nd secondly, where the old Irish gallantry towards the
fair sex has gone to. It seems to have gone very far, for one hears
now of ladies being shot at. But, although not impressed with the
truth of the information vouchsafed to me, I expected to see at least
an Irish version of Lady Macbeth, instead of the graceful,
well-dressed, thorough-bred Irish gentlewoman who had just come from a
long walk to the post-office and back. Since the boy who used to carry
the letter bag was frightened away, Mrs. O'Callaghan has taken up his
duties, and, armed with rifle and revolver, performs them daily.

With the case of Miss Ellard, and other ladies, before my eyes, I
cannot blame Mrs. O'Callaghan for going about armed, and maintaining a
defiant attitude towards the people, who really go in bodily fear of
her. There is, as I have observed, nothing to terrify in the look or
voice of Mrs. O'Callaghan, but I gradually gather from her
conversation that it is not all romance about her wonderful shooting.
If not at three hundred, yet at thirty yards she can hit a rabbit
cleverly enough, and actually does go out rabbit shooting "for the
pot" to relieve the monotony of everlasting pig and sheep. Mrs.
O'Callaghan is also nearly as good a shot with the revolver as her
husband, and would certainly not hesitate to use that weapon in
self-defence.

Such is the present _personnel_ of Maryfort at this moment, affording
a sketch of manners reminding one rather of a Huguenot family in
southern France just after receiving the news of St. Bartholomew, than
of any social condition extant in modern Europe.

As we drive out into the darkness and heavily-falling snow there is
some debate touching the lighting of the carriage lamps. It is thought
better not to light up, and to keep firearms handy until we get some
miles from Maryfort.

A howl pierces through the darkness as we pass a clump of houses, and
I remark that my friend's coachman drives very fast by any house on
the road; but nothing occurs till we stop at a "shebeen" to light both
cigars and lamps, for the snowstorm is increasing. Not desiring
refreshment, I give the woman of the house a shilling for a drink for
a man who is sitting by the fire. I explain the nature of the
transaction to him, and wish him a happy new year. The sulky brute
answers me never a word. Probably he knows or suspects where I have
been, and if so would let me lie on the ground under a kicking horse
till an end was made