{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_51762/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_51762","id":"gutenberg_51762","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51762","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fairy tales","Folklore -- Isle of Man"],"text":"MANX FAIRY TALES\n\n                                   BY\n\n                            SOPHIA MORRISON\n\n\n                                 LONDON\n                      DAVID NUTT, 57-59 LONG ACRE\n                                  1911\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThere is at least one spot in the world where Fairies are still\nbelieved in, and where, if you look in the right places, they may\nstill be found, and that is the little island from which these stories\ncome--Ellan Vannin, the Isle of Mann. But I have used a word which\nshould not be mentioned here--they are never called Fairies by the\nManx, but Themselves, or the Little People, or the Little Fellows,\nor the Little Ones, or sometimes even the Lil' Boys. These Little\nPeople are not the tiny creatures with wings who flutter about in\nmany English Fairy tales, but they are small persons from two to\nthree feet in height, otherwise very like mortals. They wear red caps\nand green jackets and are very fond of hunting--indeed they are most\noften seen on horseback followed by packs of little hounds of all the\ncolours of the rainbow. They are rather inclined to be mischievous\nand spiteful, and that is why they are called by such good names,\nin case they should be listening!\n\nBesides these red-capped Little Fellows there are other more alarming\nfolk. There is the Fynoderee, who is large, ugly, hairy and enormously\nstrong, but not so bad as he looks, for often he helps on the farm\nduring the night by thrashing corn. He does not like to be seen,\nso if a farmer wants work done by him, he must take care to keep\nout of the Fynoderee's way. Then, far uglier than Fynoderee, are the\nBugganes, who are horrible and cruel creatures. They can appear in\nany shape they please--as ogres with huge heads and great fiery eyes,\nor without any heads at all; as small dogs who grow larger and larger\nas you watch them until they are larger than elephants, when perhaps\nthey turn into the shape of men or disappear into nothing; as horned\nmonsters or anything they choose. Each Buggane has his own particular\ndwelling-place--a dark sea-cave, a lonely hill, or a ruined Keeill,\nor Church. There are many others too, but these are the chief.\n\nMost of the stories are traditional and have been handed down by\nword of mouth from father to son. I owe hearty thanks to those from\nwhose lips I have heard them--Messrs. J. R. Moore, William Cashen,\nJoe Moore, Ned Quayle and others. Of the four stories which have not\nbeen told to me personally--Teeval, Kitterland, The Wizard's Palace,\nand Smereree--the three first have been printed in various folk-lore\nbooks, and the Manx of the last appeared in 'Yn Lioar Manninagh'\nsome years ago. Lastly I must thank my friend Miss Alice Williams\nfor her kind help and valuable assistance in many ways.\n\n\n    SOPHIA MORRISON.\n\n    Peel, Isle of Mann,\n    October 1911.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                            PAGE\n    Themselves                                                 1\n    The Buggane of Glen Meay Waterfall                         8\n    How the Manx Cat lost her Tail                            14\n    The Making of Mann                                        16\n    The Coming of Saint Patrick                               20\n    How the Herring became King of the Sea                    24\n    The Silver Cup                                            27\n    The Child without a Name                                  34\n    The Fairy Doctor                                          38\n    Joe Moore's Story of Finn MacCooilley and the Buggane     42\n    The Fynoderee                                             47\n    The Fynoderee of Gordon                                   48\n    The Lhondoo and the Ushag-reaisht                         54\n    Billy Beg, Tom Beg, and the Fairies                       56\n    The Lazy Wife                                             62\n    The Mermaid of Gob-ny-Ooyl                                71\n    The Lost Wife of Ballaleece                               75\n    Smereree                                                  78\n    Kebeg                                                     83\n    The Fairy Child of Close-ny-Lheiy                         85\n    The Little Footprints                                     93\n    The Tall Man of Ballacurry                                97\n    Ned Quayle's Story of the Fairy Pig                      100\n    Kitterland                                               105\n    Teeval, Princess of the Ocean                            110\n    The Wizard's Palace                                      116\n    The Enchanted Isle                                       121\n    Stories about Birds                                      123\n    The Moddey Doo or the Black Dog of Peel Castle           129\n    Little Red Bird                                          133\n    Tehi Tegi                                                134\n    John-y-Chiarn's Journey                                  138\n    A Bad Wish                                               143\n    The Witch of Slieu Whallian                              144\n    The Old Christmas                                        149\n    The Buggane of St. Trinian's                             153\n    King Magnus Barefoot                                     161\n    Manannan Mac-y-Leirr                                169, 171\n    The Cormorant and the Bat                                174\n    Caillagh-ny-Faashagh, or the Prophet Wizard              176\n    The City Under Sea                                       182\n    An Ancient Charm Against the Fairies                     186\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMANX FAIRY TALES\n\nTHEMSELVES\n\n\nI\n\nThere was a man once in the Isle of Mann who met one of the Little\nFellows, and the Little Fellow told him that if he would go to London\nBridge and dig, he would find a fortune. So he went, and when he got\nthere he began to dig, and another man came to him and said:\n\n'What are you doing?'\n\n'One of Themselves told me to come to London Bridge and I would get\na fortune,' says he. And the other man said:\n\n'I dreamed that I was back in the lil' islan' an' I was at a house\nwith a thorn-tree at the chimley of it, and if I would dig there I\nwould find a fortune. But I wouldn' go, for it was only foolishness.'\n\nThen he told him so plainly about the house that the first man knew\nit was his own, so he went back to the Island. When he got home\nhe dug under the little thorn-tree by the chimney and he found an\niron box. He opened the box and it was full of gold, and there was\na letter in it, but he could not read the letter because it was in\na foreign language. So he put it in the smithy window and challenged\nany scholar who went by to read it. None of them could, but at last\none big boy said it was Latin and it meant:\n\n'Dig again and you'll find another.'\n\nSo the man dug again under the thorn-tree, and what did he find but\nanother iron box full of gold!\n\nAnd from that day till the day of his death, that man used to open\nthe front door before going to bed, and call out: 'My blessing with\nthe Little Fellows!'\n\n\n\nII\n\nHere is a true story that was told me by a man named James Moore when\nI was sitting with him by the fire one evening. He said:\n\n\n'I'm not much of a believer in most of the stories some ones is\ntelling, but after all a body can't help believing a thing they happen\nto see for themselves.\n\n'I remember one winter's night--we were living in a house at the\ntime that was pulled down for the building of the Big Wheel. It was a\nthatched house with two rooms, and a wall about six foot high dividing\nthem, and from that it was open to the scrahs, or turfs, that were laid\nacross the rafters. My Mother was sitting at the fire busy spinning,\nand my Father was sitting in the big chair at the end of the table\ntaking a chapter for us out of the Manx Bible. My brother was busy\nwinding a spool and I was working with a bunch of ling, trying to\nmake two or three pegs.\n\n'\"There's a terrible glisther on to-night,\" my Mother said, looking\nat the fire. \"An' the rain comin' peltin' down the chimley!\"\n\n'\"Yes,\" said my Father, shutting the Bible; \"an' we better get to\nbed middlin' soon and let the Lil' Ones in to a bit of shelter.\"\n\n'So we all got ready and went to bed.\n\n'Some time in the night my brother wakened me with a:\n\n'\"Sh--ish! Listen boy, an' look at the big light tha's in the\nkitchen!\" Then he rubbed his eyes a bit and whispered:\n\n'\"What's mother doin' now at all?\"\n\n'\"Listen!\" I said. \"An' you'll hear mother in bed, it's not her at all;\nit must be the Little Ones that's agate of the wheel!\"\n\n'And both of us got frightened, and down with our heads under the\nclothes and fell asleep. In the morning when we got up we told them\nwhat we had seen, first thing.\n\n'\"Aw, like enough, like enough,\" my Father said, looking at the\nwheel. \"It seems your mother forgot to take the band off last night, a\nthing people should be careful about, for it's givin' Themselves power\nover the wheel, an' though their meanin's well enough, the spinnin'\nthey're doin' is nothin' to brag about. The weaver is always shoutin'\nabout their work an' the bad joinin' they're makin' in the rolls.\"\n\n'\"I remember it as well as yesterday--the big light that was at them,\nand the whirring that was going on. And let anybody say what they like,\nthat's a thing I've seen and heard for myself.\"'\n\n\n\nIII\n\nOne evening a young man who was serving his time as a weaver was\nwalking home late from Douglas to Glen Meay. He had often been boasting\nthat he had never seen any of the Little People. Well, this night\nhe was coming along the St. John's Road, and when he got near to the\nriver a big, big bull stood across the road before him. He took his\nstick and gave it one big knock. It went into the river and he never\nsaw it any more.\n\nAfter that, when he got to the Parson's Bridge, he met a little thing\njust like a spinning wheel and there was a little, little body sitting\nwhere the spool is. Well, he lifted his stick again and struck the\nlittle body that was sitting on the spool a hard knock with his\nstick. The little body said to him:\n\n'Ny jean shen arragh!' which means, 'Don't do that again!'\n\nHe walked on then till he got to Glen Meay and told what he had\nseen in a house there. Then another man said he had seen the little\nold woman sitting on the top of the spool of the spinning wheel and\ncoming down Raby Hill at dark. So it took her a long time, for the\nfirst man met her at six and the second at eleven, and there isn't\ntwo miles between the two places.\n\nSo they were saying, when the cycles came in, that the Little People\nhad been before them! And this is a true story.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BUGGANE OF GLEN MEAY WATERFALL\n\n\nThere was once a woman living near Glen Meay, and she was the wife\nof a decent, quiet, striving man of the place. There was no one but\nherself and the man, and they had a nice little cottage and owned a\nbit of a croft on which they grazed a cow and a few sheep and grew\nenough potatoes to do them the winter out; and the man had a yawl and\nwent to the fishing when things were slack on land. But for all that\nthey were not comfortable, for work as hard as the man might at his\nfarming and his fishing, he was kept as poor as Lazarus by a lazy wife.\n\nFor the woman was fonder of lying a-bed in the morning than sitting\nat her milking stool; indeed the neighbours had it to say that she\nwore out more blankets than shoes. Many a day her man would be going\nout early as hungry as a hawk, without a bite or a sup in him. One\nmorning when he came in from work for his breakfast there was no\nfire--his wife was never up. Well, my poor man had nothing for it but\nto get his own breakfast ready and go back to his work. When he came\nin for dinner it happened as it had happened for breakfast.\n\n'Bad luck to her laziness,' he thought; 'this is coul comfort for a\npoor man, but I'll play a trick on her for it.'\n\nAnd with that he fetched a bart of straw and bunged the two windows\nof his house. Then he went back to his work.\n\nThe sun had not yet set when he came home in the evening. His wife\nwas lying in bed waiting for day.\n\n'Aw, woman,' he shouted, 'make haste an' get up to see the sun rise\nin the wes'.'\n\nUp jumped the wife and ran to the door just as the sun was going down,\nand the sight terrified her. The whole sky looked like fire, and she\nthought that the end of the world had come. But next morning it all\nhappened as it had happened before, and himself said to her:\n\n'Kirry, it's the Buggane, sure enough, that'll be having thee one of\nthese days if thou don't mend thy ways!'\n\n'What Buggane?' said she.\n\n'Ax me no questions,' said he, 'an' I'll tell thee no lies. But it's\nthe big, black, hairy fellow that lies under the Spooyt Vooar that\nI'm meanin'.'\n\n'Aw, houl yer tongue, man; thou don't frecken me wi' thy Bugganes,'\nshouted the woman.\n\nIn the evening the man left the house to go out to the fishing. As\nsoon as he had gone the woman took a notion in her head to bake, as\nshe had only the heel o' the loaf left for breakfast. Now, Themselves\ncan't stand lazy ways, and baking after sunset is the one thing they\nwon't abide. She who does so will meet their revenge--something\nis sure to be taken by them, but seldom worse than some of the\nlive stock. Well, the woman set to work to bake some barley bread\nand flour cake. First, she went out to get gorse to put under the\ngriddle, slipping the bolt on the door as she came in, that none\nof the neighbours would catch her and cry shame on her for baking\nafter sunset. She got some meal out of the barrel and put it on the\nround table, and put salt and water on it, and then she kneaded the\nmeal and clapped a cake out as thin as sixpence with her hands. But\nshe was only a middling poor baker, one of the sort that has to use\na knife to make the cake of a right round. She had turned the cake\ntwice, and taken it off, and brushed the griddle with a white goose\nwing ready for the next cake which she was busy cutting round with\nher knife. Just at that moment there was heard the sound of something\nheavy lumbering up to the door. After a few seconds SOMETHING fumbled\nat the sneg of the door, then SOMETHING knocked high up on the door,\nand a voice like the thick, gruff voice of a giant was heard saying,\n'Open, open for me.' She made no answer. Again there was a loud knock\nand a big hoarse voice was heard which cried: 'Woman of the house,\nopen for me.' Then the door burst open and behold ye, what should\nshe see but a great, big ugly beast of a Buggane rushing in mad with\nrage. Without as much as a 'By your leave,' he made one grab at her,\nand clutched hold of her by her apron and swung her on his shoulder,\nand away with him. Before she knew where she was he rushed her across\nthe fields and down the hill, till he brought her to the top of the\nSpooyt Vooar, the big waterfall of Glen Meay. As the Buggane tore\ndown the hill, the woman felt the ground tremble under his feet, and\nthe noise of the waterfall filled her ears. And, there in front of\nher, she saw the stream turn to white spray as it came leaping down\nthe rocks. As the Buggane swung her in the air to throw her into the\ndeep pool, she thought that her last hour had come. Then all at once\nshe remembered the knife that she held in her hand! Quick as thought\nshe cut the string of her apron and down she tumbled to the ground,\nrolling over and over down the hill. And before he knew where he was\nthe Buggane, with the speed he had on him, pitched forward head first\ndown the rushing Spooyt Vooar. As he went head over heels and down to\nthe bottom of the pool with a souse you'd have heard half a mile away,\nshe heard him give a roar out of him:\n\n\n            Rumbyl, rumbyl, sambyl,\n            I thought I had a lazy Dirt,\n            And I have but the edge of her skirt.\n\n\nAnd that was the last that was seen of that fellow!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE MANX CAT LOST HER TAIL\n\n\nWhen Noah was calling the animals into the Ark, there was one cat who\nwas out mousing and took no notice when he was calling to her. She\nwas a good mouser, but this time she had trouble to find a mouse and\nshe took a notion that she wouldn't go into the Ark without one.\n\nSo at last, when Noah had all the animals safe inside, and he saw\nthe rain beginning to fall, and no sign of her coming in, he said:\n\n'Who's out is out, and who's in is in!' And with that he was just\nclosing the door when the cat came running up, half drowned--that's\nwhy cats hate the water--and just squeezed in, in time. But Noah had\nslammed the door as she ran in and it cut off her tail, so she got in\nwithout it, and that is why Manx cats have no tails to this day. That\ncat said:\n\n\n            Bee bo bend it,\n            My tail's ended,\n            And I'll go to Mann\n            And get copper nails,\n            And mend it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MANN\n\n\nThousands of years ago, at the time of the Battles of the Giants in\nIreland, Finn Mac Cooil was fighting with a great, red-haired Scotch\ngiant who had come over to challenge him. He beat him and chased\nhim eastwards towards the sea. But the Scotch giant was a faster\nrunner and began to get ahead of him, so Finn, who was afraid that\nhe would jump into the sea and escape, stooped down and clutched a\ngreat handful of the soil of Ireland to throw at him. He cast it,\nbut he missed his enemy, and the great lump of earth fell into the\nmidst of the Irish Sea. It is the Isle of Mann, and the great hole\nwhich Finn made, where he tore it up, is Lough Neagh.\n\nThere were men, too, in Ireland in those days as well as giants,\nand to some of them it seemed to happen in a different way. Men do\nnot always understand the doings of giants, because men live, it may\nbe said, in the footprints of the giants. It seems that at this time\nthe Irish tribes were gathered in two great forces getting ready to\nmeet the plunderers who had left Scotland and were at work on their\nown coast. Their blood got too hot and they went into each other in\ndownright earnest, to show how they would do with the rascals when\nthey came. To their confusion, for they lost hold over themselves,\nthey got into boggy ground and were in great danger. The leaders,\nseeing that it was going to mean a big loss of life, got all their\nmen together on a big patch of dry ground that happened to be in\nthe bog-land, when all of a sudden a darkness came overhead and\nthe ground began to shake and tremble with the weight of the people\nand the stir there was at them, and then it disappeared, people and\nall. Some said that it took plunge and sank into the bog with the\npeople on it. Others said that it was lifted up, and the people on\nit dropped off into the swamp. No doubt the darkness that was caused\nby the hand of Finn made it hard to see just how it happened. However\nthat may be, a while after this they said the sea was surging dreadful,\nand the men in the boats had to hold to the sides, or it's out they'd\nhave been thrown. And behold ye, a few days after this there was land\nseen in the middle of the sea, where no man ever saw the like before.\n\nYou may know that this story is true because the Irish have always\nlooked on the Isle of Mann as a parcel of their own land. They say\nthat when Saint Patrick put the blessing of God on the soil of Ireland\nand all creatures that might live upon it, the power of that blessing\nwas felt at the same time in the Island.\n\n\n            Saint Patrick was a mighty man,\n            He was a Saint so clever,\n            He gave the snakes and toads a twisht!\n            And banished them for ever.