{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_32202/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_32202","id":"gutenberg_32202","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32202","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fairy tales","Fairy tales -- Ireland","Folklore -- Ireland","Tales -- Ireland"],"text":"E-text prepared by David Edwards and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images\ngenerously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file\n      which includes the original illustrations and illuminations.\n      See 32202-h.htm or 32202-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32202/pg32202-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/32202/32202-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/irishfairybook00gravrich\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE IRISH FAIRY BOOK\n\n\nby\n\nALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES\n\nIllustrated by George Denham\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon T FisherUnwin\n\nAll rights reserved.\n\n\n\n\nA Faery Song\n\n     Sung by the people of faery over Diarmuid and Grania, who lay in\n     their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.\n\n  We who are old, old and gay,\n      O so old!\n  Thousands of years, thousands of years,\n      If all were told:\n\n  Give to these children, new from the world,\n      Silence and love;\n  And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,\n      And the stars above:\n\n  Give to these children, new from the world,\n      Rest far from men.\n  Is anything better, anything better?\n      Tell us it then:\n\n  Us who are old, old and gay,\n      O so old!\n  Thousands of years, thousands of years,\n      If all were told.\n\n                    W. B. YEATS.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n  THE COMING OF FINN                 _Standish James O'Grady_      1\n\n  THE THREE CROWNS                   _Patrick Kennedy_            12\n\n  THE GRATEFUL BEASTS                _Patrick Kennedy_            25\n\n  THE LEPRACAUN                      _William Allingham_          31\n\n  DANIEL O'ROURKE                    _T. Crofton Croker_          35\n\n  CUCHULAIN OF MUIRTHEMNE            _Lady Gregory_               45\n\n  THE BOYHOOD OF CUCHULAIN           _Standish James O'Grady_     52\n\n  THE LEGEND OF KNOCKGRAFTON         _T. Crofton Croker_          60\n\n  THE STOLEN CHILD                   _W. B. Yeats_                67\n\n  THE LAND OF YOUTH                  _Bryan O'Looney_             71\n        Edited by John O'Daly\n\n  THE ADVENTURES OF GILLA NA CHRECK  _Patrick Kennedy_            85\n\n  THE HILL-MAN AND THE HOUSE-WIFE    _Mrs. Ewing_                 96\n\n  THE GIANT WALKER                   _Sir Samuel Ferguson_        99\n\n  THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER    _Patrick W. Joyce_          102\n\n  JAMIE FREEL AND THE YOUNG LADY     _Letitia McClintock_        123\n\n  A LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY              _William Carleton_          133\n\n  THE NINEPENNY FIDIL                _Joseph Campbell_           149\n\n  FESTIVITIES AT THE HOUSE OF CONAN  _Nicholas O'Kearney_        151\n\n  THE WHITE TROUT                    _Samuel Lover_              160\n\n  THE WONDERFUL CAKE                 _Patrick Kennedy_           164\n\n  THE LEGEND OF THE LITTLE WEAVER    _Samuel Lover_              167\n\n  MOR OF CLOYNE                      _Alfred Perceval Graves_    180\n\n  LAWN DYARRIG                       _Jeremiah Curtin_[1]        181\n\n  THE HORNED WOMEN                   _Lady Wilde_                198\n\n  THE QUARE GANDER                   _Joseph Sheridan Le Fann_   202\n\n  THE FAIRIES' PASSAGE               _James Clarence Mangan_     214\n\n  THE KING OF THE BLACK DESERT       _Douglas Hyde_              218\n\n  THE PIPER AND THE PUCA             _Douglas Hyde_              236\n\n  THE FAIRY CHANGELING               _Dora Sigerson_             241\n\n  THE TALKING HEAD OF DONN-BO        _Eleanor Hull_              243\n\n  THE BRACKET BULL                   _Douglas Hyde_              246\n\n  THE DEMON CAT                      _Lady Wilde_                262\n\n  THE ABBOT OF INISFALEN             _William Allingham_         265\n\n  MORRAHA                            _W. Larminie_               269\n\n  THE KILDARE POOKA                  _Patrick Kennedy_           286\n\n  THE KING'S SON                     _Thomas Boyd_               290\n\n  MURTOUGH AND THE WITCH-WOMAN       _Eleanor Hull_              293\n\n  THE RED PONY                       _W. Larminie_               307\n\n  KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN         _Samuel Lover_              314\n\n  LAMENT OF THE LAST LEPRECHAUN      _Nora Hopper_               322\n\n  THE CORPSE WATCHERS                _Patrick Kennedy_           324\n\n  THE MAD PUDDING                    _William Carleton_          329\n\n  THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE             _Alfred Tennyson_           346\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\n\nIrish Fairy Lore has well been called by Mr. Alfred Nutt, one of the\nleading authorities on the subject, \"As fair and bounteous a harvest of\nmyth and romance as ever flourished among any race,\" and Dr. Joyce, the\nwell-known Irish scholar and historian, states: \"that it is very\nprobable that the belief in the existence of fairies came in with the\nearliest colonists that entered Ireland, and that this belief is\nrecorded in the oldest of native Irish writings in a way that proves it\nto have been, at the time treated of, long established and universally\nreceived.\"\n\nColgan himself supplies us with the name and derivation of the Irish\nword for fairy, Sidh (shee), still used throughout the country.\n\"Fantastical spirits,\" he writes, \"are by the Irish called men of the\nSidh, because they are seen, as it were, to come out of the beautiful\nhills to infest men, and hence the vulgar belief that they reside in\ncertain subterranean habitations; and sometimes the hills themselves are\ncalled by the Irish Sidhe or Siodha.\"\n\nIn Colgan's time, then, the fairy superstition had passed from the upper\nclasses, gradually disenthralled of it by the influence of Christianity\nto the common people, among whom it is still rife. But it is clear that\nin the time of St. Patrick a belief in a world of fairies existed even\nin the King's household, for it is recorded that \"when the two daughters\nof King Leary of Ireland, Ethnea the fair and Fedelma the ruddy, came\nearly one morning to the well of Clebach to wash, they found there a\nsynod of holy bishops with Patrick. And they knew not whence they came,\nor in what form, or from what people, or from what country; but they\nsupposed them to be Duine Sidh, or gods of the earth, or a phantasm.\"\n\nAs suggested, the belief of the Princesses obtains to this very day\namongst the peasantry of remote districts in Ireland, who still maintain\nthat the fairies inhabit the Sidhe, or hills, and record instances of\nrelations and friends being transported into their underground palaces.\n\nThe truth is that the Gaelic peasant, Scotch and Irish, is a mystic, and\nbelieves not only in this world, and the world to come, but in that\nother world which is the world of Faery, and which exercises an\nextraordinary influence upon many actions of his life.\n\nWe see in the well-known dialogue between Oisin (Ossian) and St.\nPatrick, and in other early Irish writers, how potent an influence\nDruidism, with its powers of concealing and changing, of paralysing and\ncursing, had been held to be in the days when the Irish worshipped no\nhideous idols, but adored Beal and Dagdae, the Great or the Good God,\nand afterwards Aine, the Moon, Goddess of the Water and of Wisdom, and\nwhen their minor Deities were Mananan Mac Lir, the Irish Neptune, whose\nname is still to be found in the Isle of _Man_; Crom, who corresponded\nto Ceres; Iphinn, the benevolent, whose relations to the Irish Oirfidh\nresembled those of Apollo towards Orpheus. The ancient Irish owed\nallegiance also to the Elements, to the Wind, and to the Stars.\n\nBesides these Pagan Divinities, however, and quite apart from them, the\nearly Irish believed in a hierarchy of fairy beings, closely analagous\nto us \"humans,\" supposed to people hill and valley, old road and old\nearth-mound, lakes and rivers, and there to exercise a constant, if\noccult, influence upon mankind.\n\nVarious theories have been advanced to account for their origin. Some\ncall these fairies angels outcast from heaven for their unworthiness,\nyet not evil enough for hell, and who, therefore, occupy intermediate\nspace.\n\nOthers suggest that they are the spirits of that mysterious early Irish\nrace, the Tuatha da Danann, who were driven by their conquerors, the\nMilesians, to become \"men of the hills,\" if not \"cave\" and \"lake\ndwellers,\" in order to avoid the extermination that ultimately awaited\nthem. Their artistic skill and superior knowledge evidenced to this day\nby remarkable sepulchral mounds, stone-inscribed spiral ornamentation,\nand beautiful bronze spear-heads, led them to be accounted magicians,\nand Mr. Yeats and others of his school favour the idea that the minor\ndeities of the early Irish above referred to were the earliest members\nof the Tuatha da Danann dynasty, and that we here have a form of that\nancestor worship now met with amongst the Chinese and Japanese.\n\nDr. Joyce does not hold, however, that the subjugation of the Tuatha da\nDananns, with the subsequent belief regarding them, was the origin of\nIrish fairy mythology.\n\n\"The superstition, no doubt, existed long previously; and this\nmysterious race, having undergone a gradual deification, became\nconfounded and identified with the original local gods, and ultimately\nsuperseded them altogether.\"\n\nBut whatever their origin, supernatural powers evil and beneficent were\nsupposed to attach to them such as the power of spiriting away young\nmarried women to act as fairy nurses, and their infants to replace fairy\nweaklings, or again the power of conferring wealth, health, and\nprosperity where a certain ritual due to them had been performed by\ntheir human allies.\n\nThe injurious powers of malevolently disposed fairies can only be met,\naccording to popular belief, by wizards and wise women, who still\nexercise their arts in remote districts of Gaelic-speaking Ireland and\nScotland.\n\nThese fairies are supposed to be life-sized, but there was another class\nof diminutive preternatural beings who came into close touch with man.\n\nAmongst these were the Luchryman (Leith-phrogan) or _brogue_ (shoe)\nmaker, otherwise known as Lepracaun. He is always found mending or\nmaking a shoe, and if grasped firmly and kept constantly in view will\ndisclose hid treasure to you or render up his _sporan na sgillinge_ or\npurse of the (inexhaustible) shilling. He could only be bound by a\nplough chain or woollen thread. He is the type of industry which, if\nsteadily faced, leads to fortune, but, if lost sight of, is followed by\nits forfeiture.\n\nLove in idleness is personified by another pigmy, the _Gean-canach_\n(love-talker). He does not appear like the Luchryman, with a purse in\none of his pockets but with his hands in both of them and a DUDEEN\n(ancient Irish pipe) in his mouth as he lazily strolls through lonely\nvalleys making love to the foolish country lasses and \"gostering\" with\nthe idle \"boys.\"\n\nTo meet him meant bad luck, and whoever was ruined by ill-judged love\nwas said to have been with the Gean-canach.\n\nAnother evil sprite was the _Clobher-ceann_, \"a jolly, red-faced drunken\nlittle fellow,\" always \"found astride on a wine-butt\" and drinking and\nsinging from a full tankard in a hard drinker's cellar, and bound by his\nappearance to bring its owner to speedy ruin.\n\nThen there were the Leannan-sighe, or native Muses, to be found in every\nplace of note to inspire the local bard, and the _Beansighes_ (Banshees,\nfairy women) attached to each of the old Irish families and giving\nwarning of the death of one of its members with piteous lamentations.\n\nBlack Joanna of the Boyne (_Siubhan Dubh na Boinne_) appeared on\nHallowe'en in the shape of a great black fowl, bringing luck to the\nhouse whose _Vanithee_ (woman of the house) kept it constantly clean and\nneat.\n\nThe Pooka, who appeared in the shape of a horse, and whom Shakespeare\nhas adapted as \"Puck,\" was a goblin who combined \"horse-play\" with\nviciousness.\n\nThe _dullaghan_ was a churchyard demon whose head was of a movable\nkind, and Dr. Joyce writes: \"You generally meet him with his head in his\npocket, under his arm, or absent altogether; or if you have the fortune\nto light upon a number of _dullaghans_, you may see them amusing\nthemselves by flinging their heads at one another or kicking them for\nfootballs.\"\n\nAn even more terrible churchyard demon is the beautiful phantom that\nwaylays the widower at his wife's very tomb and poisons him by her kiss\nwhen he has yielded to her blandishments.\n\nOf monsters the Irish had, and still believe in, the _Piast_ (Latin\n_bestia_), a huge dragon or serpent confined to lakes by St. Patrick\ntill the day of judgment, but still occasionally seen in their waters.\n\nIn Fenian times the days of Finn and his companion knights, the Piast,\nhowever, roamed the country, devouring men and women and cattle in large\nnumbers, and some of the early heroes are recorded to have been\nswallowed alive by them and then to have hewed their way out of their\nentrails.\n\nThe Merrow, or Mermaid, is also still believed in, and many Folk Tales\nexist describing their intermarriage with mortals.\n\nAccording to Nicholas O'Kearney--\"It is the general opinion of many old\npersons versed in native traditional lore, that, before the introduction\nof Christianity, all animals possessed the faculties of human reason and\nspeech; and old story-tellers will gravely inform you that every beast\ncould speak before the arrival of St. Patrick, but that the Saint having\nexpelled the demons from the land by the sound of his bell, all the\nanimals that, before that time, had possessed the power of foretelling\nfuture events, such as the Black Steed of Binn-each-labhra, the Royal\nCat of Clough-magh-righ-cat (Clough), and others, became mute; and many\nof them fled to Egypt and other foreign countries.\"\n\nCats are said to have been appointed to guard hidden treasures; and\nthere are few who have not heard old Irish peasants tell about a strange\nmeeting of cats and a violent battle fought by them in his\nneighbourhood. \"It was believed,\" adds O'Kearney, \"that an evil spirit\nin the shape of a cat assumed command over these animals in various\ndistricts, and that when those wicked beings pleased they could compel\nall the cats belonging to their division to attack those of some other\ndistrict. The same was said of rats; and rat-expellers, when commanding\na colony of those troublesome and destructive animals to emigrate to\nsome other place, used to address their 'billet' to the infernal rat\nsupposed to hold command over the rest. In a curious pamphlet on the\npower of bardic compositions to charm and expel rats, lately published,\nMr. Eugene Curry states that a degraded priest, who was descended from\nan ancient family of hereditary bards, was enabled to expel a colony of\nrats by the force of satire!\"\n\nHence, of course, Shakespeare's reference to rhyming Irish rats to\ndeath.\n\nA few words upon the writers in this collection. Of Folk Tale collectors\nthe palm must be given to Dr. Douglas Hyde, whose great knowledge of\nIrish, combined with a fine literary faculty, has enabled him to present\nthe stories he has generously granted me the use of, in a manner which\ncombines complete fidelity to his original, with true artistic feeling.\n\nDr. Joyce has not only granted the use of his fine Heroic Tale of the\nPursuit of the Gilla Dacker, but had the honour of supplying Alfred,\nLord Tennyson, the late Poet Laureate, with the subject of his \"Voyage\nof Maeldune\" in a story of that name, adapted into English in his \"Old\nCeltic Romances.\" The Laureate acted on my suggestion that he should\nfound a poem upon one of the romances in that book; and to that\ncircumstance I owe the kind permission by his son and Messrs. Macmillan\nto republish it at length in this volume.\n\nBesides Dr. Hyde and Dr. Joyce I have been enabled, through the friendly\nleave of Messrs. Macmillan and Elliot and Stock, to use Mr. Jeremiah\nCurtin's and Mr. Larminie's excellently told Irish Fairy Tales. These\ntwo latter Folk Tale collectors have worked upon Dr. Hyde's plan of\ntaking down their tales from the lips of the peasants, and reproducing\nthem, whether from their Irish or Hiberno-Irish, as clearly as they were\nable to do so. The recent death of both of these writers is a serious\nloss to Irish Folk Lore.\n\nObligations are due to Miss Hull for two hitherto unpublished and fine\nFolk Tales, to Lady Gregory for the use of her \"Birth of Cuchulain,\" to\nStandish James O'Grady for his \"Boyish Exploits of Cuchulain and The\nComing of Finn,\" to the late Mrs. Ewing for \"The Hill-man and the\nHouse-wife,\" to Mrs. William Allingham for the use of two of her\nhusband's poems, to Mr. D. J. Donoghue for a poem by Mr. Thomas Boyd,\nand Mr. Chesson for one of his wife's (Nora Hopper), to Mrs. Shorter\n(Dora Sigerson) for a poem, and to Mr. Joseph Campbell for another, and\nfinally to Mr. W. B. Yeats for his two charming Fairy Poems, \"The Stolen\nChild\" and \"Faery Song.\"\n\n                                                 ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.\n\n  _Erinfa, Harlech, N. Wales,\n        July 12, 1909._\n\n\n\n\nThe Coming of Finn\n\n\nIt was the Eve of Samhain, which we Christians call All Hallows' Eve.\n\nThe King of Ireland, Conn, the Hundred-Fighter, sat at supper in his\npalace at Tara. All his chiefs and mighty men were with him. On his\nright hand was his only son, Art the Solitary, so called because he had\nno brothers. The sons of Morna, who kept the boy Finn out of his rights\nand were at the time trying to kill him if they could, were here too.\nChief amongst them was Gaul mac Morna, a huge and strong warrior, and\nCaptain of all the Fians ever since that battle in which Finn's father\nhad been killed.\n\nAnd Gaul's men were with him. The great long table was spread for\nsupper. A thousand wax candles shed their light through the chamber, and\ncaused the vessels of gold, silver, and bronze to shine. Yet, though it\nwas a great feast, none of these warriors seemed to care about eating or\ndrinking; every face was sad, and there was little conversation, and no\nmusic. It seemed as if they were expecting some calamity. Conn's\nsceptre, which was a plain staff of silver, lay beside him on the table,\nand there was a canopy of bright bronze over his head. Gaul mac Morna,\nCaptain of the Fians, sat at the other end of the long table. Every\nwarrior wore a bright banqueting mantle of silk or satin, scarlet or\ncrimson, blue, green, or purple, fastened on the breast either with a\ngreat brooch or with a pin of gold or silver. Yet, though their raiment\nwas bright and gay, and though all the usual instruments of festivity\nwere there, and a thousand tall candles shed their light over the scene,\nno one looked happy.\n\nThen was heard a low sound like thunder, and the earth seemed to\ntremble, and after that they distinctly heard a footfall like the slow,\ndeliberate tread of a giant. These footfalls sent a chill into every\nheart, and every face, gloomy before, was now pale.\n\nThe King leaned past his son Art the Solitary, and said to a certain\nDruid who sat beside Art, \"Is this the son of Midna come before his\ntime?\" \"It is not,\" said the Druid, \"but it is the man who is to conquer\nMidna. One is coming to Tara this night before whose glory all other\nglory shall wax dim.\"\n\nShortly after that they heard the voices of the doorkeepers raised in\ncontention, as if they would repel from the hall someone who wished to\nenter, then a slight scuffle, and after that a strange figure entered\nthe chamber. He was dressed in the skins of wild beasts, and wore over\nhis shoulders a huge thick cloak of wild boars' skins, fastened on the\nbreast with a white tusk of the same animal. He wore a shield and two\nspears. Though of huge stature his face was that of a boy, smooth on the\ncheeks and lips. It was white and ruddy, and very handsome. His hair was\nlike refined gold. A light seemed to go out from him, before which the\ncandles burned dim. It was Finn.\n\nHe stood in the doorway, and cried out in a strong and sonorous, but\nmusical, voice:\n\n\"O Conn the Hundred-Fighter, son of Felimy, the righteous son of Tuthal\nthe legitimate, O King of the Kings of Erin, a wronged and disinherited\nyouth, possessing nowhere one rood of his patrimony, a wanderer and an\noutlaw, a hunter of the wildernesses and mountains, claims hospitality\nof thee, illustrious prince, on the eve of the great festival of\nSamhain.\"\n\n\"Thou art welcome whoever thou art,\" answered the King, \"and doubly\nwelcome because thou art unfortunate. I think, such is thy face and\nform, that thou art the son of some mighty king on whom disaster has\nfallen undeserved. The high gods of Erin grant thee speedy restoration\nand strong vengeance of thy many wrongs. Sit here, O noble youth,\nbetween me and my only son, Art, heir to my kingdom.\"\n\nAn attendant took his weapons from the youth and hung them on the wall\nwith the rest, and Finn sat down between the King of Ireland and his\nonly son. Choice food was set before him, which he ate, and old ale,\nwhich he drank. From the moment he entered no one thought of anything\nbut of him. When Finn had made an end of eating and drinking, he said to\nthe King:\n\n\"O illustrious prince, though it is not right for a guest to even seem\nto observe aught that may be awry, or not as it should be, in the hall\nof his entertainer, yet the sorrow of a kindly host is a sorrow, too, to\nhis guest, and sometimes unawares the man of the house finds succour and\nhelp in the stranger. There is sorrow in this chamber of festivity. If\nanyone who is dear to thee and thy people happens to be dead, I can do\nnothing. But I say it, and it is not a vain boast, that even if a person\nis at the point of death, I can restore him to life and health, for\nthere are marvellous powers of life-giving in my two hands.\"\n\nConn the Hundred-Fighter answered, \"Our grief is not such as you\nsuppose; and why should I not tell a cause of shame, which is known far\nand wide? This, then, is the reason of our being together, and the gloom\nwhich is over us. There is a mighty enchanter whose dwelling is in the\nhaunted mountains of Slieve Gullion in the north. His name is Allen, son\nof Midna, and his enmity to me is as great as his power. Once every\nyear, at this season, it is his pleasure to burn Tara. Descending out of\nhis wizard haunts, he standeth over against the city and shoots balls of\nfire out of his mouth against it, till it is consumed. Then he goes away\nmocking and triumphant. This annual building of Tara, only to be\nannually consumed, is a shame to me, and till this enchanter declared\nwar against me, I have lived without reproach.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Finn, \"how is it that thy young warriors, valiant and swift,\ndo not repel him, or kill him?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Conn, \"all our valour is in vain against this man. Our\nhosts encompass Tara on all sides, keeping watch and ward when the fatal\nnight comes. Then the son of Midna plays on his Druidic instrument of\nmusic, on his magic pipe and his magic lyre, and as the fairy music\nfalls on our ears, our eyelids grow heavy, and soon all subside upon the\ngrass in deep slumber. So comes this man against the city and shoots his\nfire-balls against it, and utterly consumes it. Nine years he has burnt\nTara in that manner, and this is the tenth. At midnight to-night he will\ncome and do the same. Last year (though it was a shame to me that I, who\nam the high King over all Ireland, should not be able myself to defend\nTara) I summoned Gaul mac Morna and all the Fians to my assistance. They\ncame, but the pipe and lyre of the son of Midna prevailed over them too,\nso that Tara was burned as at other times. Nor have we any reason to\nbelieve that the son of Midna will not burn the city again to-night, as\nhe did last year. All the women and children have been sent out of Tara\nthis day. We are only men of war here, waiting for the time. That, O\nnoble youth, is why we are sad. The 'Pillars of Tara' are broken, and\nthe might of the Fians is as nought before the power of this man.\"\n\n\"What shall be my reward if I kill this man and save Tara?\" asked Finn.\n\n\"Thy inheritance,\" answered the King, \"be it great or small, and whether\nit lies in Ireland or beyond Ireland; and for securities I give you my\nson Art and Gaul mac Morna and the Chief of the Fians.\"\n\nGaul and the captains of the Fianna consented to that arrangement,\nthough reluctantly, for their minds misgave them as to who the great\nyouth might be.\n\nAfter that all arose and armed themselves and ringed Tara round with\nhorse and foot, and thrice Conn the Hundred-Fighter raised his awful\nregal voice, enjoining vigilance upon his people, and thrice Gaul mac\nMorna did the same, addressing the Fians, and after that they filled\ntheir ears with wax and wool, and kept a stern and fierce watch, and\nmany of them thrust the points of their swords into their flesh.\n\nNow Finn was alone in the banqueting chamber after the rest had gone\nout, and he washed his face and his hands in pure water, and he took\nfrom the bag that was at his girdle the instruments of divination and\nmagic, which had been his father's, and what use he made of them is not\nknown; but ere long a man stood before him, holding a spear in one hand\nand a blue mantle in the other. There were twenty nails of gold of\nArabia in the spear. The nails glittered like stars, and twinkled with\nlive light as stars do in a frosty night, and the blade of it quivered\nlike a tongue of white fire. From haft to blade-point that spear was\nalive. There were voices in it too, and the war-tunes of the enchanted\nraces of Erin, whom they called the Tuatha De Danan, sounded from it.\nThe mantle, too, was a wonder, for innumerable stars twinkled in the\nblue, and the likeness of clouds passed through it. The man gave these\nthings to Finn, and when he had instructed him in their use, he was not\nseen.\n\nThen Finn arose and armed himself, and took the magic spear and mantle\nand went out. There was a ring of flame round Tara that night, for the\nFians and the warriors of Conn had torches in their hands, and all the\nroyal buildings of Tara showed clear in the light, and also the dark\nserpentine course of the Boyne, which flowed past Tara on the north; and\nthere, standing silent and alert, were the innumerable warriors of all\nErin, with spear and shield, keeping watch and ward against the son of\nMidna, also the Four Pillars of Tara in four dense divisions around the\nhigh King, even Conn the Hundred-Fighter.\n\nFinn stood with his back to the palace, which was called the\nHouse-of-the-going-round-of-Mead, between the palace and Conn, and he\ngrasped the magic spear strongly with one hand and the mantle with the\nother.\n\nAs midnight drew nigh, he heard far away in the north, out of the\nmountains of Slieve Gullion, a fairy tune played, soft, low, and slow,\nas if on a silver flute; and at the same time the roar of Conn the\nHundred-Fighter, and the voice of Gaul like thunder, and the responsive\nshouts of the captains, and the clamour of the host, for the host\nshouted all together, and clashed their swords against their shields in\nfierce defiance, when in spite of all obstructions the fairy music of\nthe enchanter began to steal into their souls. That shout was heard all\nover Ireland, echoing from sea to sea, and the hollow buildings of Tara\nreverberated to the uproar. Yet through it all could be heard the low,\nslow, delicious music that came from Slieve Gullion. Finn put the point\nof the spear to his forehead. It burned him like fire, yet his stout\nheart did not fail. Then the roar of the host slowly faded away as in a\ndream, though the captains were still shouting, and two-thirds of the\ntorches fell to the ground. And now, succeeding the flute music,\nsounded the music of a stringed instrument exceedingly sweet. Finn\npressed the cruel spear-head closer to his forehead, and saw every torch\nfall, save one which wavered as if held by a drunken man, and beneath it\na giant figure that reeled and tottered and strove in vain to keep its\nfeet. It was Conn the Hundred-Fighter. As he fell there was a roar as of\nmany waters; it was the ocean mourning for the high King's fall. Finn\npassed through the fallen men and stood alone on the dark hill-side. He\nheard the feet of the enchanter splashing through the Boyne, and saw his\nhuge form ascending the slopes of Tara. When the enchanter saw that all\nwas silent and dark there he laughed and from his mouth blew a red\nfire-ball at the Teck-Midcuarta, which he was accustomed first to set in\nflames. Finn caught the fire-ball in the magic mantle. The enchanter\nblew a second and a third, and Finn caught them both. The man saw that\nhis power over Tara was at an end, and that his magic arts had been\ndefeated. On the third occasion he saw Finn's face, and recognised his\nconqueror. He turned to flee, and though slow was his coming, swifter\nthan the wind was his going, that he might recover the protection of his\nenchanted palace before the \"fair-faced youth clad in skins\" should\novertake him. Finn let fall the mantle as he had been instructed, and\npursued him, but in vain. Soon he perceived that he could not possibly\novertake the swift enchanter. Then he was aware that the magic spear\nstruggled in his hand like a hound in a leash. \"Go, then, if thou wilt,\"\nhe said, and, poising, cast the spear from him. It shot through the dark\nnight hissing and screaming. There was a track of fire behind it. Finn\nfollowed, and on the threshold of the enchanted palace he found the body\nof Midna. He was quite dead, with the blood pouring through a wound in\nthe middle of his back; but the spear was gone. Finn drew his sword and\ncut off the enchanter's head, and returned with it to Tara. When he came\nto the spot where he had dropped the mantle it was not seen, but smoke\nand flame issued there from a hole in the ground. That hole was twenty\nfeet deep in the earth, and at the bottom of it there was a fire always\nfrom that night, and it was never extinguished. It was called the fire\nof the son of Midna. It was in a depression on the north side of the\nhill of Tara, called the Glen of the Mantle, Glen-a-Brat.\n\nFinn, bearing the head, passed through the sleepers into the palace and\nspiked the head on his own spear, and drove the spear-end into the\nground at Conn's end of the great hall. Then the sickness and faintness\nof death came upon Finn, also a great horror and despair overshadowed\nhim, so that he was about to give himself up for utterly lost. Yet he\nrecalled one of his marvellous attributes, and approaching a silver\nvessel, into which pure water ever flowed and which was always full, he\nmade a cup with his two hands and, lifting it to his mouth, drank, and\nthe blood began to circulate in his veins, and strength returned to his\nlimbs, and the cheerful hue of rosy health to his cheeks.\n\nHaving rested himself sufficiently he went forth and shouted to the\nsleeping host, and called the captains by their names, beginning with\nConn. They awoke and rose up, though dazed and stupid, for it was\ndifficult for any man, no matter how he had stopped his ears, to avoid\nhearing Finn when he sent forth his voice of power. They were\nastonished to find that Tara was still standing, for though the night\nwas dark, the palaces and temples, all of hewn timber, were brilliantly\ncoloured and of many hues, for in those days men delighted in splendid\ncolours.\n\nWhen the captains came together Finn said, \"I have slain Midna.\" \"Where\nis his head?\" they asked, not because they disbelieved him, but because\nthe heads of men slain in battle were always brought away for trophies.\n\"Come and see,\" answered Finn. Conn and his only son and Gaul mac Morna\nfollowed the young hero into the Teck-Midcuarta, where the spear-long\nwaxen candles were still burning, and when they saw the head of Midna\nimpaled there at the end of the hall, the head of the man whom they\nbelieved to be immortal and not to be wounded or conquered, they were\nfilled with great joy, and praised their deliverer and paid him many\ncompliments.\n\n\"Who art thou, O brave youth?\" said Conn. \"Surely thou art the son of\nsome great king or champion, for heroic feats like thine are not\nperformed by the sons of inconsiderable and unknown men.\"\n\nThen Finn flung back his cloak of wild boars' skins, and holding his\nfather's treasure-bag in his hand before them all, cried in a loud\nvoice:\n\n\"I am Finn, the son of Cool, the son of Trenmor, the son of Basna; I am\nhe whom the sons of Morna have been seeking to destroy from the time\nthat I was born; and here to-night, O King of the Kings of Erin, I claim\nthe fulfilment of thy promise, and the restoration of my inheritance,\nwhich is the Fian leadership of Fail.\" Thereupon Gaul mac Morna put his\nright hand into Finn's, and became his man. Then his brothers and his\nsons, and the sons of his brothers, did so in succession, and after that\nall the chief men of the Fians did the same, and that night Finn was\nsolemnly and surely installed in the Fian leadership of Erin, and put in\npossession of all the woods and forests and waste places, and all the\nhills and mountains and promontories, and all the streams and rivers of\nErin, and the harbours and estuaries and the harbour-dues of the\nmerchants, and all ships and boats and galleys with their mariners, and\nall that pertained of old time to the Fian leadership of Fail.\n\nSTANDISH JAMES O'GRADY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Three Crowns\n\n(_Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect._)\n\n\nThere was once a king, some place or other, and he had three daughters.\nThe two eldest were very proud and uncharitable, but the youngest was as\ngood as they were bad. Well, three princes came to court them, and two\nof them were the _moral_ of the two eldest ladies, and one was just as\nlovable as the youngest. They were all walking down to a lake one day\nthat lay at the bottom of the lawn, just like the one at Castleboro',\nand they met a poor beggar. The King wouldn't give him anything, and the\neldest princes wouldn't give him anything, nor their sweethearts; but\nthe youngest daughter and her true love did give him something, and kind\nwords along with it, and that was better _nor_ all.\n\nWhen they got to the edge of the lake, what did they find but the\nbeautifulest boat you ever saw in your life; and says the eldest, \"I'll\ntake a sail in this fine boat;\" and says the second eldest, \"I'll take a\nsail in this fine boat;\" and says the youngest, \"I won't take a sail in\nthat fine boat, for I'm afraid it's an enchanted one.\" But the others\noverpersuaded her to go in, and her father was just going in after her,\nwhen up sprung on the deck a little man only seven inches high, and he\nordered him to stand back. Well, all the men put their hands to their\n_soords_; and if the same soords were only thraneens they weren't able\nto draw them, for all _sthrenth_ was left their arms. _Seven Inches_\nloosened the silver chain that fastened the boat and pushed away; and\nafter grinning at the four men, says he to them: \"Bid your daughters and\nyour brides farewell for awhile. That wouldn't have happened you three,\nonly for your want of charity. You,\" says he to the youngest, \"needn't\nfear; you'll recover your princess all in good time, and you and she\nwill be as happy as the day is long. Bad people, if they were rolling\nstark naked in gold, would not be rich. _Banacht lath!_\" Away they\nsailed, and the ladies stretched out their hands, but weren't able to\nsay a word.\n\nWell, they were crossin' the lake while a cat'd be lickin' her ear, and\nthe poor men couldn't stir hand nor foot to follow them. They saw _Seven\nInches_ handing the three princesses out of the boat, and letting them\ndown by a nice basket and _winglas_ into a draw-well that was\nconvenient, but king nor princes never saw an opening before in the same\nplace. When the last lady was out of sight the men found the strength in\ntheir arms and legs again. Round the lake they ran, and never drew rein\ntill they came to the well and windlass, and there was the silk rope\nrolled on the axle, and the nice white basket hanging to it. \"Let me\ndown,\" says the youngest prince; \"I'll die or recover them again.\"\n\"No,\" says the second daughter's sweetheart, \"I'm entitled to my turn\nbefore you.\" \"And,\" says the other, \"I must get first turn, in right of\nmy bride.\" So they gave way to him, and in he got into the basket, and\ndown they let him. First they lost sight of him, and then, after winding\noff a hundred perches of the silk rope, it slackened, and they stopped\nturning. They waited two hours, and then they went to dinner, because\nthere was no chuck made at the rope.\n\nGuards were set till morning, and then down went the second prince, and,\nsure enough, the youngest of all got himself let down on the third day.\nHe went down perches and perches, while it was as dark about him as if\nhe was in a big pot with the cover on. At last he saw a glimmer far\ndown, and in a short time he felt the ground. Out he came from the big\nlime-kiln, and lo and behold you, there was a wood and green fields, and\na castle in a lawn, and a bright sky over all. \"It's in Tir-na-n Oge I\nam,\" says he. \"Let's see what sort of people are in the castle.\" On he\nwalked across fields and lawn, and no one was there to keep him out or\nlet him into the castle; but the big hall door was wide open. He went\nfrom one fine room to another that was finer, and at last he reached the\nhandsomest of all, with a table in the middle; and such a dinner as was\nlaid upon it! The prince was hungry enough, but he was too mannerly to\ngo eat without being invited. So he sat by the fire, and he did not wait\nlong till he heard steps, and in came _Seven Inches_ and the youngest\nsister by the hand. Well, prince and princess flew into one another's\narms, and says the little man, says he, \"Why aren't you eating?\" \"I\nthink, sir,\" says he, \"it was only good manners to wait to be asked.\"\n\"The other princes didn't think so,\" says he. \"Each of them fell to\nwithout leave nor license, and only gave me the rough side o' his tongue\nwhen I told them they were making more free than welcome. Well, I don't\nthink they feel much hunger now. There they are, good _marvel_ instead\nof flesh and blood,\" says he, pointing to two statues, one in one corner\nand the other in the other corner of the room. The prince was\nfrightened, but he was afraid to say anything, and _Seven Inches_ made\nhim sit down to dinner between himself and his bride, and he'd be as\nhappy as the day is long, only for the sight of the stone men in the\ncorner. Well, that day went by, and when the next came, says _Seven\nInches_ to him, \"Now, you'll have to set out that way,\" pointing to the\nsun, \"and you'll find the second princess in a giant's castle this\nevening, when you'll be tired and hungry, and the eldest princess\nto-morrow evening; and you may as well bring them here with you. You\nneed not ask leave of their masters; they're only housekeepers with the\nbig fellows. I suppose, if they ever get home, they'll look on poor\npeople as if they were flesh and blood like themselves.\"\n\nAway went the prince, and bedad it's tired and hungry he was when he\nreached the first castle at sunset. Oh, wasn't the second princess glad\nto see him! And if she didn't give him a good supper it's a wonder. But\nshe heard the giant at the gate, and she hid the prince in a closet.\nWell, when he came in, he snuffed, and he snuffed, an' says he, \"_Be_\n(by) the life, I smell fresh mate.\" \"Oh,\" says the princess, \"it's only\nthe calf I got killed to-day.\" \"Ay, ay,\" says he, \"is supper ready?\"\n\"It is,\" says she; and before he ruz from the table he hid\nthree-quarters of the calf and a kag of wine. \"I think,\" says he, when\nall was done, \"I smell fresh mate still.\" \"It's sleepy you are,\" says\nshe; \"go to bed.\" \"When will you marry me?\" says the giant; \"you're\nputtin' me off too long.\" \"St. Tibb's Eve,\" says she. \"I wish I knew how\nfar off that is,\" says he; and he fell asleep with his head in the dish.\n\nNext day he went out after breakfast, and she sent the prince to the\ncastle where the eldest sister was. The same thing happened there; but\nwhen the giant was snoring, the princess wakened up the prince, and they\nsaddled two steeds in the stables, and _magh go bragh_ (the field for\never) with them. But the horses' heels struck the stones outside the\ngate, and up got the giant, and after them he made. He roared, and he\nshouted, and the more he shouted the faster ran the horses; and just as\nthe day was breaking he was only twenty perches behind. But the prince\ndidn't leave the Castle of _Seven Inches_ without being provided with\nsomething good. He reined in his steed, and flung a short, sharp knife\nover his shoulder, and up sprung a thick wood between the giant and\nthemselves. They caught the wind that blew before them, and the wind\nthat blew behind them did not catch them. At last they were near the\ncastle where the other sister lived; and there she was, waiting for them\nunder a high hedge, and a fine steed under her.\n\nBut the giant was now in sight, roaring like a hundred lions, and the\nother giant was out in a moment, and the chase kept on. For every two\nsprings the horses gave the giants gave three, and at last they were\nonly seventy perches off. Then the prince stopped again and flung the\nsecond skian behind him. Down went all the flat field, till there was a\nquarry between them a quarter of a mile deep, and the bottom filled with\nblack water; and before the giants could get round it the prince and\nprincesses were inside the domain of the great magician, where the high\nthorny hedge opened of itself to everyone that he chose to let in.\n\nWell, to be sure, there was joy enough between the three sisters till\nthe two eldest saw their lovers turned into stone. But while they were\nshedding tears for them _Seven Inches_ came in and touched them with his\nrod. So they were flesh and blood and life once more, and there was\ngreat hugging and kissing, and all sat down to a nice breakfast, and\n_Seven Inches_ sat at the head of the table.\n\nWhen breakfast was over he took them into another room, where there was\nnothing but heaps of gold and silver and diamonds, and silks and satins;\nand on a table there was lying three sets of crowns: a gold crown was in\na silver crown, and that was lying in a copper crown. He took up one set\nof crowns and gave it to the eldest princess; and another set, and gave\nit to the second princess; and another set, and gave it to the youngest\nprincess of all; and says he, \"Now you may all go to the bottom of the\npit, and you have nothing to do but stir the basket, and the people that\nare watching above will draw you up, princesses first, princes after.\nBut remember, ladies, you are to keep your crowns safe, and be married\nin them all the same day. If you be married separately, or if you be\nmarried without your crowns, a curse will follow--mind what I say.\"\n\nSo they took leave of him with great respect, and walked arm-in-arm to\nthe bottom of the draw-well. There was a sky and a sun over them and a\ngreat high wall, and the bottom of the draw-well was inside the arch.\nThe youngest pair went last, and says the princess to the prince, \"I'm\nsure the two princes don't mean any good to you. Keep these crowns under\nyour cloak, and if you are obliged to stay last, don't get into the\nbasket, but put a big stone, or any heavy thing, inside, and see what\nwill happen.\"\n\nSo when they were inside the dark cave they put in the eldest princess\nfirst, and she stirred the basket and up she went, but first she gave a\nlittle scream. Then the basket was let down again, and up went the\nsecond princess, and then up went the youngest; but first she put her\narms round her prince's neck and kissed him, and cried a little. At last\nit came to the turn of the youngest prince, and well became him--instead\nof going into the basket he put in a big stone. He drew on one side and\nlistened, and after the basket was drawn up about twenty perch down came\nitself and the stone like thunder, and the stone was made _brishe_ of on\nthe flags.\n\nWell, my poor prince had nothing for it but to walk back to the castle;\nand through it and round it he walked, and the finest of eating and\ndrinking he got, and a bed of bog-down to sleep on, and fine walks he\ntook through gardens and lawns, but not a sight could he get, high or\nlow, of _Seven Inches_. Well, I don't think any of _us_ would be tired\nof this way of living for ever! Maybe we would. Anyhow, the prince got\ntired of it before a week, he was so lonesome for his true love; and at\nthe end of a month he didn't know what to do with himself.\n\nOne morning he went into the treasure room and took notice of a\nbeautiful snuff-box on the table that he didn't remember seeing there\nbefore. He took it in his hands and opened it, and out _Seven Inches_\nwalked on the table. \"I think, prince,\" says he, \"you're getting a\nlittle tired of my castle?\" \"Ah!\" says the other, \"if I had my princess\nhere, and could see you now and then, I'd never see a dismal day.\"\n\"Well, you're long enough here now, and you're wanting there above. Keep\nyour bride's crowns safe, and whenever you want my help open this\nsnuff-box. Now take a walk down the garden, and come back when you're\ntired.\"\n\nWell, the prince was going down a gravel walk with a quick-set hedge on\neach side and his eyes on the ground, and he thinking on one thing and\nanother. At last he lifted his eyes, and there he was outside of a\nsmith's bawn gate that he had often passed before, about a mile away\nfrom the palace of his betrothed princess. The clothes he had on him\nwere as ragged as you please, but he had his crowns safe under his old\ncloak.\n\nSo the smith came out, and says he, \"It's a shame for a strong big\nfellow like you to be on the _sthra_, and so much work to be done. Are\nyou any good with hammer and tongs? Come in and bear a hand, and I'll\ngive you diet and lodging and a few thirteens when you earn them.\" \"Never\nsay't twice,\" says the prince; \"I want nothing but to be employed.\" So\nhe took the sledge and pounded away at the red-hot bar that the smith\nwas turning on the anvil to make into a set of horse-shoes.\n\nWell, they weren't long powdhering away, when a _stronshuch_ (idler) of\na tailor came in; and when the smith asked him what news he had, he got\nthe handle of the bellows and began to blow to let out all he had heard\nfor the last two days. There were so many questions and answers at first\nthat, if I told them all, it would be bed-time before I'd be done. So\nhere is the substance of the discourse; and before he got far into it\nthe forge was half filled with women knitting stockings and men smoking.\n\nYous all heard how the two princesses were unwilling to be married till\nthe youngest would be ready with her crowns and her sweetheart. But\nafter the windlass loosened _accidentally_ when they were pulling up her\nbridegroom that was to be, there was no more sign of a well or a rope or\na windlass than there is on the palm of your hand. So the buckeens that\nwere coortin' the eldest ladies wouldn't give peace nor ease to their\nlovers nor the King till they got consent to the marriage, and it was to\ntake place this morning. Myself went down out of curiosity; and to be\nsure I was delighted with the grand dresses of the two brides and the\nthree crowns on their heads--gold, silver, and copper--one inside the\nother. The youngest was standing by, mournful enough, in white, and all\nwas ready. The two bridegrooms came walking in as proud and grand as you\nplease, and up they were walking to the altar rails when, my dear, the\nboards opened two yards wide under their feet, and down they went among\nthe dead men and the coffins in the vaults. Oh, such screeching as the\nladies gave! and such running and racing and peeping down as there was;\nbut the clerk soon opened the door of the vault, and up came the two\nheroes, and their fine clothes covered an inch thick with cobwebs and\nmould.\n\nSo the King said they should put off the marriage, \"For,\" says he, \"I\nsee there is no use in thinking of it till my youngest gets her three\ncrowns and is married along with the others. I'll give my youngest\ndaughter for a wife to whoever brings three crowns to me like the\nothers; and if he doesn't care to be married, some other one will, and\nI'll make his fortune.\" \"I wish,\" says the smith, \"I could do it; but I\nwas looking at the crowns after the princesses got home, and I don't\nthink there's a black or a white smith on the face of the earth could\nimitate them.\" \"Faint heart never won fair lady,\" says the prince. \"Go\nto the palace, and ask for a quarter of a pound of gold, a quarter of a\npound of silver, and a quarter of a pound of copper. Get one crown for a\npattern, and my head for a pledge, and I'll give you out the very things\nthat are wanted in the morning.\" \"Ubbabow,\" says the smith, \"are you in\nearnest?\" \"Faith, I am so,\" says he. \"Go! Worse than lose you can't.\"\n\nTo make a long story short, the smith got the quarter of a pound of\ngold, and the quarter of a pound of silver, and the quarter of a pound\nof copper, and gave them and the pattern crown to the prince. He shut\nthe forge door at nightfall, and the neighbours all gathered in the\nbawn, and they heard him hammering, hammering, hammering, from that to\ndaybreak, and every now and then he'd pitch out through the window bits\nof gold, silver, or copper; and the idlers scrambled for them, and\ncursed one another, and prayed for the good luck of the workman.\n\nWell, just as the sun was thinking to rise he opened the door and\nbrought the three crowns he got from his true love, and such shouting\nand huzzaing as there was! The smith asked him to go along with him to\nthe palace, but he refused; so off set the smith, and the whole townland\nwith him; and wasn't the King rejoiced when he saw the crowns! \"Well,\"\nsays he to the smith, \"you're a married man, and what's to be done?\"\n\"Faith, your majesty, I didn't make them crowns at all; it was a big\nshuler (vagrant) of a fellow that took employment with me yesterday.\"\n\"Well, daughter, will you marry the fellow that made these crowns?\" \"Let\nme see them first, father.\" So when she examined them she knew them\nright well, and guessed it was her true love that had sent them. \"I will\nmarry the man that these crowns came from,\" says she.\n\n\"Well,\" said the King to the eldest of the two princes, \"go up to the\nsmith's forge, take my best coach, and bring home the bridegroom.\" He\nwas very unwilling to do this, he was so proud, but he did not wish to\nrefuse. When he came to the forge he saw the prince standing at the\ndoor, and beckoned him over to the coach. \"Are you the fellow,\" says he,\n\"that made them crowns?\" \"Yes,\" says the other. \"Then,\" says he, \"maybe\nyou'd give yourself a brushing, and get into that coach; the King wants\nto see you. I pity the princess.\" The young prince got into the\ncarriage, and while they were on the way he opened the snuff-box, and\nout walked _Seven Inches_, and stood on his thigh. \"Well,\" says he,\n\"what trouble is on you now?\" \"Master,\" says the other, \"please to let\nme back in my forge, and let this carriage be filled with\npaving-stones.\" No sooner said than done. The prince was sitting in his\nforge, and the horses wondered what was after happening to the carriage.\n\nWhen they came to the palace yard the King himself opened the carriage\ndoor to pay respect to the new son-in-law. As soon as he turned the\nhandle a shower of stones fell on his powdered wig and his silk coat,\nand down he fell under them. There was great fright, and some tittering,\nand the King, after he wiped the blood from his forehead, looked very\ncross at the eldest prince. \"My liege,\" says he, \"I'm very sorry for\nthis _accidence_, but I'm not to blame. I saw the young smith get into\nthe carriage, and we never stopped a minute since.\" \"It's uncivil you\nwere to him. Go,\" says he to the other prince, \"and bring the young\nprince here, and be polite.\" \"Never fear,\" says he.\n\nBut there's some people that couldn't be good-natured if they were to be\nmade heirs of Damer's estate. Not a bit civiller was the new messenger\nthan the old, and when the King opened the carriage door a second time\nit's a shower of mud that came down on him; and if he didn't fume and\nsplutter and shake himself it's no matter. \"There's no use,\" says he,\n\"going on this way. The fox never got a better messenger than himself.\"\n\nSo he changed his clothes and washed himself, and out he set to the\nsmith's forge. Maybe he wasn't polite to the young prince, and asked him\nto sit along with himself. The prince begged to be allowed to sit in the\nother carriage, and when they were half-way he opened his snuff-box.\n\"Master,\" says he, \"I'd wished to be dressed now according to my rank.\"\n\"You shall be that,\" says _Seven Inches_. \"And now I'll bid you\nfarewell. Continue as good and kind as you always were; love your wife,\nand that's all the advice I'll give you.\" So _Seven Inches_ vanished;\nand when the carriage door was opened in the yard, out walks the prince,\nas fine as hands and pins could make him, and the first thing he did was\nto run over to his bride and embrace her very heartily.\n\nEveryone had great joy but the two other princes. There was not much\ndelay about the marriages that were all celebrated on the same day, and\nthe youngest prince and princess were the happiest married couple you\never heard of in a story.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Grateful Beasts\n\n\nThere was once a young man on his way to a fair with five shillings in\nhis pocket. As he went he saw some little boys beating a poor mouse they\nhad just caught.\n\n\"Come, boys,\" says he, \"do not be so cruel. Sell me your mouse for\nsixpence, and go off and buy some sweets.\"\n\nThey gave him the mouse, and he let the poor little beast go. He had not\ngone far when he met a fresh set of boys teasing the life out of a poor\nweasel.\n\nWell, he bought him off for a shilling and let him go. The third\ncreature he saved, from a crowd of cruel young men, was an ass, but he\nhad to give a whole half-crown to get him off. \"Now,\" says poor Neddy,\n\"you may as well take me with you. I'll be of some use, I think, for\nwhen you are tired you can get up on my back.\" \"With all my heart,\" said\nJack, for that was the young man's name.\n\nThe day was very hot, and the boy sat under a tree to enjoy the shade.\nAs soon as he did he fell asleep, but he was soon awakened by a\nwicked-looking giant and his two servants. \"How dare you let your ass\ntrespass in my field,\" cried he, \"and do such mischief.\" \"I had no\nnotion that he had done anything of the kind.\" \"No notion? I'll notion\nyou, then. Bring out that chest,\" said he to one of his servants, and\nbefore you could wink they had tied the poor boy, hand and foot, with a\nstout rope, thrown him into the chest, and tossed the chest into the\nriver. Then they all went away but poor Neddy, till who should come up\nbut the weasel and the mouse, and they asked him what was the matter. So\nthe ass told them his story.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the weasel, \"he must be the same boy that saved the mouse and\nmyself. Had he a brown patch in the arm of his coat?\" \"The very same.\"\n\"Come, then,\" said the weasel, \"and let us try and get him out of the\nriver.\" \"By all means,\" said the others. So the weasel got on the ass's\nback and the mouse got into his ear, and away they went. They had not\ngone far when they saw the chest, which had been stopped among the\nrushes at the end of a little island.\n\nIn they went, and the weasel and the mouse gnawed the rope till they had\nset their master free.\n\nWell, they were all very glad, and were having a great talk about the\ngiant and his men, when what should the weasel spy but an egg, with the\nmost lovely colours on the shell, lying down in the shallow water. It\nwas not long before he had fished it out, and Jack kept turning it round\nand round and praising it.\n\n\"Oh, my dear friends,\" said he to the ass, the mouse, and the weasel,\n\"how I wish it was in my power to thank you as I should like. How I wish\nI had a fine house and grounds to take you to where you could live in\npeace and plenty.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth when he and the beasts found\nthemselves standing on the steps of a grand castle, with the finest lawn\nbefore it that you ever saw. There was no one inside or outside it to\nkeep it from them, so in they went, and there they lived as happy as\nkings.\n\nJack was standing at his gate one day as three merchants were passing by\nwith their goods packed on the backs of horses and mules.\n\n\"Bless our eyes,\" cried they, \"what does this mean? There was no castle\nor lawn here when we went by last time.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" cried Jack, \"but you shall not be the worse for it. Take\nyour beasts into the yard at the back of the house and give them a good\nfeed, and if you can spare the time stay and take a bit of dinner with\nme.\"\n\nThey were only too glad to do so; but after dinner Jack was so foolish\nas to show them his painted egg, and to tell them that you had only to\nwish for a thing when you had it in your hand and your wish was granted.\nHe proved it to be so. Then one of his guests put a powder into Jack's\nnext glass of wine, and when he awoke he found himself in the island\nagain, with his patched coat on him, and his three friends in front of\nhim, all looking very downhearted. \"Ah, Master,\" said the weasel, \"you\nwill never be wise enough for the tricky people that are in the world.\"\n\n\"Where did these thieves say they lived, and what names did they say\nthey were called by?\" Jack scratched his head, and after a while was\nable to tell them.\n\n\"Come, Neddy,\" says the weasel, \"let us be jogging. It would not be safe\nfor the master to go with us; but if we have luck we will bring him the\negg back after all.\"\n\nSo the weasel got on the ass's back and the mouse got into his ear, and\naway they went till they reached the house of the head rogue. The mouse\nwent in, and the ass and the weasel hid themselves in a copse outside.\n\nThe mouse soon came back to them.\n\n\"Well, what news?\" said they.\n\n\"Dull news enough; he has the egg in a low chest in his bedroom, and the\ndoor is strongly locked and bolted, and a pair of cats with fiery eyes\nare chained to the chest watching it night and day.\"\n\n\"Let us go back,\" said the ass; \"we can do nothing.\" \"Wait!\" said the\nweasel.\n\nWhen bedtime came, said the weasel to the mouse: \"Go in at the keyhole\nand get behind the rogue's head, and stay there two or three hours\nsucking his hair.\"\n\n\"What good would there be in that?\" asked the ass. \"Wait, and you'll\nknow!\" said the weasel.\n\nNext morning the merchant was quite mad to find the state his hair was\nin.\n\n\"But I'll be a match for you to-night, my fine mouse,\" said he. So he\nunchained the cats next night and made them sit by his bedside and\nwatch.\n\nJust as he was dropping asleep the weasel and the mouse were outside the\ndoor, and gnawing away till they had scooped out a hole in the bottom of\nit. In went the mouse, and it was not long before he had the egg quite\nsafe.\n\nThey were soon on the road again; the mouse in the ass's ear, the weasel\non his back, and the egg in the weasel's mouth.\n\nWhen they came to the river, and were swimming across, the ass began to\nbray. \"Hee-haw, hee-haw,\" cried he. \"Is there anyone like me in all the\nworld? I am carrying the mouse and the weasel and the great enchanted\negg that can do anything. Why do you not praise me?\"\n\nBut the mouse was asleep, and the weasel dared not open his mouth for\nfear of dropping the egg. \"I'll shake you all off, you thankless pack,\nif you won't praise me,\" cried the ass, and the poor weasel forgot the\negg, and cried out: \"Oh, don't, don't!\" when down went the egg into the\ndeepest pool in the river. \"Now you have done it,\" said the weasel, and\nyou may be sure the ass looked very foolish.\n\n\"Oh, what are we to do?\" groaned he. \"Keep a good heart,\" said the\nweasel. Then looking down into the deep water, he cried: \"Hear! all you\nfrogs and fish. There is a great army of storks and cranes coming to\ntake you all out and eat you up red-raw. Make haste! Make haste!\" \"Oh,\nand what can we do?\" cried they, coming up to the top. \"Gather up the\nstones from below and hand them to us, and we'll build a big wall on the\nbank to defend you.\" So the fish and frogs fell to work like mad, and\nwere at it hard and fast, reaching up all the stones and pebbles they\nfound at the bottom of the pool.\n\nAt last a big frog came up with the egg in his mouth, and when the\nweasel had hold of it he climbed into a tree and cried out, \"That will\ndo; the army has got a great fright at our walls, and they are all\nrunning away.\" So the poor things were greatly relieved.\n\nYou may be sure that Jack jumped for joy to see his friends and the egg\nagain. They were soon back in their castle, and when Jack began to feel\nlonely he did not find it hard to find a pretty lady to marry him, and\nthen they two and the three grateful beasts were as happy as the days\nwere long.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Lepracaun or Fairy Shoemaker\n\n\nI.\n\n  Little Cowboy, what have you heard,\n    Up on the lonely rath's green mound?\n  Only the plaintive yellow bird\n    Sighing in sultry fields around,\n  Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!--\n  Only the grasshopper and the bee?--\n      \"Tip-tap, rip-rap,\n      Tick-a-tack-too!\n    Scarlet leather, sewn together,\n      This will make a shoe.\n    Left, right, pull it tight;\n      Summer days are warm;\n    Underground in winter,\n      Laughing at the storm!\"\n  Lay your ear close to the hill.\n  Do you not catch the tiny clamour,\n  Busy click of an elfin hammer,\n  Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill\n    As he merrily plies his trade?\n      He's a span\n      And a quarter in height.\n  Get him in sight, hold him tight,\n      And you're a made\n        Man!\n\n\nII.\n\n  You watch your cattle the summer day,\n  Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay;\n    How would you like to roll in your carriage,\n    Look for a Duchess's daughter in marriage?\n  Seize the Shoemaker--then you may!\n      \"Big boots a-hunting,\n      Sandals in the hall,\n    White for a wedding-feast,\n      Pink for a ball.\n    This way, that way,\n      So we make a shoe;\n    Getting rich every stitch,\n      Tick-tack-too!\"\n  Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks\n  This keen miser-fairy hath,\n  Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks,\n  Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath,\n    And where the cormorants build;\n      From times of old\n      Guarded by him;\n      Each of them fill'd\n      Full to the brim\n        With gold!\n\n\nIII.\n\n  I caught him at work one day, myself,\n    In the castle-ditch, where foxglove grows--\n  A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf,\n    Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose,\n    Silver buckles to his hose,\n    Leather apron--shoe in his lap--\n      \"Rip-rap, tip-tap,\n      Tick-tack-too!\n    (A grasshopper on my cap!\n      Away the moth flew!)\n    Buskins for a fairy prince,\n      Brogues for his son--\n    Pay me well, pay me well,\n      When the job is done!\"\n  The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt.\n  I stared at him; he stared at me;\n  \"Servant, Sir!\" \"Humph!\" says he,\n    And pulled a snuff-box out.\n  He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased,\n    The queer little Lepracaun;\n  Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace--\n  Pouf! he flung the dust in my face,\n      And, while I sneezed,\n        Was gone!\n\nWILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\n\n\nDaniel O'Rourke\n\n\nPeople may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O'Rourke, but\nhow few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and\nbelow, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls\nof the Pooka's Tower. I knew the man well. He lived at the bottom of\nHungry Hill, just at the right-hand side of the road as you go towards\nBantry. An old man was he at the time he told me the story, with grey\nhair and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, 1813, that I heard\nit from his own lips, as he sat smoking his pipe under the old poplar\ntree, on as fine an evening as ever shone from the sky. I was going to\nvisit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the morning at\nGlengariff.\n\n\"I am often axed to tell it, sir,\" said he, \"so that this is not the\nfirst time. The master's son, you see, had come from beyond foreign\nparts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go before\nBuonaparte or any such was heard of; and, sure enough, there was a\ndinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high\nand low, rich and poor. The _ould_ gentlemen were the gentlemen, after\nall, saving your honour's presence. They'd swear at a body a little, to\nbe sure, and, maybe, give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were\nno losers by it in the end; and they were so easy and civil, and kept\nsuch rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes; and there was no\ngrinding for rent, and there was hardly a tenant on the estate that did\nnot taste of his landlord's bounty often and often in a year; but now\nit's another thing. No matter for that, sir, for I'd better be telling\nyou my story.\n\n\"Well, we had everything of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and\nwe drank, and we danced, and the young master, by the same token, danced\nwith Peggy Barry, from the Bohereen--a lovely young couple they were,\nthough they are both low enough now. To make a long story short, I got,\nas a body may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can't remember,\never at all, no ways, how it was I left the place; only I did leave it,\nthat's certain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself, I'd just step\nto Molly Cronohan's, the fairy woman, to speak a word about the bracket\nheifer that was bewitched; and so, as I was crossing the stepping-stones\nof the ford of Ballyashenogh, and was looking up at the stars, and\nblessing myself--for why? it was Lady-day--I missed my foot, and souse I\nfell into the water. 'Death alive!' thought I, 'I'll be drowned now!'\nHowever, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for dear life, till\nat last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of me can tell\nhow, upon a _dissolute_ island.\n\n\"I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered,\nuntil at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as\nday, or your fair lady's eyes, sir (with your pardon for mentioning\nher), and I looked east and west, north and south, and every way, and\nnothing did I see but bog, bog, bog. I could never find out how I got\ninto it; and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I was\nthat it would be my _berrin'_ place. So I sat upon a stone, which, as\ngood luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch my\nhead, and sing the ULLAGONE--when all of a sudden the moon grew black,\nand I looked up and saw something for all the world as if it was moving\ndown between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came\nwith a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an\neagle?--as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry! So he\nlooked at me in the face, and says he to me, 'Daniel O'Rourke,' says he,\n'how do you do?' 'Very well, I thank you, sir,' says I; 'I hope you're\nwell'; wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to\nspeak like a Christian. 'What brings you here, Dan?' says he. 'Nothing\nat all, sir,' says I, 'only I wish I was safe home again.' 'Is it out of\nthe island you want to go, Dan?' says he. ''Tis, sir,' says I; so I up\nand told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water;\nhow I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog and did not know my\nway out of it. 'Dan,' says he, after a minute's thought, 'though it is\nvery improper of you to get drunk on a Lady-day, yet, as you are a\ndecent sober man, who 'tends mass well, and never fling stones at me or\nmine, nor cries out after one in the field, my life for yours,' says he;\n'so get up on my back, and grip me well for fear you'd fall off, and\nI'll fly you out of the bog.' 'I am afraid,' says I, 'your honour's\nmaking game of me; for whoever heard of riding a-horseback on an eagle\nbefore?' ''Pon the honour of a gentleman,' says he, putting his right\nfoot on his breast, 'I am quite in earnest; and so now either take my\noffer or starve in the bog--besides I see that your weight is sinking\nthe stone.'\n\n\"It was true enough, as he said, for I found the stone every minute\ngoing from under me. I had no choice; so, thinks I to myself, faint\nheart never won fair lady, and this is fair persuadance. 'I thank your\nhonour,' says I, 'for the loan of your civility; and I'll take your kind\noffer.' I therefore mounted on the back of the eagle, and held him tight\nenough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. Little I\nknew the trick he was going to serve me. Up, up, up--God knows how far\nhe flew. 'Why, then,' said I to him--thinking he did not know the right\nroad home--very civilly, because why? I was in his power entirely;\n'sir,' says I, 'please your honour's glory, and with humble submission\nto your better judgment, if you'd fly down a bit, you're now just over\nmy cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to your\nworship.'\n\n\"'_Arrah_, Dan,' says he, 'do you think me a fool? Look down in the next\nfield, and don't you see two men and a gun? By my word, it would be no\njoke to shoot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked up\noff a _could_ stone in a bog.' 'Bother you,' says I to myself, but I\ndid not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept flying,\nflying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use.\n'Where in the world are you going, sir?' says I to him. 'Hold your\ntongue, Dan,' says he, 'and mind your own business, and don't be\ninterfering with the business of other people.' 'Faith, this is my\nbusiness, I think,' says I. 'Be quiet, Dan!' says he: so I said no more.\n\n\"At last, where should we come to but to the moon itself. Now, you can't\nsee it from this, but there is, or there was in my time, a reaping-hook\nsticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure thus\non the ground with the end of his stick).\n\n\"'Dan,' says the eagle, 'I'm tired with this long fly; I had no notion\n'twas so far.' 'And my lord, sir,' says I, 'who in the world _axed_ you\nto fly so far--was it I? Did not I beg and pray and beseech you to stop\nhalf an hour ago?' 'There's no use talking, Dan,' said he; 'I'm tired\nbad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I rest\nmyself.' 'Is it sit down on the moon?' said I; 'is it upon that little\nround thing, then? Why, then, sure, I'd fall off in a minute, and be\n_kilt_ and spilt, and smashed all to bits; you are a vile deceiver--so\nyou are.' 'Not at all, Dan,' says he; 'you can catch fast hold of the\nreaping-hook that's sticking out of the side of the moon, and 'twill\nkeep you up.' 'I won't, then,' said I. 'Maybe not,' said he, quite\nquiet. 'If you don't, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one\nslap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in\nyour body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf\nin the morning.' 'Why, then, I'm in a fine way,' said I to myself, 'ever\nto have come along with the likes of you'; and so, giving him a hearty\ncurse in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off his back with\na heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-hook and sat down upon the moon,\nand a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.\n\n\"When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said,\n'Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he; 'I think I've nicked\nyou fairly now. You robbed my nest last year' ('twas true enough for\nhim, but how he found it out is hard enough to say), 'and in return you\nare freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a\ncockthrow.'\n\n\"'Is that all, and is this how you leave me, you brute, you,' says I.\n'You ugly unnatural _baste_, and is this the way you serve me at last?\nBad luck to yourself, with your hook'd nose, and to all your breed, you\nblackguard.' 'Twas all to no manner of use; he spread out his great big\nwings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled\nafter him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever, without\nhis minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to\nthis--sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate\ncondition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a\ndoor opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as\nif it had not been opened for a month before--I suppose they never\nthought of greasing them--and out there walks--who do you think but the\nman in the moon himself? I knew him by his bush.\n\n\"'Good morrow to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' says he, 'how do you do?' 'Very\nwell, thank your honour,' says I. 'I hope your honour's well.' 'What\nbrought you here, Dan?' said he. So I told him how I was a little\novertaken in liquor at the master's, and how I was cast on a _dissolute_\nisland, and how I lost my way in the bog, and the thief of an eagle\npromised to fly me out of it, and how, instead of that, he had fled me\nup to the moon.\n\n\"'Dan,' said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff, when I was\ndone, 'you must not stay here.' 'Indeed, sir,' says I, ''tis much\nagainst my will that I'm here at all; but how am I to go back?' 'That's\nyour business,' said he; 'Dan, mine is to tell you that you must not\nstay, so be off in less than no time.' 'I'm doing no harm,' said I,\n'only holding on hard by the reaping-hook lest I fall off.' 'That's what\nyou must not do, Dan,' says he. 'Pray, sir,' says I, 'may I ask how many\nyou are in family that you would not give a poor traveller lodging? I'm\nsure 'tis not often you're troubled with strangers coming to see you,\nfor 'tis a long way.' 'I'm by myself, Dan,' says he, 'but you'd better\nlet go the reaping-hook.' 'Faith, and with your leave,' says I, 'I'll\nnot let go the grip, and the more you bids me the more I won't let\ngo--so I will.' 'You had better, Dan,' says he again. 'Why, then, my\nlittle fellow,' says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from\nhead to foot, 'there are two words to that bargain; and I'll not\nbudge--you may, if you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,' says he;\nand back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him (for it\nwas plain he was huffed), that I thought the moon and all would fall\ndown with it.\n\n\"Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back he\ncomes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a word\nhe gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was holding me\nup, and _whap_ it came in two. 'Good morning to you, Dan,' says the\nspiteful little blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling down with a\nbit of the handle in my hand; 'I thank you for your visit, and fair\nweather after you, Daniel.' I had no time to make any answer to him, for\nI was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling, at the rate of a\nfox-hunt. 'God help me!' says I, 'but this is a pretty pickle for a\ndecent man to be seen in at this time of the night. I am now sold\nfairly.' The word was not out of my mouth, when, whiz! what should fly\nby close to my ear but a flock of wild geese, all the way from my own\nbog of Ballyasheenagh, else how should they know _me_? The _ould_\ngander, who was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me,\n'Is that you, Dan?' 'The same,' said I, not a bit daunted now at what he\nsaid, for I was by this time used to all kinds of _bedivilment_, and,\nbesides, I knew him of _ould_. 'Good morrow to you,' says he, 'Daniel\nO'Rourke; how are you in health this morning?' 'Very well, sir,' says I,\n'thank you kindly,' drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of\nsome, 'I hope your honour's the same.' 'I think 'tis falling you are,\nDaniel,' says he. 'You may say that, sir,' says I. 'And where are you\ngoing all the way so fast?' said the gander. So I told him how I had\ntaken the drop, and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in\nthe bog, and how the thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how\nthe man in the moon turned me out. 'Dan,' said he, 'I'll save you; put\nout your hand and catch me by the leg, and I'll fly you home.' 'Sweet is\nyour hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,' says I, though all the time\nI thought within myself that I don't much trust you; but there was no\nhelp, so I caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese\nflew after him as fast as hops.\n\n\"We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide\nocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking\nup out of the water. 'Ah, my lord,' said I to the goose, for I thought\nit best to keep a civil tongue in my head anyway, 'fly to land, if you\nplease.' 'It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said he, 'for a while,\nbecause, you see, we are going to Arabia.' 'To Arabia!' said I, 'that's\nsurely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose, why, then,\nto be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.'\n\n\"'Whist, whist, you fool,' said he, 'hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia\nis a very decent sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like\nanother, only there is a little more sand there.'\n\n\"Just as we were talking a ship hove in sight, sailing so beautiful\nbefore the wind. 'Ah, then, sir,' said I, 'will you drop me on the ship,\nif you please?' 'We are not fair over it,' said he; 'if I dropped you\nnow you would go splash into the sea.' 'I would not,' says I, 'I know\nbetter than that, for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at\nonce.'\n\n\"'If you must, you must,' said he; 'there, take your own way'; and he\nopened his claw, and, faith, he was right--sure enough, I came down\nplump into the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I\nwent, and I gave myself up, then, for ever, when a whale walked up to\nme, scratching himself after his night's sleep, and looked me full in\nthe face, and never the word did he say, but, lifting up his tail, he\nsplashed me all over again with the cold salt water till there wasn't a\ndry stitch upon my whole carcass! And I heard somebody saying--'twas a\nvoice I knew too--'Get up, you drunken brute, off o' that'; and with\nthat I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she\nwas splashing all over me--for, rest her soul, though she was a good\nwife, she could never bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of\nher own.\n\n\"'Get up,' said she again; 'and of all places in the parish, would no\nplace _sarve_ your turn to lie down upon but under the _ould_ walls of\nCarrigapooka? An uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.' And, sure\nenough, I had, for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles,\nand men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through\nbogs and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the green ocean. If I\nwas in drink ten times over, long would it be before I'd lie down in the\nsame spot again, I know that!\"\n\nT. CROFTON CROKER.\n\n\n\n\nCuchulain of Muirthemne\n\n(The Birth of Cuchulain.)\n\n\nIn the long time ago, Conchubar, son of Ness, was King of Ulster, and he\nheld his court in the palace of Emain Macha. And this is the way he came\nto be King. He was but a young lad, and his father was not living, and\nFergus, son of Rogh, who was at that time King of Ulster, asked his\nmother Ness in marriage.\n\nNow Ness, that was at one time the quietest and kindest of the women of\nIreland, had got to be unkind and treacherous because of an unkindness\nthat had been done to her, and she planned to get the kingdom away from\nFergus for her own son. So she said to Fergus, \"Let Conchubar hold the\nkingdom for a year, so that his children after him may be called the\nchildren of a king; and that is the marriage portion I will ask of you.\"\n\n\"You may do that,\" the men of Ulster said to him; \"for even though\nConchubar gets the name of being king, it is yourself that will be our\nKing all the time.\" So Fergus agreed to it, and he took Ness as his\nwife, and her son Conchubar was made King in his place.\n\nBut all through the year Ness was working to keep the kingdom for him,\nand she gave great presents to the chief men of Ulster to get them on\nher side. And though Conchubar was but a young lad at the time, he was\nwise in his judgments and brave in battle, and good in shape and in\nform, and they liked him well. And at the end of the year, when Fergus\nasked to have the kingship back again, they consulted together; and it\nis what they agreed, that Conchubar was to keep it. And they said, \"It\nis little Fergus thinks about us, when he was so ready to give up his\nrule over us for a year; and let Conchubar keep the kingship,\" they\nsaid, \"and let Fergus keep the wife he has got.\"\n\nNow, it happened one day that Conchubar was making a feast at Emain\nMacha for the marriage of his sister Dechtire with Sualtim, son of Roig.\nAnd at the feast Dechtire was thirsty, and they gave her a cup of wine,\nand as she was drinking it a mayfly flew into the cup, and she drank it\ndown with the wine. And presently she went into her sunny parlour, and\nher fifty maidens along with her, and she fell into a deep sleep. And in\nher sleep Lugh of the Long Hand appeared to her, and he said, \"It is I\nmyself was the mayfly that came to you in the cup, and it is with me you\nmust come away now, and your fifty maidens along with you.\" And he put\non them the appearance of a flock of birds, and they went with him\nsouthward till they came to Brugh na Boinne, the dwelling-place of the\nSidhe. And no one at Emain Macha could get tale or tidings of them, or\nknow where they had gone, or what had happened them.\n\nIt was about a year after that time there was another feast in Emain,\nand Conchubar and his chief men were sitting at the feast. And suddenly\nthey saw from the window a great flock of birds, that lit on the ground\nand began to eat up everything before them, so that not so much as a\nblade of grass was left.\n\nThe men of Ulster were vexed when they saw the birds destroying all\nbefore them, and they yoked nine of their chariots to follow after them.\nConchubar was in his own chariot, and there were following with him\nFergus, son of Rogh, and Laegaire Buadach the Battle-Winner, and\nCelthair, son of Uithecar, and many others, and Bricriu of the bitter\ntongue was along with them.\n\nThey followed after the birds across the whole country southward, across\nSlieve Fuad, by Ath Lethan, by Ath Garach and Magh Gossa, between Fir\nRois and Fir Ardae; and the birds before them always. They were the most\nbeautiful that had ever been seen; nine flocks of them there were,\nlinked together two-and-two with a chain of silver, and at the head of\nevery flock there were two birds of different colours, linked together\nwith a chain of gold; and there were three birds that flew by\nthemselves, and they all went before the chariots to the far end of the\ncountry, until the fall of night, and then there was no more seen of\nthem.\n\nAnd when the dark night was coming on, Conchubar said to his people, \"It\nis best for us to unyoke the chariots now, and to look for some place\nwhere we can spend the night.\"\n\nThen Fergus went forward to look for some place, and what he came to was\na very small poor-looking house. A man and a woman were in it, and when\nthey saw him they said, \"Bring your companions here along with you, and\nthey will be welcome.\" Fergus went back to his companions and told them\nwhat he had seen. But Bricriu said: \"Where is the use of going into a\nhouse like that, with neither room nor provisions nor coverings in it;\nit is not worth our while to be going there.\"\n\nThen Bricriu went on himself to the place where the house was. But when\nhe came to it, what he saw was a grand, new, well-lighted house; and at\nthe door there was a young man wearing armour, very tall and handsome\nand shining. And he said, \"Come into the house, Bricriu; why are you\nlooking about you?\" And there was a young woman beside him, fine and\nnoble, and with curled hair, and she said, \"Surely there is a welcome\nbefore you from me.\" \"Why does she welcome me?\" said Bricriu. \"It is on\naccount of her that I myself welcome you,\" said the young man. \"And is\nthere no one missing from you at Emain?\" he said. \"There is, surely,\"\nsaid Bricriu. \"We are missing fifty young girls for the length of a\nyear.\" \"Would you know them again if you saw them?\" said the young man.\n\"If I would not know them,\" said Bricriu, \"it is because a year might\nmake a change in them, so that I would not be sure.\" \"Try and know them\nagain,\" said the man, \"for the fifty young girls are in this house, and\nthis woman beside me is their mistress, Dechtire. It was they\nthemselves, changed into birds, that went to Emain Macha to bring you\nhere.\" Then Dechtire gave Bricriu a purple cloak with gold fringes; and\nhe went back to find his companions. But while he was going he thought\nto himself, \"Conchubar would give great treasure to find these fifty\nyoung girls again, and his sister along with them. I will not tell him I\nhave found them. I will only say I have found a house with beautiful\nwomen in it, and no more than that.\"\n\nWhen Conchubar saw Bricriu he asked news of him.\n\n\"What news do you bring back with you, Bricriu?\" he said. \"I came to a\nfine well-lighted house,\" said Bricriu; \"I saw a queen, noble, kind,\nwith royal looks, with curled hair; I saw a troop of women, beautiful,\nwell dressed; I saw the man of the house, tall and open-handed and\nshining.\" \"Let us go there for the night,\" said Conchubar. So they\nbrought their chariots and their horses and their arms; and they were\nhardly in the house when every sort of food and of drink, some they knew\nand some they did not know, was put before them, so that they never\nspent a better night. And when they had eaten and drunk and began to be\nsatisfied, Conchubar said to the young man, \"Where is the mistress of\nthe house that she does not come to bid us welcome?\" \"You cannot see her\nto-night,\" said he, \"for she is in the pains of childbirth.\"\n\nSo they rested there that night, and in the morning Conchubar was the\nfirst to rise up; but he saw no more of the man of the house, and what\nhe heard was the cry of a child. And he went to the room it came from,\nand there he saw Dechtire, and her maidens about her, and a young child\nbeside her. And she bade Conchubar welcome, and she told him all that\nhad happened her, and that she had called him there to bring herself and\nthe child back to Emain Macha. And Conchubar said, \"It is well you have\ndone by me, Dechtire; you gave shelter to me and to my chariots; you\nkept the cold from my horses; you gave food to me and my people, and now\nyou have given us this good gift. And let our sister, Finchoem, bring up\nthe child,\" he said. \"No, it is not for her to bring him up, it is for\nme,\" said Sencha, son of Ailell, chief judge and chief poet of Ulster.\n\"For I am skilled; I am good in disputes; I am not forgetful; I speak\nbefore anyone at all in the presence of the King; I watch over what he\nsays; I give judgment in the quarrels of kings; I am judge of the men of\nUlster; no one has a right to dispute my claim, but only Conchubar.\"\n\n\"If the child is given to me to bring up,\" said Blai, the distributor,\n\"he will not suffer from want of care or from forgetfulness. It is my\nmessages that do the will of Conchubar; I call up the fighting men from\nall Ireland; I am well able to provide for them for a week, or even for\nten days; I settle their business and their disputes; I support their\nhonour; I get satisfaction for their insults.\"\n\n\"You think too much of yourself,\" said Fergus. \"It is I that will bring\nup the child; I am strong; I have knowledge; I am the King's messenger;\nno one can stand up against me in honour or riches; I am hardened to war\nand battles; I am a good craftsman; I am worthy to bring up the child. I\nam the protector of all the unhappy; the strong are afraid of me; I am\nthe helper of the weak.\"\n\n\"If you will listen to me at last, now you are quiet,\" said Amergin, \"I\nam able to bring up a child like a king. The people praise my honour, my\nbravery, my courage, my wisdom; they praise my good luck, my age, my\nspeaking, my name, my courage, and my race. Though I am a fighter, I am\na poet; I am worthy of the King's favour; I overcome all the men who\nfight from their chariots; I owe thanks to no one except Conchubar; I\nobey no one but the King.\"\n\nThen Sencha said, \"Let Finchoem keep the child until we come to Emain,\nand Morann, the judge, will settle the question when we are there.\"\n\nSo the men of Ulster set out for Emain, Finchoem having the child with\nher. And when they came there Morann gave his judgment. \"It is for\nConchubar,\" he said, \"to help the child to a good name, for he is next\nof kin to him; let Sencha teach him words and speaking; let Fergus hold\nhim on his knees; let Amergin be his tutor.\" And he said, \"This child\nwill be praised by all, by chariot drivers and fighters, by kings and by\nwise men; he shall be loved by many men; he will avenge all your wrongs;\nhe will defend your fords; he will fight all your battles.\"\n\nAnd so it was settled. And the child was left until he should come to\nsensible years with his mother Dechtire and with her husband Sualtim.\nAnd they brought him up upon the plain of Muirthemne, and the name he\nwas known by was Setanta, son of Sualtim.\n\n\n\n\nThe Boyhood of Cuchulain\n\n\nDectera, one of the sisters of Conchubar Mac Nessa, married a prince\nwhose patrimony lay along the shores of the Muirnict, and whose capital\nwas Dun Dalgan. They had one child, a boy, whom they named Setanta.\n\nAs soon as Setanta was able to understand the stories and conversation\nof those around him, he evinced a passion for arms and the martial life,\nwhich was so premature and violent as to surprise all who knew him. His\nthoughts for ever ran on the wars and achievements of the Red Branch. He\nknew all the knights by name, the appearance and bearing of each, and\nwhat deeds of valour they had severally performed. Emain Macha, the\ncapital of the Clanna Rury, was never out of his mind. He saw for ever\nbefore his mind its moats and ramparts, its gates and bridges, its\nstreets filled with martial men, its high-raised Duns and Raths, its\nbranching roads, over which came the tributes of wide Ulla to the High\nKing. He had seen his father's tribute driven thither, and had even\nlonged to be one of the four-footed beasts that he beheld wending their\nway to the wondrous city. But, above all, he delighted to be told of the\ngreat school where the young nobles of Ulster were taught martial\nexercises and the military art, under the superintendence of chosen\nknights and of the High King himself. Of the several knights he had his\nown opinion, and had already resolved to accept no one as his instructor\nsave Fergus Mac Roy, tanist of Ulster.\n\nOf his father he saw little. His mind had become impaired, and he was\nconfined in a secluded part of the Dun. But whenever he spoke to Dectera\nof what was nearest his heart, and his desire to enter the military\nschool at Emain Macha, she laughed, and said that he was not yet old\nenough to endure that rough life. But secretly she was alarmed, and\nformed plans to detain him at home altogether. Then Setanta concealed\nhis desire, but enquired narrowly concerning the partings of the roads\non the way to Emania.\n\nAt last, when he was ten years old, selecting a favourable night,\nSetanta stole away from his father's Dun, and before morning had crossed\nthe frontier. He then lay down to rest and sleep in a wood. After this\nhe set out again, travelling quickly, lest he should be met by any of\nhis father's people. On his back was strapped his little wooden shield,\nand by his side hung a sword of lath. He had brought his ball and hurle\nof red-bronze with him, and ran swiftly along the road, driving the ball\nbefore him, or throwing up his javelin into the air, and running to meet\nit ere it fell.\n\nIn the afternoon of that day Fergus Mac Roy and the King sat together in\nthe part that surrounded the King's palace. A chessboard was between\nthem, and their attention was fixed on the game.\n\nAt a distance the young nobles were at their sports, and the shouts of\nthe boys and the clash of the metal hurles resounded in the evening air.\n\nSuddenly, the noise ceased, and Fergus and the King looked up. They saw\na strange boy rushing backwards and forwards through the crowd of young\nnobles, urging the ball in any direction that he pleased, as if in\nmockery, till none but the very best players attempted to stop him,\nwhile the rest stood about the ground in groups. Fergus and the King\nlooked at each other for a moment in silence.\n\nAfter this the boys came together into a group and held a council. Then\ncommenced what seemed to be an attempt to force him out of the ground,\nfollowed by a furious fight. The strange boy seemed to be a very demon\nof war; with his little hurle grasped, like a war-mace, in both hands,\nhe laid about him on every side, and the boys were tumbling fast. He\nsprang at tall youths, like a hound at a stag's throat. He rushed\nthrough crowds of his enemies like a hawk through a flock of birds. The\nboys, seized with a panic, cried out that it was one of the Tuatha from\nthe fairy hills of the Boyne, and fled right and left to gain the\nshelter of the trees. Some of them, pursued by the stranger, ran round\nConchubar Mac Nessa and his knight. The boy, however, running straight,\nsprang over the chess table; but Conchubar seized him deftly by the\nwrist and brought him to a stand, but with dilated eyes and panting.\n\n\"Why are you so enraged, my boy?\" said the King, \"and why do you so\nmaltreat my nobles?\"\n\n\"Because they have not treated me with the respect due to a stranger,\"\nreplied the boy.\n\n\"Who are you yourself?\" said Conchubar.\n\n\"I am Setanta, the son of Sualtim, and Dectera, your own sister, is my\nmother; and it is not before my uncle's palace that I should be insulted\nand dishonoured.\"\n\nThis was the debut and first martial exploit of the great Cuculain, type\nof Irish chivalry and courage, in the bardic firmament a bright and\nparticular star of strength, daring, and glory, that will not set nor\nsuffer aught but transient obscuration till the extinction of the Irish\nrace; Cuculain, bravest of the brave, whose glory affected even the\ntemperate-minded Tierna, so that his sober pen has inscribed, in the\nannals of ancient Erin, this testimony: \"_Cuculain, filius Sualtam\nfortissimus heros Scotorum_.\"\n\nAfter this Setanta was regularly received into the military school,\nwhere, ere long, he became a favourite both with old and young. He\nplaced himself under the tuition of Fergus Mac Roy, who, each day, grew\nmore and more proud of his pupil, for while still a boy his fame was\nextending over Ulla.\n\nIt was not long after this that Setanta received the name by which he is\nmore generally known. Culain was chief of the black country of Ulla, and\nof a people altogether given up to the making of weapons and armour,\nwhere the sound of the hammer and husky bellows were for ever heard. One\nday Conchubar and some of his knights, passing through the park to\npartake of an entertainment at the house of the armourer, paused awhile,\nlooking at the boys at play. Then, as all were praising his little\nnephew, Conchubar called to him, and the boy came up, flushed and shy,\nfor there were with the King the chief warriors of the Red Branch. But\nConchubar bade him come with them to the feast, and the knights around\nhim laughed, and enumerated the good things which Culain had prepared\nfor them. But when Setanta's brow fell, Conchubar bade him finish his\ngame, and after that proceed to Culain's house, which was to the west of\nEmain Macha, and more than a mile distant from the city. Then the King\nand his knights went on to the feast, and Setanta returned joyfully to\nhis game.\n\nNow, when they were seen afar upon the plain the smith left his workshop\nand put by his implements, and having washed from him the sweat and\nsmoke, made himself ready to receive his guests; but the evening fell as\nthey were coming into the liss, and all his people came in also, and sat\nat the lower table, and the bridge was drawn up and the door was shut\nfor the night, and the candles were lit in the high chamber.\n\nThen said Culain, \"Have all thy retinue come in, O Conchubar?\" And when\nthe King said that they were all there, Culain bade one of his\napprentices go out and let loose the great mastiff that guarded the\nhouse. Now, this mastiff was as large as a calf and exceedingly fierce,\nand he guarded all the smith's property outside the house, and if anyone\napproached the house without beating on the gong, which was outside the\nfoss and in front of the drawbridge, he was accustomed to rend him. Then\nthe mastiff, having been let loose, careered three times round the liss,\nbaying dreadfully, and after that remained quiet outside his kennel,\nguarding his master's property. But, inside, they devoted themselves to\nfeasting and merriment, and there were many jests made concerning\nCulain, for he was wont to cause laughter to Conchubar Mac Nessa and his\nknights, yet he was good to his own people and faithful to the Crave\nRue, and very ardent and skilful in the practice of his art. But as they\nwere amusing themselves in this manner, eating and drinking, a deep\ngrowl came from without, as it were a note of warning, and after that\none yet more savage; but where he sat in the champion's seat, Fergus Mac\nRoy struck the table with his hand and rose straightway, crying out, \"It\nis Setanta.\" But ere the door could be opened they heard the boy's voice\nraised in anger and the fierce yelling of the dog, and a scuffling in\nthe bawn of the liss. Then they rushed to the door in great fear, for\nthey said that the boy was torn in pieces; but when the bolts were drawn\nback and they sprang forth, eager to save the boy's life, they found the\ndog dead, and Setanta standing over him with his hurle, for he had\nsprung over the foss, not fearing the dog. Forthwith, then, his tutor,\nFergus Mac Roy, snatched him up on his shoulder, and returned with great\njoy into the banquet hall, where all were well pleased at the\npreservation of the boy, except Culain himself, who began to lament over\nthe death of his dog and to enumerate all the services which he rendered\nto him.\n\n\"Do not grieve for thy dog, O Culain,\" said Setanta, from the shoulder\nof Fergus, \"for I will perform those services for you myself until a dog\nequally good is procured to take the place of him I slew.\"\n\nThen one jesting, said, \"Cu-culain!\" (Hound of Culain) and thenceforward\nhe went by this name.\n\nSTANDISH O'GRADY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Legend of Knockgrafton\n\n\nThere was once a poor man who lived in the fertile glen of Aherlow, at\nthe foot of the gloomy Galtee mountains, and he had a great hump on his\nback; he looked just as if his body had been rolled up and placed upon\nhis shoulders; and his head was pressed down with the weight so much\nthat his chin, when he was sitting, used to rest upon his knees for\nsupport. The country people were rather shy of meeting him in any\nlonesome place, for though, poor creature, he was as harmless and as\ninoffensive as a new-born infant, yet his deformity was so great that he\nscarcely appeared to be a human creature, and some ill-minded persons\nhad set strange stories about him afloat. He was said to have a great\nknowledge of herbs and charms; but certain it was that he had a mighty\nskilful hand in plaiting straws and rushes into hats and baskets, which\nwas the way he made his livelihood.\n\nLusmore, for that was the nickname put upon him, by reason of his\nalways wearing a sprig of the fairy cap, or lusmore (the foxglove), in\nhis little straw hat, would ever get a higher penny for his plaited work\nthan anyone else, and perhaps that was the reason why someone, out of\nenvy, had circulated the strange stories about him. Be that as it may,\nit happened that he was returning one evening from the pretty town of\nCahir towards Cappagh, and as little Lusmore walked very slowly, on\naccount of the great hump upon his back, it was quite dark when he came\nto the old moat of Knockgrafton, which stood on the right-hand side of\nthe road. Tired and weary was he, and no ways comfortable in his own\nmind at thinking how much farther he had to travel, and that he should\nbe walking all the night; so he sat down under the moat to rest himself,\nand began looking mournfully enough upon the moon, which--\n\n  Rising in clouded majesty at length\n  Apparent Queen, unveil'd her peerless light,\n  And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.\n\nPresently there arose a wild strain of unearthly melody upon the ear of\nlittle Lusmore. He listened, and he thought that he had never heard such\nravishing music before. It was like the sound of many voices, each\nmingling and blending with the others so strangely that they seemed to\nbe one, though all singing different strains, and the words of the songs\nwere these:\n\n  Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort,\n                                   Da Luan, Da Mort;\n\nwhen there would be a moment's pause, and then the round of melody went\non again.\n\nLusmore listened attentively, scarcely drawing his breath, lest he\nmight lose the slightest note. He now plainly perceived that the singing\nwas within the moat; and though at first it had charmed him much, he\nbegan to get tired of hearing the same round sung over and over so often\nwithout any change; so, availing himself of the pause when Da Luan, Da\nMort, had been sung three times, he took up the tune, and raised it with\nthe words augus Da Dardeen, and then went on singing with the voices\ninside of the moat, Da Luan, Da Mort, finishing the melody, when the\npause came again, with augus Da Dardeen.\n\nThe fairies within Knockgrafton, for the song was a fairy melody, when\nthey heard this addition to the tune, were so much delighted that with\ninstant resolve it was determined to bring the mortal among them whose\nmusical skill so far exceeded theirs, and little Lusmore was conveyed\ninto their company with the eddying speed of a whirlwind.\n\nGlorious to behold was the sight that burst upon him as he came down\nthrough the moat, twirling round and round, with the lightness of a\nstraw, to the sweetest music, that kept time to his motion. The greatest\nhonour was then paid him, for he was put above all the musicians, and he\nhad servants tending upon him and everything to his heart's content, and\na hearty welcome to all; and, in short, he was made as much of as if he\nhad been the first man in the land.\n\nPresently Lusmore saw a great consultation going on among the fairies,\nand, notwithstanding all their civility, he felt very much frightened,\nuntil one, stepping out from the rest, came up to him and said:\n\n  Lusmore! Lusmore!\n  Doubt not, nor deplore,\n  For the hump which you bore\n  On your back is no more;\n  Look down on the floor,\n  And view it, Lusmore!\n\nWhen these words were said, poor little Lusmore felt himself so light\nand so happy that he thought he could have bounded at one jump over the\nmoon, like the cow in the history of the cat and the fiddle; and he saw,\nwith inexpressible pleasure, his hump tumble down upon the ground from\nhis shoulders. He then tried to lift up his head, and did so with\nbecoming caution, fearing that he might knock it against the ceiling of\nthe great hall where he was. He looked round and round again with the\ngreatest wonder and delight upon everything, which appeared more and\nmore beautiful; and, overpowered at beholding such a resplendent scene,\nhis head grew dizzy and his eyesight grew dim. At last he fell into a\nsound sleep, and when he awoke he found that it was broad daylight, the\nsun shining brightly, and the birds singing sweetly, and that he was\nlying just at the foot of Knockgrafton, with the cows and sheep grazing\npeaceably about him. The first thing Lusmore did, after saying his\nprayers, was to put his hand behind to feel for his hump, but no sign of\none was there on his back, and he looked at himself with great pride,\nfor he had now become a well-shaped, dapper little fellow, and, more\nthan that, found himself in a full suit of new clothes, which he\nconcluded the fairies had made for him.\n\nTowards Cappagh he went, stepping out as lightly and springing up at\nevery step as if he had been all his life a dancing-master. Not a\ncreature who met Lusmore knew him without his hump, and he had a great\nwork to persuade everyone that he was the same man--in truth he was not\nas far as the outward appearance went.\n\nOf course it was not long before the story of Lusmore's hump got about,\nand a great wonder was made of it. Through the country for miles round\nit was the talk of everyone, high and low.\n\nOne morning, as Lusmore was sitting, contented enough, at his cabin\ndoor, up came an old woman to him, and asked him if he could direct her\nto Cappagh.\n\n\"I need give you no directions, my good woman,\" said Lusmore, \"for this\nis Cappagh. And whom may you want here?\"\n\n\"I have come,\" said the woman, \"out of Decies country, in the county of\nWaterford, looking after one Lusmore, who, I have heard tell, had his\nhump taken off by the fairies; for there is a son of a gossip of mine\nwho has got a hump on him that will be his death; and, maybe, if he\ncould use the same charm as Lusmore the hump may be taken off him. And\nnow I have told you the reason of my coming so far; 'tis to find out\nabout this charm if I can.\"\n\nLusmore, who was ever a good-natured little fellow, told the woman all\nthe particulars, how he had raised the tune for the fairies at\nKnockgrafton, how his hump had been removed from his shoulders, and how\nhe had got a new suit of clothes into the bargain.\n\nThe woman thanked him very much and then went away, quite happy and\neasy in her own mind. When she came back to her gossip's house, in the\ncounty of Waterford, she told her everything that Lusmore had said, and\nthey put the little hump-backed man, who was a peevish and cunning\ncreature from his birth, upon a car, and took him all the way across the\ncountry. It was a long journey, but they did not care for that, so the\nhump was taken from off him; so they brought him just at nightfall, and\nleft him under the old moat of Knockgrafton.\n\nJack Madden, for that was the humpy man's name, had not been sitting\nthere long when he heard the tune going on within the moat much sweeter\nthan before; for the fairies were singing it the way Lusmore had settled\ntheir music for them, and the song was going on, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da\nLuan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, augus Da Dardeen, without ever\nstopping. Jack Madden, who was in a great hurry to get quit of his hump,\nnever thought of waiting till the fairies had done, or watching for a\nfit opportunity to raise the tune higher than Lusmore had; so, having\nheard them sing it over seven times without stopping, out he bawls,\nnever minding the time or the humour of the tune, or how he could bring\nhis words in properly, augus Da Dardeen, augus Da Hena, thinking that if\none day was good two were better, and that, if Lusmore had one suit of\nclothes given him, he should have two.\n\nNo sooner had the words passed his lips than he was taken up and whisked\ninto the moat with prodigious force, and the fairies came crowding round\nabout him with great anger, screeching and screaming, and roaring out,\n\"Who spoiled our tune? Who spoiled our tune?\" And one stepped up to him\nabove all the rest and said:\n\n  Jack Madden! Jack Madden!\n  Your words came so bad in\n  The tune we felt glad in;--\n  This castle you're had in,\n  That your life we may sadden;\n  Here's two humps for Jack Madden!\n\nAnd twenty of the strongest fairies brought Lusmore's hump and put it\ndown upon poor Jack's back, over his own, where it became fixed as\nfirmly as if it was nailed on with twelvepenny nails by the best\ncarpenter that ever drove one. Out of their castle they then kicked him;\nand in the morning, when Jack Madden's mother and her gossip came to\nlook after their little man, they found him half dead, lying at the foot\nof the moat, with the other hump upon his back. Well, to be sure, how\nthey did look at each other, but they were afraid to say anything lest a\nhump might be put upon their shoulders. Home they brought the unlucky\nJack Madden with them, as downcast in their hearts and their looks as\never two gossips were; and what through the weight of his other hump and\nthe long journey he died soon after, leaving, they say, his heavy curse\nto anyone who would go to listen to fairy tunes again.\n\nT. CROFTON CROKER.\n\n\n\n\nThe Stolen Child\n\n\n  There dips the rocky highland\n  Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,\n  There lies a leafy island,\n  Where flapping herons wake\n  The drowsy water rats;\n  There we've hid our faery vats,\n  Full of berries,\n  And of reddest stolen cherries.\n  Come away, O human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  For the world's more full of weeping than\n      you can understand.\n\n  Where the wave of moonlight glosses\n  The dim gray sands with light,\n  Far off by furthest Rosses\n  We foot it all the night,\n  Weaving olden dances,\n  Mingling hands and mingling glances,\n  Till the moon has taken flight;\n  To and fro we leap\n  And chase the frothy bubbles,\n  While the world is full of troubles\n  And is anxious in its sleep.\n  Come away, O human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  For the world's more full of weeping than\n      you can understand.\n\n  Where the wandering water gushes\n  From the hills above Glen-Car,\n  In pools among the rushes\n  That scarce could bathe a star,\n  We seek for slumbering trout,\n  And whispering in their ears\n  Give them unquiet dreams;\n  Leaning softly out\n  From ferns that drop their tears\n  Over the young streams.\n  Come away, O human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  For the world's more full of weeping than\n      you can understand.\n\n  Away with us he's going,\n  The solemn-eyed:\n  He'll hear no more the lowing\n  Of the calves on the warm hillside;\n  Or the kettle on the hob\n  Sing peace into his breast,\n  Or see the brown mice bob\n  Round and round the oatmeal-chest.\n  For he comes, the human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  From a world more full of weeping than\n      he can understand.\n\nW. B. YEATS.\n\n\n\n\nLay of Oisin on the Land of Youth\n\n\nOne day we, the Fianna, were all assembled, generous Fionn and all of us\nthat lived were there; we were hunting on a misty morning nigh the\nbordering shores of Loch Lein, where through fragrant trees of sweetest\nblossoms, and the mellow music of birds at all times, we aroused the\nhornless deer of the best bounding, course, and agility; our hounds and\nall our dogs were close after in full chase.\n\n'Twas not long till we saw, westwards, a fleet rider advancing towards\nus, a young maiden of most beautiful appearance, on a slender white\nsteed of swiftest power. We all ceased from the chase on seeing the form\nof the royal maid; 'twas a surprise to Fionn and the Fianns, they never\nbeheld a woman equal in beauty. A royal crown was on her head, and a\nbrown mantle of precious silk, spangled with stars of red gold, covering\nher shoes down to the grass. A gold ring was hanging down from each\nyellow curl of her golden hair; her eyes were blue, clear, and\ncloudless, like a dewdrop on the top of the grass. Redder were her\ncheeks than the rose, fairer was her visage than the swan upon the wave,\nand more sweet was the taste of her balsam lips than honey mingled\nthrough red wine. A garment, wide, long, and smooth, covered the white\nsteed; there was a comely saddle of red gold, and her right hand held a\nbridle with a golden bit. Four shoes, well shaped, were under him, of\nthe yellow gold of the purest quality; a silver wreath was on the back\nof his head, and there was not in the world a steed better.\n\nShe came to the presence of Fionn, and spoke with a voice sweet and\ngentle, and she said, \"O King of the Fianna, long and distant is my\njourney now.\"\n\n\"Who art thou thyself, O youthful princess! of fairest form, beauty, and\ncountenance? Relate to us the cause of thy story, thine own name and thy\ncountry.\"\n\n\"Golden-headed Niamh is my name, O sage Fionn of the great hosts. Beyond\nthe women of the world I have won esteem; I am the fair daughter of the\nKing of Youth.\"\n\n\"Relate to us, O amiable princess, what caused thee to come afar across\nthe sea--is it thy consort has forsaken thee, or what is the affliction\nthat is on thyself?\"\n\n\"'Tis not my husband that went from me; and as yet I have not been\nspoken of with any man, O King of the Fianna of highest repute; but\naffection and love I have given to thy son.\"\n\n\"Which of my children is he, O blooming daughter, to whom thou hast\ngiven love, or yet affection? Do not conceal from us now the cause, and\nrelate to us thy case, O woman.\"\n\n\"I will tell thee that, O Fionn! Thy noble son of the well-tempered\narms, high-spirited Oisin of the powerful hands, is the champion that I\nam now speaking of.\"\n\n\"What is the reason that thou gavest love, O beautiful daughter of the\nglossy hair, to my own son beyond all, and multitudes of high lords\nunder the sun?\"\n\n\"'Tis not without cause, O King of the Fianna! I came afar for him--but\nreports I heard of his prowess, the goodness of his person and his mien.\n\n\"Many a son of a king and a high chief gave me affection and perpetual\nlove; I never consented to any man till I gave love to noble Oisin.\"\n\n\"By that hand on thee, O Patrick, though it is not shameful to me as a\nstory, there was not a limb of me but was in love with the beautiful\ndaughter of the glossy hair.\"\n\nI, Oisin, took her hand in mine, and said in speech of sweetest tone, \"A\ntrue, gentle welcome before thee, O young princess, to this country!\n'Tis thou art the brightest and the fairest of form, 'tis thee I prefer\nas wife, thou art my choice beyond the women of the world, O mild star\nof loveliest countenance!\"\n\n\"Obligations unresisted by true heroes, O generous Oisin, I put upon\nthee to come with myself now upon my steed till we arrive at the 'Land\nof Youth.' It is the most delightful country to be found, of greatest\nrepute under the sun, trees drooping with fruit, and blossom and foliage\ngrowing on the tops of boughs. Abundant, there, are honey and wine and\neverything that eye has beheld; there will not come decline on thee with\nlapse of time; death or decay thou wilt not see. Thou wilt get feasts,\nplaying, and drink; thou wilt get melodious music on the harp strings;\nthou wilt get silver and gold; thou wilt get also many jewels. Thou wilt\nget the royal diadem of the 'King of Youth,' which he never yet gave to\nany person under the sun; 'twill protect thee both night and day, in\nbattle, in tumult, and in rough conflict. Thou wilt get a fitting coat\nof protecting mail, and a gold-headed sword apt for strokes, from which\nno person ever escaped alive who once saw the sharp weapon. Thou wilt\nget everything I promised thee, and delights, also, which I may not\nmention; thou wilt get beauty, strength, and power, and I myself will be\nthy wife.\"\n\n\"No refusal will I give from me,\" said I, \"O charming queen of the\ngolden curls! Thou art my choice above the women of the world, and I\nwill go with willingness to the 'Land of Youth.'\"\n\nOn the back of the steed we went together. Before me sat the virgin; she\nsaid, \"Oisin, let us remain quiet till we reach the mouth of the great\nsea.\"\n\nThen arose the steed swiftly; when we arrived on the borders of the\nstrand he shook himself then to pace forward, and neighed three times\naloud.\n\nWhen Fionn and the Fianna saw the steed travelling swiftly, facing the\ngreat tide, they raised three shouts of mourning and grief.\n\n\"O Oisin!\" said Fionn slowly and sorrowfully, \"woe it is to me that thou\nart going from me; I have not a hope that thou wilt ever again come back\nto me victorious.\"\n\nHis form and beauty changed, and showers of tears flowed down, till they\nwet his breast and his bright visage, and he said, \"My woe art thou, O\nOisin, in going from me!\"\n\nO Patrick, 'twas a melancholy story our parting from each other in that\nplace, the parting of the father from his own son--'tis mournful, weak,\nand faint to be relating it! I kissed my father sweetly and gently, and\nthe same affection I got from him. I bade adieu to all the Fianna, and\nthe tears flowed down my cheeks. We turned our backs to the land and our\nfaces directly due west; the smooth sea ebbed before us and filled in\nbillows after us. We saw wonders in our travels, cities, courts, and\ncastles, lime-white mansions and fortresses, brilliant summer-houses and\npalaces. We also saw, by our sides, a hornless fawn leaping nimbly, and\na red-eared white dog, urging it boldly in the chase. We beheld also,\nwithout fiction, a young maid on a brown steed, a golden apple in her\nright hand, and she going on the top of the waves. We saw after her a\nyoung rider on a white steed, under a purple, crimson mantle of satin,\nand a gold-headed sword in his right hand.\n\n\"Who are yon two whom I see, O gentle princess? Tell me the meaning, of\nthat woman of most beautiful countenance and the comely rider of the\nwhite steed.\"\n\n\"Heed not what thou wilt see, O gentle Oisin, nor what thou hast yet\nseen; there is in them but nothing, till we reach the land of the 'King\nof Youth.'\"\n\nWe saw from us afar a sunny palace of beautiful front; its form and\nappearance were the most beauteous that were to be found in the world.\n\n\"What exceeding fine royal mansion, and also the best that eye hath\nseen, is this that we are travelling near to, or who is high chief of\nthat place?\"\n\n\"The daughter of the King of the 'Land of Life' is Queen, yet in that\nfortress she was taken by Fomhor Builleach, of Dromloghach, with violent\nstrength of arms and activity. Obligation she put upon the brave never\nto make her a wife till she got a champion or true hero to stand battle\nwith him hand to hand.\"\n\n\"Take success and blessings, O golden-headed Niamh. I have never heard\nbetter music than the gentle voice of thy sweet mouth; great grief to us\nis a woman of her condition. I will go now to visit her to the fortress,\nand it may be for us it is fated that that great hero should fall by me,\nin feats of activity as is wont to me.\"\n\nWe went then into the fortress. To us came the youthful Queen. Equal in\nsplendour was she to the sun, and she bade us a hundred welcomes.\n\nThere was apparel of yellow silk on the Queen of excellent beauty. Her\nchalk-white skin was like the swan on the wave, and her cheeks were of\nthe colour of the rose. Her hair was of a golden hue, her blue eyes\nclear and cloudless; her honey lips of the colour of the berries, and\nher slender brows of loveliest form.\n\nThen we there sat down, each of us on a chair of gold. There was laid\nout for us abundance of food and drinking-horns filled with beer. When\nwe had taken a sufficiency of food and much sweet drinking wines, then\nspoke the mild young princess, and thus said she, \"Hearken to me\nawhile.\" She told us the knowledge and cause of her tale, and the tears\nflowed down her cheeks. She said, \"My return is not to my own country\nwhilst the great giant shall be alive.\"\n\n\"Be silent, O young princess! Give o'er thy grief and do not mourn, and\nI give to thee my hand that the giant of slaughter shall fall by me!\"\n\n\"There's not a champion now to be found of greatest repute under the sun\nto give battle hand to hand to the bold giant of the hard blows.\"\n\n\"I tell to thee, O gentle queen, I am not daunted at his coming to meet\nme. Unless he fall by me, by the strength of my arms, I will fall myself\nin thy defence.\"\n\n'Twas not long till we saw approaching the powerful giant that was most\nrepulsive. A load was on him of the skins of deer, and an iron bar in\nhis hand. He did not salute or bow to us, but looked into the\ncountenance of the young maiden, proclaimed battle and great conflict,\nand I myself went to meet him. During three nights and three days we\nwere in the great contest; though powerful was he, the valiant giant, I\nbeheaded him without delay.\n\nWhen the two young maidens saw the great giant lying motionless, weak\nand low, they uttered three joyful cries, with great boasting and\nmerriment.\n\nWe then went to the fortress, and I was bruised, weak, and feeble,\nshedding blood in great abundance coming closely out of my wounds. The\ndaughter of the \"King of the Living\" came in truth to relieve myself.\nShe put balm and balsam in my wounds, and I was whole after her.\n\nWe consumed our feast with pleasure, and then we were merry after. In\nthe fortress were prepared for us warm beds of the down of birds. We\nburied the great man in a deep sod-grave, wide and clear. I raised his\nflag and monument, and I wrote his name in Ogham Craobh.\n\nOn the morrow, at the appearance of day, we awoke out of our slumbers.\n\"It is time for us,\" said the daughter of the King, \"to go without delay\nto our own land.\"\n\nWe prepared ourselves without a stay, and we took our leave of the\nvirgin. We were sorrowful and sad after her, and not less after us was\nthe refulgent maid.\n\nWe turned our backs on the fortress, and our horse under us in full\nspeed, and swifter was the white steed than March wind on the mountain\nsummit. Ere long the sky darkened and the wind arose in every point, the\ngreat sea lit up strongly, and sight of the sun was not to be found. We\ngazed awhile on the clouds and on the stars that were under gloom. The\ntempest abated and the wind, and Phoebus brightened o'er our heads.\n\nWe beheld by our side a most delightful country, under full bloom, and\nplains, beautiful, smooth, and fine, and a royal fortress of surpassing\nbeauty. Not a colour that eye has beheld of rich blue, green, and white,\nor purple, crimson, and of yellow, but was in this royal mansion that I\nam describing. There were at the other side of the fortress radiant\nsummer-houses and palaces made, all of precious stones, by the hands of\nskilful men and great artists.\n\nEre long we saw approaching from the fortress to meet us three fifties\nof champions of best agility, appearance, fame, and of highest repute.\n\n\"What beauteous country is that, O gentle daughter of the golden locks?\nOf best aspect that the eye has seen; or is it the 'Land of Youth'?\"\n\n\"It is, truly, O generous Oisin! I have not told you a lie concerning\nit; there is nothing I promised thyself but is manifest to thee for\never.\"\n\nTo us came after that a hundred maids of exquisite beauty,\nunder-garments of silk filled with gold, welcoming me to their own\ncountry. We saw again approaching a multitude of glittering bright\nhosts, and a noble, great, and powerful King of matchless grace, form,\nand countenance. There was a yellow shirt of silken satin and a bright\ngolden garment over it; there was a sparkling crown of gold, radiant and\nshining, upon his head. We saw coming after him the young Queen of\nhighest repute, and fifty virgins sweet and mild, of most beautiful\nform, in her company. When all arrived in one spot, then courteously\nspoke the \"King of Youth,\" and said, \"This is Oisin, the son of Fionn,\nthe gentle consort of 'Golden-headed Niamh'!\"\n\nHe took me then by the hand and said aloud to the hearing of the host,\n\"O brave Oisin! O son of the King! A hundred thousand welcomes to you!\nThis country into which thou comest, I'll not conceal its tidings from\nyou, in truth, long and durable is your life, and thou thyself shalt be\never young. There's not a delight on which the heart hath mused but is\nin this land awaiting thee. O Oisin! believe me in truth, for I am King\nof the 'Land of Youth'! This is the gentle Queen and my own daughter,\nthe Golden-headed Niamh, who went over the smooth seas for thee to be\nher consort for ever.\"\n\nI gave thanks to the King and I bowed down to the gentle Queen; nor\nstayed we there, but proceeded soon, till we reached the royal mansion\nof the \"King of Youth.\" There came the nobles of the fine fortress, both\nmen and women, to meet us; there was a feast and banquet continuously\nthere for ten nights and ten days.\n\nI espoused \"Golden-headed Niamh,\" O Patrick from Rome of white croziers!\nThat is how I went to the \"Land of Youth,\" tho' woeful and grievous to\nme to relate. I had, by Golden-headed Niamh, of children of surpassing\nbeauty and bloom, of best form, shape, and countenance, two young sons\nand a gentle daughter. I spent a time protracted in length, three\nhundred years and more, until I thought 'twould be my desire to see\nFionn and the Fianna alive. I asked leave of the King and of my kind\nspouse, Golden-headed Niamh, to go to Erin back again to see Fionn and\nhis great host.\n\n\"Thou wilt get leave from me,\" said the gentle daughter, \"though 'tis a\nsorrowful tale to me to hear you mention it, lest thou mayest not come\nagain in your life to my own land, O victorious Oisin!\"\n\n\"What do we dread, O blooming Queen? Whilst the white steed is at my\nservice he will teach me the way with ease, and will return safe back to\nthyself.\"\n\n\"Remember, O Oisin! what I am saying. If thou layest foot on level\nground thou shalt not come again for ever to this fine land in which I\nam myself. I say to thee again without guile, if thou alightest once off\nthe white steed thou wilt never more come to the 'Land of Youth,' O\ngolden Oisin of the warlike arms! I say to thee for the third time, if\nthou alightest off the steed thyself thou wilt be an old man, withered\nand blind, without activity, without pleasure, without run, without\nleap. 'Tis a woe to me, O loving Oisin, that thou ever goest to green\nErin; 'tis not now as it has been; and thou never shalt see Fionn of the\nhosts. There is not now in all Erin but a father of orders and hosts of\nsaints. O loving Oisin, here is my kiss; thou wilt never return to the\n'Land of Youth'!\"\n\nI looked up into her countenance with compassion, and streams of tears\nran from my eyes. O Patrick! thou wouldst have pitied her tearing the\nhair off the golden head. She put me under strict injunctions to go and\ncome without touching the lea, and said to me, by virtue of their power,\nif I broke them that I'd never return safe. I promised her each thing,\nwithout a lie, that I would fulfil what she said to me. I went on the\nback of the white steed and bade farewell to the people of the fortress.\nI kissed my gentle consort, and sorrowful was I in parting from her; my\ntwo sons and my young daughter were under grief, shedding tears. I\nprepared myself for travelling, and I turned my back on the \"Land of\nYouth.\" The steed ran swiftly under me, as he had done with me and\n\"Golden-headed Niamh.\"\n\nOn my coming, then, into the country, I looked closely in every\ndirection. I thought then, in truth, that the tidings of Fionn were not\nto be found. 'Twas not long for me, nor tedious, till I saw from the\nwest approaching me a great troop of mounted men and women, and they\ncame into my presence. They saluted me kindly and courteously, and\nsurprise seized every one of them on seeing the bulk of my own person,\nmy form, my appearance, and my countenance. I myself asked then of them,\ndid they hear if Fionn was alive, or did anyone else of the Fianna live,\nor what disaster had swept them away?\n\n\"We have heard tell of Fionn, for strength, for activity, and for\nprowess, that there never was an equal for him in person, in character,\nand in mien. There is many a book written down by the melodious sweet\nsages of the Gaels which we, in truth, are unable to relate to thee, of\nthe deeds of Fionn and of the Fianna. We heard that Fionn had a son of\nbrightest beauty and form; that there came a young maiden for him, and\nthat he went with her to the 'Land of Youth.'\"\n\nWhen I myself heard that announcement that Fionn did not live, or any of\nthe Fianna, I was seized with weariness and great sorrow, and I was full\nof melancholy after them! I did not stop on my course, quick and smart\nwithout any delay, till I set my face straightforward to Almhuin of\ngreat exploits in broad Leinster. Great was my surprise there that I did\nnot see the court of Fionn of the hosts; there was not in its place, in\ntruth, but weeds, chick-weeds, and nettles. Alas, O Patrick! and alas,\nmy grief! A miserable journey it was to me, without the tidings of Fionn\nor the Fianna; it left me through life under pain. After I left Almhuin\nof Leinster, there was not a residence where the Fianna had been, but I\nsearched accurately without any delay. On my passing through the Glen of\nthe Thrushes I saw a great assembly there, three hundred men and more\nwere before me in the glen. One of the assembly spoke, and he said with\na loud voice, \"Come to our relief, O kingly champion, and deliver us\nfrom difficulty!\"\n\nI then came forward, and the host had a large flag of marble; the weight\nof the flag was down on them, and to uphold it they were unable! Those\nthat were under the flag below were being oppressed, weakly; by the\nweight of the great load many of them lost their senses. One of the\nstewards spoke and said, \"O princely young hero, forthwith relieve my\nhost, or not one of them will be alive!\" 'Tis a shameful deed that it\nshould now be said, and the number of men that is there, that the\nstrength of the host is unable to lift the flag with great power. If\nOscur, the son of Oisin, lived, he would take this flag in his right\nhand; he would fling it in a throw over the host. It is not my custom to\nspeak falsehood.\n\nI lay upon my right breast and I took the flag in my hand; with the\nstrength and activity of my limbs I sent it seven perches from its\nplace! With the force of the very large flag the golden girth broke on\nthe white steed; I came down full suddenly on the soles of my two feet\non the lea. No sooner did I come down than the white steed took fright.\nHe went then on his way, and I stood in sorrow, both weak and feeble. I\nlost the sight of my eyes, my form, my countenance, and my vigour; I was\nan old man, poor and blind, without strength, understanding, or esteem.\nPatrick! there is to thee my story, as it occurred to myself, without a\nlie, my going and my adventures in certain, and my returning from the\n\"Land of Youth.\"\n\n  _From \"Ossianic Poems.\"_\n  _Edited by_ JOHN O'DALY.\n\n\n\n\nAdventures of Gilla na Chreck an Gour\n\n_(Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect.)_\n\n\nLong ago a poor widow woman lived down by the iron forge near\nEnniscorthy, and she was so poor, she had no clothes to put on her son;\nso she used to fix him in the ash-hole, near the fire, and pile the warm\nashes about him; and, accordingly, as he grew up, she sunk the pit\ndeeper. At last, by hook or by crook, she got a goat-skin, and fastened\nit round his waist, and he felt quite grand, and took a walk down the\nstreet. So says she to him next morning, \"Tom, you thief, you never done\nany good yet, and six-foot high, and past nineteen: take that rope and\nbring me a _bresna_ from the wood.\" \"Never say't twice, mother,\" says\nTom; \"here goes.\"\n\nWhen he had it gathered and tied, what should come up but a big\n_joiant_, nine-foot high, and made a lick of a club at him. Well become\nTom, he jumped a-one side and picked up a ram-pike; and the first crack\nhe gave the big fellow he made him kiss the clod. \"If you have e'er a\nprayer,\" says Tom, \"now's the time to say it, before I make _brishe_ of\nyou.\" \"I have no prayers,\" says the giant, \"but if you spare my life\nI'll give you that club; and as long as you keep from sin you'll win\nevery battle you ever fight with it.\"\n\nTom made no bones about letting him off; and as soon as he got the club\nin his hands he sat down on the bresna and gave it a tap with the\nkippeen, and says, \"Bresna, I had a great trouble gathering you, and run\nthe risk of my life for you; the least you can do is to carry me home.\"\nAnd, sure enough, the wind of the word was all it wanted. It went off\nthrough the wood, groaning and cracking till it came to the widow's\ndoor.\n\nWell, when the sticks were all burned Tom was sent off again to pick\nmore; and this time he had to fight with a giant with two heads on him.\nTom had a little more trouble with him--that's all; and the prayers _he_\nsaid was to give Tom a fife that nobody could help dancing when he was\nplaying it. _Begonies_, he made the big faggot dance home, with himself\nsitting on it. Well, if you were to count all the steps from this to\nDublin, dickens a bit you'd ever arrive there. The next giant was a\nbeautiful boy with three heads on him. He had neither prayers nor\ncatechism no more _nor_ the others; and so he gave Tom a bottle of green\nointment that wouldn't let you be burned, nor scalded, nor wounded. \"And\nnow,\" says he, \"there's no more of us. You may come and gather sticks\nhere till little _Lunacy Day_ in harvest without giant or fairy man to\ndisturb you.\"\n\nWell, now, Tom was prouder nor ten paycocks, and used to take a walk\ndown street in the heel of the evening; but some of the little boys had\nno more manners nor if they were Dublin jackeens, and put out their\ntongues at Tom's club and Tom's goat-skin. He didn't like that at all,\nand it would be mean to give one of them a clout. At last, what should\ncome through the town but a kind of bellman, only it's a big bugle he\nhad, and a huntsman's cap on his head, and a kind of painted shirt. So\nthis--he wasn't a bellman, and I don't know what to call him--bugleman,\nmaybe--proclaimed that the King of Dublin's daughter was so melancholy\nthat she didn't give a laugh for seven years, and that her father would\ngrant her in marriage to whoever would make her laugh three times.\n\"That's the very thing for me to try,\" says Tom; and so, without burning\nany more daylight, he kissed his mother, curled his club at the little\nboys, and he set off along the yalla highroad to the town of Dublin.\n\nAt last Tom came to one of the city gates, and the guards laughed and\ncursed at him instead of letting him through. Tom stood it all for a\nlittle time, but at last one of them--out of fun, as he said--drove his\n_bagnet_ half an inch or so into his side. Tom did nothing but take the\nfellow by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his corduroys and\nfling him into the canal. Some ran to pull the fellow out, and others to\nlet manners into the vulgarian with their swords and daggers; but a tap\nfrom his club sent them headlong into the moat or down on the stones,\nand they were soon begging him to stay his hands.\n\nSo at last one of them was glad enough to show Tom the way to the palace\nyard; and there was the King and the Queen, and the princess in a\ngallery, looking at all sorts of wrestling and sword-playing, and\n_rinka-fadhas_ (long dances) and mumming, all to please the princess;\nbut not a smile came over her handsome face.\n\nWell, they all stopped when they seen the young giant, with his boy's\nface and long black hair, and his short curly beard--for his poor mother\ncouldn't afford to buy _razhurs_--and his great strong arms and bare\nlegs, and no covering but the goat-skin that reached from his waist to\nhis knees. But an envious wizened _basthard_ of a fellow, with a red\nhead, that wished to be married to the princess, and didn't like how she\nopened her eyes at Tom, came forward, and asked his business very\nsnappishly. \"My business,\" says Tom, says he, \"is to make the beautiful\nprincess, God bless her, laugh three times.\" \"Do you see all them merry\nfellows and skilful swordsmen,\" says the other, \"that could eat you up\nwith a grain of salt, and not a mother's soul of 'em ever got a laugh\nfrom her these seven years?\" So the fellows gathered round Tom, and the\nbad man aggravated him till he told them he didn't care a pinch of snuff\nfor the whole bilin' of 'em; let 'em come on, six at a time, and try\nwhat they could do. The King, that was too far off to hear what they\nwere saying, asked what did the stranger want. \"He wants,\" says the\nred-headed fellow, \"to make hares of your best men.\" \"Oh!\" says the\nKing, \"if that's the way, let one of 'em turn out and try his mettle.\"\nSo one stood forward, with _soord_ and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom.\nHe struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their heads flew\nthe sword, and down went the owner of it on the gravel from a thump he\ngot on the helmet. Another took his place, and another, and another, and\nthen half a dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets, shields, and\nbodies rolling over and over, and themselves bawling out that they were\nkilt, and disabled, and damaged, and rubbing their poor elbows and hips,\nand limping away. Tom contrived not to kill anyone; and the princess was\nso amused that she let a great sweet laugh out of her that was heard all\nover the yard. \"King of Dublin,\" says Tom, \"I've quarter of your\ndaughter.\" And the King didn't know whether he was glad or sorry, and\nall the blood in the princess's heart run into her cheeks.\n\nSo there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was invited to dine with\nthe royal family. Next day Redhead told Tom of a wolf, the size of a\nyearling heifer, that used to be _serenading_ (sauntering) about the\nwalls, and eating people and cattle; and said what a pleasure it would\ngive the King to have it killed. \"With all my heart,\" says Tom. \"Send a\njackeen to show me where he lives, and we'll see how he behaves to a\nstranger.\" The princess was not well pleased, for Tom looked a different\nperson with fine clothes and a nice green _birredh_ over his long, curly\nhair; and besides, he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the King gave\nhis consent; and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf was walking in\nthe palace yard, and Tom a step or two behind, with his club on his\nshoulder, just as a shepherd would be walking after a pet lamb. The King\nand Queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the officers\nand people of the court that were _padrowling_ about the great bawn,\nwhen they saw the big baste coming in gave themselves up, and began to\nmake for doors and gates; and the wolf licked his chops, as if he was\nsaying, \"Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast off a couple of yez!\" The King\nshouted out, \"O Gilla na Chreck an Gour, take away that terrible wolf,\nand you must have all my daughter.\" But Tom didn't mind him a bit. He\npulled out his flute and began to play like vengeance; and dickens a man\nor boy in the yard but began shovelling away heel and toe, and the wolf\nhimself was obliged to get on his hind legs and dance _Tatther Jack\nWalsh_ along with the rest. A good deal of the people got inside and\nshut the doors, the way the hairy fellow wouldn't pin them; but Tom kept\nplaying, and the outsiders kept shouting and dancing, and the wolf kept\ndancing and roaring with the pain his legs were giving him: and all the\ntime he had his eyes on Redhead, who was shut out along with the rest.\nWherever Redhead went the wolf followed, and kept one eye on him and the\nother on Tom, to see if he would give him leave to eat him. But Tom\nshook his head, and never stopped the tune, and Redhead never stopped\ndancing and bawling and the wolf dancing and roaring, one leg up and the\nother down, and he ready to drop out of his standing from fair\ntiresomeness.\n\nWhen the princess seen that there was no fear of anyone being kilt she\nwas so divarted by the stew that Redhead was in that she gave another\ngreat laugh; and well become Tom, out he cried, \"King of Dublin, I have\ntwo quarters of your daughter.\" \"Oh, quarters or alls,\" says the King,\n\"put away that divel of a wolf and we'll see about it.\" So Gilla put his\nflute in his pocket, and says he to the baste that was sittin' on his\ncurrabingo ready to faint, \"Walk off to your mountains, my fine\nfellow, and live like a respectable baste; and if ever I find you come\nwithin seven miles of any town----\" He said no more, but spit in his\nfist, and gave a flourish of his club. It was all the poor divel wanted:\nhe put his tail between his legs and took to his pumps without looking\nat man nor mortial, and neither sun, moon, nor stars ever saw him in\nsight of Dublin again.\n\nAt dinner everyone laughed but the foxy fellow; and, sure enough, he was\nlaying out how he'd settle poor Tom next day. \"Well, to be sure!\" says\nhe, \"King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's the Danes moidhering us to\nno end. D---- run to Lusk wid 'em! and if anyone can save us from 'em it\nis this gentleman with the goat-skin. There is a flail hangin' on the\ncollar-beam in Hell, and neither Dane nor Devil can stand before it.\"\n\"So,\" says Tom to the King, \"will you let me have the other half of the\nprincess if I bring you the flail?\" \"No, no,\" says the princess, \"I'd\nrather never be your wife than see you in that danger.\"\n\nBut Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about how shabby it would look to\nreneague the adventure. So he asked him which way he was to go, and\nRedhead directed him through a street where a great many bad women\nlived, and a great many shibbeen houses were open, and away he set.\n\nWell, he travelled and travelled till he came in sight of the walls of\nHell; and, bedad, before he knocked at the gates, he rubbed himself over\nwith the greenish ointment. When he knocked a hundred little imps popped\ntheir heads out through the bars, and axed him what he wanted. \"I want\nto speak to the big divel of all,\" says Tom: \"open the gate.\"\n\nIt wasn't long till the gate was _thrune_ open, and the Ould Boy\nreceived Tom with bows and scrapes, and axed his business. \"My business\nisn't much,\" says Tom. \"I only came for the loan of that flail that I\nsee hanging on the collar-beam for the King of Dublin to give a\nthrashing to the Danes.\" \"Well,\" says the other, \"the Danes is much\nbetter customers to me; but, since you walked so far, I won't refuse.\nHand that flail,\" says he to a young imp; and he winked the far-off eye\nat the same time. So while some were barring the gates, the young devil\nclimbed up and took down the iron flail that had the handstaff and\nbooltheen both made out of red-hot iron. The little vagabond was\ngrinning to think how it would burn the hands off of Tom, but the\ndickens a burn it made on him, no more nor if it was a good oak sapling.\n\"Thankee,\" says Tom; \"now would you open the gate for a body and I'll\ngive you no more trouble.\" \"Oh, tramp!\" says Ould Nick, \"is that the way?\nIt is easier getting inside them gates than getting out again. Take that\ntool from him, and give him a dose of the oil of stirrup.\" So one fellow\nput out his claws to seize on the flail, but Tom gave him such a welt of\nit on the side of his head that he broke off one of his horns, and made\nhim roar like a divel as he was. Well, they rushed at Tom, but he gave\nthem, little and big, such a thrashing as they didn't forget for a\nwhile. At last says the ould thief of all, rubbing his elbows, \"Let the\nfool out; and woe to whoever lets him in again, great or small.\"\n\nSo out marched Tom and away with him, without minding the shouting and\ncursing they kept up at him from the tops of the walls. And when he got\nhome to the big bawn of the palace, there never was such running and\nracing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his story told he\nlaid down the flail on the stone steps, and bid no one for their lives\nto touch it. If the King and Queen and princess made much of him before\nthey made ten times as much of him now; but Redhead, the mean\nscruff-hound, stole over, and thought to catch hold of the flail to make\nan end of him. His fingers hardly touched it, when he let a roar out of\nhim as if heaven and earth were coming together, and kept flinging his\narms about and dancing that it was pitiful to look at him. Tom run at\nhim as soon as he could rise, caught his hands in his own two, and\nrubbed them this way and that, and the burning pain left them before you\ncould reckon one. Well, the poor fellow, between the pain that was only\njust gone, and the comfort he was in, had the comicalest face that ever\nyou see; it was such a mixerum-gatherum of laughing and crying. Everyone\nburst out a laughing--the princess could not stop no more than the\nrest--and then says Gilla, or Tom, \"Now, ma'am, if there were fifty\nhalves of you I hope you'll give me them all.\" Well, the princess had no\nmock modesty about her. She looked at her father, and, by my word, she\ncame over to Gilla and put her two delicate hands into his two rough\nones, and I wish it was myself was in his shoes that day!\n\nTom would not bring the flail into the palace. You may be sure no other\nbody went near it; and when the early risers were passing next morning\nthey found two long clefts in the stone where it was, after burning\nitself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far. But a messenger\ncame in at noon and said that the Danes were so frightened when they\nheard of the flail coming into Dublin that they got into their ships and\nsailed away.\n\nWell, I suppose before they were married Gilla got some man like Pat\nMara of Tomenine to larn him the \"principles of politeness,\" fluxions,\ngunnery, and fortifications, decimal fractions, practice, and the\nrule-of-three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a conversation\nwith the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time larning them\nsciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that his mother never\nmore saw any want till the end of her days.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Hill-man and the House-wife\n\n\nIt is well known that the good people cannot stand mean ways. Now, there\nonce lived a house-wife who had a sharp eye to her own good in this\nworld, and gave alms of what she had no use, for the good of her soul.\n\nOne day a hill-man knocked at her door. \"Can you lend us a saucepan,\ngood mother?\" said he. \"There's a wedding in the hill, and all the pots\nare in use.\" \"Is he to have one?\" asked the servant girl who opened the\ndoor. \"Ay, to be sure,\" said the house-wife.\n\nBut when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, she pinched her\narm and whispered sharply, \"Not that, you stupid; get the old one out of\nthe cupboard. It leaks, and the hill-men are so neat and such nimble\nworkers that they are sure to mend it before they send it home. So one\ndoes a good turn to the good people and saves sixpence from the tinker.\"\n\nThe maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid by till the tinker's\nnext visit, and gave it to the dwarf, who thanked her and went away.\n\nThe saucepan was soon returned neatly mended and ready for use. At\nsupper time the maid filled the pan with milk and set it on the fire for\nthe children's supper, but in a few minutes the milk was so burnt and\nsmoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs would not drink the\nwash into which it was thrown.\n\n\"Ah, you good-for-nothing slut!\" cried the house-wife, as she this time\nfilled the pan herself. \"You would ruin the richest, with your careless\nways; there's a whole quart of good milk spoilt at once.\" \"And that's\ntwopence,\" cried a voice from the chimney, a queer whining voice like\nsome old body who was always grumbling over something.\n\nThe house-wife had not left the saucepan for two minutes when the milk\nboiled over, and it was all burnt and smoked as before. \"The pan must be\ndirty,\" cried the house-wife in a rage; \"and there are two full quarts\nof milk as good as thrown to the dogs.\" \"_And that's fourpence_,\" said\nthe voice in the chimney.\n\nAfter a long scrubbing the saucepan was once more filled and set on the\nfire, but it was not the least use, the milk was burnt and smoked again,\nand the house-wife burst into tears at the waste, crying out, \"Never\nbefore did such a thing happen to me since I kept house! Three quarts of\nmilk burnt for one meal!\" \"_And that's sixpence,_\" cried the voice from\nthe chimney. \"You didn't save the tinker after all,\" with which the\nhill-man himself came tumbling down the chimney, and went off laughing\nthrough the door. But from that time the saucepan was as good as any\nother.\n\nJULIANA HORATIA EWING.\n\n\n\n\nThe Giant Walker\n\n\n  Now, all the night around their echoing camp\n  Was heard continuous from the hills a sound as of the tramp\n  Of giant footsteps; but, so thick the white mist lay around,\n  None saw the Walker, save the King. He, starting at the sound,\n  Called to his foot his fierce red hound; athwart his shoulders cast\n  A shaggy mantle, grasped his spear, and through the moonlight passed\n  Alone up dark Ben-Boli's heights, towards which, above the woods,\n  With sound as when at close of eve the noise of falling floods\n  Is borne to shepherd's ear remote on stilly upland lawn,\n  The steps along the mountain-side with hollow fall came on.\n  Fast beat the hero's heart; and close down-crouching by his knee\n  Trembled the hound, while, through the haze, huge as through mists at\n      sea,\n  The week-long sleepless mariner descries some mountain cape,\n  Wreck-infamous, rise on his lee, appeared a monstrous Shape,\n  Striding impatient, like a man much grieved, who walks alone,\n  Considering of a cruel wrong; down from his shoulders thrown\n  A mantle, skirted stiff with soil splashed from the miry ground,\n  At every stride against his calves struck with as loud rebound\n  As makes the main-sail of a ship brought up along the blast,\n  When with the coil of all its ropes it beats the sounding mast.\n  So, striding vast, the giant passed; the King held fast his breath--\n  Motionless, save his throbbing heart; and chill and still as death\n  Stood listening while, a second time, the giant took the round\n  Of all the camp; but, when at length, for the third time, the sound\n  Came up, and through the parting haze a third time huge and dim\n  Rose out the Shape, the valiant hound sprang forth and challenged him.\n  And forth, disdaining that a dog should put him so to shame,\n  Sprang Congal, and essayed to speak: \"Dread Shadow, stand! Proclaim\n  What wouldst thou that thou thus all night around my camp shouldst keep\n  Thy troublous vigil banishing the wholesome gift of sleep\n  From all our eyes, who, though inured to dreadful sounds and sights\n  By land and sea, have never yet, in all our perilous nights,\n  Lain in the ward of such a guard.\"\n                                The Shape made answer none,\n  But with stern wafture of its hand went angrier striding on,\n  Shaking the earth with heavier steps. Then Congal on his track\n  Sprang fearless.\n    \"Answer me, thou churl!\" he cried, \"I bid thee back!\"\n  But while he spoke, the giant's cloak around his shoulders grew\n  Like to a black-bulged thunder-cloud, and sudden, out there flew\n  From all its angry swelling folds, with uproar unconfined,\n  Direct against the King's pursuit, a mighty blast of wind.\n  Loud flapped the mantle, tempest-lined, while, fluttering down the gale,\n  As leaves in autumn, man and hound were swept into the vale;\n  And, heard o'er all the huge uproar, through startled Dalaray\n  The giant went, with stamp and clash, departing south away.\n\nSIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Pursuit of the Gilla Dacker\n\n\nNow, it chanced at one time during the chase, while they were hunting\nover the plain of Cliach, that Finn went to rest on the hill of\nCollkilla, which is now called Knockainy; and he had his hunting-tents\npitched on a level spot near the summit, and some of his chief heroes\ntarried with him.\n\nWhen the King and his companions had taken their places on the hill, the\nFeni unleashed their gracefully shaped, sweet-voiced hounds through the\nwoods and sloping glens. And it was sweet music to Finn's ear, the cry\nof the long-snouted dogs, as they routed the deer from their covers and\nthe badgers from their dens; the pleasant, emulating shouts of the\nyouths; the whistling and signalling of the huntsmen; and the\nencouraging cheers of the mighty heroes, as they spread themselves\nthrough the glens and woods, and over the broad green plain of Cliach.\n\nThen did Finn ask who of all his companions would go to the highest\npoint of the hill directly over them to keep watch and ward and to\nreport how the chase went on. For, he said, the Dedannans were ever on\nthe watch to work the Feni mischief by their druidical spells, and more\nso during the chase than at other times.\n\nFinn Ban Mac Bresal stood forward and offered to go; and, grasping his\nbroad spears, he went to the top, and sat viewing the plain to the four\npoints of the sky. And the King and his companions brought forth the\nchess-board and chess-men and sat them down to a game.\n\nFinn Ban Mac Bresal had been watching only a little time when he saw on\na plain to the east a Fomor of vast size coming towards the hill,\nleading a horse. As he came nearer Finn Ban observed that he was the\nugliest-looking giant his eyes ever lighted on. He had a large, thick\nbody, bloated and swollen out to a great size; clumsy, crooked legs; and\nbroad, flat feet turned inwards. His hands and arms and shoulders were\nbony and thick and very strong-looking; his neck was long and thin; and\nwhile his head was poked forward, his face was turned up, as he stared\nstraight at Finn Mac Bresal. He had thick lips, and long, crooked teeth;\nand his face was covered all over with bushy hair.\n\nHe was fully armed; but all his weapons were rusty and soiled and\nslovenly looking. A broad shield of a dirty, sooty colour, rough and\nbattered, hung over his back; he had a long, heavy, straight sword at\nhis left hip; and he held in his left hand two thick-handled,\nbroad-headed spears, old and rusty, and seeming as if they had not been\nhandled for years. In his right hand he held an iron club, which he\ndragged after him with its end on the ground; and, as it trailed along,\nit tore up a track as deep as the furrow a farmer ploughs with a team of\noxen.\n\nThe horse he led was even larger in proportion than the giant himself,\nand quite as ugly. His great carcass was covered all over with tangled\nscraggy hair, of a sooty black; you could count his ribs and all the\npoints of his big bones through his hide; his legs were crooked and\nknotty; his neck was twisted; and as for his jaws, they were so long and\nheavy that they made his head look twice too large for his body.\n\nThe giant held him by a thick halter, and seemed to be dragging him\nforward by main force, the animal was so lazy and so hard to move. Every\nnow and then, when the beast tried to stand still, the giant would give\nhim a blow on the ribs with his big iron club, which sounded as loud as\nthe thundering of a great billow against the rough-headed rocks of the\ncoast. When he gave him a pull forward by the halter, the wonder was\nthat he did not drag the animal's head away from his body; and, on the\nother hand, the horse often gave the halter such a tremendous tug\nbackwards that it was equally wonderful how the arm of the giant was not\ntorn away from his shoulder.\n\nWhen at last he had come up he bowed his head and bended his knee, and\nsaluted the King with great respect.\n\nFinn addressed him; and after having given him leave to speak he asked\nhim who he was, and what was his name, and whether he belonged to one of\nthe noble or ignoble races; also what was his profession or craft, and\nwhy he had no servant to attend to his horse.\n\nThe big man made answer and said, \"King of the Feni, whether I come of a\nnoble or of an ignoble race, that, indeed, I cannot tell, for I know not\nwho my father and mother were. As to where I came from, I am a Fomor of\nLochlann in the north; but I have no particular dwelling-place, for I am\ncontinually travelling about from one country to another, serving the\ngreat lords and nobles of the world, and receiving wages for my service.\n\n\"In the course of my wanderings I have often heard of you, O King, and\nof your greatness and splendour and royal bounty; and I have come now to\nask you to take me into your service for one year; and at the end of\nthat time I shall fix my own wages, according to my custom.\n\n\"You ask me also why I have no servant for this great horse of mine. The\nreason of that is this: at every meal I eat my master must give me as\nmuch food and drink as would be enough for a hundred men; and whosoever\nthe lord or chief may be that takes me into his service, it is quite\nenough for him to have to provide for me, without having also to feed my\nservant.\n\n\"Moreover, I am so very heavy and lazy that I should never be able to\nkeep up with a company on march if I had to walk; and this is my reason\nfor keeping a horse at all.\n\n\"My name is the Gilla Dacker, and it is not without good reason that I\nam so called. For there never was a lazier or worse servant than I am,\nor one that grumbles more at doing a day's work for his master. And I am\nthe hardest person in the world to deal with; for, no matter how good or\nnoble I may think my master, or how kindly he may treat me, it is hard\nwords and foul reproaches I am likely to give him for thanks in the end.\n\n\"This, O Finn, is the account I have to give of myself, and these are my\nanswers to your questions.\"\n\n\"Well,\" answered Finn, \"according to your own account you are not a very\npleasant fellow to have anything to do with; and of a truth there is not\nmuch to praise in your appearance. But things may not be so bad as you\nsay; and, anyhow, as I have never yet refused any man service and wages,\nI will not now refuse you.\"\n\nWhereupon Finn and the Gilla Dacker made covenants, and the Gilla Dacker\nwas taken into service for a year.\n\n\"And now,\" said the Gilla Dacker, \"as to this same horse of mine, I find\nI must attend to him myself, as I see no one here worthy of putting a\nhand near him. So I will lead him to the nearest stud, as I am wont to\ndo, and let him graze among your horses. I value him greatly, however,\nand it would grieve me very much if any harm were to befall him; so,\"\ncontinued he, turning to the King, \"I put him under your protection, O\nKing, and under the protection of all the Feni that are here present.\"\n\nAt this speech the Feni all burst out laughing to see the Gilla Dacker\nshowing such concern for his miserable, worthless old skeleton of a\nhorse.\n\nHowbeit, the big man, giving not the least heed to their merriment, took\nthe halter off the horse's head and turned him loose among the horses of\nthe Feni.\n\nBut now, this same wretched-looking old animal, instead of beginning to\ngraze, as everyone thought he would, ran in among the horses of the\nFeni, and began straightway to work all sorts of mischief. He cocked his\nlong, hard, switchy tail straight out like a rod, and, throwing up his\nhind legs, he kicked about on this side and on that, maiming and\ndisabling several of the horses. Sometimes he went tearing through the\nthickest of the herd, butting at them with his hard, bony forehead; and\nhe opened out his lips with a vicious grin and tore all he could lay\nhold on with his sharp, crooked teeth, so that none were safe that came\nin his way either before or behind.\n\nAt last he left them, and was making straight across to a small field\nwhere Conan Mail's horses were grazing by themselves, intending to play\nthe same tricks among them. But Conan, seeing this, shouted in great\nalarm to the Gilla Dacker to bring away his horse, and not let him work\nany more mischief; and threatening, if he did not do so at once, to go\nhimself and knock the brains out of the vicious old brute on the spot.\n\nBut the Gilla Dacker told Conan that he saw no way of preventing his\nhorse from joining the others, except someone put the halter on him.\n\"And,\" said he to Conan, \"there is the halter; and if you are in any\nfear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from\nthe field.\"\n\nConan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big\nhorse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and,\nrunning forward with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head\nand thought to lead him back. But in a moment the horse stood stock\nstill, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of\nwood; and though Conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not\nable to stir him an inch from his place.\n\nAt last Fergus Finnvel, the poet, spoke to Conan and said, \"I never\nwould have believed, Conan Mail, that you could be brought to do\nhorse-service for any knight or noble in the whole world; but now,\nindeed, I see that you have made yourself a horse-boy to an ugly foreign\ngiant, so hateful-looking and low-born that not a man of the Feni would\nhave anything to say to him. As you have, however, to mind this old\nhorse in order to save your own, would it not be better for you to mount\nhim and revenge yourself for all the trouble he is giving you, by riding\nhim across the country, over the hill-tops, and down into the deep glens\nand valleys, and through stones and bogs and all sorts of rough places,\ntill you have broken the heart in his big ugly body?\"\n\nConan, stung by the cutting words of the poet and by the jeers of his\ncompanions, jumped upon the horse's back, and began to beat him mightily\nwith his heels and with his two big heavy fists to make him go; but the\nhorse seemed not to take the least notice, and never stirred.\n\n\"I know the reason he does not go,\" said Fergus Finnvel; \"he has been\naccustomed to carry a horseman far heavier than you--that is to say, the\nGilla Dacker; and he will not move till he has the same weight on his\nback.\"\n\nAt this Conan Mail called out to his companions, and asked which of them\nwould mount with him and help to avenge the damage done to their horses.\n\n\"I will go,\" said Coil Croda the Battle Victor, son of Criffan; and up\nhe went. But the horse never moved.\n\nDara Donn Mac Morna next offered to go, and mounted behind the others;\nand after him Angus Mac Art Mac Morna. And the end of it was that\nfourteen men of the Clann Baskin and Clann Morna got up along with\nConan; and all began to thrash the horse together with might and main.\nBut they were none the better for it, for he remained standing stiff and\nimmovable as before. They found, moreover, that their seat was not at\nall an easy one--the animal's back was so sharp and bony.\n\nWhen the Gilla Dacker saw the Feni beating his horse at such a rate he\nseemed very angry, and addressed the King in these words:\n\n\"King of the Feni, I now see plainly that all the fine accounts I heard\nabout you and the Feni are false, and I will not stay in your\nservice--no, not another hour. You can see for yourself the ill usage\nthese men are giving my horse without cause; and I leave you to judge\nwhether anyone could put up with it--anyone who had the least regard for\nhis horse. The time is, indeed, short since I entered your service, but\nI now think it a great deal too long; so pay me my wages and let me go\nmy ways.\"\n\nBut Finn said, \"I do not wish you to go; stay on till the end of your\nyear, and then I will pay you all I promised you.\"\n\n\"I swear,\" answered the Gilla Dacker, \"that if this were the very last\nday of my year, I would not wait till morning for my wages after this\ninsult. So, wages or no wages, I will now seek another master; but from\nthis time forth I shall know what to think of Finn Mac Cumal and his\nFeni!\"\n\nWith that the Gilla Dacker stood up as straight as a pillar, and,\nturning his face towards the south-west, he walked slowly away.\n\nWhen the horse saw his master leaving the hill he stirred himself at\nonce and walked quietly after him, bringing the fifteen men away on his\nback. And when the Feni saw this they raised a loud shout of laughter,\nmocking them.\n\nThe Gilla Dacker, after he had walked some little way, looked back, and,\nseeing that his horse was following, he stood for a moment to tuck up\nhis skirts. Then, all at once changing his pace, he set out with long,\nactive strides; and if you know what the speed of a swallow is flying\nacross a mountain-side, or the dry fairy wind of a March day sweeping\nover the plains, then you can understand the swiftness of the Gilla\nDacker as he ran down the hill-side towards the south-west.\n\nNeither was the horse behindhand in the race; for though he carried a\nheavy load, he galloped like the wind after his master, plunging and\nbounding forward with as much freedom as if he had nothing at all on his\nback.\n\nThe men now tried to throw themselves off; but this, indeed, they were\nnot able to do, for the good reason that they found themselves fastened\nfirmly, hands and feet and all, to the horse's back.\n\nAnd now Conan, looking round, raised his big voice and shouted to Finn\nand the Feni, asking them were they content to let their friends be\ncarried off in that manner by such a horrible, foul-looking old spectre\nof a horse.\n\nFinn and the others, hearing this, seized their arms and started off in\npursuit. Now, the way the Gilla Dacker and his horse took was first\nthrough Fermore, which is at the present day called Hy Conall Gavra;\nnext over the wide, heathy summit of Slieve Lougher; from that to Corca\nDivna; and they ran along by Slieve Mish till they reached Cloghan\nKincat, near the deep green sea.\n\nAnd so the great horse continued his course without stop or stay,\nbringing the sixteen Feni with him through the sea. Now, this is how\nthey fared in the sea while the horse was rushing farther and farther to\nthe west: they had always a dry, firm strand under them, for the waters\nretired before the horse; while behind them was a wild, raging sea,\nwhich followed close after and seemed ready every moment to topple over\ntheir heads. But, though the billows were tumbling and roaring all\nround, neither horse nor riders were wetted by as much as a drop of\nbrine or a dash of spray.\n\nThen Finn spoke and asked the chiefs what they thought best to be done;\nand they told him they would follow whatsoever counsel he and Fergus\nFinnvel, the poet, gave them. Then Finn told Fergus to speak his mind;\nand Fergus said:\n\n\"My counsel is that we go straightway to Ben Edar, where we shall find a\nship ready to sail. For our forefathers, when they wrested the land from\nthe gifted, bright-complexioned Dedannans, bound them by covenant to\nmaintain this ship for ever, fitted with all things needful for a\nvoyage, even to the smallest article, as one of the privileges of Ben\nEdar; so that if at any time one of the noble sons of Gael Glas wished\nto sail to distant lands from Erin, he should have a ship lying at hand\nin the harbour ready to begin his voyage.\"\n\nThey agreed to this counsel, and turned their steps without delay\nnorthwards towards Ben Edar. They had not gone far when they met two\nnoble-looking youths, fully armed, and wearing over their armour\nbeautiful mantles of scarlet silk, fastened by brooches of gold. The\nstrangers saluted the King with much respect; and the King saluted them\nin return. Then, having given them leave to converse, he asked them who\nthey were, whither they had come, and who the prince or chief was that\nthey served. And the elder answered:\n\n\"My name is Feradach, and my brother's name is Foltlebar; and we are the\ntwo sons of the King of Innia. Each of us professes an art; and it has\nlong been a point of dispute between us which art is the better, my\nbrother's or mine. Hearing that there is not in the world a wiser or\nmore far-seeing man than thou art, O King, we have come to ask thee to\ntake us into thy service among thy household troops for a year, and at\nthe end of that time to give judgment between us in this matter.\"\n\nFinn asked them what were the two arts they professed.\n\n\"My art,\" answered Feradach, \"is this. If at any time a company of\nwarriors need a ship, give me only my joiner's axe and my crann-tavall,\nand I am able to provide a ship for them without delay. The only think I\nask them to do is this--to cover their heads close, and keep them\ncovered, while I give the crann-tavall three blows of my axe. Then I\ntell them to uncover their heads; and lo, there lies the ship in harbour\nready to sail!\"\n\nThen Foltlebar spoke and said, \"This, O King, is the art I profess. On\nland I can track the wild duck over nine ridges and nine glens, and\nfollow her without being once thrown out till I drop upon her in her\nnest. And I can follow up a track on sea quite as well as on land if I\nhave a good ship and crew.\"\n\nFinn replied, \"You are the very men I want; and I now take you both into\nmy service. At this moment I need a good ship and a skilful pilot more\nthan any two things in the whole world.\"\n\nWhereupon Finn told them the whole story of the Gilla Dacker's doings\nfrom beginning to end. \"And we are now,\" said he, \"on our way to Ben\nEdar to seek a ship that we may follow this giant and his horse and\nrescue our companions.\"\n\nThen Feradach said, \"I will get you a ship--a ship that will sail as\nswiftly as a swallow can fly!\"\n\nAnd Foltlebar said, \"I will guide your ship in the track of the Gilla\nDacker till ye lay hands on him, in whatsoever quarter of the world he\nmay have hidden himself!\"\n\nAnd so they turned back to Cloghan Kincat. And when they had come to the\nbeach Feradach told them to cover their heads, and they did so. Then he\nstruck three blows of his axe on the crann-tavall; after which he made\nthem look. And lo, they saw a ship fully fitted out with oars and sails\nand with all things needed for a long voyage riding before them in the\nharbour!\n\nThen they went on board and launched their ship on the cold, bright sea;\nand Foltlebar was their pilot and steersman. And they set their sail and\nplied their slender oars, and the ship moved swiftly westward till they\nlost sight of the shores of Erin; and they saw nothing all round them\nbut a wide girdle of sea. After some days' sailing a great storm came\nfrom the west, and the black waves rose up against them so that they had\nmuch ado to keep their vessel from sinking. But through all the roaring\nof the tempest, through the rain and blinding spray, Foltlebar never\nstirred from the helm or changed his course, but still kept close on the\ntrack of the Gilla Dacker.\n\nAt length the storm abated and the sea grew calm. And when the darkness\nhad cleared away they saw to the west, a little way off, a vast rocky\ncliff towering over their heads to such a height that its head seemed\nhidden among the clouds. It rose up sheer from the very water, and\nlooked at that distance as smooth as glass, so that at first sight\nthere seemed no way to reach the top.\n\nFoltlebar, after examining to the four points of the sky, found the\ntrack of the Gilla Dacker as far as the cliff, but no farther. And he\naccordingly told the heroes that he thought it was on the top of that\nrock the giant lived; and that, anyhow, the horse must have made his way\nup the face of the cliff with their companions.\n\nWhen the heroes heard this they were greatly cast down and puzzled what\nto do; for they saw no way of reaching the top of the rock; and they\nfeared they should have to give up the quest and return without their\ncompanions. And they sat down and looked up at the cliff with sorrow and\nvexation in their hearts.\n\nFergus Finnvel, the poet, then challenged the hero Dermat O'Dyna to\nclimb the rock in pursuit of the Gilla Dacker, and he did so, and on\nreaching the summit found himself in a beautiful fairy plain. He fared\nacross it and came to a great tree laden with fruit beside a well as\nclear as crystal. Hard by, on the brink of the well, stood a tall pillar\nstone, and on its top lay a golden-chased drinking horn. He filled the\nhorn from the well and drank, but had scarcely taken it from his lips\nwhen he saw a fully armed wizard champion advancing to meet him with\nlooks and gestures of angry menace. The wizard upbraided him for\nentering his territory without leave and for drinking out of his well\nfrom his drinking horn, and thereupon challenged him to fight. For four\ndays long they fought, the wizard escaping from Dermat every even-fall\nby leaping into the well and disappearing down through it. But on the\nfourth evening Dermat closed with the wizard when about to spring into\nthe water, and fell with him into the well.\n\nOn reaching the bottom the wizard wrested himself away and started\nrunning, and Dermat found himself in a strangely beautiful country with\na royal palace hard by, in front of which armed knights were engaged in\nwarlike exercises. Through them the wizard ran, but, when Dermat\nattempted to follow, his way was barred by their threatening weapons.\nNothing daunted, he fell upon them in all his battle fury, and routed\nthem so entirely that they fled and shut themselves up in the castle or\ntook refuge in distant woods.\n\nOvercome with his battle toil (and smarting all over with wounds) Dermat\nfell into a dead sleep, from which he was wakened by a friendly blow\nfrom the flat of a sword held by a young, golden-haired hero, who proved\nto be the brother of the Knight of Valour, King of that country of\nTir-fa-tonn, whom in the guise of the Knight of the Fountain, Dermat had\nfought and chased away.\n\nA part of the kingdom belonging to him had been seized by his wizard\nbrother, and he now seeks and obtains Dermat's aid to win it back for\nhim.\n\nWhen Dermat at last meets Finn and the other Feni who had gone in\npursuit of him into the Kingdom of Sorca, at the summit of the great\nrock, he is able to relate how he headed the men of the Knight of Valour\nagainst the Wizard King, and slew him and defeated his army.\n\n\"And now,\" continued he, bringing forth the Knight of Valour from among\nthe strange host, \"this is he who was formerly called the Knight of\nValour, but who is now the King of Tir-fa-tonn. Moreover, this King has\ntold me, having himself found it out by his druidical art, that it was\nAvarta the Dedannan (the son of Illahan of the Many-coloured Raiment)\nwho took the form of the Gilla Dacker, and who brought the sixteen Feni\naway to the Land of Promise, where he now holds them in bondage.\"\n\nThen Foltlebar at once found the tracks of the Gilla Dacker and his\nhorse. He traced them from the very edge of the rock across the plain to\nthe sea at the other side; and they brought round their ship and began\ntheir voyage. But this time Foltlebar found it very hard to keep on the\ntrack; for the Gilla Dacker, knowing that there were not in the world\nmen more skilled in following up a quest than the Feni, took great pains\nto hide all traces of the flight of himself and his horse; so that\nFoltlebar was often thrown out; but he always recovered the track after\na little time.\n\nAnd so they sailed from island to island and from bay to bay, over many\nseas and by many shores, ever following the track, till at length they\narrived at the Land of Promise. And when they had made the land, and\nknew for a certainty that this was indeed the Land of Promise, they\nrejoiced greatly; for in this land Dermat O'Dyna had been nurtured by\nMannanan Mac Lir of the Yellow Hair.\n\nThen they held council as to what was best to be done; and Finn's advice\nwas that they should burn and spoil the country in revenge of the\noutrage that had been done to his people. Dermat, however, would not\nhear of this. And he said:\n\n\"Not so, O King. The people of this land are of all men the most skilled\nin druidic art; and it is not well that they should be at feud with us.\nLet us rather send to Avarta a trusty herald to demand that he should\nset our companions at liberty. If he does so, then we shall be at peace;\nif he refuse, then shall we proclaim war against him and his people, and\nwaste this land with fire and sword till he be forced, even by his own\npeople, to give us back our friends.\"\n\nThis advice was approved by all. And then Finn said:\n\n\"But how shall heralds reach the dwelling of this enchanter; for the\nways are not open and straight, as in other lands, but crooked and made\nfor concealment, and the valleys and plains are dim and shadowy and hard\nto be traversed?\"\n\nBut Foltlebar, nothing daunted by the dangers and the obscurity of the\nway, offered to go with a single trusty companion; and they took up the\ntrack and followed it without being once thrown out, till they reached\nthe mansion of Avarta. There they found their friends amusing themselves\non the green outside the palace walls; for, though kept captive in the\nisland, yet were they in no wise restrained, but were treated by Avarta\nwith much kindness. When they saw the heralds coming towards them their\njoy knew no bounds; they crowded round to embrace them, and asked them\nmany questions regarding their home and their friends.\n\nAt last Avarta himself came forth and asked who these strangers were;\nand Foltlebar replied:\n\n\"We are of the people of Finn Mac Cumal, who has sent us as heralds to\nthee. He and his heroes have landed on this island guided hither by me;\nand he bade us tell thee that he has come to wage war and to waste this\nland with fire and sword as a punishment for that thou hast brought away\nhis people by foul spells, and even now keepest them in bondage.\"\n\nWhen Avarta heard this he made no reply, but called a council of his\nchief men to consider whether they should send back to Finn an answer of\nwar or of peace. And they, having much fear of the Feni, were minded to\nrestore Finn's people and to give him his own award in satisfaction for\nthe injury done to him; and to invite Finn himself and those who had\ncome with him to a feast of joy and friendship in the house of Avarta.\n\nAvarta himself went with Foltlebar to give this message. And after he\nand Finn had exchanged friendly greetings, he told them what the council\nhad resolved; and Finn and Dermat and the others were glad at heart. And\nFinn and Avarta put hand in hand and made a league of friendship.\n\nSo they went with Avarta to his house, where they found their lost\nfriends; and, being full of gladness, they saluted and embraced each\nother. Then a feast was prepared; and they were feasted for three days,\nand they ate and drank and made merry.\n\nOn the fourth day a meeting was called on the green to hear the award.\nNow, it was resolved to make amends on the one hand to Finn, as King of\nthe Feni, and on the other to those who had been brought away by the\nGilla Dacker. And when all were gathered together Finn was first asked\nto name his award; and this is what he said:\n\n\"I shall not name an award, O Avarta; neither shall I accept an eric\nfrom thee. But the wages I promised thee when we made our covenant at\nKnockainy, that I will give thee. For I am thankful for the welcome thou\nhast given us here; and I wish that there should be peace and friendship\nbetween us for ever.\"\n\nBut Conan, on his part, was not so easily satisfied; and he said to\nFinn:\n\n\"Little hast thou endured, O Finn, in this matter; and thou mayst well\nwaive thy award. But hadst thou, like us, suffered from the sharp bones\nand the rough carcass of the Gilla Dacker's monstrous horse in a long\njourney from Erin to the Land of Promise, across wide seas, through\ntangled woods, and over rough-headed rocks, thou wouldst then, methinks,\nname an award.\"\n\nAt this, Avarta and the others who had seen Conan and his companions\ncarried off on the back of the big horse could scarce keep from\nlaughing; and Avarta said to Conan:\n\n\"Name thy award, and I will fulfil it every jot; for I have heard of\nthee, Conan, and I dread to bring the gibes and taunts of thy foul\ntongue on myself and my people.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Conan, \"my award is this: that you choose fifteen of\nthe best and noblest men in the Land of Promise, among whom are to be\nyour own best beloved friends; and that you cause them to mount on the\nback of the big horse, and that you yourself take hold of his tail. In\nthis manner you shall fare to Erin, back again by the self-same track\nthe horse took when he brought us hither--through the same surging seas,\nthrough the same thick thorny woods, and over the same islands and\nrough rocks and dark glens. And this, Avarta, is my award,\" said Conan.\n\nNow, Finn and his people were rejoiced exceedingly when they heard\nConan's award--that he asked from Avarta nothing more than like for\nlike. For they feared much that he might claim treasure of gold and\nsilver, and thus bring reproach on the Feni.