On reaching Fermoy, I found the regiment in barracks, where we remained only a few days, when we received the route to march to Wexford, a town on the west coast of Ireland. On reaching a village that lay in our route, the place being small, and the inhabitants poor, we were but indifferently supplied with billets. Poor Dennis had been rather unwell for a day or two previous, and I hastened to find out our quarters, that we might have an opportunity of lying down. Having inquired for the person we were billeted on, we were directed to a low-roofed cabin, where a tall, masculine-looking old woman was standing in the door-way. ‘Come away, honies,’ said she, with an arch mischievous expression of countenance, ‘you are welcome, I was just waiting for yees.’ ‘Thank you,’ said I, stooping down to enter the cabin, which was so filled with smoke that I could see nothing of the interior. By the help of the crone, however, we got ourselves seated by the fire, which was made in the centre of the apartment, the door of which served for chimney, window, and all. Dennis feeling himself very sick, expressed a wish to lie down, and I asked the landlady to show him our bed, for although I saw none, I thought she might have some other apartment. ‘That I will, I’ll be after making a fahl for the poor boy in a minute. Get up out o’ that,’ said she, angrily, to some one who lay on a bundle of straw, in a dark corner of the room, enveloped in something resembling an old great coat. ‘O don’t disturb any body for us.’ ‘Troth and it’s myself that will,’ and seized a stick that was lying by the fire to chastise the object she had addressed. Seeing the miserable appearance of the hovel, I had made up my mind to seek other quarters, and was proceeding to remonstrate, but before I could, the old woman had inflicted the blow; a grunt followed, and presently an enormous pig, carrying the half of the straw, and the ragged coat on his back, came running towards the door, and in his struggle to pass me, threw me over. Ill as Dennis was, he could not help laughing, and the old woman, instead of condoling with me on my misfortune, exclaimed, ‘What a smashing sodger you are, to let the pigs knock you down.’ ‘Come away, Dennis,’ said I, ‘if this is a specimen of your country, you have much reason to be proud of it.’ ‘Och! is that the way you are going to leave me?’ said the old hag, when she saw us moving off. ‘Troth is it,’ replied Dennis, ‘for I would be sorry to disturb any of the decent family.’ We luckily procured a lodging in a public-house near the cabin, and having mentioned our reason for changing our quarters—