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DESCRIPTION
Introductory Statistics, 9th Edition is written for a one or two semester first course
in applied statistics and is intended for students who do not have a strong
background in mathematics. The only prerequisite is knowledge of elementary
algebra. Introductory Statistics is known for its realistic examples and exercises,
clarity and brevity of presentation, and soundness of pedagogical approach.

1. Title Page
2. Copyright Page
3. Dedication
4. Preface
5. Acknowledgments
6. Contents
7. CHAPTER 1 Introduction
8. 1.1 Statistics and Types of Statistics
9. Case Study 1–1 2014 Lobbying Spending by Selected Companies
10. Case Study 1–2 Americans Life Outlook, 2014
11. 1.2 Basic Terms
12. 1.3 Types of Variables
13. 1.4 Cross-Section Versus Time-Series Data
14. 1.5 Population Versus Sample
15. 1.6 Design of Experiments
16. 1.7 Summation Notation
17. Uses and Misuses
18. Glossary
19. Supplementary Exercises
20. Advanced Exercises
21. Self-Review Test
22. Technology Instructions
23. Technology Assignments
24. CHAPTER 2 Organizing and Graphing Data
25. 2.1 Organizing and Graphing Qualitative Data
26. Case Study 2–1 Ideological Composition of the U.S. Public, 2014
27. Case Study 2–2 Millennials’ Views on Their Level of Day-to-Day Banking Knowledge
28. 2.2 Organizing and Graphing Quantitative Data
29. Case Study 2–3 Car Insurance Premiums per Year in 50 States
30. Case Study 2–4 Hours Worked in a Typical Week by Full-Time U.S. Workers
31. Case Study 2–5 How Many Cups of Coffee Do You Drink a Day?
32. 2.3 Stem-and-Leaf Displays
33. 2.4 Dotplots
34. Uses and Misuses
35. Glossary
36. Supplementary Exercises
37. Advanced Exercises
38. Self-Review Test
39. Technology Instructions
40. Technology Assignments
41. CHAPTER 3 Numerical Descriptive Measures
42. 3.1 Measures of Center for Ungrouped Data
43. Case Study 3–1 2013 Average Starting Salaries for Selected Majors
44. Case Study 3–2 Education Level and 2014 Median Weekly Earnings
45. 3.2 Measures of Dispersion for Ungrouped Data
46. 3.3 Mean, Variance, and Standard Deviation for Grouped Data
47. 3.4 Use of Standard Deviation
48. Case Study 3–3 Does Spread Mean the Same as Variability and Dispersion?
49. 3.5 Measures of Position
50. 3.6 Box-and-Whisker Plot
51. Uses and Misuses
52. Glossary
53. Supplementary Exercises
54. Advanced Exercises
55. Appendix 3.1
56. Self-Review Test
57. Technology Instructions
58. Technology Assignments
59. CHAPTER 4 Probability
60. 4.1 Experiment, Outcome, and Sample Space
61. 4.2 Calculating Probability
62. 4.3 Marginal Probability, Conditional Probability, and Related Probability Concepts
63. Case Study 4–1 Do You Worry About Your Weight?
64. 4.4 Intersection of Events and the Multiplication Rule
65. 4.5 Union of Events and the Addition Rule
66. 4.6 Counting Rule, Factorials, Combinations, and Permutations
67. Case Study 4–2 Probability of Winning a Mega Millions Lottery Jackpot
68. Uses and Misuses
69. Glossary
70. Supplementary Exercises
71. Advanced Exercises
72. Self-Review Test
73. Technology Instructions
74. Technology Assignments
75. CHAPTER 5 Discrete Random Variables and Their Probability Distributions
76. 5.1 Random Variables
77. 5.2 Probability Distribution of a Discrete Random Variable
78. 5.3 Mean and Standard Deviation of a Discrete Random Variable
79. Case Study 5–1 All State Lottery
80. 5.4 The Binomial Probability Distribution
81. 5.5 The Hypergeometric Probability Distribution
82. 5.6 The Poisson Probability Distribution
83. Case Study 5–2 Global Birth and Death Rates
84. Uses and Misuses
85. Glossary
86. Supplementary Exercises
87. Advanced Exercises
88. Self-Review Test
89. Technology Instructions
90. Technology Assignments
91. CHAPTER 6 Continuous Random Variables and the Normal Distribution
92. 6.1 Continuous Probability Distribution and the Normal Probability Distribution
93. Case Study 6–1 Distribution of Time Taken to Run a Road Race
94. 6.2 Standardizing a Normal Distribution
95. 6.3 Applications of the Normal Distribution
96. 6.4 Determining the z and x Values When an Area Under the Normal Distribution
Curve Is Known
97. 6.5 The Normal Approximation to the Binomial Distribution
98. Uses and Misuses
99. Glossary
100. Supplementary Exercises
101. Advanced Exercises
102. Appendix 6.1
103. Self-Review Test
104. Technology Instructions
105. Technology Assignments
106. CHAPTER 7 Sampling Distributions
107. 7.1 Sampling Distribution, Sampling Error, and Nonsampling Errors
108. 7.2 Mean and Standard Deviation of x
109. 7.3 Shape of the Sampling Distribution of x
110. 7.4 Applications of the Sampling Distribution of x
111. 7.5 Population and Sample Proportions; and the Mean, Standard Deviation,
and Shape of the Sampling D
112. 7.6 Applications of the Sampling Distribution of p
113. Uses and Misuses
114. Glossary
115. Supplementary Exercises
116. Advanced Exercises
117. Self-Review Test
118. Technology Instructions
119. Technology Assignments
120. CHAPTER 8 Estimation of the Mean and Proportion
121. 8.1 Estimation, Point Estimate, and Interval Estimate
122. 8.2 Estimation of a Population Mean: σ Known
123. Case Study 8–1 Annual Salaries of Registered Nurses, 2014
124. 8.3 Estimation of a Population Mean: σ Not Known
125. 8.4 Estimation of a Population Proportion: Large Samples
126. Case Study 8–2 Americans’ Efforts to Lose Weight Still Trail Desires
127. Uses and Misuses
128. Glossary
129. Supplementary Exercises
130. Advanced Exercises
131. Self-Review Test
132. Technology Instructions
133. Technology Assignments
134. CHAPTER 9 Hypothesis Tests About the Mean and Proportion
135. 9.1 Hypothesis Tests: An Introduction
136. 9.2 Hypothesis Tests About µ: σ Known
137. Case Study 9–1 Average Student Loan Debt for the Class of 2013
138. 9.3 Hypothesis Tests About µ: σ Not Known
139. 9.4 Hypothesis Tests About a Population Proportion: Large Samples
140. Case Study 9–2 Are Upper-Income People Paying Their Fair Share in Federal
Taxes?
141. Uses and Misuses
142. Glossary
143. Supplementary Exercises
144. Advanced Exercises
145. Self-Review Test
146. Technology Instructions
147. Technology Assignments
148. CHAPTER 10 Estimation and Hypothesis Testing: Two Populations
149. 10.1 Inferences About the Difference Between Two Population Means for
Independent Samples: σ1 and
150. 10.2 Inferences About the Difference Between Two Population Means for
Independent Samples: σ1 and
151. 10.3 Inferences About the Difference Between Two Population Means for
Independent Samples: σ1 and
152. 10.4 Inferences About the Mean of Paired Samples (Dependent Samples)
153. 10.5 Inferences About the Difference Between Two Population Proportions
for Large and Independent Sa
154. Uses and Misuses
155. Glossary
156. Supplementary Exercises
157. Advanced Exercises
158. Self-Review Test
159. Technology Instructions
160. Technology Assignments
161. CHAPTER 11 Chi-Square Tests
162. 11.1 The Chi-Square Distribution
163. 11.2 A Goodness-of-Fit Test
164. Case Study 11–1 Are People on Wall Street Honest and Moral?
165. 11.3 A Test of Independence or Homogeneity
166. 11.4 Inferences About the Population Variance
167. Uses and Misuses
168. Glossary
169. Supplementary Exercises
170. Advanced Exercises
171. Self-Review Test
172. Technology Instructions
173. Technology Assignments
174. CHAPTER 12 Analysis of Variance
175. 12.1 The F Distribution
176. 12.2 One-Way Analysis of Variance
177. Uses and Misuses
178. Glossary
179. Supplementary Exercises
180. Advanced Exercises
181. Self-Review Test
182. Technology Instructions
183. Technology Assignments
184. CHAPTER 13 Simple Linear Regression
185. 13.1 Simple Linear Regression
186. Case Study 13–1 Regression of Weights on Heights for NFL Players
187. 13.2 Standard Deviation of Errors and Coefficient of Determination
188. 13.3 Inferences About B
189. 13.4 Linear Correlation
190. 13.5 Regression Analysis: A Complete Example
191. 13.6 Using the Regression Model
192. Uses and Misuses
193. Glossary
194. Supplementary Exercises
195. Advanced Exercises
196. Self-Review Test
197. Technology Instructions
198. Technology Assignments
199. APPENDIX A Explanation of Data Sets
200. APPENDIX B Statistical Tables
201. ANSWERS TO SELECTED ODD-NUMBERED EXERCISES AND SELF-REVIEW
TESTS
202. INDEX
203. Key Formulas
204. Standard Normal Distribution Table
205. The t Distribution Table
206. EULA
Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Through Connemara
in a governess cart
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Through Connemara in a governess cart