\n\n\nAnd there is proof of the truth of the saying to this day, for while\nsuch nasty things do live in England they cannot breathe freely on\nthe blessed soil.\n\nThe island was much larger then than it is now, but the magician\nwho for a time ruled over it, as a revenge on one of his enemies,\nraised a furious wind in the air and in the bosom of the earth. This\nwind tore several pieces off the land and cast them into the sea. They\nfloated about and were changed into the dangerous rocks which are now\nso much feared by ships. The smaller pieces became the shifting sands\nwhich wave round the coast, and are sometimes seen and sometimes\ndisappear. Later the island was known as Ellan Sheaynt, the Isle\nof Peace, or the Holy Island. It was a place where there was always\nsunshine, and the singing of birds, the scent of sweet flowers, and\napple-trees blossoming the whole year round. There was always enough\nthere to eat and drink, and the horses of that place were fine and\nthe women beautiful.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMING OF SAINT PATRICK\n\n\nIt was the time that Saint Patrick was coming on horseback to Mann,\nover the sea from Ireland. When he drew near to the land, Manannan\nMac y Leirr, that great wizard that was ruler of Mann, put a charm\nout of him that made the air round the island thick with mist, so that\nneither sun nor sky nor sea nor land could be seen. Patrick rode into\nthe thick of the mist, but try as he would he could find no way out\nof it, and behind him there was a great sea-beast waiting to swallow\nhim up. He didn't know in his seven senses where he was--east, or\nwest--and was for turning back, when there came to his ears the cry\nof a curlew, calling:\n\n'Come you, come you, come you!'\n\nThen he said to himself:\n\n'The curlew will be down feeding among the rocks; she will be calling\nto her young.'\n\nAfter that he heard the bleat of a goat:\n\n'Beware, beware, beware!'\n\nAnd he said to himself:\n\n'Where the goat bleats for the fall of her kid there will be a steep\nbit of a hill.'\n\nLast of all he heard the crow of a cock:\n\n'Come to us--come, come!'\n\nThen said Patrick:\n\n'I believe on me sowl I'm back of Peel Hill.'\n\nAnd with that he took one leap on to the little island and put his\nhorse up the sheer rock. Soon he stood, sure enough, at the top of\nPeel Hill. As he stood there he cried out:\n\n'Me blessing on the curlew. No man afther this is to find her nest!'\n\n'Me blessing on the goat, an' no man is to see her bring forth\nher young!'\n\n'Me blessing on the cock, an' he shall crow at dawn ever afther at\nthis same hour!'\n\nHe cursed the sea beast and turned him into a solid rock and there\nhe lies now with his great fin on his back.\n\nWhere the horse's hoofs struck the top of the hill there sprang a\nwell of pure water, of which man and horse drank, and it is called the\nHoly Well of Saint Patrick to this day. If you go down to the ledges\nof the rock, which were made by the horse's hoofs as he clambered up,\nyou may see the footprints still.\n\nWhen Patrick looked about him the mist was lifting, and he saw a\ngreat host of warriors round Manannan's Faery Mound, with the first\nrays of the rising sun shining on their spears. But the saint knew\nthat they were phantoms raised by Manannan's magic power and he bade\nthem to be gone.\n\nAnd, behold, they and their master, in the shape of three-legged men,\nwhirled round and round like wheels before the swift wind, which could\nnot overtake them, till they came to Spanish Head. There they whirled\nover the houghs so quickly and lightly that the gulls on the ledges\nbelow were not disturbed, then on over the rough, grey Irish Sea till\nthey came to the enchanted island, fifteen miles south-west of the\nCalf. Once there Manannan dropped the isle to the bottom of the sea,\nand he and his company were seen no more.\n\nSaint Patrick on his snow-white horse stood still on Peel Hill and\nblessed the island where he had touched land, and blessed it has\nbeen to this day. Then he leapt on to the little islet that he saw\nbelow him. Ever since it has been called Saint Patrick's Isle, and\nfrom the rocks on its northern side he watched the fierce storm which\nManannan's going had made. Just then a brave ship, with foresail and\nmainsail gone, was driving straight for the terrible rocks. Saint\nPatrick raised his mailed hand and the tempest was calmed. The good\nship righted herself again, and those on board were saved. They looked\nup with awe and thankfulness at the rider in his shining armour on\nthe snow-white steed, standing bright against the blackness of the\nrocks. And ever since that day the fisherman, as he sails past the\nHorse Rock, has offed with his cap and put up this bit of a prayer\nto good Saint Patrick:\n\n\n    Saint Patrick who blessed our Island, bless us and our boat,\n            Going out well, coming in better,\n            With living and dead in the boat.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE HERRING BECAME KING OF THE SEA\n\n\nThe old fishermen of the island have it to say that years and years ago\nthe fish met to choose themselves a king, for they had no deemster to\ntell them what was right. Likely enough their meeting-place was off the\nShoulder, south of the Calf. They all came looking their best--there\nwas Captain Jiarg, the Red Gurnet, in his fine crimson coat; Grey\nHorse, the Shark, big and cruel; the Bollan in his brightest colours;\nDirty Peggy, the Cuttle-fish, putting her nicest face on herself;\nAthag, the Haddock, trying to rub out the black spots the devil\nburnt on him when he took hold of him with his finger and thumb,\nand all the rest. Each one thought he might be chosen.\n\nThe Fish had a strong notion to make Brac Gorm, the Mackerel,\nking. He knew that, and he went and put beautiful lines and stripes\non himself--pink and green and gold, and all the colours of the sea\nand sky. Then he was thinking diamonds of himself. But when he came\nhe looked that grand that they didn't know him. So they said that he\nwas artificial and would have nothing to do with him.\n\nIn the end it was Skeddan, the Herring, the Lil Silver Fella, who\nwas made King of the Sea.\n\nWhen it was all over, up came the Fluke, too late to give his vote,\nand they all called out:\n\n'You've missed the tide, my beauty!'\n\nIt seems that he had been so busy tallivating himself up, touching\nhimself up red in places, that he forgot how time went. When he found\nthat the herring had been chosen, he twisted up his mouth on one side,\nand says he:\n\n'An' what am I goin' to be then?'\n\n'Take that,' says Scarrag the Skate, and he ups with his tail and\ngives the Fluke a slap on his mouth that knocked his mouth crooked\non him. And so it has been ever since.\n\nAnd, maybe, it's because the Herring is King of the Sea that he has\nso much honour among men. Even the deemsters, when they take their\noath, say: 'I will execute justice as indifferently as the herring's\nbackbone doth lie in the midst of the fish.'\n\nAnd the Manx people will not burn the herring's bones in the fire,\nin case the herring should feel it. It is to be remembered, too,\nthat the best herring in the world are caught in this place off the\nShoulder, where the fish held their big meeting, and that is because\nit is not very far from Manannan's enchanted island.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SILVER CUP\n\n\nThere was once a man living in the south of the island whose name was\nColcheragh. He was a farmer, and he had poultry on his street, sheep\non the mountain, and cattle in the meadow land alongside the river.\n\nHis cows were the best cows in the parish. Nowhere could you see such\na fine head of cattle as he had; they were the pride of his heart,\nand they served him well with milk and butter.\n\nBut after a time he began to think that something was amiss with\nthe cows. He went to the cow-house the first thing every morning,\nand one morning he noticed the cows looking so tired they could\nhardly stand. When it came to milking time they found not a drop of\nmilk. The girls, who went out to milk the cows, came back with empty\ncans, saying:\n\n'The milk has gone up into the cows' horns!'\n\nColcheragh began to think that some one had put an evil eye on his\ncows, so he swept up some of the dust from the cross four-roads close\nby, in a shovel, and sprinkled it on their backs. But the cows got\nno better. Then he wondered if some one was coming at night to steal\nthe milk. He made up his mind to sit in the cow-house all night to\nsee if he could catch the thief.\n\nSo one night after everyone had gone to bed he crept out of the house\nand hid himself under some straw in a corner of the cow-house. Hour\nafter hour of the dark lonesome night crept on, and he heard nothing\nbut the cows' breathing and their rustle in the straw. He was very\ncold and stiff, and he had just made up his mind to go into the\nhouse, when a glimmering light showed under the door; and then he\nheard Things laughing and talking--queer talk--he knew that they\nwere not right people. The cow-house door opened and in came a whole\nlot of Little Men, dressed in green coats and leather caps. Keeking\nthrough the straw, he saw their horns hung by their sides, their whips\nin their hands, and scores of little dogs of every colour--green,\nblue, yellow, scarlet, and every colour you can think of--at their\nheels. The cows were lying down. The Little Fellows loosed the yokes\nfrom the cows' necks, hopped on their backs, a dozen, maybe, on each\ncow, and cracked their little whips. The cows jumped to their feet\nand Themselves galloped off!\n\nColcheragh ran to the stable, got on a horse, and made chase after\nhis cows. The night was dark, but he could hear the whizz of the\nlittle whips through the air, the click of the cows' hoofs on stones,\nand the little dogs going:\n\n'Yep, yep, yep!'\n\nHe heard, too, the laughing of Themselves. Then one of them would be\nsinging out to the dogs, calling them up by name, giving a call out\nof him:\n\n'Ho la, ho la, la!'\n\nColcheragh followed these sounds, keeping close at their heels. On\nand on they went, helter-skelter over hedges and over ditches till\nthey got to the Fairy Hill, and Colcheragh was still following them,\nthough on any other night he would not have gone within a mile of\nthe great green mound. When the Little Fellows came to the hill they\nsounded a tan-ta-ra-ra-tan on their horns. The hill opened, bright\nlight streamed out, and sounds of music and great merriment. Themselves\npassed through, and Colcheragh slid off his horse and slipped unnoticed\nin after them. The hill closed behind them and he found himself in a\nfine room, lit up till it was brighter than the summer noonday. The\nwhole place was crowded with Little People, young and old, men and\nwomen, all decked out for a ball, that grand--he had never looked\non the like. Among them were some faces that he thought he had seen\nbefore, but he took no notice of them, nor they of him. In one part\nthere was dancing to the music of Hom Mooar--that was the name of\nthe fiddler--and when he played all men must follow him whether they\nwould or no. The dancing was like the dancing of flowers in the wind,\nsuch dancing as he had never seen before.\n\nIn another part his cows were being killed and roasted, and after\nthe dance there was a great feast, with scores of tables set out with\nsilver and gold and everything of the best to eat and drink. There was\nroast and boiled, and sollaghan and cowree, and puddings and pies,\nand jough and wine--a feast fit for the Governor himself. When they\nwere taking their seats one of them, whose face he thought he knew,\nwhispered to him: 'Don't thee taste nothin' here or thou will be like\nme, and never go back to thy ones no more.'\n\nColcheragh made up his mind to take this advice. When the feast was\ncoming to an end there was a shout for the Jough-y-dorrys, the Stirrup\nCup. Some one ran to fetch the cup. The one among the Little People,\nwho seemed to be their king, filled it with red wine, drank himself,\nand passed it on to the rest. It was going round from one to another\nuntil it came to Colcheragh, who saw, when he had it in his hands,\nthat it was of fine carved silver, and more beautiful than anything\never seen outside that place. He said to himself: 'The little durts\nhave stolen and killed and eaten my cattle--this cup, if it were mine,\nwould pay me for all.' So standing up and grasping the silver cup\ntightly in his hand, he held it up and said:\n\n'Shoh Slaynt!' which is the Manx toast.\n\nThen he dashed the cupful of wine over Themselves and the lights. In an\ninstant the place was in black darkness, save for a stime of grey dawn\nlight which came through the chink of the half-closed door. Colcheragh\nmade for it, cup in hand, slammed the door behind him, and ran for\nhis life.\n\nAfter a moment of uproar Themselves missed the cup and Colcheragh,\nand with yells of rage they poured out of the hill after him, in full\nchase. The farmer, who had a good start, ran as he had never run\nbefore. He knew he would get small mercy at their hands if he was\ncaught; he went splashing through the wet mire and keeping off the\nstepping stones; he knew they could not take him in the water. He\nlooked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the whole Mob Beg\nbehind him, close at his heels, waving their naked arms in the light\nof the torch each one held up. On they came, shrieking and howling\nin Manx:\n\n\n            Colcheragh, Colcheragh,\n            Put thy foot on the stone,\n            And do not put it in the wet!\n\n\nBut he ran in the water till he came to the churchyard, and they\ncould not touch him there. When he went into the cowhouse the next\nmorning the cows had all come home and they got rest after that.\n\nHe put the cup in the Church at Rushen, and they are saying it was\nthere for many years; then it was sent to London. It is said that after\nthis the farmer would not go out of his house of an evening after dark.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD WITHOUT A NAME\n\n\nIt was many and many a year ago that the heiress of Eary Cushlin Farm\nhad a little child. Eary Cushlin is a terribly lonely place; it stands\nhigh up on the Eanin Mooar, the big precipice, close by the steep brow\nof Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa. You might live there for months without seeing\nthe face of clay, and no person knew of the birth of the child. It was\nnot welcome when it came, and as soon as it was born, it died. Then\nthe mother carried it, at dead of night, along the narrow path over\nthe rocks, past where the waters of Gob-yn-Ushtey leap into the bay,\npast Ooig-ny-Goayr, the Cave of the Goat, to Lag-ny-Keilley. She buried\nit in the ruins of the lonely little Keeill that has been there on the\nhill-side for fourteen hundred years and more. There she left it alone.\n\nA short while after some yawls were going to the haddock fishing from\nDalby. There was the 'Lucky Granny' from the Lagg, the Muck Beg,\nor Little Pig, from Cubbon Aalish's, Boid-y-Conney from Cleary's,\nGlen Rushen, and others, ten in all. Then it began to be said that\nsomething strange was going on over at Lag-ny-Keilley. The men would be\nfishing close in to land under the black shadow of Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa,\nthe Hill of the Rising Day. When little evening came, the yawls\nwould be drifting south with the flood tide, north with the ebb,\npassing and repassing the strand of Lag-ny-Keilley. Then they would\nsee a beautiful light and hear a lamentation and crying, as if from\na little lost child. In the end the light would run up the steep\nbrow to the old Keeill, and go out. The men got so frightened that\nat last they would not go on the bay after dark, but would make from\nthe fishing-ground as soon as the sun was getting low.\n\nThings became so black for the women and children at home that one\nold, old man, Illiam Quirk, who had not gone to sea for many years,\nsaid he would go with one of the yawls to see for himself. They used\nto say of him: 'Oul Illiam has the power at him in the prayer, and he\nis a middlin' despard fella; he will dar' most anything.' It was so\nat this time--his yawl was the last of them coming in; the rest were\nfrightened. It was a right fine, beautiful moonlight night when he\nwas coming down from the mark, and when he was near to Gob-yn-Ushtey\nhe heard crying and crying. He lay on his oars and listened, and he\nheard a little child wailing over and over again: 'She lhiannoo beg\ndyn ennym mee!' That is, 'I am a little child without a name!'\n\n'Pull nearer to the lan',' said Illiam when he heard it. They pulled\nclose in, and he plainly saw a little child on the strand bearing a\nlighted candle in his hand.\n\n'God bless me, bogh, we mus' give thee a name!' said Illiam. And he\ntook off his hat, and stood up in the boat, and threw a handful of\nwater towards the child, crying out: 'If thou are a boy, I chrizzen\nthee in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Juan! If thou\nare a girl I chrizzen thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy\nGhost, Joanney!'\n\nIn an instant the crying stopped, and was never heard again, and the\nlight went out and was seen no more.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY DOCTOR\n\n\nThe shoemakers and tailors and chance spinners used to go round\non people's houses, making things and spinning rolls of wool for\nthe people.\n\nOne time the tailor went to Chalse Ballawhane. Long enough they were\nwaiting for him, and, as luck happened, he caught Chalse at home.\n\nNow Chalse had power over the fishes of the sea and the birds of the\nair as well as over the beasts of the field. Himself and the Little\nOnes got on well together too, but somehow or other he was never able\nto get the power over them. People said he was never able to learn\ntheir language right. Anyhow, be that as it may, he was often enough\nwith them.\n\nAfter the tailor had had a crack with the women he turned round to\nBallawhane, who was sitting in the big chair, his elbow on the table\nand his hand holding his forehead, the other hand in his trouser's\npocket to the elbow, and he not minding anybody nor anything.\n\n'I batter take yer measure, Mr. Teare, while yer in, for there's no\nknowin' how long that'll be,' the tailor said.\n\n'Aw, boy, boy,' answered Chalse, looking out through the window--people\nwere not bothering with blinds then--and then turning to the clock, he\nsaid: 'There's no time goin' to-night: I want to go from home apiece,\nan' it's time I was gettin' ready.' Nobody said a word for a minute\nor two. He was exactly like a body with his mind far away. Again,\nall of a sudden, he looked at the tailor. Then he said:\n\n'Ahm goin' to a big supper to-night. Thou'll get nothin' done here,\nmaybe thou would like to go? It's apiece to go, but thou'll be right\nenough with me. But there's one promise I'll be wantin' from thee--no\nmatter, no matter what thou'll see, nor what thou'll hear, nor who'll\nspake to thee, thou mustn't spake back or it'll be all over with thee.'\n\nThe tailor was so taken up with the chance of seeing the Little\nPeople for himself that he promised faithfully, no matter what took\nplace, never to speak a word, and he knew he would be right enough\nwith Chalse.\n\nBallawhane then took his hat from the latt, and when he was going\nout he said:\n\n'I'll be back for thee just now; side thee things a bit while thou\n're waitin'.'\n\nIn a while there was a noise of horses coming up the street--it was\nawful. Then they stopped on the street and in came Ballawhane saying:\n\n'We couldn' get another hoss for thee, boy, do what we would, but thou\n'll have to get a hoss of some sort.'\n\nAnd going down to the parlour he got hold of something, and went out,\nnever saying a word. Coming back to the door after a bit, he said:\n\n'Come on, boy. I'll hold her head till thou get on.'\n\nOut goes the tailor, and up, with one whip, on her back, and they go\nlike the very hommers, on and on, over hedges and ditches, till they\ncame to a big brow by a river. It seems they knew the way, night as\nit was, for they all took it one after another like fun. It was a big\njump, though, and when the tailor felt himself flying through the air,\nhis heart jumped to his mouth.\n\n'Oh Lord, what a jump!' he said.