BALLINA. 253 



were written, in my humble opinion (excuse me, 

 kind reader, if I am writing a pendant to his stupid 

 production), was such as surely can hardly be seen 

 upon any one but an Irish beggar. Such squalid 

 misery and dirt may have existed in other countries, 

 but in the town of Ballina, in the county of Mayo, 

 it was rampant. 



" Lang life to your anner ! sure it's a kind gintleman 

 ye are, that would never let a poor widdee be wanting 

 a male this marning ! Sure, it's yersel', and the likes 

 of you, that niver wants for anny thing, and lang 

 life to yer." 



" Wilcome to Ballina," says another, " wilcome to 

 Ballina, yer anner, sure it's for the fishing ye'r come, 

 and Mick says ye'll have great sport provided we'll git 

 some rain, yer anner ; but the wither's very d'hry at 

 prisint, yer anner, and the praties is getting mighty 

 shart jist at the prisint, yer anner, and if ye'll just 

 bestow a thrifle on me there's a boat come with some 

 lumpers, and sure I'll go and get a male of them same. 

 Lang life to yer anner ! will I have a trifle ? " 



Such stories and such scenes I could tell without 

 end, such looks of starvation and abject poverty 

 abounded in the days that I am speaking of, which 

 were before the dreadful potato famine in 1842. 



