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THE      MODERN      LIBRARY 

OF     THE     W  O  R  L   D'  S     BEST     P  O  O  K  S 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 


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IRISH 

FAIRY 

AND 

FOLK 

TALES 


K  It  I  T  X  It    BY 
t+jM 

w.  B;  YEATS 


THE 

MODERN     LIBRARY 

NEW    YORK 


Random  House  is  THE  PUBLISHER  OF 

THE    MODERN    LIBRARY 

BENNETT  A.  CEHF  •  DONALD  S.  KLOPFEB  •  ROBEBT  K.  HAAS 

Manufactured  in  the  United  States  of  America 
Printed  by  Parkway  Printing  Company         Bound  by  H.  Wolff 


INSCRIBED 

TO  MY  MYSTICAL  FRIEND. 
G.  B. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  TROOPING  FAIRIES — 

The   Fairies 

Frank  Martin  and  the  Fairies 

The  Priest's  Supper 

The  Fairy  Well  of  Lagnanay 

Teig  O'Kane  and  the  Corpse 

Paddy  Corcoran's  Wife 

Cusheen  Loo 

The  White  Trout;  A  Legend  of  Cong 

The  Fairy  Thorn 

The  Legend  of  Knockgrafton 

A  Donegal  Fairy 


Page 

3 
5 
9 

14 
16 
33 
35 
36 
40 
43 
48 


CHANGELINGS — 

The  Brewery  of  Egg-shells  . 
The  Fairy  Nurse 

Jamie  Freel  and  the  Young  Lady 
The.  Stolen  Child 

THE  MERROW— 

The  Soul  Cages 

Flory  Cantillon's  Funeral 


51 
54 
55 
62 


«5 

80 


THE  SOLITARY  FAIRIES — 

The  Lepracaun;  or,  Fairy  Shoemaker  86 

Master  and  Man          .                              .  S9 

Far  Darrig  in  Donegal                           .  96 

The  Piper  and  the  Puca                        .  101 

Daniel  O'Rourke          .                            .  104 

The  Kildare  Pooka     .                            .  112 

How  Thomas  Connolly  met  the  Banshee  116 
A  Lamentation  for  the  Death  of  Sir  Maurice 

Fitzgerald                 ...  120 

The  Banshee  of  the  Mac  Carthys     .  122 


GHOSTS — 


A  Dream 

Grace  Connor 

A  Legend  of  Tyrone 

The   Black   Lamb 

Song  of  the  Ghost 

The  Radiant  Boy 

The  Fate  of  Frank  M'Kenna 


139 
14« 
142 
144 
144 
14C 
149 


viii  CONTENTS 

WITCHES,   FAIRY  DOCTORS —  Page 

Bewitched  Butter  (Donegal)              .  158 

A  Queen's   County  Witch      .              .  160 

The  Witch  Hare         .              .              .  164 

Bewitched  Butter  (Queen's  County)  165 

The  Horned   Women                 .               .  176 

The  Witches'   Excursion        .              .  179 

The  Confessions  of  Tom  Bourke       .  182 

The  Pudding  Bewitched         .              .  198 

T'YEER-NA-N-OGE—  .    • 

The  Legend  of  O'-Donoghue  .              .  215 

Rent  Day         ....  217 

Loughleagh   (Lake  of  Healing)          .  220 

Hy-Brasail — The  Isle  of  the  Blest     .  226 

The  Phantom  Isle       ...  228 

SAINTS,  PRIESTS — 

The  Priest's  Soul        ....  230 

The  Priest  of  Coloony             .  .    •                 236 

The  Story  of  the  Little  Bird              .  .                     237 

Conversion  of  King  Laoghaire's  Daughters  239 

King  O'Toole  and  His  Goose               .  .                    240 

THE  DEVIL— 

The  Demon  Cat            .               .  .               .      245 

The  Long  Spoon          .                          -    .  .               .      247 

The  Countess  Kathleen  O'Shea          .  .              .      248 
The  Three  Wishes     .....     252 


GIANTS— 


The  Giant's  Stairs      .                          •    .               .               .  279 

A  Legend  of  Knockmany        ....  285 

KINGS,  QUEENS,  PRINCESSES,  EARLS,  ROBBERS— 

The  Twelve  Wild  Geese          .          •    .  300 

The  Lazy  Beauty  and  Her  Aunts       .  306 

The  Haughty  Princess            .               .  311 

The   Enchantment   of   Gearoidh   larla  315 

Munachar  and  Manachar        .               .  317 

Donald  and  His  Neighbors     .              .  321 

The  Jackdaw                .              .              .  325 

The  Story  of  Conn-eda           .              .  328 

NOTES  .  .  .  .  .  .343 


DR.  COHBETT,  Bishop  of  Oxford  and  Norwich,  la- 
mented long  ago  the  departure  of  the  English  fairies. 
"In  Queen  Mary's  time,"  he  wrote : 

"When  Tom  came  home  from  labor, 

Or  Cis  to  milking  rose, 
Then  merrily,  merrily  went  their  tabor. 
And  merrily  went  their  toes." 

But  now,  in  the  times  of  James,  they  had  all  gone,  for 
"they  were  of  the  old  profession,"  and  "their  songs  were 
Ave  Maries."  In  Ireland  they  are  still  extant,  giving 
gifts  to  the  kindly,  and  plaguing  the  surly.  "Have  you 
ever  seen  a  fairy  or  such  like?"  I  asked  an  old  man  in 
County  Sligo.  "Amn't  I  annoyed  with  them,"  was  the 
answer.  "Do  the  fishermen  along  here  know  anything 
of  the  mermaids?"  I  asked  a  woman  of  a  village  in 
County  Dublin.  "Indeed,  they  don't  like  to  see  them  at 
all,"  she  answered,  "for  they  always  bring  bad  weather." 
"Here  is  a  man  who  believes  in  ghosts,"  said  a  foreign 
sea-captain,  pointing  to  a  pilot  of  my  acquaintance.  "In 
every  house  over  there,"  said  the  pilot,  pointing  to  his 
native  village  of  Rosses,  "there  are  several."  Certainly 
that  now  old  and  much  respected  dogmatist,  the  Spirit 

ix 


x  INTRODUCTION 

of  the  Age,  has  in  no  manner  made  his  voice  heard  down 
there.  In  a  little  while,  for  he  has  gotten  a  consumptive 
appearance  of  late,  he  will  be  covered  over  decently  in 
his  grave,  and  another  will  grow,  old  and  much  re- 
spected, in  his  place,  and  never  be  heard  of  down  there, 
and  after  him  another  and  another  and  another.  In- 
deed, it  is  a  question  whether  any  of  these  personages 
will  ever  be  heard  of  outside  the  newspaper  offices  and 
lecture-rooms  and  drawing-rooms  and  eelpie  houses  of 
the  cities,  or  if  the  Spirit  of  the  Age  is  at  any  time  more 
than  a  froth.  At  any  rate,  whole  troops  of  their  like 
will  not  change  the  Celt  much.  Giraldus  Cambrensis 
found  the  people  of  the  western  islands  a  trifle  pagan- 
ish. "How  many  gods  are  there?"  asked  a  priest,  a 
little  while  ago,  of  a  man  from  the  Island  of  Innistor. 
"There  is  one  on  Innistor ;  but  this  seems  a  big  place," 
said  the  man,  and  the  priest  held  up  his  hands  in  horror, 
as  Giraldus  had,  just  seven  centuries  before.  Remem- 
ber, I  am  not  blaming  the  man;  it  is  very  much  better 
to  believe  in  a  number  of  gods  than  in  none  at  all,  or 
to  think  there  is  only  one,  but  that  he  is  a  little  senti- 
mental and  impracticable,  and  not  constructed  for  the 
nineteenth  century.  The  Celt,  and  his  cromlechs,  and 
his  pillar-stones,  these  will  not  change  much — indeed,  it 
is  doubtful  if  anybody  at  all  changes  at  any  time.  In 
spite  of  hosts  of  deniers,  and  asserters,  and  wise-men, 
and  professors,  the  majority  still  are  averse  to  sitting 
down  to  dine  thirteen  at  table,  or  being  helped  to  salt, 
or  walking  under  a  ladder,  or  seeing  a  single  magpie 
flirting  his  chequered  tail.  There  are,  of  course,  chil- 
dren of  light  who  have  set  their  faces  against  all  this, 
though  even  a  newspaper  man,  if  you  entice  him  into 
a  cemetery  at  midnight,  will  believe  in  phantoms,  for 
every  one  is  a  visionary,  if  you  scratch  him  deep  enough. 
But  the  Celt  is  a  visionary  without  scratching. 

Yet,  be  it  noticed,  if  you  are  a  stranger,  you  will  not 
readily  get  ghost  and  fairy  legends,  even  in  a  western 


INTRODUCTION  ri 

tillage.  You  must  go  adroitly  to  work,  and  make  friends 
witli  the  children,  and  the  old  men,  with  those  who  have 
not  felt  the  pressure  of  mere  daylight  existence,  and 
those  with  whom  it  is  growing  less,  and  will  have  alto- 
gether taken  itself  off  one  of  these  days.  The  old 
women  are  most  learned,  but  will  not  so  readily  be  got 
to  talk,  for  the  fairies  are  very  secretive,  and  much  re- 
gent being  talked  of ;  and  are  there  not  many  stories  of 
old  women  who  were  nearly  pinched  into  their  graves 
or  numbed  with  fairy  blasts? 

At  sea,  when  the  nets  are  out  and  the  pipes  are  lit, 
then  will  some  ancient  hoarder  of  tales  become  loqua- 
cious, telling  his  histories  to  the  tune  of  the  creaking 
of  the  boats.  Holy-eve  night,  too,  is  a  great  time,  and 
in  old  days  many  tales  were  to  be  heard  at  wakes.  But 
the  priests  have  set  faces  against  wakes. 

In  the  Parochial  Survey  of  Ireland  it  is  recorded  how 
the  story-tellers  used  to  gather  together  of  an  evening, 
and  if  any  had  a  different  version  from  the  others,  they 
would  all  recite  theirs  and  vote,  and  the  man  who  had 
varied  would  have  to  abide  by  their  verdict.  In  this 
way  stories  have  been  handed  down  with  such  accuracy, 
that  the  long  tale  of  Dierdre  was,  in  the  earlier  decades 
of  this  century,  told  almost  word  for  word,  as  in  the 
very  ancient  MSS.  in  the  Royal  Dublin  Society.  In 
one  case  only  it  varied,  and  then  the  MS.  was  obviously 
wrong — a  passage  had  been  forgotten  by  the  copyist. 
But  tlrs  accuracy  is  rather  in  the  folk  and  bardic  tales 
than  in  the  fairy  legends,  for  these  vary  widely,  being 
usually  adapted  to  some  neighboring  village  or  local 
fairy-seeing  celebrity.  Each  county  has  usually  some 
family,  or  personage,  supposed  to  have  been  favored  or 
plagued,  especially  by  the  phantoms,  as  the  Hackets  of 
Castle  Hacket,  Galway,  who  had  for  their  ancestor  a 
fairy,  or  John-o'-Daly  of  Lisadell,  Sligo,  who  wrote 
"Eilleen  Aroon,"  the  song  the  Scotch  have  stolen  and 
called  "Robin  Adair,"  and  which  Handel  would  sooner 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

have  written  than  all  his  oratorios,*  and  the  "O'Dona- 
hue  of  Kerry."  Round  these  men  stories  tended  to 
group  themselves,  sometimes  deserting  more  ancient 
heroes  for  the  purpose.  Round  poets  have  they  gath- 
ered especially,  for  -poetry  in  Ireland  has  always  been 
mysteriously  connected  with  magic. 

These  folk-tales  are  full  of  simplicity  and  musical  oc- 
currences, for  they  are  the  literature  of  a  class  for  whom 
every  incident  in  the  old  rut  of  birth,  love,  pain,  and 
death  has  cropped  up  unchanged  for  centuries :  who  have 
steeped  everything  in  the  heart:  to  whom  everything  is 
a  symbol.  They  have  the  spade  over  which  man  has 
leaned  from  the  beginning.  The  people  of  the  cities 
have  the  machine,  which  is  prose  and  a  parvenu. '  They 
have  few  events.  They  can  turn  over  the  incidents  of  a 
long  life  as  they  sit  by  the  fire.  With  us  nothing  has 
time  to  gather  meaning,  and  too  many  things  are  occur- 
ring for  even  a  big  heart  to  hold.  It  is  said  the  most 
eloquent  people  in  the  world  are  the  Arabs,  who  have 
only  the  bare  earth  of  the  desert  and  a  sky  swept  bare 
by  the  sun.  "Wisdom  has  alighted  upon  three  things," 
goes  their  proverb ;  "the  hand  of  the  Chinese,  the  brain 
of  the  Frank,  and  the  tongue  of  the  Arab."  This,  I  take 
it,  is  the  meaning  of  that  simplicity  sought  for  so  much 
In  these  days  by  all  the  poets,  and  not  to  be  had  at 
any  price. 

The  most  notable  and  typical  story-teller  of  my  ac- 
quaintance is  one  Paddy  Flynn,  a  little,  bright-eyed,  old 
.man,  living  in  a  leaky  one-roomed  cottage  of  the  village 

of  B ,  "The  most  gentle — i.e.,  fairy — place  in  the 

whole  of  the  County  Sligo,"  he  says,  though  others 
claim  that  honor  for  Drumahair  or  for  Drumcliff.  A 
very  pious  old  man,  too !  You  may  have  some  time  to 
inspect  his  strange  figure  and  ragged  hair,  if  he  happen 
to  be  in  a  devout  humor,  before  he  comes  to  the  doings 

*  He  lived  some  time  in  Dublin,  and  heard  it  then. 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

of  the  gentry.  A  strange  devotion  !  Old  tales  of  Colum- 
kill,  and  what  he  said  to  his  mother.  "How  are  you 
to-day,  mother  ?"  "Worse !"  "May  you  be  worse  to- 
morrow;" and  on  the  next  day,  "How  are  you  to-day, 
mother  ?"  "Worse  !"  "May  you  be  worse  to-morrow ;" 
and  on  the  next,  "How  are  you  to-day,  mother  ?"  "Bet- 
ter, thank  God/'  "May  you  be  better  to-morrow."  In 
which  undutiful  manner  he  will  tell  you  Columkill  in- 
culcated cheerfulness.  Then  most  likely  he  will  wander 
oft*  into  his  favorite  theme — how  the  Judge  smiles  alike 
in  rewarding  the  good  and  condemning  the  lost  to  un- 
ceasing flames.  "Very  consoling  does  it  appear  to  Paddy 
Flynn,  this  melancholy  and  apocalyptic  cheerfulness  of 
the  Judge.  Nor  seems  his  own  cheerfulness  quite 
earthly — though  a  very  palpable  cheerfulness.  The  first 
time  I  saw  him  he  was  cooking  mushrooms  for  himself ; 
the  next  time  he  was  asleep  under  a  hedge,  smiling  in 
his  sleep.  Assuredly  some  joy  not  quite  of  this  steadfast 
earth  lightens  in  those  eyes — swift  as  the  eyes  of  a  rabbit 
— among  so  many  wrinkles,  for  Paddy  Flynn  is  very 
old.  A  melancholy  there  is  in  the  midst  of  their  cheer- 
fulness— a  melancholy  that  is  almost  a  portion  of  their 
joy,  the  visionary  melancholy  of  purely  instinctive  na- 
tures and  of  all  animals.  In  the  triple  solitude  of  age 
and  eccentricity  and  partial  deafness  he  goes  about  much 
pestered  by  children. 

As  to  the  reality  of  his  fairy  and  spirit-seeing  powers, 
not  all  are  agreed.  One  day  we  were  talking  of  the 
Banshee.  "I  have  seen  it,"  he  said,  "down  there  by  the 
water  ^batting'  the  river  with  its  hands."  He  it  was 
who  said  the  fairies  annoyed  him. 

Not  that  the  Sceptic  is  entirely  afar  even  from  these 
western  villages.  I  found  him  one  morning  as  he  bound 
his  corn  in  a  merest  pocket-handkerchief  of  a  field. 
Very  different  from  Paddy  Flynn — Scepticism  in  every 
wrinkle  of  his  face,  and  a  travelled  man,  too ! — a  foot- 
long  Mohawk  Indian  tattooed  on  one  of  his  arm?  to  evi- 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

dence  the  matter.  "They  who  travel,"  says  a  neighbor- 
ing priest,  shaking  his  head  over  him,  and  quoting 
Thomas  A'Kempis,  "seldom  come  home  holy."  I  had 
mentioned  ghosts  to  this  Sceptic.  "Ghosts,"  said  he; 
"there  are  no  such  things  at  all,  at  all,  but  the  gentry, 
they  stand  .to  reason;  for  the  devil,  when  he  fell  out  of 
heaven,  took  the  weak-minded  ones  with  him,  and  they 
•were  put  into  the  waste  places.  And  that's  what  the 
gentry  are.  But  they  are  getting  scarce  now,  because 
their  time's  over,  ye  see,  and  they're  going  back.  But 
ghosts,  no !  And  I'll  tell  ye  something  more  I  don't 
believe  in — the  fire  of  hell ;"  then,  in  a  low  voice,  "that's 
only  invented  to  give  the  priests  and  the  parsons  some- 
thing to  do."  Thereupon  this  man,  so  full  of  enlighten- 
ment, returned  to  his  corn-binding. 

The  various  collectors  of  Irish  folk-lore  have,  from 
our  point  of  view,  one  great  merit,  and  from  the  point 
of  view  of  others,  one  great  fault.  They  have  made  their 
•work  literature  rather  than  science,  and  told  us  of  the 
Irish  peasantry  rather  than  of  the  primitive  religion  of 
mankind,  or  whatever  else  the  f  olk-lorists  are  on  the  gad 
after.  To  be  considered  scientists  they  should  have  tabu- 
lated all  their  tales  in  forms  like  grocers'  bills — item 
the  fairy  king,  item  the  queen.  Instead  of  this  they 
have  caught  the  very  voice  of  the  people,  the  very  pulse 
of  life,  each  giving  what  was  most  noticed  in  his  day. 
Croker  and  Lover,  full  of  the  ideas  of  harum-scarum 
Irish  gentility,  saw  everything  humorized.  The  impulse 
of  the  Irish  Literature  of  their  time  came  from  a  class 
that  did  not — mainly  for  political  reasons- — take  the 
populace  seriously,  and  imagined  the  country  as  a 
humorist's  Arcadia;  its  passion,  its  gloom,  its  tragedy, 
they  knew  nothing  of.  What  they  did  was  not  wholly 
false;  they  merely  magnified  an  irresponsible  type, 
found  of tenest  among  boatmen,  carmen,  and  gentlemen's 
servants,  into  the  type  of  a  whole  nation,  and  created 
the  stage  Irishman.  The  writers  of  'Forty-eight,  and 


INTRODUCTION  XT 

the  famine  combined,  burst  their  bubble.  Their  work 
had  the  dash  as  well  as  the  shallowness  of  an  ascendant 
and  idle  class,  and  in  Croker  is  touched  everywhere  with 
beauty — a  gentle  Arcadian  beauty.  Carleton,  a  peasant 
born,  has  in  many  of  his  stories — I  have  been  only  able 
to  give  a  few  of  the  slightest — more  especially  in  his 
ghost  stories,  a  much  more  serious  way  with  him,  for 
all  his  humor.  Kennedy,  an  old  bookseller  in  Dublin, 
who  seems  to  have  had  a  something  of  genuine  belief 
in  the  fairies,  came  next  in  time.  He  has  far  less  liter- 
ary faculty,  but  is  wonderfully  accurate,  giving  often 
the  very  words  the  stories  were  told  in.  But  the  best 
book  since  Croker  is  Lady  Wilde's  Ancient  Legends. 
The  humor  has  all  given  way  to  pathos  and  tenderness. 
We  have  here  the  innermost  heart  of  the  Celt  in  the 
moments  he  has  grown  to  love  through  years  of  perse- 
cution, when,  cushioning  himself  about  with  dreams, 
and  hearing  fairy-songs  in  the  twilight,  he  ponders  on 
the  soul  and  on  the  dead.  Here  is  the  Celt,  only  it  is 
the  Celt  dreaming. 

Besides  these  are  two  writers  of  importance,  who  have 
•published,  so  far,  nothing  in  book  shape — Miss  Letitia 
Maclintock  and  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde.  Miss  Maclintock 
writes  accurately  and  beautifully  the  half  Scotch  dialect 
of  Ulster;  and  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde  is  now  preparing  a 
volume  of  folk  tales  in  Gaelic,  having  taken  them  down, 
for  the  most  part,  word  for  word  among  the  Gaelic 
speakers  of  Roscommon  and  Galway.  He  is,  perhaps, 
most  to  be  trusted  of  all.  He  knows  the  people  thor- 
oughly. Others  see  a  phase  of  Irish  life ;  he  understands 
all  its  elements.  His  work  is  neither  humorous  nor 
mournful ;  it  is  simply  life.  I  hope  he  may  put  some  of 
his  gatherings  into  ballads,  for  he  is  the  last  of  oui 
ballad-writers  of  the  school  of  Walsh  and  Callanan — 
men  whose  work  seems  fragrant  with  turf  smoke.  And 
this  brings  to  mind  the  chap-books.  They  are  to  be 
found  brown  with  turf  smoke  on  cottage  shelves,  and 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

are,  or  were,  sold  on  every  hand  by  the  pedlars,  but  can- 
not be  found  in  any  library  of  this  city  of  the  Sassa- 
nach.  "The  Koyal  Fairy  Tales/'  "The  Hibernian 
Tales/'  and  "The  Legends  of  the  Fairies"  are  the  fairy 
literature  of  the  people. 

Several  specimens  of  our  fairy  poetry  are  given.  It  is 
more  like  the  fairy  poetry  of  Scotland  than  of  England. 
The  personages  of  English  fairy  literature  are  merely,  in 
most  cases,  mortals  beautifully  masquerading.  Nobody 
ever  believed  in  such  fairies.  They  are  romantic  bubbles 
from  Provence.  Nobody  ever  laid  new  milk  on  their 
doorstep  for  them. 

As  to  my  own  part  in  this  book,  I  have  tried  to  make 
it  representative,  as  far  as  so  few  pages  would  allow, 
of  every  kind  of  Irish  folk-faith.  The  reader  will  per- 
haps wonder  that  in  all  my  notes  I  have  not  rationalized 
a  single  hobgoblin.  I  seek  for  "shelter  to  the  words  of 
Socrates.* 

"Plicedrus.  I  should  like  to  know,  Socrates,  whether 
the  place  is  not  somewhere  here  at  which  Boreas  is  said 
to  have  carried  off  Orithyia  from  the  banks  of  the 
Ilissus. 

"Socrates.     That  is  the  tradition. 

"Phcedru-s.  And  is  this  the  exact  spot?  The  little 
stream  is  delightfully  clear  and  bright ;  I  can  fancy  that 
there  might  be  maidens  playing  near. 

"Socrates.  I  believe  the  spot  is  not  exactly  here,  but 
about  a  quarter-of-a-mile  lower  down,  where  you  cross 
to  the  temple  of  Artemis,  and  I  think  that  there  is  some 
sort  of  an  altar  of  Boreas  at  the  place. 

"Phcedrus.  I  do  not  recollect;  but  I  beseech  you  to 
tell  me,  Socrates,  do  you  believe  this  tale  ? 

"Socrates.  The  wise  are  doubtful,  and  I  should  not 
be  singular  if,  like  them,  I  also  doubted.  I  might  have 
a  rational  explanation  that  Orithyia  was  playing  with 

* Phcedrus.    Jowett's  translation.     (Clarendon  Press.) 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

Pharmacia,  when  a  northern  gust  carried  her  over  the 
neighboring  rocks;  and  this  being  the  manner  of  her 
death,  she  was  said  to  have  been  carried  away  by  Boreas. 
There  is  a  discrepancy,  however,  about  the  locality. 
According  to  another  version  of  the  story,  she  was  taken 
from  the  Areopagus,  and  not  from  this  place.  Now  I 
quite  acknowledge  that  these  allegories  are  very  nice,  but 
he  is  not  to  be  envied  who  has  to  invent  them;  much 
labor  and  ingenuity  will  be  required  of  him ;  and  when 
he  has  once  begun,  he  must  go  on  and  rehabilitate  cen- 
taurs and  chimeras  dire.  Gorgons  and  winged  steeds 
flow  in  apace,  and  numberless  other  inconceivable  and 
portentous  monsters.  And  if  he  is  sceptical  about  them, 
and  would  fain  reduce  them  one  after  another  to  the 
rules  of  probability,  this  sort  of  crude  philosophy  will 
take  up  all  his  time.  Now,  I  have  certainly  not  time 
for  such  inquiries.  Shall  I  tell  you  why?  I  mu>t  first 
know  myself,  as  the  Delphian  inscription  says;  to  be 
curious  about  that  which  is  not  my  business,  while  I  am 
still  in  ignorance  of  my  own  self,  would  be  ridiculous. 
And,  therefore,  I  say  farewell  to  all  this;  the  common 
opinion  is  enough  for  me.  For,  as  I  was  saying,  I  want 
to  know  not  about  this,  but  about  myself.  Am  I,  in- 
deed, a  wonder  more  complicated  and  swollen  with  pas- 
sion than  the  serpent  Typho,  or  a  creature  of  gentler 
and  simpler  sort,  to  whom  nature  has  given  a  diviner 
and  lowlier  destiny?" 


I  have  to  thank  Messrs.  Macmillan,  and  the  editors  of 
Belgravia,,  All  the  Year  Round,  and  Monthly  Packet, 
for  leave  to  quote  from  Patrick  Kennedy's  Legendary 
Fictions  of  the  Irish  Celts,  and  Miss  Maclintock's  arti- 
cles respectively;  Lady  Wilde,  for  leave  to  give  what  I 
would  from  her  Ancient  Legends  of  Ireland  (Ward  & 
Downey) ;  and  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde,  for  his  three  unpub- 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

lished  stories,  and  for  valuable  and  valued  assistance 
in  several  ways;  and  also  Mr.  Allingham,  and  other 
copyright  holders,  for  their  poems.  Mr.  Allingham's 
poems  are  from  Irish  Songs  and  Poems  (Reeves  and 
Turner);  Fergusson's,  from  Sealey,  Bryers  &•  Walker's 
shilling  reprint;  my  own  and  Miss  O'Leary's  from  Bal- 
lads and  Poems  of  Young  Ireland,  1888,  a  little  anthol- 
ogy published  by  Gill  &  Sons,  Dublin. 

W.  B.  YEATS. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 


THE  TKOOPING  FAIRIES 

THE  Irish  word  for  fairy  is  sheehogue  [sidhe6g],  a  diminu- 
tive of  "shee"  in  banshee.  Fairies  are  deenee  shee  [daoine 
sidhe]  (fairy  people). 

Who  are  they?  "Fallen  angels  who  were  not  good  enough 
to  be  saved,  nor  bad  enough  to  be  lost,"  say  the  peasantry. 
"The  gods  of  the  earth,"  says  the  Book  of  Armagh.  "The 
gods  of  pagan  Ireland,"  say  the  Irish  antiquarians,  "the 
Tuatha  De  Dandn,  who,  when  no  longer  worshipped  and  fed 
with  offerings,  dwindled  away  in  the  popular  imagination, 
and  now  are  only  a  few  spans  high." 

And  they  will  tell  you,  in  proof,  that  the  names  of  fairy 
chiefs  are  the  names  of  old  Dandn  heroes,  and  the  places 
where  they  especially  gather  together,  Dandn  burying-places, 
and  that  the  Tuatha  De  Dandn  used  also  to  be  called  the 
slooa-shee  [sheagh  sidhe]  (the  fairy  host),  or  Marcra  shee 
(the  fairy  cavalcade). 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  much  evidence  to  prove  them 
fallen  angels.  Witness  the  nature  of  the  creatures,  their 
caprice,  their  way  of  being  good  to  the  good  and  evil  to  the 
evil,  having  every  charm  but  conscience — consistency. 
Beings  so  quickly  offended  that  you  mjust  not  speak  much 
about  them  at  all,  and  never  call  them  anything  but  the 
"gentry,"  or  else  daoine  maithe,  which  in  English  means 
good  people,  yet  so  easily  pleased,  they  will  do  their  best 
to  keep  misfortune  away  from  you,  if  you  leave  a  little  milk 
for  them  on  the  window-sill  over  night.  On  the  whole,  the 
popular  belief  tells  us  most  about  them,  telling  us  how  they 
fell,  and  yet  were  not  lost,  because  their  evil  was  wholly 
without  malice. 

Are  they  "the  gods  of  the  earth?"    Perhaps!    Many  poets, 


2  IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

and  all  mystic  and  occult  writers,  in  all  ages  and  countries, 
have  declared  that  behind  the  visible  are  chains  on  chains 
of  conscious  beings,  who  are  not  of  heaven  but  of  the  earth, 
who  have  no  inherent  form  but  change  according  to  their 
whim,  or  the  mind  that  sees  them.  You  cannot  lift  your 
hand  without  influencing  and  being  influenced  by  hoards. 
The  visible  world  is  merely  their  skin.  In  dreams  we  go 
among  them,  and  play  with  them,  and  combat  with  them. 
They  are,  perhaps  human  souls  in  the  crucible — these  crea- 
tures of  whim. 

Do  not  think  the  fairies  are  always  little.  Everything  is 
capricious  about  them,  even  their  size.  They  seem  to  take 
what  size  or  shape  pleases  them.  Their  chief  occupations 
are  feasting,  fighting,  and  making  love,  and  playing  the  most 
beautiful  music.  They  have  only  one  industrious  person 
among  them,  the  lepra-caun — the  shoemaker.  Perhaps  they 
wear  their  shoes  out  with  dancing.  Near  the  village  of 
Ballisodare  is  a  little  woman  who  lived  among  them  seven 
years.  When  she  came  home  she  had  no  toes — she  had 
danced  them  off. 

They  have  three  great  festivals  in  ,the  year — May  Eve, 
Midsummer  Eve,  November  Eve.  On  May  Eve,  every  seventh 
year,  they  fight  all  round,  but  mostly  on  the  "Plain-a- 
Bawn"  (wherever  that  is),  for  the  harvest,  for  the  best  ears 
of  grain  belong  to  them.  An  old  man  told  me  he  saw  them 
fight  once;  they  tore  the  thatch  off  a  house  in  the  midst  of 
it  all.  Had  anyone  else  been  near  they  would  merely  have 
seen  a  great  wind  whirling  everything  into  the  air  as  it 
passed.  When  the  wind  makes  the  straws  and  leaves  whirl 
as  it  passes,  that  is  the  fairies,  and  the  peasantry  take  off 
their  hats  and  say,  "God  bless  them." 

On  Midsummer  Eve,  when  the  bonfires  are  lighted  on 
every  hill  in  honor  of  St.  John,  the  fairies  are  at  their 
payest,  and  sometimes  steal  away  beautiful  mortals  to  be 
their  brides. 

On  November  Eve  they  are  at  their  gloomiest,  for,  accord- 
ing to  the  old  Gaelic  reckoning,  this  is  the  first  night  of 
winter.  This  night  they  dance  with  the  ghosts,  and  the 
pooka  is  abroad,  and  witches  make  their  spells,  and  girls 
set  a  table  with  food  in  the  name  of  the  devil,  that  the  fetch 
of  their  future  lover  may  come  through  the  window  and  eat 
of  the  food.  After  November  Eve  the  blackberries  are  no 
longer  wholesome,  for  the  pooka  has  spoiled  them. 

When  they  are  angry  they  paralyze  men  and  cattle  with 
their  fairy  darts. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES          3 

When  they  are  gay  they  sing.  Many  a  poor  girl  has  heard 
them,  and  pined  away  and  died,  for  love  of  that  singing. 
Plenty  of  the  old  beautiful  tunes  of  Ireland  are  only  their 
music,  caught  up  by  eavesdroppers.  No  wise  peasant  would 
hum  "The  Pretty  Girl  Milking  the  Cow"  near  a  fairy  rath, 
for  they  are  jealous,  and  do  not  like  to  hear  their  songs  on 
clumsy  mortal  lips.  Carolan,  the  last  of  the  Irish  bards, 
slept  on  a  rath,  and  ever  after  the  fairy  tunes  ran  in  his 
head,  and  made  him  the  great  man  he  was. 

Do  they  die?  Blake  saw  a  fairy's  funeral ;  but  in  Ireland 
we  say  they  are  immortal. 


THE  FAIRIES 

WILLIAM  ALLINQHAM 

UP  the  airy  mountain, 
Down  the  rushy  glen, 

We  daren't  go  a-hunting 
For  fear  of  little  men ; 

Wee  folk,  good  folk, 
Trooping  all  together; 

Green  jacket,  red  cap, 
And  white  owl's  feather! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home, 
They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide-foam; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain  lake, 
With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs 

All  night  awake. 

High  on,  the  hill-top 

The  old  King  sits ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses; 

Or  going  up  with  music 
On  cold  starry  nights, 

To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long; 
When  she  came  down  again 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 
They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  night  and  morrow, 
They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep. 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lake, 
On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wake. 

By  the  craggy  hill-side, 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  them  up  in  spite, 
He  shall  find  their  sharpest  thorns 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen,  ' 
We  daren't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather! 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES           5 
FRANK  MARTIN  AND  THE  FAIRIES 

WILLIAM    CARLETON 

MARTIN  was  a  thin,  pale  man,  when  I  saw  him,  of  a 
sickly  look,  and  a  constitution  naturally  feeble.  His 
hair  was  a  light  auburn,  his  beard  mostly  unshaven,  and 
his  hancls  of  a  singular  delicacy  and  whiteness,  owing, 
I  dare  say,  as  much  to  the  soft  and  easy  nature  of  his 
employment  as  to  his  infirm  health.  In  everything  else 
he  was  as  sensible,  sober,  and  rational  as  any  other  man ; 
but  on  the  topic  of  fairies,  the  man's  mania  was  pecu- 
liarly strong  and  immovable.  Indeed,  I  remember  that 
the  expression  of  his  eyes  was  singularly  wild  and  hol- 
low, and  his  long,  narrow  temples  sallow  and  emaciated. 

Now,  this  man  did  not  lead  an  unhappy  life,  nor  did 
the  malady  he  labored  under  seem  to  be  productive  of 
either  pain  or  terror  to  him,  although  one  might  be  apt 
to  imagine  otherwise.  On  the  contrary,  he  and  the 
fairies  maintained  the  most  friendly  intimacy,  and  their 
dialogues — which  I  fear  were  wofully  one-sided  ones — 
must  have  been  a  source  of  great  pleasure  to  him,  for 
they  were  conducted  with  much  mirth  and  laughter, 
on  his  part  at  least. 

"Well,  Frank,  when  did  you  see  the  fairies?" 

"Whist !  There's  two  dozen  of  them  in  the  shop  (the 
weaving  shop)  thi?  minute.  There's  a  little  ould  fellow 
sittin'  on  the  top  of  the  sleys,  an*  all  to  be  rocked  while 
I'm  weayin'.  The  sorrow's  in  them,  but  they're  the 
greatest  little  skamers  alive,  so  they  are.  See,  there'? 
another-  of  them  at  my  dressin'  noggin.*  Go  out  o' 
that,  you  shingawn;  or,  bad  cess  to  me,  if  you  don't,  but 
I'll  lave  you  a  mark.  Ha !  cut,  you  thief  you !" 


*  The  dressings  are  a  species  of  sizy  flummery,  which  is 
brushed  into  the  yarn  to  keep  the  thread  round  and  even, 
and  to  prevent  it  from  being  frayed  by  the  friction  of  the 
reed. 


6  IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Frank,  arn't  you  afeard  o'  them?" 

"Is  it  me !  Arra,  what  'ud  I  be  afeard  o'  them  for  ? 
Sure  they  have  no  power  over  me." 

"And  why  haven't  they,  Frank  ?" 

"Because  I  was  baptized  against  them." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  the  priest  that  christened  me  was  tould  by  my 
father,  to  put  in  the  proper  prayer  against  the  fairies — 
an'  a  priest  can't  refuse  it  when  he's  asked — an'  he  did 
so.  Begorra,  it's  well  for  me  that  he  did — (let  the  tal- 
low alone,  you  little  glutton — see,  there's  a  weeny  thief 
o'  them  aitin'  my  tallow) — becaise,  you  see,  it  was  their 
intention  to  make  me  king  o'  the  fairies." 

"Is  it  possible  ?" 

"Devil  a  lie  in  it.  Sure  you  may  ax  them,  an'  they'll 
tell  you." 

"What  size  are  they,  Frank?" 

"Oh,  little  wee  fellows,  with  green  coats,  an'  the  pur- 
tiest  little  shoes  ever  you  seen.  There's  two  of  them — 
both  ould  acquaintances  o'  mine — runnin'  along  the 
yarn-beam.  That  ould  fellow  with  the  bob-wig  is  called 
Jim  Jam,  an'  the  other  chap,  with  the  three-cocked  hat, 
is  called  Nickey  Nick.  Nickey  plays  the  pipes,  Nickey, 
give  us  a  tune  or  I'll  malivogue  you — come  now, 
'Lough  Erne  Shore.'  Whist,  now — listen!" 

The  poor  fellow,  though  weaving  as  fast  as  he  could 
all  the  time,  yet  bestowed  every  possible  mark  of  atten- 
tion to  the  music,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as 
if  it  had  been  real. 

But  who  can  tell  whether  that  which  we  look  upon  as 
a  privation  may  not  after  all  be  a  fountain  of  increased 
happiness,  greater,  perhaps,  than  any  which  we  our- 
selves enjoy  ?  I  forget  who  the  poet  is  who  says : 

"Mysterious  are  thy  laws; 
The  vision's  finer  than  the  view; 
Her  landscape  Nature  never  drew 

So  fair  as  Fancy  draws." 


IRISH   FAIRY   AND   FOLK  TALES  7 

Many  a  time,  when  a  mere  child,  not  more  than  six 
or  seven  years  of  age,  have  I  gone  as  far  as  Frank's 
weaving-shop,  in  order,  with  a  heart  divided  between 
curiosity  and  fear,  to  listen  to  his  conversation  with  the 
good  people.  From  morning  till  night  Ms  tongue  was 
going  almost  as  incessantly  as  his  shuttle;  and  it  was 
well  known  that  at  night,  whenever  he  awoke  out  of 
his  sleep,  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  put  out  his  hand, 
and  push  them,  as  it  were,  off  his  bed. 

"Go  out  o'  this,  you  thieves,  you — go  out  o'  this  now, 
an*  let  me  alone.  Nickey,  is  this  any  time  to  be  play- 
ing the  pipes,  and  me  wants  to  sleep?  Go  off,  now — 
troth  if  yez  do,  you'll  see  what  I'll  give  yez  to-morrow. 
Sure  I'll  be  makin'  new  dressin's;  and  if  yez  behava 
decently,  maybe  I'll  lave  yez  the  scrapin'  o'  the  pot. 
There  now.  Och !  poor  things,  they're  dacent  crathurs. 
Sure  they're  all  gone,  barrin'  poor  Red-cap,  that  doesn't 
like  to  lave  me/'  And  then  the  harmless  monomaniac 
would  fall  back  into  what  we  trust  was  an  innocent 
slumber. 

About  this  time  there  was  said  to  have  occurred  a  very 
remarkable  circumstance,  which  gave  poor  Frank  a  vast 
deal  of  importance  among  the  neighbors.  A  man  named 
Frank  Thomas,  the  same  in  whose  house  Mickey 
M'Rorey  held  the  first  dance  at  which  I  ever  saw  him, 
as  detailed  in  a  former  sketch;  this  man,  I  say,  had  a 
child  sick,  but  of  what  complaint  I  cannot  now  remem- 
ber, nor  is  it  of  any  importance.  One  of  the  gables  of 
Thomas's  house  was  built  against,  or  rather  into,  a 
Forth  or  Rath,  called  Towny,  or  properly  Tonagh  Forth. 
It  was  said  to  be  haunted  by  the  fairies,  and  what  gave 
it  a  character  peculiarly  wild  in  my  eyes  was,  that  there 
were  on  the  southern  side  of  it  two  or  three  little  green 
mouifds,  which  were  said  to  be  the  graves  of  unchris- 
tened  children,  over  which  it  was  considered  dangerous 
and  unlucky  to  pass.  At  all  events,  the  season  was  mid- 
summer ;  and  one  evening  about  dusk,  during  the  illness 


B  IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

of  the  child,  the  noise  of  a  hand-saw  was  heard  upon  the 
Forth.  This  was  considered  rather  strange,  'and,  after  a 
little  time,  a  few  of  those  who  were  assembled  at  Frank 
Thomas's  went  to  see  who  it  could  be  that  was  sawing  in 
such  a  place,  or  what  they  could  be  sawing  at  so  late 
an  hour,  for  every  one  knew  that  nobody  in  the  whole 
country  about  them  would  dare  to  cut  down  the  few 
white-thorns  that  grew  upon  the  Forth.  On  going  to 
examine,  however,  judge  of  their  surprise,  when,  after 
surrounding  and  searching  the  whole  place,  they  could 
discover  no  trace  of  either  saw  or  sawyer.  In  fact,  with 
the  exception  of  themselves,  there  was  no  one,  either 
natural  or  supernatural,  visible.  They  then  returned 
to  the  house,  and  had  scarcely  sat  down,  when  it  was 
heard  again  within  ten  yards  of  them.  Another  exami- 
nation of  the  premises  took  place,  but  with  equal  suc- 
cess. Now,  however,  while  standing  on  the  Forth,  they 
heard  the  sawing  in  a  little  hollow,  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  below  them,  which  was  completely  exposed 
to  their  view,  but  they  could  see  nobody.  A  party  of 
them  immediately  went  down  to  ascertain,  if  possible, 
what  this  singular  noise  and  invisible  labor  could  mean ; 
but  on  arriving  at  the  spot,  they  heard  the  sawing,  to 
which  were  now  added  hammering  and  the  driving  of 
nails  upon  the  Forth  above,  while  those  who  stood  on 
the  Forth  continued  to  hear  it  in  the  hollow.  On  com- 
paring notes,  they  resolved  to  send  down  to  Billy  Nel- 
son's for  Frank  Martin,  a  distance  of  only  about  eighty 
or -ninety  yards.  He  was  soon  on  the  spot,  and  without 
a  moment's  hesitation  solved  the  enigma. 

"  'Tis  the  fairies,"  said  he.  "I  see  them,  and  busy 
crathurs  they  are." 

"But  what  are  they  sawing,  Frank?" 

"They  are  makin'  a  child's  coffin,"  he  replied;  ^they 
have  the  body  already  made,  an*  they're  now  nailin' 
the  lid  together." 

That  night  the  child  died,  and  the  story  goes  that 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES          9 

on  the  second  evening  afterward,  the  carpenter  who  was 
called  upon  to  make  the  coffin  brought  a  table  out  from 
Thomas's  house  to  the  Forth,  as  a  temporary  bench; 
and,  it  is  said,  that,  the  sawing  and  hammering  neces- 
sary for  the  completion  of  his  task  were  precisely  the 
same  which  had  been  heard  the  evening  but  one  before — 
neither  more  nor  less.  I  remember  the  death  of  the 
child  myself,  and  the  making  of  its  coffin,  but  I  think 
the  story  of  the  supernatural  carpenter  was  not  heard 
in  the  village  for  some  months  after  its  interment. 

Frank  had  every  appearance  of  a  hypochondriac  about 
him.  At  the  time  I  saw  him,  he  might  be  about  thirty- 
four  years  of  age,  but  I  do  not  think,  from  the  debility 
of  his  frame  and  infirm  health,  that  he  has  been  alive 
for  several  years.  He  was  an  object  of  considerable  in- 
terest and  curiosity,  and  often  have  I  been  present  when 
he  was  pointed  out  to  strangers  as  "the  man  that  could 
see  the  good  people." 


THE  PKIEST'S  SUPPEK 

T.    CROFTON    CROKER 

IT  is  said  by  those  who  ought  to  understand  such 
things,  that  the  good  people,  or  the  fairies,  are  some  of 
the  angels  who  were  turned  out  of  heaven,  and  who 
landed  on  their  feet  in  this  world,  while  the  rest  of  their- 
companions,  who  had  more  sin  to  sink  them,  Went  down 
further  to  a  worse  place.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  was  a 
merry  troop  of  the  fairies,  dancing  and  playing  all  man- 
ner of  wild  pranks,  on  a  bright  moonlight  evening 
toward  the  end  of  September.  The  scene  of  their  merri- 
ment was  not  far  distant  from  Inchegeela,  in  the  west 
of  the  county  Cork — a  poor  village,  although  it  had  a 
barrack  for  soldiers;  but  great  mountains  and  barren 


10 

rocks,  like  those  round  about  it,  are  enough  to  strike 
poverty  into  any  place :  however,  as  the  fairies  can  have 
everything  they  want  for  wishing,  poverty  does  not 
trouble  them  much,  and  all  their  care  is  to  seek  out 
unfrequented  nooks  and  places  where  it  is  not  likely 
any  one  will  come  to  spoil  their  sport. 

On  a  nice  green  sod  by  the  river^s  side  were  the  little 
fellows  dancing  in  a  ring  as  gaily  as  may  be,  with  their 
red  caps  wagging  about  at  every  bound  in  the  moon- 
shine, and  so  light  were  these  bounds  that  the  lobs  of 
dew,  although  they  trembled  under  their  feet,  were  not 
disturbed  by  their  capering.  Thus  did  they  carry  on 
their  gambols,  spinning  round  and  round,  and  twirling 
and  bobbing  and  diving,  and  going  through  all  manner 
of  figures,  until  one  of  them  chirped  out: 

"Cease,  cease,  with  your  drumming, 
Herte's  an  end  to  our  mumming ; 

By  my  smell 

I  can  tell 
A  priest  this  way  is  coming!" 

And  away  every  one  of  the  fairies  scampered  off  as  hard 
as  they  could,  concealing  themselves  under  the  green 
leaves  of  the  lusmore,  where,  if  their  little  red  caps 
should  happen  to  peep  out,  they  would  only  look  like  its 
crimson  bells ;  and  more  hid  themselves  at  the  shady  side 
of  stones  and  brambles,  and  others  under  the  bank  of 
the  river,  and  in  holes  and  crannies  of  one  kind  or 
another. 

The  fairy  speaker  was  not  mistaken;  for  along  the 
road,  which  was  within  view  of  the  river,  came  Father 
Horrigan  on  his  pony,  thinking  to  himself  that  as  it 
was  so  late  he  would  make  an  end  of  his  journey  at  the 
first  cabin  he  came  to.  According  to  this  determination, 
he  stopped  at  the  dwelling  of  Dermod  Leary,  lifted  the 
latch,  and  entered  with  "My  blessing  on  all  here." 

I  need  not  say  that  Father  Horrigan  was  a  welcome 


11 

guest  wherever  he  went,  for  no  man  was  more  pious  or 
better  beloved  in  the  country.  Now  it  was  a  great 
trouble  to  Dermod  that  he  had  nothing  to  offer  his 
reverence  for  supper  as  a  relish  to  the  potatoes,  which 
"the  old  woman/'  for  so  Dermod  called  his  wife,  though 
she  was  not  much  past  twenty,  had  down  boiling  in  a 
pot  over  the  fire;  he  thought  of  the  net  which  he  had 
set  in  the  river,  but  as  it  had  been  there  only  a  short 
time,  the  chances  were  against  his  finding  a  fish  in  it. 
"No  matter/'  thought  Dermod,  "there  can  be  no  harm 
in  stepping  down  to  try;  and  maybe,  as  I  want  the  fish 
for  the  priest's  supper,  that  one  will  be  there  before 
me." 

Down  to  the  river-side  went  Dermod,  and  he  found 
in  the  net  as  fine  a  salmon  as  ever  jumped  in  the  bright 
waters  of  "the  spreading  Lee";  but  as  he  was  going  to 
take  it  out,  the  net  was  pulled  from  him,  he  could  not 
tell  how  or  by  whom,  and  away  got  the  salmon,  and  went 
swimming  along  with  the  current  as  gaily  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

Dermod  looked  sorrowfully  at  the  wake  which  the  fish 
had  left  upon  the  water,  shining  like  a  line  of  silver  in 
the  moonlight,  and  then,  with  an  angry  motion  of  his 
right  hand,  and  a  stamp  of  his  foot,  gave  vent  to  his 
feelings  by  muttering,  "May  bitter  bad  luck  attend  you 
night  and  day  for  a  blackguard  schemer  of  a  salmon, 
wherever  you  go!  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self, if  there's  any  shame  in  you,  to  give  me  the  slip 
after  this  fashion !  And  I'm  clear  in  my  own  mind 
you'll  come  to  no  good,  for  some  kind  of  evil  thing  or 
other  helped  you — -did  I  not  feel  it  pull  the  net  against 
me  as  strong  as  the  devil  himself?" 

"That's  not  true  for  you/'  said  one  of  the  little  fairies 
who  had  scampered  off  at  the  approach  of  the  priest, 
coming  up  to  Dermod  Leary  with  a  whole  throng  of 
companions  at  his  heels ;  "there  was  only  a  dozen  and  a 
half  of  us  pulling  against  you." 


18          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Dermod  gazed  on  the  tiny  speaker  with  wonder,  who 
continued,  "Make  yourself  noways  uneasy  about  the 
priest's  supper ;  for  if  you  will  go  back  and  ask  him  one 
question  from  us,  there  will  be  as  fine  a  supper  as  ever 
was  put  on  a  table  spread  out  before  him  /n  less  than 
no  time." 

"I'll  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  you/'  replied 
Dermod  in  a  tone  of  determination;  and  after  a  pause 
he  added,  "I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  offer,  sir, 
but  I  know  better  than  to  sell  myself  to  you,  or  the  like 
of  you,  for  a  supper ;  and  more  than  that,  I  know  Father 
Horrigan  has  more  regard  for  my  soul  than  to  wish  me 
to  pledge  it  for  ever,  out  of  regard  to  anything  you 
could  putf  before  him — so  there's  an  end  of  the  matter." 

The  little  speaker,  with  a  pertinacity  not  to  be  re- 
pulsed by  Dermod's  manner,  continued,  "Will  you  ask 
the  priest  one  civil  question  for  us  ?" 

Dermod  considered  for  some  time,  and  he  was  right  in 
doing  so,  but  he  thought  that  no  one  could  come  to 
harm  out  of  asking  a  civil  question.'  "I  see  no  objection 
to  do  that  same,  gentlemen,"  said  Dermod;  "but  I  will 
have  nothing  in  life  to  do  with  your  supper — mind 
that." 

"Then,"  said  the  little  speaking  fairy,  while  the  rest 
came  crowding  after  him  from  all  parts,  "go  and  ask 
Father  Horrigan  to  tell  us  whether  our  souls  will  be 
saved  at  the  last  day,  like  the  souls  of  good  Christians ; 
and  if  you  wish  us  well,  bring  back  word  what  he  says 
without  delay." 

Away  went  Dermod  to  his  cabin,  where  he  found  the 
potatoes  thrown  out  on  the  table,  and  his  good  woman 
handing  the  biggest  of  them  all,  a  beautiful  laughing 
red  apple,  smoking  like  a  hard-ridden  horse  on  a  frosty 
aight,  over  to  Father  Horrigan. 

"Please  your  reverence,"  said  Dermod,  after  some 
hesitation,  "may  I  make  bold  to  ask  your  honor  one 
question  ?" 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES         13 

"What  may  that  be?"  said  Father  Horrigan. 

"Why,  then,  begging  your  reverence's  pardon  for  my 
freedom,  it  is,  If  the  souls  of  the  good  people  are  to  be 
saved  at  the  last  day?" 

"Who  bid  you  ask  me  that  question,  Leary?"  said  the 
priest,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  him  very  sternly,  which 
Dermod  could  not  stand  before  at  all. 

"I'll  tell  no  lies  about  the  matter,  and  nothing  in  life 
but  the  truth,"  said  Dermod.  "It  was  the  good  people 
themselves  who  sent  me  to  ask  the  question,  and  there 
they  are  in  thousands  down  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
waiting  for  me  to  go  back  with  the  answer." 

"Go  back  by  alj  means,"  said  the  priest,  "and  tell 
them,  if  they  want  to  know,  to  come  here  to  me  thehv 
selves,  and  I'll  answer  that  or  any  other  question  they 
are  pleased  to  ask  with  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life." 

Dermod  accordingly  returned  to  the  fairies,  who  came 
swarming  round  about  him  to  hear  what  the  priest  had 
said  in  reply ;  and  Dermod  spoke  out  among  them  like  a 
bold  man  as  he  was:  but  when  they  heard  that  they 
must  go  to  the  priest,  away  they  fled,  some  here  and 
more  there,  and  some  this  way  and  more  that,  whisking 
by  poor  Dermod  so-  fast  and  in  such  numbers  that  he 
was  quite  bewildered. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  which  was  not  for  a  long 
time,  back  he  went  to  his  cabin,  and  ate  his  dry  potatoes 
along  with  Father  Horrigan,  who  made  quite  light  of 
the  thing;  but  Dermod  could  not  help  thinking  it  a 
mighty  hard  case  that  his  reverence,  whose  words  had 
the  power  to  banish  the  fairies  at  such  a  rate,  should 
have  no  sort  of  relish  to  his  supper,  and  that  the  fine 
salmon  he  had  in  the  net  should  have  been  got  away 
from  him  in  such  a  manner. 


14          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
THE  FAIRY  WELL  OF  LAGNANAY 

>       BY    SAMUEL    FERGUSON 

MOURNFULLY,  sing  mournfully — 

"0  listen,  Ellen,  sister  dear: 
Is  there  no  help  at  all  for  me, 

But  only  ceaseless  sigh  and  tear? 

Why  did  not  he  who  left  me  here, 
With  stolen  hope  steal  memory? 

0  listen,  Ellen,  sister  dear: 
(Mournfully,  sing  mournfully) — 

I'll  go  away  to  Sleamish  hill, 
I'll  pluck  the  fairy  hawthorn-tree, 
And  let  the  spirits  work  their  will; 

1  care  not  if  for  good  or  ill, 
So  they  but  lay  the  memory 

Which  alJ  my  heart  is  haunting  still ! 
(Mournfully,  sing  mournfully) — 

The  Fairies  are  a  silent  race, 
And  pale  as  lily  flowers  to  see; 

I  care  not  for  a  blanched  face, 

For  wandering  in  a  dreaming  place. 
So  I  but  banish  memory : — 

I  wish  I  were  with  Anna  Grace  I" 
Mournfully,  sing  mournfully ! 

Hearken  to  my  tale  of  woe — 

'Twas  thus  to  weeping  Ellen  Con, 
„  Her  sister  said  in  accents  low, 
Her  only  sister,  Una  bawn : 
'Twas  in  their  bed  before  the  dawn, 

And  Ellen  answered  sad  and  slow, — 
"Oh  Una,  Una,  be  not  drawn 

(Hearken  to  my  tale  of  woe) — 
To  this  unholy  grief  I  pray, 

Which  makes  me  sick  at  heart  to  know, 
And  I  will  help  you  if  T  ^ov : 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         15 

— The  Fairy  Well  of  Lagnanay — 
.Lie  nearer  me,  I  tremble  so, — 

Una,  I've  heard  wise  women  say 
(Hearken  to  my  tale  of  woe) — 

That  if  before  the  dews  arise, 
True  maiden  in  its  icy  flow 

With  pure  hand  bathe  her  bosom  thrice, 

Three  lady-brackens  pluck  likewise, 
And  three  times  round  the  fountain  go, 

She  straight  forgets  her  tears  and  sighs.'* 
Hearken  to  my  tale  of  woe ! 

All,  alas !  and  well-away ! 

"Oh,  sister  Ellen,  sister  sweet, 
Come  with  me  to  the  Kill  I  pray, 

And  I  will  prove  that  blessed  f reet  I" 

They  rose  with  soft  and  silent  feet, 
They  left  their  mother  where  she  lay, 

Their  mother  and  her  care  discreet, 
(All,  alas!  and  well-away!) 

And  soon  they  reached  the  Fairy  Well, 
The  mountain's  eye,  clear,  cold,  and  grey, 

Wide  open  in  the  dreary  fell : 

How  long  they  stood  'twere  vain  to  tell, 
At  last  upon  the  point  of  day, 

Bawn  Una  bares  her  bosom's  swell, 
(All,  alas!  and  well-away!) 

Thrice  o'er  her  shrinking  breasts  she  laves 
The  gliding  glance  that  will  not  stay 

Of  subtly-streaming  fairy  waves : — 

And  now  the  charm  three  brackens  craves. 
She  plucks  them  in  their  f ring'd  array : — 

Now  round  the  well  her  fate  she  braves, 
All,  alas !  and  well-away ! 

Save  us  all  from  Fairv  thrall ! 
Ellen  sees  her  face  the  lira 
TVice  and  thrice,  and  that  is  all — 


16 


Fount  and  hill  and  maiden  swim 

All  together  melting  dim ! 
;<Una !  Una  I"  thou  may'st  call, 

Sister  sad !  but  lith  or  limb 
(Save  us  all  from  Fairy  thrall!) 

Never  again  of  Una  bawn, 
Where  now  she  walks  in  dreamy  hall, 

Shall  eye  of  mortal  look  upon ! 

Oh !  can  it  be  the  guard  was  gone, 
The  better  guard  than  shield  or  wall? 

Who  knows  on  earth  save  Jurlagh  Daune? 
(Save  us  all  from  Fairy  thrall!) 

Behold  the  banks  are  green  and  bare, 
No  pit  is  here  wherein,  to  fall : 

Aye — at  the  fount  you  well  may  stare, 

But  naught  save  pebbles  smooth  is  there, 
And  small  straws  twirling  one  and  all. 

Hie  thee  home,  and  be  thy  pray'r, 
Save  us  all  from  Fairy  thrall. 


TEIG  O'KANE  (TADHG  0  CATHAN)  AND  THE 
COEPSE* 


[I  FOUND  it  hard  to  place  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde's  magnifi- 
cent story.  Among  the  ghosts  or  the  fairies?  It  is  among 
the  fairies  on  the  grounds  that  all  these  ghosts  and  bodies 
were  in  no  manner  ghosts  and  bodies,  but  pishogues — fairy 
spells.  One  often  hears  of  these  visions  in  Ireland.  I  have 
met  a  man  who  had  lived  a  wild  life  like  the  man  in  the 

story,  till  a  vision  came  to  him  in  County  one  dark 

night — in  no  way  so  terrible  a  vision  as  this,  but  sufficient 
to  change  his  whole  character.    He  will  not  go  out  at  night 


*  None  of  Mr.  Hyde's  stories  here  given  have  been  pub- 
lished before.  They  will  be  printed  in  the  original  Irish  in 
his  forthcoming  Leabhar  Sgeulaigheachta  (Gill.  Dublin). 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         17 

If  you  speak  to  him  suddenly  he  trembles.  He  has  grown 
timid  and  strange.  He  went  to  the  bishop  and  was  sprinkled 
with  holy  water.  "It  may  have  come  as  a  warning,"  said 
the  bishop;  "yet  great  theologians  are  of  opinion  that  no 
man  ever  saw  an  apparition,  for  no  man  would  survive 
it."—  ED.] 

THERE  was  once  a  grown-up  lad  in  the  County  Lei- 
trim,  and  he  was  strong  and  lively,  and  the  son  of  a  rich 
farmer.  His  father  had  plenty  of  money,  and  he  did 
not  spare  it  on  the  son.  Accordingly,  when  the  boy 
grew  up  he  liked  sport  better  than  work,  and,  as  his 
father  had  no  other  children,  he  loved  this  one  so  much 
that  he  allowed  him  to  do  in  everything  just  as  it 
pleased  himself.  He  was  very  extravagant,  and  he  used 
to  scatter  the  gold  money  as  another  person  would 
scatter  the  white.  He  was  seldom  to  be  found  at  home, 
but  if  there  was  a  fair,  or  a  race,  or  a  gathering  within 
ten  miles  of  him,  you  were  dead  certain  to  find  him 
there.  And  he  seldom  spent  a.  night  in  his  father's 
house,  but  he  used  to  be  always  out  rambling,  and,  like 
Shawn  Bwee  long  ago,  there  was 

"gradh  gach  cailin  i  mbrollach  a  lelne," 

"the  love  of  every  girl  in  the  breast  of  his  shirt,"  and 
it's  many's  the  kiss  he  got  and  he  gave,  for  he  was  very 
handsome,  and  there  wasn't  a  girl  in  the  country  but 
would  fall  in  love  with  him,  only  for  him  to  fasten  his 
two  eyes  on  her,  and  it  was  for  that  someone  made  this 
rann  on  him  — 

"Feuch  an  r6gaire  'g  iarraidh  p6ige, 

Ni  h-iongantas  m6r  §  a  bheith  mar  ata 
Ag  leanamhaint  a  gcomhnuidhe  d'arnan  na  graineoige 
Annas  's  anios  's  nna  chodladh  'sa'  la." 


"Look  at  the  rogue,  it's  for  kisses  he's  rambling, 
It  isn't  much  wonder,  for  that  was  his  way  ; 
He's  like  an  old  hedgehog,  at  night  he'll  be  scrambling 
From  this  nlace  to  that,  but  he'll  f?1pe*»  in  the  day." 


18          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

At  last  he  became  very  wild  and  unruly.  He  wasn't 
to  be  seen  day  nor  night  in  his  father's  house,  but  always 
rambling  or  going  on  his  bailee  (night-visit)  from  place 
to  place  and  from  house  to  house,  so  that  the  old  people 
used  to  shake  their  heads  and  say  to  one  another,  "it's 
easy  seen  what  will  happen  to  the  land  when  the  old 
man  dies;  his  son  will  run  through  it  in  a  year,  and  it 
won't  stand  him  that  long  itself." 

He  used  to  be  always  gambling  and  card-playing  and 
drinking,  but  his  father  never  minded  his  bad  habits, 
and  never  punished  him.  But  it  happened  one  day  that 
the  old  man  was  told  that  the  son  had  ruined  the  char- 
acter of  a  girl  in  the  neighborhood,  and  he  was  greatly 
angry,  and  he  called  the  son  to  him,  and  said  to  him, 
quietly  and  sensibly — "Avic,"  says  he,  "you  know  I 
loved  you  greatly  up  to  this,  and  I  never  stopped  you 
from  doing  your  choice  thing  whatever  it  was,  and  I 
kept  plenty  of  money  with  you,  and  I  always  hoped  to 
leave  you  the  house  and  land,  and  all  I  had  after  myself 
would  be  gone;  but  I  heard  a  story  of  you  to-day  that 
has  disgusted  me  with  you.  I  cannot  tell  you  the  grief 
that  I  felt  when  I  heard  such  a  thing  of  you,  and  I  tell 
you  now  plainly  that  unless  you  marry  that  girl  I'll 
leave  house  and  land  and  everything  to  my  brother's  son. 
I  never  could  leave  it  to  anyone  who  would  make  so  bad 
a  use  of  it  as  you  do  yourself,  deceiving  women  and 
coaxing  girls.  Settle  with  yourself  now  whether  you'll 
marry  that  girl  and  get  my  land  as  a  fortune  with  her, 
or  refuse  to  marry  her  and  give  up  all  that  was  coming 
*  to  you ;  and  tell  me  in  the  morning  which  of  the  two 
things  you  have  chosen." 

"Och!  Domnoo  Sheery!  father,  you  wouldn't  say  that 
to  me,  and  I  such  a  good  son  as  I  am.  Who  told  you  I 
wouldn't  marry  the  girl  ?"  says  he. 

But  his  father  was  gone,  and  the  lad  knew  well 
enough  that  he  would  keep  his  word  too;  and  he  was 
greatly  troubled  in  his  mind,  for  as  quiet  and  as  kind  as 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         19 

the  father  was,  he  never  went  back  of  a  word  that  he  had 
once  said,  and  there  wasn't  another  man  in  the  country 
who  was  harder  to  bend  than  he  was. 

The  boy  did  not  know  rightly  what  to  do.  He  was  in 
love  with  the  girl  indeed,  and  he  hoped  to  marry  her 
some  time  or  other,  but  he  would  much  sooner  have  re- 
mained another  while  as  he  was,  and  follow  on  at  his 
old  tricks — drinking,  sporting,  and  playing  cards;  and, 
along  with  that,  he  was  angry  that  his  father  should 
order  him  to  marry,  and  should  threaten  him  if  he  did 
not  do  it. 

"Isn't  my  father  a  great  fool !"  says  he  to  himself.  "I 
was  ready  enough,  and  only  too  anxious,  to  marry  Mary ; 
and  now  since  he  threatened  me,  faith  I've  a  great  mind 
to  let  it  go  another  while." 

His  mind  was  so  much  excited  that  he  remained  be- 
tween two  notions  as  to  what  he  should  do.  He  walked 
out  into  the  night  at  last  to  cool  his  heated  blood,  and 
went  on  to  the  road.  He  lit  a  pipe,  and  as  the  night 
was  fine  he  walked  and  walked  on,  until  the  quick  pace 
made  him  begin  to  forget  his  trouble.  The  night  was 
bright,  and  the  moon  half  full.  There  was  not  a  breath 
of  wind  blowing,  and  the  air  was  calm  and  mild.  He 
walked  on  for  nearly  three  hours,  when  he  suddenly 
remembered  that,  it  was  late  in  the  night,  and  time  for 
him  to  turn.  "Musha !  I  think  I  forgot  myself,"  says 
he  j  "it  must  be  near  twelve  o'clock  now." 

The  word  was  hardly  out  of  his  mouth,  when  he  heard 
the  sound  of  many  voices,  and  the  trampling  of  feet  on 
the  road  before  him.  "I  don't  know  who  can  be  out 
so  late  at  night  as  this,  and  on  such  a  lonely  road," 
said  he  to  himself. 

He  stood  listening,  and  he  heard  the  voices  of  many 
people  talking  through  other,  but  he  could  not  under- 
stand what  they  were  saying.  "Oh,  wirra!"  says  he, 
"I'm  afraid.  It's  not  Irish  or  English  they  have;  it 
can't  be  they're  Frenchmen !"  He  went  on  a  couple  of 


20          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

yards  further,  and  he  saw  well  enough  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  a  band  of  little  people  coming  toward  him, 
and  they  were  carrying  something  big  and  heavy  with 
them. 

"Oh,  murder  I"  says  he  to  himself,  "sure  it  can't 
be  that  they're  the  good  people  that's  in  it!"  Every 
rib  of  hair  that  was  on  his  head  stood  up,  and  there  fell 
a  shaking  on  his  bones,  for  he  saw  that  they  were  coming 
to  him  fast. 

He  looked  at  them  again,  and  perceived  that  there 
were  about  twenty  little  men  in  it,  and  there  was  not  a 
man  at  all  of  them  higher  than  about  three  feet  or  three 
feet  and  a  half,  and  some  of  them  were  gray,  and  seemed 
very  old.  He  looked  again,  but  he  could  not  make  out 
what  was  the  heavy  thing  they  were  carrying  until  they 
came  up  to  him,  and  then  they  all  stood  round  about 
him.  They  threw  the  heavy  thing  down  on  the  road,  and 
he  saw  on  the  spot  that  it  was  a  dead  body. 

He  became  as  cold  as  the  Death,  and  there  was  not  a 
drop  of  blood  running  in  his  veins  when  an  old  little 
gray  maneen  came  up  to  him  and  said,  "Isn't  it  lucky 
we  met  you,  Teig  O'Kane?" 

Poor  Teig  could  not  bring  out  a  word  at  all,  nor  open 
his  lips,  if  he  were  to  get  the  world  for  it,  and  so  he 
gave  no  answer. 

"Teig  O'Kane,"  said  the  little  gray  man  again,  "isn't 
it  timely  you  met  us  ?" 

Teig  could  not  answer  him. 

"Teig  O'Kane/'  says  he,  "the  third  time,  isn't  it  lucky 
and  timely  that  we  met  you  ?" 

But  Teig  remained  silent,  for  he  was  afraid  to  return 
an  answer,  and  his  tongue  was  as  if  it  was  tied  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth. 

The  little  gray  man  turned  to  his  companions,  and 
there  was  joy  in  his  bright  little  eye.  "And  now,"  says 
he,  "Teig  O'Kane  hasn't  a  word,  we  can  do  with  him 
what  we  please.  Teig,  Teig,"  says  he,  "you're  living  a 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         21 

bad  life,  and  we  can  make  a  slave  of  you  now,  and  you 
cannot  withstand  us,  for  there's  no  use  in  trying  to  go 
against  us.  Lift  that  corpse." 

Teig  was  so  frightened  that  he  was  only  able  to  utter 
the  two  words,  "I  won't";  for  as  frightened  as  he  was, 
he  was  obstinate  and  stiff,  the  same  as  ever. 

"Teig  O'Kane  won't  lift  the  corpse,"  said  the  little 
maneen,  with  a  wicked  little  laugh,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  breaking  of  a  lock  of  dry  kippeens,  and  with  a 
little  harsh  voice  like  the  striking  of  a  cracked  bell. 
"Teig  O'Kane  won't  lift  the  corpse — make  him  lift  it;" 
and  before  the  word  was  out  of  his  mouth  they  had  all 
gathered  round  poor  Teig,  and  they  all  talking  and 
laughing  through  other. 

Teig  tried  to  run  from  them,  but  they  followed  him, 
and  a  man  of  them  stretched  out  his  foot  before  him  as 
he  ran,  so  that  Teig  was  thrown  in  a  heap  on  the  road. 
Then  before  he  could  rise  up  the  fairies  caught  him, 
some  by  the  hands  and  some  by  the  feet,  and  they  held 
him  tight,  in  a  way  that  he  could  not  stir,  with  his  face 
against  the  ground.  Six  or  seven  of  them  raised  the 
body  then,  and  pulled  it  over  to  him,  and  left  it  down 
on  his  back.  The  breast  of  the  corpse  was  squeezed 
against  Teig's  back  and  shoulders,  and  the  arms  of  the 
corpse  were  thrown  around  Teig's  neck.  Then  they 
stood  back  from  him  a  couple  of  yards,  and  let  him  get 
up.  He  rose,  foaming  at  the  mouth  and  cursing,  and  he 
shook  himself,  thinking  to  throw  the  corpse  off  his  back. 
But  his  fear  and  his  wonder  were  great  when  he  found 
that  the  two  arms  had  a  tight  hold  round  his  own  neck, 
and  that  the  two  legs  were  squeezing  his  hips  firmly, 
and  that,  however  strongly  he  tried,  he  could  not  throw 
it  off,  any  more  than  a  horse  can  throw  off  its  saddle. 
He  was  terribly  frightened  then,  and  he  thought  he  was 
lost.  "Ochone!  for  ever,"  said  he  to  himself,  "it's  the 
bad  life  I'm  leading  that  has  given  the  good  people  this 
power  over  me.  I  promise  to  God  and  Mary,  Peter  and 


22         IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Paul,  Patrick  and  Bridget,  that  I'll  mend  my  ways  for 
as  long  as  I  have  to  live,  if  I  come  clear  out  of  this 
danger — and  I'll  marry  the  girl." 

The  little  gray  man  came  up  to  him  again,  and  said 
he  to  him,  "Now,  Teigeen,"  says  he,  "you  didn't  lift 
the  body  when  I  told  you  to  lift  it,  and  see  how  you 
were  made  to  lift  it ;  perhaps  when  I  tell  you  to  bury  it 
you  won't  bury  it  until  you're  made  to  bury  it !" 

"Anything  at  all  that  I  can  do  for  your  honor/'  said 
Teig,  "I'll  do  it,"  for  he  was  getting  sense  already,  and 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  great  fear  that  was  on  him, 
he  never  would  have  let  that  civil  word  slip  out  of  his 
mouth. 

The  little  man  laughed  a  sort  of  laugh  again.  "You're 
getting  quiet  now,  Teig,"  says  he.  "I'll  go  bail  but 
you'll  be  quiet  enough  before  I'm  done  with  you.  Listen 
to  me  now,  Teig  O'Kane,  and  if  you  don't  obey  me  in  all 
I'm  telling  you  to  do,  you'll  repent  it.  You  must  carry 
with  you  this  corpse  that  is  on  your  back  to  Teampoll- 
Demus,  and  you  must  bring  it  into  the  church  with 
you,  and  make  a  grave  for  it  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
church,  and  you  must  raise  up  the  flags  and  put  them 
down  again  the  very  same  way,  and  you  must  carry  the 
clay  out  of  the  church  and  leave  the  place  as  it  was 
when  you  came,  so  that  no  one  could  know  that  there 
had  been  anything  changed.  But  that's  not  all.  Maybe 
that  the  body  won't  be  allowed  to  be  buried  in  that 
church;  perhaps  some  other  man  has  the  bed,  and,  if 
so,  it's  likely  he  won't  share  it  with  this  one*  If  you 
don't  get  leave  to  bury  it  in  Teampoll-Demus,  you  must 
carry  it  to  Carrick-fhad-vL-Orus,  and  bury  it  in  the 
churchyard  there;  and  if  you  don't  get  it  into  that 
place,  take  it  with  you  to  Teampoll-Ronan ;  and  if  that 
churchyard  is  closed  on  you,  take  it  to  Imlogue-Fada ; 
and  if  you're  not  able  to  bury  it  there,  you've  no  more 
to  do  than  to  take  it  to  Kill-Breedya,  and  you  can  bury 
it  there  without  hindrance.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  one 


23 

of  those  churches  is  the  one  where  you  will  have  leave 
to  bury  that  corpse  under  the  clay,  but  I  know  that  it 
will  be  allowed  you  to  bury  him  at  some  church  or  other 
of  them.  If  you  do  this  work  rightly,  we  will  be  thank- 
ful to  you,  and  you  will  have  no  cause  to  grieve ;  but  if 
you  are  slow  or  lazy,  believe  me  we  shall  take  satisfac- 
tion of  you." 

When  the  gray  little  man  had  done  speaking,  his 
comrades  laughed  and  clapped  their  hands  together. 
"Glic !  Glic !  Hwee  !  Hwee  I"  they  all  cried ;  "go  on,  go 
on,  you  have  eight  hours  before  you  till  daybreak,  and 
if  you  haven't  this  man  buried  before  the  sun  riseSj 
you're  lost."  They  struck  a  fist  and  a  foot  behind  on 
him,  and  drove  him  on  in  the  road.  He  was  obliged  to 
walk,  and  to  walk  fast,  for  they  gave  him  no  rest. 

He  thought  himself  that  there  was  not  a  wet  path, 
or  a  dirty  boreen,  or  a  crooked  contrary  road  in  the 
whole  county,  that  he  had  not  walked  that  night.  The 
night  was  at  times  very  dark,  and  whenever  there  would 
come  a  cloud  across  the  moon  he  could  see  nothing,  and 
then  he  used  often  to  fall.  Sometimes  he  was  hurt,  and 
sometimes  he  escaped,  but  he  was  obliged  always  to 
rise  on  the  moment  and  to  hurry  on.  Sometimes  the 
moon  would  break  out  clearly,  and  then  he  would  look 
behind  him  and  see  the  little  people  following  at  his 
back.  And  he  heard  them  speaking  amongst  themselves, 
talking  and  crying  out,  and  screaming  like  a  flock  of 
sea-gulls ;  and  if  he  was  to  save  his  soul  he  never  under- 
stood as  much  as  one  word  of  what  they  were  saying. 

He  did  not  know  how  far  he  had  walked,  when  at 
last  one  of  them  cried  out  to  him,  "Stop  here!"  He 
stood,  and  they  all  gathered  round  him. 

"Do  you  see  those  withered  trees  over  there?"  says 
the  oki  boy  to  him  again.  "Teampoll-Demus  is  among 
those  trees,  and  you  must  go  in  there  by  yourself,  for  we 
cannot  follow  you  or  go  with  you.  We  must  remain 
here.  Go  on  boldlv." 


24          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Teig  looked  from  him,  and  he  saw  a  high  wall  that 
was  in  places  half  broken  down,  and  an  old  gray  church 
on  the  inside  of  the  wall,  and  about  a  dozen  withered 
old  trees  scattered  here  and  there  around  it.  There 
was  neither  leaf  nor  twig  on  any  of  them,  but  their 
bare  crooked  branches  were  stretched  out  like  the  arms 
of  an  angry  man  when  he  threatens.  He  had  no  help 
for  it,  but  was  obliged  to  go  forward.  He  was  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  from  the  church,  but  he  walked  on, 
and  never  looked  behind  him  until  he  came  to  the  gate 
of  the  churchyard.  The  old  gate  was  thrown  down, 
and  he  had  no  difficulty  in  entering.  He  turned  then 
to  see  if  any  of  the  little  people  were  following  him,  but 
there  came  a  cloud  over  the  moon,  and  the  night  be- 
came so  dark  that  he  could  see  nothing.  He  went  into 
the  churchyard,  and  he  walked  up  the  old  grassy  path- 
way leading  to  the  church.  When  he  reached  the  door, 
he  found  it  locked.  The  door  was  large  and  strong, 
and  he  did  not  know  what  to  do.  At  last  he  drew  out 
his  knife  with  difficulty,  and  stuck  it  in  the  wood  to  try 
if  it  were  not  rotten,  but  it  was  not. 

"Now,"  said  he  to  himself,  "I  have  no  more  to  do; 
the  door  is  shut,  and  I  can't  open  it." 

Before  the  words  were  rightly  shaped  in  his  own 
mind,  a  voice  in  his  ear  said  to  him,  "Search  for  the 
key  on  the  top  of  the  door,  or  on  the  wall." 

He  started.  "Who  is  that  speaking  to  me  ?"  he  cried, 
turning  round;  but  he  saw  no  one.  The  voice  said  in 
his  ear  again,  "Search  for,  the  key  on  the  top  of  -  the 
door,  or  on  the  wall." 

"What's  that?"  said  he,  and  the  sweat  running  from 
his  forehead ;  "who  spoke  to  me  ?" 

"It's  I,  the  corpse,  that  spoke  to  you !"  said  the  voice. 

"Can  you  talk?"  said  Teig. 

"Now  and  again,"  said  the  corpse. 

Teig  searched  for  the  key,  and  he  found  it  on  the 
top  of  the  wall.  He  was  too  much  frightened  to  say 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES         25 

any  more,  but  he  opened  the  door  wide,  and  as  quickly 
as  he  could,  and  he  went  in,  with  the  corpse  on  his 
back.  It  was  as  dark  as  pitch  inside,  and  poor  Teig 
began  to  shake  and  tremble. 

"Light  the  candle/'  said  the  corpse. 

Teig  put  has  hand  in  his  pocket,  as  well  as  he  was 
able,  and  drew  out  a  flint  and  steel.  He  struck  a  spark 
out  of  it,  and  lit  a  burnt  rag  he  had  in  his  pocket.  He 
blew  it  until  it  made  a  flame,  and  he  looked  around  him. 
The  church  was  very  ancient,  and  part  of  the  wall  was 
broken  down.  The  windows  were  blown  in  or  cracked, 
and  the  timber  of  the  seats  was  rotten.  There  were  six 
or  seven  old  iron  candlesticks  left  there  still,  and  in 
one  of  these  candlesticks  Teig  found  the  stump  of  an 
old  candle,  and  he  lit  it.  He  was  still  looking  round  him 
on  the  strange  and  horrid  place  in  which  he  found  him- 
self, when  the  cold  corpse  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Bury 
me  now,  bury  me  now;  there  is  a  spade  and  turn  the 
ground."  Teig  looked  from  him,  and  he  saw  a  spade 
lying  beside  the  altar.  He  took  it  up,  and  he  placed 
the  blade  under  a  flag  that  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
aisle,  and  leaning  all  his  weight  on  the  handle  of  the 
spade,  he  raised  it.  When  the  first/  flag  was  raised  it 
was  not  hard  to  raise  the  others  near  it,  and  he  moved 
three  or  four  of  them  out  of  their  places.  The  clay  that 
was  under  them  was  soft  and  easy  to  dig,  but  he  had  not 
thrown  up  more  than  three  or  four  shovelfuls,  when  he 
felt  the  iron  touch  something  soft  like  flesh.  He  threw 
up  three  or  four  more  shovelfuls  from  around  it,  and 
then  he  saw  that  it  was  another  body  that  was  buried 
in  the  same  place. 

"I  am  afraid  I'll  never  be  allowed  to  bury  the  two 
bodies  in  the  same  hole,"  said  Teig,  in  his  own  mind. 
"You  corpse,  there  on  my  back,"  says  he,  "will  you  be 
satisfied  if  I  bury  you  down  here?"  But  the  corpse 
never  answered  him  a  word. 

"That's  a  good  sign,"  said  Teig  to  himself.     "Maybe 


26          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

he's  getting  quiet,"  and  he  thrust  the  spade  down  in  the 
earth  again.  Perhaps  he  hurt  the  flesh  of  the  other 
body,  for  the  dead  man  that  was  buried  there  stood  up 
in  the  grave,  and  shouted  an  awful  shout.  "Hoo !  hoo ! ! 
hoo ! ! !  Go !  go ! !  go ! ! !  or  you're  a  dead,  dead,  dead 
man !"  And  then  he  fell  back  in  the  grave  again.  Teig 
said  afterward,  that  of  all  the  wonderful  things  he  saw 
that  night,  that  was  the  most  awful  to  him.  His  hair 
stood  upright  on  his  head  like  the  bristles  of  a  pig,  the 
cold  sweat  ran  off  his  face,  and  then  came  a  tremor  over 
all  his  bones,  until  he  thought  that  he  must  fall. 

But  after  a  while  he  became  bolder,  when  he  saw  that 
the  second  corpse  remained  lying  quietly  there,  and  he 
threw  in  the  clay  on  it  again,  and  he  smoothed  it  over- 
head, and  he  laid  down  the  flags  carefully  as  they  had 
been  before.  "It  can't  be  that  he'll  rise  up  any  more," 
said  he. 

He  went  down  the  aisle  a  little  further,  and  drew 
near  to  the  door,  and  began  raising  the  flags  again, 
looking  for  another  bed  for  the  corpse  on  his  back.  He 
took  up  three  or  four  flags  and  put  them  aside,  and  then 
he  dug  the  clay.  He  was  not  long  digging  until  he  laid 
bare  an  old  woman  without  a  thread  upon  her  but  her 
shirt.  She  was  more  lively  than  the  first  corpse,  for  he 
had  scarcely  taken  any  of  the  clay  away  from  about  her, 
when  she  sat  up  and  began  to  cry,  "Ho,  you  bodach 
(clown)  !  Ha,  you  bodach!  Where  has  he  been  that  he 
got  no  bed  ?" 

Poor  Teig  drew  back,  and  when  she  found  that  she 
was  getting  no  answer,  she  closed  her  eyes  gently,  lost 
her  vigor,  and  fell  back  quietly  and  slowly  under  the 
clay.  Teig  did  to  her  as  he  had  done  to  the  man — he 
threw  the  clay  back  on  her,  and  left  the  flags  down  over- 
head. 

He  began  digging  again  near  the  door,  but  before  he 
had  thrown  up  more  than  a  couple  of  shovelfuls,  he 
noticed  a  man's  hand  laid  bare  by  the  spade.  "By  my 


IRISH   FAIRY   AND   FOLK   TALES         27 

soul,  111  go  no  further,  then,"  said  he  to  himself ;  "what 
use  is  it  for  me  ?"  And  he  threw  the  clay  in  again  on 
it,  and  settled  the-  flags  as  they  had  been  before. 

He  left  the  church  then,  and  his  heart  was  heavy 
enough,  but  he  shut  the  door  and  locked  it,  and  left  the 
key  where  he  found  it.  He  sat  down  on  a  tombstone 
that  was  near  the  door,  and  began  thinking.  He  was  in 
great  doubt  what  he  should  do.  He  laid  his  face  be- 
tween his  two  hands,  and  cried  for  grief  and  fatigue, 
since  he  was  dead  certain  at  this  time  that  he  never 
would  come  home  alive.  He  made  another  attempt  to 
loosen  the  hands  of  the  corpse  that  were  squeezed  round 
his  neck,  but  they  were-  as  tight  as  if  they  were  clamped : 
and  the  more  he  tried  to  loosen  them,  the  tighter  they 
squeezed  him.  He  was  going  to  sit  down  once  more, 
when  the  cold,  horrid  lips  of  the  dead  man  said  to  him, 
"Carrick-fhad-vic-Orus,"  and  he  remembered  the  com- 
mand of  the  good  people  to  bring  the  corpse  with  him  to 
that  place  if  he  should  be  unable  to  bury  it  where  he 
had  been. 

He  rose  up,  and  looked  about  him.  "I  don't  know  the 
way,"  he  said. 

As  soon  as  he  had  uttered  the  word,  the  corpse 
stretched  out  suddenly  its  left  hand  that  had  been  tight- 
ened round  his  neck,  and  kep,t  it  pointing  out,  showing 
him  the  road  he  ought  to  follow.  Teig  went  in  the  di- 
rection that  the  fingers  were  stretched,  and  passed  out 
of  the  churchyard.  He  found  himself  on  an  old  rutty, 
stony  road,  and  he  stood  still  again,  not  knowing  where 
to  turn.  The  corpse  stretched  out  its  bony  hand  a  sec- 
ond time,  and  pointed  out  to  him  another  road — not  the 
road  by  which  he  had  come  when  approaching  the  old 
church.  Teig  followed  that  road,  and  whenever  he  came 
to  a  path  or  road  meeting  it,  the  corpse  always  stretched 
out  its  hand  and  pointed  with  its  fingers,  showing  him 
the  way  he  was  to  take. 

Many  was  the  cross-road  he  turned  down,  and  many 


28         IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

was  the  crooked  boreen  he  walked,  until  he  saw  from 
him  an  old  burying-ground  at  last,  beside  the  road,  but 
there  was  neither  church  nor  chapel  nor  any  other  build- 
ing in  it.  The  corpse  squeezed  him  tightly,  and  he 
stood.  "Bury  me,  bury  me  in  the  -bury ing-ground/'  said 
the  voice. 

Teig  drew  over  toward  the  old  burying-place,  and  he 
was  not  more  than  about  twenty  yards  from  it,  when, 
raising  his  eyes,  he  saw  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
ghosts — men,  women,  and  children — sitting  on  the  top 
of  the  wall  round  about,  or  standing  on  the  inside  of  it, 
or  running  backward  and  forward,  and  poihting  at  him, 
while  he  could  see  their  mouths  opening  and  shutting  as 
if  they  were  speaking,  though  he  heard  no  word,  nor  any 
sound  amongst  them  at  all. 

He  was  afraid  to  go  forward,  so  he  stood  where  he 
was,  and  the  moment  he  stood,  all  the  ghosts  became 
quiet,  and  ceased  moving.  Then  Teig  understood  that 
it  was  trying  to  keep  him  from  going  in,  that  they  were. 
He  walked  a  couple  of  yards  forward,  and  immediately 
the  whole  crowd  rushed  together  toward  the  spot  to 
which  he  was  moving,  and  they  stood  so  thickly  together 
that  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  never  could  break  through 
them,  even  though  he  had  a  mind  to  try.  But  he  had  no 
mind  to  try  it.  He  Avent  back  broken  and  dispirited, 
and  when  he  had  gone  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  from 
the  burying-ground,  he  stood  again,  for  he  did  not  know 
what  way  he  was  to  go.  He  heard  the  voice  of  the 
corpse  in  his  ear,  saying,  "Teampoll-Ronan,"  and  the 
skinny  hand  was  stretched  out  again,  pointing  him  out 
the  road. 

As  tired  as  he  was,  he  had  to  walk,  and  the  road  was 
neither  short  nor  even.  The  night  was  darker  than  ever, 
and  it  was  difficult  to  make  his  way.  Many  was  the 
toss  he  got,  and  many  a  bruise  they  left  on  his  body.  At 
last  he  saw  Teampoll-Ronan  from  him  in  the  distance, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  burying-ground.  He 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         29 

moved  over  toward  it,  and  thought  he  was  all  right  and 
safe,  when  he  saw  no  ghosts  nor  anything  else  on  the 
wall,  and  he  thought  he  would  never  be  hindered  now 
from  leaving  his  load  off  him  at  last.  He  moved  over 
to  the  gate?  but  as  he  was  passing  in,  he  tripped  on 
the  threshold.  Before  he  could  recover  himself,  some- 
thing that  he  could  not  see  seized  him  by  the  neck,  by 
the  hands,  and  by  the  feet,  and  bruised  him,  and  shook 
him,  and  choked  him,  until  he  was  nearly  dead;  and  at 
last  he  was  lifted  up,  and  carried  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  from  that  place,  and  then  thrown  down  in  an  old 
dyke,  with  the  corpse  still  clinging  to  him. 

He  rose  up,  bruised  and  sore,  but  feared  to  go  near 
the  place  again,  for  he  had  seen  nothing  the  time  he 
was  thrown  down  and  carried  away. 

"You  corpse,  up  on  my  back,"  said  he,  "shall  I  go 
over  again  to  the  churchyard?" — but  the  corpse  never 
answered  him. 

"That's  a  sign  you  don't  wish  me  to  try  it  again," 
said  Teig. 

He  was  now  in  great  doubt  as  to  what  he  ought  to 
do,  when  the  corpse  spoke  in  his  ear,  and  said,  "Im- 
logue-Fada." 

"Oh,  murder!"  said  Teig,  "must  I  bring  you  there? 
If  you  keep  me  long  walking  like  this,  I  tell  you  I'll  fall 
under  you." 

He  went  on,  however,  in  the  direction  the  corpse 
pointed  out  to  him.  He  could  not  have  told,  himself, 
how  long  he  had  been  going,  when  the  dead  man  behind 
suddenly  squeezed  him,  and  said,  "There !" 

Teig  looked  from  him,  and  he  saw  a  little  low  wall, 
that  was  so  broken  down  in  places  that  it  was  np  wall  at 
all.  It  was  in  a  great  wide  field,  in  from  the  road ;  and 
only  for  three  or  four  great  stones  at  the  corners,  that 
were  more  like  rocks  than  stones,  there  was  nothing  to 
show  that  there  was  either  graveyard  or  burying-ground 
there. 


30          IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Is  this  Imlogue-Fada  ?  Shall  I  bury  you  here?** 
said  Teig. 

"Yes/'  said  the  voice. 

"But  I  see  no  grave  or  gravestone,  only  this  pile  of 
stones,"  said  Teig. 

The  corpse  did  not  answer,  but  stretched  out  its  long, 
fleshless  hand,  to  show  Teig  the  direction  in  which  he 
tras  to  go.  Teig  went  on  accordingly,  but  he  was  greatly 
terrified, 'for  he  remembered  what  had  happened  to  him 
at  the  last  place.  He  went  on,  "with  his  heart  in  his 
mouth,"  as  he  said  himself  afterward ;  but  when  he  came 
to  within  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  of  the  little  low,  square 
wall,  there  broke  out  a  flash  of  lightning,  bright  yellow 
and  red,  with  blue  streaks  in  it,  and  went  round  about 
the  wall  in  one  course,  and  it  swept  by  as  fast  as  the 
swallow  in  the  clouds,  and  the  longer  Teig  remained 
looking  at  it  the  faster  it  went,  till  at  last  it  became  like 
a  bright  ring  of  flame  round  the  old  graveyard,  which 
no  one  could  pass  without  being  burned  by  it.  Teig 
never  saw,  from  the  time  he  wa&  born,  and  never  saw 
afterward,  so  wonderful  or  so  splendid  a  sight  as  that 
was.  Eound  went  the  flame,  white  and  yellow  and  blue 
sparks  leaping  out  from  it  as  it  went,  and  although  at 
first  it  had  been  no  more  than  a  thin,  narrow  line,  it 
increased  slowly  until  it  was  at  last  a  great  broad  band, 
and  it  was  continually  getting  broader  and  higher,  and 
throwing  out  more  brilliant  sparks,  till  there  was  never 
a  color  on  the  ridge  of  the  earth  that  was  not  to  be 
seen  in  that  fire;  and  lightning  never  shone  and  flame 
never  flamed  that  was  so  shining  and  so  bright  as  that. 

Teig  was  amazed ;  he  was  half  dead  with  fatigue,  and 
he  had  no  courage  left  to  approach  the  wall.  There  fell 
a  mist  over  his  eyes,  and  there  came  a  soorawn  in  his 
head,  and  he  was  obliged  to  sit  down  upon  a  great  stone 
to  recover  himself.  He  could  see  nothing  but  the  light, 
and  he  could  hear  nothing  but  the  whirr  of  it  as  it  shot 
round  the  paddock  faster  than  a  flash  of  lightning. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         31 

As  he  sat  there  on  the  stone,  the  voice  whispered  once 
more  in  his  ear,  "Kill-Breedya" ;  and  the  dead  man 
squeezed  him  so  tightly  that  he  cried  out.  He  rose 
again,  sick,  tired,  and  trembling,  and  went  forward  as 
he  was  directed.  The  wind  was  cold,  and  the  road  was 
bad,  and  the  load  upon  his  back  was  heavy,  and  the 
night  was  dark,  and  he  himself  was  nearly  worn  out, 
and  if  he  had  had  very  much  farther  to  go  he  must  have 
fallen  dead  under  his  burden. 

At  last  the  corpse  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  said  to 
him,  "Bury  me  there." 

"This  is  the  last  burying-place,"  said  Teig  in  his  own 
mind;  "and  the  little  gray  man  said  I'd  be  allowed  to 
bury  him  in  some  of  them,  sp  it  must  be  this ;  it  can't  be 
but  they'll  let  him  in  here/' 

The  first  faint  streak  of  the  ring  of  day  was  appear- 
ing in  the  east,  and  the  clouds  were  beginning  to  catch 
fire,  but  it  was  darker  than  ever,  for  the  moon  was  set, 
and  there  were  no  stars. 

"Make  haste,  make  haste !"  said  the  corpse ;  and  Teig 
hurried  forward  as  well  as  he  could  to  the  graveyard, 
which  was  a  little  place  on  a  bare  hill,  with  only  a  few 
graves  in  it. 

He  walked  boldly  in  through  the  open  gate, 
and  nothing  touched  him,  nor  did  he  either  hear 
or  see  anything.  He  came  to  the  middle  of  the  ground, 
and  then  stood  up  and  looked  round  him  for  a  spade 
or  shovel  to  make  a  grave.  As  he  was  turning  round 
and  searching,  he  suddenly  perceived  what  startled  him 
greatly — a  newly-dug  grave  right  before  him.  He 
moved  over  to  it,  and  looked  down,  and  there  at  the 
bottom  he  saw  a  black  coffin.  He  clambered  down  into 
the  hole  and  lifted  the  lid,  and  found  that  (as  he 
thought  it  would  be)  the  coffin  was  empty.  He  had 
hardly  mounted  up  out  of  the  hole,  and  was  standing 
on  the  brink,  when  the  corpse,  which  had  clung  to  him 
for  more  than  eight  hours,  suddenly  relaxed  its  hold 


of  his  neck,  and  loosened  its  shins  from  round  his  hips, 
and  sank  down  with  a  plop  into  the  open  coffin. 

Teig  fell  down  on  his  two  knees  at  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  and  gave  thanks  to  God.  He  made  no  delay 
then,  but  pressed  down  the  coffin  lid  in  its  place,  and 
threw  in  the  clay  over  it  with  his  two  hands;  and  when 
the  grave  was  filled  up,  he  stamped  and  leaped  on  it 
with  his  feet,  until  it  was  firm  and  hard,  and  then  he 
left  the  place. 

The  sun  was  fast  rising  as  he  finished  his  work,  and 
the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  return  to  the  road,  and 
look  out  for  a  house  to  rest  himself  in.  He  found  an 
inn  at  last,  and  lay  down  upon  a  bed  there,  and  slept 
till  night.  Then  he  rose  up  and  ate  a  little,  and  fell 
asleep  again  till  morning.  When  he  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing he  hired  a  horse  and  rode  home.  He  was  more  than 
twenty-six  miles  from  home  where  he  was,  and  he  had 
come  all  that  way  with  the  dead  body  on  his  back  in 
one  night. 

All  the  people  at  his  own  home  thought  that  he  must 
have  left  the  country,  and  they  rejoiced  greatly  when 
they  saw  him  come  back.  Everyone  began  asking  him 
where  he  had  been,  but  he  would  not  tell  anyone  except 
his  father. 

He  was  a  changed  man  from  that  day.  He  never 
drank  too  much ;  he  never  lost  his  money  over  cards ;  and 
especially  he  would  not  take  the  world  and  be  out  late 
by  himself  of  a  dark  night. 

He  was  not  a  fortnight  at  home  until  he  married 
Mary,  the  girl  he  had  been  in  love  with;  and  it's  at 
their  wedding  the  sport  was,  and  it's  he  was  the  happy 
man  from  that  day  forward,  and  it's  all  I  wish  that 
we  may  be  as  happy  as  he  was. 

GLOSSARY. — Rann,  a  stanza;  bailee  (ceilidJie),  a  visit  in 
the  evening;  u-lrra  (a  mhuire),  "Oh,  Mary!"  an  exclama- 
tion like  the  French  dame;  rib,  a  single  hair  (in  Irish, 
ribe)  ;  a  lock  (glac),  a  bundle  or  wisp,  or  a  little  share  of 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         33 

anything;  kippeen  (cipin),  a  rod  or  twig;  boreen  (buithrin), 
a  lane;  bodach,  a  clown;  soorawn  (suardn),  vertigo.  Avic 
(a  Mhic)  =  my  son,  or  rather,  Oh,  son.  Mic  is  the  voca- 
tive of  Mac, 


PADDY  CORCORAN'S  WIFE 

WILLIAM    CARLETON 

PADDY  CORCORAN'S  wife  was  for  several  years  afflicted 
with  a  kind  of  complaint  which  nobody  .could  properly 
understand.  She  was  sick,  and  she  was  not  sick;  she 
was  well,  and  she  was  not  well ;  she  was  as  ladies  wish 
to  be  who  love  their  lords,  and  she  was  not  as  such 
ladies  wish  to  be.  In  fact,  nobody  could  tell  what  the 
matter  with  her  was.  She  had  a  gnawing  at  the  heart 
which  came  heavily  upon  her  husband;  for,  with  the 
help  of  God,  a  keener  appetite  than  the  same  gnawing 
amounted  to  could  not  be  met  with  of  a  summer's  day. 
The  poor  woman  was  delicate  'beyond  belief,  and  had  no 
appetite  at  all,  so  she  hadn't,  barring  a  little  relish  for  a 
mutton-chop,  or  a  "staik,"  or  a  bit  o'  mait,  anyway ;  for 
sure,  God  help  her !  she  hadn't  the  laist  inclination  for 
the  dhry  pratie,  or  the  dhrop  o'  sour  buttermilk  along 
wid  it,  especially  as  she  was  so  poorly;  and,  indeed,  for 
a  woman  in  her  condition — for,  sick  as  she  was,  poor 
Paddy  always  was  made  to  believe  her  in  that  condition 
— but  God's  will  be  done !  she  didn't  care.  A  pratie  an' 
a  grain  o'  salt  was  a  welcome  to  her — glory  be  to  his 
name ! — as  the  best  roast  an'  boiled  that  ever  was 
dressed ;  and  why  not  ?  There  was  one  comfort :  she 
wouldn't  be  long  wid  him — long  troublin'  him;  it  mat- 
thered  little  what  she  got;  but  sure  she  knew  herself, 
that  from  the  gnawin'  at  her  heart,  she  could  neve*"  do 
good  widout  the  little  bit  o'  mait  now  and  then;  an\ 
sure,  if  her  own  husband  begridged  it  to  her,  who  else 
had  she  a  better  right  to  expect  it  from  ? 


*4         IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Well,  as  we  have  said,  she  lay  a  bedridden  invalid  for 
long  enough,  trying  doctors  and  quacks  of  all  sorts, 
sexes,  and  sizes,  and  all  without  a  farthing's  benefit,  un- 
til, at  the  long  run,  poor  Paddy  was  nearly  brought  to 
the  last  pass,  in  striving  to  keep  her  in  "the  bit  o'  mait." 
The  seventh  year  was  now  on  the  point  of  closing,  when, 
one  harvest  day,  as  she  lay  bemoaning  her  hard  condi- 
tion, on  her  bed  beyond  the  kitchen  fire,  a  little  weeshy 
woman,  dressed  in  a  neat  red  cloak,  comes  in,  and,  sit- 
ting down  by  the  hearth,  says: 

"Well,  Kitty  Corcoran,  you've  had  a  long  lair  of  it 
there  on  the  broad  o'  yer  back  for  seven  years,  an'  you're 
jist  as  far  from  bein'  cured  as  ever." 

"Mavrone,  ay,"  said  the  other ;  "in  throth  that's  what 
I  was  this  minnit  thinkin'  ov,  and  a'  sorrowful  thought 
it's  to  me." 

"It's  yer  own  fau't,  thin,"  says  the  little  woman; 
"an',  indeed,  for  that  matter,  it's  yer- fau't  that  ever  you 
wor  there  at  all." 

"Arra,  how  is  that  ?"  asked  Kitty.  "Sure  I  wouldn't 
be  here  if  I  could  help  it?  Do  you  think  it's  a  com- 
fort or  a  pleasure  to  me  to  be  sick  and  bedridden?" 

"No,"  said  the  other,  "I  do  not;  but  I'll  tell  you  the 
truth :  for  the  last  seven  years  you  have  been  annoying 
us.  I  am  one  o'  the  good  people ;  an'  as  I  have  a  regard 
for  you,  I'm  come  to  let  you  know  the  raison  why  you've 
been  sick  so  long  as  you  are.  For  all  the  time  you've 
been  ill,  if  you'll  take  the  thrubble  to  remimber,  your 
childhre  threwn  out  yer  dirty  wather  afther  dusk  an' 
before  sunrise,  at  the  very  time  we're  passin'  yer  door, 
which  we  pass  twice  a-day.  Now,  if  you  avoid  this,  if 
you  throw  it  out  in  a  different  place,  an'  at  a  different 
time,  the  complaint  you  have  will  lave  you :  so  will  the 
gnawin'  at  the  heart;  an'  you'll  be  as  well  as  ever  you 
^ror.  If  you  don't  follow  this  advice,  why,  remain  as 
you  are,  an'  all  the  art  o'  man  can't  cure  you."  She 
then  bade  her  good-bye,  and  disappeared. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES         35 

Kitty,  who  was  glad  to  be  cured  on  such  easy  terms, 
immediately  complied  with  the  injunction  of  the  fairy; 
and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  next  day  she  found 
herself  in  as  good  health  as  ever  she  enjoyed  during 
her  life. 


CUSHEEN"  LOO. 

TRANSLATED  FBOM  THE  IBISH  BY  J.  J.   CALLAHAN 

[THIS  song  is  supposed  to  have  been  sung  by  a  young 
bride,  who  was  forcibly  detained  in  one  of  those  forts  which 
are  so  common  in  Ireland,  and  to  which  the  good  people 
are  very  fond  of  resorting.  Under  pretence  of  hushing  her 
child  to  rest,  she  retired  to  the  outside  margin  of  the  fort, 
and  addressed  the  burthen  of  her  song  to  a  young  woman 
whom  she  saw  at  a  short  distance,  and  whom  she  requested 
to  inform  her  husband  of  her  condition,  and  to  desire  him 
to  bring  the  steel  knife  to  dissolve  the  enchantment.] 

SLEEP,  my  child !   for  the  rustling  trees, 
Stirred  by  the  breath  of  summer  breeze, 
And  fairy  songs  of  sweetest  note, 
Around  us  gently  float. 

Sleep!  for  the  weeping  flowers  have  shed 
Their  fragrant  tears  upon  thy  head, 
The  voice  of  love  hath  sooth'd  thy  rest, 
And  thy  pillow  is  a  mother's  breast. 

Sleep,  my  child! 

Weary  hath  pass'd  the  time  forlorn, 
Since  to  your  mansion  I  was  borne, 
Tho'  bright  the  feast  of  its  airy  halls, 
And  the  voice  of  mirth  resounds  from  its  walla 
Sleep,  my  child! 


36          IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES 

Full  many  a  maid  and  blooming  bride 
Within  that  splendid  dome  abide, — 
And  many  a  hoar  and  shrivell'd  sage, 
And  many  a  matron  bow'd  with  age. 

Sleep,  my  child! 

Oh !   thou  who  hearest  vthis  song  of  fear, 
To  the  mourner's  home  these  tidings  bear. 
Bid  him  bring  the  knife  of  the  magic  blade, 
At  whose  lightning-flash  the  charm  will  fade. 
Sleep,  my  child ! 

Haste !   for  to-morrow's  sun  will  see 
The  hateful  spell  renewed  for  me; 
Nor  can  I  from  that  home  depart, 
Till  life  shall  leave  my  withering  heart. 

Sleep,  my  child ! 

Sleep,  my  child !    for  the  rustling  trees, 
Stirr'd  by  the  breath  of  summer  breeze, 
And  fairy  songs  of  sweetest'note, 
Around  us  gently  float. 


THE  WHITE  TROUJ;  A  LEGEND  OF  CONG 

BY  S.  LOVER 

THERE  was  wanst  upon  a  time,  long  ago,  a  beautiful 
lady  that  lived  in  a  castle  upon  the  lake  beyant,  and 
they  say  she  was  promised  to  a  king's  son,  and  they 
wor  to  be  married,  when  all  of  a  sudden  he  was  mur- 
thered,  the  crathur  (Lord  help  us),  and  threwn  into 
the  lake  above,  and  so,  of  course,  he  couldn't  keep  his 
promise  to  the  fairy  lady — and  more's  the  pity. 


IRISH   FAIRY   AND   FOLK  TALES         37 

Well,  the  story  goes  that  she  went  out  iv  her  mind, 
bekase  av  loosin'  the  king's  son — for  she  was  tendher- 
hearted,  God  help  her,  like  the  rest  iv  us ! — and  pineti 
away  after  him,  until  at  last,  no  one  about  seen  her, 
good  or  had;  and  the  story  wint  that  the  fairies  took 
her  away. 

"Well,  sir,  in  coorse  o'  time,  the  White  Throut,  God 
bless  it,  was  seen  in  the  sthrame  beyant,  and  sure  the 
people  didn't  know  what  to  think  av  the  crathur,  seein1 
as  how  a  white  throut  was^  never  heard  av  afor,  nor 
since;  and  years  upon  years  the  throut  was  there,  just 
where  you  seen  it  this  blessed  minit,  longer  nor  I  can 
tell — aye  throth,  and  beyant  the  memory  o'  thj  ouldesx 
in  the  village. 

