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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45910 ***</div>
<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Legends of Saints & Sinners, by Douglas Hyde,
Illustrated by Noel L. Nisbet</h1>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr class="full" />
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p class="center space-below"><span class="xl">LEGENDS OF SAINTS<br />
AND SINNERS</span>
</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="400" height="602" alt="" />
<div class="caption">ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH</div>
</div>
<h1>LEGENDS OF<br />
SAINTS & SINNERS</h1>
<p class="center"><i>Collected and Translated from the Irish by</i><br />
DOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D., <span class="smcap">D.Litt.</span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
<img src="images/logo.jpg" width="100" height="135" alt="The Irish Library" />
</div>
<p class="center"><i>With Illustrations by Noel L. Nisbet</i></p>
<p class="center space-above">THE GRESHAM PUBLISHING COMPANY LTD.<br />
<small>LONDON DUBLIN AND BELFAST</small>
</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>
<p>CONTENTS.</p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2" summary="toc">
<tr><td align="right" colspan="2"><span class="smcap"> Page</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_vii">vii</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">St. Patrick and Crom Dubh</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mary's Well</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">How Covetousness Came into the Church</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Knock Mulruana</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Stone of Truth</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Adventures of Leithin</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Comparison as to Ages</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Death of Bearachan</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Story of Solomon</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Christmas Alms</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Burial of Jesus</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Saint Peter</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Legends of St. Deglan</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">St. Paul's Vision</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Oscar of the Flail</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Oisin in Elphin</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Priest who went to do Penance</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Friars of Urlaur</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Dialogue between Two Old Women</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Minister and the Gossoon</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Keening of the Three Marys</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Farmer's Son and the Bishop</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Shaun the Tinker</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mary and St. Joseph and The Cherry Tree</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Student who left College</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Help of God in the Road</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Minister's Son</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Old Woman of Beare</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Old Hag of Dingle</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Poem of the Tor</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Columcille and His Brother Dobhran</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Bruadar and Smith and Glinn</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Friar Brian</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">How the First Cat was Created</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">God spare You your Health</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Teig O'Kane and the Corpse</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Tomaus O'Cahan and the Ghost</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Prayer after Tobacco</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Buideach, The Tinker, and The Black Donkey </span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Great Worm of the Shannon</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Poor Widow and Grania Oï</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Gambler of the Branch</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Beetle, The Dhardheel, and the Prumpolaun</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Lady of the Alms</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">St. Patrick and his Garron</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">How Saint Moling got his Name</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p>
<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2>
<p>I have called the present volume "Legends of Saints
and Sinners," which to a certain extent it is; but I mean
it for a book of Irish Christian folk-lore. My idea in compiling
it has been to give for the first time a collection of
genuine Irish folk-lore which might be called "Christian."
By this I mean folk-stories and folk-poems which are
either entirely founded upon Christian conceptions, or
else are so far coloured by them, that they could never
have been told—at least in their present shape—had not
Christianity established itself in Ireland. Every one of
these stories conforms fairly to this standard, except one
or two, which I give as necessary corollaries. They are
all translations from the Irish. I have found hardly any
such stories in English. They were mostly collected by
myself from the mouths of native speakers, but three or
four of them I have taken from Irish MSS. in my own
possession, and a few more were given me by my friends.
Not one of these stories was ever translated into English
before, with the exception of those which I have taken
from my own "Religious Songs of Connacht."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Many of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>these I decided to republish here, as they were practically
lost amongst the heterogeneous mass of poems, prayers,
charms, etc., in which they were embedded; and, as the
Religious Songs are little known, these stories which I
have excerpted from them will be new to nineteen-twentieths
of my readers. Several of these pieces have never
been printed even in Irish, but I hope to shortly publish
the original text of these, especially the Adventures of
Léithin, which seems to belong to a strange and weird
cycle of beast and bird-lore, now lost or almost lost, but
of which we find hints here and there though we know
nothing certain.</p>
<p>Most of these pieces may be said to be in a true sense
"folk-lore," seeing that they have almost all lingered
more or less vividly in the memory of people who for the
most part could neither read nor write. Some of them
obviously come from Continental sources, though how they
first found their way into Ireland is obscure, and the
derivation of some of them cannot now be traced; others,
however, are of a purely native invention; while a third
class engrafts native traits and ideas upon foreign subject
matter.</p>
<p>The stories in this collection cover a good deal of ground
and present many various aspects of folk tradition and folk
belief. Of native Saints we find legends concerning
Patrick, Columcille, Deglan, Moling and Ciaran; of
foreign Saints we find legends of St. Peter, St. Paul and
St. Martin; of unknown or mythical characters we find
tales of Grainne Oïgh, Friar Brian, The Old Woman
of Beare, and Mulruana. Of other well-known names,
Oisín and Oscar and Solomon appear. Curiously enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>
I have not chanced upon any folk-tale told about Saint
Brigit, the "Mary of the Gael." There is, for some
reason or other, a distinct predominance of Petrine stories
among these legends.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>When we consider the collection as a whole, we find
that its purely Irish aspect is apparent in many ways,
and in none more than in the very characteristic dovetailing
of what is Pagan into what is Christian. But
its omissions are even more distinctly Irish than its inclusions.</p>
<p>In most countries, for instance, the Devil is the great
outstanding anthropomorphic conception added to the
folk-lore of Europe by the introduction of Christianity;
and later the belief in Witches, who trafficked directly
or indirectly with the Evil One, became extraordinary
prevalent and powerful. Now the most striking fact
about our collection is that the Devil personified rarely
appears in it at all, and Witches never. The belief in
Witches, and in Witches' Sabbaths, with which other
nations were positively obsessed, and which gave rise to
such hecatombs of unhappy victims in almost all the
Protestant and in some of the Catholic countries in Europe,
as well as in America, never found its way into native
Ireland at all, or disturbed Gaelic sanity, although a few
isolated instances occurred amongst the English settlers.
The Highland Gaels, to whom the idea of witches was
more familiar owing to their proximity to the Scottish
Lowlands, which was one of the most witch-ridden
Countries in Europe, simply borrowed the English
Word for witch under the form "buitseach," and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>
from that they coined the word "buitseachas" for
witchcraft.</p>
<p>The Irish, however, did not borrow even the name—they
had never heard of the thing itself, and had naturally
no name for a class of creatures with whom they had no
acquaintance.</p>
<p>It is true that the Evil Eye was known in Ireland, and
I have found one or two prayers or charms against it;<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
but so far as I have collected, I have not been able to find
it made the basis of any story.</p>
<p>In ancient times, however, there were creatures known
in Ireland who appear to have had some of the characteristics
of the Christian witches, but their conception is
purely Pagan and owes nothing to Christianity. Their
Irish name was <i>amait</i>, and it was applicable to both sexes.
In the old translation of the "Cath catharda" (the Irish
version of Lucan's Pharsalia), Medea is called the chief
<i>amait</i> or witch of the world. In the "Agallamh na
Senorach" or Dialogue between St. Patrick on one side,
and Oisín and Caoilte<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> on the other, we read of nine
women <i>amaits</i> who were engaged in "amaidecht," and
who used never allow a man or woman to escape them.
"And they were not long there," says the thirteenth (?)
century text," until they saw the nine black gloomy
witches (<i>amaits</i>) coming to meet them; and if the dead
ever arose out of the ground the yells which they used to
utter round them on all sides would have brought them
forth [from their tombs]. And Patrick takes the holy water
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span>and sprinkles it on the <i>amaits</i>, and they fled away from him
until they reached Inis Guil, which is called the island
of the shrine or the White Lake of Ceara.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> And it was
there they heard the last cry from them. And the people
seated themselves on the sodded sward, and the King of
Connacht spake then, 'that is the chasing of a good-cleric
that thou hast given to the demons,' said he.'"</p>
<p>This word <i>amait</i>, though lost in folk-speech, and never
now used in the sense of witch, has nevertheless perpetuated
itself in an extraordinary tradition in parts of Connacht.
