"There is just one drawback," I said, with a faint attempt at humor, "to all this æstheticism." I pointed to a window against which four very dirty noses were flattened, and four pairs of delighted eyes were wandering over this fairy-land, and a dirty finger occasionally pointed out some particularly attractive object. "Poor little things," he said, "it gives them pleasure, and does me no harm." "Then, why not bring them in?" I said. "Oh, no," he replied, with a little laugh, "I draw the line there." He pointed to the shining waxed floors. "Besides, it would destroy their heaven. To touch and handle the ideal, brings it toppling down about our ears." We spoke long and earnestly about a lot of things. Then, looking a little nervously at me, he made a great leap of thought. "Would you mind my saying a serious word to you, sir?" said he. "Certainly not," I replied, "go ahead." "It seems to me, then," he said, deliberately, "that we are not making all that we might out of the magnificent possibilities that lie at our disposal. There is no doubt things are pretty backward in Ireland. Yet, we have an intelligent people, splendid natural advantages,--an infernally bad government, it is true,--but can we not share the blame with the government in allowing things to remain as they are? Now, I am not an advocate for great political designs: I go in for decentralization, by which I mean that each of us should do his very best exactly in that place where Providence has placed him. To be precise, what is there to prevent us from improving the material condition of these poor people? There is a pier to be built. I am told shoals of fish whiten the sea in the summer, and there are no appliances to help our fishermen to catch them and sell them at a vast profit. There is an old mill lying idle down near the creek. Why not furnish it up, and get work for our young girls there? We have but a poor water supply; and, I am told, there is a periodical recurrence of fever. Pardon me, sir," he continued, "if I seem to be finding fault with the ministry of the priests here, but I am sure you do not misunderstand me?" "Certainly not," said I, "go on." And he went on with his airy optimism, drawing wonderful castles with the light pencils of his young fancy, and I seemed to hear my own voice echoing back from thirty years long passed by, when the very same words were on my lips and the same ideas throbbed through my brain. But would it be kind to leave him undeceived? I decided not. "Your first step," I said, "is to see the landlord, who owns the sloping fields and the foreshore." "Certainly," he said, "that's quite easy. What's his address?" He took up his note-book. "I am not quite sure," I replied. "He is probably this moment staking half his property on the red at Monte Carlo, or trying to peep into a harem at Stamboul, or dining off bison steak in some cañon in the Sierras." He looked shocked. "But his agent,--his representative?"