\n\nAvarta promised that everything required by Conan should be done,\nbinding himself in solemn pledges. Then the heroes took their leave; and\nhaving launched their ship on the broad, green sea, they sailed back by\nthe same course to Erin. And they marched to their camping-place at\nKnockainy, where they rested in their tents.\n\nAvarta then chose his men. And he placed them on the horse's back, and\nhe himself caught hold of the tail; and it is not told how they fared\ntill they made harbour and landing-place at Cloghan Kincat. They delayed\nnot, but straightway journeyed over the self-same track as before till\nthey reached Knockainy.\n\nFinn and his people saw them afar off coming towards the hill with great\nspeed; the Gilla Dacker, quite as large and as ugly as ever, running\nbefore the horse; for he had let go the tail at Cloghan Kincat. And the\nFeni could not help laughing heartily when they saw the plight of the\nfifteen chiefs on the great horse's back; and they said with one voice\nthat Conan had made a good award that time.\n\nWhen the horse reached the spot from which he had at first set out the\nmen began to dismount. Then the Gilla Dacker, suddenly stepping forward,\nheld up his arm and pointed earnestly over the heads of the Feni\ntowards the field where the horses were standing; so that the heroes\nwere startled, and turned round every man to look. But nothing was to be\nseen except the horses grazing quietly inside the fence.\n\nFinn and the others now turned round again with intent to speak to the\nGilla Dacker and bring him and his people into the tents; but much did\nthey marvel to find them all gone. The Gilla Dacker and his great horse\nand fifteen nobles of the Land of Promise had disappeared in an instant;\nand neither Finn himself nor any of his chiefs ever saw them afterwards.\n\nPATRICK WESTON JOYCE.\n\n\n\n\nJamie Freel and the Young Lady\n\n(_Ulster Irish._)\n\n\nDown in Fannet, in times gone by, lived Jamie Freel and his mother.\nJamie was the widow's sole support; his strong arm worked for her\nuntiringly, and as each Saturday night came round he poured his wages\ninto her lap, thanking her dutifully for the halfpence which she\nreturned him for tobacco.\n\nHe was extolled by his neighbours as the best son ever known or heard\nof. But he had neighbours of whose opinions he was ignorant--neighbours\nwho lived pretty close to him, whom he had never seen, who are, indeed,\nrarely seen by mortals, except on May Eves or Halloweens.\n\nAn old ruined castle, about a quarter of a mile from his cabin, was said\nto be the abode of the \"wee folk.\" Every Halloween were the ancient\nwindows lighted up, and passersby saw little figures flitting to and\nfro inside the building, while they heard the music of flutes and pipes.\n\nIt was well known that fairy revels took place; but nobody had the\ncourage to intrude on them.\n\nJamie had often watched the little figures from a distance, and listened\nto the charming music, wondering what the inside of the castle was like;\nbut one Halloween he got up, and took his cap, saying to his mother,\n\"I'm awa to the castle to seek my fortune.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried she. \"Would you venture there--you that's the widow's only\nson? Dinna be sae venturesome and foolitch, Jamie! They'll kill you, an'\nthen what'll come o' me?\"\n\n\"Never fear, mother; nae harm'll happen me, but I maun gae.\"\n\nHe set out, and, as he crossed the potato field, came in sight of the\ncastle, whose windows were ablaze with light that seemed to turn the\nrusset leaves, still clinging to the crab-tree branches, into gold.\n\nHalting in the grove at one side of the ruin, he listened to the elfin\nrevelry, and the laughter and singing made him all the more determined\nto proceed.\n\nNumbers of little people, the largest about the size of a child of five\nyears old, were dancing to the music of flutes and fiddles, while others\ndrank and feasted.\n\n\"Welcome, Jamie Freel! Welcome, welcome, Jamie!\" cried the company,\nperceiving their visitor. The word \"Welcome\" was caught up and repeated\nby every voice in the castle.\n\nTime flew, and Jamie was enjoying himself very much, when his hosts\nsaid, \"We're going to ride to Dublin to-night to steal a young lady.\nWill you come, too, Jamie Freel?\"\n\n\"Ay, that I will,\" cried the rash youth, thirsting for adventure.\n\nA troop of horses stood at the door. Jamie mounted, and his steed rose\nwith him into the air. He was presently flying over his mother's\ncottage, surrounded by the elfin troop, and on and on they went, over\nbold mountains, over little hills, over the deep Lough Swilley, over\ntowns and cottages, where people were burning nuts and eating apples and\nkeeping merry Halloween. It seemed to Jamie that they flew all round\nIreland before they got to Dublin.\n\n\"This is Derry,\" said the fairies, flying over the cathedral spire; and\nwhat was said by one voice was repeated by all the rest, till fifty\nlittle voices were crying out, \"Derry! Derry! Derry!\"\n\nIn like manner was Jamie informed as they passed over each town on the\nroute, and at length he heard the silvery voices cry, \"Dublin! Dublin!\"\n\nIt was no mean dwelling that was to be honoured by the fairy visit, but\none of the finest houses in Stephen's Green.\n\nThe troop dismounted near a window, and Jamie saw a beautiful face on a\npillow in a splendid bed. He saw the young lady lifted and carried away,\nwhile the stick which was dropped in her place on the bed took her exact\nform.\n\nThe lady was placed before one rider and carried a short way, then given\nanother, and the names of the towns were cried as before.\n\nThey were approaching home. Jamie heard \"Rathmullan,\" \"Milford,\"\n\"Tamney,\" and then he knew they were near his own house.\n\n\"You've all had your turn at carrying the young lady,\" said he. \"Why\nwouldn't I get her for a wee piece?\"\n\n\"Ay, Jamie,\" replied they pleasantly, \"you may take your turn at\ncarrying her, to be sure.\"\n\nHolding his prize very tightly he dropped down near his mother's door.\n\n\"Jamie Freel! Jamie Freel! is that the way you treat us?\" cried they,\nand they, too, dropped down near the door.\n\nJamie held fast, though he knew not what he was holding, for the little\nfolk turned the lady into all sorts of strange shapes. At one moment she\nwas a black dog, barking and trying to bite; at another a glowing bar of\niron, which yet had no heat; then again a sack of wool.\n\nBut still Jamie held her, and the baffled elves were turning away when a\ntiny woman, the smallest of the party, exclaimed, \"Jamie Freel has her\nawa frae us, but he sall nae hae gude of her, for I'll mak' her deaf and\ndumb,\" and she threw something over the young girl.\n\nWhile they rode off, disappointed, Jamie Freel lifted the latch and went\nin.\n\n\"Jamie man!\" cried his mother, \"you've been awa all night. What have\nthey done on you?\"\n\n\"Naething bad, mother; I hae the very best o' gude luck. Here's a\nbeautiful young lady I hae brought you for company.\"\n\n\"Bless us and save us!\" exclaimed his mother; and for some minutes she\nwas so astonished she could not think of anything else to say.\n\nJamie told the story of the night's adventure, ending by saying, \"Surely\nyou wouldna have allowed me to let her gang with them to be lost for\never?\"\n\n\"But a _lady_, Jamie! How can a lady eat we'er (our) poor diet and live\nin we'er poor way? I ax you that, you foolitch fellow!\"\n\n\"Well, mother, sure it's better for her to be over here nor yonder,\" and\nhe pointed in the direction of the castle.\n\nMeanwhile the deaf and dumb girl shivered in her light clothing,\nstepping close to the humble turf fire.\n\n\"Poor crathur, she's quare and handsome! Nae wonder they set their\nhearts on her,\" said the old woman, gazing at their guest with pity and\nadmiration. \"We maun dress her first; but what in the name o' fortune\nhae I fit for the likes of her to wear?\"\n\nShe went to her press in \"the room\" and took out her Sunday gown of\nbrown drugget. She then opened a drawer and drew forth a pair of white\nstockings, a long snowy garment of fine linen, and a cap, her \"dead\ndress,\" as she called it.\n\nThese articles of attire had long been ready for a certain triste\nceremony, in which she would some day fill the chief part, and only saw\nthe light occasionally when they were hung out to air; but she was\nwilling to give even these to the fair trembling visitor, who was\nturning in dumb sorrow and wonder from her to Jamie, and from Jamie back\nto her.\n\nThe poor girl suffered herself to be dressed, and then sat down on a\n\"creepie\" in the chimney corner and buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"What'll we do to keep up a lady like thou?\" cried the old woman.\n\n\"I'll work for you both, mother,\" replied the son.\n\n\"An' how could a lady live on we'er poor diet?\" she repeated.\n\n\"I'll work for her,\" was all Jamie's answer.\n\nHe kept his word. The young lady was very sad for a long time, and tears\nstole down her cheeks many an evening, while the old woman span by the\nfire and Jamie made salmon nets, an accomplishment acquired by him in\nhopes of adding to the comfort of their guest.\n\nBut she was always gentle, and tried to smile when she perceived them\nlooking at her; and by degrees she adapted herself to their ways and\nmode of life. It was not very long before she began to feed the pig,\nmash potatoes and meal for the fowls, and knit blue worsted socks.\n\nSo a year passed and Halloween came round again. \"Mother,\" said Jamie,\ntaking down his cap, \"I'm off to the ould castle to seek my fortune.\"\n\n\"Are you mad, Jamie?\" cried his mother in terror; \"sure they'll kill you\nthis time for what you done on them last year.\"\n\nJamie made light of her fears and went his way.\n\nAs he reached the crab-tree grove he saw bright lights in the castle\nwindows as before, and heard loud talking. Creeping under the window he\nheard the wee folk say, \"That was a poor trick Jamie Freel played us\nthis night last year, when he stole the young lady from us.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said the tiny woman, \"an' I punished him for it, for there she\nsits a dumb image by the hearth, but he does na' know that three drops\nout o' this glass that I hold in my hand wad gie her her hearing and\nspeech back again.\"\n\nJamie's heart beat fast as he entered the hall. Again he was greeted by\na chorus of welcomes from the company--\"Here comes Jamie Freel! Welcome,\nwelcome, Jamie!\"\n\nAs soon as the tumult subsided the little woman said, \"You be to drink\nour health, Jamie, out o' this glass in my hand.\"\n\nJamie snatched the glass from her and darted to the door. He never knew\nhow he reached his cabin, but he arrived there breathless and sank on a\nstove by the fire.\n\n\"You're kilt, surely, this time, my poor boy,\" said his mother.\n\n\"No, indeed, better luck than ever this time!\" and he gave the lady\nthree drops of the liquid that still remained at the bottom of the\nglass, notwithstanding his mad race over the potato field.\n\nThe lady began to speak, and her first words were words of thanks to\nJamie.\n\nThe three inmates of the cabin had so much to say to one another that,\nlong after cock-crow, when the fairy music had quite ceased, they were\ntalking round the fire.\n\n\"Jamie,\" said the lady, \"be pleased to get me paper and pen and ink\nthat I may write to my father and tell him what has become of me.\"\n\nShe wrote, but weeks passed and she received no answer. Again and again\nshe wrote, and still no answer.\n\nAt length she said, \"You must come with me to Dublin, Jamie, to find my\nfather.\"\n\n\"I hae no money to hire a car for you,\" he answered; \"an' how can you\ntravel to Dublin on your foot?\"\n\nBut she implored him so much that he consented to set out with her and\nwalk all the way from Fannet to Dublin. It was not as easy as the fairy\njourney; but at last they rang the bell at the door of the house in\nStephen's Green.\n\n\"Tell my father that his daughter is here,\" said she to the servant who\nopened the door.\n\n\"The gentleman that lives here has no daughter, my girl. He had one, but\nshe died better nor a year ago.\"\n\n\"Do you not know me, Sullivan?\"\n\n\"No, poor girl, I do not.\"\n\n\"Let me see the gentleman. I only ask to see him.\"\n\n\"Well, that's not much to ax. We'll see what can be done.\"\n\nIn a few moments the lady's father came to the door.\n\n\"How dare you call me your father?\" cried the old gentleman angrily.\n\"You are an impostor. I have no daughter.\"\n\n\"Look in my face, father, and surely you'll remember me.\"\n\n\"My daughter is dead and buried. She died a long, long time ago.\" The\nold gentleman's voice changed from anger to sorrow. \"You can go,\" he\nconcluded.\n\n\"Stop, dear father, till you look at this ring on my finger. Look at\nyour name and mine engraved on it.\"\n\n\"It certainly is my daughter's ring, but I do not know how you came by\nit. I fear in no honest way.\"\n\n\"Call my mother--_she_ will be sure to know me,\" said the poor girl, who\nby this time was weeping bitterly.\n\n\"My poor wife is beginning to forget her sorrow. She seldom speaks of\nher daughter now. Why should I renew her grief by reminding her of her\nloss?\"\n\nBut the young lady persevered till at last the mother was sent for.\n\n\"Mother,\" she began, when the old lady came to the door, \"don't _you_\nknow your daughter?\"\n\n\"I have no daughter. My daughter died, and was buried a long, long time\nago.\"\n\n\"Only look in my face and surely you'll know me.\"\n\nThe old lady shook her head.\n\n\"You have all forgotten me; but look at this mole on my neck. Surely,\nmother, you know me now?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said her mother, \"my Gracie had a mole on her neck like\nthat; but then I saw her in the coffin, and saw the lid shut down upon\nher.\"\n\nIt became Jamie's turn to speak, and he gave the history of the fairy\njourney, of the theft of the young lady, of the figure he had seen laid\nin its place, of her life with his mother in Fannet, of last Halloween,\nand of the three drops that had released her from her enchantments.\n\nShe took up the story when he paused and told how kind the mother and\nson had been to her.\n\nThe parents could not make enough of Jamie. They treated him with every\ndistinction, and when he expressed his wish to return to Fannet, said\nthey did not know what to do to express their gratitude.\n\nBut an awkward complication arose. The daughter would not let him go\nwithout her. \"If Jamie goes, I'll go, too,\" she said. \"He saved me from\nthe fairies, and has worked for me ever since. If it had not been for\nhim, dear father and mother, you would never have seen me again. If he\ngoes, I'll go, too.\"\n\nThis being her resolution, the old gentleman said that Jamie should\nbecome his son-in-law. The mother was brought from Fannet in a\ncoach-and-four, and there was a splendid wedding.\n\nThey all lived together in the grand Dublin house, and Jamie was heir to\nuntold wealth at his father-in-law's death.\n\nLETITIA MACLINTOCK.\n\n\n\n\nA Legend of Knockmany\n\n\nIt so happened that Finn and his gigantic relatives were all working at\nthe Giant's Causeway in order to make a bridge, or, what was still\nbetter, a good stout pad-road across to Scotland, when Finn, who was\nvery fond of his wife, Oonagh, took it into his head that he would go\nhome and see how the poor woman got on in his absence. So accordingly he\npulled up a fir-tree, and after lopping off the roots and branches, made\na walking-stick of it and set out on his way to Oonagh.\n\nFinn lived at this time on Knockmany Hill, which faces Cullamore, that\nrises up, half hill, half mountain, on the opposite side.\n\nThe truth is that honest Finn's affection for his wife was by no manner\nof means the whole cause of his journey home. There was at that time\nanother giant, named Far Rua--some say he was Irish and some say he was\nScotch--but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a\n_targer_. No other giant of the day could stand before him; and such\nwas his strength that, when well vexed, he could give a stamp that shook\nthe country about him. The fame and name of him went far and near, and\nnothing in the shape of a man, it was said, had any chance with him in a\nfight. Whether the story is true or not I cannot say, but the report\nwent that by one blow of his fist he flattened a thunderbolt, and kept\nit in his pocket in the shape of a pancake to show to all his enemies\nwhen they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly he had given every giant\nin Ireland a considerable beating, barring Finn M'Coul himself; and he\nswore that he would never rest night or day, winter or summer, till he\ncould serve Finn with the same sauce, if he could catch him. Finn,\nhowever, had a strong disinclination to meet a giant who could make a\nyoung earthquake or flatten a thunderbolt when he was angry, so\naccordingly he kept dodging about from place to place--not much to his\ncredit as a Trojan, to be sure--whenever he happened to get the hard\nword that Far Rua was on the scent of him. And the long and the short of\nit was that he heard Far Rua was coming to the Causeway to have a trial\nof strength with him; and he was, naturally enough, seized in\nconsequence with a very warm and sudden fit of affection for his wife,\nwho was delicate in her health, poor woman, and leading, besides, a very\nlonely, uncomfortable life of it in his absence.\n\n\"God save all here,\" said Finn good-humouredly, putting his honest face\ninto his own door.\n\n\"Musha, Finn, avick, an' you're welcome to your own Oonagh, you darlin'\nbully.\" Here followed a smack that it is said to have made the waters of\nthe lake curl, as it were, with kindness and sympathy.\n\n\"Faith,\" said Finn, \"beautiful; and how are you, Oonagh--and how did\nyou sport your figure during my absence, my bilberry?\"\n\n\"Never a merrier--as bouncing a grass widow as ever there was in sweet\n'Tyrone among the bushes.'\"\n\nFinn gave a short, good-humoured cough, and laughed most heartily to\nshow her how much he was delighted that she made herself happy in his\nabsence.\n\n\"An' what brought you home so soon, Finn?\" said she.\n\n\"Why, avourneen,\" said Finn, putting in his answer in the proper way,\n\"never the thing but the purest of love and affection for yourself.\nSure, you know that's truth, anyhow, Oonagh.\"\n\nFinn spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very\ncomfortable considering the dread he had of Far Rua. This, however, grew\nupon him so much that his wife could not but perceive something lay on\nhis mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone in the\nmeantime for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her good man when\nshe wishes. Finn was a proof of this.\n\n\"It's this Far Rua,\" said he, \"that's troublin' me. When the fellow gets\nangry and begins to stamp he'll shake you a whole townland, and it's\nwell known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always carries one\nabout with him in the shape of a pancake to show to anyone that might\nmisdoubt it.\"\n\nAs he spoke he clapped his thumb in his mouth, as he always did when he\nwanted to prophesy or to know anything.\n\n\"He's coming,\" said Finn; \"I see him below at Dungannon.\"\n\n\"An' who is it, avick?\"\n\n\"Far Rua,\" replied Finn, \"and how to manage I don't know. If I run away\nI am disgraced, and I know that sooner or later I must meet him, for my\nthumb tells me so.\"\n\n\"When will he be here?\" says she.\n\n\"To-morrow, about two o'clock,\" replied Finn with a groan.\n\n\"Don't be cast down,\" said Oonagh; \"depend on me, and, maybe, I'll bring\nyou out of this scrape better than ever you could bring yourself.\"\n\nThis quieted Finn's heart very much, for he knew that Oonagh was\nhand-and-glove with the fairies; and, indeed, to tell the truth, she was\nsupposed to be a fairy herself. If she was, however, she must have been\na kind-hearted one, for by all accounts she never did anything but good\nin the neighbourhood.\n\nNow, it so happened that Oonagh had a sister named Granua living\nopposite to them, on the very top of Cullamore, which I have mentioned\nalready, and this Granua was quite as powerful as herself. The beautiful\nvalley that lies between the Granlisses is not more than three or four\nmiles broad, so that of a summer evening Granua and Oonagh were able to\nhold many an agreeable conversation across it, from one hill-top to the\nother. Upon this occasion Oonagh resolved to consult her sister as to\nwhat was best to be done in the difficulty that surrounded them.\n\n\"Granua,\" said she, \"are you at home?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other, \"I'm picking bilberries at Althadhawan\" (the\nDevil's Glen).\n\n\"Well,\" said Oonagh, \"go up to the top of Cullamore, look about you, and\nthen tell us what you see.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied Granua, after a few minutes; \"I am there now.\"\n\n\"What do you see?\" asked the other.\n\n\"Goodness be about us!\" exclaimed Granua, \"I see the biggest giant that\never was known coming up from Dungannon.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Oonagh, \"there's our difficulty. That's Far Rua, and he's\ncomin' up now to leather Finn. What's to be done?\"\n\n\"I'll call to him,\" she replied, \"to come up to Cullamore and refresh\nhimself, and maybe that will give you and Finn time to think of some\nplan to get yourselves out of the scrape. But,\" she proceeded, \"I'm\nshort of butter, having in the house only half a dozen firkins, and as\nI'm to have a few giants and giantesses to spend the evenin' with me I'd\nfeel thankful, Oonagh, if you'd throw me up fifteen or sixteen tubs, or\nthe largest miscaun you've got, and you'll oblige me very much.\"\n\n\"I'll do that with a heart and a half,\" replied Oonagh; \"and, indeed,\nGranua, I feel myself under great obligations to you for your kindness\nin keeping him off us till we see what can be done; for what would\nbecome of us all if anything happened to Finn, poor man!\"\n\nShe accordingly got the largest miscaun of butter she had--which might\nbe about the weight of a couple of dozen millstones, so that you can\neasily judge of its size--and calling up her sister, \"Granua,\" says she,\n\"are you ready? I'm going to throw you up a miscaun, so be prepared to\ncatch it.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said the other. \"A good throw, now, and take care it does not\nfall short.\"\n\nOonagh threw it, but in consequence of her anxiety about Finn and Far\nRua she forgot to say the charm that was to send it up, so that instead\nof reaching Cullamore, as she expected, it fell about half-way between\nthe two hills at the edge of the Broad Bog, near Augher.\n\n\"My curse upon you!\" she exclaimed, \"you've disgraced me. I now change\nyou into a grey stone. Lie there as a testimony of what has happened,\nand may evil betide the first living man that will ever attempt to move\nor injure you!\"\n\nAnd, sure enough, there it lies to this day, with the mark of the four\nfingers and thumb imprinted on it, exactly as it came out of her hand.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Granua, \"I must only do the best I can with Far Rua.\nIf all fail, I'll give him a cast of heather broth, or a panada of oak\nbark. But, above all things, think of some plan to get Finn out of the\nscrape he's in, or he's a lost man. You know you used to be sharp and\nready-witted; and my own opinion is, Oonagh, that it will go hard with\nyou, or you'll outdo Far Rua yet.\"\n\nShe then made a high smoke on the top of the hill, after which she put\nher finger in her mouth and gave three whistles, and by that Far Rua\nknew that he was invited to the top of Cullamore--for this was the way\nthat the Irish long ago gave a sign to all strangers and travellers to\nlet them know they are welcome to come and take share of whatever was\ngoing.\n\nIn the meantime Finn was very melancholy, and did not know what to do,\nor how to act at all. Far Rua was an ugly customer, no doubt, to meet\nwith; and, moreover, the idea of the confounded \"cake\" aforesaid\nflattened the very heart within him. What chance could he have, strong\nand brave as he was, with a man who could, when put in a passion, walk\nthe country into earthquakes and knock thunderbolts into pancakes? The\nthing was impossible, and Finn knew not on what hand to turn him. Right\nor left, backward or forward, where to go he could form no guess\nwhatever.\n\n\"Oonagh,\" said he, \"can you do anything for me? Where's all your\ninvention? Am I to be skivered like a rabbit before your eyes and to\nhave my name disgraced for ever in the sight of all my tribe, and me the\nbest man among them? How am I to fight this man-mountain--this huge\ncross between an earthquake and a thunderbolt--with a pancake in his\npocket that was once----?\"\n\n\"Be aisy, Finn,\" replied Oonagh. \"Troth, I'm ashamed of you. Keep your\ntoe in your pump, will you? Talking of pancakes, maybe we'll give him as\ngood as any he brings with him--thunderbolts or otherwise. If I don't\ntreat him to as smart feeding as he's got this many a day, don't trust\nOonagh again. Leave him to me, and do just as I bid you.\"\n\nThis relieved Finn very much, for, after all, he had great confidence in\nhis wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got him out of many a\nquandary before. The present, however, was the greatest of all; but,\nstill, he began to get courage and to eat his victuals as usual. Oonagh\nthen drew the nine woollen threads of different colours, which she\nalways did to find out the best way of succeeding in anything of\nimportance she went about. She then plaited them into three plaits, with\nthree colours in each, putting one on her right arm, one round her\nheart, and the third round her right ankle, for then she knew that\nnothing could fail her that she undertook.\n\nHaving everything now prepared, she sent round to the neighbours and\nborrowed one-and-twenty iron griddles, which she took and kneaded into\nthe hearts of one-and-twenty cakes of bread, and these she baked on the\nfire in the usual way, setting them aside in the cupboard according as\nthey were done. She then put down a large pot of new milk, which she\nmade into curds and whey, and gave Finn due instructions how to use the\ncurds when Far Rua should come. Having done all this, she sat down quite\ncontented waiting for his arrival on the next day about two o'clock,\nthat being the hour at which he was expected--for Finn knew as much by\nthe sucking of his thumb. Now, this was a curious property that Finn's\nthumb had; but notwithstanding all the wisdom and logic he used to suck\nout of it, it could never have stood to him here were it not for the wit\nof his wife. In this very thing, moreover, he was very much resembled by\nhis great foe, Far Rua; for it was well known that the huge strength\nthat he possessed all lay in the middle finger of his right hand, and\nthat if he happened by any chance to lose it, he was no more,\nnotwithstanding his bulk, than a common man.\n\nAt length the next day he was seen coming across the valley, and Oonagh\nknew that it was time to commence operations. She immediately made the\ncradle, and desired Finn to lie down in it and cover himself up with the\nclothes.\n\n\"You must pass for your own child,\" said she, \"so just lie there snug\nand say nothing, but be guided by me.\" This, to be sure, was wormwood to\nFinn--I mean going into the cradle in such a cowardly manner--but he\nknew Oonagh very well; and finding that he had nothing else for it, with\na very rueful face he gathered himself into it and lay snug, as she had\ndesired him.\n\nAbout two o'clock, as he had been expected, Far Rua came in. \"God save\nall here!\" said he. \"Is this where the great Finn M'Coul lives?\"\n\n\"Indeed it is, honest man,\" replied Oonagh. \"God save you kindly--won't\nyou be sitting?\"\n\n\"Thank you, ma'am,\" says he, sitting down. \"You're Mrs. M'Coul, I\nsuppose?\"\n\n\"I am,\" says she, \"and I have no reason, I hope, to be ashamed of my\nhusband.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other; \"he has the name of being the strongest and\nbravest man in Ireland. But, for all that, there's a man not far from\nyou that's very anxious of taking a shake with him. Is he at home?\"\n\n\"Why, no, then,\" she replied; \"and if ever a man left in a fury he did.\nIt appears that someone told him of a big bosthoon of a giant called Far\nRua being down at the Causeway to look for him, and so he set out there\nto try if he could catch him. Troth, I hope, for the poor giant's sake,\nhe won't meet with him, for if he does Finn will make paste of him at\nonce.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the other, \"I am Far Rua, and I have been seeking him these\ntwelve minths, but he always kept clear of me; and I will never rest day\nor night till I lay my hands on him.\"\n\nAt this Oonagh set up a loud laugh of great contempt, by the way, and\nlooked at him as if he were only a mere handful of a man.\n\n\"Did you ever see Finn?\" said she, changing her manner all at once.\n\n\"How could I?\" said he. \"He always took care to keep his distance.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" she replied. \"I judged as much; and if you take my\nadvice, you poor-looking creature, you'll pray night and day that you\nmay never see him, for I tell you it will be a black day for you when\nyou do. But, in the meantime, you perceive that the wind's on the door,\nand as Finn himself is far from home, maybe you'd be civil enough to\nturn the house, for it's always what Finn does when he's here.\"\n\nThis was a startler, even to Far Rua; but he got up, however, and after\npulling the middle finger of his right hand until it cracked three\ntimes, he went outside, and getting his arms about the house, completely\nturned it as she had wished. When Finn saw this he felt a certain\ndescription of moisture, which shall be nameless, oozing out through\nevery pore of his skin; but Oonagh, depending upon her woman's wit, felt\nnot a whit daunted.\n\n\"Arrah, then,\" said she, \"as you're so civil, maybe you'd do another\nobliging turn for us, as Finn's not here to do it himself. You see,\nafter this long stretch of dry weather that we've had, we feel very\nbadly off for want of water. Now, Finn says there's a fine spring well\nsomewhere under the rocks behind the hill there below, and it was his\nintention to pull them asunder; but having heard of you he left the\nplace in such a fury that he never thought of it. Now, if you try to\nfind it, troth, I'd feel it a kindness.\"\n\nShe then brought Far Rua down to see the place, which was then all one\nsolid rock; and after looking at it for some time, he cracked his right\nmiddle finger nine times, and, stooping down, tore a cleft about four\nhundred feet deep and a quarter of a mile in length, which has since\nbeen christened by the name of Lumford's Glen. This feat nearly threw\nOonagh herself off her guard; but what won't a woman's sagacity and\npresence of mind accomplish?\n\n\"You'll now come in,\" said she, \"and eat a bit of such humble fare as we\ncan give. Finn, even though you and he were enemies, would scorn not to\ntreat you kindly in his own house; and, indeed, if I didn't do it even\nin his absence, he would not be pleased with me.\"\n\nShe accordingly brought him in, and placing half a dozen of the cakes we\nspoke of before him, together with a can or two of butter, a side of\nboiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage, she desired him to help\nhimself--for this, be it known, was long before the invention of\npotatoes. Far Rua, who, by the way, was a glutton as well as a hero, put\none of the cakes in his mouth to take a huge whack out of it, when both\nFinn and Oonagh were stunned with a noise that resembled something\nbetween a growl and a yell. \"Blood and fury!\" he shouted out. \"How is\nthis? Here are two of my teeth out! What kind of bread is this you gave\nme?\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" said Oonagh coolly.\n\n\"Matter!\" shouted the other. \"Why, here are two of the best teeth in my\nhead gone.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said she, \"that's Finn's bread--the only bread he ever eats when\nat home; but, indeed, I forgot to tell you that nobody can eat it but\nhimself and that child in the cradle there. I thought, however, that as\nyou were reported to be rather a stout little fellow of your size you\nmight be able to manage it, and I did not wish to affront a man that\nthinks himself able to fight Finn. Here's another cake--maybe it's not\nso hard as that.\"\n\nFar Rua, at the moment, was not only hungry, but ravenous, so he\naccordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, and immediately another\nyell was heard twice as loud as the first. \"Thunder and giblets!\" he\nroared, \"take your bread out of this, or I will not have a tooth in my\nhead; there's another pair of them gone.\"\n\n\"Well, honest man,\" replied Oonagh, \"if you're not able to eat the bread\nsay so quietly, and don't be awakening the child in the cradle there.\nThere, now, he's awake upon me!\"\n\nFinn now gave a skirl that frightened the giant, as coming from such a\nyoungster as he was represented to be. \"Mother,\" said he, \"I'm\nhungry--get me something to eat.\" Oonagh went over, and putting into\nhis hand a cake _that had no griddle in it_--Finn, whose appetite in the\nmeantime was sharpened by what he saw going forward, soon made it\ndisappear. Far Rua was thunderstruck, and secretly thanked his stars\nthat he had the good fortune to miss meeting Finn, for, as he said to\nhimself, I'd have no chance with a man who could eat such bread as that,\nwhich even his son that's in the cradle can munch before my eyes.\n\n\"I'd like to take a glimpse at the lad in the cradle,\" said he to\nOonagh, \"for I can tell you that the infant who can manage that\nnutriment is no joke to look at or to feed of a scarce summer.\"\n\n\"With all the veins of my heart,\" replied Oonagh. \"Get up, acushla, and\nshow this decent little man something that won't be unworthy of your\nfather, Finn M'Coul.\"\n\nFinn, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy as possible,\ngot up, and bringing Far Rua out, \"Are you strong?\" said he.\n\n\"Thunder and ounze!\" exclaimed the other, \"what a voice in so small a\nchap!\"\n\n\"Are you strong?\" said Finn again. \"Are you able to squeeze water out of\nthat white stone?\" he asked, putting one into Far Rua's hand. The latter\nsqueezed and squeezed the stone, but to no purpose; he might pull the\nrocks of Lumford's Glen asunder, and flatten a thunderbolt, but to\nsqueeze water out of a white stone was beyond his strength. Finn eyed\nhim with great contempt as he kept straining and squeezing and squeezing\nand straining till he got black in the face with the efforts.\n\n\"Ah, you're a poor creature,\" said Finn. \"You a giant! Give me the stone\nhere, and when I'll show what Finn's little son can do you may then\njudge of what my daddy himself is.\"\n\nFinn then took the stone, and then, slyly exchanging it for the curds,\nhe squeezed the latter until the whey, as clear as water, oozed out in a\nlittle shower from his hand.\n\n\"I'll now go in,\" said he, \"to my cradle; for I scorn to lose my time\nwith anyone that's not able to eat my daddy's bread, or squeeze water\nout of a stone. Bedad, you had better be off out of this before he comes\nback, for if he catches you, it's in flummery he'd have you in two\nminutes.\"\n\nFar Rua, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opinion himself; his\nknees knocked together with the terror of Finn's return, and he\naccordingly hastened in to bid Oonagh farewell, and to assure her that,\nfrom that day out, he never wished to hear of, much less to see, her\nhusband. \"I admit fairly that I'm not a match for him,\" said he, \"strong\nas I am. Tell him I will avoid him as I would the plague, and that I\nwill make myself scarce in this part of the country while I live.\"\n\nFinn, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he lay very\nquietly, his heart in his mouth with delight that Far Rua was about to\ntake his departure without discovering the tricks that been played off\non him.\n\n\"It's well for you,\" said Oonagh, \"that he doesn't happen to be here,\nfor it's nothing but hawk's meat he'd make of you.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" said Far Rua, \"divel a thing else he'd make of me; but,\nbefore I go, will you let me feel what kind of teeth they are that can\neat griddle-cakes like _that_?\" and he pointed to it as he spoke.\n\n\"With all the pleasure in life,\" says she; \"only as they're far back in\nhis head you must put your finger a good way in.\"\n\nFar Rua was surprised to find so powerful a set of grinders in one so\nyoung; but he was still much more so on finding, when he took his hand\nfrom Finn's mouth, that he had left the very finger upon which his whole\nstrength depended behind him. He gave one loud groan and fell down at\nonce with terror and weakness. This was all Finn wanted, who now knew\nthat his most powerful and bitterest enemy was completely at his mercy.\nHe instantly started out of the cradle, and in a few minutes the great\nFar Rua, that was for such a length of time the terror of him and all\nhis followers, was no more.\n\nWILLIAM CARLETON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Ninepenny Fidil\n\n\n  My father and mother were Irish\n    And I am Irish too;\n  I bought a wee fidil for ninepence\n    And that is Irish too;\n  I'm up in the morning early\n    To meet the break of day,\n  And to the lintwhite's piping\n    The many's the tunes I play!\n\n  One pleasant eve in June-time\n    I met a lochrie man,\n  His face and hands were weazen,\n    His height was not a span.\n  He boor'd me for my fidil--\n    \"You know,\" says he, \"like you,\n  \"My father and mother were Irish,\n    \"And I am Irish too!\"\n\n  He took my wee red fidil,\n    And such a tune he turned,\n  The Glaise in it whispered\n    The Lionan in it m'urned;\n  Says he, \"My lad, you're lucky,\n    \"I wisht I was like you,\n  \"You're lucky in your birth-star,\n    \"And in your fidil too!\"\n\n  He gave me back my fidil,\n    My fidil-stick also,\n  And stepping like a May-boy,\n    He jumped the Lear-gaidh-knowe.\n  I never saw him after,\n    Nor met his gentle kind,\n  But whiles I think I hear him,\n    A-wheening in the wind!\n\nJOSEPH CAMPBELL.\n\n\n\n\nThe Festivities at the House of Conan of Ceann Sleibhe\n\n\n\"Win victory and blessings, O Fionn,\" said Conan, \"and tell me who was\nthe man that, having only one leg, one arm, and one eye, escaped from\nyou in consequence of his swiftness, and outstripped the Fenians of\nEire, and why is this proverb used, 'As Roc came to the house of\nFionn'?\"\n\n\"I will tell you that,\" said Fionn. \"One day the chief of the Fenians\nand I went to Teamhair Luachra, and we took nothing in the chase that\nsame day but one fawn. When it had been cooked it was fetched to me for\nthe purpose of dividing it. I gave a portion of it to each of the Fenian\nchiefs, and there remained none for my own share but a haunch bone.\nGobha Gaoithe, son of Ronan, presented himself, and requested me to\ngive him the haunch. I accordingly gave it to him. He then declared that\nI gave him that portion on account of his swiftness of foot: and he went\nout on the plain, but he had only gone a short distance when Caoilte,\nson of Ronan, his own brother, overtook him, and brought the haunch back\nagain to me, and we had no further dispute about the matter. We had not\nbeen long so when we saw a huge, obnoxious, massy-boned, black,\ndetestable giant, having only one eye, one arm, and one leg, hop forward\ntowards us. He saluted us. I returned the salutation, and asked him\nwhence he came. 'I am come by the powers of the agility of my arm and\nleg,' responded he, 'having heard there is not one man in the world more\nliberal in bestowing gifts than you, O Fionn; therefore, I am come to\nsolicit wealth and valuable gifts from you.' I replied that were all the\nwealth of the world mine I would give him neither little nor much. He\nthen declared 'they were all liars who asserted that I never gave a\nrefusal to any person.' I replied that if he were a man I would not give\nhim a refusal. 'Well, then,' said the giant, 'let me have that haunch\nyou have in your hand, and I will say good-bye to the Fenians, provided\nthat you allow me the length of the haunch as a distance, and that I am\nnot seized upon until I make my first hop.' Upon hearing this I gave the\nhaunch into the giant's hand, and he hopped over the lofty stockades of\nthe town; he then made use of the utmost swiftness of his one leg to\noutstrip all the rest of the Fenians. When the Fenian chiefs saw that,\nthey started in pursuit of the giant, while I and the band of minstrels\nof the town went to the top of the dun to watch their proceedings. When\nI saw that the giant had outstripped them a considerable distance, I put\non my running habiliments, and, taking no weapon but Mac an Loin in my\nhand, I started after the others. I overtook the hindmost division on\nSliabh an Righ, the middle (next) division at Limerick, and the chiefs\nof the Fenians at Ath Bo, which is called Ath-Luain (Athlone), and those\nfirst in the pursuit at Rinn-an-Ruaigh, to the right-hand side of\nCruachan of Connacht, where he (the giant) was distant less than a\njavelin's cast from me. The giant passed on before me and crossed Eas\nRoe (now Ballyshannon), of the son of Modhuirn, without wetting his\nfoot. I leaped over it after him. He then directed his course towards\nthe estuary of Binn-Edair, keeping the circuit of Eire to his right\nhand. The giant leaped over the estuary, and it was a leap similar to\nflight over the sea. I sprang after him, and having caught him by the\nsmall of the back, laid him prostrate on the earth. 'You have dealt\nunjustly by me, O Fionn,' cried the giant; 'for it was not with you I\narranged the combat, but with the Fenians.' I replied that the Fenians\nwere not perfect, except I myself were with them. We had not remained\nlong thus when Liagan Luaimneach, from Luachar Deaghaidh, came to us. He\nwas followed by Caoilte Mac Ronan, together with the swiftest of the\nFenians. Each of them couched his javelin, intending to drive it through\nthe giant and kill him in my arms, but I protected him from their\nattacks. Soon after this the main body of the Fenians arrived; they\nenquired what was the cause of the delay that the giant had not been\nslain. 'That is bad counsel,' said the giant, 'for a better man than I\nam would be slain in my eric.' We bound the giant strongly on that\noccasion; and soon after Bran Beag O'Buadhchan came to invite me to a\nfeast, and all the Fenians of Eire, who had been present, accompanied\nhim to his house. The banqueting hall had been prepared for our\nreception at that time, and the giant was dragged into the middle of the\nhouse, and was there placed in the sight of all present. They asked him\nwho he was. 'Roc, son of Diocan, is my name,' replied he, 'that is, I am\nson to the Legislator of Aengus of the Brugh in the south. My betrothed\npoured a current of surprising affection and a torrent of deep love upon\nSgiath Breac, son of Dathcaoin yonder, who is your foster son, O Fionn;\nit hurt my feelings severely to hear her boast of the swiftness and\nbravery of her lover in particular, and of the Fenians in general, and I\ndeclared that I would challenge him and all the Fenians of Eire to run a\nrace with me; but she sneered at me. I then went to my beloved friend,\nAengus of the Brugh, to bemoan my fate; and he metamorphosed me thus,\nand bestowed on me the swiftness of a druidical wind, as you have seen.\nThis is my history for you; and you ought to be well satisfied with all\nthe hurt and injury you have inflicted upon me already.'\n\n\"Then I repented me of the indignity put upon the giant, and I released\nhim from his bonds and I bade Liagan Luaimneach companion him to the\npresence of his betrothed one and testify to her on my behalf of his\nprowess in the race, wherein he had outstripped all the Fenians of Eire,\nsave only myself. So the two went forth together in friendly amity, and\nRoc, for the champion feat reported of him by Liagan Luaimneach,\nrecovered the affection of his betrothed, and straightway took her to\nwife. From that adventure, indeed, arose the proverb, 'As Roc came to\nthe House of Fionn,' and so that is the answer to your question, O\nConan,\" said Fionn.\n\n\"Win victory and blessings, O Fenian King,\" said Conan; \"it is with\nclear memory and sweet words you relate these things. Tell me now the\nmeaning of the byword, 'The hospitality of Fionn in the house of\nCuanna.'\"\n\n\"I will tell you the truth concerning that, O Conan,\" said Fionn.\n\"Oisin, Caoilte, Mac Lughaidh, Diarmuid O'Duibhne, and myself happened\none day, above all other days, to be on the summit of Cairn Feargall. We\nwere accompanied by our five hounds, namely, Bran, Sceoluing, Sear Dubh,\nLuath Luachar, and Anuaill. We had not long been there when we perceived\na rough, tall, huge giant approaching us. He carried an iron fork upon\nhis back, and a grunting hog was placed between the prongs of the fork;\na young girl of mature age followed and forced the giant on his way\nbefore her. 'Let someone go forward and accost those people,' said I.\nDiarmuid O'Duibhne followed, but did not overtake them. The other three\nand I started up, and followed Diarmuid and the giant. We overtook\nDiarmuid, but did not come up with the giant or the girl; for a dark,\ngloomy, druidical mist showered down between us and them, so that we\ncould not discern what road they took. When the mist cleared away we\nlooked around us, and discovered a light-roofed, comfortable-looking\nhouse at the edge of the ford near at hand. We proceeded to the house,\nbefore which spread a lawn upon which were two fountains. At the brink\nof one fountain lay a rude iron vessel, and a vessel of bronze at the\nbrink of the other. Those we met in the house were an aged, hoary-headed\nman standing by the door jamb to the right hand, and a beautiful maid\nsitting before him; a rough, rude, huge giant before the fire busily\ncooking a hog; and an old man at the other side of the fire, having an\niron-grey head of hair and twelve eyes in his head, while the twelve\nsons (germs) of discord beamed in each eye. There was also in the house\na ram with a white belly, a jet-black head, dark-green horns, and green\nfeet; and there was in the end of the house a hag covered with a dark\nash-coloured garment. There were no persons in the house except these.\nThe man at the door-post welcomed us; and we five, having our five\nhounds with us, sat on the floor of the bruighean. 'Let submissive\nhomage be done to Fionn Mac Cumhaill and his people,' said the man at\nthe door-post. 'My case is that of a man begging a request, but\nobtaining neither the smaller nor the greater part of it,' said the\ngiant. Nevertheless, he rose up and did respectful homage to us. After a\nwhile I became suddenly thirsty, and no person present perceived it but\nCaoilte, who began to complain bitterly on that account. 'You have no\ncause to complain, Caoilte,' said the man of the door-post, 'but only to\nstep outside and fetch a drink for Fionn from whichever of the fountains\nyou please.' Caoilte did so, and fetched the bronze vessel brimful to me\nand gave me to drink. I took a drink from it, and the water tasted like\nhoney while I was drinking, but bitter as gall when I put the vessel\nfrom my lips; so that darting pains and symptoms of death seized me and\nagonising pangs from the poisonous draught. I could be but with\ndifficulty recognised; and the lamentation of Caoilte on account of my\nbeing in that condition was greater than that he had before given vent\nto on account of my thirst. The man at the door-post desired Caoilte to\ngo out and bring me a drink from the other fountain. Caoilte obeyed,\nand brought me the iron vessel brimful. I never underwent so much\nhardship in battle or conflict as I then suffered while drinking, in\nconsequence of the bitterness of the draught; but as soon as I put the\nvessel from my lips I recovered my own colour and appearance, and that\ngave joy and happiness to my people.\n\n\"The man then asked if the hog which was in the boiler was yet cooked.\n'It is cooked,' replied the giant, 'and allow me to divide it.' 'How\nwill you divide it?' said the man of the house. 'I will give one\nhindquarter to Fionn and his hounds; the other hindquarter to Fionn's\nfour men; the forepart to myself; the chine and rump to the old man who\nsits at the opposite side of the fire and to the hag in yonder corner;\nand the giblets to you and the young woman who is opposite to you.' 'I\npledge my word,' said the man of the house, 'you have divided it very\nfairly.' 'I pledge my word,' exclaimed the ram, 'that the division is\nvery unfair so far as I am concerned, for I have been altogether\nforgotten.' And so saying, he immediately snatched the quarter that lay\nbefore my four men, and carried it away into a corner, where he began to\ndevour it. The four men instantly attacked the ram all at once with\ntheir swords, but though they laid on violently, it did not affect him\nin the least, and the blows fell away as from a stone or rock, so that\nthey were forced to resume their seats. 'Upon my veracity, he is doomed\nfor evil who owns as companions such four fellows as you are, who tamely\nsuffer one single sheep to carry away your food and devour it before\nyour faces,' exclaimed the man with the twelve eyes; and at the same\ntime going up to the ram, he caught him by the feet and gave him a\nviolent pitch out of the door, so that he fell on his back on the\nground; and from that time we saw him no more. Soon after this the hag\nstarted up, and having thrown her ashy-grey coverlet over my four men,\nmetamorphosed them into four withered, drooping-headed old men. When I\nsaw that I was seized with great fear and alarm; and when the man at the\ndoor-post perceived this, he desired me to come over to him, place my\nhead on his bosom, and sleep. I did so; and the hag got up and took her\ncoverlet off my four men; and when I awoke I found them restored to\ntheir own shape, and that was a great happiness to me. 'O Fionn,' asked\nthe man of the door-post, 'do you feel surprised at the appearance and\narrangements of this house?' I assured him that I never saw anything\nwhich surprised me more. 'Well, then, I will explain the meaning of all\nthese things to you,' said the man. 'The giant carrying the grunting hog\nbetween the prongs of the iron fork, whom you first saw, is he who is\nyonder, and his name is SLOTH. She who is close to me is the young woman\nwho had been forcing him along, that is ENERGY; and ENERGY compels SLOTH\nforward with her; for ENERGY moves, in the twinkling of the eye, a\ngreater distance than the foot can travel in a year. The old man of the\nbright eyes yonder signifies the WORLD; and he is more powerful than\nanyone, which has been proved by his rendering the ram powerless. That\nram which you saw signifies the CRIMES of the man. That hag there beyond\nis withering OLD AGE, and her clothing has withered your four men. The\ntwo wells from which you drank the two draughts mean FALSEHOOD and\nTRUTH; for while telling a lie one finds it sweet, but it becomes bitter\nat the last. Cuanna from Innistuil is my own name. I do not reside here,\nbut having conceived a wonderful love for you, O Fionn, on account of\nyour superiority in wisdom and general celebrity, I therefore put those\nthings into the way before you in order that I might see you. And this\nstory shall be called, to the end of the world, the Hospitality of\nCuanna's House to Fionn. Let you and your men come together, and do ye\nfive sleep until morning.' Accordingly we did so, and when we awoke in\nthe morning we found ourselves on the summit of Cairn Feargaill, with\nour hounds and arms by us. So there is the meaning of the byword, 'The\nhospitality of Fionn in the house of Cuanna,' O Conan,\" said Fionn.\n\n(_Translated from the Irish by Nicholas O'Kearney._)\n\n\n\n\nThe White Trout\n\n(_A Legend of Cong._)\n\n\n\"There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful young lady that\nlived in a castle up by the lake beyant, and they say she was promised\nto a king's son, and they wor to be married, when, all of a suddent, he\nwas murthered, the crathur (Lord help us!) and threwn in the lake abou,\nand so, of coorse, he couldn't keep his promise to the fair lady--and\nmore's the pity.\n\n\"Well, the story goes that she went out iv her mind, bekase of loosin'\nthe king's son--for she was tindher-hearted, God help her! like the rest\niv us--and pined away after him, until at last no one about seen her,\ngood or bad; and the story wint that the fairies took her away.\n\n\"Well, sir, in coorse o' time the white throut, God bless it! was seen\nin the sthrame beyant; and sure the people didn't know what to think of\nthe crathur, seein' as how a _white_ brown throut was never heerd av\nafore nor sence; and years upon years the throut was there, just where\nyou seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can tell--aye, throth, and\nbeyant the memory o' th' ouldest in the village.\n\n\"At last the people began to think it must be a fairy; for what else\ncould it be?--and no hurt nor harm was iver put an the throut, until\nsome wicked sinners of sojers kem to these parts, and laughed at all the\npeople, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin' o' the likes; and one o'\nthem in partic'lar (bad luck to him--God forgi' me for sayin' it!) swore\nhe'd catch the throut and ate it for his dinner--the blackguard!\n\n\"Well, what would you think o' the villiany of the sojer?--sure enough\nhe cotch the throut, and away wid him home, and puts an the fryin' pan,\nand into it he pitches the purty little thing. The throut squeeled all\nas one as a Christian crathur, and, my dear, you'd think the sojer id\nsplit his sides laughin'--for he was a harden'd villian; and when he\nthought one side was done, he turns it over to fry the other; and what\nwould you think? but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at\nall; and sure the sojer thought it was a _quare_ throut that couldn't be\nbriled; 'but,' says he, 'I'll give it another turn by and by'--little\nthinkin' what was in store for him, the haythen!\n\n\"Well, when he thought that side was done he turns it again--and lo and\nbehould you, the divil a taste more done that side was nor the other.\n'Bad luck to me,' says the sojer, 'but that bates the world,' says he;\n'but I'll thry you agin, my darlint,' says he, 'as cunnin' as you think\nyourself'--and so with that he turns it over and over, but not a sign av\nthe fire was an the purty throut. 'Well,' says the desperate\nvillian--(for sure, sir, only he was a desperate villian _entirely_; he\nmight know he was doin' a wrong thing, seein' that all his endayvours\nwas no good)--'well,' says he, 'my jolly little throut, maybe you're\nfried enough, though you don't seem over well dress'd; but you may be\nbetter than you look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all,'\nsays he; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to taste a piece\no' the throut--but, my jew'l, the minit he puts his knife into the fish\nthere was a murtherin' screech, that you'd think the life id lave you if\nyou heerd it, and away jumps the throut out av the fryin' pan into the\nmiddle o' the flure; and an the spot where it fell up riz a lovely\nlady--the beautifullest young crathur that eyes ever seen, dressed in\nwhite, and a band o' goold in her hair, and a sthrame o' blood runnin'\ndown her arm.\n\n\"'Look where you cut me, you villian,' says she, and she held out her\narm to him--and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes.\n\n\"'Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you\nsnared me, and not disturb me in my duty?' says she.\n\n\"Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and at last he stammered\nout somethin', and begged for his life, and ax'd her ladyship's pardin,\nand said he didn't know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not\nto know betther nor to meddle with her.\n\n\"'I _was_ on duty then,' says the lady; 'I was watchin' for my thrue\nlove that is comin' by wather to me,' says she; 'an' if he comes while I\nam away, an' that I miss iv him, I'll turn you into a pinkeen, and I'll\nhunt you up and down for evermore, while grass grows or wather runs.'\n\n\"Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him at the thoughts iv his\nbein' turned into a pinkeen, and begged for marcy; and, with that, says\nthe lady:\n\n\"'Renounce your evil coorses,' says she, 'you villian, or you'll repint\nit too late. Be a good man for the futhur, and go to your duty reg'lar.\nAnd now,' says she, 'take me back and put me into the river agin, where\nyou found me.'\n\n\"'Oh, my lady,' says the sojer, 'how could I have the heart to drownd a\nbeautiful lady like you?'\n\n\"But before he could say another word the lady was vanished, and there\nhe saw the little throut an the ground. Well, he put it in a clane\nplate, and away he run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come\nwhile she was away; and he run, and he run, ever till he came to the\ncave agin, and threw the throut into the river. The minit he did, the\nwather was as red as blood until the sthrame washed the stain away; and\nto this day there's a little red mark an the throut's side where it was\ncut.\n\n\"Well, sir, from that day out the sojer was an althered man, and\nreformed his ways, and wint to his duty reg'lar, and fasted three times\na week--though it was never fish he tuk an fastin' days; for afther the\nfright he got fish id never rest an his stomach--savin' your presence.\nBut, anyhow, he was an althered man, as I said before; and in coorse o'\ntime he left the army, and turned hermit at last; and they say he _used\nto pray evermore for the sowl of the White Throut_.\"\n\nSAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wonderful Cake\n\n\nA mouse, a rat, and a little red hen once lived together in the same\ncottage, and one day the little red hen said, \"Let us bake a cake and\nhave a feast.\" \"Let us,\" says the mouse, and \"let us,\" says the rat.\n\"Who'll go and get the wheat ground?\" says the hen. \"I won't,\" says the\nmouse; \"I won't,\" says the rat. \"I will myself,\" says the little red\nhen.\n\n\"Who'll make the cake?\" \"I won't,\" says the mouse; \"I will,\" says the\nrat. \"Indeed, you shall not,\" says the little red hen.\n\nWell, while the hen was stretching her hand out for it--\"Hey Presto!\"\nout rolled the cake from the cottage, and after it ran the mouse, the\nrat, and the little red hen.\n\nWhen it was running away it went by a barn full of threshers, and they\nasked it where it was running. \"Oh,\" says it, \"I'm running away from the\nmouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from you, too, if I can.\" So\nthey rushed away after it with their flails, and it ran, and it ran till\nit came to a ditch full of ditchers, and they asked it where it was\nrunning.\n\n\"Oh, I am running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen,\nand from a barn full of threshers, and from you, too, if I can.\"\n\nWell, they all ran after it along with the rest, till it came to a well\nfull of washers, and they asked the same question, and it returned the\nsame answer, and after it they went.\n\nAt last it came to a ford where it met with a fox, and he asked where it\nwas running. \"Oh, I'm running away from the mouse, the rat, and the\nlittle red hen, from a barn full of threshers, a ditch full of ditchers,\na well full of washers, and from you, too, if I can.\"\n\n\"But you can't cross the ford,\" says the fox. \"And can't you carry me\nover?\" says the cake. \"What'll you give me?\" says the fox. \"A kiss at\nChristmas and an egg at Easter,\" says the cake.\n\n\"Very well,\" says the fox--\"up with you.\" So he sat on his haunches with\nhis nose in the air, and the cake got up by his tail till it sat on his\ncrupper.\n\n\"Now, over with you,\" says the cake. \"You're not high enough,\" says the\nfox. Then it scrambled up on his shoulder. \"Up higher still,\" says he;\n\"you wouldn't be safe there.\" \"Am I right now?\" says he. \"You'll be\nsafer on the ridge pole of my nose.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says the cake, \"I think I can go no further.\" \"Oh, yes,\" says\nhe, and he shot it up in the air, caught it in his mouth, and sent it\ndown the Red Lane. And that was the end of the cake.\n\n\n\n\nThe Legend of the Little Weaver of Duleek Gate\n\n(_A Tale of Chivalry._)\n\n\nYou see, there was a waiver lived wanst upon a time in Duleek here, hard\nby the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was by all accounts.