But we will do our best to detach some of the good things from Mr.
Croker's volumes, although the humour of the _sketches_ which adorn
them, is of too subtle a quality for our pen or sheet to hold.

Mr. Croker takes for granted that when people go to see the Lakes of
Killarney, they do not intend making a very serious business of the
excursion; but rather desire, while their eyes are pleased with romantic
scenery, that their ears should be tickled by legendary tales; and
accordingly he thinks it extraordinary that no guide-book should exist
for the local traditions of Killarney. This accounts for our finding Mr.
Croker on the box of the Killarney mail coach, beside Mat. Crowley, the
driver, at page 2, of his first volume. Here is no preamble about
"friends pressing the author to print--not intended for the public
eye--a mere note-book," &c.--but he begins his journey with the first
crack of the whip, and a "righte merrie" journey it is.

Our facetious friend soon reaches Killarney, and is introduced to the
lord high-admiral of the lakes, and then, as the newspapers say of a
pantomime, the "fun begins." Our first extract is

O'SULLIVAN'S PUNCH BOWL.

"What are we to land here for?" said I to the coxswain.

"Only just to show your honour O'Sullivan's cascade," was the reply.
"Here, Doolan, show the gentleman the way." Ascending a rugged path
through the wood, we soon reached the foot of the fall.

"Isn't that as fine a sight as you'd meet with in a month of Sundays,"
said Doolan. "Only see how the white water comes _biling_ like a pot of