e her take comfort,
No longer to moan,
And made the poor stranger
Be one of our own.'
Old Irish Song.

The next morning dawned as lovely as if it had slipped out of Paradise,
and as for freshness, and emerald sheen, the world from our windows was
like a lettuce leaf just washed in dew. The windows of my bedroom looked
out pleasantly on St. Stephen's Green, commonly called Stephen's Green,
or by citizens of the baser sort, Stephens's Green. It is a good English
mile in circumference, and many are the changes in it from the time it
was first laid out, in 1670, to the present day, when it was made into a
public park by Lord Ardilaun.

When the celebrated Mrs. Delany, then Mrs. Pendarves, first saw it, the
centre was a swamp, where in winter a quantity of snipe congregated,
and Harris in his History of Dublin alludes to the presence of snipe
and swamp as an agreeable and uncommon circumstance not to be met with
perhaps in any other great city in the world.

A double row of spreading lime-trees bordered its four sides, one of
which, known as Beaux' Walk, was a favourite lounge for fashionable
idlers. Here stood Bishop Clayton's residence, a large building with a
front like Devonshire House in Piccadilly: so writes Mrs. Delany. It was
splendidly furnished, and the bishop lived in a style which proves that
Irish prelates of the day were not all given to self-abnegation and
mortification of the flesh.

A long line of vehicles, outside-cars and cabs, some of them battered
and shaky, others sufficiently well-looking, was gathering on two sides
of the Green, for Dublin, you know, is 'the car-drivingest city in
the world.' Francesca and I had our first experience yesterday in the
intervals of nursing, driving to Dublin Castle, Trinity College, the
Four Courts, and Grafton Street (the Regent Street of Dublin). It is
easy to tell the stranger, stiff, decorous, terrified, clutching the
rail with one or both hands, but we took for our model a pretty Irish
girl, who looked like nothing so much as a bird on a swaying bough. It
is no longer called the 'jaunting,' but the outside car and there
is another charming word lost to the world. There was formerly an
inside-car too, but it is almost unknown in Dublin, though still found
in some of the smaller towns. An outside-car has its wheels practically
inside the body of the vehicle, but an inside car carries its wheels
outside. This definition was