{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45910/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45910","id":"gutenberg_45910","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45910","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore -- Ireland","Legends -- Ireland","Tales -- Ireland"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 45910-h.htm or 45910-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/45910/pg45910-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/45910/45910-h.zip)\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n      Diacritical marks are shown as follows: breve [)o] and\n      macron[=o].\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH]\n\nLEGENDS OF SAINTS & SINNERS\n\nCollected and Translated from the Irish by\n\nDOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D., D.LITT.\n\n[Illustration: (logo) The Irish Library]\n\nWith Illustrations by Noel L. Nisbet\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Gresham Publishing Company Ltd.\nLondon Dublin and Belfast\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                          PAGE\n\n  INTRODUCTION                             vii\n\n  ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH                  1\n\n  MARY'S WELL                               12\n\n  HOW COVETOUSNESS CAME INTO THE CHURCH     22\n\n  KNOCK MULRUANA                            26\n\n  THE STONE OF TRUTH                        34\n\n  THE ADVENTURES OF LEITHIN                 40\n\n  THE COMPARISON AS TO AGES                 56\n\n  THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN                    63\n\n  STORY OF SOLOMON                          66\n\n  CHRISTMAS ALMS                            70\n\n  THE BURIAL OF JESUS                       76\n\n  SAINT PETER                               80\n\n  LEGENDS OF ST. DEGLAN                     87\n\n  ST. PAUL'S VISION                         95\n\n  OSCAR OF THE FLAIL                       110\n\n  OISIN IN ELPHIN                          114\n\n  THE PRIEST WHO WENT TO DO PENANCE        116\n\n  THE FRIARS OF URLAUR                     125\n\n  DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD WOMEN           136\n\n  THE MINISTER AND THE GOSSOON             142\n\n  THE KEENING OF THE THREE MARYS           145\n\n  THE FARMER'S SON AND THE BISHOP          148\n\n  SHAUN THE TINKER                         154\n\n  MARY AND ST. JOSEPH AND THE CHERRY TREE  163\n\n  THE STUDENT WHO LEFT COLLEGE             166\n\n  THE HELP OF GOD IN THE ROAD              173\n\n  THE MINISTER'S SON                       178\n\n  THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE                   188\n\n  THE OLD HAG OF DINGLE                    192\n\n  THE POEM OF THE TOR                      195\n\n  COLUMCILLE AND HIS BROTHER DOBHRAN       198\n\n  BRUADAR AND SMITH AND GLINN              206\n\n  FRIAR BRIAN                              210\n\n  HOW THE FIRST CAT WAS CREATED            214\n\n  GOD SPARE YOU YOUR HEALTH                217\n\n  TEIG O'KANE AND THE CORPSE               219\n\n  TOMAUS O'CAHAN AND THE GHOST             238\n\n  PRAYER AFTER TOBACCO                     243\n\n  THE BUIDEACH, THE TINKER, AND THE BLACK DONKEY  247\n\n  THE GREAT WORM OF THE SHANNON            258\n\n  THE POOR WIDOW AND GRANIA O\u00cf             264\n\n  THE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH                273\n\n  THE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN  276\n\n  THE LADY OF THE ALMS                     280\n\n  ST. PATRICK AND HIS GARRON               283\n\n  HOW SAINT MOLING GOT HIS NAME            292\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nI have called the present volume \"Legends of Saints and Sinners,\"\nwhich to a certain extent it is; but I mean it for a book of Irish\nChristian folk-lore. My idea in compiling it has been to give for the\nfirst time a collection of genuine Irish folk-lore which might be\ncalled \"Christian.\" By this I mean folk-stories and folk-poems which\nare either entirely founded upon Christian conceptions, or else are so\nfar coloured by them, that they could never have been told--at least\nin their present shape--had not Christianity established itself in\nIreland. Every one of these stories conforms fairly to this standard,\nexcept one or two, which I give as necessary corollaries. They are\nall translations from the Irish. I have found hardly any such stories\nin English. They were mostly collected by myself from the mouths of\nnative speakers, but three or four of them I have taken from Irish MSS.\nin my own possession, and a few more were given me by my friends. Not\none of these stories was ever translated into English before, with the\nexception of those which I have taken from my own \"Religious Songs of\nConnacht.\"[1] Many of these I decided to republish here, as they were\npractically lost amongst the heterogeneous mass of poems, prayers,\ncharms, etc., in which they were embedded; and, as the Religious Songs\nare little known, these stories which I have excerpted from them will\nbe new to nineteen-twentieths of my readers. Several of these pieces\nhave never been printed even in Irish, but I hope to shortly publish\nthe original text of these, especially the Adventures of L\u00e9ithin, which\nseems to belong to a strange and weird cycle of beast and bird-lore,\nnow lost or almost lost, but of which we find hints here and there\nthough we know nothing certain.\n\n[1] And \"Teig O'Kane,\" which I translated for Mr. Yeats nearly twenty\nyears ago.\n\nMost of these pieces may be said to be in a true sense \"folk-lore,\"\nseeing that they have almost all lingered more or less vividly in the\nmemory of people who for the most part could neither read nor write.\nSome of them obviously come from Continental sources, though how they\nfirst found their way into Ireland is obscure, and the derivation of\nsome of them cannot now be traced; others, however, are of a purely\nnative invention; while a third class engrafts native traits and ideas\nupon foreign subject matter.\n\nThe stories in this collection cover a good deal of ground and present\nmany various aspects of folk tradition and folk belief. Of native\nSaints we find legends concerning Patrick, Columcille, Deglan, Moling\nand Ciaran; of foreign Saints we find legends of St. Peter, St. Paul\nand St. Martin; of unknown or mythical characters we find tales of\nGrainne O\u00efgh, Friar Brian, The Old Woman of Beare, and Mulruana. Of\nother well-known names, Ois\u00edn and Oscar and Solomon appear. Curiously\nenough I have not chanced upon any folk-tale told about Saint Brigit,\nthe \"Mary of the Gael.\" There is, for some reason or other, a distinct\npredominance of Petrine stories among these legends.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen we consider the collection as a whole, we find that its purely\nIrish aspect is apparent in many ways, and in none more than in\nthe very characteristic dovetailing of what is Pagan into what is\nChristian. But its omissions are even more distinctly Irish than its\ninclusions.\n\nIn most countries, for instance, the Devil is the great outstanding\nanthropomorphic conception added to the folk-lore of Europe by the\nintroduction of Christianity; and later the belief in Witches,\nwho trafficked directly or indirectly with the Evil One, became\nextraordinary prevalent and powerful. Now the most striking fact\nabout our collection is that the Devil personified rarely appears in\nit at all, and Witches never. The belief in Witches, and in Witches'\nSabbaths, with which other nations were positively obsessed, and\nwhich gave rise to such hecatombs of unhappy victims in almost all\nthe Protestant and in some of the Catholic countries in Europe, as\nwell as in America, never found its way into native Ireland at all, or\ndisturbed Gaelic sanity, although a few isolated instances occurred\namongst the English settlers. The Highland Gaels, to whom the idea of\nwitches was more familiar owing to their proximity to the Scottish\nLowlands, which was one of the most witch-ridden Countries in Europe,\nsimply borrowed the English Word for witch under the form \"buitseach,\"\nand from that they coined the word \"buitseachas\" for witchcraft.\n\nThe Irish, however, did not borrow even the name--they had never heard\nof the thing itself, and had naturally no name for a class of creatures\nwith whom they had no acquaintance.\n\nIt is true that the Evil Eye was known in Ireland, and I have found one\nor two prayers or charms against it;[2] but so far as I have collected,\nI have not been able to find it made the basis of any story.\n\n[2] See \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol. II., p. 52.\n\nIn ancient times, however, there were creatures known in Ireland\nwho appear to have had some of the characteristics of the Christian\nwitches, but their conception is purely Pagan and owes nothing to\nChristianity. Their Irish name was _amait_, and it was applicable to\nboth sexes. In the old translation of the \"Cath catharda\" (the Irish\nversion of Lucan's Pharsalia), Medea is called the chief _amait_ or\nwitch of the world. In the \"Agallamh na Senorach\" or Dialogue between\nSt. Patrick on one side, and Ois\u00edn and Caoilte[3] on the other, we read\nof nine women _amaits_ who were engaged in \"amaidecht,\" and who used\nnever allow a man or woman to escape them. \"And they were not long\nthere,\" says the thirteenth (?) century text, \"until they saw the nine\nblack gloomy witches (_amaits_) coming to meet them; and if the dead\never arose out of the ground the yells which they used to utter round\nthem on all sides would have brought them forth [from their tombs].\nAnd Patrick takes the holy water and sprinkles it on the _amaits_,\nand they fled away from him until they reached Inis Guil, which is\ncalled the island of the shrine or the White Lake of Ceara.[4] And it\nwas there they heard the last cry from them. And the people seated\nthemselves on the sodded sward, and the King of Connacht spake then,\n'that is the chasing of a good-cleric that thou hast given to the\ndemons,' said he.'\"\n\n[3] Pronounce Ussheen and Cweeltia. Ois\u00edn is better known as Ossian in\nScotland.\n\n[4] Now Loch Carra, in Co. Mayo. The bottom of this lake consists\nof white marl, which gives the water an extraordinary light green\nappearance; hence it is called in old Irish documents Fionnloch Ceara,\nor the \"white lake of Carra.\" The metrical Dinnsenchus, however, calmly\nignoring this obvious physiological reason, evident to anyone who had\never examined the lake, gives a fantastic account of the white wings of\nangels, from which it says the water derived its name.\n\nThis word _amait_, though lost in folk-speech, and never now used\nin the sense of witch, has nevertheless perpetuated itself in an\nextraordinary tradition in parts of Connacht. The appellation for the\nFairy Palace, where the Good People or Tuatha De Danann dwell, is\n_bruidhean_ (pronounced Breean with the b broad), and there is a belief\nthat there is a denizen of the bruidhean called \"amad\u00e1n na bruidhne,\"\nwhich seems to mean the \"fool of the palace\" whose lightest touch\nis death. From the other creatures of the bruidhean one may escape\nscatheless, but never from the \"amad\u00e1n.\" This \"amad\u00e1n\" I take to be a\nfolk perversion or a diminutive of _amait_, and to have nothing at all\nto say to the word \"amad\u00e1n,\" \"a fool.\"\n\nThe _amait_ owes nothing to Christianity, but her equivalent in modern\nfolk-lore would rather be found in the Story of \"Conn among the goats,\"\nwhere the woman whom all thought dead comes back from the grave, and\nkills her husband, or in the story of the Priest and Bishop, where the\nhanged woman comes back as a malevolent spirit to claim the priest; or\nin some of the stories that Curtin collected around Dingle.\n\nIt is quite true that there are many current tales or beliefs\nconcerning more or less malignant old women who steal butter from\ntheir neighbours' churns by charms or exorcisms, who turn themselves\ninto hares and suck the cows, and who are supposed to possess certain\nmore or less supernatural powers. These old women, however, seldom or\nnever figure in regular stories, nor have they given rise to a type or\neven to a common appellation. They are just known as \"cailleacha\" or\nhags. There is absolutely nothing in Irish folk-lore, so far as I am\nacquainted with it, to suggest the disgusting and obscene orgies of the\nwitches' sabbaths, as we find them in other countries, or of incubi or\nsuccubi, or of intercourse with the devil, or of riding on broomsticks\nto keep appointments with the Evil One, or of conjuring up the dead, or\neven of producing wasting diseases in enemies, or making, waxen or clay\nimages of those whom they wished to injure.[5]\n\n[5] I am not quite so certain about this last having never been\npractised in Ireland, but I have certainly never been told any story\nabout it, nor seen it mentioned in MSS.\n\nThe Devil, too, in so far as he comes into Irish folk-lore, is a much\nless grotesque figure than the usual mediaeval conception of him,\nsuch as we see with horns and hooves in Albrecht D\u00fcrer's pictures.\nHe is usually designated as the \"Old Devil\" or the Aidhbherseoir,\noften contracted to Airseoir from the Latin Adversarius. He does not\ngenerally appear as roaming through the world seeking whom he may\ndevour, but mostly keeps to his own abode in the Infernal Regions,\nwhere he must be sought. We meet him in both forms, as a wandering\nperson and as king of the Lower Regions in my late friend's, Mr.\nLarminie's, very curious and interesting story of the woman who went\nto hell. He is not the popular or common character in our folk-lore\nthat he is in Teutonic legend. He does not construct bridges, nor hold\nhigh festival on hill tops, and few or none of the curious freaks of\nnature as seen in rocks, chasms, and the like are attributed to him.\nThe Devil's Bit and the Devil's Punch Bowl, so common in Anglo-Irish\nnomenclature, do not always correspond to the original Irish\nappellation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the survivors of the old Fianna, Ois\u00edn (or Ossian), Caoilte and\nthe rest, were told about Hell and the Devil by St. Patrick and his\nclergy, they could not, according to the Ossianic legends, comprehend\nit in the least, and the misunderstandings which the doctrine gave\nrise to were taken full advantage of by the composers of the Ossianic\nballads. The idea of bringing the last great figure of Paganism, the\nwarrior and poet Ossian, into contact with the first great Christian\nfigure in Ireland, St. Patrick, was a brilliant one, and it gave birth\nto whole volumes of badinage and semi-comic wrangling in the popular\nballads which told of the warrior and the cleric. These ballads used\nto be in great vogue at one time, and any seanchuidhe worthy of the\nname used to be able to repeat by heart many hundreds of lines of the\ndialogue between Patrick and Ois\u00edn. This is now nearly a thing of the\npast, but the poems exist in numberless manuscripts, and are not yet\nforgotten by the older Irish speakers, though the only specimen I have\ngiven in this volume is the Baptism of Ois\u00edn, and it is in prose. St.\nPatrick displays in places an excess of priestly rigour, but this is\nalways done to set off the na\u00efvet\u00e9 of Ois\u00edn's answers.\n\n    [uncial: I n-ifreann na bpian ar l\u00f3i\u00e1mh\n      At\u00e1 an fear s\u00e1imh do Bhronnadh an t-\u00f3r,\n    Imthe\u00f3chaidh tusa mar d'imthigh an fhiann,\n     Agus tr\u00e1chtamaois ar Dhia go f\u00f3il.][6]\n\n[6] I wrote down this from the recitation of an old man near Monivea,\nCo. Galway. I have not seen it in MS. Literally, \"In hell of the pains\nin bondage is the gentle man (Fionn) who used to bestow the gold. You\nwill go as the Fianna have gone, and let us talk about God yet awhile.\"\n\nBut Ois\u00edn could not understand how Patrick's God could get the better\nof his Fianna, or why He should try to put them in hell at all.\n\n    Were God and my son Oscar seen\n      On Knocknaveen in combat long,\n    And I saw my Oscar on the sod,\n      It's then I'd say that God was strong.\n\n    How is your God a better man\n      (Or all your clan of clerics there)\n    Than Finn, our Fenian chief, so great,\n      So straight, so generous, so fair?\n\nThe spirit of banter in which St. Patrick and the Church are treated,\nand which just stops short of irreverence, is, of course, a mediaeval\nand not a primitive trait. My friend, the late Mr. Nutt, thought\nthat it is a trait more characteristic of the twelfth than of any\nsucceeding century.\n\nIt would be exceedingly easy to fill volumes with stories from the\nlives of Saints which exist either in old vellum or in paper MSS., but\nthis has not been my aim. I have kept to actual folk survivals, and\nhave drawn upon MSS. of Saints' lives only for the elucidation of the\nfolk-tale.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFinally, I should say that after having collected Irish folk-lore for\na quarter of a century, the amount of folk-stories which are wholly\nconditioned by Christianity or largely based upon Christian conceptions\nwould be, in my opinion, about one story in four, or one story in\nfive. There still remains the fascinating problem of their sources. If\nforeign, what was their origin and who brought them here; if native,\nwho invented them, and when, and with what purpose? I have prefixed a\nfew notes to each of the following stories which possibly may not be\nwholly uninteresting to the reader who has an eye for these problems.\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF SAINTS AND SINNERS.\n\n[_FROM THE IRISH._]\n\n\n\n\nST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis legend, told by Michael Mac Ruaidhri of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo, is\nevidently a confused reminiscence of Crom Cruach, the great pagan idol\nwhich was overthrown by St. Patrick.[7] Though Crom appears as a man\nin this story, yet the remark that the people thought he was the lord\nof light and darkness and of the seasons is evidently due to his once\nsupposed Godhead. The fire, too, which he is said to have kept burning\nmay be the reminiscence of a sacrificial fire.\n\n[7] See my \"Literary History of Ireland,\" pp. 84-88. Also Stokes\nedition of the \"Tripartite Life,\" p. 92.\n\nFrom a letter written to Sir Samuel Ferguson[8] by the late Brian\nO'Looney, concerning Mount Callan in the Co. Clare, we see that this\nlegend of Crom was widely circulated. \"Domnach Lunasa or Lammas\nSunday,\" says O'Looney, \"the first Sunday of the month of August was\nthe first fruits' day, and a great day on Buaile-na-greine. On Lammas\nSunday, called Domnach Crom Dubh, and anglicised Garland Sunday,\nevery householder was supposed to feast his family and household on\nthe first fruits, and the farmer who failed to provide his people\nwith new potatoes, new bacon and white cabbage on that day was called\na _felemuir gaoithe_, or wind farmer; and if a man dug new potatoes\nbefore Crom Dubh's day he was considered a needy man.... The assemblage\nof this day was called _comthineol Chruim Dhuibh_, or the congregation\nor gathering of Crom Dubh, and the day is called from him _Domnach\nChrom Dubh_, or Crom Dubh's Sunday, now called Garland Sunday by the\nEnglish-speaking portion of the people of the surrounding districts.\nThis name is supposed to have been derived from the practise of\nstrewing garlands of flowers on the festive mound [or Mount Callan] on\nthis day, as homage to Crom Dubh--hence the name Garland Sunday.\n\n[8] See the paper read by Sir Samuel before the Royal Irish Academy,\nApril 28, 1873.\n\n\"Assuredly I saw blossoms and flowers deposited upon it on the first\nSunday of August, 1844, and put some upon it myself, as I saw done by\nthose who were with me.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"If you ask me who Crom Dubh was, I can only tell you I asked the\nquestion myself on the spot. I was told that Crom was a god and that\nDubh or Dua meant _a sacrifice_, which in combination made Crom Dubh,\nor Crom Dua, that is, Crom's Sacrifice; and this Sunday was set apart\nfor the feast and commemoration of this Crom Dubh, whoever he may have\nbeen.\"\n\nIt is interesting to find O'Looney's old-time experiences in Co. Clare\nso far borne out by this legend from North Mayo.\n\nThe name T\u00e9ideach given to Crom's son, is, as Mr. Lloyd acutely points\nout, founded upon a misunderstanding of the name of the hole which must\nhave been \"poll an t s\u00e9idte,\" the puffing or blowing hole. Downpatrick,\nwhere these events are supposed to have taken place, is at the extreme\nnorthern extremity of Tyrawley, Co. Mayo, and all the other places are\nin its neighbourhood.\n\nFor the _leann\u00e1n sidhe_, or fairy sweetheart (often supposed to be the\nmuse of the poets), see O'Kearney's \"Feis tighe Chon\u00e1in.\" Oss. Soc.\nPubl. vol. II., pp. 80-103. For the Irish of this story, see \"L\u00fab na\nCaillighe.\" p. 33.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nBefore St. Patrick came to Ireland there lived a chieftain in the\nLower Country[9] in Co. Mayo, and his name was Crom Dubh. Crom Dubh\nlived beside the sea in a place which they now call D\u00fan Patrick, or\nDownpatrick, and the name which the site of his house is called by is\nD\u00fan Briste, or Broken Fort. My story will tell why it was called D\u00fan\nBriste.\n\n[9] Lower means \"northern.\" It means round the Lagan, Creevagh and\nBallycastle.\n\nIt was well and it was not ill, brother of my heart! Crom Dubh was one\nof the worst men that could be found, but as he was a chieftain over\nthe people of that country he had everything his own way; and that was\nthe bad way, for he was an evil-intentioned, virulent, cynical,[10]\nobstinate man, with desire to be avenged on every one who did not\nplease him. He had two sons, T\u00e9ideach and Clonnach, and there is a big\nhollow going in under the road at Gleann Lasaire, and the name of this\nhollow in Poll a' T\u00e9idigh or T\u00e9ideach's hole, for it got its name from\nCrom Dubh's son, and the name of this hole is on the mouth of [_i.e._,\nused by] English-speaking people, though they do not know the meaning\nof it. Nobody knows how far this hole is going back under the glen, but\nit is said by the old Irish speakers that T\u00e9ideach used to go every day\nin his little floating curragh into this hole under the glen, and that\nthis is the reason it was called T\u00e9ideach's Hole.\n\n[10] Literally \"doggish.\" The meaning is rather \"snarling\" or \"fierce\"\nthan cynical.\n\nIt was well, my dear. To continue the story, Crom Dubh's two sons\nwere worse than himself, and that leaves them bad enough! Crom Dubh\nhad two hounds of dogs and their names were Coinn Iotair and Saidhthe\nSuaraighe,[11] and if ever there were [wicked] mastiffs these two dogs\nwere they. He had them tied to the two jaws of the door, in order to\nloose them and set them to attack people according as they might come\nthat way; and, to go further, he had a big fire kindled on the brink\nof the cliff so that any one who might escape from the hounds he might\nthrow into the fire; and to make a long story short, the fame of Crom\nDubh and his two sons, and his two mastiffs, went far and wide, for\ntheir evil-doing; and the people were so terrified at his name, not to\nspeak of himself, that they used to hide their faces in their bosoms\nwhen they used to hear it mentioned in their ears, and the people were\nso much afraid of him that if they heard the bark of a dog they would\ngo hiding in the dwellings that they had underground, to take refuge\nin, to defend themselves from Crom Dubh and his mastiffs.\n\n[11] Pronounced like \"Cunn eetir\" and \"sy-ha soory\"--hound of rage and\nbitch of wickedness?\n\nIt is said that there was a linnaun shee[12] or fairy sweetheart\nwalking with Crom Dubh, and giving him knowledge according as he used\nto require it. In place of his inclining to what was good as he was\ngrowing in age, the way he went on was to be growing in badness every\nday, and the wind was not quicker than he, for he was as nimble as a\nMarch hare. When he used to go out about the country he used to send\nhis two sons and his two mastiffs before him, and they announcing to\nthe people according as they proceeded, that Crom Dubh was coming to\ncollect his standing rent, and bidding them to have it ready for him.\nCrom Dubh used to come after them, and his trickster (?) along with\nhim, and he drawing after him a sort of yoke like a wheelless sliding\ncar, and according as he used to get his standing rent it used to be\nthrown into the car, and every one had to pay according to his ability.\nAnyone who would refuse, he used to be brought next day before Crom\nDubh, as he sat beside the fire, and Crom used to pass judgment upon\nhim, and after the judgment the man used to be thrown into the fire.\nMany a plan and scheme were hatched against Crom Dubh to put him out of\nthe world, but he overcame them all, for he had too much wizardry from\nthe [fairy] sweetheart.\n\n[12] Linnaun shee, a fairy sweetheart; in Irish spelt \"leann\u00e1n sidhe.\"\n\nCrom Dubh was continuing his evil deeds for many years, and according\nas the story about him remains living and told from person to person,\nthey say that he was a native of hell in the skin of a biped, and\nthrough the horror that the people of the country had for him they\nwould have given all that ever they saw if only Crom Dubh and his\ncompany could have been put-an-end-to; but there was no help for them\nin that, since he and his company had the power, and they had to endure\nbitter persecution for years, and for many years, and every year it\nwas getting worse; and they without any hope of relief because they\nhad no knowledge of God or Mary or of anything else which concerned\nheaven. For that reason they could not put trust in any person beyond\nCrom Dubh, because they thought, bad as he was, that it was he who was\ngiving them the light of the day, the darkness of the night, and the\nchange of seasons.\n\nIt was well, brother of my heart. During this time St. Patrick was\ngoing throughout Ireland, working diligently and baptizing many people.\nOn he went until he came to Fo-choill or Foghill; and at that time and\nfor long afterwards there were nothing but woods that grew in that\nplace, but there is neither branch nor tree there now. However, to\npursue the story, St. Patrick began explaining to the Pagans about the\nlight and glory of the heavens. Some of them gave ear to him, but the\nmost of them paid him no attention. After he had taken all those who\nlistened to him to the place which was called the Well of the Branch to\nbaptize them, and when he had them baptized, the people called the well\nTobar Phadraig, or Patrick's Well, and that is there ever since.\n\nWhen these Pagans got the seal of Christ on their forehead, and\nknowledge of the Holy Trinity, they began telling St. Patrick about the\ndoings of Crom Dubh and his evil ways, and they besought him if he had\nany power from the All-mighty Father to chastise Crom Dubh, rightly or\nwrongly, or to give him the Christian faith if it were possible.\n\nIt was well, brother, St. Patrick passed on over through Tr\u00e1igh Leacan,\nup B\u00e9al Tr\u00e1ghadh, down Craobhach, and down under the Log\u00e1n, the name\nthat was on Crom Dubh's place before St. Patrick came. When St. Patrick\nreached the Log\u00e1n, which is near the present Ballycastle, he was within\na quarter of a mile of Crom Dubh's house, and at the same time Crom\nDubh and T\u00e9ideach his son were trying a bout of wrestling with one\nanother, while Saidhthe Suaraighe was stretched out on the ground from\near to tail. With the squeezing they were giving one another they\nnever observed St. Patrick making for them until Saidhthe Suaraighe put\na howling bark out of her, and with that the pair looked behind them\nand they saw St. Patrick and his defensive company with him, making for\nthem; and in the twinkling of an eye the two rushed forward, clapping\ntheir hands and setting Saidhthe Suaraighe at them and encouraging her.\n\nWith that T\u00e9ideach put his fore finger into his mouth and let a whistle\ncalling for Coinn Iotair, for she was at that same time hunting with\nClonnach on the top of Glen Lasaire, and Glen Lasaire is nearly two\nmiles from Dun Phadraig, but she was not as long as while you'd be\nsaying De' raisias [Deo Gratias] coming from Glen Lasaire when she\nheard the sound of the whistle. They urged the two bitches against St.\nPatrick, and at the same time they did not know what sort of man St.\nPatrick was or where he came from.\n\nThe two bitches made for him and coals of fire out of their mouths, and\na blue venemous light burning in their eyes, with the dint of venom and\nwickedness, but just as they were going to seize St. Patrick he cut\n[marked] a ring round about him with the crozier which he had in his\nhand, and before the dogs reached the verge of the ring St. Patrick\nspoke as follows:--\n\n    A lock on thy claws, a lock on thy tooth,\n    A lock on Coinn Iotair of the fury.\n    A lock on the son and on the daughter of Saidhthe Suaraighe.\n    A lock quickly, quickly on you.\n\nBefore St. Patrick began to utter these words there was a froth of\nfoam round their mouths, and their hair was standing up as strong as\nharrow-pins with their fury, but after this as they came nearer to\nSt. Patrick they began to lay down their ears and wag their tails. And\nwhen Crom Dubh saw that, he had like to faint, because he knew when\nthey laid down their ears that they would not do any hurt to him they\nwere attacking. The moment they reached St. Patrick they began jumping\nup upon him and making friendly with him. They licked both his feet\nfrom the top of his great toe[13] to the butt of his ankle, and that\naffection [thus manifesting itself] is amongst dogs from that day to\nthis. St. Patrick began to stroke them with his hand and he went on\nmaking towards Crom Dubh, with the dogs walking at his heels. Crom Dubh\nran until he came to the fire and he stood up beside the fire, so that\nhe might throw St. Patrick into it when he should come as far as it.\nBut as St. Patrick knew the strength of the fire beforehand he lifted a\nstone in his hand, signed the sign of the cross on the stone, and flung\nthe stone so as to throw it into the middle of the flames, and on the\nmoment the fire went down to the lowest depths of the ground, in such a\nway that the hole is there yet to be seen, from that day to this, and\nit is called Poll na Sean-tuine, the hole of the old fire (?), and when\nthe tide fills, the water comes in to the bottom of the hole, and it\nwould draw \"deaf cows out of woods\"--the noise that comes out of the\nhole when the tide is coming in.\n\n[13] Rather \"the space between the toes.\"\n\nIt was well, company[14] of the world; when Crom Dubh saw that the fire\nhad departed out of sight, and that the dogs had failed him and given\nhim no help (a thing they had never done before), he himself and\nT\u00e9ideach struck out like a blast of March wind until they reached the\nhouse, and St. Patrick came after them. They had not far to go, for\nthe fire was near the house. When St. Patrick approached it he began\nto talk aloud with Crom Dubh, and he did his best to change him to a\ngood state of grace, but it failed him to put the seal of Christ on his\nforehead, for he would not give any ear to St. Patrick's words.\n\n[14] A variant of \"it was well, my dear.\"\n\nNow there was no trick of deviltry, druidism, witchcraft, or black\nart in his heart, which he did not work for all he was able, trying\nto gain the victory over St. Patrick, but it was all no use for him,\nfor the words of God were more powerful than the deviltry of the fairy\nsweetheart.\n\nWith the dint of the fury that was on Crom Dubh and on T\u00e9ideach his\nson, they began snapping and grinding their teeth, and so outrageous\nwas their fury that St. Patrick gave a blow of his crozier to the cliff\nunder the base of the gable of the house, and he separated that much of\nthe cliff from the cliffs on the mainland, and that is to be seen there\nto-day just as well as the first day, and that is the cliff that is\ncalled D\u00fan Briste or Broken Fort.\n\nTo pursue the story. All that much of the cliff is a good many yards\nout in the sea from the cliff on the mainland, so Crom Dubh and his son\nhad to remain there until the midges and the scaldcrows had eaten the\nflesh off their bones. And that is the death that Crom Dubh got, and\nthat is the second man that midges ate,[15] and our ancient shanachies\nsay that the first man that midges ate was Judas after he had hanged\nhimself; and that is the cause why the bite of the midges is so sharp\nas it is.\n\n[15] See the story of Mary's Well, p. 17.\n\nTo pursue the story still further. When Clonnach saw what had happened\nto his father he took fright, and he was terrified of St. Patrick, and\nhe began burning the mountain until he had all that side of the land\nset on fire. So violently did the mountains take fire on each side of\nhim that himself could not escape, and they say that he himself was\nburned to a lump amongst them.\n\nSt. Patrick returned back to Fochoill and round through Baile na\nPairce, the Town of the Field, and Bein Buidhe, the Yellow Ben, and\nback to Clochar. The people gathered in multitudes from every side\ndoing honourable homage to St. Patrick, and the pride of the world on\nthem that an end had been made of Crom Dubh.\n\nThere was a well near and handy, and he brought the great multitude\nround about the well, and he never left mother's son or man's daughter\nwithout setting on their faces the wave of baptism and the seal of\nChrist on their foreheads. They washed and scoured the walls of the\nwell, and all round about it, and they got forked branches and limbs\nof trees and bound white and blue ribbons on them, and set them round\nabout the well, and every one of them bowed down on his knees saying\ntheir prayers of thankfulness to God, and as an entertainment for St.\nPatrick on account of his having put an end to the sway of Crom Dubh.\n\nAfter making an end of offering up their prayers every man of them\ndrank three sups of water out of the well, and there is not a year from\nthat out that the people used not to make a _turus_ or pilgrimage to\nthe well, on the anniversary of that day; and that day is the last\nSunday of the seventh month, and the name the Irish speakers call the\nmonth by in that place is the month of Lughnas [August] and the name\nof the Sunday is Crom Dubh's Sunday, but, the name that the English\nspeakers call the Sunday by, is Garland Sunday. There is never a year\nfrom that to this that there does not be a meeting in Cill Chuimin, for\nthat is the place where the well is. They come far and near to make a\npilgrimage to the well; and a number of other people go there too, to\namuse themselves and drink and spend. And I believe that the most of\nthat rakish lot go there making a mock of the Christian Irish-speakers\nwho are offering up their prayers to their holy patron Patrick, high\nhead of their religion.\n\nCuimin's well is the name of this well, for its name was changed during\nthe time of Saint Cuimin on account of all the miraculous things he did\nthere, and he is buried within a perch of the well in Cill Chuimin.\n\nThere does be a gathering on the same Sunday at D\u00fan Padraig or\nDownpatrick at the well which is called Tobar Brighde or Briget's Well\nbeside Cill Brighde, and close to D\u00fan Briste; but, love of my heart,\nsince the English jargon began a short time ago in that place the old\nChristian custom of the Christians is almost utterly gone off.\n\nThere now ye have it as I got it, and if ye don't like it add to it\nyour complaints.[16]\n\n[16] Apparently tell it with your complaint added to it.\n\n\n\n\nMARY'S WELL.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe following story I got from Proinsias O'Conchubhait when he was\nin Athlone about fifteen years ago, and he heard it from a woman who\nherself came from Ballintubber, Co. Mayo. This Ballintubber is not\nto be confounded with the Roscommon place of the same name, which\nis called in Irish Baile-an-tobair Ui Chonchubhair, or O'Conor's\nBallintubber. The Mayo Ballintubber is celebrated for its splendid\nAbbey, founded by one of the Stauntons, a tribe who took the name of\nMac a mhilidh (Mac-a-Veely or Mac Evilly) in Irish. The prophesy is\ncurrent in Mayo that when the abbey is re-roofed Ireland will be free.\nMy friend, Colonel Maurice Moore, told me that when he was a young boy\nhe often wondered why the people did not roof the abbey, and so free\nIreland without any more trouble. The tomb of the notorious Shaun na\nSagart, the priest-hunter, which is not far away from it, is still\npointed out by the people. It is probably he who is the \"spy\" in the\nfollowing story, although his name is not mentioned. He belonged to a\nclass who appear to have made it their business to track down priests\nand friars, which is alluded to in the following lines:\n\n    It is no use for me to be saying it,\n    Seeing your kinship with Donough-of-the-priest\n    And with Owen-of-the-cards his father,\n    With the people who used to cut off heads\n    To put them into leather bags,\n    To bring them down with them to the city,\n    And to bring home the gold they got for them,\n    For sustenance for wives and children.\n\nIt will be noticed that it was Mary Mother who put the curing of the\nBlind into this well, and Owen O Duffy, the poet, says of her that she\nis\n\n    A woman who put a hedge round every country.\n    A woman to whom right inclines.\n    A woman greatest in strength and power,\n    A woman softest (_i.e._, most generous) about red gold.\n    A woman by whom is quenched the anger of the king.\n    A woman who gives sight to the blind.\n\nFor the Irish text of this story, see \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\"\nvol. I., p. 111.\n\nThe abbey where the holy well broke out was, according to some, founded\nby Cathal O Conor in 1216, for the Augustinians, and was dedicated to\nthe Holy Trinity.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nLong ago there was a blessed well in Ballintubber (_i.e._, town of the\nwell), in the county Mayo. There was once a monastery in the place\nwhere the well is now, and it was on the spot where stood the altar of\nthe monastery that the well broke out. The monastery was on the side\nof a hill, but when Cromwell and his band of destroyers came to this\ncountry, they overthrew the monastery, and never left stone on top of\nstone in the altar that they did not throw down.\n\nA year from the day that they threw down the altar--that was Lady Day\nin spring--the well broke out on the site of the altar, and it is a\nwonderful thing to say, that there was not one drop of water in the\nstream that was at the foot of the hill from the day that the well\nbroke out.\n\nThere was a poor friar going the road the same day, and he went out of\nhis way to say a prayer upon the site of the blessed altar, and there\nwas great wonder on him when he saw a fine well in its place. He fell\non his knees and began to say his paternoster, when he heard a voice\nsaying: \"Put off your brogues, you are upon blessed ground, you are on\nthe brink of Mary's Well, and there is the curing of thousands of blind\nin it; there shall be a person cured by the water of that well for\nevery person who heard mass in front of the altar that was in the place\nwhere the well is now, if they be dipped three times in it, in the name\nof the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.\"\n\nWhen the friar had his prayers said, he looked up and saw a large white\ndove upon a fir tree near him. It was the dove who was speaking. The\nfriar was dressed in false clothes, because there was a price on his\nhead, as great as would be on the head of a wild-dog [wolf].\n\nAt any rate, he proclaimed the story to the people of the little\nvillage, and it was not long till it went out through the country. It\nwas a poor place, and the people in it had nothing [to live in] but\nhuts, and these filled with smoke. On that account there were a great\nmany weak-eyed people amongst them. With the dawn, on the next day,\nthere were above forty people at Mary's Well, and there was never man\nnor woman of them but came back with good sight.\n\nThe fame of Mary's Well went through the country, and it was not long\ntill there were pilgrims from every county coming to it, and nobody\nwent back without being cured; and at the end of a little time even\npeople from other countries used to be coming to it.\n\nThere was an unbeliever living near Mary's Well. It was a gentleman\nhe was, and he did not believe in the cure. He said there was nothing\nin it but pishtrogues (charms), and to make a mock of the people he\nbrought a blind ass, that he had, to the well, and he dipped its head\nunder the water. The ass got its sight, but the scoffer was brought\nhome as blind as the sole of your shoe.\n\nAt the end of a year it so happened that there was a priest working as\na gardener with the gentleman who was blind. The priest was dressed\nlike a workman, and nobody at all knew that it was a priest who was in\nit. One day the gentleman was sickly, and he asked his servant to take\nhim out into the garden. When he came to the place where the priest was\nworking he sat down. \"Isn't it a great pity,\" says he, \"that I cannot\nsee my fine garden?\"\n\nThe gardener took compassion on him, and said, \"I know where there is a\nman who would cure you, but there is a price on his head on account of\nhis religion.\"\n\n\"I give my word that I'll do no spying on him, and I'll pay him well\nfor his trouble,\" said the gentleman.\n\n\"But perhaps you would not like to go through the mode of curing that\nhe has,\" says the gardener.\n\n\"I don't care what mode he has, if he gives me my sight,\" said the\ngentleman.\n\nNow, the gentleman had an evil character, because he betrayed a number\nof priests before that. Bingham was the name that was on him. However,\nthe priest took courage and said, \"Let your coach be ready on to-morrow\nmorning, and I will drive you to the place of the cure; neither\ncoachman nor anyone else may be present but myself, and do not tell to\nanyone at all where you are going, or give anyone a knowledge of what\nis your business.\"\n\nOn the morning of the next day Bingham's coach was ready, and he\nhimself got into it, with the gardener driving him. \"Do you remain\nat home this time,\" says he to the coachman, \"and the gardener will\ndrive me.\" The coachman was a villain, and there was jealousy on him.\nHe conceived the idea of watching the coach to see what way they were\nto go. His blessed vestments were on the priest, inside of his other\nclothes. When they came to Mary's Well the priest said to him, \"I am\ngoing to get back your sight for you in the place where you lost it.\"\nThen he dipped him three times in the well, in the name of the Father,\nthe Son, and the Holy Spirit, and his sight came to him as well as ever\nit was.\n\n\"I'll give you a hundred pounds,\" said Bingham, \"as soon as I go home.\"\n\nThe coachman was watching, and as soon as he saw the priest in his\nblessed vestments, he went to the people of the law, and betrayed the\npriest. He was taken and hanged, without judge, without judgment. The\nman who was after getting back his sight could have saved the priest,\nbut he did not speak a word in his behalf.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAbout a month after this another priest came to Bingham, and he dressed\nlike a gardener, and he asked work of Bingham, and got it from him; but\nhe was not long in his service until an evil thing happened to Bingham.\nHe went out one day walking through his fields, and there met him a\ngood-looking girl, the daughter of a poor man, and he assaulted her\nand left her half dead. The girl had three brothers, and they took an\noath that they would kill him as soon as they could get hold of him.\nThey had not long to wait. They caught him in the same place where\nhe assaulted the girl, and hanged him on a tree, and left him there\nhanging.\n\nOn the morning of the next day millions of flies were gathered like a\ngreat hill round about the tree, and nobody could go near it on account\nof the foul smell that was round the place, and anyone who would go\nnear it the midges would blind them.\n\nBingham's wife and son offered a hundred pounds to anyone who would\nbring out the body. A good many people made an effort to do that, but\nthey were not able. They got dust to shake on the flies, and boughs of\ntrees to beat them with, but they were not able to scatter them, nor\nto go as far as the tree. The foul smell was getting worse, and the\nneighbours were afraid that the flies and noisome corpse would bring a\nplague upon them.\n\nThe second priest was at this time a gardener with Bingham, but the\npeople of the house did not know that it was a priest who was in it,\nfor if the people of the law or the spies knew, they would take and\nhang him. The Catholics went to Bingham's wife and told her that they\nknew a man who would banish the flies. \"Bring him to me,\" said she,\n\"and if he is able to banish the flies, that is not the reward he'll\nget, but seven times as much.\"\n\n\"But,\" said they, \"if the people of the law knew, they would take him\nand hang him, as they hung the man who got back the sight of his eyes\nfor him before.\" \"But,\" said she, \"could not he banish the flies\nwithout the knowledge of the people of the law?\"\n\n\"We don't know,\" said they, \"until we take counsel with him.\"\n\nThat night they took counsel with the priest and told him what\nBingham's wife said.\n\n\"I have only an earthly life to lose,\" said the priest, \"and I shall\ngive it up for the sake of the poor people, for there will be a plague\nin the country unless I banish the flies. On to-morrow morning I shall\nmake an attempt to banish them in the name of God, and I have hope and\nconfidence in God that he will save me from my enemies. Go to the lady\nnow, and tell her that I shall be near the tree at sunrise to-morrow\nmorning, and tell her to have men ready to put the corpse in the grave.\"\n\nThey went to the lady and told her all the priest said.\n\n\"If it succeeds with him,\" said she, \"I shall have the reward ready for\nhim, and I shall order seven men to be present.\"\n\nThe priest spent that night in prayer, and half an hour before sunrise\nhe went to the place where his blessed vestments were hidden; he put\nthese on, and with a cross in one hand, and with holy-water in the\nother, he went to the place where were the flies. He then began reading\nout of his book and scattering holy-water on the flies, in the name of\nthe Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The hill of flies rose, and\nflew up into the air, and made the heaven as dark as night. The people\ndid not know where they went, but at the end of half an hour there was\nnot one of them to be seen.\n\nThere was great joy on the people, but it was not long till they saw\nthe spy coming, and they called to the priest to run away as quick as\nit was in him to run. The priest gave to the butts (took to his heels),\nand the spy followed him, and a knife in each hand with him. When he\nwas not able to come up with the priest he flung the knife after him.\nAs the knife was flying out past the priest's shoulder he put up his\nleft hand and caught it, and without ever looking behind him he flung\nit back. It struck the man and went through his heart, so that he fell\ndead and the priest went free.\n\nThe people got the body of Bingham and buried it in the grave, but when\nthey went to bury the body of the spy they found thousands of rats\nround about it, and there was not a morsel of flesh on his bones that\nthey had not eaten. They would not stir from the body, and the people\nwere not able to rout them away, so that they had to leave the bones\nover-ground.\n\nThe priest hid away his blessed vestments and was working in the garden\nwhen Bingham's wife sent for him, and told him to take the reward that\nwas for banishing the flies, and to give it to the man who banished\nthem, if he knew him.\n\n\"I do know him, and he told me to bring him the reward to-night,\nbecause he has the intention of leaving the country before the\nlaw-people hang him.\"\n\n\"Here it is for you,\" said she, as she handed him a purse of gold.\n\nOn the morning of the next day the priest went to the brink of the\nsea, and found a ship that was going to France. He went on board, and\nas soon as he had left the harbour he put his priest's-clothes on\nhim, and gave thanks to God for bringing him safe. We do not know what\nhappened to him from that out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAfter that, blind and sore-eyed people used to be coming to Mary's\nWell, and not a person of them ever returned without being cured. But\nthere never yet was anything good in this country that was not spoilt\nby somebody, and the well was spoilt in this way.\n\nThere was a girl in Ballintubber and she was about to be married, when\nthere came a half-blind old woman to her asking alms in the honour of\nGod and Mary.\n\n\"I've nothing to give to an old blind-thing of a hag, it's bothered\nwith them I am,\" said the girl.\n\n\"That the marriage ring may never go on you until you're as blind as\nmyself,\" says the old woman.\n\nNext day, in the morning, the young girl's eyes were sore, and the\nmorning after that she was nearly blind, and the neighbours said to her\nthat she ought to go to Mary's Well.\n\nIn the morning, early, she rose up and went to the well, but what\nshould she see at it but the old woman who asked the alms of her,\nsitting on the brink, combing her head over the blessed well.\n\n\"Destruction on you, you nasty hag, is it dirtying Mary's Well you\nare?\" said the girl. \"Get out of that or I'll break your neck.\"\n\n\"You have no honour nor regard for God or Mary, you refused to give\nalms in honour of them, and for that reason you shall not dip yourself\nin the well.\"\n\nThe girl caught a hold of the hag trying to pull her from the well,\nand with the dragging that was between them, the two of them fell into\nthe well and were drowned.\n\nFrom that day to this there has been no cure in the well.\n\n\n\n\nHOW COVETOUSNESS CAME INTO THE CHURCH.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI heard this story from a workman of the late Mr. Redington Roche, of\nRye Hill (in Irish, Druim an tseagail) near Monivea, Co. Galway. It\nwas in Irish prose, but it reminded me so strongly of those strange\nsemi-comic medi\u00e6val moralities common at an early date to most European\nlanguages--such pieces as Goethe has imitated in his poem of \"St. Peter\nand the Horse Shoe\"--that I could not resist the temptation to turn\nit into rhyme. I have heard a story something like this in the County\nTipperary, only that it was told in English. This story is the reason\n(I think the narrator added) of the well-known proverbial rann:\n\n    Four clerks who are not covetous\n    Four Frenchmen who are not yellow,\n    Four shoemakers who are not liars,\n    Those are a dozen who are not in the country.\n\nMore than one piece of both English and French literature founded upon\nthe same motif as this story will occur to the reader. The original\nwill be found at p. 161 of \"The Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol I.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\n      As once our Saviour and St. Peter\n    Were walking over the hills together,\n    In a lonesome place that was by the sea,\n    Beside the border of Galilee,\n    Just as the sun to set began\n    Whom should they meet but a poor old man!\n    His coat was ragged, his hat was torn,\n    He seemed most wretched and forlorn,\n    Penury stared in his haggard eye\n    And he asked an alms as they passed him by.\n\n      Peter had only a copper or two,\n    So he looked to see what the Lord would do.\n    The man was trembling--it seemed to him--\n    With hunger and cold in every limb.\n    But, nevertheless, our Lord looked grave,\n    He turned away and he nothing gave.\n    And Peter was vexed awhile at that\n    And wondered what our Lord was at,\n    Because he had thought him much too good\n    To ever refuse a man for food.\n    But though he wondered he nothing said,\n    Nor asked the cause, for he was afraid.\n\n      It happened that the following day\n    They both returned that very way,\n    And whom should they meet where the man had been\n    But a highway robber gaunt and lean!\n    And in his belt a naked sword--\n    For an alms he, too, besought the Lord.\n    \"He's a fool,\" thought Peter, \"to cross us thus,\n    He won't get anything from us.\"\n    But Peter was seized with such surprise\n    He scarcely could believe his eyes,\n    When he saw the Master, without a word,\n    Give to the man who had the sword.\n\n      After the man was gone again\n    His wonder Peter could not restrain\n    But turning to our Saviour said:\n    \"Master, the man who asked for bread,\n    The poor old man of yesterday,\n    Why did you turn from him away?\n    But to this robber, this shameless thief,\n    Give, when he asked you for relief.\n    I thought it most strange for _you_ to do;\n    We needn't have feared him, we were two.\n    I have a sword here, as you see,\n    And could have used it as well as he;\n    And I am taller by a span,\n    For he was only a little man.\"\n\n      \"Peter,\" said the Lord, \"you see\n    Things but as they _seem_ to be.\n    Look within and see behind,\n    Know the heart and read the mind,\n    'Tis not long before you know\n    Why it was I acted so.\"\n\n      After this it chanced one day\n    Our Lord and Peter went astray.\n    Wandering on a mountain wide.\n    Nothing but waste on every side.\n    Worn with hunger, faint with thirst,\n    Peter followed, the Lord went first.\n    Then began a heavy rain,\n    Lightning gleamed and gleamed again,\n    Another deluge poured from heaven,\n    The slanting hail swept tempest-driven.\n    Then when fainting, frozen, spent,\n    A man came towards them through the bent.\n    And Peter trembled with cold and fright,\n    When he knew again the robber wight.\n    But the robber brought them to his cave,\n    And what he had he freely gave.\n    He brought them wine, he gave them bread,\n    He strewed them rushes for a bed.\n    He lent them both a clean attire\n    And dried their clothes before the fire,\n    And when they rose the following day\n    He gave them victuals for the way,\n    And never left them till he showed\n    And put them on the straightest road.\n\n      \"The Master was right,\" thought Peter then,\n    \"The robber is better than better men.\n    There's many an honest man,\" thought he,\n    \"Who never did as much for me.\"\n\n      They had not left the robber's ground\n    Above an hour, when, lo, they found\n    A man upon the mountain track\n    Lying dead upon his back.\n    And Peter soon, with much surprise,\n    The beggarman did recognize.\n    \"Ochone!\" thought Peter, \"we had no right\n    To refuse him alms the other night.\n    He's dead from the cold and want of food,\n    And we're partly guilty of his blood.\"\n    \"Peter,\" said our Lord, \"go now\n    Feel his pockets and let us know\n    What he has within his coat.\"\n    Peter turned them inside out,\n    And found within the lining plenty\n    Of silver coins, and of gold ones twenty.\n    \"My Lord,\" said Peter, \"now I know\n    Why it was you acted so.\n    Whatever you say or do with men,\n    I never will think you wrong again.\"\n    \"Peter,\" said our Saviour, \"take\n    And throw those coins in yonder lake,\n    That none may fish them up again,\n    For money is often the curse of men.\"\n\n      Peter gathered the coins together.\n    And crossed to the lake through bog and heather.\n    But he thought in his mind \"It's a real sin\n    To be flinging this lovely money in.\n    We're often hungry, we're often cold,\n    And money is money--I'll keep the gold\n    To spend on the Master, he needs the pelf,\n    For he's very neglectful of himself.\"\n    Then down with a splash does Peter throw\n    The _silver_ coins to the lake below,\n    And hopes our Lord from the splash would think\n    He had thrown the whole from off the brink.\n    And then before our Lord he stood\n    And looked as innocent as he could.\n\n      Our Lord said: \"Peter, regard your soul;\n    Are you sure you have now thrown in the whole?\"\n    \"Yes, all,\" said Peter, \"is gone below,\n    But a few gold pieces I wouldn't throw,\n    Since I thought we might find them very good\n    For a sup to drink, or a bite of food.\n    Because our own are nearly out,\n    And they're inconvenient to do without.\n    But, if you wish it, of course I'll go\n    And fling the rest of the lot below.\"\n\n      \"Ah, Peter, Peter,\" said our Lord,\n    \"You should have obeyed me at my word.\n    For a greedy man you are I see,\n    And a greedy man you will ever be;\n    A covetous man you are of gain,\n    And a covetous man you will remain.\"\n\n    So that's the reason, as I've been told,\n    All clergy are since so fond of gold.\n\n\n\n\nKNOCK MULRUANA.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story was told by my friend, Mr. Peter McGinley, who printed it\nin 1897 in the \"Gaelic Journal\" of that year. He told me that though\nthe story came from the Irish speaking part of the country it was in\nEnglish it was first repeated to him when he was a young boy, and he\nretold it in Irish, without any change in the story itself. He says\nthat he feels sure it is just as he heard it. The story comes from\nGleann Domhain, which is near Gartan, in Donegal, celebrated as the\nbirthplace of Colmcille, and Cnoc Mhaoilruandha is near at hand,\nand the lake is a little below it. The proverb, \"as I have burned\nthe candle I'll burn the inch,\" does not, he says, always signify\nimpenitence, but means rather to hold out in any course, good or evil,\nuntil the last. The name Maolruanadha, which I have shortened into\nMulruana, is variously anglicised Mulroney and Moroney. This story may\nremind the reader a little of Lewis's \"Monk.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nOn this side of Glen Domhain, there is a little hill whose name is\nMulroney's Hill, and this is the reason why it was given that name.\n\nIn old times there was a man living in a little house on the side of\nthe hill, and Mulruana was his name. He was a pious holy man, and\nhated the world's vanities so much that he became a hermit, and he\nwas always alone in that house, without anyone in his neighbourhood.