can never die out, and when the people begin to see it fallen very low, it will rise up again like the phœnix from its own ashes.'
'And the Gaelic League?' I asked him.
'The Gaelic League! Didn't they come down here with their organisers and their secretaries, and their meetings and their speechifyings, and start a branch of it, and teach a power of Irish for five weeks and a half!'[1]
'What do we want here with their teaching Irish?' said the man in the corner; 'haven't we Irish enough?'
'You have not,' said the old man; 'there's not a soul in Aran can count up to nine hundred and ninety-nine without using an English word but myself.'
It was getting late, and the rain had lessened for a moment, so I groped my way back to the inn through the intense darkness of a late autumn night.
- ↑ This was written, it should be remembered, some years ago.
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