the green
plain of Meath, he said: "I'll go to Ireland."

His father and mother were dead, and without a thought of his
relations, he read the legends of Meath on his way out; he often sat
considering his adventures, the circus, the mining camp, and his
sympathy with the Cubans in their revolt against Spain; these convinced
him of his Gaelic inheritance and that something might be done with
Ireland. England's power was great, but Spain's power had been great
too, and when Spain thought herself most powerful the worm had begun.
Everything has its day, and as England decayed, Ireland would revive. A
good time might be on its way to Ireland; if so he would like to be
there or thereabouts; for he always liked to be in the van of a good
time.

He went straight to Tara, his mind bending rather to pagan than to
Christian Ireland. Traces of Cormac's banqueting hall were pointed out
to him, and he imagined what this great hall, built entirely of wood
and hung about with skins, must have been. He was shown the Rath of
Kings and the Rath of Grania. Her name brought to his mind her flight
with Diarmuid and how when they had had to cross a stream and her legs
were wetted, she had said to Diarmuid, who would not break his oath to
Finn, "Diarmuid, you are a great warrior, but this water is braver than
you!" "Perhaps this very stream!" he said, looking towards a stream
that flowed from the well of Neamhtach or Pearly. But he was told it
was this stream that had turned the first water mill in Ireland and
that Cormac had put up the mill to save a beautiful bond-maid from
toiling at the quern.

The morning was spent in seeking the old sites, and in the afternoon he
went to the inn and found a good number of villagers in the tap-room.
He learned from them that there were cromlechs and Druid altars within
walking distance of Tara, and decided on a walking tour. He wandered
through the beautiful country, interested in Ireland's slattern life,
touched by the kindness and simplicity of the people. "Poor people," he
thought, "how touching it is to find them learning their own language,"
and he began to think out a series of articles about Ireland.

"They talk of Cuchulain," he said, "but they prefer an Archbishop, and
at every turn in their lives they are paying the priest. The title of
my book shall be 'A Western Thibet,' an excellent title for my book!"
and leaning on a gate and looking across a hay-field, he saw the ends
of chapters.