One day in the first week of November last we set
out on our travels. Dublin did not give us a kindly
send-off, for it was a cold, wet morning. We had not
gone very far when our car began to behave badly,
but my friend Coffey, who was at the wheel, soon discovered
the cause of the trouble, learned our machine's
weak points, and treated her accordingly; so that we
were enabled to travel more or less smoothly till we
reached Wexford, where we were glad to hand over the
car to those who gave her the good talking-to that she
needed.

Our drive through Wicklow, one of the most beautiful
Irish counties, delighted us. The rich and varying
colours of the skies and the grandeur of the scenery
impressed us very much. In the Glen of the Downs
we obtained a somewhat misty view of the Sugar Loaf
Mountain, so called from its conical shape. Its name
in Irish signifies “Golden Spear.” The difference
between the two names gives one a clue to the divergence
in temperament and point of view between the English
and Irish peoples. We proceeded between the coast
and “The Devil's Glen” by a road which ascended
gradually with hedgerows on either side. Owing to
the shortness of the winter day we were unable to see
the Glen itself, nor could we pay a visit to Glendalough,
one of the fairest valleys in Ireland. We drove to the
small town of Rathdrum, where we pulled up for lunch.
Later, the weather improved somewhat, though the

slippery state of the roads made it unpleasant for
motoring, and we continued our journey through the
Vale of Avoca, where we passed Avondale, Parnell's
house. His name recalled to my imagination the noble
figure of our Sheikh Mohammad Abdou, though nearly
a third of a century has passed since the two immortal
“rebels” were introduced to each other by Mr. W. S.
Blunt on the terrace of the House of Commons.

Before we reached the picturesque bridge crossing the
River Avonmore we visited a small flax mill worked by
water power. The manager, an Ulster man, and consequently
well versed in that trade, explained to us the
method of growing this northern crop and the subsequent
operations of pulling, stacking, retting, and scutching.
I shall return to this matter later on.

It would be ungrateful to pass over this part of the
country without mentioning something of the beauties
of the Vale of Avoca, celebrated by Thomas Moore in
one of the most touching of his songs. Stately oaks
and beeches overhung with ivy fill the valley in which
“the bright waters meet.” Here and there the continuity
of the woods is interrupted by emerald meadows,
luxurious shrubberies, and rocks of varied colours. The
thin film of mist that the damp day had hung between
us and the beauty around us but added the attraction of
mystery to a charm that already affected me profoundly.

We called on our way at the Creamery at Inch. It
was not at work, as butter is only made there three
days in the week this time of the year, owing to the
winter shortage of milk, but, all the same, we had an
interesting talk with the manager, who in his friendly
Irish way was good enough to show us over his place.

We then drove to Gorey, a small country town, where
we put up for the night at the Ram's Head. In the
morning we called at Mount St. Benedict, a progressive
Catholic school run by a Benedictine monk. We had
not the pleasure of finding him at home, but the matron
very kindly took us round and told us many things

which pleased us. The school house, a fine building
with all the conveniences of a modern educational
institution, commanded a grand view of the beautiful
country around. Near by stood the farm buildings,
equipped with the necessary requirements for a six
hundred acre well-stocked farm. The boys, who
numbered about fifty, of ages varying between eight
and sixteen, were well looked after and brought up to
be worthy of their country, and when the time comes,
they generally leave for the National University, an
institution of which the Irish people entertain great
hopes. It was interesting to learn that it was at Mount
St. Benedict the Belgian tobacco seed was first introduced
to the soil of Ireland. Here we saw it growing,
being dried and made into cigars, cigarettes, and pipe
tobacco; but in spite of the great regard I feel for
our Irish friends, I cannot say I enjoyed smoking it;
perhaps being Egyptian and hence considered, rightly
or wrongly, a connoiseur in the social art of smoking,
I am rather difficult to please in this matter. I found
this dark Irish tobacco strong and stinging, but one
might perhaps acquire a taste for it in time. At a
distance the growing plant looked not unlike our maize
plant, but with a flower similar in colour and shape
to that of the potato plant. As regards its cultivation,
or, more correctly, the prohibition of its cultivation,
there is something in common between the state of
affairs here and in our own country. Till about the
middle of the nineteenth century, tobacco was grown
in Ireland, when its cultivation was prohibited by law.
With this suspension went all knowledge of its method
of cultivation. It was not until the beginning of the
present century that the Government removed the
restrictions, and even encouraged experiments with a
view to finding out whether tobacco was after all a
suitable and profitable crop for the Irish farmer. As
a result of these investigations, it was concluded that
as long as Irish-grown tobacco had to compete with

foreign tobacco on equal terms, it was not a paying
crop. Quite recently the duty imposed on native
tobacco was for a time reduced below that grown in
foreign lands. In some places where the soil, climatic
conditions, and other necessary considerations are
favourable, the financial results have induced some
Irish farmers to continue growing tobacco. The
American type of high-grade tobacco leaf is the one
usually grown here. The present acreage under its
cultivation is a little under two thousand acres, and the
value of the produce is somewhere about £34,000. As
for our own unfortunate country, it is still prevented
from growing this profitable crop in spite of the fact
that our soil and climate are particularly suited to it.

I have written at length of this school with the view
of attracting the attention of our people at home to
the great amount of educational as well as pioneering
work which could be done in Egypt by similar institutions
right out in the country. In these, when
properly organised and efficiently managed, not only
new industries might be brought into existence, but
new types of citizen might be nurtured. The former
would help the material welfare of the people, while
the latter, with their high aims and developed characters,
would work for a national being, a work which the
present poor products of Government schools are wholly
unfitted for, their education depriving them of the
power of initiative and leaving them selfish and weak-willed.

On our drive to Enniscorthy the weather was again
unfavourable, but nevertheless the undulating meadows
between which we passed on our way were very attractive.
Enniscorthy is a thriving little town lying high on the
bank of the sheltered Slaney. Overlooking the town
is “Vinegar Hill,” famous in the Rising of 1798. Here
we visited one of the most prosperous agricultural
co-operative societies in Ireland. Before I go further
I would like to say something of two societies we visited

before reaching this place, and whose description I
postponed. They are the Flax Mill at Avoca and the
Creamery at Inch. These two societies, like the one
under consideration and hundreds more, belong to a
movement called the Co-operative Movement, and as
we shall be coming across several of these societies of
varied character, perhaps it would be advisable here
to give a concise account of this great movement, its
history and activities, so as to enable the reader who
is not familiar with it to follow us intelligently.

Half a century ago prosperity seemed to have emigrated
from the Irish countryside, and although farmers
felt the pain of an economic disease, reformers seem
to have failed to diagnose the case correctly. As a
matter of fact, the trouble was too complicated for
them and they only saw one manifestation of it and
concentrated on remedying that. They believed that
if farmers owned their land, they would be emancipated
from the tyranny of the landlord, and, still more,
that the glamour of property and the security of ownership
would encourage them to better farming and more
profitable agricultural enterprises. Land legislation
followed, and, thanks to the Land Acts, thousands of
tenants became proprietors of their farms. Although
this step on the part of the Government, which planned
the scheme and advanced the money, revolutionised
agricultural conditions, yet the trouble remained. The
Irish farmer could not compete with foreign farmers in
his own market, so obviously it was not a question of
rent that kept the Irish farmer so backward. It was a
question of business organisation. Progressive countries
organised their farming industries in the same way as
they did their manufacturing industries, while the poor
Irish farmer had never caught up with modern methods
of doing business. In other countries combinations
had been formed to accomplish economies in production
and trade. Things in the world market were done on
a large scale, and wholesale provision dealers were out

to buy and sell in a wholesale way, and the small farmer
with his irregular and slow method of trading had no
chance. The wholesale provision merchant wanted to
deal with agricultural producers who could supply him
with large quantities of farm produce of uniform quality
graded to suit his purpose. It is obvious the Irish
farmer, proceeding in his old-fashioned, awkward way,
sold his produce at a disadvantage; and not only that,
but he bought his requirements also at a disadvantage.
His fertilisers and manures, his feeding stuffs, bought
in small quantities, cost him very dear. The foreign
farmer, in association with his fellow farmers, had
organised his business, so that he bought, produced,
transported, and sold at an advantage. Still more, he
was in a position to study the markets, and adapt his
ways to their requirements. He fought his way into
the world market, realising that to combine in farming
is just as essential as in any other business. Having
convinced himself of this, he set to work in association
with his neighbours. No new form of combination was
created, but, in a system of co-operation which was
working admirably in the field of industry, the farmers
found their model. They studied it, modifying it to
suit their business, with such gratifying results that
now agricultural co-operation is doing for the farmer
what industrial co-operation does for the town-dweller.
In co-operative combination there is a friendly, living
bond between members, a bond based not only on
mutual interest, but on brotherhood and good-will.

All this was going on abroad, but the Irish farmer
knew nothing about it, and so he went on losing ground
in the open market until he was awakened by one
Irishman, who, diagnosing the disease, studied the
remedy, and set himself to administer it. This Irishman
was Sir Horace Plunkett, whose name will stand in
Irish industrial history as the founder of the Agricultural
co-operative movement, to which he devoted years of
energy and no small part of his personal fortune. After

finishing his academic career at Oxford, Sir Horace
went to the United States, where he was engaged for
several years in cattle ranching. Seeing the result of
combination in that country of huge enterprises, and
being familiar with distributive co-operation in other
countries, he realised with what effect the co-operative
principle might be applied to the decaying agriculture
of his own country. On his return to Ireland he founded
the Irish Agricultural Organisation Society, with the
help of Father T. Finlay, S.J., and Lord Monteagle.
These formed a trio round which gathered men of the
calibre of R. A. Anderson and G. W. Russell. In Robert
Anderson, Sir Horace discovered a helper with a unique
talent for organisation, and in George Russell, a man
of genius, whose influence on the ideals of the movement
lifted it out of parochialism to the place it holds to-day
as the mainspring in Irish national aspirations. This
group of devoted Irishmen worked hard for the reconstruction
of rural Ireland on co-operative principles.
They preached the gospel of agricultural co-operation
all over the country in the face of much opposition,
but in the end their doctrine, which is economically
sound, triumphed.

Sir Horace Plunkett has had a varied career. He has
been a Member of Parliament, and it was through his
instrumentality that the Department of Agriculture and
Technical Instruction for Ireland came into being, and
he became its first chief. But it is by his work for the
re-creation of rural Ireland by means of the co-operative
movement that he will be remembered. Some years
ago, as a mark of recognition of the nation's appreciation,
Sir Horace was presented with a fine house in Merrion
Square, Dublin, now known as The Plunkett House,
where as President of the Irish Agricultural Organisation
Society he continues to direct the movement with which
his public life has been identified. The Plunkett House
stands now in Dublin, not only as the headquarters of
the movement in Ireland, but also as the Mecca of

agricultural co-operation to which pilgrimages are made
from all parts of the world. During my sojourn in
Dublin I met representatives of many Eastern and
Western nationalities investigating like myself some
economic problem in the Co-operative Reference Library
of the Plunkett House, talking to the leaders on the
general outlook of the movement, and discussing with
others certain particular points, or getting information
and receiving facilities for visiting co-operative societies
in different parts of the country in order to get in touch
with the movement on its working side. It was from
here and in this way that the lessons were learned
which led to the starting of similar movements in other
countries.

It was not long after the founding of the Irish Agricultural
Organisation Society in 1894 that the corresponding
English and Scottish Societies were founded, the former
in 1900 and the latter in 1905. These central bodies are
necessary, not only to establish new co-operative societies
amongst farmers in their respective countries, but also
to advise and guide old ones, and to act as the parents
and representatives of all of them. Up to now the
Irish central body has succeeded in organising over one
thousand societies of different types, all self-governing
and self-reliant, with a membership of about 120,000,
representing well over half-a-million of the rural population
of Ireland, with an annual turn-over of some
£12,000,000. As we shall see later, the societies, which
are scattered all over the country, comprise creameries,
agricultural societies, credit societies, egg and poultry
societies, flax societies, dressed meat and bacon-curing
societies, fishing societies, beekeeping societies, etc.
The main object of the I. A. O. S. is to organise farmers
into societies to buy, manufacture, and sell co-operatively,
thereby eliminating the middleman and his
profits, and exercising the right as manufacturers to buy
the raw material of their industry at wholesale prices.

My knowledge and experience of farmers in this and

other countries, including my own, tell me what conservative
people they are. They are slow to exchange
old methods for new. They believe in hereditary knowledge
rather than in knowledge acquired by experiments
and research. They are suspicious of new things. They
are essentially individualists, and are averse to letting
their neighbours know anything about their affairs.
But one cannot help noticing that once they come
together in a co-operative society and meet and exchange
ideas the example of the most progressive member
rapidly becomes the practice of the whole society. The
bigger man seems to be not only willing but anxious
to help those who are not so fortunate. To carry that
esprit de corps further, flourishing societies are always
ready to give a helping hand to those societies which
are not in such a favourable position. This I noticed
particularly in the attitude of the Wexford Meat Society,
when it ungrudgingly extended its experience and advice
in the foundation of a similar society at Waterford.
I was fortunate enough to attend the first meeting of
the Waterford Society, and I was much pleased with
the friendly spirit prevailing among co-operative Irish
farmers. Evidently the farmer has come to realise
that co-operation with his fellow-farmers enables him
to do what was impossible to him as an individual.
The co-operative movement has proved that the farmer
may be as progressive as any member of the community.
Farmers need only combine, put their heads together, and
have faith in their associated effort. The co-operative
associations choose the ablest farmers amongst them as
their leaders, with the result that they find themselves
well-informed, soundly advised, and making use of the
latest developments in the art and science of their
industry.

The strength and stability of this movement are
mainly due to its unselfish, non-sectarian, democratic
policy. The fact that a friendly chain binds all the
members to work for the common good ensures that it

must have in it no defective link, and makes it to the
interest of the stronger to help the weaker. The rule
that excludes the mention of political and religious
questions at co-operative meetings is rigidly adhered to.
The democratic lines on which the movement is conducted
cause it to welcome into its ranks all honourable
citizens, and all are given equal rights, powers, and
privileges. This is the story, briefly told, of the agricultural
co-operative movement in Ireland.

Coming back to where we left our motor car, we
found her ready as a faithful animal to carry us to our
destination, Wexford. As we drove along the bank of
the River Slaney the copper-coloured leaves falling from
the trees between the road and the river, and the rich
hues of the sunset, made an exquisite picture. As we
approached Wexford we crossed the river by a fine
bridge, and here we had a last view of a lovely sunset
reflected in the still water of the Slaney as it enters
the harbour. Wexford is a country town with small
houses, threaded by narrow streets, and on the water
side lined by wharves. Here we stayed the night at
White's Hotel. At this place a royal Arab party was
expected on the following day, and seeing my Eastern
name, I was asked if by any chance we were members
of that party travelling incognito. The Emir Feisul of
Central Arabia (not the son of the King of The Hejaz)
and his suite were the persons expected. We regretted
the fact that we missed by one day the honour of meeting
him at Wexford on his way to Dublin. It would be
interesting to learn what lies behind these entertainments
of royal personages. Between the Emirs of
Arabia and the Shah of Persia British diplomacy is now
busily engaged. In years gone by the victims were
Abdul Aziz of Turkey and Abbas of Egypt. Diplomatic
traps were cleverly laid in the British Court, but the
trick did not come off, and so the two countries represented
fell into disfavour at the time. But I might
venture to state what everybody already knows, that

these love-makings between nations are not for love but
for business. Industrial factories and merchant houses
in Manchester, Glasgow, and other cities, were opened
to welcome, not the persons representing the unfortunate
countries, but their orders. It is a tragedy with
the first scene laid in the House of Parliament, the
second in the King's palace, the third in the factory,
the fourth in jail. This is modern diplomacy, the method
whereby small nations are robbed of their fortunes and
their liberties at the hands of the master burglar, polished
and civilised Europe. Prussianism and Bolshevism are
denounced as hellish, but no censure is given to the
slow, systematic torture and killing, not of persons, but
of communities.

The next morning we visited the meat and bacon
factory. With the director, Colonel B., a charming and
able man, we had an interesting talk on the higher
economics of the enterprise he is directing, and his belief
that when similar efforts were made in other parts of
the country they would tell on the national prosperity
and welfare. The Colonel spoke to us of his son, who
started his promising career by founding the Dublin
University Co-operative Society when he was only an
undergraduate at Trinity College. That was followed
by a similar achievement when he went to Oxford
University. After leaving the latter he came back to
Dublin to prepare himself for a co-operative campaign
which he proposed to carry out in Egypt, a country in
which I understand he took great interest. When
the war broke out he joined the army, but his health
broke down, and going to Colorado in an attempt to
regain health, he died there. One profoundly admires
the spirit of this young Irishman, and we appreciate
the friendship of the Irish people, and still hope that
co-operation will find a fertile soil in Egypt that may
be worked by the youth of Egypt itself. It would be
contrary to the spirit of the co-operative movement,
which is based on “self-help,” to rely on outsiders,

however friendly, to promote its spread in Egypt.
Besides, it would be to our shame if anybody who is
not of the people, even the government itself, should
do the work which ought to be accomplished by the
voluntary effort of the people themselves. While thus
discussing things, in came J. Pasha, a tall, elderly man,
looking like a retired soldier. He greeted me in my
own language, and after talking on general things in
Egypt and Ireland, the subject of conversation was
directed towards co-operation in Egypt. I admitted I
knew little on that subject owing to my prolonged absence
from home. The Pasha, who held prominent positions
in Egyptian legal and educational affairs until his
retirement some twelve years ago, gave us a brief account
of the beginning of the economic movement at home.
During our conversation, the manager of the society
entered, when the director kindly asked him to show
us around. I do not propose to give a vivid description
of what we saw in the abbatoir, where the slaughtering
of animals and subsequent operations were conducted
on modern lines and under the most sanitary conditions.
I am primarily concerned here with the economic side
of the question. Wexford farmers started this society
in 1912 in order that their county's meat trade, with
its profitable subsidiary industries, such as sausage and
pudding making, pressed tongue, brawn, suet, blood and
bone manure, potted meat, etc., should be carried on
by its own agencies. The sales of this factory have
increased from £34,000 in the first year to £235,000 in
1918. The subsidiary industries realised in 1918 nearly
£30,000, which would, but for that enterprise, have been
in non-Irish hands. The increasing support the farmers
give their society shows their satisfaction with the
results achieved.

Carrying with us a good impression of Wexford enterprise
we left in the afternoon for Waterford via New
Ross. The latter town is situated on the River Barrow,
which we followed a good way. At Glenmore we called

at a creamery and at Slieverue at another. We reached
Waterford at night. The town was lying calm on the
River Suir, the sky was clear, and the moon, which was
nearly a full one, was shining brightly, and the long
quay of the town was well lit. Thus we entered the
town in a cheerful atmosphere. After crossing the river
by the new, fine, ferro-concrete bridge we made for the
Imperial Hotel, where we purposed staying. Our first
day here was a Sunday. In the morning, which turned
out to be a fine one, I visited some friends a little out
of town. In the course of conversation, I remarked
that the English people seemed to have no confidence
in the friendship of the Irish, and that they always
feared that if the latter were to run their own country,
they might form a secret alliance with some rival power
which would prove dangerous or at least detrimental
to the interests of the British Empire.

“No,” replied my friend, “the English people are
fools if they think that. What they actually fear is our
progress at their expense if we were to develop our
native powers and organise our material resources.
They well know we as a race are cleverer than themselves
and we can beat them on their own ground if they play
the game.”

Shortly afterwards I changed the subject by comparing
conditions in Egypt with those in Ireland.

“You in Ireland,” I said, “have decided at last on
a policy, at all events an economic and social one, and
set to work on definite lines, while we in Egypt have
not even thought of doing so.”

“It is true,” my friend answered. “But why leave
out politics, we have made our minds up also on that;
though that troublesome corner in the North-East is
hampering our national progress.”

“In Egypt,” I said, “we are working the other way
round. We raised our voice loudly some twenty years
ago when Mustafa Kamil, our Parnell, announced to
the whole world our national political policy—Egypt for

the Egyptians—which corresponds to your Sinn Fein—
‘We ourselves’—and since then the National Party was
formed and set to work assiduously on the lines our
national hero adopted. In our economic and social
policy we are far, far behind you. We have not yet
got that devoted body of men you have, led by your
Horace Plunkett and Douglas Hyde.”

“In that field,” my friend said, “let me as an
Irishman give you a word of advice based on some
experience. You want three types of men to work hand
in hand in order to reconstruct your national life: the
aristocracy, the educated, and the practical men. The
first gives the movement a social standing, the second
class does the thinking and the planning, while the third,
who belong to the people and move among the masses,
carry out the policies entrusted to them. That is how
we carry on our propaganda work here in organising
our people on genuine national lines.”

Our hosts then took us round their grounds showing
us their horses and their cows. I was pleased to see
some Arab blood in an Irish hunter filly enjoying the
air of freedom in a large field and galloping joyfully
head and tail up in the regular Arab style. We then
made our way home, passing through a delightful
country avenue with the falling leaves rustling under
the wheels of our car.

In the afternoon we motored to Dunmore, a picturesque
little seaside village eleven miles from Waterford.
The scenery was charming as we climbed up the cliffs
past fishermen's cottages with robust young maidens
standing in the doorways, beautiful in form, and rosy
cheeked. Dunmore struck us as a neat little place,
the small houses looked tidy, with their well-trimmed thatched
roofs. Before leaving the place we enjoyed
a cup of tea in a small hotel on the top of a red sandstone
cliff overhanging the blue waters of the sea. There
we heard of a dispute between two families on the
question of an arranged match against the wish of the

young couple concerned. “Arranged matches” were
once very common things in rural Ireland, but the
custom is, I understand, dying out. Unfortunately we
had to return home in darkness, as the clouds hid the
moon and it was drizzling all the way. I curled myself
back in my heavy motoring coat, buried under a mass
of rugs; troubling myself not at all till we reached our
hotel, where a hot dinner awaited us. Seated at the
hearth after a comfortable meal, we talked far into the
night. We thought and talked of the possibilities of
exchanging goods between Ireland and Egypt on cooperative
lines. So pleasant was our mood that we
even brought into existence in our imagination a society
having for its crest an Irish wolfhound fraternising with
an Egyptian camel. Perhaps, considering the extraordinary
dignity of these two animals, one could not
put them in this ridiculous position, and the lotus flower
or water lily entwined with the shamrock would make
a more artistic crest.

The next day found us still in Waterford. We visited
Carrigeen Creamery and Iverk Agricultural Society, some
five miles from here, and Piltown Agricultural and Dairy
Society, eleven miles away. It was a glorious day, a
cold, clear morning with a bright sun, something like
our winter days at home. Under this brilliant light the
colours of the country stood out boldly. On our way
back Coffey called on a friend at a convent at Portlaw.
This fine building belonged to an aristocratic and
wealthy family up to the middle of the nineteenth
century. They maintained in the village a prosperous
community, their cotton factory was in full swing, and
the labourers lived happily in their cottages. When
the American Civil War broke out, the family cast in
their lot commercially with the Southerners, who lost,
and they had to shut down their factory. They were
reduced to poverty, and that village, which was once
flourishing, is now a sad sight. When we paid our visit
to Carrigeen Creamery, we were touched to see a member

of the fallen family, a gentle, pretty girl, working for
her living as a dairymaid. I mention particularly this
little story in order to emphasise the fact that to make
a community live happily life must be built on a solid
economic basis. The workers must have their share in
industry, so that they may escape the dangers to which
an enterprise depending on one individual is always
liable. A few miles driving brought us to Kilmeadan
Creamery. This is a recently established society with
a new building, and up-to-date machinery and appliances.
This finished our work for the day.

Next day we attended a meeting held at the Courthouse
for the purpose of founding a meat and bacon
factory similar to that at Wexford. At this meeting
my friend's ideal enterprise was realised, for aristocracy
was in the chair, the educated supported it, while the
practical men succeeded in giving to the meeting a full
understanding of the subject. In addition to these
three classes I noticed the Church represented. Here
in Ireland the priests, both Catholic and Protestant,
have, in most cases, given their sympathy and
support to the co-operative movement. This is a
lesson for us Egyptians to learn. We must make
use of every possible factor for the development
of our country, and particularly enlist our religious
institutions in the reconstruction of our land. This
reminds me of a remark made by a friend here who
knows a great deal of the world: “If I were to work
on co-operation in Egypt, I would start with the
Azharites and enlist the sympathy and support of the
Ulamas at the outset.”

Judging by the attendance at the meeting, and the
interest shown, and the intelligent discussion throughout
the long sitting, Irish farmers seem fully alive to their
interests in this most important of Irish industries.
This country exports live stock to Great Britain every year, which is valued at over £20,000,000. If these
animals were to be fattened and slaughtered here, think

of the large number of people to whom this would give
employment. The employment would vary in character
and skill, from the killing of the animals to the skilled
methods of manufacturing new commodities from the
by-products. To give an example of these commodities,
I may name the tanning industry, not to mention the
smaller industries, such as the manufacturing of glue and
fertilisers and manures. Besides, Irish farmers would
rely on their own honest market for their fat stock,
and would be saved from the trickery of a host of
middlemen and from the losses due to the deteriorating
effect on the animals of transport by sea. The profits
of fattening, which at present are pocketed by the
English and Scottish farmers who buy their store cattle
from Ireland to finish them on their pastures or in their
stalls, would be retained by the Irish farmer. Employment
would benefit and tillage would increase. The
whole profit of the trade would be kept in Ireland.

Not until the people make the most of their resources
can they be really free. It is possible for a nation to
be politically free and economically enslaved. There is
no national safety except by a democratic control by
the people themselves of their own industries as well as
their own government. I wish to emphasise the word
democratic, the meaning of which, I feel sure, is better
understood as applied to politics than to economics.
Capitalism, that is, autocratic government in industry,
whether native or foreign, is detrimental to the interests
of the people. It is ruthless in its adherence to its own
interests only, and national interests will be sold for
cash down by any capitalist company if the cash offer
is tempting enough. The god of all capitalists is Capital.
I would like to warn my fellow-countrymen of the
danger inherent in any policy advocating Egyptian
capitalism. Egyptian capitalism is almost as dangerous
to our national interests as foreign capitalism. All our
endeavours should be directed towards promoting an
industrial policy by which the people themselves would

benefit directly. That would help to the equitable
distribution of the nation's wealth amongst the masses,
instead of locking up a large portion of it in the pockets
of a few individuals, leaving the people as a whole poor
and miserable. We have a warning in Western civilisation.
It is stricken with the disease of capitalism;
the masses are slaves industrially, even when politically
free. Western thinkers are searching for a means of
emancipating their peoples. Co-operation, Co-partnership,
Trade Unionism, Nationalisation, Socialism in its
different forms, Bolshevism, and the rest—all are
suggested as ways of escape from a cruel and inhuman
system. Modern Egypt is a young, rising nation, and
it should be warned of the dangers before it. There
are hundreds if not thousands of capable young men
in Egypt whose sympathies could be enlisted for the
policy referred to above. Once on the right track, they
would devise and work out schemes which would distribute
the wealth of the land of our forefathers equitably
amongst their sons. They would understand that
competition is a force to be used, and not to be blindly
worshipped, and that the equitable distribution of
wealth is the only means of making a happy and
prosperous community. Political power depends on
economic power. As President Wilson once said:
“Whoever controls the trade of a country is the real
ruler of the country.”

