’It was Beal-bo (which may be translated into a somewhat Sioux cognomen—­the Yellow Cow).  A figure in rags with an inimitable limp, and a fashion of closing one eye that reminds one of Victor Hugo’s Quasimodo of Notre Dame.  A more intimate acquaintance proved there was much instruction, and a good deal of amusement, to be derived from this strange character.

’The grand cave is Beal-bo’s special source of revenue.  He regards it as his own property, and takes a pride in it accordingly.  This is the theatre of the many wiles he practises upon unsuspecting strangers.  When he has lured them into the bowels of the cave, he turns down a gallery, and informs them that they cannot get out unless they cross a pool about five feet wide.  When he has his victim upon his back, he seizes the opportunity to levy blackmail, for the pool is a quicksand and he suddenly affects great fear.  After he has sunk to the knees in the yielding sand, the tourist is glad enough to give him a shilling to hurry across.

’In another gallery it is necessary for the stranger to cross a pool on a plank which Beal-bo provides for the occasion, and on this he charges a toll.  He used to let the water in to deepen the pools before the tourists came through, in order to bring his plank into requisition.

’Suspended on a cliff between heaven and sea, one hundred feet above the water, on all sides were piled the immense masses of masonry, the ruins of which are all that remains of the once proud Castle of Doon.  Gazing in awe down the horrid depths of the “Puffing Hole,” Beal-bo informed us:—­

’"Twas there Brian used to sleep in the day, and come out at night to milk the cows up in the Killarney hills, he and his dog."’

The Special Commissioner looked incredulous, but Beal-bo was confident:—­

’"May I never be saved, sir, if I haven’t seen him meself, many a night, sir, as he climbed the cliffs backwards to rob the hawks’ nests."’

How can even a Special Commissioner dispute an eyewitness?

Still the knowledge that I own a harbour of refuge for Brian will hardly repay me for all the expense and anxiety the Harenc property has caused me.

Before quitting the subject, I can conclude with a more gratifying fact.

At the time of the Tralee election, when I stood as a Conservative, a small clique of mob orators and amateur politicians tried to make political capital out of the history of the Harenc estate, and a priest, Father M. O’Connor, rode the jaded topic to death.  The unkindest cut of all to him was the direct contradiction by the tenants themselves of every assertion that their self-constituted champions made on their behalf.

’We, the tenants of the Harenc estate, think it our duty to state that since Mr. S.M.  Hussey became purchaser of the above estate, he has in every respect treated us kindly.  He was good enough to give us seed potatoes for half the price they cost himself; he also drained our portions of the land at two and a half per cent., employed all the labourers, and paid them good wages while so employed by him.  As a landlord we find him liberal and generous.’