I have known a case in which the arrears were not only remitted, but the rent lowered to a reasonable standard, such as, considering the markets, could be paid.  And what was the consequence?  The tenant who was looked upon as a negligent man, from whom scarcely any rent could be got, took courage, worked his farm with a spirit and success which he had not evinced before; and ere long was in a capacity to pay his gales to the very day; so that the judicious and humane landlord was finally a gainer by his own excellent economy.  This was an experiment, and it succeeded beyond expectation.

Owen M’Carthy did not work with more zeal and ability as an humble cotter than he did when a farmer; but the tide was against him as a landholder, and instead of having advanced, he actually lost ground until he became a pauper.  No doubt the peculiarly unfavorable run of two hard seasons, darkened by sickness and famine, were formidable obstacles to him; but he must eventually have failed, even had they not occurred.  They accelerated his downfall, but did not cause it.

The Irish people, though poor, are exceedingly anxious to be independent.  Their highest ambition is to hold a farm.  So strong is this principle in them, that they will, without a single penny of capital, or any visible means to rely on, without consideration or forethought, come forward and offer a rent which, if they reflected only for a moment, they must feel to be unreasonably high.  This, indeed, is a great evil in Ireland.  But what, in the meantime, must we think of those imprudent landlords, and their more imprudent agents, who let their land to such persons, without proper inquiry into their means, knowledge of agriculture, and general character as moral and industrious men?  A farm of land is to be let; it is advertised through the parish; application is to be made before such a day, to so and so.  The day arrives, the agent or the land-steward looks over the proposals, and after singling out the highest, bidder, declares him tenant, as a matter of course.  Now, perhaps, this said tenant does not possess a shilling in the world, nor a shilling’s worth.  Most likely he is a new-married man, with nothing but his wife’s bed and bedding, his wedding-suit, and his blackthorn cudgel, which we may suppose him to keep in reserve for the bailiff.  However, he commences his farm; and then follow the shiftings, the scramblings, and the fruitless struggles to succeed, where success is impossible.  His farm is not half tilled; his crops are miserable; the gale-day has already passed; yet, he can pay nothing until he takes it out of the land.  Perhaps he runs away—­makes a moonlight flitting—­and, by the aid of his friends, succeeds in bringing the crop with him.  The landlord, or agent, declares he is a knave; forgetting that the man had no other alternative, and that they were the greater knaves and fools too, for encouraging him to undertake a task that was beyond his strength.