\nHe used to be always praying and subduing himself. He used to drink\nnothing but water, and used to eat nothing but berries and the wild\nroots which he used to get in the mountains and throughout the glens.\nHis fame and reputation were going through the country for the holy\nearnest life that he was living.\n\nHowever, great jealousy seized the Adversary at the piety of this man,\nand he sent many evil spirits to put temptations on him. But on account\nof all his prayers and piety it failed those evil-spirits to get the\nvictory over him, so that they all returned back to hell with the\nreport of the steadfastness and loyalty of Mulruana in the service of\nGod.\n\nThen great anger seized Satan, so that he sent further demons, each\nmore powerful than the other, to put temptation on Mulruana. Not one\nof them succeeded in even coming near the hut of the holy man. Nor did\nit fare any better with them whenever he came outside, for he used\nalways to be attentive to his prayers and ever musing on holy things.\nThen every evil-spirit of them used to go back to hell and used to tell\nthe devil that there was no use contending with Mulruana, for that God\nhimself and His angels were keeping him and giving him help.\n\nThat account made Satan mad entirely, so that he determined at last\nto go himself, hoping to destroy Mulruana, and to draw him out of the\nproper path. Accordingly he came one evening at nightfall, in the\nguise of a young woman, and asked the good man for lodging. Mulruana\nrudely refused the pretended woman, and banished her away from his\ndoor, although he felt a compassion for her because the night was wet\nand stormy, and he thought that the girl was without house and shelter\nfrom the rain and cold. But what the woman did was to go round to the\nback of the house and play music, and it was the sweetest and most\nmelancholy music that man ever heard.\n\nBecause Mulruana had had a pity for the poor girl at the first, he\nlistened now to her music, and took great delight in it, and had much\njoy of it, but he did not allow her into his hut. At the hour of\nmidnight the devil went back to hell, but he had a shrewd notion that\nhe had won the game and that he had caught the holy man. Mulruana had\nquiet during the remainder of the night, but instead of continuing at\nhis prayers, as was his custom, he spent the end of the night, almost\ntill the dawn of day, thinking of the beauty of the girl and of the\nsweetness of her music.\n\nThe day after that the devil came at the fall of night in the same\nlikeness, and again asked lodging of Mulruana. Mulruana refused that,\nalthough he did not like to do it, but he remembered the vow he had\nmade never to let a woman or a girl into his hut. The pretended woman\nwent round to the back of the house, and she was playing music that was\nlike fairy music until it was twelve o'clock, when she had to go away\nwith herself to hell. The man inside was listening to the playing and\ntaking great delight in it, and when she ceased there came over him\nmelancholy and trouble of mind. He never slept a wink that night, and\nhe never said a word of his prayers either, but eagerly thinking[17] of\nthe young woman, and his heart going astray with the beauty of her form\nand the sweetness of her voice.\n\n[17] This idiom, borrowed from the Irish, is very common in\nAnglo-Irish. It is not governed by the rules of English grammar.\n\nOn the morning of the next day Mulruana rose from his bed, and it\nis likely that it was the whisper of an angel he heard, because he\nremembered that it was not right for him to pay such heed to a girl and\nto forget his prayers. He bowed his knees and began to pray strongly\nand earnestly, and made a firm resolve that he would not think more\nabout the girl, and that he would not listen to her music. But, after\nall, he did not succeed in obtaining a complete victory over his\nthoughts concerning the young woman, and consequently he was between\ntwo notions until the evening came.\n\nWhen the night was well dark the Adversary came again in the shape of\nthe girl, and she even more beautiful and more lovely than she was\nbefore, and asked the man for a night's lodging. He remembered his vow\nand the resolve he had made that day in the morning, and he refused\nher, and threatened her that she should not come again to trouble\nhim, and he drove her away with rough sharp words, and with a stern,\nchurlish countenance, as though there were a great anger on him. He\nwent into his hut and the girl remained near the hut outside, and she\nweeping and lamenting and shedding tears.\n\nWhen Mulruana saw the girl weeping and keening piteously he conceived\na great pity for her, and compassion for her came to him, and desire,\nand he did not free his heart from those evil inclinations, since he\nhad not made his prayers on that day with a heart as pure as had been\nhis wont, and he listened willingly and gladly. It was not long until\nhe came out, himself, in spite of his vow and his good resolutions, and\ninvited the pretended woman to come into his hut. Small delay she made\nin going in!\n\nIt was then the King of Grace took pity at this man being lost without\ngiving him time to amend himself, since he had ever been truly pious,\ndiligent, humane, well disposed and of good works, until this great\ntemptation came over him. For that reason God sent an angel to him with\na message to ask him to repent. The angel came to Mulruana's house\nand went inside. Then the devil leapt to his feet, uttered a fearful\nscreech, changed his colour, his shape, and his appearance. His own\ndevilish form and demoniac appearance came upon him. He turned away\nfrom the angel like a person blinded with a great shining or blaze of\nlight, and went out of the hut.\n\nHis senses nearly departed from Mulruana with the terror that overcame\nhim. When he came to himself again the angel made clear to him how\ngreat was the sin to which he had given way, and how God had sent\nhim to him to ask him to repent. But Mulruana never believed a word\nhe said. He knew that it was the devil who had been in his company\nin the guise of a young woman. He remembered the sin to which he had\nconsented, so that he considered himself to be so guilty that it would\nbe impossible for him ever to obtain forgiveness from God. He thought\nthat it was deceiving him the angel was, when he spoke of repentance\nand forgiveness. The angel was patient with him and spoke gently.\nHe told him of the love and friendship of God and how He would never\nrefuse forgiveness to the truly penitent, no matter how heavy his share\nof sins. Mulruana did not listen to him, but a drowning-man's-cry\nissued out of his mouth always, that he was lost, and he ever-cursing\nGod, the devil and himself. The angel never ceased, but entreating and\nbeseeching him to turn to God and make repentance--but it was no use\nfor him. Mulruana was as hard and as stubborn as he was before, all the\ntime taking great oaths and blaspheming God.\n\nAll the time the angel was speaking he had the appearance of a burning\ncandle in his hand. At long last, when the candle was burnt all but\nabout an inch, a gloom fell over the countenance of the angel and he\nstood out from Mulruana, and threatened him, and told him that his term\nof grace was almost expired, and, said he, unless you make repentance\nbefore this inch of candle is burnt away, God will grant you no more\nrespite, and you will be damned for ever.\n\nThen there came silence on Mulruana for a while, as though he were\nabout to follow the advice of the angel. But then on the spot he\nthought of the sin that he had done. On that, despair seized him, and\nthe answer he gave the angel was, \"as I have burned the candle I'll\nburn the inch.\" Then the angel spoke to him with a loud and terrible\nvoice, announcing to him that he was now indeed accursed of God, and,\nsaid he, \"thou shalt die to-morrow of thirst.\" Mulruana answered him\nwith no submission, and said, \"O lying angel, I know now that you are\ndeceiving me. It is impossible that I should die of thirst in this\nplace, and so much water round about me. There is, outside there, a\nwell of spring water that was never dry, and there is a stream beside\nthe gable of the house which would turn the wheel of a great mill no\nmatter how dry the summer day, and down there is Loch Beithe on which\na fleet of ships might float. It is a great folly for you to say that\nanybody could die of thirst in this place.\" But the angel departed from\nhim without an answer.\n\nMulruana went to lie down after that, but, if he did, he never slept\na wink through great trouble of spirit. Next morning, on his rising\nearly, the sharpest thirst that man ever felt came upon him. He leapt\nout of his bed and went to the stoap [pail] for water, but there was\nnot a drop in it. Out with him then to the well, but he did not find a\ndrop there either. He turned on his foot towards the stream that was\nbeside the house, but it was dry before him down to the gravel. The\nbanks and the pebbles in the middle of it were as dry as though they\nhad never seen a drop of water for a year. Mulruana remembered then the\nprophecy of the angel and he started. A quaking of terror came upon\nhim, and his thirst was growing every moment. He went running at full\nspeed to Loch Beithe, but when he came to the brink of the lake he\nuttered one awful cry and fell in a heap on the ground. Loch Beithe too\nwas dry before him.\n\nThat is how a cowherd found him the next day, lying on the brink of\nthe lake, his eyes starting out of his head, his tongue stretched out\nof his throat, and a lump of white froth round his mouth. His awful\nappearance was such that fear would not let the people go near him to\nbury him, and his body was left there until birds of prey and wild\ndogs took it away with them.\n\nThat is how it happened Mulruana as a consequence of his sin, his\nimpenitence, and his despair, and that is the reason why it is not\nright for any one to use the old saying, \"As I've burnt the candle I'll\nburn the inch,\" and yonder is \"Cnoc Mhaoilruanadha,\" Mulruana's Hill,\nas a witness to the truth of this story.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STONE OF TRUTH OR THE MERCHANT OF THE SEVEN BAGS.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe Stone of Truth is as old as the times of the Druids. The celebrated\nLia Fail was a stone of truth. Certain stones were oracles in old\ntimes. There was a stone in Oriel, and a celebrated stone called Cloeh\nLabhrais in the south which were oracular. A man who suspected his\nwife made her stand upon the southern stone to swear that she had\nnot wronged him. She spied a man she knew too well far away upon the\nmountain, and swore she had never done anything she ought not to have\ndone--no more than with that man on the skyline. The heart of the stone\nwas broken with this equivocation, and it burst asunder exclaiming\n[uncial: bionn an firinne fein searbh], \"even truth itself is\nbitter.\"\n\nThe idea is Pagan, but this story is motivated in a Christian manner,\nby alleging that the stone derived its miraculous power from St.\nPatrick's having knelt on it in prayer. I got this story from Francis\nO'Conor. For the original Irish, see \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\"\nvol. II., p. 230.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was a man in it, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, whose name\nwas P\u00e1idin[18] O Ciarbh\u00e1in [Keerwaun, or Kerwin] and he was living\nclose to Cong in West Connacht. P\u00e1idin was a strange man; he did not\nbelieve in God or in anything about him. It's often the priest thought\nto bring him to Mass, but it was no use for him, for P\u00e1idin would not\ntake the advice of priest or bishop. He believed that man was like the\nbeast, and he believed that when man died there was no more about him.\n\n[18] Pronounced \"Paudyeen.\"\n\nP\u00e1idin lived an evil life; he used to be going from house to house by\nday, and stealing in the night.\n\nNow, at the time that St. Patrick was in West Connacht seeking to make\nChristians of the Pagans, he went down one day upon his knees, on a\ngreat flag stone, to utter prayers, and he left after him a great\nvirtue in the same stone, for anybody who might speak above that stone,\nit was necessary for him to tell the clear truth, he could not tell a\nlie, and for that reason the people gave the name to that flag of the\nStone of Truth.\n\nP\u00e1idin used always to have a great fear of this stone, and it's often\nhe intended to steal it. One night when he found an opportunity he\nhoisted the stone on his back, took it away with him, and threw it down\ninto a great valley between two hills, seven miles from the place where\nit used to be, and the rogue thought that he was all right; but the\nstone was back in its old place that same night without his knowing.\n\nAnother night after that he stole the geese of the parish priest, and\nas the people doubted him, they said that they would bring him to the\nStone of Truth. P\u00e1idin was laughing in his own mind, for he knew that\nhe had the stone stolen; but great was the surprise that was on him\nwhen he saw the stone before him in its own place. When he was put\nabove the stone he was obliged to tell that he had stolen the geese,\nand he got a great beating from the priest. He made a firm resolution\nthen that if he got an opportunity at the stone again, he would put it\nin a place that it would never come out of.\n\nA couple of nights after that he got his opportunity again, and stole\nthe stone a second time. He threw it down into a great deep hole, and\nhe went home rejoicing in himself. But he did not go a quarter of a\nmile from the place until he heard a great noise coming after him. He\nlooked behind him and he saw a lot of little people, and they dressed\nin clothes as white as snow. There came such fear over P\u00e1idin that he\nwas not able to walk one step, until the little people came up with\nhim, and they carrying the Stone of Truth with them. A man of them\nspoke to him and said: \"O accursed P\u00e1idin, carry this stone back to the\nplace where you got it, or you shall pay dearly for it.\"\n\n\"I will and welcome,\" said P\u00e1idin.\n\nThey put the stone upon his back and they returned the road on which\nthey had come. But as the devil was putting temptation upon P\u00e1idin, he\nwent and threw the stone into a hole that was deeper than the first\nhole, a hole which the people made to go hiding in when the war would\nbe coming. The stone remained in that hole for more than seven years,\nand no one knew where it was but P\u00e1idin only.\n\nAt the end of that time P\u00e1idin was going by the side of the churchyard,\nwhen he looked up at a cross that was standing there, and he fell into\na faint. When he came to himself, there was a man before him and he\nclothed as white as the snow. He spoke to him and said: \"O accursed\nP\u00e1idin, you are guilty of the seven deadly sins, and unless you do\npenance you shall go to hell. I am an angel from God, and I will put a\npenance on you. I will put seven bags upon you and you must carry them\nfor one and twenty years. After that time go before the great cross\nthat shall be in the town of Cong, and say three times, 'My soul to God\nand Mary,' spend a pious life until then, and you will go to heaven.\nGo to the priest now, if you are obedient (and ready) to receive my\ncounsel.\"\n\n\"I am obedient,\" said P\u00e1idin, \"but the people will be making a mock of\nme.\"\n\n\"Never mind the mock, it won't last long,\" said the angel.\n\nAfter this conversation a deep sleep fell upon P\u00e1idin, and when he\nawoke there were seven bags upon him, and the angel was gone away.\nThere were two bags on his right side, two bags on his left side, and\nthree others on his back, and they were stuck so fast upon him that\nhe thought that it was growing on him they were. They were the colour\nof his own skin, and there was skin on them. Next day when P\u00e1idin\nwent among the people he put wonder on them, and they called him the\nMerchant of the Seven Bags, and that name stuck to him until he died.\n\nP\u00e1idin began a new life now. He went to the priest, and he showed him\nthe seven bags that were on him, and he told him the reason that they\nwere put on him. The priest gave him good advice and a great coat to\ncover the seven bags with; and after that P\u00e1idin used to be going from\nhouse to house and from village to village asking alms, and there used\nnever be a Sunday or holiday that he would not be at Mass, and there\nused to be a welcome before him in every place.\n\nAbout seven years after that P\u00e1idin was going by the side of the hole\ninto which he had thrown the Stone of Truth. He came to the brink of\nthe hole, went down on his two knees and asked God to send him up\nthe stone. When his prayer was ended he saw the stone coming up, and\nhundreds of white doves round about it. The stone was rising and ever\nrising until it came into P\u00e1idin's presence on the ground, and then\nthe doves went back again. The next day he went to the priest and told\nhim everything about the Stone of Truth, and the way it came up out\nof the hole. \"I will go with you,\" said the priest, \"until I see this\ngreat wonder.\" The priest went with him to the hole and he saw the\nStone of Truth. And he saw another thing which put great wonder on him;\nthousands and thousands of doves flying round about the mouth of the\nhole, going down into it and coming up again. The priest called the\nplace Poll na gColum or the Dove's Hole, and that name is on it until\nthe present day. The blessed stone was brought into Cong, and it was\nnot long until a grand cross was erected over it, and from that day to\nthis people come from every place to look at the Dove's Hole, and the\nold people believed that they were St. Patrick's angels who were in\nthose doves.\n\nThe Stone of Truth was for years after that in Cong, and it is certain\nthat it did great good, for it kept many people from committing crimes.\nBut it was stolen at last, and there is no account of it from that out.\n\nP\u00e1idin lived until he was four score years of age, and bore his share\nof penance piously. When the one and twenty years that the angel gave\nhim were finished, and he carrying the seven bags throughout that time,\nthere came a messenger in a dream to say to him that his life in this\nworld was finished, and that he must go the next day before the Cross\nof Cong and give himself up to God and Mary. Early in the morning he\nwent to the priest and told him the summons he had got in the night.\nPeople say that the priest did not believe him, but at all events he\ntold P\u00e1idin to do as the messenger had bidden him.\n\nP\u00e1idin departed, and left his blessing with his neighbours and\nrelations, and when the clock was striking twelve, and the people\nsaying the Angelical Salutation, P\u00e1idin came before the cross and said\nthree times, \"My soul to God and to Mary,\" and on the spot he fell dead.\n\nThat cross was in the town of Cong for years. A bishop, one of the\nO'Duffy's, went to Rome, and he got a bit of the true Cross and put\nit into the Cross of Cong. It was there until the foreigners came and\nthrew it to the ground. The Cross of Cong is still in Ireland, and the\npeople have an idea that it will yet be raised up in the town of Cong\nwith the help of God.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF L\u00c9ITHIN\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe following interesting story, which, so far as I know, has never\nbeen noted, has come down to us in a late Middle Irish text from which\nI now translate it for the first time. My attention was first called\nto it years ago by my friend, Dr. Nicholas O'Donnell of Melbourne,\nan Australian born and bred, but a good Irish scholar, who made a\ntranscript of the story for me from an Irish MS. which he picked up in\nAustralia. It may well have been taken from a vellum, for the initial\nletter is omitted and a great space left for the scribe to insert it in\ncolours later on. I have carefully compared the copy of the Australian\ntext with four other copies which I find in the Royal Irish Academy,\nthe oldest of which however only dates from 1788, but I found virtually\nno difference between them, and it is evident that they are all drawn\nfrom the same original. There seems to be no variant known. There is\nan ancient poem of great interest bearing on this story, called the\nColloquy between Fintan and the Hawk of Achill. It is in Egerton, 1782,\nand the text was published in \"Anecdota from Irish MSS.\" vol. I., p.\n24, but has never been translated. Fintan, who survived the flood,\nholds colloquy with the bird, which asked him about his life, and\nFintan asks the bird's age. \"O hawk from cold Achill take a benison and\na victory, from the time you were born of an egg, tell the number of\n[the years of] your life.\"\n\n\"I am of the same age as thou, O Fintan, son of Bochra.\" The Bird asks\nFintan \"since he was a poet and a prophet\" to tell him the greatest\nevils he had ever experienced. We learn from the answer that the\nancient salmon in our story was really a rebirth of Fintan himself,\nand it is exceedingly interesting to find the wily old crow[19] who\nate L\u00e9ithin's young ones, appear upon the scene again, as a leading\npersonage in another drama. Fintan tells how the Creator placed him in\nthe cold streams in the shape of a salmon, how he frequented the Boyne,\nthe Bush, the Bann, the Suck, the Suir, the Shannon, the Slaney, the\nLiffey, etc., etc. At last he came to Assaroe.\n\n[19] The word \"pr\u00e9achan,\" though it usually means crow, is applied to\nthe seabhac or hawk in this poem. In Co. Roscommon I always heard the\nMarsh Harrier (or Kite as they called him in English), termed \"pr\u00e9achan\ngcearc\" in Irish.\n\n\"A night I was on the wave in the north and I at seal-frequented\nAssaroe. I never experienced a night like that from the beginning to\nthe end of my time.[20]\n\n[20] Literally \"of the world.\"\n\n\"I could not remain in the waterfall. I give a leap--it was no luck for\nme--the ice comes like blue glass between me and the pool of the son of\nModharn.\n\n\"There comes a crow out of cold Achill, above the inver of Assaroe, I\nshall not hide it, though it is a thing to keep as a secret. He swept\naway with him one of my eyes.\n\n\"The Goll or Blind One of Assaroe has clung to me [as a name] from that\nnight. Rough the deed. I am ever since without my eye. No wonder for me\nto be aged.\"\n\nTHE BIRD.\n\n\"It was I who swallowed thy eye, O Fintan. I am the grey Hawk, who be's\nalone in the waist of Achill.\"\n\nFintan demands eric [recompense] for his eye, but the implacable old\ncrow answers:\n\n\"Little eric would I give thee, O Fintan, son of Bochra the soft, but\nthat one remaining eye in the withered head quickly would I swallow it\nof one morsel.\"\n\nThe bird goes on to tell Fintan about the various battles it had seen\nin Ireland. As for the battle of Moytura in Cong:\n\n\"It was there thy twelve sons fell; to see them, awsome was the blow,\nand I gnawed off each fresh body[21] either a hand or one foot or one\neye.\"\n\n[21] Literally \"limb.\"\n\nThe old crow it was who carried off the hand of Nuadh covered with\nrings, which had been lopped off in the slaughter, and which was\nreplaced later on by a silver hand, whence the King of the Tuatha De\nDanann received the cognomen of Nuadh of the silver hand, but his real\nhand was the plaything of the crows' young for seven years. He recounts\nall the eyes he had picked out of heroes' heads after famous fights.\nIt was he too who perched upon Cuchulainn's shoulder, when, dying, he\nhad bound himself to the standing stone,[22] but though his life had\nalmost departed from him the hero pierced him with his _cletin curad_\nor hero's little quill. \"I came above the hero as his countenance was\ndarkening in death to eat his eyes, it was not an errand of luck, I\nstoop my head. He feels me on his face, he raises up his weakening\nhand, he puts his hero's little quill through my body at the first\neffort (?) I take a troubled flight to Innis Geidh across the valleyed\nsea and draw forth from myself, rough the task, the hard tough shaft of\nthe dartlet. The head remains in my body. It tortured my heart sorely:\nsound I am not since that day, and I conceal it not since I am old. It\nwas I who slew, great the tidings, the solitary crane that was in Moy\nLeana and the eagle of Druim Breac, who fell by me at the famous ford.\n\n[22] See my \"Literary History of Ireland,\" p. 351.\n\nIt was I who slew, pleasant the supper, the solitary crane of blue\nInnis G\u00e9idh. IT WAS I WHO CHEWED BENEATH MY COMB THE TWO FULL-FAT BIRDS\nOF LEITHIN. It was I who slew, royal the rout, THE SLENDER BLACKFOOT of\nSlieve Fuaid; the BLACKBIRD of Drum Seghsa of the streams died in the\ntalons of my daughter.\"\n\nIt is plain then that this ancient poem, found in Egerton 1782, and in\nthe Book of Fermoy, actually presupposes our story, and has a close\nconnection with it.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nA gentle, noble, renowned patron there was of a time in the land of\nIreland, whose exact name was Ciaran of Cluan.[23] A good faith had he\nin the mighty Lord.\n\n[23] _i.e._, Clonmacnoise.\n\nOne day Ciaran bade his clerics to go look for thatch for his church,\non a Saturday of all days,[24] and those to whom he spake were Sailmin,\nson of Beogan, and Maolan, son of Naoi, for men submissive to God were\nthey twain, so far as their utmost diligence went, and many miracles\nwere performed for Maolan, as Ciaran said in the stanza,\n\n[24] Literally \"especially.\"\n\n    Maolan, son of Naoi the cleric,\n    His right hand be for our benison\n    If the son of Naoi desired it\n    To work miracles like every saint.\n\nAnd, moreover, Sailmin, son of Beogan, he was the same man of whom, for\nwisdom, for piety, and for religion, Ciaran spake the stanza,\n\n    Sailmin melodious, son of Beogan.\n    A faith godlike and firm.\n    No blemish is in his body.\n    His soul is an angel.\n\nHe was the seventh son of the sons of Beogan of Burren,[25] and those\nmen were the seven psalmists of Ciaran, so that from them are the\n\"Youth's Cross\" on the Shannon, and the [other] \"Youth's Cross\" on the\nhigh road to Clonmacnoise [named].\n\n[25] In West Clare.\n\nHowsoever the clerics fared forth alongside the Shannon, until they\nreached Cluain Doimh. There they cut the full of their little curragh\nof white-bottomed green-topped rushes. But [before they had done] they\nheard the voice of the clerics' bell at the time of vespers on Sunday,\nso they said that they would not leave that place until the day should\nrise on them on Monday, and they spake the lay as follows:\n\n    The voice of a bell I heard in Cluan[26]\n    On Sunday night defeating us,\n    I shall not depart since that has been heard,\n    Until Monday, after the Sunday.\n\n    On Sunday did God shape-out Heaven,\n    On that day was the King of the apostles born;\n    On Sunday was born Mary\n    Mother of the King of Mercy.\n\n    On Sunday, I say it,\n    Was born victorious John Baptist.\n    By the hand of God in the stream in the East\n    Was he baptised on Sunday.\n\n    On Sunday, moreover, it is a true thing,\n    The Son of God took the captivity out of hell.\n    On a Sunday after the battle ...?\n    Shall God deliver the judgment of the last day.\n\n    On a Sunday night, we think it melodious,\n    The voice of the cleric I hear,\n    The voice I hear of a bell\n    On Drum Diobraid above the pool.\n\n    The voice of the bell I hear\n    Making me to postpone return ...?\n    The voice of the bell I hear\n    Bringing me to Cluan.\n\n    By thy hand O youth,\n    And by the King who created thee,\n    My heart thinks it delightful\n    The bell and the voice.\n\n[26] _i.e._, Clonmacnoise.\n\nHowbeit the clerics abode that night [where they were] for the love\nof the King of Sunday. Now there occurred, that night, a frost and\na prolonged snow and a rigour of cold, and there arose wind and\ntempest in the elements for their skaith, without as much as a bothy\nor a lean-to of a bed or a fire for them, and surely were it not for\nthe mercy of God protecting them round about, it was not in the mind\nof either of them that he should be alive on the morrow after that\nnight, with all they experienced of oppression and terror from the\ngreat tempest of that wild-weather, so that they never remembered\ntheir acts of piety or to say or sing a prayer (?) Nor could they\nsleep or rest, for their senses were turned to foolishness, for they\nhad never seen the like or the equal of that storm, and of the bad\nweather of that night, for the venom of its cold and moreover for the\nbitterness of the morning [which followed it]. And as they were there\non the morning of the next day they heard a gentle, low, lamentable,\nwoe-begone conversation of grief above their heads on high, on a tall,\nwide-extended cliff. And [the meaning] was revealed to them through the\nvirtue of their holiness, and although much evil and anxiety had they\nsuffered, [still] they paid attention to the conversation and observed\nit. And they between whom the conversation was, were these, namely an\neagle who was called L\u00e9ithin[27] and a bird of her birds[28] in dialogue\nwith her, piteously and complainingly lamenting their cold-state,\npitifully, sadly, grievously; and said the bird to the eagle:\n\n[27] Apparently \"the little grey one,\" from \"liath\"-grey; pronounced\n\"Lay-heen.\" I have made her feminine and called her \"she\" in the\ntranslation, but the Irish makes her masculine.\n\n[28] _i.e._, one of its own young eagles, or nestlings.\n\n\"L\u00e9ithin,\" said he, \"do you ever remember the like of this morning or\nof last night to have come within thy knowledge before?\"\n\n\"I do not remember,\" said L\u00e9ithin, \"that I ever heard or saw the like\nor the equal of them, since the world was created, and do you yourself\nremember, or did you ever hear of such [weather]?\" said the eagle to\nthe bird.\n\n\"There are people who do remember,\" said the bird.\n\n\"Who are they?\" said the eagle.\n\n\"Dubhchosach, the Black-footed one of Binn Gulban,[29] that is the\nvast-sized stag of the deluge,[30] who is at Binn Gulban; and he is the\nhero of oldest memory of all those of his generation (?) in Ireland.\n\n[29] Now Ben Bulben in Co. Sligo.\n\n[30] _i.e._, \"As old as the deluge.\"\n\n\"Confusion on thee and skaith! surely thou knowest not that; and now\nalthough that stag be far away from me I shall go to see him, to find\nif I may get any knowledge from him!\"\n\nTherewith L\u00e9ithin went off lightly, yet was she scarcely able to rise\nup on high with the strength of the bad weather, and no more could she\ngo low with the cold of the ...? and with the great abundance of the\nwater, and, though it was difficult for her, she progressed lightly\nand low-flying, and no one living could reveal or make known all that\nshe met of evil and of misery going to Ben Gulban looking for the\nBlackfoot. And she found the small-headed swift-footed stag scratching\nhimself against a bare oak rampike. And L\u00e9ithin descended on a corner\nof the rampike beside him. And she saluted the stag in his own language\nand asks him was he the Blackfoot. The stag said that he was, and\nL\u00e9ithin spoke the lay:\n\n    Well for you O Blackfoot,\n      On Ben Gulban high,\n    Many moors and marshes,\n      Leap you lightly by.\n\n    Hounds no more shall hunt you\n      Since the Fenians fell,\n    Feeding now untroubled\n      On from glen to glen.\n\n    Tell me stag high-headed,\n      Saw you ever fall\n    Such a night and morning?\n      You remember all.\n\n    [THE STAG ANSWERS.]\n\n    I will give you answer\n      L\u00e9ithin wise and gray,\n    Such a night and morning\n      Never came my way.\n\n\"Tell me, Blackfoot,\" said L\u00e9ithin, \"what is thy age?\"\n\n\"I shall tell thee,\" said the Blackfoot. \"I remember this oak here\nwhen it was a little sapling, and I was born at the foot of the oak\nsapling, and I was reared upon that couch [of moss at its foot] until\nI was a mighty-great stag, and I loved this abode [ever], through my\nhaving been reared here. And the oak grew after that till it was a\ngiant oak (?) and I used to come and constantly scratch myself against\nit every evening after my journeyings and goings [during the day] and I\nused [always] to remain beside it in such wise till the next morning,\nand if I had to make a journey or were hotly hunted I used to reach\nthe same tree, so that we grew up with one another, until I became a\nmighty-great stag, and this tree became the bare withered rampike which\nyou see, so that it is now only a big ruined shapeless-stump without\nblossom or fruit or foliage to-day, its period and life being spent.\nNow I have let a long period of years[31] go by me, yet I never saw and\nnever heard tell-of, in all that time, the like of last night.\"\n\n[31] Or, \"a cargo of five hundred years.\"\n\nL\u00e9ithin departs [to return] to his birds after that, and on his\nreaching home the other[32] bird spoke to him, \"have you found out what\nyou went to inquire about?\"\n\n[32] Literally \"second.\"\n\n\"I have not,\" said L\u00e9ithin, and she began to revile the bird for all\nthe cold and hardships she had endured, but at last she said, \"who do\nyou think again would know this thing for me?\" said L\u00e9ithin.\n\n\"I know that,\" said the bird, \"Dubhgoire the Black caller of\nClonfert[33] of Berachan.\"\n\n[33] Perhaps \"Cluansost.\" There is no Berachan in Clonfert in the\nmartyrologies. See \"The Death of Bearachan,\" p. 63.\n\n\"Well then I shall go seek him.\"\n\nAnd although that was far away from her, yet she proceeded until she\nreached Clonfert of St. Berachan, and she was observing the birds until\nthey had finished their feeding [and were returning home], and then\nL\u00e9ithin saw one splendid bird beautifully-topped, victorious-looking,\nof the size of a blackbird, but of the brightness of a swan, and as\nsoon as it came into its presence L\u00e9ithin asks it whether it were\nDubhgoire. It said that it was. It was a marvel [to L\u00e9ithin] when\nit said that it was, namely that the blackbird should be white, and\nL\u00e9ithin spake the lay.\n\n\"How is that O Dubhgoire, sweet is thy warbling, often hast thou paid\nthy calls throughout the blue-leaved forest.\n\n\"In Clonfert of the bright streams and by the full plain of the Liffey,\nand from the plain of the Liffey coming from the east to Kildare behind\nit.\n\n\"From that thou departest to thy nest in the Cill which Brigit blessed.\nShort was it for thee to overleap every hedge till thou camest to the\ntownland in which Berachan was.\n\n\"O Dubhgoire tell to me--and to count up all thy life--the like of\nyesterday morning, didst thou ever experience it, O Dubhgoire?\"\n\n[DUBHGOIRE ANSWERS.]\n\n\"To me my full life was three hundred years before Berachan, the\nlifetime of Berachan I spent [added thereto], I was enduring in lasting\nhappiness.\n\n\"Since the time that Lughaidh of the Blades was for a while in the\nsovereignty of all Ireland I never experienced by sea or by land such\nweather as that which L\u00e9ithin mentions in his lay.\"[34]\n\n[34] Literally, \"I never got on sea or land a knowledge of that lay of\nLeithin's.\"\n\n\"Well, then, my own errand to thee,\" said L\u00e9ithin, \"is to enquire if\nthou didst ever experience, or remember to have seen or [to have heard]\nthat there ever came such a morning as yesterday for badness.\"\n\n\"I do not remember that I ever saw such,\" said Dubhgoire, \"or anything\nlike it.\"\n\nAs for L\u00e9ithin, she was sad and sorrowful, for those tidings did not\nhelp (?) her, and she proceeded on her way till she reached her nest\nand birds.\n\n\"What have you to tell us to-day?\" said the bird.\n\n\"May you never have luck nor fortune,\" said L\u00e9ithin. \"I have no more\nnews for you than I had when departing, except all my weariness from\nall the journeyings and wanderings which you contrive to get me to\ntake, without my getting any profit or advantage out of you,\" and\nwith that she gave a greedy venemous drive of her beak at the bird,\nso that she had like to have made a prey and flesh-torn spoil of it,\nwith vexation at all the evil and misery she had experienced going\nto Kildare, so that the bird screeched out loudly and pitifully and\nmiserably.\n\n[A while] after that L\u00e9ithin said, \"It's a pity and a grief to me if\nany one in Ireland knows [that there ever came a night worse than that\nnight] that I myself do not know of it.\"\n\n\"Well, then, indeed, there is one who knows,\" says the bird, \"Goll of\nEasruaidh (_i.e._, the Blind One of Assaroe) and another name of him is\nthe \u00c9igne[35] of Ath-Seannaigh (_i.e._, the salmon of Ballyshannon), and\nit is certain that he knows about that, if any one in the world knows\nabout it.\"\n\n[35] This is an old poetic word for a salmon.\n\n\"It is hard for me to go the way you tell me,\" said L\u00e9ithin, \"yet\nshould I like exceeding well to know about this thing.\"\n\nHowsoever she set out, and she never came down until she reached\nAssaroe of Mac Modhuirn, and she began observing and scrutinizing\nAssaroe until she saw the salmon feeding near the ford, and she saluted\nhim and said, \"Delightful is that O Goll, it is not with thee as with\nme, for our woes are not the same,\" and she spake the lay:\n\n[L\u00c9ITHIN SPEAKS.]\n\n\"Pleasant is that [life of thine] O Goll with success (?) many is the\nstream which thou hast adventured, not the same for thee and for us,\nif we were to relate our wanderings.\n\n\"It is to thee that I have come from my house, O Blind one of Assaroe,\nhow far doth thy memory go back, or how far is thy age to be reckoned?\"\n\n[THE SALMON ANSWERS.]\n\n\"As for my memory, that is a long one. It is not easy to reckon it.\nThere is not on land or in bush a person like me--none like me but\nmyself alone!\n\n\"I remember, it is not a clear-cut remembrance, the displacing showers\nof the Deluge, four women and four men, who remained after it in the\nworld.\n\n\"I remember Patrick of the pens coming into the land of Ireland,\nand the Fir Bolg, manful the assembly, coming from Greece to take\npossession of it.\n\n\"Truly do I mind me of Fintan's coming into the country close to me.\nFour men were the crew of his ship, and an equal number of females.\n\n\"I remember gentle Partholan's taking the kingship over Ulster. I\nremember, a while before that, Glas, son of Aimbithe in Emania.\n\n\"I chanced to be one morning that was fair, on this river, O L\u00e9ithin, I\nnever experienced a morning like that, either before it or after it.\n\n\"I gave a leap into the air under the brow of my hard rock [here], and\nbefore I came down into my house [of water] this pool was one flag of\nice.\n\n\"The bird of prey[36] seized me above the land with a furious ungentle\nonslaught, and bore away my clear blue eye. To me it was not a pleasant\nworld.\"\n\n[36] Literally \"eagle,\" but this is a mistake, it was not an eagle.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Well now, my own object in coming to thee,\" said L\u00e9ithin, \"was to\nenquire of thee whether thou dost ever remember such a morning as was\nyesterday?\"\n\n\"Indeed saw I such a morning,\" quoth Goll. \"I remember the coming\nof the deluge, and I remember the coming of Partholan and of Fintan\nand the children of Neimhidh and the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha De\nDanann, and the Fomorians and the sons of Milesius and Patrick son of\nAlprunn, and I remember how Ireland threw off from her those troops,\nand I remember a morning that was worse than that morning, another\nmorning not speaking of the great showers out of which the deluge\nfell. And the deluge left only four men and four women, namely, Noe,\nson of Laimhfhiadh and his wife, and Sem, Cam and Japhet, and their\nthree wives, for in truth that was the crew of the ark, and neither\n[church] man nor canon reckon that God left undestroyed in the world\nbut those four. However, wise men truly recount that God left another\nfour keeping knowledge and tribal-descent and preserving universal\ngenealogies, for God did not wish the histories of the people to fade,\nand so he left Fintan son of Laimhfhiadh towards the setting of the\nsun, south, keeping an account of the west of the world, and, moreover,\nFriomsa Fhurdhachta keeping the lordship of the north, and the prophet\nand the Easba? duly ordering [the history of the] south. And those\nare they who were alive outside of the ark, and I remember all those\npeople. And L\u00e9ithin,\" said Goll, \"I never saw the like of that morning\nfor vemon except one other morning that was worse than the morning that\nyou speak of, and worse than any morning that ever came before it. It\nwas thus. One day I was in this pool and I saw a beautifully coloured\nbutterfly with purple spots in the air over my head. I leapt to catch\nit, and before I came down the whole pool had become one flag of ice\nbehind me, so that [when I fell back] it bore me up. And then there\ncame the bird of prey[37] to me, on his seeing me [in that condition],\nand he gave a greedy venemous assault on me and plucked the eye out of\nmy head, and only for my weight he would have lifted me, and he threw\nthe eye into the pool, and we both wrestled together until we broke\nthe ice with the violence of the struggle, and with the [heat of the]\ngreat amount of crimson-red blood that was pouring from my eye, so that\nthe ice was broken by that, so that with difficulty I got down into\nthe pool [again], and that is how I lost my eye. And it is certain O\nL\u00e9ithin,\" said Goll, \"that that was by far the worst morning that I\never saw, and worse than this morning that thou speakest of.\"\n\n[37] Literally \"eagle.\" MSS. reads \"fiolar\"--\"the eagle,\" which is\nevidently a mistake.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow as for the clerics, they took council with one another, and\ndetermined to await [the eagle's return] that they might know what she\nhad to relate. However they experienced such hardships and anguish\nfrom the cold and misery of the night, and they could not [despite\ntheir resolution] endure to abide [the eagle's return]. So Maolan, the\ncleric, said, \"I myself beseech the powerful Lord, and the chosen\nTrinity, that the eagle, L\u00e9ithin, may come with the knowledge she\nreceives to Clonmacnoise and tell it to Ciaran,\" [and therewith they\nthemselves departed.]\n\nNow as for Goll [the salmon], he asked L\u00e9ithin, after that, who was it\nthat sent her in pursuit of that knowledge.\n\n\"It was the second bird of my own birds.\"\n\n\"That is sad,\" said Goll, \"for that bird is much older than thou or\nthan I either, and that is the bird that picked my eye out of me, and\nif he had desired to make thee wise in these things it would have been\neasy for him. That bird,\" said he, \"is the old Crow of Achill. And\nits talons have got blunted with old age, and since its vigour and\nenergy and power of providing for itself have departed from it, its\nway of getting food is to go from one nest to another, smothering and\nkilling every bird's young, and eating them, and so thou shalt never\novertake thy own birds alive. And O beloved friend, best friend that I\never saw, if thou only succeedest in catching him alive on thy return,\nremember all the tricks he has played thee, and avenge thy birds and\nthy journeyings and thy wanderings upon him, and then too mind thee to\navenge my eye.\"\n\nL\u00e9ithin bade farewell to Goll, and off she went the self-same way she\nhad come, in a mighty swift course, for she felt certain [now] that\nshe would not overtake her birds alive in her nest. And good cause had\nshe for that dread, for she only found the place of the nest, wanting\nits birds, they having been eaten by the Crow of Achill. So that all\nL\u00e9ithin got as the result of her errand was the loss of her birds.\n\nBut the old Crow of Achill had departed after its despoiling [the\nnest], so that L\u00e9ithin did not come upon it, neither did she know what\nway it had gone.\n\nAnother thing, too, L\u00e9ithin had to go every Monday, owing to the\ncleric's prayer, to Clonmacnoise. There the eagle perched upon the\ngreat pinnacle of the round tower[38] of Clonmacnoise, and revealed\nherself to the holy patron, namely Ciaran. And Ciaran asked her for her\nnews. And L\u00e9ithin said she was [not?] more grieved at her wanderings\nand her loss than at that. Thereupon Ciaran said that he would give her\nthe price and reward of her storytelling; namely, every time that her\nadventures should be told, if it were stormy or excessive rain that was\nin it at the time of telling, it should be changed into fine sky and\ngood weather.\n\n[38] Literally \"Bell-house.\"\n\nAnd L\u00e9ithin said that it was understood by her [all along] that it\nwas not her birds or her nest she would receive from him; and since\nthat might not be, she was pleased that her journeyings and wanderings\nshould not go for nothing.\n\nAnd [thereupon] L\u00e9ithin related her goings from the beginning to the\nend, just as we have told them above. So those are the adventures of\nL\u00e9ithin. Thus far.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMPARISON AS TO AGE BETWEEN THE FOUR ELDERS; NAMELY, THE CROW OF\nACHILL, THE GREAT EAGLE OF LEAC NA BHFAOL, THE BLIND TROUT OF ASSAROE,\nAND THE HAG OF BEARE.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis is the folk-lore version of the last story, and it is very\ninteresting because it lends strength to the assumption that the story\nmay be a piece of pre-Christian folk-lore, and probably very much older\nthan any documents. I think it is pretty obvious that St. Ciaran and\nhis clerics were brought into the written version simply to insure\nthe tale against any clerical hostility which might be displayed by\nwell-intentioned friars or others who would say--\"those are only\nfoolish tales, let them be.\" But the presence of St. Ciaran and his two\nclerics would be sure to disarm hostility, if any such were attempted.\nThe whole of mediaeval Irish literature is full of examples of such\nforethought.\n\nThis story was told by Joyce or Seoigtheach, of Poll na bracha, in Co.\nGalway, some years ago, for the Oireachtas. There are a great number of\nstories in Irish with regard to old age. A common saying which I have\noften heard, but with variants, is the following, which purports to\ntell the life of those things in the universe which will last longest:\n\n  Tri cuaille f\u00e1il, c\u00fa.\n  Tri c\u00fa, each.\n  Tri eich, duine.\n  Tri daoine, iolar.\n  Tri iolair, brad\u00e1n.\n  Tri brad\u00e1in, iubhair (pronounced \"\u00far.\")\n  Tri iubhair, eitre,\n  Tri eitreacha o th\u00fas an domhain go deireadh an domhain\n\n_i.e._, \"Three wattles (such as are placed in a hedge to fill a gap) =\na hound's life, three hounds a steed, three steeds a man, three men an\neagle, three eagles a salmon, three salmon a yew tree, three yew trees\na ridge, three ridges from the beginning to the end of the world.\"\n\"Eitre\" has been explained to me as the old very wide ridges that used\nto be used in ancient times which left an almost indelible track in the\nground. But my friend Mr. Hodgson took down a different explanation\nfrom Mathias O'Conor, and a different version, after \"tri ur, eitre,\"\ncame \"tri eitre, 'eye-ar'.\" and 'eitre' he explained as the mark of a\nplough on land, and 'aidhear' or \"eye-ar\" as the mark of a spade.\n\nThe Crow of Achill is a bird that every Irish speaker in the West has\nheard of, but Raftery curiously made him a \"raven.\" In one of his poems\nhe says of a place in his beloved Mayo where birds delighted to resort:\n\n  Ta an fiach dubh as Acaill ann\n  Ta an seabhac as Loch Erne ann,\n  Ta an t-iolrach o'n nGreig ann\n      Agus an eala on Roimh.\n\n_i.e._, the Raven out of Achill is there, the Hawk from Lough Erne is\nthere, the Eagle out of Greece and the Swan from Rome!\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nIn the Island of Achill the Crow lived. He never frequented wood, tree\nor bush, but an ancient forge in which he spent his time every evening\nthroughout the year, and every year of his lifetime, lying on the\nanvil. And as it is the custom of birds usually to rub their beaks to\nthe thing that is nearest to them, the Crow used to give an odd rub,\nnow and again, to the horn of the anvil. At long last, in the end, the\nhorn grew to be as thin and worn away as a knitting needle, by the\ncontinuous rubbing.\n\nOne night there happened to be a great storm. There came frost, snow\nand wind, very violent. The roofing was swept away off the forge, and\nalong with it went the plumage and feathers of the crow, and the poor\ncrow was left in the morning after that dreadful night, and he without\na feather or any plumage on his body, but just as much as if he had\nbeen scalded with boiling water.\n\nWhen the sun rose after that in the morning there came a rest and a\ncalm, but the poor crow was afraid to go out, and [_i.e._, after] the\nflaying that had been done upon him during the night. \"Oh,\" said he,\n\"it's a long time I'm in this world, and I never felt a single other\nnight of such bad weather as the night last night. It is my own opinion\nthat there is not a single living creature in the entire world older\nthan myself, unless it be the great Eagle of Leac-na-bhfaol,[39] and\nI'm in doubt but that the eagle is the older. I'll go to himself now\nuntil I get knowledge from him if he ever felt a night as cold and as\nvenemous as the night we had last night.\"\n\n[39] Pronounce L'ock-na-weel.\n\nWhen the light of day came and the heat of the sun was right, my crow\nslipped off with the intention of journeying to the eagle. He was going\nand ever-going as well as he was able, seeing he was without feathers,\nuntil he came in the end, at long last, as far as the nest of the Eagle.\n\n\"Aroo!\" says the Eagle; \"O Crow of my heart, what has happened to you,\nor where have your plumage and your feathers gone?\"\n\n\"Oh, don't ask me that,\" said the Crow, \"didn't yourself feel the cold\nand ill weather of last night?\"\n\n\"Well, indeed,\" said the Eagle, \"I didn't notice one jot of the wild\nweather that you're talking of.\"\n\n\"Heavy was your slumber then,\" said the Crow. \"I never experienced any\nnight myself that was one half as venemous as it was--and signs on me!\nI am come now to you to find out from you did there ever come any night\nin your time that was colder than it; because I was laying out in my\nown mind that you are older than I am.\"\n\n\"I have no right-certainty as to my own age,\" said the Eagle; \"but even\nif I had, I know that there is another creature who is still alive in\nthe world and who is very much older than I am.\"\n\n\"Who is that?\" said the Crow.\n\n\"He is the Blind Trout of Assaroe,\" said the Eagle. \"Go you, now, to\nthat Trout, and perhaps you might get the solving of your question from\nhim.\"\n\nThe Crow went off and he never stopped nor stayed until he came as far\nas Assaroe, and he found out the Trout. He told his story then to the\nTrout, and told him that he came to find out from him if there had ever\ncome a night in the world that was as cold as last night.\n\n\"There did, and a thousand times colder,\" said the Trout.\n\n\"I'd scarcely believe you,\"[40] said the Crow.\n\n[40] Literally \"it's badly I'd believe you.\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" said the Trout, \"if you don't believe me, you can go to an\nolder authority than I.\"\n\n\"And who is that authority?\" said the Crow.\n\n\"The Old Woman of Beare,\" said the Trout.\n\n\"I'll go right away to her this moment,\"[41] said the Crow.\n\n[41] Literally \"now itself.\"\n\n\"Wait yet,\" said the Trout, \"until I tell you my own story. I was\nswimming on the surface of this pool one fine calm evening, as calm and\nas fine as any evening that ever I saw. There were thousands of flies\nabove the pool. I sprang upward to catch the full of my mouth of them,\nand before I reached back again into the water there was ice on the\n[surface of the] water, and I was jumping and floundering on the flag\nof ice until the raven[42] came and picked the eyes out of my head. My\nshare of blood began running fast[43] out of me, and I was there until\nthe heat of the blood melted the flag of ice that was on the water,\ndown through it, and let me down into the water again. That was the\ncoldest night that I ever felt myself, and that is the way I lost my\nsight. I was christened the Blind Trout of Assaroe ever since, but\nsome of the people call me the Old Trout of Assaroe. Alas, my bitter\nmisfortune! I am ever since without sight.\"\n\n[42] Notice the use of the definite article.\n\n[43] Literally \"thickly.\"\n\nThe Crow heard him out, but he would not be easy or satisfied in his\nown mind until he should go on a visit to the Old Woman of Beare.\n\n\"Farewell, Trout,\" said he, \"I must go to the Old Woman now until I\nhear her own story.\"\n\n\"May your journey succeed with you Crow, you will have neither loss nor\nhurt in the house of the Old Woman,\" said the Trout.\n\nThe Crow went off then, and he never stopped nor stayed until he came\nto the Old Woman's house.\n\n\"Welcome, O Crow out of Achill,\" said she. \"What is this has happened\nto you, or where are your plumage and feathers?\"\n\n\"They are gone with the big wind,\" said he; and with that he told his\nstory to the Old Woman from beginning to end, and he put the same\nquestion to her that he had put before that to the Eagle and to the\nTrout--Did she ever feel any night that was as sore and venemous as\nlast night?\n\n\"That's true for you,\" said she; \"I did feel a little stroke of cold at\nthe beginning of the night, but I drew a wool pack over my head then,\nand I never felt anything but moonogues[44] of perspiration running off\nme again until morning.\"\n\n[44] Literally \"little bog-berries\"\n\n\"Are you very old?\" said the Crow; \"or what age are you?\"\n\n\"I have no certain date with regard to my age,\" said the Old\nWoman--\"only this much. My father used to kill a beef every year, on\nthe day I was born, in honour of my birthday, as long as he lived, and\nI followed the same custom, from that day to this. All the horns [of\nthe beeves I killed] are on the loft in the barn and do you remain in\nmy house until to-morrow, and if you like I'll send the servant boy to\ncount them and you yourself can keep account of them\" [as he numbers\nthem aloud.][45]\n\n[45] See the story of \"The Old Woman of Beare.\"\n\nOn the morrow with the rise of day the servant went up to count the\nhorns, and he spent one full year, and a day over, at that work, and\nafter all that there was only one corner of the loft emptied.\n\nAnd during all that time the Crow was taking his ease, and there was\nneither thirst nor hunger on him [so well was he treated] and his\nplumage and his feathers grew on him again.\n\nBut even so, he got tired of keeping count.\n\n\"I give you the branch\" [palm of victory] said he to the Old Woman;\n\"you are as old as the old grandmother long ago, who ate the apples,\"\nand he sped forth from the Old Woman and went home.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEATH OF BEARACHAN\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe following little story, taken down in Irish by my friend Father\nKelleher from the dictation of Mary Sweeney, aged 82, of Coolea,\nBallyvourney, Co. Cork, and sent me by Miss G. Schoepperle, who\npublished the text in the revue Celtique in 1911, is of great interest,\nbecause it is almost unique as showing a point of contact--one of the\nexceedingly few points of contact--between Breton and Irish folk-lore.\n\"Il n'est, que je sache, d'autre example en Irlande d'un messager\nsurnaturel, tel que l'enfant myst\u00e9rieux qui parait dans le conte qui\nsuit,\" says Miss Schoepperle, truly, but in Brittany, she goes on to\nsay, the \"buguel (Irish, [uncial: buachaill]) noz,\" _i.e._, the boy or\nherdsman of the night, is well known. It is generally described as a\nlittle child with its head too large for its body, which only seldom\nappears, but which is heard to cry and lament in fields or on deserted\nroads. Its apparition is a presage of death. Lebraz in his L\u00e9gende de\nla Mort has more than one story of its appearance. The salient points\nin the following story which seem to connect it with the Breton legend\nare: (1) The gradual growth in size of the being which was at first\nsmall; (2) the lamentations and cries which it utters, and (3)--most\nremarkable of all--that it described itself as a herdsman, and was a\npresage of death.\n\nThe Bearchan of this story must have been the bishop of [uncial:\nCluain-sosta] in [uncial: Ui Failghe] (King's County) about the year\n690. He was of the race of the [uncial: Dalriada] or Scoto-Irish, and\nwas 21st in descent from [uncial: Cairbre Riada] who fought in the\nbattle of [uncial: Ceann Feadrat] in 186 A.D. I have seen his pedigree\nin MS. There are about six other St. Bearchans, but so far as I know\nthe only one who would have been at all likely to have attracted a\nbody of legend to himself was this Bearchan of [uncial: Cluain-sosta],\nwho was esteemed as a prophet and poet. Besides I find this very\ncurious note in the Martyrology of Donegal compiled by Brother Michael\nO'Clery from the old books of Ireland in 1630:\n\n[uncial: Dodhach Berch\u00e1in da friot go nuaide in U\u00edb F\u00e1ilgi i bhferonn\n\u00f3 Ui Berchain, an maidi f\u00f3s timchiol an uisge. Ann sin at\u00e1 cluainsosta\nagus ann sin at\u00e1 tempall Berch\u00e1in acus do bhi,] i.e., \"Berchan's vat\nhas been found new in Ui Failgi in the territory of the Ui Berchain.\nThe timber was still round the water [_i.e._, was still good enough\nto hold water.] It is there Cluainsosta is, and there Berchan's church\nis and was.\" So, then, there must have been some well-known story\nconnected with Berchan's vat. The list of the great Earl of Kildare's\nlibrary, which was drawn up in 1518, contained a \"St. Berchan's Book.\"\nPoems ascribed to him are found in the \"Wars of the Gael and Gall.\"\nFor other references to him, see my \"Literary History of Ireland,\"\n210-11[46] \"Bearach\u00e1n\" is the modern pronunciation of the older Berch\u00e1n.\n\n[46] See also O'Curry MS. Materials p. 412-418 and 432. Fer-da-lethe,\nor the \"man of two halves,\" was another name for him, \"because he spent\nhalf of his life in the world and half on pilgrimage ut ferunt periti.\"\nAn old rann runs:\n\n  [uncial: Cheithri f\u00e1idhe Gasdhel n-glan\n  feirdi an tir a dtanganar,\n  Colum cille Moling l\u00e1n\n  Brenainn Biorra agus Berchan.]