^ IRISH INSECT-HUNTER. 159 



found the hills full of people. At every turn and cover in the 

 least sheltered, or where a hollow retained a scratch of earth that 

 could be cultivated, were one, two, or three cabins, with their 

 respective patches of corn, flax, or potatoes. The latter crop 

 is every where grown for the family use, and forms the staple, 

 and, with a little occasional goats' milk, their sole subsistence. 

 The flax is turned to some little profit, for every cottage has 

 its wheel. The barley is made into whiskey. If any other 

 grain is grown it is seldom touched by the family, but with the 

 pig, if one can be kept, sooner or later goes to pay the rent. 

 We found these poor people harmless and well-behaved ; all 

 understood English ; and though we cannot say that some 

 inquisitive faces were not to be seen at the cabin doors as 

 the strangers passed by, we were never rudely stared at. 



Six o'clock next morning found us seated in a car bound for 

 Louisburg, a place I have not been able to discover in any 

 map or book whatever, though of some size ; a specimen, 

 therefore, of an unadulterated Irish town. It is ten Irish 

 miles still further west, and near the extreme point of this part 

 of the coast. The road winds between the southern bank of 

 the deep estuary, at the head of which Westport stands, and 

 the foot of the majestic Reek rising abruptly on the left. It 

 was one of those enchanting mornings that bathe every object 

 in a flood of the purest radiance. From its jutting promon- 

 taries, deep indentations, and numerous islands, the estuary 

 appeared more like a chain of inland lakes. Just round the 

 edges of the water, and in the deep hollows of the mountain, 

 still hung the mist of the morning, and threw up, in stronger 

 relief, the polished surfaces of the seeming lakes, and other 

 bright points of the landscape, like the dead border sometimes 

 left in burnished gold and silver. Above all was cloudless 

 azure, save a light and delicate fringe drifting off' fantastically 

 in the way of the wind, where the extreme point of the Reek 

 pierced the sky. This is not a mail road, be it known, and an 

 Irish country car has not always the luxury of springs ; there- 

 fore sundry irresistible jerks, which multiplied in number and 

 intensity as we proceeded, reminded us occasionally of things 

 more home and material than sea and sky, and the truly mag- 

 nificent views, notwithstanding, of Achill Head, Cleir Island, 

 and the wide ocean beyond. But we were in luck's way for 

 seeing the people as well as the country. It was Westport 