\n\nThe next minute he fell flop in a bog, with the lapboard between his\nlegs, all alone in the dark. Next morning he got up all slaaed with\nslush, looking like a thing that had been dragged through a gutter,\nand as quiet as a mouse--the shy he was, every bit of steam took out\nof him.\n\nAwhile after some of the women were asking him, how did he like it last\nnight, and would he go again? But all they could get out of him was:\n\n'Aw, naver no more, naver no more!'\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nJOE MOORE'S STORY OF FINN MACCOOILLEY AND THE BUGGANE\n\n\nThis Finn MacCooilley was an Irish giant, and the Buggane was a Manx\ngiant. But, anyway at all, this Finn came across from the Mountains\nof Mourne to see what was the Isle of Mann like, for he was seeing\nland. He liked the island uncommon well, so he stopped in it, living\nout Cregneish way. The Buggane was hearing great talk about the giant\nFinn MacCooilley that was in the Sound, so he came down from the top\nof Barrule to put a sight on him. Finn knew that he was coming to have\na fight with him, to see who was best man, and Finn did not want to\nfight. 'Lave him to me,' says the wife; 'an' I'll put the augh-augh\non him!'\n\nBefore long they caught sight of the Buggane, and he was a walking\nterror. He was coming from Barrule to them, in a mighty pursue.\n\n'Slip in the criddle, Finn,' says she. 'It's me that'll spake to him.'\n\nUp comes the Buggane to the door, hot-foot.\n\n'Where's Himself?' says he.\n\n'This man is gone from home this bit,' says she. 'What is it you are\nwantin' with him?'\n\n'Aw, there is no hurry on me. I'll put my fut inside and wait till\nhe comes back,' says he.\n\n'Plaze yourself,' says she, 'an' you'll plaze me; but I must get on\nwith my bakin'.'\n\n'Who have you got in the criddle?' says he.\n\n'That's our baby,' says she.\n\n'An' in the name of the Unknown Powers, what sort of a man is he\nHimself if his baby is that big?'\n\n'He's very big an' powerful,' says she. 'An' the child is favourin'\nthe father.'\n\nShe was baking barley bread, and when the baking was done at her,\nshe took the griddle and put it between two cakes of bread, and gave\nit to the Buggane to eat, with a quart of buttermilk. He went to try\nand eat, and he couldn'.\n\n'Aw, man-alive! But this is the hard bread,' says he. 'What sort have\nyou given me at all, at all?'\n\n'That's the sort I'm giving Finn,' says she.\n\n'An' will Finn's teeth go through this?'\n\n'Aw, yes, Finn thought nothing at all of 'atin' that--that's the sort\nof bread he was wantin',' says Thrinn.\n\nFinn got up out of the cradle, and began to roar for a piece. She\nfetched him a clout on the lug.\n\n'Stop your noisin',' says she. 'An' stand straight and don't be\nputtin' the drone on yer back like that.' And givin' him a buttercake,\nshe says:\n\n'Ate, ate, lash into ye, an' let's have no lavins.'\n\n'You'll have the chile's teeth broke in his head, woman. He can naver\nate bread as hard as that!' says the Buggane.\n\n'Aw, he can do that with life,' says she.\n\nBut that done the Buggane; he sleeched out and claned away again. He\nthought if Finn was that strong and the baby that big, he had best\ncatch home again.\n\nBut it was not long until the Buggane and Finn did meet, and then\nthey had the battle! One day Finn met the Buggane over at Kirk\nChrist Rushen, and they went at each other early in the day till\nthe sunset. Finn had one fut in the Big Sound, an' so he made the\nChannel between the Calf and Kitterland, and the other in the Little\nSound, an' so he made the narrow Channel between Kitterland and the\nislan'. The Buggane was standin' at Port Iern--that's what made the\nfine big openin' at Port Iern. The rocks were all broken to pieces with\ntheir feet. But, anyway, the Buggane came off victorious and slashed\nFinn awful, so he had to run to Ireland. Finn could walk on the sea,\nbut the Buggane couldn'; and when Finn got off and he couldn' get\nmore revenge on him, he tore out a tooth and hove it whizzing through\nthe air after Finn. It hit him on the back of the head, and then it\nfell into the sea and became what we are now calling the Chickens'\nRock. Finn turned round with a roar and a mighty curse:\n\n'My seven swearings of a curse on it!' says he. 'Let it lie there\nfor a vexation to the sons of men while water runs and grass grows!'\n\nAnd a vexation and a curse has it been to seamen from that day to this.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FYNODEREE\n\n\n    The Fynoderee went to the meadow\n    To lift the dew at grey cock crow,\n    The maiden hair and the cow herb\n    He was stamping them both his feet under;\n    He was stretching himself on the meadow,\n    He threw the grass on the left hand;\n    Last year he caused us to wonder,\n    This year he's doing far better.\n\n    He was stretching himself on the meadow,\n    The herbs in bloom he was cutting,\n    The bog bean herb in the curragh,\n    As he went on his way it was shaking,\n    Everything with his scythe he was cutting,\n    To sods was skinning the meadows,\n    And if a leaf were left standing,\n    With his heels he was stamping it under.\n\n\n    Old Song.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FYNODEREE OF GORDON\n\n\nThere was one time a Fynoderee living in Gordon. Those persons\nwho saw him said that he was big and shaggy, with fiery eyes, and\nstronger than any man. One night he met the blacksmith who was going\nhome from his shop and held out his hand to him to shake hands. The\nblacksmith gave him hold of the iron sock of the plough which he had\nwith him, and he squeezed it as if it had been a piece of clay, saying:\n'There's some strong Manx-men in the world yet!'\n\nThe Fynoderee did all his work at night and went into hidlans in the\ndaytime. One night, when he was out on his travels he came to Mullin\nSayle, out in Glen Garragh. He saw a light in the mill, so he put\nhis head through the open top-half of the door to see what was going\non inside, and there was Quaye Mooar's wife sifting corn. When she\ncaught sight of the great big head she was frightened terrible. She\nhad presence of mind, however, to hand him the sieve and say: 'If thou\ngo to the river and bring water in it, I'll make a cake for thee; and\nthe more water thou carry back, that's the bigger thy cake will be.'\n\nSo the Fynoderee took the sieve, and ran down to the river; but the\nwater poured from it and he could fetch none for the cake, and he\nthrew the sieve away in a rage, and cried:\n\n\n           'Dollan, dollan, dash!\n            Ny smoo ta mee cur ayn,\n            Ny smoo ta goll ass.'\n\n            Sieve, sieve, dash!\n            The more I put in,\n            The more there's going out.\n\n\nThe woman got away while he was trying to fill the sieve, and when\nhe came back to the mill he found it in darkness.\n\nThe Fynoderee was working very hard for the Radcliffes, who owned\nGordon then. Every night he was grinding their corn for them, and\noften he would take a hand at the flails. If they put a stack into\nthe barn in the evening and loosed every sheaf of it, they would find\nit thrashed in the morning, but he would not touch one sheaf of it\nunless it were loosed. In the summer time he was getting in their\nhay and cutting their corn.\n\nMany a time the people of the farm were passing the time of day with\nhim. One cold frosty day, big Gordon was docking turnips and he blew\non his fingers to warm them.\n\n'What are thou blowing on thee fingers for?' said the Fynoderee.\n\n'To put them in heat,' said the Farmer.\n\nAt supper that night the Farmer's porridge was hot and he blew on it.\n\n'What are thou doing that for?' said the Fynoderee. 'Isn't it hot\nenough for thee?'\n\n'It's too hot, it is; I'm blowing on it to cool it,' said the Farmer.\n\n'I don't like thee at all, boy,' said the Fynoderee, 'for thou can\nblow hot and blow cold with one breath.'\n\nThe Fynoderee was wearing no clothes, but it is said that he never\nfelt the cold. Big Gordon, however, had pity on him that he had none,\nand one frosty winter he went and got clothes made for him--breeches,\njacket, waistcoat and cap--great big ones they were too. And he went\nand gave them to him in the barn one night. The Fynoderee looked on\nthem and took them up, and says he:\n\n\n    Coat for the back is sickness for the back!\n    Vest for the middle is bad for the middle!\n    Breeches for the breech is a curse for the breech!\n    Cap for the head is injurious for the head!\n    If thou own big Gordon farm, boy--\n    If thine this little glen east, and thine this little glen west,\n    Not thine the merry Glen of Rushen yet, boy!\n\n\nSo he flung the clothes away and walked his ways to Glen Rushen,\nout to Juan Mooar Cleary's. He was working for him then, cutting the\nmeadow hay for him, cutting turf for him, and seeing after the sheep.\n\nIt happened one winter's night that there was a great snow-storm. Juan\nMooar got up to see after the sheep, but the Fynoderee came to\nthe window.\n\n'Lie, lie an' take a sleep, Juan,' says he; 'I've got all the sheep\nin the fold, but there was one loaghtan (brown native sheep) yearling\nthere that give me more trouble till all the res'. My seven curses\non the little loaghtan! I was twice round Barrule Mooar afther her,\nbut I caught her for all.'\n\nWhen Juan went out in the morning all the sheep were safe in the cogee\nhouse and a big hare in with them, with two short lankets on him,\nthat was the brown yearling!\n\nAfter a time the Fynoderee went up to the top of Barrule Mountain to\nlive, up to the very peak. Himself and the wife went to make a potful\nof porridge one day, and they fell out.\n\nShe ran and left him. He threw a big white rock after her and it struck\nher on the heel--the mark of the blood is still on the stone at Cleigh\nFainey. While she stooped to put a rag on her heel he threw a lot\nof small rocks at her, that made her give a spring to the Lagg, two\nmiles away. Then he threw a big rock with the pot-stick in it--it's\nin the Lagg river to-day. At that she gave two leaps over the sea\nto the Mountains of Mourne in Ireland; and for all that I know she's\nliving there still.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LHONDOO AND THE USHAG-REAISHT\n\n\nOne time Lhondoo, the Blackbird, was living in the mountains and\nUshag-reaisht, the Bird of the Waste, as Manx ones call the Golden\nPlover, was living in the lowlands, and neither of them was able\nto leave his own haunts. One day, however, the two birds met on the\nborders between mountain and plain, and they made it up between them\nthat they would change places for a while. The Bird of the Waste\nshould stay in the mountains till the Lhondoo should return.\n\nThe Lhondoo found himself better off in his new home than in the old\none, and he did not go back. So the poor Bird of the Waste was left\nin the mountains and any day you may hear him cry in a mournful voice:\n\n\n         'Lhondoo, vel oo cheet, vel oo cheet?\n          S'foddey my reayllagh oo!'\n        Black Thrush, are you coming, are you coming?\n          The time is long and you are not here!\n\n\nBut the Lhondoo answers:\n\n\n        'Cha jig dy braa, cha jig dy braa!'\n              Will never come, will never come!\n\n\nThen the poor Ushag-reaisht wails:\n\n\n        'T'eh feer feayr, t'eh feer feayr!'\n              It's very cold, it's very cold.\n\n\nThen the Blackbird goes his ways.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBILLY BEG, TOM BEG, AND THE FAIRIES\n\n\nNot far from Dalby, Billy Beg and Tom Beg, two humpback cobblers,\nlived together on a lonely croft. Billy Beg was sharper and cleverer\nthan Tom Beg, who was always at his command. One day Billy Beg gave\nTom a staff, and quoth he:\n\n'Tom Beg, go to the mountain and fetch home the white sheep.'\n\nTom Beg took the staff and went to the mountain, but he could not find\nthe white sheep. At last, when he was far from home and dusk was coming\non, he began to think that he had best go back. The night was fine,\nand stars and a small crescent moon were in the sky. No sound was\nto be heard but the curlew's sharp whistle. Tom was hastening home,\nand had almost reached Glen Rushen, when a grey mist gathered and he\nlost his way. But it was not long before the mist cleared, and Tom\nBeg found himself in a green glen such as he had never seen before,\nthough he thought he knew every glen within five miles of him, for\nhe was born and reared in the neighbourhood. He was marvelling and\nwondering where he could be, when he heard a far-away sound drawing\nnearer to him.\n\n'Aw,' said he to himself, 'there's more than myself afoot on the\nmountains to-night; I'll have company.'\n\nThe sound grew louder. First, it was like the humming of bees,\nthen like the rushing of Glen Meay waterfall, and last it was like\nthe marching and the murmur of a crowd. It was the fairy host. Of a\nsudden the glen was full of fine horses and of Little People riding\non them, with the lights on their red caps, shining like the stars\nabove, and making the night as bright as day. There was the blowing\nof horns, the waving of flags, the playing of music, and the barking\nof many little dogs. Tom Beg thought that he had never seen anything\nso splendid as all he saw there. In the midst of the drilling and\ndancing and singing one of them spied Tom, and then Tom saw coming\ntowards him the grandest Little Man he had ever set eyes upon,\ndressed in gold and silver, and silk shining like a raven's wing.\n\n'It is a bad time you have chosen to come this way,' said the Little\nMan, who was the king.\n\n'Yes; but it is not here that I'm wishing to be though,' said Tom.\n\nThen said the king: 'Are you one of us to-night, Tom?'\n\n'I am surely,' said Tom.\n\n'Then,' said the king, 'it will be your duty to take the password. You\nmust stand at the foot of the glen, and as each regiment goes by, you\nmust take the password: it is Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,\nFriday, Saturday.'\n\n'I'll do that with a heart and a half,' said Tom.\n\nAt daybreak the fiddlers took up their fiddles, the Fairy army set\nitself in order, the fiddlers played before them out of the glen,\nand sweet that music was. Each regiment gave the password to Tom as\nit went by--Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday;\nand last of all came the king, and he, too, gave it--Monday, Tuesday,\nWednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Then he called in Manx to one\nof his men:\n\n'Take the hump from this fellow's back,' and before the words were\nout of his mouth the hump was whisked off Tom Beg's back and thrown\ninto the hedge. How proud now was Tom, who so found himself the\nstraightest man in the Isle of Mann! He went down the mountain and\ncame home early in the morning with light heart and eager step. Billy\nBeg wondered greatly when he saw Tom Beg so straight and strong, and\nwhen Tom Beg had rested and refreshed himself he told his story: how\nhe had met the Fairies who came every night to Glen Rushen to drill.\n\nThe next night Billy Beg set off along the mountain road and came\nat last to the green glen. About midnight he heard the trampling\nof horses, the lashing of whips, the barking of dogs, and a great\nhullabaloo, and, behold, the Fairies and their king, their dogs and\ntheir horses, all at drill in the glen as Tom Beg had said.\n\nWhen they saw the humpback they all stopped, and one came forward\nand very crossly asked his business.\n\n'I am one of Yourselves for the night, and should be glad to do you\nsome service,' said Billy Beg.\n\nSo he was set to take the password--Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\nThursday, Friday, Saturday. And at daybreak the King said: 'It's\ntime for us to be off,' and up came regiment after regiment giving\nBilly Beg the password--Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,\nSaturday. Last of all came the king with his men, and gave the password\nalso--Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, 'and\nSunday,' says Billy Beg, thinking himself clever. Then there was a\ngreat outcry.\n\n'Get the hump that was taken off that fellow's back last night and put\nit on this man's back,' said the King, with flashing eyes, pointing\nto the hump that lay under the hedge.\n\nBefore the words were well out of his mouth the hump was clapt on to\nBilly Beg's back.\n\n'Now,' said the King, 'be off, and if ever I find you here again,\nI will clap another hump on to your front!'\n\nAnd on that they all marched away with one great shout, and left poor\nBilly Beg standing where they had found him, with a hump growing on\neach shoulder. And he came home next day dragging one foot after\nanother, with a wizened face and as cross as two sticks, with his\ntwo humps on his back, and if they are not off they are there still.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAZY WIFE\n\n\nWell, there was a woman once, and she was scandalous lazy. She was\nthat lazy she would do nothing but sit in the corner of the chiollagh\nwarming herself, or going on the houses for newses the day long. And\none day her man gives her some wool to spin for him; he was terrible\nbadly off for clothes to wear, for she was letting them get all ragged\non him. He had told her to mend them until he was tired, but all he\ncould get out of her was 'Traa dy liooar.' Time enough!\n\nOne day he comes to her, and says:\n\n'Thou liggey my hraa, here is some wool for thee to spin, and if it\nis not done a month from this day, I'll throw thee out on the side\nof the road. Thou and thy Traa dy liooar have left me nearly bare.'\n\nWell, she was too lazy to spin, but she would be pretending to be\nworking hard when the husband was in the house. She used to put the\nwheel out on the floor every night before the husband came in from\nwork, to let on to him that she had been spinning.\n\nThe husband was asking her was the thread getting near spun, for he\nsaid he was seeing the wheel so often on the floor that he wanted\nto know if she had enough to take to the weaver. When it came to\nthe last week but one, she had only one ball spun, and that one was\nknotted and as coarse as gorse. When her husband says to her:\n\n'I'm seeing the wheel middling often on the floor when I come home\nat night; maybe there's enough thread spun at thee now for me to take\nto the weaver next week?'\n\n'I don't know, at all,' says the wife. 'Maybe there is; let us count\nthe balls.'\n\nThen the play began! Up she went on the lout, and flung the ball\nthrough the hole, down to him.\n\n'Keep count thyself, and fling the balls back again to me,' says\nshe to the man. And as fast as he flung the ball up to her, so fast\nshe flung it down to him again. When he had counted the ball, maybe,\ntwo score times, she says to him:\n\n'That's all that's in.'\n\n'Aw, 'deed, you've spun well, woman, for all,' says he; 'there's\nplenty done at thee for the weaver.'\n\nAw, then she was in a great fix, and didn't know in her senses what\nto do to save herself. She knew she would sup sorrow if she was found\nout, but she could think of nothing.\n\nAt last she bethought herself of the Giant that lived in a lonesome\nplace up the mountain, for she had heard tell he was good to work,\nand the woman, she says to herself:\n\n'I've a mind to go my ways to him.' She took the road early next\nmorning, she and her rolls of wool, and she walked up hills, down\ngills, till at last she came to the Giant's house.\n\n'What are thou wanting here?' says the Giant.\n\n'I'm wanting thee to help me,' says she; and she up and told him\nabout the ball of thread and everything.\n\n'I'll spin the wool for thee,' says the Giant, 'if thou'll tell me\nmy name when thou come for the balls a week from this day. Are thou\nsatisfied?'\n\n'Why shouldn't I be satisfied?' says the woman; for she thought to\nherself it would be a middling queer thing if she couldn't find out\nhis name within a week. Well, the woman she tried every way to find\nout the Giant's name, but, go where she might, no one had ever heard\ntell of it. The time was getting over fast, and she was no nearer to\nthe Giant's name. At last it came to the last day but one.