Of Kerry landlords, Lord Kenmare naturally suggests himself to be first mentioned.  He has been somewhat unjustly attacked more than once about the condition of Killarney as though the town was his private property.  As a matter of fact, he is utterly powerless there, as it was all leased away for five hundred years by his grandfather.  About the town the following may be worth telling:—­

A very neat plan was drawn up for improving it, which included a gateway between every double block of houses to lead down to the stables and garden, but as it was not thought necessary to put a subletting clause into the lease, the actual consequence was that all these passages were converted into filthy lanes.  Outside the town Lord Kenmare has built some nice cottages, but within its confines he could effect nothing.

To show you how short-lived is Irish gratitude, ponder over this:—­

When Mr. Daniel O’Connell, son of the great Dan, stood for West Kerry as a Unionist, he was warned by the police officer that he could not be answerable for his life if he came into Cahirciveen, for he had only twenty constables to protect him; and his wife—­a most charming woman—­when driving through the town was surrounded by an insulting mob, members of which actually spat in her face.

That reminds me of a similar experience which befell the wife of Mr. Cavanagh, the man without arms and legs, who, until denounced by the Land League, was exceptionally popular.

Mrs. Cavanagh was walking along the road in Carlow carrying broth and wine to a poor sick woman, when she found herself the target for a number of stones and had to run for her life amid a shower of missiles.

Despite his exceptional infirmities Mr. Cavanagh could do almost anything.  He used to ride most pluckily to hounds, strapped on to his saddle.  On one occasion the saddle turned under him, and the horse trotted back to the stable-yard, with his master hanging under him, his hair sweeping the ground, bleeding profusely; he merely cursed the groom with emphatic volubility, had himself more safely readjusted, and then rode out once more.

He always wore pink when hunting.  One day a pretty child of ten years old was out with her groom, who followed the scent so ardently, that he forgot all about his charge, who was left behind, and finding herself lost in a wood, began to cry.

Suddenly there swooped out on a very big horse, the armless and legless figure of Cavanagh in his flaming coat, and seeing her predicament, he seized her rein somehow—­she never seems quite clear how—­saying:—­

’Don’t be frightened, little girl, for I know who you are, and will take care of you.’

He was as good as his word, but the high-strung, sensitive child, so soon as she was in her mother’s embrace, went from one fit of hysterics to another, crying:—­

‘Oh, mummy, I’ve seen the devil, I’ve seen the devil.’