Benella and I alone are really free to speak the brogue, and carry our wild harps slung behind us, like Moore's minstrel boy.

Nothing but the ignorance of her national dishes keeps Benella from entire allegiance to this island; but she thinks a people who have grown up without a knowledge of doughnuts, baked beans, and blueberry-pie must be lacking in moral foundations.
There is nothing extraordinary in all this; for the Irish, like the Celtic tribes everywhere, have always had a sort of fascinating power over people of other races settling among them, so that they become completely fused with the native population, and grow to be more Irish than the Irish themselves.
We stayed for a few days in the best hotel; it really was quite good, and not a bit Irish.

There was a Swiss manager, an English housekeeper, a French head waiter, and a German office clerk.

Even Salemina, who loves comforts, saw that we should not be getting what is known as the real thing, under these circumstances, and we came here to this--what shall I call Knockarney House?
It was built originally for a fishing lodge by a sporting gentleman, who brought parties of friends to stop for a week.

On his death is passed somehow into Mrs.Mullarkey's fair hands, and in a fatal moment she determined to open it occasionally to 'paying guests,' who might wish a quiet home far from the madding crowd of the summer tourist.