\n\n_i.e._, \"Four prophets of the clean Gael. The country from which they\nsprang was the better for them. Columbcille, full Moling, Brendan of\nBirr and Berchan.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nBearachan of Glen Flesk[47] had a dream or vision that there was no\ndanger of his ever dying until three kings should come to his house\nwithout asking or invitation. On a certain night they did pay him a\nvisit. He told them that there would not be a bit of him alive in the\nmorning. They passed a good part of the night eating and drinking away,\nand they making a jest of him [saying] that so long as they themselves\nwere in the house there would be no danger of [anything happening] him.\n\n[47] Near Killarney in Co. Kerry. But, as I have shown, he was probably\nBearchan of Cluainsosta. There is no Berchan of Glenflesk in any of the\nIrish martyrologies.\n\n[Illustration: THE THREE KINGS ADMIT THE \"POOR LITTLE CREATURE\"]\n\nThey got hold of a big dabhach or vat, and [they put] Bearachan in\nunder the mouth of the vat [to protect him] and they three were round\nabout it.\n\nHe had not been long placed there by them when they heard a very clear\nlittle voice outside, and it crying; and there was snow outside, and\ncold.\n\nThey asked it, \"what was outside and what it wanted.\"\n\nIt said that it was a cow-herd and that it was perished.\n\nThey left him outside for a good space of time. At last they let him\nin. He came in and sat down beside the fire, a poor little creature,\nand he shaking with the cold. They gave him food and drink, but he told\nthem that he was too much frightened, and that he would not eat it.\n\nThey had a fine red-hot fire, and he was warming himself at the fire.\nHe was a very short time there till he began swelling with the [heat of\nthe] fire and growing big. He drew a little musical instrument out of\nhis pocket and started to play on it. And according as the music was\na-playing by him the others were inclining to weaken and fall asleep,\nuntil they [all, at last] fell softly in a dead sleep.\n\nAnd when they awoke in the morning, they had no music and no\nBearachan--nothing but his bones left bare and naked underneath the\nvat.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF SOLOMON.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nHow Solomon comes into Irish folk-lore is hard to say, but I have heard\nat least three stories about him, of which the present is the most\ninteresting. I wrote it down, word for word, from the mouth of Michael\nMac Ruaidhri, in 1896. There is an undoubtedly Eastern flavour about\nit, but how it came to the County Mayo I cannot imagine, for I have not\nbeen able to trace it to any known source.\n\nSolomon's name was better known in the middle ages in connection with\nthe conjuration of spirits. \"F\u00fcr solche halbe Hexenblut 1st Salomonis\nSchl\u00fcssel gut,\" says Faust in the study scene, when threatened by the\ndemon dog. Josephus mentions Solomon's power over ghosts, and a book\nof conjurations in Hebrew which was ascribed to Solomon was translated\ninto Latin, French, Italian, German and Spanish. The best known\nGerman edition according to Zerfi (one of Faust's editors) is called\n\"clavicula Salomonis et theosophia pneumatica.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nWhen Solomon's mother was sick, Solomon used to send a man from the\nvillage in which he was, to watch her every night; and every man who\nused to be watching her had to come before sunrise next morning with\nword to Solomon of how his mother was, and the first man who would say\nthat his mother was dead, his head was to be whipt off him, and hung\nupon a spear that was above the Great Door. And they used to go, man\nafter man, each night in their turn, and five pounds was the reward for\ntheir work, which they used to get each night. It was well, and it was\nnot ill, until it came to the turn of a widow's son to go to watch the\nmother of Solomon; and the night that he was going to watch her she was\nvery weak and overcome, and given up for death.\n\nWhen the account came to the widow's son to go and watch Solomon's\nmother, there came the weakness and the sweat of death upon him, and\nhis mother began to keene for him, because she had no one but him. And\nas he was going home from the day's work that he had, that evening, he\nwas weeping and troubled; and there met him a half-fool, and he asked\nthe widow's son for what cause was he weeping, and the widow's son told\nhim as I am telling it to you.\n\n\"What is the reward that you will get?\" said the half-fool to the\nwidow's son.\n\n\"Five pounds,\" says he to him.\n\n\"My soul to God of the graces,\" says the half-fool, \"but I'll go in\nyour place to night, if you give me the five pounds.\"\n\n\"I'll give you five pounds, and something over,\" says the widow's son,\n\"if you go there.\"\n\nTrue was the story. The half-fool went to watch Solomon's mother that\nnight, and she was in the last agony when he went into the room, and\nhe was watching her until after the hour of twelve at night; and he\nheard a noise at the big door, and he rose upon his feet and walked to\nthe big door, and there was a man at the big door, and he watching,\nlooking in on a window that was in the big door. And the man who was in\nit was a body-servant of Solomon; and Solomon had a great regard for\nthis man, and he used to send this man every night to bring him word\nprivately--to tell him if the man who was taking care of his mother\nwas doing his business right. Now, there was none of the men who were\nwatching his mother for a year so keenly-watchful as the half-fool who\nwas watching her that night. No man of them heard the man who was at\nthe big door any night except him.\n\nThe half-fool opened the big door then, and there was an old sword hung\nup over the big door. When the big door was opened the body-servant\nthought to come in, but the half-fool drew the sword, and threw the\nhead off him. He left him there and went to the sleeping-room where\nSolomon's mother was, and he was not long in it until Solomon's mother\ndied.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSolomon was getting very uneasy about his servant as to what was the\nreason that he was not coming to him with tidings, as he used to come\nevery other night. But, howsoever, Solomon did not leave the house till\nmorning, and he did not go to look for him. [He waited], but he did\nnot come. And when the day came, the widow's son was not with Solomon\nbefore the rising of the sun, as the other men had been. Solomon did\nnot go to rest, but he ever looking out through the window, and at long\nlast he saw the widow's son--for he thought it was he was in it--coming\nto the palace. And when he came in to Solomon they saluted one another.\nAnd says the half-fool--it was he was in it--to Solomon, \"I am asking\npardon of you, O king and prince.\"\n\n\"Why say you that?\" said Solomon.\n\n\"I knocked the hat off your body-servant yesterday,\" said the half-fool.\n\n\"You have your pardon got,\" said Solomon.\n\n\"But, O thou best of the kings,\" said the half-fool, \"the head was with\nthe hat.\" And as Solomon was after giving him his pardon, he could not\ngo back of his word.\n\n\"Have you any other tidings with you?\" said Solomon.\n\n\"I have,\" said he.\n\n\"Tell them,\" said Solomon.\n\n\"God's brightness is on the earth,\" said he.\n\n\"The sun is risen,\" said Solomon.\n\n\"It is,\" said the half-fool.\n\n\"The stones that were above yesterday,\" said he, \"they are going below\nnow.\"\n\n\"The plough is ploughing, then,\" said Solomon.\n\n\"It is,\" said he, \"and the first house in which you were reared, it is\noverthrown.\"\n\n\"Then my mother is dead,\" said Solomon\n\n\"She is,\" said the half-fool.\n\n\"I shall have your head on the spear,\" said Solomon.\n\n\"You shall not, O honest noble king,\" said the half-fool, \"you yourself\nwere the first man who said it.\"\n\n\"By my honour,\" said Solomon, \"it was I.\"\n\nYe see now, that, as wise as Solomon was, the half-fool got the victory\nover him in wisdom. \"There be's luck on a fool.\"[48]\n\n[48] A common proverb.\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS ALMS.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThere are many rhyming petitions and prayers amongst the \"Askers\nof Alms\" to be recited at the door of those from whom they crave\nassistance. One of the virtues most insisted upon in prayers and\ndidactic poems is almsgiving. The following story was probably invented\nwith a deliberately didactic purpose. It was told by Mary Gowlan,\nCathair-na-Mart (Westport), some twenty years ago. The Dardeels, or\nDharadeels which came out of the mouth of the dying woman are the most\nloathsome insects known to the Irish peasant. They are black beetles\nwith cocked tails. See the \"Legend of the Dardeel, the Keerogue and the\nPrumpolaun.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nIn the old time there was a married couple living near\nCauher-na-Mart,[49] in the County Mayo. They had seven of a family, but\nGod sent them worldly means, and they wanted for nothing but the love\nof God.\n\n[49] Westport.\n\nThe man was a pious and generous person, and was good to the poor, but\nthe wife was a hard miser without mercy, who would not give alms to\nman or stranger, and after refusing the poor man she used not to be\nsatisfied with that, but she used to give him abuse also. If a person\nable to do work were to come looking for alms from her, she would say,\n\"Unless you were a lazy vagabone you would not be here now looking for\nalms and bothering my head with your talk;\" but if an old man or an old\nwoman who could do no work would come to her, it is what she would say\nto them that they ought to be dead long before that.\n\nOne Christmas night there was frost and snow on the ground. There was\na good fire in Patrick Kerwan's house--that was the man's name--and\nthe table was laid. Patrick, his wife and his family were sitting down\nat the table, and they ready to go in face of a good supper when they\nheard a knock at the door. Up rose the wife and opened it. There was a\npoor man outside, and she asked him what he was looking for.\n\n\"I'm looking for alms in the honour of Jesus Christ, who was born on\nthis festival night, and who died on the Cross of passion for the human\nrace.\"\n\n\"Begone, you lazy guzzler,\" she said, \"if you were one half as good at\nworking as you are at saying your prayers, you would not be looking for\nalms to-night, nor troubling honest people,\" and with that she struck\nthe door to, in the face of the poor man, and sat down again at the\ntable.\n\nPatrick heard a bit of the talk she gave the poor man, and he asked who\nwas at the door.\n\n\"A lazy good-for-nothing, that was looking for alms,\" said she, \"and\nif it wasn't that it was a lazy vagabone that was in it, he would not\ncome looking for alms from people who are earning their share of food\nhardly, but he would sooner be saying his old prayers than working for\nmeat.\"\n\nPatrick rose. \"Bad was the thing you did,\" said he, \"to refuse anyone\nfor a morsel of meat, and especially to refuse him on Christmas night.\nIsn't it God that sent us everything that we have; there is more on\nthis table than will be eaten to-night; how do you know whether we\nshall be alive to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Sit down,\" says she, \"and don't be making a fool of yourself; we want\nno sermons.\"\n\n\"May God change your heart,\" says Patrick, and with that he got the\nfull of his two hands of bread and food, and out with him, following\nthe poor man, going on the track of his feet in the snow as quick as he\ncould, till he came up with him. He handed him the food then, and told\nhim he was sorry for his wife's refusing him. \"But,\" says he, \"I'm sure\nthere was anger on her.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your food,\" said the poor man. He handed the food back\nagain to him, and said \"[there], you have your food and your thanks,\n[both]. I am an angel from heaven who was sent to your wife in the form\nof a poor man, to ask alms of her in the honour of Jesus Christ, who\nwas born this night, and who suffered the passion of the Cross for the\nhuman race. She was not satisfied with refusing me, but she abused me\nalso. You shall receive a great reward for your alms, but as for your\nwife she shall not be long until she is standing in the presence of\nJesus Christ to give Him an account of the way in which she spent her\nlife on this world.\"\n\nThe angel departed, and Patrick returned home. He sat down, but he\ncould neither eat nor drink.\n\n\"What's on you?\" says the wife, \"did that stroller do anything to you?\"\n\n\"My grief! it was no stroller was in it, but an angel from heaven who\nwas sent to you in the shape of a man to ask alms of you, in honour\nof Jesus Christ, and you were not satisfied with refusing him, but you\nmust abuse him with bad names. Now, your life on this world is not\nlong, and in the name of God, I beseech you, make a good use of it.\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue,\" she said, \"I think that you saw a ghost, or that\nyou lost your senses, and may God never relieve you, nor anyone else\nwho would leave a good fire, and a good supper, running out in the snow\nafter a lazy rap; but the devil a much sense was in you ever.\"\n\n\"If you don't take my advice, you'll repent when you'll be too late,\"\nsaid Patrick; but it was no use for him to be talking.\n\nWhen Little Christmas [New Year's Day] came, the woman was not able to\nget dinner ready; she was deaf and blind. On the Twelfth Night she was\nnot able to leave her bed, but she was raving and crying, \"give them\nalms, alms, alms, give them everything in the house in the name of\nJesus Christ.\"\n\nShe remained for a while like that, between the death and the life, and\nshe without sense. The priest came often, but he could do nothing with\nher. The seventh day the priest came to her, and he brought the last\noil to anoint her with.\n\nThe candles were lit, but they were quenched upon the spot. They tried\nto light them again, but all the coals that were in the county Mayo\nwould not light them. Then he thought to put the oil on her without a\ncandle, but on the spot the place was filled with a great smoke, and it\nwas little but the priest was smothered. Patrick came to the door of\nthe room, but he could go no further. He could hear the woman crying,\n\"a drink, a drink, in the name of Christ!\"\n\nShe remained like this for two days, and she alive, and they used to\nhear her from time to time crying out, \"a drink, a drink,\" but they\ncould not go near her.\n\nWord was sent for the Bishop O'Duffy, and he came at last, and two old\nfriars along with him. He was carrying a cross in his right hand. When\nthey got near Patrick's house, there came down on them with one swoop a\nmultitude of kites, and it was little but they plucked the eyes out of\nthe three.\n\nThey came then to Patrick's door and they lit the candles. The bishop\nopened a book and said to the friars, \"When I shall begin reading the\nprayers do ye give the responses.\" Then he said, \"Depart, O Christian\nsoul----\"\n\n\"She is not a Christian soul,\" said a voice, but they saw no one.\n\nThe Bishop began again, \"Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world,\nin the name of the all-powerful Father who created you.\" Before he\ncould say more there came great thunder and lightning. They were\ndeafened with the thunder; the house was filled with smoke. The\nlightning struck the gable of the house and threw it down. The deluge\ncame down so that the people thought it was the end of the world that\nwas in it.\n\nThe Bishop and the two friars fell to their prayers again. \"O Lord,\naccording to the abundance of Thy mercy, look mercifully upon her,\"\nsaid the Bishop. \"Amen,\" said the friars. There came a little calm and\nthe Bishop went over to the bed. Poor Patrick came to the other side\nof the bed, and it was not long until the woman opened her mouth and\nthere came a host of dardeels out of it. Patrick let a screech and ran\nfor fire to put on them. When he came back the woman was dead, and the\ndardeels gone.\n\nThe Bishop said prayers over her, and then he himself went away and the\ntwo friars, and Patrick went out to get women to wash the corpse, but\nwhen he came back the body was not to be found either up or down. There\nwas a purse of gold round its neck, and the purse went with the body,\nand there is no account of either of them from that out.\n\nMany was the story and version that the neighbours had about Patrick\nKerwan's wife. Some of them say that the devil took her with him.\nOthers said that the good people carried her away. At all events there\nis no account of her since.\n\nAt the end of a month after that the speckled disease (smallpox) broke\nout amongst the children and they all died. There was very great grief\non Patrick. He was alone, by himself, without wife, without children,\nbut he said: \"Welcome be the will of God.\"\n\nA short time after that, he sold all that he had and went into a\nmonastery. He spent his life piously and died a happy death. May God\ngrant us a good death and the life that is enduring.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURIAL OF JESUS.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe first time I heard this poem was at the Galway Feis many years ago.\nA poor old man, called the Cean-nuidhe C\u00f3ir (Canny Core) or Honest\nMerchant--I don't know what his real name was--recited it. I took him\naside in the interval during the competitions and wrote the most of\nit down from his recitation. My friend, Eoghan O Neachtain, wrote the\nrest of it down for me from the old man's mouth later on, but with the\ngreatest difficulty as he had lost his teeth and pronounced very badly.\nNeither of us ever heard the poem before, and it is obviously only a\nfragment of a long piece, now, I fear, hopelessly lost, in common with\nmany others, once popular. Indeed, I have seen a copy of this poem\nwritten down by a man called Hessian some eighty years ago, who called\nit the Assire [=Aiseirghe], but it is hopelessly undecipherable. This\ncurious piece refers to a story once so commonly known in Ireland that\nit may almost be said to have formed part of the regular account of\nthe crucifixion. It is celebrated even more in Irish art than in Irish\nstory and song. When examining a few years ago the remains of the\nbeautiful abbey which gives to Ennis its Irish name of Mainistir na\nh-Innse, I saw where a portion of the stone carving had recently been\nlaid bare, and there, as plain as though it had been carved yesterday,\nwas a very spirited picture of the cock rising up out of the pot and\ngetting ready to crow. This was included with the other symbols of the\ncrucifixion. I have seen the same thing on old wooden crucifixes, and\nelsewhere. There seems to have been a body of legend in some way or\nother connecting the cock with the history of the Passion. A Coptic\nlegend tells us that on the day of the betrayal a roasted cock had been\nserved up to our Lord, who bade it rise up and follow Judas, who was\nthen upon his way to make his bargain with the chief priests. The cock\nrose up and did what it was ordered, and brought back word to our Lord\nthat the arch-traitor had sold Him, \"and for this that cock shall enter\nParadise.\" Thevonet Voyages II. 75, quoted in Journal for Apocrypha.\n\nIt is more likely, however, that the legend as we know it came from the\nsecond Greek form of the Gospel of Nicodemus, certain MSS. of which\ncontain the following passage: \"And when the Jews refused to receive\nagain from Judas the thirty pieces of silver for which he had betrayed\nhis Master, he threw them in their midst and went away. And he came\nhome to make a halter out of a cord to hang himself with. There he\nfound his wife sitting and roasting a cock upon the coals. And he said\nunto her: 'Rise wife and get a rope ready for me because I mean to hang\nmyself as I deserve.' But his wife said unto him, 'Why speakest thou\nlike that?' And Judas replied, 'Know then that I have unjustly betrayed\nmy master, Jesus, to the evil-doers who have taken him before Pilate\nto put Him to death; but He will rise again on the third day, and then\nwoe to us.' But his wife said unto him, 'Speak not so, and believe it\nnot. For it is just as likely that this cock roasting on the coals will\ncrow as that Jesus will rise, as thou sayest.' And while she was thus\nspeaking the cock flapped his wings and crew thrice. Then was Judas yet\nthe more convicted, etc.\" (Tischendorff, p. 289). The legend found its\nway into Scotland also. It is told in a bald version in Scotch Gaelic\nof only four verses, recovered by Carmichael (\"Carmina Gadelica,\" vol.\nII., p. 176): \"That cock which you have in the pot pounded as fine as\ncabbage, the liar shall not leave the tomb until it crows upon the\nbeam.\" For the original and literal translation, see \"Religious Songs\nof Connacht.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\n    Virgin gentle, courteous, gracious,\n    Whose goodness, which my soul embraces,\n    A shaft of light through time and space is\n    To lead it into heavenly places.\n\n    Thy Holy Son, the King of Angels,\n    Suffered passion, wounds, estrangement,\n    In satisfaction for the ailments\n    Of the sins which here assail us.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    He was laid in the tomb at the will of the King,\n      He died with pains unstinted,\n    The blood of His heart on the point of the dart,\n      And death on His cold face printed.\n\n    At the door of the tomb was a stone of gloom,\n      Not a hundred men could heave it,\n    But an angel came from heaven like flame\n      To raise it and to leave it.\n\n    The Magdalen came, and she came in her haste\n      To wash His wounds in a minute,\n    She searched through the gloom of the rock-hewn tomb,--\n      No trace of the Lord was in it.\n\n    She saw by the wall the grave clothes all\n      Lying empty there, and started,\n    And timidly asked of the soldier guard,\n      \"Where has our Lord departed.\"\n\n    \"I was here,\" said the guard, \"I kept watch and kept ward,\n      Why seek ye the truth to smother?\n    I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot--\n      And the one is as dead as the other.\"\n\n    \"I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot,\n      While the camp looks on and sees us,\n    And until the cock rises out of the pot,\n      He never shall rise, your Jesus.\"\n\n    With that the dead cock flew out of the pot,\n      And clapped with his wings loud crowing,\n    \"Ochone\"! cried the man, and his features grew wan,\n      \"Then Jesus is up and doing.\"\n\n    [SPAKE THE VIRGIN.]\n\n    \"I sicken, I sigh, with longing I die,\n      If ye show me not where to find Him,\n    To put balm in the cuts and the stabs and the wounds,\n      Wherewith in His side they signed Him.\"\n\n    He is gone where are gone the Apostles, and soon\n      In Galilee thou shalt find him.\n\n    [SPAKE CHRIST.]\n\n    By Peter my Church has been holily built\n      With flame of faithful endeavour,\n    Though the body be stricken the soul hath no guilt,--\n      Confess ye My name for ever.\n\nHere is another melodious little piece about the two Marys which I got\nfrom my friend Miss Agnes O'Farrelly, who got it from a young gossoon\nin Inismaan, or in Aranmore, I do not know which.\n\n    UPROSE THE TWO MARYS.\n\n    Uprose the two Marys,\n      Two hours ere day,\n    And they went to the temple\n      To keene and to pray.\n\n    There came in the angel\n      With candle so bright,\n    \"All hail to thee, Mary,\"\n      Said God full of light.\n\n    \"And dost thou forget it,\n      Thy passion and pain,\n    And dost thou forget it,\n      Thy slaying by men?\n\n    \"And dost thou forget it,\n      The spear and the threat,\n    Which no children of Adam\n      Could ever forget?\"\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Remember me, children\n      Of Adam and Eve,\n    And the heavens of God\n      Ye shall surely receive.\n\n\n\n\nSAINT PETER.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nAn old woman named Bridget Casey, from near Baile-'dir-dh\u00e1-abhainn or\nRiverstown, Co. Sligo, told this story to F. O'Conor in Athlone, from\nwhom I got it. For the original see \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol.\n1, p. 192.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nAt the time that St. Peter and our Saviour were walking the country,\nmany was the marvel that his Master showed him, and if it had been\nanother person who was in it and who had seen half as much, no doubt\nhis confidence in his Master would have been stronger than that of\nPeter.\n\nOne day they were entering a town, and there was a musician sitting\nhalf-drunk on the side of the road and he asking for alms. Our Saviour\ngave him a piece of money, going by of him. There came wonder on Peter\nat that, for he said to himself, \"many's the poor man in great want\nthat my Master refused, but now He has given alms to this drunken\nmusician; but perhaps,\" says he to himself, \"perhaps He likes music.\"\n\nOur Saviour knew what was in Peter's mind, but he did not speak a word\nabout it.\n\nOn the next day they were journeying again, and a poor friar (_sic_)\nmet them, and he bowed down with age and almost naked. He asked our\nSaviour for alms, but He took no notice of him, and did not answer his\nrequest.\n\n\"There's another thing that's not right,\" said Peter in his own mind.\nHe was afraid to speak to his Master about it, but he was losing his\nconfidence in Him every day.\n\nThe same evening they were approaching another village when a blind\nman met them and he asking alms. Our Saviour talked with him and said,\n\"What do you want?\" \"The price of a night's lodging, the price of\nsomething to eat, and as much as I shall want to-morrow: if you can\ngive it to me you shall get great recompense, and recompense that is\nnot to be found in this sorrowful world.\"\n\n\"Good is your talk,\" said the Lord, \"but you are only seeking to\ndeceive me, you are in no want of the price of a lodging or of anything\nto eat, you have gold and silver in your pocket, and you ought to give\nthanks to God for your having enough to do you till [next] day.\"\n\nThe blind man did not know that it was our Saviour who was talking to\nhim, and he said to him, \"It is not sermons but alms I'm asking for, I\nam certain that if you did know that there was gold or silver about me\nyou would take it from me. Get off now, I don't want your talk.\"\n\n\"Indeed you are a senseless man,\" said the Lord, \"you will not have\ngold or silver long,\" and with that He left him.\n\nSt. Peter was listening to the discourse, and he had a wish to tell the\nblind man that it was our Saviour who was talking to him, but he got no\nopportunity. But there was another man listening when our Saviour said\nthat the blind man had gold and silver. It was a wicked plunderer who\nwas in it, but he knew that our Saviour never told a lie. As soon as\nHe and St. Peter were gone, the robber came to the blind man and said\nto him, \"give me your gold and silver or I'll put a knife through your\nheart.\"\n\n\"I have no gold or silver,\" said the blind man, \"if I had, I wouldn't\nbe looking for alms.\" But, with that, the robber caught hold of him,\nput him under him, and took from him all he had. The blind man shouted\nand screamed as loud as he was able, and our Saviour and Peter heard\nhim.\n\n\"There's wrong being done to the blind man,\" said Peter.\n\n\"Get treacherously and it will go the same way,\" said our Saviour, \"not\nto speak of the Day of Judgment.\"\n\n\"I understand you, there is nothing hid from you, Master,\" said Peter.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe day after that they were journeying by a desert, and a greedy lion\ncame out. \"Now, Peter,\" said our Saviour, \"you often said that you\nwould lose your life for me, go now and give yourself to the lion, and\nI shall escape safe.\"\n\nPeter thought to himself and said, \"I would sooner meet any other death\nthan let a lion eat me; we are swift-footed, and we can run from him,\nbut if I see him coming up with us I'll remain behind, and you can\nescape safe.\"\n\n\"Let it be so,\" said our Saviour.\n\nThe lion gave a roar, and off and away with him after them, and it was\nnot long till he was gaining on them and close up to them.\n\n\"Remain behind, Peter,\" said our Saviour, but Peter let on that he\nnever heard a word, and went running out before his Master. The Lord\nturned round and said to the lion, \"go back to the desert,\" and so he\ndid.\n\nPeter looked behind him, and when he saw the lion going back, he stood\ntill our Saviour came up with him.\n\n\"Peter,\" said He, \"you left me in danger, and--what was worse than\nthat--you told lies.\"\n\n\"I did that,\" said Peter, \"because I knew that you have power over\neverything, not alone over the lion of the wilderness.\"\n\n\"Silence your mouth, and do not be telling lies; you did _not_ know,\nand if you were to see me in danger to-morrow you would forsake me\nagain. I know the thoughts of your heart.\"\n\n\"I never thought that you did anything that was not right,\" said Peter.\n\n\"That is another lie,\" said our Saviour. \"Do you not remember the day\nthat I gave alms to the musician who was half drunk, there was wonder\non you, and you said to yourself that many's the poor man in great\nwant, whom I refused, and yet that I gave alms to a drunken man because\nI liked music. The day after that I refused the old friar, and you\nsaid that that was not right; and the same evening you remember what\nhappened about the blind man. I will explain to you now why I acted\nlike that. That musician did more good than twenty friars of his sort\nsince ever they were born. He saved a girl's soul from the pains of\nhell. She wanted a piece of money, and was going to commit a deadly sin\nto get it, but the musician prevented her and gave her the piece of\nmoney, though he himself was in want of a drink at the same time. As\nfor the friar, he was not in want at all; although he had the name of\nfriar he was a limb of the devil, and that was why I paid him no heed.\nAs for the blind man, his God was in his pocket, for the old word is\ntrue, 'where your store is your heart will be with it.'\"\n\nA short time after that Peter said, \"Master, you have a knowledge of\nthe most lonesome thoughts in the heart of man, and from this moment\nout I submit to you in everything.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAbout a week after that they were travelling through hills and\nmountains, and they lost their way. With the fall of the night there\ncame lightning, thunder, and heavy rain. The night was so dark they\ncould not see a sheep's path. Peter fell against a rock and hurt his\nfoot so badly that he was not able to walk a step.\n\nOur Saviour saw a little light under the foot of a hill, and he said to\nPeter, \"remain where you are, and I will go for help to carry you.\"\n\n\"There is no help to be found in this wild place,\" said Peter, \"and\ndon't leave me here in danger by myself.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said our Saviour, and with that he gave a whistle, and\nthere came four men; and who was captain of them but the person who\nrobbed the blind man a while before that! He recognized our Saviour and\nPeter, and told his men to carry Peter carefully to the dwelling-place\nthey had among the hills. \"These two put gold and silver in my way a\nshort time ago,\" said he.\n\nThey carried Peter into a chamber under the ground. There was a fine\nfire in it, and they put the wounded man near it, and gave him a drink.\nHe fell asleep, and our Saviour made the sign of the cross with his\nfinger above the wound, and when he awoke he was able to walk as well\nas ever. There was wonder on him when he awoke, and he asked \"what\nhappened to him.\" Our Saviour told him each thing and how it occurred.\n\n\"I thought,\" said Peter, \"that I was dead, and that I was up at the\ngate of heaven, but I could not get in, for the door was shut, and\nthere was no doorkeeper to be found.\"\n\n\"It was a vision you had,\" said our Saviour, \"but it is true. Heaven is\nshut and is not to be opened until I die for the sin of the human race\nwho put anger on My Father. It is not a common but a shameful death I\nshall get, but I shall rise again gloriously and open the heaven that\nwas shut, and you shall be doorkeeper.\"\n\n\"Ora! Master,\" said Peter, \"it cannot be that you would get a shameful\ndeath. Would you not allow me to die for you? I am ready and willing.\"\n\n\"You think that,\" said our Saviour.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe time came when our Saviour was to get death. The evening before\nthat He Himself and His twelve disciples were at supper, when He said,\n\"There is a man of you going to betray Me.\" There was great trouble on\nthem, and each one of them said, \"Am I he?\" But He said, \"He who dips\nwith his hand in the dish with Me, he is the man who shall betray Me.\"\n\nPeter said then, \"If the whole world were against you,\" said he, \"I\nwill not be against you.\" But our Saviour said to him, \"Before the cock\ncrows to-night you will reneague (deny) Me three times.\"\n\n\"I would die before I would reneague you,\" said Peter; \"indeed I shall\nnot reneague you.\"\n\nWhen death-judgment was passed upon our Saviour, His enemies were\nbeating Him and spitting on Him. Peter was outside in the court, when\nthere came a servant-girl to him and said to him, \"You were with\nJesus.\" \"I don't know,\" says Peter, \"what you are saying.\"\n\nThen when he was going out the gate another girl said, \"There's a man\nwho was with Jesus,\" but he took his oath that he had no knowledge at\nall of Him. Then some of the people who were listening said, \"There is\nno doubt at all but you were with Him; we know it by your talk.\" He\ntook the great oaths, then, that he was not with Him. And on the spot\nthe cock crew, and then he remembered the words our Saviour said, and\nhe wept the tears of repentance, and he found forgiveness from Him whom\nhe denied. He has the keys of heaven now, and if we shed the tears of\nrepentance for our faults, as he shed them, we shall find forgiveness\nas he found it, and he will welcome us with a hundred thousand welcomes\nwhen we go to the door of heaven.\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF ST. DEGLAN.\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nI wrote down the following legend of St. Deglan, word for word, in\nIrish, from the telling of my friend, Padraig O'Dalaigh, who comes\nhimself from the Decies.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nWhen Deglan was leaving Rome he held his bell in his hand, but as he\nwas going into the ship he left the bell upon a rock that was by the\nharbour, and forgot to bring it with him. The ship put out to sea, with\nthe bell left on the rock behind it.\n\nWhen Deglan was coming near Ireland he remembered the bell, and knew\nthat he had left it on the rock behind him in Rome. Old people say\nthat long ago there used not to be much good in \"a cleric without a\nbell.\"[50] Deglan knew that he would want the bell when he would land in\nIreland, and he prayed God to send it to him.\n\n[50] \"A cleric without a bell,\" and \"the forgetting his bell by the\ncleric,\" are common proverbs in Irish.\n\nAt the end of a little time what should be seen swimming behind the\nship but the rock and the bell on it, just as Deglan had left it at\nRome. And when the vessel came to land, then the stone came into the\nharbour at Ardmore, and the stone comes up on the shore, and it is\nthere yet. The stone is set high up on the top of two smaller stones,\nand room between the two for a man to pass out under them. If you were\nto see the hole you would feel certain that even a cat could not pass\nout through it, and yet a big man can pass through.\n\nEvery Deglan's Day, the 24th of July, and the Sunday nearest to it,\nthousands of people come from all over the Decies, from twenty miles\naway, to the \"pattern,\" and anyone who has anything the matter with\nhim, either disease or pain or sickness, goes in under that stone, and\nbelieves firmly in his mind that he will be healed. Hundreds do that\nyet, up to the present day.\n\nAbout fifteen years ago the \"pattern\" was growing small and dying out,\nbut a feis, the second feis in Ireland [in modern times] was held on\nDeglan's Sunday, and thousands and thousands of people came to it, and\nthere had not been such a \"pattern\" for fifty years. I myself have\noften seen people passing under the stones.\n\nEvery second person in the \"seana-phoball,\" and in the parish of\nArdmore also, is called Deglan down to the present day. Scarcely a\nmonth passes that a child is not christened Deglan. The explanation\nthat the people give of the name of the parish called \"Seana-phoball,\"\nor Old Parish, is that Deglan had made a parish of it and that there\nwere Christians there before there was a parish, or before there were\nChristians in any other place in Ireland, and \"old phoball\" is the same\nas \"old par\u00f3iste\" or parish.\n\n[The above story is the folk version of part of the following, which\nis here translated for the first time from an Irish MS. in my own\npossession. St. Deglan's church is spoken of in the MS. as still\nstanding, and his miraculous stone as being still preserved there when\nthe account was written. This throws back the account many hundreds of\nyears. I collated my MS. carefully with one written in 1758 [23 M 50],\npreserved in R.I.A. It has never been printed, but I believe my friend,\nFather Power, will soon publish the entire life of St. Deglan.]\n\n\n\n\nST. DEGLAN.\n\n\nOF HOW TRAMORE GOT ITS NAME.\n\nAnd the people of the island concealed the ship so that Deglan could\nnot embark on it, for they disliked it greatly that Deglan should\ninhabit it, for fear they themselves might be banished out of it.\n\nHis disciples then said to Deglan, \"Father, thou often requirest to\ncome to this place. We pray thee to avoid it, and mayest thou receive\nfrom God that the sea should ebb away from the land so that people may\ngo into it with dry feet, for Christ has said that whatever shall be\nasked of My Father in My name He shall give it you, for it is not easy\nfor thou to inhabit this place or to protect it.\"\n\nAnd Deglan said, \"This place which was promised me by God and where my\nburial was promised, how shall I be able to avoid it? But concerning\nthis thing which ye desire me to do, namely, to inhabit it, I like not\nto pray against the will of God concerning the taking away from the sea\nits own natural movement; howsoever, at your entreaty I shall direct\nmy petition to God, and whatsoever pleases God, let it be done.\"\n\nDeglan's disciples arose, and they said, \"take thy staff as Moses did\nwith the rod, and smite the sea with it, and God shall make manifest\nHis own will to thee in that wise,\" and his disciples besought him to\ndo that, for they were faithful people. His staff was [accordingly]\ngiven into Deglan's hand, and he smote the water with it in the name\nof the Trinity, and he made the sign of the cross of crucifixion with\nit on the water, and quickly the sea began to move out of his own\nplace--so quickly that it was scarcely the swift monsters[51] of the\nsea could keep pace with it by swimming, and it left many of them on\nthe shore high and dry, who were not able to depart with the sea on\naccount of the rapidity with which it moved. And Deglan followed the\nsea with his crozier in his hand, and his disciples followed him, and\nthere was a cry and a great sounding from the sea and from the monsters\ndeparting. And when Deglan reached the place where Tarmuin-na-mara\nis now, a young child of Deglan's disciples by the name of Mainchin\nspake, he being terrified at the noises of the sea and at the roaring\nof the unknown monsters with their mouths open, following the water.\n\"Father,\" said he, \"thou hast displaced the sea enough, for I am afraid\nof yonder awful monsters.\" At the word of the child the sea stopped.\nAnd Deglan did not like that, and he struck a light blow on his nose,\nand three drops of blood dropped from him to the ground under Deglan's\nfeet in three places. And Deglan blessed the nose, and the blood\nceased suddenly. And Deglan said, \"it is not I who have removed the\nsea but the power of God, and it would have removed it further had it\nnot been for the words thou spakest.\" And in the place where those\ndrops of blood fell, three little wells of sweet shining water burst\nforth from them under the feet of Deglan. And those wells are still\nthere. And they are seldom [without?] that colour of blood upon them\nas a remembrance of those miracles. And there is a mile in length and\nin breadth around them, and the name of it is \"the tramore,\" or \"great\nshore,\" and good and profitable is the land of Tramore, and there was\n[built] Deglan's monastery. And the crozier that Deglan had in his\nhand, when performing that miracle, its name was \"Feardhacht Deglan.\"\nWe shall say something more about its miracles in another place.\n\n[51] Biastaide luathe na mara.\n\n\nOF HOW ARDMORE GOT ITS NAME, AND OF ST. DEGLAN'S STONE.\n\nDeglan proceeded to say mass in a church that lay before him in his\nway, and a small black stone was sent from heaven through the window\nof the church to him, and it remained on the altar in his presence.\nGreat joy seized Deglan at beholding it, and he gave praise and glory\nto God for it. Now his mind was firmly set against ill ways and the\nunreason of the heathen after the possession of the stone, and he gave\nthat stone to Lunan, son of the King of the Romans, who was in his\ncompany, to keep and to carry for him. And the name of that stone was\nBobhur in Ireland,[52] namely Deglan's \"Duibhin\" (or little black thing)\nand it was from its colour it received that name, for by its colour it\nwas black, and it revealed [things] by the grace of God, and Deglan\nperformed many miracles [by it], and it remains to this day in Deglan's\nchurch....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n... and on one of these occasions (a visit to Rome) he went to a holy\nbishop of the Britons named David, to the church which is called\nCillmhin [Killveen], which is beside the shore of the sea which divides\nBritain from Ireland. And the bishop received him with honour, and he\nwas for forty days in his society, with love and joy, and he used to\nsay mass each day there, and they knit themselves together with bonds\nof brotherhood and partnership, and [they bound] the people of the\nplace after them. And on his completing forty days there, they parted\nwith salutation, and he said farewell to David and gave him a kiss in\ntoken of peace. And he himself and his disciples went to the shore of\nthe sea to go into the ship to go to Ireland. And that stone I spake\nof, which was sent to Deglan from heaven, a monk was carrying it at the\ntime; for Deglan was unwilling ever to part with it, and it used always\nto be in his company. And when they came from the shore into the ship\nthe monk had forgotten it, [and left it] on a rock which was on the\nshore. And until they had gone about half way over the sea they never\nremembered it. And when they did remember it Deglan was melancholy, and\nso was every one else, after the gift, which had come down from heaven\nto Deglan, being forgotten in a place from which they never thought to\nget it back. Deglan looked above his head to heaven, and clearly prayed\nto God in his mind. And then he said to his disciples, \"lay aside your\nmelancholy, for God who made a gift of that stone from heaven at the\nfirst can now send it to us in an unusual ship.\" Wonderful and splendid\nit was that the rock without understanding or reason submitted to the\nCreator contrary to nature, for it swam directly after the ship, with\nthe stone on it, and it was not long until Deglan and his disciples\nsaw the rock after them, and the stone upon it. And when Deglan's\npeople beheld that miracle, they were filled with the love of God and\nwith honour for their master, Deglan. And Deglan spake prophetically:\n\"Let the stone go on in front of you, and follow ye it, for whatsoever\nharbour it shall arrive at, it is near it that my city shall be, and\nmy house and bishoprick,[53] and it is from that place I shall go to\nGod's heaven, and it is there that my resurrection shall be.\" And the\nstone went out past the ship, and ceased the great pace at which it had\nproceeded up to then, and remained a little in advance of the ship, so\nthat it could be seen from on board the ship, yet in such wise that the\nship might not overtake it. And the rock steered for Ireland so that it\ntook harbour in the south, in the Decies, at an island that was at that\ntime called Ard-Innis Caerach, or High Island of the Sheep, and the\nship took the same harbour, as Deglan had told them.\n\n[52] This passage about Bobhur is not in the R.I.A. copy only the part\nabout the Duibhin.\n\n[53] Mo chathair si agus mo thigheas easbogoidheacht in my MS. \"Mo\ntheaghdhais easbogoideachta\" 23 M 50. 1758.\n\nDeglan, that holy man, went on shore, and he gave praise and glory and\nthanks to God because that he had reached the place of his resurrection\non that island, where the sheep of the king of the D\u00e9ise used to be\nkept usually and herded. And there was a pleasant high hill on it. And\none of his disciples said to Deglan on going to the top of that hill\n\"how shall this Ard beag (Little Height) support thy people.\"\n\n\"Beloved son,\" said Deglan, \"say not so. This is no Little Height, but\nan Ard M\u00f3r (Great Height),\" and the name has clung to it ever since,\nnamely Ardmore of Deglan.\n\n[Illustration: THE LANDING OF ST. DEGLAN AT ARDMORE]\n\n\n\n\nST. PAUL'S VISION; OR, THE LAST END OF THE MAN WHO LEADS A BAD LIFE.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI took the following very curious account from an Irish MS. a couple of\nhundred years old, which had been thrown away on a loft in a farm house\nin the County Meath before I secured it. There are other copies of this\nstory in the Royal Irish Academy, and a fragment in the library of\nUniversity College, Dublin, but mine is the best copy I have met. There\nis no other version, so far as I know, of St. Paul's Vision that is at\nall like this. The Vision was at one time well known in Europe. It was\nat first, according to Tischendorf, probably composed in Greek, and\nthere is a version of it in Syrian and another in Latin. The story is\nalso found in old High German, in Danish, French and Slavonic. The best\nand longest Latin version is to be found in the Bibliotheque Nationale\nat Paris, but there is not a word in it, nor in the Greek, nor in the\nSyrian, of the driving of the soul out of the body, or of the angel\nMichael's guiding St. Paul to the bedside of the dying man. As it is\nunlikely that some Irish Gael composed all this out of his own head, I\ncan only surmise that it is a translation of a Latin or Greek original\nnow lost, and that the story now survives through its translation into\nIrish alone.\n\nWe know that the Irish have saved for us several pieces of an\napocryphal or mystic character, whose originals are now lost, such as\nthe extraordinary piece called the \"Ever-new Tongue,\" and the \"Vision\nof Tundal.\"\n\nThis story contains a close resemblance to the \"Debate between the\nBody and the Soul,\" which is usually known as the \"Visio Philaberti,\"\nascribed to Walter Mapes, or Map, or else to Walter Grosseteste, bishop\nof Lincoln, and of which a kind of middle Irish version exists in the\n\"Leabhar Breac\" and was published by Atkinson in his \"Passions and\nHomilies.\" Another imperfect version was published by Dottin in the\n\"Revue Celtique,\" 1903. My MS. from which I have taken this Vision of\nSt. Paul's contains an excellent copy of it also. Almost all the Irish\ncopies ascribe it to Grosseteste.\n\nThe longest Latin version of this Vision contains 51 chapters or\nsections, and deals with St. Paul's account of Paradise and his other\nwanderings, as well as with the infernal regions.\n\nThere is a \"Passion of St. Paul\" in the Leabhar Breac, or Speckled\nBook, but there is not a word about this Vision in it. I found an\naccount of St. Paul in another Irish MS., probably taken from some lost\nsource. \"A small, miserable-looking person was the apostle Paul. Broad\nshoulders he had; a white face with a sedate demeanour. His head small.\nPleasant bright eyes he had. Long brows, a projecting (?) nose and a\nlong beard with a little grey hair.\"\n\nThe horrid description of the soul leaving the body with such\nreluctance has a curious Pagan parallel in an exactly reverse sense\nin Lucan's Pharsalia, Book vi., 721, in the dreadful account of the\nsorceress conjuring back a soul into the dead body, and its reluctance\nto enter it. \"Adspicit adstantem projecti corporis umbram Exanimes\nartus, invisaque claustra timentem, Carceris antiqui: pavet ire in\npectus apertum, Visceraque, et ruptas letali vulnere fibras. Ah miser\nextremum qui mortis munus iniquae, Eripitur non posse mori, etc.\"\n\nThe medi\u00e6val Irish translator of the Pharsalia revelled in this\nsorceress episode.\n\nFor the original of the following piece, see \"Religious Songs of\nConnacht,\" vol. II.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nThe Apostle Paul, upon a certain time, chanced to be in a city of\nthe name of Smyrna, in the land of Syria. And this is how Paul was,\nnamely, making intercession with God, the all-powerful, to reveal to\nhim something of the pains of hell, so that all the more for receiving\nthat revelation, he might perform the will of God, and give instruction\nto the congregations. And, as he was beseeching God in this wise,\nthere cometh unto him a youth, and he asketh Paul to go with him, to\nconfirm in his faith a man who was at the point of death. Paul departed\nalong with the youth to the place where was the sick man, and him they\nfound before them struggling with the Death. Now this is the manner\nwherein the soul parteth from the body--as saith St. Bernard, one of\nthe arch-doctors of the Trinity. He saith that the Death cometh in a\ncold, unrecognisable, insufferable shape, stabbing the body with spits\nand arrows. And first it cometh into the outer members, namely the\ncentre of the soles of the feet, and of the palms of the hands, in the\nveins, and in every other member of the body, until it hunt the noble\nsoul before it out of every member of the body, even as the fisherman\nrouteth the fish under the hollows of the banks (?) to the weedy-place\n(?) in which the net is set to catch them. Even so doth the Death,\nrouting before it the soul into the heart--the first member of a person\nto be alive, and the last member to die.\n\nBut, howsoever, upon the coming of Paul and of the messenger to the\nsick man, they perceived how he himself and the Death were struggling\nwith one another, and that the Death was after taking possession of all\nthe body, except that the soul was in the lower chamber of the heart,\nstriving to conceal itself from the Death. But that was in vain for it,\nfor when Death came to the heart, he began ploughing and boring the\nheart, for he felt certain that it was there the soul was. But when the\nsoul felt its enemy and adversary the Death close to it, it thought to\nleave the body and to come forth out of the mouth, since it found no\ndwelling place nor shelter in the body. But it is what it finds before\nitself there, a frightful fearsome host of black, ugly-coloured devils,\nand fiery flames full of stench, and a loathsome, insufferable, evil\nsmell coming forth out of their mouths, and each one of them watching\nwith fierceness for the soul to come forth out of the mouth and out\nof the body, for it was in a state of damnation, without repentance,\nthat this sinner was dying. And when the poor soul beheld this devilish\nguard in front of it, the soul returned fearful (?) and quaking and\ncometh into the passage of the nose and thought to come out there. But\nit beholds the same host before it. It returneth full of weariness and\nmisery and goeth to the eyes, but it is what it findeth there before\nit--many black, ugly-coloured devils with fiery flames out of their\nmouths and gullets, and each of them saying, \"What is this delay of\nDeath's that he routeth not out to us this damned soul forth from the\ngreedy body in which it is, till we bear it with us to its own abode--a\nplace where there is darkness and eternal pain for ever and ever as\nits evil deeds have deserved [that were wrought] during the time that\nit was its own master?\" And on the poor soul's hearing these words\nit screamed and cried feebly, and wept tearfully, sorrowfully, and\nwith bitter weariness, for it recognised then that it was parted from\nthe eternal life for ever and ever, and it turns back again to the\nhollows of the ears, where it thought to find a way out, but it is what\nit finds there before it many loathly worms and evil-shaped terrific\nserpents of various kinds. When the soul saw that, it returned back to\nthe heart, for it desired to go, as it seemed to it, into hiding, but\nit found Death before it there, ploughing and boring the heart. Then\nthe soul considered that it had no escape on any side. It despaired of\nGod and of the whole angelic court, and it went aloft to the crown of\nthe head. It goes out and leaves the body and settles on the top of\nthe head. It looks down at that tomb where it had been--namely, the\nbody--and said, \"Oh! all-powerful God! is it possible that this is the\nbody wherein I was for a brief [space of] happiness; and if it is,\nwhere has gone the blue clear-seeing eye, or the crimson cheek? 'Tis\nwhat I behold in place of the eyes--hollow dry cavities sucked back\ninto the hollow of the skull; the ruddy handsome cheek now dark and\nbeetle-hued; the mouth that was to-day red and shapely now closed, not\nto be opened, livid, hideous, without talk, without speech; and oh!\nall-powerful God! alas for him who was deceived by the companion at the\nraising (?) of the body's strength, power, pride, and spirit, which was\nbegotten and which was alive, and whose share of gold and treasures was\ngreat; but I do not see one thing of all that in his possession now,\nnor advantaging nor comforting him at all; but I see that it is ill he\nspent the gifts that God gave him, and that on account of this he has\ndamned me for ever.\"\n\nThe body spake, and said: \"If it were not for thee these devilish\nfurious hosts would not come to claim me now. For this is how thou\nwast when thou wast bound to me; thou wast an active, most powerful\nspirit, full of understanding and of feeling, and of clear intellect,\nof nobility and of honour; thou didst recognise between evil and good;\nwhilst I was nothing but a fistful of clay, without beauty or strength,\nor feeling, or sense, or understanding, or power, or guidance, or\nmovement, or sight, or hearing, until thou wast bound to me, and for\nthat reason it is thou who art guilty and not I.\"\n\n\"Thou greedy, carnal, unsubduable worm, all thou sayest is not true,\nfor I was a clean, glorious spirit,\" said the soul, \"who had no\nnecessity for food or clothing or for anything at all, of all that is\non the earth, but the joy of holy life, until I was bound to thee. And\nthis is why I was bound to thee, for thee to spend the activity of\nthy feet, the labour of thy hands, the sight of thy eyes, the hearing\nof thy ears, the speech of thy mouth, the thoughts of thy heart, and\nevery other gift that God gave thee, so as to do ministering, to\nmake submission, and to perform every other service to glorious God\nthroughout thy period on this world, so that after that I and thou\nmight find the fruit of those good deeds in the enjoyment of eternal\nglory in the company of God and of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and of\nall the angelic heavenly court, where cometh everyone who has done\ngood deeds, such as fasting, alms-giving, prayers, acts of friendship\nto a neighbour, listening willingly to the words of God, and acting\naccordingly; and who used not to refuse to relieve the necessity of\nthe poor, and the like. But those are not the things that thou didst,\nbut spending the gifts God gave with gluttony, drunkenness, adultery,\npride, arrogance, greed; with the ruin of thy neighbour's portion;\nwith lies, noisiness (?) anger, quarrelling, back-biting, folly,\npitilessness, injustice, wrath, sloth, envy, lechery, with the spoil of\nthe poor, and with every other sort of sin that the human body thought\npleasant; and lo! what fruit hast thou for those misdeeds. Dead and\nfeeble are thy limbs which were once active and strong; closed is the\nmouth wherewith thou didst use to hold unlawful discourse; weak is\nthe tongue wherewith thou wast wont to utter obscene barbarous words,\ngiving ill-fame, reproach, disrespect, shame, contempt, displeasure,\nand every other sort [of evil] that thy thoughts and intellect could\nbring to mind. Deaf is the ear that used to listen with pleasure to\nmurmurings, to scandal, to the back-biting of neighbours. Blind and\nhollow is the eye that used to look with greed, partiality, and malice.\nThere is no fairness nor beauty in the hand on whose fingers the gems\nused to be. I see them not on thee now. And, moreover, I see not the\ngold nor the silver nor the various other goods which thou didst get\nby defrauding, which thou didst rob, which thou gottest from the weak,\nfrom the orphan, and from the miserable, with deceptions and ill-will.\nThey are now in the possession of other people, and not one thing of\nthem doing good to thee, but [doing] every evil that is possible to\nreckon. And, therefore, O greedy, lustful body, most unsubduable worm\nthat God ever created, it is thou art most guilty and not I,\" said the\nsoul.\n\nAfter the soul uttering those words miserably and wearily, an evil\nspirit of that damned host that was waiting to get the soul into its\nown possession spake, and said: \"It is a wonder how long Death is\nwithout routing this damned soul to us forth out of the body.\"\n\nAnother devil answered him and spake: \"It is not possible for us to\npossess it or to take it until Jesus Christ pass judgment upon it\nfirst, according to its actions, bad and good. However, its possession\nfor ever is ours; for ever, because it was to us it did service and\nministry whilst it was living, and ours is the possession of soul and\nbody from the day of the last judgment for ever.