Author: E. Oe. Somerville

Martin Ross

Illustrator: W. W. Russell

Release date: April 25, 2019 [eBook #59349]

Most recently updated: January 24, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH

CONNEMARA IN A GOVERNESS CART ***
 CONTENTS
CHAPTER I., II., III., IV., V., VI., VII.,
VIII., IX., X.
List of Illustrations
(In certain versions of this etext [in
certain browsers] clicking on the image
will bring up a larger version.)
(etext transcriber's note)

THROUGH CONNEMARA
IN A

GOVERNESS CART.
BY
THE AUTHORS OF “AN IRISH COUSIN.”

Illustrated by W. W. Russell, from Sketches by

th Œ. Somerville.

LONDON:
W. H. ALLEN & CO., LIMITED,
13, WATERLOO PLACE, S.W.
—
1893.

The following pages, with their accompanying illustrations, originally

appeared in the columns of “The Ladies’ Pictorial,” and are here
reprinted by permission of the Proprietors.
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
“IN THE SECLUSION OF THE BACK BEDROOM” 5
“IF YE BATE HIM ANY MORE HE’LL LIE DOWN” 19
“SHE’S A LITTLE GIDDY ABOUT THE HEAD, MISS” 28
“WE VIEWED THE STOWING OF THE GOVERNESS-CART” 31
“MR FLAHERTY’S BOY WAS DEMONSTRATING WITH A PITCH-FORK” 35
“WE PURSUED OUR WAY TO RECESS” 39
A FISHERMAN AT RECESS 43
THE TWO HOTEL DOGS 49
“NOW” 53
“BALLINAHINCH CAME SLOWLY INTO SIGHT” 65
“WE HEARD WHEELS CLOSE AT HAND” 71
“HANGING ON EACH TO OUR REIN” 85
“SITTING ON LITTLE STOOLS INSIDE THE BIG FIREPLACE” 97
“REVEALED A MONSTROUS GREY GOOSE” 105
MR. MITCHELL HENRY’S PLACE, KYLEMORE CASTLE 119
JACK’S FATHER 125
AT TULLY FAIR 129
RENVYLE HOUSE HOTEL 141
“IT WAS THE BROAD WINDOW SEAT, IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE
147
MOUNTAINS, THAT TURNED THE SCALE”
“SHE WAS AN AMERICAN LADY” 149
THE RENVYLE DONKEY 158
“DOWN THE HILL OF SALRUCK” 169
“THE HOLY WELL, SALRUCK” 175
“EIGHT O’CLOCK BREAKFAST, PLEASE, AND CALL US SHARP AT SEVEN” 191
“THE REGRET WITH WHICH WE PAID OUR HOTEL BILL WAS NOT
WHOLLY MERCENARY, BUT WAS BLENDED WITH THE FINER PATHOS 197
OF FAREWELL”
THROUGH CONNEMARA IN A
GOVERNESS-CART.
 CHAPTER I.

