I, in the safe
shelter of the farmhouse, looked out of the window, hoping the storm
would moderate, but it increased until every thing a few yards from the
house, every mountain top and hill side were blotted out, and nothing
could be seen but the flurrying snow driven past by the winds.
I have now left the Presbyterians of the rich, low-lying lands behind,
and am up among the Catholic people of the hills. I have felt quite at
home with these kindly folk. They remind me of the kindliness of the
Celtic population of another and far-off land. I like the sound of the
Irish tongue, which is spoken all around me. I feel quite at home by the
peat fire piled up on the hearth. The house where I am staying is that
of a farmer of the better class. A low thatched house divided into a but
and a ben. The kitchen end has the bare rafters, black and shining with
concentrated smoke. The parlor end is floored above and has a board
floor. Among the colored prints of the Saviour which adorn the wall are
two engravings, in gilt frames, of Bright and Gladstone, bought when the
Land Bill of 1870 was passed.
This Bill, by the way, has been evaded with great ease, for the law
breakers were the great who knew the law, and the wronged were the poor
who were ignorant of it.
Pages:
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66