{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_61436/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_61436","id":"gutenberg_61436","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61436","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore -- Ireland","Legends -- Ireland"],"text":"Transcriber\u2019s Notes\n\nObvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations\nin hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other\nspelling and punctuation remains unchanged.\n\nItalics are represented thus _italic_.\n\n\n\n\n ANCIENT LEGENDS OF IRELAND\n\n\n\n\n Ancient Legends\n Mystic Charms & Superstitions\n of Ireland\n\n WITH SKETCHES OF THE IRISH PAST\n\n\n BY\n\n LADY WILDE\n\n\n A NEW EDITION\n\n\n LONDON\n CHATTO & WINDUS\n 1919\n\n\n\n\n OPINIONS OF THE PRESS\n ON\n ANCIENT LEGENDS OF IRELAND.\n\n\n\u2018A work to be welcomed as a valuable addition to the literature of\nfolk-lore and mythology; taken down, for the most part, from oral\ncommunications with the peasantry.\u2019\u2014SCOTSMAN.\n\n\u2018Few nations have a folk-lore so rich and imaginative as that of the\nIrish. Lady Wilde has studied it conscientiously, and is so well\nacquainted with the origins of her subject, that the perusal of her\nbook is no less instructive than pleasing.\u2019\u2014MORNING POST.\n\n\u2018An important contribution to the literature of Ireland and the world\u2019s\nstock of folk-lore.\u2019\u2014EVENING MAIL.\n\n\u2018Lady Wilde\u2019s book will be welcome either to the professed student of\nIrish antiquity or to the more general reader who finds delight in\nfascinating folk-tales delightfully recorded.\u2019\u2014WESTMINSTER REVIEW.\n\n\u2018Told with power as well as with simplicity ... a very interesting and\nreadable collection of folk-lore.\u2019\u2014GRAPHIC.\n\n\u2018Lady Wilde\u2019s book is delightful.... Amongst those best acquainted with\nIrish folk-lore, legends, and mysteries, we believe few will be found\ncapable of adding many words to pages which could only have been filled\nby an Irish woman lovingly treating such a subject.\u2019\u2014VANITY FAIR.\n\n\u2018Those who care for legendary reading will find in this volume a source\nof much enjoyment.\u2019\u2014NORTHERN WHIG.\n\n\u2018The myths and legends are all of deep interest and value.\u2019\u2014KNOWLEDGE.\n\n\n COMPANION TO THE PRESENT VOLUME.\n\n\n POPULAR ROMANCES OF THE WEST OF ENGLAND:\n\n or, The Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of Old Cornwall.\n\n Collected and Edited by ROBERT HUNT, F.R.S.\n\n With Illustrations by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.\n\n\n London: CHATTO & WINDUS, 97 & 99 St. Martin\u2019s Lane, W.C.\n\n\n\n\n CONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n INTRODUCTION 1\n THE HORNED WOMEN 10\n THE LEGEND OF BALLYTOWTAS CASTLE 12\n A WOLF STORY 17\n THE EVIL EYE 20\n THE STOLEN BRIDE 27\n FAIRY MUSIC 29\n THE FAIRY DANCE 30\n FAIRY JUSTICE 32\n THE PRIEST\u2019S SOUL 33\n THE FAIRY RACE 37\n THE TRIAL BY FIRE 39\n THE LADY WITCH 41\n ETHNA THE BRIDE 42\n THE FAIRIES\u2019 REVENGE 46\n FAIRY HELP\u2014THE PHOUKA 48\n THE FARMER PUNISHED 49\n THE FARMER\u2019S WIFE 52\n THE MIDNIGHT RIDE 53\n THE LEPREHAUN 56\n THE LEGENDS OF THE WESTERN ISLANDS 59\n THE BRIDE\u2019S DEATH-SONG 60\n THE CHILD\u2019S DREAM 62\n THE FAIRY CHILD 64\n THE DOOM 67\n THE CLEARING FROM GUILT 69\n THE HOLY WELL AND THE MURDERER 70\n LEGENDS OF INNIS-SARK\u2014A WOMAN\u2019S CURSE 71\n LEGENDS OF THE DEAD IN THE WESTERN ISLANDS 75\n The Death Sign 75\n Kathleen 76\n November Eve 78\n The Dance of the Dead 80\n SUPERSTITIONS CONCERNING THE DEAD 81\n THE FATAL LOVE-CHARM 83\n THE FENIAN KNIGHTS 84\n RATHLIN ISLAND 86\n THE STRANGE GUESTS 86\n THE DEAD SOLDIER 87\n THE THREE GIFTS 88\n THE FAIRIES AS FALLEN ANGELS 89\n THE FAIRY CHANGELING 89\n FAIRY WILES 91\n SHAUN-MOR 91\n\n THE CAVE FAIRIES\u2014\n The Tuatha-de-Danann 93\n Edain the Queen 94\n The Royal Steed 96\n\n EVIL SPELLS\u2014\n Cathal the King 97\n The Poet\u2019s Malediction 99\n Drimial Agus Thorial 100\n AN IRISH ADEPT OF THE ISLANDS 100\n THE MAY FESTIVAL 101\n MAY-DAY SUPERSTITIONS 106\n\n FESTIVALS\u2014\n Candlemas 107\n Whitsuntide 108\n Whitsuntide Legend of the Fairy Horses 108\n NOVEMBER SPELLS 109\n NOVEMBER EVE 110\n A TERRIBLE REVENGE 112\n\n MIDSUMMER\u2014\n The Baal Fires and Dances 113\n The Fairy Doctress 114\n MARRIAGE RITES 115\n THE DEAD 117\n THE WAKE ORGIES 119\n THE ANCIENT MYSTERIES 123\n THE POWER OF THE WORD 129\n THE POET AND THE KING 130\n THE SIDHE RACE 132\n MUSIC 133\n POET INSPIRATION\u2014EODAIN THE POETESS 134\n THE BANSHEE 135\n QUEEN MAEVE 137\n DEATH SIGNS 138\n The Hartpole Doom 139\n SUPERSTITIONS 140\n THE FAIRY RATH 142\n FAIRY NATURE 142\n IRISH NATURE 144\n\n LEGENDS OF ANIMALS.\n\n CONCERNING DOGS 146\n CONCERNING CATS 151\n The King of the Cats 153\n The Demon Cat 154\n Cat Nature 156\n SEANCHAN THE BARD AND THE KING OF THE CATS 159\n THE BARDS 163\n KING ARTHUR AND THE CAT 166\n CONCERNING COWS 168\n Fairy Wiles 170\n THE DEAD HAND 172\n THE WICKED WIDOW 173\n THE BUTTER MYSTERY 175\n\n CONCERNING BIRDS\u2014\n The Magpie 177\n The Wren 177\n The Raven and Water Wagtail 177\n The Cuckoo and Robin Redbreast 177\n\n CONCERNING LIVING CREATURES\u2014\n The Cricket 178\n The Beetle 178\n The Hare 179\n The Weasel 179\n\n\n THE PROPERTIES OF HERBS AND THEIR USE IN MEDICINE 181\n A Love Potion 185\n Love Dreams 185\n To Cause Love 185\n\n MEDICAL SUPERSTITIONS AND ANCIENT CHARMS 186\n Against Sorrow 188\n To Win Love 189\n For the Night Fire (the Fever) 189\n For a Pain in the Side 189\n For the Measles 190\n For the Mad Fever 190\n Against Enemies 190\n To Extract a Thorn 190\n To Cause Hatred between Lovers 191\n For Love 191\n How to have Money Always 191\n For the Great Worm 191\n For Sore Eyes 191\n For Pains in the Body 192\n Against Drowning 192\n In Time of Battle 192\n For the Red Rash 193\n To Tame a Horse 193\n A very Ancient Charm against Wounds or Poisons 193\n For a Sore Breast 193\n For a Wound 194\n For the Evil Eye 194\n For St. Anthony\u2019s Fire 194\n How to go Invisible 194\n For Pains 194\n For a Sprain 195\n To Cause Love 195\n For the Bite of a Mad Dog 195\n For Toothache 196\n For Freckles 196\n For a Burn 197\n For the Memory 197\n For the Falling Sickness 197\n For Chin-Cough 197\n For Rheumatism 198\n For a Stye on the Eyelid 198\n To Cure Warts 198\n For a Stitch in the Side 198\n For Weak Eyes 198\n For Water on the Brain 199\n For Hip Disease 199\n For the Mumps 199\n For Epilepsy 199\n For Depression of Heart 200\n For the Fairy Dart 200\n\n VARIOUS SUPERSTITIONS AND CURES 200\n To find Stolen Goods 207\n A Prayer against the Plague 207\n A Blessing 207\n A Cure for Cattle 207\n A Charm for Safety 208\n An Elixir of Potency 208\n For the Bite of a Mad Dog 208\n Dreams 208\n Fairy Doctors 209\n Charms by Crystals 209\n Alectromantia 210\n Fairy Power 210\n\n OMENS AND SUPERSTITIONS 211\n That Forbode Evil 211\n To Attract Bees 213\n\n SUPERSTITIONS OF THE ISLANDS\u2014\n Concerning the Dead 213\n The Coastguard\u2019s Fate 214\n Relics 214\n\n LEGENDS OF THE SAINTS.\n\n ST. PATRICK 215\n The Well of the Book 216\n St. Patrick and the Serpent 216\n St. Patrick and the Princesses 217\n The Poison Cup 217\n Divination 217\n The Blind Poet 218\n The Story of Breccan 218\n Bardic Privileges 219\n ST. CIARON 220\n ST. MARTIN 220\n ST. BRIDGET 222\n ST. KIERAN 223\n ST. KEVIN 223\n CHRISTIAN LEGENDS 224\n\n SWEARING STONES AND RELICS\u2014\n The Cremave 225\n Relics for clearing from Guilt 226\n Innis-Murry 227\n\n MYSTERIES OF FAIRY POWER.\n\n THE EVIL STROKE 228\n THE CHANGELING 229\n THE FAIRY DOCTOR 231\n THE POET\u2019S SPELL 233\n CHARM FOR THE FAIRY STROKE 233\n THE FARMER\u2019S FATE 234\n THE FAIRY RATH 235\n\n THE HOLY WELLS.\n\n THE HOLY WELLS 236\n The White Stones 237\n The Sacred Trout 237\n ST. AUGUSTINE\u2019S WELL 238\n THE GRILLED TROUT 238\n LEGEND OF NEAL-MOR 239\n ST. JOHN\u2019S WELL 240\n THE WELL OF FIONN MA-COUL 240\n ST. SEENAN\u2019S WELL 241\n KID-NA-GREINA 241\n THE WELL OF WORSHIP 243\n THE BRIDE\u2019S WELL 243\n THE IRISH FAKIR 244\n SACRED TREES 246\n TOBER-NA-DARA 247\n LOUGH NEAGH 247\n THE DOCTOR AND THE FAIRY PRINCESS 248\n A HOLY WELL 250\n A SACRED ISLAND 251\n THE LAKE OF REVENGE 251\n SCENES AT A HOLY WELL 252\n LOUGH FOYLE 252\n THE HEN\u2019S CASTLE 253\n SLIABH-MISH, COUNTY KERRY 254\n THE SKELLIGS OF KERRY 254\n\n POPULAR NOTIONS CONCERNING THE SIDHE RACE.\n\n THE SIDHE RACE 256\n THE HURLING MATCH 259\n THE RIDE WITH THE FAIRIES 260\n THE FAIRY SPY 263\n THE DARK HORSEMAN 264\n SHEELA-NA-SKEAN 267\n CAPTAIN WEBB, THE ROBBER CHIEF 270\n THE MAYO CAPTAIN AND FEENISH THE MARE 271\n\n SKETCHES OF THE IRISH PAST.\n\n THE BARDIC RACE 274\n THE ANCIENT RACE 276\n THE ANTIQUITIES OF IRELAND 278\n EARLY IRISH ART 287\n OUR ANCIENT CAPITAL 295\n\n SIR WILLIAM WILDE ON \u201cTHE ANCIENT RACES OF IRELAND\u201d 329\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe three great sources of knowledge respecting the shrouded part of\nhumanity are the language, the mythology, and the ancient monuments of\na country.\n\nFrom the language one learns the mental and social height to which\na nation had reached at any given period in arts, habits, and\ncivilization, with the relation of man to man, and to the material and\nvisible world.\n\nThe mythology of a people reveals their relation to a spiritual and\ninvisible world; while the early monuments are solemn and eternal\nsymbols of religious faith\u2014rituals of stone in cromlech, pillar, shrine\nand tower, temples and tombs.\n\nThe written word, or literature, comes last, the fullest and highest\nexpression of the intellect and culture, and scientific progress of a\nnation.\n\nThe Irish race were never much indebted to the written word. The\nlearned class, the ollamhs, dwelt apart and kept their knowledge\nsacred. The people therefore lived entirely upon the traditions\nof their forefathers, blended with the new doctrines taught by\nChristianity; so that the popular belief became, in time, an amalgam of\nthe pagan myths and the Christian legend, and these two elements remain\nindissolubly united to this day. The world, in fact, is a volume, a\nserial rather, going on for six thousand years, but of which the Irish\npeasant has scarcely yet turned the first page.\n\nThe present work deals only with the mythology, or the fantastic creed\nof the Irish respecting the invisible world\u2014strange and mystical\nsuperstitions, brought thousands of years ago from their Aryan home,\nbut which still, even in the present time, affect all the modes of\nthinking and acting in the daily life of the people.\n\nAmongst the educated classes in all nations, the belief in the\nsupernatural, acting directly on life and constantly interfering with\nthe natural course of human action, is soon dissipated and gradually\ndisappears, for the knowledge of natural laws solves many mysteries\nthat were once inexplicable; yet much remains unsolved, even to the\nphilosopher, of the mystic relation between the material and the\nspiritual world. Whilst to the masses\u2014the uneducated\u2014who know nothing\nof the fixed eternal laws of nature, every phenomenon seems to result\nfrom the direct action of some nonhuman power, invisible though ever\npresent; able to confer all benefits, yet implacable if offended, and\ntherefore to be propitiated.\n\nThe superstition, then, of the Irish peasant is the instinctive belief\nin the existence of certain unseen agencies that influence all human\nlife; and with the highly sensitive organization of their race, it is\nnot wonderful that the people live habitually under the shadow and\ndread of invisible powers which, whether working for good or evil, are\nawful and mysterious to the uncultured mind that sees only the strange\nresults produced by certain forces, but knows nothing of approximate\ncauses.\n\nMany of the Irish legends, superstitions, and ancient charms now\ncollected were obtained chiefly from oral communications made by the\npeasantry themselves, either in Irish or in the Irish-English which\npreserves so much of the expressive idiom of the antique tongue.\n\nThese narrations were taken down by competent persons skilled in both\nlanguages, and as far as possible in the very words of the narrator; so\nthat much of the primitive simplicity of the style has been retained,\nwhile the legends have a peculiar and special value as coming direct\nfrom the national heart.\n\nIn a few years such a collection would be impossible, for the old race\nis rapidly passing away to other lands, and in the vast working-world\nof America, with all the new influences of light and progress, the\nyoung generation, though still loving the land of their fathers, will\nscarcely find leisure to dream over the fairy-haunted hills and lakes\nand raths of ancient Ireland.\n\nI must disclaim, however, all desire to be considered a melancholy\n_Laudatrix temporis acti_. These studies of the Irish past are simply\nthe expression of my love for the beautiful island that gave me my\nfirst inspiration, my quickest intellectual impulses, and the strongest\nand best sympathies with genius and country possible to a woman\u2019s\nnature.\n\n FRANCESCA SPERANZA WILDE.\n\n\n\n\n ANCIENT LEGENDS.\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nThe ancient legends of all nations of the world, on which from age\nto age the generations of man have been nurtured, bear so striking a\nresemblance to each other that we are led to believe there was once a\nperiod when the whole human family was of one creed and one language.\nBut with increasing numbers came the necessity of dispersion; and that\nceaseless migration was commenced of the tribes of the earth from the\nEastern cradle of their race which has now continued for thousands of\nyears with undiminished activity.\n\nFrom the beautiful Eden-land at the head of the Persian Gulf, where\ncreeds and culture rose to life, the first migrations emanated, and\nwere naturally directed along the line of the great rivers, by the\nEuphrates and the Tigris and southward by the Nile; and there the first\nmighty cities of the world were built, and the first mighty kingdoms of\nthe East began to send out colonies to take possession of the unknown\nsilent world around them. From Persia, Assyria, and Egypt, to Greece\nand the Isles of the Sea, went forth the wandering tribes, carrying\nwith them, as signs of their origin, broken fragments of the primal\ncreed, and broken idioms of the primal tongue\u2014those early pages in the\nhistory of the human race, eternal and indestructible, which hundreds\nof centuries have not been able to obliterate from the mind of man.\n\nBut as the early tribes diverged from the central parent stock,\nthe creed and the language began to assume new forms, according as\nnew habits of life and modes of thought were developed amongst the\nwandering people, by the influence of climate and the contemplation\nof new and striking natural phenomena in the lands where they found a\nresting-place or a home. Still, amongst all nations a basis remained\nof the primal creed and language, easily to be traced through all the\nmutations caused by circumstances in human thought, either by higher\nculture or by the debasement to which both language and symbols are\nsubjected amongst rude and illiterate tribes.\n\nTo reconstruct the primal creed and language of humanity from these\nscattered and broken fragments, is the task which is now exciting so\nkeenly the energies of the ardent and learned ethnographers of Europe;\nas yet, indeed, with but small success as regards language, for not\nmore, perhaps, than twenty words which the philologists consider may\nhave belonged to the original tongue have been discovered; that is,\ncertain objects or ideas are found represented in all languages by the\nsame words, and therefore the philologist concludes that these words\nmust have been associated with the ideas from the earliest dawn of\nlanguage; and as the words express chiefly the relations of the human\nfamily to each other, they remained fixed in the minds of the wandering\ntribes, untouched and unchanged by all the diversities of their\nsubsequent experience of life.\n\nMeanwhile, in Europe there is diligent study of the ancient myths,\nlegends, and traditions of the world, in order to extract from them\nthat information respecting the early modes of thought prevalent\namongst the primitive race, and also the lines of the first migrations,\nwhich no other monuments of antiquity are so well able to give.\nTraditions, like rays of light, take their colour from the medium\nthrough which they pass; but the scientific mythographic student\nknows how to eliminate the accidental addition from the true primal\nbasis, which remains fixed and unchangeable; and from the numerous\nmyths and legends of the nations of the earth, which bear so striking\na conformity to each other that they point to a common origin, he\nwill be able to reconstruct the first articles of belief in the creed\nof humanity, and to pronounce almost with certainty upon the primal\nsource of the lines of human life that now traverse the globe in all\ndirections. This source of all life, creed, and culture now on earth,\nthere is no reason to doubt, will be found in _Iran_, or Persia as we\ncall it, and in the ancient legends and language of the great Iranian\npeople, the head and noblest type of the Aryan races. Endowed with\nsplendid physical beauty, noble intellect, and a rich musical language,\nthe Iranians had also a lofty sense of the relation between man and\nthe spiritual world. They admitted no idols into their temples; their\nGod was the One Supreme Creator and Upholder of all things, whose\nsymbol was the sun and the pure, elemental fire. But as the world grew\nolder and more wicked the pure primal doctrines were obscured by human\nfancies, the symbol came to be worshipped in place of the God, and the\ndebased idolatries of Babylon, Assyria, and the Canaanite nations were\nthe result. Egypt\u2014grave, wise, learned, mournful Egypt\u2014retained most\nof the primal truth; but truth was held by the priests as too precious\nfor the crowd, and so they preserved it carefully for themselves and\ntheir own caste. They alone knew the ancient and cryptic meaning of the\nsymbols; the people were allowed only to see the outward and visible\nsign.\n\nFrom Egypt, philosophy, culture, art, and religion came to Greece, but\nthe Greeks moulded these splendid elements after their own fashion, and\npoured the radiance of beauty over the grave and gloomy mysticism of\nEgypt. Everything hideous, terrible, and revolting was banished from\nthe Greek Mythology. The Greeks constructed no theory of a devil, and\nbelieved in no hell, as a distinct and eternal abode for the lost souls\nof men. The Greek gods were divinely beautiful, and each divinity in\nturn was ready to help the mortal that invoked him. The dead in Hades\nmourned their fate because they could no longer enjoy the glorious\nbeauty of life, but no hard and chilling dogmas doomed them there to\nthe tortures of eternal punishment. Earth, air, the heavens and the\nsea, the storms and sunshine, the forests and flowers and the purple\ngrapes with which they crowned a god, were all to the Greek poet-mind\nthe manifestations of an all-pervading spiritual power and life. A\nsublime Pantheism was their creed, that sees gods in everything, yet\nwith one Supreme God over all. Freedom, beauty, art, light, and joy,\nwere the elements of the Greek religion, while the Eternal Wisdom, the\nGreat Athen\u00e9 of the Parthenon, was the peculiar and selected divinity\nof their own half divine race.\n\nMeanwhile other branches of the primal Iranian stock were spreading\nover the savage central forests of Europe, where they laid the\nfoundation of the great Teuton and Gothic races, the destined\nworld-rulers; but Nature to them was a gloomy and awful mother,\nand life seemed an endless warfare against the fierce and powerful\nelemental demons of frost and snow and darkness, by whom the beautiful\nSun-god was slain, and who reigned triumphant in that fearful season\nwhen the earth was iron and the air was ice, and no beneficent God\nseemed near to help. Hideous idols imaged these unseen powers, who were\npropitiated by sanguinary rites; and the men and the god they fashioned\nwere alike as fierce and cruel as the wild beasts of the forest, and\nthe aspects of the savage nature around them.\n\nStill the waves of human life kept rolling westward until they surged\nover all the lands and islands of the Great Sea, and the wandering\nmariners, seeking new homes, passed through the Pillars of Hercules out\ninto the Western Ocean, and coasting along by the shores of Spain and\nFrance, founded nations that still bear the impress of their Eastern\norigin, and are known in history as the Celtic race; while the customs,\nusages, and traditions which their forefathers had learnt in Egypt or\nGreece were carefully preserved by them, and transmitted as heirlooms\nto the colonies they founded. From Spain the early mariners easily\nreached the verdant island of the West in which we Irish are more\nparticularly interested. And here in our beautiful Ireland the last\nwave of the great Iranian migration finally settled. Further progress\nwas impossible\u2014the unknown ocean seemed to them the limits of the\nworld. And thus the wanderers of the primal race, with their fragments\nof the ancient creed and mythic poet-lore, and their peculiar dialect\nof the ancient tongue, formed, as it were, a sediment here which still\nretains its peculiar affinity with the parent land\u2014though the changes\nand chances of three thousand years have swept over the people, the\nlegends, and the language. It is, therefore, in Ireland, above all,\nthat the nature and origin of the primitive races of Europe should be\nstudied. Even the form of the Celtic head shows a decided conformity to\nthat of the Greek races, while it differs essentially from the Saxon\nand Gothic types. This is one of the many proofs in support of the\ntheory that the Celtic people in their westward course to the Atlantic\ntravelled by the coasts of the Mediterranean, as all along that line\nthe same cranial formation is found. Philologists also affirm that the\nIrish language is nearer to Sanskrit than any other of the living and\nspoken languages of Europe; while the legends and myths of Ireland can\nbe readily traced to the far East, but have nothing in common with the\nfierce and weird superstitions of Northern mythology.\n\nThis study of legendary lore, as a foundation for the history of\nhumanity, is now recognized as such an important branch of ethnology\nthat a journal entirely devoted to comparative mythology has been\nrecently started in Paris, to which all nations are invited to\ncontribute\u2014Sclaves, Teutons, and Celts, Irish legends being considered\nspecially important, as containing more of the primitive elements\nthan those of other Western nations. All other countries have been\nrepeatedly overwhelmed by alien tribes and peoples and races, but\nthe Irish have remained unchanged, and in place of adopting readily\nthe usages of invaders they have shown such remarkable powers of\nfascination that the invaders themselves became _Hibernicis ipsis\nHiberniores_. The Danes held the east coast of Ireland for three\nhundred years, yet there is no trace of Thor or Odin or the Frost\nGiants, or of the Great World-serpent in Irish legend; but if we go\nback in the history of the world to the beginning of things, when\nthe Iranian people were the only teachers of humanity, we come upon\nthe true ancient source of Irish legend, and find that the original\nmaterials have been but very slightly altered, while amongst other\nnations the ground-work has been overlaid with a dense palimpsest of\ntheir own devising, suggested by their peculiar local surroundings.\n\nAmongst the earliest religious symbols of the world are the Tree,\nthe Woman, and the Serpent\u2014memories, no doubt, of the legend of\nParadise; and the reverence for certain sacred trees has prevailed in\nPersia from the most ancient times, and become diffused among all the\nIranian nations. It was the custom in Iran to hang costly garments\non the branches as votive offerings; and it is recorded that Xerxes\nbefore going to battle invoked victory by the Sacred Tree, and hung\njewels and rich robes on the boughs. And the poet Saadi narrates an\nanecdote concerning trees which has the true Oriental touch of mournful\nsuggestion:\u2014He was once, he says, the guest of a very rich old man who\nhad a son remarkable for his beauty. One night the old man said to\nhim, \u201cDuring my whole life I never had but this son. Near this place\nis a Sacred Tree to which men resort to offer up their petitions. Many\nnights at the foot of this tree I besought God until He bestowed on me\nthis son.\u201d Not long after Saadi overheard this young man say in a low\nvoice to his friend, \u201cHow happy should I be to know where that Sacred\nTree grows, in order that I might implore God for the death of my\nfather.\u201d\n\nThe poorer class in Persia, not being able to make offerings of costly\ngarments, are in the habit of tying bits of coloured stuffs on the\nboughs, and these rags are considered to have a special virtue in\ncuring diseases. The trees are often near a well or by a saint\u2019s grave,\nand are then looked upon as peculiarly sacred.\n\nThis account might have been written for Ireland, for the belief and\nthe ceremonial are precisely similar, and are still found existing to\nthis day both in _Iran_ and in _Erin_. But all trees were not held\nsacred\u2014only those that bore no eatable fruit that could nourish men;\na lingering memory of the tree of evil fruit may have caused this\nprejudice, while the Tree of Life was eagerly sought for, with its\npromised gift of immortality. In Persia the plane-tree was specially\nreverenced; in Egypt, the palm; in Greece, the wild olive; and the oak\namongst the Celtic nations. Sometimes small tapers were lit amongst the\nbranches, to simulate by fire the presence of divinity. It is worthy of\nnote, while on the subject of Irish and Iranian affinities, that the\nold Persian word for tree is _dar_, and the Irish call their sacred\ntree, the oak, _darragh_.[1]\n\n [1] The terms Dryad and Druid may be compared as containing the same\n root and reference.\n\nThe belief in a race of supernatural beings, midway between man and the\nSupreme God, beautiful and beneficent, a race that had never known the\nweight of human life, was also part of the creed of the Iranian people.\nThey called them _Peris_, or _Fero\u00fcers_ (fairies); and they have some\npretty legends concerning the beautiful _Dukhtari Shah Peri\u00e2n_, the\n\u201cDaughter of the King of the Fairies,\u201d for a sight of whose beauty\nmen pine away in vain desire, but if it is granted to them once to\nbehold her, they die. Every nation believes in the existence of these\nmysterious spirits, with mystic and powerful influence over human life\nand actions, but each nation represents them differently, according to\nnational habits and national surroundings. Thus, the Russians believe\nin the phantom of the Ukraine, a beautiful young girl robed in white,\nwho meets the wanderer on the lonely snow steppes, and lulls him by\nher kisses into that fatal sleep from which he never more awakens. The\nlegends of the Scandinavians, also, are all set in the framework of\ntheir own experiences; the rending and crash of the ice is the stroke\nof the god Thor\u2019s hammer; the rime is the beard of the Frost Giant;\nand when Balder, their Sun-god, is beginning to die at Midsummer, they\nkindle pine-branches to light him on his downward path to hell; and\nwhen he is returning to the upper world, after the winter solstice,\nthey burn the Yule-log, and hang lights on the fir-trees to illuminate\nhis upward path. These traditions are a remnant of the ancient sun\nworship, but the peasants who kindle the Baal fires at Midsummer, and\nthe upper classes who light up the brilliant Christmas-tree, have\nforgotten the origin of the custom, though the world-old symbol and\nusage is preserved.\n\nThe _Sidhe_, or Fairies, of Ireland, still preserve all the gentle\nattributes of their ancient Persian race, for in the soft and equable\nclimate of Erin there were no terrible manifestations of nature to be\nsymbolized by new images; and the genial, laughter-loving elves were in\nthemselves the best and truest expression of Irish nature that could\nhave been invented. The fairies loved music and dancing and frolic;\nand, above all things, to be let alone, and not to be interfered with\nas regarded their peculiar fairy habits, customs, and pastimes. They\nhad also, like the Irish, a fine sense of the right and just, and a\nwarm love for the liberal hand and kindly word. All the solitudes of\nthe island were peopled by these bright, happy, beautiful beings,\nand to the Irish nature, with its need of the spiritual, its love\nof the vague, mystic, dreamy, and supernatural, there was something\nirresistibly fascinating in the belief that gentle spirits were around,\nfilled with sympathy for the mortal who suffered wrong or needed help.\nBut the fairies were sometimes wilful and capricious as children, and\ntook dire revenge if any one built over their fairy circles, or looked\nat them when combing their long yellow hair in the sunshine, or dancing\nin the woods, or floating on the lakes. Death was the penalty to all\nwho approached too near, or pried too curiously into the mysteries of\nnature.\n\nTo the Irish peasant earth and air were filled with these mysterious\nbeings, half-loved, half-feared by them; and therefore they were\npropitiated by flattery, and called \u201cthe good people,\u201d as the Greeks\ncall the dread goddesses \u201cthe Eumenides.\u201d Their voices were heard\nin the mountain echo, and their forms seen in the purple and golden\nmountain mist; they whispered amidst the perfumed hawthorn branches;\nthe rush of the autumn leaves was the scamper of little elves\u2014red,\nyellow, and brown\u2014wind-delven, and dancing in their glee; and the\nbending of the waving barley was caused by the flight of the Elf King\nand his Court across the fields. They danced with soundless feet,\nand their step was so light that the drops of dew they danced on\nonly trembled, but did not break. The fairy music was low and sweet,\n\u201cblinding sweet,\u201d like that of the great god Pan by the river; they\nlived only on the nectar in the cups of the flowers, though in their\nfairy palaces sumptuous banquets were offered to the mortals they\ncarried off\u2014but woe to the mortal who tasted of fairy food; to eat was\nfatal. All the evil in the world has come by eating; if Eve had only\nresisted that apple our race might still be in Paradise. The Sidhe look\nwith envy on the beautiful young human children, and steal them when\nthey can; and the children of a Sidhe and a mortal mother are reputed\nto grow up strong and powerful, but with evil and dangerous natures.\nThere is also a belief that every seven years the fairies are obliged\nto deliver up a victim to the Evil One, and to save their own people\nthey try to abduct some beautiful young mortal girl, and her they hand\nover to the Prince of Darkness.\n\nDogmatic religion and science have long since killed the mythopoetic\nfaculty in cultured Europe. It only exists now, naturally and\ninstinctively, in children, poets, and the childlike races, like the\nIrish\u2014simple, joyous, reverent, and unlettered, and who have remained\nunchanged for centuries, walled round by their language from the rest\nof Europe, through which separating veil science, culture, and the cold\nmockery of the sceptic have never yet penetrated.\n\nChristianity was readily accepted by the Irish. The pathetic tale\nof the beautiful young Virgin-Mother and the Child-God, for central\nobjects, touched all the deepest chords of feeling in the tender,\nloving, and sympathetic Irish heart. The legends of ancient times were\nnot overthrown by it, however, but taken up and incorporated with the\nnew Christian faith. The holy wells and the sacred trees remained,\nand were even made holier by association with a saint\u2019s name. And to\nthis day the old mythology holds its ground with a force and vitality\nuntouched by any symptoms of weakness or decay. The Greeks, who are\nof the same original race as our people, rose through the influence\nof the highest culture to the fulness and perfectness of eternal\nyouth; but the Irish, without culture, are eternal children, with all\nthe childlike instincts of superstition still strong in them, and\ncapable of believing all things, because to doubt requires knowledge.\nThey never, like the Greeks, attained to the conception of a race\nof beings nobler than themselves\u2014men stronger and more gifted, with\nthe immortal fire of a god in their veins; women divinely beautiful,\nor divinely inspired; but, also, the Irish never defaced the image\nof God in their hearts by infidelity or irreligion. One of the most\nbeautiful and sublimely touching records in all human history is that\nof the unswerving devotion of the Irish people to their ancient faith,\nthrough persecutions and penal enactments more insulting and degrading\nthan were ever inflicted in any other land by one Christian sect upon\nanother.\n\nWith this peculiarly reverential nature it would be impossible to\nmake the Irish a nation of sceptics, even if a whole legion of German\nRationalists came amongst them to preach a crusade against all belief\nin the spiritual and the unseen. And the old traditions of their race\nhave likewise taken firm hold in their hearts, because they are an\nartistic people, and require objects for their adoration and love, not\nmere abstractions to be accepted by their reason. And they are also a\nnation of poets; the presence of God is ever near them, and the saints\nand angels, and the shadowy beings of earth and air are perpetually\ndrawing their minds, through mingled love and fear, to the infinite\nand invisible world. Probably not one tradition or custom that had\nits origin in a religious belief has been lost in Ireland during the\nlong course of ages since the first people from Eastern lands arrived\nand settled on our shores. The Baal fires are still lit at Midsummer,\nthough no longer in honour of the sun, but of St. John; and the\npeasants still make their cattle pass between two fires\u2014not, indeed,\nas of old, in the name of Moloch, but of some patron saint. That all\nIrish legends point to the East for their origin, not to the North,\nis certain; to a warm land, not one of icebergs, and thunder crashes\nof the rending of ice-bound rivers, but to a region where the shadow\nof trees, and a cool draught from the sparkling well were life-giving\nblessings. Well-worship could not have originated in a humid country\nlike Ireland, where wells can be found at every step, and sky and land\nare ever heavy and saturated with moisture. It must have come from\nan Eastern people, wanderers in a dry and thirsty land, where the\ndiscovery of a well seemed like the interposition of an angel in man\u2019s\nbehalf.\n\nWe are told also by the ancient chroniclers that serpent-worship once\nprevailed in Ireland, and that St. Patrick hewed down the serpent idol\n_Crom-Cruadh_ (the great worm) and cast it into the Boyne (from whence\narose the legend that St. Patrick banished all venomous things from\nthe island). Now as the Irish never could have seen a serpent, none\nexisting in Ireland, this worship must have come from the far East,\nwhere this beautiful and deadly creature is looked upon as the symbol\nof the Evil One, and worshipped and propitiated by votive offerings,\nas all evil things were in the early world, in the hope of turning\naway their evil hatred from man, and to induce them to show mercy and\npity; just as the Egyptians propitiated the sacred crocodile by subtle\nflatteries and hung costly jewels in its ears. The Irish, indeed, do\nnot seem to have originated any peculiar or national cultus. Their\nfuneral ceremonies recall those of Egypt and Greece and other ancient\nEastern climes, from whence they brought their customs of the Wake,\nthe death chant, the mourning women, and the funeral games. In Sparta,\non the death of a king or great chief, they had a wake and \u201ckeen\u201d not\ncommon to the rest of Greece, but which they said they learned from the\nPh\u0153nicians; and this peculiar usage bears a striking resemblance to\nthe Irish practice. All the virtues of the dead were recited, and the\nGreek \u201cEleleu,\u201d the same cry as the \u201cUl-lu-lu\u201d of the Irish, was keened\nover the corpse by the chorus of hired mourning women. The custom of\nselecting women in place of men for the chorus of lamentation prevailed\nthroughout all the ancient world, as if an open display of grief was\nthought beneath the dignity of man. It was Cassandra gave the keynote\nfor the wail over Hector, and Helen took the lead in reciting praises\nto his honour. The death chants in Egypt, Arabia, and Abyssinia all\nbear a marked resemblance to the Irish; indeed the mourning cry is the\nsame in all, and the Egyptian lamentation \u201cHi-loo-loo! Hi-loo-loo!\u201d\ncried over the dead, was probably the original form of the Irish wail.\n\nThe Greeks always endeavoured to lessen the terrors of death, and for\nthis reason they established funeral games, and the funeral ceremonies\ntook the form of a festival, where they ate and drank and poured\nlibations of wine in honour of the dead. The Irish had also their\nfuneral games and peculiar dances, when they threw off their upper\ngarments, and holding hands in a circle, moved in a slow measure round\na woman crouched in the centre, with her hands covering her face.\nAnother singular part of the ceremony was the entrance of a woman\nwearing a cow\u2019s head and horns, as Io appears upon the scene in the\nPrometheus of \u00c6schylus. This woman was probably meant to represent the\nhorned or crescented moon, the antique Diana, the Goddess of Death.\nThe custom of throwing off the garments no doubt originally signified\nthe casting off the garment of the flesh. We brought nothing into this\nworld, and it is certain we carry nothing out. The soul must stand\nunveiled before God.\n\nIn the islands off the West Coast of Ireland, where the most ancient\nsuperstitions still exist, they have a strange custom. No funeral\nwail is allowed to be raised until three hours have elapsed from the\nmoment of death, because, they say, the sound of the cries would\nhinder the soul from speaking to God when it stands before Him, and\nwaken up the two great dogs that are watching for the souls of the\ndead in order that they may devour them\u2014and the Lord of Heaven Himself\ncannot hinder them if once they waken. This tradition of watching by\nthe dead in silence, while the soul stands before God, is a fine and\nsolemn superstition, which must have had its origin amongst a people\nof intense faith in the invisible world, and is probably of great\nantiquity.\n\nThe sound of the Irish keen is wonderfully pathetic. No one could\nlisten to the long-sustained minor wail of the \u201cUl-lu-lu\u201d without\nstrong emotion and even tears; and once heard it can never be\nforgotten. Nor is there anything derogatory to grief in the idea\nof hired mourners; on the contrary, it is a splendid tribute to\nthe dead to order their praises to be recited publicly before the\nassembled friends; while there is something indescribably impressive\nin the aspect of the mourning women crouched around the bier with\nshrouded heads, as they rock themselves to and fro and intone the\nsolemn, ancient death-song with a measured cadence, sometimes rising\nto a piercing wail. They seem like weird and shadowy outlines of an\nold-world vision, and at once the imagination is carried back to the\nfar-distant East, and the time when all these funeral symbols had a\nmysterious and awful meaning. Sometimes a wail of genuine and bitter\ngrief interrupts the chant of the hired mourners. An Irish keen which\nwas taken down from the lips of a bereaved mother some years ago, runs\nthus in the literal English version\u2014\n\n\u201cO women, look on me! Look on me, women! Have you ever seen any sorrow\nlike mine? Have you ever seen the like of me in my sorrow? Arrah, then,\nmy darling, my darling, \u2019tis your mother that calls you. How long you\nare sleeping. Do you see all the people round you, my darling, and I\nsorely weeping? Arrah, what is this paleness on your face? Sure there\nwas no equal to it in Erin for beauty and fairness, and your hair was\nheavy as the wing of a raven, and your skin was whiter than the hand of\na lady. Is it the stranger must carry me to my grave, and my son lying\nhere?\u201d\n\nThis touching lament is so thoroughly Greek in form and sentiment that\nit might be taken for part of a chorus from the Hecuba of Euripides.\nEven the \u201cArrah\u201d reminds one of a Greek word used frequently by the\nGreeks when commencing a sentence or asking a question, although the\nresemblance may be only superficial.\n\nThe tales and legends told by the peasants in the Irish vernacular\nare much more weird and strange, and have much more of the old-world\ncolouring than the ordinary fairy tales narrated in English by the\npeople, as may be seen by the following mythical story, translated from\nthe Irish, and which is said to be a thousand years old:\u2014\n\n\nTHE HORNED WOMEN.\n\n\nA rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool, while\nall the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at\nthe door, and a voice called\u2014\u201cOpen! open!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is there?\u201d said the woman of the house.\n\n\u201cI am the Witch of the One Horn,\u201d was answered.\n\nThe mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and\nrequired assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in\nher hand a pair of wool carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead,\nas if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to\ncard the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused and said aloud:\n\u201cWhere are the women? They delay too long.\u201d\n\nThen a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as\nbefore\u2014\u201cOpen! open!\u201d\n\nThe mistress felt herself constrained to rise and open to the call, and\nimmediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead,\nand in her hand a wheel for spinning the wool.\n\n\u201cGive me place,\u201d she said; \u201cI am the Witch of the Two Horns,\u201d and she\nbegan to spin as quick as lightning.\n\nAnd so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches\nentered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire\u2014the first with\none horn, the last with twelve horns. And they carded the thread, and\nturned their spinning wheels, and wound and wove, all singing together\nan ancient rhyme, but no word did they speak to the mistress of the\nhouse. Strange to hear, and frightful to look upon were these twelve\nwomen, with their horns and their wheels; and the mistress felt near\nto death, and she tried to rise that she might call for help, but she\ncould not move, nor could she utter a word or a cry, for the spell of\nthe witches was upon her.\n\nThen one of them called to her in Irish and said\u2014\n\n\u201cRise, woman, and make us a cake.\u201d\n\nThen the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well\nthat she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find none.\nAnd they said to her\u2014\n\n\u201cTake a sieve and bring water in it.\u201d\n\nAnd she took the sieve and went to the well; but the water poured from\nit, and she could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by the well\nand wept. Then a voice came by her and said\u2014\n\n\u201cTake yellow clay and moss and bind them together and plaster the sieve\nso that it will hold.\u201d\n\nThis she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake. And the voice\nsaid again\u2014\n\n\u201cReturn, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house, cry\naloud three times and say, \u2018The mountain of the Fenian women and the\nsky over it is all on fire.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd she did so.\n\nWhen the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke\nfrom their lips and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and\nshrieks, and fled away to Slieve-namon, where was their chief abode.\nBut the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter\nand prepare her home against the enchantments of the witches if they\nreturned again.\n\nAnd first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which\nshe had washed her child\u2019s feet (the feet-water) outside the door on\nthe threshold; secondly, she took the cake which the witches had made\nin her absence, of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping\nfamily. And she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth\nof each sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they\nhad woven and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the\npadlock; and lastly, she secured the door with a great cross-beam\nfastened in the jambs, so that they could not enter. And having done\nthese things she waited.\n\nNot long were the witches in coming back, and they raged and called for\nvengeance.\n\n\u201cOpen! Open!\u201d they screamed. \u201cOpen, feet-water!\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot,\u201d said the feet-water, \u201cI am scattered on the ground and my\npath is down to the Lough.\u201d\n\n\u201cOpen, open, wood and tree and beam!\u201d they cried to the door.\n\n\u201cI cannot,\u201d said the door; \u201cfor the beam is fixed in the jambs and I\nhave no power to move.\u201d\n\n\u201cOpen, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood,\u201d they cried\nagain.\n\n\u201cI cannot,\u201d said the cake, \u201cfor I am broken and bruised, and my blood\nis on the lips of the sleeping children.\u201d\n\nThen the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back\nto Slieve-namon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well,\nwho had wished their ruin; but the woman and the house were left in\npeace, and a mantle dropped by one of the witches in her flight was\nkept hung up by the mistress as a sign of the night\u2019s awful contest;\nand this mantle was in possession of the same family from generation to\ngeneration for five hundred years after.\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF BALLYTOWTAS CASTLE.\n\n\nThe next tale I shall select is composed in a lighter and more modern\nspirit. All the usual elements of a fairy tale are to be found in it,\nbut the story is new to the nursery folk, and, if well illustrated,\nwould make a pleasant and novel addition to the rather worn-out legends\non which the children of many generations have been hitherto subsisting.\n\nIn old times there lived where Ballytowtas Castle now stands a poor\nman named Towtas. It was in the time when manna fell to the earth with\nthe dew of evening, and Towtas lived by gathering the manna, and thus\nsupported himself, for he was a poor man, and had nothing else.\n\nOne day a pedlar came by that way with a fair young daughter.\n\n\u201cGive us a night\u2019s lodging,\u201d he said to Towtas, \u201cfor we are weary.\u201d\n\nAnd Towtas did so.\n\nNext morning, when they were going away, his heart longed for the young\ngirl, and he said to the pedlar, \u201cGive me your daughter for my wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow will you support her?\u201d asked the pedlar.\n\n\u201cBetter than you can,\u201d answered Towtas, \u201cfor she can never want.\u201d\n\nThen he told him all about the manna; how he went out every morning\nwhen it was lying on the ground with the dew, and gathered it, as his\nfather and forefathers had done before him, and lived on it all their\nlives, so that he had never known want nor any of his people.\n\nThen the girl showed she would like to stay with the young man, and\nthe pedlar consented, and they were married, Towtas and the fair young\nmaiden; and the pedlar left them and went his way. So years went on,\nand they were very happy and never wanted; and they had one son, a\nbright, handsome youth, and as clever as he was comely.\n\nBut in due time old Towtas died, and after her husband was buried, the\nwoman went out to gather the manna as she had seen him do, when the dew\nlay on the ground; but she soon grew tired and said to herself, \u201cWhy\nshould I do this thing every day? I\u2019ll just gather now enough to do the\nweek and then I can have rest.\u201d\n\nSo she gathered up great heaps of it greedily, and went her way into\nthe house. But the sin of greediness lay on her evermore; and not a bit\nof manna fell with the dew that evening, nor ever again. And she was\npoor, and faint with hunger, and had to go out and work in the fields\nto earn the morsel that kept her and her son alive; and she begged\npence from the people as they went into chapel, and this paid for her\nson\u2019s schooling; so he went on with his learning, and no one in the\ncounty was like him for beauty and knowledge.\n\nOne day he heard the people talking of a great lord that lived up in\nDublin, who had a daughter so handsome that her like was never seen;\nand all the fine young gentlemen were dying about her, but she would\ntake none of them. And he came home to his mother and said, \u201cI shall go\nsee this great lord\u2019s daughter. Maybe the luck will be mine above all\nthe fine young gentlemen that love her.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo along, poor fool,\u201d said the mother, \u201chow can the poor stand before\nthe rich?\u201d\n\nBut he persisted. \u201cIf I die on the road,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019ll try it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWait, then,\u201d she answered, \u201ctill Sunday, and whatever I get I\u2019ll give\nyou half of it.\u201d So she gave him half of the pence she gathered at the\nchapel door, and bid him go in the name of God.\n\nHe hadn\u2019t gone far when he met a poor man who asked him for a trifle\nfor God\u2019s sake. So he gave him something out of his mother\u2019s money and\nwent on. Again, another met him, and begged for a trifle to buy food,\nfor the sake of God, and he gave him something also, and then went on.\n\n\u201cGive me a trifle for God\u2019s sake,\u201d cried a voice, and he saw a third\npoor man before him.\n\n\u201cI have nothing left,\u201d said Towtas, \u201cbut a few pence; if I give them, I\nshall have nothing for food and must die of hunger. But come with me,\nand whatever I can buy for this I shall share with you.\u201d And as they\nwere going on to the inn he told all his story to the beggar man, and\nhow he wanted to go to Dublin, but had now no money. So they came to\nthe inn, and he called for a loaf and a drink of milk. \u201cCut the loaf,\u201d\nhe said to the beggar. \u201cYou are the oldest.\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t,\u201d said the other, for he was ashamed, but Towtas made him.\n\nAnd so the beggar cut the loaf, but though they ate, it never grew\nsmaller, and though they drank as they liked of the milk, it never\ngrew less. Then Towtas rose up to pay, but when the landlady came and\nlooked, \u201cHow is this?\u201d she said. \u201cYou have eaten nothing. I\u2019ll not take\nyour money, poor boy,\u201d but he made her take some; and they left the\nplace, and went on their way together.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the beggar man, \u201cyou have been three times good to me\nto-day, for thrice I have met you, and you gave me help for the sake of\nGod each time. See, now, I can help also,\u201d and he reached a gold ring\nto the handsome youth. \u201cWherever you place that ring, and wish for it,\ngold will come\u2014bright gold, so that you can never want while you have\nit.\u201d\n\nThen Towtas put the ring first in one pocket and then in another, until\nall his pockets were so heavy with gold that he could scarcely walk;\nbut when he turned to thank the friendly beggar man, he had disappeared.\n\nSo, wondering to himself at all his adventures, he went on, until he\ncame at last in sight of the lord\u2019s palace, which was beautiful to see;\nbut he would not enter in until he went and bought fine clothes, and\nmade himself as grand as any prince; and then he went boldly up, and\nthey invited him in, for they said, \u201cSurely he is a king\u2019s son.\u201d And\nwhen dinner-hour came the lord\u2019s daughter linked her arm with Towtas,\nand smiled on him. And he drank of the rich wine, and was mad with\nlove; but at last the wine overcame him, and the servants had to carry\nhim to his bed; and in going into his room he dropped the ring from his\nfinger, but knew it not.\n\nNow, in the morning, the lord\u2019s daughter came by, and cast her eyes\nupon the door of his chamber, and there close by it was the ring she\nhad seen him wear.\n\n\u201cAh,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019ll tease him now about his ring.\u201d And she put it\nin her box, and wished that she were as rich as a king\u2019s daughter,\nthat so the king\u2019s son might marry her; and, behold, the box filled up\nwith gold, so that she could not shut it; and she put it from her into\nanother box, and that filled also; and then she was frightened at the\nring, and put it at last in her pocket as the safest place.\n\nBut when Towtas awoke and missed the ring, his heart was grieved.\n\n\u201cNow, indeed,\u201d he said, \u201cmy luck is gone.\u201d\n\nAnd he inquired of all the servants, and then of the lord\u2019s daughter,\nand she laughed, by which he knew she had it; but no coaxing would get\nit from her, so when all was useless he went away, and set out again to\nreach his old home.\n\nAnd he was very mournful and threw himself down on the ferns near an\nold fort, waiting till night came on, for he feared to go home in the\ndaylight lest the people should laugh at him for his folly. And about\ndusk three cats came out of the fort talking to each other.\n\n\u201cHow long our cook is away,\u201d said one.\n\n\u201cWhat can have happened to him?\u201d said another.\n\nAnd as they were grumbling a fourth cat came up.\n\n\u201cWhat delayed you?\u201d they all asked angrily.\n\nThen he told his story\u2014how he had met Towtas and given him the ring.\n\u201cAnd I just went,\u201d he said, \u201cto the lord\u2019s palace to see how the young\nman behaved; and I was leaping over the dinner-table when the lord\u2019s\nknife struck my tail and three drops of blood fell upon his plate, but\nhe never saw it and swallowed them with his meat. So now he has three\nkittens inside him and is dying of agony, and can never be cured until\nhe drinks three draughts of the water of the well of Ballytowtas.\u201d\n\nSo when young Towtas heard the cats talk he sprang up and went and told\nhis mother to give him three bottles full of the water of the Towtas\nwell, and he would go to the lord disguised as a doctor and cure him.\n\nSo off he went to Dublin. And all the doctors in Ireland were round\nthe lord, but none of them could tell what ailed him, or how to cure\nhim. Then Towtas came in and said, \u201cI will cure him.\u201d So they gave him\nentertainment and lodging, and when he was refreshed he gave of the\nwell water three draughts to his lordship, when out jumped the three\nkittens. And there was great rejoicing, and they treated Towtas like\na prince. But all the same he could not get the ring from the lord\u2019s\ndaughter, so he set off home again quite disheartened, and thought to\nhimself, \u201cIf I could only meet the man again that gave me the ring who\nknows what luck I might have?\u201d And he sat down to rest in a wood, and\nsaw there not far off three boys fighting under an oak-tree.\n\n\u201cShame on ye to fight so,\u201d he said to them. \u201cWhat is the fight about?\u201d\n\nThen they told him. \u201cOur father,\u201d they said, \u201cbefore he died, buried\nunder this oak-tree a ring by which you can be in any place in two\nminutes if you only wish it; a goblet that is always full when\nstanding, and empty only when on its side; and a harp that plays any\ntune of itself that you name or wish for.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want to divide the things,\u201d said the youngest boy, \u201cand let us all\ngo and seek our fortunes as we can.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I have a right to the whole,\u201d said the eldest.\n\nAnd they went on fighting, till at length Towtas said\u2014\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you how to settle the matter. All of you be here to-morrow,\nand I\u2019ll think over the matter to-night, and I engage you will have\nnothing more to quarrel about when you come in the morning.\u201d\n\nSo the boys promised to keep good friends till they met in the morning,\nand went away.\n\nWhen Towtas saw them clear off, he dug up the ring, the goblet, and the\nharp, and now said he, \u201cI\u2019m all right, and they won\u2019t have anything to\nfight about in the morning.\u201d\n\nOff he set back again to the lord\u2019s castle with the ring, the goblet,\nand the harp; but he soon bethought himself of the powers of the\nring, and in two minutes he was in the great hall where all the lords\nand ladies were just sitting down to dinner; and the harp played the\nsweetest music, and they all listened in delight; and he drank out of\nthe goblet which was never empty, and then, when his head began to grow\na little light, \u201cIt is enough,\u201d he said; and putting his arm round the\nwaist of the lord\u2019s daughter, he took his harp and goblet in the other\nhand, and murmuring\u2014\u201cI wish we were at the old fort by the side of the\nwood\u201d\u2014in two minutes they were both at the desired spot. But his head\nwas heavy with the wine, and he laid down the harp beside him and fell\nasleep. And when she saw him asleep she took the ring off his finger,\nand the harp and the goblet from the ground and was back home in her\nfather\u2019s castle before two minutes had passed by.\n\nWhen Towtas awoke and found his prize gone, and all his treasures\nbeside, he was like one mad; and roamed about the country till he came\nby an orchard, where he saw a tree covered with bright, rosy apples.\nBeing hungry and thirsty, he plucked one and ate it, but no sooner\nhad he done so than horns began to sprout from his forehead, and grew\nlarger and longer till he knew he looked like a goat, and all he could\ndo, they would not come off. Now, indeed, he was driven out of his\nmind, and thought how all the neighbours would laugh at him; and as he\nraged and roared with shame, he spied another tree with apples, still\nbrighter, of ruddy gold.\n\n\u201cIf I were to have fifty pairs of horns I must have one of those,\u201d he\nsaid; and seizing one, he had no sooner tasted it than the horns fell\noff, and he felt that he was looking stronger and handsomer than ever.\n\n\u201cNow, I have her at last,\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cI\u2019ll put horns on them all,\nand will never take them off until they give her to me as my bride\nbefore the whole Court.\u201d\n\nWithout further delay he set off to the lord\u2019s palace, carrying with\nhim as many of the apples as he could bring off the two trees. And when\nthey saw the beauty of the fruit they longed for it; and he gave to\nthem all, so that at last there was not a head to be seen without horns\nin the whole dining-hall. Then they cried out and prayed to have the\nhorns taken off, but Towtas said\u2014\n\n\u201cNo; there they shall be till I have the lord\u2019s daughter given to me\nfor my bride, and my two rings, my goblet, and my harp all restored to\nme.\u201d\n\nAnd this was done before the face of all the lords and ladies; and his\ntreasures were restored to him; and the lord placed his daughter\u2019s hand\nin the hand of Towtas, saying\u2014\n\n\u201cTake her; she is your wife; only free me from the horns.\u201d\n\nThen Towtas brought forth the golden apples; and they all ate, and the\nhorns fell off; and he took his bride and his treasures, and carried\nthem off home, where he built the Castle of Ballytowtas, in the place\nwhere stood his father\u2019s hut, and enclosed the well within the walls.\nAnd when he had filled his treasure-room with gold, so that no man\ncould count his riches, he buried his fairy treasures deep in the\nground, where no man knew, and no man has ever yet been able to find\nthem until this day.\n\n\nA WOLF STORY.\n\n\nTransformation into wolves is a favourite subject of Irish legend, and\nmany a wild tale is told by the peasants round the turf fire in the\nwinter nights of strange adventures with wolves. Stories that had come\ndown to them from their forefathers in the old times long ago; for\nthere are no wolves existing now in Ireland.\n\nA young farmer, named Connor, once missed two fine cows from his\nherd, and no tale or tidings could be heard of them anywhere. So he\nthought he would set out on a search throughout the country; and he\ntook a stout blackthorn stick in his hand, and went his way. All day\nhe travelled miles and miles, but never a sign of the cattle. And the\nevening began to grow very dark, and he was wearied and hungry, and no\nplace near to rest in; for he was in the midst of a bleak, desolate\nheath, with never a habitation at all in sight, except a long, low,\nrude shieling, like the den of a robber or a wild beast. But a gleam of\nlight came from a chink between the boards, and Connor took heart and\nwent up and knocked at the door. It was opened at once by a tall, thin,\ngrey-haired old man, with keen, dark eyes.\n\n\u201cCome in,\u201d he said, \u201cyou are welcome. We have been waiting for you.\nThis is my wife,\u201d and he brought him over to the hearth, where was\nseated an old, thin, grey woman, with long, sharp teeth and terrible\nglittering eyes.\n\n\u201cYou are welcome,\u201d she said. \u201cWe have been waiting for you\u2014it is time\nfor supper. Sit down and eat with us.\u201d\n\nNow Connor was a brave fellow, but he was a little dazed at first at\nthe sight of this strange creature. However, as he had his stout stick\nwith him, he thought he could make a fight for his life any way, and,\nmeantime, he would rest and eat, for he was both hungry and weary, and\nit was now black night, and he would never find his way home even if he\ntried. So he sat down by the hearth, while the old grey woman stirred\nthe pot on the fire. But Connor felt that she was watching him all the\ntime with her keen, sharp eyes.\n\nThen a knock came to the door. And the old man rose up and opened\nit. When in walked a slender, young black wolf, who immediately went\nstraight across the floor to an inner room, from which in a few moments\ncame forth a dark, slender, handsome youth, who took his place at the\ntable and looked hard at Connor with his glittering eyes.\n\n\u201cYou are welcome,\u201d he said, \u201cwe have waited for you.\u201d\n\nBefore Connor could answer another knock was heard, and in came a\nsecond wolf, who passed on to the inner room like the first, and soon\nafter, another dark, handsome youth came out and sat down to supper\nwith them, glaring at Connor with his keen eyes, but said no word.\n\n\u201cThese are our sons,\u201d said the old man, \u201ctell them what you want, and\nwhat brought you here amongst us, for we live alone and don\u2019t care to\nhave spies and strangers coming to our place.\u201d\n\nThen Connor told his story, how he had lost his two fine cows, and had\nsearched all day and found no trace of them; and he knew nothing of the\nplace he was in, nor of the kindly gentleman who asked him to supper;\nbut if they just told him where to find his cows he would thank them,\nand make the best of his way home at once.\n\nThen they all laughed and looked at each other, and the old hag looked\nmore frightful than ever when she showed her long, sharp teeth.\n\nOn this, Connor grew angry, for he was hot tempered; and he grasped his\nblackthorn stick firmly in his hand and stood up, and bade them open\nthe door for him; for he would go his way, since they would give no\nheed and only mocked him.\n\nThen the eldest of the young men stood up. \u201cWait,\u201d he said, \u201cwe are\nfierce and evil, but we never forget a kindness. Do you remember, one\nday down in the glen you found a poor little wolf in great agony and\nlike to die, because a sharp thorn had pierced his side? And you gently\nextracted the thorn and gave him a drink, and went your way leaving him\nin peace and rest?\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, well do I remember it,\u201d said Connor, \u201cand how the poor little\nbeast licked my hand in gratitude.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the young man, \u201cI am that wolf, and I shall help you if I\ncan, but stay with us to-night and have no fear.\u201d\n\nSo they sat down again to supper and feasted merrily, and then all fell\nfast asleep, and Connor knew nothing more till he awoke in the morning\nand found himself by a large hay-rick in his own field.\n\n\u201cNow surely,\u201d thought he, \u201cthe adventure of last night was not all a\ndream, and I shall certainly find my cows when I go home; for that\nexcellent, good young wolf promised his help, and I feel certain he\nwould not deceive me.\u201d\n\nBut when he arrived home and looked over the yard and the stable and\nthe field, there was no sign nor sight of the cows. So he grew very sad\nand dispirited. But just then he espied in the field close by three of\nthe most beautiful strange cows he had ever set eyes on. \u201cThese must\nhave strayed in,\u201d he said, \u201cfrom some neighbour\u2019s ground;\u201d and he took\nhis big stick to drive them out of the gate off the field. But when he\nreached the gate, there stood a young black wolf watching; and when the\ncows tried to pass out at the gate he bit at them, and drove them back.\nThen Connor knew that his friend the wolf had kept his word. So he let\nthe cows go quietly back to the field; and there they remained, and\ngrew to be the finest in the whole country, and their descendants are\nflourishing to this day, and Connor grew rich and prospered; for a kind\ndeed is never lost, but brings good luck to the doer for evermore, as\nthe old proverb says:\n\n \u201cBlessings are won,\n By a good deed done.\u201d\n\nBut never again did Connor find that desolate heath or that lone\nshieling, though he sought far and wide, to return his thanks, as was\ndue to the friendly wolves; nor did he ever again meet any of the\nfamily, though he mourned much whenever a slaughtered wolf was brought\ninto the town for the sake of the reward, fearing his excellent friend\nmight be the victim. At that time the wolves in Ireland had increased\nto such an extent, owing to the desolation of the country by constant\nwars, that a reward was offered and a high price paid for every wolf\u2019s\nskin brought into the court of the justiciary; and this was in the time\nof Queen Elizabeth, when the English troops made ceaseless war against\nthe Irish people, and there were more wolves in Ireland than men; and\nthe dead lay unburied in hundreds on the highways, for there were no\nhands left to dig them graves.\n\n\nTHE EVIL EYE.\n\n\nThere is nothing more dreaded by the people, nor considered more deadly\nin its effects, than the Evil Eye.\n\nIt may strike at any moment unless the greatest precautions are taken,\nand even then there is no true help possible unless the fairy doctor is\nat once summoned to pronounce the mystic charm that can alone destroy\nthe evil and fatal influence.\n\nThere are several modes in which the Evil Eye can act, some much more\ndeadly than others. If certain persons are met the first thing in the\nmorning, you will be unlucky for the whole of that day in all you do.\nIf the evil-eyed comes in to rest, and looks fixedly on anything,\non cattle or on a child, there is doom in the glance; a fatality\nwhich cannot be evaded except by a powerful counter-charm. But if\nthe evil-eyed mutters a verse over a sleeping child, that child will\nassuredly die, for the incantation is of the devil, and no charm has\npower to resist it or turn away the evil. Sometimes the process of\nbewitching is effected by looking fixedly at the object, through nine\nfingers; especially is the magic fatal if the victim is seated by the\nfire in the evening when the moon is full. Therefore, to avoid being\nsuspected of having the Evil Eye, it is necessary at once, when looking\nat a child, to say \u201cGod bless it.\u201d And when passing a farmyard where\nthe cows are collected for milking, to say, \u201cThe blessing of God be\non you and on all your labours.\u201d If this form is omitted, the worst\nresults may be apprehended, and the people would be filled with terror\nand alarm, unless a counter-charm were not instantly employed.\n\nThe singular malific influence of a glance has been felt by most\npersons in life; an influence that seems to paralyze intellect and\nspeech, simply by the mere presence in the room of some one who\nis mystically antipathetic to our nature. For the soul is like a\nfine-toned harp that vibrates to the slightest external force or\nmovement, and the presence and glance of some persons can radiate\naround us a divine joy, while others may kill the soul with a sneer or\na frown. We call these subtle influences mysteries, but the early races\nbelieved them to be produced by spirits, good or evil, as they acted on\nthe nerves or the intellect.\n\nSome years ago an old woman was living in Kerry, and it was thought\nso unlucky to meet her in the morning, that all the girls used to go\nout after sunset to bring in water for the following day, that so they\nmight avoid her evil glance; for whatever she looked on came to loss\nand grief.\n\nThere was a man, also, equally dreaded on account of the strange, fatal\npower of his glance; and so many accidents and misfortunes were traced\nto his presence that finally the neighbours insisted that he should\nwear a black patch over the Evil Eye, not to be removed unless by\nrequest; for learned gentlemen, curious in such things, sometimes came\nto him to ask for a proof of his power, and he would try it for a wager\nwhile drinking with his friends.\n\nOne day, near an old ruin of a castle, he met a boy weeping in great\ngrief for his pet pigeon, which had got up to the very top of the ruin,\nand could not be coaxed down.\n\n\u201cWhat will you give me,\u201d asked the man, \u201cif I bring it down for you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have nothing to give,\u201d said the boy, \u201cbut I will pray to God for\nyou. Only get me back my pigeon, and I shall be happy.\u201d\n\nThen the man took off the black patch and looked up steadfastly at the\nbird; when all of a sudden it fell to the ground and lay motionless, as\nif stunned; but there was no harm done to it, and the boy took it up\nand went his way, rejoicing.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA woman in the County Galway had a beautiful child, so handsome, that\nall the neighbours were very careful to say \u201cGod bless it\u201d when they\nsaw him, for they knew the fairies would desire to steal the child, and\ncarry it off to the hills.\n\nBut one day it chanced that an old woman, a stranger, came in. \u201cLet me\nrest,\u201d she said, \u201cfor I am weary.\u201d And she sat down and looked at the\nchild, but never said \u201cGod bless it.\u201d And when she had rested, she rose\nup, looked again at the child fixedly, in silence, and then went her\nway.\n\nAll that night the child cried and would not sleep. And all next day\nit moaned as if in pain. So the mother told the priest, but he would\ndo nothing for fear of the fairies. And just as the poor mother was in\ndespair, she saw a strange woman going by the door. \u201cWho knows,\u201d she\nsaid to her husband, \u201cbut this woman would help us.\u201d So they asked her\nto come in and rest. And when she looked at the child she said \u201cGod\nbless it,\u201d instantly, and spat three times at it, and then sat down.\n\n\u201cNow, what will you give me,\u201d she said, \u201cif I tell you what ails the\nchild?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will cross your hand with silver,\u201d said the mother, \u201cas much as you\nwant, only speak,\u201d and she laid the money on the woman\u2019s hand. \u201cNow\ntell me the truth, for the sake and in the name of Mary, and the good\nAngels.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the stranger, \u201cthe fairies have had your child these two\ndays in the hills, and this is a changeling they have left in its\nplace. But so many blessings were said on your child that the fairies\ncan do it no harm. For there was only one blessing wanting, and only\none person gave the Evil Eye. Now, you must watch for this woman, carry\nher into the house and secretly cut off a piece of her cloak. Then burn\nthe piece close to the child, till the smoke as it rises makes him\nsneeze; and when this happens the spell is broken, and your own child\nwill come back to you safe and sound, in place of the changeling.\u201d\n\nThen the stranger rose up and went her way.\n\nAll that evening the mother watched for the old woman, and at last she\nspied her on the road.\n\n\u201cCome in,\u201d she cried, \u201ccome in, good woman, and rest, for the cakes are\nhot on the griddle, and supper is ready.\u201d\n\nSo the woman came in, but never said \u201cGod bless you kindly,\u201d to man or\nmortal, only scowled at the child, who cried worse than ever.\n\nNow the mother had told her eldest girl to cut off a piece of the old\nwoman\u2019s cloak, secretly, when she sat down to eat. And the girl did as\nshe was desired, and handed the piece to her mother, unknown to any\none. But, to their surprise, this was no sooner done than the woman\nrose up and went out without uttering a word; and they saw her no more.\n\nThen the father carried the child outside, and burned the piece of\ncloth before the door, and held the boy over the smoke till he sneezed\nthree times violently: after which he gave the child back to the\nmother, who laid him in his bed, where he slept peacefully, with a\nsmile on his face, and cried no more with the cry of pain. And when he\nwoke up the mother knew that she had got her own darling child back\nfrom the fairies, and no evil thing happened to him any more.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe influence of the mysterious and malign power of the Evil Eye has at\nall times been as much dreaded in Ireland as it is in Egypt, Greece,\nor Italy at the present day. Everything young, beautiful, or perfect\nafter its kind, and which naturally attracts attention and admiration,\nis peculiarly liable to the fatal blight that follows the glance of the\nEvil Eye. It is therefore an invariable habit amongst the peasantry\nnever to praise anything without instantly adding, \u201cGod bless it;\u201d for\nwere this formula omitted, the worst consequences would befall the\nobject praised.\n\nThe superstition must be of great antiquity in Ireland, for Balor, the\nFomorian giant and hero, is spoken of in an ancient manuscript as able\nto petrify his enemies by a glance; and how he became possessed of the\npower is thus narrated:\u2014\n\nOne day as the Druids were busy at their incantations, while boiling a\nmagical spell or charm, young Balor passed by, and curious to see their\nwork, looked in at an open window. At that moment the Druids happened\nto raise the lid of the caldron, and the vapour, escaping, passed under\none of Balor\u2019s eyes, carrying with it all the venom of the incantation.\nThis caused his brow to grow to such a size that it required four men\nto raise it whenever he wanted to exert the power of his venomed glance\nover his enemies. He was slain at last in single combat, according to\nthe ancient legend, at the great battle of Magh-Tura[2] (the plain of\nthe towers), fought between the Firbolgs and the Tuatha-de-Dananns for\nthe possession of Ireland several centuries before the Christian era;\nfor before Balor\u2019s brow could be lifted so that he could transfix his\nenemy and strike him dead with the terrible power of his glance, his\nadversary flung a stone with such violence that it went right through\nthe Evil Eye, and pierced the skull, and the mighty magician fell to\nrise no more.\n\n [2] Now called Moytura.\n\nAn interesting account of this battle, with a remarkable confirmation\nof the legends respecting it still current in the district, is given\nby Sir William Wilde, in his work, \u201cLough Corrib; its Shores and\nIslands.\u201d In the ancient manuscript, it is recorded that a young hero\nhaving been slain while bravely defending his king, the Firbolg army\nerected a mound over him, each man carrying a stone, and the monument\nwas henceforth known as the _Carn-in-en-Fhir_ (the cairn of the one\nman). Having examined the locality with a transcript of this manuscript\nin his hand, Sir William fixed on the particular mound, amongst the\nmany stone tumuli scattered over the plain, which seemed to agree\nbest with the description, and had it opened carefully under his own\nsuperintendence.\n\nA large flag-stone was first discovered, laid horizontally; then\nanother beneath it, covering a small square chamber formed of stones,\nwithin which was _a single urn_ of baked clay, graceful and delicate\nin form and ornamentation, containing incinerated human bones, the\nremains, there can be no reason to doubt, of the Firbolg youth\nwho was honoured for his loyalty by the erection over him of the\n_Carn-in-en-Fhir_ on the historic plains of Mayo.\n\nAfter Balor, the only other ancient instance of the fatal effects of\nthe malific Eye is narrated of St. Silan, who had a poisonous hair in\nhis eyebrow that killed whoever looked first on him in the morning. All\npersons, therefore, who from long sickness, or sorrow, or the weariness\nthat comes with years, were tired of life, used to try and come in the\nsaint\u2019s way, that so their sufferings might be ended by a quick and\neasy death. But another saint, the holy Molaise, hearing that St. Silan\nwas coming to visit his church, resolved that no more deaths should\nhappen by means of the poisoned hair. So he arose early in the morning,\nbefore any one was up, and went forth alone to meet St. Silan, and when\nhe saw him coming along the path, he went boldly up and plucked out the\nfatal hair from his eyebrow, but in doing so he himself was struck by\nthe venom, and immediately after fell down dead.\n\nThe power of the Evil Eye was recognized by the Brehon laws, and severe\nmeasures were ordained against the users of the malign influence. \u201cIf a\nperson is in the habit of injuring things through neglect, or of will,\nwhether he has blessed, or whether he has not blessed, full penalty be\nupon him, or restitution in kind.\u201d So ran the ancient law.\n\nThe gift comes by nature and is born with one, though it may not be\ncalled into exercise unless circumstances arise to excite the power.\nThen it seems to act like a spirit of bitter and malicious envy that\nradiates a poisonous atmosphere which chills and blights everything\nwithin its reach. Without being superstitious every one has felt that\nthere is such a power and succumbed to its influence in a helpless,\npassive way, as if all self-trust and self-reliant energy were utterly\nparalyzed by its influence.\n\nSuspected persons are held in great dread by the peasantry, and they\nrecognize them at once by certain signs. Men and women with dark\nlowering eyebrows are especially feared, and the handsome children are\nkept out of their path lest they might be overlooked by them.\n\nRed hair is supposed to have a most malign influence, and it has even\npassed into a proverb: \u201cLet not the eye of a red-haired woman rest on\nyou.\u201d\n\nMany persons are quite unconscious that their glance or frown has\nthis evil power until some calamity results, and then they strive not\nto look at any one full in the face, but to avert their eyes when\nspeaking, lest misfortune might fall upon the person addressed.[3]\n\n [3] There is a strange idea current in Europe at the present time that\n one of the most remarkable potentates now living has this fatal gift\n and power of the Evil Eye.\n\nThe saving invocation, \u201cGod bless it!\u201d is universally used when praise\nis bestowed, to prevent danger, and should a child fall sick some one\nis immediately suspected of having omitted the usual phrase out of\nmalice and ill-will. Nothing is more dreaded by the peasantry than\nthe full, fixed, direct glance of one suspected of the Evil Eye, and\nshould it fall upon them, or on any of their household, a terrible fear\nand trembling of heart takes possession of them, which often ends in\nsickness or sometimes even in death.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSome years ago a woman living in Kerry declared that she was\n\u201coverlooked\u201d by the Evil Eye. She had no pleasure in her life and no\ncomfort, and she wasted away because of the fear that was on her,\ncaused by the following singular circumstance:\u2014\n\nEvery time that she happened to leave home alone, and that no one was\nwithin call, she was met by a woman totally unknown to her, who, fixing\nher eyes on her in silence, with a terrible expression, cast her to\nthe ground and proceeded to beat and pinch her till she was nearly\nsenseless; after which her tormentor disappeared.\n\nHaving experienced this treatment several times, the poor woman finally\nabstained altogether from leaving the house, unless protected by a\nservant or companion; and this precaution she observed for several\nyears, during which time she never was molested. So at last she began\nto believe that the spell was broken, and that her strange enemy had\ndeparted for ever.\n\nIn consequence she grew less careful about the usual precaution, and\none day stepped down alone to a little stream that ran by the house to\nwash some clothes.\n\nStooping down over her work, she never thought of any danger, and began\nto sing as she used to do in the light-hearted days before the spell\nwas on her, when suddenly a dark shadow fell across the water, and\nlooking up, she beheld to her horror the strange woman on the opposite\nside of the little stream, with her terrible eyes intently fixed on\nher, as hard and still as if she were of stone.\n\nSpringing up with a scream of terror, she flung down her work, and\nran towards the house; but soon she heard footsteps behind her, and\nin an instant she was seized, thrown down to the ground, and her\ntormentor began to beat her even worse than before, till she lost all\nconsciousness; and in this state she was found by her husband, lying\non her face and speechless. She was at once carried to the house, and\nall the care that affection and rural skill could bestow were lavished\non her, but in vain. She, however, regained sufficient consciousness\nto tell them of the terrible encounter she had gone through, but died\nbefore the night had passed away.\n\nIt was believed that the power of fascination by the glance, which\nis not necessarily an evil power like the Evil Eye, was possessed in\na remarkable degree by learned and wise people, especially poets, so\nthat they could make themselves loved and followed by any girl they\nliked, simply by the influence of the glance. About the year 1790,\na young man resided in the County Limerick, who had this power in a\nsingular and unusual degree. He was a clever, witty rhymer in the Irish\nlanguage; and, probably, had the deep poet eyes that characterize warm\nand passionate poet-natures\u2014eyes that even without necromancy have been\nknown to exercise a powerful magnetic influence over female minds.\n\nOne day, while travelling far from home, he came upon a bright,\npleasant-looking farmhouse, and feeling weary, he stopped and requested\na drink of milk and leave to rest. The farmer\u2019s daughter, a young,\nhandsome girl, not liking to admit a stranger, as all the maids were\nchurning, and she was alone in the house, refused him admittance.\n\nThe young poet fixed his eyes earnestly on her face for some time in\nsilence, then slowly turning round left the house, and walked towards\na small grove of trees just opposite. There he stood for a few moments\nresting against a tree, and facing the house as if to take one last\nvengeful or admiring glance, then went his way without once turning\nround.\n\nThe young girl had been watching him from the windows, and the moment\nhe moved she passed out of the door like one in a dream, and followed\nhim slowly, step by step, down the avenue. The maids grew alarmed, and\ncalled to her father, who ran out and shouted loudly for her to stop,\nbut she never turned or seemed to heed. The young man, however, looked\nround, and seeing the whole family in pursuit, quickened his pace,\nfirst glancing fixedly at the girl for a moment. Immediately she sprang\ntowards him, and they were both almost out of sight, when one of the\nmaids espied a piece of paper tied to a branch of the tree where the\npoet had rested. From curiosity she took it down, and the moment the\nknot was untied, the farmer\u2019s daughter suddenly stopped, became quite\nstill, and when her father came up she allowed him to lead her back to\nthe house without resistance.\n\nWhen questioned, she said that she felt herself drawn by an invisible\nforce to follow the young stranger wherever he might lead, and that\nshe would have followed him through the world, for her life seemed to\nbe bound up in his; she had no will to resist, and was conscious of\nnothing else but his presence. Suddenly, however, the spell was broken,\nand then she heard her father\u2019s voice, and knew how strangely she had\nacted. At the same time the power of the young man over her vanished,\nand the impulse to follow him was no longer in her heart.\n\nThe paper, on being opened, was found to contain five mysterious words\nwritten in blood, and in this order\u2014\n\n Sator.\n Arepo.\n Tenet.\n Opera.\n Rotas.\n\nThese letters are so arranged that read in any way, right to left, left\nto right, up or down, the same words are produced; and when written in\nblood with a pen made of an eagle\u2019s feather, they form a charm which no\nwoman (it is said) can resist; but the incredulous reader can easily\ntest the truth of this assertion for himself.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThese popular stories are provokingly incomplete, and one cannot help\nregretting that the romance of \u201cThe Poet and the Farmer\u2019s Daughter\u201d was\nnot brought to a happy termination; but the Irish tales are in general\nrather incoherent, more like remembered fragments of ancient stories\nthan a complete, well-organized dramatic composition, with lights well\nplaced, and a striking catastrophe. The opening is usually attractive,\nwith the exciting formula, \u201cOnce upon a time,\u201d from which one always\nexpects so much; and there is sure to be an old woman, weird and\nwitch-like, capable of the most demoniacal actions, and a mysterious\nman who promises to be the unredeemed evil spirit of the tale; but in\nthe end they both turn out childishly harmless, and their evil actions\nseldom go beyond stealing their neighbours\u2019 butter, or abducting a\npretty girl, which sins mere mortals would be quite equal to, even\nwithout the aid of \u201cthe gods of the earth\u201d and their renowned leader,\nFinvarra, the King of the Fairies. The following tale, however, of a\ncase of abduction by fairy power, is well constructed. The hero of the\nnarrative has our sympathy and interest, and it ends happily, which is\nconsidered a great merit by the Irish, as they dislike a tale to which\nthey cannot append, as an epilogue, the hearty and outspoken \u201cThank\nGod.\u201d\n\n\nTHE STOLEN BRIDE.\n\n\nAbout the year 1670 there was a fine young fellow living at a place\ncalled Querin, in the County Clare. He was brave and strong and rich,\nfor he had his own land and his own house, and not one to lord it over\nhim. He was called the Kern of Querin. And many a time he would go\nout alone to shoot the wild fowl at night along the lonely strand and\nsometimes cross over northward to the broad east strand, about two\nmiles away, to find the wild geese.\n\nOne cold frosty November Eve he was watching for them, crouched down\nbehind the ruins of an old hut, when a loud splashing noise attracted\nhis attention. \u201cIt is the wild geese,\u201d he thought, and raising his gun,\nwaited in death-like silence the approach of his victim.\n\nBut presently he saw a dark mass moving along the edge of the strand.\nAnd he knew there were no wild geese near him. So he watched and waited\ntill the black mass came closer, and then he distinctly perceived four\nstout men carrying a bier on their shoulders, on which lay a corpse\ncovered with a white cloth. For a few moments they laid it down,\napparently to rest themselves, and the Kern instantly fired; on which\nthe four men ran away shrieking, and the corpse was left alone on the\nbier. Kern of Querin immediately sprang to the place, and lifting the\ncloth from the face of the corpse, beheld by the freezing starlight,\nthe form of a beautiful young girl, apparently not dead but in a deep\nsleep.\n\nGently he passed his hand over her face and raised her up, when she\nopened her eyes and looked around with wild wonder, but spake never a\nword, though he tried to soothe and encourage her. Then, thinking it\nwas dangerous for them to remain in that place, he raised her from the\nbier, and taking her hand led her away to his own house. They arrived\nsafely, but in silence. And for twelve months did she remain with the\nKern, never tasting food or speaking word for all that time.\n\nWhen the next November Eve came round, he resolved to visit the\neast strand again, and watch from the same place, in the hope of\nmeeting with some adventure that might throw light on the history of\nthe beautiful girl. His way lay beside the old ruined fort called\n_Lios-na-fallainge_ (the Fort of the Mantle), and as he passed, the\nsound of music and mirth fell on his ear. He stopped to catch the words\nof the voices, and had not waited long when he heard a man say in a low\nwhisper\u2014\n\n\u201cWhere shall we go to-night to carry off a bride?\u201d\n\nAnd a second voice answered\u2014\n\n\u201cWherever we go I hope better luck will be ours than we had this day\ntwelvemonths.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said a third; \u201con that night we carried off a rich prize, the\nfair daughter of O\u2019Connor; but that clown, the Kern of Querin, broke\nour spell and took her from us. Yet little pleasure has he had of his\nbride, for she has neither eaten nor drank nor uttered a word since she\nentered his house.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so she will remain,\u201d said a fourth, \u201cuntil he makes her eat off\nher father\u2019s table-cloth, which covered her as she lay on the bier, and\nwhich is now thrown up over the top of her bed.\u201d\n\nOn hearing all this, the Kern rushed home, and without waiting even for\nthe morning, entered the young girl\u2019s room, took down the table-cloth,\nspread it on the table, laid meat and drink thereon, and led her to it.\n\u201cDrink,\u201d he said, \u201cthat speech may come to you.\u201d And she drank, and ate\nof the food, and then speech came. And she told the Kern her story\u2014how\nshe was to have been married to a young lord of her own country, and\nthe wedding guests had all assembled, when she felt herself suddenly\nill and swooned away, and never knew more of what had happened to\nher until the Kern had passed his hand over her face, by which she\nrecovered consciousness, but could neither eat nor speak, for a spell\nwas on her, and she was helpless.\n\nThen the Kern prepared a chariot, and carried home the young girl to\nher father, who was like to die for joy when he beheld her. And the\nKern grew mightily in O\u2019Connor\u2019s favour, so that at last he gave him\nhis fair young daughter to wife; and the wedded pair lived together\nhappily for many long years after, and no evil befell them, but good\nfollowed all the work of their hands.\n\nThis story of Kern of Querin still lingers in the faithful, vivid Irish\nmemory, and is often told by the peasants of Clare when they gather\nround the fire on the awful festival of _Samhain_, or November Eve,\nwhen the dead walk, and the spirits of earth and air have power over\nmortals, whether for good or evil.\n\n\nFAIRY MUSIC.\n\n\nThe evil influence of the fairy glance does not kill, but it throws\nthe object into a death-like trance, in which the real body is carried\noff to some fairy mansion, while a log of wood, or some ugly, deformed\ncreature is left in its place, clothed with the shadow of the stolen\nform. Young women, remarkable for beauty, young men, and handsome\nchildren, are the chief victims of the fairy stroke. The girls are\nwedded to fairy chiefs, and the young men to fairy queens; and if the\nmortal children do not turn out well, they are sent back, and others\ncarried off in their place. It is sometimes possible, by the spells of\na powerful fairy-man, to bring back a living being from Fairy-land. But\nthey are never quite the same after. They have always a spirit-look,\nespecially if they have listened to the fairy music. For the fairy\nmusic is soft and low and plaintive, with a fatal charm for mortal ears.\n\nOne day a gentleman entered a cabin in the County Clare, and saw a\nyoung girl about twenty seated by the fire, chanting a melancholy song,\nwithout settled words or music. On inquiry he was told she had once\nheard the fairy harp, and those who hear it lose all memory of love or\nhate, and forget all things, and never more have any other sound in\ntheir ears save the soft music of the fairy harp, and when the spell is\nbroken, they die.\n\nIt is remarkable that the Irish national airs\u2014plaintive, beautiful,\nand unutterably pathetic\u2014should so perfectly express the spirit of the\nC\u00e9ol-Sidhe (the fairy music), as it haunts the fancy of the people\nand mingles with all their traditions of the spirit world. Wild and\ncapricious as the fairy nature, these delicate harmonies, with their\nmystic, mournful rhythm, seem to touch the deepest chords of feeling,\nor to fill the sunshine with laughter, according to the mood of the\nplayers; but, above all things, Irish music is the utterance of a\nDivine sorrow; not stormy or passionate, but like that of an exiled\nspirit, yearning and wistful, vague and unresting; ever seeking the\nunattainable, ever shadowed, as it were, with memories of some lost\ngood, or some dim foreboding of a coming fate\u2014emotions that seem to\nfind their truest expression in the sweet, sad, lingering wail of the\npathetic minor in a genuine Irish air. There is a beautiful phrase in\none of the ancient manuscripts descriptive of the wonderful power of\nIrish music over the sensitive human organization: \u201cWounded men were\nsoothed when they heard it, and slept; and women in travail forgot\ntheir pains.\u201d There are legends concerning the subtle charm of the\nfairy music and dance, when the mortal under their influence seems to\nmove through the air with \u201cthe naked, fleshless feet of the spirit,\u201d\nand is lulled by the ecstasy of the cadence into forgetfulness of all\nthings, and sometimes into the sleep of death.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY DANCE.\n\n\nThe following story is from the Irish, as told by a native of one of\nthe Western Isles, where the primitive superstitions have still all the\nfreshness of young life.\n\nOne evening late in November, which is the month when spirits have\nmost power over all things, as the prettiest girl in all the island\nwas going to the well for water, her foot slipped and she fell. It was\nan unlucky omen, and when she got up and looked round it seemed to her\nas if she were in a strange place, and all around her was changed as\nif by enchantment. But at some distance she saw a great crowd gathered\nround a blazing fire, and she was drawn slowly on towards them, till at\nlast she stood in the very midst of the people; but they kept silence,\nlooking fixedly at her; and she was afraid, and tried to turn and leave\nthem, but she could not. Then a beautiful youth, like a prince, with a\nred sash, and a golden band on his long yellow hair, came up and asked\nher to dance.\n\n\u201cIt is a foolish thing of you, sir, to ask me to dance,\u201d she said,\n\u201cwhen there is no music.\u201d\n\nThen he lifted his hand and made a sign to the people, and instantly\nthe sweetest music sounded near her and around her, and the young man\ntook her hand, and they danced and danced till the moon and the stars\nwent down, but she seemed like one floating on the air, and she forgot\neverything in the world except the dancing, and the sweet low music,\nand her beautiful partner.\n\nAt last the dancing ceased, and her partner thanked her, and invited\nher to supper with the company. Then she saw an opening in the ground,\nand a flight of steps, and the young man, who seemed to be the king\namongst them all, led her down, followed by the whole company. At\nthe end of the stairs they came upon a large hall, all bright and\nbeautiful with gold and silver and lights; and the table was covered\nwith everything good to eat, and wine was poured out in golden cups for\nthem to drink. When she sat down they all pressed her to eat the food\nand to drink the wine; and as she was weary after the dancing, she took\nthe golden cup the prince handed to her, and raised it to her lips to\ndrink. Just then, a man passed close to her, and whispered\u2014\n\n\u201cEat no food, and drink no wine, or you will never reach your home\nagain.\u201d\n\nSo she laid down the cup, and refused to drink. On this they were\nangry, and a great noise arose, and a fierce, dark man stood up, and\nsaid\u2014\n\n\u201cWhoever comes to us must drink with us.\u201d\n\nAnd he seized her arm, and held the wine to her lips, so that she\nalmost died of fright. But at that moment a red-haired man came up, and\nhe took her by the hand and led her out.\n\n\u201cYou are safe for this time,\u201d he said. \u201cTake this herb, and hold it in\nyour hand till you reach home, and no one can harm you.\u201d And he gave\nher a branch of a plant called the _Athair-Luss_ (the ground ivy).[4]\n\n [4] In Ancient Egypt the ivy was sacred to Osiris, and a safeguard\n against evil.\n\nThis she took, and fled away along the sward in the dark night; but all\nthe time she heard footsteps behind her in pursuit. At last she reached\nhome and barred the door, and went to bed, when a great clamour arose\noutside, and voices were heard crying to her\u2014\n\n\u201cThe power we had over you is gone through the magic of the herb; but\nwait\u2014when you dance again to the music on the hill, you will stay with\nus for evermore, and none shall hinder.\u201d\n\nHowever, she kept the magic branch safely, and the fairies never\ntroubled her more; but it was long and long before the sound of the\nfairy music left her ears which she had danced to that November night\non the hillside with her fairy lover.\n\n\nFAIRY JUSTICE.\n\nA LEGEND OF SHARK ISLAND.\n\n\nThe \u201cRed-haired Man,\u201d although he is considered very unlucky in actual\nlife, yet generally acts in the fairy world as the benevolent _Deus\nex machina_, that saves and helps and rescues the unhappy mortal, who\nhimself is quite helpless under the fairy spells.\n\nThere was a man in Shark Island who used to cross over to Boffin[5]\nto buy tobacco, but when the weather was too rough for the boat his\nill-temper was as bad as the weather, and he used to beat his wife, and\nfling all the things about, so that no one could stand before him. One\nday a man came to him.\n\n [5] The correct names for these islands are Innis-Erk (the Island of\n St. Erk), and Innis-bo-finn (the Island of the White Cow).\n\n\u201cWhat will you give me if I go over to Boffin,\u201d said he, \u201cand bring you\nthe tobacco?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will give you nothing,\u201d said the other. \u201cWhatever way you go I can\ngo also.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen come with me to the shore,\u201d said the first man, \u201cand I\u2019ll show\nyou how to get across; but as only one can go, you must go alone.\u201d\n\nAnd as they went down to the sea, they saw a great company of horsemen\nand ladies galloping along, with music and laughter.\n\n\u201cSpring up now on a horse and you will get across,\u201d said the first man.\n\nSo the other sprang up as he was told, and in an instant they all\njumped right across the sea and landed at Boffin. Then he ran to buy\nthe tobacco and was back again in a minute, and found all the same\ncompany by the sea-shore. He sprang again upon a horse and they all\njumped right into the sea, but suddenly stopped midway between the two\nislands, where there was a great rock, and beyond this they could not\nforce the horses to move. Then there was great disquietude amongst\nthem, and they called a council.\n\n\u201cThere is a mortal amongst us,\u201d they said. \u201cLet us drown him.\u201d\n\nAnd they carried the man up to the top of the rock and cast him down;\nand when he rose to the surface again they caught him by the hair, and\ncried\u2014\n\n\u201cDrown him! Drown him! We have the power over life and death; he must\nbe drowned.\u201d\n\nAnd they were going to cast him down a second time, when a red-haired\nman pleaded for him, and carried him off with a strong hand safe to\nshore.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said he, \u201cyou are safe, but mind, the spirits are watching you,\nand if ever again you beat your poor good wife, and knock about the\nthings at home just to torment her out of her life, you will die upon\nthat rock as sure as fate.\u201d And he vanished.\n\nSo from that time forth the man was as meek as a mouse, for he was\nafraid; and whenever he went by the rock in his boat he always stopped\na minute, and said a little prayer for his wife with a \u201cGod bless her.\u201d\nAnd this kept away the evil, and they both lived together happily ever\nafter to a great old age.\n\nThis is but a rude tale. Yet the moral is good, and the threat of\nretributive justice shows a laudable spirit of indignation on the part\nof the fairy race against the tyranny of man over the weaker vessel.\n\n\nTHE PRIEST\u2019S SOUL.\n\n\nAn ethical purpose is not often to be detected in the Irish legends;\nbut the following tale combines an inner meaning with the incidents in\na profound and remarkable manner. The idea that underlies the story\nis very subtle and tragic; Calderon or Goethe might have founded a\ndrama on it; and Browning\u2019s genius would find a fitting subject in\nthis contrast between the pride of the audacious, self-relying sceptic\nin the hour of his triumph and the moral agony that precedes his\npunishment and death.\n\nIn former days there were great schools in Ireland where every sort\nof learning was taught to the people, and even the poorest had more\nknowledge at that time than many a gentleman has now. But as to the\npriests, their learning was above all, so that the fame of Ireland went\nover the whole world, and many kings from foreign lands used to send\ntheir sons all the way to Ireland to be brought up in the Irish schools.\n\nNow at this time there was a little boy learning at one of them who\nwas a wonder to every one for his cleverness. His parents were only\nlabouring people, and of course very poor; but young as he was, and\npoor as he was, no king\u2019s or lord\u2019s son could come up to him in\nlearning. Even the masters were put to shame, for when they were\ntrying to teach him he would tell them something they never heard of\nbefore, and show them their ignorance. One of his great triumphs was\nin argument; and he would go on till he proved to you that black was\nwhite, and then when you gave in, for no one could beat him in talk,\nhe would turn round and show you that white was black, or may be that\nthere was no colour at all in the world. When he grew up his poor\nfather and mother were so proud of him that they resolved to make him a\npriest, which they did at last, though they nearly starved themselves\nto get the money. Well, such another learned man was not in Ireland,\nand he was as great in argument as ever, so that no one could stand\nbefore him. Even the Bishops tried to talk to him, but he showed them\nat once they knew nothing at all.\n\nNow there were no schoolmasters in those times but it was the priests\ntaught the people; and as this man was the cleverest in Ireland all the\nforeign kings sent their sons to him as long as he had house-room to\ngive them. So he grew very proud, and began to forget how low he had\nbeen, and worst of all, even to forget God, who had made him what he\nwas. And the pride of arguing got hold of him, so that from one thing\nto another he went on to prove that there was no Purgatory, and then no\nHell, and then no Heaven, and then no God; and at last that men had no\nsouls, but were no more than a dog or a cow, and when they died there\nwas an end of them. \u201cWho ever saw a soul?\u201d he would say. \u201cIf you can\nshow me one, I will believe.\u201d No one could make any answer to this;\nand at last they all came to believe that as there was no other world,\nevery one might do what they liked in this; the priest setting the\nexample, for he took a beautiful young girl to wife. But as no priest\nor bishop in the whole land could be got to marry them, he was obliged\nto read the service over for himself. It was a great scandal, yet no\none dared to say a word, for all the kings\u2019 sons were on his side,\nand would have slaughtered any one who tried to prevent his wicked\ngoings-on. Poor boys! they all believed in him, and thought every word\nhe said was the truth. In this way his notions began to spread about,\nand the whole world was going to the bad, when one night an angel came\ndown from Heaven, and told the priest he had but twenty-four hours to\nlive. He began to tremble, and asked for a little more time.\n\nBut the angel was stiff, and told him that could not be.\n\n\u201cWhat do you want time for, you sinner?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cOh, sir, have pity on my poor soul!\u201d urged the priest.\n\n\u201cOh, ho! You have a soul, then,\u201d said the angel. \u201cPray, how did you\nfind that out?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt has been fluttering in me ever since you appeared,\u201d answered the\npriest. \u201cWhat a fool I was not to think of it before.\u201d\n\n\u201cA fool indeed,\u201d said the angel. \u201cWhat good was all your learning, when\nit could not tell you that you had a soul?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, my lord,\u201d said the priest, \u201cif I am to die, tell me how soon I may\nbe in Heaven?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever,\u201d replied the angel. \u201cYou denied there was a Heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, my lord, may I go to Purgatory?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou denied Purgatory also; you must go straight to Hell,\u201d said the\nangel.\n\n\u201cBut, my lord, I denied Hell also,\u201d answered the priest, \u201cso you can\u2019t\nsend me there either.\u201d\n\nThe angel was a little puzzled.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he, \u201cI\u2019ll tell you what I can do for you. You may either\nlive now on earth for a hundred years enjoying every pleasure, and then\nbe cast into Hell for ever; or you may die in twenty-four hours in the\nmost horrible torments, and pass through Purgatory, there to remain\ntill the Day of Judgment, if only you can find some one person that\nbelieves, and through his belief mercy will be vouchsafed to you and\nyour soul will be saved.\u201d\n\nThe priest did not take five minutes to make up his mind.\n\n\u201cI will have death in the twenty-four hours,\u201d he said, \u201cso that my soul\nmay be saved at last.\u201d\n\nOn this the angel gave him directions as to what he was to do, and left\nhim.\n\nThen, immediately, the priest entered the large room where all his\nscholars and the kings\u2019 sons were seated, and called out to them\u2014\n\n\u201cNow, tell me the truth, and let none fear to contradict me. Tell me\nwhat is your belief. Have men souls?\u201d\n\n\u201cMaster,\u201d they answered, \u201conce we believed that men had souls; but,\nthanks to your teaching, we believe so no longer. There is no Hell, and\nno Heaven, and no God. This is our belief, for it is thus you taught\nus.\u201d\n\nThen the priest grew pale with fear and cried out\u2014\u201cListen! I taught you\na lie. There is a God, and man has an immortal soul. I believe now all\nI denied before.\u201d\n\nBut the shouts of laughter that rose up drowned the priest\u2019s voice, for\nthey thought he was only trying them for argument.\n\n\u201cProve it, master,\u201d they cried, \u201cprove it. Who has ever seen God? Who\nhas ever seen the soul?\u201d\n\nAnd the room was stirred with their laughter.\n\nThe priest stood up to answer them, but no word could he utter; all his\neloquence, all his powers of argument had gone from him, and he could\ndo nothing but wring his hands and cry out\u2014\n\n\u201cThere is a God! there is a God! Lord have mercy on my soul!\u201d\n\nAnd they all began to mock him, and repeat his own words that he had\ntaught them\u2014\n\n\u201cShow him to us; show us your God.\u201d\n\nAnd he fled from them groaning with agony, for he saw that none\nbelieved, and how then could his soul be saved?\n\nBut he thought next of his wife.\n\n\u201cShe will believe,\u201d he said to himself. \u201cWomen never give up God.\u201d\n\nAnd he went to her; but she told him that she believed only what he\ntaught her, and that a good wife should believe in her husband first,\nand before and above all things in heaven or earth.\n\nThen despair came on him, and he rushed from the house and began to ask\nevery one he met if they believed. But the same answer came from one\nand all\u2014\u201cWe believe only what you have taught us,\u201d for his doctrines\nhad spread far and wide through the county.\n\nThen he grew half mad with fear, for the hours were passing. And he\nflung himself down on the ground in a lonesome spot, and wept and\ngroaned in terror, for the time was coming fast when he must die.\n\nJust then a little child came by.\n\n\u201cGod save you kindly,\u201d said the child to him.\n\nThe priest started up.\n\n\u201cChild, do you believe in God?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cI have come from a far country to learn about Him,\u201d said the child.\n\u201cWill your honour direct me to the best school that they have in these\nparts?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe best school and the best teacher is close by,\u201d said the priest,\nand he named himself.\n\n\u201cOh, not to that man,\u201d answered the child, \u201cfor I am told he denies\nGod, and Heaven, and Hell, and even that man has a soul, because we\ncan\u2019t see it; but I would soon put him down.\u201d\n\nThe priest looked at him earnestly. \u201cHow?\u201d he inquired.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said the child, \u201cI would ask him if he believed he had life to\nshow me his life.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he could not do that, my child,\u201d said the priest. \u201cLife cannot be\nseen; we have it, but it is invisible.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen if we have life, though we cannot see it, we may also have a\nsoul, though it is invisible,\u201d answered the child.\n\nWhen the priest heard him speak these words he fell down on his knees\nbefore him, weeping for joy, for now he knew his soul was safe; he had\nmet at last one that believed. And he told the child his whole story:\nall his wickedness, and pride, and blasphemy against the great God; and\nhow the angel had come to him and told him of the only way in which he\ncould be saved, through the faith and prayers of some one that believed.\n\n\u201cNow then,\u201d he said to the child, \u201ctake this penknife and strike it\ninto my breast, and go on stabbing the flesh until you see the paleness\nof death on my face. Then watch\u2014for a living thing will soar up from\nmy body as I die, and you will then know that my soul has ascended to\nthe presence of God. And when you see this thing, make haste and run to\nmy school and call on all my scholars to come and see that the soul of\ntheir master has left the body, and that all he taught them was a lie,\nfor that there is a God who punishes sin, and a Heaven and a Hell,\nand that man has an immortal soul, destined for eternal happiness or\nmisery.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will pray,\u201d said the child, \u201cto have courage to do this work.\u201d\n\nAnd he kneeled down and prayed. Then when he rose up he took the\npenknife and struck it into the priest\u2019s heart, and struck and\nstruck again till all the flesh was lacerated; but still the priest\nlived though the agony was horrible, for he could not die until the\ntwenty-four hours had expired. At last the agony seemed to cease, and\nthe stillness of death settled on his face. Then the child, who was\nwatching, saw a beautiful living creature, with four snow white wings,\nmount from the dead man\u2019s body into the air and go fluttering round his\nhead.\n\nSo he ran to bring the scholars; and when they saw it they all knew\nit was the soul of their master, and they watched with wonder and awe\nuntil it passed from sight into the clouds.\n\nAnd this was the first butterfly that was ever seen in Ireland; and now\nall men know that the butterflies are the souls of the dead waiting for\nthe moment when they may enter Purgatory, and so pass through torture\nto purification and peace.\n\nBut the schools of Ireland were quite deserted after that time, for\npeople said, What is the use of going so far to learn when the wisest\nman in all Ireland did not know if he had a soul till he was near\nlosing it; and was only saved at last through the simple belief of a\nlittle child?