&c.'"
CHAPTER II.--Gerald Cavanagh and his Family
--Tom M'Mahon's return from Dublin.
The house of Gerald Cavanagh, though not so large as that of our
kind-hearted friend, Jemmy Burke, was a good specimen of what an Irish
farmer's residence ought to be. It was distant from Burke's somewhat
better than two miles, and stood almost, immediately inside the highway,
upon a sloping green that was vernal through the year. It was in
the cottage style, in the form of a cross, with a roof ornamentally
thatched, and was flanked at a little distance by the office-houses.
The grass was always so close on this green, as to have rather the
appearance of a well kept lawn. The thorn-trees stood in front of it,
clipped in the shape of round tables, on one of which, exposed to all
weathers, might be seen a pair of large churn-staves, bleached into a
white, fresh color, that caused a person to long for the butter they
made. On the other stood a large cage, in which was imprisoned a
blackbird, whose extraordinary melody had become proverbial in the
neighborhood. Down a little to the right of the hall-door, a pretty
winding gravelled pathway led to a clear spring well that was
overshadowed by a spreading white-thorn; and at each gable stood a
graceful elder or mountain-ash, whose red berries during the autumn had
a fine effect, and contrasted well with the mass of darker and larger
trees, by which the back portion of the house and the offices was almost
concealed.
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