What a tide of bewildered interrogatories does the fifth urchin pour upon the ear of the old grandfather, who is foolish enough to stop the whole group, in order to relate the precocious pertinency of some particular query.  There goes a snug farmer, his wife, and good-looking daughters, seated upon a farm-car that is trussed with straw, covered by a blue quilt.  We will wager that some “good woman” has somewhere about the premises a few cakes of hard griddle-wheat, to eat when they get hungry, with a glass of punch, and, it may be, a good slice or two of excellent hung beef or bacon.  But now they approach town, and the stream thickens.  There go the beggars, mendicants, and impostors, showing a degree of agility rather impracticable with their respective maladies, grievous and deplorable as they all, of course, are; and toiling vehemently after them, hops “Bill i’ the Bowl,” pitching himself along in a copper-fastened dish, with a small stool or creepie supporting each hand.  But now the whole sweep of the town and fair-green open to us; tents, and standings, and tables, and roasting and boiling are all about us; for the spoileen fires are in operation, and many a fat sheep will be cut up, as well for those who have never tasted mutton before, as for hundreds who eat rather from hunger than curiosity.  Heavens! what an astounding multitude of discordant noises all blend into one hoarse, deep, drowsy body of sound, for which we can find no suitable term.  Cows lowing, sheep bleating, pigs grunting, horses neighing, men shouting, women screaming, fiddlers playing, pipes squeeling, youngsters, dancing, hammering up of standings and tents, thumping of restive or lazy animals, the show-man’s drum, the lottery-man’s speech, the ballad-singer’s squall, all come upon us; and lastly, the unheeded sweep of the death-bell, as it tells with sullen tongues that some poor mortal has for ever departed from the cares and amusements, the trade and traffic, of this transitory life.

About twelve o’clock the fair-tide is full; for that is the time in which the greatest interchange of property, and the most vigorous transactions of business, with all accompanying bustle and activity, take place.  For an hour or two this continues.  About three o’clock the tide is evidently on the ebb; business begins to slacken, and those who have their transactions brought to a close, meet their families and friends at the place of rendezvous—­always a public house.  It is now, indeed, when the heat and burden of the day have passed, and refreshment becomes both grateful and necessary, that the people fall into distinct groups for the purpose of social enjoyment.  If two young folk have been for some time “coortin” one another, “the bachelor,” which in Ireland means a suitor, generally contrives to bring his friends and those of, his sweetheart together.  The very fact of their accepting the “thrate,” on either side, or both, is a good omen, and considered tantamount