nvey the carts and other impediments of the Ulster
division, it happened that one of the cart-horses lost a shoe. Will it
be believed that it was necessary to delude the only blacksmith who
could be captured with a story that the animal belonged to the Army
Service Corps? Simple and artless, the Claremorris blacksmith made the
shoe: but before he could put it on he was "infawrrumd" that the beast
he was working for was in an Ulster cart. Down fell the hammer, the
nails, and the shoe. The blacksmith was immovable. Not a blow more
would he strike for love or money; nor would any blacksmith for miles
around this place. At last the shoe was got on to the horse's foot
among the military and police; but not a soul belonging to this part
of the country would drive a cart at any price.

All this appears to point to the conclusion that when Mr. Boycott's
potatoes, turnips, and mangolds are got in, and his oats are threshed
out, when his sheep are either sold or devoured on the spot by his
hungry defenders, he will accompany the Orangemen on their return
march, at least to the nearest railway station. That neither he nor
his auxiliaries would be safe for a single hour after the departure of
the military is certain, and the expense of maintaining a huge
garrison in Ballinrobe will therefore of necessity continue until the
last potato is dug and the last turnip pulled.[1] If the weather were
only moderately favourable, the work might be got through in a week or
ten days; but if it rains as it has done to-day, it is quite
impossible to say when it will be done. As I was looking at the men
potato-digging the rain seemed to cut at one's face like a whip, and
all through the afternoon Ballinrobe has been deluged. In this
beautiful island everybody disregards ordinary rain, but the downpour
of the last few days is quite extraordinary. The river is swollen to
double its usual size, and the slushy misery endured by the military
under canvas is quite beyond general camp experience. The soldiers
have only one consolation--that the Orangemen are under canvas too.

GALWAY, _Tuesday, Nov. 16th._

"Thim that is snug, your honour, is slower in payin' than thim that is
poor," said one of my informants a few days ago, just as I was setting
out for the seat of war in county Mayo. The speaker was a Connemara
man, and his remark was applied more particularly to his own region;
but the state of affairs in the neighbouring county illustrates his
o