Occasionally we saw a stone cabin in the far distance, from which a pale stream of smoke was arising, but until noonday, when we dropped into the valley and approached the little village of Kenmare, there was scarcely a human habitation. At Kenmare is an attractive hotel, at which a bountiful lunch is served for two shillings, and a little time is given the passengers to rest. Those who wish to do so can take a railway train here and run over to Killarney in three-quarters of an hour, but they will lose the most attractive part of the ride and some of the sublimest scenery in Ireland. The stage commences to climb again shortly after we leave Kenmare, and crawls along the mountain sides between the rocks and the heather all the afternoon. This country was fought over again and again ages ago. The mountain range was a sort of barrier between the warlike clans of MacCarthy and O'Sullivan, who met upon its rocky slopes and slew each other for any pretext, less for reason than for the love of fighting. The war cries of all the clans of southern Ireland, however, have been heard upon these rocks. "Shannied-Aboo" was the cry of the earls of Desmond; "Crom-Aboo" was the cry of the Geraldines, and the Duke of Leinster has it for the motto upon his coat of arms. The word "aboo" is the Gaelic equivalent to our "hurrah." The cry of the O'Neills was "Lamh-Dearg-Aboo" (Hurrah for the Red Hand, which was the crest of the O'Neills). The O'Brien cry was "Lamh-Laider-Aboo" (Hurrah for the Strong Hand). The Burkes cried "Galraigh-Aboo" (Hurrah for the Red Englishman). The Fitzpatricks, "Gear-Laider-Aboo" (Hurrah for the Strong and the Sharp). In the tenth year of the reign of Henry VII. an act passed by parliament prohibited the use of these war cries in the following quaint terms: