ded in the
shadowy distance by the modern castle of Glenveagh, the mountain home of
my charming country-woman, Mrs. Adair.

Thanks to its irregular serpentine outline, and to the desolate majesty
of the hills which environ it, Lough Veagh, though not a large sheet of
water, may well be what it is reputed to be, a rival of the finest lochs
in Scotland. No traces are now discernible on its shores of the too
celebrated evictions of Glen Veagh. But from the wild and rugged aspect
of the surrounding country it is probable enough that these evictions
were to the evicted a blessing in disguise, and that their descendants
are now enjoying, beyond the Atlantic, a measure of prosperity and of
happiness which neither their own labour nor the most liberal
legislation could ever have won for them here. We caught sight, as we
drove through Mrs. Adair's wide and rocky domain, of wire fences, and I
believe it is her intention to create here a small deer forest. This
ought to be as good a stalking country as the Scottish Highlands,
provided the people can be got to like "stalking" stags better than
landlords and agents.

Long before we reached Glen Veagh we had bidden farewell, not only to
the hedges and walls of Tyrone and Eastern Donegal, but to the
"ditches," which anywhere but in Ireland would be called "embankments,"
and entered upon great stone-strewn wastes of land seemingly unreclaimed
and irreclaimable. Huge boulders lay tossed and tumbled about as if they
had been whirled through the air by the cyclones of some prehistoric
age, and dropped at random when the wild winds wearied of the fun. The
last landmark we made out through the gathering storm was the pinnacled
crest of Errigal. Of Dunlewy, esteemed the loveliest of the Donegal
lakes, we could see little or nothing as we hurried along the highway,
which follows its course down to the Clady, the river of Gweedore; and
we blessed the memory of Lord George Hill when suddenly turning from
the wind and the rain into what seemed to be a mediaeval courtyard
flanked by trees, we pulled up in the bright warm light of an open
doorway, shook ourselves like Newfoundland dogs, and were welcomed by a
frank, good-looking Scottish host to a glowing peat fire in this really
comfortable little hotel, the central pivot of a most interesting
experiment in civilisation.

GWEEDORE, _Sunday, Feb. 5th._--A morning as soft and bright almost as
April succeeded the stormy night. Errigal lifted hi