It would be difficult to convey any idea of the pleasant family
life in that isolated spot tucked away amongst the Tyrone
mountains; of the long tramps over the bogs after duck and snipe;
of the struggles with big salmon; of the sailing-matches on the
lakes; of the grouse and the woodcocks; of the theatrical
performances, the fun and jollity, and all the varied incidents
which make country life so fascinating to those brought up to it.
It was the custom at Baron's Court to have two annual dances in
the barn to celebrate "Harvest Home" and Christmas, and to these
dances my father, and my brother after him, invited every single
person in their employ, and all the neighbouring farmers and their
wives. Any one hoping to shine at a barn-dance required
exceptionally sound muscles, for the dancing was quite a serious
business. The so-called barn was really a long granary,
elaborately decorated with wreaths of evergreens, flags, and
mottoes. The proceedings invariably commenced with a dance
(peculiar, I think, to the north of Ireland) known as "Haste to
the Wedding.
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