They put up at Lord George Hill's
Gweedore hotel, and endorse all they had previously heard about the
admirable zeal and enlightened benevolence of that nobleman, who had
effected great improvements both in the land and in the condition of the
inhabitants of one of the wildest portions of Donegal. "We started at
daybreak," he writes, "for Glenties, thirty miles distant, over the
mountains; and after leaving the improved cottages and farms on the
Gweedore estate, soon came upon the domain of an absentee proprietor,
the extent of which may be judged by the fact, that our road lay for
more than twenty miles through it. This is the poorest parish in
Donegal, and no statement can be too strong with respect to the wretched
condition, the positive misery and starvation in which the cottiers and
small farmers on this immense domain are found. We baited at Dungloe. A
more miserable and dilapidated village or town I never saw. What a
contrast did its dirty little inn present to the hotel at Gweedore."
There was not a single pound of meal, Indian or oat, to be purchased in
this miserable place, whilst thousands were depending on it for their
supplies. It was crowded with poor people from the surrounding country
and from the island of Arranmore, who were crying with hunger and cold;
the next market town was thirty miles from them, and the nearest place
where food could be obtained was Lord George Hill's store at Bunbeg,
some twenty miles distant.
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