"I remember a strange Easter Sunday spent on Saints' Island, not indeed with any hope of finding archaeological confirmation of its history, but simply in communing with the past..."
"But we have not yet reached the island. We are still on the landing-stage looking up the long reaches of the lake (it covers and area of twenty square miles), noting the high, bleak, purple mountains which surround it, and the number of pretty…
"Though my letters are wild as the mountains in which they were written, still do I feel myself very sober in thought, and exceedingly (excessive) in love with truth even to the prejudice of all national feelings…"
"Ballyshannon. (July 25, 1824.) Soon after leaving Pettigo going towards Lough Derg, the limestone ceases and the mineral productions change entirely..."