\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe allusion in this clever tale to the ancient Irish schools is based\non historical fact. From the seventh to the tenth century Ireland was\nthe centre of learning. The great Alfred of England was a student at\none of the famous Irish seminaries, along with other royal and noble\nyouths, and there formed a life-long friendship with the learned\nAdamnanl who often afterwards was a welcome guest at the Court of King\nAlfred. Other eminent Irishmen are known to history as the teachers and\nevangelizers of Europe. Alcuin, the Irish monk, became the friend and\nsecretary of Charlemagne, and founded, at Aix-la-Chapelle, the first\nGrammar School in the imperial dominions. And the celebrated Clemens\nand Albinus, two Irishmen of distinguished ability and learning, aided\nthe emperor not only in educating the people, but also to found a\nschool for the nobles within his own palace.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY RACE.\n\n\nThe _Sidhe_, or spirit race, called also the _Feadh-Ree_ or fairies,\nare supposed to have been once angels in heaven, who were cast out by\nDivine command as a punishment for their inordinate pride.\n\nSome fell to earth, and dwelt there, long before man was created, as\nthe first gods of the earth. Others fell into the sea, and they built\nthemselves beautiful fairy palaces of crystal and pearl underneath the\nwaves; but on moonlight nights they often come up on the land, riding\ntheir white horses, and they hold revels with their fairy kindred of\nthe earth, who live in the clefts of the hills, and they dance together\non the greensward under the ancient trees, and drink nectar from the\ncups of the flowers, which is the fairy wine.\n\nOther fairies, however, are demoniacal, and given to evil and malicious\ndeeds; for when cast out of heaven they fell into hell, and there the\ndevil holds them under his rule, and sends them forth as he wills\nupon missions of evil to tempt the souls of men downward by the false\nglitter of sin and pleasure. These spirits dwell under the earth\nand impart their knowledge only to certain evil persons chosen of\nthe devil, who gives them power to make incantations, and brew love\npotions, and to work wicked spells, and they can assume different forms\nby their knowledge and use of certain magical herbs.\n\nThe witch women who have been taught by them, and have thus become\ntools of the Evil One, are the terror of the neighbourhood; for they\nhave all the power of the fairies and all the malice of the devil, who\nreveals to them secrets of times and days, and secrets of herbs, and\nsecrets of evil spells; and by the power of magic they can effect all\ntheir purposes, whether for good or ill.\n\nThe fairies of the earth are small and beautiful. They passionately\nlove music and dancing, and live luxuriously in their palaces under the\nhills and in the deep mountain caves; and they can obtain all things\nlovely for their fairy homes, merely by the strength of their magic\npower. They can also assume all forms, and will never know death until\nthe last day comes, when their doom is to vanish away\u2014to be annihilated\nfor ever. But they are very jealous of the human race who are so tall\nand strong, and to whom has been promised immortality. And they are\noften tempted by the beauty of a mortal woman and greatly desire to\nhave her as a wife.\n\nThe children of such marriages have a strange mystic nature, and\ngenerally become famous in music and song. But they are passionate,\nrevengeful, and not easy to live with. Every one knows them to be of\nthe Sidhe or spirit race, by their beautiful eyes and their bold,\nreckless temperament.\n\nThe fairy king and princes dress in green, with red caps bound on\nthe head with a golden fillet. The fairy queen and the great court\nladies are robed in glittering silver gauze, spangled with diamonds,\nand their long golden hair sweeps the ground as they dance on the\ngreensward.\n\nTheir favourite camp and resting-place is under a hawthorn tree, and\na peasant would die sooner than cut down one of the ancient hawthorns\nsacred to the fairies, and which generally stands in the centre of a\nfairy ring. But the people never offer worship to these fairy beings,\nfor they look on the Sidhe as a race quite inferior to man. At the same\ntime they have an immense dread and fear of the mystic fairy power, and\nnever interfere with them nor offend them knowingly.\n\nThe Sidhe often strive to carry off the handsome children, who are then\nreared in the beautiful fairy palaces under the earth, and wedded to\nfairy mates when they grow up.\n\nThe people dread the idea of a fairy changeling being left in the\ncradle in place of their own lovely child; and if a wizened little\nthing is found there, it is sometimes taken out at night and laid in\nan open grave till morning, when they hope to find their own child\nrestored, although more often nothing is found save the cold corpse of\nthe poor outcast.\n\nSometimes it is said the fairies carry off the mortal child for a\nsacrifice, as they have to offer one every seven years to the devil\nin return for the power he gives them. And beautiful young girls are\ncarried off, also, either for sacrifice or to be wedded to the fairy\nking.\n\nThe fairies are pure and cleanly in their habits, and they like above\nall things a pail of water to be set for them at night, in case they\nmay wish to bathe.\n\nThey also delight in good wines, and are careful to repay the donor in\nblessings, for they are truly upright and honest. The great lords of\nIreland, in ancient times, used to leave a keg of the finest Spanish\nwine frequently at night out on the window-sill for the fairies, and in\nthe morning it was all gone.\n\nFire is a great preventative against fairy magic, for fire is the\nmost sacred of all created things, and man alone has power over it.\nNo animal has ever yet attained the knowledge of how to draw out\nthe spirit of fire from the stone or the wood, where it has found a\ndwelling-place. If a ring of fire is made round cattle or a child\u2019s\ncradle, or if fire is placed under the churn, the fairies have no power\nto harm. And the spirit of the fire is certain to destroy all fairy\nmagic, if it exist.\n\n\nTHE TRIAL BY FIRE.\n\n\nThe ordeal by fire is the great test adopted by the peasants to try if\na child or any one is fairy-struck. There was a man in Mayo who was\nbedridden for months and months, and though he ate up all the food they\nbrought him, he never grew a bit stronger, and on Sundays when they\nwent to mass, they locked him up and left him alone in the place with\nplenty of food. Now there was a fine field close by, and one Sunday,\ncoming home from mass earlier than usual, they saw a great company of\npeople bowling in the field, and the sick man amongst them, but at that\nmoment he vanished away; and when the family reached home, there was\nthe sick man lying fast asleep in his bed.\n\n\u201cGet up,\u201d they said, \u201cfor we have seen you bowling with the fairies,\nand you sha\u2019n\u2019t eat or drink any more at our expense.\u201d\n\nBut he refused, and said he was too ill to move. Then they made down a\nlarge fire of turf and said, \u201cGet up, or we\u2019ll lay you on the fire and\nbreak the fairy spell.\u201d And they took hold of him to burn him. Then he\nwas frightened, and rose up and went out at the door, and they watched\nhim till he stopped in the field where the hurlers played, and lay down\nthere in the grass; but when they went up to him he was dead.\n\nA man going to his work one morning early saw two women going up to a\nhouse, and one said, \u201cThere is a beautiful boy in this house, go in\nand hand it out to me, and we\u2019ll leave the dead child in its place.\u201d\nAnd the other went in at the window as she was told, and handed out a\nsleeping child, and took the dead child and laid it in the bed within.\nNow the man saw it was fairy work, and he went over and made the sign\nof the cross on the sleeping child, whereupon the two women shrieked\nas if they had been struck, and fled away, dropping the child on the\ngrass. Then the man took it up gently, and put it under his coat, and\nwent away to his wife.\n\n\u201cHere,\u201d he said, \u201ctake care of this child till I come back, and burn a\nturf beside the cradle to keep off the fairies.\u201d\n\nWhen he passed by the house again, where he had seen the two women, he\nheard a great crying and lamentation; and he entered in and asked what\nailed them.\n\n\u201cSee here,\u201d said the mother, \u201cmy child is dead in its cradle. It died\nin the night, and no one near.\u201d And she wept bitterly.\n\n\u201cBe comforted,\u201d said the man; \u201cthis is a fairy changeling, your child\nis safe!\u201d and he told her the story. \u201cNow,\u201d he said, \u201cif you don\u2019t\nbelieve me, just lay this dead child on the fire, and we\u2019ll see what\nwill happen.\u201d\n\nSo she made down a good fire, and took the dead child in her arms, and\nlaid it on the hot turf, saying, \u201cBurn, burn, burn\u2014if of the devil,\nburn; but if of God and the Saints, be safe from harm.\u201d And the child\nno sooner felt the fire than it sprang up the chimney with a cry and\ndisappeared.\n\n\nTHE LADY WITCH.\n\n\nAbout a hundred years ago there lived a woman in Joyce County, of whom\nall the neighbours were afraid, for she had always plenty of money,\nthough no one knew how she came by it; and the best of eating and\ndrinking went on at her house, chiefly at night\u2014meat and fowls and\nSpanish wines in plenty for all comers. And when people asked how it\nall came, she laughed and said, \u201cI have paid for it,\u201d but would tell\nthem no more.\n\nSo the word went through the county that she had sold herself to the\nEvil One, and could have everything she wanted by merely wishing and\nwilling, and because of her riches they called her \u201cThe Lady Witch.\u201d\n\nShe never went out but at night, and then always with a bridle and whip\nin her hand; and the sound of a horse galloping was heard often far on\nin the night along the roads near her house.\n\nThen a strange story was whispered about, that if a young man drank\nof her Spanish wines at supper and afterwards fell asleep, she would\nthrow the bridle over him and change him to a horse, and ride him all\nover the country, and whatever she touched with her whip became hers.\nFowls, or butter, or wine, or the new-made cakes\u2014she had but to wish\nand will and they were carried by spirit hands to her house, and laid\nin her larder. Then when the ride was done, and she had gathered enough\nthrough the country of all she wanted, she took the bridle off the\nyoung man, and he came back to his own shape and fell asleep; and when\nhe awoke he had no knowledge of all that had happened, and the Lady\nWitch bade him come again and drink of her Spanish wines as often as it\npleased him.\n\nNow there was a fine brave young fellow in the neighbourhood, and he\ndetermined to make out the truth of the story. So he often went back\nand forwards, and made friends with the Lady Witch, and sat down to\ntalk to her, but always on the watch. And she took a great fancy to him\nand told him he must come to supper some night, and she would give him\nthe best of everything, and he must taste her Spanish wine.\n\nSo she named the night, and he went gladly, for he was filled with\ncuriosity. And when he arrived there was a beautiful supper laid, and\nplenty of wine to drink; and he ate and drank, but was cautious about\nthe wine, and spilled it on the ground from his glass when her head was\nturned away. Then he pretended to be very sleepy, and she said\u2014\n\n\u201cMy son, you are weary. Lie down there on the bench and sleep, for the\nnight is far spent, and you are far from your home.\u201d\n\nSo he lay down as if he were quite dead with sleep, and closed his\neyes, but watched her all the time.\n\nAnd she came over in a little while and looked at him steadily, but he\nnever stirred, only breathed the more heavily.\n\nThen she went softly and took the bridle from the wall, and stole over\nto fling it over his head; but he started up, and, seizing the bridle,\nthrew it over the woman, who was immediately changed into a spanking\ngrey mare. And he led her out and jumped on her back and rode away as\nfast as the wind till he came to the forge.\n\n\u201cHo, smith,\u201d he cried, \u201crise up and shoe my mare, for she is weary\nafter the journey.\u201d\n\nAnd the smith got up and did his work as he was bid, well and strong.\nThen the young man mounted again, and rode back like the wind to\nthe house of the Witch; and there he took off the bridle, and she\nimmediately regained her own form, and sank down in a deep sleep.\n\nBut as the shoes had been put on at the forge without saying the proper\nform of words, they remained on her hands and feet, and no power on\nearth could remove them.\n\nSo she never rose from her bed again, and died not long after of grief\nand shame. And not one in the whole country would follow the coffin of\nthe Lady Witch to the grave; and the bridle was burned with fire, and\nof all her riches nothing was left but a handful of ashes, and this was\nflung to the four points of earth and the four winds of heaven; so the\nenchantment was broken and the power of the Evil One ended.\n\n\nETHNA THE BRIDE.\n\n\nThe fairies, as we know, are greatly attracted by the beauty of mortal\nwomen, and Finvarra the king employs his numerous sprites to find out\nand carry off when possible the prettiest girls and brides in the\ncountry. These are spirited away by enchantment to his fairy palace at\nKnockma in Tuam, where they remain under a fairy spell, forgetting all\nabout the earthly life and soothed to passive enjoyment, as in a sweet\ndream, by the soft low melody of the fairy music, which has the power\nto lull the hearer into a trance of ecstasy.\n\nThere was once a great lord in that part of the country who had a\nbeautiful wife called Ethna, the loveliest bride in all the land. And\nher husband was so proud of her that day after day he had festivals\nin her honour; and from morning till night his castle was filled with\nlords and ladies, and nothing but music and dancing and feasting and\nhunting and pleasure was thought of.\n\nOne evening while the feast was merriest, and Ethna floated through\nthe dance in her robe of silver gossamer clasped with jewels, more\nbright and beautiful than the stars in heaven, she suddenly let go the\nhand of her partner and sank to the floor in a faint.\n\nThey carried her to her room, where she lay long quite insensible; but\ntowards the morning she woke up and declared that she had passed the\nnight in a beautiful palace, and was so happy that she longed to sleep\nagain and go there in her dreams. And they watched by her all day,\nbut when the shades of evening fell dark on the castle, low music was\nheard at her window, and Ethna again fell into a deep trance from which\nnothing could rouse her.\n\nThen her old nurse was set to watch her; but the woman grew weary in\nthe silence and fell asleep, and never awoke till the sun had risen.\nAnd when she looked towards the bed, she saw to her horror that the\nyoung bride had disappeared. The whole household was roused up at once,\nand search made everywhere, but no trace of her could be found in all\nthe castle, nor in the gardens, nor in the park. Her husband sent\nmessengers in every direction, but to no purpose\u2014no one had seen her;\nno sign of her could be found, living or dead.\n\nThen the young lord mounted his swiftest steed and galloped right off\nto Knockma, to question Finvarra, the fairy king, if he could give\nany tidings of the bride, or direct him where to search for her; for\nhe and Finvarra were friends, and many a good keg of Spanish wine had\nbeen left outside the window of the castle at night for the fairies to\ncarry away, by order of the young lord. But he little dreamed now that\nFinvarra himself was the traitor; so he galloped on like mad till he\nreached Knockma, the hill of the fairies.\n\nAnd as he stopped to rest his horse by the fairy rath, he heard voices\nin the air above him, and one said\u2014\n\n\u201cRight glad is Finvarra now, for he has the beautiful bride in his\npalace at last; and never more will she see her husband\u2019s face.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet,\u201d answered another, \u201cif he dig down through the hill to the centre\nof the earth, he would find his bride; but the work is hard and the way\nis difficult, and Finvarra has more power than any mortal man.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is yet to be seen,\u201d exclaimed the young lord. \u201cNeither fairy,\nnor devil, nor Finvarra himself shall stand between me and my fair\nyoung wife;\u201d and on the instant he sent word by his servants to gather\ntogether all the workmen and labourers of the country round with their\nspades and pickaxes, to dig through the hill till they came to the\nfairy palace.\n\nAnd the workmen came, a great crowd of them, and they dug through the\nhill all that day till a great deep trench was made down to the very\ncentre. Then at sunset they left off for the night; but next morning\nwhen they assembled again to continue their work, behold, all the clay\nwas put back again into the trench, and the hill looked as if never a\nspade had touched it\u2014for so Finvarra had ordered; and he was powerful\nover earth and air and sea.\n\nBut the young lord had a brave heart, and he made the men go on with\nthe work; and the trench was dug again, wide and deep into the centre\nof the hill. And this went on for three days, but always with the same\nresult, for the clay was put back again each night and the hill looked\nthe same as before, and they were no nearer to the fairy palace.\n\nThen the young lord was ready to die for rage and grief, but suddenly\nhe heard a voice near him like a whisper in the air, and the words it\nsaid were these\u2014\n\n\u201cSprinkle the earth you have dug up with salt, and your work will be\nsafe.\u201d\n\nOn this new life came into his heart, and he sent word through all the\ncountry to gather salt from the people; and the clay was sprinkled with\nit that night, when the men had left off their work at the hill.\n\nNext morning they all rose up early in great anxiety to see what had\nhappened, and there to their great joy was the trench all safe, just as\nthey had left it, and all the earth round it was untouched.\n\nThen the young lord knew he had power over Finvarra, and he bade the\nmen work on with a good heart, for they would soon reach the fairy\npalace now in the centre of the hill. So by the next day a great glen\nwas cut right through deep down to the middle of the earth, and they\ncould hear the fairy music if they put their ear close to the ground,\nand voices were heard round them in the air.\n\n\u201cSee now,\u201d said one, \u201cFinvarra is sad, for if one of those mortal men\nstrike a blow on the fairy palace with their spades, it will crumble to\ndust, and fade away like the mist.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen let Finvarra give up the bride,\u201d said another, \u201cand we shall be\nsafe.\u201d\n\nOn which the voice of Finvarra himself was heard, clear like the note\nof a silver bugle through the hill.\n\n\u201cStop your work,\u201d he said. \u201cOh, men of earth, lay down your spades, and\nat sunset the bride shall be given back to her husband. I, Finvarra,\nhave spoken.\u201d\n\nThen the young lord bade them stop the work, and lay down their spades\ntill the sun went down. And at sunset he mounted his great chestnut\nsteed and rode to the head of the glen, and watched and waited; and\njust as the red light flushed all the sky, he saw his wife coming along\nthe path in her robe of silver gossamer, more beautiful than ever; and\nhe sprang from the saddle and lifted her up before him, and rode away\nlike the storm wind back to the castle. And there they laid Ethna on\nher bed; but she closed her eyes and spake no word. So day after day\npassed, and still she never spake or smiled, but seemed like one in a\ntrance.\n\nAnd great sorrow fell upon every one, for they feared she had eaten of\nthe fairy food, and that the enchantment would never be broken. So her\nhusband was very miserable. But one evening as he was riding home late,\nhe heard voices in the air, and one of them said\u2014\n\n\u201cIt is now a year and a day since the young lord brought home his\nbeautiful wife from Finvarra; but what good is she to him? She is\nspeechless and like one dead; for her spirit is with the fairies though\nher form is there beside him.\u201d\n\nThen another voice answered\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd so she will remain unless the spell is broken. He must unloose the\ngirdle from her waist that is fastened with an enchanted pin, and burn\nthe girdle with fire, and throw the ashes before the door, and bury\nthe enchanted pin in the earth; then will her spirit come back from\nFairy-land, and she will once more speak and have true life.\u201d\n\nHearing this the young lord at once set spurs to his horse, and on\nreaching the castle hastened to the room where Ethna lay on her couch\nsilent and beautiful like a waxen figure. Then, being determined to\ntest the truth of the spirit voices, he untied the girdle, and after\nmuch difficulty extracted the enchanted pin from the folds. But still\nEthna spoke no word; then he took the girdle and burned it with fire,\nand strewed the ashes before the door, and he buried the enchanted\npin in a deep hole in the earth, under a fairy thorn, that no hand\nmight disturb the spot. After which he returned to his young wife, who\nsmiled as she looked at him, and held forth her hand. Great was his\njoy to see the soul coming back to the beautiful form, and he raised\nher up and kissed her; and speech and memory came back to her at that\nmoment, and all her former life, just as if it had never been broken\nor interrupted; but the year that her spirit had passed in Fairy-land\nseemed to her but as a dream of the night, from which she had just\nawoke.\n\nAfter this Finvarra made no further efforts to carry her off; but the\ndeep cut in the hill remains to this day, and is called \u201cThe Fairy\u2019s\nGlen.\u201d So no one can doubt the truth of the story as here narrated.\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES\u2019 REVENGE.\n\n\nThe fairies have a great objection to the fairy raths, where they meet\nat night, being built upon by mortal man. A farmer called Johnstone,\nhaving plenty of money, bought some land, and chose a beautiful green\nspot to build a house on, the very spot the fairies loved best.\n\nThe neighbours warned him that it was a fairy rath; but he laughed and\nnever minded (for he was from the north), and looked at such things\nas mere old-wives\u2019 tales. So he built the house and made it beautiful\nto live in; and no people in the country were so well off as the\nJohnstones, so that the people said the farmer must have found a pot of\ngold in the fairy rath.\n\nBut the fairies were all the time plotting how they could punish the\nfarmer for taking away their dancing ground, and for cutting down the\nhawthorn bush where they held their revels when the moon was full. And\none day when the cows were milking, a little old woman in a blue cloak\ncame to Mrs. Johnstone and asked her for a porringer of milk.\n\n\u201cGo away,\u201d said the mistress of the house, \u201cyou shall have no milk from\nme. I\u2019ll have no tramps coming about my place.\u201d And she told the farm\nservants to chase her away.\n\nSome time after, the best and finest of the cows sickened and gave no\nmilk, and lost her horns and teeth and finally died.\n\nThen one day as Mrs. Johnstone was sitting spinning flax in the\nparlour, the same little woman in the blue cloak suddenly stood before\nher.\n\n\u201cYour maids are baking cakes in the kitchen,\u201d she said; \u201cgive me some\noff the griddle to carry away with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo out of this,\u201d cried the farmer\u2019s wife, angrily; \u201cyou are a wicked\nold wretch, and have poisoned my best cow.\u201d And she bade the farm\nservants drive her off with sticks.\n\nNow the Johnstones had one only child; a beautiful bright boy, as\nstrong as a young colt, and as full of life and merriment. But soon\nafter this he began to grow queer and strange, and was disturbed in\nhis sleep; for he said the fairies came round him at night and pinched\nand beat him, and some sat on his chest and he could neither breathe\nnor move. And they told him they would never leave him in peace unless\nhe promised to give them a supper every night of a griddle cake and a\nporringer of milk. So to soothe the child the mother had these things\nlaid every night on a table beside his bed, and in the morning they\nwere gone.\n\nBut still the child pined away, and his eyes got a strange, wild look,\nas if he saw nothing near or around him, only something far, far away\nthat troubled his spirit. And when they asked him what ailed him, he\nsaid the fairies carried him away to the hills every night, where he\ndanced and danced with them till the morning, when they brought him\nback and laid him again in his bed.\n\nAt last the farmer and his wife were at their wits\u2019 end from grief and\ndespair, for the child was pining away before their eyes, and they\ncould do nothing for him to help him. One night he cried out in great\nagony\u2014\n\n\u201cMother! mother! send for the priest to take away the fairies, for they\nare killing me; they are here on my chest, crushing me to death,\u201d and\nhis eyes were wild with terror.\n\nNow the farmer and his wife believed in no fairies, and in no priest,\nbut to soothe the child they did as he asked and sent for the priest,\nwho prayed over him and sprinkled him with holy water.\n\nThe poor little fellow seemed calmer as the priest prayed, and he said\nthe fairies were leaving him and going away, and then he sank into a\nquiet sleep. But when he woke in the morning he told his parents that\nhe had a beautiful dream and was walking in a lovely garden with the\nangels; and he knew it was heaven, and that he would be there before\nnight, for the angels told him they would come for him.\n\nThen they watched by the sick child all through the night, for they\nsaw the fever was still on him, but hoped a change would come before\nmorning; for he now slept quite calmly with a smile on his lips.\n\nBut just as the clock struck midnight he awoke and sat up, and when his\nmother put her arms round him weeping, he whispered to her\u2014\u201cThe angels\nare here, mother,\u201d and then he sank back, and so died.\n\nNow after this calamity the farmer never held up his head. He ceased\nto mind his farm, and the crops went to ruin and the cattle died, and\nfinally before a year and a day were over he was laid in the grave by\nthe side of his little son; and the land passed into other hands, and\nas no one would live in the house it was pulled down. No one, either,\nwould plant on the rath; so the grass grew again all over it, green\nand beautiful, and the fairies danced there once more in the moonlight\nas they used to do in the old time, free and happy; and thus the evil\nspell was broken for evermore.\n\nBut the people would have nothing to do with the childless mother,\nso she went away back to her own people, a broken-hearted, miserable\nwoman\u2014a warning to all who would arouse the vengeance of the fairies by\ninterfering with their ancient rights and possessions and privileges.\n\n\nFAIRY HELP.\nTHE PHOUKA.\n\n\nThe Phouka is a friendly being, and often helps the farmer at his work\nif he is treated well and kindly. One day a farmer\u2019s son was minding\ncattle in the field when something rushed past him like the wind; but\nhe was not frightened, for he knew it was the Phouka on his way to the\nold mill by the moat where the fairies met every night. So he called\nout, \u201cPhouka, Phouka! show me what you are like, and I\u2019ll give you my\nbig coat to keep you warm.\u201d Then a young bull came to him lashing his\ntail like mad; but Phadrig threw the coat over him, and in a moment he\nwas quiet as a lamb, and told the boy to come to the mill that night\nwhen the moon was up, and he would have good luck.\n\nSo Phadrig went, but saw nothing except sacks of corn all lying about\non the ground, for the men had fallen asleep, and no work was done.\nThen he lay down also and slept, for he was very tired: and when he\nwoke up early in the morning there was all the meal ground, though\ncertainly the men had not done it, for they still slept. And this\nhappened for three nights, after which Phadrig determined to keep awake\nand watch.\n\nNow there was an old chest in the mill, and he crept into this to hide,\nand just looked through the keyhole to see what would happen. And\nexactly at midnight six little fellows came in, each carrying a sack\nof corn upon his back; and after them came an old man in tattered rags\nof clothes, and he bade them turn the mill, and they turned and turned\ntill all was ground.\n\nThen Phadrig ran to tell his father, and the miller determined to watch\nthe next night with his son, and both together saw the same thing\nhappen.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the farmer, \u201cI see it is the Phouka\u2019s work, and let him\nwork if it pleases him, for the men are idle and lazy and only sleep.\nSo I\u2019ll pack the whole set off to-morrow, and leave the grinding of the\ncorn to this excellent old Phouka.\u201d\n\nAfter this the farmer grew so rich that there was no end to his money,\nfor he had no men to pay, and all his corn was ground without his\nspending a penny. Of course the people wondered much over his riches,\nbut he never told them about the Phouka, or their curiosity would have\nspoiled the luck.\n\nNow Phadrig went often to the mill and hid in the chest that he might\nwatch the fairies at work; but he had great pity for the poor old\nPhouka in his tattered clothes, who yet directed everything and had\nhard work of it sometimes keeping the little Phoukas in order. So\nPhadrig, out of love and gratitude, bought a fine suit of cloth and\nsilk and laid it one night on the floor of the mill just where the old\nPhouka always stood to give his orders to the little men, and then he\ncrept into the chest to watch.\n\n\u201cHow is this?\u201d said the Phouka when he saw the clothes. \u201cAre these for\nme? I shall be turned into a fine gentleman.\u201d\n\nAnd he put them on, and then began to walk up and down admiring\nhimself. But suddenly he remembered the corn and went to grind as\nusual, then stopped and cried out\u2014\n\n\u201cNo, no. No more work for me. Fine gentlemen don\u2019t grind corn. I\u2019ll go\nout and see a little of the world and show my fine clothes.\u201d And he\nkicked away the old rags into a corner, and went out.\n\nNo corn was ground that night, nor the next, nor the next; all the\nlittle Phoukas ran away, and not a sound was heard in the mill. Then\nPhadrig grew very sorry for the loss of his old friend, and used to go\nout into the fields and call out, \u201cPhouka, Phouka! come back to me. Let\nme see your face.\u201d But the old Phouka never came back, and all his life\nlong Phadrig never looked on the face of his friend again. However, the\nfarmer had made so much money that he wanted no more help; and he sold\nthe mill, and reared up Phadrig to be a great scholar and a gentleman,\nwho had his own house and land and servants. And in time he married a\nbeautiful lady, so beautiful that the people said she must be daughter\nto the king of the fairies.\n\nA strange thing happened at the wedding, for when they all stood up to\ndrink the bride\u2019s health, Phadrig saw beside him a golden cup filled\nwith wine. And no one knew how the golden cup had come to his hand; but\nPhadrig guessed it was the Phouka\u2019s gift, and he drank the wine without\nfear and made his bride drink also. And ever after their lives were\nhappy and prosperous, and the golden cup was kept as a treasure in the\nfamily, and the descendants of Phadrig have it in their possession to\nthis day.\n\n\nTHE FARMER PUNISHED.\n\n\nThe fairies, with their free, joyous temperament and love of beauty and\nluxury, hold in great contempt the minor virtues of thrift and economy,\nand, above all things, abhor the close, hard, niggardly nature that\nspends grudgingly and never gives freely. Indeed, they seem to hold it\nas their peculiar mission to punish such people, and make them suffer\nfor the sins of the hard heart and niggard hand, as may be seen by the\nfollowing tale:\u2014\n\nA farmer once lived near the Boyne, close to an old churchyard. He was\nvery rich, and had crops and cattle, but was so hard and avaricious\nthat the people hated him; for his habit was to get up very early\nin the morning and go out to the fields to watch that no one took a\ncabbage or a turnip, or got a cup of milk when the cows were being\nmilked, for the love of God and the saints.\n\nOne morning, as he was out as usual by sunrise spying about the place,\nhe heard a child crying bitterly\u2014\n\n\u201cOh, mother, mother! I am hungry. Give me something, or I\u2019ll die.\u201d\n\n\u201cHush, darling,\u201d said the mother, \u201cthough the hunger is on you, wait;\nfor the farmer\u2019s cow will be milked presently, and I\u2019ll knock down the\npail so the milk will be spilt upon the ground, and you can drink your\nfill.\u201d[6]\n\n [6] The fairies have a right to whatever is spilt or falls upon the\n ground.\n\nWhen the farmer heard this he sent a stout man to watch the girl that\nmilked, and to tie the cow\u2019s feet that she should not kick. So that\ntime no milk was spilled upon the ground.\n\nNext morning he went out again by sunrise, and he heard the child\ncrying more bitterly even than before\u2014\n\n\u201cMother, mother! I am hungry. Give me to eat.\u201d\n\n\u201cWait, my child,\u201d said the mother; \u201cthe farmer\u2019s maid bakes cakes\nto-day, and I\u2019ll make the dish to fall just as she is carrying them\nfrom the griddle. So we shall have plenty to eat this time.\u201d\n\nThen the farmer went home and locked up the meal, and said\u2014\n\n\u201cNo cakes shall be baked to-day, not till the night.\u201d\n\nBut the cry of the child was in his ears, and he could not rest. So\nearly in the morning he was out again, and bitter was the cry of the\nchild as he passed the copse\u2014\n\n\u201cMother, mother!\u201d it said, \u201cI have had no milk, I have had no cake; let\nme lay down my head on your breast and die.\u201d\n\n\u201cWait,\u201d said the mother, \u201csome one will die before you, my darling. Let\nthe old man look to his son, for he will be killed in battle before\nmany days are over; and then the curse will be lifted from the poor,\nand we shall have food in plenty.\u201d\n\nBut the farmer laughed. \u201cThere is no war in Ireland now,\u201d he said to\nhimself. \u201cHow then can my son be killed in battle?\u201d And he went home\nto his own house, and there in the courtyard was his son cleaning\nhis spear and sharpening his arrows. He was a comely youth, tall and\nslender as a young oak-tree, and his brown hair fell in long curls over\nhis shoulders.\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cI am summoned by the king, for he is at war with\nthe other kings. So give me the swiftest horse you have, for I must\nbe off to-night to join the king\u2019s men. And see, I have my spears and\narrows ready.\u201d\n\nNow at that time in Ireland there were four great kings, and each of\nthem had two deputies. And the king of Leinster made a great feast\nfor the deputies, and to seven of them he gave a brooch of gold each,\nbut to the eighth only a brooch of silver, for, he said, the man is\nnot a prince like the others. Then the eighth deputy was angry, and he\nstruck the king\u2019s page full in the face for handing him the brooch. On\nthis all the knights sprang up and drew their swords, and some took one\npart and some another, and there was a great fight in the hall. And\nafterwards the four kings quarrelled, and the king of Leinster sent out\nmessengers to bid all his people come to help him. So the farmer\u2019s son\ngot the message as well as the others, and he made ready at once to\njoin the battle with a proud heart for the sake of the king and a young\nman\u2019s love of adventure.\n\nThen the farmer was filled with rage.\n\n\u201cThis is the wicked work of the witch woman,\u201d he said; \u201cbut as I would\nnot give her the milk to spill, nor the cakes when baked, so I will not\ngive her the life of my only son.\u201d\n\nAnd he took large stones and built up great walls the height of a man,\nround a hut, and set a great stone at the top to close it, only leaving\nplaces for a vessel of food to be handed down. And he placed the lad\nwithin the hut.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d he said, \u201cthe king shall not have him, nor the king\u2019s men; he is\nsafe from the battle and the spears of the warriors.\u201d\n\nSo the next morning he rose up quite content, and was out at sunrise as\nusual; and as he walked by the churchyard, he heard the child laughing.\nAnd the mother said\u2014\n\n\u201cChild, you laugh by a grave. For the farmer\u2019s son will be laid in that\nground before three days are over, and then the curse will be lifted\nfrom the poor. He would not let the milk be spilled, nor the cakes to\nbe baked, but he cannot keep his son from death. The spell is on him\nfor evil.\u201d\n\nThen a voice said\u2014\n\n\u201cBut his father has walled him round in a hut with strong walls, high\nas a man. How then can he die in battle?\u201d\n\nAnd the woman answered\u2014\n\n\u201cI climbed the hut last night and gave him nine stones, and bade him\nthrow them one by one over his left shoulder, and each time a stone\nof the wall would fall down, till free space was left him to escape,\nand this he did; and before sunrise this morning he fled away, and has\njoined the king\u2019s army; but his grave is ready, and in three days he\nwill be in this ground, for his doom is spoken.\u201d\n\nWhen the farmer heard these words, he rushed like mad to the hut, and\ncalled his son by name; but no answer came. Then he climbed up and\nlooked in through the hole at the top, but no sign of his son was\nthere. And he wrung his hands in despair, and went home and spake no\nword, but sat moaning with his head buried in his hands.\n\nAnd on the third day he heard the steps of men outside, and he rose up,\nfor he knew they were bearing the body of his dead son to the door. And\nhe went out to meet them, and there lay the corpse of the young man on\nthe bier, pale and beautiful, struck through and through by a spear,\neven as he had died in battle.\n\nAnd they laid him in the churchyard, just as the witch-woman had\nforetold, while all the people wept, for the young man was noble to\nlook upon, and of a good and upright spirit.\n\nBut the father neither spoke nor wept. His mind was gone, and his heart\nwas broken. And soon he lay down and died, unpitied by all; for he\nwas hard and cruel in his life, and no man wept for him; and all the\nriches he had gathered by grinding down the poor melted away, and his\nrace perished from the land, and his name was heard of no more, and no\nblessing rested on his memory.\n\n\nTHE FARMER\u2019S WIFE.\n\n\nDown in the South there lived another rich farmer and his wife, who\nwere both of them hated by the people for their stingy, hard-hearted\nways. Never a word of kindness was on their lips, and never a blessing\nfrom the poor was invoked on their heads.\n\nOne day an old woman came to the door to beg a little food\u2014a cake from\nthe griddle, or a few potatoes, or a handful of meal; but she was\nharshly refused by the farmer\u2019s wife and turned away.\n\nThen she came back in a little while, and begged for a drink of milk,\nfor she was faint and weary, she said, and had travelled far. This was\nalso refused, and she was ordered to leave the place at once. But the\nwoman still begged hard for leave to rest herself a little, and for\neven a drink of butter milk, for it was churning day and she knew there\nmust be plenty in the house. Then the farmer\u2019s wife grew very angry,\nand said she would turn the dogs on her if she didn\u2019t go away, and\nthat no tramp should get anything from her. On this the woman muttered\nsome words, with her hand on the lintel of the door, and then went her\nway. Soon after, being much heated by the violence of her anger, the\nfarmer\u2019s wife went to the dairy for a drink; but as she poured out\nthe draught she saw something black in the cup, and she tried to take\nit out with her finger, but it always escaped her. Then, being very\nthirsty, she drank off the milk, and still another and another cup,\nand in the drinking the black object disappeared. That night, however,\nshe felt nigh to death, for her body began to swell, and turned black\nall over. Medical aid was sent for, but the doctor could make out\nnothing of the cause or nature of the strange disease. Then the priest\nwas summoned, and he at once, having heard the story, said there was\nwitchcraft in it; and he proceeded to pray, and to exorcise the evil\nspirit in the woman. Besides this he made her be placed in a hot bath,\ninto which he poured some holy water.\n\nAt first the woman uttered fierce cries, and said her body seemed rent\nand torn; but gradually she became calmer, and the blackness slowly\nwent down from head to feet, and finally disappeared, leaving the body\nfair and whole, all except one hand, and this remained still as black\nas ink. The holy water was poured on it, and the priest prayed, but\nnothing would remove the devil\u2019s mark.\n\nSo the priest told her at last that the blackness would remain as a\nsign and token of her sins against the poor; and from that day forth\nto her death the mark of the evil spell remained on her, but she grew\nkinder to the poor, for her heart was shaken by terror. And when she\ncame to die there was no blackness on her hand, for the tears of the\npoor she had succoured and befriended had washed all the devil\u2019s mark\naway, before the moment came when her soul was to appear before God.\n\n\nTHE MIDNIGHT RIDE.\nA PEASANT\u2019S TALE.\n\n\nOne evening a man called Shawn Ruadh was out looking for a red cow that\nhad strayed away, when he heard voices round him, and one said \u201cGet me\na horse,\u201d and another cried \u201cGet me a horse.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd get me a horse, too,\u201d said Shawn, \u201csince they seem so plenty, for\nI\u2019d like a ride along with you,\u201d and with that he found himself on the\ninstant mounted on a fine grey horse beside another man who rode a\nblack horse. And they rode away and away till they came to a great city.\n\n\u201cNow, do you know where you are?\u201d said the black horseman. \u201cYou are in\nLondon, and whatever you want you can have.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you kindly, my friend,\u201d said the other, \u201cso, with your leave,\nI\u2019ll just have a good suit of clothes, for I\u2019m much in want of that\nsame. Can I have them?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy all means,\u201d said the black horseman; \u201cthere, go into that\nmerchant\u2019s shop and ask for what you like, and if he refuses just throw\nthe stone I give you on the floor and the whole place will seem on\nfire. But don\u2019t be frightened; only wait your good luck.\u201d\n\nSo Shawn went into the biggest shop there, and he spoke to the merchant\nquite stiff and proud.\n\n\u201cShow me the best suit of clothes you have,\u201d said he. \u201cNever mind the\nprice, that\u2019s of no consequence, only be very particular as to the fit.\u201d\n\nBut the shopman laughed aloud.\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t make clothes for beggars like you,\u201d he said. \u201cBe off out of\nthis.\u201d\n\nThen Shawn threw down the stone on the floor, and immediately the whole\nplace seemed on fire, and the merchant ran out himself and all the\nshopmen after him to get pails of water, and Shawn laughed when he saw\nthem all drenched.\n\n\u201cNow what will you give me,\u201d said he, \u201cif I put out the fire for you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall have the price of the best suit of clothes in the shop,\u201d\nanswered the merchant, \u201call paid down in gold; only help me to put out\nthe fire.\u201d\n\nSo Shawn stooped down and picked up the stone, and put it quietly into\nhis pocket, and instantly all the flames disappeared: and the merchant\nwas so grateful that he paid him down all the gold for the clothes and\nmore. And Shawn bid him good-night, and mounted the grey steed again\nquite happy in himself.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the black horseman, \u201cis there anything else you desire? for\nit is near ten o\u2019clock, and we must be back by midnight; so just say\nwhat you would like to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Shawn Ruadh, \u201cI would like of all things to see the Pope\nof Rome, for two of our priests are disputing as to who is to get\nthe parish, and I want Father M\u2019Grath to have it, for I have a great\nopinion of him, and if I ask his Holiness he\u2019ll settle it all in no\ntime and for ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome then,\u201d said the black horseman; \u201cit is a long way to Rome,\ncertainly, but I think we\u2019ll manage it in the two hours, and be back\nbefore twelve o\u2019clock.\u201d\n\nSo away they rode like the wind, and in no time Shawn found himself\nbefore the great palace of the Pope; and all the grand servants with\ngold sticks in their hands stared at him, and asked him what he wanted.\n\n\u201cJust go in,\u201d said he, \u201cand tell his Holiness that Shawn Ruadh, all the\nway from Ireland, is here and wants to see him very particularly.\u201d\n\nBut the servants laughed, and struck him with their gold sticks and\nhunted him away from the gate. Now the Pope hearing the rout looked out\nof the window, and seeing Shawn Ruadh he came down and asked him what\nhe wanted.\n\n\u201cJust this, your Holiness,\u201d answered Shawn, \u201cI want a letter on behalf\nof Father M\u2019Grath bidding the Bishop give him the parish, and I\u2019ll\nwait till your Holiness writes it; and meanwhile let me have a little\nsupper, for it\u2019s hungry I am after my long ride.\u201d\n\nThen the Pope laughed, and told the servants to drive the fellow away,\nfor he was evidently out of his wits.\n\nSo Shawn grew angry, and flung down the stone on the floor, and\ninstantly all the palace seemed on fire, and the Pope ordered the grand\nservants to go for water; and they had to run about like mad getting\npails and jugs of water, whatever they could lay hands on; and all\ntheir fine clothes were spoiled, and the beautiful gold sticks were\nflung away in their fright, while they took the jugs and splashed and\ndashed the water over each other.\n\nNow it was Shawn\u2019s turn to laugh till his sides ached, but his Holiness\nlooked very grave.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Shawn, \u201cif I put out the fire what will you do for me?\nWill you write that letter?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, I will,\u201d said the Pope, \u201cand you shall have your supper also; only\nhelp us to put out the fire, my fine fellow.\u201d\n\nSo Shawn quietly put the stone back in his pocket, and instantly all\nthe flames disappeared.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the Pope, \u201cyou shall have supper of the best in the palace;\nand I\u2019ll write a letter to the Bishop ordering him to give Father\nM\u2019Grath the parish. And here, besides, is a purse of gold for yourself,\nand take it with my blessing.\u201d\n\nThen he ordered all the grand servants to get supper for the excellent\nyoung man from Ireland, and to make him comfortable. So Shawn was\nmightily pleased, and ate and drank like a prince. Then he mounted his\ngrey steed again, and just as midnight struck he found himself at his\nown door, but all alone; for the grey steed and the black horseman had\nboth vanished. But there stood his wife crying her eyes out and in\ngreat trouble.\n\n\u201cO Shawn, Agra! I thought you were dead or that evil had fallen on you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a bit of it,\u201d said Shawn, \u201cI\u2019ve been supping with the Pope of\nRome, and look here at all the gold I\u2019ve brought home for you, my\ndarlint.\u201d\n\nAnd he put his hand in his pocket to get the purse; but lo! there was\nnothing there except a rough, grey stone. And from that hour to this\nhis wife believes that he dreamed the whole story as he lay under the\nhay-rick, on his way home from a carouse with the boys.\n\nHowever, Father M\u2019Grath got the parish, and Shawn took good care to\ntell him how he had spoken up boldly for him to the Pope of Rome, and\nmade his Holiness write the letter to the Bishop about him. And Father\nM\u2019Grath was a nice gentleman, and he smiled and told Shawn he thanked\nhim kindly for his good word.\n\n\nTHE LEPREHAUN.[7]\n\n\nThe Leprehauns are merry, industrious, tricksy little sprites, who do\nall the shoemaker\u2019s work and the tailor\u2019s and the cobbler\u2019s for the\nfairy gentry, and are often seen at sunset under the hedge singing\nand stitching. They know all the secrets of hidden treasure, and if\nthey take a fancy to a person will guide him to the spot in the fairy\nrath where the pot of gold lies buried. It is believed that a family\nnow living near Castlerea came by their riches in a strange way, all\nthrough the good offices of a friendly Leprehaun. And the legend has\nbeen handed down through many generations as an established fact.\n\n [7] Leprehaun, or _Leith Brogan_, means the \u201cArtisan of the Brogae.\u201d\n\nThere was a poor boy once, one of their forefathers, who used to drive\nhis cart of turf daily back and forward, and make what money he could\nby the sale; but he was a strange boy, very silent and moody, and the\npeople said he was a fairy changeling, for he joined in no sports and\nscarcely ever spoke to any one, but spent the nights reading all the\nold bits of books he picked up in his rambles. The one thing he longed\nfor above all others was to get rich, and to be able to give up the\nold weary turf cart, and live in peace and quietness all alone, with\nnothing but books round him, in a beautiful house and garden all by\nhimself.\n\nNow he had read in the old books how the Leprehauns knew all the secret\nplaces where gold lay hid, and day by day he watched for a sight of the\nlittle cobbler, and listened for the click, click of his hammer as he\nsat under the hedge mending the shoes.\n\nAt last, one evening just as the sun set, he saw a little fellow under\na dock leaf, working away, dressed all in green, with a cocked hat on\nhis head. So the boy jumped down from the cart and seized him by the\nneck.\n\n\u201cNow, you don\u2019t stir from this,\u201d he cried, \u201ctill you tell me where to\nfind the hidden gold.\u201d\n\n\u201cEasy now,\u201d said the Leprehaun, \u201cdon\u2019t hurt me, and I will tell you all\nabout it. But mind you, I could hurt you if I chose, for I have the\npower; but I won\u2019t do it, for we are cousins once removed. So as we are\nnear relations I\u2019ll just be good, and show you the place of the secret\ngold that none can have or keep except those of fairy blood and race.\nCome along with me, then, to the old fort of Lipenshaw, for there it\nlies. But make haste, for when the last red glow of the sun vanishes\nthe gold will disappear also, and you will never find it again.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome off, then,\u201d said the boy, and he carried the Leprehaun into the\nturf cart, and drove off. And in a second they were at the old fort,\nand went in through a door made in the stone wall.\n\n\u201cNow, look round,\u201d said the Leprehaun; and the boy saw the whole ground\ncovered with gold pieces, and there were vessels of silver lying about\nin such plenty that all the riches of all the world seemed gathered\nthere.\n\n\u201cNow take what you want,\u201d said the Leprehaun, \u201cbut hasten, for if that\ndoor shuts you will never leave this place as long as you live.\u201d\n\nSo the boy gathered up his arms full of gold and silver, and flung them\ninto the cart; and was on his way back for more when the door shut with\na clap like thunder, and all the place became dark as night. And he saw\nno more of the Leprehaun, and had not time even to thank him.\n\nSo he thought it best to drive home at once with his treasure, and when\nhe arrived and was all alone by himself he counted his riches, and all\nthe bright yellow gold pieces, enough for a king\u2019s ransom.\n\nAnd he was very wise and told no one; but went off next day to Dublin\nand put all his treasures into the bank, and found that he was now\nindeed as rich as a lord.\n\nSo he ordered a fine house to be built with spacious gardens, and he\nhad servants and carriages and books to his heart\u2019s content. And he\ngathered all the wise men round him to give him the learning of a\ngentleman; and he became a great and powerful man in the country, where\nhis memory is still held in high honour, and his descendants are living\nto this day rich and prosperous; for their wealth has never decreased\nthough they have ever given largely to the poor, and are noted above\nall things for the friendly heart and the liberal hand.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut the Leprehauns can be bitterly malicious if they are offended, and\none should be very cautious in dealing with them, and always treat them\nwith great civility, or they will take revenge and never reveal the\nsecret of the hidden gold.\n\nOne day a young lad was out in the fields at work when he saw a\nlittle fellow, not the height of his hand, mending shoes under a dock\nleaf. And he went over, never taking his eyes off him for fear he\nwould vanish away; and when he got quite close he made a grab at the\ncreature, and lifted him up and put him in his pocket.\n\nThen he ran away home as fast as he could, and when he had the\nLeprehaun safe in the house, he tied him by an iron chain to the hob.\n\n\u201cNow, tell me,\u201d he said, \u201cwhere am I to find a pot of gold? Let me know\nthe place or I\u2019ll punish you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know of no pot of gold,\u201d said the Leprehaun; \u201cbut let me go that I\nmay finish mending the shoes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll make you tell me,\u201d said the lad.\n\nAnd with that he made down a great fire, and put the little fellow on\nit and scorched him.\n\n\u201cOh, take me off, take me off!\u201d cried the Leprehaun, \u201cand I\u2019ll tell\nyou. Just there, under the dock leaf, where you found me, there is a\npot of gold. Go; dig and find.\u201d\n\nSo the lad was delighted, and ran to the door; but it so happened that\nhis mother was just then coming in with the pail of fresh milk, and in\nhis haste he knocked the pail out of her hand, and all the milk was\nspilled on the floor.\n\nThen, when the mother saw the Leprehaun, she grew very angry and beat\nhim. \u201cGo away, you little wretch!\u201d she cried. \u201cYou have overlooked the\nmilk and brought ill-luck.\u201d And she kicked him out of the house.\n\nBut the lad ran off to find the dock leaf, though he came back very\nsorrowful in the evening, for he had dug and dug nearly down to the\nmiddle of the earth; but no pot of gold was to be seen.\n\nThat same night the husband was coming home from his work, and as he\npassed the old fort he heard voices and laughter, and one said\u2014\n\n\u201cThey are looking for a pot of gold; but they little know that a crock\nof gold is lying down in the bottom of the old quarry, hid under the\nstones close by the garden wall. But whoever gets it must go of a dark\nnight at twelve o\u2019clock, and beware of bringing his wife with him.\u201d\n\nSo the man hurried home and told his wife he would go that very night,\nfor it was black dark, and she must stay at home and watch for him, and\nnot stir from the house till he came back. Then he went out into the\ndark night alone.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d thought the wife, when he was gone, \u201cif I could only get to the\nquarry before him I would have the pot of gold all to myself; while if\nhe gets it I shall have nothing.\u201d\n\nAnd with that she went out and ran like the wind until she reached the\nquarry, and than she began to creep down very quietly in the black\ndark. But a great stone was in her path, and she stumbled over it,\nand fell down and down till she reached the bottom, and there she lay\ngroaning, for her leg was broken by the fall.\n\nJust then her husband came to the edge of the quarry and began to\ndescend. But when he heard the groans he was frightened.\n\n\u201cCross of Christ about us!\u201d he exclaimed; \u201cwhat is that down below? Is\nit evil, or is it good?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, come down, come down and help me!\u201d cried the woman. \u201cIt\u2019s your\nwife is here, and my leg is broken, and I\u2019ll die if you don\u2019t help me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is this my pot of gold?\u201d exclaimed the poor man. \u201cOnly my wife\nwith a broken leg lying at the bottom of the quarry.\u201d\n\nAnd he was at his wits\u2019 end to know what to do, for the night was so\ndark he could not see a hand before him. So he roused up a neighbour,\nand between them they dragged up the poor woman and carried her home,\nand laid her on the bed half dead from fright, and it was many a day\nbefore she was able to get about as usual; indeed she limped all her\nlife long, so that the people said the curse of the Leprehaun was on\nher.\n\nBut as to the pot of gold, from that day to this not one of the family,\nfather or son, or any belonging to them, ever set eyes on it. However,\nthe little Leprehaun still sits under the dock leaf of the hedge and\nlaughs at them as he mends the shoes with his little hammer\u2014tick tack,\ntick tack\u2014but they are afraid to touch him, for now they know he can\ntake his revenge.\n\n\nLEGENDS OF THE WESTERN ISLANDS.\n\n\nIn the islands off the West Coast of Ireland the inhabitants are still\nvery primitive in their habits, and cling to their old superstitions\nwith a fanatical fervour that makes it dangerous for any one to\ntransgress or disregard the old customs, usages, and prejudices of the\nislanders.\n\nCurses heavy and deep would fall on the head of the unbelieving\nstranger who dared to laugh or mock at the old traditions of the\nancient pagan creed, whose dogmas are still regarded with a mysterious\nawe and dread, and held sacred as a revelation from heaven.\n\nThe chief islands are Aran and Innismore, the latter about nine\nmiles long. The cattle live on the fine grass of the rocks, and turf\nis brought from the mainland. The views are magnificent of sea and\nmountain, and the islands contain a greater number of pagan and early\nChristian monuments than could be found in the same area in any other\npart of Europe.\n\nSome of the _Duns_ or forts include several acres. The walls are\ncyclopean, about sixteen feet thick and from eighteen to twenty feet\nhigh, with steps inside leading to the top. Amongst the monuments are\ncromlechs, tumuli, and pillar stones, those earliest memorials set up\nby humanity. The Irish call these huge stones _Bothal_, or House of\nGod, as the Hebrews called them Bethel, or God\u2019s house.\n\nDun \u00c6ngus, the greatest barbaric monument of the kind in existence,\nstands on a cliff three hundred feet above the sea. It is a hundred\nand forty-two feet in diameter, and has two cyclopean walls fifteen\nfeet thick and eighteen high. The sea front measures a thousand feet,\nand several acres are included within the outer wall. The roof of the\ndun is formed of large flag-stones, and the doorway slopes, after the\nEgyptian fashion, up to three feet in width at the top. A causeway of\nsharp, upright stones jammed into the ground leads to the entrance.\n\nThis fort was the great and last stronghold of the Firbolg race, and\nthey long held it as a refuge against the _Tuatha-de-Danann_ invaders,\nwho at that time conquered and took possession of Ireland.\n\nAll the islands were originally peopled by the Firbolg race many\ncenturies before the Christian era, and the Irish language, as still\nspoken by the people, is the purest and most ancient of all the\ndialects of Erin. Afterwards so many Christian saints took up their\nabode there that the largest of the islands was called _Ara-na-naomh_\n(Aran of the Saints), and numerous remains of churches, cells, crosses\nand stone-roofed oratories, with the ruins of a round tower, testify to\nthe long habitation of the islands by these holy men.\n\nThere is an old wooden idol on one of the Achil islands called Father\nMolosh\u2014probably a corruption of Moloch. In former times offerings and\nsacrifices were made to it, and it was esteemed as the guardian or god\nof the sacred fire, and held in great reverence, though but a rude\nsemblance of a human head. Many miracles also were performed by the\ntooth of St. Patrick, which fell from the saint\u2019s mouth one day when\nhe was teaching the alphabet to the new converts. And a shrine was\nafterwards made for the tooth that was held in the greatest honour by\nthe kings, chiefs, and people of Ireland.\n\nThe stupendous barbaric monuments of the islands, according to Irish\nantiquarians, offer the best exposition of early military architecture\nat present known, and are only equalled by some of those in Greece.\nThere are also many sacred wells, and the whole region is haunted by\nstrange, wild superstitions of fairies and demons and witches; legends\nfilled with a weird and mystic poetry that thrill the soul like a\nstrain of music from spirit voices coming to us from the far-off elder\nworld. The following pathetic tale is a good specimen of these ancient\nisland legends:\u2014\n\n\nTHE BRIDE\u2019S DEATH-SONG.\n\n\nOn a lone island by the West Coast there dwelt an old fisherman and his\ndaughter, and the man had power over the water spirits, and he taught\nhis daughter the charms that bind them to obey.\n\nOne day a boat was driven on the shore, and in it was a young handsome\ngentleman, half dead from the cold and the wet. The old fisherman\nbrought him home and revived him, and Eileen the daughter nursed and\nwatched him. Naturally the two young people soon fell in love, and the\ngentleman told the girl he had a beautiful house on the mainland ready\nfor her, with plenty of everything she could desire\u2014silks to wear and\ngold to spend. So they were betrothed, and the wedding day was fixed.\nBut Dermot, the lover, said he must first cross to the mainland and\nbring back his friends and relations to the wedding, as many as the\nboat would hold.\n\nEileen wept and prayed him not to leave, or at least to take her to\nsteer the boat, for she knew there was danger coming, and she alone\ncould have power over the evil spirits and over the waves and the\nwinds. But she dared not tell the secret of the spell to Dermot or it\nwould fail, and the charm be useless for ever after.\n\nDermot, however, only laughed at her fears, for the day was bright and\nclear, and he scorned all thought of danger. So he put off from the\nshore, and reached the mainland safely, and filled the boat with his\nfriends to return to the island for the wedding. All went well till\nthey were within sight of the island, when suddenly a fierce gust of\nwind drove the boat on a rock, and it was upset, and all who were in it\nperished.\n\nEileen heard the cry of the drowning men as she stood watching on the\nbeach, but could give no help. And she was sore grieved for her lover,\nand sang a funeral wail for him in Irish, which is still preserved by\nthe people. Then she lay down and died, and the old man, her father,\ndisappeared. And from that day no one has ever ventured to live on the\nisland, for it is haunted by the spirit of Eileen. And the mournful\nmusic of her wail is still heard in the nights when the winds are\nstrong and the waves beat upon the rocks where the drowned men lay dead.\n\nThe words of the song are very plaintive and simple, and may be\ntranslated literally\u2014\n\n \u201cI a virgin and a widow mourn for my lover.\n Never more will he kiss me on the lips;\n The cold wave is his bridal bed,\n The cold wave is his wedding shroud.\n O love, my love, had you brought me in the boat\n My spirit and my spells would have saved from harm.\n For my power was strong over waves and wind,\n And the spirits of evil would have feared me.\n O love, my love, I go to meet you in heaven.\n I will ask God to let me see your face.\n If the fair angels give me back my lover,\n I will not envy the Almighty on His throne.\u201d\n\n\nTHE CHILD\u2019S DREAM.\n\n\nThe island of Innis-Sark (Shark Island) was a holy and peaceful place\nin old times; and so quiet that the pigeons used to come and build in a\ngreat cave by the sea, and no one disturbed them. And the holy saints\nof God had a monastery there, to which many people resorted from the\nmainland, for the prayers of the monks were powerful against sickness\nor evil, or the malice of an enemy.\n\nAmongst others, there came a great and noble prince out of Munster,\nwith his wife and children and their nurse; and they were so pleased\nwith the island that they remained a year or more; for the prince loved\nfishing, and often brought his wife along with him.\n\nOne day, while they were both away, the eldest child, a beautiful boy\nof ten years old, begged his nurse to let him go and see the pigeons\u2019\ncave, but she refused.\n\n\u201cYour father would be angry,\u201d she cried, \u201cif you went without leave.\nWait till he comes home, and see if he will allow you.\u201d\n\nSo when the prince returned, the boy told him how he longed to see the\ncave, and the father promised to bring him next day.\n\nThe morning was beautiful and the wind fair when they set off. But the\nchild soon fell asleep in the boat, and never wakened all the time his\nfather was fishing. The sleep, however, was troubled, and many a time\nhe started and cried aloud. So the prince thought it better to turn the\nboat and land, and then the boy awoke.\n\nAfter dinner the father called for the child. \u201cTell me now,\u201d he said,\n\u201cwhy was your sleep troubled, so that you cried out bitterly in your\ndream.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dreamed,\u201d said the boy, \u201cthat I stood upon a high rock, and at the\nbottom flowed the sea, but the waves made no noise; and as I looked\ndown I saw fields and trees and beautiful flowers and bright birds in\nthe branches, and I longed to go down and pluck the flowers. Then I\nheard a voice, saying, \u2018Blessed are the souls that come here, for this\nis heaven.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd in an instant I thought I was in the midst of the meadows amongst\nthe birds and the flowers; and a lovely lady, bright as an angel, came\nup to me, and said, \u2018What brings you here, dear child; for none but the\ndead come here.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen she left me, and I wept for her going; when suddenly all the sky\ngrew black, and a great troop of wild wolves came round me, howling and\nopening their mouths wide as if to devour me. And I screamed, and tried\nto run, but I could not move, and the wolves came closer, and I fell\ndown like one dead with fright, when, just then, the beautiful lady\ncame again, and took my hand and kissed me.\n\n\u201c\u2018Fear not,\u2019 she said, \u2018take these flowers, they come from heaven. And\nI will bring you to the meadow where they grow.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd she lifted me up into the air, but I know nothing more; for then\nthe boat stopped and you lifted me on shore, but my beautiful flowers\nmust have fallen from my hands, for I never saw them more. And this is\nall my dream; but I would like to have my flowers again, for the lady\ntold me they had the secret that would bring me to heaven.\u201d\n\nThe prince thought no more of the child\u2019s dream, but went off to fish\nnext day as usual, leaving the boy in the care of his nurse. And again\nthe child begged and prayed her so earnestly to bring him to the\npigeons\u2019 cave, that at last she consented; but told him he must not go\na step by himself, and she would bring two of the boys of the island to\ntake care of him.\n\nSo they set off, the child and his little sister with the nurse. And\nthe boy gathered wild flowers for his sister, and ran down to the\nedge of the cave where the cormorants were swimming; but there was no\ndanger, for the two young islanders were minding him.\n\nSo the nurse was content, and being weary she fell asleep. And the\nlittle sister lay down beside her, and fell asleep likewise.\n\nThen the boy called to his companions, the two young islanders, and\ntold them he must catch the cormorants. So away they ran, down the\npath to the sea, hand in hand, and laughing as they went. Just then a\npiece of rock loosened and fell beside them, and trying to avoid it\nthey slipped over the edge of the narrow path down a steep place, where\nthere was nothing to hold on by except a large bush, in the middle of\nthe way. They got hold of this, and thought they were now quite safe,\nbut the bush was not strong enough to bear their weight, and it was\ntorn up by the roots. And all three fell straight down into the sea and\nwere drowned.\n\nNow, at the sound of the great cry that came up from the waves, the\nnurse awoke, but saw no one. Then she woke up the little sister. \u201cIt is\nlate,\u201d she cried, \u201cthey must have gone home. We have slept too long, it\nis already evening; let us hasten and overtake them, before the prince\nis back from the fishing.\u201d\n\nBut when they reached home the prince stood in the doorway. And he was\nvery pale, and weeping.\n\n\u201cWhere is my brother?\u201d cried the little girl.\n\n\u201cYou will never see your brother more,\u201d answered the prince. And\nfrom that day he never went fishing any more, but grew silent and\nthoughtful, and was never seen to smile. And in a short time he and his\nfamily quitted the island, never to return.\n\nBut the nurse remained. And some say she became a saint, for she\nwas always seen praying and weeping by the entrance to the great sea\ncave. And one day, when they came to look for her, she lay dead on the\nrocks. And in her hand she held some beautiful strange flowers freshly\ngathered, with the dew on them. And no one knew how the flowers came\ninto her dead hand. Only some fishermen told the story of how the\nnight before they had seen a bright fairy child seated on the rocks\nsinging; and he had a red sash tied round his waist, and a golden\ncirclet binding his long yellow hair. And they all knew that he was\nthe prince\u2019s son, who had been drowned in that spot just a twelvemonth\nbefore. And the people believe that he had brought the flowers from the\nspirit-land to the woman, and given them to her as a death sign, and a\nblessed token from God that her soul would be taken to heaven.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY CHILD.\n\n\nAn ancient woman living at Innis-Sark said that in her youth she knew a\nyoung woman who had been married for five years, but had no children.\nAnd her husband was a rough, rude fellow, and used to taunt her and\nbeat her often, because she was childless. But in the course of time\nit came to pass that a man-child was born to her; and he was beautiful\nto look on as an angel from heaven. And the father was so proud of the\nchild that he often stayed at home to rock the cradle, and help his\nwife at the work.\n\nOne day, however, as he rocked the cradle, the child looked up suddenly\nat him, and lo! there was a great beard on its face. Then the father\ncried out to his wife\u2014\n\n\u201cThis is not a child, but a demon! You have put an evil spell on him.\u201d\n\nAnd he struck her and beat her worse than ever he had done in his life\nbefore, so that she screamed aloud for help. On this the place grew\nquite dark, and thunder rolled over their heads, and the door flew wide\nopen with a great crash, and in walked two strange women, with red caps\non their heads and stout sticks in their hands. And they rushed at the\nman, and one held his arms while the other beat him till he was nearly\ndead.\n\n\u201cWe are the avengers,\u201d they said; \u201clook on us and tremble; for if you\never beat your wife again, we will come and kill you. Kneel down now,\nand ask her pardon.\u201d\n\nAnd when the poor wretch did so, all trembling with fright, they\nvanished away.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the man, when they were gone, \u201cthis house is no fit place\nfor me. I\u2019ll leave it for ever.\u201d\n\nSo he went his way, and troubled his wife no more.\n\nThen the child sat up in the cradle.\n\n\u201cNow, mother,\u201d says he, \u201csince that man has gone, I\u2019ll tell you what\nyou are to do. There is a holy well near this that you have never seen,\nbut you will know it by the bunch of green rushes that grows over the\nmouth. Go there and stoop down and cry out aloud three times, and an\nold woman will come up, and whatever you want she will give it to you.\nOnly tell no one of the well or of the woman, or evil will come of it.\u201d\n\nSo the mother promised, and went to the well, and cried out three\ntimes; and an old woman came up, and said\u2014\n\n\u201cWoman, why dost thou call me?\u201d\n\nAnd the poor mother was afraid, and answered all trembling\u2014\n\n\u201cThe child sent me, and I pray thee to do me good, and not evil.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome down, then, with me into the well,\u201d said the woman, \u201cand have no\nfear.\u201d\n\nSo the mother held out her hand, and the other drew her down a flight\nof stone steps, and then they came to a massive closed door, and the\nold woman unlocked it and bade her enter. But the mother was afraid,\nand wept.\n\n\u201cEnter,\u201d said the other, \u201cand fear nothing. For this is the gate of the\nking\u2019s palace, and you will see the queen of the fairies herself, for\nit is her son you are nursing; and the king, her husband, is with her\non his golden throne. And have no fear, only ask no questions, and do\nas they order.\u201d\n\nThen they entered into a beautiful hall, and the floor was of marble,\nand the walls were of solid gold, and a great light shone over\neverything, so that the eyes could hardly see for the light. Then they\npassed on into another room, and at the end of it, on a golden throne,\nsat the king of the fairies. He was very handsome, and beside him sat\nhis queen, fair and beautiful to look upon, all clad in silver.\n\n\u201cThis, madam, is the nurse of your son, the young prince,\u201d said the old\nwoman.\n\nThe queen smiled, and bade the nurse to sit down, and asked her how she\ncame to know of the place.\n\n\u201cMy son it is who told her,\u201d said the king, looking very angry.\n\nBut the queen soothed him, and turning to one of her ladies, said\u2014\n\n\u201cBring here the other child.\u201d\n\nThen the lady brought in an infant, and placed him in the arms of the\nmother.\n\n\u201cTake him,\u201d said the queen, \u201che is your own child, that we carried\naway, for he was so beautiful; and the boy you have at home is mine,\na little elfish imp. Still, I want him back, and I have sent a man to\nbring him here; and you may take your own lovely child home in safety,\nfor the fairy blessings are on him for good. And the man that beat you\nwas not your husband at all, but our messenger, that we sent to change\nthe children. So now go back, and you will find your own true husband\nat home in your own place, watching and waiting for you by day and by\nnight.\u201d\n\nWith that the door opened, and the man who had beaten her came in; and\nthe mother trembled and was afraid. But the man laughed, and told her\nnot to fear, but to eat what was set before her, and then to go in\npeace.\n\nSo they brought her to another hall, where was a table covered with\ngolden dishes and beautiful flowers, and red wine in crystal cups.\n\n\u201cEat,\u201d they said; \u201cthis feast has been prepared for you. As to us, we\ncannot touch it, for the food has been sprinkled with salt.\u201d\n\nSo she ate, and drank of the red wine, and never in all her life were\nso many things set before her that were lovely and good. And, as was\nright and proper, after dinner was over, she stood up, and folded her\nhands together to give God thanks. But they stopped her, and drew her\ndown.\n\n\u201cHush!\u201d they said, \u201cthat name is not to be named here.\u201d\n\nThere was an angry murmur in the hall. But just then beautiful music\nwas heard, and singing like the singing of priests, and the poor mother\nwas so enchanted that she fell on her face as one dead. And when she\ncame to herself it was noonday, and she was standing by the door of\nher own house. And her husband came out and took her by the hand, and\nbrought her in. And there was her child, more beautiful than ever, as\nhandsome as a young prince.\n\n\u201cWhere have you been all this while?\u201d asked the husband.\n\n\u201cIt is only an hour since I went away, to look for my child, that the\nfairies stole from me,\u201d she answered.\n\n\u201cAn hour!\u201d said the husband; \u201cyou have been three years away with\nyour child! And when you were gone, a poor sickly thing was laid in\nthe cradle\u2014not as big as a mushroom, and I knew well it was a fairy\nchangeling. But it so happened that one day, a tailor came by, and\nstopped to rest; and when he looked hard at the child, the ugly\nmisshapen thing sat up quite straight in the cradle, and called out\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018Come now, what are you looking at? Give me four straws to play with.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd the tailor gave him the straws. And when he got them, the child\nplayed and played such sweet music on them as if they were pipes, that\nall the chairs and tables began to dance; and when he grew tired, he\nfell back in the cradle and dropped asleep.\n\n\u201c\u2018Now,\u2019 said the tailor, \u2018that child is not right; but I\u2019ll tell you\nwhat to do. Make down a great fire to begin with.\u2019\n\n\u201cSo we made the fire. Then the tailor shut the door, and lifted the\nunlucky little wretch out of the cradle, and sat it on the fire. And no\nsooner had the flames caught it, than it shrieked aloud and flew up the\nchimney and disappeared. And when everything was burned that belonged\nto it, I knew you would come back to me with our own fine boy. And now\nlet us name the name of God, and make the sign of the Cross over him,\nand ill luck will never again fall on our house\u2014no more for ever.\u201d\n\nSo the man and his wife lived happily from that day forth, and the\nchild grew up and prospered, and was beautiful to look at and happy in\nhis life; for the fairy blessings were on him of health, wealth, and\nprosperity, even as the queen of the fairies had promised to the mother.\n\n\nTHE DOOM.\n\n\nThere was a young man of Innismore, named James Lynan, noted through\nall the island for his beauty and strength. Never a one could beat him\nat hunting or wrestling, and he was, besides, the best dancer in the\nwhole townland. But he was bold and reckless, and ever foremost in all\nthe wild wicked doings of the young fellows of the place.\n\nOne day he happened to be in chapel after one of these mad freaks, and\nthe priest denounced him by name from the altar.\n\n\u201cJames Lynan,\u201d he said, \u201cremember my words; you will come to an ill\nend. The vengeance of God will fall on you for your wicked life; and by\nthe power that is in me I denounce you as an evil liver and a limb of\nSatan, and accursed of all good men.\u201d\n\nThe young man turned pale, and fell on his knees before all the people,\ncrying out bitterly, \u201cHave mercy, have mercy; I repent, I repent,\u201d and\nhe wept like a woman.\n\n\u201cGo now in peace,\u201d said the priest, \u201cand strive to lead a new life, and\nI\u2019ll pray to God to save your soul.\u201d\n\nFrom that day forth James Lynan changed his ways. He gave up drinking,\nand never a drop of spirits crossed his lips. And he began to attend to\nhis farm and his business, in place of being at all the mad revels and\ndances and fairs and wakes in the island. Soon after he married a nice\ngirl, a rich farmer\u2019s daughter, from the mainland, and they had four\nfine children, and all things prospered with him.\n\nBut the priest\u2019s words never left his mind, and he would suddenly turn\npale and a shivering would come over him when the memory of the curse\ncame upon him. Still he prospered, and his life was a model of sobriety\nand order.\n\nOne day he and his wife and their children were asked to the wedding\nof a friend about four miles off; and James Lynan rode to the place,\nthe family going on their own car. At the wedding he was the life of\nthe party as he always was; but never a drop of drink touched his lips.\nWhen evening came on, the family set out for the return home just\nas they had set out; the wife and children on the car, James Lynan\nriding his own horse. But when the wife arrived at home, she found her\nhusband\u2019s horse standing at the gate riderless and quite still. They\nthought he might have fallen in a faint, and went back to search; when\nhe was found down in a hollow not five perches from his own gate, lying\nquite insensible and his features distorted frightfully, as if seized\nwhile looking on some horrible vision.\n\nThey carried him in, but he never spoke. A doctor was sent for, who\nopened a vein, but no blood came. There he lay like a log, speechless\nas one dead. Amongst the crowd that gathered round was an old woman\naccounted very wise by the people.\n\n\u201cSend for the fairy doctor,\u201d she said; \u201che is struck.\u201d\n\nSo they sent off a boy on the fastest horse for the fairy man. He could\nnot come himself, but he filled a bottle with a potion. Then he said\u2014\n\n\u201cRide for your life; give him some of this to drink and sprinkle his\nface and hands also with it. But take care as you pass the lone bush\non the round hill near the hollow, for the fairies are there and will\nhinder you if they can, and strive to break the bottle.\u201d\n\nThen the fairy man blew into the mouth and the eyes and the nostrils of\nthe horse, and turned him round three times on the road and rubbed the\ndust off his hoofs.\n\n\u201cNow go,\u201d he said to the boy; \u201cgo and never look behind you, no matter\nwhat you hear.\u201d\n\nSo the boy went like the wind, having placed the bottle safely in his\npocket; and when he came to the lone bush the horse started and gave\nsuch a jump that the bottle nearly fell, but the boy caught it in time\nand held it safe and rode on. Then he heard a cluttering of feet behind\nhim, as of men in pursuit; but he never turned or looked, for he knew\nit was the fairies who were after him. And shrill voices cried to him,\n\u201cRide fast, ride fast, for the spell is cast!\u201d Still he never turned\nround, but rode on, and never let go his hold of the fairy draught\ntill he stopped at his master\u2019s door, and handed the potion to the\npoor sorrowing wife. And she gave of it to the sick man to drink, and\nsprinkled his face and hands, after which he fell into a deep sleep.\nBut when he woke up, though he knew every one around him, the power\nof speech was gone from him; and from that time to his death, which\nhappened soon after, he never uttered word more.\n\nSo the doom of the priest was fulfilled\u2014evil was his youth and evil\nwas his fate, and sorrow and death found him at last, for the doom of\nthe priest is as the word of God.\n\n\nTHE CLEARING FROM GUILT.\n\n\nTo prove innocence of a crime a certain ancient form is gone through,\nwhich the people look on with great awe, and call it emphatically\u2014\u201cThe\nClearing.\u201d It is a fearful ordeal, and instances are known of men who\nhave died of fear and trembling from having passed through the terrors\nof the trial, even if innocent. And it is equally terrible for the\naccuser as well as the accused.\n\nOn a certain day fixed for the ordeal the accused goes to the\nchurchyard and carries away a skull. Then, wrapped in a white sheet,\nand bearing the skull in his hand, he proceeds to the house of the\naccuser, where a great crowd has assembled; for the news of \u201cA\nClearing\u201d spreads like wildfire, and all the people gather together as\nwitnesses of the ceremony. There, before the house of his accuser, he\nkneels down on his bare knees, makes the sign of the cross on his face,\nkisses the skull, and prays for some time in silence; the people also\nwait in silence, filled with awe and dread, not knowing what the result\nmay be. Then the accuser, pale and trembling, comes forward and stands\nbeside the kneeling man; and with uplifted hand adjures him to speak\nthe truth. On which the accused, still kneeling and holding the skull\nin his hand, utters the most fearful imprecation known in the Irish\nlanguage; almost as terrible as that curse of the Druids, which is so\nawful that it never yet was put into English words. The accused prays\nthat if he fail to speak the truth all the sins of the man whose skull\nhe holds may be laid upon his soul, and all the sins of his forefathers\nback to Adam, and all the punishment due to them for the evil of their\nlives, and all their weakness and sorrow both of body and soul be laid\non him both in this life and in the life to come for evermore. But if\nthe accuser has accused falsely and out of malice, then may all the\nevil rest on his head through this life for ever, and may his soul\nperish everlastingly.\n\nIt would be impossible to describe adequately the awe with which the\nassembled people listen to these terrible words, and the dreadful\nsilence of the crowd as they wait to see the result. If nothing happens\nthe man rises from his knees after an interval, and is pronounced\ninnocent by the judgment of the people, and no word is ever again\nuttered against him, nor is he shunned or slighted by the neighbours.\nBut the accuser is looked on with fear and dislike; he is considered\nunlucky, and seeing that his life is often made so miserable by the\ncoldness and suspicion of the people, many would rather suffer wrong\nthan force the accused person to undergo so terrible a trial as \u201cThe\nClearing.\u201d\n\n\nTHE HOLY WELL AND THE MURDERER.\n\n\nThe Well of St. Brendan, in High Island, has great virtue, but the\nmiraculous power of the water is lost should a thief or a murderer\ndrink of it. Now a cruel murder had been committed on the mainland, and\nthe priest noticed the people that if the murderer tried to conceal\nhimself in the island no one should harbour him or give him food\nor drink. It happened at that time there was a woman of the island\nafflicted with pains in her limbs, and she went to the Holy Well to\nmake the stations and say the prayers, and so get cured. But many a day\npassed and still she got no better, though she went round and round the\nwell on her knees, and recited the paters and aves as she was told.\n\nThen she went to the priest and told him the story, and he perceived\nat once that the well had been polluted by the touch of some one who\nhad committed a crime. So he bade the woman bring him a bottle of the\nwater, and she did as he desired. Then having received the water,\nhe poured it out, and breathed on it three times in the name of the\nTrinity; when, lo! the water turned into blood.\n\n\u201cHere is the evil,\u201d cried the priest. \u201cA murderer has washed his hands\nin the well.\u201d\n\nHe then ordered her to make a fire in a circle, which she did, and he\npronounced some words over it; and a mist rose up with the form of a\nspirit in the midst, holding a man by the arm.\n\n\u201cBehold the murderer,\u201d said the spirit; and when the woman looked on\nhim she shrieked\u2014\n\n\u201cIt is my son! my son!\u201d and she fainted.\n\nFor the year before her son had gone to live on the mainland, and\nthere, unknown to his mother, he had committed the dreadful murder for\nwhich the vengeance of God lay on him. And when she came to herself the\nspirit of the murderer was still there.\n\n\u201cOh, my Lord! let him go, let him go!\u201d she cried.\n\n\u201cYou wretched woman!\u201d answered the priest. \u201cHow dare you interpose\nbetween God and vengeance. This is but the shadowy form of your son;\nbut before night he shall be in the hands of the law, and justice shall\nbe done.\u201d\n\nThen the forms and the mist melted away, and the woman departed in\ntears, and not long after she died of a broken heart. But the well\nfrom that time regained all its miraculous powers, and the fame of its\ncures spread far and wide through all the islands.\n\n\nLEGENDS OF INNIS-SARK.\nA WOMAN\u2019S CURSE.\n\n\nThere was a woman of the Island of Innis-Sark who was determined to\ntake revenge on a man because he called her by an evil name. So she\nwent to the Saints\u2019 Well, and, kneeling down, she took some of the\nwater and poured it on the ground in the name of the devil, saying,\n\u201cSo may my enemy be poured out like water, and lie helpless on the\nearth!\u201d Then she went round the well backwards on her knees, and at\neach station she cast a stone in the name of the devil, and said, \u201cSo\nmay the curse fall on him, and the power of the devil crush him!\u201d After\nthis she returned home.\n\nNow the next morning there was a stiff breeze, and some of the men were\nafraid to go out fishing; but others said they would try their luck,\nand amongst them was the man on whom the curse rested. But they had not\ngone far from land when the boat was capsized by a heavy squall. The\nfishermen, however, saved themselves by swimming to shore; all except\nthe man on whom the curse rested, and he sank like lead to the bottom,\nand the waves covered him, and he was drowned.\n\nWhen the woman heard of the fate that had befallen her enemy, she ran\nto the beach and clapped her hands with joy and exulted. And as she\nstood there laughing with strange and horrid mirth, the corpse of the\nman she had cursed slowly rose up from the sea, and came drifting\ntowards her till it lay almost at her very feet. On this she stooped\ndown to feast her eyes on the sight of the dead man, when suddenly a\nstorm of wind screamed past her, and hurled her from the point of rock\nwhere she stood. And when the people ran in all haste to help, no trace\nof her body could be seen. The woman and the corpse of the man she had\ncursed disappeared together under the waves, and were never seen again\nfrom that time forth.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnother woman in Shark Island was considered to have an evil influence\nover any one she disliked. One day a man called her a devil\u2019s hag in\nhis anger. The woman answered nothing, but that night she went to a\nHoly Well near the place, and kneeling down, invoked a curse in the\nname of the devil. Then she went round the well three times backward\non her knees, and each time threw a stone in the name of the devil,\nsaying, \u201cSo may the curse fall on his head!\u201d Then she returned home,\nand told the people to wait for three days, and they would see her\nwords had power. During this time the man was afraid to go out in his\nboat because of the curse. But on the third day as he was walking by\nthe cliff he fell and broke his leg. And then every one knew that the\nwoman had the witch-secret of evil, and she was held in much fear.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe most effective way of neutralizing the evil influence is to spit\non the object and say, \u201cGod bless it!\u201d But another must do it at your\nrequest, and sometimes people refuse, fearing to anger the fairies\nby interfering with their work, whether for good or evil. But the\nislanders have such faith in the anointing with spittle that they will\noften solicit a passing stranger to spit on the afflicted person.\nIndeed, a stranger is considered to have more power than a neighbour.\n\nA woman who kept a small day-school had reason to think that her son, a\nfine lad of twelve years old, was bewitched, for when he had eaten up\nthe whole dish of stirabout at supper, he asked for more. And she said\u2014\n\n\u201cMy son, you had enough for three men. Go to your bed and sleep.\u201d\n\nBut next morning he was worse and more ravenous, for he ate up all\nthe bread that his mother had made for the scholars just as she took\nit from the oven, and not a single cake was left. Then she knew that\nwitchcraft was on the boy, and she stood by the door to watch for a\nstranger. At last one came by, and she cried to him\u2014\n\n\u201cCome in, come in, for the love of God, and spit on the face of my son!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should I spit on your son, O woman?\u201d he answered; and he fled\naway, for he thought she was mad.\n\nThen she sent for the priest, and his reverence poured holy water over\nhim, and laid his hands upon his head while he prayed. So, after a\ntime, the power of the witchcraft was broken, and the boy was restored\nto his right mind.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe islanders believe also that angels are constantly present amongst\nthem, and all blessed things\u2014the rain, and the dew, and the green\ncrops\u2014come from their power; but the fairies often bring sickness,\nand will do malicious tricks, and lame a horse, or steal the milk and\nbutter, if they have been offended or deprived of their rights.\n\nThere are certain days on which it is not right to speak of the\nfairies. These days are Wednesdays and Fridays, for then they are\npresent though invisible, and can hear everything, and lay their plans\nas to what they will carry off. On Friday especially their power for\nevil is very strong, and misfortunes are dreaded in the household.\nTherefore, on that day the children and cattle are strictly watched; a\nlighted wisp of straw is turned round the baby\u2019s head, and a quenched\ncoal is set under the cradle and under the churn. And if the horses\nare restive in the stable, then the people know the fairies are riding\non their backs. So they spit three times at the animal, when the\nfairies scamper off. This cure by the saliva is the most ancient of all\nsuperstitions, and the islanders still have the greatest faith in its\nmysterious power and efficacy.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAt Innisboffin the fairies hold a splendid court, with revelry and\ndancing, when the moon is full; and it is very dangerous for young\ngirls to be out at that time, for they will assuredly be carried off.\nAnd if they once hear the fairy music or drink of the fairy wine, they\nwill never be the same again\u2014a fate is on them, and before the year is\nout they will either disappear or die.\n\nAnd the fairies are always on the watch for the handsome girls or\nchildren; for they look on mortals as of much higher race than\nthemselves. And they are also glad to have the fine young men, the sons\nof mortal women, to assist them in their wars with each other; for\nthere are two parties amongst the fairy spirits, one a gentle race that\nloves music and dancing, the other that has obtained power from the\ndevil, and is always trying to work evil.\n\nA young man lay down to sleep one Friday evening in summer under a\nhay-rick, and the fairies must have carried him off as he slept; for\nwhen he woke he found himself in a great hall, where a number of little\nmen were at work\u2014some spinning, some making shoes, some making spears\nand arrow-heads out of fish-bones and elf-stones; but all busy laughing\nand singing with much glee and merriment, while the little pipers\nplayed the merriest tunes.\n\nThen an old man who sat in the corner came over, and looking very\nangry, told him he must not sit there idle; there were friends coming\nto dinner, and he must go down and help in the kitchen. So he drove the\npoor young fellow before him down into a great vaulted place, where a\nhuge fire was burning, and a large pot was set over it.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the old man, \u201cprepare the dinner. There is the old hag we\nare going to eat.\u201d\n\nAnd true enough, to his horror, on looking round, there was an old\nwoman hung up by the arms, and an old man skinning her.\n\n\u201cNow make haste and let the water boil,\u201d said the old man; \u201cdon\u2019t you\nsee the pot on the fire, and I am nearly ready for you to begin. The\ncompany will soon be here, and there is no time to lose, for this old\nhag will take a good while to boil. Cut her up into little bits, and\nthrow her into the pot.\u201d\n\nHowever, the young fellow was so frightened that he fell down on the\nfloor speechless, and could neither move hand nor foot.\n\n\u201cGet up, you fool,\u201d said another old man, who seemed to be the head\nover all; and he laughed at him. \u201cDo your work and never mind; this\ndoes not hurt her a bit. When she was there above in the world she\nwas a wicked miser, hard to the world, and cruel and bitter in her\nwords and works; so now we have her here, and her soul will never rest\nin peace, because we shall cut up the body in little bits, and the\nsoul will not be able to find it, but wander about in the dark to all\neternity without a body.\u201d\n\nThen the young man knew no more till he found himself in a beautiful\nhall, where a banquet was laid out; but, in place of the old hag, the\ntable was covered with fruit, and chickens, and young turkeys, and\nbutter, and cakes fresh from the oven, and crystal cups of bright red\nwine.\n\n\u201cNow sit down and eat,\u201d said the prince, who sat at the top on a\nthrone, with a red sash round his waist, and a gold band on his head.\n\u201cSit down with this pleasant company and eat with us; you are welcome.\u201d\n\nAnd there were many beautiful ladies seated round, and grand noblemen,\nwith red caps and sashes; and they all smiled at him and bade him eat.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the young man; \u201cI cannot eat with you, for I see no priest\nhere to bless the food. Let me go in peace.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at least till you taste our wine,\u201d said the prince with a friendly\nsmile.\n\nAnd one of the beautiful ladies rose up and filled a crystal cup with\nthe bright red wine, and gave it him. And when he saw it, the sight of\nit tempted him, and he could not help himself, but drank it all off\nwithout stopping; for it seemed to him the most delicious draught he\never had in his whole life.\n\nBut no sooner had he laid down the glass, than a noise like thunder\nshook the building, and all the lights went out; and he found himself\nalone in the dark night lying under the very same hay-rick where he had\ncast himself down to sleep, tired after his work. So he made his way\nhome at last; but the taste of the fairy wine burned in his veins, and\na fever was on him night and day for another draught; and he did no\ngood, but pined away, seeking the fairy mansion, though he never found\nit any more. And so he died in his youth, a warning to all who eat of\nthe fairy food, or drink of the fairy wine; for never more will they\nknow peace or content, or be fit for their work, as in the days before\nthe fairy spell was on them, which brings doom and death to all who\nfall under the fatal enchantment of its unholy power.\n\n\nLEGENDS OF THE DEAD IN THE WESTERN ISLANDS.\n\n\nWhen young people die, either men or women, who were remarkable for\nbeauty, it is supposed that they are carried off by the fairies to the\nfairy mansions under the earth, where they live in splendid palaces and\nare wedded to fairy queens or princes. But sometimes, if their kindred\ngreatly desire to see them, they are allowed to visit the earth, though\nno enchantment has yet been discovered powerful enough to compel them\nto remain or resume again the mortal life.\n\nSometimes when the fishermen are out they meet a strange boat filled\nwith people; and when they look on them they know that they are the\ndead who have been carried off by the fairies with their wiles and\nenchantments to dwell in the fairy palaces.\n\nOne day a man was out fishing, but caught nothing; and was just turning\nhome in despair at his ill-luck when he suddenly saw a boat with three\npersons in it; and it seemed to him that they were his comrades, the\nvery men who just a year before had been drowned in that spot, but\nwhose bodies were never recovered, and he knew that he looked upon the\ndead. But the men were friendly, and called out to him\u2014\n\n\u201cCast your line as we direct, and you will have luck.\u201d\n\nSo he cast his line as they bade him, and presently drew up a fine fish.\n\n\u201cNow, cast again,\u201d they said, \u201cand keep beside us, and row to shore,\nbut do not look on us.\u201d\n\nSo he did as directed and hauled up fish after fish till his boat was\nfull, and then he drew it up to the landing-place.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d they said, \u201cwait and see that no one is about before you land.\u201d\n\nSo the man looked up and down the shore, but saw no one; then he\nturned to land his fish, when, behold, the men and the second boat\nhad vanished, and he saw them no more. However, he landed his fish\nwith much joy and brought them all safely home, though the wise people\nsaid that if he had not turned away his head that time, but kept his\neyes steadily on the men till he landed, the enchantment would have\nbeen broken that held them in fairy-land, and the dead would have been\nrestored to the earthly life, and to their kindred in the island who\nmourned for them.\n\n\nTHE DEATH SIGN.\n\n\nA woman was out one day looking after her sheep in the valley, and\ncoming by a little stream she sat down to rest, when suddenly she\nseemed to hear the sound of low music, and turning round, beheld at\nsome distance a crowd of people dancing and making merry. And she grew\nafraid and turned her head away not to see them. Then close by her\nstood a young man, pale and strange looking, and she beheld him with\nfear.\n\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d she said at last; \u201cand why do you stand beside me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou ought to know me,\u201d he replied, \u201cfor I belong to this place; but\nmake haste now and come away, or evil will befall you.\u201d\n\nThen she stood up and was going away with him, when the crowd left off\ntheir dancing and ran towards them crying\u2014\n\n\u201cCome back; come back; come back!\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t stop; don\u2019t listen,\u201d said the young man, \u201cbut follow me.\u201d\n\nThen they both began to run, and ran on until they reached a hillock.\n\n\u201cNow we are safe,\u201d said he; \u201cthey can\u2019t harm us here.\u201d And when they\nstopped he said to her again, \u201cLook me in the face and say if you know\nme now?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d she answered, \u201cyou are a stranger to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook again,\u201d he said, \u201clook me straight in the face and you will know\nme.\u201d\n\nThen she looked, and knew instantly that he was a man who had been\ndrowned the year before in the dark winter time, and the waves had\nnever cast up his body on the shore. And she threw up her arms and\ncried aloud\u2014\n\n\u201cHave you news of my child? Have you seen her, my fair-haired girl,\nthat was stolen from me this day seven years? Will she come back to me\nnever no more?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have seen her,\u201d said the man, \u201cbut she will never come back, never\nmore, for she has eaten of the fairy food and must now stay with the\nspirits under the sea, for she belongs to them body and soul. But go\nhome now, for it is late, and evil is near you; and perhaps you will\nmeet her sooner than you think.\u201d\n\nThen as the women turned her face homeward, the man disappeared and she\nsaw him no more.\n\nWhen at last she reached the threshold of her house a fear and\ntrembling came on her, and she called to her husband that some one\nstood in the doorway and she could not pass. And with that she fell\ndown on the threshold on her face, but spake no word more. And when\nthey lifted her up she was dead.\n\n\nKATHLEEN.\n\n\nA young girl from Innis-Sark had a lover, a fine young fellow, who met\nhis death by an accident, to her great grief and sorrow.\n\nOne evening at sunset, as she sat by the roadside crying her eyes out,\na beautiful lady came by all in white, and tapped her on the cheek.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t cry, Kathleen,\u201d she said, \u201cyour lover is safe. Just take this\nring of herbs and look through it and you will see him. He is with a\ngrand company, and wears a golden circlet on his head and a scarlet\nsash round his waist.\u201d\n\nSo Kathleen took the ring of herbs and looked through it, and there\nindeed was her lover in the midst of a great company dancing on the\nhill; and he was very pale, but handsomer than ever, with the gold\ncirclet round his head, as if they had made him a prince.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the lady, \u201chere is a larger ring of herbs. Take it, and\nwhenever you want to see your lover, pluck a leaf from it and burn it;\nand a great smoke will arise, and you will fall into a trance; and in\nthe trance your lover will carry you away to the fairy rath, and there\nyou may dance all night with him on the greensward. But say no prayer,\nand make no sign of the cross while the smoke is rising, or your lover\nwill disappear for ever.\u201d\n\nFrom that time a great change came over Kathleen. She said no prayer,\nand cared for no priest, and never made the sign of the cross, but\nevery night shut herself up in her room, and burned a leaf of the ring\nof herbs as she had been told; and when the smoke arose she fell into\na deep sleep and knew no more. But in the morning she told her people\nthat, though she seemed to be lying in her bed, she was far away with\nthe fairies on the hill dancing with her lover. And she was very happy\nin her new life, and wanted no priest nor prayer nor mass any more,\nand all the dead were there dancing with the rest, all the people she\nhad known; and they welcomed her and gave her wine to drink in little\ncrystal cups, and told her she must soon come and stay with them and\nwith her lover for evermore.\n\nNow Kathleen\u2019s mother was a good, honest, religious woman, and she\nfretted much over her daughter\u2019s strange state, for she knew the girl\nhad been fairy-struck. So she determined to watch; and one night when\nKathleen went to her bed as usual all alone by herself in the room, for\nshe would allow no one to be with her, the mother crept up and looked\nthrough a chink in the door, and then she saw Kathleen take the round\nring of herbs from a secret place in the press and pluck a leaf from it\nand burn it, on which a great smoke arose and the girl fell on her bed\nin a deep trance.\n\nNow the mother could no longer keep silence, for she saw there was\ndevil\u2019s work in it; and she fell on her knees and prayed aloud\u2014\n\n\u201cO Maia, mother, send the evil spirit away from the child!\u201d\n\nAnd she rushed into the room and made the sign of the cross over the\nsleeping girl, when immediately Kathleen started up and screamed\u2014\n\n\u201cMother! mother! the dead are coming for me. They are here! they are\nhere!\u201d\n\nAnd her features looked like one in a fit. Then the poor mother sent\nfor the priest, who came at once, and threw holy water on the girl, and\nsaid prayers over her; and he took the ring of herbs that lay beside\nher and cursed it for evermore, and instantly it fell to powder and lay\nlike grey ashes on the floor. After this Kathleen grew calmer, and the\nevil spirit seemed to have left her, but she was too weak to move or to\nspeak, or to utter a prayer, and before the clock struck twelve that\nnight she lay dead.\n\n\nNOVEMBER EVE.\n\n\nIt is esteemed a very wrong thing amongst the islanders to be about on\nNovember Eve, minding any business, for the fairies have their flitting\nthen, and do not like to be seen or watched; and all the spirits come\nto meet them and help them. But mortal people should keep at home, or\nthey will suffer for it; for the souls of the dead have power over all\nthings on that one night of the year; and they hold a festival with the\nfairies, and drink red wine from the fairy cups, and dance to fairy\nmusic till the moon goes down.\n\nThere was a man of the village who stayed out late one November Eve\nfishing, and never thought of the fairies until he saw a great number\nof dancing lights, and a crowd of people hurrying past with baskets and\nbags, and all laughing and singing and making merry as they went along.\n\n\u201cYou are a merry set,\u201d he said, \u201cwhere are ye all going to?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are going to the fair,\u201d said a little old man with a cocked hat and\na gold band round it. \u201cCome with us, Hugh King, and you will have the\nfinest food and the finest drink you ever set eyes upon.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd just carry this basket for me,\u201d said a little red-haired woman.\n\nSo Hugh took it, and went with them till they came to the fair, which\nwas filled with a crowd of people he had never seen on the island in\nall his days. And they danced and laughed and drank red wine from\nlittle cups. And there were pipers, and harpers, and little cobblers\nmending shoes, and all the most beautiful things in the world to eat\nand drink, just as if they were in a king\u2019s palace. But the basket was\nvery heavy, and Hugh longed to drop it, that he might go and dance with\na little beauty with long yellow hair, that was laughing up close to\nhis face.\n\n\u201cWell, here put down the basket,\u201d said the red-haired woman, \u201cfor you\nare quite tired, I see;\u201d and she took it and opened the cover, and out\ncame a little old man, the ugliest, most misshapen little imp that\ncould be imagined.\n\n\u201cAh, thank you, Hugh,\u201d said the imp, quite politely; \u201cyou have carried\nme nicely; for I am weak on the limbs\u2014indeed I have nothing to speak\nof in the way of legs: but I\u2019ll pay you well, my fine fellow; hold\nout your two hands,\u201d and the little imp poured down gold and gold and\ngold into them, bright golden guineas. \u201cNow go,\u201d said he, \u201cand drink\nmy health, and make yourself quite pleasant, and don\u2019t be afraid of\nanything you see and hear.\u201d\n\nSo they all left him, except the man with the cocked hat and the red\nsash round his waist.\n\n\u201cWait here now a bit,\u201d says he, \u201cfor Finvarra, the king, is coming, and\nhis wife, to see the fair.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, the sound of a horn was heard, and up drove a coach and\nfour white horses, and out of it stepped a grand, grave gentleman all\nin black and a beautiful lady with a silver veil over her face.\n\n\u201cHere is Finvarra himself and the queen,\u201d said the little old man; but\nHugh was ready to die of fright when Finvarra asked\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat brought this man here?\u201d\n\nAnd the king frowned and looked so black that Hugh nearly fell to the\nground with fear. Then they all laughed, and laughed so loud that\neverything seemed shaking and tumbling down from the laughter. And the\ndancers came up, and they all danced round Hugh, and tried to take his\nhands to make him dance with them.\n\n\u201cDo you know who these people are; and the men and women who are\ndancing round you?\u201d asked the old man. \u201cLook well, have you ever seen\nthem before?\u201d\n\nAnd when Hugh looked he saw a girl that had died the year before, then\nanother and another of his friends that he knew had died long ago;\nand then he saw that all the dancers, men, women, and girls, were the\ndead in their long, white shrouds. And he tried to escape from them,\nbut could not, for they coiled round him, and danced and laughed and\nseized his arms, and tried to draw him into the dance, and their laugh\nseemed to pierce through his brain and kill him. And he fell down\nbefore them there, like one faint from sleep, and knew no more till he\nfound himself next morning lying within the old stone circle by the\nfairy rath on the hill. Still it was all true that he had been with the\nfairies; no one could deny it, for his arms were all black with the\ntouch of the hands of the dead, the time they had tried to draw him\ninto the dance; but not one bit of all the red gold, which the little\nimp had given him, could he find in his pocket. Not one single golden\npiece; it was all gone for evermore.\n\nAnd Hugh went sadly to his home, for now he knew that the spirits\nhad mocked him and punished him, because he troubled their revels on\nNovember Eve\u2014that one night of all the year when the dead can leave\ntheir graves and dance in the moonlight on the hill, and mortals should\nstay at home and never dare to look on them.\n\n\nTHE DANCE OF THE DEAD.\n\n\nIt is especially dangerous to be out late on the last night of\nNovember, for it is the closing scene of the revels\u2014the last night\nwhen the dead have leave to dance on the hill with the fairies, and\nafter that they must all go back to their graves and lie in the chill,\ncold earth, without music or wine till the next November comes round,\nwhen they all spring up again in their shrouds and rush out into the\nmoonlight with mad laughter.\n\nOne November night, a woman of Shark Island, coming home late at the\nhour of the dead, grew tired and sat down to rest, when presently a\nyoung man came up and talked to her.\n\n\u201cWait a bit,\u201d he said, \u201cand you will see the most beautiful dancing you\never looked on there by the side of the hill.\u201d\n\nAnd she looked at him steadily. He was very pale, and seemed sad.\n\n\u201cWhy are you so sad?\u201d she asked, \u201cand as pale as if you were dead?\u201d\n\n\u201cLook well at me,\u201d he answered. \u201cDo you not know me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I know you now,\u201d she said. \u201cYou are young Brien that was drowned\nlast year when out fishing. What are you here for?\u201d\n\n\u201cLook,\u201d he said, \u201cat the side of the hill and you will see why I am\nhere.\u201d\n\nAnd she looked, and saw a great company dancing to sweet music; and\namongst them were all the dead who had died as long as she could\nremember\u2014men, women, and children, all in white, and their faces were\npale as the moonlight.