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_Each in two volumes, profusely illustrated_
Romance and Teutonic Switzerland 3.00 By W. D. MCCRACKAN The Same.--Unillustrated 1.50
Old World Memories 3.00 By EDWARD LOWE TEMPLE
Feudal and Modern Japan 3.00 By ARTHUR MAY KNAPP The Same.--Unillustrated 1.50
Gardens of the Caribbees 3.00 By IDA M. H. STARR
Romantic Ireland _net_ 2.40 By M. F. & B. MCM. MANSFIELD
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) New England Building Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: CROSS AND TOWER OF MONASTERBOICE.
_Illustrated by BLANCHE McMANUS MANSFIELD_
_COLONIAL PRESS Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U.S.A._
IX. LONDONDERRY AND THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY 207
CROSS AND TOWER OF MONASTERBOICE (_See page 259_) _Frontispiece_
THE STONE OF THE DIVISIONS, WESTMEATH 117
CROSSES OF CLONMACNOIS, DONEGAL, SLANE, AND MOONE ABBEY 275
Queenstown has been called a mere appendage to its harbour, and, truly, it is a case of the tail wagging the dog, though the residents of Cork will tell you it is Cork Harbour, anyway, and Queenstown is nothing but a town that was made by the American War of Independence, and by the emigration rush that, during the past sixty years, has deprived Ireland of more than half her population.
Be this as it may, the harbour dwarfs everything else about the town. Above the enormous expanse of sheltered water, the little town piles itself up on the overhanging cliffs, pink houses, yellow houses, white houses, like a veritable piece of Italy. It is always warm here, or almost always. In the winter time, the temperature is seldom severe, and, in the summer, it is one of the finest yachting centres in the United Kingdom.
The "Beach" of Queenstown is truly Irish, since it is not a beach at all, but a fenced street full of shops, occupying the place where a narrow strand once ran.
Time was when Galway was a rival to Queenstown for the honour of being the link which was, by the emigrant chain, to bind the Old World to the New; but now the honour is Queenstown's alone.
If tears,--the bitterest ever shed on earth, the hopeless tears of lonely aged parents parting from their cherished offspring; of man's love leaving woman's love thousands of miles behind across the seas; of friend clasping the hand of friend perhaps for the last time; of brothers and sisters parting from brothers and sisters, and all from the land that the Irishman loves as he loves his own life,--if such tears as these could quench the myriad of fairy lights that sparkle on the great harbour at dusk,