And
"his life was at my service, and if I wished to pass unnoticed sure he
could whisht, and good-by and God bless you." and away they went. For
whom did they take me?
Clare is pretty stony. Again I saw fields from which stones had been
gathered to form fences like ramparts. Again I saw fields crusted with
stone like the fields of Cong, with the same waterworn appearance, but
not so extensive. The little, pretty station of Cusheen seemed an oasis
in a stony wilderness.
Past many a little field hemmed in with stony barricades, past many an
ancient ruin, sitting in desolation, into Athenry, the ancient Ath-an-
righ, the fortress of kings. It was pouring rain, it often is pouring
rain. I took shelter in the hotel whose steps rise from the railway
station. There, in a quaint little corner room with a broad strip of
window, I settled myself to write with the light of a poor candle, and
the rain fell outside. Athenry bristles with ruins.
King John has another castle here all in ruins. There is a part of a
wall here and there, and the arch of a gate which has been patched up
and has some fearful hovels leaning up against it.
