The season was
midsummer, and the morning wanted at least an hour of sunrise. Owen
ascended a little knoll, above Frank's house, on which he stood
and surveyed the surrounding country with a pleasing but melancholy
interest. As his eye rested on Tubber Derg, he felt the difference
strongly between the imperishable glories of nature's works, and those
which are executed by man. His house he would not have known, except
by its site. It was not, in fact, the same house, but another which had
been built in its stead. This disappointed and vexed him. An object on
which his affections had been placed was removed. A rude stone house
stood before him, rough and unplastered; against each end of which was
built a stable-and a cow-house, sloping down from the gables to low
doors at booh sides; adjoining these rose two mounds of filth, large
enough to be easily distinguished from the knoll on which he stood. He
sighed as he contrasted it with the neat and beautiful farm-house, which
shone there in his happy days, white as a lily, beneath the covering
of the lofty beeches. There was no air of comfort, neatness, or
independence, about it; on the contrary, everything betrayed the
evidence of struggle and difficulty, joined, probably, to want both of
skill and of capital. He was disappointed, and turned his gaze upon the
general aspect of the country, and the houses in which either his old
acquaintances or their children lived.
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