All this Father O’Neill told us very quietly, in a gentle, undemonstrative way, but he was much interested when I told him I had recently come from Rome, where these proceedings, I was sure, were exciting a good deal of serious attention.  “Yes,” he said, “and Father Dunphy who is here in the other room, has just got back from Rome, where he had two audiences of the Holy Father.”

“Doubtless, then,” I said, “he will have given his Holiness full particulars of all that took place here.”

“No doubt,” responded Father O’Neill, “and he tells me the Holy Father listened with great attention to all he had to say—­though of course, he expressed no opinion about it to Father Dunphy.”

As the time fixed for the function was at hand, we were obliged to leave without seeing Father Dunphy.

From the Presbytery we drove to the scene of the evictions.  These evictions were in July.  Mr. Holmes witnessed them, and gave me a lively account of the affair.  The “battle” was not a very tough one.  Mr. Davitt, who was present, stood under a tree very quietly watching it all.  “He looked very picturesque,” said Mr. Holmes, “in a light grey suit, with a broad white beaver shading his dark Spanish face; and smoked his cigar very composedly.”  After it was over, Dr. Dillon brought up one of the tenants, and presented him to Mr. Davitt as “the man who had resisted this unjust eviction.”  Mr. Davitt took his cigar from his lips, and in the hearing of all who stood about sarcastically said, “Well, if he couldn’t make a better resistance than that he ought to go up for six months!” The first house we came upon was derelict—­all battered and despoiled, the people in the neighbourhood here, as elsewhere, regarding such houses as free spoil, and carrying off from time to time whatever they happen to fancy.  Near this house we met an emergency man, named Bolton, an alert, energetic-looking native of Wicklow.  He has four brothers; and is now at work on one of the “evicted” holdings.

I asked if he was “boycotted,” and what his relations were with the people.

He laughed in a shrewd, good-natured way.  “Oh, I’m boycotted, of course,” he said; “but I don’t care a button for any of these people, and I’d rather they wouldn’t speak to me.  They know I can take care of myself, and they give me a good wide berth.  All I have to object to is that they set fire to an outhouse of mine, and cut the ears of one of my heifers, and for that I want damages.  Otherwise I’m getting on very well; and I think this will be a good year, if the law is enforced, and these fellows are made to behave themselves.”