The appellation for the Fairy Palace, where the
Good People or Tuatha De Danann dwell, is <i>bruidhean</i>
(pronounced Breean with the b broad), and there is a
belief that there is a denizen of the bruidhean called
"amadán na bruidhne," which seems to mean the "fool
of the palace" whose lightest touch is death. From the
other creatures of the bruidhean one may escape scatheless,
but never from the "amadán." This "amadán" I
take to be a folk perversion or a diminutive of <i>amait</i>, and
to have nothing at all to say to the word "amadán," "a
fool."</p>
<p>The <i>amait</i> owes nothing to Christianity, but her equivalent
in modern folk-lore would rather be found in the
Story of "Conn among the goats," where the woman whom
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>all thought dead comes back from the grave, and kills her
husband, or in the story of the Priest and Bishop, where
the hanged woman comes back as a malevolent spirit to
claim the priest; or in some of the stories that Curtin
collected around Dingle.</p>
<p>It is quite true that there are many current tales or
beliefs concerning more or less malignant old women who
steal butter from their neighbours' churns by charms
or exorcisms, who turn themselves into hares and suck the
cows, and who are supposed to possess certain more or
less supernatural powers. These old women, however,
seldom or never figure in regular stories, nor have they
given rise to a type or even to a common appellation.
They are just known as "cailleacha" or hags. There is
absolutely nothing in Irish folk-lore, so far as I am
acquainted with it, to suggest the disgusting and obscene
orgies of the witches' sabbaths, as we find them in other
countries, or of incubi or succubi, or of intercourse with
the devil, or of riding on broomsticks to keep appointments
with the Evil One, or of conjuring up the dead, or even
of producing wasting diseases in enemies, or making,
waxen or clay images of those whom they wished to
injure.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p>
<p>The Devil, too, in so far as he comes into Irish folk-lore,
is a much less grotesque figure than the usual
mediaeval conception of him, such as we see with
horns and hooves in Albrecht Dürer's pictures. He
is usually designated as the "Old Devil" or the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span>Aidhbherseoir, often contracted to Airseoir from the
Latin Adversarius. He does not generally appear as
roaming through the world seeking whom he may devour,
but mostly keeps to his own abode in the Infernal Regions,
where he must be sought. We meet him in both forms,
as a wandering person and as king of the Lower Regions in
my late friend's, Mr. Larminie's, very curious and interesting
story of the woman who went to hell. He is not the
popular or common character in our folk-lore that he is in
Teutonic legend. He does not construct bridges, nor hold
high festival on hill tops, and few or none of the curious
freaks of nature as seen in rocks, chasms, and the like
are attributed to him. The Devil's Bit and the Devil's
Punch Bowl, so common in Anglo-Irish nomenclature,
do not always correspond to the original Irish appellation.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>When the survivors of the old Fianna, Oisín (or Ossian),
Caoilte and the rest, were told about Hell and the Devil
by St. Patrick and his clergy, they could not, according to
the Ossianic legends, comprehend it in the least, and the
misunderstandings which the doctrine gave rise to were
taken full advantage of by the composers of the Ossianic
ballads. The idea of bringing the last great figure of
Paganism, the warrior and poet Ossian, into contact with
the first great Christian figure in Ireland, St. Patrick,
was a brilliant one, and it gave birth to whole volumes
of badinage and semi-comic wrangling in the popular
ballads which told of the warrior and the cleric. These
ballads used to be in great vogue at one time, and any
seanchuidhe worthy of the name used to be able to repeat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>
by heart many hundreds of lines of the dialogue between
Patrick and Oisín. This is now nearly a thing of the past,
but the poems exist in numberless manuscripts, and are
not yet forgotten by the older Irish speakers, though the
only specimen I have given in this volume is the Baptism
of Oisín, and it is in prose. St. Patrick displays in places
an excess of priestly rigour, but this is always done to set
off the naïveté of Oisín's answers.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/x_intro.jpg" width="300" height="90" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="center"> <a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>
<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[link to transcription]</a></p>
<p>But Oisín could not understand how Patrick's God could
get the better of his Fianna, or why He should try to
put them in hell at all.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Were God and my son Oscar seen<br /></span>
<span class="i2">On Knocknaveen in combat long,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I saw my Oscar on the sod,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">It's then I'd say that God was strong.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How is your God a better man<br /></span>
<span class="i2">(Or all your clan of clerics there)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than Finn, our Fenian chief, so great,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">So straight, so generous, so fair?<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>The spirit of banter in which St. Patrick and the Church
are treated, and which just stops short of irreverence, is,
of course, a mediaeval and not a primitive trait. My
friend, the late Mr. Nutt, thought that it is a trait more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span>
characteristic of the twelfth than of any succeeding century.</p>
<p>It would be exceedingly easy to fill volumes with stories
from the lives of Saints which exist either in old
vellum or in paper MSS., but this has not been my aim.
I have kept to actual folk survivals, and have drawn upon
MSS. of Saints' lives only for the elucidation of the folk-tale.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Finally, I should say that after having collected Irish
folk-lore for a quarter of a century, the amount of folk-stories
which are wholly conditioned by Christianity or
largely based upon Christian conceptions would be, in my
opinion, about one story in four, or one story in five.
There still remains the fascinating problem of their
sources. If foreign, what was their origin and who
brought them here; if native, who invented them, and
when, and with what purpose? I have prefixed a few
notes to each of the following stories which possibly
may not be wholly uninteresting to the reader who has
an eye for these problems.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="xl">LEGENDS OF SAINTS<br />
AND SINNERS.</span></p>
<p class="center">[<i>FROM THE IRISH.</i>]</p>
<h2>ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This legend, told by Michael Mac Ruaidhri of Ballycastle,
Co. Mayo, is evidently a confused reminiscence of Crom
Cruach, the great pagan idol which was overthrown by
St. Patrick.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Though Crom appears as a man in this story,
yet the remark that the people thought he was the lord of
light and darkness and of the seasons is evidently due
to his once supposed Godhead. The fire, too, which he
is said to have kept burning may be the reminiscence of a
sacrificial fire.</p>
<p>From a letter written to Sir Samuel Ferguson<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> by the late
Brian O'Looney, concerning Mount Callan in the Co. Clare,
we see that this legend of Crom was widely circulated.
"Domnach Lunasa or Lammas Sunday," says O'Looney,
"the first Sunday of the month of August was the first
fruits' day, and a great day on Buaile-na-greine. On
Lammas Sunday, called Domnach Crom Dubh, and
anglicised Garland Sunday, every householder was supposed
to feast his family and household on the first
fruits, and the farmer who failed to provide his people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
with new potatoes, new bacon and white cabbage on that
day was called a <i>felemuir gaoithe</i>, or wind farmer; and if
a man dug new potatoes before Crom Dubh's day he
was considered a needy man.... The
assemblage of this day was called <i>comthineol Chruim
Dhuibh</i>, or the congregation or gathering of Crom Dubh,
and the day is called from him <i>Domnach Chrom Dubh</i>,
or Crom Dubh's Sunday, now called Garland Sunday by
the English-speaking portion of the people of the surrounding
districts. This name is supposed to have been
derived from the practise of strewing garlands of flowers
on the festive mound [or Mount Callan] on this day, as
homage to Crom Dubh—hence the name Garland Sunday.</p>
<p>"Assuredly I saw blossoms and flowers deposited upon
it on the first Sunday of August, 1844, and put some upon
it myself, as I saw done by those who were with me.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>"If you ask me who Crom Dubh was, I can only tell you
I asked the question myself on the spot. I was told that
Crom was a god and that Dubh or Dua meant <i>a sacrifice</i>,
which in combination made Crom Dubh, or Crom Dua,
that is, Crom's Sacrifice; and this Sunday was set apart
for the feast and commemoration of this Crom Dubh,
whoever he may have been."</p>
<p>It is interesting to find O'Looney's old-time experiences
in Co. Clare so far borne out by this legend from North
Mayo.</p>
<p>The name Téideach given to Crom's son, is, as Mr. Lloyd
acutely points out, founded upon a misunderstanding
of the name of the hole which must have been "poll an
t séidte," the puffing or blowing hole. Downpatrick, where
these events are supposed to have taken place, is at the extreme
northern extremity of Tyrawley, Co. Mayo, and all
the other places are in its neighbourhood.</p>
<p>For the <i>leannán sidhe</i>, or fairy sweetheart (often supposed
to be the muse of the poets), see O'Kearney's "Feis tighe
Chonáin." Oss. Soc. Publ. vol. II., pp. 80-103. For the
Irish of this story, see "Lúb na Caillighe." p. 33.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<p>Before St. Patrick came to Ireland there lived a chieftain
in the Lower Country<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> in Co. Mayo, and his name
was Crom Dubh. Crom Dubh lived beside the sea in
a place which they now call Dún Patrick, or Downpatrick,
and the name which the site of his house is called by is
Dún Briste, or Broken Fort. My story will tell why it
was called Dún Briste.</p>