M Y second cousin and I came to London for ten days in the middle of
last June, and we stayed there for three weeks, waiting for a fine day.
We were Irish, and all the English with whom we had hitherto
come in contact had impressed upon us that we should never know what
fine weather was till we came to England. Perhaps we came at a bad
moment, when the weather, like the shops, was having its cheap sales.
Certainly such half-hours of sunshine as we came in for were of the nature
of “soiled remnants,” and at the end of the three weeks aforesaid we began
to feel a good deal discouraged. Things came to a climax one day when we
had sat for three-quarters of an hour in a Hungarian bread shop in Regent
Street, waiting for the rain to clear off enough to let us get down to the New
Gallery. As the fifth party of moist ladies came in and propped their
dripping umbrellas against the wall behind us, and remarked that they had
never seen such rain, our resolution first began to take shape.
“Hansom!” said my second cousin.
“Home!” said I.
By home, of course we meant the lodgings—the remote, the
Bayswaterian, but still, the cheap, the confidential; for be they never so
homely, there’s no place—for sluttish comfort and unmolested
unpunctuality—like lodgings.
“England is no fit place for a lady to be in,” said my second cousin, as
we drove away in our hansom with the glass down.
“I’d be ashamed to show such weather to a Connemara pig,” I replied.
Now Connemara is a sore subject with my second cousin, who lives
within sight of its mountains, and, as is usually the case, has never explored
the glories of her native country, which was why I mentioned Connemara.
She generally changes the conversation on these occasions; but this time
she looked me steadily in the face and said,
“Well, let’s go to Connemara!”
I was so surprised that I inadvertently pressed the indiarubber ball of the
whistle on which my hand was resting, and its despairing wail filled the
silence like a note of horror.
 “Let’s get an ass and an ass-car!” said my cousin, relapsing in her
excitement into her native idiom, and taking no notice of the fact that the
hansom had stopped, and that I was inventing a lie for the driver; “or some
sort of a yoke, whatever, and we’ll drive through Connemara.”
In the seclusion of the back bedroom we reviewed the position, while
around us on the lodging-house pegs hung the draggled ghosts of what had
been our Sunday dresses.
“That’s the thing I wore last night!” said my second cousin, in a hard,
flat voice, lifting with loathing finger a soaked flounce. As she did so, the
river sand fell from it into the boots that stood beneath.
“Soil of tea-garden, Kingston-on-Thames. Result of boating-picnic that
has to fly for refuge to an inn-parlour ten minutes after it has started.”
“It will wash,” I answered gloomily. “But look at that!” Here I pointed to
an evening gown erstwhile, to quote an Irish divine, “the brightest feather in
my crown.” “That’s what comes of trailing through Bow Street after the
opera, looking for a hansom during the police riots. Give me Irish weather
and the R.I.C.! We will go to Connemara!”
. . . . . .
The Milford and Cork boat starts at eight, and at half-past eight a
doomed crowd was sitting round its still stationary tea-table. My second
cousin was feverishly eating dry toast and drinking a precautionary brandy
and soda, but the others were revelling
 “IN THE SECLUSION OF THE BACK BEDROOM.”

