{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35862/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35862","id":"gutenberg_35862","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35862","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Celts -- Folklore","Fairy tales","Fairy tales -- Great Britain","Folklore -- Great Britain","Tales -- Great Britain"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              _SAY THIS_\n\n                  _Three times, with your eyes shut_\n\n\n                        [Illustration: Gaelic]\n\n\n                          _And you will see_\n\n                         _What you will see_\n\n\n                    [Illustration: The Sea Maiden]\n\n\n\n\n                           Celtic Folk and\n\n                             Fairy Tales\n\n\n                        SELECTED AND EDITED BY\n\n                            JOSEPH JACOBS\n\n                        EDITOR OF \"FOLK-LORE\"\n\n\n                            ILLUSTRATED BY\n\n                            JOHN D. BATTEN\n\n\n\n\n\n                         G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS\n\n                        NEW YORK  AND  LONDON\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTo\n\nALFRED NUTT\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\n\nLast year, in giving the young ones a volume of English Fairy Tales,\nmy difficulty was one of collection. This time, in offering them\nspecimens of the rich folk-fancy of the Celts of these islands, my\ntrouble has rather been one of selection. Ireland began to collect her\nfolk-tales almost as early as any country in Europe, and Croker has\nfound a whole school of successors in Carleton, Griffin, Kennedy,\nCurtin, and Douglas Hyde. Scotland had the great name of Campbell, and\nhas still efficient followers in MacDougall, MacInnes, Carmichael,\nMacLeod, and Campbell of Tiree. Gallant little Wales has no name to\nrank alongside these; in this department the Cymru have shown less\nvigour than the Gaedhel. Perhaps the Eisteddfod, by offering prizes\nfor the collection of Welsh folk-tales, may remove this inferiority.\nMeanwhile Wales must be content to be somewhat scantily represented\namong the Fairy Tales of the Celts, while the extinct Cornish tongue\nhas only contributed one tale.\n\nIn making my selection I have chiefly tried to make the stories\ncharacteristic. It would have been easy, especially from Kennedy, to\nhave made up a volume entirely filled with \"Grimm's Goblins\" _a la\nCeltique_. But one can have too much even of that very good thing, and\nI have therefore avoided as far as possible the more familiar\n\"formulae\" of folk-tale literature. To do this I had to withdraw from\nthe English-speaking Pale both in Scotland and Ireland, and I laid\ndown the rule to include only tales that have been taken down from\nCeltic peasants ignorant of English.\n\nHaving laid down the rule, I immediately proceeded to break it. The\nsuccess of a fairy book, I am convinced, depends on the due admixture\nof the comic and the romantic: Grimm and Asbjornsen knew the secret,\nand they alone. But the Celtic peasant who speaks Gaelic takes the\npleasure of telling tales somewhat sadly: so far as he has been\nprinted and translated, I found him, to my surprise, conspicuously\nlacking in humour. For the comic relief of this volume I have\ntherefore had to turn mainly to the Irish peasant of the Pale; and\nwhat richer source could I draw from?\n\nFor the more romantic tales I have depended on the Gaelic, and, as I\nknow about as much of Gaelic as an Irish Nationalist M.P., I have had\nto depend on translators. But I have felt myself more at liberty than\nthe translators themselves, who have generally been over-literal, in\nchanging, excising, or modifying the original. I have even gone\nfurther. In order that the tales should be characteristically Celtic,\nI have paid more particular attention to tales that are to be found on\nboth sides of the North Channel. In re-telling them I have had no\nscruple in interpolating now and then a Scotch incident into an Irish\nvariant of the same story, or _vice versa_. Where the translators\nappealed to English folk-lorists and scholars, I am trying to attract\nEnglish children. They translated; I endeavoured to transfer. In\nshort, I have tried to put myself into the position of an _ollamh_ or\n_sheenachie_ familiar with both forms of Gaelic, and anxious to put\nhis stories in the best way to attract English children. I trust I\nshall be forgiven by Celtic scholars for the changes I have had to\nmake to effect this end.\n\nThe stories collected in this volume are longer and more detailed than\nthe English ones I brought together last Christmas. The romantic ones\nare certainly more romantic, and the comic ones perhaps more comic,\nthough there may be room for a difference of opinion on this latter\npoint. This superiority of the Celtic folk-tales is due as much to the\nconditions under which they have been collected, as to any innate\nsuperiority of the folk-imagination. The folk-tale in England is in\nthe last stages of exhaustion. The Celtic folk-tales have been\ncollected while the practice of story-telling is still in full vigour,\nthough there is every sign that its term of life is already numbered.\nThe more the reason why they should be collected and put on record\nwhile there is yet time. On the whole, the industry of the collectors\nof Celtic folk-lore is to be commended, as may be seen from the survey\nof it I have prefixed to the Notes and References at the end of the\nvolume. Among these, I would call attention to the study of the\nlegend of Beth Gellert, the origin of which, I believe, I have\nsettled.\n\nWhile I have endeavoured to render the language of the tales simple\nand free from bookish artifice, I have not felt at liberty to re-tell\nthe tales in the English way. I have not scrupled to retain a Celtic\nturn of speech, and here and there a Celtic word, which I have _not_\nexplained within brackets--a practice to be abhorred of all good men.\nA few words unknown to the reader only add effectiveness and local\ncolour to a narrative, as Mr. Kipling well knows.\n\nOne characteristic of the Celtic folk-tale I have endeavoured to\nrepresent in my selection, because it is nearly unique at the present\nday in Europe. Nowhere else is there so large and consistent a body of\noral tradition about the national and mythical heroes as amongst the\nGaels. Only the _byline_, or hero-songs of Russia, equal in extent the\namount of knowledge about the heroes of the past that still exists\namong the Gaelic-speaking peasantry of Scotland and Ireland. And the\nIrish tales and ballads have this peculiarity, that some of them have\nbeen extant, and can be traced for well nigh a thousand years. I have\nselected as a specimen of this class the Story of Deirdre, collected\namong the Scotch peasantry a few years ago, into which I have been\nable to insert a passage taken from an Irish vellum of the twelfth\ncentury. I could have more than filled this volume with similar oral\ntraditions about Finn (the Fingal of Macpherson's \"Ossian\"). But the\nstory of Finn, as told by the Gaelic peasantry of to-day, deserves a\nvolume by itself, while the adventures of the Ultonian hero,\nCuchulain, could easily fill another.\n\nI have endeavoured to include in this volume the best and most typical\nstories told by the chief masters of the Celtic folk-tale, Campbell,\nKennedy, Hyde, and Curtin, and to these I have added the best tales\nscattered elsewhere. By this means I hope I have put together a\nvolume, containing both the best, and the best known folk-tales of the\nCelts. I have only been enabled to do this by the courtesy of those\nwho owned the copyright of these stories. Lady Wilde has kindly\ngranted me the use of her effective version of \"The Horned Women\"; and\nI have specially to thank Messrs. Macmillan for right to use Kennedy's\n_Legendary Fictions_, and Messrs. Sampson Low & Co., for the use of\nMr. Curtin's Tales.\n\nIn making my selection, and in all doubtful points of treatment, I\nhave had resource to the wide knowledge of my friend Mr. Alfred Nutt\nin all branches of Celtic folk-lore. If this volume does anything to\nrepresent to English children the vision and colour, the magic and\ncharm, of the Celtic folk-imagination, this is due in large measure to\nthe care with which Mr. Nutt has watched its inception and progress.\nWith him by my side I could venture into regions where the non-Celt\nwanders at his own risk.\n\nLastly, I have again to rejoice in the co-operation of my friend, Mr.\nJ. D. Batten, in giving form to the creations of the folk-fancy. He\nhas endeavoured in his illustrations to retain as much as possible of\nCeltic ornamentation; for all details of Celtic archaeology he has\nauthority. Yet both he and I have striven to give Celtic things as\nthey appear to, and attract, the English mind, rather than attempt the\nhopeless task of representing them as they are to Celts. The fate of\nthe Celt in the British Empire bids fair to resemble that of the\nGreeks among the Romans. \"They went forth to battle, but they always\nfell,\" yet the captive Celt has enslaved his captor in the realm of\nimagination. The present volume attempts to begin the pleasant\ncaptivity from the earliest years. If it could succeed in giving a\ncommon fund of imaginative wealth to the Celtic and the Saxon children\nof these isles, it might do more for a true union of hearts than all\nyour politics.\n\n                                                JOSEPH JACOBS.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n                                                           PAGE\n\nI.         CONNLA AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN                      1\n\nII.        GULEESH                                          6\n\nIII.       THE FIELD OF BOLIAUNS                           29\n\nIV.        THE HORNED WOMEN                                34\n\nV.         CONALL YELLOWCLAW                               38\n\nVI.        HUDDEN AND DUDDEN AND DONALD O'NEARY            54\n\nVII.       THE SHEPHERD OF MYDDVAI                         64\n\nVIII.      THE SPRIGHTLY TAILOR                            68\n\nIX.        THE STORY OF DEIRDRE                            72\n\nX.         MUNACHAR AND MANACHAR                           92\n\nXI.        GOLD-TREE AND SILVER-TREE                       97\n\nXII.       KING O'TOOLE AND HIS GOOSE                     102\n\nXIII.      THE WOOING OF OLWEN                            109\n\nXIV.       JACK AND HIS COMRADES                          124\n\nXV.        THE SHEE AN GANNON AND THE GRUAGACH GAIRE      134\n\nXVI.       THE STORY-TELLER AT FAULT                      144\n\nXVII.      THE SEA-MAIDEN                                 158\n\nXVIII.     A LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY                          171\n\nXIX.       FAIR, BROWN, AND TREMBLING                     184\n\nXX.        JACK AND HIS MASTER                            198\n\nXXI.       BETH GELLERT                                   209\n\nXXII.      THE TALE OF IVAN                               212\n\nXXIII.     ANDREW COFFEY                                  217\n\nXXIV.      THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS                        223\n\nXXV.       BREWERY OF EGGSHELLS                           242\n\nXXVI.      THE LAD WITH THE GOAT-SKIN                     245\n\n           NOTES AND REFERENCES                           257\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nFull-Page Illustrations\n\n\n                                                           PAGE\n\nTHE SEA-MAIDEN                                       _Frontispiece_\n\nCONNLA AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN                                 5\n\nCONAL YELLOWCLAW                                           47\n\nDEIRDRE                                                    77\n\nTHE EAGLE OF ERRIO ABWY                                   121\n\n\"TREMBLING\" AT THE CHURCH DOOR                            187\n\nTHATCHING WITH BIRDS' FEATHERS                            233\n\nCAUTION TO READERS                                        256\n\n\n(Full-page illustrations, initials, and cuts, from blocks supplied by\nMessrs. J. C. Drummond & Co.)\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCELTIC FAIRY TALES\n\n\nConnla and the Fairy Maiden\n\n\nConnla of the Fiery Hair was son of Conn of the Hundred Fights. One\nday as he stood by the side of his father on the height of Usna, he\nsaw a maiden clad in strange attire towards him coming.\n\n\"Whence comest thou, maiden?\" said Connla.\n\n\"I come from the Plains of the Ever Living,\" she said, \"there where is\nneither death nor sin. There we keep holiday alway, nor need we help\nfrom any in our joy. And in all our pleasure we have no strife. And\nbecause we have our homes in the round green hills, men call us the\nHill Folk.\"\n\nThe king and all with him wondered much to hear a voice when they saw\nno one. For save Connla alone, none saw the Fairy Maiden.\n\n\"To whom art thou talking, my son?\" said Conn the king.\n\nThen the maiden answered, \"Connla speaks to a young, fair maid, whom\nneither death nor old age awaits. I love Connla, and now I call him\naway to the Plain of Pleasure, Moy Mell, where Boadag is king for aye,\nnor has there been sorrow or complaint in that land since he held the\nkingship. Oh, come with me, Connla of the Fiery Hair, ruddy as the\ndawn, with thy tawny skin. A fairy crown awaits thee to grace thy\ncomely face and royal form. Come, and never shall thy comeliness fade,\nnor thy youth, till the last awful day of judgment.\"\n\nThe king in fear at what the maiden said, which he heard though he\ncould not see her, called aloud to his Druid, Coran by name.\n\n\"O Coran of the many spells,\" he said, \"and of the cunning magic, I\ncall upon thy aid. A task is upon me too great for all my skill and\nwit, greater than any laid upon me since I seized the kingship. A\nmaiden unseen has met us, and by her power would take from me my dear,\nmy comely son. If thou help not, he will be taken from thy king by\nwoman's wiles and witchery.\"\n\nThen Coran the Druid stood forth and chanted his spells towards the\nspot where the maiden's voice had been heard. And none heard her voice\nagain, nor could Connla see her longer. Only as she vanished before\nthe Druid's mighty spell, she threw an apple to Connla.\n\nFor a whole month from that day Connla would take nothing, either to\neat or to drink, save only from that apple. But as he ate it grew\nagain and always kept whole. And all the while there grew within him a\nmighty yearning and longing after the maiden he had seen.\n\nBut when the last day of the month of waiting came, Connla stood by\nthe side of the king his father on the Plain of Arcomin, and again he\nsaw the maiden come towards him, and again she spoke to him.\n\n\"'Tis a glorious place, forsooth, that Connla holds among shortlived\nmortals awaiting the day of death. But now the folk of life, the\never-living ones, beg and bid thee come to Moy Mell, the Plain of\nPleasure, for they have learnt to know thee, seeing thee in thy home\namong thy dear ones.\"\n\nWhen Conn the king heard the maiden's voice he called to his men aloud\nand said:\n\n\"Summon swift my Druid Coran, for I see she has again this day the\npower of speech.\"\n\nThen the maiden said: \"O mighty Conn, Fighter of a Hundred Fights, the\nDruid's power is little loved; it has little honour in the mighty\nland, peopled with so many of the upright. When the Law comes, it will\ndo away with the Druid's magic spells that issue from the lips of the\nfalse black demon.\"\n\nThen Conn the king observed that since the coming of the maiden Connla\nhis son spoke to none that spake to him. So Conn of the Hundred Fights\nsaid to him, \"Is it to thy mind what the woman says, my son?\"\n\n\"'Tis hard upon me,\" said Connla; \"I love my own folk above all\nthings; but yet a longing seizes me for the maiden.\"\n\nWhen the maiden heard this, she answered and said: \"The ocean is not\nso strong as the waves of thy longing. Come with me in my curragh, the\ngleaming, straight-gliding crystal canoe. Soon can we reach Boadag's\nrealm. I see the bright sun sink, yet far as it is, we can reach it\nbefore dark. There is, too, another land worthy of thy journey, a land\njoyous to all that seek it. Only wives and maidens dwell there. If\nthou wilt, we can seek it and live there alone together in joy.\"\n\nWhen the maiden ceased to speak, Connla of the Fiery Hair rushed away\nfrom his kinsmen and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming,\nstraight-gliding crystal canoe. And then they all, king and court, saw\nit glide away over the bright sea towards the setting sun, away and\naway, till eye could see it no longer. So Connla and the Fairy Maiden\nwent forth on the sea, and were no more seen, nor did any know whither\nthey came.\n\n[Illustration: Connla and the fairy maiden]\n\n\n\n\nGuleesh\n\n\nThere was once a boy in the County Mayo; Guleesh was his name. There\nwas the finest rath a little way off from the gable of the house, and\nhe was often in the habit of seating himself on the fine grass bank\nthat was running round it. One night he stood, half leaning against\nthe gable of the house, and looking up into the sky, and watching the\nbeautiful white moon over his head. After he had been standing that\nway for a couple of hours, he said to himself: \"My bitter grief that I\nam not gone away out of this place altogether. I'd sooner be any place\nin the world than here. Och, it's well for you, white moon,\" says he,\n\"that's turning round, turning round, as you please yourself, and no\nman can put you back. I wish I was the same as you.\"\n\nHardly was the word out of his mouth when he heard a great noise\ncoming like the sound of many people running together, and talking,\nand laughing, and making sport, and the sound went by him like a whirl\nof wind, and he was listening to it going into the rath. \"Musha, by my\nsoul,\" says he, \"but ye're merry enough, and I'll follow ye.\"\n\nWhat was in it but the fairy host, though he did not know at first\nthat it was they who were in it, but he followed them into the rath.\nIt's there he heard the _fulparnee_, and the _folpornee_, the\n_rap-lay-hoota_, and the _roolya-boolya_, that they had there, and\nevery man of them crying out as loud as he could: \"My horse, and\nbridle, and saddle! My horse, and bridle, and saddle!\"\n\n\"By my hand,\" said Guleesh, \"my boy, that's not bad. I'll imitate ye,\"\nand he cried out as well as they: \"My horse, and bridle, and saddle!\nMy horse, and bridle, and saddle!\" And on the moment there was a fine\nhorse with a bridle of gold, and a saddle of silver, standing before\nhim. He leaped up on it, and the moment he was on its back he saw\nclearly that the rath was full of horses, and of little people going\nriding on them.\n\nSaid a man of them to him: \"Are you coming with us to-night, Guleesh?\"\n\n\"I am surely,\" said Guleesh.\n\n\"If you are, come along,\" said the little man, and out they went all\ntogether, riding like the wind, faster than the fastest horse ever you\nsaw a-hunting, and faster than the fox and the hounds at his tail.\n\nThe cold winter's wind that was before them, they overtook her, and\nthe cold winter's wind that was behind them, she did not overtake\nthem. And stop nor stay of that full race, did they make none, until\nthey came to the brink of the sea.\n\nThen every one of them said: \"Hie over cap! Hie over cap!\" and that\nmoment they were up in the air, and before Guleesh had time to\nremember where he was they were down on dry land again, and were\ngoing like the wind. At last they stood still, and a man of them said\nto Guleesh: \"Guleesh, do you know where you are now?\"\n\n\"Not a know,\" says Guleesh.\n\n\"You're in France, Guleesh,\" said he. \"The daughter of the king of\nFrance is to be married to-night, the handsomest woman that the sun\never saw, and we must do our best to bring her with us, if we're only\nable to carry her off; and you must come with us that we may be able\nto put the young girl up behind you on the horse, when we'll be\nbringing her away, for it's not lawful for us to put her sitting\nbehind ourselves. But you're flesh and blood, and she can take a good\ngrip of you, so that she won't fall off the horse. Are you satisfied,\nGuleesh, and will you do what we're telling you?\"\n\n\"Why shouldn't I be satisfied?\" said Guleesh. \"I'm satisfied, surely,\nand anything that ye will tell me to do I'll do it without doubt.\"\n\nThey got off their horses there, and a man of them said a word that\nGuleesh did not understand, and on the moment they were lifted up, and\nGuleesh found himself and his companions in the palace. There was a\ngreat feast going on there, and there was not a nobleman or a\ngentleman in the kingdom but was gathered there, dressed in silk and\nsatin, and gold and silver, and the night was as bright as the day\nwith all the lamps and candles that were lit, and Guleesh had to shut\nhis two eyes at the brightness. When he opened them again and looked\nfrom him he thought he never saw anything as fine as all he saw\nthere. There were a hundred tables spread out, and their full of meat\nand drink on each table of them, flesh-meat, and cakes and sweetmeats,\nand wine and ale, and every drink that ever a man saw. The musicians\nwere at the two ends of the hall, and they were playing the sweetest\nmusic that ever a man's ear heard, and there were young women and fine\nyouths in the middle of the hall, dancing and turning, and going round\nso quickly and so lightly, that it put a _soorawn_ in Guleesh's head\nto be looking at them. There were more there playing tricks, and more\nmaking fun and laughing, for such a feast as there was that day had\nnot been in France for twenty years, because the old king had no\nchildren alive but only the one daughter, and she was to be married to\nthe son of another king that night. Three days the feast was going on,\nand the third night she was to be married, and that was the night that\nGuleesh and the sheehogues came, hoping, if they could, to carry off\nwith them the king's young daughter.\n\nGuleesh and his companions were standing together at the head of the\nhall, where there was a fine altar dressed up, and two bishops behind\nit waiting to marry the girl, as soon as the right time should come.\nNow nobody could see the sheehogues, for they said a word as they came\nin, that made them all invisible, as if they had not been in it at\nall.\n\n\"Tell me which of them is the king's daughter,\" said Guleesh, when he\nwas becoming a little used to the noise and the light.\n\n\"Don't you see her there away from you?\" said the little man that he\nwas talking to.\n\nGuleesh looked where the little man was pointing with his finger, and\nthere he saw the loveliest woman that was, he thought, upon the ridge\nof the world. The rose and the lily were fighting together in her\nface, and one could not tell which of them got the victory. Her arms\nand hands were like the lime, her mouth as red as a strawberry when it\nis ripe, her foot was as small and as light as another one's hand, her\nform was smooth and slender, and her hair was falling down from her\nhead in buckles of gold. Her garments and dress were woven with gold\nand silver, and the bright stone that was in the ring on her hand was\nas shining as the sun.\n\nGuleesh was nearly blinded with all the loveliness and beauty that was\non her; but when he looked again, he saw that she was crying, and that\nthere was the trace of tears in her eyes. \"It can't be,\" said Guleesh,\n\"that there's grief on her, when everybody round her is so full of\nsport and merriment.\"\n\n\"Musha, then, she is grieved,\" said the little man; \"for it's against\nher own will she's marrying, and she has no love for the husband she\nis to marry. The king was going to give her to him three years ago,\nwhen she was only fifteen, but she said she was too young, and\nrequested him to leave her as she was yet. The king gave her a year's\ngrace, and when that year was up he gave her another year's grace, and\nthen another; but a week or a day he would not give her longer, and\nshe is eighteen years old to-night, and it's time for her to marry;\nbut, indeed,\" says he, and he crooked his mouth in an ugly\nway--\"indeed, it's no king's son she'll marry, if I can help it.\"\n\nGuleesh pitied the handsome young lady greatly when he heard that, and\nhe was heart-broken to think that it would be necessary for her to\nmarry a man she did not like, or what was worse, to take a nasty\nsheehogue for a husband. However, he did not say a word, though he\ncould not help giving many a curse to the ill-luck that was laid out\nfor himself, to be helping the people that were to snatch her away\nfrom her home and from her father.\n\nHe began thinking, then, what it was he ought to do to save her, but\nhe could think of nothing. \"Oh! if I could only give her some help and\nrelief,\" said he, \"I wouldn't care whether I were alive or dead; but I\nsee nothing that I can do for her.\"\n\nHe was looking on when the king's son came up to her and asked her for\na kiss, but she turned her head away from him. Guleesh had double pity\nfor her then, when he saw the lad taking her by the soft white hand,\nand drawing her out to dance. They went round in the dance near where\nGuleesh was, and he could plainly see that there were tears in her\neyes.\n\nWhen the dancing was over, the old king, her father, and her mother\nthe queen, came up and said that this was the right time to marry her,\nthat the bishop was ready, and it was time to put the wedding-ring on\nher and give her to her husband.\n\nThe king took the youth by the hand, and the queen took her daughter,\nand they went up together to the altar, with the lords and great\npeople following them.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nWhen they came near the altar, and were no more than about four yards\nfrom it, the little sheehogue stretched out his foot before the girl,\nand she fell. Before she was able to rise again he threw something\nthat was in his hand upon her, said a couple of words, and upon the\nmoment the maiden was gone from amongst them. Nobody could see her,\nfor that word made her invisible. The little man_een_ seized her and\nraised her up behind Guleesh, and the king nor no one else saw them,\nbut out with them through the hall till they came to the door.\n\nOro! dear Mary! it's there the pity was, and the trouble, and the\ncrying, and the wonder, and the searching, and the _rookawn_, when\nthat lady disappeared from their eyes, and without their seeing what\ndid it. Out of the door of the palace they went, without being stopped\nor hindered, for nobody saw them, and, \"My horse, my bridle, and\nsaddle!\" says every man of them. \"My horse, my bridle, and saddle!\"\nsays Guleesh; and on the moment the horse was standing ready\ncaparisoned before him. \"Now, jump up, Guleesh,\" said the little man,\n\"and put the lady behind you, and we will be going; the morning is not\nfar off from us now.\"\n\nGuleesh raised her up on the horse's back, and leaped up himself\nbefore her, and, \"Rise, horse,\" said he; and his horse, and the other\nhorses with him, went in a full race until they came to the sea.\n\n\"Hie over cap!\" said every man of them.\n\n\"Hie over cap!\" said Guleesh; and on the moment the horse rose under\nhim, and cut a leap in the clouds, and came down in Erin.\n\nThey did not stop there, but went of a race to the place where was\nGuleesh's house and the rath. And when they came as far as that,\nGuleesh turned and caught the young girl in his two arms, and leaped\noff the horse.\n\n\"I call and cross you to myself, in the name of God!\" said he; and on\nthe spot, before the word was out of his mouth, the horse fell down,\nand what was in it but the beam of a plough, of which they had made a\nhorse; and every other horse they had, it was that way they made it.\nSome of them were riding on an old besom, and some on a broken stick,\nand more on a _bohalawn_ or a hemlock-stalk.\n\nThe good people called out together when they heard what Guleesh said:\n\n\"O Guleesh, you clown, you thief, that no good may happen you! Why did\nyou play that trick on us?\"\n\nBut they had no power at all to carry off the girl, after Guleesh had\nconsecrated her to himself.\n\n\"O Guleesh, isn't that a nice turn you did us, and we so kind to you?\nWhat good have we now out of our journey to France? Never mind yet,\nyou clown, but you'll pay us another time for this. Believe us, you'll\nrepent it.\"\n\n\"He'll have no good to get out of the young girl,\" said the little man\nthat was talking to him in the palace before that, and as he said the\nword he moved over to her and struck her a slap on the side of the\nhead. \"Now,\" says he, \"she'll be without talk any more; now, Guleesh,\nwhat good will she be to you when she'll be dumb? It's time for us to\ngo--but you'll remember us, Guleesh!\"\n\nWhen he said that he stretched out his two hands, and before Guleesh\nwas able to give an answer, he and the rest of them were gone into the\nrath out of his sight, and he saw them no more.\n\nHe turned to the young woman and said to her: \"Thanks be to God,\nthey're gone. Would you not sooner stay with me than with them?\" She\ngave him no answer. \"There's trouble and grief on her yet,\" said\nGuleesh in his own mind, and he spoke to her again: \"I am afraid that\nyou must spend this night in my father's house, lady, and if there is\nanything that I can do for you, tell me, and I'll be your servant.\"\n\nThe beautiful girl remained silent, but there were tears in her eyes,\nand her face was white and red after each other.\n\n\"Lady,\" said Guleesh, \"tell me what you would like me to do now. I\nnever belonged at all to that lot of sheehogues who carried you away\nwith them. I am the son of an honest farmer, and I went with them\nwithout knowing it. If I'll be able to send you back to your father\nI'll do it, and I pray you make any use of me now that you may wish.\"\n\nHe looked into her face, and saw the mouth moving as if she were going\nto speak, but there came no word from it.\n\n\"It cannot be,\" said Guleesh, \"that you are dumb. Did I not hear you\nspeaking to the king's son in the palace to-night? Or has that devil\nmade you really dumb, when he struck his nasty hand on your jaw?\"\n\nThe girl raised her white smooth hand, and laid her finger on her\ntongue, to show him that she had lost her voice and power of speech,\nand the tears ran out of her two eyes like streams, and Guleesh's own\neyes were not dry, for as rough as he was on the outside he had a soft\nheart, and could not stand the sight of the young girl, and she in\nthat unhappy plight.\n\nHe began thinking with himself what he ought to do, and he did not\nlike to bring her home with himself to his father's house, for he knew\nwell that they would not believe him, that he had been in France and\nbrought back with him the king of France's daughter, and he was afraid\nthey might make a mock of the young lady or insult her.\n\nAs he was doubting what he ought to do, and hesitating, he chanced to\nremember the priest. \"Glory be to God,\" said he, \"I know now what I'll\ndo; I'll bring her to the priest's house, and he won't refuse me to\nkeep the lady and care for her.\" He turned to the lady again and told\nher that he was loth to take her to his father's house, but that there\nwas an excellent priest very friendly to himself, who would take good\ncare of her, if she wished to remain in his house; but that if there\nwas any other place she would rather go, he said he would bring her to\nit.\n\nShe bent her head, to show him she was obliged, and gave him to\nunderstand that she was ready to follow him to any place he was going.\n\"We will go to the priest's house, then,\" said he; \"he is under an\nobligation to me, and will do anything I ask him.\"\n\nThey went together accordingly to the priest's house, and the sun was\njust rising when they came to the door. Guleesh beat it hard, and as\nearly as it was the priest was up, and opened the door himself. He\nwondered when he saw Guleesh and the girl, for he was certain that it\nwas coming wanting to be married they were.\n\n\"Guleesh, Guleesh, isn't it the nice boy you are that you can't wait\ntill ten o'clock or till twelve, but that you must be coming to me at\nthis hour, looking for marriage, you and your sweetheart? You ought\nto know that I can't marry you at such a time, or, at all events,\ncan't marry you lawfully. But ubbubboo!\" said he, suddenly, as he\nlooked again at the young girl, \"in the name of God, who have you\nhere? Who is she, or how did you get her?\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Guleesh, \"you can marry me, or anybody else, if you\nwish; but it's not looking for marriage I came to you now, but to ask\nyou, if you please, to give a lodging in your house to this young\nlady.\"\n\nThe priest looked at him as though he had ten heads on him; but\nwithout putting any other question to him, he desired him to come in,\nhimself and the maiden, and when they came in, he shut the door,\nbrought them into the parlour, and put them sitting.\n\n\"Now, Guleesh,\" said he, \"tell me truly who is this young lady, and\nwhether you're out of your senses really, or are only making a joke of\nme.\"\n\n\"I'm not telling a word of lie, nor making a joke of you,\" said\nGuleesh; \"but it was from the palace of the king of France I carried\noff this lady, and she is the daughter of the king of France.\"\n\nHe began his story then, and told the whole to the priest, and the\npriest was so much surprised that he could not help calling out at\ntimes, or clapping his hands together.\n\nWhen Guleesh said from what he saw he thought the girl was not\nsatisfied with the marriage that was going to take place in the palace\nbefore he and the sheehogues broke it up, there came a red blush into\nthe girl's cheek, and he was more certain than ever that she had\nsooner be as she was--badly off as she was--than be the married wife\nof the man she hated. When Guleesh said that he would be very thankful\nto the priest if he would keep her in his own house, the kind man said\nhe would do that as long as Guleesh pleased, but that he did not know\nwhat they ought to do with her, because they had no means of sending\nher back to her father again.\n\nGuleesh answered that he was uneasy about the same thing, and that he\nsaw nothing to do but to keep quiet until they should find some\nopportunity of doing something better. They made it up then between\nthemselves that the priest should let on that it was his brother's\ndaughter he had, who was come on a visit to him from another county,\nand that he should tell everybody that she was dumb, and do his best\nto keep every one away from her. They told the young girl what it was\nthey intended to do, and she showed by her eyes that she was obliged\nto them.\n\nGuleesh went home then, and when his people asked him where he had\nbeen, he said that he had been asleep at the foot of the ditch, and\nhad passed the night there.\n\nThere was great wonderment on the priest's neighbours at the girl who\ncame so suddenly to his house without any one knowing where she was\nfrom, or what business she had there. Some of the people said that\neverything was not as it ought to be, and others, that Guleesh was not\nlike the same man that was in it before, and that it was a great\nstory, how he was drawing every day to the priest's house, and that\nthe priest had a wish and a respect for him, a thing they could not\nclear up at all.\n\nThat was true for them, indeed, for it was seldom the day went by but\nGuleesh would go to the priest's house, and have a talk with him, and\nas often as he would come he used to hope to find the young lady well\nagain, and with leave to speak; but, alas! she remained dumb and\nsilent, without relief or cure. Since she had no other means of\ntalking, she carried on a sort of conversation between herself and\nhimself, by moving her hand and fingers, winking her eyes, opening and\nshutting her mouth, laughing or smiling, and a thousand other signs,\nso that it was not long until they understood each other very well.\nGuleesh was always thinking how he should send her back to her father;\nbut there was no one to go with her, and he himself did not know what\nroad to go, for he had never been out of his own country before the\nnight he brought her away with him. Nor had the priest any better\nknowledge than he; but when Guleesh asked him, he wrote three or four\nletters to the king of France, and gave them to buyers and sellers of\nwares, who used to be going from place to place across the sea; but\nthey all went astray, and never a one came to the king's hand.\n\nThis was the way they were for many months, and Guleesh was falling\ndeeper and deeper in love with her every day, and it was plain to\nhimself and the priest that she liked him. The boy feared greatly at\nlast, lest the king should really hear where his daughter was, and\ntake her back from himself, and he besought the priest to write no\nmore, but to leave the matter to God.\n\nSo they passed the time for a year, until there came a day when\nGuleesh was lying by himself on the grass, on the last day of the last\nmonth in autumn, and he was thinking over again in his own mind of\neverything that happened to him from the day that he went with the\nsheehogues across the sea. He remembered then, suddenly, that it was\none November night that he was standing at the gable of the house,\nwhen the whirlwind came, and the sheehogues in it, and he said to\nhimself: \"We have November night again to-day, and I'll stand in the\nsame place I was last year, until I see if the good people come again.\nPerhaps I might see or hear something that would be useful to me, and\nmight bring back her talk again to Mary\"--that was the name himself\nand the priest called the king's daughter, for neither of them knew\nher right name. He told his intention to the priest, and the priest\ngave him his blessing.\n\nGuleesh accordingly went to the old rath when the night was darkening,\nand he stood with his bent elbow leaning on a grey old flag, waiting\ntill the middle of the night should come. The moon rose slowly, and it\nwas like a knob of fire behind him; and there was a white fog which\nwas raised up over the fields of grass and all damp places, through\nthe coolness of the night after a great heat in the day. The night was\ncalm as is a lake when there is not a breath of wind to move a wave on\nit, and there was no sound to be heard but the _cronawn_ of the\ninsects that would go by from time to time, or the hoarse sudden\nscream of the wild-geese, as they passed from lake to lake, half a\nmile up in the air over his head; or the sharp whistle of the golden\nand green plover, rising and lying, lying and rising, as they do on a\ncalm night. There were a thousand thousand bright stars shining over\nhis head, and there was a little frost out, which left the grass under\nhis foot white and crisp.\n\nHe stood there for an hour, for two hours, for three hours, and the\nfrost increased greatly, so that he heard the breaking of the\n_traneens_ under his foot as often as he moved. He was thinking, in\nhis own mind, at last, that the sheehogues would not come that night,\nand that it was as good for him to return back again, when he heard a\nsound far away from him, coming towards him, and he recognised what it\nwas at the first moment. The sound increased, and at first it was like\nthe beating of waves on a stony shore, and then it was like the\nfalling of a great waterfall, and at last it was like a loud storm in\nthe tops of the trees, and then the whirlwind burst into the rath of\none rout, and the sheehogues were in it.\n\nIt all went by him so suddenly that he lost his breath with it, but he\ncame to himself on the spot, and put an ear on himself, listening to\nwhat they would say.\n\nScarcely had they gathered into the rath till they all began shouting,\nand screaming, and talking amongst themselves; and then each one of\nthem cried out: \"My horse, and bridle, and saddle! My horse, and\nbridle, and saddle!\" and Guleesh took courage, and called out as\nloudly as any of them: \"My horse, and bridle, and saddle! My horse,\nand bridle, and saddle!\" But before the word was well out of his\nmouth, another man cried out: \"Ora! Guleesh, my boy, are you here with\nus again? How are you getting on with your woman? There's no use in\nyour calling for your horse to-night. I'll go bail you won't play such\na trick on us again. It was a good trick you played on us last year.\"\n\n\"It was,\" said another man; \"he won't do it again.\"\n\n\"Isn't he a prime lad, the same lad! to take a woman with him that\nnever said as much to him as, 'How do you do?' since this time last\nyear!\" says the third man.\n\n\"Perhaps he likes to be looking at her,\" said another voice.\n\n\"And if the _omadawn_ only knew that there's an herb growing up by his\nown door, and if he were to boil it and give it to her, she'd be\nwell,\" said another voice.\n\n\"That's true for you.\"\n\n\"He is an _omadawn_.\"\n\n\"Don't bother your head with him; we'll be going.\"\n\n\"We'll leave the _bodach_ as he is.\"\n\nAnd with that they rose up into the air, and out with them with one\n_roolya-boolya_ the way they came; and they left poor Guleesh standing\nwhere they found him, and the two eyes going out of his head, looking\nafter them and wondering.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nHe did not stand long till he returned back, and he thinking in his\nown mind on all he saw and heard, and wondering whether there was\nreally an herb at his own door that would bring back the talk to the\nking's daughter. \"It can't be,\" says he to himself, \"that they would\ntell it to me, if there was any virtue in it; but perhaps the\nsheehogue didn't observe himself when he let the word slip out of his\nmouth. I'll search well as soon as the sun rises, whether there's any\nplant growing beside the house except thistles and dockings.\"\n\nHe went home, and as tired as he was he did not sleep a wink until the\nsun rose on the morrow. He got up then, and it was the first thing he\ndid to go out and search well through the grass round about the house,\ntrying could he get any herb that he did not recognise. And, indeed,\nhe was not long searching till he observed a large strange herb that\nwas growing up just by the gable of the house.\n\nHe went over to it, and observed it closely, and saw that there were\nseven little branches coming out of the stalk, and seven leaves\ngrowing on every brancheen of them; and that there was a white sap in\nthe leaves. \"It's very wonderful,\" said he to himself, \"that I never\nnoticed this herb before. If there's any virtue in an herb at all, it\nought to be in such a strange one as this.\"\n\nHe drew out his knife, cut the plant, and carried it into his own\nhouse; stripped the leaves off it and cut up the stalk; and there came\na thick, white juice out of it, as there comes out of the sow-thistle\nwhen it is bruised, except that the juice was more like oil.\n\nHe put it in a little pot and a little water in it, and laid it on the\nfire until the water was boiling, and then he took a cup, filled it\nhalf up with the juice, and put it to his own mouth. It came into his\nhead then that perhaps it was poison that was in it, and that the good\npeople were only tempting him that he might kill himself with that\ntrick, or put the girl to death without meaning it. He put down the\ncup again, raised a couple of drops on the top of his finger, and put\nit to his mouth. It was not bitter, and, indeed, had a sweet,\nagreeable taste. He grew bolder then, and drank the full of a thimble\nof it, and then as much again, and he never stopped till he had half\nthe cup drunk. He fell asleep after that, and did not wake till it was\nnight, and there was great hunger and great thirst on him.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nHe had to wait, then, till the day rose; but he determined, as soon as\nhe should wake in the morning, that he would go to the king's daughter\nand give her a drink of the juice of the herb.\n\nAs soon as he got up in the morning, he went over to the priest's\nhouse with the drink in his hand, and he never felt himself so bold\nand valiant, and spirited and light, as he was that day, and he was\nquite certain that it was the drink he drank which made him so hearty.\n\nWhen he came to the house, he found the priest and the young lady\nwithin, and they were wondering greatly why he had not visited them\nfor two days.\n\nHe told them all his news, and said that he was certain that there was\ngreat power in that herb, and that it would do the lady no hurt, for\nhe tried it himself and got good from it, and then he made her taste\nit, for he vowed and swore that there was no harm in it.\n\nGuleesh handed her the cup, and she drank half of it, and then fell\nback on her bed and a heavy sleep came on her, and she never woke out\nof that sleep till the day on the morrow.\n\nGuleesh and the priest sat up the entire night with her, waiting till\nshe should awake, and they between hope and unhope, between\nexpectation of saving her and fear of hurting her.\n\nShe awoke at last when the sun had gone half its way through the\nheavens. She rubbed her eyes and looked like a person who did not know\nwhere she was. She was like one astonished when she saw Guleesh and\nthe priest in the same room with her, and she sat up doing her best to\ncollect her thoughts.\n\nThe two men were in great anxiety waiting to see would she speak, or\nwould she not speak, and when they remained silent for a couple of\nminutes, the priest said to her: \"Did you sleep well, Mary?\"\n\nAnd she answered him: \"I slept, thank you.\"\n\nNo sooner did Guleesh hear her talking than he put a shout of joy out\nof him, and ran over to her and fell on his two knees, and said: \"A\nthousand thanks to God, who has given you back the talk; lady of my\nheart, speak again to me.\"\n\nThe lady answered him that she understood it was he who boiled that\ndrink for her, and gave it to her; that she was obliged to him from\nher heart for all the kindness he showed her since the day she first\ncame to Ireland, and that he might be certain that she never would\nforget it.\n\nGuleesh was ready to die with satisfaction and delight. Then they\nbrought her food, and she ate with a good appetite, and was merry and\njoyous, and never left off talking with the priest while she was\neating.\n\nAfter that Guleesh went home to his house, and stretched himself on\nthe bed and fell asleep again, for the force of the herb was not all\nspent, and he passed another day and a night sleeping. When he woke up\nhe went back to the priest's house, and found that the young lady was\nin the same state, and that she was asleep almost since the time that\nhe left the house.\n\nHe went into her chamber with the priest, and they remained watching\nbeside her till she awoke the second time, and she had her talk as\nwell as ever, and Guleesh was greatly rejoiced. The priest put food on\nthe table again and they ate together, and Guleesh used after that to\ncome to the house from day to day, and the friendship that was between\nhim and the king's daughter increased, because she had no one to\nspeak to except Guleesh and the priest, and she liked Guleesh best.\n\nSo they married one another, and that was the fine wedding they had,\nand if I were to be there then, I would not be here now; but I heard\nit from a bird_een_ that there was neither cark nor care, sickness nor\nsorrow, mishap nor misfortune on them till the hour of their death,\nand may the same be with me, and with us all!\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\n\n\nThe Field of Boliauns\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nOne fine day in harvest--it was indeed Lady-day in harvest, that\neverybody knows to be one of the greatest holidays in the year--Tom\nFitzpatrick was taking a ramble through the ground, and went along the\nsunny side of a hedge; when all of a sudden he heard a clacking sort\nof noise a little before him in the hedge. \"Dear me,\" said Tom, \"but\nisn't it surprising to hear the stone-chatters singing so late in the\nseason?\" So Tom stole on, going on the tops of his toes to try if he\ncould get a sight of what was making the noise, to see if he was right\nin his guess. The noise stopped; but as Tom looked sharply through the\nbushes, what should he see in a nook of the hedge but a brown pitcher,\nthat might hold about a gallon and a half of liquor; and by-and-by a\nlittle wee teeny tiny bit of an old man, with a little _motty_ of a\ncocked hat stuck upon the top of his head, a deeshy daushy leather\napron hanging before him, pulled out a little wooden stool, and stood\nup upon it, and dipped a little piggin into the pitcher, and took out\nthe full of it, and put it beside the stool, and then sat down under\nthe pitcher, and began to work at putting a heel-piece on a bit of a\nbrogue just fit for himself. \"Well, by the powers,\" said Tom to\nhimself, \"I often heard tell of the Lepracauns, and, to tell God's\ntruth, I never rightly believed in them--but here's one of them in\nreal earnest. If I go knowingly to work, I'm a made man. They say a\nbody must never take their eyes off them, or they'll escape.\"\n\nTom now stole on a little further, with his eye fixed on the little\nman just as a cat does with a mouse. So when he got up quite close to\nhim, \"God bless your work, neighbour,\" said Tom.\n\nThe little man raised up his head, and \"Thank you kindly,\" said he.\n\n\"I wonder you'd be working on the holiday!\" said Tom.\n\n\"That's my own business, not yours,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Well, maybe you'd be civil enough to tell _us_ what you've got in the\npitcher there?\" said Tom.\n\n\"That I will, with pleasure,\" said he; \"it's good beer.\"\n\n\"Beer!\" said Tom. \"Thunder and fire! where did you get it?\"\n\n\"Where did I get it, is it? Why, I made it. And what do you think I\nmade it of?\"\n\n\"Devil a one of me knows,\" said Tom; \"but of malt, I suppose, what\nelse?\"\n\n\"There you're out. I made it of heath.\"\n\n\"Of heath!\" said Tom, bursting out laughing; \"sure you don't think me\nto be such a fool as to believe that?\"\n\n\"Do as you please,\" said he, \"but what I tell you is the truth. Did\nyou never hear tell of the Danes?\"\n\n\"Well, what about _them_?\" said Tom.\n\n\"Why, all the about them there is, is that when they were here they\ntaught us to make beer out of the heath, and the secret's in my family\never since.\"\n\n\"Will you give a body a taste of your beer?