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the young man, \u201crun for your life; for if once the fairies\nbring you into the dance you will never be able to leave them any more.\u201d\n\nBut while they were talking, the fairies came up and danced round her\nin a circle, joining their hands. And she fell to the ground in a\nfaint, and knew no more till she woke up in the morning in her own bed\nat home. And they all saw that her face was pale as the dead, and they\nknew that she had got the fairy-stroke. So the herb doctor was sent\nfor, and every measure tried to save her, but without avail, for just\nas the moon rose that night, soft, low music was heard round the house,\nand when they looked at the woman she was dead.\n\nIt is a custom amongst the people, when throwing away water at night,\nto cry out in a loud voice, \u201cTake care of the water;\u201d or, literally\nfrom the Irish, \u201cAway with yourself from the water\u201d\u2014for they say the\nspirits of the dead last buried are then wandering about, and it would\nbe dangerous if the water fell on them.\n\nOne dark winter\u2019s night a woman suddenly threw out a pail of boiling\nwater without thinking of the warning words. Instantly a cry was heard\nas of a person in pain, but no one was seen. However, the next night a\nblack lamb entered the house, having the back all fresh scalded, and it\nlay down moaning by the hearth and died. Then they all knew this was\nthe spirit that had been scalded by the woman. And they carried the\ndead lamb out reverently and buried it deep in the earth. Yet every\nnight at the same hour it walked again into the house and lay down and\nmoaned and died. And after this had happened many times, the priest was\nsent for, and finally, by the strength of his exorcism, the spirit of\nthe dead was laid to rest, and the black lamb appeared no more. Neither\nwas the body of the dead lamb found in the grave when they searched for\nit, though it had been laid by their own hands deep in the earth and\ncovered with the clay.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBefore an accident happens to a boat, or a death by drowning, low\nmusic is often heard, as if under the water, along with harmonious\nlamentations, and then every one in the boat knows that some young man\nor beautiful young girl is wanted by the fairies, and is doomed to\ndie. The best safeguard is to have music and singing in the boat, for\nthe fairies are so enamoured of the mortal voices and music that they\nforget to weave the spell till the fatal moment has passed, and then\nall in the boat are safe from harm.\n\n\nSUPERSTITIONS CONCERNING THE DEAD.\n\n\nMany strange spells are effected by the means of a dead man\u2019s\nhand\u2014chiefly to produce butter in the churn. The milk is stirred round\nnine times with the dead hand, the operator crying aloud all the time,\n\u201cGather! gather! gather!\u201d While a secret form of words is used which\nnone but the initiated know.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnother use is to facilitate robberies. If a candle is placed in a dead\nhand, neither wind nor water can extinguish it. And if carried into\na house the inmates will sleep the sleep of the dead as long as it\nremains under the roof, and no power on earth can wake them while the\ndead hand holds the candle.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFor a mystic charm, one of the strongest known is the hand of an\nunbaptized infant fresh taken from the grave in the name of the Evil\nOne.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA dead hand is esteemed also a certain cure for most diseases, and many\na time sick people have been brought to a house where a corpse lay that\nthe hand of the dead might be laid on them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe souls of the dead who may happen to die abroad, greatly desire to\nrest in Ireland. And the relations deem it their duty to bring back the\nbody to be laid in Irish earth. But even then the dead will not rest\npeaceably unless laid with their forefathers and their own people, and\nnot amongst strangers.\n\nA young girl happened to die of a fever while away on a visit to some\nfriends, and her father thought it safer not to bring her home, but to\nhave her buried in the nearest churchyard. However, a few nights after\nhis return home, he was awakened by a mournful wail at the window, and\na voice cried, \u201cI am alone; I am alone; I am alone!\u201d Then the poor\nfather knew well what it meant, and he prayed in the name of God that\nthe spirit of his dead child might rest in peace until the morning. And\nwhen the day broke he arose and set off to the strange burial ground,\nand there he drew the coffin from the earth, and had it carried all the\nway back from Cork to Mayo; and after he had laid the dead in the old\ngraveyard beside his people and his kindred, the spirit of his child\nhad rest, and the mournful cry was no more heard in the night.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe corner of a sheet that has wrapped a corpse is a cure for headache\nif tied round the head.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe ends of candles used at wakes are of great efficacy in curing burns.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA piece of linen wrap taken from a corpse will cure the swelling of a\nlimb if tied round the part affected.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is believed that the spirit of the dead last buried has to watch in\nthe churchyard until another corpse is laid there; or has to perform\nmenial offices in the spirit world, such as carrying wood and water\nuntil the next spirit comes from earth. They are also sent on messages\nto earth, chiefly to announce the coming death of some relative, and\nat this they are glad, for then their time of peace and rest will come\nat last.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf any one stumbles at a grave it is a bad omen; but if he falls and\ntouches the clay, he will assuredly die before the year is out.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAny one meeting a funeral must turn back and walk at least four steps\nwith the mourners.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf the nearest relative touches the hand of a corpse it will utter a\nwild cry if not quite dead.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn Twelfth Night the dead walk, and on every tile of the house a soul\nis sitting, waiting for your prayers to take it out of purgatory.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere are many strange superstitions in the western islands of\nConnemara. At night the dead can be heard laughing with the fairies and\nspinning the flax. One girl declared that she distinctly heard her dead\nmother\u2019s voice singing a mournful Irish air away down in the heart of\nthe hill. But after a year and a day the voices cease, and the dead are\ngone for ever.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is a custom in the West, when a corpse is carried to the grave, for\nthe bearers to stop half way, while the nearest relatives build up a\nsmall monument of loose stones, and no hand would ever dare to touch or\ndisturb this monument while the world lasts.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen the grave is dug, a cross is made of two spades, and the coffin is\ncarried round it three times before being placed in the clay. Then the\nprayers for the dead are said, all the people kneeling with uncovered\nhead.\n\n\nTHE FATAL LOVE-CHARM.\n\n\nA potent love-charm used by women is a piece of skin taken from the arm\nof a corpse and tied on the person while sleeping whose love is sought.\nThe skin is then removed after some time, and carefully put away before\nthe sleeper awakes or has any consciousness of the transaction. And as\nlong as it remains in the woman\u2019s possession the love of her lover will\nbe unchanged. Or the strip of skin is placed under the head to dream\non, in the name of the Evil One, when the future husband will appear in\nthe dream.\n\nA young girl who was servant in the large and handsome house of a rich\nfamily tried this charm for fun, thinking she would dream of one of her\nfellow-servants, and next morning her mistress asked the result.\n\n\u201cThroth, ma\u2019am,\u201d she answered, \u201cthere never was such a foolish trick,\nfor it was of the master himself I was dreaming all night, and of no\none else.\u201d\n\nSoon after the lady died, and the girl, remembering her dream, watched\nher opportunity to tie a piece of skin taken from a corpse recently\nburied round the arm of her master while he slept. After this he became\nviolently in love with the girl, though she was exceedingly ugly,\nand within the year he married her, his love all the while remaining\nfervent and unchanged.\n\nBut exactly one year and a day after her marriage her bedroom took fire\nby accident, and the strip of skin, which she had kept carefully hidden\nin her wardrobe, was burnt, along with all her grand wedding-clothes.\nImmediately the magic charm was broken, and the hatred of the gentleman\nfor his low-born wife became as strong as the love he had once felt for\nher.\n\nIn her rage and grief at finding nothing but coldness and insult, she\nconfessed the whole story; and, in consequence, the horror she inspired\namongst the people was so great that no one would serve her with food\nor drink, or sit near her, or hold any intercourse with her; and she\ndied miserably and half mad before the second year was out\u2014a warning\nand a terror to all who work spells in the name of the Evil One.\n\n\nTHE FENIAN KNIGHTS.\nA LEGEND OF THE WEST.\n\n\nThere is a fort near the Killeries in Connemara called _Lis-na-Keeran_.\nOne day the powerful chief that lived there invited the great Fionn\nMa-Coul, with his son Oscar and a band of Fenian knights, to a great\nbanquet. But when the guests arrived they found no chairs prepared for\nthem, only rough benches of wood placed round the table.\n\nSo Oscar and his father would take no place, but stood watching, for\nthey suspected treachery. The knights, however, fearing nothing, sat\ndown to the feast, but were instantly fixed to the benches so firmly by\nmagic, that they could neither rise nor move.\n\nThen Fionn began to chew his thumb, from which he always derived\nknowledge of the future, and by his magic power he saw clearly a great\nand terrible warrior riding fiercely towards the fort, and Fionn knew\nthat unless he could be stopped before crossing a certain ford, they\nmust all die, for they had been brought to Lis-na-Keeran only to be\nslain by their treacherous host; and unless the warrior was killed and\nhis blood sprinkled on the Fenian knights, they must remain fixed on\nthe wooden benches for ever.\n\nSo Oscar of the Lion heart rushed forth to the encounter. And he flung\nhis spear at the mighty horseman, and they fought desperately till the\nsetting of the sun. Then at last Oscar triumphed; victory was his; and\nhe cut off the head of his adversary, and carried it on his spear all\nbleeding to the fort, where he let the blood drop down upon the Fenian\nknights that were transfixed by magic. On this they at once sprang up\nfree and scatheless, all except one, for on him unhappily no blood had\nfallen, and so he remained fixed to the bench. His companions tried to\ndrag him up by main force, but as they did so the skin of his thighs\nwas left on the bench, and he was like to die.\n\nThen they killed a sheep, and wrapped the fleece round him warm from\nthe animal to heal him. So he was cured, but ever after, strange to\nrelate, seven stone of wool were annually shorn from his body as long\nas he lived.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe manner in which Fionn learned the mystery of obtaining wisdom from\nhis thumb was in this wise.\n\nIt happened one time when he was quite a youth that he was taken\nprisoner by a one-eyed giant, who at first was going to kill him,\nbut then he changed his mind and sent him to the kitchen to mind the\ndinner. Now there was a great and splendid salmon broiling on the fire,\nand the giant said\u2014\n\n\u201cWatch that salmon till it is done; but if a single blister rise on the\nskin you shall be killed.\u201d\n\nThen the giant threw himself down to sleep while waiting for the dinner.\n\nSo Fionn watched the salmon with all his eyes, but to his horror saw\na blister rising on the beautiful silver skin of the fish, and in his\nfright and eagerness he pressed his thumb down on it to flatten it;\nthen the pain of the burn being great, he clapped the thumb into his\nmouth and kept it there to suck out the fire. When he drew it back,\nhowever, he found, to his surprise that he had a knowledge of all that\nwas going to happen to him, and a clear sense of what he ought to do.\nAnd it came into his mind that if he put out the giant\u2019s eye with an\niron rod heated in the fire, he could escape from the monster. So he\nheated the rod, and while the giant slept he plunged it into his eye,\nand before the horrid being recovered from the shock, Fionn escaped,\nand was soon back safe amongst his own people, the Fenian knights; and\never after in moments of great peril and doubt, when he put his thumb\ninto his mouth and sucked it, the vision of the future came on him,\nand he could foresee clearly whatever danger lay in his path, and how\nto avoid it. But it was only in such extreme moments of peril that the\nmystic power was granted to him. And thus he was enabled to save his\nown life and the lives of his chosen Fenian guard when all hope seemed\nwell-nigh gone.\n\n\nRATHLIN ISLAND.\n\n\nThere is an old ruin called Bruce\u2019s Castle on this island, and the\nlegend runs that Bruce and his chief warriors lie in an enchanted sleep\nin a cave of the rock on which stands the castle, and that one day they\nwill rise up and unite the island to Scotland.\n\nThe entrance to this cave is visible only once in seven years. A\nman who happened to be travelling by at the time discovered it,\nand entering in he found himself all at once in the midst of the\nheavy-handed warriors. He looked down and saw a sabre half unsheathed\nin the earth at his feet, and on his attempting to draw it every man\nof the sleepers lifted up his head and put his hand on his sword. The\nman being much alarmed fled from the cave, but he heard voices calling\nfiercely after him: \u201cUgh! ugh! Why could we not be left to sleep?\u201d And\nthey clanged their swords on the ground with a terrible noise, and then\nall was still, and the gate of the cave closed with a mighty sound like\na clap of thunder.\n\n\nTHE STRANGE GUESTS.\n\n\nA company of strangers came one day to Rathlin island and the people\ndistrusted them, but pretended to be friendly, and invited them to a\nfeast, meaning to put an end to them all when they came unarmed to the\nfestival, and the drink flowed freely. So the strangers came, but each\nman as he sat down drew his knife and stuck it in the table before\nhim ere he began to eat. When the islanders saw their guests so well\nprepared, they were afraid; and the feast passed off quietly.\n\nThe next morning early, the strangers sailed away before any one was\naware on the island; but on the table where each guest had sat, a\npiece of silver was found, covering the hole made by the knife. So the\nislanders rejoiced, and determined never again to plot evil against the\nwayfaring guests; but to be kind and hospitable to all wanderers for\nthe sake of the Holy Mother, who had sent them to the island to bring\ngood luck to the people. But they never saw the strangers more.\n\nThe islanders have great faith in the power of the Virgin Mary, for our\nLord Himself told St. Bridget that His mother had a throne in heaven\nnear His own; and whatever she asked of God it was granted, especially\nif it was any grace or favour for the Irish people, because He held\nthem in great esteem on account of their piety and good works.\n\n\nTHE DEAD SOLDIER.\n\n\nThere is an island in the Shannon, and if a mermaid is seen sitting\non the rocks in the sunshine, the people know that a crime has been\ncommitted somewhere near; for she never appears but to announce\nill-luck, and she has a spite against mortals, and rejoices at their\nmisfortunes.\n\nOne day a young fisherman was drawn by the current towards the island,\nand he came on a long streak of red blood, and had to sail his boat\nthrough it till he reached the rocks where the mermaid was seated; and\nthen the boat went round and round as in a whirlpool, and sank down at\nlast under the waves.\n\nStill he did not lose consciousness. He looked round and saw that he\nwas in a beautiful country, with tall plants growing all over it; and\nthe mermaid came and sang sweetly to him, and offered him wine to\ndrink, but he would not taste it, for it was red like blood. Then he\nlooked down, and to his horror he saw a soldier lying on the floor\nwith his throat cut; and all round him was a pool of blood, and he\nremembered no more till he found himself again in his boat drifting\nagainst a hurricane, and suddenly he was dashed upon a rock, where his\nfriends who were in search of him found him, and carried him home.\nThere he heard a strange thing: a soldier, a deserter from the Athlone\nBarracks, being pursued had cut his throat and flung himself over the\nbridge into the river; and this was the very man the young fisher had\nseen lying a corpse in the mermaid\u2019s cave. After this he had no peace\nor comfort till he went to the priest, who exorcised him and gave him\nabsolution; and then the wicked siren of the rocks troubled him no\nmore, though she still haunts the islands of the Shannon and tries to\nlure victims to their death.\n\n\nTHE THREE GIFTS.\n\n\nA great, noble-looking man called one night at a cottage, and told the\nwoman that she must come away with him then and there on the instant,\nfor his wife wanted a nurse for her baby. And so saying, before she\ncould answer, he swung her up on his great black horse on a pillion\nbehind him. And she sat wondering at his tall, shadowy form, for she\ncould see the moonlight through him.\n\n\u201cDo not fear,\u201d he said, \u201cand no harm will happen to you. Only ask no\nquestions whatever happens, and drink no wine that may be offered to\nyou.\u201d\n\nOn reaching the palace she saw the most beautiful ladies going about\nall covered with jewels, and she was led into a chamber hung with silk\nand gold, and lace as fine as cobwebs; and there on a bed supported by\ncrystal pillars lay the mother, lovely as an angel, and her little baby\nbeside her. And when the nurse had dressed the baby and handed it to\nthe mother, the lady smiled and offered her wine; \u201cfor then,\u201d she said,\n\u201cyou will never leave us, and I would love to have you always near me.\u201d\n\nBut the woman refused, though she was sorely tempted by the beautiful\nbright red wine.\n\n\u201cWell, then,\u201d said the lord and master, \u201chere are three gifts, and you\nmay take them away in safety, for no harm will come to you by them. A\npurse, never to be opened, but while you have it, you will never want\nmoney; a girdle, and whoso wears it will never be slain in battle; and\nan herb that has power to cure all diseases for seven generations.\u201d\n\nSo the woman was put again upon the horse with her three gifts, and\nreached her home safely. Then, from curiosity, the first thing she did\nwas to open the purse, and behold, there was nothing in it but some\nwild flowers. On seeing this, she was so angry that she flung away the\nherb, \u201cfor they were only making a fool of me,\u201d she said, \u201cand I don\u2019t\nbelieve one word of their stories.\u201d But the husband took the belt and\nkept it safe, and it went down in the family from father to son; and\nthe last man who wore it was out in all the troubles of \u201998, and fought\nin every one of the battles, but he never got hurt or wound. However,\nafter his death, no one knew what became of the belt; it was never seen\nmore.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA woman was carried off one night to a fairy palace to attend one of\nthe beautiful fairy ladies who lay sick on her golden bed. And as she\nwas going in at the gate a man whispered to her, \u201cEat no food, and\ntake no money from the fairies; but ask what you like and it will be\ngranted.\u201d So when the fairy lady was well, she bade the nurse ask what\nshe pleased. The woman answered, \u201cI desire three things for my sons and\ntheir race\u2014luck in fishing, luck in learning, and luck in gambling,\u201d\nwhich things were granted\u2014and to this day the family are the richest,\nthe wisest, and the luckiest in the whole neighbourhood. They win at\nevery game, and at every race, but always by fair play and without\ncheating; and not the priest himself can beat them at book learning.\nAnd every one knows that the power comes to them from the fairy gift,\nthough good luck comes with it and not evil; and all the work of their\nhands has prospered through every generation since the day of the Three\nWishes.\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES AS FALLEN ANGELS.\n\n\nThe islanders, like all the Irish, believe that the fairies are the\nfallen angels who were cast down by the Lord God out of heaven for\ntheir sinful pride. And some fell into the sea, and some on the dry\nland, and some fell deep down into hell, and the devil gives to these\nknowledge and power, and sends them on earth where they work much\nevil. But the fairies of the earth and the sea are mostly gentle and\nbeautiful creatures, who will do no harm if they are let alone, and\nallowed to dance on the fairy raths in the moonlight to their own sweet\nmusic, undisturbed by the presence of mortals. As a rule, the people\nlook on fire as the great preservative against witchcraft, for the\ndevil has no power except in the dark. So they put a live coal under\nthe churn, and they wave a lighted wisp of straw above the cow\u2019s head\nif the beast seems sickly. But as to the pigs, they take no trouble,\nfor they say the devil has no longer any power over them now. When\nthey light a candle they cross themselves, because the evil spirits\nare then clearing out of the house in fear of the light. Fire and Holy\nWater they hold to be sacred, and are powerful; and the best safeguard\nagainst all things evil, and the surest test in case of suspected\nwitchcraft.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY CHANGELING.\n\n\nOne evening, a man was coming home late, and he passed a house where\ntwo women stood by a window, talking.\n\n\u201cI have left the dead child in the cradle as you bid me,\u201d said one\nwoman, \u201cand behold here is the other child, take it and let me go;\u201d\nand she laid down an infant on a sheet by the window, who seemed in a\nsecret sleep, and it was draped all in white.\n\n\u201cWait,\u201d said the other, \u201ctill you have had some food, and then take it\nto the fairy queen, as I promised, in place of the dead child that we\nhave laid in the cradle by the nurse. Wait also till the moon rises,\nand then you shall have the payment which I promised.\u201d\n\nThey then both turned from the window. Now the man saw that there was\nsome devil\u2019s magic in it all. And when the women turned away he crept\nup close to the open window and put his hand in and seized the sleeping\nchild and drew it out quietly without ever a sound. Then he made off as\nfast as he could to his own home, before the women could know anything\nabout it, and handed the child to his mother\u2019s care. Now the mother was\nangry at first, but when he told her the story, she believed him, and\nput the baby to sleep\u2014a lovely, beautiful boy with a face like an angel.\n\nNext morning there was a great commotion in the village, for the news\nspread that the first-born son of the great lord of the place, a\nlovely, healthy child, died suddenly in the night, without ever having\nhad a sign of sickness. When they looked at him in the morning, there\nhe laid dead in his cradle, and he was shrunk and wizened like a little\nold man, and no beauty was seen on him any more. So great lamentation\nwas heard on all sides, and the whole country gathered to the wake.\nAmongst them came the young man who had carried off the child, and when\nhe looked on the little wizened thing in the cradle he laughed. Now the\nparents were angry at his laughter, and wanted to turn him out.\n\nBut he said, \u201cWait, put down a good fire,\u201d and they did so.\n\nThen he went over to the cradle and said to the hideous little\ncreature, in a loud voice before all the people\u2014\n\n\u201cIf you don\u2019t rise up this minute and leave the place, I will burn you\non the fire; for I know right well who you are, and where you came\nfrom.\u201d\n\nAt once the child sat up and began to grin at him; and made a rush to\nthe door to get away; but the man caught hold of it and threw it on the\nfire. And the moment it felt the heat it turned into a black kitten,\nand flew up the chimney and was seen no more.\n\nThen the man sent word to his mother to bring the other child, who\nwas found to be the true heir, the lord\u2019s own son. So there was great\nrejoicing, and the child grew up to be a great lord himself, and when\nhis time came, he ruled well over the estate; and his descendants are\nliving to this day, for all things prospered with him after he was\nsaved from the fairies.\n\n\nFAIRY WILES.\n\n\nWhen the fairies steal away a beautiful mortal child they leave an\nugly, wizened little creature in its place. And these fairy changelings\ngrow up malicious and wicked, and have voracious appetites. The unhappy\nparents often try the test of fire for the child, in this wise\u2014placing\nit in the centre of the cabin, they light a fire round it, and fully\nexpect to see it changed into a sod of turf. But if the child survives\nthe ordeal it is accepted as one of the family, though very grudgingly;\nand it is generally hated by all the neighbours for its impish ways.\nBut the children of the Sidhe and a mortal mother are always clever\nand beautiful, and specially excel in music and dancing. They are,\nhowever, passionate and wilful, and have strange, moody fits, when they\ndesire solitude above all things, and seem to hold converse with unseen\nspiritual beings.\n\nFine young peasant women are often carried off by the fairies to nurse\ntheir little fairy progeny. But the woman is allowed to come back\nto her own infant after sunset. However, on entering the house, the\nhusband must at once throw holy water over her in the name of God, when\nshe will be restored to her own shape. For sometimes she comes with a\nhissing noise like a serpent; then she appears black, and shrouded like\none from the dead; and, lastly, in her own shape, when she takes her\nold place by the fire and nurses her baby; and the husband must ask no\nquestions, but give her food in silence. If she falls asleep the third\nnight, all will be well, for the husband at once ties a red thread\nacross the door to prevent the fairies coming in to carry her off, and\nif the third night passes over safely the fairies have lost their power\nover her for evermore.\n\n\nSHAUN-MOR.\nA LEGEND OF INNIS-SARK.\n\n\nThe islanders believe firmly in the existence of fairies who live in\nthe caves by the sea\u2014little men about the height of a sod of turf, who\ncome out of the fissures of the rocks and are bright and merry, wearing\ngreen jackets and red caps, and ready enough to help any one they like,\nthough often very malicious if offended or insulted.\n\nThere was an old man on the island called Shaun-Mor, who said that he\nhad often travelled at night with the little men and carried their\nsacks for them; and in return they gave him strange fairy gifts and\ntaught him the secret of power, so that he could always triumph over\nhis enemies; and even as to the fairies, he was as wise as any of them,\nand could fight half a dozen of them together if he were so minded, and\npitch them into the sea or strangle them with seaweed. So the fairies\nwere angered at his pride and presumption, and determined to do him a\nmalicious turn, just to amuse themselves when they were up for fun. So\none night when he was returning home, he suddenly saw a great river\nbetween him and his house.\n\n\u201cHow shall I get across now?\u201d he cried aloud; and immediately an eagle\ncame up to him.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t cry, Shaun-Mor,\u201d said the eagle, \u201cbut get on my back and I\u2019ll\ncarry you safely.\u201d\n\nSo Shaun-Mor mounted, and they flew right up ever so high, till at last\nthe eagle tumbled him off by the side of a great mountain in a place he\nhad never seen before.\n\n\u201cThis is a bad trick you have played me,\u201d said Shaun; \u201ctell me where I\nam now?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are in the moon,\u201d said the eagle, \u201cand get down the best way you\ncan, for now I must be off; so good-bye. Mind you don\u2019t fall off the\nedge. Good-bye,\u201d and with that the eagle disappeared.\n\nJust then a cleft in the rock opened, and out came a man as pale as the\ndead with a reaping-hook in his hand.\n\n\u201cWhat brings you here?\u201d said he. \u201cOnly the dead come here,\u201d and he\nlooked fixedly at Shaun-Mor so that he trembled like one already dying.\n\n\u201cO your worship,\u201d he said, \u201cI live far from here. Tell me how I am to\nget down, and help me I beseech you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, that I will,\u201d said the pale-faced man. \u201cHere is the help I give\nyou,\u201d and with that he gave him a blow with the reaping-hook which\ntumbled Shaun right over the edge of the moon; and he fell and fell\never so far till luckily he came in the midst of a flock of geese, and\nthe old gander that was leading stopped and eyed him.\n\n\u201cWhat are you doing here, Shaun-Mor?\u201d said he, \u201cfor I know you well.\nI\u2019ve often seen you down in Shark. What will your wife say when she\nhears of your being out so late at night, wandering about in this way.\nIt is very disreputable, and no well brought up gander would do the\nlike, much less a man; I am ashamed of you, Shaun-Mor.\u201d\n\n\u201cO your honour,\u201d said the poor man, \u201cit is an evil turn of the evil\nwitches, for they have done all this; but let me just get up on your\nback, and if your honour brings me safe to my own house I shall be for\never grateful to every goose and gander in the world as long as I live.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell then, get up on my back,\u201d said the bird, fluttering its wings\nwith a great clatter over Shaun; but he couldn\u2019t manage at all to get\non its back, so he caught hold of one leg, and he and the gander went\ndown and down till they came to the sea.\n\n\u201cNow let go,\u201d said the gander, \u201cand find your way home the best way you\ncan, for I have lost a great deal of time with you already, and must\nbe away;\u201d and he shook off Shaun-Mor, who dropped plump down into the\nsea, and when he was almost dead a great whale came sailing by, and\nflapped him all over with its fins. He knew no more till he opened his\neyes lying on the grass in his own field by a great stone, and his wife\nwas standing over him drenching him with a great pail of water, and\nflapping his face with her apron.\n\nAnd then he told his wife the whole story, which he said was true as\ngospel, but I don\u2019t think she believed a word of it, though she was\nafraid to let on the like to Shaun-Mor, who affirms to this day that it\nwas all the work of the fairies, though wicked people might laugh and\njeer and say he was drunk.\n\n\nTHE CAVE FAIRIES.\n\n\nTHE TUATHA-DE-DANANN.\n\n\nIt is believed by many people that the cave fairies are the remnant\nof the ancient Tuatha-de-Dananns who once ruled Ireland, but were\nconquered by the Milesians.\n\nThese Tuatha were great necromancers, skilled in all magic, and\nexcellent in all the arts as builders, poets, and musicians. At first\nthe Milesians were going to destroy them utterly, but gradually were\nso fascinated and captivated by the gifts and power of the Tuatha that\nthey allowed them to remain and to build forts, where they held high\nfestival with music and singing and the chant of the bards. And the\nbreed of horses they reared could not be surpassed in the world\u2014fleet\nas the wind, with the arched neck and the broad chest and the quivering\nnostril, and the large eye that showed they were made of fire and\nflame, and not of dull, heavy earth. And the Tuatha made stables for\nthem in the great caves of the hills, and they were shod with silver\nand had golden bridles, and never a slave was allowed to ride them.\nA splendid sight was the cavalcade of the Tuatha-de-Danann knights.\nSeven-score steeds, each with a jewel on his forehead like a star, and\nseven-score horsemen, all the sons of kings, in their green mantles\nfringed with gold, and golden helmets on their head, and golden greaves\non their limbs, and each knight having in his hand a golden spear.\n\nAnd so they lived for a hundred years and more, for by their\nenchantments they could resist the power of death.\n\n\nEDAIN THE QUEEN.\n\n\nNow it happened that the king of Munster one day saw a beautiful girl\nbathing, and he loved her and made her his queen. And in all the land\nwas no woman so lovely to look upon as the fair Edain, and the fame of\nher beauty came to the ears of the great and powerful chief and king of\nthe Tuatha-de-Danann, Midar by name. So he disguised himself and went\nto the court of the king of Munster, as a wandering bard, that he might\nlook on the beauty of Edain. And he challenged the king to a game of\nchess.\n\n\u201cWho is this man that I should play chess with him?\u201d said the king.\n\n\u201cTry me,\u201d said the stranger; \u201cyou will find me a worthy foe.\u201d\n\nThen the king said\u2014\u201cBut the chess-board is in the queen\u2019s apartment,\nand I cannot disturb her.\u201d\n\nHowever, when the queen heard that a stranger had challenged the king\nto chess, she sent her page in with the chess-board, and then came\nherself to greet the stranger. And Midar was so dazzled with her\nbeauty, that he could not speak, he could only gaze on her. And the\nqueen also seemed troubled, and after a time she left them alone.\n\n\u201cNow, what shall we play for?\u201d asked the king.\n\n\u201cLet the conqueror name the reward,\u201d answered the stranger, \u201cand\nwhatever he desires let it be granted to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgreed,\u201d replied the monarch.\n\nThen they played the game and the stranger won.\n\n\u201cWhat is your demand now?\u201d cried the king. \u201cI have given my word that\nwhatever you name shall be yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cI demand the Lady Edain, the queen, as my reward,\u201d replied the\nstranger. \u201cBut I shall not ask you to give her up to me till this day\nyear.\u201d And the stranger departed.\n\nNow the king was utterly perplexed and confounded, but he took good\nnote of the time, and on that night just a twelvemonth after, he made a\ngreat feast at Tara for all the princes, and he placed three lines of\nhis chosen warriors all round the palace, and forbade any stranger to\nenter on pain of death. So all being secure, as he thought, he took his\nplace at the feast with the beautiful Edain beside him, all glittering\nwith jewels and a golden crown on her head, and the revelry went on\ntill midnight. Just then, to his horror, the king looked up, and there\nstood the stranger in the middle of the hall, but no one seemed to\nperceive him save only the king, He fixed his eyes on the queen, and\ncoming towards her, he struck the golden harp he had in his hand and\nsang in a low sweet voice\u2014\n\n \u201cO Edain, wilt thou come with me\n To a wonderful palace that is mine?\n White are the teeth there, and black the brows,\n And crimson as the mead are the lips of the lovers.\n\n \u201cO woman, if thou comest to my proud people,\n \u2019Tis a golden crown shall circle thy head,\n Thou shalt dwell by the sweet streams of my land,\n And drink of the mead and wine in the arms of thy lover.\u201d\n\nThen he gently put his arm round the queen\u2019s waist, and drew her up\nfrom her royal throne, and went forth with her through the midst of\nall the guests, none hindering, and the king himself was like one\nin a dream, and could neither speak nor move. But when he recovered\nhimself, then he knew that the stranger was one of the fairy chiefs of\nthe Tuatha-de-Danann who had carried off the beautiful Edain to his\nfairy mansion. So he sent round messengers to all the kings of Erin\nthat they should destroy all the forts of the hated Tuatha race, and\nslay and kill and let none live till the queen, his young bride, was\nbrought back to him. Still she came not. Then the king out of revenge\nordered his men to block up all the stables where the royal horses of\nthe Dananns were kept, that so they might die of hunger; but the horses\nwere of noble blood, and no bars or bolts could hold them, and they\nbroke through the bars and rushed out like the whirlwind, and spread\nall over the country. And the kings, when they saw the beauty of the\nhorses, forgot all about the search for Queen Edain, and only strove\nhow they could seize and hold as their own some of the fiery steeds\nwith the silver hoofs and golden bridles. Then the king raged in his\nwrath, and sent for the chief of the Druids, and told him he should\nbe put to death unless he discovered the place where the queen lay\nhid. So the Druid went over all Ireland, and searched, and made spells\nwith oghams, and at last, having carved four oghams on four wands of a\nhazel-tree, it was revealed to him that deep down in a hill in the very\ncentre of Ireland, Queen Edain was hidden away in the enchanted palace\nof Midar the fairy chief.\n\nThen the king gathered a great army, and they circled the hill, and\ndug down and down till they came to the very centre; and just as\nthey reached the gate of the fairy palace, Midar by his enchantments\nsent forth fifty beautiful women from the hillside, to distract the\nattention of the warriors, all so like the queen in form and features\nand dress, that the king himself could not make out truly, if his own\nwife were amongst them or not. But Edain, when she saw her husband so\nnear her, was touched by love of him in her heart, and the power of\nthe enchantment fell from her soul, and she came to him, and he lifted\nher up on his horse and kissed her tenderly, and brought her back\nsafely to his royal palace of Tara, where they lived happily ever after.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut soon after the power of the Tuatha-de-Danann was broken for ever,\nand the remnant that was left took refuge in the caves where they exist\nto this day, and practise their magic, and work spells, and are safe\nfrom death until the judgment day.\n\n\nTHE ROYAL STEED.\n\n\nOf the great breed of splendid horses, some remained for several\ncenturies, and were at once known by their noble shape and qualities.\nThe last of them belonged to a great lord in Connaught, and when he\ndied, all his effects being sold by auction, the royal steed came to\nthe hammer, and was bought up by an emissary of the English Government,\nwho wanted to get possession of a specimen of the magnificent ancient\nIrish breed, in order to have it transported to England.\n\nBut when the groom attempted to mount the high-spirited animal, it\nreared, and threw the base-born churl violently to the ground, killing\nhim on the spot.\n\nThen, fleet as the wind, the horse galloped away, and finally plunged\ninto the lake and was seen no more. So ended the great race of the\nmighty Tuatha-de-Danann horses in Ireland, the like of which has never\nbeen seen since in all the world for majesty and beauty.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSometimes the cave fairies make a straight path in the sea from one\nisland to another, all paved with coral, under the water; but no\none can tread it except the fairy race. Fishermen coming home late\nat night, on looking down, have frequently seen them passing and\nre-passing\u2014a black band of little men with black dogs, who are very\nfierce if any one tries to touch them.\n\nThere was an old man named Con, who lived on an island all alone,\nexcept for a black dog who kept him company. Now all the people knew\nright well that he was a fairy king, and could walk the water at night\nlike the other fairies. So they feared him greatly, and brought him\npresents of cakes and fowls, for they were afraid of him and of his\nevil demon, the dog. For often, men coming home late have heard the\nsteps of this dog and his breathing quite close to them, though they\ncould not see him; and one man nearly died of fright, and was only\nsaved by the priest who came and prayed over him.\n\nBut the cave fairies can assume many forms.\n\nOne summer\u2019s evening, a young girl, the daughter of the man who owned\nthe farm, was milking the cows in the yard, when three beautiful\nladies, all in white, suddenly appeared, and asked her for a drink of\nmilk. Now the girl knew well that milk should not be given away without\nusing some precaution against fairy wiles, so she hesitated, fearing to\nbring ill-luck on the cows.\n\n\u201cIs that the way you treat us?\u201d said one of the ladies, and she slapped\nthe girl on the face.\n\n\u201cBut, you\u2019ll remember us,\u201d said the second lady, and she took hold of\nthe girl\u2019s thumb and twisted it out of joint.\n\n\u201cAnd your lover will be false to you,\u201d said the third, and with that\nshe turned the girl\u2019s mantle crooked, the back to the front.\n\nThen the first lady took a vessel and milked the cow, and they all\ndrank of the milk as much as they wanted; after which they turned to\nthe girl and bade her beware of again offending the spirits of the\ncave, for they were very powerful, and would not let her off so easily\nanother time.\n\nThe poor girl fainted from fright, and was found quite senseless when\nthey came to look for her; but the white ladies had disappeared. Though\nthe story must have been true, just as she told it when she came to her\nsenses, for not a drop of milk was left in the pail, nor could a drop\nmore be got from the cows all that evening.\n\n\nEVIL SPELLS.\n\n\nCATHAL THE KING.\n\n\nIt is said by the wise women and fairy doctors that the roots of the\nelder tree, and the roots of an apple tree that bears red apples, if\nboiled together and drunk fasting, will expel any evil living thing or\nevil spirit that may have taken up its abode in the body of a man.\n\nBut an evil charm to produce a living thing in the body can also be\nmade, by pronouncing a certain magic and wicked spell over the food or\ndrink taken by any person that an enemy wishes to injure.\n\nOne should therefore be very cautious in accepting anything to eat from\na person of known malicious tongue and spiteful heart, or who has an\nill will against you, for poison lies in their glance and in the touch\nof their hands; and an evil spell is in their very presence, and on all\nthey do, say, or touch.\n\nCathal, king of Munster, was the tallest and handsomest of all the\nkings of Erin, and he fell deeply in love with the beautiful sister\nof Fergus, king of Ulster; and the lovers were happy in their love\nand resolved on marriage. But Fergus, King of the North, had a mortal\nhatred to Cathal, King of the South, and wished, in secret, to prevent\nthe marriage. So he set a watch over his sister, and by this means\nfound out that she was sending a basket of the choicest apples to her\nlover, by the hands of a trusty messenger. On this Fergus managed to\nget hold of the basket of fruit from the messenger; and he changed them\nsecretly for another lot of apples, over which he worked an evil spell.\nFurnished with these the messenger set out for Cashel, and presented\nthem to Cathal the king, who, delighted at this proof of love from his\nprincess, began at once to eat the apples. But the more he ate, the\nmore he longed for them, for a wicked spell was on every apple. When\nhe had eaten them all up, he sent round the country for more, and ate,\nand ate, until there was not an apple left in Cashel, nor in all the\ncountry round.\n\nThen he bade his chieftains go forth and bring in food to appease his\nappetite; and he ate up all the cattle and the grain and the fruit, and\nstill cried for more; and had the houses searched for food to bring\nto him. So the people were in despair, for they had no more food, and\nstarvation was over the land.\n\nNow a great and wise man, the chief poet of his tribe, happened to be\ntravelling through Munster at that time, and hearing of the king\u2019s\nstate, he greatly desired to see him, for he knew there was devil\u2019s\nwork in the evil spell. So they brought him to the king, and many\nstrong invocations he uttered over him, and many powerful incantations,\nfor poets have a knowledge of mysteries above all other men; until\nfinally, after three days had passed, he announced to the lords and\nchiefs that on that night, when the moon rose, the spell would be\nbroken, and the king restored to his wonted health. So all the chiefs\ngathered round in the courtyard to watch; but no one was allowed to\nenter the room where the king lay, save only the poet. And he was to\ngive the signal when the hour had come and the spell was broken.\n\nSo as they watched, and just as the moon rose, a great cry was heard\nfrom the king\u2019s room, and the poet, flinging open the door, bade the\nchiefs enter; and there on the floor lay a huge dead wolf, who for\na whole year had taken up his abode in the king\u2019s body; but was now\nhappily cast forth by the strong incantations of the poet.\n\nAfter this the king fell into a deep sleep, and when he arose he was\nquite well, and strong again as ever, in all the pride of his youth and\nbeauty. At this the people rejoiced much, for he was greatly loved, and\nthe poet who had restored him was honoured above all men in the land;\nfor the king himself took off the golden torque from his own neck, and\nplaced it on that of the poet, and he set him at his right hand at the\nfeast.\n\nNow a strange thing happened just at this time; for Fergus, King\nof the North, fell ill, and wasted away to a shadow, and of all the\nbeautiful meats and wines they set before him he could taste nothing.\nSo he died before a year had passed by; and then Cathal the king wedded\nhis beloved princess, and they lived happily through many years.\n\n\nTHE POET\u2019S MALEDICTION.\n\n\nThe imprecations of the poets had often also a mysterious and fatal\neffect.\n\nKing Breas, the pagan monarch, was a fierce, cruel, and niggardly man,\nwho was therefore very unpopular with the people, who hate the cold\nheart and the grudging hand.\n\nAmongst others who suffered by the king\u2019s inhospitality, was the\nrenowned Carbury the poet, son of Eodain, the great poetess of the\nTuatha-de-Danann race; she who chanted the song of victory when her\npeople conquered the Firbolgs, on the plains of Moytura; and the stone\nthat she stood on, during the battle, in sight of all the warriors, is\nstill existing, and is pointed out as the stone of Eodain, the poetess,\nwith great reverence, even to this day.\n\nIt was her son, Carbury the poet, who was held in such high honour by\nthe nation, that King Breas invited him to his court, in order that he\nmight pronounce a powerful malediction over the enemy with whom he was\nthen at war.\n\nCarbury came on the royal summons, but in place of being treated with\nthe distinction due to his high rank, he was lodged and fed so meanly\nthat the soul of the poet raged with wrath; for the king gave him for\nlodgement only a small stone cell without fire or a bed; and for food\nhe had only three cakes of meal without any flesh meat or sauce, and\nno wine was given him, such wine as is fit to light up the poet\u2019s soul\nbefore the divine mystic spirit of song can awake in its power within\nhim. So very early the next morning, the poet rose up and departed,\nwith much rage in his heart. But as he passed the king\u2019s house he\nstopped, and in place of a blessing, pronounced a terrible malediction\nover Breas and his race, which can still be found in the ancient books\nof Ireland, commencing thus\u2014\n\n \u201cWithout fire, without bed, on the surface of the floor!\n Without meat, without fowl, on the surface of the dish.\n Three little dishes and no flesh thereon,\n A cell without bed, a dish without meat, a cup without wine,\n Are these fit offerings from a king to a poet?\n May the king and his race be three times accursed for ever and\n for ever!\u201d\n\nImmediately three large blisters rose on the king\u2019s forehead, and\nremained there as a sign and mark of the poet\u2019s vengeance.\n\nAnd from that day forth to his death, which happened not long after,\nthe reign of Breas was a time of sore trouble and disaster, for he\nwas three times defeated by his enemies, and from care and sorrow a\ngrievous disease fell on him; for though hungry he could not swallow\nany food; and though all the meat and wine of the best was set before\nhim, yet his throat seemed closed, and though raging with hunger yet\nnot a morsel could pass his lips; and so he died miserably, starved\nin the midst of plenty, and accursed in all things by the power and\nmalediction of the angry poet.\n\n\nDRIMIAL AGUS THORIAL.\n(A WICKED SPELL.)\n\n\nWhen a girl wishes to gain the love of a man, and to make him marry\nher, the dreadful spell is used called _Drimial Agus Thorial_. At\ndead of night, she and an accomplice go to a churchyard, exhume a\nnewly-buried corpse, and take a strip of the skin from the head to the\nheel. This is wound round the girl as a belt with a solemn invocation\nto the devil for his help.\n\nAfter she has worn it for a day and a night she watches her opportunity\nand ties it round the sleeping man whose love she desires; during which\nprocess the name of God must not be mentioned.\n\nWhen he awakes the man is bound by the spell; and is forced to marry\nthe cruel and evil harpy. It is said the children of such marriages\nbear a black mark round the wrist, and are known and shunned by the\npeople, who call them \u201csons of the devil.\u201d\n\n\nAN IRISH ADEPT OF THE ISLANDS.\n\n\nSome persons, even at the present day amongst the peasants, have\nstrange gifts and a knowledge of the hidden mysteries, but they can\nonly impart this knowledge when they know that death is on them, and\nthen it must be to a female, to an unmarried man, or to a childless\nwoman, for these are the most susceptible to the mysterious power by\nwhich miracles can be worked.\n\nA man now living at Innis-Sark has this strange and mystic gift. He\ncan heal diseases by a word, even at a distance, and his glance sees\ninto the very heart, and reads the secret thoughts of men. He never\ntouched beer, spirits, or meat, in all his life, but has lived entirely\non bread, fruit, and vegetables. A man who knew him thus describes\nhim\u2014\u201cWinter and summer his dress is the same, merely a flannel shirt\nand coat. He will pay his share at a feast, but neither eats nor drinks\nof the food and drink set before him. He speaks no English, and never\ncould be made to learn the English tongue, though he says it might be\nused with great effect to curse one\u2019s enemy. He holds a burial-ground\nsacred, and would not carry away so much as a leaf of ivy from a\ngrave. And he maintains that the people are right in keeping to their\nancient usages, such as never to dig a grave on a Monday; and to carry\nthe coffin three times round the grave, following the course of the\nsun, for then the dead rest in peace. Like the people, also, he holds\nsuicides as accursed; for they believe that all the dead who have been\nrecently buried turn over on their faces if a suicide is laid amongst\nthem.\n\n\u201cThough well off he never, even in his youth, thought of taking a wife,\nnor was he ever known to love a woman. He stands quite apart from life,\nand by this means holds his power over the mysteries. No money will\ntempt him to impart this knowledge to another, for if he did he would\nbe struck dead\u2014so he believes. He would not touch a hazel stick, but\ncarries an ash wand, which he holds in his hand when he prays, laid\nacross his knees, and the whole of his life is devoted to works of\ngrace and charity.\u201d\n\nThough now an old man he has never had a day\u2019s sickness. No one has\never seen him in a rage, nor heard an angry word from his lips but\nonce; and then being under great irritation, he recited the Lord\u2019s\nPrayer backwards, as an imprecation on his enemy. Before his death he\nwill reveal the mystery of his power, but not till the hand of death is\non him for certain.\n\n\nTHE MAY FESTIVAL.\n\n\nThere were four great festivals held in Ireland from the most ancient\npagan times, and these four sacred seasons were February, May,\nMidsummer, and November. May was the most memorable and auspicious of\nall; then the Druids lit the _Baal-Tinne_, the holy, goodly fire of\nBaal, the Sun-god, and they drove the cattle on a path made between two\nfires, and singed them with the flame of a lighted torch, and sometimes\nthey cut them to spill blood, and then burnt the blood as a sacred\noffering to the Sun-god.\n\nThe great feast of Bel, or the Sun, took place on May Eve; and that of\nSamhain, or the Moon, on November Eve; when libations were poured out\nto appease the evil spirits, and also the spirits of the dead, who come\nout of their graves on that night to visit their ancient homes.\n\nThe Ph\u0153nicians, it is known, adored the Supreme Being under the name of\nBel-Samen, and it is remarkable that the peasants in Ireland, wishing\nyou good luck, say in Irish, \u201cThe blessing of Bel, and the blessing of\nSamhain, be with you,\u201d that is, of the sun and of the moon.\n\nThese were the great festivals of the Druids, when all domestic fires\nwere extinguished, in order to be re-lit by the sacred fire taken from\nthe temples, for it was deemed sacrilege to have any fires kindled\nexcept from the holy altar flame.\n\nSt. Patrick, however, determined to break down the power of the Druids;\nand, therefore, in defiance of their laws, he had a great fire lit\non May Eve, when he celebrated the paschal mysteries; and henceforth\nEaster, or the Feast of the Resurrection, took the place of the Baal\nfestival.\n\nThe Baal fires were originally used for human sacrifices and\nburnt-offerings of the first-fruits of the cattle; but after\nChristianity was established the children and cattle were only passed\nbetween two fires for purification from sin, and as a safeguard against\nthe power of the devil.\n\nThe Persians also extinguished the domestic fires on the Baal festival,\nthe 21st of April, and were obliged to re-light them from the temple\nfires, for which the priests were paid a fee in silver money. A fire\nkindled by rubbing two pieces of wood together was also considered\nlucky by the Persians; then water was boiled over the flame, and\nafterwards sprinkled on the people and on the cattle. The ancient Irish\nritual resembles the Persian in every particular, and the Druids, no\ndoubt, held the traditional worship exactly as brought from the East,\nthe land of the sun and of tree worship and well worship.\n\nMay Day, called in Irish _L\u00e0-Beltaine_, the day of the Baal fires, was\nthe festival of greatest rejoicing held in Ireland. But the fairies\nhave great power at that season, and children and cattle, and the\nmilk and butter, must be well guarded from their influence. A spent\ncoal must be put under the churn, and another under the cradle; and\nprimroses must be scattered before the door, for the fairies cannot\npass the flowers. Children that die in April are supposed to be carried\noff by the fairies, who are then always on the watch to abduct whatever\nis young and beautiful for their fairy homes.\n\nSometimes on the 1st of May, a sacred heifer, snow white, appeared\namongst the cattle; and this was considered to bring the highest good\nluck to the farmer. An old Irish song that alludes to the heifer, may\nbe translated thus\u2014\n\n \u201cThere is a cow on the mountain,\n A fair white cow;\n She goes East and she goes West,\n And my senses have gone for love of her;\n She goes with the sun and he forgets to burn,\n And the moon turns her face with love to her,\n My fair white cow of the mountain.\u201d\n\nThe fairies are in the best of humours upon May Eve, and the music of\nthe fairy pipes may be heard all through the night, while the fairy\nfolk are dancing upon the rath. It is then they carry off the young\npeople to join their revels; and if a girl has once danced to the fairy\nmusic, she will move ever after with such fascinating grace, that it\nhas passed into a proverb to say of a good dancer, \u201cShe has danced to\nfairy music on the hill.\u201d\n\nAt the great long dance held in old times on May Day, all the people\nheld hands and danced round a great May-bush erected on a mound. The\ncircle sometimes extended for a mile, the girls wearing garlands, and\nthe young men carrying wands of green boughs, while the elder people\nsat round on the grass as spectators, and applauded the ceremony. The\ntallest and strongest young men in the county stood in the centre and\ndirected the movements, while the pipers and harpers, wearing green and\ngold sashes, played the most spirited dance tunes.\n\nThe oldest worship of the world was of the sun and moon, of trees,\nwells, and the serpent that gave wisdom. Trees were the symbol of\nknowledge, and the dance round the May-bush is part of the ancient\nophite ritual. The Baila also, or waltz, is associated with Baal\nworship, where the two circling motions are combined; the revolution of\nthe planet on its own axis, and also round the sun.\n\nIn Italy, this ancient festival, called _Calendi Maggio_, is celebrated\nin the rural districts much in the Irish way. Dante fell in love at the\ngreat May Day festival, held in the Portinari Palace. The Sclavonic\nnations likewise light sacred fires, and dance round a tree hung with\ngarlands on May Day. This reverence for the tree is one of the oldest\nsuperstitions of humanity and the most universal, and the fires are a\nrelic of the old pagan worship paid to the Grynian Apollo\u2014fire above\nall things being held sacred by the Irish as a safeguard from evil\nspirits. It is a saying amongst them, \u201cFire and salt are the two most\nsacred things given to man, and if you give them away on May Day, you\ngive away your luck for the year.\u201d Therefore no one will allow milk, or\nfire, or salt, to be carried away from the house on that day; and if\npeople came in and asked for a lighted sod, they would be driven away\nwith curses, for their purpose was evil.\n\nThe witches, however, make great efforts to steal the milk on May\nmorning, and if they succeed, the luck passes from the family, and the\nmilk and butter for the whole year will belong to the fairies. The best\npreventative is to scatter primroses on the threshold; and the old\nwomen tie bunches of primroses to the cows\u2019 tails, for the evil spirits\ncannot touch anything guarded by these flowers, if they are plucked\nbefore sunrise, not else. A piece of iron, also, made red hot, is\nplaced upon the hearth; any old iron will do, the older the better, and\nbranches of whitethorn and mountain ash are wreathed round the doorway\nfor luck. The mountain ash has very great and mysterious qualities. If\na branch of it be woven into the roof, that house is safe from fire\nfor a year at least, and if a branch of it is mixed with the timber\nof a boat, no storm will upset it, and no man in it will be drowned\nfor a twelvemonth certain. To save milk from witchcraft, the people on\nMay morning cut and peel some branches of the mountain ash, and bind\nthe twigs round the milk pails and the churn. No witch or fairy will\nthen be able to steal the milk or butter. But all this must be done\n_before sunrise_. However, should butter be missed, follow the cow to\nthe field, and gather the clay her hoof has touched; then, on returning\nhome, place it under the churn with a live coal and a handful of salt,\nand your butter is safe from man or woman, fairy or fiend, for that\nyear. There are other methods also to preserve a good supply of butter\nin the churn; a horse-shoe tied on it; a rusty nail from a coffin\ndriven into the side; a cross made of the leaves of veronica placed at\nthe bottom of the milk pail; but the mountain ash is the best of all\nsafeguards against witchcraft and devil\u2019s magic. Without some of these\nprecautions the fairies will certainly overlook the churn, and the milk\nand butter, in consequence, will fail all through the year, and the\nfarmer suffer great loss. Herbs gathered on May Eve have a mystical and\nstrong virtue for curing disease; and powerful potions are made then by\nthe skilful herb women and fairy doctors, which no sickness can resist,\nchiefly of the yarrow, called in Irish \u201cthe herb of seven needs\u201d or\ncures, from its many and great virtues. Divination is also practised to\na great extent by means of the yarrow. The girls dance round it singing\u2014\n\n \u201cYarrow, yarrow, yarrow,\n I bid thee good morrow,\n And tell me before to-morrow\n Who my true love shall be.\u201d\n\nThe herb is then placed under the head at night, and in dreams the\ntrue lover will appear. Another mode of divination for the future fate\nin life is by snails. The young girls go out early before sunrise\nto trace the path of the snails in the clay, for always a letter is\nmarked, and this is the initial of the true lover\u2019s name. A black snail\nis very unlucky to meet first in the morning, for his trail would read\n_death_; but a white snail brings good fortune. A white lamb on the\nright hand is also good; but the cuckoo is ominous of evil. Of old the\nyear began with the 1st of May, and an ancient Irish rhyme says\u2014\n\n \u201cA white lamb on my right side,\n So will good come to me;\n But not the little false cuckoo\n On the first day of the year.\u201d\n\nProphecies were also made from the way the wind blew on May mornings.\nIn \u201998 an old man, who was drawing near to his end and like to die,\ninquired from those around him\u2014\n\n\u201cWhere did you leave the wind last night?\u201d (May Eve.)\n\nThey told him it came from the north.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d he said, \u201cthe country is lost to the Clan Gael; our enemies\nwill triumph. Had it been from the south, we should have had the\nvictory; but now the Sassenach will trample us to dust.\u201d And he fell\nback and died.\n\nAshes are often sprinkled on the threshold on May Eve; and if the print\nof a foot is found in the morning, turned inward, it betokens marriage;\nbut if turned outward, death. On May Eve the fairy music is heard on\nall the hills, and many beautiful tunes have been caught up in this way\nby the people and the native musicians.\n\nAbout a hundred years ago a celebrated tune, called _Moraleana_, was\nlearnt by a piper as he traversed the hills one evening; and he played\nit perfectly, note by note, as he heard it from the fairy pipes; on\nwhich a voice spoke to him and said that he would be allowed to play\nthe tune _three times_ in his life before all the people, but never a\nfourth, or a doom would fall on him. However, one day he had a great\ncontest for supremacy with another piper, and at last, to make sure\nof victory, he played the wonderful fairy melody; when all the people\napplauded and declared he had won the prize by reason of its beauty,\nand that no music could equal his. So they crowned him with the\ngarland; but at that moment he turned deadly pale, the pipes dropped\nfrom his hand, and he fell lifeless to the ground. For nothing escapes\nthe fairies; they know all things, and their vengeance is swift and\nsure.\n\nIt is very dangerous to sleep out in the open air in the month of May,\nfor the fairies are very powerful then, and on the watch to carry off\nthe handsome girls for fairy brides, and the young mothers as nurses\nfor the fairy babies; while the young men are selected as husbands for\nthe beautiful fairy princesses.\n\nA young man died suddenly on May Eve while he was lying asleep under\na hay-rick, and the parents and friends knew immediately that he had\nbeen carried off to the fairy palace in the great moat of Granard. So a\nrenowned fairy man was sent for, who promised to have him back in nine\ndays. Meanwhile he desired that food and drink of the best should be\nleft daily for the young man at a certain place on the moat. This was\ndone, and the food always disappeared, by which they knew the young man\nwas living, and came out of the moat nightly for the provisions left\nfor him by his people.\n\nNow on the ninth day a great crowd assembled to see the young man\nbrought back from Fairyland. And in the midst stood the fairy doctor\nperforming his incantations by means of fire and a powder which he\nthrew into the flames that caused a dense grey smoke to arise. Then,\ntaking off his hat, and holding a key in his hand, he called out three\ntimes in a loud voice, \u201cCome forth, come forth, come forth!\u201d On which a\nshrouded figure slowly rose up in the midst of the smoke, and a voice\nwas heard answering, \u201cLeave me in peace; I am happy with my fairy\nbride, and my parents need not weep for me, for I shall bring them good\nluck, and guard them from evil evermore.\u201d\n\nThen the figure vanished and the smoke cleared, and the parents were\ncontent, for they believed the vision, and having loaded the fairy-man\nwith presents, they sent him away home.\n\n\nMAY-DAY SUPERSTITIONS.\n\n\nThe marsh marigold is considered of great use in divination, and is\ncalled \u201cthe shrub of Beltaine.\u201d Garlands are made of it for the cattle\nand the door-posts to keep off the fairy power. Milk also is poured\non the threshold, though none would be given away; nor fire, nor\nsalt\u2014these three things being sacred. There are many superstitions\nconcerning May-time. It is not safe to go on the water the first Monday\nin May. Hares found on May morning are supposed to be witches, and\nshould be stoned.\n\nIf the fire goes out on May morning it is considered very unlucky,\nand it cannot be re-kindled except by a lighted sod brought from the\npriest\u2019s house. And the ashes of this blessed turf are afterwards\nsprinkled on the floor and the threshold of the house. Neither fire,\nnor water, nor milk, nor salt should be given away for love or money,\nand if a wayfarer is given a cup of milk, he must drink it in the\nhouse, and salt must be mixed with it. Salt and water as a drink is at\nall times considered a potent charm against evil, if properly prepared\nby a fairy doctor and the magic words said over it.\n\nOne day in May a young girl lay down to rest at noontide on a fairy\nrath and fell asleep\u2014a thing of great danger, for the fairies are\nstrong in power during the May month, and are particularly on the watch\nfor a mortal bride to carry away to the fairy mansions, for they love\nthe sight of human beauty. So they spirited away the young sleeping\ngirl, and only left a shadowy resemblance of her lying on the rath.\nEvening came on, and as the young girl had not returned, her mother\nsent out messengers in all directions to look for her. At last she was\nfound on the fairy rath, lying quite unconscious, like one dead.\n\nThey carried her home and laid her on her bed, but she neither spoke\nnor moved. So three days passed over. Then they thought it right to\nsend for the fairy doctor. At once he said that she was fairy struck,\nand he gave them a salve made of herbs to anoint her hands and her\nbrow every morning at sunrise, and every night when the moon rose; and\nsalt was sprinkled on the threshold and round her bed where she lay\nsleeping. This was done for six days and six nights, and then the girl\nrose up suddenly and asked for food. They gave her to eat, but asked\nno questions, only watched her that she should not quit the house. And\nthen she fixed her eyes on them steadily and said\u2014\n\n\u201cWhy did you bring me back? I was so happy. I was in a beautiful palace\nwhere lovely ladies and young princes were dancing to the sweetest\nmusic; and they made me dance with them, and threw a mantle over me of\nrich gold; and now it is all gone, and you have brought me back, and I\nshall never, never see the beautiful palace more.\u201d\n\nThen the mother wept and said\u2014\n\n\u201cOh, child, stay with me, for I have no other daughter, and if the\nfairies take you from me I shall die.\u201d\n\nWhen the girl heard this, she fell on her mother\u2019s neck and kissed her,\nand promised that she would never again go near the fairy rath while\nshe lived, for the fairy doctor told her that if ever she lay down\nthere again and slept, she would never return alive to her home any\nmore.\n\n\nFESTIVALS.\n\n\nCANDLEMAS.\n\n\nCandlemas day, the 2nd of February, used to be held in the old pagan\ntimes as a kind of saturnalia, with dances and torches and many unholy\nrites. But these gave occasion to so much ill conduct that in the ninth\ncentury the Pope abolished the festival, and substituted for it the\nFeast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin, when candles were lit\nin her honour. Hence the name of Candlemas.\n\n\nWHITSUNTIDE.\n\n\nWhitsuntide is a very fatal and unlucky time. Especially beware of\nwater then, for there is an evil spirit in it, and no one should\nventure to bathe, nor to sail in a boat for fear of being drowned; nor\nto go a journey where water has to be crossed. And everything in the\nhouse must be sprinkled with holy water at Whitsuntide to keep away the\nfairies, who at that season are very active and malicious, and bewitch\nthe cattle, and carry off the young children, and come up from the sea\nto hold strange midnight revels, when they kill with their fairy darts\nthe unhappy mortal who crosses their path and pries at their mysteries.\n\n\nWHITSUNTIDE LEGEND OF THE FAIRY HORSES.\n\n\nThere was a widow woman with one son, who had a nice farm of her own\nclose to a lake, and she took great pains in the cultivation of the\nland, and her corn was the best in the whole country. But when nearly\nripe, and just fit for cutting, she found to her dismay that every\nnight it was trampled down and cruelly damaged; yet no one could tell\nby what means it was done.\n\nSo she set her son to watch. And at midnight he heard a great noise and\na rushing of waves on the beach, and up out of the lake came a great\ntroop of horses, who began to graze the corn and trample it down madly\nwith their hoofs.\n\nWhen he told all this to his mother she bade him watch the next night\nalso, but to take several of the men with him furnished with bridles,\nand when the horses rose from the lake they were to fling the bridles\nover as many as they could catch.\n\nNow at midnight there was the same noise heard again, and the rush of\nthe waves, and in an instant all the field was filled with the fairy\nhorses, grazing the corn and trampling it down. The men pursued them,\nbut only succeeded in capturing one, and he was the noblest of the lot.\nThe rest all plunged back into the lake. However, the men brought home\nthe captured horse to the widow, and he was put in the stable and grew\nbig and strong, and never another horse came up out of the lake, nor\nwas the corn touched after that night of his capture. But when a year\nhad passed by the widow said it was a shame to keep so fine a horse\nidle, and she bade the young man, her son, take him out to the hunt\nthat was held that day by all the great gentry of the country, for it\nwas Whitsuntide.\n\nAnd, in truth, the horse carried him splendidly at the hunt, and every\none admired both the fine young rider and his steed. But as he was\nreturning home, when they came within sight of the lake from which the\nfairy steed had risen, he began to plunge violently, and finally threw\nhis rider. And the young man\u2019s foot being unfortunately caught in the\nstirrup, he was dragged along till he was torn limb from limb, while\nthe horse still continued galloping on madly to the water, leaving some\nfragment of the unhappy lad after him on the road, till they reached\nthe margin of the lake, when the horse shook off the last limb of the\ndead youth from him, and plunging into the waves disappeared from sight.\n\nThe people reverently gathered up the remains of the dead, and erected\na monument of stones over the lad in a field by the edge of the lake;\nand every one that passes by still lays a stone and says a prayer that\nthe spirit of the dead may rest in peace.\n\nThe phantom horses were never seen again, but the lake has an evil\nreputation even to this day amongst the people; and no one would\nventure a boat on it after sundown at Whitsuntide, or during the time\nof the ripening of the corn, or when the harvest is ready for the\nsickle, for strange sounds are heard at night, like the wild galloping\nof a horse across the meadow, along with the cries as of a man in his\ndeath agony.\n\n\nNOVEMBER SPELLS.\n\n\nThe ancient Irish divided the year into summer and winter\u2014_Samrath_\nand _Gheimrath_; the former beginning in May, the latter in November,\ncalled also _Sam-fuim_ (summer end). At this season, when the sun\ndies, the powers of darkness exercise great and evil influence over\nall things. The witch-women say they can then ride at night through\nthe air with Diana of the Ephesians, and Herodias, and others leagued\nwith the devil; and change men to beasts; and ride with the dead and\ncover leagues of ground on swift spirit-horses. Also on November Eve,\nby certain incantations, the dead can be made to appear and answer\nquestions; but for this purpose blood must be sprinkled on the dead\nbody when it rises; for it is said the spirits love blood. The colour\nexcites them and gives them for the time the power and the semblance of\nlife.\n\nDivination by fire, by earth, and by water, is also largely practised;\nbut, as an ancient writer has observed, \u201cAll such divinations are\naccursed, for they are worked by the power of the fallen angels,\nwho give knowledge only through malice, and to bring evil on the\nquestioner. Neither should times and seasons be held lucky or unlucky,\nnor the course of the moon, nor the death of the sun, nor the so-called\nEgyptian days; for all things are blessed to a Christian. And this is\nthe doctrine of the Holy Church, which all men should take to heart....\nBut a prayer to God, written fine, may be worn tyed round the neck, for\nthis is done in a holy spirit, and is not against the ordinances of the\nChurch.\u201d\n\nThe scapular here alluded to is a piece of cloth on which the name\nof Mary is written on one side and I.H.S. on the other. It preserves\nagainst evil spirits, and is a passport to heaven, and ensures against\nthe pains of hell; for the Blessed Virgin takes the wearer under her\nespecial care. It is placed in a little silk bag and worn tied round\nthe neck, and is left upon the dead in their coffin for the angels to\nsee at the resurrection. The scapular is never given to an evil liver,\nso it is a sign both of a pious life here and a blessed life hereafter.\n\n\nNOVEMBER EVE.\n\n\nAll the spells worked on November Eve are performed in the name of the\ndevil, who is then forced to reveal the future fate of the questioner.\nThe most usual spell is to wash a garment in a running brook, then\nhang it on a thorn bush, and wait to see the apparition of the lover,\nwho will come to turn it. But the tricks played on this night by young\npersons on each other have often most disastrous consequences. One\nyoung girl fell dead with fright when an apparition really came and\nturned the garment she had hung on the bush. And a lady narrates that\non the 1st of November her servant rushed into the room and fainted on\nthe floor. On recovering, she said that she had played a trick that\nnight in the name of the devil before the looking-glass; but what she\nhad seen she dared not speak of, though the remembrance of it would\nnever leave her brain, and she knew the shock would kill her. They\ntried to laugh her out of her fears, but the next night she was found\nquite dead, with her features horribly contorted, lying on the floor\nbefore the looking-glass, which was shivered to pieces.\n\nAnother spell is the building of the house. Twelve couples are taken,\neach being made of two holly twigs tied together with a hempen thread;\nthese are all named and stuck round in a circle in the clay. A live\ncoal is then placed in the centre, and whichever couple catches fire\nfirst will assuredly be married. Then the future husband is invoked in\nthe name of the Evil One to appear and quench the flame.\n\nOn one occasion a dead man in his shroud answered the call, and\nsilently drew away the girl from the rest of the party. The fright\nturned her brain, and she never recovered her reason afterwards. The\nhorror of that apparition haunted her for ever, especially as on\nNovember Eve it is believed firmly that the dead really leave their\ngraves and have power to appear amongst the living.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA young girl in a farmer\u2019s service was in the loft one night looking\nfor eggs when two men came into the stable underneath, and through a\nchink in the boards she could see them quite well and hear all they\nsaid. To her horror she found that they were planning the murder of a\nman in the neighbourhood who was suspected of being an informer, and\nthey settled how they would get rid of the body by throwing it into\nthe Shannon. She crept home half dead with fright, but did not venture\nto tell any one what she had heard. Next day, however, the news spread\nthat the man was missing, and it was feared he was murdered. Still\nthe girl was afraid to reveal what she knew, though the ghost of the\nmurdered man seemed for ever before her. Finally she could bear the\nplace no longer, and, giving up her situation, she went to another\nvillage some miles off and took service. But on November Eve, as she\nwas washing clothes in the Shannon, the dead body of the murdered man\narose from the water and floated towards her, until it lay quite close\nto her feet. Then she knew the hand of God was in it, and that the\nspirit of the dead would not rest till he was avenged. So she went and\ngave information, and on her evidence the two murderers were convicted\nand executed.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf the cattle fall sick at this season, it is supposed that some old\nfairy man or woman is lying hid about the place to spy out the doings\nof the family and work some evil spells.\n\nA farmer had a splendid cow, the pride of his farm, but suddenly it\nseemed ailing and gave no milk, though every morning it went and\nstood quite patiently under an old hawthorn-tree as if some one were\nmilking her. So the man watched the time, and presently the cow came\nof herself and stood under the hawthorn, when a little old wizened\nwoman came forth from the trunk of the tree, milked the cow, and then\nretreated into the tree again. On this the farmer sent at once for a\nfairy doctor, who exorcised the cow and gave it a strong potion, after\nwhich the spell was broken and the cow was restored to its usual good\ncondition and gave the milk as heretofore.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe fairies also exercise a malign influence by making a path through\na house, when all the children begin to pine and a blight falls on the\nfamily.\n\nA farmer who had lost one son by heart disease (always a mysterious\nmalady to the peasants) and another by gradual decay, consulted a wise\nfairy woman as to what should be done, for his wife also had become\ndelicate and weak. The woman told him that on November Eve the fairies\nhad made a road through the house, and were going back and forward ever\nsince, and whatever they looked upon was doomed. The only remedy was to\nbuild up the old door and open another entrance. This the man did, and\nwhen the witch-women came as usual in the morning to beg for water or\nmilk or meal they found no door, and were obliged to turn back. After\nthis the spell was taken off the household, and they all prospered\nwithout fear of the fairies.\n\n\nA TERRIBLE REVENGE.\n\n\nThe fairies often take a terrible revenge if they are ever slighted\nor offended. A whole family once came under their ban because a fairy\nwoman had been refused admittance into the house. The eldest boy lost\nhis sight for some time, and though he recovered the use of his eyes\nyet they always had a strange expression, as if he saw some terrible\nobject in the distance that scared him. And at last the neighbours grew\nafraid of the family, for they brought ill-luck wherever they went, and\nnothing prospered that they touched.\n\nThere were six children, all wizened little creatures with withered\nold faces and thin crooked fingers. Every one knew they were fairy\nchangelings, and the smith wanted to put them on the anvil, and the\nwise women said they should be passed through the fire; but destiny\nsettled the future for them, for one after another they all pined\naway and died, and the ban of the fairies was never lifted from the\nill-fated house till the whole family lay in the grave.\n\n\nMIDSUMMER.\n\n\nTHE BAAL FIRES AND DANCES.\n\n\nThis season is still made memorable in Ireland by lighting fires on\nevery hill, according to the ancient pagan usage, when the Baal fires\nwere kindled as part of the ritual of sun-worship, though now they are\nlit in honour of St. John. The great bonfire of the year is still made\non St. John\u2019s Eve, when all the people dance round it, and every young\nman takes a lighted brand from the pile to bring home with him for good\nluck to the house.\n\nIn ancient times the sacred fire was lighted with great ceremony on\nMidsummer Eve; and on that night all the people of the adjacent country\nkept fixed watch on the western promontory of Howth, and the moment the\nfirst flash was seen from that spot the fact of ignition was announced\nwith wild cries and cheers repeated from village to village, when all\nthe local fires began to blaze, and Ireland was circled by a cordon of\nflame rising up from every hill. Then the dance and song began round\nevery fire, and the wild hurrahs filled the air with the most frantic\nrevelry.\n\nMany of these ancient customs are still continued, and the fires are\nstill lighted on St. John\u2019s Eve on every hill in Ireland. When the fire\nhas burned down to a red glow the young men strip to the waist and leap\nover or through the flames; this is done backwards and forwards several\ntimes, and he who braves the greatest blaze is considered the victor\nover the powers of evil, and is greeted with tremendous applause. When\nthe fire burns still lower, the young girls leap the flame, and those\nwho leap clean over three times back and forward will be certain of\na speedy marriage and good luck in after life, with many children.\nThe married women then walk through the lines of the burning embers;\nand when the fire is nearly burnt and trampled down, the yearling\ncattle are driven through the hot ashes, and their back is singed with\na lighted hazel twig. These hazel rods are kept safely afterwards,\nbeing considered of immense power to drive the cattle to and from the\nwatering places. As the fire diminishes the shouting grows fainter,\nand the song and the dance commence; while professional story-tellers\nnarrate tales of fairy-land, or of the good old times long ago, when\nthe kings and princes of Ireland dwelt amongst their own people, and\nthere was food to eat and wine to drink for all comers to the feast at\nthe king\u2019s house. When the crowd at length separate, every one carries\nhome a brand from the fire, and great virtue is attached to the lighted\n_brone_ which is safely carried to the house without breaking or\nfalling to the ground. Many contests also arise amongst the young men;\nfor whoever enters his house first with the sacred fire brings the good\nluck of the year with him.\n\nOn the first Sunday in Midsummer all the young people used to stand in\nlines after leaving chapel, to be hired for service\u2014the girls holding\nwhite hands, the young men each with an emblem of his trade. The\nevening ended with a dance and the revelry was kept up until the dawn\nof the next day, called \u201cSorrowful Monday,\u201d because of the end of the\npleasure and the frolic.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY DOCTRESS.\n\n\nBut all this time the fairies were not idle; for it was at this very\nseason of dances and festivals, when the mortals around them were\nhappiest, that Finvarra the king and his chosen band were on the watch\nto carry off the prettiest girls to the fairy mansions.\n\nThere they kept them for seven years, and at the end of that time,\nwhen they grew old and ugly, they were sent back, for the fairies love\nnothing so much as youth and beauty. But as a compensation for the\nslight put on them, the women were taught all the fairy secrets and the\nmagical mystery that lies in herbs, and the strange power they have\nover diseases. So by this means the women became all-powerful, and by\ntheir charms or spells or potions could kill or save as they chose.\n\nThere was a woman of the islands greatly feared, yet respected by\nthe people for her knowledge of herbs, which gave her power over all\ndiseases. But she never revealed the nature of the herb, and always\ngathered the leaves herself at night and hid them under the eaves of\nthe house. And if the person who carried the herb home let it fall to\nthe ground by the way, it lost its power; or if they talked of it or\nshowed it to any one, all the virtue went out of it. It was to be used\nsecretly and alone, and then the cure would be perfected without fail.\n\nOne time, a man who was told of this came over from the mainland in a\nboat with two other men to see the fairy woman; for he was lame from a\nfall and could do no work.\n\nNow the woman knew they were coming, for she had a knowledge of all\nthings through the power of divination she had learned from the\nfairies, and could see and hear though no man told her. So she went out\nand prepared the herb, and made a salve and brewed a potion, and had\nall ready for the man and his friends.\n\nWhen they appeared she stood at the door and cried, \u201cEnter! This is the\nlucky day and hour; have no fear, for you will be cured by the power\nthat is in me, and by the herb I give you.\u201d\n\nThen the man bowed down before her, and said, \u201cOh, mother, this is my\ncase.\u201d And he told her, that being out one day on the mountains, he\nslipped and fell on his face. A mere slight fall, but when he rose up\nhis leg was powerless though no bone seemed broken.\n\n\u201cI know how it happened,\u201d she said. \u201cYou trod upon a fairy herb under\nwhich the fairies were resting, and you disturbed them and broke in the\ntop of their dwelling, so they were angry and struck you on the leg and\nlamed you out of spite. But my power is greater than theirs. Do as I\ntell you and you will soon be cured.\u201d\n\nSo she gave him the salve and the bottle of potion, and bade him take\nit home carefully and use it in silence and alone, and in three days\nthe power of the limb would come back to him.\n\nThen the man offered her silver; but she refused.\n\n\u201cI do not sell my knowledge,\u201d she said, \u201cI give it. And so the strength\nand the power remain with me.\u201d\n\nOn this the men went their way. But after three days a message came\nfrom the man to say that he was cured. And he sent the wise woman a\nhandsome present also; for a gift works no evil, though to sell the\nsacred power and mysteries of knowledge for money would be fatal; for\nthen the spirit of healing that dwelt in the woman would have fled away\nand returned no more.\n\n\nMARRIAGE RITES.\n\n\nIn old times in Ireland it was thought right and proper to seem to use\nforce in carrying off the bride to her husband. She was placed on a\nswift horse before the bridegroom, while all her kindred started in\npursuit with shouts and cries. Twelve maidens attended the bride, and\neach was placed on horseback behind the young men who rode after the\nbridal pair. On arriving at her future home, the bride was met on the\nthreshold by the bridegroom\u2019s mother, who broke an oaten cake over her\nhead as a good augury of plenty in the future. In the mountains where\nhorses cannot travel, the bridal party walk in procession; the young\nmen carrying torches of dried bogwood to light the bride over the\nravines, for in winter the mountain streams are rapid and dangerous to\ncross.\n\nThe Celtic ceremonial of marriage resembles the ancient Greek ritual\nin many points. A traveller in Ireland some fifty years ago, before\npolitics had quite killed romance and ancient tradition in the hearts\nof the people, thus describes a rustic marriage festival which he came\non by chance one evening in the wilds of Kerry:\u2014\n\nA large hawthorn tree that stood in the middle of a field near a\nstream was hung all over with bits of coloured stuff, while lighted\nrush candles were placed here and there amongst the branches, to\nsymbolize, no doubt, the new life of brightness preparing for the\nbridal pair. Then came a procession of boys marching slowly with flutes\nand pipes made of hollow reeds, and one struck a tin can with a stick\nat intervals, with a strong rhythmical cadence. This represented the\nplectrum. Others rattled slates and bones between their fingers, and\nbeat time, after the manner of the Crotolistrai\u2014a rude attempt at\nmusic, which appears amongst all nations of the earth, even the most\nsavage. A boy followed, bearing a lighted torch of bogwood. Evidently\nhe was Hymen, and the flame of love was his cognizance. After him came\nthe betrothed pair hand-in-hand, a large square canopy of black stuff\nbeing held over their heads; the emblem, of course, of the mystery of\nlove, shrouded and veiled from the prying light of day.\n\nBehind the pair followed two attendants bearing high over the heads of\nthe young couple a sieve filled with meal; a sign of the plenty that\nwould be in their house, and an omen of good luck and the blessing of\nchildren.\n\nA wild chorus of dancers and singers closed the procession; the chorus\nof the epithalamium, and grotesque figures, probably the traditional\nfauns and satyrs, nymphs and bacchanals, mingled together with mad\nlaughter and shouts and waving of green branches.\n\nThe procession then moved on to a bonfire, evidently the ancient altar;\nand having gone round it three times, the black shroud was lifted from\nthe bridal pair, and they kissed each other before all the people, who\nshouted and waved their branches in approval.\n\nThen the preparations for the marriage supper began, on which, however,\nthe traveller left them, having laid some money on the altar as an\noffering of good-will for the marriage future. At the wedding supper\nthere was always plenty of eating and drinking, and dancing and the\nfeast were prolonged till near morning, when the wedding song was sung\nby the whole party of friends standing, while the bride and bridegroom\nremained seated at the head of the table. The chorus of one of these\nancient songs may be thus literally translated from the Irish\u2014\n\n \u201cIt is not day, nor yet day,\n It is not day, nor yet morning;\n It is not day, nor yet day,\n For the moon is shining brightly.\u201d\n\nAnother marriage song was sung in Irish frequently, each verse ending\nwith the lines\u2014\n\n \u201cThere is sweet enchanting music, and the golden harps are ringing;\n And twelve comely maidens deck the bride-bed for the bride.\u201d\n\nA beautiful new dress was presented to the bride by her husband at the\nmarriage feast; at which also the father paid down her dowry before the\nassembled guests; and all the place round the house was lit by torches\nwhen night came on, and the song and the dance continued till daylight,\nwith much speech-making and drinking of poteen. All fighting was\nsteadily avoided at a wedding; for a quarrel would be considered a most\nunlucky omen. A wet day was also held to be very unlucky, as the bride\nwould assuredly weep for sorrow throughout the year. But the bright\nwarm sunshine was hailed joyfully, according to the old saying\u2014\n\n \u201cHappy is the bride that the sun shines on;\n But blessed is the corpse that the rain rains on.\u201d\n\n\nTHE DEAD.\n\n\nThere are many strange superstitions concerning the dead. The people\nseem to believe in their actual presence, though unseen, and to have a\ngreat fear and dread of their fatal and mysterious power.\n\nIf a person of doubtful character dies, too bad for heaven, too good\nfor hell, they imagine that his soul is sent back to earth, and obliged\nto obey the order of some person who bids him remain in a particular\nplace until the Day of Judgment, or until another soul is found willing\nto meet him there, and then they may both pass into heaven together,\nabsolved.\n\nAn incident is related that happened in the County Galway, concerning\nthis superstition.\n\nA gentleman of rank and fortune, but of a free and dissipated life,\nbecame the lover of a pretty girl, one of the tenant\u2019s daughters. And\nthe girl was so devoted to him that perhaps he might have married her\nat last; but he was killed suddenly, when out hunting, by a fall from\nhis horse.\n\nSome time after, the girl, coming home late one evening, met the ghost\nof her lover, at a very lonesome part of the road. The form was the\nsame as when living, but it had no eyes. The girl crossed herself, on\nwhich the ghost disappeared.\n\nAgain she met the same apparition at night, and a third time, when the\nghost stood right before her in the path, so that she could not pass.\nThen she spoke, and asked in the name of God and the good angels, why\nhe appeared to her; and he answered, that he could not rest in his\ngrave till he had received some command from her, which he was bound to\nobey.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d she said, \u201cgo stand by the gate of heaven till the Judgment\nDay, and look in at the blessed dead on their thrones, but you may not\nenter. This is my judgment on your soul.\u201d\n\nOn this the ghost sighed deeply and vanished, and was seen no more.\nBut the girl prayed earnestly that she soon might meet her lover at\nthe gate of heaven, whither she had sent him, that so both might enter\ntogether into the blessed land. And thus it happened; for by that day\nyear she was carried to her grave in the churchyard, but her soul went\nforth to meet her lover, where he waited for her by the gate of heaven;\nand through her love he was absolved, and permitted to enter within the\ngate before the Judgment Day.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt was considered disrespectful to the dead to take a short cut when\ncarrying the coffin to the grave.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn the Islands, when a person is dying, they place twelve lighted\nrushes round the bed. This, they say, is to prevent the devil coming\nfor the soul; for nothing evil can pass a circle of fire. They also\nforbid crying for the dead until three hours have passed by, lest the\nwail of the mourners should waken the dogs who are waiting to devour\nthe souls of men before they can reach the throne of God.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is a very general custom during some nights after a death to leave\nfood outside the house\u2014a griddle cake, or a dish of potatoes. If it is\ngone in the morning, the spirits must have taken it; for no human being\nwould touch the food left for the dead.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe great and old families of Ireland consider it right to be buried\nwith their kindred, and are brought from any distance, however remote,\nto be laid in the ancient graveyard of the race.\n\nA young man of family having died far away, from fever, it was thought\nadvisable not to bring him home, but to bury him where he died.\nHowever, on the night of the funeral a phantom hearse with four black\nhorses stopped at the churchyard. Some men then entered with spades and\nshovels and dug a grave, after which the hearse drove away. But next\nmorning no sign of the grave was to be found, except a long line marked\nout, the length of a man\u2019s coffin.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is unlucky and a bad omen to carry fire out of a house where any\none is ill. A gentleman one day stopped at a cabin to get a light\nfor his cigar, and having wished good morning in the usual friendly\nfashion, he took a stick from the fire, blew it into a blaze, and was\nwalking away, when the woman of the house rose up fiercely and told him\nit was an evil thing to take fire away when her husband was dying. On\nlooking round he saw a wretched skeleton lying on a bed of straw; so\nhe flung back the stick at once, and fled from the place, leaving his\nblessing in the form of a silver offering, to neutralize the evil of\nthe abducted fire.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAfter the priest has left a dying person, and confession has been made,\nall the family kneel round the bed reciting the Litany for the Dying,\nand holy water is sprinkled over the room until the soul departs.\n\nThen they all rise and begin the mournful death-wail in a loud voice;\nand by this cry all the people in the village know the exact moment of\nthe death, and each one that hears it utters a prayer for the departing\nsoul.\n\nAt the wake the corpse is often dressed in the habit of a religious\norder. A cross is placed in the hands and the scapular on the breast.\nCandles are lighted all round in a circle, and the friends and\nrelatives arrange themselves in due order, the nearest of kin being at\nthe head. At intervals they all stand up and intone the death-wail,\nrocking back and forward over the dead, and reciting his virtues; while\nthe widow and orphans frequently salute the corpse with endearing\nepithets, and recall the happy days they spent together.\n\nWhen the coffin is borne to the grave each person present helps to\ncarry it a little way; for this is considered a mode of showing honour\nto the dead. The nearest relatives take the front handles first; then\nafter a little while they move to the back and others take their place,\nuntil every person in turn has borne the head of the coffin to the\ngrave\u2014for it would be dishonourable to the dead to omit this mark of\nrespect.\n\nAs the coffin is lowered into the grave the death-cry rises up with a\nloud and bitter wail, and the excitement often becomes so great that\nwomen have fallen into hysterics; and at one funeral a young girl in\nher agony of grief jumped into her father\u2019s grave and was taken up\ninsensible.\n\n\nTHE WAKE ORGIES.\n\n\nFrom ancient times the wakes, or funeral games, in Ireland were held\nwith many strange observances carried down by tradition from the\npagan era. Some of the rites, however, were so revolting and monstrous\nthat the priesthood used all their influence to put them down. The old\nfuneral customs, in consequence, have now been discontinued almost\nentirely amongst the people, and the ancient traditional usages are\nunknown to the new generation, though the elders of the village can yet\nremember them. An old man still living thus described to an inquiring\nantiquary and lover of folk-lore, his experience of the ceremonial of a\nwake at which he had been present in the South of Ireland, when he was\nquite a youth, some fifty years before.\n\n\u201cOne dark winter\u2019s night, about seven o\u2019clock, a large party of us,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cyoung men and women, perhaps thirty or more, set out across the\nmountain to attend a wake at the house of a rich farmer, about three\nmiles off. All the young men carried lighted torches, for the way was\nrugged and dangerous; and by their light we guided the women as best we\ncould over the deep clefts and across the rapid streams, swollen by the\nwinter\u2019s rain. The girls took off their shoes and stockings and walked\nbarefoot, but where the water was heavy and deep the men carried them\nacross in their arms or on their backs. In this way we all arrived at\nlast at the farmhouse, and found a great assemblage in the large barn,\nwhich was hung throughout with branches of evergreen and festoons of\nlaurel and holly.\n\n\u201cAt one end of the barn, on a bed decorated with branches of green\nleaves, lay the corpse, an old woman of eighty, the mother of the man\nof the house. He stood by the head of the dead woman, while all the\nnear relatives had seats round. Then the mourning women entered and sat\ndown on the ground in a circle, one in the centre cloaked and hooded,\nwho began the chant or funeral wail, all the rest joining in chorus.\nAfter an interval there would come a deep silence; then the chant began\nagain, and when it was over the women rose up and went out, leaving\nthe place free for the next comers, who acted a play full of ancient\nsymbolic meaning. But, first, whisky was served round, and the pipers\nplayed; for every village had sent their best player and singer to\nhonour the wake.\n\n\u201cWhen a great space was cleared in the centre of the barn, the first\nset of players entered. They wore masks and fantastic garments, and\neach carried a long spear and a bit of plaited straw on the arm for a\nshield. At once they began to build a fort, as it were, marking out the\nsize with their spears, and using some rough play with the spectators.\nWhile thus engaged a band of enemies appeared, also masked and armed.\nAnd now a great fight began and many prisoners were taken; but to save\nslaughter a horn was blown, and a fight demanded between the two best\nchampions of the hostile forces. Two of the finest young men were then\nselected and placed at opposite ends of the barn, when they ran a tilt\nagainst one another with their spears, uttering fierce, loud cries, and\nmaking terrible demonstrations. At length one fell down as if mortally\nwounded; then all the hooded women came in again and keened over him,\na male voice at intervals reciting his deeds, while the pipers played\nmartial tunes. But on its being suggested that perhaps he was not dead\nat all, an herb doctor was sent for to look at him; and an aged man\nwith a flowing white beard was led in, carrying a huge bundle of herbs.\nWith these he performed sundry strange incantations, until finally the\ndead man sat up and was carried off the field by his comrades, with\nshouts of triumph. So ended the first play.\n\n\u201cThen supper was served and more whisky drunk, after which another play\nwas acted of a different kind. A table was set in the middle of the\nbarn, and two chairs, while all the people, about a hundred or more,\ngathered round in a circle. Then two men, dressed as judges, took their\nseats, with guards beside them, and called on another man to come forth\nand address the people. On this a young man sprang on the table and\npoured forth an oration in Irish, full of the most grotesque fun and\nsharp allusions, at which the crowd roared with laughter. Then he gave\nout a verse like a psalm, in gibberish Irish, and bade the people say\nit after him. It ran like this, being translated\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018Yellow Macauly has come from Spain,\n He brought sweet music out of a bag,\n Sing _See-saw, Sulla Vick Dhau,\n Sulla, Sulla Vick Dhau righ_.\u2019\n\n (That is, Solomon, son of David the King.)\n\n\u201cIf any one failed to repeat this verse after him he was ordered to\nprison by the judges, and the guards seized him to cut off his head;\nor if any one laughed the judge sentenced him, saying in Irish, \u2018Seize\nthat man, he is a pagan: he is mocking the Christian faith. Let him\ndie!\u2019\n\n\u201cAfter this the professional story-teller was in great force, and\nheld the listeners enchained by the wonders of his narration and the\npassionate force of his declamation. So the strange revelry went on,\nand the feasting and the drinking, till sunrise, when many of the\nguests returned to their homes, but others stayed with the family till\nthe coffin was lifted for the grave.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nFull details of these strange wake orgies can seldom be obtained, for\nthe people are afraid of the priesthood, who have vehemently denounced\nthem. Yet the peasants cling to them with a mysterious reverence, and\ndo not see the immorality of many of the wake practices. They accept\nthem as mysteries, ancient usages of their forefathers, to be sacredly\nobserved, or the vengeance of the dead would fall on them.\n\nAccording to all accounts an immense amount of dramatic talent was\ndisplayed by the actors of these fantastic and symbolic plays. An\nintelligent peasant, who was brought to see the acting at the Dublin\ntheatre, declared on his return: \u201cI have now seen the great English\nactors, and heard plays in the English tongue, but poor and dull they\nseemed to me after the acting of our own people at the wakes and fairs;\nfor it is a truth, the English cannot make us weep and laugh as I have\nseen the crowds with us when the players played and the poets recited\ntheir stories.\u201d\n\nThe Celts certainly have a strong dramatic tendency, and there are many\npeasant families in Ireland who have been distinguished for generations\nas bards and actors, and have a natural and hereditary gift for music\nand song.\n\nOn the subject of wake orgies, a clever writer observes that they are\nevidently a remnant of paganism, and formed part of those Druidic rites\nmeant to propitiate the evil spirits and the demons of darkness and\ndoom; for the influence of Druidism lasted long after the establishment\nof Christianity. The Druid priests took shelter with the people, and\nexercised a powerful and mysterious sway over them by their magic\nspells. Druid practices were known to exist down to the time of\nthe Norman invasion in the twelfth century, and even for centuries\nafter; and to this Druidic influence may be traced the sarcasms on\nChristianity which are occasionally introduced into the mystery plays\nof the wake ceremonial. As in the one called \u201cHold the Light,\u201d where\nthe passion of the Lord Christ is travestied with grotesque imitation.\nThe same writer describes the play acted at wakes called \u201cThe Building\nof the Ship,\u201d a symbolic rite still older than Druidism, and probably\na remnant of the primitive Arkite worship. This was followed by a\nscene called \u201cDrawing the Ship out of the Mud.\u201d It was against these\ntwo plays that the anathemas of the Church were chiefly directed, in\nconsequence of their gross immorality, and they have now entirely\nceased to form any portion of the wake ceremonial of Ireland. Hindu\npriests would recognize some of the ceremonies as the same which are\nstill practised in their own temples; and travellers have traced a\nsimilarity also in these ancient usages to the \u201cbig canoe games\u201d of the\nMandan Indians.\n\nIn the next play, the Hierophant, or teacher of the games, orders all\nthe men out of the room; a young girl is then dressed with a hide\nthrown over her, and horns on her head, to simulate a cow, while her\nmaidens form a circle and slowly dance round her to music, on which\na loud knocking is heard at the door. \u201cWho wants to enter?\u201d asks the\nHierophant. He is answered, \u201cThe guards demand admittance for the bull\nwho is without.\u201d Admittance is refused, and the maidens and the cow\naffect great alarm. Still the knocking goes on, and finally the door\nis burst open and the bull enters. He also is robed with a hide and\nwears horns, and is surrounded by a band of young men as his guards. He\nendeavours to seize the cow, who is defended by her maidens, forming\nthe dramatic incidents of the play. A general mock fight now takes\nplace between the guards and the maidens, and the scene ends with\nuproarious hilarity and the capture of the cow.\n\nThere are other practices mentioned by writers on the subject, who\ntrace in the Irish observances a tradition of the Cabyric rites, and\nalso a striking similarity to the idolatrous practices of Hindustan as\ndescribed in the \u201cAsiatic Researches,\u201d and in Moore\u2019s \u201cHindu Pantheon.\u201d\n\nIt is remarkable also that in the Polynesian Islands the funeral rites\nwere accompanied by somewhat similar ceremonies. These the early\nmissionaries viewed with horror, and finally succeeded in extirpating\nthem.\n\nThese ancient funeral rites have now disappeared in Ireland; still\nthe subject remains one of intense interest to the ethnologist and\nantiquary, who will find in the details indications of the oldest\nidolatries of the world, especially of that primitive religion called\nArkite, as in the dramatic performance called \u201cThe Building of the\nShip,\u201d where one man prostrates himself on the ground as the ship,\nwhile two others sit head and foot to represent the prow and stern.\nThis ship drama is, perhaps, a fragment of the earliest tradition of\nhumanity represented by a visible symbol to illustrate the legend of\nthe Deluge.\n\n\nTHE ANCIENT MYSTERIES.\n\n\nIreland, from its remote position and immunity from Roman conquest,\nremained longer in the possession of the Druidic mysteries than any\nother nation of Europe. Besides, the early missionaries adopted no\nintolerant measures against the ancient creed; no persecutions are\nrecorded. The sacred trees were not cut down, nor the sacrificial\nstones destroyed; but the holy wells and the antique monuments were\nsanctified by association with a saint\u2019s name and history, and from\nbeing objects of pagan idolatry became shrines of prayer and centres of\nholy worship, where enlightened men preached the new gospel of light,\npurity, and love to an awe-struck, wondering multitude.\n\nTo this tolerant policy, as Mr. Windell, the learned antiquary,\nremarks, may be attributed the strong endurance of Druidic\nsuperstitions and usages in Ireland. Much also is due to the peculiar\nand truly Oriental tenacity with which the Irish at all times have\nclung to the customs and traditions of their forefathers. The belief in\na fairy race ever present amongst them and around them, is one of these\nineffaceable superstitions which the people still hold with a faith as\nfervent as those of the first Aryan tribes who wandered westward from\nthe mystic East, where all creeds, symbols, and myths had their origin.\n\nMany other broken fragments of the early ritual of the world can also\nstill be traced in the popular superstitions and usages of the people.\nThe sun and moon with the mysterious powers of nature were the first\ngods of humanity. Astarte, Ashtaroth, and Isis were all the same\nmoon-goddess under different names, and all were represented by the\nsymbol of the horned cow. The Egyptians typified the sun and moon,\nOsiris and Isis, as the ox and the cow; and these symbols were still\nused at the Irish wake ceremonial until very recently: for the Druids\nalso worshipped the sun and moon and the winds, and venerated trees,\nfountains, rivers, and pillar stones, like their Persian ancestry. But\nthe Irish considered the east wind demoniacal, the Druidic wind of\naccursed power. They called it \u201cThe Red Wind,\u201d \u201cA wind that blasts the\ntrees and withers men is that Red Wind,\u201d according to a bard.\n\nThe Hindus had their triad of Brahm\u0203, Vishnu, and Siva, representing\nthe sun at morning, noon, and evening; so the Irish Druids had their\ntriad of Baal, Budh, and Grian, and they called the May festival _L\u00e1\nBudha na Baal tinne_ (the day of Buddha of the Baal fires). Chrishna\nwas another Hindu name for the sun, and the Irish had Crias, a name for\nthe sun likewise.\n\nThe Hindus had their cattle, or cow festival in spring, when they\nwalked round the animals with great ceremony, always going westward,\nwhile they flung garlands on their horns. So in Ireland there was also\na procession, when the cows were decorated with vervain and the rowan,\nand were sprinkled with the _Sgaith-an-Tobar_ (the purity of the well),\nthat is, the first water drawn from a sacred well after midnight on\nMay Eve. This was considered an effective antidote to witchcraft, and\nwhoever succeeded in being first at the well, cast into it a tuft of\ngrass, called _Cuisheag grass_, to show that the _Sgaith-an-Tobar_ had\nbeen abstracted. So also the Hindus esteem the _Cusha grass_ as sacred,\nand cast it into their wells for a like purpose. The ceremonial of\nwreathing the horns of the cows was in honour of the moon, the wife\nof the Sun-god, whose emblem, as we know, all through the East, as in\nIreland, was the horned cow.\n\nMany and strange, indeed, are the analogies between the practices of\nthe Egyptians, Hindus, Persians, and the Irish; and the legend may,\nafter all, have some truth in it which brings the first Colonists of\nIreland from Egypt, and makes the first Queen of Erin a daughter of\nPharaoh. The ancient war-cry of the Irish clans was _Pharrah!_ a word\nthat has no significance in the Irish language, but which is supposed\nby some antiquarians to be the same as _Phi-Ra_, the sun\u2014the regal\ntitle of the Egyptian kings, by which they were invoked by the warriors\nas they rushed into battle.\n\nThe ancient funeral ceremonies of Egypt can be still seen and studied\nat the wake of an Irish peasant; especially in that singular symbol,\nwhen a man and a woman appeared, one bearing the head of an ox, the\nother that of a cow at the funeral games; a custom which has now lost\nall its meaning, but which originally, no doubt, represented Isis and\nOsiris waiting to receive the soul of the dead.\n\nThe Persians held that fire and water were the most sacred of all\nthings and so did the Irish; hence their reverence for the waters\nof purification at the holy wells. And as the heathen passed their\nchildren and cattle through the fire to Moloch, so the Irish performed\nthe same rite at the Baal festival, when the young men leaped through\nthe flames, and the cattle were driven through the hot embers. Fire was\nheld to be the visible symbol of the invisible God, endowed with mystic\ncleansing powers, and the ascending flame was thought to be a divine\nspirit dwelling in the substance ignited. For this reason the Irish\nmade a circle of fire round their children and their cattle to guard\nthem from evil, holding the belief that no evil spirit could pass this\nspecial emblem of divinity.