\n\nNow, as it happened, the husband was coming home from the mountain\nthat day in the little evening, and as he neared the Giant's house,\nhe saw it all in a blaze of light, and there was a great whirling\nand whistling coming to his ears, and along with it came singing,\nand laughing, and shouting. So he drew near the window, and then\nhe sees the big Giant inside sitting at a wheel, spinning like the\nwind, and his hands flying with the thread to and fro, to and fro,\nlike the lightning, and he shouting to the whistling wheel: 'Spin,\nwheel, spin faster; and sing, wheel, sing louder!'\n\nAnd he sings, as the wheel whirls faster and faster:\n\n\n   'Snieu, queeyl, snieu; 'rane, queeyl, 'rane;\n    Dy chooilley clea er y thie, snieu er my skyn.\n    Lheeish yn ollan, lhiams y snaie,\n    S'beg fys t'ec yn ven litcheragh\n    Dy re Mollyndroat my ennym!'\n\n    Spin, wheel, spin; sing, wheel, sing;\n    Every beam on the house, spin overhead.\n    Herself's is the wool, mine is the thread,\n    How little she knows, the lazy wife,\n    That my name is Mollyndroat!\n\n\nWhen the husband got home that evening he was late, and his wife said\nto him:\n\n'Where have you been so late? Did thou hear anything new?'\n\nThen he said:\n\n'Thou are middling good to spin thyself, ven thie; but I'm thinking\nthere's one in that's better than thee, for all. Never in all my born\ndays did I see such spinning, a thread as fine as a cobweb, and hear\nsuch singing as there was going on in the Giant's house to-night.'\n\n'What was he singing?' says the wife. And he sang the song to her:\n\n\n    Snieu, queeyl, snieu; 'rane, queeyl, 'rane;\n    Dy chooilley clea er y thie, snieu er my skyn.\n    Lheeish yn ollan, lhiams y snaie,\n    S'beg fys t'ec yn ven litcheragh\n    Dy re Mollyndroat my ennym!\n\n\nWell, well, the joy the woman took when she heard the song!\n\n'Aw, what sweet music! Sing it again, my good man,' says she.\n\nAnd he sang it to her again, till she knew it by heart.\n\nEarly next morning, she went as fast as her feet could carry her to\nthe Giant's house. The road was long, and a bit lonesome under the\ntrees, and to keep up her heart she sang to herself:\n\n\n   'Snieu, queeyl, snieu; snieu, queeyl, snieu;\n    Dy chooilley vangan er y villey, snieu er my skyn.\n    S'lesh hene yn ollan, as lesh my hene y snaie,\n    Son shenn Mollyndroat cha vow eh dy braa.'\n\n    Spin, wheel, spin; spin, wheel, spin;\n    Every branch on the tree, spin overhead.\n    The wool is Himself's, the thread is my own,\n    For old Mollyndroat will never get it.\n\n\nWhen she got to the house, she found the door open before her, and\nin she went.\n\n'I've come again for the thread,' says she.\n\n'Aisy, aisy, good woman,' says the Giant. 'If thou don't tell me my\nname thou won't get the thread--that was the bargain.' And says he:\n'Now, what's my name?'\n\n'Is it Mollyrea?' says she--to let on that she didn't know it.\n\n'No, it is not,' says he.\n\n'Are you one of the Mollyruiy ones?' says she.\n\n'I'm not one of that clan,' says he.\n\n'Are they calling you Mollyvridey?' says she.\n\n'They are not,' says he.\n\n'I'll warrant your name is Mollychreest?' says she.\n\n'You are wrong, though,' says he.\n\n'Are you going by the name of Mollyvoirrey?' says she.\n\n''Deed I am not,' says he.\n\n'Maybe your name is Mollyvartin?' says she.\n\n'And, maybe, it's not at all,' says he.\n\n'They're saying,' says she, 'that there was only seven families living\non the islan' at one time, and their names all began with \"Molly\";\nand so,' says she, 'if you are not a Mollycharaine, you are none of\nthe rael, oul' Manx ones, at all.'\n\n'I am not a Mollycharaine,' says he. 'Now, be careful, woman; next\nguess is your last.'\n\nAt that she pretended to be frightened, and says she, slowly, pointing\nher finger at him:\n\n\n   'S'lesh hene yn ollan, as lesh my hene y snaie,\n    Son shenn--Moll-YN-DROAT cha vow eh dy braa.'\n\n    The wool is Himself's, and the thread is my own,\n    For old--Moll-YN-DROAT will never get it.\n\n\nWell the Giant, he was done, and he was in a red rage, and he cries:\n\n'Bad luck to you! You never would have found out my name unless you're\na mummig yn aishnee.'\n\n'Bad luck to yourself, my boy,' says she, 'for trying to steal a\ndacent woman's wool.'\n\n'Go to the Devil, yourself and your fortune-telling,' shouts he,\njumping up and flinging the balls at her.\n\nAnd away home with her, and her balls of thread. And if she didn't\nspin her own wool for ever after, that's nothing to do with you and me.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MERMAID OF GOB NY OOYL\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived at the bottom end of Cornah gill a family\nof the name of Sayle, and the Mermaid who had her haunt up Bulgham way\nwas a friend to them. They were always in luck's way and never seemed\nto be short of anything. Sure enough they were full of thrift, and to\nfill in odds of spare time they made lobster pots from the osier that\ngrew around in plenty, and they always found a ready market. They\nkept a cow and a few sheep, just to give work to the women in the\nlong winter nights, but their living was mostly got by the sea.\n\nIt was well known that Sayle had a strong liking for apples, and that\nhe would often bring some with him out in the boat, but when he got\nwell up in years he would be leaving a lot of the boat-work for the\nboys, and then the luck began to get less, and many a time one of them\nhad to take a gun to keep something in the pot. Then the bigger ones\ntook to the herrings. One, Evan, however, had to stay about to keep\nthings going, and it happened that one day, after he had the creels\nset, just at Bulgham, that he pulled the boat in and went up the brow\nafter eggs. On coming back to the boat he heard some one calling to\nhim, and, looking round, he saw a fine-looking woman sitting on the\nedge of a rock.\n\n'And how's your father?' said she. 'It's seldom he's coming this\nway now.'\n\nYoung Sayle was a bit frightened at first, but seeing a pleasant\nlook on her face, he took courage and told her how things were at\nhome. Then, saying she hoped to see him again, she slipped into the\nwater and disappeared.\n\nOn getting home he told what had taken place, and the father, his\nface lighting up, declared:\n\n'There will be luck on the house yet.'\n\nAnd he said:\n\n'Take some apples with you the next time you go up that way, an'\nwe'll see.'\n\nThe very next time the young chap went, he took some apples with him,\nand when he got to the place where he had seen the beautiful woman,\nhe went, as usual, on the hunt among the rocks. Then he heard sweet\nsinging, and when he turned round what should he see but the Mermaid\nleaning over the boat and smiling pleasantly. She took an apple and\nbegan to eat and chant:\n\n\n    The luck o' the sea be with you, but don't forgetful be\n    Of bringing some sweet lan' eggs for the children of the sea.\n\n\nFrom that time he was nearly living on the water until, at last,\nhe was taken to task for being idle. Then he made up his mind to go\nsailing in foreign parts. The Mermaid was in great distress, so to\nplease her, he went and planted an apple tree on the brow above her\nhaunt, telling her that when he would be far away this tree would\ngrow land-eggs which, when they would be sweet and ready for eating,\nwould come of themselves to the water for her. And, sure enough,\nthe luck of the family remained, though the boy was gone.\n\nShe seemed to bear up well for a long time and would often be seen\nsitting on the rocks in the evening, singing sad songs, and casting\nlonging glances up to the apple tree above. She kept very shy of\neveryone coming her way, and at last, finding the apples slow in\ncoming, made up her mind to go in search of young Sayle, hoping the\napples would be ready for taking when they would come back.\n\nBut neither of them ever came back, though for many a long year the\napple tree bore fruit and marked the little creek where the Mermaid\nused to live.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOST WIFE OF BALLALEECE\n\n\nOne time the Farmer of Ballaleece married a beautiful young wife\nand they were thinking the world of one another. But before long she\ndisappeared. Some persons said that she was dead and others that she\nwas taken by the Little People. Ballaleece mourned for her with a heavy\nheart and looked for her from Point of Ayr to the Calf; but in the end,\nnot finding her, he married another wife. This one was not beautiful,\nbut there was some money at her.\n\nSoon after the marriage his first wife appeared to Ballaleece one\nnight, and said to him:\n\n'My man, my man, I was taken away by the Little People, and I live\nwith them near to you. I can be set free if you will but do what I\ntell you.'\n\n'Tell me quick,' said Ballaleece.\n\n'We'll be riding through Ballaleece barn at midnight on Friday,'\nsaid she. 'We'll be going in on one door and out on another. I'll\nbe riding behind one of the men on horseback. You'll sweep the barn\nclean, and mind there is not one straw left on the floor. Catch hold\nof my bridle rein, hold it fast, and I shall be free.'\n\nWhen the night came Ballaleece took a besom and swept the barn floor\nso clean that not one speck was left on it. Then he waited in the dark.\n\nAt midnight the barn doors opened wide, sweet music was heard, and\nin through the open door came a fine company of Little People, in\ngreen jackets and red caps, riding fine horses. On the last horse,\nsitting behind a Little Fellow, Ballaleece saw his first wife as\npretty as a picture, and as young as when she left him. He seized\nhold of her bridle rein, but he was shaken from side to side like\na leaf on a tree, and he was not able to hold her. As she went out\nthrough the door she stretched out her right hand and pointed to a\nbushel in the corner of the barn, and called out in a sad voice:\n\n'There's been a straw put under the bushel--for that reason you\ncouldn't hold me, and you've done with me for ever!'\n\nThe second wife had heard what had passed and had hidden the straw,\nand turned the bushel upside down so that it would not be seen.\n\nThe young wife was never heard of any more.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSMEREREE\n\n\nThe speckled hen and the little chicken were scratching under an\napple tree in the garden, and an apple fell off the tree and it hit\nthe little chicken on the head. And says he to the speckled hen:\n\n'Let us go to Rome, for the world has fallen.'\n\n'Who said that to you, little chicken?' said the speckled hen.\n\n'It fell on my head, Smereree!'\n\nThen the speckled hen and the little chicken went their ways until\nthey met the cock.\n\n'Where are you going, speckled hen?' said the cock.\n\n'Going to Rome, for the world has fallen,' said the speckled hen.\n\n'Who said that to you, speckled hen?'\n\n'The little chicken said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, little chicken?'\n\n'It fell on my head, Smereree!'\n\nSo they went their ways together until they met a gander.\n\n'Where are you going, cock?' said the gander.\n\n'Going to Rome, for the world has fallen.'\n\n'Who said that to you, cock?' said the gander.\n\n'The speckled hen said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, speckled hen?'\n\n'The little chicken said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, little chicken?'\n\n'It fell on my head, Smereree!'\n\nSo they went all together until they met a bull.\n\n'Where are you going, gander?' said the bull.\n\n'Going to Rome, for the world has fallen.'\n\n'Who said that to you, gander?'\n\n'The cock said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, cock?'\n\n'The speckled hen said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, speckled hen?'\n\n'The little chicken said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, little chicken?'\n\n'It fell on my head, Smereree!'\n\nSo they went all together until they met a goat.\n\n'Where are you going, bull?' said the goat.\n\n'Going to Rome, for the world has fallen,' said the bull.\n\n'Who said that to you, bull?' said the goat.\n\n'The gander said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, gander?'\n\n'The cock said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, cock?'\n\n'The speckled hen said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, speckled hen?'\n\n'The little chicken said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, little chicken?'\n\n'It fell on my head, Smereree!'\n\nSo they all went together until they met a horse.\n\n'Where are you going, goat?' said the horse.\n\n'Going to Rome, for the world has fallen.'\n\n'Who said that to you, goat?'\n\n'The bull said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, bull?'\n\n'The gander said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, gander?'\n\n'The cock said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, cock?'\n\n'The speckled hen said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, speckled hen?'\n\n'The little chicken said it to me.'\n\n'Who said that to you, little chicken?'\n\n'It fell on my head, Smereree!'\n\nSo they all went travelling together until they came to the house of\nthe giant; they went in the house and the giant was from home. So the\nhorse went under the big table, and the bull went under the dresser,\nand the goat went on the stairs, and all the rest in the corners.\n\nWhen the giant came home, they all went at him at once, and there\nwas heavy war between them.\n\n'Calk! Calk! If I come down to you,' said the cock.\n\nHe came down at last and picked the giant's eyes out, and they killed\nhim, and they all lived in his house together.\n\nAnd if they are not dead, they are living there yet.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nKEBEG\n\n\nThere is a deep dub, or pool, on Ballacoan stream, which the children\nof Laxey call Nikkesen's. It is the home of Nyker, the Water Goblin. It\nhas no bottom; and brambles and ferns are growing round it, and fir\ntrees and hazels are hiding it from sight. No child, no grown-up\nperson even, will go near it after dark.\n\nA great many years ago a beautiful girl living at Ballaquine was sent\nto look for the calves, which had gone astray. She had got as far\nas Nikkesen's, when she took a notion that she heard the calves over\nthe river in Johnny Baldoon's nuts. At once she began to call to them:\n\n'Kebeg! Kebeg! Kebeg!' so loud that you could hear her at Chibber\nPherick, Patrick's Well. The people could hear her calling quite\nplainly, but, behold, a great mist came and rolled down the valley,\nand shut it from sight. The people on one side of the valley could\nhear her voice yet calling through the mist:\n\n'Kebeg! Kebeg! Kebeg!'\n\nThen came a little sweet voice through the mist and the trees in\nanswer:\n\n'Kebeg's here! Kebeg's here!'\n\nAnd she cried:\n\n'I'm comin'! I'm comin'!'\n\nAnd that was all.\n\nThe Fairies who live in Nikkesen's had pulled her in, and carried\nher to their own home.\n\nShe was never heard of again.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY CHILD OF CLOSE NY LHEIY\n\n\nOne time there was a woman named Colloo, in Close ny Lheiy, near\nGlen Meay, and she had a child that had fallen sick in a strange\nway. Nothing seemed wrong with him, yet crosser and crosser he grew,\nnying nyanging night and day. The woman was in great distress. Charms\nhad failed, and she didn't know rightly what to do.\n\nIt seems that when about a fortnight old, the child, as fine a child\nfor his age as you would see in a day's walk, was left asleep while the\nmother went to the well for water. Now Herself forgot to put the tongs\non the cradle, and when she came back the child was crying pitifully,\nand there was no quieting for him. And from that very hour the flesh\nseemed to melt off his bones till he became as ugly and as wizened\na child as you would see between the Point of Ayr and the Calf. He\nwas that way, his whining howl filling the house, for four years,\nlying in his cradle without a motion on him to put his feet under\nhim. Not a day's rest nor a night's sleep had the woman these four\nyears with him. She was fairly scourged until there came a fine day\nin the spring, while Hom Beg Bridson, the tailor, was in the house\nsewing. Hom is dead now, but there's many alive that remember him\nyet. He was wise tremendous, for he was going from house to house\nsewing, and gathering wisdom as he was going.\n\nWell, before that day the tailor was seeing lots of wickedness in\nthe child. When the woman would be out feeding the cows and pigs,\nhe would be hoisting his head up out of the cradle and making faces\nat the tailor, winking and slicking, and shaking his head, and saying\n'What a lad I am!'\n\nThat day the woman wanted to go to the shop to sell some eggs that\nshe had, and says she to the tailor: 'Hom, man, keep your eye on the\nchile that the bogh won't fall out of the criddle an' hurt himself,\nwhile I slip down to the shop.'\n\nWhen she was gone the tailor began to whistle, low and slow, to\nhimself, as he stitched, the tune of a little hymn.\n\n'Drop that, Hom Beg,' said a little harsh voice.\n\nThe tailor, scandalised, looked round to see if it was the child that\nhad spoken, and it was.\n\n'Whush, whush, now; lie quate,' said the tailor, rocking the cradle\nwith his foot, and as he rocked he whistled the hymn tune louder.\n\n'Drop that, Hom Beg, I tell ye, an' give us something light an'\nhandy,' said the little fella back to him, middling sharp.\n\n'Aw, anything at all to plaze thee,' said the tailor, whistling a jig.\n\n'Hom,' said my lad, 'can thou dance anything to that?'\n\n'I can,' said the tailor. 'Can thou?'\n\n'I can that,' said my lad. 'Would thou like to see me dance?'\n\n'I would,' said the tailor.\n\n'Take that oul' fiddle down, then, Hom, man,' he said; 'an' put\n\"The tune of the Big Wheel\" on it.'\n\n'Aw, I'll do that for thee, an' welcome,' said the tailor.\n\nThe fiddle quits its hook on the wall, and the tailor tunes up.\n\n'Hom,' said the little fella, 'before thou begin to play, clear the\nkitchen for me--cheers an' stools, everything away--make a place for\nme to step out to the music, man.'\n\n'Aw, I'll do that for thee, too,' said the tailor. He cleared the\nkitchen floor, and then he struck up 'Tune y wheeyl vooar.'\n\nIn a crack the little fella bounced from his cradle on to the floor\nwith a 'Chu!' and began flying round the kitchen.\n\n'Go it, Hom--face your partner--heel an' toe does it. Well done,\nHom--more power to your elba, man.'\n\nHom plays faster and faster, till my lad was jumping as high as the\ntable. With a 'Chu!' up goes his foot on top of the dresser, and\n'Chu!' then on top of the chimney piece, and 'Chu!' bang against the\npartition; then he was half flying, half footing it round the kitchen,\nturning and going that quick that it put a reel in Hom's head to be\nlooking at him. Then he was whirling everything round for a clear\nspace, even Hom himself, who by degrees gets up on the table in the\ncorner, and plays wilder and faster, as the whirling jig grows madder\nand swifter.\n\n'M'Yee!' said the tailor, throwing down the fiddle. 'I mus' run,\nthou're not the chile that was in the criddle! Are thou?'\n\n'Houl' man! thou're right enough,' said the little fella. 'Strike up\nfor me--make has'e, make has'e, man--keep joggin' your elba.'\n\n'Whush!' said the tailor, 'here's Herself comin'.'\n\nThe dance suddenly ceased. The child gave a hop, skip, and jump into\nthe cradle.\n\n'Go on with thy sewing, Hom; don't say a word,' said the little fella,\ncovering himself up in the clothes till nothing was left of him to\nbe seen except his eyes, which keeked out like a ferret's.\n\nWhen Herself came in the house, the tailor, all of a tremble, was\nsitting cross-legged on the round table and his spec's on his nose\nand letting on that he was busy sewing; the child in the cradle was\ngrinning and crying as usual.\n\n'What in all the earthly worl' ----! But it's the quare stitching,\naltogether, there's been goin' on here, an' me out. An' how thou\ncan see the needle in that dark corner, Hom Bridson, let alone sew,\nit bates me,' said she, siding the place. 'Well, well--then, well,\nwell--on the boghee millish. What is it at all, at all, that's doin'\non the veen? Did he think Mammy had gone an' left him then, the\nchree? Mammy is goin' to feed him, though.'\n\nThe tailor had been thinking mighty with himself what he ought to do,\nso he said:\n\n'Look here, woman, give him nothing at all, but go out an' get a\ncreelful of good turf an' a whisp of feern.'