To return to the Waterford Meat Society. Besides
the advantages mentioned in connection with that
society, a further development might be suggested. If
a sufficient number of similar factories were established
in different parts of the country, much greater advantages
would follow from the linking up of these various
societies in a strong national federation. Such a step
would facilitate the central treatment of those byproducts
which require to be dealt with on a large scale,
and which could not be handled economically by the
individual societies. It would also facilitate the organisation

of sale to foreign countries, the conduct of
negotiations with officials and railway companies, and
the setting-up of extensive cold storage accommodation.
On such lines the future of this trade could be faced
with confidence. Committees have been appointed to
go into the matter closely, and the machinery has been
established for the enlisting of members, and the raising
of the capital required, which was estimated as £100,000.

In the evening we were introduced to Father K., with
whom we had a pleasant and interesting talk. He
agreed with us that no single system, principle, or movement
is likely to solve the world's intricate industrial
problems. All the social reform movements have good
in them which must be made use of for the industrial
welfare of the people. Touching upon the subject of
“Nationality” and the hard times through which
Ireland is struggling for her very life as a nation,
Father K. suggested we might as well see things for
ourselves by attending with him a Gaelic League evening
class to which he himself was going. We went and
found it a pathetic sight. Boys and girls, young and
old, eagerly and enthusiastically learning a language
which had been deliberately almost wiped out of existence
by England. It was touching to listen to them trying
to express their feelings in what should be their mother
tongue, blushing with awkwardness and shame at the
difficulty they found in using it. To tell the truth I
felt very uncomfortable speaking in English when I was
addressed in Irish. But when things were explained
they realised that I could speak my own mother tongue,
and I patted myself on the back for knowing my Arabic
pretty well. The method of teaching Irish was the
modern direct one. The classes were divided into
elementary, intermediate, and advanced, and the teacher
spoke all the time in Irish, explaining himself by the
aid of signs, charts, or maps. No phrases or sentences
were committed to memory, as used to be the case in
the old system. Not far from the class rooms was the

dancing hall, in which the old Irish folk dances were
taught, and occasionally Irish concerts hold. All this
has for its object the encouragement of a national spirit
in every department of Irish life and by the revival of
their language, the singing of their native airs, and the
re-telling of the stories of their ancient culture, to give
the young folk pride in the past achievements of their
race and confidence in its future. We were told of the
methods that were adopted by the enemies of Irish to
discourage the humble beginnings of the revival of the
national culture. Every facility was given in the Irish-speaking
districts for learning English, and those who
attempted to speak Irish, wear Irish dress, sing Irish
songs, or practise Irish dances, were ridiculed. But
it. It is the most living thing in Ireland to-day. The
more one knows of the sad times this nation has gone
through, the more one reverences these Irish folk as one
reverences a martyr, and one feels confident that a
worthy destiny awaits this loveable and patient people.

The next morning was very cold, and I found it
difficult to warm myself in spite of a good, solid
breakfast. Sitting at my table near the window and
looking out at the remains of an old Danish tower at
the corner of the road opposite, and dreaming over a
cigarette, my mind wandered in the realms of ancient
things, and to my own ancient land where the sun is
radiant and home affection warm. A friend, met at
the hotel, came up with a morning greeting: “You
look so wise, quiet, and thoughtful, and you are sitting
near the window, and the snow is coming down heavily!
Will you not take this easy chair at the fire and get
warm?” “I do not feel cold,” replied. It was not
till I woke up from my dream that I realised it was cold.
In the warmth of my thoughts, the cold surroundings
were forgotten. A moment later, Coffey entered the
room in a state of excitement. “We cannot go away
to-day, the car had to go to the garage for repair and

will not be ready till to-morrow.” “Cheerful news,”
I replied. He went out again leaving a newspaper in
my hand. The paper brought the news of yesterday,
the 11th day of the 11th month of the year, the anniversary
of the signing of the Armistice. Two minutes
silence was proclaimed by the King of England to be
observed at 11 o'clock, the actual time of signing, in
memory of the glorious dead. The celebration was
signalised in Dublin by exciting conflicts between the
National University students and students of Trinity
College. Similar collisions between real Irishmen and
so-called Irishmen occurred in other parts of Ireland in
connection with the observance of Armistice Day.
There were scenes in theatres where the orchestra
attempted to play “God Save the King”—the English
national anthem. Indignant boohing and angry hissing,
and even more practical means, were used by the
audience to convey their disapproval of the anthem,
and national songs rang from the gallery, and the greater
part of the house joined in “The Soldier's Song,” the
present national anthem of the Irish people.

As for myself, I never thought of the day from the
Briton's point of view. They may be right in remembering
their own, we are certainly right in remembering
ours and those who shared with us suffering and
oppression. When the oppressors pray for their beloved
who laid down their lives for the “noble” cause, we in
our turn pray for the souls of those who sacrificed their
lives for the freedom of all, big and small, we pray for
a universal peace based on right, truth, and justice.

To return to the English national anthem, I ask my
readers to go back a few years in our Egyptian history
when Tappozada Rushdi Pasha was “Nazir El Awka.”
On a tour of inspection around the mosques he was much
annoyed to hear the “Khateeb” offering blessings to
the Muslim world and pouring words of wrath on the
heads of non-Muslims. Broad-minded as he was,
Hussein Rushdi issued an order that no hymns of hate

should be recited in the houses of God. I wonder what
pious Rushdi thinks of the spirit and words of the
English national anthem. I quote the second verse of
it here, perchance his gentle eyes may sometime fall
upon it.

Next morning we left for Kilkenny. It was very
cold, and but for this it would have been delightful.
At a turn in the road we were suddenly brought face
to face with a mass of mutilated white buildings. They
were the ruins of Jerpoint Abbey, a grand old eleventh
century piece of monastic architecture. The building
included the abbey church, the tower, and other portions
of the ruins whose uses I am unable to explain owing

to my ignorance of ecclesiastical matters. The massive
tower is crowned at the corners in a manner which I
have not seen anywhere else in the British Isles. We
were told the place had been sacked by Cromwell, whose
cruelties in Ireland are still spoken of with horror, and
since then it has been inhabited by noisy jackdaws.

At Thomastown we were taken over a tanyard and
shown how the skins on being brought from the merchant
were washed, limed, and scraped before being submitted
to the process of tanning. The skins when ready are
laid down in layers sixty deep with fine shavings of oak
bark between the layers. Then the tanks are filled with
water and left for several weeks. The process is finished
by passing the hides through heavy presses. We were
rather surprised to hear that the whole process takes
about eight months. I believe, however, that by the
use of expensive electric machinery and chemicals as
used by the Germans, the same result could be reached
in half as many days.

This leather industry is dwindling in Ireland. It was
once very prosperous. Sixty or seventy years ago there
were some forty towns in Ireland possessing tanneries.
Now there are only one-fourth that number. To-day
Ireland is mainly an exporter of the raw material and
an importer of the finished articles, which are manufactured
from these very materials. Such a state of
affairs is lamentable, especially when raw material and
labour are abundant. Efforts are being made now to
resuscitate this industry with the development of its
subsidiary branches, such as boots and shoes, saddlery,
trunks, and fancy leather goods. A glimpse at the
following returns shows how unsound is the economic
position as regards this industry1:—

Exports		Imports
Hides and skins. …	£600,767	Leather. …	£768,120
Fat cattle, number	405,047	Boots and shoes. …	£2,039,017
Fat sheep, number	400,447	Saddlery. …	£140,811
		Belting. …	£28,782

I sincerely hope that the revival of this industry will be
on co-operative lines. There is a chance now to win it
from the capitalists and put it in the hands of the people
themselves. Co-partnership factories could be founded
in different parts of the country. They have proved
successful in England, particularly in Leicester and
Kettering, and there is no reason why similar projects
should not be attempted here with success. Such
factories would surely enrich many places in Ireland
which are now poor for the lack of something to do.
Healthy young men and women leave the country to
find employment elsewhere; they would willingly stay
at home if they were offered a remunerative employment
in their own country.

While criticising our Irish friends, I am conscious of
a similar backward state of affairs in my own land, in
many cases much worse than in Ireland, and I trust
Young Egypt will see to it that the resources of their
country are developed by their own people.

On our way to Kilkenny I found the country beautiful,
but I missed the wild flowers and small birds; the latter
are still to be seen, but not in such numbers as at other
times of the year. We entered the town by a wide
avenue with the imposing building of Kilkenny Castle on
our right. We stayed that night at the “Club House
Hotel.” Early in the morning we drove to Castlecomer.
It was a raw morning, the country looked grey and
cold, and the streams were frozen. All was still, the
cattle looked like scarecrows in the fields. The only
things which lent life to the scene were the small birds
flitting amongst the bare and ragged hedges. Finches
and wagtails, yellow-hammers and our old friend, the
robin, broke the monotony of still life. The rooks
looked at a distance like black dots crowning the leafless
branches of the skeleton elm trees. Occasionally flocks
of starlings high above on their way across country
swerved sharply en masse on seeing us. Once or twice
we saw a few magpies, disappearing behind the trees.

I do not like to think that this handsome bird shares
with the still prettier bird, the jay, the disreputable
and unenviable distinction of being a member of the
crow family. Ornithologists say they are, and I suppose
we have to believe it. I offer apologies and sympathy
to our two bird friends.

We visited a Credit Society at Castlecomer, but before
doing so we met Captain W., its director, who is also
the owner of a coal mine in the district. He kindly
invited us to go down the mine if we so wished, but I
hastily declined. My experience last year of a visit to
a mine near Manchester I wished to be the last. I
remember when I was studying agriculture at Cirencester,
an English fellow-student used to tell me that
the English labourer would never lower his dignity by
appearing on a flooded rice field with bare legs in the
mud and water as they do in the East. But when I
saw the men working in the coal mine almost naked,
and sweating from the heat of labour and the stuffy
atmosphere, and covered all over with black dust, they
certainly did not strike me as looking particularly
dignified, and I thought how much better off our toilers
in the fields are. Theirs at any rate is a natural, healthy,
open-air life. This attitude of mind on the part of our
English friends is not exceptional. It is essentially and
characteristically English. They see small defects in
other peoples, but never admit glaring defects in themselves,
even if they see them; and when such are pointed
out to them, they arrogantly and haughtily reject any
comparison. They are illogical and inconsistent, and
very sadly lacking in imagination.

Credit societies are another type of co-operative
societies. They are sometimes called Agricultural Banks,
co-operative associations formed for the purpose of
lending money for productive purposes on easy terms
to their members. They differ from other banks in that
they are controlled by the members themselves, and the
credit given is of a personal character. To found a

society of this type, farmers associate and pledge their
joint credit for the security of any money advanced to
or deposited with them. On this joint guarantee they
borrow money sufficient for their purpose at a low rate
of interest and lend it out to the members who need it
at a rate just a little higher, to allow of a margin to pay
for the expenses of the society. In this way farmers
have access to reasonable credit, which is necessary to
them at certain times of the year if they are to do their
farming on progressive lines and without falling victims
to the fleecing moneylender. The peculiar needs of
farmers are studied with the view to making it easy for
them to borrow as well as to repay. One great advantage
of this form of association is that it takes from the
wealthy their superfluous capital at a fair rate of interest
and lends it out again in the same district to those who
require it for productive purposes. Thus the wealth of
the place is not only kept within it, but used to good
purpose there. These credit associations have a good
effect on the education and morale of the people, instructing
them in the art of making good use of money
and necessitating good character and honest dealing in
the members.

After calling on one or two friends in the town we
drove to Ballyragget, where we had lunch. We then
called on Dean B., the head of the church as well as of
the co-operative enterprises here, but unfortunately he
was not at home. This small country town provides a
rich soil for co-operation. It has a poultry society, a
creamery, a credit society, as well as a branch of the
“United Irishwomen,” and all are doing well. I might
take the first society as a type of its kind and attempt
to say a few words about it. Poultry and eggs are the
great industries of the small farmer, and lend themselves
admirably to co-operative methods. Before these were
adopted, the trade was conducted by a host of middlemen,
who delayed the egg in its transit to the consumer.
The following lines might be supposed to be addressed

to them by an infuriated consumer who was suffering
from the aroma of the egg served to him at the breakfast
table:

Poultry societies buy and market their members'
poultry and eggs. Their modern methods of collecting,
grading, and packing the eggs have placed them in the
front of the market. The members through their societies
are in direct contact with the markets, and thus in a
favourable position as regards the business part of the
trade. By insisting on the buying of eggs by weight,
the keeping of a better laying stock is encouraged.
Besides all this the societies buy in bulk their poultry
food and other necessaries of their trade, and are enabled
to save money by this means.

The enterprising co-operators of this place are not
satisfied yet with their activities and are about to buy
a farm near the town of a little over a hundred acres
to run it on co-operative lines. This means co-operative
farming, in other words, the common holding and cultivation
of land. Generally speaking, this takes one of
two forms, in both of which a society is formed for the
purpose of either buying or renting land. In what is
called the Collective System, the land is farmed in
common by all the members of the society under the
direction of an elected committee and the profit shared.
In the Individual System, the land is divided amongst
the members, each of which with his family farms the
plot or small holding allotted to him. As for the grazing
land it is held in common. Certain operations might be

performed collectively, and co-operative buying and
seeing would be of great economic advantage. The
former system is practised principally in Italy, the latter
in Rumania. Properly speaking, the individual system,
though co-operative, does not quite belong to cooperative
farming, as the members are not co-operating
in the actual process of production. In Ireland cooperative
farming is not practised, but an attempt was
made a few years ago at Raheen and another but smaller
one at Foynes on the lines of the famous Ralahine
experiment. These experiments are yet in their infancy,
and we will not venture to prophesy.

To our regret we had to omit part of our programme
for the day. Owing to engine trouble, we were delayed
and so could not fulfil our promise to visit a model farm.
On our way back, about a mile and a half from Kilkenny,
we called on Lady D. Our compatriots would like to
know something of what can be done by the aristocracy
to improve the lot of the poorer classes. Lady D.,
assisted by her relative, the Honourable O. C., an
Irishman of the Irish Revival school, started a woollen
company and wood works with the view to employing
the villagers. For the accomodation of the workers
she built a model village. The factories are worked by
contented workers, who are well housed, well paid, and
are working under the best possible conditions. It was too
late for Lady D. to show us round the village and the
works, and so instead we enjoyed a talk over a cup of
tea and a cigarette in her charming house in the middle
of her model village. If similar activities were undertaken
by our nobility, a great deal could be attained
by their lead in this direction. To my mind it only
needs a big heart and an enterprising spirit to start
such good work as this. I have always believed in
these two primary factors to success, and the more I
see of the world, the more I am convinced that these
two qualities must form the nucleus of all great movements,
and that they gather around them the elements
necessary to success.

Next morning we made for Callan, where we visited a
creamery. A crowd of young and old, men and women,
as well as children, with their little country carts drawn
by shabby little donkeys and mules, were delivering
their milk in large tinned vessels at the back of the
creamery on to a platform, where it was poured into a
weighing tank, and after an entry in their little book
crediting them with the amount of milk they delivered,
they returned free and easy to their farms. The taking-in
of the milk was superintended by the manager
himself, as too much caution cannot be exercised in this
matter. As the milk is all mixed together, one supplier's
lot, if tainted or tampered with, might spoil the output
of the creamery that day. Before the milk from each
member was emptied into the receiving vat, a sample
was taken for testing purposes.

We were talking with the manager a few yards from
the crowd at this meeting point between farm and
factory. The crowd interested us very much, and we
could not help paying particular attention to the pretty
young girls with their beautiful fresh complexions and
large, speaking, dark-blue eyes beaming with life and
health from under a crown of dark, rich hair. It was
a freezing day, but the pretty witches looked charming
in their black shawls.

The reader notices that we have already visited several
creameries. Any one of them was just as good as
another, and would serve as an example of that form
of association. Creameries are factories worked by
motive power (generally a steam engine and boiler), for
the manufacturing of butter on a large scale, and sometimes
of cheese as well. Without going into details, I
shall attempt to give my readers an idea of what one
sees going on in a creamery.

We have already been to the back of the creamery
and seen the farmers delivering their milk on to a
platform. The milk is strained through a sieve into a
big tank. A tube then carries it to the pasteuriser,

where it is heated to a certain degree in order to render
the cream easier to separate. From this it passes on to
the separator, a Swedish invention which has entirely
revolutionised the dairy trade. The principle involved
in separating cream is the law of gravitation. The
cream being lighter keeps to the centre, while the heavier
separated milk seeks the outside of the rapidly revolving
discs. Each is then delivered by a separate tube, The
cream is conducted to a second pasteuriser, in which it
is heated to a higher degree in order to kill the dangerous
organisms that may be in it, and then cooled down
immediately by trickling over a corrugated cylindrical
cooling apparatus before it is pumped up to a freezing
plant above. It is then ripened with a pure culture or
starter prepared from the proper bacteria which by
their action on the cream sour it. Not until the cream
is ripe is it ready for churning, otherwise the butter
would be greasy and flavourless. This last operation
consists in giving the cream a violent shaking in a large
wooden barrel fitted with revolving dashers inside, which
causes the globules of fat to come together and form
butter. This having been churned and washed, is
conveyed to what is called the butter worker, a wooden
table on which the butter is worked by wooden rollers
with corrugations straight and deep, in order to squeeze
out excess water. The butter is then salted, cut,
weighed, and packed ready to be marketed. All the
work, leaving out the waiting for the cream to ripen,
is done in a few hours, by some half-a-dozen hands.
And when we realise that this is the case in a main
creamery which handles some 5,000 gallons of milk a
day, we cannot but wonder at this great modern
achievement which would have amazed our forefathers.

This is what takes place in a modern creamery,
whether proprietary or co-operative. I have touched
upon the technical part of the work for sake of those
who do not happen to know much about it and may
be misled by the name.

Before the creamery movement came to stay, there
was neither skill nor economy in the making of butter
nor uniformity in the butter itself. Under the old
system, from one district alone issued hundreds of kinds
of butter every week, and even on the same farm the
butter varied from week to week. That was all very
well in the old days when the public taste was not
fastidious, and when keen competition between producers
far and near was not so great. Now that the
butter market demands large regular supplies, of good,
uniform quality, only producers who satisfy these
requirements can make profit of butter production in
face of the great competition that exists. Butter-making
on a large scale can be carried on only by farmers
in combination, and a combination of farmers for this
purpose results in the establishment of a creamery.
Creameries may be proprietary, that is, owned and run
by private individuals or public companies who invest
the capital and retain the profit to themselves, or cooperative,
that is, owned and run by the farmers, who
erect the plant, supply the milk, and share the profit.
In Ireland practically all the creameries belong to the
second type. This is due to the co-operative movement,
which advocated the centralising of the butter-making
of each dairying district in one building owned by the
farmers and equipped with the latest scientific appliances
for the manufacture of first-class butter under the
superintendence of a trained manager. As a result of
this, Irish farmers are now producing a butter held in
high esteem, selling at remunerative prices, competing
successfully with foreign producers, and, what is more,
are sharing amongst themselves a profit which under
the proprietary system would have gone into the pocket
of the capitalist.

I left Callan so preoccupied by all we had heard and
seen that I was quite unconscious of what was going on
around me, until Coffey from the front seat called out:
“Kells!” And behold, out in the green fields not far

from the main road, the white ruins of Kells. Dilapidated
towers and halls, cloisters and walls, remain
standing to tell their story. Here a religious house
once stood, and here a garrison was once stationed.
On going over the ground, these ruins brought back to
our minds the Middle Ages. One's thought went like
a flash to Ekkehard, the Fairy Queen, Wagner, and
The Cloister and the Hearth. Those were days in which
in spite of their cruelty, chivalry lived. Castles were
attacked and defended in open fighting by arrows and
molten lead. One was reminded of Saladin, or more
correctly Salah-Uddin, and Coeur-de-Lion, and their
chivalry. We felt humbled to think we belonged to
the twentieth century, a century of trench fighting,
bombing from the air, bombarding from a distance, and
torpedoing from under the deep sea; when it is difficult
to know one's friend from one's foe, and impossible to
trust the honour of kings and statesmen. The world
may have advanced, but are we any the better, seeing
that spying prevails, treaties are torn, pledges broken,
nations oppressed, and all this under a new régime which
promised freedom to the world, and brotherhood to
mankind?

On leaving Kells, our car unfortunately met with an
accident, but we managed to continue to Carrick-on-Suir,
where we discovered to our dismay that the car
was so badly damaged that we could not use it
further on our journey, and we had to leave it
behind at a garage whence it was sent back to Dublin.
Coffey was miserable about it, but I was glad to see
him later admiring and adopting the Eastern philosophical
attitude in the face of misfortunes. In ordinary
times this should have been a busy day in this country
town, being a market day; but County Tipperary is
under martial law since last year's troubles; in this
“rebellious” county, all public gatherings are prohibited,
as well as all industrial and social functions.

There were still some twenty miles for us to cover
before the day was over. This we did in a fine car hired
from the place at which we left ours. The day was
closing, nature's fading light allowed us to enjoy the
beautiful scenery only part of the way. The country
we passed through on our way to Cappagh was mountainous,
and the hill-ranges and valleys offered a constant
variety of colours and outlines. Night soon came on,
accompanied by high wind and severe cold. I tried to
think hard of sun and home, and thus send my thoughts
to a warmer atmosphere. On reaching our destination
our host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs. U., received us with
Irish hospitality at their nice country house. There
were other friends with them as well, and after dinner
we all joined in a circle around a great fire, talking of
things far and near. Next morning the frost held

everything in its grip. The view of the surrounding
country from the window was glorious, and the house
being on a height we had a wide prospect. Majestic
hills and thick woods, humble cottages and winding
country roads, were spread out before us. Mr. U.'s
father had been a great lover of birds, on which he was
an authority in this country, and in the room I occupied
he had left a fine collection of books on shelves,
and of birds in glass cases. I could only glance at
them, for we had a full day's programme waiting for us.
After breakfast we started with our host in his dogcart
for Ring, some nine miles away, on a visit to the Irish
School there. The first five miles we did fairly comfortably.
The hedges, which were mostly of hawthorn,
gorse, and fern, looked wretched and neglected. The
trees, which were largely oaks, larches, beeches, ash,
birches, pines, and firs, were not grand specimens, and
were scattered, some singly and some in groups, mostly
near the road. We passed by a ruined castle which
stood high up on a green mount just as it was left by
ruthless Cromwell. On marshy land near a stream,
reeds grew thickly. Here we saw herons, some standing
motionless on one leg, a study in still life, and some on
the wing, flying gracefully in their characteristic manner
with head tucked in and legs stretched straight back.
As we approached nearer to the sea, gulls began to make
their appearance. It was freezing hard, and as we were
entering an uphill country, our pony found it almost
impossible to get a grip on the ground in spite of the
frost nails he was wearing in his shoes. The road looked
as if covered with a sheet of glass; no wonder the poor
creature could not walk, still less climb. We had to
leave the pony and cart behind at a small cottage on
the wayside, and finish the journey on foot. At the
cottage Coffey talked to the inmates in Gaelic, and this,
I think, caused them to be exceptionally obliging to us.
On reaching the school we were most warmly received
by the master, Mr. S. H., and shortly afterwards we

found ourselves in the dining-room with the masters
and mistresses, boys and girls. It was quite a large
luncheon party, a party at which, in conformity with the
rules of the place, no language but Gaelic was spoken.
Had it not been for the kindness of a neighbour who communicated
with me now and then in a low voice in
English, a foreign language both of us happened to
know, I would have found myself in an awkward
position. After lunch the children entertained us with
a few songs, and a smart little fellow boldly came up to
the head of the long table and gave us a fine recitation.
Who knows whether that boy may not become one of
Ireland's many orators! If so, he will have no fault
to find with his Irish education. Moving out of the
hall we found ourselves in an atmosphere of friendliness
and warmth, in which teachers, children and all revelled.
Boys and girls clustered around us, raining questions on
their masters as to where Egypt was and as to why I
did not speak Irish, etc. The master made use of the
occasion and told them something about Egypt to their
great delight. As I was trying to make friends with
these young people, one of the masters came in carrying
in his arms a large sheet of ice he had taken from the
surface of the freezing pond near by. This created
great excitement, and the master was riddled with
questions as to how it was formed and where it came
from, did the fishes like it, etc. Another practical
lesson, all in Irish.

We were then taken over the college, which rests on
a low, grassy cliff overlooking Dungarvan Bay, and
commands a magnificent view of the Waterford coast
line, and the surrounding country. The school is a
residential one, accomodating some sixty boarders, it
is equipped with all modern requirements, and its
domestic arrangements are in the hands of an Irish-speaking
staff with the view of making Irish the language
not only of the schoolroom, but of domestic life as well.
The aim of the school is to make Irish speakers of Irish

children and to give them a thorough grip of the national
language. In this language the children receive their
instruction in Christian Doctrine, Arts, Science, Nature
Study, etc. Nothing but such efforts will save the youth
of Ireland from the denationalising process to which the
cruel force of circumstances for some generations past
has subjected them. The present form of education in
Ireland was systematised a good many years ago with
the view of destroying all sense of nationality in the
people, their rulers being convinced that not until this
was done could the nation be subdued. We well know
how close is the bond between language and nationality.
The old Irish thinkers knew that too, but they were
unable to resist the will of the mighty Saxon. The
Saxon of those days was a ruthless ruler, and did not
conceal it. Though still the same where he has a free
hand, he tries to conceal it and be a gentleman, and
will argue matters around a table as gentlemen do.
He does not like this restraint; it is not his nature;
the world is changing, however, and he has to change
with it. During the last war he went so far as to
announce himself the bitterest enemy of Prussianism,
and now he finds it rather difficult to go back on his own
professions, for the world does not trust him, and everybody
is watching him. Besides, he has joined a society
called the League of Nations, and sworn to adhere to
its principles of justice and right.

One can well understand the reasons why the Irish
people of the previous generation failed to insist upon
their youth acquiring that learning and education which
was their birthright, and allowed themselves to be
divorced from their language and culture. Had that
process gone a little further the world would have lost
this nation, as it would have been absorbed into another.
Fortunately, it was saved, just in time, by a handful of
thinkers who are now endeavouring to revive what has
been lost in language, culture, and nationality. This
handful organised themselves into a league called “The

Gaelic League,” about which I shall have something to
say later on.

We left the Ring Irish School, taking with us pleasant
thoughts, and walked back to where we left our pony
and cart. We drove home in darkness to be welcomed
by our kindly hostess.

