somewhere the other day and brought her mother to live in it. The mother said, "This is just the sort of place I like; I shall be happy here," then fell down the stairs and was dead in half an hour. . . .
. . . Remember me to the Atlantic. . . .
The next letter contained a story from
Ireland:
'Sligo, 18 August 1916.
. . . Here, in this most distressful country, we are about to experience again the blessings of coercion, administered by Duke, K. C., and Carson, high priest of the cult. In Sligo, the other day, two ladies treating each other in a public-house, the barman intervened at the tenth drink, saying:
"Stop it now; ye can't have any more; troth, I won't sarve ye again. Don't ye know it's Martial Law that's on the people?"
Whereupon one of them enquired of the other:
"For the love of God, Mrs. Murphy, what's he talking about at all? Who's Martial Law?"
To which her friend replied sotto voce:
"Whist, don't be showing your ignorance, ma'am! Don't ye know he's a brother of Bonar Law's?". . .
