commanding officer would grant him a fatigue party
of soldiers to go outside and pull down a few
booths which these poor creatures had raised
against the barrack wall. The priest, I am
sorry to say, had his request granted, and at
the head of the soldiers, on a cold winter's day,
he went out and burned down the shelter these
unfortunates had built. At this time it was
quite common for the priest, when he met one
of them, to seize her and cut her hair off close.
But this was not all. In the summer of 'forty
five, a priest, meeting one of the women in the
main street of Newbridge, there threw her
down, tearing from off her back the thin shawl
and gown that covered it, and with his heavy
riding-whip so flogged her over the bare shoulders
that the blood actually spirted over his boots.
She all the time never resisted, but was only
crying piteously for mercy. Of the crowd which
was formed round the scene, not a man nor a
woman interfered by word or action. When it
was over, not one said of the miserable soul,
"God help her." Five days afterwards I saw
this girl, and her back then was still so raw that
she could not bear to wear a frock over it. Yet
when she told me how it was done, and who did
it, she never uttered a hard word against the
ruffian who had treated her so brutally. Had
any person attacked a brute beast as savagely
in England, as the priest had here treated this
least of God's creatures, the strong arm of the
law would have been stretched out between him
and his victim. Yet in Newbridge there was
not even an Irishman man enough to take the
law in his own hands, by seizing the whip from
the priest and giving him on his own skin a
lesson of mercy. For it was in Ireland, where
even now inhumanity of this sort is encouraged;
where dealers consider it a part of religion not
to supply these outcasts with the common
necessaries of life; where the man who would
allow one of them to crawl into his barn or cowshed
to lie down and die, would be denounced
from the altar, and be ordered to do penance
for his charity. I need not say what is the
result of this refusal of all Christian help and
pity to the fallen. It is open noonday immorality
and drunkenness, and nightly licentious revellings.
When all the vice is out of doors wandering
shameless and defiant through the streets of
Newbridge, the by-lanes of Cahir, and the
purlieus of Limerick, Buttevant, Athlone, and
Templemore, it becomes far more mischievous
than it can be in the cellars and courts of
the back streets in Dublin. It is everywhere
to be seen, and what renders it less repulsive, is
the very tyranny to which its victims are subject,
for it is impossible at once to pity and
abhor.

I will speak only of what I have seen. Last
year I was in Mr. Tallon's shop in Newbridge,
when one of these girls came in and asked for
half an ounce of tea. She was cleanly and
respectably dressed—was perfectly sober and
quiet in her demeanour; in fact, from her
appearance, I should never have guessed her
position.The shopkeeper had weighed the tea and
was about to give it, when, stopping short, he
threw it behind him, saying, "No! I'll not serve
you." To this she made no reply, but meekly
turned and walked away. Surmising what she
was at once, I could not help saying, "Good
God, do you refuse to sell a fellow-creature the
necessaries of life?" "Yes," was the answer;
"were she dying, I would not give it to her, or
any like her." I attempted to argue with him,
reminding him that it was only those without
sin themselves who should cast the first stone
or trample upon the fallen; but he would not
listen. I called for the half ounce of tea, paid
for it, and following her up the town, gave it the
poor creature. Her look of thankfulness more
than repaid me.

Yet in Newbridge these people are better off
than in any other part of the country; for a
charitable farmer who owns some small fields
near the barracks, has allowed them the use of
a deep dry ditch by the roadside. This they
have covered over with some hay and branches
of trees, which forms for them a kind of shelter
from the weather.

Vastly different is it, however, in other parts
of Ireland, where they can get no better shelter
than a hedge affords. On the Curragh, for instance,
the only protection they have from the
pelting rain, the driving sleet, or the falling snow,
is a furze bush; and this they are not allowed
to erect or prop up by any means into a kind of
covering. The moment they attempt to make
a roof of it, it is pulled down by the police or
under-rangers. I never believed it possible that
such misery as I have here seen could be in
existence even among savages. Often have I
seen these women, as I went to exercise after
a severe night's rain, lying by threes and fours
huddled together in a ditch, or by the lee-side
of a bush. I remember one morning when I
was on pass, making my way across the Curragh.
Going down from the Grand Stand towards
the Camp Inn, I passed a rising piece of ground
on my left, under the brow of which the sheep
and lambs were cowering together for shelter
from the sharp north wind which was then
blowing bitterly. I did not observe four women
lying in a bit of a hole they had scooped out,
until one called after me, and asked me to give
her a shilling for God's sake, as they were
starving. The sight of them, wet, cold, and
perishing from want and exposure, caused me
to turn back and give the shilling; and I own
that my remonstrance was very feeble even
when she to whom I had given it jumped up,
saying, "Long life to you! this will get us a
drop of whisky," and ran off to get it. The mere
prospect of the drink seemed to impart new life
to two of them, but the other evidently cared
nothing about that which gave her companions
so much pleasure. Her eye was languid, her
skin hot and dry, her head ached; she was
suffering from an attack of fever. I left her,
and walking back towards the station, met
a policeman, whom I informed of her state, and
be promised to get her taken to the workhouse
if he could. I discovered afterwards that an