In the morning I left for Cappoquin, a few miles away,
on a visit to Sir J. K. at his charming house with its
pretty grounds overlooking the town. My friend Coffey
did not accompany me; he had to return to Dublin on
duty, and so I was deprived of his pleasant company.
Sir J. took me around his estate, and his home farm
interested me very much. I was pleased with the
business-like manner in which he manages the farm.
The steward receives his orders from his master in
person and carries them out under a system that allows
no laxity in its execution. “Master on the 'phone”
is an effective influence; but Sir J., though he sometimes
makes use of that ingenious invention, does not
omit personal inspection of his fields, and sees everything
for himself. This particular farm of his is of some five
hundred acres, one-third of which is arable and the rest
pasture land. I asked how the farm was managed
during his absence in town or abroad. Sir J. answered:
“My wife, who knows a great deal about it, takes my
place in case of long absence, but for a short one, the
system of management is wound up too tight for any
laxity in its working. If any trouble in the mechanism
happens to arise, the momentum of organisation carries
it on till I am back.” Had I not known that it is not
so much the amount of work and time spent on industry
that tells, as the system on which it is conducted, I
would have been greatly surprised at the running of
this farm so efficiently in spite of the various activities
and duties which Sir J. undertakes in private and public
life. It is surprising how much is lost by a defective
system of business management in farming. Even in
farming conducted on strictly scientific lines, unless the

business management is sound, the financial result will
never be satisfactory. Even educational institutions too
often lose sight of this fact. Indeed, the lack of interest
in the economics of agriculture in these islands is
surprising. Such a state of affairs is to be regretted.
Until active steps are taken to remedy this defect in
the system of agricultural education, the future of
farming in these countries will not be really hopeful.
Many of those we came across and who have the welfare
of agriculture at heart, shared our view. Sir Horace
Plunkett's three-fold policy of “Better Farming, Better
Business, Better Living,” confirms this. Sir Horace, as
the father of Irish rural reconstruction, recognised this
long ago and worked wholeheartedly for the realisation
of his ambitious programme, laying great stress particularly
on the second part of his famous formula. In
Egypt, what are our educated farmers doing? How
much of our farming is run on scientific lines? Do our
farmers conduct their business on anything like sound
business principles? What sort of life does our rural
community live? What steps are taken by our enlightened
young landowners to improve the social and
economic conditions connected with our greatest national
industry? Do they persist in letting their estates and
farms to tenants, while they themselves enjoy life in gay
cities at home and abroad? Or are they contented to
live in a fool's paradise in their country homes wholly
unconscious of the backward state of affairs prevailing
in the community?

Lady K., who plays a leading part in promoting the
interests of the United Irishwomen in this place, was
unfortunately away at Reading, where she was attending
some conference in connection with gardening and
dairying. I understood that she had a scheme on hand
for starting a school of gardening for the daughters of
the neighbouring gentry, certainly a praiseworthy undertaking,
and one which would lead to a vast field of
interest and healthy activity for these young women

who otherwise, while waiting for the suitor who does
not always arrive, might become self-absorbed idlers.

In the afternoon I visited the Co-operative Society,
and also the Bacon Factory. The latter does not interest
me, personally, as swine's flesh to us is a forbidden food;
but for sake of those who enjoy “Bacon and Eggs” in
the morning, after a plate of hot porridge, I may be
permitted to say a few words on the killing and curing
of bacon.

Each pig is hung up by a hind leg and killed by
stabbing in the neck with a double-edged sharp knife.
Still hanging down, he is carried by means of wheels
which run on rails fixed to the roof, to the scalding tank,
where he is left for a while. When he emerges the hair
is scraped off. The carcase is then singed with a strong
gas flame in order to harden the skin and give it the
firmness, texture, and colour required. It is then slit
open and disembowelled, next the head and legs are
separated and the body cut into the two “sides.” These
are then taken to the freezing chambers, where they
are chilled and cured. The process of “curing,” which
is simply a process for preservation, consists in covering
the sides with common salt and saltpetre and piling
them on top of one another. In that state they are
left for weeks till they are ready to be dispatched to
the traders. I inquired whether it would not be profitable
to make use of the skin of the pig instead of leaving
it on the flesh as rind to be thrown away later on; but
I was informed that real good pigskin is only found on
coarse pigs like those of Rumania, which are of inferior
breeds. As regards the pigs here, they are too well-bred
for their skin to be of any value; in Scotland,
however, a certain amount of pigskin is made use of,
the bacon produced there is called “rolled bacon.”

I was the guest of Sir J. for the night. In the
morning, which turned out to be a fine one, I went
around the farm with Sir J. and his steward. The farm
is just like any other well-managed farm in these

countries, where farming is based on the Norfolk four-course
rotation, or a modification of it.

Although we were only three or four miles away from
the Monastery of Mount Melleray, for one reason or
another we did not visit that Convent of Trappists. I
would like to have done so, that I might tell our people
how these monks by their labours have effected a
wonderful transformation, converting bare mountain
slopes into rich woodlands, fertile pastures, and vegetable
gardens. Amongst these they have built their monastery,
with schools, and a guest house where travellers are
received with cheerful hospitality.

From Cappoquin, which, I was told, makes a convenient
starting-point for the Blackwater scenery, I
took the train to Fermoy. The railway followed the
river all the way and allowed one to enjoy a grand
panorama of the beautiful valley lying between a series
of undulating hills variously coloured. Fermoy is a
small country town of barracks, churches, and convents,
lying on the River Blackwater, which is here crossed
by a wide stone bridge. The current is strong and
might very well be made use of for generating power.
Our impression of Fermoy was disappointing; on all
sides soldiers, horses, broken windows, and closed-down
shops. What was wrong with the place and its people?
A short time previously, a skirmish had taken place
between the inhabitants and soldiers, and this was the
result. My visit to Fermoy was for the purpose of
attending the annual general meeting of the Agricultural
Co-operative Society. This form of co-operative association
which I saw here, at Enniscorthy, and other
places, I have not commented upon so far. These
agricultural societies, unlike creameries and other productive
societies, are essentially distributive societies.
By procuring agricultural and domestic requirements for
the farmers, they enable them to reap the advantages
gained by purchasing in large quantities for prompt
cash payments. Besides, the society watches over the

interest of its members, providing the safeguards of
analyses of manures and feeding stuffs and the testing
of seeds, without any trouble or expense to them.
Another service which these societies perform for their
members, is the purchase of expensive agricultural
machinery, which they hire out at low rates. This
society at Fermoy not only buys his requirements for
the farmer, but sells his produce as well. His requirements,
such as fertilisers, cakes, meals, flour, hardware,
etc., are bought in large quantities at wholesale prices
to be stored and drawn on as required. The society
buys grain or wool from its members and pays them for
it in cash at the current prices. It then stores these
goods to sell them later at a better price; the profit
made is distributed amongst the members according to
the produce they supply. The Society contemplates
starting a factory for the manufacture of woollen goods,
from the raw material supplied by the members,
thus making full use of collective effort for the benefit
of all.

The night I spent at a friend's house. He was a
bachelor, and had gathered around him a merry circle
of fellow bachelors who seemed to be in agreement with
Mark Twain in treating the world as a huge joke. The
conversation, as might be expected, ran mostly on
racing, hunting, shooting, coursing, and other sporting
subjects. The little knowledge I possess of Arab horses
stood me in good stead, but, when it came to hunting
and coursing, I could only listen, knowing nothing
myself of a sport which seems to me a cruel one.

The next morning I attended the society's meeting.
A crowd of farmers, big, robust, ruddy, well-fed, stout
fellows, filled the hall. After the proceedings were gone
through, the chairman called upon me to say a few
words; the meeting desiring to hear something from
“our friend and fellow co-operator from Egypt.” I
ventured to make a few remarks. Being an Egyptian
and the audience Irish, I had to apologise for speaking
in a language foreign to me and foreign to them. After

thanking them for receiving me so kindly, and offering
them my congratulations on their co-operative achievement,
I felt it my duty as a sincere friend and not
altogether inexperienced critic, to hint at what I considered
their weak point. That was the neglect of the
social and educational side of the movement. This is
not the only weak link in the chain of co-operative
enterprises in this society, but in many other societies.
People seem to allow themselves to be elated by the
remarkable progress in material welfare attained through
associated effort, and neglect the higher aim of raising
the social level of the community. This has come about
in spite of the persistent efforts of the Irish social
economists; if it continues the main purpose of the
co-operative movement will soon be lost sight of, and
its wonderful organisation used for advancing a selfish
materialism. One might have thought the Irish Cooperative
School would have been strong enough to
cope with this danger, but evidently the apathy of the
people under the spell of the general material outlook
of the age has yet to be mastered. I feel, however,
that the voice of A. E. will not be a voice in the
wilderness; nor will the seed that Irish artist-economist
is sowing fail to germinate in the kindly and rich nature
that is characteristic of this country. Those who know
the Irish temperament, will share with me this hope.
The gentle manners of even the very poor reveal an
inherent culture in the nation. Their refined feelings,
natural friendliness and hospitality, form a contrast to
the rough, callous, and inconsiderate manners of the
sister island. With my knowledge of these islands and
their peoples, I believe that the materialism that is
affecting the body and soul of their co-operative movement
can be counteracted only by Irish ideas and ideals.
It seems almost impossible to think that a time will
come when the material outlook prevailing now in
England and Scotland will be replaced by a cultural
one; if culture develops within this movement, it will

be in Ireland and amongst Irish people. True, there is
at present a great and will be a still greater civilisation
on the eastern side of the Irish Channel, but for refinement
of nature and temperament one has to sail westward.
If this is the case now, what will it be when the
Western people become emancipated, and the teaching
of the higher ethics of co-operation strike root? Perhaps
if I quote the Countess Markievicz, a great Sinn Féin
leader, my readers may have a glimpse into the spirit
and ideals of the Irish people on the questions under
consideration.

“We see prosperity as well as freedom in our separation
from England. If the enormous sums of money
exported every year to pay the English Government's
debts were applied to developing Irish resources in ways
suited to the temperament and desires of our people we
would find that we were moving surely toward the
ideal that we believe in—a co-operative commonwealth.
Wealth is much more evenly divided here than in
England, we have no millionaires to cope with, very
few ‘great vested interests,’ no big industrial cities.
We have not made of the ideas of perpetual and high-speed
work a God to worship, and we do not love competition;
we have no desire to build an Empire—we
abhor the idea—nor do we want to impose our rule
over ‘natives’ anywhere. Huge factories that work
day and night are a horror to us. Leisure, comradeship,
co-operation, are things we would desire to bring within
the grasp of all; time to think, to read, and to develop
the spirit that is in man. Above all, we want to live
in peace: peace with our neighbours, peace with the
world, peace even with England. Only as a free
Republic will Ireland's attitude to England be changed
to the right relationship between neighbours. For
friendship must be a relationship between equals and can
never exist between the oppressor and the oppressed.”

In the evening I was invited to a social gathering
composed chiefly of farmers. After-dinner speeches were

made, and again I found myself representing Egypt
amongst Irishmen. Toasts were proposed for our dear
lands, and in the absence of Nile water, Irish whiskey
figured prominently. It was a happy hour, and I am
sure my fellow countrymen would have been delighted
with the scene had they been there. I had to withdraw
regretfully before the party broke up, as I had to catch
the night train to Mallow. It was only in the train that
I found time to read the day's paper. I felt sad when
my eye caught Mr. Balfour's declaration on the British
Government's policy towards Egypt. Evidently the
British nation means to use the “mailed fist” against
Egypt. We may still live to see a Raemaker cartoon
depicting John Bull in his usual supercilious and haughty
attitude, saying to poor “Young Egypt,” broken down
and violated: “Now, you have lost everything.”
Egypt's answer to John Bull will be the same as that of
Belgium to the Kaiser: “Not my soul.” The Prussian
“Iron Heel” has now become British, and the Bismarckian
“Blood and Iron” policy has changed its
name since the Armistice into Balfourism. Imperialism
and autocracy are imposing themselves on the whole
world. Small nations are not to be heard when “self-determination”
is the order of the day. The “League
of Nations,” thanks to the superhuman effort of the
latest prophet produced by the West, has become a fact
on paper—a scrap of paper! It is the greatest practical
joke the world has ever witnessed. The nations have
been thoroughly cajoled. Sometimes one feels bitter
over the inhuman cruelty of it, but when one realises
that it is after all a joke, one laughs. The wisdom of
the West has worked out a new philosophy, altogether
different from that of the East. The Orient has accustomed
us all to expect from it prophets of Truth,
The East is serious; the Occident jests.

With these thoughts I retired. The next day I had
a walk around this beautifully situated town of Mallow,
before I proceeded to Cork.

The historic city of Cork, finely situated as it is on
the River Lee, possesses a charm of its own, though in
places it has a touch of the Dublin atmosphere. The
pleasantness of its spacious streets, and the beauty of
its women were the first things that struck me. The
women have beautiful, dark eyes and hair, grace of
manner, charming frankness, and a womanly dignity
that reminds me of our Egyptian women. There is
nothing about them of that aggressiveness and self-consciousness
that deprives many of the Northern
women of their natural charm, they are easy in their
ways, natural in their manners, and graceful in their
movements.

Being a teetotaller by religion, and a visitor to the
city where the well-known “Apostle of Temperance,”
Father Mathew, lived and preached, I thought it would
be the proper thing to stay at the Temperance Hotel.
Father Mathew extended his great crusade against drink
into England and America about the middle of the last
century. I do not know how long this warfare against
alcoholism has been waged in the West. What I do
know is that during this last war, the Powers, realising
the evil of drink at a time when men need all their wits
about them, put great restrictions on its manufacture
and consumption. And then America, with its spectacular
methods of carrying on propaganda, sent its
“Pussyfoot” Johnson to these countries, not only in
the cause of restriction but of actual prohibition. I
wonder how far will these Acts of Parliament keep their
hold on the people. I believe, and a good many of our

Irish friends agree that men's hearts cannot be changed
by Acts of Parliament, and that it is a profound mistake
to imagine that a sober nation can be made to order.
Religion, to my mind, has a much stronger hold over
people's action in that direction, and it is a most unfortunate
thing that in the Christian Faith there is no
prohibition against drink as we have it in our Islam.
However, we shall see as time goes on, the effect of
these efforts on society in the West. In the meantime,
we may congratulate ourselves that the West is adopting
one Islamic institution after another, with a view to
reforming corruption in its society. Between prohibition
and the laws governing marriage and divorce,
Europe is struggling to acknowledge things in the
Muslim faith she used to jeer at not very long ago.

I visited University College, a handsome white building
occupying a picturesque site high up on a rock. This,
with the two colleges of Dublin and Galway, form the
three constituent colleges of the National University of
Ireland. I met some of the masters of the College
and many of the men, and had a talk with Professor
Wibberley, the Professor of Agriculture, on his system
of “Continuous Cropping,” which he has been advocating
for the last few years, and which he hopes will
revolutionise agriculture in these countries. This system
aims at “Farming on Factory Lines,” that is, working
the land in the most intensive manner, making use of
scientific knowledge and working on economic principles
with a view to getting as much out of the land as possible
without deteriorating the soil. To go into the details
of Professor Wibberley's system and into his ideas on
agricultural education will be beyond the scope of this
book. But if I quote a little from his general ideas on
agricultural education in Ireland, I may be interesting
our people in a question which is in a similar position
in my own country. Talking of the student of agriculture
in Ireland, he says:

“He is studying, with the same object as his engineering,

medical, and other contemporaries, purely an
solely for the purpose of getting a job—a collar and
cuff job, no matter how badly paid. I speak facts.
Of the number of agricultural graduates that have
passed through the Dublin College of Science, I doubt
if more than two per cent. are engaged in practical
agriculture. Those who are not lucky enough to get a
situation under the Department of Agriculture—well, I
don't know where they have drifted to, but they are
not farming. That there was need for the Department
to train men for official positions everybody admits, and
those who, like myself, have had an opportunity of
comparing the type of men employed under the Department
with the agricultural instructors produced in other
countries will congratulate the Department on the
results. But the time has arrived when training, and
university training at that, should aim, not at creating
degree or diploma men, but students who go to the
University solely with the object of returning to the land
and putting their scientific knowledge into practice.”

In this picture, things look dark as far as the future
of agriculture in Ireland is concerned. But since the
leading agriculturists have raised their voices to attract
the attention of the authorities things are improving a
little. The National University is already striking out
a new line in agricultural studies. The Department of
Agriculture, too, alive to the defects in its agricultural
programme, has turned over a new leaf. I noticed when
I visited the Agricultural College at Glasnevin, near
Dublin, which is under the Department, an arrangement
had been entered into with the University in the matter
of agricultural instruction.

The next day, the fascination of the Blarney Stone
drew us to it. The train journey afforded a good chance
of seeing the beautiful country. The scenery was really
charming, the river winding round and round the green
pastures with cattle grazing on them—the hills and
mountains covered with trees—all was beautiful.

The Castle itself consists of a massive tower with lower
and less substantial buildings around it. The fame of
this place is due to a widespread tradition that

I must admit I never ventured to kiss the “Blarney
Stone.” Superstition has no hold on me, in spite of the
widespread belief that all Easterns are superstitious.
As a matter of fact, there is as much superstition here
and perhaps more than ever came under my notice at
home. “Touch wood,” “Unlucky 13,” “Horseshoe for
luck,” “the Mascot,” “Tying a shoe at the back of a
wedding party's car,” “If salt is spilt at table, a little
must be thrown over the left shoulder” to avert ill-luck,
“Break one, break three,” “Must break bread on first
visit to a new house,” “Wine decanter must go around
table right to left,” etc., are only a few well-known
superstitious sayings.

The pleasure grounds surrounding the Castle are
beautiful and old-world with their great trees and ancient
rocks and walls adorned with evergreens. Looking up
at the tower on the side of entrance, I saw , a few feet
from the top, the famous stone clasped with iron bars,
The sight satisfied my inquisitiveness, and when I
climbed up the tower by the narrow and dark staircase,
I contented myself with the magnificent view of the
surrounding country, while others were placing themselves
in the inconvenient, awkward, and uncomfortable,
not to say undignified, positions, which would enable
them to reach that lucky stone, which has been touched
by the lips of thousands of ambitious, simple souls who
most likely have never afterwards clambered to a lady's
chamber, or become members of Parliament!

The next day I called on various friends. Perhaps it
will interest my readers to know something of the noble
efforts my musical friends here are making for the
revival of the old Irish music. Ireland has a wealth of
national airs, unsurpassed as expressions of human
feeling, much of which has been lost to her as the result
of unfortunate circumstances. Lately a national musical
revival was begun, with its centre at Cork. Father O'F.,
a patriot, a good musician, and an enthusiastic supporter
of all that is Irish—a charming young priest, such as
we find at home amongst the young sheikhs of Dar-El-Uloom
—with the help of Herr Professor Karl Hardebeck
started a school of national music at Cork, which soon
became a centre for all lovers and admirers of Irish
music. The Herr Professor, a blind Hungarian genius,
who has lived a good many years in Ireland, and who
loves Irish music and has studied it at its original source
amongst the Irish-speaking folk of the West, devoted
all his time to collecting native songs, chants, and
lamentations. Comparing the position of our Irish
friends with our own, I think we in Egypt are much
more fortunate. Our music is still with us, forming an
inherent part of our life. All that it needs is developing
on modern lines. Our present position in the world of
music is similar to that of our forefathers in the realms
of poetry before the art of writing came into practice.
Everything with them in literature then, as with us in
music now, depended on memory and ear. Imagine the
works of Beethoven, Wagner, Mendelssohn, Schubert,
Mozart, Chopin, … not as recorded with scrupulous
exactness but as merely remembered. This is the
condition under which the works of our El-Shantouri,
Abdou El Hamouli, Mohammad Osman, El Sheikh
Yousif, Abdul Hai, El Sheikh Salama Hegazi. are
handed down to us. This unsatisfactory state of affairs
is not creditable to a nation like ours, the first in the
world to cultivate music. Our people practised this
art on the banks of the Nile from about 4,000 b.c.

And it was on their system, as confirmed by Greek
writers, that Pythagoras in 550 b.c. founded the Greek
music and philosophy.

As regards Irish musical instruments, I understand
they are the pipes and the harp. Every effort is made
to restore these again to their true place in national
music. Coming back to things Egyptian, the variety
of musical instruments we have now is great. Even in
the days of Ancient Egypt musical instruments existed
in profusion. Drums, bells, cymbals (used for dancing
girls to mark the rhythm of their performance), trumpet,
flute, harp, and lute, were all Egyptian. This shows
that the Egyptians have always been a highly musical
nation of considerable artistic power. I feel sure that
Modern Egypt will one day take her due place in this
sphere of art. It is not mere enthusiasm that has forced
me to this conclusion; a long acquaintance and love
for Western music, as well as for our own, has revealed
to me the possibilities that lie within the realms of each.
Modern Eastern music has not so far contributed much
to the musical world, but I feel convinced that Egypt
too shall sing her song when she is liberated from the
cage of ignorance and slavery and able to use her wings
again. When I made the acquaintance of my friends
at Cork who are developing Irish music on national
lines, I immediately thought of my old friend, Safar
Bey Ali, and his circle, who are doing similar work at
home. The more I know of Ireland, the more I see
the resemblance between it and Egypt. Both have
sincere devotees who work in different directions to
make each country “a nation once again.” I am glad
to see that in both countries the cultured classes are
taking a keen interest in the development of national
music. In our case, as far back as I can remember,
the “salons” of men like the late Musa Bey Sadik and
Mustafa Bey Rida were meeting places for the best of
professionals, young amateurs, and those who loved
music.

I do not know whether I am right in using the term
“salon” in the French sense. A salon without ladies
sounds incongruous. I am sure Voltaire would be
offended to hear me using this word about Egypt. To
him there was “no society without women.” Personally
I regret very much the absence of our cultured women
from society. It is a very great loss to it. If one could
only shut one's eyes, and on opening them again find
our Egyptian society a “mixed one,” of men and women,
conducted on such lines as would ensure to us the virtues
of Western society, and save us from its vices, how
delightful would life be in Egypt! I know many of
our cultured women who would adorn salons with their
charm, wit, and grace, and who under our present social
order are secluded, depriving society of what should be
the fairest and finest in our social life. Of course, that
question must be solved some time. Egypt can never
be the great country we want her to be, unless in her
development her womanhood stands shoulder to shoulder
with her manhood. The consequences of what I have
called “mixed society” we must face with courage and
hope, our duty is only to prepare the way for such a
society gradually so as to prevent such corruption and
vulgarity as the West has fallen into. It is not an
impossible task. Our people have a high sense of
morality and they are religious, and if our Ulamas,
nobility, and cultured people take a bold lead in such a
vital movement, we need have no fears. But let me
again insist on the great part religion should play in
our social order. Once a nation drifts away from religion,
she is sure to be on the way to vice. To us who have
lived in civilised England and also in holy Ireland this
is obvious.

The next day, being a very fine one, I paid a visit
to Queenstown, which I would prefer to call by its old
name, “Cove of Cork.” The journey by rail was
charming. The wide expanse of water on one side and
the sloping hills covered with woods here and pasture

there on the other, were a lovely sight. The colours
of the sky alone made a picture. It looked as if Nature
in a playful mood was amusing herself with the brush,
a streak of “Labani” here, one of “Farouzi” there,
and a few blotches of “Samawi” and the picture was
finished. No bright, rich oil colours, it was all faint
water colour. Queenstown lies on the south side of the
great Island, and its buildings are on the face of a hill
sloping down to the shore, presenting tiers of terraces.
The railway goes uninterruptedly from Cork to the
Island, crossing small areas of shallow water by short
bridges. The harbour in which this Island stands is
one of the finest in the Kingdom. High up on a hill
rises the fine Roman Catholic Cathedral, a beautiful
piece of Gothic art. The richness of its architecture,
and the beautiful design and colouring of its windows,
won my admiration, and I sat down and meditated.
It was a house of God, and to me it mattered not whether
it was a church, synagogue, or mosque. Children on
their way back from school came in, bowed, made the
sign of the Cross on their breasts, meditated for a
moment, rose up again, made the sign anew, and left.
This was going on while others were being admitted
through small doors at the side into the confession boxes,
where they confess the sins committed during the week,
and the priest “gives them absolution.” These are the
future citizens of this country of Erin, and this is how
their conscience and religious sense are cultivated. From
childhood to old age their lives and their religion are
one; hence it is no wonder that a high tone of morality
exists amongst Irishwomen. When our eyes turn to the
sister island across the Channel, we see a different state
of affairs. What accounts for the difference? We are
told of several reasons, but chief amongst them, perhaps,
is the influence of the teachings of their Church on Irish
people. Their religion plays a prominent part in their
lives. It is not divorced from worldly things. We
notice it in the priests themselves. They take part in

every phase of life in the community amongst which
they live. They are in the cottage, school, and palace,
they study the lives of the people, they advise, they
sympathise. The reader must have noticed my references
to the various activities displayed by the priests.
If Ireland becomes “a nation once again,” as all of us
hope she will, she will owe much to her priests and nuns.
They stood by her in adversity, they healed her wounds,
they comforted her, they preserved her faith, and
strengthened her soul. They nursed the sick, supported
the weak, looked after the orphans, and taught the
children. One has only to live amongst the people to
notice the close relationship between them and their
Church. Before coming over to Ireland how much we
heard of the undesirable influence of the priests on the
people of Ireland! Our English friends, including
clergymen, used to tell us how the Catholic Church in
Ireland hampered the progress of the people, limited
their outlook, narrowed their views, discouraged scientific
investigation, interfered with liberal education, rendered
the place a hotbed for political troubles, and the rest of
it. But I feel that the priests in identifying themselves
with the cause of the people, as they have often done,
have helped Ireland to preserve her soul, her personality,
her very life. It would have suited England admirably
that the priests should have held aloof from the national
cause. She realises, no doubt, that their influence has
been flung into the scale against her.

Ireland it is that has exposed England to the world,
old and new, as the selfish oppressor that she is.
England would have been glad to exploit Ireland's
resources in England's interests; to work Ireland's
brains for England's benefit. But what would Ireland
have become in the end? A poor imitation of England.
She could not have been anything else, the nature of
her people is entirely different from that of the natives
of the sister island. Would not that have been a loss
to the world? Every nation is endowed by nature with

a certain temperament and outlook on life, just as each
individual is possessed of a certain personality. If all
peoples made the best of the dormant powers that are
in them, developing these, interpreting in their own way
the gifts that God has endowed them with, the world
would be the richer, more beautiful and happier, because
each element that constitutes it would contribute its
individual note to the harmony of the whole. Under
the present order of society many individuals and many
nations are deliberately prevented from developing their
natural gifts of character. External factors dominate
them and deprive them of their individuality, with the
result that the powers born in them degenerate or fade
away. The world generally has not advanced sufficiently
to realise this, but when it does, I feel sure it
will be considered a gross crime for any one nation or
union of nations, however powerful, to prevent any
community from expressing its own powers, material,
artistic, and spiritual, in its own way. The time will
come, if the human race is to live and flourish, when
every effort will be made to bring out all that is good
and beautiful in all the communities of which the human
race is composed. At the present day we are still in
the world of materialism. Every endeavour is made to
utilise the material resources that constitute the wealth
of all countries; that is why “Might” is worshipped
now, for in the world of materialism “Might” is the
god. Countries are conquered that their mines and
fields may be worked, no matter what becomes of the
conquered people; their lives, their minds, their souls,
their feelings, their ideals, are of no concern, it is their
muscles, the muscles of slaves, that are wanted. We
must admit that the world is progressing, although
slowly. It has already been made impossible for one
power to dominate the world. If the world was to be
dominated by one power, Germany no doubt would
have been that power. It is said that the idea that
there should be one master for the whole world has

been settled once and for all. But what has taken his
place? A company, a combine, a group of four or five
powers. It is an advance in the right direction, but one
would have liked that advance to have gone a bit further,
so far at least as to include a larger number of peoples.

