the week, so big that a Tufts student thought for a time that his chances of seeing the “ Hill" again were very few.

Everything was strange to our Yankee eyes as we steamed along the southern coast of Ireland. As our steamer ran into calmer waters, close to the shore, a little side-wheeled tender came out of Cork Harbor to meet us, and all who were destined for Queenstown were soon transferred, "bag and baggage," to its deck. Farewells echoed in the morning air as the Scythia started for Liverpool,— a day's journey farther, and our little vessel entered the harbor between two big hills, giving us a fine view of Ireland from that body of water known as Cork Harbor.

Landing at Queenstown and getting through the customs quickly, we put our wheels together, transacted some business, and away we rode for eighteen miles up the River Lee. This was a pleasant ride over some hard roads and past some fine estates. Where the trees formed a leafy archway the roads were very wet and muddy.

"Corkers" we found well dressed and polite in the business part of Cork. After a good dinner we prepared for our ride toward the Lakes of Killarney. It was about 4.30 P.M. when we bade adieu to the town of Cork and wheeled over hilly roads to Blarney Castle, some six miles away. I must be careful about the mileage, for Irish miles are reckoned 2,240 yards, instead of 1,760 yards as in English. We soon realized this by the distance ridden.

Blarney Castle is on the outskirts of the village. At a railway station we bought our tickets, for sixpence (twelve cents), to enter the estate. A winding path led us through a meadow, and crossing a brook we found ourselves at the base of the old ruins, whose top extended beyond the tallest trees. After clambering along dark dungeon-like passages, we went to the opposite side and were there told that the Blarney stone was at the top. Ascending a circular stairway of finely cut stone to the top, we got a fine view of Irish landscape. On that June day, late in the afternoon, Ireland did look charming. One would have liked to have lived there awhile. Jackdaws, whose homes were in the walls, made a horrible din as we scared them into the trees. It takes a skilful acrobat to kiss the Blarney stone with one's lips. My companion, Clarence, did not care to risk his neck so early on our tour, and would not try the feat. To miss one's hold meant a fall of more than one hundred and fifteen feet, to a hard gravel road below. I tried to kiss it, but as about three-quarters of my body had to go out over the wall, and my chum's weight was light, I took the easier way, and leaning over on my stomach got my lips close and with my hand threw two kisses to the stone. A Miss McCarthy Moore of Boston, and a descendant of the old Irish chief by that name, was present and advised me not to take the risk of the backward bend. It is said that lips which touch it with a kiss grow eloquent and gentle in speech. Miss McCarthy Moore did not have much faith in the legend. She was there investigating the history of the castle.

The descending sun warned us not to tarry too long in that delightful old ruin, and so we descended to mount our wheels and go spinning over Irish hills toward Killarney, behind whose surrounding mountains the sun soon dropped. The twilight was long, and we rode for miles among a rough lot of hills. At a farmhouse we asked for a drink of water, and as it was milking-time, we were given a bowl of warm milk. It was nearly 10 P.M. and almost dark when we entered the "dead" town of Maccroom. Plain stone whitewashed houses, nearly all alike, made up the town. We did find some life near the centre, and two inns also. One would not have us, but the other did after some bargaining. Business must have buried itself. Its absence made one uncomfortable. It was quite a long while before we learned that our lodging would cost us one shilling, sixpence (thirty-six cents) each.

The following day was rainy. We took breakfast with Widow O'Connell. We had gone to her shop the night before, and in buying some fruit from her meagre stock, she took us for "Corkers; but we soon told her we were not, and when we told her we were from America she opened her heart and home to us. She gave us extra weight in what we bought, and before she would allow us to go back to the inn we had to sit by her open peat fire and tell her about our America. The rain kept us at the widow's shop until near noon, but during that time we went through Maccroom Castle, which was across the street. The rain not ceasing, we set out riding slowly, so as not to throw too much water and mud over us. We reached Bally Vrouney

Post Office for dinner. Here we were accosted by the men with the common saying, “ It's a soft day, sir." Late in the afternoon, after a climb into some of Ireland's mountains and then an exciting and winding ride down the hard roads on the other side, we reached the town of Killarney, with some five thousand inhabitants, and there nearly every house on the main street was a saloon. Irishmen in that part of the country seemed to make stout, whiskey, and bread a great part of their diet. Hotel runners plagued us until we decided to go and look at a room, which we hired. What a contrast between Killarney and Maccroom! In Killarney all was business, probably mostly due to American, English, and other tourists stirring up their life yearly, together with competition for this trade. At Healy's Hotel we were surprised to get a small room for ninepence, and meals cost not over a shilling-so much for competition. We shall long remember the Healy family and their great kindnesses and extra favors done for us. Two beautiful daughters waited on us by doing outside favors, and before going to bed we had made arrangements to join two other young men for a tour of the lakes next day.