\" said Tom.\n\n\"I'll tell you what it is, young man, it would be fitter for you to be\nlooking after your father's property than to be bothering decent quiet\npeople with your foolish questions. There now, while you're idling\naway your time here, there's the cows have broke into the oats, and\nare knocking the corn all about.\"\n\nTom was taken so by surprise with this that he was just on the very\npoint of turning round when he recollected himself; so, afraid that\nthe like might happen again, he made a grab at the Lepracaun, and\ncaught him up in his hand; but in his hurry he overset the pitcher,\nand spilt all the beer, so that he could not get a taste of it to tell\nwhat sort it was. He then swore that he would kill him if he did not\nshow him where his money was. Tom looked so wicked and so\nbloody-minded that the little man was quite frightened; so says he,\n\"Come along with me a couple of fields off, and I will show you a\ncrock of gold.\"\n\nSo they went, and Tom held the Lepracaun fast in his hand, and never\ntook his eyes from off him, though they had to cross hedges and\nditches, and a crooked bit of bog, till at last they came to a great\nfield all full of boliauns, and the Lepracaun pointed to a big\nboliaun, and says he, \"Dig under that boliaun, and you'll get the\ngreat crock all full of guineas.\"\n\nTom in his hurry had never thought of bringing a spade with him, so he\nmade up his mind to run home and fetch one; and that he might know the\nplace again he took off one of his red garters, and tied it round the\nboliaun.\n\nThen he said to the Lepracaun, \"Swear ye'll not take that garter away\nfrom that boliaun.\" And the Lepracaun swore right away not to touch\nit.\n\n\"I suppose,\" said the Lepracaun, very civilly, \"you have no further\noccasion for me?\"\n\n\"No,\" says Tom; \"you may go away now, if you please, and God speed\nyou, and may good luck attend you wherever you go.\"\n\n\"Well, good-bye to you Tom Fitzpatrick,\" said the Lepracaun; \"and much\ngood may it do you when you get it.\"\n\nSo Tom ran for dear life, till he came home and got a spade, and then\naway with him, as hard as he could go, back to the field of boliauns;\nbut when he got there, lo and behold! not a boliaun in the field but\nhad a red garter, the very model of his own, tied about it; and as to\ndigging up the whole field, that was all nonsense, for there were\nmore than forty good Irish acres in it. So Tom came home again with\nhis spade on his shoulder, a little cooler than he went, and many's\nthe hearty curse he gave the Lepracaun every time he thought of the\nneat turn he had served him.\n\n\n\n\nThe Horned Women\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nA rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool, while\nall the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at\nthe door, and a voice called, \"Open! open!\"\n\n\"Who is there?\" said the woman of the house.\n\n\"I am the Witch of 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\nher hand a pair of wool-carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead,\nas if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to\ncard the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud:\n\"Where are 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 obliged 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\nwound and wove, all singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did\nthey speak to the mistress of the house. Strange to hear, and\nfrightful to look upon, were these twelve women, with their horns and\ntheir wheels; and the mistress felt near to death, and she tried to\nrise that she might call for help, but she could not move, nor could\nshe utter a word or a cry, for the spell 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.\"\n\nThen the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well\nthat she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find\nnone.\n\nAnd they said to her, \"Take a sieve and bring water in it.\"\n\nAnd she took the sieve and went to the well; but the water poured\nfrom it, and she could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by\nthe well and wept.\n\nThen a voice came by her and said, \"Take yellow clay and moss, and\nbind them 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\naloud three times and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the\nsky over it 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.\nBut the 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 in her absence the\nwitches had made of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping\nfamily, and she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth\nof each sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they\nhad woven, and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the\npadlock; and lastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam\nfastened in the jambs, so that the witches could not enter, and\nhaving done these things she waited.\n\nNot long were the witches in coming back, and they raged and called\nfor vengeance.\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\ncried again.\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the cake, \"for I am broken and bruised, and my blood\nis on the lips of the sleeping children.\"\n\nThen the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled\nback to Slievenamon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the\nWell, who had wished their ruin; but the woman and the house were left\nin peace, and a mantle dropped by one of the witches in her flight was\nkept hung up by the mistress in memory of that night; and this mantle\nwas kept by the same family from generation to generation for five\nhundred years after.\n\n\n\n\nConall Yellowclaw\n\n\nConall Yellowclaw was a sturdy tenant in Erin: he had three sons.\nThere was at that time a king over every fifth of Erin. It fell out\nfor the children of the king that was near Conall, that they\nthemselves and the children of Conall came to blows. The children of\nConall got the upper hand, and they killed the king's big son. The\nking sent a message for Conall, and he said to him: \"O Conall! what\nmade your sons go to spring on my sons till my big son was killed by\nyour children? But I see that though I follow you revengefully, I\nshall not be much better for it, and I will now set a thing before\nyou, and if you will do it, I will not follow you with revenge. If you\nand your sons will get me the brown horse of the king of Lochlann, you\nshall get the souls of your sons.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Conall, \"should not I do the pleasure of the king, though\nthere should be no souls of my sons in dread at all? Hard is the\nmatter you require of me, but I will lose my own life, and the life of\nmy sons, or else I will do the pleasure of the king.\"\n\nAfter these words Conall left the king, and he went home: when he got\nhome he was under much trouble and perplexity. When he went to lie\ndown he told his wife the thing the king had set before him. His wife\ntook much sorrow that he was obliged to part from herself, while she\nknew not if she should see him more.\n\n\"O Conall,\" said she, \"why didst not thou let the king do his own\npleasure to thy sons, rather than be going now, while I know not if\never I shall see thee more?\"\n\nWhen he rose on the morrow, he set himself and his three sons in\norder, and they took their journey towards Lochlann, and they made no\nstop but tore through ocean till they reached it. When they reached\nLochlann they did not know what they should do. Said the old man to\nhis sons, \"Stop ye, and we will seek out the house of the king's\nmiller.\"\n\nWhen they went to the house of the king's miller, the man asked them\nto stop there for the night. Conall told the miller that his own\nchildren and the children of his king had fallen out, and that his\nchildren had killed the king's son, and there was nothing that would\nplease the king but that he should get the brown horse of the king of\nLochlann.\n\n\"If you will do me a kindness, and will put me in a way to get him,\nfor certain I will pay ye for it.\"\n\n\"The thing is silly that you are come to seek,\" said the miller; \"for\nthe king has laid his mind on him so greatly that you will not get him\nin any way unless you steal him; but if you can make out a way, I will\nkeep it secret.\"\n\n\"This is what I am thinking,\" said Conall, \"since you are working\nevery day for the king, you and your gillies could put myself and my\nsons into four sacks of bran.\"\n\n\"The plan that has come into your head is not bad,\" said the miller.\n\nThe miller spoke to his gillies, and he said to them to do this, and\nthey put them in four sacks. The king's gillies came to seek the bran,\nand they took the four sacks with them, and they emptied them before\nthe horses. The servants locked the door, and they went away.\n\nWhen they rose to lay hand on the brown horse, said Conall, \"You shall\nnot do that. It is hard to get out of this; let us make for ourselves\nfour hiding holes, so that if they hear us we may go and hide.\" They\nmade the holes, then they laid hands on the horse. The horse was\npretty well unbroken, and he set to making a terrible noise through\nthe stable. The king heard the noise. \"It must be my brown horse,\"\nsaid he to his gillies; \"find out what is wrong with him.\"\n\nThe servants went out, and when Conall and his sons saw them coming\nthey went into the hiding holes. The servants looked amongst the\nhorses, and they did not find anything wrong; and they returned and\nthey told this to the king, and the king said to them that if nothing\nwas wrong they should go to their places of rest. When the gillies had\ntime to be gone, Conall and his sons laid their hands again on the\nhorse. If the noise was great that he made before, the noise that he\nmade now was seven times greater. The king sent a message for his\ngillies again, and said for certain there was something troubling the\nbrown horse. \"Go and look well about him.\" The servants went out, and\nthe others went to their hiding holes. The servants rummaged well, and\ndid not find a thing. They returned and they told this.\n\n\"That is marvellous for me,\" said the king: \"go you to lie down again,\nand if I notice it again I will go out myself.\"\n\nWhen Conall and his sons perceived that the gillies were gone, they\nlaid hands again on the horse, and one of them caught him; and if the\nnoise that the horse made on the two former times was great, he made\nmore this time.\n\n\"Be this from me,\" said the king; \"it must be that some one is\ntroubling my brown horse.\" He sounded the bell hastily, and when his\nwaiting-man came to him, he said to him to let the stable gillies know\nthat something was wrong with the horse. The gillies came, and the\nking went with them. When Conall and his sons perceived the company\ncoming they went to the hiding holes.\n\nThe king was a wary man, and he saw where the horses were making a\nnoise.\n\n\"Be wary,\" said the king, \"there are men within the stable, let us get\nat them somehow.\"\n\nThe king followed the tracks of the men, and he found them. Every one\nknew Conall, for he was a valued tenant of the king of Erin, and when\nthe king brought them up out of the holes he said, \"O Conall, is it\nyou that are here?\"\n\n\"I am, O king, without question, and necessity made me come. I am\nunder thy pardon, and under thine honour, and under thy grace.\" He\ntold how it happened to him, and that he had to get the brown horse\nfor the king of Erin, or that his sons were to be put to death. \"I\nknew that I should not get him by asking, and I was going to steal\nhim.\"\n\n\"Yes, Conall, it is well enough, but come in,\" said the king. He\ndesired his look-out men to set a watch on the sons of Conall, and to\ngive them meat. And a double watch was set that night on the sons of\nConall.\n\n\"Now, O Conall,\" said the king, \"were you ever in a harder place than\nto be seeing your lot of sons hanged to-morrow? But you set it to my\ngoodness and to my grace, and say that it was necessity brought it on\nyou, so I must not hang you. Tell me any case in which you were as\nhard as this, and if you tell that, you shall get the soul of your\nyoungest son.\"\n\n\"I will tell a case as hard in which I was,\" said Conall. \"I was once\na young lad, and my father had much land, and he had parks of year-old\ncows, and one of them had just calved, and my father told me to bring\nher home. I found the cow, and took her with us. There fell a shower\nof snow. We went into the herd's bothy, and we took the cow and the\ncalf in with us, and we were letting the shower pass from us. Who\nshould come in but one cat and ten, and one great one-eyed\nfox-coloured cat as head bard over them. When they came in, in very\ndeed I myself had no liking for their company. 'Strike up with you,'\nsaid the head bard, 'why should we be still? and sing a cronan to\nConall Yellowclaw.' I was amazed that my name was known to the cats\nthemselves, When they had sung the cronan, said the head bard, 'Now, O\nConall, pay the reward of the cronan that the cats have sung to thee.'\n'Well then,' said I myself, 'I have no reward whatsoever for you,\nunless you should go down and take that calf.' No sooner said I the\nword than the two cats and ten went down to attack the calf, and in\nvery deed, he did not last them long. 'Play up with you, why should\nyou be silent? Make a cronan to Conall Yellowclaw,' said the head\nbard. I had no liking at all for the cronan, but up came the one cat\nand ten, and if they did not sing me a cronan then and there! 'Pay\nthem now their reward,' said the great fox-coloured cat. 'I am tired\nmyself of yourselves and your rewards,' said I. 'I have no reward for\nyou unless you take that cow down there.' They betook themselves to\nthe cow, and indeed she did not last them long.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"'Why will you be silent? Go up and sing a cronan to Conall\nYellowclaw,' said the head bard. And surely, O king, I had no care for\nthem or for their cronan, for I began to see that they were not good\ncomrades. When they had sung me the cronan they betook themselves down\nwhere the head bard was. 'Pay now their reward,' said the head bard;\nand for sure, O king, I had no reward for them; and I said to them, 'I\nhave no reward for you.' And surely, O king, there was a\ncatterwauling between them. So I leapt out at a turf window that was\nat the back of the house. I took myself off as hard as I might into\nthe wood. I was swift enough and strong at that time; and when I felt\nthe rustling toirm of the cats after me I climbed into as high a tree\nas I saw in the place, and one that was close in the top; and I hid\nmyself as well as I might. The cats began to search for me through the\nwood, and they could not find me; and when they were tired, each one\nsaid to the other that they would turn back. 'But,' said the one-eyed\nfox-coloured cat that was commander-in-chief over them, 'you saw him\nnot with your two eyes, and though I have but one eye, there's the\nrascal up in the tree.' When he had said that, one of them went up in\nthe tree, and as he was coming where I was, I drew a weapon that I had\nand I killed him. 'Be this from me!' said the one-eyed one--'I must\nnot be losing my company thus; gather round the root of the tree and\ndig about it, and let down that villain to earth.' On this they\ngathered about the tree, and they dug about the root, and the first\nbranching root that they cut, she gave a shiver to fall, and I myself\ngave a shout and it was not to be wondered at. There was in the\nneighbourhood of the wood a priest, and he had ten men with him\ndelving, and he said, 'There is a shout of a man in extremity and I\nmust not be without replying to it.' And the wisest of the men said,\n'Let it alone till we hear it again.' The cats began again digging\nwildly, and they broke the next root; and I myself gave the next\nshout, and in very deed it was not a weak one. 'Certainly,' said the\npriest, 'it is a man in extremity--let us move.' They set themselves\nin order for moving. And the cats arose on the tree, and they broke\nthe third root, and the tree fell on her elbow. Then I gave the third\nshout. The stalwart men hastened, and when they saw how the cats\nserved the tree, they began at them with the spades; and they\nthemselves and the cats began at each other, till the cats ran away.\nAnd surely, O king, I did not move till I saw the last one of them\noff. And then I came home. And there's the hardest case in which I\never was; and it seems to me that tearing by the cats were harder than\nhanging to-morrow by the king of Lochlann.\"\n\n\"Och! Conall,\" said the king, \"you are full of words. You have freed\nthe soul of your son with your tale; and if you tell me a harder case\nthan that you will get your second youngest son, and then you will\nhave two sons.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" said Conall, \"on condition that thou dost that, I will\ntell thee how I was once in a harder case than to be in thy power in\nprison to-night.\"\n\n\"Let's hear,\" said the king.\n\n\"I was then,\" said Conall, quite a young lad, and I went out hunting,\nand my father's land was beside the sea, and it was rough with rocks,\ncaves, and rifts. When I was going on the top of the shore, I saw as\nif there were a smoke coming up between two rocks, and I began to look\nwhat might be the meaning of the smoke coming up there. When I was\nlooking, what should I do but fall; and the place was so full of\nheather, that neither bone nor skin was broken. I knew not how I\nshould get out of this. I was not looking before me, but I kept\nlooking overhead the way I came--and thinking that the day would never\ncome that I could get up there. It was terrible for me to be there\ntill I should die. I heard a great clattering, coming, and what was\nthere but a great giant and two dozen of goats with him, and a buck at\ntheir head. And when the giant had tied the goats, he came up and he\nsaid to me, 'Hao O! Conall, it's long since my knife has been rusting\nin my pouch waiting for thy tender flesh.' 'Och!' said I, 'it's not\nmuch you will be bettered by me, though you should tear me asunder; I\nwill make but one meal for you. But I see that you are one-eyed. I am\na good leech, and I will give you the sight of the other eye.' The\ngiant went and he drew the great caldron on the site of the fire. I\nmyself was telling him how he should heat the water, so that I should\ngive its sight to the other eye. I got heather and I made a rubber of\nit, and I set him upright in the caldron. I began at the eye that was\nwell, pretending to him that I would give its sight to the other one,\ntill I left them as bad as each other; and surely it was easier to\nspoil the one that was well than to give sight to the other.\n\n[Illustration: There thou art thou pretty buck. Thou seest me but I\nsee thee not.]\n\n\"When he saw that he could not see a glimpse, and when I myself said\nto him that I would get out in spite of him, he gave a spring out of\nthe water, and he stood in the mouth of the cave, and he said that he\nwould have revenge for the sight of his eye. I had but to stay there\ncrouched the length of the night, holding in my breath in such a way\nthat he might not find out where I was.\n\n\"When he felt the birds calling in the morning, and knew that the day\nwas, he said--'Art thou sleeping? Awake and let out my lot of goats.'\nI killed the buck. He cried, 'I do believe that thou art killing my\nbuck.'\n\n\"'I am not,' said I, 'but the ropes are so tight that I take long to\nloose them.' I let out one of the goats, and there he was caressing\nher, and he said to her, 'There thou art, thou shaggy, hairy white\ngoat, and thou seest me, but I see thee not.' I kept letting them out\nby the way of one and one, as I flayed the buck, and before the last\none was out I had him flayed bag-wise. Then I went and I put my legs\nin place of his legs, and my hands in place of his forelegs, and my\nhead in place of his head, and the horns on top of my head, so that\nthe brute might think that it was the buck. I went out. When I was\ngoing out the giant laid his hand on me, and he said, 'There thou art,\nthou pretty buck; thou seest me, but I see thee not.' When I myself\ngot out, and I saw the world about me, surely, O king! joy was on me.\nWhen I was out and had shaken the skin off me, I said to the brute, 'I\nam out now in spite of you.'\n\n\"'Aha!' said he, 'hast thou done this to me? Since thou wert so\nstalwart that thou hast got out, I will give thee a ring that I have\nhere; keep the ring, and it will do thee good.'\n\n\"'I will not take the ring from you,' said I, 'but throw it and I will\ntake it with me.' He threw the ring on the flat ground; I went myself\nand lifted the ring, and I put it on my finger. When he said to me\nthen, 'Is the ring fitting thee?' I said to him, 'It is.' Then he\nsaid, 'Where art thou, ring?' And the ring said, 'I am here.' The\nbrute went and went towards where the ring was speaking, and now I saw\nthat I was in a harder case than ever I was. I drew a dirk. I cut the\nfinger from off me, and I threw it from me as far as I could out on\nthe loch, and there was a great depth in the place. He shouted, 'Where\nart thou, ring?' And the ring said, 'I am here,' though it was on the\nbed of the ocean. He gave a spring after the ring, and out he went in\nthe sea. And I was as pleased then when I saw him drowning, as though\nyou should grant my own life and the life of my two sons with me, and\nnot lay any more trouble on me.\n\n\"When the giant was drowned I went in, and I took with me all he had\nof gold and silver, and I went home, and surely great joy was on my\npeople when I arrived. And as a sign now look, the finger is off me.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, Conall, you are wordy and wise,\" said the king. \"I see\nthe finger is off you. You have freed your two sons, but tell me a\ncase in which you ever were that is harder than to be looking on your\nson being hanged to-morrow, and you shall get the soul of your eldest\nson.\"\n\n\"Then went my father,\" said Conall, \"and he got me a wife, and I was\nmarried. I went to hunt. I was going beside the sea, and I saw an\nisland over in the midst of the loch, and I came there where a boat\nwas with a rope before her, and a rope behind her, and many precious\nthings within her. I looked myself on the boat to see how I might get\npart of them. I put in the one foot, and the other foot was on the\nground, and when I raised my head what was it but the boat over in the\nmiddle of the loch, and she never stopped till she reached the island.\nWhen I went out of the boat the boat returned where she was before. I\ndid not know now what I should do. The place was without meat or\nclothing, without the appearance of a house on it. I came out on the\ntop of a hill. Then I came to a glen; I saw in it, at the bottom of a\nhollow, a woman with a child, and the child was naked on her knee, and\nshe had a knife in her hand. She tried to put the knife to the throat\nof the babe, and the babe began to laugh in her face, and she began to\ncry, and she threw the knife behind her. I thought to myself that I\nwas near my foe and far from my friends, and I called to the woman,\n'What are you doing here?' And she said to me 'What brought you here?'\nI told her myself word upon word how I came. 'Well, then,' said she,\n'it was so I came also.' She showed me to the place where I should\ncome in where she was. I went in, and I said to her, 'What was the\nmatter that you were putting the knife on the neck of the child?' 'It\nis that he must be cooked for the giant who is here, or else no more\nof my world will be before me.' Just then we could be hearing the\nfootsteps of the giant, 'What shall I do? what shall I do?' cried the\nwoman. I went to the caldron, and by luck it was not hot, so in it I\ngot just as the brute came in. 'Hast thou boiled that youngster for\nme?' he cried. 'He's not done yet,' said she, and I cried out from the\ncaldron, 'Mammy, mammy, it's boiling I am.' Then the giant laughed out\nHAI, HAW, HOGARAICH, and heaped on wood under the caldron.\n\n\"And now I was sure I would scald before I could get out of that. As\nfortune favoured me, the brute slept beside the caldron. There I was\nscalded by the bottom of the caldron. When she perceived that he was\nasleep, she set her mouth quietly to the hole that was in the lid, and\nshe said to me 'was I alive?' I said I was. I put up my head, and the\nhole in the lid was so large, that my head went through easily.\nEverything was coming easily with me till I began to bring up my hips.\nI left the skin of my hips behind me, but I came out. When I got out\nof the caldron I knew not what to do; and she said to me that there\nwas no weapon that would kill him but his own weapon. I began to draw\nhis spear, and every breath that he drew I thought I would be down his\nthroat, and when his breath came out I was back again just as far. But\nwith every ill that befell me I got the spear loosed from him. Then I\nwas as one under a bundle of straw in a great wind, for I could not\nmanage the spear. And it was fearful to look on the brute, who had but\none eye in the midst of his face; and it was not agreeable for the\nlike of me to attack him. I drew the dart as best I could, and I set\nit in his eye. When he felt this he gave his head a lift, and he\nstruck the other end of the dart on the top of the cave, and it went\nthrough to the back of his head. And he fell cold dead where he was;\nand you may be sure, O king, that joy was on me. I myself and the\nwoman went out on clear ground, and we passed the night there. I went\nand got the boat with which I came, and she was no way lightened, and\ntook the woman and the child over on dry land; and I returned home.\"\n\nThe king of Lochlann's mother was putting on a fire at this time, and\nlistening to Conall telling the tale about the child.\n\n\"Is it you,\" said she, \"that were there?\"\n\n\"Well then,\" said he, \"'t was I.\"\n\n\"Och! och!\" said she, \"'t was I that was there, and the king is the\nchild whose life you saved; and it is to you that life thanks should\nbe given.\" Then they took great joy.\n\nThe king said, \"O Conall, you came through great hardships. And now\nthe brown horse is yours, and his sack full of the most precious\nthings that are in my treasury.\"\n\nThey lay down that night, and if it was early that Conall rose, it was\nearlier than that that the queen was on foot making ready. He got the\nbrown horse and his sack full of gold and silver and stones of great\nprice, and then Conall and his three sons went away, and they returned\nhome to the Erin realm of gladness. He left the gold and silver in his\nhouse, and he went with the horse to the king. They were good friends\nevermore. He returned home to his wife, and they set in order a feast;\nand that was a feast if ever there was one, O son and brother.\n\n\n\n\nHudden and Dudden and Donald O'Neary\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nThere was once upon a time two farmers, and their names were Hudden\nand Dudden. They had poultry in their yards, sheep on the uplands, and\nscores of cattle in the meadow-land alongside the river. But for all\nthat they weren't happy. For just between their two farms there lived\na poor man by the name of Donald O'Neary. He had a hovel over his head\nand a strip of grass that was barely enough to keep his one cow,\nDaisy, from starving, and, though she did her best, it was but seldom\nthat Donald got a drink of milk or a roll of butter from Daisy. You\nwould think there was little here to make Hudden and Dudden jealous,\nbut so it is, the more one has the more one wants, and Donald's\nneighbours lay awake of nights scheming how they might get hold of his\nlittle strip of grass-land. Daisy, poor thing, they never thought of;\nshe was just a bag of bones.\n\nOne day Hudden met Dudden, and they were soon grumbling as usual, and\nall to the tune of \"If only we could get that vagabond Donald O'Neary\nout of the country.\"\n\n\"Let's kill Daisy,\" said Hudden at last; \"if that doesn't make him\nclear out, nothing will.\"\n\nNo sooner said than agreed; and it wasn't dark before Hudden and\nDudden crept up to the little shed where lay poor Daisy trying her\nbest to chew the cud, though she hadn't had as much grass in the day\nas would cover your hand. And when Donald came to see if Daisy was all\nsnug for the night, the poor beast had only time to lick his hand once\nbefore she died.\n\nWell, Donald was a shrewd fellow, and down-hearted though he was,\nbegan to think if he could get any good out of Daisy's death. He\nthought and he thought, and the next day you could have seen him\ntrudging off early to the fair, Daisy's hide over his shoulder, every\npenny he had jingling in his pockets. Just before he got to the fair,\nhe made several slits in the hide, put a penny in each slit, walked\ninto the best inn of the town as bold as if it belonged to him, and,\nhanging the hide up to a nail in the wall, sat down.\n\n\"Some of your best whisky,\" says he to the landlord. But the landlord\ndidn't like his looks. \"Is it fearing I won't pay you, you are?\" says\nDonald; \"why I have a hide here that gives me all the money I want.\"\nAnd with that he hit it a whack with his stick and out hopped a penny.\nThe landlord opened his eyes, as you may fancy.\n\n\"What'll you take for that hide?\"\n\n\"It's not for sale, my good man.\"\n\n\"Will you take a gold piece?\"\n\n\"It's not for sale, I tell you. Hasn't it kept me and mine for years?\"\nand with that Donald hit the hide another whack and out jumped a\nsecond penny.\n\nWell, the long and the short of it was that Donald let the hide go,\nand, that very evening, who but he should walk up to Hudden's door?\n\n\"Good-evening, Hudden. Will you lend me your best pair of scales?\"\n\nHudden stared and Hudden scratched his head, but he lent the scales.\n\nWhen Donald was safe at home, he pulled out his pocketful of bright\ngold and began to weigh each piece in the scales. But Hudden had put a\nlump of butter at the bottom, and so the last piece of gold stuck fast\nto the scales when he took them back to Hudden.\n\nIf Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times more now, and no\nsooner was Donald's back turned, than he was off as hard as he could\npelt to Dudden's.\n\n\"Good-evening, Dudden. That vagabond, bad luck to him----\"\n\n\"You mean Donald O'Neary?\"\n\n\"And who else should I mean? He's back here weighing out sackfuls of\ngold.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"Here are my scales that he borrowed, and here's a gold piece still\nsticking to them.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nOff they went together, and they came to Donald's door. Donald had\nfinished making the last pile of ten gold pieces. And he couldn't\nfinish because a piece had stuck to the scales.\n\nIn they walked without an \"If you please\" or \"By your leave.\"\n\n\"Well, _I_ never!\" that was all _they_ could say.\n\n\"Good-evening, Hudden; good-evening Dudden. Ah! you thought you had\nplayed me a fine trick, but you never did me a better turn in all\nyour lives When I found poor Daisy dead, I thought to myself, 'Well,\nher hide may fetch something'; and it did. Hides are worth their\nweight in gold in the market just now.\"\n\nHudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at Hudden.\n\n\"Good-evening, Donald O'Neary.\"\n\n\"Good-evening, kind friends.\"\n\nThe next day there wasn't a cow or a calf that belonged to Hudden or\nDudden but her hide was going to the fair in Hudden's biggest cart\ndrawn by Dudden's strongest pair of horses.\n\nWhen they came to the fair, each one took a hide over his arm, and\nthere they were walking through the fair, bawling out at the top of\ntheir voices: \"Hides to sell! hides to sell!\"\n\nOut came the tanner:\n\n\"How much for your hides, my good men?\"\n\n\"Their weight in gold.\"\n\n\"It's early in the day to come out of the tavern.\" That was all the\ntanner said, and back he went to his yard.\n\n\"Hides to sell! Fine fresh hides to sell!\"\n\nOut came the cobbler:\n\n\"How much for your hides, my men?\"\n\n\"Their weight in gold.\"\n\n\"Is it making game of me you are! Take that for your pains,\" and the\ncobbler dealt Hudden a blow that made him stagger.\n\nUp the people came running from one end of the fair to the other.\n\"What 's the matter? What's the matter?\" cried they.\n\n\"Here are a couple of vagabonds selling hides at their weight in\ngold,\" said the cobbler.\n\n\"Hold 'em fast; hold 'em fast!\" bawled the innkeeper, who was the last\nto come up, he was so fat. \"I'll wager it's one of the rogues who\ntricked me out of thirty gold pieces yesterday for a wretched hide.\"\n\nIt was more kicks than halfpence that Hudden and Dudden got before\nthey were well on their way home again, and they didn't run the slower\nbecause all the dogs of the town were at their heels.\n\nWell, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little before, they loved\nhim less now.\n\n\"What's the matter, friends?\" said he, as he saw them tearing along,\ntheir hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their faces black\nand blue. \"Is it fighting you've been? or mayhap you met the police,\nill luck to them?\"\n\n\"We'll police you, you vagabond. It's mighty smart you thought\nyourself, deluding us with your lying tales.\"\n\n\"Who deluded you? Didn't you see the gold with your own two eyes?\"\n\nBut it was no use talking. Pay for it he must, and should. There was a\nmeal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald O'Neary,\ntied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off they started\nfor the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a pole-end on his shoulder,\nand Donald O'Neary between.\n\nBut the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden were\nsore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by the\nroadside.\n\n\"Let's go in,\" said Hudden; \"I'm dead beat. It's heavy he is for the\nlittle he had to eat.\"\n\nIf Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you may be sure\nhis leave wasn't asked, but he was lumped down at the inn door for all\nthe world as if he had been a sack of potatoes.\n\n\"Sit still, you vagabond,\" said Dudden; \"if we don't mind waiting, you\nneedn't.\"\n\nDonald held his peace, but after a while he heard the glasses clink,\nand Hudden singing away at the top of his voice.\n\n\"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!\" said Donald. But\nnobody heeded what he said.\n\n\"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!\" said Donald; and\nthis time he said it louder; but nobody heeded what he said.\n\n\"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!\" said Donald; and\nthis time he said it as loud as he could.\n\n\"And who won't you have, may I be so bold as to ask?\" said a farmer,\nwho had just come up with a drove of cattle, and was turning in for a\nglass.\n\n\"It's the king's daughter. They are bothering the life out of me to\nmarry her.\"\n\n\"You're the lucky fellow. I'd give something to be in your shoes.\"\n\n\"Do you see that now! Wouldn't it be a fine thing for a farmer to be\nmarrying a princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?\"\n\n\"Jewels, do you say? Ah, now, couldn't you take me with you?\"\n\n\"Well, you're an honest fellow, and as I don't care for the king's\ndaughter, though she's as beautiful as the day, and is covered with\njewels from top to toe, you shall have her. Just undo the cord and let\nme out; they tied me up tight, as they knew I'd run away from her.\"\n\nOut crawled Donald; in crept the farmer.\n\n\"Now lie still, and don't mind the shaking; it's only rumbling over\nthe palace steps you'll be. And maybe they'll abuse you for a\nvagabond, who won't have the king's daughter; but you needn't mind\nthat. Ah! it's a deal I'm giving up for you, sure as it is that I\ndon't care for the princess.\"\n\n\"Take my cattle in exchange,\" said the farmer; and you may guess it\nwasn't long before Donald was at their tails driving them homewards.\n\nOut came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took one end of the pole, and\nthe other the other.\n\n\"I'm thinking he's heavier,\" said Hudden.\n\n\"Ah, never mind,\" said Dudden; \"it's only a step now to the Brown\nLake.\"\n\n\"I'll have her now! I'll have her now!\" bawled the farmer, from inside\nthe sack.\n\n\"By my faith and you shall though,\" said Hudden, and he laid his stick\nacross the sack.\n\n\"I'll have her! I'll have her!\" bawled the farmer, louder than ever.\n\n\"Well, here you are,\" said Dudden, for they were now come to the Brown\nLake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump into the lake.\n\n\"You'll not be playing your tricks on us any longer,\" said Hudden.\n\n\"True for you,\" said Dudden. \"Ah, Donald, my boy, it was an ill day\nwhen you borrowed my scales.\"\n\nOff they went, with a light step and an easy heart, but when they were\nnear home, whom should they see but Donald O'Neary, and all around him\nthe cows were grazing, and the calves were kicking up their heels and\nbutting their heads together.\n\n\"Is it you, Donald?\" said Dudden. \"Faith you've been quicker than we\nhave.\"\n\n\"True for you, Dudden, and let me thank you kindly; the turn was good,\nif the will was ill. You'll have heard, like me, that the Brown Lake\nleads to the Land of Promise. I always put it down as lies, but it is\njust as true as my word. Look at the cattle.\"\n\nHudden stared, and Dudden gaped; but they couldn't get over the\ncattle: fine fat cattle they were too.\n\n\"It's only the worst I could bring up with me,\" said Donald O'Neary;\n\"the others were so fat, there was no driving them. Faith, too, it's\nlittle wonder they didn't care to leave, with grass as far as you\ncould see, and as sweet and juicy as fresh butter.\"\n\n\"Ah, now, Donald, we haven't always been friends,\" said Dudden, \"but,\nas I was just saying, you were ever a decent lad, and you'll show us\nthe way, won't you?\"\n\n\"I don't see that I'm called upon to do that; there is a power more\ncattle down there. Why shouldn't I have them all to myself?\"\n\n\"Faith, they may well say, the richer you get, the harder the heart.\nYou always were a neighbourly lad, Donald. You wouldn't wish to keep\nthe luck all to yourself?\"\n\n\"True for you, Hudden, though 'tis a bad example you set me. But I'll\nnot be thinking of old times. There is plenty for all there, so come\nalong with me.\"\n\nOff they trudged, with a light heart and an eager step. When they came\nto the Brown Lake the sky was full of little white clouds, and, if the\nsky was full, the lake was as full.\n\n\"Ah! now, look, there they are,\" cried Donald, as he pointed to the\nclouds in the lake.\n\n\"Where? where?\" cried Hudden, and \"Don't be greedy!\" cried Dudden, as\nhe jumped his hardest to be up first with the fat cattle. But if he\njumped first, Hudden wasn't long behind.\n\nThey never came back. Maybe they got too fat, like the cattle. As for\nDonald O'Neary, he had cattle and sheep all his days to his heart's\ncontent.\n\n\n\n\nThe Shepherd of Myddvai\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nUp in the Black Mountains in Caermarthenshire lies the lake known as\nLyn y Van Vach. To the margin of this lake the shepherd of Myddvai\nonce led his lambs, and lay there whilst they sought pasture.\nSuddenly, from the dark waters of the lake, he saw three maidens rise.\nShaking the bright drops from their hair and gliding to the shore they\nwandered about amongst his flock. They had more than mortal beauty,\nand he was filled with love for her that came nearest to him. He\noffered her the bread he had with him, and she took it and tried it,\nbut then sang to him:\n\n    \"Hard-baked is thy bread,\n    'Tis not easy to catch me,\"\n\nand then ran off laughing to the lake.\n\nNext day he took with him bread not so well done, and watched for the\nmaidens. When they came ashore he offered his bread as before, and the\nmaiden tasted it and sang:\n\n    \"Unbaked is thy bread,\n    I will not have thee,\"\n\nand again disappeared in the waves.\n\nA third time did the shepherd of Myddvai try to attract the maiden,\nand this time he offered bread that he had found floating about near\nthe shore. This pleased her, and she promised to become his wife if he\nwere able to pick her out from among her sisters on the following day.\nWhen the time came the shepherd knew his love by the strap of her\nsandal. Then she told him she would be as good a wife to him as any\nearthly maiden could be unless he should strike her three times\nwithout cause. Of course he deemed that this could never be; and she\nsummoning from the lake three cows, two oxen, and a bull, as her\nmarriage portion, was led homeward by him as his bride.\n\nThe years passed happily, and three children were born to the shepherd\nand the lake-maiden. But one day they were going to a christening, and\nshe said to her husband it was far to walk, so he told her to go for\nthe horses.\n\n\"I will,\" said she, \"If you bring me my gloves which I've left in the\nhouse.\"\n\nBut when he came back with the gloves he found she had not gone for\nthe horses; so he tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the gloves,\nand said, \"Go, go.\"\n\n\"That's one,\" said she.\n\nAnother time they were at a wedding, when suddenly the lake-maiden\nfell a-sobbing and a-weeping, amid the joy and mirth of all around\nher.\n\nHer husband tapped her on the shoulder, and asked her, \"Why do you\nweep?\"\n\n\"Because they are entering into trouble; and trouble is upon you; for\nthat is the second causeless blow you have given me. Be careful; the\nthird is the last.\"\n\nThe husband was very careful never to strike her. But one day at a\nfuneral she suddenly burst out into fits of laughter. Her husband\nforgot, and touched her rather roughly on the shoulder, saying, \"Is\nthis a time for laughter?\"\n\n\"I laugh,\" she said, \"because those that die go out of trouble, but\nyour trouble has come. The last blow has been struck; our marriage is\nat an end, and so farewell.\" And with that she rose up and left the\nhouse and went to their home.\n\nThen she, looking round upon her home, called to the cattle she had\nbrought with her:\n\n    \"Brindle cow, white speckled,\n    Spotted cow, bold freckled,\n    Old white face, and grey Geringer,\n    And the white bull from the king's coast\n    Grey ox, and black calf,\n    All, all, follow me home.\"\n\nNow the black calf had just been slaughtered, and was hanging on the\nhook; but it got off the hook alive and well and followed her; and the\noxen, though they were ploughing, trailed the plough with them and did\nher bidding. So she fled to the lake again, they following her, and\nwith them plunged into the dark waters. And to this day is the furrow\nseen which the plough left as it was dragged across the mountains to\nthe tarn.\n\nOnly once did she come again, when her sons were grown to manhood, and\nthen she gave them gifts of healing by which they won the name of\nMeddygon Myddvai, the physicians of Myddvai.\n\n\n\n\nThe Sprightly Tailor\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nA Sprightly tailor was employed by the great Macdonald, in his castle\nat Saddell, in order to make the laird a pair of trews, used in olden\ntime. And trews being the vest and breeches united in one piece, and\nornamented with fringes, were very comfortable, and suitable to be\nworn in walking or dancing. Macdonald had said to the tailor that if\nhe would make the trews by night in the church he would get a handsome\nreward. For it was thought that the old ruined church was haunted, and\nthat fearsome things were to be seen there at night.\n\nThe tailor was well aware of this; but he was a sprightly man, and\nwhen the laird dared him to make the trews by night in the church, the\ntailor was not to be daunted, but took it in hand to gain the prize.\nSo, when night came, away he went up the glen, about half a mile\ndistance from the castle, till he came to the old church. Then he\nchose him a nice grave-stone for a seat and he lighted his candle, and\nput on his thimble, and set to work at the trews, plying his needle\nnimbly, and thinking about the hire that the laird would have to give\nhim.\n\nFor some time he got on pretty well, until he felt the floor all of a\ntremble under his feet; and looking about him, but keeping his fingers\nat work, he saw the appearance of a great human head rising up through\nthe stone pavement of the church. And when the head had risen above\nthe surface, there came from it a great, great voice. And the voice\nsaid: \"Do you see this great head of mine?\"\n\n\"I see that, but I'll sew this!\" replied the sprightly tailor; and he\nstitched away at the trews.\n\nThen the head rose higher up through the pavement, until its neck\nappeared. And when its neck was shown, the thundering voice came again\nand said: \"Do you see this great neck of mine?\"\n\n\"I see that, but I'll sew this!\" said the sprightly tailor; and he\nstitched away at his trews.\n\nThen the head and neck rose higher still, until the great shoulders\nand chest were shown above the ground. And again the mighty voice\nthundered: \"Do you see this great chest of mine?\"\n\nAnd again the sprightly tailor replied: \"I see that, but I'll sew\nthis!\" and stitched away at his trews.\n\nAnd still it kept rising through the pavement, until it shook a great\npair of arms in the tailor's face, and said: \"Do you see these great\narms of mine?\"\n\n\"I see those, but I'll sew this!\" answered the tailor; and he stitched\nhard at his trews, for he knew that he had no time to lose.\n\nThe sprightly tailor was taking the long stitches, when he saw it\ngradually rising and rising through the floor, until it lifted out a\ngreat leg, and stamping with it upon the pavement, said in a roaring\nvoice: \"Do you see this great leg of mine?\"\n\n\"Aye, aye: I see that, but I'll sew this!\" cried the tailor; and his\nfingers flew with the needle, and he took such long stitches, that he\nwas just come to the end of the trews, when it was taking up its other\nleg. But before it could pull it out of the pavement, the sprightly\ntailor had finished his task; and, blowing out his candle, and\nspringing from off his grave-stone, he buckled up, and ran out of the\nchurch with the trews under his arm. Then the fearsome thing gave a\nloud roar, and stamped with both his feet upon the pavement, and out\nof the church he went after the sprightly tailor.\n\nDown the glen they ran, faster than the stream when the flood rides\nit; but the tailor had got the start and a nimble pair of legs, and he\ndid not choose to lose the laird's reward. And though the thing roared\nto him to stop, yet the sprightly tailor was not the man to be\nbeholden to a monster. So he held his trews tight, and let no darkness\ngrow under his feet until he had reached Saddell Castle. He had no\nsooner got inside the gate, and shut it, than the monster came up to\nit; and, enraged at losing his prize, struck the wall above the gate,\nand left there the mark of his five great fingers. You may see them\nplainly to this day, if you'll only peer close enough.\n\nBut the sprightly tailor gained his reward: for Macdonald paid him\nhandsomely for the trews, and never discovered that a few of the\nstitches were somewhat long.\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Deirdre\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nThere was a man in Ireland once who was called Malcolm Harper. The man\nwas a right good man, and he had a goodly share of this world's goods.\nHe had a wife, but no family. What did Malcolm hear but that a\nsoothsayer had come home to the place, and as the man was a right good\nman, he wished that the soothsayer might come near them. Whether it\nwas that he was invited or that he came of himself, the soothsayer\ncame to the house of Malcolm.\n\n\"Are you doing any soothsaying?\" says Malcolm.\n\n\"Yes, I am doing a little. Are you in need of soothsaying?\"\n\n\"Well, I do not mind taking soothsaying from you, if you had\nsoothsaying for me, and you would be willing to do it.\"\n\n\"Well, I will do soothsaying for you. What kind of soothsaying do you\nwant?\"\n\n\"Well, the soothsaying I wanted was that you would tell me my lot or\nwhat will happen to me, if you can give me knowledge of it.\"\n\n\"Well, I am going out, and when I return I will tell you.\"\n\nAnd the soothsayer went forth out of the house, and he was not long\noutside when he returned.\n\n\"Well,\" said the soothsayer, \"I saw in my second sight that it is on\naccount of a daughter of yours that the greatest amount of blood shall\nbe shed that has ever been shed in Erin since time and race began. And\nthe three most famous heroes that ever were found will lose their\nheads on her account.\"\n\nAfter a time a daughter was born to Malcolm. He did not allow a living\nbeing to come to his house, only himself and the nurse. He asked this\nwoman, \"Will you yourself bring up the child to keep her in hiding far\naway where eye will not see a sight of her nor ear hear a word about\nher?\"\n\nThe woman said she would, so Malcolm got three men, and he took them\naway to a large mountain, distant and far from reach, without the\nknowledge or notice of any one. He caused there a hillock, round and\ngreen, to be dug out of the middle, and the hole thus made to be\ncovered carefully over, so that a little company could dwell there\ntogether. This was done.\n\nDeirdre and her foster-mother dwelt in the bothy mid the hills without\nthe knowledge or the suspicion of any living person about them and\nwithout anything occurring, until Deirdre was sixteen years of age.\nDeirdre grew like the white sapling, straight and trim as the rash on\nthe moss. She was the creature of fairest form, of loveliest aspect,\nand of gentlest nature that existed between earth and heaven in all\nIreland--whatever colour of hue she had before, there was nobody that\nlooked into her face but she would blush fiery red over it.\n\nThe woman that had charge of her gave Deirdre every information and\nskill of which she herself had knowledge and skill. There was not a\nblade of grass growing from root, nor a bird singing in the wood, nor\na star shining from heaven but Deirdre had a name for it. But one\nthing, she did not wish her to have either part or parley with any\nsingle living man of the rest of the world. But on a gloomy winter\nnight, with black, scowling clouds, a hunter of game was wearily\ntravelling the hills, and what happened but that he missed the trail\nof the hunt, and lost his course and companions. A drowsiness came\nupon the man as he wearily wandered over the hills, and he laid down\nby the side of the beautiful green knoll in which Deirdre lived, and\nhe slept. The man was faint from hunger and wandering, and benumbed\nwith cold, and a deep sleep fell upon him. When he lay down beside\nthe green hill where Deirdre was, a troubled dream came to the man,\nand he thought that he enjoyed the warmth of a fairy broch, the\nfairies being inside playing music. The hunter shouted out in his\ndream if there was any one in the broch, to let him in for the Holy\nOne's sake. Deirdre heard the voice, and said to her foster-mother, \"O\nfoster-mother, what cry is that?