To-day is Sunday, the 23rd of November, the anniversary
of the Manchester Martyrs. I have no intention
of calling back sad memories here, so I leave the tale
untold. The cruelties of the English to a few Irishmen
at Manchester were not unlike those committed by the
same benevolent race against the few Egyptians at
Denshwai. I only mention these incidents “lest we
forget.” Here at Cork, all celebrations for this 23rd of
November were proclaimed and processions suppressed.
A large display of soldiers and police was made with
intent to humiliate the spirit of the nation. All that
was left to the people was the holding of religious
services in the churches, where Requiem Masses for the
repose of the souls of the martyrs were said. All day
parties of military, wearing trench helmets and with
fixed bayonets, supported by a large force of constabulary
fully armed, were posted on the various bridges and in
the principal streets. I went to see the National Monument
to the Martyrs, and found the position held by a
strong section of the military and police. The gloom
of the atmosphere was relieved by the little children,
who, “playing with fire,” were throwing explosives at
the soldiers from a distance. One was obliged to laugh,
sad as it all was, at the sight of a huge policeman, red
with rage, snorting and stampeding after a mischievous
little urchin, who, though frightened out of his life
managed most cleverly to dodge the mass of humanity
coming like a steam roller after him. While this was
going on another “mite” managed to place his little
bomb between the feet of another giant. That sent
another steam roller down the street, till, exhausted, it
stopped automatically in front of a publichouse where
fuel was available free of charge, according to a previous

understanding between that human engine and the
publican. When the time came for the regiment to
retire to its barracks after a day's glorious service, it
did so to the accompaniment of a large crowd of children
whose hooting and shouting heralded the force a long
time before it appeared. I have never seen a regiment
look so ridiculous.

Next day I paid a visit to the Fordson Works, a fine
modern factory well situated on the bank of the Lee,
where agricultural motor tractors were made on a large
scale. The foundry and machine shops were not in full
swing as the place was still unfinished, but everything
was being arranged in the usual American business-like
manner. Almost all the workers and mechanics were
Irish, while the few heads were from across the Atlantic.
I was told Mr. Ford himself was of Irish descent, and
that his ancestors came from Cork. I wondered whether
it was industrial enterprise or home affection that stimulated
him to establish this factory here; probably both,
but I am rather inclined to think it was principally the
latter, as about the same time another American gentleman
of Munster descent endowed a Professorship of
Agricultural Research in the University College here at
Cork. These occurrences were consistent with the
advocacy here of a more extensive and intensive system
of farming; under such a system the use of up-to-date
machinery in working the land would become very
essential. The College authorities, realising this, wisely
included in their new scheme for agricultural education
a practical course of Farm Engineering to be conducted
at the Ford Motor Works. These works, as we have
said above, turn out motor tractors and motor tractors
only. There is a great future before these farm engines.
Their adaptability is an immense advantage; not only
do they plough, sow seeds, and harvest the grain, but
they take it to market in a train of waggons, and being
fitted with belt driving, they can also be used to supply
power for the working of various kinds of fixed

machinery on the farm. Now compare these with
another farm engine, the motor plough, which can do
nothing but ploughing, and the greater value of the
tractor becomes apparent.

It is indeed cheering that these Irish-Americans do
not forget the country of their origin. It is very touching
to hear of the young emigrants sending part of their
earnings and savings to their poor parents and needy
relations in the home country. The effort made in the
United States to emancipate Ireland is solely due to
the activities of its citizens who are of Irish origin, a
worthy work for so true and affectionate a race. Now
the same people are showing an interest in developing
agriculture, industries, and shipping in Ireland.

Later in the day I had the pleasure of meeting
Mr. McS., the member of Parliament for Cork, (who later
became Lord Mayor in succession to MacCurtain, who
was deliberately murdered by the enemies of Sinn Féin).
Father O'F., Professors R. and S., and others. We
discussed the prospects of their Sinn Féin and our
Nationalist movements. The principle religiously adhered
to and the tactics adopted by both parties to
throw off the foreign yoke are very similar.

In the evening I was invited to attend a private Irish
concert at the School of Music. I felt greatly honoured
by being welcomed as “our friend from Egypt.” I
enjoyed the music and songs, and when I was called
upon, I had to apologise for my inability to do much
in that line, and contented myself with saying a few
words about our Egyptian music. After the concert,
and the refreshments that followed, I had a talk with
Professor Hardebeck, who is an authority on Irish
music. It was interesting to hear him talking of the
strain of Eastern music in the Irish, and of
the connection or relationship between the Irish and
Oriental languages. Here is a piece of fascinating
research work for our students in Egypt, who have
means, leisure, and interest in such questions. Of

course, we have more pressing problems to investigate
at home which will occupy pretty well all our energies
for some time to come. But I make this suggestion
for the few whose disposition and talent are particularly
adapted to this kind of work, and whose gifts would be
lost to the nation if their energies were directed into
other channels. Such people generally fail to do much
in other spheres, and it would be fortunate if they were
left to use the talent they are gifted with for the general
good, be it in the world of thought or in the realms of
art. If we are entrusted with a power, it is our duty
to make the best use of it for the welfare of the community
as a whole, otherwise we are robbing the world
of a power created for the good of humanity. It is an
offence against society not to contribute our full share
to its welfare; and the bigger our resources are, the
more is expected from us. Of course, resources are not
taken here in the merely economic sense, but in the
wider one, and include intellect as well as wealth, greatness
of heart, personality, etc. … these are all forces
to be reckoned with in our lives, and these are the
powers which shape society. Unless all these powers
are called into action, something will be lost, and the
nation will be the poorer. In some countries one particular
force is valued more than any other. Our own
country thinks more of intellect than of anything else.
Our people are intellectual, almost to excess. I suppose
that is why they count intellect as the highest gift of
all. This attitude is to my mind a very dangerous one,
for unless intellect is accompanied by nobility of
character, solidity of purpose, perseverance, and the
other qualities which should be its accompaniments, it
is a fruitless force. Mustafa Kamel rightly interpreted
it when he said: “Ruoosun ïndana wa-lakin la nufoos.”

The next morning was fine and I decided to leave Cork.
A good view of the city was obtained from the train.
The country looked charming, hills, valleys, mountains,
and pastures. The railway followed closely the winding
waters of the River Bandon. The country was wooded
until the river was crossed, then stretches of wild and
uncultivated land appeared. Further on, when the
River Illen was reached, the scenery again altered, and
showed bogs and a bleached vegetation. It was not
long before I found myself in Bantry. In that town,
which is well situated on a fine bay commanding a
beautiful view, I spent a few hours. Fishing boats
gave signs of industrial life, and were, I understood,
very numerous in the mackerel season. In the short
time at my disposal, I took the road descending to the
harbour, then, turning landward and to the left I climbed
the road up into the country, where I had a magnificent
view of Bantry Bay with Whiddy Island lying in it, the
mountains forming a noble background, and the fine
stretches of beautiful landscape intervening. Wandering
along quiet country roads and passing by small farms, I was
pleased to meet some of my old friends, the little birds.
It was a delightful sight to see a number of goldfinches
playfully pulling at pieces of straw or chasing each other
around the small oat stacks. And not far from that
joyful atmosphere of freedom and happiness, fixed outside
the doors of humble cottages, there were small cages
with bright little birds in them, now hopping restlessly
up and down their perches, and now eyeing their more
fortunate relations outside with grief and envy, looking

as if they would rather swing “on a leafless tree than
a prisoner be in a cage of gold.”

From Bantry I motored to Glengariff. The road
followed the irregular coast line at the head of the Bay,
crossing several small streams which found their way to
the sea, some slipping into it modestly and without
much ado, and some rushing over rocky falls. With
the mountains on the right and the sea on the left the
road continued winding through magnificent scenery.
True, the country looked poor and unproductive, the
rocky nature of the land and the thinness of the soil
account for that, but my appreciation of its rugged and
bold beauty was not restrained by its economic shortcomings.
Picturesque hills in the foreground with lofty
mountains looming grandly in the distance, began to
curve round, announcing the approach of Glengariff
Harbour, studded with its numerous rocky islets. After
refreshing myself at the Eccles Hotel I found it still
early enough in the day to climb up the winding rocky
road on the mountain side. Luxuriant vegetation filled
the crevices in the rocks, softening their outlines and
giving them colour, while small streams of clear cold
water roared over the falls, or murmured into the
ground. Sometimes as I climbed up the road I heard
the rustling of the falling copper-coloured leaves from
the scattered clumps of trees and I felt as if haunted
by the spirit of the woods. At other places where there
was some claim to farming, stone, or rather stone walls,
characterised the surface of the country, these enclosed
small, poor fields on which a few Kerry cows and mongrel
breeds of sheep were struggling to live. Humble cottages
were scattered here and there, and it was a delight to
talk to the poor folk inhabiting them, the old people,
the little children, or my favourite coy witches. Kindly,
homely, hospitable, religious, were they all. While
talking to some of these cottagers of a bird I had seen
on my way, and which from my description I understood
to have been the curlew, a flock of wild geese flew in

their characteristic mode of flight high up above the
glen. My friends told me of other birds they had seen
in this district, especially at times when the cold was
severe in other places, at those times the mildness of
the climate here attracted to it birds like the plovers
which do not like the cold. That mildness and those
frequent showers of which I had experience during my
short stay at Glengariff, explained the wonderful richness
and profusion of the vegetation there. As I was
making my way to the hotel the sun was setting behind
the mountains, reddening the waters and setting the
rocks in a glow. I passed through the village, and
enjoyed a charming view of the ruins of an old bridge
lit up by the warm evening light.

The first thing my eyes fell upon in the morning was
a perfect picture of peace. From my window, the clear
and still waters of the harbour surrounded by the
mountains looked like a glass of pure water held in a
giant's hand. The sun rising from behind a veil of
clouds seemed as if trying to have a glance to see if
this was really water, so red it was like wine. Was it
the work of magic, or was it a pure and simple physical
phenomenon of light reflection, or was it the sun's own
suspicious glance that made the waves to blush? All
was still, not a sound, not a movement, and I wondered
if it were after all possible that absolute peace could
really come to us on this planet. After breakfast I
started on my journey to Killarney. There is no railway
to Kenmare, which is about eighteen miles away, and I
chose to do this part of the journey on a jaunting car.
Before leaving the town I called at the Lacemaking
School, but as I intend to speak about this art later on,
I will leave it for the present. The day was cold, and
the atmosphere dry and clear, and the clouds hung low
over the mountains, as up we climbed by a winding road.
We passed small streams running gleefully down the
hills, and stately old oaks holding their place with
dignity and reserve. There were other trees besides

this queen of the woods; the most numerous of these
were the holly and the birch. At this time of year and
at this place, the holly looked the most picturesque and
cheerful of all trees; when others seemed cold and
unsocial, the holly, with its ever-glossy leaves of rich
green, and its clusters of scarlet berries, warmed one's
heart. In the midst of these surroundings I was again
delighted to meet old friends. All the finches were
there, and I listened with joy to the rich piping voice
of my favourite, the bullfinch. The woodcock, the
wood pigeon, the yellow-hammer, the linnet, the wagtail,
and, of course, the robin, were all there too. As we
climbed higher, the scenery changed, the woods gradually
dropped behind, the hills gave way to mountains, and
the small green fields with humble cottages scattered
amongst them were replaced by broad expanses of
brown vegetation with rocks showing through. Higher
still we found nothing but rocks with a few mountain
plants struggling to gain a footing in the crevices.
Heath and heather, decayed fern and withered furze,
lent their colouring to the massive rocks dominating
this wild country. Sometimes the heather showed its
faint purple, while the bolder furze displayed its rich
yellow flower to the full, and but for these the scene
would have seemed chilly and inhospitable. The snowclad
tops of the heights disappeared into space behind
a silvery-grey veil; where the heights ended and the
clouds began remained a mystery. Lower down the
sides of the mountain, the active Scotch Blackfaced
sheep grazed, on—I am not sure what; I know it was
not on grass. They looked hardy, sure-footed, and
alert. No other animals lived there except the hare
and the badger. Goats were not allowed to roam there.
They were wanted nearer home for milking and also to
keep them from running away. Down in the valley
streams ran, and there I saw scattered, small farms
where luxurious green vegetation indicated some prosperity.
Ridges of green turnips or cabbage, stacks of

straw, hay, or corn, clamps of potatoes, a few black
Kerries and red Dexters grazing quietly on small
pastures, and flocks of ducks and geese around their
beloved waters, small, comfortable-looking cottages, all
this revealed some claims to wealth on the land. Amid
such scenes we continued till the road left County Cork
at the entrance of a rocky tunnel. We emerged on the
other side to find ourselves in County Kerry and faced
with a perfect “study in brown.” Everything was of
that colour in all its shades. Bogland, some of it worked
and some not, seemed to fade away into areas of vegetation
and masses of rock, without revealing the lines of
demarcation. Scattered about were turf stacks made of
sods piled together. Lower down we came to land
where larch and ash began to appear, also hawthorn
and sally or willow, the latter with their long, slender,
straight twigs springing low down from the stem. Still
further down the land grew richer, and here rabbits,
with fastidious tastes, feasted on the tender plants
grown on the small farms. Dexters and Kerries were
here replaced by Shorthorns and Aberdeen Angus, while
the mountain sheep were replaced by Border Leicesters.
In the valley the road followed the Kenmare River,
with its waters dashing angrily down falls, or zigzagging
their way between such rocks as had the strength to
stand in their way. Kenmare Bay we saw at a distance,
and presently we crossed the mouth of the river over a
new suspension bridge which leads into the small town
bearing the same name. There I caught the train to
Killarney. On the way I enjoyed a fine open view with
mountains in the background displaying varied shades
of green, brown, and silver. Hills and streams, woods
and bogs, pastures and arable lands, all blended harmoniously
into a pleasing picture. Reaching Killarney
station I drove to the Lake Hotel, a mile and a half
away. Having been fed and warmed I could not help
responding to the call of the easy chair and the fire-place;
there I felt restful and happy, with an Egyptian

cigarette and a cup of Turkish coffee. It was so
peaceful and so enjoyable, I would have stayed there
for hours thinking pleasant thoughts had it not been
for a disturbance which interfered with quiet reflection.
A trivial incident took place, which exhibited the
arrogance and haughtiness of the aristocracy very
unpleasantly. I was exceedingly angered, and for the
first time in my life I felt a Bolshevik. That damnable
institution of the aristocracy is still strongly entrenched
in the heart, mind, and soul of Western society, particularly
in this kingdom. As long as this lasts, Europe
and those who ape it will be accursed by the gods. My
thoughts being thus disturbed, there was nothing for it
but to go to bed, and thus unquietly ended a day spent
in the company of serene nature.

The morning dawned and all was calm again. I
looked out of my window; stillness prevailed over
mountains, lakes, and islands. On a rocky islet, some
hundred yards away stood the ruins of old Castle Lough,
the remains of what was once an impregnable fortress,
reminding one of the wars of Queen Elizabeth and of
the iron rod of Cromwell. The morning was very cold,
but that did not deter me from driving to the Gap of
Dunloe. We drove along a beautiful avenue of lime
trees; which looked chilly in its winter garment of
white frost, then through the town of Killarney. The
demesne of Lord Headley, the Irish Muslim, now lay on
our right and that of Lord Kenmare on our left.
Crossing the River Laune, the only outlet of the lakes,
we were face to face with the mountains in all their
wild grandeur. I proceeded on foot through the Pass
into the heart of the mountain country with scenes of
great beauty and variety before me. The magnificence
of the mountains was impressive, and I could not help
repeating Tolstoy's “Mountains, Mountains, Mountains!!!”
I followed the River Lee, which in its
ragged course over big rocks and under old bridges
winds round and round, and opens now and then into

little lochs, with the chain of overhanging mountains
on both sides, amid a scene of wildness and weirdness
which overwhelmed one. A shout between these high
mountains produces an echo which comes back from
far away and from different directions, as if giants
repeated one's words in their great voices. The vastness
of the surroundings could not fail to inspire the beholder
with “big thoughts.” They made one feel that the
plans of life may be carried to their final issue against
any opposition or discouragement in the same way as
the giants made their path through these massive
mountains, or as the running streams made their beds
in the midst of solid rock. The greater, the harder and
more cruel these mountains are, the more wonderful
their effect. They seem to tell us in their huge voices
that if our endeavours are as they are so will be the
results. In adversity, when plans are frustrated and
hopes seem shattered, the memories of these mountains
may come back to one, with the admonition: “Stand
firm, solid purpose will win in the end.”

Passsing under one of those monsters I was reminded
of the Great Pyramid of our own Egypt. It looked
almost the same in shape, though the rocks were not
so uniformly arranged. Forgetting the surroundings,
I thought of our dear old land and the days of her glory,
and wished to Heaven that as a nation we would think
more of our great past. Such thinking would link us
to the realm of grandeur that was Ancient Egypt. It
would give an impulse for the great deeds that must
go to the making of the future glory that shall be
Modern Egypt. We need not go far for inspiration, if
we realise the greatness of our past and the possibilities
of our future. Nations cling to unauthentic legends
and the petty artistic achievements of past generations
and from these they try to draw inspiration for new
generations; and we in Egypt, the cradle of all civilisation,
seem unconscious of the wealth and treasures
that fill every nook and corner of our land. One temple

like that of Kasr Anas-El-Wujude, which we deliberately
flooded a few years ago in order to enrich the Black
Country, would have been sufficient to fill any nation
with a sense of greatness. We allow foreigners to come
to us from Europe and America and dig out our past,
and tell us what they please of our history, We are
contented to know very little of it, and even that little
we get, not even second-hand, but third or fourth-hand.
As for the teaching of our history in our schools, it is a
disgrace. The little of it that our “Nizaret-El-Maarif”
allows us to know is taught to children in the dullest
and most uninteresting manner. I admit that I never
paid any attention to it; taught as it was, it bored me
to death. It bored the master too, and the one hour
a week allotted to the subject he generally made better
use of by teaching grammar or some other “interesting”
subject. It mattered not to us or to him, as no examinations
were held in this almost voluntary subject of
our own history. I am convinced that our backwardness
amongst nations is due to ignorance of our past, and to
our failure to adhere to the teachings of our religion.
Our ancestors left us a great heritage in the realms of
art, literature, philosophy, and religion, and we can and
should turn the study of these to account. One regrets
to see the West thinking, and persisting in wrongly
thinking, that if any people can justly claim descent
from the Ancient Egyptians, it is the half million Copts
amongst us in Egypt; the rest of the race, or at least
the most of it, they say, has died out. They do not
seem to realise that though the early Egyptian blood,
not diluted with Greek or any other, has been mixed
with that of the great conquering Arabs, the modern
Egyptian can still claim descent rather from the Ancient
Egyptians than from the Arabs. It is to be hoped that,
in the interests of knowledge, the Egyptologists of the
West will enlighten their public on this point. We
modern Egyptians are proud of that proportion of
Ancient Egyptian blood which runs in our veins, proud,

too, of our Arab blood. Both were great peoples, and
each created a culture of its own which helped in making
the world what it is now. In saying this I am not overestimating
the part contributed by these two great
races to the shaping of European civilisation. One has
only to read what men like Maspero, Flinders Petrie,
Lane, Lane-Poole, and others, say on these matters to
be convinced of the fact. As for the very limited
Turkish and Caucasian strain that is in us, we have no
reason to be ashamed of it either. What these two
peoples lost in culture, they gained in strength, manliness,
and chivalry. The battlefields of the Balkans and
the Caucasus tell their tales of heroism. It was only
yesterday that Gallipoli and the Russian Front were
the scenes of great deeds by Turks and Cossacks.
To come back to our two main strains of ancestry, we
realise that our relationship with the Pharaohs is not as
marked as that with the Arabs. The reason is obvious;
the “latest impression lasts the longest.” It is a great
national loss that we do not realise sufficiently the
importance of a closer connection with both our ancient
cultures alike. There are good things in both, and as
we need all the goodness that is in them to help in the
making of Modern Egypt, we should lose no time in
studying our past, and making it known to our children,
so as to make them love and revere their great ancestors.
By this means children are led to take pride in their
country, and this pride will soon reflect itself in their
individual actions. Imagine the moral effect on the
minds of the school boys and girls when they act an
historical drama of which their forefathers played the
parts in real life. Singing folk songs, reciting the
speeches of great patriots and leaders of men, playing
national sports, etc.; all these inspire the children with
a sense of pride in their nation for which no other
education can be a substitute. The greatest asset of
any nation is its national culture, and it is a matter of
fundamental importance that its people should know the

history of that culture if they are to live and progress
as a cultured community. The worst blow against a
country is that which would sever its present from its
past. There are many ways of doing this. If we glance
at what the English invader has done in Ireland, we get
an idea of the different means that may be adopted to
divorce a people from their culture in order to accomplish
their conquest. The Irish people were systematically
dispossessed of their language, of their arts, even
of their national costume, before they were brought
within the British realm. Now the reaction is taking
place. The Irish Revival movement is an effort to
re-establish the severed connection between the present
and the past in order to build a new Ireland on a solid
and secure foundation. Not until this is accomplished
will Ireland become a nation once again. What happened
to Ireland has happened to other countries.

The most effective way of forming the national mind
is to educate the children in their national culture. I
am not an educationalist, but I know there are many
roads that lead to that end. Modern systems of education
have made it a pleasure to learn and a delight
to investigate. The arts of painting, drawing, and
bookbinding, fascinate children, and induce them to
buy books themselves and read them. The acting of a
play is a great excitement to school children, and it can
be made use of to acquaint them with a period of their
national history. Our own history is full of drama and
melodrama in both Early Egyptian and Arab periods.
A play suitable to be acted by school children could
easily be written based on historical facts of a certain
Egyptian Dynasty or Arab Khalifate. By this means
the outstanding features of that time would be remembered
and loved. George Ebers, the German Egyptologist,
wrote several novels, but not for the youngsters,
to popularise the study of Egyptology. His Egyptian
Princess stimulated many to learn something of early
Egyptian history, and informed them of some of its

events and introduced them to certain historical personalities.
Eugene Brieux, the young French dramatist,
by his La Foi has represented to us the time of Menephthah
I of Mosaic fame, in such a charming way that
when the play is acted on the stage it leaves a lasting
impression of the high standard attained in arts, science,
life, and thought, at the close of the Nineteenth Dynasty.
Sir Walter Scott immortalised in his Talisman the chivalry
of the great Saladin. Robert Hitchins in his Bella Donna
struck a new line, which I think a very unfortunate one,
but which happens to gratify the sensual craving to which
English novelists find it necessary to minister. These
few instances show how the history of the times could
be told in an attractive way to the people and the
extreme care which should be exercised in choosing the
historical facts which bring out the high ideals and great
thought of the time. National culture is an extremely
wide term. It includes all that is great in the physical,
intellectual, social, moral, and artistic life of a people,
and in a country like ours should be included in the
curriculum of schools, colleges, and universities, as a
prominent subject of study. What is taking place now
is that our children are not adequately taught their
forefathers' history. Religion is taught at the point of
the cane, and to learn the Koran or part of it by heart
is a tedious task, to say the least of it. One would
perhaps have liked it, if one were only told these stories
first in the simple and attractive way that would appeal
to children, for Egyptian children are perhaps more than
other children fond of having stories told them. Instead
of that, the wise words of the Koran written in the
classical language, are poured into the ears of poor
children who have not the vaguest idea what is meant,
and they are supposed to learn it all by heart without
explanation.

As for making our children acquainted with our
ancient monuments and historical ruins, it is amusing
to recall how things are done at home. When I was at

Mohammad Ali School in Cairo, we used to be taken by
the masters for an excursion once or twice a year to
the Pyramids and Sphinx at Giza. With us a football
was an indispensable item of our equipment. The day
was usually spent between feeding and playing, for all
it mattered to us, the Pyramids and Sphinx need never
have existed. I doubt if the masters themselves knew
much about them. They certainly knew a good deal
more about the arts of feeding, and football. About
Arab architecture, Arabesque and mosaic work, stained
glass and woodwork, carved panels and metal work,
textile fabrics and illuminated manuscripts, the children
learned just as little. In this way Egypt is divorced
from its real national culture, and yet people wonder
how can the modern Egyptian, descended from so great
an ancestry, be so backward. We poor children of
Modern Egypt do not learn anything about our forefathers
till foreign students happen to sing their praises;
on hearing them, we ask in surprise: “Are those great
ones really our forefathers?”

The way is open to us, if we wish to take it. We
need not create myths nor invent fairy tales, we need
simply go to solid facts. The memorials of our country's
greatness are before us; from contact with them we
derive our inspiration, as Michael Angelo used to touch
the great Greek masterpieces of sculpture when he
became blind.

I have drifted far from the Kerry mountains. I
apologise. Their greatness turned my thoughts to the
greatness of our country. Resuming my walk through
the pass, I met an old man pushing a two-wheeled light
cart, and I inquired of him how many miles I had still
to walk. He told me of a short cut which would save
a mile or so, and he offered to leave his cart by the
wayside and see me some distance on the right way.
He was a man of about seventy, and yet strong and
active. He told me many stories, but annoyed me by
taking me for an Englishman. I reproached my stars

that I had not the typical complexion of my countrymen,
which would have saved me the momentary loss of my
nationality. The short cut was not by any means an
easy one. We left the main road, and after some stiff
climbing amongst the rocks we followed in our descent
what looked like the bed of a small stream. It was not
easy to pick our way, stepping on stones and rocks so
as to avoid a wetting. Presently we reached a sort of
a platform from which we had a glorious view of the
Black Valley; the old man halted here and pointed the
way I had to follow. I could see the whole country
unfolded before me like a map, mountains, rivers, roads,
cottages, trees, lakes, all clearly outlined. MacGillicuddy
Reeks, the highest mountains in Ireland, with their
pinnacle-like tops, covered with snow, bounded the
picture; the valley was covered with decayed wild
vegetation, and the whole was a study of light and
shade, brown and silvery-white. I took the road
following the course of the Gearhameen River, till I
reached the Upper Lake into which it flowed. From
there I took the boat which was waiting for me and
rowed through the Lakes.

We left striking scenes behind us to find in front
others equally striking. Great mountains encircled the
waters, which in turn encircled little picturesque islands.
These islands were decked with green foliage among
which the arbutus, the holly, the Irish yew, the birch,
the oak, the ash, and varieties of ferns figured
prominently. The peaks of the mountains were white
with snow, below which large, bare rocks gleamed in the
sunshine, while the lower slopes and the glens were
covered with various kinds of trees. All this passed
like a beautiful panorama as the boat glided through
the clear waters. The Upper Lake ends in what is
called The Serpentine, a river connecting the Upper
with the Middle and Lower Lakes. This river in places
opens into small lochs. Near one of these, half way
down the river, rising majestically from the water's edge,

stands the Eagle's Nest, a high, pointed mountain which
towers over its neighbours. Further on we reached a
disused bridge. I confess I did not like the prospect
of passing through the arch. The waters were rushing
with great force through the narrow passage with rocks
on both sides. It was just wide enough to let our boat
through. If the boat was not handled with great skill,
and if it touched anything on its way through, it would
have become a wreck to be carried down the powerful
current. It was an anxious moment, but the experienced
hands of the boatmen steered us through in safety.
Passing under another bridge we entered the Lower and
larger Lake, where another beautiful panorama awaited
us. This wider expanse of water was dotted with islands,
but to me the most interesting was Innisfallen, which
contained the ruins of an abbey once a distinguished
seat of learning. This brought us to the end of a
delightful day.

