Dingle—I have been told many whimsical stories about this very primitive place;—among other strange matters, that in a population of five thousand, there was not to be found one regularly bred M.D., or practising Attorney.

“Happy people,” exclaimed the gentleman to whom I am indebted for this piece of information; “Happy people!” and he then enquired, being a stranger like myself—“Pray what do the inhabitants of Dingle do, in case of serious indisposition?”

The reply was, “Oh, we have an excellent apothecary here; and when he sees much danger, why he sends to Tralee for help—and so most of the people, you see, die easy, without troubling the Doctor.”

Thus satisfied as to the state of medical practice in this ancient town, he proceeded to enquire about its form of Government, whether by a Corporation, or a single County Magistrate, &c. To this his friend rejoined with some warmth—

“Our town, Sir, governed by a County Magistrate? not it, indeed! We have a Corporation, a Sovereign—a deputy Sovereign, and various other officers; our Court possesses great powers. We could confine you, Sir, in our prison for ten pounds, and let you out on the Insolvent Act, without giving you the trouble of going to Dublin.”

“Your powers are very great indeed, Sir,” observed the visiter of Dingle—“but I hope your Sovereign will not have an opportunity of extending his kindness to me.”