\n\nBut even in matters less divine there was a similarity between the\nPersian and Irish usages. The Persian Magi made a considerable revenue\nfrom the sacred fire; for each devotee paid a silver coin for the ember\ncarried away from the holy temple, to light the home fire on the day\nof the Sun-festival. And fire was also a source of wealth to the Druid\npriests; each person being obliged to buy it from them on the great day\nof Baal. Therefore it was a sin to give away fire on that day; and the\nhabit of borrowing it to light the home fire was denounced as fatal and\nunlucky. The true reason being that to borrow the sacred element was\nto injure the priestly revenue. Yet this ancient ordinance is still\nreligiously observed in Ireland; and even to this day no peasant would\nventure to give away fire or milk on May Day, for fear of the worst\nconsequences to the giver; while any one who came to borrow a lighted\nbrand would be looked on as an emissary of Satan.\n\nThe sacred fire of Tara (_Tamhair-na-Righ_, Tara of the Kings) was only\nlit every three years, and then with great ceremony. The sun\u2019s rays\nwere concentrated by means of a brazen lens, on some pieces of dried\nwood, and from this alone were all the sacred fires in Ireland kindled\nin the holy places.\n\nAt the present time, if a peasant has to light a fire in the house on\nMay morning, which does not often happen, as the custom is to keep the\nfire burning all night, a lighted sod taken from the priest\u2019s house is\nesteemed of great virtue and sacredness, just as in old time a lighted\nbrand from the altar of Baal was used to light the domestic fire.\n\nThe sacred fire was also obtained from the friction of wood, or the\nstriking of stones; and it was supposed that the spirits of fire dwelt\nin these objects, and when the priest invoked them to appear, they\nbrought good luck to the household for the coming year; but if invoked\nby other hands on that special day their influence was malific.\n\nThe migration of races can be clearly traced by their superstitions.\nThe oldest seem to have come from Persia and Egypt; while mutilated,\nthough still authentic portions of the old-world ritual can still be\nfound all along the Mediterranean, marking the westward progress of the\nprimitive nations, till the last wave found a resting-place on our own\nfar-distant shores, washed by the waters of the Atlantic.\n\nAssyria was the teacher of Egypt; Egypt of Greece; and Greece of\nEurope; and little seems to have been lost during the progress of sixty\ncenturies. The old myths still remain at the base of all thought and\nall creeds; broken fragments of the primal faith; shadowy traditions of\nsome great human life that once was real and actual, or of some great\nevent that changed the destiny of nations, and the echo of which still\nvibrates through the legends, the songs, the poetry, and the usages of\nevery people on the face of the earth.\n\nPersia, Egypt, India, the Teuton, and the Celt, have all the\nsame primal ideas in their mythology, and the same instincts of\nsuperstition; and the signs to which past ages have given a mystic\nmeaning still come to us laden with a fateful significance, even in\nthis advanced era of culture and the triumph of reason.\n\nWe still cannot help believing that prophecies come in the night,\nfor the mystical and prophetic nature of dreams is confirmed by the\npersonal experience of almost every human being; and few are found\nbrave enough, even amongst the educated classes, lightly to break\nthrough a traditional usage on which all the ages have set the seal of\ngood or ill luck.\n\nSuperstition, or the belief in unseen, mysterious, spiritual\ninfluences, is an instinct of human nature. A vague, shadowy, formless\nbelief, certainly, yet ineradicable. We feel that our dual humanity,\nthe material as well as the psychical, holds some strange and mystic\nrelation with an unseen spiritual world, though we cannot define the\nlimits, nor bring it under a law.\n\nBefore the written word existed, the people strove to express their\ncreed and history in symbols. Divine nations, like the Greeks, made the\nsymbols beautiful, and these the uncultured tribes may afterwards have\ndistorted into grotesque and rude imitations; but the same idea can\nbe traced through all forms by which humanity has tried to represent\nhistory, nature, and God.\n\nAnd the old Pagan customs of the early world seem to have an enduring\nvitality, and to have become fixed, even in the usages of the\nenlightened nineteenth century. The Persian Magi and the Druid priest\nexacted a tribute of the firstlings of the flock as a burnt-offering\nto the Sun-god on the day of his festival; so in modern times, we\nsacrifice a lamb at Easter and an ox at Christmas, retaining the\npagan rite while we honour the Christian legend. The Christmas-tree\nis still lighted to guide the Sun-god back to life; and the spotted\ncake, anciently made in his honour, of corn and fruit, still finds its\nplace on our tables, as the plum pudding of civilization, even as its\nprimitive prototype was laid on the sacred altars of the Persians as an\noffering of gratitude to the Lord of Light and Life.\n\nThe widespread range of the same traditional customs and superstitions\namongst all peoples and through every age is a most interesting study,\nas showing the primitive unity of the human race and the subsequent\ndivergence of the nations, even as recorded in the Biblical narrative;\nbut it would be endless to follow the lines of affinity that run\nthrough all the creeds, legends, usages and superstitions of the world.\nThus the Algonquil Indians, according to Mr. Leland, held the ash-tree\nand the elm as sacred and mystical, because these trees were made\nhuman. Of the ash was made man, of the elm, woman.\n\nSo in the Edda, we read of the mighty ash-tree whose summit reaches\nto heaven, and whose roots go down to hell. Two fountains sprang from\nbeneath it\u2014one the knowledge of all that is; the other of all that\nshall be. And out of the wood man was created.\n\nThe Irish also hold the ash-tree as all-powerful against witchcraft;\ntherefore branches of it were wreathed rounds the horns of the cattle,\nand round the child\u2019s cradle to keep off evil influence; while in all\ntheir weird tales of the fairy dances with the dead, the mortals drawn\ninto their company are infallibly safe if they get possession of a\nbranch of the ash-tree, and hold it safely till out of reach of the\nevil spell.\n\nThe alder is another of the mystical trees of Ireland, held sacred, as\nin Persia, on account of its possessing strange mysterious properties\nand powers to avert evil; and the hawthorn likewise was sacred to the\nIrish fairies, therefore a libation of milk was poured over the roots\non May Day, as the Hindus poured milk on the earth round the sacred\ntree as an offering to the manes of the dead.\n\nIn the Transylvanian legends and superstitions, of which Madame Gerard\nhas recently given an interesting record, many will be found identical\nwith the Irish; such as these\u2014Friday is the most unlucky day of all\nthe week; evil spirits are strongest between sunset and midnight; it\nis ill-luck to have your path crossed by a hare; on entering a strange\nhouse sit down a moment, or a death will happen; spitting is at all\ntimes most efficacious against the influence of the devil; an infant\u2019s\nnails should be bitten, not cut; never rock an empty cradle; the robin\nand the swallow bring luck; never kill a spider; the crow and a black\nhen are ominous of evil. The dead are only in a trance; they hear\neverything but can make no sign. The Irish also believe that the dead\nare allowed at certain times to visit their living kindred. A whirlwind\ndenotes that a devil is dancing with a witch; so the Irish believe that\nthe fairies are rushing by in the whirlwind intent on carrying off some\nmortal victim to the fairy mansions; and the only help is to fling\nclay at the passing wind, when the fairies will be obliged to drop the\nmortal child, or the beautiful young girl they have abducted.\n\nBut the Roumanians are a mixed race\u2014Greek, Slav, Teuton, Gypsey\u2014and\nmany of their superstitions are dark and gloomy, especially those\nrelating to vampires, wolves, and terrible demons, evil spirits, and\nfearful witches. The Irish legends rarely deal with anything terrible\nor revolting. They circle, in general, round the mythus of the fairy, a\nbright and beautiful creation, only living for pleasure, music, and the\ndance, and rarely malignant or ill-natured, except when their dancing\ngrounds are interfered with, or when they are not treated with proper\ngenerous consideration in the matter of wine.\n\nThe strange dance practised at Midsummer in Ireland round the Baal\nfires can clearly be traced from the East to Erin; and in its origin\nwas evidently a religious symbol and rite. The Greeks practised it from\nthe most ancient times. It was called the Pyrrhic dance\u2014from _pur_\nfire\u2014and simulated the windings of a serpent.\n\nThe _Syrtos_, the great national dance of the \u00c6gean Islands, so well\ndescribed by Mr. Bent in his interesting book on the Cyclades, also\nresembles the winding of a serpent. The dancers hold hands and circle\nround in tortuous curves precisely as in Ireland, where the line of\ndancers with joined hands, always moving from east to west, extends\nsometimes for a mile in length. It was probably a mystic dance symbolic\nof the path of the sun, though the esoteric meaning has now been\nentirely lost; part of the primal range of ideas out of which man first\nformed a religion and ritual of worship.\n\nMany other practices and superstitions of the Greek islanders strongly\nresemble the Irish. The Nereids of the \u00c6gean play the part of the Irish\nfairies, and are as capricious though often more malignant. If a child\ngrows wan and weak the Nereids have struck it; and it is laid naked for\na night on the altar steps to test the truth of the suspicion. If the\npoor child dies under the trial, then it certainly was bewitched by the\nevil spirits, and the parents are well content to be rid of the unholy\nthing.\n\nThe funeral wail over the dead also closely resembles the Irish, when\nthe hired mourning women sit round the corpse, tear their hair, beat\ntheir breast and rock to and fro, intoning in a monotone chant the\npraises of the deceased, the cries at times rising to a scream, in a\nfrenzy of grief and despair.\n\nThe islanders likewise use many charms and incantations like the Irish,\nwhile the old women amongst them display wonderful knowledge of the\nmystic nature and power of herbs, and are most expert in the cure of\ndisease. It is indeed remarkable that, amongst all primitive tribes and\nnations, women have always shown the highest skill in the treatment of\ndisease, and have been rightly accounted the best doctors, and the most\nlearned in mystic medicinal lore.\n\nThe Marquis of Lorne, in his graphic and instructive \u201cCanadian\nPictures,\u201d speaks of the wonderful skill of the Indian women, and the\nremarkable cures effected by the squaws through their knowledge of\nthe varied properties of herbs. The Indians also have a sweating bath\nfor the sick, such as was used by the ancient Irish. A bath is made\nby stones covered over with branches; hot water is then poured on the\nstones, and the patient crouches over the heated vapour evolved until\na violent perspiration is produced, which carries off the disease,\nor the pains in the members, without fail. The sweating bath of the\nIrish was made quite on the same principles, and is the most effective\ncure known for pains in the bones and feverish disorders. It is still\nused in the Western Islands. \u201cThe Sweating House,\u201d as it is called, is\nmade of rough stones with a narrow entrance, through which the patient\ncreeps on all-fours; when inside, however, he can stand up. A peat fire\nis kindled, and divesting himself of all clothing, he undergoes the\nprocess of sweating in a profuse perspiration as he lies on the stone\nfloor. The place is heated like a baker\u2019s oven, but there is sufficient\nventilation kept up by means of chinks and apertures through the stone\nwork of the walls.\n\nThe cures effected by this process are marvellous. As the people say of\nit themselves, \u201cAny disease that has a hold on the bones can\u2019t stand\nbefore it no time at all, at all.\u201d\n\n\nTHE POWER OF THE WORD.\n\n\nThe belief in the malific influence of the Evil Eye pervades all\nthe Greek islands, and the same preventive measures are used as in\nIreland. An old woman is employed to spit three times at the person\naffected, if she is a person learned in the mysteries and accounted\nwise. Salt and fire are also used as safeguards, precisely as the\nIrish peasant employs them to guard his cattle and children from the\nevil influence. But no superstition is more widely spread; it seems\nto pervade all the world, and to be instinctive to humanity. The\neducated are as susceptible to it as the illiterate, and no nerves\nare strong enough, apparently, to resist the impression made by an\nenvious, malicious glance, for a poison that blights and withers seems\nto emanate from it. Reason appeals in vain; the feelings cannot be\novercome that the presence and glance of some one person in a room can\nchill all the natural flow of spirits, while the presence of another\nseems to intensify all our mental powers, and transform us for the\nmoment into a higher being.\n\nBut a malific power, stronger even than the glance of the Evil Eye, was\nexercised by the Bards of Erin: whom they would they blessed, but whom\nthey would they also banned; and the poet\u2019s malison was more dreaded\nand was more fatal than any other form of imprecation\u2014for the bard had\nthe mystic prophet power: he could foresee, and he could denounce. And\nno man could escape from the judgment pronounced by a poet over one he\ndesired to injure; for the poet had the knowledge of all mysteries and\nwas Lord over the secrets of life by the power of The Word. Therefore\npoets were emphatically called the tribe of _Duars_, that is, THE MEN\nOF THE WORD; for by a word the poets could produce deformities in those\nthey disliked, and make them objects of scorn and hateful in the sight\nof other men.\n\n\nTHE POET AND THE KING.\n\n\nNuadh\u00e9, the celebrated poet, is remembered in history by a memorable\nexercise of his malific power, and the punishment that fell on him in\nconsequence; for Heaven is just, and even a bard cannot escape the\npenalty due for sin.\n\nHe was nephew to Caer, the king of Connaught, who reared him with all\nkindness and gentleness as his own son. But by an evil fate the wife\nof Caer the king loved the young man; and she gave him a silver apple\nin proof of her love, and further promised him the kingdom and herself\nif he could overthrow Caer and make the people depose him from the\nsovranty.\n\n\u201cHow can I do this?\u201d answered Nuadh\u00e9, \u201cfor the king has ever been kind\nto me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAsk him for some gift,\u201d said the queen, \u201cthat he will refuse, and\nthen put a blemish on him for punishment, that so he can be no longer\nking;\u201d for no one with a blemish was ever suffered to reign in Erin.\n\n\u201cBut he refuses me nothing,\u201d answered Nuadh\u00e9.\n\n\u201cTry him,\u201d said the queen. \u201cAsk of him the dagger he brought from Alba,\nfor he is under a vow never to part with it.\u201d\n\nSo Nuadh\u00e9 went to him, and asked for the dagger that came out of Alba\nas a gift.\n\n\u201cWoe is me!\u201d said the king. \u201cThis I cannot grant; for I am under a\nsolemn vow never to part with it, or give it to another.\u201d\n\nThen the poet by his power made a satire on him, and this was the form\nof the imprecation\u2014\n\n \u201cEvil death, and a short life\n Be on Caer the king!\n Let the spears of battle wound him,\n Under earth, under ramparts, under stones,\n Let the malediction be on him!\u201d\n\nAnd when Caer rose up in the morning he put his hand to his face and\nfound it was disfigured with three blisters, a white, a red, and a\ngreen. And when he saw the blemish he fled away filled with fear that\nany man should see him, and took refuge in a fort with one of his\nfaithful servants, and no one knew where he lay hid.\n\nSo Nuadh\u00e9 took the kingdom and held it for a year, and had the queen to\nwife. But then grievous to him was the fate of Caer, and he set forth\nto search for him.\n\nAnd he was seated in the king\u2019s own royal chariot, with the king\u2019s wife\nbeside him, and the king\u2019s greyhound at his feet, and all the people\nwondered at the beauty of the charioteer.\n\nNow Caer was in the fort where he had found shelter, and when he saw\nthem coming he said\u2014\n\n\u201cWho is this that is seated in my chariot in the place of the champion,\nand driving my steeds?\u201d\n\nBut when he saw that it was Nuadh\u00e9 he fled away and hid himself for\nshame.\n\nThen Nuadh\u00e9 drove into the fort in the king\u2019s chariot, and loosed the\ndogs to pursue Caer. And they found him hid under the flagstone behind\nthe rock even where the dogs tracked him. And Caer fell down dead\nfrom shame on beholding Nuadh\u00e9, and the rock where he fell flamed up\nand shivered into fragments, and a splinter leaped up high as a man,\nand struck Nuadh\u00e9 on the eyes, and blinded him for life. Such was the\npunishment decreed, and just and right was the vengeance of God upon\nthe sin of the poet.\n\n\nTHE SIDHE RACE.\n\n\nThe Sidhe dwell in the Sifra, or fairy palace of gold and crystal, in\nthe heart of the hill, and they have been given youth, beauty, joy,\nand the power over music, yet they are often sad; for they remember\nthat they were once angels in heaven though now cast down to earth,\nand though they have power over all the mysteries of Nature, yet they\nmust die without hope of regaining heaven, while mortals are certain of\nimmortality. Therefore this one sorrow darkens their life, a mournful\nenvy of humanity; because, while man is created immortal, the beautiful\nfairy race is doomed to annihilation.\n\nOne day a great fairy chief asked Columb-Kille if there were any hope\nleft to the Sidhe that one day they would regain heaven and be restored\nto their ancient place amongst the angels. But the saint answered that\nhope there was none; their doom was fixed, and at the judgment-day they\nwould pass through death into annihilation; for so had it been decreed\nby the justice of God.\n\nOn hearing this the fairy chief fell into a profound melancholy, and\nhe and all his court sailed away from Ireland, and went back to their\nnative country of Armenia, there to await the coming of the terrible\njudgment-day, which is fated to bring the fairy race certain death on\nearth, without any hope of regaining heaven.\n\nThe West of Ireland is peculiarly sacred to ancient superstitions of\nthe Sidhe race. There is a poetry in the scenery that touches the heart\nof the people; they love the beautiful glens, the mountains rising\nlike towers from the sea, the islands sanctified by the memory of a\nsaint, and the green hills where Finvarra holds his court. Every lake\nand mountain has its legend of the spirit-land, some holy traditions\nof a saint, or some historic memory of a national hero who flourished\nin the old great days when Ireland had native chiefs and native swords\nto guard her; and amongst the Western Irish, especially, the old\nsuperstitions of their forefathers are reverenced with a solemn faith\nand fervour that is almost a religion. Finvarra the king is still\nbelieved to rule over all the fairies of the west, and _Onagh_ is\nthe fairy queen. Her golden hair sweeps the ground, and she is robed\nin silver gossamer all glittering as if with diamonds, but they are\ndew-drops that sparkle over it.\n\nThe queen is more beautiful than any woman of earth, yet Finvarra loves\nthe mortal women best, and wiles them down to his fairy palace by the\nsubtle charm of the fairy music, for no one who has heard it can resist\nits power, and they are fated to belong to the fairies ever after.\nTheir friends mourn for them as dead with much lamentation, but in\nreality they are leading a joyous life down in the heart of the hill,\nin the fairy palace with the silver columns and the crystal walls.\n\nYet sometimes they are not drawn down beneath the earth, but remain as\nusual in the daily life, though the fairy spell is still on them; and\nthe young men who have once heard the fairy harp become possessed by\nthe spirit of music which haunts them to their death, and gives them\nstrange power over the souls of men. This was the case with Carolan,\nthe celebrated bard. He acquired all the magic melody of his notes by\nsleeping out on a fairy rath at night, when the fairy music came to him\nin his dreams; and on awaking he played the airs from memory. Thus it\nwas that he had power to madden men to mirth, or to set them weeping as\nif for the dead, and no one ever before or since played the enchanting\nfairy music like Carolan, the sweet musician of Ireland.\n\nThere was another man also who heard the fairy music when sleeping on\na rath, and ever after he was haunted by the melody day and night,\ntill he grew mad and had no pleasure in life, for he longed to be with\nthe fairies again that he might hear them sing. So one day, driven to\ndespair by the madness of longing, he threw himself from the cliff into\nthe mountain lake near the fairy rath, and so died and was seen no more.\n\nIn the Western Islands they believe that the magic of fairy music is\nso strong that whoever hears it cannot choose but follow the sound,\nand the young girls are drawn away by the enchantment, and dance all\nnight with Finvarra the king, though in the morning they are found fast\nasleep in bed, yet with a memory of all they had heard and seen; and\nsome say that, while with the fairies, the young women learn strange\nsecrets of love potions, by which they can work spells and dangerous\ncharms over those whose love they desire, or upon any one who has\noffended and spoken ill of them.\n\nIt is a beautiful idea that the Irish airs, so plaintive, mournful, and\ntear-compelling, are but the remembered echoes of that spirit music\nwhich had power to draw souls away to the fairy mansions, and hold them\ncaptive by the sweet magic of the melody.\n\n\nMUSIC.\n\n\nMusic formed the chief part of education in ancient Ireland as in\nGreece, where the same word signified a song and a law. Laws, religion,\nsciences, and history were all taught in music to the Irish people\nby the _Ollamhs_, or learned men. The Poets chanted the _Ros-Catha_,\nor song of battle, to incite the warriors to deeds of bravery. The\nBards recited the deeds of the chiefs, or pleasant tales of love, at\nthe festivals, and struck the harp to sustain the voice. The Brehons\nintoned the law in a recitative or monotone chant, seated on an\neminence in the open air, while all the people were gathered round to\nlisten. The Senachie chanted the history, genealogies, and traditions\nof the tribe, and the female mourners were instructed by the poets in\nthe elegiac measure, or funeral wail over the dead.\n\nThe poet-power was also believed to confer the gift of prophecy; and\nno great expedition was undertaken by the tribe without the advice\nand sanction of the bard, and especially of the poet-priestess of the\ntribe. Thus Ethna the poetess stood on a high stone at the battle of\nMoytura, and gave inspiration by her chants to the warriors of the\nTuatha-de-Dananns, and stimulated their courage by her prophecies of\nvictory; and the stone she stood on is in existence to this day on the\nplain of the battle, and is still called by the people \u201cthe Stone of\nthe Prophetess.\u201d\n\n\nPOET INSPIRATION.\nEODAIN THE POETESS.\n\n\nThe _Leanan-Sidhe_, or the spirit of life, was supposed to be the\ninspirer of the poet and singer, as the _Ban-Sidhe_ was the spirit of\ndeath, the foreteller of doom.\n\nThe Leanan-Sidhe sometimes took the form of a woman, who gave men\nvalour and strength in the battle by her songs. Such was Eodain the\npoetess, by whom Eugene, king of Munster, gained complete victory over\nhis foes. But afterwards he gave himself up to luxury and pleasure,\nand went away to Spain, where he remained nine years, and took to wife\nthe daughter of the king of Spain. At the end of that time he returned\nto Ireland with a band of Spanish followers. But he found his kingdom\nplundered and ruined, and the revellers and drunkards were feasting in\nhis banquet hall, and wasting his revenues for their pleasures while\nthe people starved. And the whole nation despised the king, and would\nnot hear his words when he sat down in his golden chair to give just\njudgment for iniquity. Then Eugene the king, in his deep sorrow and\nhumiliation, sent for Eodain the poetess to come and give him counsel.\nSo Eodain came to him, and upheld him with her strong spirit, for she\nhad the power within her of the poet and the prophet, and she said\u2014\n\n\u201cArise now, O king, and govern like a true hero, and bring confusion on\nthe evil workers. Be strong and fear not, for by strength and justice\nkings should rule.\u201d\n\nAnd Eugene the king was guided by her counsel and was successful. And\nhe overthrew his enemies and brought back peace and order to the land.\nFor the strength of the Leanan-Sidhe was in the words of Eodain, the\npower of the spirit of life which is given to the poet and the prophet,\nby which they inspire and guide the hearts of men.\n\n\nTHE BANSHEE.\n\n\nThe Banshee means, especially, the woman of the fairy race, from _van_,\n\u201cthe Woman\u2014the Beautiful;\u201d the same word from which comes _Venus_.\nShiloh-Van was one of the names of Buddha\u2014\u201cthe son of the woman;\u201d and\nsome writers aver that in the Irish\u2014_Sullivan_ (Sulli-van), may be\nfound this ancient name of Buddha.\n\nAs the Leanan-Sidhe was the acknowledged _spirit of life_, giving\ninspiration to the poet and the musician, so the Ban-Sidhe was the\n_spirit of death_, the most weird and awful of all the fairy powers.\n\nBut only certain families of historic lineage, or persons gifted with\nmusic and song, are attended by this spirit; for music and poetry are\nfairy gifts, and the possessors of them show kinship to the spirit\nrace\u2014therefore they are watched over by the spirit of life, which is\nprophecy and inspiration; and by the spirit of doom, which is the\nrevealer of the secrets of death.\n\nSometimes the Banshee assumes the form of some sweet singing virgin\nof the family who died young, and has been given the mission by the\ninvisible powers to become the harbinger of coming doom to her mortal\nkindred. Or she may be seen at night as a shrouded woman, crouched\nbeneath the trees, lamenting with veiled face; or flying past in the\nmoonlight, crying bitterly: and the cry of this spirit is mournful\nbeyond all other sounds on earth, and betokens certain death to some\nmember of the family whenever it is heard in the silence of the night.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Banshee even follows the old race across the ocean and to distant\nlands; for space and time offer no hindrance to the mystic power which\nis selected and appointed to bear the prophecy of death to a family. Of\nthis a well-authenticated instance happened a few years ago, and many\nnow living can attest the truth of the narrative.\n\nA branch of the ancient race of the O\u2019Gradys had settled in Canada,\nfar removed, apparently, from all the associations, traditions, and\nmysterious influences of the old land of their forefathers.\n\nBut one night a strange and mournful lamentation was heard outside the\nhouse. No word was uttered, only a bitter cry, as of one in deepest\nagony and sorrow, floated through the air.\n\nInquiry was made, but no one had been seen near the house at the time,\nthough several persons distinctly heard the weird, unearthly cry, and a\nterror fell upon the household, as if some supernatural influence had\novershadowed them.\n\nNext day it so happened that the gentleman and his eldest son went out\nboating. As they did not return, however, at the usual time for dinner,\nsome alarm was excited, and messengers were sent down to the shore to\nlook for them. But no tidings came until, precisely at the exact hour\nof the night when the spirit-cry had been heard the previous evening,\na crowd of men were seen approaching the house, bearing with them the\ndead bodies of the father and the son, who had both been drowned by the\naccidental upsetting of the boat, within sight of land, but not near\nenough for any help to reach them in time.\n\nThus the Ban-Sidhe had fulfilled her mission of doom, after which she\ndisappeared, and the cry of the spirit of death was heard no more.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAt times the spirit-voice is heard in low and soft lamenting, as if\nclose to the window.\n\nNot long ago an ancient lady of noble lineage was lying near the\ndeath-hour in her stately castle. One evening, after twilight, she\nsuddenly unclosed her eyes and pointed to the window, with a happy\nsmile on her face. All present looked in the direction, but nothing\nwas visible. They heard, however, the sweetest music, low, soft, and\nspiritual, floating round the house, and at times apparently close to\nthe window of the sick room.\n\nMany of the attendants thought it was a trick, and went out to search\nthe grounds; but nothing human was seen. Still the wild plaintive\nsinging went on, wandering through the trees like the night wind\u2014a low,\nbeautiful music that never ceased all through the night.\n\nNext morning the noble lady lay dead; then the music ceased, and the\nlamentation from that hour was heard no more.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a gentleman also in the same country who had a beautiful\ndaughter, strong and healthy, and a splendid horsewoman. She always\nfollowed the hounds, and her appearance at the hunt attracted\nunbounded admiration, as no one rode so well or looked so beautiful.\n\nOne evening there was a ball after the hunt, and the young girl moved\nthrough the dance with the grace of a fairy queen.\n\nBut that same night a voice came close to the father\u2019s window, as\nif the face were laid close to the glass, and he heard a mournful\nlamentation and a cry; and the words rang out on the air\u2014\n\n\u201cIn three weeks death; in three weeks the grave\u2014dead\u2014dead\u2014dead!\u201d\n\nThree times the voice came, and three times he heard the words; but\nthough it was bright moonlight, and he looked from the window over all\nthe park, no form was to be seen.\n\nNext day, his daughter showed symptoms of fever, and exactly in three\nweeks, as the Ban-Sidhe had prophesied, the beautiful girl lay dead.\n\nThe night before her death soft music was heard outside the house,\nthough no word was spoken by the spirit-voice, and the family said\nthe form of a woman crouched beneath a tree, with a mantle covering\nher head, was distinctly visible. But on approaching, the phantom\ndisappeared, though the soft, low music of the lamentation continued\ntill dawn.\n\nThen the angel of death entered the house with soundless feet, and he\nbreathed upon the beautiful face of the young girl, and she rested in\nthe sleep of the dead, beneath the dark shadows of his wings.\n\nThus the prophecy of the Banshee came true, according to the time\nforetold by the spirit-voice.\n\n\nQUEEN MAEVE.\n\n\nA remarkable account is given in the Bardic Legends of a form that\nappeared to Maeve, queen of Connaught, on the eve of battle.\n\nSuddenly there stood before the queen\u2019s chariot, a tall and beautiful\nwoman. She wore a green robe clasped with a golden bodkin, a golden\nfillet on her head, and seven braids for the Dead of bright gold were\nin her hand. Her skin was white as snow that falls in the night; her\nteeth were as pearls; her lips red as the berries of the mountain ash;\nher golden hair fell to the ground; and her voice was sweet as the\ngolden harp-string when touched by a skilful hand.\n\n\u201cWho art thou, O woman?\u201d asked the queen, in astonishment.\n\n\u201cI am Feithlinn, the fairy prophetess of the Rath of Cruachan,\u201d she\nanswered.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis well, O Feithlinn the prophetess,\u201d said Maeve; \u201cbut what dost\nthou foresee concerning our hosts?\u201d\n\n\u201cI foresee bloodshed; I foresee power; I foresee defeat!\u201d answered the\nprophetess.\n\n\u201cMy couriers have brought me good tidings!\u201d said the queen; \u201cmy army\nis strong, my warriors are well prepared. But speak the truth, O\nprophetess; for my soul knows no fear.\u201d\n\n\u201cI foresee bloodshed; I foresee victory!\u201d answered the prophetess the\nsecond time.\n\n\u201cBut I have nothing to fear from the Ultonians,\u201d said the queen, \u201cfor\nmy couriers have arrived, and my enemies are under dread. Yet, speak\nthe truth, O prophetess, that our hosts may know it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI foresee bloodshed; I foresee conquest; I foresee _death_!\u201d answered\nthe prophetess, for the third time.\n\n\u201cTo me then it belongs not, thy prophecy of evil,\u201d replied the queen,\nin anger.\n\n\u201cBe it thine, and on thy own head.\u201d\n\nAnd even as she spoke the prophet maiden disappeared, and the queen saw\nher no more.\n\nBut it so happened that, some time afterwards, Queen Maeve was cruelly\nslain by her own kinsman, at Lough Rea by the Shannon, to avenge the\nassistance she had given in war to the king of Ulster; there is an\nisland in the lake where is shown the spot where the great queen was\nslain, and which is still known to the people as\u2014_the stone of the dead\nqueen_.\n\nMaeve, the great queen of Connaught, holds a distinguished place in\nBardic Legends. When she went to battle, it is said, she rode in an\nopen car, accompanied by four chariots\u2014one before, another behind, and\none on each side\u2014so that the golden _assion_ on her head and her royal\nrobes should not be defiled by the dust of the horses\u2019 feet, or the\nfoam of the fiery steeds; for all the sovereigns of Ireland sat crowned\nwith a diadem in battle, as they drove in their war-chariots, as well\nas in the festal and the public assemblies.\n\n\nDEATH SIGNS.\n\n\nIn one Irish family a cuckoo always appears before a death. A lady who\narrived on a visit at a house observed one morning a cuckoo perched on\nthe window-sill, but she felt no alarm, for there was no sickness in\nthe family. Next day, however, one of the sons was carried home dead.\nHe had been thrown from his horse when hunting, and killed on the spot.\n\nIn another family a mysterious sound is heard like the crashing of\nboards, and a rush of wind seems to pass through the house, yet nothing\nis broken or disturbed. The death of an officer in the Crimea was in\nthis way announced to his family, for the news came immediately after\nthe warning sound, and then they knew that the rush of the wind was the\nspirit of the dead which had passed by them, but without taking any\nvisible form.\n\n\nTHE HARTPOLE DOOM.\n\n\nThere is a tradition concerning the Hartpole family of Shrule Castle in\nthe Queen\u2019s County (called the castle on the bloody stream, from the\nsanguinary deeds of the owner) that every male member of the family is\ndoomed and fated to utter three screeches terrible to hear when dying.\nAs to the origin of this doom the story goes that Sir Richard Hartpole\nabout 300 years ago, in the time of the Elizabethan wars, committed\nmany savage acts against the Irish, he being an upholder of the English\nfaction.\n\nOne day a priest named O\u2019More, having come to the castle on some\nfriendly mission, the savage Hartpole ordered his retainers to seize\nhim and hang him up in the courtyard.\n\n\u201cGood God!\u201d exclaimed the priest. \u201cGive me at least a moment to pray!\u201d\n\n\u201cGo then,\u201d said Hartpole, \u201cyou may pray.\u201d\n\nThe priest kneeled down apart from the crowd. But Hartpole grew\nimpatient, and ordered him to rise.\n\n\u201cYou have prayed long enough,\u201d he said, \u201cprepare for death.\u201d\n\nAnd when the priest heard the order for his death, and saw the man\napproach to seize him, he swayed from right to left and gave three\nfearful screams.\n\n\u201cWhy do you screech?\u201d asked the tyrant.\n\n\u201cSo shall you scream, and all your descendants in your last agony,\u201d\nexclaimed O\u2019More, \u201cas a sign of the doom upon your race. You have\nmurdered my people, you are now going to take my life; but I lay the\ncurse of God on you and yours\u2014your property shall pass away; your race\nshall perish off the earth; and by the three death screeches all men\nshall know that you and your posterity are accursed.\u201d\n\nThe words of O\u2019More only made the tyrant more furious, and the priest\nwas hung at once in the courtyard before the eyes of Hartpole. But the\nprophecy of doom was fulfilled\u2014the property perished, the castle became\na ruin. The last Hartpole died miserably of want and hunger, and the\nwhole race finally has become extinct.\n\n\nSUPERSTITIONS.\n\n\nThe two great festivals of the ancient Irish were _L\u00e1 Baal Tinn\u00e9_, or\nMay Day (sacred to the Sun), and _L\u00e1 Samnah_, or November Eve (sacred\nto the Moon).\n\n * * * * *\n\nFood should be left out on November Eve for the dead, who are then\nwandering about. If the food disappears, it is a sign that the spirits\nhave taken it, for no mortal would dare to touch or eat of the food so\nleft.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever turn your head to look if you fancy you hear footsteps behind you\non that night; for the dead are walking then, and their glance would\nkill.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn November a distaff is placed under the head of a young man at night\nto make him dream of the girl he is destined to marry.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a ball of worsted is thrown into a lime-kiln and wound up till the\nend is caught by invisible hands, the person who winds it calls out,\n\u201cWho holds the ball?\u201d and the answer will be the name of the future\nhusband or wife. But the experiment must be made only at midnight, and\nin silence and alone.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhitsuntide is a most unlucky time; horses foaled then will grow up\ndangerous and kill some one.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA child born at Whitsuntide will have an evil temper, and may commit a\nmurder.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBeware also of water at Whitsuntide, for an evil power is on the waves\nand the lakes and the rivers, and a boat may be swamped and men drowned\nunless a bride steers; then the danger ceases.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo turn away ill-luck from a child born at that time, a grave must be\ndug and the infant laid in it for a few minutes. After this process the\nevil spell is broken, and the child is safe.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf any one takes ill at Whitsuntide there is great danger of death, for\nthe evil spirits are on the watch to carry off victims, and no sick\nperson should be left alone at this time, nor in the dark. Light is a\ngreat safeguard, as well as fire, against malific influences.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn old times at Whitsuntide blood was poured out as a libation to the\nevil spirits; and the children and cattle were passed through two lines\nof fire.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn May morning the Skellig rocks go out full sail to meet the opposite\nrocks, which advance half way to meet them, and then slowly retire like\nretreating ships.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAt Midsummer the fairies try to pass round the Baal fires in a\nwhirlwind in order to extinguish them, but the spirits may be kept off\nby throwing fire at them. Then the young men are free to leap over the\nburning embers and to drive the cattle through the flames, while coals\nof fire must also be passed three times over and three times under the\nbody of each animal.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFoot-worship was a homage to Buddha, and it was also a Christian\nceremony to wash the feet of the saints. The Irish had many\nsuperstitions about foot-water, and no woman was allowed to wash her\nfeet in the sacred wells though the lavation was permitted to men.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a child is fairy-struck, give it a cup of cold water in the name of\nChrist and make the sign of the cross over it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn St. Martin\u2019s Day when blood is spilt, whoever is signed with the\nblood is safe, for that year at least, from disease.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFor the Evil Eye, a piece cut from the garment of the evil-eyed, burned\nto tinder and ground to powder, must be given to the person under the\nbaneful spell, while his forehead is anointed with spittle thrice. So\nthe Greeks spat three times in the face of the evil-eyed to break the\nspell.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPass a red-hot turf three times over and under the body of an animal\nsupposed to be fairy-struck, singeing the hair along the back. This\ndrives off the fairies.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Irish always went westward round a holy well, following the course\nof the sun, and creeping on their hands and knees. So did the ancient\nPersians when offering homage at the sacred fountains.\n\n * * * * *\n\nRed-haired people were held to be evil and malicious and unlucky,\nprobably because Typhon, the evil principle, was red; and therefore a\nred heifer was sacrificed to him by the Egyptians.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn the mystic, or snake dance, performed at the Baal festival, the\ngyrations of the dancers were always westward, in the track of the\nsun, for the dance was part of the ancient ritual of sun worship.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY RATH.\n\n\nThe ancient rath, or fort, or liss, generally enclosed about half an\nacre, and had two or more ramparts, formed by the heads of the tribe\nfor defence. But when the race of the chieftains died out, then the\nSidhe crowded into the forts, and there held their councils and revels\nand dances; and if a man put his ear close to the ground at night he\ncould hear the sweet fairy music rising up from under the earth.\n\nThe rath ever after is sacred to the fairies, and no mortal is allowed\nto cut down a tree that grows on it, or to carry away a stone. But\ndangerous above all would it be to build on a fairy rath. If a man\nattempted such a rash act, the fairies would put a blast on his eyes,\nor give him a crooked mouth; for no human hand should dare to touch\ntheir ancient dancing grounds.\n\nIt is not right, the people say, to sing or whistle at night that old\nair, \u201cThe pretty girl milking her cow;\u201d for it is a fairy tune, and\nthe fairies will not suffer a mortal to sing their music while they\nare dancing on the grass. But if a person sleeps on the rath the music\nwill enter into his soul, and when he awakes he may sing the air he has\nheard in his dreams.\n\nIn this way the bards learned their songs, and they were skilled\nmusicians, and touched the harp with a master hand, so that the fairies\noften gathered round to listen, though invisible to mortal eyes.\n\n\nFAIRY NATURE.\n\n\nThe _Siodh-Dune_, or the Mount of Peace, is also a favourite resort\nof the fairies. It is an ancient, sacred place, where the Druids in\nold time used to retire to pray, when they desired solitude; and the\nfairies meet there every seven years to perform the act of lamentation\nand mourning for having been cast out of heaven.\n\nEarth, lake, and hill are peopled by these fantastic, beautiful gods\nof earth; the wilful, capricious child-spirits of the world. The Irish\nseem to have created this strange fairy race after their own image, for\nin all things they strangely resemble the Irish character.\n\nThe Sidhe passionately love beauty and luxury, and hold in contempt all\nthe mean virtues of thrift and economy. Above all things they hate\nthe close, niggard hand that gathers the last grain, and drains the\nlast drop in the milk-pail, and plucks the trees bare of fruit, leaving\nnothing for the spirits who wander by in the moonlight. They like food\nand wine to be left for them at night, yet they are very temperate; no\none ever saw an intoxicated fairy.\n\nBut people should not sit up too late; for the fairies like to gather\nround the smouldering embers after the family are in bed, and drain\nthe wine-cup, and drink the milk which a good housewife always leaves\nfor them, in case the fairies should come in and want their supper. A\nvessel of pure water should also be left for them to bathe in, if they\nlike. And in all things the fairies are fond of being made much of,\nand flattered and attended to; and the fairy blessing will come back\nin return to the giver for whatever act of kindness he has done to\nthe spirits of the hill and the cave. Some unexpected good fortune or\nstroke of luck will come upon his house or his children; for the fairy\nrace is not ungrateful, and is powerful over man both for good and evil.\n\nTherefore be kind to the wayfarer, for he may be a fairy prince in\ndisguise, who has come to test the depth of your charity, and of the\ngenerous nature that can give liberally out of pure love and kindliness\nto those who are in need, and not in hope of a reward.\n\nIf treated well, the fairies will discover the hidden pot of gold, and\nreveal the mysteries of herbs, and give knowledge to the fairy women of\nthe mystic spells that can cure disease, and save life, and make the\nlover loved.\n\nAll they ask in return is to be left in quiet possession of the rath\nand the hill and the ancient hawthorn trees that have been theirs from\ntime immemorial, and where they lead a joyous life with music and\ndance, and charming little suppers of the nectar of flowers, down in\nthe crystal caves, lit by the diamonds that stud the rocks.\n\nBut some small courtesies they require. Never drain your wine-glass at\na feast, nor the poteen flask, nor the milk-pail; and never rake out\nall the fire at night, it looks mean, and the fairies like a little of\neverything going, and to have the hearth comfortable and warm when they\ncome in to hold a council after all the mortal people have gone to bed.\nIn fact, the fairies are born aristocrats, true ladies and gentlemen,\nand if treated with proper respect are never in the least malignant or\nill-natured.\n\nAll the traditions of the fairies show that they love beauty and\nsplendour, grace of movement, music and pleasure; everything, in fact,\nthat is artistic, in contradistinction to violent, brutal enjoyment.\nOnly an Aryan people, therefore, could have invented the Sidhe race.\n\n\nIRISH NATURE.\n\n\nThe Irish show their Aryan descent by the same characteristics as\nthe Fairy race, for they also love everything that is artistic\u2014the\nfascinations of life, beauty of form, music, poetry, song, splendour,\nand noble pleasures. Their kings in ancient times were elected for\ntheir personal beauty as much as for their chivalrous qualities. No\nman with a blemish or a deformity was allowed to reign. Then, their\nappreciation of intellect proved the value they set on the spiritual\nand ideal above the material and the brutal. The poet ranked next\nto the princes of the land. His person was sacred in battle; he was\nendowed with an estate, so that his soul might be free from sordid\ncares; and his robe of many colours, and the golden circlet on his brow\nat the festivals, showed his claim and right to rank next to royalty,\nand to sit at the right hand of the king. Poetry, learning, music,\noratory, heroism, and splendour of achievement\u2014these were the true\nobjects of homage and admiration amongst the ancient Irish.\n\nThere was nothing brutal in their ideal of life; no hideous images or\nrevolting cruelties; and the beautiful and graceful Sidhe race, with\ntheir plaintive music and soft melancholy, and aspirations for a lost\nheaven, is the expression in a graceful and beautiful symbol of the\ninstinctive tendencies of the Irish nature to all that is most divine\nin human intellect, and soft and tender in human emotion.\n\nIreland is a land of mists and mystic shadows; of cloud-wraiths\non the purple mountains; of weird silences in the lonely hills,\nand fitful skies of deepest gloom alternating with gorgeous sunset\nsplendours. All this fantastic caprice of an ever-varying atmosphere\nstirs the imagination, and makes the Irish people strangely sensitive\nto spiritual influences. They see visions and dream dreams, and are\nhaunted at all times by an ever-present sense of the supernatural.\nOne can see by the form of the Irish head\u2014a slender oval, prominent\nat the brows and high in the region of veneration, so different\nfrom the globular Teutonic head\u2014that the people are enthusiasts,\nreligious, fanatical; with the instincts of poetry, music, oratory,\nand superstition far stronger in them than the logical and reasoning\nfaculties. They are made for worshippers, poets, artists, musicians,\norators; to move the world by passion, not by logic. Scepticism will\nnever take root in Ireland; infidelity is impossible to the people. To\nbelieve fanatically, trust implicitly, hope infinitely, and perhaps\nto revenge implacably\u2014these are the unchanging and ineradicable\ncharacteristics of Irish nature, of Celtic nature, we may say; for it\nhas been the same throughout all history and all ages. And it is these\npassionate qualities that make the Celt the great motive force of the\nworld, ever striving against limitations towards some vision of ideal\nsplendour; the restless centrifugal force of life, as opposed to the\ncentripetal, which is ever seeking a calm quiescent rest within its\nappointed sphere.\n\nThe very tendency to superstition, so marked in Irish nature, arises\nfrom an instinctive dislike to the narrow limitations of common sense.\nIt is characterized by a passionate yearning towards the vague, the\nmystic, the invisible, and the boundless infinite of the realms of\nimagination. Therefore the _Daine-Sidhe_, the people of the fairy\nmansions, have an irresistible attraction for the Irish heart. Like\nthem, the Irish love youth, beauty, splendour, lavish generosity,\nmusic and song, the feast and the dance. The mirth and the reckless\ngaiety of the national temperament finds its true exponent in the mad\npranks of the _Phouka_ and the _Leprehaun_, the merry spirits that\nhaunt the dells and glens, and look out at the wayfarer from under the\ndock-leaf with their glittering eyes. The inspiration that rises to\npoetry under the influence of excitement is expressed by the belief in\nthe _Leanan-Sidhe_, who gives power to song; while the deep pathos of\nIrish nature finds its fullest representation in the tender, plaintive,\nspiritual music of the wail and lamentation of the _Ban-Sidhe_.\n\n\n\n\n LEGENDS OF ANIMALS.\n\n\nThere are no traces in Irish legend of animal worship, but many\nconcerning the influence of animals upon human life, and of their\ninterference with human affairs.\n\nThe peasants believe that the domestic animals know all about us,\nespecially the dog and the cat. They listen to everything that is said;\nthey watch the expression of the face, and can even read the thoughts.\nThe Irish say it is not safe to ask a question of a dog, for he may\nanswer, and should he do so the questioner will surely die.\n\nThe position of the animal race in the life scheme is certainly full of\nmystery. Gifted with extraordinary intelligence, yet with dumb souls\nvainly struggling for utterance, they seem like prisoned spirits in\nbondage, suffering the punishment, perhaps, for sin in some former\nhuman life, and now waiting the completion of the cycle of expiation\nthat will advance them again to the human state.\n\nThe three most ancient words in the Irish language are, it is said,\n_Tor_, a tower; _Cu_, a hound, and _Bo_, a cow. The latter word is the\nsame as is found in the Greek _Bosphorus_, and in the nomenclature of\nmany places throughout Europe.\n\n\nCONCERNING DOGS.\n\n\nSome very weird superstitions exist in Ireland concerning the howlings\nof dogs. If a dog is heard to howl near the house of a sick person,\nall hope of his recovery is given up, and the patient himself sinks\ninto despair, knowing that his doom is sealed. But the Irish are not\nalone in holding this superstition. The Egyptians, Hebrews, Greeks, and\nRomans all looked on the howling of the dog as ominous. The very word\n_howling_ may be traced in the Latin _ululu_, the Greek _holuluzo_, the\nHebrew _hululue_, and the Irish _ulluloo_. In Ireland the cry raised at\nthe funeral ceremony was called the _Caoin_, or keen, probably from\n\u03c7\u03c5\u03c9\u03bd, a dog. And this doleful lamentation was also common to other\nnations of antiquity. The Hebrews, Greeks, and Romans had their hired\nmourners, who, with dishevelled hair and mournful cadenced hymns, led\non the melancholy parade of death. Thus the Trojan women keened over\nHector, the chorus being led by the beautiful Helen herself.\n\nThe howling of the dog was considered by these nations as the first\nnote of the funeral dirge and the signal that the coming of death was\nnear.\n\nBut the origin of the superstition may be traced back to Egypt, where\ndogs and dog-faced gods were objects of worship; probably because\nSirius, the Dog-star, appeared precisely before the rising of the\nNile, and thereby gave the people a mystic and supernatural warning to\nprepare for the overflow.\n\nThe Romans held that the howling of dogs was a fatal presage of evil,\nand it is noted amongst the direful omens that preceded the death of\nC\u00e6sar. Horace also says that Canidia by her spells and sorceries could\nbring ghosts of dogs from hell; and Virgil makes the dog to howl at the\napproach of Hecate.\n\nIt is remarkable that when dogs see spirits (and they are keenly\nsensitive to spirit influence) they never bark, but only howl. The\nRabbins say that \u201cwhen the Angel of Death enters a city the dogs do\nhowl. But when Elias appears then the dogs rejoice and are merry.\u201d And\nRabbi Jehuda the Just states, that once upon a time when the Angel of\nDeath entered a house the dog howled and fled; but being presently\nbrought back he lay down in fear and trembling, and so died.\n\nThis strange superstition concerning the howling of dogs, when, as is\nsupposed, they are conscious of the approach of the Spirit of Death,\nand see him though he is shrouded and invisible to human eyes, may be\nfound pervading the legends of all nations from the earliest period\ndown to the present time; for it still exists in full force amongst all\nclasses, the educated, as well as the unlettered peasantry; and to this\nday the howling of a dog where a sick person is lying is regarded in\nIreland in all grades of society with pale dismay as a certain sign of\napproaching death.\n\nThe Irish may have obtained the superstition through Egypt, Ph\u0153nicia,\nor Greece, for it is the opinion of some erudite writers that the Irish\nwolf-dog (_Canis gracius Hibernicus_) was descended from the dogs of\nGreece.\n\nIt is strange and noteworthy that although the dog is so faithful to\nman, yet it is never mentioned in the Bible without an expression\nof contempt; and Moses in his code of laws makes the dog an unclean\nanimal, probably to deter the Israelites from the Egyptian worship of\nthis animal. It was the lowest term of offence\u2014\u201cIs thy servant a dog?\u201d\nFalse teachers, persecutors, Gentiles, unholy men, and others sunk in\nsin and vileness were called dogs; while at the same time the strange\nprophetic power of these animals was universally acknowledged and\nrecognized.\n\nThe Romans sacrificed a dog at the Lupercalia in February. And to meet\na dog with her whelps was considered in the highest degree unlucky. Of\nall living creatures the name of \u201cdog\u201d applied to any one expressed the\nlowest form of insult, contempt, and reproach. Yet, of all animals, the\ndog has the noblest qualities, the highest intelligence, and the most\nenduring affection for man.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Irish wolf-dog had a lithe body, a slender head, and was fleet\nas the wind. The form of the animal is produced constantly in Irish\nornamentation, but the body always terminates in endless twisted\nconvolutions. The great Fionn Ma-Coul had a celebrated dog called\n\u201cBran,\u201d who is thus described in the bardic legends: \u201cA ferocious,\nsmall-headed, white-breasted, sleek-haunched hound; having the eyes of\na dragon, the claws of a wolf, the vigour of a lion, and the venom of a\nserpent.\u201d\n\nIn the same poem Fionn himself is described in highly ornate bardic\nlanguage, as he leads the hound by a chain of silver attached to a\ncollar of gold: \u201cA noble, handsome, fair-featured Fenian prince; young,\ncourteous, manly, puissant; powerful in action; the tallest of the\nwarriors; the strongest of the champions; the most beautiful of the\nhuman race.\u201d\n\nBran, like his master, was gifted in a remarkable degree with the\nforeknowledge of evil, and thus he was enabled to give his young lord\nmany warnings to keep him from danger.\n\nOnce, when victory was not for the Fenian host, Bran showed the deepest\nsorrow.\n\n\u201cHe came to Fionn, wet and weary, and by this hand,\u201d says the\nchronicler, \u201chis appearance was pitiful. He lay down before the chief,\nand cried bitterly and howled.\n\n\u201c\u2018\u2019Tis likely, my dog,\u2019 saith Fionn, \u2018that our heads are in great danger\nthis day.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnother time, the Fenian host having killed a huge boar, Ossian, the\nbard and prophet, ordered it to be burnt as of demon race. Bran,\nhearing this, went out readily and knowingly, and he brings in three\ntrees in his paw; no one knew from whence; but the trees were put into\nthe fire and the great pig was burnt, and the ashes of the beast were\ncast into the sea.\n\nThe Fenian princes generally went to the hunt accompanied altogether by\nabout three thousand hounds; Bran leading, the wisest and fleetest of\nall. The chiefs formed a goodly army, a thousand knights or more\u2014each\nwearing a silken shirt and a _chotan_ of fine silk, a green mantle and\nfine purple cloak over to protect it; a golden diademed helmet on the\nhead, and a javelin in each man\u2019s hand.\n\nOnce, a chief, being jealous of the splendour of the Fenian princes,\nbecame their bitter enemy, and set himself to curse Bran above all\nhounds in the land.\n\nBut Fionn answered, \u201cIf thou shouldest curse Bran, my wise, intelligent\ndog, not a room east or west in thy great mansion but I will burn with\nfire.\u201d\n\nSo Bran rested on the mountain with Fionn, his lord and master, and was\nsafe from harm.\n\nYet, so fate decreed, Bran finally met his death by means of a woman.\nOne day a snow-white hart, with hoofs that shone like gold, was scented\non the hill, and all the hounds pursued, Bran leading. Hour after hour\npassed by, and still the hart fled on, the hounds following, till one\nby one they all dropped off from weariness, and not one was left save\nBran. Then the hart headed for the lake, and reaching a high cliff, she\nplunged from it straight down into the water; the noble hound leaped\nin at once after her, and seized the hart as she rose to the surface;\nbut at that instant she changed into the form of a beautiful lady, and\nlaying her hand upon the head of Bran, she drew him down beneath the\nwater, and the beautiful lady and Fionn\u2019s splendid hound disappeared\ntogether and were seen no more. But in memory of the event the cliff\nfrom which he leaped is called Coegg-y-Bran; while the lake and the\ncastle beside it are called _Tiernach Bran_ (the lordship of Bran) to\nthis day. So the name and memory of Fionn\u2019s hound, and his wisdom and\nachievements are not forgotten by the people; and many dogs of the\nchase are still called after him, for the name is thought to bring luck\nto the hunter and sportsman. But the _Cailleach Biorar_ (the Hag of the\nWater) is held in much dread, for it is believed that she still lives\nin a cave on the hill, and is ready to work her evil spells whenever\nopportunity offers, and her house is shown under the cairn, also the\nbeaten path she traversed to the lake. Many efforts have been made to\ndrain the lake, but the Druid priestess, the Hag of the Water, always\ninterferes, and casts some spell to prevent the completion of the work.\nThe water of the lake has, it is said, the singular property of turning\nthe hair a silvery white; and the great Fionn having once bathed\ntherein, he emerged a withered old man, and was only restored to youth\nby means of strong spells and incantations.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn Cormac\u2019s Glossary there is an interesting account of how the\nfirst lapdog came into Ireland, for the men of Britain were under\nstrict orders that no lapdog should be given to the Gael, either of\nsolicitation or of free will, for gratitude or friendship.\n\nNow it happened that Cairbr\u00e9 Musc went to visit a friend of his in\nBritain, who made him right welcome and offered him everything he\npossessed, save only his lapdog, for that was forbidden by the law.\nYet this beautiful lapdog was the one only possession that Cairbr\u00e9\ncoveted, and he laid his plans cunningly to obtain it.\n\nThere was a law at that time in Britain to this effect: \u201cEvery criminal\nshall be given as a forfeit for his crime to the person he has injured.\u201d\n\nNow Cairbr\u00e9 had a wonderful dagger, around the haft of which was an\nadornment of silver and gold. It was a precious jewel, and he took fat\nmeat and rubbed it all over the haft, with much grease. Then he set it\nbefore the lapdog, who began to gnaw at the haft, and continued gnawing\nall night till the morning, so that the haft was spoiled and was no\nlonger beautiful.\n\nThen on the morrow, Cairbr\u00e9 made complaint that his beautiful dagger\nwas destroyed, and he demanded a just recompense.\n\n\u201cThat is indeed fair,\u201d said his friend, \u201cI shall pay a price for the\ntrespass.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ask no other price,\u201d said Cairbr\u00e9, \u201cthan what the law of Britain\nallows me, namely, the criminal for his crime.\u201d\n\nSo the lapdog was given to Cairbr\u00e9, and it was called ever after\n_Mug-Eim\u00e9_, the slave of the haft, which name clung to it because it\npassed into servitude as a forfeit for the trespass.\n\nNow when Cairbr\u00e9 brought it back to Erin with him, all the kings of\nIreland began to wrangle and contend for possession of the lapdog, and\nthe contention at last ended in this wise\u2014it was agreed that the dog\nshould abide for a certain time in the house of each king. Afterwards\nthe dog littered, and each of them had a pup of the litter, and from\nthis stock descends every lapdog in Ireland from that time till now.\n\nAfter a long while the lapdog died, and the bare skull being brought\nto the blind poet Maer to try his power of divination, he at once\nexclaimed, through the prophetic power and vision in him, \u201cO Mug-Eim\u00e9!\nthis is indeed the head of Mug-Eim\u00e9, the slave of the haft, that was\nbrought into Ireland and given over to the fate of a bondsman, and to\nthe punishment of servitude as a forfeit.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe word hound entered into many combinations as a name for various\nanimals. Thus the rabbit was called, \u201cthe hound of the brake;\u201d the hare\nwas the \u201cbrown hound;\u201d the moth was called \u201cthe hound of fur,\u201d owing\nto the voracity with which it devoured raiment. And the otter is still\ncalled by the Irish _Madradh-Uisgue_ (the dog of the water).\n\nThe names of most creatures of the animal kingdom were primitive, the\nresult evidently of observation. Thus the hedgehog was named \u201cthe ugly\nlittle fellow.\u201d The ant was the \u201cslender one.\u201d The trout, _Breac_, or\n\u201cthe spotted,\u201d from the skin. And the wren was called \u201cthe Druid bird,\u201d\nbecause if any one understood the chirrup, they would have a knowledge\nof coming events as foretold by the bird.\n\n\nCONCERNING CATS.\n\n\nCats have been familiar to the human household from all antiquity, but\nthey were probably first domesticated in Egypt, where, so far back\nas two thousand years ago, a temple was dedicated to the goddess of\ncats\u2014Bubastis Pasht\u2014represented with a cat\u2019s head. The Greeks had this\nfeline pet of the house from Egypt, and from Greece the cat race, such\nas we have it now, was disseminated over Europe. It was a familiar\nelement in Greek household life, and if anything was broken, according\nto Aristophanes, the phrase went then as now, \u201cThe cat did it.\u201d But\ncats were never venerated in Greece with religious adoration as in\nEgypt, the only country that gave them Divine honour, and where, if\na cat died, the whole family shaved off their eyebrows in token of\nmourning.\n\nThe Irish have always looked on cats as evil and mysteriously connected\nwith some demoniacal influence. On entering a house the usual\nsalutation is, \u201cGod save all here, except the cat.\u201d Even the cake on\nthe griddle may be blessed, but no one says, \u201cGod bless the cat.\u201d\n\nIt is believed that the devil often assumes the form of these animals.\nThe familiar of a witch is always a black cat; and it is supposed that\nblack cats have powers and faculties quite different from all other\nof the feline tribe. They are endowed with reason, can understand\nconversations, and are quite able to talk if they considered it\nadvisable and judicious to join in the conversation. Their temperament\nis exceedingly unamiable, they are artful, malignant, and skilled in\ndeception, and people should be very cautious in caressing them, for\nthey have the venomous heart and the evil eye, and are ever ready to\ndo an injury. Yet the liver of a black cat has the singular power to\nexcite love when properly administered. If ground to powder and infused\ninto potion, the recipient is fated to love passionately the person who\noffers it and has worked the charm.\n\nAn instance of this is narrated as having happened not very long ago.\nA farmer\u2019s daughter, a pretty coquette, attracted the attention of\nthe young squire of the place. But though he was willing to carry on\na flirtation, the young gentleman had no idea of debasing his proud\nlineage by an alliance. Yet a marriage was exactly what the girl\ndesired, and which she was determined to accomplish. So she and a\nfriend, an accomplice, searched the village till they found a black\ncat, black as night, with only three white hairs on the breast. Him\nthey seized, and having tied up the animal in a bag, they proceeded to\nthrow him from one to the other over a low wall, till the poor beast\nwas quite dead. Then at midnight they began their unholy work. The\nliver and heart were extracted in the name of the Evil One, and then\nboiled down until they became so dry that they could easily be reduced\nto a powder, which was kept for use when opportunity offered. This\nsoon came; the young squire arrived one evening as usual, to pay a\nvisit to the pretty Nora, and began to make love to the girl with the\nordinary amount of audacity and hypocrisy. But Nora had other views,\nso she made the tea by her little fire in a _black_ teapot, for this\nwas indispensable, and induced her lover to stay and partake of it with\nher, along with a fresh griddle cake. Then cunningly she infused the\npowder into his cup and watched him as he drank the tea with feverish\nanxiety. The result was even beyond her hopes. A violent and ardent\npassion seemed suddenly to have seized the young man, and he not only\nmade earnest love to the pretty Nora, but offered her his hand in\nmarriage, vowing that he would kill himself if she refused to become\nhis lawful bride. To avoid such a catastrophe, Nora gently yielded to\nhis request, and from that evening they were engaged. Daily visits\nfollowed from the young squire, and each time that he came Nora took\ncare to repeat the charm of the love powder, so that the love was kept\nat fever heat, and finally the wedding day was fixed.\n\nThe family of the young squire were, however, not quite contented,\nespecially as rumours of witchcraft and devil\u2019s dealings were bruited\nabout the neighbourhood. And on the very eve of the marriage, just\nas the young man was pouring forth his vows of eternal love to the\nbride expectant, the door was burst open, and a body of men entered,\nheaded by the nearest relations of the squire, who proceeded at once to\nbelabour the young bridegroom with hazel sticks in the most vigorous\nmanner. In vain the bride tried to interpose. She only drew the blows\non herself, and finally the young man was carried away half stunned,\nlifted into the carriage and driven straight home, where he was locked\nup in his own room, and not allowed to hold any communication with the\nbride elect.\n\nThe daily doses of the powder having thus ceased, he began to recover\nfrom the love madness, and finally the fever passed away. And he looked\nback with wonder and horror on the fatal step he had so nearly taken.\nNow he saw there was really witchcraft in it, which the power of the\nhazel twigs had completely broken. And the accomplice having confessed\nthe sorcery practised on him by Nora and herself, he hated the girl\nhenceforth as much as he had once loved her.\n\nAnd after a little he went away on foreign travel, and remained abroad\nfor three years. When he returned, he found that Nora had degenerated\ninto a withered little witch-faced creature, who was shunned by every\none, and jeered at for the failure of her wicked spells, which had\nall come to nothing, though she had the Evil One himself to aid her;\nfor such is the fate of all who deal in sorcery and devil\u2019s magic,\nespecially with the help of Satan\u2019s chief instrument of witchcraft\u2014the\nblack cat.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut there is a certain herb of more power even than the cat\u2019s liver to\nproduce love. Though what this herb is, only the adept knows and can\nreveal. The influence it exercises lasts, it is said, for twenty-one\nyears, and then ceases and cannot be renewed.\n\nA gentleman, now living, once ate of this herb, which was given to\nhim by his wife\u2019s serving-maid, and in consequence he was fated to\nlove the girl for the specified time. Not being then able to endure\nhis wife\u2019s presence, he sent her away from the house, and devoted\nhimself exclusively to the servant. Nineteen years have now passed\nby, and the poor lady is still waiting patiently to the end of the\ntwenty-one years, believing that the witch-spell will then cease, and\nthat her husband\u2019s love will be hers once more. For already he has been\ninquiring after her and his children, and has been heard lamenting\nthe madness that forced him to drive them from the house for the sake\nof the menial, who usurped his wife\u2019s place by means of some wicked\nsorcery which he had no power to resist.\n\n\nTHE KING OF THE CATS.\n\nA most important personage in feline history is the King of the\nCats. He may be in your house a common looking fellow enough, with\nno distinguishing mark of exalted rank about him, so that it is very\ndifficult to verify his genuine claims to royalty. Therefore the best\nway is to cut off a tiny little bit of his ear. If he is really the\nroyal personage, he will immediately speak out and declare who he is;\nand perhaps, at the same time, tell you some very disagreeable truths\nabout yourself, not at all pleasant to have discussed by the house cat.\n\nA man once, in a fit of passion, cut off the head of the domestic\npussy, and threw it on the fire. On which the head exclaimed, in a\nfierce voice, \u201cGo tell your wife that you have cut off the head of the\nKing of the Cats; but wait! I shall come back and be avenged for this\ninsult,\u201d and the eyes of the cat glared at him horribly from the fire.\n\nAnd so it happened; for that day year, while the master of the house\nwas playing with a pet kitten, it suddenly flew at his throat and bit\nhim so severely that he died soon after.\n\nA story is current also, that one night an old woman was sitting up\nvery late spinning, when a knocking came to the door. \u201cWho is there?\u201d\nshe asked. No answer; but still the knocking went on. \u201cWho is there?\u201d\nshe asked a second time. No answer; and the knocking continued. \u201cWho is\nthere?\u201d she asked the third time, in a very angry passion.\n\nThen there came a small voice\u2014\u201cAh, Judy, agrah, let me in, for I am\ncold and hungry; open the door, Judy, agrah, and let me sit by the\nfire, for the night is cold out here. Judy, agrah, let me in, let me\nin!\u201d\n\nThe heart of Judy was touched, for she thought it was some small child\nthat had lost its way, and she rose up from her spinning, and went and\nopened the door\u2014when in walked a large black cat with a white breast,\nand two white kittens after her.\n\nThey all made over to the fire and began to warm and dry themselves,\npurring all the time very loudly; but Judy said never a word, only went\non spinning.\n\nThen the black cat spoke at last\u2014\u201cJudy, agrah, don\u2019t stay up so late\nagain, for the fairies wanted to hold a council here to-night, and to\nhave some supper, but you have prevented them; so they were very angry\nand determined to kill you, and only for myself and my two daughters\nhere you would be dead by this time. So take my advice, don\u2019t interfere\nwith the fairy hours again, for the night is theirs, and they hate\nto look on the face of a mortal when they are out for pleasure or\nbusiness. So I ran on to tell you, and now give me a drink of milk, for\nI must be off.\u201d\n\nAnd after the milk was finished the cat stood up, and called her\ndaughters to come away.\n\n\u201cGood-night, Judy, agrah,\u201d she said. \u201cYou have been very civil to me,\nand I\u2019ll not forget it to you. Good-night, good-night.\u201d\n\nWith that the black cat and the two kittens whisked up the chimney; but\nJudy looking down saw something glittering on the hearth, and taking it\nup she found it was a piece of silver, more than she ever could make in\na month by her spinning, and she was glad in her heart, and never again\nsat up so late to interfere with the fairy hours, but the black cat and\nher daughters came no more again to the house.\n\n\nTHE DEMON CAT.\n\nThe cat of the foregoing legend had evidently charming manners, and was\nwell intentioned; but there are other cats of evil and wicked ways,\nthat are, in fact, demons or witches, who assume the cat-form, in order\nto get easy entrance to a house, and spy over everything.\n\nThere was a woman in Connemara, the wife of a fisherman, and as he\nalways had very good luck, she had plenty of fish at all times stored\naway in the house ready for market. But to her great annoyance she\nfound that a great cat used to come in at night and devour all the best\nand finest fish. So she kept a big stick by her and determined to watch.\n\nOne day, as she and a woman were spinning together, the house suddenly\nbecame quite dark; and the door was burst open as if by the blast of\nthe tempest, when in walked a huge black cat, who went straight up to\nthe fire, then turned round and growled at them.\n\n\u201cWhy, surely this is the devil!\u201d said a young girl, who was by, sorting\nthe fish.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll teach you how to call me names,\u201d said the cat; and, jumping at\nher, he scratched her arm till the blood came. \u201cThere now,\u201d he said,\n\u201cyou will be more civil another time when a gentleman comes to see\nyou.\u201d And with that he walked over to the door and shut it close to\nprevent any of them going out, for the poor young girl, while crying\nloudly from fright and pain, had made a desperate rush to get away.\n\nJust then a man was going by, and hearing the cries he pushed open the\ndoor and tried to get in, but the cat stood on the threshold and would\nlet no one pass. On this, the man attacked him with his stick, and gave\nhim a sound blow; the cat, however, was more than his match in the\nfight, for it flew at him and tore his face and hands so badly that the\nman at last took to his heels and ran away as fast as he could.\n\n\u201cNow it\u2019s time for my dinner,\u201d said the cat, going up to examine the\nfish that was laid out on the tables. \u201cI hope the fish is good to-day.\nNow don\u2019t disturb me, nor make a fuss; I can help myself.\u201d With that he\njumped up and began to devour all the best fish, while he growled at\nthe woman.\n\n\u201cAway, out of this, you wicked beast!\u201d she cried, giving it a blow with\nthe tongs that would have broken its back, only it was a devil; \u201cout of\nthis! No fish shall you have to-day.\u201d\n\nBut the cat only grinned at her, and went on tearing and spoiling and\ndevouring the fish, evidently not a bit the worse for the blow. On\nthis, both the women attacked it with sticks, and struck hard blows\nenough to kill it, on which the cat glared at them, and spit fire; then\nmaking a leap, it tore their hands and arms till the blood came, and\nthe frightened women rushed shrieking from the house.\n\nBut presently the mistress returned, carrying with her a bottle of holy\nwater; and looking in, she saw the cat still devouring the fish, and\nnot minding. So she crept over quietly and threw the holy water on it\nwithout a word. No sooner was this done than a dense black smoke filled\nthe place, through which nothing was seen but the two red eyes of the\ncat, burning like coals of fire. Then the smoke gradually cleared away,\nand she saw the body of the creature burning slowly till it became\nshrivelled and black like a cinder, and finally disappeared. And from\nthat time the fish remained untouched and safe from harm, for the power\nof the Evil One was broken, and the demon cat was seen no more.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCats are very revengeful, and one should be very careful not to offend\nthem. A lady was in the habit of feeding the cat from her own table\nat dinner, and no doubt giving it choice morsels; but one day there\nwas a dinner party, and pussy was quite forgotten. So she sulked and\nplotted revenge; and that night, after the lady was in bed, the cat,\nwho had hid herself in the room, sprang at the throat of her friend\nand mistress, and bit her so severely that in a week the lady died of\nvirulent blood poisoning.\n\n * * * * *\n\nYet it is singular that the blood of the black cat is esteemed of\nwonderful power when mixed with herbs, for charms; and also of great\nefficacy in potions for the cure of disease; but three drops of the\nblood are sufficient, and it is generally obtained by nipping off a\nsmall piece of the tail.\n\n\nCAT NATURE.\n\nThe observation of cats is very remarkable, and also their intense\ncuriosity. They examine everything in a house, and in a short time know\nall about it as well as the owner. They are never deceived by stuffed\nbirds, or any such weak human delusions. They fathom it all at one\nglance, and then turn away with apathetic indifference, as if saying,\nin cat language\u2014\u201cWe know all about it.\u201d\n\nA favourite cat in a gentleman\u2019s house was rather fond of nocturnal\nrambles and late hours, perhaps copying his master, but no matter what\nhis engagements were the cat always returned regularly next morning\nprecisely at nine o\u2019clock, which was the breakfast hour, and _rang the\nhouse bell_ at the hall door. This fact was stated to me on undoubted\nauthority; and, in truth, there is nothing too wonderful to believe\nabout the intellect of cats; no matter what strange things may be\nnarrated of them, nothing should be held improbable or impossible to\ntheir intelligence.\n\nBut cats are decidedly malific; they are selfish, revengeful,\ntreacherous, cunning, and generally dangerous. The evil spirit in them\nis easily aroused. It is an Irish superstition that if you are going\na journey, and meet a cat, you should turn back. But the cat must meet\nyou on the road, not simply be in the house; and it must look you full\nin the face. Then cross yourself and turn back; for a witch or a devil\nis in your path.\n\nIt is believed also that if a black cat is killed and a bean placed in\nthe heart, and the animal afterwards buried, the beans that grow from\nthat seed will confer extraordinary power; for if a man places one\nin his mouth, he will become invisible, and can go anywhere he likes\nwithout being seen.\n\nCats have truly something awful in them. According to the popular\nbelief they know everything that is said, and can take various shapes\nthrough their demoniac power. A cat once lived in a farmer\u2019s family for\nmany years, and understood both Irish and English perfectly. Then the\nfamily grew afraid of it, for they said it would certainly talk some\nday. So the farmer put it into a bag, determined to get rid of it on\nthe mountains. But on the way he met a pack of hounds, and the dogs\nsmelt at the bag and dragged it open, on which the cat jumped out; but\nthe hounds were on it in a moment, and tore the poor animal to pieces.\nHowever, before her death she had time to say to the farmer in very\ngood Irish\u2014\u201cIt is well for you that I must die to-day, for had I lived\nI meant to have killed you this very night.\u201d These were the last dying\nwords of the cat uttered in her death agonies, before the face of many\ncredible witnesses, so there can be no doubt on the matter.\n\nCats were special objects of mysterious dread to the ancient Irish.\nThey believed that many of them were men and women metamorphosed into\ncats by demoniacal power. Cats also were the guardians of hidden\ntreasure, and had often great battles among themselves on account of\nthe hidden gold; when a demon, in the shape of the chief cat, led on\nthe opposing forces on each side, and compelled all the cats in the\ndistrict to take part in the conflict.\n\nThe Druidical or royal cat, the chief monarch of all the cats in\nIreland, was endowed with human speech and faculties, and possessed\ngreat and singular privileges. \u201cA slender black cat, wearing a chain of\nsilver,\u201d so it is described.\n\nThere is a legend that a beautiful princess, a king\u2019s daughter,\nhaving gone down to bathe one day, was there enchanted by her wicked\nstepmother, who hated her; and by the spell of the enchantment she was\ndoomed to be one year a cat, another a swan, and another an otter;\nbut with the privilege of assuming her natural shape one day in each\nyear, under certain conditions. It is to be regretted that we have no\naccount as to the mode in which the Princess Faithlean exercised her\nbrief enjoyment of human rights; for the narration would have had a\nmystic and deep psychological interest if the fair young victim had\nonly retained during all her transformations the memory of each of her\nsuccessive incarnations as the cat, the swan, and the otter.\n\nThis abnormal mode of existence, however, was not unusual amongst the\nIrish. Fionn himself had a wife who for seven years was alive by day\nand dead by night; and the Irish Princess Zeba, being enchanted by her\nwicked stepfather, the king of Munster, died and came to life again\neach alternate year.\n\nAll nations seem to have appreciated the mysterious and almost human\nqualities of cat nature; the profound cunning, the impertinent\nindifference, the intense selfishness, yet capable of the most\nhypocritical flatteries when some point has to be gained. Their\ntraits are not merely the product of brute instinct with unvarying\naction and results, but the manifestation of a calculating intellect,\nakin to the human. Then their grace and flexile beauty make them\nvery attractive; while the motherly virtues of the matron cat are\nsingularly interesting as a study of order, education, and training\nfor the wilful little kitten, quite on the human lines of salutary\ndiscipline. Humboldt declared that he could spend a whole day with\nimmense profit and advantage to himself as a philosopher, by merely\nwatching a cat with her kittens, the profound wisdom of the mother\nand the incomparable grace of the children. For cats are thoroughly\nwell-bred, born aristocrats; never abrupt, fussy, or obtrusive like the\ndog, but gentle, grave, and dignified in manner. Cats never run, they\nglide softly, and always with perfect and beautiful curves of motion;\nand they express their affection, not violently, like the dog, but with\nthe most graceful, caressing movements of the head.\n\nTheir intellect also is very remarkable, they easily acquire the\nmeaning of certain words, and have a singular and exact knowledge of\nhours.\n\nMr. St. George Mivart, in his interesting and exhaustive work on cats,\nhas devoted a whole chapter to the psychology of the cat; in which he\nshows that the race possesses evident mental qualities and peculiar\nintelligence, with also a decided and significant language of sounds\nand gestures to express the emotions of the cat mind. The highly\nreflective and observant nature of the cat is also admirably described\nin that very clever novel called \u201cThe Poison Tree,\u201d recently translated\nfrom the Bengalee. There the house-cat is drawn with the most lifelike\ntouches, as she sits watching the noble and beautiful lady at work\non her embroidery, while her little child is playing beside her with\nall the pretty toys scattered over the carpet: \u201cThe cat\u2019s disposition\nwas grave: her face indicated much wisdom, and a heart devoid of\nfickleness. She evidently was thinking\u2014\u2018the condition of human\ncreatures is frightful; their minds are ever given to sewing of canvas,\nplaying with dolls, or some such silly employment; their thoughts are\nnot turned to good works, such as providing suitable food for cats.\nWhat will become of them hereafter!\u2019 Then, seeing no means by which\nthe disposition of mankind could be improved, the cat, heaving a sigh,\nslowly departs.\u201d\n\n\nSEANCHAN THE BARD AND THE KING OF THE CATS.\n\n\nThere is an amusing legend preserved in Ossianic tradition of the\nencounter between Seanchan, the celebrated chief poet of Ireland, and\nthe King of all the Cats, who dwelt in a cave near Clonmacnoise.\n\nIn ancient Ireland the men of learning were esteemed beyond all other\nclasses; all the great ollaves and professors and poets held the very\nhighest social position, and took precedence of the nobles, and ranked\nnext to royalty. The leading men amongst them lived luxuriously in\nthe great Bardic House; and when they went abroad through the country\nthey travelled with a train of minor bards, fifty or more, and were\nentertained free of cost by the kings and chiefs, who considered\nthemselves highly honoured by the presence of so distinguished a\ncompany at their court. If the receptions were splendid and costly,\nthe praise of the entertainer was chanted by all the poets at the\nfeast; but if any slight were offered, then the Ard-Fil\u00e9 poured forth\nhis stinging satire in such bitter odes, that many declared they would\nsooner die than incur the anger of the poets or be made the subject of\ntheir scathing satire.\n\nAll the learned men and professors, the ollaves of music, poetry,\noratory, and of the arts and sciences generally, formed a great Bardic\nAssociation, who elected their own president, with the title of Chief\nPoet of all Ireland, and they also elected chief poets for each of\nthe provinces. Learned women, likewise, and poetesses, were included\nin the Bardic Association, with distinct and recognized privileges,\nboth as to revenue and costly apparel. Legal enactments even were\nmade respecting the number of colours allowed to be worn in their\nmantles\u2014the poet being allowed six colours, and the poetess five in her\nrobe and mantle; the number of colours being a distinct recognition\nand visible sign of rank, and therefore very highly esteemed. But, in\ntime, as a consequence of their many and great privileges, the pride\nand insolence of the learned class, the ollamhs, poets, and poetesses,\nbecame so insufferable, that even the kings trembled before them. This\nis shown in the Ossianic tale, from which we may gather that Seanchan\nthe Bard, when entertained at the court of King Guaire, grew jealous of\nthe attention paid to the nobles while he was present. So he sulked at\nthe festival, and made himself eminently disagreeable, as will be seen\nby the following legend:\u2014\n\nWhen Seanchan, the renowned Bard, was made _Ard-Fil\u00e9_, or Chief Poet of\nIreland, Guaire, the king of Connaught, to do him honour, made a great\nfeast for him and the whole Bardic Association. And all the professors\nwent to the king\u2019s house, the great ollaves of poetry and history and\nmusic, and of the arts and sciences; and the learned, aged females,\nGrug and Grag and Grangait; and all the chief poets and poetesses of\nIreland, an amazing number. But Guaire the king entertained them all\nsplendidly, so that the ancient pathway to his palace is still called\n\u201cThe Road of the Dishes.\u201d\n\nAnd each day he asked, \u201cHow fares it with my noble guests?\u201d But they\nwere all discontented, and wanted things he could not get for them.\nSo he was very sorrowful, and prayed to God to be delivered from \u201cthe\nlearned men and women, a vexatious class.\u201d\n\nStill the feast went on for three days and three nights. And they drank\nand made merry. And the whole Bardic Association entertained the nobles\nwith the choicest music and professional accomplishments.\n\nBut Seanchan sulked and would neither eat nor drink, for he was jealous\nof the nobles of Connaught. And when he saw how much they consumed of\nthe best meats and wine, he declared he would taste no food till they\nand their servants were all sent away out of the house.\n\nAnd when Guaire asked him again, \u201cHow fares my noble guest, and this\ngreat and excellent people?\u201d Seanchan answered, \u201cI have never had worse\ndays, nor worse nights, nor worse dinners in my life.\u201d And he ate\nnothing for three whole days.\n\nThen the king was sorely grieved that the whole Bardic Association\nshould be feasting and drinking while Seanchan, the chief poet of Erin,\nwas fasting and weak. So he sent his favourite serving-man, a person of\nmild manners and cleanliness, to offer special dishes to the bard.\n\n\u201cTake them away,\u201d said Seanchan; \u201cI\u2019ll have none of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why, oh, Royal Bard?\u201d asked the servitor.\n\n\u201cBecause thou art an uncomely youth,\u201d answered Seanchan. \u201cThy\ngrandfather was chip-nailed\u2014I have seen him; I shall eat no food from\nthy hands.\u201d\n\nThen the king called a beautiful maiden to him, his foster daughter,\nand said, \u201cLady, bring thou this wheaten cake and this dish of salmon\nto the illustrious poet, and serve him thyself.\u201d So the maiden went.\n\nBut when Seanchan saw her he asked: \u201cWho sent thee hither, and why hast\nthou brought me food?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy lord the king sent me, oh, Royal Bard,\u201d she answered, \u201cbecause I\nam comely to look upon, and he bade me serve thee with food myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake it away,\u201d said Seanchan, \u201cthou art an unseemly girl, I know of\nnone more ugly. I have seen thy grandmother; she sat on a wall one day\nand pointed out the way with her hand to some travelling lepers. How\ncould I touch thy food?\u201d So the maiden went away in sorrow.\n\nAnd then Guaire the king was indeed angry, and he exclaimed, \u201cMy\nmalediction on the mouth that uttered that! May the kiss of a leper be\non Seanchan\u2019s lips before he dies!\u201d\n\nNow there was a young serving-girl there, and she said to Seanchan,\n\u201cThere is a hen\u2019s egg in the place, my lord, may I bring it to thee,\noh, Chief Bard?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will suffice,\u201d said Seanchan; \u201cbring it that I may eat.\u201d\n\nBut when she went to look for it, behold the egg was gone.\n\n\u201cThou hast eaten it,\u201d said the bard, in wrath.\n\n\u201cNot so, my lord,\u201d she answered; \u201cbut the mice, the nimble race, have\ncarried it away.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I will satirize them in a poem,\u201d said Seanchan; and forthwith he\nchanted so bitter a satire against them that ten mice fell dead at once\nin his presence.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis well,\u201d said Seanchan; \u201cbut the cat is the one most to blame,\nfor it was her duty to suppress the mice. Therefore I shall satirize\nthe tribe of the cats, and their chief lord, Irusan, son of Arusan.\nFor I know where he lives with his wife Spit-fire, and his daughter\nSharp-tooth, with her brothers, the Purrer and the Growler. But I shall\nbegin with Irusan himself, for he is king, and answerable for all the\ncats.\u201d\n\nAnd he said\u2014\u201cIrusan, monster of claws, who strikes at the mouse, but\nlets it go; weakest of cats. The otter did well who bit off the tips of\nthy progenitor\u2019s ears, so that every cat since is jagged-eared. Let thy\ntail hang down; it is right, for the mouse jeers at thee.\u201d\n\nNow Irusan heard these words in his cave, and he said to his daughter,\nSharp-tooth: \u201cSeanchan has satirized me, but I will be avenged.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, father,\u201d she said, \u201cbring him here alive, that we may all take\nour revenge.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall go then and bring him,\u201d said Irusan; \u201cso send thy brothers\nafter me.\u201d\n\nNow when it was told to Seanchan that the King of the Cats was on his\nway to come and kill him, he was timorous, and besought Guaire and all\nthe nobles to stand by and protect him. And before long a vibrating,\nimpressive, impetuous sound was heard, like a raging tempest of fire\nin full blaze. And when the cat appeared he seemed to them of the\nsize of a bullock; and this was his appearance\u2014rapacious, panting,\njagged-eared, snub-nosed, sharp-toothed, nimble, angry, vindictive,\nglare-eyed, terrible, sharp-clawed. Such was his similitude. But he\npassed on amongst them, not minding till he came to Seanchan; and him\nhe seized by the arm and jerked him up on his back, and made off the\nway he came before any one could touch him; for he had no other object\nin view but to get hold of the poet.\n\nNow Seanchan, being in evil plight, had recourse to flattery. \u201cOh,\nIrusan,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201chow truly splendid thou art, such running, such\nleaps, such strength, and such agility! But what evil have I done, oh,\nIrusan, son of Arusan? spare me, I entreat. I invoke the saints between\nthee and me, oh, great King of the Cats.\u201d\n\nBut not a bit did the cat let go his hold for all this fine talk, but\nwent straight on to Clonmacnoise where there was a forge; and St.\nKieran happened to be there standing at the door.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d exclaimed the saint; \u201cis that the Chief Bard of Erin on the\nback of a cat? Has Guaire\u2019s hospitality ended in this?\u201d And he ran for\na red-hot bar of iron that was in the furnace, and struck the cat on\nthe side with it, so that the iron passed through him, and he fell down\nlifeless.\n\n\u201cNow my curse on the hand that gave that blow!\u201d said the bard, when he\ngot upon his feet.\n\n\u201cAnd wherefore?\u201d asked St. Kieran.\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d answered Seanchan, \u201cI would rather Irusan had killed me, and\neaten me every bit, that so I might bring disgrace on Guaire for the\nbad food he gave me; for it was all owing to his wretched dinners that\nI got into this plight.\u201d\n\nAnd when all the other kings heard of Seanchan\u2019s misfortunes, they sent\nto beg he would visit their courts. But he would have neither kiss nor\nwelcome from them, and went on his way to the bardic mansion, where the\nbest of good living was always to be had. And ever after the kings were\nafraid to offend Seanchan.\n\nSo as long as he lived he had the chief place at the feast, and all\nthe nobles there were made to sit below him, and Seanchan was content.\nAnd in time he and Guaire were reconciled; and Seanchan and all the\nollamhs, and the whole Bardic Association, were feasted by the king\nfor thirty days in noble style, and had the choicest of viands and the\nbest of French wines to drink, served in goblets of silver. And in\nreturn for his splendid hospitality the Bardic Association decreed,\nunanimously, a vote of thanks to the king. And they praised him in\npoems as \u201cGuaire the Generous,\u201d by which name he was ever after known\nin history, for the words of the poet are immortal.\n\n\nTHE BARDS.\n\n\nThe Irish kings in ancient times kept up splendid hospitality at their\nrespective courts, and never sat down to an entertainment, it was\nsaid, without a hundred nobles at least being present. Next in rank\nand superb living to the royal race came the learned men, the ollamhs\nand poets; they were placed next the king, and above the nobles at\nthe festivals, and very gorgeous was the appearance of the Ard-Fil\u00e9\non these occasions, in his white robes clasped with golden brooches,\nand a circlet of gold upon his head; while by his side lay the golden\nharp, which he seized when the poetic frenzy came upon him, and swept\nthe chords to songs of love, or in praise of immortal heroes. The\nqueen alone had the privilege to ask the poet to recite at the royal\nbanquets, and while he declaimed, no man dared to interrupt him by a\nsingle word.\n\nA train of fifty minor bards always attended the chief poet, and they\nwere all entertained free of cost wherever they visited, throughout\nIreland, while the Ard-Fil\u00e9 was borne on men\u2019s shoulders to the palace\nof the king, and there presented with a rich robe, a chain, and a\ngirdle of gold. Of one bard, it is recorded that the king gave him, in\naddition, his horse and armour, fifty rings to his hand, one thousand\nounces of pure gold, and his chess-board.\n\nThe game of chess is frequently referred to in the old bardic tales;\nand chess seems to have been a favourite pastime with the Irish from\nthe most remote antiquity. The pieces must have been of great size,\nfor it is narrated that the great Cuchullen killed a messenger who had\ntold him a lie, by merely flinging a chessman at him, which pierced his\nbrain. The royal chess-board was very costly and richly decorated. One\nis described in a manuscript of the twelfth century: \u201cIt was a board\nof silver and pure gold, and every angle was illuminated with precious\nstones. And there was a man-bag of woven brass wire.\u201d But the ancestors\nof the same king had in their hall a chess-board with the pieces formed\nof the _bones of their hereditary enemies_.\n\nThe dress of the bards added to their splendour, for the Brehon laws\nenacted that the value of the robes of the chief poet should be five\nmilch cows, and that of the poetess three cows; the queen\u2019s robes being\nof the value of seven cows, including a diadem and golden veil, and a\nrobe of scarlet silk, embroidered in divers colours. The scions of the\nroyal house had also the right to seven colours in their mantle; while\nthe poet was allowed six, and the poetess five\u2014the number of colours\nbeing a sign of dignity and rank.\n\nLearning was always highly esteemed in Ireland, and in ancient Erin the\n_literati_ ranked next to the kings.\n\nThe great and wise _Ollamh-Fodla_, king of Ireland in Druidic times,\nbuilt and endowed a college at Tara, near the royal palace, which\nwas called _Mur-Ollamh_, \u201cthe Wall of the Learned.\u201d All the arts and\nsciences were represented there by eminent professors, the great\nollaves of music, history, poetry, and oratory; and they lived and\nfeasted together, and formed the great Bardic Association, ruled over\nby their own president, styled the Ard-Fil\u00e9, or chief poet of Ireland,\nfrom _Filidecht_ (philosophy or the highest wisdom); for the poets,\nabove all men, were required to be pure and free from all sin that\ncould be a reproach to learning. From them was demanded\u2014\n\n \u201cPurity of hand,\n Purity of mouth,\n Purity of learning,\n Purity of marriage;\u201d\n\nand any ollamh that did not preserve these four purities lost half his\nincome and his dignity, the poet being esteemed not only the highest\nof all men for his learning and intellect, but also as being the true\nrevealer of the supreme wisdom.\n\nMusic was sedulously taught and cultivated at the college of the\nollamhs; for all the ancient life of Ireland moved to music.\n\nThe Brehons seated on a hill intoned the laws to the listening people;\nthe Senachies chanted the genealogies of the kings; and the Poets\nrecited the deeds of the heroes, or sang to their gold harps those\nexquisite airs that still enchant the world, and which have been wafted\ndown along the centuries, an echo, according to tradition, of the soft,\npathetic, fairy music, that haunted the hills and glens of ancient\nIreland.\n\nThe chief poet was required to know by heart four hundred poems, and\nthe minor bards two hundred. And they were bound to recite any poem\ncalled for by the kings at the festivals. On one occasion a recitation\nwas demanded of the legend of the _Taine-bo-Cuailne_, or The Great\nCattle Raid, of which Maeve, queen of Connaught, was the heroine, but\nnone of the bards knew it. This was felt to be a great disgrace, and\nSeanchan and the bards set forth to traverse Ireland in search of the\nstory of the Taine, under _Geasa_, or a solemn oath, not to sleep twice\nin the same place till it was found.\n\nAt length it was revealed to them that only the dead Fergus-Roy knew\nthe poem, and forthwith they proceeded to his grave, and fasted and\nprayed for three days, while they invoked him to appear. And on their\ninvocation Fergus-Roy uprose in awful majesty, and stood in his grave\nclothes before them, and recited the Taine from beginning to end to the\ncircle of listening bards. Then, having finished, he descended again\ninto the grave, and the earth closed over him.\n\nDuring this expedition, Guaire the Generous took charge of all the\nwives and the poetesses of the Bardic Association, so as they should\nnot trouble the bards while on their wanderings in search of the ballad\nof the Taine. Yet they do not seem to have been great feeders, these\nlearned ladies; for it is related of one of them, Brigit the poetess,\nthat although she only ate one hen\u2019s egg at a meal, yet she was called\n\u201cBrigit of the great appetite.\u201d\n\nIt was on their return from the search for the Taine that the bards\ndecreed a vote of thanks to Guaire the king.\n\nIn order to keep up the dignity of the great bardic clan, an income\nwas paid by the State to each of the professors and poets according to\nhis eminence; that of the chief poet being estimated by antiquarians\nat about five thousand a year of our money, for the lofty and learned\nBardic Association disdained commerce and toil. The Fileas lived only\non inspiration and the hospitality of their royal and noble patrons,\nwhich they amply repaid by laudatory odes and sonnets. But, if due\nhomage were denied them, they denounced the ungenerous and niggard\ndefaulter in the most scathing and bitter satires. Of one chief it is\nrecorded that he absolutely went mad and died in consequence of the\nmalignant poems that were made on him by a clever satirical bard.\n\nAt last the Brehons found it necessary to take cognizance of this\ncruel and terrible implement of social torture, and enactments were\nframed against it, with strict regulations regarding the quality and\njustice of the satires poured out by the poets on those who had the\ncourage to resist their exactions and resent their insolence. Finally,\nhowever, the ollamhs, poets, and poetesses became so intolerable that\nthe reigning king of Ireland about the seventh century made a great\neffort to extirpate the whole bardic race, but failed; they were too\nstrong for him, though he succeeded in, at least, materially abridging\ntheir privileges, lessening their revenues, and reducing their numbers;\nand though they still continued to exist as the Bardic Association,\nyet they never afterwards regained the power and dignity which they\nonce held in the land, before their pride and insolent contempt of\nall classes who were not numbered amongst the ollamhs and fileas, had\naroused such violent animosity. The Brehon laws also decreed, as to\nthe distraint of a poet, that his horsewhip be taken from him, \u201cas a\nwarning that he is not to make use of it until he renders justice.\u201d\nPerhaps by the horsewhip was meant the wand or staff which the poets\ncarried, made of wood, on which it is conjectured they may have\ninscribed their verses in the Ogham character.\n\nThe Brehons seem to have made the most minute regulations as to the\nlife of the people, even concerning the domestic cats. In the _Senchas\nMor_ (The Great Antiquity) it is enacted that the cat is exempt from\nliability for eating the food which he finds in the kitchen, \u201cowing\nto negligence in taking care of it.\u201d But if it were taken from the\nsecurity of a vessel, then the cat is in fault, and he may safely be\nkilled. The cat, also, is exempt from liability for injuring an idler\nin catching mice while mousing; but _half-fines_ are due from him for\nthe profitable worker he may injure, and the excitement of his mousing\ntakes the other half. For the distraint of a dog, a stick was placed\nover his trough in order that he be not fed. And there was a distress\nof two days for a black and white cat if descended from the great\nchampion, which was taken from the ship of Breasal Breac, in which were\nwhite-breasted black cats; the same for the lapdog of a queen.\n\n\nKING ARTHUR AND THE CAT.\n\n\nWhile on the subject of cats, the curious and interesting legend of\n\u201cKing Arthur\u2019s Fight with the Great Cat\u201d should not be passed over;\nfor though not exactly Irish, yet it is at least Celtic, and belongs\nby affinity to our ancient race. It is taken from a prose romance of\nthe fifteenth century, entitled, \u201cMerlin; or, The Early Life of King\nArthur,\u201d recently edited, from the unique Cambridge Manuscript, by Mr.\nWheatly.\n\nMerlin told the king that the people beyond the Lake of Lausanne\ngreatly desired his help, \u201cfor there repaireth a devil that destroyeth\nthe country. It is a cat so great and ugly that it is horrible to look\non.\u201d For one time a fisher came to the lake with his nets, and he\npromised to give our Lord the first fish he took. It was a fish worth\nthirty shillings; and when he saw it so fair and great, he said to\nhimself softly, \u201cGod shall not have this; but I will surely give Him\nthe next.\u201d Now, the next was still better, and he said, \u201cOur Lord may\nwait yet awhile; but the third shall be His without doubt.\u201d So he cast\nhis net, but drew out only a little kitten, as black as any coal.\n\nAnd when the fisher saw it he said he had need of it at home for\nrats and mice; and he nourished it and kept it in his house till it\nstrangled him and his wife and children. Then the cat fled to a high\nmountain and destroyed and slew all that came in his way, and was great\nand terrible to behold.\n\nWhen the king heard this he made ready and rode to the Lac de Lausanne\nand found the country desolate and void of people, for neither man nor\nwoman would inhabit the place for fear of the cat.\n\nAnd the king was lodged a mile from the mountain, with Sir Gawvain and\nMerlin and others. And they clomb the mountain, Merlin leading the way.\nAnd when they were come up, Merlin said to the king, \u201cSir, in that rock\nliveth the cat;\u201d and he showed him a great cave, large and deep, in the\nmountain.\n\n\u201cAnd how shall the cat come out?\u201d said the king.\n\n\u201cThat shall ye see hastily,\u201d quoth Merlin; \u201cbut look you, be ready to\ndefend, for anon he will assail you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen draw ye all back,\u201d said the king, \u201cfor I will prove his power.\u201d\n\nAnd when they withdrew, Merlin whistled loud, and the cat leaped out\nof the cave, thinking it was some wild beast, for he was hungry and\nfasting; and he ran boldly to the king, who was ready with his spear,\nand thought to smite him through the body. But the fiend seized the\nspear in his mouth and broke it in twain.\n\nThen the king drew his sword, holding his shield also before him. And\nas the cat leaped at his throat, he struck him so fiercely that the\ncreature fell to the ground; but soon was up again, and ran at the king\nso hard that his claws gripped through the hauberk to the flesh, and\nthe red blood followed the claws.\n\nNow the king was nigh falling to earth; but when he saw the red blood\nhe was wonder-wrath, and with his sword in his right hand and his\nshield at his breast, he ran at the cat vigorously, who sat licking\nhis claws, all wet with blood. But when he saw the king coming towards\nhim, he leapt up to seize him by the throat, as before, and stuck his\nfore-feet so firmly in the shield that they stayed there; and the king\nsmote him on the legs, so that he cut them off to the knees, and the\ncat fell to the ground.\n\nThen the king ran at him with his sword; but the cat stood on his\nhind-legs and grinned with his teeth, and coveted the throat of the\nking, and the king tried to smite him on the head; but the cat strained\nhis hinder feet and leaped at the king\u2019s breast, and fixed his teeth in\nthe flesh, so that the blood streamed down from breast and shoulder.\n\nThen the king struck him fiercely on the body, and the cat fell head\ndownwards, but the feet stayed fixed in the hauberk. And the king smote\nthem asunder, on which the cat fell to the ground, where she howled and\nbrayed so loudly that it was heard through all the host, and she began\nto creep towards the cave; but the king stood between her and the cave,\nand when she tried to catch him with her teeth he struck her dead.\n\nThen Merlin and the others ran to him and asked how it was with him.\n\n\u201cWell, blessed be our Lord!\u201d said the king, \u201cfor I have slain this\ndevil; but, verily, I never had such doubt of myself, not even when I\nslew the giant on the mountain; therefore I thank the Lord.\u201d\n\n(This was the great giant of St. Michael\u2019s Mount, who supped all the\nseason on seven knave children chopped in a charger of white silver,\nwith powder of precious spices, and goblets full plenteous of Portugal\nwine.)\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the barons, \u201cye have great cause for thankfulness.\u201d\n\nThen they looked on the feet that were left in the shield and in the\nhauberk, and said, \u201cSuch feet were never seen before!\u201d And they took\nthe shield and showed it to the host with great joy.\n\nSo the king let the shield be with the cat\u2019s feet; but the other feet\nhe had laid in a coffin to be kept. And the mountain was called from\nthat day, \u201cThe Mountain of the Cat,\u201d and the name will never be changed\nwhile the world endureth.\n\n\nCONCERNING COWS.\n\n\nThe most singular legends of Ireland relate to bulls and cows, and\nthere are hundreds of places all commencing with the word _Bo_ (one\nof the most ancient words in the Irish language), which recall some\nmystic or mythical story of a cow, especially of a white heifer, which\nanimal seems to have been an object of the greatest veneration from all\nantiquity.\n\nIn old times there arose one day a maiden from the sea, a beautiful\nBerooch, or mermaid, and all the people on the Western Coast of Erin\ngathered round her and wondered at her beauty. And the great chief of\nthe land carried her home to his house, where she was treated like a\nqueen.\n\nAnd she was very gentle and wise, and after some time she acquired the\nlanguage, and could talk to the people quite well in their own Irish\ntongue, to their great delight and wonder. Then she informed them that\nshe had been sent to their country by a great spirit, to announce the\narrival in Ireland of the three sacred cows\u2014_Bo-Finn_, _Bo-Ruadh_, and\n_Bo-Dhu_\u2014the white, the red, and the black cows, who were destined to\nfill the land with the most splendid cattle, so that the people should\nnever know want while the world lasted.\n\nThis was such good news that the people in their delight carried the\nsea-maiden from house to house in procession, in order that she might\ntell it herself to every one; and they crowned her with flowers, while\nthe musicians went before her, singing to their harps.\n\nAfter dwelling with them a little longer she asked to be taken back\nto the sea, for she had grown sad at being away so long from her own\nkindred. So, on May Eve, a great crowd accompanied her down to the\nstrand, where she took leave of them, telling them that on that day\nyear they should all assemble at the same place to await the arrival of\nthe three cows. Then she plunged into the sea and was seen no more.\n\nHowever, on that day year all the people of Ireland assembled on the\nshore to watch, as they had been directed by the beautiful sea-maiden;\nand all the high cliffs and all the rocks were covered with anxious\nspectators from the early dawn. Nor did they wait in vain. Exactly at\nnoon the waves were stirred with a mighty commotion, and three cows\nrose up from the sea\u2014a white, a red, and a black\u2014all beautiful to\nbehold, with sleek skins, large soft eyes, and curved horns, white as\nivory. They stood upon the shore for a while, looking around them.\nThen each one went in a different direction, by three roads; the\nblack went south, the red went north, and the milk-white heifer\u2014the\n_Bo-Finn_\u2014crossed the plain of Ireland to the very centre, where stood\nthe king\u2019s palace. And every place she passed was named after her, and\nevery well she drank at was called _Lough-na-Bo_, or _Tober-Bo-Finn_\n(the well of the white cow), so her memory remains to this day.