Went up to the lake again this morning. It is a beautiful spot, and I always feel fresh again when I see the long sheet of water stretched out before me, bordered with pine-trees. I had 3 fine swims in the lake, one the first night, the other two yesterday. In spite of all our fishing we got nothing. I took the canoe off with me (the Prince of Wales sailed in her on the Thames), and she clipped like anything before the breeze. She turns like a top in her own length when necessary, and when properly handled would race a motor-boat. Came late for dinner. After fiddling about on the piano etc. I said good-by to everybody, though everybody insisted I should stay till tomorrow, and started on my 4-mile walk to Bandon, for the car and all had gone in in the morning. It was a weary journey but I stepped it out alright. Saw Mr. Mac in his shop, thanked him for all his kindness, took train to Cork where I found poor Mám tired after a lot of housework. Went to Confession, wrote my diary and read ‘Ben Hur’.
