Come to Lough Lein as did we, too early for the crowd of sightseers;
but when the 'long light shakes across the lakes,' the blackest arts

of the tourist (and they are as black as they are many) cannot break
the spell. Sitting on one of these hillsides, we heard a bugle-call

taken up and repeated in delicate, ethereal echoes,--sweet enough,
indeed, to be worthy of the fairy buglers who are supposed to pass

the sound along their lines from crag to crag, until it faints and
dies in silence. And then came the 'Lament for Owen Roe O'Neil.'

We were thrilled to the very heart with the sorrowful strains; and
when we issued from our leafy covert, and rounded the point of rocks

from which the sound came, we found a fat man in uniform playing the
bugle. 'Blank's Tours' was embroidered on his cap, and I have no

doubt that he is a good husband and father, even a good citizen, but
he is a blight upon the landscape, and fancy cannot breathe in his

presence. The typicaltourist should be encouraged within bounds,
both because he is of some benefit to Ireland, and because Ireland

is of inestimable benefit to him; but he should not be allowed to
jeer and laugh at the legends (the gentle smile of sophisticated

unbelief, with its twinkle of amusement, is unknown to and for ever
beyond him); and above all, he should never be allowed to carry or

to play on a concertina, for this is the unpardonable sin.
We had an adventure yesterday. We were to dine at eight o'clock at

Balkilly Castle, where Dr. La Touche is staying the week-end with
Lord and Lady Killbally. We had been spending an hour or two after

tea in writing an Irish letter, and were a bit late in dressing.
These letters, written in the vernacular, are a favourite diversion

of ours when visiting in foreign lands; and they are very easily
done when once you have caught the idioms, for you can always

supplement your slender store of words and expressions with choice
selections from native authors.

What Francesca and I wore to the Castle dinner is, alas! no longer
of any consequence to the community at large. In the mysterious

purposes of that third volume which we seem to be living in Ireland,
Francesca's beauty and mine, her hats and frocks as well as mine,

are all reduced to the background; but Salemina's toilet had cost us
some thought. When she first issued from the discreet and decorous

fastnesses of Salem society, she had never donned any dinner dress
that was not as high at the throat and as long in the sleeves as the

Puritan mothers ever wore to meeting. In England she lapsed
sufficiently from the rigid Salem standard to adopt a timid

compromise; in Scotland we coaxed her into still further
modernities, until now she is completely enfranchised. We achieved

this at considerable trouble, but do not grudge the time spent in
persuasion when we see her en grande toilette. In day dress she has

always been inclined ever so little to a primness and severity that
suggest old-maidishness. In her low gown of pale grey, with all her

silver hair waved softly, she is unexpectedly lovely,--her face
softened, transformed, and magically 'brought out' by the whiteness

of her shoulders and slenderthroat. Not an ornament, not a jewel,
will she wear; and she is right to keep the nunlike simplicity of

style which suits her so well, and which holds its own even in the
vicinity of Francesca's proud and glowing young beauty.

On this particular evening, Francesca, who wished her to look her
best, had prudently hidden her eyeglasses, for which we are now

trying to substitute a silver-handled lorgnette. Two years ago we
deliberately smashed her spectacles, which she had adopted at five-

and-twenty.
"But they are more convenient than eye-glasses," she urged obtusely.

"That argument is beneath you, dear," we replied. "If your hair
were not prematurely grey, we might permit the spectacles, hideous

as they are, but a combination of the two is impossible; the world
shall not convict you of failing sight when you are guilty only of

petty astigmatism!"
The grey satin had been chosen for this dinner, and Salemina was

dressed, with the exception of the pretty pearl-embroidered waist
that has to be laced at the last moment, and had slipped on a

dressing jacket to come down from her room in the second story, to
be advised in some trifling detail. She looked unusually well, I

thought: her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed, as she
rustled in, holding her satin skirts daintily away from the dusty

carpets.
Now, from the morning of our arrival we have had trouble with the

Mullarkey door-knobs, which come off continually, and lie on the
floors at one side of the door or the other. Benella followed

Salemina from her room, and, being in haste, closed the door with
unwonted energy. She heard the well-knownrattle and clang, but

little suspected that, as one knob dropped outside in the hall, the
other fell inside, carrying the rod of connection with it. It was

not long before we heard a cry of despair from above, and we
responded to it promptly.

"It's fell in on the inside, knob and all, as I always knew it would
some day; and now we can't get back into the room!" said Benella.

"Oh, nonsense! We can open it with something or other," I answered
encouragingly, as I drew on my gloves; "only you must hasten, for

the car is at the door."
The curling iron was too large, the shoe hook too short, a lead

pencil too smooth, a crochetneedle too slender: we tried them all,
and the door resisted all our insinuations. "Must you necessarily

get in before we go?" I asked Salemina thoughtlessly.
She gave me a glance that almost froze my blood, as she replied,

"The waist of my dress is in the room."
Francesca and I spent a moment in irrepressible mirth, and then

summoned Mrs. Mullarkey. Whether the Irish kings could be relied
upon in an emergency I do not know, but their descendants cannot.

Mrs. Mullarkey had gone to the convent to see the Mother Superior
about something; Mr. Mullarkey was at the Dooclone market; Peter was

not to be found; but Oonah and Molly came, and also the old lady
from Mullinavat, with a package of raffle tickets in her hand.

We left this small army under Benella's charge, and went down to my
room for a hasty consultation.

"Could you wear any evening bodice of Francesca's?" I asked.
"Of course not. Francesca's waist measure is three inches smaller

than mine."
"Could you manage my black lace dress?"

"Penelope, you know it would only reach to my ankles! No, you must
go without me, and go at once. We are too new acquaintances to keep

Lady Killbally's dinner waiting. Why did I come to this place like
a pauper, with only one evening gown, when I should have known that

if there is a castle anywhere within forty miles you always spend
half your time in it!"

This slur was totally unjustified, but I pardoned it, because
Salemina's temper is ordinarily perfect, and the circumstances were

somewhat tragic. "If you had brought a dozen costumes, they would
all be in your room at this moment," I replied; "but we must think

of something. It is impossible for you to remain behind; we were
invited more on your account than our own, for you are Dr. La

Touche's friend, and the dinner is especially in his honour. Molly,
have you a ladder?"

"Sorra a wan, ma'am."
"Could we borrow one?"

"We could not, Mrs. Beresford, ma'am."
"Then see if you can break down the door; try hard, and if you

succeed I will buy you a nice new one! Part of Miss Peabody's dress
is inside the room, and we shall be late to the Castle dinner."

The entire corps, with Mrs. Waterford of Mullinavat on top, cast
itself on the door, which withstood the shock to perfection. Then

in a moment we heard: "Weary's on it, it will not come down for us,
ma'am. It's the iligant locks we do be havin' in the house; they're

mortial shtrong, ma'am!"
"Strong, indeed!" exclaimed the incensed Benella, in a burst of New

England wrath. "There's nothing strong about the place but the
impidence of the people in it! If you had told Peter to get a

carpenter or a locksmith, as I've been asking you these two weeks,