cheerful place at the time I am speaking of, for there was plenty of
entertaining and truly genial hospitality. The general depression caused
by famine, fever, and Fenians hardly affected the great town, and after
those funereal shadows had once passed, Cork was as gay as any one could
reasonably desire.

The townsfolk are very witty and clever at giving nicknames, as the
following little tales will show.

When a citizen in Cork makes money, he generally builds a house, and the
higher up the hill his house is situated, the more is thought of him.

Mr. Doneghan, a highly respectable tallow chandler, built a fine
residence early in the nineteenth century, which he called Waterloo.

The populace said it should have been named Talavera (_i.e._
Tallow-vera), and as that it is known to this day.

Mr. Maguire, who was Member for Cork, and Lord Mayor of the City into
the bargain, was very influential in the promotion of a gas company.
With the money he made out of it, he reared a rather lofty mansion,
which was promptly christened the Lighthouse.

All butter in Cork is sold at the wharves, and the casks are branded
with the quality of the butter they contain. One man made a fortune out
of the first class butter on its merits, and out of the sixth class
butter, which he put in the first class casks and sold on the testimony
of the brand on the wood. This became in time notorious to most people
except the more unsophisticated of his clients, and when he embarked on
bricks and mortar his house was generally known as Brandenburg.