The following day was a wet one, but when our jaunting-car was ready the weather looked promising. Our driver took us to the head of the Gap of Dunloe. My chum and I walked through, while our friends took ponies. We could stop and drink in the beauties of the natural scenery while they were hurried through. In an article like this I have not space to give details of what can be seen there in a morning. It is unlike our scenery, the large estates and old ruins thereabouts are all foreign to American eyes.

We clambered down the mountains and met our waiting friends near the lakeside. Going through Lord Brandon's estate, we got into a boat and two men rowed us down those beautiful lakes. Running the rapids from the upper lake into the lower varies the journey. The everchanging scenery thrilled one by its grandeur. The day could hardly be better to view those lakes, and we were fortunate in that respect.

Our boatmen landed us at Ross Castle, and after a short wait, the jaunting-car came and took us back to Killarney. This trip for four costs each about a dollar; there are plenty of beggars along the road who eagerly gather up the pennies thrown to them, and then follow for more. After packing a lunch, we decided to take a train to Maryborough that evening, and we rode through a level farming country in the twilight, getting to our destination at dark.

June 21 was a cloudy day, but the roads being hard and good, we rode the fifty-one miles into Dublin in about half a day. In the afternoon we saw the sights of Dublin, and the evening twilight was spent about Trinity College and quays on the River Liffey. Dublin was full of life and business and we could feel at home in such a city.

June 22 was spent in sightseeing, visiting, and attending service in the large cathedrals. In the afternoon I rode alone to Irishtown, about two miles out of Dublin, and with a young Irishman took a swim in the Irish Sea. The sea was cold, and when we came out I challenged my companion to a foot-race to warm up. He accepted, and giving him a five-yard handicap, away we went through the high grass on the shore. I had almost caught my opponent when I tripped and fell, and Ireland's representative won the race.

I hurried back to Dublin to join my friend on the quay, where in the evening we boarded the Duke of Leinster, which landed us the next day, at noon, in Glasgow.

scene.

SCOTLAND.

June 23, at daybreak, we were up to see the bird-covered islands off the Scottish coast, and after we had passed by the country of "Bobby" Burns we entered the mouth of the Clyde. With its great ship-building industries lining both shores of the Clyde, Glasgow presented a busy We landed at the dock at noon, and the rain came down in torrents; yet we rode to the Y. M. C. A. building, where we had an excellent dinner, and learned of a temperance hotel, to which we went for lodgings. Saturday afternoon and Sunday were spent in Glasgow, seeing the principal sights and hearing two great preachers, one of whom was the Rev. James Stalker, the well-known author.

The next day we started for the Highlands and Loch region. Passing through Dumbarton and Alexandria, Loch Lomond was reached. In a thatched cottage on the banks of that beau

tiful sheet of water we took our dinner. Opposite was the eastern shore, and it was the base of famous Ben Lomond, whose top was hidden in the clouds. The rain was so continuous and the mist so thick that sightseeing was out of the question. After dinner we set out along the Loch road and climbed into the Highlands. Some of the roads were not rideable, but on the up grades they were better. We rode through some wild and rugged country, with roaring waterfalls here and there, encouraging us with their wild music to push upward.

It was nearly eight in the evening when we reached Tyndrum, hungry and wet, and then to get lodging in a farmhouse we had to wait until the cow was milked before the woman would give her consent. We found ourselves, in this out-of-the-way place, among good Presbyterians who were well informed on American religious news. At the railway station they told us we were seventy-eight miles from Glasgow. The air alone betrayed the high altitude we had reached, and the snow on the mountains verified it again. It was only by a boatman on Loch Lomond trying to extort an excessive ferryage from us that we went to Tyndrum. To defeat his purposes we tried to ride around the Loch, but found it impossible and dangerous in the thick mist to climb the pass. When we got to Tyndrum, we learned that we were only thirty-six miles from Oban, and we decided to ride on the following day to that famous resort.

June 26 found us pushing our wheels up rough roads farther into the Highlands. Getting over the back-bone of those mountains, we commenced the descent. For hours we had some exciting rides down steep grades, over rocky and stony roads, until we reached Loch Awe, and then, going through Brander Pass, the roads improved until we got within a few miles of Oban, when they became excellent. A late dinner was had at Oban, and then that pretty town interested us for the rest of the day. We saw girls carrying canes on the street. The evening we spent at our lodgings with a party of English tourists, and the daughters of our landlady furnished some music. One sang in Gaelic for us, which sounded odd, but sweet. Although a cloudy day, we met no rain.

