sat up as late as the stench of paraffin from
the lamps--for there is no gas--would allow us. Lizzie, literally a
maid of all work, but dressed in a gown tied violently back, brought
up armful after armful of peat, and built and rebuilt the fire over
and over again. There was in the corner of the room a huge receptacle,
like half a hogshead, fastened to the wall for holding peat--or
"turf," as it is called here--but it never occurred apparently to
anybody to fill this bin and save the trouble of eternal journeys up
and down stairs. It may be also mentioned, not out of any
squeamishness, but purely as a matter of fact, that in the intervals
of bringing in "arrumfuls" of "torrf" Lizzie folded tablecloths for
newcomers so as to hide the coffee-stains as much as possible, and
then proceeded to set their tea for them, after which she went back to
building the fire again. In the work of waiting she was at uncertain
intervals assisted by Joe, a shock-headed, black-haired Celt, who,
when a Sybarite asked at breakfast for toast, repeated "Toast!" in a
tone that set the table in a roar. It was not said impudently or
rudely. Far from it. Joe's tone simply expressed honest amazement, as
if one had asked for a broiled crocodile or any other impossible
viand.

There are, of course, people who would like separate servants to build
up peat fires and to cut their bread and butter; but this kind of
person should not come to county Mayo. To the less fastidious all
other shortcomings are made up for by the absolutely delightful manner
of the people, whose kindness, civility, good humour, and, I may add,
honesty, are remarkable. At Hughes's Hotel the politeness of everybody
was perfect; and I may add that the proprietor saved me both time and
money by giving up a long posting job, to his own obvious loss. But if
a visitor to Mayo wants anything done at once, then and there, he had
better do it himself. I ventured to remark to Joe that he was a
civil-spoken boy, but not very prompt in carrying out instructions,
and asked whether everybody in Connaught conducted himself in the same
way. He at once admitted that everybody did so. "Divil the bad answer
ye'll iver get, Sorr," said he. "We just say, 'I will, Sorr,' and thin
go away, and another gintleman says something, and ye're forgotten.
Dy'e see, now?" And away he went, and forgot everything. Being at
Claremorris, I tried to see a "lister," that is, a landowner and agent
on the "black list.