\"\n\nAfter the devils speaking these words, a shining, happy host of the\nangels of heaven lowered themselves, with singing of music, round about\nthe body, and in their midst a Youth more glorious than the sun. Many\nawful, wide-opened wounds in His skin, and they dripping blood. The\nYouth spake to the dead, and asked him how he had spent the life that\nhe got, or the gifts that God gave him. The body answered and said: \"O\nJesus Christ, O Lamb, Son of God, I am not able to deny it, that it was\nill I spent my time and the gifts that I got; that Thou didst suffer\npassion-pains and death on my behalf, and that I paid no regard to\nthat, and therefore I am myself admitting that Thou hast no power (from\nthe true right of Thy divinity, and from the plentifulness of my evil\ndeeds, since I did not make repentance of them either early or late)\nnot to pass judgment damning me now. And alas! now I see the wrong, the\nloss, and the harm, of the neglect I was guilty of, in putting off\nrepentance, until Thy messenger, the Death, came to me, and, my grief!\nI was not prepared for him, and, moreover, I got no respite when he\ncame, until he destroyed me--and that is my account of my life, and\nindeed it is more evil than it is good.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the Youth on whom were the wounds, \"all that thou\nhast committed of faults and of evil deeds throughout thy life, if\nthou wert to make true repentance from thy heart of them, I would make\nthee as clean as the sun, and I would place thee in the company of the\nangels and of the saints, enjoying everlasting glory, and the devilish\nhost which is waiting for thee would have no power nor might over thee.\nBut since thou hast not done that, it is necessary to pass judgment\nupon thee according to thy deeds, bad and good.\"\n\nThen there came each one of the demon host that was waiting for the\npoor soul, and a roll of dark black parchment in the hand of each\nof them, in which was written all that the dead man had done in the\nservice of the devil. On the Saviour Jesus Christ perceiving that, it\nwas what He said, \"Take with you this damned soul to hell, to pain it\ntill the day of the general judgment, and from that out ye shall have\nthe body as well as the soul, enduring eternal pains.\"\n\nThen came the devilish host that was waiting for the soul. They drew\nthe poor soul with fiery crooks, and they made of it a lump of fire,\nand they were hunting it before them to hell, and it calling and crying\nout faintly and fearfully.\n\nPaul the Apostle was observing each thing of those, because it was God\nwho had sent His messenger to him, so that he might get a view of the\nperson who led a bad life, at the point of death, according to the\nprayer he had made. Then, upon the departure of the accursed host and\nof the soul out of sight, Paul cried aloud, weeping and lamenting, to\nget a sight of the end that was being brought upon the soul. Then the\nmessenger asked Paul did he desire to get a sight of the pains of that\nsoul and of the other damned souls. \"I should so desire,\" said Paul,\n\"if it were God's will.\" \"Well, then,\" said the messenger, \"I will give\nthee a sight of them, for I am not a man of this earth, but an angel\nthat God has sent to thee to show thee these things, and I am Michael\nthe Arch-Angel,\" said he.\n\nAfter these words the angel brought him to the brink of a valley that\nwas stupendous for depth and fearfulness. Paul beheld, amongst the\nfirst things there, a great, dark, frightful river. Blacker than coal\nwas its appearance, and jet black the bubbling terrible water that\nwas in it, so that one puff alone of the venemous wind that used to\ncome out of it would kill all the men and women of the world--were\nit not for the Spirit of God succouring them it would split stones\nand trees--and he beheld many loathly worms and snakes, and devils of\ndivers shapes in it, raging, beating, gnawing (?), and bone-cutting\none another; cursing the day in which they were born or were created.\nAnd on the other opposite side of the river there was a dark cave in\nwhich were many damned souls screaming(?); being bound (?) and lashed.\nAnd some of them were in this wise, sitting on the fiery hearth of\npains; many black, ugly-shaped devils serving and administering\nthe insufferable pains to them, such as fiery flames, sharp and\nhurting (?), and the devils tossing them and turning them (?) with\nsharp-pointed spits in those flames. And there was a resting-lake (?)\nof very cold ice, full of venom, into which the damned souls used to\nleap, seeking cooling and comfort from the sharp goading of the fire.\nHowever, no sooner would they go to the lake than they would leap out\nof it again into the fire, by reason of its cold, and of the sharp\nvenom that was in the water, and here are the words some of them would\nsay:--\"O all-powerful God, is there any redemption or help in store for\nus, or shall we be for ever in these pains, or in what place is Death\nthat he cometh not unto us to put us into nothingness, so that we might\nfind a sleep, on our being dead?\" Another spirit of them answered and\nsaid: \"O accursed, devilish, damned spirits,\" said he, \"there is no\nhelp nor redemption laid out for you for ever and ever, because this\nis the end your misdeeds deserved whilst ye were in life, with pride,\nwith haughtiness, with gluttony, with inordinate desire, and with every\nother sort of sin. Ye have spent the gifts that God gave you, namely\nfeeling, beauty, strength, airiness (?), happiness, the sight of the\neyes, the hearing of the ears, the speaking of the mouth, the movement\nof the limbs, and all those [given] to do the service of God. However,\nwhat ye have done was to spend them in the service of the devil, and it\nis he who shall give you your wages in pains, without help or relief,\nfor ever and ever.\"\n\n\"Knowest thou, O Paul,\" said the angel, \"who they are who are pained\nlike this?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Paul, \"but it is on them are the hardships\nimpossible to count-up or to show-forth.\"\n\n\"There,\" said the angel, \"are the people of haughtiness and pride,\nwho used to be bruising-to-pieces the poor, who gave themselves up to\ndrinking and the evil desires of the world. Yon devils are beating\nthem, and ministering to them eternal pains, and they shall be so for\never and ever, in eric for their misdeeds.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPaul beheld another band upon the fiery hearth of pains, many loathsome\nbeetle-worms and serpents gnawing and bone-cutting each member of them;\nsome of the worms going into their mouths and their necks and coming\nout on their ears, and the spirits themselves collecting and drawing\nthose devils and those loathsome reptiles to themselves.\n\n\"Knowest thou, O Paul,\" said the angel, \"what people are pained like\nthis?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Paul.\n\n\"Those,\" said the angel, \"are the people of adultery and disgusting\nlust; and in eric for the fair-coloured, gaudy clothes that they used\nto put upon themselves, both men and women, deceiving one another,\nthose devils are for ever gnawing, overthrowing, and bone-cutting them.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPaul beheld another lot upon the fiery hearth of hell. Great mountains\nof fire on every side of them, many ill-shaped devils throwing down\nthose mountains upon the very top of them, bruising them together and\nbitter-urging them for ever.\n\n\"Knowest thou, O Paul,\" said the angel, \"what people are pained like\nthis?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Paul.\n\n\"Those,\" said the angel, \"are the people of greed, the lot who store\nand gather their neighbours' portion unlawfully, who used not to show\nmercy or give alms or act with humanity to the poor, and who used to\noppress the feeble.\"\n\nPaul saw another lot of people on the fiery hearth of pains,\never-hideous devils, their eyes straying in their heads, being pained\nand bitter-tortured, and being tightened with fiery chains.\n\n\"Knowest thou, O Paul,\" said the angel, \"what people are pained like\nthis?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Paul.\n\n\"Those are the people of envy, the lot who used to be tortured\nand burnt with envy and with jealousy when they used to see their\nneighbours' goods or possessions, and who would not be satisfied with\nthe gifts that God would give themselves--and in eric for that they\nshall be tortured in this way for ever.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPaul beheld another band upon the hearth of fiery pains, up to their\nchins in cold frosty water of the colour of coal. More stinking was\nthat water than a dead carcase after corruption. Many reptiles,\nswimming before them in that water, they being tortured with famine and\nwith thirst, their mouths opened, crying for food and drink, it set\nbefore them, without its being in their power to taste it, for as often\nas they would make an attempt it used to remove farther from them.\n\n\"Knowest thou, O Paul,\" said the angel, \"what people are pained like\nthis?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Paul.\n\n\"Those are the people of gluttony, the people who never fasted nor\nabstained nor gave alms nor said prayers, who used to be eating and\ndrinking forbidden food and drink, who used to give to the body its own\nsatisfaction, with drunkenness, gluttony and lust, and never checked\nthe want of the poor.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPaul beheld another band upon the hearth of fiery pains, and this is\nhow that lot were, with fiery flames out of their mouths and gullets.\nAn evil disgusting, insufferable smell upon that flame. Their eyes\nghastly wandering, straying in their heads; they pulling one another\nand beating one another like fully famished lions.\n\n\"Knowest thou, O Paul,\" said the angel, \"what people are pained like\nthat?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Paul.\n\n\"Those are the people of anger, of disobedience and of despair. They\nshall be thus for ever and ever.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPaul beheld another lot very cold and dark, upon the hearth of pains,\nbound with chains upon their narrow beds, bruised and tortured and\ntightened in bondage by those chains, full of foulness and of evil\ndisgusting smell, and every pain that it is possible to think of.\n\n\"What people are those?\" said Paul.\n\n\"Those,\" said the angel, \"are the people of sloth who used to remain\naway from Mass, from sermons, and from the service of God. Through\nsloth they used to neglect and disregard good deeds, and alas for him\nwho is journeying towards that kingdom,\" said the angel, \"for that is\nthe habitation of the fiery pains and of the misery, the lake of cold,\nthe prison of gall, the cave of darkness, the congregation of curses,\nthe hearth of anger, the ford of snow, the captivity of sloth, the\nabode of misery, the dungeon of venom, the court of dispute, the war\nof the damned devils, the lake and the sea that is filled with wrath,\nwith want, with envy, with covetous desire, with jealousy, and with all\nevil. _Uch hone, uch!_ Alas for him who is journeying to it.\"\n\nHowsoever, the angel showed Paul, at full length and completely, the\npains of hell. And, on Paul's beholding all that, with the grace\nof God, and with the help of the angel, he gave thanks to God for\nreceiving that vision, and he fell to thinking bitterly about the\nnumbers of people on the world who were journeying to those pains. Then\nthe angel led Paul from the clouds of hell until he gave him a sight of\nthe glory of the heaven of God. And, on Paul's beholding that sight,\nno sorrow of all he had had in his life oppressed him. He beheld the\nentire glory of the heavenly palace. He beheld our Saviour Jesus Christ\nin the midst of the angels on His throne, and the Lord gave Paul a\ngentle, friendly welcome, and told him that it was a short time until\nhe should come to eternal glory. Then the angel took Paul with him from\nthe sight of the glory [of heaven], and left him in the place where he\nhad found him at first, bade him farewell, and departed to heaven.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPaul was throughout his life teaching and preaching to the\ncongregations and to the Gentiles about the glory of the heavens and\nthe pains of hell.\n\nGlory be to the living God!\n\n\n\n\nOSCAR OF THE FLAIL.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI wrote down the following story from the mouth of John Cunningham of\nBallinphuill, Co. Roscommon, on the high road between Frenchpark and\nBallaghaderreen, about twenty years ago. Oscar's flail is well known in\nIrish tradition. The poet O'Kelly, in his series of English curses on\nDoneraile, alludes to it--\n\n    May Oscar with his fiery flail\n    To pieces dash all Doneraile.\n\nMr. Stephen Gwynn, M.P., found a variant of this story in Donegal and\nhas given a spirited poetic version of it. The story is also known in\nWaterford. It is probably spread all over the lands occupied by the\nGael, and contains elements that are exceedingly old. The very verses\nabout \"the humming gnat or the scintilla of a beam of the sun\" which I\nwrote down from the mouth of old John Cunningham in the Co. Roscommon,\nhad been already jotted down in phonetics by Magregor, the Dean of\nLismore, in Argyllshire in the year 1512. I printed the whole story\nwith a French translation and introduction in the \"Revue Celtique,\"\nvol. 13, p. 425, showing how in the Tripartite life of St. Patrick the\nstory of piercing a penitent's foot is told of a son of the King of\nMunster. But, as his name was doubtless soon forgotten, the story got\nfathered upon Ois\u00edn.\n\nThe story had its rise, no doubt, in the sorrow felt by the people when\nthe clerics told them that their beloved Fenians and Ois\u00edn and Finn\nwere damned, and the story was probably invented by some clever person\nto save them from perdition. There are scores of MSS. which contain\ndisputes between St. Patrick and Ois\u00edn, or Ossian as the Scotch call\nhim, on this very subject. See \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol. I.,\np. 209. For the allusion to Elphin, see the poem which follows.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nSaint Patrick came to Ireland, and Ois\u00edn met him in Elphin and he\ncarrying stones.\n\n    And whatever time it might be that he got the food,\n    It would be long again till he would get the drink.\n\n\"Ois\u00edn,\" says he, \"let me baptize you.\"\n\n\"Oh, what good would that do me?\" says Ois\u00edn.\n\n\"Ois\u00edn,\" says St. Patrick, \"unless you let me baptize you, you will go\nto hell where the rest of the Fenians are.\"\n\n\"If,\" says Ois\u00edn, \"Diarmaid and Goll were alive for us, and the king\nthat was over the Fenians, if they were to go to hell they would bring\nthe devil and his forge up out of it on their back.\"\n\n\"Listen, O gray and senseless Ois\u00edn, think upon God, and bow your knee,\nand let me baptize you.\"\n\n\"Patrick,\" says Ois\u00edn, \"for what did God damn all that of people?\"\n\n\"For eating the apple of commandment,\" says St. Patrick.\n\n\"If I had known that your God was so narrow-sighted that he damned all\nthat of people for one apple, we would have sent three horses and a\nmule carrying apples to God's heaven to Him.\"\n\n\"Listen, O gray and senseless Ois\u00edn, think upon God, and bow your knee,\nand let me baptize you.\"\n\nOis\u00edn fell into a faint, and the clergy thought that he had died.\nWhen he woke up out of it, \"O Patrick, baptize me,\" says he--he saw\nsomething in his faint, he saw the thing that was before him. The\nspear was in St. Patrick's hand, and he thrust it into Ois\u00edn's foot\npurposely; and the ground was red with his share of blood.\n\n\"Oh,\" says St. Patrick to Ois\u00edn, \"you are greatly cut.\"\n\n\"Oh, isn't that for my baptism?\" says Ois\u00edn.\n\n\"I hope in God that you are saved,\" says St. Patrick, \"you have\nundergone baptism and ...?\"\n\n\"Patrick,\" says Ois\u00edn, \"would you not be able to take the Fenians out\nof hell\"--he saw them there when he was in his sleep.\n\n\"I could not,\" says St. Patrick, \"and any one who is in hell, it is\nimpossible to bring him out of it.\"\n\n\"Patrick,\" says Ois\u00edn, \"are you able to take me to the place where Finn\nand the Fenians of Erin are?\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" says St. Patrick.\n\n    As much as the humming gnat\n    Or a scintilla of the beam of the sun,\n    Unknown to the great powerful king\n    Shall not pass in beneath my shield.\n\n\"Can you give them relief from the pain?\" says Ois\u00edn.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSt. Patrick then asked it as a petition from God to give them a relief\nfrom their pain, and he said to Ois\u00edn that they had found relief. This\nis the relief they got from God. Oscar got a flail, and he requested a\nfresh thong to be put into the flail, and there went a green rush as a\nthong into it, and he got the full of his palm of green sand, and he\nshook the sand on the ground, and as far as the sand reached the devils\nwere not able to follow; but if they were to come beyond the place\nwhere the sand was strewn, Oscar was able to follow _them_, and to beat\nthem with the flail. Oscar and all the Fenians are on this side of the\nsand, and the devils are on the other side, for St. Patrick got it as\na request from God that they should not be able to follow them where\nthe sand was shaken,--and the thong that was in the flail never broke\nsince!\n\n\n\n\nOISIN IN ELPHIN.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nIn the story which I have just given it is said that St. Patrick met\nOisin when he was carrying stones in Elphin, a small village in the\nCounty Roscommon, which was once a great ecclesiastical centre founded\nby St. Patrick. I had often heard other people in Roscommon tell about\nOis\u00edn's carrying those stones in Elphin, and of St. Patrick meeting him\nthere, but I always imagined that they had localised the story because\nthey themselves belonged to the place. That this is not so, however,\nand that the story of the ancient warriors being forced to carry stones\nin his old age is old and genuine is proved by Magregor in Argyllshire\njotting down a verse 400 years ago in which Ossian tells how Finn\nhad prophesied to him that he would yet be carrying stones for the\n\"Tailgin.\"\n\n    Bea tou schell a tarraing clooch,\n    Ma in deyt how in weit wronyth.\n\n    i.e., [uncial: B\u00e9idh t\u00fa seal ag tarraing cloch,\n    Man [rul] dt\u00e9ld tu \u00f3n bhith bhr\u00f3nach]\n\nand the very poem (which I give here, taken from a Belfast MS.) was\nwritten in phonetics by Magregor in far-away Argyll.\n\nMagregor's first line as read by McLaughlin (Skene's Book of Lismore)\nruns \"is fadda noch ni nelli fiym,\" but Dr. Cameron later on gave a\nmore correct reading \"is fadda not ni nelli finni.\" It is not to be\ntranslated as McLaughlan does, \"long are the clouds this night above\nme,\" but \"long is to-night in Elphin,\" ni nelli finni being evidently\nto be transliterated as \"i n-Ailfinne.\" This poem may almost be looked\nupon as a pendant to the last piece. See my \"Religious Songs of\nConnacht.\"\n\n\nCOLD ELPHIN.\n\n    Long was last night in cold Elphin,\n      More long is to-night on its weary way,\n    Though yesterday seemed to me long and ill,\n      Yet longer still was this dreary day.\n\n    And long, for me, is each hour new-born,\n      I fall forlorn to grinding grief\n    For the hunting lands, and the Fenian bands,\n      And the long-haired generous Fenian Chief.\n\n    I make no music, I find no feast,\n      I slay no beast from a bounding steed,\n    I give no gold, I am poor and old,\n      I am cursed and cold without wine or mead.\n\n    No more I court, and I hunt no more,\n      These were before my strong delight,\n    I have ceased to slay, and I take no prey,\n      --Weary the day and long the night.\n\n    No heroes come in their war array,\n      No game I play, and no gold I win;\n    I swim no stream with my men of might,\n      --Long is to-night in cold Elphin.\n\n    Would I were gone from this evil earth,\n      I am wan with dearth, I am old and thin,\n    Carrying stones in my own despite,\n      --Long is to-night in cold Elphin.\n\n    Ask, O Patrick, of God, for grace,\n      And tell me what place he will hold me in,\n    And save my soul from the Ill One's might\n      --For long is to-night in cold Elphin.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIEST WHO WENT TO DO PENANCE.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story I wrote down most carefully, word for word, from the telling\nof Mairtin Ruadh O Giollarnath, near Monivea, Co. Galway. He knew no\nEnglish. I printed it in my \"Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach,\" published in\nRennes. I know no variant of this story.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere arose some little difference between three sons. A farmer's sons\nthey were. One man of them said that he would leave home and go to an\nisland (_i.e._, emigrate). Another man of them became a priest, and the\neldest brother remained at home.\n\nThe young priest never stopped until he went to Athlone to the college\nthere, and he remained there for five years until his term had expired,\nand he was turned out a professed priest. He got himself ready, then,\nin the college, and said that he would go home to visit his father and\nmother.\n\nHe bound his books together in his bag, and then he faced for home.\nThere was no mode of conveyance at that time; he had to walk. He walked\nall through the day until night was coming on. He saw a light at a\ndistance from him. He went to it and found a gentleman's big house. He\ncame into the yard and asked for lodgings until the morning. He got\nthat from the gentleman and welcome, and the gentleman did not know\nwhat he would do for him, with the regard he had for him.\n\nThe priest was a fine handsome man, and the daughter of the gentleman\ntook, as you would say, a fancy to him, when she was bringing his\nsupper--and a fine supper it was he got. When they went to sleep\nthen the young woman went into the room where the priest was. She\nbegan entreating him to give up the church and to marry herself. The\ngentleman had no daughter but herself, and she was to have the house\nand place, all of it, and she told that to the priest.\n\nSays the priest, \"don't tell me your mind,\" says he; \"it's no good. I\nam wed already to Mary Mother, and I shall never have any other wife,\"\nsays he. She gave him up then when she saw that it was no good for her,\nand she went away. There was a piece of gold plate in the house, and\nwhen the young priest fell asleep she came back again into his room,\nand she put the gold plate unbeknownst to him into his bag, and out she\nwent again.\n\nWhen he rose then, in the morning, he was getting himself ready to be\ngoing off again. It was a Friday, a fast day, that was in it, but she\ngot a piece of meat and put it into his pocket, unbeknownst to him. Now\nhe had both the meat and the gold plate in his bag, and off my poor man\nwent, without any meal in the morning. When he had gone a couple of\nmiles on his road, up she rose and told her father that the man that he\nhad last night with him, \"it was a bad man he was, that he stole the\ngold plate, and that he had meat in his pocket, going away of him, that\nshe herself saw him eating it as he went the road that morning.\" Then\nthe father got ready a horse and pursued him, and came up with him and\ngot him taken and brought back again to his own house, and sent for the\npeelers.\n\n\"I thought,\" said he, \"that it was an honest man you were, and it's a\nrogue you are,\" said he.\n\nHe was taken out then and given to the jury to be tried, and he was\nfound guilty. The father took the gold plate out of the bag and showed\nit to the whole jury. He was sentenced to be hanged then. They said\nthat any man who did a thing of that sort, he deserved nothing but to\nput his head in the noose[54] and hang him.\n\n[54] Literally, \"in the gallows.\"\n\nHe was up on the stage then going to be hanged, when he asked leave to\nspeak in the presence of the people. That was given him. He stood up,\nthen, and he told all the people who he himself was, and where he was\ngoing and what he had done; how he was going home to his father and\nmother, and how he came into the gentleman's house. \"I don't know that\nI did anything bad,\" said he, \"but the daughter that this gentleman\nhad, she came in to me, into the room, where I was asleep, and she\nasked me to leave the church and to marry herself, and I would not\nmarry her, and no doubt it was she who put the gold plate and the fish\ninto my bag,\" and he went down on his two knees then, and put up a\npetition to God to send them all light that it was not himself who was\nguilty.\n\n\"Oh, it was not fish that was in your bag at all but meat,\" said the\ndaughter.\n\n\"It was meat perhaps that _you_ put in it, but it was fish that I found\nin it,\" says the priest.\n\nWhen the people heard that, they desired to bring the bag before them,\nand they found that it was fish in the place of meat that was in it.\nThey gave judgment then to hang the young woman instead of the priest.\n\nShe was put up then in place of him to be hanged, and when she was up\non the stage, going to be hanged, \"Well, you devil,\" said she, \"I'll\nhave you, in heaven or on earth,\" and with that she was hanged.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe priest went away after that, drawing on home. When he came home\nhe got, after a while, a chapel and a parish, and he was quiet and\nsatisfied, and everybody in the place had a great respect for him, for\nhe was a fine priest in the parish. He was like this for a good while,\nuntil a day came when he went to visit a great gentleman who was in\nthat place; just as yourself might come into this garden,[55] or like\nthat, and they were walking outside in the garden, the gentleman and\nhimself. When he was going up a walk in this garden a lady met him, and\nwhen she was passing the priest on the walk, she struck a light little\nblow of her hand on his cheek. It was that lady who had been hanged who\nwas in it, but the priest did not recognise her, [seemingly] alive, and\nthought she was some other fine lady who was there.\n\n[55] This story was told to me in the garden of Mr. Reddington Roche,\nat Rye Hill.\n\nShe went then into a summer house, and the priest went in after her,\nand had a little conversation with her, and it is likely that she\nbeguiled him with melodious conversation and talk before she went out.\nWhen she herself and he himself were ready to depart, and when they\nwere separating from one another, she turned to him and said, \"you\nought to recognize me,\" said she, \"I am the woman that you hanged; I\ntold you that day that I would have you yet, and I shall. I came to you\nnow to damn you.\" With that she vanished out of his sight.\n\nHe gave himself up then; he said that he was damned for ever. He was\ngetting no rest, either by day or by night, with the fear that was on\nhim at her having met him again. He said that it was not in his power\neither to go back or forward--that he was to be damned for ever. That\nthought was preying on him day and night.\n\nHe went away then, and he went to the Bishop, and he told him the whole\nstory and made his confession to him, and told him how she met him and\ntempted him. Then the bishop told him that he was damned for ever, and\nthat there was nothing in the world to save him or able to save him.\n\n\"I have no hope at all, so?\" said the priest.\n\nThe bishop said to him, \"you have no hope at all, till you get a small\nload of cambrick needles,\"--the finest needles at all--\"and get a ship,\nand go out to sea, and according as you go every hundred yards on the\nsea you must throw away a needle from you out of the ship. Be going\nthen,\" says he, \"for ever,\" says he, \"until you have thrown away the\nlast of them. Unless you are able to gather them up out of the sea and\nto bring them all to me back again here, you will be lost for ever.\"\n\n\"Well that's a thing that I never shall do; it fails me to do that,\"\nsaid the priest.\n\nHe got the ship and the needles and went out to sea, according as he\nused to go a piece he used to throw a needle from him. He was going\nuntil he was very far away from land, and until he had thrown out the\nlast needle. By the time he had thrown away the last needle, his own\nfood was used up, and he had not a thing to eat. He spent three days\nthen, on end, without bite or sup or drink, or means to come by them.\n\nThen on the third day he saw dry land over from him at a distance. \"I\nshall go,\" said he, \"to yon dry land over there, and perhaps we may\nget something there that we can eat.\" The man was on the road to be\nlost. He drew towards the place and walked out upon the dry land. He\nspent from twelve o'clock in the day walking until it was eight o'clock\nat night. Then when the night had fallen black, he found himself in a\ngreat wood, and he saw a light at a distance from him in the wood, and\nhe drew towards it. There were twelve little girls there before him and\nthey had a good fire, and he asked of them a morsel to eat for God's\nsake. Something to eat was got ready for him. After that he got a good\nsupper, and when he had the supper eaten he began to talk to them,\ntelling them how he had left home and what it was he had done out of\nthe way, and the penance that had been put on him by the bishop, and\nhow he had to go out to sea and throw the needles from him.\n\n\"God help you, poor man,\" said one of the women, \"it was a hard penance\nthat was put upon you.\"\n\nSays he, \"I am afraid that I shall never go home. I have no hope of it.\nHave you any idea at all for me down from heaven as to where I shall\nget a man who will tell me whether I shall save myself from the sins\nthat I have committed?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said a little girl of them, \"but we have mass in this\nhouse every day in the year at twelve o'clock. A priest comes here to\nread mass for us, and unless that priest is able to tell it to you\nthere is no use in your going back for ever.\"\n\nThe poor man was tired then and he went to sleep. Well now, he was\nthat tired that he never felt to get up, and never heard the priest\nin the house reading mass until the mass was read and priest gone. He\nawoke then and asked one of the women had the priest come yet. She told\nhim that he had and that he had read mass and was gone again. He was\ngreatly troubled and sorry then after the priest.\n\nNow with fear lest he might not awake next day, he brought in a harrow\nand he lay down on the harrow in such a way that he would have no\nmeans, as he thought, of getting any repose.\n\nBut in spite of all that the sleep preyed on him so much that he never\nfelt to get up until mass was read and the priest gone the second day.\nNow he had two days lost, and the girls told him that unless he got the\npriest the third day he would have to go away from themselves. He went\nout then and brought in a bed of briars on which were thorns to wound\nhis skin, and he lay down on them without his shirt in the corner,\nand with all sorts of torture that he was putting on himself he kept\nhimself awake throughout the night until the priest came. The priest\nread mass, and when he had it read and he going away, my poor man went\nup to him and asked him to remain, that he had a story to tell him,\nand he told him then the way in which he was, and the penance that was\non him, and how he had left home, and how he had thrown the needles\nbehind him into the sea, and all that he had gone through of every kind.\n\nIt was a saint who was in the priest who read mass, and when he heard\nall that the other priest had to tell him, \"to-morrow,\" says the saint\nto him, \"go up to such and such a street that was in the town in that\ncountry; there is a woman there,\" says he, \"selling fish, and the first\nfish you take hold of bring it with you. Fourpence the woman will want\nfrom you for the fish, and here is the fourpence to give her. And when\nyou have the fish bought, open it up, and there is never a needle of\nall you threw into the sea that is not inside in its stomach. Leave the\nfish there behind you, everything you want is in its stomach; bring the\nneedles with you, but leave the fish.\" The saint went away from him\nthen.\n\nThe priest went to that street where the woman was selling fish, as the\nsaint had ordered, and he brought the first fish he took hold of, and\nopened it up and took out the thing which was in its stomach, and he\nfound the needles there as the saint had said to him. He brought them\nwith him and he left the fish behind him. He turned back until he came\nto the house again. He spent the night there until morning. He rose\nnext day, and when he had his meal eaten he left his blessing to the\nwomen and faced for his own home.\n\nHe was travelling then until he came to his own home. When the bishop\nwho had put the penance on him heard that he had come back he went to\nvisit him.\n\n\"You have come home?\" said the bishop.\n\n\"I have,\" said he.\n\n\"And the needles with you?\" said the bishop.\n\n\"Yes,\" says the priest, \"here they are.\"\n\n\"Why then, the sins that are on me,\" said the bishop, \"are greater than\nthose on you.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe bishop had no rest then until he went to the Pope, and he told him\nthat he had put this penance on the priest, \"and I had no expectation\nthat he would come back for ever until he was drowned,\" said he.\n\n\"That same penance that you put upon the priest you must put it on\nyourself now,\" said the Pope, \"and you must make the same journey. The\nman is holy,\" said he.\n\nThe bishop went away, and embarked upon the same journey, and never\ncame back since.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FRIARS OF URLAUR.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThere is scarcely another country in Europe, outside perhaps of a part\nof Switzerland and the Tyrol, in which there is the same veneration\nfor purity and female chastity as in the Irish-speaking provinces of\nIreland. In the pathetic and well-known song which begins \"t\u00e1 m\u00e9 s\u00ednte\nar do thuamba,\" \"I am stretched upon thy tomb,\" the man who was in love\nwith the maiden who had died says:\n\n    The priests and the friars\n        Wear faces of gloom\n    At me loving a maiden\n        And she cold in her tomb.\n    I would lie on your grave-sod\n        To shield you from rain,\n    This the thought of you there, love,\n        Has numbed me with pain.\n\n    When my people are thinking\n        That I am asleep,\n    It is on your cold grave, love,\n        My vigil I keep.\n    With desire I pine\n        And my bosom is torn,\n    You were mine, you were mine,\n        From your childhood my storeen.\n\nBut the mourner is not left entirely without comfort when he remembers\nthe purity of her who had died:\n\n    You remember the night\n        'Neath the thorn on the wold.\n    When the heavens were freezing\n        And all things were cold.\n    Now thanks be to Jesus,\n        No tempter came o'er you,\n    And your maidenhood's crown\n        Is a beacon before you.\n\nIn the story about St. Peter we saw how our Lord is made to say that\nthe old drunkard who had kept a woman from evil had done more good than\nthe friars themselves.\n\nThe following story seems to contain the same moral. It shows how it\nwas not in the power of anything except virginity itself to banish the\nfoul and evil spirit which had invaded the peace of the friars. There\nis a certain humour in the way in which the laziness, drunkenness and\ncarelessness of the piper are portrayed, for by this is thrown into\nbetter relief the excellence of the only good deed he had performed.\n\nThe monastery of the friars is on the brink of the lake called Urlaur\n(floor), Orlar on the map. \u00c0r-l\u00e0r (slaughter-site) suggested in the\ntext, is only folk-etymology. The remains are still to be seen, just\ninside the borders of the County Roscommon, and on the brink of the\nCo. Mayo. The monastery was built by Edward Costello and his wife\nFinuala, a daughter of the O'Conor Donn for the Dominican Friars, and\nwas dedicated to St. Thomas. The Dominicans settled in it about the\nyear 1430. On the dissolution of the monasteries it was granted to\nLord Dillon, and it has now, with the rest of his enormous property,\nbeen bought by the Congested Districts Board and distributed amongst\nthe tenants. We are told that there was once a town there, but there\nis now no trace of it. The monastery, being in such a retired spot,\nwas set aside for the reception of novices throughout Connacht. The\n\"pattern\" here spoken of, _i.e._, the gathering held in honour of the\n\"patron\" saint, used to take place on the 4th of August, St. Dominick's\nday. The place is four or five miles from the town of Kilkelly, and\nTavran or Towrann, where the piper came from, is a townland between\nBallaghaderreen and Lough Errit, not very far from Urlaur. For the\noriginal, see \"Religious Songs of Connacht.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nIn times long ago there was a House of Friars on the brink of Loch\nUrlaur but there is nothing in it now except the old walls, with the\nwater of the lake beating up against them every day in the year that\nthe wind be's blowing from the south.\n\nWhilst the friars were living in that house there was happiness in\nIreland, and many is the youth who got good instructions from the\nfriars in that house, who is now a saint in heaven.\n\nIt was the custom of the people of the villages to gather one day in\nthe year to a \"pattern,\" in the place where there used to be fighting\nand great slaughter when the Firbolgs were in Ireland, but the friars\nused to be amongst the young people to give them a good example and\nto keep them from fighting and quarrelling. There used to be pipers,\nfiddlers, harpers and bards at the pattern, along with trump-players\nand music-horns; young and old used to be gathered there, and there\nused to be songs, music, dancing and sport amongst them.\n\nBut there was a change to come and it came heavy. Some evil spirit\nfound out its way to Loch Urlaur. It came at first in the shape of a\nblack boar, with tusks on it as long as a pike, and as sharp as the\npoint of a needle.\n\nOne day the friars went out to walk on the brink of the lake. There\nwas a chair cut out of the rock about twenty feet from the brink, and\nwhat should they see seated in the chair but the big black boar. They\ndid not know what was in it. Some of them said that it was a great\nwater-dog that was in it, but they were not long in doubt about it,\nfor it let a screech out of it that was heard seven miles on each side\nof it; it rose up then on its hind feet and was there screeching and\ndancing for a couple of hours. Then it leaped into the water, and no\nsooner did it do that than there rose an awful storm which swept the\nroof off the friar's house, and off every other house within seven\nmiles of the place. Furious waves rose upon the lake which sent the\nwater twenty feet up into the air. Then came the lightning and the\nthunder, and everybody thought that it was the end of the world that\nwas in it. There was such a great darkness that a person could not see\nhis own hand if he were to put it out before him.\n\nThe friars went in and fell to saying prayers, but it was not long till\nthey had company. The great black boar came in, opened its mouth, and\ncast out of it a litter of bonhams. These began on the instant running\nbackwards and forwards and screeching as loud as if there were the\nseven deaths on them with the hunger. There was fear and astonishment\non the friars, and they did not know what they ought to do. The abbot\ncame forward and desired them to bring him holy water. They did so, and\nas soon as he sprinkled a drop of it on the boar and on the bonhams\nthey went out in a blaze of fire, sweeping part of the side-wall with\nthem into the lake. \"A thousand thanks to God,\" said the Father Abbot,\n\"the devil is gone from us.\"\n\nBut my grief! he did not go far. When the darkness departed they went\nto the brink of the lake, and they saw the black boar sitting in the\nstone chair that was cut out in the rock.\n\n\"Get me my curragh,\" said the Father Abbot, \"and I'll banish the thief.\"\n\nThey got him the curragh and holy water, and two of them went into the\ncurragh with him, but as soon as they came near to the black boar he\nleaped into the water, the storm rose, and the furious waves, and the\ncurragh and the three who were in it were thrown high up upon the land\nwith broken bones.\n\nThey sent for a doctor and for the bishop, and when they told the story\nto the bishop he said, \"There is a limb of the devil in the shape of\na friar amongst you, but I'll find him out without delay.\" Then he\nordered them all to come forward, and when they came he called out the\nname of every friar, and according as each answered he was put on one\nside. But when he called out the name of Friar Lucas he was not to be\nfound. He sent a messenger for him, but could get no account of him.\nAt last the friar they were seeking for came to the door, flung down\na cross that he had round his neck, smote his foot on it, and burst\ninto a great laugh, turned on his heel, and into the lake. When he came\nas far as the chair on the rock he sat on it, whipped off his friar's\nclothes and flung them out into the water. When he stripped himself\nthey saw that there was hair on him from the sole of his foot to the\ntop of his head, as long as a goat's beard. He was not long alone, the\nblack boar came to him from the bottom of the lake, and they began\nromping and dancing on the rock.\n\nThen the bishop enquired what place did the rogue come from, and the\n(father) Superior said that he came a month ago from the north, and\nthat he had a friar's dress on him when he came, and that he asked no\naccount from him of what brought him to this place.\n\n\"You are too blind to be a Superior,\" said the bishop, \"since you do\nnot recognise a devil from a friar.\" While the bishop was talking the\neyes of everyone present were on him, and they did not feel till the\nblack boar came behind them and the rogue that had been a friar riding\non him. \"Seize the villain, seize him,\" says the bishop.\n\n\"You didn't seize me yourself,\" says the villain, \"when I was your pet\nhound, and when you were giving me the meat that you would not give to\nthe poor people who were weak with the hunger; I thank you for it, and\nI'll have a hot corner for you when you leave this world.\"\n\nSome of them were afraid, but more of them made an attempt to catch the\nblack boar and its rider, but they went into the lake, sat on the rock,\nand began screaming so loud that they made the bishop and the friars\ndeaf, so that they could not hear one word from one another, and they\nremained so during their life, and that is the reason they were called\nthe \"Deaf Friars,\" and from that day (to this) the old saying is in the\nmouth of the people, \"You're as deaf as a friar of Urlaur.\"\n\nThe black boar gave no rest to the friars either by night or day: he\nhimself, and the rogue of a companion that he had, were persecuting\nthem in many a way, and neither they themselves nor the bishop were\nable to destroy or banish them.\n\nAt last they were determining on giving up the place altogether, but\nthe bishop said to them to have patience till he would take counsel\nwith Saint Gerald, the patron saint of Mayo. The bishop went to the\nsaint and told him the story from beginning to end. \"That sorrowful\noccurrence did not take place in my county,\" said the saint, \"and I do\nnot wish to have any hand in it.\" At this time Saint Gerald was only a\nhigher priest in Tirerrill (?) but anything he took in hand succeeded\nwith him, for he was a saint on earth from his youth. He told the\nbishop that he would be in Urlaur, at the end of a week, and that he\nwould make an attempt to banish the evil spirit.\n\nThe bishop returned and told the friars what Gerald had said, and that\nmessage gave them great courage. They spent that week saying prayers,\nbut the end of the week came, and another week went by, and Saint\nGerald did not come, for \"not as is thought does it happen.\" Gerald was\nstruck with illness as it was fated for him, and he could not come.\n\nOne night the friars had a dream, and it was not one man alone who\nhad it, but every man in the house. In the dream each man saw a woman\nclothed in white linen, and she said to them that it was not in the\npower of any man living to banish the evil spirit except of a piper\nnamed Donagh O'Grady who is living at Tavraun, a man who did more good,\nsays she, on this world than all the priests and friars in the country.\n\nOn the morning of the next day, after the matin prayers, the Superior\nsaid, \"I was dreaming, friars, last night about the evil spirit of the\nlake, and there was a ghost or an angel present who said to me that it\nwas not in the power of any man living to banish the evil spirit except\nof a piper whose name was Donagh O'Grady who is living at Tavraun, a\nman who did more good in this world than all the priests and friars in\nthe country.\"\n\n\"I had the same dream too,\" says every man of them.\n\n\"It is against our faith to believe in dreams,\" says the Superior, \"but\nthis was more than a dream, I saw an angel beside my bed clothed in\nwhite linen.\"\n\n\"Indeed I saw the same thing,\" says every man of them.\n\n\"It was a messenger from God who was in it,\" said the Superior, and\nwith that he desired two friars to go for the piper. They went to\nTavraun to look for him and they found him in a drinking-house half\ndrunk. They asked him to come with them to the Superior of the friars\nat Urlaur.\n\n\"I'll not go one foot out of this place till I get my pay,\" says the\npiper. \"I was at a wedding last night and I was not paid yet.\"\n\n\"Take our word that you will be paid,\" said the friars.\n\n\"I won't take any man's word; money down, or I'll stop where I am.\"\nThere was no use in talk or flattery, they had to return home again\nwithout the piper.\n\nThey told their story to the Superior, and he gave them money to go\nback for the piper. They went to Tavraun again, gave the money to the\npiper and asked him to come with them.\n\n\"Wait till I drink another naggin; I can't play hearty music till I\nhave my enough drunk?\"\n\n\"We won't ask you to play music, it's another business we have for you.\"\n\nO'Grady drank a couple of naggins, put the pipes under his oxter\n(arm-pit) and said, \"I'm ready to go with ye now.\"\n\n\"Leave the pipes behind you,\" said the friars, \"you won't want them.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't leave my pipes behind me if it was to Heaven I was going,\"\nsays the piper.\n\nWhen the piper came into the presence of the Superior, the Superior\nbegan examining him about the good works he had done during his life.\n\n\"I never did any good work during my life that I have any remembrance\nof,\" said the piper.\n\n\"Did you give away any alms during your life?\" said the Superior.\n\n\"Indeed, I remember now, that I did give a tenpenny piece to a daughter\nof Mary O'Donnell's one night. She was in great want of the tenpenny\npiece, and she was going to sell herself to get it, when I gave it to\nher. After a little while she thought about the mortal sin she was\ngoing to commit, she gave up the world and its temptations and went\ninto a convent, and people say that she passed a pious life. She died\nabout seven years ago, and I heard that there were angels playing\nmelodious music in the room when she was dying, and it's a pity I\nwasn't listening to them, for I'd have the tune now!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Superior, \"there's an evil spirit in the lake outside\nthat's persecuting us day and night, and we had a revelation from an\nangel who came to us in a dream, that there was not a man alive able to\nbanish the evil spirit but you.\"\n\n\"A male angel or female?\" says the piper.\n\n\"It was a woman we saw,\" says the Superior, \"she was dressed in white\nlinen.\"\n\n\"Then I'll bet you five tenpenny pieces that it was Mary O'Donnell's\ndaughter was in it,\" says the piper.\n\n\"It is not lawful for us to bet,\" says the Superior, \"but if you banish\nthe evil spirit of the lake you will get twenty tenpenny pieces.\"\n\n\"Give me a couple of naggins of good whiskey to give me courage,\" says\nthe piper.\n\n\"There is not a drop of spirits in the house,\" says the Superior, \"you\nknow that we don't taste it at all.\"\n\n\"Unless you give me a drop to drink,\" says the piper, \"go and do the\nwork yourself.\"\n\nThey had to send for a couple of naggins, and when the piper drank it\nhe said that he was ready, and asked them to show him the evil spirit.\nThey went to the brink of the lake, and they told him that the evil\nspirit used to come on to the rock every time that they struck the bell\nto announce the \"Angel's Welcome\" [Angelical Salutation].\n\n\"Go and strike it now,\" says the piper.\n\nThe friars went, and began to strike the bell, and it was not long till\nthe black boar and its rider came swimming to the rock. When they got\nup on the rock the boar let a loud screech, and the rogue began dancing.\n\nThe piper looked at them and said, \"wait till I give ye music.\" With\nthat he squeezed on his pipes, and began playing, and on the moment the\nblack boar and its rider leapt into the lake and made for the piper. He\nwas thinking of running away, when a great white dove came out of the\nsky over the boar and its rider, shot lightning down on top of them and\nkilled them. The waves threw them up on the brink of the lake, and the\npiper went and told the Superior and the friars that the evil spirit\nof the lake and its rider were dead on the shore.\n\nThey all came out, and when they saw that their enemies were dead they\nuttered three shouts for excess of joy. They did not know then what\nthey would do with the corpses. They gave forty tenpenny pieces to the\npiper and told him to throw the bodies into a hole far from the house.\nThe piper got a lot of tinkers who were going the way and gave them ten\ntenpenny pieces to throw the corpse into a deep hole in a shaking-scraw\na mile from the house of the friars. They took up the corpses, the\npiper walked out before them playing music, and they never stopped till\nthey cast the bodies into the hole, and the shaking-scraw closed over\nthem and nobody ever saw them since. The \"Hole of the Black Boar\" is\nto be seen still. The piper and the tinkers went to the public house,\nand they were drinking till they were drunk, then they began fighting,\nand you may be certain that the piper did not come out of Urlaur with a\nwhole skin.\n\nThe friars built up the walls and the roof of the house and passed\nprosperous years in it, until the accursed foreigners came who banished\nthe friars and threw down the greater part of the house to the ground.\n\nThe piper died a happy death, and it was the opinion of the people that\nhe went to Heaven, and that it may be so with us all!\n\n\n\n\nDIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD WOMEN\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story of the two women I got from Francis O'Connor. He said he\nheard it from one Mary Casey, a Co. Galway woman, but I don't know from\nwhat part of Galway. It is I who am responsible for the dialogue form\nof it, which I have used instead of putting in an occasional bald \"said\nMary,\" \"said Sheela\"; but it really was told more in a dramatic then a\nnarrative form, the reciter's voice showing who was speaking. The words\nI have not interfered with.\n\nI once heard a dialogue not unlike this between two Melicete Indians\nin Canada who fell to discussing Theology over the camp-fire at night\nafter hunting. One was a Catholic and the other a close replica of\nMaurya in our dialogue.\n\nThe story of P\u00e1idin Cr\u00edona seems familiar to me, but I cannot think\nwhere or in what literature I have met it before.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nA hundred welcomes Sheela, it's a cure for sore eyes to see you; sit\ndown and rest and tell us your news.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nMusha! I have no news. It is not news that's troubling me.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nArrah! and what's troubling you? sure you're not ill!\n\nSHEELA.\n\nI'm not ill, thanks be to God and to His blessed mother, but I do be\nthinking of the four last ends--the Death and the Judgment, and Hell\nand Heaven, for I know I shan't be much longer in this sorrowful world,\nand I wouldn't mind if I were leaving it to-morrow.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nNo nonsense at all of that sort ever comes into _my_ head, and I'm\nolder than you. I'm not tired of this world yet. I have knowledge of\nthis world, and I have no knowledge at all of the other world. Nobody\never came back to tell me about it. I'll be time enough thinking of\nDeath when he comes. And, another thing,--I don't believe that God\ncreated anyone to burn him in hell eternally.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nYou're going astray Maurya; were you at mass last Sunday?\n\nMAURYA.\n\nIndeed and I was not! I was doing a thing more profitable. It was\ntaking care of my hens I was, to keep them from laying abroad, or I\nwouldn't have the price of a grain of tea or sneesheen throughout the\nweek. That _bolg\u00e1n-b\u00e9iceach_ Father Brian wouldn't give me a penny\nif it was to keep me from being hanged. He's only a miserable greedy\n_sanntach\u00e1n_. I had a little sturk of a pig last Christmas and he asked\nme to sell it to give him a shilling on Christmas Day, and as I didn't\ndo that, he called out my name the Sunday after, in the chapel. He's\nnot satisfied with good food, and oats for his horse, and gold and\nsilver in his pocket. As I said often, I don't see any trade as good\nas a priest's trade; see the fine working clothes they wear, and poor\npeople earning it hard for them.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nI wonder greatly at your talk. Your unbelief is great. I wonder that\nyou speak so unmannerly about Father Brian, when if you were dying\nto-morrow, who would give you absolution but the same father?\n\nMAURYA.\n\nArrah! Sheela, hold your tongue. Father Brian wouldn't turn on his\nheel, either for you or for me, without pay, even if he knew that it\nwould keep us out of hell.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nThe cross of Christ on us! I never thought that it was that sort of a\nwoman you were. Did you ever go to confession?\n\nMAURYA.\n\nI went the day I was married, but I never bowed my knee under him\nbefore or since.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nYou have not much to do now, and you ought to think about your poor\nsoul.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nThat wouldn't keep the hens from laying abroad on me, and if I were to\ngo to confess to Father Brian, instead of absolution it's a barging I'd\nget from him, unless I had a half-crown on the top of my fingers to\ngive him.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nFather Brian isn't half as bad as you say; I'm to go to his house this\nevening with fresh eggs and a pint of butter. I'll speak to him about\nyou if you give me leave.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nDon't trouble yourself about me, for I'm not going near Father Brian:\nwhen I'll be on my death-bed _he'll_ come to _me_.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nAnd how do you know that it's not a sudden death you'd get, and what\nwould happen to you if you were to get a \"death without priest?\"\n\nMAURYA.\n\nAnd wouldn't I be as well off as the thousands who got death without\ne'er a priest. I haven't much trust in the priests. It's sinners that's\nin them all; they're like ourselves, exactly. My own notion is that\nthere's nothing in religion but talk. Did you ever hear mention of\nP\u00e1id\u00edn Cr\u00edona[56] [wise Patsy].\n\n[56] Pronounced \"Paudyeen Cree\u00f6na.\"\n\nSHEELA.\n\nI did, often.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nVery well; did you ever hear his opinion about religion?\n\nSHEELA.\n\nIndeed, I never did, but tell it to me if you please.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nMusha, then, I will. There were three officers living in one house and\nPaudyeen Cr\u00edona [Cree-on-a] was servant to them. There were no two of\nthem of the same religion, and there used often to be a dispute amongst\nthem--and every man of them saying that it was his own religion was\nthe best religion. One day a man of them said, \"We'll leave it to Wise\nPaudyeen as to which of us has the best religion.\" \"We're satisfied,\"\nsaid the other two. They called in Paudyeen and a man of them said to\nhim, \"Paudyeen, I'm a Catholic, and what will happen to me after my\ndeath?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you that,\" says Paudyeen. \"You'll be put down into the\ngrave, and you'll rise again and go up to the gate of heaven. Peter\nwill come out and will ask you, 'what religion are you of.' You'll tell\nhim, and he'll say, 'Go and sit in that corner amongst the Catholics.'\"\n\n\"I'm a Protestant,\" said the second man, \"and what'll happen to me\nafter my death?\"\n\n\"Exactly as the other man. You will be put sitting in the corner of the\nProtestants!\"\n\n\"I'm a Hebrew,\" says the third man, \"and what will happen to me after\nmy death?\"\n\n\"Exactly as the other two; you will be put sitting amongst the Hebrews.\"\n\nNow there was no one of them better off than the other, as Paudyeen\nleft them, and so the Catholic asked Paudyeen, \"Paudyeen, what's your\nown religion?\"\n\n\"I have no religion at all,\" says he.\n\n\"And what'll happen to you after your death?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you that. I shall be put down into the hole, I shall rise\nagain and go up to the gate of heaven. Peter will come and ask me, 'of\nwhat religion are you?' I will say that I have no religion at all, and\nPeter will say then, 'come in, and sit down, or walk about in any place\nthat you have a wish for.'\"\n\nNow, Sheela, don't you see that he who had no religion at all was\nbetter off than the people who had a religion! Every one of them was\nbound to the corner of his own creed, but Paudyeen was able to go in\nhis choice place, and I'll be so too.