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So she sang "The Coulin," and "The Days o' the Kerry Dancin'," and "The Hawthorn Tree," and "The Green Woods of Truigha," and "Flowers o' the Forest," and "A la claire Fontaine," until the twilight was filled with peace. The boys came back to the school. The wheels of routine began to turn again, slowly and with a little friction at first, then smoothly and swiftly as if they had never stopped.

"Have we enough for a telegram, I wonder?" he said. "Ah, to be sure why, we can send one now for sixpence. And I have tenpence here. I'll wire at once. I say, Pat, we must go to the nearest post office, and to-night. We will start now; do you mind? We can row across the Coulin, and anchor the boat at the opposite side, and then it is only eight miles across the mountains to Ballyshannon."

When I rose myself and improved myself in the social scale, when I got my post as teacher, I would have done all in my power to aid you and mother; but now now we must all sink together. Oh, Carrie, to think that I should be ruined by my own sister!" It was a moonlit evening in the County Donegal, and there was a broad bar of silver shining in burnished splendor across the beautiful Lake Coulin.

At Kitty's own home she had a bedroom in the Castle end; the paper hung in ribbons, the door was draughty, the bedstead rickety and old; but what a view there was from the windows! A view of Lake Coulin and the mountains in the distance, and the park lying verdant and green between the lake and the house. What a breeze blew in at those windows!

Meanwhile the lads had gone down to the lake, unshipped the little boat, and were by this time half across the Coulin. They soon reached the opposite shore, jumped to land, pulled up the boat, fastened it, and started along a long narrow and mountainous path which was the shortest cut to Ballyshannon. They walked so quickly and the hill was so steep that they had little or no time for words.

He was a hearty-looking Irishman, and was soon as much interested in the telegram which Laurie was to send as the boy was himself. "You have heard what a scrape I have got into?" said Laurie. "About that poor, mad fellow?" said James Dunovan. "Yes; some other fellows and I stole his coat away in a fit of frolic that day when we were out in the crazy boat on the Coulin.

For I saw the dark sad hills of Coulin, and the sun blood-red on the peaks, and the heavy dark night clouds tinged and burnished with gold, and the sea was all silent, with the wee waves rippling on the shore.

Ah, the kind man, with his soft eyes, and his nice voice, and his jokes and laughing, and him thinking the world and all of me ay, indeed.... And the neighbours to be coming in and sitting round the fire in the night time, putting the world through each other, and talking about France and Russia and them other queer places, and him holding up the discourse like a learned man, and them all listening to him and nodding their heads at each other, and wondering at his education and all: or, maybe, the neighbours to be singing, or him making me sing the Coulin, and him to be proud of me... and then him to be killed on me with a cold on his chest. ... Ah, then, God be with me, a lone, old creature on a stick, and the sun shining into her eyes and she thirsty I wish I had a cup of tea, so I do.

The Irish Annals of the thirteenth to the fifteenth century have numerous references to distinguished harpers and singers, and there are still sung many beautiful airs of this period, including "The Coulin" and "Eibhlin a ruin."