<p>It was well and it was not ill, brother of my heart! Crom
Dubh was one of the worst men that could be found, but
as he was a chieftain over the people of that country he
had everything his own way; and that was the bad way,
for he was an evil-intentioned, virulent, cynical,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> obstinate
man, with desire to be avenged on every one who did not
please him. He had two sons, Téideach and Clonnach,
and there is a big hollow going in under the road at Gleann
Lasaire, and the name of this hollow in Poll a' Téidigh
or Téideach's hole, for it got its name from Crom Dubh's
son, and the name of this hole is on the mouth of [<i>i.e.</i>, used
by] English-speaking people, though they do not know the
meaning of it. Nobody knows how far this hole is
going back under the glen, but it is said by the old Irish
speakers that Téideach used to go every day in his little
floating curragh into this hole under the glen, and that this
is the reason it was called Téideach's Hole.</p>
<p>It was well, my dear. To continue the story, Crom
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>Dubh's two sons were worse than himself, and that leaves
them bad enough! Crom Dubh had two hounds of
dogs and their names were Coinn Iotair and Saidhthe
Suaraighe,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> and if ever there were [wicked] mastiffs
these two dogs were they. He had them tied to the two
jaws of the door, in order to loose them and set them to
attack people according as they might come that way;
and, to go further, he had a big fire kindled on the brink
of the cliff so that any one who might escape from the
hounds he might throw into the fire; and to make a long
story short, the fame of Crom Dubh and his two sons,
and his two mastiffs, went far and wide, for their evil-doing;
and the people were so terrified at his name, not
to speak of himself, that they used to hide their faces in
their bosoms when they used to hear it mentioned in their
ears, and the people were so much afraid of him that if
they heard the bark of a dog they would go hiding in the
dwellings that they had underground, to take refuge in,
to defend themselves from Crom Dubh and his mastiffs.</p>
<p>It is said that there was a linnaun shee<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> or fairy sweetheart
walking with Crom Dubh, and giving him knowledge
according as he used to require it. In place of his inclining
to what was good as he was growing in age, the way he
went on was to be growing in badness every day, and the
wind was not quicker than he, for he was as nimble as a
March hare. When he used to go out about the country
he used to send his two sons and his two mastiffs before
him, and they announcing to the people according as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
they proceeded, that Crom Dubh was coming to collect
his standing rent, and bidding them to have it ready for
him. Crom Dubh used to come after them, and his
trickster (?) along with him, and he drawing after him a
sort of yoke like a wheelless sliding car, and according
as he used to get his standing rent it used to be thrown
into the car, and every one had to pay according to his
ability. Anyone who would refuse, he used to be brought
next day before Crom Dubh, as he sat beside the fire,
and Crom used to pass judgment upon him, and after the
judgment the man used to be thrown into the fire. Many
a plan and scheme were hatched against Crom Dubh to
put him out of the world, but he overcame them all, for
he had too much wizardry from the [fairy] sweetheart.</p>
<p>Crom Dubh was continuing his evil deeds for many
years, and according as the story about him remains
living and told from person to person, they say that he was
a native of hell in the skin of a biped, and through the horror
that the people of the country had for him they would
have given all that ever they saw if only Crom Dubh and
his company could have been put-an-end-to; but there
was no help for them in that, since he and his company
had the power, and they had to endure bitter persecution
for years, and for many years, and every year it was
getting worse; and they without any hope of relief because
they had no knowledge of God or Mary or of anything else
which concerned heaven. For that reason they could not
put trust in any person beyond Crom Dubh, because they
thought, bad as he was, that it was he who was giving
them the light of the day, the darkness of the night, and
the change of seasons.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p>
<p>It was well, brother of my heart. During this time
St. Patrick was going throughout Ireland, working diligently
and baptizing many people. On he went until
he came to Fo-choill or Foghill; and at that time and for
long afterwards there were nothing but woods that grew
in that place, but there is neither branch nor tree there
now. However, to pursue the story, St. Patrick began
explaining to the Pagans about the light and glory of the
heavens. Some of them gave ear to him, but the most
of them paid him no attention. After he had taken all
those who listened to him to the place which was called
the Well of the Branch to baptize them, and when he had
them baptized, the people called the well Tobar Phadraig,
or Patrick's Well, and that is there ever since.</p>
<p>When these Pagans got the seal of Christ on their forehead,
and knowledge of the Holy Trinity, they began
telling St. Patrick about the doings of Crom Dubh and his
evil ways, and they besought him if he had any power
from the All-mighty Father to chastise Crom Dubh,
rightly or wrongly, or to give him the Christian faith if
it were possible.</p>
<p>It was well, brother, St. Patrick passed on over through
Tráigh Leacan, up Béal Trághadh, down Craobhach, and
down under the Logán, the name that was on Crom
Dubh's place before St. Patrick came. When St. Patrick
reached the Logán, which is near the present Ballycastle,
he was within a quarter of a mile of Crom Dubh's
house, and at the same time Crom Dubh and Téideach
his son were trying a bout of wrestling with one another,
while Saidhthe Suaraighe was stretched out on the ground
from ear to tail. With the squeezing they were giving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
one another they never observed St. Patrick making
for them until Saidhthe Suaraighe put a howling bark
out of her, and with that the pair looked behind them and
they saw St. Patrick and his defensive company with
him, making for them; and in the twinkling of an eye
the two rushed forward, clapping their hands and setting
Saidhthe Suaraighe at them and encouraging her.</p>
<p>With that Téideach put his fore finger into his mouth
and let a whistle calling for Coinn Iotair, for she was at
that same time hunting with Clonnach on the top of Glen
Lasaire, and Glen Lasaire is nearly two miles from Dun
Phadraig, but she was not as long as while you'd be saying
De' raisias [Deo Gratias] coming from Glen Lasaire when
she heard the sound of the whistle. They urged the two
bitches against St. Patrick, and at the same time they did
not know what sort of man St. Patrick was or where he
came from.</p>
<p>The two bitches made for him and coals of fire out of
their mouths, and a blue venemous light burning in their
eyes, with the dint of venom and wickedness, but just as
they were going to seize St. Patrick he cut [marked] a ring
round about him with the crozier which he had in his
hand, and before the dogs reached the verge of the ring
St. Patrick spoke as follows:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A lock on thy claws, a lock on thy tooth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A lock on Coinn Iotair of the fury.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A lock on the son and on the daughter of Saidhthe Suaraighe.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A lock quickly, quickly on you.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Before St. Patrick began to utter these words there
was a froth of foam round their mouths, and their hair
was standing up as strong as harrow-pins with their fury,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
but after this as they came nearer to St. Patrick they
began to lay down their ears and wag their tails. And
when Crom Dubh saw that, he had like to faint, because he
knew when they laid down their ears that they would not
do any hurt to him they were attacking. The moment
they reached St. Patrick they began jumping up upon
him and making friendly with him. They licked both
his feet from the top of his great toe<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> to the butt of his
ankle, and that affection [thus manifesting itself] is
amongst dogs from that day to this. St. Patrick began
to stroke them with his hand and he went on making
towards Crom Dubh, with the dogs walking at his heels.
Crom Dubh ran until he came to the fire and he stood up
beside the fire, so that he might throw St. Patrick
into it when he should come as far as it. But as St.
Patrick knew the strength of the fire beforehand he lifted
a stone in his hand, signed the sign of the cross on the
stone, and flung the stone so as to throw it into the middle
of the flames, and on the moment the fire went down to the
lowest depths of the ground, in such a way that the hole
is there yet to be seen, from that day to this, and it is called
Poll na Sean-tuine, the hole of the old fire (?), and when
the tide fills, the water comes in to the bottom of the hole,
and it would draw "deaf cows out of woods"—the
noise that comes out of the hole when the tide is coming
in.</p>
<p>It was well, company<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> of the world; when Crom Dubh
saw that the fire had departed out of sight, and that the dogs
had failed him and given him no help (a thing they had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
never done before), he himself and Téideach struck out
like a blast of March wind until they reached the house,
and St. Patrick came after them. They had not far to
go, for the fire was near the house. When St. Patrick
approached it he began to talk aloud with Crom Dubh,
and he did his best to change him to a good state of grace,
but it failed him to put the seal of Christ on his forehead,
for he would not give any ear to St. Patrick's words.</p>
<p>Now there was no trick of deviltry, druidism, witchcraft,
or black art in his heart, which he did not work for
all he was able, trying to gain the victory over St. Patrick,
but it was all no use for him, for the words of God
were more powerful than the deviltry of the fairy
sweetheart.</p>
<p>With the dint of the fury that was on Crom Dubh and
on Téideach his son, they began snapping and grinding
their teeth, and so outrageous was their fury that St.
