s its glory
alike over snowy hills and rosy clouds. The only blot, if a white
edifice can be thus designated, is the stern, angular police barrack.
In the front inclosure the sergeant is drilling his men; and those not
under drill are watching the domain immediately opposite, to the end
that no unauthorised person may approach it. Like most of the
dwellings in a country otherwise sparsely supplied with trees,
Farmhill is nestled in a grove. But the surroundings of the house are
not those associated in the ordinary mind with a home. The outer gate
is locked hard and fast, and the little sulky-looking porter's lodge
is untenanted. Its windows are barred, and all communication with the
house itself is cut off, except to adventurous persons prepared to
climb a stone wall. From the lodge onward the private road passes
through a poor kind of park, and subsides every now and then into a
quagmire. It is vile walking in this park of Farmhill, and as the
house is approached there is a barking of dogs. Oxen are seen grazing,
and peacocks as well as turkeys heave in sight. The house itself is
barred and barricaded in a remarkable manner. The front door is so
strongly fastened that it is said not to have been opened for years.
Massive bars of iron protect the windows, and the solitary servant
visible is a species of shepherd or odd man, who comes slinking round
the corner. No stranger gentlewoman's dwelling could be found in the
three kingdoms. The spot reeks with a dungeon-like atmosphere. It is,
according to the present state of life in Mayo, simply a "strong
place," duly fortified and garrisoned against the enemy.

It must be confessed that the proprietress who has a police detachment
opposite to her gate, and lives in a house defended by iron bars and
chains, has some reason for her precautions against surprise. She was
shot at through the window of her own house not very long ago. Now
this experience of being shot at acts variously on different minds.
Mr. Smith, the Marquis of Sligo's agent, whose son returned fire and
killed the intending assassin, took the matter as an incident of
business in the West, and is not a whit less cheery and happy than
before the attack at Claggan Mountain. It is also true that Miss
Gardiner is not an atom less personally brave than Mr. Smith. It is
said that she carries a revolver in the pocket of her shooting-jacket,
and only asks for an escort of armed constabulary when she goes into
Ballina. B