Elle-même--Irlande . utumn ensembleressort et tôt en. En face de la maison est une vaste pelouse de opensweep, qui invite chaque rayon de soleil-shine et assure une distance entre les arbres et thesplendid bois qui entourent la place.C'était une belle, parfumée, songe d'une nuit, lumière de lune et après le dîner nous nous sommes assis sur le porche.La pelouse a été tondue, et il y avait une odeur dans l'air vernal ofsweet à partir d'une petite botte de notfar là. À partir de ce procédé apparemment un long sifflement doux,, habile, pas ronfler. Saidshe Nita pensait qu'un clochard ivre était allé à sleepunder la paille fraîche, et elle doit aller faire

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Herself--Ireland . utumn and early in thespring. In front of the house is a wide opensweep of lawn, which invites every ray of sun-shine and ensures a cheerful distance between thesplendid trees and woods which surround the place.It was a fragrant, lovely, midsummer moon-light night, and after dinner we sat on the porch.The lawn had been mown, and there was a scent ofsweet vernal in the air from a small haystack notfar away. From it apparently proceeded a long, gentle whistling, not unmusical, snore. Nita saidshe thought a drunken tramp had gone to sleepunder the fresh straw, and she must go down tothe lodge and get Murphy to rouse him up andpersuade him away. I assured her it was only acow with adenoids, but that theory was unsatis-factory, and finally we both tip-toed gently over tothe haystack, circled around it, and there wasneither man nor beast to be seen. The soundceased, and only recommenced when we were inour bedrooms. After dinner the next evening thesame whistling snore began again, and Philip. «O O EVERGREEN FRIENDSHIP 357 Barry, who was dining with us, said it was anowl and proved it by going to an old oak tree atthe right of the haystack and rousing up a bighorned owl, who uttered a sharp protesting note atbeing disturbed from his whisthng slumbers andflew away. I looked in vain for the most cheerful ghost inall the ghost world— The Radiant Boy —who, clothed in dark blue, is bright with stars and sitson an old iron gate on the Mallow Road, threaten-ing to throw a brilliant missile at the passer-by.He was not always an open-air ghost, for abouta hundred years ago, which is no time at all inIreland, Captain Stuart came to Fort Lewis, nowcalled Wilkinsons Lawn, and having lost hisway craved the hospitality of Colonel Wilkinsonfor the night, who made him welcome, but, as hishouse was overflowing with guests, gave him aroom which was rarely used. A bright fire oflogs blazed on the hearth and a good mattress andclean bedclothes had been placed not far fro

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