\" \"It is nothing at all,\nDeirdre--merely the birds of the air astray and seeking each other.\nBut let them go past to the bosky glade. There is no shelter or house\nfor them here.\" \"O foster-mother, the bird asked to get inside for the\nsake of the God of the Elements, and you yourself tell me that\nanything that is asked in His name we ought to do. If you will not\nallow the bird that is being benumbed with cold, and done to death\nwith hunger, to be let in, I do not think much of your language or\nyour faith. But since I give credence to your language and to your\nfaith, which you taught me, I will myself let in the bird.\" And\nDeirdre arose and drew the bolt from the leaf of the door, and she let\nin the hunter. She placed a seat in the place for sitting, food in the\nplace for eating, and drink in the place for drinking for the man who\ncame to the house. \"Oh, for this life and raiment, you man that came\nin, keep restraint on your tongue!\" said the old woman. \"It is not a\ngreat thing for you to keep your mouth shut and your tongue quiet when\nyou get a home and shelter of a hearth on a gloomy winter's night.\"\n\"Well,\" said the hunter, \"I may do that--keep my mouth shut and my\ntongue quiet, since I came to the house and received hospitality from\nyou; but by the hand of thy father and grandfather, and by your own\ntwo hands, if some other of the people of the world saw this beauteous\ncreature you have here hid away, they would not long leave her with\nyou, I swear.\"\n\n\"What men are these you refer to?\" said Deirdre.\n\n\"Well, I will tell you, young woman,\" said the hunter, \"They are\nNaois, son of Uisnech, and Allen and Arden his two brothers.\"\n\n\"What like are these men when seen, if we were to see them?\" said\nDeirdre.\n\n\"Why, the aspect and form of the men when seen are these,\" said the\nhunter; \"they have the colour of the raven on their hair, their skin\nlike swan on the wave in whiteness, and their cheeks as the blood of\nthe brindled red calf, and their speed and their leap are those of the\nsalmon of the torrent and the deer of the grey mountain side. And\nNaois is head and shoulders over the rest of the people of Erin.\"\n\n\"However they are,\" said the nurse, \"be you off from here and take\nanother road. And, King of Light and Sun! in good sooth and certainty,\nlittle are my thanks for yourself or for her that let you in!\"\n\nThe hunter went away, and went straight to the palace of King\nConnachar. He sent word in to the king that he wished to speak to him\nif he pleased. The king answered the message and came out to speak to\nthe man. \"What is the reason of your journey?\" said the king to the\nhunter.\n\n[Illustration: Deirdre. O Nurse what cry is that!\n\nOnly the birds of the air calling one to the other.--\nThere is no home for them here. Let them go by to the thicket.]\n\n\"I have only to tell you, O king,\" said the hunter. \"that I saw the\nfairest creature that ever was born in Erin, and I came to tell you of\nit.\"\n\n\"Who is this beauty, and where is she to be seen, when she was not\nseen before till you saw her, if you did see her?\"\n\n\"Well, I did see her,\" said the hunter. \"But, if I did, no man else\ncan see her unless he get directions from me as to where she is\ndwelling.\"\n\n\"And will you direct me to where she dwells? and the reward of your\ndirecting me will be as good as the reward of your message,\" said the\nking.\n\n\"Well, I will direct you, O king, although it is likely that this will\nnot be what they want,\" said the hunter.\n\nConnachar, king of Ulster, sent for his nearest kinsmen, and he told\nthem of his intent. Though early rose the song of the birds mid the\nrocky caves and the music of the birds in the grove, earlier than that\ndid Connachar, king of Ulster, arise, with his little troop of dear\nfriends, in the delightful twilight of the fresh and gentle May; the\ndew was heavy on each bush and flower and stem, as they went to bring\nDeirdre forth from the green knoll where she stayed. Many a youth was\nthere who had a lithe, leaping and lissom step when they started whose\nstep was faint, failing, and faltering when they reached the bothy on\naccount of the length of the way and roughness of the road. \"Yonder,\nnow, down in the bottom of the glen is the bothy where the woman\ndwells, but I will not go nearer than this to the old woman,\" said the\nhunter.\n\nConnachar with his band of kinsfolk went down to the green knoll\nwhere Deirdre dwelt and he knocked at the door of the bothy. The nurse\nreplied, \"No less than a king's command and a king's army could put me\nout of my bothy to-night. And I should be obliged to you, were you to\ntell who it is that wants me to open my bothy door.\" \"It is I,\nConnachar, king of Ulster.\" When the poor woman heard who was at the\ndoor, she rose with haste and let in the king and all that could get\nin of his retinue.\n\nWhen the king saw the woman that was before him that he had been in\nquest of, he thought he never saw in the course of the day nor in the\ndream of night a creature so fair as Deirdre and he gave his full\nheart's weight of love to her. Deirdre was raised on the topmost of\nthe heroes' shoulders and she and her foster-mother were brought to\nthe Court of King Connachar of Ulster.\n\nWith the love that Connachar had for her, he wanted to marry Deirdre\nright off there and then, will she nill she marry him. But she said to\nhim, \"I would be obliged to you if you will give me the respite of a\nyear and a day.\" He said, \"I will grant you that, hard though it is,\nif you will give me your unfailing promise that you will marry me at\nthe year's end.\" And she gave the promise. Connachar got for her a\nwoman-teacher and merry modest maidens fair that would lie down and\nrise with her, that would play and speak with her. Deirdre was clever\nin maidenly duties and wifely understanding, and Connachar thought he\nnever saw with bodily eye a creature that pleased him more. Deirdre\nand her women companions were one day out on the hillock behind the\nhouse enjoying the scene, and drinking in the sun's heat. What did\nthey see coming but three men a-journeying. Deirdre was looking at the\nmen that were coming, and wondering at them. When the men neared them,\nDeirdre remembered the language of the huntsman, and she said to\nherself that these were the three sons of Uisnech, and that this was\nNaois, he having what was above the bend of the two shoulders above\nthe men of Erin all. The three brothers went past without taking any\nnotice of them, without even glancing at the young girls on the\nhillock. What happened but that love for Naois struck the heart of\nDeirdre, so that she could not but follow after him. She girded up her\nraiment and went after the men that went past the base of the knoll,\nleaving her women attendants there. Allen and Arden had heard of the\nwoman that Connachar, king of Ulster, had with him, and they thought\nthat, if Naois, their brother, saw her, he would have her himself,\nmore especially as she was not married to the king. They perceived the\nwoman coming, and called on one another to hasten their step as they\nhad a long distance to travel, and the dusk of night was coming on.\nThey did so. She cried: \"Naois, son of Uisnech, will you leave me?\"\n\"What piercing, shrill cry is that--the most melodious my ear ever\nheard, and the shrillest that ever struck my heart of all the cries I\never heard?\" \"It isn't anything else but the wail of the wave-swans of\nConnachar,\" said his brothers. \"No! yonder is a woman's cry of\ndistress,\" said Naois, and he swore he would not go further until he\nsaw from whom the cry came, and Naois turned back. Naois and Deirdre\nmet, and Deirdre kissed Naois three times, and a kiss each to his\nbrothers. With the confusion that she was in, Deirdre went into a\ncrimson blaze of fire, and her colour came and went as rapidly as the\nmovement of the aspen by the stream side. Naois thought he never saw a\nfairer creature, and Naois gave Deirdre the love that he never gave to\nthing, to vision, or to creature but to herself.\n\nThen Naois placed Deirdre on the topmost height of his shoulder, and\ntold his brothers to keep up their pace, and they kept up their pace.\nNaois thought that it would not be well for him to remain in Erin on\naccount of the way in which Connachar, king of Ulster, his uncle's\nson, had gone against him because of the woman, though he had not\nmarried her; and he turned back to Alba, that is, Scotland. He reached\nthe side of Loch Ness and made his habitation there. He could kill the\nsalmon of the torrent from out his own door, and the deer of the grey\ngorge from out his window. Naois and Deirdre and Allen and Arden dwelt\nin a tower, and they were happy so long a time as they were there.\n\nBy this time the end of the period came at which Deirdre had to marry\nConnachar, king of Ulster. Connachar made up his mind to take Deirdre\naway by the sword whether she was married to Naois or not. So he\nprepared a great and gleeful feast. He sent word far and wide through\nErin to all his kinspeople to come to the feast. Connachar thought to\nhimself that Naois would not come though he should bid him, and the\nscheme that arose in his mind was to send for his father's brother,\nFerchar Mac Ro, and to send him on an embassy to Naois. He did so; and\nConnachar said to Ferchar, \"Tell Naois, son of Uisnech, that I am\nsetting forth a great and gleeful feast to my friends and kinspeople\nthroughout the wide extent of Erin all, and that I shall not have rest\nby day nor sleep by night if he and Allen and Arden be not partakers\nof the feast.\"\n\nFerchar Mac Ro and his three sons went on their journey, and reached\nthe tower where Naois was dwelling by the side of Loch Etive. The sons\nof Uisnech gave a cordial kindly welcome to Ferchar Mac Ro and his\nthree sons, and asked of him the news of Erin. \"The best news that I\nhave for you,\" said the hardy hero, \"is that Connachar, king of\nUlster, is setting forth a great sumptuous feast to his friends and\nkinspeople throughout the wide extent of Erin all, and he has vowed by\nthe earth beneath him, by the high heaven above him, and by the sun\nthat wends to the west, that he will have no rest by day nor sleep by\nnight if the sons of Uisnech, the sons of his own father's brother,\nwill not come back to the land of their home and the soil of their\nnativity, and to the feast likewise, and he has sent us on embassy to\ninvite you.\"\n\n\"We will go with you,\" said Naois.\n\n\"We will,\" said his brothers.\n\nBut Deirdre did not wish to go with Ferchar Mac Ro, and she tried\nevery prayer to turn Naois from going with him--she said:\n\n\"I saw a vision, Naois, and do you interpret it to me,\" said\nDeirdre--then she sang:\n\n    O Naois, son of Uisnech, hear\n      What was shown in a dream to me.\n\n    There came three white doves out of the South\n      Flying over the sea,\n    And drops of honey were in their mouth\n      From the hive of the honey-bee.\n\n    O Naois, son of Uisnech, hear\n      What was shown in a dream to me.\n\n    I saw three grey hawks out of the South\n      Come flying over the sea,\n    And the red drops they bare in their mouth\n      They were dearer than life to me.\n\nSaid Naois:\n\n    It is nought but the fear of woman's heart,\n      And a dream of the night, Deirdre.\n\n\"The day that Connachar sent the invitation to his feast will be\nunlucky for us if we don't go, O Deirdre.\"\n\n\"You will go there,\" said Ferchar Mac Ro; \"and if Connachar show\nkindness to you, show ye kindness to him; and if he will display wrath\ntowards you display ye wrath towards him, and I and my three sons will\nbe with you.\"\n\n\"We will,\" said Daring Drop. \"We will,\" said Hardy Holly. \"We will,\"\nsaid Fiallan the Fair.\n\n\"I have three sons, and they are three heroes, and in any harm or\ndanger that may befall you, they will be with you, and I myself will\nbe along with them.\" And Ferchar Mac Ro gave his vow and his word in\npresence of his arms that, in any harm or danger that came in the way\nof the sons of Uisnech, he and his three sons would not leave head on\nlive body in Erin, despite sword or helmet, spear or shield, blade or\nmail, be they ever so good.\n\nDeirdre was unwilling to leave Alba, but she went with Naois. Deirdre\nwept tears in showers and she sang:\n\n    Dear is the land, the land over there,\n      Alba full of woods and lakes;\n    Bitter to my heart is leaving thee,\n      But I go away with Naois.\n\nFerchar Mac Ro did not stop till he got the sons of Uisnech away with\nhim, despite the suspicion of Deirdre.\n\n    The coracle was put to sea,\n      The sail was hoisted to it;\n    And the second morrow they arrived\n      On the white shores of Erin.\n\nAs soon as the sons of Uisnech landed in Erin, Ferchar Mac Ro sent\nword to Connachar, king of Ulster, that the men whom he wanted were\ncome, and let him now show kindness to them. \"Well,\" said Connachar,\n\"I did not expect that the sons of Uisnech would come, though I sent\nfor them, and I am not quite ready to receive them. But there is a\nhouse down yonder where I keep strangers, and let them go down to it\nto-day, and my house will be ready before them to-morrow.\"\n\nBut he that was up in the palace felt it long that he was not getting\nword as to how matters were going on for those down in the house of\nthe strangers. \"Go you, Gelban Grednach, son of Lochlin's King, go you\ndown and bring me information as to whether her former hue and\ncomplexion are on Deirdre. If they be, I will take her out with edge\nof blade and point of sword, and if not, let Naios, son of Uisnech,\nhave her for himself,\" said Connachar.\n\nGelban, the cheering and charming son of Lochlin's King, went down to\nthe place of the strangers, where the sons of Uisnech and Deirdre were\nstaying. He looked in through the bicker-hole on the door-leaf. Now\nshe that he gazed upon used to go into a crimson blaze of blushes when\nany one looked at her. Naois looked at Deirdre and knew that some one\nwas looking at her from the back of the door-leaf. He seized one of\nthe dice on the table before him and fired it through the bicker-hole,\nand knocked the eye out of Gelban Grednach the Cheerful and Charming,\nright through the back of his head. Gelban returned back to the palace\nof King Connachar.\n\n\"You were cheerful, charming, going away, but you are cheerless,\ncharmless, returning. What has happened to you, Gelban? But have you\nseen her, and are Deirdre's hue and complexion as before?\" said\nConnachar.\n\n\"Well, I have seen Deirdre, and I saw her also truly, and while I was\nlooking at her through the bicker-hole on the door, Naois, son of\nUisnech, knocked out my eye with one of the dice in his hand. But of a\ntruth and verity, although he put out even my eye, it were my desire\nstill to remain looking at her with the other eye, were it not for the\nhurry you told me to be in,\" said Gelban.\n\n\"That is true,\" said Connachar; \"let three hundred brave heroes go\ndown to the abode of the strangers, and let them bring hither to me\nDeirdre, and kill the rest.\"\n\nConnachar ordered three hundred active heroes to go down to the abode\nof the strangers, and to take Deirdre up with them and kill the rest.\n\"The pursuit is coming,\" said Deirdre.\n\n\"Yes, but I will myself go out and stop the pursuit,\" said Naois.\n\n\"It is not you, but we that will go,\" said Daring Drop, and Hardy\nHolly, and Fiallan the Fair; \"it is to us that our father entrusted\nyour defence from harm and danger when he himself left for home.\" And\nthe gallant youths, full noble, full manly, full handsome, with\nbeauteous brown locks, went forth girt with battle arms fit for fierce\nfight and clothed with combat dress for fierce contest fit, which was\nburnished, bright, brilliant, bladed, blazing, on which were many\npictures of beasts and birds, and creeping things, lions, and\nlithe-limbed tigers, brown eagle, and harrying hawk, and adder fierce;\nand the young heroes laid low three-thirds of the company.\n\nConnachar came out in haste and cried with wrath; \"Who is there on\nthe floor of fight, slaughtering my men?\"\n\n\"We, the three sons of Ferchar Mac Ro.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the king, \"I will give a free bridge to your grandfather,\na free bridge to your father, and a free bridge each to you three\nbrothers, if you come over to my side to-night.\"\n\n\"Well, Connachar, we will not accept that offer from you, nor thank\nyou for it. Greater by far do we prefer to go home to our father and\ntell the deeds of heroism we have done, than accept anything on these\nterms from you. Naois, son of Uisnech, and Allen and Arden are as\nnearly related to yourself as they are to us, though you are so keen\nto shed their blood, and you would shed our blood also, Connachar.\"\nAnd the noble, manly, handsome youths, with beauteous brown locks,\nreturned inside. \"We are now,\" said they, \"going home to tell our\nfather that you are now safe from the hands of the king.\" And the\nyouths, all fresh and tall and lithe and beautiful, went home to their\nfather to tell that the sons of Uisnech were safe. This happened at\nthe parting of the day and night in the morning twilight time, and\nNaois said they must go away, leave that house, and return to Alba.\n\nNaois and Deirdre, Allen and Arden started to return to Alba. Word\ncame to the king that the company he was in pursuit of were gone. The\nking then sent for Duanan Gacha Druid, the best magician he had, and\nhe spake to him as follows: \"Much wealth have I expended on you,\nDuanan Gacha Druid, to give schooling and learning and magic mystery\nto you, I'll hold you to account if these people get away from me\nto-day without care, without consideration or regard for me, without\nchance of overtaking them, and without power to stop them.\"\n\n\"Well, I will stop them,\" said the magician, \"until the company you\nsend in pursuit return.\" And the magician placed a wood before them\nthrough which no man could go, but the sons of Uisnech marched through\nthe wood without halt or hesitation, and Deirdre held on to Naois's\nhand.\n\n\"What is the good of that? that will not do yet,\" said Connachar.\n\"They are off without bending of their feet or stopping of their step,\nwithout heed or respect to me, and I am without power to keep up to\nthem, or opportunity to turn them back this night.\"\n\n\"I will try another plan on them,\" said the druid; and he placed\nbefore them a grey sea instead of a green plain. The three heroes\nstripped and tied their clothes behind their heads, and Naois placed\nDeirdre on the top of his shoulder.\n\n    They stretched their sides to the stream,\n      And sea and land were to them the same,\n    The rough grey ocean was the same\n      As meadow-land green and plain.\n\n\"Though that be good, O Duanan, it will not make the heroes return,\"\nsaid Connachar; \"they are gone without regard for me, and without\nhonor to me, and without power on my part to pursue them, or to force\nthem to return this night.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"We shall try another method on them, since yon one did not stop\nthem,\" said the druid. And the druid froze the grey-ridged sea into\nhard rocky knobs, the sharpness of sword being on the one edge and the\npoison power of adders on the other. Then Arden cried that he was\ngetting tired, and nearly giving over. \"Come you, Arden, and sit on my\nright shoulder,\" said Naois. Arden came and sat on Naois's shoulder.\nArden was not long in this posture when he died; but though he was\ndead Naois would not let him go. Allen then cried out that he was\ngetting faint and well-nigh giving up. When Naois heard his prayer, he\ngave forth the piercing sigh of death, and asked Allen to lay hold of\nhim and he would bring him to land. Allen was not long when the\nweakness of death came on him, and his hold failed. Naois looked\naround, and when he saw his two well-beloved brothers dead, he cared\nnot whether he lived or died, and he gave forth the bitter sigh of\ndeath, and his heart burst.\n\n\"They are gone,\" said Duanan Gacha Druid to the king, \"and I have done\nwhat you desired me. The sons of Uisnech are dead and they will\ntrouble you no more; and you have your wife hale and whole to\nyourself.\"\n\n\"Blessings for that upon you and may the good results accrue to me,\nDuanan. I count it no loss what I spent in the schooling and teaching\nof you. Now dry up the flood and let me see if I can behold Deirdre,\"\nsaid Connachar. And Duanan Gacha Druid dried up the flood from the\nplain and the three sons of Uisnech were lying together dead, without\nbreath of life, side by side on the green meadow plain and Deirdre\nbending above showering down her tears.\n\nThen Deirdre said this lament: \"Fair one, loved one, flower of beauty;\nbeloved, upright, and strong; beloved, noble, and modest warrior. Fair\none, blue-eyed, beloved of thy wife; lovely to me at the\ntrysting-place came thy clear voice through the woods of Ireland. I\ncannot eat or smile henceforth. Break not to-day, my heart: soon\nenough shall I lie within my grave. Strong are the waves of sorrow,\nbut stronger is sorrow's self, Connachar.\"\n\nThe people then gathered round the heroes' bodies and asked Connachar\nwhat was to be done with the bodies. The order that he gave was that\nthey should dig a pit and put the three brothers in it side by side.\n\nDeirdre kept sitting on the brink of the grave, constantly asking the\ngravediggers to dig the pit wide and free. When the bodies of the\nbrothers were put in the grave, Deirdre said:\n\n    Come over hither, Naois, my love,\n    Let Arden close to Allen lie;\n    If the dead had any sense to feel,\n    Ye would have made a place for Deirdre.\n\nThe men did as she told them. She jumped into the grave and lay down\nby Naois, and she was dead by his side.\n\nThe king ordered the body to be raised from out the grave and to be\nburied on the other side of the loch. It was done as the king bade,\nand the pit closed. Thereupon a fir shoot grew out of the grave of\nDeirdre and a fir shoot from the grave of Naois, and the two shoots\nunited in a knot above the loch. The king ordered the shoots to be cut\ndown, and this was done twice, until, at the third time, the wife whom\nthe king had married caused him to stop this work of evil and his\nvengeance on the remains of the dead.\n\n\n\n\nMunachar and Manachar\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nThere once lived a Munachar and a Manachar, a long time ago, and it is\na long time since it was, and if they were alive now they would not be\nalive then. They went out together to pick raspberries, and as many as\nMunachar used to pick Manachar used to eat. Munachar said he must go\nlook for a rod to make a gad to hang Manachar, who ate his raspberries\nevery one; and he came to the rod. \"What news the day?\" said the rod.\n\"It is my own news that I'm seeking. Going looking for a rod, a rod to\nmake a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get me,\" said the rod, \"until you get an axe to cut me.\"\nHe came to the axe. \"What news to-day?\" said the axe. \"It's my own\nnews I'm seeking. Going looking for an axe, an axe to cut a rod, a rod\nto make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every\none.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"You will not get me,\" said the axe, \"until you get a flag to edge\nme.\" He came to the flag. \"What news to-day?\" says the flag. \"It's my\nown news I'm seeking. Going looking for a flag, flag to edge axe, axe\nto cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my\nraspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get me,\" says the flag, \"till you get water to wet me.\"\nHe came to the water. \"What news to-day?\" says the water. \"It's my own\nnews I'm seeking. Going looking for water, water to wet flag, flag to\nedge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang\nManachar, who ate my raspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get me,\" said the water, \"until you get a deer who will\nswim me.\" He came to the deer \"What news to-day?\" says the deer. \"It's\nmy own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a deer, deer to swim water,\nwater to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a\ngad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get me,\" said the deer, \"until you get a hound who will\nhunt me.\" He came to the hound. \"What news to-day?\" says the hound.\n\"It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a hound, hound to\nhunt deer, deer to swim water, water to wet flag, flag to edge axe,\naxe to cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate\nmy raspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get me,\" said the hound, \"until you get a bit of butter\nto put in my claw.\" He came to the butter. \"What news to-day?\" says\nthe butter. \"It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for butter,\nbutter to go in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to swim water,\nwater to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a\ngad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get me,\" said the butter, \"until you get a cat who shall\nscrape me.\" He came to the cat. \"What news to-day?\" said the cat.\n\"It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a cat, cat to scrape\nbutter, butter to go in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to\nswim water, water to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a\nrod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries\nevery one.\"\n\n\"You will not get me,\" said the cat, \"until you will get milk which\nyou will give me.\" He came to the cow. \"What news to-day?\" said the\ncow. \"It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a cow, cow to\ngive me milk, milk I will give to the cat, cat to scrape butter,\nbutter to go in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to swim water,\nwater to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a\ngad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get any milk from me,\" said the cow, \"until you bring me\na whisp of straw from those threshers yonder.\" He came to the\nthreshers. \"What news to-day?\" said the threshers. \"It's my own news\nI'm seeking. Going looking for a whisp of straw from ye to give to\nthe cow, the cow to give me milk, milk I will give to the cat, cat to\nscrape butter, butter to go in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer\nto swim water, water to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod,\na rod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries\nevery one.\"\n\n\"You will not get any whisp of straw from us,\" said the threshers,\n\"until you bring us the makings of a cake from the miller over\nyonder.\" He came to the miller. \"What news to-day?\" said the miller.\n\"It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for the makings of a cake\nwhich I will give the threshers, the threshers to give me a whisp of\nstraw, the whisp of straw I will give to the cow, the cow to give me\nmilk, milk I will give to the cat, cat to scrape butter, butter to go\nin claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to swim water, water to wet\nflag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad\nto hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one.\"\n\n\"You will not get any makings of a cake from me,\" said the miller,\n\"till you bring me the full of that sieve of water from the river over\nthere.\"\n\nHe took the sieve in his hand and went over to the river, but as often\nas ever he would stoop and fill it with water, the moment he raised it\nthe water would run out of it again, and sure, if he had been there,\nfrom that day till this, he never could have filled it. A crow went\nflying by him, over his head, \"Daub! daub!\" said the crow. \"My\nblessings on ye, then,\" said Munachar, \"but it's the good advice you\nhave,\" and he took the red clay and the daub that was by the brink,\nand he rubbed it to the bottom of the sieve, until all the holes were\nfilled, and then the sieve held the water, and he brought the water to\nthe miller, and the miller gave him the makings of a cake, and he gave\nthe makings of the cake to the threshers, and the threshers gave him a\nwhisp of straw, and he gave the whisp of straw to the cow, and the cow\ngave him milk, the milk he gave to the cat, the cat scraped the\nbutter, the butter went into the claw of the hound, the hound hunted\nthe deer, the deer swam the water, the water wet the flag, the flag\nsharpened the axe, the axe cut the rod, and the rod made a gad, and\nwhen he had it ready to hang Manachar he found that Manachar had\nBURST.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\n\n\nGold-Tree and Silver-Tree\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a king who had a wife, whose name was\nSilver-tree, and a daughter whose name was Gold-tree. On a certain day\nof the days, Gold-tree and Silver-tree went to a glen, where there was\na well, and in it there was a trout.\n\nSaid Silver-tree, \"Troutie, bonny little fellow, am not I the most\nbeautiful queen in the world?\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed you are not.\"\n\n\"Who then?\"\n\n\"Why, Gold-tree, your daughter.\"\n\nSilver-tree went home, blind with rage. She lay down on the bed, and\nvowed she would never be well until she could get the heart and the\nliver of Gold-tree, her daughter, to eat.\n\nAt nightfall the king came home, and it was told him that Silver-tree,\nhis wife, was very ill. He went where she was, and asked her what was\nwrong with her.\n\n\"Oh! only a thing which you may heal if you like.\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed there is nothing at all which I could do for you that I\nwould not do.\"\n\n\"If I get the heart and the liver of Gold-tree, my daughter, to eat, I\nshall be well.\"\n\nNow it happened about this time that the son of a great king had come\nfrom abroad to ask Gold-tree for marrying. The king now agreed to\nthis, and they went abroad.\n\nThe king then went and sent his lads to the hunting-hill for a\nhe-goat, and he gave its heart and its liver to his wife to eat; and\nshe rose well and healthy.\n\nA year after this Silver-tree went to the glen, where there was the\nwell in which there was the trout.\n\n\"Troutie, bonny little fellow,\" said she, \"am not I the most beautiful\nqueen in the world?\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed you are not.\"\n\n\"Who then?\"\n\n\"Why, Gold-tree, your daughter.\"\n\n\"Oh! well, it is long since she was living. It is a year since I ate\nher heart and liver.\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed she is not dead. She is married to a great prince abroad.\"\n\nSilver-tree went home, and begged the king to put the long-ship in\norder, and said, \"I am going to see my dear Gold-tree, for it is so\nlong since I saw her.\" The long-ship was put in order, and they went\naway.\n\nIt was Silver-tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered the\nship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.\n\nThe prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-tree knew the long-ship\nof her father coming.\n\n\"Oh!\" she said to the servants, \"my mother is coming, and she will\nkill me.\"\n\n\"She shall not kill you at all; we will lock you in a room where she\ncannot get near you.\"\n\nThis is how it was done; and when Silver-tree came ashore, she began\nto cry out:\n\n\"Come to meet your own mother, when she comes to see you.\" Gold-tree\nsaid that she could not, that she was locked in the room, and that she\ncould not get out of it.\n\n\"Will you not put out,\" said Silver-tree, \"your little finger through\nthe key-hole, so that your own mother may give a kiss to it?\"\n\nShe put out her little finger, and Silver-tree went and put a poisoned\nstab in it, and Gold-tree fell dead.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nWhen the prince came home, and found Gold-tree dead, he was in great\nsorrow, and when he saw how beautiful she was, he did not bury her at\nall, but he locked her in a room where nobody would get near her.\n\nIn the course of time he married again, and the whole house was under\nthe hand of this wife but one room, and he himself always kept the key\nof that room. On a certain day of the days he forgot to take the key\nwith him, and the second wife got into the room. What did she see\nthere but the most beautiful woman that she ever saw.\n\nShe began to turn and try to wake her, and she noticed the poisoned\nstab in her finger. She took the stab out, and Gold-tree rose alive,\nas beautiful as she was ever.\n\nAt the fall of night the prince came home from the hunting-hill,\nlooking very downcast.\n\n\"What gift,\" said his wife, \"would you give me that I could make you\nlaugh?\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed, nothing could make me laugh, except Gold-tree were to\ncome alive again.\"\n\n\"Well, you'll find her alive down there in the room.\"\n\nWhen the prince saw Gold-tree alive he made great rejoicings, and he\nbegan to kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Said the second wife,\n\"Since she is the first one you had it is better for you to stick to\nher, and I will go away.\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed you shall not go away, but I shall have both of you.\"\n\nAt the end of the year, Silver-tree went to the glen, where there was\nthe well, in which there was the trout.\n\n\"Troutie, bonny little fellow,\" said she, \"am not I the most beautiful\nqueen in the world?\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed you are not.\"\n\n\"Who then?\"\n\n\"Why, Gold-tree, your daughter.\"\n\n\"Oh! well, she is not alive. It is a year since I put the poisoned\nstab into her finger.\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed she is not dead at all, at all.\"\n\nSilver-tree went home, and begged the king to put the long-ship in\norder, for that she was going to see her dear Gold-tree, as it was so\nlong since she saw her. The long-ship was put in order and they went\naway. It was Silver-tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered\nthe ship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.\n\nThe prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-tree knew her father's\nship coming.\n\n\"Oh!\" said she, \"my mother is coming, and she will kill me.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said the second wife; \"we will go down to meet her.\"\n\nSilver-tree came ashore. \"Come down, Gold-tree, love,\" said she, \"for\nyour own mother has come to you with a precious drink.\"\n\n\"It is a custom in this country,\" said the second wife, \"that the\nperson who offers a drink takes a draught out of it first.\"\n\nSilver-tree put her mouth to it, and the second wife went and struck\nit so that some of it went down her throat, and she fell dead. They\nhad only to carry her home a dead corpse and bury her.\n\nThe prince and his two wives were long alive after this, pleased and\npeaceful.\n\nI left them there.\n\n\n\n\nKing O'Toole and His Goose\n\n\nOch, I thought all the world, far and near, had heerd of King\nO'Toole--well, well but the darkness of mankind is untollable! Well,\nsir, you must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that there was a\nking, called King O'Toole, who was a fine old king in the old ancient\ntimes, long ago; and it was he that owned the churches in the early\ndays. The king, you see, was the right sort; he was the real boy, and\nloved sport as he loved his life, and hunting in particular; and from\nthe rising o' the sun, up he got, and away he went over the mountains\nafter the deer; and fine times they were.\n\nWell, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health; but,\nyou see, in the course of time the king grew old, by raison he was\nstiff in his limbs, and when he got stricken in years, his heart\nfailed him, and he was lost entirely for want o' diversion, because he\ncouldn't go a-hunting no longer; and, by dad, the poor king was\nobliged at last to get a goose to divert him. Oh, you may laugh, if\nyou like, but it's truth I'm telling you; and the way the goose\ndiverted him was this-a-way: You see, the goose used to swim across\nthe lake, and go diving for trout and catch fish on a Friday for the\nking, and flew every other day round about the lake, diverting the\npoor king. All went on mighty well until, by dad, the goose got\nstricken in years like her master, and couldn't divert him no longer,\nand then it was that the poor king was lost entirely. The king was\nwalkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate,\nand thinking of drowning himself, that could get no diversion in life,\nwhen all of a sudden, turning round the corner, whom should he meet\nbut a mighty decent young man coming up to him.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"God save you,\" says the king to the young man.\n\n\"God save you kindly, King O'Toole,\" says the young man.\n\n\"True for you,\" says the king. \"I am King O'Toole,\" says he, \"prince\nand plennypennytinchery of these parts,\" says he; \"but how came ye to\nknow that?\" says he.\n\n\"Oh, never mind,\" says St. Kavin.\n\nYou see it was Saint Kavin, sure enough--the saint himself in\ndisguise, and nobody else. \"Oh, never mind,\" says he, \"I know more\nthan that. May I make bold to ask how is your goose, King O'Toole?\"\nsays he.\n\n\"Blur-an-agers, how came ye to know about my goose?\" says the king.\n\n\"Oh, no matter; I was given to understand it,\" says Saint Kavin.\n\nAfter some more talk the king says, \"What are you?\"\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' old 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 trade, King O'Toole; I've a\nbetter trade than a tinker,\" says he--\"what would you say,\" says he,\n\"If I made your old goose as good as new?\"\n\nMy dear, at the word of making his goose as good as new, you'd think\nthe poor old king's eyes were ready to jump out of his head. With that\nthe king whistled, and down came the poor goose, just like a hound,\nwaddling up to the poor cripple, her master, and as like him as two\npeas. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, \"I'll do the\njob for you,\" says he, \"King O'Toole.\"\n\n\"By _Jaminee_!\" says King O'Toole, \"if you do, I'll say you're the\ncleverest fellow in the seven parishes.\"\n\n\"Oh, by dad,\" says St. Kavin, \"you must say more nor that--my horn's\nnot so soft all out,\" says he, \"as to repair your old goose for\nnothing;\" \"what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the\nchat,\" says St. Kavin.\n\n\"I'll give you whatever you ask,\" says the king \"isn't that fair?\"\n\n\"Divil a fairer,\" says the saint, \"that's the way to do business.\nNow,\" says he, \"this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole:\nwill you gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer,\nafter I make her as good as new?\"\n\n\"I will,\" says the king.\n\n\"You won't go back o' your word?\" says St. Kavin.\n\n\"Honour bright!\" says King O'Toole, holding out his fist.\n\n\"Honour bright!\" says St. Kavin, back again, \"it's a bargain. Come\nhere!\" says he to the poor old goose--\"come here, you unfortunate ould\ncripple, and it's I that'll make you the sporting bird.\" With that, my\ndear, he took up the goose by the two wings--\"Criss o' my cross an\nyou,\" says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same\nminute--and throwing her up in the air, \"whew,\" says he, jist givin'\nher a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she took to her\nheels, flyin' like one o' the eagles themselves, and cutting as many\ncapers as a swallow before a shower of rain.\n\nWell, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the king standing with\nhis mouth open, looking at his poor old goose flying as light as a\nlark, and better than ever she was; and when she lit at his feet,\npatted her on the head, and \"_Ma vourneen_,\" says he \"but you are the\n_darlint_ o' the world.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"And what do you say to me,\" says Saint Kavin, \"for making her the\nlike?\"\n\n\"By Jabers,\" says the king, \"I say nothing beats the art o' man,\nbarring the bees.\"\n\n\"And do you say no more nor that?\" says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"And that I'm beholden to you,\" says the king.\n\n\"But will you gi'e me all the ground the goose flew over?\" says Saint\nKavin.\n\n\"I will,\" says King O'Toole, \"and you're welcome to it,\" says he,\n\"though it's the last acre I have to give.\"\n\n\"But you'll keep your word true,\" says the saint.\n\n\"As true as the sun,\" says the king.\n\n\"It's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said that word,\" says he;\n\"for if you didn't say that word, the divil the bit o' your goose\nwould ever fly agin.\"\n\nWhen the king was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was pleased with\nhim, and then it was that he made himself known to the king. \"And,\"\nsays he, \"King O'Toole, you're a decent man, for I only came here to\ntry you. You don't know me,\" says he, \"because I'm disguised.\"\n\n\"Musha! then,\" says the king, \"who are you?\"\n\n\"I'm Saint Kavin,\" said the saint, blessing himself.\n\n\"Oh, queen of heaven!\" says the king, making the sign of the cross\nbetween his eyes, and falling down on his knees before the saint; \"is\nit the great Saint Kavin,\" says he, \"that I've been discoursing all\nthis time without knowing it,\" says he, \"all as one as if he was a\nlump of a _gossoon_?--and so you're a saint?\" says the king.\n\n\"I am,\" says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"By Jabers, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boy,\" says the\nking.\n\n\"Well, you know the difference now,\" says the saint. \"I'm Saint\nKavin,\" says he, \"the greatest of all the saints.\"\n\nAnd so the king had his goose as good as new, to divert him as long as\nhe lived; and the saint supported him after he came into his property,\nas I told you, until the day of his death--and that was soon after;\nfor the poor goose thought he was catching a trout one Friday; but, my\njewel, it was a mistake he made--and instead of a trout, it was a\nthieving horse-eel; and instead of the goose killing a trout for the\nking's supper--by dad, the eel killed the king's goose--and small\nblame to him; but he didn't ate her, because he darn't ate what Saint\nKavin had laid his blessed hands on.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wooing of Olwen\n\n\nShortly after the birth of Kilhuch, the son of King Kilyth, his mother\ndied. Before her death she charged the king that he should not take a\nwife again until he saw a briar with two blossoms upon her grave, and\nthe king sent every morning to see if anything were growing thereon.\nAfter many years the briar appeared, and he took to wife the widow of\nKing Doged. She foretold to her stepson, Kilhuch, that it was his\ndestiny to marry a maiden named Olwen, or none other, and he, at his\nfather's bidding, went to the court of his cousin, King Arthur, to ask\nas a boon the hand of the maiden. He rode upon a grey steed with\nshell-formed hoofs, having a bridle of linked gold, and a saddle also\nof gold. In his hand were two spears of silver, well-tempered, headed\nwith steel, of an edge to wound the wind and cause blood to flow, and\nswifter than the fall of the dew-drop from the blade of reed grass\nupon the earth when the dew of June is at its heaviest. A gold-hilted\nsword was on his thigh, and the blade was of gold, having inlaid upon\nit a cross of the hue of the lightning of heaven. Two brindled,\nwhite-breasted greyhounds, with strong collars of rubies, sported\nround him, and his courser cast up four sods with its four hoofs like\nfour swallows about his head. Upon the steed was a four-cornered cloth\nof purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner. Precious gold was\nupon the stirrups and shoes, and the blade of grass bent not beneath\nthem, so light was the courser's tread as he went towards the gate of\nKing Arthur's palace.\n\nArthur received him with great ceremony, and asked him to remain at\nthe palace; but the youth replied that he came not to consume meat and\ndrink, but to ask a boon of the king.\n\nThen said Arthur, \"Since thou wilt not remain here, chieftain, thou\nshalt receive the boon, whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the\nwind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea\nencircles, and the earth extends, save only my ships and my mantle, my\nsword, my lance, my shield, my dagger, and Guinevere my wife.\"\n\nSo Kilhuch craved of him the hand of Olwen, the daughter of Yspathaden\nPenkawr, and also asked the favour and aid of all Arthur's court.\n\nThen said Arthur, \"O chieftain, I have never heard of the maiden of\nwhom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will gladly send\nmessengers in search of her.\"\n\nAnd the youth said, \"I will willingly grant from this night to that at\nthe end of the year to do so.\"\n\nThen Arthur sent messengers to every land within his dominions to seek\nfor the maiden; and at the end of the year Arthur's messengers\nreturned without having gained any knowledge or information\nconcerning Olwen more than on the first day.\n\nThen said Kilhuch, \"Every one has received his boon, and I yet lack\nmine. I will depart and bear away thy honour with me.\"\n\nThen said Kay, \"Rash chieftain! dost thou reproach Arthur? Go with us,\nand we will not part until thou dost either confess that the maiden\nexists not in the world, or until we obtain her.\"\n\nThereupon Kay rose up.\n\nKay had this peculiarity, that his breath lasted nine nights and nine\ndays under water, and he could exist nine nights and nine days without\nsleep. A wound from Kay's sword no physician could heal. Very subtle\nwas Kay. When it pleased him he could render himself as tall as the\nhighest tree in the forest. And he had another peculiarity--so great\nwas the heat of his nature, that, when it rained hardest, whatever he\ncarried remained dry for a handbreadth above and a handbreadth below\nhis hand; and when his companions were coldest, it was to them as fuel\nwith which to light their fire.\n\nAnd Arthur called Bedwyr, who never shrank from any enterprise upon\nwhich Kay was bound. None was equal to him in swiftness throughout\nthis island except Arthur and Drych Ail Kibthar. And although he was\none-handed, three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on the\nfield of battle. Another property he had; his lance would produce a\nwound equal to nine opposing lances.\n\nAnd Arthur called to Kynthelig the guide. \"Go thou upon this\nexpedition with the chieftain.\" For as good a guide was he in a land\nwhich he had never seen as he was in his own.\n\nHe called Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, because he knew all tongues.\n\nHe called Gwalchmai, the son of Gwyar, because he never returned home\nwithout achieving the adventure of which he went in quest. He was the\nbest of footmen and the best of knights. He was nephew to Arthur, the\nson of his sister, and his cousin.\n\nAnd Arthur called Menw, the son of Tiergwaeth, in order that if they\nwent into a savage country, he might cast a charm and an illusion over\nthem, so that none might see them whilst they could see every one.\n\nThey journeyed on till they came to a vast open plain, wherein they\nsaw a great castle, which was the fairest in the world. But so far\naway was it that at night it seemed no nearer, and they scarcely\nreached it on the third day. When they came before the castle they\nbeheld a vast flock of sheep, boundless and without end. They told\ntheir errand to the herdsman, who endeavoured to dissuade them, since\nnone who had come thither on that quest had returned alive. They gave\nto him a gold ring, which he conveyed to his wife, telling her who the\nvisitors were.\n\nOn the approach of the latter, she ran out with joy to greet them, and\nsought to throw her arms about their necks. But Kay, snatching a\nbillet out of the pile, placed the log between her two hands, and she\nsqueezed it so that it became a twisted coil.\n\n\"O woman,\" said Kay, \"if thou hadst squeezed me thus, none could ever\nagain have set their affections on me. Evil love were this.\"\n\nThey entered the house, and after meat she told them that the maiden\nOlwen came there every Saturday to wash. They pledged their faith that\nthey would not harm her, and a message was sent to her. So Olwen came,\nclothed in a robe of flame-coloured silk, and with a collar of ruddy\ngold, in which were emeralds and rubies, about her neck. More golden\nwas her hair than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter\nthan the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers\nthan the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow\nfountain. Brighter were her glances than those of a falcon; her bosom\nwas more snowy than the breast of the white swan, her cheek redder\nthan the reddest roses. Whoso beheld was filled with her love. Four\nwhite trefoils sprang up wherever she trod, and therefore was she\ncalled Olwen.\n\nThen Kilhuch, sitting beside her on a bench, told her his love, and\nshe said that he would win her as his bride if he granted whatever her\nfather asked.\n\nAccordingly they went up to the castle and laid their request before\nhim.\n\n\"Raise up the forks beneath my two eyebrows which have fallen over my\neyes,\" said Yspathaden Penkawr, \"that I may see the fashion of my\nson-in-law.\"\n\nThey did so, and he promised them an answer on the morrow. But as they\nwere going forth Yspathaden seized one of the three poisoned darts\nthat lay beside him and threw it back after them.\n\nAnd Bedwyr caught it and flung it back, wounding Yspathaden in the\nknee.\n\nThen said he, \"A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly I shall ever walk\nthe worse for his rudeness. This poisoned iron pains me like the bite\nof a gad-fly. Cursed be the smith who forged it, and the anvil whereon\nit was wrought.