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.'

In after years they became great friends, and he often dined with her
after she married and settled in London.

Reverting to Lord Kenmare, the following story, which in another version
recently won a railway story competition in some newspaper, really
pertains to his son Lord Castlerosse.

On a line in Kerry there is a sharp curve overhanging the sea. An old
woman in