man said that at the Bodyke evictions, of which so much
has been heard, the girls and women swarmed about the police using
language so revoltingly obscene that the policemen blushed--such
language, he said, as was never heard from decent Irishwomen in the days
of his youth.

Of this business of evictions, he said, the greatest imaginable
misrepresentations are made in the press and by public speakers. "You
have just seen one eviction yourself," he said, "and you can judge for
yourself whether that can be truly described in Mr. Gladstone's language
as a 'sentence of death.' The people that were put out of these burned
houses you saw, houses that never would have needed to be burned, had
Harrington and the other Leaguers allowed the people to keep their
pledges given Sir Redvers Buller, those very people are better off now
than they were before they were evicted, in so far as this, that they
get their food and drink and shelter without working for it, and I'm
sorry to say that the Government and the League, between them, have been
soliciting half of Ireland for the last six or eight years to think that
sort of thing a heaven upon earth. An eviction in Ireland in these days
generally means just this, that the fight between a landlord and the
League has come to a head. If the tenant wants to be rid of his holding,
or if he is more afraid of the League than of the law, why, out he goes,
and then he is a victim of heartless oppression; but if he is
well-to-do, and if he thinks he will be protected, he takes the eviction
proceedings just for a notice to stop palavering and make a settlement,
and a settlement is made. The ordinary Irish tenant don't think anything
more of an eviction than Irish gentlemen used to think of a duel; but
you can never get English people to understand the one any more than the
other!"

The fine broad streets which Cork owes to the filling up and bridging
over of the canals which in the last century made her a kind of Irish
Venice, give the city a comely and even stately aspect. But they are not
much better kept and looked after than the streets of New York. And they
are certainly less busy and animated than when I last was here, five
years ago. All the canals, however, are not filled up or bridged over.
From my windows, in a neat comfortable little private hotel on
Morrison's Quay, I look down upon the deck of a small barque, moored
well up among the houses. The hospitable and dignified County Club