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nThe knights rested in the house of Custennin the herdsman, but the\nnext day at dawn they returned to the castle and renewed their\nrequest.\n\nYspathaden said it was necessary that he should consult Olwen's four\ngreat-grandmothers and her four great grand sires.\n\nThe knights again withdrew, and as they were going he took the second\ndart and cast it after them.\n\nBut Menw caught it and flung it back, piercing Yspathaden's breast\nwith it, so that it came out at the small of his back.\n\n\"A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly,\" says he, \"the hard iron pains\nme like the bite of a horse-leech. Cursed be the hearth whereon it was\nheated! Henceforth whenever I go up a hill, I shall have a scant in my\nbreath and a pain in my chest.\"\n\nOn the third day the knights returned once more to the palace, and\nYspathaden took the third dart and cast it at them.\n\nBut Kilhuch caught it and threw it vigorously, and wounded him through\nthe eyeball, so that the dart came out at the back of his head.\n\n\"A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly. As long as I remain alive my\neyesight will be the worse. Whenever I go against the wind my eyes\nwill water, and peradventure my head will burn, and I shall have a\ngiddiness every new moon. Cursed be the fire in which it was forged.\nLike the bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this poisoned iron.\"\n\nAnd they went to meat.\n\nSaid Yspathaden Penkawr, \"Is it thou that seekest my daughter?\"\n\n\"It is I,\" answered Kilhuch.\n\n\"I must have thy pledge that thou wilt not do towards me otherwise\nthan is just, and when I have gotten that which I shall name, my\ndaughter thou shalt have.\"\n\n\"I promise thee that willingly,\" said Kilhuch, \"name what thou wilt.\"\n\n\"I will do so,\" said he.\n\n\"Throughout the world there is not a comb or scissors with which I can\narrange my hair, on account of its rankness, except the comb and\nscissors that are between the two ears of Turch Truith, the son of\nPrince Tared. He will not give them of his own free will, and thou\nwilt not be able to compel him.\"\n\n\"It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think\nthat it will not be easy.\"\n\n\"Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It\nwill not be possible to hunt Turch Truith without Drudwyn the whelp of\nGreid, the son of Eri, and know that throughout the world there is not\na huntsman who can hunt with this dog, except Mabon the son of Modron.\nHe was taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not\nknown where he is now, nor whether he is living or dead.\"\n\n\"It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think\nthat it will not be easy.\"\n\n\"Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Thou\nwilt not get Mabon, for it is not known where he is, unless thou find\nEidoel, his kinsman in blood, the son of Aer. For it would be useless\nto seek for him. He is his cousin.\"\n\n\"It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think\nthat it will not be easy. Horses shall I have, and chivalry; and my\nlord and kinsman Arthur will obtain for me all these things. And I\nshall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life.\"\n\n\"Go forward. And thou shalt not be chargeable for food or raiment for\nmy daughter while thou art seeking these things; and when thou hast\ncompassed all these marvels, thou shalt have my daughter for wife.\"\n\nNow, when they told Arthur how they had sped, Arthur said, \"Which of\nthese marvels will it be best for us to seek first?\"\n\n\"It will be best,\" said they, \"to seek Mabon the son of Modron; and he\nwill not be found unless we first find Eidoel, the son of Aer, his\nkinsman.\"\n\nThen Arthur rose up, and the warriors of the Islands of Britain with\nhim, to seek for Eidoel; and they proceeded until they came before the\ncastle of Glivi, where Eidoel was imprisoned.\n\nGlivi stood on the summit of his castle, and said, \"Arthur, what\nrequirest thou of me, since nothing remains to me in this fortress,\nand I have neither joy nor pleasure in it; neither wheat nor oats?\"\n\nSaid Arthur, \"Not to injure thee came I hither, but to seek for the\nprisoner that is with thee.\"\n\n\"I will give thee my prisoner, though I had not thought to give him up\nto any one; and therewith shalt thou have my support and my aid.\"\n\nHis followers then said unto Arthur, \"Lord, go thou home, thou canst\nnot proceed with thy host in quest of such small adventures as these.\"\n\nThen said Arthur, \"It were well for thee, Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd,\nto go upon this quest, for thou knowest all languages, and art\nfamiliar with those of the birds and the beasts. Go, Eidoel, likewise\nwith my men in search of thy cousin. And as for you, Kay and Bedwyr, I\nhave hope of whatever adventure ye are in quest of, that ye will\nachieve it. Achieve ye this adventure for me.\"\n\nThese went forward until they came to the Ousel of Cilgwri, and Gwrhyr\nadjured her for the sake of Heaven, saying, \"Tell me if thou knowest\naught of Mabon, the son of Modron, who was taken when three nights old\nfrom between his mother and the wall.\"\n\nAnd the ousel answered, \"When I first came here there was a smith's\nanvil in this place, and I was then a young bird, and from that time\nno work has been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every\nevening, and now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining\nthereof; yet the vengeance of Heaven be upon me if during all that\ntime I have ever heard of the man for whom you inquire. Nevertheless,\nthere is a race of animals who were formed before me, and I will be\nyour guide to them.\"\n\nSo they proceeded to the place where was the Stag of Redynvre.\n\n\"Stag of Redynvre, behold we are come to thee, an embassy from Arthur,\nfor we have not heard of any animal older than thou. Say, knowest thou\naught of Mabon?\"\n\nThe stag said, \"When first I came hither, there was a plain all around\nme, without any trees save one oak sapling, which grew up to be an oak\nwith an hundred branches. And that oak has since perished, so that\nnow nothing remains of it but the withered stump; and from that day to\nthis I have been here, yet have I never heard of the man for whom you\ninquire. Nevertheless, I will be your guide to the place where there\nis an animal which was formed before I was.\"\n\nSo they proceeded to the place where was the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, to\ninquire of him concerning Mabon.\n\nAnd the owl said, \"If I knew I would tell you. When first I came\nhither, the wide valley you see was a wooded glen. And a race of men\ncame and rooted it up. And there grew there a second wood, and this\nwood is the third. My wings, are they not withered stumps? Yet all\nthis time, even until to-day, I have never heard of the man for whom\nyou inquire. Nevertheless, I will be the guide of Arthur's embassy\nuntil you come to the place where is the oldest animal in this world,\nand the one who has travelled most, the Eagle of Gwern Abwy.\"\n\nWhen they came to the eagle, Gwrhyr asked it the same question; but it\nreplied, \"I have been here for a great space of time, and when I first\ncame hither there was a rock here, from the top of which I pecked at\nthe stars every evening, and now it is not so much as a span high.\nFrom that day to this I have been here, and I have never heard of the\nman for whom you inquire, except once when I went in search of food as\nfar as Llyn Llyw. And when I came there, I stuck my talons into a\nsalmon, thinking he would serve me as food for a long time. But he\ndrew me into the deep, and I was scarcely able to escape from him.\nAfter that I went with my whole kindred to attack him, and to try to\ndestroy him, but he sent messengers and made peace with me, and came\nand besought me to take fifty fish spears out of his back. Unless he\nknow something of him whom you seek, I cannot tell you who may.\nHowever, I will guide you to the place where he is.\"\n\nSo they went thither, and the eagle said, \"Salmon of Llyn Llyw, I have\ncome to thee with an embassy from Arthur to ask thee if thou knowest\naught concerning Mabon, the son of Modron, who was taken away at three\nnights old from between his mother and the wall.\"\n\nAnd the salmon answered, \"As much as I know I will tell thee. With\nevery tide I go along the river upwards, until I come near to the\nwalls of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong as I never\nfound elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give credence thereto, let\none of you go thither upon each of my two shoulders.\"\n\nSo Kay and Gwrhyr went upon his shoulders, and they proceeded till\nthey came to the wall of the prison, and they heard a great wailing\nand lamenting from the dungeon.\n\nSaid Gwrhyr, \"Who is it that laments in this house of stone?\"\n\nAnd the voice replied, \"Alas, it is Mabon, the son of Modron, who is\nhere imprisoned!\"\n\nThen they returned and told Arthur, who, summoning his warriors\nattacked the castle.\n\n[Illustration: Gwrhyr and Eidoel talk with the Eagle of Gwern Abwy.]\n\nAnd whilst the fight was going on, Kay and Bedwyr, mounting on the\nshoulders of the fish, broke into the dungeon, and brought away with\nthem Mabon, the son of Modron.\n\nThen Arthur summoned unto him all the warriors that were in the three\nislands of Britain and in the three islands adjacent; and he went as\nfar as Esgeir Oervel in Ireland where the Boar Truith was with his\nseven young pigs. And the dogs were let loose upon him from all sides.\nBut he wasted the fifth part of Ireland, and then set forth through\nthe sea to Wales. Arthur and his hosts, and his horses, and his dogs\nfollowed hard after him. But ever and awhile the boar made a stand,\nand many a champion of Arthur's did he slay. Throughout all Wales did\nArthur follow him, and one by one the young pigs were killed. At\nlength, when he would fain have crossed the Severn, and escaped into\nCornwall, Mabon, the son of Modron, came up with him, and Arthur fell\nupon him, together with the champions of Britain. On the one side,\nMabon, the son of Modron, spurred his steed and snatched his razor\nfrom him, whilst Kay came up with him on the other side and took from\nhim the scissors. But, before they could obtain the comb, he had\nregained the ground with his feet, and from the moment that he reached\nthe shore, neither dog nor man nor horse could overtake him until he\ncame to Cornwall. There Arthur and his host followed in his track\nuntil they overtook him in Cornwall. Hard had been their trouble\nbefore, but it was child's play to what they met in seeking the comb.\nWin it they did, and the Boar Truith they hunted into the deep sea,\nand it was never known whither he went.\n\nThen Kilhuch set forward, and as many as wished ill to Yspathaden\nPenkawr. And they took the marvels with them to his court. And Kaw of\nNorth Britain came and shaved his beard, skin and flesh clean off to\nthe very bone from ear to ear.\n\n\"Art thou shaved man?\" said Kilhuch.\n\n\"I am shaved,\" answered he.\n\n\"Is thy daughter mine now?\"\n\n\"She is thine, but therefore needst thou not thank me, but Arthur who\nhath accomplished this for thee. By my free will thou shouldst never\nhave had her, for with her I lose my life.\"\n\nThen Goreu, the son of Custennin, seized him by the hair of his head\nand dragged him after him to the keep, and cut off his head and placed\nit on a stake on the citadel.\n\nThereafter the hosts of Arthur dispersed themselves each man to his\nown country.\n\nThus did Kilhuch, son of Kelython, win to wife Olwen, the daughter of\nYspathaden Penkawr.\n\n\n\n\nJack and His Comrades\n\n\nOnce there was a poor widow, as often there has been, and she had one\nson. A very scarce summer came, and they didn't know how they'd live\ntill the new potatoes would be fit for eating. So Jack said to his\nmother one evening, \"Mother, bake my cake, and kill my hen, till I go\nseek my fortune; and if I meet it, never fear but I'll soon be back to\nshare it with you.\"\n\nSo she did as he asked her, and he set out at break of day on his\njourney. His mother came along with him to the yard gate, and says\nshe, \"Jack, which would you rather have, half the cake and half the\nhen with my blessing, or the whole of 'em with my curse?\"\n\n\"O musha, mother,\" says Jack, \"why do you ax me that question? sure\nyou know I wouldn't have your curse and Damer's estate along with it.\"\n\n\"Well, then, Jack,\" says she, \"here's the whole lot of 'em, with my\nthousand blessings along with them.\" So she stood on the yard fence\nand blessed him as far as her eyes could see him.\n\nWell, he went along and along till he was tired, and ne'er a farmer's\nhouse he went into wanted a boy At last his road led by the side of a\nbog, and there was a poor ass up to his shoulders near a big bunch of\ngrass he was striving to come at.\n\n\"Ah, then, Jack asthore,\" says he, \"help me out or I'll be drowned.\"\n\n\"Never say't twice,\" says Jack, and he pitched in big stones and sods\ninto the slob, till the ass got good ground under him.\n\n\"Thank you, Jack,\" says he, when he was out on the hard road; \"I'll do\nas much for you another time. Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Faith, I'm going to seek my fortune till harvest comes in, God bless\nit!\"\n\n\"And if you like,\" says the ass, \"I'll go along with you; who knows\nwhat luck we may have!\"\n\n\"With all my heart; it's getting late, let us be jogging.\"\n\nWell, they were going through a village, and a whole army of gossoons\nwere hunting a poor dog with a kettle tied to his tail. He ran up to\nJack for protection, and the ass let such a roar out of him, that the\nlittle thieves took to their heels as if the ould boy was after them.\n\n\"More power to you, Jack,\" says the dog.\n\n\"I'm much obleeged to you: where is the baste and yourself going?\"\n\n\"We're going to seek our fortune till harvest comes in.\"\n\n\"And wouldn't I be proud to go with you!\" says the dog, \"and get rid\nof them ill-conducted boys; purshuin' to 'em.\"\n\n\"Well, well, throw your tail over your arm, and come along.\"\n\nThey got outside the town, and sat down under an old wall, and Jack\npulled out his bread and meat, and shared with the dog; and the ass\nmade his dinner on a bunch of thistles. While they were eating and\nchatting, what should come by but a poor half-starved cat, and the\nmoll-row he gave out of him would make your heart ache.\n\n\"You look as if you saw the tops of nine houses since breakfast,\" says\nJack; \"here's a bone and something on it.\"\n\n\"May your child never know a hungry belly!\" says Tom; \"it's myself\nthat's in need of your kindness. May I be so bold as to ask where yez\nare all going?\"\n\n\"We're going to seek our fortune till the harvest comes in, and you\nmay join us if you like.\"\n\n\"And that I'll do with a heart and a half,\" says the cat, \"and thank\n'ee for asking me.\"\n\nOff they set again, and just as the shadows of the trees were three\ntimes as long as themselves, they heard a great cackling in a field\ninside the road, and out over the ditch jumped a fox with a fine black\ncock in his mouth.\n\n\"Oh, you anointed villain!\" says the ass, roaring like thunder.\n\n\"At him, good dog!\" says Jack, and the word wasn't out of his mouth\nwhen Coley was in full sweep after the Red Dog. Reynard dropped his\nprize like a hot potato, and was off like a shot, and the poor cock\ncame back fluttering and trembling to Jack and his comrades.\n\n\"O musha, naybours!\" says he, \"wasn't it the height o' luck that threw\nyou in my way! Maybe I won't remember your kindness if ever I find you\nin hardship; and where in the world are you all going?\"\n\n\"We're going to seek our fortune till the harvest comes in; you may\njoin our party if you like, and sit on Neddy's crupper when your legs\nand wings are tired.\"\n\nWell, the march began again, and just as the sun was gone down they\nlooked around, and there was neither cabin nor farm house in sight.\n\n\"Well, well,\" says Jack, \"the worse luck now the better another time,\nand it's only a summer night after all. We'll go into the wood, and\nmake our bed on the long grass.\"\n\nNo sooner said than done. Jack stretched himself on a bunch of dry\ngrass, the ass lay near him, the dog and cat lay in the ass's warm\nlap, and the cock went to roost in the next tree.\n\nWell, the soundness of deep sleep was over them all, when the cock\ntook a notion of crowing.\n\n\"Bother you, Black Cock!\" says the ass; \"you disturbed me from as nice\na whisp of hay as ever I tasted. What's the matter?\"\n\n\"It's daybreak that's the matter; don't you see light yonder?\"\n\n\"I see a light indeed,\" says Jack, \"but it's from a candle it's\ncoming, and not from the sun. As you've roused us we may as well go\nover and ask for lodging.\"\n\nSo they all shook themselves, and went on through grass, and rocks,\nand briars, till they got down into a hollow, and there was the light\ncoming through the shadow, and along with it came singing, and\nlaughing, and cursing.\n\n\"Easy, boys!\" says Jack; \"walk on your tippy toes till we see what\nsort of people we have to deal with.\"\n\nSo they crept near the window, and there they saw six robbers inside,\nwith pistols, and blunderbushes, and cutlashes, sitting at a table,\neating roast beef and pork, and drinking mulled beer, and wine, and\nwhisky punch.\n\n\"Wasn't that a fine haul we made at the Lord of Dunlavin's?\" says one\nugly-looking thief with his mouth full, \"and it's little we'd get only\nfor the honest porter! here's his purty health!\"\n\n\"The porter's purty health!\" cried out every one of them, and Jack\nbent his finger at his comrades.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"Close your ranks, my men,\" says he in a whisper, \"and let every one\nmind the word of command.\"\n\nSo the ass put his fore-hoofs on the sill of the window, the dog got\non the ass's head, the cat on the dog's head, and the cock on the\ncat's head. Then Jack made a sign, and they all sang out like mad.\n\n\"Hee-haw, hee-haw!\" roared the ass; \"bow-wow!\" barked the dog;\n\"meaw-meaw!\" cried the cat; \"cock-a-doodle-doo!\" crowed the cock.\n\n\"Level your pistols!\" cried Jack, \"and make smithereens of 'em. Don't\nleave a mother's son of 'em alive; present, fire!\"\n\nWith that they gave another halloo, and smashed every pane in the\nwindow. The robbers were frightened out of their lives. They blew out\nthe candles, threw down the table, and skelped out at the back door as\nif they were in earnest, and never drew rein till they were in the\nvery heart of the wood.\n\nJack and his party got into the room, closed the shutters, lighted the\ncandles, and ate and drank till hunger and thirst were gone. Then they\nlay down to rest;--Jack in the bed, the ass in the stable, the dog on\nthe door-mat, the cat by the fire, and the cock on the perch.\n\nAt first the robbers were very glad to find themselves safe in the\nthick wood, but they soon began to get vexed.\n\n\"This damp grass is very different from our warm room,\" says one.\n\n\"I was obliged to drop a fine pig's foot,\" says another.\n\n\"I didn't get a tayspoonful of my last tumbler,\" says another.\n\n\"And all the Lord of Dunlavin's gold and silver that we left behind,\"\nsays the last.\n\n\"I think I'll venture back,\" says the captain, \"and see if we can\nrecover anything.\"\n\n\"That's a good boy,\" said they all, and away he went.\n\nThe lights were all out, and so he groped his way to the fire, and\nthere the cat flew in his face, and tore him with teeth and claws. He\nlet a roar out of him, and made for the room door, to look for a\ncandle inside. He trod on the dog's tail, and if he did, he got the\nmarks of his teeth in his arms, and legs, and thighs.\n\n\"Thousand murders!\" cried he; \"I wish I was out of this unlucky\nhouse.\"\n\nWhen he got to the street door, the cock dropped down upon him with\nhis claws and bill, and what the cat and dog done to him was only a\nflay-bite to what he got from the cock.\n\n\"Oh, tattheration to you all, you unfeeling vagabones!\" says he, when\nhe recovered his breath; and he staggered and spun round and round\ntill he reeled into the stable, back foremost, but the ass received\nhim with a kick on the broadest part of his small clothes, and laid\nhim comfortably on the dunghill.\n\nWhen he came to himself, he scratched his head, and began to think\nwhat happened him; and as soon as he found that his legs were able to\ncarry him, he crawled away, dragging one foot after another, till he\nreached the wood.\n\n\"Well, well,\" cried them all, when he came within hearing, \"any chance\nof our property?\"\n\n\"You may say chance,\" says he, \"and it's itself is the poor chance all\nout. Ah, will any of you pull a bed of dry grass for me? All the\nsticking-plaster in Enniscorthy will be too little for the cuts and\nbruises I have on me. Ah, if you only knew what I have gone through\nfor you! When I got to the kitchen fire, looking for a sod of lighted\nturf, what should be there but an old woman carding flax, and you may\nsee the marks she left on my face with the cards. I made to the room\ndoor as fast as I could, and who should I stumble over but a cobler\nand his seat, and if he did not work at me with his awls and his\npinchers, you may call me a rogue. Well, I got away from him somehow,\nbut when I was passing through the door, it must be the divil himself\nthat pounced down on me with his claws, and his teeth, that were equal\nto sixpenny nails, and his wings--ill luck be in his road! Well, at\nlast I reached the stable, and there, by way of salute, I got a pelt\nfrom a sledge-hammer that sent me half a mile off. If you don't\nbelieve me, I'll give you leave to go and judge for yourselves.\"\n\n\"Oh, my poor captain,\" says they, \"we believe you to the nines. Catch\nus, indeed, going within a hen's race of that unlucky cabin!\"\n\nWell, before the sun shook his doublet next morning, Jack and his\ncomrades were up and about. They made a hearty breakfast on what was\nleft the night before, and then they all agreed to set off to the\ncastle of the Lord of Dunlavin, and give him back all his gold and\nsilver. Jack put it all in the two ends of a sack and laid it across\nNeddy's back, and all took the road in their hands. Away they went,\nthrough bogs, up hills, down dales, and sometimes along the yellow\nhigh road, till they came to the hall-door of the Lord of Dunlavin,\nand who should be there, airing his powdered head, his white\nstockings, and his red breeches, but the thief of a porter.\n\nHe gave a cross look to the visitors, and says he to Jack, \"What do\nyou want here, my fine fellow? there isn't room for you all.\"\n\n\"We want,\" says Jack, \"what I'm sure you haven't to give us--and that\nis, common civility.\"\n\n\"Come, be off, you lazy strollers!\" says he, \"while a cat 'ud be\nlicking her ear, or I'll let the dogs at you.\"\n\n\"Would you tell a body,\" says the cock that was perched on the ass's\nhead, \"who was it that opened the door for the robbers the other\nnight?\"\n\nAh! maybe the porter's red face didn't turn the colour of his frill,\nand the Lord of Dunlavin and his pretty daughter, that were standing\nat the parlour window unknownst to the porter, put out their heads.\n\n\"I'd be glad, Barney,\" says the master, \"to hear your answer to the\ngentleman with the red comb on him.\"\n\n\"Ah, my lord, don't believe the rascal; sure I didn't open the door to\nthe six robbers.\"\n\n\"And how did you know there were six, you poor innocent?\" said the\nlord.\n\n\"Never mind, sir,\" says Jack, \"all your gold and silver is there in\nthat sack, and I don't think you will begrudge us our supper and bed\nafter our long march from the wood of Athsalach.\"\n\n\"Begrudge, indeed! Not one of you will ever see a poor day if I can\nhelp it.\"\n\nSo all were welcomed to their hearts' content, and the ass and the dog\nand the cock got the best posts in the farmyard, and the cat took\npossession of the kitchen. The lord took Jack in hands, dressed him\nfrom top to toe in broadcloth, and frills as white as snow, and\nturnpumps, and put a watch in his fob. When they sat down to dinner,\nthe lady of the house said Jack had the air of a born gentleman about\nhim, and the lord said he'd make him his steward. Jack brought his\nmother, and settled her comfortably near the castle, and all were as\nhappy as you please.\n\n\n\n\nThe Shee an Gannon and the Gruagach Gaire\n\n\nThe Shee an Gannon was born in the morning, named at noon, and went in\nthe evening to ask his daughter of the king of Erin.\n\n\"I will give you my daughter in marriage,\" said the king of Erin; \"you\nwon't get her, though, unless you go and bring me back the tidings\nthat I want, and tell me what it is that put a stop to the laughing of\nthe Gruagach Gaire, who before this laughed always, and laughed so\nloud that the whole world heard him. There are twelve iron spikes out\nhere in the garden behind my castle. On eleven of the spikes are the\nheads of kings' sons who came seeking my daughter in marriage, and all\nof them went away to get the knowledge I wanted. Not one was able to\nget it and tell me what stopped the Gruagach Gaire from laughing. I\ntook the heads off them all when they came back without the tidings\nfor which they went, and I'm greatly in dread that your head'll be on\nthe twelfth spike, for I'll do the same to you that I did to the\neleven kings' sons unless you tell what put a stop to the laughing of\nthe Gruagach.\"\n\nThe Shee an Gannon made no answer, but left the king and pushed away\nto know could he find why the Gruagach was silent.\n\nHe took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and travelled all day till\nevening. Then he came to a house. The master of the house asked him\nwhat sort was he, and he said: \"A young man looking for hire.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the master of the house, \"I was going to-morrow to look\nfor a man to mind my cows. If you'll work for me, you'll have a good\nplace, the best food a man could have to eat in this world, and a soft\nbed to lie on.\"\n\nThe Shee an Gannon took service, and ate his supper. Then the master\nof the house said: \"I am the Gruagach Gaire; now that you are my man\nand have eaten your supper, you'll have a bed of silk to sleep on.\"\n\nNext morning after breakfast the Gruagach said to the Shee an Gannon:\n\"Go out now and loosen my five golden cows and my bull without horns,\nand drive them to pasture; but when you have them out on the grass, be\ncareful you don't let them go near the land of the giant.\"\n\nThe new cowboy drove the cattle to pasture, and when near the land of\nthe giant, he saw it was covered with woods and surrounded by a high\nwall. He went up, put his back against the wall, and threw in a great\nstretch of it; then he went inside and threw out another great stretch\nof the wall, and put the five golden cows and the bull without horns\non the land of the giant.\n\nThen he climbed a tree, ate the sweet apples himself, and threw the\nsour ones down to the cattle of the Gruagach Gaire.\n\nSoon a great crashing was heard in the woods,--the noise of young\ntrees bending, and old trees breaking. The cowboy looked around, and\nsaw a five-headed giant pushing through the trees; and soon he was\nbefore him.\n\n\"Poor miserable creature!\" said the giant; \"but weren't you impudent\nto come to my land and trouble me in this way? You're too big for one\nbite, and too small for two. I don't know what to do but tear you to\npieces.\"\n\n\"You nasty brute,\" said the cowboy, coming down to him from the tree,\n\"'tis little I care for you\"; and then they went at each other. So\ngreat was the noise between them that there was nothing in the world\nbut what was looking on and listening to the combat.\n\nThey fought till late in the afternoon when the giant was getting the\nupper hand; and then the cowboy thought that if the giant should kill\nhim, his father and mother would never find him or set eyes on him\nagain, and he would never get the daughter of the king of Erin. The\nheart in his body grew strong at this thought. He sprang on the giant,\nand with the first squeeze and thrust he put him to his knees in the\nhard ground, with the second thrust to his waist, and with the third\nto his shoulders.\n\n\"I have you at last; you're done for now!\" said the cowboy. Then he\ntook out his knife, cut the five heads off the giant, and when he had\nthem off he cut out the tongues and threw the heads over the wall.\n\nThen he put the tongues in his pocket and drove home the cattle. That\nevening the Gruagach couldn't find vessels enough in his palace to\nhold the milk of the five golden cows.\n\nBut when the cowboy was on the way home with the cattle, the son of\nthe king of Tisean came and took the giant's heads and claimed the\nprincess in marriage when the Gruagach Gaire should laugh.\n\nAfter supper the cowboy would give no talk to his master, but kept his\nmind to himself, and went to the bed of silk to sleep.\n\nOn the morning the cowboy rose before his master, and the first words\nhe said to Gruagach were:\n\n\"What keeps you from laughing, you who used to laugh so loud that the\nwhole world heard you?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" said the Gruagach, \"that the daughter of the king of Erin\nsent you here.\"\n\n\"If you don't tell me of your own will, I'll make you tell me,\" said\nthe cowboy; and he put a face on himself that was terrible to look at,\nand, running through the house like a madman, could find nothing that\nwould give pain enough to the Gruagach but some ropes made of untanned\nsheep-skin hanging on the wall.\n\nHe took these down, caught the Gruagach, fastened him by the three\nsmalls, and tied him so that his little toes were whispering to his\nears. When he was in this state the Gruagach said: \"I'll tell you what\nstopped my laughing if you set me free.\"\n\nSo the cowboy unbound him, the two sat down together, and the Gruagach\nsaid:--\n\n\"I lived in this castle here with my twelve sons. We ate, drank,\nplayed cards, and enjoyed ourselves, till one day, when my sons and I\nwere playing, a slender brown hare came rushing in, jumped on to the\nhearth, tossed up the ashes to the rafters and ran away.\n\n\"On another day he came again; but if he did, we were ready for him,\nmy twelve sons and myself. As soon as he tossed up the ashes and ran\noff, we made after him, and followed him till nightfall, when he went\ninto a glen. We saw a light before us. I ran on, and came to a house\nwith a great apartment, where there was a man named Yellow Face with\ntwelve daughters, and the hare was tied to the side of the room near\nthe women.\n\n\"There was a large pot over the fire in the room, and a great stork\nboiling in the pot. The man of the house said to me, 'There are\nbundles of rushes at the end of the room, go there and sit down with\nyour men!'\n\n\"He went into the next room and brought out two pikes, one of wood,\nthe other of iron, and asked me which of the pikes would I take. I\nsaid, 'I'll take the iron one'; for I thought in my heart that if an\nattack should come on me, I could defend myself better with the iron\nthan the wooden pike.\n\n\"Yellow Face gave me the iron pike, and the first chance of taking\nwhat I could out of the pot on the point of the pike. I got but a\nsmall piece of the stork, and the man of the house took all the rest\non his wooden pike. We had to fast that night; and when the man and\nhis twelve daughters ate the flesh of the stork, they hurled the bare\nbones in the faces of my sons and myself.\n\n\"We had to stop all night that way, beaten on the faces by the bones\nof the stork.\n\n\"Next morning, when we were going away, the man of the house asked me\nto stay a while; and going into the next room, he brought out twelve\nloops of iron and one of wood, and said to me: 'Put the heads of your\ntwelve sons into the iron loops, or your own head into the wooden\none'; and I said: 'I'll put the twelve heads of my sons in the iron\nloops, and keep my own out of the wooden one.'\n\n\"He put the iron loops on the necks of my twelve sons, and put the\nwooden one on his own neck. Then he snapped the loops one after\nanother, till he took the heads off my twelve sons and threw the heads\nand bodies out of the house; but he did nothing to hurt his own neck.\n\n\"When he had killed my sons he took hold of me and stripped the skin\nand flesh from the small of my back down, and when he had done that he\ntook the skin of a black sheep that had been hanging on the wall for\nseven years and clapped it on my body in place of my own flesh and\nskin; and the sheep-skin grew on me, and every year since then I shear\nmyself, and every bit of wool I use for the stockings that I wear I\nclip off my own back.\"\n\nWhen he had said this, the Gruagach showed the cowboy his back\ncovered with thick black wool.\n\nAfter what he had seen and heard, the cowboy said: \"I know now why you\ndon't laugh, and small blame to you. But does that hare come here\nstill?\"\n\n\"He does indeed,\" said the Gruagach.\n\nBoth went to the table to play, and they were not long playing cards\nwhen the hare ran in; and before they could stop him he was out again.\n\nBut the cowboy made after the hare, and the Gruagach after the cowboy,\nand they ran as fast as ever their legs could carry them till\nnightfall; and when the hare was entering the castle where the twelve\nsons of the Gruagach were killed, the cowboy caught him by the two\nhind legs and dashed out his brains against the wall; and the skull of\nthe hare was knocked into the chief room of the castle, and fell at\nthe feet of the master of the place.\n\n\"Who has dared to interfere with my fighting pet?\" screamed Yellow\nFace.\n\n\"I,\" said the cowboy; \"and if your pet had had manners, he might be\nalive now.\"\n\nThe cowboy and the Gruagach stood by the fire. A stork was boiling in\nthe pot, as when the Gruagach came the first time. The master of the\nhouse went into the next room and brought out an iron and a wooden\npike, and asked the cowboy which would he choose.\n\n\"I'll take the wooden one,\" said the cowboy; \"and you may keep the\niron one for yourself.\"\n\nSo he took the wooden one; and going to the pot, brought out on the\npike all the stork except a small bite, and he and the Gruagach fell\nto eating, and they were eating the flesh of the stork all night. The\ncowboy and the Gruagach were at home in the place that time.\n\nIn the morning the master of the house went into the next room, took\ndown the twelve iron loops with a wooden one, brought them out, and\nasked the cowboy which would he take, the twelve iron or the one\nwooden loop.\n\n\"What could I do with the twelve iron ones for myself or my master?\nI'll take the wooden one.\"\n\nHe put it on, and taking the twelve iron loops, put them on the necks\nof the twelve daughters of the house, then snapped the twelve heads\noff them, and turning to their father, said: \"I'll do the same thing\nto you unless you bring the twelve sons of my master to life, and make\nthem as well and strong as when you took their heads.\"\n\nThe master of the house went out and brought the twelve to life again;\nand when the Gruagach saw all his sons alive and as well as ever, he\nlet a laugh out of himself, and all the Eastern world heard the laugh.\n\nThen the cowboy said to the Gruagach: \"It's a bad thing you have done\nto me, for the daughter of the king of Erin will be married the day\nafter your laugh is heard.\"\n\n\"Oh! then we must be there in time,\" said the Gruagach; and they all\nmade away from the place as fast as ever they could, the cowboy, the\nGruagach, and his twelve sons. They hurried on; and when within three\nmiles of the king's castle there was such a throng of people that no\none could see a step ahead. \"We must clear a road through this,\" said\nthe cowboy.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"We must indeed,\" said the Gruagach; and at it they went, threw the\npeople some on one side and some on the other, and soon they had an\nopening for themselves to the king's castle.\n\nAs they went in, the daughter of the king of Erin and the son of the\nking of Tisean were on their knees just going to be married. The\ncowboy drew his hand on the bridegroom, and gave a blow that sent him\nspinning till he stopped under a table at the other side of the room.\n\n\"What scoundrel struck that blow?\" asked the king of Erin.\n\n\"It was I,\" said the cowboy.\n\n\"What reason had you to strike the man who won my daughter?\"\n\n\"It was I who won your daughter, not he; and if you don't believe me,\nthe Gruagach Gaire is here himself. He'll tell you the whole story\nfrom beginning to end, and show you the tongues of the giant.\"\n\nSo the Gruagach came up and told the king the whole story, how the\nShee an Gannon had become his cowboy, had guarded the five golden cows\nand the bull without horns, cut off the heads of the five-headed\ngiant, killed the wizard hare, and brought his own twelve sons to\nlife. \"And then,\" said the Gruagach \"he's the only man in the whole\nworld I have ever told why I stopped laughing, and the only one who\nhas ever seen my fleece of wool.\"\n\nWhen the king of Erin heard what the Gruagach said, and saw the\ntongues of the giant fitted in the head, he made the Shee an Gannon\nkneel down by his daughter, and they were married on the spot.\n\nThen the son of the king of Tisean was thrown into prison, and the\nnext day they put down a great fire, and the deceiver was burnt to\nashes.\n\nThe wedding lasted nine days, and the last day was better than the\nfirst.\n\n\n\n\nThe Story-Teller at Fault\n\n\nAt the time when the Tuatha De Danann held the sovereignty of Ireland,\nthere reigned in Leinster a king, who was remarkably fond of hearing\nstories. Like the other princes and chieftains of the island, he had a\nfavourite story-teller, who held a large estate from his Majesty, on\ncondition of telling him a new story every night of his life, before\nhe went to sleep. Many indeed were the stories he knew, so that he had\nalready reached a good old age without failing even for a single night\nin his task; and such was the skill he displayed that whatever cares\nof state or other annoyances might prey upon the monarch's mind, his\nstory-teller was sure to send him to sleep.\n\nOne morning the story-teller arose early, and as his custom was,\nstrolled out into his garden, turning over in his mind incidents which\nhe might weave into a story for the king at night. But this morning he\nfound himself quite at fault; after pacing his whole demesne, he\nreturned to his house without being able to think of anything new or\nstrange. He found no difficulty in \"there was once a king who had\nthree sons,\" or \"one day the king of all Ireland,\" but further than\nthat he could not get. At length he went in to breakfast, and found\nhis wife much perplexed at his delay.\n\n\"Why don't you come to breakfast, my dear?\" said she.\n\n\"I have no mind to eat anything,\" replied the story-teller; \"long as I\nhave been in the service of the king of Leinster, I never sat down to\nbreakfast without having a new story ready for the evening, but this\nmorning my mind is quite shut up, and I don't know what to do. I might\nas well lie down and die at once. I'll be disgraced for ever this\nevening, when the king calls for his story-teller.\"\n\nJust at this moment the lady looked out of the window.\n\n\"Do you see that black thing at the end of the field?\" said she.\n\n\"I do,\" replied her husband.\n\nThey drew nigh, and saw a miserable-looking old man lying on the\nground with a wooden leg placed beside him.\n\n\"Who are you, my good man?\" asked the story-teller.\n\n\"Oh, then, 'tis little matter who I am. I'm a poor, old, lame,\ndecrepit, miserable creature, sitting down here to rest awhile.\"\n\n\"An' what are you doing with that box and dice I see in your hand?\"\n\n\"I am waiting here to see if any one will play a game with me,\"\nreplied the beggarman.\n\n\"Play with you! Why what has a poor old man like you to play for?\"\n\n\"I have one hundred pieces of gold in this leathern purse,\" replied\nthe old man.\n\n\"You may as well play with him,\" said the story-teller's wife; \"and\nperhaps you'll have something to tell the king in the evening.\"\n\nA smooth stone was placed between them, and upon it they cast their\nthrows.\n\nIt was but a little while and the story-teller lost every penny of his\nmoney.\n\n\"Much good may it do you, friend,\" said he, \"What better hap could I\nlook for, fool that I am!\"\n\n\"Will you play again?\" asked the old man.\n\n\"Don't be talking, man; you have all my money.\"\n\n\"Haven't you chariot and horses and hounds?\"\n\n\"Well, what of them?\"\n\n\"I'll stake all the money I have against thine.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, man! Do you think for all the money in Ireland I'd run the\nrisk of seeing my lady tramp home on foot?\"\n\n\"Maybe you'd win,\" said the bocough.\n\n\"Maybe I wouldn't,\" said the story-teller.\n\n\"Play with him, husband,\" said his wife. \"I don't mind walking, if you\ndo, love.\"\n\n\"I never refused you before,\" said the story-teller, \"and I won't do\nso now.\"\n\nDown he sat again, and in one throw lost horses, hounds, and chariot.\n\n\"Will you play again?\" asked the beggar.\n\n\"Are you making game of me, man; what else have I to stake?\"\n\n\"I'll stake all my winnings against your wife,\" said the old man.\n\nThe story-teller turned away in silence, but his wife stopped him.\n\n\"Accept his offer,\" said she. \"This is the third time, and who knows\nwhat luck you may have? You'll surely win now.\"\n\nThey played again, and the story-teller lost. No sooner had he done\nso, than to his sorrow and surprise, his wife went and sat down near\nthe ugly old beggar.\n\n\"Is that the way you're leaving me?\" said the story-teller.\n\n\"Sure I was won,\" said she. \"You would not cheat the poor man, would\nyou?\"\n\n\"Have you any more to stake?\" asked the old man.\n\n\"You know very well I have not,\" replied the story-teller.\n\n\"I'll stake the whole now, wife and all, against your own self,\" said\nthe old man.\n\nAgain they played, and again the story-teller lost.\n\n\"Well! Here I am, and what do you want with me?\"\n\n\"I'll soon let you know,\" said the old man, and he took from his\npocket a long cord and a wand.\n\n\"Now,\" said he to the story-teller, \"what kind of animal would you\nrather be, a deer, a fox, or a hare? You have your choice now, but you\nmay not have it later.\"\n\nTo make a long story short, the story-teller made his choice of a\nhare; the old man threw the cord round him, struck him with the wand,\nand lo! a long-eared, frisking hare was skipping and jumping on the\ngreen.\n\nBut it wasn't for long; who but his wife called the hounds, and set\nthem on him. The hare fled, the dogs followed. Round the field ran a\nhigh wall, so that run as he might, he couldn't get out, and mightily\ndiverted were beggar and lady to see him twist and double.\n\nIn vain did he take refuge with his wife, she kicked him back again to\nthe hounds, until at length the beggar stopped the hounds, and with a\nstroke of the wand, panting and breathless, the story-teller stood\nbefore them again.\n\n\"And how did you like the sport?\" said the beggar.\n\n\"It might be sport to others,\" replied the story-teller, looking at\nhis wife, \"for my part I could well put up with the loss of it.\"\n\n\"Would it be asking too much,\" he went on to the beggar, \"to know who\nyou are at all, or where you come from, or why you take a pleasure in\nplaguing a poor old man like me?\"\n\n\"Oh!\" replied the stranger, \"I'm an odd kind of good-for-little\nfellow, one day poor, another day rich, but if you wish to know more\nabout me or my habits, come with me and perhaps I may show you more\nthan you would make out if you went alone.\"\n\n\"I'm not my own master to go or stay,\" said the story-teller, with a\nsigh.\n\nThe stranger put one hand into his wallet and drew out of it before\ntheir eyes a well-looking middle-aged man, to whom he spoke as\nfollows:\n\n\"By all you heard and saw since I put you into my wallet, take charge\nof this lady and of the carriage and horses, and have them ready for\nme whenever I want them.\"\n\nScarcely had he said these words when all vanished, and the\nstory-teller found himself at the Foxes' Ford, near the castle of Red\nHugh O'Donnell. He could see all but none could see him.\n\nO'Donnell was in his hall, and heaviness of flesh and weariness of\nspirit were upon him.\n\n\"Go out,\" said he to his doorkeeper, \"and see who or what may be\ncoming.\"\n\nThe doorkeeper went, and what he saw was a lank, grey beggarman; half\nhis sword bared behind his haunch, his two shoes full of cold\nroad-a-wayish water sousing about him, the tips of his two ears out\nthrough his old hat, his two shoulders out through his scant, tattered\ncloak, and in his hand a green wand of holly.\n\n\"Save you, O'Donnell,\" said the lank, grey beggarman.\n\n\"And you likewise,\" said O'Donnell. \"Whence come you, and what is your\ncraft?\"\n\n    \"I come from the outmost stream of earth,\n    From the glens where the white swans glide,\n    A night in Islay, a night in Man,\n    A night on the cold hill-side.\"\n\n\"It's the great traveller you are,\" said O'Donnell. \"May be you've\nlearnt something on the road.\"\n\n\"I am a juggler,\" said the lank, grey beggarman, \"and for five pieces\nof silver you shall see a trick of mine.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"You shall have them,\" said O'Donnell; and the lank, grey beggarman\ntook three small straws and placed them in his hand.\n\n\"The middle one,\" said he, \"I'll blow away; the other two I'll leave.\"\n\n\"Thou canst not do it,\" said one and all.\n\nBut the lank, grey beggarman put a finger on either outside straw\nand, whiff, away he blew the middle one.\n\n\"'Tis a good trick,\" said O'Donnell; and he paid him his five pieces\nof silver.\n\n\"For half the money,\" said one of the chief's lads, \"I'll do the same\ntrick.\"\n\n\"Take him at his word, O'Donnell.\"\n\nThe lad put the three straws on his hand, and a finger on either\noutside straw and he blew; and what happened but that the fist was\nblown away with the straw.\n\n\"Thou art sore, and thou wilt be sorer,\" said O'Donnell.\n\n\"Six more pieces, O'Donnell, and I'll do another trick for thee,\" said\nthe lank, grey beggarman.\n\n\"Six shalt thou have.\"\n\n\"Seest thou my two ears! One I'll move but not t'other.\"\n\n\"'Tis easy to see them, they're big enough, but thou canst never move\none ear and not the two together.\"\n\nThe lank, grey beggarman put his hand to his ear, and he gave it a\npull.\n\nO'Donnell laughed and paid him the six pieces.\n\n\"Call that a trick?\" said the fistless lad, \"any one can do that,\" and\nso saying, he put up his hand, pulled his ear, and what happened was\nthat he pulled away ear and head.\n\n\"Sore thou art, and sorer thou 'lt be,\" said O'Donnell.\n\n\"Well, O'Donnell,\" said the lank, grey beggarman, \"strange are the\ntricks I've shown thee, but I'll show thee a stranger one yet for the\nsame money.\"\n\n\"Thou hast my word for it,\" said O'Donnell.\n\nWith that the lank, grey beggarman took a bag from under his arm-pit,\nand from out the bag a ball of silk, and he unwound the ball and he\nflung it slant-wise up into the clear blue heavens, and it became a\nladder; then he took a hare and placed it upon the thread, and up it\nran; again he took out a red-eared hound, and it swiftly ran up after\nthe hare.\n\n\"Now,\" said the lank, grey beggarman, \"has any one a mind to run after\nthe dog and on the course?\"\n\n\"I will,\" said a lad of O'Donnell's.\n\n\"Up with you, then,\" said the juggler; \"but I warn you if you let my\nhare be killed I'll cut off your head when you come down.\"\n\nThe lad ran up the thread, and all three soon disappeared. After\nlooking up for a long time, the lank, grey beggarman said, \"I'm afraid\nthe hound is eating the hare, and that our friend has fallen asleep.\"\n\nSaying this he began to wind the thread, and down came the lad fast\nasleep; and down came the red-eared hound and in his mouth the last\nmorsel of the hare.\n\nHe struck the lad a stroke with the edge of his sword, and so cast his\nhead off. As for the hound, if he used it no worse, he used it no\nbetter.\n\n\"It's little I'm pleased, and sore I'm angered,\" said O'Donnell, \"that\na hound and a lad should be killed at my court.\"\n\n\"Five pieces of silver twice over for each of them,\" said the\njuggler, \"and their heads shall be on them as before.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt get that,\" said O'Donnell.\n\nFive pieces and again five were paid him, and lo! the lad had his head\nand the hound his. And though they lived to the uttermost end of time,\nthe hound would never touch a hare again, and the lad took good care\nto keep his eyes open.\n\nScarcely had the lank, grey beggarman done this when he vanished from\nout their sight, and no one present could say if he had flown through\nthe air or if the earth had swallowed him up.\n\n    \"He moved as wave tumbling o'er wave\n    As whirlwind following whirlwind,\n    As a furious wintry blast,\n    So swiftly, sprucely, cheerily,\n    Right proudly,\n    And no stop made\n    Until he came\n    To the court of Leinster's King,\n    He gave a cheery light leap\n    O'er top of turret,\n    Of court and city\n    Of Leinster's King.\"\n\nHeavy was the flesh and weary the spirit of Leinster's king. 'Twas the\nhour he was wont to hear a story, but send he might right and left,\nnot a jot of tidings about the story-teller could he get.\n\n\"Go to the door,\" said he to his doorkeeper, \"and see if a soul is in\nsight who may tell me something about my story-teller.\"\n\nThe doorkeeper went, and what he saw was a lank, grey beggarman, half\nhis sword bared behind his haunch, his two old shoes full of cold\nroad-a-wayish water sousing about him, the tips of his two ears out\nthrough his old hat, his two shoulders out through his scant, tattered\ncloak, and in his hand a three-stringed harp.\n\n\"What canst thou do?\" said the doorkeeper.\n\n\"I can play,\" said the lank, grey beggarman.\n\n\"Never fear,\" added he to the story-teller, \"thou shalt see all, and\nnot a man shall see thee.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nWhen the king heard a harper was outside he bade him in.\n\n\"It is I that have the best harpers in the five-fifths of Ireland,\"\nsaid he, and he signed them to play. They did so, and if they played,\nthe lank, grey beggarman listened.\n\n\"Heardst thou ever the like?\" said the king.