You
will see a railway line from Tuam to Athenry, Athlone, and
Mullingar. Anybody can visit Mullingar--it is for the million; but
only the elect may go to Devorgilla. It is the captive of our bow
and spear; or, to change the figure, it is a violet by a mossy
stone, which we refuse to have plucked from its poetic solitude and
worn in the bosom or in the buttonhole of the tourist.
At Mullingar, then, we slip on enchanted garments which conceal us
from the casual eye, and disappear into what is, in midsummer, a
bower of beauty. There you will find, when you find us, Devorgilla,
lovely enough to be Tir-nan-og, that Land of the Ever Youthful well
know to the Celts of long ago. Here we have rested our weary bodies
and purified our travel-stained minds. Fresh from the poverty-
ridden hillsides of Connaught, these rich grazing-lands, comfortable
houses, magnificent demesnes and castles, are unspeakably grateful
to the eye and healing to the spirit. We have not forgotten, shall
never forget, our Connemara folk, nor yet Omadhaun Pat and dark
Timsy of Lisdara in the north; but it is good, for a change, to
breathe in this sense of general comfort, good cheer, and abundance.
Benella is radiant, for she is near enough to Trim to go there
occasionally to seek for traces of her ancestress, Mary Boyce; and
as for Salemina, this bit of country is a Mecca for antiquaries and
scholars, and we are fairly surrounded by towers, tumuli, and
cairns.
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