ON GREENLAND AT DUCK-FLIGHT. 45 



corpse, and commences her lugubrious chant, 

 apostrophizing the dead boy in the most start- 

 ling and direct terms. There is regular rhythm 

 and measure in the keen, and Cauthleen is 

 reciting the successes and achievements of 

 young Morrissey at school. After a while the 

 other women are infected by the mournful 

 appeals of Cauthleen, and they improvise on 

 the virtues and promising acquirements of the 

 deceased. The visitor to this strange scene 

 steals off quietly while the keening is at its 

 highest pitch the piercing minor tones fol- 

 lowing him into the blustering night almost 

 to Cauthleen's cabin, where a vehicle is now 

 waiting to carry him homewards. 



Greenland should have been shot at moon- 

 light, and the company of the fool was super- 

 fluous. It was the fowler's last excursion for the 

 season on the Irish moorlands. The days began 

 to grow soft, the snipe have fled to the hills, 

 the plover keep to the mountains, the wood- 

 cock are with difficulty driven from the thickest 

 covers, the wild duck are not so frequent in the 

 bogs. And so a long farewell to the moorlands, 

 to Monarrogue, to Threenaheila-within-Drum, 



