We hasten to lay our
sagacious correspondent's remarks before our readers:--
_Bally-ha-ghadera, Tuesday Night_.
PUNCH will appreciate my unwillingness to furnish him with intelligence
which might in any way disturb the commercial relations between this and
the sister island, more particularly at the _present crisis_, when the
interests of that prosperous class, the London Baked Potatoe vendors, are
so intimately connected, with the preservation of good feeling among the
Tipperary growers. However, my duty to PUNCH and the public compel me to
speak.--I do feel that we are on the eve of a great popular commotion.
Every day's occurrences strengthen my conviction. Bally-ha-ghadera was
this morning at sunrise disturbed by noises of the most appalling kind,
forming a wild chorus, in which screams and bellowings seemed to vie for
supremacy; indeed words cannot adequately describe this terrific
disturbance. As I expected, the depraved Whig Journalist, with
characteristic mental tortuosity, has asserted that the sounds proceeded
from a rookery in the adjoining wood, aided by the braying of the
turf-man's donkey. But an enlightened public will see through this paltry
subterfuge. Rooks and donkeys! Pooh! There cannot be a doubt but that the
noises were the preparatory war-whoops of this ferocious and sanguinary
people. We believe the Whig editor to be the only _donkey_ in the case;
that he may have been a ravin(g) at the time is also very probable.
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