Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin
Penelope's Irish Experiences
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066212834
Table of Contents
Chapter I. We emulate the Rollo books.
Chapter II. Irish itineraries.
Chapter III. We sight a derelict.
Chapter IV. Enter Benella Dusenberry.
Chapter V. The Wearing of the Green.
Chapter VI. Dublin, then and now.
Chapter VII. A tour and a detour.
Chapter VIII. Romance and reality.
Chapter IX. The light of other days.
Chapter X. The belles of Shandon.
Chapter XII. Life at Knockarney House.
Chapter XIII. 'O! the sound of the Kerry dancing.'
Chapter XIV. Mrs. Mullarkey's iligant locks.
Chapter XV. Penelope weaves a web.
Chapter XVI. Salemina has her chance.
Chapter XVII. The Glens of Antrim.
Chapter XVIII. Limavady love-letters.
Chapter XIX. 'In ould Donegal.'
Chapter XX. We evict a tenant.
Chapter XXI. Lachrymae Hibernicae.
Chapter XXII. The Weeping West.
Chapter XXIII. Beams and motes.
Chapter XXIV. Humours of the road.
Chapter XXVII. The three chatelaines of Devorgilla.
Chapter XXVIII. Round towers and reflections.
Chapter XXIX. Aunt David's garden.
Chapter XXX. The Quest of the Fair Strangers,
Chapter XXXI. Good-bye, dark Rosaleen.
Chapter XXXII. 'As the sunflower turns.'
Part First—Leinster.
Chapter I. We emulate the Rollo books.
'Sure a terrible time I was out o' the way,
Over the sea, over the sea,
Till I come to Ireland one sunny day—
Betther for me, betther for me:
The first time me fut got the feel o' the ground
I was 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