Up one hill, down another, along a
bleak road through a bog, past the waters of Lough Fern, up more hills,
round other hills, across other bleak bogs, the little town of
Kilmacrennan, up other hills, the storm meanwhile raging in all its fury
until we drew up on the lee side of a little mountain chapel.
The clergyman, who happened to be there, received us most courteously,
and conducted us to his house. We were offered refreshments, and treated
with the greatest kindness. Owing to this priest's courtesy and kindness
I was provided with a room in the house of one of his parishioners, a
mountain side farmer.
I parted with my friends with great regret. They returned to Ramelton
through the storm, which increased in fury every moment. 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.