\n\n\"Did you ever, O king, hear a cat purring over a bowl of broth, or the\nbuzzing of beetles in the twilight, or a shrill-tongued old woman\nscolding your head off?\"\n\n\"That I have often,\" said the king.\n\n\"More melodious to me,\" said the lank, grey beggarman, \"were the worst\nof these sounds than the sweetest harping of thy harpers.\"\n\nWhen the harpers heard this, they drew their swords and rushed at him,\nbut instead of striking him, their blows fell on each other, and soon\nnot a man but was cracking his neighbour's skull and getting his own\ncracked in turn.\n\nWhen the king saw this, he thought it hard the harpers weren't content\nwith murdering their music, but must needs murder each other.\n\n\"Hang the fellow who began it all,\" said he; \"and if I can't have a\nstory, let me have peace.\"\n\nUp came the guards, seized the lank, grey beggarman, marched him to\nthe gallows and hanged him high and dry. Back they marched to the\nhall, and who should they see but the lank, grey beggarman seated on a\nbench with his mouth to a flagon of ale.\n\n\"Never welcome you in,\" cried the captain of the guard, \"didn't we\nhang you this minute, and what brings you here?\"\n\n\"Is it me myself, you mean?\"\n\n\"Who else?\" said the captain.\n\n\"May your hand turn into a pig's foot with you when you think of tying\nthe rope; why should you speak of hanging me?\"\n\nBack they scurried to the gallows, and there hung the king's favourite\nbrother.\n\nBack they hurried to the king who had fallen fast asleep.\n\n\"Please your Majesty,\" said the captain, \"we hanged that strolling\nvagabond, but here he is back again as well as ever.\"\n\n\"Hang him again,\" said the king, and off he went to sleep once more.\n\nThey did as they were told, but what happened was that they found the\nking's chief harper hanging where the lank, grey beggarman should have\nbeen.\n\nThe captain of the guard was sorely puzzled.\n\n\"Are you wishful to hang me a third time?\" said the lank, grey\nbeggarman.\n\n\"Go where you will,\" said the captain, \"and as fast as you please if\nyou'll only go far enough. It's trouble enough you've given us\nalready.\"\n\n\"Now, you're reasonable,\" said the beggarman, \"and since you've given\nup trying to hang a stranger because he finds fault with your music, I\ndon't mind telling you that if you go back to the gallows you'll find\nyour friends sitting on the sward none the worse for what has\nhappened.\"\n\nAs he said these words he vanished; and the story-teller found himself\non the spot where they first met, and where his wife still was with\nthe carriage and horses.\n\n\"Now,\" said the lank, grey beggarman, \"I'll torment you no longer.\nThere's your carriage and your horses, and your money and your wife:\ndo what you please with them.\"\n\n\"For my carriage and my horses and my hounds,\" said the story-teller,\n\"I thank you; but my wife and my money you may keep.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other. \"I want neither, and as for your wife, don't\nthink ill of her for what she did, she couldn't help it.\"\n\n\"Not help it! Not help kicking me into the mouth of my own hounds! Not\nhelp casting me off for the sake of a beggarly old----\"\n\n\"I'm not as beggarly or as old as ye think. I am Angus of the Bruff;\nmany a good turn you've done me with the king of Leinster. This\nmorning my magic told me the difficulty you were in, and I made up my\nmind to get you out of it. As for your wife there, the power that\nchanged your body changed her mind. Forget and forgive as man and wife\nshould do, and now you have a story for the king of Leinster when he\ncalls for one\"; and with that he disappeared.\n\nIt's true enough he now had a story fit for a king. From first to last\nhe told all that had befallen him; so long and loud laughed the king\nthat he couldn't go to sleep at all. And he told the story-teller\nnever to trouble for fresh stories, but every night as long as he\nlived he listened again and he laughed afresh at the tale of the lank,\ngrey beggarman.\n\n\n\n\nThe Sea-Maiden\n\n\nThere was once a poor old fisherman, and one year he was not getting\nmuch fish. On a day of days, while he was fishing, there rose a\nsea-maiden at the side of his boat, and she asked him, \"Are you\ngetting much fish?\" The old man answered and said, \"Not I.\" \"What\nreward would you give me for sending plenty of fish to you?\" \"Ach!\"\nsaid the old man, \"I have not much to spare.\" \"Will you give me the\nfirst son you have?\" said she. \"I would give ye that, were I to have a\nson,\" said he. \"Then go home, and remember me when your son is twenty\nyears of age, and you yourself will get plenty of fish after this.\"\nEverything happened as the sea-maiden said, and he himself got plenty\nof fish; but when the end of the twenty years was nearing, the old man\nwas growing more and more sorrowful and heavy-hearted, while he\ncounted each day as it came.\n\nHe had rest neither day nor night. The son asked his father one day,\n\"Is any one troubling you?\" The old man said, \"Some one is, but that's\nnought to do with you nor any one else.\" The lad said, \"I _must_ know\nwhat it is.\" His father told him at last how the matter was with him\nand the sea-maiden. \"Let not that put you in any trouble,\" said the\nson; \"I will not oppose you.\" \"You shall not; you shall not go, my\nson, though I never get fish any more.\" \"If you will not let me go\nwith you, go to the smithy, and let the smith make me a great strong\nsword, and I will go seek my fortune.\"\n\nHis father went to the smithy, and the smith made a doughty sword for\nhim. His father came home with the sword. The lad grasped it and gave\nit a shake or two, and it flew into a hundred splinters. He asked his\nfather to go to the smithy and get him another sword in which there\nshould be twice as much weight; and so his father did, and so likewise\nit happened to the next sword--it broke in two halves. Back went the\nold man to the smithy; and the smith made a great sword, its like he\nnever made before. \"There's thy sword for thee,\" said the smith, \"and\nthe fist must be good that plays this blade.\" The old man gave the\nsword to his son; he gave it a shake or two. \"This will do,\" said he;\n\"it's high time now to travel on my way.\"\n\nOn the next morning he put a saddle on a black horse that his father\nhad, and he took the world for his pillow. When he went on a bit, he\nfell in with the carcass of a sheep beside the road. And there were a\ngreat black dog, a falcon, and an otter, and they were quarrelling\nover the spoil. So they asked him to divide it for them. He came down\noff the horse and he divided the carcass amongst the three. Three\nshares to the dog, two shares to the otter, and a share to the falcon.\n\"For this,\" said the dog, \"if swiftness of foot or sharpness of tooth\nwill give thee aid, mind me, and I will be at thy side.\" Said the\notter, \"If the swimming of foot on the ground of a pool will loose\nthee, mind me, and I will be at thy side.\" Said the falcon, \"If\nhardship comes on thee, where swiftness of wing or crook of claw will\ndo good, mind me, and I will be at thy side.\"\n\nOn this he went onward till he reached a king's house, and he took\nservice to be a herd, and his wages were to be according to the milk\nof the cattle. He went away with the cattle, and the grazing was but\nbare. In the evening when he took them home they had not much milk,\nthe place was so bare, and his meat and drink was but spare that\nnight.\n\nOn the next day he went on further with them; and at last he came to a\nplace exceedingly grassy, in a green glen, of which he never saw the\nlike.\n\nBut about the time when he should drive the cattle homewards, who\nshould he see coming but a great giant with a sword in his hand? \"HI!\nHO!! HO-GARACH!!!\" says the giant. \"Those cattle are mine; they are on\nmy land, and a dead man art thou.\" \"I say not that,\" says the herd;\n\"there is no knowing, but that may be easier to say than to do.\"\n\nHe drew the great clean-sweeping sword, and he neared the giant. The\nherd drew back his sword, and the head was off the giant in a\ntwinkling. He leaped on the black horse, and he went to look for the\ngiant's house. In went the herd, and that's the place where there was\nmoney in plenty, and dresses of each kind in the wardrobe with gold\nand silver, and each thing finer than the other. At the mouth of night\nhe took himself to the king's house, but he took not a thing from the\ngiant's house. And when the cattle were milked this night there _was_\nmilk. He got good feeding this night, meat and drink without stint,\nand the king was hugely pleased that he had caught such a herd. He\nwent on for a time in this way, but at last the glen grew bare of\ngrass, and the grazing was not so good.\n\nSo he thought he would go a little further forward in on the giant's\nland; and he sees a great park of grass. He returned for the cattle,\nand he put them into the park.\n\nThey were but a short time grazing in the park when a great wild giant\ncame full of rage and madness. \"HI! HAW!! HOGARAICH!!!\" said the\ngiant. \"It is a drink of thy blood that will quench my thirst this\nnight.\" \"There is no knowing,\" said the herd, \"but that's easier to\nsay than to do.\" And at each other went the men. _There_ was shaking\nof blades! At length and at last it seemed as if the giant would get\nthe victory over the herd. Then he called on the dog, and with one\nspring the black dog caught the giant by the neck, and swiftly the\nherd struck off his head.\n\nHe went home very tired this night, but it's a wonder if the king's\ncattle had not milk. The whole family was delighted that they had got\nsuch a herd.\n\nNext day he betakes himself to the castle. When he reached the door, a\nlittle flattering carlin met him standing in the door. \"All hail and\ngood luck to thee, fisher's son; 'tis I myself am pleased to see thee;\ngreat is the honour for this kingdom, for thy like to be come into\nit--thy coming in is fame for this little bothy; go in first; honour\nto the gentles; go on, and take breath.\"\n\n\"In before me, thou crone; I like not flattery out of doors; go in and\nlet's hear thy speech.\" In went the crone, and when her back was to\nhim he drew his sword and whips her head off; but the sword flew out\nof his hand. And swift the crone gripped her head with both hands, and\nputs it on her neck as it was before. The dog sprang on the crone, and\nshe struck the generous dog with the club of magic; and there he lay.\nBut the herd struggled for a hold of the club of magic, and with one\nblow on the top of the head she was on earth in the twinkling of an\neye. He went forward, up a little, and there was spoil! Gold and\nsilver, and each thing more precious than another, in the crone's\ncastle. He went back to the king's house, and there was rejoicing.\n\nHe followed herding in this way for a time; but one night after he\ncame home, instead of getting \"All hail\" and \"good luck\" from the\ndairymaid, all were at crying and woe.\n\nHe asked what cause of woe there was that night. The dairymaid said,\n\"There is a great beast with three heads in the loch, and it must get\nsome one every year, and the lot had come this year on the king's\ndaughter, and at midday to-morrow she is to meet the Laidly Beast at\nthe upper end of the loch, but there is a great suitor yonder who is\ngoing to rescue her.\"\n\n\"What suitor is that?\" said the herd. \"Oh, he is a great General of\narms,\" said the dairymaid, \"and when he kills the beast, he will marry\nthe king's daughter, for the king has said that he who could save his\ndaughter should get her to marry.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nBut on the morrow, when the time grew near, the king's daughter and\nthis hero of arms went to give a meeting to the beast, and they\nreached the black rock, at the upper end of the loch. They were but a\nshort time there when the beast stirred in the midst of the loch; but\nwhen the General saw this terror of a beast with three heads, he took\nfright, and he slunk away, and he hid himself. And the king's\ndaughter was under fear and under trembling, with no one at all to\nsave her. Suddenly she sees a doughty handsome youth, riding a black\nhorse, and coming where she was. He was marvellously arrayed and full\narmed, and his black dog moved after him. \"There is gloom on your\nface, girl,\" said the youth; \"what do you here?\"\n\n\"Oh! that's no matter,\" said the king's daughter. \"It's not long I'll\nbe here at all events.\"\n\n--\"I say not that,\" said he.\n\n\"A champion fled as likely as you, and not long since,\" said she.\n\n\"He is a champion who stands the war,\" said the youth. And to meet the\nbeast he went with his sword and his dog. But there was a spluttering\nand a splashing between himself and the beast! The dog kept doing all\nhe might, and the king's daughter was palsied by fear of the noise of\nthe beast! One of them would now be under, and now above. But at last\nhe cut one of the heads off it. It gave one roar, and the son of\nearth, echo of the rocks, called to its screech, and it drove the loch\nin spindrift from end to end, and in a twinkling it went out of sight.\n\n\"Good luck and victory follow you, lad!\" said the king's daughter. \"I\nam safe for one night, but the beast will come again and again, until\nthe other two heads come off it.\" He caught the beast's head, and he\ndrew a knot through it, and he told her to bring it with her there\nto-morrow. She gave him a gold ring, and went home with the head on\nher shoulder, and the herd betook himself to the cows. But she had\nnot gone far when this great General saw her, and he said to her, \"I\nwill kill you if you do not say 'twas I took the head off the beast.\"\n\"Oh!\" says she, \"'tis I will say it; who else took the head off the\nbeast but you!\" They reached the king's house, and the head was on the\nGeneral's shoulder. But here was rejoicing, that she should come home\nalive and whole, and this great captain with the beast's head full of\nblood in hand. On the morrow they went away, and there was no question\nat all but that this hero would save the king's daughter.\n\nThey reached the same place, and they were not long there when the\nfearful Laidly Beast stirred in the midst of the loch, and the hero\nslunk away as he did on yesterday, but it was not long after this when\nthe man of the black horse came, with another dress on. No matter; she\nknew that it was the very same lad. \"It is I am pleased to see you,\"\nsaid she. \"I am in hopes you will handle your great sword to-day as\nyou did yesterday. Come up and take breath.\" But they were not long\nthere when they saw the beast steaming in the midst of the loch.\n\nAt once he went to meet the beast, but _there_ was Cloopersteich and\nClaperstich, spluttering, splashing, raving, and roaring on the beast!\nThey kept at it thus for a long time, and about the mouth of the night\nhe cut another head off the beast. He put it on the knot and gave it\nto her. She gave him one of her earrings, and he leaped on the black\nhorse, and he betook himself to the herding. The king's daughter went\nhome with the heads. The General met her, and took the heads from her,\nand he said to her that she must tell that it was he who took the head\noff the beast this time also. \"Who else took the head off the beast\nbut you?\" said she. They reached the king's house with the heads. Then\nthere was joy and gladness.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nAbout the same time on the morrow, the two went away. The officer hid\nhimself as he usually did. The king's daughter betook herself to the\nbank of the loch. The hero of the black horse came, and if roaring and\nraving were on the beast on the days that were passed, this day it was\nhorrible. But no matter, he took the third head off the beast, and\ndrew it through the knot, and gave it to her. She gave him her other\nearring, and then she went home with the heads. When they reached the\nking's house, all were full of smiles, and the General was to marry\nthe king's daughter the next day. The wedding was going on, and every\none about the castle longing till the priest should come. But when the\npriest came, she would marry only the one who could take the heads off\nthe knot without cutting it. \"Who should take the heads off the knot\nbut the man that put the heads on?\" said the king.\n\nThe General tried them, but he could not loose them, and at last there\nwas no one about the house but had tried to take the heads off the\nknot, but they could not. The king asked if there were any one else\nabout the house that would try to take the heads off the knot. They\nsaid that the herd had not tried them yet. Word went for the herd; and\nhe was not long throwing them hither and thither. \"But stop a bit, my\nlad,\" said the king's daughter; \"the man that took the heads off the\nbeast, he has my ring and my two earrings.\" The herd put his hand in\nhis pocket, and he threw them on the board. \"Thou art my man,\" said\nthe king's daughter. The king was not so pleased when he saw that it\nwas a herd who was to marry his daughter, but he ordered that he\nshould be put in a better dress; but his daughter spoke, and she said\nthat he had a dress as fine as any that ever was in his castle; and\nthus it happened. The herd put on the giant's golden dress, and they\nmarried that same day.\n\nThey were now married, and everything went on well. But one day, and\nit was the namesake of the day when his father had promised him to the\nsea-maiden, they were sauntering by the side of the loch, and lo and\nbehold! she came and took him away to the loch without leave or\nasking. The king's daughter was now mournful, tearful, blind-sorrowful\nfor her married man; she was always with her eye on the loch. An old\nsoothsayer met her, and she told how it had befallen her married mate.\nThen he told her the thing to do to save her mate, and that she did.\n\nShe took her harp to the sea-shore, and sat and played; and the\nsea-maiden came up to listen, for sea-maidens are fonder of music than\nall other creatures. But when the wife saw the sea-maiden she stopped.\nThe sea-maiden said, \"Play on!\" but the princess said, \"No, not till I\nsee my man again.\" So the sea-maiden put up his head out of the loch.\nThen the princess played again, and stopped till the sea-maiden put\nhim up to the waist. Then the princess played and stopped again, and\nthis time the sea-maiden put him all out of the loch, and he called on\nthe falcon and became one and flew on shore. But the sea-maiden took\nthe princess, his wife.\n\nSorrowful was each one that was in the town on this night. Her man was\nmournful, tearful, wandering down and up about the banks of the loch,\nby day and night. The old soothsayer met him. The soothsayer told him\nthat there was no way of killing the sea-maiden but the one way, and\nthis is it--\"In the island that is in the midst of the loch is the\nwhite-footed hind of the slenderest legs and the swiftest step, and\nthough she be caught, there will spring a hoodie out of her, and\nthough the hoodie should be caught, there will spring a trout out of\nher, but there is an egg in the mouth of the trout, and the soul of\nthe sea-maiden is in the egg and if the egg breaks she is dead.\"\n\nNow, there was no way of getting to this island, for the sea-maiden\nwould sink each boat and raft that would go on the loch. He thought he\nwould try to leap the strait with the black horse, and even so he did.\nThe black horse leaped the strait. He saw the hind, and he let the\nblack dog after her, but when he was on one side of the island, the\nhind would be on the other side. \"Oh! would the black dog of the\ncarcass of flesh were here!\" No sooner spoke he the word than the\ngrateful dog was at his side; and after the hind he went, and they\nwere not long in bringing her to earth. But he no sooner caught her\nthan a hoodie sprang out of her. \"Would that the falcon grey, of\nsharpest eye and swiftest wing were here!\" No sooner said he this than\nthe falcon was after the hoodie, and she was not long putting her to\nearth; and as the hoodie fell on the bank of the loch, out of her\njumps the trout. \"Oh! that thou wert by me now, oh otter!\" No sooner\nsaid than the otter was at his side, and out on the loch she leaped,\nand brings the trout from the midst of the loch; but no sooner was the\notter on shore with the trout than the egg came from his mouth; He\nsprang and he put his foot on it. 'Twas then the sea-maiden appeared,\nand she said, \"Break not the egg, and you shall get all you ask.\"\n\"Deliver to me my wife!\" In the wink of an eye she was by his side.\nWhen he got hold of her hand in both his hands, he let his foot down\non the egg and the sea-maiden died.\n\n\n\n\nA Legend of Knockmany\n\n\nWhat Irish man, woman, or child has not heard of our renowned\nHibernian Hercules, the great and glorious Fin M'Coul? Not one, from\nCape Clear to the Giant's Causeway, nor from that back again to Cape\nClear. And, by the way, speaking of the Giant's Causeway brings me at\nonce to the beginning of my story. Well, it so happened that Fin and\nhis men were all working at the Causeway, in order to make a bridge\nacross to Scotland; when Fin, who was very fond of his wife Oonagh,\ntook it into his head that he would go home and see how the poor woman\ngot on in his absence. So, accordingly, he pulled up a fir tree, and,\nafter lopping off the roots and branches, made a walking-stick of it,\nand set out on his way to Oonagh.\n\nOonagh, or rather Fin, lived at this time on the very tiptop of\nKnockmany Hill, which faces a cousin of its own called Cullamore, that\nrises up, half-hill, half-mountain, on the opposite side.\n\nThere was at that time another giant, named Cuhullin--some say he was\nIrish, and some say he was Scotch--but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow\ndoubt of it but he was a targer. No other giant of the day could\nstand before him; and such was his strength, that, when well-vexed, he\ncould give a stamp that shook the country about him. The fame and name\nof him went far and near, and nothing in the shape of a man, it was\nsaid, had any chance with him in a fight. By one blow of his fists he\nflattened a thunderbolt and kept it in his pocket, in the shape of a\npancake, to show to all his enemies when they were about to fight him.\nUndoubtedly he had given every giant in Ireland a considerable\nbeating, barring Fin M'Coul himself; and he swore that he would never\nrest, night or day, winter or summer, till he would serve Fin with the\nsame sauce, if he could catch him. However, the short and long of it\nwas, with reverence be it spoken, that Fin heard Cuhullin was coming\nto the Causeway to have a trial of strength with him; and he was\nseized with a very warm and sudden fit of affection for his wife, poor\nwoman, leading a very lonely, uncomfortable life of it in his absence.\nHe accordingly pulled up the fir tree, as I said before, and having\nsnedded it into a walking-stick, set out on his travels to see his\ndarling Oonagh on the top of Knockmany, by the way.\n\nIn truth, the people wondered very much why it was that Fin selected\nsuch a windy spot for his dwelling-house, and they even went so far as\nto tell him as much.\n\n\"What can you mane, Mr. M'Coul,\" said they, \"by pitching your tent\nupon the top of Knockmany, where you never are without a breeze, day\nor night winter or summer, and where you're often forced to take your\nnightcap without either going to bed or turning up your little finger;\nay, an' where, besides this, there's the sorrow's own want of water?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Fin, \"ever since I was the height of a round tower, I was\nknown to be fond of having a good prospect of my own; and where the\ndickens, neighbours, could I find a better spot for a good prospect\nthan the top of Knockmany? As for water, I am sinking a pump, and,\nplase goodness, as soon as the Causeway's made, I intend to finish\nit.\"\n\nNow, this was more of Fin's philosophy; for the real state of the case\nwas, that he pitched upon the top of Knockmany in order that he might\nbe able to see Cuhullin coming towards the house. All we have to say\nis, that if he wanted a spot from which to keep a sharp look-out--and,\nbetween ourselves, he did want it grievously--barring Slieve Croob, or\nSlieve Donard, or its own cousin, Cullamore, he could not find a\nneater or more convenient situation for it in the sweet and sagacious\nprovince of Ulster.\n\n\"God save all here!\" said Fin, good-humouredly, on putting his honest\nface into his own door.\n\n\"Musha, Fin, avick, an' you're welcome home to your own Oonagh, you\ndarlin' bully.\" Here followed a smack that is said to have made the\nwaters of the lake at the bottom of the hill curl, as it were, with\nkindness and sympathy.\n\nFin spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very\ncomfortable, considering the dread he had of Cuhullin. This, however,\ngrew upon him so much that his wife could not but perceive something\nlay on his mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman\nalone, in the meantime, for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her\ngood man, when she wishes. Fin was a proof of this.\n\n\"It's this Cuhullin,\" said he, \"that's troubling me. When the fellow\ngets angry, and begins to stamp, he'll shake you a whole townland; and\nit's well known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always carries\none about him in the shape of a pancake, to show to any one that might\nmisdoubt it.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he clapped his thumb in his mouth, which he always did\nwhen he wanted to prophesy, or to know anything that happened in his\nabsence; and the wife asked him what he did it for.\n\n\"He's coming,\" said Fin; \"I see him below Dungannon.\"\n\n\"Thank goodness, dear! an' who is it, avick? Glory be to God!\"\n\n\"That baste, Cuhullin,\" replied Fin; \"and how to manage I don't know.\nIf I run away, I am disgraced; and I know that sooner or later I must\nmeet him, for my thumb tells me so.\"\n\n\"When will he be here?\" said she.\n\n\"To-morrow, about two o'clock,\" replied Fin, with a groan.\n\n\"Well, my bully, don't be cast down,\" said Oonagh; \"depend on me, and\nmaybe I'll bring you better out of this scrape than ever you could\nbring yourself, by your rule o' thumb.\"\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 Cuhullin\nknew he was invited to Cullamore--for this was the way that the Irish\nlong ago gave a sign to all strangers and travellers, to let them know\nthey were welcome to come and take share of whatever was going.\n\nIn the meantime, Fin was very melancholy, and did not know what to do,\nor how to act at all. Cuhullin was an ugly customer to meet with; and,\nthe idea of the \"cake\" aforesaid flattened the very heart within him.\nWhat chance could he have, strong and brave though he was, with a man\nwho could, when put in a passion, walk the country into earthquakes\nand knock thunderbolts into pancakes? Fin knew not on what hand to\nturn him. Right or left--backward or forward--where to go he could\nform no guess whatsoever.\n\n\"Oonagh,\" said he, \"can you do nothing 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\nthe best man among them? How am I to fight this man-mountain--this\nhuge cross between an earthquake and a thunderbolt?--with a pancake in\nhis pocket that was once----\"\n\n\"Be easy, Fin,\" replied Oonagh; \"troth, I'm ashamed of you. Keep your\ntoe in your pump, will you? Talking of pancakes, maybe, we'll give him\nas good as any he brings with him--thunderbolt or otherwise. If I\ndon't treat him to as smart feeding as he's got this many a day, never\ntrust Oonagh again. Leave him to me, and do just as I bid you.\"\n\nThis relieved Fin very much; for, after all, he had great confidence\nin his wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got him out of many a\nquandary before. Oonagh then drew the nine woollen threads of\ndifferent colours, which she always did to find out the best way of\nsucceeding in anything of importance she went about. She then platted\nthem into three plats with three colours in each, putting one on her\nright arm, one round her heart, and the third round her right ankle,\nfor then she knew that nothing could fail with 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\nthe fire in the usual way, setting them aside in the cupboard\naccording as they were done. She then put down a large pot of new\nmilk, which she made into curds and whey. Having done all this, she\nsat down quite contented, waiting for his arrival on the next day\nabout two o'clock, that being the hour at which he was expected--for\nFin knew as much by the sucking of his thumb. Now this was a curious\nproperty that Fin's thumb had. In this very thing, moreover, he was\nvery much resembled by his great foe, Cuhullin; for it was well known\nthat the huge strength he possessed all lay in the middle finger of\nhis right hand, and that, if he happened by any mischance to lose it,\nhe was no more, for all his bulk, than a common man.\n\nAt length, the next day, Cuhullin was seen coming across the valley,\nand Oonagh knew that it was time to commence operations. She\nimmediately brought the cradle, and made Fin to lie down in it, and\ncover himself up with the clothes.\n\n\"You must pass for your own child,\" said she; \"so just lie there snug,\nand say nothing, but be guided by me.\"\n\nAbout two o'clock, as he had been expected, Cuhullin came in. \"God\nsave all here!\" said he; \"is this where the great Fin M'Coul lives?\"\n\n\"Indeed it is, honest man,\" replied Oonagh; \"God save you\nkindly--won't you be sitting?\"\n\n\"Thank you ma'am,\" says he, sitting down; \"you're Mrs. M'Coul, I\nsuppose?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said 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 desirous of taking a shake with him. Is he at home?\"\n\n\"Why, then, no,\" she replied; \"and if ever a man left his house in a\nfury he did. It appears that some one told him of a big basthoon of a\ngiant called Cuhullin being down at the Causeway to look for him, and\nso he set out there to try if he could catch him. Troth, I hope, for\nthe poor giant's sake, he won't meet with him, for if he does, Fin\nwill make paste of him at once.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the other, \"I am Cuhullin, and I have been seeking him\nthese twelve months, but he always kept clear of me; and I will never\nrest night or day 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 was only a mere handful of a man.\n\n\"Did you ever see Fin?\" 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\ndoor, and as Fin himself is from home, maybe you'd be civil enough to\nturn the house, for it's always what Fin does when he's here.\"\n\nThis was a startler even to Cuhullin; but he got up, however, and\nafter pulling the middle finger of his right hand until it cracked\nthree times, he went outside, and getting his arms about the house,\nturned it as she had wished. When Fin saw this, he felt the sweat of\nfear oozing out through every pore of his skin; but Oonagh, depending\nupon her woman's wit, felt not a whit daunted.\n\n\"Arrah, then,\" said she, \"as you are so civil, maybe you'd do another\nobliging turn for us, as Fin's not here to do it himself. You see,\nafter this long stretch of dry weather we've had, we feel very badly\noff for want of water. Now, Fin says there's a fine spring-well\nsomewhere under the rocks behind the hill here 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 Cuhullin down to see the place, which was then all\none solid rock; and, after looking at it for some time, he cracked his\nright middle finger nine times, and, stooping down, tore a cleft about\nfour hundred feet deep, and a quarter of a mile in length, which has\nsince been christened by the name of Lumford's Glen.\n\n\"You'll now come in,\" said she, \"and eat a bit of such humble fare as\nwe can give you. Fin, even although he and you are enemies, would\nscorn not to treat you kindly in his own house; and, indeed, if I\ndidn't do it even in his absence, he would not be pleased with me.\"\n\nShe accordingly brought him in, and placing half-a-dozen of the cakes\nwe spoke of before him, together with a can or two of butter, a side\nof boiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage, she desired him to help\nhimself--for this, be it known, was long before the invention of\npotatoes. Cuhullin put one of the cakes in his mouth to take a huge\nwhack out of it, when he made a thundering noise, something between a\ngrowl and a yell. \"Blood and fury,\" he shouted; \"how is this? Here are\ntwo of my teeth out! What kind of bread is this you gave me.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" said Oonagh coolly.\n\n\"Matter!\" shouted the other again; \"why here are the two best teeth in\nmy head gone.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said she, \"that's Fin'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\nas you were reported to be rather a stout little fellow of your size,\nyou might be able to manage it, and I did not wish to affront a man\nthat thinks himself able to fight Fin. Here's another cake--maybe it's\nnot so hard as that.\"\n\nCuhullin at the moment was not only hungry, but ravenous, so he\naccordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, and immediately\nanother yell was heard twice as loud as the first. \"Thunder and\ngibbets!\" he roared, \"take your bread out of this, or I will not have\na tooth in my head; there's another pair of them gone!\"\n\n\"Well, honest man,\" replied Oonagh, \"if you're not able to eat the\nbread, say so quietly, and don't be wakening the child in the cradle\nthere. There now, he's awake upon me.\"\n\nFin now gave a skirl that startled the giant, as coming from such a\nyoungster as he was supposed 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, Fin, whose appetite in the\nmeantime had been sharpened by seeing eating going forward, soon\nswallowed it. Cuhullin was thunderstruck, and secretly thanked his\nstars that he had the good fortune to miss meeting Fin, for, as he\nsaid to himself, \"I'd have no chance with a man who could eat such\nbread as that, which even his son that's but in his cradle can munch\nbefore 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[Illustration:]\n\n\"With all the veins of my heart,\" replied Oonagh; \"get up, acushla,\nand show this decent little man something that won't be unworthy of\nyour father, Fin M'Coul.\"\n\nFin, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy as possible,\ngot up, and bringing Cuhullin out, \"Are you strong?\" said he.\n\n\"Thunder an' ounds!\" exclaimed the other, \"what a voice in so small a\nchap!\"\n\n\"Are you strong?\" said Fin again; \"are you able to squeeze water out\nof that white stone?\" he asked putting one into Cuhullin's hand. The\nlatter squeezed and squeezed the stone, but in vain.\n\n\"Ah! you're a poor creature!\" said Fin. \"You a giant! Give me the\nstone here, and when I'll show what Fin's little son can do, you may\nthen judge of what my daddy himself is.\"\n\nFin then took the stone, and exchanging it for the curds, he squeezed\nthe latter until the whey, as clear as water, oozed out in a little\nshower from his hand.\n\n\"I'll now go in,\" said he \"to my cradle; for I scorn to lose my time\nwith any one 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\ncomes back; for if he catches you, it's in flummery he'd have you in\ntwo minutes.\"\n\nCuhullin, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opinion himself;\nhis knees knocked together with the terror of Fin's return, and he\naccordingly hastened 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,\n\"strong as I am; tell him I will avoid him as I would the plague, and\nthat I will make myself scarce in this part of the country while I\nlive.\"\n\nFin, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he lay very\nquietly, his heart at his mouth with delight that Cuhullin was about\nto take his departure, without discovering the tricks that had been\nplayed off on 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 Cuhullin; \"divil a thing else he'd make of me; but\nbefore I go, will you let me feel what kind of teeth Fin's lad has got\nthat can eat griddle-bread like that?\"\n\n\"With all pleasure in life,\" said she; \"only as they're far back in\nhis head, you must put your finger a good way in.\"\n\nCuhullin was surprised to find such a powerful set of grinders in one\nso young; but he was still much more so on finding, when he took his\nhand from Fin's mouth, that he had left the very finger upon which his\nwhole strength depended, behind him. He gave one loud groan, and fell\ndown at once with terror and weakness. This was all Fin wanted, who\nnow knew that his most powerful and bitterest enemy was at his mercy.\nHe started out of the cradle, and in a few minutes the great Cuhullin,\nthat was for such a length of time the terror of him and all his\nfollowers, lay a corpse before him. Thus did Fin, through the wit and\ninvention of Oonagh, his wife, succeed in overcoming his enemy by\ncunning, which he never could have done by force.\n\n\n\n\nFair, Brown, and Trembling\n\n\nKing Hugh Curucha lived in Tir Conal, and he had three daughters,\nwhose names were Fair, Brown, and Trembling.\n\nFair and Brown had new dresses, and went to church every Sunday.\nTrembling was kept at home to do the cooking and work. They would not\nlet her go out of the house at all; for she was more beautiful than\nthe other two, and they were in dread she might marry before\nthemselves.\n\nThey carried on in this way for seven years. At the end of seven years\nthe son of the king of Emania fell in love with the eldest sister.\n\nOne Sunday morning, after the other two had gone to church, the old\nhenwife came into the kitchen to Trembling, and said: \"It's at church\nyou ought to be this day, instead of working here at home.\"\n\n\"How could I go?\" said Trembling. \"I have no clothes good enough to\nwear at church; and if my sisters were to see me there, they'd kill me\nfor going out of the house.\"\n\n\"I'll give you,\" said the henwife, \"a finer dress than either of them\nhas ever seen. And now tell me what dress will you have?\"\n\n\"I'll have,\" said Trembling, \"a dress as white as snow, and green\nshoes for my feet.\"\n\nThen the henwife put on the cloak of darkness, clipped a piece from\nthe old clothes the young woman had on, and asked for the whitest\nrobes in the world and the most beautiful that could be found, and a\npair of green shoes.\n\nThat moment she had the robe and the shoes, and she brought them to\nTrembling, who put them on. When Trembling was dressed and ready, the\nhenwife said: \"I have a honey-bird here to sit on your right shoulder,\nand a honey-finger to put on your left. At the door stands a\nmilk-white mare, with a golden saddle for you to sit on, and a golden\nbridle to hold in your hand.\"\n\nTrembling sat on the golden saddle; and when she was ready to start,\nthe henwife said: \"You must not go inside the door of the church, and\nthe minute the people rise up at the end of Mass, do you make off, and\nride home as fast as the mare will carry you.\"\n\nWhen Trembling came to the door of the church there was no one inside\nwho could get a glimpse of her but was striving to know who she was:\nand when they saw her hurrying away at the end of Mass, they ran out\nto overtake her. But no use in their running; she was away before any\nman could come near her. From the minute she left the church till she\ngot home, she overtook the wind before her, and outstripped the wind\nbehind.\n\nShe came down at the door, went in, and found the henwife had dinner\nready. She put off the white robes, and had on her old dress in a\ntwinkling.\n\nWhen the two sisters came home the henwife asked: \"Have you any news\nto-day from the church?\"\n\n\"We have great news,\" said they. \"We saw a wonderful grand lady at the\nchurch-door. The like of the robes she had we have never seen on woman\nbefore. It's little that was thought of our dresses beside what she\nhad on; and there wasn't a man at the church, from the king to the\nbeggar, but was trying to look at her and know who she was.\"\n\nThe sisters would give no peace till they had two dresses like the\nrobes of the strange lady; but honey-birds and honey-fingers were not\nto be found.\n\nNext Sunday the two sisters went to church again and left the youngest\nat home to cook the dinner.\n\nAfter they had gone, the henwife came in and asked: \"Will you go to\nchurch to-day?\"\n\n\"I would go,\" said Trembling, \"if I could get the going.\"\n\n\"What robe will you wear?\" asked the henwife.\n\n\"The finest black satin that can be found, and red shoes for my feet.\"\n\n\"What colour do you want the mare to be?\"\n\n\"I want her to be so black and so glossy that I can see myself in her\nbody.\"\n\nThe henwife put on the cloak of darkness, and asked for the robes and\nthe mare. That moment she had them. When Trembling was dressed, the\nhenwife put the honey-bird on her right shoulder and the\nhoney-finger on her left. The saddle on the mare was silver, and so\nwas the bridle.\n\n[Illustration: \"TREMBLING\" AT THE CHURCH DOOR]\n\nWhen Trembling sat in the saddle and was going away, the henwife\nordered her strictly not to go inside the door of the church, but to\nrush away as soon as the people rose at the end of Mass, and hurry\nhome on the mare before any man could stop her.\n\nThat Sunday the people were more astonished than ever, and gazed at\nher more than the first time; and all they were thinking of was to\nknow who she was. But they had no chance; for the moment the people\nrose at the end of Mass she slipped from the church, was in the silver\nsaddle, and home before a man could stop her or talk to her.\n\nThe henwife had the dinner ready. Trembling took off her satin robe,\nand had on her old clothes before her sisters got home.\n\n\"What news have you to-day?\" asked the henwife of the sisters when\nthey came from the church.\n\n\"Oh, we saw the grand strange lady again. And it's little that any man\ncould think of our dresses after looking at the robes of satin that\nshe had on! And all at church, from high to low, had their mouths\nopen, gazing at her, and no man was looking at us.\"\n\nThe two sisters gave neither rest nor peace till they got dresses as\nnearly like the strange lady's robes as they could find. Of course\nthey were not so good; for the like of those robes could not be found\nin Erin.\n\nWhen the third Sunday came, Fair and Brown went to church dressed in\nblack satin. They left Trembling at home to work in the kitchen, and\ntold her to be sure and have dinner ready when they came back.\n\nAfter they had gone and were out of sight, the henwife came to the\nkitchen and said: \"Well, my dear, are you for church to-day?\"\n\n\"I would go if I had a new dress to wear.\"\n\n\"I'll get you any dress you ask for. What dress would you like?\" asked\nthe henwife.\n\n\"A dress red as a rose from the waist down, and white as snow from the\nwaist up; a cape of green on my shoulders; and a hat on my head with a\nred, a white, and a green feather in it; and shoes for my feet with\nthe toes red, the middle white, and the backs and heels green.\"\n\nThe henwife put on the cloak of darkness, wished for all these things,\nand had them. When Trembling was dressed, the henwife put the\nhoney-bird on her right shoulder and the honey-finger on her left,\nand, placing the hat on her head, clipped a few hairs from one lock\nand a few from another with her scissors, and that moment the most\nbeautiful golden hair was flowing down over the girl's shoulders. Then\nthe henwife asked what kind of a mare she would ride. She said white,\nwith blue and gold-coloured diamond-shaped spots all over her body, on\nher back a saddle of gold, and on her head a golden bridle.\n\nThe mare stood there before the door, and a bird sitting between her\nears, which began to sing as soon as Trembling was in the saddle, and\nnever stopped till she came home from the church.\n\nThe fame of the beautiful strange lady had gone out through the\nworld, and all the princes and great men that were in it came to\nchurch that Sunday, each one hoping that it was himself would have her\nhome with him after Mass.\n\nThe son of the king of Emania forgot all about the eldest sister, and\nremained outside the church, so as to catch the strange lady before\nshe could hurry away.\n\nThe church was more crowded than ever before, and there were three\ntimes as many outside. There was such a throng before the church that\nTrembling could only come inside the gate.\n\nAs soon as the people were rising at the end of Mass, the lady slipped\nout through the gate, was in the golden saddle in an instant, and\nsweeping away ahead of the wind. But if she was, the prince of Emania\nwas at her side, and, seizing her by the foot, he ran with the mare\nfor thirty perches, and never let go of the beautiful lady till the\nshoe was pulled from her foot, and he was left behind with it in his\nhand. She came home as fast as the mare could carry her, and was\nthinking all the time that the henwife would kill her for losing the\nshoe.\n\nSeeing her so vexed and so changed in the face, the old woman asked:\n\"What's the trouble that's on you now?\"\n\n\"Oh! I've lost one of the shoes off my feet,\" said Trembling.\n\n\"Don't mind that; don't be vexed,\" said the henwife; \"maybe it's the\nbest thing that ever happened to you.\" Then Trembling gave up all the\nthings she had to the henwife, put on her old clothes, and went to\nwork in the kitchen. When the sisters came home, the henwife asked:\n\"Have you any news from the church?\"\n\n\"We have indeed,\" said they, \"for we saw the grandest sight to-day.\nThe strange lady came again, in grander array than before. On herself\nand the horse she rode were the finest colours of the world, and\nbetween the ears of the horse was a bird which never stopped singing\nfrom the time she came till she went away. The lady herself is the\nmost beautiful woman ever seen by man in Erin.\"\n\nAfter Trembling had disappeared from the church, the son of the king\nof Emania said to the other kings' sons: \"I will have that lady for my\nown.\"\n\nThey all said: \"You didn't win her just by taking the shoe off her\nfoot; you'll have to win her by the point of the sword; you'll have to\nfight for her with us before you can call her your own.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the son of the king of Emania, \"when I find the lady that\nshoe will fit, I'll fight for her, never fear, before I leave her to\nany of you.\"\n\nThen all the kings' sons were uneasy, and anxious to know who was she\nthat lost the shoe; and they began to travel all over Erin to know\ncould they find her. The prince of Emania and all the others went in a\ngreat company together, and made the round of Erin; they went\neverywhere,--north, south, east, and west. They visited every place\nwhere a woman was to be found, and left not a house in the kingdom\nthey did not search, to know could they find the woman the shoe would\nfit, not caring whether she was rich or poor, of high or low degree.\n\nThe prince of Emania always kept the shoe; and when the young women\nsaw it, they had great hopes, for it was of proper size, neither large\nnor small, and it would beat any man to know of what material it was\nmade. One thought it would fit her if she cut a little from her great\ntoe; and another, with too short a foot, put something in the tip of\nher stocking. But no use; they only spoiled their feet, and were\ncuring them for months afterwards.\n\nThe two sisters, Fair and Brown, heard that the princes of the world\nwere looking all over Erin for the woman that could wear the shoe, and\nevery day they were talking of trying it on; and one day Trembling\nspoke up and said: \"Maybe it's my foot that the shoe will fit.\"\n\n\"Oh, the breaking of the dog's foot on you! Why say so when you were\nat home every Sunday?\"\n\nThey were that way waiting, and scolding the younger sister, till the\nprinces were near the place. The day they were to come, the sisters\nput Trembling in a closet, and locked the door on her. When the\ncompany came to the house, the prince of Emania gave the shoe to the\nsisters. But though they tried and tried, it would fit neither of\nthem.\n\n\"Is there any other young woman in the house?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"There is,\" said Trembling, speaking up in the closet; \"I'm here.\"\n\n\"Oh! we have her for nothing but to put out the ashes,\" said the\nsisters.\n\nBut the prince and the others wouldn't leave the house till they had\nseen her; so the two sisters had to open the door. When Trembling came\nout, the shoe was given to her, and it fitted exactly.\n\nThe prince of Emania looked at her and said: \"You are the woman the\nshoe fits, and you are the woman I took the shoe from.\"\n\nThen Trembling spoke up, and said: \"Do you stay here till I return.\"\n\nThen she went to the henwife's house. The old woman put on the cloak\nof darkness, got everything for her she had the first Sunday at\nchurch, and put her on the white mare in the same fashion. Then\nTrembling rode along the highway to the front of the house. All who\nsaw her the first time said: \"This is the lady we saw at church.\"\n\nThen she went away a second time, and a second time came back on the\nblack mare in the second dress which the henwife gave her. All who saw\nher the second Sunday said: \"That is the lady we saw at church.\"\n\nA third time she asked for a short absence, and soon came back on the\nthird mare and in the third dress. All who saw her the third time\nsaid: \"That is the lady we saw at church.\" Every man was satisfied and\nknew that she was the woman.\n\nThen all the princes and great men spoke up, and said to the son of\nthe king of Emania: \"You'll have to fight now for her before we let\nher go with you.\"\n\n\"I'm here before you, ready for combat,\" answered the prince.\n\nThen the son of the king of Lochlin stepped forth. The struggle began,\nand a terrible struggle it was. They fought for nine hours; and then\nthe son of the king of Lochlin stopped, gave up his claim, and left\nthe field. Next day the son of the king of Spain fought six hours, and\nyielded his claim. On the third day the son of the king of Nyerfoi\nfought eight hours, and stopped. The fourth day the son of the king of\nGreece fought six hours, and stopped. On the fifth day no more strange\nprinces wanted to fight; and all the sons of kings in Erin said they\nwould not fight with a man of their own land, that the strangers had\nhad their chance, and, as no others came to claim the woman, she\nbelonged of right to the son of the king of Emania.