It Takes Madness To Find Out Madness.

In My Childhood There Was Every Year At My Old Home, Roxborough, Or, As It Is Called In Irish, Cregroostha, A Great Sheep-shearing That Lasted Many Days. On The Last Evening There Was Always A Dance For The Shearers And Their Helpers, And Two Pipers Used To Sit On Chairs Placed On A Corn-bin To Make Music For The Dance.

In Writing A Little Tragedy, 'the Gaol Gate,' I Made The Scenario In Three Lines, 'he Is An Informer; He Is Dead; He Is Hanged.' I Wrote That Play Very Quickly.

It Is The Old Battle, Between Those Who Use A Toothbrush And Those Who Don't.

I Don't Know In The World Why Anyone Would Consent To Be A King, And Never To Be Left To Himself, But To Be Worried And Wearied And Interfered With From Dark To Daybreak And From Morning To The Fall Of Night.

My Husband Was In The War Of The Crimea. It Is Terrible The Hardships He Went Through‚ To Be Two Months Without Going Into A House‚ Under The Snow In Trenches. And No Food To Get‚ Maybe A Biscuit In The Day. And There Was Enough Food There‚ He Said‚ To Feed All Ireland; But Bad Management‚ They Could Not Get It.