A few words often change the world to us. I climbed the three-storey
fort at Clones feeling sad and hopeless in the grey evening, everything
seemed chill and dreary like the damp wind, and this man's cheery words
of rejoicing over the prospect of good crops, over the yield of the
little gardens, touched me as if sunset splendor had fallen over the
world, and I came down comforted with the thought that our Father who
gives fruitful seasons will also find a way for Ireland to emerge from
the thick darkness of her present misery.
I was referred to the Presbyterian minister of Clones for information on
the antiquities of Clones, and from his lecture, which he with great
kindness read to me, I gathered what historical hints I have inserted
here. At the minister's I met with a pleasant-faced, motherly looking
lady who talked to me of the Land question, the prevailing topic. From
remarks she made I gathered that she was an enthusiastic church member,
but on the Land question she had no ideas of either justice or mercy
that could possibly extend beyond the privileged classes. I referred to
the excessive rents, she gave a mild shake of her motherly chin and
spoke of the freedom of contract.
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