\nWell, it was one mornin' that his housekeeper called to him, and he\nsitting very busy throwin' the shuttle; and says she, \"Your brekquest is\nready!\" \"Lave me alone,\" says he; \"I'm busy with a patthern here that is\nbrakin' my heart, and until I complate and masther it intirely I won't\nquit.\"\n\n\"Oh, think o' the iligant stirabout that'll be spylte intirely.\"\n\n\"To the divil with the stirabout!\" says he.\n\n\"God forgive you,\" says she, \"for cursin' your good brekquest.\"\n\nWell, he left the loom at last and wint over to the stirabout, and what\nwould you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow;\nfor, you see, it was in the hoighth o' summer, and the flies lit upon it\nto that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.\n\n\"Why, thin, bad luck to your impidence,\" says the waiver; \"would no\nplace sarve you but that? And is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you\ndirty bastes?\" And with that, bein' altogether cruked tempered at the\ntime, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o'\nstirabout and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one\nblow. It was three score and tin exactly, for he counted the carcasses\none by one, and laid them out on a clane plate for to view them.\n\nWell, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him when he seen the slaughter\nhe done at one blow, and with that he got as consaited as the very\ndickens, and not a sthroke more work he'd do that day, but out he wint,\nand was fractious and impident to everyone he met, and was squarein' up\ninto their faces and sayin', \"Look at that fist! That's the fist that\nkilled three score and tin at one blow. Whoo! It is throwin' away my\ntime I have been all my life,\" says he, \"stuck to my loom, nothin' but a\npoor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be,\nwhich is two of the sivin champions o' Christendom. I'm detarmined on\nit, and I'll set off immediately and be a knight arriant.\" Well, sure\nenough, he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and he got an\nowld kittle from one and a saucepan from another, and he took them to\nthe tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like any knight\narriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and _that_ he was very partic'lar\nabout, bekase it was his shield, and he wint to a friend o' his, a\npainther and glaizier, and made him paint an his shield in big letthers:\n\n  \"I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,\n  THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN\n  AT A BLOW.\"\n\n\"When the people sees that,\" says the waiver to himself, \"the sorra one\nwill dar for to come near me.\"\n\nAnd with that he towld the housekeeper to scour out the small iron pot\nfor him, \"for,\" says he, \"it will make an iligant helmet.\" And when it\nwas done he put it an his head, and says she, \"Is it puttin' a great\nheavy iron pot an your head you are by way iv a hat?\"\n\n\"Sartinly,\" says he, \"for a knight arriant should always have a woight\nan his brain.\"\n\n\"But,\" says she, \"there's a hole in it, and it can't keep out the\nweather.\"\n\n\"It will be the cooler,\" says he, puttin' it an him; \"besides, if I\ndon't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like\no' that.\"\n\n\"The three legs of it looks mighty quare stickin' up,\" says she.\n\n\"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it,\" says the\nwaiver, \"and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says the housekeeper, getting bitther at last, \"all I can say\nis, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it.\"\n\n\"Your sarvint, ma'am,\" says he; and off he set.\n\nWell, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by where\nthe miller's horse was grazin' that used to carry the ground corn round\nthe counthry.\n\n\"This is the idintical horse for me,\" says the waiver. \"He is used to\ncarryin' flour and male; and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a\ncoat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the\nlaste.\"\n\nBut as he was ridin' him out o' the field, who should see him but the\nmiller. \"Is it stalin' my horse you are, honest man?\" says the miller.\n\n\"No,\" says the waiver; \"I'm only goin' to axercise him,\" says he, \"in\nthe cool o' the evenin'; it will be good for his health.\"\n\n\"Thank you kindly,\" says the miller, \"but lave him where he is, and\nyou'll obleege me.\"\n\n\"I can't afford it,\" says the waiver, runnin' the horse at the ditch.\n\n\"Bad luck to your impidence,\" says the miller; \"you've as much tin about\nyou as a thravellin' tinker, but you've more brass. Come back here, you\nvagabone,\" says he.\n\nBut he was too late--away galloped the waiver, and took the road to\nDublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King\no' Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv its\nown), and he thought maybe the King o' Dublin would give him work. Well,\nhe was four days goin' to Dublin, for the baste was not the best, and\nthe roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no turnpikes then,\nglory be to God! Whin he got to Dublin he wint sthrait to the palace,\nand whin he got into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about\nthe place, for the grass was growin' out betune the stones; everything\nwas flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out\nof his dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but\nthe waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate\nundher the windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all around about\nthe place for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a\ndacent, obleegin' man. Well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay\ndown an one o' the sates, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to\ngo asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had\nthe letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one\nof the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him howldin' up the\nskirt of his coat, according to rayson, and says he, \"Look here,\" says\nhe, \"what do you think of a vagabone like that comin' undher my very\nnose to go sleep? It is thrue I'm a good King,\" says he, \"and I\n'commodate the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the\nraycreation and contimplation of seein' me here lookin' out o' my\ndhrawin'-room windy for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to\nmake a hotel o' the place and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?\"\nsays the King.\n\n\"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty.\"\n\n\"I think he must be a furriner,\" says the King, \"bekase his dhress is\noutlandish.\"\n\n\"And doesn't know manners, more betoken,\" says the lord.\n\n\"I'll go down and circumspect him myself,\" says the King. \"Folly me,\"\nsays he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most\ndignacious manner.\n\nDown he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over to\nwhere the waiver was lying, sure, the first thing he seen was his shield\nwith the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, \"By\ndad,\" says he, \"this is the very man I want.\"\n\n\"For what, plaze your majesty?\" says the lord.\n\n\"To kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure,\" says the King.\n\n\"Sure, do you think he could kill him,\" says the lord, \"whin all the\nstoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back,\nand was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver.\"\n\n\"Sure, don't you see there,\" says the King, pointin' at the shield,\n\"that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done\nthat, I think, is a match for anything.\"\n\nSo, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher\nfor to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and\nthe King says to him, \"God save you!\" said he.\n\n\"God save you kindly!\" says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite onknowst\nwho he was spakin' to.\n\n\"Do you know who I am,\" says the King, \"that you make so free, good\nman?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" says the waiver; \"you have the advantage o' me.\"\n\n\"To be sure I have,\" says the King, moighty high; \"sure, ain't I the\nKing o' Dublin?\" says he.\n\nThe waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and says\nhe, \"I beg God's pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your\nholiness, I hope you'll excuse it.\"\n\n\"No offince,\" says the King; \"get up, good man. And what brings you\nhere?\" says he.\n\n\"I'm in want o' work, plaze your riverence,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Well, suppose I give you work?\" says the King.\n\n\"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Very well,\" says the King. \"You killed three score and tin at one blow,\nI understan',\" says the King.\n\n\"Yis,\" says the waiver; \"that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and\nI'm afeared my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to\ndo at wanst.\"\n\n\"You shall have a job immediantly,\" says the King. \"It is not three\nscore and tin, or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard\ndhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid\naitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs,\" says the King.\n\n\"Throth, thin, plaze your worship,\" says the waiver, \"you look as yellow\nas if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit.\"\n\n\"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed,\" says the King. \"It will be no\nthrouble in life to you; and I'm only sorry that it isn't betther worth\nyour while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that\nhe lives in the county Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an\nadvantage in that.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't value it in the laste,\" says the waiver; \"for the last\nthree score and tin I killed was in a soft place.\"\n\n\"When will you undhertake the job then?\" says the King.\n\n\"Let me at him at wanst,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"That's what I like,\" says the King; \"you're the very man for my money,\"\nsays he.\n\n\"Talkin' of money,\" says the waiver, \"by the same token, I'll want a\nthrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges.\"\n\n\"As much as you plaze,\" says the King; and with the word he brought him\ninto his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest\nburstin' wid goolden guineas.\n\n\"Take as many as you plaze,\" says the King; and sure enough, my dear,\nthe little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld\nwith them.\n\n\"Now, I'm ready for the road,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Very well,\" says the King; \"but you must have a fresh horse,\" says he.\n\n\"With all my heart,\" says the waiver, who thought he might as well\nexchange the miller's owld garron for a betther.\n\nAnd, maybe, it's wondherin' you are that the waiver would think of goin'\nto fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him when he was\npurtendin' to be asleep. But he had no sitch notion: all he intended\nwas--to fob the goold and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and a\ngood horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was, the King was cuter\nstill; for these high quolity, you see, is great desaivers; and so the\nhorse the waiver was put an was learned an purpose; and, sure, the\nminit he was mounted away powdhered the horse, and the divil a toe he'd\ngo but right down to Galway. Well, for four days he was goin' evermore,\nuntil at last the waiver seen a crowd o' people runnin' as if Owld Nick\nwas at their heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers and cryin',\n\"The dhraggin, the dhraggin!\" and he couldn't stop the horse nor make\nhim turn back, but away he pelted right forinst the terrible baste that\nwas comin' up to him, and there was the most nefarious smell o' sulphur,\nsavin' your presence, enough to knock you down; and, faith, the waiver\nseen he had no time to lose, and so he threwn himself off the horse and\nmade to a three that was growin' nigh hand, and away he clambered up\ninto it as nimble as a cat; and not a minit had he to spare, for the\ndhraggin kem up in a powerful rage, and he devoured the horse, body and\nbones, in less than no time; and then he began to sniffle and scent\nabout for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye an him where he was\nup in the three, and says he, \"In throth, you might as well come down\nout o' that,\" says he, \"for I'll have you as sure as eggs is mate.\"\n\n\"Divil a fut I'll go down,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Sorra care I care,\" says the dhraggin, \"for you're as good as ready\nmoney in my pocket this minit, for I'll lie undher this three,\" says he,\n\"and sooner or later you must fall to my share\"; and, sure enough, he\nsot down and began to pick his teeth with his tail afther the heavy\nbrekquest he made that mornin' (for he ate a whole village, let alone\nthe horse), and he got dhrowsy at last and fell asleep; but before he\nwint to sleep he wound himself all round the three, all as one as a lady\nwindin' ribbon round her finger, so that the waiver could not escape.\n\nWell, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep by the snorin' of\nhim--and every snore he let out of him was like a clap o' thunder----\n\nThe minit, the waiver began to creep down the three as cautious as a\nfox; and he was very nigh hand the bottom when, bad cess to it, a\nthievin' branch he was dipindin' an bruk, and down he fell right atop o'\nthe dhraggin. But if he did, good luck was an his side, for where should\nhe fall but with his two legs right acrass the dhraggin's neck, and, my\njew'l, he laid howlt o' the baste's ears, and there he kept his grip,\nfor the dhraggin wakened and endayvoured for to bite him; but, you see,\nby rayson the waiver was behind his ears he could not come at him, and,\nwith that, he endayvoured for to shake him off; but the divil of a stir\ncould he stir the waiver; and though he shuk all the scales an his body\nhe could not turn the scale again the waiver.\n\n\"By the hokey, this is too bad intirely,\" says the dhraggin; \"but if you\nwon't let go,\" says he, \"by the powers o' wildfire, I'll give you a ride\nthat 'ill astonish your siven small sinses, my boy\"; and with that away\nhe flew like mad; and where do you think he did fly? By dad, he flew\nsthraight for Dublin--divil a less. But the waiver bein' an his neck was\na great disthress to him, and he would rather have made him an inside\n_passenger_; but, anyway, he flew and he flew till he kem slap up agin\nthe palace o' the King; for, bein' blind with the rage, he never seen\nit, and he knocked his brains out--that is, the small thrifle he had,\nand down he fell spacheless. An', you see, good luck would have it that\nthe King o' Dublin was lookin' out iv his dhrawin'-room windy for\ndivarshin that day also, and whin he seen the waiver ridin' and the\nfiery dhraggin (for he was blazin' like a tar barrel), he called out to\nhis coortyers to come and see the show. \"By the powdhers o' war, here\ncomes the knight arriant,\" says the King, \"ridin' the dhraggin that's\nall afire, and if he gets into the palace, yiz must be ready wid the\nfire ingines,\" says he, \"for to put him out.\" But when they seen the\ndhraggin fall outside they all run downstairs and scampered into the\npalace yard for to circumspect the curiosity; and by the time they got\ndown the waiver had got off o' the dhraggin's neck, and runnin' up to\nthe King, says he, \"Plaze your holiness,\" says he, \"I did not think\nmyself worthy of killin' this facetious baste, so I brought him to\nyourself for to do him the honour of decripitation by your own royal\nfive fingers. But I tamed him first before I allowed him the liberty for\nto dar' to appear in your royal prisince, and you'll oblige me if you\njust make your mark with your own hand upon the onruly baste's neck.\"\nAnd with that the King, sure enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the\nhead aff the dirty brute as clane as a new pin. Well, there was great\nrejoicin' in the coort that the dhraggin was killed; and says the King\nto the little waiver, says he, \"You are a knight arriant as it is, and\nso it would be no use for to knight you over agin; but I will make you a\nlord,\" says he.\n\n\"Oh, Lord!\" says the waiver, thunderstruck like at his own good luck.\n\n\"I will,\" says the King; \"and as you are the first man I ever heerd tell\nof that rode a dhraggin, you shall be called Lord Mount Dhraggin,\" says\nhe.\n\n\"But that is not all I'll do for you,\" says the King; \"I'll give you my\ndaughter, too, in marriage,\" says he. Now, you see, that was nothing\nmore than what he promised the waiver in his first promise; for by all\naccounts the King's daughter was the greatest dhraggin ever was seen,\nand had the divil's own tongue, and a beard a yard long, which she\npurtended was put an her, by way of a penance, by Father Mulcahy, her\nconfissor; but it was well known it was in the family for ages, and no\nwondher it was so long by rayson of that same.\n\nSAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\n\n\nMor of Cloyne\n\n_Mor of Cloyne, a Munster Princess, is singing at the door of a Fairy\nRath to her sister, a captive within it, the magic tune by which she\nonce escaped from a like captivity._\n\n\n  Little Sister, whom the Fay\n    Hides away within his doon,\n  Deep below yon seeding fern,\n    Oh, list and learn my magic tune.\n\n  Long ago, when snared like thee\n    By the Shee, my harp and I\n  O'er them wove the slumber spell,\n    Warbling well its lullaby.\n\n  Till with dreamy smiles they sank,\n    Rank on rank, before the strain;\n  And I rose from out the rath,\n    And found my path to earth again.\n\n  Little Sister, to my woe\n    Hid below among the Shee,\n  List and learn the magic tune,\n    That it full soon may succour thee.\n\nALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.\n\n\n\n\nLawn Dyarrig and the Knight of Terrible Valley\n\n(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)\n\n\nThere was a King in his own time in Erin, and he went hunting one day.\nThe King met a man whose head was out through his cap, whose elbows and\nknees were out through his clothing, and whose toes were out through his\nshoes.\n\nThe man went up to the King, gave him a blow on the face, and drove\nthree teeth from his mouth. The same blow put the King's head in the\ndirt. When he rose from the earth, the King went back to his castle, and\nlay down sick and sorrowful.\n\nThe King had three sons, and their names were Ur, Arthur, and Lawn\nDyarrig. The three were at school that day, and came home in the\nevening. The father sighed when the sons were coming in.\n\n\"What is wrong with our father?\" asked the eldest.\n\n\"Your father is sick on his bed,\" said the mother.\n\nThe three sons went to their father and asked what was on him.\n\n\"A strong man that I met to-day gave me a blow in the face, put my head\nin the dirt, and knocked three teeth from my mouth. What would you do to\nhim if you met him?\" asked the father of the eldest son.\n\n\"If I met that man,\" replied Ur, \"I would make four parts of him between\nfour horses.\"\n\n\"You are my son,\" said the King. \"What would you do if you met him?\"\nasked he then as he turned to the second son.\n\n\"If I had a grip on that man I would burn him between four fires.\"\n\n\"You, too, are my son. What would you do?\" asked the King of Lawn\nDyarrig.\n\n\"If I met that man, I would do my best against him, and he might not\nstand long before me.\"\n\n\"You are not my son. I would not lose lands or property on you,\" said\nthe father. \"You must go from me, and leave this to-morrow.\"\n\nOn the following morning the three brothers rose with the dawn; the\norder was given Lawn Dyarrig to leave the castle and make his own way\nfor himself. The other two brothers were going to travel the world to\nknow could they find the man who had injured their father. Lawn Dyarrig\nlingered outside till he saw the two, and they going off by themselves.\n\n\"It is a strange thing,\" said he, \"for two men of high degree to go\ntravelling without a servant.\"\n\n\"We need no one,\" said Ur.\n\n\"Company wouldn't harm us,\" said Arthur.\n\nThe two let Lawn Dyarrig go with them as a serving-boy, and set out to\nfind the man who had struck down their father. They spent all that day\nwalking, and came late to a house where one woman was living. She shook\nhands with Ur and Arthur, and greeted them. Lawn Dyarrig she kissed and\nwelcomed; called him son of the King of Erin.\n\n\"It is a strange thing to shake hands with the elder, and kiss the\nyounger,\" said Ur.\n\n\"This is a story to tell,\" said the woman, \"the same as if your death\nwere in it.\"\n\nThey made three parts of that night. The first part they spent in\nconversation, the second in telling tales, the third in eating and\ndrinking, with sound sleep and sweet slumber. As early as the day dawned\nnext morning the old woman was up, and had food for the young men. When\nthe three had eaten, she spoke to Ur, and this is what she asked of him:\n\"What was it that drove you from home, and what brought you to this\nplace?\"\n\n\"A champion met my father, and took three teeth from him and put his\nhead in the dirt. I am looking for that man, to find him alive or dead.\"\n\n\"That was the Green Knight from Terrible Valley. He is the man who took\nthe three teeth from your father. I am three hundred years living in\nthis place, and there is not a year of the three hundred in which three\nhundred heroes, fresh, young, and noble, have not passed on the way to\nTerrible Valley, and never have I seen one coming back, and each of them\nhad the look of a man better than you. And now where are you going,\nArthur?\"\n\n\"I am on the same journey with my brother.\"\n\n\"Where are you going, Lawn Dyarrig?\"\n\n\"I am going with these as a servant,\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"God's help to you, it's bad clothing that's on your body,\" said the\nwoman. \"And now I will speak to Ur. A day and a year since a champion\npassed this way. He wore a suit as good as was ever above ground. I had\na daughter sewing there in the open window. He came outside, put a\nfinger under her girdle, and took her with him. Her father followed\nstraightway to save her, but I have never seen daughter nor father from\nthat day to this. That man was the Green Knight of Terrible Valley. He\nis better than all the men that could stand on a field a mile in length\nand a mile in breadth. If you take my advice you'll turn back and go\nhome to your father.\"\n\n'Tis how she vexed Ur with this talk, and he made a vow to himself to go\non. When Ur did not agree to turn home, the woman said to Lawn Dyarrig,\n\"Go back to my chamber; you'll find in it the apparel of a hero.\"\n\nHe went back, and there was not a bit of the apparel he did not go into\nwith a spring.\n\n\"You may be able to do something now,\" said the woman, when Lawn Dyarrig\ncame to the front. \"Go back to my chamber and search through all the old\nswords. You will find one at the bottom. Take that.\"\n\nHe found the old sword, and at the first shake that he gave he knocked\nseven barrels of rust out of it; after the second shake it was as bright\nas when made.\n\n\"You may be able to do well with that,\" said the woman. \"Go out, now, to\nthat stable abroad, and take the slim white steed that is in it. That\none will never stop nor halt in any place till he brings you to the\nEastern World. If you like, take these two men behind you; if not, let\nthem walk. But I think it is useless for you to have them at all with\nyou.\"\n\nLawn Dyarrig went out to the stable, took the slim white steed, mounted,\nrode to the front, and catching the two brothers, planted them on the\nhorse behind him.\n\n\"Now, Lawn Dyarrig,\" said the woman, \"this horse will never stop till he\nstands on the little white meadow in the Eastern World. When he stops,\nyou'll come down, and cut the turf under his beautiful right front\nfoot.\"\n\nThe horse started from the door, and at every leap he crossed seven\nhills and valleys, seven castles with villages, acres, roods, and odd\nperches. He could overtake the whirlwind before him seven hundred times\nbefore the whirlwind behind him could overtake him once. Early in the\nafternoon of the next day he was in the Eastern World. When he\ndismounted, Lawn Dyarrig cut the sod from under the foot of the slim\nwhite steed, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and\nTerrible Valley was down under him there. What he did next was to\ntighten the reins on the neck of the steed and let him go home.\n\n\"Now,\" said Lawn Dyarrig to his brothers, \"which would you rather be\ndoing--making a basket or twisting gads (withes)?\"\n\n\"We would rather be making a basket; our help is among ourselves,\"\nanswered they.\n\nUr and Arthur went at the basket and Lawn Dyarrig at twisting the gads.\nWhen Lawn Dyarrig came to the opening with the gads all twisted and made\ninto one, they hadn't the ribs of the basket in the ground yet.\n\n\"Oh, then, haven't ye anything done but that?\"\n\n\"Stop your mouth,\" said Ur, \"or we'll make a mortar of your head on the\nnext stone.\"\n\n\"To be kind to one another is the best for us,\" said Lawn Dyarrig. \"I'll\nmake the basket.\"\n\nWhile they'd be putting one rod in the basket he had the basket\nfinished.\n\n\"Oh, brother,\" said they, \"you are a quick workman.\"\n\nThey had not called him brother since they left home till that moment.\n\n\"Who will go in the basket now?\" said Lawn Dyarrig when it was finished\nand the gad tied to it.\n\n\"Who but me?\" said Ur. \"I am sure, brothers, if I see anything to\nfrighten me you'll draw me up.\"\n\n\"We will,\" said the other two.\n\nHe went in, but had not gone far when he cried to pull him up again.\n\n\"By my father, and the tooth of my father, and by all that is in Erin,\ndead or alive, I would not give one other sight on Terrible Valley!\" he\ncried, when he stepped out of the basket.\n\n\"Who will go now?\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"Who will go but me?\" answered Arthur.\n\nWhatever length Ur went, Arthur didn't go the half of it.\n\n\"By my father, and the tooth of my father, I wouldn't give another look\nat Terrible Valley for all that's in Erin, dead or alive!\"\n\n\"I will go now,\" said Lawn Dyarrig, \"and as I put no foul play on you, I\nhope ye'll not put foul play on me.\"\n\n\"We will not, indeed,\" said they.\n\nWhatever length the other two went, Lawn Dyarrig didn't go the half of\nit, till he stepped out of the basket and went down on his own feet. It\nwas not far he had travelled in Terrible Valley when he met seven\nhundred heroes guarding the country.\n\n\"In what place here has the Green King his castle?\" asked he of the\nseven hundred.\n\n\"What sort of a sprisawn goat or sheep from Erin are you?\" asked they.\n\n\"If we had a hold of you, the two arms of me, that's a question you\nwould not put a second time; but if we haven't you, we'll not be so\nlong.\"\n\nThey faced Lawn Dyarrig then and attacked him; but he went through them\nlike a hawk or a raven through small birds. He made a heap of their\nfeet, a heap of their heads, and a castle of their arms.\n\nAfter that he went his way walking, and had not gone far when he came to\na spring. \"I'll have a drink before I go further,\" thought he. With that\nhe stooped down and took a drink of the water. When he had drunk he lay\non the ground and fell asleep.\n\nNow, there wasn't a morning that the lady in the Green Knight's castle\ndidn't wash in the water of that spring, and she sent a maid for the\nwater each time. Whatever part of the day it was when Lawn Dyarrig fell\nasleep, he was sleeping in the morning when the girl came. She thought\nit was dead the man was, and she was so in dread of him that she would\nnot come near the spring for a long time. At last she saw he was asleep,\nand then she took the water. Her mistress was complaining of her for\nbeing so long.\n\n\"Do not blame me,\" said the maid. \"I am sure that if it was yourself\nthat was in my place you'd not come back so soon.\"\n\n\"How so?\" asked the lady.\n\n\"The finest hero that ever a woman laid eyes on is sleeping at the\nspring.\"\n\n\"That's a thing that cannot be till Lawn Dyarrig comes to the age of a\nhero. When that time comes he'll be sleeping at the spring.\"\n\n\"He is in it now,\" said the girl.\n\nThe lady did not stop to get any drop of the water on herself, but ran\nquickly from the castle. When she came to the spring she roused Lawn\nDyarrig. If she found him lying, she left him standing. She smothered\nhim with kisses, drowned him with tears, dried him with garments of fine\nsilk and with her own hair. Herself and himself locked arms and walked\ninto the castle of the Green Knight. After that they were inviting each\nother with the best food and entertainment till the middle of the\nfollowing day. Then the lady said:\n\n\"When the Green Knight bore me away from my father and mother he brought\nme straight to this castle, but I put him under bonds not to marry me\nfor seven years and a day, and he cannot; still, I must serve him. When\nhe goes fowling he spends three days away and the next three days at\nhome. This is the day for him to come back, and for me to prepare his\ndinner. There is no stir that you or I have made here to-day but that\nbrass head beyond there will tell of it.\"\n\n\"It is equal to you what it tells,\" said Lawn Dyarrig, \"only make ready\na clean long chamber for me.\"\n\nShe did so, and he went back into it. Herself rose up then to prepare\ndinner for the Green Knight. When he came, she welcomed him as every\nday. She left down his food before him, and he sat to take his dinner.\nHe was sitting with knife and fork in hand when the brass head spoke.\n\"I thought when I saw you taking food and drink with your wife that you\nhad the blood of a man in you. If you could see that sprisawn of a goat\nor sheep out of Erin taking meat and drink with her all day, what would\nyou do?\"\n\n\"Oh, my suffering and sorrow!\" cried the knight. \"I'll never take\nanother bite or sup till I eat some of his liver and heart. Let three\nhundred heroes, fresh and young, go back and bring his heart to me, with\nthe liver and lights, till I eat them.\"\n\nThe three hundred heroes went, and hardly were they behind in the\nchamber when Lawn Dyarrig had them all dead in one heap.\n\n\"He must have some exercise to delay my men, they are so long away,\"\nsaid the knight. \"Let three hundred more heroes go for his heart, with\nthe liver and lights, and bring them here to me.\"\n\nThe second three hundred went, and as they were entering the chamber\nLawn Dyarrig was making a heap of them, till the last one was inside,\nwhere there were two heaps.\n\n\"He has some way of coaxing my men to delay,\" said the knight. \"Do you\ngo now, three hundred of my savage hirelings, and bring him.\" The three\nhundred savage hirelings went, and Lawn Dyarrig let every man of them\nenter before he raised a hand, then he caught the bulkiest of them all\nby the two ankles, and began to wallop the others with him, and he\nwalloped them till he drove the life out of the two hundred and\nninety-nine. The bulkiest one was worn to the shin-bones that Lawn\nDyarrig held in his two hands. The Green Knight, who thought Lawn\nDyarrig was coaxing the men, called out then, \"Come down, my men, and\ntake dinner.\"\n\n\"I'll be with you,\" said Lawn Dyarrig, \"and have the best food in the\nhouse, and I'll have the best bed in the house. God not be good to you\nfor it, either.\"\n\nHe went down to the Green Knight, and took the food from before him and\nput it before himself. Then he took the lady, set her on his own knee,\nand he and she went on eating. After dinner he put his finger under her\ngirdle, took her to the best chamber in the castle, and stood on guard\nupon it till morning. Before dawn the lady said to Lawn Dyarrig:\n\n\"If the Green Knight strikes the pole of combat first, he'll win the\nday; if you strike first, you'll win if you do what I tell you. The\nGreen Knight has so much enchantment that if he sees it is going against\nhim the battle is, he'll rise like a fog in the air, come down in the\nsame form, strike you, and make a green stone of you. When yourself and\nhimself are going out to fight in the morning, cut a sod a perch long,\nin the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; you'll leave the sod on\nthe next little hillock you meet. When the Green Knight is coming down\nand is ready to strike, give him a blow with the sod. You'll make a\ngreen stone of him.\"\n\nAs early as the dawn Lawn Dyarrig rose and struck the pole of combat.\nThe blow that he gave did not leave calf, foal, lamb, kid, or child\nwaiting for birth, without turning them five times to the left and five\ntimes to the right.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked the knight.\n\n\"All that's in your kingdom to be against me the first quarter of the\nday, and yourself the second quarter.\n\n\"You have not left in the kingdom now but myself, and it is early enough\nfor you that I'll be at you.\"\n\nThe knight faced him, and they went at each other, and fought till late\nin the day. The battle was strong against Lawn Dyarrig, when the lady\nstood in the door of the castle.\n\n\"Increase on your blows and increase on your courage,\" cried she. \"There\nis no woman here but myself to wail over you, or to stretch you before\nburial.\"\n\nWhen the knight heard the voice he rose in the air like a lump of fog.\nAs he was coming down Lawn Dyarrig struck him with the sod on the right\nside of his breast, and made a green stone of him.\n\nThe lady rushed out then, and whatever welcome she had for Lawn Dyarrig\nthe first time, she had twice as much now. Herself and himself went into\nthe castle, and spent that night very comfortably. In the morning they\nrose early, and collected all the gold, utensils, and treasures. Lawn\nDyarrig found the three teeth of his father in a pocket of the Green\nKnight, and took them. He and the lady brought all the riches to where\nthe basket was. \"If I send up this beautiful lady,\" thought Lawn\nDyarrig, \"she may be taken from me by my brothers; if I remain below\nwith her, she may be taken from me by people here.\" He put her in the\nbasket, and she gave him a ring so that they might know each other if\nthey met. He shook the gad, and she rose in the basket.\n\nWhen Ur saw the basket, he thought, \"What's above let it be above, and\nwhat's below let it stay where it is.\"\n\n\"I'll have you as wife for ever for myself,\" said he to the lady.\n\n\"I put you under bonds,\" says she, \"not to lay a hand on me for a day\nand three years.\"\n\n\"That itself would not be long even if twice the time,\" said Ur.\n\nThe two brothers started home with the lady; on the way Ur found the\nhead of an old horse with teeth in it, and took them, saying, \"These\nwill be my father's three teeth.\"\n\nThey travelled on, and reached home at last. Ur would not have left a\ntooth in his father's mouth, trying to put in the three that he had\nbrought; but the father stopped him.\n\nLawn Dyarrig, left in Terrible Valley, began to walk around for himself.\nHe had been walking but one day when whom should he meet but the lad\nShort-clothes, and he saluted him. \"By what way can I leave Terrible\nValley?\" asked Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"If I had a grip on you that's what you wouldn't ask me a second time,\"\nsaid Short-clothes.\n\n\"If you haven't touched me, you will before you are much older.\"\n\n\"If you do, you will not treat me as you did all my people and my\nmaster.\"\n\n\"I'll do worse to you than I did to them,\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\nThey caught each other then, one grip under the arm and one on the\nshoulder. 'Tis not long they were wrestling when Lawn Dyarrig had\nShort-clothes on the earth, and he gave him the five thin tyings dear\nand tight.\n\n\"You are the best hero I have ever met,\" said Short-clothes; \"give me\nquarter for my soul--spare me. When I did not tell you of my own will, I\nmust tell in spite of myself.\"\n\n\"It is as easy for me to loosen you as to tie you,\" said Lawn Dyarrig,\nand he freed him.\n\n\"Since you are not dead now,\" said Short-clothes, \"there is no death\nallotted to you. I'll find a way for you to leave Terrible Valley. Go\nand take that old bridle hanging there beyond and shake it; whatever\nbeast comes and puts its head into the bridle will carry you.\"\n\nLawn Dyarrig shook the bridle, and a dirty, shaggy little foal came and\nput its head in the bridle. Lawn Dyarrig mounted, dropped the reins on\nthe foal's neck, and let him take his own choice of roads. The foal\nbrought Lawn Dyarrig out by another way to the upper world, and took him\nto Erin. Lawn Dyarrig stopped some distance from his father's castle,\nand knocked at the house of an old weaver.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked the old man.\n\n\"I am a weaver,\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"What can you do?\"\n\n\"I can spin for twelve and twist for twelve.\"\n\n\"This is a very good man,\" said the old weaver to his sons, \"let us try\nhim.\"\n\nThe work they had been doing for a year he had done in one hour. When\ndinner was over the old man began to wash and shave, and his two sons\nbegan to do the same.\n\n\"Why is this?\" asked Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"Haven't you heard that Ur, son of the King, is to marry to-night the\nwoman that he took from the Green Knight of Terrible Valley?\"\n\n\"I have not,\" said Lawn Dyarrig; \"as all are going to the wedding, I\nsuppose I may go without offence?\"\n\n\"Oh, you may,\" said the weaver; \"there will be a hundred thousand\nwelcomes before you.\"\n\n\"Are there any linen sheets within?\"\n\n\"There are,\" said the weaver.\n\n\"It is well to have bags ready for yourself and two sons.\"\n\nThe weaver made bags for the three very quickly. They went to the\nwedding. Lawn Dyarrig put what dinner was on the first table into the\nweaver's bag, and sent the old man home with it. The food of the second\ntable he put in the eldest son's bag, filled the second son's bag from\nthe third table, and sent the two home.\n\nThe complaint went to Ur that an impudent stranger was taking all the\nfood.\n\n\"It is not right to turn any man away,\" said the bridegroom, \"but if\nthat stranger does not mind he will be thrown out of the castle.\"\n\n\"Let me look at the face of the disturber,\" said the bride.\n\n\"Go and bring the fellow who is troubling the guests,\" said Ur to the\nservants.\n\nLawn Dyarrig was brought right away, and stood before the bride, who\nfilled a glass with wine and gave it to him. Lawn Dyarrig drank half the\nwine, and dropped in the ring which the lady had given him in Terrible\nValley.\n\nWhen the bride took the glass again the ring went of itself with one\nleap on to her finger. She knew then who was standing before her.\n\n\"This is the man who conquered the Green Knight and saved me from\nTerrible Valley,\" said she to the King of Erin; \"this is Lawn Dyarrig,\nyour son.\"\n\nLawn Dyarrig took out the three teeth and put them in his father's\nmouth. They fitted there perfectly, and grew into their old place. The\nKing was satisfied, and as the lady would marry no man but Lawn Dyarrig,\nhe was the bridegroom.\n\n\"I must give you a present,\" said the bride to the Queen. \"Here is a\nbeautiful scarf which you are to wear as a girdle this evening.\"\n\nThe Queen put the scarf round her waist.\n\n\"Tell me now,\" said the bride to the Queen, \"who was Ur's father.\"\n\n\"What father could he have but his own father, the King of Erin?\"\n\n\"Tighten, scarf,\" said the bride.\n\nThat moment the Queen thought that her head was in the sky and the lower\nhalf of her body down deep in the earth.\n\n\"Oh, my grief and my woe!\" cried the Queen.\n\n\"Answer my question in truth, and the scarf will stop squeezing you. Who\nwas Ur's father?\"\n\n\"The gardener,\" said the Queen.\n\n\"Whose son is Arthur?\"\n\n\"The King's son.\"\n\n\"Tighten, scarf,\" said the bride.\n\nIf the Queen suffered before, she suffered twice as much this time, and\nscreamed for help.\n\n\"Answer me truly, and you'll be without pain; if not, death will be on\nyou this minute. Whose son is Arthur?\"\n\n\"The swineherd's.\"\n\n\"Who is the King's son?\"\n\n\"The King has no son but Lawn Dyarrig.\"\n\n\"Tighten, scarf.\"\n\nThe scarf did not tighten, and if the Queen had been commanding it a day\nand a year it would not have tightened, for the Queen told the truth\nthat time. When the wedding was over, the King gave Lawn Dyarrig half\nhis kingdom, and made Ur and Arthur his servants.\n\nJEREMIAH CURTIN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Horned Women\n\n\nA rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool while all\nthe family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at the\ndoor, and a voice called out, \"Open! Open!\"\n\n\"Who is there?\" said the woman of the house.\n\n\"I am the Witch of the One Horn,\" was answered.\n\nThe mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and\nrequired assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in her\nhand a pair of wool carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead, as if\ngrowing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to card\nthe wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud, \"Where\nare the women; they delay too long?\"\n\nThen a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before,\n\"Open! Open!\"\n\nThe mistress felt herself constrained to rise and open to the call, and\nimmediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead,\nand in her hand a wheel for spinning wool.\n\n\"Give me place,\" she said; \"I am the Witch of the Two Horns\"; and she\nbegan to spin as quick as lightning.\n\nAnd so the knocks went on, and the call was heard and the witches\nentered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire--the first with\none horn, the last with twelve horns.\n\nAnd they carded the thread and turned their spinning-wheels, and wound\nand wove.\n\nAll singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did they speak to the\nmistress of the house. Strange to hear and frightful to look upon were\nthese twelve women, with their horns and their wheels; and the mistress\nfelt near to death, and she tried to rise that she might call for help,\nbut she could not move, nor could she utter a word or a cry, for the\nspell of the witches was upon her.\n\nThen one of them called to her in Irish, and said, \"Rise, woman, and\nmake us a cake.\" Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water\nfrom the well that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she\ncould find none.\n\nAnd they said to her, \"Take a sieve, and bring water in it.\" And she\ntook the sieve, and went to the well; but the water poured from it, and\nshe could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by the well and\nwept.\n\nThen came a voice by her, and said, \"Take yellow clay and moss and bind\nthem together, and plaster the sieve so that it will hold.\"\n\nThis she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake; and the voice\nsaid again:\n\n\"Return, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house cry aloud\nthree times, and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the sky over\nit is all on fire.'\"\n\nAnd she did so.\n\nWhen the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke\nfrom their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and\nshrieks, and fled away to Slievenamon, where was their chief abode. But\nthe Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and\nprepare her home against the enchantments of the witches, if they\nreturned again.\n\nAnd first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she\nhad washed her child's feet (the feet-water) outside the door on the\nthreshold; secondly, she took the cake which the witches had made in her\nabsence, of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family,\nand she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth of each\nsleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they had woven,\nand placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock; and,\nlastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam fastened in the\njambs, so that they could not enter, and having done these things she\nwaited.\n\nNot long were the witches in coming, and they raged and called for\nvengeance.\n\n\"Open! Open!\" they screamed. \"Open, feet-water!\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the feet-water; \"I am scattered on the ground, and my\npath is down to the Lough.\"\n\n\"Open, open, wood and trees and beam!\" they cried to the door.\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the door, \"for the beam is fixed in the jambs, and I\nhave no power to move.\"\n\n\"Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!\" they cried\nagain.\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the cake, \"for I am broken and bruised, and my blood is\non the lips of the sleeping children.\"\n\nThen the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back\nto Slievenamon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well, who\nhad wished their ruin. But the woman and the house were left in peace,\nand a mantle dropped by one of the witches was kept hung up by the\nmistress as a sign of the night's awful contest; and this mantle was in\npossession of the same family from generation to generation for five\nhundred years after.\n\nLADY WILDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Quare Gander\n\n\n\"Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well to do; an' he rinted the\nbiggest farm on this side iv the Galties; an' bein' mighty cute an' a\nsevare worker, it was small wonder he turned a good penny every harvest.\nBut, unluckily, he was blessed with an ilegant large family iv\ndaughters, an' iv coorse, his heart was allamost bruck, striving to make\nup fortunes for the whole of them. An' there wasn't a conthrivance iv\nany soart or description for makin' money out iv the farm but he was up\nto.\n\n\"Well, among the other ways he had iv gettin' up in the world he always\nkep a power iv turkeys, and all soarts iv poultrey; an' he was out iv\nall rason partial to geese--an' small blame to him for that same--for\ntwice't a year you can pluck them as bare as my hand--an' get a fine\nprice for the feathers, an' plenty of rale sizable eggs--an' when they\nare too ould to lay any more, you can kill them, an' sell them to the\ngintlemen for goslings, d'ye see, let alone that a goose is the most\nmanly bird that is out.\n\n\"Well, it happened in the coorse iv time that one ould gandher tuck a\nwondherful likin' to Terence, an' divil a place he could go serenadin'\nabout the farm, or lookin' afther the men, but the gandher id be at his\nheels, an' rubbin' himself agin his legs, an' lookin' up in his face\njist like any other Christian id do; an', begorra, the likes iv it was\nnever seen--Terence Mooney an' the gandher wor so great.\n\n\"An' at last the bird was so engagin' that Terence would not allow it to\nbe plucked any more, an' kep it from that time out for love an'\naffection--just all as one like one iv his childer.\n\n\"But happiness in perfection never lasts long, an' the neighbours\nbegin'd to suspect the nathur an' intentions iv the gandher, an' some iv\nthem said it was the divil, an' more iv them that it was a fairy.\n\n\"Well, Terence could not but hear something of what was sayin', an' you\nmay be sure he was not altogether asy in his mind about it, an' from one\nday to another he was gettin' more ancomfortable in himself, until he\ndetarmined to sind for Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor, in Garryowen, an'\nit's he was the illigant hand at the business, an' divil a sperit id say\na crass word to him, no more nor a priest. An', moreover, he was very\ngreat wid ould Terence Mooney--this man's father that was.\n\n\"So without more about it he was sint for, an', sure enough, the divil a\nlong he was about it, for he kem back that very evenin' along wid the\nboy that was sint for him, an' as soon as he was there, an' tuck his\nsupper, an' was done talkin' for a while, he begin'd, of coorse, to look\ninto the gandher.\n\n\"Well, he turned it this away an' that away, to the right an' to the\nleft, an' straight-ways an' upside-down, an' when he was tired handlin'\nit, says he to Terence Mooney:\n\n\"'Terence,' says he, 'you must remove the bird into the next room,' says\nhe, 'an' put a petticoat,' says he, 'or anny other convaynience round\nhis head,' says he.\n\n\"'An' why so?' says Terence.\n\n\"'Becase,' says Jer, says he.\n\n\"'Becase what?' says Terence.\n\n\"'Becase,' says Jer, 'if it isn't done you'll never be asy agin,' says\nhe, 'or pusillanimous in your mind,' says he; 'so ax no more questions,\nbut do my biddin',' says he.\n\n\"'Well,' says Terence, 'have your own way,' says he.\n\n\"An' wid that he tuck the ould gandher an' giv' it to one iv the\ngossoons.\n\n\"'An' take care,' says he, 'don't smother the crathur,' says he.\n\n\"Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan, says he:\n\n\"'Do you know what that old gandher _is_, Terence Mooney?'\n\n\"'Divil a taste,' says Terence.\n\n\"'Well, then,' says Jer, 'the gandher is your own father,' says he.\n\n\"'It's jokin' you are,' says Terence, turnin' mighty pale; 'how can an\nould gandher be my father?' says he.\n\n\"'I'm not funnin' you at all,' says Jer; 'it's thrue what I tell you,\nit's your father's wandhrin' sowl,' says he, 'that's naturally tuck\npissession iv the ould gandher's body,' says he. 'I know him many ways,\nand I wondher,' says he, 'you do not know the cock iv his eye yourself,'\nsays he.\n\n\"'Oh, blur an' ages!' says Terence, 'what the divil will I ever do at\nall at all,' says he; 'it's all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve\ntimes at the laste,' says he.\n\n\"'That can't be helped now,' says Jer; 'it was a sevare act, surely,'\nsays he, 'but it's too late to lamint for it now,' says he; 'the only\nway to prevint what's past,' says he, 'is to put a stop to it before it\nhappens,' says he.\n\n\"'Thrue for you,' says Terence, 'but how the divil did you come to the\nknowledge iv my father's sowl,' says he, 'bein' in the ould gandher,'\nsays he.\n\n\"'If I tould you,' says Jer, 'you would not undherstand me,' says he,\n'without book-larnin' an' gasthronomy,' says he; 'so ax me no\nquestions,' says he, 'an' I'll tell you no lies. But b'lieve me in this\nmuch,' says he, 'it's your father that's in it,' says he; 'an' if I\ndon't make him spake to-morrow mornin',' says he, 'I'll give you lave to\ncall me a fool,' says he.\n\n\"'Say no more,' says Terence; 'that settles the business,' says he; 'an'\noh, blur and ages! is it not a quare thing,' says he, 'for a dacent,\nrespictable man,' says he, 'to be walkin' about the counthry in the\nshape iv an ould gandher,' says he; 'and oh, murdher, murdher! is not\nit often I plucked him,' says he, 'an' tundher and ouns! might not I\nhave ate him?' says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration,\nsavin' your prisince, an' on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare notions\niv it.\n\n\"Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry to him, quite an'\nasy:\n\n\"'Terence,' says he, 'don't be aggravatin' yourself,' says he; 'for I\nhave a plan composed that 'ill make him spake out,' says he, 'an' tell\nwhat it is in the world he's wantin',' says he; 'an' mind an' don't be\ncomin' in wid your gosther, an' to say agin anything I tell you,' says\nhe, 'but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought back,' says he,\n'how that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to market,' says he.\n'An' if he don't spake to-night,' says he, 'or gother himself out iv the\nplace,' says he, 'put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the\ncart,' says he, 'straight to Tipperary, to be sould for ating,' says he,\n'along wid the two gossoons,' says he, 'an' my name isn't Jer Garvan,'\nsays he, 'if he doesn't spake out before he's half-way,' says he. 'An'\nmind,' says he, 'as soon as iver he says the first word,' says he, 'that\nvery minute bring him aff to Father Crotty,' says he; 'an' if his\nraverince doesn't make him ratire,' says he, 'like the rest iv his\nparishioners, glory be to God,' says he, 'into the siclusion iv the\nflames iv purgathory,' says he, 'there's no vartue in my charums,' says\nhe.\n\n\"Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they\nall begin'd to talk iv sindin' him the nixt mornin' to be sould for\nroastin' in Tipperary, jist as if it was a thing andoubtingly settled.\nBut divil a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking iv\nthe Lord-Liftinant; an' Terence desired the boys to get ready the kish\nfor the poulthry, an' to 'settle it out wid hay soft an' shnug,' says\nhe, 'for it's the last jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this\nworld,' says he.\n\n\"Well, as the night was gettin' late, Terence was growin' mighty\nsorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what\nwas goin' to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs wor fairly\nin bed, he brought out some illigint potteen, an' himself an' Jer Garvan\nsot down to it; an', begorra, the more anasy Terence got, the more he\ndhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart betune them. It\nwasn't an imparial, though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't\nanvinted antil short since; but divil a much matther it signifies any\nlonger if a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst\nFather Mathew--the Lord purloin his raverince--begin'd to give the\npledge, an' wid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland.\n\n\"An', begorra, I have the medle myself; an' it's proud I am iv that\nsame, for abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.\n\n\"Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well stop;\n'for enough is as good as a faste,' says he; 'an' I pity the vagabond,'\nsays he, 'that is not able to conthroul his licquor,' says he, 'an' to\nkeep constantly inside iv a pint measure,' says he; an' wid that he\nwished Jer Garvan a good night an' walked out iv the room.\n\n\"But he wint out the wrong door, bein' a thrifle hearty in himself an'\nnot rightly knowin' whether he was standin' on his head or his heels,\nor both iv them at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed,\nwhere did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper that the boys\nhad settled out ready for the gandher in the mornin'. An', sure enough,\nhe sunk down soft an' complate through the hay to the bottom; an' wid\nthe turnin' and roulin' about in the night, the divil a bit iv him but\nwas covered up as shnug as a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin'.\n\n\"So wid the first light, up gets the two boys that wor to take the\nsperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary; an' they cotched the ould\ngandher an' put him in the hamper, an' clapped a good wisp iv hay an the\ntop iv him, an' tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, an' med the\nsign iv the crass over him, in dhread iv any harum, an' put the hamper\nup an the car, wontherin' all the while what in the world was makin' the\nould bird so surprisin' heavy.\n\n\"Well, they wint along quite anasy towards Tipperary, wishin' every\nminute that some iv the neighbours bound the same way id happen to fall\nin with them, for they didn't half like the notions iv havin' no company\nbut the bewitched gandher, an' small blame to them for that same.\n\n\"But although they wor shaking in their skhins in dhread iv the ould\nbird beginnin' to convarse them every minute, they did not let an to one\nanother, but kep singin' an' whistlin' like mad to keep the dread out iv\ntheir hearts.\n\n\"Well, afther they wor on the road betther nor half an hour, they kem to\nthe bad bit close by Father Crotty's, an' there was one divil of a rut\nthree feet deep at the laste; an' the car got sich a wondherful chuck\ngoin' through it that it wakened Terence widin in the basket.\n\n\"'Bad luck to ye,' says he, 'my bones is bruck wid yer thricks; what the\ndivil are ye doin' wid me?'\n\n\"'Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?' says the boy that was next to the\ncar, turnin' as white as the top iv a mushroom; 'did ye hear anything\nquare soundin' out iv the hamper?' says he.\n\n\"'No, nor you,' says Thady, turnin' as pale as himself. 'It's the ould\ngandher that's gruntin' wid the shakin' he's gettin',' says he.\n\n\"'Where the divil have ye put me into?' says Terence inside. 'Bad luck\nto your sowls,' says he; 'let me out, or I'll be smothered this minute,'\nsays he.\n\n\"'There's no use in purtending,' says the boy; 'the gandher's spakin',\nglory be to God,' says he.\n\n\"'Let me out, you murdherers,' says Terence.\n\n\"'In the name iv the blessed Vargin,' says Thady, 'an' iv all the holy\nsaints, hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher,' says he.\n\n\"'Who's that, that dar to call me nicknames?' says Terence inside,\nroaring wid the fair passion. 'Let me out, you blasphamious infiddles,'\nsays he, 'or by this crass I'll stretch ye,' says he.\n\n\"'In the name iv all the blessed saints in heaven,' says Thady, 'who the\ndivil are ye?'\n\n\"'Who the divil would I be, but Terence Mooney,' says he. 'It's myself\nthat's in it, you unmerciful bliggards,' says he. 'Let me out, or, by\nthe holy, I'll get out in spite iv yes,' says he, 'an', by jaburs, I'll\nwallop yes in arnest,' says he.\n\n\"'It's ould Terence, sure enough,' says Thady. 'Isn't it cute the fairy\ndocthor found him out?' says he.\n\n\"'I'm an the pint of snuffication,' says Terence. 'Let me out, I tell\nyou, an' wait till I get at ye,' says he, 'for, begorra, the divil a\nbone in your body but I'll powdher,' says he.\n\n\"An' wid that he beginned kickin' and flingin' inside in the hamper, and\ndhrivin' his legs agin the sides iv it, that it was a wonder he did not\nknock it to pieces.\n\n\"Well, as soon as the boys seen that they skelped the ould horse into a\ngallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest's house, through the\nruts, an' over the stones; an' you'd see the hamper fairly flyin' three\nfeet up in the air with the joultin'; glory be to God.\n\n\"So it was small wondher, by the time they got to his raverince's door,\nthe breath was fairly knocked out of poor Terence, so that he was lyin'\nspeechless in the bottom iv the hamper.\n\n\"Well, whin his raverince kem down, they up an' they tould him all that\nhappened, an' how they put the gandher in the hamper, an' how he\nbeginned to spake, an' how he confissed that he was ould Terence Mooney;\nan' they axed his honour to advise them how to get rid iv the sperit for\ngood an' all.\n\n\"So says his raverince, says he:\n\n\"'I'll take my booke,' says he, 'an' I'll read some rale sthrong holy\nbits out iv it,' says he, 'an' do you get a rope and put it round the\nhamper,' says he, 'an' let it swing over the runnin' wather at the\nbridge,' says he, 'an' it's no matther if I don't make the sperit come\nout iv it,' says he.\n\n\"Well, wid that the priest got his horse, and tuck his booke in undher\nhis arm, an' the boys follied his raverince, ladin' the horse down to\nthe bridge, an' divil a word out iv Terence all the way, for he seen it\nwas no use spakin', an' he was afeard if he med any noise they might\nthrait him to another gallop an' finish him intirely.\n\n\"Well, as soon as they wor all come to the bridge, the boys tuck the\nrope they had wid them an' med it fast to the top iv the hamper, an'\nswung it fairly over the bridge, lettin' it hang in the air about twelve\nfeet out iv the wather.\n\n\"And his raverince rode down to the bank of the river close by, an'\nbeginned to read mighty loud and bould intirely.\n\n\"An' whin he was goin' on about five minutes, all at onst the bottom iv\nthe hamper kem out, an' down wint Terence, falling splash into the\nwather, an' the ould gandher a-top iv him. Down they both wint to the\nbottom, wid a souse you'd hear half a mile off.\n\n\"An' before they had time to rise agin, his raverince, wid the fair\nastonishment, giv his horse one dig iv the spurs, an' before he knew\nwhere he was, in he wint, horse an' all, a-top iv them, an' down to the\nbottom.\n\n\"Up they all kem agin together, gaspin' and puffin', an' off down wid\nthe current wid them, like shot in under the arch iv the bridge till\nthey kem to the shallow wather.\n\n\"The ould gandher was the first out, and the priest and Terence kem\nnext, pantin' an' blowin' an' more than half dhrounded, an' his\nraverince was so freckened wid the dhroundin' he got and wid the sight\niv the sperit, as he consaved, that he wasn't the better of it for a\nmonth.