nopolise the attention of the British Parliament, which toils in
vain to give them an Act which will improve their worldly position.
The Irish farmer is petted and spoiled, and a victim of
over-legislation. Do what you will you can never please him. Mr.
Walter Gibbons, of South Mall, Westport, told me of a case which came
under his own observation, as follows:--Rent, five pounds a year.
_None_ paid for seven years. Tenant refused possession. Landlord paid
tenant twenty pounds in cash, and formally remitted all the rent,
thirty-five pounds to wit.

"I saw the money paid," said Mr. Gibbons, a fine specimen of the
British sailor, present in the Cornwallis at the bombardment of
Sebastopol.

"And was the landlord shot?" I inquired.

"Not that I know of," said the old sailor.

Most people will agree that if ever a landlord deserved shooting this
was the very man.

The walls of Dundalk were placarded with a flaming incitement to
Irishmen to meet in the Labourers' Hall at eight o'clock, to "join in
the onward march to freedom." The meeting was to be held under the
auspices of the Irish National Federation--Featheration, as the
Parnellites call it and most of its members pronounce it--and
therefore it was likely to be a big thing, especially considering the
Parliamentary tension existing at the present moment. I determined to
be present, To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall; to
see the labouring Irish in their thousands marching onward to Freedom.
A friend attempted to dissuade me from the project. "You'll be spotted
in a moment, and as you are very obnoxious to the priests, to be
recognised at such a meeting might be unpleasant." A public official
who pointed out the place followed me up with advice. "Unless you are
connected with the party, it would be better to keep away. These
people are very suspicious." These were fine preliminaries of a public
meeting. The building is poor, but not squalid, and seems to have been
built within the last few years. A gateway leads to the yard and the
Hall blocks the way. All the rooms are small, and I looked in vain for
anything like an assembly chamber. Two roughish-looking men, who
nevertheless had about them a refreshing air of real work, stood at
the gateway, and from them I learned that the meeting would take place
upstairs. Twenty-four steps outside the building almost gave me pause.
At the top was an open landing, whence the Saxon intruder might be
projected wi