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McDougall, Margaret Moran Dixon, 1826-1898

"on Her Tour Through Ireland"

I want
the green grass that covers all my people to cover me at last."
At a turn in the road the woman left us to climb a steep _boreen_
that led to her home among the hills, with her heavy basket and her
son's love gift of L120 in her bosom, and I sat in the car dreamily
looking at the wooded hills and wondered how dear a hilly country is to
its inhabitants.
The most beautiful thing which I saw in Killarney was the feeling of
proprietorship and kinship that all the people felt in and for the
mountains and lakes. It takes a lifetime to get thoroughly acquainted
with the eternal hills. They have ways of their own that they only
display upon long acquaintance. You can see shadowy hands draw on the
misty night cap or fold round massive shoulders the billowy gray drapery
or inky cloak when passing rain squall or mountain tempest is brewing.
They wrinkle their brows and draw near with austere familiarity; they
retreat and let the sunshine and shadows play hide-and-seek round them,
or lift their bald heads in still summer sunshine with calm joyfulness.
The dwellers among them learn to love them through all their varying
moods.


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