Patrick gave a blow of his crozier to the cliff under the
base of the gable of the house, and he separated that much
of the cliff from the cliffs on the mainland, and that is to
be seen there to-day just as well as the first day, and that
is the cliff that is called Dún Briste or Broken Fort.</p>
<p>To pursue the story. All that much of the cliff is a good
many yards out in the sea from the cliff on the mainland,
so Crom Dubh and his son had to remain there until
the midges and the scaldcrows had eaten the flesh off their
bones. And that is the death that Crom Dubh got, and
that is the second man that midges ate,<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> and our ancient
shanachies say that the first man that midges ate was Judas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
after he had hanged himself; and that is the cause why the
bite of the midges is so sharp as it is.</p>
<p>To pursue the story still further. When Clonnach saw
what had happened to his father he took fright, and he
was terrified of St. Patrick, and he began burning the
mountain until he had all that side of the land set on fire.
So violently did the mountains take fire on each side of
him that himself could not escape, and they say that he
himself was burned to a lump amongst them.</p>
<p>St. Patrick returned back to Fochoill and round
through Baile na Pairce, the Town of the Field, and Bein
Buidhe, the Yellow Ben, and back to Clochar. The
people gathered in multitudes from every side doing
honourable homage to St. Patrick, and the pride of the
world on them that an end had been made of Crom Dubh.</p>
<p>There was a well near and handy, and he brought the
great multitude round about the well, and he never left
mother's son or man's daughter without setting on their
faces the wave of baptism and the seal of Christ on their
foreheads. They washed and scoured the walls of the well,
and all round about it, and they got forked branches and
limbs of trees and bound white and blue ribbons on them,
and set them round about the well, and every one of them
bowed down on his knees saying their prayers of thankfulness
to God, and as an entertainment for St. Patrick
on account of his having put an end to the sway of Crom
Dubh.</p>
<p>After making an end of offering up their prayers every
man of them drank three sups of water out of the well,
and there is not a year from that out that the people
used not to make a <i>turus</i> or pilgrimage to the well, on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
anniversary of that day; and that day is the last Sunday
of the seventh month, and the name the Irish speakers
call the month by in that place is the month of Lughnas
[August] and the name of the Sunday is Crom Dubh's
Sunday, but, the name that the English speakers call
the Sunday by, is Garland Sunday. There is never a
year from that to this that there does not be a meeting
in Cill Chuimin, for that is the place where the well is.
They come far and near to make a pilgrimage to the well;
and a number of other people go there too, to amuse
themselves and drink and spend. And I believe that the
most of that rakish lot go there making a mock of the
Christian Irish-speakers who are offering up their prayers
to their holy patron Patrick, high head of their religion.</p>
<p>Cuimin's well is the name of this well, for its name was
changed during the time of Saint Cuimin on account of
all the miraculous things he did there, and he is buried
within a perch of the well in Cill Chuimin.</p>
<p>There does be a gathering on the same Sunday at
Dún Padraig or Downpatrick at the well which is called
Tobar Brighde or Briget's Well beside Cill Brighde, and
close to Dún Briste; but, love of my heart, since the
English jargon began a short time ago in that place the
old Christian custom of the Christians is almost utterly
gone off.</p>
<p>There now ye have it as I got it, and if ye don't like it
add to it your complaints.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
<h2>MARY'S WELL.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The following story I got from Proinsias O'Conchubhait
when he was in Athlone about fifteen years ago, and he heard
it from a woman who herself came from Ballintubber, Co.
Mayo. This Ballintubber is not to be confounded with
the Roscommon place of the same name, which is called in
Irish Baile-an-tobair Ui Chonchubhair, or O'Conor's
Ballintubber. The Mayo Ballintubber is celebrated for its
splendid Abbey, founded by one of the Stauntons, a tribe
who took the name of Mac a mhilidh (Mac-a-Veely or
Mac Evilly) in Irish. The prophesy is current in Mayo
that when the abbey is re-roofed Ireland will be free. My
friend, Colonel Maurice Moore, told me that when he was
a young boy he often wondered why the people did not roof
the abbey, and so free Ireland without any more trouble.
The tomb of the notorious Shaun na Sagart, the priest-hunter,
which is not far away from it, is still pointed out
by the people. It is probably he who is the "spy" in the
following story, although his name is not mentioned. He
belonged to a class who appear to have made it their business
to track down priests and friars, which is alluded to in the
following lines:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It is no use for me to be saying it,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seeing your kinship with Donough-of-the-priest<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And with Owen-of-the-cards his father,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With the people who used to cut off heads<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To put them into leather bags,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To bring them down with them to the city,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And to bring home the gold they got for them,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For sustenance for wives and children.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
<p>It will be noticed that it was Mary Mother who put the
curing of the Blind into this well, and Owen O Duffy, the
poet, says of her that she is</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A woman who put a hedge round every country.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A woman to whom right inclines.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A woman greatest in strength and power,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A woman softest (<i>i.e.</i>, most generous) about red gold.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A woman by whom is quenched the anger of the king.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A woman who gives sight to the blind.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>For the Irish text of this story, see "Religious Songs of
Connacht," vol. I., p. 111.</p>
<p>The abbey where the holy well broke out was, according
to some, founded by Cathal O Conor in 1216, for the Augustinians,
and was dedicated to the Holy Trinity.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>Long ago there was a blessed well in Ballintubber (<i>i.e.</i>,
town of the well), in the county Mayo. There was once a
monastery in the place where the well is now, and it was
on the spot where stood the altar of the monastery that
the well broke out. The monastery was on the side of
a hill, but when Cromwell and his band of destroyers
came to this country, they overthrew the monastery, and
never left stone on top of stone in the altar that they did
not throw down.</p>
<p>A year from the day that they threw down the altar—that
was Lady Day in spring—the well broke out on the
site of the altar, and it is a wonderful thing to say, that
there was not one drop of water in the stream that was at
the foot of the hill from the day that the well broke out.</p>
<p>There was a poor friar going the road the same day, and
he went out of his way to say a prayer upon the site of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
blessed altar, and there was great wonder on him when he
saw a fine well in its place. He fell on his knees and began
to say his paternoster, when he heard a voice saying:
"Put off your brogues, you are upon blessed ground,
you are on the brink of Mary's Well, and there is the
curing of thousands of blind in it; there shall be a person
cured by the water of that well for every person who
heard mass in front of the altar that was in the place
where the well is now, if they be dipped three times in
it, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Spirit."</p>
<p>When the friar had his prayers said, he looked up and
saw a large white dove upon a fir tree near him. It was
the dove who was speaking. The friar was dressed in
false clothes, because there was a price on his head, as
great as would be on the head of a wild-dog [wolf].</p>
<p>At any rate, he proclaimed the story to the people of the
little village, and it was not long till it went out through
the country. It was a poor place, and the people in it had
nothing [to live in] but huts, and these filled with smoke.
On that account there were a great many weak-eyed people
amongst them. With the dawn, on the next day, there
were above forty people at Mary's Well, and there was
never man nor woman of them but came back with good
sight.</p>
<p>The fame of Mary's Well went through the country, and
it was not long till there were pilgrims from every county
coming to it, and nobody went back without being cured;
and at the end of a little time even people from other
countries used to be coming to it.</p>
<p>There was an unbeliever living near Mary's Well. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
was a gentleman he was, and he did not believe in the
cure. He said there was nothing in it but pishtrogues
(charms), and to make a mock of the people he brought
a blind ass, that he had, to the well, and he dipped its
head under the water. The ass got its sight, but the
scoffer was brought home as blind as the sole of your
shoe.</p>
<p>At the end of a year it so happened that there was a
priest working as a gardener with the gentleman who was
blind. The priest was dressed like a workman, and
nobody at all knew that it was a priest who was in it.
One day the gentleman was sickly, and he asked his
servant to take him out into the garden. When he came
to the place where the priest was working he sat down.
"Isn't it a great pity," says he, "that I cannot see my
fine garden?"</p>
<p>The gardener took compassion on him, and said, "I
know where there is a man who would cure you, but there
is a price on his head on account of his religion."</p>
<p>"I give my word that I'll do no spying on him, and I'll
pay him well for his trouble," said the gentleman.</p>
<p>"But perhaps you would not like to go through the
mode of curing that he has," says the gardener.</p>
<p>"I don't care what mode he has, if he gives me my
sight," said the gentleman.</p>
<p>Now, the gentleman had an evil character, because he
betrayed a number of priests before that. Bingham was
the name that was on him. However, the priest took
courage and said, "Let your coach be ready on to-morrow
morning, and I will drive you to the place of the cure;
neither coachman nor anyone else may be present but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
myself, and do not tell to anyone at all where you are
going, or give anyone a knowledge of what is your business."</p>
<p>On the morning of the next day Bingham's coach was
ready, and he himself got into it, with the gardener
driving him. "Do you remain at home this time,"
says he to the coachman, "and the gardener will drive
me." The coachman was a villain, and there was
jealousy on him. He conceived the idea of watching the
coach to see what way they were to go. His blessed
vestments were on the priest, inside of his other clothes.
