"Don't be ashamed of your ignorance. In
a few years your case will be all but universal.
Ennis, my good friend, is the county town of
Clare, situated between Limerick and Galway,
and forced upon the traveller's notice by the
circumstance that it is the point at which the
railway from Limerick breaks off; so that the
rest of the journey to Galway has to be
performed by an old-fashioned stage coach."

"But surely," objected Wideawake, "the
travellers from Limerick to Galway must be
tolerably numerous."

"They are," was the answer; "but the
greater part of them avoid the short road which
takes them to Ennis, and, going first to Kilkee,
which is now a favourite watering-place, work
their way along the coast to Galway, so as to
get a view of the famous Cliffs of Morer."

"Then what you see, when you travel via
Ennis, is not so very remarkable?"

"Not in the least, and what is more, when
you stop at Ennis, you find nothing remarkable
there?"

"And yet you like it so much?" exclaimed
Wideawake, with more curiosity in his
countenance than usually accompanies coffee-room
conversation.

"Precisely; and it was precisely because
there was nothing remarkable that the place
gave me such infinite satisfaction. I had been
travelling somewhat rapidly from point to point,
and was fairly tired of sightseeing."

"You had been to Killarney, I suppose, and,
of course, you admired the lakes."

"I did greatly; but do you know I was
selfish enough to wish that the admiration for
them had been less general. A ramble about
those lovely lakes, and through the Gap of
Dunloe must have been very delightful when
they were sought by a chosen few, who picked
their way about, took boats where they could
get them, and now and then stopped at a hovel
to rest their limbs and to recruit their failing
spirits with that panacea for all earthly ills, a
tumbler of goats' milk and whisky. But I now
feel that amid the wild scenery of Killarney one
is always oppressed with conveniences."

"Good hotels?"

"Capital hotels. At the one on the border
of the Lower Lake there is a sumptuous
dinner à la Russe every day, and a well
furnished drawing-room at which all the gentry
assemble in the evening, and for these and other
luxuries the charges are reasonable. For a gay
party, bent on self-enjoyment, and filled with a
fashionable horror of being dull, I know not any
place that could be more safely recommended
than Killarney, with its abundant accommodation.
The necessity of taking trouble, or even
thought, for the sake of the picturesque, is
altogether obviated. At the bar of the hotel you
make your arrangement about omnibus, car, or
boat, and you are provided for accordingly,
merely adding another item, by no means
unreasonable, to your bill."

"Well, I can hardly make out whether you
are grumbling or pronouncing an unqualified
eulogy," said Wideawake. "Your words are
those of praise, but your look indicates dissatisfaction.
Nor can I precisely ascertain the
nature of your grievance. Surely, if you are so
fond of going about in rugged loneliness, you
can gratify your propensity with all the discomfort
you so highly prize, and when you have had
enough of voluntary inconvenience, take refuge
in your elegant hotel."

"No, no, no," answered White-whiskers,
impetuously, "that programme of yours is not
to be carried out at Killarney, nor have I
actually touched upon the convenience that I
really find oppressive. No, my good sir, though
I love a quiet coffee-room, like the one which
we now occupy in this very unostentatious
hostelry, where, after a certain hour, cigars are
allowed, and one can enjoy a chat with a pleasant
stranger like yourself"—(here Wideawake
bowed)—"still I do not despise the dinner à
la Russe, with its proper accompaniment of a
choice wine list. But the attentions that crop
up outside the hotels of Killarney, when you
are really plunged into the midst of mountain
and glen, are those that are to me pre-eminently
distasteful. The guides, the guides, sir—the
erudite in topography, the illustrators of the
picturesque—these, sir, as far as I am
concerned, become a weariness to the flesh. I am
not unwilling that a man who knows the country,
should show me the way to the choice spots,
but I like not this man to expand into a
procession. Riding on a pony is better than
walking when you go through the Gap of Dunloe;
but most disagreeable is a combat
between two pony owners as to which has the
best claim to your patronage, especially when
it can only be settled by giving something to
both. It is good when you are in a place
noted for its echo duly to hear the curious
repetition of sound, but you do wish to hear the
experiment performed by the human voice; not by
an indifferent fiddler, and three cannons fired at
short intervals, especially when a fee is required
for each separate performance; and you are
more inclined than ever to lament your
squandered sixpences when afterwards, on the
Upper Lake you hear the echo which is
associated with the name of Paddy Blake, and
which is the best of all. A single brooch
fashioned of the bog oak is all very well to
take home as a keepsake for some esteemed
friend, to whom it may recall the fact—no
doubt highly interesting to him—that you were
once in Ireland; but you don't want such a
stock of brooches as would suffice to furnish a
window in the Palais Royal."

"I understand all these grievances perfectly,
but they do not scare me in the least,"
interrupted Wideawake. "You will perhaps
despise me when I tell you that I am one of those
easy fools, who, when they stroll through the
streets of London, pitch a halfpenny to nearly
every beggar they meet, and are therefore very
properly regarded by magistrates as enemies to
civilised society."

"Nay," warmly retorted he of the white