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nGod help you Maurya; I'm afraid there's a long time before your poor\nsoul in Purgatory.\n\nMAURYA.\n\nHave sense Sheela; I'll go through Purgatory as quickly as lightning\nthrough a gooseberry bush.\n\nSHEELA.\n\nThere's no use talking to you or giving you advice. I'll leave you.\n\nWhen Sheela was going out, Maurya let a screech out of her which was\nheard for a mile on every side of her. Sheela turned round and she saw\nMaurya in the midst of a flame of fire. Sheela ran as fast as was in\nher to Father Brian's house, and returned with him running to Maurya's\nhouse. But, my grief! the house was burned to the ground, and Maurya\nwas burnt with it; and I am afraid that the [her] poor soul was lost.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MINISTER AND THE GOSSOON.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis curious little piece is another dialogue in the same form as the\nlast. These are the only two stories, if one may call them stories,\nwhich I have found couched in this form, so partly for that reason I\ngive it here.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nOne day there was a poor little gossoon on the side of the road, and he\ntaking care of an old sow of a pig, and a litter of bonhams along with\nher. A minister came the way, and he riding upon a fine horse, and he\nsaid to the gossoon, \"Where does this road bring you?\"\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nI'm here for a fortnight, and it never brought me anywhere yet.\n\nMINISTER.\n\nNow, isn't it the wise little boy you are! Whose are the little pigs?\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nThey're the old sow's.\n\nMINISTER.\n\nI know that, but I'm asking you who is the master of the bonhams.\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nThat little black-and-white devil that you see rooting, he's able to\nbeat the whole of them.\n\nMINISTER.\n\nThat's not what I'm asking you at all, but who is your own master?\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nMy mistress's husband, a man as good as you'd get from here to himself.\n\nMINISTER.\n\nYou don't understand me yet. Who is your mistress--perhaps you\nunderstand that?\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nI understand you well. She is my master's wife. Everyone knows that.\n\nMINISTER.\n\nYou're a wise little boy; and it's as good for me to let you be, but\ntell me do you know where Patrick O'Donnell is living?\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nYes, indeed. Follow this road until you come to a boreen on the side of\nyour thumb-hand. Then follow your nose, and if you go astray break the\nguide.\n\nMINISTER.\n\nIndeed, and you're a ripe (precocious) little lad! What trade will you\nhave when you'll be older?\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nHerding a pig. Don't you see that I'm putting in my term. What is your\nown trade?\n\nMINISTER.\n\nA good trade. I am showing the people what is the way to heaven.\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nOh, what a liar! _You_ can't show the way to any place. You don't\nknow the way to Patrick O'Donnell's, a man that everybody--big and\nlittle--in this country knows, and I'm certain sure you have no\nknowledge of the road to heaven.\n\nMINISTER.\n\nI'm beaten. Here's half a crown for you for your cleverness, and when I\ncome again you'll get another.\n\nGOSSOON.\n\nThank you. It's a pity that a fool like you doesn't come the way every\nday.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KEENING OF THE THREE MARYS.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI got the following poem from a schoolmaster called O'Kearney, near\nBelmullet, in West Mayo, who told me that he had taken it down from the\nrecitation of an old man in the neighbourhood. I got another version\nof it afterwards from Michael Mac Ruaidhri of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo,\nwith quite a different \"cur-fa\" or refrain, namely _[)o]ch [=o]ch agus\n[)o]ch [=u]ch [=a]n_ after the first two lines, and _[)o]ch [)o]ch agus\n[=o]ch [)o]n [=o]_ after the next two. Spelt phonetically in English\nand giving _gh_ the guttural value of _ch_ in German, and _oa_ the same\nsound as in English _roach_ and _oo_ the sound of oo in _pool_, it\nwould run----\n\n    Let us go to the mountain\n      All early on the morrow,\n        Ugh oagh agus ugh oogh awn.\n    Hast thou seen my bright darling,\n      O Peter, good apostle,\n        Ugh ugh agus oagh on \u00f3.\n\nThe agus \"and\" is pronounced nearly as \"oggus.\" The story I have not\ntraced, but it may have come from an Irish version of one of the\napocryphal gospels.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\n    Let us go to the mountain\n        All early on the morrow,\n        (Ochone! agus ochone, O!)\n    \"Hast thou seen my bright darling,\n        O Peter, good apostle?\"\n        (Ochone! agus ochone, O!)\n\n    \"Aye! truly O Mother\n        Have I seen him lately,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    Caught by his foemen,\n        They had bound him straitly,\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    \"Judas, as in friendship,\n        Shook hands, to disarm him,\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    Oh, Judas! vile Judas!\n        My love did never harm him.\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    No child has he injured,\n        Not the babe in the cradle,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    Nor angered his mother\n        Since his birth in the stable.\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    When the demons discovered\n        That she was his mother,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    They raised her on their shoulders\n        The one with the other;\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    And they cast her down fiercely\n        On the stones all forlorn,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    And she lay and she fainted\n        With her knees cut and torn,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    \"For myself, ye may beat me,\n        But, oh, touch not my mother,\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    \"Yourself,--we shall beat you,\n        But we'll slaughter your mother.\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    They dragged him off captive,\n        And they left her tears flowing,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    But the Virgin pursued them\n        Through the wilderness going,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    \"Oh, who is yon woman?\n        Through the waste comes another,\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    \"If there comes any woman\n        It is surely my mother,\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    \"Oh John, care her, keep her,\n        Who comes in this fashion,\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    \"But Oh, hold her from me\n        Till I finish this passion,\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    When the Virgin had heard him\n        And his sorrowful saying,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    She sprang past his keepers\n        To the tree of his slaying,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    \"What fine man hangs there\n        In the dust and the smother?\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    \"And do you not know him,\n        He is _your_ son, O Mother.\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    \"Oh, is that the child whom\n        I bore in this bosom,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    Or is that the child who\n        Was Mary's fresh blossom\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    They cast him down from them\n        A mass of limbs bleeding,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    \"There now he is for you,\n        Now go and be keening.\"\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    Go call the three Marys\n        Till we keene him forlorn,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    O Mother thy keeners\n        Are yet to be born,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n    Thyself shall come with me\n        Into Paradise garden,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n    To a fair place in heaven\n        At the side of thy darling,\n        (Ochone agus ochone, O!)\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARMER'S SON AND THE BISHOP.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe following story is an extract from a much longer piece in prose\nand verse, which I take from a manuscript in my own possession made by\nPatrick O Prunty (grand-uncle, I think of Charlotte Bront\u00eb), in 1764.\nIt is called \"the Counsel of Mac Lava from Aughanamullin to Red Archy,\nthat is Red Shane, son of Bradach, son of Donal the gloomy, son of\nShane, son of Torlogh, etc.\" In a manuscript in the Royal Irish Academy\nI find it entitled \"The Counsel of Mac Lavy from Aughanamullin to his\ncousin Red Archy Litis on his forsaking his wife to take the yoke of\npiety on him, that is of Priestifying; or, the 'Priest of the Stick'\nby Laurence Faneen.\" In another MS. of mine, written by the well-known\nscribe Labhr\u00e1s O Fuarth\u00e1in from Portlaw in Co. Waterford, in 1786, it\nis called \"The Counsel of Mac Clava from Aughanamullin to Red Archy Mac\na Brady.\"\n\nThe poem is entirely satirical, and the gist of it is that the writer\nadvises Archy not to be working like a poor man in dirt and misery, but\nfrom himself to earn the reputation of having a little Latin, and to\nbecome a _bullaire_, a comic word for bull-promulgator or priest. Any\nkind of Latin he tells him will do with an uneducated congregation,\nsuch as \"Parva nec invideo\" or \"Hanc tua Penelope,\" or \"Tuba mirum\nspargens sonum\" or \"ego te teneo, Amen!\" The poet tells his victim that\nwhen he is reading he can twist and stifle his voice \"like a melodious\ndroning and partly a humming (?) through the nose, and partly the\nsmothering of a cough, and then the wealthy full-ignorant laity amongst\nthe congregation shall say that it is a great pity the shortness of\nbreath, the pressure on the chest, and the tightness round the breast\nthat strikes the blessed, loud-voiced, big-worded priest at the time\nof service.\" He then proceeds to tell him the following story, in the\nstyle of the Irish romances common in the eighteenth century. For the\noriginal Irish and the poem and notes, see vol. I., p. 180, \"Religious\nSongs of Connacht.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nO, Cousin Archy, I must now tell you a little allegory which has\na bearing upon your own present case, about a greedy, fat-boned,\nstoop-headed, bashful fellow of a son, that a long-bearded,\nbroad-sided, cow-herd-ful, large-flock-having Farmer had, who was once\non a time residing by the side of the island and the illustrious Church\nof Clonmacnois. And this aforesaid Farmer was accustomed to double his\nalms to a godly-blessed hermit who was living close by him, [giving]\nwith excess of diligence beyond [the rest of] the congregation, in\norder that he might have the aid of this hermit in putting forward that\nblockhead (?) of a son towards the priesthood.\n\nAt last, on the priest of that parish in which they were, dying, the\nFarmer promulgates and lays bare to the hermit the secret conception\nand intention which he had stored up for a long time before that, and\nit was what he said to him, that he considered, himself, that there was\nno person at all who would better suit that congregation as a parish\npriest than this son of his own, from the love of the priesthood which\nhe had.\n\nThe Farmer beseeches and begs him--giving him large offerings on\nthe head of it--to go with his son to the presence of the Bishop of\nClonmacnois. They set forth all three, side by side, on that journey,\nthe farmer, the hermit, and the farmer's son, together with a great\ncongregation of their friends and cousins, and of the Farmer's\nacquaintance accompanying him to the strand and harbour of that island\nof Clonmacnois.\n\nIt was then a gentleman who was in the assembly asked the Farmer with\nprophesying truly-wise words whether he knew if his lad of a son were\nwise [educated] enough to receive the grade of priesthood on that\noccasion. He answered that he knew, himself, that he was, without any\ndoubt, because he had been for seven years clerk of salt and water\n[_i.e._, acolyte] to the blessed godly Father who departed to heaven\nfrom us but now, and moreover, that he was plentiful with his Amens at\ntime of mass or marriage, and that in this respect he had generally too\nmuch rather than too little. \"Oh, I am satisfied,\" said the gentleman,\nturning his back on him, bursting into a fit of laughing.\n\nHowever, upon the Farmer thus satisfying the gentleman's question, they\nwere all silent, until the hermit's lad the \"Shouting Attendant\" (?)\ngave a shout at the beach, asking for a curach and means of transport\nto row to the island. After that comes to them a broad-wombed,\nlong-timbered boat, with eight loutish, big-biting, lumpish (?),\ndawdling (?), raw-nosed (?), great-sleeping spalpeens of the parish on\nthe left hand of the Farmer's son. They enjoin on the Farmer with his\npeople to wait on the beach of the harbour until they themselves should\ncome back. This they do.\n\nIn the meantime, on the above-mentioned couple going into the bishop's\npresence, the hermit discloses the reason and meaning of his journey.\nThe bishop consents, at the request of the hermit, to confer the\ndegrees of priesthood on the Farmer's son, and makes some of the clergy\nwho were along with him put scholarly questions to the youth, so that\nthey might have some knowledge of the amount of his learning to give\nthe bishop. However, they found nothing either great or small of any\nkind of learning whatsoever in him. After that they report to the\nbishop about the youth's ability.\n\nThe bishop is angry at the clergy on hearing their report, and 'twas\nwhat he said that it was shame or fright (?) they put on the youth, and\nhe himself calls him with him far apart, to the brink and very margin\nof the lake, in solitude, so that they came within the view of the\nFarmer and his people on the opposite side, and he addresses him in\nLatin with courteous truly-friendly words, and 'twas what he said--\n\n_Quid est sacramentum in nomine Domini?_\n\n_Qui fecit coelum et terram_, says the fellow.\n\n_Numquam accedes ad altare Dei_, says the bishop.\n\n_Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam_, says the lad.\n\n_Non fies sacerdos per me in s\u00e6cula s\u00e6culorum_, says the bishop.\n\n_Amen_, says he.\n\nThen was the bishop excessively enraged against the Farmer's son, and\nraised his arm with a thick-butted apple-knotted * * * *? cudgel of a\nstick, that he had in his right hand, and begins lacing and leathering\nand whaling the Farmer's son without sparing, so that his blood and\ninwards ran down to the very ground.\n\n\"Ow! but that's sad, my son's case now,\" says the Farmer, \"and I think\nmyself that every comfort and satisfaction (?) and roasted hen and\nevery bottle that he shall get like a prolute (prelate?) sitting in\nhis coverlet with kindness from this out, is not to be begrudged him;\nfor it's hard and pitiably, it's patiently, gently, meekly and humbly\nmy child takes the religious yoke and the grade of priesthood on him\nthis night, and it's not easily it will be forgotten by him to the\ntermination of his career and his life, for it's diligently, piously,\nfirmly, and soundly, the blessed bishop drives it into his memory with\nswift hand-blows of the large stick.\"\n\nHowever, on the bishop's parting from the Farmer's son, the aforesaid\nspalpeens came up to the young priest and asked his blessing. He lifted\nup his hands cleric-like and piously above their heads, and gave them\ngeneral absolution, saying _Asperges me Domine hysoppo et mundabor,\nlavabis me et super nivem dealbabor_.\n\nThey carried him with them to the curach after that, and leapt into it,\nflowingly and high-spiritedly, until they reached land on the other\nside, and all that were in the island harbour made the same reverence\nto the Farmer's son, and they asked him where was his bull or charter\nof priesthood.\n\nHe said he had no charter but the bull of the race of stoop-headed\nConor Mac Lopus of Cavan to the Vicarage of Leargan,--the will of the\npeople.\n\nThey swore by the God of the elements that he never could have a better\ncharter than that, and they bound themselves by the sun and the moon\nto defend that parish for him to the end of his term and his life. And\nthey did so.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd now Archy, the story which does not concern a smot\u00e0n (?) is good,\nfor it is you that the application of this story concerns, and it is\nthe good advice to you to take the same grade of priesthood, and if\nblows of a stick be struck on you, it is small damage compared with\nevery comfort and ease that you will get on the head of it, and in\naddition to every other advice I have given you, here are a couple of\nlittle ranns for you which shall be in your memory continually, so that\nthey may be a good help in every pinch that is before you. * * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nSHAUN THE TINKER.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI wrote down this story carefully from the mouth of M\u00e1rtain Ruadh O\nGiollarn\u00e1th from near Monivea, Co. Galway. He had no English. The story\nis a well-known one. It is the basis of Father O'Leary's delightful\nbook \"S\u00e9adna.\" It has been examined at great length with much learning\nand perspicacity by Carl Marstrander in the Miscellany presented to\nKuno Meyer, pp. 386 ff., to which I refer the reader.\n\nAccording to a Donegal story, called \"Domhnall O Dochartaigh,\" taken\ndown and given me by the late Mr. Larminie, Death is the being who is\ntricked. But, according to a Galway story which I heard, the Tinker\nhad a son whose godfather was Death. He became a doctor and cured\neverybody at whose feet he saw Death standing. Death gave him leave\nto do this. Attracted one day by a huge bribe he turned round the bed\nwhere the patient lay so that Death, who had been at the patient's head\nwith intent that he should die, was now at the patient's foot, who\nconsequently recovered. After this Death is tricked in much the same\nway as the Devil in our story.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThey were poor, both of them, the man and his wife. The man had no\nother means in the world except his day's pay, going here and going\nthere, and earning his day's wages from place to place.\n\nThe beginning of the harvest was come now, and he went in to the wife\nand said to her--Elleesh was the wife's name--\"Elleesh,\" says he,\n\"stand up,\" says he, \"and make ready my meal for me until I go to\nKildare to-morrow.\"\n\nElleesh got ready the meal for him as well as ever she was able, and\nshe washed him and tidied him up and put good clean trousers on him,\nand himself got ready to be going. And the poor man did go, off he\nwent. He had no provisions going away then, only four shillings to pay\nhis way.\n\nHe was going then and journeying until he came to the top of a bridge,\nand there he met with a stumble and was thrown on one knee. \"Oh,\nmusha,\" says he, \"the devil break my neck when I'll pass this way\nagain.\"\n\nHe went on then and he never stopped until he came into Kildare, and\nhe settled with a farmer there and spent four years with him without\ncoming home at all. He never took one penny from the farmer in the\ncourse of the four years except as much as put clothing on him. Now at\nthe end of the four years he took it into his head to be going home\nagain.\n\nAnd this was what he was getting in the year--five pounds. And likely\nenough, when he took it into his head to be going, that he said to the\nfarmer and to the farmer's wife that he was to be departing in the\nmorning. They gave him his share of money then. Then he made for home,\nand fifteen pounds was what he had coming home of him. He never spent\nbut five pounds on his clothes all the time he was with the farmer.\n\nHe was coming and ever-coming along the road until he came to a corner\nwhere four roads met. A poor man met him and asked alms of him. \"God\nsalute you,\" says he.\n\n\"God and Mary salute you,\" says Shaun.\n\n\"In Kildare you were,\" says he.\n\n\"Well, yes,\" says Shaun.\n\n\"You have money so,\" says he, \"and I am asking my alms of you in honour\nof God and of Mary.\"\n\nHe gave him alms then--five pounds he gave him. \"Now Shaun,\" says the\npoor man, when he was going away from him. \"I don't like you to go away\nwithout giving you [your] earned reward for your five pounds. What is\nthe thing that you most wish for?\"\n\n\"Anything that I desire,\" says Shaun, \"me to have lots of money for it\nin my pocket. And anything that would be putting trouble on me, me to\nhave leave to shut it up in this bottle which I have in my hand.\"\n\n\"You'll get that,\" says he.\n\nHe was going along then until he came to the corner of four other roads\nand another poor man met him. \"God salute you,\" says the poor man. \"God\nand Mary salute you.\" \"You were in Kildare,\" said the poor man. \"That's\nthe place I was,\" says Shaun. \"If you are coming back out of Kildare\nyou're not without money, and I am asking my alms of you in honour of\nGod and Mary.\" \"It's short till I have my money spent,\" says Shaun.\n\"But here,\" says he, putting the hand in his pocket, \"here's five\npounds for you.\"\n\nWhen he gave it to him, the poor man said, \"I don't like you to go away\nwithout giving you a reward for your five pounds. What sort of a thing\nis it that you'd like best to have?\" \"Any person that would be doing\nanything at all out of the way with me [me to be able] to put him into\nmy budget and him to remain there until myself would give him leave to\ngo away, or until myself would let him out.\" \"You'll have that to get,\"\nsays he.\n\nHe went away, then, and he was travelling until he went where four\nother roads met. There was another poor man before him there. \"This\nis the third man,\" says Shaun. \"God salute you, Tinker Shaun,\" says\nhe as soon as Shaun came up with him. \"God and Mary salute you.\"\n\"You're coming out of Kildare, Shaun,\" says he. \"I am, indeed,\" says\nShaun. But he said to himself, \"Isn't it well how every man recognises\nme and without me recognising them.\" \"I am asking my alms of you\nin honour of God and of Mary if you have any money with you coming\nfrom Kildare.\" \"Oh, musha, I'll give you that and my blessing. I met\nanother pair before this and I gave five pounds to each man of them,\nand here's five pounds for you.\" \"I don't like you to go away Shaun\nwithout your reward, and what is the thing you'd have most desire for?\"\n\"Well, then,\" says Shaun, \"when I was at home I had an apple tree in\nthe garden at the back of the house, and I used to be troubled with\ngossoons coming there and stealing the apples. I should like, since\nI am going home again now, that every person except myself who shall\nlay his hand on that tree that his hand should stick to it, and that\nhe should have no power of himself to go away without leave from me.\"\n\"You'll get that Shaun,\" says he.\n\nHe was travelling then until he came to the bridge where he had\nstumbled as he was going to Kildare the time he was thrown on one knee.\nWho should be standing on the bridge before him but the Devil. \"Who are\nyou?\" says Tinker Shaun. \"I am the Devil,\" says he.\n\n\"And what sent you here?\" says Shaun.\n\n\"Well,\" says he, \"when you went this way before didn't you say that if\nyou were to go this way again might the Devil break your neck?\"\n\n\"I said that,\" says Shaun.\n\n\"Well, I've come before you now that I may break your neck.\"\n\n\"Try if you can,\" said Shaun. The Devil moved over towards him and\nwas going to kill him, when Shaun said, \"In with you into my bag this\nmoment and don't be troubling me.\" The Devil had to go into the bag\nbecause Shaun had that power.\n\nShaun was going along then, and the Devil in the bag slung over his\nback. When he came to the next bridge he stood to take a rest and there\nwere two women washing there. \"I'll give ye five pounds and give my\nbag a good dressing with the beetles.\" They began beating it. \"The bag\nis harder than the Devil himself,\" say they. \"It is the Devil himself\nthat's in it,\" says Shaun, \"and lay on him.\" They beat it really then\nuntil they gave him enough.\n\nHe threw it up over his back then and off he went until he came to a\nforge. He went into the forge. \"I'll give you five pounds,\" says he to\nthe smith, \"and strike a good spell on this bag.\" There were two smiths\nthere and they began leathering the bag. \"Why, then,\" says one of the\nsmiths, \"your bag is harder than the Devil himself.\" \"It is the Devil\nhimself that's in it,\" says Shaun, \"and lay on him, ye, and beat him.\"\nOne of the men put a hole in the bag with the blow he gave it and he\nlooked in on the hole and he saw the Devil's eye at the hole. The poker\nwas in the fire and it red hot. The smith stuck it into the hole in\nsuch a way that he put it into the Devil's eye, and that's the thing\nwhich has left the old Devil half blind ever since.\n\nHe raised the bag on his back then, and he was going away when the\nDevil rose up and burst the bag and departed from him. Shaun came home.\n\nAt the end of a quarter of a year when Shaun was at home with the wife\nthe Devil came to him again \"You must come with me, Shaun,\" says he;\n\"make your soul,\" says he, \"I'll give you death without respite.\"\n\n\"I'll go with you,\" says Shaun; \"but give me respite until to-morrow\nuntil I have everything ready, and I'll go with you then and welcome.\"\n\n\"I won't give you any respite at all; neither a day nor an hour, you\nthief.\"\n\n\"I won't ask you for any respite,\" says Shaun, \"only as long as I would\nbe eating a single apple off that tree. Pull me one yourself, and I'll\nbe with you.\"\n\nThe old Devil moved over to the tree, and took hold of a branch to\npluck an apple off it and he stuck to the branch, and was not able to\nloose himself. He remained there on the branch during seven years.\n\nOne day that Shaun was in the garden again by himself he was not\nthinking, but he went gathering a bundle of kippeens for Elleesh, to\nmake a fire for her, and what was the branch it should fall to him to\ncut for Elleesh but the branch in which the Devil was. The Devil gave a\nleap into the air. \"Now Shaun,\" says he, \"be ready; you will never go\neither forward nor back. You must come with me on the spot.\"\n\n\"Well I'll go,\" says Shaun; \"I'll go with you,\" says he; \"but it's a\nlong time we are at odds with one another, and we ought to have a drink\ntogether. Elleesh has a good bottle and come in till we drink a drop\nof it before we go.\" \"Why, then, I'll go with you,\" says the Devil, as\nthere was the Devil's thirst on him after his being up in the tree so\nlong. They drank their enough then inside in Elleesh's hovel, and when\nthe Devil had the bottle empty he rose up standing, that he might get\na grip of Shaun's throat to choke him. \"In with you into the bottle,\"\nsays Shaun. \"In with you this moment,\" says he. \"Did you think that you\nwould play on me,\" says he. The Devil had to go into the bottle, and he\nspent seven years inside the bottle, with Shaun, without being let out.\n\nNow it fell out that Elleesh had a young son, and there was a bottle\nwanting to go for stuff for Elleesh. What was the bottle they should\nbring with them but the bottle in which the Devil was down, and when\nthey took the cork out of it the Devil went off with himself.\n\nShaun was gone away looking for gossips for his son. The Son of God met\nhim.\n\n\"God salute you, Shaun,\" says he.\n\n\"God and Mary salute you.\"\n\n\"Where were you going now, Shaun?\" says he.\n\n\"I was hunting for gossips for my son,\" says Shaun.\n\n\"Would you give him to me, and I'll stand for him?\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" says Tinker Shaun.\n\n\"I am the Son of God,\" says he.\n\n\"Well, then, indeed, I won't give him to you,\" says Shaun, \"you give\nseven times their enough to some people, and you don't give their half\nenough to other people.\"\n\nThe Son of God departed.\n\nThe King of Sunday met him then and they saluted one another.\n\n\"Where were you going?\" says the King of Sunday.\n\n\"Well, then, I was going hunting for a gossip for my son.\"\n\n\"Will you give him to me?\" says the King of Sunday.\n\n\"Who are you?\" says Shaun.\n\n\"I am the King of Sunday.\"\n\n\"Indeed, then, I won't give him,\" says Shaun. \"You have only a single\nday in the week and you're not able to do much good that day itself.\"\n\nIn this way he refused him, and the King of Sunday departed from him.\n\nWho should meet him then and he coming home but the Death. [The Devil\nwas afraid to go near him again, but he sent the Death to meet him.]\n\"Make your soul now Shaun,\" says he, \"I have you.\"\n\n\"Oh, you wouldn't give me death now,\" says Shaun, \"until I baptise my\nson.\"\n\n\"All right, baptise him,\" said the Death. \"Who will you put to stand\nfor him?\"\n\n\"I don't see any person,\" says Shaun, \"better than yourself. It's you\nwho will leave him longest alive,\" says he.\n\nWhen he got the son baptised he gave death to Shaun. He would not allow\nhim to be humbugging him.\n\n\n\n\nMARY AND ST. JOSEPH AND THE CHERRY TREE.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI wrote down this poem from the mouth of Michael Mac Ruaidhri or\nRogers, from near Ballycastle, in the Co. Mayo. The last five verses of\nit, which he had not got, I obtained from Martin O'Callaly (or Caldwell\nin English) in Erris, in the same county. There is a cherry tree carol\nin English, and an excellent one in German. The original legend was\nprobably told of a date tree. A fifteenth century Dutch carol retains\nthe date tree. In a legendary life of the Blessed Virgin, quoted by\nJewitt in his book \"The Nativity in Art and Song,\" we are told that the\nBlessed Virgin, during the flight into Egypt, resting in the heat of\nthe noon day, saw a palm loaded with dates and desired them, but they\nwere high up out of reach. Then the child Jesus, who was yet in the\narms of Mary and had never spoken, lifted up his voice and said to the\npalm tree, \"bend thy branches O tree, bow down and offer thy fruits to\nMy mother,\" and immediately the tree bent down its top even to the feet\nof Mary, and all were nourished with the fruits it bore. And the palm\ntree remained bent to the earth awaiting that He whom it had obeyed\nshould bid it again to rise. And Jesus said, \"Arise, O palm tree; thou\nshalt be the companion of the trees which grow in the paradise of my\nfather.\" And while He was yet speaking behold an angel of the Lord\nappeared, and taking a branch from the tree he flew through the midst\nof heaven holding the palm in his hand.\n\nThe story has found its way into art. In \"A Flight into Egypt,\" by\nMartin Schongaur, angels bow the palm tree and St. Joseph gathers the\ndates. In a work of Andrea Solario (Milanese School) St. Joseph is seen\ngiving the fruit with one hand to the Virgin, and with the other to her\nDivine Son.\n\nThis poem was at one time known in the Highlands as well as Ireland,\nfor Carmichael recovered a very poor and imperfect version of eight\nverses, which he printed in his monumental work \"Carmina Gadelica,\"\nvol. II., p. 162.\n\nA very pretty anonymous sixteenth century German Christmas hymn appears\nto allude to our story in the first verse, which runs as follows:--\n\n    Als Gott der Herr geboren war\n        Da war es kalt,\n    Was sieht Maria am Wege stehn\n        Ein Feigenbaum.\n    Maria lass du die Feigen noch stehn\n    Wir haben noch dreissig Meilen zu gehn.\n        Es wird uns spat.\n\nThe word \"Als\" must here be taken as equivalent to \"Ehe.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\n    Holy was good St. Joseph\n        When marrying Mary Mother,\n    Surely his lot was happy,\n        Happy beyond all other.\n\n    Refusing red gold laid down,\n        And the crown by David worn,\n    With Mary to be abiding\n        And guiding her steps forlorn.\n\n    One day when the twain were talking,\n        And walking through gardens early,\n    Where cherries were redly growing,\n        And blossoms were blowing rarely,\n\n    Mary the fruit desired,\n        For faint and tired she panted,\n    At the scent on the breezes' wing\n        Of the fruit that the King had planted.\n\n    Then spake to Joseph, the Virgin,\n        All weary and faint and low,\n    O pull me yon smiling cherries\n        That fair on the tree do grow,\n\n    \"For feeble I am, and weary,\n        And my steps are but faint and slow,\n    And the works of the King of the graces\n        I feel within me grow.\"\n\n    Then out spake the good St. Joseph,\n        And stoutly indeed spake he,\n    \"I shall not pluck thee one cherry,\n        Who art unfaithful to me.\n\n    \"Let him come fetch thee the cherries,\n        Who is dearer than I to thee,\"\n    Then Jesus, hearing St. Joseph,\n        Thus spake to the stately tree.\n\n    \"Bend low in her gracious presence,\n        Stoop down to herself, O tree,\n    That My mother herself may pluck thee,\n        And take thy burden from thee.\"\n\n    Then the great tree lowered her branches\n        At hearing the high command,\n    And she plucked the fruit that it offered,\n        Herself with her gentle hand.\n\n    Loud shouted the good St. Joseph,\n        He cast himself on the ground,\n    \"Go home and forgive me, Mary,\n        To Jerusalem I am bound;\n    I must go to the holy city,\n        And confess my sin profound.\"\n\n    Then out spake the gentle Mary,\n        She spake with a gentle voice,\n    \"I shall not go home, O Joseph,\n        But I bid thee at heart rejoice,\n    For the King of Heaven shall pardon\n        The sin that was not of choice.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STUDENT WHO LEFT COLLEGE.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe following curious story has parallels in many countries. It is\nprobably founded upon the verse in II. Peter iii. 8. \"Quia unus dies\napud Dominum sicut mille anni et mille anni sicut unus dies\"--\"for a\nthousand years are with the Lord as one day, and one day as a thousand\nyears.\" It need not, however, be founded upon any Christian conception,\nfor the purely Pagan story of Ois\u00edn or Ossian in the \"Land of the\nEver-Young\" was known all over Ireland. Ois\u00edn thought he had spent only\na short time in the Happy Other-World, but when he returned to Ireland\nhe found he had been away for 300 years, and every one he knew had died.\n\nThe reciter had forgotten what the name of the monastery was, but I\nbelieve it to have been the ancient abbey and school at Killarney,\nnow in ruins. I have heard that the things told in this story, or one\nsimilar to it, were supposed to have happened there.\n\nThe river with water as red as blood reminds us of Thomas of\nErcildoune's experience when rapt away into fa\u00ebrie by the queen.\n\n    O, they rode on, and farther on\n        And they waded through rivers above the knee,\n    And they saw neither sun or moon\n        But they heard the roaring of the sea.\n\n    It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae stern light\n        And they waded through red blude to the knee,\n    For a' the blude that's shed on earth\n        Runs through the springs of that country.\n\nHence it was small wonder that the student thought that the musicians\nbelonged to the Fairy-Host.\n\nThe fact that while in the other world he ate nothing, is pure Pagan\ntradition, for as is well known from many stories, classical and other,\nwhoso eats or drinks of other-world food is precluded from returning to\nthis life. Proserpine would not eat in Pluto's realm or she must have\nremained there. The six pomegranate seeds she swallowed cost her six\nmonths' stay there.\n\nFor the text of this story, see \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol.\nII., p. 122.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere came a number of young people from the County of Galway, to a\ngreat college, to learn and gain instruction, so as to become priests.\nI often heard the name of this college from my mother, but I do not\nremember it. It was not Maynooth. There was a man of these of the name\nof Patrick O'Flynn. He was the son of a rich farmer. His father and\nhis mother desired to make a priest of him. He was a nice, gentle lad.\nHe used not to go dancing with the other boys in the evening, but it\nwas his habit to go out with the grey-light of day, and he used to be\nwalking by himself up and down under the shadow of the great trees that\nwere round about the college, and he used to remain there thinking and\nmeditating by himself, until some person would come to bring him into\nhis room.\n\nOne evening, in the month of May, he went out, as was his custom, and\nhe was taking his walk under the trees when he heard a melodious music.\nThere came a darkness or a sort of blindness over his eyes, and when he\nfound his sight again he beheld a great high wall on every side of him,\nand out in front of him a shining road. The musicians were on the road,\nand they playing melodiously, and he heard a voice saying, \"_Come with\nus to the land of delight and rest_.\" He looked back and beheld a great\nhigh wall behind him and on each side of him, and he was not able to\nreturn back again across the wall, although he desired to return. He\nwent forward then after the music. He did not know how long he walked,\nbut the great high wall kept ever on each side of him and behind him.\n\nHe was going and ever-going, until they came to a great river, and\nwater in it as red as blood. Wonder came upon him then, and great fear.\nBut the musicians walked across the river without wetting their feet,\nand Patrick O'Flynn followed them without wetting his own. He thought\nat first that the musicians belonged to the Fairy-Host, and next he\nthought that he had died and that it was a group of angels that were in\nit, taking him to heaven.\n\nThe walls fell away from them then, on each side, and they came to a\ngreat wide plain. They were going then, and ever-going, until they came\nto a fine castle that was in the midst of the plain. The musicians went\nin, but Patrick O'Flynn remained outside. It was not long until the\nchief of the musicians came out to him and brought him into a handsome\nchamber. He spoke not a word, and Patrick O'Flynn never heard one word\nspoken so long as he remained there.\n\nThere was no night in that place, but the light of day throughout. He\nnever ate and he never drank a single thing there, and he never saw\nanyone eating or drinking, and the music never ceased. Every half-hour,\nas he thought, he used to hear a bell, as it were a church-bell, being\nrung, but he never beheld the bell, and he was unable to see it in any\nplace.\n\nWhen the musicians used to go out upon the plain before the castle,\nthere used to come a tribe of every sort of bird in the heavens,\nplaying the most melodious music that ear ever heard. It was often\nPatrick O'Flynn said to himself, \"It is certain that I am in heaven,\nbut is it not curious that I have no remembrance of sickness, nor of\ndeath, nor of judgment, and that I have not seen God nor His Blessed\nMother, as is promised to us?\"\n\nPatrick O'Flynn did not know how long he was in that delightful place.\nHe thought that he had been in it only for a short little time, but he\nwas in it for a hundred years and one.\n\nOne day the musicians were out in the field and he was listening to\nthem, when the chief came to him. He brought him out and put him behind\nthe musicians. They departed on their way, and they made neither stop\nnor stay until they came to the river that was as red as blood. They\nwent across that, without wetting their foot-soles, and went forward\nuntil they came to the field near the college where they found him at\nthe first. Then they departed out of his sight like a mist.\n\nHe looked round him, and recognised the college, but he thought that\nthe trees were higher and that there was some change in the college\nitself. He went in, then, but he did not recognise a single person whom\nhe met, and not a person recognised him.\n\nThe principal of the college came to him, and said to him, \"Where are\nyou from, son, or what is your name?\"\n\n\"I am Patrick O'Flynn from the County of Galway,\" said he.\n\n\"How long are you here?\" said the principal.\n\n\"I am here since the first day of March,\" said he.\n\n\"I think that you are out of your senses,\" said the principal, \"there\nis no person of your name in the college, and there has not been for\ntwenty years, for I am more than twenty years here.\"\n\n\"Though you were in it since you were born, yet I am here since last\nMarch, and I can show you my room and my books.\"\n\nWith that he went up the stairs, and the principal after him. He went\ninto his room and looked round him, and said, \"This is my room, but\nthat is not my furniture, and those are not my books that are in it.\"\nHe saw an old bible upon the table and he opened it, and said: \"This is\nmy bible, my mother gave it to me when I was coming here; and, see, my\nname is written in it.\"\n\nThe principal looked at the bible, and there, as sure as God is in\nheaven, was the name of Patrick O'Flynn written in it, and the day of\nthe month that he left home.\n\nNow there was great trouble of mind on the principal, and he did not\nknow what he should do. He sent for the masters and the professors and\ntold them the story.\n\n\"By my word,\" said an old priest that was in it, \"I heard talk when\nI was young, of a student who went away out of this college, and\nthere was no account of him since, whether living or dead. The people\nsearched the river and the bog holes, but there was no account to be\nhad of him, and they never got the body.\"\n\nThe principal called to them then and bade them bring him a great book\nin which the name of every person was written who had come to that\ncollege since it was founded. He looked through the book, and see!\nPatrick O'Flynn's name was in it, and the day of the month that he\ncame, and this [note] was written opposite to his name, that the same\nPatrick O'Flynn had departed on such a day, and that nobody knew what\nhad become of him. Now it was exactly one hundred and one years from\nthe day he went until the day he came back in that fashion.\n\n\"This is a wonderful, and a very wonderful story,\" said the principal,\n\"but, do you wait here quietly my son,\" said he, \"and I shall write to\nthe bishop.\" He did that, and he got an account from the bishop to keep\nthe man until he should come himself.\n\nAt the end of a week after that the bishop came and sent for Patrick\nO'Flynn. There was nobody present except the two. \"Now, son,\" said the\nbishop, \"go on your knees and make a confession.\" Then he made an act\nof contrition, and the bishop gave him absolution. Immediately there\ncame a fainting and a heavy sleep over him, and he was, as it were, for\nthree days and three nights a dead person. When he came to himself the\nbishop and priests were round about him. He rose up, shook himself, and\ntold them his story, as I have it told, and he put excessive wonder\nupon every man of them. \"Now,\" said he, \"here I am alive and safe, and\ndo as ye please.\"\n\nThe bishop and the priests took counsel together. \"It is a saintly man\nyou are,\" said the bishop then, \"and we shall give you holy orders on\nthe spot.\"\n\nThey made a priest of him then, and no sooner were holy orders given\nhim than he fell dead upon the altar, and they all heard at the same\ntime the most melodious music that ear ever listened to, above them\nin the sky, and they all said that it was the angels who were in it,\ncarrying the soul of Father O'Flynn up to heaven with them.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HELP OF GOD IN THE ROAD.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story was written down by my friend, C. M. Hodgson, from the mouth\nof one of his brother tenants, James Mac Donough, near Oughterard, in\nConnemara. Mac Donough called it \"Conal, King of the Cats.\" In a Kerry\nversion of this story it is a poor scholar and a thief who make the bet\nas to whether honesty or roguery is the best for a man to follow. The\npeople they meet give it in favour of the thief. The poor scholar loses\neverything, eventually his two eyes. His going under the tombstone is\nproperly motivated by saying that he meant to die there and would then\nbe buried and have a tombstone. The rest of the story is pretty much\nthe same as ours. My friend, the late Patrick O'Leary, found a story\ncalled the \"Three Crows,\" something like this, where the crows talk as\nthe cats do in our story, and where they end by picking out the two\nbad men's eyes, but there is no bet made, the man is simply robbed and\nblinded for no particular reason.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nThere were two merchants travelling along the road. One of them said to\nthe other that the help of God was in the road. The other said it was\nnot.\n\n\"How shall we find that out?\"\n\n\"We'll leave it to the judgment of the first man we will meet.\"\n\nIt was short they went till they met a man. They asked him was the help\nof God in the road. He told them that it was not. Whatever the bet was\nthat they had made about it, he [_i.e._, the man who said that the help\nof God was in the road] had to pay.\n\nWell, they walked along for another while, and this man said that he\nwould not give it up [or admit], that the help of God was not in the\nroad.\n\n\"What bet will you make now?\" says the other man.\n\n\"I've nothing left now except my eye, but I'll bet it with you,\" says\nhe.\n\n\"Well, leave the decision to the first man who shall meet us.\"\n\nThe next man they met said the same as the first man, that the help of\nGod was not in the road.\n\nThe other man did nothing but put his finger into the eye and pluck it\nout.\n\n[Yet the man said] \"I'll bet the other eye with you that the help of\nGod is in the road, and let it be left to the judgment of the next man\nwho shall meet us.\"\n\nIt was short they went [had gone] when a man met them. They asked him\nwas the help of God in the road. The man said that it was not.\n\nHe plucked the other eye out of him then.\n\n\"Now,\" said he [the blind man], \"take me with you and leave me in the\nchurch.\"\n\nHe took him with him and left him in under a flagstone in the church.\n\nAt that time the cats used to be collecting in gatherings. [They\ncollected in that same church that night]. When they were all gathered\ntogether, Conall, the king of the cats, said that himself would tell\na story if it were not that he was afraid that some one would be\nlistening.\n\n\"Let us get up and search,\" said some of the cats. They searched\nthrough the churchyard and they found no one.\n\n\"It is a year from to-night that I went in to the king's daughter. I\nrubbed my tale to her mouth, and her father is perished looking for a\ncure [for her]. There are twelve cats in her stomach.\"\n\n\"Is there anything at all to cure her?\" says one of the cats.\n\n\"There is,\" said Conall; \"if she were to get a drop of the water that\nis in the well here, it would cure her. If one of those [twelve cats\ninside her] were to get away they could kill all the kingdom.\"\n\n\"Is there anything else of cure in the well?\"\n\n\"There is,\" said Conall; \"if any one were blind, and he to put a drop\nof that water on his eyes he would get his sight.\"\n\nWhen they had gone away then in the morning, and were departed, the man\nthat was listening to them rose up from [under] the flag. There was a\nherd or shepherd going by. He came to this man who was blind and spoke\nto him.\n\n\"Well, now,\" says the blind man, \"is there any well here?\"\n\n\"There is,\" says the herd.\n\n\"Leave me at the brink of the well.\"\n\nHe left him there.\n\nHe just put down his hand and splashed a drop of the water in on his\ntwo eyes; and he had his sight then as well as ever he had.\n\n\"Well now,\" says he to the herd, \"would you be so kind as to give me a\nbottle?\"\n\n\"I will,\" says the herd.\n\nHe filled the bottle with the water of the well and off he went. He was\ntravelling until he came to the king's house. He asked to let him in.\n\nThe man who was on guard said that he would not let him in, that the\nking's daughter was sick and ill.\n\nHe sent for the king. He told him [by the messenger] that there was a\nman at the gate who would cure his daughter.\n\nThe king came out, and told the gate keeper to let in the man.\n\nWhen he came in the king took him back into the chamber where his\ndaughter was. When he looked at her [he saw that] she was as big as a\nhorse.\n\n\"Now,\" said he to the king, \"send for your men at arms, bring them in\nhere.\"\n\nWhen the men at arms were inside, he closed the door outside. He told\nthem, anything that she should throw out, they must cut the head off it.\n\nHe gave her a drop of the water that was in the bottle to drink. The\nmoment she drank it she threw from her a live cat out of her stomach.\nThe head was cut off it before it reached the ground. They did the same\nwith the twelve cats that she threw out of her stomach. She rose up\nthen as sound and as well as ever she was.\n\nThe merchant was about to go away then, but the king would not allow\nhim to depart. He said that he must marry his daughter.\n\n[They were married and happy.]\n\nThey were one day going in their coach, and they saw the merchant who\nhad made the bet that the help of God was not in the road. He spoke to\nhim, and the merchant asked him where did he get all his riches.\n\n\"I got it in the place where you left me, in the church.\"\n\nHe [the other merchant] went away then at night, and he went in under\nthe same flag, and it happened to the cats that they came together that\nnight. When they were all assembled together. \"Tell a story, O Conall,\nking of the cats,\" said one of them.\n\n\"I would tell a story,\" said he, \"but I told one this very night last\nyear, and a man was listening to me, and he cured the king's daughter\nwith a bottle of the water that was in the well.\"\n\n\"We'll rise up [and look]\" said the cat; \"there won't be anyone\nlistening to you to-night.\"\n\nThey rose up and they searched until they came to the place where the\nman was under the flag. They pulled him out and tore him asunder.\n\nThat is how it happened to him on account of the bet he had made that\nthe help of God was not in the road.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MINISTER'S SON.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nPerhaps no people ever gave such free rein to the imagination with\nregard to the infernal regions as did the Irish. It began with St.\nFursa, whose story was known to Christendom through Bede, and Adamnan's\nVision [he died about 704] is known over Europe. The last to let\nhimself go in this way was Keating. See the amazing alliterative\ndescription in his \"Three Shafts of Death,\" Leabhar III. alt 10.\n\nIt is curious to find a Mayo peasant reproducing a little of this\nracial characteristic in the present poem. I often heard of this piece\nand made many attempts to get it, interviewing several people who I was\ntold had got it, but I failed to get more than a few lines. My friend,\nJohn Mac Neill, wrote down for me the present version word for word\nfrom the recitation of Michael Mac Ruaidhri, but it is obviously only\nfragmentary. It is full (in the original, both prose and verse) of\ncurious words and forms, and the periphrasis the \"Virgin's Garb\" for\nthe scapular is curious.\n\nFor the original, see \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol. II., p. 134.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was a Roman Catholic girl at service in a minister's house, and\nshe was wearing the Virgin Mary's garb (_i.e._, a scapular). She once\nwas getting ready to go to Mass, and when she was washing herself she\ntook the garb off her, and laid it on one side. The minister's son\ncame in, and he began rummaging (?) backwards and forwards through the\nroom, and he met the garb. He caught it up in his hand and observed it\nclosely. He put it round his neck, and when the girl turned about she\nsaw the garb on the minister's son, and she got very furious. She gave\na step forward and she tore the garb off his neck. She began railing at\nhim and abusing him. She told him that it was not right nor fitting for\na man of his religion to lay hold of that garb in his hand, seeing that\nhe had a hatred and a loathing of the glorious Virgin, \"and,\" says she\nto him, \"since it has happened that you have laid hold of the blessed\ngarb, unless you fast next Friday in eric for your sin, one sight of\nthe country of the heavens you shall never see.\"\n\nGrief and great unhappiness came over the minister's son at the abuse\nthe girl gave him, and he told her that he would fast the Friday.\n\nIt was well, and it was not ill. When the minister's son went to\nsleep that night he got a fit of sickness, and he was very bad in the\nmorning, and he told his mother that he would not let anyone next nor\nnear him except the servant girl, and that he hoped that he would not\nbe long in the fit of sickness.\n\nThere was nobody attending him but the girl, because he had a full\ndetermination to fast through the Friday. He knew very well that if his\nmother were coming into the room he would have to eat some food from\nher, and that is the reason he would not let his mother in.\n\nWhen the Friday came he never tasted bit nor sup throughout the day.\n\nOn the morning of Saturday his mother asked the girl how he was getting\non. The girl said that he was going on nicely [literally, \"coming to\nland\"]. But when the girl went in at the hour of twelve o'clock in the\nday he was a corpse, and there came a great dispiritedness [literally,\n\"much-drowning\"] over the girl, and she began crying. She went out and\ntold his mother that he was dead.\n\nThe story went from mouth to mouth, and one person said to another that\nit was the girl who had killed him; and they did not know what awful\ndeath they would give her.\n\nThere was a heap of turf over against the kitchen, and they tied the\ngirl with a chain, fastened in an iron staple that was at the gable of\nthe house, and as soon as ever they would have the body buried they\nwere to put oil and grease on the turf, and give it fire, to burn and\nto roast the girl.\n\nOn Monday morning when they went into the room to put the corpse into\nthe coffin, the minister's son was there alive and alert, in his bed;\nand he told them the vision that he had seen.\n\nHe saw, he said, the fires of Purgatory, the mastiffs of Hell, and the\ngreat Devil, Judas, and he told them that it was the glorious Virgin\nwho saved him, and who got him his pardon. She asked it of a request\nof her One-Son to put him into the world again to teach the people,\nand she got that request for him; and if it had not been that he had\nworn the garb of the Virgin [though] only for a moment, when he was on\nearth, he would not have seen one sight of the country of the heavens\nfor ever; but it was that which saved him from the lowest depths of\nhell.\n\nHe spent [after that] seven years in the world teaching people, and\ntelling them the right religion, and all his family turned Catholics,\nand it was the minister's son who composed the d\u00e1n or poem.\n\n\nTHE D\u00c1N OF THE MINISTER'S SON.\n\n    The body, it lies in the sleep of the dead,\n    And the candles above it are burning red;\n    The old women sit, all silent and dreaming,\n    But the young woman's cheeks with tears are streaming.\n\n    Oh, listen, listen, and hear the story\n    Of what are the sins that shut out from glory.\n    Promises, lies, penurious hoarding,\n    How troubled, how cursed, how damned the story!\n\n    But it was there that I saw the wonder!\n    Three great piles of fire,\n    And the least fire it rose in a spire\n    Like fifteen tons of turf on fire,\n    Or a burning mountain, higher and higher.\n\n    It was not long until I saw\n    The three great mastiffs,\n    Their gullets opened,\n    And their a-burning\n    Like great wax candles\n    In a mountain hollow,\n    Waiting for my poor soul\n    To tear and to swallow,\n    To bring down to hell's foulness\n    In anguish to wallow.\n\n    I was taken to the gates of hell,\n    And the hair was burnt off my forehead,\n    And a sieve of holes was put through my middle;\n    It was then it stood to me, that night I fasted,\n    And wore the garb of the Blessed Virgin,\n    Or my flesh and my blood had been burned to a puff of ashes.\n\n    It was then the jury of the twelve sat on me,\n    Their evil will than their good will was stronger,\n    And all that I did since my days of childhood\n    Was writ upon paper in black and white there;\n    One paper in my hand, on the ground another,\n    To conceal a crime I had no power.\n\n    On turning round of me towards the right-hand side,\n    I beheld the noble, blessed Justice\n    Beneath his bright mantle,\n    And he asked of me, with soft, blessed words,\n    \"Where was I living when I was on the earth,\n    And whether I were not the poor soul who had to go to the bar.\"\n\n    On turning round of me, towards the left-hand side,\n    I beheld the Great Devil that got the bribe,\n    Going to fall upon me from above\n   [_literally, \"on the top of my branches or limbs_,\"]\n    And it was then that the thirst grew upon my poor soul!\n    And, oh! God! oh! it was no wonder!\n\n    I looked up and beheld the Blessed Virgin,\n    I asked a request of her----to save me from the foul devils.\n    She lowered herself down actively, quickly,\n    She laid herself upon her polished smooth knee\n    And asked a request of her One-Son and her child,\n    To put me in the top of the branches, or in the fold of a stone,\n    Or under the ground where the weasel goes,\n    Or on the north side where the snow blows,\n    Or in the same body again to teach the people,\n    --And the blessing of God to the mouth that tells it.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe Old Woman of Beare may, perhaps, have been an historical personage.