time for the great pig fair, and Tuam was very
busy. It is a poor town, of which the staple trade is religion. The
country around is green and beautiful, with brilliant patches of gorse
in full bloom, every bush a solid mass of brightest yellow, dazzling
you in the sunshine. Many of the streets are wretchedly built, and the
Galway Road shows how easily the Catholic poor are satisfied. Not only
are the cabins in this district aboriginal in build, but they are also
indescribably filthy, and the condition of the inmates, like that of
the people inhabiting the poorer parts of Limerick, is no whit higher
than that obtaining in the wigwams of the native Americans. The hooded
women, black-haired and bare-footed, bronzed and tanned by constant
exposure, are wonderfully like the squaws brought from the Far West by
Buffalo Bill. The men look more civilised, and the pig-jobbers, with
their tall hats, dress coats, and knotty shillelaghs, were the pink of
propriety. Now and then a burst of wild excitement would attract the
stranger, who would hurry up to see the coming homicide, but there was
no manslaughter that I could see. A scene of frantic gesticulation
near the Town Hall promised well, but contrary to expectation, there
was no murder done. Two wild-eyed men, apparently breathing slaughter,
suddenly desisted, reining in their fury and walking off amicably
together. An Irish-speaking policeman explained that one having sold
the other a pig the buyer was asking for twopence off, and that they
now departed to drink the amount between them. People who had done
their business went away in queer carts made to carry turf--little
things with sides like garden palings four or five feet high. Three or
four men would squat on one, closely packed, looking through the bars
like fowls in a hen-coop. The donkeys who drew these chariots had all
their work cut out, and most of their backs cut up. The drivers laid
on with stout ash-plants, sparing no exertion to create the donkey's
enthusiasm. Prices ruled low. "'Tis not afther sellin' thim I am,"
said a peasant who had got rid of his pigs, "'tis bestowin' thim I
was, the craythurs. The counthry is ruinated intirely, an' so it is.
By the holy poker of Methesulum, the prices we got this day for
lowness bangs Banagher, an' Banagher bangs the divil."

The Tuamites spare a little time for politics and boycotting. The
public spirit and contempt for British law are all that could be
desired by Irish p