In the last chapter I referred to the flora of the
country I passed through; a word now about its fauna,
particularly the birds. Animals were not many on the
mountains. I saw only a few: the fox, the badger, the
otter, the wild or pole cat, the stoat, the squirrel, the
hare, and the rabbit. Of the water birds, I saw some
on the water, some among the trees, some in the rushes,
some on the wing. On a sand bank lying at the point
where the waters of the lakes pass into the River Laune,
I observed a flock of cormorants resting; they were
big, black birds, some of them had white breasts, and
those, I was told, were the younger ones. Coots I saw
on the water, moorhens by the sides of the lakes, and
herons standing motionless among the rushes till we got
near to them, when they rose gracefully on the wing.
Different varieties of wild ducks I also noticed, grebes
and kingfishers are very rare. All these water birds I
had seen before in different countries, notably in the lake
districts not far from Constantinople. In Boyuk, Chekmeje,
and Kuchuk Chekmeje they abound and afford
magnificent shooting. At home, in Great Britain, in
France, in Germany, and in other countries, I made the
acquaintance of many varieties of water birds. I regret
very much the complete lack of literature and painting
on this subject in our own language. Perhaps one day,
now that we have an Arts School in Cairo, we shall see
a book on birds in Arabic, and illustrated by an Egyptian
artist. Coloured plates are an essential part of such
books. Some years ago I came across a book on
“Egyptian Birds”; it was a pleasure to read it and

study the plates. But it was not written and illustrated
by our own countrymen, but by foreigners, and in a
foreign language. Of the land birds, I saw many small
ones, such as the chaffinch, the bull-finch, the green
finch, the yellow-hammer, the wren, the tit, the thrush,
the blackbird, the woodcock, the snipe, and others.

In the evening I felt cold and tired, and was very
glad to find myself in front of a big fire with a newspaper
in my hand. My eye caught the new order issued by
the Government for the prohibition and suppression of
all Sinn Féin and kindred organisations throughout the
whole of Ireland. Commenting on the proclamation the
Vice-President of Sinn Féin said: “The Irish Nation
will continue to live when its ‘proclaimers’ have passed
from the memory of mankind. The latest act of the
Government will be treated with contempt by the Irish
people, and it will recall to men's minds Edmund
Burke's aphorism, ‘The Government against which a
claim to liberty is tantamount to high treason is a
government to which submission is equivalent to
slavery.’” The same paper reported more arrests of
prominent people at home in Egypt for speaking in the
name and interest of their country. In the eyes of that
nation which Arthur Griffiths called “proclaimers,”
Egypt ought not to have anyone to speak for her,
otherwise it might be difficult for the well-meaning
English “reformers” to carry out their benevolent
“duty” as protectors of the weak, benefactors of the
poor, liberators of the oppressed, and sincere supporters
of the policy of “self-determination.”

The next morning I paid a visit to a convent in the
town where they make lace. A “sister” kindly showed
me round, and I admired the artistic designs and good
work accomplished by the girls. Hanging on the wall
I noticed paintings of Egyptian colonnades as well as
Persian and Greek designs beautifully executed. I
wished our people would admire their own Egyptian
art as much as other peoples do. In the convent there

was a school for teaching poor boys and girls. I had
the pleasure of visiting them in their class rooms, and
it was gratifying to see that music played an important
part in their education. I left the convent to visit the
School of Arts and Crafts which was close by. There
was not much activity there, as not much work was
done at that time of the year. I saw some clever and
neat wood-carving.

On my way to the above school I passed by the
School for Housewifery, whose name explained the
purpose for which it was founded. I am sure this and
similar schools are worthy of the consideration of our
young women students who have the good fortune to
visit foreign countries. The field of work covered by
Such schools is almost untouched in Egypt, although
the need for its cultivation is more than pressing. Our
women, whether high or low, show an extraordinary
ignorance of, and a striking apathy towards, domestic
duties; neither are their homes appropriately furnished,
nor their children well brought up, nor their affairs
economically managed; their education, knowledge, and
tastes, have sadly degenerated. The rich lavish their
money on expensive dresses and furniture of foreign
design and make, which are not only unsuitable to
Egyptian conditions, but look absolutely out of place
in the midst of Egyptian surroundings; they neither
harmonise with our environment, nor do they serve a
useful purpose. I should like to see home life in all its
phases, whether domestic, artistic, or social, established
on purely national lines. We have had enough aping
of the foreigner, and have heard enough of the foreign
names used in our homes. We want neither names nor
objects of foreign origin. Our language is immensely
rich and capable of any extension that is necessary in
order to keep pace with modern progress. Our people
are clever and original; our ancestors and history we
have every reason to be proud of. I see no reason why
we should not do things in our own way to suit our own

purposes, and take pride in doing so. Perhaps this
plain talk may give offence, but I think it is the duty
of every educated Egyptian, especially of those who
have spent part of their lives in Europe, to investigate
the causes of our backwardness and try to make good
our defects. There is a danger in hiding our social evils
for fear of being criticised. Anybody who has read
Stanley Lane-Poole's Modern Egyptians, and noticed his
accurate knowledge and close criticism of our affairs,
will agree that this attitude of mind is like that of the
ostrich which seeks safety by hiding its head in the
sand, leaving its body exposed. It is obvious that there
must be great defects in the social life of the modern
Egyptian to account for his backwardness. The extraordinary
resources at his disposal, if properly utilised,
ought to put him high among the nations. Many of us
know our social defects and know well that the sources
of them all are in our homes, but how many of us have
the moral courage to speak out and attempt to reform
these institutions that have so unhealthy a grip on our
social life and retard our progress?

In the afternoon I had the chance of visiting the
“Castlelough Herd” of pedigree Kerry cattle. This
breed, together with the Dexters, form the two native
breeds of cattle in Ireland. As the Dexters, which are
small dual-purpose red or black cattle, do not breed
true, and as at the same time a large proportion of
their progeny are monstrosities, many cattle breeders
deny them the right of being called a breed at all, and
believe that in time they will die out altogether. The
Kerries are small black cattle, and thrive on rough
pastures. The Kerry may be termed the “economical
cow.” They are dual-purpose, early-maturing animals,
with an average annual yield of from 500 to 600 gallons
of milk of four per cent. butterfat; they are well-formed,
and have a distinct air of breeding and alertness.
The following ballad proves their popularity:

The next day I left for Limerick via Tralee. It was
at this latter town near the coast that Casement and his
two companions tried to get in touch with the local
leaders of the Volunteers after their adventurous arrival
in a German submarine off the South-West coast of
Ireland in April 1916. This is a long story by itself,
and I cannot relate it here.

The country was beautiful, but the slow train would
have made the journey tedious had we not been travelling
in Ireland. The Irish people are by nature sociable
and communicative, and in the railway carriages they
talk without effort or pretence about everything as if
they were old acquaintances. This geniality in the
Irish character makes up for the slowness of their trains.
Many a long journey I have made, comfortably talking
with my fellow-travellers; it was a pleasure to meet all
kinds of people, from landowners, priests, and schoolmasters,
to small farmers, cattle drovers, and labourers.
All possess that easy, frank, and gentle way of carrying

on uninterrupted, natural, and interesting conversation.
I found this characteristic a great relief, especially after
living in England for so many years, where it is a crime
to open a conversation with anyone to whom one has
not been formally introduced. One might be taken for
a spy or a thief, certainly an audacious intruder, if one
should do so. That cold, uncomfortable reserve of the
English people, relieved only by their conventional
remarks on the weather if they happen to open their
mouths once or twice in a day's journey, is very characteristic
of the self-conscious, suspicious, superior Anglo-Saxon.

I reached Limerick in the afternoon, a busy industrial
town finely situated on both banks of the Shannon.
In the evening I visited the Technical Institute, a large
new building which from the outside displayed a good
deal of light, revealing the activities going on within.
Here, day and night classes attended by some six
hundred students are held, in which a large variety of
subjects are taught by efficient masters. I may say a
few words about this place, not because it is unique in
its way, as its like exists in similar progressive towns,
but because of the spirit which prevails amongst its
members.

To begin with, it is the property of the Municipality,
and receives grants from the Department of Agriculture
and Technical Instruction, subject to certain supervision
and formal approval. A few years ago, there was a
disagreement between the Institute and the Department
on the question of appointing the present headmaster,
who is a well-tried patriot, and a capable Irishman.
The Department would not sanction the appointment
without a guarantee that the master would abstain
from any course of action which would be prejudicial to
the realm. That meant that he would renounce his
political work. The Institute with its broad-mindedness
could not see its way to penalise a man for his political
views. Furthermore, all the pupils refused to attend

unless the appointment of that master was sanctioned.
The squabble lasted for nearly two years, and still the
Institute and the pupils remained firm. Eventually the
man was appointed, and the grant was withdrawn.
The Institute is now supported by local effort aided by
the Republican Government. Such action shows a
spirit of independence in the citizens of Limerick which
entitles them to our admiration. Realising that the
true inspiration of education was in danger, they sacrificed
the badly-needed Government grant. Money could
be raised, while that inspiration was priceless.

Sunday afternoon I visited with Father H. some of
the notable citizens of the town, and in the evening
Mr. C., the Sinn Féin M.P. for Limerick, paid a visit
to my host, Mr. S., and I had a very interesting talk
with him. He related to us something of his experiences
in the different jails in which he had the honour to be
incarcerated. The last of these was at Lincoln, where
he and a few others, including his chief, the President
of the Republic, were confined for several months. It
was from that jail that De Valera made good his dramatic
escape, and went to America, where he is now
carrying out his work for the Irish cause. He also told
us of the sensational escape of the Republican Minister
of Agriculture from Mountjoy last year. The fact of
his disappearance was discovered one morning when a
dummy figure was found in his bed. A letter addressed
to the Governor was left in the cell. It stated that
owing to the discomfort of the place he felt compelled
to leave, and asked the Governor to keep his luggage
safe until he sent for it. I inquired of my friend if the
report submitted last year by the American Commission
for the investigation of Irish conditions was a misrepresentation
of facts. “Not at all,” was the reply. The
report of the Labour Commission sent over from England
last January on the same mission bears out many of
the findings of the American Commission, and will
no doubt be subject to the same charge of “misrepresenting”
facts.

Next day I took the train to Ballykisteen, a village
three miles from Tipperary, where I was to visit a
thoroughbred stud. There I saw some famous race-horses
and also high-class hunters. The history of the
Irish thoroughbred is similar to that of his English
half-brother. In both cases, stallions of Arab blood
were introduced early in the eighteenth century, and
these, mated with native mares, produced the parent
stock of the present-day thoroughbreds in the two
countries. To-day Ireland ranks as one of the finest
nurseries for thoroughbreds in the world. We have
only to look at the trophies secured by Irish horses on
the Turf, to realise their pre-eminence. As to the Irish
hunter, which is considered the best specimen of the
pleasure horse anywhere, he is a descendant of the
native breeds of the old Irish draught horse which had
been improved by the successive importations of Arab
blood. The name of Ireland has long been enviably
associated with the production of horses of stamina and
speed. This position of honour is attributed to a unique
combination of circumstances and not to one particular
agency. The success attained has been mainly due to
favourable climate and soil, coupled with the passionate
enthusiasm of the Irish people for horse-racing and
hunting. The comparative mildness of the Irish
climate allows young horses to be left out on
grass all the year round. This tells favourably on
their constitution and development. The limestone soil
of the country has great effect on the strength of bone.
As for the third factor, it creates great love for horses
and enthusiasm for horsemanship, and thus promotes
good horse-breeding.

The next day I travelled to Foynes, to visit Lord
Monteagle, one of the three pioneers of Irish co-operation
the other two being Sir Horace Plunkett and Father
Finlay. It was a short railway journey from Limerick.
The line runs at a distance from the south bank of the
widening Shannon till it reaches Askeaton, a small town

remarkable for its ancient buildings, after which it runs
close to the broad river till it reaches Foynes. There I
was met by Lord Monteagle's agent, a man of knowledge
and experience in agriculture. We drove to Lord Monteagle's
house, a fine building situated on a high elevation
commanding a beautiful and extensive view of the
surrounding country. In this house many years ago,
the first meeting of the pioneers of agricultural co-operation
in Ireland was held. In the study I thought of the
time when these social economists were planning a
system which has proved to be one of the greatest
guarantees of ecomonic stability in this country. At
that time these reformers, in their endeavours to improve
the lot of the farmer, were met with chilling apathy and
bitter opposition. Nothing could have encouraged them
but deep-seated faith in the principles they advocated.
By hard fighting and dogged perseverance they carried
their schemes to victory.

This village of Foynes which produced so sterling a
pioneer of co-operation did not lag behind in carrying
into effect the teachings of the movement. We visited
a co-operative store, a credit society, and a co-operative
farm, three forms of co-operation which I have already
explained. I cannot leave Foynes without mentioning
the society of the United Irishwomen. Here a branch
has been founded and is kept alive by the activities of
the Honourable Mary S.-R. I regretted to hear that
the apathy still prevailing amongst the members of these
associations is the greatest hindrance to progress. As time
goes on, and as the members become enlightened, they
will, it is to be hoped, realise the importance of the part
women have to play in establishing a rural civilisation.

From Foynes I caught the early train to Adare. It
was a very mild morning, what the people there called
“soft.” I was surprised at the mildness, yet I was
told that this “soft” atmosphere was not unusual.
My visit to Adare was at the invitation of a friend who
lived there, and who kindly offered to take me round

the demesne of the Earl of Dunraven, and show me one
of the most remarkable and picturesque clusters of ruins
in the kingdom. The demesne is enclosed within high
walls, and contains Adare Manor, the seat of the Earl,
situated in the midst of extensive grounds, farms,
forests, and famous ruins. At the Ford, and near the
old bridge, we saw the remains of the Castle, the history
of which is somewhat obscure up to the thirteenth
century. Between then and the middle of the seventeenth
century, when it was dismantled by Cromwell, it
was taken and retaken several times after sanguinary
conflicts. The large building, which is now Adare
Church, was once an Augustinian Monastery. The
cloister, choir, nave, and tower have been restored, and
the refectory is now used as a schoolhouse. Adare
Abbey was once the home of Franciscan monks. The
venerable yew-tree in the quadrangle enclosed by the
cloisters, darkened the place, and conveyed to us something
of the atmosphere of the monasteries of the Middle
Ages. At the beginning of the last century, Adare had
dwindled down to a few thatched cottages, and it was
not until the first quarter of the century had passed
that fortune began to smile upon it again. The town
now looks happy and prosperous, with good farms, fine
trees, nicely trimmed cottages, a fine town hall, a
creamery, and a good hotel much frequented by sportsmen
in the hunting season. The Manor, a fine modern
mansion, is one of the best examples of the Tudor style
of architecture in Ireland. The beautiful oak carving
on staircases, mantels, doors, and panels, testified to
the good workmanship of local artists. The house
stands on the bank of the River Maigue, in the midst
of beautiful surroundings, and an air of repose pervades
the whole atmosphere. It is designed, furnished, and
decorated in luxurious style. At the time of our visit
the servants were busy preparing the place for Lord
Dunraven and a party of guests who were coming for a
few weeks of the hunting season. Some were polishing

the dancing floor, some dusting the pictures, some fixing
the large and elaborate chandeliers with electric lamps,
some cleaning the silver, some looking over the sporting
appliances, golf clubs, shooting guns, fishing tackle, etc.
In short, a large number of people were busy making
the private and public rooms of the nobleman and his
party of thirty or forty aristocrats the last word in
comfort and elegance. And all the while thousands of
men, women, and children, were toiling in mines and
factories in order to create wealth for the enjoyment of
this man and his like. The leisured and cultured man's
pleasure is made possible by the labour and suffering of
thousands. And what does society get in return?
Philanthropy and charity in some cases, callous neglect
in too many. A strange civilisation this in which
wealth, honours, and social position, are generally not
the result of industry and virtue, but of the exploitation,
too often selfish and inhuman, of the toiling masses.
Those masses, who create all the wealth, are condemned
to live poorly and in ignorance, and sometimes in misery
and suffering. A visit to the slums in Dublin or any
other big city shows a large section of the class underfed,
underclothed, badly housed, stunted in body and mind,
to say nothing of the drunkenness, immorality, and vice
prevailing amongst them. For all that, we cannot say
that order does not exist, but the order is certainly very
imperfect. A social order which is responsible for poverty
amongst the masses, while the rich are lapped in luxury,
cannot endure, and unless practical steps are taken to
abolish the prevailing inequalities and to reform the
abuses of capitalism and landlordism, a revolution will
convulse what is called the civilised world, and will
destroy our present society. We can already discern
ominous signs of revolt against the existing degradation
and ugliness of life. Revolutionary methods are being
adopted in the East of Europe, while evolutionary ones
are working in the West, and both for the same purpose.
Will those statesmen, moralists, and religious teachers,

who have regard for such good institutions as have
arisen under the present social order, and who have the
welfare of the people at heart, use all their influence
knowledge, experience, and, above all, their faith, to
bring about a new order which will retain our present
good institutions and replace our bad ones with good?
One clings to the belief that there is still enough faith
left in the world to make such a change possible.

Before leaving the demesne we visited the thoroughbred
stud and saw some fine racehorses, amongst which was
“Lomond,” son of the celebrated “Desmond.” The
stables and buildings attached to them covered a large
area, and were designed and constructed on the latest
approved lines. Extensive fields were devoted to the
grazing and exercising of the horses, and near by was
the burying-ground of their deceased comrades, well-fenced
and nicely kept. The graves were encircled with
flowering plants, and at the foot of each was a large
horse-shoe made of stone with an inscription on it in
memory of the famous dead. Even “aristocracy”
among the animals has a place. But this might be
excused, as only the fittest and greatest amongst them
are elevated to that exalted position, while amongst
men such is not always the case. It seems that, apart
from the fact that animals know better the value of
merit amongst themselves, man, while he judges animals
on their own merits, denies that fair judgment to his
fellow-beings.

On our way to the station I talked to my friend, who
was a strong advocate of “Grass Farming,” a method
quite opposed to that of “Intensive Cultivation,” so
vigorously advocated by the new and progressive school
of “Farming on Factory Lines,” and we came to the
conclusion that were all farms alike, both methods of
farming could not have been right. But as some farms
are specially suited for tillage, while others are better
adapted for grazing, there is room for reconciliation
between these two widely different views. Both methods

are well worth considering and even studying, without
adopting exclusively the principles of either. Farmers
can adopt whatever of good there is in the two systems,
guided in doing so by their special circumstances, by
the size of their farms, and quality of their land, and
by the capital and labour at their disposal.

We left Adare in the evening to attend a South of
Ireland Co-operative Committee Conference at Limerick.
My friends there extended to me their usual hospitality,
and allowed me with all good-will and confidence to be
present at a private sitting in which they discussed
certain policies to be recommended to the Movement.
Next day I visited the depot of the Irish Agricultural
Wholesale Society, and also the Irish Co-operative
Agency Society. This latter society was started at
Limerick some years ago with the purpose of marketing
the butter of co-operative creameries. Before its
existence, although the process of manufacture of butter
had been organised, and the technique improved, the
problem of marketing the product was not solved, and
so creameries suffered from the evils of competing with
each other and cutting prices. This marketing federation
not only markets the butter, but supplies all the
requisites of creameries, and thus acts as a wholesale
society for them.

I left Limerick for Galway via Ennis and Athenry.
After crossing the Shannon we travelled through a well-wooded,
flat country, till we reached Six-Mile-Bridge,
beyond which the line passed between some small lakes.
We ran past extensive Norman ruins and ancient
monuments, the chief of which were Quin Abbey, Clare
Castle, and Clare Abbey. We soon reached Ennis, a
brisk and cheerful town, and before leaving County
Clare we saw a few lochs on our way, which, I understood,
offer good sport to the angler. On the borders
of County Galway, high and conspicuous spires announced
the town of Gort. At Athenry I had to change, and
having to wait three hours for the connection to Galway,
I took the opportunity of visiting the historic ruins of
an old castle and monastery. The weather was very
unpleasant, and the arrival of the Galway train was a
relief. It was a rough night, and the high wind disturbed
my peace and robbed me of a badly needed rest. When
the morning came, it was still dark and bleak, and I
felt miserable, having got a bad cold. It was unpleasant
to reflect that I was out in the world alone in a distant
foreign land, suffering from the depressing influences of
a dreary climate, without comfort or sympathy. Only
those who come from sunny lands, and from affectionate
homes, can realise my melancholy. Nothing supports
one in adversity but one's faith and one's soul, and
from these one plucks up courage to carry on, with the
hope of playing one's part by the side of one's compatriots
when the time comes. The day passed and I
was still confined to bed. The next morning I felt a

little better and ventured to go out to keep an appointment
made two days before with Professor O'M. at the
University College. This college is a fine grey limestone
building standing in well-kept grounds, not far from the
town. My friend was a master of Irish as well as a
supporter of the national revival, and by his sympathy,
enthusiasm and intellect, had gathered around him
many young and ardent workers in the same cause.
In the afternoon I called on Mr. B., a wealthy gentleman
residing in a fine mansion, little over a mile out of town.
Being a cultured man, who has travelled far and wide,
his conversation was very interesting. I was called
upon several times to explain the outlook of our people
on life, and whether that outlook had changed in recent
years. That seemed to my friend, Mr. B., a fundamental
point to be considered in studying Egypt's present
position and prospects. For instance, we have at home
a great number of people who possess the brains of
mathematicians, excellent at figures and efficient in
bookkeeping. Such people in the West, my friend
remarked, produce from among them great financiers
who will either make fortunes for themselves or play an
important part in the financial development of their
country. With us, real geniuses live and die as poor
clerks satisfied with a meagre monthly allowance, just
enough to keep body and soul together; thus their rare
gifts pass away, irrecoverably lost to the nation. Of
this type, I personally know several who were my
companions at school; none of them could I now call
worthy citizens, men who made use of their natural
gifts for the welfare of the community. My friend
wanted to know if those unlucky persons failed because
of their outlook on life. Outlook is a very comprehensive
word, and its meaning comprises economic, political,
social, ethical and religious conditions, and much besides.
It requires very minute analysis and a close investigation
if one is to probe into the causes that keep individuals
and nations back. A person or a community may

possess all the factors that make for greatness, and still
fail to accomplish anything, where the educational
system is defective, or political institutions are under
a foreign control that hampers national development.
We in Egypt suffer from these two diseases more than
anything else. Under our present system of education
Egypt will never rise to be great again. There is no
religious education worthy of the name, the women are
ignorant and illiterate, and consequently the children
are shockingly brought up; the masses are left out in
the wilderness without being given even the most
elementary training. Foreign oppressors employ every
means to drive the sense of self-respect out of the people
in an endeavour to make them a submissive and servile
race. It is all very well for outsiders to sit down in easy
chairs around a fire and talk of the causes that keep
Egypt back and formulate theories which condemn
sometimes the religion and sometimes the race itself.
One requires to live amongst the people, not as haughty
masters or prejudiced critics, interested capitalists or
staunch imperialists, but as sympathising friends and
social reformers who have no material interest to be
served, but who are anxious to help a section of our
common humanity to rise to the place they should
rightly occupy. I could cite many instances which
reveal the degrading influence foreign domination of
Egypt has on its population. The boys in school are
systematically educated in such a way as will never
make them patriots. They are brought up to look up
to the English as masters whose word is gospel in all
matters. Can anybody imagine that such a system
would ever bring out the finer qualities in any people?
Such methods only drive courage out of the people,
foster a spirit of submission, cause them to lack confidence
in their own powers, deprive them of initiative,
and rob them of originality. In free countries, the
ablest are intrusted by the people with the direction of
the affairs of the nation, in Egypt it is the weakest that

are put into office to carry out the dictates of the English
adviser, inspector, master, or whatever he is called,
whose interest obviously clashes with our own. In the
Nationalist party in Egypt there are men who by education,
knowledge, talent, sincerity and nobility of
character, could take their seat in any parliament, and
conduct the affairs of any country with prudence, conscientiousness
and ability. Those very men are deliberately
kept out of the way and the government offices
are filled with young, foolish, inexperienced and insincere
men who do not take much interest in the welfare of
the country, because of their ignorance and bad education,
vanity and self-interest. The spirit prevailing
amongst the Nationalists is due to the presence in their
midst of experienced heads who learned their first lessons
of citizenship and patriotism in the schools of Mohammad
Abdou or Mustafa Kamil. The story of modern Egypt
will be told one day; it is in the making now, It will
be some time yet before the work of the Nationalists is
accomplished, but accomplished it will be. The fate of
tyrants is always the same, it is only a matter of time
when they shall disappear.

As to our home education, it is worse than anything
one can imagine. The home in Egypt, under the
management of our women, breeds laziness, vulgarity,
cowardice, weak will, irresponsibility and poor spiritedness.
What is to blame for all that but the system
of education, particularly that for women? Our present
social order is responsible for the evils of our society,
but is this the outcome of our religion, our ethics, or
our outlook on life? No. It is the result of ignorance
following on bad education, or the lack of it altogether.
Had we been instructed properly in our religion in
accord with modern thought, and had we followed the
teaching intelligibly and with broad minds, no nation
would have been more cultured. What is to be said
for a code of ethics which establishes separation of
the community into two camps, and so brings about

misunderstanding between children and their parents?
This is the practice in Egypt, though our religion gives
it no sanction. There is no home life for the boys;
they are constantly reminded to keep out of the company
of the womenfolk, while the men's company is so
advanced and so harsh that the boys neither understand
nor enjoy it. Between these two isolated camps
the poor boys are lost. Children in the company of
their elders dare not open their mouths, nor ask questions,
nor express opinions, consequently they never feel easy
in their presence. I can remember how as children we
used to be overjoyed when our father went to the country
and our mother went out on a round of visits; it was
a time of freedom and merriment for us. We were far
from being dull by nature, even the extreme restriction
imposed upon us failed to kill the natural spirit of
childhood. When I think of those days spent at home
with my brother and four sisters, I detest the cruelty
of our social life, which tends to prevent the natural
and healthy development of the best characteristics and
capabilities that are in us. Children all over the country,
I mean of the higher classes, are left entirely in the
hands of the servants, from whom they do not learn
much that helps to form their character.

This is how we Egyptians pass our early life between
the home and the school; can anyone wonder at the
defects in our young people? If all were known, the
real wonder would be that young Egypt is what it is
now. It must be the inherent vitality of the race that
keeps our heads up in spite of the deliberate efforts of
the foreign intruder, and in spite of the defective institutions
firmly established for generations in Egyptian
society. Both these unhealthy influences work against
every spirit and movement in the country that would
elevate the social, economic and political status of the
people.

Continuing the conversation with my friend at Galway,
we touched upon the characteristics of the Anglo-Saxons.

In the eyes of that race, we agreed, the world is inhabited
by Europeans and Blacks; the former are either Continental
or English, and it goes without saying that the
English is the superior type. The Americans and
Colonials are left out of account, as these are a mixture
of the different European races. The English attitude
towards other races is curiously inconsistent. They look
down upon the foreigner as an inferior if he admires or
copies anything that is English; if he does otherwise,
they regard him as incapable of rising to the English
level. The behaviour of English tourists is proverbial.
Their evident sense of their superiority is always amusing,
they take the matter for granted, and act accordingly.
As Mr. John B. Yeats once said; “The Englishman has
no gentlemanly instincts. In acquiring manners he
learns under a system of pains and penalties, he progresses
under the lash, and then he behaves more like a
well-trained animal than a reasonable human being.”
There is a prevalent type of Englishman who, “thanking
God he is a Briton,” has not the vaguest idea that
courtesy is the bond of all society. “But if courtesy
is required to cement society, no wonder the Irish are
estranged from us,” was said by Matthew Arnold. I
should like to add to Arnold's remark that the
Englishman's unpleasant manners are not the barrier
to friendship between the English and the Irish only,
but between the English and the rest of the human race.
A well-known scholar said recently: “If the motto of
my old Oxford College: ‘Manners makyth man,’ were
true, I should often be sorry for the Briton. But his
manners don't make him, they mar him.” The Englishman
is not clever, and often makes foolish mistakes, but
these do not hinder him from plodding doggedly along
and winning his way in the end. His behavoiur makes
one think that he believes in no religion, yet he calls
himself Christian, and his king “Defender of the Faith.”
He talks democracy, but what he means is British
Imperialism. He respects the rights of small nationalities

as long as it suits him to do so, but his empire must
be expanded, be the means fair or foul, yet he has a
marvellous gift of making the foul appear fair when he
writes history. In war, he loses battle after battle on
all fronts, yet in the end you will find him in possession
of the very land he was routed on. His weakest point,
I think, is his pocket; no description fits the English
people better than that given by Napoleon and the
Kaiser: “A nation of shopkeepers.” If the destruction
of “Prussianism” was essential for the reign of peace
on earth, then surely the downfall of “John Bullism”
has still to be realised.

