carried from the house by the police; and for four shillings the police should be received with volleys of stones. Take my advice, think over the idea. Perhaps it contains the solution of the Irish question. For I hope that you would give good fees to your company of performers.” The Killarney innkeeper listened to me with great interest. I heard him mutter “Bedad! there is something in that.” And after vigorously shaking hands he accompanied us to the carriage, where I seated myself with Mr. Trench and his secretary, a tall young man, named Lewis. “You are not afraid to sit next to me?” said Mr. Trench laughing. “We shall pass through some of our worst villages. If any one shoots at me you will have your share of the charge.” “Bah!” I answered, “every landlord that I have met has been shot at two or three times. Your boys seem very unskilful!” “All right! Drive on, Dick. Lewis, is your revolver loaded?” “Yes, sir; here it is.” “Ah! I must change the cartridges in mine.” This is how we travel through county Kerry in the year of grace 1886. But the surprises in store for me had not yet come to an end. We had scarcely gone a hundred paces before Mr. Trench showed me an enormous building that we were passing on our right. “Do you see the castle down there?” said he. “Lord X---- lives there. Three years ago, after a dispute with one of his tenants, he was informed that his castle was doomed. It had been agreed that it should be blown up with dynamite. The Government at once sent off twenty constables, who are still there. Ten keep guard during the day and ten during the night. They cost the Government 2,000_l._ per annum.” “Do you really believe that if the men were withdrawn the castle would be blown up?” “I am absolutely certain of it. The dynamite is already prepared.” The next moment we quitted the road and entered a fine park, bordered by the lake. “We will get down here,” said Mr. Trench. “I want to show you the ruins of Muckross Abbey.” Before us, on a small eminence, I saw a large wall pierced by pointed arched windows, which I recognised at once, for all the Irish railway carriages are ornamented with photographs of it. The abbey was founded, it is said, in 1440. Now, only a few towers and a very curious little cloister remain, and in the centre a magnificent yew tree has grown. The ground outside of the chapel is still used as a cemetery for the members of certain families. After all, in my opinion, the ruins are hardly worthy of the reputation they have acquired. As we were re-entering the carriage a man came running out. “There’s two shillings a head to pay, please your honours,” cried he. “Do you take us for tourists by any chance?” said Mr. Trench, whom he had not at first seen. The man, laughing, bowed low, and then without any further demand on us ran to a carriage full of Americans who had just driven up.