Penelopes Irish Experiences | Page 7

Irish make good soldiers! Suppose we
start with a sanguinary trip to the Kill places, so that I can tell any timid
Americans I meet in travelling that I have been to Kilmacow and to
Kilmacthomas, and am going to-morrow to Kilmore, and the next day
to Kilumaule."
"I think that must have been said before," I objected.
"It is so obvious that it's not unlikely," she rejoined; "then let us simply
agree to go afterwards to see all the Bally places from Ballydehob on
the south to Ballycastle or Ballymoney on the north, and from
Ballynahinch or Ballywilliam on the east to Ballyvaughan or
Ballybunnion on the west, and passing through, in transit,
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 introduction properly 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 solitary grandeur,
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