In giving rein to these reflections on English character,
I am wandering outside the scope of this book. But I
would like to add a word of advice to my countrymen:
“Beware of the English people.” They are, whether
plain men, gentlemen or noblemen, at home or abroad,
all and always “commercial travellers,” out for business
and ever ready to secure a bargain. They are seeking
profit individually as well as for their own firm, “the
Old Country.” The Englishman is a sharp man to deal
with; never show weakness in your dealings with him,
or he will make use of it for his own advantage. If you
happen to lose it is not his business, it is your own
look out. These are his ethics in all his transactions,
whether political, economical or social.

This is no place to write about English women. Those
of us who have not been amongst them in England can
imagine what the wife of such a man as we have described
would be like. She is certainly often pretty and
sweet, and her companionship is a delight. Perhaps one
day we shall see a picture of her from the daring but
delicate pen of some of the handsome, witty and wealthy
among our own young men who come to study life at
leisure in England. Perhaps one might put Egyptians
on their guard by saying: “Be on your guard with the
Englishman, but doubly on your guard with the
Englishwoman.”

I visited Scotland on several occasions and made
many friends there, but I reserve my criticism on Scotchmen
and women for a more fitting place. I might say
here, however, that apart from their superior sense of
the value of money, they share with the English people
a good many characteristics. I would like to hear
what my compatriots who spent years of study in
Scotland have to say on the subject.

I walked home from my friend B.'s house, and on my
way I met women carrying heavy bundles of wood on
their backs, and saw children poor, ill-clad and barefooted,
and men fighting openly in the streets. Very
sad sights. But coming from a country in a far worse
condition in many respects, I realised that there are
reasons which account for such degradation as one finds
here. When one knows Irish history, and the privations,
humiliation, and oppression the Irish people have
suffered, one ceases to wonder at it.

In the evening I was asked to attend a “Cailie,” or
evening entertainment enlivened by national dances and
songs, which was held at the University College. I was
unable to dance, as I had not then learned the Irish
steps, so I joined the “sober and philosophical” group,
and watched the dances with admiration and envy.
I had my pleasure, too, in discussing the music, folk
songs, and dances of different nations, and sharing in
the merrier conversation in which old professors and
young undergraduates, boys and girls, all took part.

The night was stormy, and the wind again prevented
me from sleeping. When morning came I had to get
up very early, for I had arranged a trip to the Aran
Islands. It was dark and wild, and the wind blew
fiercely, driving clouds of rain before it. I was uncertain
what to do, but as the boats ran only twice a week,
and my time did not allow me to wait for the next
service, I had no option but to go. I said my prayers
and put my trust in God, and made a bold start. It
was so black and bleak that I doubted whether the

steamer would sail at all. But on reaching the quay
I found it there, a small boat, of 200 tons. The Captain
greeted me with “This is no night for a Christian to be
out in.” Not being a Christian in the strict theological
sense of the term, I suppose, to the mind of our Christian
captain, I was justified in being out. I went down to
the saloon to try and get warm. A few minutes later,
in came a big, imposing figure wearing a heavy black
overcoat and a priest's hat. His ruddy complexion,
pleasant countenance and good nature agreed with the
description I had been given of the priest of the island
to which I was going, and on whom I intended to call
in connection with the fishing industry. And so he was.
Father Farragher, when he knew my destination, asked
me if I was a good sailor. On my answering that I was
a moderate one, he said we would have a good talk
about things when the boat started. The boat did
start, but that talk never came off. All the way I lay
prone on a bench; my friend, though he did not look
happy, managed to keep up his courage and maintain
his dignity. Things went from bad to worse with me
as the boat sped through the Bay. I felt I should not
care if the boat, which pitched and rolled hideously,
was swallowed by the waves. All that miserable day I
never saw God's light, nor did I taste any bread or
water. I had been on rough waters before in the Irish
Sea, the English Channel, the Bay of Biscay, and the
Black Sea, but never experienced such a bad time as
on that passage across Galway Bay. We were supposed
to call at the first two of the three islands forming the
group of the Aran Isles, but we could not, as landing
was impossible. We reached the largest and furthest
island in over six hours, twice as long as the usual time
for that journey. I was too sick to raise my head, not
to speak of landing. I never saw the island, nor did I
visit the Aran Co-operative Fishing Society, whose
reverend president had just endured with me the
sufferings of rough seas, and I had to return by the

same boat. It was disappointing, but could not be
helped. The sailing back was not so bad, as sea and
wind were with us, and we reached Galway at the proper
time. I crawled back to my hotel, and was looked after
by the hotel people, and given such nourishment
as I could take, and I went to bed warm and comforted.
I thought I should be unable to resume my tour for at
least a week, but that did not prove to be so. Two days
complete rest were sufficient to make me fit again to
face the hardship of travelling. Although I failed in my
endeavour to visit the Co-operative Fishing Society at
Aran, I do not like to pass on without making our people
acquainted with this form of co-operation. True, my
knowledge is not from personal observation in this case,
but thanks to my friends at Plunkett House, and the
literature of the subject, I can recount what has been
accomplished.

The Aran Isles are three small rocky islands stretching
across the entrance of Galway Bay, the finest inlet on
the west coast of Ireland, if not on the whole Irish
coast, and lie about thirty miles from the town of Galway.
To the tourist their scenery and their inhabitants are
of great interest, to the scientist their geological formation
offers an attractive subject of study, and to the
historian these “Islands of the Saints” have a special
fascination. The language spoken in these islands is
Gaelic or Irish, although a large number of the inhabitants
are bi-lingual. Inishmore, the largest island of
the three, was of particular interest to me on account
of its co-operative fishing society. I have already described
different types of co-operative societies, but none
of this kind, as this is the first and only fishing society
in Ireland run on co-operative principles. It is hoped
that this successful experiment will be followed by the
founding of other co-operative fishing societies in different
places on the coast. It is surprising that although the
fishing industry is one of the most important in Ireland,
it is the least developed. There are various reasons
which account for this, the chief of which are, want of

capital, want of transport, want of marketing facilities,
and last but not least, want of organisation.

“The Irish fisherman is first handicapped by the fact
that he usually has to pay retail prices for all his gear,
salt, barrels, and even for the barking of his nets. Then,
when he brings his fish ashore, want of proper transport
makes it necessary for him to sell the fish in a very
limited market. The buyers are out for their own
interests; they pay the smallest price they can for fish,
and they form rings to keep down prices. It is hopeless
for unorganised fishermen to expect a fair price for their
fish from the buyers. They often lose part of the value
of their fish, particularly in hot weather, before the
bargain is struck.”

Father Farragher, the priest of Aran, who has always
had the material as well as the spiritual welfare of his
parishioners at heart, realising all this, conceived the
idea of developing the fishing industry on his island on
co-operative lines. Now that the fishermen of the island
have been organised into a co-operative society, they
have been able to raise capital to purchase boats, improve
the means of transport, set up a curing station, refrigerator,
ice plant, etc. … They have been able to
buy nets, tackle and the rest of their requirements at
wholesale prices, and market their fish on the best
possible terms.

The secret of success of the society has been attributed
mainly to three factors: First, able and faithful leadership,
which, by keeping a good and firm hand at the
helm, won the respect and confidence of all the members;
secondly, capable management, which included thorough
knowledge, considerable business capacity, and sterling
honesty; thirdly, strict enforcement of the rules, which
secured the loyalty of the members, promoted unselfishness,
and encouraged punctual fulfilment of engagements.

Under this organisation, when the boats come in with
their catch, the members hand over all their fish to the
society and get paid for it in cash. The society then
arranges for its curing or its dispatch as fresh fish to the

market where the highest prices are obtainable. The
profit made by the society is of course disposed of in
the usual co-operative way already described in connection
with the other types of co-operative societies.
Running on these lines the business of the society has
increased from £760 in the first eight months of its
existence in September 1915 to £14,000 in the third
eight months, and the prices paid by the Society to the
members for their fish were double those given by the
dealers. The fishermen need no longer appeal to the
fish merchants to buy their fish, nor need they leave
their fish to a small ring of local buyers who give the
lowest price they can.

The fame of this society at Aran has spread all along
the whole coast of Ireland, particularly the west coast.
Once the fishermen grasp the solid worth of combination,
which has been proved to them by this practical achievement
in Galway Bay, they will join together and work
as one body for their own interest as well as for the
interest of the fishing industry in their own country.

Feeling I could not very well leave this part of the
country without visiting Connemara, the enchanted land
of the west, I made a pilgrimage the next day to that
wonderful country. It is washed on one side by the
waters of the romantic Lough Corrib, while on the other
the long rollers of the Atlantic sweep into its many
mysterious fiords. Between these boundaries the whole
country is broken by mountains, lakes and streams,
giving the landscape a charm quite its own.

I left Galway, “The Citie of the Tribes,” early in the
morning. Soon after leaving the station, our train
crossed the flat-banked River Corrib. For a few miles
we travelled between the river on one side and thickly
wooded hills on the other. Beyond Moycullen, Ross
Lake on our right and Knocknalee Hill on our left,
were charming features of the scenery. Reaching
Oughterard, the train proceeded westward on its way to
Recess. We passed by lakes, rivers, hills and mountains,
in beautiful succession. Recess itself is a famous resort

for the angler and a noted centre for the scenery hunter.
The waters of Ballynahinch and other loughs form a
crescent around the eastern foot of the Twelve Pins, a
splendid group of mountains which raise their noble
peaks in the heart of some of the loveliest scenery in the
world. It was of this scenery that Thackeray wrote:
“I won't attempt to pile up big words in place of those
wild mountains, over which the clouds as they passed,
or the sunshine as it went and came, cast every
variety of tint, light and shadow; nor can it be
expected that long, level sentences, however smooth and
shining, can be made to pass as representations of those
calm lakes. …”

Beyond Ballynahinch the line ran through a wild and
rugged country till we reached Clifden, a small town
situated on a ridge at the head of a bay on the Atlantic
coast. I climbed a hill overhanging the town, and from
its summit had a magnificent view of the country and
of the far stretching ocean. Amidst the rocks at the
top is a small lake, a solitary, perfectly still and wonderfully
clear piece of water, with a small stream running
from it down the hill. I was told that even in the
severest of winters, when everything is frozen and when
the lake becomes a delight to skaters, there still remains
a small area near the centre, which never freezes, a spot
from which a spring issues. From the clear and cool
water of this lake, the school and convent in the town
derive their supply. On these hills I met only mountain
sheep, some natives of Connemara, bright little sheep
with clean, white faces, and some bearing Scottish
features; also a few cattle of mixed breed. These high
grounds afford no scope for farming, not even for grazing,
nothing but the hardiest animals can endure the severity
of the weather and the poverty of the land. Before me,
the sea stretched endlessly in front, behind the Twelve
Pins rose majestically in the distance; unfortunately
the atmosphere was not clear enough to reveal the great
expanse of the one and the beauty of the other at their
best.

On my way down the hill, I passed by the Catholic
Church, where I entered to seek rest of body and peace
of mind. Offering a prayer, I sat down, and watched
the children coming in and going out, some to pray,
and some to light candles “for intentions.” Watching
the children performing these religious duties, and looking
at the holy scenes depicted on the stained glass
windows, I felt about me a religious atmosphere Eastern
in its character. The figures of Christ, the Virgin Mary,
the Apostles and men and women of the East were all
there on the beautiful glass. They looked as if they
had all come to life again to inspire these little children
of the West, and to remind them of the teachings of the
great Master from the East. It seemed to me that thus
the spirit of the East saves the soul of the West. And
yet,
And one thanks God for that, for what a disaster it
would be if we should all turn Westward. If the West
is so brutal even with that religion of peace we sent it
from the East, what would it have been without that
religion? Whatever the West may say, it cannot help
believing that all that is great and lasting comes from
the Eternal East. We know the contribution of the
West to the material progress of the world, its attainments
in physics, chemistry, engineering, but what
should have been for the advancement of mankind it
turned to its destruction. Its very philosophies it

turned to selfish ends. Its education seems to breed a
type of man who would “civilise” the world by suppressing
small nations and weak communities.

I wished to drive from Clifden to Leenane, working
my way up through the country to rejoin the railway
at Westport: this would have given me the opportunity
of exploring that romantic country, but I was unable
to carry out my purpose, and what I lost in beauty of
scenery and colour I realised later when I met Mr. and
Mrs. Paul Henry at their Dublin studio and saw their
delightful paintings of the West Country views and folk.
However, I do not like to pass over this district without
giving my countrymen some idea of its charm. I saw
parts of it, so I am able to endorse what my artist friend,
who has made a special study of these parts and depicted
them most faithfully and beautifully on his canvas, once
wrote:

“Here in Connemara from the summit of one of her
higher mountains the eye travels over the peerless
country, dotted with innumerable little loughs beloved
of the fisherman, over the gracious lines of her cloud-dappled
hills and the valleys where the purple shadows
linger; over the scattered “clachans”—little handfuls
of whitewashed toy houses—tucked away in the sheltered
folds of the hills, to the coastline, bitten into with sandy
bays guarded by islets of porphyry set in an opal and
azure sea. Out of the sou'west a wisp of mist—a grey
veil trailing from a grey cloud floating in the blue—passes
over the hills. Where it catches on a height it
breaks in showers on the toy houses, and passes on,
leaving the wet, sparkling eyes of the cottages laughing
back to the sun.

“At a turn of a lonely road among the mountains
far from village or house—a woman comes down a rough
track from the higher hills. Dressed in geranium-red
homespun and with an orange headshawl—the turbulence
of her colour flaming against the encircling mountains—her
bare feet are firmly planted as she walks among the
stones. She hangs on her foot for a second as she

returns your salute. A wild grace is in the carriage of
her head, the beautiful softness of her voice, soft as the
rains of her native hills, wraps you round like a caress.
Her grey eyes, soft and kindly, hold yet a smouldering
fire; the brooding mystery of her race is round her like
an aura. She passes by, coming from the mountain
solitudes, and going apparently into them again, a rare,
aloof, dignified figure.”

Mr. Henry continues, describing the atmosphere of
the West:

“Here in Connemara on a day when the wind blows
from the west, the pale rose morning light turns to
silver, as the tumultuous high-flying clouds race over the
mountains, their indigo shadows hurrying across the
green of the uplands and the gold of the ripening harvest
towards the distant plum-coloured hills. As the sun
ascends the clouds scurry faster, and their shadows beat
a quicker measure towards the horizon. The colour
flames and burns among the hills; and the deep tarns
set in a hundred corries—the surface of their waters
curled over by the wind and reflecting the deep blue of
the sky—glow like enamels, azure shot through with
gold. The big clouds, typical of ‘The West,’ grow
listless as the day declines. They come up slower still
and more majestic, gathering colour from the descending
sun, till as it dips beyond the sea they seem hardly to
move, piling themselves up into airy cloud-built palaces
glowing with reflected fire. The cool purple dusk creeps
over the hills, while far in the west the day dies in a
deep mauve seen through a shower of dust of gold.”

Motoring was not possible, as “Dublin Castle” had
launched its “Motor Permits Order,” prohibiting any
person to drive without an order from the Government.
All drivers refused to apply for permits, with the result
that no motors were running except lorries carrying the
soldiers and guns necessary for keeping the Irish Nation
under the heel of its aggressors. That is how I was
prevented from seeing Connemara fully, and why instead

of traversing the country just described I was obliged
to return to Galway by rail. Such a state of affairs
brings back memories of the old-world conqueror who
forbade the use of horses to his subject race. The
modern, world-conqueror has made it an offence in the
eyes of Britain for any Irishman to drive a motor
vehicle without a military permit which certifies his
loyalty to a government he does not acknowledge.
This tightening of the machinery of repression in Ireland
is intended either to subdue the spirit of the people or
to stimulate rebellion in order to crush it with ruthless
severity, and with it all hopes of self-determination.
British statesmen do not seem to realise the injury
their conduct to Ireland is inflicting on whatever is left
of British prestige in the world. They suppress newspapers,
prohibit fairs and markets, raid houses, break
up meetings, proclaim national amusements and festivities,
imprison the constitutionally elected representatives
of the people, but they are powerless to prevent
Ireland strengthening her inward resistance against a
day when “England's difficulty shall be Ireland's opportunity.”

The English people seem to have lost their heads
since they drank the cup of victory. They massacre
the Indians. They rob the Egyptians of their independence.
They deny the Irish people their natural
rights. One can understand that greed of possession
accounts for their policy in Egypt, and that vengeance
governs their policy in Ireland; but what is the
excuse for their brutal attitude towards India, a country
which is already theirs, and which “did her bit” in the
Great War? India, the world knows, offered her sons
and gave liberally from her treasures to help England
when she was hard pressed and was soliciting the
sympathy and help of all peoples civilised and uncivilised.
“Our gallant Indians,” who when wounded
were nursed by the fair, and when on leave were entertained
by Royalty during the war, are now shunned by

the meanest of English officials, and have been massacred
wholesale in cold blood in the streets of their own cities.
There, their wounded are no longer tended by delicate
hands, but are left to crawl on all fours to shelter from
the guns of the very same people whose honour they
helped to save on the battlefields of Flanders, Mesopotamia,
and elsewhere. It is a sad story; one could
not restrain a smile reading in The Irish Statesman these
cynical lines:

“The people of India will be moved to their depths
by the reference in the King's Proclamation to the
personal interest which His Majesty takes in the affairs
of his great dependency. Whatever their faults the
Indians are a warm-hearted race, and they will respond
with fervour to the assurance that His Majesty will
watch with sympathy and affection the progress of his
Indian people. Some of them may, at the moment,
object to being massacred by General Dyer or flogged
by one of his magistrates. But when the heat of the
moment has passed, when their wounds are sufficiently
healed to give them time for reflection, they will recognise
that these measures which they thought harsh and
repressive at the time were in reality only kindness,
and directed to their good. Had those Indians known
while they were crawling on hands and knees through
the streets of Amritzar that all the time the King-Emperor
was watching their progress with love and
sympathy, with what gladness in their brown but loyal
souls would they have crawled, with what devoted,
almost dog-like devotion, would they have embraced
the knees of General Dyer or kissed the rods of Mr.
Keogh? Could India be delivered from the agitator
all would be well in that unhappy country. Unfortunately
Mr. Nebru, presiding at the Indian National
Congress, does not agree with us. Not only does he
criticise General Dyer and the Government of India
Act, but he has the amazing impertinence to object to
the wise and beneficent rule of the British Raj in savage
countries like Ireland and Egypt.”

Our readers will remember the story of Amritzar referred
to above. At that place, gallant British troops on the
orders of their heroic officer, fired on a meeting of some
5,000 unarmed civilians, killing 500, and wounding three
times that number. The scene of this latest massacre
was neither Belgium nor Armenia, but India, and the
officer responsible was neither a “Hun” nor a “Turk,”
but a British General. The incident has a lesson for
us Egyptians. We once believed in English honour;
how will it be henceforth?

I stayed the night in Galway to start the next day
for Foxford in County Mayo, via Tuam, Claremorris
and Manulla. It took the whole day to do that journey;
the train connection was very bad. My pilgrimage was
to the Convent of the Sisters of Charity at Foxford.
I reached that prosperous village on the Moy at night.
The Reverend Mother with great kindness had sent a
car to meet me at the station and drive me to the
Convent, which was over a mile away. On reaching my
destination I was received with great hospitality, and
after a very interesting talk with the Reverend Mother
and a few of the nuns, I was taken over the village club
for men and women. It was well lit with electricity,
and well-fitted with the conveniences of modern clubs,
billiard table, dancing hall, etc. …

The next day was a market day; the village street
was crowded with men, pigs, women, and cows crowded
together, and it was not at all easy to make one's way
through the mass of animals and human beings, the
former changing hands and the latter shaking hands.
I was taken over the woollen mills by a charming nun
who acted as “guide, philosopher, and friend.” The
history and significance of that convent and those mills
shall be told presently. It was at the suggestion and
with the introduction of Father Finlay that I visited
Foxford.

Foxford is a small village lying on the banks of the
Moy. This river gathers its waters from a wide area,

from mountains and from lakes, and by the time it
reaches its full volume it forms quite a notable current.
At Foxford it flows across a ridge of granite on which
is supported a stone bridge. On the southern side of
the ridge, the water rises to a high, smooth flood, but
as soon as it passes over, it plunges down a steep slope.
The water looks as if it had taken a false step, and
tumbling in great force, foaming in fury, over a path
strewn with rocks, makes its way to a level pool not
far down its course. As for the surrounding country,
nothing is to be seen but hills covered with brown heath
studded with bare rocks, and expanses of moor blotched
here and there with greyish patches of stone. Could
there be a more inhospitable land? Yet people lived
in this ill-favoured region and struggled hard with
destitution. In mud one-roomed cabins with thatch
that rain dripped through, and a clay floor that was
damp and cold, with no fireplace or even a chimney to
let out the clouds of smoke that rose from the turf fire
that burned in a corner, in that miserable and dingy
lair, fronted by an unsightly and evil-smelling manure
heap, a whole family lived, ill-fed and ill-clad, with
children, pigs, a calf or two, fowls, and a faithful dog,
all sheltering under the same roof. Turn the pig out of
that society, burn instead of sods of turf, cakes of dung,
and give the picture a few slight touches of local colour,
and you have a typical cottage of to-day in rural Egypt
in the winter-time!

One day, the Heavens willed it that a “Sister of
Charity” should pass by this starving place. Her
resources were all spiritual: moral courage, trust in
God, confidence in her powers, and, last but not least,
reliance on the self-devotion of her sister nuns. With
them she hoped to diminish the sufferings of the Foxford
folk, strengthen their bodies and uplift their souls,
dispel ignorance and bring cheerfulness and hope into
their homes. None but a great soul could undertake
so formidable an enterprise out of love for God's

creatures. With the help of sympathetic friends who
advanced the money necessary for her work, she started
a school and established a convent. The educational
scheme was not confined to the schoolroom, it was
extended to the homes, so that not only the children,
but their parents, came under the good influence of the
nuns. Cleanliness, order, thrift, needlework, dress-making,
knitting, cookery and laundry work were all
taught. It did not take long to reconstruct the village
and its neighbourhood on sanitary and decent lines.
Shelters were erected for animals, windows were introduced,
fireplaces and chimneys were constructed, sleeping
apartments were divided by partitions from the living
rooms, roof and floor were improved, manure heaps
were removed from the immediate neighbourhood of the
cottages and their places taken by vegetable plots and
flower-beds. The improvement of tillage and the
planting of trees were next undertaken. Helped by their
friends, the nuns acquired farm implements, improved
variety of seeds, fruit and forest trees, and thus managed
to bring about better and profitable farming on a soil
which by nature was poor and hungry. As things
progressed, the lack of some local industry which might
employ the labour that could not be profitably used on
the petty holdings, was keenly felt. Men and women
must be induced to stay at home instead of emigrating
to America, England, or other foreign lands, by offering
them good, honest work under favourable conditions.

The river was still dashing down its way like a wild
horse. It had not been broken in then, its power was
wasted as far as human service and utility were concerned.
The Reverend Mother, who chose this spot as
her life's field of activity, saw all that with her keen
eye, thought over it in her clear head, and felt it greatly
in her good heart. “That vigorous horse must be
harnessed and made use of in promoting the welfare of
these people in the midst of whom it chooses to run
wild,” she said to herself one day. Not long after, a

woollen factory appeared, and borrowed from the Moy
the necessary power. It sounds easy and simple, but
innumerable difficulties had to be overcome. All was
accomplished by that Sister of Charity, who impressed
by her powers and personality men of technical skill and
business capacity, engaging their counsel and friendly
co-operation in carrying her project to a successful
issue. Later on, the factory was extended and the most
modern machinery installed. The reputation of its
textiles is now well established. In design and texture,
these fabrics, whether blankets, flannels, tweeds, shawls,
or rugs, can be confidently placed in competition with
the best products of home or foreign looms. The change,
needless to say, reflected itself in the life of the people,
as the benefits secured by the workers, who number
some 120 hands, diffused themselves through the settlement,
which counts some 600 people.

This is the story of Foxford since the time the Sisters
of Charity came to it in 1890. I relate it to my countrymen
in full, to show them what individual effort can do.
A start was made here with no capital, no technical
knowledge, and no experience, in the midst of singularly
adverse conditions, but these and other disadvantages
were eventually overcome by the devotion of one able
and noble personality. It was a prolonged struggle in
which success was achieved by genuine ability. The
result is now apparent in a prosperous community,
working and reaping the benefit of their work in full
measure, and with a high standard of moral worth due
to the effect upon them of the presence in their midst
of a devoted and commanding character. “With this
influence pervading it,” said Father Finlay, “the factory
becomes a school where much more is learned than
spinning and weaving. Character has a value—even an
economic value—no less than tweeds; if prize medals
were awarded for this product, the Foxford Mills would
add largely to their awards of honour.”

This noble achievement in the field of industry and

social reform at Foxford is well worth studying. It is
one of the very few examples in which an attempt has
been made with complete success to solve a social
problem which still perplexes statesmen and reformers.
The physical and moral deterioration resulting from the
massing of large numbers of men and women in industrial
towns, is becoming more and more a source of
anxiety to those who have the welfare of society at
heart. These towns with their social attractions draw
to them whatever is most energetic in the human
element of the countryside. This rural exodus has
been going on now for years; and what is the reason for
it? George W. Russell [AE] tells us that “The thoughts
of the world have been too much with their cities, and
they have never sent out the missionaries of civilisation
into the country. There has been no rural civilisation,
no really well-organised system of rural society offering
to men and women an alternative life equally attractive
with that offered in the multitudinous activities of a
great city.” Foxford is one of the few fortunate places
to which “missionaries of civilisation” have come to
establish a prosperous and healthy rural community on
a sound social and economic basis. I need not go into
details here, but there are two outstanding features I
may notice. One is, that although the Foxford Mills
are run on capitalist lines, the antagonism that exists
in the world of industry between Labour and Capital
does not disturb the peace here. The reason is, the
good nuns who are the owners take their full share in
the work of every department, and are in direct contact
with all the workers, and thus are in a position to
consider and remedy any grievances as they arise and
before they have a chance of endangering the industrial
peace. The other feature of the Foxford effort is that
instead of workers pouring out of the countryside never
to come back again, to swell the unhealthy growth of
manufacturing towns, industry is brought to them, and
with it social privileges and advantages that make life
healthy, pleasant, and attractive.

I cite this example, conscious that it is very rare, as
rare as genius itself, in the hope that it may stimulate
some genius at home to activity of a similar nature.
The resources of all classes of the community, whether
they belong to the masses or to the aristocracy, to the
realms of mind and genius or to the kingdom of material
wealth, are all national assets, and should be utilised for
the welfare of the people. It may be noticed that this
book deals mostly with what collective effort can do.
Very few of us are big enough individually to plan and
carry out a great scheme of reform; that is why I lay
stress chiefly on what the masses can accomplish by
uniting forces and acting as one whole. After all, is
not this our own ethic:
But the efforts of the highly gifted individual, when
directed disinterestedly to the benefit of society, can and
do accomplish great things. In Foxford, I think we
have a striking example of what they can achieve.