\n\nThe marriage-day was fixed, and the invitations were sent out. The\nwedding lasted for a year and a day. When the wedding was over, the\nking's son brought home the bride, and when the time came a son was\nborn. The young woman sent for her eldest sister, Fair, to be with her\nand care for her. One day, when Trembling was well, and when her\nhusband was away hunting, the two sisters went out to walk; and when\nthey came to the seaside, the eldest pushed the youngest sister in. A\ngreat whale came and swallowed her.\n\nThe eldest sister came home alone, and the husband asked, \"Where is\nyour sister?\"\n\n\"She has gone home to her father in Ballyshannon; now that I am well,\nI don't need her.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the husband, looking at her, \"I'm in dread it's my wife\nthat was gone.\"\n\n\"Oh! no,\" said she; \"it's my sister Fair that's gone.\"\n\nSince the sisters were very much alike, the prince was in doubt. That\nnight he put his sword between them, and said: \"If you are my wife,\nthis sword will get warm; if not, it will stay cold.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nIn the morning when he rose up, the sword was as cold as when he put\nit there.\n\nIt happened, when the two sisters were walking by the sea-shore, that\na little cowboy was down by the water minding cattle, and saw Fair\npush Trembling into the sea; and next day, when the tide came in, he\nsaw the whale swim up and throw her out on the sand. When she was on\nthe sand she said to the cowboy: \"When you go home in the evening with\nthe cows, tell the master that my sister Fair pushed me into the sea\nyesterday; that a whale swallowed me, and then threw me out, but will\ncome again and swallow me with the coming of the next tide; then he'll\ngo out with the tide, and come again with tomorrow's tide, and throw\nme again on the strand. The whale will cast me out three times. I'm\nunder the enchantment of this whale, and cannot leave the beach or\nescape myself. Unless my husband saves me before I'm swallowed the\nfourth time I shall be lost. He must come and shoot the whale with a\nsilver bullet when he turns on the broad of his back. Under the\nbreast-fin of the whale is a reddish-brown spot. My husband must hit\nhim in that spot, for it is the only place in which he can be killed.\"\n\nWhen the cowboy got home, the eldest sister gave him a draught of\noblivion, and he did not tell.\n\nNext day he went again to the sea. The whale came and cast Trembling\non shore again. She asked the boy: \"Did you tell the master what I\ntold you to tell him?\"\n\n\"I did not,\" said he; \"I forgot.\"\n\n\"How did you forget?\" asked she.\n\n\"The woman of the house gave me a drink that made me forget.\"\n\n\"Well, don't forget telling him this night; and if she gives you a\ndrink, don't take it from her.\"\n\nAs soon as the cowboy came home, the eldest sister offered him a\ndrink. He refused to take it till he had delivered his message and\ntold all to the master. The third day the prince went down with his\ngun and a silver bullet in it. He was not long down when the whale\ncame and threw Trembling upon the beach as the two days before. She\nhad no power to speak to her husband till he had killed the whale.\nThen the whale went out, turned over once on the broad of his back,\nand showed the spot for a moment only. That moment the prince fired.\nHe had but the one chance, and a short one at that; but he took it,\nand he hit the spot, and the whale, mad with pain, made the sea all\naround red with blood, and died.\n\nThat minute Trembling was able to speak, and went home with her\nhusband, who sent word to her father what the eldest sister had done.\nThe father came and told him any death he chose to give her to give\nit. The prince told the father he would leave her life and death with\nhimself. The father had her put out then on the sea in a barrel, with\nprovisions in it for seven years.\n\nIn time Trembling had a second child, a daughter. The prince and she\nsent the cowboy to school, and trained him up as one of their own\nchildren, and said: \"If the little girl that is born to us now lives,\nno other man in the world will get her but him.\"\n\nThe cowboy and the prince's daughter lived on till they were married.\nThe mother said to her husband: \"You could not have saved me from the\nwhale but for the little cowboy; on that account I don't grudge him my\ndaughter.\"\n\nThe son of the king of Emania and Trembling had fourteen children, and\nthey lived happily till the two died of old age.\n\n\n\n\nJack and His Master\n\n\nA poor woman had three sons. The eldest and second eldest were\ncunning, clever fellows, but they called the youngest Jack the Fool,\nbecause they thought he was no better than a simpleton. The eldest got\ntired of staying at home, and said he'd go look for service. He stayed\naway a whole year, and then came back one day, dragging one foot after\nthe other, and a poor wizened face on him, and he as cross as two\nsticks. When he was rested and got something to eat, he told them how\nhe got service with the Grey Churl of the Townland of Mischance, and\nthat the agreement was, whoever would first say he was sorry for his\nbargain, should get an inch wide of the skin of his back, from\nshoulder to hips, taken off. If it was the master, he should also pay\ndouble wages; if it was the servant, he should get no wages at all.\n\"But the thief,\" says he, \"gave me so little to eat, and kept me so\nhard at work, that flesh and blood couldn't stand it; and when he\nasked me once, when I was in a passion, if I was sorry for my bargain,\nI was mad enough to say I was, and here I am disabled for life.\"\n\nVexed enough were the poor mother and brothers; and the second eldest\nsaid on the spot he'd go and take service with the Grey Churl, and\npunish him by all the annoyance he'd give him till he'd make him say\nhe was sorry for his agreement. \"Oh, won't I be glad to see the skin\ncoming off the old villain's back!\" said he. All they could say had no\neffect: he started off for the Townland of Mischance, and in a\ntwelvemonth he was back just as miserable and helpless as his brother.\n\nAll the poor mother could say didn't prevent Jack the Fool from\nstarting to see if he was able to regulate the Grey Churl. He agreed\nwith him for a year for twenty pounds, and the terms were the same.\n\n\"Now, Jack,\" said the Grey Churl, \"if you refuse to do anything you\nare able to do, you must lose a month's wages.\"\n\n\"I'm satisfied,\" said Jack; \"and if you stop me from doing a thing\nafter telling me to do it, you are to give me an additional month's\nwages.\"\n\n\"I am satisfied,\" said the master.\n\n\"Or if you blame me for obeying your orders, you must give the same.\"\n\n\"I am satisfied,\" said the master again.\n\nThe first day that Jack served he was fed very poorly, and was worked\nto the saddleskirts. Next day he came in just before the dinner was\nserved up to the parlour. They were taking the goose off the spit, but\nwell becomes Jack he whips a knife off the dresser, and cuts off one\nside of the breast, one leg and thigh, and one wing, and fell to. In\ncame the master, and began to abuse him for his assurance. \"Oh, you\nknow, master, you're to feed me, and wherever the goose goes won't\nhave to be filled again till supper. Are you sorry for our agreement?\"\n\nThe master was going to cry out he was, but he bethought himself in\ntime. \"Oh, no, not at all,\" said he.\n\n\"That's well,\" said Jack.\n\nNext day Jack was to go clamp turf on the bog. They weren't sorry to\nhave him away from the kitchen at dinner time. He didn't find his\nbreakfast very heavy on his stomach; so he said to the mistress, \"I\nthink, ma'am, it will be better for me to get my dinner now, and not\nlose time coming home from the bog.\"\n\n\"That's true, Jack,\" said she. So she brought out a good cake, and a\nprint of butter, and a bottle of milk, thinking he'd take them away to\nthe bog. But Jack kept his seat, and never drew rein till bread,\nbutter, and milk went down the red lane.\n\n\"Now, mistress,\" said he, \"I'll be earlier at my work to-morrow if I\nsleep comfortably on the sheltry side of a pile of dry peat on dry\ngrass, and not be coming here and going back. So you may as well give\nme my supper, and be done with the day's trouble.\" She gave him that,\nthinking he'd take it to the bog; but he fell to on the spot, and did\nnot leave a scrap to tell tales on him; and the mistress was a little\nastonished.\n\nHe called to speak to the master in the haggard and said he, \"What\nare servants asked to do in this country after aten their supper?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all, but to go to bed.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, sir.\" He went up on the stable-loft, stripped, and lay\ndown, and some one that saw him told the master. He came up.\n\n\"Jack, you anointed scoundrel, what do you mean?\"\n\n\"To go to sleep, master. The mistress, God bless her, is after giving\nme my breakfast, dinner, and supper, and yourself told me that bed was\nthe next thing. Do you blame me, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes, you rascal, I do.\"\n\n\"Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, if you please, sir.\"\n\n\"One divil and thirteen imps, you tinker! what for?\"\n\n\"Oh, I see, you've forgot your bargain. Are you sorry for it?\"\n\n\"Oh, ya--no, I mean. I'll give you the money after your nap.\"\n\nNext morning early, Jack asked how he'd be employed that day. \"You are\nto be holding the plough in that fallow, outside the paddock.\" The\nmaster went over about nine o'clock to see what kind of a ploughman\nwas Jack, and what did he see but the little boy driving the bastes,\nand the sock and coulter of the plough skimming along the sod, and\nJack pulling ding-dong again' the horses.\n\n\"What are you doing, you contrary thief?\" said the master.\n\n\"An' ain't I strivin' to hold this divil of a plough, as you told me;\nbut that ounkrawn of a boy keeps whipping on the bastes in spite of\nall I say; will you speak to him?\"\n\n\"No, but I'll speak to you. Didn't you know, you bosthoon, that when I\nsaid 'holding the plough,' I meant reddening the ground.\"\n\n\"Faith, an' if you did, I wish you had said so. Do you blame me for\nwhat I have done?\"\n\nThe master caught himself in time, but he was so stomached, he said\nnothing.\n\n\"Go on and redden the ground now, you knave, as other ploughmen do.\"\n\n\"An' are you sorry for our agreement?\"\n\n\"Oh, not at all, not at all!\"\n\nJack ploughed away like a good workman all the rest of the day.\n\nIn a day or two the master bade him go and mind the cows in a field\nthat had half of it under young corn. \"Be sure, particularly,\" said\nhe, \"to keep Browney from the wheat; while she's out of mischief\nthere's no fear of the rest.\"\n\nAbout noon, he went to see how Jack was doing his duty, and what did\nhe find but Jack asleep with his face to the sod, Browney grazing near\na thorn-tree, one end of a long rope round her horns, and the other\nend round the tree, and the rest of the beasts all trampling and\neating the green wheat. Down came the switch on Jack.\n\n\"Jack, you vagabone, do you see what the cows are at?\"\n\n\"And do you blame me, master?\"\n\n\"To be sure, you lazy sluggard, I do?\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, master. You said if I\nonly kept Browney out of mischief, the rest would do no harm. There\nshe is as harmless as a lamb. Are you sorry for hiring me, master?\"\n\n\"To be--that is, not at all. I'll give you your money when you go to\ndinner. Now, understand me; don't let a cow go out of the field nor\ninto the wheat the rest of the day.\"\n\n\"Never fear, master!\" and neither did he. But the churl would rather\nthan a great deal he had not hired him.\n\nThe next day three heifers were missing, and the master bade Jack go\nin search of them.\n\n\"Where will I look for them?\" said Jack.\n\n\"Oh, every place likely and unlikely for them all to be in.\"\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nThe churl was getting very exact in his words. When he was coming into\nthe bawn at dinnertime, what work did he find Jack at but pulling\narmfuls of the thatch off the roof, and peeping into the holes he was\nmaking?\n\n\"What are you doing there, you rascal?\"\n\n\"Sure, I'm looking for the heifers, poor things?\"\n\n\"What would bring them there?\"\n\n\"I don't think anything could bring them in it; but I looked first\ninto the likely places, that is, the cow-houses, and the pastures, and\nthe fields next 'em, and now I'm looking in the unlikeliest place I\ncan think of. Maybe it's not pleasing to you it is.\"\n\n\"And to be sure it isn't pleasing to me, you aggravating goose-cap!\"\n\n\"Please, sir, hand me one pound thirteen and fourpence before you sit\ndown to your dinner. I'm afraid it's sorrow that's on you for hiring\nme at all.\"\n\n\"May the div--oh no; I'm not sorry. Will you begin, if you please, and\nput in the thatch again, just as if you were doing it for your\nmother's cabin?\"\n\n\"Oh, faith I will, sir, with a heart and a half\"; and by the time the\nfarmer came out for his dinner, Jack had the roof better than it was\nbefore, for he made the boy give him new straw.\n\nSays the master when he came out, \"Go, Jack, and look for the heifers,\nand bring them home.\"\n\n\"And where will I look for 'em?\"\n\n\"Go and search for them as if they were your own.\" The heifers were\nall in the paddock before sunset.\n\nNext morning says the master, \"Jack, the path across the bog to the\npasture is very bad; the sheep does be sinking in it every step; go\nand make the sheep's feet a good path.\" About an hour after he came to\nthe edge of the bog, and what did he find Jack at but sharpening a\ncarving knife, and the sheep standing or grazing around.\n\n\"Is this the way you are mending the path, Jack?\" said he.\n\n\"Everything must have a beginning master,\" said Jack, \"and a thing\nwell begun is half done. I am sharpening the knife, and I'll have the\nfeet off every sheep in the flock while you'd be blessing yourself.\"\n\n\"Feet off my sheep, you anointed rogue! and what would you be taking\ntheir feet off for?\"\n\n\"An' sure to mend the path as you told me. Says you, 'Jack, make a\npath with the foot of the sheep.'\"\n\n\"Oh, you fool, I meant make good the path for the sheep's feet.\"\n\n\"It's a pity you didn't say so, master. Hand me out, one pound\nthirteen and fourpence if you don't like me to finish my job.\"\n\n\"Divil do you good with your one pound thirteen and fourpence!\"\n\n\"It's better pray than curse, master. Maybe you're sorry for your\nbargain?\"\n\n\"And to be sure I am--not yet, any way.\"\n\nThe next night the master was going to a wedding; and says he to Jack,\nbefore he set out: \"I'll leave at midnight, and I wish you to come and\nbe with me home, for fear I might be overtaken with the drink. If\nyou're there before, you may throw a sheep's eye at me, and I'll be\nsure to see that they'll give you something for yourself.\"\n\nAbout eleven o'clock, while the master was in great spirits, he felt\nsomething clammy hit him on the cheek. It fell beside his tumbler,\nand when he looked at it what was it but the eye of a sheep. Well, he\ncouldn't imagine who threw it at him, or why it was thrown at him.\nAfter a little he got a blow on the other cheek, and still it was by\nanother sheep's eye. Well, he was very vexed, but he thought better to\nsay nothing. In two minutes more, when he was opening his mouth to\ntake a sup, another sheep's eye was slapped into it. He sputtered it\nout, and cried, \"Man o' the house, isn't it a great shame for you to\nhave any one in the room that would do such a nasty thing?\"\n\n\"Master,\" says Jack, \"don't blame the honest man. Sure it's only\nmyself that was throwin' them sheep's eyes at you, to remind you I was\nhere, and that I wanted to drink the bride and bridegroom's health.\nYou know yourself bade me.\"\n\n\"I know that you are a great rascal; and where did you get the eyes?\"\n\n\"An' where would I get em' but in the heads of your own sheep? Would\nyou have me meddle with the bastes of any neighbour, who might put me\nin the Stone Jug for it?\"\n\n\"Sorrow on me that ever I had the bad luck to meet with you.\"\n\n\"You're all witness,\" said Jack, \"that my master says he is sorry for\nhaving met with me. My time is up. Master, hand me over double wages,\nand come into the next room, and lay yourself out like a man that has\nsome decency in him, till I take a strip of skin an inch broad from\nyour shoulder to your hip.\"\n\nEvery one shouted out against that; but, says Jack, \"You didn't hinder\nhim when he took the same strips from the backs of my two brothers,\nand sent them home in that state, and penniless, to their poor\nmother.\"\n\nWhen the company heard the rights of the business, they were only too\neager to see the job done. The master bawled and roared, but there was\nno help at hand. He was stripped to his hips, and laid on the floor in\nthe next room, and Jack had the carving knife in his hand ready to\nbegin.\n\n\"Now you cruel old villain,\" said he, giving the knife a couple of\nscrapes along the floor, \"I'll make you an offer. Give me, along with\nmy double wages, two hundred guineas to support my poor brothers, and\nI'll do without the strip.\"\n\n\"No!\" said he, \"I'd let you skin me from head to foot first.\"\n\n\"Here goes then,\" said Jack with a grin, but the first little scar he\ngave, Churl roared out, \"Stop your hand; I'll give the money.\"\n\n\"Now, neighbours,\" said Jack, \"you mustn't think worse of me than I\ndeserve. I wouldn't have the heart to take an eye out of a rat itself;\nI got half a dozen of them from the butcher, and only used three of\nthem.\"\n\nSo all came again into the other room, and Jack was made sit down, and\neverybody drank his health, and he drank everybody's health at one\noffer. And six stout fellows saw himself and the master home, and\nwaited in the parlour while he went up and brought down the two\nhundred guineas, and double wages for Jack himself. When he got home,\nhe brought the summer along with him to the poor mother and the\ndisabled brothers; and he was no more Jack the Fool in the people's\nmouths, but \"Skin Churl Jack.\"\n\n\n\n\nBeth Gellert\n\n\nPrince Llewelyn had a favourite greyhound named Gellert that had been\ngiven to him by his father-in-law, King John. He was as gentle as a\nlamb at home but a lion in the chase. One day Llewelyn went to the\nchase and blew his horn in front of his castle. All his other dogs\ncame to the call but Gellert never answered it. So he blew a louder\nblast on his horn and called Gellert by name, but still the greyhound\ndid not come. At last Prince Llewelyn could wait no longer and went\noff to the hunt without Gellert. He had little sport that day because\nGellert was not there, the swiftest and boldest of his hounds.\n\nHe turned back in a rage to his castle, and as he came to the gate,\nwho should he see but Gellert come bounding out to meet him. But when\nthe hound came near him, the Prince was startled to see that his lips\nand fangs were dripping with blood. Llewelyn started back and the\ngreyhound crouched down at his feet as if surprised or afraid at the\nway his master greeted him.\n\nNow Prince Llewelyn had a little son a year old with whom Gellert\nused to play, and a terrible thought crossed the Prince's mind that\nmade him rush towards the child's nursery. And the nearer he came the\nmore blood and disorder he found about the rooms. He rushed into it\nand found the child's cradle overturned and daubed with blood.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nPrince Llewelyn grew more and more terrified, and sought for his\nlittle son everywhere. He could find him nowhere but only signs of\nsome terrible conflict in which much blood had been shed. At last he\nfelt sure the dog had destroyed his child, and shouting to Gellert,\n\"Monster, thou hast devoured my child,\" he drew out his sword and\nplunged it in the greyhound's side, who fell with a deep yell and\nstill gazing in his master's eyes.\n\nAs Gellert raised his dying yell, a little child's cry answered it\nfrom beneath the cradle, and there Llewelyn found his child unharmed\nand just awakened from sleep. But just beside him lay the body of a\ngreat gaunt wolf all torn to pieces and covered with blood. Too late,\nLlewelyn learned what had happened while he was away. Gellert had\nstayed behind to guard the child and had fought and slain the wolf\nthat had tried to destroy Llewelyn's heir.\n\nIn vain was all Llewelyn's grief; he could not bring his faithful dog\nto life again. So he buried him outside the castle walls within sight\nof the great mountain of Snowdon, where every passer-by might see his\ngrave, and raised over it a great cairn of stones. And to this day the\nplace is called Beth Gellert, or the Grave of Gellert, and men say, \"I\nrepent me as much as the man that slew his greyhound.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Tale of Ivan\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nThere were formerly a man and a woman living in the parish of\nLlanlavan, in the place which is called Hwrdh. And work became scarce,\nso the man said to his wife, \"I will go search for work, and you may\nlive here.\" So he took fair leave, and travelled far toward the East,\nand at last came to the house of a farmer and asked for work.\n\n\"What work can ye do?\" said the farmer.\n\n\"I can do all kinds of work,\" said Ivan.\n\nThen they agreed upon three pounds for the year's wages.\n\nWhen the end of the year came his master showed him the three pounds.\n\"See, Ivan,\" said he, \"here's your wage; but if you will give it me\nback I'll give you a piece of advice instead.\"\n\n\"Give me my wage,\" said Ivan.\n\n\"No, I'll not,\" said the master; \"I'll explain my advice.\"\n\n\"Tell it me, then,\" said Ivan.\n\nThen, said the master, \"Never leave the old road for the sake of a new\none.\"\n\nAfter that they agreed for another year at the old wages, and at the\nend of it Ivan took instead a piece of advice, and this was it: \"Never\nlodge where an old man is married to a young woman.\"\n\nThe same thing happened at the end of the third year, when the piece\nof advice was: \"Honesty is the best policy.\"\n\nBut Ivan would not stay longer, but wanted to go back to his wife.\n\n\"Don't go to-day,\" said his master; \"my wife bakes to-morrow, and she\nshall make thee a cake to take home to thy good woman.\"\n\nAnd when Ivan was going to leave, \"Here,\" said his master, \"here is a\ncake for thee to take home to thy wife, and, when ye are most joyous\ntogether, then break the cake, and not sooner.\"\n\nSo he took fair leave of them and travelled towards home, and at last\nhe came to Wayn Her, and there he met three merchants from Tre Rhyn,\nof his own parish, coming home from Exeter Fair. \"Oho! Ivan,\" said\nthey, \"come with us; glad are we to see you. Where have you been so\nlong?\"\n\n\"I have been in service,\" said Ivan, \"And now I'm going home to my\nwife.\"\n\n\"Oh, come with us! you'll be right welcome.\"\n\nBut when they took the new road Ivan kept to the old one. And robbers\nfell upon them before they had gone far from Ivan as they were going\nby the fields of the houses in the meadow. They began to cry out,\n\"Thieves!\" and Ivan shouted out, \"Thieves!\" too. And when the robbers\nheard Ivan's shout they ran away, and the merchants went by the new\nroad and Ivan by the old one till they met again at Market-Jew.\n\n\"Oh, Ivan,\" said the merchants, \"we are beholding to you; but for you\nwe would have been lost men. Come lodge with us at our cost, and\nwelcome.\"\n\nWhen they came to the place where they used to lodge, Ivan said, \"I\nmust see the host.\"\n\n\"The host,\" they cried; \"what do you want with the host? Here is the\nhostess, and she's young and pretty. If you want to see the host\nyou'll find him in the kitchen.\"\n\nSo he went into the kitchen to see the host; he found him a weak old\nman turning the spit.\n\n\"Oh! oh!\" quoth Ivan, \"I'll not lodge here, but will go next door.\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said the merchants, \"sup with us, and welcome.\"\n\nNow it happened that the hostess had plotted with a certain monk in\nMarket-Jew to murder the old man in his bed that night while the rest\nwere asleep, and they agreed to lay it on the lodgers.\n\nSo while Ivan was in bed next door, there was a hole in the pine-end\nof the house, and he saw a light through it. So he got up and looked,\nand heard the monk speaking. \"I had better cover this hole,\" said he,\n\"or people in the next house may see our deeds.\" So he stood with his\nback against it while the hostess killed the old man.\n\nBut meanwhile Ivan out with his knife, and putting it through the\nwhole, cut a round piece off the monk's robe.\n\nThe very next morning the hostess raised the cry that her husband was\nmurdered, and as there was neither man nor child in the house but the\nmerchants, she declared they ought to be hanged for it.\n\nSo they were taken and carried to prison, till at last Ivan came to\nthem. \"Alas! alas! Ivan,\" cried they, \"bad luck sticks to us; our host\nwas killed last night, and we shall be hanged for it.\"\n\n\"Ah, tell the justices,\" said Ivan, \"to summon the real murderers.\"\n\n\"Who knows,\" they replied, \"who committed the crime?\"\n\n\"Who committed the crime!\" said Ivan. \"If I cannot prove who committed\nthe crime, hang me in your stead.\"\n\nSo he told all he knew, and brought out the piece of cloth from the\nmonk's robe, and with that the merchants were set at liberty, and the\nhostess and the monk were seized and hanged.\n\nThen they came all together out of Market-Jew, and they said to him:\n\"Come as far as Coed Carrn y Wylfa, the Wood of the Heap of Stones of\nWatching, in the parish of Burman.\" Then their two roads separated,\nand though the merchants wished Ivan to go with them, he would not go\nwith them, but went straight home to his wife.\n\nAnd when his wife saw him she said: \"Home in the nick of time. Here's\na purse of gold that I've found; it has no name, but sure it belongs\nto the great lord yonder. I was just thinking what to do when you\ncame.\"\n\nThen Ivan thought of the third counsel, and he said: \"Let us go and\ngive it to the great lord.\"\n\nSo they went up to the castle, but the great lord was not in it, so\nthey left the purse with the servant that minded the gate, and then\nthey went home again and lived in quiet for a time.\n\nBut one day the great lord stopped at their house for a drink of\nwater, and Ivan's wife said to him: \"I hope your lordship found your\nlordship's purse quite safe with all its money in it.\"\n\n\"What purse is that you are talking about?\" said the lord.\n\n\"Sure, it's your lordship's purse that I left at the castle,\" says\nIvan.\n\n\"Come with me and we will see into the matter,\" said the lord.\n\nSo Ivan and his wife went up to the castle, and there they pointed out\nthe man to whom they had given the purse, and he had to give it up and\nwas sent away from the castle. And the lord was so pleased with Ivan\nthat he made him his servant in the stead of the thief.\n\n\"Honesty's the best policy!\" quoth Ivan, as he skipped about in his\nnew quarters. \"How joyful I am!\"\n\nThen he thought of his old master's cake that he was to eat when he\nwas most joyful, and when he broke it, lo and behold, inside it was\nhis wages for the three years he had been with him.\n\n\n\n\nAndrew Coffey\n\n\nMy grandfather, Andrew Coffey, was known to the whole barony as a\nquiet, decent man. And if the whole barony knew him, he knew the whole\nbarony, every inch, hill and dale, bog and pasture, field and covert.\nFancy his surprise one evening, when he found himself in a part of the\ndemesne he couldn't recognise a bit. He and his good horse were always\nstumbling up against some tree or stumbling down into some bog-hole\nthat by rights didn't ought to be there. On the top of all this the\nrain came pelting down wherever there was a clearing, and the cold\nMarch wind tore through the trees. Glad he was when he saw a light in\nthe distance, and drawing near found a cabin, though for the life of\nhim he couldn't think how it came there. However, in he walked, after\ntying up his horse, and right welcome was the brushwood fire blazing\non the hearth. And there stood a chair right and tight, that seemed to\nsay, \"Come, sit down in me.\" There wasn't a soul else in the room.\nWell, he did sit, and got a little warm and cheered after his\ndrenching. But all the while he was wondering and wondering.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!\"\n\nGood heavens! who was calling him, and not a soul in sight? Look\naround as he might, indoors and out, he could find no creature with\ntwo legs or four, for his horse was gone.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Tell me a story.\"\n\nIt was louder this time, and it was nearer. And then what a thing to\nask for! It was bad enough not to be let sit by the fire and dry\noneself, without being bothered for a story.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Tell me a story, or it'll be the worse\nfor you.\"\n\nMy poor grandfather was so dumfounded that he could only stand and\nstare.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! I told you it'd be the worse for you.\"\n\nAnd with that, out there bounced from a cupboard that Andrew Coffey\nhad never noticed before, _a man_. And the man was in a towering rage.\nBut it wasn't that. And he carried as fine a blackthorn as you'd wish\nto crack a man's head with. But it wasn't that either. But when my\ngrandfather clapped eyes on him, he knew him for Patrick Rooney, and\nall the world knew _he'd_ gone overboard, fishing one night, long\nyears before.\n\nAndrew Coffey would neither stop nor stay, but he took to his heels\nand was out of the house as hard as he could. He ran and he ran,\ntaking little thought of what was before till at last he ran up\nagainst a big tree. And then he sat down to rest.\n\nHe hadn't sat for a moment when he heard voices.\n\n\"It's heavy he is the vagabond.\" \"Steady now, we'll rest when we get\nunder the big tree yonder.\" Now that happened to be the tree under\nwhich Andrew Coffey was sitting. At least he thought so, for seeing a\nbranch handy he swung himself up by it, and was soon snugly hidden\naway. Better see than be seen, thought he.\n\nThe rain had stopped and the wind fallen. The night was blacker than\never, but Andrew Coffey could see four men, and they were carrying\nbetween them a long box. Under the tree they came, set the box down,\nopened it, and who should they bring out but--Patrick Rooney. Never a\nword did he say, and he looked as pale as old snow.\n\nWell, one gathered brushwood, and another took out tinder and flint,\nand they soon had a big fire roaring, and my grandfather could see\nPatrick plainly enough. If he had kept still before, he kept stiller\nnow. Soon they had four poles up and a pole across, right over the\nfire, for all the world like a spit, and on to the pole they slung\nPatrick Rooney.\n\n\"He'll do well enough,\" said one; \"but who's to mind him whilst we're\naway, who'll turn the fire, who'll see that he doesn't burn?\"\n\nWith that Patrick opened his lips: \"Andrew Coffey!\" said he.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!\"\n\n\"I'm much obliged to you, gentlemen,\" said Andrew Coffey, \"but indeed\nI know nothing about the business.\"\n\n\"You'd better come down, Andrew Coffey,\" said Patrick. It was the\nsecond time he spoke, and Andrew Coffey decided he would come down.\nThe four men went off, and he was left all alone with Patrick.\n\nThen he sat and he kept the fire even, and he kept the spit turning,\nand all the while Patrick looked at him.\n\nPoor Andrew Coffey couldn't make it all out, at all, at all, and he\nstared at Patrick and at the fire, and he thought of the little house\nin the wood, till he felt quite dazed.\n\n\"Ah, but it's burning me, ye are!\" says Patrick, very short and sharp.\n\n\"I'm sure I beg your pardon,\" said my grandfather, \"but might I ask\nyou a question?\"\n\n\"If you want a crooked answer,\" said Patrick; \"turn away, or it'll be\nthe worse for you.\"\n\nBut my grandfather couldn't get it out of his head, hadn't everybody,\nfar and near, said Patrick had fallen overboard. There was enough to\nthink about, and my grandfather did think.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! It's burning me ye are.\"\n\nSorry enough my grandfather was, and he vowed he wouldn't do so again.\n\n\"You'd better not,\" said Patrick, and he gave him a cock of his eye,\nand a grin of his teeth, that just sent a shiver down Andrew Coffey's\nback. Well, it was odd, that here he should be in a thick wood he had\nnever set eyes upon, turning Patrick Rooney upon a spit. You can't\nwonder at my grandfather thinking and thinking and not minding the\nfire.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! It's the death of you I'll be.\"\n\nAnd with that what did my grandfather see, but Patrick unslinging\nhimself from the spit, and his eyes glared and his teeth glistened.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nIt was neither stop nor stay my grandfather made, but out he ran into\nthe night of the wood. It seemed to him there wasn't a stone but was\nfor his stumbling, not a branch but beat his face, not a bramble but\ntore his skin. And wherever it was clear the rain pelted down and the\ncold March wind howled along.\n\nGlad was he to see a light, and a minute after he was kneeling, dazed,\ndrenched, and bedraggled by the hearth side. The brushwood flamed, and\nthe brushwood crackled, and soon my grandfather began to feel a little\nwarm and dry and easy in his mind.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!\"\n\nIt's hard for a man to jump when he has been through all my\ngrandfather had, but jump he did. And when he looked around, where\nshould he find himself but in the very cabin he had first met Patrick\nin.\n\n\"Andrew Coffey, Andrew Coffey, tell me a story.\"\n\n\"Is it a story you want?\" said my grandfather as bold as may be, for\nhe was just tired of being frightened. \"Well, if you can tell me the\nrights of this one, I'll be thankful.\"\n\nAnd he told the tale of what had befallen him from first to last that\nnight. The tale was long, and maybe Andrew Coffey was weary. It's\nasleep he must have fallen, for when he awoke he lay on the hill-side\nunder the open heavens, and his horse grazed at his side.\n\n\n\n\nThe Battle of the Birds\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nI will tell you a story about the wren. There was once a farmer who\nwas seeking a servant, and the wren met him and said: \"What are you\nseeking?\"\n\n\"I am seeking a servant,\" said the farmer to the wren.\n\n\"Will you take me?\" said the wren.\n\n\"You, you poor creature what good would you do?\"\n\n\"Try me,\" said the wren.\n\nSo he engaged him, and the first work he set him to do was threshing\nin the barn. The wren threshed (what did he thresh with? Why, a flail\nto be sure), and he knocked off one grain. A mouse came out and she\neats that.\n\n\"I'll trouble you not to do that again,\" said the wren.\n\nHe struck again, and he struck off two grains. Out came the mouse and\nshe eats them. So they arranged a contest to see who was strongest,\nand the wren brings his twelve birds, and the mouse her tribe.\n\n\"You have your tribe with you,\" said the wren.\n\n\"As well as yourself,\" said the mouse, and she struck out her leg\nproudly. But the wren broke it with his flail, and there was a pitched\nbattle on a set day.\n\nWhen every creature and bird was gathering to battle, the son of the\nking of Tethertown said that he would go to see the battle, and that\nhe would bring sure word home to his father the king, who would be\nking of the creatures this year. The battle was over before he arrived\nall but one fight, between a great black raven and a snake. The snake\nwas twined about the raven's neck, and the raven held the snake's\nthroat in his beak, and it seemed as if the snake would get the\nvictory over the raven. When the king's son saw this he helped the\nraven, and with one blow takes the head off the snake. When the raven\nhad taken breath, and saw that the snake was dead, he said, \"For thy\nkindness to me this day, I will give thee a sight. Come up now on the\nroot of my two wings.\" The king's son put his hands about the raven\nbefore his wings, and before he stopped, he took him over nine Bens,\nand nine Glens, and nine Mountain Moors.\n\n\"Now,\" said the raven, \"see you that house yonder? Go now to it. It is\na sister of mine that makes her dwelling in it; and I will go bail\nthat you are welcome. And if she asks you, 'Were you at the battle of\nthe birds?' say you were. And if she asks, 'Did you see any one like\nme,' say you did, but be sure that you meet me to-morrow morning here,\nin this place.\" The king's son got good and right good treatment that\nnight. Meat of each meat, drink of each drink, warm water to his feet,\nand a soft bed for his limbs.\n\nOn the next day the raven gave him the same sight over six Bens, and\nsix Glens, and six Mountain Moors. They saw a bothy far off, but,\nthough far off, they were soon there. He got good treatment this\nnight, as before--plenty of meat and drink, and warm water to his\nfeet, and a soft bed to his limbs--and on the next day it was the same\nthing, over three Bens, and three Glens, and three Mountain Moors.\n\nOn the third morning, instead of seeing the raven as at the other\ntimes, who should meet him but the handsomest lad he ever saw, with\ngold rings in his hair, with a bundle in his hand. The king's son\nasked this lad if he had seen a big black raven.\n\nSaid the lad to him, \"You will never see the raven again, for I am\nthat raven. I was put under spells by a bad druid; it was meeting you\nthat loosed me, and for that you shall get this bundle. Now,\" said the\nlad, \"you must turn back on the self-same steps, and lie a night in\neach house as before; but you must not loose the bundle which I gave\nye, till in the place where you would most wish to dwell.\"\n\nThe king's son turned his back to the lad, and his face to his\nfather's house; and he got lodging from the raven's sisters, just as\nhe got it when going forward. When he was nearing his father's house\nhe was going through a close wood. It seemed to him that the bundle\nwas growing heavy, and he thought he would look what was in it.\n\nWhen he loosed the bundle he was astonished. In a twinkling he sees\nthe very grandest place he ever saw. A great castle, and an orchard\nabout the castle, in which was every kind of fruit and herb. He stood\nfull of wonder and regret for having loosed the bundle--for it was not\nin his power to put it back again--and he would have wished this\npretty place to be in the pretty little green hollow that was opposite\nhis father's house; but he looked up and saw a great giant coming\ntowards him.\n\n\"Bad 's the place where you have built the house, king's son,\" says\nthe giant.\n\n\"Yes, but it is not here I would wish it to be, though it happens to\nbe here by mishap,\" says the king's son.\n\n\"What's the reward for putting it back in the bundle as it was\nbefore?\"\n\n\"What's the reward you would ask?\" says the king's son.\n\n\"That you will give me the first son you have when he is seven years\nof age,\" says the giant.\n\n\"If I have a son you shall have him,\" said the king's son.\n\nIn a twinkling the giant put each garden, and orchard, and castle in\nthe bundle as they were before.\n\n\"Now,\" says the giant, \"take your own road, and I will take mine; but\nmind your promise, and if you forget I will remember.\"\n\nThe king's son took to the road, and at the end of a few days he\nreached the place he was fondest of. He loosed the bundle, and the\ncastle was just as it was before. And when he opened the castle door\nhe sees the handsomest maiden he ever cast eye upon.\n\n\"Advance, king's son,\" said the pretty maid; \"everything is in order\nfor you, if you will marry me this very day.\"\n\n\"It's I that am willing,\" said the king's son. And on the same day\nthey married.\n\nBut at the end of a day and seven years, who should be seen coming to\nthe castle but the giant. The king's son was reminded of his promise\nto the giant, and till now he had not told his promise to the queen.\n\n\"Leave the matter between me and the giant,\" says the queen.\n\n\"Turn out your son,\" says the giant; \"mind your promise.\"\n\n\"You shall have him,\" says the king, \"when his mother puts him in\norder for his journey.\"\n\nThe queen dressed up the cook's son, and she gave him to the giant by\nthe hand. The giant went away with him; but he had not gone far when\nhe put a rod in the hand of the little laddie. The giant asked him--\n\n\"If thy father had that rod what would he do with it?\"\n\n\"If my father had that rod he would beat the dogs and the cats, so\nthat they shouldn't be going near the king's meat,\" said the little\nladdie.\n\n\"Thou 'rt the cook's son,\" said the giant. He catches him by the two\nsmall ankles and knocks him against the stone that was beside him. The\ngiant turned back to the castle in rage and madness, and he said that\nif they did not send out the king's son to him, the highest stone of\nthe castle would be the lowest.\n\nSaid the queen to the king, \"We'll try it yet; the butler's son is of\nthe same age as our son.\"\n\nShe dressed up the butler's son, and she gives him to the giant by the\nhand. The giant had not gone far when he put the rod in his hand.\n\n\"If thy father had that rod,\" says the giant, \"what would he do with\nit?\"\n\n\"He would beat the dogs and the cats when they would be coming near\nthe king's bottles and glasses.\"\n\n\"Thou art the son of the butler,\" says the giant and dashed his brains\nout too. The giant returned in a very great rage and anger. The earth\nshook under the soles of his feet, and the castle shook and all that\nwas in it.\n\n\"OUT HERE WITH THY SON,\" says the giant, \"or in a twinkling the stone\nthat is highest in the dwelling will be the lowest.\" So they had to\ngive the king's son to the giant.\n\nWhen they were gone a little bit from the earth, the giant showed him\nthe rod that was in his hand and said: \"What would thy father do with\nthis rod if he had it?\"\n\nThe king's son said: \"My father has a braver rod than that.\"\n\nAnd the giant asked him, \"Where is thy father when he has that brave\nrod?\"\n\nAnd the king's son said, \"He will be sitting in his kingly chair.\"\n\nThen the giant understood that he had the right one.\n\nThe giant took him to his own house, and he reared him as his own son.\nOn a day of days when the giant was from home, the lad heard the\nsweetest music he ever heard in a room at the top of the giant's\nhouse. At a glance he saw the finest face he had ever seen. She\nbeckoned to him to come a bit nearer to her, and she said her name was\nAuburn Mary but she told him to go this time, but to be sure to be at\nthe same place about that dead midnight.\n\nAnd as he promised he did. The giant's daughter was at his side in a\ntwinkling, and she said, \"To-morrow you will get the choice of my two\nsisters to marry; but say that you will not take either, but me. My\nfather wants me to marry the son of the king of the Green City, but I\ndon't like him.\" On the morrow the giant took out his three daughters,\nand he said:\n\n\"Now, son of the king of Tethertown, thou hast not lost by living with\nme so long. Thou wilt get to wife one of the two eldest of my\ndaughters, and with her leave to go home with her the day after the\nwedding.\"\n\n\"If you will give me this pretty little one,\" says the king's son, \"I\nwill take you at your word.\"\n\nThe giant's wrath kindled, and he said: \"Before thou gett'st her thou\nmust do the three things that I ask thee to do.\"\n\n\"Say on,\" says the king's son.\n\nThe giant took him to the byre.\n\n\"Now,\" says the giant, \"a hundred cattle are stabled here, and it has\nnot been cleansed for seven years. I am going from home to-day, and if\nthis byre is not cleaned before night comes, so clean that a golden\napple will run from end to end of it, not only thou shalt not get my\ndaughter, but 'tis only a drink of thy fresh, goodly, beautiful blood\nthat will quench my thirst this night.\"\n\nHe begins cleaning the byre, but he might just as well keep baling the\ngreat ocean. After midday when sweat was blinding him, the giant's\nyoungest daughter came where he was, and she said to him:\n\n\"You are being punished, king's son.\"\n\n\"I am that,\" says the king's son.\n\n\"Come over,\" says Auburn Mary, \"and lay down your weariness.\"\n\n\"I will do that,\" says he, \"there is but death awaiting me, at any\nrate.\" He sat down near her. He was so tired that he fell asleep\nbeside her. When he awoke, the giant's daughter was not to be seen,\nbut the byre was so well cleaned that a golden apple would run from\nend to end of it and raise no stain. In comes the giant, and he said:\n\n\"Hast thou cleaned the byre, king's son?\"\n\n\"I have cleaned it,\" says he.\n\n\"Somebody cleaned it,\" says the giant.\n\n\"You did not clean it, at all events,\" said the king's son.\n\n\"Well, well!\" says the giant, \"since thou wert so active to-day, thou\nwilt get to this time to-morrow to thatch this byre with birds' down,\nfrom birds with no two feathers of one colour.\"\n\nThe king's son was on foot before the sun; he caught up his bow and\nhis quiver of arrows to kill the birds. He took to the moors, but if\nhe did, the birds were not so easy to take. He was running after them\ntill the sweat was blinding him. About midday who should come but\nAuburn Mary.\n\n\"You are exhausting yourself, king's son,\" says she.\n\n\"I am,\" said he.\n\n\"There fell but these two blackbirds, and both of one colour.\"\n\n\"Come over and lay down your weariness on this pretty hillock,\" says\nthe giant's daughter.\n\n\"It's I am willing,\" said he.\n\nHe thought she would aid him this time, too, and he sat down near her,\nand he was not long there till he fell asleep.\n\nWhen he awoke, Auburn Mary was gone. He thought he would go back to\nthe house, and he sees the byre thatched with feathers. When the giant\ncame home, he said:\n\n\"Hast thou thatched the byre, king's son?\"\n\n\"I thatched it,\" says he.\n\n\"Somebody thatched it,\" says the giant.\n\n\"You did not thatch it,\" says the king's son.\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" says the giant. \"Now,\" says the giant, \"there is a fir\ntree beside that loch down there, and there is a magpie's nest in its\ntop. The eggs thou wilt find in the nest. I must have them for my\nfirst meal. Not one must be burst or broken, and there are five in the\nnest.\"\n\nEarly in the morning the king's son went where the tree was, and that\ntree was not hard to hit upon. Its match was not in the whole wood.\nFrom the foot to the first branch was five hundred feet. The king's\nson was going all round the tree. She came who was always bringing\nhelp to him.\n\n\"You are losing the skin of your hands and feet.\"\n\n\"Ach! I am,\" says he. \"I am no sooner up than down.\"\n\n\"This is no time for stopping,\" says the giant's daughter. \"Now you\nmust kill me, strip the flesh from my bones, take all those bones\napart, and use them as steps for climbing the tree. When you are\nclimbing the tree, they will stick to the glass as if they had grown\nout of it; but when you are coming down, and have put your foot on\neach one, they will drop into your hand when you touch them. Be sure\nand stand on each bone, leave none untouched; if you do, it will stay\nbehind. Put all my flesh into this clean cloth by the side of the\nspring at the roots of the tree. When you come to the earth, arrange\nmy bones together, put the flesh over them, sprinkle it with water\nfrom the spring, and I shall be alive before you. But don't forget a\nbone of me on the tree.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Giant's Daughter BIDS the BIRDS watch her Father's\nbyre.]\n\n\"How could I kill you,\" asked the king's son, \"after what you have\ndone for me?\"\n\n\"If you won't obey, you and I are done for,\" said Auburn Mary. \"You\nmust climb the tree, or we are lost; and to climb the tree you must do\nas I say.\"\n\nThe king's son obeyed. He killed Auburn Mary, cut the flesh from her\nbody, and unjointed the bones, as she had told him.\n\nAs he went up, the king's son put the bones of Auburn Mary's body\nagainst the side of the tree, using them as steps, till he came under\nthe nest and stood on the last bone.\n\nThen he took the eggs, and coming down, put his foot on every bone,\nthen took it with him, till he came to the last bone, which was so\nnear the ground that he failed to touch it with his foot.\n\nHe now placed all the bones of Auburn Mary in order again at the side\nof the spring, put the flesh on them, sprinkled it with water from the\nspring. She rose up before him, and said: \"Didn't I tell you not to\nleave a bone of my body without stepping on it? Now I am lame for\nlife! You left my little finger on the tree without touching it, and I\nhave but nine fingers.\"\n\n\"Now,\" says she, \"go home with the eggs quickly, and you will get me\nto marry to-night if you can know me. I and my two sisters will be\narrayed in the same garments, and made like each other, but look at me\nwhen, my father says, 'Go to thy wife, king's son'; and you will see a\nhand without a little finger.\"\n\nHe gave the eggs to the giant.\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" said the giant, \"be making ready for your marriage.\"\n\nThen, indeed, there was a wedding, and it _was_ a wedding! Giants and\ngentlemen, and the son of the king of the Green City was in the midst\nof them. They were married, and the dancing began, that was a dance!\nThe giant's house was shaking from top to bottom.\n\nBut bed time came, and the giant said, \"It is time for thee to go to\nrest, son of the king of Tethertown; choose thy bride to take with\nthee from amidst those.\"\n\nShe put out the hand off which the little finger was, and he caught\nher by the hand.\n\n\"Thou hast aimed well this time too; but there is no knowing but we\nmay meet thee another way,\" said the giant.\n\nBut to rest they went. \"Now,\" says she, \"sleep not, or else you are a\ndead man. We must fly quick, quick, or for certain my father will kill\nyou.\"\n\nOut they went, and on the blue grey filly in the stable they mounted.\n\"Stop a while,\" says she, \"and I will play a trick to the old hero.\"\nShe jumped in, and cut an apple into nine shares, and she put two\nshares at the head of the bed, and two shares at the foot of the bed,\nand two shares at the door of the kitchen, and two shares at the big\ndoor, and one outside the house.