Morning journal and courier., 1894-03-17
No. 66

mullioned windows, sculptursd 0stsv.vs
 bastioned angles, iron wicket work and
 early moresqus filings. that awaken his
 toric memories of the SpAniards and Mooriah merchants that once were here. Over among the Clsddagh men, those wondrous fishers of the Irfsh western coast, you will find the kinky hair, the closely curling beard and the broad fore. heads of the pescadores of Barcelona; and as their glittering harvests of the sea are brought to the rotting Qusys, while they chatter and smile In the morning sun, you will SC the hairy breasts. the psarly teeth and the languorous, halt-ssd gleam of syes which are found upon the southern coast of old Castfle
 If 1t is early morning, underneath the gray of the arches you will come upon groups of women, svsrth and dark, with skin and eyes and hair that hint of taint or Latin blood. They crouch together upon the pavement, their faces almost in- visibls, the smoke of their p!pes curling ont of their braideen hoods.
 These are the Galway fshwiyes waiting tor the landing of the fish upon the quay. III any are mothers you cannot discover 1t. IT any are wives 1t Is not known. If any ever loved, or knew the home ss we know 1t, 1t cannot be sscertAined. Here they are, as they have been from generation to seusfsionp Wilo, tender, savage, merry. taSless, honest mob, dressed, or half dressed, as females; grotesq aely diferept from women, rsdisntly indifferent to eith- CT man or woman, and ircompArably orsyer and more enduring than the stur- diest, hardest of men.
 And 1t Is File Dreen who, having walked all night over the old coast road of stone from Toombeols heights, with the endless knitting in her hands snd the back-bresk- ing load beneath her black brsideen, is now passing from group to group among them. accompanied by tinkline sounds of liquid striking glAss and smscking sounds ot long lingering Irish lips, to keep the grief and dread of want from mother Dreens heart, away back there in the grewsoms home beside the still, while
 rising" the hearts of the Galway fsh- wives for their labors of the day. Over beyond the ancient city square. in quiet side street behind where the drow- sy posting stations are, stands two-story, dormer-windowed structure. quaint and sweet and old. On this March morning Its shutters were drawn, though the brsn-nev sign of "Msdigsn's Inn" glittered like a gaudy mockery tu green and gold above its door of Irish oak.
 It Is because the clergy In the west of Ireland are more sympAtheticaily close to the affairs and the hearts of the people
 
 after young Dan Madigsn had turned the Fey in the lock of the inn door. having just left the silent hostelry with the young psriah priest, bis bsyhood friend, that the two walked away arm in arm; Dan Msdi- ssn's face, renowned for besmipg kindH- ness, now overcast with vacations frovns, and Father Hobson's, grave enough with sympathy, and not wholly free from a TO- guish twinkle of the eyes
 "rfn year on the Galway fooroe, lurkin' fur Poacbers, slstherin' up an down tn eoorts an slleys fur tsrAmps, sepArstin' ClsddAgh brswlers an beRrin' thin divIls O hshuives' bllstherin' tongues, wid scrimpin' an' savin' like miser, built tbis nest fur Fife, dear. wid two hundred pound la tn stocks t nurse 1t t a thrivin' trade, Father Hobsobi" came as 6 rnsful outburst from Dan M.diesn's lips. "And Eiie Dneen Fl not come 10 that sl- egant home, thepi Its 6 great pity for you. Dsu;" answered Father Hobson, comfortingly.
 "Iudsde an' she'll not. I've implored an entrsytsd her th' three month gone. got her once as fur As th' dure. 'lIl not go in, Dan.' says she; m not go in. Ysd come 1t OCT ne entirely vid yer svate spsche sn' yer fnery. Tn poor ould mother nsdes me vorser nor you, Dkpi' An vid that she broke sn' scsmpersd away like s mad hare. Och. Father Hob son, I'm done fur, widout File Dresni" "You might leave of the Father when we're by ourselves, DsnF said the young priest kindly.