The mirror., 1920-01-22

3EO.
road, was, alas, pretty rough; army lorries,
we were told, had ploughed it up, and there
had been no time, as yet, to put it under pro-
per repair. An easy pace was not undesir-
able, all the same, for there was plenty to
look at. On either hand the hedges, we saw
with delight, were fuchsia-a testimony to
the climates softness.
But the bogs, to the eyes of stranger,
looked bleak, one must confess. Every mile
of the way beyond Killorglin we had not
been out of sight of those sombre brown scars
which mark where the apparently exhaust
less peat is being cut; and now, between
Cahirciveen and Waterville these peat ex-
cavations were almost continuous. Behind
the bogs rose long, empty hills, grey with
the purple Of bell heather. For some miles
now we had been out of sight of the sea; but,
descending slope we came in view of it
again, and of the jolly little town of Water
vile, situated so sweetly on Ballinskelligs
bay, with the famous fresh-water Lough
Currane lying mere 200 yards or 800 yards
inland. Waterville has its terrace of pink
villas, housing the cable staff; but it also
owns few hotels, and at one of these we
were excellently housed. Irish hotels not
being all they might be, one is glad to find
a really satisfactory one, and moderate with
al. Some of our party who paused to
patronize the salmon and sea-trout fishing
on Lough Currane were enthuiastic in their
unanimous decision to return and make
longer sojourn. The Tough, certainly is one
of the most beautiful I have ever had the
fortune to behold. Our car, on the good ad-
vice of the hotel proprietor, turned aside and
explored the valley in which the Tough lies,
going as far as that dreamy tarn known as
Coppal lake. Fishers who ply their craft in
such scenery are indeed to be envied.
But the best was yet in store for us.
Returning to the main road and leaving
pleasant Waterville in our rear, we began
the ascent of the Coomakista pass. Now,
the Coomakista pass, hereby announce to
those who have not heard of it before, is one
of the most glorious stretches of sea and
mountain scenery in Europe. l know the
Corniche on the Riviera, have motored the
new Italian roads above the Venetian plain,
and also between Valona and Santi Quar-
anita in Albania, land can seriously assert that
the view which abruptly unfolded before us
at the summit of Coomakista, though slightly
smaller in size than the celebrated ones l
have mentioned, beats them all for sheer
loveliness and in the subtlety of what artists
would call its composition.
Before us lay Darrynane bay, with its
complicated contours, its endless islands
round which the Atlantic rollers were cream
ing, its delicious coves of yellow sands, its
huge woods, its grand encircling rocks and
broken skyline. The car drew up without
any order being given to our chauffeur. 1t
was as though he felt that this tribute must
be made to the extraordinary vision which
had burst on us in this dramatic fashion. We
stayed silent, by the stone dixie which fenced
us from the deep declivity, and gazed and
gazed. 1t all seemed too exquisite to be true.
And Darrynane, when at last we came to it
for we all agreed, now, that we must leave
the main higE road and look more closely
at this wonderful Darrynane- like
place in fairy story. Just one small inn
embowered in flowers (for the slope is
southerly, and we are on the Gulf stream)
and no other houses except one, that of the
Liberator O'Connell's family; and, spread
out, as smooth as velvet, sheltered sands for
bathers (if any should Gomez; and rocks
with pools of waving seaweed and anemones;
and deep coves in which bass and pollock
could be caught in scores by the merest tyro;
and, to crown all, magnificent lobster tea
at the inn aforementioned. Well, we'll! To
think that Darrynane, sleepy and bewitching,
exists on the same planet as Paddington!
The Lincoln Memorial in Washington
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