The Irish people are descendants of the same Celtic race that once occupied Gaul and Britain, and possess all the characteristics by which that imaginative and poetic race is distinguished. They are brilliant, witty, and affectionate, devotedly attached to their country and their leaders, but they lack much of the practical common-sense and submission to law and order of the English. Beneath their bright humour lies a deep-seated melancholy, due doubtless to their misty climate and the grey, stormy ocean that surrounds them, and at one time kept them isolated from the civilized world. Even to-day the peasant-folk are full of quaint poetic and superstitious beliefs, of fairies and gnomes who dwell among the mountains and streams of their romantic land, and who seem as real and vital to them as their present-day neighbours. The dreamy charm of Ireland's scenery has penetrated deep into the Irish nature, so that all the ballads are full of the beauty of the mountains, the lakes, the rocky bays, and the green valleys...
