Other ferns,
usually regarded as rare, abound in every direction, and potatoes and
cabbages grow at the very water's edge. The vast plains are treeless
save for the plantations round the house of Major Pike, who has shown
what can be done to reclaim the land, but his excellent example has
attracted no imitators. Except in the Major's grounds there is not a
tree on the island, unless we count the hedges of fuchsias, twelve to
fifteen feet high, which fence in some of the gardens. The Post
Office, engineered by Mr. Robins, of Devonshire, an old
coastguardsman, is surrounded by fuchsia bloom, and every evidence of
careful culture. Here I met some Achil folks who did not understand
English, and a mainland man who does not believe in the future of the
race. He said:--

"I think their civilisation has stood still for at least five
centuries. They are so wedded to their ancient customs that nothing
can be done for them. They are not so poor as they look, and the
starvation of which you hear in England is totally unknown. As an
object of charity Achil is a gigantic swindle. When the seed potatoes
were brought here in Her Majesty's gunboats the people were too lazy
to fetch them ashore. I was there and heard an Irish bluejacket
cursing them as a disgrace to his country. They do just what the
priests tell them from week to week. Every Su