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Ulysses
up, for the matter of a couple of paltry pounds was
debarred from seeing more of the world they lived in
instead of being always and ever cooped up since my old
stick-in-the-mud took me for a wife. After all, hang it,
they had their eleven and more humdrum months of it
and merited a radical change of venue after the grind of city
life in the summertime for choice when dame Nature is at
her spectacular best constituting nothing short of a new
lease of life. There were equally excellent opportunities for
vacationists in the home island, delightful sylvan spots for
rejuvenation, offering a plethora of attractions as well as a
bracing tonic for the system in and around Dublin and its
picturesque environs even, Poulaphouca to which there
was a steamtram, but also farther away from the madding
crowd in Wicklow, rightly termed the garden of Ireland,
an ideal neighbourhood for elderly wheelmen so long as it
didn’t come down, and in the wilds of Donegal where if
report spoke true the coup d’oeil was exceedingly grand
though the lastnamed locality was not easily getatable so
that the influx of visitors was not as yet all that it might be
considering the signal benefits to be derived from it while
Howth with its historic associations and otherwise, Silken
Thomas, Grace O’Malley, George IV, rhododendrons
several hundred feet above sealevel was a favourite haunt
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