just then, and I could get no further."

I had not unpacked my bag. I had simply slipped on my macintosh,
selected a wooden chair, and, putting a Cromwellian towel over it,
seated myself shudderingly on it and put my feet on the rounds,
quoting Moore meantime-

'And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!"

Francesca followed my example, and we passed the night in reading
Celtic romances to each other. We could see the faint outline of
sweet Slievenamann from our windows--the mountain of the fair women
of Feimheann, celebrated as the hunting-ground of the Finnian
Chiefs.

'One day Finn and Oscar
Followed the chase in Sliabh-na-mban-Feimheann,
With three thousand Finnian chiefs
Ere the sun looked out from his circle.'

In the Finnian legend, the great Finn McCool, when much puzzled in
the choice of a wife, seated himself on its summit. At last he
decided to make himself a prize in a competition of all the fair
women in Ireland. They should start at the foot of the mountain,
and the one who first reached the summit should be the great Finn's
bride. It was Grainne Oge, the Gallic Helen, and daughter of
Cormac, the king of Ireland, who won the chieftain, 'being fleetest
of foot and longest of wind.'