by the car-driver that the noxious animals vanished into the
earth at the touch of the Saint's bell. "He just," said this veracious
informant, "shlung his bell at 'um, and the bell cum back right into
his hand. And the mountain is full of holes. And the snakes went into
'um and ye can hear 'um hissing on clear still days." Be this as it
may, the line of country towards Newport is delightfully picturesque.
The great brown cone of Croagh Patrick soars above all, and to right
and left rise the snow-covered Nephin and Hest. Evidences of careful
cultivation are frequent on every side. Fairly large potato-fields
occur at short intervals, and mangolds and turnips are grown for
feeding stock. Cabbages also are grown for winter feed, and the
character of the country is infinitely more cheerful than on the
opposite side of Westport. Inquiring of my driver as to the safety of
the country, I received the following extraordinary reply, "Ye might
lie down and sleep anywhere, and divil a soul would molest ye, barring
the lizards in summer time; and they are dreadful, are lizards. They
don't bite ye like snakes, or spit at ye like toads; but if ye sleep
wid ye'r mouth open, they crawl, just crawl down ye'r throat into ye'r
stommick and kill ye. For they've schales on their bodies, and can't
get back; and they just scratch, and bite, and claw at your innards
till ye die." There was nothing to be done with these terrible lizards
but to drink an unmentionable potion, which, I am assured, is strong
enough to rout the most determined lizard of them all, and bring him
to nought. It is, however, noteworthy that stories of persons being
killed by lizards crawling down their throats are widely distributed.
There is one of a young Hampshire lady who, the day before she was
married, went to sleep in her father's garden, and was killed by a
lizard crawling down her throat. And, my informant said, the lizard is
carved on her tomb--a fact which makes it appear likely that the story
was made for the armorial bearings of the lady in question.

By a pleasant road lined with cabbage gardens we came on to Newport--a
port which, like this, is not one of the "has beens," but one of the
"would have beens." There is the semblance of a port without ships,
and warehouses without goods, and quays overgrown with grass. Beyond
Newport the country grows wilder. There is less cultivation, and
behind every little shanty rises the great brown shoulder of the
neighbou