At  last  the  people  began  to  think  it  must  ba  a  fairy; 
for  what  else  could  it  be? — and  no  hurt  nor  harm  was 
iver  put  an  the  white  throut,  until  some  wicked  sinners 
of  sojers  kem  to  these  parts,  and  laughed  at  all  the  peo- 
ple, and  gibed  and  jeered  them  for  thinkin'  o'  the  likes ; 
and  one  o*  them  in  partic'lar  (bad  luck  to  him;  God 
forgi'  me  for  saying  it!)  swore  he'd  catch  the  throut 
and  ate  it  for  his  dinner — the  blackguard ! 

Well,  what  would  you  think  o'  the  villainy  of  thf, 
sojer?  Sure  enough  he  cotch  the  throut,  and  away 
wid  him  home,  and  puts  an  the  fryin'-pan,  and  into 
it  he  pitches  the  purty  little  thing,  fhe  throut  squeeled 
all  as  one  as  a  Christian  crathur,  and,  my  dear,  you'd 
think  the  sojer  id  split  his  sides  laughin' — for  he  was  a 
harden'd  villain;  and  when  he  thought  one  side  was 
done,  he  turns  it  -over  to  fry  the  other;  and,  what 
would  you  think,  but  the  divil  a  taste  of  a  burn  was 
an  it  at  all  at  all;  and  sure  the  sojer  thought  it  was 
a  guare  throut  that  could  not  be'briled.  "But,"  says 
he,  "I'll  give  it  another  turn  by-and-by,"  little  thinkin' 
what  was  in  store  for  him,  the  haythen. 

Well,  when  he  thought  that  side  was  done  he  turns 
it  agin,  and  lo  and  behold  you,  the  divil  a  taste  more 


38          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALLS 

done  that  side  was  nor  the  other.  "Bad  luck  to  me," 
says  the  sojer,  "but  that  bates  the  world,"  says  he ;  "but 
I'M  thry  you  agin,  my  darlint,"  says  he,  "as  cunuin'  as 
you  think  yourself;"  and  so  with  that  he  turns  it  over 
and  over,  but  not  a  sign  of  the  fire  was  on  the  purty 
throut.  ''Well,"  says  the  desperate  villain — (for  sure, 
sir,  only  he  was  a  desperate  villain  entirely,  he  might 
know  he  was  doing  a  wrong  thing,  seein'  that  all  his  en- 
deavors was  no  good) — "Well,"  says  he,  "my  jolly  little 
throut,  maybe  you're  fried,  enough,  though  you  don't 
seem  over  well  dress'd;  but  you  may  be  better  than  you 
look,  like  a  singed  cat,  and  a  tit-bit  afther  all,"  says 
he;  and  with  that  he  ups  with  his  knife  and  fork  to 
taste  a  piece  o'  the  throut;  but,  my  jew'l,  the  minit  he 
puts  his  knife  into  the  fish,  there  was  a  murtherin' 
screech,  that  you'd  think  the  life  id  lave  you  if  you 
hurd  it,  and  away  jumps  the  throut  out  av  the  fryin'- 
pan  into  the  middle  o'  the  flure ;  and  an  the  spot  where 
it 'fell,  up  riz  a  lovely  lady — the  beautifullest  crathur 
that  eyes  ever  seen,  dressed  in  white,  and  a  band  o' 
goold  in  her  hair,  and  a  sthrame  o'  blood  runnin'  down 
her  arm. 

"Look  where  you  cut  me,  you  villain,"  says  she,  and 
she  held  out  her  arm  to  him — and,  my  dear,  he  thought 
the  sight  id  lave  his  eyes. 

"Couldn't  you  lave  me  cool  and  comfortable  in  the 
river  where  you  snared  me,  and  not  disturb  me  in  my 
duty?"  says  she. 

Well,  he  thrimbled  like  a  dog  in  a  wet  sack,  and  at 
last  he  stammered  out  somethin',  and  begged  for  his 
life,  and  ax'd  her  ladyship's  pardin,  and  said  he  didn't 
know  she  was  on  duty,  or  he  was  too  good  a  sojer  not  to 
know  betther  nor  to  meddle  wid  her. 

"I  was  on  duty,  then,"  says  the  lady ;  "I  was  watch  in' 
for  my  true  love  that  is  comin'  by  wather  to  me,"  says 
she,  "an'  if  he  comes  while  I'm  away,  an'  that  I  miss 
jv  him,  I'll  turn  you  into  a  pinkeen,  and  I'll  hunt 


39 

you  up  and  down  for  evermore,  while  grass  grows  or 
wather  runs." 

Well,  the  sojer  thought  the  life  id  lave  him,  at  the 
thoughts  iv  his  bein'  turned  into  a  pinkeen,  and  begged 
for  mercy ;  and  with  that  says  the  lady : 

"Kenounce  your  evil  coorses,"  says 'she,  "you  villain, 
or  you'll  repint  it  too  late;  be  a  good  man  for  the 
futhur,  and  go  to  your  duty  *  reg'lar,  and  now,"  says 
she,  "take  me  back  and  put  me  into  the  river  again, 
where  you  found  me." 

"Oh,  my  lady,"  says  the  sojer,  "how  could  I  have  the 
heart  to  drownd  a  beautiful  lady  like  you?" 

But  before  he  could  say  another  word,  the  lady  was 
vanished,  and  there  he  saw  the  little  throut  an  the 
ground.  Well,  he  put  it  in  a  clean  plate,  and  away  he 
runs  for  the  bare  life,  for  fear  her  lover  would  come 
while  she  was  away;  and  he  run,  and  he  run,  even  till 
he  came  to  the  cave  agin,  and  threw  the  throut  into 
the  river.  The  minit  he  did,  the  wather  was  as  red  as 
blood  for  a  little  while,  by  rayson  av  the  cut,  I  suppose, 
until  the  sthrame  washed  the  stain  away;  and  to  this 
day  there's  a  little  red  mark  an  the  throut's  side,  where 
it  was  cut.f 

Well,  sir,  from  that  day  out  the  sojer  was  an  altered 
man,  and  reformed  his  ways,  and  went  to  his  duty 
reg'lar,  and  fasted  three  times  a-week — though  it  was 
never  fish  he  tuk  an  fastin'  days,  for  afther  the  fright 
he  got,  fish  id  never  rest  an  his  stomach — savin*  your 
presence. 

But  anyhow,  he  was  an  altered  man,  as  I  said  before, 
and  in  coorse  o'  time  he  left  the  army,  and  turned  her- 
mit at  last;  and  they  say  he  used  to  pray  evermore  for 
the  soul  of  the  White  Throut. 


*  The  Irish  peasant  calls  his  attendance  at   the  confes- 
sional "going  to  his  duty."  v 

t  The  fish  has  really  a  red  spot  on  Its  side. 


40         IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

[These  trout  stories  are  common  all  over  Ireland.  Many 
holy  wells  are  haunted  by  such  blessed  trout.  There  is  a 
trout  in  a  well  on  the  border  of  Lough  Gill,  Sligo,  that  some 
paganish  person  put  once  on  the  gridiron.  It  carries  the 
marks  to  this  day.  Long  ago,  the  saint  who  sanctified  the 
well  put  that  trout  there.  Nowadays  it  is  only  visible  to 
the  pious,  who  have  done  due  penance.] 


THE  FAIRY  THORN 

An  Ulster  Ballad 
SIR  SAMUEL  FERGUSON 

"GET  up,  our  Anna  dear,  from  the  weary  spinning- 
wheel; 
For  your  father's  on  the  hill,  and  your  mother  is 

asleep ; 

Come  up  above  the  crags,  and  we'll  dance  a  highland- 
reel 
Around  the  fairy  thorn  on  the  steep." 

At  Anna  Grace's  door  'twas  thus  the  maidens  cried, 
Three  merry  maidens  fair  in  kirtles  of  the  green ; 

And  Anna  laid  the  rock  and  the  weary  wheel  aside, 
The  fairest  of  the  four,  I  ween. 

They're  glancing  through  the  glimmer  of  the  quiet  eve. 

Away  in  milky  wavings  of  neck  and  ankle  bare ; 
Thb  heavy-sliding  stream  in  its  sleepy  song  they  leave, 

And  the  crags  in  the  ghostly  air: 

And  linking  hand  in  hand,  and  singing  as  they  go, 
The  maids  along  the  hill-side  have  ta'en  their  fearless 

way, 
Till  they  come  to  where  the  rowan  trees  in  lonely  beauty 

grow 
Beside  the  Fairy  Hawthorn  gray. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         41 

The  Hawthorn  stands  between  the  ashes  tall  and  slim, 
Like  matron  with  her  twin  grand-daughters  at  her 

knee; 
The  rowan  berries  cluster  o'er  her  low  head  gray  and 

dim 
In  ruddy  kisses  sweet  to  see. 

The  merry  maidens  four  have  ranged  them  in  a  row, 
Between  each  lovely  couple  a  stately  rowan  stem, 

And  away  in  mazes  wavy,  like  skimming  birds  they  go, 
Oh,  never  caroll'd  bird  like  them !    x 

But  solemn  is  the  silence  of  the  silvery  haze 

That  drinks  away  their  voices  in  echoless  repose, 

And  dreamily  the  evening  has  stilPd  the  haunted  braes' 
And  dreamier  the  gloaming  grows. 

And  sinking  one  by  one,  like  lark-notes  from  the  sky 
When  the  falcon's  shadow  saileth  across  the  open 

shaw, 
Are  hush'd  the  maiden's  voices,  as  cowering  down  they 

lie 
In  the  flutter  of  their  sudden  awe. 

For,  from  the  air  above,  and  the  grassy  ground  beneath, 
And  from  the  mountain-ashes  and  the  old  White 

thorn  between, 
A  Power  of  faint  enchantment  doth  through  their  being? 

breathe, 
And  they  sink  down  together  on  the  green. 

They  sink  together  silent,  and  stealing  side  by  side, 
They  fling  their  lovely  arms  o'er  their  drooping  neckf 
so  fair. 

Then  vainly  strive  again  their  naked  arms  to  hide, 
For  their  shrinking  necks  again  are  bare. 


42 

Thus  clasp'd  and  prostrate  all,  with  their  heads  togethei 

boVd, 
Soft  o'er   their   bosom's   beating — the    only   human 

sound — 

They  hear  the  silky  footsteps  of  the  silent  fairy  crowd, 
Like  a  river  in  the  air,  gliding  round. 

No  scream  can  any  raise,  no  prayer  can  any  say, 

But  wild,  wild,  the  terror  of  the  speechless  three — 

For  they  feel  fair  Anna  Grace  drawn  silently  away, 
By  whom  they,  dare  not  look  to  see. 

They  feel  their  tresses  twine  with  her  parting  locks  of 

gold, 

And  the  curls  elastic  falling  as  her  head  withdraws; 
They  feel  her  sliding  arms  from  their  tranced  arms 

unfold, 
But  they  may  not  look  to  see  the  cause : 

For  heavy  on  their  senses  the  faint  enchantment  lies 
Through   all   that  night   of    anguish    and    perilous 

amaze; 
And  neither  fear  nor  wonder  can  ope  their  quivering 

eyes, 
Or  their  limbs  from  the  cold  ground  raise, 

Till  out  of  night  the  earth  has  roll'd  her  dewy  side, 
With    every   haunted    mountain    and    streamy    vale 
below ; 

WTien,  as  the  mist  dissolves  in  the  yellow  morning  tide, 
The  maidens'  trance  dissolveth  so. 

Then  fly  the  ghastly  three  as  swiftly  as  they  may, 
And  tell  their  tale  of  sorrow  to  anxious  friends  in 
vain — 

They*pined  away  and  died  within  the  year  and  day, 
And  ne'er  was  Anna  Grace  seen  again. 


43 

THE   LEGEND    OF   KNOCKGRAFTON 

T.    CROFTON    CEOKER 

THERE  was  once  a  poor  man  who  lived  in  the  fertile 
glen  of  Aherlow,  at  the  foot  of  the  gloomy  Galtee 
mountains,  and  he  had  a  great  hump  on  his  back:  he 
looked  just  as  if  his  body  had  been  rolled  up  and  placed 
upon  his  shoulders;  and  hi 3  head  was  pressed  down 
with  the  weight  so  much  that  his  chin,  when  he  was 
sitting,  used  to  rest  upon  his  knees  for  support.  The 
country  people  were  rather  shy  of  meeting  him  in  any 
lonesome  place,  for  though,  poor  creature,  he  was  as 
harmless  and  as  inoffensive  as  a  new-born  infant,  yet 
his  deformity  was  so  great  that  he  scarcely  appeared 
to  be  a  human  creature,  and  some  ill-minded  persons 
had  set  strange  stories  about  him  afloat.  He  was  said 
to  have  a  great  knowledge  of  herbs  and  charms;  but 
certain  it  was  that  he  had  a  mighty  skilful  hand  in 
plaiting  straws  and  rushes  into  hats  and  baskets,  which 
was  the  way  he  made  his  livelihood. 

Lusmore,  for  that  was  the  nickname  put  upon  him 
by  reason  of  his  always  wearing  a  sprig  of  the  fairy 
cap,  or  lusmore  (the  foxglove),  in  his  little  straw  hat, 
would  ever  get  a  higher  penny  for  his  plaited  work 
than  any  one  else,  and  perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why 
some  one,  out  of  envy,  had  circulated  the  strange  stories 
about  him.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  happened  that  he  was 
returning  one  evening  from  the  pretty  town  of  Cahir 
toward  Cappagh,  and  as  little  Lusmore  walked  very 
slowly,  on  account  of  the  great  hump  upon  his  back, 
it  was  quite  dark  when  he  came  to  the  old  moat  of 
Knockgrafton,  which  stood  on  the  right-hand  side  of  hip 
road. 

Tired  and  weary  was  he,  and  noways  comfort- 
able in  his  own  mind  at  thinking  how  much  farther 
he  had  to  travel,  and  that  lift  should  be  walking  all  th* 


44         IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

night;  so  he  sat  down  under  the  moat  to  rest  himself, 
and  began  looking  mournfully  enough  upon  the  moon, 
which 

"Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length 
Apparent  Queen,  unveil' d  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw.'* 

Presently  there  rose  a  wild  strain  of  unearthly  mel- 
ody upon  the  ear  of  little  Lusmore;  he  listened,  and  he 
thought  that  he  had  never  heard  such  ravishing  music 
before.  It  was  like  the  sound  of  many  voices,  each 
mingling  and  blending  with  the  other  so  strangely  that 
they  seemed  to  be  one,  though  all  singing  different 
strains,  and  the  words  of  the  song  were  thess : 

Da  Luan,  Da  Mort;  Da  Luan,  Da  Mort,  Da  Luan,  Da  Mori; 

when  there  would  be  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  the 
round  of  melody  went  on  again. 

Lusmore  listened  attentively,  scarcely  drawing  his 
breath  lest  he  might  lose  the  slightest  note.  He  now 
plainly  perceived  that  the  singing  was  within  the  moat; 
and  though  at  first  it  had  charmed  him  so  much,  he  be- 
gan to  get  tired  of  hearing  the  same  round  sung  over 
and  over  so  often  without  any  change ;  so  availing  him- 
self of  the  pause  when  Da  Luan,  Da  Mort,  had  been 
sung  three  times,  he  took  up  the  tune,  and  raised  it  with 
the  words  augus  Da  Dardeen,  and  then  went  on  sing- 
ing with  the  voices  inside  of  the  moat,  Da  Luan,  Da 
Mort,  finishing  the  melody,  when  the  pause  again  came, 
with  augus  Da  Dardeen. 

The  fairies  within  Knockgrafton,  for  the  song  was  a 
fairy  melody,  when  they  hea^d  this  addition  to  the 
tune,  were  so  much  delighted  that,  with  instant  resolve, 
it  was  determined  to  bring  the  mortal  among  them, 
whose  musical  skill  so  far  exceeded  theirs,  and  little 
Lusmore  was  conveyed  into  their  company  with  the 
eddying  speed  of  a  whirlwind. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         45 

Glorious  to  behold  was  the  sight  that  burst  upon  him 
as  he  came  down  through  the  moat,  twirling  round  and 
round,  with  the  lightness  of  a  straw,  to  the  sweetest 
music  that  kept  time  to  his  motion.  The  greatest  honor 
was  then  paid  him,  for  he  was  put  above  all  the  musi- 
cians, and  he  had  servants  tending  upon  him,  and  every- 
thing to  his  heart's  content,  and  a  hearty  welcome  to 
all ;  and,  in  short,  he  was  made  as  much  of  as  if  he  had 
been  the  first  man  in  the  land. 

Presently  Lusmore  saw  a  great  consultation  going 
forward  among  the  fairies,  and,  notwithstanding  all 
their  civility,  he  felt  very  much  frightened,  until  one 
stepping  out  from  the  rest  came  up  to  him  and  said : 

"Lusmore !   Lusmore ! 
Doubt  not,  nor  deplove, 
For  the  hump  which  you  .bore 
On  your  back  is  no  more ; 
Look  down  on  the  floor, 
And  view  it,  Lusmore!" 

When  these  words  were  said,  poor  little  Lusmore  felt 
himself  so  light,  and  so  happy,  that  he  thought  he 
could  have  bounded  at  one  jump  over  the  moon,  like 
the  cow  in  the  history  of  the  cat  and  the  fiddle ;  and  he 
saw,  with  inexpressible  pleasure,  his  hump  tumble  down 
upon  the  ground  from  his  shoulders.  He  then  tried  to 
lift  up  his  head,  and  he  did  so  with  becoming  caution, 
fearing  that  he  might  knock  it  against  the  ceiling  of  the 
grand  hall,  where  he  was;  he  looked  round  and  round 
again  with  the  greatest  wonder  and  delight  upon  every- 
thing, which  appeared  more  and  more  beautiful;  and, 
overpowered  at  beholding  such  a  resplendent  scene,  his 
head  grew  dizzy,  and  his  eyesight  became  dim.  At  last 
he  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  and  when  he  awoke  he  found 
that  it  was  broad  daylight,  the  sun  shining  brightly,  and 
the  birds  singing  sweetly ;  and  that  he  was  lying  just  at 
the  foot  of  the  moat  of  Knockgrafton,  with  the  cows 


±6          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

and  sheep  grazing  peaceably  round  about  him.  The  first 
thing  Lusmore  did,  after  saying  his  prayers,  was  to  put 
his  hand  behind  to  feel  for  his  hump,  but  no  sign  of 
one  was  there  on  his  back,  and  he  looked  at  himself  with 
great  pride,  for  he  had  now  become  a  well-shaped,  dap- 
per little  fellow,  and  more  than  that,  found  himself  in  a 
full  suit  of  new  clothes,  which  he  concluded  the  fairies 
had  made  for  him. 

Toward  Cappagh  he  went,  stepping  out  as  lightly,  and 
springing  up  at  every  step  as  if  he  had  been  all  his  life 
a  dancing-master.  Not  a  creature  who  met  Lusmore 
knew  him  without  his  hump,  and  he  had  a  great  work 
to  persuade  every  one  that  he  was  the  same  man — in 
truth  he  was  not,  so  far  as  the  outward  appearance 
went. 

Of  course  it  was  not  long  before  the  story  of  Lus- 
more's  hump  got  about,  and  a  great  wonder  was  made 
of  it.  Through  the  country,  for  miles  round,  it  was 
the  talk  of  every  one,  high  and  low. 

One  morning,  as  Lusmore  was  sitting  contented 
enough  at  his  cabin  door,  up  came  an  old  woman  to  him, 
and  asked  him  if  he  could  direct  her  to  Cappagh. 

"I  need  give  you  no  directions,  my  good  woman," 
said  Lusmore,  "for  this  is  Cappagb ;  and  whom  may  you 
want  here?" 

"I  have  come,"  said  the  woman,  "out  of  Decie's  coun- 
try, in  the  county  of  Waterford,  looking  after  one  Lus- 
more, who,  I  have  heard  tell,  had  his  hump  taken  off 
by  the  fairies;  for  there  is  a  son  of  a  gossip  of  mine 
who  has  got  a  hump  on  him  that  will  be  his  death ;  and 
maybe,  if  he  could  use  the  same  charm  as  Lusmore, 
the  hump  may  be  taken  off  him.  And  now  I  have  told 
you  the  reason  of  my  coming  so  far:  'tis  to  find  out 
about  this  charm,  if  I  can." 

Lusmore,  who  was  ever  a  good-natured  little  fellow, 
told  the  woman  all  the  particulars,  how  he  had  raised 
the  tune  for  the  fairies  at  Knockgrafton,  how  his  hump 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         47 

had  been  removed  from  his  shoulders,  and  how  he  had 
got  a  new  suit  of  clothes  into  the  bargain. 

The  woman  thanked  him  very  much,  and  then  went 
away  quite  happy  and  easy  in  her  own  mind.  When  she 
came  back  to  her  gossip's  house,  in  the  county  of  Water- 
ford,  she  told  her  everything  that  Lusmore  had  said, 
and  they  put  the  little  hump-backed  man,  who  was  a 
peevish  and  cunning  creature  from  his  birth,  upon  a  car, 
and  took  him  all  the  way  across  the  country.  It  was  a 
long  journey,  but  they  did  not  care  for  that,  so  the 
hump  was  taken  from  off  him;  and  they  brought  him, 
just  at  nightfall,  and  left  him  under  the  old  moat  of 
Knockgrafton. 

Jack  Madden,  f6r  that  was  the  humpy  man's  name, 
had  not  been  sitting  there  long  when  he  heard  the  tune 
going  on  within  the  moat  much  sweeter  than  before ;  for 
the  fairies  were  singing  it  the  way  Lusmore  had  settled 
their  music  for  them,  and  the  song  was  going  on :  Da 
Luan,  Da  Mort,  Da  Luan,  Da  Mort,  Da  Luan,  Da 
Mori,  augus  Da  Dardeen,  without  ever  stopping.  Jack 
Madden,  who  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  quit  of  his 
hump,  never  thought  of  waiting  until  the  fairies  had 
done,  or  watching  for  a  fit  opportunity  to  raise  the  tune 
higher  again  than  Lusmore  had;  so  having  heard  them 
sing  it  over  seven  times  without  stopping,  out  he  bawls, 
never  minding  the  time  or  the  humor  of  the  tune,  or  how 
he  could  bring  his  words  in  properly,  augus  Da  Dardeen, 
augus  Da  Eena,  thinking  that  if  one  day  was  good,  two 
were  better;  and  that  if  Lusmore  had  one  new  suit  o* 
clothes  given  him,  he  should  have  two. 

No  sooner  had  the  words  passed  his  lips  than  he  was 
taken  up  and  whisked  into  the  moat  with  prodigious 
force;  and  the  fairies  came  crowding  round  about  him 
with  great  anger,  screeching  and  screaming,  and  roaring 
out: 

"Who  spoiled  our  tune?  Who  spoiled  our  tune?" 
and  one  stepped  up  to  him  above  all  the  rest,  and  said : 


48          IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Jack  Madden !    Jack  Madden ! 
Your  words  came  so  bad  in 
The  tune  we  felt  glad  in; — 
This  castle  you're  had  in, 
That  your  life  we  may  sadden ; 
Here's  two  humps  for  Jack  Madden!" 

And  twenty  of  the  strongest  fairies  brought  Lnsmore's 
hump,  and  put  it  down  upon  poor  Jack's  back,  over  his 
own,  where  it  became  fixed  as  firmly  as  if  it  was  nailed 
on  with  twelve-penny  nails,  by  the  best  carpenter  that 
ever  drove  one.  Out  of  their  castle  they  then  kicked 
him;  and  in  the  morning,  when  Jack  Madden's  mother 
and  her  gossip  came  to  look  after  their  little  man,  they 
found  him  half  dead,  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  moat, 
with  the  other  hump  upon  his  back.  Well  to  be  sure, 
how  they  did  look  at  each  other !  but  they  were  afraid 
to  say  anything,  lest  a  hump  might  be  put  upon  their 
own  shoulders.  Home  they  brought  the  unlucky  Jack 
Madden  with  them,  as  downcast  in  their  hearts  and  their 
looks  as  ever  two  gossips  were;  and  what  through  the 
weight  of  his  other  hump,  and  the  long  journey,  he  died 
soon  after,  leaving,  they  say,  his  heavy  curse  to  any  one 
who  would  go  to  listen  to  fairy  tunes  again.  • 


A  DONEGAL  FAIRY 

LBTITIA  MACLINTOCK 

AY,  it's  a  bad  thing  to  displeasure  the  gentry,  sure 
enough — they  can  be  unfriendly  if  they're  angered,  an* 
they  can  be  the  very  best  o'  gude  neighbors  if  they're 
treated  kindly.  , 

My  mother's  sister  was  her  lone  in  the  house  one  day, 
wi'  a'  big  pot  o'  water  boiling  on  the  fire,  and  ane  o'  the 
wee  folk  fell  down  the  chimney,  and  slipped  wi*  his  leg 
in  the  hot  water. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         49 

He  let  a  terrible  squeal  out  o'  him,  an*  in  a  minute  the 
house  was  full  o'  wee  crathurs  pulling  him  out  o'  the 
pot,  an*  carrying  him  across  the  floor. 

"Did  she  scald  you?"  my  aunt  heard  them  saying  to 
him. 

"Na,  na,  it  was  mysel'  scalded  my  ainsel',"  quoth  the 
wee  fellow. 

"A  weel,  a  weel,"  says  they.  "If  it  was  your  ainseP 
scalded  yoursel',  we'll  say  nothing,  but  if  she  had  scalded 
you,  we'd  ha'  made  her  pay." 


THE   TROOPING    FAIRIES 


CHANGELINGS 

SOMETIMES  the  fairies  fancy  mortals,  and  carry  them 
away  into  their  own  country,  leaving  instead  some  sickly 
fairy  child,  or  a  log  of  wood  so  bewitched  that  it  seems 
to  be  a  mortal  pining  away,  and  dying,  and  being  buried. 
Most  commonly  they  steal  children.  If  you  "over  look 
a  child/*  that  is  look  on  it  with  envy,  the  fairies  have  it 
in  their  power.  Many  things  can  be  done  to  find  out 
in  a  child  a  changeling,  but  there  is  one  infallible  thing 
— lay  it  on  the  fire  with  this  formula,  "Burn,  burn, 
burn — if  of  the  devil,  burn;  but  if  of  God  and  the 
saints,  be^ saf e  from  harm"  (given  by  Lady  Wilde). 
Then  if  it  be  a  changeling  it  will  rush  up  the  chimney 
with  a  cry,  for,  according  to  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  "fire 
is  the  greptest  of  enemies  to  every  sort  of  phantom,  in 
so  much  that  those  who  have  seen  apparitions  fall  into 
a  swoon  as  soon  as  they  are  sensible  of  the  brightness 
of  fire." 

Sometimes  the  creature  is  got  rid  of  in  a  more  gentle 
way.  It  is  on  record  that  once  when  a  mother  was 
leaning  over  a  wizened  changeling  the  latch  lifted  and 
a  fairy  came  in,  carrying  home  again  the  wholesome 
stolen  baby.  "It  was  the  others,"  she  said,  "who  stole 
it."  As  for  her,  she  wanted  her  own  child. 

Those  who  are  carried  away  are  happy,  according  to 
some  accounts,  having  plenty  of  good  living  and  music 
and  mirth.  Others  say,  however,  that  they  are  continu- 
ally longing  for  their  earthly  friends.  Lady  Wilde  gives 
a  gloomy  tradition  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  fairies 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES         51 

— one  kind  merry  and  gentle,  the  other  evil,  and  sacri- 
ficing every  year  a  life  to  Satan,  for  which  purpose  they 
steal  mortals.  No  other  Irish  writer  gives  this  tradition 
— if  such  fairies  there  be,  they  must  be  among  the  soli- 
tary spirits — Pookas,  Fir  Darrigs,  and  the  like. 


THE  BREWERY  OF  EGG-SHELLS 

T.  CROFTON   CEOKEE 

MBS.  SULLIVAN  fancied  that  her  youngest  child  had 
been  exchanged  by  "fairies'  theft/'  and  certainly  appear- 
ances warranted  such  a  conclusion ;  for  in  one  night  her 
healthy,  blue-eyed  boy  had  become  shrivelled  up  into 
almost  nothing,  and  never  ceased  squ'alling  and  crying. 
This  naturally  made  poor  Mrs.  Sullivan  very  unhappy ; 
and  all  the  neighbors,  by  way  of  comforting  her,  said 
that  her  own  child  was,  beyond  any  kind  of  doubt,  with 
the  good  people,  and  that  one  of  themselves  was  put  in 
his  place. 

Mrs.  Sullivan  of  course  could  not  disbelieve  what 
every  one  told  her,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  hurt  the 
thing;  for  although  its  face  was  so  withered,  and  its 
body  wasted  away  to  a  mere  skeleton,  it  had  still  a 
strong  resemblance  to  her  own  boy.  She,  therefore, 
could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  roast  it  alive  on  the 
griddle,  or  to  burn  its  nose  off  with  the  red-hot  tongs, 
or  to  throw  it  out  in  the  snow  on  the  road-side,  not- 
withstanding these,  and  several  like  proceedings,  were 
strongly  recommended  to  her  for  the  recovery  of  her 
child/ 

One  day  who  should  Mrs.  Sullivan  meet  but  a  cunning 
woman,  well  known  about  the  country  by  the  name  of 
Ellen  Leah  (or  Gray  Ellen).  She  had  the  gift,  how- 
ever she  got  it,  of  telling  where  the  dead  were,  and  what 
was  good  for  the  rest  of  their  souls;  and  could  charm 


52         IBI8H  'FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

away  warts  and  wens,  and  do  a  great  many  wonderful 
things  of  the  same  nature. 

"You're  in  grief  this  morning,  Mrs.  Sullivan/'  were 
the  first  words  of  Ellen  Leah  to  her. 

"Yon  may  say  that,  Ellen,**  said  Mrs.  Sullivan,  "and 
good  cause  I  have  to  be  in  grief,  for  there  was  my  own 
fine  child  whipped  off  from  me  out  of  his  cradle,  with- 
out as  much  as  *by  your  leave*  or  £ask  your  pardon,' 
and  an  ugly  dony  bit  of  a  shrivelled-up  fairy  put  in 
his  place;  BO  wonder,  then,  that  you.  see  me  in  grief, 
Ellen." 

"Small  blame  to  you,  Mrs.  Sullivan,"  said  Ellen  Leah, 
"but  are  you  sure  'tis  a  fairy  ?" 

"Sure !"  echoed  Mrs.  Sullivan,  "sure  enough  I  am  to 
my  sorrow,  and  can  I  doubt  my  own  two  eyes?  Every 
mother's  soul  must  feel  for  me !" 

"Will  yon  take  an  old  woman's  advice?"  said  Ellen. 
Leah,  fixing  her  wild  and  mysterious  gaze  npon  the  un- 
Jiappy  mother;  and,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  "but 
maybe  youll  call  it  foolish  ?" 

"Can  you  get  me  back  my  child,  my  own  child, 
Ellen  ?"  said  Mrs.  Sullivan  with  great  energy. 

"If  you  do  as  I  bid  you,"  returned  Ellen  Leah,  "you'll 
know."  Mrs.  Sullivan  was  silent  in  expectation,  and 
Ellen  continued.  'Tut  down  the  big  pot,  full  of  water, 
on  the  fire,  and  make  it  boil  like  mad;  then  get  a  dozen 
new-laid  eggs,  break  them,  and  keep  the  shells,  but 
throw  away  the  rest;  when  that  is  done,  put  the  shells 
in  the  pot  of  boiling  water,  and  you  will  soon  know 
whether  it  is  your  own  boy  or  a  fairy.  If  you  find  that 
it  is  a  fairy  in  the  cradle,  take  the  red-hot  poker  and 
cram  it  down  his  ugly  throat,  and  you  will  not  have 
much  trouble  with  him  after  that,  I  promise  you." 

Home  went  Mrs.  Sullivan,  and  did  as  Ellen  Leah 
desired.  She  put  the  pot  on  the  fire,  and  plenty  of 
turf  under  it  and  set  the  water  boiling  at  such  a  rate, 
that  if  ever  water  was  red-hot,  it  surely  was. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         53 

The  child  was  lying,  for  a  wonder,  quite  easy  and 
quiet  in  the  cradle,  every  now  and  then  cocking  his 
eye,  that  would  twinkle  as  keen  as  a  star  in  a  frosty 
night,  over  at  the  great  fire,  and  the  big  pot  upon  it; 
and  he  looked  on  with  great  attention  at  Mrs.  Sullivan 
breaking  the  eggs  and  putting  down  the  egg-shells  to 
boil.  At  last  he  asked,  with  the  voice  of  a  very  old  man, 
"What  are  you  doing,  mammy  ?" 

Mrs.  Sullivan's  heart,  as  she  said  herself,  was  up  in 
her  mouth  ready  to  choke  her,  at  hearing  the  child 
speak.  But  she  contrived  to  put  the  poker  in  the  fire, 
and  to  answer,  without  making  any  wonder  at  the  words, 
"I'm  brewing,  a  vicJc"  (my  son). 

"And  what  are  you  brewing,  mammy  ?"  said  the  little 
imp,  whose  supernatural  gift  of  speech  now  proved  be- 
yond question  that  he  was  a  fairy  substitute. 

"I  wish  the  poker  was  red,"  thought  Mrs.  Sullivan; 
but  it  was  a  large  one,  and  took  a  long  time  heating; 
so  she  determined  to  keep  him  in  talk  until  the  poker 
was  in  a  proper  state  to  thrust  down  his  throat,  and 
therefore  repeated  the  question. 

"Is  it  what  I'm  brewing,  a  vick"  said  she,  "you  want 
to  know  ?" 

"Yes,  mammy :  what  are  you  brewing  ?"  returned  the 
fairy. 

"Egg-shells,  a  vick"  said  Mrs.  Sullivan. 

"Oh!"  shrieked  the  imp,  starting  up  in  the  cradle 
and  elapping  his  hands  together,  "I'm  fifteen  hundred 
years  in  the  world,  and  I  never  saw  a  brewery  of  egg- 
shells before !"  The  poker  was  by  this  time  quite  red, 
and  Mrs.  Sullivan,  seizing  it,  ran  furiously  towards  the 
cradle;  but  somehow  or  other  her  foot  slipped,  and  she 
fell  flat  on  the  floor,  and  the  poker  flew  out  of  her 
hand  to  the  other  end  of  the  house.  However,  she  got 
up  without  much  loss  of  time  and  went  to  the  cradle, 
intending  to  pitch  the  wicked  thing  that  was  in  it  into 
the  pot  of  boiling  water,  when  there  she  saw  her  own 


54         IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

child  in  a  sweet  sleep,  one  of  his  soft  round  arms  rested 
upon  the  pillow — his  features  were  as  placid  as  if  their 
repose  had  never  been  disturbed,  save  the  rosy  mouth, 
vrhich  moved  with  a  gentle  and  regular  breathing. 


THE  FAIRY  NURSE 

BY  EDWABD  WALSH 

SWEET  babe !  a  golden  cradle  holds  thee, 
And  soft  the  snow-white  fleece  enfolds  thee ; 
In  airy  bower  I'll  watch  thy  sleeping, 
Where  branchy  trees  to  the  breeze  are  sweeping. 
Shuheen,  sho,  lulo  lo ! 

When  mothers  languish  broken-hearted, 
When  young  wives  are  from  husbands  parted, 
Ah !  little  think  the  keeners  lonely, 
They  weep  some  time-worn  fairy  only. 
Shuheen,  sho,  lulo  lo ! 

"Within  our  magic  halls  pf  brightness, 
Trips  many  a  f 004:  of  snowy  whiteness ; 
Stolen  maidens,  queens  of  fairy — 
And  kings  and  chiefs  a  sluagh-shee  airy. 
Shuheen,  sho,  lulo  lo! 

Rest  thee,  babe !  I  love  thee  dearly, 
And  as  thy  mortal  mother  nearly ; 
Ours  is  the  swiftest  steed  and  proudest, 
That  moves  where  the  tramp  of  the  host  is  loudest. 
Shuheen,  sho,  lulo  lo ! 

Rest  thee,  babe !  for  soon  thy  slumbers 
Shall  flee  at  the  magic  koelshie's*  numbers ; 
In  airy  bower  I'll  watch  thy  sleeping, 
Where  branchy  trees  to  the  breeze  are  sweeping. 
Shuheen,  sho,  lulo  lo ! 


*  Ce6l-sidhe — i.  e.,  fairy  music. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES         55 
JAMIE  FKEEL  AND  THE  YOUNG  LADY 

A  Donegal  Tale 
MISS  LETITIA  MACLINTOCK 

DOWN  in  Fannet,  in  times  gone  by,  lived  Jamie  Freel 
and  his  mother.  Jamie  was  the  widow's  sole  support; 
his  strong  arm  worked  for  her  untiringly,  and  as  each 
Saturday  night  came  around,  he  poured  his  wages  into 
her  lap,  thanking  her  dutifully  for  the  halfpence  which 
she  returned  him  for  tobacco. 

He  was  extolled  by  his  neighbors  as  the  best  son  ever 
known  or  heard  of.  But  he  had  neighbors  of  whose 
opinion  he  was  ignorant — neighbors  who  lived  pretty 
close  to  him,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  who  are,  indeed, 
rarely  seen  by  mortals,  except  on  May  eves  and  Hal- 
loweens. 

An  old  ruined  castle,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
his  cabin,  was  said  to  be  the  abode  of  the  "wee  folk/' 
Every  Halloween  were  the  ancient  windows  lighted  up, 
and  passers-by  saw  little  figures  flitting  to  and  fro  inside 
the  building,  while  they  heard  the  music  of  pipes  and 
flutes. 

It  was  well  known  that  fairy  revels  took  place;  but 
nobody  had  the  courage  to  intrude  on  them. 

Jamie  had  often  watched  the  little  figures  from  a 
distance,  and  listened  to  the  charming  music,  wonder- 
ing what  the  inside  of  the  castle  was  like ;  but  one  Hal- 
loween he  got  up  and  took  his  cap,  saying  to  his  mother, 
"I'm  awa'  to  the  castle  to  seek  my  fortune." 

"What!"  cried  she,  "would  you  venture  there?  you 
that's  the  poor  widow's  one  son !  Dinna  be  sae  venture- 
some an*  foolitch,  Jamie!  They'll  kill  you,  an'  then 
what'll  come  o*  me  ?" 

"Never  fear,  mother;  nae  harm  'ill  happen  me,  but  I 
maun  gae." 


56          IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES 

He  set  out,  and  as  he  crossed  the  potato-field,  came 
m  sight  of  the  castle,  whose  windows  were  ablaze  with 
tight,  that  seemed  to  turn  the  russet  leaves,  still  clinging 
to  the  crabtree  branches,  into  gold. 

Halting  m  ther  grove  at  one  side  of  the  ruin,  he 
listened  to  the  elfin  revelry,  and  the  laughter  and  sing- 
ing made,  him  all  the  more  determined  to  proceed. 

Numbers  of  little  people,  the  largest  about  the  size  of 
a  child  of  five  years  old,  were  dancing  to  the  music  of 
flutes  and  fiddles,  while  others  drank  and  feasted. 

"Welcome,  Jamie  Freel !  welcome,  welcome,  Jamie  I" 
cried  the  company,  perceiving  their  visitor.  The  word 
"Welcome"  was  caught  up  and  repeated  by  every  voice 
in  the  castle. 

Time  flew,  and  Jamie  was  enjoying  himself  very 
much,  when  his  hosts  said,  "We're  going  to  ride  to 
Dublin  to-night  to  steal  a  young  lady.  Will  you  come 
too.  Jamie  Freel  ?" 

"Ay,  that  will  1 1"  cried  the  rash  youth,  thirsting  for 
adventure. 

A  troop  of  horses  stood  at  the  door.  Jamie  mounted, 
and  his  steed  rose  with  him  into  the  air.  He  was 
presently  flying  over  his  mother's  cottage,  surrounded 
by  the  elfin  troop,  and  on  and  on  they  went,  over  bold 
mountains,  over  little  hills,  over  the  deep  Lough  Swilley, 
over  towns  and  cottages,  when  people  were  burning 
imts,  and  eating  apples,  and  keeping  merry  Halloween. 
It  seemed  to  Jamie  that  they  flew  all  round  Ireland 
before  they  got  to  Dublin. 

"This  is  Derry,"  said  the  fairies,  flying  over  the 
cathedral  spire;  and  what  was  said  by  one  voice  was 
repeated  by  all  the  rest,  till  fifty  little  voices  were  cry- 
ing out,  "Derry !  Derry !  Derry !" 

In  like  manner  was  Jamie  informed  as  they  passed 
over  each  town  on  the  rout,  and  at  length  he  heard  the 
silvery  voices  cry,  "Dublin  !  Dublin  !" 

It  was  no  mean  dwelling  that  was  to  be  honored  by 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         57 

the  fairy  risit,  but  one  of  the  finest  houses  in  Stephen's 
Green. 

The  troop  dismounted  near  a  window,  and  Jamie  saw 
a  beautiful  face,  on  a  pillow  in  a  splendid  bed.  He 
saw  the  young  lady  lifted  and  carried  away,  while  the 
stick  which  was  dropped  in  her  place  on  the  bed  took 
her  exact  form. 

The  lady  was  placed  before  one  rider  and  carried  a 
short  way,  then  given  another,  and  the  names  of  the 
towns  were  cried  out  as  before. 

They  were  approaching  home.  Jamie  heard  "Kath- 
mullan,"  "Milford,"  "Tamney,"  and  then  he  knew  they 
were  near  his  own  house. 

"You've  all  had  your  turn  at  carrying  the  young 
lady,"  said  he.  "Why  wouldn't  I  get  her  for  a  wee 
piece  ?" 

"Ay,  Jamie,"  replied  they,  pleasantly,  "you  may  take 
your  turn  at  carrying  her,  to  be  sure." 

Holding  his  prize  very  tightly,  he  dropped  down  near 
his  mother's  door. 

"Jamie  Freel,  Jamie  Freel !  is  that  the  way  you  treat 
us?"  cried  they,  and  they  too  dropped  down  near  the 
door. 

Jamie  held  fast,  though  he  knew  not  what  he  was 
holding,  for  the  little  folk  turned  the  lady  into  all  sorts 
of  strange  shapes.  At  one  moment  she  was  a  black  dog, 
barking  and  trying  to  bite;  at  another,  a  glowing  bar 
of  iron,  yet  without  heai;  then,  again,  a  sack  of  wool. 

But  still  Jamie  held  her,  and  the  baffled  elves  were 
turning  away,  when  a  tiny  woman,  the  smallest  of  the 
party,  exclaimed,  "Jamie  Freel  has  her  awa'  f rae  us,  but 
he  sail  hae  nae  gude  o'  her,  for  I'll  mak'  her  deaf  and 
dumb,"  and  she  threw  something  over  the  young  girl. 

While  they  rode  off  disappointed,  Jamie  lifted  the 
latch  and  went  in. 

"Jamie,  man!"  cried  his  mother,  "you've  been  awaj 
all  night;  what  have  they  done  on  you?" 


58         IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Naething  bad,  mother;  I  ha'  the  very  best  of  gude 
luck.  Here's  a  beautiful  young  lady  I  ha'  brought  you 
for  company." 

"Bless  us  an'  save  us!"  exclaimed  the  mother,  and 
for  some  minutes  she  was  so  astonished  that  she  could 
not  think  of  anything  else  to  say. 

Jamie  told  his  story  of  the  night's  adventure,  ending 
by  saying,  "Surely  you  wouldna  have  allowed  me  to  let 
her  gang  with  them  to  be  lost  forever  ?" 

"But  a  lady,  Jamie !  How  can  a  lady  eat  we'er  poor 
diet,  and  live  in  we'er  poor  way?  I  ax  you  that,  you 
foolitch  fellow?" 

<<rWeel,  mother,  sure  it's  better  for  her  to  be  here  nor 
over  yonder,"  and  he  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the 
castle. 

Meanwhile,  the  deaf  and  dumb  girl  shivered  in  her 
light  clothing,  stepping  close  to  the  humble  turf  fire. 

"Poor  crathur,  she's  quare  and  handsome!  Nae 
wonder  they  set  their  hearts  on  her,"  said  the  old 
woman,  gazing  at  her  guest  with  pity  and  admiration. 
"We  maun  dress  her  first ;  but  what,  in  the  name  o'  for- 
tune, hae  I  fit  for  the  likes  o'  her  to  wear  ?" 

She  went  to  her  press  in  "the  room,"  and  took  out 
her  Sunday  gown  of  brown  drugget ;  she  then  opened  a 
drawer,  and  drew  forth  a  pair  of  white  stockings,  a  long 
snowy  garment  of  fine  linen,  and  a  cap,  her  "dead 
dress,"  as  she  called  it. 

These  articles  of  attire  had  long  been  ready  for  a 
certain  triste  ceremony,  in  which  she  would  some  day 
fill  the  chief  part,  and  only  saw  the  light  occasionally, 
when  they  were  hung  out  to  air ;  but  she  was  willing  to 
give  even  these  to  the  fair  trembling  visitor,  who  was 
turning  in  dumb  sorrow  and  wonder  from  her  to  Jamie, 
and  from  Jamie  back  to  her. 

The  poor  girl  suffered  herself  to  be  dressed,  and  then 
sat  down  on  a  "creepie"  in  the  chimney  corner,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         59 

"What'll  we  do  to  keep  up  a  lady  like  thou?"  cried 
the  old  woman. 

"Ill  work  for  you  both,  mother,"  replied  the  son. 

"An'  hxow  could  a  lady  live  on  we'er  poor  diet?"  she 
repeated. 

"I'll  work  for  her,"  was  all  Jamie's  answer. 

He  kept  his  word.  The  young  lady  was  very  sad  for 
a  long  time,  and  tears  stole  down  her  cheeks  many  an 
evening  while  the  old  woman  spun  hy  the  fire,  and 
Jamie  made  salmon  nets,  an  accomplishment  lately  ac- 
quired by  him,  in  hopes  of  adding  to  the  comfort  of 
his  guest. 

But  she  was  always  gentle,  and  tried  to  smile  when 
she  perceived  them  looking  at  her;  and  bv  degrees  she 
adapted  herself  to  their  ways  and  mode  of  life.  It  was 
not  very  long  before  she  began  to  feed  the  pig,  mash 
potatoes  and  meal  for  the  fowls,  and  knit  blue  worsted 
socks. 

So  a  year  passed,  and  Halloween  came  round  again. 

"Mother,"  said  Jamie,  taking  down  his  cap,  "I'm  off 
to  the  ould  castle  to  seek  my  fortune." 

"Are  you  mad,  Jamie?"  cried  his  mother,  in  terror; 
"sure  they'll  kill  you  this  time  for  what  yotf  done  on 
them  last  year." 

Jamie  made  light  of  her  fears  and  went  his  way. 

As  he  reached  the  crab-tree  grove,  he  saw  bright  lights 
in  the  castle  windows  as  before,  and  heard  loud  talking. 
Creeping  under  the  window,  he  heard  the  wee  folk  say, 
"That  was  a  poor  trick  Jamie  Freel  played  us  this  night 
last  year,  when  he  stole  the  nice  young  lady  from  us." 

"Ay,"  said  the  tiny  woman,  "an'  I  punished  him  for 
it,  for  there  she  sits,  a  dumb  image  by  his  hearth ;  but 
he  does  na*  know  that  three  drops  out  o'  this  glass  I 
hold  in  my  hand  wad  gie  her  her  hearing  and  her 
speeches  back  a  rain." 

Jamie's  heart  beat  fast  as  he  entered  the  hall.  Again 
he  was  greeted  by  a  chorus  of  welcomes  from  the  com- 


60 

pany — "Here  comes  Jamie  Freel!  welcome,  welcome, 
Jamie !" 

As  soon  as  the  tumult  subsided,  the  little  woman 
said,  "You  be  to  drink  our  health,  Jamie,  out  o*  this 
glass  in  my  hand." 

Jamie  snatched  the  glass  from  her  hand  and  darted 
to  the  door.  He  never  knew  how  he  reached  his  cabin, 
but  he  arrived  there  breathless,  and  sank  on  a  stone  by 
the  fire. 

"You're  kilt  surely  this  time,  my  poor  boy,"  said  hi? 
mother. 

"No,  indeed,  better  luck  than  ever  this  time  I"  and 
he  gave  the  lady  three  drops  of  the  liquid  that  still  re- 
mained at  the  bottom  of  the  glass,  notwithstanding  his 
mad  race  over  the  potato-field. 

The  lady  began  to  speak,  and  her  first  words  were 
words  of  thanks  to  Jamie. 

The  three  inmates  of  the  cabin  had  so  much  to  say  to 
one  another,  that  long  after  cock-crow,  when  the  fairy 
music  had  quite  ceased,  they  were  talking  round  the 
fire. 

"Jamie,"  said  the  lady,  "be  pleased  to  get  me  paper 
and  pen  and  ink,  that  I  may  write  to  my  father,  and 
tell  him  what  has  become  of  me." 

She  wrote,  but  weeks  passed,  and  she  received  no 
answer.  Again  and  again  she  wrote,  and  still  no  answer. 

At  length  she  said,  "You  must  come  with  me  to  Dub- 
lin, Jamie,  to  find  my  father." 

"I  ha'  no  money  to  hire  a  car  for  you,"  he  replied, 
"an*  how  can  you  travel  to  Dublin  on  your  foot?" 

But  she  implored  him  so  much  that  he  consented  to 
set  out  with  her,  and  walk  all  the  way  from  Fannet  to 
Dublin.  It  was  not  as  easy  as  the  fairy  journey;  but 
at  last  they  rang  the  bell  at  the  door  of  the  house  in 
Stephen's  Green. 

"Tell  my  father  that  his  daughter  is  here,"  said  she 
to  the  servant  who  opened  the  door. 


IRISH   FAIRY   AND   FOLK   TALES        61 

"The  gentleman  that  lives  here  has  no  daughter,  my 
girl.  He  had  one,  but  she  died  better  nor  a  year  ago.5' 

"Do  you  not  know  me,  Sullivan  ?" 

"No,  poor  girl,  I  do  not." 

"Let  me  see  the  gentleman.    I  only  ask  to  see  him." 

"Well,  that's  not  much  to  ax;  we'll  see  what  can  be 
done." 

In  a  few  moments  the  lady's  father  came  to  the  door. 

"Dear  father,"  said  she,  "don't  you.  know  me?" 

"How  dare  you  call  me  your  father?"  cried  the  old 
gentleman,  angrily.  "You  are  an  impostor.  I  have  no 
daughter." 

"Look  in  my  face,  father,  and  surely,  you'll  remember 
me." 

"My  daughter  is  dead  and  buried.  She  died  a  long, 
long  time  ago."  The  old  gentleman's  voice  changed 
from  anger  to  sorrow.  "You  can  go,"  he  concluded. 

"Stop,  dear  father,  till  you  look  at  this  ring  on  my 
finger.  Look  at  your  name  and  mine  engraved  on  it." 

"It  certainly  is  my  daughter's  ring;  but  I  do  not 
know  how  you  came  by  it.  I  fear  in  no  honest  way." 

"Call  my  mother,  she  will  be  sure  to  know  me,"  said 
the  poor  girl,  who,  by  this  time,  was  crying  bitterly. 

"My  poor  wife  is  beginning  to  forget  her  sorrow.  She 
seldom  speaks  of  her  daughter  now.  Why  should  I  re- 
new her  grief  by  reminding  her  of  her  loss?" 

But  the  young  lady  persevered,  till  at  last  the  mother 
was  sent  for. 

"Mother,"  she  began,  when  the  old  lady  came  to  the 
door,  "don't  you  know  your  daughter?" 

"I  have  no  daughter;  my  daughter  died  and  was 
buried  a  long,  long  time  ago." 

"Only  look  in  my  face,  and  surely  you'll  know  me." 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head. 

"You  have  all  forgotten  me :  but  look  at  this  mole  on 
my  neck.  Surely,  mother,  you  know  me  now  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  mother,  "my  Gracie  had  a  mole 


62          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

on  her  neck  like  that;  but  then  I  saw  her  in  her  coffin, 
and  saw  the  lid  shut  down  upon  her." 

It  became  Jamie's  turn  to  speak,  and  he  gave  the 
history  of  the  fairy  journey,  of  the  theft  of  the  young 
lady,  of  the  figure  he  had  seen  laid  in  its  place,  of  her 
life  with  his  mother  in  Fannet,  of  last  Halloween,  and 
of  the  three  drops  that  had  released  her  from  her  en- 
chantment. 

She  took  up  the  story  when  he  paused,  and  told  how 
kind  the  mother  and  son  had  been  to  her. 

The  parents  could  not  make  enough  of  Jamie.  They 
treated  him  with  every  distinction,  and  when  he  ex- 
pressed Ris  wish  to  return  to  Fannet,  said  they  did  not 
know  what  to  do  to  show  their  gratitude. 

But  an  awkward  complication  arose.  The  daughter 
would  not  let  him  go  without  her.  "If  Jamie  goes,  I'll 
go  too,"  she  said.  "He  saved  me  from  the  fairies,  and 
has  worked  for  me  ever  since.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
him,  dear  father  and  mother,  you  would  never  have  seei' 
me  again.  If  he  goes,  I'll  go  too." 

This  being  her  resolution,  the  old  gentleman  said  thai 
Jamie  should  become  his  son-in-law.  The  mother  was 
brought  from  Fannet  in  a  coach  and  four,  and  there 
was  a  splendid  wedding. 

They  all  lived  together  in  the  grand  Dublin  house, 
and  Jamie  was  heir  to  untold  wealth  at  his  father-in- 
law's  death. 


THE  STOLEN  CHILD 

W.  B.  YEATS 

WHERE  dips  the  rocky  highland 
Of  Sleuth  Wood  in  the  lake, 

There  lies  a  leafy  island 
Where  flapping  herons  wake 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         6-'T 

The  drowsy  water-rats. 
There  we've  hid  our  fairy  vats 
Pull  of  berries, 

And  of  reddest  stolen  cherries. 
Come  away,  0  human  child ! 
To  the  woods  and  waters  wild, 
With  a  fairy  hand  in  hand, 
For  the  world's  more  full  of  weeping  than 
you  can  understand. 


Where  the  wave  of  moonlight  glosses 
The  dim  gray  sands  with  light, 

Far  off  by  furthest  Eosses 
We  foot  it  all  the  night, 

Weaving  olden  dances, 

Mingling  hands,  and  mingling  glances, 
Till  the  moon  has  taken  flight; 

To  and  fro  we  leap, 

And  chase  the  frothy  bubbles, 
While  the  world  is  full  of  troubles. 

And  is  anxious  in  its  sleep. 

Come  away !  0,  human  child ! 

To  the  woods  and  waters  wild, 

With  a  fairy  hand  in  hand, 

For  the  world's  more  full  of  weeping  than 
you  can  understand. 


Where  the  wandering  water  gushes 
From  the  hills  above  Glen-Car, 

In  pools  among  the  rushes, 

That  scarce  could  bathe  a  star. 

We  seek  for  slumbering  trout, 
And  whispering  in  their  ears ; 
We  srive  them  evil  dreamSj 

Leaning  softly  out 


64          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  POLK  TALES 

From  ferns  that  drop  their  tears 
Of  dew  on  the  young  streams. 
Come  !  0  human  child ! 
To  the  woods  and  waters  wild, 
With  a  fairy  hand  in  hand, 
For  the  world's  more  full  of  weeping  than 
you  can  understand. 

Away  with  us  he's  going, 

The  solemn-eyed; 
He'll  hear  no  more  the  lowing 

Of  the  calves  on  the  warm  hill-side. 
Or  the  kettle  on  the  hob 

Sing  peace  into  his  breast: 
Or  see  the  brown  mice  bob 

Eound  and  round  the  oatmeal  chest. 
For  he  comes,  the  human  child, 
To  the  woods  and  waters  wild> 
With  a  fairy  hand  in  hand, 
For  the  world's  more  full  of  wiping  than 
he  can  understand. 


THE   TROOPING    FAIRIES 


THE  MERKOW 

The  Merrow,  or  if  you  write  it  in  the  Irish,  Iforuadh  or 
Jfurrtiffhach,  from  m«ir,  sea,  and  oigh,  a  maid,  is  not  un- 
common, they  say,  on  the  wilder  coasts.  The  fishermen  do 
not  like  to  see  them,  for  it  always  means  corning  gales.  The 
male  Merrows  (if  you  can  use  such  a  phrase — I  have  never 
heard  the  masculine  of  Merrow)  have  green  teeth,  green 
hair,  pig's  eyes,  and  red  noses ;  but  their  women  are  beauti- 
ful, for  all  their  fish  tails  and  the  little  duck-like  scale  be- 
tween their  fingers.  Sometimes  they  prefer,  small  blame  to 
them,  good-looking  fishermen  to  their  sea  lovers.  Near 
Bantry,  in  the  last  century,  there  is  said  to  have  been  a 
woman  covered  all  over  with  scales  like  a  fish,  who  was 
descended  from  such  a  marriage.  Sometimes  they  come  out 
of  the  sea.  and  wander  about  the  shore  in  the  shape  of  little 
hornless  cows.  They  have,  when  in  their  own  shape,  a  red 
cap,  called  a  cohullen  druith,  usually  covered  with  feathers. 
If  this  is  stolen,  they  cannot  again  go  down  under  the 
waves. 

Red  is  the  color  of  magic  in  every  country,  and  has  been  so 
from  the  very  earliest  times.  The  caps  of  fairies  and 
magicians  are  well-nigh  always  red. 


THE  SOUL  CAGES 

T.  CBOFTON  CHOKER 


JACK  DOGHEETY  lived  on  the  coast  of  the  county 
Clare.  Jack  was  a  fisherman,  as  his  father  and  grand- 
father before  him  had  been.  Like  them,  too,  lie  lived 


66          IEISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

all  alone  (but  for  the  wife),  and  just  in  the  same  spot. 
People  used  ta  wonder  why  the  Dogherty  family  were  so 
fond  of  that  wild  situation,  so  far  away  from  all  human 
kind,  and  in  the  midst  of  huge  shattered  rocks,  with 
nothing  but  the  wide  ocean-  to  look  upon.  But  they  had 
their  own  good  reasons  for  it. 

The  place  was  just  the  only  spot  on  that  part  of  the 
coast  where  anybody  could  well  live.  There  was  a  neat 
little  creek,  where  a  boat  might  lie  as  snug  as  a  puffin 
in  her  nest,  and  out  from  this  creek  a  ledge  of  sunken 
rocks  ran  inta  the  sea.  Now  when  the  Atlantic,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  was  raging  w?th  a  storm,  and  a  good 
westerly  wind  was  blowing  strong  on  the  coast,  many 
a  richly-laden  ship  went  to  pieces  on  these  rocks;  and 
then  the  fine  bales  of  cotton  and  tobacco,  and  such  like 
things,  and  the  pipes  of  wine,  and  the  puncheons  of 
rum,  and  the  casks  of  brandy,  and  the  kegs  of  Hollands 
that  used  to  come  ashore !  Dunbeg  bay  was  just  like  a 
Mttle  estate  to  the  Doghertys. 

Not  but  "they  were  kind  and  humane  to  a  distressed 
sailor,  if  ever  one  had  the  good  luck  to  get  to  land ;  and 
many  a  time  indeed  did  Jack  put  out  in  his  little 
corragh  (which,  though  not  quite  equal  to  honest 
Andrew  Hennessy's  canvas  life-boat,  would  breast  the 
billows  like  any  gannet),  to  lend  a  hand  toward  bring- 
ing off  the  crew  from  a  wreck.  But  when  the  ship  had 
gone  to  pieces,  and  the  crew  were  all  lost,  who  would 
blame  Jack  for  picking  up  all  he  could  find? 

"And  who  is  the  worse  of  it?"  said  he.  "For  as  to 
the  king,  God  bless  him!  everybody  knows  he's  rich 
enough  already  without  getting  what's  floating  in  the 
sea." 

Jack,  though  such  a  hermit,  was  a  good-natured,  jolly 
fellow.  No  other,  sure,  could  ever  have  coaxed  Biddy 
Mahony  to  quit  her  father's  snug  and  warm  house  in 
the  middle  of  the  town  of  Ennis,  and  to  go  so  many 
miles  oft  to  live  among  the  rocks,  with  the  seals  and  sea- 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES         67 

gulls  for  next-door  neighbors.  But  Biddy  knew  that 
Jack  was  the  man  for  a  woman  who  wished  to  be  com- 
fortable and  happy;  for,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fish,  Jack 
had  the  supplying  of  half  the  gentlemen's  houses  of 
the  country  with  the  Godsends  that  came  into  the  bay. 
And  she  was  right  in  her  choice;  for  no  woman  ate, 
drank,  or  slept  better,  or  made  a  prouder  appearance  at 
chapel  on  Sundays,  than  Mrs.  Dogherty. 

Many  a  strange  sight,  it  may  well  be  supposed,  did 
Jack  see,  and  many  a  strange  sound  did  he  hear,  but 
nothing  daunted  him.  So  far  was  he  from  being  afraid 
of  Merrows,  or  such  beings,  that  the  very  first  wish  of 
his  heart  was  to  fairly  meet  with  one.  Jack  had  heard 
that  they  were  mighty  like  Christians,  and  that  luck 
had  always  come  out  of  an  acquaintance  with  them. 
Never,  therefore,  did  he  dimly  discern  the  Merrows 
moving  along  the  face  of  the  waters  in  their  robes  of 
mist,  but  he-  made  direct  for  them ;  and  many  a  scold- 
ing did  Biddy,  in  her  own  quiet  way,  bestow  upon  Jack 
for  spending  his  whole  day  out  at  sea,  and  bringing 
home  no  fish.  Little  did  poor  Biddy  know  the  fish  Jack 
was  after ! 

It  was  rather  annoying  to  Jack  that,  though  living  in 
a  place  where  the  Merrow^  were  as  plenty  as  lobsters, 
he  never  could  get  a  right  view  of  one.  What  vexed  • 
him  more  was  that  both  his  father  and  grandfather  had 
often  and  often  seen  them;  and  he  even  remembered 
hearing,  when  a  child,  how  his  grandfather,  who  was 
the  first  of  the  family  that  had  settled  down  at  the 
creek,  had  been  so  intimate  with  a  Merrow  that,  only  for 
fear  of  vexing  the  priest,  he  would  have  had  him  stand 
for  one  of  his  children.  This,  however,  Jack  did  not 
well  know  how  to  believe. 

"Fortune  at  length  besran  to  think  that  it  was  only 
risrht  that  Jack  should  know  as  much  as  his  father  and 
grandfather  did.  Accordingly,  one  day  when  he  had 
strolled  a  little  farther  than  usual  along  the  mast  to 


68          IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

the  northward,  just  as  he  turned  a  point,  he  saw  some- 
thing, like  to  nothing  he  had  ever  seen  before,  perched 
upon  a  rock  at  a  little  distance  out  to  sea.  It  looked 
green  in  the  body,  as  well  as  he  could  discern  at  that 
distance,  and  he  would  have  sworn,  only  the  thing  was 
impossible,  that  it  had  a  cocked  hat  in  its  hand.  Jack 
stood  for  a  good  half-hour  straining  his  eyes,  and  won- 
dering at  it,  and  all  the  time  the  thing  did  not  stir  hand 
or  foot.  At  last  Jack's  patience  was  quite  worn  out, 
and  he  gave  a  loud  whistle  and  a  hail,  when  the  Merrow 
(for  such  it  was)  started  up,  put  the  cocked  hat  on  its 
head,  and  dived  down,  head  foremost,  from  the  rock. 

Jack's  curiosity  was  now  excited,  and  he  constantly 
directed  his  steps  toward  the  point;  still  he  could  never 
get  a  glimpse  of  the  sea-gentleman  with  the  cocked  hat ; 
and  with  thinking  and  thinking  about  the  matter,  he 
began  at  last  to  fancy  he  had  been  only  dreaming.  One 
very  rough  day,  however,  when  the  sea  was  running 
mountains  high,  Jack  Dogherty  determined  to  give  a 
look  at  the  Merrow's  rock  (for  he  had  always  chosen  a 
fine  day  before),  and  then  he  saw  the  strange  thing 
cutting  capers  upon  the  top  of  the  rock,  and  then  diving 
down,  and  then  coming  up,  and  then  diving  down  again. 

Jack  had  now  only  to  choose  his  time  (that  is,  a  good 
'blowing  day),  and  he  might  see  the  man  of  the  sea  as 
often  as  he  pleased.  All  this;  however,  did  not  satisfy 
him — "much  will  have  more";  he  wished  now  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  Merrow,  and  even  in  this  he  suc- 
ceeded. One  tremendous  blustering  day,  before  he  got 
to  the  point  whence  he  had  a  view  of  the  Merrow's  rock, 
the  storm  came  on  so  furiously  that  Jack  was  obliged 
to  take  shelter  in  one  of  the  caves  which  are  so  numer- 
ous along  the  coast;  and  there,  to  his  astonishment,  he 
saw  sitting  before  him  a  thing  with  green  hair,  long 
green  teeth,  a  red  nose,  and  pig's  eyes.  It  had  a  fish's 
tail,  legs  with  scales  on  them,  and  short  arms  like  fins. 
It  wore  no  clothes,  but  had  the  cocked  hat  under  its 


IRISH  FAIRY    AND  FOLK  TALES         6& 

arm,  and  seemed  engaged  thinking  very  seriously  about 
something. 

Jack,  with  all  his  courage,  was  a  little  daunted;  but 
now  or  never,  thought  he;  so  up  he  went  boldly  to  the 
cogitating  fishman,  took  off  his  hat,  and  made  his  best 
bow.  , 

"Your  servant,  sir/'  said  Jack. 

"Your  servant,  kindly,  Jack  Dogherty/'  answered  the 
Me  r  row. 

"To  be  sure,  then,  how  well  your  honor  knows  my 
name !"  said  Jack. 

"Is  it  I  not  know  your  name,  Jack  Dogherty  ?  Why, 
man,  I  knew  your  grandfather  long  before  he  was  mar- 
ried to  Judy  Began,  your  grandmother!  Ah,  Jack, 
Jack,  I  was  fond  of  that  grandfather  of  yours ;  he  was 
a  miglity  worthy  man  in  his  time :  I  never  met  his  match 
above  or  below,  before  or  since,  for  sucking  in  a  shellful 
of  brandy.  I  hope,  my  boy/'  said  the  old  fellow,  with  a 
merry  twinkle  in  hiS  eyes,  "I  hope  you're  his  own  grand- 
son !" 

"Never  fear  me  for  that/'*  said  Jack;  "if  my  mother 
had  only  reared  me  on  brandy,  'tis  myself  that  would 
be  a  sucking  infant  to  this  hour !" 

"Well,  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  so  manly;  you  and  I 
nms£  be  better  acquainted,  if  it  were  only  for  your 
grandfather's  sake.  But,  Jack,  that  father  of  yours  was 
not  the  thing !  he  had  no  head  at  all." 

"I'm  sure/'  said  Jack,  "since  your  honor  lives  down 
under  the  water,  you  must  be  obliged  to  drink  a  power 
to  keep  any  heat  in  you  in  such  a  cruel,  damp,  could 
place.  Well,  I've  often  heard  of  Christians  drinking 
like  fishes ;  and  might  I  be  so  bold  as  ask  where  you  get 
the  spirits?" 

"Where  do  you  get  them  yourself,  Jack?"  said  the 
Merrow,  twitching  his  red  nose  between  his  forefinger 
and  thumb. 

"Hubbubboo/'  cries  Jack,  "now  I  see  how  it  is ;  but  I 


70          IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

suppose,  sir,  your  honor  has  got  a  fine  dry  cellar  below 
to  keep  them  in." 

"Let  me  alone  for  the  cellar,"  said  the  Merrow,  with 
a  knowing  wink  of  his  left  eye. 

"I'm  sure,"  continued  Jack,  "it  must  be  mighty  well 
worth  the  looking  at." 

"You  may  say  that,  Jack,"  said  the  Merrow ;  "and  if 
you  meet  me  here  next  Monday,  just  at  this  time  of  the 
day,  we  will  have  a  little  more  talk  with  one  another 
about  the  matter." 

Jack  and  the  Merrow  parted  the  best  friends  in  the 
world.  On  Monday  they  met,  and  Jack  was  not  a  little 
surprised  to  see  that  the  Merrow  had  two  cocked  hats 
with  him,  one  under  each  arm. 

"Might  I  take  the  liberty  to  ask,  sir/'  said  Jack,  "why 
your  honor  has  brought  the  two  hats  with  you  to-day? 
You  would  not,  sure,  be  going  to  give  me  one  of  them, 
to  keep  for  the  curiosity  of  the  thing?" 

"No,  no,  Jack,"  said  he,  "I  don't  get  my  hats  so 
easily,  to  part  with  them  that  way;  but  I  want  you  to 
come  down  and  dine  with  me,  <and  I  brought  you  the 
hat  to  dine  with." 

"Lord  bless  and  preserve  us !"  cried  Jack,  in  amaze- 
ment, "would  you  want  me  to  go  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  salt  sea  ocean?  Sure,  Fd  be  smothered  and 
choked  up  with  the  water,  to  say  nothing  of  being 
drowned !  And  what  would  poor  Biddy  do  for  me,  and 
what  would  she  say  ?" 

"And  what  matter  what  she  says,  you  pinkeen  ?  Who 
cares  for  Biddy's  squalling?  It's  long  before  your 
grandfather  would  have  talked  in  that  way.  Many*s 
the  time  he  stuck  that  same  hat  on  his  head,  and  dived 
down  boldly  after  me;  and  many's  the  snug  bit  of 
dinner  and  good  shellful  of  brandy  he  and  I  have  had 
together  below,  under  the  water." 

"Is  it  really,  sir,  and  no  joke  ?"  said  Jack ;  "why, 
iJien,  sorrow  from  me  for  ever  and  a  day  after,  if  I'll  be 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         71 

a  bit  worse  man  nor  my  grandfather  was !  Here  goes — 
but. play  me  fair. now.  Here's  neck  or  nothing!"  cried 
Jack. 

"That's  your  grandfather  all  over,"  said  the  old  fel- 
low; "so  come  along,  then,  and  do  as  I  do." 

They  both  left  the  cave,  walked  into  the  sea,  and  then 
swam  a  piece  until  they  got  to  the  rock.  The  Merrow 
climbed  to  the  top  of  it,  and  Jack  followed  him.  On  the 
far  side  it  was  as  straight  as  the  wall  of  a  house,  and 
the  sea  beneath  looked  so  deep  that  Jack  was  almost 
cowed. 

"Now,  do  you  see,  Jack,"  said  the  Merrow :  "just  put 
this  hat  on  your  head,  and  mind  to  keep  your  eyes  wide 
open.  Take  hold  of  my  tail,  and  follow  after  me,  and 
you'll  see  what  you'll  see." 

In  he  dashed,  and  in  dashed  Jack  after  him  boldly. 
They  went  and  they  went,  and  Jack  thought  they'd 
never  stop  going.  Many  a  time  did  he  wish  himself 
sitting  at  home  by  the  fireside  with  Biddy.  Yet  where 
was  the  use  of  wishing  now,  when  he  was  so  many  miles, 
as  he  thought,  below  the  waves  of  the  Atlantic?  Still 
he  held  hard  by  the  Merrow's  tail,  slippery  as  it  was; 
and,  at  last,  to  Jack's  great  surprise,  they  got  out  of  the 
water,  and  he  actuallv  found  himself  on  dry  land  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea.  '  They  landed  just  in  front  of  a  nice 
house  that  was  slated  very  neatly  with  oyster  shells! 
And  the  Merrow,  turning  about  to  Jack,  welcomed  him 
down. 

Jack  could  hardly  speak,  what  with  wonder,  and  what 
with  being  out  of  breath  with  traveling  so  fast  through 
the  water.  He  looked  about  him  and  could  see  no  living 
things,  barring  crabs  and  lobsters,  of  which  there  were 
plenty  walking  leisurely  about  on  the  sand.  Overhead 
was  the  sea  like  a  sky,  and  the  fishes  like  birds  swim- 
miner  about  in  it. 

"Winy  don't  you  speak,  man?"  said  the  Merrow:  "I 
dare  say  you  had  no  notion  that  I  had  such  a  snug  little 


72          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

concern  here  as  this?  Are  you  smothered,  or  choked, 
or  drowned,  or  are  you  fretting  after  Biddy,  eh  ?" 

"Oh!  not  myself,  indeed,"  said  Jack,  showing  his 
teeth  with  a  good-humored  grin ;  "but  who  in  the  world 
would  ever  have  thought  of  seeing  such  a  thing?" 

"Well,  come  along,  and  let's  see  what  they've  got  for 
us  to  eat?" 

Jack  really  was  hungry,  and  it  gave  him  no  small 
pleasure  to  perceive  a  fine  column  of  smoke  rising  from 
the  chimney,  announcing  what  was  going  on  within. 
Into  the  house  he  followed  the  Merrow,  and  there  he 
saw  a  good  kitchen,  right  well  provided  with  every- 
thing. 

There  was  a  noble  dresser,  and  plenty  of  pots 
and  pans,  with  two  young  Merrows 'cooking.  His  host 
then  led  him  into  the  room,  which  was  furnished  shab- 
bily enough.  Not  a  table  or  a  chair  was  there  in  it; 
nothing  but  planks  and  logs  of  wood  to  sit  on,  and  eat 
off.  There  was,  however,  a  good  fire  blazing  upon  the 
hearth — a  comfortable  sight  to  Jack. 

"Come  now,  and  I'll  show  you  where  I  keep — you 
know  what,"  said  the  Merrow,  with  a  sly  look ;  and  open- 
ing a  little  door,  he  led  Jack*  into  a  fine  cellar,  well 
filled  with  pipes,  and  kegs,  and  hogsheads,  and  barrels. 

"What  do  you  say  to  that,  Jack  Dogherty  ?  Eh ! 
may  be  a  body  can't  live  snug  under  the  water  ?" 

"Never  the  doubt  of  that,"  said  Jack,  with  a  con- 
vincing smack  of  his  under  lip,  that  he  really  thought 
what  he  said. 

They  went  back  to  the  room,  and  found  dinner  laid. 
There  was  no  tablecloth,  to  be  sure — but  what  matter? 
It  was  not  always  Jack  had  one  at  home.  The  dinner 
would  have  been  no  discredit  to  the  first  house  of  the 
country  on  a  fast  day.  The  choicest  of  fish,  and  no 
wonder,  was  there.  Turbots,  and  sturgeons,  and  soles, 
and  lobsters,  and  oysters,  and  twenty  other  kinds,  were 
on  the  planks  at  once,  and  plenty  of  the  best  of  foreign 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         73 

spirits.  The  wines,  the  old  fellow  said,  were  too  cold 
for  his  stomach. 

Jack  ate  and  drank  till  he  could  eat  no  more;  then, 
taking  up  a  shell  of  brandy,  "Here's  to  your  honor's 
good  health,  sir,"  said  he;  "though,  begging  your  par- 
don, it's  mighty  odd  that  as  low%  as  we've  been  ac- 
quainted I  don't  know  your  name  yet/' 

"That's  true,  Jack,"  replied  he;  "I  never  thought  of 
it  before,  but  better  late  than  never.  My  name's 
Coomara." 

"And  a  mighty  decent  name  it  is?  cried  Jack,  taking 
another  shellf ul :  "here's  to  your  good  health,  Coomara, 
and  may  ye  live  these  fifty  years  to  come !" 

"Fifty  years!"  repeated  Coomara;  "I'm  obliged  to 
you,  indeed !  If  you  had  said  five  hundred,  it  would 
have  been  something  worth  the  wishing." 

"By  the  laws,  sir,"  cries  Jack,  "youz  live  to-  a  power- 
ful age  here  under  the  water!  You  knew  my  grand- 
father, and  he's  dead  and  gone  better  than  these  sixty 
years.  I'm  sure  it  must  be  a  happy  place  to  live  in." 

"No  doubt  of  it;  but  come,  Jack,  keep  the  liquor 
stirring." 

Shell  after  shell  did  they  empty,  and  to  Jack's  ex- 
ceeding surprise,  he  found  the  drink  never  got  into  his 
head,  owing,  I  suppose,  to  the  sea  being  over  them, 
which  kept  their  noddles  cool. 

Old  Coomara  got  exceedingly  comfortable,  and  sung 
several  songs;  but  Jack,  if  his  life  had  depended  on  it, 
never  could  remember  more  than 

"Rum  fum  boodle  boo, 

Ripple  dipple  nitty  dob; 
Dumdoo  doodle  coo, 

Raffle  taffle  chittiboo!" 

It  was  the  chorus  to  one  of  them;  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  nobody  that  I  know  has  ever  been  able  to  pick 
any  particular  meaning  out  of  it;  but  that,  to  be  sure, 
is  the  case  with  many  a  song  nowadays. 


74         IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

At  length  said  he  to  Jack,  "Now,  my  dear  boy,  if  you 
follow  me,  I'll  show  you  my  curiosities!"  He  opened  a 
little  door,  and  led  Jack  into  a  large  room,  where  Jack 
saw  a  great  many  odds  and  ends  that  Coomara  had 
picked  up  at  one  time  or  another.  What  chiefly  toot 
his  attention,  however,  were  things  like  lobster-pots 
ranged  on  the  ground  along  the  wall. 

"Well,  Jack,  how  do  you  like  my  curiosities?"  said 
old  Coo. 

"Upon  my  sowlcins*  sir,"  said  Jack,  "they're  mighty 
well  worth  the  looking  at;  but  might  I  make  so  bold 
as  to  ask  what  these  things  like  lobster-pots  are?" 

"Oh !  the  Soul  Cages,  is  it?" 

"The  what?  sir!" 

"These  things  here  that  I  keep  the  souls  in." 

"Arrali!  what 'souls,  sir?"  said  Jack,  in  amazement; 
"sure  the  fish  have  no  souls  in  them  ?" 

"Oh !  no,"  replied  Coo,  quite  coolly/  "that  they  have 
not;  but  these  are  the  souls  of  drowned  sailors." 

"The  Lord  preserve  us-  from  all  harm!"  muttered 
Jack,  "how  in  the  world  did  you,  get  them  ?" 

"Easily  enough:  I've  only,  when  I  see  a  good  storm 
coming  on,  to  set  a  couple-  of  dozen  of  these>  and  then, 
when  the  sailors  are  drowned  and  the  souls  get  out  of 
them  under  the  water,  the  poor  things  are  almost  per- 
ished to  death,  not  being  used  to  the  cold ;  so  they  make 
into  my  pots  for  shelter,  and  then-  I  have  them  snug, 
and  fetch  them  home,  and  keep  them  here  dry  and 
warm;  and  is  it  not  well  for  them,  poor  souls,  to  get 
into  such  good  quarters  ?" 

Jack  was  so  thunderstruck  he  did  not  know  what  to 
say,  so  he  said  nothing.  They  went  back  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  had  a  little  more  brandy,  which  was  excel- 
lent, and  then,  as  Jack  knew  that  it  must  be  getting 
late,  and  as  Biddy  might  be  uneasy,  he  stood  up,  and 

*  Sotckins,  diminutive  of  soul. 


IRISH   I*AIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         75 

said  he  thought  it  was  time  for  him  to  be  on   the 
road. 

"Just  as  you  like,  Jack/'  said  Coo,  "hut  take  a  due  an 
durrus*  before  you  go;  you've  a  cold  journey  before 
you." 

Jack  knew  better  manners  than  to  refuse  the  parting 
glass.  "I  wonder,"  said  he,  "will  I  be  able  to  make  out 
my  way  home  ?" 

"What  should  ail  you,"  said  Coo,  "when  I'll  show  you 
the  way?" 

Out  they  went  before  the  house,  and  Coomara  took 
one  of  the  cocked  hats,  and  put  it  upon  Jack's  head 
the  wrong  way,  and 'then  lifted  him  up  onihis  shoulder 
that  he  might  launch  him  up  into  the  water. 

"Now,"  says  he,  giving  him  a  heave,  "you'll  come  up 
just  in  the  same  spot  you  came  down  in;  and,  Jack, 
mind  and  throw  me  back  the  hat." 

He  canted  Jack  off  his  shoulder,  and  up  h'e  shot  like 
a  bubble — whirr,  whirr,  whiz — away  he  went  -up  through 
the  water,  till  he  came  to  the  very  rock  he  had  jumped 
off,  where  he  found  a  landing-place,  and  then  in  he 
threw  the  hat,  which  sunk  like  a  stone. 

The  sun  was  just  going  down  in  the  beautiful  sky  of 
a  calm  summer's  evening.  Feascor  was  seen  dimly  twink- 
ling in  the  cloudless  heaven,  a  solitary  star,  and  the 
waves  of  the  Atlantic  flashed  in  a  golden  flood  of  light. 
So  Jack,  perceiving  it  was  late,  set  off  home ;  but  when 
he  got  there,  not  a  word  did  he  say  to  Biddy  of  where 
he  had  spent  his  day. 

The  state  of  the  poor  souls  cooped  up  in  the  lobster- 
pots  gave  Jack  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  how  to  re- 
lease them  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  thought.  He  at 
first  had  a  mind  to  speak  to  the  priest  about  the  matter. 
But  what  could  the  priest  do,  and  what  did  Coo  care 
for  the  priest?  Besides,  Coo  was  a  good  sort  of  an  old 

*  Rede,  deoch  an  dorrus — door-drink  or  stirrup-cup 


76         IRISH.    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

fellow,  and  did  not  think  he  was  doing  any  harm.  Jack 
had  a  regard  for  him,  too,  and  it  also  might  not  be 
much  to  his  own  credit  if  it  were  known  that  he  used 
to  go  dine  with  Merrows.  On  the  whole,  he  thought 
his  best  plan  would  be  to  ask  Coo  to  dinner,  and  to  make 
him  drunk,  if  he  was  able,  and  then  to  take  the  hat  and 
go  down  and  turn  up  the  pots.  It  was,  first  of  all,  neces- 
sary, however,  to  get  Biddy  out  of  the  way ;  for  Jack  was 
prudent  enough,  as  she  was  a  woman,  to  wish  to  keep 
the  thing  secret  from  her. 

Accordingly,  Jack  grew  mighty  pious  all  of  a  sudden, 
and  said  to  Biddy  that  he  thought  it  would  be  for  the 
good  of  both;  their  souls  if  she  was  to  go  and  take  her 
rounds  at  Saint  John's  Well,  near  Ennis.  Biddy  thought 
so  too,  and  accordingly  off  she  set  one  fine  morning  at 
day-dawn,  giving  Jack  a  strict'charge  to  have  an  eye  to 
the  place.  The  coast  being  clear,  away  went  Jack  to 
the  rock  to'  give  the  appointed  signal  to  Coomara,  which 
was  throwing  a  big  stone  into  the  water.  Jack  threw, 
and  up  sprang  Coo ! 

"Good  morning,  Jack,"  said  he;  "what  do  you  want 
with  me  ?" 

"Just  nothing  at  all  to  speak  about,  sir,"  returned 
Jack,  "only  to  come  and  take  a  bit  of  dinner  with  me, 
if  I  might  make  so  free  as  to  ask  you,  and  sure  I'm  now 
after  doing  so." 

"It's  quite  agreeable,  Jack,  I  assure  you;  what's  your 
hour?" 

"Any  time  that's  most  convenient  to  you,  sir — say  one 
o'clock,  that  you  may  go  home,  if  you  wish,  with  the 
daylight." 

"I'll  be  with  you,"  said  Coo,  "never  fear  me." 

Jack  went  home,  and  dressed  a  noble  fish  dinner,  and 
got  out  plenty  of  his  best  foreign  spirits,  enough,  for 
that  matter,  to  make  twenty  men  drunk.  Just  to  the 
minute  came  Coo,  with  his  cocked  hat  under  his  arm. 
Dinner  was  ready,  they  sat  down,  and  ate  and  drank 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         77 

away  manfully.  Jack,  thinking  of  the  poor  souls  below 
in  the  pots,  plied  old  Coo  well  with  brandy,  and  encour- 
aged him  to  sing,  hoping  to  put  him  under  the  table, 
but  poor  Jack  forgot  that  he  had  not  the  sea  over  his 
own  head  to  keep  it  cool.  The  brandy  got  into  it,  and 
did  his  business  for  him,  and  Coo  reeled  off  home,  leav- 
ing his  entertainer  as  dumb  as  a  haddock  on  a  Good 
Friday. 

Jack  never  woke  till  the  next  morning,  and  then  he 
was  in  a  sad  way.  "  'Tis  no  -use  for  me  thinking  to 
make  that  old  Kapparee  drunk/'  said  Jack,  "and  how 
in  this  world  can  I  help  the  poor  souls  out  of  the  lob- 
ster-pots?" After  ruminating  nearly  the  whole  day,  a 
thought  struck  him.  "I  have  it,"  says  he,  slapping  his 
knee;  "I'll  be  sworn  that  Coo  never  saw  a  drop  of 
poteen,  as  old  as  he  is,  and  that's  the  thing  to  settle 
him !  Oh !  then,  is  not  it  well  that  Biddy  will  not  be 
home  these  two  days  yet;  I  can  have  another  twist  at 
him." 

Jack  asked  Coo  again,  and  Coo  laughed  at  him  for 
having  no  better  head,  telling  him  he'd  never  come  up 
to  his  grandfather. 

"Well,  but  try  me  again,"  said  Jack,  "and  I'll  be  bail 
to  drink  you  drunk  and  sober,  and  drunk  again." 
"Anything  in  my  power,"  said  Coo,  "to  oblige  you." 
At  this  dinner  Jack  took  care  to  have  his  own  liquor 
well  watered,  and  to  give  the  strongest  brandy  he  had 
to  Coo.    At  last  says  he,  "Pray,  sir,  did  you  ever  drink 
any  poteen"? — any  real  mountain  dew?" 

"No,"  says  Coo;  "what's  that,  and  where  does  it 
come  from?" 

"Oh,  that's  a  secret,"  said  Jack,  "but  it's  the  right 
stuff — never  believe  me  again,  if  'tis  not  fifty  times  as 
good  as  brandy  or  rum  either.  Biddy's  brother  just  sent 
me  a  present  of  a  little  drop,  in  exchange  for  some 
brandy,  and  as  you're  an  old  friend  of  the  family,  I 
kept  it  to  treat  you  with." 


78          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

''Well,  let's  see  what  sort  of  thing  it  is,"  said  Coomara. 

The  poteen,  was  the  right  sort,  it  was  first-rate,  and 
had  the  real  smack  upon  it.  Coo  was  delighted;  he 
drank  and  he  sung  Rum  bum  boodle  boo  over  and  over 
again ;  and  he  laughed  and  he  danced,  till  he  fell  on  the 
floor  fast  asleep.  Then  Jack,  who  had  taken  good  care 
to  keep  himself  sober,  snapt  up  the  cocked  hat — ran  off 
to  the  rock — leaped  in,  and  soon  arrived  at  Coo's 
habitation. 

All  was  as  still  as  a  churchyard  at  midnight — not  a 
Merrow,  old  or  young,  was  there.  In  he  went  and  turned 
up  the  pots,  but  nothing  did  he  see,  only  he  heard  a 
sort  of  a  little  whistle  or  chirp  as  he  raised  each 
of  them.  At  this  he  was  surprised,  till  he  recollected 
what  the  priests  had  often  said,  that  nobody  living  could 
see  the  soul,  no  more  than  they  could  see  the  wind  or 
the  air.  Having  now  done  all  that  he  could  do  for  them, 
he  set  the  pots  as  they  were  before,  and  sent  a  blessing 
after  the  poor  souls  to  speed  them  on  their  journey 
wherever  they  were  going.  Jack  now  began  to  think  of 
returning;  he  put  the  hat  on,  as  was  right,  the  wrong 
way ;  but  when  he  got  out  he  found  the  water  so  high 
over  his  head  that  he  had  no  hopes  of  ever  getting  up 
into  it,  now  that  he  had  not  old  Coomara  to  give  him  a 
lift.  He  walked  about  looking  for  a  ladder,  but  not  one 
could  he  find,  and  not  a  rock  was  there  in  sight.  At 
last  he  saw  a  spot  where  the  sea  hung  rather  lower  than 
anywhere  else,  so  he  resolved  to  try  there.  Just  as  he 
came  to  it,  a  big  cod  happened  to  put  down  his  tail. 
Jack  made  a  jump  and  caught  hold  of  it,  and  the  cod, 
all  in  amazement,  gave  a  bounce  and  pulled  Jack  up.^ 
The  minute  the  hat  touched  the  water  away  Jack  was 
whisked,  and  up  he  shot  like  a  cork,  dragging  the  poor 
cod,  that  he  forgot  to  let  go,  up  with  him  tail  foremost. 
He  got  to  the  rock  in  no  time,  and  without  a  moment's 
delay  hurried  home,  rejoicing  in  the  good  deed  he  had 
done. 


IRISH  FAIRY  A3 1)   FOLK   TALES         79 

But,  meanwhile,  there  was  fine  work  at  home ;  for  our 
friend  Jack  had  hardly  left  the  hous£  on  his  soul-free- 
ing expedition,  when  back  came  Biddy  from  her  soul- 
saving  one  to  the  well.  When  she  entered  the  house  and 
saw  the  things  lying  thrie-na-helah*  on  the  table  before 
her — "Here's  a  pretty  job  !"  said  she ;  "that  blackguard 
of  mine — what  ill-luck  I  had  ever  to  marry  him !  He 
has  picked  up  some  vagabond  or  other,  while  I  was 
praying  for  the  good  of  his  soul,  and  they've  been  drink- 
ing all  the  poteen  that  my  own  brother  gave  him,  and 
all  the  spirits,  to  be  sure,  that  he  was  to  have  sold  to 
his  honor."  Then  hearing  an  outlandish  kind  of  a 
grunt,  she  looked  down,  and  saw  Coomara  lying  under 
the  table.  "The  blessed  Virgin  help  me,"  shouted  she, 
"if  he  has  not  made  a  real  beast  of  himself !  Well,  well, 
I've  often  heard  of  a  man  making  a  beast  of  himself 
with  drink !  Oh  hone,  oh  hone ! — Jack,  honey,  what  will 
I  do  with  you,  or  what  will  I  do  without  you  ?  How  can 
any  decent  woman  ever  think  of  living  with  a  beast  ?" 

With  such  like  lamentations  Biddy  rushed  out  of  the 
house,  and  was  going  she  knew  not  where,  when  she 
heard  the  well-known  voice  of  Jack  singing  a  merry 
tune.  Glad  enough  was  Biddy  to  find  him  safe  and 
sound,  and  not  turned  into  a  thing  that  was  like  neither' 
fish  nor  flesh.  Jack  was  obliged  to  tell  her  all,  and 
Biddy,  though  she  had  half  a  mind  to  be  angry  with 
him  for  not  telling  her  before,  owned  that  he  had  done 
a  great  service  to  the  poor  souls.  Back  they  both  went 
most  lovingly  to  the  house,  and  Jack  wakened  up  Coo- 
mara ;  and,  perceiving  the  old  fellow  to  be  rather  dull, 
he  bid  him  not  to  be  cast  down,  for  'twas  many  a  goo-1 
man's  case;  said  it  all  came  of  his  not  being  used  to 
the  poteen,  and  recommended  him,  bv  way  of  cure,  to 
swallow  a  hair  of  the  -3og  that  bit  him.  Coo,  however, 


Tri-na-cheile,    literally   through    other — i.e.,    higgledy-pig- 
gledy. 


80          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

seemed  to  think  he  had  had  quite  enough.  He  got  up, 
quite  out  of  sorts,  and  without  having  the  manners  to 
say  one  word  in  the  way  of  civility,  he  sneaked  off  to 
cool  himself  by  a  jaunt  through  the  salt  water. 

Coomara  never  missed  the  souls.  He  and  Jack  con- 
tinued the  best  of  friends  in  the  world,  and  no  one,  per- 
haps, ever  equalled  Jack  for  freeing  souls  from  purga.- 
tory;  for  he  contrived  fifty  excuses  for  getting  into  the 
house  below  the  sea,  unknown  to  the  old  fellow,  and 
then  turning  up  the  pots  and  letting  out  the  souls.  It 
vexed  him,  to  be  sure,  that  he  could  never  see  them; 
but  as  he  knew  the  thing  to  be  impossible,  he  was  obliged 
to  be  satisfied. 

Their  intercourse  continued  for  several  years.  How- 
ever, one  morning,  on  Jack's  throwing  in  a  stone  as 
usual,  he  got  no  answer.  He  flung  another,  and  an- 
other, still  there  was  no  reply.  He  went  away,  and  re- 
turned the  following  morning,  but  it  was  to  no  purpose. 
As  he  was  without  the  hat,  he  could  not  go  down  to  see 
what  had  become  of  old  Coo,  but  his  belief  was  that  the 
old  man,  or  the  old  fish,  or  whatever  he  was,  had  either 
died,  or  had  removed  from  that  part  of  the  country. 


FLORY  CANTILLON'S  FUNERAL 

T.  CBOFTON  CEOKEB 

THE  ancient  burial  place  of  the  Cantillon  family  was 
on  an  island  in  Ballyheigh  Bay.  This  island  was  sit- 
uated at  no  great  distance  from  the  shore,  and  at  a 
remote  period  was  overflowed  in  one  of  the  encroach- 
ments which  the  Atlantic  has  made  on  that  part  of  the 
coast  of  Kerry.  The  fishermen  declare  they  have  often 
seen  the  ruined  walls  of  an  old  chapel  beneath  them  in 
the  water,  as  they  sailed  over  ,the  clear  green  sea  of  a 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES        81 

sunny  afternoon.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  well  known 
that  the  Cantillons  were,  like  most  other  Irish  families, 
strongly  attached  to  their  ancient  burial-place ;  and  thU 
attachment  led  to  the  custom,  when  any  of  the  family 
died,  of  carrying  the  corpse  to  the  seaside,  where  the 
coffin  was  left  on  the  shore  within  reach  of  the  tide. 
In  the  morning  it  had  disappeared,  being,  as  was  tradi- 
tionally believed,  conveyed  away  by  the  ancestors  of  the 
deceased  to  their  family  tomb. 

Connor  Crowe,  a  county  Clare  man,  was  related  to 
the  Cantillons  by  marriage.  "Connor  Mac  in  Cruagh,  of 
the  seven  quarters  of  Breintragh,"  as  he  was  commonly 
called,  and  a  proud  man  he  was  of  the  name.  Connor, 
be  it  known,  would  drink  a  quart  of  salt  water,  for  its 
medicinal  virtues,  before  breakfast;  and  for  the  same 
reason,  I  suppose,  double  that  quantity  of  raw  whiskey 
between  breakfast  and  night,  which  last  he  did  with  as 
little  inconvenience  to  himself  as  any  man  in  the  bar- 
ony of  Moyferta;  and  were  I  to  add  Clanderalaw  and 
Ibrickan,'  I  don't  think  I  should  say  wrong. 

On  the  death  of  Florence  Cantillon,  Connor  Crowe 
was  determined  to  satisfy  himself  about  the  truth  of 
this  story  of  the  old  church  under  the  sea :  so  when  he 
heard  the  news  of  the  old  fellow's  death,  away  with  him 
to  Ardfert,  where  Flory  was  laid  out  in  high  style,  and 
a  beautiful  corpse  he  made. 

Flory  had  been  as  jolly  and  as  rollicking  a  boy  in  his 
day  as  ever  was  stretched,  and  his  wake  was  in  every 
respect  worthy  of  him.  There  was  all  kind  of  enter- 
tainment, and  all  sort  of  diversion  at  it,  and  no  less 
than  three  girls  got  husbands  there — more  luck  to  them. 
Everything  was  as  it  should  be ;  all  that  side  of  the  coun- 
try, from  Dingle  to  Tarbert,  was  at  the  funeral.  The 
Keen  was  sung  long  and  bitterly;  and,  according  to  the 
family  custom,  the  coffin  was  carried  to  Ballyheigh 
strand,  where  it  was  laid  upon  the  shore,  with  a  prayer 
for  the  repose  of  the  dead. 


82 

The  mourners  departed,  one  group  after  another,  and 
at  last  Connor  Crowe  was  left  alone.  He  then  pulled 
out  his  whiskey  bottle,  his  drop  of  comfort,  as  he  called 
it,  which  he  required,  being  in  grief;  and  down  he  sat 
upon  a  big  stone  that  was  sheltered  by  a  projecting 
rock,  and  partly  concealed  from  view,  to  await  with  pa- 
tience the  appearance  of  the  ghostly  undertakers. 

The  evening  came  on  mild  and  beautiful.  He  whistled 
an  did  air  which  he  had  heard  in  his  childhood,  hoping 
to  keep  idle  fears  out  of  his  head;  but  the  wild  strain 
of  that  melody  brought  a  thousand  recollections  with 
it,  which  only  made  the  twilight  appear  more  pensive. 

"If  'twas  near  the  gloomy  tower  of  Dunmore,  in  my 
own  sweet  country,  I  was,"  said  Connor  Crowe,  with  a 
sigh,  "one  might  well  believe  that  the  prisoners,  who 
were  murdered  long  ago  there  in  the  vaults  under  the 
castle,  would  be  the  hands  to  carry  off  the  coffin  out  oi 
envy,  for  never  a  one  of  them  was  buried  decently,  nor 
had  as  much  as  a  coffin  amongst  them  all.  'Tis  often, 
sure  enough,  I  have  heard  lamentations  and  great 
mourning  coming  from  the  vaults  of  Dunmore  Castle; 
but,"  continued  he,  after  fondly  pressing  his  lips  to  the 
mouth  of  his  companion  and  silent  comforter,  the  whis- 
key bottle,  "didn't  I  know  all  the  time  well  enough, 
'twas  the  dismal  sounding  waves  working  through  the 
cliffs  and  hollows  of  the  rocks,  and  fretting  themselves 
to  foam.  Oh,  then,  Dunmore  Castle,  it  is  you  that  are 
the  gloomy-looking  tower  on  a  gloomy  day,  with  the 
gloomy  hills  behind  you ;  when  one  has  gloomy  thoughts 
on  their  heart,  and  sees  you  like  a  ghost  rising  out  of 
the  smoke  made  by  the  kelp  burners  on  the  strand, 
there  is,  the  Lord  save  us !  as  fearful  a  look  about  you 
as  about  the  Blue  Man's  Lake  at  midnight.  Well,  then, 
anyhow,"  said  Connor,  after  a  pause,  "is  it  not  a  blessed 
night,  though  surely  the  moon  looks  mighty  pale  in  the 
face?  St.  Senan  himself  between  us  and  all  kinds  of 
harm." 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES         83 

It  was,  in  truth,  a  lovely  moonlight  night;  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  around  but  the  dark  rocks,  and  the  white 
pebbly  beach,  upon  which  the  sea  broke  with  a  hoarse 
and  melancholy  murmur.  Connor,  notwithstanding  his 
frequent  draughts,  felt  rather  queerish,  and  almost  be- 
gan to  repent  liis  curiosity.  It  was  certainly  a  solemn 
sight  to  behold  the  black  coffin  resting  upon  the  white 
strand.  His  imagination  gradually  converted  the  deep 
moaning  of  old  ocean  into  a  mournful  wail  for  the  dead, 
and  from  the  shadowy  recesses  of  the  rocks  he  imaged 
forth  strange  and  visionary  forms. 

As  the  night  advanced,  Connor  became  weary  with 
watching.  He  caught  himself  more  than  once  in  the 
act  of  nodding,  when  suddenly  giving  his  head  a  shake, 
he  would  look  toward  the  black  coffin.  But  the  narrow 
house  of  death  remained  unmoved  before  him. 

It  was  long  past  midnight,  and  the  moon  was  sinking 
into  the  sea,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  many  voices, 
which  gradually  became  stronger,  above  the  heavy  and 
monotonous  roll  of  the  sea.  He  listened,  and  presently 
could  distinguish  a  Keen  of  exquisite  sweetness,  the 
notes  of  which  rose  and  fell  with  the  heaving  of  the 
waves,  whose  deep  murmur  mingled  with  and  supported 
the  strain ! 

The  Keen  grew  louder  and  louder,  and  seemed  to 
approach  the  beach,  and  then  fell  into  a  low,  plaintive 
wail.  As  it  ended  Connor  beheld  a  number  of  strange 
and,  in  the  dim  light,  mysterious-looking  figures  emerge 
from  the  sea,  and  surround  the  coffin,  which  they  pre- 
pared to  launch  into  the  water. 

"This  comes  of  marrying  with  the  creatures  of  earth," 
said  one  of  the  figures,  in  a  clear,  yet  hollow  tone. 

"True/'  replied  another,  with  a  voice  still  more  fear- 
ful, "our  king  would  never  have  commanded  his  gnaw- 
ing white-toothed  waves  to  devour  the  rocky  roots  of 
the  island  Cemetery,  had  not  his  daughter,  Durfulla, 
been  buried  there  by  her  mortal  husband !" 


84         IRISH    FAIRf  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"But  the  time  will  come,"  said  a  third,  bending  over 
the  coffin, 

"When  mortal  eye — our  work  shall  spy 
And  mortal  ear — our  dirge  shall  hear." 

"Then,"  said  a  fourth,  "our  burial  of  the  Cantillons 
is  at  an  end  for  ever  !" 

As  this  was  spoken  the  coffin 'was  borne  from  the 
beach  by  a  retiring  wave,  and  the  company  of  sea  people 
prepared  to  follow  it;  but  at  the  moment  one  chanced 
to  discover  Connor  Crowe,  as  fixed  with  wonder  and 
as  motionless  with  fear  as  the  stone  on  which  he  sat. 

"The  time  is  come,"  cried  the  unearthly  being,  "the 
tune  is  come ;  a  human  eye  looks  on  the  forms  of  ocean, 
a  human  ear  has  heard  their  voices.  Farewell  to  the 
Cantillons;  the  sons  of  the  sea  are  no  longer  doomed 
to  bury  the  dust  of  the  earth !" 

One  after  the  other  turned  slowly  round,  and  regarded 
Connor  Crowe,  who  still  remained  as  if  bound  by  a  spell. 
Again  arose  their  funeral  song;  and  on  the  next  wave 
they  followed  the  coffin.  The  sound  of  the  lamentation 
died  away,  and  at  length  nothing  was  heard  but  the  rush 
of  waters.  The  coffin  and  the  train  of  sea  people  sank 
over  the  old  churchyard,  and  never  since  the  funeral  of 
old  Flory  Cantillon  have  any  of  the  family  been  carried 
to  the  strand  of  Ballyheign,  for  conveyance  to  their 
rightful  burial-place,  beneath  the  waves  of  the  Atlantic. 


THE    SOLITARY    FAIRIES 


LEPRACATJN.     CLURICAUN.     FAR  DARRIO 

"THE  name  Lepracaun,"  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde  writes  to  me, 
"is  from  the  Irish  leith  brog — i.e.,  the  One-shoemaker,  since 
he  is  generally  seen  working  at  a  single  shoe.  It  is  spelt  in 
Irish  leiih  bhrogan,  or  Icitl;  phrogan,  and  is  in  some  places 
pronounced  Luchryman,  as  O'Kearney  writes  it  in  that  very 
rare  book,  the  Feis  Tigh  Chonain." 

The  Lepracaun,  Cluricaun,  and  Far  Darrig.  Are  these 
one  spirit  in  different  moods  and  shapes?  Hardly  two  Irish 
writers  are  agreed.  In  many  things  these  three  fairies,  if 
•three,  resemble  each  other.  They  are  withered,  old,  and 
solitary,  in  every  way  unlike  the  sociable  spirits  of  the  first 
sections.  They  dress  with  all  unfairy  homeliness,  and  are. 
indeed,  most  sluttish,  slouching,  jeering,  mischievous  phan- 
toms. They  are  the  great  practical  jokers  among  the  good 
people. 

The  Lepracaun  makes  shoes  continually,  and  has  grown 
very  rich.  Many  treasure-crocks,  buried  of  old  in  war-time, 
has  he  now  for  his  own.  In  the  early  part  of  this  century, 
according  to  Croker,  in  a  newspaper  office  in  Tipperary,  they 
used  to  show  a  little  shoe  forgotten  by  a  Lepracaun. 

The  Gluricaun  (C'lobhair-ceann,  in  O'Kearney)  makes  him- 
self drunk  in  gentlemen's  cellars.  Some  suppose  he  is 
merely  the  Lepracaun  on  a  spree.  He  is  almost  unknown 
in  Connaught  and  the  north. 

The  Far  Darrig  (fear  dearg) ,  which  means  the  Red  Man. 
for  he  wears  a  red  cap  and  coat,  busies  himself  with  practi- 
cal joking,  especially  with  gruesome  joking.  This  he  does, 
and  nothing  else. 

The  Fear-Gorta  (Man  of  Hunger)  is  an  emaciated  phan- 
tom that  goes  through  the  land  in  famine  time,  begging  an 
alms  and  bringing  good  luck  to  the  giver. 


36          IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

There  are  other  solitary  lairies,  such  as  the  House-spirit 
and  the  Water-sheerie,  own  brother  to  the  English  Jack-o'- 
Lantern ;  the  Pooka  and  the  Banshee — concerning  these 
presently ;  the  Dallahan,  or  headless  phantom — one  used  to 
stand  in  a  Sligo  street  on  dark  nights  till  lately ;  the  Black 
Dog,  a  form,  perhaps,  of  the  Pooka.  The  ships  at  the  Sligo 
quays  are  haunted  sometimes  by  this  spirit,  who  announces 
his  presence  by  a  sound  like  the  flinging  of 'all  "the  tin  por- 
ringers in  the  world"  down  into  the  hold.  He  even  follows 
them  to  sea. 

The  Leanhaun  Shee  (fairy  mistress)  seeks  the  love  of 
mortals.  If  they  refuse,  she  must  be  their  slave;  if  they 
consent,  they  are  hers,  and  can  only  escape  by  finding  an- 
other to  take  their  place.  The  fairy  lives  on  their  life,  and 
they  waste  away.  Death  is  no  escape  from  her.  She  is  the 
Gaelic  muse,  for  she  gives  inspiration  to  those  she  perse- 
cutes. The  Gaelic  poets  die  young,  for  she  is  restless,  and 
will  not  let  them  remain  long  on  earth — this  malignant 
phantom. 