\n\n\"An' as soon as Terence could spake he swore he'd have the life of the\ntwo gossoons; but Father Crotty would not give him his will. An' as soon\nas he was got quiter they all endivoured to explain it; but Terence\nconsaved he went raly to bed the night before, an' his wife said the\nsame to shilter him from the suspision for havin' th' dhrop taken. An'\nhis raverince said it was a mysthery, an' swore if he cotched anyone\nlaughin' at the accident he'd lay the horsewhip across their shoulders.\n\n\"An' Terence grew fonder an' fonder iv the gandher every day, until at\nlast he died in a wondherful old age, lavin' the gandher afther him an'\na large family iv childher.\n\n\"An' to this day the farm is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's lenial\nand legitimate postariors.\"\n\nJOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fairies' Passage\n\n\n  Tap, tap, rap, rap! \"Get up, gaffer Ferryman.\"\n  \"Eh! Who is there?\" The clock strikes three.\n  \"Get up, do, gaffer! You are the very man\n  We have been long, long, longing to see.\"\n  The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling,\n  And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling\n  Over the wares on his way to the door.\n  But he sees no more\n  Than he saw before,\n  Till a voice is heard: \"O Ferryman, dear!\n  Here we are waiting, all of us, here.\n  We are a wee, wee colony, we;\n  Some two hundred in all, or three.\n  Ferry us over the River Lee\n  Ere dawn of day,\n  And we will pay\n  The most we may\n  In our own wee way!\"\n\n  \"Who are you? Whence came you?\n  What place are you going to?\"\n  \"Oh, we have dwelt over-long in this land:\n  The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too!\n  Nothing at all but they now understand.\n  We are daily vanishing under the thunder\n  Of some huge engine or iron wonder;\n  That iron--ah! it has entered our souls.\"\n  \"Your souls? O gholes!\n  You queer little drolls,\n  Do you mean ----?\" \"Good gaffer, do aid us with speed,\n  For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!\n  And a very long way we have to go:\n  Eight or ten thousand miles or so,\n  Hither and thither, and to and fro,\n  With our pots and pans\n  And little gold cans;\n  But our light caravans\n  Run swifter than man's.\"\n\n  \"Well, well, you may come,\" said the ferryman affably;\n  \"Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge.\"\n  Then again to the little folk: \"Tho' you seem laughably\n  Small, I don't mind, if your coppers be large.\"\n  Oh, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing\n  (The watermen making vain efforts at hushing\n  The hubbub the while), there followed these words!\n  What clapping of boards,\n  What strapping of cords,\n  What stowing away of children and wives,\n  And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives!\n  Till all had safely got into the boat,\n  And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat,\n  And his wee little fairies were safely afloat;\n  Then ding, ding, ding,\n  And kling, kling, kling,\n  How the coppers did ring\n  In the tin pitcherling!\n\n  Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,\n  Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while\n  It swayed and it swagged this and that way, and presently\n  Chest after chest, and pile after pile\n  Of the little folk's goods began tossing and rolling,\n  And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling.\n  O Mab! if the hubbub were great before,\n  It was now some two or three million times more.\n  Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks\n  Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;\n  And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries:\n  \"Take care!\"--\"See there!\"--\"Oh, dear, my eyes!\"--\n  \"I am killed!\"--\"I am drowned!\"--with groans and sighs,\n  Till to land they drew.\n  \"Yeo-ho! Pull to!\n  Tiller-rope, thro' and thro'!\"\n  And all's right anew.\n  \"Now jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities.\n  (Eh, what is this?... Where are they, at all?\n  Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?\n  Well, as I live!\"....) He looks blank as a wall,\n  Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes,\n  But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes\n  Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone,\n  And he stands alone,\n  Like a statue of stone,\n  In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,\n  And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear,\n  With other odd sounds: \"Ha, ha, ha, ha!\n  Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee, quee! bah, bah!\n  Fizzigigiggidy! pshee! sha, sha!\"\n  \"O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!\"\n  The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,\n  And there, alas, to his horror perceives\n  That the little folk's mode of making him richer\n  Has been to pay him with withered leaves!\n\nJAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.\n\n\n\n\nThe King of the Black Desert\n\nThis story was told by one Laurence O'Flynn from near Swinford, in the\nCounty Mayo, to my friend, the late F. O'Conor, of Athlone, from whom I\ngot it in Irish. It is the eleventh story in the \"Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach,\"\nand is here for the first time literally translated into English.\n\nAN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.\n\n\nWhen O'Conor was King over Ireland he was living in Rathcroghan, of\nConnacht. He had one son, but he, when he grew up, was wild, and the\nKing could not control him, because he would have his own will in\neverything.\n\nOne morning he went out--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  And his hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him--\n\nand he went forward, singing a verse of a song to himself, until he came\nas far as a big bush that was growing on the brink of a glen. There was\na grey old man sitting at the foot of the bush, and he said, \"King's\nson, if you are able to play as well as you are able to sing songs, I\nwould like to play a game with you.\" The King's son thought that it was\na silly old man that was in it, and he alighted, threw bridle over\nbranch, and sat down by the side of the grey old man.\n\nThe old man drew out a pack of cards and asked, \"Can you play these?\"\n\n\"I can,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"What shall we play for?\" said the grey old man.\n\n\"Anything you wish,\" says the King's son.\n\n\"All right; if I win you must do for me anything I shall ask of you, and\nif you win I must do for you anything you ask of me,\" says the grey old\nman.\n\n\"I'm satisfied,\" says the King's son.\n\nThey played the game, and the King's son beat the grey old man. Then he\nsaid, \"What would you like me to do for you, King's son?\"\n\n\"I won't ask you to do anything for me,\" says the King's son. \"I think\nthat you are not able to do much.\"\n\n\"Don't mind that,\" said the old man. \"You must ask me to do something. I\nnever lost a bet yet that I wasn't able to pay it.\"\n\nAs I said, the King's son thought that it was a silly old man that was\nin it, and to satisfy him he said to him, \"Take the head off my\nstepmother and put a goat's head on her for a week.\"\n\n\"I'll do that for you,\" said the grey old man. The King's son went\na-riding on his horse--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand he faced for another place, and never thought more about the grey\nold man until he came home.\n\nHe found a cry and great grief in the castle. The servants told him that\nan enchanter had come into the room where the Queen was, and had put a\ngoat's head on her in place of her own head.\n\n\"By my hand, but that's a wonderful thing,\" says the King's son. \"If I\nhad been at home I'd have whipt the head off him with my sword.\"\n\nThere was great grief on the King, and he sent for a wise councillor,\nand asked him did he know how the thing happened to the Queen.\n\n\"Indeed, I cannot tell you that,\" said he; \"it's a work of enchantment.\"\n\nThe King's son did not let on that he had any knowledge of the matter,\nbut on the morrow morning he went out--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him--\n\nand he never drew rein until he came as far as the big bush on the brink\nof the glen. The grey old man was sitting there under the bush, and\nsaid, \"King's son, will you have a game to-day?\" The King's son got down\nand said, \"I will.\" With that he threw bridle over branch and sat down\nby the side of the old man. He drew out the cards and asked the King's\nson did he get the thing he had won yesterday.\n\n\"That's all right,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"We'll play for the same bet to-day,\" says the grey old man.\n\n\"I'm satisfied,\" said the King's son.\n\nThey played--the King's son won. \"What would you like me to do for you\nthis time?\" says the grey old man. The King's son thought and said to\nhimself, \"I'll give him a hard job this time.\" Then he said, \"There's a\nfield of seven acres at the back of my father's castle; let it be filled\nto-morrow morning with cows, and no two of them to be of one colour, or\none height, or one age.\"\n\n\"That shall be done,\" says the grey old man.\n\nThe King's son went riding on his horse--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand faced for home. The King was sorrowful about the Queen; there were\ndoctors out of every place in Ireland, but they could not do her any\ngood.\n\nOn the morning of the next day the King's herd went out early, and he\nsaw the field at the back of the castle filled with cows, and no two of\nthem of the same colour, the same age, or the same height. He went in\nand told the King the wonderful news. \"Go and drive them out,\" says the\nKing. The herd got men, and went with them driving out the cows, but no\nsooner would he put them out on one side than they would come in on the\nother. The herd went to the King again, and told him that all the men\nthat were in Ireland would not be able to put out these cows that were\nin the field. \"They're enchanted cows,\" said the King.\n\nWhen the King's son saw the cows, he said to himself, \"I'll have\nanother game with the grey old man to-day!\" That morning he went out--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him--\n\nand he never drew rein till he came as far as the big bush on the brink\nof the glen. The grey old man was there before him, and asked him would\nhe have a game of cards.\n\n\"I will,\" says the King's son; \"but you know well that I can beat you\nplaying cards.\"\n\n\"We'll have another game, then,\" says the grey old man. \"Did you ever\nplay ball?\"\n\n\"I did, indeed,\" said the King's son; \"but I think that you are too old\nto play ball, and, besides that, we have no place here to play it.\"\n\n\"If you're contented to play, I'll find a place,\" says the grey old man.\n\n\"I'm contented,\" says the King's son.\n\n\"Follow me,\" says the grey old man.\n\nThe King's son followed him through the glen until he came to a fine\ngreen hill. There he drew out a little enchanted rod, spoke some words\nwhich the King's son did not understand, and after a moment the hill\nopened and the two went in, and they passed through a number of splendid\nhalls until they came out into a garden. There was everything finer than\nanother in that garden, and at the bottom of the garden there was a\nplace for playing ball. They threw up a piece of silver to see who would\nhave hand-in, and the grey old man got it.\n\nThey began then, and the grey old man never stopped until he won out the\ngame. The King's son did not know what he would do. At last he asked the\nold man what would he desire him to do for him.\n\n\"I am King over the Black Desert, and you must find out myself and my\ndwelling-place within a year and a day, or I shall find you out and you\nshall lose your head.\"\n\nThen he brought the King's son out the same way by which he went in. The\ngreen hill closed behind them, and the grey old man disappeared out of\nsight.\n\nThe King's son went home, riding on his horse--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand he sorrowful enough.\n\nThat evening the King observed that there was grief and great trouble on\nhis young son, and when he went to sleep the King and every person that\nwas in the castle heard heavy sighings and ravings from him. The King\nwas in grief--a goat's head to be on the Queen--but he was seven times\nworse when they told him the (whole) story how it happened from\nbeginning to end.\n\nHe sent for a wise councillor, and asked him did he know where the King\nof the Black Desert was living.\n\n\"I do not, indeed,\" said he; \"but as sure as there's a tail on the cat,\nunless the young heir finds out that enchanter he will lose his head.\"\n\nThere was great grief that day in the castle of the King. There was a\ngoat's head on the Queen, and the King's son was going searching for an\nenchanter, without knowing whether he would ever come back.\n\nAfter a week the goat's head was taken off the Queen, and her own head\nwas put upon her. When she heard of how the goat's head was put upon\nher, a great hate came upon her against the King's son, and she said\n\"that he may never come back, alive or dead.\"\n\nOf a Monday morning he left his blessing with his father and his\nkindred; his travelling bag was bound upon his shoulder, and he went--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him.\n\nHe walked that day until the sun was gone beneath the shadow of the\nhills and till the darkness of the night was coming, without knowing\nwhere he could get lodgings. He noticed a large wood on his left-hand\nside, and he drew towards it as quickly as he could, hoping to spend the\nnight under the shelter of the trees. He sat down at the foot of a large\noak tree, and opened his travelling bag to take some food and drink,\nwhen he saw a great eagle coming towards him.\n\n\"Do not be afraid of me, King's son; I know you--you are the son of\nO'Conor, King of Ireland. I am a friend, and if you give me your horse\nto give to eat to four hungry birds that I have, I shall bear you\nfarther than your horse would bear you, and, perhaps, I would put you on\nthe track of him you are looking for.\"\n\n\"You can have the horse, and welcome,\" says the King's son, \"although\nI'm sorrowful at parting from him.\"\n\n\"All right, I shall be here to-morrow at sunrise.\" With that she opened\nher great gob, caught hold of the horse, struck in his two sides against\none another, took wing, and disappeared out of sight.\n\nThe King's son ate and drank his enough, put his travelling bag under\nhis head, and it was not long till he was asleep, and he never awoke\ntill the eagle came and said, \"It is time for us to be going; there is a\nlong journey before us. Take hold of your bag and leap up upon my back.\"\n\n\"But to my grief,\" says he, \"I must part from my hound and my hawk.\"\n\n\"Do not be grieved,\" says she; \"they will be here before you when you\ncome back.\"\n\nThen he leaped up on her back. She took wing, and off and away with her\nthrough the air. She brought him across hills and hollows, over a great\nsea, and over woods, till he thought that he was at the end of the\nworld. When the sun was going under the shadow of the hills, she came to\nearth in the midst of a great desert, and said to him, \"Follow the path\non your right-hand side, and it will bring you to the house of a friend.\nI must return again to provide for my birds.\"\n\nHe followed the path, and it was not long till he came to the house, and\nhe went in. There was a grey old man sitting in the corner. He rose and\nsaid, \"A hundred thousand welcomes to you, King's son, from Rathcroghan\nof Connacht.\"\n\n\"I have no knowledge of you,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"I was acquainted with your grandfather,\" said the grey old man. \"Sit\ndown; no doubt there is hunger and thirst on you.\"\n\n\"I'm not free from them,\" said the King's son.\n\nThe old man then smote his two palms against one another, and two\nservants came and laid a board with beef, mutton, pork, and plenty of\nbread before the King's son, and the old man said to him:\n\n\"Eat and drink your enough. Perhaps it may be a long time before you get\nthe like again.\"\n\nHe ate and drank as much as he desired, and thanked him for it.\n\nThen the old man said, \"You are going seeking for the King of the Black\nDesert. Go to sleep now, and I will go through my books to see if I can\nfind out the dwelling-place of that King.\" Then he smote his palms\ntogether, and a servant came, and he told him, \"Take the King's son to\nhis chamber.\" He took him to a fine chamber, and it was not long till he\nfell asleep.\n\nOn the morning of the next day the old man came and said:\n\n\"Rise up, there is a long journey before you. You must do five hundred\nmiles before midday.\"\n\n\"I could not do it,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"If you are a good rider I will give you a horse that will bring you\nover the journey.\"\n\n\"I will do as you say,\" said the King's son.\n\nThe old man gave him plenty to eat and to drink, and, when he was\nsatisfied, he gave him a little white garron, and said, \"Give the garron\nhis head, and when he stops look up into the air, and you will see three\nswans as white as snow. Those are the three daughters of the King of the\nBlack Desert. There will be a green napkin in the mouth of one of them:\nthat is the youngest daughter, and there is not anyone alive except her\nwho could bring you to the house of the King of the Black Desert. When\nthe garron stops you will be near a lake. The three swans will come to\nland on the brink of that lake, and they will make three young women of\nthemselves, and they will go into the lake swimming and dancing. Keep\nyour eye on the green napkin, and when you get the young women in the\nlake, go and get the napkin, and do not part with it. Go into hiding\nunder a tree, and when the young women will come out, two of them will\nmake swans of themselves, and will go away in the air. Then the youngest\ndaughter will say, \"I will do anything for him who will give me my\nnapkin.\" Come forward then and give her the napkin, and say there is\nnothing you want but to bring you to her father's house, and tell her\nyou are a king's son from a powerful country.\"\n\nThe King's son did everything as the old man desired him, and when he\ngave the napkin to the daughter of the King of the Black Desert, he\nsaid, \"I am the son of O'Conor, King of Connaught. Bring me to your\nfather. Long am I seeking him.\"\n\n\"Would not it be better for me to do something else for you?\" said she.\n\n\"I do not want anything else,\" said he.\n\n\"If I show you the house will you not be satisfied?\" said she.\n\n\"I will be satisfied,\" said he.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"upon your life do not tell my father that it was I who\nbrought you to his house, and I shall be a good friend to you; but let\non,\" said she, \"that you have great powers of enchantment.\"\n\n\"I will do as you say,\" says he.\n\nThen she made a swan of herself, and said, \"Leap up on my back and put\nyour hands under my neck, and keep a hard hold.\"\n\nHe did so, and she shook her wings, and off and away with her over hills\nand over glens, over sea and over mountains, until she came to earth as\nthe sun was going under. Then she said to him, \"Do you see that great\nhouse yonder? That is my father's house. Farewell. Any time that you are\nin danger I shall be at your side.\" Then she went from him.\n\nThe King's son went to the house and went in, and who should he see\nsitting in a golden chair but the grey old man who had played the cards\nand the ball with him.\n\n\"King's son,\" said he, \"I see that you have found me out before the day\nand the year. How long since you left home?\"\n\n\"This morning, when I was rising out of my bed, I saw a rainbow. I gave\na leap, spread my two legs on it, and slid as far as this.\"\n\n\"By my hand, it was a great feat you performed,\" said the old King.\n\n\"I could do a more wonderful thing than that if I chose,\" said the\nKing's son.\n\n\"I have three things for you to do,\" says the old King, \"and if you are\nable to do them, you shall have the choice of my three daughters for\nwife, and unless you are able to do them, you shall lose your head, as a\ngood many other young men have lost it before you.\"\n\n\"Then,\" he said, \"there be's neither eating nor drinking in my house\nexcept once in the week, and we had it this morning.\"\n\n\"It's all one to me,\" said the King's son. \"I could fast for a month if\nI were on a pinch.\"\n\n\"No doubt you can go without sleep also,\" says the old King.\n\n\"I can, without doubt,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"You shall have a hard bed to-night, then,\" says the old King. \"Come\nwith me till I show it to you.\" He brought him out then and showed him a\ngreat tree with a fork in it, and said, \"Get up there and sleep in the\nfork, and be ready with the rise of the sun.\"\n\nHe went up into the fork, but as soon as the old King was asleep the\nyoung daughter came and brought him into a fine room, and kept him there\nuntil the old King was about to rise. Then she put him out again into\nthe fork of the tree.\n\nWith the rise of the sun the old King came to him, and said, \"Come down\nnow and come with me until I show you the thing that you have to do\nto-day.\"\n\nHe brought the King's son to the brink of a lake and showed him an old\ncastle, and said to him, \"Throw every stone in that castle out into the\nloch, and let you have it done before the sun goes down in the evening.\"\nHe went away from him then.\n\nThe King's son began working, but the stones were stuck to one another\nso fast that he was not able to raise one of them, and if he were to be\nworking until this day, there would not be one stone out of the castle.\nHe sat down then, thinking what he ought to do, and it was not long\nuntil the daughter of the old King came to him and said, \"What is the\ncause of your grief?\" He told her the work which he had to do. \"Let that\nput no grief on you; I will do it,\" said she. Then she gave him bread,\nmeat, and wine, pulled out a little enchanted rod, struck a blow on the\nold castle, and in a moment every stone of it was at the bottom of the\nlake. \"Now,\" said she, \"do not tell my father that it was I who did the\nwork for you.\"\n\nWhen the sun was going down in the evening, the old King came and said,\n\"I see that you have your day's work done.\"\n\n\"I have,\" said the King's son; \"I can do any work at all.\"\n\nThe old King thought now that the King's son had great powers of\nenchantment, and he said to him, \"Your day's work for to-morrow is to\nlift the stones out of the loch, and to set up the castle again as it\nwas before.\"\n\nHe brought the King's son home, and said to him, \"Go to sleep in the\nplace where you were last night.\"\n\nWhen the old King went to sleep the young daughter came and brought him\ninto the fine chamber, and kept him there till the old King was about to\nrise in the morning. Then she put him out again in the fork of the tree.\n\nAt sunrise the old King came and said, \"It's time for you to get to\nwork.\"\n\n\"There's no hurry on me at all,\" says the King's son, \"because I know I\ncan readily do my day's work.\"\n\nHe then went to the brink of the lake, but he was not able to see a\nstone, the water was that black. He sat down on a rock, and it was not\nlong until Finnuala--that was the name of the old King's daughter--came\nto him and said, \"What have you to do to-day?\" He told her, and she\nsaid, \"Let there be no grief on you. I can do that work for you.\" Then\nshe gave him bread, beef, mutton, and wine. After that she drew out the\nlittle enchanted rod, smote the water of the lake with it, and in a\nmoment the old castle was set up as it had been the day before. Then she\nsaid to him, \"On your life, don't tell my father that I did this work\nfor you, or that you have any knowledge of me at all.\"\n\nOn the evening of that day the old King came and said, \"I see that you\nhave the day's work done.\"\n\n\"I have,\" said the King's son; \"that was an easy-done job.\"\n\nThen the old King thought that the King's son had more power of\nenchantment than he had himself, and he said, \"You have only one other\nthing to do.\" He brought him home then, and put him to sleep in the fork\nof the tree, but Finnuala came and put him into the fine chamber, and in\nthe morning she sent him out again into the tree. At sunrise the old\nKing came to him, and said, \"Come with me till I show you your day's\nwork.\"\n\nHe brought the King's son to a great glen, and showed him a well, and\nsaid, \"My grandmother lost a ring in that well, and do you get it for me\nbefore the sun goes under this morning.\"\n\nNow, this well was one hundred feet deep and twenty feet round about,\nand it was filled with water, and there was an army out of hell watching\nthe ring.\n\nWhen the old King went away Finnuala came and asked, \"What have you to\ndo to-day?\" He told her, and she said, \"That is a difficult task, but I\nshall do my best to save your life.\" Then she gave him beef, bread, and\nwine. Then she made a diver of herself, and went down into the well. It\nwas not long till he saw smoke and lightning coming up out of the well,\nand he heard a sound like thunder, and anyone who would be listening to\nthat noise, he would think that the army of hell was fighting.\n\nAt the end of a while the smoke went away, the lightning and thunder\nceased, and Finnuala came up with the ring. She handed the ring to the\nKing's son, and said, \"I won the battle, and your life is saved. But,\nlook, the little finger of my right hand is broken. But perhaps it's a\nlucky thing that it was broken. When my father comes do not give him\nthe ring, but threaten him stoutly. He will bring you, then, to choose\nyour wife, and this is how you shall make your choice. I and my sisters\nwill be in a room; there will be a hole in the door, and we shall all\nput our hands out in a cluster. You will put your hand through the hole,\nand the hand that you will keep hold of when my father will open the\ndoor, that is the hand of her you shall have for wife. You can know me\nby my broken little finger.\"\n\n\"I can; and the love of my heart you are, Finnuala,\" says the King's\nson.\n\nOn the evening of that day the old King came and asked, \"Did you get my\ngrandmother's ring?\"\n\n\"I did, indeed,\" says the King's son. \"There was an army out of hell\nguarding it, but I beat them; and I would beat seven times as many.\nDon't you know I'm a Connachtman?\"\n\n\"Give me the ring,\" says the old King.\n\n\"Indeed, I won't give it,\" says he. \"I fought hard for it. But do you\ngive me my wife; I want to be going.\"\n\nThe old King brought him in, and said, \"My three daughters are in that\nroom before you. The hand of each of them is stretched out, and she on\nwhom you will keep your hold until I open the door, that one is your\nwife.\"\n\nThe King's son thrust his hand through the hole that was in the door,\nand caught hold of the hand with the broken little finger, and kept a\ntight hold of it until the old King opened the door of the room.\n\n\"This is my wife,\" said the King's son. \"Give me now your daughter's\nfortune.\"\n\n\"She has no fortune to get, but the brown slender steed to bring you\nhome, and that ye may never come back, alive or dead!\"\n\nThe King's son and Finnuala went riding on the brown slender steed, and\nit was not long till they came to the wood where the King's son left his\nhound and his hawk. They were there before him, together with his fine\nblack horse. He sent the brown slender steed back then. He set Finnuala\nriding on his horse, and leaped up himself--\n\n  His hound at his heel,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand he never stopped till he came to Rathcroghan.\n\nThere was great welcome before him there, and it was not long till\nhimself and Finnuala were married. They spent a long, prosperous life.\nBut it is scarcely that even the track of this old castle is to be found\nto-day in Rathcroghan of Connacht.\n\nDOUGLAS HYDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Piper and the Puca\n\n\nIn the old times there was a half fool living in Dunmore, in the county\nGalway, and though he was excessively fond of music, he was unable to\nlearn more than one tune, and that was the \"Black Rogue.\" He used to get\na good deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used to get sport out\nof him. One night the Piper was coming home from a house where there had\nbeen a dance, and he half drunk. When he came up to a little bridge that\nwas by his mother's house, he squeezed the pipes on, and began playing\nthe \"Black Rogue.\" The Puca came behind him, and flung him on his own\nback. There were long horns on the Puca, and the Piper got a good grip\nof them, and then he said:\n\n\"Destruction on you, you nasty beast; let me home. I have a\ntenpenny-piece in my pocket for my mother, and she wants snuff.\"\n\n\"Never mind your mother,\" said the Puca, \"but keep your hold. If you\nfall, you will break your neck and your pipes.\" Then the Puca said to\nhim, \"Play up for me the 'Shan Van Vocht.'\"\n\n\"I don't know it,\" said the Piper.\n\n\"Never mind whether you do or you don't,\" said the Puca. \"Play up, and\nI'll make you know.\"\n\nThe Piper put wind in his bag, and he played such music as made himself\nwonder.\n\n\"Upon my word, you're a fine music-master,\" says the Piper, then; \"but\ntell me where you're for bringing me.\"\n\n\"There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of Croagh\nPatric, to-night,\" says the Puca, \"and I'm for bringing you there to\nplay music, and, take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble.\"\n\n\"By my word, you'll save me a journey, then,\" says the Piper, \"for\nFather William put a journey to Croagh Patric on me because I stole the\nwhite gander from him last Martinmas.\"\n\nThe Puca rushed him across hills and bogs and rough places, till he\nbrought him to the top of Croagh Patric.\n\nThen the Puca struck three blows with his foot, and a great door opened\nand they passed in together into a fine room.\n\nThe Piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room, and hundreds of\nold women sitting round about it.\n\nThe old women rose up, and said, \"A hundred thousand welcomes to you,\nyou Puca of November. Who is this you have with you?\"\n\n\"The best Piper in Ireland,\" says the Puca.\n\nOne of the old women struck a blow on the ground, and a door opened in\nthe side of the wall, and what should the Piper see coming out but the\nwhite gander which he had stolen from Father William.\n\n\"By my conscience, then,\" says the Piper, \"myself and my mother ate\nevery taste of that gander, only one wing, and I gave that to Red Mary,\nand it's she told the priest I stole his gander.\"\n\nThe gander cleaned the table, and carried it away, and the Puca said,\n\"Play up music for these ladies.\"\n\nThe Piper played up, and the old women began dancing, and they were\ndancing till they were tired. Then the Puca said to pay the Piper, and\nevery old woman drew out a gold piece and gave it to him.\n\n\"By the tooth of Patric,\" says he, \"I'm as rich as the son of a lord.\"\n\n\"Come with me,\" says the Puca, \"and I'll bring you home.\"\n\nThey went out then, and just as he was going to ride on the Puca, the\ngander came up to him and gave him a new set of pipes.\n\nThe Puca was not long until he brought him to Dunmore, and he threw the\nPiper off at the little bridge, and then he told him to go home, and\nsays to him, \"You have two things now that you never had before--you\nhave sense and music.\" The Piper went home, and he knocked at his\nmother's door, saying, \"Let me in, I'm as rich as a lord, and I'm the\nbest Piper in Ireland.\"\n\n\"You're drunk,\" says the mother.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" says the Piper, \"I haven't drunk a drop.\"\n\nThe mother let him in, and he gave her the gold pieces, and, \"Wait now,\"\nsays he, \"till you hear the music I'll play.\"\n\nHe buckled on the pipes, but instead of music there came a sound as if\nall the geese and ganders in Ireland were screeching together. He\nwakened the neighbours, and they were all mocking him, until he put on\nthe old pipes, and then he played melodious music for them; and after\nthat he told them all he had gone through that night.\n\nThe next morning, when his mother went to look at the gold pieces, there\nwas nothing there but the leaves of a plant.\n\nThe piper went to the priest and told him his story, but the priest\nwould not believe a word from him, until he put the pipes on him, and\nthen the screeching of the ganders and the geese began.\n\n\"Leave my sight, you thief,\" says the priest.\n\nBut nothing would do the Piper till he put the old pipes on him to show\nthe priest that his story was true.\n\nHe buckled on the old pipes, and he played melodious music, and from\nthat day till the day of his death there was never a Piper in the county\nGalway was as good as he was.\n\nDOUGLAS HYDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fairy Changeling\n\n\n  Dermod O'Byrne of Omah town\n  In his garden strode up and down;\n  He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;\n  And this is his trouble and woe confessed:\n\n  \"The good-folk came in the night, and they\n  Have stolen my bonny wean away;\n  Have put in his place a changeling,\n  A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!\n\n  \"From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,\n  And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,\n  I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;\n  But never a word the stranger spoke.\n\n  \"A bar of metal I heated red\n  To frighten the fairy from its bed,\n  To put in the place of this fretting wean\n  My own bright beautiful boy again.\n\n  \"But my wife had hidden it in her arms,\n  And cried, 'For shame!' on my fairy charms;\n  She sobs, with the strange child on her breast,\n  'I love the weak, wee babe the best!'\"\n\n  To Dermod O'Byrne's, the tale to hear,\n  The neighbours came from far and near;\n  Outside his gate, in the long boreen,\n  They crossed themselves, and said between\n\n  Their muttered prayers, \"He has no luck!\n  For sure the woman is fairy-struck,\n  To leave her child a fairy guest,\n  And love the weak, wee wean the best!\"\n\n\nDORA SIGERSON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Talking Head of Donn-bo\n\n\nThere is an old tale told in Erin of a lovable and bright and handsome\nyouth named Donn-bo, who was the best singer of \"Songs of Idleness\" and\nthe best teller of \"King Stories\" in the world. He could tell a tale of\neach king who reigned in Erin, from the \"Tale of the Destruction of Dind\nRigh,\" when Cova Coelbre was killed, down to the kings who reigned in\nhis own time.\n\nOn a night before a battle, the warriors said, \"Make minstrelsy to-night\nfor us, Donn-bo.\" But Donn-bo answered, \"No word at all will come on my\nlips to-night; therefore, for this night let the King-buffoon of Ireland\namuse you. But to-morrow, at this hour, in whatsoever place they and I\nshall be, I will make minstrelsy for the fighting men.\" For the warriors\nhad said that unless Donn-bo would go with them on that hosting, not one\nof them would go.\n\nThe battle was past, and on the evening of the morrow at that same hour\nDonn-bo lay dead, his fair young body stretched across the body of the\nKing of Ireland, for he had died in defending his chief. But his head\nhad rolled away among a wisp of growing rushes by the waterside.\n\nAt the feasting of the army on that night a warrior said, \"Where is\nDonn-bo, that he may make minstrelsy for us, as he promised us at this\nhour yesternight, and that he may tell us the 'King Stories of Erin'?\"\n\nA valiant champion of the men of Munster answered, \"I will go over the\nbattle-field and seek for him.\" He enquired among the living for\nDonn-bo, but he found him not, and then he searched hither and thither\namong the dead.\n\nAt last he came where the body of the King of Erin lay, and a young,\nfair corpse beside it. In all the air about there was the sound of\nminstrelsy, low and very sweet; dead bards and poets reciting in faint\nwhispers old tales and poems to dead chiefs.\n\nThe wild, clear note of the battle-march, the _dord fiansa_, played by\nthe drooping hands of slain warriors upon the points of broken spears,\nlow like the echo of an echo, sounded in the clump of rushes hard by;\nand, above them all, a voice, faint and very still, that sang a song\nthat was sweeter than the tunes of the whole world beside.\n\nThe voice that sang was the voice of the head of Donn-bo. The warrior\nstooped to pick up the head.\n\n\"Do not touch me,\" said the head, \"for we are commanded by the King of\nthe Plains of Heaven to make music to-night for our lord, the King of\nErin, the shining one who lies dead beside us; and though all of us are\nlying dead likewise, no faintness or feebleness shall prevent us from\nobeying that command. Disturb me not.\"\n\n\"The hosts of Leinster are asking thee to make minstrelsy for them, as\nthou didst promise yesternight,\" said the messenger.\n\n\"When my minstrelsy here is done, I will go with thee,\" saith the head;\n\"but only if Christ, the Son of God, in whose presence I now am, go with\nme, and if thou takest me to my body again.\" \"That shall be done,\nindeed,\" saith the messenger, and when it had ceased chanting for the\nKing of Erin he carried away the head.\n\nWhen the messenger came again amongst the warriors they stopped their\nfeasting and gathered round him. \"Hast thou brought anything from the\nbattle-field?\" they cried.\n\n\"I have brought the head of Donn-bo,\" said the man.\n\n\"Set it upon a pillar that we may see and hear it,\" cried they all; and\nthey said, \"It is no luck for thee to be like that, Donn-bo, and thou\nthe most beautiful minstrel and the best in Erin. Make music, for the\nlove of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Amuse the Leinster men to-night as\nthou didst amuse thy lord a while ago.\"\n\nThen Donn-bo turned his face to the wall, that the darkness might be\naround him, and he raised his melody in the quiet night; and the sound\nof that minstrelsy was so piteous and sad that the hosts sat weeping at\nthe sound of it. Then was the head taken to his body, and the neck\njoined itself to the shoulders again, and Donn-bo was at rest.\n\nThis is the story of the \"Talking Head of Donn-bo.\"\n\nELEANOR HULL.\n\n\n\n\nThe Bracket Bull\n\nI wrote this story carefully down, word for word, from the telling of\ntwo men--the first, Shawn Cunningham, of Ballinphuil, and the second,\nMartin Brennan of Ballinlocha, in the barony of Frenchpark. They each\ntold the same story, but Martin Brennan repeated the end of it at\ngreater length than the other. The first half is written down word for\nword from the mouth of Cunningham, the second half from that of Brennan.\n\nAN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.\n\n\nThere was a man in it long ago, and long ago it was, and if he was in it\nthen he would not be in it now. He was married, and his wife was lost\n(i.e., died), and he had only one son by the first wife. Then he married\nthe second wife. This second wife had not much regard for the son, and\nhe was obliged to go out on the mountain, far from the house, to take\ncare of the cattle.\n\nThere was a bracket (speckled) bull amongst the cows out on the\nmountain, and of a day that there was great hunger on the lad, the\nbracket bull heard him complaining and wringing his two hands, and he\nmoved over to him and said to him, \"You are hungry, but take the horn\noff me and lay it on the ground; put your hand into the place where the\nhorn was and you will find food.\"\n\nWhen he heard that he went over to the bull, took hold of the horn,\ntwisted it, and it came away with him in his hand. He laid it on the\nground, put in his hand, and drew out food and drink and a table-cloth.\nHe spread the table-cloth on the ground, set the food and drink on it,\nand then he ate and drank his enough. When he had his enough eaten and\ndrunk, he put the table-cloth back again, and left the horn back in the\nplace where it was before.\n\nWhen he came home that evening he did not eat a bit of his supper, and\nhis stepmother said to herself that he (must have) got something to eat\nout on the mountain since he was not eating any of his supper.\n\nWhen he went out with his cattle the next day his stepmother sent her\nown daughter out after him, and told her to be watching him till she\nshould see where he was getting the food. The daughter went and put\nherself in hiding, and she was watching him until the heat of the day\ncame: but when the middle of the day was come she heard every music more\nexcellent than another, and she was put to sleep by that truly melodious\nmusic. The bull came then, and the lad twisted the horn off him and drew\nout the table-cloth, the food, and the drink, and ate and drunk his\nenough. He put back the horn again then. The music was stopped and the\ndaughter woke up, and was watching him until the evening came, and he\ndrove the cows home then. The mother asked her did she see anything in\nthe field, and she said that she did not. The lad did not eat two bites\nof his supper, and there was wonder on the stepmother.\n\nThe next day when he drove out the cows the stepmother told the second\ndaughter to follow him, and to be watching him till she would see where\nhe was getting things to eat. The daughter followed him and put herself\nin hiding, but when the heat of the day came the music began and she\nfell asleep. The lad took the horn off the bull, drew out the\ntable-cloth, the food, and drink, ate and drank his enough, and put back\nthe horn again. The girl woke then, and was watching him until the\nevening. When the evening came he drove the cows home, and he was not\nable to eat his supper any more than the two evenings before. The\nstepmother asked the daughter did she see anything, and she said she did\nnot. There was wonder on the stepmother.\n\nThe next day, when the lad went out herding the cows, the stepmother\nsent the third daughter out after him, and threatened her not to fall\nasleep, but to have a good watch. The daughter followed the lad, and\nwent into hiding. This daughter had three eyes, for she had an eye in\nthe back of her head. When the bracket bull began playing every music\nmore excellent than another, he put the other eyes to sleep, but he was\nnot able to put the third eye to sleep. When the heat of the day came\nshe saw the bracket bull coming to the boy, and the boy taking the horn\noff him and eating.\n\nShe ran home then, and said to her mother that there wasn't such a\ndinner in the world as was being set before the boy out of the horn of\nthe bracket bull.\n\nThen the mother let on that she was sick, and she killed a cock, and she\nlet down its blood into her bed, and she put up a sup of the blood into\nher mouth, and she sent for her husband, saying that she was finding\ndeath (dying). Her husband came in, and he saw the blood, and he said,\n\"Anything that is in the world that would save her that she must get\nit.\" She said that there wasn't a thing in the world that would save her\nbut a piece of the bracket bull that was on the mountain.\n\n\"You must get that,\" said he.\n\nThe bracket bull used to be the first one of the cattle that used to\ncome in every night, and the stepmother sent for two butchers, and she\nset them on each side of the gate to kill the bracket bull when he would\ncome.\n\nThe bracket bull said to the boy, \"I'll be swept (done for) to-night,\nunless another cow goes before me.\" He put another cow out before him,\nand the two butchers were standing on each side of the gate to kill the\nfirst one that would come in. The bull sent the cow out before him,\ngoing through the gate, and they killed her: and then the stepmother got\na piece of her to eat, and she thought that it was the bracket bull that\nshe was eating, and she got better then.\n\nThe next night, when the lad came home with the cattle, he ate no more\nof his supper than any other night, and there was wonder on the\nstepmother. She heard after this that the bracket bull was in it (i.e.,\nalive) all through, and that he was not killed at that time.\n\nWhen she heard that she killed a cock, and she let down some of its\nblood into her bed, and she put a sup of the blood into her mouth, and\nshe played the same trick over again, and said that there was nothing\nat all to cure her but a piece of the bracket bull.\n\nThe butchers were sent for, and they were ready to kill the bracket bull\nas soon as he came in. The bracket bull sent another one of the cattle\nin before himself, and the butchers killed it. The woman got part of its\nflesh, and she thought it was part of the bracket bull she was eating,\nand she got better.\n\nShe found out afterwards that it was not the bracket bull that was dead,\nand she said, \"Never mind; I'll kill the bracket bull yet!\"\n\nThe next day, when the lad was herding the cows on the mountain, the\nbracket bull came and said to him, \"Take the horn off me and eat your\nenough now. That's the last time for you. They are waiting to kill me\nto-night, but don't you be afraid. It is not they who shall kill me, but\nanother bull shall kill me. Get up on my back now.\"\n\nThe lad got up on his back then and they went home. The two butchers\nwere on each side of the gate waiting for him. The bracket bull struck a\nhorn on each side of him, and he killed the two butchers. Out with him\nthen, and the lad on his back.\n\nHe went into a wild wood, and he himself and the lad spent the night in\nthat wood. He was to fight with the other bull on the next day.\n\nWhen the day came, the bracket bull said, \"Take the horn off me and eat\nyour enough--that's the last luck you have. I am to fight with the other\nbull immediately, and I shall escape from him to-day, but he will have\nme dead to-morrow by twelve o'clock.\"\n\nHimself and the other bull fought that day, and the bracket bull came\nback in the evening, and he himself and the lad passed that night in the\nwood.\n\nWhen the next day came, the bracket bull said to him, \"Twist the horn\noff me and eat your enough--that's the last luck you'll have. Listen now\nto the thing that I'm telling you. When you'll see me dead, go and cut a\nstrip of skin of the back and a strip of the stomach off me, and make a\nbelt of it, and at any time at all there will be any hard pinch on you,\nyou shall have my power.\"\n\nThe bracket bull went then to fight with the other bull, and the other\nbull killed him. The other bull went away then. The lad came to the\nbracket bull where he was lying on the ground, and he was not dead,\nout-and-out. When he saw the boy coming he said, \"Oh,\" said he, \"make\nhaste as well as you can in the world, and take out your knife and cut\nthat strip off me, or you will be killed as well as myself.\"\n\nThere was a trembling in the poor creature's hand, and he was not able\nto cut a piece at all off the bull, after his feeding him for so long,\nand after the kindness he had got from him.\n\nThe bracket bull spoke again, and told him to cut the strip off him on\nthe instant, and that it would assist him as long as he would be alive.\nHe cut a strip off the back then, and another strip off the belly, and\nhe went away.\n\nThere was plenty of trouble and of grief on him, going of him, and he\nought to have that on him too, and he departing without any knowledge of\nwhere he was making for, or where he would go.\n\nA gentleman met him on the road, and asked him where he was going. The\nlad said that he did not himself know where he was going, but that he\nwas going looking for work.\n\n\"What are you able to do?\" says the gentleman.\n\n\"I'm as good a herd as ever you saw, but I'll not tell you a lie--I can\ndo nothing but herding; but, indeed, I'll do that as well as any man\nthat ever you saw.\"\n\n\"It's you I want,\" says the gentleman. \"There are three giants up by my\nland, on the one mearing with me, and anything that will go in on their\nland they will keep it, and I cannot take it off them again. That's all\nthey're asking--my cattle to go in across the mearing to them.\"\n\n\"Never mind them. I'll go bail that I'll take good heed of them, and\nthat I'll not let anything in to them.\"\n\nThe gentleman brought him home then, and he went herding for him. When\nthe grass was getting scarce, he was driving the cows further out. There\nwas a big stone wall between the land of the giants and his master's\nland. There was fine grass on the other side of the wall. When he saw\nthat, he threw down a gap in the wall and let in the pigs and the cows.\nHe went up into a tree then, and was throwing down apples and all sorts\n(of fruit) to the pigs.\n\nA giant came out, and when he saw the lad up on the tree throwing down\nthe apples to the pigs, the head rose on him (i.e., he got furious). He\ncame to the tree. \"Get down out of that,\" says he. \"I think you big for\none bite and small for two bites; come down till I draw you under my\nlong cold teeth.\"\n\n\"Arrah, take yourself easy,\" says the boy; \"perhaps it's too quick I'd\ncome down to you.\"\n\n\"I won't be talking to you any longer,\" says the giant. He got a\nleverage on the tree and drew it up out of the roots.\n\n\"Go down, black thong, and squeeze that fellow,\" says the lad, for he\nremembered the advice of the bracket bull. On the instant the black\nthong leaped out of his hand, and squeezed the giant so hard that the\ntwo eyes were going out on his head, for stronger was the power of the\nbull than the power of the giant. The giant was not able to put a stir\nout of himself, and he promised anything at all--only to save his life\nfor him. \"Anything at all you want,\" says he to the lad, \"you must get\nit from me.\"\n\n\"I'm not asking anything at all except the loan of the sword that's\nunder your bed,\" says he.\n\n\"I give it to you, and welcome,\" says the giant. He went in, and brought\nout the sword with him.\n\n\"Try it on the three biggest trees that are in the wood, and you won't\nfeel it in your hand going through them,\" says the giant.\n\n\"I don't see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself,\" says\nhe, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it\nseven furrows and seven ridges with that stroke.\n\n\"If I were to get on the body again,\" said the head, and it talking,\n\"and the men of the world wouldn't get me off the trunk again.\"\n\n\"I'll take good care myself of that,\" says the lad.\n\nWhen he drove the cows home in the evening, they had that much milk that\nthey had not half enough of vessels, and two coopers were obliged to\nmake new vessels to hold the quantity of milk they had.\n\n\"You're the best lad that ever I met,\" says the gentleman, and he was\nthankful to him.\n\nThe giants used to put--each man of them--a shout of him every evening.\nThe people only heard two shouts that evening. \"There's some change in\nthe caher[2] to-night,\" said the gentleman, when he heard the two\nshouts.\n\n\"Oh,\" says the lad, \"I saw one of them going away by himself to-day, and\nhe did not come home yet.\"\n\nOn the next day the lad drove out his cattle until he came to the big\nstone wall, and he threw a gap in it, and let the cattle into the same\nplace. He went up into a tree and began throwing down the apples. The\nsecond giant came running, and said, \"What's the meaning of throwing my\nwall and letting in your cattle on my estate? Get down out of that at\nonce. You killed my brother yesterday.\"\n\n\"Go down, black thong, and bind that one,\" says the lad. The thong\nsqueezed him so that he was not able to put a stir out of himself, and\nhe promised the lad anything at all--only to spare his life.\n\n\"I am asking nothing of you but the loan of the old sword that is under\nyour bed.\"\n\n\"I'll give you that, and welcome.\" He went in, and brought out the sword\nwith him. Each man of them had a sword, and every sword better than\nanother.\n\n\"Try that sword on the six biggest trees that are in the wood, and it\nwill go through them without turning the edge.\"\n\n\"I don't see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself,\" says\nhe, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it\nseven furrows and seven ridges from the body.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the head, \"if I were to get going on the body again, and the\nmen of the world wouldn't get me off it again.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'll take care of that myself,\" says the boy.\n\nWhen he drove the cows home that night there was wonder on the people\nwhen they saw the quantity of milk they had. The gentleman said that\nthere was another change in the caher that day again, as he did not hear\nbut only one shout, but the lad said that he saw another one going away\nthat day, and that it was likely that he did not come back yet.\n\nOn the next day he went out, and drove the pigs and the cows up to the\nhall door, and was throwing down the apples to them. The third giant\ncame out--the eldest man of them--and he was full mad after his two\nbrothers being dead, and the teeth that were in his head were making a\nhand-stick for him. He told the boy to come down; that he did not know\nwhat he would do to him after his having killed his two brothers. \"Come\ndown,\" says he, \"till I draw you under my long, cold teeth\"; and it was\non him the long, cold teeth were, and no lie.\n\n\"Go down, black thong, and bind that one till the eyes will be going out\non his head with the power of the squeezing that you'll give him.\"\n\nThe black thong leaped from him, and it bound the giant until the two\neyes were going out on his head with the squeezing and with the\ntightening it gave him, and the giant promised to give him anything at\nall; \"but spare my life,\" says he.\n\n\"I'm only asking the loan of the old sword that's under your bed,\" said\nthe lad.\n\n\"Have it, and welcome,\" says the giant. He went in, and brought out the\nsword with him. \"Now,\" says the giant, \"strike the two ugliest stumps in\nthe wood, and the sword will cut them without getting a bent edge.\"\n\n\"Musha, then, by Mary,\" says the boy, \"I don't see any stump in the wood\nuglier than yourself,\" and he struck him so that he sent his head seven\nfurrows and seven ridges from the body.\n\n\"Ochone for ever!\" says the head. \"If I were to get going on the body\nagain, the men of the world--they wouldn't get me off the body again.\"\n\n\"I'll take care of that myself,\" says the boy.\n\nWhen he came home that night the coopers were not able to make enough of\nvessels for them to hold the quantity of milk that the cows had, and the\npigs were not able to eat with the quantity of apples that they had\neaten before that.\n\nHe was a while in that way herding the cows and everything that was in\nthe castle, he had it. There was no one at all going near the castle,\nfor there was fear on them.\n\nThere was a fiery dragon in that country, and he used to come every\nseven years, and unless there would be a young woman ready bound before\nhim he would drive the sea through the land, and he would destroy the\npeople. The day came when the dragon was to come, and the lad asked his\nmaster to let him go to the place where the dragon was coming. \"What's\nthe business you have there?\" says the master. \"There will be horsemen\nand coaches and great people there, and the crowds will be gathered\ntogether in it out of every place. The horses would rise up on top of\nyou, and you would be crushed under their feet; and it's better for you\nto stop at home.\"\n\n\"I'll stop,\" said the lad. But when he got them all gone he went to the\ncastle of the three giants, and he put a saddle on the best steed they\nhad, and a fine suit on himself, and he took the first giant's sword in\nhis hand, and he went to where the dragon was.\n\nIt was like a fair there, with the number of riders and coaches and\nhorses and people that were gathered in it. There was a young lady bound\nto a post on the brink of the sea, and she waiting for the dragon to\ncome to swallow her. It was the King's daughter that was in it, for the\ndragon would not take any other woman. When the dragon came out of the\nsea the lad went against him, and they fought with one another, and were\nfighting till the evening, until the dragon was frothing at the mouth,\nand till the sea was red with its blood. He turned the dragon out into\nthe sea at last. He went away then, and said that he would return the\nnext day. He left the steed again in the place where he found it, and he\ntook the fine suit off him, and when the other people returned he was\nbefore them. When the people came home that night they were all talking\nand saying that some champion came to fight with the dragon and turned\nhim out into the sea again. That was the story that every person had,\nbut they did not know who was the champion who did it.\n\nThe next day, when his master and the other people were gone, he went to\nthe castle of the three giants again, and he took out another steed and\nanother suit of valour (i.e., armour), and he brought with him the\nsecond giant's sword, and he went to the place where the dragon was to\ncome.\n\nThe King's daughter was bound to a post on the shore, waiting for him,\nand the eyes going out on her head looking would she see the champion\ncoming who fought the dragon the day before. There were twice as many\npeople in it as there were on the first day, and they were all waiting\ntill they would see the champion coming. When the dragon came the lad\nwent in face of him, and the dragon was half confused and sickened after\nthe fight that he had made the day before. They were beating one another\ntill the evening, and then he drove away the dragon. The people tried to\nkeep him, but they were not able. He went from them.\n\nWhen his master came home that evening the lad was in the house before\nhim. The master told him that another champion came that day, and that\nhe had turned the dragon into the sea. But no doubt the lad knew the\nstory better himself than he did.\n\nOn the next day, when the gentleman was gone, he went to the caher of\nthe giants, and he took with him another steed and another suit and the\nsword of the third giant, and when he came to fight with the dragon the\npeople thought it was another champion who was in it.\n\nHe himself and the dragon were beating each other, then, and the sorra\nsuch a fight you ever saw. There were wings on the dragon, and when he\nwas getting it tight he rose up in the air, and he was thrusting and\nbeating the boy in his skull till he was nearly destroyed. He remembered\nthe black thong then, and said, \"Black thong, bind that one so hard that\nthey'll be listening to his screeching in the two divisions of the world\nwith the squeezing that you'll give him.\" The black thong leapt away,\nand she bound him, and then the lad took the head off him, and the sea\nwas red with his blood, and the waves of blood were going on the top of\nthe water.\n\nThe lad came to the land, then, and they tried to keep him; but he went\nfrom them, and as he was riding by the lady snatched the shoe off him.\n\nHe went away, then, and he left the horse and the sword and the suit of\narmour in the place where he found them, and when the gentleman and the\nother people came home he was sitting before them at the fire. He asked\nthem how the fight went, and they told him that the champion killed the\nfiery dragon, but that he was gone away, and that no one at all knew who\nhe was.\n\nWhen the King's daughter came home she said that she would never marry a\nman but the man whom that shoe would fit.\n\nThere were sons of kings, and great people among them, and they saying\nthat it was themselves who killed the dragon; but she said it was not\nthey, unless the shoe would fit them. Some of them were cutting the toes\noff their feet, and some of them taking off a piece of the heel, and\nmore of them cutting the big toe off themselves, trying would the shoe\nfit them. There was no good for them in it. The King's daughter said\nthat she would not marry one man of them.\n\nShe sent out soldiers, then, and the shoe with them, to try would it fit\nanyone at all. Every person, poor and rich, no matter where he was from,\nmust try the shoe on him.\n\nThe lad was stretched out lying on the grass when the soldiers came, and\nwhen they saw him they said to him, \"Show your foot.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't be humbugging me,\" says he.\n\n\"We have orders,\" said they, \"and we cannot return without trying the\nshoe on everyone, poor and rich, so stretch out your foot.