OUR SENTIMENTAL GARDEN 



The Irish of the west have curious habits and customs 

 which seem to link them with their forgotten eastern 

 ancestral race. The women will draw their garments over 

 their heads at the approach of a stranger, so closely that 

 you may not get even a glimpse of their faces. Their 

 husband is still " the master " to them, and they walk two 

 steps behind him when they go abroad. But it is the old 

 Catholic spirit that leads them to expect the greeting 

 " God save all here ! " when you enter their cottage, and 

 " God bless the work ! " when you pass them in the field. 

 We hurry away, much against our will, from these attrac- 

 tive scenes because of the breaking out of the railway 

 strike. The newspapers are all very alarming, and we are 

 threatened with being flung for an indefinite period upon the 

 hospitality of our most hospitable friends. We do not 

 fear for a minute that that would fail us, but we are due in 

 England at appointed dates, and so we bustle off, " against 

 the heart " as the French say. 



But when you make acquaintance with a strike from an 

 Irish point of view, it seems one huge joke. Never did we 

 make a journey to the sound of so much laughter as that 

 day. Every station was crowded with soldiers, and all the 

 inhabitants mustered on the platforms to exchange sallies 

 with them. An eager, curious, good-humoured gathering 

 greets and speeds the train which is supposed to be kept 

 running at imminent risk of riot and peril. 

 A very splendid looking police-inspector came into our 

 carriage and had an animated conversation on the prospects 

 with an elderly gentleman whom he addressed as " Judge/ 7 

 Both seemed inspired with glee. 



When we arrived in Dublin there was indeed a slight draw- 

 290 



