The Wild Irish Girl: A National TaleMorgan, Lady (Sydney)
General
The Wild Irish Girl: A National Tale
Morgan, Lady (Sydney)
British -- Ireland -- Fiction; Celts -- Fiction; Ireland -- Fiction; Love stories; Princesses -- Fiction
* Sometimes excavated from a hill, sometimes erected with
loose stones, but most generally built of mud, the cabin is
divided into two apartments, the one littered with straw and
coarse rugs, and sometimes, (but very rarely) furnished with
the luxury of a chaff bed, serves as a dormitory not only
to the family of both sexes, but in general to any animal
they are so fortunate as to possess; the other chamber
answers for every purpose of domesticity, though almost
destitute of every domestic implement, except the iron pot
in which the potatoes are boiled, and the stool on which
they are flung. From those wretched hovels (which often
appears amidst scenes that might furnish the richest models
to poetic imitation) it is common to behold a group of
children rush forth at the sound of a horse’s foot, or
carriage wheel, regardless of the season’s rigours, in a
perfect state of nudity, or covered with the drapery of
wretchedness, which gives to their appearance a still
stronger character of poverty; yet even in these miserable
huts you will seldom find the spirit of urbanity absent--the
genius of hospitality never. I remember meeting with an
instance of both, that made a deep impression on my heart;
in the autumn of 1804, in the course of a morning ramble
with a charming Englishwoman, in the county of Sligo, I
stopped to rest myself in a cabin, while she proceeded to
pay a visit to the respectable family of the O’H------s, of
Nymph’s Field: when I entered I found it occupied by an old
woman and her three granddaughters; two of the young women
were employed scutching flax, the other in some domestic
employment. I was instantly hailed with the most cordial
welcome; the hearth was cleared, the old woman’s seat forced
on me, eggs and potatoes roasted, and an apology for the
deficiency of bread politely made, while the manners of my
hostesses betrayed a courtesy that almost amounted to
adulation. They had all laid by their work on my entrance,
and when I requested I might not interrupt their avocations,
one of them replied “I hope we know better--we can work any
day, but we cannot any day have such a body as you under our
roof.” Surely this was not the manners of a cabin but a
court.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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