Head’s Fortnight in Ireland, at the hotel in Gweedore.  The author of the Bubbles from the Brunnen published this book in 1852.  At page 152 he tells a story, apparently on hearsay, of “boycotting” long before Boycott.  It is to the effect that, in order to check the proselyting of Catholics by a combination of Protestant missionary zeal with Protestant donations of “meal,” certain priests and sisters in the south of Ireland personally instructed the people to avoid all intercourse of any sort with any Roman Catholic who “listened to a Protestant clergyman or a Scripture Reader”; and Sir Francis cites an instance—­still apparently on hearsay—­of a “shoemaker at Westport,” who, having seceded from the Church, found that not a single “journeyman dared work for him”; that only “one person would sell him leather”; and, “in short, lost his custom, and rapidly came to a state of starvation.”

On the margin of the pages which record these statements, certain indignant Catholics have pencilled comments, the mildest of which is to the effect that Sir Francis was “a most damnable liar.”  It is certainly most unlikely that Catholics should have arrogated to themselves the Church’s function of combating heresy and schism in the fashion described by Sir Francis.  But without mooting that question, these expressions are noteworthy as showing how just such proceedings, as are involved in the political “boycottings” of the present day, must be regarded by all honest and clear-headed people who call themselves Catholics; and it is a serious scandal that a parish priest should lay himself open to the imputation of acting in concert with any political body whatever, on any pretext whatever, to encourage such proceedings.

I asked one of the sergeants how the publicans who had signed the guarantee would probably be treated by their townspeople.  He replied, there was some talk of their being “boycotted” in their turn by the butchers and bakers.  “But it’s all nonsense,” he said, “they are the snuggest (the most prosperous) publicans in this part of the country, and nobody will want to vex them.  They have many friends, and the best friend they have is that they can afford to give credit to the country people.  There’ll be no trouble with them at all at all!”

Walking about the town, I saw many placards calling for subscriptions in aid of a newsvendor who has been impounded for selling United Ireland.  “It’ll be a good thing for him,” said a cynical citizen, to whom I spoke of it, “a good deal better than he’d be by selling the papers.”  And, in fact, it is noticeable all over Ireland how small the sales of the papers appear to be.  The people about the streets in Ennis, however, seemed to me much more effervescent and hot in tone than the Dublin people are—­and this on both sides of the question.  One very decent and substantial-looking man, when I told him I was an American, assured me that “if it was not for the soldiers, the people of Ennis would clear