244 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



witch's power, by lurking in the heather bells, 

 and all she touched turned pure white. 



On the Clare coast it seems to be a wicked sea, 

 a lurking treacherous ocean looking for victims. 

 With its shifting sands beneath unwary feet, its 

 suck of undertow ; its wild rollers which rise 

 suddenly and lean over with crash and pound and 

 screaming wrath. It is another world there, 

 where the sea fights against you, an evil, subtle, 

 powerful thing, swelling up so suddenly when the 

 tide turns that one must go quickly to get to 

 safety. One moment far away from you, the next 

 a torrent of waters upon you, trying to carry you 

 away. 



Kerry and Connemara might join hands and 

 step a dance together, one merrily, one splendidly 

 and graciously and the Clare coast stand aside a 

 watcher, peering behind a mask of mystery and 

 threat. 



At Miltown there is a curious superstition that 

 the sea calls for a victim. 



" The say is callin'," they whisper fearfully, 

 as on a calm night a curious low moan comes from 

 the bay, a groaning mutter of sound. 



It is really the noise of the quicksands shifting, 

 but the sea is so dangerous at this time that it 

 has made its own fulfilment — the victim generally 

 goes. They tell you there too that if you take 

 from the sea it will take from you. It is unwise 

 to save a drowning person. Their sea is a monster 