\n\nShe brought the turf, and throws a bundle of fern on it.\n\nThe tailor gave a leap off the table down to the floor, and it wasn't\nlong till he had the fine fire.\n\n'Thou'll have the house put on fire for me, Hom,' said Herself.\n\n'No fear, but I'll fire some of them,' said the tailor. The child,\nwith his two eyes going out of his head watching to see what the\ntailor was going to do, was slowly turning his whining howl into a\nkind of call--to his own sort to come and fetch him, it's like.\n\n'I'll send thee home,' said the tailor, drawing near the cradle,\nand he stretches out his two hands to take the child and put him on\nthe big, red turf fire.\n\nBefore he was able to lay a hand on him, the little fella leaped out\nof the cradle and took for the door.\n\n'The back of me han' an' the sole of me fut to you!' said he, 'if I\nwould only a-had another night I could have showed thee a trick or\ntwo more than that yet.'\n\nThen the door flew open with a bang, as though some one had thrown\nit open, and he took off with himself like a shot. A hullabaloo of\nlaughing and making fun was heard outside, and the noise of many\nrunning little feet. Out of the door of the house goes Herself, and\nHom after her; they see no one, but they caught sight of a flock\nof low-lying clouds shaped like gulls chasing each other away up\nGlen Rushen, and then came to their ears, as if afar off from the\nclouds, sharp whistles and wicked little laughs as if making mock of\nthem. Then as they were turning round to come back, she suddenly sees\nright before her, her own sweet, rosy, smiling child, with thumb in\nmouth, lying on a mossy bank. And she took all the joy in the world\nof the child that he was back again safe and sound.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE FOOTPRINTS\n\n\nClose to the Niarbyl, the great tail of rock that stretches into the\nsea at Dalby, is a little house on the strand. It is sheltered behind\nby the high rock which rises above its thatched roof. Before it lies\nBay Mooar, the great bay, held by a chain of mountains purple with\nling. Standing before its door and looking to the west, you may see\nthe sun set behind the distant Mourne Mountains. At dawn you may see\nhim rise over Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, the Hill of the Rising Day. Here\nlived Juan, the fisherman.\n\nHe knew, as well as any person, that the Little People were all\naround. When he was a boy he had many a time looked out of the door\non moonlight nights to try if he could put sight on them dancing on\nthe lonely shore. He had not seen them--they make themselves invisible\nwhen they know that mortal eyes are on them. But he had seen the tiny\nriding lights of their herring fleet in the bay, and had helped his\nfather to draw in the nets full of good fish, which were sure to be\ncaught the night after. Many a time he had wakened from his sleep in\nthe dark, and, in the pauses of the wind and the lull of the great\nbreakers, he had heard the sound of hammering. He knew it was the\nLittle People hammering at their herring barrels in Ooig-ny-Seyir,\nthe Coopers' Cave, under the hills, and that as the chips flew out\non to the waves they became ships.\n\nHe had heard the story of the fisherman, a friend of his father's,\nwho was fishing one night at Lag-ny-Keilley, when a dense grey mist\nrolled in. He thought he had best make for home while the footpath\nabove the rocks was visible. When he was getting his things together\nhe heard what sounded like a lot of children coming out of school. He\nlifted his head, and, behold, there was a fleet of fairy boats each\nside of the rock, their riding lights shining like little stars on\na frosty night. The crews seemed busy preparing to come on shore,\nand he heard one little fellow shout:\n\n'Hraaghyn boght as earish broigh, skeddan dy liooar ec yn mooinjer\nseihll shoh, cha nel veg ain!'\n\nPoor times and dirty weather, herring enough at the people of this\nworld, nothing at us!\n\n'Then,' said the fisherman, 'they dropped off and went agate o'\nthe flitters.'\n\nWhen Juan was a big boy he himself saw a thing which he never\nforgot. One day he left a boat over at the farther side of Bay Mooar,\nand at night he had to go over to fetch it. It was a moonlight night\nand the bay was as smooth as glass as he rowed across. There was no\nsound but the lapping of the little waves on the shore, and now and\nagain the cry of a gannet. Juan found his boat on the strand where he\nhad left her and was setting to work to launch her, when he thought he\nsaw a glimmering light, which was not the light of the moon, in one of\nthe caves near him. He stood where he was, and listened, and he heard\nthe sound of faint music. Then he went as silently as he was able to\nthe cave, and looked in. No light was there but the dim light of the\nmoon. The shadows in the corners of the cave were as black as pitch.\n\nJuan was trembling all over, and at first he was blinking his eyes\nand could see nothing. But after some minutes he saw a great stone\nin the midst of the cave and the floor of fine white sand. And on\nthe sand around that stone there were little footprints--marks of\ntiny clogs they were, no bigger than his thumb!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE TALL MAN OF BALLACURRY\n\n\nTom Craine was going home at midnight from Bradda mine to his home\nat Colby. The road was lonely and he met no person, but the full moon\nwas shining and it was as light as day. As he began to pass under the\ntrees that grow round the house at Ballacurry, a little dog appeared\nsuddenly from the black shadow at the roadside and followed at his\nheels. He whistled to it, but as he turned his head to look at it,\nit ran on in front of him, and for a minute he did not see it. When\nhe came in sight of it again, he was terrified to see that it had\ngrown larger--as big as a goat--and it grew bigger and bigger till\nit was the size of a donkey! It galloped before him and disappeared\nround the bend of the road where the gate of Ballacurry is. When Tom\ncame to the gate he saw a very tall, thin man leaning on it, with\nhis arms folded on the top of it. The beast was not there. As Tom\nreached the gate the tall thin man turned and walked up the long path\nthat leads to the house. When he got to the door he turned again and\nwalked back down the path towards Tom. By the bright moonlight Tom\nsaw the lace ruffle round his neck, the satin of his knee breeches,\nthe silk of his stockings, and the shining buckles on his shoes--the\ndress of bygone days. His face was white and dreadful. As Tom looked\nhe was all at once taken with terror, and ran off as hard as he could\ngo down the road to Colby.\n\nHe had not gone far when he met two of his friends, Ben Mylechreest\nand Bill Teare. He told them what he had seen, and they made fun of\nhim and would not believe that he had seen any such thing. They said\nthey would go back with him to the gate, so they all three turned\nback. When they got to the gate they saw the big man, as tall as two\nmen, walking up the path with his back towards them. As before, when\nhe reached the door, he turned--what they saw they never told any man!\n\nThey took to their heels, all three, and ran till they could run no\nlonger. They were trembling from head to foot and the sweat pouring\nfrom them. They were too terrified to go home, so they turned in with\nTom and they slept, all three, in one bed.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNED QUAYLE'S STORY OF THE FAIRY PIG\n\n\nWhen I was a little boy, we lived over by Sloc. One day, when I was six\nyears old, my mother and my grandmother went up the mountain to make\nhay and I was left by myself. It was getting rather late, and they had\nnot come back, so I was frightened, and started off up the mountain to\ntry and find them. I had not gone far when I saw running before me a\nlittle snow-white pig. At first I thought it was some neighbour's pig\nand I tried to catch it, but it ran from me and I ran after it. As it\nwent I saw that it was not like an ordinary pig--its tail was feathery\nand spread out like a fan, and it had long lapping ears that swept the\nling. Now and again it turned its head and looked at me, and its eyes\nwere burning like fire. We went higher and higher up the mountain,\nand all of a sudden I found myself at the edge of a steep brow and\nwas all but over. I turned just in time, and ran as hard as I could\ngo down the mountain and the pig after me. When I looked back over\nmy shoulder, I saw that it was jumping over the big stones and rocks\non the mountain side as if they had been butts of ling. I thought it\nwould catch me; it was close behind me when I ran in at our garden\ngate, but I was just in time, and I slammed the door upon it.\n\nI told my mother and my grandmother what had happened, and my\ngrandmother said it was a Fairy Pig. I was not like myself that night;\nI could not eat any supper, and I went soon to my bed; I could not\nsleep, but lay tossing about; and was burning hot. After a time my\nmother opened the door to see if I was asleep, and when she looked at\nme, HER EYES WERE LIKE THE PIG'S EYES. I felt a sharp pain go through\nmy right leg like a stab. After that the pain never left me; it was so\nbad that I could not bear to be touched, and I could eat nothing. I\ngrew worse and worse, and after some days my father said he would\ntake me to a Charmer at Castletown. They lifted me in the sheet,\nfour men taking the four corners, and carried me to a cart. Never\nwill I forget the shaking and jolting I had in that cart. When we\ngot to Castletown I was more dead than alive.\n\nThe Charmer lived in Arbory Street and they took me to his house. When\nhe saw me he said that they must all go away and leave me alone with\nhim, so my father and my mother went to wait for me at The George. The\nCharmer carried me to a room upstairs and sent his wife away, and laid\nme on the floor and locked the door. Then he took down a big book and\nplaced it on the floor beside me. He opened it at the picture of a\nlittle plant--I can see the plant to this day--and he pointed with\nhis left hand to the picture, and with his right hand he made the\nsign of the cross on my leg, where the stab went through me, and said:\n\n'Ta mee skeaylley yn guin shoh ayns ennym yn Ayr, as y Vac,\nas y Spyrryd Noo, Ned Quayle. My she guin, ayns ennym y Chiarn,\nta mee skealley eh ass yn eill, ass ny fehyn, as ass ny craueyn,'\nwhich means in English--I spread this fairy shot in the name of the\nFather, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Ned Quayle. If it is\na fairy shot, in the name of the Lord, I spread it out of the flesh,\nout of the sinews, and out of the bones. That minute the pain left\nme. I felt very hungry, and the Charmer's wife set me at a table and\ngave me dinner. The Charmer went to fetch my father and my mother,\nand when they came in I was eating like two.\n\nThe Charmer told my mother I must not go on the mountain alone between\nthe lights again. The pain never came back. I have been sound from\nthat day to this, but I have the mark on my leg where the stab went\nthrough as clear as glass to the bone.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSCENE: A VILLAGE\n\n\nBlackbird sings to Innkeeper's pretty daughter.\n\n\n    Kione jiarg, kione jiarg,\n    Apyrn doo, Apyrn doo,\n    Vel oo cheet? Vel oo cheet?\n    Skee fieau, skee fieau,\n    Lhondoo, Lhondoo.\n\n    Red head, red head,\n    Black apron, black apron,\n    Are you coming? Are you coming?\n    Tired waiting, tired waiting,\n    Blackbird, Blackbird.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nKITTERLAND\n\n\nIt was more than eight hundred years ago, in the days of Olaf\nGoddardson, that Baron Kitter, the Norwegian, lived in Mann. He\nhad his castle on the top of Barrule, and he spent all his time in\nhunting the bisons and elks that were on the island then, until he\nhad killed them all. Then the people began to be afraid that he would\nchase their cattle and the purrs of the mountains, and leave them\nno beasts at all, so they went to the wisest witches of the island,\nto see what they could do.\n\nOne day Baron Kitter had gone over to the Calf to hunt the red deer\nthere, leaving his cook, Eaoch of the Loud Voice, in the castle to\ncook his dinner. Eaoch set the pot on the fire and then fell asleep\nover his work. While he was sleeping the witch-wife Ada put a spell\non the pot, and the fat boiled over into the fire. Soon the house was\nin flames. Eaoch woke and shouted for help at the top of his voice,\nand his cries were so loud that they reached the ears of Kitter and\nhis fellow-huntsmen, ten miles away on the Calf.\n\nWhen Kitter heard the cries and saw the flames on the top of Barrule,\nhe made for the beach as hard as he could, and put out in a small\ncurrach for the island, with most of his friends. When they were in\nthe strong current about half way across the channel, the boat struck\non a rock and they were all drowned, and the rock has ever since\nbeen called Kitterland. The rest of Kitter's friends, who had stayed\non the Calf and so saved their lives, believed that Eaoch, the cook,\nhad made a plot with the witches of the island to do away with all the\nNorwegians in Mann, so they brought him before King Olaf to be judged,\nand he was condemned to death. But according to the custom of Norway,\nhe was allowed to choose how he would die.\n\nThen he said:\n\n'I wish my head to be laid across one of your Majesty's legs, and\nthere cut off by your Majesty's sword Macabuin, which was made by\nLoan Maclibuin, the Dark Smith of Drontheim!'\n\nIt was known to every person there that the king's sword could cut the\nhardest granite, only by touching it with its edge, and they all begged\nOlaf not to do as crafty Eaoch asked. But the king would not break\nhis word and gave orders that all should be done as the cook had said.\n\nBut the witch Ada was there and she told them to take toads' skins,\ntwigs of the cuirn tree, and adders' eggs, nine times nine of each,\nand put them between the king's leg and the cook's head. They did this,\nand then the great sword Macabuin, made by Loan Maclibuin, was lifted\nwith the greatest care by one of the king's faithful servants and laid\ngently on the cook's neck, but before it could be stopped Eaoch's\nhead was cut from his body and the adders' eggs and the cuirn twigs\nwere also cut through--only the toads' skins saved the king's leg.\n\nWhen the Dark Smith heard how the power of the great sword Macabuin\nhad been stayed by witchcraft, he was very angry, and called for\nhis Hammer-man, Hiallus-nan-urd, who had lost one leg when he was\nhelping to make the sword. He sent him off at once to Peel Castle\nto challenge King Olaf, or any of his men, to a walking race from\nPeel to Drontheim. King Olaf himself took up the challenge, and off\nthey set. Over mountains and through gills they walked, as fast as\nthey could go, and the one-legged man as fast as the king. When they\nhad crossed the island they each put out to sea in a sailing boat,\nand each came in sight of Drontheim at the same moment. When they\ndrew near to the smithy, the Hammer-man, who was ahead, called out to\nLoan to open the door, and Olaf called to him to shut it, and then,\npushing past Hiallus, got into the smithy first.\n\nTo show that he was not at all weary after his walk Olaf took up\nthe great hammer of the forge and struck the anvil such a mighty\nblow that he split it through, and the block beneath it, too. When\nEmergaid, the daughter of Loan, saw the strength and power of Olaf,\nshe loved him; and while her father was putting back the block and\nanvil, she whispered to the king:\n\n'My Father is doing that, so that he may finish the sword he is\nmaking. It has been foretold that the first blood it shall shed shall\nbe royal blood, and he has sworn that that blood shall be yours.'\n\n'But is not your father the seventh son of Old Windy Cap, King of\nNorway?' cried Olaf.\n\n'He is,' said Emergaid.\n\n'Then the prophecy shall be fulfilled,' said Olaf, and he thrust\nthe sword into the heart of Loan, and afterwards slew with it the\nHammer-man also.\n\nHe made Emergaid his queen and they ruled together, and from them\ncame a long line of Kings of Mann.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTEEVAL, PRINCESS OF THE OCEAN\n\n\nIn the old days Culain, the smith of the gods, was living in the Isle\nof Mann. It was the time when Conchubar was at the court of the King\nof Ulster, and had nothing but the sword in his hand. He was a fine\nhandsome young man, and he had made up his mind to make himself a\nking. So he went one day to the Druid of Clogher to ask him what he\nhad best do.\n\n'Go thy way,' said the Druid, 'to the Isle of Mann. There thou wilt\nfind the great smith Culain. Get him to make thee a sword and a spear\nand a shield, and with these thou shalt win the kingdom of Ulster.'\n\nConchubar went away, and hired a boat and put out to sea. He landed in\nMann and made straight for Culain's smithy. It was night when he got\nthere, and the red glow of the furnace shone out into the dark. He\ncould hear from inside the smithy the roar of the bellows and the\nclanging of the hammer on the anvil. When he came near, a great\ndog, as large as a calf, began to bay and to growl like thunder,\nand brought his master out.\n\n'Who art thou, young man?' said he.\n\n'Oh Culain!' cried Conchubar, 'it is from the Druid of Clogher that\nI come, and he bade me ask thee to make me a sword and a spear and\na shield, for only with weapons of thy making can I win the Kingdom\nof Ulster.'\n\nCulain's face grew black at first, but after he had gazed for a while\nat Conchubar, he saw that he had the look about him of one who would\ngo far, and he said:\n\n'It shall be done for thee, but thou must wait, for the work is long.'\n\nSo Culain began to make the weapons, and Conchubar waited in the\nisland.\n\nEarly one brave morning in May when the sun had just risen over\nCronk-yn-Irree-Laa, he was walking on the strand, wondering to himself\nhow much longer Culain would be making his weapons and thinking it\nwas full time for him to return. The tide was going out, and the\nsun was shining on the wet sand. Suddenly he saw something flashing\nat the edge of the waves a few paces from him. He ran up to it and,\nbehold, it was the most beautiful woman he had ever put sight on,\nfast asleep. Her hair was golden, like the gorse in bloom; her skin\nwhiter than the foam of the sea, her lips red as the coral, and her\ncheeks rosy like the little clouds that were flying before the face\nof the rising sun. The fringe of her dress of many coloured seaweeds\nrose and fell with the ebb and flow of the waves. Pearls gleamed on\nher neck and arms. Conchubar stood and looked on her. He knew that she\nwas a Mermaid and that as soon as she awoke she would slip back into\nthe ocean and be lost to him. So he bound her fast with his girdle.\n\nThen she awoke and opened her eyes, which were blue as the sea,\nand when she saw that she was bound, she cried out with terror,\n'Loose me, man, loose me!'\n\nConchubar did not answer, so she said again, 'Loose me, I beg thee!' in\na voice as sweet as the music of Hom Mooar, the Fairy Fiddler.\n\nBy this time Conchubar was feeling that he would give all he had to\nkeep her. He answered, trembling, 'Woman, my heart, who art thou?'\n\n'I am Teeval, Princess of the Ocean,' said she. 'Set me free, I\npray thee.'\n\n'But if I set thee free,' said Conchubar, 'thou wilt leave me.'\n\n'I cannot stay with thee, Conchubar,' she cried; 'set me free, and\nI will give thee a precious gift.'\n\n'I will loose thee,' answered Conchubar. 'It is not for the gift,\nbut because I cannot resist thee.'\n\nHe unfastened the girdle from her and she said, 'My gift to thee\nis this: Go now to Culain who is making thy shield, and tell him\nthat Teeval, Princess of the Ocean, bids him to put her figure on\nthe shield and round it to grave her name. Then thou shalt wear it\nalways in battle, and when thou shalt look on my face and call my\nname, thy enemies' strength shall go from them and shall come into\nthee and thy men.' When she had said this, she waved her white arm\nto Conchubar and plunged into the waves. He looked sadly for a long\ntime at the spot where she had disappeared, and then walked slowly\nto the forge of Culain, and gave him the message.