Besides  these  are  divers  monsters — the  Augh-iska,  the 
Waterhorse,  the  Payshtha  (piast  =  bestia),  the  Lake- 
dragon,  and  such  like ;  but  whether  these  be  animals,  fairies, 
or  spirits,  I  know  not. 


THE   LEPRACAUN;   OR,   FAIRY    SHOEMAKER 

WILLIAM  ALLINGHAM 

I 

LITTLE  Cowboy,  what  have  you  heard, 
Up  on  the  lonely  rath's  green  mound? 

Only  the  plaintive  yellow  bird 
Sighing  in  sultry  fields  around, 

Chary,  chary,  chary,  chee-ee ! — 

Only  the  grasshopper  and  the  bee? — 

"Yellow  bird,"  the  yellow-bunting,  or  yorlin. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         87, 

"Tip  tap,  rip-rap, 
Tick-a-tack-too ! 
Scarlet  leather,  sewn  together, 

This  will  make  a  shoe. 
Left,  right,  pull  it  tight; 

Summer  days  are  warm ; 
Underground  in  winter, 

Laughing  at  the  storm  !" 
Lay  your  ear  close  to  the  hill. 
Do  you  not  catch  the  tiny  clamor, 
Busy  click  of  an  elfin  hammer, 
Voice  of  the  Lepracaun  singing  shrill 
As  he  merrily  plies  hk  trade? 
He's  a  span 

And  a  quarter  in  height. 
Get  him  in  sight,  hold  him  tight, 
And  you're  a  made 
Man! 

II 

You  watch  your  cattle  the  summer  day, 
Sup  on  potatoes,  sleep  in  the  hay; 
How  would  you  like  to  roll  in  your  carriage, 
Look  for  a  duchess's  daughter  in  marriage  ? 
Seize  the  Shoemaker — then  you  may ! 
"Big  boots  a-hunting, 
Sandals  in  the  hall, 
White  for  a  wedding-feast, 

Pink  for  a  ball. 
This  way,  that  way, 

So  we  make  a  shoe ; 
Getting  rich  every  stitch, 

Tick-tack-too !" 

'^ine-and-ninety  treasure-crocks 
This  keen  miser-fairy  hath, 
Hid  in  mountains,  woods,  and  rocks, 
Ruin  and  round-tow'r,  cave  and  rath, 
And  where  the  cormorants  build ; 


88          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

From  times  of  old 
Guarded  by  him; 
Each  of  them  fill'd 
Full  to  the  brim 
With  gold ! 

Ill 

I  caught  him  at  work  one  day,  myself, 

In  the  castle-ditch,  where  foxglove  grows,— 
A  wrinkled,  wi^en'd,  and  bearded  Elf, 
Spectacles  stuck  on  his  pointed  nose, 
Silver  buckles  to  his  hose, 
Leather  apron — shoe  in  his  lap — 
"Kip-rap,  tip-tap, 
Tick-tack-too ! 
(A  grasshopper  on  my  cap! 

Away  the  moth  flew!) 
Buskins  for  a  fairy  prince, 

Brogues  for  his  son, — 
Pay  me  well,  pay  me  well, 
When  the  job  is  done !" 
The  rogue  was  mine,  beyond  a  doubt. 
I  stared  at  him ;  he  stared  at  me ; 
"Servant,  Sir  1"    "Humph !"  says  he, 

And  pull'd  a  snuff-box  out, 
He  took  a  long  pinch,  look'd  better  pleaseds 

The  queer  little  Lepracaun; 
Offered  the  box  with  a  whimsical  grace, — 
Pouf !  he  flung  the  dust  in  my  face, 
And,  while  I  sneezed, 
Was  gone! 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES        8S 
MASTER  AND  MAN 

T.    CROFTON    CHOKER 

BILLY  MAC  DANIEL  was  once  as  likely  a  young  man 
as  ever  shook  his  brogue  at  a  patron*,  emptied  a  quart, 
or  handled  a  shillelagh;  fearing  for  nothing  but  the 
want  of  drink;  caring  for  nothing  but  who  should  pay 
for  it;  and  thinking  of  nothing  but  how  to  make  fun 
over  it;  drunk  or  sober,  a  .word  and  a  blow  was  ever 
the  way  with.  Billy  Mac  Daniel ;  and  a  mighty  easy  way 
it  is  of  either  getting  into  or  of  ending  a  dispute.  More 
is  the  pity  that,  through  the  means  of  his  thinking,  and 
fearing,  and  caring  for  nothing,  this  same  Billy  Mac 
Daniel  fell  into  bad  company ;  for  surely  the  good  people 
are  the  worst  of  all  company  any  one  could  come  across. 

It  so  happened  that  Billy  was  going  home  one  clear 
frosty  night  not  long  after  Christmas;  the  moon  was 
round  and  bright;  but  although  it  was  as  fine  a  night 
as  heart  could  wish  for,  he  felt  pinched  with  cold.  "By 
my  word,"  chattered  Billy,  "a  drop  of  good  liquor  would 
be  no  bad  thing  to  keep  a  man's  soul  from  freezing  in 
him ;  and  I  wish  I  had  a  full  measure  of  the  best.** 

"Never  wish  it  twice,  Billy/'  said  a  little  man  in  a 
three-cornered  hat,  bound  all  about  with  gold  lace,  and 
with  great  silver  buckles  in  his  shoes,  so  big  that  it  was 
a  wonder  how  he  could  carry  them,  and  he  held  out  a 
glass  as  big  as  himself,  filled  with  as  good  liquor  as 
ever  eye  looked  on  or  lip  tasted. 

"Success,  -my  little  fellow,"  said  Billy  Mac  Daniel, 
nothing  daunted,  though  well  he  knew  the  little  man 
to  belong  to  the  good  people;  "here's  your  health,  any 
way,  and  thank  you  kindly ;  no  matter  who  pays  for  the 
drink;"  and  he  took  the  glass  and  drained  it  to  the 
very  bottom  without  ever  taking  a  second  breath  to  it. 

*A  festival  held  In  honor  of  some  patron 


aO          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES 

"Success,"  said  the  little  man;  "and  you're  heartily 
welcome,  Billy ;  but  don't  think  to  cheat  me  as  you  have 
done  others, — out  with  your  purse  and  pay  me  like  a 
gentleman." 

"Is  it  I  pay  you  ?"  said  Billy ;  "could  I  not  just  take 
you  up  and  put  you  in  my  pocket  as  easily  as  a  black- 
berry ?" 

"Billy  Mac  Daniel,"  said  the  little  man,  getting  very 
angry,  "you  shall  be  my  servant  for  seven  years  and  a 
day,  and  that  is  the  way  I  will  be  paid;  so  make  ready 
to  follow  me." 

When  Billy  heard  this  he  began  to  be  very  sorry  for 
haying  used  such  bold  words  toward  the  little  man ;  and 
he  felt  himself,  yet  could  not  tell  how,  obliged  to  follow 
the  little  man  the  live-long  night  about  the  country,  up 
and  down,  and  over  hedge  and  ditch,  and  through  bog 
and  brake,  without  any  rest. 

When  morning  began  to  dawn  the  little  man  turned 
round  to  him  and  said,  "You  may  now  go  home,  Billy, 
but  on  your  peril  don't  fail  to  meet  me  in  the  Fort-field 
to-night;  or  if  you  do  it  may  be  the  worse  for  you  in 
the  long  run.  If  I  find  you  a  good  servant,  you  will 
find  me  an  indulgent  master." 

Home  went  Billy  Mac  Daniel;  and  though  he  was 
tired  and  weary  enough,  never  a  wink  of  sleep  could  he 
get  for  thinking  of  the  little  man;  but  he  was  afraid 
not  to  do  his  bidding,  so  up  he  got  in  the  evening,  and 
away  he  went  to  the  Fort-field.  He  was  not  long  there 
before  the  little  man  came  towards  him  and  said,  "Billy, 
I  want  to  go  a  long  journey  to-night;  so  saddle  one  of 
my  horses,  and  you  may  saddle  another  for  yourself, 
as  you  are  to  go  along  with  me,  and  may  be  tired  after 
your  walk  last  night." 

Billy  thought  this  very  considerate  of  his  master,  and 
thanked  him  accordingly:  "But,"  said  he,  "if  I  may  be 
so  bold,  sir,  I  would  ask  which  is  the  way  to  your  stable, 
for  never  a  thing  do  I  see  but  the  iort  here,  and  the 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES         91 

old  thorn  tree  in  the  corner  of  the  field,  and  the  stream 
running  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  with  the  bit  of  bog 
over  against  us." 

"Ask  no  questions,  Billy  "  said  the  little  man,  "but 
go  over  to  that  bit  of  bog,  and  bring  me  two  of  the 
strongest  rushes  you  can  find." 

Billy  did  accordingly,  wondering  what  -the  little  man 
would  be  at;  and  he  picked  two  of  the  stoutest  rushes 
he  could  find,  with  a  little  bunch  of  brown  blossom  stuck 
at  the  side  of  each,  and  brought  them  back  to  his  master. 

"Get  up,  Billy,"  said  the  little  man,  taking  one  of  the 
rushes  from  him  and  striding  across  it. 

"Where  shall  I  get  up,  please  your  honor  ?"  said  Billy.* 

"Why,  upon  horseback,  like  me,  to  be  sure,"  said  the 
little  man. 

"Is  it  after  making  -a  fool  of  me  you'd  be,"  said  Billy, 
"bidding  me  get  a  horseback  upon  that  bit  of  a  rush? 
May  be  you  wont  to  persuade  me  that  the  rush  I  pulled 
but  a  while  ago  out  of  the  bog  over  there  is  a  norse?" 

"Up  !  up !  and  no  words,"  said  the  little  man,  looking 
very  angry;  "the  best  horse  you  ever  rode  was  but  a 
fool  to  it."  So  Billy,  thinking  all  this  was  in  joke,  and 
fearing  to  vex  his  master,  straddled  across  the  rush. 
"Borram  !  Borram  !  Borram  !"  cried  the  little  man 
three  times  (which,  in  English,  means  to  become  great), 
and  Billy  did  the  same  after  him ;  presently  the  rushes 
swelled  up  into  fine  horses,  and  away  they  went  full 
speed ;  but  Billy,  who  had  put  the  rush  between  his  legs, 
without  much  minding  how  he  did  it,  found  himself 
sitting  on  horseback  the  wrong  wav,  which  was  rather 
awkward,  with  his  lace  to  the  horse's  tail;  and  ^o 
quickly  had  his  steed  started  o'ff  with  him  that  he  had 
no  power  to  turn  round,  and  there  was  therefore  nothing 
frr  it  but  to  hold  on  by  the  tail. 

At  last  they  came  to  their  journev's  end,  and  stopped 
at  the  j?ate  of  a  fine  house.  "Now,  Billy,"  said  the  little 
man,  "do  as  you  see  me  do,  and  follow  me  close;  but 


92          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

as  you  did  not  know  your  horse's  head  from  his  tail, 
mind  that  your  own  head  does  not  spin  round  until 
you  can't  tell  whether  you  are  standing  on  it  or  on  your 
heels :  for  remember  that  old  liquor,  though  able  to  make 
a  cat  speak,  can  make  a  man  dumb." 

The  little  man  then  said  some  queer  kind  of  words, 
out  of  which  Billy  could  make  no  meaning ;  but  he  con- 
trived to  say  them  after  him  for  all  that;  and  in  they 
both  went  through  the  key-hole  of  the  door,  and  through 
one  key-hole  after  another,  until  they  got  into  the  wine- 
cellar,  which  was  well  stored  with  all  kinds  of  wine. 
^  The  little  man  fell  to  drinking  as  hard  as  he  could, 
and  Billy,  noway  disliking  the  example,  did  the  same. 
"The  best  of  masters  are  you,  surely,"  said  Billy  to  him ; 
"no  matter  who  is  the  next;  and  well  pleased  will  I  be 
with  your  service  if  you  continue  to  give  me  plenty  to 
drink." 

"I  have  made  no  bargain  with  you,"  said  the  little 
man,  "and  will  make  none;  but  up  and  follow  me." 
Away  they  went,  through  key-hole  after  key-hole;  and 
each  mounting  upon  the  rush  which  he  left  at  the  hall 
door,  scampered  off,  kicking  the  clouds  before  them  like 
snowballs,  as  soon  as  the  words,  "Borram,  Borram,  Bor- 
ram,"  had  passed  their  lips.  • 

When  they  came  back  to  the  Fort-field  the  little  man 
dismissed  Billy,  bidding  him  to  be  there  the  next  night 
at  the  same  hour.  Thus  did  they  go  on,  night  after 
night,  shaping  their  course  one  night  here,  and  another 
night  there;  sometimes  north,  and  sometimes  east,  and 
sometimes  south,  until  there  was  not  a  gentleman's  wine- 
cdlar  in  all  Ireland  they  had  not  visited,  and  could  tell 
the  flavor  of  every  wine  in  it  as  well,  ay,  better  than 
the  butler  himself. 

One  night  when  Billy  Mac  Daniel  met  the  little  man 
as  usual  in  the  Fort-field,  and  was  going  to  the  bog  to 
fetch  the  horses  for  their  journey,  his  master  said  to 
him,  "Billy,  I  shall  want  another  horse  to-night,  for  may 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES        93 

be  we  may  bring  back  more  company  than  we  take."  So 
Billy,  who  now  knew  better  than  to  question  any  order 
given  to  him  by  his  master,  brought  a  third  rush,  much 
wondering  who  it  might  be  that  would  travel  back  in 
their  company,  and  whether  he  was  about  to  have  a 
fellow-servant.  "If  I  have,"  thought  Billy,  "he  shall 
go  and  fetch  the  horses  from  the  bog  every  night;  for 
I  don't  see  why  I  am  not,  every  inch  of  me,  as  good  a 
gentleman  as  my  master." 

Well,  away  they  went,  Billy  leading  the  third  horse, 
and  never  stopped  until  they  came  to  a  snug  farmer's 
house,  in  the  county  Limerick,  close  under  the  old  castle 
of  Carrigogunniel,  that  was  built,  they  say,  by  the  great 
Brian  Boru.  Within  the  house  there  was  great  carous- 
ing going  forward,  and  the  little  man  stopped  outside 
for  some  time  to  listen;  then  turning  round  all  of  a 
sudden,  said,  "Billy,  I  will  be  a  thousand  years  old 
to-morrow !" 

"God  bless  us,  sir,"  said  Billy;  "will  you?" 

"Don't  say  these  words  again,  Billy,"  said  the  little 
old  man,  "or  you  will  be  my  ruin  for  ever.  Now  Billy, 
as  I  will  be  a  thousand  years  in  the  world  to-morrow, 
I  think  it  is  full  time  *for  me  to  get  married." 

"I  think  so  too,  without  any  kind  of  doubt  at  all/* 
said  Billy,  "if  ever  you  mean  to  marry." 

"And  to  that  purpose,"  said  the  little  man,  "have  I 
come  all  the  way  to  Carrigogunniel;  for  in  this  house, 
this  very  night,  is  young  Darby  Eiley  going  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Bridget  Eooney ;  and  as  she  is  a  tall  and  comely 
girl,  and  has  come  of  decent  people,  I  think  of  marrying 
her  myself,  and  taking  her  off  with  me." 

"And  what  will  Darby  Eiley  say  to  that?"  said 
Billy. 

"Silence!"  said  the  little  man,  putting  on  a  mighty 
severe  look;  "I  did  not  bring  you  here  with  me  to  ask 
questions"  and  without  holding  further  argument,  he 
began  saving  the  queer  words  which  had  the  power  of 


94         IEISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

passing  him  through  the  key-hole  as  free  as  air.  and 
which  Billy  thought  himself  mighty  clever  to  be  able  to 
say  after  him. 

In  they  both  went;  and  for  the  better  viewing  the 
company,  the  little  man  perched  himself  up  as  nimbly 
as  a  cocksparrow  upon  one  of  the  big  beams  which  went 
across  the  house  over  all  their  heads,  and  Billy  did  the 
same  upon  another  facing  him ;  but  not  being  much  ac- 
customed to  roosting  in  such  a  place,  his  legs  hung 
down  as  untidy  as  may  be,  and  it  was  quite  clear  he 
had  not  taken  pattern  after  the  way  in  which  the  little 
man  had  bundled  himself  up  together.  If  the  little  man 
had  been  a  tailor  all  his  life  he  could  not  have  sat  more 
contentedly  upon  his  haunches. 

There  they  were,  both  master  and  man,  looking  down 
upon  the  fun  that  was  going  forward ;  and  under  them 
were  the  priest  and  piper,  and  the  father  of  Darby  Riley, 
with  Darby's  two  brothers  and  his  uncle's  son  ;,and  there 
were  both  the  father  and  the  mother  of  Bridget  Rooney, 
and  proud  enough  the  old  couple  were  that  night  of  their 
daughter,  as  good  right  they  had;  and  her  four  sisters, 
with  bra"n  new  ribbons  in  their  caps,  and  her  three 
brothers  all  looking  as  clean  and  as  clever  as  any  three 
boys  in  Munster,  and  there  were  uncles  and  aunts,  and 
gossips  and  cousins  enough  besides  to  make  a  full  house 
of  it ;  and  plenty  was  there  to  eat  and  drink  on  the  table 
for  every  one  of  them,  if  they  had  been  double  the 
number. 

Now  it  happened,  just  as  Mrs.  Rooney  had  helped  his 
reverence  to  the  first  cut  of  the  pig's  head  which  was 
placed  before  her,  beautifully  bolstered  up  with  white 
savoys,  that  the  bride  gave  a  sneeze,  which  made  every 
one  at  the  table  start,  but  not  a  soul  said  "God  bless  us." 
All  thinking  that  the  priest  would  have  done  so,  as  he 
ought  if  he  had  done  his  duty,  no  one  wished  to  take 
the  word  out  of  his  mouth,  which,  unfortunately,  was 
preoccupied  with  pig's  head  and  greens.  And  after  a 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES        95 

moment's  pause  the  fun  and  merriment  of  the  bridal 
feast  went  on  without  the  pious  benediction. 

Of  this  circumstance  both  Billy  and  his  master  wer& 
no  inattentive  spectators  from  their  exalted  stations. 
"Ha  I"  exclaimed  the  little  man,  throwing  one  leg  from 
under  ham  with  a  joyous  flourish,  and  his  eye  twinkled 
with  a  strange  light,  while  his  eyebrows  became  ele- 
vated into  the  curvature  of  Gothic  arches ;  "Ha !"  said 
he,  leering  down  at  the  bride,  and  then  up  at  Billy,  "I 
have  half  of  her  now,  surely.  Let  her  sneeze  but  twice 
more,  and  she  is  mine,  in  spite  of  priest,  mass-book,  and 
Darby  Riley." 

Again  the  fair  Bridget  sneezed ;  but  it  was  so  gently, 
and  she  blushed  so  much,  that  few  except  the  little  man 
took,  or  seemed  to  take,  any  notice ;  and  no  one  thought 
of  saying  "God  bless  us." 

Billy  all  this  time  regarded  the  poor  girl  with  a  most 
rueful  expression  of  countenance ;  for  he  could  not  help 
thinking  what  a  terrible  thing  it  was  for  a  nice  young 
girl  of  nineteen,  with  large  blue  eyes,  transparent  skin, 
and  dimpled  cheeks,  suffused  with  health  and  joy,  to 
be  obliged  to  marry  an  ugly  little  bit  of  a  man,  who 
was  a  thousand  years  old,  barring  a  day. 

At  this  critical  moment  the  bride  gave  a  third  sneeze, 
and  Billy  roared  out  with  all  his  might,  "God  save  us !" 
Whether  this  exclamation  resulted  from  his  soliloquy, 
or  from  the  mere  force  of  habit,  he  never  could  tell  ex- 
actly himself;  but  no  sooner  was  it  uttered  than  the 
little  man,  his  face  glowing  with  rage  and  disappoint- 
ment, sprung  from  the  beam  on  which  he  had  perched 
himself,  and  shrieking  out  in  the  shrill  voice  of  a 
cracked  bagpipe,  "I  discharge  you  from  my  service, 
Billy  Mac  Daniel — take  that  for  your  wages,"  gave  poor 
Billy  a  most  furious  kick  in  the  back,  which  sent  his 
unfortunate  servant  sprawling  upon  his  face  and  hands 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  supper  table. 
,  If  Billy  was  astonished,  how  much  more  so  was  every 


96          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

one  of  the  company  into  which  he  was  thrown  with  so 
little  ceremony.  But  when  they  heard  his  story,  Father 
Cooney  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  married  the 
young  couple  out  of  hand  with  all  speed ;  and  Billy  Mac- 
Daniel  danced  the  Rinka  at  their  wedding,  and  plenty 
he  did  drink  at  it  too,  which  was  what  he  thought  more 
of  than  dancing. 


FAR  DARRIG  IN  DONEGAL 

MISS  LETITIA  MACLINTOCK 

PAT  DIVER,  the  tinker,  was  a  man  well  accustomed 
to  a  wandering  life,  and  to  strange  shelters;  he  had 
shared  the  beggar's  blanket  in  smoky  cabins;  he  had 
crouched  beside  the  still  in  many  a  nook  and  corner 
where  poteen  was  made  on  the  wild  Innishowen  moun- 
tains; he  had  even  slept  on  the  bare  heather,  or  on  the 
ditch,  with  no  roof  over  him  but  the  vault  of  heaven; 
yet  were  all  his  nights  of  adventure  tame  and  common- 
place when  compared  with  one  especial  night. 

During  the  day  preceding  that  night,  he  had  mended 
all  the  kettles  and  saucepans  in  Moville  and  Greencastle, 
and  was  on  his  way  to  Culdaff,  when  night  overtook  him 
on  a  lonely  mountain  road. 

He  knocked  at  one  door  after  another  asking  for  a 
night's  lodging,  while  he  jingled  the  halfpence  in  his 
pocket,  but  was  everywhere  refused. 

Where  was  the  boasted  hospitality  of  Innishowen, 
which  he  had  never  before  known  to  fail  ?  It  was  of  no 
use  to  be  able  to  pay  when  the  people  seemed  so  churlish. 
Thus  thinking,  he  made  his  way  toward  a  light  a  little 
further  on,  and  knocked  at  another  cabin  door. 

An  old  man  and  woman  were  seated  one  at  each  side 
of  the  fire. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES        97 

"Will  you  be  pleased  to  give  me  a  night's  lodging, 
sir  ?"  asked  Pat  respectfully. 

"Can  you  tell  a  story  ?"  returned  the  old  man. 

"No,  then,  sir,  I  canna  say  I'm  good  at  story-telling," 
replied  the  puzzled  tinker. 

"Then  you  maun  just  gang  further,  for  none  but 
them  that  can  tell  a  story  will  get  in  here." 

This  reply  was  made  in  so  decided  a  tone  that  Pat  did 
not  attempt  to  repeat  his  appeal,  but  turned  away  re- 
luctantly to  resume  his  weary  journey. 

"A  story,  indeed,"  muttered  he.  "Auld  wives  fablee 
to  please  the  weans !" 

As  he  took  up  his  bundle  of  tinkering  implements,  he 
observed  a  barn  standing  rather  behind  the  dwelling 
house,  and,  aided  by  the  rising  moon,  he  made  his  way 
toward  it. 

It  was  a  clean,  roomy  barn,  with  a  piled-up  heap  of 
straw  in  one  corner.  Here  was  a  shelter  not  to  be  de- 
spised; so  Pat  crept  under  the  straw,  and  was  soon 
asleep. 

He  could  not  have  slept  very  long  when  he  was  awak- 
ened by  the  'tramp  of  feet,  and,  peeping  cautiously 
through  a  crevice  in  his  straw  covering,  her  saw  four 
immensely  tall  men  enter  the  barn,  dragging  a  body, 
which  they  threw  roughly  upon  the  floor. 

They  next  lighted  a  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  barn, 
and  fastened  the  corpse  by  the  feet  with  a  great  rope 
to  a  beam  in  the  roof.  One  of  them  then  began  to*  turn 
it  slowly  before  the  fire.  "Come*  on,"  said  he,  addressing 
a  gigantic  fellow,  the  tallest  of  the  four — "I'm  tired: 
you  be  to  tak'  your  turn." 

"Faix  an'  troth,  I'll  no  turn  him,"  replied  the  big 
man.  ''There's  Pat  Diver  in  under  the  straw,  wh)' 
wouldn't  he  tak'  his  turn  ?" 

With  hideous  clamor  the  four  men  called  the  wretched 
Pat,  who,  seeing  there  was  no  escape,  thought  it  was 
hie  wisest  plan  to  come  forth  as  he  was  bidden. 


98          IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Now,  Pat,"  said  they,  "you'll  turn  the  corpse,  but 
if  you  let  him  burn  you'll  be  tied  up  there  and  roasted 
in  his  place." 

Pat's  hair  stood  on  end,  and  the  cold  perspiration 
poured  from  his  forehead,  but  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  perform  his  dreadful  task. 

Seeing  him  fairly  embarked  in  it,  the  tall  men  went 
away. 

Soon,  however,  the  flames  rose  so  high  as  to  singe 
the  rope,  and  the  corpse  fell  with  a  great  thud  upon 
the  fire,  scattering  the  ashes  and  embers,  and  extracting 
a  howl  of  anguish  from  the  miserable  cook,  who  rushed 
to  the  door,  and  ran  for  his  life. 

He  ran  on  until  he  was  ready  to  drop  with  fatigue, 
when,  seeing  a  drain  overgrown  with  tall,  rank  grass, 
he  thought  he  would  creep  in  there  and  lie  bidder  till 
morning. 

But  he  was  not  many  minutes  in  .the  drain  before  he 
heard  the  heavy  tramping  again,  and  the  four  men  came 
up  with  their  burthen,  which  they  laid  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  drain. 

"I'm  tired/'  said  one,  to  the  giant;  "it's  your  turn  to 
carry  him  a  piece  now." 

'  "Faix  and  troth,  I'll  no  carry  him,"  replied  he,  "but 
there's  Pat  Diver  in  the  drain,  why  wouldn't  he  come 
out  and  tak'  his  turn  ?" 

"Come  out,  Pat,  come  out,"  roared  all  the  men,  and 
Pat,  almost  dead  with  fright,  crept  out. 

He  staggered  on  under  the  weight  of  the  corpse  until 
he  reached  Kiltown  Abbey,  a  ruin  festooned  with  ivy, 
where  the  brown  owl  hooted  all  night  long,  and  the  for- 
gotten dead  slept  around  the  walls  under  dense,  matted 
tangles  of  brambles  and  ben-weed. 

No  one  ever  buried  there  now,  but  Pat's  tall  com- 
panions turned  into  the  wild  graveyard,  and  began  dig- 
ging a  grave. 

Pat,  seeing  them  thus  engaged,  thought  he  might 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES         99 

once  more  try  to  escape,  and  climbed  up  into  a  haw- 
thorn tree  in  the  fence,  hoping  to  be  hidden  in  the 
boughs. 

"I'm  tired,"  said  the  man  who  was  digging  the  grave ; 
"here,  take  the  spade,"  addressing  the  big  man,  "it's 
your  turn." 

"Faix  an'  troth,  it's  no  my  turn/'  replied  he,  as  be- 
fore. "There's  Pat  Diver  in  the  tree,  why  wouldn't  he 
come  down  and  tak'  his  turn  ?" 

Pat  came  down  to  take  the  spade,  but  just  then  the 
cocks  in  the  little  farmyards  and  cabins  round  the  ab- 
bey began  to  crow,  and  the  men  looked  at  one  another. 

"We  must  go,"  said  they,  "and  well  is  it  for  you,  Pat 
Diver,  that  the  cocks  crowed,  for  if  they  had  not,  you'd 
just  ha'  been  bundled  into  that  grave  with  the  corpse." 

Two  months  passed,  and  Pat  had  wandered  far  and 
wide  over  the  county  Donegal,  when  he  chanced  to  arrive 
at  Raphoe  during  a  fain 

Among  the  crowd  that  filled  the  Diamond  he  came 
suddenly  on  the  big  man. 

"How  are  you,  Pat  Diver  ?"  said  he,  bending  down  to 
look  into  the  tinker's  face. 

"You've  the  advantage  of  me,  sir,  for  I  havna*  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  you,"  faltered  Pat. 

"Do  you  not  know  me,  Pat  ?"  Whisper — "When  you 
go  back  to  Innishowen,  you'll  have  a  story  to  tell !" 


THE    SOLITARY   FAIRIES 


THE  POOKA 

THE  Pooka,  rectd  Puca,  seems  essentially  an  animal  spirit. 
Some  derive  his  name  from  poc,  a  he-goat;  and  speculative 
persons  consider  him  the  forefather  of  Shakespeare's 
"Puck."  On  solitary  mountains  and  among  old  ruins  he 
lives,  "grown  monstrous  with  much  solitude,"  and  is  of  the 
race  of  the  nightmare.  "In  the  MS.  story,  called  'Mac-na- 
Michomhairle,'  of  uncertain  authorship,"  writes  me  Mr. 
Douglas  Hyde,  "we  read  that  'out  of  a  certain  hill  in  Lein- 
ster,  there  used  to  emerge  as  far  as  his  middle,  a  plump, 
sleek,  terrible  steed,  and  speak  in  human  voice  to  each  per- 
son about  November-day,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  give  in- 
telligent and  proper  answers  to  such  as  consulted  him  con- 
cerning all  that  would  befall  them  until  the  November  of 
next  year.  And  the  people  used  to  leave  gifts  and  presents 
at  the  hill  until  the  coming  of  Patrick  and  the  holy  clergy.' 
This  tradition  appears  to  be  a  cognate  one  with  that  of 
the  Puea."  Yes !  unless  it  were  merely  an  augh-ishka 
[each-uisg6],  or  Water  horse.  For  these,  we  are  told,  were 
common  once,  and  used  to  come  out  of  the  water  to  gallop 
on  the  sands  and  in  the  fields,  and  people  would  often  go 
between  them  and  the  marge  and  bridle  them,  and  they 
would  make  the  finest  of  horses  if  only  you  could  keep  them 
away  from  sight  of  the  water;  but  if  once  they  saw  a 
glimpse  of  the  water,  they  would  plunge  in  with  their  rider, 
and  tear  him  to  pieces  at  the  bottom.  It  being  a  November 
spirit,  however,  tells  in  favor  of  the  Pooka,  for  November- 
day  is  sacred  to  the  Pooka.  It  is  hard  to  realize  that  wild, 
staring  phantom  grown  sleek  and  civil. 

He  has  many  shapes — is  now  a  horse,  now  an  ass,  now  n 
bull,  now  a  goat,  now  an  eagle.  Like  all  spirits,  he  is  only 
half  in  the  world  of  form. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       101 
THE  PIPER  AND  THE  PUCA 

DOUGLAS    HYDE 

Translated  literally  from  the  Irish  of  the 
Leabhar  Sffeujaigheachia 

IN  the  old  times,  there  was  a  half  fool  living  in  Dun- 
more,  in  the  county  Galway,  and  although  he  was  ex- 
cessively fond  of  music,  he  was  unable  to  learn  more 
than  one  tune,  and  that  was  the  "Black  Rogue."  He 
used  to  get  a  good  deal  of  money  from  the  gentlemen, 
for  they  used  to  get  sport  out  of  him.  One  night  the 
piper  was  coming  home  from  a  house  where  there  had 
been  a  dance,,  and  he  half  drunk.  When  he  came  to 
a  Little  bridge  that  was  up  by  his  mother's  house,  he 
squeezed  the  pipes  on,  and  began  playing  the  "Black 
Rogue"  (an  rogaire  dubh).  The  Puca  came  behind 
him,  and  flung  him  up  on  his  own  back.  There  were 
long  horns  on  the  Plica,  and  the  piper  got  a  good  grip 
of  them,  and  then  he  said — 

"Destruction  on  you,  you  nasty  beast,  let  me  home. 
I  have  a  ten-penny  piece  in  my  pocket  for  my  mother, 
and  she  wants  snuff/' 

"Never  mind  your  mother,"  said  the  Puca,  "but  keep 
your  hold.  If  you  fall,  you  will  break  your  neck  and 
your  pipes."  Then  the  Puca  said  to  him,  "Play  up  for 
me  the  'Shan  Van  Vocht'  (arn  t-seann-bhean  bhocht)." 

"I  don't  know  it,"  said  the  piper. 

"Never  mind  whether  you  do  or  you  don't,"  said  the 
Puca.  "Play  up,  and  111  make  you  know." 

The  piper  put  wind  in  his  bag,  and  he  played  such 
music  as  made  himself  wonder. 

"Upon  my  word,  you're  a  fine  music-master,"  says  the 
piper  then ;  "but  tell  me  where  you're  for  bringing  me." 

"There's  a  great  feast  in  the  house  of  the  Banshee, 
on  the  top  of  Croagrh  Patric  to-nisrht."  «avs  the  Puca, 


102        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"and  I'm  for  bringing  you  there  to  play  music,  and, 
take  my  word,  you'll  get  the  price  of  your  trouble." 

"By  my  word,  you'll  save  me  a  journey,  then,"  says 
the  piper,  "for  Father  William  put  a  journey  to  Croagh 
Patric  on  me,  because  I  stole  the  white  gander  from  him 
last  Martinmas."  w 

The  Puca  rushed  him  across  hills  and  bogs  and  rough 
places,  till  he  brought  him  to  the  top  of  Croagh  Patric. 
Then  the  Plica  struck  three  blows  with  his  foot,  and  a 
great  door  opened,  and  they  passed  in  together,  into  a 
fine  room. 

The  piper  saw  a  golden  table  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  hundreds  of  old  women  (cailleacha)  sitting 
round  about  it.  The  old  women  rose  up,  and  said,  "A 
hundred  thousand  welcomes  to  you,  you  Plica  of  No- 
vember (na  Samhna).  Who  is  this  you  have  with  you?" 

"The  best  piper  in  Ireland,"  says  the  Plica. 

One  of  the  old  women  struck  a  blow,  on  the  ground, 
and  a  door  opened  in  the  side  of  the  wall,  and  what 
should  the  piper  see  coming  out  but  the  white  gander 
which  he  had  stolen  from  Father  William. 

"By  my  conscience,  then,"  says  the  piper,  "myself 
and  my  mother  ate  every  taste  of  that  gander,  only 
one  wing,  and  I  gave  that  to  Moy-rua  (Eed  Mary),  and 
it's  she  told  the  priest  I  stole  the  gander." 

The  gander  cleaned  the  table,  and  carried  it  away,  and 
the  Puca  said,  "Play  up  music  for  these  ladies." 

The  piper  played  up,  and  the  old  women  began  danc- 
ing, and  they  were  dancing  till  they  were  tired.  Then 
the  Plica  said  to  pay  the  piper,  and  every  old  woman 
drew  out  a  gold  piece,  and  gave  it  to  him. 

"By  the  tooth  of  Patric,"  said  he,  "I'm  as  rich  ai 
the  son  of  a  lord." 

"Come  with  me,"  says  the  Plica,  "and  I'll  bring-  yon 
home." 

They  went  out  then,  and  just  as  he  was  going  to  rido 
on  the  Plica,  the  gander  came  up  to  him,  L&3  gtve  him 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       103 

a  new  set  of  pipes.  The  Puca  was  not  long  until  he 
brought  him  to  Dunmore,  and  he  threw  the  piper  off 
at  the  little  bridge,  and  then  he  told  him  to  go  home, 
and  says  to  him,  "You  have  two  things  now  that  you 
never  had  before — you  have  sense  and  music"  (ciall  agus 
ceol). 

The  piper  went  home,  and  he  knocked  at  his  mother's 
door,  saying,  "Let  me  in,  I'm  as  rich  as  a  lord,  and  I'm 
the  best  piper  in  Ireland." 

"You're  drunk,"  said  the  mother. 

"No,  indeed,"  says  the  piper,  "I  haven't  drunk  a 
drop." 

The  mother  let  him  in,  and  he  gave  her  the  gold 
pieces,  and,  "Wait  now,"  says  he,  "till  you  hear  the 
music  I'll  play." 

He  buckled  on  the  pipes,  but  instead  of  music,-  there 
came  a  sound  as  if  all  the  geese  and  ganders  in  Ireland 
were  screeching  together.  He  wakened  the  neighbors, 
and  they  were  all  mocking  him,  until  he  put  on  the  old 
pipes,  and  then  he  played  melodious  music  for  them^ 
and  after  that  he  told  them  all  he  had  gone  through 
that  night. 

The  next  morning,  when  his  mother  went  to  look  at 
the  gold  pieces,  there  was  nothing  there  but  the  leaves 
of  a  plant. 

The  piper  went  to  the  priest,  and  told  him  his  storr 
but  the  priest  would  not  believe  a  word  from  him,  until 
he  put  the  pipes  on  him,  and  then  the  screeching  of  the 
ganders  and  geese  began. 

"Leave  my  sight,  you  thief,"  says  the  priest. 

But  nothing  would  do  the  piper  till  he  would  put 
the  old  pipes  on  him  to  show  the  priest  that  his  story 
was  true. 

He  buckled  on  the  old  pipes,  and  he  played  melodious 
music,  and  from  that  day  till  the  day  of  his  death,  there 
was  never  a  piper  in  the  county  Galway  was  as  good 
as  he  was. 


104        IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
DANIEL  O'KOUKKE 

T.    CKOFTON    CBOKEB 

PEOPLE  may  nave  heard  of  the  renowned  adventures 
of  Daniel  O'Kourke,  but  how  few  are  there  who  know 
that  the  cause  of  all  his  perils,  above  and  below,  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  his  having  slept  under  the 
walls  of  the  Pooka's  tower.  I  kiw;w  the  man  well.  He 
lived  at  the  bottom  of  Hungry  Hill,  just  at  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  road  as  you  go  toward  Bantry.  An  old 
man  was  he,  at  the  time  he  told  me  the  story,  with  gray 
hair  and  a  red  nose;  and  it  was  on  the  25th  of  June, 
1813,  that  I  heard  it  from  his  own  lips,  as  he  sat 
smoking  his  pipe  under  the  old  poplar  tree,  on  as  fine 
an  evening  as  ever  shone  from  the  sky.  I  was  going 
to  visit  the  caves  in  Dursey  Island,  having  spent  the 
morning  at  Glengariff. 

"I  am  often  axed  to  tell  it,  sir,"  said  he,  "so  that  this 
is  not  the  first  time.  The  master's  son,  you  see,  had 
come  from  beyond  foreign  parts  in  France  and  Spain, 
as  young  gentlemen  used  to  go  before  Buonaparte  or 
any  such  was  heard  of;  and  sure  enough  there  was  a 
dinner  given  to  all  the  people  on  the  ground,  gentle 
and  simple,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor.  The  ould 
gentlemen  were  the  gentlemen  after  all,  saving  your 
honor's  presence.  They'd  swear  at  a  body  a  little,  to 
be  sure,  and,  may  be,  give  one  a  cut  of  a  whip  now  and 
then,  but  we  were  no  losers  by  it  in  the  end;  and  they 
were  so  easy  and  civil,  and  kept  such  rattling  houses, 
and  thousands  of  welcomes;  and  there  was  no  grinding 
for  rent,  and  there  was  hardly  a  tenant  on  the  estate 
that  did  not  taste  of  his  landlord's  bounty  often  and 
often  in  a  year ;  but  now  it's  another  thing.  No  matter 
for  that,  sir.  for  I'd  better  be  telling  you  my  story. 

"Well,  we  had  everything  of  the  best,  and  plenty  of 
it;  and  we  ate,  and  we  drank,  and  we  danced,  and  the 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       105 

young  master  by  the  same  token  danced  with  Peggy 
Barry,  from  the  Bohereen — a  lovely  young  couple  they 
were,  though  they  are  both  low  enough  now.  To  make 
a  long  story  short,  I  got,  as  a  body  may  say,  the  same 
thing  as  tipsy  almost,  for  I  can't  remember  ever  at  all, 
no  ways,  how  it  was  I  left  the  place;  only  I  did  leave 
it,  that's  certain.  Well,  I  thought,  for  all  that,  in  my- 
self, I'd  just  step  to  Molly  Cronohan's,  the  fairy  woman, 
to  speak  a  word  about  the  bracket  heifer  that  was  be- 
witched; and  so  as  I  was  crossing  the  stepping-stonea 
of  the  ford  of  Ballyashenogh,  and  as  looking  up  at 
the  stars  and  blessing  myself — for  why?  it  was  Lady 
day — I  missed  my  foot,  and  souse  I  fell  into  the  water. 
'Death  alive !'  thought  I,  Til  be  drowned  now !'  How- 
ever, I  began  swimming,  swimming,  swimming  away  for 
the  dear  life,  till  at  last  I  got  ashore,  somehow  or  other, 
but  never  the  one  of  me  can  tell  how,  upon  a  dissolute 
island. 

"I  wandered  and  wandered  about  there,  without  know- 
ing where  I  wandered,  until  at  last  I  got  into  a  big 
bog.  The  moon  was  shining  as  bright  as  day,  or  your 
fair  lady's  eyes,  sir  (with  the  pardon  for  mentioning 
her),  and  I  looked  east  and  west,  and  north  and  southf 
and  every  way,  and  nothing  did  I  see  but  bog,  bog,  bog— 
I  could  never  find  out  how  I  got  into  it;  and  my  heari 
grew  cold  with  fear,  for  sure  and  certain  I  was  that  it 
would  be  my  berrin  place.  So  I  sat  down  upon  a  stone 
which,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  was  close  by  me,  and 
I  began  to  scratch  my  head,  and  sing  the  Ullagone — • 
when  all  of  a  sudden  the  moon  grew  black,  and  I  looked 
up,  and  saw  something  for  all  the  world  as  if  it  was 
moving  down  between  me  and  it,  and  I  could  not  tell 
what  it  was.  Down  it  came  with  a  pounce,  and  looked 
at  me  full  in  the  face ;  and  what  was  it  but  an  eagle  ? 
as  fine  a  one  as  ever  flew  from  the  kingdom  of  Kerry 
So  he  looked  at  me  in  the  face,  and  says  he  to  me, 
O'Rourke/  says  he,  *how  do  vou  do?'  'Very 


106        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

well,  I  thank  you,  sir,'  says  I ;  'I  hope  you're  well ;'  won- 
dering out  of  my  senses  all  the  time  how  an  eagle  came 
to  speak  like  a  Christian.  'What  brings  you  here,  Dan  ?' 
says  he.  'Nothing  at  all,  sir/  says  I ;  'only  I  wish  I  was 
safe  home  again.'  'Is  it  out  of  the  island  you  want  to 
go,  Dan  ?'  says  he".  '  'Tis,  sir,'  says  I :  so  I  up  and  told 
him  how  I  had  taken  a  drop  too  much,  and  fell  into 
the  water ;  how  I  swam  to  the  island ;  and  how  I  got  into 
che  bog  and  did  not  know  my  way  out  of  it.  'Dan,'  says 
he,  after  a  minute's  thought,  'though  it  is  very  improper 
for  you  to  get  drunk  on  Lady-day,  yet  as  you  are  a  de- 
cent, sober  man,  who  'tends  mass  well  and  never  flings 
stones  at  me  or  mine,  nor  cries  out  after  us  in  the  fields 
— my  life  for  yours,'  says  he;  'so  get  up  on  my  back, 
and  grip  me  well  for  fear  you'd  fall  off,  and  I'll  fly  you 
out  of  the  bog/  'I  am  afraid,'  says  I,  'your  honor's 
making  game  of  me;  for  who  ever  heard  of  riding 
a  horseback  on  an  eagle  before  ?'  '  Ton  the  honor  of  a 
gentleman,'  says  he,  putting  his  right  foot  on  his  breast, 
'I  am  quite  in  earnest:  and  so  now  either  take  my  offer 
or  starve  in  the  bog — besides,  I  see  that  your  weight  is 
sinking  the  stone/ 

"It  was  true  enough  as  he  said,  for  I  found  the  stone 
every  minute  going  from  under  me.  I  had  no  choice; 
so  thinks  I  to  myself,  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady, 
and  this  is  fair  persuadance.  'I  thank  your  honor,'  says 
I,  'for  the  loan  of  your  civility ;  and  I'll  take  your  kind 
offer/ 

"I  therefore  mounted  upon  the  back  of  the  eagle, 
and  held  him  tight  enough  by  the  throat,  and  up  he  flew 
in  the  air  like  a  lark.  Little  I  knew  the  trick  he  was 
going  to  serve  me.  Up — up — up,  God  knows  how  far  up 
he  flew.  'Why  then,'  said  I  to  him — thinking  he  did 
not  know  the  right  road  home — very  civilly,  because 
why  ?  I  was  in  his  power  entirely ;  'sir,'  says  I,  'please 
your  honor's  glory,  and  with  humble  submission  to  your 
better  judgment,  if  you'd  fly  down  a  bit,  you're  now  just 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       107 

over  my  cabin,  and  I  could  be  put  down  there,  and  many 
thanks  to  your  worship.' 

"'Arrali,  Dan/  said  he,  'do  you  think  me  a  fool? 
Look  down  the  next  field,  and  don't  you  see  two  men 
and  a  gun  ?  By  my  word  it  would  be  no  joke  ^o  be  shot 
this  way,  to  oblige  a  drunken  blackguard  that  I  picked 
up  off  of  a  could  stone  in  a  bog.'  'Bother  you,'  said  I 
to  myself,  but  I  did  not  speak  out,  for  where  was  the 
use?  Well,  sir,  up  he  kept  flying,  flying,  and  I  asking 
him  every  minute  to  fly  down,  and  all  to  no  use.  'Where 
in  the  world  are  you  going,  sir?'  says  I  to  him.  'Hold 
your  tongue,  Dan,'  says  he:  'mind  your  own  business, 
and  don't  be  interfering  with  the  business  of  other  peo- 
ple.' 'Faith,  this  is  my  business,  I  think,'  says  I.  'Be 
quiet,  Dan,'  says  he :  so  I  said  no  more. 

"At  last  where  should  we  come  to,  but  to  the  moon 
itself.  Now  you  can't  see  it  from  this,  but  there  is,  or 
there  was  in  my  time,  a  reaping-hook  sticking  out  of 
the  side  of  the  moon,  this  way  (drawing  the  figure  thus 
Cl  on  the  ground  with  the  end  of  his  stick). 

"  'Dan,'  said  the  eagle,  'I'm  tired  with  this  long  fly ;  I 
had  no  notion  'twas  so  far.'  'And  my  lord,  sir,'  said  I, 
'who  in  the  world  axed  you  to  fly  so  far — was  it  I  ?  Did 
not  I  beg  and  pray  and  beseech  you  to  stop  half  an  hour 
ago  ?'  'There's  no  use  talking,  Dan,'  said  he ;  'I'm  tired 
bad  enough,  so  you  must%get  off,  and  sit  down  on  the 
moon  until  I  rest  myself.'  'Is  it  sit  down  on  the  moon  ?' 
said  I;  'is  it  upon  that  little  round  thincr,  then?  why, 
then,  sure  I'd  fall  off  in  a  minute,  and  be  kilt  and  spilt, 
and  smashed  all  to  bits ;  you  are  a  vile  deceiver — so  you 
are.'  'Not  at  all,  Dan,'  said  he ;  'you  can  catch  fast  hold 
of  the  reaping-hook  that's  stickinsr  out  of  the  side  of  the 
moon,  and  'twill  keep  you  up.'  'I  won't  then,'  said  I. 
'May  be  not,'  said  he,  quite  quiet.  If  you  don't,  my 
man,  I  shall  just  give  you  a  shake,  and  one  slap  of  my 
wing,  and  send  you  down  to  the  ground,  where  every 
bone  in  your  body  will  be  smashed  as  small  as  a  drop 


;08        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

of  dew  on  a  cabbage-leaf  in  the  morning.'  'Why,  then, 
I'm  in  a  fine  way/  said  I  to  myself,  'ever  to  have  come 
along  with  the  likes  of  you;'  and  so  giving  him  a  hearty 
curse  in  Irish,  for  fear  he'd  know  what  I  said,  I  got  off 
his  back  with  a  heavy  heart,  took  hold  of  the  reaping- 
hook,  and  sat  down  upon  the  moon,  and  a  mighty  cold 
seat  it  was,  I  can  tell  you  that. 

"When  he  had  me  there  fairly  landed,  he  turned  about 
on  me,  and  said:  'Good-morning  to  you,  Daniel 
O'Kourke/  said  he ;  'I  think  I've  nicked  you  fairly  now. 
You  robbed  my  nest  last  year'  ('twas  true  enough  for 
him,  but  how  he  found  it  out  is  hard  to  say),  'and  in 
return  you  are  freely  welcome  to  cool  your  heels  dan- 
gling upon  the  moon  like  a  cockthrow/ 

"  'Is  that  all,  and  is  this  the  way  you  leave  me,  you 
brute,  you,'  says  I.  'You  ugly,  unnatural  baste,  and  is 
this  the  way  you  serve  me  at  last?  Bad  luck  to  your- 
self, with  your  hook'd  nose,  and  to  all  your  breed,  you 
blackguard.'  'Twas  all  to  no  manner  of  use ;  he  spread 
out  his  great  big  wings,  burst  out  a  laughing,  and  flew 
away  like  lightning.  I  bawled  after  him  to  stop;  but 
I  might  have  called  and  bawled  for  ever,  without  his 
minding  me.  Away  he  went,  and  I  never  saw  him  from 
that  day  to  this — sorrow  fly  away  with  him !  You  may 
be  sure  I  was  in  a  disconsolate  condition,  and  kept  roar- 
ing out  for  the  bare  grief,  when  all  at  once  a  door  opened 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  moon,  creaking  on  its  hinges 
as  if  it  had  not  been  opened  for  a  month  before,  I  sup- 
pose they  never  thought  of  greasing  'em,  and  out  there 
walks — who  do  you  think,  but  the  man  in  the  moon  him- 
self ?  I  knew  him  by  his  bush. 

•'  'Good  morrow  to  you,  Daniel  O'Rourke/  said  he ; 
Tiow  do  you  do?'  'Very  well,  thank  your  honor/  said 
I.  'I  hope  your  honor's  well.'  'What  brought  you  here, 
Dan  ?'  said  he.  So  I  told  him  how  I  was  a  little  over- 
taken in  liquor  at  the  master's,  and  how  I  was  cast  on  a 
dissolute  island,  and  how  I  lost  my  way  in  the  bog,  ari 


how  the  thief  of  an  eagle  promised  to  fly  me  out  of  it, 
and  how,  instead  of  that,  he  had  fled  me  up  to  the  moon. 
"  'Dan/  said  the  man  in  the  moon,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff  when  I  was  done,  'you  must  not  stay  here/  'In- 
deed, sir/  says  I,  "tis  much  against. my  will  I'm  here 
at  all;  but  how  am  I  to  go  hack?'  'That's  your  busi- 
ness/ said  he;  'Dan,  mine  is  to  tell  you  that  here  you 
must  not  stay;  so  be  off  in  less  than  no  time.'  'I'm 
doing  no  harm/  says  I,  'only  holding  on  hard  by  the 
reaping-hook,  lest  I  fall  off.'  'That's  what  you  must 
not  do,  Dan/  says  he.  'Pray,  sir/  says  I,  'may  I  ask 
how  many  you  are  in  family,  that  you  would  not  give  a 
poor  traveller  lodging:  I'm  sure  'tis  not  so  often  you're 
troubled  with  strangers  coming  to  see  you,  for  'tis  a  long 
way.'  'I'm  by  myself,  Dan/  says  he;  *but  you'd  better 
let  go  the  reaping-hook/  'Faith,  and  with  your  leave/ 
says  I,  'I'll  not  let  go  the  grip,  and  the  more  you  bids 
me,  the  more  I  won't  let  go; — so  I  will.'  'You  had  brt- 
ter,  Dan/  says  he  again.  'Why,  then,  my  little  fellow/ 
says  I,  taking  the  whole  weight  of  him  with  my  eve  from 
head  to  foot,  'there  are  two  words  to  that  bargain ;  and 
I'll  not  budge,  but  you  may  if  you  like.'  'We'll  see  how 
that  is  to  be/  says  he ;  and  back  he  went,  giving  the  door 
such  a  great  bang  after  him  (for  it  was  plain  he  was 
huffed)  that  I  thought  the  moon  and  all  would  fall  down 
with  it. 

"Well,  I  was  preparing  myself  to  try  strength  with 
him,  when  back  again  he  comes,  with  the  kitchen  cleaver 
in  his  hand,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  he  gives  two 
bangs  to  the  handle  of  the  reaping-hook  that  was  keep- 
ing me  up,  and  whap!  it  came  in  two.  'Good-morning 
to  you,  Dan/  says  the  spiteful  little  old  blackguard, 
when  he  saw  me  cleanlv  falling  down  with  a  bit  of  the 
handle  in  my  hand ;  1  thank  you  for  your  visit,  and 
fair  weather  after  you,  Daniel.'  I  had  not  time  to  make 
any  answer  to  him.  for  I  was  tumbling  over  and  over, 
and  rolling  and  rolling,  at  the  rate  of  a  fox-hunt.  'God 


110        ItilSH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

help  me !'  says  I,  'but  this  is  a  pretty  pickle  for  a  decent 
man  to  be  seen  in  at  this  time  of  night:  I  am  now  sold 
fairly/  The  word  was  not  out  of  my  mouth  when,  whiz ! 
what  should  fly  by  close  to  my  ear  but  a  flock  of  wild 
geese,  all  the  way  from  my  own  bog  of  Ballyasheenogh, 
else  how  should  they  know  me?  The  ould  gander,  who 
was  their  general,  turning  about  his  head,  cried  out  to 
me,  'Is  that  you,  Dan?'  'The  same/  said  I,  not  a  bit 
daunted  now  at  what  he  said,  for  I  was  by  this  time  used 
to  all  kinds  of  lie  devilment,  and,  besides,  I  knew  him  of 
ould.  'Good-morrow  to  you/  says  he,  'Daniel  O'Eourke ; 
how  are  you  in  health  this  morning?'  *Very  well,  sir/ 
says  I,  'I  thank  you  kindly/  drawing  my  breath,  for  I 
was  mightily  in  want  of  some.  'I  hope  your  honor's  the 
same.'  'I  think  'tis  falling  you  are,  Daniel/  says  he. 
'You  may  say  that,  sir/  says  I.  'And  where  are  you 
going  all  the  way  so  fast?'  said  the  gander.  So  I  told 
him  how  I  had  taken  the  drop,  and  how  I  came  on  the 
island,  and  how  I  lost  my  way  in  the  bog,  and  how  the 
thief  of  an  eagle  flew  me  up  to  the  moon,  and  how  the 
man  in  the  moon  turned  me  out.  'Dan/  said  he,  Til 
save  you:  put  out  your  hand  and  catch  me  by  the  leg, 
and  I'll  fly  you  home/  'Sweet  is  your  hand  in  a  pitcher 
of  honey,  my  jewel/  says  I,  though  all  the  time  I  thought 
within  myself  that  I  don't  much  trust  you;  but  there 
was  no  help,  so  I  caught  the  gander  by  the  leg,  and 
away  I  and  the  other  geese  flew  after  him  fast  as  hops. 

"We  flew,  and  we  flew,  and  we  flew,  until  we  came 
right  over  the  wide  ocean.  I  knew  it  well,  for  I  saw 
Oape  Clear  to  my  right  hand,  sticking  up  out  of  the 
water.  'Ah,  my  lord/  said  I  to  the  goose,  for  I  thought 
it  best  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  my  head  any  way,  'fly 
to  land  if  you  please/  'It  is  impossible,  you  see,  Dan/ 
said  he,  'for  a  while,  because  you  see  we  are  going  to 
Arabia/  'To  Arabia !'  said  I ;  'that's  surely  some  place 
in  foreign  parts,  far  away.  Oh  !  Mr.  Goose :  why  then,  to 
be  sure,  I'm  a  man  to  be  pitied  among  you/  .'Whist, 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       111 

whist,  you  fool/  said  he,  Tiold  your  tongue;  I  tell  you 
Arabia  is  a  very  decent  sort  of  place,  as  like  West  Car- 
bery  as  one  egg  is  like  another,  only  there  is  a  little 
more  sand  there.' 

"Just  as  we  were  talking,  a  ship  hove  in  sight,  scud- 
ding so  beautiful  before  the  wind.  'Ah !  then,  sir/  said 
I,  'will  you  drop  me  on  the  ship,  if  you  please?'  'We 
are  not  fair  over  it/  said  he;  'if  I  dropped  you  now  you 
would  go  splash  into  the  sea.'  'I  would  not/  says  I ;  1 
know  better  than  that,  for  it  is  just  clean  under  us,  so 
let  me  drop  now  at  once/ 

"  'If  you  must,  you  must/  said  he ;  'there,  take  your 
own  way;'  and  he  opened  his  claw,  and  faith  he  was 
right — sure  enough  I  came  down  plump  into  the  very 
bottom  of  the  salt  sea !  Down  to  the  very  bottom  I  went, 
and  I  gave  myself  up  then  for  ever,  when  a  whalo 
walked  up  to  me,  scratching  himself  after  .his  night'a 
sleep,  and  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and  never  tht/ 
word  did  he  say,  but  lifting  up  his  tail,  he  splashed  me 
all  over  again  with  the  cold  salt  water  till  there  wasn't 
a  dry  stitch  upon  my  whole  carcass !  and  I  heard  some- 
body saying — 'twas  a  voice  I  knew,  too — 'Get  up,  you 
drunken  brute,  off  o'  that;'  and  with  that  I  woke  up, 
and  there*  was  Judy  with  a  tub  full  of  water,  which 
she  was  splashing  all  over  me — for,  rest  her  soul !  though 
she  was  a  good  wife,  she  never  could  bear  to  see  me  in 
drink,  and  had  a  bitter  hand  of  her  own. 

"  'Get  up/  said  she  again :  'and  of  all  places  in  the 
parish  would  ho  place  sarve  your  turn  to  lie  down  upon 
but  under  the  ould  walls  of  Carrigapooka  ?  an  uneasy 
resting  I  am  sure  you  had  of  it.'  And  sure  enough  I 
had :  for  I  was  fairly  bothered  out  of  my  senses  with 
eagles,  and  men  of  the  moons,  and  flying  ganders,  and 
whales,  driving  me  through  bogs,  and  up  to  the  moon, 
and  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  green  ocean.  If  I  was  in 
drink  ten  times  over,  long  would  it  be  before  I'd  lie 
down  in  the  same  spot  again,  I  know  that." 


112        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
THE  KILDARE  POOKA* 

PATRICK  KENNEDY 

MR.  H. E ,  when  he  was  alive,  used  to  live  a 

good  deal  in  Dublin,  and  he  was  once  a  great  while  out 
of  the  country  on  account  of  the  "ninety-eight"  business. 

But  the  servants  kept  on  in  the  big  house  at  Rath 

all  the  same  as  if  the  family  was  at  home.  Well,  they 
used  to  be  frightened  out  of  their  lives  after  going  to 
their  beds  with  the  banging  of  the  kitchen-door,  and 
the  clattering  of  fire-irons,  and  the  pots  and  plates 
and  dishes.  One  evening  they  sat  up  ever  so  long,  keep- 
ing one  another  in  heart  with  telling  stories  about  ghosts 
and  fetches,  and  that  when — what  would  you  have  of 
it  ? — the  little  scullery  boy  that  used  to  be  sleeping  over 
the  horses,  and  could  not  get  room  at  the  fire,  crept  into 
the  hot  hearth,  and  when  he  got  tired  listening  to  the 
stories,  sorra  fear  him,  but  he  fell  dead  asleep. 

Well  and  good,  after  they  were  all  gone  and  the 
kitchen  fire  raked  up,  he  was  woke  with  the  noise  of 
the  kitchen  door  opening,  and  the  trampling  of  an  ass 
on  the  kitchen  floor.  He  peeped  out,  and  what  should 
he  see  but  a  big  ass,  sure  enough,  sitting  on  his  cura- 
bingo  and  yawning  before  the  fire.  After  a  little  he 
looked  about  him,  and  began  scratching  his  ears  as  if 
he  was  quite  tired,  and  says  he,  "I  may  as  well  begin 
first  as  last."  The  poor  boy's  teeth  began  to  chatter  in 
his  head,  for  says  he,  "Now  he's  goin'  to  ate  me;"  but 
the  fellow  with  the  long  ears  and  tail  on  him  had  some- 
thing else  to  do.  He  stirred  the  fire,  and  then  he 
brought  in  a  pail  of  water  from  the  pump,  and  filled  a 
big  pot  that  he  put  on  the  fire  before  he  went  out.  He 
then  put  in  his  hand — foot,  I  mean — into  the  hot  hearth, 
and  pulled  out  the  little  boy.  He  let  a  roar  out  of  him 

*  Legendary  Fictions  of  the  Irish  Celts. — Macmillan. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       113 

with  the  fright,  but  the  pooka  only  looked  at;  him,  and 
thrust  out  his  lower  lip  to  show  how  little  he  valued 
him,  and  then  he  pitched  him  into  his  pew,  again. 

Well,  he  then  lay  down  before  the  fire  till  he  heard 
the  boil  coming  on  the  water,  and  maybe  there  wasn't 
a  plate,  or  a  dish,  or  a  spoon  on  the  dresser  that  he 
didn't  fetch  and  put  into  the  pot,  and  wash  and  dry 
the  whole  bilin'  of  'em  as  well  as  e'er  a  kitchen-maid 
from  that  to  Dublin  town.  He  then  put  all  of  them 
up  in  their  places  on  the  shelves;  and  if  he  didn't  give 
a  good  sweepin'  to  the  kitchen,  leave  it  till  again.  Then 
he  comes  and  sits  foment  the  boy,  let  down  one  of  his 
ears,  and  cocked  up  the  other,  and  gave  a  grin.  The 
poor  fellow  strove,  to  roar  out,  but  not  a  dheeg  'ud  come 
out  of  his  throat.  The  last  thing  the  pooka  done  was  to 
rake  up  the  fire,  and  walk  out,  giving  such  a  slap  oj 
the  door,  that  the  boy  thought  the  house  couldn't  help 
tumbling  down. 

Well,  to  be  sure  if  there  wasn't  a  hullabullo  next  morn- 
ing when  the  poor  fellow  told  his  story !  They  could 
talk  of  nothing  else  the  whole  day.  One  said  one  thing, 
another  said  another,  but  a  fat,  lazy  scullery  girl  said 
the  wittiest  thing  of  all.  "Musha!"  says  she,  "if 
the  pooka  does  be  cleaning  up  everything  that  way  when 
we  are  asleep,  what  should  we  be  slaving  ourselves  for 
doing  his  work  ?"  "Shu  gu  dheine"  *  says  another ; 
"them's  the  wisest  words  you  ever  said,  Kauth ;  it's  mee- 
self  won't  contradict  you." 

So  said,  so  done.  Not  a  bit  of  a  plate  or  dish  saw  a 
drop  of  water  that  evening,  and  not  a  besom  was  laid  on 
the  floor,  and  every  one  went  to  bed  soon  after  sundown. 
Next  morning  everything  was  as  fine  as  fine  in  the 
kitchen,  and  the  lord  mayor  might  eat  his  dinner  off  the 
flags.  It  was  great  ease  to  the  lazy  servants,  you  may 


*  Meant  for  seadh  fjo  delmhin — I.e.,  yes,  indeed. 


114        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

depend,  and  everything  went  on  well  till  a  foolhardy 
gag  of  a  boy  said  he  would  stay  up  one  night  and  have 
a  chat  with  the  pooka. 

He  was  a  little  daunted  when  the  door  was  thrown 
open  and  the  ass  marched  up  to  the  fire. 

"And  then,  sir,"  says  he,  at  last,  picking  up  courage, 
"if  it  isn't  taking  a  liberty,  might  I  ax  who  you  are,  and 
why  you  are  so  kind>as  to  do  half  of  the  day's  work  for 
the  girls  every  night?"  "No  liberty  at  all,"  says  the 
pooka,  says  he:  "I'll  tell  you,  and  welcome.  I  was  a 
servant  in  the  time  of  Squire  R's  father,  and  was  the 
laziest  rogue  that  ever  was  clothed  and  fed,  and  done 
nothing  for  it..  When  my  time  came  for  the  other 
world,  this  is  the  punishment  was  laid  on  me — to  come 
here  and  do  all  this  labor  every  night,  and  then  go  out 
in  the  cold.  It  isn't  so  bad  in  the  fine  weather;  but  if 
you  only  knew  what  it  is  to  stand  with  your  head  be- 
tween your  legs,  facing  the  storm,  from  midnight  to  sun- 
rise, on  a  bleak  winter  night."  "And  could  we  do  any- 
thing for  your  comfort,  my  poor  fellow?"  says  the  boy. 
"Musha,  I  don't  know,"  says  the  pooka ;  "but  I  think  a 
good  quilted  frieze  coat  would  help  to  keep  the  Kfe  in 
me  them  long  nights."  "Why  then,  in  troth,  we'd  be 
the  ungratefullest  of  people  if  we  didn't  feel  for 
you." 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  next  night  but  two 
the  boy  was  there  again;  and  if  he  didn't  delight  the 
poor  pooka,  holding  up  a  fine  warm  coat  before  him,  it's 
no  mather !  Betune  the  pooka  and  the  man,  his  legs  was 
got  into  the  four  arms  of  it,  and  it  was  buttoned  down 
the  breast  and  the  belly,  and  he  was  so  pleased  he  walked 
up  to  the  glass  to  see  how  he  looked.  "Well,"  says  he, 
"it's  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turning.  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you  and  your  fellow-servants.  You  have  made 
me  happy  at  last.  Good-night  to  you." 

So  he  was  walking  out,  but  the  other  cried,  "Och! 
sure  you're  going  too  soon.  What  about  the  washing  and 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       115 

sweeping  ?"  "Ah,  you  may  tell  the  girls  that  they 
must  now  get  their  turn.  My  punishment  was  to  last 
rill  I  was  thought  worthy  of  a  reward  for  the  way  I 
done  my  duty.  You'll  see  me  no  more."  And  no  more 
they  did,  and  right  sorry  they  were  for  having  been  if 
such  a  hurry  to  reward  the  ungrateful  pooka. 


THE    SOLITARY    FAIRIES 


THE  BANSHEE 

[THE  banshee  (from  ban  [6eon],  a  woman,  and  shee 
[sidhe],  a  fairy)  is  an  attendant  fairy  that  follows  the  old 
families,  and  none  but  them,  and  wails  before  a  death. 
Many  have  seen  her  as  she  goes  wailing  and  clapping  her 
hands.  The  keen  [caoixe],  the  funeral  cry  of  the  peasantry  t 
is  said  to  be  an  imitation  of  her  cry.  When  more  than  one 
banshee  is  present,  and  they  wail  and  sing  in  chorus,  it  is 
for  the  death  of  some  holy  or  great  one.  An  omen  that 
sometimes  accompanies  the  banshee  is  the  coach-a-bower 
[coiste-bodhar] — an  immense  black  coach,  mounted  by  a  cof- 
fin, and  drawn  by  headless  horses  driven  by  a  Dullahan. 
It  will  go  rumbling  to  your  door,  and  if  you  open  it,  accord- 
ing to  Croker,  a  basin  of  blood  will  be  thrown  in  your  face. 
These  headless  phantoms  are  found  elsewhere  than  in  Ire- 
land. In  1807  two  of  the  sentries  stationed  outside  St. 
James'  Park  died  of  fright.  A  headless  woman,  the  upper 
part  of  her  body  naked,  used  to  pass  at  midnight  and  scale 
the  railings.  After  a  time  the  sentries  were  stationed  no 
longer  at  the.haunted  spot.  In  Norway  the  heads  of  corpses 
were  cut  off  to  make  their  ghosts  feeble.  Thus  came  into 
existence  the  Dullahans,  perhaps ;  unless,  indeed,  they  are 
descended  from  that  Irish  giant  who  swam  across  the  Chan- 
nel with  his  head  in  his  teeth.-irEo.] 

HOW  THOMAS  CONNOLLY  MET  THE 
BANSHEE 

J.  TODHUNTEE 

Aw,  the  banshee,  sir  ?  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  striving  to 
tell  ye,  I  was  going  home  from  work  one  day,  from  Mr. 
Cassidy's  that  I  tould  ye  of,  in  the  dusk  o'  the  evening. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       11? 

I  had  more  nor  a  mile — aye,  it  was  nearer  two  mile — to 
thrack  to,  where  I  was  lodgin'  with  a  dacent  widdy 
woman  I  knew,  Biddy  Maguire  be  name,  so  as  to  be  near 
me  work. 

It  was  the  first  week  in  November,  an'  a  lonesome  road 
I  had  to  travel,  an'  dark  enough,  wid  threes  above  it; 
an'  about  half-ways  there  was  a  bit  of  a  brudge  I  had 
to  cross,  over  one  o'  them  little  sthrames  that  runs  into 
the  Doddher.  I  walked  on  in  the  middle  iv  the  road, 
for  there  was  no  toe-path  at  that  time,  Misther  Harry, 
nor  for  many  a  long  day  afther  that;  but,  as  I  was 
sayin',  I  walked  along  till  I  come  nigh  upon  the  brudge, 
where  the  road  was  a  bit  open,  an'  there,  right  enough, 
I  seen  the  hog's  back  o'  the  ould-fashioned  brudge  that 
used  to  be  there  till  it  was  pulled  down,  an'  a  white  mist 
steamin'  up  out  o'  the  wather  all  around  it. 

Well,  now,  Misther  Harry,  often  as  I'd  passed  by  the 
place  before,  that  night  it  seemed  sthrange  to  me,  an* 
like  a  place  ye  might  see  in  a  dhrame;  an'  as  I  come 
up  to  it  I  began  to  feel  a  could  wind  blowin'  through 
the  hollow  o'  me  heart.  "Musha  Thomas,"  sez  I  to  me- 
self ,  "is  it  yerself  that's  in  it  ?"  sez  I ;  "or,  if  it  is,  what's 
the  matter  wid  ye  at  all,  at  all  ?"  sez  I ;  so  I  put  a  bould 
face  on  it,  -an'  I  made  a  sthruggle  to  set  one  leg  afore 
the  other,  on  til  I  came  to  the  rise  o'  the,,  brudge.  And 
there,  God  be  good  to  us !  in  a  cantle  o'  the  wall  I  seen 
an  ould  woman,  as  I  thought,  sittin'  on  her  hunkers,  all 
crouched  together,  an'  her  head  bowed  down,  seeminly 
in  the  greatest  affliction. 

Well,  sir,  I  pitied -the  ould  craythur,  an'  thought  I 
wasn't  worth  a  thraneen,  for  the  mortial  fright  I  was 
in,  I  up  an'  sez  to  her,  "That's  a  cowld  lodgin'  for  ye, 
ma'am."  Well,  the  sorra  ha'porth  she  eez  to  that,  nor 
tuk  no  more  notice  o*  me  than  if  I  hadn't  let  a  word 
out  o'  me,  but  kep'  rockin'  herself  to  an'  fro,  as  if  her 
heart  was  breakin ;  so  I  sez  to  her  again,  "Eh,  ma'am,  is 
there  any  thin'  the  matther  wid  ye?"  An'  I  made  for 


118        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

to  touch  her  on  the  shouldher,  on'y  somethin'  stopt  me, 
ior  as  I  looked  closer  at  her  I  saw  she  was  no  more  an 
ould  woman  nor  she  was  an  ould  cat.  The  first  thing 
I  tuk  notice  to,  Misther  Harry,  was  her  hair,  that  was 
sthreelin'  down  over  her  showldhers,  an'  a  good  yard  on 
the  ground  on  aich  side  of  her.  0,  be  the  hoky  farmer, 
but  that  was  the  hair !  The  likes  of  it  I  never  seen  on 
mortial  woman,  young  or  ould,  before  nor  sense.  It 
grew  as  sthrong  out  of  her  as  out  of  e'er  a  young  slip 
of  a  girl  ye  could  see ;  but  the  color  of  it  was  a  misthery 
to  describe.  The  first  squint  I  got  of  it  I  thought  it  sil- 
very gray,  like  an  ould  crone's ;  but  when  I  got  up  beside 
her  I  saw,  be  the  glance  o'  the  sky,  it  was  a  soart  iv  an 
Iscariot  color,  an'  a  shine  out  of  it  like  floss  silk.  It 
ran  over  her  showldhers  and  the  two  shapely  arms  she 
was  lanin'  her  head  on,  for  all  the  world  like  Mary  Mag- 
dalen's in  a  picther;  and  then  I  persaved  that  the  gray 
cloak  and  the  green  gownd  undhernaith  it  was  made  of 
no  earthly  matarial  I  ever  laid  eyes  on.  Now,  I  needn't 
tell  ye,  sir,  that  I  seen  all  this  in  the  twinkle  of  a  bed- 
post— long  as  I  take  to  make  the  narration  of  it.  So  I 
made  a  step  back  from  her,  an'  "The  Lord  be  betune  us 
an'  harm  !"  sez  I,  out  loud,  an'  wid  that  I  blessed  meself. 
Well,  Misther  Harry,  the  word  wasn't  out  o'  me  mouth 
afore  she  turned  her  face  on  me.  Aw,  Misther  Harry, 
but  'twas  that  was  the  awfullest  apparation  ever  I  seen, 
the  face  of  her  as  she  looked  up  at  me !  God  forgive  me 
for  sayin'  it,  but  'twas  more  like  the  face  of  the  "Axy 
Homo"  bey  and  in  Marlboro'  Sthreet  Chapel  nor  like  any 
face  I  could  mintion — as  pale  as  a  corpse,  an'  a  most  o' 
freckles  on  it,  like  the  freckles  on  a  turkey's  egg ;  an'  the 
two  eyes  sewn  in  wid  red  thread,  from  the  terrible  power 
o'  crying  the'  had  to  do;  an'  such  a  pair  iv  eyes  as  the' 
wor,  Misther  Harry,  as  blue  as  two  forget-me-nots,  an' 
as  cowld  as  the  moon  in  a  bog-hole  of  a  frosty  night,  an* 
4  dead-an'-live  look  in  them  that  sent  a  cowld  shiver 
through  the  marra  o'  me  bones.  Be  the  mortial!  ye 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES       119 

could  ha'  rung  a  taycupful  o'  cowld  paspiration  out  o* 
the  hair  o'  me  head  that  minute,  so  ye  could.  Well,  I 
thought  the  life  'ud  lave  me  intirely  when  she  riz  up 
from  her  hunkers,  till,  bedad!  she  looked  mostly  as 
tall  as  Nelson's  Pillar ;  an'  wid  the  two  eyes  gazin'  back 
at  me,  an'  her  two  arms  stretched  out  before  hor,  an'  a 
keine  out  of  her  that  riz  the  hair  o'  me  scalp  till  it  was 
as  stiff  as  the  hog's  bristles  in  a  new  hearth  broom,  away 
she  glides — glides  round  the  angle  o'  the  brudge,  an' 
down  with  her  into  the  sthrame  that  ran  undhernaith 
it.  'Twas  then  I  began  to  suspect  what  she  was.  "Wisha, 
Thomas!"  says  I  to  meself,  sez  I;  an'  I  made  a  great 
struggle  to  get  me  two  legs  into  a  throt,  in  spite  o'  the 
spavin  o'  fright  the  pair  o'  them  wor  in;  an'  how  I 
brought  meself  home  that  same  night  the  Lord  in  heaven 
only  knows,  for  I  never  could  tell;  but  I  must  ha' 
tumbled  agin  the  door,  and  shot  in  head  foremost  into 
the  middle  o'  the  flure,  where  I  lay  in  a  dead  swoon  for 
mostly  an  hour ;  and  the  first  I  knew  was  Mrs.  Maguire 
stannin'  over  me  with  a  jorum  o'  punch  she  was  pourin* 
down  me  throath  (throat),  to  bring  back  the  life  into 
me,  an'  me  head  in  a  pool  of  cowld  wather  she  dashed 
over  me  in  her  first  fright.  "Arrah,  Mister  Connolly," 
shashee,  "what  ails  ye  ?"  shashee,  "to  put  the  scare  on  a 
lone  woman  like  that?"  shashee.  "Am  I  in  this  world 
or  the  next?" "sez  I.  "Musha!  where  else  would  ye  be 
on'y  here  in  my  kitchen?"  shashee.  "0,  glory  be  to 
God !"  sez  I,  "but  I  thought  'I  was  in  Purgathory  at  the 
laste,  not  to  mintion  an  uglier  place,"  sez  I,  "only  it's 
too  cowld  I  find  meself,  an'  not  too  hot,"  sez  I.  "Faix, 
an'  maybe  ye  wor  more  nor  half-ways  there,  on'y  for 
me,"  shashee;  "but  what's  come  to  you  at  all,  at  all? 
Is  it  your  fetch  ye  seen,  Mister  Connolly?"  "Aw,  na- 
boclish !"  *  sez  I.  "Never  mind  what  I  seen,"  sez  I. 
So  be  degrees  I  began  to  come  to  a  little ;  an*  that's  the 
way  I  met  the  banshee,  Misther  Harry ! 

*  Na  6ac  leis — i.e..  don't  i»\nd  it. 


120        IBISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"But  how  did  you  know  it  really  was  the  banshee 
after  all,  Thomas  ?" 

"Begor,  sir,  I  knew  the  apparation  of  her  well  enough ; 
but  'twas  confirmed  by  a  sarcumstance  that  occurred  the 
same  time.  There  was  a  Misther  O'lSTales  was  come  on  a 
visit,  ye  must  know,  to  a  place  in  the  neighborhood — 
one  o'  the  ould  O'Nales  iv  the  county  Tyrone,  a  rale 
ould  Irish  family — an'  the  banshee  was  heard  keening 
round  the  house  that  same  night,  be  more  then  one  that 
was  in  it ;  an'  sure  enough,  Misther  Harry,  he  was  found 
dead  in  his  bed  the  next  mornin'.  So  if  it  wasn't  the 
banshee  I  seen  that  time*  I'd  like  to  k'now  what  else  it 
could  a'  been." 


For  the  Death  of  Sir  Maurice  Fitzgerald,  Knight,  of  Kerry. 

who  was  killed  in  Flanders,  1642 

t 

FROM  THE  IRISH,  BY  CLARENCE  MANGAX 

THERE  was  lifted  up  one  voice  of  woe, 

One  lament  of  more  than  mortal  grief, 
Through  the  wide  South  to  and  fro, 

For  a  fallen  Chief. 
In  the  dead  of  night  that  cry  thrilled  through  me, 

I  looked  out  upon  the  midnight  air; 
My  own  soul  was  all  as  gloomy, 

As  I  knelt  in  prayer. 

O'er  Loch  Gur,  that  night,  once — twice11— yea,  thric* — 

Passed  a  wail  of  anguish  for  the  Brave 
That  half  curled  into  ice 

Its  moon-mirroring  wave. 
Then  up  rose  a  many-toned  wild  hymn  in 

Choral  swell  from  Ogra's  dark  ravine, 
And  Mogeely's  Phantom  Women 

Mourned  the  Geraldiue ! 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK   TALES       131 

Far  on  Carah  Mona's  emerald  plains 

Shrieks  and  sighs  were  blended  many  hours, 
And  Fermpy  in  fitful  strains 

Answered  from  her  towers. 
Youghal,  Keenalmeaky,  Eemokilly, 

Mourned  in  concert,  and  their  piercing  keen 
Woke-  to  wondering  life  the  stilly 

Glens  of  Inchiqueen. 

From  Loughmoe  to  yellow  Dunanore 

There  was  fear ;  the  traders-  of  Tralee 
Gathered  up  their  golden  store, 

And  prepared  to  flee; 
For,  in  ship  and  hall  from  night  till  morning, 

Showed  the  first  faint  beamings  of  the  sun, 
All  the  foreigners  heard  the  warning 

Of  the  Dreaded  One ! 

"This,"  they  spake,  "portendeth  death  to  us, 

If  we  fly  not  swiftly  from  our  fate  I" 
Self -conceited  idiots !  thus 

Ravingly  to  prate ! 
Not  for  base-born  higgling  Saxon  trucksters 

Ring  laments  like  those  by  shore  and  sea ! 
Not  for  churls  with  souls  like  hucksters 

Waileth  our  Banshee ! 

For  the  high  Milesian  race  alone 

Ever  flows  the  music  of  her  woe ! 
For  slain  heir  to  bygone  throne, 

And  for  Chief  laid  low! 
Hark !  .  .   .  Again,  methinks,  I  hea  r  her  weeping 

Yonder !    Is  she  near  me  now.  as  then  ? 
Or  was  but  the  night-wind  sweeping 

Down  the  hollow  glen  ? 


122        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
THE  BANSHEE  OF  THE  MAC  CAKTHYS 

T.  CROFTOX   CHOKER 

CHARLES  MAC  CARTHY  was,  in  the  year  1749,  the 
only  surviving  son  of  a  very  numerous  family.  His 
father  died  when  he  was  little  more  than  twenty,  leaving 
him  the  Mac  Carthy  estate,  not  much  encumbered,,  con- 
sidering that  it  was  an  Irish  one.  Charles  was  gay, 
handsome,  unfettered  either  by  poverty,  a  father,  or 
guardians,  and  therefore  was  not,  at  the  age  of  one-and- 
twenty,  a  pattern  of  regularity  and  virtue.  In  plain 
terms,  he  was  an  exceedingly  dissipated — I  fear  I  may 
cay  debauched — young  man.  His  companions  were,  aa 
may  be  supposed,  of  the  higher  classes  of  the  youth  in 
his  neighborhood,  and,  in  general,  of  those  whose  for- 
tunes were  larger  than  his  own,  whose  dispositions  to 
pleasure  were,  therefore,  under  still  less  restrictions,  and 
in  whose  example  he  found  at  once  an  incentive  and  an 
apology  for  his  irregularities.  Besides,  Ireland,  a  pl^ce 
to  this  day  not  very  remarkable  for  the  coolness  and 
steadiness  of  its  youth,  was  then  one  of  the  cheapest 
countries  in  the  world  in  most  of  those  articles  which 
money  supplies  for  the  indulgence  of  the  passions.  The 
odious  exciseman-1— with  his  portentous  book  in  one  hand, 
his  unrelenting  pen  held  in  the  other,  or  stuck  beneath 
his  hat-band,  and  the  ink-bottle  ('black  emblem  of  the 
informer')  dangling  from  his  waistcoat-button — went 
not  then  from  ale-house  to  ale-house,  denouncing  all 
those  patriotic  dealers  in  spirits,  who  preferred  selling 
whiskey,  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  English  laws 
(but  to  elude  them),  to  retailing  that  poisonous  liquor, 
which  derived  its  name1  from  the  British  "Parliament" 
that  compelled  its  circulation  among  a  reluctant  people. 
Or  if  the  gauger — recording  angel  of  the  law — wrote 
down  the  peccadillo  of  a  publican,  he  dropped  a  tear 
upon  the  word,  and  blotted  it  out  for  ever !  For,  wel- 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       123 

come  to  the  tables  of  their  hospitable  neighbors,  the 
guardians  of  the  excise,  where  they  existed  at  all,  scru- 
pled to  abridge  those  luxuries  which  they  freely  shared ; 
and  thus  the  competition  in  the  market  between  the 
smuggler,  wha  incurred  little  hazard,  and  the  personage 
ycleped  fair  trader,  who  enjoyed  little  protection,  made 
Ireland  a  land  flowing,  not  merely  with  milk  and  honey, 
but  with  whiskey  and  wine.    In  the  enjoyments  supplied 
by  these,  and  in  the  many  kindred  pleasures  to  which 
frail  youth  is  but  too  prone,  Charles  Mac  Carthy  in- 
dulged to  such  a  degree,  that  just  about  the  time  when 
he  had  completed  his  four-and-twentieth  year,  after  a 
week  of  great  excesses,  he  was  seized  with  a  violent  fever, 
which,  from  its  malignity,  and  the  weakness   of  his 
frame,  left  scarcely  a  hope  of  his  recovery.    His  mother, 
who  had  at  first  made  many  efforts  to  check  his  vices, 
and  at  last  had  been  obliged  to  look  on  at  his  rapid 
progress  to  ruin  in  silent  despair,  watched  day  and  night 
at  his  pillow.     The  anguish  of  parental  feeling  was 
blended  with  that  still  deeper  misery  which  those  only 
know  who  have  striven  hard  to  rear  in  virtue  and  piety 
a  beloved  and  favorite  child;  have  found  him  grow 
up  all  that  their  hearts  could  desire,  until  he  reached 
manhood;  and  then,  when  their  pride  was  highest,  and 
their  hopes  almost  ended  in  the  fulfilment  of  their  fond- 
est expectations,  have  seen-  this  idol  of  their  affections 
plunge  headlong  into  a  course  of  reckless  profligacy, 
and,  after  a  rapid  career  of  vice,  hang  upon  the  verge  of 
eternity,  without  the  leisure  or  the  power  of  repentance. 
Fervently  she  prayed  that,  if  his  life  could  not  be  spared, 
at  least  the  delirium,  which  continued  with  increasing 
violence  from  the  first  few  hours  of  his  disorder,  might 
vanish  before  death,  and  leave  enough  of  light  and  of 
calm  for  making  his  peace  with  offended  Heaven.    Aftei 
several  days,  however,  nature  seemed  quite  exhausted, 
and  he  sunk  into  a  state  too  like  death  to  be  mistaken 
for  the  repose  of  sleep.    His  face  had  that  pale,  glossy, 


124        IRISH    FAIRY  AXD  FOLK  TALES 

marble  look,  which  is  in  general  so  sure  a  symptom  that 
life  has  left  its  tenement  of  clay.  His  eyes  were  closed 
and  sunk;  the  lids  having  that  compressed  and  stif- 
fened appearance  which  seemed  to  indicate  that  some 
friendly  hand  had  done  its  last  office.  The  lips,  half 
closed  and  perfectly  ashy,  discovered  just  so  much  of  the 
teeth  as  to  give  to  the  features  of  death  their  most 
ghastly,  but  most  impressive  look.  He  lay  upon  his 
back,  with  his  hands  stretched  beside  him,  quite  motion- 
less; and  his  distracted  mother,  after  repeated  trials. 
could  discover  not  the  least  symptom  of  animation.  The 
'medical  man  who  attended,  having  tried  the  usual  modes 
for  ascertaining  the  presence  of  life,  declared  at  last  his 
opinion  that  it  was  flown,  and -prepared  to  depart  from 
the  house  of  mourning.  His  horse  was  seen  to  come  to 
the  door.  A  crowd  of  people  who  were  collected  before 
the  windows,  or  scattered  in  groups  on  the  lawn  in  front, 
gathered  around  when  the  door  opened.  These  were 
tenants,  fosterers,  and  poor  relations  of  the  family,  with 
others  attracted  by  affection,  or  by  that  mterest  which 
partakes  of  curiosity,  but  is  something  more,  and^which 
collects  the  lower  ranks  round  a  house  where  a  ]a{£ssan 
being  is  in  his  passage  to  another  world.  They  saw  the 
professional  man  come  out  from  the  hall  door  and 
approach  his  horse ;  and  while  slowly,  and  with  a  melan- 
choly air,  he  prepared  to  mount,  they  clustered  round 
him  with  inquiring  and  wistful  looks.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken,  but  their  meaning  could  not  be  misunderstood ; 
and  the  physician,  when  he  had  got  into  his  saddle,  and 
while  the  servant  was  still  holding  the  bridle  as  if  to 
delay  him,  and  was  looking  anxiously  at  his  face  as  if 
expecting  that  he  would  relieve  the  general  suspense, 
shook  his  head,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "It's  all  over, 
James ;"  and  moved  slowly  away.  The  moment  he  had 
spoken,  the  women  present,  who  were  very  numerous, 
uttered  a  shrill  cry,  which,  having  been  sustained  for 
about  half  a  minute,  fell  suddenly  into  a  full,  loud, 


IRISH   FAIRY   AND   FOLK    TALES       125 

continued,  and  discordant  but  plaintive  wailing,- above 
which  occasionally  were  heard  the  deep  sounds  of  a 
man's  voice,  sometimes  in  deep  sobs,  sometimes  in  more 
distinct  exclamations  of  sorrow.  This  was  Charles's 
foster-brother,  who  moved  about  the  crowd,  now  clap- 
ping his  hands,  now  rubbing  them  together  in  an  agony 
of  grief.  The  poor  fellow  had  been  Charles's  play- 
mate and  companion  when  a  boy,  and  afterward  his 
servant;  had  always  been  distinguished  by  his  peculiar 
regard,  and  loved  his  young  master  as  much,  at  least,  as 
he  did  his  own  life. 

When  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy  became  convinced  that  the 
blow  was  indeed  struck,  and  that  her  beloved  son  was 
'  sent  to  his  last  account,  even  in  the  blossoms  of  his  sin. 
she  remained  for  some  time  gazing  with  fixedness  upon 
his  cold  features ;  then,  as  if  something  had  suddenly 
touched  the  string  of  her  tenderest  a'ffections,  tear  after 
tear  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  pale  with  anxiety  and 
watching.  Still  she  continued  looking  at  her  son,  ap- 
parently unconscious  that  she  was  weeping,  without  once 
lifting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  until  reminded 
of  the  sad  duties  which  the  custom  of  the  country  im- 
posed upon  her,  by  the  crowd  of  females  belonging  to 
the  better  class  of  the  peasantry,  who  now,  crying  audi- 
bly, nearly  filled  the  apartment.  She  then  withdrew, 
to  give  directions  for  the  ceremony  of  waking,  and  for 
supplying  the  numerous  visitors  of  all  ranks  with  the 
refreshments  usual  on  these  melancholy  occasions. 
Though  her  voice  was  scarcely  heard,  and  though  no  one 
saw  her  but  the  servants  and  one  or  two  old  followers 
of  the  family,  who  assisted  her  in  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments, everything  was  conducted  with  the  greatest  regu- 
larity; and  though  she  made  no  effort  to  check  her 
sorrows  they  never  once  suspended  her  attention,  now 
more  than  ever  required  to  preserve  order  in  her  house- 
hold, which,  in  this  season  of  calamity,  but  for  her 
would  have  been  all  confusion. 


126        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

The  night  was  pretty  far  advanced;  the  boisterous 
lamentations  which  had  prevailed  during  part  of  the 
day  in  and  about  the  house  had  given  place  to  a  solemn 
and  mournful  stillness;  and  Mrs.  Mae  Carthy,  whose 
heart,  notwithstanding  her  long  fatigue  and  watching, 
was  yet  too  sore  for  sleep,  was  kneeling  in  fervent  prayer 
in  a  chamber  adjoining  that  of  her  son.  Suddenly  her 
devotions  were  disturbed  by  an  unusual  noise,  proceed- 
ing from  the  persons  who  were  watching  round  the 
body.  First  there  was  a  low  murmur,  then  all  was 
silent,  as  if  the  movements  of  those  in  the  chamber 
were  checked  by  a  sudden  panic,  and  then  a  loud  cry 
of  terror  burst  from  all  within.  The  door  of  the  cham- 
ber was  thrown  open,  and  all  who  were  not  overturned 
in  the  press  rushed  wildly  into  the  passage  which  led 
to  the  stairs,  and  into  which  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy's  room 
opened.  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy  made  her  way  through  the 
crowd  into  her  son's  chamber,  where  she  found  him 
sitting  up  in  the  bed,  and  looking  vacantly  around,  like 
one  risen  from  the  grave.  The  glare  thrown  upon  his 
sunk  features  and  thin,  lathy  frame  gave  an  unearthly 
horror  to  his  whole  aspect.  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy  was  a 
woman  of  some  firmness;  but  she  was  a  woman,  and 
not  quite  free  from  the  superstitions  of  her  country. 
She  dropped  on  her  knees,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  be- 
gan to  pray  aloud.  The  form  before  her  moved  only 
its  lips,  and  barely  uttered  "Mother"  v;  but  though  the 
pale  lips  moved,  as  if  there  was  a  design  to  finish  the 
sentence,  the  tongue  refused  its  office.  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy 
sprung  forward,  and  catching  the  arm  of  her  son,  ex- 
claimed, "Speak!  in  the  name  of  God  and  His  saints, 
speak !  Are  you  alive  ?" 

He  turned  to  her  slowly,  and  said,  speaking  still  with 
apparent  difficulty,  "Yes,  my  mother,  alive,  and — but  sit 
down  and  collect  yourself;  I  have  that  to  tell  which 
will' astonish  you  still  more  than  what  you  have  seen." 
He  leaned  back  uponjiis  pillow,  and  while  his  mother 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK   TALES       127 

remained  kneeling  by  the  bedside,  holding  one  of  his 
hands  clasped  in  hers,  and  gazing  on  him  with  the  look 
of  one  who  distrusted  all  her  senses,  he  proceeded :  "Do 
not  interrupt  me  until  I  have  done.  I  wish  to  speak 
while  the  excitement  of  returning  life  is  upon  me,  as 
I  know  I  shall  soon  need  much  repose.  Of  the  com- 
mencement of  my  illness,  I  have  only  a  confused  recol- 
lection; but  within  the  last  twelve  hours  I  have  been 
before  the  judgment-seat  of  God.  Do  not  stare  incredu- 
imsly  on  me — 'tis  as  true  as  have  been  my  crimes,  and 
as,  I  trust,  shall  be  repentance.  I  saw  the  awful  Judge 
arrayed  in  all  the  terrors  which  invest  him  when  mercy 
gives  place  to-  justice.  The  dreadful  pomp  of  offended 
omnipotence,  I  saw — I  remember.  It  is  fixed  here; 
printed  on  my  brain  in  characters  indelible;  but  it 
passeth  human  language.  What  I  can  describe  I  will — I 
may  speak  it  briefly.  It  is  enough  to  say,  I  was  weighed 
in  the  balance,  and  found  wanting.  The  irrevocable 
sentence  was  upon  the  point  of  being  pronounced;  the 
eye  of  my  Almighty  Judge,  which  had  already  glanced 
upon  me,  half  spoke  my  doom;  when  I  observed  the 
guardian  saint,  to  whom  you  so  often  directed  my  pray^ 
ers  when  I  was  a  child,  looking  at  me  with  an  expres- 
sion of  benevolence  and  compassion.  I  stretched  forth 
my  hands  to  him,  and  besought  his  intercession.  I  im- 
plored that  one  year,  one  month,  might  be  given  to 
me  on  earth  to  do  penance  and  atonement  for  my  trans- 
gressions. He  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  my  Judge, 
and  supplicated  for  mercy.  Oh !  never — not  if  I  should 
pass  through  ten  thousand  successive  states  of  being — 
never,  for  eternity,  shall  I  forget  the  horrors  of  that 
moment,  when  my  fate  hung  suspended — when  an  in- 
stant was  to  decide  whether  torments  unutterable  were 
to  be  my  portion  for  endless  ages !  But  Justice  sus- 
pended its  decree,  and  Mercy  spoke  in  accents  of  firm- 
ness, but  mildness,  Tleturn  to  that  world  in  which  thou 
hast  lived  but  to  outrage  the  laws  of  Him  who  made 


128        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

that  world  and  thee.  Three  years  are  given  thee  for 
repentance;  when  these  are  ended,  thou  shalt  again 
stand  here,  to  be  saved  or  lost  for  ever/  I  heard  no 
more:  I  saw  no  more,  until  I  awoke  to  life,  the  moment 
before  you  entered." 

Charles's  strength  continued  just  long  enough  to  fin- 
ish these  last  words,  and  on  uttering  them  he  closed  his 
Byes,  and  lay  quite  exhausted.  His  mother,  though, 
as  was  before  said,  somewhat  disposed  to  give  credit  to 
supernatural  visitations,  yet  hesitated  whether  or  not 
she  should  believe  that,  although  awakened  from  a  swoon 
which  might  have  been  the  crisis  of  his  disease,  he  was 
still  under  the  influence  of  delirium.  Repose,  however, 
was  a±  all  events  necessary,  and  she  took  immediate 
measures  that  he  should  enjoy  it  undisturbed.  After 
some  hours'  sleep,  he  awoke  refreshed,  and  thencefor- 
ward gradually  but  steadily  recovered. 

Still  he  persisted  in  his  account  of  the  vision,  as  he 
had  at  first  related*  it;  and  his  persuasion  of  its  reality 
had  an  obvious  and  decided  influence  on  his  habits  and 
conduct.  He  did  not  altogether  abandon  the  society 
of  his  former  associates,  for  his  temper  was  not  soured 
by  his  reformation;  but  he  never  joined  in  their  ex- 
cesses, and  often  endeavored  to  reclaim  them.  How  his 
pious  exertions  succeeded,  I  have  never  learned;  but  of 
himself  it  is  recorded  that  he  was  religious  without  os- 
tentation, and  temperate  without  austerity;  giving  a 
practical  proof  that  vice  may  be  exchanged  for  virtue, 
without  the  loss  of  respectability,  popularity,  or  happi- 
ness. 

-  Time  rolled  on,  and  long  before  the  three  years  were 
ended  the  story  of  his  vision  was  forgotten,  or,  when 
spoken  of,  was  usually  mentioned  as  an  instance  proving 
the  folly  of  believing  in  such  things.  Charles's  health, 
from  the  temperance  and  regularity  of  his  habits,  be- 
came more  robust  than  ever.  His  friends,  indeed,  had 
often  occasion  to  rally  him  upon  a  seriousness  and  ab- 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK   TALES       129 

stractedness  of  demeanor,  which  grew  upon  him  as  he 
approached  the  completion  of  his  seven-and-twentieth 
year,  but  for  the  most  part  his  manner  exhibited  the 
same  animation  and  cheerfulness  for  which  he  had  al- 
ways been  remarkable.  In  company  he  evaded  every 
endeavor  to  draw  from  him  a  distinct  opinion  on  the 
subject  of  the  supposed  prediction ;  but  among  his  own 
family  it  was  well  known  that  he  still  firmly  believed  it. 
However,  when  the  day  had  nearly  arrived  on  which 
the  prophecy  was,  if  at  all,  to  be  fulfilled,  his  whole  ap- 
pearance gave  such  promise  of  a  long  and  healthy  life, 
that  he  was  persuaded  by  his  friends  to  ask  a  large 
party  to  an  entertainment  at  Spring  House,  to  celebrate 
his  birthday.  But  the  occasion  of  this  party,  and  the 
circumstances  which  attended  it,  will  be  best  learned 
from  a  perusal  of  the  following  letters,  which  have  been 
carefully  preserved  by  some  relatives  of  his  family.  The 
first  is  from  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy  to  a  lady,  a  very  near  con- 
nection and  valued  friend  of  hers,  who  lived  in  the 
county  of  Cork,  at  about  fifty  miles'  distance  from 
Spring  House. 

"TO  MRS.  BARRY,  CASTLE  BARRY. 

"Spring  House,  Tuesday  Morning, 

"October  15,  1752. 
"MY  DEAREST  MARY  : 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  going  to  put  your  affection  for 
your  old  friend  and  kinswoman  to  a  severe  trial.  A 
two  days'  journey  at  this  season,  over  bad  roads  and 
through  a  troubled  country,  it  will  indeed  require  friend- 
ship such  as  yours  to  persuade  a  sober  woman  to  encoun- 
ter. But  the  truth  is,  I  have,  or  fancy  I  have,  more 
than  usual  cause  for  wishing  you  near  me.  You, know 
my  son's  story.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  is,  but  as  next 
Sunday  approaches,  when  the  prediction  of  his  dream, 
or  vision,  will  be  proved  false  or  true,  I  feel  a  sicken- 
ing of  the  heart,  which  I  cannot  suppress,  but  which 


130        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

your  presence,  my  dear  Mary,  will  soften,  as  it  has  done 
so  many  of  my  sorrows.  My  nephew,  James  Ryan,  is 
to  be  married  to  Jane  Osborne  (who,  you  know,  is  my 
son's  ward),  and  the  bridal  entertainment  will  take 
place  here  on  Sunday  next,  though  Charles  pleaded 
hard  to  have  it  postponed  for  a  day  or  two  longer. 
Would  to  God  —  but  no  more  of  this  till  we  meet.  Do 
prevail  upon  yourself  to  leave  your  good  man  for  one 
week,  if  his  fanning  concerns  will  not  admit  of  his  ac- 
companying you  ;  and  come  to  us,  with  the  girls,  as  soon 
before  Sunday  as  you  can. 

"Ever  my  dear  Mary's  attached  cousin  and  friend, 

MAC  CABTHY." 


Although  this  letter  reached  Castle  Barry  early  on 
Wednesday,  the  messenger  having  travelled  on  foot  over 
bog  and  moor,  by  paths  impassable  to  horse  or  carriage, 
Mrs.  Barry,  who  at  once  determined  on  going,  had  so 
many  arrangements  to  make  for  the  regulation  of  her 
domestic  affairs  (which,  in  Ireland,  among  the  middle 
orders  of  the  gentry,  fall  soon  into  confusion  when  the 
mistress  of  the  family  is  away),  that  she  and  her  two 
young  daughters  were  unable  to  leave  until  late  on  the 
morning  of  Friday.  The  eldest  daughter  remained  to 
keep  her  father  company,  and  superintend  the  concerns 
of  the  household.  As  the  travellers  were  to-  journey  in 
an  open  one-horse  vehicle,  called  a  jaunting-car  (still 
used  in  Ireland),  and  as  the  roads,  bad  at  all  times, 
were  rendered  still  worse  by  the  heavy  rains,  it  was 
their  design  to  make  two  easy  stages  —  to  stop  about 
midway  the  first  night,  and  reach  Spring  House  'early 
on  Saturday  evening.  This  arrangement  was  now  al- 
tered, as  they  found  that  from  the  lateness  of  their  de- 
parture they  could  proceed,  at  the  utmost,  no  farther 
than  twenty  miles  on  the  first  day;  and  they,  therefore, 
purposed  sleeping  at  the  house  of  a  Mr.  Bourke,  a  friend 
of  theirs,  who  lived  at  somewhat  less  than  that  distance 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       131 

from  Castle  Barry.  They  reached  Mr.  Bourke's  in  safety 
after  a  rather  disagreeable  ride.  What  befell  them  on 
their  journey  the  next  day  to  Spring  House,  and  after 
their  arrival  there,  is  fully  recounted  in  a  letter  from 
the  second  Miss  Barry  to  her  eldest  sister. 

"Spring  House,  Sunday  Evening, 

"October  20,  1752. 
"DBAS  ELLEN: 

"As  my  mother's  letter,  which  encloses  this,  will  an- 
nounce to  you  briefly  the  sad  intelligence  which  I  shall 
here  relate  more  fully,  I  think  it  better  to  go  regularly 
through  the  recital  of  the  extraordinary  events  of  the 
last  two  days. 

"The  Bourkes  kept  us  up  so  late  on  Friday  night  that 
yesterday  was  pretty  far  advanced  before  we  could  begin 
our  journey,  and  the  day  closed  when  we  were  nearly 
fifteen  miles  distant  from  this  place.  The  roads  were 
excessively  deep,  from  the  heavy  rains  of  the  last  week, 
and  we  proceeded  so  slowly  that,  at  last,  my  mother  re- 
solved on  passing  the  night  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Bourke's 
brother  (who  lives  about  a  quarter-of-a-mile  off  the 
road),  and  coming  here  to  breakfast  in  the  morning. 
The  day  had  been  windy  and  showery,  and  the  sky 
looked  fitful,  gloomy,  and  uncertain.  The  moon  was 
full,  and  at  times  shone  clear  and  bright;  at  others  it 
was  wholly  concealed  behind  the  thick,  black,  and  rugged 
masses  of  clouds  that  rolled  rapidly  alongr,  and  were 
every  moment  becoming  larger,  and  collecting  together 
as  if  gathering  strength  for  a  coming  storm.  The  wind,, 
which  blew  in  our  faces,  whistled  bleakly  along  the  lo\v 
hedges  of  the  narrow  road,  on  which  wo  proceeded  with 
difficulty  from  the  number  of  deep  sloughs,  and  which 
afforded  not  the  least  shelter,  no  plantation  being  within 
some  miles  of  us.  My  mother,  therefore,  asked  Leary., 
who  drove  the  jaunting-car,  how  far  we  were  from  Mr, 
Bourke's.  "Tis  about  ten  spades  from  this  to  the 


132        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

cross,  and  we  have  then  only  to  turn  to  the  left  into 
the  avenue,  ma'am/  'Very  well,  Leary ;  turn  up  to  Mr. 
Bourke's  as  soon  as  you  reach  the  cross  roads/  My 
mother  had  scarcely  spoken  these  words,  when  a  shriek, 
that  made  us  thrill  as  if  our  very  hearts  were  pierced 
by  it,  burst  from  the  hedge  to  the  right  of  our  way.  t 
If  it  resembled  anything  earthly  it  seemed  the  cry  of 
a  female,  struck  by  a  sudden  and  mortal  blow,  and 
giving  out  her  life  in  one  long,  deep  pang  of  expiring 
agony.  'Heaven  defend  us !'  exclaimed  my  mother.  'Go- 
you  over  the  hedge,  Leary,  and  save  that  woman,  if  she 
is  not  yet  dead,  while  we  run  back  to  the  hut  we  have 
just  passed,  and  alarm  the  village  near  it/  'Woman!' 
said  Leary,  beating  the  horse  violently,  while  his  voice 
'trembled,  'that's  no  woman;  the  sooner  we  get  on,, 
ma'am,  the  better;'  and  he  continued  his  efforts  to 
quicken  the  horse's  pace.  We  saw  nothing.  The  moon 
was  hid.  It  was  quite  dark,  and  we  had  been  for  some 
time  expecting  a  heavy  fall  of  rain.  But  just  as  Leary 
had  spoken,  and  had  succeeded  in  making  the  horse  trot . 
briskly  forward,  we  distinctly  heard  a  loud  clapping 
of  hands,  followed  by  a  succession  of  screams,  that 
seemed  to  denote  the  last  excess  of  despair  and  anguish, 
and  to  issue  from  a  person  running  forward  inside  the 
hedge,  to  keep  pace  with  our  progress.  Still  we  saw 
nothing ;  until,  when  we  were  within  about  ten  yards  of 
the  place  where  an  avenue  branched  off  to  Mr.  Bourke's 
to  the  left,  and  the  road  turned  to  Spring  House  on 
the  right,  the  moon  started  suddenly  from  behind  a 
cloud,  and  enabled  us  to  see,  as  plainly  as  I  now  see  this 
paper,  the  figure  of  a  tall,  thin  woman,  with  uncovered 
head,  and  long  hair  that  floated  round  her  shoulders, 
attired  in  something  which  seemed  either  a  loose  white 
cloak  or  a  sheet  thrown  hastily  about  her.  She  stood 
on  the  corner  hedge,  where  the  road  on  which  we  were 
met  that  which  leads  to  Spring  House,  with  her  face  ; 
toward  us,  her  left  hand  pointing  to  this  place,  and 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       133 

her  right  arm  waving  rapidly  and  violently  as  if  to  draw 
us  on  in  that  direction.    The  horse  had  stopped,  appar- 
ently frightened  at  the  sudden  presence  of  the  figure, 
which  stood  in  the  manner  I  have  described,  still  utter- 
ing the  same  piercing  cries,  for  about  half  a  minute. 
It  then  leaped  upon  the  road,  disappeared  from  our 
view  for  one  instant,  and  the  next  was  seen  standing 
upon  a  high  wall  a  little  way  up  the  avenue  on  which 
we  purposed  going,  still  pointing  toward  the  road  to 
Spring  House,  but  in  an  attitude  of  defiance  and  com- 
mand, as  if  prepared  to  oppose  our  passage  up  the 
avenue.     The  figure  was  now  quite  silent,  and  its  gar- 
ments, which  had  before  flown  loosely  in  the  wind,  were 
closely  wrapped  around  it.     'Go  on,  Leary,  to  Spring 
House,  in   God's  name !'   said  my  mother ;   'whatever 
world  it  belongs  to,  we  will  provoke  it  no  longer/  '  'Tis 
the  Banshee,  ma'am,'  said  Leary ;  'and  I  would  not,  for 
what  my  life  is  worth,  go  anywhere  this  blessed  night 
but  to  Spring  House.    But  I'm  afraid  there's  something 
bad  going  forward,  or  she  would  not  send  us  there/ 
So  saying,  he  drove  forward;  and  as  we  turned  on  the 
road  to  the  right,  the  moon  suddenly  withdrew  its  light, 
and  we  saw  the  apparition  no  more;  but  we  heard 
plainly  a  prolonged  clapping  of  hands,  gradually  dying 
away,  as  if  it  issued  from  a  person,  rapidly  retreating. 
We  proceeded  as  quickly  as  the  badness  of  the  roads 
and  the  fatigue  of  the  poor  animal  that  drew  us  would 
allow,  and  arrived  here  about  eleven  o'clock  last  night. 
The  scene  which  awaited  us  you  have  learned  from  my 
mother's  letter.    To  explain  it  fully,  I  must  recount  to 
you  some  of  the  transactions  which  took  place  here  dur- 
ing the  last  week. 

