sequestered life, but there are certain kind forces in the universe
that are always bringing us in contact with the good, the great, and
the powerful. Francesca enjoys it, but secretly fears to have her
democracy undermined. Salemina wonders modestly at her good
fortune. I accept it as the graceful tribute of an old civilisation
to a younger one; the older men grow the better they like girls of
sixteen, and why shouldn't the same thing be true of countries?

As long ago as 1589, one of the English 'undertakers' who obtained
some of the confiscated Desmond lands in Munster wrote of the
'better sorte' of Irish: 'Although they did never see you before,
they will make you the best cheare their country yieldeth for two or
three days, and take not anything therefor. . . . They have a common
saying which I am persuaded they speake unfeinedly, which is,
'Defend me and spend me.' Yet many doe utterly mislike this or any
good thing that the poor Irishman dothe.'

This certificate of character from an 'undertaker' of the sixteenth
century certainly speaks volumes for Irish amiability and
hospitality, since it was given at a time when grievances were as
real as plenty; when unutterable resentment must have been rankling
in many minds; and when those traditions were growing which have
coloured the whole texture of Irish thought, until, with the poor
and unlettered, to be 'agin the government' is an inherited
instinct, to be obliterated only by time.

We supplement Mrs. Mullarkey's helter-skelter meals with frequent
luncheons and dinners with our new friends, who send us home on our
jaunting-car laden with flowers, fruit, even with jellies and jams.
Lady Killbally forces us to take three cups of tea and a half-dozen