\" He did that,\nand the shoe went in on his foot on the moment.\n\nThey said to him that he must come with them.\n\n\"Oh, listen to me\" (i.e., give me time), said he, \"till I dress myself.\"\n\nHe went to the caher of the giants, and he got a fine new suit on him,\nand he went with them then.\n\nThat's where the welcome was for him, and he as dressed up as e'er a\nman of them. They had a wedding for three days and three nights.\n\nThey got the pond and I the lakelet. They were drowned, and I came\nthrough. And as I have it (i.e., the story) to-night, that ye may not\nhave it to-morrow night, or if ye have it itself, that ye may only lose\nthe back teeth by it!\n\nDOUGLAS HYDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Demon Cat\n\n\nThere was a woman in Connemara, the wife of a fisherman; as he had\nalways good luck, she had plenty of fish at all times stored away in the\nhouse ready for market. But, to her great annoyance, she found that a\ngreat cat used to come in at night and devour all the best and finest\nfish. So she kept a big stick by her, and determined to watch.\n\nOne day, as she and a woman were spinning together, the house suddenly\nbecame quite dark; and the door was burst open as if by the blast of the\ntempest, when in walked a huge black cat, who went straight up to the\nfire, then turned round and growled at them.\n\n\"Why, surely this is the devil,\" said a young girl who was by, sorting\nfish.\n\n\"I'll teach you to call me names,\" said the cat; and, jumping at her, he\nscratched her arm till the blood came. \"There, now,\" he said, \"you will\nbe more civil another time when a gentleman comes to see you.\" And, with\nthat, he walked over to the door, and shut it close to prevent any of\nthem going out, for the poor young girl, while crying loudly from fright\nand pain, had made a desperate rush to get away.\n\nJust then a man was going by, and, hearing the cries, he pushed open the\ndoor, and tried to get in; but the cat stood on the threshold and would\nlet no one pass. On this the man attacked him with a stick, and gave him\na sound blow; the cat, however, was more than a match in the fight, for\nit flew at him, and tore his face and hands so badly that the man at\nlast took to his heels, and ran away as fast as he could.\n\n\"Now, it's time for my dinner,\" said the cat, going up to examine the\nfish that was laid out on the tables. \"I hope the fish is good to-day.\nNow, don't disturb me, or make a fuss; I can help myself.\" With that, he\njumped up, and began to devour all the best fish, while he growled at\nthe woman.\n\n\"Away out of this, you wicked beast!\" she cried, giving it a blow with\nthe tongs that would have broken its back, only it was a devil; \"out of\nthis; no fish shall you have to-day!\"\n\nBut the cat only grinned at her, and went on tearing and despoiling and\ndevouring the fish, evidently not a bit the worse for the blows. On\nthis both the women attacked it with sticks, and struck hard blows\nenough to kill it, on which the cat glared at them and spit fire; then,\nmaking a leap, it tore their heads and arms till the blood came, and the\nfrightened women rushed shrieking from the house.\n\nBut presently the mistress of the house returned, carrying with her a\nbottle of holy water; and, looking in, she saw the cat still devouring\nthe fish, and not minding. So she crept over quietly, and threw holy\nwater on it without a word. No sooner was this done than a dense, black\nsmoke filled the place, through which nothing was seen but the two red\neyes of the cat burning like coals of fire. Then the smoke gradually\ncleared away, and she saw the body of the creature burning slowly, till\nit became shrivelled and black like a cinder, and finally disappeared.\nAnd from that time the fish remained untouched and safe from harm, for\nthe power of the Evil One was broken, and the Demon Cat was seen no\nmore.\n\nLADY WILDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Abbot of Inisfalen\n\n(_A Legend of Killarney._)\n\n\nI.\n\n  The Abbot of Inisfalen awoke ere dawn of day;\n  Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray,\n  The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep,\n  And wrapt in a misty stillness the mountains were all asleep.\n  Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac when the dawn was dim and gray;\n  The prayers of his holy office he faithfully 'gan to say.\n  Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac while the dawn was waxing red;\n  And for his sins' forgiveness a solemn prayer he said;\n  Low kneel'd that holy Abbot while the dawn was waxing clear;\n  And he pray'd with loving-kindness for his convent-brethren dear.\n  Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot while the dawn was waxing bright;\n  He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, he pray'd with all his might.\n  Low kneel'd that good old Father while the sun began to dart;\n  He pray'd a prayer for all men, he pray'd it from his heart.\n  His blissful soul was in Heaven, tho' a breathing man was he;\n  He was out of Time's dominion, so far as the living may be.\n\n\nII.\n\n  The Abbot of Inisfalen arose upon his feet;\n  He heard a small bird singing, and O but it sung sweet!\n  It sung upon a holly-bush, this little snow-white bird;\n  A song so full of gladness he never before had heard.\n  It sung upon a hazel, it sung upon a thorn;\n  He had never heard such music since the hour that he was born.\n  It sung upon a sycamore, it sung upon a briar;\n  To follow the song and hearken this Abbot could never tire.\n  Till at last he well bethought him; he might no longer stay;\n  So he blessed the little white singing-bird, and gladly went his way.\n\n\nIII.\n\n  But, when he came to his Abbey, he found a wondrous change;\n  He saw no friendly faces there, for every face was strange.\n  The strange men spoke unto him; and he heard from all and each\n  The foreign tongue of the Sassenach, not wholesome Irish speech.\n  Then the oldest monk came forward, in Irish tongue spake he:\n  \"Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, and who hath given it to thee?\"\n  \"I wear the holy Augustine's dress, and Cormac is my name,\n  The Abbot of this good Abbey by grace of God I am.\n  I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; and when my prayers were said,\n  I hearken'd awhile to a little bird that sung above my head.\"\n  The monks to him made answer, \"Two hundred years have gone o'er,\n  Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, and never was heard of\n    more.\n  Matthias now is our Abbot, and twenty have pass'd away.\n  The stranger is lord of Ireland; we live in an evil day.\"\n  \"Days will come and go,\" he said, \"and the world will pass away,\n  In Heaven a day is a thousand years, a thousand years are a day.\"\n\n\nIV.\n\n  \"Now, give me absolution; for my time is come,\" said he.\n  And they gave him absolution as speedily as might be.\n  Then, close outside the window, the sweetest song they heard\n  That ever yet since the world began was utter'd by any bird.\n  The monks look'd out and saw the bird, its feathers all white and clean;\n  And there in a moment, beside it, another white bird was seen.\n  Those two they sang together, waved their white wings, and fled;\n  Flew aloft, and vanished; but the good old man was dead.\n  They buried his blessed body where lake and greensward meet;\n  A carven cross above his head, a holly-bush at his feet;\n  Where spreads the beautiful water to gay or cloudy skies,\n  And the purple peaks of Killarney from ancient woods arise.\n\nWILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\n\n\nMorraha\n\n(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)\n\n\nMorraha rose in the morning, and washed his hands and face, and said his\nprayers, and ate his food; and he asked God to prosper the day for him;\nand he went down to the brink of the sea, and he saw a currach, short\nand green, coming towards him; and in it there was but one youthful\nchampion, and he playing hurly from prow to stern of the currach. He had\na hurl of gold and a ball of silver; and he stopped not until the\ncurrach was in on the shore; and he drew her up on the green grass, and\nput fastening on her for a day and a year, whether he should be there\nall that time, or should only be on land for an hour by the clock. And\nMorraha saluted the young man in words intelligent, intelligible, such\nas were spoken at that time; and the other saluted him in the same\nfashion, and asked him would he play a game of cards with him; and\nMorraha said he had not the wherewithal; and the other answered that he\nwas never without a candle or the making of it; and he put his hand in\nhis pocket and drew out a table and two chairs and a pack of cards, and\nthey sat down on the chairs and went to the card-playing. The first game\nMorraha won, and the slender red champion bade him make his claim; and\nhe said that the land above him should be filled with stock of sheep in\nthe morning. It was well, and he played no second game, but home he\nwent.\n\nThe next day Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and the young man\ncame in the currach and asked him would he play cards; and they played,\nand Morraha won. And the young man bade him make his claim; and he said\nthat the land above should be filled with cattle in the morning. It was\nwell, and he played no other game, but went home.\n\nAnd on the third morning Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and he\nsaw the young man coming. And he drew up his boat on the shore, and\nasked him would he play cards. And they played, and Morraha won the\ngame; and the young man bade him give his claim. And he said he should\nhave a castle, and of women the finest and fairest; and they were his.\nIt was well, and the young man went away.\n\nOn the fourth day the woman asked him how he had found himself, and he\ntold her. \"And I am going out,\" said he, \"to play again to-day.\"\n\n\"I cross (forbid) you go again to him. If you have won so much, you\nwill lose more; and have no more to do with him.\"\n\nBut he went against her will, and he saw the currach coming, and the\nyoung man was driving his balls from end to end of the currach. He had\nballs of silver and a hurl of gold, and he stopped not till he drew his\nboat on the shore, and made her fast for a year and a day. And Morraha\nand he saluted each other; and he asked Morraha if he would play a game\nof cards, and they played and he won. And Morraha said to him, \"Give\nyour claim, now.\"\n\nSaid he, \"You will hear it too soon. I lay on you the bonds of the art\nof the Druid not to sleep two nights in one house, nor finish a second\nmeal at the one table, till you bring me the sword of light and news of\nthe death of Anshgayliacht.\"\n\nHe went down to his wife, and sat down in a chair, and gave a groan, and\nthe chair broke in pieces.\n\n\"It is the son of a king under spells you are,\" said his wife; \"and you\nhad better have taken my counsel than that the spells should be on you.\"\nHe said to her to bring news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword\nof light to the slender red champion.\n\n\"Go out,\" said she, \"in the morning of the morrow, and take the bridle\nin the window and shake it; and whatever beast, handsome or ugly, puts\nthe head in it, take that one with you. Do not speak a word to her till\nshe speaks to you; and take with you three pint bottles of ale and three\nsixpenny loaves, and do the thing she tells you; and when she runs to my\nfather's land, on a height above the court, she will shake herself, and\nthe bells will ring, and my father will say Brown Allree is in the land.\nAnd if the son of a king or queen is there, bring him to me on your\nshoulders; but if it is the son of a poor man, let him come no further.\"\n\nHe rose in the morning, and took the bridle that was in the window and\nwent out and shook it, and Brown Allree came and put her head in it. And\nhe took the three loaves and three bottles of ale, and went riding; and\nwhen he was riding, she bent her head down to take hold of her feet with\nher mouth, in hopes he would speak in ignorance; but he spoke not a word\nduring the time, and the mare at last spoke to him, and said to him to\ndismount and give her her dinner. He gave her the sixpenny loaf toasted\nand a bottle of ale to drink. \"Sit up, now, riding and take good heed of\nyourself: there are three miles of fire I have to clear at a leap.\"\n\nShe cleared the three miles of fire at a leap, and asked if he were\nriding, and he said he was. They went on then, and she told him to\ndismount and give her a meal; and he did so, and gave her a sixpenny\nloaf and a bottle; and she consumed them, and said to him there were\nbefore them three miles of hill covered with steel thistles, and that\nshe must clear it. And she cleared the hill with a leap, and she asked\nhim if he were still riding, and he said he was. They went on, and she\nwent not far before she told him to give her a meal, and he gave her the\nbread and the bottleful. And she went over three miles of sea with a\nleap, and she came then to the land of the King of France; and she went\nup on a height above the castle, and she shook herself and neighed, and\nthe bells rang; and the King said that it was Brown Allree was in the\nland. \"Go out,\" said he, \"and if it is the son of a king or queen, carry\nhim in on your shoulders; if it is not, leave him there.\"\n\nThey went out, and the stars of the son of a king were on his breast;\nand they lifted him high on their shoulders and bore him in to the King.\nAnd they passed the night cheerfully with playing and with drinking,\nwith sport and with diversion, till the whiteness of the day came upon\nthe morrow morning.\n\nThen the young King told the cause of his journey, and he asked of the\nQueen her counsel and consent, and to give him counsel and good luck,\nand the woman told him everything she advised him to do. \"Go now,\" said\nshe, \"and take with you the best mare in the stable, and go to the door\nof Rough Niall of the speckled rock, and knock, and call on him to give\nyou news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light; and let\nthe horse's back be to the door, and apply the spurs, and away with\nyou!\"\n\nAnd in the morning he did so, and he took the best horse from the stable\nand rode to the door of Niall, and turned the horse's back to the door,\nand demanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht, and the sword of light;\nand he applied the spurs, and away with him. And Niall followed him, and\nas he was passing the gate cut the horse in two. And the mother was\nthere with a dish of puddings and flesh, and she threw it in his eyes\nand blinded him, and said, \"Fool, whatever kind of man it is that's\nmocking you, isn't that a fine condition you have got into on your\nfather's horse?\"\n\nOn the morning of the next day Morraha rose and took another horse from\nthe stable, and went again to the door of Niall, and knocked and\ndemanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht, and the sword of light, and\napplied the spurs to the horse, and away with him. And Niall followed,\nand as he was passing the gate cut the horse in two, and took half the\nsaddle with him, and his mother met him, and threw the flesh in his eyes\nand blinded him.\n\nAnd on the third day Morraha went also to the door of Niall; and Niall\nfollowed him, and as he was passing the gate cut away the saddle from\nunder him and the clothes from his back. Then his mother said to Niall:\n\n\"Whatever fool it is that's mocking you, he is out yonder in the little\ncurrach, going home; and take good heed to yourself, and don't sleep one\nwink for three days.\"\n\nAnd for three days the little currach was there before him, and then his\nmother came to him and said:\n\n\"Sleep as much as you want now. He is gone.\"\n\nAnd he went to sleep, and there was heavy sleep on him, and Morraha went\nin and took hold of the sword that was on the bed at his head. And the\nsword thought to draw itself out of the hand of Morraha, but it failed.\nAnd then it gave a cry, and it wakened Niall, and Niall said it was a\nrude and rough thing to come into his house like that; and Morraha said\nto him:\n\n\"Leave your much talking, or I will cut the head off you. Tell me the\nnews of the death of Anshgayliacht.\"\n\n\"Oh, you can have my head.\"\n\n\"But your head is no good to me. Tell me the story.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Niall's wife, \"you must get the story.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Morraha, \"is the woman your wife?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the man, \"is it not you that have the story?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said she, \"you will tell it to us.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the man, \"let us sit down together till I tell the story. I\nthought no one would ever get it, but now it will be heard by all.\"\n\nWhen I was growing up my mother taught me the language of the birds, and\nwhen I got married I used to be listening to their conversation; and I\nwould be laughing; and my wife would be asking me what was the reason of\nmy laughing, but I did not like to tell her, as women are always asking\nquestions. We went out walking one fine morning, and the birds were\narguing with one another. One of them said to another:\n\n\"Why should you be making comparison with me, when there is not a king\nnor knight that does not come to look at my tree?\"\n\n\"Oh, what advantage has your tree over mine, on which there are three\nrods of magic and mastery growing?\"\n\nWhen I heard them arguing, and knew that the rods were there, I began to\nlaugh.\n\n\"Oh,\" said my wife, \"why are you always laughing? I believe it is at\nmyself you are jesting, and I'll walk with you no more.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is not about you I am laughing. It is because I understand the\nlanguage of the birds.\"\n\nThen I had to tell her what the birds were saying to one another; and\nshe was greatly delighted, and she asked me to go home, and she gave\norders to the cook to have breakfast ready at six o'clock in the\nmorning. I did not know why she was going out early, and breakfast was\nready in the morning at the hour she appointed. She asked me to go out\nwalking. I went with her. She went to the tree, and asked me to cut a\nrod for her.\n\n\"Oh, I will not cut it. Are we not better without it?\"\n\n\"I will not leave this till I get the rod, to see if there is any good\nin it.\"\n\nI cut the rod, and gave it to her. She turned from me, and struck a blow\non a stone and changed it; and she struck a second blow on me, and made\nof me a black raven, and she went home, and left me after her. I thought\nshe would come back; she did not come, and I had to go into a tree till\nmorning. In the morning, at six o'clock, there was a bellman out,\nproclaiming that everyone who killed a raven would get a fourpenny bit.\nAt last you would not find man or boy without a gun, nor, if you were to\nwalk three miles, a raven that was not killed. I had to make a nest in\nthe top of the parlour chimney, and hide myself all day till night came,\nand go out to pick up a bit to support me, till I spent a month. Here\nshe is herself (to say) if it is a lie I am telling.\n\n\"It is not,\" said she.\n\nThen I saw her out walking. I went up to her, and I thought she would\nturn me back to my own shape, and she struck me with the rod and made of\nme an old white horse, and she ordered me to be put to a cart with a man\nto draw stones from morning till night. I was worse off then. She\nspread abroad a report that I had died suddenly in my bed, and prepared\na coffin, and waked me, and buried me. Then she had no trouble. But when\nI got tired, I began to kill everyone who came near me, and I used to go\ninto the haggard every night and destroy the stacks of corn; and when a\nman came near me in the morning, I would follow him till I broke his\nbones. Everyone got afraid of me. When she saw I was doing mischief, she\ncame to meet me, and I thought she would change me. And she did change\nme, and made a fox of me. When I saw she was doing me every sort of\ndamage, I went away from her. I knew there was a badger's hole in the\ngarden, and I went there till night came, and I made great slaughter\namong the ducks and geese. There she is herself to say if I am telling a\nlie.\n\n\"Oh, you are telling nothing but the truth, only less than the truth.\"\n\nWhen she had enough of my killing the fowl, she came out into the\ngarden, for she knew I was in the badger's hole. She came to me, and\nmade me a wolf. I had to be off, and go to an island, where no one at\nall would see me, and now and then I used to be killing sheep, for there\nwere not many of them, and I was afraid of being seen and hunted; and so\nI passed a year, till a shepherd saw me among the sheep, and a pursuit\nwas made after me. And when the dogs came near me, there was no place\nfor me to escape to from them; but I recognised the sign of the King\namong the men, and I made for him, and the King cried out to stop the\nhounds. I took a leap upon the front of the King's saddle, and the woman\nbehind cried out, \"My King and my lord, kill him, or he will kill you.\"\n\n\"Oh, he will not kill me. He knew me; and must be pardoned.\"\n\nAnd the King took me home with him, and gave orders that I should be\nwell cared for. I was so wise when I got food I would not eat one morsel\nuntil I got a knife and fork. The man told the King, and the King came\nto see if it was true, and I got a knife and fork, and I took the knife\nin one paw and the fork in the other, and I bowed to the King. The King\ngave orders to bring him drink, and it came; and the King filled a glass\nof wine, and gave it to me.\n\nI took hold of it in my paw, and drank it, and thanked the King.\n\n\"Oh, on my honour, it is some king that has lost him when he came on the\nisland; and I will keep him, as he is trained; and perhaps he will\nserve us yet.\"\n\nAnd this is the sort of King he was--a King who had not a child living.\nEight sons were born to him and three daughters, and they were stolen\nthe same night they were born. No matter what guard was placed over\nthem, the child would be gone in the morning. The Queen was now carrying\nthe twelfth child, and when she was lying-in, the King took me with him\nto watch the baby. The women were not satisfied with me. \"Oh,\" said the\nKing, \"what was all your watching ever? One that was born to me I have\nnot; and I will leave this one in the dog's care, and he will not let it\ngo.\"\n\nA coupling was put between me and the cradle, and when everyone went to\nsleep I was watching till the person woke who attended in the daytime;\nbut I was there only two nights when, it was near the day, I saw the\nhand coming down through the chimney, and the hand was so big that it\ntook round the child altogether, and thought to take him away. I caught\nhold of the hand above the wrist, and, as I was fastened to the cradle,\nI did not let go my hold till I cut the hand from the wrist, and there\nwas a howl from the person without. I laid the hand in the cradle with\nthe child, and, as I was tired, I fell asleep; and when I awoke I had\nneither child nor hand; and I began to howl, and the King heard me, and\nhe cried out that something was wrong with me, and he sent servants to\nsee what was the matter with me, and when the messenger came he saw me\ncovered with blood, and he could not see the child; and he went to the\nKing, and told him the child was not to be got. The King came, and saw\nthe cradle coloured with the blood, and he cried out, \"Where was the\nchild gone?\" and everyone said it was the dog had eaten it.\n\nThe King said, \"It is not: loose him, and he will get the pursuit\nhimself.\"\n\nWhen I was loosed, I found the scent of the blood till I came to a door\nof the room in which the child was. I went to the King, and took hold of\nhim, and went back again, and began to tear at the door. The King\nfollowed me, and asked for the key. The servant said it was in the room\nof the stranger woman. The King caused search to be made for her, and\nshe was not to be found. \"I will break the door,\" said the King, \"as I\ncan't get the key.\" The King broke the door, and I went in, and went to\nthe trunk, and the King asked for a key to unlock it. He got no key, and\nhe broke the lock. When he opened the trunk the child and the hand were\nstretched side by side, and the child was asleep. The King took the\nhand, and ordered a woman to come for the child, and he showed the hand\nto everyone in the house. But the stranger woman was gone, and she did\nnot see the King; and here she is herself to say if I am telling lies of\nher.\n\n\"Oh, it's nothing but the truth you have.\"\n\nThe King did not allow me to be tied any more. He said there was nothing\nso much to wonder at as that I cut the hand off, and I tied.\n\nThe child was growing till he was a year old, and he was beginning to\nwalk, and there was no one caring for him more than I was. He was\ngrowing till he was three, and he was running out every minute; so the\nKing ordered a silver chain to be put between me and the child, so that\nhe might not go away from me. I was out with him in the garden every\nday, and the King was as proud as the world of the child. He would be\nwatching him every place we went, till the child grew so wise that he\nwould loose the chain and get off. But one day that he loosed it I\nfailed to find him; and I ran into the house and searched the house, but\nthere was no getting him for me. The King cried to go out and find the\nchild, that he had got loose from the dog. They went searching for him,\nbut they could not find him. When they failed altogether to find him,\nthere remained no more favour with the King towards me, and everyone\ndisliked me, and I grew weak, for I did not get a morsel to eat half the\ntime. When summer came I said I would try and go home to my own country.\nI went away one fine morning, and I went swimming, and God helped me\ntill I came home. I went into the garden, for I knew there was a place\nin the garden where I could hide myself, for fear she should see me. In\nthe morning I saw my wife out walking, and my child with her, held by\nthe hand. I pushed out to see the child, and, as he was looking about\nhim everywhere, he saw me, and called out, \"I see my shaggy papa. Oh,\"\nsaid he; \"oh, my heart's love, my shaggy papa, come here till I see\nyou.\"\n\nI was afraid the woman would see me, as she was asking the child where\nhe saw me, and he said I was up in a tree; and the more the child called\nme, the more I hid myself. The woman took the child home with her, but I\nknew he would be up early in the morning.\n\nI went to the parlour window, and the child was within, and he playing.\nWhen he saw me, he cried out, \"Oh, my heart's love, come here till I see\nyou, shaggy papa.\" I broke the window, and went in, and he began to kiss\nme. I saw the rod in front of the chimney, and I jumped up at the rod\nand knocked it down. \"Oh, my heart's love, no one would give me the\npretty rod.\" I thought he would strike me with the rod, but he did not.\nWhen I saw the time was short, I raised my paw, and I gave him a scratch\nbelow the knee. \"Oh, you naughty, dirty, shaggy papa; you have hurt me\nso much--I'll give yourself a blow of the rod.\" He struck me a light\nblow, and as there was no sin on him, I came back to my own shape again.\nWhen he saw a man standing before him he gave a cry, and I took him up\nin my arms. The servants heard the child. A maid came in to see what was\nthe matter with him. When she saw me she gave a cry out of her, and she\nsaid, \"Oh, my soul to God, if the master isn't come to life again.\"\n\nAnother came in, and said it was he, really. And when the mistress heard\nof it, she came to see with her own eyes, for she would not believe I\nwas there; and when she saw me she said she'd drown herself. And I said\nto her, \"If you yourself will keep the secret, no living man will ever\nget the story from me until I lose my head.\"\n\nMany's the man has come asking for the story, and I never let one\nreturn; but now everyone will know it, but she is as much to blame as I.\nI gave you my head on the spot, and a thousand welcomes, and she cannot\nsay I have been telling anything but the truth.\n\n\"Oh, surely, nor are you now.\"\n\nWhen I saw I was in a man's shape I said I would take the child back to\nhis father and mother, as I knew the grief they were in after him. I\ngot a ship, and took the child with me; and when I was journeying I came\nto land on an island, and I saw not a living soul on it, only a court,\ndark and gloomy. I went in to see was there anyone in it. There was no\none but an old hag, tall and frightful, and she asked me, \"What sort of\nperson are you?\" I heard someone groaning in another room, and I said I\nwas a doctor, and I asked her what ailed the person who was groaning.\n\n\"Oh,\" said she, \"it is my son, whose hand has been bitten from his wrist\nby a dog.\"\n\nI knew then it was the boy who was taking the child from me, and I said\nI would cure him if I got a good reward.\n\n\"I have nothing, but there are eight young lads and three young women,\nas handsome as anyone laid eyes on, and if you cure him I will give you\nthem.\"\n\n\"But tell me in what place his hand was cut from.\"\n\n\"Oh, it was out in another country twelve years ago.\"\n\n\"Show me the way, that I may see him.\"\n\nShe brought me into a room, so that I saw him, and his arm was swelled\nup to the shoulder. He asked if I would cure him; and I said I could\ncure him if he would give me the reward his mother promised.\n\n\"Oh, I will give it, but cure me.\"\n\n\"Well, bring them out to me.\"\n\nThe hag brought them out of the room. I said I would burn the flesh that\nwas on his arm. When I looked on him he was howling with pain. I said\nthat I would not leave him in pain long. The thief had only one eye in\nhis forehead. I took a bar of iron, and put it in the fire till it was\nred, and I said to the hag, \"He will be howling at first, but will fall\nasleep presently, and do not wake him until he has slept as much as he\nwants. I will close the door when I am going out.\" I took the bar with\nme, and I stood over him, and I turned it across through his eye as far\nas I could. He began to bellow, and tried to catch me, but I was out and\naway, having closed the door. The hag asked me, \"Why is he bellowing?\"\n\n\"Oh, he will be quiet presently, and will sleep for a good while, and\nI'll come again to have a look at him; but bring me out the young men\nand the young women.\"\n\nI took them with me, and I said to her, \"Tell me where you got them.\"\n\n\"Oh, my son brought them with him, and they are the offspring of the one\nKing.\"\n\nI was well satisfied, and I had no liking for delay to get myself free\nfrom the hag, and I took them on board the ship, and the child I had\nmyself. I thought the King might leave me the child I nursed myself; but\nwhen I came to land, and all those young people with me, the King and\nQueen were out walking. The King was very aged, and the Queen aged\nlikewise. When I came to converse with them, and the twelve with me, the\nKing and Queen began to cry. I asked, \"Why are you crying?\"\n\n\"Oh, it is for good cause I am crying. As many children as these I\nshould have, and now I am withered, grey, at the end of my life, and I\nhave not one at all.\"\n\n\"Oh, belike, you will yet have plenty.\"\n\nI told him all I went through, and I gave him the child in his hand,\nand: \"These are your other children who were stolen from you, whom I am\ngiving to you safe. They are gently reared.\"\n\nWhen the King heard who they were, he smothered them with kisses and\ndrowned them with tears, and dried them with fine cloths, silken, and\nthe hairs of his own head, and so also did their mother, and great was\nhis welcome for me, as it was I who found them all. And the King said to\nme, \"I will give you your own child, as it is you who have earned him\nbest; but you must come to my court every year, and the child with you,\nand I will share with you my possessions.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have enough of my own, and after my death I will leave it to the\nchild.\"\n\nI spent a time till my visit was over, and I told the King all the\ntroubles I went through, only I said nothing about my wife. And now you\nhave the story of the death of Anshgayliacht, the hag's son.\n\nAnd Morraha thanked Rough Niall for the story, and he struck the ground\nwith the Sword of Light, and Brown Allree was beside of him and she said\nto him, \"Sit up, now, riding, and take good heed of yourself,\" and at\none leap she cleared the sea and at the next the three miles of hill\ncovered with steel thistles and at the third the three miles of fire,\nand then he was home and he told the tale of the death of Anshgayliacht\nto the Slender Red Champion and gave him the Sword of Light, and he was\nwell pleased to get them, and he took the spells of Morraha, and he had\nhis wife and his castle back again, and by-and-by the five children; but\nhe never put his hand to card-playing with strangers again.\n\nW. LARMINIE.\n\n(_From \"West Irish Folk Tales.\"_)\n\n\n\n\nThe Kildare Pooka\n\n\nMr. H---- R----, when he was alive, used to live a good deal in Dublin,\nand he was once a great while out of the country on account of the\n\"ninety-eight\" business. But the servants kept on in the big house at\nRath---- all the same as if the family was at home. Well, they used to be\nfrightened out of their lives, after going to their beds, with the\nbanging of the kitchen door and the clattering of fire-irons and the\npots and plates and dishes. One evening they sat up ever so long keeping\none another in heart with stories about ghosts and that, when--what\nwould you have of it?--the little scullery boy that used to be sleeping\nover the horses, and could not get room at the fire, crept into the hot\nhearth, and when he got tired listening to the stories, sorra fear him,\nbut he fell dead asleep.\n\nWell and good. After they were all gone, and the kitchen raked up, he\nwas woke with the noise of the kitchen door opening, and the trampling\nof an ass on the kitchen floor. He peeped out, and what should he see\nbut a big ass, sure enough, sitting on his curabingo and yawning before\nthe fire. After a little he looked about him, and began scratching his\nears as if he was quite tired, and says he, \"I may as well begin first\nas last.\" The poor boy's teeth began to chatter in his head, for, says\nhe, \"Now he's going to ate me\"; but the fellow with the long ears and\ntail on him had something else to do. He stirred the fire, and then he\nbrought in a pail of water from the pump, and filled a big pot that he\nput on the fire before he went out. He then put in his hand--foot, I\nmean--into the hot hearth, and pulled out the little boy. He let a roar\nout of him with the fright; but the pooka only looked at him, and thrust\nout his lower lip to show how little he valued him, and then he pitched\nhim into his pew again.\n\nWell, he then lay down before the fire till he heard the boil coming on\nthe water, and maybe there wasn't a plate, or a dish, or a spoon on the\ndresser that he didn't fetch and put in the pot, and wash and dry the\nwhole bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchen maid from that to Dublin\ntown. He then put all of them up on their places on the shelves; and if\nhe didn't give a good sweepin' to the kitchen, leave it till again. Then\nhe comes and sits fornent the boy, let down one of his ears, and cocked\nup the other, and gave a grin. The poor fellow strove to roar out, but\nnot a dheeg 'ud come out of his throat. The last thing the pooka done\nwas to rake up the fire and walk out, giving such a slap o' the door\nthat the boy thought the house couldn't help tumbling down.\n\nWell, to be sure, if there wasn't a hullabuloo next morning when the\npoor fellow told his story! They could talk of nothing else the whole\nday. One said one thing, another said another, but a fat, lazy scullery\ngirl said the wittiest thing of all. \"Musha!\" says she, \"if the pooka\ndoes be cleaning up everything that way when we are asleep, what should\nwe be slaving ourselves for doing his work?\" \"_Sha gu dheine_,\" says\nanother, \"them's the wisest words you ever said, Kauth; it's meeself\nwon't contradict you.\"\n\nSo said, so done. Not a bit of a plate or dish saw a drop of water that\nevening, and not a besom was laid on the floor, and everyone went to bed\nsoon after sundown. Next morning everything was as fine as fine in the\nkitchen, and the lord mayor might eat his dinner off the flags. It was\ngreat ease to the lazy servants, you may depend, and everything went on\nwell till a foolhardy gag of a boy said he would stay up one night and\nhave a chat with the pooka. He was a little daunted when the door was\nthrown open and the ass marched up to the fire.\n\n\"And then, sir,\" says he at last, picking up courage, \"if it isn't\ntaking a liberty, might I ax who you are, and why you are so kind as to\ndo half of the day's work for the girls every night?\" \"No liberty at\nall,\" says the pooka, says he: \"I'll tell you, and welcome. I was a\nservant in the time of Squire R----'s father, and was the laziest rogue\nthat ever was clothed and fed, and done nothing for it. When my time\ncame for the other world, this is the punishment was laid on me to come\nhere and do all this labour every night, and then go out in the cold. It\nisn't so bad in the fine weather; but if you only knew what it is to\nstand with your head between your legs, facing the storm from midnight\nto sunrise, on a bleak winter night.\" \"And could we do anything for\nyour comfort, my poor fellow?\" says the boy. \"Musha, I don't know,\" says\nthe pooka; \"but I think a good quilted frieze coat would help me to keep\nthe life in me them long nights.\" \"Why, then, in troth, we'd be the\nungratefullest of people if we didn't feel for you.\"\n\nTo make a long story short, the next night the boy was there again; and\nif he didn't delight the poor pooka, holding a fine warm coat before\nhim, it's no mather! Betune the pooka and the man, his legs was got into\nthe four arms of it, and it was buttoned down the breast and the belly,\nand he was so pleased he walked up to the glass to see how it looked.\n\"Well,\" says he, \"it's a long lane that has no turning. I am much\nobliged to you and your fellow-servants. You have made me happy at last.\nGood night to you.\"\n\nSo he was walking out, but the other cried, \"Och! sure you're going too\nsoon. What about the washing and sweeping?\" \"Ah, you may tell the girls\nthat they must now get their turn. My punishment was to last till I was\nthought worthy of a reward for the way I done my duty. You'll see me no\nmore.\" And no more they did, and right sorry they were for having been\nin such a hurry to reward the ungrateful pooka.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe King's Son\n\n\n  Who rideth through the driving rain\n    At such a headlong speed?\n  Naked and pale he rides amain\n    Upon a naked steed.\n\n  Nor hollow nor height his going bars,\n    His wet steed shines like silk,\n  His head is golden to the stars\n    And his limbs are white as milk.\n\n  But, lo, he dwindles as the light\n    That lifts from a black mere,\n  And, as the fair youth wanes from sight,\n    The steed grows mightier.\n\n  What wizard by yon holy tree\n    Mutters unto the sky\n  Where Macha's flame-tongued horses flee\n    On hoofs of thunder by?\n\n  Ah, 'tis not holy so to ban\n    The youth of kingly seed:\n  Ah! woe, the wasting of a man\n    Who changes to a steed.\n\n  Nightly upon the Plain of Kings,\n    When Macha's day is nigh,\n  He gallops; and the dark wind brings\n    His lonely human cry.\n\n\nTHOMAS BOYD.\n\n\n\n\nMurtough and the Witch Woman\n\n\nIn the days when Murtough Mac Erca was in the High Kingship of Ireland,\nthe country was divided between the old beliefs of paganism and the new\ndoctrines of the Christian teaching. Part held with the old creed and\npart with the new, and the thought of the people was troubled between\nthem, for they knew not which way to follow and which to forsake. The\nfaith of their forefathers clung close around them, holding them by many\nfine and tender threads of memory and custom and tradition; yet still\nthe new faith was making its way, and every day it spread wider and\nwider through the land.\n\nThe family of Murtough had joined itself to the Christian faith, and his\nthree brothers were bishops and abbots of the Church, but Murtough\nhimself remained a pagan, for he was a wild and lawless prince, and the\npeaceful teachings of the Christian doctrine, with its forgiveness of\nenemies, pleased him not at all. Fierce and cruel was his life, filled\nwith dark deeds and bloody wars, and savage and tragic was his death, as\nwe shall hear.\n\nNow Murtough was in the sunny summer palace of Cletty, which Cormac, son\nof Art, had built for a pleasure house on the brink of the slow-flowing\nBoyne, near the Fairy Brugh of Angus the Ever Young, the God of Youth\nand Beauty. A day of summer was that day, and the King came forth to\nhunt on the borders of the Brugh, with all his boon companions around\nhim. But when the high-noon came the sun grew hot, and the King sat down\nto rest upon the fairy mound, and the hunt passed on beyond him, and he\nwas left alone.\n\nThere was a witch woman in that country whose name was \"Sigh, Sough,\nStorm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail, and Groan.\" Star-bright and\nbeautiful was she in face and form, but inwardly she was cruel as her\nnames. And she hated Murtough because he had scattered and destroyed the\nAncient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin, her country and her\nfatherland, and because in the battle which he fought at Cerb on the\nBoyne her father and her mother and her sister had been slain. For in\nthose days women went to battle side by side with men.\n\nShe knew, too, that with the coming of the new faith trouble would come\nupon the fairy folk, and their power and their great majesty would\ndepart from them, and men would call them demons, and would drive them\nout with psalm-singing and with the saying of prayers, and with the\nsound of little tinkling bells. So trouble and anger wrought in the\nwitch woman, and she waited the day to be revenged on Murtough, for he\nbeing yet a pagan, was still within her power to harm.\n\nSo when Sheen (for Sheen or \"Storm\" was the name men gave to her) saw\nthe King seated on the fairy mound and all his comrades parted from him,\nshe arose softly, and combed her hair with her comb of silver adorned\nwith little ribs of gold, and she washed her hands in a silver basin\nwherein were four golden birds sitting on the rim of the bowl, and\nlittle bright gems of carbuncle set round about the rim. And she donned\nher fairy mantle of flowing green, and her cloak, wide and hooded, with\nsilvery fringes, and a brooch of fairest gold. On her head were tresses\nyellow like to gold, plaited in four locks, with a golden drop at the\nend of each long tress. The hue of her hair was like the flower of the\niris in summer or like red gold after the burnishing thereof. And she\nwore on her breasts and at her shoulders marvellous clasps of gold,\nfinely worked with the tracery of the skilled craftsman, and a golden\ntwisted torque around her throat. And when she was decked she went\nsoftly and sat down beside Murtough on the turfy hunting mound. And\nafter a space Murtough perceived her sitting there, and the sun shining\nupon her, so that the glittering of the gold and of her golden hair and\nthe bright shining of the green silk of her garments, was like the\nyellow iris-beds upon the lake on a sunny summer's day. Wonder and\nterror seized on Murtough at her beauty, and he knew not if he loved\nher or if he hated her the most; for at one moment all his nature was\nfilled with longing and with love of her, so that it seemed to him that\nhe would give the whole of Ireland for the loan of one hour's space of\ndalliance with her; but after that he felt a dread of her, because he\nknew his fate was in her hands, and that she had come to work him ill.\nBut he welcomed her as if she were known to him and he asked her\nwherefore she was come. \"I am come,\" she said, \"because I am beloved of\nMurtough, son of Erc, King of Erin, and I come to seek him here.\" Then\nMurtough was glad, and he said, \"Dost thou not know me, maiden?\" \"I do,\"\nshe answered, \"for all secret and mysterious things are known to me and\nthou and all the men of Erin are well known.\"\n\nAfter he had conversed with her awhile, she appeared to him so fair that\nthe King was ready to promise her anything in life she wished, so long\nas she would go with him to Cletty of the Boyne. \"My wish,\" she said,\n\"is that you take me to your house, and that you put out from it your\nwife and your children because they are of the new faith, and all the\nclerics that are in your house, and that neither your wife nor any\ncleric be permitted to enter the house while I am there.\"\n\n\"I will give you,\" said the King, \"a hundred head of every herd of\ncattle that is within my kingdom, and a hundred drinking horns, and a\nhundred cups, and a hundred rings of gold, and a feast every other night\nin the summer palace of Cletty. But I pledge thee my word, oh, maiden,\nit were easier for me to give thee half of Ireland than to do this\nthing that thou hast asked.\" For Murtough feared that when those that\nwere of the Christian faith were put out of his house, she would work\nher spells upon him, and no power would be left with him to resist those\nspells.\n\n\"I will not take thy gifts,\" said the damsel, \"but only those things\nthat I have asked; moreover, it is thus, that my name must never be\nuttered by thee, nor must any man or woman learn it.\"\n\n\"What is thy name,\" said Murtough, \"that it may not come upon my lips to\nutter it?\"\n\nAnd she said, \"Sigh, Sough, Storm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail,\nGroan, this is my name, but men call me Sheen, for 'Storm' or Sheen is\nmy chief name, and storms are with me where I come.\"\n\nNevertheless, Murtough was so fascinated by her that he brought her to\nhis home, and drove out the clerics that were there, with his wife and\nchildren along with them, and drove out also the nobles of his own clan,\nthe children of Niall, two great and gallant battalions. And Duivsech,\nhis wife, went crying along the road with her children around her to\nseek Bishop Cairnech, the half-brother of her husband, and her own\nsoul-friend, that she might obtain help and shelter from him.\n\nBut Sheen went gladly and light-heartedly into the House of Cletty, and\nwhen she saw the lovely lightsome house and the goodly nobles of the\nclan of Niall, and the feasting and banqueting and the playing of the\nminstrels and all the joyous noise of that kingly dwelling, her heart\nwas lifted within her, and \"Fair as a fairy palace is this house of\nCletty,\" said she.\n\n\"Fair, indeed, it is,\" replied the King; \"for neither the Kings of\nLeinster nor the Kings of mighty Ulster, nor the lords of the clans of\nOwen or of Niall, have such a house as this; nay, in Tara of the Kings\nitself, no house to equal this house of mine is found.\" And that night\nthe King robed himself in all the splendour of his royal dignity, and on\nhis right hand he seated Sheen, and a great banquet was made before\nthem, and men said that never on earth was to be seen a woman more\ngoodly of appearance than she. And the King was astonished at her, and\nhe began to ask her questions, for it seemed to him that the power of a\ngreat goddess of the ancient time was in her; and he asked her whence\nshe came, and what manner was the power that he saw in her. He asked\nher, too, did she believe in the God of the clerics, or was she herself\nsome goddess of the older world? For he feared her, feeling that his\nfate was in her hands.\n\nShe laughed a careless and a cruel laugh, for she knew that the King was\nin their power, now that she was there alone with him, and the clerics\nand the Christian teachers gone. \"Fear me not, O Murtough,\" she cried;\n\"I am, like thee, a daughter of the race of men of the ancient family of\nAdam and of Eve; fit and meet my comradeship with thee; therefore, fear\nnot nor regret. And as to that true God of thine, worker of miracles and\nhelper of His people, no miracle in all the world is there that I, by\nmine own unaided power, cannot work the like. I can create a sun and\nmoon; the heavens I can sprinkle with radiant stars of night. I can call\nup to life men fiercely fighting in conflict, slaughtering one another.\nWine I could make of the cold water of the Boyne, and sheep of lifeless\nstones, and swine of ferns. In the presence of the hosts I can make\ngold and silver, plenty and to spare; and hosts of famous fighting men I\ncan produce from naught. Now, tell me, can thy God work the like?\"\n\n\"Work for us,\" says the King, \"some of these great wonders.\" Then Sheen\nwent forth out of the house, and she set herself to work spells on\nMurtough, so that he knew not whether he was in his right mind or no.\nShe took of the water of the Boyne and made a magic wine thereout, and\nshe took ferns and spiked thistles and light puff-balls of the woods,\nand out of them she fashioned magic swine and sheep and goats, and with\nthese she fed Murtough and the hosts. And when they had eaten, all their\nstrength went from them, and the magic wine sent them into an uneasy\nsleep and restless slumbers. And out of stones and sods of earth she\nfashioned three battalions, and one of the battalions she placed at one\nside of the house, and the other at the further side beyond it, and one\nencircling the rest southward along the hollow windings of the glen. And\nthus were these battalions, one of them all made of men stark-naked and\ntheir colour blue, and the second with heads of goats with shaggy beards\nand horned; but the third, more terrible than they, for these were\nheadless men, fighting like human beings, yet finished at the neck; and\nthe sound of heavy shouting as of hosts and multitudes came from the\nfirst and the second battalion, but from the third no sound save only\nthat they waved their arms and struck their weapons together, and smote\nthe ground with their feet impatiently. And though terrible was the\nshout of the blue men and the bleating of the goats with human limbs,\nmore horrible yet was the stamping and the rage of those headless men,\nfinished at the neck.\n\nAnd Murtough, in his sleep and in his dreams, heard the battle-shout,\nand he rose impetuously from off his bed, but the wine overcame him, and\nhis strength departed from him, and he fell helplessly upon the floor.\nThen he heard the challenge a second time, and the stamping of the feet\nwithout, and he rose again, and madly, fiercely, he set on them,\ncharging the hosts and scattering them before him, as he thought, as far\nas the fairy palace of the Brugh. But all his strength was lost in\nfighting phantoms, for they were but stones and sods and withered leaves\nof the forest that he took for fighting men.\n\nNow Duivsech, Murtough's wife, knew what was going on. She called upon\nCairnech to arise and to gather together the clans of the children of\nhis people, the men of Owen and of Niall, and together they went to the\nfort; but Sheen guarded it well, so that they could by no means find an\nentrance. Then Cairnech was angry, and he cursed the place, and he dug a\ngrave before the door, and he stood up upon the mound of the grave, and\nrang his bells and cursed the King and his house, and prophesied his\ndownfall. But he blessed the clans of Owen and of Niall, and they\nreturned to their own country.\n\nThen Cairnech sent messengers to seek Murtough and to draw him away from\nthe witch woman who sought his destruction, but because she was so\nlovely the King would believe no evil of her; and whenever he made any\nsign to go to Cairnech, she threw her spell upon the King, so that he\ncould not break away. When he was so weak and faint that he had no power\nleft, she cast a sleep upon him, and she went round the house, putting\neverything in readiness. She called upon her magic host of warriors, and\nset them round the fortress, with their spears and javelins pointed\ninwards towards the house, so that the King would not dare to go out\namongst them. And that night was a night of Samhain-tide, the eve of\nWednesday after All Souls' Day.\n\nThen she went everywhere throughout the house, and took lighted brands\nand burning torches, and scattered them in every part of the dwelling.\nAnd she returned into the room wherein Murtough slept, and lay down by\nhis side. And she caused a great wind to spring up, and it came soughing\nthrough the house from the north-west; and the King said, \"This is the\nsigh of the winter night.\" And Sheen smiled, because, unwittingly, the\nKing had spoken her name, for she knew by that that the hour of her\nrevenge had come. \"'Tis I myself that am Sigh and Winter Night,\" she\nsaid, \"and I am Rough Wind and Storm, a daughter of fair nobles; and I\nam Cry and Wail, the maid of elfin birth, who brings ill-luck to men.\"\n\nAfter that she caused a great snowstorm to come round the house; and\nlike the noise of troops and the rage of battle was the storm, beating\nand pouring in on every side, so that drifts of deep snow were piled\nagainst the walls, blocking the doors and chilling the folk that were\nfeasting within the house. But the King was lying in a heavy, unresting\nsleep, and Sheen was at his side. Suddenly he screamed out of his sleep\nand stirred himself, for he heard the crash of falling timbers and the\nnoise of the magic hosts, and he smelled the strong smell of fire in the\npalace.\n\nHe sprang up. \"It seems to me,\" he cried, \"that hosts of demons are\naround the house, and that they are slaughtering my people, and that the\nhouse of Cletty is on fire.\" \"It was but a dream,\" the witch maiden\nsaid. Then he slept again, and he saw a vision, to wit, that he was\ntossing in a ship at sea, and the ship floundered, and above his head a\ngriffin, with sharp beak and talons, sailed, her wings outspread and\ncovering all the sun, so that it was dark as middle-night; and lo! as\nshe rose on high, her plumes quivered for a moment in the air; then down\nshe swooped and picked him from the waves, carrying him to her eyrie on\nthe dismal cliff outhanging o'er the ocean; and the griffin began to\npierce him and to prod him with her talons, and to pick out pieces of\nhis flesh with her beak; and this went on awhile, and then a flame, that\ncame he knew not whence, rose from the nest, and he and the griffin were\nenveloped in the flame. Then in her beak the griffin picked him up, and\ntogether they fell downward over the cliff's edge into the seething\nocean; so that, half by fire and half by water, he died a miserable\ndeath.\n\nWhen the King saw that vision, he rose screaming from his sleep, and\ndonned his arms; and he made one plunge forward seeking for the magic\nhosts, but he found no man to answer him. The damsel went forth from the\nhouse, and Murtough made to follow her, but as he turned the flames\nleaped out, and all between him and the door was one vast sheet of\nflame. He saw no way of escape, save the vat of wine that stood in the\nbanqueting hall, and into that he got; but the burning timbers of the\nroof fell upon his head and the hails of fiery sparks rained on him, so\nthat half of him was burned and half was drowned, as he had seen in his\ndream.\n\nThe next day, amid the embers, the clerics found his corpse, and they\ntook it up and washed it in the Boyne, and carried it to Tuilen to bury\nit. And they said, \"Alas! that Mac Erca, High King of Erin, of the noble\nrace of Conn and of the descendants of Ugaine the Great, should die\nfighting with sods and stones! Alas! that the Cross of Christ was not\nsigned upon his face that he might have known the witchdoms of the\nmaiden what they were.\"\n\nAs they went thus, bewailing the death of Murtough and bearing him to\nhis grave, Duivsech, wife of Murtough, met them, and when she found her\nhusband dead, she struck her hands together and she made a great and\nmournful lamentation; and because weakness came upon her she leaned her\nback against the ancient tree that is in Aenech Reil; and a burst of\nblood broke from her heart, and there she died, grieving for her\nhusband. And the grave of Murtough was made wide and deep, and there\nthey laid the Queen beside him, two in the one grave, near the north\nside of the little church that is in Tuilen.\n\nNow, when the burial was finished, and the clerics were reciting over\nhis grave the deeds of the King, and were making prayers for Murtough's\nsoul that it might be brought out of hell, for Cairnech showed great\ncare for this, they saw coming towards them across the sward a lonely\nwoman, star-bright and beautiful, and a kirtle of priceless silk upon\nher, and a green mantle with its fringes of silver thread flowing to the\nground. She reached the place where the clerics were, and saluted them,\nand they saluted her. And they marvelled at her beauty, but they\nperceived on her an appearance of sadness and of heavy grief. They asked\nof her, \"Who art thou, maiden, and wherefore art thou come to the house\nof mourning? For a king lies buried here.\" \"A king lies buried here,\nindeed,\" said she, \"and I it was who slew him, Murtough of the many\ndeeds, of the race of Conn and Niall, High King of Ireland and of the\nWest. And though it was I who wrought his death, I myself will die for\ngrief of him.\"\n\nAnd they said, \"Tell us, maiden, why you brought him to his death, if so\nbe that he was dear to thee?\" And she said, \"Murtough was dear to me,\nindeed, dearest of the men of the whole world; for I am Sheen, the\ndaughter of Sige, the son of Dian, from whom Ath Sigi or the 'Ford of\nSige' is called to-day. But Murtough slew my father, and my mother and\nsister were slain along with him, in the battle of Cerb upon the Boyne,\nand there was none of my house to avenge their death, save myself alone.\nMoreover, in his time the Ancient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin\nwere scattered and destroyed, the folk of the underworld and of my\nfatherland; and to avenge the wrong and loss he wrought on them I slew\nthe man I loved. I made poison for him; alas! I made for him magic drink\nand food which took his strength away, and out of the sods of earth and\npuff-balls that float down the wind, I wrought men and armies of\nheadless, hideous folk, till all his senses were distraught. And, now,\ntake me to thee, O Cairnech, in fervent and true repentance, and sign\nthe Cross of Christ upon my brow, for the time of my death is come.\"\nThen she made penitence for the sin that she had sinned, and she died\nthere upon the grave of grief and of sorrow after the King. And they\ndigged a grave lengthways across the foot of the wide grave of Murtough\nand his spouse, and there they laid the maiden who had wrought them woe.\nAnd the clerics wondered at those things, and they wrote them and\nrevised them in a book.\n\nELEANOR HULL.\n\n\n\n\nThe Red Pony\n\n(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)\n\n\nThere was a poor man there. He had a great family of sons. He had no\nmeans to put them forward. He had them at school. One day, when they\nwere coming from school, he thought that whichever of them was last at\nthe door he would keep him out. It was the youngest of the family that\nwas last at the door. The father shut the door. He would not let him in.\nThe boy went weeping. He would not let him in till night came. The\nfather said he would never let him in--that he had boys enough.\n\nThe lad went away. He was walking till night. He came to a house on the\nrugged side of a hill on a height, one feather giving it shelter and\nsupport. He went in. He got a place till morning. When he made his\nbreakfast in the morning he was going. The man of the house made him a\npresent of a red pony, a saddle, and bridle. He went riding on the pony.\nHe went away with himself.\n\n\"Now,\" said the pony, \"whatever thing you may see before you, don't\ntouch it.\"\n\nThey went on with themselves. He saw a light before him on the high\nroad. When he came as far as the light, there was an open box on the\nroad, and a light coming out of it. He took up the box. There was a lock\nof hair in it.\n\n\"Are you going to take up the box?\" said the pony.\n\n\"I am. I cannot go past it.\"\n\n\"It's better for you to leave it,\" said the pony.\n\nHe took up the box. He put it in his pocket. He was going with himself.\nA gentleman met him.\n\n\"Pretty is your little beast. Where are you going?\"\n\n\"I am looking for service.