\nKuno Meyer has printed a touching poem (of the 11th century as he\nthinks) ascribed to her. \"It is the lament of an old hetaira who\ncontrasts the privations and sufferings of her old age with the\npleasures of her youth when she had been the delight of kings.\" The\nancient prose preface runs, \"The Old Woman of Beare, Digdi was her\nname. Of Corcaguiny she was, _i.e._, of the Ui Maic Iair-chonchinn.\nOf them also was Brigit, daughter of Iustan, and Liadain, the wife of\nCuirither,[57] and Uallach, daughter of Muinegan.[58] Saint Finan had\nleft them a charter that they should never be without an illustrious\nwoman of their race.... She had seven periods of youth, one after\nanother, so that every man who had lived with her came to die of old\nage, so that her grandsons and great-grandsons were tribes and races.\"\nLegends about her are common all over Ireland, and even verses are\nascribed to her. There is another story about her in O Fotharta's\n\"Siamsa an Gheimhridh,\" p. 116. She was either a real character, an\nearly Ninon de l'Enclos, or else a mythic personage euphemized by the\nromancists.\n\n[57] A poetess and the heroine of the tale, \"The Meeting of Liadain and\nCuirither,\" published by Kuno Meyer.\n\n[58] A poetess who died in 932.\n\nThere is a short legend about her under the title of M\u00f3r n\u00ed Odhrain,\nwritten down in County Donegal by, I think, Mr. Lloyd, in which\nO'Donnell comes to visit her, and counts the bones of 500 beeves, one\nof which she had killed every year. Mr. Timony found the same story\nin Blacksod Bay, only she was there called \"Aine an chnuic.\" She is\nsaid in one version to have resided in \"Teach Mor,\" \"the house furthest\nwest in Ireland,\" which Mr. Lloyd identified with Tivore on the Dingle\npromontory, and in a southern version which I also give she is called\nThe Old Woman of Dingle.\n\nThe vision told here as having been seen by the Old Woman is extremely\nlike a story in the \"Dialogus Miraculorum of Caesarius of Heisterbach,\"\nDist. xii., cap. 20, quoted by Landau in his \"Quellen des Dekameron,\"\nand again by Lee in \"The Decameron, its Sources and Analogues.\" It runs\nas follows:--\n\n\"The leman of a priest before her death had made for herself shoes\nwith thick soles, saying 'bury me in them for I shall want them.' The\nnight of her death a knight was riding down the street in the bright\nmoonlight, accompanied by his attendants, when they heard a woman\nscreaming for help. It was this woman in her shift, and with the new\nshoes on her feet, fleeing from a hunter. One could hear the terrible\nsound of his horn and the yelping of his hounds. The knight seized the\nwoman by her hanging tresses, wound them round his left arm, and drew\nhis sword to protect her. The woman, however, cried out, \"Let me go,\nlet me go, he is coming.\" As the knight, however, would not let her go,\nshe tore herself away from him, and in so doing left her locks wound\nround his arm; the hunter then caught her up, threw her across his\nhorse and rode away with her. On the knight returning home he related\nwhat he had seen and was not believed until they opened the woman's\ngrave and found that her hair was missing.\"\n\nThis is obviously the same story as that in our text, with the\nincidents of the knight and the hair omitted.\n\nIt contains, however, (1) the woman and her particular sin; (2) the\nfleeing before the hounds; (3) the pursuing huntsman; though in\npeculiarly Irish fashion, it is mercifully left uncertain as to whether\nshe was overtaken or not.\n\nThe 8th novel of the 5th day of the Decameron seems to have been drawn\nfrom some cognate source. The hero perceives \"correndo verso il luogo\ndove egli era una bellissima giovane ignuda--piaguendo e gridando\nforte merc\u00e8. E oltre a questo le vide a fianchi due grandissimi e fieri\nmastini.\" This is the soul of a dead woman with hell-hounds pursuing\nher. The very word \"mastini\" being the same as in the Irish story.\n\nIn the second incident that happened to the Cailleach there appears\nto be a reminiscence of Sindbad the sailor. But the story of the four\nherds who lifted the bier which all the men at the funeral had been\nunable to move, is told somewhat differently at p. 36 of Michael\nTimony's \"Sg\u00e9alta gearra so-l\u00e9ighte an iarthair.\" It is there put into\nthe mouth of \"Aine an chnuic,\" Aine of the hill; who may be the same as\nthe \"Old Woman of Beare,\" and the four herds, the coffin--and a rider\non a black horse who accompanied them--all disappeared in the side of\na rock which opened to receive them and closed after them. \"Aine\" of\n\"Cnoc Aine,\" or \"Aine's hill,\" was the queen of the Limerick Fairies,\nbut I hardly think that it is she who has got into the Mayo folk tale.\n\nThere is a proverb in Connacht which says, speaking of the oldest lives\nin the world, \"the life of the yew tree, the life of the eagle,[59] and\nthe life of the Old Woman of Beare.\"\n\n[59] See the story \"The Adventures of Leithin.\"\n\nSee Kuno Meyer's edition of the song of the Old Woman of Beare in \"Otia\nMerseiana\" and \"O Fotharta's Siamsa an Gheimhridh,\" p. 116, see also\n\"The Vision of Mac Conglinne,\" p. 132, and my \"Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach.\"\n\nThe following story I wrote down very carefully word for word, about\nfifteen years ago, from the telling of Michael Mac Ruaidhri, of\nBallycastle, Co. Mayo.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was an old woman in it, and long ago it was, and if we had been\nthere that time we would not be here now; we would have a new story or\nan old story, and that would not be more likely than to be without any\nstory at all.\n\nThe hag was very old, and she herself did not know her own age, nor did\nanybody else. There was a friar and his boy journeying one day, and\nthey came in to the house of the Old Woman of Beare.\n\n\"God save you,\" said the friar.\n\n\"The same man save yourself,\" said the hag; \"you're welcome,[60] sit\ndown at the fire and warm yourself.\"\n\n[60] Literally, \"He (_i.e._, God) is your life\"; the equivalent of\n\"hail!\" \"welcome.\"\n\nThe friar sat down, and when he had well finished warming himself he\nbegan to talk and discourse with the old hag.\n\n\"If it's no harm of me to ask it of you, I'd like to know your age,\nbecause I know you are very old\" [said the friar].\n\n\"It is no harm at all to ask me,\" said the hag; \"I'll answer you as\nwell as I can. There is never a year since I came to age that I used\nnot to kill a beef, and throw the bones of the beef up on the loft\nwhich is above your head. If you wish to know my age you can send your\nboy up on the loft and count the bones.\"\n\nTrue was the tale. The friar sent the boy up on the loft and the boy\nbegan counting the bones, and with all the bones that were on the loft\nhe had no room on the loft itself to count them, and he told the friar\nthat he would have to throw the bones down on the floor--that there was\nno room on the loft.\n\n\"Down with them,\" said the friar, \"and I'll keep count of them from\nbelow.\"\n\nThe boy began throwing them down from above and the friar began\nwriting down [the number], until he was about tired out, and he asked\nthe boy had he them nearly counted, and the boy answered the friar down\nfrom the loft that he had not even one corner of the loft emptied yet.\n\n\"If that's the way of it, come down out of the loft and throw the bones\nup again,\" said the friar.\n\nThe boy came down, and he threw up the bones, and [so] the friar was\n[just] as wise coming in as he was going out.\n\n\"Though I don't know your age,\" said the friar to the hag, \"I know that\nyou haven't lived up to this time without seeing marvellous things\nin the course of your life, and the greatest marvel that you ever\nsaw--tell it to me, if you please.\"\n\n\"I saw one marvel which made me wonder greatly,\" said the hag.\n\n\"Recount it to me,\" said the Friar, \"if you please.\"\n\n\"I myself and my girl were out one day, milking the cows, and it was\na fine, lovely day, and I was just after milking one of the cows, and\nwhen I raised my head I looked round towards my left hand, and I saw\na great blackness coming over my head in the air. \"Make haste,\" says\nmyself to the girl, \"until we milk the cows smartly, or we'll be wet\nand drowned before we reach home, with the rain.\" I was on the pinch[61]\nof my life and so was my girl, to have the cows milked before we'd get\nthe shower, for I thought myself that it was a shower that was coming,\nbut on my raising my head again I looked round me and beheld a woman\ncoming as white as the swan that is on the brink of the waves. She went\npast me like a blast of wind, and the wind that was before her she was\novertaking it, and the wind that was behind her, it could not come up\nwith her. It was not long till I saw after the woman two mastiffs, and\ntwo yards of their tongue twisted round their necks, and balls of fire\nout of their mouths, and I wondered greatly at that. And after the\ndogs I beheld a black coach and a team of horses drawing it, and there\nwere balls of fire on every side out of the coach, and as the coach\nwas going past me the beasts stood and something that was in the coach\nuttered from it an unmeaning sound, and I was terrified, and faintness\ncame over me, and when I came back out of the faint I heard the voice\nin the coach again, asking me had I seen anything going past me since\nI came there; and I told him as I am telling you, and I asked him who\nhe was himself, or what was the meaning of the woman and the mastiffs\nwhich went by me.\n\n[61] Literally, \"the boiling of the angles-between-the-fingers was on\nme.\"\n\n\"I am the Devil, and those are two mastiffs which I sent after that\nsoul.\"\n\n\"And is it any harm for me to ask,\" says I, \"what is the crime the\nwoman did when she was in the world?\"\n\n\"That is a woman,\" said the Devil, \"who brought scandal upon a priest,\nand she died in a state of deadly sin, and she did not repent of it,\nand unless the mastiffs come up with her before she comes to the\ngates of Heaven the glorious Virgin will come and will ask a request\nof her only Son to grant the woman forgiveness for her sins, and the\nVirgin will obtain pardon for her, and I'll be out of her. But if the\nmastiffs come up with her before she goes to Heaven she is mine.\"\n\nThe great Devil drove on his beasts, and went out of my sight, and\nmyself and my girl came home, and I was heavy, and tired and sad at\nremembering the vision which I saw, and I was greatly astonished at\nthat wonder, and I lay in my bed for three days, and the fourth day I\narose very done up and feeble, and not without cause, since any woman\nwho would see the wonder that I saw, she would be grey a hundred years\nbefore her term of life[62] was expired.\n\n[62] Literally, \"before her age being spent.\"\n\n\"Did you ever see any other marvel in your time?\" says the friar to the\nhag.\n\n\"A week after leaving my bed I got a letter telling me that one of\nmy friends was dead, and that I would have to go to the funeral. I\nproceeded to the funeral, and on my going into the corpse-house the\nbody was in the coffin, and the coffin was laid down on the bier, and\nfour men went under the bier that they might carry the coffin, and they\nweren't able to even stir[63] the bier off the ground. And another four\nmen came, and they were not able to move it off the ground. They were\ncoming, man after man, until twelve came, and went under the bier, and\nthey weren't able to lift it.\n\n[63] Literally, \"give it wind.\"\n\n\"I spoke myself, and I asked the people who were at the funeral what\nsort of trade had this man when he was in the world, and it was told\nme that it was a herd he was. And I asked of the people who were there\nwas there any other herd at the funeral. Then there came four men that\nnobody at all who was at the funeral had any knowledge or recognition\nof, and they told me that they were four herds, and they went under\nthe bier and they lifted it as you would lift a handful of chaff, and\noff they went as quick and sharp as ever they could lift a foot. Good\npowers of walking they had, and a fine long step I had myself, and I\ncut out after them, and not a mother's son knew what the place was to\nwhich they were departing with the body, and we were going and ever\ngoing until the night and the day were parting from one another, until\nthe night was coming black dark dreadful, until the grey horse was\ngoing under the shadow of the docking and until the docking was going\nfleeing before him.[64]\n\n[64] The fairies ride their little grey horses, and stable them at\nnight under the leaves of the cop\u00f3g or dock-leaf, or docking. But if\nthey arrive too late and night has fallen, then the cop\u00f3g has folded\nher leaves and will not shelter them.\n\n    The roots going under the ground,\n      The leaves going into the air,\n    The grey horse a-fleeing apace,\n      And I left lonely there.\n\n\"On looking round me, there wasn't one of all the funeral behind me,\nexcept two others. The other people were done up, and they were not\nable to come half way, some of them fainted and some of them died.\nGoing forward two steps more in front of me I was within in a dark wood\nwet and cold, and the ground opened, and I was swallowed down into a\nblack dark hole without a mother's son or a father's daughter[65] next\nnor near me, without a man to be had to keen me or to lay me out; so\nthat I threw myself on my two knees, and I was there throughout four\ndays sending my prayer up to God to take me out of that speedily and\nquickly. And with the fourth day there came a little hole like the\neye of a needle on one corner of the abode where I was; and I was\na-praying always and the hole was a-growing in size day by day, and on\nthe seventh day it increased to such a size that I got out through it.\nI took to my heels[66] then when I got my feet with me on the outside\n(of the hole) going home. The distance which I walked in one single day\nfollowing the coffin, I spent five weeks coming back the same road, and\ndon't you see yourself now that I got cause to be withered, old, aged,\ngrey, and my life to be shortening through those two perils in which I\nwas.\"\n\n[65] Literally, \"man's daughter.\"\n\n[66] Literally, \"I gave to the soles.\" Many people still say in\nspeaking English, \"I gave to the butts.\" The Irish word means butt as\nwell as sole.\n\n\"You're a fine, hardy old woman all the time,\" said the friar.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD HAG OF DINGLE.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nIt is quite obvious that this story from south-west Kerry represents\nin a feebler manner the same tradition as the story which we have\njust given from north Mayo, about the Old Woman of Beare. Note that\nin the Mayo story the appearance of the woman was also prefaced by\nthe blackness of a shower. It is to the Old Woman of Beare that the\nanswer is ascribed in Connacht in which she gives the reason for her\nlongevity, only it is differently worded there.\n\n    I never carried the dirt of one puddle beyond another (?)\n    I never ate food, but when I would be hungry.\n    I never went to sleep but when I would be sleepy.\n    I never threw out the dirty water until I had taken in the clean.\n\nThis Kerry version of the story was written down by S\u00e9amus Shean Ua\nConnaill, of Sgoil Chill Roilig, and published in \"The Lochrann, Mi\nEanair agus Feabhra,\" 1911.\n\nIn Donegal the reasons given are:--\n\n    I never ate a morsel till I'd be hungry.\n    I never drank a drop till I'd be thirsty.\n    I never sat at the fire without being working.\n    If I had not work of my own to do I got it from somebody else.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was a woman in Dingle long ago. She lived 300 years and more. Her\nname was the Old Hag of Dingle. The story spread throughout Ireland\nthat she had lived for 300 years, and many people used to come to see\nher.\n\nThe Emperor of France and the Earl of Kerry and many other kings and\nprinces came journeying to her, and they asked her what age she was.\nShe told them that she was 300 years and more. They asked her what it\nwas in her opinion which gave her so long a life, beyond any one else.\n\nShe told them that she did not know that, except that her little finger\nand the palm of her hand never saw the air, and that she never remained\nin her bed but as long as she would be sleepy, and that she never ate\nmeat except when she would be hungry.\n\nShe would not herself give any other account of the reason for her long\nlife except that. They said to her that they were sure that she had\nseen many a marvel, seeing that she had lived all that time.\n\nShe said that she never saw anything that she could marvel at\nparticularly, except one day [said she] that gentlemen were here and\nwanted to go out to the Skelligs, and they got a crew. There was a\nyoung priest who was here along with them. They went off and a boat\nwith them. A very fine day it was.\n\nShe told them that when they were half way to the Skelligs, the men saw\nthe shower[67] coming along the sea from the north-west, and the weather\ngrowing cold. Fear came upon them and they said to face the boat for\nthe land, but the priest told them to keep up their courage, and that\nthere would be no land now, and that perhaps with the help of God\nthere was no danger of them. The shower was coming on, and the priest\nsaid that he himself saw a woman in the shower, and a very great fear\ncame upon them then; but when the shower was coming [down] on them they\nall saw her, and her face in the shower, against the wind. When she was\nmaking for them the priest moved over to the stern of the boat, he took\nto him his stole and put it round his neck. He said:\n\n[67] Note the Irish idiom--the definite for the indefinite article.\n\n\"What have you done that has damned you?\"\n\n\"I killed an unbaptized child,\" said she.\n\n\"That did not damn you,\" said the priest.\n\n\"I killed two,\" said she.\n\n\"That also did not damn you,\" said he.\n\n\"I killed three,\" said she.\n\n\"Ah! that damned you,\" said he. He drew to him his book. He did a\nlittle reading on her. She turned her back then. He gave her that much\nadvantage. They went off then and the weather cleared for them, and\nthey went on their way to the Skelligs. They went all over the Skelligs\nand they came home.\n\n\"I saw that, and that was the greatest wonder I ever saw,\" said she.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POEM OF THE TOR.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI have heard more than one poem in which occurs a dialogue between a\nliving person and the soul of a dead man. I got the following from Mr.\nJohn Kearney, a schoolmaster, at Belmullet, Co. Mayo. The poem is well\nknown round Belmullet, but I have a suspicion that this version of it\nis not complete. I have not been able, however, to secure a fuller one.\nIt is locally known as the Dan or Poem of the Tor. This Tor is a rock\nin the sea some twelve miles from land. There is a lighthouse upon\nit now, but of course that was not so when the poem took shape, and\nno more lonesome place than it for a soul dreeing its weird could be\nconceived. The soul was put to do penance on this solitary rock. With\nthe verse about the soul parting from the body under rain under wind,\ncompare the fine North of England wake-dirge with the refrain--\n\n    Fire and sleet and candle light,\n    And Christ receive thy saule.\n\nI have come across other allusions in Irish unpublished literature,\nprayers, etc., to the South being the side of the good angels and the\nNorth the side of the bad ones.\n\n    On the side of the north black walls of fire,\n    On the side of the south the people of Christ.\n\nThe \"geilt\" which the interlocutor supposes that the ghost may be, is\na person who goes wild in madness, and such a one was supposed to have\nthe power of levitation, and to be able to raise himself in the air and\nfly. See the extraordinary story of Suibhne Geilt, vol. xii. of the\nIrish Texts Society. See my \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol. i., p.\n270.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\n    [THE MAN.]\n\n    O fellow yonder on the mountain\n    Who art being tortured at the Tor,\n    [I put] a question on thee in the name of Jesus,\n    Art thou a man of this world or a _geilt_?\n\n    [THE SOUL.]\n\n    Since the question is put in the name of Jesus,\n    Indeed I shall answer it for thee:\n    I am not a person of this world, nor a _geilt_,\n    But a poor soul who has left this world,\n    And who never went to God's heaven since.\n\n    [THE MAN.]\n\n    [I put] a question to thee again\n    Without doing thee harm:\n    How long since thou didst leave this world,\n    Or art thou there ever since?\n\n    [THE SOUL.]\n\n    Twenty years last Sunday\n    The soul parted with the [evil]-inclined body,\n    Under rain, under wind;\n    And if it were not for the blessing of the poor on the world,\n    I would be hundreds of years more there.\n    When I was upon the world\n    I was happy and airy,\n    And I desired to draw profit to myself,\n    But I am [now] in great tribulation, paying for that.\n    When I used to go to Sunday Mass\n    It was not mercy I used to ask for my soul,\n    But jesting and joking with young men,\n    And the body of my Christ before me.\n    When I would arrive home again\n    It was not of the voice of the priest I would be thinking,\n    But of the fine great possessions\n    I left behind me at home.\n    Good was my haggard and my large house;\n    And my brightness (?) to go out to the gathering,\n    Riding on a young steed,\n    Banquet and feast before me.\n    I set no store by my soul,\n    Until I saw the prowess of Death assembling:\n    On the side of the north, black walls of fire\n    On the side of the south the people of Christ\n    Gathering amongst the angels,\n    The Glorious Virgin hastening them.\n\n    \"I do not know,\" says Peter,\n    \"Does Christ recognize him?\"\n    \"I do not know,\" said Christ,\n    \"Bitter alas! I do not recognize him.\"\n\n    Then spake the Glorious Virgin,\n    And lowered herself on her white knees,\n    \"O my son, was it not for thee were prepared\n    The heaps of embers\n    To burn thy noble body?\"\n\n    O Mother, helpful, glorious,\n    If it be thy will to take him to heaven,\n    I let him with thee,\n    And surely one thousand years at the Tor were better for you\n    Than one single hour in foul hell.\n\n\n\n\nCOLUMCILLE AND HIS BROTHER DOBHRAN.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis very interesting story of Columcille's brother, Dobhran, is common\namongst Highlanders, but I have found no trace of it in Ireland, nor\nany mention of a Dobhran. This particular version was written down\nby the late Rev. Father Allan MacDonald, of Eriskay, who collected a\ngreat deal of the folk-lore of that island. The same story was told to\nme, but somewhat differently, by a Canadian priest from Sydney, Nova\nScotia, one of the Clan MacAdam (really Mac Eudhmoinn) and the sixth\nin descent from the first refugee of his name who fled to Canada after\nCulloden. He said he had often heard the story, and that Dobhran when\nhe climbed to the edge of the grave uttered three sentences, but two of\nthem he had forgotten, the third was \"cha n'eil an iorron chomh dona\nagus a th\u00e1thar ag r\u00e1dh,\" (_sic._) _i.e._, \"Hell is not as bad as people\nsay.\" It was then Columcille cried out, \"\u00fair, \u00fair air Dobhran.\" \"Clay,\nclay on Dobhran's mouth before he says any more!\"[68]\n\n[68] See Celtic Review, vol. V., p. 107.\n\nHere follow some stories from Irish sources about Columcille himself.\nHis life was written at considerable length by Adamnan, one of his\nsuccessors in the Abbacy of Iona, who was born only twenty-seven\nyears after Columcille's death, and has come down to us in the actual\nmanuscript written by a man who died in 713; to that we know a good\ndeal about the saint. There exist five other lives of him. According to\nthe Leabhar Breac he died of self-imposed abstinence.\n\nCOLUMCILLE'S FASTING.\n\nColum's angel, whose name was Axal (a name derived from \"Auxilium\")\nrequested him to \"take virginity around him,\" but he refused \"unless a\nreward therefor\" be given to him. \"What reward seekest thou,\" said the\nangel. \"I declare,\" said Columcille, \"it is not one reward but four.\"\n\"Mention them,\" said the angel. \"I will,\" said Columcille, \"namely, A\ndeath in Repentance, A death from Hunger, and death in Youth[69]--for\nhideous are bodies through old age.\" \"Even more shall be given thee,\"\nsaid the angel, \"for thou shalt be chief prophet of heaven and earth.\"\n\n[69] See Stokes' Calendar of Oengus, p. xcix. The fourth request is not\nmentioned, nor yet in O'Donnell's Life, where the story is much better\ntold. See \"Zeitschrift f\u00fcr Celt. Philologie,\" vol. IV. p. 278.\n\nAnd that was fulfilled. He went into pilgrimage, and he was young when\nhe died, and of hunger he perished, but it was wilful hunger.\n\nAnd this is the cause of that hunger of his. Once it came to pass as he\nwas going round the graveyard in Iona that he saw an old woman cutting\nnettles to make pottage thereof. \"Why art thou doing that, poor woman?\"\nsaid Columcille. \"O dear father,\" quoth she, \"I have one cow and she\nhas not calved yet, and I am expecting it, and this is what has served\nme for a long time back.\"\n\nColumcille then determines that pottage of nettles should be the thing\nthat should most serve him thenceforth for ever, and said, \"Since it\nis because of her expecting the one uncertain cow that she is in this\ngreat hunger, meet were [the same] for us though great be the hunger\nwherein we shall abide expecting God. For better and certain is what\nwe expect, the eternal kingdom.\" And he said to his servant, \"Pottage\nof nettles give thou to me every night without butter, without a sip\ntherewith.\"\n\n\"It shall be done,\" said the cook. And he bores the mixing stick of the\npottage so that it became a pipe, and he used to pour the milk into\nthat pipe and mix it all through the pottage. Then the church folk\nnotice this, namely, the cleric's goodly shape, and they talk of it\namong themselves. This is made known to Columcille, and then he said,\n\"May they who take your place be always murmuring!\"\n\n\"Well!\" quoth he to the servant, \"what do you put for me into the\npottage every day?\" \"Thou thyself are witness\" said the man, \"but\nunless it comes out of the stick with which the pottage is mixed, I\nknow of nothing else therein save pottage only.\"\n\nThen the secret is revealed to the cleric and he said, \"Prosperity and\ngood-deed for ever to thy successor,\" said he. And this is fulfilled.\n\nIt was then, too, that Boethine told him the remarkable vision he had,\nnamely, three chairs seen by him in heaven; to wit, a chair of gold,\nand a chair of silver, and a chair of glass. \"[The meaning of] that\nis manifest,\" said Columcille, \"the chair of gold is Ciaran[70] son of\nthe carpenter, for his generosity and hospitality; the chair of silver\nis thou thyself, O Boethine, because of the purity and lustre of thy\ndevotion; the chair of glass is I myself, for, though my devotion is\ndelightful, I am fleshly and I am often frail!\" As a certain poet said--\n\n    Colum, fair formed, powerful,\n    Face red, broad, radiant,\n    Body white, fame without deceit,\n    Hair curling, eye grey, luminous.\n\n[70] For Ciaran, see the story of the Eagle L\u00e9ithin.\n\nSt. Patrick prophesied the coming of Columcille, according to the great\nLife of Columcille, written by Manus O'Donnell, at Lifford, in the year\n1532, of which more than one contemporary vellum copy exists.[71]\n\n[71] The Bodleian copy consists of 120 pages of vellum, each leaf\nmeasuring 17 by 11\u00bd inches.\n\nST. PATRICK PROPHESIES CONCERNING COLUMCILLE.[72]\n\n[72] See Zeitschrift f\u00fcr Celt. Phil. vol. III. p. 534, translated by\nDr. Henebry.\n\nOnce upon a time, as Patrick was finding labour and great inconvenience\nin converting the men of Ireland and their women to the faith, he was\nsorry that he did not know how they would be off for faith and for\npiety after his own time, or how would God prosper them, seeing all the\nlabour he was getting from them. And he used to pray to God earnestly\nto give him knowledge of that.\n\nThen an angel came to him and addressed him, saying that it was\naccording to the vision to be revealed to him in his sleep the coming\nnight, that Ireland would be, as regards the faith during his own life,\nand after him for evermore. And this is the vision that was given him\n[the next night].\n\nHe saw all Ireland red on fire, and the flame which rose from it went\nup into the further aerial spaces, and afterwards he saw that fire\nbeing quenched, only big hills remained on fire, far apart from one\nanother; and then again he saw how even the hills went out, except\nsomething like lamps or candles which remained alight in the place of\neach hill. He saw again even those go out, and only embers or sparks\nwith a gloom upon them remaining; however, these smouldered in a few\nplaces far scattered throughout Ireland.\n\nThe same angel came to him and told him that those were the conditions\nthrough which Ireland should pass after him. Upon hearing that, Patrick\nwept bitterly, and spoke with a great voice and said: \"O God of all\npower, dost Thou desire to damn and to withdraw Thy mercy from the\npeople to whom Thou didst send me to bring a knowledge of Thyself.\nThough I am unworthy that Thou shouldst hear me, O Lord, calm Thy anger\nin their regard, and receive the people of this island of Ireland into\nThy own mercy.\"\n\nAnd on his finishing these words, the angel spoke in a pacifying tone,\nand said, \"Look to the north of thee,\" said he, \"and thou shalt behold\nthe change of God's right hand.\" Patrick did as the angel bade him,\nfor he looked to the north, and he beheld a light arising there, not\ngreat at first, then waxing and tearing the darkness asunder, so that\nall Ireland was lighted by it as by the first flame, and he saw it go\nthrough the same stages afterwards.\n\nAnd the angel explained the meaning of that vision to Patrick, saying\nthat Ireland would be alight with faith and piety during his own time,\nbut that darkness would come over that light at his death. However,\nthere would be good people here and there in Ireland after him, as\nwere the far-sundered hills on fire; but when those good people died\nthere would come people not so good in their stead, like the lamps and\ncandles of which we have spoken already, and that the faith would be\nsustained by them only as the embers that were in gloom and mist, until\nthe son of eternal light should come, namely Columcille. And although\nlittle at first, in coming into the world, nevertheless he would sow\nand preach the word of God and increase the faith, so that Ireland\nshould blaze up in his time as it did in the time of Patrick; and\nthat it would never blaze in the same way again, although there would\nbe good pious people after him. And that the Church of Ireland would\ngo into decay at the end of time after that, so that there would be,\nthere, of faith and piety, only a semblance of the embers, or little\nsparks covered with gloom and darkness of which we have spoken already.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nColumcille began to build on Iona. He gathered together a great host\nof people. But all that he used to build in the day, it used to be\nthrown down at night. That drove him to set people to keep a watch on\nIona. Every morning those men [whom he had set to watch] used to be\ndead at the foot of Iona. He did not continue long to set people to\nwatch there, but since he himself was a holy man he went and remained\nwatching Iona to try if he could see or find out what was going wrong\nwith it. He was keeping to it and from it, and they were saying that it\nwas on the scaur of the crag near the sea that she was, I did not see\nher.\n\nHe saw a _Biast_ coming off the shore and one half of it was a fish\nand the other half in the likeness of a woman. She was old, with\nscales. When she shook herself she set Iona and the land a-quaking.\nThere went from her a tinkling sound as it were earthenware pigs (jars)\na-shaking. Columcille went down to meet her and spoke to her, and\nasked her did she know what was killing the people whom he was setting\nto watch Iona in the night. She said she did. \"What was happening to\nthem?\" said he. She said, \"Nothing but the fear that seized them at her\nappearance; that when she was a-coming to land the heart was leaping\nout of its cockles[73] with them.\"\n\n[73] The \"cockles of the heart\" is a common expression in Anglo-Irish.\nIt is taken from the Irish, cochall, meaning really a cowl.\n\n\"Do you know,\" said he, \"what is throwing down Iona that I am building?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said she, \"Iona will be for ever falling so, O holy Columcille.\nIt is not I who am throwing it down, but still it is being thrown\ndown.\"[74]\n\n[74] Thather ag a leagadh. The autonomous form in Scotch Gaelic.\n\n\"Do you know now any means by which I can make Iona go forward?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said she. \"O holy Columcille, to-morrow you shall question all\nthe people that you have at work to find out what man will consent to\noffer himself alive [to be buried] under the ground, and his soul shall\nbe saved if he consents to do that, and people shall never see me here\nafterwards. Iona shall go forward without any doubt.\"\n\nOn the morrow he put the question to the great host of people, \"Was\nthere any one of them at all who would consent to offer himself alive\non condition that his soul should be saved in heaven?\"\n\nThere was not one man of them willing to go into the grave although he\nwas told that his soul would be saved by the decree of God. She [the\n_Biast_] had told him too that the grave had to be seven times as deep\nas the man's length.\n\nPoor Dobhran, his brother, was on the outskirts of the crowd. He came\nover and stood behind his brother, Columcille, and said that he was\nquite willing to be offered up alive under the ground on condition that\nIona might be built up by his holy brother Columcille, and he gave\ncredence to Columcille that his soul would be saved by the decree of\nGod.\n\nSaid Columcille, \"Although I have no other brother but poor Dobhran, I\nam pleased that he has offered himself to go to the grave, and that the\n_Biast_ shall not be seen coming any more to the shore for ever.\"\n\nThe grave was made seven times the height of the man in depth. When\nDobhran saw the grave he turned to Columcille and asked him as a favour\nto put a roof over the grave and to leave him there standing so long as\nit might please God to leave him alive.\n\nHe got his request--to be put down alive into the grave. He was left\nthere.\n\nColumcille came and began to work at Iona [again], and he was twenty\ndays working, and Iona was going forward wondrously. He was pleased\nthat his work was succeeding.\n\nAt the end of twenty days when everything was conjectured to be going\non well, he said it were right to look what end had come to poor\nDobhran, and [bade] open the grave.\n\nDobhran was walking on the floor of the grave [when the roof was taken\noff]. When Dobhran saw that the grave was opened and when he heard\nall the world round it, he gave an expert leap out of it to the mouth\nof the grave and he put up his two hands on high on the mouth of the\ngrave. He supported himself on the [edge of the] grave [by his hands.]\nThere was a big smooth meadow going up from Iona and much rushes on it.\nAll the rushes that Dobhran's eyes lit upon grew red, and that little\nred top is on the rushes ever.\n\nColumcille cried out and he on the far side, \"Clay! clay on Dobhran's\neyes! before he see any more of the world and of sin!\"\n\nThey threw in the clay upon him then and returned to their work. And\nnothing any more went against Columcille until he had Iona finished.\n\n\n\n\nBRUADAR AND SMITH AND GLINN.\n\nA CURSE\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis extraordinary piece of cursing cannot properly be called\nfolk-lore. It is purely pagan in spirit, though the poet has called\nupon the Deity under all the appellations by which he was known to\nthe Gaels, as King of Sunday (see the story of Shaun the Tinker),\nthe One Son, the King of the Angels, the King of Luan (Monday or\nJudgment day), the King of Brightness, the Son of the Virgin, etc. I\nknow nothing certain about the circumstances which gave rise to this\namazing effusion. It cannot be very old, however, since the last verse\nmentions the \"black peeler.\" Possibly it was composed not more than\nseventy years ago. The poet has cleverly interwoven the names of his\nthree enemies in all sorts of different collocations. I give the piece\nas of interest though not actual folk-lore. It was first published in\nIris-leabhar na Gaedhilge by Father Dinneen. For the original and other\ncurses of the same nature, see \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol. II.,\np. 274.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\n    Bruadar and Smith and Glinn,\n      Amen, dear God, I pray,\n    May they lie low in waves of woe,\n      And tortures slow each day!\n                              Amen!\n\n    Bruadar and Smith and Glinn\n      Helpless and cold, I pray,\n    Amen! I pray, O King,\n      To see them pine away.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Bruadar and Smith and Glinn\n      May flails of sorrow flay!\n    Cause for lamenting, snares and cares\n      Be theirs by night and day!\n                              Amen!\n\n    Blindness come down on Smith,\n      Palsy on Bruadar come,\n    Amen, O King of Brightness! Smite\n      Glinn in his members numb,\n                              Amen!\n\n    Smith in the pangs of pain,\n      Stumbling on Bruadar's path,\n    King of the Elements, Oh, Amen!\n      Let loose on Glinn Thy wrath.\n                              Amen!\n\n    For Bruadar gape the grave,\n      Up-shovel for Smith the mould,\n    Amen, O King of the Sunday! Leave\n      Glinn in the devil's hold.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Terrors on Bruadar rain,\n      And pain upon pain on Glinn,\n    Amen, O King of the Stars! and Smith\n      May the devil be linking him.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Glinn in a shaking ague,\n      Cancer on Bruadar's tongue,\n    Amen, O King of the Heavens! and Smith\n      For ever stricken dumb.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Thirst but no drink for Glinn,\n      Smith in a cloud of grief,\n    Amen! O King of the Saints! and rout\n      Bruadar without relief.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Smith without child or heir,\n      And Bruadar bare of store,\n    Amen, O King of the Friday! Tear\n      For Glinn his black heart's core.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Bruadar with nerveless limbs,\n      Hemp strangling Glinn's last breath,\n    Amen, O King of the World's Light!\n      And Smith in grips with death.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Glinn stiffening for the tomb,\n      Smith wasting to decay,\n    Amen, O King of the Thunder's gloom!\n      And Bruadar sick alway.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Smith like a sieve of holes,\n      Bruadar with throat decay,\n    Amen, O King of the Orders! Glinn\n      A buck-show every day.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Hell-hounds to hunt for Smith,\n      Glinn led to hang on high,\n    Amen, O King of the Judgment Day!\n      And Bruadar rotting by.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Curses on Glinn, I cry,\n      My curse on Bruadar be,\n    Amen, O King of the Heaven's high!\n      Let Smith in bondage be.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Showers of want and blame,\n      Reproach, and shame of face,\n    Smite them all three, and smite again,\n      Amen, O King of Grace!\n                              Amen!\n\n    Melt, may the three, away,\n      Bruadar and Smith and Glinn,\n    Fall in a swift and sure decay\n      And lose, but never win.\n                              Amen!\n\n    May pangs pass through thee Smith,\n      (Let the wind not take my prayer),\n    May I see before the year is out\n      Thy heart's blood flowing there.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Leave Smith no place nor land,\n      Let Bruadar wander wide,\n    May the Devil stand at Glinn's right hand,\n      And Glinn to him be tied.\n                              Amen!\n\n    All ill from every airt\n      Come down upon the three,\n    And blast them ere the year be out\n      In rout and misery.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Glinn let misfortune bruise,\n      Bruadar lose blood and brains,\n    Amen, O Jesus! hear my voice,\n      Let Smith be bent in chains.\n                              Amen!\n\n    I accuse both Glinn and Bruadar,\n      And Smith I accuse to God,\n    May a breach and a gap be upon the three,\n      And the Lord's avenging rod.\n                              Amen!\n\n    Each one of the wicked three\n      Who raised against me their hand,\n    May fire from heaven come down and slay\n      This day their perjured band,\n                              Amen!\n\n    May none of their race survive,\n      May God destroy them all,\n    Each curse of the psalms in the holy books\n      Of the prophets upon them fall!\n                              Amen!\n\n    Blight skull, and ear, and skin,\n      And hearing, and voice, and sight,\n    Amen! before the year be out,\n      Blight, Son of the Virgin, blight!\n                              Amen!\n\n    May my curses hot and red\n      And all I have said this day,\n    Strike the Black Peeler too,\n      Amen, dear God, I pray!\n                              Amen!\n\n\n\n\nFRIAR BRIAN.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story was written down, word for word, and given me by my friend\nMr. C. M. Hodgson, from the telling of James Mac Donagh, one of his\nbrother tenants, near Oughterard, Co. Galway. It is obvious that the\nstory is only a fragment, and very obscure, but it is worth preserving\nif only for the sake of Friar Brian's striking answer to the Devil,\nwhich would come home with particular force to all who have ever bought\nor sold at an Irish fair; the acceptance of \"earnest\" money is the\nclinching of the bargain, behind which you cannot go. If you receive\n\"earnest\" in the morning you may not sell again, no matter how much\nhigher a price may have been offered you before evening. I have heard\nanother story about Friar Brian.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nThere was a young man in it long ago, and long ago it was, and he had\na great love for card-playing and drinking whiskey. He came short [at\nlast] of money, and he did not know what he would do without money.\n\nA man met him, and he going home in the night. \"I often see you going\nhome this road,\" said the man to him.\n\n\"There's no help for it now,\" says he; \"I have no money.\"\n\n\"Now,\" says the man, \"I'll give you money every time you'll want it, if\nyou will give to me written with your own blood [a writing to say] that\nyou are mine such and such a year, at the end of one and twenty years.\"\n\nIt was the Devil who was in it in the shape of a man.\n\nHe gave it to him written with his share of blood that he would be his\nat the end of one and twenty years.\n\nHe had money then every time ever he wanted it until the one and twenty\nyears were almost out, and then fear began coming on him. He went to\nthe priest and he told it [all] to him. \"I could not do any good for\nyou,\" says the priest. \"You must go to such and such a man who is going\ninto Ellasthrum (?) He has so much of the Devil's influence (?) that\nhe does be able to change round the castle door any time the wind is\nblowing [too hard] on it.\"\n\nHe went to this man and he told him his story. \"I wouldn't be able to\ndo you any good,\" says he, \"you must go to Friar Brian.\"\n\nHe went to Friar Brian and told him his story. The one and twenty years\nwere all but up by this time. \"Here is a stick for you,\" said Friar\nBrian, \"and cut a ring [with the stick] round about the place where\nyou'll stand. He [the Devil] won't be able to come inside the place\nwhich you'll cut out with this stick. And do you be arguing with him,\nand I'll be watching you both,\" says he. \"Tell him that there must be\nsome judgment [passed] on the case before you depart [to go away] with\nhim.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" says the man.\n\nWhen the appointed hour came the man was standing in the place he said.\nThe Devil came to him. He told the man that the time was up and that he\nhad to come along.\n\nThe man began to say that the time was not up. He cut a ring round\nabout himself with the stick which Friar Brian had given him. \"Well,\nthen,\" says the man, says he [at last], \"we'll leave it to the judgment\nof the first person who shall come past us.\"\n\n\"I am satisfied,\" says the Diabhac.[75]\n\n[75] Diabhac, pronounced in Connaught, d'youc; a homonym for the more\ndirect diabhal--devil, as \"deil\" in English.\n\nFriar Brian came to the place where they were. \"What is it all about\nfrom the beginning?\" says Friar Brian. The Diabhac told him that he had\nthis man bought for one and twenty years, and that he had to come with\nhim to-day; \"it is left to you to judge the case.\"\n\n\"Now,\" says Friar Brian, says he, \"if you were to go to a fair to buy\na cow or a horse, and if you gave earnest money for it, wouldn't you\nsay that it was more just for you to have it than for the man who would\ncome in the evening and who would buy it without paying any earnest\nmoney for it?\"\n\n\"I say,\" says the Diabhac, \"that the man who paid earnest money for it\nfirst, ought to get it.\"\n\n\"And now,\" says Friar Brian, \"the Son of God paid earnest for this man\nbefore you bought him.\"\n\nThe Diabhac had to go away then.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFriar Brian asked then what would be done to him now when he had not\ngot the man.\n\n\"I shall be put into the chamber which is for Friar Brian,\" said the\nDiabhac.[76]\n\n[76] The meaning seems to be, that the devil who lost his quarry would\nsuffer the same punishment as was reserved for Friar Brian.\n\n\"And now,\" said Friar Brian to the man whom he had saved, \"I saved you\nnow,\" says he, \"and do you save me.\"\n\n\"What will I be able to do for you to save you?\"\n\n\"Get the axe,\" says Friar Brian to him, \"take the head off me,\" says\nhe, \"and cut me up then as fine as tobacco.\"[77]\n\n[77] Compare the story of the Tobacco Prayer, p. 244.\n\nHe did that, and Friar Brian repented then, and he was saved.\n\nHe suffered himself to be cut as fine as tobacco on account of all he\nhad ever done out of the way. There now, that was the end of Friar\nBrian.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE FIRST CAT WAS CREATED.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI got the following story from my friend Dr. Conor Maguire, of\nClaremorris. It explains how the first cat and first mouse were\ncreated. I heard many such stories explaining the origin of this thing\nor the other from the Red Indians in Canada, but, of course, none of\nthem had anything to say to Christianity. It is impossible to tell\nthe age of this legend, but it may be taken for granted that such\nthemes were common in Pagan times just as they are amongst the Red\nMen to-day, and it may well be that this story in its origin is older\nthan Christianity itself, and that a saint may have taken the place of\nan enchanter when the people became Christians. I think it is pretty\ncertain that this story originally concerned only the flour--the food\nof man--and the mice--the enemy of the flour--and the cat--the enemy of\nthe mice; and that the mention of the sow and her litter is a late and\nstupid interpolation.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nOne day Mary and her Son were travelling the road, and they heavy and\ntired, and it chanced that they went past the door of a house in which\nthere was a lock of wheat being winnowed. The Blessed Virgin went in,\nand she asked an alms of wheat, and the woman of the house refused her.\n\n\"Go in again to her,\" said the Son, \"and ask her for it in the name of\nGod.\"\n\nShe went, and the woman refused her again.\n\n\"Go in to her again,\" said He, \"and ask her to give you leave to put\nyour hand into the pail of water, and to thrust it down into the heap\nof wheat, and to take away with you all that shall cling to your hand.\"\n\nShe went, and the woman gave her leave to do that. When she came out to\nour Saviour, He said to her, \"Do not let one grain of that go astray,\nfor it is worth much and much.\"\n\nWhen they had gone a bit from the house they looked back, and saw a\nflock of demons coming towards the house, and the Virgin Mary was\nfrightened lest they might do harm to the woman. \"Let there be no\nanxiety on you,\" said Jesus to her; \"since it has chanced that she has\ngiven you all that of alms, they shall get no victory over her.\"\n\nThey travelled on, then, until they reached as far as a place where a\nman named Martin had a mill. \"Go in,\" said our Saviour to His mother,\n\"since it has chanced that the mill is working, and ask them to grind\nthat little grain-_een_ for you.\"\n\nShe went. \"O musha, it's not worth while for me,\" said the boy who was\nattending the querns, \"to put that little _lockeen_ a-grinding for\nyou.\" Martin heard them talking and said to the lout, \"Oh, then, do it\nfor the creature, perhaps she wants it badly,\" said he. He did it, and\nhe gave her all the flour that came from it.\n\nThey travelled on then, and they were not gone any distance until the\nmill was full of flour as white as snow. When Martin perceived this\ngreat miracle he understood well that it was the Son of God and His\nMother who chanced that way. He ran out and followed them, at his best,\nand he made across the fields until he came up with them, and there was\nthat much haste on him in going through a scunce of hawthorns that a\nspike of the hawthorn met his breast and wounded him greatly. There was\nthat much zeal in him that he did not feel the pain, but clapt his hand\nover it, and never stopped until he came up with them. When our Saviour\nbeheld the wound upon poor Martin, He laid His hand upon it, and it was\nclosed, and healed upon the spot. He said to Martin then that he was a\nfitting man in the presence of God; \"and go home now,\" said He, \"and\nplace a fistful of the flour under a dish, and do not stir it until\nmorning.\"\n\nWhen Martin went home he did that, and he put the dish, mouth under,\nand the fistful of flour beneath it.\n\nThe servant girl was watching him, and thought that maybe it would be a\ngood thing if she were to set a dish for herself in the same way, and\nsigns on her, she set it.\n\nOn the morning of the next day Martin lifted his dish, and what should\nrun out from under it but a fine sow and a big litter of bonhams with\nher. The girl lifted her own dish, and there ran out a big mouse and a\nclutch of young mouselets with her. They ran here and there, and Martin\nat once thought that they were not good, and he plucked a big mitten\noff his hand and flung it at the young mice, but as soon as it touched\nthe ground it changed into a cat, and the cat began to kill the young\nmice. That was the beginning of cats. Martin was a saint from that time\nforward, but I do not know which of the saints he was of all who were\ncalled Martin.\n\n\n\n\nGOD SPARE YOU YOUR HEALTH.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThere is an Anglo-Irish proverb to the effect that \"fine words butter\nno parsnips,\" and an Irish one runs \"N\u00ed bheathuigheann na briathra na\nbr\u00e1ithre,\" \"words don't feed friars.\" This story is also told in other\nparts of the country about a cobbler. I have translated this version of\nit from the Lochrann \"M\u00e1rta agus Abr\u00e1n, 1912,\" written down by \"Giolla\nna lice.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was a smith in Skibbereen long ago, long before the foreigners\nnested there, and people used to be coming to him who did not please\nhim too well. When he would do some little turn of work for them in the\nforge they used only have a \"God spare you your health\" for him. It's a\nvery nice prayer, \"God spare you your health,\" but when the smith used\nto go out to buy bread he used not to get it without money. Prayers, no\nmatter how good, would not do the business for him. He used often to be\nhalf mad with them, but he used not to say anything. He was so vexed\nwith that work one day that he took a hound he had from his house into\nhis forge, and he tied it there with a wisp of hay under it. \"Yes,\"\nsaid he, \"we will soon see whether the prayers of these poor people\nwill feed my hound.\"\n\nThe first person who came and had nothing but a \"God spare you the\nhealth\" in place of payment. \"Right,\" said the smith, \"let my hound\nhave that.\"\n\nOther people came to the forge, and they without any payment for the\npoor smith but that same fine prayer, and according as the smith used\nto get the prayers he used to bestow them on the hound. He used to give\nit no other food or drink. The prayers were the hound's food, but they\nmade poor meat for him, for the smith found him dead in the morning\nafter his being dependent on the feeding of the prayers.\n\nA man came to the forge that day and he had a couple of hinges and a\ncouple of reaping hooks, that were not too strong, to be fixed. The\nsmith did the work, and the man was thinking of going, \"God spare\nyou the health,\" said he. Instead of the answer \"Amen! Lord! and you\nlikewise\"; what the smith did was to take the man by the shoulder.\n\"Look over in the corner,\" said he; \"my hound is dead, and if prayers\ncould feed it, it ought to be fat and strong. I have given every prayer\nI got this while back to that hound there, but they have not done the\nbusiness for it. And it's harder to feed a man than a hound. Do you\nunderstand, my good man?\"\n\nHe did apparently, for he put his hand in his pocket. \"What's the\ncost?\" said he.\n\nIt was short until all the neighbours heard talk of the death of that\nhound of the smith's, and much oftener from that out used their tune to\nbe, \"What's the cost, Dermot?\" than \"God spare you your health.\"\n\n\n\n\nTEIG O'KANE (TADHG O C\u00c1TH\u00c1IN) AND THE CORPSE.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story of Teig (in the ballad \"Tomaus\" O'Cahan or O'Kane) and the\ncorpse, was told to me nearly thirty years ago by an old man from near\nFenagh in the County Leitrim, whom I met paying his rent to a relative\nof mine in the town of Mohill. He must have been one of the last Irish\nspeakers in that district. There does not appear to be a trace of Irish\nleft there now. I did not write down the story from his lips, but wrote\nit out afterwards from memory. I took down the ballad, however, from\nhis recitation so far as he had it; and I afterwards came across a\nwritten version of it in the handwriting of Nicholas O'Kearney, of the\nCounty Louth. The ballad as written by him coincides pretty closely\nwith my version, but breaks off apparently in the middle, as though\nO'Kearney had not time to finish the rest of it. The first twenty-three\nverses are from O'Kearney's version, the rest are from mine. O'Kearney\nremarks in English at the top of the page: \"The following fragment\nis one of our wild fairy adventures versified ... the fragment is\npreserved on account of the singular wildness of the air.\"\n\nThe only other Irish poem nearly in the same metre which I know of is a\npoem by Cormac Dall, or Cormac Common, which my friend Dr. Maguire, of\nClaremorris, took down the other day from the recitation of an old man.\n\nIt is on Halloweve night that one is especially liable to adventures\nlike those of Tomaus O'Cahan, but it is well known that all gamblers\ncoming home at night are exposed to such perils.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was once a grown-up lad in the County Leitrim, and he was strong\nand lively, and the son of a rich farmer. His father had plenty of\nmoney, and he did not spare it on the son. Accordingly, when the boy\ngrew up he liked sport better than work, and, as his father had no\nother children, he loved this one so much that he allowed him to do in\neverything just as it pleased himself. He was very extravagant, and\nhe used to scatter the gold money as another person would scatter the\nwhite. He was seldom to be found at home, but if there was a fair, or a\nrace, or a gathering within ten miles of him, you were dead certain to\nfind him there. And he seldom spent a night in his father's house, but\nhe used to be always out rambling, and, like Shawn Bwee long ago, there\nwas\n\n \"gr\u00e1dh gach cail\u00edn i mbrollach a l\u00e9ine,\"\n\n\"the love of every girl in the breast of his shirt,\" and it's many's\nthe kiss he got and he gave, for he was very handsome, and there wasn't\na girl in the country but would fall in love with him, only for him to\nfasten his two eyes on her, and it was for that someone made this rann\non him--\n\n    \"Feuch an r\u00f3gaire 'g iarraidh p\u00f3ige,\n      Ni h-iongantas m\u00f3r \u00e9 a bheith mar at\u00e1\n    Ag leanamhaint a gc\u00f3mhnuidhe d'arn\u00e1n na graineoige\n      Anuas 's an\u00edos 's nna chodladh 'sa l\u00e1.\"\n\n    _i.e._--\"Look at the rogue, it's for kisses he's rambling,\n      It isn't much wonder, for that was his way;\n    He's like an old hedgehog, at night he'll be scrambling\n      From this place to that, but he'll sleep in the day.\"\n\nAt last he became very wild and unruly. He wasn't to be seen day nor\nnight in his father's house, but always rambling or going on his kailee\n(night-visit) from place to place and from house to house, so that the\nold people used to shake their heads and say to one another, \"it's easy\nseen what will happen to the land when the old man dies; his son will\nrun through it in a year, and it won't stand him that long itself.