on beefsteak and fried fish. The company was mixed. Opposite to us sat an
American and his bride, both young, and both uncertain of the rules that
govern the consumption of fish; the bride feeling that a couple of small
forks, held as though they were pens, would meet the situation, while her
big, red-headed husband evidently believed that by holding the fork in the
right hand and the knife in the left the impropriety of using the latter would
be condoned. Beside us were two elderly ladies, returning, like us, to their
native land.
“Yes, me dear,” we heard one saying to the other; “I had nothing only
my two big boxes and seven little small parcels, and poor little Charlie’s
rabbit, and that porther wanted to get thruppence out o’ me!”
“D’ye tell me so?” remarked the friend.
 “Yes, dear, he did indeed! He wanted thruppence and I gave him
tuppence; he was tough, very tough, but I was shtubborn!”
“Ah, them English is great rogues,” said the friend, consolingly.
“More fish, Miss?” said the unobservant steward to my second cousin,
thrusting a generous helping under her nose. It wanted but that, and she
retired to the doubtful security of the ladies’ cabin.
We have travelled with many stewardesses on the various routes between
England and Cork, and we have found that, as a species, they have at least
two great points in common. They are all Irish, and they are all relentlessly
conversational. They have no respect for the sanctity of the silence in which
the indifferent sailor wishes to shroud herself; it is impossible for them to
comprehend those solemn moments, when the thoughts are turned wholly
inwards in a tumult of questioning, while the body lies in mummy stillness
waiting for what the night shall bring forth. Their leading object seems to be
to acquire information, but they are not chary of personal detail, and,
speaking from experience, I should say that a stewardess will confide
anything to the passenger by whose berth she has elected to take down her
hair. For stewardesses generally do their hair two or three times in the
course of a twelve hours’ crossing. When you go on board you find them at
it. Your evening ablutions are embittered by the discovery of their hair-pins
in the soap-dish, and at earliest dawn the traveller is aware of the
stewardess combing her shining tresses over the washing-stand. I have
sometimes wondered if from this custom arose the fable that the mermaid,
when not decoying sailors to their fate, is incessantly “racking her poll,” as
they say in the county Cork.
We will not linger on the details of the night, the sufferings of little
Charlie, who, on the plea of extreme youth, had been imported by his
mother into the ladies’ cabin; the rustlings and chumping of the rabbit,
whose basket occupied the greater part of the cabin table, or the murmured
confidences exchanged through the night hours by the stewardess and the
friend of Charlie’s mother. These things are being forgotten by us as fast as
may be; but my second cousin says she never can forget the waft of pigs
that came to her through the porthole as the steamer drew alongside of the
Cork quay.
The exigencies of return tickets had compelled us to go to Connemara
viâ Cork and Milford, and it certainly is not the route we would
recommend; however, it has its advantages, and we were vouchsafed a time
of precious rest before the starting of our train for Limerick at 2.10, and we
reposed in peace on the sofas of the ladies’ drawing-room in the Imperial
Hotel. Much might be said, were there time, of the demeanour of ladies in
hotel drawing-rooms; so hushed, so self-conscious, so eminent in all those
qualities with which they are endued by the artist who “does” the hotel
interiors for the guide-books. It is almost possible to believe that they are
engaged for the season to impart tone, and to show how agreeable a lounge
life can be when spent in the elegant leisure that is the atmosphere of hotel
drawing-rooms.
We crossed Cork on an outside-car; and here, no doubt, we should enter
on a description of its perils which would convulse and alarm English
readers in the old, old way; but we may as well own at once that we know
all about outside-cars; we believe we went to be christened on an outside-
car, and we did not hold on even then—we certainly have not done so since.
Let us rather embark on a topic in which all, saving a besotted few, will
sympathise. The nursery en voyage—the nurse, the nursemaid, the child, the
feeding-bottle. These beset every traveller’s path, and we had considerably
more than our fair share of them between Cork and Limerick. At Cork they
descended upon the train, as it lay replete and helpless, a moment before
starting, and before we had well understood the extent of the calamity, a
nurse was glaring defiance at us over the white bonnet of a bellowing baby,
and a nursemaid was already opening her basket of food for the benefit of
two children of the dread ages of three and five respectively. Some rash
glance on the part of my second cousin must have betrayed our sentiments
to the nurse, and it is hard to say which was worse, her exaggerated anxiety
to snatch the children from all contact with us, or the imbecile belief of the
nursemaid that we wanted to play with them, and, of the two, enjoyed their
wiping their hands on our rug in the intervals between the oranges. They
never ceased eating oranges, those children. Oranges, seed cake, milk; these
succeeded one another in a sort of vicious circle. An enterprising advertiser
asks, “What is more terrible than war?” We answer unhesitatingly, oranges
in the hands of young children.
However, everything, even the waits at the stations between Limerick
and Athenry, comes to an end if you can live it out, and at about nine
o’clock at night we were in Galway. Scarcely by our own volition, we
found ourselves in an hotel ’bus, and we were too tired to do more than
notice the familiar Galway smell of turf smoke as we bucketted through
Eyre Square to our hostelry. It may be as well at this point to seriously
assure English readers that the word “peat” is not used in Ireland in
reference to fuel by anyone except possibly the Saxon tourist. Let it
therefore be accepted that when we say “turf” we mean peat, and when, if
ever, we say Pete, we mean the diminutive of Peter, no matter what the
spelling.
We breakfasted leisurely and late next morning, serenaded by the
screams of pigs, for it was fair day, and the market square was blocked with
carts tightly packed with pigs, or bearing tall obelisks of sods of turf, built
with Egyptian precision. We cast our eye abroad upon a drove of
Connemara ponies, driven in for sale like so many sheep, and my second
cousin immediately formed the romantic project of hiring one of these and a
small trap for our Connemara expedition.
“They are such hardy little things,” she said, enthusiastically, “we had
two of them once, and they always lived on grass. Of course they never did
any work really, and I remember they used to bite anyone who tried to catch
them—but still I think one of them would be just the thing.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss,” said the waiter, who was taking away our
breakfast things, “but thim ponies is very arch for the likes of you to drive.
One o’ thim’d be apt to lie down in the road with yerself and the thrap, and
maybe it’d be dark night before he’d rise up for ye. Faith, there was one o’
them was near atin’ the face off a cousin o’ me own that was enticin’ him to
stand up out o’ the way o’ the mail-car.”
My second cousin looked furtively at me, and rose from her seat in some
confusion.
“Oh, I think we should be able to manage a pony,” she said, with a
sudden resumption of the dignity that I had noticed she had laid aside since
her arrival in Galway. “Is there—er—any two-wheeled—er—trap to be
had?”
“Sure there is, Miss, and a nate little yoke it’d be for the two of ye,
though the last time it was out one of the shafts——”
“Is it in the yard?” interrupted my second cousin, severely.
“It is, Miss, but the step took the ground——”
My cousin here left the room, and I followed her. A few moments later
the trap was wheeled into the yard for our inspection. It was apparently a
segment of an antediluvian brougham, with a slight flavour about it of a
hansom turned the wrong way, though its great-grandfather had probably
been a highly-connected sedan-chair. The door was at the back, as in an
omnibus, the floor was about six inches above the ground, and the two
people whom it with difficulty contained had to sit with their backs to the
horse, rocking and swinging between the two immense wheels, of which
they had a dizzy prospect through the little side windows.
“There it is for ye, now!” said the waiter, triumphantly. He had followed
us downstairs and was negligently polishing a tablespoon with his napkin.
“And Jimmy,” indicating the ostler, “ ’ll know of the very horse that’ll be fit
to put under it.”
“No,” we said faintly, “that would never do; we want to drive ourselves.”
The ostler fell into an attitude of dramatic meditation.
“Would you be agin dhrivin’ a side-car?”
We said “No.”
Equally dramatic ecstasy on the part of both ostler and waiter. The
former, strange to say, had a friend who was the one person in Galway who
had the very thing we wanted. “Letyees be gettin’ ready now,” said Jimmy,
“for I’ll go fetch it this minute.”
About half an hour later we were standing at the hotel doorsteps,
prepared for our trial trip. On the pavement were clustered about us the
beggarwomen of Galway—an awesome crew, from whose mouths
proceeded an uninterrupted flow of blessings and cursings, the former
levelled at us, the latter at each other and the children who hung about their
skirts. We pushed our way through them, and getting up on the car
announced that we were ready to start, but some delay in obtaining a piece
of cord to tie up the breeching gave the beggars a precious opportunity. My
second cousin was recognised, and greeted by name with every endearment.
“Aha! didn’t I tell ye ’twas her?” “Arrah, shut yer mouth, Nellie Morris.
I knew the fine full eyes of her since she was a baby.” “Don’t mind them,
darlin’,” said a deep voice on a level with the step of the car; “sure ye’ll
give to yer own little Judy from Menlo?”
This was my cousin’s own little Judy from Menlo, and at her invocation
we both snatched from our purses the necessary blackmail and dispensed it
with furious haste. Most people would pay largely to escape from the
appalling presence of this seventy-year-old nightmare of two foot nothing,
and she is well aware of its compelling power.
The car started with a jerk, the driver boy running by the horse’s side till
he had goaded it into a trot, and then jumping on the driving-seat he lashed
it into a gallop, and we swung out of Eyre Square followed by the admiring
screams of the beggars. The pace was kept up, and we were well out of
Galway before a slightly perceptible hill suddenly changed it to a funeral
crawl—the animal’s head disappearing between its forelegs.
“Give me the reins,” said my second cousin. “These country boys never
know how to drive,” she added in an undertone as she took them from the
boy. The horse, a pale yellow creature, with a rusty black mane and tail,
turned his head, and fixing a penetrating eye upon her, slightly slackened
his pace. My cousin administered a professional flick of the whip, whereon
he shrank to the other side of the road, jamming the step of the car against a
telegraph post and compelling me to hurriedly whirl my legs up on to the
seat. We slurred over the incident, however, and proceeded at the same pace
to the top of the hill. A judicious kick from the boy urged the horse into an
amble, and things were going on beautifully when we drew near a pool of
water by the roadside.
“You see he goes very well when he is properly driven,” my second
cousin began, leaning nonchalantly
 “IF YE BATE HIM ANY MORE HE’LL LIE DOWN.”