Although the following day was cloudy, we took an all-day excursion on the Atlantic Ocean. Passing among many islands and viewing many fine scenes on that rough and rocky coast, we steamed out into the broader sea, where to the north we saw more islands, among them the islands of Skye. Our steamer then turned south, and anchored off the Island of Staffa. Lowering the boats, we were rowed into the mouth of Fingal's Cave. There we were landed to climb farther into the cavern or to climb to the top of the island. On top wild flowers grew in abundance and were strange to American eyes. Sea-birds build their nests there, and when I tried to investigate their way of living, I had to use my overcoat to guard myself from an attack.

Our next stop was at Iona Island, a few miles south of Staffa. There St. Columbo is buried among the graves of many of the old Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian chiefs. The old ruins still. fight the severe climate of that part of the world, and draw thousands of tourists to them yearly. We arrived in Oban at 6 P.M., after an excellent outing.

In

June 28 was bright and clear. We left Oban on the 5.45 A.M. train for Crainlarich. This was a wise thing to do, for we knew the grades we came down two days before were too steep to ascend on a bicycle. A fine ride of eight and a half miles down a beautiful road from Crainlarich brought us to the steamboat landing in time to catch the first boat over to Inversnaid. a few minutes we landed and climbed the hilly shore. A ride of five miles brought us to the western end of Loch Katrine. From our height we drank in the beauties of the scene, and then turned our faces southward and rode over rough roads, past Lochs Chon and Ard, to Aberfoyle, where we ordered dinner. After our meal we made an adventurous ride through a private estate where bicycles were not allowed to go. That seven miles of fine road ran through some of Scotland's grandest and most rugged scenery. We did some scouting that day, so as not to be caught, for we did not know what Lord would do with us if we were caught. Stratagem helped us through the entrance and exit gates. We came out near the Trossachs, and then rode up to Loch Katrine's eastern end, where we took some time to visit points of interest. Ellen's Isle, of Scott's "Lady of the Lake," was there.

Retracing our way back to the Trossach's Hotel, we passed the Brigo Turk and came to a halt. My friend said he was going to a house near-by, and if he could get comfortable quarters

he would stay there and read "The Lady of the Lake" the rest of the afternoon. He succeeded, and I decided to ride on alone until we could meet again. It was such a beautiful day that I wanted to make the most of it, so I was soon in Collander and on to Doon. The country was beautiful farming land and a dead level. The roads were excellent. I reached Stirling Castle about supper-time, and explored the old castle thoroughly before entering the town. After supper at Stirling I rode out to the battle-field of Bannockburn. A patriotic Scotchman related the battle to me, as we stood overlooking the fields. I was tired after a big day's ride, but Falkirk was only twelve miles away, so I rode to that town. There I could not get satisfactory lodgings, so I pushed on to the next town. The milestone read twenty-four miles to Edinburgh and the road was one of the finest I had ever ridden upon, and, tired as I was, the miles flew by quickly. No place for getting lodging appeared, and as the sun went down and the cool twilight came on, I got warmed up to my work and decided to run to Edinburgh if it took till midnight. At about ten o'clock the people went to bed. To spin through the villages and towns in daylight and see everything so quiet was a strange sight; but then these people had work on the morrow and must have their rest. In June the hours of darkness are very few in Scotland. It was after eleven when the lights of Edinburgh came into view. A late cyclist warned me to light my lamp as I entered the city. It was midnight when I got lodgings near Edinburgh Castle, and with more than one hundred miles to my credit I went to bed a tired cyclist.

The sun was pretty high in the heavens on June 29 as I wended my way up the hill to the castle. The sights here were plentiful. The scenery all about Edinburgh could be seen from its height to great advantage; while a panoramic view of the city itself was had. The soldiers met for drill at about 10 A.M., and marched down into the city and out to Holyrood Palace. I followed, but the sights of Edinburgh tired me before the day was over. Returning late, I found my friend had ridden from the Trossachs to Edinburgh during the day, getting into the city at 7 P.M. He could hardly believe I had ridden thedistance after 3 P.M., until I told him the time of my arrival.

June 30 my friend said he would stay in Edinburgh that day and the next, so I bade him good-bye, to meet near Leeds, England, some two hundred miles away. The day was very warm, and I made about thirty-five miles to Galashiels, where dinner was eaten. A few miles further on was Abbotsford, the old home of Walter Scott. Melrose Abbey was next visited. The country thereabouts, although not mountainous, was as pretty as any I saw in Scotland. Such a country ought to produce a poet every generation. It charmed me to ride over those beautiful roads through such a rich country. The winding River Tweed enriched the picture.