\n\nThe giant awoke and called, \"Are you asleep?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said the apple that was at the head of the bed.\n\nAt the end of a while he called again.\n\n\"Not yet,\" said the apple that was at the foot of the bed.\n\nA while after this he called again: \"Are you asleep?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said the apple at the kitchen door,\n\nThe giant called again.\n\nThe apple that was at the big door answered.\n\n\"You are now going far from me,\" says the giant.\n\n\"Not yet,\" says the apple that was outside the house.\n\n\"You are flying,\" says the giant. The giant jumped on his feet, and to\nthe bed he went, but it was cold--empty.\n\n\"My own daughter's tricks are trying me,\" said the giant. \"Here's\nafter them,\" says he.\n\nAt the mouth of the day, the giant's daughter said that her father's\nbreath was burning her back.\n\n\"Put your hand, quick,\" said she, \"in the ear of the grey filly, and\nwhatever you find in it, throw it behind us.\"\n\n\"There is a twig of sloe tree,\" said he.\n\n\"Throw it behind us,\" said she.\n\nNo sooner did he that, than there were twenty miles of blackthorn\nwood, so thick that scarce a weasel could go through it.\n\nThe giant came headlong, and there he is fleecing his head and neck in\nthe thorns.\n\n\"My own daughter's tricks are here as before,\" said the giant; \"but if\nI had my own big axe and wood knife here, I would not be long making\na way through this.\"\n\nHe went home for the big axe and the wood knife, and sure he was not\nlong on his journey, and he was the boy behind the big axe. He was not\nlong making a way through the blackthorn.\n\n\"I will leave the axe and the wood knife here till I return,\" says he.\n\n\"If you leave 'em, leave 'em,\" said a hoodie that was in a tree,\n\"we'll steal 'em, steal 'em.\"\n\n\"If you will do that,\" says the giant, \"I must take them home.\" He\nreturned home and left them at the house.\n\nAt the heat of day the giant's daughter felt her father's breath\nburning her back.\n\n\"Put your finger in the filly's ear, and throw behind whatever you\nfind in it.\"\n\nHe got a splinter of grey stone, and in a twinkling there were twenty\nmiles, by breadth and height, of great grey rock behind them.\n\nThe giant came full pelt, but past the rock he could not go.\n\n\"The tricks of my own daughter are the hardest things that ever met\nme,\" says the giant; \"but if I had my lever and my mighty mattock, I\nwould not be long in making my way through this rock also.\"\n\nThere was no help for it, but to turn the chase for them; and he was\nthe boy to split the stones. He was not long in making a road through\nthe rock.\n\n\"I will leave the tools here, and I will return no more.\"\n\n\"If you leave 'em, leave 'em,\" says the hoodie, \"we will steal 'em,\nsteal 'em.\"\n\n\"Do that if you will; there is no time to go back.\"\n\nAt the time of breaking the watch, the giant's daughter said that she\nfelt her father's breath burning her back.\n\n\"Look in the filly's ear, king's son, or else we are lost.\"\n\nHe did so, and it was a bladder of water that was in her ear this\ntime. He threw it behind him and there was a fresh-water loch, twenty\nmiles in length and breadth, behind them.\n\nThe giant came on, but with the speed he had on him, he was in the\nmiddle of the loch, and he went under, and he rose no more.\n\nOn the next day the young companions were come in sight of his\nfather's house. \"Now,\" says she, \"my father is drowned, and he won't\ntrouble us any more; but before we go further,\" says she, \"go you to\nyour father's house, and tell that you have the likes of me; but let\nneither man nor creature kiss you, for if you do, you will not\nremember that you have ever seen me.\"\n\nEvery one he met gave him welcome and luck, and he charged his father\nand mother not to kiss him; but as mishap was to be, an old greyhound\nwas indoors, and she knew him, and jumped up to his mouth, and after\nthat he did not remember the giant's daughter.\n\nShe was sitting at the well's side as he left her, but the king's son\nwas not coming. In the mouth of night she climbed up into a tree of\noak that was beside the well, and she lay in the fork of that tree\nall night. A shoemaker had a house near the well, and about midday on\nthe morrow, the shoemaker asked his wife to go for a drink for him out\nof the well. When the shoemaker's wife reached the well, and when she\nsaw the shadow of her that was in the tree, thinking it was her own\nshadow--and she never thought till now that she was so handsome--she\ngave a cast to the dish that was in her hand, and it was broken on the\nground, and she took herself to the house without vessel or water.\n\n\"Where is the water, wife?\" said the shoemaker.\n\n\"You shambling, contemptible old carle, without grace, I have stayed\ntoo long your water and wood thrall.\"\n\n\"I think, wife, that you have turned crazy. Go you, daughter, quickly,\nand fetch a drink for your father.\"\n\nHis daughter went, and in the same way so it happened to her. She\nnever thought till now that she was so lovable, and she took herself\nhome.\n\n\"Up with the drink,\" said her father.\n\n\"You home-spun shoe carle, do you think I am fit to be your thrall?\"\n\nThe poor shoemaker thought that they had taken a turn in their\nunderstandings, and he went himself to the well. He saw the shadow of\nthe maiden in the well, and he looked up to the tree, and he sees the\nfinest woman he ever saw.\n\n\"Your seat is wavering, but your face is fair,\" said the shoemaker.\n\"Come down, for there is need of you for a short while at my house.\"\n\nThe shoemaker understood that this was the shadow that had driven his\npeople mad. The shoemaker took her to his house, and he said that he\nhad but a poor bothy, but that she should get a share of all that was\nin it.\n\nOne day, the shoemaker had shoes ready, for on that very day the\nking's son was to be married. The shoemaker was going to the castle\nwith the shoes of the young people, and the girl said to the\nshoemaker, \"I would like to get a sight of the king's son before he\nmarries.\"\n\n\"Come with me,\" says the shoemaker, \"I am well acquainted with the\nservants at the castle, and you shall get a sight of the king's son\nand all the company.\"\n\nAnd when the gentles saw the pretty woman that was here they took her\nto the wedding-room, and they filled for her a glass of wine. When she\nwas going to drink what was in it, a flame went up out of the glass,\nand a golden pigeon and a silver pigeon sprang out of it. They were\nflying about when three grains of barley fell on the floor. The silver\npigeon sprang, and ate that up.\n\nSaid the golden pigeon to him, \"If you remembered when I cleared the\nbyre, you would not eat that without giving me a share.\"\n\nAgain there fell three other grains of barley, and the silver pigeon\nsprang, and ate that up as before.\n\n\"If you remembered when I thatched the byre, you would not eat that\nwithout giving me my share,\" says the golden pigeon.\n\nThree other grains fall, and the silver pigeon sprang, and ate that\nup.\n\n\"If you remembered when I harried the magpie's nest, you would not eat\nthat without giving me my share,\" says the golden pigeon; \"I lost my\nlittle finger bringing it down, and I want it still.\"\n\nThe king's son minded, and he knew who it was that was before him.\n\n\"Well,\" said the king's son to the guests at the feast, \"when I was a\nlittle younger than I am now, I lost the key of a casket that I had. I\nhad a new key made, but after it was brought to me I found the old\none. Now, I'll leave it to any one here to tell me what I am to do.\nWhich of the keys should I keep?\"\n\n\"My advice to you,\" said one of the guests, \"is to keep the old key,\nfor it fits the lock better, and you're more used to it.\"\n\nThen the king's son stood up and said: \"I thank you for a wise advice\nand an honest word. This is my bride the daughter of the giant who\nsaved my life at the risk of her own. I'll have her and no other\nwoman.\"\n\nSo the king's son married Auburn Mary and the wedding lasted long and\nall were happy. But all I got was butter on a live coal, porridge in a\nbasket, and paper shoes for my feet, and they sent me for water to the\nstream, and the paper shoes came to an end.\n\n\n\n\nBrewery of Eggshells\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nIn Treneglwys there is a certain shepherd's cot known by the name of\nTwt y Cymrws because of the strange strife that occurred there. There\nonce lived there a man and his wife, and they had twins whom the woman\nnursed tenderly. One day she was called away to the house of a\nneighbour at some distance. She did not much like going and leaving\nher little ones all alone in a solitary house, especially as she had\nheard tell of the good folk haunting the neighbourhood.\n\nWell, she went and came back as soon as she could, but on her way back\nshe was frightened to see some old elves of the blue petticoat\ncrossing her path though it was midday. She rushed home, but found her\ntwo little ones in the cradle and everything seemed as it was before.\n\nBut after a time the good people began to suspect that something was\nwrong, for the twins didn't grow at all.\n\nThe man said: \"They're not ours.\"\n\nThe woman said: \"Whose else should they be?\"\n\nAnd so arose the great strife so that the neighbours named the cottage\nafter it. It made the woman very sad, so one evening she made up her\nmind to go and see the Wise Man of Llanidloes, for he knew everything\nand would advise her what to do.\n\nSo she went to Llanidloes and told the case to the Wise Man. Now there\nwas soon to be a harvest of rye and oats, so the Wise Man said to her,\n\"When you are getting dinner for the reapers, clear out the shell of a\nhen's egg and boil some pottage in it, and then take it to the door as\nif you meant it as a dinner for the reapers. Then listen if the twins\nsay anything. If you hear them speaking of things beyond the\nunderstanding of children, go back and take them up and throw them\ninto the waters of Lake Elvyn. But if you don't hear anything\nremarkable, do them no injury.\"\n\nSo when the day of the reap came the woman did all that the Wise Man\nordered, and put the eggshell on the fire and took it off and carried\nit to the door, and there she stood and listened. Then she heard one\nof the children say to the other:\n\n    Acorn before oak I knew,\n      An egg before a hen,\n    But I never heard of an eggshell brew\n      A dinner for harvest men.\n\nSo she went back into the house, seized the children and threw them\ninto the Llyn, and the goblins in their blue trousers came and saved\ntheir dwarfs and the mother had her own children back and so the great\nstrife ended.\n\n\n\n\nThe Lad with the Goat-skin\n\n\nLong ago a poor widow woman lived down near the iron forge, by\nEnniscorth, 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\nwarm ashes about him; and according as he grew up, she sunk the pit\ndeeper. At last, by hook or by crook, she got a goat-skin, and\nfastened it round his waist, and he felt quite grand, and took a walk\ndown the street. So says she to him next morning, \"Tom, you thief, you\nnever done any good yet, and you six foot high, and past\nnineteen;--take that rope and bring me a faggot from the wood.\"\n\n\"Never say't twice, mother,\" says Tom--\"here goes.\"\n\nWhen he had it gathered and tied, what should come up but a big giant,\nnine foot high, and made a lick of a club at him. Well become Tom, he\njumped a-one side, and picked up a ram-pike; and the first crack he\ngave the big fellow, he made him kiss the clod.\n\n\"If you have e'er a prayer,\" says Tom, \"now's the time to say it,\nbefore I make fragments of you.\"\n\n\"I have no prayers,\" says the giant; \"but if you spare my life I'll\ngive you that club; and as long as you keep from sin, you'll win every\nbattle you ever fight with it.\"\n\nTom made no bones about letting him off; and as soon as he got the\nclub in his hands, he sat down on the bresna, and gave it a tap with\nthe kippeen, and says, \"Faggot, I had great trouble gathering you, and\nrun the risk of my life for you, the least you can do is to carry me\nhome.\" And sure enough the wind o' the word was all it wanted. It went\noff through the wood, groaning and crackling, till it came to the\nwidow's door.\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 that had two heads on\nhim. Tom had a little more trouble with him--that's all; and the\nprayers he said, was to give Tom a fife, that nobody could help\ndancing when he was playing it. Begorries, he made the big faggot\ndance home, with himself sitting on it. The next giant was a beautiful\nboy with three heads on him. He had neither prayers nor catechism no\nmore nor the others; and so he gave Tom a bottle of green ointment,\nthat wouldn't let you be burned, nor scalded, nor wounded. \"And now,\"\nsays he, \"there's no more of us. You may come and gather sticks here\ntill little Lunacy Day in Harvest, without giant or fairy-man to\ndisturb you.\"\n\nWell, now, Tom was prouder nor ten paycock, and used to take a walk\ndown street in the heel of the evening; but some o' the little boys\nhad no more manners than if they were Dublin jackeens, and put out\ntheir tongues at Tom's club and Tom's goat-skin. He didn't like that\nat all, and it would be mean to give one of them a clout. At last what\nshould come through the town but a kind of a bell-man, only it's a big\nbugle he had, and a huntsman's cap on his head, and a kind of painted\nshirt. So this--he wasn't a bell-man, and I don't know what to call\nhim--bugle-man, maybe, proclaimed that the king of Dublin's daughter\nwas so melancholy that she didn't give a laugh for seven years, and\nthat her father would grant her in marriage to whoever could make her\nlaugh three times.\n\n\"That's the very thing for me to try,\" says Tom; and so, without\nburning any more daylight, he kissed his mother, curled his club at\nthe little boys, and off he set along the yalla highroad to the town\nof Dublin.\n\nAt last Tom came to one of the city gates, and the guards laughed and\ncursed at him instead of letting him in. Tom stood it all for a little\ntime, but at last one of them--out of fun, as he said,--drove his\nbayonet half an inch or so into his side. Tom done nothing but take\nthe fellow by the scruff o' the neck and the waistband of his\ncorduroys, and fling him into the canal. Some run to pull the fellow\nout, and others to let manners into the vulgarian with their swords\nand daggers; but a tap from his club sent them headlong into the moat\nor down on the stones, and they were soon begging him to stay his\nhands.\n\nSo at last one of them was glad enough to show Tom the way to the\npalace-yard; and there was the king, and the queen, and the princess\nin a gallery, looking at all sorts of wrestling, and sword-playing,\nand long dances, and mumming, all to please the princess; but not a\nsmile 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 mother\ncouldn't afford to buy razors--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 bit of a fellow, with a red head,\nthat 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.\n\n\"My business,\" said Tom, says he, \"is to make the beautiful princess,\nGod bless her, laugh three times.\"\n\n\"Do you see all them merry fellows and skilful swordsmen,\" said the\nother, \"that could eat you up with a grain of salt, and not a mother's\nsoul of 'em ever got a laugh from her these seven years?\"\n\nSo the fellows gathered round Tom, and the bad man aggravated him till\nhe told them he didn't care a pinch o' snuff for the whole bilin' of\n'em; let 'em come on, six at a time, and try what they could do.\n\nThe king, who was too far off to hear what they were saying, asked\nwhat did the stranger want.\n\n\"He wants,\" said the red-headed fellow, \"to make hares of your best\nmen.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" says the king, \"if that's the way, let one of 'em turn out and\ntry his mettle.\"\n\nSo one stood forward, with sword and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom.\nHe struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their heads\nflew the sword, and down went the owner of it on the gravel from a\nthump he got on the helmet. Another took his place, and another, and\nanother, and then half a dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets,\nshields, and bodies, rolling over and over, and themselves bawling out\nthat they were kilt, and disabled and damaged, and rubbing their poor\nelbows and hips, and limping away. Tom contrived not to kill any one;\nand the princess was so amused, that she let a great sweet laugh out\nof her that was heard over all the yard.\n\n\"King of Dublin,\" said Tom, \"I've quarter of your daughter.\"\n\nAnd the king didn't know whether he was glad or sorry, and all the\nblood in the princess's heart run into her cheeks.\n\nSo there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was invited to dine\nwith the royal family. Next day, Redhead told Tom of a wolf, the size\nof a yearling heifer, that used to be serenading about the walls, and\neating people and cattle; and said what a pleasure it would give the\nking to have it killed.\n\n\"With all my heart,\" says Tom; \"send a jackeen to show me where he\nlives, and we'll see how he behaves to a stranger.\"\n\nThe princess was not well pleased for Tom looked a different person\nwith fine clothes and a nice green birredh over his long curly hair;\nand besides, he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the king gave his\nconsent; and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf was walking into\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.\n\nThe king and queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the\nofficers and people of the court that wor padrowling about the great\nbawn, when they saw the big baste coming in, gave themselves up, and\nbegan to make for doors and gates; and the wolf licked his chops, as\nif he was saying, \"Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast off a couple of yez!\"\n\nThe king shouted out, \"O Tom with the Goat-skin, take away that\nterrible wolf, and you must have all my daughter.\"\n\nBut Tom didn't mind him a bit. He pulled out his flute and began to\nplay like vengeance; and dickens a man or boy in the yard but began\nshovelling away heel and toe, and the wolf himself was obliged to get\non his hind legs and dance \"Tatther Jack Walsh,\" along with the rest.\nA good deal of the people got inside, and shut the doors, the way the\nhairy fellow wouldn't pin them; but Tom kept playing, and the\noutsiders kept dancing and shouting, and the wolf kept dancing and\nroaring with the pain his legs were giving him; and all the time he\nhad 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\nthe other on Tom, to see if he would give him leave to eat him. But\nTom shook his head, and never stopped the tune, and Redhead never\nstopped dancing and bawling, and the wolf dancing and roaring one leg\nup and the other down, and he ready to drop out of his standing from\nfair tiresomeness.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nWhen the princess seen that there was no fear of any one being kilt,\nshe was so divarted by the stew that Redhead was in, that she gave\nanother great laugh; and well become Tom, out he cried, \"King of\nDublin, I have two halves of your daughter.\"\n\n\"Oh, halves or alls,\" says the king, \"put away that divil of a wolf,\nand we'll see about it.\"\n\nSo Tom put his flute in his pocket, and says he to the baste that was\nsittin' on his currabingo ready to faint, \"Walk off to your mountain,\nmy fine fellow, and live like a respectable baste; and if ever I find\nyou within seven miles of any town, I'll----\"\n\nHe said no more, but spit in his fist, and gave a flourish of his\nclub. It was all the poor divil of a wolf wanted: he put his tail\nbetween his legs, and took to his pumps without looking at man or\nmortal, and neither sun, moon, nor stars ever saw him in sight of\nDublin again.\n\nAt dinner every one laughed but the foxy fellow; and sure enough he\nwas laying out how he'd settle poor Tom next day.\n\n\"Well, to be sure!\" says he, \"King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's\nthe Danes moidhering us to no end. Deuce run to Lusk wid 'em! and if\nany one can save us from 'em, it is this gentleman with the goat-skin.\nThere is a flail hangin' on the collar-beam in hell, and neither Dane\nnor devil can stand before it.\"\n\n\"So,\" says Tom to the king, \"will you let me have the other half of\nthe princess if I bring you the flail?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" says the princess; \"I'd rather never be your wife than see\nyou in that danger.\"\n\nBut Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about how shabby it would look to\nreneague the adventure. So he asked which way he was to go, and\nRedhead directed him.\n\nWell, he travelled and travelled, till he came in sight of the walls\nof hell; and, bedad, before he knocked at the gates, he rubbed himself\nover with the greenish ointment. When he knocked, a hundred little\nimps popped their heads out through the bars, and axed him what he\nwanted.\n\n\"I want to speak to the big divil 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.\n\n\"My business isn't much,\" says Tom. \"I only came for the loan of that\nflail that I see hanging on the collar-beam, for the king of Dublin to\ngive a thrashing to the Danes.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says the other, \"the Danes is much better customers to me; but\nsince you walked so far I won't refuse. Hand that flail,\" says he to a\nyoung imp; and he winked the far-off eye at the same time. So, while\nsome were barring the gates, the young devil climbed up, and took down\nthe flail that had the hand-staff and booltheen both made out of\nred-hot iron. The little vagabond was grinning to think how it would\nburn the hands o' Tom, but the dickens a burn it made on him, no more\nnor if it was a good oak sapling.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\"Thankee,\" says Tom. \"Now would you open the gate for a body, and I'll\ngive you no more trouble.\"\n\n\"Oh, tramp!\" says Ould Nick; \"is that the way? It is easier getting\ninside them gates than getting out again. Take that tool from him, and\ngive him a dose of the oil of stirrup.\"\n\nSo one fellow put out his claws to seize on the flail, but Tom give\nhim such a welt of it on the side of the head that he broke off one of\nhis horns, and made him roar like a devil as he was. Well, they rushed\nat Tom, but he gave them, little and big, such a thrashing as they\ndidn't forget for a while. At last says the ould thief of all, rubbing\nhis elbow, \"Let the fool out; and woe to whoever lets him in again,\ngreat or small.\"\n\nSo out marched Tom, and away with him, without minding the shouting\nand cursing they kept up at him from the tops of the walls; and when\nhe got home to the big bawn of the palace, there never was such\nrunning and racing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his\nstory told, he laid down the flail on the stone steps, and bid no one\nfor their lives to touch it. If the king, and queen, and princess,\nmade much of him before, they made ten times more of him now; but\nRedhead, the mean scruff-hound, stole over, and thought to catch hold\nof the flail to make an end of him. His fingers hardly touched it,\nwhen he let a roar out of him as if heaven and earth were coming\ntogether, and kept flinging his arms about and dancing, that it was\npitiful to look at him. Tom ran at him as soon as he could rise,\ncaught his hands in his own two, and rubbed them this way and that,\nand the burning pain left them before you could reckon one. Well, the\npoor fellow between the pain that was only just gone, and the comfort\nhe was in, had the comicalest face that you ever see, it was such a\nmixtherum-gatherum of laughing and crying. Everybody burst out a\nlaughing--the princess could not stop no more than the rest; and then\nsays Tom, \"Now, ma'am, if there were fifty halves of you, I hope\nyou'll give me them all.\"\n\nWell, the princess looked at her father, and by my word, she came over\nto Tom, and put her two delicate hands into his two rough ones, and I\nwish it was myself was in his shoes that day!\n\nTom would not bring the flail into the palace. You may be sure no\nother body went near it; and when the early-risers were passing next\nmorning, they found two long clefts in the stone, where it was after\nburning itself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far. But a\nmessenger came in at noon, and said that the Danes were so frightened\nwhen they heard of the flail coming into Dublin that they got into\ntheir ships and sailed away.\n\nWell, I suppose, before they were married, Tom got some man, like Pat\nMara of Tomenine, to learn him the \"principles of politeness,\"\nfluxions, gunnery and fortification, decimal fractions, practice, and\nthe rule of three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a\nconversation with the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time\nlearning them sciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that\nhis mother never more saw any want till the end of her days.\n\n[Illustration: MAN OR WOMAN\n\nBOY OR GIRL\n\nTHAT READS WHAT FOLLOWS\n\n3 TIMES\n\nSHALL FALL ASLEEP\n\nAN HUNDRED YEARS\n\nJOHN D BATTEN DREW THIS: AUG 29TH 1891\n\nGOOD-NIGHT. ]\n\n\n\n\nNotes and References\n\n\nIt may be as well to give the reader some account of the enormous\nextent of the Celtic folk-tales in existence. I reckon these to extend\nto 2000, though only about 250 are in print. The former number exceeds\nthat known in France, Italy, Germany, and Russia, where collection has\nbeen most active, and is only exceeded by the MS. collection of\nFinnish folk-tales at Helsingfors, said to exceed 12,000. As will be\nseen, this superiority of the Celts is due to the phenomenal and\npatriotic activity of one man, the late J. F. Campbell, of Islay,\nwhose _Popular Tales_ and MS. collections (partly described by Mr.\nAlfred Nutt in _Folk-Lore_, i., 369-83) contain references to no less\nthan 1281 tales (many of them, of course, variants and scraps). Celtic\nfolk-tales, while more numerous, are also the oldest of the tales of\nmodern European races; some of them--_e. g._, \"Connla,\" in the present\nselection, occurring in the oldest Irish vellums. They include (1)\nfairy tales properly so-called--_i.e._, tales or anecdotes _about_\nfairies, hobgoblins, etc., told as natural occurrences; (2)\nhero-tales, stories of adventure told of national or mythical heroes;\n(3) folk-tales proper, describing marvellous adventures of otherwise\nunknown heroes, in which there is a defined plot and supernatural\ncharacters (speaking animals, giants, dwarfs, etc.); and finally (4)\ndrolls, comic anecdotes of feats of stupidity or cunning.\n\nThe collection of Celtic folk-tales began in IRELAND as early as 1825,\nwith T. Crofton Croker's _Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of\nIreland_. This contained some 38 anecdotes of the first-class\nmentioned above, anecdotes showing the belief of the Irish peasantry\nin the existence of fairies, gnomes, goblins and the like. The Grimms\ndid Croker the honour of translating part of his book, under the title\nof _Irische Elfenmarchen_. Among the novelists and tale-writers of the\nschools of Miss Edgeworth and Lever folk-tales were occasionally\nutilised, as by Carleton in his _Traits and Stories_, by S. Lover in\nhis _Legends and Stories_, and by G. Griffin in his _Tales of a\nJury-Room_. These all tell their tales in the manner of the stage\nIrishman. Chapbooks, _Royal Fairy Tales_ and _Hibernian Tales_, also\ncontained genuine folk-tales, and attracted Thackeray's attention in\nhis _Irish Sketch-Book_. The Irish Grimm, however, was Patrick\nKennedy, a Dublin bookseller, who believed in fairies, and in five\nyears (1866-71) printed about 100 folk and hero-tales and drolls\n(classes 2, 3 and 4 above) in his _Legendary Fictions of the Irish\nCelts_, 1866, _Fireside Stories of Ireland_, 1870, and _Bardic Stories\nof Ireland_, 1871; all three are now unfortunately out of print. He\ntells his stories neatly and with spirit, and retains much that is\n_volkstumlich_ in his diction. He derived his materials from the\nEnglish speaking peasantry of County Wexford, who changed from Gaelic\nto English while story-telling was in full vigour, and therefore\ncarried over the stories with the change of language. Lady Wilde has\ntold many folk-tales very effectively in her _Ancient Legends of\nIreland_, 1887. More recently two collectors have published stories\ngathered from peasants of the West and North who can only speak\nGaelic. These are an American gentleman named Curtin, _Myths and\nFolk-Tales of Ireland_, 1890, and Dr. Douglas Hyde who has published\nin _Beside the Fire_, 1891, spirited English versions of some of the\nstories he had published in the original Irish in his _Leabhar\nSgeulaigheachta_, Dublin, 1889. Miss Maclintock has a large MS.\ncollection, part of which has appeared in various periodicals; and\nMessrs. Larminie and D. Fitzgerald are known to have much story\nmaterial in their possession.\n\nBut beside these more modern collections there exist in old and middle\nIrish a large number of hero-tales (class 2) which formed the staple\nof the old _ollamhs_ or bards. Of these tales of \"cattle-liftings,\nelopements, battles, voyages, courtships, caves, lakes, feasts,\nsieges, and eruptions,\" a bard of even the fourth class had to know\nseven fifties, presumably one for each day of the year. Sir William\nTemple knew of a north-country gentleman of Ireland who was sent to\nsleep every evening with a fresh tale from his bard. The _Book of\nLeinster_, an Irish vellum of the twelfth century, contains a list of\n189 of these hero-tales, many of which are extant to this day; E.\nO'Curry gives the list in the Appendix to his _MS. Materials of Irish\nHistory_. Another list of about 70 is given in the preface to the\nthird volume of the Ossianic Society's publications. Dr. Joyce\npublished a few of the more celebrated of these in _Old Celtic\nRomances_; others appeared in _Atlantis_ (see notes on \"Deirdre\")\nothers in Kennedy's _Bardic Stories_, mentioned above.\n\nTurning to SCOTLAND, we must put aside Chambers's _Popular Rhymes of\nScotland_, 1842, which contains for the most part folk-tales common\nwith those of England rather than those peculiar to the\nGaelic-speaking Scots. The first name here in time as in importance is\nthat of J. F. Campbell, of Islay. His four volumes, _Popular Tales of\nthe West Highlands_ (Edinburgh, 1860-2, recently republished by the\nIslay Association), contain some 120 folk and hero-tales, told with\nstrict adherence to the language of the narrators, which is given with\na literal, a rather too literal, English version. This careful\naccuracy has given an un-English air to his versions, and has\nprevented them attaining their due popularity. What Campbell has\npublished represents only a tithe of what he collected. At the end of\nthe fourth volume he gives a list of 791 tales, &c., collected by him\nor his assistants in the two years 1859-61; and in his MS. collections\nat Edinburgh are two other lists containing 400 more tales. Only a\nportion of these are in the Advocates' Library; the rest, if extant,\nmust be in private hands, though they are distinctly of national\nimportance and interest.\n\nCampbell's influence has been effective of recent years in Scotland.\nThe _Celtic Magazine_ (vols. xii. and xiii.), while under the\neditorship of Mr. MacBain, contained several folk and hero-tales in\nGaelic, and so did the _Scottish Celtic Review_. These were from the\ncollections of Messrs. Campbell of Tiree, Carmichael, and K. Macleod.\nRecently Lord Archibald Campbell has shown laudable interest in the\npreservation of Gaelic folk and hero-tales. Under his auspices a whole\nseries of handsome volumes, under the general title of _Waifs and\nStrays of Celtic Tradition_, has been recently published, four volumes\nhaving already appeared, each accompanied by notes by Mr. Alfred Nutt,\nwhich form the most important aid to the study of Celtic Folk-Tales\nsince Campbell himself. Those to the second volume in particular\n(Tales collected by Rev. D. MacInnes) fill 100 pages, with condensed\ninformation on all aspects of the subject dealt with in the light of\nthe most recent research on the European folk-tales as well as on\nCeltic literature. Thanks to Mr. Nutt, Scotland is just now to the\nfore in the collection and study of the British Folk-Tale.\n\nWALES makes a poor show beside Ireland and Scotland. Sikes's _British\nGoblins_, and the tales collected by Prof. Rhys in _Y Cymmrodor_,\nvols. ii.-vi., are mainly of our first-class fairy anecdotes. Borrow,\nin his _Wild Wales_, refers to a collection of fables in a journal\ncalled _The Greal_, while the _Cambrian Quarterly Magazine_ for 1830\nand 1831 contained a few fairy anecdotes, including a curious version\nof the \"Brewery of Eggshells,\" from the Welsh. In the older\nliterature, the _Iolo MSS._, published by the Welsh MSS. Society, has\na few fables and apologues, and the charming _Mabinogion_, translated\nby Lady Guest, has tales that can trace back to the twelfth century\nand are on the border-line between folk-tales and hero-tales.\n\nCORNWALL and MAN are even worse off than Wales. Hunt's _Popular\nRomances of the West of England_ has nothing distinctively Celtic, and\nit is only by a chance Lhuyd chose a folk-tale as his specimen of\nCornish in his _Archaeologia Britannica_ 1709 (see _Tale of Ivan_). The\nManx folk-tales published, including the most recent by Mr. Moore, in\nhis _Folk-Lore of the Isle of Man_, 1891, are mainly fairy anecdotes\nand legends.\n\nFrom this survey of the field of Celtic folk-tales it is clear that\nIreland and Scotland provide the lion's share. The interesting thing\nto notice is the remarkable similarity of Scotch and Irish folk-tales.\nThe continuity of language and culture between these two divisions of\nGaeldom has clearly brought about this identity of their folk-tales.\nAs will be seen from the following notes, the tales found in Scotland\ncan almost invariably be paralleled by those found in Ireland, and\n_vice versa_. The result is a striking confirmation of the general\ntruth that the folk-lores of different countries resemble one another\nin proportion to their contiguity and to the continuity of language\nand culture between them.\n\nAnother point of interest in these Celtic folk-tales is the light they\nthrow upon the relation of hero-tales and folk-tales (classes 2 and 3\nabove). Tales told of Finn or Cuchulainn, and therefore coming under\nthe definition of hero-tales, are found elsewhere told of anonymous or\nunknown heroes. The question is, were the folk-tales the earliest, and\nwere they localised and applied to the heroes, or were they heroic\nsagas generalised and applied to an unknown [Greek: _tis_]? All the\nevidence, in my opinion, inclines to the former view, which, as\napplied to Celtic folk-tales, is of very great literary importance;\nfor it is becoming more and more recognised, thanks chiefly to the\nadmirable work of Mr. Alfred Nutt, in his _Studies on the Holy Grail_,\nthat the outburst of European Romance in the twelfth century was due,\nin large measure, to an infusion of Celtic hero-tales into the\nliterature of the Romance-speaking nations. Now the remarkable thing\nis, how these hero-tales have lingered on in oral tradition even to\nthe present day. (See a marked case in \"Deirdre.\") We may, therefore,\nhope to see considerable light thrown on the most characteristic\nspiritual product of the Middle Ages, the literature of Romance and\nthe spirit of chivalry, from the Celtic folk-tales of the present day.\nMr. Alfred Nutt has already shown this to be true of a special section\nof Romance literature, that connected with the Holy Grail, and it\nseems probable that further study will extend the field of application\nof this new method of research.\n\nThe Celtic folk-tale again has interest in retaining many traits of\nprimitive conditions among the early inhabitants of these isles which\nare preserved by no other record. Take, for instance, the calm\nassumption of polygamy in \"Gold-tree and Silver-tree.\" That represents\na state of feeling that is decidedly pre-Christian The belief in an\neternal soul, \"Life Index,\" recently monographed by Mr. Frazer in his\n\"Golden Bough,\" also finds expression in a couple of the tales (see\nnotes on \"Sea-Maiden\" and \"Fair, Brown, and Trembling\"), and so with\nmany other primitive ideas.\n\nCare, however, has to be taken in using folk-tales as evidence for\nprimitive practice among the nations where they are found. For the\ntales may have come from another race--that is, for example, probably\nthe case with \"Gold-tree and Silver-tree\" (see Notes). Celtic tales\nare of peculiar interest in this connection, as they afford one of the\nbest fields for studying the problem of diffusion, the most pressing\nof the problems of the folk-tales just at present, at least in my\nopinion. The Celts are at the further-most end of Europe. Tales that\ntravelled to them could go no further, and must therefore be the last\nlinks in the chain.\n\nFor all these reasons, then, Celtic folk-tales are of high scientific\ninterest to the folk-lorist, while they yield to none in imaginative\nand literary qualities. In any other country of Europe some national\nmeans of recording them would have long ago been adopted. M. Luzel,\n_e. g._, was commissioned by the French Minister of Public Instruction\nto collect and report on the Breton folk-tales. England, here as\nelsewhere, without any organized means of scientific research in the\nhistorical and philological sciences, has to depend on the enthusiasm\nof a few private individuals for work of national importance. Every\nCelt of these islands or in the Gaeldom beyond the sea, and every\nCelt-lover among the English-speaking nations, should regard it as one\nof the duties of the race to put its traditions on record in the few\nyears that now remain before they will cease for ever to be living in\nthe hearts and memories of the humbler members of the race.\n\nIn the following Notes I have done as in my _English Fairy Tales_, and\ngiven, first, the _sources_ whence I drew the tales, then, _parallels_\nat length for the British Isles, with bibliographical references for\nparallels abroad, and finally, _remarks_ where the tales seemed to\nneed them. In these I have not wearied or worried the reader with\nconventional tall talk about the Celtic genius and its manifestations\nin the folk-tale; on that topic one can only repeat Matthew Arnold\nwhen at his best, in his _Celtic Literature_. Nor have I attempted to\ndeal with the more general aspects of the study of the Celtic\nfolk-tale. For these I must refer to Mr. Nutt's series of papers in\n_The Celtic Magazine_, vol. xii., or, still better, to the masterly\nintroductions he is contributing to the series of _Waifs and Strays of\nCeltic Tradition_, and to Dr. Hyde's _Beside the Fireside_. In my\nremarks I have mainly confined myself to discussing the origin and\ndiffusion of the various tales, so far as anything definite could be\nlearnt or conjectured on that subject.\n\nBefore proceeding to the Notes, I may \"put in,\" as the lawyers say, a\nfew summaries of the results reached in them. Of the twenty-six tales,\ntwelve (i., ii., v., viii., ix., x., xi., xv., xvi., xvii., xix.,\nxxiv.) have Gaelic originals; three (vii., xiii., xxv.) are from the\nWelsh; one (xxii.) from the now extinct Cornish; one an adaptation of\nan English poem founded on a Welsh tradition (xxi., \"Gellert\"); and\nthe remaining nine are what may be termed Anglo-Irish. Regarding their\ndiffusion among the Celts, twelve are both Irish and Scotch (iv., v.,\nvi., ix., x., xiv.-xvii., xix., xx., xxiv.); one (xxv.) is common to\nIrish and Welsh; and one (xxii.) to Irish and Cornish; seven are found\nonly among the Celts in Ireland (i.-iii., xii., xviii., xxii., xxvi.);\ntwo (viii., xi.) among the Scotch; and three (vii., xiii., xxi) among\nthe Welsh. Finally, so far as we can ascertain their origin, four (v.,\nxvi., xxi., xxii.) are from the East; five (vi., x., xiv., xx., xxv.)\nare European drolls; three of the romantic tales seem to have been\nimported (vii., ix., xix.); while three others are possibly Celtic\nexportations to the Continent (xv., xvii., xxiv.), though the last may\nhave previously come thence; the remaining eleven are, as far as\nknown, original to Celtic lands. Somewhat the same result would come\nout, I believe, as the analysis of any representative collection of\nfolk-tales of any European district.\n\n\nI. CONNLA AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN.\n\n_Source._--From the old Irish \"Echtra Condla chaim maic Cuind\nChetchathaig\" of the _Leabhar na h-Uidhre_ (\"Book of the Dun Cow\"),\nwhich must have been written before 1106, when its scribe Maelmori\n(\"Servant of Mary\") was murdered. The original is given by Windisch\nin his _Irish Grammar_. p. 120, also in the _Trans. Kilkenny Archaeol.\nSoc._ for 1874. A fragment occurs in a Rawlinson MS., described by Dr.\nW. Stokes, _Tripartite Life_, p. xxxvi. I have used the translation of\nProf. Zimmer in his _Keltische Beitrage_, ii. (_Zeits. f. deutsches\nAltertum_, Bd. xxxiii., 262-4). Dr. Joyce has a somewhat florid\nversion in his _Old Celtic Romances_, from which I have borrowed a\ntouch or two. I have neither extenuated nor added aught but the last\nsentence of the Fairy Maiden's last speech. Part of the original is in\nmetrical form, so that the whole is of the _cante-fable_ species,\nwhich I believe to be the original form of the folk-tale (_Cf. Eng.\nFairy Tales_, notes, p. 240, and _infra_, p. 257).\n\n_Parallels._--Prof. Zimmer's paper contains three other accounts of\nthe _terra repromissionis_ in the Irish sagas, one of them being the\nsimilar adventure of Cormac, the nephew of Connla, or Condla Ruad as\nhe should be called. The fairy apple of gold occurs in Cormac Mac\nArt's visit to the Brug of Manannan (Nutt's _Holy Grail_, 193).\n\n_Remarks._--Conn, the hundred-fighter, had the head-kingship of\nIreland 123-157 A. D., according to the _Annals of the Four Masters_,\ni., 105. On the day of his birth the five great roads from Tara to all\nparts of Ireland were completed: one of them from Dublin is still\nused. Connaught is said to have been named after him, but this is\nscarcely consonant with Joyce's identification with Ptolemy's\n_Nagnatai_ (_Irish Local Names_, i., 75). But there can be little\ndoubt of Conn's existence as a powerful ruler in Ireland in the second\ncentury. The historic existence of Connla seems also to be\nauthenticated by the reference to him as Conly, the eldest son of\nConn, in the Annals of Clonmacnoise. As Conn was succeeded by his\nthird son, Art Enear, Connla was either slain or disappeared during\nhis father's lifetime. Under these circumstances it is not unlikely\nthat our legend grew up within the century after Conn--_i. e._, during\nthe latter half of the second century.\n\nAs regards the present form of it, Prof. Zimmer (_l. c._ 261-2) places\nit in the seventh century. It has clearly been touched up by a\nChristian hand, who introduced the reference to the day of judgment\nand to the waning power of the Druids. But nothing turns upon this\ninterpolation, so that it is likely that even the present form of the\nlegend is pre-Christian--_i. e._, for Ireland, pre-Patrician, before\nthe fifth century.\n\nThe tale of Connla is thus the earliest fairy tale of modern Europe.\nBesides this interest it contains an early account of one of the most\ncharacteristic Celtic conceptions, that of the earthly Paradise, the\nIsle of Youth, _Tir na n-Og_. This has impressed itself on the\nEuropean imagination; in the Arthuriad it is represented by the Vale\nof Avalon, and as represented in the various Celtic visions of the\nfuture life, it forms one of the main sources of Dante's _Divina\nCommedia_. It is possible, too, I think, that the Homeric Hesperides\nand the Fortunate Isles of the ancients had a Celtic origin (as is\nwell known, the early place-names of Europe are predominantly Celtic).\nI have found, I believe, a reference to the conception in one of the\nearliest passages in the classics dealing with the Druids. Lucan, in\nhis _Pharsalia_ (i, 450-8), addresses them in these high terms of\nreverence:\n\n    Et vos barbaricos ritus, moremque sinistrum,\n    Sacrorum, Druidae, positis repetistis ab armis,\n    Solis nosse Deos et coeli numera vobis\n    Aut solis nescire datum; nemora alta remotis\n    Incolitis lucis. Vobis auctoribus umbrae,\n    Non tacitas Erebi sedes, Ditisque profundi,\n    Pallida regna petunt: _regit idem spiritus artus_\n    _Orbe alio_: longae, canitis si cognita, vitae\n    Mors media est.\n\nThe passage certainly seems to me to imply a different conception from\nthe ordinary classical views of the life after death, the dark and\ndismal plains of Erebus peopled with ghosts; and the passage I have\nitalicised would chime in well with the conception of a continuance of\nyouth (_idem spiritus_) in Tir na n-Og (_orbe alio_).\n\nOne of the most pathetic, beautiful, and typical scenes in Irish\nlegend is the return of Ossian from Tir na n-Og, and his interview\nwith St. Patrick. The old faith and the new, the old order of things\nand that which replaced it, meet in two of the most characteristic\nproducts of the Irish imagination (for the Patrick of legend is as\nmuch a legendary figure as Oisin himself). Ossian had gone away to Tir\nna n-Og with the fairy Niamh under very much of the same circumstances\nas Condla Ruad; time flies in the land of eternal youth, and when\nOssian returns, after a year, as he thinks, more than three centuries\nhad passed, and St. Patrick had just succeeded in introducing the new\nfaith. The contrast of Past and Present has never been more vividly or\nbeautifully represented.\n\n\nII. GULEESH.\n\n_Source._--From Dr. Douglas Hyde's _Beside the Fire_, 104-28, where it\nis a translation from the same author's _Leabhar Sgeulaighteachta_.\nDr. Hyde got it from one Shamus O'Hart, a game-keeper of French-park.\nOne is curious to know how far the very beautiful landscapes in the\nstory are due to Dr. Hyde, who confesses to have only taken notes. I\nhave omitted a journey to Rome, paralleled, as Mr. Nutt has pointed\nout, by the similar one of Michael Scott (_Waifs and Strays_, i., 46),\nand not bearing on the main lines of the story. I have also dropped a\npart of Guleesh's name; in the original he is \"Guleesh na guss dhu,\"\nGuleesh of the black feet, because he never washed them; nothing turns\non this in the present form of the story, but one cannot but suspect\nit was of importance in the original form.\n\n_Parallels._--Dr. Hyde refers to two short stories, \"Midnight Ride\"\n(to Rome) and \"Stolen Bride,\" in Lady Wilde's _Ancient Legends_. But\nthe closest parallel is given by Miss Maclintock's Donegal tale of\n\"Jamie Freel and the Young Lady,\" reprinted in Mr. Yeats' _Irish Folk\nand Fairy Tales_, 52-9. In the _Hibernian Tales_, \"Mann o' Malaghan\nand the Fairies,\" as reported by Thackeray in the _Irish Sketch-Book_,\nc., xvi., begins like \"Guleesh.\"\n\n\nIII. FIELD OF BOLIAUNS.\n\n_Source._--T. Crofton Croker's _Fairy Legends of the South of\nIreland_, ed. Wright, pp. 135-9. In the original the gnome is a\nCluricaune, but as a friend of Mr. Batten's has recently heard the\ntale told of a Lepracaun, I have adopted the better known title.\n\n_Remarks._--_Lepracaun_ is from the Irish _leith bhrogan_, the one\nshoemaker (_cf._ brogue), according to Dr. Hyde. He is generally seen\n(and to this day, too) working at a single shoe, _cf._ Croker's story,\n\"Little Shoe,\" _l. c._ pp. 142-4. According to a writer in the _Revue\nCeltique_, i., 256, the true etymology is _luchor pan_, \"little man.\"\nDr. Joyce also gives the same etymology in _Irish Names and Places_,\ni., 183, where he mentions several places named after them.\n\n\nIV. HORNED WOMEN.\n\n_Source._--Lady Wilde's _Ancient Legends_, the first story.\n\n_Parallels._--A similar version was given by Mr. D. Fitzgerald in the\n_Revue Celtique_, iv., 181, but without the significant and impressive\nhorns. He refers to _Cornhill_ for February, 1877, and to Campbell's\n\"Sauntraigh,\" No. xxii., _Pop. Tales_, ii., 52-4, in which a \"woman of\npeace\" (a fairy) borrows a woman's kettle and returns it with flesh in\nit, but at last the woman refuses, and is persecuted by the fairy. I\nfail to see much analogy. A much closer one is in Campbell, ii., p.\n63, where fairies are got rid of by shouting, \"Dunveilg is on fire.\"\nThe familiar \"lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home, your house is on\nfire and your children at home,\" will occur to English minds. Another\nversion in Kennedy's _Legendary Fictions_, p. 164, \"Black Stairs on\nFire.\"\n\n_Remarks._--Slievenamon is a famous fairy palace in Tipperary\naccording to Dr. Joyce, _l. c._ i., 178. It was the hill on which Finn\nstood when he gave himself as the prize to the Irish maiden who should\nrun up it quickest. Grainne won him with dire consequences, as all the\nworld knows or ought to know (Kennedy, _Legend Fict._, 222, \"How Fion\nselected a Wife\").\n\n\nV. CONALL YELLOWCLAW.\n\n_Source._--Campbell, _Pop. Tales of West Highlands_, No. v. pp. 105-8.\n\"Conall Cra Bhuidhe.\" I have softened the third episode, which is\nsomewhat too ghastly in the original. I have translated \"Cra Bhuide\"\nYellowclaw on the strength of Campbell's etymology, _l. c._ p. 158.\n\n_Parallels._--Campbell's vi. and vii. are two variants showing how\nwide-spread the story is in Gaelic Scotland. It occurs in Ireland\nwhere it has been printed in the chapbook, _Hibernian Tales_, as the\n\"Black Thief and the Knight of the Glen,\" the Black Thief being\nConall, and the knight corresponding to the King of Lochlan (it is\ngiven in Mr. Lang's _Red Fairy Book_). Here it attracted the notice of\nThackeray, who gives a good abstract of it in his _Irish Sketch-Book_,\nch. xvi. He thinks it \"worthy of the Arabian Nights, as wild and odd\nas an Eastern tale.\" \"That fantastic way of bearing testimony to the\nprevious tale by producing an old woman who says the tale is not only\ntrue, but who was the very old woman who lived in the giant's castle\nis almost\" (why \"almost,\" Mr. Thackeray?) \"a stroke of genius.