When they came to Mary's Well the priest said to him,
"I am going to get back your sight for you in the place
where you lost it." Then he dipped him three times in
the well, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the
Holy Spirit, and his sight came to him as well as ever it
was.</p>
<p>"I'll give you a hundred pounds," said Bingham, "as
soon as I go home."</p>
<p>The coachman was watching, and as soon as he saw the
priest in his blessed vestments, he went to the people of the
law, and betrayed the priest. He was taken and hanged,
without judge, without judgment. The man who was
after getting back his sight could have saved the priest,
but he did not speak a word in his behalf.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>About a month after this another priest came to Bingham,
and he dressed like a gardener, and he asked work
of Bingham, and got it from him; but he was not long
in his service until an evil thing happened to Bingham.
He went out one day walking through his fields, and there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
met him a good-looking girl, the daughter of a poor man,
and he assaulted her and left her half dead. The girl
had three brothers, and they took an oath that they would
kill him as soon as they could get hold of him. They
had not long to wait. They caught him in the same
place where he assaulted the girl, and hanged him on a
tree, and left him there hanging.</p>
<p>On the morning of the next day millions of flies were
gathered like a great hill round about the tree, and
nobody could go near it on account of the foul smell
that was round the place, and anyone who would go near
it the midges would blind them.</p>
<p>Bingham's wife and son offered a hundred pounds to
anyone who would bring out the body. A good many
people made an effort to do that, but they were not able.
They got dust to shake on the flies, and boughs of trees to
beat them with, but they were not able to scatter them, nor
to go as far as the tree. The foul smell was getting worse,
and the neighbours were afraid that the flies and noisome
corpse would bring a plague upon them.</p>
<p>The second priest was at this time a gardener with
Bingham, but the people of the house did not know that
it was a priest who was in it, for if the people of the law or
the spies knew, they would take and hang him. The
Catholics went to Bingham's wife and told her that they
knew a man who would banish the flies. "Bring him
to me," said she, "and if he is able to banish the flies,
that is not the reward he'll get, but seven times as much."</p>
<p>"But," said they, "if the people of the law knew, they
would take him and hang him, as they hung the man who
got back the sight of his eyes for him before." "But,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
said she, "could not he banish the flies without the knowledge
of the people of the law?"</p>
<p>"We don't know," said they, "until we take counsel
with him."</p>
<p>That night they took counsel with the priest and told
him what Bingham's wife said.</p>
<p>"I have only an earthly life to lose," said the priest,
"and I shall give it up for the sake of the poor people,
for there will be a plague in the country unless I banish the
flies. On to-morrow morning I shall make an attempt
to banish them in the name of God, and I have hope
and confidence in God that he will save me from my
enemies. Go to the lady now, and tell her that I shall be
near the tree at sunrise to-morrow morning, and tell her
to have men ready to put the corpse in the grave."</p>
<p>They went to the lady and told her all the priest
said.</p>
<p>"If it succeeds with him," said she, "I shall have the
reward ready for him, and I shall order seven men to be
present."</p>
<p>The priest spent that night in prayer, and half an hour
before sunrise he went to the place where his blessed vestments
were hidden; he put these on, and with a cross in
one hand, and with holy-water in the other, he went to
the place where were the flies. He then began reading out
of his book and scattering holy-water on the flies, in the
name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The
hill of flies rose, and flew up into the air, and made the
heaven as dark as night. The people did not know
where they went, but at the end of half an hour there was
not one of them to be seen.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
<p>There was great joy on the people, but it was not
long till they saw the spy coming, and they called to the
priest to run away as quick as it was in him to run. The
priest gave to the butts (took to his heels), and the spy
followed him, and a knife in each hand with him. When
he was not able to come up with the priest he flung the
knife after him. As the knife was flying out past the
priest's shoulder he put up his left hand and caught it,
and without ever looking behind him he flung it back.
It struck the man and went through his heart, so that
he fell dead and the priest went free.</p>
<p>The people got the body of Bingham and buried it in
the grave, but when they went to bury the body of the
spy they found thousands of rats round about it, and there
was not a morsel of flesh on his bones that they had not
eaten. They would not stir from the body, and the
people were not able to rout them away, so that they had
to leave the bones over-ground.</p>
<p>The priest hid away his blessed vestments and was
working in the garden when Bingham's wife sent for him,
and told him to take the reward that was for banishing the
flies, and to give it to the man who banished them, if
he knew him.</p>
<p>"I do know him, and he told me to bring him the
reward to-night, because he has the intention of leaving
the country before the law-people hang him."</p>
<p>"Here it is for you," said she, as she handed him
a purse of gold.</p>
<p>On the morning of the next day the priest went to the
brink of the sea, and found a ship that was going to
France. He went on board, and as soon as he had left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
the harbour he put his priest's-clothes on him, and gave
thanks to God for bringing him safe. We do not know
what happened to him from that out.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>After that, blind and sore-eyed people used to be
coming to Mary's Well, and not a person of them ever
returned without being cured. But there never yet was
anything good in this country that was not spoilt by somebody,
and the well was spoilt in this way.</p>
<p>There was a girl in Ballintubber and she was about to be
married, when there came a half-blind old woman to her
asking alms in the honour of God and Mary.</p>
<p>"I've nothing to give to an old blind-thing of a hag,
it's bothered with them I am," said the girl.</p>
<p>"That the marriage ring may never go on you until
you're as blind as myself," says the old woman.</p>
<p>Next day, in the morning, the young girl's eyes were
sore, and the morning after that she was nearly blind,
and the neighbours said to her that she ought to go to
Mary's Well.</p>
<p>In the morning, early, she rose up and went to the
well, but what should she see at it but the old woman
who asked the alms of her, sitting on the brink, combing
her head over the blessed well.</p>
<p>"Destruction on you, you nasty hag, is it dirtying
Mary's Well you are?" said the girl. "Get out of that
or I'll break your neck."</p>
<p>"You have no honour nor regard for God or Mary, you
refused to give alms in honour of them, and for that
reason you shall not dip yourself in the well."</p>
<p>The girl caught a hold of the hag trying to pull her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
from the well, and with the dragging that was between
them, the two of them fell into the well and were
drowned.</p>
<p>From that day to this there has been no cure in the
well.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
<h2>HOW COVETOUSNESS CAME INTO THE CHURCH.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I heard this story from a workman of the late Mr. Redington
Roche, of Rye Hill (in Irish, Druim an tseagail) near
Monivea, Co. Galway. It was in Irish prose, but it reminded
me so strongly of those strange semi-comic mediæval
moralities common at an early date to most European
languages—such pieces as Goethe has imitated in his poem
of "St. Peter and the Horse Shoe"—that I could not
resist the temptation to turn it into rhyme. I have heard
a story something like this in the County Tipperary, only
that it was told in English. This story is the reason (I
think the narrator added) of the well-known proverbial
rann:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Four clerks who are not covetous<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Four Frenchmen who are not yellow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Four shoemakers who are not liars,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those are a dozen who are not in the country.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>More than one piece of both English and French literature
founded upon the same motif as this story will occur to the
reader. The original will be found at p. 161 of "The
Religious Songs of Connacht," vol I.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">As once our Saviour and St. Peter<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Were walking over the hills together,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a lonesome place that was by the sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beside the border of Galilee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just as the sun to set began<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whom should they meet but a poor old man!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">His coat was ragged, his hat was torn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He seemed most wretched and forlorn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Penury stared in his haggard eye<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And he asked an alms as they passed him by.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Peter had only a copper or two,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So he looked to see what the Lord would do.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The man was trembling—it seemed to him—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With hunger and cold in every limb.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But, nevertheless, our Lord looked grave,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He turned away and he nothing gave.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Peter was vexed awhile at that<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And wondered what our Lord was at,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because he had thought him much too good<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To ever refuse a man for food.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But though he wondered he nothing said,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor asked the cause, for he was afraid.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">It happened that the following day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They both returned that very way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And whom should they meet where the man had been<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But a highway robber gaunt and lean!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in his belt a naked sword—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For an alms he, too, besought the Lord.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"He's a fool," thought Peter, "to cross us thus,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He won't get anything from us."<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But Peter was seized with such surprise<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He scarcely could believe his eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When he saw the Master, without a word,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Give to the man who had the sword.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">After the man was gone again<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His wonder Peter could not restrain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But turning to our Saviour said:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Master, the man who asked for bread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The poor old man of yesterday,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why did you turn from him away?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But to this robber, this shameless thief,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Give, when he asked you for relief.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I thought it most strange for <i>you</i> to do;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We needn't have feared him, we were two.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have a sword here, as you see,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And could have used it as well as he;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I am taller by a span,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For he was only a little man."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">"Peter," said the Lord, "you see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Things but as they <i>seem</i> to be.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Look within and see behind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Know the heart and read the mind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Tis not long before you know<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why it was I acted so."