"One half the world knows not how the other half lives, " says the adage; and there is a peculiar force in the maxim when applied to certain remote and little visited districts in these islands, where the people are about as unknown to us as though they inhabited some lonely rock in the South Pacific Bickards. While the great world, not very far off, busies itself with all the appliances of state and science, amusing its leisure by problems which, once on a time, would have been reserved for the studies of philosophers and sages, these poor creatures drag on an existence rather beneath than above the habits of savage life. Their dwellings, their food, their clothes, such as generations of their fathers possessed; and neither in their culture, their aspirations, nor their ways, advanced beyond what centuries back had seen them. Of that group of islands off the north west coast of Ireland called the Arrans, Innishmore is a striking instance of this neglect and desolation. Probably within the wide sweep of the British islands there could not be found a spot more irretrievably given up to poverty and barbarism. Some circular mud hovels, shaped like beehives, and with a central aperture for the escape of the smoke, are the dwellings of an almost naked, famine stricken people, whose looks, language, and gestures mark them out for foreigners if they chance to come over to the mainland.