h form, but I have
not heard them using the 'Mac' prefix when speaking Irish among
themselves; perhaps the idea of a surname which it gives is too
modern for them, perhaps they do use it at times that I have not
noticed.

Sometimes a man is named from the colour of his hair. There is thus
a Seaghan Ruadh (Red John), and his children are 'Mourteen Seaghan
Ruadh,' etc.

Another man is known as 'an iasgaire' ('the fisher'), and his
children are 'Maire an iasgaire' ('Mary daughter of the fisher'),
and so on.

The schoolmaster tells me that when he reads out the roll in the
morning the children repeat the local name all together in a whisper
after each official name, and then the child answers. If he calls,
for instance, 'Patrick O'Flaharty,' the children murmur, 'Patch
Seaghan Dearg' or some such name, and the boy answers.

People who come to the island are treated in much the same way. A
French Gaelic student was in the islands recently, and he is always
spoken of as 'An Saggart Ruadh' ('the red priest') or as 'An Saggart
Francach' ('the French priest'), but never by his name.

If an islander's name alone is enough to distinguish him it is used
by itself, and I know one man who is spoken of as Eamonn. There may
be other Edmunds on the island, but if so they have probably good
nicknames or epithets of their own.

In other countries where the names are in a somewhat similar
condition, as in modern Greece, the man's calling is usually one of
the most common means of distinguishing him, but in this place,
where all have the same calling, this means is not available.

Late this evening I saw a three-oared curagh with two old women in
her besides the rowers, landing at the slip through a heavy roll.
They were coming from Inishere, and they rowed up quickly enough
till they were within a few yards of the surf-line, where they spun
round and waited with the prow towards the sea, while wave after
wave passed underneath them and broke on the remains of the slip.
Five minutes passed; ten minutes; and still they waited with the
oars just paddling in the water, and their heads turned over their
shoulders.

I was beginning to think that they would have to give up and row
round to the lee side of the island, when the curagh seemed suddenly
to turn into a living thing. The prow was again towards the slip,
leaping and hurling itself through the spray. Before it touched, the
man in the bow wheeled round, two white legs came out