To this they could not demur, but things have got, or are getting, in Ireland, I fear, to a point at which candour, on one side or the other of the burning questions here debated, is regarded with at least as much suspicion as the most deliberate misrepresentation.

As to Mr.Town send Trench, what Father Maher failed to tell me, I was here told: That down to the time of the actual evictions he offered to take six months' rent from the tenants, give them a clean book, and pay all the costs.

To refuse this certainly looks like a "war measure." But for the loneliness of her life here, Mrs.Hutchins tells me she would find it delightful.

The country is exceedingly lovely in the summer and autumn months.
When my car came out to take me back to Athy, I found my jarvey in excellent spirits, and quite friendly even with Mr.Hutchins himself.

He kept up a running fire of lively commentaries upon the residents whose estates we passed.
"Would you think now, your honour," he said, pointing with his whip to one large mansion standing well among good trees, "that that's the snuggest man there is about Athy?
But he is; and it's no wonder! Would you believe it, he never buys a newspaper, but he walks all the way into Athy, and goes about from the bank to the shops till he finds one, and picks it up and reads it.