When we secured the attention of the chief shopman, a nattily dressed, dark-haired young man who would not have discredited the largest "store" in Grand Street or the Bowery of New York, we asked him to show us some of the home-made woollen goods of the country.
These, he assured us, had no sale in Dungloe, and he did not keep them.
But he showed us piles of handsome Scottish tweeds at much higher prices.

Now as this is an exclusively agricultural region, it is evident that the tenants must be able to make it worth a trader's while to keep on hand such goods as we here found, and therefore that they cannot be exactly on "the ragged edge" of things.
Mr.Sweeney is also the proprietor of the chief "hotel" of Dungloe; our host, Mr.Boyle, being in fact supposed to be "boycotted" for entertaining officers of the police.

This "boycott," however, has entailed no practical inconvenience upon us; and Mr.Boyle's pretty and plucky daughters, who manage his house for him, laughed scornfully at the notion of being "bothered" by it.
After luncheon we took a car and drove out to Burtonport, on the Roads of Arranmore, to visit the parish priest there, Father Walker, and Mr.
Hammond, the agent of the Conyngham estates.
We passed near a large inland lake, Lough Meela, and the seaward views along the coast were very fine.

With peace and order this corner of Ireland might easily become the chosen site of the most delightful seaside homes in the United Kingdom.

The Recorder of Cork has discovered this, and passes a great part of the year here.