I left Foxford the next day with the memory of a
great practical achievement, and with the inspiring
words in my ears of the noble woman who accomplished
it. Having crossed the Moy, which was rushing
tumultuously under the historic bridge, I turned round
and took my last look at that prosperous settlement.
I caught the train to Dublin which travelled via Roscommon,
Athlone, and Mullingar. Almost the whole
of this journey across the Midlands was through bogland.
We passed through all shades of that dominant colour
of brown. The monotony of the scenery—not altogether
without some claim to beauty—was relieved here and
there by clusters of woods, patches of green pastures,
isolated cottages, and stretches of water. It was while
crossing that country that I recalled the description of
Ireland as “a beautiful frame with no picture in it.”
The frame is indeed beautiful, all around the coast line
the scenery is exquisite and varied. The first town of

special interest passed, was Roscommon; I shall not
dwell on its ruins, important as they are to the antiquarian,
but be satisfied with referring to a product of
agricultural merit which bears the same name. The
County of Roscommon is the home of a breed of sheep
known as the Roscommon Sheep. Its origin is not
known with certainty. It is a large, long-woolled sheep
possessed of a vigorous constitution which enables it to
thrive on the flat lands devoid of shelter other than
stone walls which form its chief run. Its peculiar
soundness of foot and limb allows it to range widely
when grazing. Its mutton is of good quality and so is
its fine, long-stapled wool.

Between Roscommon and Athlone we skirted the
western shores of Lough Ree. I regretted being so near
that lake and not seeing its numerous promontories and
small islands, its bays and its creeks, the beauty and
charm of which I had heard from those who had the
good fortune to see them. Just before reaching Athlone,
the shores of Lough Ree close in to form the banks of
the Shannon, which runs in a broad stream through the
town and is spanned by two bridges. The chief feature
of Athlone, besides its history and ruins, its old abbeys
and its ancient walls, is its magnificent position in
relation to the river and lakes. Some eight miles or so
to the north-east of the town stands Auburn, the
supposed scene of Goldsmith's Deserted Village.

We passed through dreary moorland before we reached
Mullingar, a famous fishing centre, and also a busy
market town, where a large trade is carried on in horses,
cattle, and wool.

The day was over before we finished our journey, and
it was night when we reached Dublin, a bad night, too,
dark, cold and wet. I was glad to get back to the
United Arts Club in Saint Stephen's Green, my temporary
home in Ireland.

It was in my programme that I should continue my
journey from Foxford northward, through Sligo, Leitrim,

and around Ulster before I returned to Dublin. That
was my plan for the complete tour around Ireland, but
that was not to be. I was obliged to come back from
Foxford across country to Dublin, to attend to some
important duties. A fortnight elapsed before I resumed
my tour into Ulster. That break was not without its
advantages; it at least gave opportunity of seeing the
Midlands of Ireland, which I should otherwise have
missed.

The handsome City of Dublin, on the Liffey, is the
largest and finest of the cities of Ireland. Its history
is long and interesting, its situation is pleasant and
wholesome. “The mountains are near in Dublin, the
sea is next door, and the clouds hang so low that they
must be reckoned with the town; pre-war clouds they
are, and the colours last and are for ever delightful.
In this street when the eye scans forward it lights, and
with what joy, on the eternal hills, from this window
you may smell backwards to the ocean, and out of this
one you may clutch a fistful of cloud and put it in your
pocket. Sea and hill and sky—that is Dublin; and a
silence, compacted of their essence, is Dublin also.
For if perfection is possible in this world, Dublin should
be the perfect city; the model, the unique civic and
architectural achievement of man. Nature herself has
lent every aid she possesses to that end, and if even she
is thwarted, what a notable cause there must be! An
effect is often difficult to determine, but a cause never:
so the woes of any man can be traced back to two
sources—the thing he has and the thing he hasn't;
and it is so with a city, and it is so with Dublin. There
are two things she has which she doesn't want, and two
things she wants which she hasn't got. If some
benevolent insurrection could but rid Dublin of her
tramway system and her Paving Committee what a
future would open before her! Neither of these things
fits her streets, and, after its inhabitants, what is a city
but its streets? And if, in lieu of these, she could but
procure a Parliament and a 'bus system, then Dublin

would come from underground; she would blossom like
the rose, and all the other cities would recognise their
queen.” This is what James Stephens writes to-day of
the capital of Ireland. Yes, if only Dublin could procure
a Parliament for Ireland! If, as by magic, the fine
classical building, now the headquarters of the Bank of
Ireland, could be restored to its original purpose;
would it be too much to expect that life might come
back again to Dublin, and that she might resume the
part she played in the eighteenth century as a great
social centre? As she stands now, she is like a beautiful
but dethroned queen, divorced from her own culture,
oppressed by a cruel hand, and denied her natural rights.
Repression is driving her to despair. She is in chains,
crushed and maltreated. Of her children some have
been shot, some deported and some are in jail, yet she
is beautiful and her children are heroes. Living here
amid smouldering embers of disaffection which now and
then break into flame, one is forced to acknowledge
that such conditions do sometimes bring out the finer
qualities in man. Every day we hear of honoured
citizens sacrificing their lives in an endeavour to bring
nearer to realisation the national ideal, while we see
others, labouring patiently and quietly, at the expense
of health and fortune, in what looks a hopeless task,
but which if crowned with success will bring light and
prosperity to the country. This is certainly a city of
contradictions, of leisure and culture, of sufferings and
crimes, of empty wide streets and fine big houses, of
crowded dancing halls and full “Mountjoys,” of burnt
houses and bombarded buildings (left as they were
after the “Black Week” of April 1916), of big social
clubs and famous racecourses, of rebels and loyalists,
of hopes and despairs.

These reflections arose in my mind when I returned
to the capital after my journey through rural Ireland,
I was recalled to town, first, by a wish to attend the
Annual General Meeting of the Co-operative Movement

which was to be held that week; and, secondly, I was
engaged to discuss some points of interest with the
Professor of Economics of the National University
concerning a thesis I was writing under his supervision;
thirdly, I was anxious to profit by the presence in Dublin
of my friends, the farmer co-operators, and hear their
views on rural problems.

It was not the first time I attended the Annual General
Meeting of the Irish Agricultural Organisation Society.
I had been present at the previous year's meeting held
in the same place, the theatre of the Royal Dublin
Society in Leinster House, and in an equally disturbed
atmosphere. Then it was the proposed formal entry of
the President of the Irish Republic into his capital
after his dramatic escape from an English jail—a
demonstration which never took place owing to the
proclamation by the military authorities governing
Ireland. This year, with fixed bayonets and armoured
cars, arrests of prominent Sinn Féiners had been made.
The prisoners were taken in imposing style in military
motor cars and battleships over to England to be confined
in prisons, as usual without any charge or trial.

By now our people know something about the agricultural
co-operative movement and its work in Ireland.
Later on, I hope to make clear to them the, relationship
between rural and urban co-operation, and how each
is organised and controlled. There is an annual congress
for each, one held by the Irish Agricultural Organisation
Society of Dublin, and the other by the Co-operative
Union of Manchester, one entirely Irish and the other
English. To these annual congresses delegates from all
the societies come to discuss and suggest things that
concern the welfare of the movement. At this year's
agricultural co-operative meeting which I attended at
Dublin, Sir Horace Plunkett in his presidential address
said: “… The avoidance by our movement of
political and sectarian controversy and its endeavour to
embrace all classes and interests in the community it

serves, has been more severely tested of late than at
any time since the foundation of the movement.” The
two distinctive aspects of the movement which Sir
Horace chose to dwell upon occupy the minds of those
who have the welfare of co-operation at heart, and it
was well for the President to keep before the eyes of
the delegates the fundamental necessity of adhering to
the principle which has so far helped to bind together
divergent elements in Irish life, uniting Irishmen of the
north and south, farmers and labourers, and making them
work together for the creation of a new social order in
rural Ireland. “We have always held,” continued Sir
Horace, “and we have gone a long way to prove, that
what, by intelligent and loyal co-operation, our farming
community can do for itself is immeasurably more
important than what the best of governments can do
for it.”

A co-operative movement such as this, with its faith
in its own powers and its confidence in its leaders, and
which has already successfully practised what it preached,
may hope to climb before long the heights of vision,
and see the dawn rise over an Irish Co-operative
Commonwealth.

The meeting, which lasted the whole day, ended in a
social gathering at Plunkett House. I intended to have
a talk there with Sir Horace and obtain his consent to
translate into Arabic his Noblesse Oblige, a book which, I
think, our landed aristocracy would do well to read.
To my disappointment, I found that as soon as the
meeting was over, Sir Horace left hurriedly to catch the
evening mail boat to England, on his way to America!
He has recently displayed great interest in Irish politics
and has gone so far as to formulate a constitutional
settlement for the Irish Question. This, he proposed to
frame on the lines of the Constitution of Canada. He
founded the “Irish Dominion League,” and its organ,
The Irish Statesman, to advance this settlement. The
main features of the League are, that Ireland should

have the status of a Dominion within the British
Commonwealth, that Ireland should be directly represented
as a nation in the League of Nations, and that
Ireland should be represented in whatever Council,
Conference, or Parliament of the Empire may be
set up. Sir Horace seems to rely a good deal on moral
support from the other side of the Atlantic, as he
considers that American public opinion is a factor of
the first importance in the solution of a problem of the
greatest concern to all thinking men throughout the
English-speaking world, especially now that the Irish
Question bulks so largely in the public mind of the
great republic, and that America is playing so leading
a part in European affairs.

A few months later, after Sir Horace's return, I was
invited to his house at Foxrock, some seven miles from
Dublin, when I obtained his consent to a translation of
his book into Arabic, a piece of work now on the road
to accomplishment. As for the thesis I was writing for
the National University, and which was partly responsible
for breaking my journey and bringing me back to
Dublin, it was a piece of research work in the field of
economics, in which I was interested. I take this
opportunity of mentioning the National University, and
attempting to enlighten our people on educational
matters in this country. I propose giving a brief sketch
of University education in Ireland, and stating the
reasons which prompted me to join the new National
University of Ireland, rather than the old University of
Dublin, and also, the spirit that moved me to carry on
post-graduate research work for a time abroad instead
of returning home immediately on concluding the usual
academic career to join my compatriots in shouldering
national responsibility.

University education in Ireland is carried on in three
institutions, in the National University of Ireland, with
its three constituent University Colleges at Dublin,
Cork, and Galway; in Dublin University, consisting of

one College, Trinity College, not as in Cambridge or
Oxford, of twenty or more colleges; and in Queen's
University, Belfast, without any incorporated colleges.
I may dismiss the last two Universities by saying simply
that both are foreign, the former is another Oxford or
Cambridge on a small scale and the latter is an English
provincial University which happens to be situated in
Ireland. Our people know well what that means, so
there is no need to describe them further. These two
universities, though Irish in name, are mainly English in
feeling and sympathy; Protestant in religion, Unionist
in politics, and imperialistic in spirit.

The National University is entirely different. It is a
young Irish University which was brought into existence
only twelve years ago, thanks to the perseverance of
generations of patriotic Irishmen in their determination
to create a university which the mass of the Irish people
would regard and feel as their own. It is Catholic in
religion, national and Sinn Féin in politics, and democratic
in spirit. From the first, this University has
been watched with eager interest by the great mass of
the Irish people, who supported it as individuals and as
corporate bodies. They insisted upon making the Irish
language compulsory for all students entering the University.
By so doing, they have announced emphatically
their educational policy, which is based on national lines
for the realisation of national ideals. The general
principles of education whether in Science or Art are
the same in the “Irish National” as in any British
University. The undergraduate studies Medicine, Engineering,
Languages, Chemistry, Physics, Economics,
Agriculture, Music, Law, History, etc., on the same
lines as elsewhere. Where the difference comes in is in
the atmosphere, spirit, and associations. This Irish
nation is struggling for freedom, and high hopes are
centred on this University and its three colleges, as the
intellectual centre in which the great Irishmen of the
future, on whom depends the emancipation of Ireland,

will be formed. Our countrymen will now realise the
spirit of the “National,” a spirit essential to any people
who are working for the greatness of their country.
One must admit that the youth of the “National”
colleges have their difficulties. Their lack of traditions,
the fact that the Colleges are non-residential and without
adequate accommodation for common purposes, such as
club rooms, central athletic grounds, etc., hinders the
growth of an esprit de corps among their various elements.
The students are scattered over the town, with no
common meeting-place. This is an unfortunate state of
affairs which, it is hoped, will in time be remedied.
Another shortcoming to be noted is the fact that the
professions, particularly the medical, are regarded by
the undergraduates and their parents with an absurdly
exaggerated esteem. This has the effect of limiting the
student's outlook during his university career, and
affects him in his subsequent life as a citizen. The
University authorities are fully conscious of these difficulties,
and they are trying to make good the defects,
but at present there are serious drawbacks to the usefulness
of the “National” as an influence on Irish life.

Contrasting these university colleges with Trinity
College, we find the latter in possession of a tradition
stretching back to the sixteenth century. The fact that
it is a residential college, having spacious buildings,
adequate accomodation for the convenience and pleasure
of its members, great common rooms, club houses and
central sporting grounds, and a magnificent library, one
of the five greatest in the kingdom, gives Trinity a
considerable attraction. But it seems to me that there
is something of greater importance than the pleasure,
convenience, comfort, and even name a college confers
on its members. I mean the spirit of culture. I am
sure my fellow-countrymen will understand me. They
know that in Egypt we have great Government schools
and colleges which compare favourably with the best in
England, as far as material and external things are

concerned. Great buildings, spacious lecture halls and
theatres, well-equipped scientific laboratories, fine
common rooms, and well-kept athletic grounds, all are
there. But what is the spirit with which the authorities
are trying all the time to imbue the young generation?
A most unhealthy spirit, and one similar to that instilled
into the young Irish mind at Trinity. To give an
example of what I mean. Last November, I attended
the annual general meeting of the Historical Society
in Trinity, which was held in the Great Hall. It was
a large and distinguished assembly, composed of over
a thousand University people, presided over by the
Provost, and addressed by prominent public men,
Irish and English. Among the former, Lord Killanin
made a very able speech, which had it been as truthful
as it was eloquent would have evoked just admiration.
But he had the boldness, in the very capital of Ireland,
to praise British diplomacy and its championship of the
rights of small nationalities, to extol Britain's just
administration and her liberal and generous attitude
towards those whom she takes into her charge. And
who would believe it? Not one voice was heard, nor a
single interruption made, from that supposed intellectual
assembly in protest against such a misrepresentation,
and he was allowed to proceed with his oratory, and
received enthusiastic applause at its close. This seems
to me an apt illustration of the spirit of this College.
One wonders whether the members of Trinity are consummate
hypocrites or merely moral cowards. When
I talked to some of the men individually on the subject,
they expressed their regret that they could not go
against the general feeling of the College, even though
they totally disagreed with what Lord Killanin stated.
Such an institution, breeding a type of citizen who
cannot act according to his reasoned conviction, is not
worthy of being called a school, much less a University.
This is my own opinion, but I was reminded that this
same College produced some of the greatest Irish patriots,

like Wolfe Tone, Thomas Davis, Robert Emmet, and
Douglas Hyde. I wondered within myself how many
did it produce who betrayed Ireland and deserted her
in her need. Think of such thousands and remember
that men like those mentioned, and of whom “Trinity,”
strange to say, is proud, were made of stuff that not
even Trinity with all its unnational and anglicising
influence could pervert. One must remember also that
Trinity was then the only University in Ireland. I am
glad that there is now another University to counteract
the unhealthy and foreign spirit fostered by Trinity,
and to open its arms to those who think and work
nationally. There are some people in Dublin who do
not agree with me, and who think that the existence
of two universities in the Irish capital is economically
wasteful and politically a misfortune. That may be so.
But I believe that Ireland is justified in her effort to
strengthen her own soul.

As regards “Queen's” in Belfast, it will suffice to
say that it is in Ulster, and only one-fifth of its students
are Catholics and non-Unionists.

To come to the question why I did not return home
and start work as soon as I had finished the ordinary
university career abroad: I would like to give my
reasons at length, so as to explain such defects as I am
conscious of in our early education at home, and to
suggest things to the rising generation in Egypt that
might help them in the building up of Modern Egypt
on purely national lines.

When I was still in the Khedivich School at home,
my people chose Medicine for me as a profession; as
soon as I got my “Bakaloria” my fate was sealed, a
“Doctor” I had to be. Careers in Egypt are very
limited, and the choice is made by parents without the
least regard to the abilities or inclinations of their boys.
Owing to a mistaken standard of social values, the
three professions of Medicine, Law and Engineering, are
held in a ridiculously exaggerated esteem, with the

result that the schools keep on every year qualifying
hundreds of young men in these subjects, who, through
the defective spirit of their education and training,
lack reliance on their own power, and are incapable of
striking out new and original ways of their own in
attempting to make the best use of their limited
opportunities. Most of them entirely depend on
positions under the Government, or, if they are of
independent means, do absolutely nothing either for
themselves or for others. I have not space here to
expose fully the evil system and false spirit of the
education prevailing all over Egypt under the control
of the British. I remember many things of the four
years I spent under the mastership of that lordly
Englishman, Mr. Sharman, and his staff. They did
their best to kill whatever spirit there was in Egyptian
boys. However, I shall reserve this subject for another
volume. I left the “Khedivich” to enter the School of
Medicine, whose principal was then a Dr. Keating. I am
told he is an Ulster man, a greater bully or more over-bearing
teacher it would be difficult to find. His language
was indescribable and his behaviour towards the men and
the staff intolerable. If that be so, he must be of the
real Carsonian type. I regret deeply that an Irishman
even if he was from Ulster, should have made himself
so obnoxious in Egypt. He knew what I and others
felt, and kept watch on our relations with the Nationalist
movement.

I fear to bore the reader with this story. But I
relate it for reasons which will be understood presently;
it is not only my story, but that of many of my compatriots.

In Easter 1908 I left Egypt to finish my education
in England. At Saint Thomas' Hospital, London, I
continued the course begun at home, and spent four
years in study and practice. Then when I was preparing
for my final examination, the Balkan War broke
out. The British Red Cross sent contingents to the

warring nations. It so happened that the contingent
going to Turkey was manned mostly by Saint Thomas'
men. I volunteered, and was accepted as assistant-surgeon.
To cut the story short, I served my time,
and after a six months tour around Europe, I returned
to England, but with different views and intentions.
Several factors contributed to my decision to change
my career. It was a bold step and required some
moral courage in the face of absolute disapproval from
my people and bitter criticism from my friends. My
great support was a sincere conviction that I could
serve my country best in another field. I joined the
Bristol University, and after three years got the degree
of Bachelor of Science in Agriculture. With that I
returned home to see what I could do for my country
with such knowledge and experience as I had acquired.
On board the ship I met Mr. MacKillop, the administrative
adviser to the Ministry of Agriculture, and after
a friendly talk on things in general, he proposed my
joining the Ministry and offered me the position of
Sub-Inspector. I thanked him, but declined to accept
the offer, till I had reached home, and had considered
the matter. When I reached Egypt and learned something
of Egyptian matters, both from Egyptians and
English officials in Cairo and in the provinces, I came
to the conclusion that if I were to join the service I
should do so in the capacity of a government official in
the administrative department (with great prospects of
quick promotion to the highest offices if I became a
favourite with our English advisers), and forget all that
I had learnt of agricultural science; or I should assume
some responsibility in one particular branch of the
scientific department of the Ministry. This latter
course required special knowledge, which I could not
then claim, in one particular subject, such as Chemistry,
Entomology, or Mycology. I felt that my general
knowledge of agriculture was not sufficient to ensure
usefulness to my nation, although it would have secured

me a good position under the Government with a
handsome income, or at any rate a comfortable and
easy life. Realising how important the subject of plant
breeding was to Egypt I resolved to return to England
with the view of specialising in that subject. I entered
Cambridge University and worked under Professor Biffen,
the authority on that subject, for a while. Unfortunately,
the subject did not appeal to me, and gradually my
interest in it faded away. Economics attracted my
attention, and I soon found myself studying tha
subject, particularly the branch of it dealing with
agriculture. In my third and last year in Cambridge
I devoted a good deal of my time to research in the
economics of agricultural co-operation, under the supervision
of Dr. Fay of Christ College. At that time Dr.
Fay was contemplating bringing out a new edition of
his well-known book, Co-operation at Home and Abroad.
He entrusted that part of it dealing with the United
Kingdom to me. With instructions and introductions,
I set out in search of materials on the subject of both
industrial and agricultural co-operation, and toured
England, Scotland, and Ireland. That occupied the six
months vacation of my last year in Cambridge. Having
kept my terms and obtained my degree of Bachelor of
Arts in Political Economy in that old University, I
thought it wise to extend my researches in agricultural
co-operation and with that intention I came to Ireland.

This is my story, the story of one of your own people,
and I have related it in the hope that it may be of use.
After a defective upbringing at home, our boys proceed
to the Government schools, where, whatever possibilities
remain for the making of great men or even useful
citizens are systematically eliminated. As for careers,
they are like marriages, all arranged by the anxious,
well-meaning parents. To this system, the majority of
our young men submit, and consent to live what is at
best a life of mediocrity. Few of them rebel or struggle
to free themselves, but such rebels as there are strike

out new lines for themselves, and generally attain distinction
in whatever field they choose for work. The
moral courage of such men, their sincere conviction,
their personality, combined with their mastery of the
subject of their choice, their experience of men and
things, and their devotion to national aspirations make
us believe and trust in them as men who will liberate
Egypt, and realise her hopes.

Now I come to the third reason that broke my journey
and brought me to Dublin. I did not want to miss
the chance of meeting farmers from all parts of the
country at the Co-operative Congress, and hearing their
views on various agricultural questions, co-operative and
otherwise. I was particularly interested in their opinions
on the scope and work of the Agricultural Wholesale
Society and on the future of farmers' associations. As
I have not touched on these two subjects heretofore I
now propose to say a few words about them.

I left Dublin to resume my tour around Ireland, and
with two friends travelled northwards. We soon
entered Meath, a county rendered famous by the beauty
of the Valley of the Boyne, and by the amazing richness
of its monuments of all ages. Perhaps to our people
the “Boyne Tumuli” are of special interest, for here,
it is believed, the influence of ancient Egyptian Art on
Ireland can be traced. The late Mr. George Coffey,
the eminent Irish archaeologist, after several explorations
and much study of these little pyramids proved that
the concentric circles, spiral designs and elaborate
carvings which appear on their stones are repetitions of
similar decorations to be found in Egypt. Drogheda
with its antiquarian ruins did not detain us long, and
we proceeded to Dundalk, a historical town situated
upon a low, flat expanse at the head of a bay bearing
the same name, half-way between Dublin and Belfast.
A few miles to the west we entered Ulster. We alighted
at Newtownbutler, the first town we visited in the
northern province. Our interest in that place was in
the first place due to the existence of a co-operative
society, which, thanks to the activities of Father M.,
is a great asset of the agricultural community; secondly,
the town itself is a favourite starting-point for visiting
Upper Lough Erne. We regretted our time did not
allow us to traverse the expanse of this charming lake
studded with its many islands. From a distance we
viewed the extensive stretches of sylvan and pastoral
borderland surrounding those lonely waters. The

mountains in the background, the stately towers, lordly
castles and hanging cliffs, all added to the beauties of
the landscape. Enniskillen was our next town. This
historically famous centre stands upon an island between
the two lakes—the Upper and Lower Lough Erne.
We called on some friends, and saw the town, then left
on the same day for Belcoo. From Belcoo we walked
to Blacklion, a distance of about a mile, to get a
conveyance to take us to the old parish of Killinagh.
It was a beautiful drive of some seven miles in the open
country. We arrived at our destination just in time to
attend a farmers' meeting. It was held at the National
School, with one of the big farmers of the district in the
chair. To us the assembly was an extremely interesting
one, not so much because of the amount of work done as
from the evidence at first hand that the farmers are
now realising how much it is to their own interest to
come together and work in harmony. No amount of
legislation can take the place of the vital force that
lives in the spirit of voluntary association. The more
the farmer realises that, the greater the benefit he reaps
from his labours. We returned by the same way to
catch the train from Belcoo to Manorhamilton, a small
town situated in a valley surrounded by ranges of hills
on every side. Manorhamilton is an outpost of
Connaught, it is not in Ulster, though surrounded by
Ulster towns; it is in the county of Leitrim. There
we got accomodation for the night, and left the next
day for Augher in County Tyrone via Maguiresbridge.
In this place, where we were the guests of a farmer
friend, we spent a few pleasant, instructive and interesting
days. Our work embraced visits to a “store,”
a creamery, a flax-mill and a farm; our amusements
consisted in calling on friends and attending a “village
dance.” Perhaps the reader would like to know something
of our experience of these two sides of life during our
short sojourn at Augher and its sister town, Clogher.
I take first the subject of flax.

Before the war the flax fibre necessary for the manufacture
of Irish linen, which is a great Ulster industry,
came mostly from Russia. Some was imported from
Belgium, Holland, and Trance, and some grown in
Ireland itself. At the beginning of the war, Ireland
put under cultivation about 50,000 acres, almost all in
Ulster. Now this figure is increasing with the increased
demand on the home produced flax resulting from the
disturbance in international trade. The cultivation of
this crop, which requires not only a great deal of labour,
and also a skilled form of it, needed at the time better
technical knowledge and better organisation of the trade.
The Co-operative Movement played a prominent
part in bringing about these improvements which
were indispensable to the progress of this industry.
The activities of the Flax Co-operative Society, which
we visited at Seskinore, near Augher, and those of other
similar societies reveal this fact. They purchase for
their members nothing but the best seed. Improvements
in the production of the flax, as well as in its
after-treatment, are brought about through the employment
of skilled instructors. All this ensures the production
of the best quality of flax fibre. As regards
the problem of marketing, the growers who belong to a
co-operative society are no more at the mercy of the
buyers, no matter how strong the ring these may form.
The societies, by helping the farmers to produce flax
on approved methods, to acquire modern scutching
machinery and to market the crop at an advantage
are not only benefiting the farmer and encouraging the
cultivation of flax in Ireland, but are assisting a great
national industry and raising its standard of quality.

