370 WILD SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



On our return home we passed the old castle of Doona, 

 once supposed to have been honoured by the residence of 

 Mrs. Grace O'Malley, who, if fame tells truth, was 

 neither a rigid moralist nor over-particular in her ideas 

 of " meum and tuum." Some wild traditions ?re 

 handed down of her exploits ; and her celebrated 

 visit to that English vixen, Elizabeth, is fairly on record. 

 The castle of Doona was, till a few years since, in excel- 

 lent preservation, and its masonry was likely to have 

 puzzled Father Time himself ; but Irish ingenuity 

 achieved in a few hours what as many centuries had 

 hitherto failed in effecting. 



A rich and hospitable farmer,* whose name will be 

 long remembered in this remote spot, had erected a 

 comfortable dwelling immediately adjoining the court- 

 yard wall of the ancient fortress ; and against the tower 

 itself was piled in wealthy profusion a huge supply of 

 winter fuel. It was a night of high solemnity, for his 

 first-born son was christened. No wonder then that 

 all within the house were drunk as lords. Turf was 

 wanted, and one of the boys was despatched for a cleave- 

 ful but though Patt could clear a fair, and " bear as 

 much beating as a bull," he was no man to venture 

 into the old tower in the dark, " and it haunted." 

 Accordingly, to have fair play, " if the ghost gripped 

 him," he provided himself with a brand of burning 

 bog-deal. No goblin assailed him, and he filled his 

 basket and returned unharmed to the company, but, 

 unfortunately forgot the light behind him. The result 

 may be anticipated. The turf caught fire, and from the 

 intense heat of such a mass of fuel, the castle walls were 

 rent from top to bottom, and one side fell before morning 

 * John Conway. 