\"\n\nHe used to be always gambling and card-playing and drinking, but his\nfather never minded his bad habits, and never punished him. But it\nhappened one day that the old man was told that the son had ruined\nthe character of a girl in the neighbourhood, and he was greatly\nangry, and he called the son to him, and said to him, quietly and\nsensibly--\"Avic,\" says he, \"you know I loved you greatly up to this,\nand I never stopped you from doing your choice thing whatever it was,\nand I kept plenty of money with you, and I always hoped to leave you\nthe house and land and all I had, after myself would be gone; but I\nheard a story of you to-day that has disgusted me with you. I cannot\ntell you the grief that I felt when I heard such a thing of you, and I\ntell you now plainly that unless you marry that girl I'll leave house\nand land and everything to my brother's son. I never could leave it to\nanyone who would make so bad a use of it as you do yourself, deceiving\nwomen and coaxing girls. Settle with yourself now whether you'll marry\nthat girl and get my land as a fortune with her, or refuse to marry\nher and give up all that was coming to you; and tell me in the morning\nwhich of the two things you have chosen.\"\n\n\"Och! murdher sheery! father, you wouldn't say that to me, and I such\na good son as I am. Who told you I wouldn't marry the girl?\" says he.\n\nBut the father was gone, and the lad knew well enough that he would\nkeep his word too; and he was greatly troubled in his mind, for as\nquiet and as kind as the father was, he never went back of a word that\nhe had once said, and there wasn't another man in the country who was\nharder to bend that he was.\n\nThe boy did not know rightly what to do. He was in love with the girl\nindeed, and he hoped to marry her some time or other, but he would much\nsooner have remained another while as he was, and follow on at his old\ntricks--drinking, sporting, and playing cards; and, along with that, he\nwas angry that his father should order him to marry and should threaten\nhim if he did not do it.\n\n\"Isn't my father a great fool,\" says he to himself. \"I was ready\nenough, and only too anxious, to marry Mary; and now since he\nthreatened me, faith I've a great mind to let it go another while.\"\n\nHis mind was so much excited that he remained between two notions as\nto what he should do. He walked out into the night at last to cool his\nheated blood, and went on to the road. He lit a pipe, and as the night\nwas fine he walked and walked on, until the quick pace made him begin\nto forget his trouble. The night was bright and the moon half full.\nThere was not a breath of wind blowing, and the air was calm and mild.\nHe walked on for nearly three hours, when he suddenly remembered that\nit was late in the night, and time for him to turn. \"Musha! I think I\nforgot myself,\" says he; \"it must be near twelve o'clock now.\"\n\nThe word was hardly out of his mouth when he heard the sound of many\nvoices and the trampling of feet on the road before him. \"I don't know\nwho can be out so late at night as this, and on such a lonely road,\"\nsaid he to himself.\n\nHe stood listening and he heard the voices of many people talking\nthrough other, but he could not understand what they were saying. \"Oh,\nwirra!\" says he, \"I'm afraid. It's not Irish or English they have; it\ncan't be they're Frenchmen!\" He went on a couple of yards further, and\nhe saw well enough by the light of the moon a band of little people\ncoming towards him, and they were carrying something big and heavy with\nthem. \"Oh, murdher!\" says he to himself, \"sure it can't be that they're\nthe good people that's in it!\" Every rib of hair that was on his head\nstood up, and there fell a shaking on his bones, for he saw that they\nwere coming to him fast.\n\nHe looked at them again, and perceived that there were about twenty\nlittle men in it, and there was not a man at all of them higher than\nabout three feet or three feet and a half, and some of them were grey,\nand seemed very old. He looked again, but he could not make out what\nwas the heavy thing they were carrying until they came up to him, and\nthen they all stood round about him. They threw the heavy thing down on\nthe road, and he saw on the spot that it was a dead body.\n\nHe became as cold as the Death, and there was not a drop of blood\nrunning in his veins when an old little grey man_een_ came up to him\nand said, \"Isn't it lucky we met you, Teig O'Kane?\"\n\nPoor Teig could not bring out a word at all, nor open his lips, if he\nwere to get the world for it, and so he gave no answer.\n\n\"Teig O'Kane,\" said the little grey man again, \"isn't it timely you met\nus?\"\n\nTeig could not answer him.\n\n\"Teig O'Kane,\" says he, \"the third time, isn't it lucky and timely that\nwe met you?\"\n\nBut Teig remained silent, for he was afraid to return an answer, and\nhis tongue was as if it was tied to the roof of his mouth.\n\nThe little grey man turned to his companions, and there was joy in his\nbright little eye. \"And now,\" says he, \"Teig O'Kane hasn't a word, we\ncan do with him what we please. Teig, Teig,\" says he, \"you're living a\nbad life, and we can make a slave of you now, and you cannot withstand\nus, for there's no use in trying to go against us. Lift that corpse.\"\n\nTeig was so frightened that he was only able to utter the two words, \"I\nwon't;\" for as frightened as he was, he was obstinate and stiff, the\nsame as ever.\n\n\"Teig O'Kane won't lift the corpse,\" said the little man_een_, with\na wicked little laugh, for all the world like the breaking of a lock\nof dry kippeens, and with a little harsh voice like the striking of a\ncracked bell. \"Teig O'Kane won't lift the corpse--make him lift it;\"\nand before the word was out of his mouth they had all gathered round\npoor Teig, and they all talking and laughing through other.\n\nTeig tried to run from them, but they followed him, and a man of them\nstretched out his foot before him as he ran, so that Teig was thrown in\na heap on the road. Then before he could rise up, the fairies caught\nhim, some by the hands and some by the feet, and they held him tight,\nin a way that he could not stir, with his face against the ground. Six\nor seven of them raised the body then, and pulled it over to him, and\nleft it down on his back. The breast of the corpse was squeezed against\nTeig's back and shoulders, and the arms of the corpse were thrown\naround Teig's neck. Then they stood back from him a couple of yards,\nand let him get up. He rose, foaming at the mouth and cursing, and he\nshook himself, thinking to throw the corpse off his back. But his fear\nand his wonder were great when he found that the two arms had a tight\nhold round his own neck, and that the two legs were squeezing his hips\nfirmly, and that, however strongly he tried, he could not throw it\noff, any more than a horse can throw off its saddle. He was terribly\nfrightened then, and he thought he was lost. \"Ochone! for ever,\" said\nhe to himself, \"it's the bad life I'm leading that has given the good\npeople this power over me. I promise to God and Mary, Peter and Paul,\nPatrick and Bridget, that I'll mend my ways for as long as I have to\nlive, if I come clear out of this danger--and I'll marry the girl.\"\n\nThe little grey man came up to him again, and said he to him, \"Now,\nTeig_een_,\" says he, \"you didn't lift the body when I told you to lift\nit, and see how you were made to lift it; perhaps when I tell you to\nbury it you won't bury it until you're made to bury it!\"\n\n\"Anything at all that I can do for your honour,\" said Teig, \"I'll do\nit,\" for he was getting sense already, and if it had not been for the\ngreat fear that was on him, he never would have let that civil word\nslip out of his mouth.\n\nThe little man laughed a sort of laugh again. \"You're getting quiet\nnow, Teig,\" says he. \"I'll go bail but you'll be quiet enough before\nI'm done with you. Listen to me now, Teig O'Kane, and if you don't obey\nme in all I'm telling you to do, you'll repent it. You must carry with\nyou this corpse that is on your back to Teampoll-D\u00e9muis, and you must\nbring it into the church with you, and make a grave for it in the very\nmiddle of the church, and you must raise up the flags and put them down\nagain the very same way, and you must carry the clay out of the church\nand leave the place as it was when you came, so that no one could know\nthat there had been anything changed. But that's not all. Maybe that\nthe body won't be allowed to be buried in that church; perhaps some\nother man has the bed, and, if so, it's likely he won't share it with\nthis one. If you don't get leave to bury it in Teampoll-D\u00e9muis, you\nmust carry it to Carrick-fhad-vic-Oruis, and bury it in the churchyard\nthere; and if you don't get it into that place, take it with you to\nTeampoll-Ron\u00e1in; and if that churchyard is closed on you, take it to\nImlogue-Fhada; and if you're not able to bury it there, you've no\nmore to do than to take it to Kill-Breedya, and you can bury it there\nwithout hindrance. I cannot tell you what one of those churches is the\none where you will have leave to bury that corpse under the clay, but I\nknow that it will be allowed you to bury him at some church or other of\nthem. If you do this work rightly, we will be thankful to you, and you\nwill have no cause to grieve; but if you are slow or lazy, believe me\nwe shall take satisfaction of you.\"\n\nWhen the grey little man had done speaking, his comrades laughed and\nclapped their hands together. \"Glic! Glic! Hwee! Hwee!\" they all cried;\n\"go on, go on, you have eight hours before you till daybreak, and if\nyou haven't this man buried before the sun rises, you're lost.\" They\nstruck a fist and a foot behind on him, and drove him on in the road.\nHe was obliged to walk, and to walk fast, for they gave him no rest.\n\nHe thought himself that there was not a wet path, or a dirty boreen,\nor a crooked contrary road in the whole county that he had not walked\nthat night. The night was at times very dark, and whenever there would\ncome a cloud across the moon he could see nothing, and then he used\noften to fall. Sometimes he was hurt, and sometimes he escaped, but he\nwas obliged always to rise on the moment and to hurry on. Sometimes the\nmoon would break out clearly, and then he would look behind him and see\nthe little people following at his back. And he heard them speaking\namongst themselves, talking and crying out, and screaming like a flock\nof sea-gulls; and if he was to save his soul he never understood as\nmuch as one word of what they were saying.\n\nHe did not know how far he had walked, when at last one of them cried\nout to him, \"Stop here!\" He stood, and they all gathered round him.\n\n\"Do you see those withered trees over there?\" says the old boy to him\nagain. \"Teampoll-D\u00e9muis is among those trees, and you must go in there\nby yourself, for we cannot follow you or go with you. We must remain\nhere. Go on boldly.\"\n\nTeig looked from him, and he saw a high wall that was in places half\nbroken down, and an old grey church on the inside of the wall, and\nabout a dozen withered old trees scattered here and there round it.\nThere was neither leaf nor twig on any of them, but their bare crooked\nbranches were stretched out like the arms of an angry man when he\nthreatens. He had no help for it, but was obliged to go forward. He\nwas a couple of hundred yards from the church, but he walked on, and\nnever looked behind him until he came to the gate of the churchyard.\nThe old gate was thrown down, and he had no difficulty in entering. He\nturned then to see if any of the little people were following him, but\nthere came a cloud over the moon, and the night became so dark that he\ncould see nothing. He went into the churchyard, and he walked up the\nold grassy pathway leading to the church. When he reached the door, he\nfound it locked. The door was large and strong, and he did not know\nwhat to do. At last he drew out his knife with difficulty, and stuck it\nin the wood to try if it were not rotten, but it was not.\n\n\"Now,\" said he to himself, \"I have no more to do; the door is shut, and\nI can't open it.\"\n\nBefore the words were rightly shaped in his own mind, a voice in his\near said to him, \"Search for the key on the top of the door, or on the\nwall.\"\n\nHe started. \"Who is that speaking to me?\" he cried, turning round; but\nhe saw no one. The voice said in his ear again, \"Search for the key on\nthe top of the door, or on the wall.\"\n\n\"What's that?\" said he, and the sweat running from his forehead; \"who\nspoke to me?\"\n\n\"It's I, the corpse, that spoke to you!\" said the voice.\n\n\"Can you talk?\" said Teig.\n\n\"Now and again,\" said the corpse.\n\nTeig searched for the key, and he found it on the top of the wall. He\nwas too much frightened to say any more, but he opened the door wide,\nand as quickly as he could, and he went in, with the corpse on his\nback. It was as dark as pitch inside, and poor Teig began to shake and\ntremble.\n\n\"Light the candle,\" said the corpse.\n\nTeig put his hand in his pocket, as well as he was able, and drew out\na flint and steel. He struck a spark out of it, and lit a burnt rag\nhe had in his pocket. He blew it until it made a flame, and he looked\nround him. The church was very ancient, and part of the wall was broken\ndown. The windows were blown in or cracked, and the timber of the seats\nwas rotten. There were six or seven old iron candlesticks left there\nstill, and in one of these candlesticks Teig found the stump of an old\ncandle, and he lit it. He was still looking round him on the strange\nand horrid place in which he found himself, when the cold corpse\nwhispered in his ear, \"Bury me now, bury me now; there is a spade and\nturn the ground.\" Teig looked from him, and he saw a spade lying beside\nthe altar. He took it up, and he placed the blade under a flag that was\nin the middle of the aisle, and leaning all his weight on the handle\nof the spade, he raised it. When the first flag was raised it was not\nhard to raise the others near it, and he moved three or four of them\nout of their places. The clay that was under them was soft and easy to\ndig, but he had not thrown up more than three or four shovelfuls, when\nhe felt the iron touch something soft like flesh. He threw up three\nor four more shovelfuls from around it, and then he saw that it was\nanother body that was buried in the same place.\n\n\"I am afraid I'll never be allowed to bury the two bodies in the same\nhole,\" said Teig, in his own mind. \"You corpse, there on my back,\" says\nhe, \"will you be satisfied if I bury you down here?\" But the corpse\nnever answered him a word.\n\n\"That's a good sign,\" said Teig to himself. \"Maybe he's getting quiet,\"\nand he thrust the spade down in the earth again. Perhaps he hurt the\nflesh of the other body, for the dead man that was buried there stood\nup in the grave, and shouted an awful shout. \"Hoo! hoo!! hoo!!! Go!\ngo!! go!!! or you're a dead, dead, dead man!\" And then he fell back in\nthe grave again. Teig said afterwards, that of all the wonderful things\nhe saw that night, that was the most awful to him. His hair stood\nupright on his head like the bristles of a pig, the cold sweat ran off\nhis face, and then came a tremor over all his bones, until he thought\nthat he must fall.\n\nBut after a while he became bolder, when he saw that the second corpse\nremained lying quietly there, and he threw in the clay on it again, and\nhe smoothed it overhead, and he laid down the flags carefully as they\nhad been before. \"It can't be that he'll rise up any more,\" said he.\n\nHe went down the aisle a little further, and drew near to the door,\nand began raising the flags again, looking for another bed for the\ncorpse on his back. He took up three or four flags and put them aside,\nand then he dug the clay. He was not long digging until he laid bare\nan old woman without a thread upon her but her shirt. She was more\nlively than the first corpse, for he had scarcely taken any of the clay\naway from about her, when she sat up and began to cry, \"Ho, you bodach\n(clown)! Ha, you bodach! Where has he been that he got no bed?\"\n\nPoor Teig drew back, and when she found that she was getting no answer,\nshe closed her eyes gently, lost her vigour, and fell back quietly and\nslowly under the clay. Teig did to her as he had done to the man--he\nthrew the clay back on her, and left the flags down overhead.\n\nHe began digging again near the door, but before he had thrown up more\nthan a couple of shovelfuls, he noticed a man's hand laid bare by the\nspade. \"By my soul, I'll go no further, then,\" said he to himself;\n\"what use is it for me?\" And he threw the clay in again on it, and\nsettled the flags as they had been before.\n\nHe left the church then, and his heart was heavy enough, but he shut\nthe door and locked it, and left the key where he found it. He sat\ndown on a tombstone that was near the door, and began thinking. He was\nin great doubt what he should do. He laid his face between his two\nhands, and cried for grief and fatigue, since he was dead certain at\nthis time that he never would come home alive. He made another attempt\nto loosen the hands of the corpse that were squeezed round his neck,\nbut they were as tight as if they were clamped; and the more he tried\nto loosen them, the tighter they squeezed him. He was going to sit\ndown once more, when the cold, horrid lips of the dead man said to\nhim, \"Carrick-fhad-vic-Oruis,\" and he remembered the command of the\ngood people to bring the corpse with him to that place if he should be\nunable to bury it where he had been.\n\nHe rose up and looked about him. \"I don't know the way,\" he said.\n\nAs soon as he had uttered the words, the corpse stretched out suddenly\nits left hand that had been tightened round his neck, and kept it\npointing out, showing him the road he ought to follow. Teig went in\nthe direction that the fingers were stretched, and passed out of the\nchurchyard. He found himself on an old rutty, stony road, and he stood\nstill again, not knowing where to turn. The corpse stretched out its\nbony hand a second time, and pointed out to him another road--not\nthe road by which he had come when approaching the old church. Teig\nfollowed that road, and whenever he came to a path or road meeting it,\nthe corpse always stretched out its hand and pointed with its fingers,\nshowing him the way he was to take.\n\nMany was the cross-road he turned down, and many was the crooked\nboreen he walked, until he saw from him an old burying-ground at last,\nbeside the road, but there was neither church nor chapel nor any other\nbuilding in it. The corpse squeezed him tightly, and he stood. \"Bury\nme, bury me in the burying-ground,\" said the voice.\n\nTeig drew over towards the old burying-place, and he was not more than\nabout twenty yards from it, when, raising his eyes, he saw hundreds and\nhundreds of ghosts--men, women, and children--sitting on the top of the\nwall round about, or standing on the inside of it, or running backwards\nand forwards, and pointing at him, while he could see their mouths\nopening and shutting as if they were speaking, though he heard no word,\nnor any sound amongst them at all.\n\nHe was afraid to go forward, so he stood where he was, and the moment\nhe stood, all the ghosts became quiet, and ceased moving. Then Teig\nunderstood that it was trying to keep him from going in that they were.\nHe walked a couple of yards forwards, and immediately the whole crowd\nrushed together towards the spot to which he was moving, and they stood\nso thickly together that it seemed to him that he never could break\nthrough them, even though he had a mind to try. But he had no mind to\ntry it. He went back broken and disspirited, and when he had gone a\ncouple of hundred yards from the burying-ground, he stood again, for he\ndid not know what way he was to go. He heard the voice of the corpse in\nhis ear, saying \"Teampoll-Ron\u00e1in,\" and the skinny hand was stretched\nout again, pointing him out the road.\n\nAs tired as he was, he had to walk, and the road was neither short nor\neven. The night was darker than ever, and it was difficult to make\nhis way. Many was the toss he got, and many a bruise they left on his\nbody. At last he saw Teampoll-Ron\u00e1in from him in the distance, standing\nin the middle of the burying-ground. He moved over towards it, and\nthought he was all right and safe, when he saw no ghosts nor anything\nelse on the wall, and he thought he would never be hindered now from\nleaving his load off him at last. He moved over to the gate, but as he\nwas passing in, he tripped on the threshold. Before he could recover\nhimself, something that he could not see seized him by the neck, by\nthe hands, and by the feet, and bruised him, and shook him up, and\nchoked him, until he was nearly dead; and at last he was lifted up, and\ncarried more than a hundred yards from that place, and then thrown\ndown in an old dyke, with the corpse still clinging to him.\n\nHe rose up, bruised and sore, but feared to go near the place again,\nfor he had seen nothing the time he was thrown down and carried away.\n\n\"You, corpse up on my back,\" said he, \"shall I go over again to the\nchurchyard?\"--but the corpse never answered him. \"That's a sign you\ndon't wish me to try it again,\" said Teig.\n\nHe was now in great doubt as to what he ought to do, when the corpse\nspoke in his ear, and said \"Imlogue-Fhada.\"\n\n\"Oh, murder!\" said Teig, \"must I bring you there? If you keep me long\nwalking like this, I tell you I'll fall under you.\"\n\nHe went on, however, in the direction the corpse pointed out to him. He\ncould not have told, himself, how long he had been going, when the dead\nman behind suddenly squeezed him, and said, \"There!\"\n\nTeig looked from him, and he saw a little low wall, that was so broken\ndown in places that it was no wall at all. It was in a great wide\nfield, in from the road; and only for three or four great stones at the\ncorners, that were more like rocks than stones, there was nothing to\nshow that there was either graveyard or burying-ground there.\n\n\"Is this Imlogue-Fhada? Shall I bury you here?\" said Teig.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the voice.\n\n\"But I see no grave or gravestone, only this pile of stones,\" said Teig.\n\nThe corpse did not answer, but stretched out its long fleshless\nhand, to show Teig the direction in which he was to go. Teig went on\naccordingly, but he was greatly terrified, for he remembered what had\nhappened to him at the last place. He went on, \"with his heart in his\nmouth,\" as he said himself afterwards; but when he came to within\nfifteen or twenty yards of the little low square wall, there broke out\na flash of lightning, bright yellow and red, with blue streaks in it,\nand went round about the wall in one course, and it swept by as fast\nas the swallow in the clouds, and the longer Teig remained looking at\nit the faster it went, till at last it became like a bright ring of\nflame round the old graveyard, which no one could pass without being\nburnt by it. Teig never saw, from the time he was born, and never saw\nafterwards, so wonderful or so splendid a sight as that was. Round went\nthe flame, white and yellow and blue sparks leaping out from it as it\nwent, and although at first it had been no more than a thin, narrow\nline, it increased slowly until it was at last a great broad band, and\nit was continually getting broader and higher, and throwing out more\nbrilliant sparks, till there was never a colour on the ridge of the\nearth that was not to be seen in that fire; and lightning never shone\nand flame never flamed that was so shining and so bright as that.\n\nTeig was amazed; he was half dead with fatigue, and he had no courage\nleft to approach the wall. There fell a mist over his eyes, and there\ncame a soorawn in his head, and he was obliged to sit down upon a great\nstone to recover himself. He could see nothing but the light, and he\ncould hear nothing but the whirr of it as it shot round the paddock\nfaster than a flash of lightning. As he sat there on the stone, the\nvoice whispered once more in his ear, \"Kill-Breedya\"; and the dead man\nsqueezed him so tightly that he cried out. He rose again, sick, tired,\nand trembling, and went forwards as he was directed. The wind was cold,\nand the road was bad, and the load upon his back was heavy, and the\nnight was dark, and he himself was nearly worn out, and if he had had\nvery much farther to go he must have fallen dead under his burden.\n\nAt last the corpse stretched out its hand, and said to him, \"Bury me\nthere.\"\n\n\"This is the last burying-place,\" said Teig in his own mind; \"and the\nlittle grey man said I'd be allowed to bury him in some of them, so it\nmust be this; it can't be but they'll let him in here.\"\n\nThe first faint streak of the ring of day was appearing in the east,\nand the clouds were beginning to catch fire, but it was darker than\never, for the moon was set, and there were no stars.\n\n\"Make haste, make haste!\" said the corpse; and Teig hurried forward\nas well as he could to the graveyard, which was a little place on a\nbare hill, with only a few graves in it. He walked boldly in through\nthe open gate, and nothing touched him, nor did he either hear or see\nanything. He came to the middle of the ground, and then stood up and\nlooked round him for a spade or shovel to make a grave. As he was\nturning round and searching, he suddenly perceived what startled him\ngreatly--a newly-dug grave right before him. He moved over to it,\nand looked down, and there at the bottom he saw a black coffin. He\nclambered down into the hole and lifted the lid, and found that (as he\nthought it would be) the coffin was empty. He had hardly mounted up\nout of the hole, and was standing on the brink, when the corpse, which\nhad clung to him for more than eight hours, suddenly relaxed its hold\nof his neck, and loosened its shins from round his hips, and sank down\nwith a plop into the open coffin.\n\nTeig fell down on his two knees at the brink of the grave, and gave\nthanks to God. He made no delay then, but pressed down the coffin lid\nin its place, and threw in the clay over it with his two hands; and\nwhen the grave was filled up, he stamped and leaped on it with his\nfeet, until it was firm and hard, and then he left the place.\n\nThe sun was fast rising as he finished his work, and the first thing he\ndid was to return to the road, and look out for a house to rest himself\nin. He found an inn at last, and lay down upon a bed there, and slept\ntill night. Then he rose up and ate a little, and fell asleep again\ntill morning. When he awoke in the morning he hired a horse and rode\nhome. He was more than twenty-six miles from home where he was, and he\nhad come all that way with the dead body on his back in one night.\n\nAll the people at his own home thought that he must have left the\ncountry, and they rejoiced greatly when they saw him come back.\nEveryone began asking him where he had been, but he would not tell\nanyone except his father.\n\nHe was a changed man from that day. He never drank too much; he never\nlost his money over cards; and especially he would not take the world\nand be out late by himself of a dark night. He was not a fortnight at\nhome until he married Mary, the girl he had been in love with; and it's\nat their wedding the sport was, and it's he was the happy man from that\nday forward, and it's all I wish that we may be as happy as he was.\n\n\n\n\nTOMAUS O CAHAN AND THE GHOST.\n\n        Come hear my walking, my midnight walking,\n          A cause of dread, and a cause of dread,\n        With that corpse of faierie could get no stretching\n          Amongst the dead men, amongst the dead.\n\n        [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.]\n\n        \"Raise my dead body with no rejoicing\n          And a beef I'll give thee, a beef I'll give,\"\n\n        [TOMAUS ANSWERS.]\n\n        \"If I should settle on that condition\n          Where is the beef, and where is the beef?\"\n\n        [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.]\n\n        \"It's old Shaun Bingham and Shaun Oge Bingham\n          My sureties be, my sureties be,\n        In the crooked letter I wrote a ticket\n          To B\u00e9l-in-Assan beside the sea.\"\n\n        \"You will get a heaplet beneath the midden\n          So green and gloomy, green and gloomy,\n        Then take it with thee for thy provision\n          Beneath thy armpit--against thy journey.\"\n\n        The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,\n          In the ways of night, in the ways of night,\n        Through roads that were narrow and hard and crooked,\n          By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.\n\n        And long was the route, and the cross-track journey,\n          Through miry bogs and through dripping glooms,\n        Westward to Lugh-moy-more-na-mrauher[78]\n          Of the grass green tombs, of the grass green tombs.\n\n        [78] = great Louth of the Friars.\n\n        [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.]\n\n        \"At thy right hand is a spade for digging,\n          Behind the door post it will be found,\n        With a strong thrust, thrust; with a thrust not timid,\n          And turn the ground, and turn the ground.\"\n\n        [TOMAUS SPEAKS.]\n\n        \"At my right hand did I find the spade,\n          'Twas behind the door there, behind the door,\n        And a strong thrust downward I quickly made\n          Through the earthen floor, through the earthen floor.\"\n\n        \"I struck it strongly, I drove it down,\n          Through the upper earth, through the upper earth,\n        Till I broke the thigh of the English clown,\n          Who was sleeping there in his clay cold berth.\"\n\n        \"'A thousand pililloos,' cries the trooper,\n          'Where is my pistol that I may slay?'\n        Cries Mary O'Reilly, Lord Guido's wife,\n          'Come clear the way there, come clear the way!'\"\n\n        [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.]\n\n        \"Oro! oh Tomaus! oro! oh Tomaus!\n          Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,\n        I've a mother's relative's son in Craggan\n          And it's buried there I shall have to be.\"\n\n        On Tomaus his back was the body hoisted,\n          In the ways of night, in the ways of night,\n        Through roads that were crooked and rough and narrow\n          By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.\n\n        \"Going down of a race and in great disorder,\n          To the Craggan More, to the Craggan More,\n        I found a spade at my right hand lying\n          Behind the door there, behind the door.\"\n\n        \"I found a spade at my right hand laid,\n          Behind the door there, behind the door,\n        Two thrusts that were heavy and strong I made\n          Through the earthen floor, through the earthen floor.\"\n\n        \"'Til I broke the hip bone of Watson Harford\n          Was beneath the ground and he raised a clamour,\n        'Hubbubboo,' cried the Gowa Dhu\n          'Where is my hammer, where is my hammer.'\"\n\n        [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.]\n\n        \"Oro! oh Tomaus; uch, uch, uch, oh!\n          Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,\n        For my father's brother's son is in Derry\n          And it's buried there I shall have to be.\"\n\n        \"On reaching the place all spent and lonely\n          And I despairing, and I despairing,\n        The gates were all strongly barred before me\n          But I smote upon them with sudden daring.\"\n\n        \"Said the Mayor of the place, in his grave clothes rising,\n          In his winding sheet from his clay bed taken,\n        'Why knock so hard, each to his part;\n          Come dead awaken, come dead awaken.'\"\n\n        \"Bodies and coffins came pouring upwards\n          From the ground beneath in the pale moonlight,\n        And they ranged themselves in a raging rabble\n          On the bare wall's height, on the bare wall's height.\"\n\n        \"'A hundred pililloos!' cried they all,\n          'What is the matter, where are we hurried?'\"\n\n        [TOMAUS ANSWERS.]\n\n        \"It is one of your friends who has died and here\n          Is the place where he says that he must be buried.\n        For his kindred are here and it's well they are,\n          Then take him from me, and good's my riddance.\"\n\n        [THE GHOST ASKS.]\n\n        \"Who of his people is buried here\n          To claim admittance, claim admittance?\"\n\n        [TOMAUS ANSWERS.]\n\n        \"I know not myself of what tribe my man is\n          On the ridge of earth if I'm not a liar,\n        There's a stir and a voice in him, ask himself,\n          Of himself inquire, himself inquire.\"\n\n        The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,\n          Than a gad more tight, than a gad more tight,\n        Till he took a skreep to the Teampoll-D\u00e9muis,\n          And he found it fastened that weary night.\n\n        [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.]\n\n        \"Search for the key, you will find it lying\n          Behind the door, or upon the wall.\"\n\n        He searched for the key and he found and opened\n          And wide and silent and dark was all.\n\n        [THE CORPSE SPEAKS AGAIN.]\n\n        \"Oro, oh, Tomaus! Oro, oh, Tomaus!\n          Oh, bury me quick out of sight and sound,\n        See yonder the spade forenenst you lying,\n          And turn the ground, and turn the ground.\"\n\n        He took the spade in his hand, and quickly\n          He turned the ground so black and bare,\n        Till he broke the bones of an English bodach\n          Who had long been there, who had long been there.\n\n        \"Blood and owns, you broke my bones,\"\n          That man kept crying with teeth that chatter,\n        And then spoke Smiler, the wife of Simon,\n          \"What is the matter? What is the matter?\"\n\n        \"Where was he, or where did he pass his life,\n          That he's got no bed where he now may go?\"\n\n        [TOMAUS ANSWERS.]\n\n        \"He's there before you who knows it best.\n          You must ask him yourself, for I do not know.\"\n\n        Then Feeny arose and he took some snuff\n          And he seized an alpeen and gripped it tight,\n        And there was the slashing and noise and smashing\n          Till the morning light, till the morning light.\n\n        The Corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,\n          Like a tightened gad, like a tightened gad,\n        And he brought it up, and he brought it down,\n          And the way was long and the way was bad.\n\n        To Carrick-vic-oruis and Teampoll-Ron\u00e1in\n          And Imlogue-Fhada the corpse was hurried,\n        But in Kill-Vreedya the skreep was over\n          The corpse was buried, the corpse was buried.\n\n\n        A STICK AND A STONE ON IT,\n        AND BAD LUCK ON IT!\n\n\n\n\nPRAYER AFTER TOBACCO.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThere is at times a certain connection between the use of tobacco and\nthe solemn presence of the dead. Both snuff and tobacco for smoking are\nhanded round at wakes. Pipes and tobacco are, in fact, the principal\nportion of the equipment of the corp-house. To the present moment when\none accepts a pinch of snuff it is customary to say in Irish, \"the\nblessing of God be with the souls of your dead.\" I have heard this\na hundred times. But I never heard the tobacco prayer except once\nor twice from very old people; and, in spite of this story, I don't\nbelieve that it was ever in any way usual to say a prayer over tobacco\nexcept perhaps in some isolated parts of the country. All I can say is\nthat I have never heard it said spontaneously. This story was written\ndown word for word for me by my friend Mr. John Mac Neill from the\nrecitation of Michael Mac Rury or Rogers, from Ballycastle, in the\nCounty Mayo. The tobacco prayer[79] translated, runs as follows:--\n\n[79] For the original, see my \"Religious Songs of Connacht,\" vol. II.\np. 66.\n\n Eighteen fulls of the churchyard of Patrick, of the mantle[80] of\n Brigit, of the tomb of Christ, of the palace of Rome, of the church\n of God, be with thy soul (and with the soul of him above whose head\n was this tobacco),[81] and with the souls of the dead in Purgatory all\n together.\n\n     May not more numerous be\n     The grains of sand by the sea,\n     Or the blades of grass on the lea,\n     Or the drops of dew on the tree,\n     Than the blessings upon thy soul\n     And the souls of the dead with thee,\n     And my soul when the life shall flee.\n\n It is for God to give shelter, light, and the glory of the heavens to\n the souls of the dead of Purgatory.\n\n[80] The Mantle of Brigit is a common expression. Even in Scotland \"St.\nBride and her brat [mantle]\" is a well-known saying.\n\n[81] This obviously shows that the prayer was intended to be said at\nwakes.\n\nThe story was evidently invented with the didactic intention of\nencouraging the use of prayer, and of inculcating the truth that just\nas we ought to be thankful to God for our meals, so ought we to be\nthankful to Him for our tobacco, and for all the good things of life.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was a woman in it long ago, and she had an only son. When he came\nto age she sent him to college, and made a priest of him. After his\ncoming from the college he was a short little while at home; and he\nwas one day walking out in the garden when there came a saint [in the\nair] over his head, and spoke down to him, and told the priest that\nhe himself and all who belonged to him were damned on account of his\nmother.\n\nThe priest asked him what was the crime his mother had committed, and\nthe saint told him that she was smoking tobacco for twelve years and\nhad never said the tobacco prayer all that time.\n\n\"Bad enough!\" says the priest, \"is there anything at all down from\nheaven to set that right?\" says the priest.\n\n\"There's nothing but one thing alone,\" says he, \"and this is it. When\nyou go in to your mother tell her as I have told it to you. And unless\nshe shall be prepared to suffer the death that I'll tell you, not a\nsight of the country of heaven will your mother or anyone of her family\nsee for ever.\"\n\n\"What death is it?\" said the priest to him.\n\n\"She must let you,\" says he, \"carve every bit off her body as fine as\nsneeshin.\"\n\nThe priest went into the house and a heavy load on his heart. He sat\nupon a chair and there was a great grief to be seen in his face. His\nmother asked him what was on him, and what had happened to him since he\nwent out.\n\n\"Ah, there's nothing on me but a little weariness,\" says he, \"kindle\nthe pipe for me mother,\" says he, \"I'd like to get a blast of tobacco.\"\n\n\"I'll kindle it and welcome,\" says she, \"I thought avourneen,\" says\nshe, \"that you were not using tobacco.\"\n\n\"Ah, maybe a whiff would take this weariness off me,\" said he.\n\nTrue was the story. She put a coal in the pipe, and after smoking\nenough of the pipe herself she handed it to the priest, but she never\nsaid the prayer. And that was the reason the priest had told her to\nkindle the pipe, hoping that she would say the prayer, but she did not.\n\n\"Poor enough!\" said the priest in his own mind.\n\nThe priest told her then as the saint had told him, and she threw\nherself on her two knees praying God and shedding tears, and, said she,\n\"a hundred welcomes to the graces of God, and if it is the death that\nGod has promised me, I am satisfied to suffer it; go out now my son,\"\nsays she, \"and when I'll be ready for you to get to your work I'll call\nyou in.\"\n\nThe priest went out, fervently reading and praying to God.\n\nThe mother washed and cleaned herself. She got sheets and sharp knives\nready for the work, and when she had everything prepared she called\nthe priest to come in. And as the priest turned round on his foot, the\nbrightness came over his head again, and it said to him that all his\nfamily had found forgiveness for their sins, on account of the earnest\nrepentance that his mother was after making, and the awful death that\nshe was fully satisfied to suffer.\n\nThe priest came into the house, and a great joy in his heart, and his\nmother was stretched on the length of her back on the table, and sheets\nunder her and over her, and her two hands stretched out from her, and\nshe praying to God, and two sharp knives by her side; and, says the\npriest to her, \"Rise up, mother,\" says he, \"I have got forgiveness from\nthe King of the graces, for our sins, and I beseech you now from this\nday out, do not forget to diligently offer up the tobacco prayer every\ntime you use it.\"\n\nAnd true was the story. There was never a time from that day till\nthe day that the priest's mother went into the clay that she did not\nearnestly offer up the prayer to God and to the glorious Virgin.\n\nAnd the old people throughout the country [added the reciter, talking\nof West Mayo] are offering up that same prayer daily, and they shall do\nso as long as a word of our Irish language shall remain alive on the\ngreen island of the saints.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BU\u00cdDEACH, THE TINKER, AND THE BLACK DONKEY.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI got this story from O'Connor, who himself got it from a man of the\nname of Peter Srehane, who lived near Castlebar, Co. Mayo.\n\nIt is a melange of many curious beliefs, metempsychosis, \"St. Patrick's\nPurgatory\" (so well known over Europe in the middle ages), the purse of\nFortunatus, fairy gold changing to pebbles, etc. I printed this story\nwith a French translation in my \"Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach.\" It is the\n23rd story in that volume.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nIn times long ago there was a poor widow living near Castlebar, in the\nCounty Mayo. She had an only son, and he never grew one inch from the\ntime he was five years old, and the people called him Bu\u00eddeach[82] as a\nnick-name.\n\n[82] Or better, Buighdeach, pronounced Bweed-yach, _i.e._, Bweed-ya\nwith a guttural _ch_ (as in lo_ch_) at the end.\n\nOne day when the Bu\u00eddeach was about fifteen years of age his mother\nwent to Castlebar. She was not gone more than an hour when there came a\nbig Tinker, and a Black Donkey with him, to the door, and \"Are you in,\nwoman of the house?\" said the tinker.\n\n\"She is not,\" said the Buideach, \"and she told me not to let anyone in\nuntil she'd come home herself.\"\n\nThe Tinker walked in, and when he looked at the Buideach he said,\n\"Indeed you're a nice boy to keep anyone at all out, you could not keep\nout a turkey cock.\"\n\nThe Buideach rose of a leap and gave the big Tinker a fist between the\ntwo eyes and pitched him out on the top of his head, under the feet of\nthe Black Donkey.\n\nThe Tinker rose up in a rage and made an attempt to get hold of the\nBuideach, but he gave him another fist at the butt of the ear and threw\nhim out again under the feet of the Black Donkey.\n\nThe donkey began to bray pitifully, and when the Buideach went out to\nsee [why], the Tinker was dead. \"You have killed my master,\" said the\nBlack Donkey, \"and indeed I am not sorry for it, he often gave me a\nheavy beating without cause.\"\n\nThe Buideach was astonished when he heard the Black Donkey speaking,\nand he said, \"You are not a proper donkey.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I have only been an ass for seven years. My story is a pitiful\none. I was the son of a gentleman.\"\n\n\"Musha, then, I would like to hear your story,\" said the Buideach.\n\n\"Come in, then, to the end of the house. Cover up the Tinker in the\ndunghill, and I will tell you my story.\"\n\nThe Buideach drew the dead man over to the dunghill and covered him\nup. The Black Donkey walked into the house and said, \"I was the son of\na gentleman, but I was a bad son, and I died under a heavy load of\ndeadly sins on my poor soul; and I would be burning in hell now were\nit not for the Virgin Mary. I used to say a little prayer in honour of\nher every night, and when I went into the presence of the Great Judge\nI was sentenced to hell until His mother spoke to the Judge and He\nchanged his sentence, and there was made of me a Black Donkey, and I\nwas given to the Tinker for the space of seven years, until he should\ndie a worldly [or corporeal] death. The Tinker was a limb of the devil,\nand it was I who gave you strength to kill him; but you are not done\nwith him yet. He will come to life again at the end of seven days, and\nif you are there before him he will kill you as sure as you are alive.\"\n\n\"I never left this townland since I was born,\" said the Buideach, \"and\nI would not like to desert my mother.\"\n\n\"Would it not be better for you to leave your mother than to lose your\nlife in a state of mortal sin and be for ever burning in hell?\"\n\n\"I don't know any place where I could go into hiding,\" said the\nBuideach; \"but since it has turned out that it was you who put strength\ninto my hand to kill the Tinker, perhaps you would direct me to some\nplace where I could be safe from him.\"\n\n\"Did you ever hear talk of Lough Derg?\"\n\n\"Indeed, I did,\" said the Buideach; \"my grandmother was once on a\npilgrimage there, but I don't know where it is.\"\n\n\"I will bring you there to-morrow night. There is a monastery\nunderground on the island, and an old friar in it who sees the Virgin\nMary every Saturday. Tell him your case and take his advice in every\nsingle thing. He will put you to penance, but penance on this world\nis better than the pains of hell for ever. You know where the little\nd\u00fan[83] is, which is at the back of the old castle. If you are in the\nd\u00fan about three hours after nightfall I shall be there before you and\nbring you to Lough Derg.\"\n\n[83] Literally, \"fort,\" pronounced like \"dhoon.\" Usually a\nhalf-levelled earthen rampart.\n\n\"I shall be there if I'm alive,\" said the Buideach; \"but is there any\nfear of me that the Tinker will get up before that time?\"\n\n\"There is no fear,\" said the Black Donkey, \"unless you tell somebody\nthat you killed him. If you tell anything about him he will get up and\nhe will slay yourself and your mother.\"\n\n\"By my soul, then, I'll be silent about him,\" said the Buideach.\n\nThat evening when the Buideach's mother came home she asked him did\nanybody come to the house since she went away.\n\n\"I did not see anyone,\" said he, \"but an old pedlar with a bag, and he\ngot nothing from me.\"\n\n\"I see the track of the shoe of a horse or a donkey outside the door,\nand it was not there in the morning when I was going out,\" said she.\n\n\"It was P\u00e1idin \u00c9amoinn the fool, who was riding Big Mary O'Brien's\nass,\" said the Buideach.\n\nThe Buideach never slept a wink all that night but thinking of the\nTinker and the Black Donkey. The next day he was in great anxiety. His\nmother observed that and asked him what was on him.\n\n\"There's not a feather on me,\" says he.\n\nThat night when the mother was asleep the Buideach stole out and never\nstopped until he came to the little d\u00fan; the Black Donkey was there\nbefore him and said, \"Are you ready?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said the Buideach, \"but I am grieved that I did not get my\nmother's blessing; she will be very anxious until I come back again.\"\n\n\"Indeed she will not be anxious at all, because there is another\nBuideach at your mother's side at home, so like you that she won't know\nthat it is not yourself that's in it; but I'll bring him away with me\nbefore you come back.\"\n\n\"I am very much obliged to you and I am ready to go with you now,\" said\nhe.\n\n\"Leap up on my back; there is a long journey before us,\" said the\nDonkey.\n\nThe Buideach leapt on his back, and the moment he did so he heard\nthunder and saw great lightning. There came down a big cloud which\nclosed around the black ass and its rider. The Buideach lost the sight\nof his eyes, and a heavy sleep fell upon him, and when he awoke he was\non an island in Lough Derg, standing in the presence of the ancient\nfriar.\n\nThe friar began to talk to him, and said, \"What brought you here, my\nson?\"\n\n\"Well, then, indeed, I don't rightly know,\" said the Buideach.\n\n\"I will know soon,\" said the friar; \"come with me.\"\n\nHe followed the old friar down under the earth, until they came to a\nlittle chamber that was cut in the rock. \"Now,\" said the friar, \"go\ndown on your knees and make your confession and do not conceal any\ncrime.\"\n\nThe Buideach went down on his knees and told everything that happened\nto him concerning the Tinker and the Black Donkey.\n\nThe friar then put him under penance for seven days and seven nights,\nwithout food or drink, walking on his bare knees amongst the rocks\nand sharp stones. He went through the penance, and by the seventh day\nthere was not a morsel of skin or flesh on his knees, and he was like a\nshadow with the hunger. When he had the penance finished the old friar\ncame and said, \"It's time for you to be going home.\"\n\n\"I have no knowledge of the way or of how to go back,\" said the\nBuideach.\n\n\"Your friend the Black Donkey will bring you back,\" said the friar. \"He\nwill be here to-night; and when you go home spend your life piously and\ndo not tell to anyone except to your father-confessor that you were\nhere.\"\n\n\"Tell me, father, is there any danger of me from the Tinker?\"\n\n\"There is not,\" said the friar; \"he is an ass [himself now] with a\ntinker from the province of Munster, and he will be in that shape for\none and twenty years, and after that he will go to eternal rest. Depart\nnow to your chamber. You will hear a little bell after the darkness of\nnight [has fallen], and as soon as you shall hear it, go up on to the\nisland, and the Black Donkey will be there before you, and he will\nbring you home; my blessing with you.\"\n\nThe Buideach went to his room, and as soon as he heard the bell he went\nup to the island and his friend the Black Donkey was waiting for him.\n\n\"Jump up on my back, Buideach, I have not a moment to lose,\" said the\ndonkey.\n\nHe did so, and on the spot he heard the thunder and saw the lightning.\nA great cloud came down and enveloped the Black Donkey and its rider.\nHeavy sleep fell upon the Buideach, and when he awoke he found himself\nin the little d\u00fan at home standing in the presence of the Black Donkey.\n\n\"Go home now to your mother. The other Buideach is gone from her side;\nshe is in deep sleep and she won't feel you going in.\"\n\n\"Is there any fear of me from the Tinker?\" said he.\n\n\"Did not the blessed friar tell you that there is not,\" said the Black\nDonkey. \"I will protect you. Put your hand in my left ear, and you will\nget there a purse which will never be empty during your life. Be good\nto poor people and to widows and to orphans, and you will have a long\nlife and a happy death, and heaven at the end.\"\n\nThe Buideach went home and went to sleep, and the mother never had had\na notion that the other Buideach was not her own son.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt the end of a week after this the Buideach said to his mother, \"Is\nnot this a fair day in Castlebar?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said she.\n\n\"Well then, you ought to go there and buy a cow,\" says he.\n\n\"Don't be humbugging your mother or you'll have no luck,\" says she.\n\n\"Upon my word I am not humbugging,\" said he. \"God sent a purse my way,\nand there is more than the price of a cow in it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you did not get it honestly; tell me where did you find it?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you nothing about it, except that I found it honestly, and\nif you have any doubt about my word, let the thing be.\"\n\nWomen are nearly always given to covetousness, and she was not free\nfrom it.\n\n\"Give me the price of the cow.\"\n\nHe handed her twenty pieces of gold. \"You'll get a good cow for all\nthat money,\" said he.\n\n\"I will,\" said she, \"but I'd like to have the price of a pig.\"\n\n\"Do not be greedy, mother,\" said he; \"you won't get any more this time.\"\n\nThe mother went to the fair and she bought a milch cow, and some\nclothes for the Buideach, and when he got her gone he went to the\nparish priest and said that he would like to make confession. He told\nthe priest then everything that happened to him from the time he met\nthe Tinker and the Black Donkey.\n\n\"Indeed, you are a good boy,\" said the priest, \"give me some of the\ngold.\"\n\nThe Buideach gave him twenty pieces, but he was not satisfied with\nthat, and he asked for the price of a horse.\n\n\"I did not think that a priest would be covetous,\" said he, \"but I see\nnow that they are as covetous as women. Here are twenty more pieces for\nyou; are you satisfied now?\"\n\n\"I am, and I am not,\" said the priest. \"Since you have a purse which\nwill never be empty as long as you live, you should be able to give me\nas much as would set up a fine church in place of the miserable one\nwhich we have in the parish now.\"\n\n\"Get workmen and masons, and begin the church, and I'll give you the\nworkmen's wages from week to week,\" said the Buideach.\n\n\"I'd sooner have it now,\" said the priest. \"A thousand pieces will do\nthe work, and if you give them to me now I'll put up the church.\"\n\nThe Buideach gave him one thousand pieces of gold out of the purse, and\nthe purse was none the lighter for it.\n\nThe Buideach came home and his mother was there before him, with a fine\nmilch cow and new clothes for himself. \"Indeed, that's a good cow,\"\nsaid he; \"we can give the poor people some milk every morning.\"\n\n\"Indeed they must wait until I churn, and I'll give them the\nbuttermilk--until I buy a pig.\"\n\n\"It's the new milk you'll give the poor people,\" said the Buideach, \"we\ncan buy butter.\"\n\n\"I think you have lost your senses,\" says the mother. \"You'll want the\nlittle share of riches which God sent you before I'm a year in the\ngrave.\"\n\n\"How do you know but that I might not be in the grave before you?\" said\nhe; \"but at all events God will send me my enough.\"\n\nWhen they were talking there came a poor woman, and three children to\nthe door and asked for alms in the honour of God and Mary.\n\n\"I have nothing for ye this time,\" said the widow.\n\n\"Don't say that, mother,\" said the Buideach. \"I have alms to give in\nthe name of God and His mother Mary.\" With that he went out and gave a\ngold piece to the poor woman, and said to his mother, \"Milk the cow and\ngive those poor children a drink.\"\n\n\"I will not,\" said the mother.\n\n\"Then I'll do it myself,\" said he.\n\nHe got the vessel, milked the cow, and gave lots of new milk to the\npoor children and to the woman. When they were gone away the mother\nsaid to him, \"Your purse will be soon empty.\"\n\n\"I have no fear of that,\" said he; \"it's God who sent it to me, and\nI'll make a good use of it,\" says he.\n\n\"Have your own way,\"[84] said she; \"but you'll be sorry for it yet.\"\n\n[84] Literally, \"do you our will.\"\n\nThe next day lots of people came to the Buideach asking for alms, and\nhe never let them go away from him empty-[handed]. The name and fame of\nthe Buideach went through the country like lightning and men said that\nhe was in partnership with the good people [_i.e._ fairies]. But others\nsaid that it was the devil who was giving him the gold, and they made\na complaint against him to the parish priest. But the priest said that\nthe Buideach was a decent good boy, and that it was God who gave him\nthe means, and that he was making good use of them.\n\nThe Buideach went on well now, and he began growing until he was almost\nsix feet high.\n\nHis mother died and he fell in love with a pretty girl, and he was not\nlong until they were married.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe had not a day's luck from that time forward. His wife got to know\nthat he had a wonderful purse and nothing could satisfy her but she\nmust get it. He refused her often, but she was giving him no rest, day\nor night, until she got the purse from him at last. Then, when she got\nit, she had no respect for it. She went to Castlebar to buy silks and\nsatins, but when she opened the purse in place of gold pieces being in\nit there was nothing but pieces of pebbles. She came back and great\nanger on her; and said, \"Isn't it a nice fool you made of me giving me\na purse filled with little stones instead of the purse with the gold in\nit.\"\n\n\"I gave you the right purse,\" said he; \"I have no second one.\"\n\nHe seized the purse and opened it, and as sure as I'm telling it to\nyou, there was nothing in it but little bits of pebbles.\n\nThere was an awful grief upon the Buideach, and it was not long until\nhe was mad, tearing his hair, and beating his head against the wall.\n\nThe priest was sent for but he could get neither sense nor reason out\nof the Buideach. He tore off his clothes and went naked and mad through\nthe country.\n\nAbout a week after that the neighbours found the poor Buideach dead at\nthe foot of a bush in the little d\u00fan.\n\nThat old bush is growing in the d\u00fan yet, and the people call it the\n\"Buideach's Bush,\" but [as for himself] it is certain that he went to\nheaven.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT WORM OF THE SHANNON\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis curious conception of the greatest river in Ireland owing its\norigin to the struggles of a great worm or serpent is new to me. I got\nit from Pronisias O'Conor, who was in the workhouse in Athlone at the\ntime, and he got it himself from a man called George Curtin from near\nUrlaur[85] on the borders of Mayo and Roscommon, who had also been in\nthe workhouse. Unfortunately, after writing it down, I lost the first\nhalf of the story, which was the most interesting, and I have had to\nsupply a brief summary of it in brackets, so far as my very imperfect\nrecollection of it goes. I have quite forgotten the incidents which led\nup to the druids' prophecy and the Worm's hearing about it.\n\n[85] For this place, see the story of the \"Friars of Urlaur.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\n[The druid foretold that a man was coming to Ireland who would banish\nall the snakes, dragons and serpents. The great Ollpheist, or worm, or\nserpent, was at this time in the pool near the Arigna mountains, from\nwhich the Shannon partly takes its rise. It heard of this prophecy and\nwas greatly concerned about its future. It determined to leave Ireland\nand make his way to the sea before the man came who should have the\npower to kill or banish serpents. The man the druid had prophesied\nabout was Saint Patrick.]\n\nThe story describes the desperate efforts of the great worm to make a\nwaterway for itself by cutting away the hole in which it was enclosed.