housand-vote priests are unfriendly to
England, as is proved by their own utterances and by innumerable overt
acts. All of which merits consideration.

The Stranorlar folks are warm politicians. At the present moment
feeling runs particularly high, on account of the riot on King
William's Day, to wit, July twelfth. Two Orangemen were returning from
Castlefinn, a few miles away, where a demonstration had taken place,
and passing through Stranorlar, accompanied by their sisters, they
were set upon by the populace, and brutally maltreated. Several shots
were fired, and some of the rioters were slightly wounded or rather
grazed by snipe shot, but not so seriously as to stop their daily
avocations. The Catholic party allege that the Orangemen assaulted the
village in general, firing without provocation. The Protestant party
say that this is absurd, and that it is not yet known who fired the
shots. A second case, less serious, is also on the carpet. A solitary
Orangeman returning from the same celebration is said to have been
waylaid, beaten, and robbed by a number of men who went two miles to
meet with him. This also is claimed as Orange rowdyism.

A Protestant handicraftsman said:--"If we had a Catholic Parliament in
Dublin we should not be able to put our head out of doors. Those who
in England say otherwise are very ignorant. I have no patience with
them. Only the other day I heard an Englishman who had been in the
country six hours, all of which he had spent in a railway train,
arguing against an Irish gentleman who has spent all his life in the
country. 'Give 'em their civil rights,' says this English fellow. He
could say nothing else. Give 'em their civil rights,' says he. 'What
civil rights are they deprived of?' says the other. 'Give 'em their
civil rights,' says he. That was all he could say. He was for all the
world like a poll-parrot. He was one of these well-fed fellows, with
about three inches of fat on his ribs and three inches of bone in his
skull, and a power of sinse _outside_ his head. He turned round on me
and asked me to agree with him. When I didn't he insulted me. 'I see
by your hands,' says he, 'that you've been working with them, and not
with your brains,' says he. Well, he was a man with a gray beard, but
not a sign of gray hair on his head, so says I, 'Your beard,' says I,
'is twenty-five years younger than the rest of your hair, and it looks
twenty-five years older.' I see,' says I, 'that _you_ ha