TWO IRISH STORIES.
[CO THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."]
SIR,—In the village where I live, I was in the habit of visiting two poor, infirm old women, one inhabiting the single down- stairs room, the other occupying the garret above her. Each .kept a jealous watch as to whether I bestowed more tea or sixpences on the other, and each was sure to tell me every ill trait she could hear of the other. One day the old lady who lived upstairs, thanking me effusively for my visit, said :
You're the only lady ever comes near me, th' only friend I have. That one," pointing downwards, " has hapes of friends," adding hastily, lest I should be too favourably im- pressed by that circumstance, " and there's not wan [one] of .them but hates her." I thought to myself that such a descrip- tion of friendship may sometimes apply to higher circles than that of my poor old friends.
The other has more of a political flavour. At the last con-
• tested election at Kilkenny (in December, 1890), a friend of mine saw a tired patriot slowly wending his homeward way late in the evening of the polling-day. He had, I suppose, been shouting himself hoarse in favour of either Scully or Hennessy, the rival candidates, but as he wearily stumbled along the street he suddenly stopped, and with a wild "Hurroo," called out: "Three cheers for meself, and to hell with the rest of them !" Not an untrue epitome, I should say, of the "inner mind of many a voter."—I am, Sir, &c., S.
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