We came again on the sea at the fishing port of Arklow, where the stone walls about the station were populous with small ragamuffins, and at the station of Inch I found a car waiting for me with Mr.Holmes, a young English Catholic officer, who had most obligingly offered to show me the place and the people.

We had hardly got into the roadway when we overtook a most intelligent-looking, energetic young priest, walking briskly on in the direction of our course.

This was Dr.Dillon, the curate of Arklow.

We pulled up at once, and Mr.Holmes, introducing me to him, we begged him to take a seat with us.

He excused himself as having to join another priest with whom he was going to a function at Inch; but he was good enough to walk a little way with us, and gave me an appointment for 2 P.M.at his own town of Arklow, where I could catch the train back to Dublin.