"'Nor own a land on earth but one,
We're Paddies, and no more,'"

sang Francesca. "You will be telling me in a moment that Thomas
Carlyle was born in Skereenarinka, and that Shakespeare wrote Romeo
and Juliet in Coolagarranoe," for she had drawn the guidebook toward
her and made good use of it. "Let us do the literary pilgrimage,
certainly, before we leave Ireland, but suppose we begin with
something less intellectual. This is the most pugnacious map I ever
gazed upon. All the names seem to begin or end with kill, bally,
whack, shock, or knock; no wonder the Irish make good soldiers!
Suppose we start with a sanguinary trip to the Kill places, so that
I can tell any timid Americans I meet in travelling that I have been
to Kilmacow and to Kilmacthomas, and am going to-morrow to Kilmore,
and the next day to Kilumaule."

"I think that must have been said before," I objected.

"It is so obvious that it's not unlikely," she rejoined; "then let
us simply agree to go afterwards to see all the Bally places from
Ballydehob on the south to Ballycastle or Ballymoney on the north,
and from Ballynahinch or Ballywilliam on the east to Ballyvaughan or
Ballybunnion on the west, and passing through, in transit,

Ballyragget,
Ballysadare,
Ballybrophy,
Ballinasloe,
Ballyhooley,
Ballycumber,