\n\nCulain finished the mighty shield as the Princess had said, and\nforged also for Conchubar a golden-hilted magic sword, and a spear\nset with precious stones. Then Conchubar, in his crimson mantle and\nwhite gold-embroidered tunic, and armed with his great shield and\nhis mighty weapons, went back to Ireland.\n\nAll that the Princess of the Ocean had said came true. When he went\ninto battle he looked at the beautiful face in his shield and cried\n'Help, Teeval.'\n\nThen he felt strength come into him like the strength of a giant,\nand he cut his enemies down like grass. Before long he was famous\nall over Ireland for his great deeds, and in the end he became King\nof Ulster. Then he invited Culain to come and live in his kingdom,\nand gave him the plain of Murthemny to dwell in.\n\nBut he never again saw the lovely Mermaid.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WIZARD'S PALACE\n\n\nLong hundreds of years ago there was a fine palace on a mountain\nsloping up from the sea. It was like a palace in a dream, built of\nshining marble of all colours and having great doors covered with gold.\n\nIn it there lived the mighty Wizard who had made it for himself by his\nspells. But his hatred of other people was as great as his power, and\nhe would not allow any person to come near him except his own servants,\nand they were evil spirits. If any man dared to go to see the palace,\nto ask for work or to beg for charity, he would never be heard of\nagain. His friends might search for him, but they would never find\nhim. Soon people began to whisper that some of the blocks of granite\nnear the palace were like the men who had gone up the mountain and\nnever came back. They began to believe that the Wizard had caught\nthem and frozen them into grey stone. At length the Wizard became\nthe terror of the whole island, so that no person would pass within\nseveral miles of his palace. The people of that side of the island\nfled from their homes, and the place was lonely and desolate.\n\nSo things went on for three years, until one day a poor man going\non the houses happened to travel on that side of the island, not\nknowing anything of this Wizard. His road took him over the mountain,\nwhere the Wizard lived, and as he came near it, he was astonished to\nsee the place so silent and desolate. He had been looking forward to\nthe usual food and shelter, with the friendly welcome, but he found\nthe houses empty ruins and the kindly country people gone. And where\nwas the straw and hay which made such a snug bed in the barn? Weeds\nand stones were lying thick in the fields. Night came on him, and he\nwalked and walked; but never a bit of shelter could he find, and he\ndid not know where to go to get a bed. 'It's a middlin' dark night,'\nhe thought; 'but it's better to go on than back--a road a body is used\non is no throuble to them, let it be night or not.' He was travelling\non the old road over the mountain, going ahead singing 'Colcheragh\nRaby' for company to himself, and after a long while he saw a light\nin the distance. The light got brighter and brighter until he came to\na grand palace with every window lit up. The singing was all knocked\nout of him.\n\n'In the name of Fortune where am I at all? This is a dreadful big\nhouse,' he said to himself; 'where did it come from, for all? Nobody\nnever seen the like of it on this bare breas' before--else where am\nI at all, at all?'\n\nHe was hard set to get to the door with the blocks of stone lying\nabout like frozen men.\n\n'I'd swear,' he said to himself as he stumbled over one, 'that this\nwas lil' Neddy Hom, the dwarf man tha's missin', only it's stone.'\n\nWhen he came to the big door it was locked. Through one of the windows\nhe saw a table, and supper ready on it, but he saw no person. He was\nvery tired and hungry, but he was afraid to knock at the door of such\na fine place.\n\n'Aw, that place is too gran' for the likes of me!' said he.\n\nHe sat down on one of the marble seats outside, saying:\n\n'I'll stretch meself here till mornin', it's a middlin' sort of\na night.'\n\nThat day meat and bread had been given to him at the last town he\nhad passed through. He was hungry and he thought he would eat, so he\nopened his wallet and took out a piece of bread and meat, then he put\nhis hand into his pocket and drew out a pinch of salt in a screw of\npaper. As he opened the paper some grains of salt fell out, on to the\nground. No sooner had this happened than up from the ground beneath\ncame the sound of most terrible groans, high winds blew from every\nairt out of the heavens, lightnings flashed in the air, dreadful\nthunder crashed overhead, and the ground heaved beneath his feet;\nand he knew that there was plenty of company round him, though no man\nwas to be seen. In less than a moment the grand palace burst into a\nhundred thousand bits, and vanished into the air. He found himself\non a wide, lonely mountain, and in the grey light of dawn no trace\nof the palace was to be seen.\n\nHe went down on his knees and put up a prayer of thanksgiving for his\nescape, and then ran on to the next village, where he told the people\nall that he had seen, and glad they were to hear of the disappearance\nof the Wizard.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ENCHANTED ISLE\n\n\nOut under the Irish Sea, fifteen or sixteen miles south-west of the\nCalf, there is an enchanted isle. Long, long ago it was on the surface\nof the water--that was in the days when Manannan ruled in Mann--but\nwhen Saint Patrick drove Manannan and his men from the island in the\nform of three-legged creatures, they came upon this isle. Manannan\ndropped it to the bottom of the sea, and they were seen no more.\n\nNow it is the home of Manannan Mac y Leirr, Son of the Sea, and\nhe rules it as he used to rule Mann. But once in seven years, when\nOld May Day is on a Sunday, the isle may be seen. It rises up from\nthe sea just before sunrise, like a beautiful vision, and Manannan\nlooks once more at Ellan Vannin. The hills of the enchanted isle are\ngreen, white foam rings it round, and if you are near enough you may\nsee the tossing arms and golden hair of the Mermaids by the water's\nedge washing their glittering jewels, and hear the singing of birds,\nand smell the fragrant scent of flowers. But as the first rays of\nthe sun rest upon its highest hills, it sinks into the deep, deep sea.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES ABOUT BIRDS\n\n\nI. THE RAVENS\n\nTwo Ravens met once, and one asked the other in Bird language:\n\n'Is there nothing new at you?'\n\n'The white Horse is dead,' said he.\n\n'Is he fat? Is he fat?' said the other.\n\n'Delicious, delicious,' said he.\n\nThen he repented that he had told him that, and called out:\n\n'Bare bones, bare bones!'\n\n\n\nII. BLACKBIRD'S MORNING SONG\n\nOld Robin Quirk one fine morning was sitting sunning himself before\nhis cottage door, when the Blackbird, living in the Tramman Tree in\nhis garden, flew down, settled near Robin, and began to talk to him\nin Manx:\n\n'Irree, Robin, as gow smook.' 'Rise, Robin, and take a smoke.'\n\n'Cha nel thombaga aym.' 'I have no tobacco,' said Robin.\n\n'Kionn eh, kionn eh.' 'Buy it, buy it,' cried Blackbird.\n\n'Cha nel ping aym.' 'I have not a penny,' poor Robin said.\n\n'Gow er dayl, gow er dayl.' 'Credit it, credit it,' was Blackbird's\nbad advice.\n\n'Cha der ad dayl dou, boy.' 'They won't give me credit, boy.'\n\n'Quit eh, eisht, quit eh.' 'Quit it, then, quit it,' whistled\nBlackbird, flying home and closing the discussion.\n\n'The imperence of sin is in them Blackbirds!' Robin said.\n\n\n\nIII. HOW THE WREN BECAME KING OF THE BIRDS\n\nA long, long time ago, before you and I were born, the birds of the\nair gathered at Tynwald from all airts of the wind. The meeting was to\nsettle once and for all the squabbling and fighting among them as to\nwhich of them was the cleverest, and it was agreed that the cleverest\nbird should be king. The sky was black with them, big and little, and\nsoon all had gathered together. Everywhere groups of birds sat-a-row,\ncooishing, scolding, or sleeping. Some were in fine, black Sunday\ncoats like old Parson Gull, some clad only in work-a-day brown like\nPoor Brownie, the Hedge Sparrow; but most wore leggings of red or\nyellow, while the Chough had a new pair of bright red ones. Yellow\nTommy, the dandy, was preening himself, swinging on the top of a\ngorse bush. Old Greyback, the Crow, perched on a rock above him,\nsilent but observant, was eating flitters; and over all, the blue\narch of the sky, in which hung motionless a broad-winged eagle.\n\nThe Corncrake officially announced, 'Raip, raip' (ready, ready). Then\neach one got up in his turn to tell of all the great things he could\ndo. The Falcon boasted that he and his mate were worth the kingdom\nof Mann with all its rights; Lhondoo, the Thrush, sang her best\nto them--it was a pleasure to listen to her, and for a moment she\nthought that she would be elected; Flame of the Wood, the Goldfinch,\nspread her bright plumage; Fork of the Wind, the Swallow, told of her\nswiftness and travels to warm countries in the south; the Curlew, of\nher riches--'Let the curlew be poor or fat, she carries a groat upon\nher back,' said she, showing the mark of 4 which she bears. When the\nCuckoo got up, the Meadow Pipit darted out from a group and danced\nround, calling out his name to draw attention to himself, the little\nfool, and saying, 'Let every bird hatch her own eggs,' so poor Cuckoo\nwasn't heard. There was a loud-voiced dispute between the Magpie and\nthe Jackdaw as to which was the best thief. At last little Jinny Wren\ngot up to have her say, after all the grand ones had done. 'Ha, ha,\nha,' laughed the Snipe, and all the birds chuckled; but Jinny Wren\ngot the better of them for all that. Says she:\n\n\n    Small though I am and slender my leg,\n    Twelve chicks I can bring out of the egg.\n\n\nAnd the birds agreed that Jinny was as clever again as the best\nof them. But the eagle didn't like it that a little bit of a bird\nlike Jinny Wren should be over him. So he considered for a minute,\nand says he, middling vexed: 'Birds, it's only right that the best\nbird on the wing should be king; let's try a heat to see which of us\ncan go the highest.' Hullad, the Owl, looked thoughtful, and said: 'I\nnever saw anything yet worth flying for.' But the birds said: ''Deed,\nit wouldn't be a bad idea at all.' No sooner said than done. Jinny\nDiver, the Cormorant, gave the whistle to fly, and instantly off\nthey started. Speeding on great strong wings, the eagle led the way,\nthe little ones following, Pompee-ny-Hoarn, Fat bird of the barley,\nstraggling far in the rear. But the Seven Sleepers, the Bat, the\nStone-chat, Cooag the Cuckoo, and the others, didn't stir--the sleep\nhad fallen on them. The Eagle flew up and up and away, away to the\nsun, till he couldn't lift a feather an inch higher. Then he peered\ndown into the blue to the birds far, far below, and he let a scream\nout of him:\n\n'Ta mish Ree ny Ein, Ree ny Ein.'\n\n'I am King of the Birds, King of the Birds.'\n\nBut little Jinny Wren was one too many for him there again. She had\ntaken tight hold of him by a feather under his great, broad wing and\nhidden herself. And as he cried 'Ta mish Ree ny Ein,' she flew on\ntop of his head and called out, 'Cha nel, cha nel, ta mish er-y-skyn.'\n\n'Not so, not so, I'm above him, I'm above him.'\n\nDown dropped the Eagle, and down dropped the Wren, breathless, but\nKing of the Birds.\n\nAnd that's why the boys go round on St. Stephen's Day to this day,\nsinging:\n\n\n    The Wren, the Wren, the King of all Birds,\n    We've caught St. Stephen's Day in the gorse,\n    Though he's small his family is many;\n    We pray you, good woman, give us a drop to drink.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MODDEY DOO OR THE BLACK DOG OF PEEL CASTLE\n\n\nIn the days when Charles II was king in England and Charles, Earl of\nDerby, king in Mann, Peel Castle was always garrisoned by soldiers. The\nguard-room was just inside the great entrance gate of the castle\nand a passage used to lead from it, through one of the old churches,\nto the Captain of the Guard's room. At the end of the day one of the\nsoldiers locked the castle gates and carried the keys through the\ndark passage to the captain. They would take it in turns.\n\nAbout this time one and another began to notice, sometimes in one\nroom, sometimes in another, a big Black Dog with rough curly hair. He\ndid not belong to any person there, and nobody knew anything about\nhim. But every night when the candles were lighted in the guard-room\nand the fire was burning bright, he would come from the dark passage\nand lay himself down by the hearth. He made no sound, but lay there\ntill the break of day, and then he would get up and disappear into\nthe passage. The soldiers were terrified of him at first, but after a\ntime they were used to the sight of him and lost some of their fear,\nthough they still looked on him as something more than mortal. While\nhe was in the room the men were quiet and sober, and no bad words\nwere spoken. When the hour came to carry the keys to the captain,\ntwo of them would always go together--no man would face the dark\npassage alone.\n\nOne night, however, one foolish fellow had drunk more than was good\nfor him, and he began to brag and boast that he was not afraid of the\ndog. It was not his turn to take the keys, but to show how brave he was\nhe said that he would take them alone. He dared the dog to follow him.\n\n'Let him come,' he shouted, laughing; 'I'll see whether he be dog\nor devil!'\n\nHis friends were terrified and tried to hold him back, but he snatched\nup the keys and went out into the passage.\n\nThe Black Dog slowly got up from before the fire and followed him.\n\nThere was a dead silence in the guard-room--no sound was heard but\nthe dashing of the waves on the steep rocks of the Castle Islet.\n\nAfter a few minutes, there came from the dark passage the most awful\nand unearthly screams and howls, but not a soldier dared to move to\nsee what was going on. They looked at each other in horror. Presently\nthey heard steps, and the rash fellow came back into the room. His\nface was ghastly pale and twisted with fear. He spoke not a word,\nthen or afterwards. In three days he was dead and nobody ever knew\nwhat had happened to him that fearful night.\n\nThe Black Dog has never been seen again.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE RED BIRD\n\n\n    Little red bird of the black turf ground,\n    Where did you sleep last night?\n    I slept last night on the top of the briar,\n    And oh! what a wretched sleep!\n\n    Little red bird of the black turf ground,\n    Where did you sleep last night?\n    I slept last night on the top of the bush,\n    And oh! what a wretched sleep!\n\n    Little red bird of the black turf ground,\n    Where did you sleep last night?\n    I slept last night on the ridge of the roof,\n    And oh! what a wretched sleep!\n\n    Little red bird of the black turf ground,\n    Where did you sleep last night?\n    I slept last night between two leaves\n    As a babe 'twixt two blankets quite at ease,\n    And oh! what a peaceful sleep!\n\n\n    An old Manx Lullaby.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTEHI TEGI\n\n\nLong hundreds of years ago there was a witch in the island who made\nherself the finest and cleverest-looking young woman in it. Her like\nfor beauty was never before seen in this mortal world. When she\nwent out walking or riding the very birds of the air would forget\nto sing for looking at her, and her sweet voice would tempt them off\nthe trees to listen to her. Even the animals would stand still till\nshe went by, for her beauty cast a spell on them. And as for the men,\nthe poor creatures, they flocked from all sides of the island to woo\nher, and when they had once looked on her face they never wanted to\nleave her. They forgot everything else in the world--all sorrow and\ncare, home and country, till at last everything in the island came\nto a standstill because the men followed wherever this young witch\nchose to lead them. Their haggards were empty, for they neither\nploughed nor sowed, and their houses tholthans, for they neither\nbuilt nor mended. They cut no turf and pulled no ling for fires. Their\nfields were covered with stones, so that the cattle died for want of\npasture, and their gardens were full of weeds. There was a strange\nstillness throughout the island--no children's voices were to be heard\nanywhere. The witch only laughed to see what her beauty had done, and\nshe kept all the men near her by making each think that himself might\nbe the chosen one. If one asked her to marry him she would answer,\n'An' maybe I will,' and then she would say the same to the next. So\nthey spent their days in pleasuring themselves. When she had made\nslaves of the men of the island in this way, she said one day:\n\n'Saddle me my horse, for I've a mind to ride.'\n\nSo they brought her milk-white horse shod with shoes of gold, with bit\nof gold and bridle set with jewels, with saddle of mother-of-pearl\nand saddle-cloth of blue. Tehi Tegi mounted, and the waves of her\ngolden hair flowed down over her dress of shining white.\n\n'I'm going,' said she, 'to the country for the day, and you can follow\nme on foot if you like.'\n\nShe rode and took her way under shady trees and through grassy lanes,\nwhere blue-bells and primroses grew as thick as the grass, and the\nhedges were yellow with gorse. She went on by fields, covered with\nstones, which were once fine corn land; and on she went at the head of\nthem by lonely little tholthans whose roofs had sunk in on the hearth,\nand then by spots where houses once had been, now marked by jenny\nnettles and an old tramman tree. Her way mounted upwards among hills\nshining in the May sunlight, and through gills where little streams\nran down between banks covered with fern and briar and many a flower,\nto the blue sea.\n\nAt last they found themselves at the side of a bright swift river,\nand she put a spell on it and made it seem shallow and as smooth and\nclear as glass, so that the little stones at the bottom were barely\ncovered. Then, when they were all beginning to wade through it, she\ntook off the spell and the water rushed over their heads and swallowed\nup the six hundred poor lovers. With that she made a bat of herself\nand rose up in the air and flew out of sight. Her milk-white horse\nturned into a perkin, plunged to the bottom of the stream, and swam\naway out to sea and was never more seen.\n\nFrom that time the wise men of the island made their women go on\nfoot and follow their husbands wherever they should lead, so that no\nsuch accident should happen again. If by chance a woman went first,\nanyone who saw her cried out 'Tehi Tegi! Tehi Tegi!'\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nJOHN-Y-CHIARN'S JOURNEY\n\n\nJohn-y-Chiarn took the biggest journey in his life without meaning\nto do it at all.\n\nOne night he was going towards Ballaquirk, taking his time and thinking\nof his younger days, when all of a sudden he heard a great murmur of\npeople coming up behind him, and, before he had time to look round\nhim, he felt himself getting jostled and a voice asked him--middling\nsharp, too:\n\n'What business have you here in our way at this hour of the night?'\n\n'I am sorry to give anyone trouble,' said John; 'I'll get over the\nhedge out of the road.'\n\nThen the leader came and touched him with the little stick he was\ncarrying, and said to the others:\n\n'We'll take him with us; he'll be useful enough among the rest.'\n\nAt that there was a big titter and John felt himself all altered like,\nand a thing like a load came on to his back. Then they all went on\ntogether, Themselves talking and laughing away. As soon as they came\nnear the Ballaragh Chapel though, all was as silent as the grave. The\nhouses were dark and the only thing they saw stirring was Quilleash's\ndog, and as soon as he smelt Themselves he took to his heels with\nhis tail between his legs.