Of course in the big towns there are women of no importance, and Dublin has always borne rather a lively reputation in this respect, though that in no way affects the general high standard of morality.
The climate of the country, despite the moisture, is one conducive to good health, owing to the absence of any extreme vicissitudes.
It may be asked why, considering the overcrowding and insanitary conditions of living in the miserable cabins, there is not more disease, and my reply is that the peat which is burnt is so healthy as to act as a disinfectant.
Indigestion, like lunacy, is, however, largely on the increase.
Nearly any old woman—or old man for the matter of that—as well as a sad majority of younger people, will tell you:—
'I have a pain in the stomach,' with the accent on the second syllable of the locality.
This is due to excessive consumption of tea.
Nearly twenty times as much tea must be drunk now in Kerry as in the early sixties, and so far as I can recollect tea was unknown, not only in the cabins but among the farmers until after the famine.
Fairly good tea is obtained, for the Irish will never buy tea unless they are asked a high price, and for that price they usually, owing to competition, obtain an article not too perniciously adulterated.
What is highly injurious is the method of making the tea.