sympathy. The
tourists spoke of the vast loneliness, unconscious of the intricate
network of social life that lay all around them, beyond their ken, far
beyond their understanding. They spoke authoritatively of Irish affairs;
mentioned that the Irish were "a bit 'ot tempered," but added that "all
they wanted was fair play".

They had probably been in Ireland for a week or fortnight. They had come
out of business centres in England, equipped with circular tickets, with
feeling hearts, and with the belief that two and two inevitably make
four; whereas in Ireland two and two are just as likely to make five, or
three, and are still more likely to make nothing at all.

Never will it be given to them to understand the man of whom our friend
Sweeny was no more than a type. How can they be expected to realise that
a man who is decorous in family and village life, indisputably
God-fearing, kind to the poor, and reasonably honest, will enmesh
himself in a tissue of sworn lies before his fellows for the sake of
half a sovereign and a family feud, and that his fellows will think none
the worse of him for it.

These things lie somewhere near the heart of the Irish problem.

THE DANE'S BREECHIN'

PART I

The story begins at the moment when my brother Robert and I had made our
final arrangements for the expedition. These were considerable. Robert
is a fisherman who takes himself seriously (which perhaps is fortunate,
as he rarely seems to take anything else), and his paraphernalia does
credit to his enthusiasm, if not to his judgment. For my part, being an
amateur artist, I had strapped together a collection of painting
materials that would enable me to record my inspiration in oil,
watercolour, or pastel, as the spirit might move me. We had ordered a
car from Coolahan's public-house in the village; an early lunch was
imminent.

The latter depended upon Julia; in fact it would be difficult to mention
anything at Wavecrest Cottage that did not depend on Julia. We, who were
but strangers and sojourners (the cottage with the beautiful name having
been lent to us, with Julia, by an Aunt), felt that our very existence
hung upon her clemency. How much more then luncheon, at the
revolutionary hour of a quarter to one? Even courageous people are
afraid of other people's servants, and Robert and I were far from being
courageous. Possibly this is why Julia treated us with compassion, even
with kindness, especially Robert.

"A