terday. We crossed over two fields, from which the stones had been collected and placed in heaps. The land was evidently very rocky, for here and there—more especially in the lower part—the grey rock cropped up in places. At the top of the farthest field, Andy pointed out an isolated rock rising sharply from the grass.
"Look there, yer 'an'rs; whin I remimber first, that rock was as far aff from the bog as we are now from the boreen—an' luk at it now! why, the bog is close to it, so it is." He then turned and looked at a small heap of stones. "Murther! but there is a quare thing. Why that heap, not a year ago, was as high as the top iv that rock. Begor, it's bein' buried, it is!"
Dick looked quite excited as he turned to me and said:—
"Why, Art, old fellow! here is the very thing we were talking about. This bog is an instance of the gradual changing of the locality of a bog by the filtration of its water through the clay beds resting on the bed-rock. I wonder if the people here will let me make some investigations! Andy, who owns this land?"
"Oh, I can tell yer 'an'r that well enough; it's Misther Moriarty from Knockaltecrore. Him, surr," turning to me, "that ye seen at Widda Kelligan's that night in the shtorm."
"Does he farm it himself?"
"No, surr—me father rints it. The ould mare was riz on this very shpot."