\n\nIt was a fine easy night with just a touch of soft fog on, and a little\nair coming down from the mountain as we got to Dreem-y-Cuschaage. There\nthe leader sounded his big ram's horn, and as they went galloping down\nto the Dhoon, out came some more of the Lil Fellas from the gill and\njoined them, and more talking and laughing went on. He blew another\nblast at Ballellin, for there they could see the fog rolling down\nfrom Creg-ny-Molt.\n\nAgain he blew at Ballagorry and they slacked down a bit, and you\nwould have thought the whole glen would have wakened up with the\nechoes. Down at the bridge they could see the lights going about like\nwill-o'-the-wisps. Then the leader shouted:\n\n'Get into your lines there, my boys,' and the Maughold Lil Fellas\nput themselves in rows on the walls of the bridge, just under the big\ncherry trees, holding their coloured lanthorns on the points of their\nsticks to give light round that dirty turn; then when all had passed,\nthey joined in and followed behind. Away they all went, down Slieu\nLewaige, fit to break their necks. They slackened off a bit as they\ngot to Folieu and then took their time as far as Ballure's Bridge,\nwhere there was a big lanthorn hanging up in a tree over the old\nmill. As soon as they saw this, two of Themselves blew horns and then\na host of riders came out of the mill, blowing horns too. They turned\nup the gill and all of a sudden the whole crowd, with John among them,\nwere right in the middle of a big camp of the Lil People. There were\nlights hanging all about in the trees, and fires blazing under the\ncowree pots, and musicians playing fine music. Oh, the taking joy\nthere was! Some were going round, giving horn-spoons for the cowree\nand binjean, and then handing round the oatbread and cheese, and the\ntramman wine. Then the little fiddlers and fluters and reed-fellows\nand the drummers got upon the top of a big rock, and the Lil Fellas\nbegan to dance, till John's head took the reel watching them. It was a\ngrand sight to see the nice little girls in their red petticoats, and\nwhite stockings and shoes with silver buckles on, and little bells all\ntinkling in their hair; and the Lil Men in their white knee breeches,\nloghtan stockings and spotted carranes. In the middle of it all,\nup came the Lil Captain and----\n\n'John,' says he. 'What do you think of this sight, boy?'\n\n'It's mortal grand,' says John. 'Far before any of the carnivals I've\nseen before; an' how long will it last?'\n\n'Maybe a fortnight,' said he, laughing heartily. 'And maybe more,\nso you would better go back to your own people.'\n\n'How'll I get back at all, at all, an' in the dark, too?' says John.\n\n'Tchut, man,' he said, tipping John on the head with his little\nstick again.\n\nJohn didn't remember any more till he wakened at the break of day\nclose to his own house, and little the worse for his long journey.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA BAD WISH\n\n\n    May the chimney-hook and the pot-hooks\n      Against thee rise in cruel war;\n    The ladle, the dishes, and the pot-stick,\n      For the dread attack prepare.\n\n    May the pot-stick and the round tables,\n      Cresset, noggin, and hardware store,\n    All help to tear, and flay, and skin thee\n      When fell'd beneath them on the floor.\n\n    What if the spotted water-bull,\n      And the Glashtan would thee take, for all\n    And the Fynoderee of the glen, waddling,\n      To make of thee a bolster against the wall.\n\n    The Fairy of the Glen and the Buggane,\n      Finn MacCool and all his company;\n    May they gather together about thy bed,\n      And in a straw-rope creel run off with thee.\n\n\n    From an old Manx Ballad.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCH OF SLIEU WHALLIAN\n\n\nIt was Midsummer Day, and the Peel Herring Fleet, with sails half set,\nwas ready for sea. The men had their barley sown, and their potatoes\ndown, and now their boats were rigged and nets stowed on board and they\nwere ready for the harvest of the sea. It was a fine day, the sky was\nclear and the wind was in the right airt, being from the north. But,\nas they say, 'If custom will not get custom, custom will weep.' A\nbasinful of water was brought from the Holy Well and given to the\nWise Woman that sold fair winds, as she stood on the harbour-side with\nthe women and children to watch the boats off. They told her to look\nand tell of the luck of the Herring Fleet. She bent over the water\nand, as she looked, her face grew pale with fear, and she gasped:\n'Hurroose, hurroose! An' do ye know what I'm seeing?'\n\n'Let us hear,' said they.\n\n\n    I'm seeing the wild waves lashed to foam away by great Bradda Head,\n    I'm seeing the surge round the Chicken's Rock an' the breaker's\n    lip is red;\n    I'm seeing where corpses toss in the Sound, with nets an' gear\n    an' spars,\n    An' never a one of the Fishing Fleet is riding under the stars.\n\n\nThere was a dead hush, and the men gathered close together, muttering,\ntill Gorry, the Admiral of the Fishing Fleet, stepped forward, caught\nthe basin out of her hands and flung it out to sea, growling:\n\n'Sure as I'm alive, sure as I'm alive, woman, I've more than half a\nmind to heave you in after it. If I had my way, the like of you an'\nyour crew would be run into the sea. Boys, are we goin' to lose a shot\nfor that bleb? Come on, let's go an' chonce it with the help of God.'\n\n'Aye, no herring, no wedding. Let's go an' chonce it,' said young\nCashen.\n\nSo hoisting sails they left the port and when the land was fairly\nopened out, so that they could see the Calf, they headed for the\nsouth and stood out for the Shoulder. Soon a fine breeze put them\nin the fishing-ground, and every man was looking out for signs of\nherring--perkins, gannets, fish playing on the surface, oily water,\nand such like. When the sun was set and the evening was too dark\nto see the Admiral's Flag, the skipper of each lugger held his arm\nout at full length, and when he could no longer see the black in\nhis thumb-nail he ordered the men to shoot their nets. And as they\nlay to their trains it all fell out as the witch had said. Soon the\nsea put on another face, the wind from westward blew a sudden gale\nand swelled up the waves with foam. The boats were driven hither\nand thither, and the anchors dragged quickly behind them. Then the\nmen hoisted sail before the wind and struggled to get back to land,\nand the lightning was all the light they had. It was so black dark\nthat they could see no hill, and above the uproar of the sea they\ncould hear the surges pounding on the rocky coast. The waves were\nrising like mountains, breaking over the boats and harrying them from\nstem to stern. They were dashed to pieces on the rocks of the Calf,\nand only two men escaped with their lives.\n\nBut there was one boat that had got safe back to port before the\nstorm, and that was the boat of the Seven Boys. She was a Dalby boat\nand belonged to seven young men who were all unmarried. They were\nalways good to the Dooinney Marrey, the Merman, and when they were\nhauling their nets they would throw him a dishful of herring, and\nin return they had always good luck with their fishing. This night,\nafter the Fleet had shot their nets sometime, the night being still\nfine and calm, the Seven Boys heard the voice of the Merman hailing\nthem and saying:\n\n'It is calm and fine now; there will be storm enough soon!'\n\nWhen the Skipper heard this he said: 'Every herring must hang by its\nown gills,' and he and his crew at once put their nets on board and\ngained the harbour. And it was given for law ever after that no crew\nwas to be made up of single men only; there was to be at least one\nmarried man on board and no man was bound by his hiring to fish in\nthis same south sea, which was called 'The Sea of Blood' from that day.\n\nAs for the witch, they said she had raised the storm by her spells and\nthey took her to the top of the great mountain Slieu Whallian, put\nher into a spiked barrel and rolled her from the top to the bottom,\nwhere the barrel sank into the bog. For many and many a long year\nthere was a bare track down the steep mountain-side, where grass would\nnever grow, nor ling, nor gorse. They called it 'The Witch's Way,'\nand they say that her screams are heard in the air every year on the\nday she was put to death.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD CHRISTMAS\n\n\nIn the days of our grandmothers, Old Christmas Day, the fifth of\nJanuary, was believed to be the true Christmas. On Black Thomas's\nEve, which was the first day of the Christmas holidays, the spinning\nwheels all had to be put away, the making of nets ceased, and no work\nof any kind must be done until after Twelfth Day.\n\nBut there was once an old woman named Peggy Shimmin, at Ballacooil,\nand she was bent on finishing some spinning that she had begun,\nso on Old Christmas Eve she said to herself:\n\n'The New Christmas is pas' an' surely it's no wrong to do a bit o'\nspinning to-night,' though she doubted in her heart if she were not\nsinning. So when Himself and the rest were in bed, she called her\nyoung servant-girl, lil Margad, and said:\n\n'Margad, me an' you will finish the spinning to-night.' Margad was\nfrightened, terrible, but she got out her wheel and sat beside her\nmistress. The two began to spin, and they were spinning and spinning\ntill near midnight, and behold ye, just before midnight old Peggy saw\nthe flax she was drawing from the distaff grow blacker and blacker\ntill it was as black as tar. But Margad's flax did not change colour\nbecause she had only done what her mistress bade her. Peggy dropped\nthe flax quick, put away her wheel, and crept in fear to bed. She knew\nnow which was the true Christmas Day and never more did she spin on\nOld Christmas Eve.\n\nMargad was left alone in the kitchen when her mistress had gone to bed,\nand at first she was trembling with fright; but she was a middling\nbrave girl, and she took a notion, as there was no person to stop\nher, to see if all the things were true that she had heard about Old\nChristmas Eve.\n\n'They're saying,' she thought, 'that the bees are coming out, an'\nthe three-year-old bullocks going down on their knees, an' the myrrh\ncoming up in bloom.' Then she says to herself:\n\n'I'm thinking I'll go out an' watch the myrrh.' So she put a cloak\nround her and crept out at the door into the cold frosty moonlit\nnight, and midnight had just struck as she put her foot outside. She\nstooped to look on the spot where the myrrh root was buried, and as\nshe was looking, the earth began to stir and to crack, and soon two\nlittle green shoots pushed up to the air. She bent closer to see what\nwould happen, and to her great wonder the leaves and stalks grew big\nand strong before her eyes, and then the buds began to show, and in\na few minutes the lovely white flowers were in bloom and the garden\nwas sweet with their fragrance. Margad could do nothing but stare at\nthem at first, but at last she dared to gather one small piece of the\nblossom, and she kept it for luck all her life. Then she went to the\ncowhouse and peeped through the door. She heard a groaning sound and\nthere were the young bullocks on their knees, moaning, and the sweat\nwas dropping from them. Margad knelt down, too, and put up a bit of\na prayer to the Holy Child that was born in a stall. But the wonders\nwere not over yet, for as she went silently back to the house she\nnoticed that the bees were singing and flying round the hive--they\nwere inside again, when she shut the door of the house behind her.\n\nAlways after that, when the neighbours would ask her if she believed\nin the wonders of the Old Christmas Eve, she would say:\n\n'I know it's true, for I've seen it myself.'\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BUGGANE OF ST. TRINIAN'S\n\n\nA long time ago there came some monks to the broad, rough meadow\nwhich is between dark Greeba Mountain and the high road, and they\nchose a nice place and set up a church to St. Trinian on it. But they\nreckoned without the power of the Buggane, who had his haunt in the\nmountain. The Buggane was mighty angry, and he said to himself:\n\n'I'll have no peace night or day with their jingling bells if I\nlet them finish the building.' And, as he had nothing else to do,\nhe took it into his head to amuse himself by tossing off the roof.\n\nSo when the roof of the church was first put on, there was heard that\nvery night a dreadful sound in it, and when the people of Greeba got\nup early next morning they found their church roofless, and planks\nand broken beams all around the place. After a time, and with great\neffort, the roof was put on again. But when it was on, a great storm\narose in the night and it was blown down from the walls, exactly as\nhad happened before. This fall put fear in the people, for they were\nsure now that it was the evil, destructive Buggane himself that was\ndoing the mischief. But, though they were terrified, they resolved\nto make one more attempt; and the third roof was nearly finished.\n\nNow there was a brave little tailor living about a mile from Greeba,\nand because he had not too much worldly gear, he made a wager that\nwhen the new roof was on, he would not only spend the first night in\nthe church, but also make a pair of breeches there. The wager was\ntaken up eagerly, as they hoped that if the roof was one night up,\nit would be left on.\n\nSo Timothy--that was the name of the little tailor--went to the\nchurch on the very first evening after the new roof had been put\non. He started just when the shadow was beginning to get grey by\nthe hedges. He took with him cloth, needle and thread, thimble\nand scissors. He entered the church boldly, lit a couple of big\ncandles, and looked all over the building to see that everything\nwas right. Then he locked the door so that there was no way to get\nin. He cut out the cloth, and, seating himself cross-legged in the\nchancel, he put on his thimble and set to work at the breeches. He\npaid no heed to the darkness of the lonely church at dead of night,\nbut with long thread and needle he bent low over his work, his\nfingers, moving backwards and forwards rapidly, casting strange,\nbeckoning shadows on the walls. The breeches had got to be finished,\nor he would lose his wager, so he stitched away as fast as he could,\nthinking about the good money the people would have to give him.\n\nThe wind was beginning to rise, and trees scutched their arms against\nthe windows. The tailor looked cautiously up and down and round\nabout. Nothing strange came in sight and he took courage. Then he\nthreaded his needle and began his work again. He gave another sharp\nglance around, but saw nothing at all except the glimmer of the place\nnear the candles, and empty, deep darkness away beyond them. So his\ncourage rose high, and he said to himself:\n\n'It's all foolishness that's at the people about the Buggane, for,\nafter all, the like isn't in.'\n\nBut at that very minute the ground heaved under him and rumbling\nsounds came up from below. The sounds grew louder underneath, and\nTimothy glanced quickly up. All of a sudden a great big head broke a\nhole through the pavement just before him, and came slowly rising up\nthrough the hole. It was covered with a mane of coarse, black hair;\nit had eyes like torches, and glittering sharp tusks. And when the\nhead had risen above the pavement, the fiery eyes glared fiercely at\nTim; the big, ugly, red mouth opened wide, and a dreadful voice said:\n\n'Thou rascal, what business hast thou here?'\n\nTim paid no heed, but worked harder still, for he knew he had no time\nto lose.\n\n'Dost thou see this big head of mine?' yelled the Buggane.\n\n'I see, I see!' replied Tim, mockingly.\n\nUp came a big broad pair of shoulders, then a thick arm shot out and\na great fist shook in the Tailor's face.\n\n'Dost thou see my long arms?' roared the voice.\n\n'I see, I see!' answered Tim, boldly, and he stopped his tailoring\nto snuff one of the guttering candles, and he threw the burning snuff\nin the scowling face before him. Then he went on with his tailoring.\n\nThe Buggane kept rising and rising up through the hole until the\nhorrible form, black as ebony, and covered with wrinkles like the\nleather of a blacksmith's bellows, had risen quite out of the ground.\n\n'Dost thou see this big body of mine?' roared the Buggane, angry that\nTim showed no fear of him.\n\n'I see, I see!' replied the Tailor, at the same time stitching with\nall his might at the breeches.\n\n'Dost thou see my sharp claws?' roared the Buggane in a more angry\nvoice than before.\n\n'I see, I see!' answered again the little Tailor, without raising\nhis eyes, and continuing to pull out with all his might.\n\n'Dost thou see my cloven foot?' thundered the Buggane, drawing up\none big foot and planking it down on the pavement with a thud that\nmade the walls shake.\n\n'I see, I see!' replied the little Tailor, as before, stitching hard\nat the breeches and taking long stitches.\n\nLifting up his other foot, the Buggane, in a furious rage, yelled:\n\n'Dost thou see my rough arms, my bony fingers, my hard fists, my----?'\n\nBefore he could utter another syllable, or pull the other foot out\nof the ground, the little Tailor quickly jumped up, and made two\nstitches together. The breeches were at last finished, then with\none spring he made a leap through the nearest window. But scarcely\nwas he outside the walls when down fell the new roof with a terrible\ncrash, that made Tim jump a great deal more nimbly than he ever did\nbefore. Hearing the Buggane's fiendish guffaws of laughter behind him,\nhe took to his heels and sped hot-foot along the Douglas road, the\nbreeches under his arms and the furious Buggane in full chase. The\nTailor made for Marown Church, only a little distance away, and knew\nhe would be safe if he could only reach the churchyard. He ran faster\nstill, he reached the wall, he leaped over it like a hunted hare, and\nfell weary and spent upon the grass, under the shadow of the church,\nwhere the Buggane had not power to follow.\n\nSo furious was the monster at this that he seized his own head with\nhis two hands, tore it off his body and sent it flying over the wall\nafter the Tailor. It burst at his feet with a terrific explosion,\nand with that the Buggane vanished, and was never seen or heard of\nafterwards. Wonderful to relate, the Tailor was not hurt, and he won\nthe wager, for no person grumbled at the few long stitches put into\nthe breeches.\n\nAnd as for St. Trinian's Church, there is no name on it from that day\ntill this but Keeill Vrisht--Broken Church--for its roof was never\nreplaced. There it stands in the green meadow under the shadow of rocky\nGreeba Mountain, and there its grey roofless ruins are to be found now.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nKING MAGNUS BAREFOOT\n\n\nMagnus, great nephew of Olaf the Saint, was King of Norway in the days\nwhen the Norwegian Kings were Lords over Mann, and he was called by\nthe name of Barefoot because he wore kilts. He was the bravest and\nmost beautiful young king of his time--tall and strong and brilliant\nas a meteor. He wore a helmet on his head and carried a red shield\nwith a golden lion upon it; he had in his belt a sword of exceeding\nsharpness with an ivory hilt inlaid with gold, and a keen javelin in\nhis hand. Over his coat of mail was a tunic of ruby-red embroidered\nwith a golden lion. He was a fine and valiant figure. It was he who\nbrought King Olaf's Cup of Peace to our island, and this is the way\nit happened.\n\nMagnus was sitting at supper one day with his chief men, and their talk\nran on the beautiful shrine of Olaf the Saint, which was the wonder\nof its age. They spake to one another of how it was said that Olaf's\nbody would never be destroyed by death, but would remain as in life\nand would heal those who prayed at the shrine of any sickness. Magnus\nlaughed the story to scorn and said boldly:\n\n'Seeing is believing; let the shrine be opened that we may see for\nourselves if the story be true.'\n\nThen the bishop and clergy were horrified, and begged the king: 'Oh\nking, let not the thing be done, it will surely bring evil on thee.'\n\nBut Magnus commanded:\n\n'Let the shrine be opened at once. I fear no man alive or dead.'\n\nSo his will was done and when the jewelled shrine was opened, all saw\nthe body of holy Olaf lying incorrupt and fair as if alive. Magnus\ntouched it with his hands, but was suddenly seized with a great\nfear. He went away in haste, but took with him the lovely crystal\ncup that lay beside the Saint.