"You  are  aware  that  Jane  Osborne  was  to  have  been 
married  this  day  to  James  Ryan,  and  that  they  and  their 
friends  have  been  here  for  the  last  week.  'On  Tuesday 
last,  the  very  day  on  the  morning  of  which  cousin 
Mac  Carthy  despatched  the  letter  Inviting  us  here,  the 


134       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALE 

whole  of  the  company  were  walking  about  the 
a  little  before  dinner.  It  seems  that  an  unfortunaie 
creature,  who  had  been  seduced  by  James  Ryan,  w&s 
seen  prowling  in  the  neighborhood  in  a  moody,  melan- 
choly state  for  some  days  previous.  He  had  separated 
from  her  for  several  months,  and,  they  say,  had  pro- 
vided for  her  rather  handsomely;  but  she  had  been 
seduced  by  the  promise  of  his  marrying  her;  and  the 
shame  of  her  unhappy  condition,  uniting  with  disap- 
pointment and  jealousy,  had  disordered  her  intellects. 
During  the  whole  forenoon  of  this  Tuesday  she  had 
been  walking  in  the  plantations  near  Spring  House,  with 
her  cloak  folded  tight  round  her,  the  hood  nearly  cover- 
ing her  face;  and  she  had  avoided  conversing  with  01 
even  meeting  any  of  the  family. 

"Charles  Mac  Carthy,  at  the  time  I  mentioned,  was 
walking  between  James  Ryan  and  another,  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  rest,  on  a  gravel  path,  skirting  a 
shrubbery.  The  whole  party  was  thrown  into  the  ut- 
most consternation  by  the  report  of  a  pistol,  fired  fpom 
a  thickly  planted  part  of  the  shrubbery  which  Charles 
and  his  companions  had  just  passed.  He  fell  instantly, 
and  it  was  found  that  he  had  been  wounded  in  the  leg. 
One  of  the  party  was  a  medical  man.  His  assistance  was 
immediately  given,  and,  on  examining,  he  declared  that 
the  injury  was  very  slight,  that  no  bone  was  broken, 
it  was  merely  a  flesh  wound,  and  that  it  would  certainly 
be  well  in  a  few  days.  'We  shall  know  more  by  Sun- 
clay/  said  Charles,  as  he  was  carried  to  his  chamber. 
His  wound  was  immediately  dressed,  and  so  slight 
was  the  inconvenience  which  it  gave  that  several  of 
his  friends  spent  a  portion  of  the  evening  in  his 
apartment. 

"On  inquiry,  it  was  found  that  the  unlucky  shot  was 
fired  by  the  poor  girl  I  just  mentioned.  It  was  also 
manifest  that  she  had  aimed,  not  at  Charles,  but  at  the 
destroyer  of  her  innocence  and  happiness,  who  was  walk- 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       135 

ing  beside  him.  After  a  fruitless  search  for  her  through 
the  grounds,  she  walked  into  the  house  of  her  own  ac- 
cord, laughing  and  dancing,  and-  singing  wildly,  and 
every  moment  exclaiming  that  she  had  at  last  killed 
Mr.  Ryan.  When  she  heard  that  it  was  Charles,  and 
not  Mr.  Ryan,  who  was  shot,  she  fell  into  a  violent 
fit,  out  of  which,  after  working  convulsively  for  ,some 
time,  she  sprung  to  the  door,  escaped  from  the  crowd 
that  pursued  her,  and  could  never  be  taken  until  last 
night,  when  she  was  brought  here,  perfectly  frantic,  a 
little  before  our  arrival. 

"Charles's  wound  was  thought  of  such  little  conse- 
quence that  the  preparations  went  forward,  as  usual, 
for  the  wedding  entertainment  on  Sunday.  But  on 
Friday  night  he  grew  restless  and  feverish,  and  on  Sat- 
urday (yesterday)  morning  felt  so  ill  that  it  was  deemed 
necessary  to  obtain  additional  medical  advice.  Two  phy- 
sicians and  a  surgeon  met  in  consultation  about  twelve 
o'clock  in  the  day,  and  the  dreadful  intelligence  was 
announced,  that  unless  a  change,  hardly  hoped  for,  took 
place  before  night,  death  must  happen  within  twenty- 
four  hours  after.  The  wound,  it  seems,  had  been  too 
tightly  bandaged,  and  otherwise  injudiciously  treated. 
The  physicians  were  right  in  their  anticipations.  No 
favorable  symptom  appeared,  and  long  before  we  reached 
Spring  House  every  ray  of  hope  had  vanished.  The 
scene  we  witnessed  on  our  arrival  would  have  wrung 
the  heart  of  a  demon.  We  heard  briefly  at  the  gate 
that  Mr.  Charles  was  upon  his  death-bed.  When  we 
reached  the  house,  the  information  was  confirmed  by 
the  servant  who  opened  the  door.  But  just  as  we  en- 
tered we  were  horrified  by  the  most  appalling  screams 
issuing  from  the  staircase.  Mv  mother  thought  she 
heard  the  voice  of  poor  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy,  and  sprang 
forward.  We  followed,  and  on  ascending  a  few  steps 
of  the  stairs,  we  found  a  young  woman,  in  a  state  of 
frantic  passion,  struggling  furiously  with  two  men- 


13G        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

servants,  whose  united  strength  was  hardly  sufficient 
to  prevent  her  rushing  upstairs  over  the  body  of  Mrs. 
Mac  Carthy,  who  was  lying  in  strong  hysterics  upon  the 
steps.  This,  I  afterward  discovered,  was  the  unhappy 
girl  I  before  described,  who  was  attempting  to  gain 
access  to  Charles's  room,  to  'get  his  forgiveness/  as  she 
said,  'before  he  went  away  to  accuse  her  for  having 
killed  him/  This  wild  idea  was  mingled  with  another, 
which  seemed  to  dispute  with  the  former  possession  of 
her  mind.  In  one  sentence  she  called  on  Charles  to  for- 
give her,  in  the  next  she  would  denounce  James  Ryan 
as  the  murderer,  both  of  Charles  and  her.  At  length 
she  was  torn  away;  and  the  last  words  I  heard  her 
scream  were,  'James  Ryan,  'twas  you  killed  him,  and 
not  I ! — 'twas  you  killed  him,  and  not  I !' 

"Mrs.  Mac  Carthy,  on  recovering,  fell  into  the  arms 
of  my  mother,  whose  presence  seemed  a  great  relief 
to  her.  She  wept — the  first  tears,  I  was  told,  that  she 
had  shed  since  the  fatal  accident.  She  conducted  us 
to  Charles's  room,  who,  she  said,  had  desired  to  see  us 
the  moment  of  our  arrival,  as  he  found  his  end  ap- 
proaching, and  wished  to  devote  the  last  hours  of  his 
existence  to  uninterrupted  prayer  and  meditation.  We 
found  him  perfectly  calm,  resigned,  and  even  cheerful. 
He  spoke  of  the  awful  event  which  was  at  hand  with 
courage  and  confidence,  and  treated  it  as  a  doom  for 
which  he  had  been  preparing  ever  since  his  former  re- 
xaarkable  illness,  and  which  he  never  once  doubted  was 
truly  foretold  to  him.  He  bade  us  farewell  with  the 
air  of  one  who  was  about  to  travel  a  short  and  easy 
journey;  and  we  left  him  with  impressions  which,  not- 
withstanding all  their  anguish,  will,  I  trust,  never  en- 
tirely forsake  us. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Mac  Carthy but  I  am  just  called  away. 

There  seems  a  slight  stir  in  the  family ;  perhaps " 

The  above  letter  was  never  finished.  The  enclosure 
to  which  it  more  than  once  alludes  told  the  sequel 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       137 

briefly,  and  it  is  all  that  I  have  further  learned  of  the 
family  of  Mac  Carthy.  Before  the  sun  had  gone  down 
upon  Charles's  seven-and-twentieth  birthday,  his  soul 
had  gone  to  render  its  last  account  to  its  Creator. 


GHOSTS 


GHOSTS,  or  as  they  are  called  in  Irish,  Thevshi  or  TasJi 
(taidhbhse,  tais),  live  in  a  state  intermediary  between  this 
life  and  the  next.  They  are  held  there  by  some  earthly 
longing  or  affection,  or  some  duty  unfulfilled,  or  anger 
against  the  living.  "I  will  haunt  you,"  is  a  common  threat ; 
and  one  hears  such  phrases  as,  "She  will  haunt  him,  if 
she  has  any  good  in  her."  If  one  is  sorrowing  greatly  after 
a  dead  friend,  a  neighbor  will  say,  "Be  quiet  now,  you  are 
keeping  him  from  his  rest ;"  or,  in  the  Western  Isles,  accord- 
ing to  Lady  Wilde,  they  will  tell  you,  "You  are  waking  the 
dog  that  watches  to  devour  the  souls  of  the  dead."  Those 
who  die  suddenly,  more  commonly  than  others,  are  believed 
to  become  haunting  Ghosts.  They  go  about  moving  the 
furniture,  and  in  every  way  trying  to  attract  attention. 

When  the  soul  has  left  the  body,  it  is  drawn  away,  some- 
times, by  the  fairies.  I  have  a  story  of  a  peasant  who  once 
saw,  sitting  in  a  fairy  rath,  all  who  had  died  for  years  in 
his  village.  Such  souls  are  considered  lost.  If  a  soul  eludes 
the  fairies,  it  may  be  snapped  up  by  the  evil  spirits.  The 
weak  souls  of  young  children  are  in  especial  danger.  When 
a  very  young  child  dies,  the  western  peasantry  sprinkle  the 
threshold  with  the  blood  of  a  chicken,  that  the  spirits  may 
be  drawn  away  to  the  blood.  A  Ghost  is  compelled  to  ol^ey 
the  commands  of  the  living.  "The  stable-boy  up  at  Mrs. 

G 's  there,"  said  an  old  countryman,  "met  the  master 

going  round  the  yards  after  he  had  been  two  days  dead, 
and  told  him  to  be  away  with  him  to  the  lighthouse,  and 
haunt  that;  and  there  he  is  far  out  to  sea  still,  sir.  Mrs. 

G was  quite  wild  about  it.  and  dismissed  the  boy."  A 

very  desolate  lighthouse,  poor  devil  of  a  Ghost !  Lady  Wilde 
considers  it  is  only  the  spirits  who  are  too  bad  for  heaven, 
and  too  good  for  hell,  who  are  tlms  plagued.  They  are  com- 
pelled to  obey  some  one  they  have  wronged. 


139 

The  souls  of  the  dead  sometimes  take  the  shapes  of  ani- 
mals. There  is  a  garden  at  Sligo  where  the  gardener  sees 
a  previous  owner  in  the  shape  of  a  rabbit.  They  will  some- 
times take  the  forms  of  insects,  especially  of  huttertlii •<.  It" 
you  see  one  fluttering  near  a  corpse,  that  is  the  soul,  and  is 
a  sign  of  its  having  entered  upon  immortal  happiness.  The 
author  of  the  Parochial  Surrey  of  Ireland,  1814,  heard  a 
woman  say  to  a  child  who  was  chasing  a  butterfly,  "How  do 
you  know  it  is  not  the  soul  of  your  grandfather?"  On  No- 
vember eve  the  dead  are  abroad,  and  dance  with  the  fairies. 

As  in  Scotland,  the  fetch  is  commonly  believed^in.  If  you 
see  the  double,  or  fetch,  of  a  friend  in  the  morning,  no  111 
follows ;  if  at  night,  he  is  about  to  die. 


A  DREAM 

WILLIAM  ALLINGHAM 

I  HEARD  the  dogs  howl  in  the  moonlight  night; 
I  went  to  the  window  to  see  the  sight; 
All  the  Dead  that  ever  I  knew 
Going  one  by  one  and  two  hy  two. 

On  they  pass'd,  and  on  they  passed; 
Townsfellows  all,  from  first  to  last; 
Born  in  the  moonlight  of  the  lane, 
Qnench'd  in  the  heavy  shadow  again. 

Schoolmates,  marching  as  when  we  play'd 
At  soldiers  once — but  now  more  staid ; 
Those  were  the  strangest  sight  to  me 
Who  were  drown'd,  I  knew,  in  the  awful  sea. 

Straight  and  handsome  folk;  bent  and  weak,  too; 
Some  that  I  loved,  and  gasp'd  to  speak  to ; 
Some  hut  a  day  in  their  churchyard  bed ; 
Some  that  I  had  not  known  were  dead. 


140        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALEb 

A  long,  long  crowd — where  each  seem'd  lonely, 
Yet  of  them  all  there  was  one,  one  only, 
Raised  a  head  or  look'd  my  way. 
She  linger'd  a  moment — she  might  not  stay. 

How  long  since  I  saw  that  fair  pale  face! 

Ah !    Mother  dear !  might  I  only  place 

My  head  on  thy  breast,  a  moment  to  rest, 

While  tly  hand  on  my  tearful  cheek  were  pressed' 

On,  on,  a  moving  bridge  they  made 
Across  the  moon-stream,  from  shade  to  shade, 
Young  and  old,  women  and  men; 
Many  long-forgot,  but  remember'd  then. 

And  first  there  came  a  bitter  laughter ; 
A  sound  of  tears  the  moment  after ; 
And  then  a  music  so  lofty  and  gay, 
That  every  morning,  day  by  day, 
I  strive  to  recall  it  if  I  may. 


GRACE    CONNOR 

MISS   LETITIA   MACLINTOCK 

THADY  and  Grace  Connor  lived  on  the  borders  of  a 
large  turf  bog,  in  the  parish  of  Clondevaddock,  where 
they  could  hear  the  Atlantic  surges  thunder  in  upon  the 
shore,  and  see  the  wild  storms  of  winter  sweep  over  the 
Muckish  mountain,  and  his  rugged  neighbors.  Even  in 
summer  the  cabin  by  the  bog  was  dull  and  dreary 
enough. 

Thady  Connor  worked  in  the  fields,  and  Grace  made 
a  livelihood  as  a  pedlar,  carrying  a  basket  of  remnants 
of  cloth,  calico,  drugget,  and  frieze  about  the  country 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       141 

The  people  rarely  visited  any  large  town,  and  found  it 
.convenient  to  buy  from  Grace,  who  was  welcomed  in 
many  a  lonely  house,  where  a  table  was  hastily  cleared, 
that  she  might  display  her  wares.  Being  considered  a 
very  honest  woman,  she  was  frequently  entrusted  with 
commissions  to  the  shops  in  Letterkenny  and  Ramel- 
ton.  As  she  set  out  toward  home,  her  basket  was  gen- 
erally laden  with  little  gifts  for  her  children. 

"Grace,  dear/*  would  one  of  the  kind  housewives  say, 
"here's  a  farrel  *  of  oaten  cake,  wi'  a  taste  o'  butter  on 
it;  tak'  it  wi'  you  for  the  weans;"  or,  "Here's  half-a- 
dozen  of  eggs;  you've  a  big  family  to  support." 

Small  Connors  of  all  ages  crowded  round  the  weary 
mother,  to  rifle  her  basket  of  these  gifts.  But  her 
thrifty,  hard  life  came  suddenly  to  an  end.  She  died 
after  an  illness  of  a  few  hours,  and  was  waked  and 
buried  as  handsomely  as  Thady  could  afford. 

Thady  was  in  bed  the  night  after  the  funeral,  and 
the  fire  still  burned  brightly,  when  he  saw  his  departed 
wife  cross  the  room  and  bend  over  the  cradle.  Terri- 
fied, he  muttered  rapid  prayers,  covered  his  face  with 
the  blanket;  and  on  looking  up  again  the  appearance 
was  gone. 

Next  night  he  lifted  the  infant  out  of  the  cradle,  and 
laid  it  behind  him  in  the  bed,  hoping  thus  to  escape  his 
ghostly  visitor;  but  Grace  was  presently  in  the  room, 
and  stretching  over  him  to  wrap  up  her  child.  Shrink- 
ing and  shuddering,  the  poor  man  exclaimed:  "Grace, 
woman,  what  is  it  brings  you  back?  What  is  it  you 
want  wi'  me  ?" 

"I  want  naething  fae  you,  Thady,  but  to  put  thon 
wean  back  in  her  cradle,"  replied  the  specter,  in  a  tone 
of  scorn.  '^You're  too  feared  for  me,  but  my  sister 


*  When  a  large,  round,  flat  griddle  cake  is  divided  Into 
triangular  cuts,  each  of  these  cuts  is  called  a  farrel,  farli. 
or  parli 


142        IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Rose  willna  be  feared  for  me — te1!  her  to  meet  me  to- 
morrow evening,  in  the  old  wallsteads." 

Eose  lived  with  her  mother,  about  a  mile  off,  but  she 
obeyed  her  sister's  summons  without  the  least  fear,  anc 
kept  the  strange  tryst  in  due  time. 

"Rose,  dear,"  she  said,  as  she  appeared  before  her  sis- 
ter in  the  old  wallsteads,  "my  mind's  oneasy  about  then 
twa'  red  shawls  that's  in  the  basket.  Matty  Hunter  and 
Jane  Taggart  paid  me  for  them,  an'  I  bought  them  wi 
their  money,  Friday  was  eight  days.  Gie  them  the 
shawls  the  morrow.  An'  old  Mosey  McCorkell  gied 
me  the  price  o'  a  wiley  coat;  it's  in  under  the  othei 
things  in  the  basket.  An'  no.w  farewell;  I  can  get  tc 
my  rest." 

"Grace,  Grace,  bide  a  wee  minute/'  cried  the  faithful 
sister,  as  the  dear  voice  grew  fainter,  and  the  dear  face 
began  to  fade:  "Grace,  darling!  Thady?  The  chil- 
dren ?  One  word  mair !"  but  neither  cries  nor  tears 
could  further  detain  the  spirit  hastening  to  its  rest ! 


A  LEGEND  OF  TYRONE 
ELLEN  O'LEARY 

OKOTJCHED  round  a  bare  hearth  in  hard,  frosty  weather, 
Three  lonely,  helpless  weans  cling  close  together; 
Tangled  those  gold  locks,  once  bonnie  and  bright— 
There's  no  one  to  fondle  the  baby  to-night. 

"My  mammie  I  want;  oh!   mj  ma^imie  I  want!"- 
The  big  tears  stream  down  with  the  low  wailing  chant; 
Sweet  Eily's  slight  arms  enfold  the  gold  head: 
"Poor  weeny  Willie,  ,^re  mammir.  is  dead — 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       143 

And  daddie  is  crazy  from  drinking  all  day — 
Come  down,  holy  angels,  and  take  us  away  I" 
Eily  and  Eddie  keep  kissing  and  crying — 
Outside,  the  weird  winds  are  sobbing  and  sighing. 

All  in  a  moment  the  children  are  still, 

Only  a  quick  coo  of  gladness  from  Will. 

The  sheeling  no  longer  seems  empty  or  bare, 

For,  clothed  in  soft  raiment,  the  mother  stands  there. 

They  gather  around  her,  they  cling  to  her  dress; 
She  rains  down  soft  kisses  for  each  shy  caress. 
Her  light,  loving  touches  smooth  out  tangled  locks, 
And,  pressed  to  her  bosom,  the  baby  she  rocks. 

He  lies  "in  his  cot,  there's  a  fire  on  the  hearth ; 
To  Eily  and  Eddy  'tis  heaven  on  earth, 
For  mother's  deft  fingers  have  been  everywhere ; 
She  lulls  them  to  rest  in  the  low  suggaun  *  chair. 

They  gaze  open-eyed,  then  the  eyes  gently  close, 
As  petals  fold  into  the  heart  of  a  rose, 
But  ope  soon  again  in  awe,  love,  but  no  fear, 
And  fondly  they  murmur,  "Our  mammie  is  here." 

She  lays  them  down  softly,  she  wraps  them  around ; 
They  lie  in  sweet  slumbers,  she  starts  at  a  sound, 
The  cock  loudly  crows,  and  the  spirit's  away — 
The  drunkard  steals  in  at  the  dawning  of  day. 

•:• 

Again  and  again,  'tween  the  dark  and  the  dawn, 
Glides  in  the  dead  mother  to  nurse  Willie  Bawn : 
Or  is  it  an  angel  who  sits  by  the  hearth? 
An  angel  in  heaven,  a  mother  on  earth. 


*  Chair  made  of  twisted  straw  ropes. 


144       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
THE  BLACK  LAMB  * 

LADY  WILDE 

IT  is  a  custom  among  the  people,  when  throwing 
away  water  at  night,  to  cry  out  in.  a  loud  voice,  "Take 
care  of  the  water;"  or  literally,  from  the  Irish,  "Away 
with,  yourself  from  the  water" — for  they  say  that  the 
spirits  of  the  dead  last  buried  are  then  wandering 
about,  and  it  would  be  dangerous  if  the  water  fell  on 
them. 

One  dark  night  a  woman  suddenly  threw  out  a  pail 
of  boiling  water  without  thinking  of  the  warning  words. 
Instantly  a  cry  was  heard,  as  of  a  person  in  pain,  but 
no  one  was-  seen.  However,  the  next  night  a  black 
lamb  entered  the  house,  having  the  back  all  fresh 
scalded,  and  it  lay  down  moaning  by  the  hearth  and 
died.  Then  they  all  knew  that  this  was-  the  spirit  thai 
had  been  scalded  by  the-  woman,  and  they  carried  the 
dead  lamb  out  reverently,  and  buried  it  deep  in  the 
earth.  Yet  every  night  at  the  same  hour  it  walked 
again  into  the  house,  and  lay  down,  moaned,  and  died; 
and  after  this  had  happened  many  times,  the  priest  was 
seni  for,  and  finally,  by  the  strength  of  his  exorcism, 
the  spirit  of  the  dead  was  laid  to  rest;  the  black  lamb 
appeared  no  more.  Neither  was  the  body  of  the  dead 
lamb  found  in  the  grave  when  they  searched  for  it, 
though  it  had  been  laid  by  their  own  hands'  deep  in  the 
earth,  and  covered  with  clay. 


SONG  OF  THE  GHOST 

ALFEED  PEECIVAL  GEAVES 

WHEN  all  were  dreaming 
But  Pastheen  Power, 

A  light  came  streaming 
Beneath  her  bower : 


Ancient  Legends  of  Ireland 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       145 

A  heavy  foot 

At  her  door  delayed, 
A  heavy  hand 

On  the  latch  was  laid, 

"Now  who  dare  venture, 

At  this  dark  hour, 
Unhid  to  enter 

My  maiden  bower?" 
"Dear  Pastheen,  open 

The  door  to  me, 
And  your  true  lo-ver 
You'll  surely  see/' 

"My  own  true  lover, 

So  tall  and  brave, 
Lives  exiled  over 

The  angry  wave." 
"Your  true  love's  body 

Lies  on  the  bier, 
His  faithful  spirit 
Is  with  you  here." 

"His  look  was  cheerful, 

His  voice  was  gay; 
Your  speech  is  fearful, 

Your  face  is  gray ; 
And  sad  and  sunken 

Your  eye  of  blue, 
But  Patrick,  Patrick, 

Alas!    'tis  you!" 

Ere  dawn  was  breaking 

She  heard  below 
The  two  cocks  shaking 

T^ieir  winsrs  to  crow. 


146        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Oh,  hush  you,  hush  you, 

Both  red  and  gray, 
Or  you  will  hurry 
My  love  away. 


ce 


Oh,  hush  your  crowing, 

Both  gray  and  red, 
Or  he'll  be  going 

To  join  the  dead ; 
Or,  cease  from  calling 

His  ghost  to  the  mould, 
And  I'll  come  crowning 

Your  combs  with  gold." 


When  all  were  dreaming 

*  But  Pastheen  Power, 
A  light  went  streaming 

From  out  her  bower; 
And  on  the  morrow, 

When  they  awoke, 
They  knew  that  sorrow 

Her  heart  had  broke. 


THE  RADIANT  BOY 

MBS.  CBOW 

CAPTAIN  STEWART,  afterward  Lord  Castlereagh,  when 
he  was  a  young  man,  happened  to  be  quartered  in  Ire- 
land. He  was  fond  of  sport,  and  one  day  the  pursuit 
of  game  carried  him  so  far  that  he  lost  his  way.  The 
weather,  too,  had  become  very  rough,  and  in  this  strait 
he  presented  himself  at  the  door  of  a  gentleman's  house, 
and  sending  in  his  card,  requested  shelter  for  the  night. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       147 

The  hospitality  of  the  Irish  country  gentry  is  prover- 
bial; the  master  of  the  house  received  him  warmly; 
said  he  feared  he  could  not  make  him  so  comfortable  as 
he  could  have  wished,  his  house  being  full  of  visitors 
already,  added  to  which,  some  strangers,  driven  by  the 
inclemency  of  the  night,  had  sought  shelter  before  him, 
but  such  accommodation  as  he  could  give  he  was  heartily 
welcome  to;  whereupon  he  called  his  butler,  and  com- 
mitting the  guest  to  his  good  offices,  told  him  he  must 
put  him  up  somewhere,  and  do  the  best  he  could  for 
him.  There  was  no  lady,  the  gentleman  being  a 
widower. 

Captain  Stewart  found  the  house  crammed,  and  a 
very  jolly  party  it  was.  His  host  invited  him  to  stay, 
and  promised  him  good  shooting  if  he  would  prolong  his 
visit  a  few  days:  and,  in  fine,  he  thought  himself  ex- 
tremely fortunate  to  have  fallen  into  such  pleasant 
quarters. 

At  length,  after  an  agreeable  evening,  they  all  retired 
to  bed,  and  the  butler  conducted  him  to  a  large  room, 
almost  divested  of  furniture,  but  with  a  blazing  turf 
fire  in  the  grate,  and.  a-  shake-down  on  the  floor,  com- 
posed of  cloaks  and  other  heterogeneous  materials. 

Nevertheless,  to  the  tired  limbs  of  Captain  Stewart, 
who  had  had  a  hard  day's  shooting,  it  looked  very  in- 
viting; but  before  he  lay  down,  he  thought  it  advisable 
to  take  off  some  of  the  fire,  which  was  blazing  up  the 
chimney  in  what  he  thought  an  alarming  manner.  Hav- 
ing done  this,  he  stretched  himself  on  his  couch  and 
soon  fell  asleep. 

He  believed  he  had  slept  about  a  couple  of  hours  when 
he  awoke  suddenly,  and  was  startled  by  such  a  vivid 
light  in  the  room  that  he  thought  it  on  fire,  but  on 
turning  to  look  at  the  grate  he  saw  the  fire  was  out, 
though  it  was  from  the  chimney  the  light  proceeded. 
He  sat  up  in  bed,  trying  to  discover  what  it  was,  when 
he  perceived  the  form  of  a  beautiful  naked  boy,  sur- 


148        IRISH    FAIRl    ASD  FOLK  TALES 

rounded  by  a  dazzling  radiance.  The  boy  looked  at 
him  earnestly,  and  then  the  vision  faded,  and  all  was 
dark.  Captain  Stewart,  so  far  from  supposing  what  he 
had  seen  to  be  of  a  spiritual  nature,  had  no  doubt 
that  the  host,  or  the  visitors,  had  been  trying  to  frighten 
him.  Accordingly,  he  felt  indignant  at  the  liberty, 
and  on  the  following  morning,  when  he  appeared  at 
breakfast,  he  took  care  to  evince  his  displeasure  by  the 
reserve  of  his  demeanor,  and  by  announcing  his  inten- 
tion to  depart  immediately.  The  host  expostulated,  re- 
minding him  of  his  promise  to  stay  and  shoot.  Captain 
Stewart  coldly  excused  himself,  and,  at  length,  the  gen- 
tleman seeing  something  was  wrong,  took  him  aside,  and 
pressed  for  an  explanation ;  whereupon  Captain  Stewart, 
without  entering  into  particulars,  said  he  had  been  made 
the  victim  of  a  sort  of  practical  joking  that  he  thought 
•quito  unwarrantable  with  a  stranger. 

The  gentleman  considered  this  not  impossible  among 
a  parcel  of  thoughtless  young  men,  and  appealed  to  them 
to  make  an  apology;  but  one  and  all,  on  honor,  denied 
the  impeachment.  Suddenly  a  thought  seemed  to  strike 
him;  he  clapped  his  hand  to  his- forehead,  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation, and  rang  the  bell. 

"Hamilton/'  said  he  to  the  butler;  "where  did  Cap- 
tain Stewart  sleep  last  night  ?" 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  the  man ;  "you  know  every  place 
Vas  full — the  gentlemen  were  lying  on  the  floor,  three 
or  four  in  a  room — so  I  gave  him  the  Boy's  Room;  but 
I  lit  a  blazing  fire  to  keep  him  from  coming  out." 

"You  were  very  wrong,"  said  the  host;  "you  know 
I  have  positively  forbidden  you  to  put  anyone  there, 
and  have  taken  the  furniture  out  of  the  room  to  insure 
its  not  being  occupied."  Then,  retiring  with  Captain 
Stewart,  he  informed  him,  very  gravely,  of  the  nature 
of  the  phenomena  he  had  seen;  and  at  length,  being 
pressed  for  further  information,  he  confessed  that  there 
existed  a  tradition  in  the  family,  that  whoever  the 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       149 

"Kadiant  boy"  appeared  to  will  rise  to  the  summit  of 
power;  and  when  he  has  reached  the  climax,  will  die  a 
violent  death,  and  I  must  say,  he  added,  that  the  records 
that  have  been  kept  of  his  appearance  go  to  confirm 
this  persuasion. 


THE  FATE  OF  FRANK  M'KEISTNA 

WILLIAM  CABLETON" 

THESE  lived  a  man  named  M'Kenna  at  the  hip  of 
die  of  the  mountainous  hills  which  divide  the  county  of 
Tyrone  from  that  of  Monaghan.  This  M'Kenna  had 
two  sons,  one  of  whom  was  in  the  habit  of  tracing  hares 
of  a  Sunday  whenever  there  happened  to  be  a  fall  of 
snow.  His  father,  it  seems,  had  frequently  remonstrated 
with  him  upon  what  he  considered  to  be  a  violation  of 
the  Lord's  day",  as  well  as  for  his  general  neglect  of 
mass.  The  young  man,  however,  though  otherwise 
harmless  and  inoffensive,  was  in  this  matter  quite  in- 
sensible  to  paternal  reproof,  and  continued  to  trace 
whenever  the  avocations  of  labor  would  allow  him.  If 
so  happened  that  upon  a  Christmas  morning,  I  think  in 
the  year  1814,  there  was  a  deep  fall  of  snow,  and  young 
M'Kenna,  instead  of  going  to  mass,  got  down  his  cock- 
stick — which  is  a  staff  much  thicker  and  heavier  at 
one  end  than  at  the  other — and  prepared  to  set  out  on 
his  favorite  amusement.  His  father,  seeing  this,  re- 
proved him  seriously,  and  insisted  that  he  should  attend 
prayers.  His  -enthusiasm  for  the  sport,  however,  was 
stronger  than  his  love  of  religion,  and  he  refused  to  be 
guided  by  his  father's  advice.  The  old  man  during 
the  altercation  got  warm ;  and  on  finding  that  the  son 
obstinately  scorned  his  authority,  he  knelt  down  and 
prayed  that  if  the  boy  persisted  in  following  his  own 
will,  he  might  never  return  from  the  mountains  unless 


150        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

as  a  corpse.  The  imprecation,  which  was  certainly  as 
harsh  as  it  was  impious  and  senseless,  might  have  star- 
tled many  a  mind  from  a  purpose  that  was,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  at  variance  with  religion  and  the  respect  due 
to  a  father.  It  had  no  effect,  however,  upon  the  son, 
who  is  said  to  have  replied,  that  whether  he  ever  re- 
turned or  not,  he  was  determined  on  going;  and  go  ac- 
cordingly he  did.  He  was  not,  however,  alone,  for  it 
appears  that  three  or  four  of  the  neighboring  young 
men  accompanied  him.  Whether  their  sport  was  good 
or  otherwise,  is  not  to  the  purpose,  neither  am  I  able 
to  say;  but  the  story  goes  that  towards  the  latter  part 
of  the  day  they  started  a  larger  and  darker  hare  than 
any  they  had  ever  seen,  and  that  she  kept  dodging  on 
before  them  bit  by  bit,  leading  them  to  suppose  that 
every  succeeding  cast  of  the  cock-stick  would  bring  her 
down.  It  was  observed  afterward  that  she  also  led  them 
into  the  recesses  of  the  mountains,  and  that  although 
they  tried  to  turn  her  course  homeward,  they  could  not 
succeed  in  doing  so.  As  evening  advanced,,  the  com- 
panions of  M'Kenna  began  to  feel  the  folly  of  pursuing 
her  farther,  and  to  perceive  the  danger  of  losing  their 
way  in  the  mountains  should  night- or  a  snow  storm 
come  upon  them.  They  therefore  proposed  to  give  over 
the  chase  and  return  home;  but  M'Kenna  would  not 
hear  of  it.  "If  you  wish  to  go  home,  you  may,"  said 
he ;  "as  for  me,  I'll  never  leave  the  hills  till  I  have  her 
with  me."  They  begged  and  entreated  of  him  to  de- 
sist and  return,  but  all  to  no  purpose;  he  appeared  to 
be  what  the  Scotch  call  fey — that  is,  to  act  as  if  he  were 
moved  by  some  impulse  that  leads  to  death,  and  from 
the  influence  of  which  a  man  cannot  withdraw  himself. 
At  length,  on  finding  him  invincibly  obstinate,  they  left 
him  pursuing  the  hare  directly  into  the  heart  of  the 
mountains,  and  returned  to  their  respective  homes. 

In  the  meantime  one  of  the  most  terrible  snowstorms 
ever  remembered  in  that  part  of  the  country  came  on, 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES       151 

and  the  consequence  was,  thai  the  self-willed  young  man, 
who  had  equally  trampled  on  the  sanctities  of  religion 
and  parental  authority,  was  given  over  for  lost.  As  soon 
as  the  tempest  became  still,  the  neighbors  assembled  in 
a  body  and  proceeded  to  look  for  him.  The  snow,  how- 
ever, had  fallen  so  heavily  that  not  a  single  mark  of  a 
footstep  could  be  seen.  Nothing  but  one  wide  waste 
of  white  undulating  hills  met  the  eye  wherever  it  turned, 
and  of  M'Kenna  no  trace  whatever  was  visible  or  could 
be  found.  His  father,  mow  remembering  the  unnatural 
character  of  his  imprecation,  was  nearly  distracted ;  for 
although  the  body  had  not  yet  been  found,  still  by  every 
one  who  witnessed  the  sudden  rage  of  the  storm  and 
who  knew  the  mountains,  escape  or  survival  was  felt  to 
be  impossible.  Every  day  for  about  a  week  large  par- 
ties were  out  among  the  hill^ranges  seeking  him,  but  to 
no  purpose.  At  length  there  came  a  thaw,  and  his  body 
was  found  on  a  snow-wreath,  lying  in  a  supine  posture 
within  a  circle  which  he  had  drawn  around  him  with 
his  cock-stick.  His  prayer  book  lay  opened  upon  his 
mouth,  and  his  hat  was  pulled  down  so  as  to  cover 
it  and  his  face.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  thaf  the  rumor 
of  his  death,  and  of  the  circumstances  under  which  he 
left  home,  created  a  most  extraordinary  sensation  in  the 
country — a  sensation  that  was  the  greater  in  nroportion 
to  the  uncertainty  occasioned  by  his  not  having  been 
foimd  either  alive  or  dead.  Some  affirmed  that  he  had 
crossed  the  mountains,  and  was  seen  in  Monaghan; 
others,  that  he  had  been  seen  in  Clones,  in  Emyvaler 
in  Five-mile-town;  but  despite  of  all  ftiese  agreeable 
reports,  the  melancholy  truth  was  at  length  made  clear 
by  the  appearance  of  the  body  as  just  stated. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  the  house  nearest  the  spot 
where  he  lay  was  inhabited  by  a  man  named  Daly,  I 
think — but  of  the  name  I  am  not  certain — who  was  a- 
herd  or  caretaker  to  Dr.  Porter,  then  Bishop  of  Clogher. 
The  situation  of  this  house  was  the  most  lonely  and 


152        IRISH    b'ALHY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

desolate  looking  that  could  be  imagined.  It  -was  at 
least  two  miles  distant  from  any  human  habitation,  be- 
ing surrounded  by  one  wide  and  dreary  waste  of  dark 
moor.  By  this  house  lay  the  route  of  those  who  had 
found  the  corpse,  and  I  believe  the  door  of  it  was  bor- 
rowed for  the  purpose  of  conveying  it  home.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  the  family  witnessed  the  melancholy  proces- 
sion as  it  passed  slowly  through  the  mountains,  and 
when  the  place  and  circumstances  are  all  considered, 
we  may  admit  that  to  ignorant  and  superstitious  people, 
whose  minds,  even  upon  ordinary  occasions,  were 
strongly  affected  by  such  matters,  it  was  a  sight  calcu- 
lated to  leave  behind  it  a  deep,  if  not  a  terrible  im- 
pression. Time  soon  proved  that  it  did  so. 

An  incident  is  said  to  have  occurred  at  the  funeral 
in  fine  keeping  with  the  wild  spirit  of  the  whole  mel- 
ancholy event.  Wlien  the  procession  had  advanced  to  a 
place  called  Mullaghtinny,  a  large  dark-colored  hare, 
which  was  instantly  recognized  by  those  who  had  been 
out  with  him  on  the  hills,  as  the  identical  one  that  led 
him  to  his  fate,  is  said  to  have  crossed  the  roads  about 
twenty  yards  or  so  before  the  -coffin.  The  story  goes, 
that  a  man  struck  it  on  the  side  with  a  stone,  and  that 
the  blow,  which  would  have  killed  any  ordinary  hare, 
not  only  did  it  no  injury,  but  occasioned  a  sound  to  pro- 
ceed from  the  body  resembling  the  hollow  one  emitted 
by  an  empty  barrel  when  struck. 

In  the  meantime  the  interment  took  place,  and  the 
sensation  began,  like  every  other,  to  die  away  in  the  nat- 
ural progress  of  time,  when,  behold,  a  report  ran  abroad 
like  wildfire  that,  to  use  the  language  of  the  people, 
"Frank  M'Kenna  was  appearing!" 

One  night,  about  a  fortnight  after  his  funeral,  the 
daughter  of  Daly,  the  herd,  a  girl  about  fourteen,  while 
lying  in  bed  saw  what  appeared  to  be  the  likeness  of 
M'Kenna,  who  had  been  lost.  She  screamed  out,  and 
covering  her  head  with  the  bed  clothes,  told  her  father 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK   TALES       153 

and  mother  that  Frank  M'Kenna  was  in  the  house.  This 
alarming  intelligence  naturally  produced  great  terror; 
still,  Daly,  who,  notwithstanding  his  belief  in  such  mat- 
ters, possessed  a  good  deal  of  moral  courage,  was  cool 
enough  to  rise  and  examine  the  house,  which  consisted 
of  only  one  apartment.  This  gave  the  daughter  some 
courage,  who,  on  finding  that  her  father  could  not 
see  him,  ventured  to  look  out,  and  she  then  could  see 
nothing  of  him  herself. 

Accordingly  she  very  soon  fell  asleep,  and  her 
father  attributed  what  she  had  seen  to  fear  or  some,  ac- 
cidental combination  of  shadows  proceeding  from  the 
furniture,  for  it  was  a  clear  moonlight  night.  The 
light  of  the  following  day  dispelled  a  great  deal  of  their 
apprehensions,  and  comparatively  little  was  thought  of 
it  until  evening  again  advanced,  when  the  fears  of  the 
daughter  began  to  return.  They  appeared  to  be  pro- 
phetic, for  she  said  when  night  came  that  she  knew  he 
would  appear  again;  and  accordingly  at  the  same  hour 
he  did  so.  This  was  repeated  for  several  successive 
nights,  until  the  girl,  from  the  very  hardihood  of  terror, 
began  to  become  so  far  familiarized  to  the  specter  as  to 
venture  to  address  it. 

"In  the  name  of  God !"  she  asked,  "what  is  troubling 
you,  or  why  do  you  appear  to  me  instead  of  to  some 
of  your  own  family  or  relations  ?" 

The  ghost's  answer  alone  might  settle  the  question 
involved  in  the  authenticity  of  its  appearance,  being, 
as  it  was,  an  account  of  one  of  the  most  ludicrous  mis- 
sions that  ever  a"  spirit  was  despatched  upon. 

"I'm  not  allowed,"  said  he,  "to  spake  to  any  of  my 
friends,  fqr  I  parted  wid  them  in  anger;  but  I'm  come 
to  tell  you  that  they  are  quarrelin'  about  my  breeches — 
a  new  pair  that  I  got  made  for  Christmas  day ;  an'  as  I 
was  comin'  up  to  thrace  in  the  mountains,  I  thought  the 
ould  one  'ud  do  betther,  an*  of  coorse  I  didn't  put  the 
new  pair  an  me.  My  raison  for  appearin',"  he  added, 


154       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

% 

"is,  that  you  may  tell  my  friends  that  none  of  them  is 
to  wear  them — they  must  be  given  in  charity." 

This  serious  and  solemn  intimation  from  the  ghost 
was  duly  communicated  to  the  family,  and  it  was  found 
that  the  circumstances  were  exactly  as  it  had  represented 
them.  This,  of  course,  was  considered  as  sufficient  proof 
of  the  truth  of  its  mission.  Their  conversations  now 
became  not  only  frequent,  but  quite  friendly  and  fa- 
miliar. The  girl  became  a  favorite  with  the  specter, 
and  the  specter,  on  the  other  hand,  soon  lost  all  his 
terrors  in  her  eyes.  He  told  her  that  while  his  friends 
were  bearing  home  his  body,  the  handspikes  or  poles 
on  which  they  carried  him  had  cut  his  back,  and  occa- 
sioned him  great  pain!  The  cutting  of  the  back  also 
was  known  to  be  true,  and  strengthened,  of  course,  the 
truth  and  authenticity  of  their  dialogues.  The  whole 
neighborhood  was  now  in  a  commotion  with  this  story 
of  the  apparition,  and  persons  incited  by  curiosity  be- 
gan to  visit  the  girl  in  order  to  satisfy  themselves  of 
the  truth  of  what  they  had  heard.  Everything,  how- 
ever, was  corroborated,  and  the  child  herself,  without 
any  symptoms  of  anxiety  or  terror,  artlessly  related  her 
conversations  with  the  spirit.  Hitherto  their  interviews 
had  been  all  nocturnal,  but  now  that  the  ghost  found 
his  footing  made  good,  he  put  a  hardy  face  on,  and 
ventured  to  appear  by  daylight.  The  girl  also  fell  into 
states  of  syncope,  and  while  the  fits  lasted,  long  con- 
versations with  him  upon  the  subject  of  God,  the  blessed 
Virgin,  and  Heaven,  took  place  between  them.  He  was 
certainly  an  excellent  moralist,  and  gave  the  best  advice. 
Swearing,  drunkenness,  theft,  and  every  evil  propensit) 
of  our  nature,  were  declaimed  against  with  a  degree  of 
spectral  eloquence  quite  surprising.  Common  fame  had 
now  a  topic  dear  to  her  heart,  and  never  was  a  ghost 
made  more  of  by  his  best  friends  than  she  made  of  him. 
The  whole  country_was  in  a  tumult,  and  I  well  remem- 
ber the  crowds  which  nocked  to  the  lonely  little  cabin 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       153 

in  the  mountains,  now  the  scene  of  matters  so  interest- 
ing and  important.  Not  a  single  day  passed  in  which 
I  should  think  from  ten  to  twenty,  thirty,  or  fifty  per- 
sons were  not  present  at  these  singular  interviews. 
Nothing  else  was  talked  of,  thought  of,  and,  as  I  can 
well  testify,  dreamt  of.  I  would  myself  have  gone  to 
Daly's  were  it  not  for  a  confounded  misgiving  I  had, 
that  perhaps  the  ghost  might  take  a  fancy  of  appearing 
to  me,  as  he  had  taken  to  cultivate  an  intimacy  with 
the  girl;  and  it  so  happens,  that  when  I  see  the  face 
of  an  individual  nailed  down  in  the  coffin — chilling  and 
gloomy  operation ! — I  experience  no  particular  wish  to 
look  upon  it  again. 

The  spot  where  the  body  of  M'Kenna  was  found  is 
now  marked  by  a  little  heap  of  stones,  which  has  been 
collected  since  the  melancholy  event  of  his  death.  Every 
person  who  passes  it  throws  a  stone  upon  the  heap; 
but  why  this  old  custom  is  practiced,  or  what  it  means, 
I  do  not  know,  unless  it  be  simply  to  mark  the  spot 
as  a  visible  means  of  preserving  the  memory  of  the 
occurrence. 

Daly's  house,  the  scene  of  the  supposed  apparition, 
is  now  a  shapeless  ruin,  which  could  scarcely  be  seen 
were  it  not  for  the  green  spot  that  once  was  a  garden, 
and  which  now  shines  at  a  distance  like  an  emerald,  but 
with  no  agreeable  or  pleasing  associations.  It  is  a  spot 
which  no  solitary  schoolboy  will  ever  visit,  nor  indeed 
would  the  unflinching  believer  in  the  popular  nonsense 
of  ghosts  wish  to  pass  it  without  a  companion.  It  is, 
under  any  circumstances,  a  gloomy  and  barren  place; 
but  when  looked  upon  in  connection  with  what  we  have 
just  recited,  it  is  lonely,  desolate,  and  awful. 


WITCHES,    FAIRY   DOCTORS 


WITCHES  and  fairy  doctors  receive  their  power  from  op- 
posite dynasties;  the  witch  from  evil  spirits  and  her  own 
malignant  will;  the  fairy  doctor  from  the  fairies,  and  a 
eoinething — a  temperament — that  is  born  with  him  or  her. 
The  first  is  always  feared  and  hated,  t  The  second  is  gone  to 
for  advice,  and  is  never  worse  than  mischievous.  The  most 
celebrated  fairy  doctors  are  sometimes  people  the  fairies 
loved  and  carried  away,  and  kept  with  them  for  seven 
years;  not  that  those  the  tairies'  love  are  always  carried 
oft — they  may  merelj  grow  silent  and  strange,  and  take  to 
lonely  wanderings  in  the  "gentle"  places.  Such  will,  in 
after-times,  be  great  poets  or  musicians,  or  fairy  doctors; 
they  must  not  be  confused  with  those  who  have  a  Lianhaun 
shee  [leanndn-sidhe],  for  the  Lianhaun  shee  lives  upon  the 
vitals  of  its  chosen,  and  they  waste  and  die.  She  is  of  the 
dreadful  solitary  fairies.  To  her  have  belonged  the  greatest 
of  the  Irish  poets,  from  Oisin  down  to  the  last  century. 

Those  we  speak  of  have  for  their  friends  the  trooping 
fairies — the  gay  and  sociable  populace  of  raths  and  caves. 
Great  is  their  knowledge  of  herbs  and  spells.  These  doc- 
tors, when  the  butter  will  not  come  on  the  inilk>  or  the 
milk  will  not  come  irom  the  cow,  will  be  sent  for  to  find  out 
if  the  cause  be  in  the  course  of  common  nature  or  if  there 
has  been  witchcraft.  Perhaps  some  old  hag  in  the  shape 
of  a  hare  has  been  milking  the  cattle.  Perhaps  some  user 
of  "the  dead  hand"  has  drawn  away  the  butter  to  her  own 
churn.  Whatever  it  be,  there  is  the  counter-charm.  They 
will  give  advice,  too,  in  cases  of  suspected  changelings,  and 
prescribe  for  the  "fairy  blast"  (when  the  fairy  strikes  any 
one  a  tumor  rises,  or  they  become  paralyzed.  This  is  called 
a  "fairy  blast"  or  a  "fairy  stroke").  The  fairies  are,  of 
course,  visible  to  them,  and  many  a  new-built  bouse  have 
they  bid  the  owner  pull  down  because  it  lay  on  the  fairies' 
road.  Lady  Wilde  thus  describes  one  who  lived  in  Innis 
Sark :  "He  never  touched  beer,  spirits,  or  meat  in  all  his 
life,  but  has  lived  entirely  on  bread,  fruit,  and  vegetables. 
A  man  who  knew  him  thus  describes  him — 'Winter  and  sum- 
oaer  his  dress  is  the  same — merely  a  flannel  shirt  and  coat. 
He  will  pay  his  share  at  a  feast,  but  neither  eats  nor  drinks 
of  the  food  and  drink  set  before  him.  He  speaks  no  English, 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       157 

and  never  could  be  made  to  learn  the  English  tongue,  though 
he  says  it  might  be  used  with  great  effect  to  curse,  one's 
enemy.  He  holds  a  burial-ground  sacred,  and  would  not 
carry  away  so  much  as  a  leaf  of  ivy  from  a  grave  .  And  he 
maintains  that  the  people  are  right  to  keep  to  their  ancient 
usages,  such  as  never  to  dig  a  grave  on  a  Monday,  and  to 
carry  the  coffin  three  times  round  the  grave,  following  the 
course  of  the  sun.  for  then  the  dead  rest  in  peace.  Like 
the  people,  also,  he  holds  suicides  as  accursed ;  for  they  be- 
lieve that  all  its  dead  turn  over  on  their  faces  if  a  suicide 
is  laid  among  them. 

"  'Though  well  off,  he  never,  even  in  his  youth,  thought  of 
taking  a  wife ;  nor  was  he  ever  known  to  love  a  woman. 
He  stands  quite  apart  from  life,  and  by  this  means  holds 
his  power  over  the  mysteries.  No  money  will  tempt  him  to 
impart  his  knowledge  to  another,  for  if  he  did  he  would  be 
struck  dead — so  he  believes.  He  would  not  touch  a  hazel 
stick,  but  carries  an  ash  wand,  which  he  holds  in  his  hand 
when  he  prays,  laid  across  his  knees ;  and  the  whole  of  his 
life  is  devoted  to  works  of  grace  and  charity,  and  though 
now  an  old  man,  he  has  never  had  a  day's  sickness.  No  one 
has  ever  seen  him  in  a  rage,  nor  heard  an  angry  word  frora 
his  lips  but  once,  and  then  being  under  great  irritation, 
he  recited  the  Lord's  Prayer  backward  as  fin  imprecation  on 
his  enemy.  Before  his  death  he  will  reveal  the  mystery  of 
his  power,  but  not  till  the  hand  of  death  is  on  him  for 
certain.'  "  When  he  does  reveal  it,  we  may  be  sure  it  will 
be  to  one  person  only — his  successor.  There  are  several 
such  doctors  in  County  Sligo,  really  well  up  in  herbal  medi- 
cine by  all  accounts,  and  my  friends  find  them  in  their  own 
counties.  All  these  things  go  on  merrily.  The  spirit  of  the 
age  laughs  in  vain,  and  is  itself  only  a  ripple  to  pass,  or 
already  passing,  away. 

The  spells  of  the  witch  are  altogether  different;  they 
smell  of  the  grave.  One  of  the  most  powerful  is  the  charm 
of  the  dead  hand.  With  a  hand  cut  from  a  corpse  they, 
muttering  words  of  power,  will  stir  a  well  and  skim  frora 
its  surface  a  neighbor's  butter. 

A  candle  held  between  the  finsrers  of  the  dead  hand -can 
never  r-e  blown  out.  This  is  \iseful  to  robbers,  but  they 
anneal  for  the  suffrage  of  the  lovers  likewise,  for  they  can 
make  love-potions  by  drying  and  grinding  into  powdpr  tfip 
liver  of  a  black  cat.  Mixed  with  tea.  and  poured  from  a 
Mack  teapot,  it  is  infallible.  There  are  many  storle^  of  it* 
success  in  quite  recent  years,  but.  unhappily,  the  spell  must 


be  continually  renewed,  or  all  the  love  may  turn  into  hate. 
But  the  central  notion  of  witchcraft  everywhere  is  the 
power  to  change  into  some  fictitious  form,  usually  iu  Ireland 
a  hare  or  a  cat.  Long  ago  a  wolf  was  the  favorite.  Before 
Giraldus  Cambrensis  came  to  Ireland,  a  monk  wandering 
in  a  forest  at  night  came  upon  two  wolves,  one  of  whom 
was  dying.  The  other  entreated  him  to  give  the  dying  wolf 
the  last  sacrament.  He  said  the  mass,  and  paused  when  he 
came  to  the  viaticum.  The  other,  on  seeing  this,  tore  the 
skin  from  the  breast  of  the  dying  wolf,  laying  bare  the  form 
of  an  old  woman.  Thereon  the  monk  gave  the  sacrament. 
Years  afterward  he  confessed  the  matter,  and  when  Giraldus 
visited  the  country,  was  being  tried  by  the  synod  of  the 
bishops.  To  give  the  sacrament  to  an  animal  was  a  great 
sin.  Was  it  a  human  being  or  an  animal?  On  the  advice 
of  Giraldus  they  sent  the  monk,  with  papers  describing  the 
matter,  to  the  Pope  for  his  decision.  The  result  is  not 
stated. 

Giraldus  himself  was  of  opinion  that  the  wolf -form  was 
an  illusion,  for,  as  he  argued,  only  God  can  change  the  form. 
His  opinion  coincides  with  tradition.  Irish  and  otherwise. 

It  is  the  notion  of  many  who  have  written  about  these 
things  that  magic  is  mainly  the  making  of  such  illusions. 
Patrick  Kennedy  tells  a  story  of  a  girl  who.  having-  in  her 
hand  a  sod  of  grass  containing,  unknown  to  herself,  a  four- 
leaved  shamrock,  watched  a  conjurer  at  a  fair.  Now,  the 
four-leaved  shamrock  guards  its  owner  from  all  pishogues 
(spells),  and  when  the  others  were  staring  at  a  cock  carry- 
ing along  the  roof  of  a  shed  a  huge  beam  in  its  bill,  she 
asked  them  what  they  found  to  wonder  at  in  a  cock  with  a 
straw.  The  conjurer  begged  from  her  the  sod  of  grass,  to 
give  to  his  horse  he  said.  Immediately  she  cried  out  in 
terror  that  the  beam  would  fall  and  kill  somebody. 

This,  then,  is  to  be  remembered — the  form  of  an  enchanted 
thing  is  a  fiction  and  a  caprice. 

BEWITCHED  BUTTER  (DONEGAL) 

MISS  LETITIA  MACLINTOCK 

NOT  far  from  Rathmullen  lived,  last  spring,  a  family 
veiled  Hanlon ;  and  in  a  farmhouse,  some  fields  distant, 
people  named  Dogherty.  Both  families  had  good  cows, 
but  the  Hanlons  were  fortunate  in  possessing  a  Kerry 
cow  that  gave  more  milk  and  yellower  butter  than  the 
others. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       159 

Grace  Dogfierty,  a  young  girl,  who  was  more  admired 
than  loved  in  the  neighborhood,  took  much  interest  in 
the  Kerry  cow,  and  appeared  one  night  at  Mrs.  Han- 
Ion's  door  with  the  modest  request— 

"Will  you  let  me  milk  your  Moiley  cow  ?" 

"An*  why  wad  you  wish  to  milk  wee  Moiley,  Grace, 
dear?"  inquired  Mrs.  Hanlon. 

"Oh,  just  becase  you're  sae  throng  at  the  present 
time." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  Grace,  but  I'm  no  too  throng  to 
do  my  ain  work.  I'll  no  trouble  you  to  milk." 

The  girl  turned  away  with  a  discontented  air ;  but  the 
next  evening,  and  the  next,  found  her  at  the  cow-house 
door  with  the  same  request. 

At  length  Mrs.  Hanlon,  not  knowing  well  how  to  per- 
sist in  her  refusal,  yielded,  and  permitted  Grace  to  milk 
the  Kerry  cow. 

She  soon  had  reason  to  regret  her  want  of  firmness. 
Moiley  gave  no  more  milk  to  her  owner. 

When  this  melancholy  state  of  things  lasted  for  three 
days,  the  Hanlons  applied  to  a  certain  Mark  McCarrion, 
who  lived  near  Binion.- 

"That  cow  has  been  milked  by  someone  with  an  evil 
eye,"  said  he.  "Will  she  give  you  a  wee  drop,  do  you 
think  ?  The  full  of  a  pint  measure  wad  do." 

"Oh,  ay,  Mark,  dear;  I'll  get  that  much  milk  frae" 
her,  anyway." 

"Weel,  Mrs.  Hanlon,  lock  the  door,  an'  get  nine  new 
pins  that  was  never  used  in  clothes,  an'  put  them  into  a 
saucepan  wi'  the  pint  o*  milk.  Set  them  on  the  fire, 
an'  let  them  come  to  the  boiL" 

The  nine  pins  soon  began  to  simmer  in  Moiley's*  milk. 

*  In  Connaught  called  a  "mweeal"  cow — i.e.,  a  cow  with- 
out horns.  Irish  maol,  literally,  blunt.  When  the  new  ham- 
merless  breech-loaders  came  into  use  two  or  three  year? 
ago,  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde  heard  a  Connaught  gentleman  speak 
ftf  them  as  the  "mweeal"  guns,  because  they  had  no 


160        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Eapid  steps  were  heard  approaching  the  door,  agitated 
knocks  followed,  and  Grace  Dogherty's  high-toned  voice 
was  raised  in  eager  entreaty. 

'•'Let  me  in,  Mrs.  Hanlon  I"  she  cried.  "Tak  off  that 
cruel  pot !  Tak  out  them  pins,  for  they're  pricking  holes 
in  my  heart,  and  I'll  never  offer  to  touch  milk  of  yours 
ngain." 

[There  is  hardly  a  village  in  Ireland  where  the  milk  is 
not  thus  believed  to  have  been  stolen  times  upon  times. 
There  are  many  counter-charms.  Sometimes  the  coulter  of 
a  plough  will  be  heated  red-hot,  and  the  witch  will  rush  in, 
crying  out  that  she  is  burning.  A  new  horse-shoe  or  donkey- 
'Shoe,  heated  and  put  under  the  churn,  with  three  straws,  if 
possible,  stolen  at  midnight  from  over  the  witc*  <*s'  door,  is 
quite  infallible. — ED.] 


A  QUEEN'S  COUNTY  WITCH  * 

IT  was  about  eighty  years  ago,  in  the  month  of  May, 
that  a  Eoman  Catholic  clergyman,  near  Eathdowney,  in 
the  Queen's  County,  was  awakened  at  midnight  to  at- 
tend a  dying  man  in  a  distant  part  of  the  parish.  The 
priest  obeyed  without  a  murmur,  and  having  performed 
his  duty  to  the  expiring  sinner,  saw  him  depart  this 
world  before  he  left  the  cabin.  As  it  was  yet  dark,  the 
man  who  had  called  on  the  priest  offered  to  accompany 
him  home,  but  he  refused,  and  set  forward  on  his  jour- 
ney alone.  The  gray  dawn  be'gan^to  appear  over  the 
hills.  The  good  priest  was  highly  enraptured  with  the 
beauty  of  the  scene,  and  rode  on,  now  gazing  intently 
at  every  surrounding  object,  and  again  cutting  with  his 
whip  at  the  bats  and  big  beautiful  night-flies  which 
flitted  ever  and  anon  from  hedge  to  hedge  across  his 
lonely  way.  Thus  engaged,  he  journeyed  on  slowly, 
until  the  nearer  approach  of  sunrise  began  to  render 


Dublin  University  Review,  1839. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK   TALES       161 

objects  completely  discernible,  when  he  dismounted  from 
his  horse,  and  slipping  his  arm  out  of  the  rein,  and 
drawing  forth  his  "Breviary^'  from  his  pocket,  he  com- 
menced reading  his  "morning  office"  as  he  walked  lei- 
surely along. 

He  had  not  proceeded  very  far,  when  he  observed  his 
horse,  a  very  spirited  animal,  endeavoring  to  stop  on 
the  road,  and  gazing  intently  into  a  field  on  one  side- 
of  the  way  where  there  were  three  or  four  cows  grazing. 
However,  he  did  not  pay  any  particular  attention  to 
this  circumstance,  but  went  on  a  little  further,  when  the 
horse  suddenly  plunged  with  great  violence,  and  en- 
deavored to  break  away  by  force.  The  priest  with  great 
difficulty  succeeded  in  restraining  him,  and,  looking  at 
him  more  closely,  observed  him  shaking  from  head  to 
foot,  and  sweating  profusely.  He  now  stood  calmly,  and 
refused  to  move  from  where  he  was,  nor  could  threats 
or  entreaty  induce  him  to  proceed.  The  father  was 
greatly  astonished,  but  recollecting  to  have  often  heard 
of  horses  laboring  under  affright  being  induced  to  go 
by  blindfolding  them,  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
tied  it  across  his  eyes.  He  then  mounted,  and,  striking 
him  gently,  he  went  forward  without  reluctance,  but 
still  sweating  and  trembling  violently.  They  had  not 
gone  far,  when  they  arrived  opposite  a  narrow  path  or 
bridle-way,  flanked  at  either  side  by  a  tall,  thick  hedge, 
which  led  from  the  high  road  to  the  field  where  the 
cows  were  grazing.  The  priest  happened  by  chance  to 
look  into  the  lane,  and  saw  a  spectacle  which  made  the 
blood  curdle  in  his  veins.  It  was  the  legs  of  a  man  from 
the  hips  downward,  without  head  or  body,  trotting  up  the 
avenue  at  a  smart  pace.  The  good  father  was  very  much 
alarmed,  but,  being  a  man  of  strong  nerve,  he  resolved, 
come  what  might,  to  stand,  and  be  further  acquainted 
with  this  singular  specter.  He  accordingly  stood,  and 
so  did  the  headless  apparition,  as  if  afraid  to  approach 


162        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

him.  The  priest,  observing  this,  pulled  back  a  little 
from  the  entrance  of  the  avenue,  and  the  phantom 
again  resumed  its  progress*  It  soon  arrived  on  the 
road,  and  the  priest  now  had  sufficient  opportunity  to 
view  it  minutely.  It  wore  yellow  buckskin  breeches, 
tightly  fastened  at  the  knees  with  green  ribbon ;  it  had 
neither  shoes  nor  stockings  on,  and  its  legs  were  cov- 
ered with  long,  red  hairs,  and  all  full  of  wet,  blood, 
and  clay,  apparently  contracted  in  its  progress  through 
the  thorny  hedges.  The  priest,  although  very  much 
alarmed,  felt  eager  to  examine  the  phantom,  and  for 
this  purpose  summoned  all  his  philosophy  to  enable  him 
to  speak  to  it.  The  ghost  was  now  a  little  ahead,  pur- 
suing its  march  at  its  usual  brisk  trot,  and  the  priest 
urged  on  his  horse  speedily  until  he  came  up  with  it, 
and  thus  addressed  it — 

"Hilloa,  friend !  who  art  thou,  or  whither  art  thou 
going  so  early?" 

The  hideous  specter  made  no  reply,  but  uttered  a 
fierce  and  superhuman  growl,  or  "Umph." 

"A  fine  morning  for  ghosts  to  wander  abroad,"  again 
said  the  priest. 

Another  "Umph"  was  the  reply. 

"Why  don't  you  speak?" 

"Umph." 

"You  don't  seem  disposed  to  be  very  loquacious  this 
morning." 

"Umph,"  again. 

The  good  man  began  to  feel  irritated  at^the  obstinate 
silence  of  his  unearthly  visitor,  and  said,  with  some 
warmth : 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  sacred,  I  command  you  to 
answer  me,  Who  art  thou,  or  where  art  thou  traveling  ?" 

Another  "Umph,"  mpre  loud  and  more  angry  than 
before,  was  the  only  reply. 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  father,  "a  taste  of  whipcord  might 
render  you  a  little  more  communicative;"  and  so  say- 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       163 

ing,  he  struck  the  apparition  a  heavy  blow  with  his  whip 
on  the  breech. 

The  phantom  uttered  a  wild  and  unearthly  yell,  and 
fell -forward  on  the  road,  and  what  was  the  priest's  as- 
tonishment when  he  perceived  the  whole  place  running 
over  with  milk.  He  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement ; 
the  prostrate  phantom  still  continued  to  eject  vast  quan- 
tities of  milk  from  every  part;  the  priest's  head  swam, 
his  eyes  got  dizzy ;  a  stupor  came  all  over  him  for  some 
minutes,  and  on  his  recovering,  the  frightful  specter 
had  vanished,  and  in  its  stead  he  found  stretched  on  the 
road,  and  half  drowned  in  milk,  the  form  of  Sarah  Ken- 
nedy, an  old  woman  of  the  neighborhood,  who  had  been 
long  notorious  in  that  district  forv  her  witchcraft  and 
superstitious  practices,  and  it  was  now  discovered  that 
she  had,,  by  infernal  aid,  assumed  that  monstrous  shape, 
and  was  employed  that  morning  in  sucking  the  cows 
of  the  village.  Had  a  volcano  burst  forth  at  his  feet, 
he  could  not  be  more  astonished;  he  gazed  awhile  in 
silent  amazement — the  old  woman  groaning,  and  writh' 
ing  convulsively. 

"Sarah/*  said  he,  at  length,  "I  have  long  admonished 
you  to  repent  of  your  evil  ways,  but  you  were  deaf  to 
my  entreaties ;  and  now,  wretched  woman,  you  are  sur- 
prised in  the  midst  of  your  crimes." 

"Oh,  father,  father/'  shouted  the  unfortunate  woman, 
"can  you  do  nothing  to  save  me?  I  am  lost;  hell  is 
open  for  me,  and  legions  of  devils  surround  me  this 
moment,  waiting  to  carry  my  soul  to  perdition." 

The  priest  had  not  power  to  reply;  the  old  wretch's 
pains  increased;  her  body  swelled  to  an  immense  size; 
her  eyes  flashed  as  if  on  fire,  her  face  was  black  as  night, 
her  entire  form  writhed  in  a  thousand  different  contor- 
tions; her  outcries  were  appalling,  her  face  sunk,  her 
eyes  closed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  expired  in  the 
most  exquisite  tortures. 

The  priest  departed  homeward,   and   called   at  the 


164        IRISH   FAIRY  AXJJ  FOLK  TALES 

next  cabin  to  give  notice  of  the  strange  circumstances. 
The  remains  of  Sarah  Kennedy  were  removed  to  her 
cabin,  situated  at  the  edge  of  a  small  wood  at  a  little 
distance.  She  had  long  been  a  resident  in  that  neigh- 
borhood, but  still  she  was  a  stranger,  and  came  there 
no  one  knew  from  whence.  She  had  no  relation  in  that 
country  but  one  daughter,  now  advanced  in  years,  who 
resided  with  her.  She  kept  one  cow,  but  sold  more 
butter,  it  was  said,  than  any  farmer  in  the  parish,  and 
it  was  generally  suspected  that  she  acquired  it  by  devil- 
ish agency,  as  she  never  made  a  secret  of  being  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  sorcery  and  fairyism.  She  pro- 
fessed the  Eoman  Catholic  religion,  but  never  complied 
with  the  practices  enjoined  by  that  church,  and  her  re- 
mains were  denied  Christian  sepulture,  and  were  buried 
in  a  sand-pit  near  her  own  cabin. 

On  the  evening  of  her  burial,  the  villagers  assembled 
and  burned  her  cabin  to.  the  earth.  Her  daughter  made 
her  escape,  and  never  after  returned. 


THE  WITCH  HARE 

ME.  AND  MKS.   S.    C.   HALL 

I  WAS  out  thracking  hares  meeself,  and  I  seen  a  fine 
puss  of  a  thing  hopping,  hopping  in  the  moonlight,  and 
whacking  her  ears  about,  now  up,  now  down,  and  wink- 
ing her  great  eyes,  and — "Here  goes,"  says  I,  and  the 
thing  was  so  close  to  me  that  she  turned  round  and 
looked  at  me,  and  then  bounced  back,  as  well  as  to  say, 
do  your  worst!  So  I  had  the  least  grain  in  life  of 
blessed  powder  left,  and  I  put  it  in  the  gun — and  bang 
at  her !  My  jewel,  the  scritrh  she  gave  would  frighten 
a  rigment,  and  a  mist,  like,  came  betwixt  me  and  her, 
and  I  seen  her  no  more;  but  when  the  mist  wint  off 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       165 

I  saw  blood  on  the  spot  where  she  had  been,  and  I  fol- 
lowed its  track,  and  at  last  it  led  me — whist,  whisper — 
right  up  to  Katey  MacShane's  door ;  and  when  I  was  at 
the  threshold,  I  heerd  a  murnin'  within,  a  great  murn- 
in',  and  a  groaning  and  I  opened  the  door,  and  there 
she  was  herself,  sittin'  quite  content  in  the  shape  of  a 
woman,  and  the  black  cat  that  was  sittin'  by  her  rose 
up  its  back  and  spit  at  me ;  but  I  went  on  never  heeding 
and  asked  the  ould how  she  was  and  what  ailed  her. 

"Nothing,"  sis  she. 

"What's  that  on  the  floor  ?"  sis  I. 

"Oh,"  she  says,  "I  was  cuttin'  a  billet  of  wood,"  she 
says,  "wid  the  reaping  hook,"  she  says,  "an*  I've 
wounded  meself  in  the  leg,"  she  says,  "and  that's  drops 
of  my  precious  blood,"  she  says. 


BEWITCHED    BUTTER    (QUEEN'S    COUNTY).* 

ABOUT  the  commencement  of  the  last  century  there 
lived  in  the  vicinity  of  the  once  famous  village  of  Agha- 
voet  a  wealthy  farmer,  named  Bryan  Costigan.  This 
man  kept  an  extensive  dairy  and  a  great  many  milch 
cows,  and  every  year  made  considerable  sums  by  the 
sale  of  milk  and  butter.  The  luxuriance  of  the  pasture 
lands  in  this  neighborhood  has  always  been  proverbial; 
and,  consequently,  Bryan's  cows  were  the  finest  and  most 


*  Dublin  University  Magazine,  1839. 

\Aghavoe — "the  field  of  kine" — a  beautiful  and  romantic 
village  near  Borris-in-Ossory,  iu  the  Queen's  County.  It 
was  once  a  place  of  considerable  importance,  and  for  cen- 
turies the  episcopal  seat  of  the  diocese  of  Ossory,  but  for 
ages  back  it  has  gone  to  decay,  and  is  now  remarkable  for 
nothing  but  the  magnificent  ruins  of  a  priory  of  the  Domini- 
cans, erected  here  at  an  early  period  by  St.  Canice,  the 
patron  saint  of  Ossory. 


166        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

productive  in  the  country,  and  his  milk  and  butter  the 
richest  and  sweetest,  and  brought  the  highest  price  at 
everj  market-  at  which  he  offered  these  articles  for  sale. 

Things  continued  to  go  on  thus  prosperously  with 
Bryan  Costigan,  when,  one  season,  all  at  once,  he  found 
his  cattle  declining  in  appearance,  and  his  dairy  almost 
entirely  profitless.  Bryan,  at  first,  attributed  this  change 
to  the  weather,  or  some  such  cause,  but  soon  found  or 
fancied  reasons  to  assign  it  to  a  far  different  source. 
The  cows,  without  any  visible  disorder,  daily  declined, 
and  were  scarcely  able  to  crawl  about  on  their  pasture: 
many  of  them,  instead  of  milk,  gave  nothing  but  blood ; 
and  the  scanty  quantity  of  milk  which  some  of  them  con- 
tinued to  supply  was  so  bitter  that  even  the  pigs  would 
not  drink  it;  while  the  butter  which  it  produced  was 
of  such  a  bad  quality,  and  stunk  so  horribly,  that  the 
very  dogs  would  not  eat  it.  Bryan  applied  for  remedies 
to  all  the  quacks  and  "fairy-women"  in  the  country — 
.but  in  vain.  Many  of  the  impostors  declared  that  the 
mysterious  malady  in  his  cattle  went  beyond  their  skill; 
while  others,  although  they  found  no  difficulty  in  tracing 
it  to  superhuman  agency,  declared  that  they  had  no 
control  in  the  matter,  as  the  charm  under  the  influence 
of  which  his  property  was  made  away  with,  was  too 
powerful  to  be  dissolved  by  anything  less  than  the  spe- 
cial interposition  of  Divine  Providence.  The  poor 
farmer  became  almost  distracted;  he  saw  ruin  staring 
him,  in  the  face ;  yet'  what  was  he  to  do  ?  Sell  his  cattle 
and  purchase  others !  No ;  that  was  out  of  the  question, 
as  they  looked  so  miserable  and  emaciated  that  no  one 
would  even  take  them  as  a  present,  while  it  was  also 
impossible  to  sell  to  a  butcher,  as  the  flesh  of  one  which 
he  killed  for  his  own  family  was  as  black  as  a  coal, 
and  stunk  like  any  putrid  carrion. 

The  unfortunate  man  was  thus  completely  bewildered. 
He  knew  not  what  to  do ;  he  became  moody  and  stupid ; 
^is  sleep  forsook  him  by  night,  and  all  day  he  wandered 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       167 

about  the  fields,  among  his  "fairy-stricken"  cattle  like 
a  maniac. 

Affairs  continued  in  this  plight,  when  one  very  sultry 
evening  in  the  latter  days  of  July,  Bryan  Costigan's  wife 
was  sitting-  at  her  own  door,  spinning  at  her  wheel,  in 
a  very  gloomy  and  agitated  state  of  mind.  Happening 
to  look  down  the  narrow  green  lane  which  led  from 
the  high  road  to  her  cabin,  she  espied  a  little  old  woman 
barefoot,  and  enveloped  in  an  old  scarlet  cloak,  ap- 
proaching slowly,  with  the  aid  of  a  crutch  which  shfe 
carried  in  one  hand,  and  a  cane  or  walking-stick  in 
the  other.  "The  farmer's  wife  felt  glad  at  seeing  the 
odd-looking  stranger;  she  smiled,  and  yet  she  knew  noi 
why,  as  she  neared  the  house.  A  vague  and  indefinable 
feeling  of  pleasure  crowded  on  her  imagination;  and, 
as  the  old  woman  gained  the  threshold,  she  bade  her 
"welcome"  with  a  warmth  which  plainly  told  that  her 
lips  gave  utterance  but  to  the  genuine  feelings  of  hei 
heart. 

"God  bless  this  good  house  and  all  belonging  to  it/' 
said  the  stranger  as  she  entered. 

"God  save  you  kindly,  and  you  are  welcome,  whoevei 
you  are,"  replied  Mrs.  Costigan. 

"Hem,  I  thought  so,"  said  the  old  woman  with  a  sig- 
nificant grin.  "I  thought  so,  or  I  wouldn't  trouble  you.'J 
The  farmer's  wife  ran,  and  placed  a  chair  near  the 
fire  for  the  stranger,  but  she  refused,  and  sat  on  the 
ground  near  where  Mrs.  C.  had  been  spinning.  Mrs. 
Costigan  had  now  time  to  survey  the  old  hag's  person 
minutely.  She  appeared  of  great  age;  her  countenance 
was  extremely  ugly  and  repulsive;  her  skin  was  rough 
and  deeply  embrowned  as  if  from  long  exposure  to  the 
effects  of  some  tropical  climate;  her  forehead  was  low, 
narrow,  and  indented  with  a  thousand  wrinkles;  her 
long  gray  hair  fell  in  matted  elf-locks  from  beneath  a 
white  linen  skull  cap;  her  eyes  were  bleared,  blood- 
sotten,  and  obliquely  set  in  their  sockets,  and  her  voice 


US        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

was  croaking,  tremulous,  and,  at  times,  partially  inar- 
ticulate. As  she  squatted  on  the  floor,  she  looked  round 
the  house  with  an  inquisitive  gaze;  she  peered  pryingly 
from  corner  to  corner,  with  an  earnestness  of  look,  as 
if  she  had  the  faculty,  like  the  Argonaut  of  old,  to  see 
through  the  very  depths  of  the  earth,  while  Mrs.  C. 
kept  watching  her  motions  with  mingled  feelings  of  cu- 
riosity, awe,  and  pleasure. 

"Mrs.,"  said  the  old  woman,  at  length  breaking  si- 
lence, "I  am  dry  with  the  heat  of  the  day;  can  you 
give  me  a  drink?" 

"Alas !"  replied  the  farmer's  wife,  "I  have  no  drink  to 
offer  you  except  water,  elsie  you  would  have  no  occasion 
to  ask  me  for  it." 

"Are  you  not  the  owner  of  the  cattle  I  see  yonder?" 
said  the  old  hag,  with  a  tone  of  voice  and  manner  of 
gesticulation  which  plainly  indicated  her  foreknowledge 
of  the  fact. 

Mrs.  Costigan  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  briefly 
related  to  her  every  circumstance  connected  with  the 
affair,  while  the  old  woman  still  remained  silent,  but 
shook  her  gray  head  repeatedly;  and  still  continued 
gazing  round  the  house  with  an  air  of  importance  and 
eelf -sufficiency. 

When  Mrs.  C.  had  ended,  the  old  hag  remained  a 
while  as  if  in  a  deep  reverie ;  at  length  she  said : 

"Have  you  any  of  the  milk  in  the  house  ?" 

"I  have,"  replied  the  other. 

"Show  me  some  of  it." 

She  filled  a  jug  from  a  vessel  and  handed  it  to  the 
old  sybil,  who  smelled  it,  then  tasted  it,  and  spat  out 
what  she  had  taken  on  the  floor. 

"Where  is  your  husband  ?"  she  asked. 

"Out  in  the  fields,"  was  the  reply. 

"I  must  see  him." 

A  messenger  was  despatched  for  Bryan,  who  shortly 
after  made  his  appearance. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       1U 

"Neighbor,"  said  the  stranger,  "your  wife  informs 
me  that  your  cattle  are  going  against  you  this  season." 
"She  informs  you  right/'  said  Bryan. 
'"And  why  have  you  not  sought  a  cure  ?" 
"A  cure !"  re-echoed  the  man ;  "why,  woman,  I  have 
sought  cures  until  I  was  heart-broken,  and  all  in  vain; 
they  get  worse  every  day." 
,     "What  will  you  give  me  if  I  cure*  them  for  you  ?" 

"Anything  in  our  power/'  replied  Bryan  and  his-  wife, 
both,  speaking  joyfully,  and  with  a  breath. 

"All  I  will  ask  from  you  is  a  silver  sixpence,  and 
that  you  will  do  everything  which  I  will  bid  you/' 
said  she.  i 

The  farmer  and  his  wife  seemed  astonished  at  the 
moderation  of  her  demand.  They  offered  her  a  large 
sum  of  money. 

"No/'  said  she,  "I  don't  want  your  money;  I  am  no 
cheat,  and  I  would  not  even  take  sixpence,  but  that  I 
can  do  nothing  till  I  handle  some  of  your  silver." 

The  sixpence  was  immediately  given  her,  and  the  most 
jmplicit  obedience  promised  to  her  injunctions  by  both 
Bryan-  and  his  wife,  who  already  began  to  regard  the 
old  beldame  as  their  tutelary  angel. 

The  hag  pulled  off  a  black  silk  ribbon  or.  filet  which 
encircled  her  head  inside  her  cap,  and  gave  it  to  Bryan, 
saying  : 

"Go,  now,  and  the  first  cow  you  touch  with  this  rib- 
bon,  turn  her  into  the  yard,  but  be  sure  don't  touch 
the  second,  nor  speak  a  word  until  you  return ;  be  also 
careful  not  to  let  the  ribbon  touch  the  ground,  for,  if 
you  do,  all  is  over." 

Bryan  took  the  talismanic  ribbon,  and  soon  returned, 
driving  a  red  cow  before  him. 

The  old  hag  went  out,  and,  approaching  the  cow, 
commenced  pulling  hairs  out  of  her  tail,  at  the  same 
time  singing  some  verse  in  the  Irish  language,  in  a  low, 
wild,  and  unconnected  strain.  The  cow  appeared  restive 


170        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

and  uneas}r,  but  the  old  witch  still  continued  her  mys- 
terious chant  until  she  had  the  ninth  hair  extracted. 
She  then  ordered  the  cow  to  be  drove  back  to  her  pas- 
ture, and  again  entered  the  house. 

"Go,  now,"1  said  she  to  the  woman,  "and  bring  me 
some  milk  from  every  cow  in  your  possession." 

She  went,  and  soon  returned  with  a  large  pail  filled 
with  a  frightful-looking  mixture  of  milk,  blood,  and 
corrupt  matter.  The  old  woman  got  it  into  the  churn, 
and  made  preparations  for  churning. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "you  both  must  churn,  make  fast 
the  door  and  windows,  and  let  there  be  no  light  but 
from  the  fire ;  do  not  open  your  lips  until  I  desire  you, 
and  by  observing  my  directions,  I  make  no  doubt  but, 
ere  the  sun  goes  down,  we  will  find  out  the  infernal 
villain  who  is  robbing  you." 

Bryan  secured  the  doors  and  windows,  and  commenced 
churning.  The  old  sorceress  sat  down  by  a  blazing  fire 
which  had  been  specially  lighted  for  the  occasion,  and 
commenced  singing  the  same  wild  song  which  she  had 
sung  ai  the  pulling  of  the  cow  hairs,  and  after  a  little, 
time  she  cast  one  of  the  nine  hairs  into  the  fire,  still 
singing  her  mysterious  strain,  and  watching,  with  in- 
tense interest,  the  witching  process. 

A  loud  cry,  as  if  frv,m  a  female  in  distress,  was  now 
heard  approaching  the  house ;  the  old  witch  discontinued 
her  incantations,  and  listened  attentively.  The  crying 
voice  approached  the  door. 

"Open  the  door  quickly,"  shouted  the  charmer. 

Bryan  unbarred  the  door,  and  all  three  rushed  out 
in  the  yard,  when  they  heard  the  same  cry  down  the 
boreheen,  but  could  see  nothing. 

"It  is  all  over,"  shouted  the  old  witch;  "something 
has  gone  amiss,  and  our  charm  for  the  present  is 
Ineffectual." 

They  now  turned  back  quite  crestfallen,  when,  as 
they  were  entering  the  door,  the  sybil  cast  her  eyes 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       171 

downward,  and  perceiving  a  piece  of  horseshoe  nailed 
on  the  threshold,*  she  vociferated : 

"Here  I  have  it;  no  wonder  our  charm  was  abortive. 
The  person  that  was  crying  abroad  is  the  villain  who 
has  your  cattle  bewitched;  I  brought  her  to  the  house, 
but  she  was  not  able  to  come  to  the  door  on  account  of 
that  horseshoe.  Eemove  it  instantly,  and  we  will  try 
our  luck  again." 

Bryan  removed  the  horseshoe  from  the  doorway,  and 
by  the  hag's  directions  placed  it  on  the  floor  under  the 
churn,  having  previously  reddened  it  in  the  fire. 

They  again  resumed  their  manual  operations.  Bryan 
and  his  wife  began  to  churn,  and  the  witch  again  to 
sing  her  strange  verses,  and  casting  her  cow-hairs  into 
the  fire  until  she  had  them  all  nearly  exhausted.  Her 
countenance  now  began  to  exhibit  evident  traces  of 
vexation  and  disappointment.  She  got  quite  pale,  her 
teeth  gnashed,  her  hand  trembled,  and  as  she  cast  the 
ninth  and  last  hair  into  the  fire,  her  person  exhibited 
more  the  appearance  of  a  female  demon  than  of  a  human 
being. 

Once  more  the  cry  was  heard,  and  an  aged  red-haired 
woman  t  was  seen  approaching  the  house  quickly. 

"Ho,  ho !"  roared  the  sorceress,  "I  knew  it  would  be 
so;  my  charm  has  succeeded;  my  expectations  are  real- 
ized, and  here  she  comes,  the  villain  who  has  destroyed 
you." 

"What  are  we  to  do  now?"  asked  Bryan. 

"Say  nothing  to  her,"  said  the  hag;  "give  her  what- 
erer  she  demands,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me." 

*  It  was  once  a  common  practice  in  Ireland  to  nail  a  piece 
of  horseshoe  on  the  threshold  of  the  door,  as  a  preservative 
against  the  influence  of  the  fairies,  who,  it  is  thought,  dare 
not  enter  any  house  thus  guarded.  This  custom,  however. 
is  much  on  the  wane,  but  still  it  is  prevalent  in  some  of  the 
more  uncivilized  districts  of  the  country. 

i  Red-haired  people  are  thought  to  possess  magic  power. 


172        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

The  woman  advanced  screeching  vehemently,  and 
Bryan  went  out  to  meet  her.  She  was  a  neighbor,  and 
she  said  that  one  of  her  best  cows  was'  drowning  in  a 
pool  of  water — that  there  was  no  one  at  home  but  her- 
self, and  she  implored  Bryan  to  go  rescue  the  cow  from 
destruction. 

Bryan  accompanied  her  without  hesitation;  and  hav- 
ing rescued  the  cow  from  her  perilous  situation,  was 
back  again  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

It  was  now  sunset,  and  Mrs.  Oostigan  set  about  pre- 
paring supper. 

During  supper  they  reverted  to  the  singular  trans- 
actions of  the  day.  The  old  witch  uttered  many  a  fiend- 
vsh  laugh  at  the  success  of  her  incantations,  and  in- 
quired who  was  the  woman  whom  they  had  so  curiously 
discovered. 

Bryan  satisfied  her  in  every  particular.  She  was  the 
wife  of  a  neighboring  farmer;  her  name  was  Kacru-1 
Higgins;  and  she  had  been  long  suspected  to  be  on 
familiar  terms  with  the  spirit  of  darkness.  She  had 
iive  or  six  cows;  but  it  was  observed  by  her  sapient 
neighbors  that  she  sold  more  butter  every  year  than 
other  farmers'  wives  who  had  twenty.  Bryan  had,  from 
the  commencement  of  the  decline  in  his  cattle,  suspected 
her  for  being  the  aggressor,  but  as  he  had  no  proof,  he 
held  his  peace. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  beldame,  with  a  grim  smile,  "it 
is  not  enough  that  we  have  merely 'discovered  the  rob- 
ber ;  all  is  in  vain,  ^if  we  do  not  take  steps  to  punish 
her  for  the  past,  as  well  as  to  prevent  her  inroads  for 
the  future." 

"And  how  will  that  be  done  ?"  said  Bryan. 

"I  will  tell  you ;  as  soon  as  the  hour  of  twelve  o'clock 
arrives  to-night,  do  you  go  to  the  pasture,  and  take  a 
couple  of  swift-running  dogs  with  you ;  conceal  yourself 
in  some  place  convenient  to  the  cattle ;  watch  them  care- 
fully; and  if  you  see  anything,  whether  man  or  beast. 


approach  the  cows,  set  on  the  dogs,  and  if  possible  make 
them  draw  the  blood  of  the  intruder;  then  ALL  will  be 
accomplished.  If  nothing  approaches  before  sunrise, 
you  may  return,  and  we  will  try  something  else." 

Convenient  there  lived  the  cowherd  of  a  neighboring 
squire.  He  was  a  hardy,  courageous  young  man,  and 
always  kept'  a  pair  of  very  ferocious  bulldogs.  To  him, 
Bryan  applied  for  assistance,  and  he  cheerfully  agreed 
to  accompany  him,  and,  moreover,  proposed  to  fetch  a 
couple  of  his  master's  best  grayhounds,  as  his  own  dogs, 
although  extremely  fierce  and  bloodthirsty,  could  not  be 
relied  on  for  swiftness.  He  promised  Bryan  to  be  with 
him  before  twelve  o'clock,  and  they  parted. 

Bryan  did  not  seek  sleep  that  night;  he  sat  up  anx- 
iously awaiting  the  midnight  hour.  It  arrived  at  last, 
and  his  friend,  the  herdsman,  true  to  his  promise,  came 
at  the  time  appointed.  After  some  further  admonitions 
from  the  Collougli,  they  departed.  Having  arrived  at 
the  field,  they  consulted  as  to  the  best  position  they 
could  choose  for  concealment.  At  last  they  pitched  on 
a  small  brake  of  fern,  situated  at  the  extremity  of  the 
field,  adjacent  to  the  boundary  ditch,  which  was  thickly 
studded  with  large,  old  white-thorn  bushes.  Here  they 
crouched  themselves,  and  made  the  dogs,  four  in  num- 
ber, lie  down  beside  them,  eagerly  expecting  the  appear- 
ance of  their  as  yet  unknown  and  mysterious  visitor. 

Here  Bryan  and  his  comrade  continued  a  considerable 
time  in  nervous  anxiety,  still  nothing  approached, 
and  it  became  manifest  that  morning  was  at  hand ;  they 
were  beginning  to  grow  impatient,  and  were  talking  of 
returning  home,  when  on  a  sudden  they  heard  a  rushing 
sound  behind  them,  as  if  proceeding  from  something  en- 
deavoring to  force  a  passage  through  the  thick  hedge  in 
their  rear.  They  looked  in  that  direction,  and  judge 
of  their  astonishment,  when  they  perceived  a  large  hare 
in  the  act  of  springing  from  the  ditch,  and  leaping  on 
the  ground  quite  near  them.  They  were  now  convinced 


174        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

fchat  this  was  the  object  which  they  had  so  impatiently 
expected,  and  they  were  resolved  to  watch  her  motions 
narrowly. 

After  arriving  to  the  ground,  she  remained  motionless 
for  a  few  moments,  looking  around  her  sharply.  She 
then  began  to  skip  and  jump  in  a  playful  manner;  now 
/advancing  at  a  smart  pace  toward  the  cows,  and  again 
retreating  precipitately,  but  still  drawing  nearer  and 
nearer  at  each  sally.  At  length  she  advanced  up  to  the 
next  cow,  and  sucked  her  for  a  moment;  then  on  to  the 
next,  and  so  respectively  to  every  cow  on  the  field — the 
cows  all  the  time  lowing  loudly,  and  appearing  ex- 
tremely frightened  and  agitated.  Bryan,  from  the  mo- 
ment the  hare  commenced  sucking  the  first,  was  with 
difficulty  restrained  from  attacking  her ; .  but  his  more 
sagacious  companion  suggested  to  him,  that  it  was  bet- 
ter to  wait  until  she  would  have  done,  as  she  would  then 
he  much  heavier,  and  more  unable  to  effect  her  escape 
than  at  present.  And  so  the  issue-  proved;  for  being 
now  done  sucking  them  all,  her  belly  appeared  enor- 
mously distended,  and  she  made  her  exit  slowly  and 
apparently  with  difficulty.  She  advanced  toward  the 
hedge  where  she  had  entered,  and  as  she  arrived  just  at 
the  clump  of  ferns  where  her  foes  were  couched,  they 
started  up  with  a  fierce  yell,  and  hallooed  the  dogs  upon 
her  path. 

The  hare  started  off  at  a  brisk  pace,  squirting  up  the 
milk  she  had  sucked  from  her  mouth  and  nostrils,  and 
the  dogs  making  after  her  rapidly.  Eachel  Higgins's 
cabin  appeared,  through  the  gray  of  the  morning  twi- 
light, at  a  little  distance;  and  it  was. evident  that  puss 
'seemed  bent  on  gaining  it,  although  she  made  a  con- 
siderable circuit  through  the  fields  in  the  rear.  Bryan 
and  his  comrade,  however,  had  their  thoughts,  and  made 
toward  the  cabin  by  the  shortest  route,  and  had  just  ar- 
rived as  the  hare  came  up,  panting  and  almost  ex- 
hausted, and  the  dogs  at  her  very  scut.  She  ran  round 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       175 

the  house,  evidently  confused  and  disappointed  at  the 
presence  of  the  men,  but  at  length  made  for  the  door. 
In  the  bottom  of  the  door  was  a  small,  semi-circular 
aperture,  resembling  those  cut  in  fowl-house  doors  for 
the  ingress  and  egress  of  poultry.     To  gain  this  hole, 
puss  now  made  a  last  and  desperate  effort,  and  had  suc- 
ceeded in  forcing  her  head  and  shoulders  through  it, 
wnen  the  foremost  of  the  dogs  made  a  spring  and  seized 
her  violently  by  the  haunch.     She  uttered  a  loud  and 
piercing  scream,  and  struggled  desperately  to  free  her- 
self from  his  grip,  and  at  last  succeeded,  but  not  until 
she  left  a  piece  of  her  rump  in  his  teeth.     The  men 
nc\v  burst  open  the  door;  a  bright  turf  fire  blazed  on 
the  hearth,  and  the  whole  floor  was  streaming  with 
blood.    No  hare,  however,  could  be  found,  and  the  men 
were  more  than  ever  convinced  that  it  was  old  Rachel, 
who  had,  by  the  assistance  of  some  demon,  assumed  the 
form  of  the  hare,  and  they  now  determined  to  have  her 
if  she  were  over  the  earth.    They  entered  the  bedroom, 
and  heard  some  smothered  groaning,  as  if  proceeding 
from  some  one  in  extreme  agony.    They  went  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  room  from  whence  the  moans  proceeded,  ant1! 
there,  beneath  a  bundle  of  freshly-cut  rushes,  found  the 
form  of  Rachel  Higgins,  writhing  in  the  most  excruciat- 
ing agony,  and  almost  smothered  in  a  pool  of  blood, 
The  men  were  astounded;  they  addressed  the  wretched 
old  woman,  but  she  either  could  not,  or  would  not  an 
swer  them.     Her  wound  still  bled  copiously;  her  tor< 
tures  appeared  to  increase,  and  it  was  evident  that  shu 
was  dying.     The  aroused  family  thronged  around  her 
with  cries  and  lamentations;  she  did  not  seem  to  heed 
them,  she  got  worse  and  worse,  and  her  piercing  yellw 
fell  awfully  on  the  ears  of  the  bystanders.     At  length 
she  expired,  and  her  corpse  exhibited  a  most  appalling 
spectacle,  even  before  the  spirit  had  well  departed. 

Bryan  and  his  friend  returned  home.     The  old  hag 
had  been  previously  aware  of  the  fate  of  Rachel  Hig- 


176        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

gins,  but  it  was  not  known  by  what  means  she  acquired 
her  supernatural  knowledge.  She  was  delighted  at  the 
issue  of  her  mysterious  operations.  Bryan  pressed  her 
much  to  accept  of  some  remuneration  for  her  services, 
but  she  utterly  rejected  such  proposals.  She  remained 
a  few  days  at  his  house,  and  at  length  took  her  leave 
and  departed,  no  one  knew  whither. 

Old  Rachel's  remains  were  interred  that  night  in  the 
neighboring  churchyard.  Her  fate  soon  became  gener- 
ally known,  and  her  family,  ashamed  to  remain  in  their 
native  village,  disposed  of  their  property,  and  quitted 
the  country  for  ever.  The  story,  however,  is  still  fresh 
in  the  memory  of  the  surrounding  villagers ;  and  often, 
it  is  said,  amid  the  gray  haze  of  a  summer  twilight,  may 
the  ghost  of  Rachel  Higgins,  in  the  form  of  a  hare,  be 
seen  scudding  over  her  favorite  and  well-remembered 
haunts. 


THE  HORNED  WOMEN* 

LADY  WILDE  \ 

A  RICH  woman  sat  up  late  one  night  carding  and  pre- 
paring wool,  while  all  the  family  and  servants  were 
asleep.  Suddenly  a  knock  was  given  at  the  door,  and 
a  voice  called — "Open !  open  I" 

"Who  is  there  ?"  said  the  woman  of  the  house. 

"I  am  the  Witch  of  the  one  Horn/'  was  answered. 

The  mistress,  supposing  that  one  of.  her  neighbors  had 
called  and  required  her  assistance,  opened  the  door,  and 
a  woman  entered,  having  in  her  hand  a  pair  of  wool 
carders,  and  bearing  a  horn  on  her  forehead,  as  if  grow- 
ing there.  She  sat  down  by  the  fire  in  silence,  and  be- 
gan to  card  the  wool  with  violent  haste.  Suddenly  she 


Ancient  Legends  of  Ireland. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       17? 

paused,  and  said  aloud:  "Where  are  the  women?  they 
delay  too  long." 

Then  a  second  knock  came  to  the  door,  and  a  voice 
called  as  before,  "Open !  open  V 

The  mistress  felt  herself  constrained  to  rise  and  open 
to  the  call,  and  immediately  a  second  witch  entered, 
having  two  horns  on  her  forehead,  and  in  her  hand  a 
wheel  for  spinning  wool. 

"Give  me  place,"  she  said,  "I  am  the  Witch  of  the 
two  Horns,"  and  she  began  to  spin  as  quick  as  lightning. 

And  so  the  knocks  went  on,  and  the  call  was  heard, 
and  the  witches  entered,  until  at  last  twelve  women  sat 
round  the  fire — the  first  with  one  horn,  the  last  with 
twelve  horns. 

And  they  carded  the  thread,  and  turned  their  spin- 
ning wheels,  and  wound  and  wove. 

All  singing  together  an  ancient  rhyme,  but  no  word 
did  they  speak  to  the  mistress  of  the  house.  Strange  to 
hear,  and  frightful  to  look  upon,  were  these  twelve 
women,  with  their  horns  and  their  wheels ;  and  the  mis- 
tress felt  near  to  death,  and  she  tried  to  rise  that  she 
might  call  for  help,  but  she  could  not  move,  nor  could 
she  utter  a  word  or  "a  cry,  for  the  spell  of  the  witches 
was  upor  her. 

Then  one  of  them  called  to  her  in  Irish,  and  said: 

"Kise,  woman,  and  make  us  a  cake."  Then  the  mis- 
tress searched  for  a  vessel  to  bring  water  from  the  well 
that  she  might  mix  the  meal  and  make  the  cake,  but 
she  could  find  none. 

And  they  said  to  her,  "Take  a  sieve  and  bring  water 
in  it." 

And  she  took  the  sieve  and  went  -to  the  well ;  but  the 
water  poured  from  it,  and  she  could  fetch  none  for  the 
cake,  and  she  sat  down  by  the  well  and  wept. 

Then  a  voice  came  by  her  and  said,  "Take  yellow  clay 
and  moss,  and  bind  them  together,  and  plaster  the  sieve 
so  that  it  will  hold." 


178        IRISH   FAIRY  AXD  FOLK  TALES 

This  she  did,  and  the  sieve  held  the  water  for  the 
;  and  the  voice  said  again : 

"Keturn,  and  when  thou  comest  to  the  north  angle 
of  the  house,  cry  aloud  three  times  and  say,  "The  moun- 
tain of  the  Fenian  women  and  the  sky  over  it  is  all  on 
fire/  " 

And  she  did  so. 

When  the  witches  inside  heard  the  call,  a  great  and 
terrible  cry  broke  from  their  lips,  and  they  rushed  forth 
vith  wild  lamentations  and  shrieks,  and  fled  away  to 
Slievenamon,*  where  was  their  chief  abode.  But  the 
Spirit  of  the  Well  bade  the  mistress  of  the  house  to 
enter  and  prepare  her  home  against  the  enchantments 
of  the  witches  if  they  returned  again. 

And  first,  to  break  their  spells,  she  sprinkled  the 
water  in  which  she  had  washed  her  child's  feet  (the  feet- 
•  water)  outside  the  door  on  the  threshold;  secondly,  she 
took  the  cake  which  the*  witches  had  made  in  her  ab- 
sence of  meal  mixed  with  the  blood  drawn  from  the 
sleeping  family,  and  she  broke  the  cake  into  bits,  and 
placed  a  bit  in  the  mouth  of  each  sleeper,  and  they  were 
restored;  and  she  took  the  cloth  they  had  woven  and 
placed  it  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  chest  with  the  pad- 
lock; and  lastly  she  secured  the  door  with  a  great  cross- 
beam fastened  in  the  jambs,  so  that  they  could  not  enter, 
and  having  done  these  things  she  waited. 

"Open,  open,  wood  and  trees  and  beam!"  they  cried 
to  the  door. 

"I  cannot,"  said  the  door,  "for  the  beam  is  fixed  in 
the  jambs  and  I  have  no  power  to  move." 

"Open,  open,  cake  that  we  have  made  and  mingled 
with  blood !"  they  cried  again. 

"I  cannot,"  said  the  cake,  "for  I  am  broken  and 
bruised,  and  my  blood  is.  on  the  lips  of  the  sleeping 
children." 


*  Slidbh-na-mban — i.e.,  mountains  of  the  women. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       179 

Then  the  witches  rushed  through  the  air  with  great 
cries,  and  fled  back  to  Slievenamon,  uttering  strange 
curses  on  the  Spirit  of  the  Well,  who  had  wished  their 
ruin ;  but  the  woman  and  the  house  were  left  in  peace, 
and  a  mantle  dropped  by  one  of  the  witches  in  her 
flight  was  kept  hung  up  by  the  mistress  as  a  sign  of 
the  night's  awful  contest;  and  this  mantle  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  same  family  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion for  five  hundred  years  after. 


THE  WITCHES'  EXCURSION* 

PATRICK   KENNEDY 

SHEMUS  RUA  f  (Red  James)  was  awakened  from  his 
sleep  one  night  by  noises  in  his  kitchen.  Stealing  to  the 
door,  he  saw  half-a-dozen  old  women  sitting  round  the 
fire,  jesting  and  laughing,  his  old  housekeeper,  Madge, 
quite  frisky  and  gay,  helping  her  sister  crones  to  cheer- 
ing glasses  of  punch.  He  began  to  admire  the  impudence 
and  imprudence  of  Madge,  displayed  in  the  invitation 
and  the  riot,  but  recollected  on  the  instant  her  officious- 
ness  in  urging  him  to  take  a  comfortable  posset,  which 
she  had  brought  to  his  bedside  just  before  he  fell  asleep. 
Had  he  drunk  it,  he  would  have  been  just  now  deaf 
to  the  witches'  glee.  He  heard  and  saw  them  drink  his 
health  in  such  a  mocking  style  as  nearly  to  temr>t  him 
to  charge  them,  besom  in  hand,  but  he  restrained  him- 
self. 

The  jug  being  emptied,  one  of  them  cried  out,  "Is  it 


*  Fictions  of  the  Irish  Celts. 

t  Irish,  Seitmus  Ruadh.  The  Celtic  vocal  orsans  are  un- 
able to  pronounce  the  letter  .1,  hence  they  make  Shon  or 
Shawn  of  John,  or  Shamus  of  James,  etc. 


180        IRISH   FAIRY  AXD  FOLK  TALES 

time  to  be  gone  1"  and  at  the  same  moment,  putting  on 
a  red  cap,  she  added : 

"By  yarrow  and  rue, 
And  my  red  cap  too, 
Hie  over  to  England." 

Making  use  of  a  twig  which  she  held,  in  her  hand  as  a 
steed,  she  gracefully  soared  up  the  chimney,  and  was 
rapidly  followed  by  the  rest.  But  when  it  came  to  the 
housekeeper,  Shemus  interposed.  "By  your  leave, 
ma'am,"  said  he,  snatching  the  twig  and  cap.  "Ah,  you 
desateful  ould  crocodile !  If  I  find  you  here  on  my  re- 
turn, there'll  be  wigs  on  the  green : 

"  'By  yarrow  and  rue, 
And  my  red  cap  too, 
Hie  over  to  England.' " 

The  words  were  not  out  of  his  mouth  when  he  was  soar> 
ing  above  the  ridge  pole,  and  swiftly  ploughing  the  air. 
He  was  careful  to  speak  no  word  (being  somewhat  con- 
versant with  witch  lore),  as  the  result  would  be  a 
tumble,  and  the  immediate  return  of  the  expedition. 

