The tiller of the soil, therefore, labored from year to year, through droughts and rains, through heat and cold, facing bad seasons with good.  At the end of the year, after hard toil had gathered in the fruit of the harvest, he saw the best part of that fruit legally confiscated by an alien, who would have been speechless with wonder, had it been suggested to him that anything was due from him in return.  Nor was that all.  This alien was empowered, and by the force of public opinion incited, to exact the greatest possible share of the tiller’s produce, and, as we saw, he was entitled to the whole benefit of whatever improvements the tiller of the soil had made; and could—­and constantly did—­expel the cultivator who was unable or unwilling to pay a higher tax, as the penalty for improving the land.

It may be said that bad as this all was, it was not without a remedy; that the cultivator had the choice of other occupations, and might let the land lie fallow, while its “owner” starved.  But this only brings to mind the fact that during the eighteenth century England had legislated with the deliberate intention of destroying the manufactures and shipping of Ireland, and had legislated with success.  It should be added that this one measure affected all residents in Ireland equally, whatever faith or race.  There was practically no alternative before the cultivator.  He had the choice between robbery and starvation.

It would be more than miraculous if this condition of things had not borne its fruit.  The result was this:  it ceased to be the interest of the cultivator of the land to till it effectively, or to make any improvement whatever, whether by drainage, reclaiming waste land, or building, or by adopting better agricultural methods.  In every case, his increase of labor, of foresight and energy, would have met with but one reward:  when the time came to renew the lease, he would have been told that his land had doubled in value during the year, and that he must, therefore, pay twice as much for the privilege of tilling it.  If he refused, he at once forfeited every claim to the fruit of his own work, the whole of his improvements becoming the property of the land owner.

The cultivators, as an inevitable consequence, lost every incentive to labor, energy, foresight and the moral qualities which are fostered by honestly rewarded work.  They worked as little as possible on their farms, and the standard of cultivation steadily declined, while the mode of living grew perpetually worse.  If it were intended to reduce a whole population to hopeless poverty, no better or more certain way could be imagined.

The steady lowering of the arts of cultivation, the restriction of crops, the tendency to keep as close as possible to the margin of sustenance, thus zealously fostered, opened the way for the disastrous famine of 1846 and 1847, which marks the beginning of a rapid decline in population,—­a decrease which has never since been checked.  The inhabitants of Ireland shortly before the famine numbered considerably over eight millions.  Since that time, there has been a decrease of about four millions—­a thing without parallel in Christendom.