When I Returned To The
Entrance The Master Had Been Joined By Some Others Who Were Helping Him
To Do Nothing.
He asked me over his shoulder what I thought of the
house.
I answered that it was a fine building, and walked down the
avenue, wishing I was able to speak in a cool manner and to tell him
what I thought of the house and of his management of the same.
Left Manor Hamilton on the long car for Sligo. The long car is the
unworthy successor of the defunct mail coach of blessed memory. It is an
exaggerated jaunting car arranged on the wheels and axles of a lumber
waggon and it is drawn by a span sometimes; in this case, by four
horses. A female was waving her hands and shouting incoherent blessings
after us as we started. It might be for me or it might be for the land
agent, who sat on the same side. I smiled by way of willingness to
accept it, for it is better to have a blessing slung after one than a
curse or a big stone.
Our road skirted Benbo (the hill of cattle), sacred now to rabbits and
hares and any other small game that can shelter on its bald sides. Up
hill and down hill, between hills and around hills, mountains of every
shape and degree of bareness and baldness looking down at us over one
another's shoulders as we drove along. An ambitious little peasant clung
on behind with his hands, his little bare feet thudding on the smooth
road and over the loose layer of sharp stones that lay edge upwards in
places.
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