LI BINARY OF THE UNIVERSITY Qf ILLINOIS Tom Turner Collection 1. 19 19 The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. University of Illinois Library «FPO G'l 2 HQV 2 'j L161—O-1096 ) THE YEARS OF THE SHADOW Br THE SJME JUTHOIf^ THE MIDDLE YEARS. Reminiscences. *In this comely volume, covering the ycart from 1891-1911, Mrs. Hinkson continues the story of her literary life, a story begun in a previous book, Twenty-Five Tears. A sequel is always a dangerous experiment, but in this case the experiment is abundantly justified. The new reminiscences are told with a greater zest, a richer humour, a more potent charm. The result is a most enjoyable and thoroughly companionable book, a revelation, not merely of a very engaging personality, but of the artistic temperament at its sanest and sunniest.' Wiestminster Gazette. THE YEARS OF THE SHADOW BY KATHARINE TYNAN AUTHOR OF 'TWENTY-FIVE YEARS,' 'THE MIDDLE YEARS,' ETC, LONDON CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD 1919 \ Printed tn Great Britain CONTENTS CHAP. PACK I. WHAT WE CAME BACK TO I J fl II. THE NEW HOME . 9 i III. CLAREBEG AND A. E. 16 "^ \ IV. YOUNG POETS 24 « V. GOOD STORIES 36 .> t^ VI. MRS. ROWAN HAMILTON 45 r\ VII. SIR DAVID AND LADY HARREL 56 N VIII. DUNSANY 65 IX. THE GENESIS OF THE REBELLION 74 X. FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS 83 " XI. HUMOURS AND EXPERIENCES 91 XII. THE BEST OF FRIENDS . 100 XIII. ROME .... III XIV. THE UNTRAVELLED TRAVELLER 123 >.^ XV. THE GREAT SUMMER 134 XVI* WAR .... 142 \ XVII. LAST DAYS AT SHANKILL 152 \ XVIII. THE COUNTY OF MAYO . 161 XIX. I9I5 .... 170 3CX. CHIEFLY LORD GREY 180 ' XXI. THE RE^£I>U£>N 188 V, XXII. A PRIEST S STORY . 196 C ^iii. AFTER THE REBELLION 204 XXIV. JOHN HIGGINS 216 I vu viii THE YEARS OF THE SHADOW CHAP. PAOE XXV. THE REBELLION AS SEEN BY JOHN HIGGINS XXVI. BROOKHILL ..... XXVII. PLAYBOYS OF THE WESTERN WORLD XXVIII. FRIENDS 252 XXIX. THE COLD WINTER 260 XXX. ALLEVIATIONS 269 XXXI. ONE OF THE SUMMERS 278 XXXII. FRANCIS LEDWIDGE 288 XXXIII. THE SPRING 299 XXXIV. IN WHICH THE STORY IS TAKEN UP AGAIN 303 XXXV. THE COMING OF THE SOLDIERS 311 XXXVI. SOLDIER-TALK ..... 321 XXXVII. THE END OF THE SUMMER . 335 INDEX 343 /> THE YEARS OF THE SHADOW CHAPTER I WHAT WE CAME BACK TO We came back to a changed Ireland. We had left it— that part of it with which we were best acquainted—^in the passion and stress of Parnellism and Anti-Parnellism. A good deal of water had flowed under the bridges since then, and as far as politics were concerned—surface politics, at all events—^we found people tepidly liking and tepidly disliking Home Rule, in which I tlunk no one believed. By die way, what a dull name ! The thing deserved to be scrapped for its name alone. Also, superficially perhaps, the giving and entertaining Ireland we remembered had ceased to be. Perhaps it was there all the time though we did not know it. Perhaps it was only that we returned to the Anglo-Irish having gone away from the Celts, and the Anglo-Irish of the suburbs, who are very often remarkably like the same class in England. They were very kind and friendly, but tea-giving was the order of the day, not lunch-giving, nor dinner-giving on a lavish scale as we remembered it. Dublin priests had ceased to entertain the laity to any great extent, very much against the grain, I am sure, for HospitaUty when she is hunted will find her last refuge and sanctuary under the roof of an Irish priest's house. We found all our new friends selling something. It might be pedigree fowls, or it might be dogs, or perhaps carnation-slips. Anyhow, we marvelled at the new spirit of commercialism; and wondered uneasily if Ireland was going to learn the virtue she had always abhorred, the mean virtue, which may easily become a A 2 THE YEARS OF THE SHADOW vice—^Thrift. Even the children were selling something. But, after all, perhaps it was only the change from the Celt to the Anglo-Irish. In the old days I had not studied the columns of the Irish Times through which the exchange and barter is carried on. Perhaps the^ Anglo-Irish were always selling something, only I did not know it. Sometimes the readjusting of things was difficult. A lady came to see me one day with a little fox terrier in her motor. I discovered the dog when she was going away, and made friends with him. She looked at me