In  a  very  short  time  they  had  crossed  the  Wicklow 
hills,  the  Irish  Sea,  and  the  Welsh  mountains,  and  were 
charging,  at  whirlwind  speed,  the  hall  door  of  a  castle. 
Shemus,  only  for  the  company  in  which  he  found  him- 
self, would  have  cried  out  for  pardon,  expecting  to  Be 
mummy  against  the  hard  oak  door  in  a  moment;  but, 
all  bewildered,  he  found  himself  passing  through  the 
keyhole,  along  a  passage,  down  a  flight  of  steps,  and 
through  a  cellar-door  keyhole  before  he  could  form  any 
clear  idea  of  his  situation. 

Waking  to  the  full  consciousness  of  his  position,  he 
found  himself  sitting  on  a  stillion,  plenty  of  lights 
glimmering  round,  and  he  and  his  companions,  with  full 
tumblers  of  frothing  wine  in  hand,  hobnobbing  and 
drinking  healths  as  jovially  and  recklessly  as  if  the 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       181 

liquor  was  honestly  come  by,  and  they  were  sitting  in 
Shemus's  own  kitchen.  The  red  hirredh*  had  assimi- 
lated Shemus's  nature  for  the  time  being  to  that  of  his 
unholy  companions.  The  heady  liquors  soon  got  into 
their  brains,  and  a  period  of  unconsciousness  succeeded 
the  ecstasy,  the  headache,  the  turning  round  of  the  bar- 
rels, and  the  "scattered  sight"  of  poor  Shemus.  He 
woke  up  under  the  impression  of  being  roughly  seized, 
and  shaken,  and  dragged  upstairs,  and  subjected  to  a 
disagreeable  examination  by  the  lord  of  the  castle,  in 
his  state  parlor.  There  was  much  derision  among  the 
whole  company,  gentle  and  simple,  on  hearing  Shemus's 
explanation,  and,  as  the  thing  occurred  in  the  dark 
ages,  the  unlucky  Leinster  man  was  sentenced  to  be 
hung  as  soon  as  the  gallows  could  be  prepared  for  the 
occasion. 

The  poor  Hibernian  was  in  the  cart  proceeding  on  his 
last  journey,  with  a  label  on  his  back,  and  another  on 
his  breast,  announcing  him  as  the  remorseless  villain 
who  for  the  last  month  had  been  draining  the  casks  in 
my  lord's  vault  every  night.  He  was  surprised  to  hear 
himself  addressed  by  his  name,  and  in  his  native  tongue, 
by  an  old  woman  in  the  crowd.  "Ach,  Shemus,  alanna  1 
is  it  going  to  die  you  are  in  a  strange  place  without  your 
cappeen  d'yarrag  ?"  t  These  words  infused  hope  and 
courage  into  the  poor  victim's  heart.  He  turned  to  the 
lord  and  humbly  asked  leave  to  die  in  his  red  cap,  which 
he  supposed  had  dropped  from  his  head  in  the  vault. 
A  servant  was  sent  for  the  head-niece,  and  Shemus  felt 
lively  hope  warming  his  heart  while  placing  it  on  his 
head.  On  the  platform  he  was  graciously  allowed  to 
address  the  spectators,  which  he  proceeded  to  do  in  the 
usual  formula  composed  for  the  benefit  of  flying  sta- 
tioners :  "Good  people  all,  a  warning  take  by  me ;"  but 


*  Ir.,  Birreud — i.e.,  a  cap. 

f  Irish,  caipin  dearg — i.e.,  red  cap. 


182        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALEb 

when  he  had  finished  the  line,  "My  parents  reared  me 
tenderly,"  he  unexpectedly  added :  "By  yarrow  and  rue," 
etc.,  and  the  disappointed  spectators  saw  him  shoot  up 
obliquely  through  the  air  in  the  style  of  a  skyrocket  that 
had  missed  its  aim.  It  is  said  that  the  lord  took  the 
circumstance  much  to  heart,  and  never  afterward  hung 
a  man  for  twenty-four  hours  after  his  offence. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  TOM  BOURKE 

«  T.    CEOFTON    CEOKEB 

TOM  BOURKE  lives  in  a  low,  long  farmhouse,  resem- 
bling in  outward  appearance  a  large  barn,  placed  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  just  where  the  new  road  strikes  off 
from  the  old  one,  leading  from  the  town  of  Kilworth 
to  that  of  Lismore.  He  is  of  a  class  of  persons  who  are 
a  sort  of  black  swans  in  Ireland ;  he  is  a  wealthy  farmer. 
Tom's  father  had,  in  the  good  old  times,  when  a  hundred 
pounds  were  no  inconsiderable  treasure,  either  to  lend 
or  spend,  accommodated  his  landlord  with  that  sum,  at 
interest ;  and  obtained  as  a  return  for  his  civility  a  long 
lease,  about  half-a-dozen  times  more  valuable  than  the 
loan  which  procured  it.  The  old  man  died  worth  sev- 
eral hundred  pounds,  the  greater  part  of  which,  with 
his  farm,  he  bequeathed  to  his  son  Tom.  But  besides 
all  this,  Tom  received  from  his  father,  upon  his  death- 
bed, another  gift,  far  more  valuable  than  worldly  riches, 
greatly  as  he  prized  and  is  still  known  to  prize  them. 
He  was  invested  with  the  privilege,  enjoyed  by  few  of 
the  sons  of  men,  of  communicating  with  those  myste- 
rious beings  called  "the  good  people." 

Tom  Bourke  is  a  little,  stout,  healthy,  active  man, 
about  fifty-five  years  of  age.  His  hair  is  perfectly  white, 
short  and  bushy  behind,  but  rising  in  front  erect  and 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       183 

thick  above  his  forehead,  like  a  new  clothes  brush.  His 
eyes  are  of  that  kind  which  I  have  often  observed  with 
persons  of  a  quick,  but  limited  intellect — they  are  small, 
gray,  and  lively.  The  large  and  projecting  eyebrows 
under,  or  rather  within,  which  they  twinkle,  give  them 
an  expression  of  shrewdness  and  intelligence,  if  not  of 
cunning.  And  this  is  very  much  the  character  of  the 
man.  If  you  want  to  make  a  bargain  with  Tom  Bourke 
you  must  act  as  if  you  were  a  general  besieging  a  town, 
and  make  your  advances  a  long  time  before  you  can 
hope  to  obtain  possession;  if  you  march  up  boldly,  and 
tell  him  at  once  your  object,  you  are  for  the  most  part 
sure  to  have  the  gates  closed  in  your  teeth.  Tom  does 
not  wish  to  part  with  what  you  wish  to  obtain;  or  an- 
other person  has  been  speaking  to  him  for  the  whole 
of  the  last  week.  Or,  it  may  be,  your  proposal  seems 
to  meet  the  most  favorable  reception.  "Very  well,  sir" ; 
"That's  true,  sir";  "I'm  very  thankful  to  your  honor," 
and  other  expressions  of  kindness  and  confidence  greet 
you  in  reply  to  every  sentence;  and  you  part  -from  him 
wondering  how  he  can  have  obtained  the  character  which 
he  universally  bears,  of  being  a  man  whom  no  one  can 
make  anything  of  in  a  bargain.  But  -when  you  next 
meet  him  the  flattering  illusion  is  dissolved:  you  find 
you  are  a  great  deal  further  from  your  object  than  you 
were  when  you  thought  you  had  almost  succeeded;  his 
eye  and  his  tongue  express  a  total  forgetfulness  of  what 
the  mind  within  never  lost  sight  of  for  an  instant;  and 
you  have  to  begin  operations  afresh,  with  the  disadvan- 
tage of  having  put  your  adversary  completely  upon  his 
guard. 

Yet,  although  Tom  Bourke  is,  whether  from  super- 
natural revealings,  or  (as  many  will  think  more  prob- 
able) from  the  tell-truth  experience,  so  distrustful  of 
mankind,  and  so  close  in  his  dealings  with  them,  he  is 
no  misanthrope.  No  man  loves  better  the  pleasures  of 
the  genial  board.  The  love  of  money,  indeed,  which  is 


184       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

with  him  (and  who  will  blame  him?)  a  very  ruling 
propensity,  and  the  gratification  which  it  has  received 
from  habits  of  industry,  sustained  throughout  a  pretty 
long  and  successful  life,  have  taught  him  the  value  of 
sobriety,  during  those  seasons,  at  least,  when  a  man's 
business  requires  him  to  keep  possession  of  his  senses. 
He  has,  therefore,  a  general  rule,  never  to  get  drunk 
but  on  Sunday.  But  in  order  that  it  should  be  a  gen- 
eral one  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  he  takes  a  method 
which,  according  to  better  logicians  than  he  is,  always 
proves  the  rules.  He  has  many  exceptions ;  among  these, 
of  course,  are  the  evenings  of  all  the  fair  and  market 
days  that  happen  in  his  neighborhood;  so  also  all  the 
days  in  which  funerals,  marriages,  and  christenings  take 
place  among  his  friends  within  many  miles  of  him.  As 
to  this  last  class  of  exceptions,  it  may  appear  at  first 
very  singular,  that  he  is  much  more  punctual  in  his  at- 
tendance at  the  funerals  than  at  the  baptisms  or  wed- 
dings of  his  friends:  This  may  be  construed  as  an  in- 
stance of  disinterested  affection  for  departed  worth,  very 
uncommon  in  this  selfish  world.  But  I  am  afraid  that 
the  motives  which  lead  Tom  Bourke  to  pay  more  court 
to  the  dead  than  the  living  are  precisely  those  whicK 
lead  to  the  opposite  conduct  in  the  generality  of  man- 
kind— a  hope  of  a  future  benefit  and  a  fear  of  future 
evil.  For  the  good  people,  who  are  a  race-  as  powerful 
as  they  are  capricious,  have  their  favorites  among  those 
who  inhabit  this  world;  often  show  their  affection  by 
easing  the  objects  of  it  from  the  load  of  this  burden- 
some life;  and  frequently  reward  or  punish  the  living 
according  to  the  degree  of  reverence  paid  to  the.  obse- 
quies and  the  memory  of  the  elected  dead. 

Some  may  attribute  to  the  same  cause  the  apparently 
humane  and  charitable  actions  which  Tom,  and  indeed 
the  other  members  of  his  family,  are  known  frequently 
to  perform.  A  beggar  has  seldom  left  their  farmyard 
with  an  empty  wallet,  or  without  obtaining  a  night's 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       185 

i 

lodging,  if  required,  with  a  sufficiency  of  potatoes  and 
milk  to  satisfy  even  an  Irish  beggar's  appetite;  in  ap- 
peasing which,  account  must  usually  be  taken  of  the 
auxiliary  jaws  of  a  hungry  dog,  and  of  two  or  three 
still  more  hungry  children,  who  line  themselves  well 
within,  to  atone  for  their  nakedness  without.  If  one 
of  the  neighboring  poor  be  seized  with  a  fever,  Tom 
will  often  supply  the  sick  wretch  with  some  untenanted 
hut  upon  one  of  his  two  large  farms  (for  he  has  added, 
one  to  his  patrimony),  or  will  send  his  laborers  to  con- 
struct a  shed  at  a  hedgeside,  and  supply  straw  for  a 
bed  while  the  disorder  continues.  His  wife,  remarkable 
for  the  largeness  of  her  dairy,  and  the  goodness  of  every- 
thing it  contains,  will  furnish  milk  for  whey;  and  their 
good  offices  are  frequently  extended  to  the  family  of 
the  patient,  who  are,  perhaps,  reduced  to  the  extremity 
of  wretchedness,  by  even  the  temporary  suspension  of  a 
father's  or  a  husband's  labor. 

If  much  of  this  arises  from  the  hopes  and  fears  to 
which  I  above  alluded,  I  believe  much  of  it  flows  from 
a  mingled  sense  of  compassion  and  of  duty,  which  is 
sometimes  seen  to  break  from  an  Irish  peasant's  heart, 
even  where  it  happens  to  be  enveloped  in  a  habitual 
covering  of  avarice  and  fraud ;  and  which  I  once  heard 
speak  in  terms  not  to  be*  misunderstood :  "When  we  get 
a  deal,  'tis  only  fair  we  should  give  back  a  little  of  it." 
It  is  not  easy  to  prevail  on  Tom  to  speak  of  those 
good  people,  with  whom  he  is  said  to  hold  frequent  and 
intimate  communications.  To  the  faithful,  who  believe 
in  their  power,  and  their  occasional  delegation  of  it  to 
him,  he  seldom  refuses,  if  properly  asked,  to  exercise 
his  high  prerogative  when  any  unfortunate  being  is 
struck  in  his  neighborhood.  Still  he  will  not  be  won 
unsued:  he  is  at  first  difficult  of  persuasion,  and  must 
be  overcome  by  a  little  gentle  violence.  On  these^  occa- 
sions he  is  unusually  solemn  and  mysterious,  and  if  one 
word  of  reward  be  mentioned  he  at  once  abandons  the 


186        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

unhappy  patient,  such  a  proposition  being  a  direct  in- 
sult to  his  supernatural  superiors.  It  is  true  that,  as 
the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire,  most  persons  gifted 
as  he  is  do  not  scruple  to  receive  a  token  of  gratitude 
from  the  patients  or  their  friends  after  their  recovery. 
It  is  recorded  that  a  very  handsome  gratuity  was  once 
given  to  a  female  practitioner  in  this  occult  science,  who 
deserves  to  be  mentioned,  not  only  because  she  was  a 
neighbor  and  a  rival  of  Tom's,  but  from  the  singularity 
of  a  mother  deriving  her  name  from  her  son.  Her  son's 
name  was  Owen,  and  she  was  always  called  On: en  sa 
vauher  (Owen's  mother).  This  person  was,  on  the  occa- 
sion to  which  I  have  alluded,  persuaded  to  give  her 
assistance  to  a  young  girl  who  had  lost  the  use  of  her 
right  leg;  Owen  sa  vauher  found  the  cure  a  difficult  one. 
A  journey  of  about  eighteen  miles  was  essential  for  the 
purpose,  probably  to  visit  one  of  the  good  people  who  re- 
sided at  that  distance;  and  this  journey  could  only  be 
performed  by  Owen  sa  vauher  traveling  upon  the  back 
of  a  white  hen.  The  visit,  however,  was  accomplished; 
and  at  a  particular  hour,  according  to  the  prediction  of 
this  extraordinary  woman,  when  the  hen  and  her  rider 
were  to  reach  their  journey's  end,  the  patient  was  seized 
with  an  irresistible  desire  to  dance,  which  she  gratified 
with  the  most  perfect  freedom  of  the  diseased  leg,  much 
to  the  joy  of  her  anxious  family.  The  gratuity  in  this 
case  was,  as  it  surely  ought  to  have  been,  unusually 
large,  from  the  difficulty  of  procuring  a  hen  willing  to 
go  so  long  a  journey  with  such  a  rider. 

To  do  Tom  Bourke  justice,  he  is  on  these  occasions, 
as  I  have  heard  from  many  competent  authorities,  per- 
fectly disinterested.  Not  many  months  since  he  recov- 
ered a  young  woman  (the  sister  of  a  tradesman  living 
near  him),  who  had  been  struck  speechless  after  return- 
ing from  a  funeral,  and  had  continued  so  for  several 
days.  He  steadfastly  refused  receiving  any  compensa- 
tion, saying  that  even  if  he  had  not  as  much  as  would 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       187 

buy  him  his  supper,  he  could  take  nothing  in 'this  case, 
because  the  girl  had  offended  at  the  funeral  of  one  of 
the  good  people  belonging  to  his  own  family,  and  though 
he  would  do  her  a  kindness  he  could  take  none  from  her. 
About  the  time  this  last  remarkable  affair  took 
place,  my  friend,  Mr.  Martin,  who  is  a  neighbor  of 
Tom's,  had  some  business  to  transact  with  him,  which 
it  was  exceedingly  difficult  to  bring  to  a  conclusion.  At 
last  Mr.  Martin,  having  tried  all  quiet  means,  had  re- 
course to  a  legal  process,  which  brought  Tom  to  reason, 
and  the  matter  was  arranged  to  their  mutual  satisfac- 
tion, and  with  perfect  good  humor  between  the  parties. 
The  accommodation  took  place  after  dinner  at  Mr.  Mar- 
tin's house,  and  he  invited  Tom  to  walk  into  the  parlor 
and  take  a  glass  of  punch,  made  of  some  excellent 
poteen,  which  was  on  the  table:  he  had  long  wished  to 
draw  out  his  highly-endowed  neighbor  on  the  subject 
of  his  supernatural  powers,  and  as  Mrs.  Martin,  who  was 
in  the  room,  was  rather  a  favorite  of  Tom's,  this  seemed 
a  good  opportunity. 

"Well,  Tom/'  said  Mr.  Martin,  "that  was  a  curious 
business  of  Molly  Dwyer's,  who  recovered  her  speech  so 
suddenly  the  other  day." 

"You  may  say  that,  sir,"  replied  Tom  Bourke;  "but 
I  had  to  travel  far  for  it:  no  matter  for  that  now. 
Your  health,  ma'am,"  said  he,  turning  to  Mrs.  Martin. 
"Thank  you,  Tom.  But  I  am  told  you  had  some 
trouble  once  in  that  way  in  your  own  family,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin, 

"So  I  had,  ma'am ;  trouble  enough ;  but  you  were  only 
a  child  at  that  time." 

"Come,  Tom,"  said  the  hospitable  Mr.  Martin,  inter- 
rupting him,  "take  another  tumbler;"  and  he  then 
added,  "I  wish  you  would  tell  us  something  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  so  many  of  your  children  died.  I  am  told 
they  dropped  off.  one  after  another,  by  the  same  disor- 
der, and  that  your  eldest  son  was  cured  in  a  most  ex- 


188        IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

traordinary  way,  when  the  physician  had  given  him 
over/' 

"  'Tis  true  for  you,  sir,"  returned  Tom ;  "your  father, 
the  doctor  (God  be  good  to  him,  I  won't  belie  him  in 
his  grave),  told  me,  when  my  fourth  boy  was  a  week 
sick,  that  himself  and  Dr.  Barry  did  all  that  man  could 
do  for  him;  but  they  could  not  keep  him  from  going 
after  the  rest.  No  more  they  could,  if  the  people  that 
took  away  the  rest  wished  to  take  him  too.  But  they 
left  him;  and  sorry  to  the  heart  I  am  I  did  not  know 
before  why  they  were  taking  my  boys  from  me ;  if  I  did, 
I  would  not  be  left  trusting  to  two  of  'em  now." 

"And  how  did  you  find  it  out,  Tom?"  inquired  Mr. 
Martin. 

"Why,  then,  I'll  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Bourke.  "When 
your  father  said  what  I  told  you,  I  did  not  know  very 
well  what  to  do.  I  walked  down  the  little  bohereen,  * 
you  know,  sir,  that  goes  to  the  river-side  near  Dick 
Heafy's  ground;  for  'twas  a  lonesome1  place,  and  I 
wanted  to  think  of  myself.  I  was  heavy,  sir,  and  my 
heart  got  weak  in  me,  when  I  thought  I  was  to  lose  my 
little  boy;  and  I  did  not  well  know  how  to  face  his 
mother  with  the  news,  for  she  doated  down  upon  him. 
Besides,  she  never  got  the  better  of  all  she  cried  at  his 
brother's  berrin  t  the"  week  before.  As  I  was  going 
down  the  bohereen  I  met  an  old  bocough,  that  used  to. 
come  about  the  place  once  or  twice  a-year,  and  used 
always  to  sleep  in  our  barn  while  he  staid  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. So  he  asked  me  how  I  was.  'Bad  enough, 
Shamous,'t  says  I.  'I'm  sorry  for  your  trouble/  says 
he;  'but  you're  a  foolish  man,  Mr.  Bourke.  Your  son 
Would  be  well  enough  if  you  would  only  do  what  you 
ought  with  him.'  'What  more  can  I  do  with  him, 
Shamous?'  says  I;  'the  doctors  give  him  over.'  'The 

*  Bohereen,  or  bogheen,  i.e.,  a  green  lane. 

t  Berrin,  burying.  *  Shamous,  James. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       189 

doctors  know  no  more  what  ails  him  than  they  do  what 
ails  a  cow  when  she  stops  her  milk/  says  Shamous;  *but 
go  to  such  a  one/  telling  me  his  name-,  'and  try  what 
he'll  say  to  you/  " 

"And  who  was  that,  Tom  ?"  asked  Mr.  Martin. 

"I  could  not  tell  you  that,  sir/'  said  Bourke,  with  a 
mysterious  look;  "howsomever,  you  often  saw  him,  and 
he  does  not  live*  far  from  this.  But  I  had  a  trial  of 
him  before;  and  if  I  went  to  him  at  first,  maybe  I'd 
have  now  some  of  them  that's  gone,  and  so  Shamous 
often  told  me-.  Well,  sir,  I  went  to  this  man,  and  he 
came  with  me  to  ther  house.  By  course,  I  did  every- 
thing as  he  bid  me.  According  to  his  order,  I  took 
the  little  boy  out  of  the  dwelling-house  immediately,  sick 
as  he  was,  "and  made  a  bed  for  him  and  myself  in  the 
cow-house.  Well,  sir,  I  lay  down  by  his  side  in  the  bed, 
between  two  of  the  cows,  and  he  fell  asleep.  He  got 
into  a  perspiration,  saving  your  presence,  as  if  he  was 
drawn  through  the  river,  and  breathed  hard,  with  a  great 
impression'  on  his  chest,  and  was  very  bad — very  bad 
entirely  through  the  night.  I  thought  about  twelve 
o'clock  he  was  going  at  last,  and  I  was  just  getting  up 
to  go  call  the  man  I  told  you  of;  but  there  was  no  oc- 
casion. My  friends  were  getting  the  better  of  them 
that  wanted'to  take  him  away  from  me.  There  was  no- 
body in.  the  cow-house  but  the  child  and  myself.  There 
was  only  one  halfpenny  candle'  lighting  it,  and  that  was 
stuck  in  the  wall  at  the  far  end  of  the  house.  I  had 
just  enough  of  light  where  we  were  lying  to  see  ar  person 
walking  or  standing  near  us:  and  there  was  no  more 
noise  than  if  it  was  a  churchyard,  except  the  cows  chew- 
ing the  fodder  in  the  stalls. 

"Just  as  I  was  thinking  of  getting  up,  as  I  told  you— I 
won't  belie  my  father,  sir,  he  was  a  good  father  to  me— 
I  saw  him  standing  at  the  bedside,  holding  out  his  righl 
hand  to  me,  and  leaning  his  other  on  the  stick  he  used 
to  carry  when  he  was  alive,  and  looking  pleasant  and 


190        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

smiling  at  me,  all  as  if  he  was  telling  me  not  to  be 
afeard,  for  I  would  not  lose  the  child.  'Is  that  you, 
father?'  says  I.  He  said  nothing.  'If  that's  you,'  says 
I  again,  'for  the  love  of  them  that's  gone,  let  me  catch 
your  land.'  And  so  he  did,  sir ;  and  his  hand  was  as 
soft  as  a  child's.  He  stayed  about  as  long  as  you'd  be 
going  from  this  to  the  gate  below  at  the  end  of  the  ave- 
nue, and  then  went  away.  In  less  than  a  week  the  child 
was  as  well  as  if  nothing  ever  ailed  him ;  and  there  isn't 
to-night  a  healthier  boy  of  nineteen,  from  this  blessed 
house  to  the  town  of  Ballyporeen,  across  the  Kilworth 
mountains." 

"But  I  think,  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Martin,  "it  appears  as 
if  you  are  more  indebted  to  your  father  than  to  the  man 
recommended  to  you  by  Shamous ;  or  do  you*  suppose  it 
was  he  who  made  favor  with  your  enemies  among  the 
good  people,  and  that  then  your  father " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Bourke,  interrupting 
him ;  "but  don't  call  them  my  enemies.  'Twould  not  be 
wishing  to  me  for  a  good  deal  to  sit  by  when  they  are 
called  so.  No  oifence  to  you,  sir.  Here's  wishing  you  a 
good  health  and  long  life." 

"I  assure  you,"  returned  Mr.  Martin,  "I  meant  no  of- 
fence, Tom ;  but  was  it  not  as  I  say  ?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,  sir,"  said  Bourke ;  "I'm  bound 
down,  sir.  Howsoever,  you  may  be  sure  the  man  I  spoke 
of  and  my  father,  and  those  they  know,  settled  it  be- 
tween them." 

There  was  a  pause,  of  which  Mrs.  Martin  took  advan- 
tage to  inquire  of  Tom  whether  something  remarkable 
had  not  happened  about  a  goat  and  a  pair  of  pigeons,  at 
the  time  of  his  son's  illness — circumstances  often  mys- 
teriously hinted  at  by  Tom. 

"See  that,  now,"  said  he,  turning  to  Mr.  Martin,  "how 
well  she  remembers  it !  True  for  you,  ma'am.  The  goat 
I  gave  the  mistress,  your  mother,  when  the  doctors 
ordered  her -goats'  whey?" 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       191 

Mrs.  Martin  nodded  assent,  and  Tom  Bourke  con- 
tinued, "Why,  then,  I'll  tell  you  how  that  was.  The 
goat  was  as  well  as  e'er  goat  ever  was,  for  a  month  after 
she  was  sent  to  Killaan,  to  your  father's.  The  morning 
after  the  night  I  just  told  you  of,  before  the  child 
woke,  his  mother  was  standing  at  the  gap  leading  out  of 
the  barnyard  into  the  load,  and  she  saw  two  pigeons 
flying  from  the  town  of  Kil worth  off  the  church  down 
toward  her.  Well,  they  never  stopped,  you  see,  till  they 
came  to  the  house  on  the  hill  at  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  facing  our  farm.  They  pitched  upon  the  chimney 
of  that  house,  and  after  looking  about  them  for  a  min- 
ute or  two,  they  flew  straight  across  the  river,  and 
stopped  on-  the  ridge  of  the  cow-house  where  the  child 
and  I  were  lying.  Do  you  think  they  came  there  for 
nothing,  sir?" 

"Certainly  not,  Tom,"  returned  Mr.  Martin. 
"Well,  the  woman  came  in  tcf  me,  frightened,  and 
told  me.  She  began  to  cry.  'Whisht,  you  fool/  says  I ; 
'  'tis  all  for  the  better.'  'Twas  true  for  me.  What  do 
you  think,  ma'am;  the  goat  that  I  gave  your  mother, 
that  was  seen  feeding  at  sunrise  that  morning  by  Jack 
Cronin,  as  merry  as  a  bee,  dropped  down  dead  without 
anybody  knowing  why,  before  Jack's  face;  and  at  that 
very  moment  he  saw  two  pigeons  fly  from  the  top  of  the 
house  out  of  the  town,  toward  the  Lismore  road.  'Twas 
at  the  same  time  my  woman  saw  them,  as  I  just  told 
you." 

"  'Twas  very  strange,  indeed,  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Martin ; 
"I  wish  you  could  give  us  some  explanation  of  it." 

"I  wish  I  could,  sir,"  was  Tom  Bourke's  answer ;  "but 
I'm  bound  down.  I  can't  tell  but  what  I'm  allowed  to 
tell,  any  more  than  a  sentry  is  let  walk  more  than  his 
rounds." 

"I  think  you  said  something  of  having  had  some  for- 
mer knowledge  of  the  man  that  assisted  in  the  cure  of 
your  son,"  said  Mr.  Martin. 


192        IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"So  I  had,  sir,"  returned  Bourke.  "I  had  a  trial  of 
that  man.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I  can't 
tell  you  anything  about  that,  sir.  But  would  you  like 
to  know  how  he  got  his  skill?" 

"Oh!  very  much,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Martin. 

"But  you  can  tell  us  his  Christian  name,  that  we  may 
know  him  better  through  the  story,"  added  Mrs.  Martin. 

Tom  Bourke  paused  for  a  minute  to  consider  this 
proposition. 

"Well,  I  believe  that  I  may  tell  you  that,  anyhow ;  his 
name  is  Patrick.  He  was  always  a  smart,  'cute  *  boy, 
and  would  be  a  great  clerk  if  he  stuck  to  it.  The  first 
time  I  knew  him,  sir,  was  at  my  mother's  wake.  I  was 
in  great  trouble,  for  I  did  not  know  where  to  bury  her. 
Her  people  and  my  father's  people — I  mean  their 
friends,  sir,  among  the  good  people — had  the  greatest 
battle  that  was  known  for  many  a  year,  at  Dunmanway- 
cross,  to  see  to  whose  churchyard  she'd  be  taken.  They 
fought  for  three  nights,  one  after  another,  without  being 
able  to  settle  it.  The  neighbors  wondered  how  long 
I  was  before  I  buried  my  mother ;  but  I  had  my  reasons, 
though  I  could  not  tell  them  at  that  time.  Well,  sir, 
to  make  my  story  short,  Patrick  came  on  the  fourth 
morning  and  told  me  he  settled  the  business,  and  that 
day  we  buried  her  in  Kilcrumper  churchyard,  with  my 
father's  people." 

"He  was  a  valuable  friend,  Tom,"  said  Mrs.  Martin, 
with  difficulty  suppressing  a  smile.  "But  you  were 
about  to  tell  how  he  became  so  skilful." 

"So  I  will  and  welcome,"  replied  Bourke.  "Your 
health,  ma'am.  I'm  drinking  too  much  of  this  punch, 
sir ;  but  to  tell  the  truth,  I  never  tasted  the  like  of  it ;  it 
goes  down  one's  throat  like  sweet  oil.  But  what  was  I 
going  to  say?  Yes — well — Patrick,  many  a  long  year 
ago,  was  coming  home  from  a  fterrw  late  in  the  evening, 

*  'Cute,  acute. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       193 

and  walking  by  the  side  of  a  river,  opposite  the  big 
inch,*  near  Ballyhefaan  ford.     He  had  taken  a  drop, 
to  be  sure ;  but  he  was  only  a  little  merry,  as  you  may 
say,  and  knew  very  well  what  he  was  doing.    The  moon 
was  shining,  for  it  was  in  the  month  of  August,  and 
the  river  was  as  smooth  and  as  bright  as  a  looking- 
glass.     He  heard  nothing  lor  a  long  time  but  the  fall 
of  the  water  at  the  mill  weir  about  a  mile  down  the 
river,  and  now  and  then  the  crying  of  the  lambs  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river.     All  at  once  there  was  a 
noise  of  a  great  number  of  people  laughing  as  if  they'd 
break  their  hearts,  and  of  a  piper  playing  among  them. 
It  came  from  the  inch  at  the  other  side  of  the  ford, 
and  he  saw,  through  the  mist  that  hung  over  the  river, 
a  whole  crowd  of  people  dancing  on  the  inch.    Patrick 
was  as  fond  of  a  dance  as  he  was  of  a  glass,  and  that's 
saying  enough  for  him ;  so  he  whipped  off  his  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  away  with  him  across  the  ford.     After 
putting  on  his  shoes  and  stockings  at  the  other  side  of 
the  river  he  walked  over  to  the  crowd,  and  mixed  with 
them  for  some  fime  without  being  minded.    He  thought, 
sir,  that  he'd  show  them  better  dancing  than  any  of 
themselves,  for  he  was  proud  of  his  feet,  sir,  and  a  good 
right  he  had,  for  there  was  not  a  boy  in  the  same  parish 
could  foot  a  double  or  treble  with  him.    But  pwah !  his 
dancing  was  no  more  to  theirs  than  mine  would  be  to  the 
mistress'  there.    They  did  not  seem  as  if  they  had  a  bone 
in  their  bodies,  and  they  kept  it  up  as  if  nothing  could 
tire  them.    Patrick  was  'shamed  within  himself,  for  he 
thought  he  had  not  his  fellow  in  all  the  country  round ; 
and  was  going  away,  when  a  little  old  man,  that  was 
looking  at  the  CQmpany  bitterly,  as  if  he  did  not  like 
what  was  going  on,  came  up  to  him.    Tatrick,'  says  he. 
Patrick  started,  for  he  did  not  think  ariybody  there 
knew  him.    Tatrick/  says  he,  'you're  discouraged,  and 


*  Inch,  low  meadow  ground  near  a  river. 


194        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

no  wonder  for  you.  But  you  have  a  friend  near  you. 
I'm  your  friend,  and  your  father's  friend,  and  I  think 
worse*  of  your  little  finger  than  I  do  of  all  that  arc 
here,  though  they  think  no  one  is  as  good  as  themselves. 
Go  into  the  ring  and  call  for  a  lilt.  Don't  be  afeard.  I 
tell  you  the  best  of  them  did  not  do  it  as  well  as  you 
shall,  if  you  will  do  as  I  bid  you.'  Patrick  felt  some- 
thing within  him  as  if  he  ought  not  to  gainsay  the  old 
man.  He  went  into  the  ring,  and  called  the  piper  to 
play  up  the  best  double  he  had.  And  sure  enough,  all 
that  the  others  were  able  for  was  nothing  to  him !  He 
bounded  like  an  eel,  now  here  and  now  there,  as  light 
as  a  feather,  although  the  people  could  hear  the  music 
answered  by  his  steps,  that  beat  time  to  every  turn  of 
it,  like  the  left  foot  of  the  piper.  He  first  danced  a 
hornpipe  on  the  ground.  Then  they  got  a  table,  and 
he  danced  a  treble  on  it  that  drew  down  shouts  from 
the  whole  company.  At  last  he  called  for  a  trencher; 
and  when  they  saw  him,  all  as  if  he  was  spinning  on  it- 
like  a  top,  they  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him. 
Some  praised  him  for  the  best  dancer  that  ever  entered 
a  ring;  others  hated  him  because  he  was  better  than 
themselves ;  although  they  had  Tood  right  to  think  them- 
selves better  than  him  or  any  o'her  man  that  ever  went 
the  long  journey." 

"And  what  was  the  cause  of  his  great  success?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Martin. 

"He  could  not  help  it,  sir,"  replied  Tom  Bourke. 
"They  that  could  make  him  do  more  than  that  made 
him  do  it.  Howsomever,  when  he  had  done,  they  wanted 
him  to  dance  again,  but  he  was  tired,  and  they  could 
not  persuade  him.  At  last  he  got  angry,  and 'swore  a 
big  oath,  saving  ^our  presence,  that  he  would  not  dance 
a  step  more ;  and  the  word  was  hardly  out  of  his  mouth 
when  he  found  himself  all  alone,  with  nothing  but  a 
white  cow  grazing  by  his  side." 

*  Worse,  more. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK   TALES       195 

"Did  he  ever  discover  why  he  was  gifted  with  these 
extraordinary  powers  in  the  dance,  Tom?"  said  Mr. 
Martin. 

-  "I'll  tell  you  that  too,  sir/'  answered  Bourke,  "when 
I  come  to  it.  When  he  went  home,  sir,  he  was  taken 
with  a  shivering,  and  went  to  bed;  and  the  next  day 
they  found  he  had  got  the  fever,  or  something  like  it, 
for  he  raved  like  as  if  he  was  mad.  But  they  couldn't 
make  out  what  it  was  he  was  saying,  though  he  talked 
constant.  The  doctors  gave  him  over.  But  it's  little 
they  knew  what  ailed  him.  When  he  was,  as  you  may 
say,  about  ten  days  sick,  and  everybody  thought  he  was 
going,  one  of  the  neighbors  came  in  to  him  with  a  man, 
a  friend  of  his,  from  Ballinlacken,  that  was  keeping  with 
him  some  time  before.  I  can't  tell  you  his  name  either, 
only  it  was  Darby.  The  minute  Darby  saw  Patrick  he 
took  a  little  bottle,  with  the  juice  of  herbs  in  it,  out  of 
his  pocket,  and  gave  Patrick  a  drink  of  it.  He  did  the 
same  every  day  for  three  weeks,  and  then  Patrick  was 
able  to  walk  about,  as  stout  and  as  hearty  as  ever  he 
was  in  his  life.  But  he  was  a  long  time  beiere  he  came 
to  himself;  and  he  used  to  walk  the  whole  day  some- 
times by  the  ditch-side,  talking  to  himself,  like  as  if 
there  was  someone  along  with  him.  And  so  there  was, 
surely,  or  he  wouldn't  be  the  man  he  is  to-day." 

"I  suppose  it  was  from  some  such  companion  he 
learned  his  skill,"  said  Mr.  Martin. 

"You  have  it  all  now,  sir,"  replied  Bourke.  "Darby 
told  him  his  friends  were  satisfied  with  what  he  did 
the  night  of  the  dance ;  and  though  they  couldn't  hinder 
the  fever,  they'd  bring  him  over  it,  and  teach  him  more 
than  many  knew  beside  him.  And  so  they  did.  For 
you  see,  all  the  people  he  met  on  the  inch  that  night  were 
friends  of  a  different  faction;  only  the  old  man  that 
spoke  to  him,  he  was  a  friend  of  Patrick's  family,  and 
it  went  again  his  heart,  you  see,  that  the  others  were 
so  light  and  active,  and  he  was  bitter  in  himself  to  hear 


196        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES      ' 

'em  boasting  how  they'd  dance  with  any  set  in  the  whole 
country  round.  So  he  gave  Patrick  the  gift  that  night, 
and  afterward  gave  him  the  skill  that  makes  him  the 
wonder  of  all  that  know  him.  And  to  be  sure  it  was 
only  learning  he  was  at  that  time  when  he  was  wander- 
ing in  his  mind  after  the  fever.* 

"I  have  heard  many  strange  stories  about  that  inch 
near  Ballyhef aan  ford/'  said  Mr.  Martin.  "  'Tis  a  great 
place  for  the  good  people,  isn*t  it,  Tom  ?" 

"You  may  say  that,  sir,"  returned  Bourke.  "I  could 
tell  you  a  great  deal  about  it.  Many  a  -time  I  sat  for 
as  good  as  two  hours  by  moonlight,  at  th'  other  side  of 
the  river,  looking  at  'em  playing  goal  as  if  they'd  break 
their  hearts  over  it ;  with  their  coats  and  waistcoats  off, 
and  white  handkerchiefs  on  the  heads  of  one  party,  and 
red  ones  on  tb/  other,  just  as  you'd  see  on  a  Sunday  in. 
Mr.  Simming's  big  field.  I  saw  'em  one  night  play  till 
the  moon  set,  without  one  party  being  able  to  take  the 
ball  from  th'  other.  I'm  sure  they  were  going  to  fight, 
only  'twas  near  morning.  I'm  told  your  grandfather, 
ma'am,  used  to  see  'em  there  too,"  said  Bourke,  turning; 
to  Mrs.  Martin. 

"So  I  have  been  told,  Tom,"  replied  Mrs.  Martin. 
"But  don't  they  say  that  the  churchyard  of  Kilcrumper 
is  just  as  favorite  a  place  with  the  good  people  as  Bally- 
hef aan  inch?" 

"Why,  then,  maybe  you  never  heard,  ma'am,  what 
happened  to  Davy  Eoche  in  that  same  churchyard," 
said  Bourke ;  and  turning  to  Mr.  Martin,  added :  "  'Twas 
a  long  time  before  he  went  into  your  service,  sir.  He 
was  walking  home^of  an  evening,  from  the  fair  of  Kil- 
curnber,  a  little  merry,  to  be  sure,  after  the  day,  and  he 
came  up  with  a  berrin.  So  he  walked  along  with  it, 
and  thought  it  very  queer  that  he  did  not  know,  a 
mother's  soul  in  the  crowd  but  one  man,  and  he  was 
sure  that  man  was  dead  many  years  afore.  Howsom- 
ever,  he  went  on  with  the  berrin  till  thej  came  to  Kil- 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       197 

crumper  churchyard ;  and,  faith,  he  went  in  and  stayed 
with  the  rest,  to  see  the  corpse  buried.    As  soon  as  the 
grave  was  covered,  what  should  they  do  but  gather  about 
a-  piper  that  come  along  with  'era,  and  fall  to  dancing 
as  if  it  was  a  wedding.    Davy  longed  to  be  among  'em 
(for  he  hadn't  a  bad  foot  of  his  own,  that  time,  what- 
ever he  may  now) ;  but  he  was  loth  to  begin,  because 
they  all  seemed  strange  to  him,  only  the  man  I  told 
you  that  he  thought  was  dead.    Well,  at  last  this  man 
saw  what  Davy  wanted,  and  came  up  to  him.     'Davy,' 
says  he,  'take  out  a  partner,  and  show  what  you  can  do, 
but  ta-ke  care  and  don't  offer  to  kiss  her.'     'That  I 
won't/  says  Davy,   'although  her   lips  were  made   of 
honey/    And  with  that  he  made  his  bow  to  the  purtiest 
girl  in  the  ring,  and  he  and  she  began  to  dance.    'Twas 
a    jig    they    danced,    and    they    did    it  'to    th'    ad- 
miration, do  you  see,  of  all  that  were  there.     'Twas 
all  very  well  till  the  jig  was  over ;  but  just  as  they  had 
done,  Davy,  for  he  had  a  drop  in,  and  was  warm  with 
the  dancing,  forgot  himself,   and  kissed  his  partner, 
according  to  custom.    The  smack  was  no  sooner  off  of 
his  lips,  you  see,  than  he  was  left  alone  in  the  church- 
yard, without  a  creature  near  him,  and  all  he  could  see 
was  the  tall  tombstones.    Davy  said  they  seemed  as  if 
they  were  dancing  too,  but  I  suppose  that  was  only  the 
wonder  that  happened  him,  and  he  being  a  little  in 
drink.     Howsomever,  he  found  it  was  a  great  many 
hours  later  than  he  thought  it;  'twas  near  morning 
when  he  came  home;  but  they  couldn't  get  a  word  out 
of  him  till  the  next  day,  when  he  woke  out  of  a  dead 
sleep  about  twelve  o'clock." 

When  Tom  had  finished  the  account  of  Davy  Roche 
ancl  the  berrin,  it  became  quite  evident  that  spirits,  of 
some  sort,  were  working  too  strong  within  him  to  admit 
of  his  telling  many  more  tales  of  the  good  peopid.  Tom 
seemed  conscious  of  this.  He  muttered  for  a  few  min- 
utes broken  sentences  concerning  churchyards.  r\v<»t- 


198        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

sides,  leprechauns,  and  dina  magh,*  which  were  quite 
unintelligible,  perhaps,  to- himself,  certainly  to  Mr.  Mar- 
tin and  his  lady.  At  length  he  made  a  slight  motion 
of  the  head  upward,  as  if  he  would  say,  "I  can  talk  no 
more;"  stretched  his  arm  on  the  table,  upon  which 
he  placed  the  empty  tumbler  slowly,  and  with  the  most 
knowing  and  cautious  air;  and  rising  from  his  chair, 
walked,  or  rather  rolled,  to  the  parlor  door.  Here  he 
turned  round  to  face  his  host  and  hostess ;  but  after  va- 
rious ineffectual  attempts  to  bid  them  good-night,  the 
words,  as  they  rose,  being  always  choked  by  a  vio- 
lent hiccup,  while  the  door,  which  he  held  by  the  handle, 
swung,  to  and  fro,  carrying  his  unyielding  body  along 
with  it,  he  was  obliged  to  depart  in  silence.  The  cow- 
boy, sent  by  Tom's  wife,  who  knew  well  what  sort  of 
allurement  detained  him  when  he  remained  out  after 
a  certain  hour,  was  in  attendance  to  conduct  his  master 
home.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  returned  without  meet- 
ing any  material  injury,  as  I  know  that  within  the  last 
month  he  was,  to  use  his  own  words,  "as  stout  and  hearty 
a  man  as  any  of  his  age  in  the  county  Cork." 


THE  PUDDING  BEWITCHED 

WILLIAM    CAELETON 

"MOLL  ROE  RAFFEETY  was  the  son — daughter  I  mane 
— of  ould  Jack  Rafferty,  who  was  remarkable  for  a  habit 
he  had  of  always  wearing  his  head  undher  his  hat ;  but 
indeed  the  same  family  was  a  quare  one,  as  everybody 
knew  that  was  acquainted  wid  them.  It  was  said  of 
them — but  whether  it  was  thrue  or  not  I  won't  undher- 
take  to  say,  for  'f raid  I'd  tell  a  lie — that  whenever  they 


*  Daoine  niaithe,  i.e.,  the  good  people. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       199 

didn't  wear  shoes  or  boots  they  always  went  barefooted ; 
but  I  heard  aftherwards  that  this  was  disputed,  so 
rather  than  say  anything  to  injure  their  character,  I'll 
let  that  pass.  Now,  ould  Jack  Bafferty  had  two  sons, 
Paddy  and  Molly — hut  l^what  are  you  all  laughing  at  ? — • 
I  mane  a  son  and  daughter,  and  it  was  generally  be- 
lieved among  the  neighbors  that  they  were  brother 
and  sisther,  which  you  know  might  be  thrue  or  it  might 
not :  but  that's  a  thing  thatj  wid  the-  help  o'  goodness, 
we  have  nothing  to  say  to.  Troth  there  was  many  ugly 
things  put  out  on  them  that  I  don't  wish  to  repate,  such 
as  that  neither  Jack  nor  his  son  Paddy  ever  walked  a 
perch  widout  puttin'  one  foot  afore  the  other  like  a  sal- 
mon; an'  I  know  it  was  whispered  about,  that 
whinever  Moll  Roe  slep',  she  had  an  out-of-the-way  cus- 
tom of  keepin'  her  eyes  shut.  If  she  did,  however,  for 
that  matther  the  loss  was  her  own ;  for  sure  we  all  know 
that  when  one  comes  to  shut  their  eyes  they  can't  see 
as  far  before  them  as  another. 

"Moll  Eoe  was  a  fine  young  bouncin'  girl,  large  and 
lavish,  wid  a  purty  head  o'  hair  on  her  like  scarlet,  that 
bein'  one  of  the  raisons  why  she  was  called  Roe,  or  red ; 
her  arms  an',  cheeks  were  much  the  color  of  the  hair, 
an'  her  saddle  nose  was  the  purtiest  thing  of  its  kind 
that  ever  was  on  a  face.  Her  fists — for,  thank  goodness, 
she  was  well  sarved  wid  them,  too — had  a  strong  simu- 
larity  to  two  thumpin'  turnips,  reddened  by  the  sun; 
an'  to  keep  all  right  and  tight,  she  had  a  temper  aa 
fiery  as  her  head — for,  indeed,  it  was  well  known  that 
all  the  Rafferties  were  warm-hearted.  Howandiver,  it 
appears  that  God  gives  nothing  in  vain,  and  of  coorse 
the  same  fists,  big  and  red  as  they  were,  if  all  that  is 
said  about  them  is  thrue,  were  not  so  much  given  to 
her  for  ornament  as  use.  At  laist,  takin'  them  in  conT 
nection  wid  he^  lively  temper,  we  have  it  .upon  good 
authority,  that  there  was  no  danger  of  their  getting  blue- 
moulded  for  want  of  practice.  She  had  a  twist,  tocu 


200        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

in  one  of  her  eyes  that  was  very  becomin'  in  its  way, 
and  made  her  poor  husband,  when  she  got  him,  take  it 
into  his  head  that  she  could  see  round  a  corner.  She 
found  him  out  in  many  quare  things,  widout  doubt ;  but 
whether  it  was  owin'  to  that  or  not,  I  wouldn't  under- 
take to  say  for  fraid  I'd  tell  a  lie. 

<fWell,  begad,  anyhow,  it  was  Moll  Roe  that  was  the 
dilsy*  It  happened  that  there  was  a  nate  vagabone  in 
the  neighborhood,  just  as  much  overburdened  wid 
beauty  as  herself,  and  he  was  named  Gusty  Gille'spie. 
Gusty,  the  Lord  guard  us,  was  what  they  call  a  black- 
mouth  Prosbytarian,  and  wouldn't  keep  Christmas-day, 
the  blagard,  except  what  they  call  'ould  style/  Gusty 
was  rather  good-lookin'  when  seen  in  the  dark,  as  well 
as  Moll  herself;  and,  indeed,  it  was  purty  well  known 
that — accordin'  as  the  talk  went — it  was  in  nightly 
meetings  that  they  had  an  opportunity  of  becomin'  de- 
tached to  one  another.  The  quensequence  was,  that  in 
due  time  both  families  began  to  talk  very  seriously  as 
to  what  was  to  be  done.  Moll's  brother,  Pawdien  O'Raf- 
ferty,  gave  Gusty  the  best  of  two  choices.  What  they 
were  it's  not  worth  spakin'  about;  but  at  any  rate  one 
of  them  was  a  poser,  an'  as  Gusty  knew  his  man,  he 
soon  came  to  his  senses.  Accordianly  everything  was 
deranged  for  their  marriage,  and  it  was  appointed  that 
they  should  be  spliced  by  the  Rev.  Samuel  M'Shuttle, 
who  was  the  Prosbytarian  parson,  on  the  following 
Sunday. 

"Now  this  was  the  first  "marriage  that  had  happened 
for  a  long  time  in  the  neighborhood  betune  a  black- 
mouth  an'  a  Catholic,  an*  of  coorse  there  was  strong  ob- 
jections on  both  sides  aginst  it ;  an'  begad,  only  for  one 
thing,  it  would  never  'a  tuck  place  at  all.  At  any  rate, 
faix,  there  was  one  of  the  bride's  uncles,  ould  Harry 
Connolly,  a  fairy-man,  who  could  cure  all  complaint* 


*  Perhaps  frorn  Irish  dilse — i.e.,  love. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       201 

wid  a  secret  he  had.  and  as  he  didn't  wish  to  see  his 
niece  married  upon  sich  a  fellow,  -he  fought  bittherly 
against  the  match.  All  Moll's  friends,  however,  stood 
up  for  the  marriage  barrin'  him,  an'  of  coorse  the  Sun- 
day was  appointed,  as  I  said,  that  they  were  to  be  dove- 
tailed together. 

"Well,  the  'day  arrived,  and  Moll,  as  became  her,  went 
to  mass,  and  Gusty  to  meeting,  afther  which  they  were 
to  join  one  another  in  Jack  Rafferty's,  where  the  priest, 
Father  M'Sorley,  was  to  slip  up  afther  mass  to  take  his 
dinner  wid  them,  and  to  keep  Misther  M'Shuttle,  who 
was  to  marry  them,  company.  Nobody  remained  at 
home  but  ould  Jack  Rafferty  an'  his  wife,  who  stopped 
to  dress  the  dinner,  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  to  be 
a  great  let-out  entirely.  Maybe,  if  all  was  known,  too, 
that  Father  M'Sorley  was  to  give  them  a  cast  of  his 
office  over  an'  above  the  ministher,  in  regard  that  Moll's 
friends  were  not  altogether  satisfied  at  the  kind  of  mar- 
riage which  M'Shuttle  could  give  them.  The  sorrow 
may  care  about  that — splice  here — splice  there — all  I 
can  say  is,  that  when  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  goin'  to  tie  up 
a  big  bag  pudden,  in  walks  Harry  Connolly,  the  fairy- 
man,  in  a  rage,  and  shouts  out — 'Blood  and  blunder- 
bushes,  what  are  yez  here  for  ?' 

"  'Arrah  why,  Harry  ?    Why,  avick  ?' 

'"Why,  the  sun's  in  the  suds  and  the  moon  in  the 
high  Horicks;  there's  a  clipstick  comin'  an,  an'  there 
you're  both  as  unconsarned  as  if  it  was  about  to  rain 
mether.  Go  out  and  cross  yourselves  three  times  in  tho 
name  o'  the  four  Mandromarvins,  for  as  prophecy  says ; 
Fill  the  pot,  Eddy,  supernaculum— a  blazing  star's  a 
rare  spectaculum.  Go  out  both  of  you  and  look  at  the 
sun,  I  say,  an*  ye'll  see  the  condition  he's  in — off !' 

"Begad,  sure  enough,  Jack  gave  a  bounce  to  the  door, 
and  his  wife  leaped  like  a  two-year-ould,  till  they  were 
both  got  on  a  stile  beside  the  house  to  see  what  was 
wrong  in  the  sky. 


202        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

:< ' Arrah,  what  is  it,  Jack/  said  she ;  'can  you  see  any- 
thing ?' 

"  'No/  says  he,  'sorra  the  full  o'  my  eye  of  anything  I 
can  spy,  barrur  the  sun  himself,  that's  not  visible  in  re- 
gard of  the  clouds.  God  guard  us!  I  doubt  there's 
something  to  happen.' 

"If  there  wasn't,  Jack,  what  'ud  put  Harry,  that 
knows  so  much,  in  the  state  he's  in?' 

'"I  doubt  it's  this  marriage/  said  Jack:  detune 
ourselves,  it's  not  over  an'  above  religious  for  Moll  to 

marry  a  black-mouth,  an'  only  for ;  but  it  can't  be 

helped  now,  though  you  see  not  a  taste  o'  the  sun  is  will- 
in'  to  show  his  face  upon  it.' 

"  'As  to  that/  says  the  wife,  winkin'  wid  both  her 
eyes,  'if  Gusty's  satisfied  wid  Moll,  it's  enough.  I  know 
who'll  carry  the  whip  hand,  anyhow;  but  in  the  mane- 
time  let  us  ax  Harry  'ithin  what  ails  the  sun.' 

"Well,  they  accordianly  went  in  an'  put  the  question 
to  him: 

"  'Harry,  what's  wrong,  ahagur  ?  What  is  it  now,  for 
if  anybody  alive  knows,  'tis  yourself?' 

"  'Ah !'  said  Harry,  screwin'  his  mouth  wid  a  kind 
of  a  dhry  smile,  'the  sun  has  a  hard  twist  o'  the  cholic ; 
but  never 'mind  that,  I  tell  you  you'll  have  a  merrier 
weddin'  than  you  think,  that's  all/  and  havin'  said 
this,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  left  the  house. 

"Now,  Harry's  answer  relieved  them  very  much,  and 
so,  af ther  calling  to  him  to  be  back  for  the  dinner,  Jack 
sat  down  to  take  a  shough  o'  the  pipe,  and  the'  wife 
lost  no  time  in  tying  up  the  pudden  and  puttin'  it  in  the 
pot  to  be  boiled. 

"In  this  way  things  went  on  well  enough  for  a  while, 
Jack  smokin'  away,  an'  the  wife  cookin'  and  dhressin' 
at  the  rate  of  a  hunt.  At  last,  Jack,  while  sittin',  as  I 
said,  contentedly  at  the  fire,  thought  he  could  persave 
an  odd  dancin'  kind  of  motion  in  the  pot  that  puzzled 
him  a  good  deal. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       203 

"  'Katty/  said  he,  'what  the  dickens  is  in  this  pot  on 
the  fire  ?' 

"  'Nerra  thing  but  the  big  pudden.  Why  do  you  ax  ?' 
says  she. 

'"'Why/  said  ho,  'if  ever  a  pot  tuck  it  into  its  head 
to  dance  a  jig,  and  this  did.  Thundher  and  sparbles, 
look  at  it !' 

"Begad,  it  was  thrue  enough ;  there  was  the  pot  bob- 
bin' up  an'  down  and  from  side  to  side,  jiggin'  it  away 
as  merry  as  a  grig ;  an'  it  was  quite  aisy  to  see  that  it 
wasn't  the  pot  itself,  but  what  was  inside  of  it,  that 
brought  about  the  hornpipe. 

*'  'Be  the  hole  o'  my  coat,'  shouted  Jack,  'there's  some- 
thing alive  in  it,  or  it  would  never  cut  sich  capers !' 

"'Be  gorra,  there  is,  Jack;  something  sthrange  en- 
tirely has  got  into  it.  Wirra,  man  alive,  what's  to  be 
done  ?' 

"Jist  as  she  spoke,  the  pot  seemed  to  cut  the  buckle 
in  prime  style,  and  afther  a  spring  that  'ud  shame  » 
dancin'-masther,  off  flew  the  lid,  and  out  bounced  the 
pudden  itself,  hoppin',  as  nimble  as  a  pea  on  a  drum- 
head, about  the  floor.  Jack  blessed  himself,  and  Katty 
crossed  herself.  Jack  shouted,  and  Katty  screamed.  'In 
the  name  of  goodness,  keep  your  distance;  no  one  here 
injured  you !' 

"The  pudden,  however,  made  a  set  at  him,  and  Jack 
lepped  first  on  a  chair  and  then  on  the  kitchen  table 
to  avoid  it.  It  then  danced  toward  Kitty,  who  was 
now  repatin'  her  prayers  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  while 
the  cunnin'  tjiief  of  a  pudden  was  hoppin'  and  jiggin' 
it  round  her,  as  if  it  was  amused  at  her  distress. 

"  'If  I  could  get  the  pitchfork,'  said  Jack,  'I'd  dale 
wid  it — by  goxty  I'd  thry  its  mettle.' 

"'No,  no/  shouted  Kattv,  thinkin'  there  was  a  fairy 
in  it;  let  us  snake  it  fair.  Who  knows  what  harm  it 
might  do?  Aisy  now/  said  she  to  the  pudden,  caisy, 
dear ;  don't  harm  honest  people  that  never  meant  to  of- 


fend  you.  It  wasn't  us — no,  in  troth,  it  was  ould  Harry 
Connolly  that  bewitched  you;  pursue  him  if  you  wish, 
but  spare  a  woman  like  me;  for,  whisper,  dear,  I'm  not 
in  a  condition  to  be  frightened — troth  I'm  not/ 

"The  pudden,  bedad,  seemed  to  take  her  at  her  word, 
and  danced  away  from  her  toward  Jack,  who,  like  the 
wife,  believin'  there  was  a  fairy  in  it,  an'  that  spakin' 
it  fair  was  the  best  plan,  thought  he  would  give  it  a  soft 
word  as  well  as  her. 

"  'Plase  your  honor,'  said  Jack,  'she  only  spaiks  the 
truth;  an',  upon  my  voracity,  we  both  feels  much 
oblaiged  to  your  honor  for  your  quietness.  Faith,  it's 
quite  clear  that  if  you  weren't  a  gentlemanly  pudden 
all  out,  you'd  act  otherwise.  Ould  Harry,  the  rogue,  is 
your  mark;  he's  jist  gone  down  the  road  there,  and  if 
you  go  fast  you'll  overtake  him.  Be  me  song,  your  danc- 
in'  masther  did  his  duty,  anyhow.  Thank  your  honor ! 
God  speed  you,  an'  may  you  never  meet  wid  a  parson 
or  alderman  in  your  thravels !' 

"Jist  as  Jack  spoke  the  pudden  appeared  to  take  the 
hint,  for  it  quietly  hopped  out,  and  as  the  house  was 
directly  on  the  road-side,  turned  down  toward  the 
bridge,  the  very  way  that  ould  Harry  went.  It  was 
very  natural,  of  coorse,  that  Jack  and  Katty  should  go 
out  to  see  how  it  intended  to  thravel;  and,  as  the  day 
was  Sunday,  it  was  but  natural,  too,  that  a  greater 
number  of  people  than  usual  were  passin'  the  road.  This 
was  a  fact;  and  when  Jack  and  his  wife  were  seen  fol- 
Jowin'  the  pudden,  the  whole  neighborhood  was  soon  up 
and  afther  it.  » 

"  'Jack  Bafferty,  what  is  it  ?  Katty  ahagur,  will  you 
tell  us  what  it  manes  ?' 

"  'Why/  replied  Katty,  'it's  my  big  pudden  that's  be- 
witched, an'  it's  now  hot  foot  pursuin' ;'  here  she 

stopped,  not  wishin'  to  mention  her  brother's  name — 
'some  one  or  other  that  surely  put  pishrogues  an  it/  * 

*  Put  it  under  fairy  influence. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES      205 

"This  was  enough;  Jack,  now  seein'  that  he  had  as- 
sistance, found  his  courage  comin'  back  to  him;  so  says 
he  to  Katty,  'Go  home/  says  he,  'an'  lose  no  time  in 
makin'  another  pudden  as  good,  an'  here's  Paddy  Scan- 
lan's  wife,  Bridget,  says  she'll  let  you  boil  it  on  her  fire, 
as  you'll  want  our  own  to  dress  the  rest  o'  the  dinner; 
and  Paddy  himself  will  lend  me  a  pitchfork,  for  pur- 
shuin  to  the  morsel  of  that  same  pudden  will  escape  till 
I  let  the  wind  out  of  it,  now  that  I've  the  neighbors  to 
back  an'  support  me,'  says  Jack. 

"This  was  agreed  to,  and  Katty  went  back  to  prepare 
a  fresh  pudden,  while  Jack  an'  half  the  townland  pur- 
sued the  other  wid  spades,  graips,  pitchforks,  scythes, 
flails,  and  all  possible  description  of  instruments.  On 
the  pudden  went,  however,  at  the  rate  of  about  six  Irish 
miles  an  hour,  an'  sich  a  chase  never  was  seen.  Cath- 
olics, Prodestants,  an'  Prosbytarians,  were  all  afther  it. 
armed,  as  I  saidy  an,'  bad  end  to  the  thing  but  its  own 
activity  could  save  it.  Here  it  made  a  hop,  and  there 
a  prod  was  made  at  it;  but  off  it  went,  an'  some  one, 
as  eager  to  get  a  slice  at  it  on  the  other  side,  got  the 
prod  instead  of  the  pudden.  Big  Frank  Farrell,  the  mil- 
ler of  Ballyboulteen,  got  a  prod  backward  that  brought 
a  hullabaloo  out  of  him  you  might  hear  at  the  other  end 
of  the  parish.  One  got  a  slice  of  a  scythe,  another  a 
whack  of  a  flail,  a  third  a  rap  of  a  spade  that  made  him 
look  nine  ways  at  wanst. 

"  'Where  is  it  goin''?'  asked  one.  'My  life  for  you,  it's 
on  its  way  to  Meeting.  Three  cheers  for  it  if  it  turn? 
to  Carntaul/  'Prod  the  sowl  out,of  it,  if  it's  a  Prodes' 
tan','  shouted  the  others ;  'if  it  turns  to  the  left,  slice  it 
into  pancakes.  We'll  have  no  Prodestan'  puddens  here.' 

"Begad,  by  this  time  the  people  were  on  the  point  of 
beginnin'  to  have  a  regular  fight  about  it,  when,  very 
fortunately,  it  took  a  short  turn  down  a  little  bv-lane 
that  led  toward  the  Methodist  praichin-houee,  an'  in  an 
instant  all  parties  were  in  an  uproar  against  it  as  8 


806        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Methodist  pudden.  'It's  a  AVesleyan,'  shouted  several 
voices;  'an'  by  this  an'  by  that,  into  a  Methodist  chapel 
it  won't  put  a  foot  to-day,  or  we'll  lose  a  fall.  Let 
the  wind  out  of  it.  Come,  boys,  where's  vour  pitch- 
forks?' 

"The  divle  purshuin  to  the  one  of  them,  however, 
ever  could  touch  the  pudden,  an'  jist  when  they  thought 
they  had  it  up  against  the  gavel  of  the  Methodist  chapel, 
begad  it  gave  them  tne  slip,  and  hops  over  to  the  left, 
clane  into  the  river,  and  sails  away  before  all  their  eyes 
as  light  as  an  egg-shell. 

"Now,  it  so  happened  that  a  little  below  this  place, 
the  demesne-wall  of  Colonel  Bragshaw  was  built  up  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  river  on  each  side  of  its  banks ;  and 
so  findin'  there  was  a  stop  put  to  their  pursuit  of  it, 
they  went  home  again,  every  man,  woman,  and  child  of 
them,  puzzled  to  think  what  the  pudden  was  at  all,  what 
i  t  meant,  or  where  it  was  goin' !  f  Had  Jack  Eaff erty 
an'  his  wife  been  willin'  to  let  out  the  opinion  they  held 
about  Harry  Connolly  bewitchin'  it,  there  is  n«  doubt  of 
it  but  poor  Harry  might  be  badly  trated  by  the  crowd, 
when  their  blood  was  up.  They  had  sense  enough,  how- 
andiver,  to  keep  that  to  themselves,  for  Harry  bein'  an' 
ould  bachelor,  was  a  kind  friend  to  the  Baffertys.  So, 
of  coorse,  there  was  all  kinds  of  tails  about  it — some 
guessin'  this,  and  some  guessin'  that — one  party  sayin' 
the  pudden  was  of  there  side,  another  party  denyin'  it, 
an'  insistin'  it  belonged  to  them,  an'  so  on. 

"In  the  manetime,  Katty  Bafferty,  for  'fraid  the  din- 
ner might  come  shost,xwent  home  and  made  another 
pudden  much  about  the  same  size  as  the  one  that  had 
escaped,  and  bringin'  it  over  to  their  next  neighbor, 
Paddy  Scanlan's,  it  was  put  into  a  pot  and  placed  on 
the  fire  to  boil,  nopin'  that  it  might  be  done  in  time, 
ospishilly  as  they  were  to  have  the  mmisther,  who  loved 
a  warm  slice  of  a  good  pudden  as  well  as  e'er  a  gintle- 
iaan  in  Europe. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES      207 

"Anyhow,  the  day  passed ;  Moll  and  Gusty  were  made 
man  an'  wife,  an'  no  two  could  be  more  lovin'.  Their 
friends  that  had  been  asked  to  the  weddin'  were  saun- 
ierin'  about  in  pleasant  little  groups  till  dinner-time, 
chattin'  an'  laughin';  but,  above  all  things,  sthrivin'  to 
account  for  the  figaries  of  the  pudden;  for,  to  tell  the 
truth,  its  adventures  had  now  gone  through  the  whole 
parish. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  dinner-time  was  dhrawin'  near, 
and  Paddy  Scanlan  was  sittin'  comfortably  wid  his  wife 
at  the  fire,  the  pudden  boilen  before  their  eyes,  when 
in  walks  Harry  Connolly,  in  a  nutter,  shoutin' — 'Blood 
an*  blunderbusb.es,  what  are  yez  here  for  ?' 

"  'Arra,  why,  Harry — why,  avick  ?'  said  Mrs.  Scanlan. 

'"Whv/  said  Harry,  'the  sun's  in  the  suds  an'  the 
moon  in  the  high  Horicks !  Here's  a  clipstick  comin' 
an,  an'  there  you  sit  as  unconsarned  as  if  it  was  about 
to  rain  mether !  Go  out  both  of  you,  an'  look  at  the 
sun,  I  say,  and  ye'll  see  the  condition  he's  in — off!' 

"  'Ay,  but,  Harry,  what's  that  rowled  up  in  the  tail 
of  your  cothamore  *  (big  coat)  ?' 

"  'Out  wid  yez/  said  Harry,  'an'  pray  aginst  the  clip- 
stick — the  sky's  f  allin' !' 

"Begad,  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  Paddy  or  the 
wife  got  out  first,  they  were  so  much  alarmed  by  Harry's 
wild,  thin  face  an'  piercin'  eyes ;  so  out  they  went  to  see 
what  was  wondherful  in  the  sky,  an'  kep'  lookin'  an' 
lookin'  in  every  direction,  but  not  a  thing  was  to  be 
seen,  barrin*  the  sun  shinin'  down  wid  great  good 
humor,  an'  not  a  single  cloud  in  the  sky. 

"Paddy  an'  the  wife  now  came  in  laughin',  to  scould 
Harry,  who,  no  doubt,  was  a  great  wag  in  his  way  when 

he  wished.  'Musha,  bad  scran  to  you,  Harry /  They 

had  time  to  say  no  more,  howandiver,  for,  as  they  were 


*  Irish,  cdta  m6r. 


208        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

goin'  into  the  door,  they  met  him  comin'  out  of  it  wid  a 
reek  of  smoke  out  of  his  tail  like  a  lime-kiln. 

"*Harry,'  shouted  Bridget,  'my  sowl  to  glory,  but  the 
tail  of  your  cothamore's  a-fire — you'll  be  burned.  Don't 
you  see  the  smoke  that's  out  of  it  ?' 

"'Cross  yourselves  three  times/  said  Harry,  widout 
etoppin',  or  even  lookin'  behind  him,  'for,  as  the  pro- 
phecy says — Fill  the  pot,  Eddy '  They  could  hear 

no  more,  for  Harry  appeared  to.  feel  like  a  man  that 
carried  something  a  great  deal  hotter  than  he  wished, 
as  anyone  might  see  by  the  liveliness  of  his  motions, 
and  the  quare  faces  he  was  forced  to  make  as  he  went 
along. 

"  'What  the  dickens  is  he  earryin*  in  the  skirts  of  his 
big  coat  ?'  asked  Paddy. 

"  'My  sowl  to  happiness,  but  maybe  he  has  stole  the 
pudden,'  said  Bridget,  'for  it's  known  that  many  a 
sthrange  thing  he  does/ 

"They  immediately  examined  the  pot,  but  found  that 
the  pudden  was  there  as  safe  as  tuppence,  an'  this  puz- 
zled them  the  more,  to  think  what  it  was  he  could  be 
tarryin'  about  wid  him  in  the  manner  he  did.  But  little 
they  knew  what  he  had  done  while  they  were  sky-gazin' ! 

''Well,  anyhow,  the  day  passed  and  the  dinner  was 
teady,  an'  no  doubt  but  a  fine  gatherin'  there  was  to 
partake  of  it.  The  Prosbytarian  ministher  met  the 
Methodist  praicher — a  divilish  stretcher  of  an  appetit^ 
he  had,  in  throth — on  their  way  to  Jack  Rafferty's,  an' 
as  he  knew  he  could  take  the  liberty,  why  he  insisted 
on  his  dinin'  wid  him;  for,  afther  all,  begad,  in  thim 
times  the  clargy  of  all  descriptions  lived  upon  the  best 
footin*  among  one  another,  not  all  as  one  as  now — but 
no  matther.  Well,  they  had  nearly  finished  their  dinner, 
when  Jack  Eaff erty  himself  axed  Katty  for  the  pudden ; 
but,  jist  as  he  spoke,  in  it  came  as  big  as  a  mess-pot. 

"  'Gintlemen,'  said  he,  'I  hope  none  of  you  will  refuse 
tastin'  a  bit  of  Katty's  pudden ;  I  don't  mane  the  dancrn' 


209 

one  that  tuck  to  its  thravels  to-day,  but  a  good  solid 
fellow  that  she  med  since/ 

"'To  be  sure  we  won't/  replied  the  priest;  'so,  Jack, 
put  a-  thrifle  on  them  three  plates  at  your  right  hand, 
and  send  them  over  here  to  the  clargy,  an'  maybe/  he 
said,  laughin' — for  he  was  a  droll,  good-humored  man— - 
'maybe,  Jack,  we  won't  set  you  a  proper  example/ 

"  *W id  a-  heart  an'  a  half,  yer  reverence  an'  gintlemen ; 
in  throth,  it's  not  a  bad  example  ever  any  of  you  set  us 
at  the  likes,  or  ever  will  set  us,  I'll  go  bail.  An'  sure  I 
only  wish  it  was  betther  fare  I  had  for  you;  but  we're 
humble  people,  gintlemen,  and  so  you  can't  expect  to 
meet  here  what  you  would  in  higher  places.' 

"  'Betther  a  male  of  herbs/  said  the  Methodist 

praicher,  'where  pace  is .'  He  had  time  to  go  no 

farther,  however ;  for  much  to  his  amazement,  the  priest 
and  the  minister  started  up  from  the  table  just  as  he 
was  goin'  to  swallow  the  first  spoonful  of  the  pudden, 
and  before  you  could  say  Jack  Eobinson,  started  away  at 
a  lively  jig  down  the  floor. 

"At  this  moment  a  neighbor's  son  came  runnin'  in, 
art'  tould  them  that  the  parson  was  comin'  to  see  the 
new-married  couple,  an'  wish  them  all  happiness;  an* 
the  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  he  made 
his  appearance.  What  to  think  he  knew  not,  when  he 
saw  the  ministher  footing  it  away  at  the  rate  of  a  wed- 
din'.  He  had  very  little  time,  however,  to  think;  for, 
before  he  could  sit  down,  up  starts  the  Methodist 
praicher,  and  clappin'  his  two  fists  in  his  sides  chimes 
in  in  great  style  along  wid  him. 

"  'Jack  Eafferty/  says  he — and,  by  the  way,  Jack  was 
his  tenant — 'what  the  dickens  does  all  this  mane?'  says 
he;  I'm  amazed!' 

"  'The  not  a  particle  o'  me  can  tell  you/  says  Jack ; 
'but  will  your  reverence  jist  taste  a  morsel  o'  pudden, 
merely  that  the  young  couple  may  boast  that  you  ait 
at  their  weddin';  for  sure  if  you  wouldn't,  who  would?' 


210       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"'Well/  says  he,  'to  gratify  them  I  will;  so  just  a 
morsel.  But,  Jack,  this  bates  Bannagher/  says  he  again, 
puttin'  the  spoonful  o'  pudden  into  his  mouth;  ''has 
there  been  dhrink  here?' 

"  'Oh,  the  divle  a  spudh/  says  Jack,  'for  although 
there's  plinty  in  the  house,  faith,  it  appears  the  gintle- 
men  wouldn't  wait  for  it.  Unless  they  tuck  it  elsewhere, 
I  can  make  nothin'  of  this/ 

"He  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  the  parson,  who  was 
an  active  man,  cut  a  caper  a  yard  high,  an'  before  you 
could  bless  yourself,  the  three  clargy  were  hard  at  work 
dancin',  as  if  for  a  wager.  Begad,  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  tell  you  the  state  the  whole  meetin'  was 
in  when  they  seen  this.  Some  were  hoarse  wid  laughin' ; 
some  turned  up  their  eyes  wid  wondher;  many  thought 
them  mad,  an'  others  thought  they  had  turned  up  their 
little  fingers  a  thrine  too  often. 

"'Be  goxty,  it's  a  burnin'  shame/  said  one,  'to  see 
three  black-mouth  clargy  in  sich  a  state  at  this  early 
hour  !'  'Thundher  an'  ounze,  what's  over  them  at  all  ?' 
says  others;  'why,  one  would  think  they're  bewitched. 
Holy  Moses,  look  at  the  caper  the  Methodis  cuts !  An' 
as  for  the  Rechter,  who  would  think  he  could  handle  his 
feet  at  such  a  rate!  Be  this  an'  be  that,  he  cuts  the 
buckle,  and  does  the  threblin'  step  aiquil  to  Paddy 
Horaghan,  the  dancin'-masther  himself !  An'  see !  Bad 
cess  to  the  morsel  of  the  parson  that's  not  hard  at  Peace 
upon  a  trancher,  an'  it  of  a  Sunday  too !  Whirroo,  gin- 
tlemen,  the  fun's  in  yez  af ther  all — whish !  more  power 
to  yez !' 

"The  sorra's  own  fun  they  had,  an'  no  wondher;  but 
judge  of  what  they  felt,  when  all  at  once  they  saw 
ould  Jack  Rafferty  himself  bouncin'  in  among  them,  and 
footing  it  away  like  the  best  o'  them.  Bedah,  no  play 
could  come  up  to  it,  an'  nothin'  could  be  heard  but 
laughin',  shouts  of  encouragement,  and  clappin'  of 
hands  like  mad.  Now  the  minute  Jack  Rafferty  left  the 


IRISH   FAIRY   AND   FOLK  TALfiS       211 

chair  where  he  had  been  carvin'  the  pudden,  ould  Harry 
Connolly  comes  over  and  claps  himself  down  in  his 
place,  in  ordher  to  send  it  rolmd,  of  coorse ;  an*  he  was 
scarcely  sated,  when  who  should  make  his  appearance 
but  Barney  Hartigan,  the  piper.  Barney,  by  the  way, 
had  been  sent  for  early  in  the  day,  but  bein'  from  home 
when  the  message  for  him  went,  he  couldn't  come  anj 
sooner. 

"  'Begorra,'  said  Barney,  'you're  airly  at  the  work, 
gintlemen !  but  what  does  this  mane  ?  But,  divle  may 
care,  yez  shan't  want  the  music  while  there's  a  blast  in 
the  pipes,  anyhow!'  So  sayin'  he  gave  them  Jig  Pol- 
ihogue,  an'  after  that  Kiss  my  Lady,  in  his  best  style. 

"In  the  mauetime  the  fun  went  on  thick  an'  threefold, 
for  it  must  be  remimbered  that  Harry,  the  ould  knave, 
was  at  the  pudden;  an'  maybe  he  didn't  sarve  it  about 
in  double  quick  time  too.  The  first  he  helped  was  the 
bride,  and,  before  you  could  say  chopstick,  she  was  at 
it  hard  an'  fast  before  the  Methodist  praicher,  who  gave 
a  jolly  spring  before  her  that  threw  them  into  convul- 
sions. Harry  liked  this,  and  made  up  his  mind  soon  to 
find  partners  for  the  rest;  so  he  accordianly  sent  the 
pudden  about  like  lightnin';  an'  to  make  a  long  story 
short,  barrin'  the  piper  an'  himself,  there  wasn't  a  pair 
o'  heels  in  the  house  but  was  as  busy  at  the  dancin'  as 
if  their  lives  depinded  on  it. 

"  'Barney,'  says  Harry,  'just  taste  a  .morsel  o'  this 
pudden ;  divle  the  such  a  bully  of  a  pudden  ever  you  ett; 
here,  your  sowl !  thry^a  snig  of  it — it's  beautiful.' 

"  "To  be  sure  I  will,'  says  Barney.  'I'm  not  the  boy 
to  refuse  a  good  thing;  but,  Harry,  be  quick,  for  you 
&now  my  hands  is  engaged,  an'  it  would  be  a  thousand 
pities  not  to  keep  them  in  music,  an'  'they  so  well  in- 
clined. Thank  you,  Harry;  be^ad  that  is  a  famous 
pudden ;  but  blood  an'  turnips,  what's  this  for?' 

"The  word  was  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  he 
bounced  up,  pipes  anj  all,  an'  dashed  into  the  middle  of 


212        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TAI^S 

the  party.  'Hurroo,  your  sowls,  let  us  make  a  night  of 
it !  The  Ballyboulteen  boys  for  ever !  Go  it,  your  rev- 
erence— turn  your  partner — heel  an'  toe,  ministher. 
Good  !  Well  done  again — Whish !  Hurroo !  Here's  for 
Bajlyboulteen,  an'  the  sky  over  it !' 

"Bad  luck  to  the  sich  a  set  ever  was  seen  together  in 
this  world,  or  will  again,  I  suppose.  The  worst,  how- 
ever, wasn't  come  yet,  for  jist  as  they  were  in  the 
very  heat  an'  fury  of  the  dance,  what  do  you  think  comes 
hoppin'  in  among  them  but  another  pudden,  as  nimble 
an'  merry  as  the  first !  Tha.t  was  enough ;  they  all  had 
heard  of — the  ministhers  among  the  rest-— an'  most  o' 
them  had  seen  the  other  pudden,  and  knew  that  there 
must  be  a  fairy  in  it,  sure  enough.  Well,  as  I  said,  in  it 
comes  to  the  thick  o'  them ;  but  the  very  appearance  of 
it  was  enough.  Off  the  three  clargy  danced,  and  off 
the  whole  weddiners  danced  af ther  them,  every  one 
makin'  the  best  of  their  way  home;  but  not  a  sowl 
of  them  able  to  break  out  of  the  step,  if  they  were 
to  be  hanged  for  it.  Throth  it  wouldn't  lave  a  laugh 
in  you  to  see  the  parson  dancin'  down  the  road  on  his 
way  home,  and  the  ministher  and  Methodist  praicher 
cuttin'1  the  buckle  as  they  went  along  in  the  opposite 
direction.  To  make  short  work  of  it,  they  all  danced 
home  at  last,  wid  scarce  a  puff  of  wind  in  them;  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  danced  away  to  bed;  an*  now, 
boys,  come  an'  let  us  dance  the  Horo  Lheig  in  the  barn 
'idout.  But  you  see,  boys,  before  we  go,  an'  in  ordher 
that  I  may  make  everything  plain,  I  had  as  good  tell 
you  that  Harry,  in  crossing  the  bridge  of  Ballyboulteen, 
a  couple  of  miles  below  Squire  Bragshaw's  demesne-wall, 
saw  the  pudden  floatin'  down  the  river — the*.truth  is  he 
was  waitin'  for  it ;  but  be  this  as  it  may,  he  took  it  out, 
for  the  wather  had  made  it  as  clane  as  a  new  pin, 
and  tuckin'  it  up  in  the  tail  of  his  big  coat,  contrived, 
as  you  all  guess,  I  suppose,  to  change  it  while  Paddy 
Scanlan  an'  the  wife  were  examinin'  the  sky ;  an'  for  the 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       213. 

"other,  he  contrived  to  bewitch  it  in  the  same  manner,  by 
gettin'  a  fairy  to  go  into  it,  for,  indeed,  it  was  purty  well 
known  that  the  same  Harry  was  hand  an*  glove  wid  the 
good  people.  Others  will  tell  you  that  it  was  half  a 
pound  of  quicksilver  he  put  into  it;  but  that  doesn't 
stand  to  raison.  At  any  rate,  boys,  I  have  tould  you 
the  adventures  of  the  Mad  Pudden  of  Ballyboulteen ;  but 
I  don't  wish  to  tell  you  many  other  things  about  it  that 
happened — for  fraid  I'd  tell  a  lie."  * 


*  Some  will  insist  that  a  fairy-man  or  fairy-woman  has 
the  power  to  bewitch  a  pudding  by  putting  'a  fairy  into  it ; 
while  others  maintain  that  a  competent  portion  of  quick- 
silver will  make  it  dance  over  half  the  parish. 


T'YEER-NA-N-OGE 


[THERE  is  a  country  called  Tir-na-n-Og,  which  means  the 
Country  of  the  Young,  for  age  and  death  have  not  found  it ; 
neither  tears  nor  loud  laughter  have  gone  near  it.  The 
shadiest  boskage  covers  it  perpetually.  One  man  has  gone 
there  and  returned.  The  bard,  Oisen,  who  wandered  away 
on  a  white  horse,  moving  on  the  surface  of  the  foam  with 
his  fairy  Nianih,  lived  there  three  hundred  years,  and  then 
returned  looking  for  his  comrades.  The  moment  his  foot 
touched  the  earth  his  three  hundred  years  fell  on  him,  and 
he  was  bowed  double,  and  his  beard  swept  the  ground.  He 
described  his  sojourn  in  the  Land  of  Youth  to  Patrick  be- 
fore be  died.  Since  then  many  have  seen  it  in  many  places ; 
some  in  the  depths  of  lakes,  and  have  heard  rising  there- 
from a  vague  sound  of  bells ;  more  have  seen  it  far  off  on  the 
horizon;  as  they  peered  out  from  the  western  cliffs.  Not 
three  years  ago  a  fisherman  imagined  that  he  saw  it.  It 
never  appears  unless  to  announce  some  national  trouble. 

There  are  many  kindred  beliefs.  A  Dutch  pilot,  settled  in 
Dublin,  told  M.  De  La  Botillage  Le  Cong,  who  travelled  in 
Ireland  in  1614,  that  round  the  poles  were  many  islands; 
some  hard  to  be  approached  because  of  the  witches  who  in- 
habit them  and  destroy  by  storms  those  who  seek  to  land. 
He  had  once,  off  the  coast  of  Greenland,  in  sixty-one  de- 
grees of  la'itude,  seen  and  approached  such  an  island  only 
to  see  it  vanish.  Sailing  in  an  "opposite  direction,  they  met 
with  the  same  island,  and  sailing  near,  were  almost  de- 
stroyed by  a  furious  tempest. 

According  to  many  stories,  Tir-na-n-Og  is  the  favorite 
dwelling  of  the  fairies.  Some  say  it  is  triple — the  island  of 
the  living,  the  island  of  victories,  and  an  underwater  land.] 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       215 
THE  LEGEND  OF  O'DONOGHUE  * 

T.    CBOFTON    CBOKEE 

IN  an  age  so  distant  that  the  precise  period  is  un- 
known, a  chieftain  named  O'Donoghue  ruled  over  thq 
country  which  surrounds  the  romantic  Lough  Lean, 
now  called  the  lake  of  Killarney.  Wisdom,  beneficence, 
and  justice  distinguished  his  reign,  and  the  prosperity 
and  happiness  of  his  subjects  were  their  natural  results. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  as  renowned  for  his  warlike 
exploits  as  for  his  pacific  virtues;  and  as  a  proof  that 
his  domestic  administration  was  not  the  less  rigorous 
because  it  was  mild,  a  rocky  island  is  pointed  out  to 
strangers,  called  "O'Donoghue's  Prison,"  in  which  this 
prince  once  confined  his  own  son  for  some  act  of  dis- 
order and  disobedience. 

His  end — for  it  cannot  correctly  be  called  his  death 
— was  singular  and  mysterious.  At  one  of  those  splendid 
feasts  for  which  his  court  was  celebrated,  surrounded 
by  the  most  distinguished  of  his  subjects,  he  was  en- 
gaged in  a  prophetic  relation  of  the  events  which  were  to 
happen  in  ages  yet  to  come.  His  auditors  listened,  now 
wrapt  in  wonder,  now  fired  with  indignation,  burning 
with  shame,  or  melted  into  sorrow,  as  he  faithfully  de- 
tailed the  heroism,  the  injuries,  the  crimes,  and  the  mis . 
cries  of  their  descendants.  In  the  midst  of  his  predic^ 
tions  he  rose  slowly  from  his  seat,  advanced  with  a 
solemn,  measured,  and  majestic  tread  to  the  shore  of 
the  lake,  and  walked  forward  composedly  upon  its  un- 
yielding surface.  When  he  had  nearly  reached  the  cen- 
ter he  paused  for  a  moment,  then,  turning  slowly  round, 
looked  toward  his  friends,,  and  waving  his  arms  to  them 
with  the  cheerful  air  of  one  taking  a  short  farewell,  dis- 
appeared from  their  view. 

*  Fairy  Legends  of  the  South  of  Ireland. 


216        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

The  memory  of  the  good  O'Donoghue  has  been  cher- 
ished by  successive  generations  with  affectionate  rever- 
ence; and  it  is  believed  that  at  sunrise,  on  every  May- 
day morning,  the  anniversary  of  his  departure,  he  re- 
visits his  ancient  domains:  a  favored  few  only  are  in 
general  permitted  to  see  him,  and  this"  distinction  is 
always  an  omen  of  good  fortune  to  the  beholders ;  when 
it  is  granted  to  many  it  is  a  sure  token  of  an  abundant 
harvest — a  blessing,  the  want  of  which  during  this 
prince's  reign  was  never  felt  by  his  people. 

Some  years  have  elapsed  since  the  last  appearance  of 
O'Donoghue.  The  April  of  that  year  had  been  remark- 
ably wild  and  stormy;  but  on  May-morning  the  fury  of 
the  elements  had  altogether  subsided.  The  air  was 
hushed  and  still;  and  the  sky,  which  was  reflected  in 
the  serene  lake,  resembled  a  beautiful  but  deceitful 
countenance,  whose  smiles,  after  the  most  tempestuous 
motions,  tempted  the  stranger  to  believe  that  it  belongs 
to  a  soul  which  no  passion  has  ever  ruffled. 

The  firSt  beams  of  the  rising  sun  were  just  gilding 
the  lofty  summit  of  Glenaa,  when  the  waters  near  the 
eastern  shore  of  the  lake  became  suddenly  and  violently 
agitated,  though  all  the  rest  of  its  surface  lay  smooth 
and  still  as  a  tomb  of  polished  marble,  the  next  morning 
a  foaming  wave  darted  forward,  and,  like  a  proud,  high- 
crested  war-horse,  exulting  in  his  strength,  rushed  across 
the  lake  toward  Toomies  mountain.  Behind  this  wave 
appeared  a  stately  warrior  fully  armed,  mounted  upon 
a  milk-white  steed  that  sprang  after  the  wave  along  the 
water  which  bore  him  up  like  firm  earth.  The  warrior 
was  O'Donoghue,  followed  by  numberless  youths  and 
maidens  linked  together  by  garlands  of  delicious  spring 
flowers,  and  they  timed  their  movements  to  strains  of  en- 
chanting melody.  When  O'Donoghue  had  nearly  reached 
the  western  side  of  the  lake,  he  suddenly  turned  his  steed, 
and  directed  his  course  along  the  wood-fringed  shore 
of  Glenaa,  preceded  by  the  huge  wave  that  curled  and 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       217 

foamed  up  as  high  as  the  horse's  neck,  whose  fiery  nos- 
trils snorted  above  it.  The  long  train  of  attendants 
followed  with  playful  deviations  the  track  of  their 
leader,  and  moved  on  with  unabated  fleetness  to  their 
celestial  music,  till  gradually,  as  they  entered  the  nar- 
row strait  between  Glenaa  and  Dinis,  they  became  in- 
volved in  the  mists  which  still  partially  floated  over  the 
lakes,  and  faded  from  the  view  of  the  wondering  be- 
holders; but  the  sound  of  their  music  still  fell  upon 
the  ear,  and  echo,  catching  up  the  harmonious  strains, 
fondly  repeated  and  prolonged  them  in  soft  and  softer 
tones,  till  the  last  faint  repetition  died  away,  and  the 
hearers  awoke  as  from  a  dream  of  bliss. 

KENT   DAY 

"On,  ullagone !  ullagone !  this  is  a  wide  world,  but 
what  will  we  do  in  it,  or  where  will  we  go?"  muttered 
Bill  Doody,  as  he  sat  on  a  roajt  by  the  Lake  of  Kil- 
larney.  "What  will  we  do  ?  To-morrow's  rent  day,  and 
Tim  the  Driver  swears  if  we  don't  pay  our  rent,  he'll 
cant  every  ha'perth  we  have;  and  then,  sure  enough, 
there's  Judy  and  myself,  and  the  poor  growls*  will  be 
turned  out  to  starve  on  the  high-road,  for  never  a 
halfpenny  of  rent  have  1 I — Oh  hone,  that  ever  I  should 
live  to  see  this  day !" 

Thus  did  Bill  Doody  bemoan  his  hard  fate  pouring 
his  sorrows  to  the  reckless  waves  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful of  lakes,  which  seemed  to  mock  his  misery  as  they 
rejoiced  beneath  the  cloudless  sky  of  a  May  morning. 
rfThat  lake,  glittering  in  sunshine,  sprinkled  with  fairy 
isles  of  rock  and  verdure,  and  bounded  by  giant  hills 
of  ever-varying  hues,  might,  with  its  magic  beauty, 
charm  all  sadness  but  despair;  for  alas, 

"How  ill  the  scene  that  offers  rest 
And  heart  that  cannot  rest  agree!** 

*  Children. 


218        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Yet  Bill  Doody  was  not  so  desolate  as  he  supposed; 
there  was  one  listening  to  him  he  little  thought  of,  and 
help  was  at  hand  from  a  quarter  he  could  not  have  • 
expected. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  my  poor  man?"  said  a 
tall,  portly-looking  gentleman,  at  the  same  time  step- 
ping out  of  a  furze-brake.  Now  Bill  was  seated  on  a 
rock  that  commanded  the  view  of  a  large  field.  Noth- 
ing in  the  field  could  be  concealed  from  him,  except 
this  furze-brake,  which  grew  in  a  .hollow  near  the  mar- 
gin of  the  lake.  He  was,  therefore,  not  a  little  sur- 
prised at  the  gentleman's  sudden  appearance,  and  be- 
gan to  question  whether  the  personage  before  him 
belonged  to  this  world  or  not.  He,  however,  soon  mus- 
tered courage  sufficient  to  tell  him  how  his  crops  had 
failed,  how  some  bad  member  had  charmed  away  his 
butter,  and  how  Tim  the  Driver  threatened  to  turn 
him  out  of  the  farm  if  he  didn't  pay  up  every  penny 
of  the  rent  by  twelve  Wclock  next  day. 

"A  sad  story,  indeed/'  said  the  stranger;  "but  surely, 
if  you  represented  the  case  to  your  landlord's  agent, 
he  won't  have  the  heart  to  turn  you  out." 

"Heart,  your  honor;  where  would  an  agent  get  a 
heart!"  exclaimed  Bill.  "I  see  .your  honor  does  not 
know  him;  besides,  he  has  an  eye  on  the  farm  this 
long  time  for  a  fosterer  of  his  own;  so  I  expect  no 
mercy  at  all  at  all,  only  to  be  turned  out." 

"Take  this,  my  poor  fellow,  take  this,"  said  the 
stranger,  pouring  a  purse  full  of  gold  into  Bill's  old 
hat,  which  in  his  grief  he  had  flung  on  the  ground. 
"Pay  the  fellow  your  rent,  but  I'll  take  care  it  shall  d(f 
him  no  good.  I  remember  the  time  when  things  went 
otherwise  in  this  country,  when  I  would  have  hung  up 
such  a  fellow  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye !" 

These  words  were  lost  upon  Bill,  who  was  insensible 
to  everything  but  the  sight  of  the  gold,  and  before  he 
could  unfix  his  gaze,  and  lift  up  his  head  to  pour  out 


IRISH   FAIRY   AND  FOLK  TALES       219 

his  hundred  thousand  blessings,  the  stranger  was  gone. 
The  bewildered  peasant  looked  around  in  search  of 
his  benefactor,  and  at  last  he  thought  he  saw  him 
riding  on  a  white  horse  a  long  way  off  on  the  lake. 

"O'Donoghue,  O'Donoghue,"  shouted  Bill;  "the 
good,  the  blessed  O'Donoghue!"  and  he  ran  capering 
like  a  madman  to  show  Judy  the  gold,  and  to  rejoice 
her  heart  with  the  prospect  of  wealth  and  happiness. 

The  next  day  Bill  proceeded  to  the  agent's;  not 
sneakingly,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground,  and  his  knees  bending  under  him;  but 
bold  and  upright,  like  a  man  conscious  of  his  inde- 
pendence. 

"Why  don't  you  take  off  your  hat,  fellow?  don't  you 
know  you  are  speaking  to  a  magistrate  ?"  said  the  agent. 

"I  know  I'm  not  speaking  to  the  king,  sir,"  said  Bill ; 
"and  I  never  takes  off  my  hat  but  to  them  I  can  re- 
spect and  love.  The  Eye  that  sees*  all  knows  I've  no 
right  either  to  respect  or  love  an  agent!" 

"You  scoundrel !"  retorted  the§  man  in  office,  biting 
his  lips  with  rage  at  such  an  unusual  and  unexpected 
opposition,  "I'll  teach  you  how  to  be  insolent  again; 
I  have  the  power,  remember." 

"To  the  cost  of  the  country,  I  know  you  have,"  said 
Bill,  who  still  remained  with  his  head  as  firmly  cov- 
ered as  if  he  was  the  Lord  Kingsale  himself. 

"But,  come,"  said  the  magistrate;  "have  you  got  the 
money  for  me  ?  This  is  rent  day.  If  there's  one  penny 
of  it  wanting,  or  the  running  gale  that's  due,  prepare 
to  turn  out  before  night,  for  you  shall  not  remain  an- 
other hour  in  possession." 

"There  is  your  rent,"  said  Bill,  with  an  unmoved  ex- 
pression of  tone  and  countenance;  "you'd  better  count 
it,  and  give  me  a  receipt  in  full  for  the  running  gale 
and  all." 

The  aarent  gave  a  look  of  amazement  at  the  gold ;  for 
it  was  gold — real  guineas !  and  not  bits  of  dirty  ragged 


220        IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

small  notes,  that  are  only  fit  to  light  one's  pipe  with. 
However  willing  the  agent  may  have  been  to  ruin,  as 
he  thought,  the  unfortunate  tenant,  he  took  up  the  gold, 
and  handed  the  receipt  to  Bill,  who  strutted  off  with 
itf  as  proud  as  a  cat  of  her  whiskers. 

The  agent  going  to  his  desk  shortly  after,  was  con- 
founded at  beholding  a  heap  of  gingerbread  cakes  in- 
stead of  the  money  he  had  deposited  there.  He  raved 
and  swore,  but  all  to  no  purpose;  the  gold  had  be- 
come gingerbread  cakes,  just  marked  like  guineas,  with 
the  king's  head ;  and  Bill  had  the  receipt  in  his  pocket ; 
so  he  saw  there  was  no  use  in  saying  anything  about 
the  affair,  as  he  would  only  get  laughed  at  for  his 
pains. 

From  that  hour  Bill  Doody  grew  rich ;  all  his  under- 
takings prospered;  and  he  often  blesses  the  day  that 
he  met  with  O'Donoghue,  the  great  prince  that  lives 
down  under  the  lake  of  Killarney. 


LOUGHLEAGH  (LAKE  OF  HEALING)* 

"Do  you  see  that  bit  of  a  lake  ?"  said  my  companion, 
turning  his  eyes  towards  the  acclivity  that  overhung 
Loughleagh.  "Troth,  .and  as  little  as  you  think  of  it, 
and  as  ugly  as  it  looks  with  its  weeds  and  its  flags,  it  is 
the  most  famous  one  in  all  Ireland.  Young  and  ould, 
rich  and  poor,  far  and  near,  have  come  to  that  lake 
to  get  cured  of  all  kinds  of  scurvy  and  sores.  The 
Lord  keep  us  our  limbs  whole  and  sound,  for  it's  a 
sorrowful  thing  not  to  have  the  use  o*  them.  'Twas 
but  last  week  we  had  a  great  grand  Frenchman  here; 
and,  though  he  came  upon  crutches,  faith  he  went  home 


"Dublin  and  London  Magazine,   1825. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       221 

sound  as  a  bell ;  and  well  he  paid  Billy  Eeily  for  curing 
him." 

"And,  pray,  how  did  Billy  Reily  cure  him  ?" 

"Oh,  well  enough.  He  took  his  long  pole,  dipped  it 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  and  brought  up  on  the 
top  of  it  as  much  plaster  as  would  do  for  a  thousand 
sores  \" 

"What  kind  of  plaster  ?" 

"What  kind  of  plaster  ?  why,  black  plaster  to  be  sure ; 
for  isn't  the  bottom  of  the  lake  filled  with  a  kind  of 
black  mud  which  cures  all  th,e  world?" 

"Then  it  ought  to  be  a  famous  lake  indeed." 

"Famous,  and  so  it  is,"  replied  my  companion,  "but 
it  isn't  for  its  cures  neather  that"  it  is  famous ;  for,  sure, 
doesn't  all  the  world  know  there  is  a  fine  beautiful 
city  at  the  bottom  of  it,  where  the  good  people  live 
just  like  Christians?  Troth,  it  is  the  truth  I  tell  you; 
for  Shemus-a-sneidh  saw  it  all  when  he  followed  his  dun 
cow  that  was  stolen." 

"Who  stole  her?" 

'Til  tell  you  all  about  it:  Shemus  was  a  poor  gos- 
soon, who  lived  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  in  a  cabin  with 
his  ould  mother.  They  lived  by  hook  and  by  crook, 
one  way  and  another,  in  the  best  way  they  could.  They 
had  a  bit  of  ground  that  gave  'em  the  preaty,  and  a 
little  dun  cow  that  gave  'em  the  drop  o'  milk;  and, 
considering  how  times  go,  they  weren't  badly  off,  foi- 
Skemus  was"  a  handy  gossoon  to  boot;  and,  while 
minden  the  cow,  cut  heath  and  made  brooms,  which 
his  mother  sould  on  a  market  day,  and  brought  home 
the  bit  o'  tobaccy,  the  grain  of  salt,  and  other  nic- 
nackenes,  which  a  poor  body  can't  well  do  widout. 
Once  upon  a  time,  however,  Shemus  went  farther  than 
usual  up  the  mountain,  looken  for  long  heath,  for 
townspeople  don't  like  to  stoop,  and  so  like  long 
handles  to  their  brooms.  The  little  dun  cow  was  a'most 
as  cunning  as  a  Christian  sinner,  and  followed  Shemus 


222        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

like  a  lap  dog  everywhere  he'd  go,  so  that  she  required 
little  or  no  herden.  On  this  day  she  found  nice  picken 
on  a  round  spot  as  green  as  a  leek;  and,  as  poor 
Shemus  was  weary,  as  a  body  would  be  on  a  fine  sum- 
mer's day,  he  lay  down  on  the  grass  to  rest  himself, 
just  as  we're  resten  ourselves  on  the  cairn  here.  Begad, 
he  hadn't  long  lain  there,  \sure  enough,  when,  what 
should  he  see  but  whole  loads  of  ganconers*  dancing 
about  the  place.  Some  o'  them  were  hurlen,  some  kick- 
ing a  football,  and  others  leaping  a  kick-step-and-a- 
kp.  They  were  so  soople  and  so  active  that  Shemus 
was  highly  delighted  with  the  sport,  and  a  little  tanned 
skinned  chap  in  a  red  cap  pleased  him  better  than  any 
o'  them,  bekase*  he  used  to  tumble  the  other  fellows  like 
mushrooms.  At  one  time  he  had  kept  the  ball  up  for 
as  good  as  half-an-hour,  when  Shemus  cried  out,  'Well 
done,  my  hurler!'  The  word  wasn't  well  out  of  his 
mouth  when  whap  went  the  ball  on  his  eye,  and  flash 
went  the  fire.  Poor  Shemus  thought  he  was  blind,  and 
roared  out,  'Mille  murdherl't  but  the  only  thing  he 
heard  was  a  loud  laugh.  'Cross  o'  Christ  about  us/ 
says  he  to"  himself,  'what  is  this  for?*  and  afther  rub- 
bing his  eyes  they  came"  to  a  little,  and  he  could  see 
the  sun  and  the  sky,  and  by-and-by,  he  could  see  every- 
thing but  his  cow  and  the  mischievous  ganconers. 
They  were  gone  to  their  rath  or  mote;  but  where  was 
the  little  dun  cow  ?  He  looked,  and  he  looked,  and  he 
might  have  looked  from  that  day  to  this,  bekase  she 
wasn't  to  be  found,  and  good  reason  why — the'  gan- 
coners  took  her  away  with  'em. 

"Shemus-a-sneidh,  however,  didn't  think  so,  but  raD 
home  to  his  mother. 

"  'Where  is  the  cow,  Shemus  ?'  axed  the  ould  woman. 

*  Ir.  gean-canach — i.e.,  love-talker,  a  kind  of  fairy  appear- 
ing in  lonesome  valleys,  a  dudeen  (tobacco-pipe)  in  his 
mouth,  making  love  to  milk-maids,  etc. 

f  A  thousand  murders. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       223 

"'Och,  musha,  bad  luck  to  her/  said  Shemus,  'I 
donna  where  she  is !' 

"  'Is  that  an  answer,  you  big  blaggard,  for  the  likes 
o'  you  to  give  your  poor  ould  mother  ?'  said  she* 

'"Och,  musha/  said  Shemus,  'don't  kick  up  saich  a 
bollhous  about  nothing.  The  ould  cow  is  safe  enough, 
I'll  be  bail,  some  place  or  other,  though  I  could  find  her 
if  I  put  my  eyes  upon  Tcippeens*  and,  speaking  of  eyes, 
faith,  I  had  very  good  luck  o'  my  side,  or  I  had  naver 
a  one  to  look  after  her/ 

"  *Why,  what  happened  your  eyes,  agrah  ?'  axed  the 
ould  woman. 

"'Oh,  didn't  the  ganconers — the  Lord  save  us  from 
all  hurt  and  harm ! — drive  their  hurlen  ball  into  them  _ 
both !  and  sure  I  was  stone  blind  for  an  hour.' 

"'And  may  be/  said  the  mother,  'the  good  people 
took  our  cow?' 

'"No,  nor  the  devil  a  one  of  them/  said  Shemus, 
'for,  by  the  powers,  that  same  cow  is  as  knowen  as  a 
lawyer,  and  wouldn't  be  such  a  fool  as  to  go  with  the 
ganconers  while  she  could  get  such  grass  as  I  found  for 
her  to-day/" 

In  this  way,  continued  my  informant,  they  talked 
about  the  cow  all  that  night,  and  next  mornen  both  o1 
them  set  off  to  look  for  her.  After  searching  every 
place,  high  and  low,  what  should  Shemus  see  sticking 
out  of  a  bog  hole  but  something  very  like  the  horns  of 
his  little  beast! 

"Oh,  mother,  mother,"  said  he,  "I've  found  her!" 

"Where,  alanna?"  axed  the  ould  woman. 

"In  the  bog  hole,  mother,"  answered  Shemus. 

At  this  the  poor  ould  creathure  set  up  such  a  pul~ 
lallue  that  she,  brought  the  seven  parishes  about  her; 
and  the  neighbors  soon  pulled  the  cow  out  of  the  bog 


*  Ir.  tipin — i.e.,  a  stick    a  twig. 


424        IRISH   FAIRY  AXD  FOLK  TALES 

hole.    You'd  swear  it  was  the  same,  and  yet  it  wasn't, 
us  you  shall  hear  by-and-by. 

Shemus  and  his  mother  brought  the  dead  beast  home 
with  them;  and,  after  skinnen  her,  hung  the  meat  up 
in  the  chimney.  The  loss  of  the  drop  o'  milk  was  a 
sorrowful  thing,  and  though  th#y  had  a  good  deal  of 
meat,  that  couldn't  last  always;  besides,  the  whole 
parish  faughed  upon  them  for  eating  the  flesh  of  a 
beast  that  died  without  bleeden.  But  the  pretty  thing 
was,  they  couldn't  eat  the  meat  after  all,  for  when  it 
was  boiled  it  was  as  tough  as  carrion,  and  as  black  as 
a  turf.  You  might  as  well  think  of  sinking  your  teeth 
in  an  oak  plank  as  into  a  piece  of  it,  and  then  you'd 
-want  to  sit  a  great  piece  from  the  wall  for  fear  of 
knocking  your  head  against  -it  when  purling  it  through 
your  teeth.  At  last  and  at  long  run  they  were  forced 
to  throw  it  to  the  dogs,  but  the  dogs  wouldn't  smell 
to  it,  and  so  it  was  thrown  into  the  ditch,  where  it 
rotted.  This  misfortune  cost  poor  Shemus  many  a  salt 
tear,  for  he  was  now  obliged  to  work  twice  as  hard  as 
before,  and  be  out  cutten  heath  on  the  mountain  late 
and  early.  One  day  he  was  passing  by  this  cairn  with 
a  load  of  brooms  on  his  back,  when  what  should  he 
see  but  the  little  dun  cow  and  two  red-headed  fellows 
herding  her. 

"That's  my  mother's  cow,"  said  Shemus-a-sneidh. 

"No,  it  is  not,"  said  one  of  the  chaps. 

