We must first mention that the barony where we now are is called Kilgawan, and that on it there is a farm called Ballinaconiga. What names, ye gods! For a long time this farm was occupied by a certain O’Leary who yielded his soul to God two years ago, leaving two sons, Tim and James. The elder, who took on the farm, died shortly afterwards, owing several quarters in arrear. Tim’s widow and daughters wished to continue his business, but the agent, who had not found the deceased a very satisfactory tenant, would not consent to the arrangement, but insisted that the farm should be ceded to the younger brother, James O’Leary. They agreed to this with fairly good grace, but changing their minds after some time, they wrote a complaint to the Land League, and its agents, only too happy to find an opportunity for exercising authority, assured them that they were in the right, and informed James O’Leary that he must leave the farm immediately. He refused and was boycotted in consequence. These events happened some months ago. Since then he has found it impossible to sell anything in the market. His wife and daughters appeared at church on the Sunday following the notice served by the League, but were so hustled and knocked about that their clothes were torn to pieces, and they dared not go again. His little boy went to school; a week ago, when he entered the room, all the other children got up and went out. The same thing happened on three successive days, so the school was closed. This state of things has lasted for the greater part of the winter. With the appearance of spring they invented something new. Every Sunday afternoon a hundred or a hundred and fifty people assemble before his door, led by his sister-in-law and his nieces. The whole party go into a large field of oats, which is in front of the house, and there begin a game of _football_. When night arrives they disperse, shouting to him that they will come back on the following Sunday. Whilst his oats were still too young to be hurt, the unfortunate O’Leary bore this annoyance patiently, but when they commenced to grow he could endure it no longer. Last Sunday when he saw the game arranged, he opened his window and warned the aggressors that he would fire upon them if they did not go away. They answered by hooting (this is called “boo-ing” in the country), and then by a volley of stones and mud. He fired both barrels of his gun, loaded with small shot, into the crowd. A man and two women fell wounded. The poor fellow was at once arrested and taken to prison. Yesterday he was released on bail; but he must appear at the assizes, and, since the jury will probably be formed of Land Leaguers, he is sure to be condemned.