\n\nIn process of time the white heifer gave birth to twins, a male and\nfemale calf, and from them descended a great race, still existing in\nIreland; after which the white cow disappeared into a great cave by\nthe sea, the entrance to which no man knows. And there she remains,\nand will remain, in an enchanted sleep, until the true king of Eire,\nthe lord of Ireland, shall come to waken her; but the lake near the\ncave is still known as _Lough-na-Bo-banna_ (the lake of the snow-white\ncow). Yet some say that it was the king\u2019s daughter was carried off\nby enchantment to the cave, in the form of a cow, and she will never\nregain her form until she sleeps on the summit of each of the three\nhighest mountains in Ireland; but only the true king of Eire can wake\nher from her sleep, and bring her to \u201cthe rock of the high place,\u201d when\nshe will be restored at last to her own beautiful form.\n\nAnother legend says that a red-haired woman struck the beautiful\nBo-Finn with her staff, and smote her to death; and the roar which the\nwhite cow gave in dying was heard throughout the whole of Ireland, and\nall the people trembled. This is evidently an allegory. The beautiful\nBo-Finn\u2014the white cow\u2014is Ireland herself; and the red-haired woman who\nsmote her to death was Queen Elizabeth, \u201cin whose time, after her cruel\nwars, the cry of the slaughtered people was heard all over the land,\nand went up to heaven for vengeance against the enemies of Ireland;\nand the kingdom was shaken as by an earthquake, by the roar of the\noppressed against the tyrant.\u201d\n\nThe path of the white cow across Ireland is marked by small rude\nstone monuments, still existing. They show the exact spot where she\nrested each night and had her bed, and the adjoining lands have names\nconnected with the tradition\u2014as, \u201cThe plain of the Fenian cows;\u201d\n\u201cThe hill of worship;\u201d \u201cThe pool of the spotted ox,\u201d called after him\nbecause he always waited to drink till the white cow came, for they\nwere much attached to each other.\n\nThere are also Druid stones at one resting-place, with Ogham marks on\nthem. Some time ago an endeavour was made to remove and carry off the\nstones of one of the monuments; but the man who first put a spade in\nthe ground was \u201cstruck,\u201d and remained bedridden for seven years.\n\nThe plain of the death of the _Bo-banna_ (the white cow), where\nshe gave the roar that shook all Ireland is called \u201cthe plain of\nlamentation.\u201d It never was tilled, and never will be tilled. The people\nhold it as a sacred spot, and until recently it was the custom to have\ndances there every Sunday. But these old usages are rapidly dying out;\nfor though meant originally as mystic ceremonies, yet by degrees they\ndegenerated to such licentious revelry that the wrath of the priesthood\nfell on them, and they were discontinued.\n\nThere is a holy well near \u201cthe plain of lamentation,\u201d called\n_Tobar-na-Bo_ (the well of the white cow); and these ancient names,\ncoming down the stream of time from the far-off Pagan era, attest the\ngreat antiquity of the legend of the coming to Ireland of the mystic\nand beautiful _Bo-Finn_.\n\nThere is another legend concerning the arrival of the three cows\u2014the\nwhite, the red, and the black\u2014which is said to be taken from the Book\nof Enoch.\n\nFour cows sprang at once from the earth\u2014two white, a red, and a\nblack\u2014and one of the four went over to the white cow and taught it a\nmystery. And it trembled and became a man, and this was the first man\nthat appeared in Erin. And the man fashioned a ship and dwelt there\nwith the cows while a deluge covered the earth. And when the waters\nceased, the red and the black cows went their way, but the white\nremained.\n\nThe story is supposed by Bryant to be a literal rendering of some\nancient hieroglyph, descriptive of the three races of mankind, and of\nthe dispersion of the primal human family.\n\n\nFAIRY WILES.\n\nThe fairies are very desirous to abduct handsome cows and carry them\noff to the fairy palace under the earth; and if a farmer happens\nto find one of his stock ailing or diseased, the belief is that\nthe fairies have carried off the real good animal, and sent an old\nwizened witch to take the form of the farmer\u2019s cow. It is therefore\nto neutralize the fairy spells that the cattle are driven through\nthe fire on St. John\u2019s Eve; and other devices are employed\u2014a bunch of\nprimroses is very effective tied on the tail, or a hot coal run down\nthe cow\u2019s back to singe the hair.\n\nOne evening a boy was driving home his father\u2019s cows when a fairy\nblast arose in the form of a whirlwind of dust, on which the cows took\nfright, and one of them ran upon a fairy rath. The boy followed to turn\nher back, when he was met and stopped by an old witch-woman.\n\n\u201cLet her alone, Alanna,\u201d she cried, \u201cshe is on our ground now, and you\ncan\u2019t take her away. So just run home and tell your father that on\nthis day twelvemonth the cow will be restored to him, and bring a fine\nyoung calf along with her. But the fairies want her badly now, for our\nbeautiful queen down there is fretting her life out for want of some\nmilk that has the scent of the green grass in it and of the fresh upper\nair. Now don\u2019t fret, Alanna, but trust my words. There, take yon hazel\nstick and strike the cow boldly three times on the head, that so the\nway may be clear we have to travel.\u201d\n\nWith that the boy struck the animal as he was desired, for the old\nwitch-woman was so nice and civil that he liked to oblige her, and\nimmediately after she and the cow vanished away as if they had sunk\ninto the earth.\n\nHowever, the father minded the time, and when that day year came round\nhe sent his son to the fairy rath to see if the witch had kept her\npromise, and there truly was the cow standing quite patiently, and a\nfine white calf by her side. So there were great rejoicings when he\nbrought them home, for the fairies had kept their promise and behaved\nhonourably, as indeed they always do when properly treated and trusted.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNot but that the fairies will do wicked things sometimes, and, above\nall, steal the milk when they get a chance, or skim the cream off the\nmilk crocks.\n\nA farmer had a fine cow that was the pride of his farm and gave\nsplendid milk, but suddenly the animal seemed ailing and queer; for\nshe gave no milk, but went every morning and stood under the old\nhawthorn-tree quite quietly as if some one were milking her.\n\nSo the man watched the place at milking time, and as usual down the\nfield came the cow and took up her position close under the old\nhawthorn. Then the farmer beheld the trunk of the tree open, and out of\nthe cleft came a little witch-woman all in red, who milked the cow in a\nvessel she had with her, and then she retreated into the tree again.\n\nHere was devil\u2019s work in earnest, so thought the farmer, and he\nhastened off for the greatest fairy doctor in the country. And when he\ncame the cow was singed all along its back with a live coal; and then\nan incantation was said over it, but no one heard the words the fairy\ndoctor uttered; after this he gave the animal a strong potion to drink,\nbut no one knew the herbs of which it was made. However, the next day\nthe cow was quite restored, and gave her milk as heretofore, and the\nspell was broken for ever and ever, after they had drawn a circle round\nthe old hawthorn-tree with a red-hot piece of iron taken from the\nhearth; for neither witch nor fairy can pass a circle of fire.\n\n\nTHE DEAD HAND.\n\n\nWitchcraft is sometimes practised by the people to produce butter in\nthe churn, the most efficacious being to stir the milk round with the\nhand of a dead man, newly taken from the churchyard; but whoever is\nsuspected of this practice is looked upon with great horror and dread\nby the neighbours.\n\nA woman of the mainland got married to a fine young fellow of one of\nthe islands. She was a tall, dark woman who seldom spoke, and kept\nherself very close and reserved from every one. But she minded her\nbusiness; for she had always more butter to bring to market than any\none else, and could therefore undersell the other farmers\u2019 wives. Then\nstrange rumours got about concerning her, and the people began to\nwhisper among themselves that something was wrong, and that there was\nwitchcraft in it, especially as it was known that whenever she churned\nshe went into an inner room off the kitchen, shut the door close, and\nwould allow no one to enter. So they determined to watch and find out\nthe secret, and one day a girl from the neighbourhood, when the woman\nwas out, got in through a window and hid herself under the bed, waiting\nthere patiently till the churning began.\n\nAt last in came the woman, and having carefully closed the door began\nher work with the milk, churning in the usual way without any strange\ndoings that might seem to have magic in them. But presently she\nstopped, and going over to a box unlocked it, and from this receptacle,\nto the girl\u2019s horror, she drew forth the hand of a dead man, with which\nshe stirred the milk round and round several times, going down on her\nknees and muttering an incantation all the while.\n\nSeven times she stirred the milk with the dead hand, and seven times\nshe went round the churn on her knees muttering some strange charm.\nAfter this she rose up and began to gather the butter from the churn\nwith the dead hand, filling a pail with as much butter as the milk of\nten cows. When the pail was quite full she dipped the dead hand three\ntimes in the milk, then dried it and put it back again in the box.\n\nThe girl, as soon as she could get away unperceived, fled in horror\nfrom the room, and spread the news amongst the people. At once a crowd\ngathered round the house with angry cries and threats to break open the\ndoor to search for the dead hand.\n\nAt last the woman appeared calm and cold as usual, and told them they\nwere taking a deal of trouble about nothing, for there was no dead hand\nin the house. However, the people rushed in and searched, but all they\nsaw was a huge fire on the hearth, though the smell of burning flesh\nwas distinctly perceptible, and by this they knew that she had burnt\nthe dead hand. Yet this did not save her from the vengeance of the\nneighbours. She was shunned by every one; no one would eat with her, or\ndrink with her, or talk to her, and after a while she and her husband\nquitted the island and were never more heard of.\n\nHowever, after she left and the butter was brought to the market, all\nthe people had their fair and equal rights again, of which the wicked\nwitchcraft of the woman had defrauded them for so long, and there was\ngreat rejoicing in the island over the fall and punishment of the\nwicked witch of the dead hand.\n\n\nTHE WICKED WIDOW.\n\n\nThe evil spells over milk and butter are generally practised by women,\nand arise from some feeling of malice or envy against a prosperous\nneighbour. But the spell will not work unless some portion of the milk\nis first given by consent. The people therefore are very reluctant\nto give away milk, unless to some friend that they could not suspect\nof evil. Tramps coming in to beg for a mug of milk should always be\navoided, they may be witches in disguise; and even if milk is given, it\nmust be drunk in the house, and not carried away out of it. In every\ncase the person who enters must give a hand to the churn, and say, \u201cGod\nbless all here.\u201d\n\nA young farmer, one of the fine handsome fellows of the West, named\nHugh Connor, who was also well off and rich, took to wife a pretty\nyoung girl of the village called Mary, one of the Leydons, and there\nwas no better girl in all the country round, and they were very\ncomfortable and happy together. But Hugh Connor had been keeping\ncompany before his marriage with a young widow of the place, who had\ndesigns on him, and was filled with rage when Mary Leydon was selected\nfor Connor\u2019s bride, in place of herself. Then a desire for vengeance\nrose up in her heart, and she laid her plans accordingly. First she\ngot a fairy woman to teach her some witch secrets and spells, and\nthen by great pretence of love and affection for Mary Connor, she got\nfrequent admission to the house, soothing and flattering the young\nwife; and on churning days she would especially make it a point to come\nin and offer a helping hand, and if the cakes were on the griddle, she\nwould sit down to watch and turn them. But it so happened that always\non these days the cakes were sure to be burned and spoiled, and the\nbutter would not rise in the churn, or if any did come, it was sour\nand bad, and of no use for the market. But still the widow kept on\nvisiting, and soothing, and flattering, till Mary Connor thought she\nwas the very best friend to her in the whole wide world, though it was\ntrue that whenever the widow came to the house something evil happened.\nThe best dish fell down of itself off the dresser and broke; or the\nrain got in through the roof, and Mary\u2019s new cashmere gown, a present\nthat had come to her all the way from Dublin, was quite ruined and\nspoiled. But worse came, for the cow sickened, and a fine young brood\nof turkeys walked straight into the lake and got drowned. And still\nworst of all, the picture of the Blessed Virgin Mother, that was pinned\nup to the wall, fell down one day, and was blown into the fire and\nburned.\n\nAfter this, what luck could be on the house? and Mary\u2019s heart sank\nwithin her, and she fairly broke down, and cried her very life out in a\ntorrent of tears.\n\nNow it so happened that an old woman with a blue cloak, and the hood\nof it over her head, a stranger, was passing by at the time, and she\nstepped in and asked Mary kindly what ailed her. So Mary told her all\nher misfortunes, and how everything in the house seemed bewitched for\nevil.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the stranger, \u201cI see it all, for I am wise, and know the\nmysteries. Some one with the Evil Eye comes to your house. We must find\nout who it is.\u201d\n\nThen Mary told her that the nearest friend she had was the widow, but\nshe was so sweet and kind, no one could suspect her of harm.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll see,\u201d said the stranger, \u201conly do as I bid you, and have\neverything ready when she comes.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe will be here soon,\u201d said Mary, \u201cfor it is churning day, and she\nalways comes to help exactly at noon.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll begin at once; and now close the door fast,\u201d said the\nstranger.\n\nAnd with that, she threw some herbs on the fire, so that a great smoke\narose. Then she took all the plough irons that were about, and one\nof them she drove into the ground close beside the churn, and put a\nlive coal beside it; and the other irons she heated red-hot in the\nfire, and still threw on more herbs to make a thick smoke, which Mary\nthought smelt like the incense in the church. Then with a hot iron rod\nfrom the fire, the strange woman made the sign of the cross on the\nthreshold, and another over the hearth. After which a loud roaring was\nheard outside, and the widow rushed in crying out that a hot stick was\nrunning through her heart, and all her body was on fire. And then she\ndropped down on the floor in a fit, and her face became quite black,\nand her limbs worked in convulsions.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the stranger, \u201cyou see who it is put the Evil Eye on all\nyour house; but the spell has been broken at last. Send for the men to\ncarry her back to her own house, and never let that witch-woman cross\nyour threshold again.\u201d\n\nAfter this the stranger disappeared, and was seen no more in the\nvillage.\n\nNow when all the neighbours heard the story, they would have no\ndealings with the widow. She was shunned and hated; and no respectable\nperson would be seen talking to her, and she went by the name of the\nEvil Witch. So her life was very miserable, and not long after she died\nof sheer vexation and spite, all by herself alone, for no one would go\nnear her; and the night of the wake no one went to offer a prayer, for\nthey said the devil would be there in person to look after his own. And\nno one would walk with her coffin to the grave, for they said the devil\nwas waiting at the churchyard gate for her; and they firmly believe\nto this day that her body was carried away on that night from the\ngraveyard by the powers of darkness. But no one ventured to test the\ntruth of the story by opening the coffin, so the weird legend remains\nstill unsolved.\n\nBut as for Hugh Connor and the pretty Mary, they prospered after that\nin all things, and good luck and the blessing of God seemed to be\nevermore on them and their house, and their cattle, and their children.\nAt the same time, Mary never omitted on churning days to put a red-hot\nhorse-shoe under the churn according as the stranger had told her, who\nshe firmly believed was a good fairy in disguise, who came to help her\nin the time of her sore trouble and anxiety.\n\n\nTHE BUTTER MYSTERY.\n\n\nThere were two brothers who had a small farm and dairy between them,\nand they were honest and industrious, and worked hard to get along,\nthough they had barely enough, after all their labour, just to keep\nbody and soul together.\n\nOne day while churning, the handle of the dash broke, and nothing\nbeing near to mend it, one of the brothers cut off a branch from an\nelder-tree that grew close to the house, and tied it to the dash for a\nhandle. Then the churning went on, but to their surprise, the butter\ngathered so thick that all the crocks in the house were soon full, and\nstill there was more left. The same thing went on every churning day,\nso the brothers became rich, for they could fill the market with their\nbutter, and still had more than enough for every buyer.\n\nAt last, being honest and true men, they began to fear that there was\nwitchcraft in it, and that they were wronging their neighbours by\nabstracting their butter, and bringing it to their own churn in some\nstrange way. So they both went off together to a great fairy doctor,\nand told him the whole story, and asked his advice.\n\n\u201cFoolish men,\u201d he said to them, \u201cwhy did you come to me? for now you\nhave broken the spell, and you will never have your crocks filled with\nbutter any more. Your good fortune has passed away, for know the truth\nnow. You were not wronging your neighbours; all was fair and just that\nyou did, but this is how it happened. Long ago, the fairies passing\nthrough your land had a dispute and fought a battle, and having no\narms, they flung lumps of butter at each other, which got lodged in the\nbranches of the elder-tree in great quantities, for it was just after\nMay Eve, when butter is plenty. This is the butter you have had, for\nthe elder-tree has a sacred power which preserved it until now, and it\ncame down to you through the branch you cut for a handle to the dash.\nBut the spell is broken now that you have uttered the mystery, and you\nwill have no more butter from the elder-tree.\u201d\n\nThen the brothers went away sorrowful, and never after did the butter\ncome beyond the usual quantity. However, they had already made so much\nmoney that they were content. And they stocked their farm, and all\nthings prospered with them, for they had dealt uprightly in the matter,\nand the blessing of the Lord was on them.\n\n\nCONCERNING BIRDS\n\n\nIn all countries superstitions of good or evil are attached to certain\nbirds. The raven, for instance, has a wide-world reputation as the\nharbinger of evil and ill-luck. The wild geese portend a severe winter;\nthe robin is held sacred, for no one would think of harming a bird who\nbears on his breast the blessed mark of the blood of Christ; while the\nwren is hunted to death with intense and cruel hate on St. Stephen\u2019s\nDay.\n\n\nTHE MAGPIE.\n\n\nThere is no Irish name for the Magpie. It is generally called\n_Francagh_, a Frenchman, though no one knows why. Many queer tales are\nnarrated of this bird, arising from its quaint ways, its adroit cunning\nand habits of petty larceny. Its influence is not considered evil,\nthough to meet one alone in the morning when going a journey is an ill\nomen, but to meet more than one magpie betokens good fortune, according\nto the old rhyme which runs thus\u2014\n\n \u201cOne for Sorrow,\n Two for Mirth,\n Three for Marriage,\n Four for a Birth.\u201d\n\n\nTHE WREN.\n\n\nThe wren is mortally hated by the Irish; for on one occasion, when the\nIrish troops were approaching to attack a portion of Cromwell\u2019s army,\nthe wrens came and perched on the Irish drums, and by their tapping and\nnoise aroused the English soldiers, who fell on the Irish troops and\nkilled them all. So ever since the Irish hunt the wren on St. Stephen\u2019s\nDay, and teach their children to run it through with thorns and kill\nit whenever it can be caught. A dead wren was also tied to a pole and\ncarried from house to house by boys, who demanded money; if nothing\nwas given the wren was buried on the door-step, which was considered a\ngreat insult to the family and a degradation.\n\n\nTHE RAVEN AND WATER WAGTAIL.\n\n\nIf ravens come cawing about a house it is a sure sign of death, for the\nraven is Satan\u2019s own bird; so also is the water wagtail, yet beware of\nkilling it, for it has three drops of the devil\u2019s blood in its little\nbody, and ill-luck ever goes with it, and follows it.\n\n\nTHE CUCKOO AND ROBIN REDBREAST.\n\n\nIt is very unlucky to kill the cuckoo or break its eggs, for it brings\nfine weather; but most unlucky of all things is to kill the robin\nredbreast. The robin is God\u2019s own bird, sacred and holy, and held in\nthe greatest veneration because of the beautiful tradition current\namongst the people, that it was the robin plucked out the sharpest\nthorn that was piercing Christ\u2019s brow on the cross; and in so doing the\nbreast of the bird was dyed red with the Saviour\u2019s blood, and so has\nremained ever since a sacred and blessed sign to preserve the robin\nfrom harm and make it beloved of all men.\n\n\nCONCERNING LIVING CREATURES.\n\n\nTHE CRICKET.\n\n\nThe crickets are believed to be enchanted. People do not like to\nexpress an exact opinion about them, so they are spoken of with great\nmystery and awe, and no one would venture to kill them for the whole\nworld. But they are by no means evil; on the contrary, the presence\nof the cricket is considered lucky, and their singing keeps away the\nfairies at night, who are always anxious, in their selfish way, to have\nthe whole hearth left clear for themselves, that they may sit round the\nlast embers of the fire, and drink the cup of milk left for them by the\nfarmer\u2019s wife, in peace and quietness. The crickets are supposed to be\nhundreds of years old, and their talk, could we understand it, would no\ndoubt be most interesting and instructive.\n\n\nTHE BEETLE.\n\n\nThe beetle is not killed by the people for the following reason: they\nhave a tradition that one day the chief priests sent messengers in\nevery direction to look for the Lord Jesus, and they came to a field\nwhere a man was reaping, and asked him\u2014\n\n\u201cDid Jesus of Nazareth pass this way?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the man, \u201cI have not seen him.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I know better,\u201d said a little clock running up, \u201cfor He was here\nto-day and rested, and has not long gone away.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is false,\u201d said a great big black beetle, coming forward; \u201cHe has\nnot passed since yesterday, and you will never find Him on this road;\ntry another.\u201d\n\nSo the people kill the clock because he tried to betray Christ; but\nthey spare the beetle and will not touch him, because he saved the Lord\non that day.\n\n\nTHE HARE.\n\n\nHares are considered unlucky, as the witches constantly assume their\nform in order to gain entrance to a field where they can bewitch the\ncattle. A man once fired at a hare he met in the early morning, and\nhaving wounded it, followed the track of the blood till it disappeared\nwithin a cabin. On entering he found Nancy Molony, the greatest witch\nin all the county, sitting by the fire, groaning and holding her side.\nAnd then the man knew that she had been out in the form of a hare, and\nhe rejoiced over her discomfiture.\n\nStill it is not lucky to kill a hare before sunrise, even when it\ncrosses your path; but should it cross _three_ times, then turn back,\nfor danger is on the road before you.\n\nA tailor one time returning home very late at night from a wake, or\nbetter, very early in the morning, saw a hare sitting on the path\nbefore him, and not inclined to run away. As he approached, with his\nstick raised to strike her, he distinctly heard a voice saying, \u201cDon\u2019t\nkill it.\u201d However, he struck the hare three times, and each time heard\nthe voice say, \u201cDon\u2019t kill it.\u201d But the last blow knocked the poor hare\nquite dead; and immediately a great big weasel sat up, and began to\nspit at him. This greatly frightened the tailor who, however, grabbed\nthe hare, and ran off as fast as he could. Seeing him look so pale and\nfrightened, his wife asked the cause, on which he told her the whole\nstory; and they both knew he had done wrong, and offended some powerful\nwitch, who would be avenged. However, they dug a grave for the hare and\nburied it; for they were afraid to eat it, and thought that now perhaps\nthe danger was over. But next day the man became suddenly speechless,\nand died off before the seventh day was over, without a word evermore\npassing his lips; and then all the neighbours knew that the witch-woman\nhad taken her revenge.\n\n\nTHE WEASEL.\n\n\nWeasels are spiteful and malignant, and old withered witches sometimes\ntake this form. It is extremely unlucky to meet a weasel the first\nthing in the morning; still it would be hazardous to kill it, for it\nmight be a witch and take revenge. Indeed one should be very cautious\nabout killing a weasel at any time, for all the other weasels will\nresent your audacity, and kill your chickens when an opportunity\noffers. The only remedy is to kill one chicken yourself, make the sign\nof the cross solemnly three times over it, then tie it to a stick hung\nup in the yard, and the weasels will have no more power for evil, nor\nthe witches who take their form, at least during the year, if the\nstick is left standing; but the chicken may be eaten when the sun goes\ndown.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA goose is killed on St. Michael\u2019s Day because the son of a king, being\nthen at a feast, was choked by the bone of a goose; but was restored by\nSt. Patrick. Hence the king ordered a goose to be sacrificed every year\non the anniversary of the day to commemorate the event, and in honour\nof St. Michael.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA fowl is killed on St. Martin\u2019s Day, and the blood sprinkled on the\nhouse. In Germany a black cock is substituted.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA crowing hen, a whistling girl, and a black cat, are considered most\nunlucky. Beware of them in a house.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a cock comes on the threshold and crows, you may expect visitors.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo see three magpies on the left hand when on a journey is unlucky; but\ntwo on the right hand is a good omen.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf you hear the cuckoo on your right hand you will have luck all the\nyear after.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhoever kills a robin redbreast will never have good luck were they to\nlive a thousand years.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA water wagtail near the house betokens bad news on its way to you.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf the first lamb of the season is born black, it foretells mourning\ngarments for the family within the year.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is very lucky for a hen and her chickens to stray into your house.\nAlso it is good to meet a white lamb in the early morning with the\nsunlight on its face.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is unlucky to meet a magpie, a cat, or a lame woman when going a\njourney. Or for a cock to meet a person in the doorway and crow before\nhim\u2014then the journey should be put off.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf one magpie comes chattering to your door it is a sign of death; but\nif two prosperity will follow. For a magpie to come to the door and\nlook at you is a sure death-sign, and nothing can avert the doom.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA flight of rooks over an army betokens defeat; if over a house, or\nover people when driving or walking, death will follow.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is very unlucky to ask a man on his way to fish where he is going.\nAnd many would turn back, knowing that it was an evil spell.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen a swarm of bees suddenly quits the hive it is a sign that death is\nhovering near the house. But the evil may be averted by the powerful\nprayers and exorcism of the priest.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe shoe of a horse or of an ass nailed to the door-post will bring\ngood luck; because these animals were in the stall when Christ was\nborn, and are blessed for evermore. But the shoe must be found, not\ngiven, in order to bring luck.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn whatever quarter you are looking when you first hear the cuckoo in\nthe season, you will be travelling in that direction before the year is\nover.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt was the privilege of the chief bards to wear mantles made of birds\u2019\nplumage. A short cape flung on the shoulders made of mallards\u2019 necks\nand crests must have been very gorgeous in effect, glittering like\njewels, when the torch-light played on the colours at the festivals.\n\n\nTHE PROPERTIES OF HERBS AND THEIR USE IN MEDICINE.\n\n\nThe Irish, according to the saying of a wise man of the race, are\nthe last of the 305 great Celtic nations of antiquity spoken of by\nJosephus, the Jewish historian; and they alone preserve inviolate the\nancient venerable language, minstrelsy, and Bardic traditions, with the\nstrange and mystic secrets of herbs, through whose potent powers they\ncan cure disease, cause love or hatred, discover the hidden mysteries\nof life and death, and dominate over the fairy wiles or the malific\ndemons.\n\nThe ancient people used to divine future events, victory in wars,\nsafety in a dangerous voyage, triumph of a projected undertaking,\nsuccess in love, recovery from sickness, or the approach of death;\nall through the skilful use of herbs, the knowledge of which had come\ndown to them through the earliest traditions of the human race. One of\nthese herbs, called the _Fairy-plant_, was celebrated for its potent\npower of divination; but only the adepts knew the mystic manner of its\npreparation for use.\n\nThere was another herb of which a drink was made, called _the Bardic\npotion_, for the Bards alone had the secret of the herb, and of the\nproper mode of treatment by which its mystic power could be revealed.\nThis potion they gave their infant children at their birth, for it had\nthe singular property of endowing the recipient with a fairy sweetness\nof voice of the most rapturous and thrilling charm. And instances are\nrecorded of men amongst the Celtic Bards, who, having drunk of this\npotion in early life, were ever after endowed with the sweet voice,\nlike fairy music, that swayed the hearts of the hearers as they chose\nto love or war, joy or sadness, as if by magic influence, or lulled\nthem into the sweet calm of sleep. Such, according to the Bardic\nlegends, was the extraordinary power of voice possessed by the great\nCourt Minstrel of Fionn Ma-Coul, who resided with the great chief at\nhis palace of Almhuin, and always sat next him at the royal table.\n\nThe virtue of herbs is great, but they must be gathered at night, and\nlaid in the hand of a dead man to hold. There are herbs that produce\nlove, and herbs that produce sterility; but only the fairy doctor knows\nthe secrets of their power, and he will reveal the knowledge to no man\nunless to an adept. The wise women learn the mystic powers from the\nfairies, but how they pay for the knowledge none dare to tell.\n\nThe fairy doctors are often seized with trembling while uttering a\ncharm, and look round with a scared glance of terror, as if some awful\npresence were beside them. But the people have the most perfect faith\nin the herb-men and wise women, and the faith may often work the cure.\n\nThere are seven herbs of great value and power; they are ground ivy,\nvervain, eyebright, groundsel, foxglove, the bark of the elder-tree,\nand the young shoots of the hawthorn.\n\nNine balls of these mixed together may be taken, and afterwards a\npotion made of bog-water and salt, boiled in a vessel, with a piece of\nmoney and an elf-stone. The elf-stone is generally found near a rath;\nit has great virtues, but being once lifted up by the spade it must\nnever again touch the earth, or all its virtue is gone. (This elf-stone\nis in reality only an ancient stone arrow-head.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe _Mead Cailleath_, or wood anemone, is used as a plaister for wounds.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe hazel-tree has many virtues. It is sacred and powerful against\ndevils\u2019 wiles, and has mysteries and secret properties known to the\nwise and the adepts. The ancient Irish believed that there were\nfountains at the head of the chief rivers of Ireland, over each of\nwhich grew nine hazel-trees that at certain times produced beautiful\nred nuts. These nuts fell on the surface of the water, and the salmon\nin the river came up and ate of them, which caused the red spots on the\nsalmon. And whoever could catch and eat one of these salmon would be\nindued with the sublimest poetic intellect. Hence the phrase current\namongst the people: \u201cHad I the net of science;\u201d \u201cHad I eaten of the\nsalmon of knowledge.\u201d And this supernatural knowledge came to the great\nFionn through the touch of a salmon, and made him foreknow all events.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOf all herbs the yarrow is the best for cures and potions. It is even\nsewn up in clothes as a preventive of disease.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe _Liss-more_, or great herb, has also strong healing power, and is\nused as a charm.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is an herb, also, or fairy grass, called the _Faud Shaughran_, or\nthe \u201cstray sod,\u201d and whoever treads the path it grows on is compelled\nby an irresistible impulse to travel on without stopping, all through\nthe night, delirious and restless, over bog and mountain, through\nhedges and ditches, till wearied and bruised and cut, his garments\ntorn, his hands bleeding, he finds himself in the morning twenty or\nthirty miles, perhaps, from his own home. And those who fall under\nthis strange influence have all the time the sensation of flying and\nare utterly unable to pause or turn back or change their career. There\nis, however, another herb that can neutralize the effects of the _Faud\nShaughran_, but only the initiated can utilize its mystic properties.\n\nAnother grass is the _Fair-Gortha_, or the \u201chunger-stricken sod,\u201d and\nif the hapless traveller accidentally treads on this grass by the\nroad-side, while passing on a journey, either by night or day, he\nbecomes at once seized with the most extraordinary cravings of hunger\nand weakness, and unless timely relief is afforded he must certainly\ndie.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen a child is sick a fairy woman is generally sent for, who makes a\ndrink for the patient of those healing herbs of which she only has the\nknowledge. A childless woman is considered to have the strongest power\nover the secrets of herbs, especially those used for the maladies of\nchildren.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is an herb, grown on one of the western islands off the coast\nof Connemara, which is reported to have great and mystic power. But\nno one will venture to pronounce its name. If it is desired to know\nfor certain whether one lying sick will recover, the nearest relative\nmust go out and look for the herb just as the sun is rising. And while\nholding it in the hand, an ancient form of incantation must be said. If\nthe herb remains fresh and green the patient will certainly recover;\nbut if it wither in the hand while the words of the incantation are\nsaid over it, then the sick person is doomed. He will surely die.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt was from their great knowledge of the properties of herbs that\nthe Tuatha-de-Dananns obtained the reputation of being sorcerers and\nnecromancers. At the great battle of Moytura in Mayo, fought about\nthree thousand years ago, Dianecht, the great, wise Druid physician\nto the army, prepared a bath of herbs and plants in the line of the\nbattle, of such wonderful curative efficacy that the wounded who\nwere plunged into it came out whole, it being a sovereign remedy for\nall diseases. But the king of the Tuatha having lost his hand in the\ncombat, the bath had no power to heal him. So Dianecht made him a\nsilver hand, and the monarch was ever after known in history as _Nuad\nAirgeat lamh_ (Nuad of the silver hand).\n\n * * * * *\n\nAll herbs pulled on May Day Eve have a sacred healing power, if pulled\nin the name of the Holy Trinity; but if in the name of Satan, they\nwork evil. Some herbs are malific if broken by the hand. So the plant\nis tied to a dog\u2019s foot, and when he runs it breaks, without a hand\ntouching it, and may be used with safety.\n\nA man pulled a certain herb on May Eve to cure his son who was sick to\ndeath. The boy recovered, but disappeared and was never heard of after,\nand the father died that day year. He had broken the fatal herb with\nthe hand and so the doom fell on him.\n\nAnother man did the like, and gave the herb to his son to eat, who\nimmediately began to bark like a dog, and so continued till he died.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe fatal herbs have signs known only to the fairy doctors, who should\nalways be consulted before treating the sick in the family.\n\nThere are _seven_ herbs that nothing natural or supernatural can\ninjure; they are vervain, John\u2019s-wort, speedwell, eyebright, mallow,\nyarrow, and self-help. But they must be pulled at noon on a bright day,\nnear the full of the moon, to have full power.\n\nIt is firmly believed that the herb-women who perform curses receive\ntheir knowledge from the fairies, who impart to them the mystical\nsecrets of herbs and where to find them; but these secrets must not\nbe revealed except on the death-bed, and then only to the eldest of\nthe family. Many mysterious rites are practised in the making and the\ngiving of potions; and the messenger who carries the draught to the\nsufferer must never look behind him nor utter a word till he hands the\nmedicine to the patient, who instantly swallows a cup of the mixture\nbefore other hands have touched it.\n\nA celebrated doctor in the south was an old woman, who had lived\nseven years with the fairies. She performed wonderful cures, and only\nrequired a silver tenpence to be laid on her table for the advice given\nand for the miraculous herb potion.\n\n\nA LOVE POTION.\n\n\nSome of the country people have still a traditional remembrance of very\npowerful herbal remedies, and love potions are even now frequently\nin use. They are generally prepared by an old woman; but must be\nadministered by the person who wishes to inspire the tender passion. At\nthe same time, to give a love potion is considered a very awful act, as\nthe result may be fatal, or at least full of danger.\n\nA fine, handsome young man, of the best character and conduct, suddenly\nbecame wild and reckless, drunken and disorderly, from the effect, it\nwas believed, of a love potion administered to him by a young girl who\nwas passionately in love with him. When she saw the change produced in\nhim by her act, she became moody and nervous, as if a constant terror\nwere over her, and no one ever saw her smile again. Finally, she became\nhalf deranged, and after a few years of a strange, solitary life, she\ndied of melancholy and despair. This was said to be \u201cThe Love-potion\nCurse.\u201d\n\n\nLOVE DREAMS.\n\n\nThe girl who wishes to see her future husband must go out and gather\ncertain herbs in the light of the full moon of the new year, repeating\nthis charm\u2014\n\n \u201cMoon, moon, tell unto me\n When my true love I shall see?\n What fine clothes am I to wear?\n How many children shall I bear?\n For if my love comes not to me\n Dark and dismal my life will be.\u201d\n\nThen the girl, cutting three pieces of clay from the sod with a\nblack-hafted knife, carries them home, ties them up in the left\nstocking with the right garter, places the parcel under her pillow, and\ndreams a true dream of the man she is to marry and of all her future\nfate.\n\n\nTO CAUSE LOVE.\n\n\nTen leaves of the hemlock dried and powdered and mixed in food or drink\nwill make the person you like to love you in return. Also keep a sprig\nof mint in your hand till the herb grows moist and warm, then take hold\nof the hand of the woman you love, and she will follow you as long as\nthe two hands close over the herb. No invocation is necessary; but\nsilence must be kept between the two parties for ten minutes, to give\nthe charm time to work with due efficacy.\n\n\nMEDICAL SUPERSTITIONS AND ANCIENT CHARMS.\n\n\nThe healing art in all the early stages of a nation\u2019s life, and amongst\nall primitive tribes, has been associated with religion. For the\nwonderful effects produced by certain herbs and modes of treatment were\nbelieved by the simple and unlettered people to be due to supernatural\ninfluence acting in a mystic and magical manner on the person afflicted.\n\nThe medicine men were therefore treated with the profoundest awe\nand respect. And the medicine women came in also for their share of\nveneration and often of superstitious dread; for their mysterious\nincantations were supposed to have been taught to them by fairies and\nthe spirits of the mountain.\n\nThe Irish from the most remote antiquity were devoted to mystical\nmedicine, and had a remarkable knowledge of cures and remedies for\ndisease, obtained through the power and action of herbs on the human\nframe.\n\nThe physicians of the pagan era formed a branch of the Druid\npriesthood, and were treated with distinguished honour. They had\nspecial places assigned to them at the royal banqueting table at\nTara, and a certain revenue was secured to them that they might live\nhonourably.\n\nWhen in attendance on a patient the doctor was entitled by law to his\ndiet, along with four of his pupils; but if he failed to cure from\ndeficiency of skill, he was obliged to refund the fees and pay back all\nthe expenses of his keep; a measure which no doubt greatly stimulated\nthe serious attention of the learned ollamhs of healing to the case in\nhand.\n\nSo great, indeed, was the importance attached to the healing art in\nIreland, that even prior to the Christian era, a building of the nature\nof an hospital was erected at Tara, near to the palace of the king.\nThis was called \u201cThe House of Sorrow,\u201d and the sick and wounded were\nprovided there with all necessary care.\n\nOn one occasion it is recorded that a great chief and prince out of\nMunster was brought to \u201cThe House of Sorrow\u201d to be treated of wounds\nreceived in battle, but the attendant, through treachery, placed\npoison in the wounds, and then closed them so carefully that there was\nno external sign, though the groans of the wounded man were terrible to\nhear. Then the learned Fioneen was sent for, \u201cthe prophetic physician,\u201d\nas he was called, from his great skill in diagnosis; and when he\narrived with three of his pupils at the hospital they found the chief\nlying prostrate, groaning in horrible agony.\n\n\u201cWhat groan is that?\u201d asked the master of the first pupil.\n\n\u201cIt is from a poisoned barb,\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cAnd what groan is that?\u201d asked the master, of the second pupil.\n\n\u201cIt is from a hidden reptile,\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cAnd what groan is that?\u201d asked Fioneen of the third pupil.\n\n\u201cIt is from a poisoned seed,\u201d he answered.\n\nThen Fioneen set to work, and having cauterized the wounds with red hot\nirons, the poisonous bodies were extracted from beneath the skin, and\nthe chief was healed.\n\nIn later times the Irish physicians were much celebrated for their\nlearning, and numerous Irish medical manuscripts are in existence,\nboth in Ireland and England, and are also scattered through the public\nlibraries of the continent. They are chiefly written in Latin, with a\ncommentary in Irish, and show a thorough knowledge on the part of the\nwriters of the works of Hippocrates, Galen, Aristotle, and others as\ncelebrated. For after the introduction of Christianity Latin was much\ncultivated in the Irish schools, and the priests and physicians not\nonly wrote, but could converse fluently in Latin, which language became\nthe chief medium of communication between them and the learned men of\nthe continent. But the most ancient mode of procedure amongst the Irish\nollamhs and adepts was of a medico-religious character; consisting\nof herb cures, fairy cures, charms, invocations, and certain magical\nceremonies. A number of these cures have been preserved traditionally\nby the people, and form a very interesting study of early medical\nsuperstitions, as they have been handed down through successive\ngenerations; for the profession of a physician was hereditary in\ncertain families, and the accumulated lore of centuries was transmitted\ncarefully from father to son by this custom and usage.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMany of the ancient cures and charms are strange and mystic, and were\naccompanied by singular mysterious forms, which no doubt in many\ncases aided the cure; especially amongst a people so imaginative and\nsusceptible to spiritual influences as the Irish. Others show a fervent\nfaith and have a pathetic simplicity of expression, such as we find in\n\u201cThe Charm against Sorrow,\u201d and others, from the original Irish, of\nequal pathos and tenderness, to be quoted further on. The utterance\nevidently of a people of deep, almost sublime, faith in the Divine\npower of the Ruler of the world, and of the ever-present ministration\nof saints and angels to humanity.\n\nEvery act of the Irish peasant\u2019s life has always been connected\nwith the belief in unseen spiritual agencies. The people live in an\natmosphere of the supernatural, and nothing would induce them to slight\nan ancient form or break through a traditional usage. They believe\nthat the result would be something awful; too terrible to be spoken of\nsave in a whisper, should the customs of their forefathers be lightly\ninterfered with.\n\nIn the Western Islands especially, the old superstitions that have\ncome down from the ancient times are observed with the most solemn\nreverence, and the people in fact, as to their habits and ideas, remain\nmuch the same as St. Patrick left them fourteen hundred years ago. The\nswift currents of thought that stir the great centres of civilization\nand impel the human intellect on its path of progress, have never\nreached them; all the waves of the centuries drift by their shores and\nleave them unchanged.\n\nIt is therefore in the islands and along the western coast that one\ngathers most of those strange legends, charms, mysteries, and world-old\nsuperstitions which have lingered longer in Ireland than in any other\npart of Europe.\n\nMany of those included in the following selection were narrated by\nthe peasants, either in Irish, or in the expressive Irish-English,\nwhich still retains enough of the ancient idiom to make the language\nimpressively touching and picturesque. The ancient charms which\nhave come down by tradition from a remote antiquity are peculiarly\ninteresting from their deep human pathos, blended with the sublime\ntrust in the Divine invisible power, so characteristic of the Irish\ntemperament in all ages. A faith that believes implicitly, trusts\ndevoutly, and hopes infinitely; when the soul in its sorrow turns to\nheaven for the aid which cannot be found on earth, or given by earthly\nhands. The following charms from the Irish express much of this mingled\nspirit of faith and hope:\u2014\n\n\nAGAINST SORROW.\n\n\nA charm set by Mary for her Son, before the fair man and the turbulent\nwoman laid Him in the grave.\n\n The charm of Michael with the shield;\n Of the palm-branch of Christ;\n Of Bridget with her veil.\n\nThe charm which God set for Himself when the divinity within Him was\ndarkened.\n\nA charm to be said by the cross when the night is black and the soul is\nheavy with sorrow.\n\nA charm to be said at sunrise, with the hands on the breast, when the\neyes are red with weeping, and the madness of grief is strong.\n\nA charm that has no words, only the silent prayer.\n\n\nTO WIN LOVE.\n\n\n\u201cO Christ, by your five wounds, by the nine orders of angels, if this\nwoman is ordained for me, let me hold her hand now, and breathe her\nbreath. O my love, I set a charm to the top of your head; to the sole\nof your foot; to each side of your breast, that you may not leave me\nnor forsake me. As a foal after the mare, as a child after the mother,\nmay you follow and stay with me till death comes to part us asunder.\nAMEN.\u201d\n\n\n_Another._\n\nA charm of most desperate love, to be written with a raven\u2019s quill in\nthe blood of the ring finger of the left hand.\n\n\u201cBy the power that Christ brought from heaven, mayest thou love me,\nwoman! As the sun follows its course, mayest thou follow me. As light\nto the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart, may thy\npresence be with me, O woman that I love, till death comes to part us\nasunder.\u201d\n\n\nFOR THE NIGHT-FIRE (THE FEVER).\n\n\n\u201cGod save thee, Michael, archangel! God save thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat aileth thee, O man?\u201d\n\n\u201cA headache and a sickness and a weakness of the heart. O Michael,\narchangel, canst thou cure me, O angel of the Lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cMay three things cure thee, O man. May the shadow of Christ fall on\nthee! May the garment of Christ cover thee! May the breath of Christ\nbreathe on thee! And when I come again thou wilt be healed.\u201d\n\nThese words are said over the patient while his arms are lifted in the\nform of a cross, and water is sprinkled on his head.\n\n\nFOR A PAIN IN THE SIDE.\n\n\n\u201cGod save you, my three brothers, God save you! And how far have ye to\ngo, my three brothers?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo the Mount of Olivet, to bring back gold for a cup to hold the tears\nof Christ.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo, then. Gather the gold; and may the tears of Christ fall on it, and\nthou wilt be cured, both body and soul.\u201d\n\nThese words must be said while a drink is given to the patient.\n\n\nFOR THE MEASLES.\n\n\n\u201c\u2018The child has the measles,\u2019 said John the Baptist.\n\n\u201c\u2018The time is short till he is well,\u2019 said the Son of God.\n\n\u201c\u2018When?\u2019 said John the Baptist.\n\n\u201c\u2018Sunday morning, before sunrise,\u2019 said the Son of God.\u201d\n\nThis is to be repeated three times, kneeling at a cross, for three\nmornings before sunrise, and the child will be cured by the Sunday\nfollowing.\n\n\nFOR THE MAD FEVER.\n\n\nThree stones must be charmed by the hands of a wise fairy doctor, and\ncast by his hand, saying as he does so\u2014\n\n\u201cThe first stone I cast is for the head in the mad fever; the second\nstone I cast is for the heart in the mad fever; the third stone I cast\nis for the back in the mad fever.\n\n\u201cIn the name of the Trinity, let peace come. AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nAGAINST ENEMIES.\n\n\nThree things are of the Evil One\u2014\n\n An evil eye;\n An evil tongue;\n An evil mind.\n\nThree things are of God; and these three are what Mary told to her Son,\nfor she heard them in heaven\u2014\n\n The merciful word;\n The singing word;\n And the good word.\n\nMay the power of these three holy things be on all the men and women of\nErin for evermore.\n\n\nTO EXTRACT A THORN.\n\n\n\u201cThe briar that spreads, the thorn that grows, the sharp spike that\npierced the brow of Christ, give you power to draw this thorn from the\nflesh, or let it perish inside; in the name of the Trinity. AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nTO CAUSE HATRED BETWEEN LOVERS.\n\n\nTake a handful of clay from a new-made grave, and shake it between\nthem, saying\u2014\n\n\u201cHate ye one another! May ye be as hateful to each other as sin to\nChrist, as bread eaten without blessing is to God.\u201d\n\n\nFOR LOVE.\n\n\nThis is a charm I set for love; a woman\u2019s charm of love and desire; a\ncharm of God that none can break\u2014\n\n\u201cYou for me, and I for thee and for none else; your face to mine, and\nyour head turned away from all others.\u201d\n\nThis is to be repeated three times secretly, over a drink given to the\none beloved.\n\n\nHOW TO HAVE MONEY ALWAYS.\n\n\nKill a black cock, and go to the meeting of three cross-roads where a\nmurderer is buried. Throw the dead bird over your left shoulder then\nand there, after nightfall, in the name of the devil, holding a piece\nof money in your hand all the while. And ever after, no matter what you\nspend, you will always find the same piece of money undiminished in\nyour pocket.\n\n\nFOR THE GREAT WORM.[8]\n\n\n\u201cI kill a hound. I kill a small hound. I kill a deceitful hound. I kill\na worm, wherein there is terror; I kill all his wicked brood. Seven\nangels from Paradise will help me, that I may do valiantly, and give no\nmore time to the worm to live than while I recite this prayer. AMEN.\u201d\n\n [8] The ancient serpent-idol was called in Irish, \u201cThe Great Worm.\u201d\n St. Patrick destroyed it, and had it thrown into the sea. There are\n no serpents now to be found in Ireland, not even grass snakes or\n scorpions.\n\n\nFOR SORE EYES.\n\n\n\u201cTake away the pain, O Mary, mother, and scatter the mist from the\neyes. For all power is given to the mother of Christ to give light to\nthe eyes, and to drive the red mist back to the billows whence it came.\u201d\n\n\nFOR PAINS IN THE BODY.\n\n\nRub the part affected with flax and tow, heated in the fire, repeating\nin Irish\u2014\n\n\u201cIn the name of a rough man and a mild woman, and of the Lamb of God,\nbe healed from your pains and your sins. So be it. AMEN.\u201d\n\nThis custom refers to the tradition that one day the Lord Christ, being\nweary, asked leave to rest in a house, but was refused by the master of\nthe house, a rough, rude man. Then the wife, being a mild woman, had\npity on the wayfarer, and brought Him in to rest, and gave Him a cup\nof water to drink, and spake kindly to Him. After which the man was\nsuddenly taken with severe pains, and seemed like to die in his agony.\n\nOn this Christ called for some flax and tow, and, breathing on it,\nplaced it on the part affected, by which means the man was quite\nhealed. And then the Lord Christ went His way, but not before the man\nhad humbly asked pardon for his rudeness to a stranger.\n\nThe tradition of this cure has remained ever since, and a hot plaster\nof flax and tow is used by the peasantry invariably for all sudden\npains, and found to be most efficacious as a cure.\n\n\nAGAINST DROWNING.\n\n\n \u201cMay Christ and His saints stand between you and harm.\n Mary and her Son.\n St. Patrick with his staff.\n Martin with his mantle.\n Bridget with her veil.\n Michael with his shield.\n And God over all with His strong right hand.\u201d\n\n\nIN TIME OF BATTLE.\n\n\n\u201cO Mary, who had the victory over all women, give me victory now over\nmy enemies, that they may fall to the ground, as wheat when it is mown.\u201d\n\n\nFOR THE RED RASH.\n\n\n\u201cWho will heal me from the red, thirsty, shivering cold disease that\ncame from the foreigner, and kills people with its poisonous pain?\u201d\n\u201cThe prayer of Mary to her Son, the prayer of Columbkill to God; these\nwill heal thee. AMEN.\u201d\n\n\n_Another._\n\nSay this oration three times over the patient, making the sign of the\ncross each time\u2014\n\n\u201cBridget, Patrick, Solomon, and the great Mary, banish this redness off\nyou.\u201d\n\nThen take butter, breathe on it quite close, and give it to the person\nto chafe himself therewith.\n\nTo ascertain if he will recover, put a handful of yarrow in his hand\nwhile he is sleeping; if it is withered in the morning he will die; but\nif it remains fresh the disease will leave him.\n\n\nTO TAME A HORSE.\n\n\nWhisper the Creed in his right ear on a Friday, and again in his left\near on a Wednesday. Do this weekly till he is tamed; for so he will be.\n\n\nA VERY ANCIENT CHARM AGAINST WOUNDS OR POISONS.\n\n\n\u201cThe poison of a serpent, the venom of the dog, the sharpness of the\nspear, doth not well in man. The blood of one dog, the blood of many\ndogs, the blood of the hound of Fliethas\u2014these I invoke. It is not a\nwart to which my spittle is applied. I strike disease; I strike wounds.\nI strike the disease of the dog that bites, of the thorn that wounds,\nof the iron that strikes. I invoke the three daughters of Fliethas\nagainst the serpent. Benediction on this body to be healed; benediction\non the spittle; benediction on him who casts out the disease. In the\nname of God. AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nFOR A SORE BREAST.\n\n\nTo be said in Irish, while a piece of butter is rubbed over the breast\u2014\n\n\n\u201cO Son, see how swelled is the breast of the woman! O, you that bore a\nSon, look at it yourself! O Mary! O King of Heaven, let this woman be\nhealed! AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nFOR A WOUND.\n\n\nClose the wound tightly with the two fingers, and repeat these words\nslowly\u2014\n\n\u201cIn the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Mary. The wound was red, the\ncut was deep, and the flesh was sore; but there will be no more blood,\nand no more pain, till the blessed Virgin Mary bears a child again.\u201d\n\n\nFOR THE EVIL EYE.\n\n\nThis is a charm Mary gave to St. Bridget, and she wrote it down, and\nhid it in the hair of her head, without deceit\u2014\n\n\u201cIf a fairy, or a man, or a woman hath overlooked thee, there are three\ngreater in heaven who will cast all evil from thee into the great and\nterrible sea. Pray to them, and to the seven angels of God, and they\nwill watch over thee. AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nFOR ST. ANTHONY\u2019S FIRE.\n\n\n\u201cThe fire of earth is hot, and the fire of hell is hotter; but the love\nof Mary is above all. Who will quench the fire? Who will heal the sick?\nMay the fire of God consume the Evil One! AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nHOW TO GO INVISIBLE.\n\n\nGet a raven\u2019s heart, split it open with a black-hafted knife; make\nthree cuts and place a black bean in each cut. Then plant it, and when\nthe beans sprout put one in your mouth and say\u2014\n\n \u201cBy virtue of Satan\u2019s heart,\n And by strength of my great art,\n I desire to be invisible.\u201d\n\nAnd so it will be as long as the bean is kept in the mouth.\n\n\nFOR PAINS.\n\n\n\u201cI kill the evil; I kill the worm in the flesh, the worm in the grass.\nI put a venomous charm in the murderous pain. The charm that was set\nby Peter and Paul; the charm that kills the worm in the flesh, in the\ntooth, in the body.\u201d\n\nThis oration to be said three times, while the patient is rubbed with\nbutter on the place of the pain.\n\n\n_Another._\n\nA happy mild charm, a charm which Christ discovered. The charm that\nkills the worm in the flesh.\n\n\u201cMay Peter take, may Paul take, may Michael take, the pain away, the\ncruel pain that kills the back and the life, and darkens the eyes.\u201d\n\nThis oration written, and tied to a hare\u2019s foot, is always to be worn\nby the person afflicted, hung round the neck.\n\n\nFOR A SPRAIN.\n\n\nIn the Western Isles the following charm is used for a sprain\u2014\n\nA strand of black wool is wound round and round the ankle, while the\noperator recites in a low voice\u2014\n\n \u201cThe Lord rade and the foal slade,\n He lighted and He righted;\n Set joint to joint and bone to bone,\n And sinew unto sinew.\n In the name of God and the Saints,\n Of Mary and her Son,\n Let this man be healed. AMEN.\u201d\n\nA similar charm was used in Germany in the tenth century, according to\nJacob Grimm.\n\n\nTO CAUSE LOVE.\n\n\nGolden butter on a new-made dish, such as Mary set before Christ. This\nto be given in the presence of a mill, of a stream, and the presence of\na tree; the lover saying softly\u2014\n\n\u201cO woman, loved by me, mayest thou give me thy heart, thy soul and\nbody. AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nFOR THE BITE OF A MAD DOG.\n\n\nAn oration which Colum-Cille set to a wound full of poison\u2014\u201cArise, O\nCarmac, O Clunane, through Christ be thou healed. By the hand of Christ\nhe thou healed in blood, in marrow, and in bone. AMEN.\u201d\n\nThis oration to be pronounced over a man or a woman, a horse or a cow,\nbut never over a hog or a dog. The wound to be rubbed with butter\nduring the oration.\n\n\nFOR TOOTHACHE.\n\n\nGo to a graveyard; kneel upon any grave; say three paters and three\naves for the soul of the dead lying beneath. Then take a handful of\ngrass from the grave, chew it well, casting forth each bite without\nswallowing any portion. After this process the sufferer, were he to\nlive a hundred years, will never have toothache any more.\n\n\n_Another._\n\nThe patient must vow a vow to God, the Virgin, and the new moon, never\nto comb his hair on a Friday, in remembrance of relief should he be\ncured; and whenever or wherever he first sees the moon he must fall\non his knees and say five prayers in gratitude for the cure, even if\ncrossing a river at the time.\n\n\n_Another._\n\nCarry in your pocket the two jaw-bones of a haddock; for ever since the\nmiracle of the loaves and fishes these bones are an infallible remedy\nagainst toothache, and the older they are the better, as nearer the\ntime of the miracle.\n\nAlso this charm is to be sewn on the clothes\u2014\n\n \u201cAs Peter sat on a marble stone,\n The Lord came to him all alone,\n \u2018Peter, Peter, what makes you shake?\u2019\n \u2018O Lord and Master, it is the toothache.\u2019\n Then Christ said, \u2018Take these for My sake,\n And never more you\u2019ll have toothache.\u2019\u201d\n\nTo avoid toothache never shave on a Sunday.\n\n\nFOR FRECKLES.\n\n\nAnoint a freckled face with the blood of a bull, or of a hare, and it\nwill put away the freckles and make the skin fair and clear. Also the\ndistilled water of walnuts is good.\n\n\nFOR A BURN.\n\n\nThere is a pretty secret to cure a burn without a scar: \u201cTake sheep\u2019s\nsuet and the rind of the elder-tree, boil both together, and the\nointment will cure a burn without leaving a mark.\u201d\n\n\nFOR THE MEMORY.\n\n\nThe whitest of frankincense beaten fine, and drunk in white wine,\nwonderfully assisteth the memory, and is profitable for the stomach\nalso.\n\n\nFOR THE FALLING SICKNESS.\n\n\nTake a hank of grey yarn, a lock of the patient\u2019s hair, some parings\nof his nails, and bury them deep in the earth, repeating, in Irish, as\na burial service, \u201cLet the great sickness lie there for ever. By the\npower of Mary and the soul of Paul, let the great sickness lie buried\nin the clay, and never more rise out of the ground. AMEN.\u201d\n\nIf the patient, on awaking from sleep, calls out the name of the person\nwho uttered these words, his recovery is certain.\n\nIf a person crosses over the patient while he is in a fit, or stands\nbetween him and the fire, then the sickness will cleave to him and\ndepart from the other that was afflicted.\n\n\nFOR CHIN-COUGH.\n\n\nA griddle cake made of meal, to be given, not bought or made; but a\ncake _given_ of love or of charity, not for begging; a cake given\nfreely, with a prayer and a blessing; and from the breakfast of a man\nand his wife who had the same name before marriage; this is the cure.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe touch of a piebald horse. Even a piebald horse pawing before the\ndoor helps the cure.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe child to be passed seven times under and over an ass while a red\nstring is tied on the throat of the patient.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNine hairs from the tail of a black cat, chopped up and soaked in\nwater, which is then swallowed, and the cough will be relieved.\n\n\u201cOne day when out snipe shooting,\u201d a gentleman writes, \u201cI saw a\nhorrid-looking insect staring up at me. I called to a man close by,\nand asked him the name of it. He told me it was called the _Thordall_,\nand was reckoned a great cure for the _chin-cough_; for if any one got\nit safe in a bottle and kept it prisoner till it died, the disease\nwould go away from the patient. It was just the time to try the cure,\nfor my child was laid up with the epidemic. So I bottled my friend and\ndaily examined the state of his health. It lasted for a fortnight,\nand at the end of that time the child had quite recovered, and the\nhorrible-looking insect creature lay dead.\u201d\n\n\nFOR RHEUMATISM.\n\n\nThe operator makes passes, like the mesmerist, over the member affected\nby the rheumatic pain, never touching the part, but moving his hand\nslowly over it at some distance, while he mutters a form of words in a\nlow voice.\n\n\nFOR A STYE ON THE EYELID.\n\n\nPoint a gooseberry thorn at it nine times, saying, \u201cAway, away, away!\u201d\nand the stye will vanish presently and disappear.\n\n\nTO CURE WARTS.\n\n\nOn meeting a funeral, take some of the clay from under the feet of the\nmen who bear the coffin and apply it to the wart, wishing strongly at\nthe same time that it may disappear; and so it will be.\n\n\nFOR A STITCH IN THE SIDE.\n\n\nRub the part affected with unsalted butter, and make the sign of the\ncross seven times over the place.\n\n\nFOR WEAK EYES.\n\n\nA decoction of the flowers of daisies boiled down is an excellent wash,\nto be used constantly.\n\n\nFOR WATER ON THE BRAIN.\n\n\nCover the head well with wool, then place oil-skin over, and the water\nwill be drawn up out of the head. When the wool is quite saturated the\nbrain will be free and the child cured.\n\n\nFOR HIP DISEASE.\n\n\nTake three green stones, gathered from a running brook, between\nmidnight and morning, while no word is said. In silence it must be\ndone. Then uncover the limb and rub each stone several times closely\ndownwards from the hip to the toe, saying in Irish\u2014\n\n \u201cWear away, wear away,\n There you shall not stay,\n Cruel pain\u2014away, away.\u201d\n\n\nFOR THE MUMPS.\n\n\nWrap the child in a blanket, take it to the pigsty, rub the child\u2019s\nhead to the back of a pig, and the mumps will leave it and pass from\nthe child to the animal.\n\n\n_Another._\n\nTake nine black stones gathered before sunrise, and bring the patient\nwith a rope round his neck to a holy well\u2014not speaking all the while.\nThen cast in three stones in the name of God, three in the name of\nChrist, and three in the name of Mary. Repeat this process for three\nmornings and the disease will be cured.\n\n\nFOR EPILEPSY.\n\n\nTake nine pieces of young elder twig; run a thread of silk of three\nstrands through the pieces, each piece being an inch long. Tie this\nround the patient\u2019s neck next the skin. Should the thread break and the\namulet fall, it must be buried deep in the earth and another amulet\nmade like the first, for if once it touches the ground the charm is\nlost.\n\n\n_Another._\n\nTake nine pieces of a dead man\u2019s skull, grind them to powder, and then\nmix with a decoction of wall rue. Give the patient a spoonful of this\nmixture every morning fasting, till the whole potion is swallowed. None\nmust be left, or the dead man would come to look for the pieces of his\nskull.\n\n\nFOR DEPRESSION OF HEART.\n\n\nWhen a person becomes low and depressed and careless about everything,\nas if all vital strength and energy had gone, he is said to have got a\nfairy blast. And blast-water must be poured over him by the hands of a\nfairy doctor while saying, \u201cIn the name of the saint with the sword,\nwho has strength before God and stands at His right hand.\u201d Great care\nbeing taken that no portion of the water is profaned. Whatever is left\nafter the operation, must be poured on the fire.\n\n\nFOR THE FAIRY DART.\n\n\nFairy darts are generally aimed at the fingers, causing the joints to\nswell and grow red and inflamed. An eminent fairy-woman made the cure\nof fairy darts her speciality, and she was sent for by all the country\nround, and was generally successful. But she had no power unless\n_asked_ to make the cure, and she took no reward at the time; not till\nthe patient was cured, and the dart extracted. The treatment included\na great many prayers and much anointing with a salve, of which she\nonly had the secret. Then she proceeded to extract the dart with great\nsolemnity, working with a small instrument, on the point of which she\nfinally produced the dart. This proved to be a bit of flax artfully\nlaid under the skin by the malicious fairies, causing all the evil,\nand of course on seeing the flax no one could doubt the power of the\noperator, and the grateful patient paid his fee.\n\n\nVARIOUS SUPERSTITIONS AND CURES.\n\n\nThere is a book, a little book, and the house which has it will never\nbe burned; the ship that holds it will never founder; the woman who\nkeeps it in her hand will be safe in childbirth. But none except a\nfairy man knows the name of the book, and he will not reveal it for\nlove or money; only on his death-bed will he tell the secret of the\nname to the one person he selects.\n\nThe adepts and fairy doctors keep their mysteries very secret, and it\nis not easy to discover the word of a charm, for the operator loses\nhis power if the words are said without the proper preliminaries, or\nif said by a profane person without faith, for the operator should not\nhave uttered the mystery in the hearing of one who would mock, or treat\nthe matter lightly; therefore he is punished.\n\nSome years ago an old man lived in Mayo who had great knowledge of\ncharms, and of certain love philtres that no woman could resist. But\nbefore his death he enclosed the written charms in a strong iron box,\nwith directions that no one was to dare to open it except the eldest\nson of an eldest son in a direct line from himself.\n\nSome people pretend that they have read the charms; and one of them has\nthe strange power to make every one in the house begin to dance, and\nthey can never cease dancing till another spell has been said over them.\n\nBut the guardian of the iron box is the only one who knows the magic\nsecret of the spell, and he exacts a good price before he utters it,\nand so reveals or destroys the witchcraft of the dance.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe juice of deadly night-shade distilled, and given in a drink, will\nmake the person who drinks believe whatever you will to tell him, and\nchoose him to believe.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA bunch of mint tied round the wrist is a sure remedy for disorders of\nthe stomach.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA sick person\u2019s bed must be placed north and south, not cross ways.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNettles gathered in a churchyard and boiled down for a drink have the\npower to cure dropsy.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe touch from the hand of a seventh son cures the bite of a mad dog.\nThis is also an Italian superstition.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe hand of a dead man was a powerful incantation, but it was chiefly\nused by women. The most eminent fairy women always collected the mystic\nherbs for charms and cures by the light of a candle held by a dead\nman\u2019s hand at midnight or by the full moon.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen a woman first takes ill in her confinement, unlock instantly every\npress and drawer in the house, but when the child is born, lock them\nall up again at once, for if care is not taken the fairies will get\nin and hide in the drawers and presses, to be ready to steal away the\nlittle mortal baby when they get the opportunity, and place some ugly,\nwizened changeling in the cradle beside the poor mother. Therefore\nevery key should be turned, every lock made fast; and if the fairies\nare hidden inside, let them stay there until all danger is over for\nthe baby by the proper precautions being taken, such as a red coal set\nunder the cradle, and a branch of mountain ash tied over it, or of the\nalder-tree, according to the sex of the child, for both trees have\nmystic virtues, probably because of the ancient superstition that the\nfirst man was created from an alder-tree, and the first woman from the\nmountain ash.\n\nThe fairies, however, are sometimes successful in carrying off a baby,\nand the mother finds in the morning a poor weakly little sprite in the\ncradle in place of her own splendid child. But should the mortal infant\nhappen to grow up ugly, the fairies send it back, for they love beauty\nabove all things; and the fairy chiefs greatly desire a handsome mortal\nwife, so that a handsome girl must be well guarded, or they will carry\nher off. The children of such unions grow up beautiful and clever, but\nare also wild, reckless and extravagant. They are known at once by the\nbeauty of their eyes and hair, and they have a magic fascination that\nno one can resist, and also a fairy gift of music and song.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a person is bitten by a dog, the dog must be killed, whether mad or\nnot, for it might become mad; then, so also would the person who had\nbeen touched by the saliva of the animal.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf, by accident, you find the back tooth of a horse, carry it about\nwith you as long as you live, and you will never want money; but it\nmust be found by chance.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen a family has been carried off by fever, the house where they died\nmay be again inhabited with safety if a certain number of sheep are\ndriven in to sleep there for three nights.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAn iron ring worn on the fourth finger was considered effective against\nrheumatism by the Irish peasantry from ancient times.\n\n * * * * *\n\nParalysis is cured by stroking, but many forms and mystic incantations\nare also used during the process; and only certain persons have the\npower in the hands that can effect a cure by the magic of the stroke.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe seed of docks tied to the left arm of a woman will prevent her\nbeing barren.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA spoonful of _aqua vit\u00e6_ sweetened with sugar, and a little grated\nbread added, that it may not annoy the brain or the liver, will\npreserve from lethargy and apoplexy and all cold diseases.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe juice of carrots boiled down is admirable for purifying the blood.\n\n * * * * *\n\nClippings of the hair and nails of a child tied up in a linen cloth and\nplaced under the cradle will cure convulsions.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Tober Maire_ (Mary\u2019s well), near Dundalk, has a great reputation for\ncures. And thousands used to visit it on Lady Day for weak eyesight,\nand the lowness of heart. Nine times they must go round the well on\ntheir knees, always westward. Then drink a cup of the water, and not\nonly are they cured of their ailment, but are as free from sin as the\nangels in heaven.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen children are pining away, they are supposed to be fairy-struck;\nand the juice of twelve leaves of foxglove may be given: also in cases\nof fever the same.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA bunch of mint tied round the wrist keeps off infection and disease.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a well near the Boyne where King James washed his sword after\nthe battle, and ever since the water has power to cure the king\u2019s evil.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen a seventh son is born, if an earth-worm is put into the infant\u2019s\nhand and kept there till it dies, the child will have power to charm\naway all diseases.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe ancient arrowheads, called elf-stones by the people, are used as\ncharms to guard the cattle.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is not safe to take an unbaptized child in your arms without making\nthe sign of the cross over it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is unlucky to give a coal of fire out of the house before the\nchild is baptized. And a piece of iron should be sewn in the infant\u2019s\nclothes, and kept there till after the baptism.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTake a piece of bride-cake and pass it three times through a\nwedding-ring, then sleep on it, and you will see in a dream the face of\nyour future spouse.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is unlucky to accept a lock of hair, or a four-footed beast from a\nlover.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPeople ought to remember that egg-shells are favourite retreats of the\nfairies, therefore the judicious eater should always break the shell\nafter use, to prevent the fairy sprite from taking up his lodgment\ntherein.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFinvarra, the king of the fairies of the west, keeps up the most\nfriendly relations with most of the best families of Galway, especially\nwith the Kirwans of Castle Hacket, for Finvarra is a gentleman, every\ninch of him, and the Kirwans always leave out kegs of wine for him at\nnight of the best Spanish wine. And in return, it is said, the wine\nvaults at Castle Hacket are never empty, though the wine flows freely\nfor all comers.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a living worm is put into the hand of a child before he is baptized,\nand kept there till the worm is dead, that child will have power in\nafter life to cure all diseases to which children are subject.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAfter being cured from a sickness, take an oath never to comb the hair\non a Friday, that so the memory of the grace received may remain by\nthis sign till your death. Or whenever you first see the new moon,\nkneel down and say an ave and a pater; this also is for memory of grace\ndone.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPeople born in the morning cannot see spirits or the fairy world; but\nthose born at night have power over ghosts, and can see the spirits of\nthe dead.\n\n * * * * *\n\nUnbaptized children are readily seized by the fairies. The best\npreventive is a little salt tied up in the child\u2019s dress when it is\nlaid to sleep in the cradle.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf pursued at night by an evil spirit, or the ghost of one dead, and\nyou hear footsteps behind you, try and reach a stream of running water,\nfor if you can cross it, no devil or ghost will be able to follow you.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a chair fall as a person rises, it is an unlucky omen.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe fortunate possessor of the four-leaved shamrock will have luck in\ngambling, luck in racing, and witchcraft will have no power over him.\nBut he must always carry it about his person, and never give it away,\nor even show it to another.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA purse made from a weasel\u2019s skin will never want for money; but the\npurse must be found, not given or made.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a man is ploughing, no one should cross the path of the horses.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is unlucky to steal a plough, or take anything by stealth from a\nsmith\u2019s forge.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen yawning make the sign of the cross instantly over the mouth, or\nthe evil spirit will make a rush down and take up his abode within you.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever give away water before breakfast, nor milk while churning is\ngoing on.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA married woman should not walk upon graves, or her child will have\na club-foot. If by accident she treads on a grave she must instantly\nkneel down, say a prayer, and make the sign of the cross on the sole of\nher shoe three times over.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever take an infant in your arms, nor turn your head to look at it\nwithout saying, \u201cGod bless it.\u201d This keeps away the fatal influence of\nthe Evil Eye.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a bride steers a boat on the day of her marriage, the winds and\nthe waves have no power over it, be the tempest ever so fierce or the\nstream ever so rapid.\n\n * * * * *\n\nDo not put out a light while people are at supper, or there will be one\nless at the table before the year is out.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever give any salt or fire while churning is going on. To upset the\nsalt is exceedingly unlucky and a bad omen; to avert evil gather up the\nsalt and fling it over the right shoulder into the fire, with the left\nhand.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf you want a person to win at cards, stick a crooked pin in his coat.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe seventh son of a seventh son has power over all diseases, and can\ncure them by laying on of hands; and a son born after his father\u2019s\ndeath has power over fevers.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is one hour in every day when whatever you wish will be granted,\nbut no one knows what that hour is. It is all a chance if we come\non it. There is also one hour in the day when ghost-seers can see\nspirits\u2014but only one\u2014at no other time have they the power, yet they\nnever know the hour, the coming of it is a mystery.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn some parts of Ireland the people, it is said, on first seeing the\nnew moon, fall on their knees and address her in a loud voice with the\nprayer: \u201cO moon; leave us well as thou hast found us!\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is unlucky to meet a cat, a dog, or a woman, when going out first\nin the morning; but unlucky above all is it to meet a woman with red\nhair the first thing in the morning when going on a journey, for her\npresence brings ill-luck and certain evil.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is unlucky to pass under a hempen rope; the person who does so will\ndie a violent death, or is fated to commit an evil act in after life,\nso it is decreed.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe cuttings of your hair should not be thrown where birds can find\nthem; for they will take them to build their nests, and then you will\nhave headaches all the year after.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe cause of a club-foot is this\u2014The mother stood on a cross in a\nchurchyard before her child was born\u2014so evil came.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo cure fever, place the patient on the sandy shore when the tide is\ncoming in, and the retreating waves will carry away the disease and\nleave him well.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo make the skin beautiful, wash the face in May dew upon May morning\njust at sunrise.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf the palm of the hand itches you will be getting money; if the elbow,\nyou will be changing beds; if the ear itches and is red and hot, some\none is speaking ill of you.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf three drops of water are given to an infant before it is baptized,\nit will answer the first three questions put to it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo know the name of the person you are destined to marry, put a snail\non a plate of flour\u2014cover it over and leave it all night; in the\nmorning the initial letter of the name will be found traced on the\nflour by the snail.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf one desires to know if a sick person will recover, take nine smooth\nstones from the running water; fling them over the right shoulder,\nthen lay them in a turf fire to remain untouched for one night. If the\ndisease is to end fatally the stones in the morning will emit a clear\nsound like a bell when struck together.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA whitethorn stick is a very unlucky companion on a journey; but a\nhazel switch brings good luck and has power over the devil.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA hen that crows is very unlucky and should be killed; very often the\nhen is stoned, for it is believed that she is bewitched by the fairies.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is asserted that on Christmas morning the ass kneels down in\nadoration of Christ, and if a person can manage to touch the cross on\nthe back of the animal at that particular moment the wish of his heart\nwill be granted, whatever it may be.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen taking possession of a new house, every one should bring in some\npresent, however trifling, but nothing should be taken away, and a\nprayer should be said in each corner of your bedroom, and some article\nof your clothing be deposited there at the same time.\n\n\nTO FIND STOLEN GOODS.\n\n\nPlace two keys on a sieve, in the form of a cross. Two men hold the\nsieve, while a third makes the sign of the cross on the forehead of the\nsuspected party, and calls out his name loudly, three times over. If\ninnocent, the keys remain stationary; but if guilty, the keys revolve\nslowly round the sieve, and then there is no doubt as to who is the\nthief.\n\n\nA PRAYER AGAINST THE PLAGUE.\n\n\n\u201cO Star of Heaven, beloved of the Lord, drive away the foul\nconstellation that has slain the people with the wound of dreadful\ndeath. O Star of the Sea, save us from the poison-breath that kills,\nfrom the enemy that slays in the night. AMEN.\u201d\n\n\nA BLESSING.\n\n\n\u201cO aged old woman of the grey locks, may eight hundred blessings twelve\ntimes over be on thee! Mayest thou be free from desolation, O woman of\nthe aged frame! And may many tears fall on thy grave.\u201d\n\n\nA CURE FOR CATTLE.\n\n\n\nTake nine leaves of the male crowfoot, plucked on a Sunday night;\nbruise them on a stone that never was moved since the world began, and\nnever can be moved. Mix with salt and spittle, and apply the plaster to\nthe ear of the sick beast. Repeat this three times for a man, and twice\nfor a horse.\n\n\nA CHARM FOR SAFETY.\n\nPluck ten blades of yarrow, keep nine, and cast the tenth away for\ntithe to the spirits. Put the nine in your stocking, under the heel of\nthe right foot, when going a journey, and the Evil One will have no\npower over you.\n\n\nAN ELIXIR OF POTENCY.\n(FROM A MANUSCRIPT OF DATE 1770.)\n\n\nTwo ounces of cochineal, one ounce of gentian root, two drachms of\nsaffron, two drachms of snakeroot, two drachms of salt of wormwood, and\nthe rind of ten oranges. The whole to be steeped in a quart of brandy,\nand kept for use.\n\n\nFOR THE BITE OF A MAD DOG.\n\n\nSix ounces of rue, four ounces of garlic, two ounces of Venice treacle,\nand two ounces of pewter filings. Boil for two hours in a close vessel,\nin two quarts of ale, and give a spoonful fasting each morning till the\ncure is effected. The liquor is to be strained before use.\n\n\nDREAMS.\n\n\nNever tell your dreams fasting, and always tell them first to a woman\ncalled Mary.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo dream of a hearse with white plumes is a wedding; but to dream of a\nwedding is grief, and death will follow.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo dream of a woman kissing you is deceit; but of a man, friendship;\nand to dream of a horse is exceedingly lucky.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo dream of a priest is bad; even to dream of the devil is better.\nRemember, also, either a present or a purchase from a priest is\nunlucky.\n\n\nFAIRY DOCTORS.\n\n\nThe fairy doctors are generally females. Old women, especially, are\nconsidered to have peculiar mystic and supernatural power. They cure\nchiefly by charms and incantations, transmitted by tradition through\nmany generations; and by herbs, of which they have a surprising\nknowledge.\n\nThe fairies have an aversion to the sight of blood; and the peasants,\ntherefore, have a great objection to being bled, lest \u201cthe good people\u201d\nwould be angry. Besides, they have much more faith in charms and\nincantations than in any dispensary doctor that ever practised amongst\nthem.\n\n\nCHARMS BY CRYSTALS.\n\n\nThe charms by crystals are of great antiquity in Ireland\u2014a mode of\ndivination, no doubt, brought from the East by the early wandering\ntribes. Many of these stones have been found throughout the country,\nand are held in great veneration. They are generally globular, and\nappear to have been originally set in royal sceptres or sacred shrines.\nA very ancient crystal globe of this kind, with miraculous curative\npowers, is still to be seen at Currahmore, the seat of the Marquis of\nWaterford, and it is believed to have been brought from the Holy Land\nby one of the Le Poers, who had it as a gift from Godfrey de Bouillon.\nThe ball is of rock crystal, a little larger than an orange, and is\ncircled round the middle by a silver band. It is still constantly\nborrowed by the people to effect cures upon cattle suffering from\nmurrain or other distempers. This is done by placing the ball in a\nrunning stream, through which the cattle are driven backwards and\nforwards many times.\n\nThe peasants affirm that the charm never fails in success, and the\nbelief in its miraculous powers is so widespread that people from the\nmost distant parts of Ireland send to Currahmore to borrow it. Even to\nthis day the faith in its magic power continues unabated, and requests\nfor the loan come from every quarter. The Marquis of Waterford leaves\nit in the care of his steward, and it is freely lent to all comers; but\nto the credit of the people it may be noted, that the magic crystal is\nalways brought back to Currahmore with the most scrupulous care.[9]\n\n [9] Extract from a letter by the Marchioness of Waterford, on the\n Currahmore Crystal.\n\n\nALECTROMANTIA.\n\n\nShould a person be bewitched by an evil neighbour, he must take two\nblack cocks, lay a charm over the head of one and let it loose; but the\nother must be boiled down, feathers and all, and eaten. Then the malice\nof the neighbour will have no effect on him or his.\n\nAncient Egypt and Greece had likewise superstitions on the subject of\nsacrificing a cock. Even the last words of Socrates had reference to\nthis subject. It is remarkable also that in the Christian legend it\nwas a cock that testified indignantly by his crowing against Peter\u2019s\ntreachery and cowardice, and aroused in him the remorse that was\nevidenced by his tears.\n\n\nFAIRY POWER.\n\n\nIt is on Fridays that the fairies have the most power to work evil;\ntherefore Friday is an unlucky day to begin work, or to go on a\njourney, or to have a wedding; for the spirits are then present\neverywhere, and hear and see everything that is going on, and will mar\nand spoil all they can, just out of malice and jealousy of the mortal\nrace.\n\nIt is then they strike cattle with their elfin arrows, lame a horse,\nsteal the milk, and carry off the handsome children, leaving an ugly\nchangeling in exchange, who is soon known to be a fairy sprite by its\nvoracious appetite, without any natural increase in growth.\n\nThis superstition makes the peasant-women often very cruel towards\nweakly children; and the trial by fire is sometimes resorted to in\norder to test the nature of the child who is suspected of being a\nchangeling. For this purpose a fairy woman is usually sent for, who\nmakes a drink for the little patient of certain herbs of whose power\nshe alone has the secret knowledge; and a childless woman is considered\nthe best to make the potion. Should there be no improvement in the\nchild after the treatment with herbs, then the witch-women sometimes\nresort to terrible measures to test the fairy nature of the sufferer.\n\nA child who was suspected of being a changeling, because he was\nwasted and thin and always restless and fretful, was ordered by the\nwitch-woman to be placed for three nights on a shovel outside the door\nfrom sunset to sunrise, during which time he was given foxglove to\nchew, and cold water was flung over him to banish the fire-devil. The\nscreams of the child at night were frightful, calling on his mother\nto come and take him in; but the fairy doctor told the mother not to\nfear; the fairies were certainly tormenting him, but by the third\nnight their power would cease, and the child would be quite restored.\nHowever, on the third night the poor little child lay dead.\n\n\nOMENS AND SUPERSTITIONS.\n\n\nAuguries and prophecies of coming fate may also be obtained from the\nflight of birds, the motion of the winds, from sneezing, dreams, lots,\nand the signs from a verse of the Psalter or Gospels. The peasantry\nattach great importance to the first verses of St. John\u2019s Gospel, and\nmaintain that when the cock crows in the morning he is repeating these\nverses (from the 1st to the 14th), and if we understood the language of\nanimals and birds, we could often hear them quoting these same verses.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA charm against sickness is an amulet worn round the neck, enclosing\na piece of paper, on which is written the first three verses of St.\nJohn\u2019s Gospel.\n\n\nOMENS THAT FORBODE EVIL.\n\n\nTo stick a penknife in the mast of a boat when sailing is most unlucky.\n\nTo meet a man with red hair, or a woman with a red petticoat, the first\nthing in the morning.\n\nTo kill the robin redbreast.\n\nTo pass a churn and not give a helping hand.\n\nTo meet a funeral and not go back three steps with it.\n\nTo have a hare cross your path before sunrise.\n\nTo take away a lighted sod on May days or churning days; for fire is\nthe most sacred of all things, and you take away the blessing from the\nhouse along with it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Irish are very susceptible to omens. They say, \u201cBeware of a\nchildless woman who looks fixedly at your child.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nFire is the holiest of all things. Walk three times round a fire on St.\nJohn\u2019s Eve, and you will be safe from disease for all that year.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is particularly unlucky to meet a red-haired man the first thing in\nthe morning. There is a tradition that Judas Iscariot had red hair,\nand it is from this the superstitious dread of the evil interference of\na red-haired man may have originated.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever begin work on a Friday.\n\nNever remove from a house or leave a situation on Saturday.\n\nNever begin to make a dress on Saturday, or the wearer will die within\nthe year.\n\nNever mend a rent in a dress while on, or evil and malicious reports\nwill be spread about you.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSome days are unlucky to certain families\u2014as Tuesday to the Tudors.\nHenry VIII., Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth all died upon a Tuesday.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo throw a slipper after a party going a journey is lucky. Also to\nbreakfast by candle-light on Christmas morning.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is fatal at a marriage to tie a knot in a red handkerchief, and only\nan enemy would do it. To break the spell the handkerchief should be\nburned.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe first days of the year and of the week are the luckiest. Never\nbegin a journey on a Friday or Saturday, nor move from your residence,\nnor change a situation. Never cut out a dress or begin to make it on a\nFriday, nor fix a marriage, for of all days the fairies have the most\nmalific power on a Friday. They are present then, and hear all that is\nsaid, therefore beware of speaking ill of them, for they will work some\nevil if offended.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever pay away money on the first Monday of the year, or you will lose\nyour luck in gaining money all the year after.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPresents may be given on New Year\u2019s Day, but no money should be paid\naway.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThose who marry in autumn will die in spring.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe yew-tree, the ash, and the elder-tree were sacred. The willow has\na mystery in it of sound. The harp of King Brian-Boru was made of\nwillow-wood.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen a servant leaves her place, if her mistress gives her a piece of\nbread let her put by some of it carefully, for as long as she has it\ngood luck will follow her.\n\n\nTO ATTRACT BEES.\n\n\nGather foxglove, raspberry leaves, wild marjorum, mint, camomile, and\nvalerian; mix them with butter made on May Day, and let the herbs also\nbe gathered on May Day. Boil them all together with honey; then rub the\nvessel into which the bees should gather, both inside and out, with\nthe mixture; place it in the middle of a tree, and the bees will soon\ncome. Foxglove or \u201cfairy fingers\u201d is called \u201cthe great herb\u201d from its\nwondrous properties.\n\n\nSUPERSTITIONS OF THE ISLANDS.\n\n\nCONCERNING THE DEAD.\n\n\nIt is ill luck when going with a funeral to meet a man on a white\nhorse. No matter how high the rank of the rider may be, the people must\nseize the reins and force him to turn back and join the procession at\nleast for a few yards.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe three most powerful divinations are by fire, by water, and by clay.\nThese are the three great powers\u2014the power that ascends, which is fire;\nthe power that falls, which is water; and the power that lies level on\nthe earth, and has the mystery of the dead, which is clay.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a short cut should be taken while carrying a corpse to the grave the\ndead will be disturbed in the coffin, for it is a slight and an insult\nto the corpse.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen a death was expected it was usual to have a good deal of bread\nready baked in the house in order that the evil spirits might be\nemployed eating it, and so let the soul of the dying depart in peace.\nTwelve candles stuck in clay should also be placed round the dying.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf two funerals meet at the same churchyard, the last corpse that\nenters will have to supply the dead with water till the next corpse\narrives.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever take a child in your arms after being at a wake where a corpse\nwas laid out unless you first dip your hands in holy water.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe moment the soul leaves the body the evil spirits try to seize it,\nbut the guardian angel fights against them, and those around must pray\nearnestly that the angel may conquer. After death the body must not be\ndisturbed, nor should the funeral chant be raised for one hour.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere are many superstitions prevalent in the Western Islands which\nare implicitly believed and acted on. Fishermen when going to sea must\nalways enter the boat by the right side, no matter how inconvenient.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA coal of fire thrown after the fisherman brings him good fortune.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA sick person must not be visited on a Friday, nor by any person who\nhas just quitted a wake and looked upon the dead. The hair and nails of\na sick person must not be cut till after recovery.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf a corpse falls to the ground the most fatal events will happen to\nthe family.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe lid must not be nailed on the coffin of a new-born child, or the\nmother that bore it will never have another.\n\n\nTHE COASTGUARD\u2019S FATE.\n\n\nOne day a coastguard man was out in his boat with some of the islanders\nwhen a terrible storm arose with thunder and lightning. The poor people\nfell on their knees and prayed devoutly, but the man laughed at them,\ncalled them fools and cowards, and said he also could make lightning\nand thunder as well as the God they were praying to. So he immediately\nprepared a small cannon he had on board, and set a match to the powder\nand fired it off. But before the echo died away a stream of lightning\npassed over him, and he fell dead in the boat a blackened corpse\u2014a\ndreadful sign of the vengeance of heaven on his blasphemous daring.\n\n\nRELICS.\n\n\nIf a false oath is taken upon a relic the vengeance of God falls upon\nthe swearer, and the doom that few can bear and live rests upon him\nand upon all his descendants even to the seventh generation. They are\nshunned by the people, and looked upon as unlucky and accursed. There\nare some living even now from whom the curse of the past is not lifted,\nbecause the seventh generation has not yet passed by.\n\n\n\n\n LEGENDS OF THE SAINTS.\n\n\nST. PATRICK.\n\n\nMany saints in old time used to come and take up their abode in the\nwild desolate Western Islands for the rest and sanctity of solitude,\nand innumerable evidences of their presence still remain in the ancient\nruins of the so-called cells or churches built in the rudest form, but\nalways placed in a picturesque locality beside a well, which ever since\nhas been held sacred, and no woman is allowed to wash her feet in the\nwater.\n\nIn one of these islands is a stone bed called \u201cThe Bed of the Holy\nGhost,\u201d and many people go from the mainland to lie a night in this\nbed, though the sea is always rough and dangerous, believing that it\nheals all diseases, and it brings good luck to all, and to women the\nblessing of children.\n\nIf the lark sings on St. Bridget\u2019s Day it is a good omen, and a sign\nof fine weather. And whoever hears it the first thing in the morning\nwill have good luck in all he does for that whole day. St. Bridget was\ngranted by the Lord to have every second Sunday fine so that she might\npreach to the converts that came to her.\n\nThen St. Patrick greatly desired that his day should also be fine so\nthat the people might gather together in remembrance of him, and this\nalso was granted. So from that time forth the Saints\u2019 Day, the 17th of\nMarch, is always fine, for so it was decreed from the ancient times\nwhen he was upon earth.\n\nOn St. Patrick\u2019s Day it is the usage in the islands to affix large\ncrosses made of straw and flowers on the door-posts, and a black cock\nis sacrificed in honour of the saint, though no one can tell why it\nis considered necessary that blood should be spilt, except that the\nidea of sacrifice is found in all religions and rituals of worship. At\nfirst the object most loved or most prized was sacrificed\u2014a child, or\na costly jewel. Then the human sacrifice began to be replaced by the\noffering of an animal, who was made the medium of expiation. And the\ngod was satisfied so that blood was spilled to purify from sin.\n\nIt is remarkable that relics of this ancient ritual of sacrifice can\nstill be found even in the enlightened households of this advanced\nnineteenth century. An ox is still slaughtered at Christmas, though\nBaal is forgotten; and a lamb is sacrificed at Easter, as the Druids\noffered the firstlings of the flock to the Sun-god; while a goose is\nslain on St. Michael\u2019s Day as a burnt-offering to the saint.\n\n\nTHE WELL OF THE BOOK.\n\n\nWhen St. Patrick was one time amongst the Pagan Irish they grew very\nfierce and seemed eager to kill him. Then his life being in great\ndanger, he kneeled down before them and prayed to God for help and for\nthe conversion of their souls. And the fervour of the prayer was so\ngreat that as the saint rose up the mark of his knees was left deep in\nthe stone, and when the people saw the miracle they believed.\n\nNow when he came to the next village the people said if he performed\nsome wonder for them they also would believe and pray to his God. So\nSt. Patrick drew a great circle on the ground and bade them stand\noutside it; and then he prayed, and lo! the water rushed up from the\nearth, and a well pure and bright as crystal filled the circle. And the\npeople believed and were baptized.\n\nThe well can be seen to this day, and is called _Tober-na-Lauer_ (The\nWell of the Book), because St. Patrick placed his own prayer-book in\nthe centre of the circle before the water rose.\n\n\nST. PATRICK AND THE SERPENT.\n\n\nThere is a lake in one of the Galtee mountains where there is a great\nserpent chained to a rock, and he may be heard constantly crying out,\n\u201cO Patrick, is the _Luan_, or Monday, long from us?\u201d For when St.\nPatrick cast this serpent into the lake he bade him be chained to the\nrock till _La-an-Luan_ (The Day of Judgment). But the serpent mistook\nthe word, and thought the saint meant _Luan_, Monday.\n\nSo he still expects to be freed from one Monday to another, and the\nclanking of his chains on that day is awful to hear as he strives to\nbreak them and get free.\n\nIn another lake there is a huge-winged creature, it is said, which\nescaped the power of St. Patrick, and when he gambols in the water such\nstorms arise that no boat can withstand the tumult of the waves.\n\n\nST. PATRICK AND THE PRINCESSES.\n\n\nOne day the two daughters of the King of Meath, named Ethna and\nFedalma, went down to the river to bathe, and there they beheld St.\nPatrick and his band of converts all draped in white robes, for they\nwere celebrating morning prayers. And the princesses seeing strange men\nin white garments thought they were of the race of the male fairies,\nthe _Daine-Sidhe_. And they questioned them. Then St. Patrick expounded\nthe truth to them, and the maidens asked him many questions: \u201cWho is\nyour God? Is He Handsome? Are His daughters as handsome as we are? Is\nHe rich? Is He young or aged? Is He to die, or does He live for ever?\u201d\n\nNow St. Patrick having satisfied them on all these points the maidens,\nEthna and Fedalma, were baptized, and became zealous workers for the\nChristian cause.\n\n\nTHE POISON CUP.\n\n\nSt. Patrick went on to Tara, and there he lit the Paschal fire and\ncelebrated the Easter mysteries. But the Druids were wroth, for it was\nagainst their ordinances for any fire to be lit until the chief Druid\nhimself had kindled the sacred fire. Therefore they sought to poison\nSt. Patrick, and a cupful of poison was given him by one of the Druids;\nbut the danger was revealed to him, and thereupon he pronounced certain\nwords over the liquor, and whoever pronounceth these words over poison\nshall receive no injury from it. He also then composed the prayer, \u201cIn\nnomine Dei Patris,\u201d and recited it over the cup of poison.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe number of companions with whom St. Patrick travelled through the\ncountry was seven score and ten, and before his time only three classes\nof persons were allowed to speak in public in Erin\u2014the chronicler, to\nrelate events; the poet, to eulogize and satirize; and the Brehon, to\npass judgment according to the law. But after St. Patrick\u2019s arrival\nevery utterance of the three professions was subject to \u201cthe men of\nthe white language\u201d\u2014that is, the Gospel\u2014and only such utterances were\nallowed as did not clash with the Gospel.\n\n\nDIVINATION.\n\n\nIn ancient Pagan times in Ireland the poets were supposed to possess\nthe gift of prophecy, and by certain means could throw themselves into\na state in which they had lucid vision of coming events. This state,\ncalled _Imbas for Osna_, was produced by incantations and the offering\nof the flesh of a red pig, a dog, or a cat to their idols. Then the\npoet, laying the two palms of his hands on his two cheeks, lay down\nand slept; his idol gods being beside him. And when he awoke he could\nsee all things and foretell all things. He could make verses with the\nends of his fingers, and repeat the same without studying, and in this\nway proved his right to be chief poet at the court of the king. Also\nhe laid his staff upon the head of a person, and thus he found out his\nname, and the name of his father and mother, and all unknown things\nthat were proposed to him. And this prophetic power was also obtained\nby _Imbas for Osna_, though a different kind of offering was made to\nthe idol.\n\nBut Patrick abolished these practices, and declared that whoever used\nthem should enjoy neither heaven nor earth; and he substituted for\nthem the _Corus Cerda_ (the Law of Poetry), in which no offering was\nmade to demons; for the profession of the poet, he said, was pure, and\nshould not be subject to the power of the devil. He left to the poets,\nhowever, the gift of extemporaneous recital, because it was acquired\nthrough great knowledge and diligent study, but all other rites he\nstrictly forbade to the poets of Erin.\n\n\nTHE BLIND POET.\n\n\nAs a proof of the magnetic, lucid vision obtained by the great ollamhs\nof poetry, it is recorded of the blind poet, Louad Dall, that his\nattendants having brought him the skull of an animal found upon the\nstrand, they asked him to declare its history. And thereupon placing\nthe end of his wand upon the skull, he beheld with the inner vision,\nand said\u2014\n\n\u201cThe tempestuous waters have destroyed Breccan, and this is the skull\nof his lapdog; and but little of greatness now remains, for Breccan and\nhis people have perished in the waves.\u201d\n\nAnd this was \u201cdivination by the staff\u201d\u2014a power possessed only by the\nchief poets, and by none else.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF BRECCAN.\n\n\nThe story of Breccan is related in Cormac\u2019s Glossary. He was a merchant\nwho traded between Ireland and Scotland with fifty corracles. Now there\nwas a great whirlpool at Rathlin Island caused by the meeting of the\nseas, and they formed a caldron vast enough to swallow all Ireland. And\nit happened on a time that Breccan and all his corracles were lost and\nengulfed in this caldron. Not a man was left to tell the tale of how or\nwhere they had perished. Thus it was that the skull of a small animal\nbeing discovered on the beach, it was brought to the blind poet, who\nlaying his staff on it obtained the inner vision by which he revealed\nthe fate of Breccan and his fifty corracles.\n\n\nBARDIC PRIVILEGES.\n\n\nNow St. Patrick left the poets all their rights of divination by\nwisdom, and all their ancient rights over story-telling with the music\nof the harp, three hundred and fifty stories being allowed to the chief\npoet. He also secured just judgments for their professional rights; so\nthat if land was mentioned in their songs as having been walled and\ntrenched by them, that was considered to be sufficient legal evidence\nof title to the soil.\n\nBut what they received of St. Patrick was better, he affirmed, than\nall the evil rites to devils which they had abandoned; along with the\nprofane practice of magic by the two palms, called _Imbas for Osna_, by\nwhich lucid vision and the spirit of prophecy was supposed to come on\nthem after invocations to idols and demons\u2014all of which evil practices\nSt. Patrick abolished, but left to the poets the skilled hand in music\nand the fluent tongue in recitation; for which none can equal the Bards\nof Ireland throughout all the world.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe ogham writing on the poet\u2019s staff is mentioned in very old\nmanuscripts as in use in the Pagan period, before St. Patrick\u2019s time,\nthough no specimen of ogham writing has yet been found of earlier date\nthan the Christian era.\n\nSt. Patrick introduced Latin and the Latin letters, which superseded\nogham. And after his time Latin was taught very generally in the Irish\nschools.\n\nSt. Patrick also confirmed as right and proper for observance, whatever\nwas just in the Brehon laws, so as it was not at variance with the law\nof Christ, for the people had been guided by the Brehon laws from all\nantiquity, and it was not easy to overthrow them. Besides, many or most\nof them were framed with strict regard to justice and morality.\n\nWhen St. Patrick was dying, an angel of the Lord was sent to him,\nwho announced to the great and holy saint that God had granted this\nfavour to his prayers\u2014namely, that his jurisdiction over the Church was\nordained to be for ever at Armagh; and that Patrick, as the Apostle of\nIreland, should be the judge of all the Irish at the last day, and none\nother, according to the promise made to the other apostles, \u201cYe shall\nsit upon twelve thrones judging the tribes of Israel.\u201d\n\n\nST. CIARON.\n\n\nThis eminent saint died at the early age of thirty-three; and it is\nsaid that his death was caused by the prayers of the other saints of\nIreland, who were jealous of his power and fame for sanctity. St.