Hoche.

We had come from Knockcool, Donegal, to Westport, in County Mayo,
and the day was enlivened by two purely Irish touches, one at the

beginning and one at the end. We alighted at a certain railway
junction to await our train, and were interested in a large

detachment of soldiers--leaving for a long journey, we judged, by
the number of railway carriages and the amount of luggage and

stores. In every crowdedcompartment there were two or three men
leaning out over the locked doors; for the guard was making ready to

start. All were chatting gaily with their sweethearts, wives, and
daughters, save one gloomy fellow sitting alone in a corner,

searching the crowd with sad eyes for a wished-for face or a last
greeting. The bell rang, the engine stirred; suddenly a pretty,

rosy girl flew breathlessly down the platform, pushing her way
through the groups of onlookers. The man's eyes lighted; he rose to

his feet, but the other fellows blocked the way; the door was
locked, and he had but one precious moment. Still he was equal to

the emergency, for he raised his fist and with one blow shattered
the window, got his kiss, and the train rumbled away, with his

victorious smile set in a frame of broken glass! I liked that man
better than any one I've seen since Himself deserted me for his

Duty! How I hope the pretty girl will be faithful, and how I hope
that an ideal lover will not be shot in South Africa!

And if he was truly Irish, so was the porter at a little way station
where we stopped in the dark, after being delayed interminably at

Claremorris by some trifling accident. We were eight persons packed
into a second-class carriage, and totallyignorant of our

whereabouts; but the porter, opening the door hastily, shouted, "Is
there anny one there for here?"--a question so vague and illogical

that none of us said anything in reply, but simply gazed at one
another, and then laughed as the train went on.

We are on a here-to-day-and-gone-to-morrow journey, determined to
avoid the railways, and travel by private conveyance and the public

'long cars,' just for a glimpse of the Weeping West before we settle
down quietly in County Meath for our last few weeks of Irish life.

Thus far it has been a pursuit of the picturesque under umbrellas;
in fact, we're desthroyed wid the dint of the damp! 'Moist and

agreeable--that's the Irish notion both for climate and company.'
If the barometer bore any relation to the weather, we could plan our

drives with more discretion; but it sometimes remains as steady as a
rock during two days of sea mist, and Francesca, finding it wholly

regardless of gentle tapping, lost her temper on one occasion and
rapped it so severely as to crack the glass. That this peculiarity

of Irish barometers has been noted before we are sure, because of
this verse written by a native bard:-

'When the glass is up to thirty,
Be sure the weather will be dirty.

When the glass is high, O very!
There'll be rain in Cork and Kerry.

When the glass is low, O Lork!
There'll be rain in Kerry and Cork!'

I might add:-
And when the glass has climbed its best,

The sky is weeping in the West.
The national rainbow is as deceitful as the barometer, and it is no

uncommon thing for us to have half a dozen of them in a day, between
heavy showers, like the smiles and tears of Irish character; though,

to be sure, one does not need to be an Irish patriot to declare that
a fine day in this country is worth three fine days anywhere else.

The present weather is accounted for partially by the fact that, as
Horace Walpole said, summer has set in with its usual severity, and

the tourist is abroad in the land.
I am not sure but that we belong to the hated class for the moment,

though at least we try to emulate tourist virtues, if there are any,
and avoid tourist vices, which is next to impossible, as they are

the fruit of the tour itself. It is the circular tour which, in its
effect upon the great middle class, is the most virulent and

contagious, and which breeds the most offensive habits of thought
and speech. The circular tour is a magnificent idea, a praiseworthy

business scheme; it has educated the minds of millions and why it
should have ruined their manners is a mystery, unless indeed they

had none when they were at home. Some of our fellow-travellers with
whom we originally started disappear every day or two, to join us

again. We lose them temporarily when we take a private conveyance
or when they stop at a cheap hotel, but we come altogether again on

coach or long car; and although they have torn off many coupons in
the interval, their remaining stock seems to assure us of their

society for days to come.
We have a Protestant clergyman who is travelling for his health, but

beguiling his time by observations for a volume to be called The
Relation between Priests and Pauperism. It seems, at first thought,

as if the circular coupon system were ill fitted to furnish him with
corroborative detail; but inasmuch as every traveller finds in a

country only, so to speak, what he brings to it, he will gather
statistics enough. Those persons who start with a certain bias of

mind in one direction seldom notice any facts that would throw out
of joint those previously amassed; they instinctively collect the

ones that 'match,' all others having a tendency to disturb the
harmony of the original scheme. The clergyman's travelling

companion is a person who possesses not a single opinion,
conviction, or trait in common with him; so we conclude that they

joined forces for economy's sake. This comrade we call 'the man
with the evergreen heart,' for we can hardly tell by his appearance

whether he is an old young man or a young old one. With his hat on
he is juvenile; when he removes it, he is so distinctlyelderly that

we do not know whether to regard him as damaged youth or well-
preserved old age; but he transfers his solicitous attentions to

lady after lady, rebuffs not having the slightest effect upon his
warm, susceptible, ardent nature. We suppose that he is single, but

we know that he can be married at a moment's notice by anybody who
is willing to accept the risks of the situation. Then we have a

nice schoolmaster, so agreeable that Salemina, Francesca, and I draw
lots every evening as to who shall sit beside him next day. He has

just had seventy boys down with measles at the same time, giving
prizes to those who could show the best rash! Salemina is no friend

to the competitivesystem in education, but this appealed to her as
being as wise as it was whimsical.

We have also in our company an indiscreet and inflammable Irishman
from Wexford and a cutler from Birmingham, who lose no opportunity

to have a conversational scrimmage. When the car stops to change or
water the horses (and as for this last operation, our steeds might

always manage it without loss of time by keeping their mouths open),
we generally hear something like this; for although the two

gentlemen have never met before, they fight as if they had known
each other all their lives.

Mr. Shamrock. "Faith, then, if you don't like the hotels and the
railroads, go to Paris or London; we've done widout you up to now,

and we can kape on doing widout you! We'd have more money to spind
in entertainin' you if the government hadn't taken three million of

pounds out of us to build fortifications in China."
Mr. Rose. "That's all bosh and nonsense; you wouldn't know how to

manage an hotel if you had the money."
Mr. Shamrock. "If we can't make hotel-kapers, it's soldiers we can

make; and be the same token you can't manage India or Canada widout
our help! Faith, England owes Ireland more than she can pay, and

it's not her business to be thravelin' round criticisin' the
throubles she's helped to projuce."

Mr. Rose. "William Ewart Gladstone did enough for your island to
make up for all the harm that the other statesmen may or may not

have done."
Mr. Shamrock, touched in his most vulnerable point, shrieks above

the rattle of the wheels: "The wurrst statesman that iver put his
name to paper was William Ewart Gladstone!"

Mr. Rose. "The best, I say!"
Mr. Shamrock. "I say the wurrst!"

Mr. Rose. "The best!!"
Mr. Shamrock. "The wurrst!!"