Few  South  Pacific  Islands  are  now  as  isolated  as
was,  in  those  days, — I  speak  of  ninety  or  one  hundred
years    ago — Castle    Townshend.         The    roads    were
little   better  than  bridle-paths  ;    they   straggled  and
struggled,  as  far  as  was  possible,  along  the  crests  of
the  hills,  and  this  was  as  a  protection  to  the  traveller,
who  could  less  easily  be  ambushed  and  waylaid  by
members  of  the  large  assortment  of  secret  societies,
Whiteboys,  Ribbonmen,  Molly  Maguires,  Outlaws  in
variety,    whose    spare    moments    between    rebellions
were  lightened  by  highway  robbery.       I  have  heard
that  my  great-grandmother's  "  coach  "  was  the  only
wheeled   vehicle   that   came   into   Castle   Townshend.
My  great-grandfather  used  to  ride  to  Cork,  fifty-two
miles,   and  the  tradition  is  that  he  had  a  fabulous
black  mare,  named  Bess,  who  trotted  the  journey  in
three  hours  (which  I  take  leave  to  doubt).      All  the
heavy  traffic  came  and  went  by  sea.      The  pews  of
the   church   came   from   Cork   by   ship.       They  have
passed  now,  but  I  can  remember  them,  and  I  should
have  thought  that  their  large  simplicity  would  not
have  been  beyond  the  scope  of  the  local  carpenter.