<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">After this it chanced one day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our Lord and Peter went astray.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wandering on a mountain wide.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nothing but waste on every side.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Worn with hunger, faint with thirst,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Peter followed, the Lord went first.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then began a heavy rain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lightning gleamed and gleamed again,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Another deluge poured from heaven,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The slanting hail swept tempest-driven.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then when fainting, frozen, spent,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A man came towards them through the bent.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Peter trembled with cold and fright,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When he knew again the robber wight.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the robber brought them to his cave,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And what he had he freely gave.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He brought them wine, he gave them bread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He strewed them rushes for a bed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He lent them both a clean attire<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And dried their clothes before the fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And when they rose the following day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He gave them victuals for the way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And never left them till he showed<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And put them on the straightest road.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">"The Master was right," thought Peter then,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"The robber is better than better men.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There's many an honest man," thought he,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Who never did as much for me."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">They had not left the robber's ground<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Above an hour, when, lo, they found<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A man upon the mountain track<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lying dead upon his back.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Peter soon, with much surprise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The beggarman did recognize.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Ochone!" thought Peter, "we had no right<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To refuse him alms the other night.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He's dead from the cold and want of food,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And we're partly guilty of his blood."<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Peter," said our Lord, "go now<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Feel his pockets and let us know<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What he has within his coat."<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Peter turned them inside out,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And found within the lining plenty<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of silver coins, and of gold ones twenty.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"My Lord," said Peter, "now I know<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why it was you acted so.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whatever you say or do with men,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never will think you wrong again."<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Peter," said our Saviour, "take<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And throw those coins in yonder lake,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
<span class="i0">That none may fish them up again,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For money is often the curse of men."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Peter gathered the coins together.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And crossed to the lake through bog and heather.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But he thought in his mind "It's a real sin<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To be flinging this lovely money in.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We're often hungry, we're often cold,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And money is money—I'll keep the gold<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To spend on the Master, he needs the pelf,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For he's very neglectful of himself."<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then down with a splash does Peter throw<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The <i>silver</i> coins to the lake below,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And hopes our Lord from the splash would think<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He had thrown the whole from off the brink.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And then before our Lord he stood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And looked as innocent as he could.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Our Lord said: "Peter, regard your soul;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are you sure you have now thrown in the whole?"<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Yes, all," said Peter, "is gone below,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But a few gold pieces I wouldn't throw,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Since I thought we might find them very good<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a sup to drink, or a bite of food.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because our own are nearly out,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And they're inconvenient to do without.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But, if you wish it, of course I'll go<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fling the rest of the lot below."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">"Ah, Peter, Peter," said our Lord,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"You should have obeyed me at my word.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a greedy man you are I see,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a greedy man you will ever be;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A covetous man you are of gain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a covetous man you will remain."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So that's the reason, as I've been told,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All clergy are since so fond of gold.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
<h2>KNOCK MULRUANA.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story was told by my friend, Mr. Peter McGinley,
who printed it in 1897 in the "Gaelic Journal" of that year.
He told me that though the story came from the Irish
speaking part of the country it was in English it was first
repeated to him when he was a young boy, and he retold
it in Irish, without any change in the story itself. He says
that he feels sure it is just as he heard it. The story comes
from Gleann Domhain, which is near Gartan, in Donegal,
celebrated as the birthplace of Colmcille, and Cnoc Mhaoilruandha
is near at hand, and the lake is a little below it.
The proverb, "as I have burned the candle I'll burn the
inch," does not, he says, always signify impenitence, but
means rather to hold out in any course, good or evil, until
the last. The name Maolruanadha, which I have shortened
into Mulruana, is variously anglicised Mulroney and
Moroney. This story may remind the reader a little of
Lewis's "Monk."</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>On this side of Glen Domhain, there is a little hill
whose name is Mulroney's Hill, and this is the reason
why it was given that name.</p>
<p>In old times there was a man living in a little house
on the side of the hill, and Mulruana was his name.
He was a pious holy man, and hated the world's vanities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
so much that he became a hermit, and he was always alone
in that house, without anyone in his neighbourhood. He
used to be always praying and subduing himself. He used
to drink nothing but water, and used to eat nothing but
berries and the wild roots which he used to get in the
mountains and throughout the glens. His fame and
reputation were going through the country for the holy
earnest life that he was living.</p>
<p>However, great jealousy seized the Adversary at the
piety of this man, and he sent many evil spirits to put
temptations on him. But on account of all his prayers
and piety it failed those evil-spirits to get the victory over
him, so that they all returned back to hell with the report
of the steadfastness and loyalty of Mulruana in the
service of God.</p>
<p>Then great anger seized Satan, so that he sent further
demons, each more powerful than the other, to put
temptation on Mulruana. Not one of them succeeded in
even coming near the hut of the holy man. Nor did it
fare any better with them whenever he came outside,
for he used always to be attentive to his prayers and
ever musing on holy things. Then every evil-spirit
of them used to go back to hell and used to tell the devil
that there was no use contending with Mulruana, for that
God himself and His angels were keeping him and giving
him help.</p>
<p>That account made Satan mad entirely, so that he determined
at last to go himself, hoping to destroy Mulruana,
and to draw him out of the proper path. Accordingly
he came one evening at nightfall, in the guise of a young
woman, and asked the good man for lodging. Mulruana<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
rudely refused the pretended woman, and banished her
away from his door, although he felt a compassion for her
because the night was wet and stormy, and he thought that
the girl was without house and shelter from the rain and
cold. But what the woman did was to go round to
the back of the house and play music, and it was the
sweetest and most melancholy music that man ever
heard.</p>
<p>Because Mulruana had had a pity for the poor girl at
the first, he listened now to her music, and took great
delight in it, and had much joy of it, but he did not allow
her into his hut. At the hour of midnight the devil
went back to hell, but he had a shrewd notion that he had
won the game and that he had caught the holy man.
Mulruana had quiet during the remainder of the night,
but instead of continuing at his prayers, as was his custom,
he spent the end of the night, almost till the dawn of day,
thinking of the beauty of the girl and of the sweetness of
her music.</p>
<p>The day after that the devil came at the fall of night
in the same likeness, and again asked lodging of Mulruana.
Mulruana refused that, although he did not like to do it,
but he remembered the vow he had made never to let
a woman or a girl into his hut. The pretended woman
went round to the back of the house, and she was playing
music that was like fairy music until it was twelve o'clock,
when she had to go away with herself to hell. The man
inside was listening to the playing and taking great
delight in it, and when she ceased there came over him
melancholy and trouble of mind. He never slept a wink
that night, and he never said a word of his prayers either,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
but eagerly thinking<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> of the young woman, and his heart
going astray with the beauty of her form and the sweetness
of her voice.</p>
<p>On the morning of the next day Mulruana rose from his
bed, and it is likely that it was the whisper of an angel
he heard, because he remembered that it was not right
for him to pay such heed to a girl and to forget his prayers.
He bowed his knees and began to pray strongly and earnestly,
and made a firm resolve that he would not think
more about the girl, and that he would not listen to her
music. But, after all, he did not succeed in obtaining a
complete victory over his thoughts concerning the young
woman, and consequently he was between two notions
until the evening came.</p>
<p>When the night was well dark the Adversary came
again in the shape of the girl, and she even more beautiful
and more lovely than she was before, and asked the man
for a night's lodging. He remembered his vow and the
resolve he had made that day in the morning, and he
refused her, and threatened her that she should not come
again to trouble him, and he drove her away with rough
sharp words, and with a stern, churlish countenance,
as though there were a great anger on him. He went into
his hut and the girl remained near the hut outside, and she
weeping and lamenting and shedding tears.</p>
<p>When Mulruana saw the girl weeping and keening
piteously he conceived a great pity for her, and compassion
for her came to him, and desire, and he did not
free his heart from those evil inclinations, since he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
not made his prayers on that day with a heart as pure as
had been his wont, and he listened willingly and gladly.
