No one, I suppose, leaves Limerick without gazing at and perhaps wishing
for some of the beautiful specimens of Limerick lace that are displayed
in the shop-windows.
From Limerick to Killarney in the rain through a country gradually
growing poorer. At the junction there was a detention which enabled me
to walk about a little. There was a detachment of police that filled a
couple of car passing on their way to eviction in one direction; a large
detachment returning from eviction got out of the cars here. Eviction in
this part of Ireland is feverishly active, and on every hand you hear of
Mr. Clifford Lloyd. A person with whom I had some conversation told me I
could have no idea of the state of the country without penetrating
through it away from the line of rail. Of course this is so.
As we neared Killarney the waters were out over the low lying lands and
the hay looked pitiful. In a pelting rain we steamed into Killarney,
passed through the army of cabmen and their allies and were whirled away
to Lakeview House on the banks of the lower Killarney lake, a pretty
place standing in its own grounds. Killarney is a nice little town with
some astonishing buildings. I have heard it styled as a dirty town; it
struck me as both clean and rather stylish in its general appearance. It
seems to depend almost entirely on tourists. Unlike Limerick, unlike
Galway, but very like other western towns the number of people standing
idly at the corners, or leaning against a tree to shelter from the rain,
strikes a stranger painfully.
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