to the landscape.

In one glorious landlocked bay, we saw not a single boat riding. Our
driver said, "The fishermen all live on Tory Island, and send their fish
to Sligo. The people on the mainland don't like going out in the boats."

Lord Ernest tells me there is a movement to have a telegraph station set
up on Tory Island, to announce the Canadian steamers coming into Moville
for Deny.

We found Falcarragh, or "Cross-Roads," a large clean-looking village,
consisting of one long and broad street, through which horses and cattle
were wandering in numbers, apparently at their own sweet will.

Ballyconnell House, the seat of Mr. Wybrants Olphert, is the manor house
of the place. As we drew near, no signs appeared of the dreadful
"Boycott." The great gates of the park stood hospitably open, and we
drove in unchallenged past a pretty ivy-clad lodge, and through low, but
thickly planted groves. A huge boulder, ruddy with iron ore, bears the
uncanny and unspellable name of the "Clockchinnfhaelaidh," or "Stone of
Kinfaele." Upon this stone, tradition tells us, Balor, a giant of Tory
Island, chopped off the head of an unreasonable person named
Mackinfeale, for complaining that Balor, under some prehistoric "Plan of
Campaign," had driven away his favourite cow, Glasgavlan.

Ballyconnell House, a substantial mansion of the Georgian era, stands
extremely well. Over a fine sloping lawn in front, you have a glorious
view of the sea, and of a very fine headland, known as "the Duke's
Head," from the really remarkable resemblance it bears to the profile of
Wellington. The winds have such power here that there are but few
well-grown trees, and those near the house. About them paraded many
game-hens, spirited birds, looking like pheasants. These, as we learned,
never sleep save in the trees.

The "boycotted" lord of the manor came out to greet us--a handsome,
stalwart man of some seventy years, with a kindly face, and most
charming manners. His family, presumably of Dutch origin, has been
established here since Charles II. He himself holds 18,133 acres here,
valued at L1802 a year; and he is a resident landlord in the fullest
sense of the term. For fifty years he has lived here, during all which
time, as he told us to-day, he has "never slept for a week out of the
country." His furthest excursions of late years have been to Raphoe,
where he has a married daughter. "Absenteeism" clearly has nothing to do
with the quarrel between Mr.