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. The farmer's wife could not do enough to make
me welcome. She had the kind and comely face and pleasant tongue that
reminded me of Highland friends in the long ago. Their name of Murray,
which is a prevalent name on these hills, had a Highland sound. Feeling
welcome, and safe under the care that has led me thus far, I fell asleep
in the best bed, with its ancient blue and white hangings, and slept
soundly.
These people are very thrifty. The blankets of the bed were homespun;
the fine linen towel was the same.
