. It was
described as a "mile or two from Tipperary," and the buildings were
called "tumble-down shanties of wood, warped and decaying, already
falling to pieces." The place adjoins and interlocks with the old
town; it is not separated by more than the breadth of a street, is
largely built of stone, and comprises a stone arcade, which alone cost
many thousands. Some of the cottages are of wood, but they look well,
are slated, and seem in good condition. The butter mart, a post and
rail affair, with barbed wire decorations, is desolate enough, and
nearly all the shops are shuttered. Enamel plates with Dillon Street
and Emmett Street still attest the glory that has departed, but the
plate bearing Parnell Street escaped my research. The William O'Brien
Arcade is scattered to the winds, save and except the sturdy stone
walls, which (_a la_ Macaulay's New-Zealander) I surveyed with
satisfaction, sketching the ruins of the structure from a broken bench
in Dillon Street.

A full and true history of the New Tipperary venture has never been
written. As in the present juncture the story is suggestive and
instructive, I will try to submit the whole in a form at once concise
and accurate. The particulars have been culled with great pains from
many quarters and carefully collated on the spot, and may be relied on
as minutely exact and undeniable. Everyone admits Mr. Smith-Barry's
claim to the title of a good landlord, an excellent landlord, one of a
thousand. Before the _casus belli_ was found by William O'Brien all
was prosperity, harmony, and peace. Mr. Smith-Barry owns about 5,000
acres of land situate in the fat and fertile plain of Tipperary, known
as the Golden Vale, with the best part of the county town itself.
Tipperary is a great butter centre. The people are ever driving to the
butter factory, which seemed to be worked in the Brittany way.
Donkey-carts driven by women, and bearing barrels of milk, abound on
the Limerick Road. The land is so rich, grand meadows, and heavy
dairy-ground, that the place prospered abundantly, and was by
commercial men reckoned an excellent place for business. But they have
changed all that. The Tipperary folks were once thought as good as
the Bank of England. Now they dislike to pay anything or anybody.
Their delicate sense of _meum_ and _tuum_ is blunted. They take all
they can get, and pay as little as they can. They affect dunghills and
dirt, and have a natural affinity for battle, murder,