part first--leinster.
Chapter I. We emulate the Rollo books.
‘Sure a terrible time I was out o‘ the way, Over the sea, over the sea, Till I come to Ireland one sunny day,- Betther for me, betther for me: The first time me fut got the feel o‘ the ground I was strollin‘ along in an Irish city That hasn‘t its aquil the world around For the air that is sweet an‘ the girls that are pretty.‘ --Moira O‘Neill.

Dublin, O‘Carolan‘s Private Hotel.

It is the most absurd thing in the world that Salemina, Francesca, and I should be in Ireland together.

That any three spinsters should be fellow-travellers is not in itself extraordinary, and so our former journeyings in England and Scotland could hardly be described as eccentric in any way； but now that I am a matron and Francesca is shortly to be married, it is odd, to say the lea

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