\nCiaron knowing that death was coming upon him, composed a verse which\nhas been preserved as an appeal against the cruel fate that ended his\nlife while he was yet in his prime. And the pathos of the quatrain is\nvery tender and natural\u2014\n\n \u201cI ask is it right, O King of Stars,\n To reap a cornfield before it is ripe?\n It is eating fruit before the time,\n It is plucking the blossom from a hazel when it is white.\u201d\n\n\nST. MARTIN.\n\n\nSt. Martin was a bad man before his conversion, and, above all, was\nexceedingly close-fisted, as they say, to the poor; giving nothing and\ngrasping all. So he was very rich but hated by every one.\n\nOne day, when going out, he charged the servant to have a fine batch\nof loaves ready made and baked by the time he returned. While she was\nkneading the dough in came a poor man and begged for some as he was\nhungry; but she told him she dare not give away anything or the master\nwould beat her. Still the poor man begged the harder, and at last she\ngave him dough enough for a couple of loaves. However, when the girl\u2019s\nback was turned, he threw the dough into the oven and went his way\nwithout a word.\n\nNow when the dough was ready, the girl opened the oven to put in the\nloaves, but, behold, it was already quite full of baked bread, and\nwould hold no more. So when Martin came home she told him all the\ntruth; and his heart smote him, and he cried out, \u201cAn Angel of the Lord\nhas been here; God has sent His messenger to rebuke me of my sins!\u201d And\nhe ran out to search for the man along the road, and at last saw him\na great way off. Then Martin flung off his coat that he might run the\nfaster; and when he came up to the man he fell on his knees before him\non the ground, and cried out, \u201cOh, my Lord, I repent me of my sins;\npray to God for me, for I know you are His angel.\u201d And from that moment\nMartin\u2019s heart was changed, and the devil left him; and he became a\ntrue saint and servant of God, and, above all, the saint and patron of\nthe poor.\n\nNevertheless, St. Bridget was offended with St. Martin, because\nshe thought he did not receive her with sufficient hospitality and\nconsideration. Perhaps some of the old stinginess of nature still clung\nto him. And she thus pronounced her malediction over him\u2014\n\n\u201cOh, little man, the sea-wave shall come up over thy house, and thy\nname shall lie in ashes, while my name and fame shall be glorious all\nover the world.\u201d\n\nAnd this was fulfilled; for the sea actually broke in and covered the\nsaint\u2019s dwelling; and the house of St. Martin can still be seen low\ndown beneath the waves, but if any one tries to reach it the house\nfades away into the mist and is seen no more.\n\nThere is an old superstition still observed by the people, that blood\nmust be spilt on St. Martin\u2019s Day; so a goose is killed, or a black\ncock, and the blood is sprinkled over the floor and on the threshold.\nAnd some of the flesh is given to the first beggar that comes by, in\nthe name and in honour of St. Martin.\n\nIn the Arran Isles St. Martin\u2019s Day is observed with particular\nsolemnity, and it was held necessary, from ancient times, to spill\nblood on the ground in honour of the saint. For this purpose a cock was\nsacrificed; but if such could not be procured people have been known\nto cut their finger in order to draw blood, and let it fall upon the\nearth. The custom arose in this way:\u2014St. Martin, having given away\nall his goods to the poor, was often in want of food, and one day he\nentered a widow\u2019s house and begged for something to eat. The widow was\npoor, and having no food in the house, she sacrificed her young child,\nboiled it, and set it before the saint for supper. Having eaten, and\ntaken his departure, the woman went over to the cradle to weep for her\nlost child; when lo! there he was, lying whole and well, in a beautiful\nsleep, as if no evil had ever happened to him; and to commemorate this\nmiracle and from gratitude to the saint, a sacrifice of some living\nthing is made yearly in his honour. The blood is poured or sprinkled on\nthe ground, and along the door-posts, and both within and without the\nthreshold, and at the four corners of each room in the house.\n\nFor this symbol of purification by blood the rich farmers sacrifice a\nsheep; while the poorer people kill a black cock or a white hen, and\nsprinkle the blood according to ancient usage. Afterwards the whole\nfamily dine upon the sacrificial victim.\n\nIn some places it was the custom for the master of the house to draw a\ncross on the arm of each member of the family and mark it out in blood.\nThis was a very sacred sign which no fairy or evil spirit, were they\never so strong, could overcome; and whoever was signed with the blood\nwas safe.\n\nThere is a singular superstition forbidding work of a certain kind to\nbe done on St. Martin\u2019s Day, the 11th of November. No woman should spin\non that day; no miller should grind his corn, and no wheel should be\nturned. And this custom was long held sacred, and is still observed in\nthe Western Islands.\n\n\nST. BRIDGET.\n\n\nAt one time a certain leper came to St. Bridget to beg a cow from her.\n\n\u201cWhich would you prefer?\u201d said the holy Bridget, \u201cto be healed of your\ndisease or to have the cow?\u201d\n\n\u201cI would be healed,\u201d he answered.\n\nThen she touched him, and he became whole and went away rejoicing.\n\nAfter this Bridget\u2019s fame spread all over Ireland; and a man of the\nBritons, and his son, came to be healed; but she was at Mass, and sent\nto them to wait till Mass was over.\n\nNow the Britons are a hasty people, and the man said, \u201cYou healed your\nown people yesterday and you shall heal us to-day.\u201d\n\nThen Bridget came forth and prayed over them, and they were healed.\n\nAnother time, two lepers came to beg, and Bridget said, \u201cI have but\nthis one cow\u2014take it between you and go in peace.\u201d\n\nBut one leper was proud, and made answer: \u201cI shall divide my goods with\nno man. Give me the cow and I shall go.\u201d\n\nAnd she gave it to him.\n\nThen the other leper said, \u201cGive me your prayers, holy Bridget, I ask\nno more.\u201d\n\nAnd she gave him her blessing. And as he turned to depart a man came\nin, and offered a cow as a present to the holy woman.\n\n\u201cNow the Lord has blessed you,\u201d she said to the humble leper. \u201cTake\nthis cow and depart to your home.\u201d\n\nSo the man drove the cow before him, and presently came up with the\nproud leper just at the ford of the river. \u201cCross you first,\u201d said the\nproud leper, \u201cthere is not room for two,\u201d and the humble leper crossed\nin safety with his cow; but when the other entered the ford, the\nriver rose, and he and his cow were carried away and drowned, for the\nblessing of St. Bridget was not on him.\n\nAnother time, two lepers came to be healed, and Bridget ordered one of\nthem to wash the other; which he did, and the man was healed.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d she said, \u201cdo to your comrade as he has done to you; wash him\nwith water that he may be made clean of his leprosy.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, veiled woman,\u201d he answered, \u201cwhy should I, that am clean now in\nbody and limb, touch this filthy leper of the blue-grey skin? Ask me\nnot to do this thing.\u201d\n\nThen Bridget took water and washed the leper herself. Immediately the\nother who had been healed, cried out, \u201cA fire is raging under my skin;\u201d\nand the disease came again on him worse than ever. Thus was he punished\nfor his pride.\n\nThe lark is sacred to St. Bridget because its song woke her every\nmorning to prayers, when she had service for the women who were her\nconverts.\n\nThe influence of St. Bridget remains a permanent power in Ireland even\nto this day, and she is much feared by the enemy of souls and the\nill-doer. When Earl Strongbow was dying, he affirmed that he saw St.\nBridget approaching his bed, and she struck him on the foot, and the\nwound she gave him mortified, and of this he died. This happened six\nhundred years after Bridget\u2019s death.\n\nSt. Bridget, throughout her long life, held the highest position and\ndignity in the Irish Church. She erected a temple in Kildare, ordained\nbishops, and was head and chief of all the sacred virgins.\n\nShe also held equal rank with the archbishop; if he had an episcopal\nchair (_cathedra episcopalis_), so St. Bridget had a virginal chair\n(_cathedra puellaris_), and was pre-eminent above all the abbesses of\nIreland, or of the Scots, for sanctity and power.\n\n\nST. KIERAN.\n\n\nSt. Kieran, also, did good service five hundred years after his death;\nfor when a great chief and his band plundered Clonmacnoise and carried\noff the jewels from the shrine, the spirit of St. Kieran was seen in\nthe doorway, crosier in hand, striking at the plunderers; and when they\nfled to their boat, St. Kieran raised up a strong wind that drove back\nthe boat, and finally the chief robber was taken and put to death,\nhaving first confessed his crime, and testified as to St. Kieran\u2019s\nwrath against him.\n\n\nST. KEVIN.\n\n\nIt is related of St. Kevin that after he had been seven years at\nGlendalough, a weariness of life came over him, and a longing to hear\nthe voice of man once more. Then Satan came to him in the form of an\nangel, bright and beautiful, and persuaded him that he should quit\nthe valley and travel abroad and see the world, while yet his youth\nwas left to him. And St. Kevin was near yielding to the words of the\ntempter, when fortunately St. Munna came by that way, and he at once\nsaw through the trick, and showed to St. Kevin that the advice was from\nthe devil, and not from God. And St. Kevin promised St. Munna that he\nwould never leave the valley till his death. However, God, not willing\nthat the saint should eat his heart away in idleness, bade him build a\nmonastery on the east of the lake, the place where the resurrection was\nto be; and he sent his angel to show him the exact spot.\n\nBut St. Kevin, when he saw the place so wild and rude, could not help\ntelling the friendly angel that it was very rugged and difficult to\nbuild on; and the stones were heavy and hard to be moved. Then the\nangel, to prevent any difficulty in the building, rendered the stones\nlight and easy to move, and so the work of building went on to the\nglory of God; and St. Kevin rejoiced in the task set before him.\n\nAnd the monk who tells the story adds, that from that day in all the\nplace which the angel appointed for the building, there is now no stone\nthat cannot be lightly moved and easily worked all through the valley\nof Glendalough.\n\n\nCHRISTIAN LEGENDS.\n\n\nThe Round Tower of Clonmacnoise was never finished, for the monks\nobjected to the price demanded by the chief mason; and one day that he\nwas at the top of the tower, they said he should never come down till\nhe lowered the price; and they removed the scaffolding.\n\nThen he said, \u201cIt is easier to pull down than to build a tower,\u201d and he\nbegan to cast down stone by stone, so that he could descend in safety.\n\nOn this the monks grew alarmed, and prayed him to desist and the price\nshould be paid; so he came down at their request, but would never again\nlay hand to the work, so the tower remains unfinished to this day.\n\nThe first bells ever used in all Ireland were hung at Clonmacnoise, but\nthe people of Athlone, being jealous, came at night to steal the bells,\nand succeeded in carrying them away in a boat. However, before they\ngot out of sight of the church, the boat went down, and the bells were\nnever recovered, though the river was dragged from Athlone to Shannon\nBridge.\n\nAt the seven churches of Clonmacnoise is to be seen the great cross of\nSt. Kieran, beautifully carved of a stone not common to the country,\ncalled the Grecian stone, and if a woman can clasp the cross round with\nher arms she will never die in childbirth.\n\nAt a pattern held there one time, a soldier from Athlone shot off the\nhand of a figure of St. Kieran, which was over the grand entrance, but\nreturning home he fell from the boat, and was drowned in the very spot\nwhere the bells went down a hundred years before.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAt Saints\u2019 Island, in the Shannon, the ruins of a monastery, which\nwas destroyed by King John, may still be seen. When the monks,\nbroken-hearted and beggared, were leaving their beautiful home, one of\nthem kneeled down and prayed to God for forgiveness of his enemies.\nImmediately a well of pure water sprang up where the monk had knelt;\nand the water even to this day is held by the people to have the power\nto cure all diseases, if the soul of the patient, as he drinks of the\nwell, is free from all malice and the desire of revenge upon those who\nmay have injured him.\n\n\nSWEARING STONES AND RELICS.\n\n\nTHE CREMAVE.\n\n\nIn the old churchyard of the monastery at Saints\u2019 Island, there is\nan ancient black marble flagstone; and the monks gave it power as _A\nRevealer of Truth_, and it is called the _Cremave_, or Swearing Stone.\n\nAny one suspected of sin or crime is brought here from the country\nround, and if the accused swears falsely, the stone has the power to\nset a mark upon him and his race for seven generations. But if no mark\nappears then he is known to be innocent; and as long as the world\nlasts, the stone is to have this power, for so the monks decreed; and\nwith many holy and mystic ceremonies they gave it consecration, as the\n\u201cRevealer of Truth.\u201d And though the English burned the monastery and\ndefaced the altar and carried off the holy vessels, yet they had no\npower over the Cremave, or Swearing Stone, which remains to this day.\n\nMany years ago, so runs the tale, a murder was committed in the\nneighbourhood, and a certain man being suspected as the murderer, he\nwas forced to go to the \u201cclearing stone\u201d; for the people said, \u201cIf he\nis innocent, the Cremave will clear him; and if guilty, let him suffer\nfor his crime.\u201d\n\nSo, on the appointed day, he went with his friends and the accuser to\nthe Swearing Stone; and there he was met by the priest, who adjured him\nto speak the truth in presence of all the people and before the face of\nGod.\n\nThe man laid his hand upon the stone, and solemnly swore that he was\ninnocent; but instantly his right arm was shrivelled up, his feet\nfailed, and he was carried home a miserable cripple, and so remained to\nthe end of his life.\n\nSome weeks after a daughter was born to him, who bore across her\nforehead the impress of a bloody hand; and every one of his descendants\nhave some strange mark, by which the people know that the race is\naccursed to the seventh generation; after which time the doom will be\nlifted, and the expiation made for the crime and the perjury will be\nconsidered sufficient by the Lord in heaven, who will then grant to the\nrace pardon and grace at last.\n\n\nRELICS FOR CLEARING FROM GUILT.\n\n\nAnother relic held in reverence for swearing on by an accused person\nis St. Finian\u2019s Dish. This was found about one hundred and fifty years\nago, buried in the ruins of an old abbey. It is of silver with stones\nset in it, which, the people say, are the eyes of Christ looking at\nthem while they swear. And when the dish is shaken a rattling noise is\nheard, which they believe is made by the Virgin Mary\u2019s bones that are\nenclosed therein.\n\nShould a false oath be taken on the relic, the perjurer will at once\nbe stricken by disease, and die before the year is out. And so great\nis the terror inspired by this belief, that men have fainted from fear\nwhen brought up to swear on it. This is done by placing the hand on the\ncross that is engraved in the centre of the dish, while the two eyes of\nChrist are fixed on the swearer who comes for clearance from guilt.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe _Ghar-Barra_, or Crosier of St. Barry, is also a holy relic once\noverlaid with gold, on which it was the custom to take a clearing\noath; as the people held it in great reverence, and nothing was more\ndreaded than the consequence of a false oath on the _Ghar-Barra_. Once\na man who swore falsely thereon had his mouth turned awry, and it so\nremained to his life\u2019s end, a proof of the saint\u2019s hatred for the sin\nof perjury. The relic is kept covered carefully with green cloth, and\nwhoever is brought to take a clearing oath thereon must first lay down\na small piece of silver for the guardian of the shrine.\n\n\nINNIS-MURRY.\n\n\nAt Innis-Murry, Sligo, there is a large table-stone supported on eight\nperpendicular stones as a pedestal. And on the table are seventy-three\nstones, from five to twenty inches in circumference, which have been\nlying there from the most ancient times; for to remove them would be at\nthe peril of one\u2019s life.\n\nOn these seventy-three stones all the anathematic spirit of the island\nis concentrated. If the islanders suffer any injury, real or supposed,\nthey come and turn these stones, uttering a malediction over their\nenemy, and should he be guilty he will assuredly die, or suffer some\ncalamity before the year is out.\n\nA Scripture reader, having boldly taken away one of these stones to\nshow the folly of the superstition, was obliged to restore it and to\nquit the island, or his life would not have been safe.\n\nThere is another stone on the island where alone can fires be lighted,\nshould all the domestic fires become extinct, and the spark must be\nstruck from the stone itself.\n\nInnis-Murry is a desolate spot, rarely visited; the approach is so\ndangerous on account of the sunken rocks. The crops are scanty, and\nthe soil is poor and light, growing only a short herbage of a spiral\nand sharp kind. Neither scythe nor sickle could be used in the entire\nisland. Meal is unknown, and dairy produce scarcely to be had, as the\ngrass can only support a few sheep; but the islanders have fish in\nabundance, crabs, lobsters, and mackerel especially.\n\nA traveller, who visited the island about fifty years ago, describes\nthe manners and mode of living as most primitive; but the women have\nthe reputation of being exceedingly virtuous, and the households are\nhappy and well conducted. At that time a rude stone image was venerated\nby the people, called \u201cFather Molosh,\u201d but supposed to be an ancient\npagan idol, probably Moloch. The priest, however, has since had it\ndestroyed.\n\n\n\n\n MYSTERIES OF FAIRY POWER.\n\n\nTHE EVIL STROKE.\n\n\nSome persons are possessed naturally with the power of the Evil Stroke,\nbut it is not considered at all so unlucky as the Evil Eye; for the\nperson who has it does not act from intentional malice but from\nnecessity, from a force within him which acts without his will, and\noften to his deep regret: as in hurling matches, where a chance stroke\nof his may do serious injury, and even the dust of the earth raised by\nhis foot has blinded his opponent for a week.\n\nOne day a young man, while wrestling with another in play at a fair,\nwhere they met by chance, struck him on the arm, which immediately\nbecame fixed and powerless as stone. His friends brought him home, but\nnothing would restore the power of the arm or bring back the life; so\nafter he had lain in this state for three days his family sent for the\nyoung man who had struck him, to ask for his help. When he came and saw\nthe arm stiff as stone, he anointed it all over with spittle, making\nalso the sign of the cross; and after some time the arm began to move\nagain with life, and finally was quite restored. But the young man of\nthe Evil Stroke was so dismayed at this proof of the strange power in\nhim, that he would never again join in sports for fear of some unlucky\naccident.\n\nThe power, however, is sometimes very useful, as in the case of attack\nfrom a bull or a ferocious dog; for a touch from the hand of a person\npossessing the Evil Stroke at once quells the madness in the animal,\nwho will crouch down trembling with fear, and become as incapable of\ndoing injury as if suddenly and powerfully mesmerized.\n\nBut the power does not come by volition, only at intervals; and the\nperson possessing it does not himself know the moment when it can be\neffectively exercised.\n\nWomen, also, have the mysterious gift of this strange occult force,\nand one young girl was much dreaded in the country in consequence; for\nanything struck by her, beast or man, became instantly paralyzed, as\nif turned to stone. One day, at a hurling match, she threw a lump of\nclay at the winner in anger, because her own lover had failed to win\nthe prize. Immediately the young victor fell down stunned and lifeless,\nand was so carried home to his mother. Then they sent in all haste\nfor the young girl to restore him to consciousness; but she was so\nfrightened at her own evil work that she went and hid herself. Finding\nit then impossible to bring her, his friends sent for the fairy doctor,\nwho, by dint of many charms and much stroking, at last restored the\nyoung man to life. The girl, however, was in such dread of the curses\nof the mother, that she fled, and took service in a distant part of\nthe country. And all the people rejoiced much over her departure from\namongst them.\n\nYet it was considered lucky in some ways to have a fairy-stricken child\nin the house, for the fairies generally did a good turn by the family\nto compensate for the evil. And so there was always plenty of butter in\nthe churn, and the cattle did not sicken wherever there was a stricken\nchild.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is also lucky to employ a half-simpleton about the farm, and to be\nkind to the deaf and dumb, and other afflicted creatures. No one in\nIreland would harm them or turn them out of their way, and they always\nget food and drink for the asking, without any payment being thought of\nor accepted.\n\n\nTHE CHANGELING.\n\n\nA woman was one night lying awake while her husband slept, when the\ndoor suddenly opened and a tall dark man entered, of fierce aspect,\nfollowed by an old hag with a child in her arms\u2014a little, misshapen,\nsickly-looking little thing. They both sat down by the fire to warm\nthemselves, and after some time the man looked over at the cradle that\nstood beside the mother\u2019s bed with her boy in it, and kept his eyes\non it for several minutes. Then he rose, and when the mother saw him\nwalking over direct to the cradle, she fainted and knew no more.\n\nWhen she came to herself she called to her husband, and bade him light\na candle; this he did, on which the old hag in the corner rose up at\nonce and blew it out. Then he lit it a second time, and it was blown\nout; and still a third time he lit the candle, when again it was blown\nout, and a great peal of laughter was heard in the darkness.\n\nOn this the man grew terribly angry, and taking up the tongs he made a\nblow at the hag; but she slipped away, and struck him on the arm with\na stick she held in her hand. Then he grew more furious, and beat her\non the head till she roared, when he pushed her outside and locked the\ndoor.\n\nAfter this he lit the candle in peace; but when they looked at the\ncradle, lo! in place of their own beautiful boy, a hideous little\ncreature, all covered with hair, lay grinning at them. Great was their\ngrief and lamentation, and both the man and his wife wept and wailed\naloud for the loss of their child, and the cry of their sorrow was\nbitter to hear.\n\nJust then the door suddenly opened, and a young woman came in, with a\nscarlet handkerchief wound round her head.\n\n\u201cWhat are you crying for,\u201d she asked, \u201cat this time of night, when\nevery one should be asleep?\u201d\n\n\u201cLook at this child in the cradle,\u201d answered the man, \u201cand you will\ncease to wonder why we mourn and are sad at heart.\u201d And he told her all\nthe story.\n\nWhen the young woman went over to the cradle and looked at the child,\nshe laughed, but said nothing.\n\n\u201cYour laughter is stranger than our tears,\u201d said the man. \u201cWhy do you\nlaugh in the face of our sorrows?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d she said, \u201cthis is my child that was stolen from me\nto-night; for I am one of the fairy race, and my people, who live under\nthe fort on the hill, thought your boy was a fine child, and so they\nchanged the babies in the cradle; but, after all, I would rather have\nmy own, ugly as he is, than any mortal child in the world. So now I\u2019ll\ntell you how to get back your own son, and I\u2019ll take away mine at once.\nGo to the old fort on the hill when the moon is full, and take with you\nthree sheafs of corn and some fire, and burn them one after the other.\nAnd when the last sheaf is burning, an old man will come up through the\nsmoke, and he will ask you what it is you desire. Then tell him you\nmust have your child back, or you will burn down the fort, and leave\nno dwelling-place for his people on the hill. Now, the fairies cannot\nstand against the power of fire, and they will give you back your child\nat the mere threat of burning the fort. But mind, take good care of him\nafter, and tie a nail from a horse-shoe round his neck, and then he\nwill be safe.\u201d\n\nWith that the young woman took up the ugly little imp from the cradle\nin her arms, and was away before they could see how she got out of the\nhouse.\n\nNext night, when the moon was full, the man went to the old fort with\nthe three sheafs of corn and the fire, and burned them one after the\nother; and as the second was lighted there came up an old man and asked\nhim what was his desire.\n\n\u201cI must have my child again that was stolen,\u201d he answered, \u201cor I\u2019ll\nburn down every tree on the hill, and not leave you a stone of the fort\nwhere you can shelter any more with your fairy kindred.\u201d\n\nThen the old man vanished, and there was a great silence, but no one\nappeared.\n\nOn this the father grew angry, and he called out in a loud voice, \u201cI\nam lifting the third sheaf now, and I\u2019ll burn and destroy and make\ndesolate your dwelling-place, if my child is not returned.\u201d\n\nThen a great tumult and clamour was heard in the fort, and a voice\nsaid, \u201cLet it be. The power of the fire is too strong for us. Bring\nforth the child.\u201d\n\nAnd presently the old man appeared, carrying the child in his arms.\n\n\u201cTake him,\u201d he said. \u201cBy the spell of the fire, and the corn you have\nconquered. But take my advice, draw a circle of fire, with a hot coal\nthis night, round the cradle when you go home, and the fairy power\ncannot touch him any more, by reason of the fire.\u201d\n\nSo the man did as he was desired, and by the spell of fire and of corn\nthe child was saved from evil, and he grew and prospered. And the old\nfort stands to this day safe from harm, for the man would allow no hand\nto move a stone or harm a tree; and the fairies still dance there on\nthe rath, when the moon is full, to the music of the fairy pipes, and\nno one hinders them.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY DOCTOR.\n\n\nIf a healthy child suddenly droops and withers, that child is\nfairy-struck, and a fairy doctor must be at once called in. Young girls\nalso, who fall into rapid decline, are said to be fairy-struck; for\nthey are wanted in Fairy-land as brides for some chief or prince, and\nso they pine away without visible cause till they die.\n\nThe other malign influences that act fatally on life are the Wind and\nthe Evil Eye. The evil power of the Wind is called a fairy-blast;\nwhile, of one suffering from the Evil Eye, they say he has been\n\u201coverlooked.\u201d\n\nThe fairy doctor must pronounce from which of these three causes the\npatient is suffering. The fairy-stroke, or the fairy-blast, or the Evil\nEye; but he must take no money for the opinion given. He is paid in\nsome other way; by free gracious offerings in gratitude for help given.\n\nA person who visited a great fairy doctor for advice, thus describes\nthe process of cure at the interview:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe doctor always seems as if expecting you, and had full knowledge of\nyour coming. He bids you be seated, and after looking fixedly on your\nface for some moments, his proceedings begin. He takes three rods of\nwitch hazel, each three inches long, and marks them separately, \u2018For\nthe Stroke,\u2019 \u2018For the Wind,\u2018 \u2018For the Evil Eye.\u2019 This is to ascertain\nfrom which of these three evils you suffer. He then takes off his coat,\nshoes, and stockings; rolls up his shirt sleeves, and stands with his\nface to the sun in earnest prayer. After prayer he takes a dish of pure\nwater and sets it by the fire, then kneeling down, he puts the three\nhazel rods he had marked into the fire, and leaves them there till they\nare burned black as charcoal. All the time his prayers are unceasing;\nand when the sticks are burned, he rises, and again faces the sun in\nsilent prayer, standing with his eyes uplifted and hands crossed. After\nthis he draws a circle on the floor with the end of one of the burned\nsticks, within which circle he stands, the dish of pure water beside\nhim. Into this he flings the three hazel rods, and watches the result\nearnestly. The moment one sinks he addresses a prayer to the sun, and\ntaking the rod out of the water he declares by what agency the patient\nis afflicted. Then he grinds the rod to powder, puts it in a bottle\nwhich he fills up with water from the dish, and utters an incantation\nor prayer over it, in a low voice, with clasped hands held over the\nbottle. But what the words of the prayer are no one knows, they are\nkept as solemn mysteries, and have been handed down from father to\nson through many generations, from the most ancient times. The potion\nis then given to be carried home, and drunk that night at midnight\nin silence and alone. Great care must be taken that the bottle never\ntouches the ground; and the person carrying it must speak no word,\nand never look round till home is reached. The other two sticks he\nburies in the earth in some place unseen and unknown. If none of the\nthree sticks sink in the water, then he uses herbs as a cure. Vervain,\neyebright, and yarrow are favourite remedies, and all have powerful\nproperties known to the adept; but the words and prayers he utters over\nthem are kept secret, and whether they are good or bad, or addressed to\nDeity or to a demon, none but himself can tell.\u201d\n\nThese are the visible mysteries of the fairy doctor while working out\nhis charms and incantations. But other fairy doctors only perform the\nmysteries in private, and allow no one to see their mode of operation\nor witness the act of prayer.\n\nIf a potion is made up of herbs it must be paid for in silver but\ncharms and incantations are never paid for, or they would lose their\npower. A present, however, may be accepted as an offering of gratitude.\n\n\nTHE POET\u2019S SPELL.\n\n\nA very ancient story, as old as the tenth century, is narrated, and\nfirmly believed by the people, that once on a time when the reapers\nwere at work, a fine handsome young married woman, who was in the\nfield with them, suddenly fell down dead. This caused a great fear\nand consternation, especially as it was asserted that just before the\nfatal event, a fairy blast had passed over the field, carrying a cloud\nof dust and stones with it; and there could be no doubt but that the\nfairies had rushed by in the cloud, and struck the woman dead as they\npassed.\n\nThen her people sent for the great wise poet of the tribe, who\nwas reputed to have the power by his song to break the strongest\nfairy spells: and he chanted low music over her, and uttered mystic\nincantations, the words of which no man heard; but after a while the\nwoman unclosed her eyes and rose up, restored to life.\n\nWhen they questioned her, she told them all she knew.\n\n\u201cIn sickness I was,\u201d she said, \u201cand I appeared to be dead, for I could\nneither speak nor move, till the song of the poet gave me power. Then\nthe life rose up in me again, and the strength, and I was healed.\u201d\n\n\nCHARM FOR THE FAIRY STROKE.\n\n\nThere is a very ancient and potent charm which may be tried with great\neffect in case of a suspected fairy-stroke.\n\nPlace three rows of salt on a table in three lines, three equal\nmeasures to each row. The person performing the spell then encloses the\nrows of salt with his arm, leaning his head down over them, while he\nrepeats the Lord\u2019s Prayer three times over each row\u2014that is, nine times\nin all. Then he takes the hand of the one who has been fairy-struck,\nand says over it, \u201cBy the power of the Father, and of the Son, and of\nthe Holy Spirit, let this disease depart, and the spell of the evil\nspirits be broken! I adjure, I command you to leave this man [naming\nhim]. In the name of God I pray; in the name of Christ I adjure; in the\nname of the Spirit of God I command and compel you to go back and leave\nthis man free! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!\u201d\n\n\nTHE FARMER\u2019S FATE.\n\n\nThe peasants have the greatest dread of the fairy-stroke, and consider\nit the most dangerous indication of fairy hostility. When a person is\nstruck, he becomes wholly insensible to external things, as if his soul\nhad been taken out of him and carried away.\n\nA farmer once began to build a barn on a fairy circle, to the great\nhorror of the neighbours, who warned him of the danger; but he only\nlaughed at their nonsense, and built and finished his barn on the fairy\nrath.\n\nHowever, riding home one evening after sunset, he was suddenly\n\u201cstruck,\u201d and fell insensible to the ground. They carried him home and\nlaid him on his bed, where he lay for several days, his eyes fixed and\nstaring without any motion of the eyelids, and no indication of life\nremaining, except his colour which never changed.\n\nAll the doctors came and looked at him, but could do nothing. There\nwas no fracture nor injury of any kind to his frame; so the doctors\nshook their heads and went their way, saying they would call again in\na day or two. But the family objected to delay, and sent at once for\nthe great fairy doctor of the district. The moment he came he threw\nherbs on the fire, when a fragrant smell filled the room like church\nincense. Then he pounded some herbs and mixed a liquid with them, but\nwhat the herbs were, no one knew. And with this mixture he touched the\nbrow and the lips and the hands of the man, and sprinkled the rest over\nhis insensible form. After this he told them to keep silence round him\nfor two hours, when he would return and finish the cure. And so it\nhappened, for in two hours the life came back to the man, though he\ncould not speak. But strength came gradually; and by the next day he\nrose up, and said he had dreamed a dream, and heard a voice saying to\nhim, \u201cPull down the barn, for ill-luck is on it.\u201d Accordingly he gave\norders to his men, and every stick and stone was carried away, and\nthe fairy rath left free again for the fairies to dance on, as in the\nolden time, when they were the gods of the earth, long before men came\nto dispute their rights, and take possession of their ancient pleasure\ngrounds\u2014an indignity no high-spirited fairy could calmly endure. For\nin their councils they had decreed that the fairy rath, at least,\nshould be sacred for all time, and woe to the man who builds his house\nthereon. An evil fate is on him and on the house for evermore. Down it\nmust come, or the evil spell will never be lifted. There is no hope for\nit, for the most dangerous and subtle of all enemies is an angry fairy.\n\nNor should the paths even be crossed by work of human hand, which the\nfairies traverse from one palace to another. Their line of march\nmust not be impeded. Finvarra and his men would resent such a gross\ninsult to the royal fairy rights, and severely punish the audacious\nand offending mortal. Not even the Grand Jury would be allowed to\ninterfere, for if they did, every man of them would be demolished in\nsome way or other by fairy power.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY RATH.\n\n\nThe fairies, beside being revengeful, are also very arrogant, and allow\nno interference with their old-established rights.\n\nThere is a rath in the Queen\u2019s County, only four yards in diameter,\nbut held so sacred as the fairies\u2019 dancing ground that no one dared to\nremove a handful of earth from the mound; and at night the sweetest\nlow music may be heard floating round the hill, as if played by silver\nbagpipes.\n\nOne evening a boy lay down on the rath to listen to the music, and,\nwithout thinking, began to gather up balls of the clay and fling them\nhither and thither in sport, when suddenly he was struck down by a\nviolent blow and became senseless.\n\nThere he was found by his people, who went to search for him; and when\nhe came to himself he bleated like a calf, and it was a long time\nbefore he recovered his reason, for the power of the fairies is great,\nand none can resist it.\n\n\n\n\n THE HOLY WELLS\n\n\nThere is no superstition stronger in Ireland than a belief in the\ncurative power of the sacred wells that are scattered over the\ncountry; fountains of health and healing which some saint had blessed,\nor by which some saint had dwelt in the far-off ancient times. But\nwell-worship is even older than Christianity. It is part of the early\nritual of humanity, brought from the Eastern lands by the first Aryan\ntribes who migrated westward, passing along from the Mediterranean to\nthe Atlantic shores.\n\nThe Delphic oracle in its origin was nothing more than a holy well,\nshadowed by trees, on which were hung the votive offerings of the\npraying peasants, long before the rival kings brought to the sacred\nspot their votive tributes of silver and gold, and crowns of precious\nstones.\n\nIn Ireland the beautiful, picturesque, and tree-shadowed wells of\nthe country were held sacred by the Druid priests, as is evident\nfrom the many remarkable Druidical remains that have been found in\ntheir vicinity\u2014ruins of temples and pillar-stones, and stones with\nstrange carvings. Much also of the ancient Druidic ceremonial has been\npreserved by the people, such as the symbolic dances, the traditions\nof sun-worship, and other pagan rites, which were incorporated into\nthe Christian ritual of well-worship by the early converts, and are\nstill retained, though, through the lapse of ages, they have entirely\nlost their original significance, and are now only practised as ancient\ncustoms, for which the Irish have great reverence, as having come down\nto them from their forefathers. The ceremonial is the same at all these\nplaces of devout pilgrimage. The pilgrims go round the well a certain\nnumber of times, either three or nine, creeping on their hands and\nknees, but always from east to west, following the apparent motion\nof the sun, and reciting paters and aves all the time. At the close\nof each round they build up a small pile of stones; for at the last\nday the angels will reckon these stones, and he who has said the most\nprayers will have the highest place in heaven, each saint keeping count\nfor his own votaries. The patient then descends the broken steps to the\nwell and, kneeling down, bathes his forehead and hands in the water,\nafter which oblation the pain or disease he suffered from will be\ngradually removed, and depart from him for evermore.\n\nAt some wells there is often a rude stone monument of the ancient\ntimes, and the eyes of the pilgrim must be kept steadily fixed on it\nwhile reciting the prayers.\n\nWhenever a white-thorn or an ash-tree shadows the place, the well is\nheld to be peculiarly sacred; and on leaving, having first drunk of the\nwater, the patient ties a votive offering to the branches\u2014generally a\ncoloured handkerchief or a bright red strip cut from a garment; and\nthese offerings are never removed. They remain for years fluttering in\nthe wind and the rain, just as travellers have described the votive\nofferings on the sacred trees that shadow the holy wells of Persia.\nThey are signs and tokens of gratitude to the patron saint, and are\nmeant to show the devil that he has no longer power to harm the praying\npilgrim, or torment him with pains and aches as heretofore. It is\nnot supposed that the water of the well has any natural medicinal\nproperties. The curative efficacy is wholly due to the observance of\nthe ritual in honour of the saint, whose spirit and influence is still\nover the well, by which he lived, and of which he drank while living on\nthe earth.\n\n\nTHE WHITE STONES.\n\n\nAt many of the wells quantities of beautiful white stones are found\nthat glitter in the sun, and these are highly esteemed by the pilgrims\nto build up their prayer monuments.\n\nOne day some women were eagerly collecting these stones, after each\nround of praying, in order to build up a monument; when suddenly a\nstrain of soft, exquisite music seemed to rise up from the water and\nfloat by them. In their joy and wonder the women clapped their hands\nand laughed aloud, when instantly the music ceased and the pile of\nstones fell down. By which sign they knew that they should not have\nlaughed while the angels were singing; and they fell on their knees and\nprayed.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA holy well once lost all its power because a murder had been committed\nnear it; and another because it was cursed by a priest in consequence\nof the immorality that prevailed at the patterns.\n\n\nTHE SACRED TROUT.\n\n\nThe water of the sacred well must never be used for household\npurposes\u2014cooking, washing, or the like. But after the well was cursed\nby the priest, and the tents were struck, and no pattern was held there\nany longer, it lost all its sanctity, and was no longer held sacred by\nthe people, who began to fill their pails, and carry the water away\nhome for cooking and household use; while also they all washed their\nclothes down at the well, just as if no sanctity had ever been in the\nwater.\n\nHowever, one day a woman having put down a pot of water to boil, found\nthat no amount of fire would heat it. Still it remained ice-cold, as\nif just drawn from the well. So she looked carefully into the pot, and\nthere beheld the Sacred Speckled Trout sailing round and round quite\ncontented and happy. On seeing this, she knew that the curse was lifted\nfrom the well, and she ran and told the priest. His reverence having\nseen the Sacred Trout with his own eyes, ordered it to be carried back\nto the well, the water of which at once regained all its sacred powers\nby the blessing of the priest; and he gave the people leave thenceforth\nto hold their pattern there, so as they behaved themselves like decent,\nGod-fearing Christians for the future. But the water was not allowed to\nbe carried away any more to their houses for household purposes; the\ndesecration of the holy water of a sacred well being strictly forbidden\nas dangerous and unlucky.\n\n\nST. AUGUSTINE\u2019S WELL.\n\n\nAt a holy well in the south, dedicated to St. Augustine, the friars\nbegan to build a convent. And during all the hours of work bells were\nheard ringing sweetly and voices singing; but one day a woman came and\nwashed her feet in the water of the well, and thereupon all the bells\nceased and the singing stopped, and the work could not go on. So the\nfriars chose another site, and they drew a circle round it, within\nwhich no woman was to set her foot; and after this the bells began to\nring again and the voices sang, and the work went on safely till the\nconvent was completed in the name of God and St. Augustine; but no\nwoman during all that time ever set foot on the holy ground.\n\n\nTHE GRILLED TROUT.\n\n\nIn Sligo there is a well called _Tober-na-alt_, beautifully shadowed by\ntrees, the branches of which are thickly hung with all sorts of votive\nofferings from those who have been cured by the water; and miracle-men\nattended, who professed to heal diseases by charms, prayers, and\nincantations.\n\nA man who had been born blind once recited his experiences there. \u201cOh,\nChristians, look on me! I was blind from my birth and saw no light\ntill I came to the blessed well; now I see the water and the speckled\ntrout down at the bottom, with the white cross on his back. Glory be\nto God for the cure.\u201d And when the people heard that he could really\nsee the speckled trout, of course they all believed in the miracle.\nFor a tradition exists that a sacred trout has lived there from time\nimmemorial, placed in the well by the saint who first sanctified\nthe water. Now there was an adventurous man who desired much to get\npossession of this trout, and he watched it till at last he caught it\nasleep. Then he carried it off and put it on the gridiron. The trout\nbore the grilling of one side very patiently; but when the man tried to\nturn it on the fire, the trout suddenly jumped up and made off as hard\nas it could back to the well, where it still lives, and can be seen at\ntimes by those who have done proper penance and paid their dues to the\npriest, with one side all streaked and marked brown by the bars of the\ngridiron, which can never be effaced.\n\n\nLEGEND OF NEAL-MOR.\n\n\nThere is a great hole or well near the river Suir, always filled with\nwater, whose depth no man has yet fathomed. Near it is a castle, which\nin old times belonged to a powerful chief called _Neal-mor_. One day\nwhile his servants were saving the hay, a violent tempest of wind and\nrain came on, which quite destroyed the crop. Then Neal-mor was filled\nwith rage, and he mounted his horse and drew his sword, and rode forth\nto the field; and there he challenged the Lord God Himself to battle.\nAnd he swung his sword round his head and struck at the air, as if\nhe would kill and slay the Great Invisible Spirit. On which suddenly\na strange thing happened, for a great whirlwind arose and the earth\nopened, and Neal-mor, still astride on his horse and with his sword in\nhis hand, was lifted high up into the air and then cast down alive into\nthe great hole, called _Poul-mor_, which may be seen to this day, and\nthe castle is still standing by the margin. But no trace of Neal-mor or\nhis steed was ever again beheld. They perished utterly by the vengeance\nof God.\n\nBut some time after his disappearance, a rude stone figure seated on\na horse, was cast up out of the earth; and then all men knew the fate\nof the terrible chief who had braved the wrath of God, for here was\nhis image and the sign of his destruction. The stone figure is still\npreserved at the castle, and tradition says that if it were removed,\nthe whole castle would crumble to pieces in a single night and be cast\ninto the _Poul-mor_.\n\n\nST. JOHN\u2019S WELL.\n\n\nAt St. John\u2019s well, County Cork, there is a large stone, believed to\nbe the real true head of John the Baptist, grown hard and solid from\ntime and the action of the elements. And the stone has certainly a rude\nresemblance to a human head.\n\nSuspected persons are brought to swear on it for a clearing from guilt;\nfor it is held in high reverence. Compacts are also made there, which\nare held inviolate, for no one who swears with his hand on the stone,\nwould ever dream of breaking the oath, and each person present as\nwitness scratches a cross on the surface with a sharp piece of slate.\n\nA number of pagan remains are in the vicinity, but they are now held in\nreverence as places of Christian sanctity.\n\nSome time ago an ancient stone image was dug up from the earth, which\nantiquarians pronounced to be a pagan idol, probably the Irish Siva.\nThis was at first consecrated as Saint Gobnath, but afterwards the\npriest destroyed the image with his own hands.\n\nAll the paths round the well are marked deep by the lines of praying\npilgrims who go round it on their knees. And there are piles of the\nlittle stones that mark the prayers of the penitents, all ready for\nthe angels to count. Most of the stones are of pure quartz, white and\nglistening, and these are highly esteemed.\n\n\nTHE WELL OF FIONN MA-COUL.\n\n\nThe ancient churches and cells of the saints were generally placed in\nthe vicinity of a well, which then became sanctified and endowed with\nmiraculous healing power. Or the well may have been held sacred by the\nDruids, and the scene of their pagan rites; therefore selected by the\nsaint specially as his dwelling-place, so that he might bring it under\nthe fosterage and holy influence of Christianity.\n\nThe grave of the great Fionn was laid by a celebrated well in the\nCounty Cork, and it is certain that a massive human jawbone was found\nthere not long ago, far exceeding in size the bones of the present race\nof men. This jawbone was sent to London to be inspected by the learned\nphilosophers, but was never returned\u2014a great and grievous wrong to the\nrenowned Irish chief, for no doubt the mighty Fionn will want it badly\nat the last day, when he is gathering up his bones to appear before the\nLord.\n\n\nST. SEENAN\u2019S WELL.\n\n\nThere is a place on the shore of Scattery Island, where, according to\nthe most ancient tradition, a sacred well once existed, with miraculous\ncurative powers. But no one could ever discover the place, for at high\nwater the sea covered every point up to the edge of the land, and the\nshifting sand made all efforts to find the locality of the well vain\nand fruitless.\n\nBut one day a young man who was lame in both legs from the effects of a\nfall, and much disabled in consequence, was going along the shore with\nsome companions, when he suddenly sank up to his waist in the sand.\nWith much difficulty, and after a long while, his comrades managed to\nhaul him up, when to their amazement they found that his legs were now\nquite straight, and he stood up before them four inches taller than\nbefore he sank down into the sand.\n\nSo at once they knew that the sacred well must have worked the cure,\nand they dug and dug and cleared away the sand, till at last they came\non some ancient steps, and down below lay the well, clear and fresh,\nand untouched by the salt of the sea, the holy well of St. Seenan, that\ntheir fathers and forefathers had vainly looked for.\n\nNow there was great rejoicing in the country when the news spread; and\nall the people from far and near who had pains and ailments rushed off\nto the well and drank of the waters and poured libations of it over\ntheir persons, wherever the pain or the disease lay, and in a short\ntime wonderful cures were effected. So next day still greater crowds\narrived to try their good luck. But when they came to the place, not a\nvestige of the well could be found. The sand and the sea had covered\nall, and from that day to this the holy well of St. Seenan has never\nbeen seen by mortal eyes.\n\n\nKIL-NA-GREINA.\n\n\n_Tober Kil-na-Greina_ (the well of the fountain of the sun) was\ndiscovered only about eighty years ago, by a strange chance in the\nCounty Cork.\n\nThe land was a desolate marsh, no one built on it, and nothing grew on\nit or near it. But a large grey stone lay there, with a natural hollow\nin the centre that would hold about a gallon of water, and close by\nwere the remains of an old pagan fort.\n\nOne day, the farmer who owned the land carried off this great grey\nstone to use as a drinking trough for his cattle. But not long after\nall the cattle grew sick, and then all the children sickened, so the\nfarmer said there was ill luck in the business, and he carried back\nthe stone to its old place, on which all the household recovered\ntheir health. Thereupon the farmer began to think there must be\nsomething wonderful and mysterious in the locality, so he had the marsh\nthoroughly drained, after which process they came upon an ancient stone\ncircle, and in the midst was a well of beautiful fresh water. Some\npeople said there was writing on the stones, and strange carvings; but\nit was generally believed to be a Druid temple and oracle, for there\nwas a tradition that a woman called the _Ban-na-Naomha_ (the nymph of\nthe well) had once lived there\u2014and that she had the gift of prophecy,\nand uttered oracles to those who sought her at the shrine by the well;\nand there was a little wooden image of her, also, that used to speak to\nthe people\u2014so it was said and believed. It is certain, however, that a\npagan temple once existed there, for which reason St. Patrick cursed\nthe land and turned it into a marsh, and the well was hidden for a\nthousand years, according to St. Patrick\u2019s word.\n\nOn the discovery of the well the whole country flocked to it for cures.\nTents were erected and a pattern was organized, which went on for some\nyears with great success, and many authentic instances are recorded of\nmarvellous miracles performed there.\n\nThe ritual observed was very strict at the beginning, three draughts\nof water were taken by the pilgrims, the number of drinks three, the\nnumber of rounds on their knees were three, thus making the circuit of\nthe well nine times. After each round the pilgrim laid a stone on the\nancient altar in the Druid circle, called \u201cthe well of the sun,\u201d and\nthese stones, named in Irish \u201cthe stones of the sun,\u201d are generally\npure white, and about the size of a pigeon\u2019s egg. They have a beautiful\nappearance after rain when the sun shines on them, and were doubtless\nheld sacred to the sun in pagan times. The angels will reckon these\nstones at the last day, but each particular saint will take charge of\nhis own votaries and see that the stones are properly counted, for each\nman will receive forgiveness according to their number.\n\nBut gradually the revelry at the pattern gave occasion for so much\nscandal, that the priest denounced the well from the altar, along with\nall the wickedness it fostered and encouraged. Still the people would\nnot give up the pattern, and the drinking, and dancing, and gambling,\nand fighting went on worse than ever, until one day a man was killed.\nAfter this a curse seemed to have fallen on the place. The well lost\nall its miraculous powers, no cures were effected; the maimed, the\nhalt, and the blind prayed before it, and went the rounds, and piled\nthe stones as usual, but no help came, and worst sign of all, a great\npagan stone on which a cross had been erected, fell down of its own\naccord, and the cross lay shattered on the ground. Then all the people\nknew that the curse of blood and of St. Patrick was indeed over the\nwell; so it was deserted, and the tents were struck, and no pattern was\never held there any more, for the virtue of healing had gone from \u201cthe\nfountain of the sun,\u201d and never has come back to it through all the\nyears.\n\nEven the _Ban-Naomha_, the nymph of the fountain, who used to manifest\nherself occasionally to the regenerate under the form of a trout,\ndisappeared at the same time, and though she may be heard of at other\nsacred wells, was never again seen by the devout pilgrims who watched\nfor her appearance at the _Tober-kil-na-Greina_.\n\n\nTHE WELL OF WORSHIP.\n\n\nAt _Tober Mire_, the well of the field of worship, County Cork, there\nare also many pagan monuments, and it is evident that the vicinity was\none of the strongholds of the Druids in ancient times, where they had\na temple, a burial-ground, and stones for sacrifice: a much larger\npopulation existed also round the temple than can now be numbered in\nthe same locality.\n\n\nTHE BRIDE\u2019S WELL.\n\n\nNear the last-named well is the Bride\u2019s Well, _Tober Breda_ (the\nholy well of St. Bridget). There is a stone oratory here of fabulous\nantiquity, with a doorway fashioned after the Egyptian model,\nsloping towards the top; also an ancient white-thorn covered with\nvotive offerings, amongst which one may see many a long lock of the\nsplendid dark hair of the Irish southern women, who adopt this antique\ntraditional symbol of self-sacrifice to show their gratitude to the\npatron saint.\n\nSt. Bridget took the name of the pagan goddess Brighita in order to\ndestroy and obliterate the idolatrous rites and transfer the devotion\nof the people to the Christian ceremonies, and _Tober-Breda_ is now\nconsidered of the highest sanctity, being under the special patronage\nof St. Bridget.\n\n\nTHE IRISH FAKIR.\n\n\nMany of the professional prayer-men, or Fakirs, resort to the\n_Tober-Breda_ during the pattern, and manage to obtain gifts and\ncontributions and all sorts of excellent things in exchange for their\nprayers from the rich farmers and young girls, to whom they promise\ngood luck, and perhaps also a lover who will be handsome and young.\n\nThese Irish Fakirs, or sacred fraternity of beggars, lead a pleasant,\nthoroughly idle life. They carry a wallet and a staff, and being looked\non as holy men endowed with strange spiritual gifts, they are entirely\nsupported by the voluntary gifts of the people, who firmly believe in\nthe mysterious efficacy of their prayers and blessings and prognostics\nof luck.\n\nOne of these Fakirs towards the end of his life was glad to find\nshelter in the poor-house. He was then eighty years of age, but a tall,\nerect old man, with flowing white beard and hair, keen eyes, and of the\nmost venerable aspect.\n\nA gentleman who saw him there, being much struck with his dignified and\nremarkable appearance, induced him to tell the story of his life, which\nwas marked by several strange and curious incidents.\n\nHe said he was a farmer\u2019s son, but from his earliest youth hated work,\nand only liked to spend the long summer day lying on the grass gazing\nup into the clouds dreaming and thinking where they were all sailing\nto, and longing to float away with them to other lands.\n\nMeanwhile his father raged and swore and beat him, often cruelly,\nbecause he would not work. But all the same, he could not bring himself\nto be digging from morning to night, and herding cattle, and keeping\ncompany only with labourers.\n\nSo when he was about twenty he formed a plan to run away; for, he\nthought, if the stupid old Fakirs who are lame and blind and deaf find\npeople ready to support them, all for nothing, might not he have a\nbetter chance for getting board and lodging without work, since he had\nyouth and health and could tell them stories to no end of the great old\nancient times.\n\nSo one night he quitted his father\u2019s house secretly, and went forth on\nhis travels into the wide world, only to meet bitter disappointment and\nrude repulse, for the farmers would have nothing to say to him, nor the\nfarmers\u2019 wives. Every one eyed him with suspicion. \u201cWhy,\u201d they said,\n\u201cshould a great stalwart young fellow over six feet high go about the\ncountry begging? He was a tramp and meant no good.\u201d And they chased him\naway from their grounds.\n\nThen he thought he would disguise himself as a regular Fakir; so he\ngot a long cloak, and took a wallet and a staff, and hid his raven\nblack hair under a close skull cap, and tried to look as old as he\ncould.\n\nBut the regular Fakirs soon found him out, and their spite and rage was\ngreat, for all of them were either lame of a leg or blind of an eye,\nand they said; \u201cWhy should this great broad-shouldered young fellow\nwith the black eyes come and take away our chances of living, when\nhe ought to be able to work and earn enough to keep himself without\nrobbing us of our just rights?\u201d And they grumbled and snarled at him\nlike so many dogs, and set people to spy on him and watch him.\n\nStill he was determined to try his luck on every side: so he went to\nall the stations round about and prayed louder and faster than any\npilgrim or Fakir amongst the whole lot.\n\nBut wherever he went he saw a horrible old hag for ever following him.\nHer head was wrapped up in an old red shawl, and nothing was seen\nof her face except two eyes, that glared on him like coals of fire\nwhichever way he turned. And now, in truth, his life became miserable\nto him because of this loathsome hag. So he went from station to\nstation to escape her; but still she followed him, and the sound of\nher stick on the ground was ever after him like the hammering of a\nnail into his coffin, for he felt sure he would die of the torment and\nhorror.\n\nAt last he thought he would try _Tobar-Breda_ for his next station, as\nit was several miles off and she might not be able to follow him so\nfar. So he went, and not a sign of her was to be seen upon the road.\nThis rejoiced his heart, and he kneeled down at the well and was saying\nhis prayers louder and faster than ever when he looked up, and there,\nkneeling right opposite to him at the other side of the road, was the\ndetestable old witch. But she took no notice of him, only went on\nsaying her prayers and telling her beads as if no one were by.\n\nPresently, however, she stooped down to wash her face in the well,\nand, as she threw up the water with her hands, she let the red shawl\nslip down over her shoulders, and then the young man beheld to his\nastonishment a beautiful young girl before him with a complexion like\nthe lily and the rose, and soft brown hair falling in showers of curls\nover her snow-white neck.\n\nHe had only a glimpse for a moment while she cast the water in her\nface, and then she drew the red shawl again over her head and shoulders\nand was the old hag once more that had filled him with horror. But that\none glimpse was enough to make his heart faint with love; and now for\nthe first time she turned her burning eyes full on him, and kept them\nfixed until he seemed to swoon away in an ecstacy of happiness, and\nknew nothing more till he found her seated beside him, holding his hand\nin hers, and still looking intently on his face with her glittering\neyes.\n\n\u201cCome away,\u201d she whispered; \u201cfollow me. We must leave this crowd of\npilgrims. I have much to say to you.\u201d\n\nSo he rose up, and they went away together to a secluded spot, far from\nthe noise and tumult of the station. Then she threw off the shawl, and\ntook the bandage from her face, and said, \u201cLook on me. Can you love\nme? I have followed you day by day for love of you. Can you love me in\nreturn, and join your fate to mine? I have money enough for both, and\nI\u2019ll teach you the mysteries by which we can gain more.\u201d\n\nAnd from that day forth they two travelled together all over the\ncountry; and they practised many strange mysteries and charms, for\nElaine, his wife, was learned in all the secrets of herb lore. And the\npeople paid them well for their help and knowledge, so that they never\nwanted anything, and lived like princes, though never an evil act was\ndone by their hands, nor did a word of strife ever pass between them.\n\nThus they lived happily for many years, till an evil day came when\nElaine was struck by sickness, and she died.\n\nThen the soul of the man seemed to die with her, and all his knowledge\nleft him, and sad and weary, and tired of all things, he finally came\nto end his days in the poor-house, old, poor, and broken-hearted. Yet\nstill he had the bearing of one born for a higher destiny, and the\nnoble dignity as of a discrowned king.\n\nSuch was the strange story told to the gentleman by the aged Fakir in\nthe poor-house, a short time before his death.\n\n\nSACRED TREES.\n\n\nThe large old hawthorns, growing singly in a field or by an ancient\nwell, are considered very sacred; and no one would venture to cut them\ndown, for the fairies dance under the branches at night, and would\nresent being interfered with.\n\nThere is a Holy Stone in an island of the Shannon, called St. Patrick\u2019s\nStone. It is shadowed by an aged hawthorn, the perfume of which can be\nscented far off on the mainland in the flowering season. At the top\nof this stone is a large hollow, always filled with water by the rain\nor the dew, which is kept from evaporation by the heavy shadows of\nthe branching hawthorn. It is believed that the water of this hollow\nhas great healing power, and sometimes when a patient is brought from\na distance, a rude stone shed is built under the tree, and there he\nis laid till the cure is completed by the water of the Holy Stone. On\nleaving he ties a votive offering to the tree, which is always covered\nwith these memorials of gratitude.\n\nIn autumn the people go to bewail the dead at St. Patrick\u2019s Stone; and\nthe mournful Irish chant may be often heard rising up in the still\nevening air with weird and solemn effect.\n\n\nTOBER-NA-DARA.\n\n\n_Tober-na-Dara_ (the well of tears) was so called because it overflowed\none time for a mile round, from the tears of the Irish wives and\nmothers who came there to weep for their fallen kindred, who had been\nslain in a battle, fighting against Cromwell\u2019s troopers of the English\narmy.\n\n\nLOUGH NEAGH.\n\n\nWonderful tales are related about the formation of Lough Neagh; and the\nwhole country round abounds with traditions. One of them affirms that\nthe great Fionn Ma-Coul being in a rage one day, took up a handful of\nearth and flung it into the sea; and the handful was of such a size\nthat where it fell it formed the Isle of Man, and the hollow caused by\nits removal became the basin of the present Lough Neagh.\n\nAnother legend is that a holy well once existed in the locality,\nblessed and sanctified by a saint with wonderful miraculous powers of\nhealing; provided that every patient on leaving, after cure, carefully\nclosed the wicket-gate that shut in the well. But once, however, a\nwoman having forgotten this information, left the gate open, when\ninstantly the indignant waters sprang from their bed and pursued the\noffender, who fled in terror before the advancing waves, until at last\nshe sank down exhausted, when the waters closed over her, and she was\nno more seen. But along the track of her flight the waters remained,\nand formed the great lake now existing, which is exactly the length the\nwoman traversed in her flight from the angry spirit of the lake.\n\nMysterious influences still haunt the locality all round Lough Neagh;\nfor it is the most ancient dwelling-place of the fairies, and when they\npass at night, from one island to another, soft music is heard floating\nby, and then the boatmen know that the fairies are out for a pleasure\ntrip; and one man even averred that he saw them going by in the track\nof the moonbeam, a crowd of little men all dressed in green with red\ncaps, and the ladies in silver gossamer. And he liked these pretty\ncreatures, and always left a little _poteen_ for them in the bottle\nwhen he was on the island. In return for which attention they gave him\nthe best of good luck in fishing and in everything else; for never a\ngauger came next or nigh his place while the fairies protected him, and\nmany a time they led the gauger into a bog, and otherwise discomfited\nhim, when he and his men were after a still.\n\nSo the fisherman loved his little friends, and they took great care of\nhim; for even in the troublous times of \u201998, when the wreckers were all\nover the country, they did him no harm; though indeed the same wreckers\nknew where to find a good glass of something when they came his way,\nand he always gave it to them with a heart and a half; for didn\u2019t they\ntell him they were going to free Ireland from the Sassenach tyranny.\n\nDown deep, under the waters of Lough Neagh, can still be seen, by\nthose who have the gift of fairy vision, the columns and walls of the\nbeautiful palaces once inhabited by the fairy race when they were the\ngods of the earth; and this tradition of a buried town beneath the\nwaves has been prevalent for centuries amongst the people.\n\nGiraldus Cambrensis states, that in his time the tops of towers, \u201cbuilt\nafter the fashion of the country,\u201d were distinctly visible in calm,\nclear weather, under the surface of the lake; and still the fairies\nhaunt the ruins of their former splendour, and hold festivals beneath\nthe waters when the full moon is shining; for the boatmen, coming home\nlate at night, have often heard sweet music rising up from beneath the\nwaves and the sound of laughter, and seen glimmering lights far down\nunder the water, where the ancient fairy palaces are supposed to be.\n\n\nTHE DOCTOR AND THE FAIRY PRINCESS.\n\n\nLate one night, so the story goes, a great doctor, who lived near\nLough Neagh, was awoke by the sound of a carriage driving up to his\ndoor, followed by a loud ring. Hastily throwing on his clothes, the\ndoctor ran down, when he saw a little sprite of a page standing at the\ncarriage door, and a grand gentleman inside.\n\n\u201cOh, doctor, make haste and come with me,\u201d exclaimed the gentleman.\n\u201cLose no time, for a great lady has been taken ill, and she will have\nno one to attend her but you. So come along with me at once in the\ncarriage.\u201d\n\nOn this the doctor ran up again to finish his dressing, and to put up\nall that might be wanted, and was down again in a moment.\n\n\u201cNow quick,\u201d said the gentleman, \u201cyou are an excellent good fellow. Sit\ndown here beside me, and do not be alarmed at anything you may see.\u201d\n\nSo on they drove like mad\u2014and when they came to the ferry, the doctor\nthought they would wake up the ferryman and take the boat; but no, in\nthey plunged, carriage and horses, and all, and were at the other side\nin no time without a drop of water touching them.\n\nNow the doctor began to suspect the company he was in; but he held his\npeace, and they went on up Shane\u2019s Hill, till they stopped at a long,\nlow, black house, which they entered, and passed along a narrow dark\npassage, groping their way, till, all at once, a bright light lit up\nthe walls, and some attendants having opened a door, the doctor found\nhimself in a gorgeous chamber all hung with silk and gold; and on a\nsilken couch lay a beautiful lady, who exclaimed with the most friendly\ngreeting\u2014\n\n\u201cOh, doctor, I am so glad to see you. How good of you to come.\u201d\n\n\u201cMany thanks, my lady,\u201d said the doctor, \u201cI am at your ladyship\u2019s\nservice.\u201d\n\nAnd he stayed with her till a male child was born; but when he looked\nround there was no nurse, so he wrapped it in swaddling clothes and\nlaid it by the mother.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the lady, \u201cmind what I tell you. They will try to put a\nspell on you to keep you here; but take my advice, eat no food and\ndrink no wine, and you will be safe; and mind, also, that you express\nno surprise at anything you see; and take no more than five golden\nguineas, though you may be offered fifty or a hundred, as your fee.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, madam,\u201d said the doctor, \u201cI shall obey you in all things.\u201d\n\nWith this the gentleman came into the room, grand and noble as a\nprince, and then he took up the child, looked at it and laid it again\non the bed.\n\nNow there was a large fire in the room, and the gentleman took the fire\nshovel and drew all the burning coal to the front, leaving a great\nspace at the back of the grate; then he took up the child again and\nlaid it in the hollow at the back of the fire and drew all the coal\nover it till it was covered; but, mindful of the lady\u2019s advice, the\ndoctor said never a word. Then the room suddenly changed to another\nstill more beautiful, where a grand feast was laid out, of all sorts of\nmeats and fair fruits and bright red wine in cups of sparkling crystal.\n\n\u201cNow, doctor,\u201d said the gentleman, \u201csit down with us and take what best\npleases you.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the doctor, \u201cI have made a vow neither to eat nor drink\ntill I reach my home again. So please let me return without further\ndelay.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d said the gentleman, \u201cbut first let me pay you for your\ntrouble,\u201d and he laid down a bag of gold on the table and poured out a\nquantity of bright pieces.\n\n\u201cI shall only take what is my right and no more,\u201d said the doctor, and\nhe drew over five golden guineas, and placed them in his purse. \u201cAnd\nnow, may I have the carriage to convey me back, for it is growing late?\u201d\n\nOn this the gentleman laughed. \u201cYou have been learning secrets from my\nlady,\u201d he said. \u201cHowever, you have behaved right well, and you shall be\nbrought back safely.\u201d\n\nSo the carriage came, and the doctor took his cane, and was carried\nback as the first time through the water\u2014horses, carriage, and all\u2014and\nso on till he reached his home all right just before daybreak. But\nwhen he opened his purse to take out the golden guineas, there he saw\na splendid diamond ring along with them in the purse worth a king\u2019s\nransom, and when he examined it he found the two letters of his own\nname carved inside. So he knew it was meant for him, a present from the\nfairy prince himself.\n\nAll this happened a hundred years ago, but the ring still remains\nin the doctor\u2019s family, handed down from father to son, and it is\nremarked, that whoever wears it as the owner for the time has good luck\nand honour and wealth all the days of his life.\n\n\u201cAnd by the light that shines, this story is true,\u201d added the narrator\nof the tale, using the strong form of asseveration by which the\nIrish-speaking peasants emphasize the truth of their words.\n\n\nA HOLY WELL.\n\n\nOn the north side of Lough Neagh there is still a holy well of great\npower and sanctity. Three ancient white-thorn trees overshadow it, and\nabout a mile distant is the fragmentary ruin of a wooden cross, erected\nin the olden time to mark the limit of the sacred ground.\n\nIt was the custom up to a recent date for the pilgrims to go round this\nwell thirteen times barefoot on the 27th of June, drink of the water,\nwash in it, and then, holding themselves freed from all past sin,\nreturn to the old worldly life, and begin again after the usual fashion\nthe old routine of business or pleasure, or reckless folly, conscious\nthat they could come once more the following year and clear off all the\naccumulated stains of an ill life by a lavation in the holy well.\n\nA number of yellow crystals are found near, which the people say grow\nin the rocks in one night upon Midsummer Eve. And these crystals have\npower to avert all evil and bring luck and blessing to a house and\nfamily, and certain words are said while gathering them, known only to\nthe adepts. The crystals are, however, very plentiful, and are found\nscattered for a space of two miles round the well, and in the crannies\nof the rocks. When burned in a crucible they become pure lime in one\nhour, and the powder ferments with spirits of vitriol; yet the waters\nof the well when analyzed present no appearance of lime.\n\nAt one time an effort was made to change the name of Lough Neagh to\nLough Chichester, in honour of the Lord Deputy, Sir Arthur Chichester,\nbut the Irish would not accept the new baptism, and the old name still\nremains unchanged.\n\n\nA SACRED ISLAND.\n\n\nAt Toome Island there is the ruin of an ancient church, where the dead\nwalk on November Eve. It is a solemn and sacred place, and nothing is\nallowed to be taken from it; neither stone nor branch of the shadowing\ntrees, for fear of angering the spirits. One day three men who were on\nthe island cut down some branches of an elder-tree that grew there to\nrepair a private still, and carried them off in their boat; but when\njust close to the shore a violent gust of wind upset the boat, and the\nmen were drowned. The wood, however, floated back to the island, and a\ncross was made of it which was erected on the beach, to commemorate the\nfate of the doomed men.\n\nIt is recorded, also, that a certain stone having been taken away by\nsome masons from the ancient ruin, to build into the wall of the parish\nchurch, which they were erecting in the place, the water in the town\nwell suddenly began to diminish, and at last dried up, to the great\nconsternation and terror of the inhabitants, who were at their wits\u2019\nend to know the cause; when luckily an old woman of the place dreamed a\ndream about the abduction of the stone, which gave the solution of the\nmystery.\n\nAt once the people took the matter into their own hands, and they went\nin a body and cast down the wall till they came on the stone, which was\nthen placed in a boat, and carried back with solemn ceremonial to the\nisland, where it was replaced in its original site, and, immediately\nafter, the water flowed back again into the well, and the supply became\neven more copious than ever.\n\n\nTHE LAKE OF REVENGE.\n\n\nNear the great mountain of Croagh-Patrick there is a lake called\n_Clonvencagh_, or the Lake of Revenge, to which evil-disposed persons\nused to resort in order to imprecate maledictions on their enemies. It\nwas the custom also to erect monuments round the well by placing on\nend a long flagstone, and heaping round it a pyramid of sand in order\nto keep it fixed firmly in its place. Over these pillar-stones certain\nmystic rites were then performed by the pilgrims, and prayers were said\nwhich took the form of the most terrible imprecations. It was therefore\nwith awe and terror that one man said of another, \u201cHe has been cursed\nby the stone.\u201d\n\n\nSCENES AT A HOLY WELL.\n\n\nScenes of holy faith, of tender love, and human pity are, however,\nhappily more frequent amongst the devotees at the holy wells of Ireland\nthan the fierce mutterings of malediction. At these sacred places may\nbe seen the mother praying for her child, the girl for her lover, the\nwife for her husband; going the rounds on their bare knees, with the\ncrucifix in their clasped hands and their eyes raised to heaven in\nsilent prayer, with a divine faith that this prayer will be answered;\nand who can say but that the fervour of the supplication has often\nbrought down the blessing of healing for the sick, or comfort for the\nsorrowing? The picturesque grouping round the holy well, the background\nof purple mountains, the antique stone cross at which the pilgrims\nkneel, the costumes and often the beautiful faces of the praying women,\nwith their long dark hair and purple Irish eyes, form a scene of\nwonderful poetic and dramatic interest, which has been immortalized by\nSir Frederick Burton in his great national picture, _The Blind Girl at\nthe Holy Well_\u2014a work that at once made the young painter famous, and\nlaid the foundation of the subsequent career of this distinguished and\nperfect artist.\n\n\nLOUGH FOYLE.\n\n\nLough Foyle means the borrowed lake, for in old times there were\ntwo weird sisters dwelling beyond the Shannon, who were skilled in\nnecromancy. And the elder sister said to the younger\u2014\n\n\u201cGive me the loan of your silver lake, for I have none; and I promise\nto restore it to you next Monday.\u201d\n\nSo the younger, being good-natured, rolled up the lake in a sheet and\ndespatched it over hills and dales to her sister. But when the time\ncame for return, the elder sister, being deceitful and cunning, made\nanswer to the messenger sent for it\u2014\n\n\u201cTruly, I said Monday, but I meant the Day of Judgment. So I shall keep\nthe lake till then.\u201d\n\nAnd the lake therefore remains in her country to this day, while the\ngreat hollow whence it was taken can still be seen in Connaught, bare\nand barren, waiting for the waters that never will return.\n\n\nTHE HEN\u2019S CASTLE.\n\n\nAt the head of Lough Corrib, deep in the water about a gunshot from\nthe land, stands the ancient castle of _Caisleen-na-Cearca_, said to\nhave been built in one night by a cock and a hen, but in reality it was\nfounded by the ill-fated Roderick O\u2019Connor, the last king of Ireland.\nStrange lights are sometimes seen flitting through it, and on some\nparticular midnight a crowd of boats gather round it, filled with men\ndressed in green with red sashes. And they row about till the cock\ncrows, when they suddenly vanish and the cries of children are heard\nin the air. Then the people know that there has been a death somewhere\nin the region, and that the Sidhe have been stealing the young mortal\nchildren, and leaving some ill-favoured brat in the cradle in place of\nthe true child.\n\nThe old castle has many historic memories; the celebrated _Graina\nUaile_, the great chieftainess of the West, made it her abode for\nsome time, and carried thither the young heir of Howth, whom she had\nabducted from Howth Castle, when on one of her piratical expeditions.\nAfterwards, during the Wars of Elizabeth, a distinguished lady of\nthe sept of the O\u2019Flaherties, Bevinda O\u2019Flahertie, shut herself up\nthere with her only daughter and heiress, and a following of twenty\nresolute men. But further to ensure her safety, she wrote to the Queen,\nrequesting permission to arm the guard; Queen Elizabeth in return\nsent an autograph letter granting the request, but addressed to \u201cher\ngood friend, Captain Bevan O\u2019Flahertie,\u201d evidently thinking that the\ncustodian of such a castle must certainly be a man.\n\nIn the solemn solitude of this picturesque and stately\n_Caisleen-na-Cearca_, the great lake fortress of Lough Corrib, with its\nrampart of purple mountains and its water pathway fifty miles long, the\nyoung heiress grew up tall and beautiful, the pride of the west. And in\ndue time she married Blake of Menlo Castle. And from this historic pair\nis descended the present baronet and owner of the property, Sir John\nBlake of Menlo.\n\nCromwell ruthlessly dismantled the castle, and it has remained a ruin\never since; but the massive walls, and the beautiful twelfth century\nornamentation of doors and windows still attest the ancient grandeur\nof the edifice, before \u201cthe curse of Cromwell\u201d fell upon it, and upon\nthe country and on the people of Ireland.\n\n\nSLIABH-MISH, COUNTY KERRY.\n\n\nEvery one knows that Sliabh-Mish, County Kerry, is haunted. The figure\nof a man, accompanied by a huge black dog, is frequently seen standing\non a high crag, but as the traveller approaches, the forms disappear,\nalthough they rise up again before him on another crag, and so continue\nappearing and disappearing as he journeys on. Many travellers have\nseen them, but no one has ever yet been able to meet the man and the\ndog face to face on the mountain side, for they seem to melt away in\nthe mist, and are seen no more on reaching the spot. It happened, once\nupon a time, that a man journeying alone over the mountain path, took\nout his snuff-box to solace himself with a pinch, and was putting it up\nagain in his waistcoat pocket, when he heard a voice near him saying,\n\u201cNot yet! not yet! I am near you, wait.\u201d\n\nHe looked-round, but not a soul was to be seen. However, he thought\nit right to be friendly, so he shook some snuff from the box in the\npalm of his hand and held it out in the air. But his hair stood on\nend, and he trembled with fright, when he felt invisible fingers on\nhis hand picking up the snuff, and when he drew it back the snuff had\ndisappeared.\n\n\u201cGod and the saints between us and harm!\u201d exclaimed the poor man, ready\nto drop down from terror.\n\n\u201cAmen,\u201d responded the clear voice of some invisible speaker close\nbeside him.\n\nThen the man quickly made the sign of the cross over the hand touched\nby the spirit, and so went on his way unharmed.\n\n\nTHE SKELLIGS OF KERRY.\n\n\nThe Skellig Rocks are situated about eleven miles from the mainland,\nand are considered of great sanctity. In the Middle Ages, during the\npenitential weeks of Lent, the monks used to leave the adjacent convent\nand retire to the Skelligs Rocks for silence, prayer, and abstinence.\nSeveral ancient stone-roofed cells are still in existence at the top of\nthe rock, showing where they dwelt. These cells are of the most ancient\ncyclopean order of building known in Ireland, and are far older than\nthe church near them, which does not date earlier than the seventh\ncentury.\n\nCertainly no place more awful in its loneliness and desolation could be\nimagined than the summit of the bleak rock, reached only by a narrow\nway, almost inaccessible, even to those accustomed to climb precipitous\npaths, but which makes the ordinary traveller giddy with fear and dread.\n\nAs marriages were not allowed in Lent, it became a custom for the\nyoung people of both sexes to make a pilgrimage to the Skellig Rocks\nduring the last Lenten week. A procession was formed of the young\ngirls and bachelors, and tar-barrels were lighted to guide them on the\ndangerous paths. The idea was to spend the week in prayer, penance,\nand lamentation; the girls praying for good husbands, the bachelors\nrepenting of their sins. But the proceedings gradually degenerated into\nsuch a mad carnival of dancing, drinking, and fun, that the priests\ndenounced the pilgrimage, and forbade the annual migration to the\nSkelligs. Still the practice was continued until the police had orders\nto clear the rocks. Thus ended the ancient custom of \u201cgoing to the\nSkelligs:\u201d for the mayor having pronounced judgment over the usage as\n\u201csubversive of all morality and decorum,\u201d it was entirely discontinued;\nand the wild fun and frolic of the Skelligs is now but a tradition\npreserved in the memory of the oldest inhabitant.\n\n\n\n\n POPULAR NOTIONS CONCERNING THE SIDHE RACE.\n\n\nFrom the earliest ages the world has believed in the existence of a\nrace midway between the angel and man, gifted with power to exercise a\nstrange mysterious influence over human destiny. The Persians called\nthis mystic race Peris; the Egyptians and the Greeks named them demons,\nnot as evil, but as mysterious allies of man, invisible though ever\npresent; capable of kind acts but implacable if offended.\n\nThe Irish called them the Sidhe, or spirit-race, or the _Feadh-Ree_,\na modification of the word Peri. Their country is the _Tir-na-oge_,\nthe land of perpetual youth, where they live a life of joy and beauty,\nnever knowing disease or death, which is not to come on them till the\njudgment day, when they are fated to pass into annihilation, to perish\nutterly and be seen no more. They can assume any form and they make\nhorses out of bits of straw, on which they ride over the country, and\nto Scotland and back. They have no religion, but a great dread of the\n_Scapular_ (Latin words from the Gospels written by a priest and hung\nround the neck). Their power is great over unbaptized children, and\nsuch generally grow up evil and have the evil eye, and bring ill luck,\nunless the name of God is instantly invoked when they look at any one\nfixedly and in silence.\n\nAll over Ireland the fairies have the reputation of being very\nbeautiful, with long yellow hair sweeping the ground, and lithe light\nforms. They love milk and honey, and sip the nectar from the cups of\nthe flowers, which is their fairy wine.\n\nUnderneath the lakes, and deep down in the heart of the hills, they\nhave their fairy palaces of pearl and gold, where they live in\nsplendour and luxury, with music and song and dancing and laughter and\nall joyous things as befits the gods of the earth. If our eyes were\ntouched by a fairy salve we could see them dancing on the hill in the\nmoonlight. They are served on vessels of gold, and each fairy chief, to\nmark his rank, wears a circlet of gold round his head.\n\nThe Sidhe race were once angels in heaven, but were cast out as a\npunishment for their pride. Some fell to earth, others were cast into\nthe sea, while many were seized by demons and carried down to hell,\nwhence they issue as evil spirits, to tempt men to destruction under\nvarious disguises; chiefly, however, as beautiful young maidens,\nendowed with the power of song and gifted with the most enchanting\nwiles. Under the influence of these beautiful sirens a man will commit\nany and every crime. Then when his soul is utterly black they carry him\ndown to hell, where he remains for ever tortured by the demons to whom\nhe sold himself.\n\nThe fairies are very numerous, more numerous than the human race. In\ntheir palaces underneath the hills and in the lakes and the sea they\nhide away much treasure. All the treasure of wrecked ships is theirs;\nand all the gold that men have hidden and buried in the earth when\ndanger was on them, and then died and left no sign of the place to\ntheir descendants. And all the gold of the mine and the jewels of the\nrocks belong to them; and in the Sifra, or fairy-house, the walls are\nsilver and the pavement is gold, and the banquet-hall is lit by the\nglitter of the diamonds that stud the rocks.\n\nIf you walk nine times round a fairy rath at the full of the moon, you\nwill find the entrance to the Sifra; but if you enter, beware of eating\nthe fairy food or drinking the fairy wine. The Sidhe will, indeed, wile\nand draw many a young man into the fairy dance, for the fairy women\nare beautiful, so beautiful that a man\u2019s eyes grow dazzled who looks\non them, with their long hair floating like the ripe golden corn and\ntheir robes of silver gossamer; they have perfect forms, and their\ndancing is beyond all expression graceful; but if a man is tempted to\nkiss a _Sigh-oge_, or young fairy spirit, in the dance, he is lost for\never\u2014the madness of love will fall on him, and he will never again be\nable to return to earth or to leave the enchanted fairy palace. He is\ndead to his kindred and race for ever more.\n\nOn Fridays the fairies have special power over all things, and chiefly\non that day they select and carry off the young mortal girls as brides\nfor the fairy chiefs. But after seven years, when the girls grow old\nand ugly, they send them back to their kindred, giving them, however,\nas compensation, a knowledge of herbs and philtres and secret spells,\nby which they can kill or cure, and have power over men both for good\nand evil.\n\nIt is in this way the wise women and fairy doctors have acquired their\nknowledge of the mysteries and the magic of herbs. But the fairies\ndo not always keep the mortal women in a seven years\u2019 bondage. They\nsometimes only take away young girls for a dance in the moonlight, and\nthen leave them back in their own home lulled in a sweet sleep. But the\nvision of the night was so beautiful that the young girls long to dream\nagain and be made happy with the soft enchantments of the music and\ndance.\n\nThe fairies are passionately fond of music; it is therefore dangerous\nfor a young girl to sing when she is all alone by the lake, for the\nspirits will draw her down to them to sing to them in the fairy palace\nunder the waves, and her people will see her no more. Yet sometimes\nwhen the moonlight is on the water, and the waves break against the\ncrystal columns of the fairy palace far down in the depths, they can\nhear her voice, and they know that she is singing to the fairies in the\nspirit land beneath the waters of the lake.\n\nThere was a girl in one of the villages that could see things no one\nelse saw, and hear music no one else heard, for the fairies loved her\nand used to carry her away by night in a dream to dance with the fairy\nchiefs and princes. But, above all, she was loved by Finvarra the king,\nand used to dance with him all night till sunrise though her form\nseemed to be lying asleep on the bed.\n\nOne day she told some of her young companions that she was going that\nnight to a great fairy dance on the rath, and if they chose she would\nbring them and put a salve on their eyes so that they would see wonders.\n\nThe young girls went with her, and on coming to the rath she said\u2014\n\n\u201cNow put your foot on my foot and look over my left shoulder, and you\nwill see the king and queen and all the beautiful lords and ladies\nwith gold bands round their heads dancing on the grass. But take care\nwhen you see them to make no sign of the cross, nor speak the name of\nGod, or they will vanish away, and perhaps even your life would be in\ndanger.\u201d\n\nOn hearing this the girls ran away in fear and terror without ever\nusing the spell or seeing the fairies. But the other remained, and told\nher friends next day that she had danced all night to the fairy music,\nand had heard the sweetest singing, so that she longed to go back and\nlive for ever with the spirits on the hill.\n\nAnd her wish was granted, for she died soon after, and on the night of\nher death soft music was heard floating round the house, though no one\nwas visible. And it was said also that beautiful flowers grew on her\ngrave, though no hand planted them there, and shadowy forms used to\ngather in the moonlight and sing a low chant over the place where she\nwas laid.\n\nThe fairies can assume all forms when they have special ends in view,\nsuch as to carry off a handsome girl to Fairyland. For this purpose\nthey sometimes appear at the village festivities as tall, dark,\nnoble-looking gentlemen, and they wile away the young girls as partners\nin the dance by their grand air and the grace of their dancing. And\never after the young girl who has danced with them moves and dances\nwith a special fairy grace, though sometimes she pines away and seems\nto die, but every one knows that her soul has been carried off to the\n_Tir-na-oge_, where she will be made the bride of the fairy king and\nlive in luxury and splendour evermore.\n\nYet, though the fairies are fond of pleasure, they are temperate in\ntheir mode of living, and are besides honest in their dealings and\nfaithful to their promises. If they borrow wine from the gentry they\nalways repay it in blessings, and never indulge much in eating or\ndrinking. But they have no objection to offer to mortals the subtle red\nwine at the fairy banquets, which lulls the soul to sleep and makes\nthe reason powerless. The young men that they beguile into their fairy\npalaces become their bond-slaves, and are set to hard tasks. One man\nsaid he had marched with Finvarra\u2019s men all the way from Mayo to Cork,\nbut there they had to leave him as they were going to Spain and could\nnot take him across the sea on their white horses.\n\nThey also much desire the aid of a powerful mortal hand to assist them\nin their fairy wars, for they have often disputes and battles amongst\nthemselves for the possession of some coveted rath or dancing ground.\n\nOnce a fairy prince came to a great chieftain of Connaught, one of the\nKirwans, and begged for aid against a hostile fairy tribe that had\ninvaded his territories. The required aid being given, the fairies and\ntheir mortal auxiliaries plunged into the lake and fought the enemy\nand conquered; after which the Connaught men returned to shore laden\nwith rich presents of silver and gold and crystal wine-cups as the\nexpression of gratitude from the fairy prince.\n\nIt is said that Kirwan of Castle Hackett, the great Connaught chief,\nalso received a beautiful fairy bride on that occasion, and it is\ncertain that all the female descendants of the family are noted for\ntheir beauty, their grace in dancing, and their sweet voices in\nspeaking. Lady Cloncurry, mother of the present Lord Cloncurry, was of\nthis race, and in her youth was the acknowledged leading beauty of the\nIrish Court and celebrated for the rare fascination of her manner and\nvoice.\n\n\nTHE HURLING MATCH.\n\n\nThe fairies, with their true artistic love of all the gentle graces of\nlife, greatly dislike coarse and violent gestures, and all athletic\nsports, such as hurling and wrestling; and they often try to put an end\nto them by some evil turn.\n\nOne day a great cloud of dust came along the road during a hurling\nmatch and stopped the game. On this the people grew alarmed, for they\nsaid the fairies are out hunting and will do us harm by blinding us;\nand thousands of the Sidhe swept by, raising a terrific dust, though no\nmortal eye could see them.\n\nThen one man, a good player and musician, ran for his fiddle and began\nto play some vigorous dance tunes, \u201cfor now,\u201d said he, \u201cthe fairies\nwill begin to dance and forget us, and they will be off in no time to\nhold a revel on the rath to the music of their own fairy pipes.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was, for at once the whirlwind of dust swept on to the hill\nof the fairy rath, and the hurling ground was left clear for the game\nto go on again in safety.\n\nIt must be acknowledged that the fairies are a little selfish, or they\nwould not have interfered with the great national sport of hurling,\nwhich is the favourite amusement of the country, and used to be held as\na high festival, and arranged with all the ceremonial of a tournament;\nat least before the bad times destroyed all the fun and frolic of the\npeasant life.\n\nThe prettiest girl of the village was chosen as the hurling girl\u2014the\n_Colleen-a-bhailia_. Dressed in white, and accompanied by her maidens,\nshe proceeded to the hurling ground, the piper and fiddlers going\nbefore her playing gay dance tunes.\n\nThere she was met by the procession of the young men surrounding the\nchief hurler\u2014always a stalwart youth of over six feet. And the youth\nand the maiden joined hands and began the dance\u2014all the people cheering.\n\nThis was called the opening of the hurling. And for the next match\nanother pair would be selected, each village girl anxiously hoping to\nbe the _Colleen-a-bhailia_ chosen to lead the ceremonial dance for\nthe second or following games. Naturally the hurling tournament ended\nwith a festive supper, much love-making, and many subsequent marriages\nbetween the pretty colleens and stalwart young hurlers, despite all\nthe envy and jealousy of the fairies, who maliciously tried to mar the\npleasures of the festival.\n\n\nTHE RIDE WITH THE FAIRIES.\n\n\nThe fairies take great delight in horsemanship, and are splendid\nriders. Many fine young men are enticed to ride with them, when they\ndash along with the fairies like the wind, Finvarra himself leading,\non his great black horse with the red nostrils, that look like flames\nof fire. And ever after the young men are the most fearless riders in\nthe country, so the people know at once that they have hunted with the\nfairies. And after the hunt some favourite of the party is taken to a\nmagnificent supper in the fairy palace, and when he has drunk of the\nbright red wine they lull him to sleep with soft music. But never again\ncan he find the fairy palace, and he looks in vain for the handsome\nhorseman on his fine black steed, with all the gay young huntsmen in\ntheir green velvet dresses, who rushed over the field with him, like\na flash of the storm wind. They have passed away for ever from his\nvision, like a dream of the night.\n\nOnce on a time a gentleman, also one of the Kirwans of Galway, was\nriding by the fairy hill\u2014where all the fairies of the West hold their\ncouncils and meetings, under the rule of Finvarra the king\u2014when a\nstrange horseman, mounted on a fiery black steed, suddenly appeared.\nBut as the stranger bid him the time of day with distinguished grace,\nMr. Kirwan returned his greeting courteously, and they rode on together\nside by side, discoursing pleasantly\u2014for the stranger seemed to know\nevery one and everything, though Mr. Kirwan could not remember ever\nhaving seen him before.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the black horseman, \u201cI know that you are to be at the races\nto-morrow, so just let me give you a hint: if you wish to be certain\nof winning, allow me to send you my man to ride your horse. He never\nfailed in a race yet, and he shall be with you early, before the start.\u201d\n\nWith that, at a turn of the road, the stranger disappeared; for he\nwas no other than Finvarra himself, who had a friendly liking for the\ntribe of the Kirwans, because all the men were generous who came of the\nblood, and all the women handsome.\n\nNext morning, as Mr. Kirwan was setting out for the race, his groom\ntold him that a young jockey was waiting to see him. He was the\nstrangest looking little imp, Mr. Kirwan thought, he had ever set eyes\non, but he felt compelled to give him all the rights and power that was\nnecessary for the race, and the young imp was off in a moment, like a\nflash of lightning.\n\nMr. Kirwan knew no more\u2014he seemed like one in a dream\u2014till the silver\ncup was handed to him as winner of the race, and congratulations poured\ndown on him, and every one asked eagerly where he got the wonderful\njockey who seemed to make the horse fly like the spirit of the wind\nitself. But the jockey by this time had disappeared. However, the\nstranger on the black horse was there, and he constrained Mr. Kirwan\nto come with him to dinner; and they rode on pleasantly, as before,\ntill they reached a grand, beautiful house, with a crowd of gorgeous\nservants waiting on the steps to receive the lord and master and his\nguest.\n\nOne of them led Mr. Kirwan to his room to dress for dinner, and there\nhe found a costly suit of violet velvet ready, in which the valet\narrayed him. Then he entered the dining-hall. It was all lit up\nsplendidly, and there were garlands of flowers twining round crystal\ncolumns, and golden cups set with jewels for the wine, and golden\ndishes.\n\nThe host seemed an accomplished man of the world, and did the honours\nwith perfect grace. Conversation flowed freely, while soft music was\nheard at intervals from invisible players, and Mr. Kirwan could not\nresist the charm and beauty of the scene, nor the bright red wine that\nhis host poured out for him into the jewelled cups.\n\nThen, when the banquet was over, a great crowd of ladies and gentlemen\ncame in and danced to sweet low music, and they circled round the guest\nand tried to draw him into the dance. But when he looked at them it\nseemed to him that they were all the dead he had once known; for his\nown brother was there, that had been drowned in the lake a year before;\nand a man who had been killed by a fall when hunting; and others whose\nfaces he knew well. And they were all pale as death, but their eyes\nburned like coals of fire.\n\nAnd as he looked and wondered, a lovely lady came over to him, wearing\na necklace of pearls. And she clasped his wrist with her little hand,\nand tried to draw him into the circle.\n\n\u201cDance with me,\u201d she whispered, \u201cdance with me again. Look at me, for\nyou once loved me.\u201d\n\nAnd when he looked at her he knew that she was dead, and the clasp of\nher hand was like a ring of fire round his wrist; and he drew back in\nterror, for he saw that she was a beautiful girl he had loved in his\nyouth, and to whom he had given a necklace of pearls, but who died\nbefore he could make her his bride.\n\nThen his heart sank with fear and dread, and he said to his host\u2014\n\n\u201cTake me from this place. I know the dancers; they are dead. Why have\nyou brought them up from their graves?\u201d\n\nBut the host only laughed and said, \u201cYou must take more wine to keep\nup your courage.\u201d And he poured him out a goblet of wine redder than\nrubies.\n\nAnd when he drank it, all the pageant and the music and the crowd faded\naway from before his eyes, and he fell into a profound sleep, and knew\nno more till he found himself at home, laid on his bed. And the servant\ntold him that a strange horseman had accompanied him to the door late\nin the night, who had charged them to lay the master gently in his bed\nand by no means to awake him till noon next day, for he was weary after\nthe race; and he bade them take the hunter to the stables and tend him\ncarefully, for the animal was covered with foam, and all trembling.\n\nAt noon Mr. Kirwan awoke, and rose up as well as ever: but of all the\nfairy revels nothing remained to him but the mark round his wrist of\nthe clasp of a woman\u2019s hand, that seemed burned into his flesh.\n\nSo he knew the night\u2019s adventure was no mere dream of the fancy, and\nthe mark of the dead hand remained with him to his last hour, and the\nform of the young girl with her necklace of pearls often came before\nhim in a vision of the night; but he never again visited the fairy\npalace, and never saw the dark horseman any more. As to the silver cup,\nhe flung it into the lake, for he thought it had come to him by devil\u2019s\nmagic and would bring no good luck to him or to his race. So it sank\nbeneath the waves, and the silver cup was seen no more.\n\n\nTHE FAIRY SPY.\n\n\nSometimes the fairies appear like old men and women, and thus gain\nadmission to houses that they may watch and spy, and bewitch the\nbutter, and abduct the children, and carry off the young girls for\nfairy brides.\n\nThere was a man in the west who was bedridden for seven years, and\ncould do no work and had to be lifted by others when he moved. Yet the\namount of food he consumed was enormous, and as every one pitied him,\npeople were constantly bringing him all sorts of good things; and he\nate up everything but grew no stronger.\n\nNow on Sundays when the family went to mass, they locked him up, but\nleft him plenty of food, for there was no one in the house to help him.\nOne Sunday, however, they left chapel earlier than usual, and as they\nwere going by the shore they saw a great crowd of strangers hurling,\nand in the midst of them, hurling and running and leaping, was the sick\nman, as well and jolly as ever a man could be. They called out to him,\non which he turned round to face them, but that instant he disappeared.\n\nSo the family hastened home, unlocked the door, and went straight up to\nthe room, where they found the man in bed as usual, thin and weak and\nunable to move; but he had eaten up all the food and was now crying out\nfor more. On this the family grew very angry and cried, \u201cYou have been\ndeceiving us. You are in league with the witch-folk; but we\u2019ll soon see\nwhat you really are, for if you don\u2019t get up out of that bed at once,\nwe\u2019ll make down a fire and lay you on it, and make you walk.\u201d\n\nThen he cried and roared: but they seized him to drag him to the fire.\nSo when he saw they were in earnest he jumped up and rushed to the\ndoor, and before they could touch him he had disappeared, and was seen\nno more.\n\nNow, indeed, they knew that he was in league with the devil, and they\nburned his bed and everything belonging to him, and poured holy water\non the room. And when all was burned, nothing remained but a black\nstone with strange signs on it. And by this, no doubt, he performed\nhis enchantments. And the people were afraid of it and gave it to the\npriest, who has it to this day, so there can be no doubt as to the\ntruth of the story.\n\nAnd the priest knows the hidden meaning of the strange signs which give\npower to the stone; but will reveal the secret to no one, lest the\npeople might try to work devil\u2019s magic with it, and unlawful spells by\nthe power of the stone and the power of the signs.\n\n\nTHE DARK HORSEMAN.\n\n\nOne day a fine, handsome young fellow, called Jemmy Nowlan, set off to\nwalk to the fair at Slane, whither some cattle of his had been sent\noff for sale that same morning early. And he was dressed in his best\nclothes, spruce and neat; and not one in all the county round could\nequal Jemmy Nowlan for height, strength, or good looks. So he went\nalong quite gay and merry in himself, till he came to a lonely bit\nof the road where never a soul was to be seen; but just then the sky\nbecame black-dark, as if thunder were in the air, and suddenly he heard\nthe tramp of a horse behind him. On turning round he saw a very dark,\nelegant looking gentleman, mounted on a black horse, riding swiftly\ntowards him.\n\n\u201cJemmy Nowlan,\u201d said the dark horseman, \u201cI have been looking for you\nall along the road. Get up now, quickly, behind me, and I\u2019ll carry you\nin no time to the great fair of Slane; for, indeed, I am going there\nmyself, and it would be very pleasant to have your company.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank your honour kindly,\u201d said Jemmy; \u201cbut it\u2019s not for the likes of\nme to ride with your lordship; so I would rather walk, if it\u2019s pleasing\nto your honour; but thanks all the same.\u201d\n\nTruth to tell, Jemmy in his own mind had a fear of the strange\ngentleman and his black horse, and distrusted them both, for had he not\nheard the people tell strange stories of how young men had been carried\noff by the fairies, and held prisoners by their enchantments down deep\nin the heart of the hill under the earth, where never a mortal could\nsee them again or know their fate; and they were only allowed to come\nup and see their kindred on the nights the dead walked, and then they\nwalked with them as they rose from the graves? So again he began to\nmake his excuses, and meanwhile kept looking round for some path by\nwhich he could escape if possible.\n\n\u201cCome now,\u201d said the dark horseman, \u201cthis is all nonsense, Jemmy\nNowlan; you really must come with me.\u201d\n\nAnd with that he stooped down and touched him lightly on the shoulder\nwith his whip, and in an instant Jemmy found himself seated on the\nhorse, and galloping away like the wind with the dark horseman; and\nthey never stopped nor stayed till they came to a great castle in a\nwood, where a whole set of servants in green and gold were waiting on\nthe steps to receive them. And they were the smallest people Jemmy had\never seen in his life; but he made no remark, for they were very civil,\nand crowded round to know what they could do for him.\n\n\u201cTake him to a room and let him dress,\u201d said the gentleman, who\nappeared to own the castle. And in the room Jemmy found a beautiful\nsuit of velvet, and a cap and feather. And when the little servants had\ndressed him they led him to the large hall that was all lit up and hung\nwith garlands of flowers; and music and dancing were going on, and many\nlovely ladies were present, but not one in the hall was handsomer than\nJemmy Nowlan in his velvet suit and cap and feather.\n\n\u201cWill you dance with me, Jemmy Nowlan?\u201d said one lovely lady.\n\n\u201cNo, Jemmy: you must dance with me,\u201d said another.\n\nAnd they all fought for him, so he danced with them all, one after the\nother, the whole night through, till he was dead tired and longed to\nlie down and sleep.\n\n\u201cTake Jemmy Nowlan to his room, and put him to bed,\u201d said the gentleman\nto a red-haired man; \u201cbut first he must tell me a story.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no story, your honour,\u201d said Jemmy, \u201cfor I am not book-learned;\nbut I am very tired, let me lie down and sleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cSleep, indeed,\u201d said the gentleman; \u201cnot if I can help it. Here,\nDavy\u201d\u2014and he called the red-haired man\u2014\u201ctake Jemmy Nowlan and put him\nout; he can tell no story. I will have no one here who can\u2019t tell me a\nstory. Put him out, he is not worth his supper.\u201d\n\nSo the red-haired man thrust Jemmy out at the castle gate, and he was\njust settling himself to sleep on a bench outside, when three men came\nby bearing a coffin.\n\n\u201cOho, Jemmy Nowlan,\u201d they said, \u201cyou are welcome. We just wanted a\nfourth man to carry the coffin.\u201d\n\nAnd they made him get under it with them, and away they marched over\nhedge and ditch, and field and bog, through briars and thorns, till\nthey reached the old churchyard in the valley, and then they stopped.\n\n\u201cWho will dig a grave?\u201d said one.\n\n\u201cLet us draw lots,\u201d said another.\n\nAnd the lot fell on Jemmy. So they gave him a spade, and he worked and\nworked till the grave was dug broad and deep.\n\n\u201cThis is not the right place at all for a grave,\u201d said the leader of\nthe party when the grave was finished. \u201cI\u2019ll have no one buried in this\nspot, for the bones of my father rest here.\u201d\n\nSo they had to take up the coffin again, and carry it on over field and\nbog till they reached another churchward, where Jemmy was obliged to\ndig a second grave; and when it was finished, the leader cried out\u2014\n\n\u201cWho shall we place in the coffin?\u201d\n\nAnd another voice answered\u2014\n\n\u201cWe need draw no lots; lay Jemmy Nowlan in the coffin!\u201d\n\nAnd the men seized hold of him and tried to cast him to the ground. But\nJemmy was strong and powerful, and fought them all. Still they would\nnot let go their hold, though he dealt them such blows as would have\nkilled any other men. And at last he felt faint, for he had no weapon\nto fight with, and his strength was going.\n\nThen he saw that the leader carried a hazel switch in his hand, and he\nknew that a hazel switch brought luck; so he made a sudden spring and\nseized it, and whirled it three times round his head, and struck right\nand left at his assailants, when a strange and wondrous thing happened;\nfor the three men who were ready to kill him, fell down at once to the\nground, and remained there still as the dead. And the coffin stood\nwhite in the moonlight by itself, and no hand touched it, and no voice\nspoke.\n\nBut Jemmy never waited to look or think, for the fear of the men was on\nhim, lest they should rise up again; so he fled away, still holding the\nhazel twig in his hand, and ran on over field and bog, through briars\nand thorns, till he found himself again at the castle gate. Then all\nthe grand servants came out, and the little men, and they said\u2014\n\n\u201cYou are welcome, Jemmy Nowlan. Come in; his lordship is waiting for\nyou.\u201d\n\nAnd they brought him to a room where the lord was lying on a velvet\ncouch, and he said\u2014\n\n\u201cNow, young man, tell me a story, for no one in my castle is allowed to\neat, drink, or sleep till they have related something wonderful that\nhas happened to them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, my lord,\u201d said Jemmy, \u201cI can tell you the most wonderful of\nstories; and very proud I am to be able to amuse your lordship.\u201d\n\nSo he told him the story of the three men and the coffin, and the lord\nwas so pleased that he ordered the servants to bring the youth a fine\nsupper, and the best of wine, and Jemmy ate like a prince from gold\ndishes, and drank from crystal cups of the wine, and had the best of\neverything; but after the supper he felt rather queer and dazed-like,\nand fell down on the ground asleep like one dead.\n\nAfter that he knew nothing till he awoke next morning, and found\nhimself lying under a haystack in his own field, and all his beautiful\nclothes were gone\u2014the velvet suit and cap and feather that he had\nlooked so handsome in at the dance, when all the fine ladies fell in\nlove with him. Nothing was left to him of all the night\u2019s adventure\nsave the hazel twig, which he still held firmly in his hand.