s (surely
the most ironic of all titles), that the language and the history of the
nation are dying out. Yet that is changing. For instance, James Kelly's
son reads and writes Irish, and on another day helped me to note down
some of his father's lore.

For it was late when I came first to the house, and though the Shanachie
pressed me (not knowing even my name) to stay the night, I had to depart
for that day, after I had heard him recite in the traditional chant some
staves of an Ossianic lay, and sing to the traditional air Carolan's
famous lyric, "The Lord of Mayo." We drank a glass of whisky from my
flask, a cup of tea that his wife made; and as we went into the house he
asked a favour in a whisper. It was that I should eat plenty of his good
woman's butter. He escorted me a good way over the hill, for, said he,
when I had come that far to see him, it was the least that he should put
me a piece on my road, and he exhorted me to come again for "a good
crack together." And if I deferred visiting him for another year that
was largely because I did not like to face again this illiterate without
acquiring a little more knowledge.

What came of my second visit must be written in another paper. But here,
let it be understood this is no exceptional case. In every three or four
parishes along the Western seaboard and for twenty miles inland, from
Donegal to Kerry, there is the like of James Kelly to be found. It may
be that in another fifty years not one of these Shanachies will linger;
education will have made a clean sweep of illiteracy. And yet again, it
may be that by that time, not only in the Western baronies but through
the length and breadth of Ireland, both song and story and legend will
be living again on the lips and in the hearts of the people. _Go leigidh
Dia sin._

LITERATURE AMONG THE ILLITERATES

II

THE LIFE OF A SONG

There was a great contention some years ago fought out in a law court
between the British Museum and the Royal Irish Academy, for the custody
of certain treasure trove, gold vessels and ornaments disinterred on an
Irish beach. The treasures went back, as was only right, to Ireland,
where is a rich storehouse of such things, for the soil has been dug
over in search for the material relics of ancient art. Yet little heed
has been paid to treasures of far greater worth and interest, harder to
sell, it is true, but easier to come by--the old songs and stories which
linger in oral tr