across the car towards me. As she spoke, the car gave a lurch and came to a
standstill at the edge of the pool. Apparently the yellow horse was thirsty.
He was with difficulty dragged into the middle of the road again, but
beyond the pool he refused to go. The boy got down with the air of one
used to these things.
“If ye bate him any more he’ll lie down,” he said to my cousin. “I’ll go
to the house beyond and gether a couple o’ the neighbours.”
The neighbours—that is to say, the whole of the inhabitants of the house
—turned out with enthusiasm, and, having put stones behind the wheels,
addressed themselves to the yellow horse with strange oaths and with many
varieties of sticks.
“ ’Tis little he cares for yer bating,” screamed the mother after several
minutes of struggle. “Let him dhrink his fill o’ the pool and he’ll go to
America for ye.”
We thought that on the whole we should prefer to return to Galway, and
though assured by the boy of ultimate victory, we turned and made for the
town on foot.
“I scarcely think that horse will do,” said my second cousin, after we had
walked about half a mile, turning on me a face still purple from her
exertions with the whip. “We want a freer animal than that.”
She had scarcely finished when there was a thundering on the road
behind us, a sound of furious galloping and shouting, and the car appeared
in sight, packed with men, and swinging from side to side as the yellow
horse came along with a racing stride.
“Ye can sit up on the car now!” called out the boy as they neared us,
“he’ll go aisy from this out.”
The car pulled up, and the volunteers got off it with loud and even
devotional assurances of the yellow horse’s perfections.
But we walked back to Galway.
 CHAPTER II.

S HALL we admit that, after all, the first stage of our journey was
accomplished by means of the mail-car? We had been assured, on
reliable authority, that Oughterard, fourteen Irish miles from Galway,
was the place where we should find what we wanted, and with a dubious
faith we climbed the steep side of the mail car, and wedged ourselves
between a stout priest and an English tourist. Above us towered the mail
baskets, and a miscellaneous pile of luggage, roped together with that
ingenuity that necessity has developed in the Irish carman, and crowning
all, the patriarchal countenance of a goat looked down upon us in severe
amazement from over the rim of an immense hamper.
We have said in our haste that we never hold on on jaunting-cars, but as
the dromedary to the park hack, so is the mail-car to the ordinary “outside”
of its species. It is large enough to hold six people on each side, and is
dragged by three horses at a speed that takes no account of ruts and patches
of stones and sharp corners, or of the fact that the unstable passenger has
nothing to grasp at in time of need, except his equally unstable fellow-
traveller. We held on to the priest and the tourist with all the power of our
elbows, and derived at least some moral support from the certainty that
when we fell off the car we should, like Samson, carry widespread disaster
with us. But somehow people do not fall off these cars; and even the most
unschooled of Saxons sits and swings and bows on the narrow seat with a
security that must surprise himself.
An Irish mile is, roughly speaking, a mile and a quarter English, so we
leave to the accomplished reader the computation of the distance from
Galway to Oughterard according to the rightful standard. It is not in the
ordinary sense a very interesting drive; the guide-books pass it over in a
breath in their haste to blossom out into the hotels and fisheries of
Connemara; but to the eye that comes fresh to it from the offensively sleek
and primly-partitioned pastures of England this first impression of Galway
and its untrammelled bogs and rocks will be as lasting as any that come
after. We ourselves might have framed many moving sentences about the
desolate houses standing amongst the neglected timber within their broken
demesne walls, but “all our mind was clouded with a doubt,” and from the
peculiar protrusion of my cousin’s nether lip, I could gather that her
moodiness was the outward token of an agitated mental parade of all the
Oughterard horseflesh with which she was acquainted.
We spent that night at Oughterard in Miss Murphy’s comfortable little
hotel, and the next morning found us embarked once more in search of a
means of travel. The trap had been unearthed—the trap of our brightest
dreams—a governess-cart that would just hold two people and a reasonable
amount of luggage; but the horse was the trouble. Various suggestions had
been made: some had been feasible, and the one thing on which we were
firmly decided, viz., the governess-cart, seemed an impossibility.
“Well, Miss, ye see, she’s only just in off grass; sure she’ll rejoice
greatly in the coorse of the next few days, and she’d fit the shafts well
enough so.”
Thus spoke the proprietor of many flocks and herds to whom we had
addressed ourselves. “It’s a pity there’s nothing would suit ye only the little
thrap, but surely ye might thry her whatever.”
“She” was a farm mare of mountainous proportions, who after violent
exertions had been squeezed between the shafts of the governess-cart, and
she now stood gazing plaintively at us, and switching her flowing tail, while
the shafts made grooves for themselves in her fat sides.
“Sit in now, Miss, and dhrive her out o’ the yard.” My second cousin got
in with ease, the step of the trap being almost on the ground, owing to the
unnatural elevation of its shafts, and the mare strode heavily forward. My
cousin clutched the front rail convulsively.
“I am slipping out!” she said with a sudden tension in her voice. Had she
thought of it she might have held on by the tail, which hung down like a
massive bell-rope above her, but as it was, after a moment or two of painful
indecision, she made a hurried but safe exit over the door of the trap. The
fate of the expedition trembled in the balance, and the group of spectators
who had formed round us began to look concerned. The mare was extracted
with some difficulty from the pinioning shafts, and all things were as they
were, the governess-cart with its shafts on the ground, and my cousin and I
with our hearts in our boots, when a voice came to us from the crowd—
“Johnny Flaherty have a nice jinnet.”
“A betther never shtud in Galway!” said another voice. “She’s able to
kill anny horse on the road.”
 An excited discussion followed, in the course of which it was brought
forward as the jennet’s strongest

