hen we 'bolished the landlords we'd end our
troubles. But begorra, there's more ways o' killin' a dog than by
chokin' him wid butther." There is a growing feeling among the farmers
that the land will be heavily taxed to raise revenue, and that this
means expatriation to the labouring classes, who will swarm to England
in greater numbers than ever.

Another grand old man, named Mulqueen, spoke English imperfectly, and
it was only by dint of frequent repetition that his meaning could be
mastered. Well clothed and well groomed, he stood at his cottage door,
the picture of well-earned repose. Thirty-two years of constabulary
service and twenty-one years in a private capacity had brought him to
seventy-five, when he returned to end his days on his native spot,
among Irish-speaking people, and under the noble shadow of the Galtee
Mountains. Divested of the accent which flavoured his rusty English,
Mr. Mulqueen's opinions were as follows:--

"I am a Home Ruler and I voted for a Nationalist. But I am now
doubtful as to the wisdom of that course. I see that Irishmen quarrel
at every turn, that they are splitting up already, that the country
under their management would be torn to pieces, that the people would
suffer severely, and that England would have to interfere to keep our
leaders from each other's throats. It was Irish disputes that brought
the English here at first. In the event of an Irish Legislature Irish
disagreements would bring them here again. We'll never be able to
govern ourselves until the people are more enlightened." I left this
sensible and truly patriotic Irishman with the wish that there were
more like him. He was a pious Catholic, and regretted to learn that I
was otherwise, admitting in extenuation that this was rather a
misfortune than a fault, and, with a parting hand-shake, expressing an
earnest hope that "the golden gates of glory might open to receive my
sowl, and that we might again convarse in the company of the blessed
saints in the peaceful courts of heaven." This old-fashioned pious
kindliness is hardly now the mode, and isolated instances can rarely
be met with even in remote country districts.

Running down to Limerick, I witnessed a warm contention between a
Unionist from Belfast and a commercial traveller from Mullingar, a hot
Home Ruler, the latter basing his arguments on alleged iniquitous
treatment of his father, a West Meath farmer, and defending boycotting
as "a bloodless weapon," wh