CHAPTER XIII 

 KERRY, CONNEMARA, AND CLARE 



KERRY with its wondrous hues of brown 

 and grey, its misty distances and surf- 

 beaten golden sands seems to hold a duller 

 race than we have here, and in Connemara and 

 Clare. 



The softest beauty of all Ireland is held in 

 Kerry, Killarney when the mountains are like 

 chocolate souffles, soft and brown and yet light, 

 Glenbeigh with its mist-capped hills and the great 

 reaches of wild coast, and the clear air blowing so 

 softly. The weird railway running from Tralee to 

 Dingle is a little truant among railway lines, 

 scuttling along the high road, diving off and losing 

 itself among the mountains and bogs when it gets 

 ashamed of frightening cows and horses, coming 

 out, almost with a laugh, on to the high road again. 

 The steep descent into Tralee was too much for 

 it once and it ran away and killed its cargo of 

 pigs, but nothing else. Now it is obliged to stop 

 every five minutes on this descent and think it 

 over and decide not to go racing down the hills 

 and forgetting its duty of getting safely to Tralee, 



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