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the holdings of the farmers in over-crowded huts, whose hideousness far surpasses the worst that
the English agricultural labourers offered us in this way. And this holds generally with the
exception of certain tracts of Ulster; in the south, in the counties of Cork, Limerick, Kilkenny,
&c.; in the east, in Wicklow, Wexford, &c.; in the centre of Ireland, in King’s and Queen’s
County, Dublin, &c.; in the west, in Sligo, Roscommon, Mayo, Galway, &c.
“The agricultural labourers’ huts,” an inspector cries out, “are a disgrace to the
Christianity and to the civilisation of this country.”
129
In order to increase the attractions of these holes for the labourers, the pieces of land belonging
thereto from time immemorial, are systematically confiscated.
“The mere sense that they exist subject to this species of ban, on the part of the
landlords and their agents, has ... given birth in the minds of the labourers to
corresponding sentiments of antagonism and dissatisfaction towards those by
whom they are thus led to regard themselves as being treated as ... a proscribed
race.”
130
The first act of the agricultural revolution was to sweep away the huts situated on the field of
labour. This was done on the largest scale, and as if in obedience to a command from on high.
Thus many labourers were compelled to seek shelter in villages and towns. There they were
thrown like refuse into garrets, holes, cellars and corners, in the worst back slums. Thousands of
Irish families, who according to the testimony of the English, eaten up as these are with national
prejudice, are notable for their rare attachment to the domestic hearth, for their gaiety and the
purity of their home-life, found themselves suddenly transplanted into hotbeds of vice. The men
are now obliged to seek work of the neighbouring farmers and are only hired by the day, and
therefore under the most precarious form of wage. Hence
“they sometimes have long distances to go to and from work, often get wet, and
suffer much hardship, not unfrequently ending in sickness, disease and want.”
131
“ The towns have had to receive from year to year what was deemed to be the
surplus labour of the rural division;”
132
and then people still wonder “there is still
a surplus of labour in the towns and villages, and either a scarcity or a threatened
scarcity in some of the country divisions.”
133
The truth is that this want only
becomes perceptible “in harvest-time, or during spring, or at such times as
agricultural operations are carried on with activity; at other periods of the year
many hands are idle;”
134
that “from the digging out of the main crop of potatoes in
October until the early spring following ... there is no employment for them;”
135
and further, that during the active times they “are subject to broken days and to
all kinds of interruptions.”
136
These results of the agricultural revolution – i.e., the change of arable into pasture land, the use of
machinery, the most rigorous economy of labour, &c., are still further aggravated by the model
landlords, who, instead of spending their rents in other countries, condescend to live in Ireland on
their demesnes. In order that the law of supply and demand may not be broken, these gentlemen
draw their
“labour-supply ... chiefly from their small tenants, who are obliged to attend when
required to do the landlord’s work, at rates of wages, in many instances,
considerably under the current rates paid to ordinary labourers, and without regard
to the inconvenience or loss to the tenant of being obliged to neglect his own
business at critical periods of sowing or reaping.”
137
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The uncertainty and irregularity of employment, the constant return and long duration of gluts of
labour, all these symptoms of a relative surplus population, figure therefore in the reports of the
Poor Law administration, as so many hardships of the agricultural proletariat. It will be
remembered that we met, in the English agricultural proletariat, with a similar spectacle. But the
difference is that in England, an industrial country, the industrial reserve recruits itself from the
country districts, whilst in Ireland, an agricultural country, the agricultural reserve recruits itself
from the towns, the cities of refuge of the expelled agricultural labourers. In the former, the
supernumeraries of agriculture are transformed into factory operatives; in the latter, those forced
into the towns, whilst at the same time they press on the wages in towns, remain agricultural
labourers, and are constantly sent back to the country districts in search of work.
The official inspectors sum up the material condition of the agricultural labourer as follows:
“Though living with the strictest frugality, his own wages are barely sufficient to
provide food for an ordinary family and pay his rent” and he depends upon other
sources for the means of clothing himself, his wife, and children.... The
atmosphere of these cabins, combined with the other privations they are subjected
to, has made this class particularly susceptible to low fever and pulmonary
consumption.”
138
After this, it is no wonder that, according to the unanimous testimony of the inspectors, a sombre
discontent runs through the ranks of this class, that they long for the return of the past, loathe the
present, despair of the future, give themselves up “to the evil influence of agitators,” and have
only one fixed idea, to emigrate to America. This is the land of Cockaigne, into which the great
Malthusian panacea, depopulation, has transformed green Erin.
What a happy life the Irish factory operative leads one example will show:
“On my recent visit to the North of Ireland,” says the English Factory Inspector,
Robert Baker, “I met with the following evidence of effort in an Irish skilled
workman to afford education to his children; and I give his evidence verbatim, as I
took it from his mouth. That he was a skilled factory hand, may be understood
when I say that he was employed on goods for the Manchester market. ‘Johnson.
– I am a beetler and work from 6 in the morning till 11 at night, from Monday to
Friday. Saturday we leave off at 6 p. m., and get three hours of it (for meals and
rest). I have five children in all. For this work I get 10s. 6d. a week; my wife
works here also, and gets 5s. a week. The oldest girl who is 12, minds the house.
She is also cook, and all the servant we have. She gets the young ones ready for
school. A girl going past the house wakes me at half past five in the morning. My
wife gets up and goes along with me. We get nothing (to eat) before we come to
work. The child of 12 takes care of the little children all the day, and we get
nothing till breakfast at eight. At eight we go home. We get tea once a week; at
other times we get stirabout, sometimes of oat-meal, sometimes of Indian meal, as
we are able to get it. In the winter we get a little sugar and water to our Indian
meal. In the summer we get a few potatoes, planting a small patch ourselves; and
when they are done we get back to stirabout. Sometimes we get a little milk as it
may be. So we go on from day to day, Sunday and week day, always the same the
year round. I am always very much tired when I have done at night. We may see a
bit of flesh meat sometimes, but very seldom. Three of our children attend school,
for whom we pay 1d. a week a head. Our rent is 9d. a week. Peat for firing costs
1s. 6d. a fortnight at the very lowest.’”
139
Such are Irish wages, such is Irish life!