FILSON YOUNG 29 



shine. These western ports were nobly furnished 

 by nature and by man for tlie accommodation of 

 shipping, but the ships pass them by far out at 

 sea. They just exist, derelict and hnlf ruinous, 

 unvisited save by the punctual tides. 



And along a coast, unmatched in the world for 

 its bays and inlets and roadsteads, you may note 

 blight and desolation marking the sea's revenges. 

 Denied its toll of commerce and ocean-going 

 ships, it sweeps round the coast from Donegal to 

 Cork, savagely withholding support and liveli- 

 hood. To look at the map one might think there 

 was not a mile along the western coast of Ireland 

 where a boat could not be launched ; but as a 

 matter of fact, places where the business of fish- 

 ing can be carried on are but few and far between. 

 The bays are there, and the deep water road- 

 steads ; but the little breakwaters and harbours 

 in the shelter of which small boats might be kept, 

 are missing — there is no money to build them. 

 The great Atlantic surges come smashing in from 

 their thousand miles journeys, unchecked by any 

 artifice of man, and where they throw their weight 

 on the shore no boats can profitably be kept. . . . 



. . . And if at the fall of some summer evening 

 you walk along a mile of these lonely shores, you 

 may almost believe you are the last man alive on 

 the earth. The country untilled, ungrazed, rolls 

 upon every side upwards to the clouds. There is 



