language and of contempt for English.

'I can tell you,' he said, 'that the English I have is no more good
to me than the cover of that pipe. Buyers come here from Dingle and
Cork and Clare, and they have good Irish, and so has everyone we
meet with, for there is no one can do business in this place who
hasn't the language on his tongue.'

Then I asked him about the young men who go away to America.

'Many go away,' he said, 'who could stay if they wished to, for it
is a fine place for fishing, and a man will get more money and
better health for himself, and rear a better family, in this place
than in many another. It's a good place to be in, and now, with the
help of God, the little children will all learn to read and write in
Irish, and that is a great thing, for how can people do any good, or
make a song even, if they cannot write? You will be often three
weeks making a song, and there will be times when you will think of
good things to put into it that could never be beaten in the whole
world; but if you cannot write them down you will forget them,
maybe, by the next day, and then what good will be your song?'

After a while we went upstairs to a large room in the inn, where a
number of young men and girls were dancing jigs and reels. These
young people, although they are as Irish-speaking as the people of
Connemara, are pushing forward in their ways of living and dress; so
that this group of dancers could hardly have been known, by their
appearance, from any Sunday party in Limerick or Cork. After a long
four-hand reel, my friend, who was dressed in homespun, danced a jig
to the whistling of a young man with great energy and spirit. Then