ute their appeal, the
hotel-keeper demanded of the authorities payment of his bill, including
two bottles of champagne ordered to refresh the member for Armagh!

A conspicuous, smart, spick-and-span house on the main street, built of
brick and wood, with a verandah, and picked out in bright colours, was
pointed out to me by this amiable citizen as the residence of a
"returned American." This was a man, he said, who had made some money in
America, but got tired of living there, and had come back to end his
days in his native place He was a good man, my informant added, "only he
puts on too many airs."

A remarkably handsome, rosy-faced young groom, a model of manhood in
vigour and grace, presently brought us up a wagonette with a pair of
stout nags, and a driver in a suit of dark-brown frieze, whose head
seemed to have been driven down between his shoulders. He never lifted
it up all the way to Gweedore, but he proved to be a capital jarvey
notwithstanding, and knew the country as well as his horses.

Not long after leaving the town by a road which passes the huge County
Asylum (now literally crammed, I am told, with lunatics), we passed a
ruined church on the banks of a stream. Here the country people, it
seems, halt and wash their feet before entering Letterkenny, failing
which ceremony they may expect a quarrel with somebody before they get
back to their homes. This wholesome superstition doubtless was
established ages ago by some good priest, when priests thought it their
duty to be the preachers and makers of peace.

We soon left the wooded country of the Swilly and began to climb into
the grand and melancholy Highlands of Donegal. The road was as fine as
any in the Scottish Highlands, and despite the keen chill wind, the
glorious and ever-changing panoramas of mountain and strath through
which we drove were a constant delight, until, just as we came within
full range of Muckish, the giant of Donegal, the weather finally broke
down into driving mists and blinding rain.

We pulled up near a picturesque little shebeen, to water the horses and
get our Highland wraps well about us. Out came a hardy, cheery old
farmer. He swept the heavens with the eye of a mountaineer, and
exclaimed:--"Ah! it's a coorse day intirely, it is." "A coorse day
intirely" from that moment it continued to be.

Happily the curtain had not fallen before we caught a grand passing
glimpse of the romantic gorge of Glen Veagh, closed and comman