However, auto cars cannot be kept out of Switzerland, and her government should take the matter in hand and, by oiling the highways, obviate the difficulty.
No oil will, however, ever be needed in Ireland. While we had but one rain during the entire tour of the first summer, the night dews did away with all dust. As for the highways and lesser avenues and byways, I expected to find much that was rough and almost impassable, but on the whole they are all very good indeed. Except in Galway I remember none that were bad, and I circled the entire island and crossed and recrossed it many times.
From Sligo we take a run through the county of Roscommon, which seems to suffer most from these evil days, and to carry on its face a look of sadness and neglect. Things are not at rest here and the press daily holds its records of "outrages" in Roscommon, but let us leave that until to-morrow. Certainly there are no traces of it as our car rolls up the broad avenue of Mantua House, the estate of Mr. Bowen, where as the rain comes down a warm welcome and bright fire cause us to forget that there is storm and darkness outside and perhaps sorrow and trouble all around.
Mantua House is a spacious, square building, in a large park. It has some three centuries to its credit but yet it is a cheery, pleasant abiding-place and smiles at the passer-by like a saintly old lady. It is said that the fairies abided once under its doorstep and when some few years ago a vestibule was added an old woman appeared and kneeling down cursed the workmen for disturbing them. But the little spirits do not seem to have minded it much and the inhabitants of the "House in the Bog" live on in peace. My night's slumber under its roof was undisturbed and dreamless.
Photo by W. Leonard
A Woman of the North