drunken or disorderly cases, I was often influenced by the consideration that when such an annual abomination was tolerated in a civilized community, it was a ground for slightly mitigating the punishments incurred by yielding to its abundant temptations. In the early pages of these reminiscences I mentioned that a Lord Lieutenant of Ireland had dined in a tent at Donnybrook Fair. I have heard doubts expressed as to the correctness of such a statement. I now reiterate it, adding that it occurred in 1808, in the viceroyalty of the Duke of Richmond. It was noticed in several newspapers of the time, but not with the slightest expression of disapproval. It was almost an established custom for the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, with many of the aldermen and common council, to dine at the fair, but their festivities were enjoyed in a house. The place was then in the city of Dublin, but it has since, along with a large adjoining district, been added to the county of Dublin as regards any civil or criminal jurisdiction, but the parliamentary franchises are available in the city, although the district forms no portion of it, and possesses no municipal privileges whatever. This arrangement, or perhaps it might be termed "derangement," occurred in 1832. I shall not digress into any remarks on local changes of a political nature, but resume my recollections of the fair now so properly abolished. Almost every tent displayed the proprietor's name, and generally the place of his residence, to induce visitors, from the same direction, to give him a preference. Colored signs were frequently exhibited, which at night became transparencies by a lamp being placed behind each. On one might be seen the representation of a fellow apparently dancing with a young female, whilst underneath was inscribed-- "Here Paddy comes to have a swig, A better one he never took; And now he'll dance an Irish jig With Dolly Dunne of Donnybrook." I recollect another sign representing a bee-hive, for the exhibition of which no reason of an industrial nature was adduced. It displayed the following invitation:-- "In this hive we're all alive, Good whisky makes us funny; So don't pass by, but stop and try The sweetness of our honey." Such were some instances of the allurements to participate in dissipations then not merely permitted, but encouraged, but which have happily been prevented from continuing their periodical infractions of public peace, and their interruptions of quietude and industry. I shall conclude my observations on the subject by quoting a verse of one of Ned Lysaght's songs, which tends strongly to prove that drunken violence was not merely tolerated, but made the occasion of a laudatory strain--