negal fashion, and busily chaffering with the
shopgirls and shopmen, who had their hands full, exhibiting goods such
as certainly would not be found in any New York or New England village
of this sort. When we secured the attention of the chief shopman, a
nattily dressed, dark-haired young man who would not have discredited
the largest "store" in Grand Street or the Bowery of New York, we asked
him to show us some of the home-made woollen goods of the country.
These, he assured us, had no sale in Dungloe, and he did not keep them.
But he showed us piles of handsome Scottish tweeds at much higher
prices. Now as this is an exclusively agricultural region, it is evident
that the tenants must be able to make it worth a trader's while to keep
on hand such goods as we here found, and therefore that they cannot be
exactly on "the ragged edge" of things.

Mr. Sweeney is also the proprietor of the chief "hotel" of Dungloe; our
host, Mr. Boyle, being in fact supposed to be "boycotted" for
entertaining officers of the police. This "boycott," however, has
entailed no practical inconvenience upon us; and Mr. Boyle's pretty and
plucky daughters, who manage his house for him, laughed scornfully at
the notion of being "bothered" by it.

After luncheon we took a car and drove out to Burtonport, on the Roads
of Arranmore, to visit the parish priest there, Father Walker, and Mr.
Hammond, the agent of the Conyngham estates.

We passed near a large inland lake, Lough Meela, and the seaward views
along the coast were very fine. With peace and order this corner of
Ireland might easily become the chosen site of the most delightful
seaside homes in the United Kingdom. The Recorder of Cork has discovered
this, and passes a great part of the year here. This Donegal coast is no
further from the great centres of British wealth and population than are
Mount Desert and the other summer resorts of Maine and New Hampshire
from New York and Philadelphia; and the islands which break the great
roll of the Atlantic here cannot well be more nearly in "a state of
nature" than were the Isles of Shoals, for example, in my college days,
long after Mr. Lowell first wandered there with the transcendental
Thaxters to celebrate the thunders of the surf at Appledore.

The wonderful granitic formations we had seen on the way from Gweedore
stretch all along the coast to the Roads of Arranmore. At Burtonport
they lie on the very water's edge. At a place called Licke