A long ride brought me to Jedboro, where there was an old abbey, and then the fertile country began to drop behind as I climbed into the Carlton Hills. On the map they are named the Cheviot Hills, and they separate Scotland from England. When I reached their summit, after a tiresome push, for the road was almost overgrown, and riding was impossible, I stopped to rest, and turning toward Scotland took a long last look as the sun sank in the west. The hills I had climbed were almost bare of trees, and sheep grazed on their sides. Crows cawed and curlews screamed because of my intrusion. The day had been warm, but the cold wind sent a chill through me, and jumping on my wheel I began the descent of those lonesome old hills into Old England. Rough and rutty roads, almost unrideable, were encountered, but they improved when I got down into civilization. Two miles west of Atterburn I found cheap and excellent lodgings at a clean inn. They took me for an Englishman. How odd those Cumberland people talked and how kindly they treated me! They were surprised to learn I had ridden that day from Edinburgh, nearly ninety miles away.

ENGLAND.

Sunday morning, July 1, came as another warm day. I wanted to go to church, so, making an early start, I rode to New-Castle-on-Tyne, where I introduced the first bicycle into a Presbyterian church. The afternoon found me at the great cathedral at Durham, and night found me at Thirsk, lodging with a private family, owing to a full inn.

July 2 a ride of twenty-three miles brought me to York. Many of the private estates in

England are filled with game. I passed one on this ride that was alive with rabbits. They seemed to be everywhere. York is a fine town. Its walls and great cathedral alone are worth going a long way to see. I liked the quaint old houses. Directly back of the cathedral are some fine specimens of that old architecture we see in old prints and paintings. Twenty-four miles further, I rode into Leeds. Rain made me wet, and Leeds look dirty from the black, muddy streets. A letter of introduction made me friends, and with these friends I found my good clothes, and the American cyclist soon changed his garb.

I was royally entertained by my English friends for five days. It was four meals a day, sightseeing, drives in and out of the city, and receptions. I had only intended to stay about two days, but when I came to get ready to leave, my friends did not want me to go. Friday, July 6, however, fat and lazy, I bade adieu to my good English friends and rode to Sheffield for supper (thirty-five miles), and got lodging at Clay Cross (fifty-two miles). I had ridden against a strong wind and over some big hills, and after feasting for five days, it was too much work to ride fifty-two miles in half a day. I suffered a little for my folly.

July 7 I rode into Derby and met my friend Clarence at the post office, as agreed upon. Then together we rode to Birmingham, where, on the following day, we attended morning service. After dinner I left my friend in order to ride twenty-three miles to Stratford-on-Avon. A walk about the fields, where no doubt Shakespeare many times rambled, made the afternoon slip away quickly. In the evening I attended service at Holy Trinity Church, where Shakespeare's remains are laid.

July 9 found me strolling about Avon. All the principal sights were seen, and after a swim in the Avon I went to the station and met Clarence, who trained it over from Birmingham. After dinner we started for Oxford, but owing to Clarence's wheel's breaking, it was about IO P.M. when we got into that beautiful town. On the way we did some fast riding. Excellent roads and slight down grades allowed us to ride some miles in close on to three minutes.

July 10 sightseeing at Oxford commenced. It took half a day. The old colleges are the chief sights. We were well repaid in hunting up the Shelley Memorial in University College. The new Keble College was odd looking, with its newness in contrast to the old crumbling walls of all the other colleges. Colleges were everywhere. Oxford reminded one of Cambridge, Massachusetts, by its atmosphere, levelness, homes, and parks. One's first wish would be to live there. We visited the athletic grounds and track, where the Yale athletes were training for their competition with Oxford's athletes. Fifty-four miles to London lay before us, and only half a day to do it in, so at noon we set out. Some of the roads were not any too good. A piece of flint let the air out of my rear tire, and I had to make a patch by the roadside.

As we neared London, rain came on and we rode into that great city in a heavy downpour. London houses and streets surprised us by their cleanliness and fine appearance. We got lodging on Great Russell Street for a week, at five shillings ($1.20) each. It was close by the British Museum. Our landlady was a Christian woman, and took excellent care to warn her two country boys against falling into the snares and pitfalls that were in London. July 11 commenced our sightseeing in London, and the places visited and sights seen will be treated of in a future article. J. HARNER WILSON.