“SHE’S A LITTLE GIDDY ABOUT THE

HEAD, MISS.”
recommendation that she was the daughter of the lady whose majestic build
had lost to us the enjoyment of her admirable moral qualities. Finally a
portion of the crowd detached itself and ran up the street, returning in a few
minutes with Johnny Flaherty and a long-legged, long-eared brown animal,
which, as it approached, cast an eye of sour suspicion upon us and its
mother. There was no doubt but that this creature would fit the trap, but
with haunting memories of the iniquities of mules and their like we asked if
it was gentle.
“She’s a little giddy about the head, Miss,” said the owner diffidently;
“but if ye’ll not touch the ears she’s the quietest little thing at all. Back in,
Sibbie!”
Sibbie backed in with an almost unwholesome docility, and was
harnessed in the twinkling of an eye, the lookers-on assisting
enthusiastically. She was led out of the yard. We got in with Mr. Flaherty,
and before the crowd had time to cross themselves we were out of sight.
“Perfection!” I gasped, with the wind whistling in my teeth as Sibbie
sped like a rat between the shafts that had given her good mother her first
insight into tight lacing. “She goes splendidly—the very thing! but now
isn’t it time to go back and get in our things?”
My cousin did not answer; she was driving, and something told me that
the same idea had occurred to her. She was leaning rigidly back, and one of
her gloves had burst at the knuckles. Johnny Flaherty extended a large hand
and laid it on the reins.
“She’s over-anxious for the road,” he said apologetically, as he brought
the jennet to a standstill; “but I’ll put a curb-chain on her for ye.”
We turned and wheeled back into Oughterard, a positive adoration for
Sibbie, with her discreet brown quarters and slender, rapier-like legs,
welling up in us. Now, thinking over these things, it seems possible that her
week’s hire approached her net value, but at the time of bargaining we felt
that her price was far above rubies.
As this is the record of a genuine expedition, it is perhaps advisable to
say that our luggage consisted of a portmanteau, a dressing bag, a well-
supplied luncheon basket, and a large and reliable gingham umbrella,
purchased for the sum of three shillings in Oughterard. We viewed the
elaborate stowing of
 “WE VIEWED THE STOWING OF THE GOVERNESS-
CART.”
these in the governess cart, and then went to Mr. Flaherty for his final
sailing orders.
“Ye’ll mind her passing Flanigan’s; she have a fashion of running in
there; and as for passing our own place, I have a boy standin’ there now in
the archway with a stick, the way he’d turn her back out of it if she’d make
a dart for the stable, and I’ll put a rope in the thrap for fear anything might
break on ye.”
Mr. Flaherty looked a little anxious as he gave us these directions, and
when he had gone for the rope, an old woman, who had been regarding us
with a sympathetic solicitude, came up to my cousin and took her by the
arm.
“That the Lord may save yees! that’s all I’ll say,” she groaned; “if ’twas
a horse itself, I’d say nothin’, but thim mules is nayther here nor there. Sure
asthore, ye couldn’t tell the minnit he’d turn into a boghole, when he
doesn’t know ye, and thim Cunnemarra roads has nothin’ before him to
shtop him only the grace of God! and the wather up aich side of the road by
yees as deep as a well!”
It was painful to find that Oughterard credited the jennet with the sole
conduct of the expedition, and regarded us as helpless dependents on her
will and pleasure. But the old woman’s agitation was quite unaffected, and
the last thing we heard, as we flourished down the main street, was her
voice uplifted in prayerful lamentation.
Owing possibly to the fact that Mr. Flaherty’s boy was demonstrating
with the pitch-fork in the archway leading to the stable, Sibbie made no
attempt to “dart” into it as her owner had anticipated, and nothing marred
the dignity of our departure. We turned cautiously over the crooked bridge,
and drove along beside the river, running black under tall trees, with
patches of foam sailing fast on it. Villas with trimly clipped ivy and flower-
beds all ablaze were on our other hand, suburban in self-respecting
neatness, romantic by force of surroundings and of something old-fashioned
and solid in their build.
“This is the best village for its size this side of Galway,” said my cousin,
with a languid indifference that, as I well knew, masked the seething self-
satisfaction of the resident in the neighbourhood. “And the place has
improved so wonderfully. For instance, there’s the Widow’s Almshouse. It
isn’t so very long ago since an old woman said to my grandmother, ‘That’s
the Widdies’ Almhouse, and sorra widdy in it but one little owld man,’ and
now it’s simply bursting with widows—at least, I mean——”
This remarkable illustration of the prosperity of Oughterard was
suddenly interrupted. We had forgotten that the residence of the too
fascinating Mr. Flanigan was at hand, but not so Sibbie. With the subtlety of
her race, she cloaked her design in a fulsome submissiveness, as the deadly
spirit is sheathed in the syrup of the liqueur, and turning in full career,
without so much as an indication from her long expressive ears, she made
for the gate of which we had been warned. By a special interposition of
Providence it was closed, but we were both jerked forward in a very
humiliating way, and there was much unseemly hectoring and lashing
before we could drag her from the haven where she would be. The seeds of
 distrust were from that moment sown in our hearts,
and we proceeded with a want of confidence that we
had never afterwards reason to regret.
A few moments of steep ascent brought us out on
to the moor that is the entrance to Connemara; a
wide brown place of heather and bog, with the
sinuous shining of the Oughterard river saving it
from the suspicion of monotony. The level road ran
out in front of us till it dwindled into a white thread,
the distant hills were no more than confidential blue
hints of what we were to see, the sun shone, the
strong west wind made us rejoice that we had
“MR. FLAHERTY’S
stitched elastic into our hats, and the exhilaration of
BOY WAS our feelings found vent in one passion-fraught word
DEMONSTRATING —luncheon.
WITH A PITCH-FORK.”
A great many people have asked us why we did
not make our journey through Connemara on
tricycles: the roads are so good, the mail-cars offer such facilities for the
transport of baggage, the speed and simplicity are so great. To this we have
our reply—what then of the luncheon hamper? These objectors have not
taken into account the comfortable wayside halt by the picturesque and
convenient lake; the unpacking of the spirit lamp, and its glittering bride the
tin kettle, the dinner knives at sixpence apiece, the spoons at two-pence-
halfpenny; the potted meats, the Bath Olivers, the Bovril and the Burgundy.
In the abstract we are not fond of picnics, and agree with the Bard of
“Ballads from Punch” in thinking that—

