‘They’d worship him, if he’d let them, that’s what it is; for if he has more larnin’ and knowledge in his head than ever a bishop in Ireland, there’s not a child in the barony his equal for simplicity. He that knows the names of the stars, and what they do be doing, and where the world’s going, and what’s comin’ afther her, hasn’t a thought for the wickedness of this life, no more than a sucking infant! He could tell you every crop to put in your ground from this to the day of judgment, and I don’t think he’d know which end of the spade goes into the ground.’ While we were thus talking, we reached the door, which, as well as the windows, was closely barred and fastened. The great padlock, however, on the former, with characteristic acuteness, was looked without being hasped, so that, in a few seconds, my old guide had undone all the fastenings, and we found ourselves under shelter. A roomy kitchen, with a few cooking utensils, formed the entrance hall; and as a small supply of turf stood in one corner, my companion at once proceeded to make a fire, congratulating me as he went on with the fact of our being housed, for a long-threatening thunderstorm had already burst, and the rain was now swooping along in torrents. While he was thus busied, I took a ramble through the little cabin, curious to see something of the ‘interior’ of one whose life had already interested me. There were but two small chambers, one at either side of the kitchen. The first I entered was a bedroom, the only furniture being a common bed, or a tressel like that of a hospital, a little coloured print of St. Michael adorning the wall overhead. The bed-covering was cleanly, but patched in many places, and bespeaking much poverty, and the black ‘soutane’ of silk that hung against the wall seemed to show long years of service. The few articles of any pretensions to comfort were found in the sitting-room, where a small book-shelf with some well-thumbed volumes, and a writing-table covered with papers, maps, and a few pencil-drawings, appeared. All seemed as if he had just quitted the spot a few minutes before; the pencil lay across a half-finished sketch; two or three wild plants were laid within, the leaves of a little book on botany; and a chess problem, with an open book beside it, still waited for solution on a little board, whose workmanship clearly enough betrayed it to be by his own hands.