midday
where does the sky show bluer , or the grass greener ? and where is the air so clear and cool and fragrant , or the lakes half as still and azure as in that blessed country ? The sun rode high in the sky , monarch of all , and men smiled as they went about their daily toil , and thanked the good God who was sending them favourable weather . Here and there , dotted about the hillsides , the tiny white-washed cabins were full of life ; the cocks crowed proudly as they strutted in and out among their plump , sleek wives ; the useful ass brayed loudly , roaming about field and lane in enjoyment of a leisure hour ; the men were in the fields , cutting the sweet-scented grass , and the women busied themselves about the midday meal , while babies , with dirty faces and naked feet , tumbled about among the wandering pigs and quacking ducks in blissful content . Along the white road that bordered the lake a cart was jolting slowly along ; it was painted in a startling shade of blue , with shafts of brightest red that projected both back and front ; upon it was arranged , with neatness and precision , a load of turf just cut from the bog ; on one side , painted black , that all who run might read , was the name of `` Patrick O'Malley '' in crude lettering , and Patrick himself , in working dress of coarse cream homespun , walked beside his slow-going jennet , idly smoking his tin-topped pipe . From time to time he drew from his trouser pocket a letter , which he fingered with respect , gazing at it with profoundest wonder . `` Shure , 't is the grandest and the natest letther ever seen , and the ilegant picthur on the back !