DUNGLOE, _Tuesday, Feb.

7._--We rose early this morning at Gweedore; the sun shining so brightly that we were forced to drop the window-shades at breakfast, while I read my letter from Rome, telling me of the bitter cold there, and of a slight snow-fall last week.

Here the birds were singing, and the air was as soft and exhilarating as that of an April morning in the Highlands of Mexico or Costa Rica.
Our host gave us a capital car, with a staunch nag and a wide-awake jarvey, thanks to all which I found the thirteen miles drive to this place too short.

No doubt it will be a great thing for Donegal when "light railways" are laid down here.

But I pity the traveller of the future here, if he is never to know the delight of traversing these wild and picturesque wastes in such weather as we have had to-day, on a car, well-balanced by a single pleasant companion, drinking, as he goes, deep draughts of the Atlantic air! Truly on a jaunting-car "two are company and three are none." You have almost the free companionship of a South American journey in the saddle, jumping off to walk, when you like, more freely still.
We drove near the house of the "beauty of Gweedore," but she was not visible, though we met her mother (by no means a _pulchra mater_) as we crossed the Clady at Bryan's Bridge.
We soon passed from the bogland into a wilderness of granite.