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Penelope's Irish Experiences-Part2_Kate Douglas Wiggin(1856-1923)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Ballyragget,



Ballysadare,

Ballybrophy,



Ballinasloe,

Ballyhooley,



Ballycumber,

Ballyduff,



Ballynashee,

Ballywhack.



Don't they all sound jolly and grotesque?"

"They do indeed," we agreed, "and the plan is quite worthy of you;



we can say no more."

We had now developed so many more ideas than we could possibly use



that the labour of deciding among them was the next thing to be

done. Each of us stood out boldly for her own project,--even



Francesca clinging, from sheer wilfulness, to her worthless and

absurd itineraries,--until, in order to bring the matter to any sort



of decision, somebody suggested that we consult Benella; which

reminds me that you have not yet the pleasure of Benella's



acquaintance.

Chapter III. We sight a derelict.



'O Bay of Dublin, my heart you're troublin',

Your beauty haunts me like a fever dream.'



Lady Dufferin.

To perform the introductionproperly I must go back a day or two.



We had elected to cross to Dublin directly from Scotland, an easy

night journey. Accordingly we embarked in a steamer called the



Prince or the King of something or other, the name being many

degrees more princely or kingly than the craft itself.



We had intended, too, to make our own comparison of the Bay of

Dublin and the Bay of Naples, because every traveller, from Charles



Lever's Jack Hinton down to Thackeray and Mr. Alfred Austin has

always made it a point of honour to do so. We were balked in our



conscientious endeavour, because we arrived at the North Wall forty

minutes earlier than the hour set by the steamship company. It is



quite impossible for anything in Ireland to be done strictly on the

minute, and in struggling not to be hopelessly behind time, a



'disthressful counthry' will occasionally be ahead of it. We had

been told that we should arrive in a drizzling rain, and that no one



but Lady Dufferin had ever on approaching Ireland seen the 'sweet

faces of the Wicklow mountains reflected in a smooth and silver



sea.' The grumblers were right on this special occasion, although

we have proved them false more than once since.



I was in a fever of fear that Ireland would not be as Irish as we

wished it to be. It seemed probable that processions of prosperous



aldermen, school directors, contractors, mayors, and ward

politicians, returning to their native land to see how Herself was



getting on, the crathur, might have deposited on the soil successive

layers of Irish-American virtues, such as punctuality, thrift, and



cleanliness, until they had quite obscured fair Erin's peculiar and

pathetic charm. We longed for the new Ireland as fervently as any



of her own patriots, but we wished to see the old Ireland before it

passed. There is plenty of it left (alas! the patriots would say),



and Dublin was as dear and as dirty as when Lady Morgan first called

it so, long years ago. The boat was met by a crowd of ragged



gossoons, most of them barefooted, some of them stockingless, and in

men's shoes, and several of them with flowers in their unspeakable



hats and caps. There were no cabs or jaunting cars because we had

not been expected so early, and the jarveys were in attendance on



the Holyhead steamer. It was while I was searching for a piece of

lost luggage that I saw the stewardess assisting a young woman off



the gang plank, and leading her toward a pile of wool bags on the

dock. She sank helplessly on one of them, and leaned her head on



another. As the night had been one calculated to disturb the

physical equilibrium of a poor sailor, and the breakfast of a



character to discourage the stoutest stomach, I gave her a careless

thought of pity and speedily forgot her. Two trunks, a holdall, a



hatbox--in which reposed, in solitarygrandeur, Francesca's picture

hat, intended for the further undoing of the Irish gentry--a guitar



case, two bags, three umbrellas; all were safe but Salemina's large

Vuitton trunk and my valise, which had been last seen at Edinburgh



station. Salemina returned to the boat, while Francesca and I




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