Is it necessary to add that the Irish priest himself knows on occasion how to bring into his mundane relations the traditional suppleness and prudence of his order? A priest of Wexford, actively mixed up with the agrarian movement, was dining a few years ago at the house of Mr. C⸺, proprietor of a large landed estate in the county. Conversation turned upon the League, and no good was said of it. The priest listened in silence, without giving his sentiment either for or against the League. All of a sudden, with a look of assumed simplicity, he turned to his host— “Look here, Mr. C⸺,” he said, “Will you believe me? _Me impresshun is that there is no Land League._” The saintly man had for the last three months been vice-president of the board of the Land League in his district. CHAPTER XIV. FORT SAUNDERS. GALWAY. Galway is an old Spanish colony, planted on the western coast of Ireland, and which kept for a long time intimate relations with the mother country. Things and people have retained the original stamp to an uncommon degree; but for the Irish names that are to be read on every shop, you could believe yourself in some ancient quarter of Seville. The women have the olive complexion, black hair, and red petticoat of the _mañolas_; the houses open on a courtyard, a thing unknown in other parts of Ireland, as well as in Great Britain; they have grated windows, peep-holes in the door, and are adorned with sculptures, in the Moorish style; the steeples of churches affect the shape of minarets; the very fishermen in the port, with the peculiar shape of their boat, sails and nets, and something indescribable in their general outline, remind you of the hardy sailors of Corunna.