off than iver we
wor before. We want another Land Act that'll go to the root. An' that
we'll get from an Oirish Parliament an' only from that. 'Tis not the
tinints that's always the worst off. Many's the time I seen thim that
had a farrum of their own go to the dogs, while thim that had rint to
pay sthruggled and sthrived an' made money an' bought the freeholders
out. For whin they had nothin' to pay they did no work, an' then,
bedad ivery mortial thing wint to the divil. An' that's how it'll be
wid the lazy ones once we get Home Rule, which means the land for
nothin' or next to nothin'. Barney will kick up his heels and roar
whirroo, but call again in a year an' ye'll see he hasn't enough money
to jingle on a tombstone."

My next from the New Tipperary, whither I journey via Kildare,
Kilkenny, and Limerick, _en route_ for Cork and the Blood-taxed Kerry,
where Kerry cows are cut and carved. Now meditation on marauding
moonlighters makes melancholy musing mine.

Limerick, April 11th.

No. 8.--TERRORISM AT TIPPERARY.

Tipperary is Irish, and no mistake. Walking into town from Limerick
the first dwellings you reach are of the most primitive description,
whether regarded as to sanitary arrangements or otherwise. The ground
to the right slopes downwards, and the cabins are built with sloping
floors. The architects of these aboriginal erections stuck up four
brick walls, a hole in, a hole out, and a hole in the top, without
troubling to level the ground. Entering, you take a downward step, and
if you walk to the opposite exit, you will need to hold on to the
furniture, if any. If you slip on the front step you will fall head
first into the back yard, and though your landing might be soft
enough, it would have a nameless horror, far more killing than a stony
fall. The women stand about frowsy and unkempt, with wild Irish eyes,
all wearing the shawl as a hood, many in picturesque tatters, like the
cast-off rags of a scarecrow, rags and flesh alike unwashed and of
evil odour. The children look healthy and strong, though some of them
are almost _in puris naturalibus_. Their faces are washed once a week;
one of them said so, but the statement lacks confirmation, and is
opposed to the evidence of the senses. Scenes like these greet the
visitor to Old Tipperary, that is, Tipperary proper, if he enter from
Limerick. The town is said to be old, and in good sooth the dunghills
seem to possess a considerable antiquity. In t