The Gladstonian party in England are responding to the dictates of a handful of hirelings and sacerdotalists, and not to the aspirations of a people. Credulity is the offspring of Ignorance, and accordingly we see that the Irish people believe in Tim Healy and the priests, the Grand Old Man and the fairies. They must be saved from themselves. The harbour of Galway is very picturesque. A massive ivy-covered arch marks the boundary line of the ancient walls, some of which are still extant. The raggedness and filthiness of the fisher-wives and children must be seen to be understood. A few sturdy fishermen sat gloomily beside two great piles of fish, thrown out of the boats in heaps. Large fish, like cod, and yet not cod; bigger than hake, but not unlike the Cornish fish. To ask a question at a country station or in the street is in Connaught rather embarrassing, as all the people within earshot immediately crowd around to hear what is going on. Not impudent, but sweetly unsophisticated are the Galway folks, openly regarding the stranger with inquiring eye, not unfriendly, but merely curious. Having no business of their own, they take the deepest interest in that of other people. And they make a fuss. They are too polite. They load you with attentions. No trouble is too great. Give them the smallest chance and they put themselves about until you wish you had not spoken. However, I wanted to know about the fish, so I strolled up to two men who were lying at full length on the quay, and said-- "What do you call those fish?" Both men sprang hastily to their feet, and said-- "Black pollock, Sorr." "Where do you catch them?" At this juncture two or three dozen urchins galloped up, most of them, save for a thick skin of dirt, clad in what artists call the nude. They surrounded us, and listened with avidity. "Outside the Aran Islands." Here several women joined the group, and more were seen hastening to the scene of excitement from every point of the compass. "How far away is that?" "Thirty miles, Sorr." "What are they worth?" "A shilling a dozen." "That is, a penny a pound?" "No, but a shilling for a dozen fish, and there's thirteen to the dozen." "And how heavy is the average fish?" He picked up one by the jaws, and weighing him on his hand, said-- "That chap would be nigh-hand fourteen pounds. Some's more, some's less."