luences of a definite purpose. Who that has ever travelled fails to
call to mind certain images when the names of cities come up in general
conversation? If Bologna, Brussels, or Lima is mentioned, I think at
once of sausages, sprouts, and beans, and it gives me a feeling of
friendly intimacy. I remember Neufchatel and Cheddar by their cheeses,
Dorking and Cochin China by their hens, Whitby by its jet, or York by
its hams, so that I am never wholly ignorant of places and their subtle
associations."

"That method appeals strongly to the fancy," said Salemina drily. "What
subtle associations have you already established in Ireland?"

"Let me see," she responded thoughtfully; "the list is not a long one.
Limerick and Carrickmacross for lace, Shandon for the bells, Blarney
and Donnybrook for the stone and the fair, Kilkenny for the cats, and
Balbriggan for the stockings."

"You are sordid this morning," reproved Salemina; "it would be better if
you remembered Limerick by the famous siege, and Balbriggan as the
place where King William encamped with his army after the battle of the
Boyne."

"I've studied the song-writers more than the histories and geographies,"
I said, "so I should like to go to Bray and look up the Vicar, then to
Coleraine to see where Kitty broke the famous pitcher; or to Tara, where
the harp that once, or to Athlone, where dwelt Widow Malone, ochone, and
so on; just start with an armful of Tom Moore's poems and Lover's and
Ferguson's, and, yes," I added generously, "some of the nice moderns,
and visit the scenes they've written about."

"And be disappointed," quoth Francesca cynically. "Poets see everything
by the light that never was on sea or land; still I won't deny that they
help the blind, and I should rather like to know if there are still any
Nora Creinas and Sweet Peggies and Pretty Girls Milking their Cows."

"I am very anxious to visit as many of the Round Towers as possible,"
said Salemina. "When I was a girl of seventeen I had a very dear friend,
a young Irishman, who has since become a well-known antiquary and
archaeologist. He was a student, and afterwards, I think, a professor
here in Trinity College, but I have not heard from him for many years."

"Don't look him up, darling," pleaded Francesca. "You are so much our
superior now that we positively must protect you from all elevating
influences."

"I won't insist on the Round Towers," smiled Salemina, "and I think
Penelope's idea