moment, as the price of Irish butter does not
admit of such a payment as nearly one shilling
per pound to the maker; and we found
afterwards that the payment is rarely higher than
three guineas and a half per hundredweight.
The closed firkins are conveyed by carts to
some neighbouring port or railway, or, failing
both, are carted all the way to Cork. Every
traveller in Kerry and the neighbouring
counties, is familiar with the sight of the
barrel-laden carts which frequent all the roads;
and in every market-place may be seen, during
the summer, an expanse of firkins, filling up
more or less of the area. The largest sales
are effected in another manner than by
bringing the produce to market or to port,
to fetch the market price. The needy among
the dairy farmers sell their butter beforehand,
by contract, to the travelling agents of the
butter-merchant, who visits them twice a
year. They take the price he offers, and are
too often glad of the money in advance, and
thus subject themselves to bondage. Poor
people like these are aground in the winter,
when their cows are dry. Less needy
farmers manage their stock so as to have milk
all the year round, though not enough for
the making of butter for sale. The season
for that is only five or six months from
Mayday. We inquired, at this Killarney farm,
whether, in rearing calves, the milk of the
best cows is spent upon their calves, or
whether the more saving plan is ever resorted
to of " buying a nurse"—providing the calf
with an inferior nurse, to save the mother's
better milk. This is a pitch of economy
which has not been reached in these parts;
and we were amused at the way in which
our question was received by one of those
Killarney guides, who think it a disgrace not
to have an answer ready for every possible
question. He was kind enough to inform us
that, in Kerry, there is always a person to
milk the cows—the cows never milking each
other. The cost of a calf, for the three years
before she produces, is said to be twopence
a day. The food of the whole stock in
winter is partly hay, and partly boiled
vegetables and bran. A great deal of the
profit of the dairy farms of Kerry is derived
from the pigs— the exportation of bacon
being almost as valuable as that of butter,
and the dairies yielding plenty of the best
food that can enter a piggery. About one
hundred thousand firkins—that is fifty
thousand hundredweight—of butter go to the
ports annually from Kerry; and in Cork alone
there are now twenty-six butter-merchants.
In Waterford and Wexford there are many;
and these give a different recipe for making
the article; different with regard to the
length of time the milk and cream should
stand, and to the methods of washing and
salting. But it does not appear that one
county excels another in the quality of its
butter.

The firkins are emptied on their arrival at
the warehouse in the port. Turned upside
down after the head is removed, and well
slapped, the cask yields up its contents. The
butter, as it stands, is then scraped with a
wooden knife, its soiled corners and seams
removed, and put away to make ointment for
sheeps' backs, and its hollows filled up with
fresh butter. It is then powdered with salt of
the purest kind, the firkin is replaced over it, it
is raised on its right end, and the other is
scraped and salted, and when the hoops are
put on and the firkin ready for closing,
covered with a piece of muslin, which is made
to fit accurately, and finally salted. When
the head is knocked in, and the weight is
proved, there remains nothing but the branding.
This is done by stencilling. A metal
plate is perforated with the trade marks, and
with the name and address of the exporter.
Then the number of the firkin is affixed.
The metal plate is smeared over with
an ink made of lamp-black, turpentine, and
wax, and the brand stands clear and ineffaceable.

All this is interesting; but there is one
thing more left to see. In the office, where
the importer has taken us to ascertain some
figures, and see the form of entry in the
hieroglyphic-filled books in which his
purchases are recorded, we were shown the
largest bundles of bank-notes we ever saw.
There were two, containing the corresponding
halves of severed one pound notes, to the
amount of five hundred pounds. One of
these bundles was to go by post, and the
other by public car, to the agent, to pay the
country makers, at the latter end of the
season.

Where does all this butter go?  Much of
it to London; much to Liverpool; much to
the Continent. The greater part will find its
way to Portugal, unless there should be a
quarrel about the Portuguese tariff, which
would be a sad thing for the Kerry dairymen.
They have sold, this season, thirty-eight
thousand three hundred and eighty-nine firkins
more than in the season of last year; and it
is curious that the Dutch have sold about as
much less to us. The reason of the increased
production in Ireland—which is felt in all the
other ports, beside Cork— is no mystery. The
farmer now cannot pay for labour as he used
to do, by letting potato grounds to the
labourers. Many of the labourers have
emigrated, and the rest must have better
wages, paid in cash; and they eat meal,
instead of potatoes, now that grain is cheap.
The farmer finds it safer and cheaper to
produce butter than grain for the market.
If this goes on long, one may hope that some
cheese will be made, somewhere or other
among the rich pastures of Ireland. At
present, the innkeepers in the remotest
districts complain that they have to get every
ounce of cheese from London. It seems as if
this must be mended soon; and we should
not wonder if we have to report, after our