When the train stopped at Strabane was quite dizzy and sick and took refuge in the first 'bus, which 'bus belonged to that superfine establishment, the "Abercorn Arms." Was informed that the late Lord Leitrim had stopped there a day or two before his death on his way to Manorvaughan. "Stopped in this very room," said my informant. "He left here on the Sabbath day in his own carriage for Manorvaughan; he had not much reverence for the day. He was a very old man, walked lame with one leg, had a fiery face and very white hair. I did think they might have respected his gray hair. He had not long to live anyway, they might have spared him." He rested one day at Manorvaughan, the next day he set out for Milford and was killed. "Why did they murder him?" "They said he was a cruel landlord. Yes, a very bad landlord they said he was. He was very impatient to get away from here that morning. He little thought he was hurrying to his death." From Strabane took the Finn Valley Railway, and went off on a voyage of discovery to Rusky. From Killiegordon took a first class ticket, as the distance was short, to see what first-class passengers enjoyed. There is a great difference indeed between first and third. Third-class is a penny a mile, first is two pence half-penny; third is simply horrible with filth, first is as luxurious as carpets, curtains, cushions, spring seats and easy chairs can make it. There is not nearly so much difference in price, as difference in style. As a first-class passenger I was assisted in and out, and the door held open for me; as third or second-class one can get in or out as they please for all the officials care. There is a very wide difference in every respect between those above and those below the line which separates "gentry from commonality." Of course I am using local words. Gentry are expected to have a well-filled and an open hand. If they have not both, what business have they to set up for gentry? Popular opinion thinks of them as Carleton's hedge scholar expressed himself, "You a gentleman? No, nor one of your breed, seed or generation ever was, you proctoring thafe you!" Now the line of demarcation between the people trained by ages to stand with open hand expecting a gift, and those to whom a gift is an insult is hard to find sometimes. A young lad, a sharp boy, had been my guide to two or three places and carried my bag for me. I offered him pay, for pay had been expected from me by every one with whom I came in contact from the moment I landed. Tears came into the poor lad's eyes with mortified anger. One feels bad to hurt anyone's feelings, and between those who have a desire for a gift and are hurt if they do not get one, and those to whom offering a gift is the worst form of insult, one is sometimes puzzled to know what to do.