s strollin' along in an Irish city
That hasn't its aquil the world around
For the air that is sweet an' the girls that are pretty.'

--Moira O'Neill.

Dublin, O'Carolan's Private Hotel.

It is the most absurd thing in the world that Salemina, Francesca, and I
should be in Ireland together.

That any three spinsters should be fellow-travellers is not in itself
extraordinary, and so our former journeyings in England and Scotland
could hardly be described as eccentric in any way; but now that I am
a matron and Francesca is shortly to be married, it is odd, to say the
least, to see us cosily ensconced in a private sitting-room of a Dublin
hotel, the table laid for three, and not a vestige of a man anywhere to
be seen. Where, one might ask, if he knew the antecedent circumstances,
are Miss Hamilton's American spouse and Miss Monroe's Scottish lover?

Francesca had passed most of the winter in Scotland. Her indulgent
parent had given his consent to her marriage with a Scotsman, but
insisted that she take a year to make up her mind as to which particular
one. Memories of her past flirtations, divagations, plans for a life of
single blessedness, all conspired to make him incredulous, and the loyal
Salemina, feeling some responsibility in the matter, had elected to
remain by Francesca's side during the time when her affections were
supposed to be crystallising into some permanent form.

It was natural enough that my husband and I should spend the first
summer of our married life abroad, for we had been accustomed to do this
before we met, a period that we always allude to as the Dark Ages; but
no sooner had we arrived in Edinburgh, and no sooner had my husband
persuaded our two friends to join us in a long, delicious Irish holiday,
than he was compelled to return to America for a month or so.

I think you must number among your acquaintances such a man as Mr.
William Beresford, whose wife I have the honour to be. Physically the
type is vigorous, or has the appearance and gives the impression of
being vigorous, because it has never the time to be otherwise, since
it is always engaged in nursing its ailing or decrepit relatives.
Intellectually it is full of vitality; any mind grows when it is
exercised, and the brain that has to settle all its own affairs and all
the affairs of its friends and acquaintances could never lack energy.
Sp