There is a story of an English tourist seeking for information about the distressful country, he being at Tallaght near Dublin.

He asked his carman whether there were many Fenians about.

‘A terrible lot, your honour,’ replied the fellow.

‘I suppose a thousand?’ the tourist suggested, somewhat apprehensively.

‘That is so, and twenty thousand more,’ answered the carman without hesitation.

‘Are they armed?’ was the next question.

‘They are that, and finely into the bargain.’

‘And are they prepared to come out?’ the tourist being much perturbed, and thinking it would be his duty to write to the Times.

‘Prepared to come out in the morning, your honour.’

‘And why don’t they do so?’ with English common sense.

’Begorra, because maybe if they did, the constabulary would put them in jail.’

So the constabulary have some value after all, in spite of the sneers of
Home Rule members in the House of Commons.

Half a dozen Kerry priests screeched with laughter when I told them that story in the train, having met them on a journey to Farranfore.

Here is another I also gave them on that occasion.

A couple of policemen were discussing the state of Ireland once upon a time.

Says Dan to Mick:—­

’Sure we’ll niver get peace and quiet in the blessed country until we fetch Oliver Cromwell up from hell to settle the unruly.’

Replies Mick to Dan:—­

‘Have done, you fool, isn’t he a deal quieter where he is?’

Judge Keagh thought worse of his fellow countrymen than do other men with less than his great experience, and although a Roman Catholic, he had to be escorted by two constables wherever he went.

He was told that he ought to be guarded by four policemen, because the two might be attacked.

But he knew the man that said it wanted to make the protection more conspicuous, so he replied:—­

’Sir, I have the most implicit confidence in the invincible cowardice of my fellow countrymen.’

That recalls an observation of my own.

On one occasion, a telegram was sent from the Chief Inspector of Constabulary in Kerry to the Scotland Yard authorities to say there was to be an attempt to murder me in London, and in consequence a gentleman from the department for providing traffic directors in metropolitan streets called at my house in Elvaston Place, to inquire what police protection I wanted.

‘None,’ said I, ’for if a man shoots me in London he’ll be hung, and every Irish scoundrel is careful of his own neck.  It’s altogether another matter in Ireland, where Mr. Gladstone has carefully provided that he shall be tried by a jury, the majority of which are certain to be land leaguers.’

I brought out the same idea on a more important occasion.

Once, in Mr. Froude’s house, Professor Max Mueller—­who was a great admirer of Mr. Gladstone—­remarked that after all I had not much reason to complain, because I had had plenty of police protection in Ireland.