"But  I  say  it  is,"  said  Shemus,  throwing  the  brooms 
on  the  ground,  and  seizing  the  cow  by  the  horns.  At 
that  the  red  fellows  drove  her  as  fast  as  they  could  to 
this  steep  place,  and  with  one  leap  she  bounced  over, 
with  Shemus  stuck  fast  to  her  horns.  They  made  only 
one  splash  in  the  lough,  when  the  "waters  closed  over 
'em,  and  they  sunk  to  the  bottom.  Just  as  Shemus-a- 
sneidh  thought  that*  all  was  over  with  him,  he  found 
himself  before  a  most  elegant  palace  built  with  jewels, 
and  all  manner  of  fine  stones.  Though  his  eyes  were 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

1 

dazzled  with  the  splendor  of  the  place,  faith  he  had 
gomsh*  enough  not  to  let  go  his  holt,  but  in  spite  of  all 
they  could  do,  he  held  his  little,  cow  by  the  horns.  H<3 
was  axed  into  the  palace,  but  wouldn't  go. 

The  hubbub  at  last  grew  so  great  that  the  door  flew 
open,  and  out  walked  a  hundred  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
as  fine  as  any  in  the  land. 

"What  does  this  boy  want?"  axed  one  o'  them,  whtf 
seemed  to  be  the.  mas.tb.er. 

"I  want  my  mother's  cow,"  said  Shemus. 

"That's  not  your  mother's  cow,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"Bethershin !"  f  cried  Shemus-a-sneidh ;  "don't  I 
know  her  as  well  as  I  know  my  right  hand  ?" 

"Where  did  you  lose  her  ?"  axed  the  gentleman.  And 
BO  Shemus  up  and  tould  him  all  about  it:  how  he  was 
on  the  mountain — how  he  saw  the  good  people  hurlen — 
how  the  ball  was  knocked  in  his  eye,  and  his  cow  was 
lost. 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  the  gentleman,  pull- 
ing out  his  purse,  "and  here  is  the  price  of  twenty 
cows  for  you." 

"No,  no,"  said  Shemus,  "you'll  not  catch  ould  birds 
wid  chaff.  I'll  have  my  cow  and  nothen  else." 

"You're  a-Junny  fellow,"  said  the  gentleman;  "stop 
here  and.  live  in  a  palace." 

"I'd  rather  live  with  my  mother." 

"Foolish  boy!"  said  the  gentleman;  "stop  here  an-J 
live  in  a  palace." 

"I'd  rather  live  in  my  mother's  cabin." 

"Here  you  can  walk  through  gardens  loaded  with 
fruit  and  flowers." 

"I'd  rather,"  said  Shemus,  "be  cutting  heath  on  tb«? 
mountain." 

"Here  you  can  eat  and  drink  of  the  best." 


*  Otherwise  "gumshun — "  i.e.,  sense,  cuteness 
t  Tr.  B'tiidir  sin — i.  e.,  "that  is  possible." 


226        IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Since  I've  got  my  cow,  I  can  have  milk  once  more 
with  the  praties." 

"Oh!"  cried  the  ladies,  gathering  round  him,  "sure 
you  wouldn't  take  away  the  cow  that  gives  us  milk 
for  our  tea?" 

"Oh!"  said  Shemus,  "my  mother  wants  milk  as  bad 
as  anyone,  and  she  must  have  it;  so  there  is  no  use 
in  your  palaver — I  must  have  my  cow." 

At  this  they  all  gathered  about  him  and  offered  him 
bushels  of  gould,  but  he  wouldn't  have  anything  but 
his  cow.  Seeing  him  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  they  began 
to  thump-  and  beat  him ;  but  still  he  held  fast  by  the 
horns,  till  at  length  a  great  blast  of  wind  blew  him 
out  of  the  place,  and  in  a  moment  he  found  himself 
and  the  cow  standing  on  the  side  of  the  lake,  the 
water  of  which  looked  as  if  it  hadn't  been  disturbed 
since  Adam  was  a  boy — and  that's  a  long  time  since. 

Well,  Shemus-a-sneidh  drove  home  his  cow,  and  right 
glad  his  mother  was  to  see  her;  but  the  moment  she 
said  "God  bless  the  beast,"  she  sunl£  down  like  the 
breesha*  of  a  turf  rick.  That  was  the  end  of  Shemus- 
a-sneidh's  dun  cow. 

"And,  sure,"  continued  my  companion,  standing  up, 
"it  is  now  time  for  me  to  look  after  my  brown  cow, 
and  God  send  the  ganconers  haven't  taken  her  I" 

Of  this  I  assured  him  there  could  be  no  fear;  and  so 
we  parted. 


HY-BRASAIL— THE  ISLE  OF  THE  BLEST 

BY  -GERALD     GRIFFIN 

On  the  ocean  that  hollows  the  rocks  where  ye  dwell, 
A  shadowy  land  has  appeared,  as  they  tell; 
Men  thought  it  a  region  of  sunshine  and  rest, 
And  thy  called  it  Hy-Brasail,  the  isle  of  the  blest. 


*  Ir.  brisea&h — i.e.,  breaking. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       227 

From  year  unto  year  on  the  ocean's  blue  rim, 
The  beautiful  specter  showed  lovely  and  dim; 
The  golden  clouds  curtained  the  deep  where  it  lay, 
And  it  looked  like  an  Eden,  away,  far  away ! 


A  peasant  who  heard  of  the  wonderful  tale, 
In  the  breeze  of  the  Orient  loosened  his  sail; 
From  Ara,  the  holy,  he  turned  to  the  west, 
For  though  Ara  was  holy,  Hy-Brasail  was  blest. 
He  heard  not  the  voices  that  called  from  the  shore-- 
He heard  not  the  rising  wind's  menacing  roar ; 
Home,  kindred,  and  safety,  he  left  on  that  day, 
And  he  sped  to  Hy-Brasail,  away,  far  away! 


Morn  rose  on  the  deep,  and  that  shadowy  isle, 
O'er  the  faint  rim  of  distance,  reflected  its  smile; 
Noon  burned  on  the  wave,  and  that  shadowy  shore 
Seemed  lovelily  distant,  and  faint  as  before ; 
Lone  evening  came  do.wn  on  the  wanderer's  track, 
And  to  Ara  again  he  looked  timidly  back ; 
Oh !  far  on  the  verge  of  the  ocean  it  lay, 
Yet  the  isle  of  the  blest  was  away,  far  away ! 


Hash  dreamer,  return !     0,  ye  winds  of  the  main, 
Bear  him  back  to  his  own  peaceful  Ara  again. 
Rash  fool !  for  a  vision  of  fanciful  bliss, 
To  barter  thy  calm  life  of  labor  and  peace. 
The  warning  of  reason  was  spoken  in  vain; 
He  never  revisited  Ara  asrain ! 
Night  fell  on  the  deep,  amidst  tempest  and  spray. 
And  he  died"  on  the  waters,  away,  far  away ! 


228        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
THE    PHANTOM    ISLE 

GLRALDUS    CAMBKENSIS* 

AMONG  the  other  islands  is  one  newly  formed, 
which  they  call  the  Phantom  Isle,  which  had  its  origin 
in  this  manner.  One  calm  day  a  large  mass  of  earth 
rose  to  the  surface  of  the  sea,  where  no  land  had  ever 
been  seen  before,  to  the  great  amazement  of  islanders 
who  observed  it.  Some  of  them  said  that  it  was  a 
whale  or  other  immense  sea  monster;  others,  remark- 
ing that  it  continued  motionless,  said,  "No ;  it  is  land/' 
In  order,  therefore,  to  reduce  their  doubts  to  certainty, 
some  picked  young  men  of  the  island  determined  to 
approach  nearer  the  spot  in  a  boat.  When,  however, 
they  came  so  near  to  it  that  they  thought  they  should 
go  on  shore,  the  island  sank  in  the  water  and  entirely 
vanished  from  sight.  The  next  day  it  reappeared,  and 
again  mocked  the  same  youths  with  the  like  delusion. 
At  length,  on  their  rowing  toward  it  on  the  third  day, 
they  followed  the  advice  of  an  older  man,  and  let  fly 
an  arrow,  barbed  with  red-hot  steel,  against  the  island ; 
and  then  landing,  found,  it  stationary  and  habitable. 

This  adds  one  to  the  many  proofs  that  fire  is  the 
greatest  of  enemies  to  every  sort  of  phantom;  in  so 
much  that  those  who  have  seen  apparitions,  fall  into 
a  swoon  as  soon  as  they  are  sensible  of  the  brightness 
of  fire.  For  fire,  both  from  its  position  and  nature,  is 
the  noblest  of  the  elements,  being  a  witness  of  the 
secrets  of  the  heavens. 

The  sky  is  fiery;  the  planets  are  fiery;  the  bush 
burnt  with  fire,  but  was  not  consumed;  the  Holy 
Ghost  sat  upon  the  apostles  in  tongues  of  fire. 


*  "Giraldus  Cainbrensis"  was  born  in  1146,  and  wrote  a 
Celebrated  account  of  Ireland. 


SAINTS,    PRIESTS 


EVEBYWHEBE  in  Ireland  are  the  holy  wells.  People  as 
they  pray  by  them  make  little  piles  of  stones,  that  will  be 
counted  at  the  last  day  and  the  prayers  reckoned  up.  Some- 
times they  tell  stories.  These  following  are  their  stories. 
They  deal  with  the  old  times,  whereof  King  Alfred  of  North- 
umberland wrote: 

"I  found  in  Innisfail  the  fair, 
In  Ireland,  while  in  exile  there, 
Women  of  worth,  both  grave  and  gay  men, 
Many  clericks  and  many  laymen. 

Gold  and  silver  I  found,  and  money, 
Plenty  of  wheat,  and  plenty  of  honey ; 
I  found  God's  people  rich  in  pity, 
Found  many  a  feast,  and  many  a  city." 

There  are  no  martyrs  in  the  stories.  That  ancient  chron- 
icler Giraldus  taunted  the  Archbishop  of  Cashel  because  no 
one  in  Ireland  had  received  the  crown  of  martyrdom.  "Our 
people  may  be  barbarous,"  the  prelate  answered,  "but  they 
have  never  lifted  their  hands  against  God's  saints ;  but  now 
that  a  people  have  come  among  us  wjio  know  how  to  make 
them  (it  was  just  after  the  English  invasion),  we  shall  have 
martyrs  plentifully." 

The  bodies  of  saints  are  fastidious  things.  At  a  place 
called  Four-mile-Water,  in  Wexford.  there  is  an  old  grave- 
yard full  of  saints.  Once  it  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  but  they  buried  a  rogue  there,  and  the  whole  grave- 
yard moved  across  in  the  night,  leaving  the  rogue-corpse  in 
solitude.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  move  merely  the 
rogue-corpse,  but  they  were  saints,  and  had  t<*  -1o  things  in 
style. 


230        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
THE    PRIEST'S  ^SOUL* 

LADY    WILDE 

IN  former  days  there  were  great  schools  in  Ireland, 
where  every  sort  of  learning  was  taught  to  the  people, 
and  even  the  poorest  had  more  knowledge  at  that  time 
than  many  a  gentleman  has  now.  But  as  to  the  priests, 
their  learning  was  above  all,  so  that  the  fame  of  Ire- 
land went  over  the  whole  world,  and  many  kings  from 
foreign  lands  used  to  send  their  sons  all  the  way  to 
Ireland  to  be  brought  up  in  the  Irish  schools. 

Now,  at  this  time  there  was  a  little  boy  learning  at 
one  of  them  who  was  a  wonder  to.  everyone  for  his 
cleverness.  His  parents  were  only  laboring  people,  and 
of  course  poor;  but  young  as  he  was,  and  as  poor  as 
he  was,  no  king's  or  lord's  son  could  come  up  to  him 
in  learning.  Even  the  masters  were  put  to  shame; 
for  when  they  were  trying  to  teach  him  he  would  tell 
them  something  they  never  heard  of  before,  and  show 
them  their  ignorance.  One  of  his  great  triumphs  was 
in  argument;  and  he  would  go  on  till  he  proved  to 
you  that  black  was  white,  and  then  when  you  gave  in, 
for  no  one  could  beat  him  in  talk,  he  would  turn  round 
and  show  you  that  white  was  black,  or  maybe  that 
there  was  no  color  at  all  in  the  world.  When  he  grew 
up  his  poor  father  and  mother  were  so  proud  of  him 
that  they  resolved  to  make  him  a  priest,  which  they 
did  at  last,  though  they  nearly  starved  themselves  to 
get  the  money.  Well,  such  another  learned  man  was 
not  in  Ireland,  and  he  was  as  great  in  argument  as  ever, 
so  that  no  one  could  stand  before  him.  Even  the  bishops 
tried  to  talk  to  him,  but  he  showed  them  at  once  they 
knew  nothing  at  all. 

Now,  there  were  no   schoolmasters  in   those  times, 


*  Ancient  Legends  of  Ireland. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       23.1 

but  it  was  the  priests  taught  the  people;  and  as  this 
man  was  the  cleverest  in  Ireland,  all  the  foreign  kings 
sent  their  sons  to  him,  as  long  as  he  had  house  room  to 
give  them.  So  he  grew  very  proud,  and  began  to  for- 
get how  low  he  had  been,  and  worst  of  all,  even  to  for- 
get God,  who  had  made  him  what  he  was.  And  the 
pride  of  arguing  got  hold  of  him,  so  that  from  one 
thing  to  another  he  went  on  to  prove  that  there  was 
no  Purgatory,  and  then  no  Hell,  and  then  no  Heaven, 
and  then  no  God;  and  at  last  that  men  had  no  souls, 
but  were  no  more  than  a  dog  or  a  cow,  and  when  they 
died  there  was  an  end  of  them.  "Whoever  saw  a 
soul?"  he  would  say.  "If  you  can  show  me  one,  I  will 
believe."  No  one  could  make  any  answer  to  this;  and 
at  last  they  all  came  to  believe  that  as  there  was  no 
other  world,  everyone  might  do  what  they  liked  in  this ; 
the  priest  setting  the  example,  for  he  took  a  beautiful 
young  girl  to  wife.  But  as  no  priest  or  bishop  in  the 
whole  land  could  be  got  to  marry  them,  he  was  obliged 
to  read  the  service  over  for  himself.  It  was  a  great 
scandal,  yet  no  one  dared  to  say  a  word,  for  all  the 
kings*  sons  were  on  his  side,  and  would  have  slaugh- 
tered anyone  who  tried  to  prevent  his  wicked  goings- 
on.  Poor  boys;  they  all  believed  in  him,  and  thought 
every  word  he  said  was  the  truth.  In  this  way  his 
notions  began  to  spread  about,  and  the  whole  world 
was  going  to  the  bad,  when  one  night  an  angel  came 
down  from  Heaven,  and  told  the  priest  he  had  but 
twenty-four  hours  to  live.  He  began  to  tremble,  and 
asked  for  a  little  more  time. 

But  the  angel  was  stiff,  and  told  him  that  could 
not  be. 

"What  do  you  want  time  for,  you  sinner?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  sir,  have  pity  on  my  poor  soul!"  urged  the 
priest. 

"Oh,  no!  You  have  a  soul,  then,"  said  the  angel. 
"Pray,  how  did  you  find  that  out?" 


332        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TA^ES 

\ 

"It  has  been  fluttering  in  me  ever  since  you  ap- 
peared," answered  the  prjest.  "What  a  fool  I  was  not 
to  think  of  it  before." 

"A  fool,  indeed,"  said  the  angel.  "What  good  was 
all  your  learning,  when  it  could  not  tell  you  that  you 
had  a  soul?" 

"Ah,  my  lord,"  said  the  priest,  ""if  I  am  to  die,  tell 
me  how  soon  I  may  be  in  Heaven?" 

"Never,"  replied  the  angel.  "You  denied  there  was 
a  Heaven." 

"Then,  my  lord,  may  I  go  to  Purgatory?" 

"You  denied  Purgatory  also ;  you  must  go  straight 
to'  Hell,"  said  the  angel. 

"But,  my  lord,  I  denied  Hell  also,"  answered  the 
priest,  "so  you  can't  send  me  there  either." 

The  angel  was  a  little  puzzled. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I'll  tell  you  what  I  can  do  for  you. 
You  may  either  live  now  on  earth  for  a  hundred  years, 
enjoying  every  pleasure,  and  then  be  cast  into  Hell  for 
ever;  or  you  may  die  in  twenty-four  hours  in  the  most 
horrible  torments,  and  pass  through  Purgatory,  there 
to  remain  till  the  Day  of  Judgment,  if  only  you  can 
find  some  one  person  that  believes,  and  through  his 
belief  mercy  will  be  vouchsafed  to  you,  and  your  soul 
will  be  saved." 

The  priest  did  not  take  five  minutes  to  make  up  his 
mind. 

"I  will  have  death  in  the  twenty-four  hours,"  he 
said,  "so  that  my  soul  may  be  saved  at  last." 

On  this  the  angel  gave  him  directions  as  to  what  he 
was  to  do,  and  left  him. 

Then  immediately  the  priest  entered  the  large  room 
where  all  the  scholars  and  the  kings'  sons  were  seated, 
and  called  out  to  them: 

"Now,  tell  me  the  truth,  and  let  none  fear  to  con- 
tradict me;  tell  me  what  is  your  belief — have  men 


IRISH  FAIRY    AND   FOLK  TALES       233 

"Master,"  they  answered,  "once  we  believed  that 
men  had  souls;  but  thanks  to  your  teaching,  we  believe 
so  no  longer.  There  is  no  Hell,  and  no  Heaven,  and 
no  God.  This  is  our  belief,  for  it  is  thus  you  taught 
us/' 

Then  the  priest  grew  pale  with  fear,  and  cried  out: 
"Listen !  I  taught  you  a  lie.  There  is  a  God,  and  man 
has  an  immortal  soul.  I  believe  now  all  I  denied  be- 
fore." 

But  the  shouts  of  laughter  that  rose  up  drowned  the 
priest's  voice,  for  they  thought  he  was  only  trying  them 
for  argument. 

"Prove  it,  master,'*  they  cried.  "Prove  it.  Who  has 
ever  seen  God?  Who  has  ever  seen  the  soul?" 

And  the  room  was  stirred  with  their  laughter. 

The  priest  stood  up  to  answer  them,  but  no  word 
could  he  utter.  All  his  eloquence,  all  his  powers  of 
argument  had  gone  from  him ;  and  he  could  do  nothing 
but  wring  his  hands  and  cry  out,  "There  is  a  God ! 
there  is  a  God !  Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul !" 

And  they  all  began  to  mock  him  and  repeat  his  own 
words  that  he  had  taught  them: 

"Show  him  to  us;  show  us  your  God."  And  he  fled 
from  them  groaning  with  agony,  for  he  saw  that  none 
believed;  and  how,  then,  could  his  soul  be  saved? 

But  he  thought  next  of  his  wife.  "She  will  believe," 
he  said  to  himself;  "women  never  give  up  God." 

And  he  went  to  frer;  but  she  told  him  that  she  be- 
lieved only  .what  he  had  taught  her,  and  that  a  good 
wife  should  believe  in  her  husband  first  and  before 
and  above  all  things  in  Heaven  or  earth. 

Then  despair  came  on  him,  and  he  rushed  from  the 
house,  and  began  to 'ask  every  one  he  met  if  they  be* 
lieved.  But  the  same'  answer  came  from  one  and  all: 
"We  believe  only  what  you  have  taught  ua,"  for  his 
doctrine  had  spread  far  and  wide  through  the  country. 

Then  he  grew  half  mad  with  fear,  for  the  hours  were 


234        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

passing,  and  he  flung  himself  down  on  the  ground  in  a 
lonesome  spot,  and  wept  and  groaned  in  terror,  for  the 
time  was  coming  fast  when  he  must  die. 

Just  then  a  little  child  came  by.  "God  save  you 
kindly,"  said  the  child  to  him. 

The  priest  started  up. 

"Do  you  believe  in  God?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  come  from  a  far  country  to  learn  about 
him,"  said  the  child.  "Will  your  honor  direct  me  to 
the  best  school  they  have  in  these  parts?" 

"The  best  school  and  the  best  teacher  is  close  by," 
said  the  priest,  and  he  named  himself. 

"Oh,  not  to  that  man,"  answered  the  child,  "for  I  am 
told  he  denies  God,  and  Heaven,  and  Hell,  and  even 
that  man  has  a  soul,  because  he  cannot  see  it;  but  I 
would  soon  put  him  down." 

The  priest  looked  at  him  earnestly.  "How?"  he 
inquired. 

"Why,"  said  the  child,  "I  would  ask  him  if  he  be- 
lieved he  had  life  to  show  me  his  life." 

"But  he  could  not  do  that,  my  child,"  said  the  priest. 
"Life  cannot  be  seen;  we  have  it,  but  it  is  invisible." 

•"Then  if  we  have  life,  though  we  cannot  see  it,  we 
may  also  have  a  soul,  though  it  is  invisible,"  answered 
the  child. 

When  the  priest  heard  him  speak  these  words,  he 
fell  down  on  his  knees  before  him,  weeping  for  joy, 
for  now  he  knew  his  soul  was  safe;  he  had  met  one  at 
last  that  believed.  And  he  told  the  child  his  whole 
story — all  his  wickedness,  and  pride,  and  blasphemy 
against  the  great  God;  and  how  the  angel  had  come 
to  him,  and  told  him  of  the  only  way  in  which  he  could 
be  saved,  through  the  faith  and  prayers  of  someone 
that  believed. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said  to  the  child,  "take  this  pen- 
knife annd  strike  *it  into  my  breast,  and  go  on  stabbing 
the  flesh  until  you  see  the  paleness  of  death  on  my 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       235 

f 

face.  Then  watch — for  a  living  thing  will  soar  up 
from  my  body  as  I  die,  and  you  will  then  know  that  my 
soul  has  ascended  to  the  presence  of  God.  And  when 
you  see  this  thing,  make  haste  and  run  to  my  school, 
and  call  on  all  my  scholars  to  come  and  see  that  the 
soul  of  their  master  has  left  the  body,  and  that  all  he 
taught  them  was  a  lie,  for  that  there  is  a  God  who 
punishes  sin,  and  a  Heaven,  and  a  Hell,  and  that  man 
has  an  immortal  soul  destined  for  eternal  happiness  or 
misery." 

"I  will  pray,"  said  the  child,  "to  have  courage  to  do 
this  work."  And  he  kneeled  down  and  prayed.  Then 
he  rose  and  took  the  penknife  and  struck  it  into  the 
priest's  heart,  and  struck  and  struck  again  till  all  the 
flesh  was  lacerated;  but  still  the  priest  lived,  though 
the  agony  was  horrible,  for  he  could  not  die  until  the 
twenty-four  hours  had  expired. 

At  last  the  agony  seemed  to  cease,  and  the  stillness 
of  death  settled  on  his  face.  Then  the  child,  who 
was  watching,  saw  a  beautiful  living  creature,  with 
four  snow-white '  wings,  mount  from  the  dead  man's 
body  into  the  air  and  go  fluttering  round  his  head.  - 

So  he  ran  to  bring  the  scholars;  and  when  they  saw 
it,  they  all  knew  it  was  the  soul  of  their  master ;  and 
they  watched  with  wonder  and  awe  until  it  passed  fron? 
sight  into  the  clouds. 

And  this  was  the  first  butterfly  that  was  ever  seen 
in  Ireland;  and  now  all  men  know  that  the  butterflies 
are  the  souls  of  the  dead,  waiting"  for  the  moment  when 
they  may  enter  Purgatory,  and  so  pass  through  torture 
to  purification  anfl  peace. 

But  the  schools  of  Ireland  were  quite  deserted  after 
that  time,  for  people  said,  What  is  the  use  of  going  so 
far  to  learn,  when  the  wisest  man  in  all  Ireland  did 
not  know  if  he  had  a  soul  till  he  was  near  losing  it, 
and  was  only  saved  at  last  through  the  simple  belief 
of  a  little  child? 


236        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 


W.   B.   YEATS 

GOOD  Father  John  O'Hart 

In  penal  days  rode   out 
To  a  shoneen  in  his  freelands, 

With  his  snipe  marsh  and  his  trout. 

In  trust  took  he  John's  lands, 

— Sleiveens  were  all  his  race — 
And  he  gave  them  as  dowers  to  his  daughters, 

And  they  married  beyond  their  place. 

But  Father  John  went  up, 

And  Father  John  went  down; 
Ai>d  he  wore  small  holes  in  his  shoes, 

And  he  wore  large  holes  in  his  gown. 

All  loved  him,  only  the  shoneen,     • 

Whom  the  devils  have  by  the  hair, 
From  their  wives  and  their  cats  and  their  children 

To  the  birds  in  the  white  of  the  air.  . 

The  birds,  for  he  opened  their  cages, 

As  he  went  up  and  down ; 
And  he  said  with  a  smile,  "Have  peace  now/; 

And  went  his  way  with  a  frown. 

But  if  when  anyone  died, 

Came  keeners  hoarser  than  rooks, 
He  bade  them  give  over  their  keening, 

For  he  was  a  man  of  books. 


Shoneen — i.e.,  upstart.  Bleiveen — i.e.,   mean  fellow. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       237 

And  these  were  the  works  of  John, 

When  weeping  score  by  score, 
People  came  into  Coloony, 

For  he'd  died  at  ninety-four. 

There  was  no  human  keening; 

The  birds  from  Knocknarea, 
And  the  world  round  Knocknashee, 

Came  keening  in  that  day, — 

Keening  from  Innismurry, 

Nor  stayed  for  bit  or  sup; 
This  way  were  all  reproved 

Who  dig  old  customs  up. 

[Coloony  is  a  few  miles  south  of  the  town  of  Sligo, 
Father  O'Hart  lived  there  in  the  last  century,  and  wat 
greatly  beloved.  These  lines  accurately  record  the  tradition. 
No  one  who  has  held  the  stolen  land  has  prospered.'  It  has 
changed  owners  many  times.] 


THE  STOEY  OF  THE  LITTLE  BIRD* 

T.    CROFTON    CHOKER 

MANY  years  ago  there  was  a  very  religious  and  holy 
man,  one  of  the  monks  of  a  convent,  and  he  was  one 
day  kneeling  at  his  prayers  in  the  garden  of  his  monas- 
tery, when  he  heard  a  little  bird  singing  in  one  of 
the  rose  trees  of  the  garden,  and  there  never  was  any- 
thing that  he  had  heard  in  the  world  so  sweet  as  the 
song  of  that  little  bird. 

And  the  holy  man  rose  up  from  his  knees  where  he 


*  Amidet,  1827.    T.  C   Croker  wrote  this,  he  says,  word 
for  wora  as  he  heard  it  from  an  old  woman  at  a  holy  well. 


238        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

was  kneeling  at  his  prayers  to  listen  to  its  song;  for 
he  thought  he  never  in.  all  his  life  heard  anything  so 
heavenly. 

And  the  little  bird,  after  singing  for  some  time 
longer  on  the  rose  tree,  flew  away  to  a  grove  at  some 
distance  from  the  monastery,  and  the  holy  man  fol- 
lowed it  tor  listen  to  its  singing,  for  he  felt  as  if  he 
would  never  be  tir"ed  of  listening  to  the  sweet  song  it 
was  singing  out  of  its  throat. 

And  the  little  bird  after  that  went  away  to  another 
distant  tree,  and  sang  there  for  a  while,  and  then  to 
another  tree,  and  so  on  in  the  same  manner,  but  ever 
further  and  further  away  from  the  monastery,  and  the 
holy  man  still  following  it  farther  and  farther  and 
farther,  still  listening  delighted  to  its  enchanting  song. 

But  at  last  he  was  obliged  to  give  up,  as  it  was  grow- 
ing late  in  the  day,  and  he  returned  to  the  convent; 
and  as  he  approached  it  in  the  evening,  the*  sun  wa& 
setting  in  the  west  with  all  the  most  heavenly  colors 
that  were  ever  seen  in  the  world,  and  when  he  came 
into  the  convent,  it  was  nightfall. 

And  he  was  quite  surprised  at  everything  he  saw,  for 
they  were  all  strange  faces  about  him  in  the  monastery 
that  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  the  very  place  itself, 
and  everything  about  it,  seemed  to  be  strangely 
altered;  and,  altogether,  it  seemed  entirely  different 
from  what  it  was  when  he  had  left  in  the  morning; 
and  the  garden  was  not  like  the  garden  where  he  had 
been  kneeling  at  his  devotion  when  he  first  heard  the 
singing  of  the  little  bird. 

And  while  he  was  wondering  at  all  he  saw,  one  of 
the  monks  of  the  convent  came  up  to  him,  and  the 
holy  man  questioned  him,  "Brother,  what  is  the  cause 
of  all  these  strange  changes  that  have  taken  place  here 
since  the  morning?" 

And  the  monk  that  he  spoke  to  seemed  to  wonder 
greatly  at  nis  question,  and  asked  him  what  he  meant 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       239 

by  the  change  since  morning;  for,  sure,  there  was  no 
change ;  that  all  was  just  as  before.  And  then  he  said, 
"Brother,  why  do  you  ask  these  strange  questions,  and 
what  is  your  name;  For  you  wear  the  habit  of  our 
order,  though  we  have  never  seen  you  before." 

So  upon  this  the  holy  man  told  his  name,  and  said 
that  he  had  been  at  mass  in  the  chapel  in  the  morning 
before  he  had  wandered  away  from  the  garden  listening 
to  the  song  of  a  little  bird  that  was  singing  among  the 
rose  trees,  near  where  he  was  kneeling  at  his  prayers. 

And  the  brother,  while  he.  was  speaking,  gazed  at 
him  very  earnestly,  and  then  told  him  that  there  was 
in  the  convent  a  tradition  of  a  brother  of  his  name, 
who  had  left  it  two  hundred  years  before,  but  that 
what  was  become  of  him  was  never  known. 

And  while  he  was  speaking,  the  holy  man  said,  "My 
hour  of  death  is  come ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord 
for  all  his  mercies  to  me,  through  the  merits  of  his 
only  begotten  Son." 

And  he  kneeled  down  that  very  moment,  and  said, 
"Brother,  take  my  confession,  for  my  soul  is  depart- 
ing." 

And  he  made  his  confession,  and  received  his  absolu- 
tion, and  was  anointed,  and  before  midnight  he  died. 

The  little  bird,  you  see,  was  an  angel,  one  of  the 
cherubim  or  seraphim;  and  that  was  the  way  the  Al- 
mighty was  pleased  in  His  mercy  to  take  to  Himself 
the  soul  of  that  holy  man. 


CONVERSION    OF    KING    LAOGHAIRE'S 
DAUGHTERS 

ONCE  when  Patrick  and  his  clerics  were  sitting  be- 
side a  well  in  the  Rath  of  Croghan,  with  books  open 
on  their  knees,  they  saw  coming  toward  them  the  two. 


240        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

only  daughters  of  the  King  of  Connaught.  'Twas 
early  morning,  and  they  were  going  to  the  well  to 
bathe. 

The  young  girls  said  to  Patrick,  "Whence  are  ye, 
and  whence  come  ye?"  and  Patrick  answered,  "It  were 
better  for  you  to  confess  to  the  true  -God  than  to  in- 
quire concerning  our  race." 

"Who  is  God,"  said  the  young  girls,  "and  where  is 
God,  and  of  what  nature  is  God,  and  where  is  His 
dwelling  place?  Has  your  God  sons  and  daughters, 
gold  and  silver?  Is  He  everlasting?  Is  He  beautiful? 
Did  Mary  foster  her  son?  Are  His  daughters  dear 
and  beauteous  to  men  of  the  world?  Is  He  in  heaven 
or  on  earth,  in  the  sea,  in  rivers,  in  mountainous 
places,  in  valleys  ?" 

Patrick  answered  them,  and  made  known  who  God 
was,  and  they  believed  and  were  baptized,  and  a  white 
garment  put  upon  their  heads;  and  Patrick  asked 
them  would  they  live  on,  or  would  they  die  and  be- 
hold the  face  of  Christ?  They  chose  death,  and  died 
immediately,  and  were  buried  near  the  well  Clebach. 


KING  O'TOOLE  AND  HIS  GOOSE 

S.   LOVER 

"By  Gor,  I  thought  all  the  world,  far  and  near, 
heerd  o'  King  O'Toole — well,  well,  but  the  darkness  of 
mankind  is  ontellible !  Well,  sir,  you  must  know,  as 
you  didn't  hear  it  afore,  that  there  was  a  king  called 
King  O'Toole,  who  was  a  fine  ould  king  in  the  ould 
ancient  times,  long  ago;  and  it  was  him  that  owned 
the  churches  in  the  early  days.  The  king,  you  see,  was 
the  right  sort;  he  was  the  rale  boy,  and  loved  sport  as 
he  loved  his  life,  and  huntin'  in  partic'lar;  and  from 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES      241 

the  risin'  o'  the  sun,  up  he  got,  and  away  he  wint  over 
the  mountains  beyant  afther  the  deer;  and  the  fine 
times  them  woor. 

"Well,  it  was  all  mighty  good,  as  long  as  the  king 
had  his  health ;  but,  you  see,  in  coorse  of  time  the  king 
grew  ould,  by  raison  he  was  stiff  in  his  limbs,  and  when 
he  got  sthriken  in  years,  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he 
was  lost  intirely  for  want  o'  divarshin,  bekase  he 
couldn't  go  a  huntin'  no  longer ;  and,  by  dad,  the  poor 
king  was  obleeged  at  last  for  to  get  a  goose  to  divart 
him.  Oh,  you  may  laugh,  if  you  like,  but  it's  truth 
I'm  tellin'  you;  and  the  way  the  goose  divarted  him 
was  this-a-way:  You  see,  the  goose  used  for  to  swim 
across  the  lake,  and  go  divin'  for  throut,  and  cotch  fish 
on  a  Friday  for  the  king,  and  flew  every  other  day 
round  about  the  lake,  divartin'  the  poor  king.  All  went 
on  mighty  well,  antil,  by  dad,  the  goose  got  sthriken 
in  years  like  her  master,  and  couldn't  divart  him  no 
longer,  and  then  it  was  that  the  poor  king  was  lost 
complate.  The  king  was  walkin'  one  mornin'  by  the 
edge  of  the  lake,  lamentin*  his  cruel  fate,  and  thinkin* 
o'  drownin'  himself,  that  could  get  no  divarshun  in 
life,  when  all  of  a  suddint,  turnin'  round  the  corner 
beyant,  who  should  he  meet  but  a  mighty  dacent  young 
man  comin'  up  to  him. 

"  'God  save  you/  says  the  king  to  the  young  man. 

"'God  save  you  kindly,  King  O'Toole/  says  £Ee 
young  man.  "Thrue  for  you/  says  the  king.  "I  am 
King  O'Toole/  says  he,  'prince  and  plennypennytinch- 
ery  o'  these  parts/  says  he;  *but  how  kem  ye  to  know 
that?'  says  he.  'Oh,  never  mind/  says  Saint  Kavin. 

"You  see  it  was  Saint  Kavin,  sure  enough — the  saint 
himself  in  disguise,  and  nobody  else.  'Oh,  never  mind/ 
says  he,  1  know  more  than  that.  May  I  make  bowld 
to  ax  how  is  your  goose,  King  O'Toole  ?'  says  he.  'Blur- 
an-agers,  how  kem  ye  to  know  about  my  goose?*  says 
the  king.  'Oh,  no  matther;  I  was  given  to  understand 


242        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

it/  says  Saint  Kavin.  After  some  more  talk  the  king 
says,  'What  are  you  ?'  'I'm  an  honest  man/  says  Saint 
Kavin.  'Well,  honest  man/  says  the  king,  'and  how  is 
it  you  make  your  money  so  aisy?'  'By  makin'  ould 
things  as  good  as  new/  says  Saint  Kavin.  'Is  it  a 
tinker  you  are?'  says  the  king.  'No/  says  the  saint; 
'I'm  no  tinker  by  thrade,  King  OToole;  I've  a  better 
thrade  than  a  tinker/  says  he — 'what  would  you  say/ 
says  he,  'if  I  made  your  ould  goose  as  good  as  new  ?' 

"My  dear,  at  the  word  o'  making  his  goose  as  good 
as  new,  you'd  think  the  poor  ould  king's  eyes  was 
ready  to  jump  out  iv  his  "head.  With  that  the  king 
whistled,  and  down  kem  the  poor  goose,  all  as  one  as  a 
hound,  waddlin'  up  to  the  poor  cripple,  her  masther, 
and  as  like  hinl  as  two  pays.  The  minute  the  saint 
clapt  his  eyes  on  the  goose,  'I'll  do  the  job  for  you/ 
says  he,  'King  O'Toole/  'By  JamineeF  says  King 
O'Toole,  'if  you  do,  bud  I'll  say  you're  the  cleverest  fel- 
low in  the  sivin  parishes/  'Oh,  by  dad/  says  Saint  Ka- 
vin, 'you  must  say  more  nor  that- — my  horn's  not 
so  soft  all  out/  says  he,  'as  to  repair -your  ould  goose 
for  nothin';  what'LL  you  gi'  me  if  I  do  the  job  for  you? 
— that's  the  chat/  says  Saint  Kavin.  Til  give  you  what- 
ever you  ax/  says  the  king;  'isn't  that  fair?'  •  'Divil  a 
fairer/  says  the  saint;  'that's  the  way  to  do  business. 
Now/  says  he,  'this  is  the  bargain  I'll  make  with  you, 
King  O'Toole:  Will  you  gi'  me  all  the  ground  the 
goose  flies  over,  the  first  offer,  afther  I  make  her  as 
good  as  new?'  'I  will/  says  the  king.  Tou  won't  go 
back'on  your  word?'  says  Saint  Kavin.  llonor  bright!' 
says  King  O'Toole,  howldin'  out  his  fist,  'Honor  bright/ 
says  Saint  Kavin,  back  again,  'it's  a  bargain.  Come 
here !'  says  he  Jo  the  poor  ould  goose — 'come  here,  you 
unfort'nate  ould  cripple,  and  it's  I  that'll  make  you 
the  sportin*  bird/  With  that,  my  dear,  he  took  up  the 
goose  by  the  two  wings — 'Criss  o'  my  crass  an  you/ 
says  he,  markin'  her  to  grace  with  the  blessed  sign  at 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       243 

the  same  minute — and  throwin'  her  up  in  the  air, 
'whew/  says  he,  just  givin'  her  a  blast  to  help  her ;  and 
with  that,  my  jewel,  she  tuk  to  her  heels,  flyin'  like 
one  o'  the  aigles  themselves,  and  cuttin'  as  many  capers 
as  a  swallow  before  a  shower  of  rain. 

"Well,  my  dear,  it  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  the 
king  standin'  with  his  mouth  open,  lookin'  at  his 
poor  ould  goose  flyin'  as  light  as  a  lark,  and  betther 
nor  ever  she  was:  and  when  she  lit  at  his  fut,  patted 
her  an  the  head,  and,  'Ma  vourneen,'  says  he,  'but  you 
are  the  darlint  o'  the  world/  'And  what  do  you  say 
to  me/  says  Saint  Kavin,  'for  makin'  her  the  like?' 
*By  gor/  says., the  king,  'I  say  nothin'  bates  the  art  o' 
man,  barrin'  the  bees.'  'And  do  you  say  nc  more  nor 
that  ?'  says  Saint  Kavin.  'And  that  I'm  behoulden  to 
you/  says  the  king.  'But  will  you  gi'e  me  all  the 
ground  the  goose  flew  over  ?'  says  Saint  Kavin.  'I  will/ 
says  King  O'Toole,  'and  you're  welkim  to  it/  says  he, 
'though  it's  the  last  acre  I  have  to  give/  'But  you'll 
keep  your  word  thrue?'  says  the  saint.  'As  thrue  as 
the  sun/  says  the  king.  'It's  well  for  you,  King 
O'Toole,  that  you  said  that  word/  says  he;  'for  if  you 
didn't  say  that  word,  the  devil  receave  the  bit  o'  your 
goose  id  ever  fly  agin.'  When  the  king  was  as  good  as 
his  word,  Saint  Kavin  was  plazed  with  him.,  and  thin 
it  was  that  he  made  himself  known  to  the  king.  'And/ 
says  he,  'King  O'Toole,  you're  a  decent  man,  for  I  only 
kem  here  to  thry  you.  You  don't  know  me/  says  he, 
*bekase  I'm  disguised/  'Musha !  thin/  says  the  king, 
'who  are  you?'  'I'm  Saint  Kavin/  said  the  saint, 
blessin'  himself.  'Oh,  queen  iv  heaven !'  says  the  king, 
makin'  the  sign  o'  the  crass  betune  his  eyes,  and  fallin' 
down  on  his  knees  before  the  saint;  'is  it  the  great 
Saint  Kavin/  says  he,  'that  I've  been  discoorsin'  all 
this  time  without  knowin'  it/  says  he,  'all  as  one  as  if 
he  was  a  lump  iv  a  gossoon? — and  so  you're  a  saint?' 
says  the  king.  1  am/  says  Saint  Kavin.  *By  gor,  I 


244        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

thought  I  was  only  talking  to  a  dacent  boy/  says  the 
king.  'Well,  you  know  the  differ  now/  says  the  saint. 
'I'm  Saint  Kavin/  says  he,  'the  greatest  of  all  the  saints.' 
And  so  the  king  had  his  goose  as  good  as  new,  to  divart 
him  as  long  as  he  lived:  and  the  saint  supported  him 
afther  he  kem  into  his  property,  as  I  tould  you,  until 
the  day  iv  his  death — and  that  was  soon  afther;  for  the 
poor  goose  thought  he  was  ketehin'  a  throut  one  Friday ; 
but,  my  jewel,  it  was  a  mistake  he  made — and  instead 
of  a  throut,  it  was  a  thievin'  horse-eel ;  and  by  gor,  in- 
stead iv  the  goose  killin'  a  throut  for  the  king's  supper — 
by  dad,  the  eel  killed  the  king's  goose— ^-and  small  blame 
to  him ;  but  he  didn't  ate  her,  bekase  he  darn't  ate  what 
Saint  Kavin  laid  his  blessed  hands  on." 


THE    DEVIL 
THE  DEMON  CAT* 

LADY  WILDE 

THERE  was  a  woman  in  Connemara,  the  wife  of  a 
fisherman;  as  he  had  always  good  luck,  she  had  plenty 
of  fish  at  all  times  stored  away  in  the  house  ready  for 
market.  But,  to  her  great  annoyance,  she  found  that  a 
great  cat  used  to  come  in.  at  night  and  devour  all  the 
best  and  finest  fish.  So  she  kept  a  big  stick  by  her,  and 
determined  to  watch. 

One  day,  as  she  and  a  woman  were  spinning  together, 
the  house  suddenly  became  quite  dark;  and  the  door 
was  burst  open  as  if  by  the  blast  of  the  tempest,  when 
in  walked  a  huge  black  cat,  who  went  straight  up  to 
the  fire,  then  turned  round  and  growled  at  them. 

"Why,  surely  this  is  the  devil,"  said  a  young  girl,  who 
was  by,  sorting  fish. 

"I'll  teach  you  how  to  call  me  names/'  said  the  cat; 
and,  jumping  at  her,  he  scratched  her  arm  till  the 
blood  came.  "There,  now,"  he  said,  "you  will  be  more 
civil  another  time  when  a  gentleman  comes  to  see  you." 
And  with  that  he  walked  over  to  the  door  and  shut  ii 
close,  to  prevent  any  of  them  going  out,  for  the  poor 
young  girl,  while  crying  loudly  from  fright  and  pain, 
had  made  a  desperate  rush  to  get  away. 

Just  then  a  man  was  going  by,  and  hearing  the  cries, 
he  pushed  open  the  door  and  tried  to  get  in;  but  the 
cat  stood  on  the  threshold,  and  would  let  no  one  pass 


*  Ancient  Legends  of  Ireland. 


*46       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

On  this  the  man  attacked  him  with  his  stick,  and  gave 
him  a  sound  blow;  the  cat,  however,  was  more  than 
a  match  in  the  fight,  for  it  flew,  at  him  and  tore  his 
face  and  hands  so  badly  that  the  man  at  last  took  to  his 
heels  and  ran  away  as  fast  as  he  could. 

"Now,  it's  time  for  my  dinner,"  said  the  cat,  going  up 
to  examine  the  fish  that  was  laid  out  on  the  tables. 
"I  hope  the  fish  is  good  to-day.  Now,  don't  disturb 
me,  nor  make  a  fuss ;  I  can  help  myself."  With  that  he 
jumped  up,  and  began  to  devour  all  the  best  fish,  while 
he  growled  at  the  woman. 

"Away,  out  of  this,  you  wicked  beast,"  she  cried, 
giving  it  a  blow  with  the  tongs  that  would  have  broken 
its  back,  only  it  was  a  devil;  "out  of  this;  no  fish  shall 
you  have  to-day." 

But  the  cat  only  grinned  at  her,  and  went  on  tearing 
and  spoiling  and  devouring  the  fish,  evidently  not  a 
bit  the  worse  for  the  blow.  On  this,  bo'h  the  women 
attacked  it  with  sticks,  and  struck  hard  blows  enough 
to  kill  it,  on  which  the  cat  glared  at  them,  and  spit  fire ; 
then,  making  a  leap,  it  tore  their  heads  and  arms  till 
the  blood  came,  and  the  frightened  women  rushed  shriek- 
ing from  the  house. 

But  presently  the  mistress  returned,  carrying  with  her 
a  oottle  of  holy  water;  and,  looking  in,  she  saw  the 
cat  still  devouring  the  fish,,  and  not  minding.  So  she 
crept  over  quietly  and  threw  holy  water  on  it  without 
a  word.  No  sooner  was  this  done  than  a  dense  black 
smoke  filled  the  place,  through  which  nothing  was  seen 
but  the  two  red  eyes  of  the  cat,  burning  like  coals 
of  fire.  Then»the  smoke  gradually  cleared  away,  and 
she  saw  the  body  of  the  creature  burning  slowly  till  it 
became  shrivelled  and  black  like  a  cinder,  and  finally 
disappeared.  And  from  that  time  the  fish  remained 
untouched  and  safe  from  harm,  for  the  power  of  the 
evil  one  was  broken,  and  the  demon  cat  was  seen  no 
more. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  F.OLK  TALES       247 
THE  LONG  SPOON  * 

PATRICK   KENNEDY 

THE  devil  and  the  hearth-money  collector  for  Bantry 
set  out  one  summer  morning  to  decide  a  bet  they  mad& 
the1  night  before  over  a  jug  of  punch.  They  wanted 
to  see  which  would  have  the  best  Icrad  at  sunset,  and 
neither  was  to  pick  up  anything  that  wasn't  offered 
with  the  good-will  of  the  giver.  They  passed  by  a 
house,  and  they  heard  the  poor  ban-a-t'yee- 1  cry  out  to 

her  lazy  daughter,  "Oh,  musha,  take  you  for  a 

lazy  sthronsuchf  of  a  girl !  do  you  intend  to-  get  up  to- 
day?" "Oh,  oh,"  says  the  taxman,  "there's  a  job  foi 
you,  Nick."  "Ovock,"  says  the  other,  "it -wasn't  from 
her  heart  she  said  it ;  we  must  pass  on."  The  next  cabin 
they  were  passing,  the  woman  was  on  the  bawnditch  § 
crying  out  to  her  husband  that  was  mending  one  of 
his  brogues  inside :  "Oh,  tattheration  to  you,  Nick !  you 
never  rung  them  pigs,  and  there*  they  are  in  the  potato 

drills  rootin'  away ;  the run  to  Lusk  with  them." 

"Another  windfall  for  you,"  says  the  man  of  the  ink- 
horn,  but  the  old  thief  only  shook  his  horns  and  wagged 
his  tail.  So  they  went  on,  and.  ever  so  many  prizes 
were  offered  to  the  black  fellow  without  him  taking 
one.  Here  it  was  a  gorsoon  playing  marvels  when  he 
should  be  using  his  clappers  in  the'  corn-field ;  and  then 
it  was  a  lazy  drone  of  a  servant  asleep  with  his  face  to 
the  sod  when  he  ought  to  be  weeding.  No  one  thought 
of  offering  the  hearth-money  man  even  a  drmk  of  butter- 
milk, and  at  last  the  sun  was  within  half  a  foot  of  the 
edge  of  Cooliagh.  They  were  just  then  passing  Mona- 


*  Legendary  Fictions  of  the  Irish  Celts. 
t  Woman  of  the  house. 
$Ir.  strftinse — i.e.,  a  lazy  thing. 

8  Ir.  bridhitn — i  f.,  enclosure,  or  wall  round  a  house.   From 
ta,  cows,  and  dun,  a  fortress.    Properly,  cattle-fortress. 


248       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

molin,  and  a  poor  woman  that  was  straining  her  sup- 
per in  a  skeeoge  outside  her  cabin-door,  seeing  the 
two  standing  at  the'  bawn  gate,  bawled  out,  "Oh,  here's 
the  hearth-money  man — run  away  wid  him."  "Got  a 
bite  at  last,"  says  Nick.  "Oh,  no,  no !  it  wasn't  from 
her  heart,"  says  the  collector.  "Indeed,  an'  it  was 
from  the  very  foundation-stones  it  came.  No  help  for 
misfortunes;  in  with  you,"  says  he,  opening  the  mouth 
of  his  big  black  bag;  and  whether  the  devil  was  ever 
after  seen  taking  the  same  walk  or  not,  nobody  ever 
laid  eyes  on  his  fellow-traveller  again. 


THE  COUNTESS  KATHLEEN  O'SHEA  * 

A  VERY  long  time  ago,  there  suddenly  appeared  in 
old  Ireland  two  unknown  merchants  of  whom  nobody 
had  ever  heard,  and  who  nevertheless  spoke  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country  with  the  greatest  perfection.  Their 
locks  were  black,  and  bound  round  with  gold,  and  their 
garments  were  of  rare  magnificence. 

Both  seemed  .of  like  age ;  they  appeared  to  be  men 
of  fifty,  for  their  foreheads  were  wrinkled  and  their 
beards  tinged  with  gray. 

In  the  hostelry  where  the  pompous  traders  alighted  it 
was  sought  to  penetrate  their  designs;  but  in  vain — 
they  led  a  silent  and  retired  life.  And  while  they 
stopped  there,  they  did  nothing  but  count  over  and  over 
again  out  of  their  money-bags  pieces  of  gold,  whose  yel- 
low brightness  could  be  seen  through  the  windows  of 
their  lodging. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  landlady  one  day,  "how  is  it 


*  This  was  quoted  in  a  London-Irish  newspaper.     I  am 
unable  to  find  out  the  original  source. 


that  you  are  so  rich,  and  that,  being  ahle  to  succor 
the  public  misery,  you  do  no  good  works  ?" 

"Fair  hostess/'  replied  one  of  them,  "we  didn't  like 
to  present  alms  to  the  honest  poor,  in  dread  we  might 
be  deceived  by  make-believe  paupers.  Let  want  knock 
at  our  door,  we.  shall  open  it." 

The  following  day,  when  the  rumor  spread  that  two 
rich  strangers  had  come,  ready  to-  la-vish  their  gold,  a 
crowd  besieged  their  dwelling;  but  the  figures  of  those 
who  came  out  were,  widdy  different.  Some*  carried 
pride  in  their  mien ;  others  were  shamefaced. 

The  two  chapmen  traded  in  souls  for  the  demon.  The 
soul  of  the  aged  was  worth  twenty  pieces  of  gold,  not 
a  penny  more;  for  Satar  had  had  time  to  make  his 
valuation.  The  soul  of  a  matron  was  valued,  at  fifty, 
when  she  was  handsome,  and  &  hundred  when  she  was 
ugly,  The-  soul  of  a  young  maiden  fetched  an  extrava- 
gant sum;  the  freshest  and  purest  flowers-  are  the 
dearest. 

At  that  time  there  lived  in  the  city  an  angel  of 
beauty,  the  Countess  Kathleen  O'Shea.  She  was  the 
idol  of  the  people  and  the  providence  of  the  indigent. 
As  soon  as  she  learned  that  these  miscreants  profited  to 
the  public  misery  to  steal  away  hearts  from  God,  she 
called  to'  her  butler. 

"Patrick,"  said  she  to  him,  "how  many  pieces  of 
gold  in  my  coffers?" 

"A  hundred  thousand." 

"How  many  jewels?" 

"The  money's  worth  of  the  gold." 

"How  much  property  in  castles,  forests,  and  lands?" 

"Double  the  rest." 

''Very  well,  Patrick;  sell  all  that  is  not  gold;  and 
bring  me  the  account.  I  only  wish  to  keep  this  mansion 
and  the  demesne  that  surrounds  it." 

Two  days  afterward  the  orders  of  the  pious  Kathleen 
were  executed,  and  the  treasure  was  distributed  to  the 


25t)       IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

poor  in  proportion  to  their  wants.  This,  says  the  tradi- 
tion, did  not  suit  the  purposes  of  the  Evil  Spirit,  who 
found  no  more  souls  to  purchase.  Aided  by  an  in- 
famous servant,  they  penetrated  into  the  retreat  of  the 
aoble  dame,  and  purloined  from  her  the  rest  of  her 
treasure.  In  vain  she  struggled  with  all  her  strength 
to  save  the  contents  of  her  coffers ;  the  diabolical  thieves 
were  the  stronger.  If  Kathleen  had  been  able  to  make 
the  sign  of  the  Cross,  adds  the  legend,  she  would  have 
put  them  to  flight,  but  her  hands  were  captive.  The 
larceny  was  effected. 

Then  the  poor  called  for  aid  to  the  plundered  Kath- 
leen, alas,  to  no  good;  she  was  able  to  succor  their 
misery  no  longer;  she  had  to  abandon  them  to  the 
temptation. 

Meanwhile,  but  eight  days  had  to  pass  before  the 
grain  and  provender  would  arrive  in  abundance  from 
the  western  lands.  Eight  such  days  were  an  age.  Eight 
days  required  an  immense,  sum  to  relieve  the  exigencies 
of  the  dearth,  and  the  poor  should  either  perish  in  the 
agonies  of  hunger,  or,  denying  the  holy  maxims  of  the 
Gospel,  vend,  for  base  lucre,  their  souls,  the  richest  gift 
from  the  bounteous  hand  of  the  Almighty.  And  Kath- 
leen hadn't  anything,  for  she  had  given  up  her  mansion 
to  the  unhappy.  She  passed  twelve  hours  in  tears  and 
mourning,  rending  her  sun-tinted  hair,  and  bruising 
her  breast,  of  the  whiteness  of  the  lily;  afterward  she 
stood  up,  resolute,  animated  by  a  vivid  sentiment  of 
despair. 

She  went  to  the  traders  in  souls. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  they  said. 

"You  buy  souls  ?" 

"Yes,  a  few  still,  in  spite  of  you.  Isn't  that  so,  saint, 
with  the  eyes  of  sapphire?" 

"To-day  I  am  come  to  offer  you  a  bargain,"  replied 
she. 

"What?" 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       251 

"I  have  a  soul  to  sell,  but  it  is  costly." 

"What  does  that  signify  if  it  is  precious?  The  soul, 
like  the  diamond,  is  appraised  by  its  transparency." 

"It  is  mine." 

The  two  emissaries  of  Satan  started.  Their  claws 
were  clutched  under  their  gloves  of  leather;  their  gray 
eyes  sparkled ;  the  soul,  pure,  spotless,  virginal,  of  Kath- 
leen— it  was  a  priceless  acquisition ! 

"Beauteous  lady,  how  much  do  you  ask?" 

"A  hundred  and  fifty  thousand'  pieces  of  gold." 

"It's  at  your  service,"  replied  the  traders,  and  they 
tendered  Kathleen  a  parchment  sealed  with  black,  which 
she  signed  with  a  shudder. 

The  sum  was  counted  out  to  her. 

As  soon  as  she  got  home  she  said  to  the  butler,  'TEEere, 
distribute  this;  with  this  money  that  I  give  you  the 
poor  can  tide  over  the  eight  days  that  remain,  and  not 
one  of  their  souls  will  be  delivered  to  the  demon." 

Afterward  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  room,  and  gave 
orders  that  none  should  disturb  her. 

Three  days  passed;  she  called  nobody,  she  did  not 
come  out. 

When  the  door  was  opened,  they  found  her  cold  and 
stiff ;  she  was  dead  of  grief. 

But  the  sale  of  this  soul,  so  adorable  in  its  charity, 
was  declared  null  by  the  Lord;  for  she  had  saved  her 
fellow-citizens  from  eternal  death. 

After  the  eight  days  had  passed,  numerous  vessels 
brought  into  famished  Ireland  immense  provisions  in 
grain.  Hunger  was  no  longer  possible.  As  to  the  trad- 
ers, they  disappeared  from  their  hotel  without  anyone 
knowing  what  became  of  them.  But  the  fishermen  of 
the  Blackwater  pretend  that  they  are  enchained  in  a 
subterranean  prison  by  order  of  Lucifer,  until  they 
shall  be  able  to  render  up  the  soul  of  Kathleen,  which 
escaped  from  them. 


252       IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 
THE  THEEE  WISHES 

W.  CARLETON 

IN  ancient  times  there  lived  a  man  called  Billy  Daw- 
son,  and  he  was  known  to  be  a  great  rogue.  They  say 
he  was  descended  from  the  family  of  the  Dawsons, 
which  was  the  reason,  I  suppose,  of  his  carrying  their 
name  upon  him. 

Billy,  in  his  youthful  days,  was  the  best  hand  at 
doing  nothing  in  all  Europe ;  devil  a  mortal  could  come 
next  or  near  him  at  idleness;  and,  in  consequence  of 
his  great  practice  that  way,  you  may  be  sure  that  if  any 
man  could  make  a  fortune  by  it  he  would  have  done  it. 

Billy  was  the  only  son  of  his  father,  barring  two 
daughters;  but  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  story 
I'm  telling  you.  Indeed  it  was  kind  father  and  grand- 
father for  Billy  to  be  handy  at  the  knavery  as  well 
as  at  the  idleness;  for  it  was  well  known  that  not  one 
of  their  blood  ever  did  an  honest  act,  except  with  a 
roguish  intention.  In  short,  they  were  altogether  a 
dacent  connection,  and  a  credit  to  the  name.  As  for 
Billy,  all  the  villainy  of  the  family,  both  plain  and  orna- 
mental, came  down  to  him  l>y  way  of  legacy ;  for  it  so 
happened  that  the  father,  in  spite  of  all  his  cleverness, 
had  nothing  but  his  roguery  to  lame  him. 

Billy,  to  do  him  justice,  improved  the  fortune  he 
got.  Every  day  advanced  him  farther  into  dishonesty 
and  poverty,  until,  at  the  long  run,  he  was  acknowledged 
on  all  hands  to  be  the  completest  swindler  and  the  poor- 
est vagabond  in  the  whole  parish. 

Billy's  father,  in  his  young  days,  had  often  been 
forced  to  acknowledge  the  inconvenience  of  not  having 
a  trade,  in  consequence  of  some  nice  point  in  law, 
called  the  "Vagrant  Act/'  that  sometimes  troubled  him. 
On  this  account  he  made  up  his  mind  to  give  Bill  an 
occupation,  and  he  accordingly  bound  him  to  a  black- 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       253 

smith;  but  whether  Bill  was  to  live  or  die  by  forgery 
was  a  puzzle  to  his  father — though  the  neighbors  said 
that  both  was  most  likely.  At  all  events,  he  was  put 
apprentice  to  a  smith  for  seven  years,  and  a  hard  card 
his  master  had  to  play  in  managing  him.  He  took  the 
proper  method,  however,  for  Bill  was  so  lazy  and  roguish 
that  it  would  vex  a  saint  to  keep  him  in  order. 

"Bill,"  says  his  master  to  him  one  day  that  he  had 
been  sunning  himself  about  the  ditches,  instead  of  mind- 
ing his  business,  "Bill,  my  boy,  I'm  vexed  to  the  heart 
to  see  you  in  such  a  bad  state  of  health.  You're  very  ill 
with  that  complaint  called  an  All-overness ;  however," 
says  he,  "I  think  I  can  cure  you.  Nothing  will  bring 
you  about  but  three  or  four  sound  doses  every  day  of 
a  medicine  called  'the  oil  o'  the  hazel.'  Take  the  first 
dose  now,"  says  he;  and  he  immediately  banged  him 
with  a  hazel  cudgel  until  Bill's  bones  ached  for  a  week 
afterward. 

"If  you  were  my  son,"  said  his  master,  "I  tell  you 
that,  as  long  as  I  could  get  a  piece  of  advice  growing 
convenient  in  the  hedges,  I'd  have  you  a  different  youth 
from  what  you  are.  If  working  was  a  sin,  Bill,  not 
an  innocenter  boy  ever  broke  bread  than  you  would 
be.  Good  people's  scarce,  you  think;  but  however  that 
may  be,  I  throw  it  out  as  a  hir  t,  that  you  must  take 
your  medicine  till  you're  cured  whenever  you  happen 
to  get  unwell  in  the  same  way." 

From  this  out  he  kept  Bill's  nose  to  the  grinding- 
stone;  and  whenever  his  complaint  returned,  he  never 
failed  to  give  him  a  hearty  dose  for  his  improvement. 

In  the  course  of  time,  however,  Bill  was  his  own 
man  and  his  own%  master;  but  it  would  puzzle  a  saint 
to  know  whether  the  master  or  the  man  was  the  more 
precious  youth  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

He  immediately  married  a  wife,  and  devil  a  doubt 
of  it,  but  if  lie  kept  her  in  whiskey  and  sugar,  she  kept 
him  in  hot  water.  Bill  drank  and  she  drank;  Bill 


234       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

fought  and  she  fought;  Bill  was  idle  and  she  was  idle; 
Bill  whacked  her  and  she  whacked  Bill.  If  Bill  gave 
her  one  black  eye,  she  gave  him  another;  just  to  keep 
herself  in  countenance.  Never  was  there  a  blessed  pair 
so  well  met;  and  a  beautiful  sight  it  was  to  see  them 
both  at  breakfast-time,  blinking  at  each  other  across  the 
potato-basket,  Bill  with  his  right  eye  black,  and  she 
with  her  left. 

In  short,  they  were  the  talk  of  the  whole  town :  and 
to  see  Bill  of  a  morning  staggering  home  drunk,  his 
shirt  sleeves  rolled  up  on  his  smutted  arms,  his  breast 
open,  and  an  old  tattered  leather  apron,  with  one  corner 
tucked  up  under  his  belt,  singing  one  minute,  and  fight- 
ing with  his  wife  the  next — she,  reeling  beside  him,  with 
a  discolored  eye,  as  aforesaid,  a  dirty  ragged  cap  on  one 
side  of  her  head,  a  pair  of  Bill's  old  slippers  on  her 
feet,  a  squalling  child  on  her  arm — now  cuffing  and 
dragging  Bill,  and  again  kissing  and  hugging  him! 
Yes,  it  was  a  pleasant  picture  to  see  this  loving  pair  in 
such  a  state ! 

This  might  do  for  a  while,  but  it  could  not  last.  They 
were  idle,  drunken,  and  ill-conducted;  and  it  was  not 
to  be  supposed  that  they  would  get  a  farthing  candle  on 
their  words.  They  were,  of  course,  dhruv  to  great 
straits ;  and  faith,  they  soon  found  that  their  fighting, 
and  drinking,  and  idleness  made  them  the  laughing- 
sport  of  the  neighbors ;  but  neither  brought  food  to  their 
childhre,  put  a  coat  upon  their  backs,  nor  satisfied  their 
landlord  when  he  came  to  look  for  his  own.  Still,  the 
never  a  one  of  Bill  but  was  a  funny  fellow  with  strang- 
ers, though,  as  we  said,  the  greatest  rogue  unhanged. 

One  day  he  was  standing  against  his  own  anvil,  com- 
pletely in  a  brown  study — being  brought  to  his  wit's  end 
how  to  make  out  a  breakfast  for  the  family.  The  wife 
\ras  scolding  and  cursing  in  the  house,  and  the  naked 
creatures  of  childhre  squalling  about  her  knees  for  food. 
Bill  was  fairly  at  an  amplush,  and  knew  not  where  or 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       255 

how  to  turn  himself,  when  a  poor,  withered  old  beggar 
came  into  the  forge,  tottering  on  his  staff.  A  long 
white  beard  fell  from  his  chin,  and  he  looked  as  thin 
and  hungry  that  you  might  blow  him,  one  would  think, 
over  the  house.  Bill  at  this  moment  had  been  brought 
to  his  senses  by  distress,  and  his  heart  had  a  touch 
of  pity  toward  the  old  man;  for,  on  looking  at  him  a 
second  time,  he  clearly  saw  starvation  and  sorrow  in 
his  face. 

"God  save  you,  honest  man !"  said  Bill.     . 

The  old  man  gave  a  sigh,  and  raising  himself  with 
great  pain,  on  his  staff,  he  looked  at  Bill  in  a  very  be- 
seeching way. 

"Musha,  God  save  you  kindly !"  says  he ;  "maybe  you 
could  give  a  poor,  hungry,  helpless  ould  man  a  mouth- 
ful of  something  to  ait  ?  You  see  yourself  I'm  not  able 
to  work ;  if  I  was,  I'd  scorn  to  be  behoulding  to  anyone." 

"Faith,  honest  man,"  said  Bill,  "if  you  knew  who 
you're  speaking  to,  you'd  as  soon  ask  a  monkey  for  a 
churn-staff  as  me  for  either  mate  or  money.  There's 
not  a  blackguard  in  the  three  kingdoms  so  fairly  on 
the  shaughran  as  I  am  for  both  the  one  and  the  other. 
The  wife  within  is  sending  the  curses  thick  and  heavy 
on  me,  and  the  childhre's  playing  the  cat's  melody  to 
keep  her  in  comfort.  Take  my  word  for  it,  poor  man, 
if  I  had  either  mate  or  money  I'd  help  you,  for  I  know 
particularly  well  what  it  is  to  want  them  at  the  present 
speaking;  an  empty  sack  won't  stand,  neighbor." 

So  far  Bill  told  him  truth.  The  good  thought  was 
in  his  heart,  because  he  found  himself  on  a  footing  with 
the  beggar;  and  nothing  brings  down  pride,  or  softens 
the  heart,  like  feeling  what  it  is  to  want. 

"Why,  you  are  in  a  worse  state  than  I  am,"  said  the 
old  man ;  "you  have  a  family  to  provide  for,  and  I  have 
only  myself  to  support." 

"You  may  kiss  the  book  on  that,  my  old  worthy/' 
replied  Bill ;  "but  come,  what  I  can  do  for  you  I  will  * 


plant  yourself  up  here  beside  the  fire,  and  I'll  give  it  a 
blast  or  two  of  my  bellows  that  will  warm  the  old  blood 
in  your  body.  It's  a  cold,  miserable,  snowy  day,  and 
a  good  heat  will  be  of  service/' 

"Thank  you  kindly,"  said  the  old  man;  "I  am  cold, 
and  a  warming  at  your  fire  will  do  me  good,  sure 
enough.  Oh,  but  it  is  a  bitter,  bitter  day;  God  bless 
it!" 

He  then  sat  down,  and  Bill  blew  a  rousing  blast  that 
soon  made  the  stranger  edge  back  .from  the  heat.  In 
a  short  time  he  felt  quite  comfortable,  and  when  the 
numbness  was  taken  out  of  his  joints,  he  buttoned  him- 
self up  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"Now,"  says  he  to  Bill,  "you  hadn't  the  food  to  give 
me,  but  what  you  could  you  did.  Ask  any  three  wishes 
you  choose,  and  be  they  what  they  may,  take  my  word 
for  it,  they  shall  be  granted." 

Now,  the  truth  is,  that  Bill,  though  he  believed  him- 
self a  great  man  in  point  of  Muteness,,  wanted,  after 
all,  a  full  quarter  of  being  square;  for  there  is  always 
a  great  difference  between  a  wise  man  and  a  knave. 
Bill  was  so  much  of  a  rogue  that  he  could  not,  for  the 
blood  of  him,  ask  an  honest  wish,  but  stood  scratching 
his  head  in  a  puzzle. 

"Three  wishes !"  said  he.  "Why,  let  me  see — did  you 
eay  three?" 

"Ay,"  replied  the  stranger,  "three  wishes — that  was 
what  I  said." 

"Well,"  said  Bill,  "here  goes — aha ! — let  me  alone,  my 
old  worthy ! — f  aith  I'll  overreach  the  parish,  if  what  you 
say  is  true.  I'll  cheat  them  in  dozens,  rich  and  poor,  old 
and  young:  let  me  alone,  man — I  have  it  here;"  and 
he  tapped  his  forehead  with  great  glee.  "Faith,  you're 
the  sort  to  meet  of  a  frosty  morning,  when  a  man  wants 
his  breakfast ;  and  I'm  sorry  that  I  have  neither  money 
nor  credit  to  get  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  that  we  might 
take  our  morning  together." 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       257 

"Well,  but  let  us  hear  the  wishes,"  said  the  old  man ; 
"my  time  is  short,  and  I  cannot  stay  much  longer." 

"Do  you  see  this  sledge-hammer  ?"  said  Bill ;  "1  wish, 
in  the  first  place,  that  whoever  takes  it  up  in  their  hands 
may  never  be  able  to  lay  it  down  till  I  give  them  lave ; 
and  that  whoever  begins  to  sledge  with  it  may  never 
stop  sledging  till  it's  my  pleasure  to  release  him. 

"Secondly — I  have  an  arm-chair,  and  I  wish  that 
whoever  sits  down  in  it  may  never  rise  out  of  it  till 
they  have  my  consent. 

"And,  thirdly — that  whatever  money  I  put  into  my 
purse,  nobody  may  have  power  to  take  it  out  of  it  but 
myself  I" 

"You  devil's  rip !"  says  the  old  man  in  a  passion, 
shaking  his  staff  across  Bill's  nose,  "why  did  you  not 
ask  something  that  would  sarve  you  both  here  and 
hereafter?  Sure  it's  as  common  as  the  market-cross, 
that  there's  not  a  vagabone  in  his  Majesty's  dominions 
stands  more  in  need  of  both." 

"Oh !  by  the  elevens,"  said  Bill,  "I  forgot  that  alto- 
gether !  Maybe  you'd  be  civil  enough  to  let  me  change 
one  of  them?  The  sorra  purtier  wish  ever  was  made 
than  I'll  make,  if  only  you'll  give  me  another  chance 
at  it." 

"Get  out,  you  reprobate,"  said  the  old  fellow,  still  in 
a  pa'ssion.  "Your  day  of  grace  is  past.  Little  you 
knew  who  was  speaking  to  you  all  this  time.  I'm 
St.  Moroky,  you  blackguard,  and  I  gave  you  an  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  something  for  yourself  and  your  fam- 
ily; but  you  neglected  it,  and  now  your  fate  is  cast, 
you  dirty,  bog-trotting  profligate.  Sure,  it's  well  known 
what  you  are!  Aren't  you  a  by-word  in  everybody's 
mouth,  you  and  your  scold  of  a  wife?  By  this  and  by 
that,  if  ever  you  happen  to  come  across  me  again,  I'll 
send  you  to  where  you  won't  freeze,  you  villain !" 

He  then  gave  Bill  a  rap  of  his  cudgel  over  the  head, 
and  laid  him  at  his  length  beside  the  bellows,  kicked 


258'       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

a  broken  coal-scuttle  out  of  his  way,  and  left  the  forge 
in  a  fury. 

When  Billy  recovered  himself  from  the  effects  of  the 
blow,  and  began  to  think  on  what  had  happened,  he 
could  have  quartered  himself  with  vexation  for  not  ask- 
ing great  wealth  as  one  of  the  wishes  at  least ;  but  now 
the  die  was  cast  on  him,  and  he  could  only  make  tha 
most  of  the  three  he  pitched  upon. 

He  now  bethought  him  how  he  might  turn  them  to 
the  best  account,  and  here  his  cunning  came  to  hia 
aid.  He  began  by  sending  for  his  wealthiest  neighbors 
on  pretence  of  business;  and  when  he  got  them  under 
his  roof,  he  offered  them  the  arm-chair  to  sit  down  in. 
He  now  had  them  safe,  nor  could  all  the  art  of  man 
relieve  them  except  worthy  Bill  was  willing.  Bill's, 
plan  was  to  make  the  best  bargain  he  could  before  he 
released  his  prisoners;  and  let  him  alone  for  knowing 
how  to  make  their  purses  bleed.  There  wasn't  a  wealthy 
man  in  the  country  he  did  not  fleece.  The  parson  of 
the  parish  bled  heavily;  so  did  the  lawyer;  and  a  rich 
attorney,  who  had  retired  from  practice,  swore  that 
the  Court  of  Chancery  itself  was  paradise  compared  to 
Bill's  chair. 

This  was  all  very  good  for  a  time.  The  fame  of  his 
£hair,  however,  soon  spread;  so  did  that  of  his  sledge. 
In  a  short  time  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child  would 
darken  his  door;  all  avoided  him  and  his  fixtures  as 
they  would  a  spring-gun  or  man-trap.  Bill,  so  long  as 
he  fleeced  his  neighbors,  never  wrought  a  hand's  turn ; 
so  that  when  his  money  was  out,  he  found  himself  as 
badly  off  as  ever.  In  addition  to  all  this,  his  character 
was  fifty  times  worse  than  before;  for  it  was  the  gen- 
eral belief  that  he  had  dealings  with  the  old  boy.  Noth- 
ing now  could  exceed  his  misery,  distress,  and  ill-tem- 
per. The  wife  and  he  and  their  children  all  fought 
among  one  another.  Everybody  hated  them,  cursed 
them,  and  avoided  them.  The  people  thought  they  were 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES      259 

acquainted  with  more  than  Christian  people  ought  to 
know.  This,  of  course,  came  to  Bill's  ears,  and  it  vexed 
him  very  much. 

One  day  he  was  walking  about  the  fields,  thinking  of 
how  he  could  raise  the  wind  once  more;  the  day  was 
dark,  and  he  found  himself,  before  he  stopped,  in  the 
bottom  of  a  lonely  glen  covered  by  great  bushes  thai 
grew  on  each  side.  ''Well/'  thought  he,  when  every 
other  means  of  raising  money  failed  him,  "it's  reported 
that  I'm  in  league  with  the  old  boy,  and  as  it's  a  folly 
to  have  the  name  of  the  connection  without  the  profit, 
I'm  ready  to  make  a  bargain  with  him  any  day; — so," 
said  he,  raising  his  voice,  "Nick,  you  sinner,  if  you 
be  convanient  and  willing,  why  stand  out  here;  show 
your  best  leg — here's  your  man." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  a  dark, 
sober-looking  old  gentleman,  not  unlike  a  lawyer,  walked 
up  to  him.  Bill  looked  at  the  foot  and  saw  the  hoof. — 
"Morrow,  Nick,"  says  Bill. 

"Morrow,  Bill,"  says  Nick.  "Well,  Bill,  what's  the 
news  ?" 

"Devil  a  much  myself  hears  of  late,"  says  Bill;  "ia 
there  anything  fresh  below?" 

"I  can't  exactly  say,  Bill;  I  spend  little  of  my  time 
down  now ;  the  Tories  are  in  office,  and  my  hands  are  con  • 
sequently  too  full  of  business  here  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion to  anything  else." 

"A  fine  place  this,  sir,"  says  Bill,  "to  take  a  constitu- 
tional walk  in;  when  I  want  an  appetite  I  often  come 
this  way  myself — hem !  High  feeding  is  very  bad  with- 
out exercise." 

"High  feeding!  Come,  come,  Bill,  you  know  you 
didn't  taste  a  morsel  these  four-and -twenty  hpurs." 

"You  know  that's  a  bounce,  Nick.  I  eat  a  breakfast 
this  morning  that  would  put  a  stone  of  flesh  on  you,  if 
you  only  smelt  at  it." 

"No  matter ;  this  is  not  to  the  purpose.    What's  that 


S60       IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

you  were  muttering  to  yourself  awhile  ago?  If  you 
want  to  come  to  the  brunt,  here  I'm  for  you." 

"Nick,"  said  Bill,  "you're  complate;  you  want  noth- 
ing barring  a  pair  of  Brian  O'Lynn's  breeches." 

Bill,  in  fact,  was  bent  on  making  his  companion 
open  the  bargain,  because  he  had  often  heard  that,  in 
that  case,  with  proper  care  on  his  own  part,  he  might 
defeat  him  in  the  long  run.  The  other,  however,  was 
his  match. 

"What  was  the  nature  of  Brian's  garment?"  inquired 
Nick.  "Why,  you  know  the  song,"  said  Bill: 

"  'Brian  O'Lynn  had  no  breeches  to  wear, 

So  he  got  a  sheep's  skin  for  to  make  him  a  pair ; 
With  the  fleshy  side  out  and  the  woolly  side  in, 
They'll  be  pleasant  and  cool,  says  Brian  O'Lynn.' 

XA  cool  pare  would  sarve  you,  Nick." 

"You're  mighty  waggish  to-day,  Misther  Dawson." 

"And  good  right  I  have,"  said  Bill ;  "I'm  a  man  snug 
and  well  to  do  in  the  world ;  have  lots  of  money,  plenty 
of  good  eating  and  drinking,  and  what  more  need  a. 
man 'wish  for?" 

"True,"  said  the  other;  "in  the  meantime  it's  rather 
odd  that  so  respectable  a  man  should  not  have  six  inches 
of  unbroken  cloth  in  his  apparel.  You're  as  naked  a 
tatterdemalion  as  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on;  in  full  dress 
for  a  party  of  scare-crows,  William." 

"That's  my  own  fancy,  Nick;  I  don't  work  at  my 
trade  like  a  gentleman.  This  is  my  forge  dress,  you 
know." 

"Wei1,  but  what  did  you  summon  me  here  for?"  said 
the  other ;  "you  may  as  well  speak  out,  I  tell  you ;  for, 
my  good  friend,  unless  you  do,  /  shan't.  Smell  that." 

"I  smell  more  than  that,"  said  Bill ;  "and  by  the  way, 
I'll  thank  you  to  give  me  the  windy  side  of  you — curse 
all  sulphur,  I  say.  There,  that's  what  I  call  an  im- 
provement in  my  condition.  But  as  you  are  so  stiff,"' 


says  Bill,  "why,  the  short  and  long  of  it  is — that — hem 
— you  see  I'm — tut — sure  you  know  I  have  a  thriving 
trade  of  my  own,  and  that  if  I  like  I  needn't  be  at  a 
loss;  hut  in  the  meantime  I'm  rather  in  a  kind  of  a 
so — so — don't  you  take?" 

And  Bill  winked  knowingly,  hoping  to  trick  him  into 
the  first  proposal. 

"You  must  speak  ahove-hoard,  my  friend,"  says  the 
other.  "I'm  a  man  of  few  words,  blunt  and  honest.  If 
you  have  anything  to  say,  be  plain.  Don't  think  I  can 
be  losing  my  time  with  such  a  pitiful  rascal  as  you  are." 
"Well,"  says  Bill,  "I  want  money,  then,  and  am  ready 
to  come  into  terms.  What  have  you  to  say  to  that, 
Nick?" 

"Lot  me  see — let  me  look  at  you,"  says  his  companion, 
turning  him  about.  "Now,  Bill,  in  the  first  place,  are 
you  not^as  finished  a  scare-crow  as  ever  stood  upon  two 
legs?" 

"I  play  second  fiddle  to  you  there  again,"  says  Bill. 
"There  you  stand,  with  the  blackguards'  coat  of  arms 
quartered  under  your  eye,  and — " 

"Don't  make  little  of  &Zocfcguards,"  said  Bill,  "nor 
spake  disparagingly  of  your  own  crest." 

"Why,  what  would  you  bring,  you  brazen  rascal,  if 
you  were  fairly  put  up  at  auction?" 

"Faith,  I'd  bring  more  bidders  than  you  would,"  said 
Bill,  "if  you  were  to  go  off  at  auctibn  to-morrow.  I  tell 
you  they  should  bid  downwards  to  come  to  your  value, 
Nicholas.  We  have  no  coin  small  enough  to  purchase 
you." 

"Well,  no  matter,"  said  Nick.  "If  you  are  willing  to 
be  mine  at  the  expiration  of  seven  years,  I  will  give  you 
more  money  than  ever  the  rascally  breed  of  you  wa? 
worth." 

"Done!"  said  Bill;  "but  no  disparagement  to  my 
family,  -in  the  meantime ;  so  down  with  the  hard  cash, 
and  don't  be  a  neger" 


262       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

The  money  was  accordingly  paid  down !  but  as  nobody 
was  present,  except  the  giver  and  receiver,  the  amount 
of  what  Bill  got  was  never  known. 

"Won't  you  give  me  a  luck-penny?"  said  the  old 
gentleman. 

"Tut,"  said  Bill}',  "so  prosperous  an  old  fellow  as  you 
cannot  want  it;  however,  bad  luck  to  you,  with  all  my 
heart !  and  it's  rubbing  grease  to  a  fat  pig  to  say  so.  Be 
off  now,  or  I'll  commit  suicide  on  you.  Your  absence 
is  a  cordial  to  most  people,  you  infernal  old  profligate. 
You  have  injured  my  morals  even  for  the  short  time  you 
have  been  with  me;  for  I  don't  find  myself  so  virtuous 
as  I  was." 

"Is  that  your  gratitude,  Billy?" 

"Is  it  gratitude  you  speak  of,  man?  I  wpnder  you 
don't  blush  when  you  name  it.  However,  when  you 
come  again,  if  you  bring  a  third  eye  in  your  fyead  you 
will  see  what  I  mane,  Nicholas,  ahagur." 

The  old  gentleman,  as  Bill  spoke,  hopped  across  the 
ditch,  on  his  way  to  Downing  Street,  where  of  late  'tis 
thought  he  possesses  much  influence. 

Bill  now  began  by  degrees  to  show  off;  but  still 
wrought  a  little  at  his  trade  to  blindfold  the  neighbors. 
In  a  very  short  time,  however,  he  became  a  great  man. 
So  long  indeed  as  he  was  a  poor  rascal,  no  decent  person 
would  speak  to  him ;  even  the  proud  serving-men  at  the 
"Big  House"  would  turn  up  their  noses  at  him.  And  he 
well  deserved  to  be  made  little  of  by  others,  because  he 
was  mean  enough  to  make  little  of  himself.  But  when 
it  was  seen  and  known  that  he  had  oceans  of  money,  it 
was  wonderful  to  think,  although  he  was  now  a  greater 
blackguard  than  ever,  how  those  who  despised  him  be- 
fore began  to  come  round  him  and  court  his  company. 
Bill,  however,  had  neither  sense  nor  spirit  to  make  those 
sunshiny  friends  know  their  distance;  not  he — instead 
of  that  he  was  proud  to  be  seen  in  decent  company,  and 
BO  long  as  the  money  lasted,  it  was,  "hail  fellow  well 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       263 

met/'  between  himself  and  every  fair-faced  spungervrho 
had  a  horse  under  him,  a  decent  coat  to  his  back,  and  a 
good  appetite  to  eat  his  dinners.  With  riches  and  all, 
Bill  was  the  same  man  still;  but,  somehow  or  other,, 
there  is  a  great  difference  between  a  rich  profligate  and 
a  poor  one,  and  Bill  found  it  so  to  his  cost  in  both  cases. 

Before  half  the  seven  years  was  passed,  Bill  had  his 
carriage,  and  his  equipages;  was  hand  and  glove  with 
my  Lord  This,  and  my  Lord  That;  kept  hounds  and 
hunters ;  was  the  first  sportsman  at  the  Curragh ;  patron- 
ized every  boxing  ruffian  he  could  pick  up;  and  betted 
night  and  day  on  cards,  dice,  and  horses.  Bill,  in  short, 
should  be  a  blood,  and  except  he  did  all  this,  he  could 
not  presume  to  mingle  with  the  fashionable  bloods  of 
his  time. 

It's  an  old  proverb,  however,  that  "what  is  got  over 
the  devil's  back  is  sure  to  go  off  under  it ;"  and  in  Bill's 
case  this  proved  true.  In  short,  the  old  boy  himself 
could  not  supply  him  with  money  so  fast  as  he  made 
it  fly;  it  was  "come  easy,  go  easy,"  with  Bill,  and  so 
sign  was  on  it,  before  he  came  within  two  years  of  his 
time  he  found  his  purse  empty. 

And  now  came  the  value  of  his  summer  friends  to 
be  known.  When  it  was  discovered  that  the  cash  was 
no  longer  flush  with  him — that  stud,  and  carriage,  and 
hounds  were  going  to  the  hammer — whish !  off  they 
went,  friends,  relations,  pot-companions,  dinner-eaters, 
black-legs,  and  all,  like  a  flock  of  crows  that  had  smelt 
gunpowder.  Down  Bill  soon  went,  week  after  week,  and 
day  after  day,  until  at  last  he  was  obliged  ta  put  on  the 
leather  apron,  and  take  to  the  hammer  again;  and  not 
only  that,  for  as  no  experience  could  make  Jiim  wise,  he 
once  more  began  his  tap-room  brawls,  his  quarrels  with 
Judy,  and  took  to  his  "high  feeding"  at  the  dry  pota- 
toes and  salt.  Now,  too,  came  the  cutting  tongues  of  all 
who  knew  him,  like  razors  upon  him.  Those  that  he 
scorned  because,  they  were  poor  and  himself  rich.  no\r 


264       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

paid  him  back  his  own  with  interest ;  and  those  that  he 
had  measured  himself  with,  because  they  were  rich,  and 
who  only  countenanced  him  in  consequence  of  his  wealth, 
gave  him  the  hardest  word  in  their  cheeks.  The  devil 
mend  him!  He  deserved  it  all,  and  more  if  he  had 
got  it. 

Bill,  however,  who  was  a  hardened  sinner,  never 
fretted  himself  down  an  ounce  of  flesh  by  what  was  said 
to  him,  or  of  him.  Not  he ;  he  cursed,  and  fought,  and 
swore,  and  schemed  away  as  usual,  taking  in  every  one 
he  could;  and  surely  none  could  match  him  at  villainy 
of  all  sorts,  and  sizes. 

At  last  the  seven  years  became  expired,  and  Bill  was 
one  morning  sitting  in  his  forge,  sober  and  hungry,  the 
wife  cursing  him,  and  the  childhre  squalling  as  before; 
he  was  thinking  how  he  might  defraud  some  honest 
neighbor  out  of  a  breakfast  to  stop  their  mouths  and 
his  own,  too,  when  who  walks  in  to  him  but  old  Nick  to 
demand  his  bargain. 

"Morrow,  Bill  \"  says  he  with  a  sneer. 

"The  devil  welcome  you !"  says  Bill ;  <fbut  you  have  a 
fresh  memory/' 

"A  bargain's  a  bargain  between  two  honest  men,  any 
iay,"  says  Satan ;  "when  I  speak  of  honest  men,  I  mean 
yourself  and  me,  Bill;"  and  he  put  his  tongue  in  his 
cheek  to  make  game  of  the  unfortunate  rogue  he  had 
come  for. 

"Nick,  my  worthy  fellow,"  said  Bill,  "have  bowels; 
you  wouldn't  do  a  shabby  thing;  you  wouldn't  dis- 
grace your  own  character  by  putting  more  weight  upon 
a  falling  man.  You  know  what  it  is  to  get  a  come  down 
yourself,  mv  worthy ;  so  just  keep  your  toe  in  your  pump, 
and  walk  on  with  yourself  somewhere  else.  A  cool  walk 
will  sarve  you  better  than  my  company,  Nicholas." 

"Bill,  it's  no  use  in  shirking,"  said  his  friend ;  "your 
swindling  tricks  may  enable  you  to  cheat  others,  but  you 
won't  cheat  me,  I  guess.  You  want  nothing  to  make 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       265 

V 

you  perfect  in  your  way  but  to  travel;  and  travel  you 
shall  under  my  guidance,  Billy.  No,  no — I'm  not  to  be 
swindled,  my  good  fellow.  I  have  rather  a — a — better 
opinion  of  myself,  Mr.  D.,  than  to  think  that  you  could 
outwit  one  Nicholas  Clutie,  Esq. — ahem !" 

"You  may  sneer,  you  sinner/'  replied  Bill;  "but  I 
tell  you  that  I  have  outwitted  men  who  could  buy  and 
sell  you  to  your  face.  Despair,  you  villain,  when  I  tell 
you  that  no  attorney  could  stand  before  me." 

Satan's  countenance  got  blank  when  he  heard  this; 
he  wriggled  and  fidgeted  about,  and  appeared  to  be  not 
quite  comfortable. 

"In  that  case,  then,"  says  he,  "the  sooner  I  deceive  you 
the  better ;  so  turn  out  for-  the  Low  Countries." 

"Is  it  come  to  that  in  earnest?"  said  Bill,  "and 
are  you  going  to  act  the  rascal  at  the  long  run  ?" 

"  Ton  honor,  Bill." 

"Have  patience,  then,  you  sinner,  till  I  finish  this 
horse  shoe — it's  the  last  of  a  set  I'm  finishing  for  one 
of  your  friend  the  attorney's  horses.  And,  here,  Nick,  I 
hate  idleness,  you  know  it's  the  mother  of  mischief ;  take 
this  sledge  hammer,  and  give  a  dozen  strokes  or  BO,  till 
I  get  it  out  of  hands,  and  then  here's  with  you,  since  it 
must  be  so." 

He  then  gave  the  bellows  a  puff  that  blew  half  a  peck 
of  dust  in  Club-foot's  face,  whipped  out  the  red-hot 
iron,  and  set  Satan  sledging  away  for  bare  life. 

"Faith,"  says  Bill  to  him,  when  the  shoe  was  finished, 
"it's  a  thousand  pities  ever  the  sledge  should  be  out  of 
your  hand;  the  great  Parra  Gow  was  a  child  to  you  at 
sledging,  you're  such  an  able  tyke.  Now  just  exercise 
yourself  till  I  bid  the  wife  and  childhre  good-bye,  and 
then  I'm  off." 

Out  went  Bill,  of  course,  without  the  slightest  notion 
of  coming  back;  no  more  than  Nick  had  that  he  could 
not  give  up  the  sledging,  and  indeed  neither  could  he, 
but  was  forced  to  work  away  as  if  he  was  sledging  for  a 


266        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

wager.  This  was  just  what  Bill  wanted.  He  was  now 
compelled  to  sledge  on  until  it  was  Bill's  pleasure  to  re- 
lease him;  and  so  we  leave  him  very  industriously  em- 
ployed, while  we  look  after  the  worthy  who  outwitted 
him. 

In  the  meantime,  Bill  broke  cover,  and  took  to  the 
country  at  large ;  wrought  a  little  journey  work  wherever 
he  could  get  it,  and  in  this  way  went  from  one  place  to 
another,  till,  in  the  course  of  a  month,  he  walked  back 
very  coolly  into  his  own  forge,  to  see  how  things  'went  on 
in  .his  absence.  There  he  found  Satan  in  a  rage,  the 
perspiration  pouring  from  him  in  torrents,  hammering 
with  might  and  main  upon  the  naked  anvil.  Bill  calmly 
leaned  back  against  the  wall,  placed  his  hat  upon  the 
eide  of  his  head,  put  his  hands  into  his  breeches  pockets, 
and  began  to  whistle  Shaun  Gow's  hornpipe.  At  length 
he  says,  in  a  very  quiet  and  good-humored  way : 

"Morrow,  Nick !" 

"Oh !"  says  Nick,  still  hammering  away :  "Oh !  you 
double-distilled  villain  (hech!),  may  the  most  refined, 
ornamental  (hech!),  double-rectified,  super-extra,  and 
original  (hech!)  collection  of  curses  that  ever  was 
gathered  (hech!)  into  a  single  nosegay  of  ill-fortune 
(hech!),  shine  in  the  button-hole  of  your  conscience 
(hech!)  while  your  name  is  Bill  Dawson!  I  denounce 
you  (hech!)  as  a  double-milled  villain,  a  finished,  hot- 
pressed  knave  (hech ! ) ,  in  comparison  of  whom  all  the 
other  knaves  I  ever  knew  (hech!),  attorneys  included, 
are  honest  men.  I  brand  you  (hech!)  as  the  pearl  of 
cheats,  a  tip-top  take-in  (hech!).  I  denounce  you,  I 
say  again,  for  the  villainous  treatment  (hech ! )  I  have 
received  at  your  hands  in  this  most  untoward  (hech!) 
and  unfortunate  transaction  between  us;  for  (hech!) 
tmfortunate,  in  every  sense,  is  he  that  has  anything  to 
do  with  (hech  !)  such  a  prime  and  finished  impostor." 

"You're  very  warm,  Nicky,"  says  Bill;  "what  puts 
you  into  a  passion,  you  old  sinner?  Sure  if  it's  your 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       267 

own  will  and  pleasure  to  take  exefcise  at  my  anvil,  I'm 
not  to  be  abused  for  it.  Upon  my  credit,  Nicky,  you 
ought  to  blush  for  using  such  blackguard  language,  so 
unbecoming  your  grave  character.  You  cannot  say  that 
it  was  I  set  you  a-hammering  at  the  empty  anvil,  you 
profligate. 

"However,  as  you  are  so  very  industrious  I  simply 
say  it  would  be  a  thousand  pities  to  take  you  from  it. 
Nick,  I  love  industry  in  my  heart,  and  I  always  encour 
age  it ;  so  work  away,  it's  not  often  you  spend  your  time 
so  creditably.  I'm  afraid  if  you  weren't  at  that  you'd  be 
worse  employed." 

"Bill,  have  bowels,"  said  the  operative ;  "you  wouldn't 
go  to  lay  more  weight  on  a  falling  man,  you  know;  you 
wouldn't  disgrace  your  character  by  such  a  piece  of 
iniquity  as  keeping  an  inoffensive  gentleman,  advanced 
in  years,  at  such  an  unbecoming  and  rascally  job  as  this. 
Generosity's  your  top  virtue,  Bill ;  not  but  that  you  have 
many  other  excellent  ones,  as  well  as  that,  among  which, 
as  you  say  yourself,  I  reckon  industry;  but  stilMt  is  in 
generosity  you  shine.  Come,  Bill,  honor  bright,  and  re- 
lease me." 

"Name  the  terms,  you  profligate." 

"You're  above  terms,  William ;  a  generous  fellow  like 
you  never  thinks  of  terms." 

"Good-by,  old  gentleman  !"  said  Bill,  very  coolly ;  "I'll 
drop  in  to  see  you  once  a  month." 

"No,  no,  Bill,  you  infern — a — a —  you  excellent, 
worthy,  delightful  fellow,  not  so  fast ;  not  so  fast.  Come, 
name  your  terms,  you  sland —  my  dear  Bill,  name  your 
terms." 

"Seven  years  more." 

"I  agree ;  but " 

"And  the  same  supply  of  cash  as  before,  down  on  the 
nail  here." 

"Very  good ;  very  good.  You're  rather  simple,  Bill : 
rather  soft,  I  must  confess.  Well,  no  matter.  I  shall 


268        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

yet  turn  the  tab— a — hem!  You  are  an  exceedingly 
simple  fellow,  Bill ;  still  there  will  come  a  day,  my  dear 
Bill — there  will  come " 

"Do  you  grumble,  you  vagrant  ?  Another  word,  and  I 
double  the  terms/' 

"Mum,  William — mum ;  tace  is  Latin  for  a  candle." 

"Seven  years  more  of  grace,  and  the  same  measure  of 
the  needful  that  I  got  before.  Ay  or  no  ?" 

"Of  grace,  Bill!  Ay!  ay!  ay!  There's  the  cash.  I 
accept  the  terms.  Oh  blood !  the  rascal — of  grace ! ! 
Bill !" 

"Well,  now  drop  the  hammer,  and  vanish,"  says 
Billy;  "but  what  would  you  think  to  take  this  sledge, 

while  you  stay,  and  give  me  a eh!  why  in  such  a 

hurry  ?"  he  added,  seeing  that  Satan  withdrew  in  double- 
quick  time. 

"Hollo  !  Nicholas  !"  he  shouted,  "come  back;  you  for- 
got something  I"  and  when  the  old  gentleman  looked 
behind  him,  Billy  shook  the  hammer  at  him,  on  which 
he  vanished  altogether. 

Billy  now  got  into  his  old  courses;  and  what  shows 
the  kind  of  people  the  world  is  made  of,  he  also  took 
up  with  his  old  company.  When  they  saw  that  he  had 
the  money  once  more,  and  was  sowing  it  about  him  in 
all  directions,  they  immediately  began  to  find  excuses 
for  his  former  extravagance. 

"Say  what  you  will,"  said  one,  "Bill  Dawson's  a, 
epirited  fellow,  that  bleeds  like  a  prince." 

"He's  a  hospitable  man  in  his  own  house,  or  out  of  it, 
as  ever  lived,"  said  another. 

"His  only  fault  is,"  observed  a  third,  "that  he  is,  if 
anything,  too  generous,  and  doesn't  know  the  value  of 
money ;  his  fault's  on  the  right  side,  however." 

"He  has  the  spunk  in  him,"  said  a  fourth;  "keeps  a 
capital  table,  prime  wines,  and  a  standing  welcome  for 
his  friends." 

"Why,"  said  a  fifth,  "if  he  doesn't  enjoy  his  money 


IRISH  FAIRY  ANb   FOLK  TALES       269 

while  he  lives,  he  won't  when  he's  dead ;  so  more  power 
to  him,  and  a  wider  throat  to  his  purse/' 

Indeed,  the  very  persons  who  were  cramming  them- 
selves at  his  expense  despised  him  at  heart.  They  knew 
very  well,  however,  how  to  take  him  on  the  weak  side. 
^Praise  his  generosity,  and  he  would  do»  anything;  call 
him  a  man  of  spirit,  and  }ou  might  fleece  him  to  his 
face.  Sometimes  he  would  toss  a  purse  of  guineas  to 
this  knave,  another  to  that  flatterer,  a  third  to  a  bully, 
and  a  fourth  to  some  broken  -down  rake — and  all  to  con- 
vince them  that  lie  was  a  sterling  friend — a  man  of 
mettle  and  liberality.  But  never  was  he  known  to  help 
a  virtuous  and  struggling  family — to  assist  the  widow 
or  the  fatherless,  or  to  do  any  other  act  that  was  truly 
useful.  It  is  to  be  supposed  the  reason  of  this  was,  that 
as  he  spent  it,  as  most  of  the  world  do,  in  the  service 
of  the  devil,  by  whose  aid  he  got  it,  he  was  prevented 
from  turning  it  to  a  good  account.  Between  you  and 
me,  dear  reader,  there  are  more  persons  acting  after 
Bill's  fashion  in  the  same  world  than  you  dream  about. 

When  his  money  was  out  again,  his  friends  played 
him  the  same  rascally  game  once  more.  No  sooner  did 
his  poverty  become  plain,  than  the  knaves  began  to  be 
troubled  with  small  fits  of  modesty,  such  as  an  unwill- 
ingness to  come  to  his  place  when  there  was  no  longer 
anything  to  be  got  there.  A  kind  of  virgin  bashfulnes? 
prevented  them  from  speaking  to  him  when  they  saw 
him  getting  out  on  the  wrong  side  of  his  clothes.  Many 
of  them  would  turn  away  from  him  in  the  prettiest  and 
most  delicate  manner  when  they  thought  he  wanted  to 
borrow  money  from  them — all  for  fear  of  putting  him  to 
the  blush  by  asking  it.  Others  again,  when  they  saw 
him  coming  toward  their  houses  about  dinner  hour, 
would  become  so  confused,  from  mere  gratitude,  as  to 
think  themselves  in  another  place:  and  their  servants, 
ceiled,  as  it  were,  with  the  same  feeling,  would  Jell  Bill 
that  their  masters  were  "not  at  home." 


270        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

At  length,  after  travelling  the  same  villainous  round 
as  before,  'Bill  was  compelled  to  betake  himself,  as  the 
last  remedy,  to  the  forge ;  in  other  words,  he  found  that 
there  is,  after  all,  nothing  in  this  world  that  a  man  can 
rely  on  so  firmly  and  surely  as  his  own  industry.  Bill, 
however,  wanted  the  organ  of  common  sense;  for  his 
experience — and  it  was  sharp  enough  to  leave  an  im- 
pression— ran  off  him  like  water  off  a  duck. 

He  took  to  his  employment  sorely  against  his  grain; 
buf  he  had  now  no  choice.  He  must  either  work  or 
starve,  and  starvation  is  like  a  great  doctor — nobody 
tries  it  till  every  other  remedy  fails  them.  Bill  had 
been  twice  rich;  twice  a  gentleman  among  blackguards, 
but  always  a  blackguard  among  gentlemen;  for  no 
wealth  or  acquaintance  with  decent  society  could  rub 
the  rust  of  his  native  vulgarity  off  him.  He  was  now  a 
common  blinking  sot  in  his  forge;  a  drunken  bully  in 
the  tap-room,  cursing  and  brow-beating  every  one  as  well 
as  his  wife;  boasting  of  how  much  money  he  had  spent 
in  his  day ;  swaggering  about  the  high  doings  he  carried 
on;  telling  stories  about  himself  and  Lord  This  at  the 
Curragh ;  the  dinners  he  gave — how  much  they  cost  him, 
and  attempting  to  extort  credit  upon  the  strength  of 
his  former  wealth.  He  was  too  ignorant,  however,  to 
know  that  he  was  publishing  his  own  disgrace,  and  that 
it  was  a  mean-spirited  thing  to  be  proud  of  what  ought 
to  make  him  blush  through  a  deal  board  nine  inches 
thick. 

He  was  one  morning  industriously  engaged  in  a  quar- 
rel with  his  wife,  who,  with  a  three-legged  stool  in  her 
hand,  appeared  to  mistake  his  head  for  his  own  anvil; 
he,  in  the  meantime,  paid  his  addresses  to  her  with  his 
leather  apron,  when  who  steps  in  to  jog  his  memory 
about  the  little  agreement  that  was  between  them,  but 
Old  Nick.  The  wife,  it  seems,  in  spite  of  all  her  exer- 
tions to  the  contrary,  was  getting  the  worst  of  it;  and 
Sir  Nicholas,  willing  to  appear  a  gentleman  of  great 


IRI3H  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       271 

gallantry,  thought  he  could  not  do  less  than  take  up  the 
lady's  quarrel,  particularly  as  Bill  had  laid  her  in  a 
sleeping  posture.  Now  Satan  thought  this  too  bad ;  and 
as  he  felt  himself  under  many  obligations  to  the  sex,  he 
determined  to  defend  one  of  them  on  the  present  occa- 
sion ;  so  as  Judy  rose,  he  turned  upon  her  husband,  and 
floored  him  by  a  clever  facer. 

"You  unmanly  villain/'  said  he,  "is  this  the  way  you 
treat  your  wife?  'Pon  honor,  Bill,  I'll  chastise  you  on 
the  spot.  I  could  not  stand  by,  a  spectator  of  such  un- 
gentlemanly  conduct  without  giving  up  all  claim  to 

gallant "    Whack !    the   word    was  divided    in  his 

mouth  by  the  blow  of  a  churn-staff  from  Judy,  who  no 
sooner  saw  Bill  struck,  than  she  nailed  Satan,  who  "fell" 
once  more. 

"What,  you  villain!  that's  for  striking  my  husband 
like  a  murderer  behind  his  back,"  said  Judy,  and  she 
suited  the  action  to  the  word,  "that's  for  interfering  be- 
tween man  and  wife.  Would  you  murder  the  poor  man 
before  my  face?  eh?  If  he  bates  me,  you  shabby  dog 
you,  who  has  a  better  right  ?  I'm  sure  it's  nothing  out 
of  your  pocket.  Must  you  have  your  finger  in  every 
pie?" 

This  was  anything  but  idle  talk;  for  at  every  word 
she  gave  him  a  remembrance,  hot  and  heavy.  Nicholas 
backed,  danced,  and  hopped;  she  advanced,  still  drub- 
bing him  with  great  perseverance,  till  at  length  he  fell 
into  the  redoubtable  armchair,  which  stood  exactly  be- 
hind him.  Bill,  who  had  been  putting  in  two  blows  for 
Judy's  one,  seeing  that  his  enemy  was  safe,  now  got 
between  the  devil  and  his  wife,  a  situation  that  few  will 
be  disposed  to  envy  him. 

"Tenderness,  Judy,"  said  the  husband,  "I  hate 
cruelty.  Go  put  the  tongs  in  the  fire,  and  make  them 
red  hot.  Nicholas,  you  have  a  nos.e,"  said  he. 

Satan  began  to  rise,  but  was  rather  surprised  to  find 
that  he  could  not  budge. 


272       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  .TALES 

"Nicholas,"  says  Bill,  "how  is  your  pulse?  you  don't 
look  well ;  that  is  to  say,  you  look  worse  than  usual." 

The  other  attempted  to  rise,  but  found  it  a  mistake. 

"I'll  thank  you  to  come  along,"  said  Bill.  "I  have  a 
fancy  to  travel  under  your  guidance,  and  we'll  take  the 
Low  Countries  in  our  way,  won't  we  ?  Get  to  your  legs, 
you  sinner ;  you  know  a  bargain's  a  bargain  between  two 
honest  men,  Nicholas ;  meaning  yourself  and  me.  Judy, 
are  the  tongs  hot?" 

Satan's  face  was  worth  looking  at,  as  he  turned  his 
eyes  from  the  husband  to  the  wife,  and  then  fastened 
them  on  the  tongs,  now  nearly  at  a  furnace  heat  in  the 
fire,  conscious  at  the  same  time  that  he  could  not  move 
out  of  the  chair. 

