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brancheen was white with flowers, where but a moment ago had been

tightly-closed buds. The yawning fairy slept meanwhile under the



swaying meadowsweet, and the butterflies fanned him with their soft

wings; but, alas! it could not have been the hour for dancing on the



fairy ring, nor the proper time for the fairy pipers, and long, long

as I looked I saw and heard nothing more than what I have told you.



Indeed, I presently lost even that, for a bee buzzed, a white petal

dropped from the thorn-tree on my face, there was a scraping of tiny



claws and the sound of two squirrels barking love to each other in

the high branches, and in that moment the glamour that was upon me



vanished in a twinkling.

"But I really did see the fairies!" I exclaimed triumphantly to



Benella the doubter, when I returned Carrig-a-fooka Inn, much too

late for luncheon.



"I want to know!" she exclaimed, in her New England vernacular. "I

guess by the looks o' your eyes they didn't turn out to be very



lively comp'ny!"

Part Fifth--Royal Meath.



Chapter XXVI. Ireland's gold.

'I sat upon the rustic seat-



The seat an aged bay-tree crowns-

And saw outspreading from our feet



The golden glory of the Downs.

The furze-crowned heights, the glorious glen,



The white-walled chapel glistening near,

The house of God, the homes of men,



The fragrant hay, the ripening ear.'

Denis Florence M'Carthy.



The Old Hall, Devorgilla,

Vale of the Boyne.



We have now lived in each of Ireland's four provinces, Leinster,

Munster, Ulster, and Connaught, but the confines of these provinces,



and their number, have changed several times since the beginning of

history. In A.D. 130 the Milesian monarchy" target="_blank" title="n.君主政治;君主国">monarchy was restored in the



person of Tuathal (Too'hal) the Legitimate. Over each of the Irish

provinces was a ri or king, and there was also over all Ireland an



Ard-ri or suprememonarch who lived at Tara up to the time of its

abandonment in the sixth century. Before Tuathal's day, the Ard-ri



had for his land allowance only a small tract around Tara, but

Tuathal cut off a portion from each of the four older provinces, at



the Great Stone of Divisions in the centre of Ireland, making the

fifth province of Royal Meath, which has since disappeared, but



which was much larger than the present two counties of Meath and

Westmeath. In this once famous, and now most lovely and fertile



spot, with the good republican's love of royalty and royal

institutions, we have settled ourselves; in the midst of verdant



plains watered by the Boyne and the Blackwater, here rippling over

shallows, there meandering in slow deep reaches between reedy banks.



The Old Hall, from which I write, is somewhere in the vale of the

Boyne, somewhere near Yellow Steeple, not so far from Treadagh, only



a few miles from Ballybilly (I hope to be forgiven this irreverence

to the glorious memory of his Majesty, William, Prince of Orange!),



and within driving distance of Killkienan, Croagh-Patrick, Domteagh,

and Tara Hill itself. If you know your Royal Meath, these



geographical suggestions will give you some idea of our location; if

not, take your map of Ireland, please (a thing nobody has near him),



and find the town of Tuam, where you left us a little time ago. You

will see a railway line from Tuam to Athenry, Athlone, and



Mullingar. Anybody can visit Mullingar--it is for the million; but

only the elect may go to Devorgilla. It is the captive of our bow



and spear; or, to change the figure, it is a violet by a mossy

stone, which we refuse to have plucked from its poeticsolitude and



worn in the bosom or in the buttonhole of the tourist.

At Mullingar, then, we slip on enchanted garments which conceal us



from the casual eye, and disappear into what is, in midsummer, a

bower of beauty. There you will find, when you find us, Devorgilla,



lovely enough to be Tir-nan-og, that Land of the Ever Youthful well

know to the Celts of long ago. Here we have rested our weary bodies



and purified our travel-stained minds. Fresh from the poverty-

ridden hillsides of Connaught, these rich grazing-lands, comfortable



houses, magnificent demesnes and castles, are unspeakably grateful

to the eye and healing to the spirit. We have not forgotten, shall



never forget, our Connemara folk, nor yet Omadhaun Pat and dark

Timsy of Lisdara in the north; but it is good, for a change, to






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