\nIt was its efforts to escape which made the river Shannon. At every\nprominent part of the Shannon its adventures are related. As it went on\nits way, working a channel for itself by which to swim out to the sea,\nit used to commit the most terrible depredations on cattle and sheep,\nand destroy the country wherever it happened to be. The adventures of\nthe worm at Jamestown, Athleague, Lanesborough and other places are\ndescribed. Near Athleague the people, led by a drunken piper called\nO'Rourke, made head against it, but it swallowed the piper at one gulp.\nThe noise of the pipes was too much for it and it threw him up again,\nafter a time, but it lost several days work at the river. After getting\nrid of the piper who had so troubled its inside it began to work hard\nto make up for the time it had lost[86] for it was greatly afraid of\nthe good and powerful man who was to come.\n\n[86] Here begins the half which I did not lose.\n\nAfter a week or so O'Rourke was blind drunk again, and he faced for the\nplace where the Great Worm had been before, but by this time it had\nworked its passage far away from that place. The piper, however, walked\ninto the river, and everyone thought that he was drowned, but one of\nthe enchanted eels was left in the hole and the eel put O'Rourke under\nenchantment too, and it was not long until they heard him playing music\nin the hole. But he never came up on land since. Only every morning and\nevening they used to be listening to him playing music in the hole, and\nfrom that day to this there is no other name on that same spot but the\nPiper's Hole. And everybody in Athlone knows the Piper's Hole as well\nto-day as the people who were alive a thousand years ago knew it.\n\nThe Great Worm went on very well until it came to the place which is\nnow Lough Ree. There was a great tribe of venemous serpents there and\nthey attacked it. Some went in front of it, others came behind it,\nothers came on each side of it. They fought for seven nights [87] and\nseven days; they made the hard ground soft and the soft ground hard.\nThey sent stones and great rocks flying more than half a mile up in the\nair. Floods of blood were running as plentiful as the water itself, and\nindeed people thought that it was the end of the world that was in it.\nThe battle went on for a month without any signs of victory on one side\nor the other, and the people of the villages round about were in great\nfear; but as the old saying puts it, every battle has an end. When the\nmost of the serpents were dead they asked the Great Worm for peace. He\ngranted that and both sides were rejoiced. The Great Worm was wounded\nand bruised and in much pain.\n\n[87] The night is usually put before the day in Irish.\n\nAfter that great battle, the Worm had to take a rest, and that gave\ngreat ease to the people of the villages, because it ate neither cow\nnor sheep nor pig for the space of three months, but it ate up all the\nserpents that it had killed in the fighting. It never left so much as\na bit of bone behind it, and the people began to think that it would\nnever claim its food off them any more. But so soon as it set to work\nagain they had to supply it with cows, sheep, and pigs once more,\nbecause it thought that this was its [lawful] wages for cutting out the\nriver for them. And everyone knows that the river did much good for the\ncountry on each side of it; and only for the Great Worm there would\nhave been no river.\n\nThe Worm worked hard and went on well until it came to the place which\nis now Lough Derg. The venemous serpents were collected before it in\nthat place and they gave it battle. If hundreds attacked it in Lough\nRee thousands attacked it in Lough Derg, and the first battle was only\nsport in comparison to this one. They attacked before, behind, and on\nevery side, and some of them made holes under its belly so that they\nmight be able to thrust it through in that place, and such a cutting\nand scalping and tearing and killing there had never been in the world\nbefore, and it's likely that there won't be again. They made the dry\nearth wet, the wet earth dry, and they sent stones and great rocks\nflying into the air quick as lightning, and God help the man one of\nthem would fall on, it was a warrant of death for him. They fought for\na month without appearance of victory on either side, and during all\nthat time the lake was red (dearg) with blood, and the old people say\nthat this is the reason it was called Loch Dearg or Derg. After a month\nof fighting the Worm gained the battle. It rose of one leap in the air,\nand came down on top of the serpents, making a mash of them, and those\nthat were not killed went off over the country.\n\nThe Worm was torn and wounded and in great pain after this hard battle,\nand had to take a long rest. But it never went in pursuit of food from\nthe people of the villages, because it ate its enough of the serpents\nevery day until the last of them was eaten by it.\n\nAs soon as its wounds were closed and it had rested, it began working\nagain, and nothing wonderful happened to it until it came to the place\nwhere the city of Limerick is to-day. In that place there was a great\ntroop of enchanted heroes near the spot where the Treaty Stone is now.\nThe warriors threatened it and told it not to come any further, but it\nchallenged them to battle. They attacked it with battle-axes and great\nclubs, and they were cutting it and beating it throughout the day until\nthey thought it was dead. Then they went away. But as soon as the sun\nwent down it came to itself again and it was as strong as it was at the\ncommencement of the battle. It came up on land and went to the castle\nof the enchanted warriors. They were asleep, and it threw down the\ncastle on top of them and killed every mother's son of them. Then it\nreturned to go in face of its work.\n\nIt went on well after leaving Limerick, for there was nothing to hinder\nit. For that reason it made the river wider in that place than in any\nother. But as soon as it got out into the sea a great whale met it and\nit had to fight a hard battle, and was nearly beaten, when a sea-maiden\ncame and helped it and they killed the whale.\n\nThe sea-maiden and the Great Worm went on side by side until they came\nto a village on the coast, where there were about three score of men in\nboats fishing. The Great Worm was very hungry and began swallowing them\ndown greedily, men and boats and all, until the sea-maiden spoke and\nsaid that it was a shame. That angered it and it attacked her, but she\nwas too clever for it. She drew out a golden comb with venom in it,\nand thrust it into the Worm's eye and blinded it out and out. Then said\nthe Worm to her, \"I would sooner be dead than alive; put a hole in my\nstomach with your scissors.\" She did that and it died in a moment.\n\nThe water was ebbing, and when it had gone out the Great Worm was left\ndead on the sand. The people of the villages round about came; they\nopened the worm, and every mother's son that he had swallowed they\nfound alive and in a heavy sleep at the bottom of their boats. The\nbones of the Great Worm remained on the shore of Bantry Bay until the\nfishermen made oars out of them. If my story is not true, there is no\nwater in the sea and no river Shannon in Ireland.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POOR WIDOW AND GRANIA O\u00cf.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story I got from Pronisias O'Conor when he was in the workhouse\nin Athlone, and he had it from one Rose Grennan or in Irish, R\u00f3ise nic\nGhrianain, from a parish near Athlone.\n\nThis story is chiefly remarkable for the introduction of Grainne Oigh,\nwhich seems to mean Grania the virgin. But who was Grainne? My narrator\ncould tell me nothing about her. She occurs in the story of \"William of\nthe Tree\" in my \"Beside the Fire,\" and Alfred Nutt has an interesting\nnote on her at p. 194, but it throws no light upon the subject. There,\nas here, she appears as a beneficent being, very pious, powerful and\nmysterious, and able to work miracles. The town of Moate, in Co.\nWestmeath, is called in Irish the Moat of Grainne \u00d3g, who is said to\nhave been a Munster princess, very good and very wise, and there seems\nto have been some body of legend connected with her, alluded to by\nCaesar Otway in his \"Tour in Connaught,\" p. 55. See also Joyce's \"Names\nof Places,\" vol. I, p. 270. Whether Grainne \u00d3g and Grainne Oigh are the\nsame person seems doubtful, but I should think it very probable, and\nthe appellation of \"Oigh\" may have tended to some confusion with Muire\nOigh. Except in these two stories, one from O'Conor and the other from\na man named Blake, near Ballinrobe, I have never met or heard or read\nof any allusion to this being. But the town of Athlone, being half in\nWestmeath, the county with which Grainne \u00d3g is associated, and the very\nold woman who told this story being from the borders of that county,\nwould suggest that there was some connection between the mysterious\nbeing and the princess from whom Moate is said to have got its name.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nLong, long ago there was a poor Widow living in the County Clare, and\nshe had seven children, and the eldest was only ten years old. It was a\nChristmas night that was in it, and she had not a morsel to give them\nto eat, and since she hadn't, she prayed God to take them to Himself.\n\nIt was not long after her prayer until the door opened and Grania O\u00ef[88]\nwalked in and two young women after her, carrying a big dish filled\nwith fine food. They were all clad in raiment as white as mountain\nsnow. The Widow welcomed the ladies, and she said, \"Perhaps ye would\ngive some relief to a poor family that is fasting all the day.\"\n\n[88] In Irish \"Grainne Oigh,\" pronounced like \"Grania O-ee.\"\n\n\"God has sent us in answer to your prayer to give you relief at the\npresent time, and to ask if you are ready and submissive to part with\nthe whole of your family.\"\n\n\"I am not,\" said the Widow.\n\n\"Did you not pray to God to take them to Himself a short while ago?\"\n\n\"Indeed, I don't know,\" said she, \"I was half mad at seeing them\nfasting, but if God has a place for myself along with my family I am\nobedient and ready to go.\"\n\nThen Grania O\u00ef laid down the dish upon the table and said to the Widow,\n\"Eat that, yourself and your family, and when it's eaten I'll come\nagain.\" Then they went out and it was not long till the Widow and her\nfamily began eating, and when they were satisfied, still the food on\nthe dish was no less than when they began to take from it.\n\nThey were eating at that dish and it never emptied until the evening\nbefore Good Friday. That evening the Widow and her family were without\nbite or sup and they were hoping for Grania O\u00ef and the two young women.\nBut when the darkness of the night was falling a tall thin man walked\nin. He was dressed in a gentleman's garb. The Widow gave him a chair,\nand asked him to sit down and take a rest.\n\n\"I have no time to sit down,\" said he, \"I have lots of business to do.\nYou yourself and your family are without bite or sup.\"\n\n\"We are,\" said she, \"but I hope for succour soon.\"\n\n\"Have no hope in the promise of a woman of beauty or you will be\ndeceived. The woman who gave you the dish is participator with the\nfairies, she is trying to get your family from you; but pay her no\nattention.\"\n\nThere was great fear on the poor Widow, and she said, \"It was a\nmessenger from God who brought us the dish.\"\n\n\"Believe me they were fairies who brought you the dish and that it\nwas fairy food that was in it,\" said the thin man, \"and if you accept\nanother dish from her, yourself and your family will be in Knock Ma[89]\namongst the fairies; have you ever heard of that place?\"\n\n[89] Cnoc Meadha, generally called in English \"Castlehacket,\" a hill\nto the west of Tuam, Co. Galway, reputed to be the headquarters of all\nthe Tuatha de Danann and shee-folk of Connacht. There dwell Finvara and\nNuala, king and queen of the fairies of that province. Many stories are\ntold about it.\n\n\"Indeed I have,\" said she; \"but we shall have no more to do with the\nfairies. I and my family would sooner die of the hunger than accept a\nbite or sup from her again.\"\n\n\"But don't you know that she has power over you on account of all the\nfairy food you yourself and your family have eaten this four months,\nand now unless ye take my advice ye shall be lost.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the Widow, \"it is a friend who would give me good\nadvice.\"\n\nNow it was the Devil who was talking to the Widow; He had come to put\ntemptation on her. \"Well,\" said he, \"you have holy water in the house.\"\n\n\"I have,\" said she.\n\n\"I can tell you that it is fairy water, and that there is no virtue in\nit. Go now and throw it in the fire.\" The woman did so. But no sooner\ndid she do so than there arose a blue flame, and the house was filled\nwith smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said,\n\"Well, one part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw\nit in the fire, and they will have no power over you at all. And then\nas soon as you are free from them I will give yourself and your family\na means of livelihood, and, better than that, yourself and your family\nshall have great riches if you do as I shall tell you.\"\n\n\"I don't like to burn my cross, it was my mother who gave it to me,\"\nsaid the Widow.\n\nThen he pulled out a purse filled with gold and silver, and said, \"I\nhad this purse to give you if you had accepted my advice, and not that\nalone, but yourself and your family would have had a long life.\"\n\nGreat greed for riches came upon the poor Widow, and she said. \"I ask\nyour pardon, noble sir, I am submissive to you in every thing. I myself\nand my family are under your control.\"\n\nAt that he handed her the purse and said: \"Throw the cross into the\nfire.\" She did so, but instead of its burning there began a stream of\nblood to come from it. \"Ha! ha!\" said he, \"look at the fairy blood.\nHere! put your name to this paper. I must give my master an account\nthat I have given you the purse and that you are freed from the\nShee-folk, and under my control.\"\n\nThe poor woman put her hand to the pen and made her mark, because she\ndid not know how to write or read, and she did not know what was in the\npaper. He held the paper on the moment to the fire till it was dry, and\nhe went out leaving the cross in the fire and blood running from it. As\nsoon as he was gone the Widow took up the cross. The blood ceased and\nthere was no sign of burning upon it. She was greatly astonished and\ndid not know what she would do.\n\nWhile she was thinking of the wonderful things that had happened she\nheard a voice calling her. When she went to the door she saw Grania O\u00ef\nand two maidens carrying a great dish filled with food.\n\n\"We don't want any fairy food,\" said the Widow. \"We have plenty of gold\nand silver. Go to Knock Ma, and don't come near us any more.\"\n\nGrania O\u00ef thought that the Widow had lost her senses, and she said: \"In\nGod's name have sense, and in Christ's name come here till I talk with\nyou.\" She did not wish to come, but some power drew her forward until\nshe stood in front of Grania O\u00ef, and she shaking from head to foot.\n\n\"What happened to you since I was here before, and where did you get\nthe gold and the silver?\"\n\n\"A princely [a generous] man came to me this evening, and said that you\nwere a fairy woman, and that you were giving myself and my family fairy\nfood in order to get us into your power. He told me to throw the holy\nwater into the fire, and when I did that there rose a blue flame out of\nit, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the\nsmoke cleared away he said, 'One part of the fairies' power is gone.\nYou have a cross, throw it into the fire and they won't have any power\nat all over you; and when you're freed from them I'll give yourself and\nyour family a means of livelihood, and better than that, you and your\nfamily will have great riches.' I told him that I did not like to burn\nmy cross, that it was my mother who gave it to me, but he said, 'I had\nthis purse for you if you had taken my advice, and not only that, but\nthat I and my family would have a long life.' Greed for riches came\nover me, and I begged his pardon, saying that I would be submissive to\nhim in everything, and that I and my family were under his control.\nWith that he handed me the purse and said, 'Throw the cross into the\nfire.' I did so, but in place of burning, a stream of blood began to\nflow out of it. He laughed and said that it was fairy blood that was\nin it. Then he gave me a paper to put my name to, because he had an\naccount to give his master that he had given me the purse--and that I\nwas free from the Shee.[90] I cannot write or read, but I made a mark\nwith the pen. When he went away I took up the cross and it was not\nburnt.\"\n\n[90] This is the Irish word translated by \"fairy,\" in Irish \"_sidhe_\":\na common diminutive is _sidhe\u00f3g_ \"shee-ogue.\"\n\n\"I put the cross of Christ between myself and you, accursed woman. You\nhave sold your soul and the souls of your family to the devil for the\nsake of gold and silver, and now you are lost for ever, and you have\nshed the blood of Christ before the day of His crucifixion. Go to your\nparish priest as soon as you can and tell him everything, and how it\nhappened, and tell him that it was Grania O\u00ef who sent you to him. If\nyou yourself are lost your family is not lost for there is no deadly\nsin upon them.\"\n\nThe Widow went into the house and took out the purse, and asked, \"What\nshall I do with this gold and silver?\"\n\n\"Throw it into the fire and say at the same time, 'I renounce the devil\nand all his works.'\"\n\nAs soon as she threw the purse into the fire and said the words, the\nDevil came into her presence and said, \"You cannot renounce me. You are\nmine in spite of priest, bishop, or pope. I have the bargain under your\n[own] hand.\"\n\n\"In the name of Jesus go away from me,\" said the Widow; and when he\nheard that name he was obliged to go.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Widow went to the priest and told him the story. \"I am afraid,\"\nsaid he, \"that you are lost; but at all events I'll write to the bishop\nabout you. Go home now and begin doing penance. I'll send for you when\nI get an answer from the bishop.\"\n\nWhen she came home she found the family eating out of a great dish\nwhich Grania O\u00ef had left with them; but the eldest of them said to her\nnot to put her hand in the dish, that this was the lady's order, but\nthat when she should be in want of food they would give it to her.\n\nAt the end of a week the priest sent for her, and said that he had got\nan answer from the bishop to say that he would not be able to have any\nhand in the case until he would get an order from the Pope; but he bade\nher to make repentance day and night.\n\nAt the end of a month after this the priest sent for her again, and\nsaid, \"I have a letter from the Pope to say that there is only one way\nto save you. Put off your shoes and go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg.\nDon't sleep the second night in any house, and only eat one meal in the\ntwenty-four hours, make the journey of the cross seven times in the day\nand seven times in the night for seven days. Take no bread with you,\nand neither gold nor silver, but ask alms in the name of God, and when\nyou come back again I shall tell you what it is proper for you to do.\nHere is a piece of the true cross to keep the Devil from you. Go now in\nthe name of God.\"\n\nWhen the widow came home Grania O\u00ef was before her at the door, and\nasked what the priest had said to her. She told her everything that she\nhad to do. \"Go without delay,\" said Grania Oi, \"and I'll take care of\nyour family until you come back.\"\n\nThe Widow went away. She endured thirst and hunger, cold and bitter\nhardship. But she did everything as the Pope had ordered. At the end\nof three months she came back and it was scarcely her own family\nrecognised her, she was so withered and thin.\n\nIt was not long until the priest came and said, \"You have a pilgrimage\nto make to Croagh Patrick, and you must walk on your knees from the\nfoot to the top of the Reek,[91] and no doubt you will see a messenger\nfrom God on the top of the Reek, and you will obtain knowledge from\nhim. Go, now, or perhaps you would be late.\" The Widow departed,\nalthough her feet were cut and the blood coming from them. She went on\nher knees at the foot of the Reek, and she was two days and two nights\ngoing to the top of it. When she sat down a faintness came over her and\nshe fell into a sleep.\n\n[91] Croagh Patrick or Reek Patrick is one of the highest mountains in\nConnacht. It is 2,510 feet high and difficult to climb. St Patrick is\nreputed to have driven all the serpents in Ireland into the sea down\nits slopes. It has always been a noted pilgrimage.\n\nWhen she awoke Grania O\u00ef was by her side. She handed her a paper and\nsaid, \"Look! is that the paper you put your hand to when you sold\nyourself and your family?\"\n\n\"I see that it is,\" said the poor Widow. \"I give a thousand thanks and\nlaudations to God that I am saved.\"\n\nWhen she came home the priest came and said Mass in the house. The\nWidow went to confession. She herself and her seven children received\nthe body of Christ from the priest, and at the end of half an hour she\nherself and her family were dead, and there is no doubt but that they\nall went to heaven, and that we may go to the same place!\n\n\n\n\nTHE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis is a story which used to be common in West Roscommon and East\nMayo. I often heard it when I was young. The following version was\nwritten down and given me by my friend Mr. John Rogers [Se\u00e1ghan O\nRuaidhri] about five miles away from the place where I used to be told\nthe same story. He published it in 1900 in \"Irishleabhar na Gaedhilge.\"\nThere is another story also about a gambler who played cards with the\ndevil.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nLong ago there used to be a king over every kind of trade and special\nsociety and it was the \"Gambler of the Branch\"[92] who was king over\nall the gamblers and players, and he was so skilful that nobody on the\nface of the earth could win a match against him in playing cards or any\nother game.\n\n[92] \"To bear alway the branch,\" is the Irish expression for having\nfirst place, or in English, carrying off the palm.\n\nAt last, and on account of this, he grew lonesome and dissatisfied,\nand he said that since he was not able to get a game with a man of\nthis world that he would go to try it in the other world. He went off,\nwalking away, and he never stopped of that journey until he came to\nthe great doors of hell, and knocked stoutly at them. \"Who is there?\"\nsaid the porter.\n\n\"I am; I the Gambler of the Branch from the upper world,\" said he, \"and\nI am seeking to play a game of cards with the Arch-demon.\"\n\nThe Arch-demon came, and he said, \"What stake have you to play for with\nme, for I only play for people's souls?\"\n\n\"I'll play my own soul against one of these that you have in bondage in\nthis place.\"\n\n\"I'll bet it,\" says the Demon.\n\nThe Gambler won the first game, and so he did most of the others, until\nhe had gained every soul in the place but one, and the Devil would not\nstake that one no matter how hard the Gambler urged him. He gathered\nthem together then, but when the poor soul that was left behind saw\nthem departing it let a screech out of it that would split a stone, but\nthere was no help for it.\n\nHe drove them before him then, like a flock of sheep, and said, \"What\nwill be done with ye[93] now?\"\n\n[93] Anglo-Irish very sensibly uses \"ye\" for the plural of thou in all\ncases, \"you\" having become ambiguous.\n\n\"O friend, take us to heaven, take us to heaven,\" said they.\n\n\"It's as good for me, since ye are here,\" says he, and he drove them\naway with him until he came to the great white gates of heaven.\n\nThe gates opened and they were welcomed, and the souls went in. And the\nporter-saint said to the Gambler, \"Won't yourself come in?\"\n\n\"If I get leave to bring in the cards, I'll go,\" said the Gambler; \"but\nif I don't, I won't.\"\n\n\"You won't get that permission,\" said the saint, \"but leave them on the\nwall here outside the gate, and go in, till you see those souls counted\nin their place. And you can come out after a while for the cards if you\nwish.\"\n\nThe Gambler did that. He went in, and has forgotten ever since to come\nout for them.\n\nThat is the way the Gambler of the Branch went to heaven, and that\nis the reason that when a slow messenger delays in the house he has\nbeen sent to with a message, people say, \"You forgot to return as the\nGambler of the Branch did.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI have often heard versions of the following story. This particular\none was written down in Irish by my friend Domhnall O Fotharta of\nConnemara, who printed it in his \"Siamsa an gheimhridh\" in 1892.\n\nMy friend the O'Cathain tells me that the reason the dardaol\n(pronounced in Mid-Connacht dhardheel) is burnt, is because if you\nstamp on it with your foot, or kill it with a stone or a stick, then\nthe next time your foot or the stick or the stone strikes a person or\nan animal it will give rise to a mortal injury. That is the reason the\ndardaol is taken up on a shovel and put in the fire, or else destroyed\nby a hot coal.\n\nThe scientific name of the dardaol is \"ocypus olens,\" in English he\nis sometimes called the \"devil's coach-horse.\" He is really a useful\ncreature and very voracious. He preys on most insects injurious to\nfarm crops. He is very fearless and assumes an attitude of attack when\ninterfered with, opening his jaws and turning his long tail over his\nback as if to sting. This looks very formidable and intimidating, but\nthe fact is that, in common with the rest of the beetle tribe, he has\nno sting.\n\nI had the good fortune to twice see a dardaol kill a worm. On each\noccasion the creature sprang into the air in a manner I could not have\nconceived possible, and came down on the uphappy worm. It never loosed\nits hold, but held on for nearly ten minutes, the worm struggling and\nswelling all the time, until it finally appeared to be dead. One of\nthese dardaols was quite small, not much over three-quarters of an\ninch, but the other one was very large, an inch and a half or so, and\nthe worm it killed might have been 3\u00bc or 4 inches long.\n\nThe ciar\u00f3g or keerogue is one of the common species of ground beetles\nor \"carabus,\" probably \"violaceus.\" He is a large active insect,\nusually called a \"clock\" in Anglo-Irish. \"One keerogue knows another,\"\nis a common Irish proverb. He is about an inch in length.\n\nThe Prumpolaun [priompoll\u00e1n] is the large common dung beetle,\n\"geotrupes stercorarius.\" It is the heavy, slow-flying beetle, which at\ndusk flies about searching for dirty places to deposit its eggs, and as\nits weight and short body render it difficult for it to steer, it is\napt to strike the wayfarer in the face. It is the \"shard-born beetle\"\nof the poet.\n\nIn the south of Ireland the dardaol is generally known as dearg-a-daol,\nand in the Anglo-Irish of Connacht he is called a \"crocodile.\" There\nare other allusions to this intimidating insect in this book. Its dull\nblack colour and threatening movements have made the little creature\nan object of unmerited hatred and superstition in many other countries\nbesides Ireland.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nAt the time that Jesus was flying from those who were betraying Him it\nchanced that He passed through a field in which was a sower who was\nsowing wheat-seed. His disciples said to the sower that if any man were\nto ask him \"if Jesus out of Nazareth had passed that way,\" he was to\ngive them this answer: \"He passed through this field the time we were\nsowing the seed in it [but not since.]\"\n\nThe next day the farmer went out to look at his field for fear the\nbirds of the air might be doing any damage [to the grain he had sowed\nthe day before]. But astonishment seized him when he beheld the wheat\n[he had sowed the day before] ripe and yellow and of the colour of\ngold, and fit to be reaped.\n\nThe farmer called on his m\u00eahill [troop of workmen] to bring sickles\nwith them and cut the wheat. And while they were cutting it it chanced\nthat the spies came through it. They asked the man whose the field was,\nwhether he had seen Jesus out of Nazareth going that way. The farmer\nanswered them and told them what he had been bidden to tell: \"He went\nthrough this field when we were sowing the wheat that we are reaping\nto-day.\"\n\nThe keerogue put his head out of a hole and said \"in\u00e9, in\u00e9,[94]\nyesterday! yesterday!\" to let them know that Jesus had gone past the\nday before.\n\n[94] Pronounce in-ya\u00e9.\n\nAs they were talking with the keerogue, the dhardheel put his head out\nof another hole and said, \"g\u00e9r! g\u00e9r! g\u00e9r!\" \"sharp! sharp, sharp,\" three\ntimes over, to make them feel that if they followed Jesus sharply they\nwould lay hold of Him.\n\n\"O vo, vo! boiling and burning and fire on you,\" said the prumpolaun,\nfor he was afraid that the spies might understand the words that were\nsaid to them, and that they might follow Jesus sharply to lay hold of\nHim.\n\nIt is a fashion still amongst the people of West Connacht when a\ndhardheel comes into any house to run for the tongs, take a red coal\nand blow it, and lay it on the dhardheel to burn it, saying at the same\ntime, \"the sins of the day, of my life, and of my seven ancestors on\nyou.\"\n\nWhen they get hold of a keerogue the head is cut off it and they say\nthe same words that it said itself, \"in\u00e9! in\u00e9\"! while cutting the head\noff it. But nothing bad is done to the prumpolaun on account of the\npity it had for our Saviour when He was flying from the Jews.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LADY OF THE ALMS.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis was a story told by Michael S. Seoidhigh or Joyce from Turlogh\nMore, Co. Galway, for the Oireachtas many years ago.\n\nThe form of the story is obviously corrupt and confused. Why should the\nwoman tell her experiences to the voice above her head. There can be\nlittle doubt that it was the voice who directed her and that when she\nhad come home, chastened and enlightened, she then told the story as it\nis here. Either that, or it is the fragment of a longer story in which\nboth a strange man and the supernatural voice each played a part.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nThere was once a lady, and there never was such an almsgiver as she\nwas. When her master used to be at home she would go upstairs, and when\nshe had no other way of giving she would take the inside garment off\nher own body and hand it out to the poor people.\n\nShe had three sons and one of them died. He was one and twenty years\nold when he died. After that she was greatly angered with the Son of\nGod.\n\nIt was not long after that until another son went, who was twenty-two\nyears old. And a great trouble fell upon her after their both dying.\n\nTwo years after that the third son died on her.\n\nShe went away then [half crazed]. She got a bag and began asking alms\n[like any beggar]. She spent the day going [on her quest] until night\ncame on, and she never found house or wattled-shelter, under which she\nmight put her head. She heard a voice above her, and she wondered.\n\"What has sent you here?\" said the voice, \"methinks you had no cause to\ntake up with misery were it not your own senselessness.\"\n\n\"I had not,\" said she, \"but I think I never did anything against the\nSon of God, and He has taken from me a son who was twenty-one years\nold, a son as nice as there was in the parish. Well I did not half mind\nthat--the Son of God's taking him from me--until a year from that day\nHe took the second son from me. Two years from that day the third son\nwas taken from me, and then I went and took a bag with me and said that\nI would never again do another day's service to God. I was [always] so\ngood to the Son of God and the glorious Virgin that I never thought\nthat He would put such punishment upon me. But He put such punishment\non me that I went looking for alms. Away [from my home] I went and\nproceeded to look for alms, and I never met house or wattled-shelter. A\nman came to me before you [came] and he said to-me, 'What has brought\nyou here?' I told him that the Son of God had taken my three children\nfrom me. 'Go in,' said he, 'into yonder house in which you see the\nlight?' I went in, and what should I see there but a corpse and three\nlighted candles. I remained there watching the body and plenty of grief\nand fear on me. At the hour of midnight a slumber of sleeping fell upon\nme, for I was hungry and troubled. When I awoke out of the sleep I\nfound food and drink and everything I desired laid out before me. I ate\nand drank my enough. After that I fell asleep, and when I awoke there\nwas nothing there but a bare field, and my bag laid under my head. I\narose and stood up and threw the bag over my shoulders and turned back\nagain, and the same man met me a second time. 'Where did you spend the\nnight?' said he. 'I spent it watching a corpse,' said I. 'Did you get\nyour enough to eat and drink?' 'I did,' said I. 'Why did you take up\nwith misery?' 'Well I did take up with misery,' said I, 'I had a son\nwho was twenty-one years old and he was taken from me. A year from that\nday the second son was taken from me, and two years from that day the\nthird son was taken. I went off then and I said that I would not do one\nmorsel of God's rules any more.'\n\n'Go home, now,' said the man, 'God was so good to you that He did not\ndesire you to find shame or scandal. That first son that you had--he\nwas to have been hanged [if he had lived] for slaying a man. And the\nsecond son, he was to have been banished far away to an island in the\nsea for stealing cattle [had he lived]. And the third son--a woman was\nto have sworn against him that he was the father of her child, although\nhe never had anything, good or bad, to do with her. Go home now and\nmind your own business. God had so much consideration for you that He\ndid not wish such pain to come down on you or your children, since you\nwere yourself so good to the poor. Those [three sons] shall be three\ncandles before you, and the three don't know which of them will arrange\nyour bed under you in the Heaven of God.'\"\n\nAccording to what authors say, there are no other four who [now] enjoy\ngreater pleasure and happiness than they!\n\n\n\n\nST. PATRICK AND HIS GARRON.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThis story of St. Patrick I got from Pronisias O'Conor. It seems to\nhave a certain affinity with the story of Crom Dubh (which see). St.\nPatrick does not play a very desirable part in this tale. He uses his\nprivate knowledge of his garron's capacity as a weight-bearer to the\ndetriment of his neighbour, the story-teller drawing no distinction\nbetween what was legal and what was morally equitable!\n\nThe story of the serpent's candle must be old and well-known, for it\nis alluded to in the widely-circulated poem the \"Dirge of Ireland,\"\nby O'Connell, said to have been a Bishop of Kerry. Talking of St.\nPatrick's exploits he says it was he who \"[uncial: mh\u00fach coinneal na\ncarraige le na rm\u00e9rdeadh,]\" \"who quenched the candle of the Rock by his\nnod.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\nWhen Saint Patrick came to Ireland to kindle the light of Grace in this\nisland, many troubles were coming upon him. The island was filled with\nsnakes, north, south, east and west, but it was God's will that Patrick\nshould put them under foot.\n\nWhen he came to West Connacht he had a servant whose name was Fintan, a\npious and faithful man. One lay when he was drawing towards the Reek,\nand the demons running away before him in fear, it chanced that Fintan\nwas travelling in front of the saint, and the serpents came round him\nand killed him. When the saint came he found Fintan dead on the road.\nHe was grieved, but he went on his knees and prayed to God to bring\nhis servant to life again. No sooner had he his prayers finished than\nFintan rose up as well as ever he was. Patrick gave thanks to God, and\nsaid, \"In God's name we will set up a church here as a sign of the\ngreat power of God, and we will call it Achaidh Cobhair.\"[95]\n\n[95] _i.e._, Field of Help. This is folk etymology. Now Aughagower, in\nMayo.\n\nThe saint bought a garron or nag for carrying stones, and he blessed\nit; for no burden had ever been laid upon it that it was not able to\ncarry. Then he got workmen, masons and carpenters, and began to found\nthe church. After a while the men began clamouring that they had\nnothing to eat. There was great famine and scarcity in the country that\nyear. Meal was so scarce that few people had any to spare, or to sell,\neither for gold or silver.\n\nThere was a man named Black Cormac living near the place. He had the\nfull of a barn of bags of meal. The saint took the men and the garron\nwith him one morning to the house of Black Cormac, and he inquired\nhow much would he be asking for as much meal as the garron would be\nable to carry on his back. Cormac looked at the garron and said \"so\nmuch\"--naming his price. \"It's a bargain,\" said the saint, handing him\nmoney down. The men went into the barn and brought out a great bag\nand set it on the garron's back. Cormac said that it would break the\ncreature's back. \"Never mind,\" said the saint, \"keep packing bags on\nhim until I tell you to stop.\" They put bag after bag on him until they\nhad a pile as big as a small house. \"Drive on now,\" says the saint.\nThe garron went off as readily and quickly as though it had only one\nbag. There was great anger on Black Cormac, and he said, \"My share of\ntrouble on ye, ye have me destroyed out and out.\" There was amazement\nupon every person who saw the garron and the load that was on him.\n\nA short time after this the workmen asked the saint for meat, for they\nwere working very hard. Some of them said that they heard that Black\nCormac had a bull to sell cheap. The saint sent for Cormac, and asked\nhim how much would he be wanting for the bull. Now it was a savage bull\nwho had killed many people, and since Connac hated the saint with a\ngreat hatred he hoped the bull would kill him, and he told him, \"You\ncan have the bull for nothing if you go yourself for him.\" \"I'm very\nthankful to you,\" said the saint, \"I'll go for him in the evening when\nI'll have my work done.\"\n\nThat evening the saint went to Black Cormac's house and asked him to\nshow him the field where the black bull was. He was greatly delighted\nand said, \"Follow me; the walk is not a long one.\" He brought the saint\ndown to a boreen, and showed him the bull in the field and said to him,\n\"Take him with you now if you can.\" The saint went into the field, and\nwhen the bull saw him it raised its head and tail in the air and came\ntowards him in anger. He raised his crozier and made the sign of Christ\nbetween himself and the bull. The beast lowered his head and his tail\nand followed the saint as quietly as a lamb.\n\nWhen the saint came home he killed the bull and told the men, \"Take the\nflesh with ye, but leave the skin and the bones.\" They took the flesh\nwith them and ate it.\n\nA week after that Black Cormac came to the saint and said, \"I hear\npeople saying that you are an honest man, but I know that you have done\nme a great wrong.\" \"How so?\" said the saint. \"About my meal and my\nbull,\" said he. \"I gave you your own bargain for the meal, and as for\nyour bull, you can have it back if you wish it.\"\n\n\"How could I get it back, and it eaten by you and your workmen?\" said\nBlack Cormac.\n\nThe saint called for Fintan and told him, \"Bring me the skin and bones\nof the bull.\" He brought them to him and he prayed over them, and in a\nmoment the bull leapt up as well as ever he was. \"Now,\" said the saint,\n\"take your bull home with you.\"\n\nBlack Cormac was greatly surprised, and when he went home he told the\nneighbours that it was an enchanter the saint was, and that his own\nbull was a blessed bull, and that it was proper that the people should\nworship it. They believed that, and they said that they would come on\nSunday morning.\n\n[Illustration: ST. PATRICK PRAYS OVER THE SKIN OF THE BULL]\n\nThe saint heard what Cormac had done, and he threatened him saying\nnot to lead the people astray from the true faith that he himself was\nteaching them; but Black Cormac would not listen to him. On Sunday\nmorning some of the people gathered along with him to worship the bull,\nand Black Cormac was the first to go into the field to set an example,\nand he went to prostrate himself in presence of the bull, but the\nbeast came and put his two horns under him behind, and tossed him up in\nthe air so high that when he came to the ground he was dead. The people\nremember that, still, in West Connacht, as Cormac Dubh's Sunday.\n\nWhen Saint Patrick finished his church he said Mass in it, and after\nthat he faced for the Reek, for many of the serpents had gone up that\nhill out of fear of the saint. For that reason he followed them and\nfound that they were up on the top of the Reek.\n\nWhen he came to the bottom he dug a great hole, and he went up on the\nReek and drove the serpents down. They fell into the hole and were all\ndrowned but two. Those two escaped from him. One of them went into a\nhole in a great rock near the Mouth of the Ford[96] in Tirawley, and\nwrought great havoc amongst the people.\n\n[96] Ballina, Co. Mayo.\n\nEvery night when the sun would be going down this serpent used to light\na candle, and anybody who would see the light used to fall dead. The\npeople called this serpent Serc\u00edn, and the rock is to be seen to this\nday, and it is called Carrig-Serc\u00edn. The saint followed this serpent.\n\nHe and his servant, Fintan, came to a little village near\nCarrig-Serc\u00edn, and the saint asked a widow for lodgings for himself and\nhis servant. \"I'll give you that,\" said she, \"but I must close my door\nbefore set of sun.\" \"Why so?\" said the saint. \"There is a serpent in a\nhole of a rock out in the sea; he lights a candle every evening before\nsunset, and anybody who sees that light falls dead. He has great\ndestruction made amongst the people.\"\n\n\"Have you a candle in the house?\" said the saint. \"Indeed I have not,\"\nsaid she. \"Have you the makings of a candle,\" said the saint. \"No,\"\nsaid she; \"but I have dry rushes.\"\n\nThen the saint drew out a knife and opened Fintan's stomach and took\na bit of lard out of it, and gave it to the woman of the house, and\ntold her to make a candle. She did as he had directed, and when the\ncandle was made the saint lit it and stood in the mouth of the door.\nIt was not long until the serpent lit his candle, but no sooner was it\nlit than it fell dead. The people thanked the saint greatly, and he\nexplained to them the mighty power and the love of God, and baptized\nthem all.\n\nWhen the other serpent escaped St. Patrick, it never stopped until it\nwent in on a little island that was in the north of the country. The\nname of this serpent was Bol\u00e1n M\u00f3r, or Big Bolaun. He was as big as\na round tower. St. Patrick pursued Bol\u00e1n; but when he came as far as\nthe lake he had no boat to take him to the island. He stripped off his\nclothes, and with his crozier in his hand he leapt into the water and\nbegan swimming to the island.\n\nWhen the serpent saw the saint coming to him he took to the water,\nand when he came as far as the saint he opened his mouth, and, as\nsure as I'm telling it, he swallowed the saint. Bol\u00e1n M\u00f3r had a great\nwide stomach, and when the saint found himself shut up there he began\nstriking on every side with his crozier, and Bol\u00e1n M\u00f3r began to throw\na flood of blood out of his mouth, until the water of the lake was\nred (dearg), and there is no name on the lake from that day to this\nbut Loch Dearg. The saint was beating Bol\u00e1n M\u00f3r with the crozier until\nhe killed him. Then he made a hole in his side and came out, and drew\nBol\u00e1n M\u00f3r's body to land after him.\n\nThere was wonder and great joy on the people of the villages round\nabout, because neither man, beast, nor bird had come to the lake since\nBol\u00e1n came there but he had swallowed down into his big stomach, and it\nwas great good for them he to be dead.\n\nThe next day the saint got a boat, and he and Fintan and a number of\nthe people from the villages went to the island. St. Patrick blessed\nthe little island, and it was not long until a number of pious men came\nand cut out [the site of] a monastery on the island, and from that\ntime to the present, good people go on a pilgrimage to that blessed\nisland.[97]\n\n[97] _i.e._, Lough Derg.\n\nSt. Patrick remained for a time amongst the people near Loch Derg\nteaching and baptising them. And as soon as some of them were able to\nteach the others he returned to Aughagower. While the saint had been\naway from them some of them had fallen into unbelief, but so soon as he\ncame back they returned to the true faith of St. Patrick and never lost\nit more. Many people also came to the saint seeking to buy the little\ngarron from him; but he would not sell it.\n\nOne day the king who was over Connacht at that time came and said, \"I\nhear you have a wonderful garron, and that he is able to carry a heavy\nload.\"\n\n\"He is a good garron,\" said the saint, \"no load has failed him since I\nbought him, and I wouldn't like to part with him.\"\n\n\"I'll give you as much gold as he will be able to carry on his back in\none load in one day from rise of sun until it sets. It is thirty miles\nfrom my castle to this place and he must do the journey in one day.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you have not as much gold in the house as the garron can\ncarry,\" said the saint.\n\n\"If I haven't,\" said the king, \"I'll give you as much as will found\nthree churches for you, and you'll have your garron, too.\"\n\n\"It's a bargain,\" said the saint.\n\nThe king had a coach, a tent and servants, and he said, \"I'll wait here\ntill morning and you can come to my castle with me, and the morning\nafter you can go home with your load.\"\n\n\"Very well, let it be so,\" said the saint.\n\nOn the morning of the next day they all departed, the saint riding on\nthe garron, and the king and his servants in the coach. The king drove\nhis horses as fast as they were able to run, to see would the garron be\nable to keep up with them. But if they had to go seven times as quick\nthe garron was able for them. St. Patrick remained that night at the\nking's castle and next morning before sunrise the king brought himself\nand his garron to his treasury. The treasurer was there with his men.\nThey filled a great bag with gold and put it on the garron's back.\n\"Will he be able to carry it home?\" said the king. \"He will, and twenty\ntimes as much,\" said the saint. He filled another bag and put it on\nhim, and another bag after that.\n\n\"Isn't there his enough of a load on him now?\" said the king. \"There\nisn't a half or a quarter of a load yet on him,\" said the saint. They\nwere putting [bags] on him until every ounce in the treasury was on\nhim. Then the saint said, \"To show that there isn't half a load on him\nyet, put two or three tons of iron on top of the gold.\" They did that,\nand the garron walked out as lightly as though there had been nothing\nin it but a bag of oats. \"Now,\" said the saint, \"you see that my\ngarron-_een_ hasn't half a load on him yet.\" \"I see he has not,\" said\nthe king. \"There is more power in your garron than in all the horses of\nthe Ard-ri.[98] Take your garron home again, and begin and set up those\nchurches, and I'll pay the cost.\"\n\n[98] _i.e._, The High King.\n\nThe saint rode on his garron and came home. He soon began to put up the\nthree churches, and the king paid the costs. But the garron carried\nevery stone that went to the building. The people have the old saying\nstill when they want to praise anyone, \"May you have the strength of\nPatrick's garron!\"\n\nWhen the three churches were finished he bestowed his garron on the\nbrethren, and he himself went northward, lighting a coal of faith\nthroughout Ireland which was never quenched, and never shall be\nquenched.\n\nWhen the great judgment shall come it is St. Patrick who will judge the\nchildren of the Gael.\n\n\n\n\nHOW SAINT MOLING GOT HIS NAME.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThere is hardly any Irish saint of whom more legends are related, at\nleast in our literature, than of Saint Moling. He was both a poet and\na prophet. Some stories bring him into contact with Gob\u00e1n Saor, the\ngreat builder. He figures largely in the extraordinary tale of \"Suibhne\nGeilt.\" See also the story of the \"Death of Bearch\u00e1n.\" The following\nlegend was printed by my friend, Se\u00e1n T\u00f3ib\u00edn, in the \"Lochrann\" a\ncouple of years ago. I was sure it was taken from oral sources, but he\nhas just told me to my surprise, that he was only retelling what he had\nread in Irish, not what he had HEARD or taken down orally. However, as\nthe story had been set up in print, and as I have here no other story\nabout St. Moling it may stay, only the reader must understand that it\nis not actual surviving folk-lore, but a retelling from an Irish MS.\n\n\nTHE STORY.\n\n[He was first called Taircheal, and he was pupil to a cleric.]\nTaircheal went out one day, and he had two bags, one on his back and\none in front of him. He took his master's stick, in his hand and off\nhe set in this guise. He went round Luachair on pilgrimage, and he was\nthere reciting his rosary when he saw coming towards him the Fuath[99]\nand his people; a black, dark, truly ugly band were they, and they had\nthe form of demons. And they used never give quarter to anyone. And\nthis was the number of those who were there, namely the Fuath himself,\nhis wife, his gillie, his hound, and nine others.\n\n[99] Pronounced \"Foo-a.\" A weird shape, phantom, or spectre.\n\nSays the Fuath to his people, \"Wait ye there and I'll go talk to yon\nman who is alone, and since I took up with a life of plundering and\nstealing I never felt a desire to protect any man except that one\nonly.\" He gripped his sword and went over to meet Taircheal.\n\nHe said to Taircheal, \"Whence have you come from, you eater of\nbeastings?\"\n\n\"Whence have you come from yourself, you black burnt gruagach[100]?\" said\nthe young man.\n\n[100] Literally, \"long-haired one.\" It is a term for a wizard or warlock.\n\n\"I'll take your bags off you, and your head too, unless you listen to\nme,\" said the Fuath.\n\n\"By my father's hand you won't unless I wish it myself,\" said Taircheal.\n\n\"By the hand of him who taught me, but I'll ply my weapon on you,\" said\nthe Fuath.\n\n\"I'd think it easier to put you down than boiled meat,\" said Taircheal.\n\n\"Listen or I'll stick this point in through the middle of your heart,\"\nsaid the Fuath.\n\n\"I swear,\" said the young man, \"that I'll strike you on the head with\nthis stick, it is the crozier of my master and tutor, and he promised\nthat it should never be broken in single combat.\"\n\nThen fear possessed the Fuath, and he called to his people to come and\nhelp him. The other Fuaths came. Then it was plain to Taircheal that he\nhad no way of escape or of withdrawing.\n\n\"We'll kill you now, brown Taircheal,\" said the Fuath's hag, \"I'll\nthrust you through with my knife, and you'll get death and violent\ndissolution.\"\n\n\"I ask a request of ye,\" said Taircheal.\n\n\"What is it?\" said the Fuaths.\n\n\"Let me go to the other side of that ditch, and give three steps in the\npath of the King of Heaven and Earth,\" said he.\n\nThe Fuaths laughed. \"That's all you want?\" said they. \"That's all,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Have it then,\" said the hag, \"for you won't go from us, for we are as\nswift as the deer of the hill, and this hound of ours is as swift as\nthe wind.\"\n\nThen Taircheal walked to the ditch, and gave his three leaps. He went\nso far, of the first leap, that they thought he was no bigger [when he\nlanded] than a crow on top of the hill. The second leap he gave they\ndid not see him at all, and they did not see whether it was to heaven\nor earth he had gone. Of the third leap he landed upon the wall of his\ntutor's church.\n\n\"That way he's gone,\" said the Fuath's hag. Then they rose up and ran,\nboth hound and person, so that their cry and yell was heard a mile\noverhead in the upper air. The hounds and populace of the village came\nout each one of them to protect the youth, for it was plain to them\nthat he was being pursued by the Fuaths. But he leapt down off the wall\nand ran into the church, and began returning thanks to God in presence\nof his tutor.\n\n\"What angry madness is on you, son?\" said the tutor.\n\n\"Nothing much, my tutor,\" said Taircheal, \"it was the Fuaths who were\nhunting me;\" and he told him the story how he had leaped [ling] from\nLuachair in his three leaps.\n\n\"Great is your leap [ling] my pupil,\" said the priest, \"and it was for\nyou that the angel Victor made the prophecy, and Moling [=my leap] of\nLuachair shall be your name henceforth from the leaps that you have\nleapt.\"\n\n [uncial: CROICH]\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nNOTE ON THE DEATH OF MULRUANA, p. 33.\n\nThis proverb, \"as I've burnt the candle I'll burn the inch,\" must be\nold, and appears to have been well-known, for Maolmuire Ua hUiginn,\nArchbishop of Tuam, used it over 300 years ago, in a poem beginning\n\"Sl\u00e1n uaim don da aodhaire,\" of which I have a manuscript copy.\n\n  [uncial: Tig raoirse andiaidh r\u00f3-bhruroe,\n    Tar \u00e9ir dubhuig tig roinieann,\n  Fuilnge feadh an \u00f3rlaigh-si,\n    Mar do caitheadh an choineall.]\n\n_i.e._, freedom comes after hard-captivity, after darkness comes fine\nweather, it is to be endured for the space of this inch, since the\n[rest of the] candle has been burnt.\n\n\nNOTE ON THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN, p. 63.\n\nI have found another version of the very curious story of the Death\nof Bearachan. It was sent in many years ago in a collection by some\nunknown collector competing for a prize in folk lore at the Oireachtas,\nunder the [uncial: ainm-br\u00e9ige] of [uncial: Se\u00e1ghan Cr\u00f3n]. In this\nversion Bearachan is not a saint but a druid, and the three kings\nare Finn Mac Cumhaill king of the Fian, one of the provincial kings,\nand the hound Bran, the king of all hounds. The thing that wailed so\npiteously outside the door is called an \"iarmhar,\" pronounced Eervar\nor Eerwar--there is no such creature known to me. The word is used by\nKeating as meaning a \"remnant.\" He talks of the Iarmhar or Remnant of\nthe Fir Bolg. I have never met the word in any other sense. There is\nnothing said in this version about its growing large when it got the\nheat, and the relationship to the Breton Buguel Noz is not so apparent\nas in the other story.\n\n\n[uncial: D\u00c1S BHEARACH\u00c1IN NA R\u00c1RDHTE GCLISDE..\n\nBh\u00ed sean-draoi ann, fad \u00f3, gur bh'\u00e9 ainm a bh\u00ed air n\u00e1 Bearach\u00e0n, agus\nt\u00e1inig Fionn Mac C\u00famhaill agus righ eile d'\u00e1 fhiosrughadh, oidhche\nair\u00edghthe.\n\nDo bh\u00edodar ag caitheamh na h-oidhche le\u00f3 f\u00e9in ann--ag d\u00e9anamh gach aon\nchaitheamh-aimsire o' fh\u00e9adadar d\u00f3ibh f\u00e9in.\n\nI gcaitheamh na h-oidhche dh\u00f3ibh d'iarr Fionn de Bhearach\u00e1n an fada an\nsaoghal a bhi gearrtha amach d\u00f3 n\u00f3 an raibh aon fhios aige air.\n\nDubhairt Bearach\u00e0n d'a fhreagairt go raibh, go maith--go mairfeadh\ns\u00e9 go br\u00e1th chun go dtiucfadh tri rigthe gan cuireadh chum a thighe i\ngc\u00f3mhair na h-oidhche,--ar an oidhche sin go dtiucfad mac t\u00edre chuige\ndo mhar'ochadh \u00e9.\n\n\"B\u00e9an t'anam, mar sin.\" arsa Fionn, \"mar t\u00e1 tr\u00ed righthe gan cuireadh\nann so anocht.\"\n\n\"Cionnar a bh\u00e9adh\"? arsa Bearach\u00e1n, \"agus gan ann acht beirt agaibh.\"\n\n\"T\u00e1,\" arsa Fionn, \"mise righ na F\u00e9inne, agur \u00e9 seo lem' chois\nrigh c\u00faigeadh is eadh \u00e9, agus Bhran at\u00e1 'na righ ar ghadharaibh an\ndomhain.\"\n\n\"O! Dia le m'anam\"! arsa Bearach\u00e1n, \"t\u00e1 mo ghn\u00f3 d\u00e9anta mar sin.\"\n\n\"Ni baoghal duit anocht p\u00e9 sg\u00e9al \u00e9,\" arsa Fionn, \"no teipfidh s\u00e9\norrainn-ne.\"\n\nS\u00e9 rud do dheineadar, n\u00e1 \u00e9 do chur fa bh\u00e9al tob\u00e1in, agus an bheirt eile\nbheit ag imirt fithchille ar th\u00f3in an tob\u00e1in ar eagla go dtuitfeadh\nriad 'na geodladh an fhard do bheior ag faire ar Bhearach\u00e1n. Do dhiodar\nas imirt le\u00f3.\n\nBudh ghairid d\u00f3ibh gur airigheadar an t-iarmhar a' ladhairt amuigh,\nagus d'iarr s\u00e9 ortha go h-iairmh\u00e9ileach \u00e9 do leogaint isteach.\n\nDubhrodar leis go doithcheallach, i mbasa, \u00e1 leogfaidis.\n\nDo lean s\u00e9 orra, fharo gach n-fhario, agus \u00e9 niosa truarghmh\u00e9ilighe\ngach uair 'n\u00e1 a ch\u00e9ile.\n\nDubhairt Fionn f\u00e9 dheireadh thair thall gur ch\u00f3ir gur chuireadar diobh\ncathanna ba chruardhe 'na p\u00e9 iarmhar a bh\u00ed amuigh do smachtughadh go\nmaidhin.\n\nD'osgladar an dorus agus do sgaoileadar isteach \u00e9, agus do shuidh\ns\u00e9 sa' ch\u00fainne agus do leog (leig) s\u00e9 air do dheith d\u00e1 leigheadh\n(leaghadh) ag an bhfuacht. Is gearr gun tharraihg s\u00e9 chuige p\u00edob, agus\ndo thornaigh s\u00e9 ar an gce\u00f3l do spreagadh do b'uaibhrighe agus d'airigh\naon neach riamh. Agus da ghearr 'na dhiardh sin gur thuit duine\naca na chodladh thall agus duine eile, abhos, agus ap maidin nuair\ndh\u00faisigheadar ni raibh fe bh\u00e9al an tob\u00e1in acht cairnin cn\u00e1mh. Sin \u00e9 b\u00e1r\nBhearach\u00e1in agaibh.]\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nVariations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been\nretained except in obvious cases of typographical error.\n\nDiacritical marks are shown as follows breve [)o] and macron[=o].\nItalics are shown thus _italic_.","title":"Legends of Saints & Sinners. Collected and Translated from the Irish","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":85658}