246 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



be seen to realise it. I say coast, but the strangest 

 of the Burren country is inland on the way to 

 Ballybunnion. Plateaux and tiers and ledges of 

 grey rock, stretching for miles and miles. Here a 

 hill, tier upon tier of absolutely nothing but stone ; 

 there fields with a few nut trees breaking through 

 the grey. 



It is said of the Burren country that there is not 

 a tree to be found there to hang a man on, water 

 enough to drown him, or earth to bury him in. 

 It is wildly curiously grand, despite its grey 

 bleakness, and full of old ruins and the scene in 

 bygone days of struggles between Irish chieftains. 



At one point rises the Eagle's Cliff, a towering 

 oasis of green above the shimmer of the endless 

 grey, and on the way to it is the road of the 

 dishes. Here by the cliff lived Coleman, a well- 

 known saint with his servant, Dhuar, who, less 

 saintlike than his master, grew weary of living 

 on nuts and berries, with perhaps an occasional 

 wild bird. So he gave notice that he must go 

 elsewhere. 



Coleman objected, he would miss his servant. 

 So he promised that next day a really good dinner 

 should be forthcoming if the servant would stay on. 

 Next day King Guaire of Kinvarra was sitting 

 down ready to enjoy a dinner of meats baked 

 and boiled when, lo ! up rose the dishes, carefully 

 preserving their right sides up, and flitted off 

 across the crags. King Guaire roared for his 