\"\n\n\"I am in want of one like you among the stable-boys.\"\n\nHe hired the lad. The lad said he must get room for the little beast in\nthe stable. The gentleman said he would get it. They went home then. He\nhad eleven boys. When they were going out into the stable at ten o'clock\neach of them took a light with him but he. He took no candle at all with\nhim.\n\nEach of them went into his own stable. When he went into his stable, he\nopened the box. He left it in a hole in the wall. The light was great.\nIt was twice as much as in the other stables. There was wonder on the\nboys--what was the reason of the light being so great, and he without a\ncandle with him at all. They told the master they did not know what was\nthe cause of the light with the last boy. They had given him no candle,\nand he had twice as much light as they had.\n\n\"Watch to-morrow night what kind of light he has,\" said the master.\n\nThey watched the night of the morrow. They saw the box in the hole that\nwas in the wall, and the light coming out of the box. They told the\nmaster. When the boys came to the house, the King asked him what was the\nreason why he did not take a candle with him to the stable, as well as\nthe other boys. The lad said he had a candle. The King said he had not.\nHe asked him how he got the box from which the light came. He said he\nhad no box. The King said he had, and that he must give it to him; that\nhe would not keep him, unless he gave him the box. The boy gave it to\nhim. The King opened it. He drew out the lock of hair, in which was the\nlight.\n\n\"You must go,\" said the King, \"and bring me the woman to whom the hair\nbelongs.\"\n\nThe lad was troubled. He went out. He told the red pony.\n\n\"I told you not to take up the box. You will get more than that on\naccount of the box. When you have made your breakfast to-morrow, put the\nsaddle and bridle on me.\"\n\nWhen he made his breakfast on the morning of the morrow, he put saddle\nand bridle on the pony. He went till they came to three miles of sea.\n\n\"Keep a good hold now. I am going to give a jump over the sea. When I\narrive yonder, there is a fair on the strand. Everyone will be coming up\nto you to ask for a ride, because I am such a pretty little beast. Give\nno one a ride. You will see a beautiful woman drawing near you, her in\nwhose hair was the wonderful light. She will come up to you. She will\nask you to let her ride for a while. Say you will, and welcome. When she\ncomes riding, I will be off.\"\n\nWhen she came to the sea, she cleared the three miles at a jump. She\ncame upon the land opposite, and everyone was asking for a ride upon the\nbeast, she was that pretty. He was giving a ride to no one. He saw that\nwoman in the midst of the people. She was drawing near. She asked him\nwould he give her a little riding. He said he would give it, and a\nthousand welcomes. She went riding. She went quietly, till she got out\nof the crowd. When the pony came to the sea, she made the three-mile\njump again, the beautiful woman along with her. She took her home to the\nKing. There was great joy on the King to see her. He took her into the\nparlour. She said to him she would not marry anyone until he would get\nthe bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world. The King said\nto the lad he must go and bring the bottle of healing water that was in\nthe eastern world to the lady. The lad was troubled. He went to the\npony. He told the pony he must go to the eastern world for the bottle of\nhealing water that was in it, and bring it to the lady.\n\n\"My advice was good,\" said the pony, \"on the day you took the box up.\nPut saddle and bridle on me.\"\n\nHe went riding on her. They were going till they came to the sea. She\nstood then.\n\n\"You must kill me,\" said the pony. \"That, or I must kill you!\"\n\n\"It is hard to me to kill you,\" said the boy. \"If I kill you, there will\nbe no way to myself.\"\n\nHe cut her down. He opened her up. She was not long opened when there\ncame two black ravens and one small one. The two ravens went into the\nbody. They drank their fill of the blood. When they came out, the little\nraven went in. He closed up the pony. He would not let the little bird\ncome out till he got the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern\nworld. The ravens were very troubled. They were begging him to let the\nlittle bird out. He said he would not let it out till they brought him\nthe bottle. They went to seek the bottle. They came back, and there was\nno bottle with them. They were entreating him to let the bird out to\nthem. He would not let out the bird till he got the bottle. They went\naway again for the bottle. They came again at evening. They were tossed\nand scorched, and they had the bottle. They came to the place where the\npony was. They gave the bottle to the boy. He rubbed the healing water\nto every place where they were burned. Then he let out the little bird.\nThere was great joy on them to see him. He rubbed some of the healing\nwater to the place where he cut the pony. He spilt a drop into her ear.\nShe arose as well as she ever was. He had a little bottle in his pocket.\nHe put some of the healing water into it. They went home.\n\nWhen the King perceived the pony coming, he rose out. He took hold of\nher with his two hands. He took her in. He smothered her with kisses,\nand drowned her with tears; he dried her with finest cloths of silk and\nsatin.\n\nThis is what the lady was doing while they were away. She boiled pitch,\nand filled a barrel, and that boiling. Now she went beside it. She\nrubbed the healing water to herself. She came out; she went to the\nbarrel. She gave a jump in and out of the barrel. Three times she went\nin and out. She said she would never marry anyone who could not do the\nsame. The young King came. He went to the barrel. He fell half in, half\nout.\n\nHe was all boiled and burned. Another gentleman came. He gave a jump\ninto the barrel. He was burned. He came not out till he died. After that\nthere was no one going in or out. The barrel was there, and no one at\nall was going near it. The lad went up to it. He rubbed the healing\nwater on himself. He came to the barrel. He jumped in and out three\ntimes. He was watching her. She came out. She said she would never marry\nanyone but him.\n\nCame the priest of the pattens, and the clerk of the bells. The pair\nwere married. The wedding lasted three days and three nights. When it\nwas over, the lad went to look at the place where the pony was. He never\nremembered to go and see the pony during the wedding. He found nothing\nbut a heap of bones. There were two champions and two girls playing\ncards. The lad went crying when he saw the bones of the pony. One of the\ngirls asked what was the matter with him. He said it was all one to\nher--that she cared nothing for his troubles.\n\n\"I would like to get knowledge of the cause why you are crying.\"\n\n\"It was my pony who was here. I never remembered to see her during the\nwedding. I have nothing now but her bones. I don't know what I shall do\nafter her. It was she who did all that I accomplished.\"\n\nThe girl went laughing.\n\n\"Would you know your pony if you saw her?\"\n\n\"I would know,\" said he.\n\nShe laid aside the cards. She stood up.\n\n\"Isn't that your pony?\" said she.\n\n\"It is,\" said he.\n\n\"I was the pony,\" said the girl, \"and the two ravens who went in to\ndrink my blood my two brothers. When the ravens came out, a little bird\nwent in. You closed the pony. You would not let the little bird out till\nthey brought the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world.\nThey brought the bottle to you. The little bird was my sister. It was my\nbrothers were the ravens. We were all under enchantments. It is my\nsister who is married to you. The enchantments are gone from us since\nshe was married.\"\n\nW. LARMINIE.\n\n(_From \"West Irish Folk Tales.\"_)\n\n\n\n\nKing O'Toole and St Kevin\n\n(_A Legend of Glendalough._)\n\n\nThere was wanst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in\nthe ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that owned the Churches\nin the airly days.\n\n\"Surely,\" said I, \"the Churches were not in King O'Toole's time?\"\n\n\"Oh, by no manes, your honor--throth, it's yourself that's right enough\nthere; but you know the place is called 'The Churches' bekase they wor\nbuilt _afther_ by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver\nmore; and, therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that\nthe King owned the Churches--and why not, sir, seein' 'twas his\nbirthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well, the King (you see)\nwas the right sort--he was the _rale_ boy, and loved sport as he loved\nhis life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o' the sun up\nhe got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer: and\nthe fine times them wor; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth,\nfar plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the\nKing, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast. Well, it\nwas all mighty good as long as the King had his health; but, you see, in\ncoorse o' time, the King grewn ould, by raison he was stiff in his\nlimbs, and when he got sthricken in years, his heart failed him, and he\nwas lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a huntin'\nno longer; and, by dad, the poor King was obleeged at last for to get a\ngoose to divart him. You see, the goose used for to swim acrass the\nlake, and go down divin' for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland\nthan the same throut) and cotch fish on a Friday for the King, and flew\nevery other day round about the lake divartin' the poor King that you'd\nthink he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his\ngoose; so, in coorse o' time, the goose was the greatest pet in the\ncounthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the King to no end, and\nthe poor King was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it\nwas; and all wint on mighty well antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken\nin years, as well as the King, and grew stiff in the limbs, like her\nmasther, and couldn't divart him no longer; and then it was that the\npoor King was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to\ndo, seein' he was gone out of all divarshin by raison that the goose was\nno more in the flower of her blume.\n\n\"Well, the King was nigh broken-hearted and melancholy intirely, and was\nwalkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate,\nan' thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin in life,\nwhen all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he\nmeet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.\n\n\"'God save you,' says the King (for the King was a civil-spoken\ngintleman, by all accounts), 'God save you,' says he to the young man.\n\n\"'God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again; 'God save\nyou, King O'Toole.'\n\n\"'Thrue for you,' says the King, 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince\nand plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem ye to\nknow that?' says he.\n\n\"'Oh, never mind,' says Saint Kavin (for 'twas he that was in it). 'And\nnow, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he.\n\n\"'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?' says the King.\n\n\"'Oh, no matther; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the King, 'bekase myself and my\ngoose is private friends,' says he, 'and no one could tell you,' says\nhe, 'barrin' the fairies.'\n\n\"'Oh, thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin; 'for I'd have you\nknow,' says he, 'that I don't keep the likes o' sich company.'\n\n\"'You might do worse, then, my gay fellow,' says the King; 'for it's\n_they_ could show you a crock o' money as aisy as kiss hand; and that's\nnot to be sneezed at,' says the King, 'by a poor man,' says he.\n\n\"'Maybe I've a betther way of making money myself,' says the saint.\n\n\"'By gor,' says the King, 'barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, 'that's\nimpossible!'\n\n\"'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high,\n'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he.\n\n\"'Then, what are you?' says the King, 'that makes money so aisy, by your\nown account.'\n\n\"'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Well, honest man,' says the King, 'and how is it you make your money\nso aisy?'\n\n\"'By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Is it a tinker you are?' says the King.\n\n\"'No,' says the saint; 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a\nbetther thrade than a tinker,' says he. 'What would you say,' says he,\n'if I made your ould goose as good as new?'\n\n\"My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good as new, you'd think\nthe poor ould King's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head, 'and,' says\nhe--'throth, thin, I'd give you more money nor you could count,' says\nhe, 'if you did the like, and I'd be behoulden to you in the bargain.'\n\n\"'I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Faith, thin, I'm thinkin' a thrifle o' change would do you no harm,'\nsays the King, lookin' up sly at the ould _caubeen_ that Saint Kavin had\non him.\n\n\"'I have a vow agin it,' says the saint; 'and I am book sworn,' says he,\n'never to have goold, silver, or brass in my company.'\n\n\"'Barrin' the thrifle you can't help,' says the King, mighty cute, and\nlooking him straight in the face.\n\n\"'You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin; 'but though I can't take money,'\nsays he, 'I could take a few acres o' land, if you'd give them to me.'\n\n\"'With all the veins o' my heart,' says the King, 'if you can do what\nyou say.'\n\n\"'Thry me!' says Saint Kavin. 'Call down your goose here,' says he, 'and\nI'll see what I can do for her.'\n\n\"With that the King whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as\na hound, waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like\nhim as two pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, 'I'll\ndo the job for you,' says he, 'King O'Toole!'\n\n\"'By _Jaminee_,' says King O'Toole, 'if you do, but I'll say you're the\ncleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.'\n\n\"'Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, 'you must say more nor that--my horn's\nnot so soft all out,' says he, 'as to repair your ould goose for\nnothin'; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the chat,'\nsays Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'I'll give you whatever you ax,' says the King; 'isn't that fair?'\n\n\"'Divil a fairer,' says the saint; 'that's the way to do business. Now,'\nsays he, 'this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole: will you\ngi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer, afther I\nmake her as good as new?'\n\n\"'I will,' says the King.\n\n\"'You won't go back o' your word?' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Honor bright!' says King O'Toole, howldin' out his fist.\n\n\"'Honor bright,' says Saint Kavin back again, 'it's a bargain,' says he.\n'Come here!' says he to the poor ould goose--'come here, you\nunfort'nate ould cripple,' says he, 'and it's I that'll make you the\nsportin' bird.'\n\n\"With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two wings--'criss o' my\ncrass an you,' says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at\nthe same minute--and throwin' her up in the air, 'whew!' says he, jist\ngivin' her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she tuk to her\nheels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many\ncapers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there,\nright forninst you, along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint\nKavin's bed (that is, where Saint Kavin's bed is _now_, but was not\n_thin_, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived afther by Saint\nKavin himself, that the women might lave him alone), and on with her\nundher Lugduff, and round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where\nyou see the watherfall--and on with her thin right over the lead mines\no' Luganure (that is, where the lead mines is _now_, but was not _thin_,\nby raison they worn't discovered, _but was all goold in Saint Kavin's\ntime_). Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and studdy, and\nround the other ind av the _little_ lake, by the Churches (that is, _av\ncoorse_, where the Churches is _now_, but was not _thin_, by raison they\nwor not built, but aftherwards by Saint Kavin), and over the big hill\nhere over your head, where you see the big clift--(and that clift in the\nmountain was made by _Finn Ma Cool_, where he cut it acrass with a big\nswoord that he got made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, a\ncousin av his own, for to fight a joyant (giant) that darr'd him an' the\nCurragh o' Kildare; and he thried the swoord first an the mountain, and\ncut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith, sure enough,\nit's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and suddint, and chopped\nhim in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and ould\nIreland)--well, down she flew over the clift, and fluttherin' over the\nwood there at Poulanass. Well--as I said--afther fluttherin' over the\nwood a little bit, to _plaze_ herself, the goose flew down, and bit at\nthe fut o' the King, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his\ndominions, jist as if she hadn't flew three perch.\n\n\"Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the King standin' with\nhis mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a\nlark, and betther nor ever she was; and when she lit at his fut he\npatted her an the head, and '_ma vourneen_,' says he, 'but you are the\n_darlint_ o' the world.'\n\n\"'And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, 'for makin' her the\nlike?'\n\n\"'By gor,' says the King, 'I say nothin' bates the art o' men, 'barrin'\nthe bees.'\n\n\"'And do you say no more nor that?' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the King.\n\n\"'But will you gi' me all the ground the goose flewn over?' says Saint\nKavin.\n\n\"'I will,' says King O'Toole, 'and you're welkim to it,' says he,\n'though it's the last acre I have to give.'\n\n\"'But you'll keep your word thrue?' says the saint.\n\n\"'As thrue as the sun,' says the King.\n\n\"'It's well for you,' says Saint Kavin, mighty sharp--'it's well for\nyou, King O'Toole, that you said that word,' says he; 'for if you didn't\nsay that word, _the divil receave the bit o' your goose id iver fly\nagin_,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Oh, you needn't laugh,' said old Joe, 'for it's thruth I'm telling\nyou.'\n\n\"Well, whin the King was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was _plazed_\nwith him, and thin it was that he made himself known to the King.\n\n\"Well, my dear, that's the way that the place kem, all at wanst, into\nthe hands of Saint Kavin; for the goose flew round every individyial\nacre o' King O'Toole's property, you see, _bein' let into the saycret_\nby Saint Kavin, who was mighty _cute_; and so, when he _done_ the ould\nKing out iv his property for the glory of God, he was _plazed_ with him,\nand he and the King was the best o' friends iver more afther (for the\npoor ould King was _doatin'_, you see), and the King had his goose as\ngood as new to divart him as long as he lived; and the saint supported\nhim afther he kem into his property, as I tould you, until the day iv\nhis death--and that was soon afther; for the poor goose thought he was\nketchin' a throut one Friday; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he\nmade--and instead of a throut, it was a thievin' horse-eel! and, by gor,\ninstead iv the goose killin' a throut for the King's supper--by dad, the\neel killed the King's goose--and small blame to him; but he didn't ate\nher, bekase he darn't ate what Saint Kavin laid his blessed hands on.\"\n\nSAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\n\n\nLament of the Last Leprechaun\n\n\n  For the red shoon of the Shee,\n  For the falling o' the leaf,\n  For the wind among the reeds,\n      My grief.\n\n  For the sorrow of the sea,\n  For the song's unquickened seeds,\n  For the sleeping of the Shee,\n      My grief.\n\n  For dishonoured whitethorn-tree,\n  For the runes that no man reads\n  Where the grey stones face the sea,\n      My grief.\n\n  Lissakeole, that used to be\n  Filled with music night and noon,\n  For their ancient revelry,\n      My grief.\n\n  For the empty fairy shoon,\n  Hollow rath and yellow leaf,\n  Hands unkissed to sun or moon,\n      My grief--my grief!\n\n\nNORA HOPPER.\n\n\n\n\nThe Corpse Watchers\n\n\nThere was once a poor woman that had three daughters, and one day the\neldest said, \"Mother, bake my cake and kill my cock till I go seek my\nfortune.\" So she did, and when all was ready, says her mother to her,\n\"Which will you have--half of these with my blessing, or the whole with\nmy curse?\" \"Curse or no curse,\" says she, \"the whole is little enough.\"\nSo away she set, and if the mother didn't give her her curse, she didn't\ngive her her blessing.\n\nShe walked, and she walked, till she was tired and hungry, and then she\nsat down to take her dinner. While she was eating it a poor woman came\nup, and asked for a bit. \"The dickens a bit you'll get from me,\" says\nshe; \"it's all too little for myself.\" And the poor woman walked away\nvery sorrowful. At nightfall she got lodging at a farmer's, and the\nwoman of the house told her that she'd give her a spadeful of gold and a\nshovelful of silver if she'd only sit up and watch her son's corpse that\nwas waking in the next room. She said she'd do that, and so, when the\nfamily were in their bed, she sat by the fire, and cast an eye from time\nto time on the corpse that was lying under the table.\n\nAll at once the dead man got up in his shroud, and stood before her, and\nsaid, \"All alone, fair maid?\" She gave him no answer; when he had said\nit the third time he struck her with a switch, and she became a grey\nflag.\n\nAbout a week after, the second daughter went to seek her fortune, and\nshe didn't care for her mother's blessing no more _nor_ her sister, and\nthe very same thing happened to her. She was left a grey flag by the\nside of the other.\n\nAt last the youngest went off in search of the other two, and she took\ncare to carry her mother's blessing with her. She shared her dinner with\nthe poor woman on the road, and _she_ told her that she would watch over\nher.\n\nWell, she got lodging in the same place as the others, and agreed to\nmind the corpse. She sat up by the fire, with the dog and cat, and\namused herself with some apples and nuts the mistress had given her. She\nthought it a pity that the man under the table was a corpse, he was so\nhandsome.\n\nBut at last he got up, and, says he, \"All alone, fair maid?\" and she\nwasn't long about an answer:\n\n  All alone I am not,\n  I've little dog Douse, and Pussy, my cat;\n  I've apples to roast and nuts to crack,\n  And all alone I am not.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" says he, \"you're a girl of courage, though you wouldn't have\nenough to follow me. I am now going to cross the quaking bog, and go\nthrough the burning forest. I must then enter the cave of terror and\nclimb the hill of glass, and drop from the top of it into the Dead Sea.\"\n\"I'll follow you,\" says she, \"for I engaged to mind you.\" He thought to\nprevent her, but she was stiff as he was stout.\n\nOut he sprang through the window, and she followed him, till they came\nto the \"Green Hills,\" and then says he:\n\n  \"Open, open, Green Hills and let the light of the Green Hills through.\"\n  \"Aye,\" says the girl, \"and let the fair maid too.\"\n\nThey opened, and the man and woman passed through, and there they were\non the edge of a bog.\n\nHe trod lightly over the shaky bits of moss and sod; and while she was\nthinking of how she'd get across, the old beggar appeared to her, but\nmuch nicer dressed, touched her shoes with a stick, and the soles spread\na foot on each side. So she easily got over the shaky marsh. The burning\nwood was at the edge of the bog, and there the good fairy flung a damp,\nthick cloak over her, and through the flames she went, and a hair of her\nhead was not singed. Then they passed through the dark cavern of\nhorrors, when she'd have heard the most horrible yells, only that the\nfairy stopped her ears with wax. She saw frightful things, with blue\nvapours round them, and felt the sharp rocks and the slimy backs of\nfrogs and snakes.\n\nWhen they got out of the cavern, they were at the mountain of glass; and\nthen the fairy made her slippers so sticky with a tap of her rod that\nshe followed the young corpse quite easily to the top. There was the\ndeep sea a quarter of a mile under them, and so the corpse said to her,\n\"Go home to my mother, and tell her how far you came to do her bidding.\nFarewell!\" He sprung head-foremost down into the sea, and after him she\nplunged, without stopping a moment to think about it.\n\nShe was stupefied at first, but when they reached the waters she\nrecovered her thoughts. After piercing down a great depth, they saw a\ngreen light towards the bottom. At last they were below the sea, that\nseemed a green sky above them; and, sitting in a beautiful meadow, she\nhalf-asleep, and her head resting against his side. She couldn't keep\nher eyes open, and she couldn't tell how long she slept; but when she\nwoke, she was in bed at his house, and he and his mother sitting by her\nbedside, and watching her.\n\nIt was a witch that had a spite to the young man because he wouldn't\nmarry her, and so she got power to keep him in a state between life and\ndeath till a young woman would rescue him by doing what she had done.\nSo, at her request, her sisters got their own shapes again, and were\nsent back to their mother, with their spades of gold and shovels of\nsilver. Maybe they were better after that, but I doubt it much. The\nyoungest got the young gentleman for her husband. I'm sure she lived\nhappy, and, if they didn't live happy--_that we may_!\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Mad Pudding of Ballyboulteen\n\n\n\"Moll Roe Rafferty, the daughter of ould Jack Rafferty, was a fine young\nbouncin' girl, large an' lavish, wid a purty head of hair on her like\nscarlet, that bein' one of the raisons why she was called _Roe_ or red;\nher arms and cheeks were much the colour of the hair, an' her saddle\nnose was the purtiest thing of its kind that ever was on a face.\n\n\"Well, anyhow, it was Moll Rafferty that was the _dilsy_. It happened\nthat there was a nate vagabone in the neighbourhood, just as much\noverburdened wid beauty as herself, and he was named Gusty Gillespie.\nGusty was what they call a black-mouth Prosbytarian, and wouldn't keep\nChristmas day, except what they call 'ould style.' Gusty was rather\ngood-lookin', when seen in the dark, as well as Moll herself; anyhow,\nthey got attached to each other, and in the end everything was arranged\nfor their marriage.\n\n\"Now this was the first marriage that had happened for a long time in\nthe neighbourhood between a Prodestant and a Catholic, and faix, there\nwas one of the bride's uncles, ould Harry Connolly, a fairyman, who\ncould cure all complaints wid a secret he had, and as he didn't wish to\nsee his niece married on sich a fellow, he fought bittherly against the\nmatch. All Moll's friends, however, stood up for the marriage, barrin'\nhim, and, of coorse, the Sunday was appointed, as I said, that they were\nto be dove-tailed together.\n\n\"Well, the day arrived, and Moll, as became her, went to mass, and Gusty\nto meeting, afther which they were to join one another in Jack\nRafferty's, where the priest, Father Mc. Sorley, was to slip up afther\nmass to take his dinner wid them, and to keep Misther Mc. Shuttle, who\nwas to marry them, company. Nobody remained at home but ould Jack\nRafferty an' his wife, who stopped to dress the dinner, for, to tell the\ntruth, it was to be a great let-out entirely. Maybe, if all was known,\ntoo, Father Mc. Sorley was to give them a cast of his office over and\nabove the ministher, in regard that Moll's friends were not altogether\nsatisfied at the kind of marriage which Mc. Shuttle could give them. The\nsorrow may care about that--splice here, splice there--all I can say is\nthat when Mrs. Rafferty was goin' to tie up a big bag pudden, in walks\nHarry Connolly, the fairyman, in a rage, and shouts out, 'Blood and\nblunderbushes, what are yez here for?'\n\n\"'Arrah, why, Harry? Why, avick?'\n\n\"'Why, the sun's in the suds, and the moon in the high Horricks; there's\na clip-stick comin' on, and there you're both as unconsarned as if it\nwas about to rain mether. Go out, an' cross yourselves three times in\nthe name o' the four Mandromarvins, for as prophecy says:--\"Fill the\npot, Eddy, supernaculum--a blazing star's a rare spectaculum.\" Go out,\nboth of you, an' look at the sun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition\nhe's in--off!'\n\n\"Begad, sure enough, Jack gave a bounce to the door, and his wife leaped\nlike a two-year-ould, till they were both got on a stile beside the\nhouse to see what was wrong in the sky.\n\n\"'Arrah, what is it, Jack?' says she, 'can you see anything?'\n\n\"'No,' says he, 'sorra the full of my eye of anything I can spy, barrin'\nthe sun himself, that's not visible, in regard of the clouds. God guard\nus! I doubt there's something to happen.'\n\n\"'If there wasn't Jack, what'd put Harry, that knows so much, in the\nstate he's in?'\n\n\"'I doubt it's this marriage,' says Jack. 'Betune ourselves, it's not\nover an' above religious of Moll to marry a black-mouth, an' only for--;\nbut, it can't be helped now, though you see it's not a taste o' the sun\nis willin' to show his face upon it.'\n\n\"'As to that,' says his wife, winkin' with both her eyes, 'if Gusty's\nsatisfied wid Moll, it's enough. I know who'll carry the whip hand,\nanyhow; but in the manetime let us ax Harry within what ails the sun?'\n\n\"Well, they accordianly went in, and put this question to him, 'Harry,\nwhat's wrong, ahagur? What is it now, for if anybody alive knows 'tis\nyourself?'\n\n\"'Ah,' said Harry, screwin' his mouth wid a kind of a dry smile, 'the\nsun has a hard twist o' the colic; but never mind that, I tell you,\nyou'll have a merrier weddin' than you think, that's all'; and havin'\nsaid this, he put on his hat and left the house.\n\n\"Now, Harry's answer relieved them very much, and so, afther callin' to\nhim to be back for dinner, Jack sat down to take a shough o' the pipe,\nand the wife lost no time in tying up the pudden, and puttin' it in the\npot to be boiled.\n\n\"In this way things went on well enough for a while, Jack smokin' away,\nan' the wife cookin' an' dhressin' at the rate of a hunt. At last, Jack,\nwhile sittin', as I said, contentedly at the fire, thought he could\npersave an odd dancin' kind of motion in the pot that puzzled him a good\ndeal.\n\n\"'Katty,' says he, 'what the dickens is in this pot on the fire?'\n\n\"'Nerra thing but the big pudden. Why do you ax?' says she.\n\n\"'Why,' says he, 'if ever a pot tuck it into its head to dance a jig,\nand this did. Thundher and sparbles, look at it!'\n\n\"Begad, and it was thrue enough; there was the pot bobbin' up an' down,\nand from side to side, jiggin' it away as merry as a grig; an' it was\nquite aisy to see that it wasn't the pot itself, but what was inside of\nit, that brought about the hornpipe.\n\n\"'Be the hole o' my coat,' shouted Jack, 'there's somethin' alive in it,\nor it would niver cut sich capers!'\n\n\"'Begorra, there is, Jack; somethin' sthrange entirely has got into it.\nWirra, man alive, what's to be done?'\n\n\"Jist as she spoke the pot seemed to cut the buckle in prime style, and\nafther a spring that'd shame a dancin' masther, off flew the lid, and\nout bounced the pudden itself, hoppin' as nimble as a pea on a drum-head\nabout the floor. Jack blessed himself, and Katty crossed herself. Jack\nshouted, and Katty screamed. 'In the name of goodness, keep your\ndistance; no one here injured you!'\n\n\"The pudden, however, made a set at him, and Jack lepped first on a\nchair, and then on the kitchen table, to avoid it. It then danced\ntowards Katty, who was repatin' her prayers at the top of her voice,\nwhile the cunnin' thief of a pudden was hoppin' an' jiggin' it around\nher as if it was amused at her distress.\n\n\"'If I could get the pitchfork,' says Jack, 'I'd dale wid it--by goxty,\nI'd thry its mettle.'\n\n\"'No, no,' shouted Katty, thinking there was a fairy in it; 'let us\nspake it fair. Who knows what harm it might do? Aisy, now,' says she to\nthe pudden, 'aisy, dear; don't harm honest people that never meant to\noffend you. It wasn't us--no, in troth, it was ould Harry Connolly that\nbewitched you; pursue _him_, if you wish, but spare a woman like me!'\n\n\"The pudden, bedad, seemed to take her at her word, and danced away from\nher towards Jack, who, like the wife, believin' there was a fairy in\nit, an' that spakin' it fair was the best plan, thought he would give it\na soft word as well as her.\n\n\"'Plase your honour,' said Jack, 'she only spaiks the truth, an' upon my\nvoracity, we both feels much oblaiged to you for your quietness. Faith,\nit's quite clear that if you weren't a gentlemanly pudden, all out,\nyou'd act otherwise. Ould Harry, the rogue, is your mark; he's jist gone\ndown the road there, and if you go fast you'll overtake him. Be my song,\nyour dancin'-masther did his duty, anyway. Thank your honour! God speed\nyou, and may you niver meet wid a parson or alderman in your thravels.'\n\n\"Jist as Jack spoke, the pudden appeared to take the hint, for it\nquietly hopped out, and as the house was directly on the roadside,\nturned down towards the bridge, the very way that ould Harry went. It\nwas very natural, of coorse, that Jack and Katty should go out to see\nhow it intended to thravel, and as the day was Sunday, it was but\nnatural, too, that a greater number of people than usual were passin'\nthe road. This was a fact; and when Jack and his wife were seen\nfollowin' the pudden, the whole neighbourhood was soon up and afther it.\n\n\"'Jack Rafferty, what is it? Katty, ahagur, will you tell us what it\nmanes?'\n\n\"'Why,' replied Katty, 'it's my big pudden that's bewitched, an' it's\nout hot foot pursuin''--here she stopped, not wishin' to mention her\nbrother's name--'_someone_ or other that surely put _pishrogues_[3] an\nit.'\n\n\"This was enough; Jack, now seein' that he had assistance, found his\ncourage comin' back to him; so says he to Katty, 'Go home,' says he,\n'an' lose no time in makin' another pudden as good, an' here's Paddy\nScanlan's wife, Bridget, says she'll let you boil it on her fire, as\nyou'll want our own to dress the rest of the dinner; and Paddy himself\nwill lend me a pitchfork for purshuin' to the morsel of that same pudden\nwill escape, till I let the wind out of it, now that I've the neighbours\nto back an' support me,' says Jack.\n\n\"This was agreed to, an' Katty went back to prepare a fresh pudden,\nwhile Jack an' half the townland pursued the other wid spades, graips,\npitchforks, scythes, flails, and all possible description of\ninstruments. On the pudden went, however, at the rate of about six Irish\nmiles an hour, an' sich a chase was never seen. Catholics, Prodestants,\nand Prosbytarians were all afther it, armed, as I said, an' bad end to\nthe thing, but its own activity could save it. Here it made a hop, there\na prod was made at it; but off it went, and someone, as eager to get a\nslice at it on the other side, got the prod instead of the pudden. Big\nFrank Farrell, the miller, of Ballyboulteen, got a prod backwards that\nbrought a hullabulloo out of him that you might hear at the other end of\nthe parish. One got a slice of a scythe, another a whack of a flail, a\nthird a rap of a spade, that made him look nine ways at wanst.\n\n\"'Where is it goin'?' asked one. 'My life for you, it's on its way to\nMeeting. Three cheers for it, if it turns to Carntaul!' 'Prod the sowl\nout of it if it's a Prodestan'' shouted the others; 'if it turns to the\nleft, slice it into pancakes. We'll have no Prodestan' puddens here.'\n\n\"Begad, by this time the people were on the point of beginnin' to have a\nregular fight about it, when, very fortunately, it took a short turn\ndown a little by-lane that led towards the Methodist praychin'-house,\nan' in an instant all parties were in an uproar against it as a\nMethodist pudden. 'It's a Wesleyan,' shouted several voices; 'an' by\nthis an' by that, into a Methodist chapel it won't put a foot to-day, or\nwe'll lose a fall. Let the wind out of it. Come, boys, where's your\npitchforks?'\n\n\"The divle purshuin' to the one of them, however, ever could touch the\npudden, and jist when they thought they had it up against the gavel of\nthe Methodist chapel, begad, it gave them the slip, and hops over to the\nleft, clane into the river, and sails away before their eyes as light as\nan egg-shell.\n\n\"Now, it so happened that a little below this place the desmesne wall of\nColonel Bragshaw was built up to the very edge of the river on each side\nof its banks; and so, findin' there was a stop put to their pursuit of\nit, they went home again, every man, woman, and child of them, puzzled\nto think what the pudden was at all, what it meant, or where it was\ngoin'! Had Jack Rafferty an' his wife been willin' to let out the\nopinion they held about Henry Connolly bewitchin' it, there is no doubt\nof it but poor Harry might be badly trated by the crowd, when their\nblood was up. They had sense enough, howaniver, to keep that to\nthemselves, for Harry bein' an ould bachelor, was a kind friend to the\nRaffertys. So, of coorse, there was all kinds of talk about it--some\nguessin' this, an' some guessin' that--one party sayin' the pudden was\nof their side, and another denyin' it, an' insisting it belonged to\nthem, an' so on.\n\n\"In the meantime, Katty Rafferty, for 'fraid the dinner might come\nshort, went home and made another pudden much about the same size as the\none that had escaped, an' bringin' it over to their next neighbour,\nPaddy Scanlan's, it was put into a pot, and placed on the fire to boil,\nhopin' that it might be done in time, espishilly as they were to have\nthe ministher, who loved a warm slice of a good pudden as well as e'er a\ngentleman in Europe.\n\n\"Anyhow, the day passed; Moll and Gusty were made man an' wife, an' no\ntwo could be more lovin'. Their friends that had been asked to the\nweddin' were saunterin' about in pleasant little groups till\ndinner-time, chattin' an' laughin'; but above all things, sthrivin' to\naccount for the figaries of the pudden; for, to tell the truth, its\nadventures had now gone through the whole parish.\n\n\"Well, at any rate, dinner-time was drawin' near, and Paddy Scanlan was\nsittin' comfortably wid his wife at the fire, the pudden boilin' before\ntheir eyes, when in walks Harry Connolly in a flutter, shoutin', 'Blood\nand blunderbushes, what are yez here for?'\n\n\"'Arrah, why, Harry--why, avick?' said Mrs. Scanlan.\n\n\"'Why,' said Harry, 'the sun's in the suds, an' the moon in the high\nHorricks! Here's a clipstick comin' on, an' there you sit as unconsarned\nas if it was about to rain mether! Go out, both of you, an' look at the\nsun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition he's in--off!'\n\n\"'Ay, but, Harry, what's that rowled up in the tail of your cothamore\n(big coat)?'\n\n\"'Out wid yez,' says Harry, 'an' pray aginst the clipstick--the sky's\nfallin'!'\n\n\"Begad, it was hard to say whether Paddy or the wife got out first, they\nwere so much alarmed by Harry's wild, thin face and piercin' eyes; so\nout they went to see what was wonderful in the sky, an' kep lookin' an'\nlookin' in every direction, but not a thing was to be seen, barrin' the\nsun shinin' down wid great good-humour, an' not a single cloud in the\nsky.\n\n\"Paddy an' the wife now came in laughin' to scould Harry, who no doubt\nwas a great wag in his way when he wished. 'Musha, bad scran to you,\nHarry----' and they had time to say no more, howandiver, for, as they\nwere goin' into the door, they met him comin' out of it, wid a reek of\nsmoke out of his tail like a lime-kiln.\n\n\"'Harry,' shouted Bridget, 'my sowl to glory, but the tail of your\ncothamore's afire--you'll be burned. Don't you see the smoke that's out\nof it?'\n\n\"'Cross yourselves three times,' said Harry, widout stoppin' or even\nlookin' behind him, 'for, as the prophecy says, Fill the pot, Eddy----'\nThey could hear no more, for Harry appeared to feel like a man that\ncarried something a great deal hotter than he wished, as anyone might\nsee by the liveliness of his motions, and the quare faces he was forced\nto make as he went along.\n\n\"'What the dickens is he carryin' in the skirts of his big coat?' asked\nPaddy.\n\n\"'My sowl to happiness, but maybe he has stolen the pudden,' said\nBridget, 'for it's known that many a sthrange thing he does.'\n\n\"They immediately examined the pot, but found that the pudden was there,\nas safe as tuppence, an' this puzzled them the more to think what it was\nhe could be carryin' about with him in the manner he did. But little\nthey knew what he had done while they were sky-gazin'!\n\n\"Well, anyhow, the day passed, and the dinner was ready, an' no doubt\nbut a fine gatherin' there was to partake of it. The Prosbytarian\nministher met the Methodist praycher--a divilish stretcher of an\nappetite he had, in throth--on their way to Jack Rafferty's, an' as he\nknew he could take the liberty, why, he insisted on his dinin' wid him;\nfor, afther all, in thim days, the clargy of all descriptions lived upon\nthe best footin' among one another, not all at one as now--but no\nmatther. Well, they had nearly finished their dinner, when Jack Rafferty\nhimself axed Katty for the pudden; but, jist as he spoke, in it came, as\nbig as a mess-pot.\n\n\"'Gintlemen,' said he, 'I hope none of you will refuse tastin' a bit of\nKatty's pudden; I don't mane the dancin' one that took to its thravels\nto-day, but a good solid fellow that she med since.'\n\n\"'To be sure we won't,' replied the priest. 'So, Jack, put a thrifle on\nthem three plates at your right hand, and send them over here to the\nclargy, an' maybe,' he said, laughin'--for he was a droll, good-humoured\nman--'maybe, Jack, we won't set you a proper example.'\n\n\"'Wid a heart an' a half, your riverence an' gintlemen; in throth, it's\nnot a bad example ever any of you set us at the likes, or ever will set\nus, I'll go bail. An' sure, I only wish it was betther fare I had for\nyou; but we're humble people, gintlemen, an' so you can't expect to meet\nhere what you would in higher places.'\n\n\"'Betther a male of herbs,' said the Methodist praycher, 'where pace\nis----' He had time to get no further, however; for much to his\namazement, the priest an' the ministher started up from the table, jist\nas he was goin' to swallow the first mouthful of the pudden, and, before\nyou could say Jack Robinson, started away at a lively jig down the\nfloor.\n\n\"At this moment a neighbour's son came runnin' in, and tould them that\nthe parson was comin' to see the new-married couple, an' wish them all\nhappiness; an' the words were scarcely out of his mouth when he made his\nappearance. What to think, he knew not, when he saw the ministher\nfootin' it away at the rate of a weddin'. He had very little time,\nhowever, to think; for, before he could sit down, up starts the\nMethodist praycher, an', clappin' his fists in his sides, chimes in in\ngreat style along wid him.\n\n\"'Jack Rafferty,' says he, and, by the way, Jack was his tenant, 'what\nthe dickens does all this mane?' says he; 'I'm amazed!'\n\n\"'The not a particle o' me can tell you,' says Jack; 'but will your\nreverence jist taste a morsel o' pudden, merely that the young couple\nmay boast that you ait at their weddin'; for, sure, if _you_ wouldn't,\nwho _would_?'\n\n\"'Well,' says he, 'to gratify them, I will; so, just a morsel. But,\nJack, this bates Bannagher,' says he again, puttin' the spoonful of\npudden into his mouth; 'has there been drink here?'\n\n\"'Oh, the divle a spudh,' says Jack, 'for although there's plenty in the\nhouse, faith, it appears the gintlemen wouldn't wait for it. Unless they\ntuck it elsewhere, I can make nothin' o' this.'\n\n\"He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was an active man, cut a\ncaper a yard high, an' before you could bless yourself, the three clargy\nwere hard at work dancin', as if for a wager. Begad, it would be\nunpossible for me to tell you the state the whole meetin' was in when\nthey see this. Some were hoarse wid laughin'; some turned up their eyes\nwid wondher; many thought them mad; and others thought they had turned\nup their little fingers a thrifle too often.\n\n\"'Be goxty, it's a burnin' shame,' said one, 'to see three black-mouth\nclargy in sich a state at this early hour!' 'Thundher an' ounze, what's\nover them at all?' says others; 'why, one would think they were\nbewitched. Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts! An' as for\nthe Recthor, who would think he could handle his feet at sich a rate! Be\nthis, an' be that, he cuts the buckle, an' does the threblin' step\naiquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin'-masther himself! An' see! Bad cess\nto the morsel of the parson that's not too hard at _Peace upon a\ntrancher_, and it upon a Sunday, too! Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun's in\nyez, afther all--whish! more power to yez!'\n\n\"The sorra's own fun they had, an' no wondher; but judge of what they\nfelt when all at once they saw ould Jack Rafferty himself bouncin' in\namong them, an' footin' it away like the best of them. Bedad, no play\ncould come up to it, an' nothin' could be heard but laughin', shouts of\nencouragement, an' clappin' of hands like mad. Now, the minute Jack\nRafferty left the chair, where he had been carvin' the pudden, ould\nHarry Connolly come over and claps himself down in his place, in ordher\nto sent it round, of coorse; an' he was scarcely sated when who should\nmake his appearance but Barney Hartigan, the piper. Barney, by the way,\nhad been sent for early in the day, but bein' from home when the message\nfor him went, he couldn't come any sooner.\n\n\"'Begorra,' says Barney, 'you're airly at the work gintlemen! But what\ndoes this mane? But divle may care, yez shan't want the music, while\nthere's a blast in the pipes, anyhow!' So sayin' he gave them _Jig\nPolthogue_, and afther that, _Kiss My Lady_, in his best style.\n\n\"In the manetime the fun went on thick and threefold, for it must be\nremembered that Harry, the ould knave, was at the pudden; an' maybe, he\ndidn't sarve it about in double-quick time, too! The first he helped was\nthe bride, and before you could say chopstick she was at it hard and\nfast, before the Methodist praycher, who gave a jolly spring before her\nthat threw them into convulsions. Harry liked this, and made up his mind\nsoon to find partners for the rest; so he accordianly sent the pudden\nabout like lightnin'; an', to make a long story short, barrin' the piper\nan' himself, there wasn't a pair of heels in the house but was as busy\nat the dancin' as if their lives depended on it.\n\n\"'Barney,' says Harry, 'jist taste a morsel o' this pudden; divle the\nsich a bully of a pudden ever you ett. Here, your sowl! thry a snig of\nit--it's beautiful!'\n\n\"'To be sure I will,' says Barney. 'I'm not the boy to refuse a good\nthing. But, Harry, be quick, for you know my hands is engaged, an' it\nwould be a thousand pities not to keep them in music, an' they so well\ninclined. Thank you, Harry. Begad, that is a fine pudden. But, blood\nan' turnips! what's this for?'\n\n\"The word was scarcely out of his mouth when he bounced up, pipes an'\nall, and dashed into the middle of the party. 'Hurroo! your sowls, let\nus make a night of it! The Ballyboulteen boys for ever! Go it, your\nreverence!--turn your partner--heel an' toe, ministher. Good! Well done,\nagain! Whish! Hurroo! Here's for Ballyboulteen, an' the sky over it!'\n\n\"Bad luck to sich a set ever was seen together in this world, or will\nagain, I suppose. The worst, however, wasn't come yet, for jist as they\nwere in the very heat an' fury of the dance, what do you think comes\nhoppin' in among them but another pudden, as nimble an' merry as the\nfirst! That was enough; they had all heard of it--the ministhers among\nthe rest--an' most of them had seen the other pudden, an' knew that\nthere must be a fairy in it, sure enough. Well, as I said, in it comes\nto the thick o' them; but the very appearance of it was enough. Off the\nthree clargy danced, and off the whole weddiners danced afther them,\neveryone makin' the best of their way home; but not a sowl of them able\nto break out of the step, if they were to be hanged for it. Throth, it\nwouldn't lave a laff in you to see the parson dancin' down the road on\nhis way home, and the ministher and Methodist praycher cuttin' the\nbuckle as they went along in the opposite direction. To make short work\nof it, they all danced home at last wid scarce a puff of wind in them;\nthe bride an' bridegroom danced away to bed; an' now, boys, come an' let\nus dance the _Horo Lheig_ in the barn widout. But, you see, boys, before\nwe go, and in order to make everything plain, I had as good tell you\nthat Harry, in crossin' the bridge of Ballyboulteen, a couple o' miles\nbetween Squire Bragshaw's demesne wall, saw the pudden floatin' down the\nriver--the truth is, he was waitin' for it; but, be this as it may, he\ntook it out, for the wather had made it as clane as a new pin, an'\ntuckin' it up in the tail of his big coat, contrived to bewitch it in\nthe same manner by gettin' a fairy to get into it, for, indeed, it was\npurty well known that the same Harry was hand an' glove wid the _good\npeople_. Others will tell you that it was half a pound of quicksilver he\nput into it, but that doesn't stand to raison. At any rate, boys, I have\ntould you the adventures of the Mad Pudden of Ballyboulteen; but I don't\nwish to tell you many other things about it that happened--_for 'fraid\nI'd tell a lie_!\"\n\nWILLIAM CARLETON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Voyage of Maeldune\n\n\n  I was the chief of the race--he had stricken my father dead--\n  But I gathered my fellows together; I swore I would strike off his head.\n  Each of them looked like a king, and was noble in birth as in worth,\n  And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race upon earth.\n  Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song,\n  And each of them liefer had died than have done one another a wrong.\n  _He_ lived on an isle in the ocean--we sail'd on a Friday morn--\n  He that had slain my father the day before I was born.\n\n  And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the shore was he.\n  But a sudden blast blew us out and away through a boundless sea.\n\n  And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touched before,\n  Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore,\n  And the brooks glittered on in the light without sound, and the long\n    waterfalls\n  Poured in a thunderless plunge to the base of the mountain walls,\n  And the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourished up beyond sight\n  And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable height,\n  And high in the heaven above it there flickered a songless lark,\n  And the cock couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, and the dog\n    couldn't bark.\n  And round it we went, and thro' it, but never a murmur, a breath,\n  It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as death,\n  And we hated the beautiful Isle, for whenever we strove to speak\n  Our voices were thinner and fainter than any flittermouse shriek;\n  And the men that were mighty of tongue, and could raise such a battle-cry\n  That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand lances and die--\n  Oh, they to be dumb'd by the charm!--so fluster'd with anger were they\n  They almost fell on each other; but, after, we sailed away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Shouting, we landed, a score of wild birds\n  Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and words;\n  Once in an hour they cried, and whenever their voices peal'd\n  The steer fell down at the plough and the harvest died from the field,\n  And the men dropt dead in the valleys and half of the cattle went lame,\n  And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling broke into flame;\n  And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts of my crew,\n  Till they shouted along with the shouting, and seized one another and\n    slew;\n  But I drew them the one from the other; I saw that we could not stay,\n  And we left the dead to the birds and we sail'd with our wounded away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Flowers, their breath met us out on the seas,\n  For the Spring and the middle Summer sat each on the lap of the breeze;\n  And the red passion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark-blue clematis\n    clung\n  And starr'd with a myriad blossom, the long convolvulus hung;\n  And the topmost spire of the mountain was lilies in lieu of snow,\n  And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out below\n  Thro' the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of gorse, and the blush\n  Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or thorn from the bush;\n  And the whole isle-side flashing down from the peak without ever a tree\n  Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea;\n  And we roll'd upon capes of crocus and vaunted our kith and kin,\n  And we wallowed in beds of lilies, and chanted the triumph of Finn,\n  Till each like a golden image was pollen'd from head to feet\n  And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the middle-day heat.\n  Blossom, and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never a fruit!\n  And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we hated the isle that was mute,\n  And we tore up the flowers by the million and flung them in bight and\n    bay.\n  And we left but a naked rock, and in anger we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Fruits: all round from the cliffs and the\n    capes,\n  Purple or amber dangled a hundred fathom of grapes,\n  And the warm melon lay, like a little sun, on the tawny sand,\n  And the fig ran up from the beach, and rioted over the land,\n  And the mountain arose, like a jewelled throne thro' the fragrant air,\n  Glowing with all-coloured plums, and with golden masses of pear,\n  And the crimson and scarlet of berries that flamed upon bine and vine,\n  But in every berry and fruit was the poisonous pleasure of wine:\n  And the peak of the mountain was apples, the hugest that ever were seen,\n  And they prest, as they grew, on each other, with hardly a leaflet\n    between.\n  And all of them redder than rosiest health, or than utterest shame,\n  And setting, when Even descended, the very sunset aflame.\n  And we stay'd three days, and we gorged and we madden'd till everyone\n    drew\n  His sword on his fellow to slay him, and ever they struck and they slew;\n  And myself I had eaten but sparsely, and fought till I sunder'd the fray,\n  Then I bade them remember my father's death, and we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Fire: we were lured by the light from afar,\n  For the peak sent up one league of fire to the Northern Star;\n  Lured by the glare and the blare, but scarcely could stand upright,\n  For the whole isle shudder'd and shook, like a man in a mortal affright;\n  We were giddy, besides, with the fruits we had gorged, and so crazed that\n    at last,\n  There were some leap'd into the fire; and away we sail'd, and we past\n  Over that undersea isle, where the water is clearer than air:\n  Down we look'd: what a garden! Oh, bliss, what a Paradise there!\n  Towers of a happier time, low down in a rainbow deep\n  Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep!\n  And three of the gentlest and best of my people, whate'er I could say,\n  Plunged head down in the sea, and the Paradise trembled away.\n\n  And we came to the Bounteous Isle, where the heavens lean low on the\n    land,\n  And ever at dawn from the cloud glitter'd o'er us a sun-bright hand,\n  Then it opened, and dropped at the side of each man, as he rose from his\n    rest,\n  Bread enough for his need till the labourless day dipt under the West;\n  And we wandered about it, and thro' it. Oh, never was time so good!\n  And we sang of the triumphs of Finn, and the boast of our ancient blood,\n  And we gazed at the wandering wave, as we sat by the gurgle of springs,\n  And we chanted the songs of the Bards and the glories of fairy kings;\n  But at length we began to be weary, to sigh, and to stretch and yawn,\n  Till we hated the Bounteous Isle, and the sun-bright hand of the dawn,\n  For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green isle was our own,\n  And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing the stone,\n  And we took to playing at battle, but that was a perilous play,\n  For the passion of battle was in us, we slew and we sail'd away.\n\n  And we passed to the Isle of Witches, and heard their musical cry--\n  \"Come to us, Oh, come, come,\" in the stormy red of a sky\n  Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beautiful shapes,\n  For a wild witch, naked as heaven, stood on each of the loftiest capes,\n  And a hundred ranged on the rocks, like white sea-birds in a row,\n  And a hundred gambled and pranced on the wrecks in the sand below,\n  And a hundred splashed from the ledges, and bosomed the burst of the\n    spray.\n  But I knew we should fall on each other, and hastily sail'd away.\n\n  And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double Towers,\n  One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with flowers,\n  But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under the dells,\n  And they shock'd on each other and butted each other with clashing of\n    bells,\n  And the daws flew out of the Towers, and jangled and wrangled in vain,\n  And the clash and boom of the bells rang into the heart and brain,\n  Till the passion of battle was on us, and all took sides with the Towers,\n  There were some for the clean-cut stone, there were more for the carven\n    flowers,\n  And the wrathful thunder of God peal'd over us all the day,\n  For the one half slew the other, and, after, we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of a Saint, who had sail'd with St. Brendan of\n    yore,\n  He had lived ever since on the isle, and his winters were fifteen score,\n  And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet,\n  And his white hair sank to his heels, and his white beard fell to his\n    feet,\n  And he spake to me, \"Oh, Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine!\n  Remember the words of the Lord, when He told us 'Vengeance is Mine!'\n  His fathers have slain thy fathers, in war or in single strife,\n  Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life,\n  Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last?\n  Go back to the Isle of Finn and suffer the Past to be Past.\"\n  And we kiss'd the fringe of his beard, and we pray'd as we heard him\n    pray,\n  And the Holy Man he assoil'd us, and sadly we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on the shore was\n    he,\n  The man that had slain my father. I saw him, and let him be.\n  Oh, weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife, and the sin,\n  When I landed again with a tithe of my men on the Island of Finn.\n\n\nALFRED TENNYSON.\n\n\n\n\n  LEICESTER:\n  WALTER WATTS & CO., LTD.,\n  PRINTERS.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] From \"Hero Tales of Ireland.\"\n\n[2] Stone fort or rampart or castle.\n\n[3] Put it under Fairy influence.\n\n\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nThe following printing errors have been corrected:\n  \"Sentata\" corrected to \"Setanta\" (page 52)\n  \"srtength\" corrected to \"strength\" (page 74)\n  \"he\" corrected to \"she\" (page 77)\n  missing \"to\" added (page 137)\n      \"for what would become of us all if anything happened Finn\"\n  \"dragghin\" corrected to \"dhraggin\" (page 176)\n  \"Finnula\" corrected to \"Finnuala\" (page 233)\n  \"did did\" corrected to \"did\" (page 247)\n  \"bentedge\" corrected to \"bent edge\" (page 256)\n  \"I ish\" corrected to \"Irish\" (page 267)\n  ' corrected to ) (page 320)\n\nThe numerous decorative illustrations in the original text are not\nrepresented in this text document.","title":"The Irish Fairy Book","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":90830}