\n\nThe next night in his sleep he had a vision of King Olaf, majestic\nand stern, who said to him:\n\n'Choose, I tell you, one of two things, either to lose your kingdom and\nlife within thirty days, or to leave Norway and never see it again.'\n\nMagnus awoke and called his chiefs and great men to tell them of\nhis vision.\n\n'Oh king,' they cried in fear. 'Leave Norway with all speed, and keep\nthy life and kingship.'\n\nSo Magnus, who was the last of our great Sea Kings, got together a\nfleet of 160 long ships, each with twenty or thirty rowers' benches,\nand with bows carved in the shape of dragons. He loved the sea, and,\nlike a true Viking, he used to say:\n\n'I will never sleep under a sooty rafter nor drink in the chimney\ncorner.'\n\nAway he sailed to the Orkneys; he conquered them and all the\nWestern Islands, and came to Mann. He put in at Saint Patrick's\nIsle and went to see the site of the Battle of Santwat near Peel,\nwhich had been fought three days before between the Manx of north and\nsouth. The beauty of our island pleased his eyes and he chose it for\nhis dwelling-place. He made the men of Galloway cut timber and bring\nit over to make three forts for him. In one of them, near Douglas,\nhe placed the Cup of Peace, which he knew would be well guarded by\nthe Lhiannan Shee, the Peace Fairy who never left it.\n\nThen he sailed to Anglesey and made himself lord over it, but he\nsoon came back to the Isle of Mann, for it pleased him best. On his\nreturn he sent his dirty shoes over to Morrough, King of Ireland,\nwith this message:\n\n'Magnus Barefoot, King of Norway and the Isles, bids thee carry his\ndirty shoes on thy shoulders through thy house on Christmas Day in thy\nroyal state, and own that thou hast thy kingdom and power from the Lord\nof Norway and the Isles. And this thou must do in sight of his envoys.'\n\nWhen the Irish heard this they were furiously angry and indignant,\nbut wise King Morrough said:\n\n'I will not only carry the shoes, but eat them, rather than that\nMagnus should ruin a single province in Ireland.'\n\nThen he carried the shoes on Christmas Day as Magnus bade, treated\nthe messengers with honour and sent them back to Mann with many fine\ngifts for their king, with whom he made a treaty of peace. But the\nenvoys told their master of the richness of the Irish lands and the\npleasantness of the air, and Magnus kept it in his mind.\n\nAfter this the King of Scotland sent a message to him, saying:\n\n'Cease to make war against me and I will yield thee those of the\nWestern Isles that thou canst from the mainland go round in a vessel\nwith a paddle-rudder.'\n\nMagnus made peace on those terms and so the Norse Kings gained the\nSouthern Isles, among which they counted the peninsula of Cantyre\nbecause Magnus, sitting at the helm, caused his great warship to be\ndragged across the neck of land which joins it to the mainland. His\nvikings shouted with triumph as they pulled the ship along, with\ntheir young king in his red and gold laughing at the stern.\n\nBut all this time, in his heart, Magnus could think of nothing but\nthe conquest of Ireland. He sailed to the coast of Down, where he\nbegan to invade and pillage. It was on Saint Bartholomew's Day, 1103,\nthat his last battle was fought. The Irish had promised to bring him\ncattle for his troops the day before, but as they had not come he\nlanded his men and marched them to the top of a little hill on the\nplain of Coba. From this place he could see all the country round, and\npresently there appeared a great cloud of dust in the distance. Some\nof his men said that it was an army approaching, others that it was\nthe herd of cattle. The last were right, and when the cattle had been\nhanded over, Magnus and his men returned towards his ships. It was\nnow the noon of a calm and sunny day. When they reached the marshes,\nsuddenly a band of Irish rushed out from their ambush in a wood close\nby, and attacked them fiercely.\n\nMagnus ordered his chief, Eyvinder, to sound the trumpet and summon\nhis men around the royal standard. He ordered them to close ranks\nwith overlapping shields, until they got to the dry ground where\nthey would be safe. They made their way as far as an old fort, but\nthe Irish pressed them and slew many of them. Then the king called\nto a chief named Thorgrim:\n\n'Do you, with your cohort, cross the rampart and occupy the hill\nopposite with your archers till we join you.'\n\nThorgrim and his men did as they were told and crossed over, but when\nthey were across they put their shields on their backs and fled to\nthe ships. When Magnus saw them he shouted:\n\n'Is it thus you run, you coward? I was a fool to send you instead of\nSigurd, who would not thus desert me.'\n\nMagnus fought like a lion, but soon he was pierced through the thigh\nby a spear. He pulled it out and snapped it beneath his feet, crying:\n\n'Thus we, young warriors, break these twigs. Fight on bravely, my men,\nand fear no danger for me.'\n\nHis men prayed him to try to spare himself, but he said:\n\n'Better for a people to have a brave king than an old king!'\n\nAnd so saying, foremost in the battle, he met his death.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMANANNAN MAC Y LEIRR\n\n\n    Manannan Beg was son of Leirr,\n    He was the first that e'er had Mann;\n    But as it seemeth unto me,\n    He himself was but a heathen.\n\n    'Twas not with his sword he kept her,\n    Nor with his arrows, nor his bow;\n    But when he would see ships sailing,\n    He hid her right round with a fog.\n\n    He'd set a man upon a brow,\n    You'd think there were a hundred there;\n    And thus did wild Manannan guard\n    That island with all its booty.\n\n    The rent each paid out of the land\n    Was a bundle of green rushes;\n    And that was on them for a tax\n    Throughout the country each John's Eve.\n\n    Some went up with the rushes to\n    The great mountain up at Barrule;\n    Others would leave the grass below,\n    With Manannan above Keamool.\n\n    In this way, then, they lived, I think\n    Myself their tribute very small,\n    Without care or anxiety,\n    Or labour to cause weariness.\n\n\n        Old Ballad.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMANANNAN MAC Y LEIRR\n\n\nManannan Mac y Leirr, the Son of the Sea, was the first Ruler of\nMann. He was a great Wizard, and he was so powerful that afterwards\nhe was looked on as a god. He had a great stone fort on Peel Island,\nand he could make one man, standing on its battlements, seem to be\na hundred. When he saw his enemies' ships sailing, he would cover\nthe island round with a silver mist so that it could not be seen;\nand if, in spite of the mist, his enemies came near, he would throw\nchips into the water and change them into ships. He was out walking\none day on Barrule, when he saw the warships of the Northmen were\nin the bay of Peel. And with that he made himself into the shape of\nthree legs and rolled like a wheel down from the mountain top as\nfast as the wind. It was about low tide in the harbour, and there\nran a stream of sparkling water out to sea. Now the banks of the\nstream were marshy, and by the river-side grew a quantity of sedge\nwith broad, green leaves. So Manannan made little boats of the sedge,\na good number of them, and sailed his boats in the stream. And when\nthe little fleet floated out of the harbour, he caused them to look\nlike great ships of war, well manned with fighting men. Then terror\nseized on the Northmen when they saw the Manx fleet, and they cut\ntheir cables, hoisted sails, and cleared away as fast as they could,\nand Manannan and his island were left in peace. Thus did he keep Mann,\nand not with his sword, or his bow and arrows.\n\nIn his fort he had a great banqueting-hall, where handsome boys\nmade sweet music, and others played games and did great feats of\nstrength. He had a horse called Enbarr of the Flowing Mane, who could\ntravel like the wind over sea as well as land, swift hounds that could\ncatch any wild beast, and a sword called The Answerer, whose wound\nwas always fatal, besides his Magic Branch and his wonderful boat,\nWave Sweeper.\n\nHe governed Mann well for long, long years. Manx people had the best\nof good treatment from him, and all the rent he wanted was that each\none was to bring a bundle of green rushes to him on the Mountain of\nSouth Barrule on Midsummer Eve. The island was a happy place, full\nof sunshine and all pleasant things, and no person there was old or\ntired or sad.\n\nManx men have never forgotten Manannan, and this thousand years our\nfishermen have prayed to him the following prayer, as they have put\nout to sea. Even up to the days of our fathers it has been used:\n\n\n    Manannan Beg Mac y Leirr--\n    Little Manannan Son of the Sea,\n    Who blessed our island,\n    Bless us and our boat, going out well.\n    Coming in better, with living and dead in our boat.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CORMORANT AND THE BAT\n\n\nThere was a time in the olden days when the cormorant and the bat took\ncounsel together to do something for the poor, as they had compassion\non them, and they went into the glens gathering wool to make clothing\nfor them. When they had a quantity gathered they took a boat and put\nout to sea. It happened as they were sailing that a storm came on,\nand the waves were breaking over the vessel, insomuch that the poor\nbat had to leap from place to place to escape the water, and in the\ndarkness he was cast out of the boat clinging to an oar. At daybreak\nhe was near the shore and flew unto dry land. A seagull, standing\nnear by, inquired:\n\n'Och, lil bat vogh, what's there doin on thee that thou are all of\na thriddle of thrimblin like this?' When he heard the bat's story,\nhe said:\n\n'As sure as can be, if he will happen on thee, he will take thy\nlife.' They had given each other a promise that one would not leave\nthe other until they had completed their task.\n\nThe bat was so frightened that he hid himself in an old ruin until the\ndarkness came on; and from that time until now he will only venture\nout under covering of the night.\n\nThe cormorant held on to the boat until she filled with water and sank\nto the bottom of the sea. At last he flew to a rock, and there sat\nfor hours together, day after day, looking out for the bat. At other\ntimes he would go for a season into the glens; and in this way they\ncontinue from that storm to the present time--the one hides himself,\nand the other seeks him.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCAILLAGH-NY-FAASHAGH, OR THE PROPHET WIZARD\n\n\nIn the old days when there were wizards and witches in the Isle of\nMann, the greatest Wizard of all was Caillagh-ny-Faashagh. He did\nnot live above ground, but in a quarry, in a hole under the rock\non the lonely mountain side, and that is why the people called him\nthe Prophet Wizard of the Wilderness. At dark he would roam over\nthe mountains, and people walking there, when night was drawing on,\nwould hear him crying 'Hoa, hoa, hoa!' like the bellow of a goat, in\na voice so terrible and strong that the earth, and all who heard it,\ntrembled with fear. He could change himself into any shape he liked;\nsometimes he would be a goat with big, fiery eyes; at other times\na tall, tall man. Once, when he was a goat, he followed a man that\nwas walking along the mountain road, and that time he had eyes in\nhim as big as two dishes. The man was carrying a lantern, and as he\nshifted it from one hand to the other the goat followed it from side\nto side. The man was terrified and began to run. As soon as he left\nthe mountain road the beast roared after him: 'Hoa, hoa, hoa!'\n\nAnother time, in the shape of a tall, tall man, as tall as two men,\nhe followed a woman who struck across the mountain at Garey mooar,\nand he had great, big, burning eyes, as big as two plates, in his\nhead. The woman ran with all her might, for life or death, and he\nran roaring after her: 'Hoa, hoa, hoa!' But when she turned down from\nthe mountain he came no further.\n\nHe was a great soothsayer, but he would not foretell what was to\nhappen unless some person asked him. It seems that he must have lived\nfor hundreds of years, for he foretold a battle that was fought in\n1098. This was the Battle of Santwat, 'Sand Ford,' between the north\nand south Manx. He said:\n\n\n    The river Neb shall run red from Glen Crew to the sea,\n    And gulls shall sip their full of the blood of Manninee.\n\n\nIt all came true. The north men sailed into Peel and ran their\nflat-bottomed boats up to Glenfaba Ford, where the south men met them\nto keep them from landing. They fought up the stream to Glen Crew where\nthere was a great slaughter, and the bodies of the slain dammed the\nstream and turned the little glen into a pool. The waters of the Neb\nwere reddened by Manx blood when they ran into Peel Bay. The south\nside women had followed the men and were watching the battle from a\nlittle distance, but when they saw that the north people were winning\nthey rushed down, and into the heart of the fight, with bratfuls of\nstones and with hacks, and won the day for the south. And a law was\nmade that henceforth the widows in the south of the island should get\nhalf of their husband's estate; but the north side women, who stayed\nat home, were to get only one-third.\n\nThe Prophet Wizard foretold, too, the finding of Foxdale lead mines. A\nman came to him and asked:\n\n'How will I get rich, O Caillagh-ny-Faashagh?'\n\nAnd the Wizard answered:\n\n\n    There's a butt in Ballafesson worth the whole of Balladoole.\n    But the riches of the Isle of Mann lie hid behind Barrule.\n\n\nHe also gave this prophecy to old Juan the weaver, who asked him\nfor one:\n\n\n    At the foot of Barrule there will be a market town,\n    Mullin-y-Cleigh with blood for twenty-four hours will turn roun'.\n\n\nNow the village of Foxdale stands at the foot of Barrule, and\nit is said that in the old times a great battle between the Manx\nand the Irish was fought by the stream above Mullin-y-Cleigh, the\nMill-by-the-Hedge.\n\nTo a Peel man he foretold:\n\n'There will be a battle between the Irish and the Manx at Creg\nMalin.' And the old fishermen say that that battle took place two\nhundred years ago. It was a Sunday when the Irishmen came in the bay,\nand they found no place to beach their boats, so they turned the\nManx boats adrift, and thought they had the place for themselves. But\nthey soon found their masters. The Manx men came after their boats,\nand there was the battle--red blood running like water! And the\nbattle was not over that day, but they fought round into Douglas,\nand finished at last in Derby Haven, so the old fishermen say.\n\nThen there was an old maid that had a cressad (a melting pot), and\nshe went from house to house making lead spoons. She was a bit queer;\nshe would not smoke a mould on a sunny day, nor a misty day, nor a\nwet day, nor a windy day; she must have a day to fit herself. She met\nthe Caillagh when he was in the shape of a goat, and she asked him\nto foretell when would be the end of the world. He said that before\nthe last:\n\n'The Mountains of Mann will be cut over with roads, and iron\nhorses will gallop over them, and there will be an inn on the top\nof Snaefell.'\n\nThat has all come true; trains rush over the island and, for sure,\nthere is the inn on the top of our highest mountain. He said, too:\n\n'Mann and Scotland will come so close that two women, one standing in\nMann and another in Scotland, will be able to wring a blanket between\nthem.' But that has not come true yet, though the sandy Point of Ayre\nis stretching further and further towards the Mull of Galloway.\n\nAnd another of his prophecies has not come to pass yet:\n\n'The Chief Rulers of Mann will be compelled to flee.'\n\nBut it will all be before the end.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CITY UNDER SEA\n\n\nNow where Langness runs its long nose into the sea, and on a place\nnow always covered by the waves, there was once a fine city with\nmany towers and gilded domes. Great ships went sailing from its port\nto all parts of the world, and round it were well-grassed lands with\ncattle and sheep. Even now sailors sometimes see it through the clear,\ndeep waters, and hear dimly the bleating of sheep, the barking of\ndogs, and the muffled chiming of bells--'Nane, jees, three, kiare,\nqueig.' But no man can walk its streets.\n\nFor once upon a time, in the days when there were giants in the Isle\nof Mann, Finn Mac Cool had his home near this city. He lived at the\nSound to keep his eye on Erinn, and to watch the sea. But he was\nvery seldom in Mann, and wherever he was he was always doing some\nmischief, so that his enemies were many. One day he was in such a\nhurry to reach his home that he jumped from Erinn and landed in\nthe island on the rocks above the Sound. He came down with such\nforce that he left his footmarks in the hard stone, and the place\nhas been called ever since, Slieu ynnyd ny Cassyn, or the Mountain\nof the place of the Feet. His first act when he reached home was to\nget in a red rage with the people of the city close by; his next act\nwas to turn them all into blocks of granite. In his passion he struck\nthe ground so hard with his club that he made a great dent in it--the\nwaves rushed into the deep hollow and the roaring sea drowned the din\nof the city. Its towers and domes were covered by the green water;\nits streets and market-place, its harbour and its crowded quays,\ndisappeared from sight. And there it lies to this day.\n\nBut there is a strange story told of a man that went down to it more\nthan two hundred years ago. A ship was searching for sunken treasure\nin those parts and this man was let down to the bottom of the sea\nin a kind of ancient diving bell. He was to pull the rope when he\nwished to be let down further. He pulled and pulled till the men\non the ship knew that he was as deep down in the sea as the moon is\nhigh up in the sky; then there was no more rope and they had to draw\nhim up again. When he was on deck he told them that if he could have\ngone further he would have made the most wonderful discoveries. They\nbegged him to tell them what he had seen, and when he had drunk a\ncup of wine he told his story.\n\nFirst he had passed through the waters in which the fishes live;\nthen he came into the clear and peaceful region where storms never\ncome, and saw the bottom of the World-under-Sea shining with coral\nand bright pebbles. When the diving bell rested on the ground he\nlooked through its little windows and saw great streets decorated with\npillars of crystal glittering like diamonds, and beautiful buildings\nmade of mother-of-pearl, with shells of every colour set in it. He\nlonged to go into one of these fine houses, but he could not leave\nhis diving bell, or he would have been drowned. He managed to move\nit close to the entrance of a great hall, with a floor of pearls and\nrubies and all sorts of precious stones, and with a table and chair\nof amber. The walls were of jasper, and strings of lovely jewels were\nhanging on them. The man wished to carry some away with him, but he\ncould not reach them--the rope was at an end. As he rose up again\ntowards the air he met many handsome Mermen and beautiful Mermaids,\nbut they were afraid of him, and swam away as fast as they could.\n\nThat was the end of the man's story. After that he grew so sad with\nlonging to go back to the World-under-Sea and stay there for ever,\nthat he cared for nothing on earth, and soon died of grief.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAN ANCIENT CHARM AGAINST THE FAIRIES\n\n\n    Peace of God and peace of man,\n    Peace of God on Columb-Killey,\n    On each window and each door,\n    On every hole admitting moonlight,\n    On the four corners of the house,\n    On the place of my rest,\n    And peace of God on myself.\n\n\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               PRINTED BY\n                 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., COLCHESTER\n                            LONDON AND ETON","title":"Manx Fairy Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":29919}