THY WAY IS THE SEA,
AND THY PATH IN THE GREAT WATERS,
AND THY
FOOTSTEPS ARE NOT KNOWN.
TO
THE RIGHT HON. SIR HORACE PLUNKETT,
K.C.V.O., D.C.L., F.R.S.
MY DEAR HORACE,
Often while I have been studying the records of colonisation in the New World
I have thought of you and your difficult work in Ireland; and I have said to
myself, "What a time he would have had if he had been Viceroy of the Indies in
1493!" There, if ever, was the chance for a Department such as yours; and there,
if anywhere, was the place for the Economic Man. Alas! there war only one of
him; William Ires or Eyre, by name, from the county Galway; and though he
fertilised the soil he did it with his blood and bones. A wonderful chance; and
yet you see what came of it all. It would perhaps be stretching truth too far to
say that you are trying to undo some of Columbus's work, and to stop up the hole
he made in Ireland when he found a channel into which so much of what was best
in the Old Country war destined to flow; for you and he have each your places in
the great circle of Time and Compensation, and though you may seem to oppose one
another across the centuries you are really answering the same call and working
in the same vineyard. For we all set out to discover new worlds; and they are
wise who realise early that human nature has roots that spread beneath the ocean
bed, that neither latitude nor longitude nor time itself can change it to
anything richer or stranger than what it is, and that furrows ploughed in it are
furrows ploughed in the sea sand. Columbus tried to pour the wine of
civilisation into very old bottles; you, more wisely, are trying to pour the old
wine of our country into new bottles. Yet there is no great unlikeness between
the two tasks: it is all a matter of bottling; the vintage is the same,
infinite, inexhaustible, and as punctual as the sun and the seasons. It was
Columbus's weakness as an administrator that he thought the bottle was
everything; it is your strength that you care for the vintage, and labour to
preserve its flavour and soft fire.
Yours,
FILSON YOUNG.
RUAN MINOR, September
1906.
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