\n\nAnd a very sad and down-hearted man was Jemmy Nowlan that day,\nespecially when the herd came to tell him that none of the cattle\nwere sold at the fair, for the men were waiting for the master, and\nwondering why he did not come to look after his money, while all the\nother farmers were selling their stock at the finest prices.\n\nAnd Jemmy Nowlan has never yet made out why the fairies played him\nsuch a malicious and ill turn as to prevent him selling his cattle.\nBut if ever again he meets that dark stranger on the black horse, he\nis determined to try the strength of his shillelagh on his head, were\nhe ever such a grand man among the fairies. For at least he might have\nleft him the velvet suit; and it was a shabby thing to take it away\njust when he couldn\u2019t help himself, and had fallen down from fair\nweakness and exhaustion after all the dancing, and the wine he drank at\nsupper, when the lovely ladies poured it out for him with their little\nhands covered with jewels.\n\nIt was truly a bad and shabby trick, as Jemmy said to himself that May\nmorning, when he stood up from under the hay-rick; and just shows us\nnever to trust the fairies, for with all their sweet words and pleasant\nways and bright red wine, they are full of malice and envy and deceit,\nand are always ready to ruin a poor fellow and then laugh at him, just\nfor fun, and for the spite and jealousy they have against the human\nrace.\n\n\nSHEELA-NA-SKEAN.\n\n\nThere is an old ruin of a farmhouse in the County Cork, near Fermoy,\nthat has an evil reputation, and no one would build it up or inhabit it.\n\nYears and years ago a rich farmer lived there, who was reputed to have\nhoards of gold hid away in his sleeping-room. Some said he never slept\nwithout the sack of gold being laid under his pillow. However, one\nnight he was found cruelly murdered, and all the gold in the house was\nmissing except a few pieces stained with blood, that had evidently been\ndropped by the murderers in their flight.\n\nThe old man at the time was living quite alone. His wife was dead, and\nhis only son was away in a distant part of the country. But on news\nof the murder the son returned, and a close investigation was made.\nSuspicion finally fell on the housekeeper and a lover she used to bring\nto the house. They were arrested in consequence and brought to trial.\nThe housekeeper, _Sheela-na-Skean_, or Sheela of the Knife, as she was\ncalled afterwards, was a dark, fierce, powerful woman, noted for her\nviolent and vindictive temper. The lover was a weak, cowardly fellow,\nwho at the last turned evidence to save his life. He had taken no part,\nhe said, in the actual murder, though he had helped Sheela to remove\nand bury the gold. According to his story, Sheela entered the old man\u2019s\nroom at night, and taking a sharp short sword that always hung at the\nhead of his bed, she stabbed him fiercely over and over till not a\nbreath of life was left. Then, calling her lover, they ransacked the\nroom, and found quantities of golden guineas, which they put in a bag\nand carried out to the field, where they buried it in a safe spot,\nknown only to themselves; but this place neither Sheela nor the lover\nwould reveal unless they received a pardon.\n\nThe murder, however, was too atrocious for pardon, and Sheela was hung\namid the howlings and execrations of the people. But she remained\nfierce and defiant to the last, still refusing obstinately to reveal\nthe place where the money was buried.\n\nThe lover, meanwhile, had died in prison from fright, for after\nsentence was pronounced, he fell down in a fit, from which he never\nrecovered. So the secret of the gold died with them.\n\nAfter this the son came to live in the place; and the tradition of the\nhidden gold was still kept alive in the family, but all efforts to find\nit proved useless.\n\nNow a strange thing happened. The farmer dreamed for three nights in\nsuccession that if he went at midnight to an old ruined castle in the\nneighbourhood, he would hear words that might tell him the secret of\nthe gold; but he must go alone. So after the third dream the farmer\nresolved to do as he was ordered, and he went forth at midnight to the\nplace indicated. His two sons, grown-up young men, anxiously awaited\nhis return. And about an hour after midnight the father came home\npale as a ghost, haggard and trembling. They helped him to his bed,\nand after a little he was able to tell them his adventures. He said,\non reaching the old ruin he leaned up straight against the wall, and\nwaited for the promised words in silence. Then a breath seemed to pass\nover his face, and he heard a low voice whispering in his ear\u2014\n\n\u201cIf you want to find the bag of gold, take out the third stone.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut here,\u201d said the farmer mournfully, \u201cthe voice stopped before the\nplace was named where the gold lay; for at that instant a terrific\nscreech was heard, and the ghost of Sheela appeared gigantic and\nterrible; her hands dripping with blood, and her eyes flaming fire;\nand she rushed to attack me, brandishing a short, sharp sword round\nher head, the very same, perhaps, with which she had committed the\nmurder. At sight of this awful apparition I fled homeward, Sheela still\npursuing me with leaps and yells till I reached the boundary of the\ncastle grounds, when she sank into the earth and disappeared. But,\u201d\ncontinued the farmer, \u201cI am certain, from the voice, that the bag of\ngold lies hid under the third stone in\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe could say no more, for at that instant the door of the bedroom was\nviolently flung open, as if by a strong storm wind, the candle was\nblown out, and the unfortunate man was lifted from his bed by invisible\nhands, and dashed upon the floor with a terrible crash. In the darkness\nthe young men could hear the groans, but they saw no one.\n\nWhen the candle was relit they went over to help their father, but\nfound he was already dead, with a black mark round his throat as if\nfrom strangulation by a powerful hand. So the secret of the gold\nremained still undiscovered.\n\nAfter the funeral was over, and all affairs settled, the brothers\nagreed that they would still search for the gold in the old ruins of\nthe castle, undeterred by the apparition of the terrible Sheela. So\non a certain midnight they set forth with spades and big sticks for\ndefence, and proceeded to examine every third stone in the huge walls,\nto the height of a man from the ground, seeking some secret mark or\nsign by which, perhaps, the true stone might be discovered. But as they\nworked, a thin blue light suddenly appeared at some distance in the\ninner court of the castle, and by it stood the ghost of their father,\npointing with his outstretched hand to a certain stone in the wall.\nNow, they thought, that must certainly be the spot where the gold is\nhid; and they rushed on; but before they could reach the place, the\nterrible form of Sheela appeared, more awful than words could describe,\nclothed in white, and with a circle of flame round her head. And\nshe seized the ghost with her gory hands, and dragged him away with\nhorrible yells and imprecations. And far off in the darkness they could\nhear the fight going on, and the yells of Sheela as she pursued the\nghost.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the young men, \u201clet us work while they are fighting;\u201d\nand they worked away at the third stone from the end, where the blue\nlight had rested\u2014a large flat stone, but easily lifted; and when they\nhad rolled it away from the place, there underneath lay a huge bag\nof bright golden guineas. And as they raised it up from the earth, a\nterrific unearthly din was heard in the distance, and a shrill scream\nrang on the air. Then a rush of the wind came by them and the blue\nlight vanished, but they heeded nothing, only lifted the bag from the\nclay, and carried it away with them through the darkness and storm.\nAnd the yells seemed to pursue them till they reached the boundary of\nthe castle grounds, then all was still; and they traversed the rest of\nthe way in peace, and reached home safely.\n\nFrom that time the ghost of _Sheela-na-Skean_ ceased to haunt the\ncastle, but lamenting and cries used sometimes to be heard at night\nin and around the old farmhouse; so the brothers pulled it down and\nleft it a ruin, and built a handsome residence with some of their\ntreasure; for now they had plenty of gold, and they lived happily and\nprospered ever after, with all their family and possessions. And on\nthe spot where the gold was found they erected a cross, in memory of\ntheir father, to whom they owed all their wealth, and through whom this\nprosperity had come; for by him the evil spirit of _Sheela-na-Skean_\nwas conquered at last, and the gold restored to the family of the\nmurdered farmer.\n\n\nCAPTAIN WEBB, THE ROBBER CHIEF.\n\n\nAbout a hundred years ago a most notorious robber, called Captain Webb,\nused to make the County Mayo his headquarters; and dreadful tales are\nstill current amongst the people of his deeds of violence and cruelty.\n\nMany beautiful young girls he carried off by force or fraud; and when\nhe grew tired of them it was his practice to strip the unhappy victims\nnaked, and plunge them down a deep hole near Lough Corrib, which is\nstill known throughout the county as \u201cCaptain Webb\u2019s Hole.\u201d\n\nOne day, however, fate worked out a revenge on the audacious highwayman\nby the hands of a woman.\n\nHe had committed a daring robbery on the highroad\u2014plundered a carriage,\nshot the horses, and carried off a noble and lovely girl, who was\nreturning home with her mother from an entertainment, which had been\ngiven by a great lord in the vicinity. Consequently, as the robber\nknew, the ladies were dressed magnificently, and wore the most costly\njewels. After stripping the mother of all her ornaments, he left her\nhalf dead upon the highway; but wrapping a cloak round the young lady,\nCaptain Webb flung her on the horse before him and galloped off to one\nof the many hiding-places he had through the country.\n\nFor some time he gave up all his other favourites for the sake of\nthe beautiful girl, and carried her about with him on all his wild\nexpeditions, so great was the madness of his love for her.\n\nBut at length he grew tired even of her beauty, and resolved to get\nrid of her, in the same way as he had got rid of the others, by a cruel\nand sudden death.\n\nSo one day, when she was out riding beside him, as he always forced her\nto do, he brought her to the fatal hole where so many of his victims\nhad perished, intending to cast her down headlong as he had done to so\nmany others; but first he told her to dismount and to take off all her\nrich garments of silk and gold and her jewels, for she would need them\nno longer.\n\n\u201cFor pity, then,\u201d she said, \u201cdo not look on me while I undress, for it\nis not seemly or right to look on a woman undressing; but turn your\nback and I shall unclasp my robe and fling it off.\u201d\n\nSo the captain turned his back as she desired him, for he could not\nrefuse her last request; but still he kept close to the edge of the\nhole ready to throw her in; when suddenly she sprang upon him, and\nplacing both hands on his shoulders, pushed him over the edge down into\nthe fathomless gulf, from which no mortal ever rose alive, and in this\nmanner the country was freed for evermore from the terrible robber\nfiend, by the courage of a brave and beautiful girl.\n\n\nTHE MAYO ROBBER AND FEENISH THE MARE.\n\n\nAnother desperate character that made an evil reputation in the same\ncounty was Captain Macnamara. Though a man of family and good means\nand of splendid appearance, he led a life of the wildest excess, and\nstopped at no crime so as he could gratify the passion or the caprice\nof the moment, or find money to spend on his pleasures, with the\nreckless, senseless, foolish extravagance of an evil, dissolute nature;\nfor he had early squandered away all his own patrimony, and now only\nlived by fraud, lying, and insolent contempt of the rights and claims\nof others.\n\nJust at the time when his finances were at the lowest, he was summoned\nto attend his trial at the county assizes for some malpractices\nconcerning land and stock belonging to a wealthy widow lady, who had a\nfine place in the neighbourhood, though she seldom lived there, being\nconstantly abroad, in Paris or Rome, with her only son, a young lad,\nthe heir of the property. It happened, however, that she returned home\njust in time for the trial, which interested her, as it concerned an\naudacious appropriation of some of her best land from which the stock\nhad been drawn off and sold by Macnamara. Highly indignant at the\ninsult offered to her, the wealthy widow appeared in court resolved\non vengeance; and was received by all the officials with the utmost\ndistinction and deference. The defendant was put through a most\ntorturing examination, in which all his evil practices were laid bare\nwith ruthless severity. But the widow heeded nothing of the record of\nwicked deeds; she only saw before her a splendid stalwart man in the\nprime of life, with a magnificent presence, flashing eyes, and raven\nhair. At once she was subjugated, as if by magic, by the handsome\nprisoner in the dock, and calling over her counsel, she gave orders\nthat the suit should be stopped and no damages claimed. After this, as\nwas natural, a warm intimacy sprang up between plaintiff and defendant,\nwhich ended in a short time by the marriage of the rich widow and\nthe spendthrift captain; the widow\u2019s only son and heir to the estate\nbeing brought home from school to live with them, for, as the captain\nobserved, it was necessary that the boy should be early instructed in\nthe management of the property.\n\nOne evening, however, Macnamara set a rope across a lonely part of the\nroad where he knew the lad must pass when riding home. In consequence\nthe horse stumbled, and threw the rider; and at night when the servants\nand people went out with torches to look for the young heir, he was\nfound lying quite dead by the roadside.\n\nThe whole property now devolved to the widow, who gave up the\nmanagement entirely to Macnamara; and he lost no time in making\ngood use of the large sums of money that came under his control, by\nconstantly plunging into renewed courses of dissolute extravagance.\nHow the home life went on no one knew, for little was seen of the wife\nwhile the husband carried on his orgies; but after a year had passed\nby, the country heard with surprise of the death of the rich widow,\nas she was still called\u2014suddenly, it was said, by a fit, a stroke.\nShe was found lying dead in her bed one morning, and her husband was\nin the greatest grief\u2014this was the orthodox narrative. But strange\nwhispers at the same time went through the neighbourhood, that round\nthe neck of the poor dear lady was found a black mark, and many had\ngrave suspicions of foul play, though they feared to take any measures\nagainst the captain, so great was the terror he inspired.\n\nMeantime, he consoled himself with another wife, a young girl who had\nbeen a favourite of his long before his first wife\u2019s death. And they\nled a reckless life together till all the widow\u2019s money was gambled\naway or spent in dissolute frolics. Then he joined a wild band of\nsharpers and desperadoes who fought and cheated every one at the fairs\nand races, and were the terror of the whole country. But, especially\nthey warred upon the Big Joyces of Connemara, who thereupon swore to be\nrevenged.\n\nNow the captain had a famous mare called _Feenish_, who could fly like\nthe wind and live for days without food. And he taught her all sorts\nof strange tricks\u2014to stand on her hind legs, to go in at a window and\nto walk upstairs; and the way the robber chief got the secret of power\nover men and animals was in this wise.\n\nThere was an old raven lived near him up in a big tree, and one day\nMacnamara stole the eggs, took them home, boiled them and then set them\nback again in the nest, to see what the old bird would do. Now he saw\nthe wisdom of the raven, for she flew off at once to a neighbouring\nmountain, and having found a certain stone of magic virtue carried it\nback in her beak to the nest. With this stone she rubbed the eggs all\nover, till the life came back into them; and in due time the young\nravens were flying about as strong and joyous as the rest.\n\nMacnamara having observed this process, watched his opportunity, and\none day when the raven was absent, he stole the magic stone from the\nnest. His first trial of the power was to rub himself all over, as he\nhad seen the raven do with the eggs; and with a very remarkable result,\nfor he at once became possessed of marvellous gifts. He could foresee\nevents, and force people to do his will: he knew when danger was near,\nand what path to take to avoid his enemies when they were on his track.\nThen he rubbed Feenish, the mare, all over, and instantly she became as\nwise as a Christian, and knew every word that was said to her.\n\nSo Macnamara, armed with all these new powers, went on with his wild\nwicked life, and robbed and plundered worse than ever; and the blood of\nmany a man, besides, was on his hands.\n\nAt last the Joyce faction resolved to make an end of the audacious\nrobber, and all the Big Joyces of Connemara gathered in force and\npursued him from place to place and over bog and mountain through half\nthe country. At one time Macnamara plunged into a bog; where Feenish\nlost her four shoes; then he made her swim the river at Cong after a\nhard day\u2019s ride through mountain passes; but when the poor mare got to\nthe other side she fell down dead, to the great grief of the robber\nchief, who had her buried on an island in Lough Corrib that still bears\nher name\u2014Innis-Feenish. However, when he had laid his faithful friend\nin the clay, all energy forsook him, and all his good luck departed\u2014his\nriches melted away, his children squandered his property, and his two\nsons met a violent death; finally, broken in spirit, beggared, and\nalone in the world, the last of his race, he found himself with nothing\nleft of his ill-gotten gains except an old grey pony. On this animal\nhe rode to Cork, where he took his passage in an emigrant ship to\nAmerica, and sailed away from the old country, laden with the curses\nof all who had ever known him; and from that hour he was heard of no\nmore. So ended the wicked career of the spendthrift and gambler and the\nsuspected murderer of many victims.\n\n\n\n\n SKETCHES OF THE IRISH PAST.\n\n\nTHE BARDIC RACE.\n\n\nThe magi, the Sephoe, the gymnosophists, and the Irish adepts, held\nmuch the same creed and the same dogmas with regard to the conduct of\nlife necessary to heighten the spiritual power. They all abstained from\nanimal food at such times as the rush of inspiration was on them and\nthe madness of prophetic rage; and at all times they favoured solitude,\nliving apart in the House of Learning or Bardic College, where they\nadmitted no obtrusive intimacies with lower intellects to disturb\ntheir lofty and exalted moods of thought. The means, also, by which\nthey obtained mastery over diseases and the minds of men, with the\nstrange and subtle use they made of herbs, were all kept secret amongst\nthemselves; for they held that the prying eyes of shallow unbelievers\nshould never be suffered to intrude upon the sacred mysteries. And it\nis certain that the bards possessed strange and mystic powers of wisdom\nbeyond and above all other men. It was therefore very dangerous to\noffend a poet. If any one refused him a request he would take the lobe\nof the person\u2019s ear and grind it between his fingers, and the man would\ndie. Yet the bards were capable of much human emotion, and were the\nsweet singers of sympathy when sorrow touched a household.\n\nThe following elegy from the Irish, written about two hundred years ago\nby the Ard-Fil\u00e9, or chief poet of the tribe, has many natural, pathetic\ntouches, and when chanted in Irish to the harp had power to melt the\nhearts of all the hearers to tears.\n\nAN ELEGY.\n\n O Boyne, once famed for battles, sports, and conflicts,\n And great heroes of the race of Conn,\n Art thou grey after all thy blooms?\n O aged old woman of grey-green pools,\n O wretched Boyne of many tears.\n\n Where is the glory of thy sires?\n The glory of Art with the swift arrow;\n Of Meiltan, with the swift-darting spears\n Of the lordly race of the O\u2019Neil?\n To thee belonged red victory,\n When the Fenian wrath was kindled,\n And the heroes in thousands rode to war,\n And the bridles clanked on the steeds.\n\n O river of kings and the sons of kings,\n Of the swift bark and the silver fish,\n I lay my blessing on thee with my tears,\n For thou art the watcher by a grave\u2014\n My treasures lie in the earth at thy side\u2014\n O Boyne of many tears.\n\n My sons lie there in their strength,\n My little daughter in her beauty\u2014\n Rory, and Brian, and Rose\u2014\n These have I given against my will,\n My blood, my heart, my bone and kin,\n My love and my life, to the grave.\n\n The blessing of men was on them,\n The blessings of thousands that loved them,\n From Kells of the Crosses to Drogheda\u2014\n Eight thousand blessings to Dowth of the Trees.\n Peace be on the earth where they lie!\n By the royal stream of the kings,\n In the land of the great O\u2019Neil.\n\nThe Bardic song amongst all nations was the first expression of the\nhuman soul, with all its strong, passionate emotions and heroic\nimpulses. It is remarkable that, although several invasions of Ireland\nare on record, yet but one language seems to have existed there from\nthe earliest times down to the coming of the Anglo-Normans in the\ntwelfth century. The Bards held it as their peculiar duty to raise\nthis language to the highest perfection, and the laws of Celtic\npoetry, especially, were most elaborate and the structure of the verse\nexceedingly difficult. Ten years of study were allowed the students at\nthe Druids\u2019 College to gain perfection in the art, and also to practise\nthe memory; for at the royal festivals the Ard-Fil\u00e9 was expected to\nrecite fully and perfectly whatever heroic tale might be called for by\nthe king at the banquet. On great occasions also, when the meeting was\nheld in the open air, the chiefs sat round in a circle on mounds of\nturf, to the accompaniment of the harp, the chorus joining in the while\nthe bards, standing in the centre, recited the heroic narrative lyrical\nportions at intervals, and a circle of harpists at the outermost\nring of the assemblage introduced occasional symphonies of pure\ninstrumental music to give the bards time for rest between the parts of\nthe recitation.\n\nThere were three chief measures in music in use amongst the poets\u2014\u201cthe\nSorrowful,\u201d or the chant for the dead; \u201cthe Delightful,\u201d reserved\nfor dances and festivities; and \u201cthe Reposing,\u201d devoted entirely to\nlove sonnets and the plaintive softness of lyrical expression. But\nthe _Ross-Catha_, or battle-hymn, was the great war-song to which the\nwarriors marched to battle, and which inspired them with the heroic\nmadness that braved death for victory.\n\nEverything connected with the bards is interesting. They were so\ngifted, so learned, and so beautiful. For even genius was not\nconsidered enough, without beauty, to warrant a young man being\nenrolled in the ranks of the poets. A noble, stately presence was\nindispensable, and the poet was required not only to be gifted, but\nto be handsome. Then he was promoted through all the grades until he\nreached the last and highest, called \u201cThe Wisdom of the Gods,\u201d but\nthe knowledge then acquired by the initiated was kept sacred from the\ncrowd, and the adept swore by the sun, the stars, and the hosts of\nheaven never to reveal the mysteries acquired by his initiation, to the\nprofane.\n\nThe high-born maidens amongst the noble families were also trained by\nthe Druids in poetry and music, and in the exercise of the chase, such\nas archery and throwing the lance, to give their bodies health, vigour\nand beauty, while those endowed with peculiar intellect were admitted\ninto the bardic orders, and became the priestess, prophetess, or\npoetess of the tribe; who inspired men by her eloquence and had power\nby her incantations over the deep mysteries of life. Such was Eodain,\nthe chief poetess of Erin, the guide and inspirer of Eugene, the king\nof the South, the prophetess of her nation, who saved him and his\nkingdom from ruin by her wisdom, and redeemed him by her counsels from\nhis dissolute and evil life.\n\n\nTHE ANCIENT RACE.\n\n\nBut thousands of years ago, long before kings, bards, and Druids, with\nall their learning and comparative civilization, flourished in Ireland,\nand before the traditions of a beautiful fairy race were brought from\nthe far East by a people accustomed to the sight of beauty, grace and\nsplendour, an ancient race existed in the world\u2014a mysterious, primitive\nwave of human life that spread over all Europe, perhaps over all the\nearth, and even surged upon the shores of our own Western island;\npossibly a pre-Adamic race, inferior in all points, physical as well\nas mental, to the Adamic race that succeeded them.\n\nThey have left no name or history, yet evidences of their nature,\nhabits, intellect, and modes of life can be scientifically deduced from\nthe abundant strange and curious antiquarian remains to be seen in\nthe Museum of the Royal Irish Academy, of which Sir William Wilde in\nhis illustrated catalogue has given such a perfect and comprehensive\ndescription. Records of a period so remote that the use of metals even\nwas unknown; yet these ancient records reveal the story of the rude\nhalf-developed, early humanity of the world in as clear a symbol to the\nexpert and the arch\u00e6ologist, as if written in alphabetical letters on\nmonoliths, like those of Babylon.\n\nWithout, therefore, being forced into shadowy theory or nebular\nhypothesis, we may readily construct the whole life of the primitive\nman, his mode of being and doing, of dressing and of eating, of living,\ndying and sepulture, simply from the rude implements fashioned by his\nhand that cover the walls of the Academy, and are the letters in which\nan eternal page of human history is written.\n\nBut, this first pre-Adamic rudimental humanity was not wholly\nextirpated by the subsequent Adamic race. Representatives of them still\nremained throughout the world, and are yet existing, though these\nhalf-souled specimens of an early, inferior humanity, are gradually\ndying out and disappearing before the advance of the higher Adamic\nrace, the destined lords and rulers of earth.\n\nIn Ireland the inferior primitive tribes became the bond-slaves for\nthe higher humanity\u2014the Tuatha-de-Dananns and Milesians that succeeded\nthem; and specimens of this slave people can still be seen in remote\ndistricts in Ireland along the coast-line of the West, and in the\nsecluded mountain passes. They are held in much contempt by the\ndescendants of the nobler race, and are stigmatized even now as \u201cthe\nslave people,\u201d and the bondsmen of their forefathers.\n\nIt seems, then, an incontrovertible truth that the early inhabitants\nof Ireland, as of all Europe\u2014in fact, the whole pre-Adamite humanity\nof the world\u2014lived and died throughout how many ages we know not in a\nstate little higher than the animal creation, without the knowledge of\neven the simplest elements of civilization, which all the Adamic races\npossess, from their higher organization and intellect, and which they\nseem to have had from the date of their earliest appearance on earth.\n\nThe clothing of the primitive man was of the skins of animals fastened\nwith thongs, or tunics made of rushes, such as were found some years\nago in Spain, on the skeleton forms of pre-historic date buried in a\ncave of the Sierra Nevada. Their only weapons and tools were of stone,\nmanufactured by another stone. Their ornaments were of shells and\nfish-bones; and their dwellings such only as instinct has suggested to\nall animals.\n\nThere are abundant evidences in our National Museum to prove the\nexistence of this primary stratum of barbarism underlying all the\nculture of modern Europe; and we might almost hesitate to link so low\na type of humanity with our own if we did not recognize in it also the\ncharacteristic instinct of man, entirely wanting in the animals\u2014an\nirrepressible tendency towards progression and improvement, and, above\nall, to ornamentation, which is a distinctive human quality.\n\n\nTHE ANTIQUITIES OF IRELAND.\n\n\nWe commence the study of this early race with the first rude stone\nimplement with which a savage man killed an animal scarcely more\nsavage. Then, simple designs of ornamentation are discernible\u2014the first\ntwilight dawning of soul through matter. The rude stone implement\nbecomes decorated, more symmetrical in form, more adapted to its\nuses. There is evidence of a growing sense of beauty, and heightened\nreasoning powers. After the introduction of metals, we trace the\noriginal stone forms reproduced first in simple unalloyed copper,\nafterwards in that perfect and beautiful bronze of a ruddy yellow,\nlike gold, which no modern bronze has ever equalled. There is no\nviolent disruption of ideas, as if the new incoming race had entirely\nvanquished and crushed the earlier and elder; but on the contrary, a\ngradual and continuous development of the original ideas of this elder\nrace itself, always co-working with whatever new influences may have\ncome to it from without.\n\nMany writers have held the belief that the first colonists of Ireland\nwere a highly-civilized people, clothed with Tyrian silk, fine linen\nof Egypt, and adorned with costly ornaments of gold. But stern facts\nrefute this theory. The same primitive race who used only stone weapons\nwere unacquainted with the art of weaving, and knew of no other garment\nthan the untanned skin of the animal they killed for food. Theorists\nmight still, however, argue, doubt, and disbelieve, if one of the\nancient race had not himself risen, as it were, from the grave, after\na sleep of thousands of years, to give his testimony concerning his\npeople. In 1821 this primitive Irishman, clad completely in skins laced\nwith thongs, was found in a peat bog, ten feet below the surface. The\nteeth, long dark hair and beard, were perfect. Portions of this dress\nhave been preserved in the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy. The\nmaterial used in sewing was fine gut, and the regularity and closeness\nof the stitching are most remarkable. Specimens of the antique skin\nmocassins and skin caps have been also found at various times in the\npeat bogs, and secured for the Museum, so that we have the dress of the\nancient Irishman complete.\n\nLong after this period of barbarism, but still at a time so distant\nthat it is anterior to all historic record, we find that the Irish\nhad attained some knowledge of metals and the art of weaving. The\nMuseum contains numerous highly-finished illustrations of the\nbeautifully-formed, slender, leaf-shaped swords and daggers of bronze,\nwhich began gradually to supersede the use of the primitive celt.\nMany of these swords are of the pure Grecian type, formed apparently\non the model of the leaf of the aloe or the agave. One sword found\non an ancient battle-field is curved like a Turkish yataghan; and in\n\u201cThe Book of Rights\u201d \u201ccurved swords of battle\u201d are frequently referred\nto. But the specimens of the broad scythe-shaped sword, \u201cwhich is\nespecially and peculiarly Irish,\u201d are the most numerous, as many as\nforty-one of these heavy, thick, round-pointed battle-axe swords being\nin the Museum.\n\nThe same progress of artistic development is observable in the ancient\nswords as was noticed in the primitive celt\u2014as the art advanced, the\nmanufacturer began to exercise his artistic faculties in fanciful and\ncostly decoration. The blade was adorned with either cast or engraved\nornamentation, and the hilt inlaid or studded with gold. Thus, Brian\nBoroimhe is described as carrying a gold-hilted sword in his right hand\nat the battle of Clontarf.\n\nIt is very remarkable that, throughout the whole series, from the\nrudest to the most highly finished, a peculiar idea is traceable in\nthe ornamentation, by which they can at once be recognized as Irish;\nand this idea seems to have travelled from Irish Paganism to Irish\nChristianism. The ornamentation on the sepulchral stones of New Grange\nis repeated on the stone celts; it is carried on into the age of\nBronze; it decorated the swords and spears of the kings, as well as\ntheir costly diadems and ornaments of gold, and still continued to be\ntraced, with a kind of loving fidelity to the ancient symbols, upon the\nmanuscripts illuminated by priestly hands, so late as the tenth and\neleventh centuries.\n\nFor the illustration of the costume of the early Irish, after it passed\nfrom primitive helpless barbarism to comparative civilization, by the\naid of the knowledge of metals and the art of weaving, fortunately\nwe are not left to mere theories; for, by a singular chance, the\nrepresentative of the advanced period, like him of the barbaric age,\narises also from the grave of the Past to bear witness for himself.\n\nIn 1824, a male body, completely clad in woollen antique garments, was\nfound in a bog near Sligo, six feet below the surface; and so perfect\nwas the body when first discovered, that a magistrate was called upon\nto hold an inquest on it. The garments also were in such complete\npreservation, that a photograph was made of a person clad in this\nantique suit, with the exception of the shoes, which were too small\nfor an adult of our day, and a drawing from this photograph is one of\nthe best and most beautifully executed illustrations of the Museum\ncatalogue. The costume of this ancient Irish gentleman is exceedingly\npicturesque, consisting of trews of a plaid pattern, made wide above,\nlike Turkish trousers, but fitting close to the leg and ankle; over\nthem was a tunic of soft cloth, most elaborately gored and gussetted,\nshowing high perfection in the tailoring art. The skirt of the tunic,\nwhich extends to the knee, is set on full, and measures eight feet in\ncircumference at the bottom. The sleeves are tight, and open to the\nelbow, like an Albanian jacket; and over all was thrown the immemorial\nIrish mantle, so invariably worn, so indispensable a portion of Irish\ncostume that it passed into a proverb among our neighbours, the Welsh,\n\u201clike an Irishman for the cloak.\u201d\n\nThis graceful garment, as found upon the hero of the bog, and now\nvisible in our Museum, is composed of brown, soft cloth, made straight\non the upper edge, which is nine feet long, but cut nearly into the\nsegment of a circle on the lower. The form resembles closely that worn\nby the Calabrian peasant at this day. These cloaks were often of great\nvalue; kings were paid tribute of them. They were made of various\ncolours, each colour being a symbol to denote the rank of the wearer.\nThe number of colours also in a dress had a significant value, and was\nregulated by law. Thus, one colour only was allowed to slaves; two for\nsoldiers; three for goodly heroes, or young lords; six for the learned\nmen; five for a poetess; and seven was the regal number for kings and\nqueens.\n\nIn the \u201cBook of Rights,\u201d the earliest accessible authority on the\nsubject of costume prior to the Norman Invasion, we read of cloaks of\nvarious colours presented in tribute to the kings\u2014cloaks of purple,\nred cloaks, green, white, black; in fact, cloaks of all colours. Some\nare mentioned as bordered with gold. The tunic is also described\nfrequently, \u201cwith golden borders\u2014with gold ornaments\u2014with golden hems.\u201d\nAnother form of cloak was fashioned with a hood like the Arab bornous,\nand was bordered with a deep fringe of goat\u2019s hairs.\n\nIrish costume seems, in fact, to have been half-Oriental,\nhalf-Northern, like the compound race that peopled the island. The\ntrews were the same as the Germanic _bracc\u0153_; while the tunic was\nAlbanian, and the mantle Eastern; as well as the high, conical\nhead-dress, which is identical in form with the Persian cap of the\npresent day. On this subject Sir William Wilde remarks\u2014\n\n\u201cEvery day\u2019s observation and research bring to light new affinities\nwith early Irish costume. In the great French work, \u2018Herculaneum et\nPompeii,\u2019 there is a battle scene, copied from a mosaic at Pompeii, in\nwhich the arms and dress of the combatants are almost identical with\nthose of ancient Ireland. The vanquished wear tight-fitting trousers,\nclose tunics, several of which are plaided, and cloaks with the hood\ncoming over the head precisely like the Irish cochall. The chief\nfigures wear torques round the neck, and bracelets on the wrists, and\nthe hood is retained in its place by a narrow frontlet, apparently\nof gold. The colours of the garments are also peculiarly Irish. In\nsome, the cloak is yellow; the mantle, dark red; and the tunic, purple\nbordered with white; the latter spangled with triple stars of gold,\nprecisely after the fashion figured in the \u2018Book of Kells.\u2019 The chariot\nin which the principal figure stands resembles some figured on our\nancient crosses, and the charioteer wears a pointed cap, green tunic,\nand tartan vest. All the vanquished wear beards, and their hoods\nenvelop their chins.\u201d\n\nThe study of ancient costume has especial interest for the historian,\nas the culture, civilization, and commercial relations of a people\ncan be readily deduced from it; and in the numerous and curious\nillustrations of the catalogue, taken from ancient records, illuminated\nmanuscripts, and the ancient crosses and sepulchral monuments of the\ncountry, everything has been brought together that could throw light on\nthis obscure subject. One most remarkable illustration is a full-length\nportrait of Dermot M\u2019Morrough, king of Leinster, taken from an\nilluminated copy of Giraldus Cambrensis in the possession of Sir Thomas\nPhilips, which portrait was very probably drawn from the life.\n\nFrom all that is known on the subject, it would appear that linen and\ncloth of every degree of fineness, according to the rank of the wearer,\nwere the principal materials used in ancient Irish dress. No remains\nof silk garments have been discovered; nor do the historical records,\nas far as we are aware, make any mention of silk being employed in\npersonal wear. It is remarkable also, that while a traditional belief\nexists that linen has been known from time immemorial to Ireland,\nyet the Academy does not possess a single specimen of ancient linen.\nThe linen shirts worn at the time of the Norman Invasion are said to\nhave been of immense size, and dyed a saffron colour. But there is\nundeniable proof, that the tartan, or cloth of divers colours, which we\nare accustomed to associate only with Scotland, was worn universally\nin Ireland in ancient times. Portions of tartans are preserved in\nthe Museum, and probably each grade of rank and clan possessed a\ncharacteristic plaid as well as a special dress. A love of variegated\nand glowing colours, and a tendency to gorgeous decoration, seem to\nhave been always instinctive to the Irish nature.\n\nThe female dress of Ireland at a period subsequent to the barbaric age\nis also illustrated not from conjecture, but from actual observation;\nfor in 1843 a complete female antique dress was discovered many\nfeet below the surface in a bog (these museums of Nature, where she\nstores up and preserves her specimens of antique life with a care and\nperfection that no mortal curator can ever hope to equal), and is now\nto be seen in the Academy\u2019s museum.\n\nIt consists of a boddice with a long waist, open in front, and attached\nto a full plaited skirt; which, like the Albanian fustanell, consists\nof several narrow gored breadths, gathered into small plaits at top,\nand spreading into a broad quilling at the bottom; each plait being\nstitched on the inside to preserve the form.\n\nThe bottom of the skirt measures twenty-two and a half feet in\ncircumference, and there are ninety-two plaits, most elaborately\narranged, so that the joining of each of the narrow breadths should\nfall within a plait. The material is of a brown woollen cloth.\n\nNo pictorial representations exist of female costume earlier than the\nfourteenth or fifteenth centuries but from the sculptured effigies\non tombs, we find it consisted of either a flowing robe and veil, or\nof the plaited skirt and tight boddice already described, while the\nhead-dress varied according to the fashion of the day.\n\nThe subject of personal decoration is perfectly illustrated in\nthe Museum; the Academy possessing one of the largest collections\nin Europe, beginning at the first rude effort at adornment of the\nbarbaric age, up to the rich golden ornaments of a later, though still\npre-historic period.\n\nIt is not pleasant to national pride, after feeding on the gorgeous\nfables of our earliest annalists, to contemplate the primitive Irishman\nfastening his mantle of untanned deerskin with a fish-bone or a thorn,\nas we know the Germans did in the time of Tacitus; yet, unhappily,\nantiquarian research will not allow us to doubt the fact of the simple\nsavageness of the first colonists. But when the intellect of the rude\nman stirred within him, he began to carve the bones of the animals he\nkilled into articles of ornament and use. Thus the slender bones of\nfowls were fashioned into cloak pins, especially the leg bone, where\nthe natural enlargement at one end suggested the form, and afforded\nsurface for artistic display. From this first rude essay of the\nchild-man can be traced the continuous development of his ideas in\ndecorative art, from the carving of bones to the casting of metal, up\nto the most elaborate working in enamel, gold, and precious stones.\nOur Museum is rich in these objects, containing more than five hundred\nspecimens. Pins, fibul\u00e6,[10] and brooches having been discovered\nin Ireland in immense quantities and variety, some of which are\nunsurpassed for beauty of design and workmanship.\n\n [10] This word \u201cfibul\u00e6\u201d is a heathenish and imported term, quite\n foreign to the Irish tongue. There is no other word known in the Irish\n language to designate a brooch, be it of bone or be it of gold, than\n _Dealg_, which signifies a thorn.\n\n\u201cIn these articles,\u201d Sir William remarks, \u201cthe process of development\nis displayed in a most remarkable manner; for, from the simple\nunadorned pin or spike of copper, bronze or brass (the metallic\nrepresentation of the thorn), to the most elaborately wrought\nring-brooch of precious metal, the patterns of which are now used by\nour modern jewellers\u2014every stage of art, both in form and handicraft,\nis clearly defined, not one single link is wanting. In the first stage\nall the artist\u2019s powers were lavished on the decoration of the pin\nitself, or in the development of the head, which was enlarged and\ndecorated into every possible shape and conceivable pattern. When it\nwas almost impossible to improve the head, a ring or loop was added,\npassed through a hole in the neck. In the next stage, the ring was\ndoubled, or many rings added. Finally, the ring was enlarged, flattened\nout, decorated, enamelled, covered with filigree, and jewelled, until,\nin those magnificent specimens of silver and gold found in Ireland of\nlate years, it reached a degree of perfection which modern art can with\ndifficulty imitate.\u201d\n\nThe forms of many of the Irish brooches, pins, and fibul\u00e6, are\nidentical with numbers found in Scandinavia, but the peculiar\nornamentation\u2014a curiously involved spiral or serpent coil, which\ncan be traced back through all ages of Irish art to the most remote\nantiquity\u2014is met nowhere else; neither in Etruscan nor Teutonic art,\nthough some assert its origin can be traced to Assyria and Egypt.\nHowever, this _Opus Hibernicum_, as it was termed by the learned\nKemble, is one of the tests by which an antiquary can distinguish\nnational from imported work. It is also remarkable that the ornaments\nof like form found so copiously in Scandinavia are all of bronze, while\nthe Irish are of gold, a metal which, there is every reason to believe,\nexisted in Ireland abundantly in former times, and is still found in\nsmall quantities. That it was used for ornament, even coeval with the\nstone celt, is also probable, as the rudest savage can make the ductile\nmetal assume any form by simply flattening it between two stones.\n\nMany centuries before the Christian era, according to the annals, gold\nwas smelted in Wicklow, to the east of the Liffey. Goblets and brooches\nwere covered with it, and the artificer\u2019s name was Ucadan; but no\nfurther mention of native gold occurs throughout our ancient histories.\nHowever, two thousand years after, the story of the old annalist was\nsingularly confirmed; for, in the year 1796, in the same part of\nWicklow, perhaps on the very site of the furnace of Ucadan, upwards\nof \u00a310,000 worth of native gold was obtained in about two months, and\nsmall quantities have been gathered there from time to time ever since.\n\nThe subject of the gold antiquities is one full of interest, and even\nof mystery. The quantity of antique manufactured gold ornaments dug\nup in Ireland, even in recent times, has been estimated as exceeding\nhalf a million of money. As much more may be lying beneath our feet,\nfor, every year, as new cuttings are made for railroads, or bogs are\ndrained, deposits of gold ornaments come to light. Two or three years\nago a deposit of massive gold bracelets, in value nearly \u00a35,000, as\nbright and beautiful as if just finished, was dug up in Carlow; and,\nstill more recently, several antique golden frontlets were found by a\nlabourer while working in a field, who, utterly unconscious of their\nvalue, threw them to his children, and the author of the Catalogue\nactually discovered, one day, the son of the man cutting them up into\nnose-rings for his pigs. They were happily rescued, and are now in the\nAcademy. The form is beautiful and classic; it is a half-moon diadem,\nresembling accurately some seen in Etruscan sculpture.\n\nWhat inestimable treasures may have been thus lost! not merely from\nignorance, but also from cupidity; for numbers of gold articles have\ndisappeared in the smelting-pot of the jewellers, who bought them\nfrom the country people at perhaps a fractional part of their value.\nThe very small annual sum allowed to the Academy by Government is\nanother cause why the work of destruction still goes on. Valuable\ngold ornaments are frequently offered there for sale\u2014too valuable,\nunhappily, for the Academy to purchase, and with an indignant regret\nthat is almost like a sense of shame, the members are obliged to leave\nthem to their fate. Of course legislation could remedy all this, as it\nhas done in Denmark, where the State has secured the possession of all\nantiquities found in the country for the National Museum, without any\nwrong being done to the finder, who is paid the full value of all he\nbrings. But in Denmark there is a strong national pride in the subject,\nand the peasant, who is early taught by the local authorities the value\nof such things, would as soon think of destroying an antiquity as of\nburning his Bible.\n\nIt is still a question among the learned whether this enormous amount\nof manufactured gold, far exceeding all yet discovered in England and\nScandinavia, was altogether native, or to some extent imported. An\nanalysis of some of the gold has been made, to test the identity of its\nconstituents with the gold of Wicklow, and in the instance selected\nthe gold was found similar. This fact and the ornamentation are proofs\nto uphold the native theory: while opponents state that they came in\nthe way of commerce from the Carthaginians who traded here. Ornaments\nidentical with the Irish in form\u2014the twisted torques, the bracelets,\nthe diadems, and frontlets, having been found in the interior of\nAfrica, and along the Gold Coast; in India, Barbary, Spain, and the\nislands of the Mediterranean.\n\nSeveral ancient Irish musical instruments, the chief of which were the\nharp and trumpet, and numerous fragments of harps have been found also\nin the oldest crannoges, proving how ancient was the knowledge and the\npractice of music in Ireland\u2014a fact confirmed by the Welsh Annals,\nwhich state that the Irish surpassed all nations in their proficiency\non the harp.\n\nThe Museum possesses sixteen antique bronze trumpets, one of which\u2014the\nfinest specimen yet found in Europe\u2014measures about eight feet in\nlength, and the joining is curiously riveted with metal studs, a\nfact proving its antiquity, as it must have been formed in an age\nunacquainted with the art of soldering. With regard to coins, Sir\nWilliam Wilde utterly denies that bronze ring-money was ever used in\nIreland, as stated by Sir William Betham, who borrowed his idea from\nVallancy: for all the articles hitherto described as ring-money, are\nnow proved undeniably to belong to chain-dress or armour. The ancient\nmedium of barter seems to have been so many head of cattle, or so\nmany ounces of gold. A native coinage was utterly unknown. The amount\nof bronze discovered in Ireland is enormous, and proves the long\nduration of a period when it was in general use, before iron was known.\nSpecimens of every object necessary to a people\u2019s life have been found\nfabricated of it\u2014weapons, tools, armour, swords, and spears; culinary\nvessels, caldrons, spoons, and other minor requisites; hair-pins for\nthe flowing locks of the women; brooches for the graceful mantles of\nthe chiefs, but not of the dark, dingy, modern compound that bears\nthe name. Irish antique bronze was a metal of bright, glowing, golden\nbeauty, and the effect of an army marching with spears of this metal in\nthe flashing sunlight, we can imagine to have been truly magnificent.\n\nThe people of this remote age must have attained considerable skill\nin the manufacturing arts\u2014must have had laws, religion, and social\nculture\u2014yet how little would have been known of them if these mute\nwitnesses of a past humanity had not been interpreted by science.\nArch\u00e6ology and philology are the only solvents of the past; and no\ntheory can henceforth be tolerated that will not stand the test of\nbeing assayed by them. The philologist traces the origin and affinities\nof our people in the roots of the Irish language; while their habits,\nmodes of life, their position in the scale of civilization throughout\nthe long duration of the unwritten age, can only be read in the letters\nof stone, bronze, and gold upon the walls of our Academy.\n\nIrish manuscripts, though the oldest in North-western Europe, date\nback scarcely further than the fifth or sixth century. Beyond that\nperiod we enter a region of darkness, through which no literature\nor letters radiate their light; yet, unassisted by either, the\narch\u00e6ologist can reconstruct the primitive world and the primitive\nman with greater truth and certainty than if he possessed both; for\nthe facts of a museum are changeless and enduring, and can suffer no\nmutation from prejudice or ignorance, yet we must remember that it\nis science alone that gives value to these facts. Without its aid a\nmuseum would be only an aggregate of curious lumber. The arch\u00e6ologist\nmust combine, in a synthetic and comprehensive view\u2014must arrange in\ntheir proper sequence\u2014must elucidate by a world-wide learning, these\nsibyline fragments of the past; or this writing on the wall, though\nit express the most irrefragable truths of history, will remain an\nundeciphered hieroglyphic, as useless and unprofitable to the student\nas the alphabet of an unknown language, which he is unable to form\ninto intelligible words. All this Sir William Wilde accomplished for\nthe Museum of the Academy, and in his clear and well-arranged volumes\nwe can read the stone pages of our history by the light of all the\nlearning and antiquarian research of the past and present age gathered\nto one focus.\n\nThe conclusion to be drawn from the facts laid before us is, that in\nan age of remote antiquity (M. Boucher de Perthes, the well-known\nFrench author and antiquarian, has written a book to prove that it\nwas prior to the Deluge) the entire face of the earth was covered\nby a nomad people, speaking the one language, and living after the\nsame rude fashion, with no other weapons than sharpened stone. This\nrace passed away, and no research has ever yet discovered their name,\ntheir language, their religion, or the era of their existence. Not an\ninscription, not a word, not a letter graven on any stone have they\nleft to allay the torturing curiosity of the inquirer. Yet traces of\nthem have been found from Mexico to Japan; from the steppes of Tartary\nto the Pampas; round the shores of every European sea, and along the\ncoasts of the two oceans. Wherever man\u2019s foot has trodden within\nhistoric times, they trod before all history. Even in this outlying\nisle of ours vestiges of this people are strewn so thickly that the\nvery soil seems made of their remains. Then another race swept across\nEurope\u2014a comparatively cultured race, bearing with them the chief\nelement of civilization\u2014a knowledge of metals. They spread over both\nsides of the Danube; left their footprints in Italy and on the shores\nof the Baltic; overran Switzerland, France, and Belgium, giving names\nto the rivers they passed, the mountains they crossed, and the towns\nthey founded, which names cling to them even to this day. From Belgium\nthey spread to Britain, and from thence, or by the seacoast of Spain,\nthey reached Ireland, where they founded the existing Irish race,\nand brought with them the knowledge of metals, the art of music and\npoetry, and the still existing Irish language. Historians name these\npeople the Celts. On the Continent they were gradually crushed down\nbeneath the Roman and Gothic races, and in Britain also by successive\nconquests. But Ireland suffered no conquest. Here the old Celtic race\nlived and flourished, and here alone their language, which everywhere\nelse melted into a compound with the Gothic and Latin, maintained\nits distinct existence. The English language is the gradually formed\nproduct and result of the successive conquests of England. But\nno invading people ever gained sufficient strength in Ireland to\ninfluence the original language. It exists still amongst us, living\nand spoken the same as when thousands of years ago the Celtic people\nfirst crossed the Danube and gave it the name it now bears. For this\nreason all the arch\u00e6ologists of Europe turn their eyes to our sacred\nisle, as to the one great museum of the Celtic race. Thus, Professor\nKeller, of Zurich, anxiously studies the formation of Irish crannoges,\nto compare them with the Swiss; and the learned Pictet, of Geneva,\ndemands the long-deferred completion of the Irish Dictionary, with an\nardour that puts to shame our own apathy, as without it comparative\nphilology wants its chief corner-stone. The great facts of our Museum,\nillustrated, described, and laid before the learned of Europe in a\ncomprehensive form, will go far to correct the crude, imperfect notions\nof Continental writers concerning Irish antiquities. For instance,\nProfessor Lindenschmidt, of Mayence, asserted in one of his earlier\npublished works, that all the ancient bronze articles found on this\nside of the Alps were imported from Etruria, as a people so barbarous\nas the Irish could never have produced them. The fact being, that the\nlargest, most varied, most highly decorated collection of bronze celts\nexisting is to be found in our Museum, along with numerous specimens\nof the moulds in which they were cast, discovered on the very spot\nwhere the ancient workman had lit his furnace. This universal interest\nand demand for information are enough to stimulate our learned men to\nexertion, seeing that they are, in a measure, answerable to Europe for\nthe proper preservation of our antiquities, the very rudest of which\ncan tell some tale of the past, as the mere furrows along the streets\nof the dead Pompeii show that life once passed there.\n\n\nEARLY IRISH ART.\n\n\nEarly Irish art illustrates in a very remarkable manner those\ndistinctive qualities of Irish nature, which we know from the legendary\ntraditions have characterized our people from the earliest times. The\nearnest religious faith, the love of gorgeous colouring, the tendency\nto express ideas by symbol, and the vivid imagination that delights in\nthe strange and unusual, often fantastic and grotesque, in place of the\nabsolute and real, combined with the patient and minute elaboration\nof details, so truly Oriental in its spirit, specially mark Irish\nornamentation. All these reverential, artistic, fanciful, and subtle\nevidences of the peculiar Celtic spirit find a full and significant\nexpression in the wonderful splendours of early Irish art, as seen\nchiefly in the ancient illuminated manuscripts.\n\nThe reputation of Irish artists for excellence in these costly\nproductions became so extended throughout Christian Europe in the early\nages, that at the request of many nations Ireland sent forth numbers of\nher most cultured artists as teachers and scribes to the great foreign\nschools and colleges; and numerous examples of skilled Irish work are\nstill existing in Continental Libraries, where they are held as amongst\nthe most sacred of the national treasures. For a full and comprehensive\nillustration of this subject it would be impossible to over-estimate\nthe artistic and historic value of Mr. Westwood\u2019s magnificent book on\nAnglo-Saxon and Irish Manuscripts. The volume contains _facsimiles_\nfrom all the principal illuminated Celtic manuscripts of Europe,\nexecuted with the most scrupulous care, chiefly by Mr. Westwood\nhimself, the majority of them with the aid of a magnifying glass, so\nminute and delicate are the lines of ornamentation to be represented.\nIn fact, for accuracy of information and richness of illustration,\nthe volume surpasses anything yet published on Celtic art in the\nUnited Kingdom, and may claim equality with the grand, but enormously\nexpensive work of Count Bastard, on early French Manuscripts. Mr.\nWestwood, in a learned preliminary dissertation, gives his views on\nthe origin and development of Hiberno-Saxon art during the first\nthousand years of the Christian era, and finds in the ornamentation,\nas observed by Kemble and others, a distinct _Opus Hibernicum_ and an\n_Opus Anglicum_, but the Irish the more perfect of the two, and wholly\ndifferent from Continental art of the same era.\n\nThe earliest manuscripts of Greece and Rome show nothing like this\ndistinctive Celtic art; nor the Italian mosaics, nor the wall paintings\nof Herculaneum or Pompeii\u2014beautiful as are the representations of the\nhuman figure found there; nor does Byzantine art afford any similar\ntypes. From whence, then, did the Irish, the acknowledged founders of\nCeltic art in Europe, derive their ideas of ornamentation? This is\none of the historical mysteries which, like the origin of the Round\nTowers, still awaits solution. One must travel a long way, even to\nthe far East, before finding in the decorations of the ancient Hindoo\ntemples anything approaching to the typical idea that runs through\nall Irish ornamentation. It is, however, an incontrovertible fact,\nand one proved to demonstration by Mr. Westwood\u2019s learning, labour,\nand researches, that a time when the pictorial art was almost extinct\nin Italy and Greece, and indeed scarcely existed in other parts of\nEurope\u2014namely, from the fifth to the end of the eighth century\u2014a\nstyle of art had been originated, cultivated, and brought into a most\nmarvellous state of perfection in Ireland absolutely distinct from\nthat of any other part of the civilized world; and which being carried\nabroad by Irish and Saxon missionaries was adopted and imitated in\nthe schools of Charlemagne, and in all the other great schools and\nmonasteries founded by them upon the Continent.\n\nIn the middle of the ninth century the influence of the artists of\nGermany reacted on the productions of England, and in consequence of\nthe more frequent communications of learned men with Rome, classical\nmodels began to be adopted, floral decorations were introduced, and\nfigures in the Byzantine style. With these the Irish ornamentation was\ncombined, principally in the framework of the design. Then it gradually\ndisappeared from England, where it was replaced by Franco-Saxon and\nTeutonic art; so that after the tenth century Mr. Westwood has not\nfound any Anglo-Saxon manuscript executed in the Lindisfarne or Irish\nstyle. But it remained for several centuries longer in use in Ireland,\nthough the ornamental details exhibit little of the extreme delicacy\nof the earlier productions. With reference to these, Mr. Digby Wyatt\nobserves that, in delicacy of handling and minute but faultless\nexecution, the whole range of pal\u00e6ography offers nothing comparable to\nthe early Irish manuscripts, especially \u201cThe Book of Kells,\u201d the most\nmarvellous of them all. One cannot wonder, therefore, that Giraldus\nCambrensis, when over in Ireland in the reign of Henry II., on being\nshown an illuminated Irish manuscript, exclaimed, \u201cThis is more like\nthe work of angels than of men!\u201d\n\nThe peculiarities which characterize true Celtic art, whether in stone,\nmetal work, or manuscript illumination, consist in the excessive and\nminute elaborations of intricate ornamental details, such as the\nspirals, the interlaced ribands, and the entwined serpents and other\nanimal forms, so familiar to the students of our national art treasures\nin the museum of the Royal Irish Academy. These forms are invariably\nfound in all Irish decoration. The initial letters and ornamentations\nof the ancient manuscripts are reproduced in the gigantic stone crosses\nand the more delicate metal work of the shrines and reliquaries;\nand from this identity of ornamentation the age can be determined\nof all art monuments or remains, and objects readily classified as\ncotemporaneous. The Irish adhered with wonderful fidelity to their\npeculiar art ideas for at least eight hundred years; and while the\nSaxons coquetted with Frankish art, and finally gave themselves up\nwholly to Norman influence, the Irish continued their exclusive\ndevotion to the ancient and national Celtic type. Intensely national,\nindeed, were those early artists; they gave ideas to the world, but\nreceived none in exchange. In their pictures Goliath appears as an\nIrish warrior, and David bears an Irish harp in his hands while\nour Lord Himself, in one of the Irish sculptures, is represented\nwearing the Irish dress. When the nation fell under Norman sway in\nthe twelfth century, Norman ideas naturally became triumphant; but\neverything that is most beautiful and interesting in antique Irish\nart belongs to the pre-Norman period\u2014the gold ornaments, the gorgeous\nmanuscripts, such as the Gospels of Durrow and of Kells; the grandest\nof the sculptured crosses, Cormac\u2019s Chapel, that architectural gem\nof Western Europe; the richly decorated shrines, such as that of\nSt. Monchan, \u201cthe most important ancient shrine now in existence in\nthese islands,\u201d Mr. Westwood states; and specially interesting to us\nIrish, from the recorded fact that it was covered with pure gold by\nRoderick O\u2019Connor, the last king of Ireland, and was, as the Annals\nstate, the most beautiful piece of art ever made in Erin. All these\nevidences of high cultivation and artistic skill were in existence\nlong before the Norman adventurers set foot on our shores. Irish art,\nhowever, died out with Irish Nationality; and in two centuries or so,\nafter the Norman Conquest, it ceased to exist, and was replaced by\nthe pseudo-Roman or Irish Romanesque style. Irish art can be easily\ntraced throughout the Continent by the peculiar ornamentation which\ncharacterized it; and wherever, amongst the early manuscripts in\nforeign libraries, one is found surpassing all the rest in the singular\nbeauty and firmness of the writing, and the exquisite delicacy of\nthe minute and elaborate illuminations, there at once an Irish hand\nis recognized as worker, or an Irish intellect as teacher. The same\nsymbols and ideas run through all of them\u2014there are the same strange,\nelongated, contorted, intertwined figures; the same rich mosaics of\ninterlaced lines\u2014so minute, so delicate, so rich in brilliant colours,\nthat the border of the page seems powdered with crushed jewels. There\nis something almost melancholy in this devotion to a species of art\nin which there was nothing to stimulate the feelings or to warm the\nheart. No representation of nature\u2019s glories in tree or flower, or the\nsplendour of human beauty; the artist\u2019s aim being rather, it would\nseem, to kill the human in him, by forcing his genius to work only on\nthe cold abstractions of spirals and curves, and endless geometrical\ninvolutions, and the infinite monotony of those interlaced lines,\nstill coiling on, for ever and ever, through the centuries, like the\nwindings of the serpent of evil, which they were meant to symbolize,\nthrough the successive generations of our fated humanity. Truly, these\nartists offered up the sacrifice of love. Their lives and the labour\nof their lives were given humbly, silently, reverently to God, and\nthe glory of God\u2019s Word. They had no other aim in life, and when the\nwork was done, a work so beautiful that even now the world cannot equal\nit, there was no vainglorious boast of himself came from the lips of\nthe artist worker, but the manuscript ends with some simple devotional\nwords, his name, and the desire to be remembered as the writer, like\nthe _orate pro me_ on the ancient tombstones; this was all he asked or\nhoped for in return for the years of youth and life he had incarnated\nin the illuminated pages of the Gospels. For in those early ages art\nhad no existence save in union with religion. Humanity brought together\nall its most precious ointments to pour upon the feet of Jesus. In\nIreland especially\u2014the Island of Saints\u2014whatever genius could devise or\nthe hand of the artist could execute was lavished upon some work that\nwould recall the presence of God to the people, stimulate His worship,\nor make known His word; upon the Psalters, the Gospels, the crosses,\nthe costly shrines, the jewelled cases for a saint\u2019s relics, the\ngolden covers for the holy books. But nothing of that period has come\ndown to us that shows a luxury in domestic life. The Word of God was\nshrined in gold, made rich with gems and enamels, but the people lived\ntheir old simple life in their old rude huts; and even the kings gave\ntheir wealth, not to erect palaces, but to build churches, to endow\nabbeys, to help the cause of God, and speed the holy men who were His\nministers, in their crusade against evil, ignorance and darkness.\n\nIt is no idle boast to say that the Irish were the teachers of Europe\nfrom the seventh to the tenth century in art and religion. Mr. Westwood\nhas visited all the great libraries of England and the Continent\nand found abundant evidence that Irish art, or Hiberno-Saxon art,\nwas diffused over Europe during that period. The Greek and Latin\nmanuscripts are not illuminated, but are adorned with intercalated\npictures; Irish art differs from them in many respects\u2014amongst others,\nin having the figures and rich ornamentations printed on the leaves\nand borders of the book itself. He has given _facsimiles_ from Irish\nmanuscripts now existing in the libraries of Oxford, Cambridge, Durham,\nLichfield, Salisbury, Lambeth, the British Museum, and other places;\nand, passing to the Continent, has laid under contribution the great\nlibraries of Paris, Rouen, Boulogne, St. Gall, Milan, Rome, Munich,\nDarmstadt, Stockholm, Copenhagen, and even St. Petersburg, and thus\nproved the excellence to which Irish artists, or Saxon artists educated\nin Irish schools, attained more than a thousand years ago. Nor is it\nstrange that Ireland should have been the teacher, considering its\nearly Christianity, which had made some progress amongst the people\neven in St. Jerome\u2019s time; a little later amongst the Britons; but\nat the end of the sixth century Augustine and his monks found the\nstolid Anglo-Saxons still in the bonds of their ancient paganism\nand Wodenism. The Celtic race received the Christian faith gladly as\nearly as the fourth century, but it was a difficult matter to bring\nlight to the Saxon soul. It has at all times proved itself rather\nopaque in nature. The Saxon tribes of Germany did not renounce their\nidols till forced to it by the strong coercive power and keen sword of\nCharlemagne, in the latter half of the eighth century.\n\nWith Christianity came to Ireland the knowledge of letters; at least\nno older inscription has been found than that on the pillar stone\nof Lugnadon, St. Patrick\u2019s nephew, which may still be seen beside\nthe ruin of St. Patrick\u2019s oratory in one of the beautiful islands of\nLough Corrib;[11] and the oldest manuscript existing in Ireland is the\nBook of Armagh, a copy of St. Jerome\u2019s Latin version of the Gospels\nwritten in the old Roman letters, and very valuable for the beauty\nof the writing and the various drawings it contains. Learning was at\nonce consecrated to the service of God in those early days, and to\nmultiply copies of the Gospels was the praiseworthy and devout task\nof the first great teachers and missionaries. The Book of Durrow and\nthe Book of Kells, both of the early part of the sixth century, are\nbelieved to be the work of St. Columba himself. The latter, the Book of\nKells, has filled all critics with wonder and admiration. It is more\ndecorated than any existing copy of the Gospels, and is pronounced by\nlearned authorities to be \u201cthe most beautiful manuscript in existence\nof so early a date, and the most magnificent specimen of penmanship\nand illumination in the Western World.\u201d They are both written in the\nLatin uncial character, common to Europe at the time; and here it may\nbe noticed, in passing, that the so-called Irish alphabet is simply the\nLatin alphabet modified by the first missionaries to suit the Irish\nsounds, as Ulphila, the apostle of the Goths, invented an alphabet of\nmingled Greek and Latin characters, in order to enable him to make his\ntranslation of the Gospels into Gothic; and as the Greek missionaries\ninvented the Russian alphabet, which is a modified form of the Greek,\nfor a like purpose. That the Irish should retain the old form of the\nLatin letters, while most of the other nations of Europe have discarded\nit, is to be regretted, as nothing would facilitate the study of Irish\nso much at the present day, when one has so little leisure to spell out\nwith much painful endeavour the barbarous symbols of a bygone age, as\nthe adoption of the modern English alphabet. The first Irish book that\nwas ever printed appeared in 1571, and is now in the Bodleian Library.\nIt is a catechism of Irish grammar, and the Irish alphabet has suffered\nno modification or improvement since. It was about the end of the\nsixth century that the fame of Irish learning and the skill of Irish\nartists began to extend to England, and from thence to the Continent;\nand Irish scribes were employed to make copies of the Gospels and teach\nthe splendid art of illumination in the English monasteries. From\nthat period till the end of the ninth century the Irish were a power\nin Europe from their learning and piety\u2014eminent in Greek as well as\nLatin, and the great teachers of scholastic theology to the Christian\nworld. The Gospels of Lindisfarne, executed by monks of Iona in the\nseventh century, and now \u201cthe glory of the British Museum,\u201d form a most\nimportant element in the early history of Celtic art, as this book\nseems to have been the principal model for succeeding artists.\n\n [11] See Sir William Wilde\u2019s work, \u201cLough Corrib: its Shores and\n Islands,\u201d where a drawing of this inscription is given.\n\nIn the splendid folio copy of the Gospels at Copenhagen of the tenth\ncentury, supposed to have been brought to Denmark by King Canute, the\nfigure of St. Matthew seated, while another saint draws back a curtain,\nis copied from the Gospels of Lindisfarne, while the border is in\nthe tenth century style. The Gospels of St. Chad, now in Lichfield\nLibrary, are in the Irish style of the eighth century, and are very\nnoticeable as having marginal notes in Latin, Anglo-Saxon, and ancient\nBritish, the latter being the oldest specimen of the ancient British\nlanguage now in existence. The illuminations also are copied from the\nLindisfarne book. St. Chad, it is known, was educated in Ireland,\nin the school of St. Finian. There are Irish Gospels at Durham of\nthe eighth century. The Gospels of Mac-Regal are at Oxford, and the\nGospels of Mac-Duran, the smallest and most beautiful known, are in\nthe Archbishop\u2019s palace at Lambeth. As Saxon art progressed and became\ninfluenced by Roman models, the Irish scribes were chiefly employed\nwherever elegance, harmony of colour, and extreme delicacy of touch\nwere particularly requisite, as in the borders and initial letters.\nThus, the Psalter of St. Augustine, said to be from Rome, and which\nresembles in style the manuscript Virgil of the fifth century, in the\nVatican, is framed in pure Celtic art. On the Continent, also, the\nborders of the great manuscripts were generally confined to Irish\nhands. A Latin copy of the Gospels at Treves, evidently produced by\none of the establishments founded by the Irish upon the Rhine, is\nremarkable for a combination of Celtic, Teutonic, and Franco-Byzantine\nart. The borders are Irish while the figures are Byzantine. These\nilluminated borders have the glitter and radiance of a setting of\njewels, and are thus admirably suited to fulfil the true object of all\nornamentation, which Mr. Ruskin defines as being \u201cbeautiful in its\nplace, and perfect in its adaptation to the purpose for which it was\nemployed.\u201d\n\nIn the sixth century St. Gall, born in Ireland, accompanied St.\nColumbanus to the Continent, and founded the monastery in Switzerland\nthat bears his name. Here many interesting manuscripts and fragments\nare still preserved, remarkable for the old Irish marginal notes to the\nLatin text. Those are considered by philologists of such importance\nthat thirteen quarto plates and _facsimiles_ from them are given\nby Dr. Ferdinand Keller in the Zurich Society\u2019s Transactions. An\ninteresting relic of an Irish saint is also preserved in the Cathedral\nof Wurtzburg\u2014a copy of the Gospels of St. Kilian, martyred in 689, and\nwhich was found stained with his blood on opening his tomb about fifty\nyears after.\n\nThus, the Irish can be tracked, as it were, across Europe by their\nilluminated footsteps. They were emphatically the witnesses of God,\nthe light-bearers through the dark ages, and above all, the faithful\nguardians and preservers of God\u2019s sacred Word. A hundred years before\nAlfred came to Ireland to be educated, and went back to civilize his\nnative country by the knowledge he had acquired there, the Christian\nschools of Germany, under the direction of Irishmen, had been founded\nby Charlemagne. Through France, along the Rhine, through Switzerland,\nItaly, and Spain, the Irish missionaries taught and worked, founding\nschools and monasteries, and illuminating by their learning the darkest\npages of European history. One of the great treasures of the Imperial\nLibrary of Paris is a beautiful Irish copy of the Latin Gospels. The\nCollege of St. Isidore, at Rome, possesses many Irish manuscripts\u2014one\nof them is a Psalter, folio size, written throughout in letters a\nquarter of an inch long, and which is considered to be the finest of\nthe later works of the Irish school. The celebrated Golden Gospels of\nStockholm are of Hiberno-Saxon art of the ninth century. This book has\na singular history. It was stolen from England, and disappeared for\nages, but finally was discovered at Mantua in the seventeenth century,\nand purchased for the Royal Library at Stockholm. St. Petersburg\nalso possesses a highly illuminated copy of the Gospels, which was\ntaken from France at the time of the great Revolution, and found its\nway to the far North. It is a perfect and beautiful specimen of the\nIrish style of the eight century, and the initial letters can only be\ncompared to those of the Book of Kells. All these Irish manuscript\nGospels are, without exception, copies of St. Jerome\u2019s Latin version.\nNo Irish translation of the Gospels has ever been found. Learning was\nevidently considered a sacred thing, indispensable for the priesthood,\nbut not necessary for the masses; yet it seems strange that while the\nlearned and pious Irish saints and missionaries were devoting their\nlives to multiplying copies of the Gospels for other nations, and\ndisseminating them over Europe, they never thought of giving the people\nof their own land the Word of God to read in their own native tongue.\nThe leading Teutonic races, on the contrary, with their free spirit,\nwere not satisfied with accepting the doctrines of the faith, simply\nas an act of obedience to their teachers. They demanded the right of\nprivate judgment, the exercise of individual reason, and the Gospels\nwere translated into Gothic as early as the fourth century by Bishop\nUlphila for the use of the Gothic nation.\n\nThis remarkable book, called the \u201cCodex Argenteus,\u201d is now in the Royal\nLibrary of Upsala, having, after many dangers and vicissitudes, at last\nfound its way to the people who hold themselves the true descendants of\nthe Goths, and whose king still bears the proud title of \u201cKing of the\nSwedes, Goths, and Vandals;\u201d and an edition of it, with annotations,\nhas been published by the learned Professor Andreas Uppstrom, of Upsala.\n\nTowards the close of the tenth century the Frankish style of\nornamentation, a blending of the classical and the Byzantine, had\nalmost entirely superseded the beautiful and delicate Celtic art both\nin England and on the Continent, and about the fifteenth century it\ndisappeared even from our own Ireland, the country of its origin.\nThe gorgeous missals and illuminated Gospels, instinct with life,\ngenius, holy reverence, and patient love, were destined to be replaced\nsoon after by the dull mechanism of print; while Protestantism used\nall its new-found strength to destroy that innate tendency of our\nnature which seeks to manifest religious fervour, faith, and zeal by\ncostly offerings and sacrifices. The golden-bordered holy books, the\nsculptured crosses, the jewelled shrines were crushed under the heel of\nCromwell\u2019s troopers; the majestic and beautiful abbeys were desecrated\nand cast down to ruin, while beside them rose the mean and ugly\nstructures of the Reformed faith, as if the annihilation of all beauty\nwere then considered to be the most acceptable homage which man could\noffer to the God who created all beauty, and fitted the human soul to\nenjoy and manifest the spiritual, mystic, and eternal loveliness of\nform, and colour, and symmetry.\n\nSince that mournful period when the conquering iconoclasts cast down\nthe temples and crushed the spirit of our people, there has been no\nrevival of art in Ireland. It is not wonderful, therefore, that we\ncling with so much of fond, though sad, admiration to the beautiful\nmemorials of the past, and welcome with warm appreciation the efforts\nof able, learned and distinguished men to illustrate and preserve them,\nas in this splendid and costly book which Mr. Westwood has contributed\nto Celtic art.\n\n\nOUR ANCIENT CAPITAL.\n\n\nThe history of Dublin, so admirably narrated by Mr. Gilbert in his\nlearned and instructive volumes,[12] begins the modern period of\nIrish history when Ireland became indissolubly united with the British\nEmpire\u2014the greatest empire of the world\u2014and legendary lore, like all\nthe ancient usages and superstitions, began to fade and perish before\nadvancing civilization, as the luxurious undergrowth of a primeval\nforest before advancing culture.\n\n [12] \u201cThe History of Dublin.\u201d 3 vols. By J. T. Gilbert, M.R.I.A.\n Dublin.\n\nA sketch of the rise of the capital of Ireland, with all the changes\nproduced in Irish life by the new modes of thought and action\nintroduced by Norman influence, forms therefore a fitting close to the\nlegendary and early-historic period, so full of poetry and charm for\nthe imagination, with its splendour of kings and bards, its shadowy\nromance and mist-woven dreams, and its ideal fairy world of beauty\nand grace, of music and song; when the people lived the free, joyous\nlife of the childhood of humanity under their native princes, and the\nterrible struggle of a crushed and oppressed nation against a foreign\nmaster had not yet begun; the struggle that has lasted for seven\ncenturies, and still goes on with exhaustless force and fervour.\n\nThe history of cities is the history of nations\u2014the most perfect index\nof the social altitude, mental development, physical perfection,\nand political freedom, which at any given period a people may have\nattained. Every stone within a city is a hieroglyphic of the century\nthat saw it raised. By it we trace human progression through all its\nphases; from the first rude fisher\u2019s hut, the altar of the primitive\npriest, the mound of the first nomad warrior, the stone fortalice\nor simple fane of the early Christian race, up to the stately and\nbeautiful temples and palaces which evidence the luxury and refinement\nof a people in its proudest excess, or human genius in its climax of\nmanifestation.\n\nThus Babylon, Thebes, Rome, Jerusalem, are words that express nations.\nThe ever-during interest of the world circles round them, for their\nruins are true and eternal pages of human history. Every fallen column\nis a fragment of a past ritual, or a symbol of a dynasty. The very dust\nis vital with great memories, and a philosopher, like the comparative\nanatomist, might construct the entire life of a people\u2014its religion,\nliterature, and laws\u2014from these fragments of extinct generations\u2014these\nfossil paleographs of man.\n\nStatue and column, mausoleum and shrine, are trophies of a nation\u2019s\ntriumphs or its tragedies. The young children, as they gaze on them,\nlearn the story of the native heroes, poets, saints, and martyrs,\nleaders and lawgivers, who have flung their own glory as a regal mantle\nover their country. Spirits of the past, from the phantom-land, dwell\nin the midst of them. We feel their presence, and hear their words\nof inspiration or warning, alike in the grandeur or decadence of an\nancient city.\n\nModern capitals represent also, not only the history of the past, but\nthe living concentrated will of the entire nation. Thus is it with\nLondon, Berlin, and Vienna, while Paris, the _cit\u00e9 verbe_, as Victor\nHugo calls her, represents not only the tendencies of France, but of\nEurope.\n\nDublin, however, differs from all other capitals, past or present, in\nthis wise\u2014that by its history we trace, not the progress of the native\nrace, but the triumphs of its enemies; and that the concentrated will\nof Dublin has always been in antagonism to the feelings of a large\nportion of the nation.\n\nThe truth is, that though our chief city of Ireland has an historical\nexistence older than Christianity, yet this fair _Ath-Cliath_ has no\npretension to be called our ancient mother. From first to last, from a\nthousand years ago till now, Dublin has held the position of a foreign\nfortress within the kingdom; and its history has no other emblazonment\nbeyond that of unceasing hostility or indifference to the native race.\n\n\u201cThe inhabitants are mere English, though of Irish birth,\u201d wrote\nHooker, three hundred years ago. \u201cThe citizens,\u201d says Holingshed,\n\u201chave from time to time so galled the Irish, that even to this day the\nIrish fear a ragged and jagged black standard that the citizens have,\nthough almost worn to the stumps.\u201d Up to Henry the Seventh\u2019s reign,\nan Englishman of Dublin was not punished for killing an Irishman, nor\nwere Irishmen admitted to any office within the city that concerned the\ngovernment either of the souls or bodies of the citizens. The Viceroys,\nthe Archbishops, the Judges, the Mayors, the Corporations, were all and\nalways English, down to the very guild of tailors, of whom it stands\non record that they would allow no Irishman to be of their fraternity.\nAs the American colonists treated the red man, as the Spaniards of\nCortez treated the Mexicans, as the English colony of India treated\nthe ancient Indian princes, tribes, and people, so the English race\nof Dublin treated the Irish nation. They were a people to be crushed,\nruined, persecuted, tormented, extirpated; and the Irish race, it\nmust be confessed, retorted the hatred with as bitter an animosity.\nThe rising of 1641 was like all Irish attempts\u2014a wild, helpless,\ndisorganized effort at revenge; and seven years later we read that Owen\nRoe O\u2019Neil burned the country about Dublin, so that from one steeple\nthere two hundred fires could be seen at once.\n\nThis being the position of a country and its capital, it is evident\nthat no effort for national independence could gain nourishment in\nDublin. Our metropolis is associated with no glorious moment of a\nnation\u2019s career, while in all the dark tragedies of our gloomy history\nits name and influence predominate. Dublin is connected with Irish\npatriotism only by the scaffold and the gallows. Statue and column\ndo indeed rise there, but not to honour the sons of the soil. The\npublic idols are foreign potentates and foreign heroes. Macaulay\nsays eloquently on this subject, \u201cThe Irish people are doomed\nto see in every place the monuments of their subjugation; before\nthe senate-house, the statue of their conqueror\u2014within, the walls\ntapestried with the defeats of their fathers.\u201d\n\nNo public statue of an illustrious Irishman until recently ever graced\nthe Irish capital. No monument exists to which the gaze of the young\nIrish children can be directed, while their fathers tell them, \u201cThis\nwas to the glory of your countrymen.\u201d Even the lustre Dublin borrowed\nfrom her great Norman colonists has passed away. Her nobility are\nremembered only as we note the desecration of their palaces; the most\nbeautiful of all our metropolitan buildings but reminds us that there\nthe last remnant of political independence was sold; the stately\nCustom-house, that Dublin has no trade; the regal pile of Dublin\nCastle, that it was reared by foreign hands to \u201ccurb and awe the city.\u201d\n\nIt is in truth a gloomy task to awaken the memories of Dublin, even of\nthis century. There, in that obscure house of Thomas Street, visions\nrise of a ghastly night-scene, where the young, passionate-hearted\nGeraldine was struggling vainly in death-agony with his betrayers and\ncaptors. Pass on through the same street, and close by St. Catherine\u2019s\nChurch you can trace the spot where the gallows was erected for\nRobert Emmet. Before that sombre prison pile two young brothers,\nhandsome, educated, and well-born, and many a fair young form after\nthem, expiated by death their fatal aspirations for Irish freedom.\nLook at that magnificent portal, leading now to the tables of the\nmoney-changers; through it, not a century ago, men, entrusted with the\nnation\u2019s rights, entered to sell them, and came forth, not branded\ntraitors, but decorated, enriched, and rewarded with titles, pensions,\nand honours.\n\nYet the anomalous relation between our country and its capital springs\nnaturally from the antecedents of both. Dublin was neither built by\nthe Irish nor peopled by the Irish; it is a Scandinavian settlement in\nthe midst of a southern nation. Long even before the Norman invasion\ntwo races existed in Ireland, as different as the lines of migration\nby which each had reached it; and though ages have rolled away since\nScythian and Southern first met in this distant land, yet the elemental\ndistinctions have never been lost: the races have never blended\ninto one homogeneous nationality. Other nations, like the English,\nhave blended with their conquerors, and progression and a higher\ncivilization have been the result. Roman, Saxon, Dane, and Norman, each\nleft their impress on the primitive Briton; and from Roman courage,\nSaxon thrift, and Norman pride has been evolved the strong, wise, proud\nisland-nation that rules the world\u2014the Ocean-Rome. A similar blending\nof opposite elements, but in different proportions, has produced Scotch\nnational character\u2014grave, wise, learned, provident, industrious, and\nunconquerably independent. But the Irish race remains distinct from\nall others, as Jew or Zincali. It has no elective affinities, enters\ninto no new combinations, forms no new results, attracts to itself no\nScythian qualities of stern self-reliance and the indomitable pride of\nindependence, but still retains all the old virtues and vices of their\nsemi-oriental nature, which make the history of Ireland so sad a record\nof mere passionate impulses ending mostly in failure and despair. The\nEnglish, slow in speech and repellent in manner, are yet able not only\nto rule themselves well and ably, but to rule the world; while the\nIrish, so fascinating, eloquent, brave, and gifted, have never yet\nachieved a distinctive place in the political system of Europe. We\nhad even the advantage of an earlier education; we taught England her\nletters, Christianized her people, sheltered her saints, educated her\nprinces; we give her the best generals, the best statesmen, the best\narmies; yet, withal, we have never yet found the strength to govern our\nown kingdom. Ethnologists will tell you this comes of race. It may be\nso. Let us then sail up the stream of time to Ararat, and try to find\nour ancestry amongst the children of the eight primal gods, as the\nancients termed them, who there stepped forth from their ocean prison\nto people the newly baptized world.\n\nA very clever German advises all reviewers to begin from the Deluge, so\nthat by no possibility can a single fact, direct or collateral, escape\nnotice connected with the matter in hand. When treating of Ireland this\nrule becomes a necessity. Our nation dates from the dispersion, and our\nfaults and failings, our features and our speech, have an authentic\nhereditary descent of four thousand years. Other primitive nations have\nbeen lost by migration, annihilated by war, swallowed up in empires,\noverwhelmed by barbarians: thus it was that the old kingdoms of Europe\nchanged masters, and that the old nations and tongues passed away.\nHere only, in this island prison of the Atlantic, can the old race of\nprimitive Europe be still found existing as a nation, speaking the same\ntongue as the early tribes that first wandered westward, when Europe\nitself was an unpeopled wilderness.\n\nWe learn from sacred record that the first migrations of the human\nfamily, with \u201cone language and one speech,\u201d were _from_ the East; and\nevery successive wave of population has still flowed from the rising\ntowards the setting sun. The progression of intellect and science is\never westward. The march of humanity is opposed to the path of the\nplanet. Life moves contrary to matter. A metaphor, it may be, of our\nspirit exile\u2014this travelling \u201cdaily further from the East;\u201d yet, when\nat the farthest limit, we are but approaching the glory of the East\nagain.\n\nGradually, along the waters of the Mediterranean, the beautiful islands\non its bosom serving as resting-places for the wanderers, or bridges\nfor the tribes to pass over, the primal families of the Japhetian race\nreached in succession the three great Peninsulas of the Great Sea, in\neach leaving the germ of a mighty nation. Still onward, led by the\nprovidence of God, they passed the portals of the Atlantic, coasted the\nshores of the vine-clad France, and so reached at length the \u201cIsles of\nthe Setting Sun,\u201d upon the very verge of Western Europe.\n\nBut many centuries may have elapsed during the slow progression of\nthese maritime colonies, who have left their names indelibly stamped on\nthe earth\u2019s surface, from Ionia to the Tartessus of Spain; and Miriam\nmay have chanted the death-song of Pharaoh, and Moses led forth the\npeople of God, before the descendants of the first navigators landed\namidst the verdant solitudes of Ireland.\n\nThe earliest tribes that reached our island, though removed so far from\nthe centre of light and wisdom, must still have been familiar with all\nscience necessary to preserve existence, and to organize a new country\ninto a human habitation. They cleared the forests, worked the mines,\nbuilt chambers for the dead, after the manner of their kindred left in\nTyre and Greece, wrought arms, defensive and offensive, such as the\nheroes of Marathon used against the long-haired Persians; they raised\naltars and pillar-stones, still standing amongst us, mysterious and\neternal symbols of a simple primitive creed; they had bards, priests,\nand lawgivers, the old tongue of Shinar, the dress of Nineveh, and the\nancient faith whose ritual was prayer and sacrifice.\n\nThe kindred races who remained stationary, built cities and temples,\nstill a world\u2019s wonder, and arts flourished amongst them impossible to\nthe nomads of the plains, or the wanderers by the ocean islands; but\nthe destiny of dispersion was still on the race, and from these central\npoints of civilization, tribes and families constantly went forth to\nachieve new conquests over the yet untamed earth.\n\nWhatever wisdom the early island colonizers had brought with them,\nwould have died out for want of nourishment, had not these new tribes,\nfrom countries where civilization had become developed and permanent,\nconstantly given fresh impulses to progress. With stronger and more\npowerful arts and arms, they, in succession, gained dominion over their\nweaker predecessors, and by commerce, laws, arts, and learning, they\norganized families into nations, enlightening while they subjugated.\n\nThe conquest of Canaan gave the second great impetus to the human\ntides ever flowing westward. Irish tradition has even, in a confused\nmanner, preserved the names of two amongst the leaders of the Sidonian\nfugitives who landed in Ireland. Partholan, with his wife Elga, and\nGadelius, with his wife Scota.\n\n\u201cThis Gadelius,\u201d say the legends, \u201cwas a noble gentleman, right wise,\nvaliant, and well spoken, who, after Pharaoh was drowned, sailed\nfor Spain, and from thence to Ireland, with a colony of Greeks and\nEgyptians, and his wife Scota, a daughter of Pharaoh\u2019s; and he taught\nletters to the Irish, and warlike feats after the Greek and Egyptian\nmanner.\u201d\n\nThese later tribes brought with them the Syrian arts and civilization,\nsuch as dyeing and weaving, working in gold, silver, and brass, besides\nthe written characters, the same that Cadmus afterwards gave to Greece,\nand which remained in use amongst the Irish, it is said, until modified\nby Saint Patrick into their present form, to assimilate them to the\nLatin.\n\nContinued intercourse with their Syrian kindred soon filled Ireland\nwith the refinement of a luxurious civilization. From various sources,\nwe learn that in those ancient times, the native dress was costly and\npicturesque, and the habits and modes of living of the chiefs and kings\nsplendid and Oriental. The high-born and the wealthy wore tunics of\nfine linen of immense width, girdled with gold and with flowing sleeves\nafter the Eastern fashion. The fringed cloak, or _cuchula_, with a\nhood, after the Arab mode, was clasped on the shoulders with a golden\nbrooch. Golden circlets, of beautiful and classic form, confined their\nlong, flowing hair, and, crowned with their diadems, the chiefs sat at\nthe banquet, or went forth to war. Sandals upon the feet, and bracelets\nand signet rings, of rich and curious workmanship, completed the\ncostume. The ladies wore the silken robes and flowing veils of Persia,\nor rolls of linen wound round the head like the Egyptian Isis, the\nhair curiously plaited down the back and fastened with gold or silver\nbodkins, while the neck and arms were profusely covered with jewels.[13]\n\n [13] These relics of a civilization three thousand years old, may\n still be gazed upon by modern eyes in the splendid and unrivalled\n antiquarian collection of the Royal Irish Academy. The golden\n circlets, the fibulas, torques, bracelets, rings, &c., worn by the\n ancient race, are not only costly in value, but often so singularly\n beautiful in the working out of minute artistic details, that modern\n art is not merely unable to equal them, but unable even to comprehend\n how the ancient workers in metals could accomplish works of such\n delicate, almost microscopic minuteness of finish.\n\nFor successive centuries, this race, half Tyrian and half Greek, held\nundisputed possession of Ireland, maintaining, it is said, constant\nintercourse with the parent state, and, when Tyre fell, commercial\nrelations were continued with Carthage. Communication between such\ndistant lands was nothing to Ph\u0153nician enterprise. Ph\u0153nicians in the\nservice of an Egyptian king had sailed round Africa and doubled the\nCape of Good Hope two thousand years before the Portuguese. The same\npeople built the navy of King Solomon a thousand years before Christ;\nand led the fleet to India for the gold necessary for the Temple. They\ncast the brazen vessels for the altar, employing for the purpose the\ntin which their merchants must have brought from the British Isles.\nThus, to use the words of Humboldt, there can be no doubt that three\nthousand years ago \u201cthe Tyrian flag waved from Britain to the Indian\nOcean.\u201d\n\nA king of the race, long before Romulus founded Rome, erected a college\nat Tara, where the Druids taught the wisdom of Egypt, the mysteries\nof Samothrace, and the religion of Tyre. Then it was that Ireland\nwas known as _Innis-Alga_\u2014the Holy Island\u2014held sacred by the Tyrian\nmariners as the \u201cTemple of the Setting Sun:\u201d the last limit of Europe,\nfrom whence they could watch his descent into the mysterious western\nocean.\n\nBut onward still came the waves of human life, unceasing, unresting.\nDriven forth from Carthage, Spain, and Gaul, the ancient race fled\nto the limits of the coast, then surged back, fought and refought\nthe battle, conquering and yielding by turns, till at length the\nSyrian and the Latin elements blended into a new compound, which laid\nthe foundation of modern Europe. But some tribes, disdaining such a\nunion, fled from Spain to Ireland, and thus a new race, but of the old\nkindred, was flung on our shores by destiny.\n\nThe leaders, brave, warlike, and of royal blood, speedily assumed\nkingly sway, and all the subsequent monarchs of Ireland, the O\u2019Briens,\nthe O\u2019Connors, the O\u2019Neils, the O\u2019Donnels, and other noble races, claim\ndescent from them; and very proud, even to this day, are the families\namongst the Irish who can trace back their pedigree to these princely\nSpaniards.\n\nWe have spoken hitherto but of the maritime colonists\u2014that portion\nof the primal race who launched their ships on the Mediterranean to\nfound colonies and kingdoms along its shores; then passing out through\nthe ocean straits, the human tides surged upon the western limits\nof Europe, till the last wave found a rest on the green sward of\nancient Erin. The habits of these first colonists were agricultural,\ncommercial, and unwarlike; and ancient historians have left us a record\nof their temperament; volatile and fickle; passionate in joy and\ngrief, with quick vivid natures prone to sudden excesses; religious\nand superstitious; a small, dark-eyed race, lithe of limb and light of\nheart; the eternal children of humanity.\n\nFor illustrations we need not here refer to the Royal Irish Academy,\nfor as they looked and lived three thousand years ago, they may be seen\nto this day in the mountains of Connemara and Kerry.\n\nWhile this race travelled westward to the ocean by the great southern\nsea, other families of the Japhetian tribes were pressing westward\nalso, but by the great northern plains. From Western India, by the\nCaspian and the Caucasus, past the shores of the Euxine, and still\nwestward along the great rivers of Central Europe, up to the rude\ncoasts of the Baltic, could be tracked \u201cthe westward marches of the\nunknown crowded nations,\u201d carrying with them fragments of the early\nJaphetian wisdom, and memories of the ancient primal tongue brought\nfrom the far East; but, as they removed further from the great lines\nof human intercourse, and were subjected to the influence of rigorous\nclimates and nomadic habits, gradually becoming a rude, fierce people\nof warriors and hunters, predatory and cruel, living by the chase,\nwarring with the wild wolves for their prey, and with each other for\nthe best pasture-grounds. Driven by the severity of the seasons to\nperpetual migration, they built no cities and raised no monuments, save\nthe sepulchral mound, which can be traced from Tartary to the German\nOcean.\n\nWithout the civilizing aids of commerce or literature, their language\ndegenerated into barbarous dialects; their clothing was the skin\nof wild beasts; their religion, confused relics of ancient creeds,\ncontributed by the wandering colonies of Egypt, Media, Greece, and\nTyre, which occasionally blended with the Scythian hordes, wherein\nIsis, Mercury, and Hercules, the symbols of wisdom, eloquence, and\ncourage, were the objects worshipped, though deteriorated by savage and\nsanguinary rites, whose sacrifices were human victims, and whose best\nvotary was he who had slain most men.\n\nFrom long wandering through the gloomy regions where the sun is\ndarkened by perpetual clouds, they called themselves the \u201cChildren of\nthe Night,\u201d and looked on her as the primal mother of all things.\n\nTheir pastimes symbolized the fierce daring of their lives. At their\nbanquets they quaffed mead from the skulls of the slain, and chanted\nwar-songs to the music of their clashing bucklers, while their dances\nwere amid the points of their unsheathed swords.\n\nFrom the influence of climate, and from constant intermarriage amongst\nthemselves, certain physical and mental types became permanently fixed,\nand the gigantic frame, the fair hair and \u201cstern blue eyes\u201d[14] of the\nScythian tribes, along with their bold, free, warlike, independent\nspirit, are still the marked characteristic of their descendants. For\namidst these rude races of lion-hearted men, who cleared the forests of\nCentral Europe for future empires, there were great and noble virtues\nborn of their peculiar mode of life: a love of freedom, a lofty sense\nof individual dignity, bold defiance of tyranny, a fortitude and\ncourage that rose to heroism\u2014the spirit that brooks no fetter either on\nthe mind or frame. We see that such men were destined for world-rulers.\nTo them Europe is indebted for her free political systems; the\nchivalry that ennobled warfare and elevated women, and the religious\nreformation that freed Christianity from superstition. Every charter of\nhuman freedom dates from the Scythian forests.\n\n [14] The expression of Tacitus.\n\nThe great northern concourse of fierce, wild tribes, comprehended\noriginally under the name of Scythians, or Wanderers, having spread\nthemselves over the north to the very kingdom of the Frost-Giants,\namidst frozen seas and drifting glaciers, turned southward, tempted by\nsofter climes and richer lands, and under the names of Goth, Vandal,\nFrank, and Norman, devastating tribes of the Scythian warriors poured\ntheir rude masses upon the early and refined civilization of the\nMediterranean nations, conquering wherever they appeared and holding\nbravely whatever they conquered.\n\nThe Roman empire trembled and vanished before the terrible might of\nthe long-haired Goths. They sacked Rome and threatened Constantinople:\nAfrica, Italy, Spain, France, and Germany yielded to the barbaric\npower. Before the fifth century the Scythians had conquered the world,\nand every kingdom in Europe is ruled by them to this hour.\n\nHow strangely contrasted the destinies of the two great Japhetian\nraces! What vicissitudes of fortune! The refined, lettered, oriental\nlight-bringers to Europe\u2014the founders of all kingdoms, the first\nteachers of all knowledge, the race that peopled Tyre, Carthage,\nGreece, Italy, Spain, and Gaul, degraded, humbled, and almost\nannihilated; the last poor remnant of them crushed up in the remote\nfastnesses of the hills along the coast-line of Europe; step by step\ndriven backwards to the Atlantic, as the red man of America had been\ndriven to the Pacific, till, over the whole earth they can be found\nnowhere as a nation, save only in Ireland, while the rude, fierce\nScandinavian hordes have risen up to be the mightiest of the earth.\nGreece subdued Asia, and Rome subdued Greece, but Scythia conquered\nRome! The children of night and of the dark forests rule the kingdoms\nthat rule the world.\n\nThey have given language and laws to modern empires, and at the present\nday are at the head of all that is most powerful, most thoughtful, most\nenterprising, and most learned throughout the entire globe.\n\nThe story of how the Scythian first came to the British Islands, has\nbeen preserved in the Welsh annals, which date back three thousand\nyears. The legend runs that their ancestors, the nation of the Cimbri,\nwandered long over Europe, forgetting God\u2019s name, and the early wisdom.\nAt length they crossed \u201cthe hazy sea\u201d (the German Ocean) from the\ncountry of the pools (Belgium) and came to Britain, the sea-girt land,\ncalled by them Cambria,[15] or, first mother; and they were the first\nwho trod the soil of Britain. There their poets and bards recovered\nthe lost name of God, the sacred I.A.O., and the primal letters their\nforefathers had known, called the ten signs. And ever since they\nhave possessed religion and literature, though the bards kept the\nsigns secret for many ages, so that all learning might be limited to\nthemselves.\n\n [15] This is the Latinized form of the original word.\n\nThe paramount monarch of the Cimbri nation reigned at London, and\na state of poetry and peace long continued, till the Dragon-Aliens\nappeared on their coasts. The ancient Cimbri retreated into Wales,\nwhere they have ever since remained. The Picts seized on Caledonia, and\nthe Saxons on England, until, in their turn, they were conquered by the\nDanes.\n\nIreland at that period was the most learned and powerful island of\nthe West. Through all changes of European dynasties she retained her\nindependence. From the Milesian to the Norman, no conqueror had trod\nher soil.[16]\n\n [16] The Danes were never more than a colony in Ireland.\n\nMeanwhile England, who never yet successfully resisted an invading\nenemy, passed under many a foreign yoke. For five hundred years the\nRomans held her as a province to supply their legions with recruits,\nand the abject submission of the natives called forth the bitter\nsarcasm, that \u201cthe good of his country was the only cause in which a\nBriton had forgot to die.\u201d\n\nThe acquisition of Ireland was eagerly coveted by the imperial race,\nbut though Agricola boasted he would conquer it with a single legion,\nand even went so far towards the completion of his design as to line\nall the opposite coasts of Wales with his troops, yet no Roman soldier\never set foot on Irish soil.\n\nRome had enough of work on hand just then, for Alaric the Goth is at\nher gates, and Attila, the scourge of God, is ravaging her fairest\nprovinces. The imperial mother of Colonies can no longer hold her own\nor aid her children; England is abandoned to her fate, and the Irish\nfrom the west, the Scythian from the north, the Saxon from the east,\nassault, and desolate, and despoil her.\n\nThe Scythian Picts pour down on her cities, \u201ckilling, burning, and\ndestroying.\u201d The Irish land in swarms from their _corrahs_, and \u201cwith\nfiery outrage and cruelty, carry, harry, and make havoc of all.\u201d Thus\nbandied between two insolent enemies, the English sent ambassadors to\nRome \u201cwith their garments rent, and sand upon their heads,\u201d bearing\nthat most mournful appeal of an humbled people\u2014\u201cto \u00c6tius, thrice\nConsul: the groans of the Britons. The barbarians drive us to the sea,\nthe sea drives us back to the barbarians; thus, between two kinds of\ndeath, we are either slaughtered or drowned.\u201d\n\nBut no help comes, for Rome herself is devastated by Hun and Vandal,\nand the empire is falling like a shattered world.\n\nThus England passed helplessly under the Saxon yoke, and so rested some\nhundred years; Ireland the while remaining as free from Saxon thrall as\nshe had been from Roman rule.\n\nThrough all these centuries the current of human life still flowed\nwestward from the unknown mysterious regions of Central Asia.\n\nIt was about the close of the eighth century, when the Scythian\nCharlemagne was crowned Emperor of Rome in the city of the C\u00e6sars,\nthat the fierce children of Thor and Odin, after having swept across\nNorthern Europe to the limit of the land, flung their fortunes to the\nstormy seas, and began to earn that terrible yet romantic renown with\nwhich history and saga have invested the deeds of the Scandinavian sea\nkings. The raven on their black banner was the dreaded symbol of havoc\nand devastation all along the sea coasts and islands of the Atlantic.\nIn England, Saxon rule fell helplessly before the power of the new\ninvaders, as wave after wave of the ruthless sea-ravagers dashed upon\nthe sluggish masses of the heptarchy.\n\nAfter two hundred years of protracted agony and strife, Saxon sway was\nannihilated for ever, and Canute the Dane reigned in England.\n\nMeanwhile, the well-appointed fleets of Norsemen and Danes were\nprowling about the cost of Ireland, trying to obtain a footing on her\nyet unconquered soil.\n\nWhen these pagan pirates first appeared on our shores, Ireland had\nenjoyed a Christian civilization of four centuries. The light of the\ntrue faith had been there long before it shone upon rude Saxon England.\nThe Irish of that early era excelled in music, poetry, and many arts.\nThey had a literature, colleges for the learned, an organized and\nindependent hierarchy, churches and abbeys, whose ruins still attest\nthe sense of the beautiful, as well as the piety which must have\nexisted in the founders. Their manuscripts, dating from this period,\nare older than those of any other nation of Northern Europe; their\nmusic was distinguished by its pathetic beauty, and the ballads of\ntheir bards emulated in force of expression those of ancient Homer.\nAt the time that the Scots were totally ignorant of letters, and that\nthe princes of the heptarchy had to resort to Irish colleges for\ninstruction in the liberal sciences, Ireland held the proud title of\nthe \u201cIsland of Saints and Scholars;\u201d and learned men went forth from\nher shores to evangelize Europe.\n\nOne Irish priest founded an abbey at Iona; another was the friend\nand counsellor of Charlemagne; a third, of equal celebrity, founded\nmonasteries both in France and England. The Irish of eleven centuries\nago were the apostles of Europe!\n\nThe Norsemen, or \u201cwhite strangers,\u201d as the Irish called them who swept\nlike a hurricane over this early civilization, were fierce pagans, who\nrespected neither God nor man. Not till three centuries after their\narrival in Ireland were they converted to the Christian faith. They\npillaged towns, burned churches, destroyed manuscripts of the past\nwhich no future can restore, plundered abbeys of all that learning,\nsanctity and civilization had accumulated of the sacred, the costly,\nand the beautiful, and gave the Irish nothing in return but lessons of\ntheir own barbarous ferocity. Then it was we hear how Irish mothers\ngave their infants food on the point of their father\u2019s sword, and at\nthe baptism left the right arms of their babes unchristened that they\nmight strike the more relentlessly. The Syrian and the Scythian, the\nchildren of the one Japhetian race, met at last in this _ultima thule_\nof Europe, after a three thousand years\u2019 divergence; and even then,\nthough they met with fierce animosity and inextinguishable hatred,\nyet lingerings of a far-off ancient identity in the language, the\ntraditions, and the superstitions of each, could still be traced in\nthese children of the one mighty father.\n\nGreat consternation must have been in Ireland when the report spread\nthat a fleet of sixty strange sail was in the Boyne, and that another\nof equal number was sailing up the Liffey. The foreigners leaped from\ntheir ships to conquest. Daring brought success; they sacked, burned,\npillaged, murdered; put a captive king to death in his own gyves at\ntheir ships; drove the Irish before them from the ocean to the Shannon;\ntill, with roused spirit and gathered force, the confederate kings of\nIreland in return drove back the white foreigners from the Shannon to\nthe ocean. But they had gained a footing, and inroads, with plunder\nand devastation, never ceased from that time till the whole eastern\nsea-border of Ireland was their own. There they established themselves\nfor four centuries, holding their first conquests, but never gaining\nmore, until they were finally expelled by the Normans.\n\nTo these red-haired pirates and marauders Dublin owes its existence\nas a city. The _Ath-Cliath_ of the Irish, though of ancient fame, was\nbut an aggregate of huts by the side of the Liffey, which was crossed\nby a bridge of hurdles. The kings of Ireland never made it a royal\nresidence, even after Tara was cursed by St. Rodan. Their palaces were\nin the interior of the island; but no doubt exists that _Ath-Cliath_,\nthe Eblana of Ptolemy, was a well-known port, the resort of merchantmen\nfrom the most ancient times. There were received the Spanish wines, the\nSyrian silks, the Indian gold, destined for the princes and nobles; and\nfrom thence the costly merchandize was transported to the interior.