Herself--Ireland . actory companion she must be toherself. I know of an Irish girl who lived byherself on a little island in the St. Lawrence the summer, for the fishing, she let lodgingsto a weary, sick-hearted, disillusioned man, andshe gave him back faith in the sweetness and mod-esty of womanhood, and he fell in love with herand married her, but that is another story. From Sligo to Bundoran we motored throughlovely country, drank long draughts of the puremountain air, until we reached the sea again, and— Bundoran! and your summer crowds that runFrom inland homes to see with joy th
Herself--Ireland . actory companion she must be toherself. I know of an Irish girl who lived byherself on a little island in the St. Lawrence the summer, for the fishing, she let lodgingsto a weary, sick-hearted, disillusioned man, andshe gave him back faith in the sweetness and mod-esty of womanhood, and he fell in love with herand married her, but that is another story. From Sligo to Bundoran we motored throughlovely country, drank long draughts of the puremountain air, until we reached the sea again, and— Bundoran! and your summer crowds that runFrom inland homes to see with joy th Atlantic setting sun;To breathe the buoyant salted air, and sport among the waves;To gather shells on sandy beach, and tempt the gloomy caves;To watch the flowing, ebbing tide, the boats, the crabs, the fish,Young men and maids to meet and smile, and form a tender if the Lord allows me, I surely will return. One reason I should like to return is that I saws. remarkably pretty, old, black and white china. H QI? ;?: O a •A O A PLEASANT TOUR 311 tea-set in a window, which I have been wantingever since. As the summer crowds that run frominland homes filled the hotel to overflowing, andour rooms had been engaged days ahead, we onlyremained one night, and dashed off by motor toGweedore, stopping on our way at Ballyshannon,where there is a castle, a famous salmon leap, andit is the birthplace of Wilham Allingham, theessayist and poet who, like so many brilhant Irish-men, left it for England, and then wrote of itsjoys: I leave my warm heart with you, tho my back Im forced to turn—So adieu to Ballyshanny, and the winding banks of Erne!No more on pleasant evenings well saunter down the Mall,When the trout is rising to the fly, the salmon to the boat comes straining on her net, and heavily she off, cast off—she feels the oars, and to her berth she sweeps;Now fore and aft keep hauling, and gathering up the a silver wave of salmon rolls in am
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