It was not long until he came out, himself, in spite of his
vow and his good resolutions, and invited the pretended
woman to come into his hut. Small delay she made in
going in!</p>
<p>It was then the King of Grace took pity at this man
being lost without giving him time to amend himself,
since he had ever been truly pious, diligent, humane,
well disposed and of good works, until this great temptation
came over him. For that reason God sent an angel to
him with a message to ask him to repent. The angel
came to Mulruana's house and went inside. Then the
devil leapt to his feet, uttered a fearful screech, changed
his colour, his shape, and his appearance. His own
devilish form and demoniac appearance came upon him.
He turned away from the angel like a person blinded with
a great shining or blaze of light, and went out of the
hut.</p>
<p>His senses nearly departed from Mulruana with the
terror that overcame him. When he came to himself
again the angel made clear to him how great was the sin
to which he had given way, and how God had sent him
to him to ask him to repent. But Mulruana never
believed a word he said. He knew that it was the devil
who had been in his company in the guise of a young
woman. He remembered the sin to which he had consented,
so that he considered himself to be so guilty that it
would be impossible for him ever to obtain forgiveness
from God. He thought that it was deceiving him the
angel was, when he spoke of repentance and forgiveness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
The angel was patient with him and spoke gently. He
told him of the love and friendship of God and how He
would never refuse forgiveness to the truly penitent,
no matter how heavy his share of sins. Mulruana did not
listen to him, but a drowning-man's-cry issued out of his
mouth always, that he was lost, and he ever-cursing God,
the devil and himself. The angel never ceased, but entreating
and beseeching him to turn to God and make repentance—but
it was no use for him. Mulruana was as
hard and as stubborn as he was before, all the time taking
great oaths and blaspheming God.</p>
<p>All the time the angel was speaking he had the appearance of
a burning candle in his hand. At long last, when
the candle was burnt all but about an inch, a gloom fell
over the countenance of the angel and he stood out from
Mulruana, and threatened him, and told him that his term
of grace was almost expired, and, said he, unless you make
repentance before this inch of candle is burnt away, God
will grant you no more respite, and you will be damned
for ever.</p>
<p>Then there came silence on Mulruana for a while,
as though he were about to follow the advice of the
angel. But then on the spot he thought of the sin
that he had done. On that, despair seized him, and the
answer he gave the angel was, "as I have burned the
candle I'll burn the inch." Then the angel spoke to
him with a loud and terrible voice, announcing to
him that he was now indeed accursed of God, and,
said he, "thou shalt die to-morrow of thirst." Mulruana
answered him with no submission, and said, "O
lying angel, I know now that you are deceiving me. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
is impossible that I should die of thirst in this place, and
so much water round about me. There is, outside there,
a well of spring water that was never dry, and there is a
stream beside the gable of the house which would turn the
wheel of a great mill no matter how dry the summer day,
and down there is Loch Beithe on which a fleet of ships
might float. It is a great folly for you to say that anybody
could die of thirst in this place." But the angel departed
from him without an answer.</p>
<p>Mulruana went to lie down after that, but, if he did, he
never slept a wink through great trouble of spirit. Next
morning, on his rising early, the sharpest thirst that man
ever felt came upon him. He leapt out of his bed and
went to the stoap [pail] for water, but there was not a
drop in it. Out with him then to the well, but he did not
find a drop there either. He turned on his foot towards
the stream that was beside the house, but it was dry before
him down to the gravel. The banks and the pebbles
in the middle of it were as dry as though they had never
seen a drop of water for a year. Mulruana remembered
then the prophecy of the angel and he started. A quaking
of terror came upon him, and his thirst was growing every
moment. He went running at full speed to Loch Beithe,
but when he came to the brink of the lake he uttered one
awful cry and fell in a heap on the ground. Loch Beithe
too was dry before him.</p>
<p>That is how a cowherd found him the next day, lying
on the brink of the lake, his eyes starting out of his head,
his tongue stretched out of his throat, and a lump of white
froth round his mouth. His awful appearance was such
that fear would not let the people go near him to bury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
him, and his body was left there until birds of prey and
wild dogs took it away with them.</p>
<p>That is how it happened Mulruana as a consequence
of his sin, his impenitence, and his despair, and that is
the reason why it is not right for any one to use the old
saying, "As I've burnt the candle I'll burn the inch,"
and yonder is "Cnoc Mhaoilruanadha," Mulruana's Hill,
as a witness to the truth of this story.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE STONE OF TRUTH OR THE MERCHANT
OF THE SEVEN BAGS.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The Stone of Truth is as old as the times of the Druids.
The celebrated Lia Fail was a stone of truth. Certain stones
were oracles in old times. There was a stone in Oriel, and
a celebrated stone called Cloeh Labhrais in the south which
were oracular. A man who suspected his wife made her
stand upon the southern stone to swear that she had not
wronged him. She spied a man she knew too well
far away upon the mountain, and swore she had never done
anything she ought not to have done—no more than with
that man on the skyline. The heart of the stone was broken
with this equivocation, and it burst asunder exclaiming
<img src="images/x_052.jpg" style="width:180px;" alt="[uncial: bionn an fírinne féin searbh]"/>, "even truth itself is bitter."</p>
<p>The idea is Pagan, but this story is motivated in a
Christian manner, by alleging that the stone derived its
miraculous power from St. Patrick's having knelt on it in
prayer. I got this story from Francis O'Conor. For the
original Irish, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II.,
p. 230.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was a man in it, hundreds and hundreds of years
ago, whose name was Páidin<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> O Ciarbháin [Keerwaun, or
Kerwin] and he was living close to Cong in West Connacht.
Páidin was a strange man; he did not believe in God or in
anything about him. It's often the priest thought to bring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
him to Mass, but it was no use for him, for Páidin would
not take the advice of priest or bishop. He believed that
man was like the beast, and he believed that when man
died there was no more about him.</p>
<p>Páidin lived an evil life; he used to be going from house
to house by day, and stealing in the night.</p>
<p>Now, at the time that St. Patrick was in West Connacht
seeking to make Christians of the Pagans, he went down
one day upon his knees, on a great flag stone, to utter
prayers, and he left after him a great virtue in the same
stone, for anybody who might speak above that stone,
it was necessary for him to tell the clear truth, he could
not tell a lie, and for that reason the people gave the name
to that flag of the Stone of Truth.</p>
<p>Páidin used always to have a great fear of this stone,
and it's often he intended to steal it. One night when he
found an opportunity he hoisted the stone on his back,
took it away with him, and threw it down into a great
valley between two hills, seven miles from the place
where it used to be, and the rogue thought that he was
all right; but the stone was back in its old place that
same night without his knowing.</p>
<p>Another night after that he stole the geese of the parish
priest, and as the people doubted him, they said that they
would bring him to the Stone of Truth. Páidin was
laughing in his own mind, for he knew that he had the
stone stolen; but great was the surprise that was on him
when he saw the stone before him in its own place. When
he was put above the stone he was obliged to tell that he
had stolen the geese, and he got a great beating from the
priest. He made a firm resolution then that if he got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
an opportunity at the stone again, he would put it in a
place that it would never come out of.</p>
<p>A couple of nights after that he got his opportunity
again, and stole the stone a second time. He threw it
down into a great deep hole, and he went home rejoicing
in himself. But he did not go a quarter of a mile from
the place until he heard a great noise coming after him.
