May 13th.

No. 22.--THE LAND LEAGUE'S REIGN AT LOUGHREA.

This is the most depressing town I have seen as yet. Except on market
and fair days, literally nothing is done. The streets are nearly
deserted, the houses are tumbling down, gable-ends without side-walls
or roofs are seen everywhere, nettles are growing in the old chimney
corners, and the splendid ruins of the ancient abbey are the most
cheerful feature of the place. A few melancholy men stand about, the
picture of despondent wretchedness, a few sad-eyed girls wander about
with the everlasting hood, hiding their heads and faces, a few
miserable old women beg from all and sundry, and the usual swarm of
barefooted children are, of course, to the fore. The shopkeepers
display their wares, waiting wearily for market day, and dismally
hoping against hope for better times. Everybody is in the doleful
dumps, everybody says the place is going down, everybody says that
things grow worse, that the trade of the place grows smaller by
degrees and gradually less, that enterprise is totally extinguished,
that there is no employment for the people, and no prospect of any.
Those whose heads are just above water are puzzled to know how those
worse off than themselves contrive to exist at all, and look towards
the future with gloomiest foreboding. Like the man who quoted
Christmas strawberries at twelve dollars a pound, they ask how the
poor are going to live. The young men of the place seem to have quite
lost heart, and no longer muster spirit enough to murder anybody.
Loughrea is disloyal as the sea is salt. The man in the street is full
of grievances. His poverty and ignorance make him the mark of lying
agitators, who arouse in his simple soul implacable resentment for
imaginary wrongs. A decent civil working-man named Hanan thus
expressed himself:--

"The town was a fine business place until a few years ago, whin the
Land League ruined it. Ah, thim was terrible times. We had murthers in
the town an' all round the town. Perhaps the people that got shot
desarved it, they say here that they did; but, all the same, the
place was ruined by the goin's on. It's no joke to kill nine or ten
people in and about a quiet little place like this. An' ever since
thin the place is goin' down, down, down, an' no one knows what will
be the ind iv it. 'Tis all the fault of the English Governmint. The
counthry is full of gowld mines, an' silver mines, an' copper mines,
an' we're not