on
which the rain came plashing down like a cataract. But the aspect and
situation of Omey Island are such as to suggest to the speculative
mind another and better Scheveningen without anything between it and
Labrador. The island is not, however, purely sandbank, as Scheveningen
appears to be, for it has a nucleus of rock, the sand being a later
accumulation, every year increasing in volume, after the manner
observed in Donegal, or as stones are amassed at Dungeness. I had
heard wild stories of Omey Island, of troglodytes, hungry dwellers in
rocky seaside caves, and rabbit-people burrowing in the sand. As
Maundeville observes, "Verilie I have not seen them," but I can quite
understand how the story was spread.

Over against the inhabited part of the island is what is now a mere
sandbank. It is now covered with sand, and not a soul dwells thereon.
But there were people there once who clung to their stone cabins till
the sand finally covered them; so that they might fairly be described
as dwellers or burrowers therein. At last their cabins became sanded
up, and the poor folk moved to their present situation. Now I have
seen superb potatoes grown literally in the sand at Scheveningen, and
was not surprised to hear that Omey Island was once so famous for the
national staff of life that few cared to grow anything else. But there
are difficulties everywhere, and it is parlous work to break up ground
at Omey. There is too much fresh air; for it blows so hard that people
are afraid to disturb the thin covering of herbage which overspreads
the best part of the island. "If ye break the shkin of 'um, your
honour, the wind blows the sand away and leaves your pitaties bare.
And, begorra, there are nights when the pitaties thimselves 'ud be
blown away."

Statements like this must always be taken at a reduction, but,
judging from my own experience, Omey is a "grand place for weather
entirely." Half of the island is rented by a considerable farmer, for
these parts. He pays a hundred pounds a year for his farm at Omey, and
a hundred and fifty for another cattle farm up on the hills. When I
said he "pays," I am not at all sure whether he has paid up this year
or not, but he has flocks and herds, and of course is a responsible
tenant. Yet he lives with his family in but a "bettermost" sort of
cabin. His wife treated me most hospitably; in fact, she paid me too
much honour, for she insisted that I should not sit round the fire
with the