The dance we attended was organised by our co-operative
friends, and to it came people from the
surrounding villages. It was a big gathering of some
two hundred country folk, all coming to enjoy an all-night
dance. The entertainment, like the people themselves,
was of a mixed nature. There were songs in

English and songs in Gaelic; there were Continental
dances and Irish dances. Protestants and Catholics
were there, so were real Irish people as well as so-called
Irish. It is to the credit of the co-operative principle,
that all this took place under one roof in Ireland. At
the door of a co-operative hall people leave their religious
and political differences to meet on co-operative ground.
Everything went off smoothly and enjoyably. The
Irish tunes were full of melody and the folk dances of
grace, and the natural merriment of the people was a
pleasant thing that could not be forgotten. All joined
in the cheerful spirit of the night, and I, feeling one of
them, forgot for the moment that I was a foreigner till
a friend, touching me on the shoulder, reminded me of
a talk we were to have the next day on Egypt and
Ireland. With “Eire agus Eigipt go bráth!” I departed.
We left this beautiful countryside with pleasant memories
of its charming views, co-operative spirit, and kindly
friendship. Our only grievance against Augher is its
railway, but we appreciated the kindness even that
showed us, as we were leaving; had it not been that
the train was late, we should have missed it, and so lost
the connection to Belfast. Our way to this city was
via Armagh and Portadown. The former, now a country
town, was once a celebrated city, the Ulster capital in
Pagan times, and later the seat of Saint Patrick, the
patron saint of Erin. Portadown is an important commercial
centre and railway junction. Belfast, the great
industrial city of Ireland, grew into fame in a comparatively
short period of time. Up to the seventeenth
century it had neither a historic background nor any
importance in the national life of the country. Its
importance is largely due to the unrivalled safety of its
harbour. An atmosphere different in many aspects
from that of Ireland generally is accounted for by the
fact that its inhabitants are to a great extent descendants
of English and Scottish adventurers, amongst whom the
lands of the original Irish were parcelled out at the

time of the Ulster Plantation. The foreign intruders
drove the Irish owners off the land with a cruelty that
knew no satiety, and with rapacity that had no bounds.
Towards the end of the eighteenth century, Belfast
began to assume the position of a great growing industrial
city. Large factories, shipbuilding yards, flourishing
industries, and extensive trade, added greatly to the
activity and wealth of the people and helped to make
the city famous. Huge buildings appeared, municipal
and otherwise, and in short the place became what it
is now—the richest and most progressive city in Ireland,
that is, of course, as far as material progress is concerned.
To a stranger like myself it seems another Manchester
or Glasgow. It has, I think, little that is purely Irish
about it. Its people are hustling business people,
seeming to have no time for either leisure or culture.
Like Manchester and Glasgow, Belfast is a great centre
of industrial co-operation. We were taken over the
handsome headquarters, huge premises and various
departments of the Belfast Co-operative Society, We
were also invited to attend its annual general meeting
and were introduced to its leading men and women.
From what I saw here and in England and Scotland I
must say that this form of co-operation is as progressive
in Belfast as it is in any city of Great Britain, except
in the field of production, for Belfast is content to buy
its goods direct from the English and the Scottish
Wholesale Co-operative Societies, which manufacture
most of their goods in their own factories.

My readers have already been made acquainted with
the agricultural or rural co-operative movement in
Leinster, Munster and Connaught, which is entirely
Irish. Now we come across another form of co-operation
prevalent in Ulster. This is what is called
the industrial or urban co-operative movement. It is
very strong in Great Britain and in this northern
province of Ireland. Its headquarters, “The Co-operative
Union,” are in Manchester. As I have tried to

tell my readers, the story of the agricultural side of the
co-operative movement, I may now attempt to describe
the industrial side of it, so as to make the account
complete. It must be remembered that industrial
co-operation in Ulster is part and parcel of a big movement
in Great Britain, and I cannot describe the Irish
part adequately without telling the history and development
of the movement in Ireland and Great Britain.

The Industrial Co-operative Movement was born in
England. It was the outcome of an effort of the
labouring classes to protect themselves against the
effects of the Industrial Revolution which began towards
the close of the eighteenth century. The utter misery
into which they were plunged attracted the attention
of one of the greatest social reformers of his day, and
enlisted his sympathy. That man combined practical
business capacity with high social ideals. He was of
Welsh origin and his name was Robert Owen. I cannot
describe him better than by quoting Mrs. Sydney Webb.

“Apprenticed early to a retail shopkeeper, at nineteen
years of age he had saved sufficient to start as a small
master in the Manchester machine-making and cotton
spinning trade. Quickly realising that the new industry
required large masses of capital, he abandoned the
nominal independence of a small master to become the
manager of a large factory. From the position of manager
in one firm he became managing partner in another,
until he succeeded to the absolute control of the large
spinning mill at New Lanark. It was here he tried his
first experiment in practical economics. He raised the
wages of his workers, reduced the hours of labour from
seventeen to ten a day, prohibited the employment of
children under ten years of age. He provided free
education, free amusements, cheap provisions, good
cottages for his workpeople and their families. At
first his fellow-manufacturers watched with contemptuous
amazement the deeds of this Don Quixote of the
cotton trade; his partners sought separation from this

crack-brained philanthropist intent on personal ruin.
He answered these theoretical objections to the Socialist
programme—good wages, short hours, free instruction
and free amusement—by showing in the course of four
years a profit of £160,000, besides paying five per cent.
on capital employed, and raising the selling value of
the factory fifty per cent.”

Having thus succeeded in carrying his views into
effect with remarkable success in his factory, he tried
to spread his ideals amongst his fellow-manufacturers,
as well as amongst influential circles directing the
affairs of the State. The influence of his example, work
and teachings did not fail to leave its stamp on the
modern relations between Capital and Labour. The
ideal which Owen worked for, was a self-supporting one
which would produce its own requirements without
making profit. In that community, the supply of
goods would be regulated according to demand, and as
there were no profits to be made, labour would be
rewarded adequately. It will be noticed that there is
a close connection between Owen's theories and those
underlying the present store movement. Owen was
the greatest co-operative enthusiast of his generation,
but “he was not the father and originator of the co-operative
store,” Dr. Fay observes. “Rather is it
true that the store movement, while still in the stage
of humble experiment, was caught up for a few years
in a flood-tide of idealistic enthusiasm, inspired and
directed by him, and that, when the flood-tide ebbed,
the movement returned to its old line of development
with slower steps and wiser tactics, content to act
cautiously while naming a distant and wide goal.”
Some of Owen's disciples made a bold attempt to put
his ideals into practice at Brighton and other places
by starting what were called “Union Shops,” but after
a few years success, lack of legal recognition and the
disloyalty of members, together with unbusiness-like

methods brought the noble adventure to a sad ending.
Things then looked very dark for co-operation. During
the next ten years, although Owen's spirit was still
active, and his followers were struggling to achieve
their purpose, co-operation fell into the background
owing to the rising of the Chartist Agitation. In the
early part of the nineteenth century, the working classes
in England were in a state of profound discontent.
Wages were low and prices high. This caused great
distress among the people, which led to an agitation
that came to be known as “Chartism.” The people
at a mass meeting adopted a manifesto, or “People's
Charter,” in which they made the following demands:

Large meetings were held throughout the country
and great excitement prevailed. On the refusal of the
Government to consider the petition, riots broke out.
Fierce encounters between the Chartists and the Government
forces took place, but eventually the rebellion was
quelled.

The failure of the Chartists intensified discontent.
Realising the dangers to society that lay behind that
discontent, a group of social reformers, who came to be
known as the “Christian Socialists,” met in 1848, to
consider the possibility of putting an end to the strife,
and to inquire into the best means of improving conditions
among the discontented section of the population.
This group was composed of reformers under the leadership
of Thomas Hughes, Charles Kingsley, Vansittart
Neale, Maurice, and Ludlow. They maintained, that
if men combined together voluntarily to produce whatever
commodities were required by the community,

instead of endeavouring to outdo one another by
competition, there would be less of the poverty and
suffering that was the cause of all the trouble. Self-governing
workshops as advocated by these reformers
were started with the view of avoiding the antagonism
between Capital and Labour. Thus co-operation came
to the front again, but this time in the form of what is
called “Producers' Co-operation.” Under that form,
the labourers themselves own the capital and thus
eliminate the employer. They appoint their manager
from amongst themselves and divide profits between
themselves. Unfortunately, the doctrines preached by
the Christian Socialists were without results owing to
the inefficiency amongst the men and the lack of ability
in those at the helm. Thus ended two noble efforts to
improve the lot of the English working classes—the
first of Robert Owen, the second that of the Christian
Socialists. The collapse of both was due to the same
cause. The time was not ripe for co-operative ideals.
The way had to be prepared, a good deal of ground
had to be cleared, and many changes in the life and
character of the people to be accomplished. But the
work of Robert Owen and the Christian Socialists was
not fruitless; they convinced the people of the importance
of education and of the efficacy of voluntary
effort. This achievement left a high moral ideal and
sense of discipline amongst the people that made the
spread of co-operation possible. The next effort was
in a new direction. Failure in co-operative production
damped the zeal of co-operators in that direction, and
diverted their activities to co-operative distribution.
The year 1844, a prominent date in the history of
co-operation, saw a fresh force advancing to support
the movement, and give it the power and prestige
which it needed and which it has retained ever since.
It came from Rochdale and to Rochdale it has given
fame. There, some twenty-eight weavers, afterwards
to be known as the “Pioneers,” formed a society which,

though humble in its origin, had an ambitious programme.
The immediate object of the “Pioneers” was to establish
a store for the selling of provisions to the members;
but they had other and larger schemes which they
intended to carry out later. Their ultimate aim was
to establish a self-supporting community in which the
members had control not only over distribution, but
over production, education and government. They
raised the capital required for their enterprise by weekly
subscriptions of 3d. each, and when their capital reached
the total sum of £28, they started business. If the Rochdale
Pioneers could have foreseen that with the opening
of their humble shop in that country town near Manchester,
they were beginning a glorious chapter in the
history of co-operation, they would have been less
nervous in taking down the shutters of the famous
window in Toad Lane on the opening day. As it was,
they felt far from confident in the face of bitter criticism
and strong opposition. Holyoake, in describing the
opening of that historic store, said:

“On one desperate evening—it was the longest evening
of the year—the 21st of December, 1844, the ‘Equitable
Pioneers’ commenced business… It had got wind
among the tradesmen of the town that their competitors
were in the field, and many a curious eye was that day
turned up Toad Lane, looking for the appearance of
the enemy; but, like other enemies of more historic
renown, they were rather shy of appearing. A few of
the co-operators had clandestinely assembled to witness
their own dénouement, and there they stood in that
dismal lower room of the warehouse, like the conspirators
under Guy Fawkes in the Parliamentary cellars,
debating on whom should devolve the temerity of taking
down the shutters and displaying their humble preparations.
One did not like to do it, and another did not
like to be seen in the shop when it was done: however,
having gone so far there was no choice but to go further,
and at length one bold fellow, utterly reckless of consequences,

rushed at the shutters, and in a few minutes
Toad Lane was in a titter.”

The story of this society is one of continued progress.
The remarkable success achieved by the Rochdale
weavers encouraged others in all parts of the country to
found societies on the same lines. What is the secret
of this principle whose fame has reached so many lands?
Apart from the strong social faith and great enthusiasm
which inspired the pioneers in all this work, they built
their scheme on a sound business basis, as planned by
the prophets of co-operation. Cash trading was a
religion with them. As regards profits, they did not
believe in them, but as it was very difficult to sell at
market price and at the same time eliminate profit,
they devised the ingenious plan of dividing amongst
themselves whatever profits were made, according to
the amount of trade done by each member. In all their
activities, they preserved strict neutrality in religion
and politics. On these lines and after obtaining legal
recognition, the movement extended, and co-operative
stores began to multiply in all the industrial districts
of the country. It will be remembered that co-operators,
whether Owenites, Christian Socialists, or Rochdale
Pioneers, had all the time cherished the idea of producing
for themselves, but they were never strong
enough to accomplish their hearts' desire. Now that
the movement had spread, the establishing of a wholesale
society which would strengthen the position of the
stores as buyers became imperative.

In 1863, the Co-operative Wholesale Society was
founded with headquarters at Manchester. Five years
later the Scottish Wholesale Society was founded at
Glasgow. These two great federations did much to
advance the cause of the store movement, by supplying
the societies with whatever they needed at wholesale
prices direct from their distributive and productive
departments. Since their foundation, the progress and
expansion of co-operative wholesale trading has been

most remarkable. I was struck with their greatness
on my visits to their headquarters, branches, factories,
farms, and depots in England and Scotland. The
increasing enterprise in production of these two federations
is meeting with the success that is assured to
societies producing for a known and ascertained market.
To enumerate their many and varied operations would
form a long list, as they range from boots and provisions
to textiles and tobacco. To survey their activities one
has to follow their course of enterprise round the world,
as they own land, possess factories, and have depots in
many countries. To sum up: it may be stated that
they carry on the trades or businesses of wholesale
dealers, bankers, shippers, carriers, manufacturers, merchants,
cultivators of land, workers of mines, and insurers
of persons and property.

The members of these wholesale federations are shareholding
local societies, and the profits, which are based
on the difference between manufacturers' or importers'
and wholesale prices, are distributed among these
societies in proportion to their purchases. The
management of the two wholesale societies, which are
quite independent of each other, is on the usual lines.
The shareholding societies of each elect a Board of
Directors which are elected among the members of the
retail co-operative societies who are chosen for this
position by the votes of the societies that are members
of the Wholesale Society. This Board appoints managers
to the various departments and factories and entrusts
them with the management. These managers are
directly responsible to the Directors, who form themselves
into committees, each of which supervises a
certain department. Quarterly meetings are held to
which delegates of the retail societies are invited. At
these, balance sheets and committees' reports are discussed,
and resolutions are passed affecting the policy
and work of the Wholesale Society.

After the founding of the wholesale societies, the lack

of a head to the huge co-operative system of industrial
wholesale and retail societies in the United Kingdom
was much felt. This brought about the creation of
“The Co-operative Union,” a federation of Co-operative
Societies for educational, protective, progressive and
co-ordinating purposes. “It upholds the principles of
the movement by educating the members in these
principles and insisting upon the practice of truthfulness,
justice and economy in all business transactions
undertaken by co-operative societies.” In short, it acts
as guardian of the true spirit of the co-operative movement.
The membership of the Union, as in the case
of the Wholesale Societies, is composed of co-operative
societies. These elect delegates to attend the annual
general meeting of the Union, “The Co-operative Congress,”
which is held at a different centre each year.
This Congress, which is attended by thousands and
which lasts all Whit-week, is an important event to
which co-operators look forward with interest in anticipation
of its plans for promoting the welfare of their
movement. The government of the Union is organised
on democratic lines, somewhat similar to those of the
wholesale societies. I need not go into the details of
the organisation, of its committees and sub-committees,
its Central Board and Sectional Boards. Thus is the
co-operative movement guided, and its light spread.

The women, too, have their place in the movement.
Feminine activity is represented by the women's co-operative
guilds. There are three of them in these
islands, one in England, one in Scotland, and one in
Ireland, all run on the same lines. The English Guild
is the oldest and the largest. The Women's Co-operative
Guild, as it is called, has its headquarters in London.
It is described as “a self-governing organisation of
women, who work through co-operation for the welfare
of the people, seeking freedom for their own progress,
and the equal fellowship of men and women in the
home, the store, the workshop, and the State.” From

this we perceive that it acts as an inquiry department
into possible defects within the movement, particularly
those concerning women, at the same time it exercises
with increasing effect a beneficial influence on social
questions in general. This two-fold activity of the
Guild sometimes brings it into conflict with certain
other elements in the co-operative movement. To cite
an example, we might take the case of divorce law
reform. There was a disagreement on this subject
between the Co-operative Union and the Women's Guild,
which led to somewhat strained relationship between
them for a while. The Guild held that “the members
of the Guild look to co-operation not only to set up
stores where they can obtain their goods and be provided
with dividends, but to remove many evils connected
with our present laws and customs, and to
establish society on a more equal and just basis; and
consider it within its sphere of action to give this subject
attention, with a view to raising the standard of married
life to a higher plane.” On the other hand, the Union
was anxious not to introduce into the co-operative
movement questions of a religious character, and the
discussion of questions relating to divorce was considered
detrimental to the best interests of the movement.
However, that did not deter the Guild from proceeding
with its inquiry into the subject, after making it clear
to the Union that the Guild, “while primarily concerned
with co-operation, has a further side to it, which deals
with questions of industrial and social reform affecting
its members as married women.” This disagreement
came to an end recently and the result was in favour
of the Guild. The entry of the co-operative movement
into politics, and the enfranchisement of women, were
no doubt, contributory causes to this fortunate reconciliation.
I dwell on this question here with a view of
showing to our people the impossibility of dividing the
activities of a public body like the Women's Guild into
water-tight compartments. As we shall be faced with

similar questions in the near future in our own country,
when the women begin to play their part in the reconstruction
of our social life, this account of the action of
the Women's Guild may be interesting and useful to our
people.

The many-sided nature of the work of the Guild since
its establishment in 1883, makes it impossible to give
here a complete account of all it has done. Its work
for promoting the interest of co-operation has been
incalculable. It has worked for loyalty to the store
and advocated co-operative production, it has supported
cash trading and conducted inquiries into the conditions
of labour amongst the women co-operative employees.
Its work for shorter hours and a minimum wage has
been well rewarded. The Guild has urged the provision
of sick-room appliances wherever women workers are
employed by co-operative societies.

In its work outside the co-operative movement, it
supported the campaign for the extension of the suffrage
to women, and roused public opinion to the necessity
of providing adequate medical treatment for school
children. Its work for legislation affecting child labour
and education as well as married women of the working
class, both in maternity and other sickness, has been
handsomely acknowledged by all.

This comprehensive work of the Guild is carried out
very smoothly through its effective organisation. The
whole Guild is governed by an annual congress of
delegates from the branches. Through a “Central
Committee,” the branches of the Guild are kept in touch
with one another and thus the whole organisation is
consolidated.

To judge by its increasing membership, by the great
attendance and interest shown at its annual congresses
and by the valuable work it does in the field of social
reform, whether co-operative or general, for the welfare
of womanhood, its progress has been continuous and its
position assured.

Before ending my remarks on co-operation, I would

like to make clear to our people the fundamental features
that distinguish a co-operative society from a joint-stock
company.

There are four principles that constitute the basis of
what is known all over the world as the Rochdale
System. First, that there shall be no limit to the
number of members and the amount of capital; second,
that every member shall have one vote only, and that
there shall be no voting by proxy; third, that no
member shall hold shares to the value of more than
£200, and that the interest on share capital shall be
limited to five per cent.; fourth, that all further division
of profit, what is called the “Dividend,” shall be in
proportion to trade. On this system as a basis, the
whole co-operative superstructure has been erected
These provisions are evidence of the democratic nature
of the organisation, and make for an equitable distribution
of wealth amongst the different classes. A
movement with such ideals, as long as it lives up to
them, is bound to win over a very large section of the
people in any country.

It now remains to say a few words on a later development
within the co-operative movement—co-partnership.
In 1884, owing to diversity of opinion amongst co-operators,
the Labour Co-Partnership Association was
founded by one of the schools of thought. Amongst
the most prominent of its members were Vansittart
Neale, Holyoake, and Greening. They felt that the
claims of “labour” as such must be considered, and it
was their purpose to promote production by methods
which would give workers a share in the profit, capital,
control and responsibility.

Founded about the same time as the above Association
and closely allied to it, was the Co-operative Productive
Federation. Its object was to aid productive societies
by united action and by obtaining capital for them,
to open up markets for the sale of their goods, and to
endeavour to avoid overlapping and competition between
them. “It represents on a small scale the federal

principle as applied to fields of co-operative production
which are outside the wholesale societies and the stores.”

Unlike the societies dealt with previously under industrial
co-operation, and which are formed and managed
primarily in the interests of consumers, the Associations
of Workers promoted by the above two organisations
are formed and managed primarily in the interests of
the producers.

The chief characteristics which mark the co-partnership
scheme are:

“We are thus,” observes Mrs. Sidney Webb, “confronted
with two co-operative ideals, one of an association
of consumers, with salaried or wage-earning
officials, acting under the general direction of elected
committees in the interests of the whole community;
the other of groups of workers who, in virtue of their
economic position, secure as individuals some special
share of the profits that may be made, and, it may be,
some voice in control. Under the first scheme, no man
secures a particularised individual profit; under the
second, no man is simply a wage-earner. The association
of consumers as a federalised movement grows from
within, and if it embark on the field of production,

must find its market among its own members. The
other group of workers may or may not find a market
among co-operators, and although up to the present
time it is to co-operative consumers that most of their
products go, it is open to them to seek their outlet and
their profit anywhere.”

So far co-partnership seems to have achieved very
little, and the number of societies established on this
principle is limited. There are several reasons which
account for this, outstanding amongst them are:

From this account of agricultural co-operation, industrial
co-operation, and co-partnership, it will be seen
that co-operation is working for two different ends.
One, the producers', is the cheapening of labour by
converting the wage-earning worker into a self-employer;
the other, the consumers', is the cheapening of living by
co-operatively reducing price. We shall come back to
the conflict between these two ideals in a later chapter.

We left Belfast to visit other places in the northern
province. We soon found ourselves in the midst of the
prosperous meadows of County Antrim. For eight miles
we travelled along the shore of Belfast Lough, but on
reaching Jordanstown we left the coast line and turned
westward. Our way led us to Antrim, an attractive
little town not far from Lough Neagh, the largest lake
in the country. On the margin of that lake, some four
miles from Antrim, stands the historic Shane's Castle,
the remains of the seat of the ancient and noble family
of the O'Neills, who were long famous lords in Ulster.
This family has given the coat of arms of Ulster its
design and colour. The legend of the Red Hand in the
arms of Ulster is a dramatic one. In the early history
of that province, it is said, some invaders came to
conquer the country. Near the Ulster coast they
entered into an agreement that he who touched the land
first should be lord of it. One daring chief, anxious to
win the country, cut off his hand and threw it on the
shore before anybody landed, and thus having touched
the land first, he claimed it. From him sprang the
O'Neills, the royal race of Ulster.

From Antrim we proceeded to Omagh across County
Tyrone. Thence we passed through the pleasant
valley of the Mourne to Strabane, a famous market for
grain and flax, situated at the junction of the Finn and
the Mourne. Soon after leaving Strabane the stream
swells in volume, and assuming the name of Foyle winds
through a pleasant country before it reaches the sea
beyond Londonderry. This city, which is better known

as Derry, and which has much interest for the historian
and the antiquarian, is a prosperous centre of industry.
It is famous for its ancient walls, which are notable in
its history, as well as for modern industries, such as
linen manufacture, shirt-making, shipbuiilding, etc.,
which are the sources of its prosperity.

Derry we left by rail, passing through Letterkenny,
and thence round the coast to Dungloe. We were now
in the heart of the rugged mountains and wild landscapes
of North-West Donegal. The Northern heart
thrills to this wild scenery, but to mine, Southern as I
am, quiet, fertile plains make a stronger appeal. I am
more at home by the side of a stream or a lake in a
beautiful and peaceful valley than in the midst of these
mountains, which seem to stand aloof, cold and reserved,
looking down contemptuously at the country lying
modestly below. The sweet valleys, the lovely streams,
and Ibn El-Farid for me. I leave the lofty mountains
to Tolstoi and the high seas to Heine.

We passed through the Rosses, the granitic moorlands
between Slieve Snacht and the shores of the Atlantic.
Here loughs and loughlets abound and the indented
coast is bordered by innumerable islands. A remarkable
country! We reached Dungloe, of fishing and shooting
fame, a dreary-looking village on the side of a mountain
which rises sharply from the water side. It was a
wretched evening, cold and dark and with insistent rain
putting the final touch to the inhospitable climate.
In that atmosphere we had to travel on a jaunting car
some three miles to the parish of Templecrone, on a
winding road on which when there was no rock for the
wheels to bump over there was sure to be a rut for them
to ‘sink into. I leave it to the reader to imagine our
condition on alighting from the car. But we were in
Ireland, where the unkindly reception of the climate is
generally counteracted by the hospitable nature of the
people. Mr. Patrick Gallagher, whose guests we were,
received us most cordially, but we soon retired for a

much-needed rest. We stayed two days in Dungloe,
seeing for ourselves what the co-operative movement has
achieved there. It seems superfluous to write the
romance of Templecrone since it has been so charmingly
told in his admirable weekly, The Irish Homestead, by
G. W. Russell, that amazing combination of poet,
painter, philosopher, and economist. But for my own
people who are not acquainted with the writings of
A.E., the name by which Mr. Russell is best known,
I give that record of co-operative activity here.

When I looked out on that wild and cheerless district
about Dungloe, I wondered how men ever came to seek
a living there. Between gigantic mountains and vast
seas there was nothing but a stretch of grey granite and
brown bog, with little patches of green here and there.
Even these were strewn with boulders, as if Nature had
used every endeavour to render this spot uninhabitable.
In my search for a tree to assure myself that I had not
been carried back into the glacial period of our planet
my eye caught sight of what looked like human dwellings.
And such they proved to be, to my great astonishment—
numerous little houses surrounded by strips of land
separated by grey stone walls. When I was told that
those very holdings of four or five acres each were the
means of supporting families, my amazement grew.
But later I was relieved to learn that almost every
household supplies migratory labour to Scotland and the
prosperous parts of Ulster. After the season's work is
over, these men and girls return home with their hard-earned
savings, on which, with the help of the scanty
produce of their potato patches, and the meagre profit
from a cow and a couple of pigs, they manage to live
and pay their debts to the village shop, which is usually
an adjunct to the publichouse. These shops, which
are scattered all over the poorer parts of the north
west of Ireland, belong to a trading-class known a
“Gombeenmen.” These are a familiar and siniste
feature of Irish life in these regions. Where co-operation

has not penetrated, practically all the farmers of the
district are tied customers of theirs, and to them they
are always in debt. They fleece the farmer in every
possible way. They supply him with provisions and
liquor and all he requires, they purchase the little
produce he manages to eke out of his miserable plot
and starving stock, and they lend him the money he
needs now and then. The practice of truck, the high
rate they charge, whether for goods or for money,
combined with the low prices they offer for produce, all
help to keep the farmer not only in a state of “hand
to mouth” existence, but always in debt. The landlords
are none too merciful either. So between the gombeen-man
and the landlord, as between the devil and the
deep sea, the poor farmer has a hard lot.

It was in that desolate land and amongst these unfortunate
farmers that co-operation first came in 1903,
in the form of a co-operative bank. It was thought
that gombeenmen would fight it tooth and nail, but
they knew better than that. As a matter of fact, they
actually encouraged it. As A. E. puts it, “If cheap
capital would enable the farmer to make his holding
more profitable, well, they (the gombeenmen) knew
where the extra money would come to.” If the
gombeenmen had only realised then that that bank was
the thin end of the wedge of co-operation, which the
further it is driven in, the more it squeezes them out,
they would never have favoured it as they did. They
thought that the co-operative bank was the beginning
and end of co-operation in their district, and as the
beginning promised profit, they did not see any reason
for not welcoming it.

Three years later a co-operative agricultural society
came into being. The gombeenmen now woke up.
Realising the danger that threatened, they saw no
alternative but open war on everything under the co-operative
banner. To them co-operation was coming
as an invader; but to an unfortunate people it came as

a deliverer from a reign of despotism. The leader of
that liberating army, whose strength lay more in its
spirit than in its physique and equipment, was a good
fighter of the name of Patrick Gallagher.

The society started in a very humble way. It occupied
a small cabin on a rocky hill a few miles outside
Dungloe. They began their store, which they opened
only in the evenings, by selling tea, sugar, flour, and
meal. Even with that modest start they were able to
pull down prices in the neighbourhood.

As expected, the gombeenmen did their best to break
up the new society which threatened to ruin their trade.
They combined to oppose it in every way, and to war
on the interests of anyone associated with it. They
boycotted the farmers who were members of it by
refusing to buy their eggs. They tried to play with
prices and cut off sources of supply, but all their efforts
were in vain. Every move on their part was out-generalled
by Patrick Gallagher, and fortune began to
favour the co-operators. As the opposition gradually
weakened the society grew in strength, and in a year's
time it had to seek larger and more central premises
in the one street of Dungloe. Since then there has been
a steady growth in its business.