speculatively. ' I am so unhappy about him,* she said. * Do you know a good home for him ? I am going into a flat in Dublin—^no place for a dog—^and he has been so accustomed to a free life.' I looked at the dog. It is not in me to refuse a home to a dog. I had three already who were not at all likely to take kindly to a grown-up addition to the family, and there were other factors to be reckoned with. I, myself, did not want another dog, but I threw prudence to the winds. * Oh, if you want a home for him,* I said, * I '11 take him.' I saw uneasiness in her eye. Before she could mention the price I changed the subject. She went off hurriedly, which was a relief. I wanted to avoid, to overlook the dog, and he was very persistent in claiming my attention. After that experience I was more careful. Perhaps the commercial instinct was something super- imposed, and not entirely germane even to the Anglo- Irish. After all, let me confess that if Thrift enters the soul of the Celt he becomes a thousand times harder and more close-fisted than the Anglo-Irish. Perhaps the traffic in things, usually on an infinitesimal scale, con- ducted by the Anglo-Irish woman, is really a substitute for the card-playing and race-going of her Celtic sister. There is perhaps a tingle of excitement even in selling carnation-slips at twelve for sixpence. The lives of women before the war, between the aristocracy and the workers, were desperately dull. : ' ' ; WHAT WE CAME BACK TO 3 The commercial instinct was certainly only skin-deep in the case of our neighbour who bred and sold Poms, and obtained very high prices for them. I think she hoped for a time that we would be among her customers but, since we did not buy a puppy, she very sweetly presented the youngest of us with one, who is the joy of the house, despite his being a German. A Scottish lady, another neighbour, was very much astonished that any one who could command a large price for a puppy should bestow it as a gift. * Is that one of Mrs. M 's puppies ? ' Yes.' * How much did you pay for him ? * She gave him to us.* The lady turned her eyes wildly to every part of the horizon and up to heaven, repeating in ascending tones of amazement ' * Gave / Gave ! ! Gave ! ! ! Did you say Gave ? It was not the first nor the last time I realised the truth of the saying, * All things come to him who only knows how to wait.' I shall give another instance, for which I must go back to years and days long anterior to the Years of the Shadow. It was in the early years of my marriage, and I was a member of the (London) Irish Literary Society. I had joined it in the irresponsible time of my girlhood, when a subscription to a society counted for nothing. Later the responsible time came, and there were more uses for guineas than paying them as subscriptions to societies I could not attend and clubs I could not use. I ought to have resigned, of course. For some reason I did not. My subscription got into arrears. Applications increased in urgency and even became threatening. There was a delightful but alarming afternoon when Mr. A. P. Graves had a party at the Society's rooms to meet the most beautiful and saintly of old poets, Aubrey de Vere. I talked to the poet, my short-sighted eyes roving anxiously about in search of my own name on the walls, posted as a defaulter. That had been the last threat. I did not 4 THE YEARS OF THE SHADOW find it, if it was there, and the party was a very pleasant one. Afterwards the society changed its tactics, and all the influential members appealed to me in turn not to leave them, advancing various arguments, on patriotic, literary, friendly and other grounds. Finally, as I remained obdurate, the secretary wrote that since they could not afford to lose me I had been unanimously adopted as an Honorary Vice-President. Our first house after our return to Ireland was a temporary one in Sorrento Terrace, Dalkey, which sits on its rocks over Killiney Bay with a truly Italian effect, gazing away over the most beautiful of bays held within a half-moon of hills, beyond them the mountains. Sorrento Terrace is one end of the crescent, Bray Head the other, and, dimly jutting out beyond Bray Head, one perceives the grey shape of Wicklow Head. All day long, or it seems so to me, the seaward side of the Terrace houses was flooded with sunshine, although it was winter.