In the diocese of Raphoe, to which Burtonport belongs, there are four recognised methods by which the revenues of the priests are raised.  The first is an annual fixed stipend of four shillings for each household or family.  “Sometimes,” said Father Walker, “but rarely, the better-off families give more than this; and not unfrequently the poorer families fail to give anything under this head.”  The second is a fixed stipend of one pound upon the occasion of a marriage.  “Sometimes, but not often, this sum is exceeded by generous and prosperous parishioners.”  The third is a standard stipend of two shillings for a baptism.  “This also suffers, but on rare occasions,” said the good priest, “a favourable exception.  I mention the exceptions as well as the rules,” said the good Father, “in order to make grateful allusion to the donors.”

The fourth and last consists of the offerings at interments.  “These vary very much indeed, but they constitute an important, and, I may say, a necessary item in the incomes of the clergy.”

Besides these four forms of stipend, the priests derive a revenue from “those who ask them to offer the Holy Sacrifice ’for their special intention.’” In such cases it is customary to offer a sum, usually of two shillings, but sometimes of half-a-crown, which is intended both as a remuneration for the priest, and to cover the cost of altar requisites.

Father Walker estimates the families in his own parish in round numbers at about thirteen hundred, and in Gweedore and Falcarragh at about nine hundred each.  We had some conversation about the great fisheries, which one would think ought to exist, but do not exist, on this coast, such fishing as is done here by the natives being on a very limited scale.  Father Walker tells me that formerly L80,000 worth of herring were taken on this coast, though he is not sure that Donegal fishermen took them.  But of late years he thinks the herring have deserted these waters.  He admits, however, that the people have no liking for the sea.  “Going over once,” he said, “to Arranmore from the mainland in a boat with a priest of the country, the water was a little rough, and the poor man nearly pinched a piece out of my arm holding on to me!” Father Walker himself thought the trip across the “sound” to Tory Island rather a ticklish piece of business.  Yet the natives make it sometimes in their little corraghs or canvas boats, which would seem to show that some of them must be capable of seamanship.  Most of these islands, notably Arranmore, Father Walker thought quite incapable of supporting the people who dwell on them, without constant help from the mainland.  Is it not an open question whether an age which countenances the condemnation of private property in houses declared unfit for human habitation ought to hesitate at dealing in the same spirit with nurseries of chronic penury and intermittent famine?  On one of these islands, known as Scull Island, Father Walker tells me great