Autumnal Rovings. 199 



along the road between Antrim and Belfast, for it is a spell 

 of seventeen mild Irish miles, of which humorous, pleasant 

 Sam Lover sang — 



" The miles in this country much longer be ; 

 But that is a saving of time you see, 

 For two of our miles is aiqual to three, 

 Which shortens the road in a great degree." 



The journey affords a most interesting study of the agri- 

 cultural aspect of a country which, in this respect, may be 

 taken to represent the thrift and prosperity of the province. 

 The producing capabilities of the land are not of the best, 

 but the careful cultivation and the neat farmsteads show the 

 kind of stuff of which the people are made. 



To an observer, who has seen the slovenly farming and 

 miserable dwellings of the West, this drive will present a 

 contrast little short of amazing ; instead of tumble-down 

 walls, broken fences, ill-divided and undrained land, roofs 

 that would be black with dilapidated thatch if they were 

 not covered with vagrant weeds and strong stalks of 

 grain, peasants' mud-wall cottages in which pigs, fowls, and 

 children eat out of the same three-legged iron pot, we have 

 substantial stone tenements, in perfect repair, gleaming with 

 clean whitewash, flanked by comfortable gardens, arid taste- 

 fully brightened by a few flowers, while' along the entire 

 route the hedges are well set and well kept. The gates 

 cannot be kicked down by the first passing calf, and to the 

 crest of the highest ridge industrious hands have subdued 

 the natural unfriendliness of the soil, and made the most of 

 it. There is not a better high road in England, and there 

 are few so broad, and in such sensible order as this. A 

 turnpike road you cannot term it, for there is not a tollbar 

 from beginning to end. The labouring people are not bare 