\n\nBut Dublin, with its fine plain watered by the Liffey, its noble bay,\nguarded by the sentinel hills, at once attracted the special notice of\nthe bold Vikings. Their chiefs fixed their residence there, and assumed\nthe title of Kings of Dublin, or Kings of the Dark Water, as the word\nmay be translated. They erected a fortress on the very spot where\nthe Norman Castle now rules the city, and, after their conversion, a\ncathedral, still standing amongst us, venerable with the memories of\neight hundred years.\n\nTheir descendants are with us to this day, and many families might\ntrace back their lineage to the Danish leaders, whose names have been\npreserved in Irish history. Amongst sundry of \u201cthese great and valiant\ncaptains\u201d are named Swanchean, Griffin, Albert Roe, Torbert Duff,\nGoslyn, Walter English, Awley, King of Denmark, from whom descend the\nMacaulays, made more illustrious by the modern historian of their race\nthan by the ancient pirate king. There are also named Randal O\u2019Himer,\nAlgot, Ottarduff Earl, Fyn Crossagh, Torkill, Fox Wasbagg, Trevan,\nBaron Robert, and others; names interesting, no doubt, to those who can\nclaim them for their ancestry.\n\nThe Norsemen having walled and fortified Dublin, though including\nbut a mile within its circumference\u2014whereas now the city includes\nten\u2014proceeded to fortify Dunleary, now Kingstown, in order to secure\nfree passage to their ships. Then, from their stronghold of Dublin,\nthey made incessant inroads upon the broad rich plains of the interior.\nThey spread all along Meath, which received its name from them, of\n\u201cFingall\u201d (the land of the white stranger); they devastated as far\nnorth as Armagh, as far west as the Shannon; Wexford, Waterford, and\nLimerick became half Danish cities. Everywhere their course was marked\nby barbaric spoliation. At one time it is noticed that they carried\noff a \u201cgreat prey of women\u201d\u2014thus the Romans woo\u2019d their Sabine brides;\nindeed the accounts in the Irish annals of the shrines they burned,\nthe royal graves they plundered, the treasures they pillaged, the\nferocities they perpetrated, are as interminable as they are revolting.\n\nWhen beaten back by the Irish princes they crouched within their walled\ncity of Dublin, till an opportunity offered for some fresh exercise of\nmurderous cunning, some act of audacious rapine. Thus the contest was\ncarried on for four centuries between the colonists and the nation;\nmutual hatred ever increasing; the Irish kings of Leinster still\nclaiming the rights of feudal lords over the Danes; the Danes resisting\nevery effort made to dislodge them, though they were not unfrequently\nforced to pay tribute.\n\nSometimes the Irish kings hired them as mercenaries to assist in the\ncivil wars which raged perennially amongst them. Sometimes there were\nintermarriages between the warring foes\u2014the daughter of Brian Boro\u2019\nwedded Sitric, King of the Danes of Dublin. Occasionally the Irish\nkings got possession of Dublin, and ravaged and pillaged in return.\nOnce the Danes were driven forth completely from the city, and forced\nto take refuge upon \u201cIreland\u2019s Eye,\u201d the lone sea rock, since made\nmemorable by a tragic history. Malachy, King of Meath, besieged Dublin\nfor three days and three nights, burned the fortress, and carried off\nthe Danish regalia; hence the allusion in Moore\u2019s song to \u201cThe Collar\nof Gold which he won from the proud invader.\u201d But the most terrible\ndefeat the Danes ever sustained was at Clontarf, when ten thousand men\nin coats of mail were opposed to King Brian; but \u201cthe ten thousand in\narmour were cut in pieces, and three thousand warriors slain besides.\u201d\nEven the Irish children fought against the invader. The grandchild of\nKing Brian, a youth of fifteen, was found dead with his hand fast bound\nin the hair of a Dane\u2019s head, whom the child had dragged to the sea.[17]\n\n [17] Hogan, the great historical sculptor of Ireland, has illustrated\n this era of Irish history by a fine group, heroic and poetical\n in idea, as well as beautiful in execution, like every work that\n proceeded from the gifted mind of this distinguished artist.\n\nStill the Danish colony was not uprooted, though after this defeat they\ngrew more humble, kept within their city of Dublin, and paid tribute to\nthe kings of Leinster, and to the paramount monarch of Ireland.\n\nUp to this period, therefore, we see that the Irish race had no\nrelationship whatever with their capital city; they never saw the\ninside of their metropolis unless they were carried there as prisoners,\nor that they entered with fire and sword; and, stranger still, during\nthe many centuries of the existence of Dublin as a city, up to the\npresent time, the Irish race have never ruled there, or held possession\nof the fortress of their capital.\n\nBut the time of judgment upon the Danes was approaching, though it\ndid not come by Irish hands. As the Saxons in England fell before\nthe Danes, so the Danes had fallen before the Normans. The Normans,\na Scythian race likewise, but more beautiful, more brave, more\nchivalrous, courtly, and polished, than any race that had preceded\nthem, came triumphant from Italy and France to achieve the conquest of\nEngland, which yielded almost without a struggle. One great battle, and\nthen no more. William the Norman, or rather the Scythian Frenchman,\nascends the throne of Alfred. Dane and Saxon fall helplessly beneath\nhis feet, and his tyrannies, his robberies, his confiscations, are\nsubmitted to by the subjugated nation without an effort at resistance.\n\nHis handful of Norman nobles seized upon the lands, the wealth, the\nhonours, the estates of the kingdom, and retain them to this hour. And\njustly; so noble a race as the Norman knights were made for masters.\nThe Saxons sank at once to the level of serfs, of traders and menials,\nfrom which they have never risen, leaving England divided into a Norman\naristocracy who have all the land, and a Saxon people who have all the\ntoil; crushed by the final conquerors, they sank to be the sediment of\nthe kingdom.\n\nThe Irish had a different destiny; for five hundred years they fought\nthe battle for independence with the Normans, nor did their chiefs sink\nto be the pariahs of the kingdom, as the Saxons of England, but retain\ntheir princely pretensions to this day. The O\u2019Connors, the O\u2019Briens,\nO\u2019Neils, Kavanaghs, O\u2019Donnels, yield to no family in Europe in pride of\nblood and ancestral honours; while, by intermarriage with the Norman\nlords, a race was founded of Norman Irish\u2014perhaps the finest specimens\nof aristocracy that Europe produced\u2014the Geraldines at their head,\nloving Ireland, and of whom Ireland may be proud.\n\nA hundred years passed by after the Norman conquest of England. Three\nkings of the Norman race had reigned and died, and still the conquest\nof Ireland was unattempted; no Norman knight had set foot on Irish soil.\n\nThe story of their coming begins with just such a domestic drama as\nHomer had turned into an epic two thousand years before. A fair and\nfaithless woman, a king\u2019s daughter, fled from her husband to the arms\nof a lover. All Ireland is outraged at the act. The kings assemble in\nconclave and denounce vengeance upon the crowned seducer, Dermot, King\nof Leinster.\n\nHe leagues with the Danes of Dublin, the abhorred of his countrymen,\nbut the only allies he can find in his great need. A battle is fought\nin which Dermot is defeated, his castle of Ferns is burned, his\nkingdom is taken from him, and he himself is solemnly deposed by the\nconfederate kings, and banished beyond the seas. Roderick, King of all\nIreland, is the inexorable and supreme judge. He restores the guilty\nwife to her husband; but the husband disdains to receive her, and she\nretires to a convent, where she expiates her crime and the ruin of her\ncountry by forty years of penance. The only records of her afterwards\nare of her good deeds. She built a nunnery at Clonmacnoise; she gave a\nchalice of gold to the altar of Mary, and cloth for nine altars of the\nChurch; and then Dervorgil, the Helen of our Iliad, is heard of no more.\n\nDermot, her lover, went to England, seeking aid to recover his kingdom\nof Leinster. In a year he returns with a band of Welsh mercenaries,\nand marches to Dublin; but is again defeated by the confederate kings,\nand obliged to pay a hundred ounces of gold to O\u2019Rourke of Breffny,\n\u201cfor the wrong he had done him respecting his wife,\u201d and to give up\nas hostage to King Roderick his only son. But while parleying with\nthe Irish kings, Dermot was secretly soliciting English aid, and not\nunsuccessfully.\n\nMemorable was the year 1170, when the renowned Strongbow, Gilbert de\nClare, Earl of Pembroke, and his Norman knights, landed at Wexford to\naid the banished king; and when Dermot welcomed his illustrious allies,\nlittle he thought that by his hand\n\n \u201cThe emerald gem of the Western world,\n Was set in the crown of a stranger.\u201d\n\nThe compact with the foreigners was sealed with his son\u2019s blood. No\nsooner did King Roderick hear of the Norman landing, than he ordered\nthe royal Kavanagh, the hostage of King Dermot, to be put to death; and\nhenceforth a doom seemed to be on the male heirs of the line of Dermot,\nas fatal as that which rested upon the house of Atrides.\n\nDermot had an only daughter remaining. He offered her in marriage to\nthe Earl of Pembroke, with the whole kingdom of Leinster for her dowry,\nso as he would help him to his revenge. After a great battle against\nthe Danes, in which the Normans were victorious, the marriage was\ncelebrated at Waterford.\n\n \u201cSad Eva gazed\n All round that bridal field of blood, amazed;\n Spoused to new fortunes.\u201d[18]\n\n [18] The Irish Celt to the Irish Norman, from \u201cPoems,\u201d by Aubrey de\n Vere.\n\nNo record remains to us of the beauty of the bride, or in what language\nthe Norman knight wooed her to his arms; this only we know, that\nEva, Queen of Leinster in her own right, and Countess of Pembroke by\nmarriage, can number amongst her descendants the present Queen of\nEngland. Of the bridegroom, Cambrensis tells us that he was \u201cruddy,\nfreckle-faced, grey-eyed, his face feminine, his voice small, his\nneck little, yet of a high stature, ready with good words and gentle\nspeeches.\u201d\n\nThe same authority describes Dermot from personal observation\u2014\u201cA tall\nman of stature, of a large and great body, a valiant and bold warrior,\nand by reason of his continued hallooing his voice was hoarse. He\nrather chose to be feared than loved. Rough and generous, hateful unto\nstrangers, he would be against all men and all men against him.\u201d\n\nFrom Waterford to Dublin was a progress of victory to Dermot and his\nallies, for they marched only through the Danish settlements of which\nDermot was feudal lord. At Dublin King Roderick opposed them with an\narmy. Three days the battle raged; then the Danes of Dublin, fearing\nDermot\u2019s wrath, opened their gates, and offered him gold and silver\nin abundance if he would spare their lives; but, heedless of treaties,\nthe Norman knights rushed in, slew the Danes in their own fortress,\ndrove the rest to the sea; and thus ended the Danish dynasty of four\ncenturies. Never more did they own a foot of ground throughout the\nlength or breadth of the land. An Irish army, aided by Norman skill,\nhad effected their complete extinction. The Kingdom of Leinster was\nregained for Dermot, and he and his allies placed a garrison in\nDublin. This was the last triumph of the ancient race. The kingdom was\nlost even at the moment it seemed regained. That handful of Scythian\nwarriors, scarcely visible amid Dermot\u2019s great Irish army, are destined\nto place the yoke upon the neck of ancient Ireland.\n\nThe brave Roderick gathered together another army, and, with sixty\nthousand men, laid siege to Dublin, O\u2019Rourke of Breffny aiding him.\nThey were repulsed. O\u2019Rourke was taken prisoner, and hanged with his\nhead downwards, then beheaded and the head stuck on one of the centre\ngates of the castle, \u201ca spectacle of intense pity to the Irish;\u201d and\nRoderick retired into Connaught to recruit more forces.\n\nThere is something heroic and self-devoted in the efforts which, for\neighteen years, were made by Roderick against the Norman power. Brave,\nlearned, just, and enlightened beyond his age, he alone of all the\nIrish princes saw the direful tendency of the Norman inroad. All the\nrecords of his reign prove that he was a wise and powerful monarch.\nHe had a fleet on the Shannon, the like of which had never been seen\nbefore. He built a royal residence in Connaught, the ruins of which\nare still existing to attest its former magnificence, so far beyond\nall structures of the period, that it was known in Ireland as the\nbeautiful house. He founded a chair of literature at Armagh, and left\nan endowment in perpetuity, to maintain it for the instruction of the\nyouth of Ireland and Scotland. A great warrior, and a fervent patriot,\nhis first effort, when he obtained the crown, was to humble the Danish\npower. Dublin was forced to pay him tribute, and he was inaugurated\nthere with a grandeur and luxury unknown before. When Dermot outraged\nmorality, he deposed and banished him. When Dermot further sinned, and\ntraitorously brought over the foreigner, Roderick, with stern justice,\navenged the father\u2019s treason by the son\u2019s life. His own son, the heir\nof his kingdom, leagued with the Normans, and was found fighting in\ntheir ranks. Roderick, like a second Brutus, unpitying, yet heroically\njust, when the youth was brought a prisoner before him, himself ordered\nhis eyes to be put out. His second son also turned traitor, and\ncovenanted with the Normans to deprive his father of the kingdom. Then\nRoderick, surrounded by foreign foes and domestic treachery, quitted\nConnaught, and went through the provinces of Ireland, seeking to stir\nup a spirit as heroic as his own in the hearts of his countrymen. Soon\nafter his unworthy son was killed in some broil, and Roderick resumed\nthe kingly functions; but while all the other Irish princes took the\noath of fealty to King Henry, he kept aloof beyond the Shannon, equally\ndisdaining treachery or submission. His last son, the only one worthy\nof him, being defeated in a battle by the Normans, slew himself in\ndespair.\n\nThe male line of his house was now extinct; the independence of his\ncountry was threatened; Norman power was growing strong in the land,\nand his continued efforts for eighteen years to arouse the Irish\nprinces to a sense of their danger was unavailing. Wearied, disgusted,\nheartbroken, it may be, he voluntarily laid down the sceptre and the\ncrown, and retired to the monastery of Cong, where he became a monk,\nand thus, in penance and seclusion, passed ten years\u2014the weary ending\nof a fated life.\n\nHe died there, twenty-eight years after the Norman invasion, \u201cafter\nexemplary penance, victorious over the world and the devil;\u201d and the\nchroniclers record his title upon his grave where he is laid\u2014\n\n \u201cRoderick O\u2019Connor,\n King of all Ireland, both of the Irish and English.\u201d\n\nSeven centuries have passed since then, yet even now, which of us could\nenter the beautiful ruins of that ancient abbey, wander through the\narched aisles tapestried by ivy, or tread the lonely silent chapel,\nonce vocal with prayer and praise, without sad thoughts of sympathy\nfor the fate of the last monarch of Ireland, and perchance grave\nthoughts likewise over the destiny of a people who, on that grave of\nnative monarchy, independence, and nationality, have as yet written no\nRESURGAM.\n\nExactly ten months after the Normans took possession of Dublin,\nKing Dermot, \u201cby whom a trembling sod was made of all Ireland, died\nof an insufferable and unknown disease\u2014for he became putrid while\nliving\u2014without a will, without penance, without the body of Christ,\nwithout unction, as his evil deeds deserved.\u201d\n\nImmediately the Earl of Pembroke assumed the title of King of Leinster\nin right of his wife Eva. Whereupon Henry of England grew alarmed at\nthe independence of his nobility, and hastened over to assert his\nclaims as lord paramount. To his remonstrances Strongbow answered,\n\u201cWhat I won was with the sword; what was given me I give you.\u201d An\nagreement was then made by which Strongbow retained Dublin, while Henry\nappointed what nobles he chose over the other provinces of Leinster.\n\nWhen the first Norman monarch landed amongst us, the memorable 18th day\nof October, 1172, no resistance was offered by any party; no battle\nwas fought. The Irish chiefs were so elated at the Danish overthrow,\nthat they even volunteered oaths of fealty to the foreign prince who\nhad been in some sort their deliverer. Calmly, as in a state pageant,\nHenry proceeded from Wexford to Dublin; his route lay only through the\nconquered Danish possessions, now the property of the Countess Eva;\nthere was no fear therefore of opposition. On reaching the city, \u201che\ncaused a royal palace to be built, very curiously contrived of smooth\nwattels, after the manner of the country, and there, with the kings and\nprinces of Ireland, did keep Christmas with great solemnity,\u201d on the\nvery spot where now stands St. Andrew\u2019s Church.\n\nKing Henry remained six months in Ireland, the longest period which\na foreign monarch has ever passed amongst us, and during that time\nhe never thought of fighting a battle with the Irish. As yet, the\nwhole result of Norman victories was the downfall of the Danes, in\nwhich object the Irish had gladly assisted. Strongbow and Eva reigned\npeacefully in our capital. Henry placed governors over the other\nDanish cities, and in order that Dublin, from which the Danes had been\nexpelled, might be repeopled, he made a present of our fair city to the\ngood people of Bristol.\n\nAccordingly a colony from that town, famed for deficiency in personal\nattractions, came over and settled here; but thirty years after, the\nIrish, whose instincts of beauty were no doubt offended by the rising\ngeneration of Bristolians, poured down from the Wicklow hills upon\nthe ill-favoured colony, and made a quick ending of them by a general\nmassacre.\n\nIn a fit of penitence, also, for the murdered \u00c0 Becket, Henry founded\nthe Abbey of Thomas Court, from which Thomas Street derives its name,\nand then the excommunicated king quitted Ireland, leaving it unchanged,\nsave that Henry the Norman held the possessions of Torkil the Dane, and\nDublin, from a Danish, had become a Norman city. Five hundred years\nmore had to elapse before English jurisdiction extended beyond the\nancient Danish pale, and a Cromwell or a William of Nassau was needed\nfor the final conquest of Ireland, as well as for the redemption of\nEngland.\n\nNothing can be more absurd than to talk of a Saxon conquest of Ireland.\nThe Saxons, an ignorant, rude, inferior race, could not even maintain\ntheir ascendency in England. They fell before the superior power,\nintelligence, and ability of the Norman, and the provinces of Ireland\nthat fell to the first Norman nobles were in reality not gained by\nbattles, but by the intermarriage of Norman lords with the daughters\nof Irish kings. Hence it was that in right of their wives the Norman\nnobles early set up claims independent of the English crown, and the\nhereditary rights, being transmitted through each generation, were\nperpetually tempting the Norman aristocracy into rebellion. English\nsupremacy was as uneasily borne by the De Lacys, the Geraldines, the\nButlers, and others of the Norman stock, as by the O\u2019Connors, the\nKavanaghs, the O\u2019Neils, or the O\u2019Briens. The great Richard de Burgho\nmarried Odierna, grand-daughter of Cathal Crovdearg, king of Connaught.\nHence the De Burghos assumed the title of Lords of Connaught.\n\nKing Roderick, as we have said, left no male issue. His kingdom\ndescended to his daughter, who married the Norman knight, Hugo de Lacy.\nImmediately De Lacy set up a claim as independent prince in right of\nhis wife, assumed legal state, took the title of King of Meath, and\nappeared in public with a golden crown upon his head, and so early as\ntwenty-five years after the invasion, John de Courcy and the son of\nthis De Lacy marched _against_ the English of Leinster and Munster.\nMany a romance could be woven of the destiny and vicissitudes of this\ngreat race, half Irish, half Norman; independent princes by the one\nside, and English subjects by the other.\n\nThe great Earl of Pembroke lived but a few years after his capture of\nDublin. The Irish legends say that St. Bridget killed him. However, he\nand Eva had no male heir, and only one daughter, named Isabel, after\nthe Earl\u2019s mother, who was also aunt to the reigning king of Scotland.\n\nThis young girl was sole heiress of Leinster and of her father\u2019s Welsh\nestates. Richard C\u0153ur de Lion took her to his court at London, and she\nbecame his ward. In due time she married William Marshall, called the\ngreat Earl, hereditary Earl Marshal of England, and Earl of Pembroke\nand Leinster, in right of his wife. High in office and favour with the\nking, we read that he carried the sword of state before Richard at his\ncoronation, and as a monument of his piety, he left Tintern Abbey, in\nthe County Wexford, erected by him on his wife\u2019s property.\n\nIsabel and Earl William had five sons and five daughters. The five\nsons, William, Walter, Gilbert, Anselm, and Richard (Isabel called no\nson of hers after the royal traitor Dermot, her grandfather) inherited\nthe title in succession, and all died childless. We have said there was\na doom upon Dermot\u2019s male posterity.\n\nThe inheritance was then divided between the five daughters, each of\nwhom received a province for a dower. Carlow, Kilkenny, the Queen\u2019s\nCounty, Wexford, and Kildare were the five portions. Maud, the eldest,\nmarried the Earl of Norfolk, who became Earl Marshal of England in\nright of his wife.\n\nIsabel, the second, married the Earl of Gloucester, and her\ngranddaughter, Isabel also, was mother to the great Robert Bruce, who\nwas therefore great-great-great-grandson of Eva and Strongbow. Eva,\nthe third daughter, married the Lord de Breos, and from a daughter of\nhers, named Eva likewise, descended Edward the Fourth, King of England,\nthrough whose granddaughter Margaret Queen of Scotland, daughter of\nHenry the Seventh, the present reigning family of England claim their\nright to the throne. Through two lines, therefore, our Most Gracious\nMajesty can trace back her pedigree to Eva the Irish princess.\n\nJoan, whose portions were Wexford, married Lord Valentia, half-brother\nto King Henry the Third, and the male line failing, the inheritance was\ndivided between two daughters, from one of whom the Talbots, Earls of\nShrewsbury, inherit their Wexford estates.\n\nFrom Sybil, the youngest, who married the Earl of Ferrars and Derby,\ndescended the Earls of Winchester, the Lords Mortimer, and other noble\nraces. She had seven daughters, who all married Norman lords, so that\nscarcely a family could be named of the high and ancient English\nnobility, whose wealth has not been increased by the estates of Eva,\nthe daughter of King Dermot; and thus it came to pass that Leinster\nfell by marriage and inheritance, not by conquest, into the possession\nof the great Norman families, who, of course, acknowledged the King\nof England as their sovereign; and the English monarchs assumed\nthenceforth the title of Lords of Ireland\u2014a claim which they afterwards\nenforced over the whole country.\n\nThe destiny of the descendants of De Lacy and King Roderick\u2019s daughter\nwas equally remarkable. They had two sons, Hugh and Walter, who,\nbefore they were twenty-one, threw off English allegiance, and set up\nas independent princes. To avoid the wrath of King John they fled to\nFrance, and took refuge in an abbey, where, disguised as menials, the\ntwo young noblemen found employment in garden-digging, preparing mud\nand bricks, and similar work. By some chance the abbot suspected the\ndisguise, and finally detected the princes in the supposed peasants.\nHe used his knowledge of their secret to obtain their pardon from King\nJohn, and Hugh De Lacy was created Earl of Ulster. He left an only\ndaughter, his sole heir. She married a De Burgho, who, in right of\nhis wife, became Earl of Ulster, and from them descended Ellen, wife\nof Robert Bruce, King of Scotland. It is singular that the mother\nof Robert Bruce should have been descended from Eva, and his wife\nfrom King Roderick\u2019s daughter. The granddaughter of Robert Bruce,\nthe Princess Margery, married the Lord High Steward of Scotland, and\nthrough her the Stuarts claimed the crown. From thence it is easy to\ntrace how the royal blood of the three kingdoms meet in the reigning\nfamily of England. Another descendant of the Earls of Ulster (an only\ndaughter likewise) married Lionel, Duke of Clarence, son of Edward the\nThird, who, in the right of his wife, became Earl of Ulster and Lord of\nConnaught, and these titles finally merged in the English crown in the\nperson of Edward the Fourth. From all these genealogies one fact may\nbe clearly deduced, that the present representative of the royal Irish\nraces of Eva and Roderick, and the lineal heiress of their rights, is\nHer Majesty Queen Victoria.\n\nThe proud and handsome race of Norman Irish, that claimed descent\nfrom these intermarriages, were the nobles, of whom it was said,\n\u201cThey were more Irish than the Irish themselves.\u201d The disposition\nto become independent of England was constantly manifested in them.\nThey publicly asserted their rights, renounced the English dress and\nlanguage, and adopted Irish names. Thus Sir Ulick Burke, ancestor of\nLord Clanricarde, became MacWilliam Oughter (or upper), and Sir Edmond\nAlbanagh, progenitor of the Earl of Mayo, became MacWilliam Eighter\n(or lower). Richard, son of the Earl of Norfolk, and grandson of Eva,\nset up a claim to be independent King of Leinster, and was slain by\nthe English. We have seen that Walter and Hugh De Lacy, grandsons of\nRoderick, were in open rebellion against King John. A hundred years\nlater, two of the same race, named Walter and Hugh likewise, were\nproclaimed traitors for aiding the army of Robert Bruce, who claimed\nthe crown of Ireland for his brother Edward, and the two De Lacys were\nfound dead by the side of Edward Bruce at the great battle of Dundalk,\nwhere the Scotch forces were overthrown.\n\nOnce, even the Geraldines and the Fitzmaurices took prisoner the\nJusticiary of Dublin, as the Lord-Lieutenant of that day was named.\nMeanwhile the Irish princes of the West retained their independence;\nsometimes at feud, sometimes in amity with the English of the Eastern\ncoast. We read that \u201cthe English of Dublin invited Hugh, King of\nConnaught, to a conference, and began to deal treacherously with\nhim; but William Mareschall, his friend, coming in with his forces,\nrescued him, in despite of the English, from the middle of the Court,\nand escorted him to Connaught.\u201d Both races were equally averse to\nthe domination of the English crown. The Geraldines and Butlers, the\nDe Burghos and De Lacys, were as intractable as the O\u2019Connors of\nConnaught, or the O\u2019Neils of Tyrone; even more so. The Great O\u2019Neil\nsubmitted to Elizabeth; but two hundred years later the Geraldines had\nstill to add the name of another martyr for liberty to the roll of\ntheir illustrious ancestors.\n\nFrequently the Normans fought amongst themselves as fiercely as if\nopposed to the Irish. The Earl of Ulster, a De Burgho, the same who\nis recorded to have given the first entertainment at Dublin Castle,\ntook his kinsman, Walter Burke, prisoner, and had him starved to death\nin his own castle; a tragedy which might have been made as memorable\nas that of Ugolino in the _Torre del Fame_, had there been a Dante in\nIreland to record it. For this act the kinsmen of Walter Burke murdered\nthe Earl of Ulster on the Lord\u2019s Day, as he was kneeling at his\nprayers, and cleft his head in two with a sword.\n\nIt was unfortunate for Ireland that her Irish princes were so\nunconquerable, and that her Norman lords should have caught the\ninfection of resistance to the crown. Eight hundred years ago the\nSaxons of England peaceably settled down with the Normans to form one\nnation, with interests and objects identical.\n\nThe Norman conquerors, better fitted, perhaps, for rulers than any\nother existing in Europe, established at once a strong, vigorous\ngovernment in England. The Kings, as individuals, may have been weak\nor tyrannous, but there was a unity of purpose, a sense of justice,\nand a vigour of will existing in the ruling class that brought the\nruled speedily under the order and discipline of laws. Not a century\nand a half had elapsed from the Conquest before Magna Charta and\nrepresentation by Parliament secured the liberty of the people against\nthe caprices of kings; and the Norman temperament which united in a\nsingular degree the instincts of loyalty with the love of freedom,\nbecame the hereditary national characteristic of Englishmen. But\nIreland never, at any time, comprehended the word nationality. From of\nold it was broken up into fragments, ruled by chiefs whose principal\naim was mutual destruction. There was no unity, therefore no strength.\n\nIf, at the time of the Norman invasion, a king of the race had settled\nhere as in England, the Irish would gradually have become a nation\nunder one ruler, in place of being an aggregate of warring tribes; but\nfor want of this chief corner-stone the Norman nobles themselves became\nbut isolated chiefs\u2014new petty kings added to the old\u2014each for himself,\nnone for the country. It was contrary to all natural laws that the\nproud Irish princes, with the traditions of their race going back two\nthousand years, should at once serve with love and loyalty a foreign\nking whose face they never saw and from whom they derived no benefits.\nAnd thus it was that five hundred years elapsed, from Henry Plantagenet\nto William of Nassau, before Ireland was finally adjusted in her\nsubordinate position to the English crown.\n\nMeanwhile the Danish Dublin was fast rising into importance as the\nNorman city, the capital of the English pale. Within that circle\nthe English laws, language, manners and religion were implicitly\nadopted; without, there was a fierce, warlike, powerful people, the\nancient lords of the soil, but with them the citizens of Dublin had\nno affinity; and the object of the English rulers was to keep the two\nraces as distinct as possible. Amongst other enactments tending to\nobliterate any feeling of kindred which might exist, the inhabitants\nof the pale were ordered to adopt English surnames, derived from\neverything which by the second commandment we are forbidden to worship.\nHence arose the tribes of fishes\u2014cod, haddock, plaice, salmon, gurnet,\ngudgeon, &c.; and of birds\u2014crow, sparrow, swan, pigeon; and of trades,\nas carpenter, smith, baker, mason; and of colours\u2014the blacks, whites,\nbrowns, and greens, which in Dublin so copiously replace the grand old\nhistoric names of the provinces. Determined also on annihilating the\npicturesque, at least in the individual, lest the outward symbol might\nbe taken for an inward affinity, the long flowing hair and graceful\nmantle, after the Irish fashion, were forbidden to be worn within the\npale.\n\nNeither was the Irish language tolerated within the English\njurisdiction, for which Holingshed gives good reason, after this\nfashion\u2014\u201cAnd here,\u201d he says, \u201csome snappish carpers will snuffingly\nsnib me for debasing the Irish language, but my short discourse tendeth\nonly to this drift, that it is not expedient that the Irish tongue\nshould be so universally gagled in the English pale; for where the\ncountry is subdued, there the inhabitants should be ruled by the same\nlaws that the conqueror is governed, wear the same fashion of attire\nwith which the victor is vested, and speak the same language which\nthe victor parleth; and if any of these lack, doubtless the conquest\nlimpeth.\u201d The English tongue, however, seems to have been held in\nutter contempt and scorn by the Irish allies of the pale. After the\nsubmission of the Great O\u2019Neil, the last who held the title of king in\nIreland, which he exchanged for that of Earl of Tyrone, as a mark and\nseal of his allegiance to Queen Elizabeth, \u201cOne demanded merrilie,\u201d\nsays Holingshed, \u201cwhy O\u2019Neil would not frame himself to speak English?\n\u2018What,\u2019 quoth the other in a rage, \u2018thinkest thou it standeth with\nO\u2019Neil his honour to writhe his mouth in clattering English.\u2019\u201d\n\nAs regarded religion, the English commanded the most implicit obedience\nto the Pope, under as strict and severe penalties as, five hundred\nyears later, they enacted against those who acknowledged his authority.\nOne provision of the ancient oath imposed upon the subjugated Irish\nwas\u2014\u201cYou acknowledge yourself to be of the Mother Church of Rome, now\nprofessed by all Christians.\u201d But, that the Irish of that era little\nheeded papal or priestly ordinances may be inferred from the fact that,\nduring the wars of Edward Bruce, the English complained that their\nIrish auxiliaries were more exhausting than the Scots, as they ate\nmeat all the time of Lent; and it is recorded, that in 1133, when the\nLeinster Irish rose against the English, \u201cthey set fire to everything,\neven the churches, and burned the church of Dunleary, with eighty\npersons in it, and even when the priest in his sacred vestments, and\ncarrying the Host in his hands, tried to get out, they drove him back\nwith their spears and burned him. For this they were excommunicated\nby a Papal Bull, and the country was put under an interdict. But they\ndespised these things, and again wasted the county of Wexford.\u201d[19]\n\n [19] Grace\u2019s Annals. Rev. R. Butler\u2019s translation.\n\nThe energetic and organizing spirit of the Normans was, however,\nevidenced by better deeds than those we have named. Courts of law\nwere established in Dublin, a mayor and corporation instituted, and\nParliaments were convened after the English fashion. Within fifty years\nafter the Norman settlement, the lordly pile of Dublin Castle rose upon\nthe site of the old Danish fortress, built, indeed, to overawe the\nIrish, as William the Conqueror built the Tower of London to overawe\nthe English; yet, by Norman hands, the first regal residence was given\nto our metropolis. St. Patrick\u2019s Cathedral was next elected by the\ncolonists, and gradually our fair city rose into beauty and importance\nthrough Norman wealth and Norman skill. From henceforth, the whole\ninterest of Irish history centres in the chief city of the pale, and\nthe history of Dublin becomes the history of English rule in Ireland.\nFor centuries its position was that of a besieged city in the midst\nof a hostile country; for centuries it resisted the whole force of\nthe native race; and finally triumphantly crushed, annihilated, and\nrevenged every effort made for Irish independence.\n\nIn truth, Dublin is a right royal city, and never fails in reverential\nrespect towards her English mother.\n\nMany great names are associated with the attempt to write a history\nof Dublin. The work in all ages was laborious; there were no printed\nbooks to consult, and the records of Ireland, as Hooker complains\nthree hundred years ago, \u201cwere verie slenderlie and disorderlie kept.\u201d\nWhitelaw\u2019s work, though it employed two editors ten hours a day for\nten years, yet goes no farther than a description of the public\nbuildings; but the object of Mr. Gilbert\u2019s history is distinct from\nall that precedes it. It is from the decaying streets and houses\nthat he disentombs great memories, great fragments of past life. It\nis not a mere record of Ionic pillars, Corinthian capitals, or Doric\npediments he gives us. Whitelaw has supplied whole catalogues of these;\nbut records of the human life, that has throbbed through the ancient\ndwellings of our city century after century; of the vicissitudes of\nfamilies, to be read in their ruined mansions; of the vast political\nevents which in some room, in some house, on some particular night,\nbranded the stigmata deeper on the country; or the tragedies of great\nhopes crushed, young blood shed, victims hopelessly sacrificed, which\nhave made some street, some house, some chamber, for ever sacred.\n\nThe labours of such an undertaking are manifest; yet none can\nappreciate them fully who has not known what it is to spend days,\nweeks, months buried in decaying parchments, endless pipe-rolls,\nworm-eaten records, dusty deeds and leases, excavating some fact, or\nsearching for some link necessary for the completion of a tale, or the\nelucidation of a truth.\n\nMr. Gilbert tells us that twelve hundred statutes and enactments of\nthe Anglo-Irish Parliament still remain unpublished. From these and\nsuch-like decayed and decaying manuscripts, ancient records which\nhave become almost hieroglyphics to the present age, he has gathered\nthe life-history of an ancient city; he has made the stones to speak,\nand evoked the shadows of the past to fill up the outline of a great\nhistorical picture.\n\nFifty, even twenty years hence, the production of such a work would\nbe impossible; the ancient records will probably have perished; the\nancient houses, round which the curious may yet gather, will have\nfallen to the ground; and the ancient race, who cherished in their\nhearts the legends of the past with the fidelity of priests, and the\nfervour of bards, will have almost passed away.\n\nDublin is fortunate, therefore, in finding a historian endowed with\nthe ability, the energetic literary industry, the untiring spirit of\nresearch, and the vast amount of antiquarian knowledge necessary for\nthe production of so valuable a work, before records perish, mansions\nfall, or races vanish.\n\nIn a history illustrated by human lives and deeds, and localized in\nthe weird old streets, once the proudest, now the meanest of our city,\nmany a family will find an ancestral shadow starting suddenly to light,\ntrailing long memories with it of departed fashion, grandeur, and\nmagnificence.\n\nFew amongst us who tread the Dublin of the present in all its beauty,\nthink of the Dublin of the past in all its contrasted insignificance.\nTrue, the eternal features are the same; the landscape setting of the\ncity is coeval with creation. Tyrian, Dane, and Norman have looked as\nwe look, and with hearts as responsive to Nature\u2019s loveliness, upon the\nemerald plains, the winding rivers, the hills draperied in violet and\ngold, the mountain gorges, thunder-riven, half veiled by the foam of\nthe waterfall, and the eternal ocean encircling all; scenes where God\nsaid a city should arise, and the mountain and the ocean are still, as\nof old, the magnificent heritage of beauty conferred on our metropolis.\n\nBut the early races, whether from southern sea or northern plain,\ndid little to aid the beauty of nature with the products of human\nintellect. Dublin, under the Danish rule, consisted only of a fortress,\na church, and one rude street. Under the rule of the Normans,\nthose great civilizers of the western world, those grand energetic\norganizers, temple and tower builders, it rose gradually into a\nbeautiful capital, the chief city of Ireland, the second city of the\nempire. At first the rudimental metropolis gathered round the castle,\nas nebul\u00e6 round a central sun, and from this point it radiated westward\nand southward; the O\u2019Briens on the south, the O\u2019Connors on the west,\nthe O\u2019Neils on the north, perpetually hovering on the borders, but\nnever able to regain the city, never able to dislodge the brave Norman\ngarrison who had planted their banners on the castle walls. In that\ncastle, during the seven hundred years of its existence, no Irishman of\nthe old race has ever held rule for a single hour.\n\nAnd what a history it has of tragedies and splendours; crowned and\ndiscrowned monarchs flit across the scene, and tragic destinies,\nlikewise, may be recorded of many a viceroy! Piers Gravestone,\nLord-Lieutenant of King Edward, murdered; Roger Mortimer\u2014\u201cThe Gentle\nMortimer\u201d\u2014hanged at Tyburn; the Lord Deputy of King Richard II.\nmurdered by the O\u2019Briens; whereupon the King came over to avenge his\ndeath, just a year before he himself was so ruthlessly murdered at\nPomfret Castle. Two viceroys died of the plague; how many more were\nplagued to death, history leaves unrecorded; one was beheaded at\nDrogheda; three were beheaded on Tower Hill. Amongst the names of\nillustrious Dublin rulers may be found those of Prince John, the boy\nDeputy of thirteen; Prince Lionel, son of Edward III., who claimed\nClare in right of his wife, and assumed the title of Clarence from\nhaving conquered it from the O\u2019Briens.\n\nThe great Oliver Cromwell was the Lord-Lieutenant of the Parliament,\nand he in turn appointed his son Henry to succeed him. Dire are the\nmemories connected with Cromwell\u2019s reign here, both to his own party\nand to Ireland. Ireton died of the plague after the siege of Limerick;\nGeneral Jones died of the plague after the surrender of Dungarvon; a\nthousand of Cromwell\u2019s men died of the plague before Waterford. The\nclimate, in its effect upon English constitutions, seems to be the\ngreat Nemesis of Ireland\u2019s wrongs.\n\nStrange scenes, dark, secret, and cruel, have been enacted in that\ngloomy pile. No one has told the full story yet. It will be a Ratcliffe\nromance of dungeons and treacheries, of swift death or slow murder.\nGod and St. Mary were invoked in vain for the luckless Irish prince\nor chieftain that was caught in that Norman stronghold; but that was\nin the old time\u2014long, long ago. Now the castle courts are crowded\nonly with loyal and courtly crowds, gathered to pay homage to the\nillustrious successor of a hundred viceroys.\n\nThe strangest scene, perhaps, in the annals of vice-royalty, was when\nLord Thomas Fitzgerald (Silken Thomas), son of the Earl of Kildare,\nand Lord-Lieutenant in his father\u2019s absence, took up arms for Irish\nindependence. He rode through the city with seven score horsemen, in\nshirts of mail and silken fringes on their head-pieces (hence the name\nSilken Thomas), to St. Mary\u2019s Abbey, and there entering the council\nchamber, he flung down the sword of state upon the table, and bade\ndefiance to the king and his ministers; then hastening to raise an\narmy, he laid siege to Dublin Castle, but with no success. Silken\nThomas and his five uncles were sent to London, and there executed; and\nsixteen Fitzgeralds were hanged and quartered at Dublin. By a singular\nfatality, no plot laid against Dublin Castle ever succeeded; though to\nobtain possession of this foreign fortress was the paramount wish of\nall Irish rebel leaders. This was the object with Lord Maguire and his\nCatholics, with Lord Edward Fitzgerald and his republicans, with Emmet\nand his enthusiasts, with Smith O\u2019Brien and his nationalists\u2014yet they\nall failed. Once only, during seven centuries, the green flag waved\nover Dublin Castle, with the motto\u2014\u201cNOW OR NEVER! NOW AND FOR EVER!\u201d It\nwas when Tyrconnel held it for King James.\n\nIn the ancient stormy times of Norman rule, the nobility naturally\ngathered round the Castle. Skinner\u2019s Row was the \u201cMay Fair\u201d of medi\u00e6val\nDublin. Hoey\u2019s Court, Castle Street, Cook Street, Fishamble Street,\nBridge Street, Werburgh Street, High Street, Golden Lane, Back Lane,\n&c., were the fashionable localities inhabited by lords and bishops,\nchancellors and judges; and Thomas Street was the grand prado where\nviceregal pomp and Norman pride were oftenest exhibited. A hundred\nyears ago the Lord-Lieutenant was entertained at a ball by Lord\nMountjoy in Back Lane. Skinner\u2019s Row was distinguished by the residence\nof the great race of the Geraldines, called \u201cCarbrie House,\u201d which from\nthem passed to the Dukes of Ormond, and after many vicissitudes, the\npalace from which Silken Thomas went forth to give his young life for\nIrish independence, fell into decay, \u201cand on its site now stand the\nhouses known as 6, 7, and 8 Christ Church Place, in the lower stories\nof which still exist some of the old oak beams of the Carbrie House.\u201d\n\nIn Skinner\u2019s Row also, two hundred years ago, dwelt Sir Robert Dixon,\nMayor of Dublin, who was knighted at his own house there by the\nLord-Lieutenant, the afterwards unfortunate Strafford. The house has\nfallen to ruins, but the vast property conferred on him by Charles\nI. for his good services, has descended to the family of Sir Kildare\nBurrowes, of Kildare. In those brilliant days of Skinner\u2019s Row, it was\nbut seventeen feet wide, and the pathways but one foot broad. All its\nglories have vanished now; even the name no longer exists; yet the\nremains of residences once inhabited by the magnificent Geraldines and\nButlers can still be traced.\n\nEvery stone throughout this ancient quarter of Dublin has a history. In\nCook Street Lord Maguire was arrested at midnight, under circumstances\nvery similar to the capture of Lord Edward Fitzgerald; and \u201cto\ncommemorate this capture in the parish it was the annual custom, down\nto the year 1829, to toll the bells of St. Andrew\u2019s Church at twelve\no\u2019clock on the night of the 22nd of October.\u201d\n\nIn Bridge Street great lords and peers of the realm resided. The\nMarquis of Antrim, the Duke of Marlborough\u2019s father; Westenra, the\nDutch merchant who founded the family afterwards ennobled, and others.\nIt was the Merrion Square of the day. In Bridge Street the rebellion\nof \u201998 was organized at the house of Oliver Bond; and one night Major\nSwan, led by Reynolds the informer, seized twelve gentlemen there, all\nof whom were summarily hanged as rebels. Castle Street was the focus of\nthe rebellion of 1641; Sir Phelim O\u2019Neill and Lord Maguire had their\nresidences there, and concocted together how to seize the Castle,\ndestroy all the lords and council, and re-establish Popery in Ireland.\nBut a more useful man than either lived there also\u2014Sir James Ware,\nwhose indefatigable ardour in the cause of Irish literature caused him\nto collect, with great trouble and expense, a vast number of Irish\nmanuscripts, which, after passing through many vicissitudes, are now\ndeposited in the British Museum. The French family of Latouche came to\nCastle Street about one hundred years ago, and one of them, in 1778,\nupheld the shattered credit of the Government by a loan of \u00a320,000\nto the Lord-Lieutenant. Fishamble Street has historical and classic\nmemories, and traditions of Handel consecrate this now obscure locality.\n\nHandel spent a year in Dublin. His \u201cMessiah\u201d was composed there, and\nfirst performed for the benefit of Mercer\u2019s Hospital. How content\nhe was with his reception is expressed in a letter to a friend. \u201cI\ncannot,\u201d he says, \u201csufficiently express the kind treatment I receive\nhere, but the politeness of this generous nation cannot be unknown to\nyou.\u201d\n\nDublin Quays are likewise illustrated by great names. On Usher\u2019s\nQuay may still be seen the once magnificent Moira House, the\nprincely residence of Lord Moira, afterwards Marquis of Hastings,\nGovernor-General of India. A hundred years ago it was the Holland House\nof Dublin, sparkling with all the wit, splendour, rank, and influence\nof the metropolis. The decorations were unsurpassed in the kingdom for\nbeauty and grandeur. The very windows were inlaid with mother-o\u2019-pearl.\n\nAfter the Union, the family in disgust quitted Ireland; Moira house\nwas left tenantless for some years, and then finally was sold for the\nuse of the pauper poor of Dublin. The decorations were removed, the\nbeautiful gardens turned into offices, the upper story of the edifice\nwas taken off, and the entire building pauperized as much as possible\nto suit its inmates and its title\u2014\u201cThe Mendicity.\u201d\n\nIn the good old times the Lord Mayor treated the Lord-Lieutenant to a\nnew play every Christmas, when the Corporation acted Mysteries upon\nthe stage in Hoggin Green, where the College now stands. The Mysteries\nwere on various subjects. In one, the tailors had orders to find Pilate\nand his wife clothed accordingly; the butchers were to supply the\ntormentors; the mariners and vintners represented Noah. At that period\nthe Lord-Lieutenants held their court at Kilmainham, or Thomas Court,\nfor Dublin Castle was not made a viceregal residence until the reign\nof Elizabeth. The parliaments, too, were ambulatory. Sometimes they\nmet in the great aisle of Christ Church, that venerable edifice whose\nechoes have been destined to give back such conflicting sounds. What\nchanges in its ritual and its worshippers! What scenes have passed\nbefore its high altar since first erected by the Danish bishop, whose\nbody, in pallium and mitre, lay exposed to view but a few years since,\nafter a sleep of eight hundred years. Irish kings and Norman conquerors\nhave trod the aisles. There Roderick was inaugurated, the last king\nof Ireland; there Strongbow sleeps, first of the Norman conquerors,\nand, until the middle of the last century, all payments were made at\nhis tomb, as if in him alone, living or dead, the citizens had their\nstrength; there Lambert Simnel was crowned with a crown taken from the\nhead of the Virgin Mary; there Cromwell worshipped before he went forth\nto devastate; there the last Stuart knelt in prayer before he threw\nthe last stake at the Boyne for an empire; and there William of Nassau\nknelt in gratitude for the victory, with the crown upon his head,\nforgotten by James in his ignominious flight.\n\nAnd how many rituals have risen up to heaven from that ancient altar,\neach _anathema maranatha_ to the other\u2014the solemn chants of the early\nchurch; the gorgeous ritual of the mass; in Elizabeth\u2019s time, the\nsimple liturgy of the English Church in the English tongue; this, too,\nwas prohibited in its turn, and for ten years the Puritans wailed and\nhowled against kings and liturgies in the ancient edifice; there the\nfuneral oration for the death of Cromwell was pronounced, entitled,\n\u201c_Threni Hibernici_, or Ireland sympathizing with England for the loss\nof their Josiah (Oliver Cromwell).\u201d Once again rose the incense of the\nmass while King James was amongst us; but William quenched the lights\non the altar, and established once more the English Liturgy in its\nsimplicity and beauty. But so little, during all these changes, had\nthe Irish to do with the cathedral of their capital, that by an Act\npassed in 1380 no Irishman was permitted to hold in it any situation or\noffice; and so strictly was the law enforced, that Sir John Stevenson\nwas the first Irishman admitted, as even vicar-choral.\n\nMany are the themes of interest to be found in Mr. Gilbert\u2019s \u201cHistory\nof Dublin,\u201d concerning those ancient times when Sackville Street was a\nmarsh, Merrion Square an exhausted quarry, the undulations so beautiful\nin its present verdant state being but the accident of excavation; when\nSt. Stephen\u2019s Green, with its ten fine Irish acres, was a compound\nof meadow, quagmire, and ditch; when Mountjoy Square was a howling\nwilderness, and North Georges Street and Summer Hill were far away\nin the country, and when the Danes, rudely expelled by Norman swords\nfrom the south of the Liffey, were stealing over the river to found a\nsettlement on the north side.\n\nOur fathers have told us of Dublin in later times, before the Union,\nwhen a hundred lords and two hundred commoners enriched and enlivened\nour city with their wealth and magnificence. Dublin was then at the\nsummit of its glory; but when the colonists sold their parliament\nto England, and the Lords and Commons vanished, and their mansions\nbecame hospitals and poorhouses, and all wealth, power, influence,\nand magnificence were transferred to the loved mother country, then\nthe \u201cCity of the Dark Water\u201d sank into very pitiable insignificance.\nThe proud Norman spirit of independence was broken at last, and there\nwas no great principle to replace it. Having no large sympathies with\nthe Irish nation, no idea of country, nationality, or any other grand\nword by which is expressed the resolve of self-reliant men to be\nself-governed, the colonists became petty, paltry, and selfish in aim;\nimitative in manners and feelings; apathetic, even antagonistic to all\nnational advance; bound to England by helpless fear and servile hope;\ncontent so as they could rest under her great shadow, secure from the\nmysterious horrors of Popery, preserved in the blessing of a church\nestablishment, and allowed to worship even the shadow of transcendent\nMajesty. Then Dublin ambition was satisfied and happy; for there is\nno word so instinctively abhorrent, so invincibly opposed to all the\nprejudices of Dublin society, as patriotism.\n\nFrom this cursory glance over the antecedents of our metropolis, the\ncause of her anti-Irishism is plainly deducible from the fact, that\nat no epoch was Dublin an Irish city. The inhabitants are a blended\nrace, descended of Danes, Normans, Saxon settlers, and mongrel Irish.\nThe country of their affections is England. They have known no other\nmother. With the proud old princes and chiefs of the ancient Irish race\nthey have no more affinity than (to use Mr. Macaulay\u2019s illustration)\nthe English of Calcutta with the nation of Hindustan, and from this\ncolonial position a certain Dublin idiosyncrasy of character has\nresulted, which makes the capital distinct in feeling from the rest of\nIreland.\n\nMeanwhile the destiny of the ancient race is working out, not in\nhappiness or prosperity, but in stern, severe discipline. Unchanged\nand unchangeable they remain, so far as change is effected by impulses\narising from within. \u201cTwo thousand years,\u201d says Moore, \u201chave passed\nover the hovel of the Irish peasant in vain.\u201d Such as they were when\nthe first light of history rested on them, they are now; indolent\nand dreamy, patient and resigned as fatalists, fanatical as Bonzees,\nimplacable as Arabs, cunning as Greeks, courteous as Spaniards,\nsuperstitious as savages, loving as children, clinging to the old home\nand the old sod and the old families with a tenderness that is always\nbeautiful, sometimes heroic; loving to be ruled, with veneration in\nexcess; ready to die like martyrs for a creed, a party, or the idol\nof the hour, but incapable of extending their sympathies beyond the\nfamily or the clan; content with the lowest place in Europe; stationary\namid progression; isolated from the European family; without power or\ninfluence; lazily resting in the past while the nations are wrestling\nin the present for the future. Children of the ocean, yet without\ncommerce; idle by thousands, yet without manufactures; gifted with\nquick intellect and passionate hearts, yet literature and art die\nout amongst them for want of aid or sympathy; without definite aims,\nwithout energy or the earnestness which is the vital life of heroic\ndeeds; dark and blind through prejudice and ignorance, they can neither\nresist nobly nor endure wisely; chafing in bondage, yet their epileptic\nfits of liberty are marked only by wild excesses, and end only in\nsullen despair.\n\nYet it was not in the providence of God that the fine elements of\nhumanity in such a people should still continue to waste and stagnate\nduring centuries of inaction, while noble countries and fruitful lands,\nlying silent since creation, were waiting the destined toilers and\nworkers, who, by the sweat of the brow, shall change them to living\nempires.\n\nTwo terrible calamities fell upon Ireland\u2014famine and pestilence; and\nby these two dread ministers of God\u2019s great purposes, the Irish race\nwere uprooted and driven forth to fulfil their appointed destiny. A\nmillion of our people emigrated; a million of our people died under\nthese judgments of God. Seventeen millions worth of property passed\nfrom time-honoured names into the hands of strangers. The echoes of\nthe old tongue\u2014call it Pelasgian, Ph\u0153nician, Celtic, Irish, what you\nwill, still the oldest in Europe, is dying out at last along the stony\nplains of Mayo and the wild sea-cliffs of the storm-rent western shore.\nScarcely a million and a half are left of people too old to emigrate,\namidst roofless cabins and ruined villages, who speak that language\nnow. Exile, confiscation, or death, was the final fate written on the\npage of history for the much-enduring children of Ireland. One day they\nmay reassert themselves in the new world, or in other lands. Australia,\nwith its skies of beauty and its pavement of gold, may be given to\nthem as America to the Saxon, but how low must a nation have fallen at\nhome when even famine and plague come to be welcomed as the levers of\nprogression and social elevation. Some wise purpose of God\u2019s providence\nlies, no doubt, at the reverse side, but we have not yet turned the\nleaf.\n\nThe ancient race who, thousands of years ago, left the cradle of the\nsun to track him to the ocean, are now flung on the coast of another\nhemisphere to begin once more their destined westward march; and like\nthe Israelites of old, they, too, might tell in that new country: \u201cA\nSyrian ready to perish was our father!\u201d\n\nThey fled across the Atlantic like a drift of autumn\nleaves\u2014\u201cpestilence-stricken multitudes\u201d\u2014and the sea was furrowed by the\ndead as the plague-ships passed along.\n\nOne would say a doom had been laid upon our people\u2014the wandering Io of\nhumanity\u2014a destiny of weeping and unrest.\n\nOf old the kings at Tara sat throned with their faces to the west: was\nit a symbol or a prophecy of the future of their nation? when from\nevery hill in Ireland could be seen\u2014\n\n \u201cThe remnant of our people\n Sweeping westward, wild and woful,\n Like the cloud-rack of a tempest,\n Like the withered leaves of autumn.\u201d\n\nFrom the Atlantic to the Pacific, where the Rocky Mountains bar like a\nportal the land of gold\u2014through the islands of the Southern Ocean to\nthe great desolate world of Australia, seeking as it were the lost home\nof their fathers, and doomed to make the circuit of the earth\u2014still\nonward flows the tide of human life\u2014that inexhaustible race which\nhas cleared the forests of Canada, built the cities and made all the\nrailroads of the States, given thousands to the red plains of the\nCrimea, overran California and peopled Australia\u2014the race whose destiny\nhas made them the instruments of all civilization, though they have\nnever reaped its benefits.\n\nYet we cannot believe that the Irish race is doomed for ever to work\nand suffer without the glory of success; for the Celtic element is\nnecessary to humanity as a great factor in human progress. It is the\nsubtle, spiritual fire that warms and permeates the ruder clay of other\nraces, giving them new, vivid, and magnetic impulses to growth and\nexpansion.\n\nThe children of the early wanderers from the Isles of the Sea\nwill still continue to fulfil their mission as world-workers and\nworld-movers. Across the breadth of earth they will found new nations,\neach a greater and a stronger Ireland, where they will have the\ncertainty of power, station, and reward denied them at home. But\nneither change nor progress nor the severing ocean will destroy the\nelectric chain that binds them lovingly to their ancient mother in that\ntrue sympathy with country and kinship that ever burns in the Irish\nheart.\n\nThe new Ireland across the seas, whether in America or in Australia,\nwill still cherish with sacred devotion the beautiful legends, the\npathetic songs, the poetry and history and the heroic traditions of the\nold, well-loved country as eternal verses of the Bible of humanity,\nwith all the light and music of the fanciful fairy period, such as I\nhave tried to gather into a focus in these volumes, along with the\nholy memories of those martyrs of our race whose names are for ever\nassociated with the words Liberty and Nationhood, but whose tragic fate\nhas illustrated so many mournful pages in the history of the Irish\npast.\n\n\n\n\n ON THE ANCIENT RACES OF IRELAND.[20]\n\n\nThat there was a time\u2014after \u201cthe Spirit of God moved on the face\nof the waters, and separated the dry land from the sea\u201d\u2014when the\npresent British Isles formed a continuous and integral portion of the\nEuropean Continent is the received opinion of the scientific. With\nthat continuity of surface (whether before or after the glacial period\nmatters not in the present inquiry) there was, we know, a uniform\ndispersion of vegetable and animal life over this portion of the globe;\nand so long as this country enjoyed the temperature and climate it now\npossesses, it must have been an emerald land\u2014humid, green, and fertile,\naffording pasturage and provender for the largest herbivor\u00e6\u2014the\nmammoth, elephant, and musk ox, the reindeer, the wild boar, and\nperhaps even the woolly rhinoceros. The primitive races of horned\ncattle, possibly the red deer, and undoubtedly the largest and noblest\nof cervine creatures, the gigantic Irish deer, or _Cervus megaceros_,\nbesides the wild pig, and smaller mammals, as well as birds and fishes\ninnumerable, must then have existed here.\n\n [20] Extracts from the Address to the Anthropological Section of\n the British Association. Belfast, 1874. By Sir WILLIAM WILDE, M.D.,\n M.R.I.A., Chevalier of the Swedish Order of the North Star.\n\nHow long that condition of the land known now as Ireland existed,\nwhat geological revolutions occurred, or what time elapsed during its\ncontinuance, is but matter of speculation; but a \u201crepeal of the union\u201d\ntook place, and Great Britain and Ireland became as they now are, and\nas they are likely to remain, geographically separated, although united\nin interest as well as government. In all probability the great pine\nforests, with some of the yews, the oaks, and the birch, had at this\ntime been submerged beneath the lowest strata of our bogs.\n\nIt was after this epoch, I believe, that man first set foot upon the\nshores of Erin\u2014a country well wooded, abundantly stocked with animals,\nand abounding in all nature\u2019s blessings suited to the well-being of\nthe human race; with fowls in its woods and on its shores; fish in its\nseas, lakes and rivers; deer and other game in its forest glades, oxen\non its pastures, fuel in its bogs; and a climate, although moist and\nvariable, on the whole mild and temperate.\n\nLet us now go back for a moment and take a glance at the map of\nthe world. The sacred writings tell us, and the investigations of\nhistorians, antiquarians, and philologists confirm the statement, that\nthe cradle of mankind was somewhere between the Caspian Sea and the\ngreat River Euphrates. Without entering too minutely into the subject,\nI may state briefly that the human family separated in process of\ntime into three great divisions\u2014the African, the Asiatic, and the\nIndo-European. With the latter only we have to deal. As population\nincreased, it threw off its outshoots; and emigration, the great\nsafeguard of society, and the ordained means of peopling as well as\ncultivating and civilizing the earth, began to impel the races and\ntribes still farther and farther from the birthplace of humanity. But\nin those days the process was somewhat slower and more gradual than\nthat which now sends an Irish family across 3,500 miles of ocean in a\nweek.\n\nWith but the rudest means of transit, hordes of the primitive races\npassed up the banks of the great rivers, the Euphrates, the Nile, the\nVolga, the Danube, and the Rhone; while other tribes, in all likelihood\nmore advanced and cultivated, wandered along the coasts, peopling as\nthey went the northern shores of the Mediterranean and the Black Sea.\n\nThat an early and uncultivated people passed up the Danube in their\nimmigration, and settled for centuries on its banks, when Europe was\na tangled wilderness, inhabited by the auroch and the gigantic deer,\nthere can be no manner of doubt; for they have left memorials of their\nexistence in the unerring and enduring remains of their sepulchres,\ntheir tools, and weapons, from the Black Sea to Switzerland and Savoy.\nIn Switzerland this primitive people rested for a considerable period,\nperhaps for many centuries, forming for themselves those peculiar piled\nlacustrine habitations on the shores of its picturesque inland waters,\nknown as \u201cPfaulbauten\u201d\u2014the analogues, and in all probability the types,\nof the crannoges recently discovered in Ireland and Scotland, to which\ncountries the scattered fragments of that race finally carried this\nspecial form of domestic architecture. The lowest strata of implements\nwere deposited beneath the sites of these pfaulbauten; and in some of\nthe more ancient ones the only remains are those of stone, flint, and\npottery\u2014the former resembling in a remarkable manner the stone tools\nand weapons of the primitive Irish.\n\nWhat the language of this early Helvetian people was, we have no\nmeans of ascertaining; but that their exodus was one of haste and\ncompulsion, and probably the result of invasion by a superior and more\ncultivated race, is almost certain. Driven from their mountain homes,\nthey passed down the banks of the Rhine and the Elbe, and helped to\npeople North-western Europe, forming with those who arrived coastwise\nthe great nation of the Gauls and Belg\u00e6. It is not unlikely that this\nlittoral wave of population carried with them the metallurgic arts; for\nwe find in their tombs and barrows on the coasts of Spain, France, and\nBrittany, bronze celts identical in shape with some of those discovered\nin our own country.\n\nStill passing westwards towards the setting sun, some members of\nthis early people stood at length face to face with the white cliffs\nof Kent. Impelled by curiosity and the thirst for knowledge, man\u2019s\nundeviating enterprise soon sent these hardy people across the narrow\nstrait that divides Britain from the continent of Europe, centuries\nbefore the ships of Tarshish voyaged from Tyre and Sidon to trade with\nBritain for the tin of Cornwall, to alloy, harden, and beautify into\nbronze the copper with which Solomon decorated the temple of Jerusalem.\n\nTo the restless Celt the breadth of this new possession was but a\nslight impediment to his western progress, and once more he looked upon\nthe blue waters of the salt sea, and beyond them, to the green hills of\nErin. A plank\u2014a single-piece canoe\u2014formed out of an oak-tree by fire\nand a sharp stone, or a wicker curragh covered with hides, would soon\nwaft him from Portpatrick to Donaghadee, or even from Anglesea to Howth.\n\nHere, then, the story of our race begins, and the immediate object of\nthis inquiry commences. That man, as he first stood on this island,\nwas in a rude, uncultivated state, without a knowledge of letters or\nmanufactures\u2014skilled in those arts only by which, as a nomad hunter and\nfisher, he supported life and ministered to his simple wants\u2014there can\nbe no manner of doubt. Clad in the skins of animals he slew, which were\nsewn together with their sinews or intestines\u2014his weapons and tools\nformed of flint, stone, bone, wood or horn\u2014his personal decoration,\nshells, amber, attractive pebbles collected on the beach, or the\nteeth of animals strung together in a rude necklace, or bound round\nthe wrists and arms; and his religion, if any, Pagan, Sun-worship, or\nDruidism, man first stood, in all probability, on the north-eastern\nshores of Erin. It may be unpalatable to our national vanity to\nlearn that the early colonists of Ireland did not come here clad in\npurple and gold direct from Ph\u0153nicia, in brazen-prowed triremes, with\nthe mariner\u2019s compass and the quadrant; or stood for the first time\nupon the shores of Hibernia armed _cap-\u00e0-pied_ in glittering armour,\nas Minerva sprang from the front of Jove; but it is, nevertheless,\nindisputably true, that the first people were such as I have described\nthem.\n\nNo date can be assigned to the period of the first inhabitation, but\nas evidence of the primitive condition of the race it is sufficient\nto state that human bodies clad in deer-skin have been discovered in\nour bogs; that flint weapons in abundance have been found all over\nIreland, but especially in the North, where that peculiar lithological\ncondition chiefly exists; and that stone tools have been dug up in\nthousands all over the country, but more particularly from the beds of\nour rivers, marking the sites of contested fords, which were the scenes\nof sanguinary conflicts, as on the Shannon and the Bann; and that all\nthese are referrible to a period when the Irish had no knowledge of\nmetals, and could neither spin nor weave.\n\nTo Northern arch\u00e6ologists belongs the credit of that theory which\ndivides the ages of man according to the material evidences of the arts\nof bygone times, as into those of stone, of copper, gold, and bronze,\nand of iron and silver. While I have no doubt that, generally speaking,\nsuch was the usual progress of development in those particulars, I\ndeny that this division can, as a rule, be applied to Ireland, where\nundoubtedly each period overlapped the succeeding, so as to mix the\none class of implement with another, even as I myself have seen on the\ngreat cultivated plain of Tyre harrow-pins formed of flints and sharp\nstones stuck into the under surface of a broad board; and on that\nbattle field\u2014\n\n \u201cWhere Persia\u2019s victim hordes\n First bowed beneath the brunt of Hella\u2019s sword,\u201d\n\nI have picked up flint and obsidian arrow-heads, although we know that\nthe Athenians, whose remains still lie beneath the tumulus of Marathon,\ngave way before the long-handled metallic spears of Asia; and the stone\nmissile, in one of its most formidable shapes, is not yet abandoned in\nthis country.\n\nI hold it as susceptible of demonstration, that man in similar stages\nof his career all over the world acts alike, so far as is compatible\nwith climate, his wants, and the materials that offer to his hand,\neven from the banks of the Niger or Zambesi to the islands of the\nSouth Sea, or the regions inhabited by the Laps and Esquimaux. Thus,\nwhenever man acquires or discovers a new art, he first applies it to\ncontinue the fashion of its predecessor, until accident, necessity, or\ningenuity induces him to modify the reproduction. The first arrow-head\nand spear is almost the same all over the world, and is the type of\nthat in metal; and the stone celt or hatchet formed, as I have proved\nelsewhere, the model for the copper or bronze implement for a like use\nin both ancient Etruria and ancient Ireland.\n\nDiscussions may arise as to whether our knowledge of metals was a\nseparate, independent discovery of our own, or was acquired by\nintercourse with other nations more advanced than ourselves. In answer\nthereto I can only say that we have no evidence or authority for the\nlatter supposition; and that, as we possessed abundant materials on\nthe one hand, and had sufficient native ingenuity on the other, it is\nmost likely that our discovery of metals\u2014at least of gold, copper, and\ntin\u2014was independent of extrinsic influence. So far removed from the\ncentres of civilization, unconquered by the Roman legion, uninfluenced\nby Saxon or Frankish art, and with undoubted evidences of development\nand styles of art peculiar to ourselves, both in form and decoration,\nit is but fair, until some stronger arguments have been brought\nagainst it, to believe that we were the discoverers and smelters of\nour minerals, and the fabricators of our metallic weapons, tools,\nand ornaments. That some Grecian influence pervaded the early Irish\nmetallurgic art, as exhibited by some of our leaf-shaped sword blades,\nis true; but it is an exceptional instance, and the form is common to\nalmost all countries in which bronze sword blades have been found.\n\nWith regard to the dwellings of the early race we are not left to\nmere conjecture, for not long ago a log hut was discovered fourteen\nfeet below the surface of a bog in the county of Donegal. This very\nantique dwelling was twelve feet square, and nine high; and consisted\nof an upper and lower chamber, which were probably mere sleeping\napartments. The oaken logs of which it was constructed are believed\nto have been hewn with stone hatchets, some of which were found on\nthe premises, thus identifying it with the pre-metallic period of our\nhistory. Man soon becomes gregarious, and passes from the hunter and\nthe fisher to the shepherd, and thence to the agriculturist. The land\nis cleared of wood; the wild animals either die out, or are rendered\nsubservient to his will. The domestication of animals in most instances\nprecedes, and always accompanies, the pastoral state of existence; and\nto that condition the patriarchal stage ensues, and afterwards that\nof the monarchical. To such phases of development, from the age of\nescape from the rudest barbarism, to the most cultivated condition in\ngovernment, polite literature, art and science, Ireland was, I believe,\nno exception. Of the shepherd state we still possess the most abundant\nproofs, in the numerous earthen raths, lisses, and forts scattered\nall over the country, and from which so many of our townlands and\nother localities take their names; but especially marking the sites\nof the primitive inhabitation on our goodly pastures, although now\nmere grassy, annular elevations, varying in area from a few perches to\nseveral acres, and in many instances alone preserved by the hallowed\ntraditions or popular superstitions of the people.\n\nSuch of those landmarks of the past as still remain, out of thousands\nthat have been obliterated, show us that in those parts of Ireland, at\nleast, where they exist, there was once a dense population, even during\nthe shepherd stage of its inhabitation. And if in the progress of\nevents, uncontrolled by human agency, and brought about by influences\nthat we have so recently mourned over and still deplore, but could\nnot prevent, we are now again becoming a pastoral people, we are\nonly returning to that state of existence for which this country is\npeculiarly adapted, and was, I believe, originally intended\u2014that of\nbeing the greatest grass and green-crop soil and climate in the world.\n\nThe pastoral was undoubtedly the normal, one of the oldest, and beyond\nall question, the longest continued state in Ireland; and, although\nchanged by internal dissensions, invasion, confiscation, and foreign\nrule, is still remembered by the people among whom its influence,\nslumbering, but not dead, now and then crops out in questions of\n\u201ctenant right.\u201d Years ago I showed, from the animal remains found in\nour forts, bogs, and crannoges, that centuries upon centuries before\nshort-horned improved breeds of cattle and sheep commanded at our\nagricultural shows the admiration of Europe, we had here breeds of oxen\nwhich are not now surpassed by the best races of Holland and Great\nBritain; and which are unequalled in the present day even by those on\nthe fertile plains of Meath, Limerick, or Roscommon, or throughout the\ngolden vale of Tipperary. We were then a cattle-rearing, flesh-eating\npeople; our wealth was our cattle; our wars were for our cattle; the\nransom of our chieftains was in cattle; our taxes were paid in cattle;\nthe price paid for our most valuable manuscripts was so many cows.\nEven in comparatively modern times our battle cloaks were made of\nleather; our traffic and barter were the Pecuani\u00e6 of our country; and\nthe \u201cTain-bo-Cuailne,\u201d the most famous metrical romance of Europe,\nafter the \u201cNiebelungenlied,\u201d is but the recital of a cattle raid from\nConnaught into Louth during the reign of Mave, Queen of Connaught\u2014a\npersonage transmitted to us by Shakspeare, as the Queen Mab of the\n\u201cMidsummer Night\u2019s Dream.\u201d And, although the Anglo-Norman invasion is\nusually attributed to the love of an old, one-eyed, hoarse-voiced King\nof Leinster, sixty years of age, for Dervorgil (attractive, we must\npresume, though but little his junior in years), and who became the\nHelen of the Irish Iliad, when \u201cthe valley lay smiling before her,\u201d she\nwas but an insignificant item in the stock abduction from the plains of\nBreffny along the boggy slopes of Shemore.\n\nThe Boromean, or cattle tribute, which the King of Tara demanded from\nthe Leinstermen, was perhaps the cause of the greatest intestinal feud\nwhich ever convulsed so small a space of European ground for so great\na length of time. This triennial cattle tax, besides 5,000 ounces of\nsilver, 5,000 cloaks, and 5,000 brazen vessels, consisted of 15,000\nhead of cattle of different descriptions, the value of which, at the\npresent price of stock, would amount to about \u00a3130,000. The cattle\ntribute also paid to the Prince or petty King of Cashel upwards of a\nthousand years ago was 6,500 cows, 4,500 oxen, 4,500 swine, and 1,200\nsheep; in all, 16,700, or, at the present value of stock, between\n\u00a380,000 and \u00a3100,000. In addition to which we read of horses and\nvaluables of various descriptions.\n\nBrian O\u2019Kennedy, who drove the Norsemen from the shores of Clontarf,\nderived his cognomen of Borrome from his reimposition of this cattle\ntax. And in the _Leabhar-na-Garth_, or ancient Book of Rights and\nPrivileges of the Kings of Erin, the cattle statistics, as they are\nthere set forth, show that the Irish were solely a pastoral people; and\nthe whole text and tenor of the Irish annals and histories, and the\nnotices of the wars of the Desmonds and of O\u2019Neil, confirm this view.\n\nThe great raths of Ireland, where the people enclosed their cattle\nby night, have been erroneously termed \u201cDanish forts,\u201d but when the\nshannaghees are pressed for further information as to the date of their\nerection they say, \u201cThey were made by them ould Danes that came over\nwith Julius C\u00e6sar.\u201d If, however, inquiry be made of the old illiterate\nIrish-speaking population, they will tell you that they were made\nby \u201cthe good people,\u201d and are inhabited by the fairies. Hence the\nveneration that has in a great measure tended to their preservation;\nand I have no doubt that the ancient indigenous and venerated thorns\nthat still decorate their slopes or summits are the veritable\ndescendants of the quickset hedges that helped to form the breastworks,\nor staked defences, on their summits.\n\nThese forts are almost invariably to be found in the fattest pastures;\nso that if any of my friends were in the present day to ask me\nwhere they could best invest in land, I would fearlessly answer,\n\u201cWherever you find most ancient raths remaining;\u201d and I know that\nmany of our cattle prizes have been carried off by sheep and oxen fed\nupon the grass lands cleared and fertilized by the early Celts more\nthan a thousand years ago, and a sod of which has not been turned\nfor centuries. They were not originally the gentle slopes that now\ndiversify the surface, but consisted in steep ramparts or earthworks,\nwith an external ditch, on which a stout paling was erected against\nman or beast, a form of structure still seen in the kraal of the New\nZealander. The Irish rath-maker was an artificer of skill, and held\nin high esteem, and occupied a dignified position at the great feasts\nof Tara\u2014second only to the ollamh and the physician. That the soil of\nwhich they were constructed had been not only originally rich, but had\nbeen subjected to man\u2019s industry, is proved by the fact that it is\nnow frequently turned out upon the neighbouring sward as one of the\nbest of manures. Within these raths, some of which had double, and\neven treble entrenchments, were erected the dwellings of the people\nand their chiefs, the latter of whom were often interred within the\nmounds, or beneath the cromlechs that still exist in their interior,\nas, for example, in the \u201cGiant\u2019s Ring,\u201d near Belfast. In some instances\nthey also contained in their sides and centres stone caves, that were\nprobably used as store-houses, granaries, or places of security.\n\nThe earliest historic race of Ireland was a pastoral people called\nFirbolgs, said to be of Greek or Eastern origin; probably a branch of\nthat great Celtic race which, having passed through Europe and round\nits shores, found a resting-place at last in Ireland. Of the Fomorians,\nNemedians, and other minor invaders, we need not speak, as they have\nleft nothing by which to track their footsteps. The old annalists\nbring them direct from the Ark, and in a straight line from Japhet.\nThe coming of Pharaoh\u2019s daughter from Egypt with her ships may be also\nconsidered apocryphal. But the Firbolgs begin our authentic history.\nThey had laws and social institutions, and established a monarchical\ngovernment at the far-famed Hill of Tara, about which our early centres\nof civilization sprung, and where we have now most of those great\npasturelands\u2014those plains of Meath that can beat the world for their\nfattening qualities, and which supply neighbouring countries with their\nmost admired meats.\n\nI cannot say that the Firbolg was a cultivated man, but I think he was\na shepherd and an agriculturist. I doubt if he knew anything, certainly\nnot much, of metallurgy; but it does not follow that he was a mere\nsavage, no more than the Maories of New Zealand were when we first came\nin contact with them.\n\nThe Firbolgs were a small, straight-haired, swarthy race, who have\nleft a portion of their descendants with us to this very day. A\ngenealogist (their own countryman resident in Galway about two hundred\nyears ago) described them as dark-haired, talkative, guileful,\nstrolling, unsteady, \u201cdisturbers of every Council and Assembly,\u201d and\n\u201cpromoters of discord.\u201d I believe they, together with the next two\nraces about to be described, formed the bulk of our so-called Celtic\npopulation\u2014combative, nomadic on opportunity, enduring, litigious,\nbut feudal and faithful to their chiefs; hard-working for a spurt (as\nin their annual English emigration); not thrifty, but, when their\nimmediate wants are supplied, lazy, especially during the winter.\n\nTo these physical and mental characters described by MacFirbis let me\nadd those of the unusual combination of blue or blue-grey eyes and\ndark eyelashes with a swarthy complexion. This peculiarity I have\nonly remarked elsewhere in Greece; the mouth and upper gum is not\ngood, but the nose is usually straight. In many of this and the next\nfollowing race there was a peculiarity that has not been alluded to by\nwriters\u2014the larynx, or, as it used to be called, the _pomum Adami_,\nwas remarkably prominent, and became more apparent from the uncovered\nstate of the neck. The sediment of this early people still exists in\nIreland, along with the fair-complexioned Dananns, and forms the bulk\nof the farm-labourers, called in popular phraseology _Spalpeens_, that\nyearly emigrate to England. In Connaught they now chiefly occupy a\ncircle which includes the junction of the counties of Mayo, Galway,\nRoscommon, and Sligo. They, with their fair-faced brothers (at present\nthe most numerous), are also to be found in Kerry and Donegal; and they\nnearly all speak Irish.\n\nBy statistics procured from our Great Midland Western Railway alone\nI learn that on an average 30,000 of these people, chiefly the\ndescendants of the dark Firbolgs and the fair Dananns, emigrate\nannually to England for harvest work, to the great advantage of the\nEnglish farmer and the Irish landlord. The acreage of arable land for\nthese people runs from two to six acres.\n\nConnecting this race with the remains of the past, I am of opinion\nthat they were the first rath or earthen-mound and enclosure makers;\nthat they mostly buried their dead without cremation, and, in cases of\ndistinguished personages, beneath the cromlech or the tumulus. Their\nheads were oval or long in the anteroposterior diameter, and rather\nflattened at the sides: examples of these I have given and descanted\nupon when I first published my Ethnological Researches, which have\nbeen fully confirmed by the late Andreas Retzius. It is, however,\nunnecessary, even if space or advisability permitted, for me to allude\nto such matters, as that great work the \u201cCrania Britannica\u201d has\nlithographed typical specimens of this long-headed race.\n\nThe next immigration we hear of in the \u201cAnnals\u201d is that of the\n_Tuatha-de-Dananns_, a large, fair-complexioned, and very remarkable\nrace; warlike, energetic, progressive, skilled in metal work, musical,\npoetical, acquainted with the healing art, skilled in Druidism, and\nbelieved to be adepts in necromancy and magic, no doubt the result of\nthe popular idea respecting their superior knowledge, especially in\nsmelting and in the fabrication of tools, weapons, and ornaments. From\nthese two races sprang the Fairy Mythology of Ireland.\n\nIt is strange that, considering the amount of annals and legends\ntransmitted to us, we have so little knowledge of Druidism or Paganism\nin ancient Ireland. However, it may be accounted for in this wise:\nThat those who took down the legends from the mouths of the bards and\nannalists, or those who subsequently transcribed them, were Christian\nmissionaries whose object was to obliterate every vestige of the\nancient forms of faith.\n\nThe Dananns spoke the same language as their predecessors, the\nFirbolgs. They met and fought for the sovereignty. The \u201cman of metal\u201d\nconquered and drove a great part of the others into the islands on\nthe coast, where it is said the Firbolg race took their last stand.\nEventually, however, under the influence of a power hostile to them\nboth, these two people coalesced, and have to a large extent done so\nup to the present day. They are the true old Irish peasant and small\nfarming class.\n\nThe Firbolg was a bagman, so called, according to Irish authorities,\nbecause he had to carry up clay in earthen bags to those terraces\nin Greece now vine-clad. As regards the other race there is more\ndifficulty in the name. Tuath or Tuatha means a tribe or tribe-district\nin Irish. Danann certainly sounds very Grecian; and if we consider\ntheir remains, we find the long, bronze, leaf-shaped sword, so abundant\nin Ireland, identical with weapons of the same class found in Attica\nand other parts of Greece.\n\nThen, on the other hand, their physiognomy, their fair or reddish hair,\ntheir size, and other circumstances, incline one to believe that they\ncame down from Scandinavian regions after they had passed up as far\nas they thought advisable into North-western Europe. If the word Dane\nwas known at the time of their arrival here, it would account for the\ndesignation of many of our Irish monuments as applied by Molyneux and\nothers. Undoubtedly the Danann tribes presented Scandinavian features,\nbut did not bring anything but Grecian art. After the \u201cStone period,\u201d\nso called, of which Denmark and the south of Sweden offer such rich\nremains, I look upon the great bulk of the metal work of the North,\nespecially in the swords in the Copenhagen and Stockholm Museums, as\nAsiatic; while Ireland possesses not only the largest native collection\nof metal weapon-tools, usually denominated \u201ccelts,\u201d of any country in\nthe world, but the second largest amount of swords and battle-axes. And\nmoreover these, and all our other metal articles, show a well-defined\nrise and development from the simplest and rudest form in size and use\nto that of the most elaborately constructed and the most beautifully\nadorned.\n\nI believe that these Tuatha-de-Dananns, no matter from whence they\ncame, were, in addition to their other acquirements, great masons,\nalthough not acquainted with the value of cementing materials. I think\nthey were the builders of the great stone Cahirs, Duns, Cashels, and\nCaves in Ireland; while their predecessors constructed the earthen\nworks, the raths, circles, and forts that diversify the fields of Erin.\nThe Dananns anticipated Shakespeare\u2019s grave-digger, for they certainly\nmade the most lasting sepulchral monuments that exist in Ireland, such,\nfor example, as New Grange, Douth, Knowth, and Slieve-na-Calleagh and\nother great cemeteries. Within the interior and around these tombs were\ncarved, on unhewn stones, certain archaic markings, spires, volutes,\nconvolutes, lozenge-shaped devices, straight, zigzag, and curved\nlines, and incised indentations, and a variety of other insignia,\nwhich, although not expressing language, were symbolical, and had an\noccult meaning known only to the initiated. These markings, as well as\nthose upon the urns, were copied in the decorations of the gold and\nbronze work of a somewhat subsequent period. The Dananns conquered\nthe inferior tribes in two celebrated pitched battles, those of the\nNorthern and Southern Moytura. On these fields we still find the caves,\nthe stone circles, the monoliths, and dolmans or cromlechs that marked\nparticular events, and the immense cairns that were raised in honour of\nthe fallen chieftains.\n\nAlthough many of the warriors of the Firbolgs fled to their island\nfastnesses on the coasts of Galway and Donegal, no doubt a large\nportion of them remained in the inland parts of the country, and in\nthat very locality to which I have adverted, which is almost midway\nbetween the sites of the two battles, in a line stretching between Mayo\nand Sligo, where in time the two races appear to have coalesced by that\nnatural law which brings the dark and the fair together.\n\nMoreover it has been recorded that the conquering race sent their\nsmall dark opponents into Connaught, while they themselves took\npossession of the rich lands further east, and not only established\nthemselves at Tara but spread into the south. It is remarkable that\nin time large numbers of the Dananns themselves were banished to the\nWest, and likewise that the last forcible deportation of the native\nIrish race (so late as the seventeenth century) was when the people of\nthis province got the choice of going \u201cto Connaught or Hell,\u201d in the\nformer of which, possibly, they joined some of the original stock. The\nnatural beauty of the lakes and mountains of Connaught remains as it\nwas thousands of years ago; but no doubt if some of the legislators of\nthe period to which I have already referred could now behold its fat\npasture-plains, they might prefer them to the flax lands of Ulster.\n\nThese Dananns had a globular form of head, of which I have already\npublished examples. For the most part I believe they burned their dead\nor sacrificed to their manes, and placed an urn with its incinerated\ncontents\u2014human or animal\u2014in the grave, where the hero was either\nstretched at length or crouched in an attitude similar to that adopted\nby the ancient Peruvians, as I have elsewhere explained. These Irish\nurns, which are the earliest relics of our ceramic art that have come\ndown to the present time, are very graceful in form, and some of them\nmost beautifully decorated, as may be seen in our various museums.\n\nSpecimens of this Danann race still exist, but have gradually mixed\nwith their forerunners to the present day. Here is what old MacFirbis\nwrote of them two hundred years ago: \u201cEvery one who is fair-haired,\nvengeful, large, and every plunderer, professors of musical and\nentertaining performances, who are adepts of Druidical and magical\narts, they are the descendants of the Tuatha-de-Dananns.\u201d They were not\nonly fair but sandy in many instances, and consequently extensively\nfreckled.\n\nIt is affirmed that the Dananns ruled in Ireland for a long time, until\nanother inroad was made into the island by the Milesians\u2014said to be\nbrave, chivalrous, skilled in war, good navigators, proud, boastful,\nand much superior in outward adornment as well as mental culture,\nbut probably not better armed than their opponents. They deposed the\nthree last Danann kings and their wives, and rose to be, it is said,\nthe dominant race\u2014assuming the sovereignty, becoming the aristocracy\nand landed proprietors of the country, and giving origin to those\nchieftains that afterwards rose to the title of petty kings, and from\nwhom some of the best families in the land with anything like Irish\nnames claim descent, and particularly those with the prefix of the \u201cO\u201d\nor the \u201cMac.\u201d When this race arrived in Ireland I cannot tell, but it\nwas some time prior to the Christian era. It is said they came from\nthe coast of Spain, where they had long remained after their Eastern\nemigration.\n\nUpon the site of what is believed to be the ancient Brigantium, now the\nentrance to the united harbours of Corunna and Ferrol, stands the great\nlighthouse known to all ships passing through the Bay of Biscay. Within\nthis modern structure still exists the celebrated \u201cPharos of Hercules,\u201d\nwhich I investigated and described many years ago. That tower, it\nwas said in metaphorical language, commanded a view of Ireland, and\nas such became the theme of Irish poems and legends. Certain it is\nthat sailing north or north-westward from it the ships of the sons of\nMilesius and their followers could have reached Ireland without much\ncoasting. If the story of Breogan\u2019s Tower is true, then it must have\nbeen erected in the time of lime-and-mortar building, and that is\nduring the Roman occupation of Iberia and Gaul. How many thousands,\nrank and file, of these Spanish Milesians came here in their six or\neight galleys and tried the fortunes of war from \u201cthe summit of the\nninth wave from the shore\u201d and conquered the entire Danann, Firbolg,\nand Fomorian population, I am unable to give the slightest inkling of,\nno more than I can of the so-called Ph\u0153nician intercourse with this\ncountry. Perhaps without going into the fanciful descriptions of the\n\u201cBattle of Ventry Harbour,\u201d or the southern conquest of Ireland by the\nIberian Milesians, we may find some more trustworthy illustrations\nof Spanish dwellings in the architecture of the town of Galway, and\nsome picturesque representatives in the lithe upright figures and\nraven-haired, but blue-eyed maidens of the City of the Tribes. Here is\nwhat old MacFirbis, who, I suppose, claimed descent from the sons of\nMilesius, wrote about them: \u201cEvery one who is white of skin, brown of\nhair, bold, honourable, daring, prosperous, bountiful in the bestowal\nof property, and who is not afraid of battle or combat, they are the\ndescendants of the sons of Milesius in Erin.\u201d\n\nThis high panegyric is only equalled by the prose and verse\ncompositions of the ancient bards and rhymers and the modern\nhistorians, who have recorded the deeds of the great warriors, Ith,\nHeber, and Heremon, whose descendants boast to have been the rulers\nof the land. Even Moore, although he wrote such beautiful lyrics\nconcerning this race in his early days, yet when he came to study\nhistory, he felt the same difficulty I do now. I do not dispute their\norigin or supremacy; but I fail to distinguish their early customs,\ntheir remains, or race from those of the Firbolgs or Dananns whom they\nconquered, and who left undoubted monuments peculiar to their time.\n\nNow all these people\u2014the piratical navigator along our coasts, the\nmid-Europe primitive shepherd and cultivator, the Northern warrior, and\nthe Iberian ruler\u2014were, according to my view, all derived from the one\nCeltic stock. They spoke the same language, and their descendants do\nso still. When they acquired a knowledge of letters they transmitted\ntheir history through the Irish language. No doubt they fused; but\nsomehow a quick fusion of races has not been the general characteristic\nof the people of this country. Unlike the Anglo-Norman in later times,\nthe Milesian was a long way from home; the rough sea of the Bay of\nBiscay rolled between him and his previous habitat; and if he became\nan absentee he was not likely to find much of his possessions on his\nreturn. It is to be regretted that while we have here such a quantity\nof poetical and traditional material respecting the Milesian invasion\nof Ireland, the Spanish annals or traditions have given us but very\nlittle information on that subject.\n\nIt would be most desirable if the Government or some Irish authority\nwould send a properly instructed commissioner to investigate the\nSpanish annals, and see whether there is anything relating to the\nSpanish migrations to Ireland remaining in that country.\n\nBesides the sparse introduction of Latin by Christian missionaries in\nthe fifth century, some occasional Saxon words springing from peaceful\nsettlers along our coasts and in commercial emporiums, and whatever\nDanish had crept into our tongue around those centres where the\nScandinavians chiefly located themselves, and which were principally\nproper names of persons and places that became fixed in our vernacular,\nwe find but one language among the Irish people until the arrival of\nthe Anglo-Normans at the end of the twelfth century.\n\nThe linguistic or philological evidence on this subject is clearly\ndecisive. The residue of the early races already described spoke one\nlanguage, called Gaelic; so did the Scotch, the Welsh, and probably, in\nearly times, the Britons and the Bretons. It was not only the popular\nconversational tongue used in the ordinary intercourse of life, but\nit was also employed in genealogies, annals, and other records in a\nspecial character, not quite peculiar to this country, but then common\nin Europe. Much has been said about the necessity for a glossary of our\nancient MSS., such as those at Saint Gall, in Trinity College, in the\nRoyal Irish Academy, and in Belgian and English libraries; but there\nare very few ancient languages that do not require to be glossed in the\npresent day, even as the words of Chaucer do.\n\nThe Government are now, under the auspices of our Master of the Rolls,\nand the special direction and supervision of Mr. J. T. Gilbert, giving\ncoloured photographs of some of our ancient writings, and have promised\nthat some of our remaining manuscripts will be translated. I see no\noccasion now for waiting for more elaborated philological dictionaries\nor glossaries while there are still some few Irish scholars in this\ncountry capable of giving a free but tolerably literal translation\nof these records that do not require any great acumen in rendering\nthem into English. Is history to wait upon the final decision of\nphilologists respecting a word or two in a manuscript, and to decide as\nto whether it may be of Sanscrit or any other origin?\n\nNo doubt some of my hearers may ask, What about the Oghams (or Ohams)?\ndo they not show a very early knowledge of an alphabet? As yet this\nis a moot question. A rude pillar-stone, having upon it a tolerably\nstraight edge, was in early times notched along its angle which served\nas a stem-line by nicks formed on it, and straight or oblique lines,\nsingly or in clusters, proceeding from the stem. The decipherers of\nthese inscriptions have, one and all, agreed upon the fact that these\nlines represented letters, syllables, or words, and that the language\nis either Irish or Latin. Therefore the persons who made them must have\nbeen aware of alphabetic writing and grammar. These carved monoliths\nare chiefly found in Kerry and Cork. Upon some of them Christian\nemblems are figured. The incising of the stone has evidently been\nperformed by some rude instrument, either a flint or metallic pick;\nand it is remarkable that these pillars present scarcely any amount of\ndressing.\n\nIn Connaught, in my youth, the exception in remote districts was where\nthe person spoke _both_ English and Irish. In 1851, when we first took\na census of the Irish-speaking population, after the country had lost\nthree-quarters of a million of people, chiefly of the Irish race,\nwe had then (to speak in round numbers) one and a half millions of\nIrish-speaking population. In 1861 they had fallen off by nearly half\na million; and upon the taking of the last census in 1871 the entire\nIrish-speaking population was only 817,865. The percentages, according\nto the total population in our different provinces, were these: in\nLeinster 1.2, in Munster 27.7, in Ulster 4.6, and in Connaught 39.0;\nfor the total of Ireland 15.1. Kilkenny and Louth are the counties\nof Leinster where the language is most spoken. In Munster they are\nKerry, Clare, and Waterford; in Ulster, Donegal, where 28 per cent. of\nthe population speak Irish; but in Connaught, to which I have already\nalluded as containing the remnant of the early Irish races, we have no\nless than 56 per cent. of Irish-speaking population in the counties of\nMayo and Galway respectively. Of my own knowledge I can attest that a\ngreat many of these people cannot speak English. We thus see that of\nthe population of Ireland, which in the present day might be computed\nat about five and a half millions, there were, at the time of taking\nthe census in April, 1871, only 817,865; and I think I may prophesy\nthat that is the very largest number that in future we will ever have\nto record. On the causes of this decadence it is not my province to\ndescant. These Celts have been the great pioneers of civilization, and\nare now a power in the world. Are they not now numerically the dominant\nrace in America? and have they not largely peopled Australia and New\nZealand?\n\nWe have now arrived at a period when you might naturally expect the\nnative annalist to make some allusion to conquest or colonization by\nthe then mistress of the world. Without offering any reason for it,\nI have here only to remark that neither as warriors nor colonizers\ndid the Romans ever set foot in Ireland; and hence the paucity of any\nadmixture of Roman art amongst us.\n\nTo fill up a hiatus which might here occur in our migrations, I will\nmention a remarkable circumstance. A Christian youth of Romano-Saxon\nparentage, and probably of patrician origin, was carried off in a raid\nof Irish marauders, and employed as a swineherd in this very Ulster,\nthe country of the Dalaradians, and lived here for several years,\nlearning our customs and speaking our language. He escaped, however,\nto Munster, and thence to his native land of Britain or Normandy, from\nwhence he returned in A.D. 432 with friends, allies, and missionaries,\nand passing in his galley into the mouth of the Boyne, walked up the\nbanks of that famed stream, raised the paschal fire at Slane, and\nspeedily introduced Christianity throughout Ireland.\n\nIn thus briefly alluding to the labours of St. Patrick, I wish to be\nunderstood to say that about the time of his mission there was much\nSaxon intercourse with this country, and the great missionary had not\nonly many friends but several relatives residing here, and some of\nthem on the very banks of the Boyne; and I believe that a considerable\namount of civilization and some knowledge of Christianity had been\nintroduced long previously; so that, although old King Laoghaire\nor Loury and his Druids did not bow the knee to the Most High God,\nnor accept the teaching of the beautiful hymn that Patrick and his\nattendants chanted as they passed up the grassy slopes of Tara, still\nthere were many hundred people in Ireland ready to receive the glad\ntidings of the gospel of salvation.\n\nHaving finished with the Milesians, we now come to the Danes\n(so-called), the Scandinavians or Norsemen\u2014the pagan Sea-Kings who\nmade inroads on our coasts, despoiled our churches and monasteries,\nbut at the same time, it must be confessed, helped to establish the\ncommercial prosperity of some of our cities and towns from 795 to the\ntime of the battle of Clontarf, A.D. 1014, when the belligerent portion\nof the Scandinavians were finally expelled the country. During the time\nI have specified, Dublin, Limerick, and Waterford belonged to these\nNorthern people. They not only coasted round the island and never lost\nan opportunity of pillage and plunder, but they passed through the\ninterior and carried their arms into the very centre of the land. The\nDanes left us very little ornamental work beyond what they lavished\nupon their swords and helmets; but, on the other hand, it should be\nborne in mind that there are no Irish antiquities, either social,\nwarlike, or ecclesiastical, in the Scandinavian Museums.\n\nConcerning their ethnological characters, I must again refer to the\n\u201cCrania Britannica.\u201d In the records they were designated strangers,\nforeigners, pagans, gentiles, and also white and black foreigners, so\nthat there were undoubtedly two races\u2014the dark, and the fair or red,\nlike as in the case of the Firbolgs or Dananns. They were also styled\n\u201cAzure Danes,\u201d probably on account of the shining hue of their armour.\n\nI believe the fair section of that people to have been of Norwegian\norigin, while the dark race came from Jutland and the coast of Sweden;\nand both by the Orkneys, the coasts of Scotland, and the Isle of Man.\nTheir skulls were large and well formed; they had a thorough knowledge\nof metal work, and especially iron; and, as I have shown elsewhere,\ntheir swords and spears were of great size and power, the former\nwielded as a slashing weapon, while those of their early opponents were\nof bronze, weak, and intended for stabbing. In nowhere else in Europe\n(that I am aware of) have these rounded, pointed, or bevelled heavy\niron swords been found except in Ireland and Norway.\n\nLarge quantities of Danish remains have been discovered in deep\nsinkings made in Dublin; and several weapons, tools, and ornaments,\nbelieved to be of Scandinavian origin, have been found within a\nfew inches of the surface on one of the battle-fields on the south\nside of the Liffey, within the last few years. Upon most of these\nI have already reported and given illustrations. I may mention one\ncircumstance connected with this race. I never examined a battle-field\nof the Danes, nor a collection of Danish weapons or implements, that I\ndid not find the well-adjusted scales and weights which the Viking had\nin his pocket for valuing the precious metals he procured either by\nconquest or otherwise.\n\nAlthough considered hostile, these Scandinavian Vikings must have\nfraternized with the Irish. We know that they intermarried; for, among\nmany other instances that might be adduced, I may mention that during\nthe battle of Clontarf, when Sitric, the Danish king of Dublin, looked\non the fight from the walls of the city, he was accompanied by his\nwife, the daughter of the aged king known as \u201cBrian the Brave.\u201d\n\nWhen, however, the Irish chieftains were not fighting with one another,\nthey were often engaged in petty wars with the Scandinavians, who, in\nturn, were attacked by their own countrymen, the \u201cBlack Gentiles,\u201d\nespecially on the plain of Fingall, stretching from Dublin to the\nBoyne, and which the white race chiefly occupied. It must not be\nsupposed that the battle of Clontarf ended the Danish occupation of\nIreland; they still held the cities of Dublin, Limerick, and Waterford\nat least, and largely promoted the commercial prosperity in these\nlocalities\u2014a prosperity which has not quite yet departed. I should\nlike to present you with some remains of the Scandinavian language in\nIreland, but the materials are very scanty.\n\nWe are now coming to a later period. The Romans had occupied Britain,\nthe Saxons followed; the Danes had partial possession for a time; the\nHeptarchy prevailed until Harold, the last of the Saxon kings, fell at\nHastings, and England bowed beneath that mixture of Norman, Gaulish,\nScandinavian, and general Celtic blood that William brought with him\nfrom the shores of France. The Saxon dynasty was at an end, but the\nBritons of the day accepted their fate; and not only the soldiers, but\nthe Norman barons fused with the people of that kingdom, and largely\ncontributed to make it what it now is. This fusion of races, this\nassimilation of sentiments, this interchange of thought, this kindly\nculture, the higher elevating the lower, among whom they permanently\nreside, must always tend to great and good ends in raising a people to\na nobler intellectual state.\n\nThe Anglo-Normans came here in 1172, a very mixed race, but their\nleaders were chiefly of French or Norman extraction. Why they came, or\nwhat they did, it is not for me to expatiate upon. I wish, however,\nto correct an assertion commonly made, to the effect that the Norman\nbarons of Henry II. _then_ conquered Ireland. They occupied some towns,\nformed a \u201cPale,\u201d levied taxes, sent in soldiery, distributed lands,\nand introduced a new language; but the \u201cKing\u2019s writ did not run;\u201d the\nsubjugation of Ireland did not extend over the country at large, and\nit remained till 1846 and the five or six following years to complete\nthe conquest of the Irish race, by the loss of a tuberous esculent\nand the Governmental alteration in the value of a grain of corn. Then\nthere went to the workhouse or exile upwards of two millions of the\nIrish race, besides those who died of pestilence. Having carefully\ninvestigated and reported upon this last great European famine, I have\ncome to the conclusion just stated, without taking into consideration\nits political, religious, or national aspects.\n\nIt appears to me that one of our great difficulties in Ireland has been\nthe want of fusion\u2014not only of races, but of opinions and sentiments,\nin what may be called a \u201cgive and take\u201d system. As regards the\nintermixture, I think there cannot be a better one than the Saxon with\nthe Celt. The Anglo-Normans, however, partially fused with the native\nIrish; for Strongbow married Eva the daughter of King Dermot; and from\nthis marriage it has been clearly shown that Her Most Gracious Majesty\nthe present Queen of Ireland and Great Britain is lineally descended.\nSeveral of the noble warriors who came over about that period have\nestablished great and widespread names in Ireland, among whom I may\nmention the Geraldines in Leinster, the De Burgos in Connaught, and the\nButlers in Munster; and they and their descendants became, according to\nthe old Latin adage, \u201cmore Irish than the Irish themselves.\u201d\n\nLook what the intermixture of races has done for us in Ireland; the\nFirbolg brought us agriculture; the Danann the chemistry and mechanics\nof metal work; the Milesians beauty and governing power; the Danes\ncommerce and navigation; the Anglo-Normans chivalry and organized\ngovernment; and, in later times, the French emigrants taught us an\nimproved art of weaving.\n\nIt would be more political than ethnological were I to enter upon the\ndiscussion of that subsequent period which would conduct us to the days\nof Cromwell or the Boyne, or, perhaps, to later periods, involving\nquestions not pertinent to the present subject.\n\nBut I must here say a word or two respecting Irish art. In\narchitecture, in decorative tone-work, from archaic markings that gave\na tone and character to all subsequent art, in our beauteous crosses,\nin our early metal work, in gold and bronze, carried on from the pagan\nto the Christian period, and in our gorgeously illuminated MS. books,\nwe have got a style of art that is specially and peculiarly Irish, and\nthat has no exact parallel elsewhere, and was only slightly modified by\nNorman or Frankish design.\n\nTime passed, and events accumulated; political affairs intermingle,\nbut the anthropologist should try and keep clear of them. At the end\nof the reign of Elizabeth a considerable immigration of English took\nplace into the South of Ireland. Subsequently the historic episode\nof the \u201cFlight of the Earls,\u201d O\u2019Neil and O\u2019Donnell, brought matters\nto a climax; and the early part of the reign of the first James is\nmemorable for the \u201cPlantation of Ulster,\u201d when a number of Celtic\nScots with some Saxons returned to their brethren across the water;\nand about the same time the London companies occupied large portions\nof this fertile province, and the early Irish race were transplanted\nby the Protector to the West, as I have already stated. It must not be\nimagined that this was the first immigration. The Picts passed through\nIreland, and no doubt left a remnant behind them. And in consequence\nof contiguity, the Scottish people must early have settled upon our\nnorthern coasts. When the adventurous Edward Bruce made that marvellous\ninroad into Ireland at the end of the fourteenth century and advanced\ninto the bowels of the land, he carried with him a Gaelic population\ncognate with our own people, and in all probability left a residue in\nUlster, thus leavening the original Firbolgs, Tuatha-de-Danann, and\nMilesians, with the exception of the county of Donegal, which still\nholds a large Celtic population speaking the old Irish tongue, and\nretaining the special characters of that people as I have already\ndescribed them. This Scotic race, as it now exists in Ulster, and\nof which we have specimens before us, I would sum up with three\ncharacteristics. That they were courageous is proved by their shutting\nthe gates and defending the walls of Derry; that they were independent\nand lovers of justice has been shown by their establishment of tenant\nright; and that they were industrious and energetic is manifest by the\nmanufacturers of Belfast. Do not, I entreat my brethren of Ulster,\nallow these manufactures to be jeopardized, either by masters or men,\nby any disagreements, which must lead to the decay of the fairest and\nwealthiest province and one of the most beautiful cities in this our\nnative land.\n\n\n _Printed in Great Britain by_ Butler & Tanner _Frome and London_.","title":"Ancient legends, Mystic Charms & Superstitions of Ireland: With sketches of the Irish past","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":161106}