They who in contempt, the Dryad’s haunts

Profane with empty bottles and loose papers,
Find tongues in tarts, ants running on their boots,
Wasps in the wine, and salt in everything!

But a long road and an early breakfast create an earnestness and sincerity
in the matter of luncheon that were lacking in the artificial junketings of the
Bard. Certainly, our stopping-places were not such as a Dryad could haunt
with any degree of comfort. On this first day we pulled up under the lee of a
low bank, one of the few roadside fences we had come to in that waste of
heather and grey-blue lakes, and spread out our eatables on the seats of the
cart with a kind of bashfulness of the possible passer-by; a bashfulness soon
to be hardened by custom into a brazen contempt for even the passing mail-
car and the fraternal backward grin of its driver. Most people who have
wolfed the furtive sandwich in a crowded railway carriage have felt all of a
sudden how gross and animal was the action, but how, if persevered in, a
callous indifference may be attained; this was the case with us.
After that first lunch the complexion of things changed. The wind
sharpened into a wet whip, the clouds swooped down on the hilltops, the
lakes turned a ruffled black, like a Spanish hen with its plumage blown the
wrong way, and the first mishap to the

“WE PURSUED OUR WAY TO RECESS.”

expedition occurred. I turned my head to look with mild surprise at the end
of an iron bedstead with which an ingenious farmer had closed an opening
in his stone wall, and as I did so my hat soared upwards from my head, and
flew like a live thing towards the lake by which we were driving. I followed
with as much speed as I possess, while my cousin lay in idiot laughter in the
cart, and had the pleasure of seeing my hat plunge with the élan of a
Marcus Curtius into a bed of waterlilies by the bank. From this I drew it,
pale, half-drowned, but sane and submissive; and placing it in solitary
confinement at the bottom of the trap, I donned a chilly knitted Tam
o’Shanter, and we pursued our way to Recess.
 CHAPTER III.

