Concerning the island itself, legendary authorities differ on many material points. Some hold it to be "a rale island sure enough," and that its exploits are due to "jommethry or some other inchantmint," while opponents of this materialistic view are inclined to the opinion that the island is not what it seems to be, that is to say, not "airth an’ shtones, like as thim we see, but only a deludherin’ show that avil sper’ts, or the divil belike, makes fur to desave us poor dishsolute craythers." Public opinion on the west coast is therefore strongly divided on the subject, unity of sentiment existing on two points only; that the island has been seen, and that there is something quite out of the ordinary in its appearance. "For ye see, yer Anner," observed a Kerry fisherman, "it’s agin nacher fur a rale island to be comin’ and goin’ like a light in a bog, an’ whin ye do see it, ye can see through it, an’ by jagers, if it’s a thrue island, a mighty quare wan it is an’ no mishtake." On so deep and difficult a subject, an ounce of knowledge is worth a pound of speculation, and the knowledge desired was finally furnished by an old fisherman of Ballyconealy Bay, on the Connemara coast, west of Galway. This individual, Dennis Moriarty by name, knew all about the Enchanted Island, having not only seen it himself, but, when a boy, learned its history from a "fairy man," who obtained his information from "the good people" themselves, the facts stated being therefore, of course, of indisputable authority, what the fairies did not know concerning the doings of supernatural and enchanted circles, being not worth knowing. Mr. Moriarty was stricken in years, having long given up active service in the boats and relegated himself to lighter duties on shore. He had much confidence in the accuracy of his information on the subject of the island, and a glass of grog, and "dhraw ov the pipe," brought out the story in a rich, mellow brogue. "Faith, I’m not rightly sure how long ago it was, but it was a good while an’ before the blessed Saint Pathrick come to the counthry an’ made Crissans av the haythens in it. Howandiver, it was in thim times that betune this an’ Inishmore, there was an island. Some calls it the Island av Shades, an’ more says its name was the Sowls Raypose, but it doesn’t matther, fur no wan knows. It was as full av payple as it could howld, an’ cities wor on it wid palaces an’ coorts an’ haythen timples an’ round towers all covered wid goold an’ silver till they shone so ye cudn’t see for the brightness.