A PRIMITIVE HOTEL.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, 19 December 1912, Page 26

A PRIMITIVE HOTEL.

Lisdoonvarna, when m its earliest infancy as a watering-place, only boasted of one hotel, or rather inn, of very modest dimensions, anu the accommodation which this could afford was often severely overtaxed during the summer months. When all the beds had been disposed of, shakedowns were made up upon the tables, and, indeed, a table was often made to serve as. a double-decker, one guest sleeping upon it and an other underneath. After one unusually large influx of visitors, an American tourist who desired ’ to catch the morning coach from Ennis, arid had therefore orered an early breakfast for himself, was fuming and stamping impatiently in the hall. “What’s keeping breakfast?” he broke out at last angrily; “I ordered it overnight.” “Ye can’t have breakfast yit,” was the unperturbed response; “his rivirence is not off the table.”

There were, however, lower depths to be sounded than even a bed upon the dining-room table. Amongst the latest arrivals one evening was no less a personage than the Master of the Galway Blazers. Even M.F.H.’s, however, must bow to the exigencies of circumstances, and, as the din-ing-table was already clerically occupied, the kitchen table had needs be requisitioned. A heterQgeneous collection of bed-clothes was arranged upon it, into the exact nature of which it was perhaps well not to enquire too closely, as it seemed to be composed of contributions from the wardrobes of the landlady and her underlings, and the pillow was an odd-ly-shaped substance, enveloped in many wrappings, but emitting a faint and strangely familiar smell.

The master was too weary to concern himself over such trifles, and he slept as soundly upon his makeshift couch as if it had been a canopied bed of State.

He was awakened in the morning by a gentle fumbling at the wrappings beside his head, and started up to see a gleaming knife suspended above him.

“I am sorry to be disturbin’ ye, sir,” said an apologetic voice, “but sure the house was out of pillows intirely, an’ we put the side of bacon under yer honour’s head. I was jist conthrivin’ to get a few rashes off for the quality’s breakfast, without disturbin’ ye, , whin ye woke.”—From “Old Irish Memories,” by Miss J. Ml Callwell, in the “ Cornhill Magazine.” ,