D ECOROUS black posts, with white tops, on either side of a little

avenue, a five-pound trout laid out on the hall door-steps, with some
smaller specimens of its kind, a group of anglers admiring these, and a
fine, unostentatious rain that nobody paid any attention to—these were our
first impressions of the Royal Hotel, Recess. With many injunctions as to
her “giddiness” about the head, Sibbie was commended to the care of a
stable-boy, and we marched over the corpses of the trout into a little hall in
which the smell of wet waterproofs and fishing tackle reigned supreme.
Our only information as to the hotels of Connemara had been gathered
from a gentleman whose experience dated some thirty years back. He told
us that on arriving at the hotel to which fate had consigned him, his modest
request for something more substantial than bread and whisky had been
received with ill-concealed consternation. A forlorn hope of children was
sent forth to find and hunt in a chicken for his dinner; he had watched the
search, the chase, the out-manœuvring of the wily victim; he had heard,
tempered by a single plank door, its death screech in the kitchen, and he had
even gone the length of eating it, when it was at last served up on a kitchen-
plate, brown and shrivelled as “She” in her last moments, and boiled with a
little hot water as its only sauce. As to the bedrooms, our friend had been
almost more discouraging. He said that while he was dining he heard a
trampling of feet and the moving of some heavy body in the passage. The
door opened, and a feather bed bulged through the narrow doorway into the
room, and was spread on the floor by the table. It was then explained that,
as he had asked for dinner and a bed, sure there they were for him, and they
were elegant clean feathers, and he should have them for eightpence a
pound. With some difficulty the traveller made them understand that,
though he meant to carry the dinner away with him, he had no such
intentions with regard to the bed; and after a more lucid setting forth of his
requirements, his host and hostess grasped the position. He was taken into a
room which was quite filled by two immense four-post beds, and having
been given to understand that one was reserved for domestic requirements,
he was offered the other. He was on the point of accepting this couch when
a snore arose from its depths.
 “Ah, sure, that’s only the priest,” said the lady of the
house; “and he’s the qui’test man ever ye seen. God
bless him! He’ll not disturb ye at all.” This was our
friend’s experience, and though possibly it had gained
flavour and body with age, it had, at all events, made us
look forward with a fearful interest to what might be our
lot in Connemara.
But the first vision of the long Recess dinner-table
dissipated all our hopes of the comic squalor that is
endured gladly for the sake of its literary value, and I
may admit that the regret with which my cousin and I
affected to eat our soup and pursue our dinner through
its orderly five or six courses was not altogether sincere. A FISHERMAN AT
From one point of view it might have been called a fish RECESS.
dinner, as from clear soup, to raspberries one topic alone
filled the mouths of the diners—the outwitting of the
wiles of trout and salmon. There was a reading-party of Oxford men, their
blazers glowing rainbow-hued among the murky shooting coats of the other
diners; there were young curates, and middle-aged majors, and elderly
gentlemen—to be an elderly gentleman amounts to a profession in itself—
and all, without exception or intermission, talked of fish and fishing. Not to
talk to the comrade of your travels at a table d’hôte is an admission of
failure and incapacity, so much so that rather than sit silent, I would if need
were, repeat portions of the Church Catechism to my friend in a low
conversational voice. My cousin and I have seldom been forced to this
extreme, and on this occasion we kept up the semblance of a cultured
agreeability to one another in a manner that surprised ourselves. But the
volume of discussion raging round us overwhelmed us in the end. We felt
the Academy and the jennet to be alike an impertinence; we faltered and
became silent.
Opposite to us sat one of the most whole-souled of the elderly
gentlemen, with a face of the colour and glossy texture of Aspinall’s Royal
Mail red enamel, in vigorous conversation with a callow youth in a pink
blazer, one of whose eyes was closed by midge-bites; and, though the
general chorus might rise and wane in the long intervals between the
courses, their strident bass and piping tenor sustained an unflagging duet.
 “I assure you, my dear sir,” protested the elderly gentleman, earnestly,
with an almost pathetic oblivion of the difference in age between him and
his neighbour, “it is not a matter of a fly with these Glendalough trout. I
have seen a man fail repeatedly with a certain butcher, and immediately
afterwards the same butcher, put pleasantly to a fish, you understand, rose
him at once.”
“H’m,” returned the Pink Blazer, gloomily, receiving this, to us,
surprising statement, with perfect calm, “my experience—and I’ve fished
these lakes for years—is that a full-bodied Jock Scott”—but we will not
betray our ignorance by trying to expound second-hand the profundities of
the Pink Blazer. When they had been given to the world, he hid his little
midge-bitten face in a tumbler of shandygaff, while his aged companion
gravely continued the argument.
There were only two or three other ladies at the table, and they evidently
had, by long residence in the hotel, been reduced to assuming an interest in
the prevailing topic, which we found hard to believe was genuine. They
may, of course, have been enthusiasts, but their looks belied them.
Next morning we were awakened by the babble of fishermen in the hall,
then the rattle of cars on the gravel told that they had started on their daily
business, and when at a subsequent period we came down to breakfast, we
found ourselves alone, and the hotel generally in a state of peaceful
lethargy. It was, so we had heard excited voices in the hall proclaiming, a
splendid day for fishing. This meant that when we looked out of the
window we saw two blurred shadows that we believed to be mountains, and
heard the rushings of over-fed streams, which, thanks to the mist, were
quite invisible. But the hotel weather-glass stood high, and at ten o’clock
we were hopeful; at eleven we were despairing; at twelve we were reckless,
and we went to our room to get ready for a walk. We have hitherto omitted
all reference to one important item of our equipment, and even now,
remembering that we were travelling in a proclaimed district, I mention
with bated breath the fact that my second cousin insisted on taking an
ancient and rusty revolver with her. She had secretly purchased a box of
cartridges, weighing several pounds, and at the last moment she had
requested me to stow this armoury in the travelling-bag—“In case of mad
dogs and things on the road,” she said. The pistol, in its leather case, I
consented to, but the tin box of ammunition was intolerable, and we
compromised by putting six cartridges into an “Easy Hair Curler” box,
which really might have been made for them. So far there had been no
occasion to use it, but now, as my cousin struggled into her mackintosh, she
remarked tentatively, “Don’t you think this would be a good day for the
revolver?”
I said I was not much of a judge, but she might bring it if she liked; and
having secreted it and a few “easy hair curlers” in her mackintosh pocket,
she was ready for the road.
We paused in the hall for a last vengeful look at the barometer, which
still stood cheerfully at Set Fair (we believe its constructor to have been a
confirmed fisherman), and at the door we encountered the two hotel dogs—
a large silky black creature of the breed that is generally selected to adorn
penwipers, and a smirking fox-terrier, with polite, and even brilliant
manners of a certain flashy hotel sort.
“Would they come for a walk with the ladies?” said I, my voice
assuming the peculiar drivelling tone supposed to be attractive to dogs.

THE TWO HOTEL DOGS.

The penwiper regarded me with cold amber eyes, and composed itself
for slumber.
“Come along, then!” I said, still more persuasively adding, as I stepped
out into the thick fine mist, “Cats!”
The amber eyes closed, and their owner curled into an inky heap with a
slumbrous growl; while the fox-terrier, having struck a dashing attitude to
keep up his character as a sportsman, affected to believe that the cats I
referred to were in the kitchen, and hurried off in that direction. We were
snubbed; and we went forth reflecting on the demoralising effect of hotel
life. Its ever-changing society and friendships of an hour had turned the
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