"Billy,"  said  he,  "you  won't  forget  that  I  rewarded 
you  generously  the  last  time  I  saw  you,  in  the  way  of 
business."  "Faith,  Nicholas,  it  fails  me  to  remember 
any  generosity  I  ever  showed  you.  Don't  be  womanish. 
I  simply  want  to  see  what  kind  of  stuff  your  nose  is 
made  of,  and  whether  it  will  stretch  like  a  rogue's  con- 
science. If  it  does,  we  will  flatter  it  up  the  chimly  with 
red-hot  tongs,  and  when  this  old  hat  is  fixed  on  the  top 
of  it,  let  us  alone  for  a  weather  cock."  "Have  a  fellow- 
feeling,  Mr.  Dawson ;  you  know  we  ought  not  to  dispute. 
Drop  the  matter,  and  I  give  you  the  next  seven  years." 
"We  know  all  that,"  says  Billy,  opening  the  red-hot 
tongs  very  coolly.  "Mr.  Dawson,"  said  Satan,  "if  you 
cannot  remember  my  friendship  to  yourself,  don't  forget 
how  often  I  stood  your  father's  friend,  your  grand- 
father's friend,  and  the  friend  of  all  your  relations  up 
to  the  tenth  generation.  I  intended,  also,  to  stand  by 
your  children  after  you,  so  long  as  the  name  of  Dawson, 
and  a  respectable  one  it  is,  might  last."  "Don't  be 
blushing,  Nick,"  says  Bill,  "you  are  too  modest;  that 
was  ever  your  failing ;  hould  up  your  head,  there's  money 
Ind  for  you.  I'll  give  you  such  a  nose,my  good  friend,  that 
will  have  to  keep  an  outrider  before  you,  to  carry 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       273 

the  end  of  it  on  his  shoulder."  "Mr.  Dawsbn,  I  pledge 
my  honor  to  raise  your  children  in  the  world  as  high 
as  they  can  go ;  no  matter  whether  they  desire  it  or  not." 
"That's  very  kind  of  you,"  says  the  other,  "and  I'll  do 
as  much  for  your  nose." 

He  gripped  it  as  he  spoke,  and  the  old  boy  imme- 
diately sung  out;  Bill  pulled,  and  the  nose  went  with 
him  like  a  piece  of  warm  wax.  He  then  transferred  the 
tongs  to  Judy,  got  a  ladder,  resumed  the  tongs,  ascended 
the  chimney,  and  tugged  stoutly  at  the  nose  until  he  got 
it  five  feet  above  the  roof.  He  then  fixed  the  hat  upon 
the  top  of  it,  and  came  down. 

"There's  a  weather  cock,"  said  Billy ;  "I  defy  Ireland 
to  show  such  a  beauty.  Faith,  Nick,  it  would  make  the 
purtiest  steeple  for  a  church,  in  all  Europe,  and  the  old 
hat  fits  it  to  a  shaving." 

In  this  state,  with  his  nose  twisted  up  the  chimney, 
Satan  sat  for  some  time,  experiencing  the  novelty  of 
what  might  be  termed  a  peculiar  sensation.  At  last  the 
worthy  husband  and  wife  began  to  relent. 

"I  think,"  said  Bill,  "that  we  have  made  the  most  of 
the  nose,  as  well  as  the  joke;  I  believe,  Judy,  it's  long 
enough."  "What  is  ?"  says  Judy. 

"Why,  the  joke,"  said  the  husband. 

"Faith,  and  I  think  so  is  the  nose,"  said  Judy. 

"What  do  you  say  yourself,  Satan  ?"  said  Bill. 

"Nothing  at  all,  William/'  said  the  other;  "but  that— 
ha !  ha ! — it's  a  good  joke — an  excellent  joke,  and  a 
goodly  nose,  too,  as  it  stands.  You  were  always  a 
gentlemanly  man,  Bill,  and  did  things  with  a  grace; 
still,  if  I  might  give  an  opinion  on  such  a  trifle 

"It's  no  trifle  at  all,"  says  Bill,  "if  you  spake  of  the 
nose."  "Very  well,  it  is  not,"  says  the  other;  "still,  I 
am  decidedly  of  opinion,  that  if  you  could  shorten  both 
the  joke  and  the  nose  without  further  violence,  you 
would  lay  me  under  very  heavy  obligations,  which  I 
shall  be  ready  to  acknowledge  and  repay  as  I  ought." 


274        IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES. 

"Come/'  said  Bill,  "shell  out  once  more,  and  be  off  for 
seven  years.  As  much  as  you  came  down  with  the  last 
time,  and  vanish." 

The  words  were  scarcely  spoken,  when  the  money  was 
at  his  feet,  and  Satan  invisible.  Nothing  could  surpass 
the  mirth  of  Bill*  and  his  wife  at  the  result  of  this  ad- 
venture. They  laughed  till  they  fell  down  on  the  floor. 

It  is  useless  to  go  over  the  same  ground  again.  Bill 
was  still  incorrigible.  The  money  went  as  the  devil's 
money  always  goes.  Bill  caroused,  and  squandered,  but 
could  never  turn  a  penny  of  it  to  a  good  purpose.  In 
this  way,  year  after  year  went,  till  the  seventh  was 
closed,  and  Bill's  hour  come.  He  was  now,  and  had 
been  for  some  time  past,  as  miserable  a  knave  as  ever. 
Not  a  shilling  had  he,  nor  a  shilling's  worth,  with  the 
exception  of  his  forge,  his  cabin,  and  a  few  articles  of 
crazy  furniture.  In  this  state  he  was  standing  in  his 
forge  as  before,  straining  his  ingenuity  how  to  make  out 
a  breakfast,  when  Satan  came  to  look, after  hm.  The 
old  gentleman  was  sorely  puzzled  how  to  get  at  him. 
He  kept  skulking  and  sneaking  about  the  forge  for  some 
time,  till  he  saw  that  Bill  hadn't  a  cross  to  bless  him- 
self with.  He  immediately  changed  himself  into  a 
guinea,  and  lay  in  an  open  place  where  he  knew  Bill 
would  see  him.  "If,"  said  he,  "I  once  get  into  his  pos- 
session, I  can  manage  him/'  The  honest  smith  took 
the  bait,  for  it  was  well  gilded ;  he  clutched  the  guinea, 
put  it  into  his  purse,  and  closed  it  up.  "Ho !  ho  !" 
shouted  the  devil  out  of  the  purse,  "you're  caught,  Bill ; 
I've  secured  you  at  last,  you  knave  you.  Why  don't  you 
despair,  you  villain,  when  you  think  of  what's  before 
you?"  "Why,  you  unlucky  ould  dog,"  said  Bill,  "is  it 
there  you  are?  Will  you  always  drive  your  head  into 
every  loophole  that's  set  for  you  ?  Faith,  Nick  achora,  I 
never  had  you  bagged  till  now." 

Satan  then  began  to  tug  and  struggle  with  a  view 
of  getting  out  of  the  purse,  but  in  vain. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       275 

"Mr.  Dawson,"  said  he,  "we  understand  each  other. 
I'll  give  the  seven  years  additional,  and  the  cash  on  the 
nail/'  "Be  aisey,  Nicholas.  You  know  the  weight  of 
the  hammer,  that's  enough.  It's  not  a  whipping  with 
feathers  you're  going  to  get,  anyhow.  Just  be  aisey." 
"Mr.  Dawson,  I  grant  I'm  not  your  match.  Release  me, 
and  I  double  the  cash.  I  was  merely  trying  your  tem- 
per when  I  took  the  shape  of  a  guinea." 

"Faith  and  I'll  try  yours  before  I  lave  it,  I've  a 
notion."  He  immediately  commenced  with  the  sledge, 
and  Satan  sang  out  with  a  considerable  want  of  firm- 
ness. "Am  I  heavy  enough?"  said  Bill. 

"Lighter,  lighter,  William,  if  you  love  me.  I  haven't 
been  well  latterly,  Mr.  Dawson — I  have  been  delicate — 
my  health,  in  short,  is  in  a  very  precarious  state,  Mr. 
Dawson."  "I  can  believe  that"  said  Bill,  "and  it  will 
be  more  so  before  I  have  done  with  you.  Am  I  doing  it 
right?"  "Bill,"  said  Nick,  "is  this  gentlemanly  treat- 
ment in  your  own  respectable  shop?  Do  you  think,  if 
you  dropped  into  my  little  place,  that  I'd  act  this  ras- 
cally part  toward  you?  Have  you  no  compunction?" 
"I  know,"  replied  Bill,  sledging  away  with  vehemence, 
"that  you're  notorious  for  giving  your  friends  a  warm 
welcome.  Divil  an  ould  youth  more  so;  but  you  must 
be  daling  in  bad  coin,  must  you?  However,  good  or 
bad,  you're  in  for  a  sweat  now,  you  sinner.  Am  I  doin' 
it  purty?" 

"Lovely,  William — but,  if  possible,  a  little  more  deli- 
cate." 

"Oh,  how  delicate  you  are  I  Maybe  a  cup  o'  tay  would 
sarve  you,  or  a  little  small  gruel  to  compose  your 
stomach." 

"Mr.  Dawson,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  purse,  "hold 
your  hand  and  let  us  understand  one  another.  I  have 
a  proposal  to  make."  "Hear  the  sinner  anyhow,"  said 
the  wife.  "Name  your  own  sum,"  said  Satan,  "only 
set  me  free."  "No,  the  sorra  may  take  the  toe  you'll 


276        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

budge  till  you  let  Bill  off,"  said  the  wife;  "hould  him 
hard,  Bill,  barrin'  he  sets  you  clear  of  your  engage- 
ment." 

"There  it  is,  my  posy,"  said  Bill;  "that's  the 
condition.  If  you  don't  give  me  up,  here's  at  you  once 
more — and  you  must  double  the  cash  you  gave  the  last 
time,  too.  So,  if  you're  of  that  opinion,  say  ay — leave 
the  cash  and  be  off." 

The  money  again  appeared  in  a  glittering  heap  before 
Bill,  upon  which  he  exclaimed — "The  ay  has  it,  you  dog. 
Take  to  your  pumps  now,  and  fair  weather  after  you, 

you  vagrant ;  but  Nicholas — Nick — here,  here "  The 

other  looked  back,  and  saw  Bill,  with  a  broad  grin  upon 
him,  shaking  the  purse  at  him.  "Nicholas,  come  back," 
said  he.  "I'm  short  a  guinea."  Nick  shook  his  fist,  and 
disappeared. 

.It  would  be  useless  to  stop  now,  merely  to  inform 
our  readers  that  Bill  was  beyond  improvement.  In  short, 
he  once  more  took  to  his  old  habits,  and  lived  on  exactly 
in  the  same  manner  as  before.  He  had  two  sons — one 
as  great  a  blackguard  as  himself,  and  who  was  also 
named  after  him;  the  other  was  a  well-conducted,  vir- 
tuous young  man,  called  James,  who  left  his  father,  and 
having  relied  upon  his  own  industry  and  honest  per- 
severance in  life,  arrived  afterwards  to  great  wealth,  and 
built  the  town  called  Castle  Dawson ;  which  is  so  called 
from  its  founder  until  this  day. 

Bill,  at  length,  in  spite  of  all  his  wealth,  was  obliged, 
as  he  himself  said,  "to  travel," — in  other  words,  he  fell 
asleep  one  day,  and  forgot  to  awaken ;  or  in  still  plainer 
terms,  he  died. 

Now,  it  is  usual,  when  a  man  dies,  to  close  the  his- 
tory of  his  life  and  adventures  at  once;  but  with  our 
hero  this  cannot  be  the  case.  The  moment  Bill  departed, 
he  very  naturally  bent  his  steps  toward  the  residence  of 
St.  Moroky,  as  being,  in  his  opinion,  likely  to  lead  him 
toward  the  snuggest  berth  he  could  readily  make  out.  On 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       277 

arriving,  he  gave  a  very  humble  kind  of  a  knock,  and  St. 
Moroky  appeared. 

"God  save  your  Reverence !"  said  Bill,  very  submis- 
sively. 

'fBe  off;  there's  no  admittance  here  for  so  poor  a 
youth  as  you  are/'  said  St.  Moroky. 

He  was  now  so  cold  and  fatigued  that  he  cared  little 
where  he  went,  provided  only,  as  he  said  himself,  "he 
could  rest  his  bones,  and  get  an  air  of  the%fire."  Ac- 
cordingly, after  arriving  at  a  large  black  gate,  he 
knocked,  as  before,  and  was  told  he  would  get  instant 
admittance  the  moment  he  gave  his  name. 

"Billy  Dawson,"  he  replied. 

"Off,  instantly,"  said  the  porter  to  his  companions, 
"and  let  his  Majesty  know  that  the  rascal  he  dreads  so 
much  is  here  at  the  gate." 

Such  a  racket  and  tumult  were  never  heard  as  the 
very  mention  of  Billy  Dawson  created. 

In  the  meantime,  his  old  acquaintance  came  running 
toward  the  gate  with  such  haste  and  consternation,  that 
his  tail  was  several  times  nearly  tripping  up  his  heels. 

"Don't  admit  that  rascal,"  he  shouted ;  "bar  the  gate 
— make  every  chain,  and  lock  and  bolt,  fast — I  won't  be 
safe — and  I  won't  stay  here,  nor  none  of  us  need  stay 
here,  if  he  gets  in — my  bones  are  sore  yet  after  him. 
No,  no — begone  you  villain — you'll  get  no  entrance  here 
— I  know  you  too  well." 

Bill  could  not  help  giving  a  broad,  malicious  grin  at 
Satan,  and,  putting  his  nose  through  the  bars,  he  ex- 
claimed— "Ha !  you  ould  dog,  I  have  you  afraid  of  me 
at  last,  have  I?" 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when  his  foe,  who 
stood  inside,  instantly  tweaked  him  by  the  nose,  and 
Bill  felt  as  if  he  had  been  gripped  by  the  same  red-hot 
tongs  with  which  he  himself  had  formerly  tweaked  the 
nose  of  Nicholas. 

Bill  then  departed,  but  soon  found  that  in  conse- 


278        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

quence  of  the  inflammable  materials  which  strong  drink 
had  thrown  into  his  nose,  that  organ  immediately  took 
fire,  and,  indeed,  to  tell  the  truth,  kept  burning  night 
and  day,  winter  and  summer,  without  ever  once  going 
out,  from  that  hour  to  this. 

Such  was  the  sad  fate  of  Billy  Dawson,  who  has  been 
walking  without  stop  or  stay,  from  place  to  place,  ever 
since;  and  in  consequence  of  the  flame  on  his  npse,  and 
his  beard  being  tangled  like  a  wisp  of  hay,  he  has  been 
christened  by  the  country  folk  Will-o'-the-Wisp,  while, 
as  it  were,  to  show  the  mischief  of  his  disposition,  the 
circulating  knave,  knowing  that  he  must  seek  the  coldest 
bogs  and  quagmires  in  order  to  cool  his  nose,  seizes  upon 
that  opportunity  of  misleading  the  unthinking  and 
tipsy  night  travellers  from  their  way,  just  that  he  may 
have  the  satisfaction  of  still  taking  in  as  many  as 
possible. 


GIANTS 


WHEN  the  pagan  gods  of  Ireland — the  Tuath-De-Dandn — 
robbed  of  worship  and  offerings,  grew  smaller  and  smaller  in 
the  popular  imagination,  until  they  turned  into  the  fairies, 
the  pagan  heroes  grew  bigger  and  bigger,  until  they  turned 
into  the  giants. 

THE   GIANT'S   STATES* 

T.   CROFTON   CHOKER 

ON  the  road  between  Passage  and  Cork  there  is  an 
old  mansion  called  Ronayne's  Court.  It  may  be  easily 
known  from  the  stack  of  chimneys  and  the  gable-ends, 
which  are  to  be  seen,  look  at  it  which  way  you  will. 
Here  it  was  that  Maurice  Ronayne  and  his  wife  Mar- 
garet Gould  kept  house,  as  may  be  learned  to  this  day 
from  the  great  old  chimney-piece,  on  which  is  carved 
their  arms.  They  were  a  mighty  worthy  couple,  and  had 
but  one  son,  who  was  called  Philip,  after  no  less  a  person 
than  the  King  of  Spain. 

'  Immediately  on  his  smelling  the  cold  air  -of  this  world 
the  child  sneezed,  which  was  naturally  taken  to  be  a 
good  sign  of  his  having  a  clear  head;  and  the  subse- 
quent rapidity  of  his  learning  was  truly  amazing,  for 
on  the  very  first  day  a  primer  was  put  into  his  hands 
he  tore  out  the  A,  B,  C  page  and  destroyed  it,  as  a  thing 
quite  beneath  his  notice.  No  wonder,  then,  that  both 
father  and  mother  were  proud  of  their  heir,  who  gave 


Fairy  Legends  of  the  South  of  Ireland. 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

such  indisputable  proofs  of  genius,  or,  as  they  called  it 
in  that  part  of  the  world,  "genus." 

One  morning,  however,  Master  Phil,  who  was  then 
just  seven  years  old,  was  missing,  and  no  one  could  tell 
what  had  become  of  him;  servants  were  sent  in  all  di- 
rections to  seek  him,  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  but 
they  returned  without  any  tidings  of  the  boy,  whose 
disappearance  altogether  was  most  unaccountable.  A 
large  reward  was  offered,  but  it  produced  them  no  intel- 
ligence, and  years  rolled  away  without  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ronayne  having  obtained  any  satisfactory  account  of 
the  fate  of  their  lost  child. 

There  lived  at  this  time,  near  Carrigaline,  one  Robert 
Kelly,  a  blacksmith  by  trade.  He  was  what  is  termed  a 
handy  man,  and  his  abilities  were  held  in  much  estima- 
tion by  the  lads  and  ksses  of  the  neighborhood;  for, 
independent  of  shoeing  horses,  which  he  did  to  great 
perfection,  and  making  plough  irons,  he  interpreted 
dreams  for  the  young  women,  sung  " Arthur  O'Bradley" 
at  their  weddings,  and  was  so  good-natured  a  fellow  at 
a  christening,  that  he  was  gossip  to  half  the  country 
round. 

Now  it  happened  that  Robin  had  a  dream  himself, 
and  young  Philip  Ronayne  appeared  to  him  in  it,  at  the 
dead  hour  of  the  night.  Robin  thought  he  saw  the  boy 
mounted  upon  a  beautiful  white  horse,  and  that  he  told 
him  how  he  was  made  a  page  to  the  giant  Mahon  Mac- 
Mahon,  who  had  carried  him  off,  and  who  held  his  court 
in  the  hard  heart  of  the  rock.  "The  seven  years — my 
time  of  service — are  clean  out,  Robin,"  said  he,  "and  if 
you  release  me  this  night  I  will  be  the  making  of  you 
for  ever  after." 

"And  how  will  I  know,"  said  Robin — cunning  enough, 
even  in  his  sleep — "but  this  is  all  a  dream  ?" 

"Take  that,"  said  the  boy,  "for  a  token"— and  at  the 
word  the  white  horse  struck  out  with  one  of  his  hind 
legs,  and  gave  poor  Robin  such  a  kick  in  the  forehead 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       281 

that,  thinking  he  was  a  dead-  man,  he  roared  as  loud  as 
he  'could  after  his  brains,  and  woke  up,  calling  a  thou- 
sand murders.  He  found  himself  in  bed,  but  he  had  the 
mark  of  the  blow,  the  regular  print  of  a  horseshoe,  upon 
his  forehead  as  red  as  blood;  and  Eobin  Kelly,  who 
never  before  found  himself  puzzled  at  the  dream  of  any' 
other  person,  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  his  own. 

Eobin  was  well  acquainted  with  the  Giant's  Stairs — 
as,  indeed,  who  is  not  that  knows  the  harbor?  They 
consist  of  great  masses  of  rock,  which,  piled  one  above 
another,  rise  likef  a  flight  of  steps  from  very  deep  water, 
against  the  bold  cliff  of  Carrigmahon.  Nor  are  they 
badly  suited  for  stairs  to  those  who  have  legs  of  suf- 
ficient length  to  stride  over  a  moderate-sized  house,  or 
to  enable  them  to  clear  the  space  of  a  mile  in  a  hop, 
step  and  jump.  Both  these  feats  the  giant  MacMahon 
was  said  to  have  performed  in  the  days  of  Finnian  glory ; 
and  the  common  tradition  of  the  country  placed  His 
dwelling"  within,  the  cliff  up  whose  side  the  stairs  led. 

Such  was  the  impression  which  the  dream  made  on 
Eobin,  that  he  determined  to  put  its  truth  to  the  test. 
It  occurred  to  him,  however,  before  setting  out  on  this 
adventure,  thai  a  plough  iron  may  be  no  bad  companion, 
as,  from  experience,  he  knew  it  was  an  excellent  knock- 
down argument,  having  on  more  occasions  than  one 
settled  a'  little  disagreement  very  quietly;  so,  putting 
one  on  his  shoulder,  off  he  marched,  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  through  Glaun  a  Thowk  (the  Hawk's  Glen)  to 
Monkstown.  Here  an  old  gossip  of  his  (Tom  Clancey 
by  name)  lived,  who,  on  hearing  Eobin's  dream,  prom- 
ised him  the  use  of  his  skiff,  and,  moreover,  offered  to 
assist  in  rowing  it  to  the  Giant's  Stairs. 

After  a  supper,  which  was  of  the  best,  they  embarked. 
It  was  a  beautiful,  still  night,  and  the  little  boat  glided 
swiftly  aloner.  The  regular  dip  of  the  oars,  the  dis- 
tant song  of  the  sailor,  and  sometimes  the  voice  of  a  be- 
lated traveller  at  the  ferry  of  Carrigaloe,  alone  broke  the 


282        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

quietness  of  the  land  and  sea  and  sky.  The  tide  was  in 
their  favor,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Eobin  and  his  gossip 
rested  on-  their  oars  under  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
Giant's  Stairs.  Eobin  looked  anxiously  for  the  entrance 
to  the  Giant's  palace,  which,  it  was  said,  may  be  found 
by  any  one  seeking  it  at  midnight ;  but  no  such  entrance 
could  he  see.  His  impatience  had  hurried  him  there  be- 
fore that  time,  and  after  waiting  a  considerable  space  in 
a  state  of  suspense  not  to  be  described,  Robin,  with  pure 
vexation,  could  not  help  exclaiming  to  his  companion, 
"  "Pis  a  pair  of  fools  we  are,  Tom  Clancey,  for  coming 
here  at  all  on  the  strength  of  a  dream." 

"And  whose  doing  is  it,"  said  Tom,  "but  your  own  ?" 
At  the  moment  he  spoke  they  perceived  a  faint  glim- 
mering of  light  to  proceed  from  the  cliff,  which  gradu- 
ally increased  until  a  porch  big  enough  for  a  king's 
palace  unfolded  itself  almost  on  a  level  with  the  water. 
They  pulled  the  skiff  directly  toward  the  opening,  and 
Robin  Kelly,  seizing  his  plough  iron,  boldly  entered  with 
a  strong  hand  and  a  stout  heart.  Wild  ^ind  strange  was 
that  entrance,  the  whole  of  which  appeared  formed  of 
grim  and  grotesque  faces,  blending  so  strangely  each 
with  the  other  that  it  was  impossible  to  define  any :  the 
chin  of  one  formed  the  nose  of  another ;  what  appeared 
to  be  a  fixed  and  stern  eye,  if  dwelt  upon,  changed  to  a 
gaping  mouth ;  and  the  lines  of  the  lofty  forehead  grew 
into  a  majestic  and  flowing  beard.  The  more  Robin 
allowed  himself  to  contemplate  the  forms  around  him, 
the  more  terrific  they  became;  and  the  stoney  expres- 
sion of  this  crowd  of  faces  assumed  a  savage  ferocity  as 
his  imagination  converted  feature  after  feature  into  a 
different  shape  and  character.  Losing  the  twilight  in 
which  these  indefinite  forms  were  visible,  he  advanced 
through  a  dark  and  devious  passage,  while  a  deep  and 
rumbling  noise  sounded  as  if  the  rock  was  about  to  close 
upon  him,  and  swallow  him  up  alive  for  ever.  Now, 
indeed,  poor  Robin  felt  afraid. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       283 

"Robin,  Robin/'  said  he,  "if  you  were  a  fool  for  coining 
here,  what  in  the  name  of  fortune  are  you  now  ?"  But, 
as  before,  he  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  he  saw  a  small 
light  twinkling  through  the  darkness  of  the  distance, 
like  a  star  in  the  midnight  sky.  To  retreat  was  out  of 
the  question;  for  so  many  turnings  and  windings  were 
in  the  passage,  that  he  considered  he  had  but  little 
chance  of  making  his  way  back.  He,  therefore,  pro- 
ceeded towards  the  bit  of  light,  and  came  at  last  into  a 
spacious  chamber,  from  the  roof  of  which  hung  the  soli- 
tary lamp  that  had  guided  him.  Emerging  from  such 
profound  gloom,  the  single  lamp  afforded  Robin  abun- 
dant light  to  discover  several  gigantic  figures  seated 
round  a  massive  stone  table,  as  if  in  serious  deliberation, 
but  no  word  disturbed  the  breathless  silence  which  pre- 
vailed. At  the  head  of  this  table  sat  Mahon  MacMahon 
himself,  whose  majestic  beard  had  taken  root,  and  in  the 
course  of  ages  grown  into  the  stone  slab.  He  was  the 
first  who  perceived  Robin;  and  instantly  starting  up, 
drew  his  long  beard  from  out  the  huge  piece  of  rock  in 
such  haste  and  with  so  sudden  a  jerk  that  it  was  shat- 
tered into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"What  seek  you?"  he  demanded  in  a  voice  of  thun- 
der. 

"I  come,"  answered  Robin,  with  as  much  boldness  as 
he  could  put  on,  for  his  heart  was  almost  fainting  within 
him;  "I  come,"  said  he,  "to  claim  Philip  Ronayne, 
whose  time  of  service,  is  out  this  night." 

"And  who  sent  you  here  ?"  said  the  giant. 

"  'Twas  of  my  own  accord  I  came,"  said  Robin. 

"Then  you  must  single  him  out  from  among  my 
pages,"  said  the  giant;  "and  if  you  fix  on  the  wrong 
one,  your  life  is  the  forfeit.  Follow  me."  He  led  Robin 
into  a  hall  of  vast  extent,  and  filled  with  lights ;  along 
either  side  of  which  were  rows  of  beautiful  children,  all 
apparently  seven  years  old,  and  none  beyond  that  age, 
dressed  in  green,  and  every  one  exactly  dresser]  alike. 


384       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"Here,"  said  Mahon,  "you  are  free  to  take  Philip 
Ronayne,  if  you  will;  but,  remember,  I  give  but  one 
choice." 

Kobin  was  sadly  perplexed;  for  there  were  hundreds 
upon  hundreds  of  children;  and  he  had  no  very  clear 
recollection  of  the  boy  he  sought.  But  he  walked  along 
the  hall,  by  the  side  of  Mahon,  as  if  nothing  was  the 
matter,  although  his  great  iron  dress  clanked  fearfully 
at  every  step,  sounding  louder  than  Eobin's  own  sledge 
battering  on  his  anvil. 

They  had  nearly  reached  the  end  without  speaking, 
when  Robin,  seeing  that  the  only  means  he  had  was  to 
make  friends  with  the  giant,  determined  to  try  what  ef- 
fect a  few  soft  words  might  have. 

"  "Pis  a  fine  wholesome  appearance  the  poor  children 
carry/'  remarked  Robin,  "although  they  have  been  here 
so  long  shut  out  from  the  fresh  air  and  the  blessed  light 
of  heaven.  'Tis  tenderly  your  honor  must  have  reared 
them !" 

"Ay,"  said  the  giant,  "that  is  true/  for  you ;  so  give 
me  your  hand ;  for  you  are,  I  believe,  a  .very  honest  fel- 
low for  a  blacksmith." 

Robin  at  the  first  look  did  not  much  like  the  huge 
size  of  the  hand,  and,  therefore,  presented  his  plough 
iron,  which  the  giant  seizing,  twisted  in  his  grasp  round 
and  round  again  as  if  it  had  been  a  potato  stalk.  On 
seeing  this  all  the  children  set  up  a  shout  of  laughter. 
In  the  midst  of  their  mirth  Robin  thought  he  heard  his 
name  called ;  and  all  ear  and  eye,  he  put  his  hand  on  the 
boy  who  he  fancied  had  spoken,  crying  out  at  the  same 
time,  "Let  me  live  or  die  for  it,  but  this  is  young  Phil 
Ronayne." 

"It  is  Philip  Ronayne — happy  Philip  Ronayne,"  said 
his  young  companions;  and  in  an  instant  the  hall  be- 
came dark.  Crashing  noises  were  heard,  and  all  was  in 
strange  confusion;  but  Robin  held  fast  his  prize,  and 
found  himself  lying  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the  morning  at 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       285 

the  head  of  the  Giant's  Stairs  with  the  boy  clasped  in 
his  arms. 

Eobin  had  plenty  of  gossips  to  spread  the  story  of 
his  wonderful  adventure:  Passage,  Monkstown,  Car- 
rigaline — the  whole  barony  of  Kerricurrihy  rung  with  it. 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Robin,  it  is  young  Phil  Eonayne 
you  have  brought  back  with  you?"  was  the  regular 
question;  for  although  the  boy  had  been  seven  years 
away,  his  appearance  now  was  just  the  same  as  on  the 
day  he  was  missed.  He  had  neither  grown  taller  nor 
older  in  look,  and  he  spoke  of  things  which  had  hap- 
pened before  he  was  carried  off  as  one  awakened  from 
sleep,  or  as  if  they  had  occurred  yesterday. 

"Am  I  sure?  Well,  that's  a  queer  question,"  was 
Robin's  reply;  "seeing  the  boy  has  the  blue  eye  of  the 
mother,  with  the  foxy  hair  of  the  father ;  to  say  nothing 
of  the  purty  wart  on  the  right  side  of  his  little  nose." 

However  Robin  Kelly  may  have  been  questioned,  the 
worthy  couple  of  Ronayne's  Court  doubted  not  that  he 
was  the  deliverer  of  their  child  from  the  power  of  the 
giant  MacMahon ;  and  the  reward  they  bestowed  on  him 
equalled  their  gratitude. 

Philip  Ronayne  lived  to  be  an  old  man ;  and  he  was 
remarkable  to  the  day  of  his  death  for  his  skill  in  work- 
ing in  brass  and  iron,  which  it  was  believed  he  had 
learned  during  his  seven  years'  apprenticeship  to  the 
giant  Mahon  MacMahon. 


A  LEGEND  OF  KNOCKMANY 

WILLIAM      CARLETON 

WHAT  Irish  man,  woman,  or  child  has  not  heard  of 
our  renowned  Hibernian  Hercules,  the  great  and  glori- 
ous Fin  M'Coul?  Not  one,  from  Cape  Clear  to  the 
Giant's  Causeway,  nor  from  that  back  again  to  Cape 


?86        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Clear.  And,  by-the-way,  speaking  of  the  Giant's  Cause- 
way brings  me  at  once  to  the  beginning  of  my  story. 
Well,  it  so  happened  that  Fin  and  his  gigantic  relatives 
were  all  working  at  the  Causeway,  in  order  to  make  a 
bridge,  or  what  was  still  better,  a  good  stout  pad-road, 
across  to  Scotland ;  when  Fin,  who  was  very  fond  of  his 
wife  Oonagh,  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  would  go 
home  and  see  how  the  poor  woman  got  on  in  his  absence. 
To  be  sure,  Fin  was  a  true  Irishman,  and  so  the  sorrow 
thing  in  life  brought  him  back,  only  to  see  that  she  was 
snug'  and  comfortable,  and,  above  all  things,  that  she 
got  her  rest  well  at  night;  for  he  knew  that  the  poor 
woman,  when  he  was  with  her,  used  to  be  subject  to 
nightly  qualms  and  configurations,  that  kept  him  very 
anxious,  decent  man,  striving  to  keep  her  up  to  the  good 
spirits  and  health  that  she  had  when  they  were  first  mar- 
ried. So,  accordingly,  he  pulled  up  a  fir  tree,  and,  after 
lopping  off  the  roots  and  branches,  made  a  walking-stick 
of  it,  and  set  out  on  his  way  to  Oonagh. 

Oonagh,  or  rather  Fin,  lived  at  this  time  on  the  very 
tip-top  of  Knockmany  Hill,  which  faces  a  cousin  of  its 
own  called  Cullamore,  that  rises  up,  half-hill,  half- 
mountain,  on  the  opposite  side — east-east  by  south,  as 
the  sailors  say,  when  they  wish  to  puzzle  a  landsman. 

Now,  the  truth  is,  for  it  must  come  out,  that  honest 
Fin's  affection  for  his  wife,  though  cordial  enough  in 
itself,  was  by  no  manner  of  means -the  real  cause  of  his 
journey  home.  There  was  at  that  time  another  giant, 
named  Cucullin — some  say  he  was  Irish,  and  some  say  he 
was  Scotch — but  whether  Scotch  or  Irish,  sorrow  doubt 
of  it,  but  he  was  a  targer.  No  other  giant  of  the  day 
could  stand  before  him ;  and  such  was  his  strength,  that, 
when  well  vexed,  he  could  give  a  stamp  that  shook  the 
country  about  him.  The  fame  and  name  of  him  went 
far  and  near;  and  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  man,  it  was 
said,  had  any  chance  with  him  in  a  fight.  Whether  the 
story  is  true  or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but  the  report  went 


IRISU  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       287 

that,  by  one  blow  of  his  fists  he  flattened  a  thunderbolt 
and  kept  it  in  his  pocket,  in  the  shape  of  a  pancake',  to 
show  to  all  his  enemies,  when  they  were  about  to  fight 
him.  Undoubtedly  he  had  given  every  giant  in  Ireland 
a  considerable  beating,  barring  Fin  M'Coul  himself ;  and 
he  swore,  by  the  solemn  contents  of  Moll  Kelly's 
Primer,  that  he  would  never  rest,  night  or  day,  winter 
or  summer,  till  he  would  serve  Fin  with  the  same  sauce, 
if  he  could  catch  him.  Fin,  however,  who  no  doubt 
was  the  cock  of  the  walk  on  his  own  dunghill,  had  a 
strong  disinclination  to  meet  a  giant  who  could  make 
a  young  earthquake,  or  flatten  a  thunderbolt  when  he  was 
angry ;  so  he  accordingly  kept  dodging  about  from  place 
to  place,  not  much  to  his  credit  as  a  Trojan,  to  be  sure, 
whenever  he  happened  to  get  the  hard  word  that 
Cucullin  was  on  the  scent  of  him.  This,  then,  was  the 
marrow  of  the  whole  movement,  although  he  put  it  on 
his  anxiety  to  see  Oonagh;  and  I  am  not  saying  but 
there  was  some  truth  in  that  too.  However,  the  short 
and  long,  of  it  was,  with  reverence  be  it  spoken,  that  he 
heard  Cucullin  was  coming  to  the  Causeway  to  have  a 
trial  of  strength  with  him ;  and  he  was  naturally  enough 
seized,  in  consequence,  with  a  very  warm  and  sudden 
fit  of  affection  for  his  wife,  poor  woman,  who  was  deli- 
cate in  her  health,  and  leading,  besides,  a  very  lonely, 
uncomfortable  life  of  it  (he  assured  them)  in  his  ab- 
sence. He  accordingly  pulled  up  the  fir-tree  as  I  said 
before  and  having  snedded  it  into  a  walking-stick,  set 
out  on  his  affectionate  travels  to  see  his  darling  Oonagh 
on  the  top  of  Knockmany,  by  the  way. 

In  truth,  to  state  the  suspicions  of  the  country  at  the 
time,  the  people  wondered  very  much  why  it  was  that 
Fin  selected  such  a  windy  spot  for  his  dwelling-house, 
and  they  even  went  so  far  as  to  tell  him  as  'much. 

"What  can  you  mane,  Mr.  M'Coul,"  said  they,  "by 
pitching  your  tent  upon  the  top  of  Knockmany,  where 
fou  never  are  without  a  breeze,  day  or  night,  winter  or 


288       *IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

summer,  and  where  you're  often  forced  to  take  your 
nightcap  *  without  either  going  to  bed  or  turning  up 
your  little  finger;  ay,  an'  where,  besides  this,  there's 
the  sorrow's  own  want  of  water  ?" 

"Why,"  said  Fin,  "ever  since  I  was  the  height  of  a 
round  tower,  I  was  known  to  be  fond  of  having  a  good 
prospect  of  my  own;  and  where  the  dickens,  neighbors, 
could  I  find  a  better  spot  for  a  good  prospect  than  the 
top  of  Knockmany?.  As  for  water  I  am  sinking  a 
pump,f  and,  plase  goodness,  as  soon  as  the  Causeway's 
made,  I  intend  to  finish  it." 

Now,  this  was  more  of  Pin's  philosophy;  for  the  real 
state  of  the  case  was,  that  he  pitched  upon  the  top  of 
Knockmany  in  order  that  he  might  be  able  to  see  Cu- 
cullin  coming  toward  the  house,  and,  of  course,  that  he 
himself  might  go  to  look  after  his  distant  transactions 
in  other  parts  of  the  country,  rather  than — but  no  mat- 
ter— we  do  not  wish  to  be  too  hard  on  Pin.  All  we 
have  to  say  is,  that  if  he  wanted  a  spot  from  which  to 
keep  a  sharp  look-out — and,  between  ourselves,  he  did 
want  it  grievously — barring  Slieve  Croob,  or  Slieve 
Donard,  or  its  own  cousin,  Cullamore,  he  could  not  find 
a  neater  or  more  convenient  situation  for  it  in  the 
sweet  and  sagacious  province  of  Ulster. 

"God  save  all  here!"  said  Fin,  good-humoredly,  on 
putting  his  honest  face  into  his  own  door. 

"Musha,  Fin,  avick,  an'  you're  welcome  home  to  your 
own  Oonagh,  you  darlin'  bully."  Here  followed  a  smack 
that  is  said  to  have  made  the  waters  of  the  lake  at 
the  bottom  of  the  hill  curl,  as  it  were,  with  kindness 
and  sympathy. 

"Faith,"   said    Fin,    "beautiful;    an'   how   are    yon, 


*  A  common  name  for  the  cloud  or  rack  that  hangs,  as  a 
forerunner  of  wet  weather,  about  the  peak  of  a  mountain. 

t  There  is  upon  the  top  of  this  hill  an  opening  that  bears 
a  very  strong  resemblance  to  the  crater  of  an  extinct  vol- 
cano. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       289 

Oonagh — and  how  did  you  sport  your  figure  during  my 
absence,  my  bilberry?" 

"Never  a  merrier — as  bouncing  a  grass  widow  as  ever 
there  was  in  sweet  'Tyrone  among  the  bushes/  " 

Fin  gave  a  short,  good-humored  cough,  and  laughed 
most  heartily,  to  show  her  how  much  he  was  delighted 
that  she  made  herself  happy  in  his  absence. 

"An*  what  brought  you  home  so  soon,  Fin?"  said 
she. 

"Why,  avourneen/'  said  Fin,  putting  in  his  answer  in 
the  proper  way,  "never  the  thing  but  the  purest  of  love 
and  affection  for  yourself.  Sure  you  know  that's  truth, 
anyhow,  Oonagh." 

Fin  spent  two  or  three  happy  days  with  Oonagh,  and 
felt  himself  very  comfortable,  considering  the  dread  he 
had  of  Cucullin.  This,  however,  grew  upon  him  so  much 
that  his  wife  could  not  but  perceive  something  lay  on  his 
mind  which  he  kept  altogether  to  himself.  Let  a  woman 
alone,  in  the  meantime,  for  ferreting  or  wheedling  a 
secret  out  of  her  good  man,  when  she  wishes.  Fin  was 
a  proof  of  this. 

"It's  this  Cucullin,"  said  he,  "that's  troubling  me. 
When  the  fellow  gets  angry,  and  begins  to  stamp,  hell 
shake  you  a  whole  townland;  and  it's  well  known  that 
he  can  stop  a  thunderbolt,  for  he  always  carries  one 
about  him  in  the  shape  of  a  pancake,  to  show  to  anyone 
that  might" misdoubt  it." 

As  he  spoke,  he  clapped  his  thumb  in  his  mouth, 
which  he  always  did  when  he  wanted  to  prophesy,  or  to 
know  anything  that  happened  in  his  absence;  and  the 
wife,  who  knew  what  he  did  it  for,  said,  very  sweetly : 

"Fin,  darling,  I  hope  you  don't  bite  your  thumb  at 
me,  dear?" 

"No,"  said  Fin;  "but  I  bite  my  thumb,  acushla," 
saii  he. 

"Yes,  jewel;  but  take  care  and  don't  draw  blood/' 
said  she.  "Ah,  Fin !  don't,  my  bully— don't." 


290        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"He's  coming/'  said  Fin;  "I  see  him  below  Dun- 
gannon." 

"Thank  goodness,  dear !  an'  who  is  it,  avick  ?  Glory 
be  to  God !"  . 

"That  baste,  Cucullin,"  replied  Fin;  "and  how  to 
manage  I  don't  know.  If  I  run  away,  I  am  disgraced ; 
and  I  know  that  sooner  or  later  I  must  meet  him,  for 
my  thumb  tells  me  so." 

"When  will  he  be  here?"  said  she. 

"To-morrow,  about  two  o'clock,"  replied  Fin,  with  a 
groan. 

"Well,  my  bully,  don't  be  cast  down,"  said  Oonagh; 
"depend  on  me,  and  maybe  I'll  bring  you  better  out  of 
this  scrape  than  ever  you  could  bring  yourself,  by  your 
rule  o'  thumb." 

This  quieted  Fin's  heart  very  much,  for  he  knew  that 
Oonagh  was  hand  and  glove  with  the  fairies;  and,  in- 
deed, to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  supposed  to  be  a  fairy 
herself.  If  she  was,  however,  she  must  have  been  a  kind- 
hearted  one,  for,  by  all  accounts,  she  never  did  anything 
but  good  in  the  neighborhood. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Oonagh  had  a  sister  named 
Granua,  living  opposite  them,  on  the  very  top  of  Culla- 
more,  which  I  have  mentioned  already,  and  this  Granua 
was  quite  as  powerful  as  herself.  The  beautiful  valley 
that  lies  between  them  is  not  more  than  about  three 
or  four  miles  broad,  so  that  of  a  summer's  evening,  Gra- 
nua and  Oonagh  were  able  to  hold  many  an  agreeable 
conversation  across  it,  from  the  one  hill-top  to  the  other. 
Upon  this  occasion  Oonagh  resolved  to  consult  her  sis- 
ter as  to  what  was  best  to  be  done  in  the  difficulty  that 
surrounded  them. 

"Granua,"  said  she,  "are  you  at  home  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  other;  "I'm  picking  bilberries  in  Al- 
thadhawan"  (Anglice,  the  Devil's  Glen). 

"Well,"  said  Oonagh,  "get  up  to  the  top  of  Cnlla- 
more,  look  about  you,  and  then  tell  us  what  you  see/' 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       291 

"Very  well,"  replied  Granua ;  after  a  few  minutes,  "I 
am  there  now." 

"What  do  you  see  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"Goodness  be  about  us!"  exclaimed  Granua,  "I  see 
the  biggest  giant  that  ever  was  known  coming  up  from 
Dungannon." 

"Ay,"  said  Oonagh,  "there's  our  difficulty.  That 
giant  is.  the  great  Cucullin;  and  he's  now  comin'  up 
to  leather  Fin.  What's  to  be  done  ?" 

"I'll  call  to  him,"  she  replied,  "to  come  up  to  Culla- 
more  and  refresh  himself,  and  maybe  that  will  give  you 
and  Fin  time  to  think  of  some  plan  to  get  yourselves 
out  of  the  scrape.  But,"  she  proceeded,  "I'm  short  of 
butter,  having  in  the  house  only  half-a-dozen  firkins, 
and  as  I'm  to  have  a  few  giants  and  giantesses  to  spend 
the  evenin'  with  me,  I'd  feel  thankful,  Oonagh,  if  you'd 
throw  me  up  fifteen  or  sixteen  tubs,  or  the  largest  mis- 
caun  you  have  got,  and  you'll  oblige  me  very  much. 

"I'll  do  that  with  a  heart  and  a-half,"  replied  Oonagh ; 
"and,  indeed,  Granua,  I  feel  myself  under  great  obliga- 
tions to  you  for  your  kindness  in  keeping  him  off  of  us 
till  we  see  what  can  be  done ;  for  what  would  become  of 
us  all  if  anything  happened  Fin,  poor  man?" 

She  accordingly  got  the  largest  miscaun  of  butter 
she  had — which  might  be  about  the  weight  of  a  couple 
a  dozen  mill-stones,  so  that  you  may  easily  judge  of 
its  size — and  calling  up  to  her  sister,  "Granua,"  said 
she,  "are  you  ready?  I'm  going  to  throw  you  up  a 
miscaun,  so  be  prepared  to  catch  it." 

"I  will,"  said  the  other ;  "a  good  throw  now,  and  take 
care  it  does  not  fall  short." 

Oonagh  threw  it;  but,  in  consequence  of  her  anxiety 
about  Fin  and  Cucullin,  she  forgot  to  say  the  charm 
that  was  to  send  it  up,  so  that,  instead  of  reaching  Cul- 
lamore,  as  she  expected,  it  fell  about  half-way  between 
the  two  hills,  at  the  edge  of  the  Broad  Bog  near  Augher. 

"My  curse  upon  you!"  she  exclaimed;  "you've  dis- 


292        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALKS 

graced  me.  I  now  change  you  into  a  gray  stone.  Lie 
there  as  a  testimony  of  what  has  happened;  and  may 
evil  betide  the  first  living  man  that  will  ever  attempt 
to  remove  or  injure  you!" 

And,  sure  enough,  there  it  lies  to  this  day,  with  the 
mark  of  the  four  fingers  and  thumb  imprinted  in  it, 
exactly  as  it  came  out  of  her  hand. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Granua,  "I  must  only  do. the  best 
I  can  with  Cucullin.  If  all  fail,  I'll  give  him  a  cast  of 
heather  broth  to  keep  the  wind  out  of  his  stomach,  or 
a  panada  of  oak-bark  to  draw  it  in  a  bit;  but,  above 
all  things,  think  of  some  plan  to  get  Fin  out  of  the 
scrape  he's  in,  otherwise  he's  a  lost  man.  You  know 
you  used  to  be  sharp  and  ready-witted;  and  my  own 
opinion,  Oonagh,  is,  that  it  will  go  hard  with  you,  or 
you'll  outdo  Cucullin  yet." 

She  then  made  a  high  smoke  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
after  which  she  put  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  and  gave 
three  whistles,  and  by  that  Cucullin  knew  he  was  in- 
vited to  Cullamore — for  this  was  the  way  that  the  Irish 
long  ago  gave  a  sign  to  all  strangers  and  travellers,  to 
let  them  know  they  were  welcome  to  come  and  take  share 
of  whatever  was  going. 

In  the  meantime,  Fin  was  very  melancholy,  and  did 
not  know  what  to  do,  or  how  to  act  at  all.  Cucullin 
was  an  ugly  customer,  no  doubt,  to  meet  with;  and, 
moreover,  the 'idea  of  the  confounded  "cake"  aforesaid 
flattened  the  very  heart  within  him.  What  chance  could 
he  have,  strong  and  brave  though  he  was,  with  a  man 
who  could,  when  put  in  a  passion,  walk  the  country 
into  earthquakes  and  knock  thunderbolts  into  pancakes  ? 
The  thing  was  impossible;  and  Fin  knew  not  on  what 
hand  to  turn  him.  Eight  or  left — backward  or  for- 
ward— where  to  go  he  could  form  no  guess  whatsoever. 

"Oonagh,"  said  he,  "can  you  do  nothing  for  me? 
Where's  all  your  invention?  Am  I  to  be  skivered  like 
a  rabbit  before  your  eyes,  and  to  have  my  ii?me  dis- 


I 

>:RISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES     293 

gra<  ed  forever  in  the  sight  of  all  my  tribe,  and  me  the 
best  man  among  them?  How  am  I  to  fight  this  man- 
mountain— this  huge  cross  between  an  earthquake  and 
a  thunderbolt? — with  a  pancake  in  his  pocket  that  was 
once " 

"Be  easy,  Fin/'  replied  Oonagh ;  "troth,  I'm  ashamed 
of  you.  Keep  your  toe  in  your  pump,  will  you  ?  Talk- 
ing of  pancakes  maybe  we'll  give  him  as  good  as  any  he 
brings  with  him — thunderbolt  or  otherwise.  If  I  don't 
treat  him  to  as  smart  feeding  as  he's  got  this  many  a 
day,  ne^er  trust  Oonagh  again.  Leave  him  to  me,  and 
do  just  as  I  bid  you." 

This  relieved  Fin  very  much;  for,  after  all,  he  had 
great  confidence  in  his  wife,  knowing,  as  he  did,  that 
she  had  got  him  out  of  many  a  quandary  before.  The 
present, ' however,  was  the  greatest  of  all;  but  still  he 
began  to  get  courage,  and  was  able  to  eat  his  victuals 
as  usual.  Oonagh  then  drew  the  nine  woollen  threads 
of  different  colors,  which  she  always  did  to  find  out 
the  best  way  of  succeeding  in  anything  of  importance 
she  went  about.  She  then  platted  them  into  three  plats 
with  three  colors  in  each,  putting  one  on  her  right  arm, 
one  round  her  heart,  and  the  third  round  her  right 
ankle,  for  then  she  knew  that  nothing  could  fail  with 
her  that  she  undertook. 

Having  everything  now  prepared,  she  sent  round  to 
the  neighbors  and  borrowed  one-and-twenty  iron  griddles, 
which  she  took  and  kneaded  into  the  hearts  of  one-and- 
twenty  cakes  of  bread,  and  these  she  baked  on  the  fire 
in  the  usual  way,  setting  them  aside  in  the  cupboard 
according  as  they  were  done.  She  then  put  down  a 
large  pot  of  new  milk,  which  she  made  into  curds  and 
whey,  and  gave  Fin  due  instructions  how  to  use  the 
curds  when  Cucullin  should  dome.  Having  done  alJ 
this,  she  sat  down  quite  contented,  waiting  for  his  ar- 
rival on  the  next  day  about  two  o'clock,  that  being 
the  hour  at  which  he  was  expected — for  Fin.  knew  as 


294       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

much  by  the  sucking  of  his  thumb.  Now,  this  was  a 
curious  property  that  Fin's  thumb  had;  but,  notwith- 
standing all  the  wisdom  and  logic  he  used  to  suck  out 
of  it,  it  could  never  have  stood  to  him  here  were  it  not 
for  the  wit  of  his  wife.  In  this  very  thing,  moreover, 
he  was  very  much  resembled  by  his  great  foe,  Cucullin ; 
for  it  was  well  known  that  the  huge  strength  he  pos- 
sessed all  lay  in  the  middle  finger  of  his  right  hand, 
and  that,  if  he  happened  by  any  mischance  to  lose  it,  he 
was  no  more,  notwithstanding  his  bulk,  than  a  com- 
mon man. 

At  length,  the  next  day,  he  was  seen  coming  across 
the  valley,  and  Oonagh  knew  that  it  was  time  to  com- 
mence operations.  She  immediately  made  the  cradle, 
and  desired  Fin  to  lie  down  in  it,  and  cover  himself,  up 
with  the  clothes. 

"You  must  pass  for  your  own  child,"  said  she;  "so 
just  lie  there  snug,  and  say  nothing,  but  be  guided  by 
me."  This,  to  be  sure,  was  wormwood  to  Fin — I  mean 
going  into  the  cradle  in  such  a  cowardly  manner — but 
he  knew  Oonagh  well;  and  finding  that  he  had  nothing 
else  for  it,  with  a  very  rueful  face  he  gathered  himself 
into  it,  and  lay  snug,  as  she  had  desired  him. 

About  two  o'clock,  as  he  had  been  expected,  Cucul- 
lin came  in.  "God  save  all  here!"  said  he;  "is  this 
where  the  great  Fin  M'Coul  lives?" 

"Indeed  it  is,  honest  man,"  replied  Oonagh;  "God 
save  you  kindly — won't  you  be  sitting  ?" 

"Thank  j'ou,  ma'am,"  says  he,  sitting  down;  "you're 
Mrs.  M'Coul,  I  suppose?" 

"I  am,"  said  she;  "and  I  have  no  reason,  I  hope,  to 
be  ashamed  of  my  husband." 

"No,"-  said  the  other,  "he  has  the  name  of  being 
the  strongest  and  bravest  man  in  Ireland;  but  for  all 
that,  there's  a  man  not  far  from  you  that's  very  desir- 
ous of  taking  a  shake  with  him.  Is  he  at  home?" 

<fWhy,  then,  no,"  she  replied ;  "and  if  ever  a  man  left 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES      295 

kis  house  in  a  fury,  he  did.  It  appears  that  some  one 
told  him  of  a  big  basthoon  of  a  giant  palled  Cucullin 
being  down  at  the  Causeway  to  look  for  him,  and  so  he 
set  out  there  to  try  if  he  could  catch  him.  Troth,  I 
hope,  for  the  poor  giant's  sake,  he  won't  meet  with  him,, 
for  if  he  does,  Fin  will  make  paste  of  him  at  once." 

"Well/'  said  the  other,  "I  am  Cucullin,  and  I  have 
been  seeking  him  these  twelve  months,  but  he  always 
kept  clear  of  me ;  and  I  will  never  rest  night  or  day  till 
I  lay  my  hands  on  him." 

At  this  Oonagh  set  up  a  loud  laugh,  of  great  con- 
tempt, by  the  way,  and  looked  at  him  as  if  he  waa 
only  a  mere  handful  of  a  man. 

"Did  you  ever  see  Fin  ?"  said  she,  changing  her  man- 
ner all  at  once. 

"How  could  I?"  said  he;  "he  always  took  care  to 
keep  his  distance." 

"I  thought  so,"  she  replied ;  "I  judged  as  much ;  and 
if  you  take  my  advice,  you  poor-looking  creature,  yonll 
pray  night  and  day  that  you  may  never  see  him,  for  I 
tell  you  it  will  be  a  black  day  for  you  when  you  do. 
But,  in  the  meantime,  you  perceive  that,  the  wind's  on 
the  door,  and  as  Fin  himself  is  from  home,  maybe  you'd 
be  civil  enough  to  turn  the  house,  for  it's  always  what 
Fin  does  when  he's  here." 

This  was  a  startler  even  to  Cucullin;  but  he  got  up, 
however,  and  after  pulling  the  middle  finger  of  his  right 
hand  until  it  cracked  three  times,  he  went  outside,  and 
getting  his  arms  about  the  house,  completely  turned 
it  as  she  had  wished.  When  Fin  saw  this,  he  felt  a 
certain  description  of  moisture,  which  shall  be  name- 
less, oozing  out  through  every  pore  of  his  skin;  but 
Oonagh,  depending  upon  her  woman's  wit,  felt  not  a 
whit  daunted. 

"Arrah,  then,"  said  she,  "as  you  are  so  civil,  maybe 
you'd  do  another  obliging  turn  for  UP,  as  Fin's  not  here 
to  do  it  himself.  You  see  after  this  lonqf  stretch  of  dr.v 


weather  we've  had,  we  feel  very  badly  off  for  want  of 
water.  Now,  Fin  says  there's  a  fine  spring-well  some- 
where under  the  rocks  behind  the  hill  here  below,  and  it 
was  his  intention  to  pull  them  asunder;  but  having 
heard  of  you,  he  left  the  place  in  such  a  fury,  that  he 
never  thought  of  it.  Now,  if  you  try  to  find  it,  troth 
I'd  feel  it  a  kindness." 

She  then  brought  Cucullin  down  to  see  the  place, 
which  was  then  all  one  solid  rock;  and,  after  looking 
at  it  for  some  time,  he  cracked  his  right  middle  finger 
nine  times,  and,  stooping  down,  tore  a  cleft  about  four 
hundred  feet  deep,  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length, 
which  has  since  been  christened  by  the  name  of  Lum- 
ford's  Glen.  This  feat  nearly  threw  Oonagh  herself  off 
her  guard;  but  what  won't  a  woman's  sagacity  and 
presence  of  mind  accomplish  ? 

"You'll  now  come  in,"  said  she,  "and  eat  a  bit .  of 
such  humble  fare  as  we  can  give  you.  Fin,  even  al- 
though he  and  you  are  enemies,  would  scorn  not  to  treat 
you  kindly  in  his  own  house;  and,  indeed,  if  I  didn't 
do  it  even  in  his  absence,  he  would  not  be  pleased 
with  me." 

She  accordingly  brought  him  in,  and  placing  half-a- 
dozen  of  the  cakes  we  spoke  of  before  him,  together  with 
a  can  or  two  of  butter,  a  side  of  boiled  bacon,  and  a 
stack  of  cabbage,  she  desired  him  to  help  himself — for 
this,  be  it  known,  was  long  before  the  invention  of  po- 
tatoes. Cucullin,  who,  by  the  way,  was  a  glutton  as 
well  as  a  hero,  put  one  of  the  cakes  in  his  mouth  to 
take  a  huge  whack  out  of  it,  when  both  Fin  and  Oonagh 
were  stunned  with  a  noise  that  resembled  something 
between  a  growl  and  a  yell.  "Blood  and  fury!"  he 
shouted;  "how  is  this?  Here  are  two  of  my  teeth 
out !  What  kind  of  bread  is  this  you  gave  me  ?" 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  said  Oonagh  coolly. 

"Matter !"  shouted  the  other  again ;  "why,  here  are  the 
two  best  teeth  in  my  head  gone." 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       297 

"Why,"  said  she,  "that's  Fin's  bread — the  only  bread 
he  ever  eats  when  at  home ;  but,  indeed,  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  that  nobody  can  eat  it  but  himself,  and  that  child 
in  the  cradle  there.  I  thought,  however,  that,  as  you 
were  reported  to  be  rather  a  stout  little  fellow  of  your 
size,  you  might  be  able  to  manage  it,  and  I  did  not  wish 
to  affront  a  man  that  thinks  himself  able  to  fight 
Fin.  Here's  another  cake — maybe  it's  not  so  hard  as 
that." 

Cucullin  at  the  moment  was  not  only  hungry,  but 
ravenous,  so  he  accordingly  made  a  fresh  set  at  the  sec- 
ond cake,  and  immediately  another  yell  was  heard  twice 
as  loud  as  the  first.  "Thunder  and  giblets !"  he  roared, 
"take  your  bread  out  of  this,  or  I  will  not  have  a  tooth 
in  my  head ;  there's  another  pair  of  them  gone !" 

"Well,  honest  man,"  replied  Oonagh,  "if  you're  not 
able  to  eat  the  bread,  say  so  quietly,  and  don't  be  wak- 
ening the  child  in  the  cradle  there.  There,  now,  he's 
awake  upon  me." 

Fin  now  gave  a  skirl  that  startled  the  giant,  as  com. 
ing  from  such  a  youngster  as  he  was  represented  to  be. 
"Mother/'  said  he,  "I'm  hungry — get  me  something  to 
eat."  Oonagh  went  over,  and  putting  into  his  hand  a 
cake  that  had  no  griddle  in  it',  Fin,  whose  appetite  in 
the  meantime  was  sharpened  by 'what  he  saw  going  for- 
ward, soon  made  it  disappear.  Cucullin  was  thunder- 
struck, and  secretly  thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  miss  meeting  Fin,  for,  as  he  said  to 
himself,  I'd  have  no  chance  with  a  man  who  could  eat 
such  bread  as  that,  which  even  his  son  that's  but  in  his 
cradle  can  munch  before  my  eyes. 

"I'd  like  to  take  a  glimpse  at  the  lad  in  the  cradle," 
said  he  to  Oonagh;  "for  I  can  tell  you  that  the  infant 
who  can  manage  that  nutriment  is  no  jok_e  to  look  at, 
or  to  feed  of  a  scarce  summer." 

"With  all  the  veins  of  my  heart,"  replied  Oonagh; 
"fret  up,  acushla,  and  show  this  decent  little  man  aome» 


298        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

thing  that  won't  be  unworthy  of  your  father,  Fin 
M'Coul." 

Fin,  who  was  dressed  for  the  occasion  as  much  like 
e  boy  as  possible,  got  up,  and  bringing  Cucullin  out, 
"Are  you  strong  ?"  said  he. 

"Thunder  an'  oundsi"  exclaimed  the  other,  "what  a 
voice  in  so  small  a  chap!" 

"Are  you  strong?"  said  Fin  again;  "are  you  able  to 
squeeze  water  out  of  that  white  stone?"  he  asked,  put- 
ting one  into  Cucullin's  hand.  The  latter  squeezed  and 
squeezed  the  stone,  but  to  no  purpose;  he  might  pull 
the  rock  of  Lumford's  Glen  asunder,  and  flatten  a  thun- 
derbolt, but  to  squeeze  water  out  of  a  white  stone  was 
beyond  his  strength.  Fin  eyed  him  with  great  con- 
tempt, as  he  kept  straining  and  squeezing  and  squeezing 
and  straining,  till  he  got  black  in  the  face  with  the 
efforts. 

"Ah,  you're  a  poor  creature !"  said  Fin.  "You  a 
giant!  Give  me  the  stone  here,  and  when  I'll  show 
what  Fin's  little  son  can  do,  you'  may'  then  judge  of 
what  my  daddy  himself  is." 

Fin  then  took  the  stone,  and  slyly  exchanging  it  for 
the  curds,  he  squeezed  the  latter  until  the  whey,  as 
clear  as  water,  oozed  out  in  a  little  shower  from  his 
hand. 

"I'll  now  go  in,"  said  he,  "to  my  cradle ;  for  I  scorn 
to  lose  my  time  with  any  one  that's  not  able  to  eat  my 
daddy's  bread,  or  squeeze  water  out  of  a  stone.  Bedad, 
you  had  better  be  off  out  of  this  before  he  comes  back ; 
for  if  he  catches  you,  it's  in  flummery  he'd  have  you  in 
two  minutes." 

Cucullin,  seeing  what  he  had  seen,  was  of  the  same 
opinion  himself;  his  knees  knocked  together  with  the 
terror  of  Finfs  i-eturn,  and  he  accordingly  hastened  in 
to  bid  Oonagh  farewell,  and  to  assure  her,  that  from  that 
day  out,  he  never  wished  to  hear  of,  much  less  to  see, 
her  husband.  "I  admit  fairly  that  I'm  not  a  match  for. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       299 

him,"  said  he,  "strong  as  I  am;  tell  him  I  will  avoid 
him  as  I  would  the  plague,  and  that  I  will  make  myself 
scarce  in  this  part  of  the  country  while  I  live." 

Fin,  in  the  meantime,  had  gone  into  the  cradle,  where 
he  lay  very  quietly,  his  heart  at  his  mouth  with  delight 
that  Cucullin  was  about  to  take  his  departure,  without 
discovering  the  tricks  that  had  been  played  off  on  him. 

"It's  weU  for  you,"  said  Oonagh,  "that  he  doesn't  hap- 
pen to  be  here,  for  it's  nothing  but  hawk's  meat  he'd 
make  of  you." 

"I  know  that,"  says  Cucullin;  "divil  a  thing  else 
he'd  make  of  me;  but  before  I  go,  will  you  let  me  feel 
what  kind  of  teeth  they  are  that  can  eat  griddle-bread 
like  that?" — and  he  pointed  to  it  as  he  spoke. 

"With  all  pleasure  in  life,"  said  she ;  "only,  as  they're 
far  back  in  his  head,  you  must  put  your  finger  a  good 
way  in." 

Cucullin  was  surprised  to  find  such  a  powerful  set 
of  grinders  in  one  so  young;  but  he  was  still  much 
more  so  on  finding,  when  he  took  his  hand  from  Fin's 
mouth,  that  he  had  left  the  very  finger  upon  which  his 
whole  strength  depended,  behind  him.  He  gave  one  loud 
groan,  and  fell  down  at  once  with  terror  and  weakness. 
This  was  all  Fin  wanted,  who  now  knew  that  his  most 
powerful  and  bitterest  enemy  was  completely  at  his 
mercy.  He  instantly  started  out  of  the  cradle,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  great  Cucullin,  that  was  for  such  a 
length  of  time  the  terror  of  him  and  all  his  followers, 
lay  a  corpse  before  him.  Thus  did  Fin,  through  the 
wit  and  invention  of  Oonagh,  his  wife,  succeed  in  over- 
coming his  enemy  by  stratagem,  which  he  never  could 
have  done  by  force :  and  thus  also  is  it  proved  that  the 
women,,  if  they  bring  us  into  many  an  unpleasant  scrape, 
can  sometimes  succeed  in  getting  us  out  of  others  that 
are  as  bad. 


THE  TWELVE  WILD  GEESE  *    - 

PATRICK  KENNEDY 

THEBE  was  once  a.  King  and  Queen  that  lived  very 
happily  together,  and  they  had  twelve  sons  and  not  a 
single  daughter.  We  are  always  wishing  for  what  we 
haven't,  and  don't  care  for  what  we  have,  and  so  it  was 
with  the  Queen.  One  day  in  winter,  when  the  bawn 
was  covered  with  snow,  she  was  looking  out  of  the  parlor 
window,  and  saw  there  a  calf  that  was  just  killed  by  the 
butcher,  and  a  raven  standing  near  it.  <'0h,"  says  she, 
"if  I  had  only  a  daughter  with  her  skin  as  white  as  that 
snow,  her  cheeks  as  red  as  that  blood,  and  her  hair  as 
black  as  that  raven,  I'd  give  away  every  one  of  my 
twelve  sons  for  her."  The  moment  she  said  the  word, 
she  got  a  great  fright,  and  a  shiver  went  through  her, 
and  in  an  instant  after,  a  severe-looking  old  woman 
stood  before  her.  "That  was  a  wicked  wish  you  made," 
said  she,  "and  to  punish  you  it  will  be  granted.  You 
will  have  such  a  daughter  as  you  desire,  but  the  very 
day  of  her  birth  you  will  lose  your  other  children."  She 
vanished  the  moment  she  said  the  words. 

And  that  very  way  it  turned  out.  When  she  ex- 
pected her  delivery,  she  had  her  children  all  in  a  large 
room  of  the  palace,  with  guards  all  round  it,  but  the 
very  hour  her  daughter  came  into  the  world,  the  guards 


*  The  Fireside  Stories  of  Ireland  (Gill  &  Son,  Dublin). 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       301 

inside  and  outside  heard  a  great  whirling  and  whistling, 
and  the  twelve  princes  were  seen  flying  one  after  an- 
other out  through  the  open  window,  and  away  like  so 
many  arrows  over  the  woods.  Well,  the  king  was  in 
great  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  sons,  and  he  would  be 
very  enraged  with  his  wife  if  he  only  knew  that  she  was 
so  much  to  blame  for  it. 

Everyone  called  the  little  princess  Sriow-white-and- 
Rose-red  on  account  of  her  beautiful  complexion.  She 
was  the  most  loving  and  lovable  child  that  could  be 
seen  anywhere.  When  she  was  twelve  years  old  she 
began  to  be  very  sad  and  lonely,  and  to  torment  her 
mother,  asking  her  about  her  brothers  that  she  thought 
were  dead,  for  none  up  to  that  time  ever  told  her  the 
exact  thing  that  happened  them.  The  secret  was  weigh- 
ing very  heavy  on  the  Queen's  conscience,  and  as  the 
little  girl  persevered  in  her  questions,  at  last  she  told 
her.  "Well,  mother,"  said  she,  "it  was  on  my  account 
my  poor  brothers  were  changed  into  wild  geese,  and  are 
now  suffering  all  sorts  of  hardship;  before  the  world  is 
a  day  older,  I'll  be  off  to  seek  them,  and  try  to  restore 
them  to  their  own  shapes." 

The  King  and  Queen  had  her  well  watched,  but  all 
was  no  use.  Next  night  she  was  getting  through  the 
woods  that  surrounded  the  palace,  and  she  went  on  and 
on  that  night,  and  till  the  evening  of  next  day.  She  had 
a  few  cakes  with  her,  and  she  got  nuts,  and  mugoreens 
(fruit  of  the  sweet  briar),  and  some  sweet  crabs,  as  she 
went  along.  At  last  she  came  to  a  nice  wooden  house 
just  at  sunset.  There  was  a  fine  garden  round  it,  full 
of  the  handsomest  flowers,  and  a  gate  in  the  hedge.  She 
went  in,  and  saw  a  table  laid  out  with  twelve  plates, 
and  twelve  knives  and  forks,  and  twelve  spoons,  and 
there  were  cakes,  and  cold  wild  fowl,  and  fruit  along 
with  the  plates,  and  there  was  a  good  fire,  and  in  an- 
other long  room  there  were  twelve  beds.  Well,  while 
she  was  looking  about  her  she  heard  the  gate  opening, 


IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

and  footsteps  along  the  walk,  and  in  came  twelve  young 
men,  and  there  was  great  grief  and  surprise  on  all 
their  faces  when  they  laid  eyes  on  her.  "Oh,  what  mis- 
fortune sent  you  here?"  said  the  eldest.  "For  the  sake 
of  a  girl  we  were  obliged  to  leave  our  father's  court,  and 
be  in  the  shape  of  wild  geese  all  day.  That's  twelve 
years  ago,  and  we  took  a  solemn  oath  that  we  would  kill 
the  first  young  girl  that  came  into  our  hands.  It's  a 
pity  to  put  such  an  innocent  and  handsome  girl  as  you 
are  out  of  the  world,  but  we  must  keep  our  oath." 
"But,"  said  she,  "I'm  your  only  sister,  that  never  knew 
anything  about  this  till  yesterday ;  and  I  stole  away  from 
our  father's  and  mother's  palace  last  night  to  find  you 
out  and  relieve  you  if  I  can."  Every  one  of  them 
clasped  his  hands,  and.  looked  down  on  the  floor,  and 
you  could  hear  a  pin  fall  till  the  eldest  cried  out,  "A 
curse  light  on  our  oath!  What  shall  we  do?"  "I'll  tell 
you  that,"  said  an  old  woman  that  appeared  at  the  in- 
stant among  them.  "Break  your  wicked  oath,  which  no 
one  should  keep.  If  you  attempted  to  lay  an  uncivil 
finger  on  her  I'd  change  you  into  twelve  booliaun  buis 
(stalks  of  ragweed),  but  I  wish  well  to  you  as  well  as 
to  her.  She  is  appointed  to  be  your  deliverer  in  this 
way.  She  must  spin  and  knit  twelve  shirts  for-  you  out 
of  bog-down,  to  be  gathered  by  her  own  hands  on  the 
moor  just  outside  of  the  wood.  It  will  take  her  five 
years  to  do  it,  and  if  she  once  speaks,  or  laughs,  or 
cries  the  whole  time,  you  will  have  to  remain  wild  geese 
by  day  till  you're  called  out  of  the  world.  So  take  care 
of  your  sister;  it  is  worth  your  while."  The  fairy  then 
vanished,  and  it  was  only  a  strife  with  the  brothers  to 
see  who  would  be  first  to  kiss  and  hug  their  sister. 

So  for  three  long  years  the  poor  young  princess  was 
occupied  pulling  bog-down,  spinning  it,  and  .knitting  it 
into  shirts,  and  at  the  end  of  the  three  years  she  had 
eight  made.  During  all  that  time,  she  never  spoke  a 
word,  nor  laughed,  nor  cried:  the  last  was  the  hardest 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       303 

to  refrain  from.  One  fine  day  she  was  sitting  in  the 
garden  spinning,  when  in  sprung  a  fine  grayhound  and 
bounded  up  to  her,  and  laid  his  paws  on  her  shoulder, 
and  licked  her  forehead  and  her  hair.  The  next  minute 
a  beautiful  young  prince  rode  up  to  the  little  garden 
gate,  took  off  his  hat,  and  asked  for  leave  to  come  in. 
She  gave  him  a  little  nod,  and  in  he  walked.  He  made 
ever  so  many  apologies  for  intruding,  and  asked  her 
ever  so  many  questions,  but  not  a  word  could  he  get  out 
of  her.  He  loved  her  so  much  from  the  first  moment, 
that  he  could  not  leave  her  till  he  told  her  he  was 
king  of  a  country  just  bordering  on  the  forest,  and  he 
begged  her  to  come  home  with  him,  and  be  his  wife. 
She  couldn't  help  loving  him  as  much  as  he  did  her, 
and  though  she  shook  her  head  very  often,  and  was 
very  sorry  to  leave  her  brothers,  at  last  she  nodded 
her  head,  and  put  her  hand  in  his.  She  knew  well 
enough  that  the  good  fairy  and  her  brothers  would  be 
able  to  find  her  out.  Before  she  went  she  brought  out 
a  basket  holding  all  her  bog-down,  and  another  holding 
the  eight  shirts.  The  attendants  took  charge  of  these, 
and  the  prince  placed  her  before  him  on  his  horse.  The 
only  thing  that  disturbed  him  while  riding  along  was 
the  displeasure  his  stepmother  would  feel  at  what  he 
had  done.  However,  he  was  full  master  at  home,  and 
as  soon  as  he  arrived  he  sent  for  the  bishop,  got  his  bride 
nicely  dressed,  and  the  marriage  was  celebrated,  the 
bride  answering  by  signs.  He  knew  by  her  manners 
she  was  of  high  birth,  and  no  two  could  be  fonder  of 
each  other. 

The  wicked  stepmother  did  all  she  could  to  make 
mischief,  saying  she  was  sure  she  was  only  a  woodman's 
daughter;  but  nothing  could  disturb  the  young  king's 
opinion  of  his  wife.  In  good  time  the  young  queen 
was  delivered  of  a  beautiful  boy,  and  the  king  was  so 
glad  he  hardly  knew  what  to  do  for  joy.  All  the  gran- 
deur-of  the  christening  and  the  happiness  of  the  parents 


30-1       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

tormented  the  bad  woman  more  than  I  can  tell  you, 
and  she  determined  to  put  a  stop  to  all  their  comfort. 
She  got  a  sleeping  posset  given  to  the  young  mother, 
and  while  she  was  thinking  and  thinking  how  she  could 
best  make  away  with  the  child,  she  saw  a  wicked-looking 
wolf  in  the  garden,  looking  up  at  her,  and  licking  his 
chops.  She  lost  no  time,  but  snatched  the  child  from 
the  arms  of  the  sleeping  woman,  and  pitched  it  out. 
The  beast  caught  it  in  his  mouth,  and  was  over  the 
garden  fence  in  a  minute.  The  wicked  woman  then 
pricked  her  own  fingers,  and  dabbed  the  blood  round 
the  mouth  of  the  sleeping  mother. 

Well,  the  young  king  was  just  then  coming  into  the 
big  bawn  from  hunting,  and  as  soon  as  he  entered  the 
house,  she  beckoned  to  him,  shed  a  few  crocodile  tears, 
began  to  cry  and  wring  her  hands  and  hurried  him 
along  the  passage  to  the  bedchamber. 

Oh,  wasn't  the  poor  king  frightened  when  he  saw 
the  queen's  mouth  bloody,  and  missed  Jiis  child?  It 
would  take  two  hours  to  tell  you  the  devilment  of  the 
old  queen,  the  confusion  and  fright,  and  grief  of  the 
young  king  and  queen,  the  bad  opinion  he  began  to  feel 
of  his  wife,  and  the  struggle  she  had  to  keep  down 
her  bitter  sorrow,  and  not  give  way  to  it  by  speaking 
or  lamenting.  The  young  king  would  not  allow  any 
one  to  be  called,  and  ordered  his  stepmother  to  give 
out  that  the  child  fell  from  the  mother's  arms  at  the 
window,  and  that  a  wild  beast  ran  off  with  it.  The 
wicked  woman  pretended  to  do  so,  but  she  told  under- 
hand to  everybody  she  spoke  to  what  the  king  and  her- 
self saw  in  the  bed-chamber. 

The  young  queen  was  the  most  unhappy  woman  in 
the  three  kingdoms  for  a  long  time,  between  sorrow 
for  her  child,  and  her  husband's  bad  opinion;  still  she 
neither  spoke  nor  cried,  and  she  gathered  bog-down 
and  went  on  with  the  shirts.  Often  the  twelve  wild 
geese  would  be  seen  lighting  on  the  trees  in  the  park 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       303 

or  on  the  smooth  sod,  and  looking  in  at  her  windows. 
So  she  worked  on  to  get  the  shirts  finished,  but  an- 
other year  was  at  an  end,  and  she  had  the  twelfth  shirt 
finished  except  one  arm,  when  she  was  obliged  to  take 
to  her  bed,  and  a  beautiful  girl  was  born. 

Now  the  king  was  on  his  guard,  and  he  would  not 
let  the  mother  and  child  be  left  alone  for  a  minute; 
but  the  wicked  woman  bribed  some  of  the  attendants, 
set  others  asleep,  gave  the  sleepy  posset  to  the  queen, 
and  had  a  person  watching  to  snatch  the  child  away, 
and  kill  it.  But  what  should  she  see  but  the  same 
wolf  in  the  garden  looking  up,  and  licking  his  chops 
again  ?  Out  went  the  child,  and  away  with  it  flew  the 
wolf,  and  she  smeared  the  sleeping  mother's  mouth  and 
face  with  blood,  and  then  roared,  and  bawled,  and  cried 
out  to  the  king  and  to  everybody  she  met,  and  the 
room  was  filled,  and  everyone  was  sure  the  young  queen 
had  just  devoured  her  own  babe. 

The  poor  mother  thought  now  her  life  would  leave 
her.  She  was  in  such  a  state  she  could  neither  think 
nor  pray,  but  she  sat  like  a  stone,  and  worked  away 
at  the  arm  of  the  twelfth  shirt. 

The  king  was  for  taking  her  to  the  house  in  the  wood 
where  he  found  her,  but  the  stepmother,  and  the  lords 
of  the  court,  and  the  judges  would  not  hear  of  it,  and 
she  was  condemned  to  be  burned  in  the  big  bawn  at 
three  o'clock  the  same  day.  When  the  hour  drew  near, 
the  king  went  to  the  farthest  part  of  his  palace,  and 
there  was  no  more  unhappy  man  in  his  kingdom  at  that 
hour. 

When  the  executioners  came  and  led  her  off,  she  tqok 
the  pile  of  shirts  in  her  arms.  There  was  still  a  few 
stitches  wanted,  and  while  they  were  tying  her  to  the 
stake  she  still  worked  on.  At  the  last  stitch  she  seemed 
overcome  and  dropped  a  tear  on  her  work,  but  the  mo- 
ment after  she  sprang  up,  and  shouted  out,  "I  am  inno- 
cent ;  call  my  husband  !"  The  executioners  stayed  their 


hands,  except  one  wicked-disposed  creature,  who  set  fire 
to  the  faggot  next  him,  and  while  all  were  struck  in 
amaze,  there  was  a  rushing  of  wings,  and  in  a  moment 
the  twelve  wild  geese  were  standing  around  the  pile. 
Before  you  could  count  twelve,  she  flung  a  shirt  over 
each  bird,  and  there  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  were 
twelve  of  the  finest  young  men  that  could  be  collected 
out  of  a  thousand.  While  some  were  untying  their  sis- 
ter, the  eldest,  taking  a  strong  stake  in  his  hand,  struck 
the  busy  executioner  such  a  blow  that  he  never  needed 
another. 

While  they  were  comforting  the  young  queen,  and  the 
king  was  hurrying  to  the  spot,  a  fine-looking  woman  ap- 
peared among  them  holding  the  babe  on  one  arm  and 
the  little  prince  by  the  hand.  There  was  nothing  but 
crying  for  joy,  and  laughing  for  joy,  and  hugging  and 
kissing,  and  when  any  one  had  time  to  thank  the  good 
fairy,  who  in  the  shape  of  a  wolf,  carried  the  child  away, 
she  was  not  to  be  found.  Never  was  such  happiness 
enjoyed  in  any  palace  that  ever  was  built,  and  if  the 
wicked  queen  and  her  helpers  were  not  torn  by  wild 
horses,  they  richly  deserved  it. 


THE  LAZY  BEAUTY  AND  HER  AUNTS 
KENNEDY'S  "FIRESIDE  STORIES  OF  IRELAND* 


THERE  was  once  a  poor  widow  wtnnan,  who  had  a 
daughter  that  was  as  handsome  as  the  day,  and  as  lazy 
as  a  pig,  saving  your  presence.  The  poor  mother  was 
the  most  industrious  person  in  the  townland,  and  was 
a  particularly  good  hand  at  the  spinning-wheel.  It  was 
the  wish  of  her  heart  that  her  daughter  should  be  as 
handy  as  herself;  but  she'd  get  up  late,  eat  her  break- 
fast before  she'd  finish  her  prayers,  and  then  go  about 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       307 

dawdling,  and  anything  she  handled  seemed  to  be  burn- 
ing her  fingers.  She  drawled  her  words  as  if  it  was 
a  great  trouble  to  her  to  speak,  or  as  if  her  tongue 
was  as  lazy  as  her  body.  Many  a  heart-scald  her  poor 
mother  got  with  her,  and  still  she  was  only  improving 
like  dead  fowl  in  August. 

Well,  one  morning  that  things  were  as  bad  as  they 
could  be,  and  the  poor  woman  was  giving  tongue  at 
the  rate  of  a  mill-clapper,  who  should  be  riding  by  but 
the  king's  son.  "Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  good  woman !" 
said  he,  "you  must  have  a  very  bad  child  to  make  you 
scold  so  terribly.  Sure  it  can't  be  this  handsome  girl 
that  vexed  you !"  "Oh,  please  your  Majesty,  not  at 
all,"  says  the  old  dissembler.  "I  was  only  checking  her 
for  working  herself  too  much.  Would  your  majesty  be- 
lieve it  ?  She  spins  three  pounds  of  flax  in  a  day,  weaves 
it  into  linen  the  next,  and  makes  it  all  into  shirts  the 
day  after."  "My  gracious,"  says  the  prince,  "she's  the 
very  lady  that  will  just  fill  my  mother's  eye,  and  her- 
self's  the  greatest  spinner  in  the  kingdom.  Will  you  put 
on  your  daughter's  bonnet  and  cloak,  if  you  please, 
ma'am,  and  set  her  behind  me?  Why,  my  mother  will 
be  so  delighted  with  her,  that  perhaps  she'll  make  her 
her  daughter-in-law  in  a  week,  that  is,  if  the  young 
woman  herself  is  agreeable." 

Well,  between  the  confusion,  and  the  joy,  and  the  fear 
of  being  found  out,  the  women  didn't  know  what  to 
do;  and  before  they  could  make  tip  their  minds,  young 
Anty  (Anastasia)  was  set  behind  the  prince,  and  away 
he  and  his  attendants  went,  and  a  good  heavy  purse 
was  left  behind  with  the  mother.  She  pullillued  a  long 
time  after  all  was  gone,  in  dread  of  something  bad  hap- 
pening to  the  poor  girl. 

The  prince  couldn't  judge  of  the  girl's  breeding  or 
wit  from  the  few  answers  he  pulled  out  of  her.  The 
queen  was  struck  in  a  heap  when  she  saw  a  youiig  coun- 
try girl  sitting  behind  her  son,  but  when  she  saw  her 


308        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

handsome  face,  and  heard  all  she  could  do,  she  didn't 
think  she  could  make  too  much  of  her.  The  prince 
took  an  opportunity  of  whispering  her  that  if  she  didn't 
object  to  be  his  wife  she  must  strive  to  please  his  mother. 
Well,  the  evening  went  by,  and  the  prince  and  Anty 
were  getting  fonder  and  fonder  of  one  another,  but  the 
thought  of  the  spinning  used  to  send  the  cold  to  her 
heart  every  moment.  When  bed-time  came,  the  old 
queen  went  along  with  her  to  a  beautiful  bedroom,  and 
when  she  was  bidding  her  good-night,  she  pointed  to  a 
heap  of  fine  flax,  and  said,  "You  may  begin  as  soon  as 
you  like  to-morrow  morning,  and  I'll  expect  to  see  these 
three  pounds  in  nice  thread  the  morning  after."  Little 
did  the  poor  girl  sleep  that  night.  She  kept  crying 
and  lamenting  that  she  didn't  mind  her  mother's  ad- 
vice better.  When  she  was  left  alone  next  morning, 
she  began  with  a  heavy  heart ;  and  though  she.  had  a  nice 
mahogany  wheel  and  the  finest  flax  you  ever  saw,  the 
thread  was  breaking  every  moment.  One  while  it  was 
as  fine  as  a  cobweb,  and  the  next  as  coarse  as  a  little 
boy's  whipcord.  At  last  she  pushed  her  chair  back,  let 
her  hands  fall  in  her  lap,  and  burst  out  a-crying. 

A  small,  old  woman  with  surprising  big  feet  appeared 
before  her  at  the  same  moment,  and  said,  "What  ails 
you,  you  handsome  colleen?"  "An'  haven't  I  all  that 
flax  to  spin  before  to-morrow  morning,  and  I'll  never  be 
able  to  have  even  five  yards  of  fine  thread  of  it  put  to- 
gether." "An'  would  you  think  bad  to  ask  poor  Col- 
liach  Cushmcfre  (Old  Woman  Big-foot)  to  your  wedding 
with  the  young  prince?  If  you  promise  me  that,  all 
your  three*  pounds  will  be- made  into  the  finest  of  thread 
while  you're  taking  your  sleep  to-night."  "Indeed,  you 
must  be  there  and  welcome,  and  I'll  honor  you  all  the 
days  of  your  life."  '•'Very  well;  stay  in  your  room  till 
tea-time,  and  tell  the  queen  she  may  come  in  for  her 
thread  as  early  as  she  likes  to-morrow  morning."  It 
was  all  as  she  said ;  and  the  thread  was  finer  and  evener 


IRISH   FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       309 

than  the  gut  you  see  with  fly-fishers.  "My  brave  girl 
you  were !"  says  the  queen.  "I'll  get  my  own  mahogany 
loom  brought  into  you,  but  you  needn't  do  anything 
more  to-day.  Work  and  rest,  work  and  rest,  is  my  mot- 
to. To-morrow  you'll  weave  all  this  thread,  and  who 
knows  what  may  happen?" 

The  poor  girl  was  mor?  frightened  this  time  than 
the  last,  and  she  was  so  afraid  to  lose  the  prince.  She 
didn't  even  know  how  to  put  the  warp  in  the  gears,  nor 
how  to  use  the  shuttle,  and  she  was  sitting  in  the  great- 
est grief,  when  a  little  woman,  who  was  mighty  well- 
shouldered  about  the  hips,  all  at  once  appeared  to  her, 
told  her  her  name  was  Colli&ch  Cromanmor,  and  made 
the  same  bargain  with  her  as  Colliach  Cushmor.  Great 
was  the  queen's  pleasure  when  she  found  early  in  the 
morning*  a  web  as  fine  and  white  as  the  finest  paper  you 
ever  saw.  "The  darling  you  were!"  says  she.  "Take 
your  ease  with  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  to-day,  and  if 
you  have  all  this  made  into  nice  shirts  to-morrow  yon 
may  present  one  of  them  to  my  son,  and  be  married 
to  him  out  of  hand/' 

Oh,  wouldn't  you  pity  poor  Anty  the  next  day,  she 
was  now  so  near  the  prince,  and,  maybe,  would  be  soon 
so  far  from  him.  But  she  waited  as  patiently  as  she 
could  with  scissors,  needle,  and  thread  in  hand,  till 
a  minute  after  noon.  Then  she  was  rejoiced  to  see  the 
third  old  woman  appear.  She  had  a  big  red  nose, 
and  informed  Anty  that  people  called  her  Shron  Mor 
Rua  on  that  account.  She  was  up  to  her  as  good  as 
the  others,  for  a  dozen  fine  shirts  were  lying  on  the  table 
when  the  queen  paid  her  an  early  visit. 

Now  there  was  nothing  talked  of  but  the  wedding, 
and  I  needn't  tell  you  it  was  grand.  The  poor  mother 
WKS  there  along  with  the  rest,  and  at  the  dinner  the 
old  queen  could  talk  of  nothing  but  the  lovely  shirts, 
and  how  happy  herself  and  the  bride  would  be  aiter 
the  honeymoon,  spinning,  and  weaving,  and  sewing 


310        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  T  'LES 

shirts  and  shifts  without  end.  The  bridegroom  didn't 
like  the  discourse,  and  the  bride  liked  it  less,  and  he 
was  going  to  say  something,  when  the  footman  came  up 
to  the  head  of  the  table  and  said  to  the  bride,  "Your 
ladyship's  aunt,  Colliach  Cushmor,  bade  me  ask  might 
she  come  in."  The  bride  blushed  and  wished  she  was 
seven  miles  under  the  floor,  t)ut  well  became  the  prince. 
"Tell  Mrs.  Cushmor,"  said  he,  "that  any  relation  of  my 
bride's  will  be  always  heartily  welcome  wherever  she 
and  I  are."  In  came  the  woman  with  the  big  foot,  and 
got  a  seat  near  the  prince.  The  old  queen  didn't  like 
it  much,  and  after  a  few  words  she  asked  rather  spite- 
fully, "Dear  ma'am,  what's  the  reason  your  foot  is  so 
big?"  "Muslia,  faith,  your  majesty,  I  was  standing 
almost  all  my  life  at  the  spinning-wheel,  and  that's  the 
reason."  "I  declare  to  you,  my  darling^'  said  the  prince, 
"I'll  never  allow  you  to  spend  one  hour  at  the  same 
spinning-wheel."  The  same  footman  said  again,  "Your 
ladyship's  aunt,  Colliach  Cromanmor,  wishes  to  come"  in, 
if  the  genteels  and  yourself  have  no  objection."  Very 
sharoose  (displeased)  was  Princess  Anty,  but  the  prince 
sent  her  welcome,  and  she  took  her  seat,  and  drank 
healths  apiece  to  the  company.  "May  I  ask,  ma'am?" 
says  the  old  queen,  "why  you're  so  wide  half-way  be- 
tween' the  head  and  the  feet  ?"  "That,  your  majesty,  is 
owing  to  sitting  all  my  life  at  the  loom."  "By  my  scep- 
ter," says  the  prince,  "my  wife  shall  never  sit  there  an 
hour."  The  footman  again  came  up.  "Your  ladyship's 
aunt,  Colliach  Shron  Mor  Eua,  is  asking  leave  to  come 
into  the  banquet."  More  blushing  on  the  bride's  face^ 
but  the  bridegroom  spoke  out  cordially,  -"Tell  Mrs. 
Shron  Mor  Eua  she's  doing  us  an  honor."  In  came 
the  old  woman,  and  great  respect  she  got  near  the 
top  of  the  table,  but  the  people  down  low  put  up  their 
tumblers  and  glasses  to  their  noses  to  hide  the  grins. 
"Ma'am,"  says  the  old  queen,  "will  you  tell  us,  if  you 
please,  why  your  nose  is  so  big  and  red?"  "Throth, 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       311 

your  majesty,  my  head  was  bent  down  over  the  stitch- 
ing all  my^life,  and  all  the  blood  in  my  body  ran  into 
my  nose."  "My  darling/'  said  the  prince  to  Anty, 
"if  ever  I  see  a  needle  in  your  hand,  I'll  run  a  hundred 
miles  from  you." 

"And  in  troth,  girls  and  boys,  though  it's  a  diverting 
story,  I  don't  think  the  moral  is  good;  and  if  any  of 
you  ihuclceens  go  about  imitating  Anty  in  her  laziness, 
you'll  find  it  won't  thrive  with  you  as  it  did  with  her. 
She  was  beautiful  beyond  compare,  which  none  of  you 
are,  and  she  had  three  powerful  fairies  to  help  her  be- 
sides. There's  no  fairies  now,  and  no  prince  or  lord  to 
ride  by,  and  catch  you  idling  or  working;  and  maybe, 
after  all,  the  prince  and  herself  were  not  so  very  happy 
when  the  cares  of  the  world  or  old  age  came  on  them." 

Thus  was  the  tale  ended  by  poor  old  Shebale  (Sy- 
billa),  Father  Murphy's  housekeeper,  in  Coolbawn. 
Barony  of  Bantry,  about  half  a  century  since. 


THE  HAUGHTY  PRINCESS  * 

BY  PATRICK  KENNEDY 

THEEE  was  once  a  very  worthy  king,  whose  daughter 
was  the  greatest  beauty  that  could  be  seen  far  or  near, 
but  she  was  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  no  king  or  prince 
would  she  agree  to  marry.  Her  father  was  tired  out  at 
last,  and  invited  every  king,  and  prince,  and  duke,  and 
earl  that  he  knew  or  didn't  know  to  come  to  his  court  to 
give  her  one  trial  more.  They  all  came,  and  next  day 
after  breakfast  they  stood  in  a  row  in  the  lawn,  ana 
the  princess  walked  along  in  the  front  of  them  to  make 
her  choice.  One  was  fat,  and  says  she,  "I  won't  have 


*Fireside  Stories  of  Ireland. 


312        IRISH   FAIRY-  AND  FOLK  TALES 

you,  Beer-barrel!"  One  was  tall  and  thin,  and  to  him 
she  said,  "I  won't  have  you,  Eamrod  I"  To  a  white- 
faced  man  she  said,  "I  won't  have  you,  Pale  Death;" 
and  to  a  red-cheeked  man  she  said,  "I  won't  have  you, 
Cockscomb !"  She  stopped  a  little  before  the  last  of  all, 
for  he  was  a  fine  man  in  face  and  form.  She  wanted 
to  find  some  defect  in  him,  but  he  had  nothing  remark- 
able but  a  ring  of  brown  curling  hair  under  his  chin. 
She  admired  him  a  little,  and  then  carried  it  of!  with, 
"I  won't  have  you,  Whiskers !" 

So  all  went  away,  and  the  king  was  so  vexed,  he  said 
to  her,  "Now  to  punish  your  impedence,  I'll  give  you 
to  tlie  first  beggarman  or  singing  sthronshuch  that 
calls;"  and,  as  sure  as  the  hearth-money,  a  fellow  all 
over  rags,  and  hair  that  came  to  his  shoulders,  and  a 
bushy  red  beard  all  over  his  face,  came  next  morning, 
and  began  to.  sing  before  the  parlor  window. 

When  the  song  was  over,  the  hall-door  was  opened, 
the  singer  asked  in,  the  priest  brought,  and  the  princess 
married  to  Beardy.  She  roared  and  she  bawled,  but  her 
father  didn't  mind  her.  "There,"  says  he  to  the  bride- 
groom, "is  five  guineas  for  you.  Take  your  wife  out  of 
my  sight,  and  never  let  me  lay  eyes  on  you  or  her 
again." 

Of!  he  led  her,  and  dismal  enough  she  was.  The  only 
thing  that  gave  her  relief  was  the  tones  of  her  hus- 
band's voice  and  has  genteel  manners.  "Whose  wood  is 
this?"  said  she,  as  they  were  going  through  one.  "It 
belongs  to  the  king  you  called  Whiskers  yesterday/'  He 
gave  her  the  same  answer  about  meadows  and  corn- 
fields, and  at  last  a  fine  city.  "Ah,  what  a  fool  I  was !" 
said  she  to  herself.  "He  was  a  fine  man,  and  I  might 
have  him  for  a  husband."  At  last  they  were  coming 
up  to  a  poor  cabin.  "Why  are  you  bringing  me  here?'^ 
says  the  poor  lady.  "This  was  my  house,"  said  he,  "and 
now  it's  yours."  She  began  to  cry,  but  she  was  tired 
and  hungry,  and  she  went  in  with  him. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       313 

Ovoch !  there  was  neither  a  table  laid  out,  nor  a  fire 
burning,  and  she  was  obliged  to  help  her  husband  to 
light  it,  and  boil  their  dinner,  and  clean  up  the  place 
after;  and  next  day  he  made  her  put  on  a  stuff  gown 
and  a  cotton  handkerchief.  When  she  had  her  house 
readied  up,  and  no  business  to  keep  her  employed,  he 
brought  home  sallies  [willows],  peeled  them,  and  showed 
her  how  to  make  baskets.  But  the  hard  twigs  bruised 
her  delicate  fingers,  and  she  began  to  cry.  Well,  then 
he  asked  her  to  mend  their  clothes,  but  the  needle  drew 
blood  from  her  fingers,  and  she  cried  again.  He 
coulin't  bear  to  see  her  tears,  so  he  bought  a  creel  of 
earthenware,  and  sent  her  to  the  market  to  sell  them. 
This  was  the  hardest  trial  of  all,  but  she  looked  so 
handsome  and  sorrowful,  and  had  such  a  nice  air  about 
her,  that  all  her  pans,  and  jugs,  and  plates,  and  dishes 
were  gone  before  noon,  and  the  only  mark  of  her  old 
pride  she  showed  was  a  slap  she  gave  a  buckeen  across 
the  face  when  he  axed  her  to  go  in  an*  take  share  of  a 
quart. 

Well,  her  husband  was  so  glad,  he  sent  her  with  an- 
other creel  the  next  day ;  but  faith  !  her  luck  was  af tef 
deserting  her.  A  drunken  huntsman  came  up  riding, 
and  his  beast  got  in  among  her  ware,  and  made  brisks 
of  every  mother's  son  of  'em.  She  went  home  cryin', 
and  her  husband  wasn't  at  all  pleased.  "I  see,"  said 
he,  "you're  not  fit  for  business.  Come  along,  I'll  get  you 
a  kitchen-maid's  place  in  the  palace.  I  know  the  cook/* 

So  the  poor  thing  was  obliged  to  stifle  her  pride 
once  more.  She  was  kept  very  busy,  and  the  footman 
and  the  butler  would  be  very  impudent  about  looking 
for  a  kiss,  but  she  let  a  screech  out  of  her  the  first  at- 
tempt was  made,  and  the  cook  gave  the  fellow  such  a 
lambasting  with  the  besom  that  he  made  no  second  of- 
fer. She  went  home  to  hep  husband  every  night,  and 
she  carried  broken  victuals  wrapped  in  papers  in  her 
side  pockets. 


314       IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES  \ 

A  week  after  she  got  service  there  was  great  bustle  in 
the  kitchen.  The  king  was  going  to  be  married,  but 
no  one  knew  who  the  bride  was  to  be.  Well,  in  the 
evening  the  cook  filled  the  princess's  pockets  with  cold 
meat  and  puddings,  and,  says  she,  "Before  you  go,  let 
us  have  a  look  at  the  great  doings  in  the  big  parlor/* 
So  they  came  near  the  door  to  get  a  peep,  and  who 
should  come  out  but  the  king  himself,  as  handsome  as 
you  please,  and  no  other  but  King  Whiskers  himself. 
"Your  handsome  helper  must  pay  for  her  peeping/'  said 
he  to  the  cook,  "and  dance  a  jig  with  me."  Whether 
she  would  or  no,  he  held  her  hand  and  brought  her  into 
the  parlor.  The  fiddlers  struck  up,  and  away  went 
him  with  her.  But  they  hadn't  danced  two  steps  when 
the  meat  and  the  puddens  flew  out  of  her  pockets. 
Every  one  roared  out,  and  she  flew  to  the  door,  crying 
piteously.  But  she  was  soon  caught  by  the  king,  and 
taken  into  the  back  parlor.  "Don't  you  know  me,  my 
darling?"  said  he.  "I'm  both  King  Whiskers,  your 
husband  the  ballad-singer,  and  the  drunken  huntsman. 
Your  father  knew  me  well  enough  when  he  gave  you 
to  me,  and  all  was  to  drive  your  pride  out  of  you." 
Well,  she  didn't  know  how  she  was  with  fright,  and 
shame,  and  joy.  Love  was  uppermost  anyhow,  for  she 
laid  her  head  on  her  husband's  breast  and  cried  like 
a  child.  The  maids-of-honor  soon  had  her  away  and 
dressed  her  as  fine  as  hands  and  pins  could  do  it;  and 
there  were  her  mother  and  father,  too;  and  while  the 
company  .were  wondering  what  end  of  the  handsome 
girl  and  the  king,  he  and  his  queen,  who  they  didn't 
know  in  her  fine  clothes,  and  the  other  king  and  queen, 
came  in,  and  such  rejoicings  and  fine  doings  as  there 
Vvas,  none  of  us  will  ever  see,  any  way. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       315 
THE  ENCHANTMENT  OF  GEAEOIDH  IARLA 

BY    PATRICK    KENNEDY  * 

IN  old  times  in  Ireland  there  was  a  great  man  of  the 
Fitzgeralds.  The  name  on  him  was  Gerald,  but  the 
Irish,  that  always  had  a  great  liking  for  the  family, 
called  him  Gearoidh  larla  (Earl  Gerald).  He  had  a 
great  castle  or  rath  at  Mullymast  (Mullaghmast)  ;  and 
whenever  the  English  Government  were  striving  to  put 
some  wrong  on  the  country,  he  was  always  the  man 
that  stood  up  for  it.  Along  with  being  a  great  leader 
in  a  fight,  and  very  skilful  at  all  weapons,  he  was  deep 
in  the  black  art,  and  could  change  himself  into  what- 
ever shape  he  pleased.  His  lady  knew  that  he  had  this 
power,  and  often  asked  him  to  let  her  into  some  of  his 
secrets,  but  he  never  would  gratify  her. 

She  wanted  particularly  to  see  him  in  some  strange 
shape,  but  he  put  her  off  and  off  on  one  pretence  or 
other.  But  she  wouldn't  be  a  woman  if  she  hadn't 
perseverance;  and  so  at  last  he  let  her  know  that  if 
she  took  the  least  fright  while  he'd  be  out  of  his  nat- 
ural form,  he  would  never  recover  it  till  many  genera- 
tions of  men  would  be  under  the  mould.  "Oh!  she 
wouldn't  be  a  fit  wife  for  Gearoidh  larla  if  she  could 
be  easily  frightened.  Let  him  but  gratify  her  in  this 
whim,  and  he'd  see  what  a  hero  she  was!"  So  one 
beautiful  "summer  evening,  as  they  were  sitting  in  their 
grand  drawing-room,  he  turned  his  face  away  from  her 
and  muttered  some  words,  and  while  you'd  wink  he  was 
clever  and  clean  out  of  sight,  and  a  lovely  goldfinch  was 
flying  about  the  room. 

The  lady,  as  courageous  as  she  thought  herself,  waa 
a  little  startled,  but  she  held  her  own  pretty  well,  espe^ 
cially  when  he  came  and  perched  on  her  shoulder,  an<L 


*  Legendary  Fiction  of  the  Irish  Celts. —  (Macmillan.) 


316        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

shook  his  wings,  and  put  his  little  beak  to  her  lips,  and 
whistled  the  delightfulest  tune  you  ever  heard.  Well, 
he  flew  in  circles  round  the  room,  and  played  hide  and 
go  seek  with  his  lady,  and  flew  out  into  the  garden,  and 
flew  back  again,  and  lay  down  in  her  lap  as  if  he  was 
asleep,  and  jumped  up  again. 

Well,  when  the  thing  had  lasted  long  enough  to  satisfy 
both,  he  took  one  flight  more  into  the  open  air;  but  by 
my  Word  he  was  soon  on  his  return.  He  flew  right  into 
his  lady's  bosom,  and  the  next  moment  a  fierce  hawk 
was  after  him.  The  wife  gave  one  loud  scream,  though 
there  was  no  need,  for  the  wild  bird  came  in  like  an 
arrow,  and  struck  against  a  table  with  such  force  that 
the  life  was  dashed  out  of  him.  She  turned  her  eyes 
from  his  quivering  body  to  where  she  saw  the  gold- 
finch an  instant  before,  but  neither  goldfinch  nor  Earl 
Gerald  did  she  ever  lay  eyes  on  again. 

Once  every  seven  years  the  Earl  rides  round  the  Cur- 
ragh  of  Kildare  on  a  steed,  whose  silver  shoes  were  half 
an  inch  thick  the  time  he  disappeared;  and  when  these 
shoes  are  worn  as  thin  as  a  cat's  ear,  he  will  be  restored 
to  the  society  of  living  men,  fight  a  great  battle  with 
the  English,  and  reign  king  of  Ireland  for  two-score 
years.* 

Himself  and  his  warriors  are  now  sleeping  in  a  long 
cavern  under  the  Eath  of  Mullaghmast.  There  is  a 
table  running  along  through  the  middle  of  the  cave. 
The  Earl  is  sitting  at  the  head,  and  his  troopers  down 
along  in  complete  armor  both  sides  of  the  table,  and 
their  heads  resting  on  it.  Their  horses,  saddled  and 
bridled,  are  standing  behind  their  masters  in  their 
stalls  at  °,ach  side ;  and  when  the  day  comes,  the  millers 
son  that's  to  be  born  with  six  fingers  on  each  hand  will 
blow  hi0  trumpet,  and  the  horses  will  stamp  and  whinny, 


*  The  last  time  Gearoidh  larla  appeared  the  horse  shoes 
were  as  thin  as  a  sixpence. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       317 

and  the  knights  awake  and  mount  their  steeds,  and  go 
forth  to  battle. 

Some  night  that  happens  once  in  every  seven  years, 
while  the  Earl  is  riding  round  the  Curragh,  the  entrance 
may  be  seen  by  any  one  chancing  to  pass  by.  About  a 
hundred  years  ago,  a  horse-dealer  that  was  late  abroad 
and  a  little  drunk,  saw  the  lighted  cavern,  and  went  in. 
The  lights,  and  the  stillness,  and  the  sight  of  the  men 
in  armor,  cowed  him  a  good  deal,  and  he  became  sober. 
His  hands  began  to  tremble,  and  he  let  a  bridle  fall 
on  the  pavement.  The  sound  of  the  bit  echoed  through 
the  long  cave,  and  one  of  the  warriors  that  was  next 
him  lifted  his  head  a  little,  and  said,  in  a  deep,  hoarse 
voice,  "Is  it  time  yet?"  He  had  the  wit  to  say,  "Not 
yet,  but  soon  will,"  and  the  heavy  helmet  sunk  down  on 
the  table.  The  horse-dealer  made  the  best  of  his  way 
out,  and  I  never  heard  of  any  other  one  having  got  the 
same  opportunity. 


MUNACHAR  AND  MANACHER 

TRANSLATED   LITERALLY   FROM   THE   IRISH   BY 
DOUGLAS  HYDE 

THERE  once  lived  a  Munachar  afid  a  Manachar,  a 
long  time  ago,  and  it  is  a  long-time  since  it  was,  and 
if  they  were  alive  then  they  would  not  be  alive  now. 
They  went  out  together  to  pick  raspberries,  and  as  many 
as  Munachar  used  to  pick  Manachar  used  to  eat.  Muna- 
char said  he  must  go  look  for  a  rod  to  make  a  gad 
(a  withy  band)  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate  his  raspber- 
ries every  one ;  and  he  came  to  the  rod.  "God  save  you," 
said  the  rod.  "God  and  Mary  save  you."  "How  far 
are  you  going?"  "Going  looking  for  a  rod,  a  rod  to 
make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate  my  rasp- 
berries every  one." 


