her political views. And no less will those who know Ireland,
recognise that in the Irish countryside it is the extremes that touch,
and that there is a sympathy and understanding between the uppermost
and the lowest strata of Irish social life, which is not extended, by
either side, to the intervening one. Thus, it was that Frederica
could, and did converse with her work-people and her peasant
neighbours, with a freedom and an implicit confidence in their good
breeding, that it is to be feared she was incapable of extending to
Larry's new acquaintances in Cluhir. Possibly the outdoor life, and
the mutual engrossment in outdoor affairs, explain, in some degree,
this sympathy, but at the root of it is the certainty on both sides,
that the well-bred, even the chivalrous point of view, will govern
their intercourse.

It may seem somewhat excessive to use the word chivalry in connection
with Mrs. Twomey, the Coppinger's Court dairy-woman. Yet, I dare to
say that as great a soul filled the four feet four inches that
comprised her excessively plain little person, as ever inspired
warrior or fighting queen in the brave days of old. Bred and born
under the Talbot-Lowrys, she had crossed the river when she married
one of the Coppinger's Court workmen, and for close on thirty-five
years she had milked the cows and ruled the dairy according to her own
methods, which were as rigorous as they were remarkable, and altered
not with modern enlightenment, or conformed with hygienic laws. Her
husband was a feeble creature, whose sole claim to distinction was his
inability to speak English. At the time that "The Family," (which is,
say, Frederica and Larry) returned, he had become quite blind, and he
passed a cloistered existence in a dark corner of his little cottage,
sitting, with his hat always upon his head, a being seemingly as
withdrawn from the current of life as one of the smoky brown and white