Between Cork and Mallow my travelling companion was an elderly Scotchman, a cattle dealer, who deplored the disturbed state of the country very feelingly. He admitted that there was undeniable need of a revision of the land tenure but thought that the people went about securing it in a very wrong way. I ventured to suggest that there was likely to be an agitation in Scotland on the land question. "Aye, there will and must be that, but they will manage it differently," said the old gentleman. He censured my excitable country people pretty freely. I enquired why he did not return to Scotland to live in that tranquil country. "He had been long, out of Scotland, about forty years, and had got into the ways of the Irish, and truly they were a kind-hearted people and easily pleased." Another gentleman in this compartment pointed out to me Blarney Castle in the distance, and Blarney woollen mills nearer hand, where the celebrated Blarney tweed is manufactured, and whispered to me that Father ----, I did not catch the name with the noise of the cars, had appeared in a suit of Blarney tweed. There and then I wished that every reverend Father in Ireland was dressed in native manufacture. A little fiddler was playing in the car for halfpence, and the Irish gentleman paid him to play Scotch tunes in our honor, thinking we were both Scotch, I and the old Scotch gentleman. I asked the child to play "Harvey Duff," as I wanted to hear that most belligerent tune. The poor child looked as frightened as if I had asked him to commit high treason and shook his head. At Mallow the fine old Scotchman got off the train. We had had a long talk on country and country's needs, and his fervent "God bless you" at parting was a comfort and encouragement to me, indeed it was. At a station we took up some police who had been drinking--one sergeant was very drunk; then some soldiers who had been drinking, and some civilians who were in the same state. One fine looking young farmer of the better sort was fighting drunk. There were sober people and a good many women also on the car. It was one of those cars whose compartments are boxed up halfway. The sergeant spilled a box of wafers and felt that he did not wish to pick them up; another policeman in an overcoat set himself to gather them up. I heard the young farmer say to him, "You're a peeler," and in a moment every man in the car was on his feet. We had not yet left the station, and many women rushed out of the car. The official came and locked the doors, and we steamed out of the station with all the men on their feet in a crowd, gesticulating and shouting at one another at the top of their voices. As they swayed about with the motion of the carriage, every soldier and constable with his rifle in his hand, I found myself wondering if they were loaded or could possibly go off of themselves.