338        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

"You  will  not  get  me,"  said  the  rod,  "until  you  get  an 
axe  to  cut  me."  He  came  to  the  axe.  w  "God  save  you," 
said  the  axe.  "God  and  Mary  save  you."  "How  far  are 
you  going?"  "Going  looking  for  an  axe,  an  axe  to  cut 
a  rod,  a  rod  to  make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Manachar, 
who  ate  my  raspberries  every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  me,"  said  the  axe,  "until  you  get 
a  flag  to  edge  me."  He  came  to  the  flag.  "God  save 
you,"  says  the  flag.  "God  and  Mary  save  you."  "How 
far  are  you  going  ?"  "Going  looking  for  an  axe,  an  axe 
to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to  make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Mana- 
char, who-  ate  my  raspberries  every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  me,"  says  the  flag,  "till  you  get 
water  to  wet  me."  He  came  to  the  water.  "God  save 
you,"  says  the  water.  "God  and  Mary  save  you."  "How 
far  are  you  going?"  "Going  looking  for  water,  water 
to  wet  flag  to  edge  axe,  axe.  to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to  make 
a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate  my  raspberries 
every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  me,"  said  the  water,,  "until  you  get 
a  deer  who  will  swim  me."  He  came  to  the  deer.  "God 
save  you,"  says  the  deer.  "God  and  Mary  save  you." 
"How  far  are  you  going?"  "Going  looking  for  a  deer, 
deer  to  swim  water,  water  to  wet  flag,  flag  to  edge  axe, 
axe  to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to  make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang 
Manachar,  who  ate  my  raspberries  every  one." 

"You  wall  not  get  me,"  said  the  deer,  "until  you  get 
a  hound  who  will  hunt  me."  He  came  to  the  hound. 
"God  save  you,"  says  the  hound.  "God  and  Mary 
save  you."  "How  far  are  you  going  ?"  "Going  looking 
for  a  hound,  hound  to  hunt  deer,  deer  to  swim  water, 
water  to  wet  flag,  flag  to  edge  axe,  axe  to  cut  a  rod,  a 
rod  to  make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate 
my  raspberries  every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  me,"  said  the  hound,  "until  -you 
get  a  bit  of  butter  to  put  in  my  claw."  He  came  to  the 
butter.  "God  save  you,"  says  the  butter.  "God  and 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       319 

Mary  save  you."  "How  far  are  you  going?"  "Going 
looking  for  butter,  butter  to  go  in  claw  of  hound,  hound 
to  hunt  deer,  deer  to  swim  water,  water  to  wet  flag,  flag 
to  edge  axe,  axe  to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to  make  a  gad,  a 
gad  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate  my  raspberries  every 
one." 

"You  will  not  get  me,"  said  the  butter,  "until  yon 
get  a  cat  who  shall  scrape  me."  He  came  to  the  cat. 
"God  save  you,"  said  the  cat.  "God  and  Mary  save 
you."  "How  far  are  you  going?"  "Going  looking  for 
a  cat,  cat  to  scrape  butter,  butter  to  go  in  claw  of 
hound,  hound  to  hunt  deer,  deer  to  swim  water,  water 
to  wet  flag,  flag  to  edge  axe,  axe  to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to 
make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate  my  rasp- 
berries every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  me,"  said  the  cat,  "until  you  will 
get  milk  which  you  will  give  me."  He  came  to  the 
cow.  "God  save  you,"  said  the  cow.  "God  and  Mary 
save  you."  "How  far  are  you  going?"  "Going  looking 
for  a  cow,  cow  to  give  me  milk,  milk  I  will  give  to  the 
cat,  cat  to  scrape  butter,  butter  to  go  in  claw  of  hound, 
hound  to  hunt  deer,  deer  to  swim  water,  water  to  wet 
flag,  flag  to  edge  axe,  axe  to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to  make  a 
gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate  my  raspberries 
every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  any  milk  from  me,"  said  the  cow, 
"until  you  bring  me  a  whisp  of  straw  from  those  thresh- 
ers yonder."  He  came  to  the  threshers.  "God  save 
you,"  said  the  threshers.  "God  and  Mary  save  ye." 
"How  far  are  you  going  ?"  "Going  looking  for  a  whisp 
of  straw  from  ye  to  give  to  the  cow,  the  cow  to  give  me 
milk,  milk  I  will  give  to  the  cat,  cat  to  scrape  butter, 
butter  to  go  in  claw  of  hound,  hound  to  hunt  deer,  deer 
to  swim  water,  water  to  wet  flag,  flag  to  edge  axe,  axe 
to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to  make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Mana- 
char, who  ate  my  raspberries  every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  any  whisp  of  straw  from  us,"  said 


320        IRISH.  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

the  threshers,  "until  you  bring  us  the  makings  of  a  cake 
from  the  miller  over  yonder/'  He  came  to  the  miller. 
"God  save  you."  "God  and  Mary  save  you/'  "How  far 
are  you  going?"  "Going  looking  for  the  makings  of  a 
cake,  which  I  will  give  to  the  threshers,  the  threshers  to 
give  me  a  whisp  of  straw,  the  whisp  of  straw  I  will  give 
to  the  cow,  the  cow  to  give  me  milk,  milk  I  will  give  to 
the  cat,  cat  to  scrape  butter,  butter  to  go  in  claw  of 
hound,  hound  to  hunt  deer,  deer  to  swim  water,  water  to 
wet  flag,  flag  to  edge  axe,  axe  to  cut  a  rod,  a  rod  to 
make  a  gad,  a  gad  to  hang  Manachar,  who  ate  my  rasp- 
berries every  one." 

"You  will  not  get  any  makings  of  a  cake  from  me/' 
said  the  miller,  "till  you  bring  me  the  full  of  that  sieve 
of  water  from  the  river  over  there." 

He  took  the  sieve  in  his  hand  and  went  over  to  the 
river,  but  as  often  as  ever  he  would  stoop  and  fill  it  with 
water,  the  moment  he  raised  it  the  water  would  run  out 
of  it  again,  and  sure,  if  he  had  been  there  from  that  day 
till  this,  he  never  could  have  filled  it.,  A  crow  went 
flying  by  him,  over  his  head.  "Daub !  daub !"  said  the 
crow.  "My  soul  to  God,  then,"  said  Munachar,  "but 
it's  the  good  advice  you  have,"  and  he  took  the  red  clay 
and  the  daub  that  was  by  the  brink,  and  he  rubbed  it 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sieve,  until  all  the  holes  were  filled, 
and  then  the  sieve  held  the  water,  and  he  brought  the 
water  to  the  miller,  and  the  miller  gave  him  the  mak- 
ings of  a  cake,  and  he  gave  the  makings  of  the  cake  to 
the  threshers,  and  the  threshers  gave  him  a  whisp  of 
straw,  and  he  gave  the  whisp  of  straw  to  the  cow,  and 
the  cow  gave  him  milk,  the  milk  he  gave  to  the  cat, 
the  cat  scraped  the  butter,  the  butter  went  into  the  claw 
of  the  hound,  the  hound  hunted  the  deer,  the  deer  swam 
the  water,  the  water  wet  the  flag,  the  flag  sharpened  the 
axe,  the  axe  cut  the  rod,  and  the  rod  made  a  gad,  and 
when  he  had  it  ready — I'll  go  bail  that  Manachar  was 
far  enough  away  from  him. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       321 

There  is  some  tale  like  this  in  almost  every  language.  It 
resembles  that  given  in  that  splendid  work  of  industry  and 
patriotism,  Campbell's  Tales  of  the  West  Highlands  under 
the  name  of  Moonachug  and  Meenachug.  "The  English 
House  that  Jack  built,"  says  Campbell,  "has  eleven  steps,  the 
Scotch  Old  Woman  with  the  Silver  Penny  has  twelve,  the 
Novsk  Cock  and  Hen  A-nuting  has  twelve,  ten  of  which  are 
double.  The  German  story  in  Grimm  has  five  or  six,  all 
single  ideas."  This,  however,  is  longer  than  any  of  them.  It 
sometimes  varies  a  little  in  the  telling,  and  the  actors' 
names  are  sometimes  Suracha  and  Muracha,  and  the  crow 
is  sometimes  a  gull,  who,  instead  of  daub!  daub!  says  cuir 
ere"  rua  lesh. 


DONALD   AND   HIS   NEIGHBORS 
From  Hibernian  Tales.* 

HUDDEN  and  Dudden  and  Donald  O'Nery  were  near 
neighbors  in  the  barony  of  Balinconlig,  and  ploughed 
with  three  bullocks;  but  the  two  former,  envying  the 
present  prosperity  of  the  latter,  determined  to  kill  his 
bullock,  to  prevent  his  farm  from  being  properly  cul- 
tivated and  labored,  that  going  back  in  the  world  he 
might  be  induced  to  sell  his  lands,  which  they  meant  to 
get  possession  of.  Poor  Donald,  finding  his  bullock 
killed,  immediately  skinned  it,  and  throwing  the  skin 
over  his  shoulder,  with  the  fleshy  side  out,  set  off  to  the 
next  town  with  it,  to  dispose  of  it  to  the  best  of  his  ad- 
vantage. Going  along  the  road  a  magpie  flew  on  the  top 
of  the  hide,  and  began  picking  it,  chattering  all  the 
time.  The  bird  had  been  taught  to  speak,  and  imitate 
the  human  voice,  and  Donald,  thinking  he  understood 
some  words  it  was  saying,  put  round  his  hand  and 
caught  hold  of  it.  Having  got  possession  of  it,  he  put 
it  under  his  greatcoat,  and  so  went  on  to  town.  Hav- 


*  A  chap-book  mentioned  by  Thackeray  in  his  Irish  Sketch 
Boole. 


322        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

ing  sold  the  hide,  he  went  into'  an  inn  to  take  a  dram, 
and  following  the  landlady  into  the  cellar,  he  gave  the 
bird  a  squeeze  which  made  it  chatter  some  broken  ac- 
cents that  surprised  her  very  much.  "What  is  that  I 
hear  ?"  said  she  to  Donald.  "I  think  it  is  talk,  and  yet 
I  do  not  understand."  "Indeed,"  said  Donald,  "it  is  a 
bird  I  have  that  tells  me  everything,  and  I  always  carry 
it  with  me  to  know  when  there  is  any  danger.  Faith," 
says  he,  "it  says  you  have  far  better  liquor  than  you  are 
giving  me."  "That  is  strange,"  said  she,  going  to  an- 
other cask  of  better  quality,  and  asking  him  if  he  wouM 
cell  the  bird.  "I  will,"  said  Donald,  "if  I  get  enough 
for  it."  "I  will  fill  your  hat  with  silver  if  you  leave  it 
with  me."  Donald  was  glad  to  hear  the  news,  and  tak- 
ing the  silver,  set  off,  rejoicing  at  his  good  luck.  He 
had  not  been  long  at  home  until  he  met  with  Hudden 
md  Dudden.  "Mr.,"  said  he,  "you  thought  you  had  done 
me  a  bad  turn,  but  you  could  not  have  done  me  a  bet- 
ter; for  look  here,  what  I  have  got  for  the  hide,"  show- 
ing them  a  hatful  of  silver ;  "you  never  Nsaw  such  a  de- 
mand for  hides  in  your  life  as  there  is  at  present." 
Hudden  and  Dudden  that  very  night  killed  their  bul- 
locks, and  set  out  the  next  morning  to  sell  their  hides. 
On  coming  to  the  place  they  went  through  all  the  mer- 
chants, but  could  only  get  a  trifle  for  them ;  at  last  they 
had  to  take  what  they  could  get,  and  came  home  in  a 
great  rage,  and  vowing  revenge  on  poor  Donald.  He 
had  a  pretty  good  guess  how  matters  would  turn  out, 
and  he  being  under  the  kitchen  window,  he  was  afraid 
they  would  rob  him,  or  perhaps  kill  him  when  asleep, 
and  on  that  account  when  he  was  going  to  bed  he  left 
his  old  mother  in  his  place,  and  lay  down  in  her  bed, 
which  was  in  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  they  tak- 
ing the  old  woman  for  Donald,  choked  her  in  her  bed,  but 
he  making  some  noise,  they  had  to  retreat,  and  leave  the 
money  behind  them,  which  grieved  them  very  much. 
However, by  daybreak,  Donald  got  his  mother  on  his  back, 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       323 

and  carried  her  to  town.  Stopping  at  a  well,  he  fixed 
his  mother  with  her  staff,  as  if  she  was  stooping  for  a 
drink,  and  then  went  into  a  public  house  convenient 
and  called  for  a  dram.  "I  wish,"  said  he  to  a  woman 
that  stood  near  him,  "you  would  tell  my  mother  to  come 
in ;  she  is  at  yon  well  trying  to  get  a  drink,  and  she  is 
hard  of  hearing;  if  she  does  not  observe  you,  give  her  a 
little  shake  and  tell  her  that  I  want  her."  The  woman 
called  her  several  times,  but  she  seemed  to  take  no 
notice ;  at  length  she  went  to  her  and  shook  her  by  the 
arm,  but  when  she  let  her  go  again,  she  tumbled  on  her 
head  into  the  well,  and,  as  the  woman  thought,  was 
drowned.  She,  in  her  great  surprise  and  fear  at  the  ac- 
cident, told  Donald  what  had  happened.  "0  mercy," 
said  he,  "what  is  this  ?"  He  ran  and  pulled  her  out  of 
the  well,  weeping  and  lamenting  all  the  time,  and  act- 
ing in  such  a  manner  that  you  would  imagine  that  he 
had  lost  his  senses.  The  woman,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  far  worse  than  Donald,  for  his  grief  was  only 
feigned,  but  she  imagined  herself  to  be  the  cause  of  the 
old  woman's  death.  The  inhabitants  of  the  town  hear- 
ing what  had  happened,  agreed  to  make  Donald  up  a 
good  sum  of  money  for  his  loss,  as  the  accident  hap- 
pened in  their  place,  and  Donald  brought  a  greater  sum 
home  with  him  than  he  got  for  the  magpie.  They 
buried  Donald's  mother,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  Hudden 
he  showed  them  the  last  purse  of  mqney  he  had  got. 
"You  thought  to  kill  me  last  night,"  said  he,  "but  it 
was  good  for  me  it  happened  on  my  mother,  for  I  got  all 
that  purse  for  her  to  make  gunpowder." 

That  very  night  Hudden  and  Dudden  killed  their 
mothers,  and  the  next  moaning  set  off  with  them  to 
town.  On  coming  to  the  town  with  their  burthen  on 
their  backs,  they  went  up  and  down  crying,  "Who  will 
buy  old  wives  for  gunpowder  ?"  so  that  everyone  laughed 
at  them,  and  the  boys  at  last  clotted  them  out  of  the 
place.  They  then  saw  the  cheat,  and  vowed  revenge  or 


Donald,  buried  the  old  women,  and  set  off  in  pursuit  of 
him.  Coming  to  his  house,  they  found  him  sitting  at 
his  breakfast,  and  seizing  him,  put  him  in  a  sack,  and 
went  to  drown  him  in  a  river  at  some  distance.  As  they 
were  going  along  the  highway  they  raised  a  hare,  which 
they  saw  had  but  three  feet,  and  throwing  off  the  sack, 
ran  after  her,  thinking  by  her  appearance  she  would  be 
easily  taken.  In  their  absence  there  came  a  drover  that 
way,  and  hearing  Donald  singing  in  the  sack,  wondered 
greatly  what  could  be  the  matter.  "What  is  the  reason," 
said  he,  "that  you  are  singing,  and  you  confined  ?"  "Oh, 
I  am  going  to  heaven,"  said  Donald,  "and  in  a  short 
time  I  expect  to  be  free  from  trouble."  "0  dear,"  said 
the  drover,  "what  will  I  give  you  if  you  let  me  to  your 
place?"  "Indeed,  I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  "it  would 
take  a  good  sum."  "I  have  not  much  money/*  said  the 
drover,  "but  I  have  twenty  head  of  fine  cattle,  which  I 
will  give  you  to  exchange  places  with  me."  <cWell,"  says- 
Donald,  "I  do  not  care  if  I  should  loose  the  sack,  and  I 
will  come  out."  In  a  moment  the  drover  liberated  him, 
and  went  into  the  sack  himself,  and  Donald  drove  home 
the  fine  heifers,  and  left  them  in  his  pasture. 

Hudden  and  Dudden  having  .caught  the  hare,  re- 
turned, and  getting  the  sack  on  one  of  their  backs,  car- 
ried Donald,  as  they  thought,  to  the  river  and  threw 
him  in,  where  he  immediately  sank.  They  then  marched 
home,  intending  to  take  immediate  possession  of  Don- 
ald's property,  but  how  great  was  their  surprise  when 
they  found  him  safe  at  home  before  them,  with  such  a. 
fine  herd  of  cattle,  whereas  they  knew  he  had  none  be- 
fore. "Donald,"  said  they,  "what  is  all  this?  We 
thought  you  were  drowned,  and  yet  you  are  here  before 
us."  "Ah !"  eaid  he,  "if  I  had  but  help  along  with  me 
when  you  threw  me  in,  it  would  have  been  the  best  job 
ever  I  met  with,  for  of  all  the  sight  of  cattle  and  gold 
that  ever  was  seen  is  there,  and  no  one  to  own  them,, 
but  I  was  not  able  to  manage  more  than  what  you  see,. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       325 

and  I  could  show  you  the  spot  Where  you  might  get 
hundreds."  They  both  swore  they  would  be  his  friend, 
and  Donald  accordingly  led  them  to  a  very  deep  part  of 
the  river,  and  lifted  up  a  stone.  "Now,"  said  he,  "watch 
this,"  throwing  it  into  the  stream;  "there  is  the  very 
place,  and  go  in,  one  of  you  first,  and  if  you  want  help, 
you  have  nothing  to  do  but  call."  Hudden  jumping  in, 
and  sinking  to  the  bottom,  rose  up  again,  and  making  a 
bubbling  noise,  as  those  do  that  are  drowning,  attempted 
to  speak,  but  could  not.  "What  is  that  he  is  saying 
now  ?"  says  Dudden.  '"Faith,"  says  Donald,  "he  is  call- 
ing for  help ;  don't  you  hear  him  ?  Stand  about,"  said 
he,  running  back,  "till  I  leap, in.  I  know  how  to  do  it 
better  than  any  of  you."  Dudden,  to  have  the  advantage 
of  him,  jumped  in  off  the  bank,  and  was  drowned  along 
with  Hudden,  and  this  was  the  end  of  Hudden  and 
Dudden. 


THE   JACKDAW 

TOM  MOOR  was  a  linen  draper  in  Sackville  Street, 
His  father,  when  he  died,  left  him  an  affluent  fortune, 
and  a  shop  of  excellent  trade. 

As  he  was  standing  at  his  door  one  day  a  countryman 
came  up  to  him  with  a  nest  of  jackdaws,  and  accosting 
him,  says,  "Master,  will  you  buy  a  nest  of  daws  ?"  "No, 
I  don't  want  any."  "Master,"  replied  the  man,  "I  will 
sell  them  all  cheap ;  you  shall  have  the  whole  nest  for 
ninepence."  "I  don't  want  them,"  answered  Tom  Moor, 
"so  go  about  your  business." 

As  the  man  was  walking  away  one  of  the  daws  popped 
out  his  head,  and  cried  "Mawk,  mawk."  "Damn  it," 
says  Tom  Moor,  "that  bird  knows  my  name;  halloo, 
countryman,  what  will  you  take  for  the  bird  ?"  "Why, 
you  shall  have  him  for  .threepence."  Tom  Moor  bought 
him,  had  a  cage  made,  and  hung  him  up  in  the  shop. 


326        IRISH.   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

The  journeymen  took  much  notice  of  the  bird,  and 
would  frequently  tap  at  the  bottom  of  the  cage,  and  say, 
"Who  are  you  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Tom  Moor  of  Sackville 
Street." 

In  a  short  time  the  jackdaw  learned  these  words,  and 
if  he  wanted  victuals  or  water,  would  strike  his  bill 
against  the  cage,  turn  up  the  white  of  his  eyes,  cock  his 
head,  and  cry,  "Who  are  you  ?  who  are  you  ?  Tom  Moor 
of  Sackville  Street." 

Tom  Moor  was  fond  of  gaming,  and  often  lost  large 
sums  of  money;  finding  his  business  neglected  in  his 
absence,  he  had  a  small  hazard  table  set  up  in  one  cor- 
ner of  his  dining-room,  and  invited  a  party  of  his  friends 
to  play  at  it. 

The  jackdaw  had  by  this  time  become  familiar;  his 
cage  was  left  open,  and  he  hopped  into  every  part  of 
the  house ;  sometimes  he  got  into  the  dining-room,  where 
the  gentlemen  were  at  play,  and  one  of  them  being  a 
constant  winner,  the  others  would  say :  "Damn  it,  how 
he  nicks  them."  The  bird  learned  these  words  also,  and 
adding  them  to  the  former,  would  call,  "Who  are  you? 
who  are  you  ?  Tom  Moor  of  Sackville  Street.  Damn  it, 
how  he  nicks  them." 

Tom  Moor,  from  repeated  losses  and  neglect  of  busi- 
ness, failed  in  trade,  and  became  a  prisoner  in  the  Fleet ; 
he  took  his  bird  with  him,  and  lived  on  the  master's  side, 
supported  by  friends,  in  a  decent  manner.  They  would 
sometimes  ask,  "What  brought  you  here  ?"  when  he  used 
to  lift  up  his  hands  and  answer,  "Bad  conipun}r,  by 
G — ."  The  bird  learned  this  likewise,  and7  at  the  end 
of  the  former  words,  would  say,  "What  brought  you 
here?  Bad  company,  by  G — ." 

Some  of  Tom  Moor's  friends  died,  others  went  abroad, 
and  by  degrees  he  was  totally  deserted,  and  removed  to 
the  common  side  of  the  prison,  where  the  jail  distemper 
soon  attacked  him;  and  in  the  last  stage  of  life,  lying  on 
a  straw  bed ;  the  poor  bird  had  been  for  two  days  without 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       327 

food  or  water,  came  to  his  feet,  and  striking  his  bill  on 
the  floor,  calls  out,  "Who  are  you  ?  Tom  Moor  of  Sack- 
ville  Street;  damn  it,  how  he  nicks  them,  damn  it,  how 
he  nicks  them.  What  brought  you  here  ?  Bad  company, 
by  G — ,  bad  company,  by  G — ." 

Tom  Moor,  who  had  attended  to  the  bird,  was  struck 
with  his  words,  and  reflecting  on  himself,  cried  out: 
"Good  God,  to  what  a  situation  am  I  reduced !  my 
father,  when  he  died,  left  me  a  good  fortune  and  an  es- 
tablished trade.  I  have  spent  my  fortune,  ruined  my 
business,  and  am  now  dying  in  a  loathsome  jail ;  and  to 
complete  all,  keeping  that  poor  thing  confined  without 
support.  I  will  endeavor  to  do  one  piece  of  justice  be- 
fore I  die,  by  setting  him  at  liberty." 

He  made  a  struggle  to  crawl  from  his  straw  bedv 
opened  the  casement,  and  out  flew  the  bird.  A  flight 
of  jackdaws  from  the  Temple  were  going  over  the  jail, 
and  Tom  Moor's  bird  mixed  among  them.  The  gar- 
dener was  then  laying  the  plats  of  the  Temple  gardens, 
and  as  often  as  he  placed  them  in  the  day  the  jackdaws 
pulled  them'  up  by  night.  They  got  a  gun  and  at- 
tempted to  shoot  some  of  them ;  but  being  cunning  birds, 
they  always  placed  one  as  a  watch  in  the  stump  of  a  hol- 
low tree;  who,  as  soon  as  the  gun  was  leveled  cried 
"Mawk,"  and  away  they  flew. 

The  gardeners  were  advised  to  get  a  net,  and  the  first 
night  it  was  spread  they  caught  fifteen;  Tom  Moor's 
bird  was  amongst  them.  One  of  the  men  took  the  net 
into  a  garret  of  an  uninhabited  house,  fastens  the  doors 
and  windows,  and  turns  the  birds  loose.  "Now?'  said 
he,  "you  black  rascals,  I  will  be  revenged  of  you."  Tak- 
ing hold  of  the  first  at  hand,  he  twists  her  neck,  and 
throwing  him  down,  cries,  "There  goes  one."  Tom 
Moor's  bird,  who  had  hopped  up  to  a  beam  at  one  cor- 
ner of  the  room  unobserved,  as  the  man  lays  hold  of  the 
second,  calls  out,  "Damn  it,  how  he  nicks  them."  The 
man  alarmed,  cries,  "Sure  I  heard  a  voice,  but  !hp  house 


328        IBISR   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

is  uninhabited,  and  the  door  is  fast;  it  could  only  be 
imagination."  On  laying  hold  of  the  third,  and  twist- 
ing his  neck,  Tom's  bird  again  says,  "Damn  it,  how  he 
nicks  them."  The  man  dropped  the  bird  in  his  hand, 
and  turning  to  where  the  voice  came  from,  seeing  the 
other  with  his  mouth  open,  cries  out,  "Who  are  you  ?"  to 
which  the  bird  answered,  "Tom  Moor  of  Sackville 
Street,  Tom  Moor  of  Sackville  Street."  "The  devil  you 
are;  and  what  brought  you  here?"  Tom  Moor's  bird, 
lifting  up  his  pinions,  answered,  "Bad  company,  by  G — , 
bad  company,  by  G — ."  The  fellow,  frightened  almost 
out  of  his  wits,  opened  the  door,  ran  down  stairs,  and 
out  of  the  house,  followed  by  all  the  birds,  who  by  this 
means  regained  their  liberty. 


THE  STORY  OF  CONN-EDA;  OR  THE  GOLDEN 
APPLES  OF  LOUGH  ERNE  * 

Translated  from  the  original  Irish  of  the  Story-teller, 
ABRAHAM  McCoy,  by  NICHOLAS  O'KEAENEY 

IT  was  long  before  the  time  the  western  districts  of 
tnnis  Fodhla"f  had  any  settled  name,  but  werexindis- 
criminately  called  after  the  person  who  took  possession 
of  them,  and  whose  name  they  retained  only  as  long  as 
his  sway  lasted,  that  a  powerful  king  reigned  over  this 
part  qf  the  sacred  island.  He  was  a  puissant  warrior, 
and  no  individual  was  found  able  to  compete  with  him 
either  on  land  or  sea,  or  question  his  right  to  his  con- 
quest. The  great  king  of  the  west  held  uncontrolled  sway 


*  Printed  first  in  the  Cambrian  Journal,  1855 ;  reprinted 
and  re-edited  in  the  Folk-Lore  Record,  vol.  ii. 

•\lnnis  Fodhla — Island  of  Destiny,  an  old  name  for  Ire- 
land. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK   TALES       329 

from  the  island  of  Kathlin  to  the  mouth  of  the  Shannon 
by  sea,  and  as  far  as  the  glittering  length  by  land. 
The  ancient  king  of  the  west,  whose  name  was  Conn,  waa 
good  as  well  as  great,  and  passionately  loved  by  his 
people.  His  queen  was  a  Breaton  (British)  princess,  and 
was  equally  beloved  and  esteemed,  because  she  was  the 
great  counterpart  of  the  king  in  every  respect;  for  what- 
ever good  qualification  was  wanting  in  the  one,  the 
other  was  certain  to  indemnify  the  omission.  It  was 
plainly  manifest  that  heaven  approved  of  the  career  in 
life  of  the  virtuous  couple;  for  during  their  reign  the 
earth  produced  exuberant  crops,  the  trees  fruit  ninefold 
commensurate  with  their  usual  bearing,  the  rivers,  lakes, 
and  surrounding  sea  teemed -with  abundance  of  choice 
fish,  while  herds  and  flocks  were  unusually  prolific,  and 
kine  and  sheep  yielded  such  abundance  of  rich  milk  that 
they  shed  it  in  torrents  upon  the  pastures ;  and  furrows 
and  cavities  were  always  filled  with  the  pure  lacteal 
produce  of  the  dairy.  All  these  were  blessings  heaped 
by  heaven  upon  the  western  districts  of  Innis  Fodhla, 
over  which  the  begnignant  and  just  Conn  swayed  his 
scepter,  in  approbation  of  the  course  of  government  he 
had  marked  out  for  his  own  guidance.  It  is  needless  to 
state  that  the  people  who  owned  the  authority  of  the 
great  and  gpod  sovereign  were  the  happiest  on  the  face 
of  the  wide  expanse  of  earth.  It  was  during  his  reign, 
and  that  of  his  son  and  successor,  that  Ireland  acquired 
the  title  of  the  "happy  isle  of  the  west"  among  foreign 
nations. 

Conn  Mor  and  his  good  Queen  Eda  reigned  in 
great  glory  during  many  years;  they  were  blessed  with 
an  only  son,  whom  they  named  Conn-eda,  after  both  his 
parents,  because  the  Druids  foretold  at  his  birth  that  he. 
would  inherit  the  good  qualities  of  both.  According  as 
the  young  prince  grew  in  years,  his  amiable  and  be- 
nignant qualities  of  mind,  as  well  as  his  great  strength 
of  body  and  manly  bearing,  became  more  manifest.  He 


330        IRISH    FAIRY  AXD  FOLK  TALES 

was  the  idol  of  his  parents,  and  the  boast  of  his  people ; 
he  was  beloved  and  respected  to  that  degree  that  neither 
prince,  lord  nor  phebeian  swore  an  oath  by  the  sun, 
moon,  stars,  or  elements,  except  by  the  head  of  Conn- 
eda.  This  career  of  glory,  however,  was  doomed  to  meet 
a  powerful  but  temporary  impediment,  for  the  good 
Queen  Eda  took  a  sudden  and  severe  illness,  of  which 
sbe  died  in  a  few  days,  thus  plunging  her  spouse,  her 
son,  and  all  her  people  into  a  depth  of  grief  and  sorrow 
from  which  it  was  found  difficult  to  relieve  them. 

The  good  king  and  his  subjects  mourned  the  loss  of 
Queen  Eda  for  a  year  and  a  day,  and  at  the  expiration 
of  that  time  Conn  Mor  reluctantly  yielded  to  the  advice 
of  his  Druids  and  counsellors,  and  took  to  wife  the 
daughter  of  his  Arch-Druid.  The  new  queen  appeared 
to  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  the  good  Eda  for  several 
years,  and  gave  great  satisfaction  to  her  subjects.  But, 
in  course  of  time,  having  had  several  children,  and  per- 
ceiving that  Conn-eda  was  the  favorite  son  of  the  king 
and  the  darling  of  the  people,  she  clearly  foresaw  that 
he  would  become  successor  to  the  throne  after  the  de- 
mise of  his  father,  and  that  her  son  would  certainly  be 
excluded.  This  excited  the  hatred  and  inflamed  the 
jealousy  of  the  Druid's  daughter  against  her  stepson 
to  such  an  extent,  that  she  resolved  in  her  own  mind  to 
leave  nothing  in  her  power  undone  to  secure  his  death, 
or  even  exile  from  the  kingdom.  She  began  by  circu- 
lating evil  reports  of  the  prince;  but,  as  he  was  above 
suspicion,  the  king  only  laughed  at  the  weakness  of  the 
queen ;  and  the  great  princes  and  chieftains,  supported 
by  the  people  in  general,  gave  an  unqualified  contradic- 
tion ;  while  the  prince  himself  bore  all  his  trials  with  the 
utmost  patience,  and  always  repaid  her  bad  and  malici- 
ous acts  toward  him  with  good  and  benevolent  ones. 
The  enmity  of  the  queen  toward  £onn-eda  knew  no 
bounds  when  she  saw  that  the  false  reports  she  circu- 
lated could  not  injure Jiim.  As  a  last  resource,  to  carry 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       331 

out  her  wicked  projects,  she  determined  to  consult  -her 
Cailleach-ch'earc  (hen-wife),  who  was  a  reputed  en- 
chantress. 

Pursuant  to  her  resolution,  by  the  early  dawn  of 
morning  she  hied  to  the  cabin  of  the  Cailleach-chearc, 
and  divulged  to  her  the  cause  of  her  trouble.  "I  cannot 
render  you  any  help,"  said  the  Cailleach,  "until  you 
name  the  duais"  (reward).  "What  duals  do  you  re- 
quire ?"  asked  the  queen,  impatiently.  "My  duais,"  re- 
plied the  enchantress,  "is  to  fill  the  cavity  of  my  arm 
with  wool,  and  the  hole  I  shall  bore  with  my  distaff  with 
red  wheat."  "Your  duais  is  granted,  and  shall  be  im- 
mediately given  you,"  said  the  queen.  The  enchantress 
thereupon  stood  in  the  door  of  her  hut,  and  bending  her 
arm  into  a  circle  with  her  side,  directed  the  royal  at- 
tendants to  thrust  the  wool  into  her  house  through  her 
arm,  and  she  never  permitted  them  to  cease  until  all 
the  available  space  within  was  filled  with  wool.  She  then 
got  on  the  roof  of  her  brother's  house,  and,  having  made 
a  hole  through  it  with  her  distaff,  caused  red  wheat  to 
be  spilled  through  it,  until  that  was  filled  up  to  the  roof 
with  red  wheat,  so  that  there  was  no  room  for  another 
grain  within.  "Now,"  said  the  queen,  "since  you  have 
received  your  duais,  tell  me  how  I  can  accomplish  my 
purpose." 

"Take  this  chess  board  and  chess,  and  then  invite 
the  prince  to  play  with  you;  you  shall  win  the  first 
game.  The  condition  you  shall  make  is  that  who- 
ever wins  a  game  shall  be  at  liberty  to  impose  what- 
ever geasa  (conditions)  the  winner  pleases  on  the  loser. 
When  you  win,  you  must  bid  the  prince,  under  the  pen- 
alty either  to  go  into  ionwrbadh  (exile),  or  procure  for 
you,  within  the  space  of  a  year  and  a  day,  the  three 
golden  apples  that  grew  in  the  garden,  the  each  dubh 
(black  steed),  and  cuileen  con  na  mbuadh  (hound  of  su- 
pernatural powers),  called  Samer,  which  are  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  king  of  the  Firbolg  race,  who  resides;  in 


332        IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

Lough  Erne.*  Those  two  things  are  so  precious,  and 
so  well  guarded,  that  he  can  never  attain  them  by  his 
own  power;  and,  if  he  would  rashly  attempt  to  seek 
them,  he  should  lose  his  life." 

The  queen  was  greatly  pleased  at  the  advice,  and  lost 
no  time  in  inviting  Cbnn-eda  to  play  a  game  at  chess, 
under  the  conditions  she  had  been  instructed  to  arrange 
by  the  enchantress.  The  queen  won  the  game,  as  the 
enchantress  foretold,  but  so  great  was  her  anxiety  to 
have  the  prince  completely  in  her  power,  that  she  was 
tempted  to  challenge  him  to  play  a  second  game,  which 
Conn-eda,  to  her  astonishment,  and  no  less  mortification, 
easily  won.  "Now,"  said  the  prince,  "since  you  won  the 
first  game,  it  is  your  duty  to  impose  your  geis  first" 
"My  geis,"  said  the  queen,  "which  I  impose  upon  you, 
is  to  procure  me  the  three  golden  apples  that  grow  in 
the  garden,  the  each  dubh  (black  steed),  and  cuileen 
con  na  mbuadh  (hound  of  supernatural  powers),  which 
are  in  the  keeping  of  the  king  of  the  Firbolgs,  in  Lough 
Erne,  within  the  space  of  a. year  and  a  day;  or,  in  case 
you  fail,  to  go  into  ionarbadh  (exile),  and  never  return, 
except  you  surrender  yourself  to  loose  your  head  and 
comhead  beatha  (preservation  of  life).  "Well,  then," 
said  the  prince,  "the  geis  which  I  bind  you  by,  is  to  sit 
upon  the  pinnacle  of  yonder  tower  until  my  return,  and 
to  take  neither  food  nor  nourishment  of  any  description, 
except  what  red-wheat  you  can  pick  up  with  the  point  of 
your  bodkin;  but  if  I  do  not  return,  you  are  at  perfect i 
liberty  to  come  down  at  the  expiration  of  the  year  and  a 
day." 

In  consequence  of  the  severe  geis  imposed  upon  him, 
Conn-eda  was  very  much  troubled  in  mind;  and,  well 
knowing  he  had  a  long  journey  to  make  before  he  would 


*  The  Firbolgs  believed  their  elysium  to  be  under  water. 
The  peasantry  still  believe  many  lakes  to  be  peopled. — See 
section  on  T'yeer  na  n-Oge. 


IRISH   FAIRY    AND  FOLK   TALES       333 

reach  his  destination,  immediately  prepared  to  set  out 
on  his  way,  not,  however,  before  he  had  the  satisfaction 
of  witnessing  the  ascent  of  the  queen  to  the  place  where 
she  was  obliged  to  remain  exposed  to  the  scorching  sun 
of  the  summer  and  the  blasting  storms  of  winter,  for  the 
space  of  one  year  and  a  day,  at  least.  Conn-eda  being 
ignorant  of  what  steps  he  should  take  to  procure  the 
each  dubh  and  cuileen  con  na  mbuadli,  though  he  was 
well  aware  that  human  energy  would  prove  unavailing, 
thought  proper  to  consult  the  great  Druid,  Fionn 
Dadhna,  of  Sleabh  Badhna,  who  was  a  friend  of  his  be- 
fore he  ventured  to  proceed  to  Lough  Erne.  When  he 
arrived  at  the  bruighean  of  the  Druid,  he  was  received 
with  cordial  friendship,  and  the  faille  (welcome),  as 
usual,  was  poured  out  before  him,  and  when  he  was 
seated,  warm  water  was  fetched,  and  his  feet  bathed  so 
that  the  fatigue  he  felt  after  his  journey  was  greatly 
relieved.  The  Druid,  after  he  had  partaken  of  refresh- 
ments, consisting  of  the  newest  of  food  and  oldest  of 
liquors,  asked  him  the  reason  for  paying  the  visit,  and 
more  particularly  the  cause  of  his  sorrow ;  for  the  prince 
appeared  exceedingly  depressed  in  spirit.  Conn-eda  told 
his  friend  the  whole  history  of  the  transaction  with  his 
stepmother  from  beginning  to  end.  "Can  you  not  assist 
me?"  asked  the  Prince,  with  downcast  countenance.  "I 
cannot,  indeed,  assist  you  at  present,"  replied  the  Druid ; 
"but  I  will  retire  to  my  grianan  (green  place)  at  sun- 
rising  on  the  morrow,  and  learn  by  virtue  of  my  Druid- 
ism  what  can  be  done  to  assist  you."  The  Druid,  ac- 
cordingly, as  the  sun  rose  on  the  following  morning, 
retired  to  his  grianan,  and  consulted  the  god  he  adored, 
through  the  power  of  his  draoidheaclit*  When  he  re- 
turned, he  called  Conn-eda  aside  on  the  plain,  and  ad- 
dressed him  thus :  "My  dear  son,  I  find  you  have  been 


*  DraoidheacJtt,   i.e.,    the   Druidic    worsnip;    magic,    sor- 
cery, divination. 


334       IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

under  a  severe — an  almost  impossible — geis  intended 
for  your  destruction;  no  person  on  earth  could  have 
advised  the  queen  to  impose  it  except  the  Cailleach  of 
Lough  Corrib,  who  is  the  greatest  Druidess  now  in  Ire- 
land, and  sister  to  the  Firbolg,  King  of  Lough  Erne.  It 
is  not  in  my  power,  nor  in  that  of  the  Deity  I  adore,  to 
interfere  in  your  behalf;  but  go  directly  to  Sliabh  Mis, 
and  consult  Edncliinn-duine  (the  bird  of  the  human 
head),  and  if  there  be  any  possibility  of  relieving  you, 
that  bird  can  do  it,  for  there  is  not  a  bird  in  the  western 
world  so  celebrated  as  that  bird,  because  it  knows  all 
things  that  are  past,  all  things  that  are  present  and 
exist,  and  all  things  that  shall  hereafter  exist.  It  is 
difficult  to  find  access  to  his  place  of  concealment,  and 
more  difficult  still  to  obtain  an  answer  from  him ;  but  I 
will  endeavor  to  regulate  that  matter  for  you ;  and  that 
is  all  I  can  do  for  you  at  present." 

The  Arch-Druid  then  instructed  him  thus:  "Take/* 
said  he,  "yonder  little  shaggy  steed,  and  mount  him  im- 
mediately, for  in  three  days  the  bird  will  make  himself 
visible,  and  the  little  shaggy  steed  will  conduct  you  to 
his  place  of  abode.  But  lest  the  Bird  should  refuse  to 
reply  to  your  queries,  take  this  precious  stonne  (leag 
lorgmhar),  and  present  it  to  him,  and  then  little  danger 
and  doubt  exist  but  that  he  will  give  you  a  ready 
answer."  The  prince  returned  heartfelt  thanks  to  the 
Druid  and,  having  saddled  and  mounted  the  little  shaggy 
horse  without  much  delay,  he  received  the  precious 
stone  from  the  Druid,  and,  after  having  taken  his  leave 
of  him,  set  out  on  his  journey.  He  suffered  the  reins  to 
fall  loose  upon  the  neck  of  the  horse  according  as  he 
had  been  instructed,  so  that  the  animal  took  whatever 
road  he  chose. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  relate  the  numerous  adventures 
he  had  with  the  little  shaggy  horse,  which  had  the  ex- 
traordinary gift  of  speech,  and  was  a  draoidkeacht 
horse  during  his  journey. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       335 

The  Prince  having  reached  the  hiding  place  of  the 
.strange  bird  at  the  appointed  time,  and  having  pre- 
sented him  with  the  leag  lorgmhar,  according  to  Fionn 
Badhna's  instructions,  and  proposed  his  questions  rela- 
tive to  the  manner  he  could  best  arrange  for  the  fulfil- 
ment of  his  geis,  the  bird  took  up  in  his  mouth  the 
jewel  from  the  stone  on  which  it  was  placed,  and  flew 
to  an  inaccessible  rock  at  some  distance,  and,  when  there 
perched,  he  thus  addressed  the  prince,  "Conn-eda,  son 
of  the  King  of  Cruachan,"  said  he,  in  a  loud,  croaking 
human  voice,  "remove  the  stone  just  under  your  right 
foot,  and  take  the  ball  of  iron  and  corna  (cup)  you  shall 
find  under  it;  then  mount  your  horse,  cast  the  ball  be- 
fore you,  and  having  so  done,  your  horse  will  tell  you 
all  the  other  things  necessary  to  be  done."  The  bird, 
having  said  this,  immediately  flew  out  of  sight. 

Conn-eda  took  great  care  to  do  everything  according 
to  the  instructions  of  the  bird.  He  found  the  iron  ball 
and  corna  iii  the  place  which  had  been  pointed  out.  He 
took  them  up,  mounted  his  horse,  and  cast  the  ball  be- 
fore him.  The  ball  rolled  on  at  a  regular  gait,  while 
the  little,  shaggy  horse  followed  on  the  way  it  led  until 
they  reached  the  margin  of  Lough  Erne.  Here  the  ball 
rolled  in  the  water  and  became  invisible.  "Alight  now/' 
said  the  draoidheacht  pony,  "and  put  your  hand  into 
mine  ear;  take  from  thence  the  small  bottle  of  ice  (all- 
heal) and  the  little  wicker  basket  which  you  will  find 
there,  and  remount  with  speed,  for  just  now  your  great 
dangers  and  difficulties  commence,"  Conn-eda,  ever 
faithful  to  the  kind  advice  of  his  draoidheacht  pony,  did 
what  he  had  been  advised.  Having  taken  the  basket 
and  bottle  of  ice  from  the  animal's  ear,  he  remounted 
and  proceeded  on  his  journey,  while  the  water  o^the 
lake  appeared  only  like  an  atmosphere  above  his  head. 
When  he  entered  the  lake  the  ball  again  appeared,  and 
rolled  along  until  it  came  to  the  margin,  across  which 
was  a  causeway,  guarded  by  three  frightful  serpents; 


336        IRISH.  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

the  hissings  of  the  monsters  was  heard  at  a  great  dis- 
tance, while,  on  a  nearer  approach,  their  yawning 
mouths  and  formidable  fangs  were  quite  sufficient  to 
terrify  the  stoutest  heart.  "Now."  said  the  horse,  "open 
the  basket  and  cast  a  piece  of  the  meat  you  will  find  in 
it  into  the  mouth  of  each  serpent;  when  you  have  done 
this,  secure  yourself  in  your  seat  in  the  best  manner  you 
can,  so  that  we  may  make  all  due  arrangements  to  pass 
those  draoidheacht  peists.  If  you  cast  the  pieces  of 
meat  into  the  mouth  of  each  peist  unerringly,  we  shall 
pass  them  safely,  otherwise  we  are  lost."  Conn-eda  flung 
the  pieces  of  meat  into  the  jaws  of  the  serpents  with 
unerring  aim.  "Bare  a  benison  and  victory,"  said  the 
draoidheacht  steed,  "for  you  are  a  youth  that  will  win 
and  prosper."  And,  on  saying  these  words,  he  sprang 
aloft,  and  cleared  in  his  leap  the  river  and  ford,  guarded 
by  the  serpents,  seven  measures  beyond  the  margin. 
"Are  you  still  mounted,  Prince  Conn-eda?"  said  the 
steed.  "It  has  taken  only  half  my  exertion  to  remain 
so,"  replied  Conn-eda.  "I  find,"  said  the  pony,  "that 
you  are  a  young  prince  that  deserves  to  succeed;  one 
danger  is  now  over,  but  two  others  remain."  They  pro- 
ceeded onward  after  the  ball  until  they  came  in  view  of 
a  great  mountain  flaming  with  fire.  "Hold  yourself  in 
readiness  for  another  dangerous  leap,"  said  the  horse. 
The  trembling  prince  had  no  answer  to  make,  but  seated 
himself  as  securely  as  the  magnitude  of  the  danger  be- 
fore him  would  permit.  The  horse  in  the  next  instant 
sprang  from  the  earth,  and  flew  like  an  arrow  over  the 
burning  mountain.  "Are  you  still  alive,  Conn-eda,  son 
of  Conn-M6r?"  inquired  the  faithful  horse.  "I'm  just 
alire,  and  no  more,  for  I'm  greatly  scorched,"  answered 
th^prince.  "Since  you  are  yet  alive,  I  feel  assured  that 
you  are  a  young  man  destined  to  meet  supernatural 
success  and  benisons,"  said  the  Druidic  steed.  "Our 
greatest  dangers  are  over,"  added  he,  "and  there  is  hope 
that  we  shall  overcome  the  next  and  last  danger."  After 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK   TALES       337 

they  had  proceeded  a  short  distance,  his  faithful  steedv 
addressing  Conn-eda,  said,  "Alight,  now,  and  apply  a 
portion  of  "the  little  bottle  of  ice  to  your  wounds."  The 
prince  immediately  followed  the  advice  of  his  monitor, 
and,  as  soon  as  he  rubbed  the  ice  (all-heal)  to  his 
wounds,  he  became  as  whole  and  fresh  as  ever  he  had 
been  before.  After  having  done  this,  Conn-eda  re- 
mounted, and  following  the  track  of  the  ball,  soon  came 
in  sight  of  a  great  city  surrounded  by  high  walls.  The 
only  gate  that  was  visible  was  not  defended  by  armed 
men,  but  by  two  great  towers  that  emitted  flames  that 
could  be  seen  at  a  great  distance.  "Alight  on  this 
plain,"  said  the  steed,  "and  take  a  small  knife  from  my 
other  ear;  and  with  this  knife  you  shall  kill  and  flay 
me.  When  you  have  done  this,  envelope  yourself  in  my 
hide,  and  you  can  pass  the  gate  unscathed  and  unmo- 
lested. When  you  get  inside  you  can  come  out  at  pleas- 
ure; because  when  once  you  enter  there  is  no  danger, 
and  you  can  pass  and  repass  whenever  you  wish;  and 
let  me  tell  you  that  all  I  have  to  ask  of  you  in  return 
is  that  you,  when  once  inside  the  gates,  will  immedi- 
ately return  and  drive  away  the  birds  of  prey  that  may 
be  fluttering  round  to  feed  on  my  carcass;  and  more, 
that  you  will  pour  any  drop  of  that  powerful  ice,  if  such 
still  remain  in  the  bottle,  upon  my  flesh,  to  preserve  it 
from  corruption.  When  you  do  this  in  memory  of  me, 
if  it  be  not  too  troublesome,  dig  a  pit,  and  cast  my  re- 
mains into  it." 

"Well."  said  Conn-eda,  "my  noblest  steed,  because 
you  have  been  so  faithful  to  me  hitherto,  and  because 
you  still  would  have  rendered  me  further  service,  I  con- 
sider such  a  proposal  insulting  to  my  feelings  as  a  man, 
and  totally  in  variance  with  the  spirit  which,  can  feel 
the  value  of  gratitude,  not  to  speak  of  my  feelings  as  a 
prince.  But  as  a  prince  I  am  ^able  to  say,  Come  what 
may — come  death  itself  in  its  most  hideous  forms  and 
terrors — I  never  will  sacrifice  private  friendship  to  per- 


338        IRISH    FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

sonal  interest.  Hence,  I  am/  I  swear  by  my  arms  of 
valor,  prepared  to  meet  the  worst — even  death  itself — 
sooner  than  violate  the  principles  of  humanity,  honor, 
and  friendship !  What  a  sacrifice  do  you  propose !" 
"Pshaw,  man !  heed  not  that ;  do  what  I  advise  you, 
and  prosper."  "Never !  never !"  exclaimed  the  prince. 
"Well,  then,  son  of  the  great  western  monarch,"  said 
the  horse,  with  a  tone  of  sorrow,  "if  you  do  not  follow 
my  advice  on  this  occasion,  I  tell  you  that  both  you 
and  I  shall  perish,  and  shall  never  meet  again;  but,  if 
you  act  as  I  have  instructed  you,  matters  shall  assume 
a  happier  and  more  pleasing  aspect  than  you  may 
imagine.  I  have  not  misled  you  heretofore,  and,  if  I 
have  not,  what  need  have  you  to  doubt  the  most  im- 
portant portion  of  my  counsel?  Do  exactly  as  I  have 
directed  you,  else  you  will  cause  a  worse  fate  than  death 
to  befall  me.  And,  moreover,  I  can  tell  you  that,  if 
you  persist  in  your  resolution,  I  have  done  with  you 
forever/' 

When  the  prince  found  that  his  noble  steed  could  not 
be  persuaded  from  his  purpose,  he  took  the  knife  out  of 
his  ear  with  reluctance,  and  with  a  faltering  and 
trembling  hand  essayed  experimentally  to  point  the 
weapon  at  his  throat.  Conn-eda's  eyes  were  bathed  in 
tears ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  pointed  the  Druidic  scian  to 
the  throat  of  his  good  steed,  than  the  dagger,  as  if  im- 
pelled by  some  Druidic  power,  stuck  in  his  neck,  and  in 
an  instant  the  work  of  death  was  done,  and  the  noble 
animal  fell  dead  at  his  feet.  Wrhen  the  prince  saw  his 
.noble  steed  fall  dead  by  his  hand,  he  cast  himself  on  the 
ground,  and  cried  aloud  until  his  consciousness  was 
gone.  When  he  recovered,  he  perceived  that  the  steed 
vras  quite  dead;  and,  as  he  thought  there  was  no  hope 
of  resuscitating  him,  he  considered  it  the  most  prudent 
course  he  could  adopt  to  act  according  to  the  advice  he 
had  given  him.  After  many  misgivings  of  mind  and 
abundant  showers  of  tears,  he  essayed  the  task  of  flay- 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND   FOLK  TALES       339 

ing  him,  which  was  only  that  of  a  few  minutes.  When 
he  found  he  had  the  hide  separated  from  the  body,  he, 
in  the  derangement  of  the  moment,  enveloped  himself  in 
it,  and  proceeding  toward  the  magnificent  city  in  rather 
a  demented  state  of  mind,  entered  it  without  any  moles- 
tation or  opposition.  It  was  a  surprisingly  populous 
city,  and  an  extremely  wealthy  place;  hut  its  beauty, 
magnificence,  and  wealth  had  no  charms  for  Conn-eda, 
because  the  thoughts  of  the  loss  he  sustained  in  his  dear 
steed  were  paramount  to  those  of  all  other  earthly  con- 
siderations. 

He  had  scarcely  proceeded  more  than  fifty  paces  from 
the  gate,  when  the  last  request  of  his  beloved  draoid- 
heacht steed  forced  itself  upon  his  mind,  and  compelled 
him  to  return  to  perform  the  last  solemn  injunctions 
upon  him.  When  he  came  to  the  spot  upon  which  the 
remains  of  his  beloved  draoidheacht  steed  lay,  an  appal- 
ling sight  presented  itself ;  ravens  and  ether  carnivorous 
birds  of  prey  were  tearing  and  devouring  the  flesh  of 
his  dear  steed.  It  was  but  short  work  to  put  them  to 
flight;  and  having  uncorked  his  little  jar  of  ice,  he 
deemed  it  a  labor  of  love  to  embalm  the  now  mangled 
remains  with  the  precious  ointment.  The  potent  ice  had 
scarcely  touched  the  inanimate  flesh,  when,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  Conn-eda,  it  commenced  to  undergo  some 
strange  change,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  to  his  unspeak- 
able astonishment  and  joy,  it  assumed  the  form  of  one 
of  the  handsomest  and  noblest  young  men  imaginable, 
and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  the  prince  was  locked  in 
his  embrace,  smothering  him  with  kisses,  and  drowning 
him  with  tears  of  joy.  When  one  recovered  from  his 
ecstasy  of  joy,  the  other  from  his  surprise,  the  strange 
youth  thus  addressed  the  prince :  "Most  noble  and  puis- 
sant prince,  you  are  the  best  sight  I  ever  saw  with  my 
eyes,  and  I  am  the  most  fortunate  being  in  existence  for 
having  met  you !  Behold  in  my  person,  changed  to  the 
natural  shape,  your  little  shaggy  draoidheacht  steed! 


340        IRISH   FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

I  am  brother  of  the  king  of  the  city;  and  it  was  the 
wicked  Druid,  Fionn  Badhna,  who  kept  me  so  long  in 
bondage;  but  he  was  forced  to  give  me  up  when  you 
came  to  consult  him,  for  my  geis  was  then  broken;  yet 
J  could  not  recover  my  pristine  shape  and  appearance 
unless  you  had  acted  as  you  have  kindly  done.  It  was 
my  own  sister  that  urged  the  queen,  your  stepmother,  to 
send  you  in  quest  of  the  steed  and  powerful  puppy 
hound,  which  my  brother  has  now  in  keeping.  My  sis- 
ter, rest  assured,  had  no  thought  of  doing  you  the  least 
injury,  but  much  good,  as  you  will  find  hereafter;  be- 
cause, if  she  were  maliciously  inclined  toward  you,  she 
could  have  accomplished  her  end  without  any  trouble. 
In  short,  she  only  wanted  to  free  you  from  all  future 
danger  and  disaster,  and  recover  me  from  my  relentless 
enemies  through  your  instrumentality.  Come  with  me, 
my  friend  and  deliverer,  and  the  steed  and  the  puppy 
hound  of  extraordinary  powers,  and  the  golden  apples, 
shall  be  yours,  and  a  cordial  welcome  shall  greet  you  in 
my  brother's  abode;  for  you  will  deserve  all  this  and 
much  more/' 

The  exciting  joy  felt  on  the  occasion  was  mutual,  and 
they  lost  no  time  in  idle  congratulations,  but  proceeded 
on  to  the  royal  residence  of  the  King  of  Lough  Erne. 
Here  they  were  both  received  with  demonstrations  of 
joy  by  the  king  and  his  chieftains;  and,  when  the  pur- 
pose of  Conn-eda's  visit  became  known  to  the  king,  he 
gave  a  free  consent  to  bestow  on  Conn-eda  the  black 
steed,  the  coileen  con-na-mbuadh,  called  Samer,  and  the 
three  apples  of  health  that  were  growing  in  his  garden, 
under  the  special  condition,  however,  that  he  would  con- 
sent to  remain  as  his  guest  until  he  could  set  out  on  his 
journey  in  proper  time,  to  fulfil  his  geis.  Conn-eda,  at 
the  earnest  solicitation  of  his  friends,  consented,  and  re- 
mained in  the  royal  residence  of  the  Firbolg,  King  of 
Lough  Erne,  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  most  delicious  and 
fascinating  pleasures  during  that  period. 


IRISH  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES       341 

When  the  time  of  his  departure  came,  the  three  golden 
apples  were  plucked  from  the  crystal  tree  in  the  midst 
of  the  pleasure  garden,  and  deposited  in  his  hosom;  the 
puppy  hound,  Samer,  was  leashed,  and  the  leash  put  into 
his  hand ;  and  the  black  steed,  richly  harnessed,  was  got 
in  readiness  for  him  to  mount.  The  king  himself  helped 
him  on  horseback,  and  both  he  and  his  brother  assured 
him  that  he  might  not  fear  burning  mountains  or  hiss- 
ing serpents,  because  none  would  impede  him,  as  his 
steed  was  always  a  passport  to  and  from  his  subaqueous 
kingdom.  And  both  he  and  his  brother  extorted  a  prom- 
ise from  Conn-eda,  that  he  would  visit  them  once  every 
year  at  least. 

Conn-eda  took  leave  of  his  dear  friend,  and  the  king 
his  brother.  The  parting  was  a  tender  one,  soured  by 
regret  on  both  sides.  He  proceeded  on  his  way  without 
meeting  anything  to  obstruct  him,  and  in  due  time  came 
in  sight  of  the  dun  of  his  father,  where  the  queen  had 
been  placed  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  tower,  in  full  hope 
that,  as  it  was  the  last  day  of  her  imprisonment  there, 
the  prince  would  not  make  his  appearance,  and  thereby 
forfeit  all  pretensions  and  fight  to  the  crown  of  his 
father  forever. 

But  her  hopes  were  doomed  to  meet  with  a  bitter 
disappointment,  for  when  it  had  been  announced  to  her 
by  her  couriers,  who  had  been  posted  to  watch  the  arrival 
of  the  prince,  that  he  approached,  she  was  incredulous ; 
but  when  she  saw  him  mounted  on  a  foaming  black 
steed,  richly  harnessed,  and  leading  a  strange  kind  of 
animal  by  a  silver  chain,  she  at  once  knew  he  was  re- 
turning in  triumph,  and  that  her  schemes  laid  for  his 
destruction  were  frustrated.  In  the  excess  of  grief  at 
her  disappointment,  she  cast  herself  from  the  top  of  the 
tower,  and  was  instantly  dashed  to  pieces.  Conn-eda 
met  a  welcome  reception  from  his  father,  who  mourned 
him  as  lost  to  him  forever,  during  his  absence:  and, 
when  the  base  conduct  of  the  queen  became  known,  the 


342        IRISH^  FAIRY  AND  FOLK  TALES 

king  and  his  chieftains  ordered  her  remains  to  be  con- 
sumed to  ashes  for  her  perfidy  and  wickedness. 

(Jonn-eda  planted  the  three  golden  apples  in  his  gar- 
den, and  instantly  a  great  tree,  bearing  similar  fruit, 
sprang  up.  This  tree  caused  all  the  district  to  produce 
and  exuberance  of  crops  and  fruits,  so  that  it  became 
as  fertile  and  plentiful  as  the  dominions  of  the  Firbolgs, 
in  consequence  of  the  extraordinary  powers  possessed  by 
the  golden  fruit.  The  hound  Samer  and  the  steed  were 
of  the  utmost  utility  to  him ;  and  his  reign  was  long  and 
prosperous,  and  celebrated  among  the  old  people  for  the 
great  abundance  of  corn,  fruit,  milk,  fowl,  and  fish  that 
prevailed  during  this  happy  reign.  It  was  after  the 
name  Conn-eda  the  province  of  Connaucht,  or  Connects 
or  Connacht,  was  so  called. 


NOTES 


GODS  OF  THE  EARTH. — Par.  5,  page  1 

Occultists,  from*  Paracelsus  to  Elephas  Levi,  divide  the  na- 
ture spirits  into  gnomes,  sylphs,  salamanders,  undines ;  or 
earth,  air,  fire,  and  water  spirits.  Their  emperors,  accord' 
ing  to  Elephas,  are  named  Cob,  Paralda,  Djin,  Hicks  re- 
spectively. The  gnomes  are  covetous,  and  of  the  melancholic 
temperament.  Their  usual  height  is  but  two  spans,  thoiigh 
they  can  elongate  themselves  into  giants.  The  sylphs  are 
capricious,  and  of  the  bilious  temperament.  They  are  in  size 
and  strength  much  greater  than  men.  as  becomes  the  people 
of  the  winds.  The  salamanders  are  wrathful,  and  in  tem- 
perament sanguine.  In  appearance  they  are  long,  lean,  and 
dry.  The  undines  are  soft,  cold,  fickle,  and  phlegmatic.  I-n 
appearance  they  are  like  man.  The  salamanders  and  sylphs 
have  no  fixed  dwellings. 

It  has  been  held  by  many  that  somewhere  out  of  the  void 
there  is  a  perpetual  dribble  of  souls :  that  these  souls  pass 
through  many  shapes  before  they  incarnate  as  men — hence 
the  nature  spirits.  They  are  invisible — except  at  rare  mo- 
ments and  times ;  they  inhabit  the  interior  elements,  while 
we  live  upon  the  outer  and  the  gross.  Some  float  perpetu- 
ally through  space,  and  the  motion  of  the  planets  drives 
them  hither  and  thither  in  currents.  Hence  some  Rosicru- 
cians  have  thought  astrology  may  foretell  many  things;  for 
a  tide  of  them  flowing  around  the  earth  arouses  there,  emo- 
tions and  changes,  according  to  its  nature. 

Besides  those  of  human  appearance  are  many  animal  and 
bird-like  shapes.  It  has  been  noticed  that  from  these  latter 
entirely  come  the  familiar*!  seen  by  Indian  braves  when  they 
go  fasting  in  the  forest,  seekine  the  instruction  of  the  spir- 
its. Though  all  at  times  are  friendly  to  men — to  some  men 


344  %  NOTES 

— "They  have,"  says  Paracelsus,  "an  aversion  to  self-con- 
ceited and  opinionated  persons,  such  as  dogmatists,  scien- 
tists, drunkards,  and  gluttons,  and  against  vulgar  and  quar- 
relsome people  of  all  kinds ;  but  they  love  natural  men,  who 
are  simple-minded  and  childlike,  innocent  and  sincere,  and 
the  less  there  is  of  vanity  and  hypocrisy  in  a  man,  the 
easier  will  it  be  to  approach  them ;  but  otherwise  they  are 
as  shy  as  wild  animals." 


SIB  SAMUEL  FERGUSON. — Pages- 14  and  40. 

Many  in  Ireland  consider  Sir  Samuel  Ferguson  their 
greatest  poet.  The  English  reader  will  most  likely  never 
have  heard  his  name,  for  Anglo-Irish  critics,  who  have  found 
English  audience,  being  more  Anglo  than  Irish,  have  been 
content  to  follow  English  opinion  instead  of  leading  it,  in  all 
Matters  concerning  Ireland. 


CUSHEEN  Loo. — Page  35. 

Forts,  otherwise  raths  or  royalties,  are  circular  ditches 
enclosing  a  little  field,  where,  in  most  cases,  if  you  dig  down 
you  come  to  stone  chambers,  their  bee-hive  roofs  and  walls 
made  of  unmortared  stone.  In  these  little  fields  the  ancient 
Celts  fortified  themselves  and  their  cattle,  in  winter  retreat- 
ing into  the  stone  chambers,  where  also  they  were  buried. 
The  people  call  them  Dane's  forts,  fr,om  a  misunderstanding 
of  the  word  Danan  (Tuath-de-Danan).  The  fairies  have 
taken  up  their  abode  therein,  guarding  them  from  all  dis- 
turbance. Whoever  roots  them  up  soon  finds  his  cattle  fall- 
ing sick,  or  his  family  or  himself.  Near  the  raths  are 
sometimes  found  flint  arrow-heads ;  these  are  called  "fairy 
darts,"  and  are  supposed  to  have  been  flung  by  the  fairies, 
when  angry,  at  men  or  cattle. 

LEGEND  OF  KNOCKGBAFTON. — Page  43. 

Moat  does  not  mean  a  place  with  water,  but  a  tumulus  or 
barrow.  The  words  La  Luan  Da  Mort  agus  Da  Dardeen 
are  Gaelic  for  "Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday  too."  Da 
Hena  is  Thursday.  Story-tellers,  in  telling  this  tale,  says 
Croker,  sing  these  words  to,  the  following  music — according 
to  Croker,  music  of  very  ancient  kind :  . 


NOTES 


345 


Da        Lu  •  an,      da    Mort,       da         La  -  an,     da    J^lort,       da 


Lu  -  an,    da  Mort,  au-  gas  da     Dar  •  dine.   Da     Lu  •  an,    da  Mojt,  da 


m 


45=51 


Lu  -  an,    da  Mort,  da       Lu  -  an,  da  Mort,  au-gus  da       Dar  -  dine. 


Mr.  Douglas  Hyde  has  heard  the  story  in  Connaught, 
with  the  song  of  the  fairy  given  as  "Peean  Peean  daw  feean, 
Peean  go  leh  agus  leffin"  [pighin,  pighin,  da  phighin,  pighin 
go  ieith  agus  leith  phighin],  which  in  English  means,  "a 
penny,  a  penny,  twopence,  a  penny  and  a  half,  and  a  half- 
penny." 

STOLEN  CHILD. — Page  62. 

The  places  mentioned  are  round  about  Sligo.  Further 
Rosses  is  a  very  noted  fairy  locality.  There  is  here  a  little 
point  of  rocks  where,  if  anyone  falls  asleep,  there  is  da«eer 
of  their  waking  silly,  the  fairies  having  carried  off  their 
souls. 

SOLITABY  FAIBIES. — Page  85. 

The  trooping  fairies  wear  green  jackets,  the  solitary  ones 
red.  On  the  red  jacket  of  the  Lepracaun,  according  to 
McAnally,  are  seven  rows  of  buttons — seven  buttons  in  each 
row.  On  the  western  coast,  he  says,  the  red  jacket  is  cov- 
ered by  a  frieze  one,  and  in  Ulster  the  creature  wears  a 
cocked  hat,  and  when  he  is  up  to  anything  unusually  mis- 
chievous, leaps  on  to  a  wall  and  spins,  balancing  himself  on 


346  NOTES 

the  point  of  the  hat  with  his  heels  in  the  air.  McAnally 
tells  how  once  a  peasant  saw  a  battle  between  the  green 
jacket  fairies  and  the  red.  When  the  green  jackets  began 
t*>  win,  so  delighted  was  he  to  see  the  green  above  the  red, 
He  gave  a  great  shout.  In  a  moment  all  Banished,  and  he 
Was  flung  into  the  ditch. 

BANSHEE'S  CRT. — Page  116. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall  give  the'  following  notation  of 
Jhe  cry : 


!=Bg^=gg 


s^ss 


£^=^•=^==5: 


OMENS. — Page  116. 

We  have  other  omens  beside  the  Banshee  and  the  Dulla- 
han  and  the  Coach-a-Bower.  I  know  one  family  where 
death  is  announced  by  the  cracking  of  a  whip.  Some  fam- 
ilies are  attended  by  phantoms  of  ravens  or  other  birds. 
When  McManus,  of  '48  celebrity,  was  sitting  by  his  dying 
brother,  a  bird  of  vulture-like  appearance  came  through  the 
window  and  lighted  on  the  breast  of  the  dying  man.  The 
two  watched  in  terror,  not  daring  to  drive  it  off.  It 
vrouched  there,  bright-eyed,  till  the  soul  left  the  body.  It 
was  considered  a  most  evil  omen.  Lefanu  worked  this  into 
a  tale.  I  have  good  authority  for  tracing  its  origin  to 
VfcManus  and  his  brother. 

A  WITCH  TBIAL. — Page  156. 

The  last  trial  for  witchcraft  in  Ireland — there  were  never 
very  many — is  thus  given  in  MacSkimin's  Histnri/  of  Car- 
rtelcfergus :  "1711.  March  31st.  Janet  Mean,  of  Braid-island : 
Janet  Latimer,  Irish-quarter,  Carrickf ergus :  Janet  Millar 
Scotch-quarter.  Carrickfergus :  Margaret  Mitchel.  Kilmof  • 
Catharine  M'Calmond,  Janet  Liston.  alia*  Seller.  Elizabeth 


NOTES  .  347 

Seller,  and  Janet  Carson,  the  four  last  from  Island  Magee, 
were  tried  here,  in  the  County  of  Antrim  Court,  for  witch- 
craft." 

Their  alleged  crime  was  tormenting  a  young  woman, 
called  Mary  Dunbar,  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  at  the 
house  of  James  Hattridge,  Island  Magee,  and  at  other  places 
to  which  she  was  removed.  The  circumstances  sworn  on 
the  trial  were  as  follows: 

"The  afflicted  person  being,  in  the  month  of  February, 
1711,  in  the  house  of  James  Hattridge,  Island  Magee  (which 
had  been  for  some  time  believed  to  be  haunted  by  evil 
spirits),  found  an  apron  on  the  parlor  floor,  that  had  been 
missing  some  time,  tied  with  fire  strange  knots,  which  she 
loosened. 

"On  the  following  day  she  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  vio- 
lent pain  in  her  thigh,  and  afterward  fell  into  fits  and  rav- 
ings ;  aud,  on  recovering,  said  she  was  tormented  by  several 
women,  whose  dress  and  personal  appearance  she  minutely 
described.  Shortly  after,  she  was  again  seized  with  the  like 
fits,  and  on  recovering  she  acciised  five  other  women  of  tor- 
menting her,  describing  them  also.  The  accused  persons 
rring  brought  from  different  parts  of  the  country,  she  ap- 
peared to  suffer  extreme  fear  and  additional  torture  ap  they 
approached  the  house. 

"It  was  also  deposed  that  strange  noises,  as  of  whistling, 
scratching,  etc.,  were  heard  in  the  house,  and  that  a  sul- 
phureous smell  was  observed  in  the  rooms ;  that  stones,  turf, 
and  the  like  were  thrown  about  the  house,  and  the  cover- 
lets, etc.,  frequently  taken  off  the  beds  and  made  up  in  the 
shape  of  a  corpse;  and  that  a  bolster  once  walked  out  of  a 
room  into  the  kitchen  with  a  night-gown  about  it.  It  like- 
wise appeared  in  evidence  that  in  some  of  her  fits  three 
strong  men  were  scarcely  able  to  hold  her  in  the  bed ;  that 
at  times  she  vomited  feathers,  cotton  yarn,  pins,  and  but- 
tons ;  and  that  on  one  occasion  she  slid  off  the  bed  and  was 
laid  on  the  floor,  as  if  supported  and  drawn  by  an  invin- 
cible power.  The  afflicted  person  was  unable  to  give  any 
evidence  on  the  trial,  being  during  that  time  dumb,  but  had 
no  violent  fit  during  its  continuance." 

In  defence  of  the  accused,  it  appeared  that  they  were 
mostly  sober,  industrious  people,  who  attended  public  wor- 
ship, could  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  had  been  known 
to  pray  both  in  public  and  private ;  and  that  some  of  them 
had  lately  received  communion. 

Judge  Upton  charged  the  jury,  and  observed  on  the 


348 .  ,  NOTES 

lar  attendance  of  accused  at  public  worship ;  remarking  that 
he  thought  .it  improbable  that  real  witches  could  so  far 
retain  the  form  of  religion  as  to  frequent  the  religious  wor- 
ship of  God,  both  publicly  and  privately,  which  had  been 
proved  in  favor  of  the  accused.  He  concluded  by  giving  his 
opinion  "that  the  jury  could  not  bring  them  in  guilty  upon 
the  sole  testimony  of  the  afflicted  person's  visionary  images." 
He  was  followed  by  Judge  Macarthy,  who  differed  from  him 
in  opinion,  "-and  thought  the  jury  might,  from  the  evidence, 
bring  them  in  guilty,"  which  they  accordingly  did. 

This  trial  lasted  from  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  two 
in  the  afternoon;  and  the  prisoners  were  sentenced  to  be 
imprisoned  twelve  months,  and  to  stand  four  times  in  the 
pillory  of  Carrickfergus. 

Tradition  says  that  the  people  were  much  exasperated 
against  these  unfortunate  persons,  who  were  severely  pelted 
in  the  pillory  with  boiled  cabbage  stalks  and  the  like,  by 
which  one  of  them  had  an  eye  beaten  out. 


T'YEEB-NA-N-OcE. — Page  214. 

"Tir-na-n-6ff,"  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde  writes,  "The  Country 
of  the  Young,'  is  the  place  where  the  Irish  peasant  will  tell 
you  geabhaedh  tu  an  sonas  aer  pighin,  'you  will  get  happi- 
ness for  a  penny,'  so  cheap  and  common  it  will  be.  It  is 
sometimes,  but  not  often,  called  Tir-na-h6ige  ;  the  'Land  of 
Youth.'  Crofton  Croker  writes  it,  Thierna-na-noge,  which  is 
an  unfortunate  mistake  of  his,  Thierna  meaning  a  lord,  not 
a  country.  This  unlucky  blunder  is,  like  many  others  of  the 
same  sort  where  Irish  words  are  concerned,  In  danger  of 
becoming  stereotyped,  as  the  name  of  lona  has  been,  from 
mere  clerical  carelessness." 

THE  GONCONEB  OB  GANCANAGH  [GEAN-CANACH]. — Page  222. 

O'Kearney,  a  Louthman,  deeply  versed  in  Irish  lore,  writes 
of  the  (jean-canach  (love-talker)  that  he  is  "another  diminu- 
tive being  of  the  same  tribe  as  the  Lepracaun,  but,  unlike 
him,  he  personated  love  arid  idleness,  and  always  appeared 
with  a  dudeen  in  his  jaw  in  lonesome  valleys,  and  it  was  his 
custom  to  make  love  to  shepherdesses  and  milk-maids.  It 
was  considered  very  unlucky  to  meet  him,  and  whoever  was 
known  to  have  ruined  his  fortune  by  devotion  to  the  fair 
sex  was  said  to  have  met  a  gean-canach.  The  dudeen,  or 


NOTES  349 

ancient  Irish  tobacco  pipe,  found  In  our  raths,  etc.,  is  still 


nacht.    The  word  is  pronounced 

in  the  MS.  marked  R.I.A.  —  in  the  Roy'  Ir.  Ac.,  there 


halt  Ire~ 


Douglas.  Hyde.] 

FATHEB  JOHN  O'HABT.—  Page  236. 


Father  O'Horke  is  the  priest  ot 
dare  and  Kilvarnet   and  it  M  ^m^ms 
fully  and  ^X?^f5^??aSS  John,  who  had  been 

£&  fttSSSK^S!  in  the  year  1739-  Coloony  19 

a  village  In  Kilvarnet.  fl  Onc6 

Some  saylnlffl  of  Fath«  '<*°  s.  thldeath  of  his  brother, 
whenbewaS?orrowmggreaOyfortheaea     ^  ^  ^  ^^ 

'tue  n 


present  aa,  tnere 

iS  ^rSebrated  poet  ana  musician, 
Carolan. 

SHONEEN  AND  SLEIVEEN.—  Page  236. 


Snoneen  is  the  diminutive  of  s^ne  r 

two   Irish   names   for    Joh  n-«ne   »    »*  JJg;*  n^f  the  two. 
fir-  -1-         °ne  'e  See'n  means  "a  lit- 


who  ape  the  rank  of  gentleman 


350  NOTES 

Sleiveen,  not  to  be  found  in  the  dictionaries,  is  a  comical 
Irish  word  (at  least  in  Connaught)  for  a  rogue.  It  prob- 
ably conies  from  sliabh,  a  mountain,  meaning  primarily  a 
mountaineer,  and  in  a  secondary  sense,  on  the  principle  that 
mountaineers  are  worse  than  anybody  else,  a  rogue.  I  am 
indebted  to  Mr.  Douglas  Hyde  for  these  details,  as  for  many 
others. 

DEMON  CAT. — Page  245. 

In  Ireland  one  hears  much  of  Demon  Cats.  The  father 
of  one  of  the  present  editors  of  the  Fortnightly  had  such  a 
cat,  say  county  Dublin  peasantry.  One  day  the  priest  dined 
with  him,  and  objecting  to  see  a  cat  fed  before  Christians, 
said  something  over  it  that  made  it  go  up  the  chimney  in  a 
flame  of  fire.  "I  will  have  the  law  on  you  for  doing  such  a 
thing  to  my  cat,"  said  the  father  of  the  editor.  "Would 
you  like  to  see  your  cat?"  said  the  priest.  "I  would,"  said 
he,  and  the  priest  brought  it  up,  covered  with  chains, 
through  the  hearth-rug,  straight  out  of  hell.  The  Irish  devil 
does  not  object  to  these  undignified  shapes.  The  Irish  devil 
is  not  a  dignified  person.  He  has  no  whiff  of  sulphureous 
majesty  about  him.  A  centaur  of  the  ragamuffin,  jeering 
and  shaking  his  tatters,  at  once  the  butt  and  terror  of  the 
saints ! 

A  LEGEND  OF  KNOCKMANY. — Page  285. 

Carleton  says :  "Of  the  gray  stone  .mentioned  in  this  leg- 
end, there  is  a  very  striking  and  melancholy  anecdote  to 
be  told.  Some  twelve  or  thirteen  years  ago,  a  gentleman  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  site  of  it  was  building  a  house,  and,  in 
defiance  of  the  legend  and  curse  connected  with  it,  he  re- 
solved to  break  it  up  and  use  it.  It  was  with  some  diffi- 
culty, however,  that  he  could  succeed  in  getting  his  laborers 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  its  mutilation.  Two  men.  how- 
ever, undertook  to  blast  it,  but,  somehow,  the  process  of 
ignition  being  mismanaged,  it  exploded  prematurely,  and  one 
of  them  was  killed.  This  coincidence  was  held  as  a  fulfil- 
ment of  the  curse  mentioned  in  the  legend.  I  have  heard 
that  it  remains  in  that  mutilated  state  to  the  present  day, 
no  other  person  being  found  who  had  the  hardihood  to  touch 
it.  This  stone,  before  it  was  disfigured,  exactly  resembled 
that  which  the  country  people  term  a  miscaun  of  butter, 
which  is  precisely  the  shape  of  a  complete  prism,  a  circum- 


NOTES  351 

stance,  no  doubt,  which,  in  the  fertile  imagination  of  the 
old  Senachies,  gave  rise  to  the  superstition  annexed  to  it." 

SOME  AUTHORITIES  ON  IRISH  FOLK-LOBE. 

Croker's  Legends  of  the  South  of  Ireland.  Lady  Wilde's 
Ancient  Legends  of  Ireland.  Sir  William  Wilde's  Irish 
Popular  Superstitions.  McAnally's  Irish  Wonders.  Irish 
Folk-Lore,  by  Lageniensis.  Lover's  Legends  and  Stories  of 
the  Irish  Peasantry.  Patrick  Kennedy's  Legendary  Fictions 
of  the  Irish  Celts,  Banks  of  the  Boro,  Legends  of  Mount 
Leinster,  and  Banks  of  the  Duffrey;  Carleton's  Traits  and 
Stories  of  the  Irish  Peasantry;  and  the  chap-books.  Royal 
Fairy  Tales,  Hibernian  Tales,  and  Talqs  of  the  Fairies.  Be- 
sides these  there  are  many  books  on  general  subjects,  con- 
taining stray  folk-lore,  such  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall's 
Ireland;  Lady  Chatterton's  Rambles  in  the  Smith  of  Ire- 
land; Gerald  Griffin's  Tales  of  a  Jury-room;  and  the  Lead- 
beater  Papers.  For  banshee  stories  see  Harrington's  Rec- 
ollections and  Miss  Lefanu's  Memoirs  of  my  Grandmother. 
In  O'Donovan's  introduction  to  the  Four  Masters  are  sev- 
eral tales.  The  principal  magazine  articles  are  in  the 
Dublin  and  London  Magazine  for  1825-1828  (Sir  William 
Wilde  calls  this  the  best  collection  of  Irish  folk-lore  in 
existence)  ;  and  in  the  Dublin  University  Magazine  for  1S39 
and  1878.  those  in  '78  being  by  Miss  Maclintock.  The  Fnlk- 
Lore  Journal  and  the  F 'oik-Lore  Record  contain  much  Irish 
folk-lore,  as  also  do  the  Ossianic  Societies  publications  and 
the  proceedings  of  the  Kilkenny  Archaeological  Society.  Old 
Irish  magazines,  such  as  the  Penny  Journal,  yeirry  Maga- 
zine, and  Duffy's  Sixpenny  Magazine  and  Hibernian  Maya~ 
zine,  have  much  scattered  through  them.  Among  the  peas- 
antry are  immense  quantities  of  ungathered  legends  and 
beliefs. 


THE 


Modern  Library  of  (he  World's  Best  Books 
COMPLETE  LIST  OF  TITLES  IN 

THE  MODERN  LIBRARY 

For  convenience  in  ordering  use  number  at  right  of  title 


ADAMS,  HENRY 
AIKEN,  CONRAD 

AIKEN,  CONRAD 

ANDERSON,  SHERWOOD 

ARISTOTLE 

ARISTOTLE 

BALZAC 

BALZAC 

BEERBOHM,  MAX 
BELLAMY,  EDWARD 
BEMELMANS,  LUDWIG 
BENNETT,  ARNOLD 
BERGSON,  HENRI 
BIERCE,  AMBROSE 
BOCCACCIO 
BRONTE,  CHARLOTTE 
BRONTE,  EMILY 
BUCK,  PEARL 
BURK,  JOHN  N. 
BURTON,  RICHARD 
BUTLER,  SAMUEL 
BUTLER,  SAMUEL 
BYRNE,  DONN 
CALDWELL,  ERSKINE 
CALDWELL,  ERSKINE 
CANFIELD,  DOROTHY 
CARROLL,  LEWIS 
CASANOVA,  JACQUES 
CELLINI,  BENVENUTO 
CERVANTES 
'CHAUCER 

COMMAGER,  HENRY  STEELE 
CONFUCIUS 
CONRAD,  JOSEPH 

CONRAD,  JOSEPH 


The  Education  of  Henry  Adams  76 
A  Comprehensive  Anthology  of 

American  Poetry  ioi 
20th-century  American  Poetry  127 
Winesburg,  Ohio  104 
Introduction  to  Aristotle  248 
Politics  228 
Droll  Stories  193 

Pere  Goriot  and  Eugenie  Grandet  245 
Zuleika  Dobson  116 
Looking  Backward  22 
My  War  with  the  United  States  175 
The  Old  Wives'  Tale  184 
Creative  Evolution  231 
In  the  Midst  of  Life  133 
The  Decameron  7! 
Jane  Eyre  64 
Wuthering  Heights  106 
The  Gopd  Earth  15 
The  Life  and  Works  of  Beethoven  241 
The  Arabian  Nights  201 
Erewhon  and  Erewhon  Revisited  136 
The  Way  of  All  Flesh  13 
Messer  Marco  Polo  43 
God's  Little  Acre  51 
Tobacco  Road  249 
The  Deepening  Stream  200 
Alice  in  Wonderland,  etc.  79 
Memoirs  of  Casanova  165 
Autobiography  of  Cellini  150 
Don  Quixote  174 
The  Canterbury  Tales  161 
A  Short  History  of  the  United  States  235 
The  Wisdom  of  Confucius  7 
Heart  of  Darkness 
(In  Great  Modern  Short  Stories  168) 
Lord  Jim  186 


CONRAD,  JOSEPH 
CORNEILLE  and  RACINE 
CORVO,  FREDERICK ^BARON 
CRANE,  STEPHEN 
CUMMINGS,  E.  E. 
DANA,  RICHARD  HENRY 
DANTE 

DAY,  CLARENCE 
DEFOE,  DANIEL 
DEVVEY,  JOHN 
DICKENS,  CHARLES 
DICKENS,  CHARLES 
DICKENS,  CHARLES 
DINESEN,  ISAK 
DOS  PASSOS,  JOHN 
DOSTOYEVSKY,  FYODOR 
DOSTOYEVSKY,  FYODOR 
DOSTOYEVSKY,  FYODOR 
DOUGLAS,  NORMAN 
DOYLE,  SIR  ARTHUR  CONAN 

DREISER,  THEODORE 
DUMAS,  ALEXANDRE 
DUMAS,  ALEXANDRE 
DU  MAURIER,  DAPHNE 
DU  MAURIER,  GEORGE 
EDMAN,  IRWIN 
EDMAN,  IRWIN 
ELLIS,  HAVELOCK 
EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO 
FAST,  HOWARD 
FAULKNER,  WILLIAM 
FAULKNER,  WILLIAM 

FIELDING,  HENRY 
FIELDING,  HENRY 
FLAUBERT,  GUSTAVE 
FORESTER,  C.  S. 
FORSTER,  E.  M. 
FRANCE,  ANATOLE 
FRANKLIN,  BENJAMIN 
FROST,  ROBERT 
GALSWORTHY,  JOHN 

GAUTIER,  THEOPHILE 

GEORGE,  HENRY 
GLASGOW,  ELLEN 
GODDEN,  RUMER 


Victory  34 

Six  Plays  of  Corneille  and  Racine  194 

A  History  of  the  Borgias  192 

The  Red  Badge  of  Courage  130 

The  Enormous  Room  214 

Two  Years  Before  the  Mast  136 

The  Divine  Comedy  208 

Life  with  Father  230 

Moll  Flanders  122 

Human  Nature  and  Conduct  173 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities  189 

David  Copperfield  no 

Pickwick  Papers  204 

Seven  Gothic  Tales  54 

Three  Soldiers  205 

Crime  and  Punishment  199 

The  Brothers  Karamazov  151 

The  Possessed  55 

South  Wind  5 

The  Adventures  and  Memoirs  of  Sher- 
lock Holmes  206 

Sister  Carrie  8 

Camilla  69 

The  Three  Musketeers  143 

Rebecca  227 

Peter  Ibbetson  207 

The  Philosophy  of  Plato  181 

The  Philosophy  of  Santayana  224 

The  Dance  of  Life  160 

Essays  and  Other  Writings  91 

The  Unvanqutshed  239 

Sanctuary  61 

The  Sound  and  the  Fury  and  As  I  Lay 
Dying  187 

Joseph  Andrews  117 

Tom  Jones  185 

Madame  Bovary  28 

The  African  Queen  102 

A  Passage  to  India  218 

Penguin  Island  210 

Autobiography,  etc,  39 

The  Poems  of  242 

The  Apple  Tree 

(In  Great  Modern  Short  Stories  168) 

Mile.  De  Maupin  and 

One  of  Cleopatra  s  Nights  53 

Progress  and  Poverty  36 

Barren  Ground  25 

Black  Narcissus  256 


GOETHE 
GOETHE 

GOGOL,  NIKOLAI 
GRAVES,  ROBERT 
HAMMETT,  DASHIELL 
HAMSUN,  KNUT 
HARDY,  THOMAS 
HARDY,  THOMAS 
HARDY,  THOMAS 
HARDY,  THOMAS 
HART  AND  KAUFMAN 
HARTE,  BRET 
HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL 
HELLMAN,  LILLIAN 
HEMINGWAY,  ERNEST 
HEMINGWAY,  ERNEST 
HEMON,  LOUIS 
HENRY,  O. 
HERODOTUS 
HERSEY,  JOHN 
HOMER 
HOMER 
HORACE 
HUDSON,  W.  H. 
HUDSON,  W.  H. 
HUGHES,  RICHARD 
HUGO,  VICTOR 
HUXLEY,  ALDOUS 
HUXLEY,  ALDOUS 
IBSEN,  HENRI K 
IRVING,  WASHINGTON 

JAMES,  HENRY 
JAMES,  HENRY 
JAMES,  HENRY 
JAMES,  WILLIAM 
JAMES,  WILLIAM 
JEFFERS,  ROBINSON 

JEFFERSON,  THOMAS 
JOYCE,  JAMES 
JOYCE,  JAMES 

KAUFMAN  AND  HART 
KOESTLER,  ARTHUR 
KUPRIN,  ALEXANDRE 
LARDNER,  RING 
LAWRENCE,  D.  H. 
LAWRENCE,  D.  H. 
LAWRENCE,  D.  H. 
LEWIS,  SINCLAIR 
LEWIS,  SINCLAIR 
LEWIS,  SINCLAIR 


Faust  177 

The  Sorrows  of  Werther 

(In  Collected  German  Stories  108) 
Dead  Souls  40 
I,  Claudius  20 
The  Maltese  Falcon  45 
Growth  of  the  Soil  12 
Jude  the  Obscure  135 
The  Mayor  of  Casterbridge  17 
The  Return  of  the  Native  ill 
Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles  72 
Six  Plays  by  233 
The  Best  Stories  of  250 
The  Scarlet  Letter  93 
Four  Plays  by  223 
A  Farewell  to   Arms  19 
The  Sun  Also  Rises  170 
Maria  Chapdelaine  10 
Best  Short  Stories  of  4 
The  Complete  Works  of  255 
A  Bell  for  Adano  16 
The  Iliad  166 
The  Odyssey  167 
The  Complete  Works  of  141 
Green  Mansions  89 
The  Purple  Land  24 
A  High  Wind  in  Jamaica  112 
The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame  35 
Antic  Hay  209 
Point  Counter  Point  1 80 
A  Doll's  House,  Ghosts,  etc.  6 
Selected  Writings  of  Washington  Irving 

240 

The  Portrait  of  a  Lady  107 
The  Turn  of  the  Screw  169 
The  Wings  of  the  Dove  244 
The  Philosophy  of  William  James  114 
The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience  70 
Roan  Stallion;  Tamar  and  Other 

Poems  118 

The  Life  and  Selected  Writings  of  234 
Dubliners  124 
A  Portrait  of  the  Artist  as  a  Young 

Man  145 
Six  Plays  by  233 
Darkness  at  Noon  74 
Yama  203 

The  Collected  Short  Stories  of  211 
The  Rainbow  128 
Sons  and  Lovers  109 
Women  in  Love  68 
Arrowsmith  42 
Babbitt  162 
Dodsworth  252 


LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  W. 
LOUYS,  PIERRE 
LUDWIG,  EMIL 
MACHIAVELLI 

MALRAUX,  ANDRfi 

MANN,  THOMAS 

MANSFIELD,  KATHERINE 
MARQUAND,  JOHN  P. 
MARX,  KARL 
MAUGHAM,  W.  SOMERSET 
MAUGHAM,  W.  SOMERSET 
MAUPASSANT,  GUY  DE 
MAUROIS,  ANDR& 

McFEE,  WILLIAM 
MELVILLE,  HERMAN 
MEREDITH,  GEORGE 
MEREDITH,  GEORGE 
MEREDITH,  GEORGE 
MEREJKOWSKI,  DMITRI 
MILTON,  JOHN 

MISCELLANEOUS 


MOLIERE 


Poems  56 

Aphrodite  77 

Napoleon  95 

The  Prince  and  The  Discourses  of 

Machiavelli6j 
Man's  Fate  33 
Death  in  Venice 

(In  Collected  German  Stories  108) 
The  Garden  Party  129 
The  Late  George  Apley  182 
Capital  and  Other  Writings  202 
Of  Human  Bondage  176 
The  Moon  and  Sixpence  27 
Best  Short  Stories  98 
Disraeli  46 

Casuals  of  the  Sea  195 
Moby  Dick  119 
Diana  of  the  Crossways  14 
The  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverel  134 
The  Egoist  253 

The  Romance  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  138 
The    Complete    Poetry    and    Selected 

Prose  of  John  Milton  132 
An  Anthology  of  American  Negro 

Literature  163 

An  Anthology  of  Light  Verse  48 
Best  Amer.  Humorous  Short  Stories  87 
Best  Russian  Short  Stories,  including 

Bunin's  The  Gentleman   from   San 

Francisco  1 8 

Eight  Famous  Elizabethan  Plays  94 
Famous  Ghost  Stories  73 
Five  Great  Modern  Irish  Plays  30 
Four  Famous  Greek  Plays  158 
Fourteen  Great  Detective  Stories  144 
Great     German     Short     Novels     and 

Stories  108 

Great  Modern  Short  Stories  168 
Great  Tales  of  the  American  West  238 
Outline  of  Abnormal  Psychology  152 
Outline  of  Psychoanalysis  66 
The  Consolation  of  Philosophy  226 
The  Federalist  139 
The  Making  of  Man:  An  Outline  of 

Anthropology  149 
The  Making  of  Society:  An  Outline  of  * 

Sociology  183 

The  Sex  Problem  in  Modern  Society  1 98 
The  Short  Bible  57 
Three  Famous  French  Romances  85 

Sapho,  by  Alphonse  Daudet 

Manon  Lescaut,  by  Antoine  Prevost 

Carmen,  by  Prosper  Merimee 
Plays  78 


MORLEY,  CHRISTOPHER 
NASH,  OGDEN 
KEVINS,  ALLAN 

NIETZSCHE,  FRIEDRICH 
NOSTRADAMUS 
ODETS,  CLIFFORD 
O'NEILL,  EUGENE 

O'NEILL,  EUGENE 

PALGRAVE,  FRANCIS 
PARKER,  DOROTHY 
PARKER,  DOROTHY 
PASCAL,  BLAISE 
PATER,  WALTER 
PATER,  WALTER 
PAUL,  ELLIOT 

PEARSON,  EDMUND 
PEPYS,  SAMUEL 
PERELMAN,  S.  J. 
PETRONIUS  ARBITER 
PLATO 
PLATO 

POE.  EDGAR  ALLAN 
POLO,  MARCO 
POPE,  ALEXANDER 
PORTER,  KATHERINE  ANNE 
PROUST,  MARCEL 
PROUST,  MARCEL 
PROUST,  MARCEL 
PROUST,  MARCEL 
PROUST,  MARCEL 
RAWLINGS,  MARJORIE 
KINNAN 

READE,  CHARLES 
REED,  JOHN 
RENAN,  ERNEST 
ROSTAND,  EDMOND 
ROUSSEAU,  JEAN  JACQUES 

RUSSELL,  BERTRAND 
SAROYAN,  WILLIAM 

"SCHOPENHAUER 
SHAKESPEARE,  WILLIAM 
SHAKESPEARE.  WILLIAM 

SHAKESPEARE,  WILLIAM 

SHEEAN,  VINCENT 
SMOLLETT,  TOBIAS 
SNOW,  EDGAR 

SPINOZA 


Parnassus  on  Wheels  190 

The  Selected  Verse  of  Ogden  Nash  191 

A  Short  History  of  the  United  States 

235 

Thus  Spake  Zarathustra  9 
Oracles  of  8 1 
Six  Plays  of  67 
The  Emperor  Jones,  Anna  Christie  and 

The  Hairy  Ape  146 
The  Long  Voyage  Home  and  Seven 

Plays  of  the  Sea  1 1 1 
The  Golden  Treasury  232 
The  Collected  Short  Stories  of  123 
The  Collected  Poetry  of  237 
Pensees  and  The  Provincial  Letters  164 
Marius  the  Epicurean  90 
The  Renaissance  86 
The  Life  and  Death  of  a  Spanish 

Town  225 

Studies  in  Murder  113 
Samuel  Pepys'  Diary  103 
The  Best  0^247 
The  Satyricon  156 
The  Philosophy  of  Plato  181 
The  Republic  153 
Best  Tales  82 

The  Travels  of  Marco  Polo  196 
Selected  WTorks  of  257 
Flowering  Judas  88 
Cities  of  the  Plain  220 
Swann's  Way  59 
The  Captive  120 
The  Guermantes  Way  213 
Within  a  Budding  Grove  172 

The  Yearling  246 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth  62 

Ten  Days  that  Shook  the  World  215 

The  Life  of  Jesus  140 

Cyrano  de  Bergerac  154 

The  Confessions  of  Jean  Jacques 

Rousseau  243 

Selected  Papers  of  Bertrand  Russell  137 
The  Daring  Young  Man  on  the  Flying 

Trapeze  92 

The  Philosophy  of  Schopenhauer  52 
Tragedies,  I,  lA — complete,  2  vols. 
Comedies ,  2,  2A — complete,  2  vols. 

Histories,  7 

TJ.        .       „  A  >•  complete,: 

Histories,  Poems,  3A  \ 

Personal  History  32 
Humphry  Clinker  159 
Red  Star  Over  China  126 
The  Philosophy  of  Spinoza  60 


,  2  vols. 


STEINBECK,  JOHN 
STEINBECK,  JOHN 
STEINBECK,  JOHN 
STEINBECK,  JOHN 
STENDHAL 
STERNE,  LAURENCE 
STEWART,  R.  GEORGE 
STOKER,  BRAM 
STONE,  IRVING 
STRACHEY,  LYTTON 
SUETONIUS 
SWIFT,  JONATHAN 

SWINBURNE,  CHARLES 
SYMONDS,  JOHN  A. 
TACITUS 

TCHEKOV,  ANTON 
TCHEKOV,  ANTON 

THACKERAY,  WILLIAM 
THACKERAY,  WILLIAM 
THOMPSON,  FRANCIS 
THOREAU,  HENRY  DAVID 
THUCYDIDES 
TOLSTOY,  LEO 
TOMLINSON,  H.  M. 
TROLLOPE,  ANTHONY 
TROLLOPE,  ANTHONY 
TURGENEV,  IVAN 
VAN  LOON,  HENDRIK  W. 
VEBLEN,  THORSTEIN 
VIRGIL'S  WORKS 

VOLTAIRE 
WALPOLE,  HUGH 
WALTON,  IZAAK 
WEBB,  MARY 
WELLS,  H.  G. 
WHARTON,  EDITH 
WHITMAN,  WALT 
WILDE,  OSCAR 
WILDE,  OSCAR 
WILDE.  OSCAR 
WOOLF,  VIRGINIA 
WOOLF,  VIRGINIA 
WRIGHT,  RICHARD 
YEATS,  W.  B. 
YOUNG,  G.  F. 
ZOLA,  EMILE 
ZWEIG,  STEFAN 


In  Dubious  Battle  115 

Of  Mice  and  Men  29 

The  Grapes  of  Wrath  148 

Tortilla  Flat  216 

The  Red  and  the  Black  157 

Tristram  Shandy  147 

Storm  254 

Dracula  31 

Lust  for  Life  II 

Eminent  Victorians  212 

Lives  of  the  Twelve  Caesars  188 

Gulliver's  Travels,  A  Tale  of  a  Tub,  Th» 

Battle  of  the  Books  100 
Poems  23 

The  Life  of  Michelangelo  49 
The  Complete  Works  of  222 
Short  Stories  50 
Sea  Gull,  Cherry  Orchard,  Three  Sis' 

ters,  etc.  171 
Henry  Esmond  80 
Vanity  Fair  131 
Complete  Poems  38 
Walden  and  Other  Writings  155 
The  Complete  Writings  of  58 
Anna  Karenina  37 
The  Sea  and  the  Jungle  99 
Barchester  Towers  and  The  Warden  41 
The  Eustace  Diamonds  251 
Fathers  and  Sons  21 
Ancient  Man  105 

The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class  63 
Including  The  Aeneid,  Eclogues,  and 

Georgics  75 
Candide  47 
Fortitude  178 
The  Compleat  Angler  16 
Precious  Bane  219 
-Tono  Bungay  197 
The  Age  of  Innocence  229 
Leaves  of  Grass  97 
Dorian  Gray,  De  Profundis  125 
Poems  and  Fairy  Tales  84 
The  Plays  of  Oscar  Wilde  83 
Mrs.  Dalloway  96 
To  the  Lighthouse  217 
Native  Son  221 
Irish  Fairy  and  Folk  Tales  44 
The  Medici  179 
Nana  142 
Amok  (In  Collected  German  Stories  108) 


MODERN  LIBRARY  GIANTS 

A  series  of  full-sized  library  editions  of  books  that  formerly 
were  available  only  in  cumbersome  and  expensive  sets. 

THE  MODERN  LIBRARY  GIANTS  REPRESENT  A 
SELECTION  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  BOOKS 

Many  are  illustrated  and  some  of  them  are  over  1200  pages  long. 


Gi.  TOLSTOY,  LEO.  War  and  Peace. 

G2.  BOSWELL,  JAMES.  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson. 

Gj.  HUGO,  VICTOR.  Les  Miserable* 

04.  THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF  KEATS  AND  SHELLEY. 

G5-  PLUTARCH'S  LIVES  (The  Dry  den  Translation). 

g6')  GIBBON,  EDWARD.     The  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
pZ°  J      Empire  (Complete  in  three  volumes) 

G9.     YOUNG,  G.  F.  The  Medici  (Illustrated). 

Gio.  TWELVE  FAMOUS  RESTORATION  PLAYS  (1660-1820) 

(Congreve,  Wycherley,  Gay,  Goldsmith,  Sheridan,  etc.) 
GII.  THE   ESSAYS   OF   MONTAIGNE    (The  E.  J.  Trechmann 

Translation). 
Gi2.  THE    MOST    POPULAR    NOVELS    OF    SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT  (Quentin  Durward,  Ivanhoe  and  Kenilworth). 
Giji  CARLYLE,  THOMAS.  The  French  Revolution  (Illustrated). 

614.  BULFINCH'S  MYTHOLOGY  (Illustrated). 

615.  CERVANTES.  Don  Quixote  (Illustrated). 
Gi6.  WOLFE,  THOMAS.  Look  Homeward,  Angel. 

Giy.  THE  POEMS  AND  PLAYS  OF  ROBERT  BROWNING. 

Gi8.  ELEVEN  PLAYS  OF  HENRIK  IBSEN. 

Gig.  THE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF  HOMER. 

G2o.  THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

Gai.  SIXTEEN  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PLAYS. 

G22.  CLAUSEWITZ,  KARL  VON.  On  War. 

623.  TOLSTOY,  LEO.  Anna  Karenina. 

G24.  LAMB,    CHARLES.    The    Complete    Works    and   Letters  of 

Charles  Lamb. 

625.  THE  COMPLETE  PLAYS  OF  GILBERT  AND  SLI.LIY  AN 
G26.  MARX,  KARL.  Capital. 
627.  DARWIN,  CHARLES.  The  Origin  of  Species  and  Thi  Descent 

of  Man. 

G28.  THE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF   LEWIS   CARROLL. 
G29.  PRESCOTT,  WILLIAM  H.  The   Conquest  of  Mexico  and 

The  Conquest  of  Peru. 

630.  MYERS,    GUSTAVUS.     History    of    the    Great    American 

Fortunes. 

631.  WERFEL,  FRANZ.  The  Forty  Days  of  Musa  Da?h. 


G32.  SMITH,  ADAM.  The  Wealth  of  Nations. 

GJJ.  COLLINS,  WILKIE.  The  Moonstone  and  The  Woman  in  White. 

G34.  NIETZSCHE,  FRIEDRICH.  The  Philosophy  of  Nietzsche. 

635.  BURY,  J.  B.  A  History  of  Greece. 

036.  DOSTOYEVSKY,  FYODOR.  The  Brothers  Karamazor. 

637.  THE  COMPLETE  NOVELS  AND  SELECTED  TALES  OF 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

638.  ROLLAND,  ROMAIN.  Jean-Christophe. 

639.  THE  BASIC  WRITINGS  OF  SIGMUND  FREUD. 

G4o.  THE   COMPLETE   TALES   AND   POEMS  OF  EDGAR 

ALLAN  POE. 

G4i.  FARRELL,  JAMES  T.  Studs  Lonigan. 
G42.  THE  POEMS  AND  PLAYS  OF  TENNYSON. 
G43.  DEWEY,  JOHN.  Intelligence  in  the  Modern  World:  John 

Dewey's  Philosophy. 
G^.  DOS  PASSOS,  JOHN.  U.  S.  A. 

G45-  LEWISOHN,  LUDWIG.  The  Story  of  American  Literature. 
G46.  A  NEW  ANTHOLOGY  OF  MODERN  POETRY. 
G4y.  THE  ENGLISH  PHILOSOPHERS  FROM  BACON  TO 

MILL. 

G48.  THE  METROPOLITAN  OPERA  GUIDE. 
G4o,  TWAIN,  MARK.  Tom  Sawyer  and  Huckleberry  Finn. 

650.  WHITMAN,  WALT.  Leaves  of  Grass. 

651.  THE  BEST-KNOWN  NOVELS  OF  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

652.  JOYCE,  JAMES.  Ulysses, 

653.  SUE,  EUGENE.  The  Wandering  Jew. 
G54.  FIELDING,  HENRY.  Tom  Jones. 
655-  O'NEILL,  EUGENE.  Nine  Plays  by 

656.  STERNE,  LAURENCE.    Tristram   Shandy  and  A  Senti- 
mental Journey 
057.  BROOKS,  VAN  WYCK.  The  Flowering  of  New  England. 

658.  THE  COMPLETE  NOVELS  OF  JANE  AUSTEN 

659.  HEMINGWAY,  ERNEST.  The  Short  Stories  of 

G6o.  DOSTOYEVSKY,    FYODOR.    The    Idiot.    (Illustrated    by 
Boardman  Robinson). 

G6i.  SPAETH,  SIGMUND.  A  Guide  to  Great  Orchestral  Music. 

G62.  THE  POEMS,  PROSE  AND  PLAYS  OF  PUSHKIN. 

G63.  SIXTEEN  FAMOUS   BRITISH  PLAYS. 

G64.  MELVILLE,  HERMAN.  Moby  Dick 

065.  THE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF  RABELAIS 

G66.  THREE  FAMOUS  MURDER  NOVELS 
Before  the  Fact,  Francis  lies. 
Trent's  Last  Case,  E.  C.  Bentley. 
The  House  of  the  Arrow,  A.  E.  W.  Mason. 

067.  ANTHOLOGY  OF  FAMOUS   ENGLISH  AND  AMERI- 
CAN POETRY. 

G68.  THE  SELECTED  WORK  OF  TOM  PAINE 

069.  ONE    HUNDRED    AND    ONE    YEARS'    ENTERTAIN- 
MENT. 

670.  THE  COMPLETE    POETRY  OF  JOHN   DONNE  AND 

WILLIAM  BLAKE. 

671.  SIXTEEN  FAMOUS  EUROPEAN  PLAYS 

072.  GREAT  TALES  OF  TERROR  AND  THE  SUPERNATURAL 


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