\" The\nincident of the giant's breath occurs in the story of Koisha Kayn,\nMacInnes's _Tales_, p. 241, as well as the Polyphemus one, _ibid._\n265. One-eyed giants are frequent in Celtic folk-tales (_e. g._, in\n_The Pursuit of Diarmaid_ and in the _Mabinogi_ of Owen).\n\n_Remarks._--Thackeray's reference to the \"Arabian Nights\" is\nespecially apt, as the tale of Conall is a framework story like _The\n1001 Nights_, the three stories told by Conall being framed, as it\nwere, in a fourth which is nominally the real story. This method\nemployed by the Indian story-tellers and from them adopted by\nBoccaccio and thence into all European literatures (Chaucer, Queen\nMargaret, &c.), is generally thought to be peculiar to the East, and\nto be ultimately derived from the Jatakas or Birth Stories of the\nBuddha who tells his adventures in former incarnations. Here we find\nit in Celtdom, and it occurs also in \"The Story-teller at Fault\" in\nthis collection, and the story of _Koisha Kayn_ in MacInnes's\n_Argyllshire Tales_, a variant of which, collected but not published\nby Campbell, has no less than nineteen tales enclosed in a framework.\nThe question is whether the method was adopted independently in\nIreland, or was due to foreign influences. Confining ourselves to\n\"Conall Yellowclaw,\" it seems not unlikely that the whole story is an\nimportation. For the second episode is clearly the story of Polyphemus\nfrom the Odyssey which was known in Ireland perhaps as early as the\ntenth century (see Prof. K. Meyer's edition of _Merugud Uilix maic\nLeirtis_, Pref. p. xii). It also crept into the voyages of Sindbad in\nthe _Arabian Nights_. And as told in the Highlands it bears comparison\neven with the Homeric version. As Mr. Nutt remarks (_Celt. Mag._ xii.)\nthe address of the giant to the buck is as effective as that of\nPolyphemus to his ram. The narrator, James Wilson, was a blind man who\nwould naturally feel the pathos of the address; \"it comes from the\nheart of the narrator;\" says Campbell (_l. c._, 148), \"it is the\nornament which his mind hangs on the frame of the story.\"\n\n\nVI. HUDDEN AND DUDDEN.\n\n_Source._--From oral tradition, by the late D. W. Logie, taken down by\nMr. Alfred Nutt.\n\n_Parallels._--Lover has a tale, \"Little Fairly,\" obviously derived\nfrom this folk-tale; and there is another very similar, \"Darby Darly.\"\nAnother version of our tale is given under the title \"Donald and his\nNeighbours,\" in the chapbook _Hibernian Tales_, whence it was\nreprinted by Thackeray in his _Irish Sketch-Book_, c., xvi. This has\nthe incident of the \"accidental matricide,\" on which see Prof. R.\nKohler on Gonzenbach _Sicil. Marchen_, ii., 224. No less than four\ntales of Campbell are of this type (_Pop. Tales_, ii., 218-31). M.\nCosquin in his _Contes populaires de Lorraine_, the storehouse of\n\"storiology,\" has elaborate excursuses in this class of tales attached\nto his Nos. x. and xx. Mr. Clouston discusses it also in his _Pop.\nTales_, ii. 229-88. Both these writers are inclined to trace the chief\nincidents to India. It is to be observed that one of the earliest\npopular drolls in Europe, _Unibos_, a Latin poem of the eleventh, and\nperhaps the tenth, century, has the main outlines of the story, the\nfraudulent sale of worthless objects and the escape from the sack\ntrick. The same story occurs in Straparola, the European earliest\ncollection of folk-tales in the sixteenth century. On the other hand,\nthe gold sticking to the scales is familiar to us in _Ali Baba_.\n(_Cf._ Cosquin, _l. c._, i., 225-6, 229).\n\n_Remarks._--It is indeed curious to find, as M. Cosquin points out, a\ncunning fellow tied in a sack getting out by crying, \"I won't marry\nthe princess,\" in countries so far apart as Ireland, Sicily\n(Gonzenbach, No. 71), Afghanistan (Thorburn, _Bannu_, p. 184), and\nJamaica (_Folk-Lore Record_, iii., 53). It is indeed impossible to\nthink these are disconnected, and for drolls of this kind a good case\nhas been made out for the borrowing hypotheses by M. Cosquin and Mr.\nClouston. Who borrowed from whom is another and more difficult\nquestion which has to be judged on its merits in each individual case.\n\nThis is a type of Celtic folk-tales which are European in spread, have\nanalogies with the East, and can only be said to be Celtic by adoption\nand by colouring. They form a distinct section of the tales told by\nthe Celts, and must be represented in any characteristic selection.\nOther examples are xi., xv., xx., and perhaps xxii.\n\n\nVII. SHEPHERD OF MYDDVAI.\n\n_Source._--Preface to the edition of \"The Physicians of Myddvai;\"\ntheir prescription-book, from the Red Book of Hergest, published by\nthe Welsh MS. Society in 1861. The legend is not given in the Red\nBook, but from oral tradition by Mr. W. Rees, p. xxi. As this is the\nfirst of the Welsh tales in this book it may be as well to give the\nreader such guidance as I can afford him on the intricacies of Welsh\npronunciation, especially with regard to the mysterious _w_'s and\n_y_'s of Welsh orthography. For _w_ substitute double _o_, as in\n\"_fool_\" and for _y_, the short _u_ in b_u_t, and as near approach to\nCymric speech will be reached as is possible for the outlander. It may\nbe added that double _d_ equals _th_, and double _l_ is something like\n_Fl_, as Shakespeare knew in calling his Welsh soldier Fluellen\n(Llewelyn). Thus \"Meddygon Myddvai\" would be _Anglice_ \"Methugon\nMuthvai.\"\n\n_Parallels._--Other versions of the legend of the Van Pool are given\nin _Cambro-Briton_, ii., 315; W. Sikes, _British Goblins_, p. 40. Mr.\nE. Sidney Hartland has discussed these and others in a set of papers\ncontributed to the first volume of _The Archaeological Review_ (now\nincorporated into _Folk-Lore_), the substance of which is now given in\nhis _Science of Fairy Tales_, 274-332. (See also the references given\nin _Revue Celtique_, iv., 187 and 268). Mr. Hartland gives there an\necumenical collection of parallels to the several incidents that go to\nmake up our story--(1) The bride-capture of the Swan-Maiden, (2) the\nrecognition of the bride, (3) the taboo against causeless blows, (4)\ndoomed to be broken, and (5) disappearance of the Swan-Maiden, with\n(6) her return as Guardian Spirit to her descendants. In each case Mr.\nHartland gives what he considers to be the most primitive form of the\nincident. With reference to our present tale, he comes to the\nconclusion, if I understand him aright, that the lake-maiden was once\nregarded as a local divinity. The physicians of Myddvai were historic\npersonages, renowned for their medical skill for some six centuries,\ntill the race died out with John Jones, _fl._ 1743. To explain their\nskill and uncanny knowledge of herbs, the folk traced them to a\nsupernatural ancestress, who taught them their craft in a place still\ncalled Pant-y-Meddygon (\"Doctors' Dingle\"). Their medical knowledge\ndid not require any such remarkable origin, as Mr. Hartland has shown\nin a paper \"On Welsh Folk-Medicine,\" contributed to _Y Cymmrodor_,\nvol. xii. On the other hand, the Swan-Maiden type of story is\nwide-spread through the Old World. Mr. Morris's \"Land East of the Moon\nand West of the Sun,\" in _The Earthly Paradise_, is taken from the\nNorse version. Parallels are accumulated by the Grimms, ii., 432;\nKohler on Gonzenbach, ii., 20; or Blade, 149; Stokes's _Indian Fairy\nTales_, 243, 276; and Messrs. Jones and Koopf, _Magyar Folk-Tales_,\n362-5. It remains to be proved that one of these versions did not\ntravel to Wales, and become there localised. We shall see other\ninstances of such localisation or specialisation of general legends.\n\n\nVIII. THE SPRIGHTLY TAILOR.\n\n_Source._--_Notes and Queries_ for December 21, 1861, to which it was\ncommunicated by \"Cuthbert Bede,\" the author of _Verdant Green_, who\ncollected it in Cantyre.\n\n_Parallels._--Miss Dempster gives the same story in her Sutherland\nCollection, No. vii. (referred to by Campbell in his Gaelic list, at\nend of vol. iv.); Mrs. John Faed, I am informed by a friend, knows the\nGaelic version, as told by her nurse in her youth. Chambers's \"Strange\nVisitor,\" _Pop. Rhymes of Scotland_, 64, of which I gave an Anglicised\nversion in my _English Fairy Tales_, No. xxxii., is clearly a variant.\n\n_Remarks._--The Macdonald of Saddell Castle was a very great man\nindeed. Once, when dining with the Lord-Lieutenant, an apology was\nmade to him for placing him so far away from the head of the table.\n\"Where the Macdonald sits,\" was the proud response, \"there is the head\nof the table.\"\n\n\nIX. DEIRDRE.\n\n_Source._--_Celtic Magazine_, xiii., p. 69, _seq._ I have abridged\nsomewhat, made the sons of Fergus all faithful instead of two\ntraitors, and omitted an incident in the house of the wild men called\nhere \"strangers.\" The original Gaelic was given in the _Transactions\nof the Inverness Gaelic Society_ for 1887, p. 241, _seq._, by Mr.\nCarmichael. I have inserted Deirdre's \"Lament\" from the _Book of\nLeinster_.\n\n_Parallels._--This is one of the three most sorrowful Tales of Erin,\n(the other two, _Children of Lir_ and _Children of Tureen_, are given\nin Dr. Joyce's _Old Celtic Romances_), and is a specimen of the old\nheroic sagas of elopement, a list of which is given in the _Book of\nLeinster_. The \"outcast child\" is a frequent episode in folk and\nhero-tales: an instance occurs in my _English Fairy Tales_, No. xxxv.,\nand Prof. Kohler gives many others in _Archiv f. Slav. Philologie_,\ni., 288. Mr. Nutt adds tenth century Celtic parallels in _Folk-Lore_,\nvol. ii. The wooing of hero by heroine is a characteristic Celtic\ntouch. See \"Connla\" here, and other examples given by Mr. Nutt in his\nnotes to MacInnes's _Tales_. The trees growing from the lovers' graves\noccurs in the English ballad of _Lord Lovel_ and has been studied in\n_Melusine_.\n\n_Remarks._--The \"Story of Deirdre\" is a remarkable instance of the\ntenacity of oral tradition among the Celts. It has been preserved in\nno less than five versions (or six, including Macpherson's\n\"Darthula\") ranging from the twelfth to the nineteenth century. The\nearliest is in the twelfth century, _Book of Leinster_, to be dated\nabout 1140 (edited in facsimile under the auspices of the Royal Irish\nAcademy, i., 147, _seq._). Then comes a fifteenth century version,\nedited and translated by Dr. Stokes in Windisch's _Irische Texte_ II.,\nii., 109, _seq._, \"Death of the Sons of Uisnech.\" Keating in his\n_History of Ireland_ gave another version in the seventeenth century.\nThe Dublin Gaelic Society published an eighteenth century version in\ntheir _Transactions_ for 1808. And lastly we have the version before\nus, collected only a few years ago, yet agreeing in all essential\ndetails with the version of the _Book of Leinster_. Such a record is\nunique in the history of oral tradition, outside Ireland, where,\nhowever, it is quite a customary experience in the study of the\nFinn-saga. It is now recognised that Macpherson had, or could have\nhad, ample material for his _rechauffe_ of the Finn or \"Fingal\" saga.\nHis \"Darthula\" is a similar cobbling of our present story. I leave to\nCeltic specialists the task of settling the exact relations of these\nvarious texts. I content myself with pointing out the fact that in\nthese latter days of a seemingly prosaic century in these British\nIsles there has been collected from the lips of the folk a heroic\nstory like this of \"Deirdre,\" full of romantic incidents, told with\ntender feeling and considerable literary skill. No other country in\nEurope, except perhaps Russia, could provide a parallel to this living\non of Romance among the common folk. Surely it is a bounden duty of\nthose who are in a position to put on record any such utterances of\nthe folk-imagination of the Celts before it is too late.\n\n\nX. MUNACHAR AND MANACHAR.\n\n_Source._--I have combined the Irish version given by Dr. Hyde in his\n_Leabhar Sgeul._, and translated by him from Mr. Yeats's _Irish Folk\nand Fairy Tales_, and the Scotch version given in Gaelic and English\nby Campbell, No. viii.\n\n_Parallels._--Two English versions are given in my _Eng. Fairy Tales_,\nNo. iv., \"The Old Woman and her Pig,\" and xxxiv., \"The Cat and the\nMouse,\" where see notes for other variants in these isles. M.\nCosquin, in his notes to No. xxxiv., of his _Contes de Lorraine_, t.\nii., pp. 35-41, has drawn attention to an astonishing number of\nparallels scattered through all Europe and the East (_cf._, too,\nCrane, _Ital. Pop. Tales_, notes. 372-5). One of the earliest\nallusions to the jingle is in _Don Quixote_, pt. 1, c. xvi.: \"Y asi\ncomo suele decirse _el gato al rato, el rato a la cuerda, la cuerda al\npalo_, daba el arriero a Sancho, Sancho a la moza, la moza a el, el\nventero a la moza.\" As I have pointed out, it is used to this day by\nBengali women at the end of each folk-tale they recite (L. B. Day,\n_Folk-Tales of Bengal_, Pref.).\n\n_Remarks._--Two ingenious suggestions have been made as to the origin\nof this curious jingle, both connecting it with religious ceremonies:\n(1) Something very similar occurs in Chaldaic at the end of the Jewish\n_Hagada_, or domestic ritual for the Passover night. It has, however,\nbeen shown that this does not occur in early MSS. or editions, and was\nonly added at the end to amuse the children after the service, and was\ntherefore only a translation or adaptation of a current German form of\nthe jingle; (2) M. Basset, in the _Revue des Traditions populaires_,\n1890, t. v., p. 549, has suggested that it is a survival of the old\nGreek custom at the sacrifice of the Bouphonia for the priest to\ncontend that _he_ had not slain the sacred beast, the axe declares\nthat the handle did it, the handle transfers the guilt further, and so\non. This is ingenious, but fails to give any reasonable account of the\ndiffusion of the jingle in countries which have had no historic\nconnection with classical Greece.\n\n\nXI. GOLD-TREE AND SILVER-TREE.[1]\n\n_Source._--_Celtic Magazine_, xiii. 213-8, Gaelic and English from Mr.\nKenneth Macleod.\n\n_Parallels._--Mr. Macleod heard another version in which \"Gold-tree\"\n(anonymous in this variant) is bewitched to kill her father's horse,\ndog, and cock. Abroad it is the Grimms' _Schneewitchen_ (No. 53), for\nthe Continental variants of which see Kohler on Gonzenbach, _Sicil.\nMarchen_, Nos. 2-4, Grimm's notes on 53, and Crane _Ital. Pop. Tales_,\n331. No other version is known in the British Isles.\n\n[Footnote 1: Since the first issue Mr. Nutt has made a remarkable\ndiscovery with reference to this tale, which connects it with Marie de\nFrance's _Lai d'Eliduc_ (c. 1200), and renders it probable that the\ntale is originally Celtic. Mr. Nutt thinks that the German version may\nbe derived from England.]\n\n_Remarks._--It is unlikely, I should say impossible, that this tale,\nwith the incident of the dormant heroine, should have arisen\nindependently in the Highlands: it is most likely an importation from\nabroad. Yet in it occurs a most \"primitive\" incident, the bigamous\nhousehold of the hero: this is glossed over in Mr. Macleod's other\nvariant. On the \"survival\" method of investigation this would possibly\nbe used as evidence for polygamy in the Highlands. Yet if, as is\nprobable, the story came from abroad, this trait may have come with\nit, and only implies polygamy in the original home of the tale.\n\n\nXII. KING O'TOOLE AND HIS GOOSE.\n\n_Source._--S. Lover's _Stories and Legends of the Irish Peasantry_.\n\n_Remarks._--This is a moral apologue on the benefits of keeping your\nword. Yet it is told with such humour and vigour, that the moral\nglides insensibly into the heart.\n\n\nXIII. THE WOOING OF OLWEN.\n\n_Source._--The _Mabinogi_ of Kilhwch and Olwen from the translation of\nLady Guest, abridged.\n\n_Parallels._--Prof. Rhys, _Hibbert Lectures_, p. 486, considers that\nour tale is paralleled by Cuchulain's \"Wooing of Emer,\" a translation\nof which by Prof. K. Meyer appeared in the _Archaeological Review_,\nvol. i. I fail to see much analogy. On the other hand in his\n_Arthurian Legend_, p. 41, he rightly compares the tasks set by\nYspythadon to those set to Jason. They are indeed of the familiar type\nof the Bride Wager (on which see Grimm-Hunt, i., 399). The incident of\nthe three animals, old, older, and oldest, has a remarkable\nresemblance to the _Tettira Jataka_ (ed. Fausboll, No. 37, transl.\nRhys-Davids, i., p. 310 _seq._) in which the partridge, monkey, and\nelephant dispute as to their relative age, and the partridge turns out\nto have voided the seed of the Banyan-tree under which they were\nsheltered, whereas the elephant only knew it when a mere bush, and the\nmonkey had nibbled the topmost shoots. This apologue got to England at\nthe end of the twelfth century as the sixty-ninth fable, \"Wolf, Fox,\nand Dove,\" of a rhymed prose collection of \"Fox Fables\" (_Mishle\nShu'alim_), of an Oxford Jew, Berachyah Nakdan, known in the Records\nas \"Benedict le Puncteur\" (see my _Fables of AEsop_, i., p. 170).\nSimilar incidents occur in \"Jack and his Snuff-box\" in my _English\nFairy Tales_, and in Dr. Hyde's \"Well of D'Yerree-in-Dowan.\" The\nskilled companions of Kulhwych are common in European folk-tales\n(_Cf._ Cosquin, i., 123-5), and especially among the Celts (see Mr.\nNutt's note in MacInnes's _Tales_, 445-8), among whom they occur very\nearly, but not so early as Lynceus and the other skilled comrades of\nthe Argonauts.\n\n_Remarks._--The hunting of the boar Trwyth can be traced back in Welsh\ntradition at least as early as the ninth century. For it is referred\nto in the following passage of Nennius's _Historia Britonum_, ed.\nStevenson, p. 60, \"Est aliud miraculum in regione quae dicitur Buelt\n[Builth, co. Brecon] Est ibi cumulus lapidum et unus lapis\nsuper-positus super congestum cum vestigia canis in eo. Quando venatus\nest porcum Troynt [_var. lec._ Troit] impressit Cabal, qui erat canis\nArthuri militis, vestigium in lapide et Arthur postea congregavit\ncongestum lapidum sub lapide in quo erat vestigium canis sui et\nvocatur Carn Cabal.\" Curiously enough there is still a mountain called\nCarn Cabal in the district of Builth, south of Rhayader Gwy in\nBreconshire. Still more curiously a friend of Lady Guest's found on\nthis a cairn with a stone two feet long by one foot wide in which\nthere was an indentation 4 in. x 3 in. x 2 in. which could easily have\nbeen mistaken for a paw-print of a dog, as may be seen from the\nengraving given of it on opposite page (_Mabinogion_, ed. 1874, p.\n269).\n\nThe stone and the legend are thus at least one thousand years old.\n\"There stands the stone to tell if I lie.\" According to Prof. Rhys\n(_Hibbert Lect._ 486-97) the whole story is a mythological one,\nKulhwych's mother being the dawn, the clover blossoms that grow under\nOlwen's feet being comparable to the roses that sprang up where\nAphrodite had trod, and Yspyddadon being the incarnation of the\nsacred hawthorn. Mabon, again (_l. c._ pp. 21, 28-9), is the Apollo\nMaponus discovered in Latin inscriptions at Ainstable in Cumberland\nand elsewhere (Hubner, _Corp. Insc. Lat. Brit._ Nos. 218, 332, 1345).\nGranting all this, there is nothing to show any mythological\nsignificance in the tale, though there may have been in the names of\nthe _dramatis personae_. I observe from the proceedings of the recent\nEisteddfod that the bardic name of Mr. W. Abraham, M.P., is \"Mabon.\"\nIt scarcely follows that Mr. Abraham is in receipt of divine honours\nnowadays.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n\nXIV. JACK AND HIS COMRADES.\n\n_Source._--Kennedy's _Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts_.\n\n_Parallels._--This is the fullest and most dramatic version I know of\nthe Grimms' \"Town Musicians of Bremen\" (No. 27). I have given an\nEnglish (American) version in my _English Fairy Tales_, No. 5, in the\nnotes to which would be found references to other versions known in\nthe British Isles (_e. g._, Campbell, No. 11) and abroad. _Cf._\nremarks on No. vi.\n\n\nXV. SHEE AN GANNON AND GRUAGACH GAIRE.\n\n_Source._--Curtin, _Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland_, p. 114 _seq._ I\nhave shortened the earlier part of the tale, and introduced into the\nlatter a few touches from Campbell's story of \"Fionn's Enchantment,\"\nin _Revue Celtique_, t. i., 193 _seq._\n\n_Parallels._--The early part is similar to the beginning of \"The\nSea-Maiden\" (No. xvii., which see). The latter part is practically the\nsame as the story of \"Fionn's Enchantment,\" just referred to. It also\noccurs in MacInnes's _Tales_, No. iii., \"The King of Albainn\" (see Mr.\nNutt's notes, 454). The head-crowned spikes are Celtic, _cf._ Mr.\nNutt's notes (MacInnes's _Tales_, 453).\n\n_Remarks._--Here again we meet the question whether the folk-tale\nprecedes the hero-tale about Finn or was derived from it, and again\nthe probability seems that our story has the priority as a folk-tale,\nand was afterwards applied to the national hero, Finn. This is\nconfirmed by the fact that a thirteenth century French romance, _Conte\ndu Graal_, has much the same incidents, and was probably derived from\na similar folk-tale of the Celts. Indeed, Mr. Nutt is inclined to\nthink that the original form of our story (which contains a mysterious\nhealing vessel) is the germ out of which the legend of the Holy Grail\nwas evolved (see his _Studies in the Holy Grail_, p. 202 _seq._).\n\n\nXVI. THE STORY-TELLER AT FAULT.\n\n_Source._--Griffin's _Tales from a Jury-Room_, combined with Campbell,\nNo. xvii. _c_, \"The Slim Swarthy Champion.\"\n\n_Parallels._--Campbell gives another variant, _l. c._ i., 318. Dr.\nHyde has an Irish version of Campbell's tale written down in 1762,\nfrom which he gives the incident of the air-ladder (which I have had\nto euphemise in my version) in his _Beside the Fireside_, p. 191, and\nother passages in his Preface. The most remarkable parallel to this\nincident, however, is afforded by the feats of Indian jugglers\nreported briefly by Marco Polo, and illustrated with his usual wealth\nof learning by the late Sir Henry Yule, in his edition, vol. i., p.\n308 _seq._ The accompanying illustration (reduced from Yule) will tell\nits own tale: it is taken from the Dutch account of the travels of an\nEnglish sailor, E. Melton. _Zeldzaame Reizen_, 1702, p. 468. It tells\nthe tale in five acts, all included in one sketch. Another instance\nquoted by Yule is still more parallel, so to speak. The twenty-third\ntrick performed by some conjurors before the Emperor Jahangueir\n(_Memoirs_, p. 102) is thus described: \"They produced a chain of 50\ncubits in length, and in my presence threw one end of it toward the\nsky, where it remained as if fastened to something in the air. A dog\nwas then brought forward, and being placed at the lower end of the\nchain, immediately ran up, and, reaching the other end, immediately\ndisappeared in the air. In the same manner a hog, a panther, a lion,\nand a tiger were successively sent up the chain.\" It has been\nsuggested that the conjurors hypnotise the spectators, and make them\nbelieve they see these things. This is practically the suggestion of a\nwise Mohammedan, who is quoted by Yule as saying, \"_Wallah!_ 'tis my\nopinion there has been neither going up nor coming down; 'tis all\nhocus-pocus,\" hocus-pocus being presumably the Mohammedan term for\nhypnotism.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n_Remarks._--Dr. Hyde (_l. c._ Pref. xxix.) thinks our tale cannot be\nolder than 1362, because of a reference to one O'Connor Sligo which\noccurs in all its variants; it is, however, omitted in our somewhat\nabridged version. Mr. Nutt (_ap._ Campbell, _The Fians_, Introd. xix.)\nthinks that this does not prevent a still earlier version having\nexisted. I should have thought that the existence of so distinctly\nEastern a trick in the tale, and the fact that it is a framework story\n(another Eastern characteristic), would imply that it is a rather\nlate importation, with local allusions supperadded (_cf._ notes on\n\"Conall Yellowclaw,\" No. v.).\n\nThe passages in verse from pp. 149, 153, and the description of the\nBeggarman, pp. 149, 154, are instances of a curious characteristic of\nGaelic folk-tales called \"runs.\" Collections of Conventional epithets\nare used over and over again to describe the same incident, the\nbeaching of a boat, sea-faring, travelling and the like, are inserted\nin different tales. These \"runs\" are often similar in both the Irish\nand the Scotch form of the same tale or of the same incident. The\nvolumes of _Waifs and Strays_ contain numerous examples of these\n\"runs,\" which have been indexed in each volume. These \"runs\" are\nanother confirmation of my view that the original form of the\nfolk-tale was that of the _Cante-fable_ (see note on \"Connla\" and on\n\"Childe Rowland\" in _English Fairy Tales_).\n\n\nXVII. SEA-MAIDEN.\n\n_Source._--Campbell, _Pop. Tales_, No. 4. I have omitted the births of\nthe animal comrades and transposed the carlin to the middle of the\ntale. Mr. Batten has considerately idealised the Sea-Maiden in his\nfrontispiece. When she restores the husband to the wife in one of the\nvariants, she brings him out of her mouth! \"So the sea-maiden put up\nhis head (_Who do you mean? Out of her mouth to be sure. She had\nswallowed him_).\"\n\n_Parallels._--The early part of the story occurs in No. xv., \"Shee An\nGannon,\" and the last part in No. xix., \"Fair, Brown, and Trembling\"\n(both from Curtin), Campbell's No. 1. \"The Young King\" is much like\nit; also MacInnes's No. iv., \"Herding of Cruachan\" and No. viii., \"Lod\nthe Farmer's Son.\" The third of Mr. Britten's Irish folk-tales in the\n_Folk-Lore Journal_ is a Sea-Maiden story. The story is obviously a\nfavourite one among the Celts. Yet its main incidents occur with\nfrequency in Continental folk-tales. Prof. Kohler has collected a\nnumber in his notes on Campbell's Tales in _Orient und Occident_, Bnd.\nii., 115-8. The trial of the sword occurs in the saga of Sigurd, yet\nit is also frequent in Celtic saga and folk-tales (see Mr. Nutt's\nnote, MacInnes's _Tales_, 473, and add Curtin, 320). The hideous\ncarlin and her three giant sons is also common form in Celtic. The\nexternal soul of the Sea-Maiden carried about in an egg, in a trout,\nin a hoodie, in a hind, is a remarkable instance of a peculiarly\nsavage conception which has been studied by Major Temple, _Wide-awake\nStories_, 404-5; by Mr. E. Clodd, in the \"Philosophy of Punchkin,\" in\n_Folk-Lore Journal_, vol. ii., and by Mr. Frazer in his _Golden\nBough_, vol. ii.\n\n_Remarks._--As both Prof. Rhys (_Hibbert Lect._, 464) and Mr. Nutt\n(MacInnes's _Tales_, 477) have pointed out, practically the same story\n(that of Perseus and Andromeda) is told of the Ultonian hero,\nCuchulain, in the _Wooing of Emer_, a tale which occurs in the Book of\nLeinster, a MS. of the twelfth century, and was probably copied from\none of the eighth. Unfortunately, it is not complete, and the\nSea-Maiden incident is only to be found in a British Museum MS. of\nabout 1300. In this, Cuchulain finds that the daughter of Ruad is to\nbe given as a tribute to the Fomori, who, according to Prof. Rhys,\n_Folk-Lore_, ii., 293, have something of the night_mare_ about their\netymology. Cuchulain fights _three_ of them successively, has his\nwounds bound up by a strip of the maiden's garments, and then departs.\nThereafter many boasted of having slain the Fomori, but the maiden\nbelieved them not till at last by a stratagem she recognises\nCuchulain. I may add to this that in Mr. Curtin's _Myths_, 330, the\nthreefold trial of the sword is told of Cuchulain. This would seem to\ntrace our story back to the seventh or eighth century and certainly to\nthe thirteenth. If so, it is likely enough that it spread from Ireland\nthrough Europe with the Irish missions (for the wide extent of which\nsee map in Mrs. Bryant's _Celtic Ireland_). The very letters that have\nspread through all Europe except Russia, are to be traced to the\nscript of these Irish monks; why not certain folk-tales? There is a\nfurther question whether the story was originally told of Cuchulain as\na hero-tale and then became departicularised as a folk-tale, or was\nthe process _vice versa_. Certainly in the form in which it appears in\nthe _Tochmarc Emer_ it is not complete, so that here, as elsewhere, we\nseem to have an instance of a folk-tale applied to a well-known heroic\nname, and becoming a hero-tale or saga.\n\n\nXVIII. LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY.\n\n_Source._--W. Carleton, _Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry_.\n\n_Parallels._--Kennedy's \"Fion MacCuil and the Scotch Giant,\" _Legend\nFict._, 203-5.\n\n_Remarks._--Though the venerable name of Finn and Cucullin (Cuchulain)\nare attached to the heroes of this story, this is probably only to\ngive an extrinsic interest to it. The two heroes could not have come\ntogether in any early form of their sagas since Cuchulain's reputed\ndate is of the first, Finn's of the third century A. D. (_c. f._\nhowever, MacDougall's _Tales_, notes, 272). Besides, the grotesque\nform of the legend is enough to remove it from the region of the\nhero-tale. On the other hand, there is a distinct reference to Finn's\nwisdom-tooth, which presaged the future to him (on this see _Revue\nCeltique_, v. 201, Joyce, _Old Celt. Rom._, 434-5, and MacDougall, _l.\nc._ 274). Cucullin's power-finger is another instance of the\nlife-index or external soul, on which see remarks on Sea-Maiden. Mr.\nNutt informs me that parodies of the Irish sagas occur as early as the\nsixteenth century, and the present tale may be regarded as a specimen.\n\n\nXIX. FAIR, BROWN, AND TREMBLING.\n\n_Source._--Curtin, _Myths, &c., of Ireland_, 78 _seq._\n\n_Parallels._--The latter half resembles the second part of the\nSea-Maiden (No. xvii.), which see. The earlier portion is a Cinderella\ntale (on which see the late Mr. Ralston's article in _Nineteenth\nCentury_, Nov., 1879, and Mr. Lang's treatment in his Perrault). Miss\nRoalfe Cox is about to publish for the Folk-Lore Society a whole\nvolume of variants of the Cinderella group of stories, which are\nremarkably well represented in these isles, nearly a dozen different\nversions being known in England, Ireland, and Scotland.\n\n\nXX. JACK AND HIS MASTER.\n\n_Source._--Kennedy, _Fireside Stories of Ireland_, 74-80, \"Shan an\nOmadhan and his Master.\"\n\n_Parallels._--It occurs also in Campbell, No. xlv., \"Mac a Rusgaich.\"\nIt is a European droll, the wide occurrence of which--\"the loss of\ntemper bet\" I should call it--is bibliographised by M. Cosquin, _l.\nc._ ii., 50 (_cf._ notes on No. vi.).\n\n\nXXI. BETH GELLERT.\n\n_Source._--I have paraphrased the well-known poem of Hon. W. R.\nSpencer, \"Beth Gelert, or the Grave of the Greyhound,\" first printed\nprivately as a broadsheet in 1800 when it was composed (\"August 11,\n1800, Dolymalynllyn\" is the colophon). It was published in Spencer's\n_Poems_, 1811, pp. 78-86. These dates, it will be seen, are of\nimportance. Spencer states in a note: \"The story of this ballad is\ntraditionary in a village at the foot of Snowdon where Llewellyn the\nGreat had a house. The Greyhound named Gelert was given him by his\nfather-in-law, King John, in the year 1205, and the place to this day\nis called Beth-Gelert, or the grave of Gelert.\" As a matter of fact,\nno trace of the tradition in connection with Bedd Gellert can be found\nbefore Spencer's time. It is not mentioned in Leland's _Itinerary_,\ned. Hearne, v., p. 37 (\"Beth Kellarth\"), in Pennant's _Tour_ (1770),\nii., 176, or in Bingley's _Tour in Wales_ (1800). Borrow in his _Wild\nWales_, p. 146, gives the legend, but does not profess to derive it\nfrom local tradition.\n\n_Parallels._--The only parallel in Celtdom is that noticed by Croker\nin his third volume, the legend of Partholan who killed his wife's\ngreyhound from jealousy: this is found sculptured in stone at Ap\nBrune, co. Limerick. As is well known, and has been elaborately\ndiscussed by Mr. Baring-Gould (_Curious Myths of the Middle Ages_, p.\n134 _seq._), and Mr. W. A. Clouston (_Popular Tales and Fictions_,\nii., 166 _seq._), the story of the man who rashly slew the dog\n(ichneumon, weasel, &c.) that had saved his babe from death, is one of\nthose which have spread from East to West. It is indeed, as Mr.\nClouston points out, still current in India, the land of its birth.\nThere is little doubt that it is originally Buddhistic: the late Prof.\nS. Beal gave the earliest known version from the Chinese translation\nof the _Vinaya Pitaka_ in the _Academy_ of Nov. 4, 1882. The\nconception of an animal sacrificing itself for the sake of others is\npeculiarly Buddhistic; the \"hare in the moon\" is an apotheosis of\nsuch a piece of self sacrifice on the part of Buddha (_Sasa Jataka_).\nThere are two forms that have reached the West, the first being that\nof an animal saving men at the cost of its own life. I pointed out an\nearly instance of this quoted by a Rabbi of the second century, in my\n_Fables of AEsop_, i., 105. This concludes with a strangely close\nparallel to Gellert; \"They raised a cairn over his grave, and the\nplace is still called The Dog's Grave.\" The _Culex_ attributed to\nVirgil seems to be another variant of this. The second form of the\nlegend is always told as a moral apologue against precipitate action,\nand originally occurred in _The Fables of Bidpai_ in its hundred and\none forms, all founded on Buddhistic originals (_cf._ Benfey,\n_Pantschatantra_, Einleitung, No. 201).[2] Thence, according to Benfey,\nit was inserted in the _Book of Sindibad_, another collection of\nOriental Apologues framed on what may be called the Mrs. Potiphar\nformula. This came to Europe with the Crusades, and is known in its\nWestern versions as the _Seven Sages of Rome_. The Gellert story\noccurs in all the Oriental and Occidental versions; _e. g._, it is the\nFirst Master's story in Wynkyn de Worde's (ed. G. L. Gomme, for the\nVillon Society.) From the _Seven Sages_ it was taken into the\nparticular branch of the _Gesta Romanorum_ current in England and\nknown as the English _Gesta_, where it occurs as c. xxxii, \"Story of\nFolliculus.\" We have thus traced it to England whence it passed to\nWales, where I have discovered it as the second apologue of the\n\"Fables of Cattwg the Wise,\" in the Iolo MS. published by the Welsh\nMS. Society, p. 561, \"The man who killed his Greyhound.\" (These\nFables, Mr. Nutt informs me, are a pseudonymous production probably of\nthe sixteenth century.) This concludes the literary route of the\nLegend of Gellert from India to Wales: Buddhistic _Vinaya\nPitaka_--_Fables of Bidpai_;--Oriental _Sindibad_;--Occidental _Seven\nSages of Rome_;--\"English\" (Latin), _Gesta Romanorum_;--Welsh, _Fables\nof Cattwg_.\n\n[Footnote 2: It occurs in the same chapter as the story of La\nPerrette, which has been traced, after Benfey, by Prof. M. Muller in\nhis \"Migration of Fables.\" (_Sel. Essays_, i., 500-74); exactly the\nsame history applies to Gellert.]\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n_Remarks._--We have still to connect the legend with Llewelyn and\nwith Bedd Gelert. But first it may be desirable to point out why it is\nnecessary to assume that the legend is a legend and not a fact. The\nsaving of an infant's life by a dog, and the mistaken slaughter of the\ndog, are not such an improbable combination as to make it impossible\nthat the same event occurred in many places. But what is impossible,\nin my opinion, is that such an event should have independently been\nused in different places as the typical instance of, and warning\nagainst, rash action. That the Gellert legend, before it was\nlocalised, was used as a moral apologue in Wales is shown by the fact\nthat it occurs among the Fables of Cattwg, which are all of that\ncharacter. It was also utilised as a proverb: \"_Yr wy'n edivaru\ncymmaint a'r Gwr a laddodd ei Vilgi_ (\"I repent as much as the man\nwho slew his greyhound\"). The fable indeed, from this point of view,\nseems greatly to have attracted the Welsh mind, perhaps as of especial\nvalue to a proverbially impetuous temperament. Croker (_Fairy Legends\nof Ireland_, vol. iii., p. 165) points out several places where the\nlegend seems to have been localised in place-names--two places, called\n\"Gwal y Vilast\" (\"Greyhound's Couch\"), in Carmathen and\nGlamorganshire; \"Llech y Asp\" (\"Dog's Stone\"), in Cardigan, and\nanother place named in Welsh \"Spring of the Greyhound's Stone.\" Mr.\nBaring-Gould mentions that the legend is told of an ordinary\ntomb-stone, with a knight and a greyhound, in Abergavenny Church;\nwhile the Fable of Cattwg is told of a man in Abergarwan. So\nwide-spread and well-known was the legend that it was in Richard III's\ntime adopted as the national crest. In the Warwick Roll, at the\nHerald's Office, after giving separate crests for England, Scotland,\nand Ireland, that for Wales is given as figured in the margin, and\nblazoned \"on a coronet in a cradle or, a greyhound argent for Walys\"\n(see J. R. Planche, _Twelve Designs for the Costume of Shakespeare's\nRichard III._, 1830, frontispiece). If this Roll is authentic, the\npopularity of the legend is thrown back into the fifteenth century. It\nstill remains to explain how and when this general legend of rash\naction was localised and specialised at Bedd Gelert: I believe I have\ndiscovered this. There certainly was a local legend about a dog named\nGelert at that place; E. Jones, in the first edition of his _Musical\nRelicks of the Welsh Bards, 1784_, p. 40, gives the following _englyn_\nor epigram:\n\n    Claddwyd Cylart celfydd (ymlyniad)\n      Ymlaneau Efionydd\n    Parod giuio i'w gynydd\n      Parai'r dydd yr heliai Hydd;\n\nwhich he Englishes thus:\n\n    The remains of famed Cylart, so faithful and good,\n      The bounds of the cantred conceal;\n    Whenever the doe or the stag he pursued\n      His master was sure of a meal.\n\nNo reference was made in the first edition to the Gellert legend, but\nin the second edition of 1794, p. 75, a note was added telling the\nlegend, \"There is a general tradition in North Wales that a wolf had\nentered the house of Prince Llewellyn. Soon after the Prince returned\nhome, and, going into the nursery, he met his dog _Kill-hart_, all\nbloody and wagging his tail at him; Prince Llewellyn, on entering the\nroom found the cradle where his child lay overturned, and the floor\nflowing with blood; imagining that the greyhound had killed the child,\nhe immediately drew his sword and stabbed it; then, turning up the\ncradle, found under it the child alive, and the wolf dead. This so\ngrieved the Prince, that he erected a tomb over his faithful dog's\ngrave; where afterwards the parish church was built and goes by that\nname--_Bedd Cilhart_, or the grave of Kill-hart, in _Carnarvonshire_.\nFrom this incident is elicited a very common Welsh proverb [that given\nabove which occurs also in 'The Fables of Cattwg;' it will be observed\nthat it is quite indefinite.]\" \"Prince Llewellyn ab Jorwerth married\nJoan, [natural] daughter of King John, by _Agatha_, daughter of Robert\nFerrers Earl of Derby; and the dog was a present to the prince from\nhis father-in-law about the year 1205.\" It was clearly from this note\nthat the Hon. Mr. Spencer got his account; oral tradition does not\nindulge in dates _Anno Domini_. The application of the general legend\nof \"the man who slew his greyhound\" to the dog Cylart, was due to the\nlearning of E. Jones, author of the _Musical Relicks_. I am convinced\nof this, for by a lucky chance I am enabled to give the real legend\nabout Cylart, which is thus given in Carlisle's _Topographical\nDictionary of Wales_, s.v., \"Bedd Celert,\" published in 1811, the date\nof publication of Mr. Spencer's _Poems_. \"Its name, according to\ntradition, implies _The Grave of Celert_, a greyhound which belonged\nto Llywelyn, the last Prince of Wales: and a large Rock is still\npointed out as the monument of this celebrated Dog, being on the spot\nwhere it was found dead, together with the stag which it had pursued\nfrom Carnarvon,\" which is thirteen miles distant. The cairn was thus a\nmonument of a \"record\" run of a greyhound: the _englyn_ quoted by\nJones is suitable enough for this, while quite inadequate to record\nthe later legendary exploits of Gelert. Jones found an _englyn_\ndevoted to _an_ exploit of a dog named Cylart, and chose to interpret\nit in his second edition, 1794, as _the_ exploit of a greyhound with\nwhich all the world (in Wales) were acquainted. Mr. Spencer took the\nlegend from Jones (the reference to the date 1205 proves that),\nenshrined it in his somewhat _banal_ verses, which were lucky enough\nto be copied into several reading-books, and thus became known to all\nEnglish-speaking folk.\n\nIt remains only to explain why Jones connected the legend with\nLlewelyn. Llewelyn had local connection with Bedd Gellert, which was\nthe seat of an Augustinian abbey, one of the oldest in Wales. An\ninspeximus of Edward I. given in Dugdale, _Monast. Angl._, ed. pr.\nii., 100a, quotes as the earliest charter of the abbey \"Cartam\nLewelini magni.\" The name of the abbey was \"Beth Kellarth\"; the name\nis thus given by Leland, _l. c._, and as late as 1794 an engraving at\nthe British Museum is entitled \"Beth Kelert,\" while Carlisle gives it\nas \"Beth Celert.\" The place was thus named after the abbey, not after\nthe cairn or rock. This is confirmed by the fact of which Prof. Rhys\nhad informed me, that the collocation of letters _rt_ is un-Welsh.\nUnder these circumstances it is not impossible, I think, that the\nearlier legends of the marvellous run of \"Cylart\" from Carnarvon was\ndue to the etymologising fancy of some English-speaking Welshman who\ninterpreted the name as Kill-hart, so that the simpler legend would be\nonly a folk-etymology.\n\nBut whether Kellarth, Kelert, Cylart, Gelert or Gellert ever existed\nand ran a hart from Carnarvon to Bedd Gellert or no, there can be\nlittle doubt after the preceding that he was not the original hero of\nthe fable of \"the man that slew his greyhound,\" which came to Wales\nfrom Buddhistic India through channels which are perfectly traceable.\nIt was Edward Jones who first raised him to that proud position, and\nWilliam Spencer who securely installed him there, probably for all\ntime. The legend is now firmly established at Bedd Gellert. There is\nsaid to be an ancient air, \"Bedd Gelert,\" \"as sung by the Ancient\nBritons\"; it is given in a pamphlet published at Carnarvon in the\n\"fifties,\" entitled _Gellert's Grave; or, Llewellyn's Rashness: a\nBallad, by the Hon. W. R. Spencer, to which is added that ancient\nWelsh air, \"Bedd Gelert,\" as sung by the Ancient Britons_. The air is\nfrom R. Roberts' \"Collection of Welsh Airs,\" but what connection it\nhas with the legend I have been unable to ascertain. This is probably\nanother case of adapting one tradition to another. It is almost\nimpossible to distinguish palaeozoic and cainozoic strata in oral\ntradition. According to Murray's _Guide to N. Wales_, p. 125, the only\nauthority for the cairn now shown is that of the landlord of the Goat\nInn, \"who felt compelled by the cravings of tourists to invent a\ngrave.\" Some old men at Bedd Gellert, Prof. Rhys informs me, are ready\nto testify that they saw the cairn laid. They might almost have been\npresent at the birth of the legend, which, if my affiliation of it is\ncorrect, is not yet quite 100 years old.\n\n\nXXII. STORY OF IVAN.\n\n_Source._--Lluyd, _Archaeologia Britannia, 1707_, the first comparative\nCeltic grammar and the finest piece of work in comparative philology\nhitherto done in England, contains this tale as a specimen of Cornish\nthen still spoken in Cornwall. I have used the English version\ncontained in _Blackwood's Magazine_ as long ago as May, 1818. I have\ntaken the third counsel from the Irish version, as the original is not\nsuited _virginibus puerisque_ though harmless enough in itself.\n\n_Parallels._--Lover has a tale, _The Three Advices_. It occurs also in\nmodern Cornwall _ap._ Hunt, _Drolls of West of England_, 344, \"The\nTinner of Chyamor.\" Borrow, _Wild Wales_, 41, has a reference which\nseems to imply that the story had crystallised into a Welsh proverb.\nCuriously enough, it forms the chief episode of the so-called \"Irish\nOdyssey\" (_Merugud Uilix maice Leirtis_--\"Wandering of Ulysses\nM'Laertes\"). It was derived, in all probability, from the _Gesta\nRomanorum_, c. 103, where two of the three pieces of advise are \"Avoid\na byeway,\" \"Beware of a house where the housewife is younger than her\nhusband.\" It is likely enough that this chapter, like others of the\n_Gesta_, came from the East, for it is found in some versions of \"The\nForty Viziers,\" and in the _Turkish Tales_ (see Oesterley's parallels\nand _Gesta_, ed. Swan and Hooper, note 9).\n\n\nXXIII. ANDREW COFFEY.\n\n_Source._--From the late D. W. Logie, written down by Mr. Alfred Nutt.\n\n_Parallels._--Dr. Hyde's \"Teig O'Kane and the Corpse,\" and Kennedy's\n\"Cauth Morrisy,\" _Legend Fict._, 158, are practically the same.\n\n_Remarks._--No collection of Celtic Folk-Tales would be representative\nthat did not contain some specimen of the gruesome. The most effective\nghoul story in existence is Lover's \"Brown Man.\"\n\n\nXXIV. BATTLE OF BIRDS.\n\n_Source._--Campbell (_Pop. Tales, W. Highlands_, No. ii.), with\ntouches from the seventh variant and others, including the casket and\nkey finish, from Curtin's \"Son of the King of Erin\" (_Myths, &c., 32\nseq._). I have also added a specimen of the humorous end pieces added\nby Gaelic story-tellers; on these tags see an interesting note in\nMacDougall's _Tales_, note on p. 112. I have found some difficulty in\ndealing with Campbell's excessive use of the second person singular,\n\"If thou thouest him some two or three times, 'tis well,\" but beyond\nthat it is wearisome. Practically, I have reserved _thou_ for the\nspeech of giants, who may be supposed to be somewhat old-fashioned. I\nfear, however, I have not been quite consistent, though the _You's_\naddressed to the apple-pips are grammatically correct as applied to\nthe pair of lovers.\n\n_Parallels._--Besides the eight versions given or abstracted by\nCampbell and Mr. Curtin, there is Carleton's \"Three Tasks,\" Dr. Hyde's\n\"Son of Branduf\" (MS.); there is the First Tale of MacInnes (where see\nMr. Nutt's elaborate notes, 431-43), two in the _Celtic Magazine_,\nvol. xii., \"Grey Norris from Warland\" (_Folk-Lore Journ._ i., 316),\nand Mr. Lang's Morayshire Tale, \"Nicht Nought Nothing\" (see _Eng Fairy\nTales_, No. vii.), no less than sixteen variants found among the\nCelts. It must have occurred early among them. Mr. Nutt found the\nfeather-thatch incident in the _Agallamh na Senoraib_ (\"Discourse of\nElders\"), which is at least as old as the fifteenth century. Yet the\nstory is to be found throughout the Indo-European world, as is shown\nby Prof. Kohler's elaborate list of parallels attached to Mr. Lang's\nvariant in _Revue Celtique_, iii., 374; and Mr. Lang, in his _Custom\nand Myth_ (\"A far-travelled Tale\"), has given a number of parallels\nfrom savage sources. And strangest of all, the story is practically\nthe same as the classical myth of Jason and Medea.\n\n_Remarks._--Mr. Nutt, in his discussion of the tale (MacInnes,\n_Tales_, 441), makes the interesting suggestion that the obstacles to\npursuit, the forest, the mountain, and the river, exactly represent\nthe boundary of the old Teutonic Hades, so that the story was\noriginally one of the Descent to Hell. Altogether it seems likely that\nit is one of the oldest folk-tales in existence, and belonged to the\nstory-store of the original Aryans, whoever they were, was passed by\nthem with their language on to the Hellenes and perhaps to the\nIndians, was developed in its modern form in Scandinavia (where its\nbest representative \"The Master-Maid\" of Asbjornsen is still found),\nwas passed by them to the Celts and possibly was transmitted by these\nlatter to other parts of Europe, perhaps by early Irish monks (see\nnotes on \"Sea-Maiden\"). The spread in the Buddhistic world, and\nthence to the South Seas and Madagascar, would be secondary from\nIndia. I hope to have another occasion for dealing with this most\ninteresting of all folk-tales in the detail it deserves.\n\n\nXXV. BREWERY OF EGGSHELLS.\n\n_Source._--From the _Cambrian Quarterly Magazine, 1830_, vol. ii., p.\n86; it is stated to be literally translated from the Welsh.\n\n_Parallels._--Another variant from Glamorganshire is given in _Y\nCymmrodor_, vi., 209. Croker has the story under the title I have\ngiven the Welsh one in his _Fairy Legends_, 41. Mr. Hartland, in his\n_Science of Fairy Tales_, 113-6, gives the European parallels.\n\n\nXXVI. LAD WITH THE GOAT-SKIN.\n\n_Source._--Kennedy, _Legendary Fictions_, pp. 23-31. The Adventures of\n\"Gilla na Chreck an Gour'.\"\n\n_Parallels._--\"The Lad With the Skin Coverings\" is a popular Celtic\nfigure, _cf._ MacDougall's Third Tale, MacInnes's Second, and a\nreference in Campbell, iii., 147. According to Mr. Nutt (_Holy Grail_,\n134), he is the original of Parzival. But the adventures in these\ntales are not the \"cure by laughing\" incident which forms the centre\nof our tale, and is Indo-European in extent (_cf._ references in\n_English Fairy Tales_, notes to No. xxvii.). \"The smith who made hell\ntoo hot for him is Sisyphus,\" says Mr. Lang (Introd. to Grimm, p.\nxiii); in Ireland he is Billy Dawson (Carleton, _Three Wishes_). In\nthe Finn-Saga, Conan harries hell, as readers of _Waverley_ may\nremember \"'Claw for claw, and devil take the shortest nails,' as Conan\nsaid to the Devil\" (_cf._ Campbell, _The Fians_, 73, and notes, 283).\nRed-haired men in Ireland and elsewhere are always rogues (see Mr.\nNutt's references, MacInnes's _Tales_, 477; to which add the case in\n\"Lough Neagh,\" Yeats, _Irish Folk Tales_, p. 210).\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nFolk and Fairy Tales from Many Lands\n\nENGLISH FOLK AND FAIRY TALES . Joseph Jacobs\n_Illustrated by John D. Batten_\n\nMORE ENGLISH FOLK AND FAIRY TALES . Joseph Jacobs\n_Illustrated by John D. Batten_\n\nCELTIC FOLK AND FAIRY TALES . Joseph Jacobs\n_Illustrated by John D. Batten_\n\nEUROPEAN FOLK AND FAIRY TALES . Joseph Jacobs\n_Illustrated by John D. Batten_\n\nINDIAN FOLK AND FAIRY TALES . Joseph Jacobs\n_Illustrated by John D. Batten_\n\nTHE BOOK OF WONDER VOYAGES . Joseph Jacobs\n_Illustrated by John D. Batten_\n\nJOHNNY-CAKE . Joseph Jacobs\n_Illustrated by Emma L. Brock_\n\nCHIMNEY CORNER FAIRY TALES . Veronica S. Hutchinson, Editor\n\nCANDLELIGHT STORIES . Veronica S. Hutchinson, Editor\n\nCHIMNEY CORNER STORIES . Veronica S. Hutchinson, Editor\n\nFIRESIDE STORIES  . Veronica S. Hutchinson, Editor\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Celtic Folk and Fairy Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":75212}