The greatest event in West Kerry is the horse-fair, known as Puck Fair, which is held in August.  If one asks anyone, many miles east or west of Killorglin, when he reaped his oats or sold his pigs or heifers, he will tell you it was four or five weeks, or whatever it may be, before or after Puck.  On the main roads, for many days past, I have been falling in with tramps and trick characters of all kinds, sometimes single and sometimes in parties of four or five, and as I am on the roads a great deal I have often met the same persons several days in succession—­one day perhaps at Ballinskelligs, the next day at Feakle Callaigh, and the third in the outskirts of Killorglin.

Yesterday cavalcades of every sort were passing from the west with droves of horses, mares, jennets, foals and asses, with their owners going after them in flat or railed carts, or riding on ponies.

The men of this house—­they are going to buy a horse—­went to the fair last night, and I followed at an early hour in the morning.  As I came near Killorglin the road was much blocked by the latest sellers pushing eagerly forward, and early purchasers who were anxiously leading off their young horses before the roads became dangerous from the crush of drunken drivers and riders.

Just outside the town, near the first public-house, blind beggars were kneeling on the pathway, praying with almost Oriental volubility for the souls of anyone who would throw them a coin.

‘May the Holy Immaculate Mother of Jesus Christ,’ said one of them, ’intercede for you in the hour of need.  Relieve a poor blind creature, and may Jesus Christ relieve yourselves in the hour of death.  May He have mercy, I’m saying, on your brothers and fathers and sisters for evermore.’

Further on stalls were set out with cheap cakes and refreshments, and one could see that many houses had been arranged to supply the crowds who had come in.  Then I came to the principal road that goes round the fair-green, where there was a great concourse of horses, trotting and walking and galloping; most of them were of the cheaper class of animal, and were selling, apparently to the people’s satisfaction, at prices that reminded one of the time when fresh meat was sold for threepence a pound.  At the further end of the green there were one or two rough shooting galleries, and a number of women—­not very rigid, one could see—­selling, or appearing to sell, all kinds of trifles:  a set that come in, I am told, from towns not far away.  At the end of the green I turned past the chapel, where a little crowd had just carried in a man who had been killed or badly wounded by a fall from a horse, and went down to the bridge of the river, and then back again into the main slope of the town.  Here there were a number of people who had come in for amusement only, and were walking up and down, looking at each other—­a crowd is as exciting as champagne to these lonely people, who live in long glens among