He looked behind him and he saw a lot of little people,
and they dressed in clothes as white as snow. There
came such fear over Páidin that he was not able to walk
one step, until the little people came up with him, and
they carrying the Stone of Truth with them. A man of
them spoke to him and said: "O accursed Páidin, carry
this stone back to the place where you got it, or you shall
pay dearly for it."</p>
<p>"I will and welcome," said Páidin.</p>
<p>They put the stone upon his back and they returned the
road on which they had come. But as the devil was
putting temptation upon Páidin, he went and threw the
stone into a hole that was deeper than the first hole, a hole
which the people made to go hiding in when the war
would be coming. The stone remained in that hole for
more than seven years, and no one knew where it was but
Páidin only.</p>
<p>At the end of that time Páidin was going by the side of
the churchyard, when he looked up at a cross that was
standing there, and he fell into a faint. When he came to
himself, there was a man before him and he clothed as
white as the snow. He spoke to him and said: "O
accursed Páidin, you are guilty of the seven deadly sins,
and unless you do penance you shall go to hell. I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
an angel from God, and I will put a penance on you. I
will put seven bags upon you and you must carry them
for one and twenty years. After that time go before the
great cross that shall be in the town of Cong, and say three
times, 'My soul to God and Mary,' spend a pious life
until then, and you will go to heaven. Go to the priest
now, if you are obedient (and ready) to receive my
counsel."</p>
<p>"I am obedient," said Páidin, "but the people will be
making a mock of me."</p>
<p>"Never mind the mock, it won't last long," said the
angel.</p>
<p>After this conversation a deep sleep fell upon Páidin, and
when he awoke there were seven bags upon him, and the
angel was gone away. There were two bags on his right
side, two bags on his left side, and three others on his back,
and they were stuck so fast upon him that he thought
that it was growing on him they were. They were the colour
of his own skin, and there was skin on them. Next day
when Páidin went among the people he put wonder on
them, and they called him the Merchant of the Seven
Bags, and that name stuck to him until he died.</p>
<p>Páidin began a new life now. He went to the priest,
and he showed him the seven bags that were on him, and
he told him the reason that they were put on him. The
priest gave him good advice and a great coat to cover the
seven bags with; and after that Páidin used to be going
from house to house and from village to village asking
alms, and there used never be a Sunday or holiday that
he would not be at Mass, and there used to be a welcome
before him in every place.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
<p>About seven years after that Páidin was going by the
side of the hole into which he had thrown the Stone of
Truth. He came to the brink of the hole, went down on
his two knees and asked God to send him up the stone.
When his prayer was ended he saw the stone coming up,
and hundreds of white doves round about it. The stone
was rising and ever rising until it came into Páidin's presence
on the ground, and then the doves went back again.
The next day he went to the priest and told him everything
about the Stone of Truth, and the way it came up out
of the hole. "I will go with you," said the priest, "until
I see this great wonder." The priest went with him to
the hole and he saw the Stone of Truth. And he saw
another thing which put great wonder on him; thousands
and thousands of doves flying round about the mouth
of the hole, going down into it and coming up again.
The priest called the place Poll na gColum or the Dove's
Hole, and that name is on it until the present day. The
blessed stone was brought into Cong, and it was not long
until a grand cross was erected over it, and from that day
to this people come from every place to look at the Dove's
Hole, and the old people believed that they were St.
Patrick's angels who were in those doves.</p>
<p>The Stone of Truth was for years after that in Cong,
and it is certain that it did great good, for it kept many
people from committing crimes. But it was stolen at last,
and there is no account of it from that out.</p>
<p>Páidin lived until he was four score years of age, and
bore his share of penance piously. When the one and
twenty years that the angel gave him were finished, and he
carrying the seven bags throughout that time, there came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
a messenger in a dream to say to him that his life in this
world was finished, and that he must go the next day
before the Cross of Cong and give himself up to God and
Mary. Early in the morning he went to the priest and
told him the summons he had got in the night. People
say that the priest did not believe him, but at all events
he told Páidin to do as the messenger had bidden him.</p>
<p>Páidin departed, and left his blessing with his neighbours
and relations, and when the clock was striking
twelve, and the people saying the Angelical Salutation,
Páidin came before the cross and said three times, "My
soul to God and to Mary," and on the spot he fell dead.</p>
<p>That cross was in the town of Cong for years. A bishop,
one of the O'Duffy's, went to Rome, and he got a bit of the
true Cross and put it into the Cross of Cong. It was there
until the foreigners came and threw it to the ground. The
Cross of Cong is still in Ireland, and the people have an
idea that it will yet be raised up in the town of Cong with
the help of God.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE ADVENTURES OF LÉITHIN</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The following interesting story, which, so far as I
know, has never been noted, has come down to us in
a late Middle Irish text from which I now translate
it for the first time. My attention was first called to
it years ago by my friend, Dr. Nicholas O'Donnell
of Melbourne, an Australian born and bred, but a
good Irish scholar, who made a transcript of the
story for me from an Irish MS. which he picked up in
Australia. It may well have been taken from a vellum,
for the initial letter is omitted and a great space left for
the scribe to insert it in colours later on. I have
carefully compared the copy of the Australian text
with four other copies which I find in the Royal
Irish Academy, the oldest of which however only dates
from 1788, but I found virtually no difference between
them, and it is evident that they are all drawn from
the same original. There seems to be no variant
known. There is an ancient poem of great interest bearing
on this story, called the Colloquy between Fintan and the
Hawk of Achill. It is in Egerton, 1782, and the text
was published in "Anecdota from Irish MSS." vol. I.,
p. 24, but has never been translated. Fintan, who survived
the flood, holds colloquy with the bird, which asked
him about his life, and Fintan asks the bird's age. "O
hawk from cold Achill take a benison and a victory, from
the time you were born of an egg, tell the number of
[the years of] your life."</p>
<p>"I am of the same age as thou, O Fintan, son of Bochra."
The Bird asks Fintan "since he was a poet and a prophet"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
to tell him the greatest evils he had ever experienced.
We learn from the answer that the ancient salmon in our
story was really a rebirth of Fintan himself, and it is
exceedingly interesting to find the wily old crow<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> who ate
Léithin's young ones, appear upon the scene again, as a
leading personage in another drama. Fintan tells how the
Creator placed him in the cold streams in the shape of a
salmon, how he frequented the Boyne, the Bush, the Bann,
the Suck, the Suir, the Shannon, the Slaney, the Liffey,
etc., etc. At last he came to Assaroe.</p>
<p>"A night I was on the wave in the north and I at seal-frequented
Assaroe. I never experienced a night like that
from the beginning to the end of my time.<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p>
<p>"I could not remain in the waterfall. I give a leap—it
was no luck for me—the ice comes like blue glass between
me and the pool of the son of Modharn.</p>
<p>"There comes a crow out of cold Achill, above the
inver of Assaroe, I shall not hide it, though it is a thing
to keep as a secret. He swept away with him one of my
eyes.</p>
<p>"The Goll or Blind One of Assaroe has clung to me [as
a name] from that night. Rough the deed. I am ever
since without my eye. No wonder for me to be aged."</p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Bird</span>.</p>
<p>"It was I who swallowed thy eye, O Fintan. I am the
grey Hawk, who be's alone in the waist of Achill."</p>
<p>Fintan demands eric [recompense] for his eye, but the
implacable old crow answers:</p>
<p>"Little eric would I give thee, O Fintan, son of Bochra
the soft, but that one remaining eye in the withered
head quickly would I swallow it of one morsel."</p>
<p>The bird goes on to tell Fintan about the various battles
it had seen in Ireland. As for the battle of Moytura in
Cong:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p>
<p>"It was there thy twelve sons fell; to see them, awsome
was the blow, and I gnawed off each fresh body<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> either
a hand or one foot or one eye."</p>
<p>The old crow it was who carried off the hand of Nuadh
covered with rings, which had been lopped off in the slaughter,
and which was replaced later on by a silver hand,
whence the King of the Tuatha De Danann received the
cognomen of Nuadh of the silver hand, but his real hand
was the plaything of the crows' young for seven years. He
recounts all the eyes he had picked out of heroes' heads
after famous fights. It was he too who perched upon
Cuchulainn's shoulder, when, dying, he had bound himself
to the standing stone,<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> but though his life had almost departed
from him the hero pierced him with his <i>cletin
curad</i> or hero's little quill. "I came above the hero as
his countenance was darkening in death to eat his eyes,
it was not an errand of luck, I stoop my head. He feels
me on his face, he raises up his weakening hand, he puts
his hero's little quill through my body at the first effort (?)
I take a troubled flight to Innis Geidh across the valleyed
sea and draw forth from myself, rough the task, the hard
tough shaft of the dartlet. The head remains in my body.
It tortured my heart sorely: sound I am not since that day,
and I conceal it not since I am old. It was I who slew, great
the tidings, the solitary crane that was in Moy Leana and
the eagle of Druim Breac, who fell by me at the
famous ford.</p>
<p>It was I who slew, pleasant the supper, the solitary crane
of blue Innis Géidh. <span class="smcap">It was I who chewed beneath
my comb the two full-fat birds of Leithin.</span> It
was I who slew, royal the rout, <span class="smcap">the slender Blackfoot</span>
of Slieve Fuaid; the <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> of Drum Seghsa of the
streams died in the talons of my daughter."</p>
<p>It is plain then that this ancient poem, found in
Egerton 1782, and in the Book of Fermoy, actually presupposes
our story, and has a close connection with it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>A gentle, noble, renowned patron there was of a time
in the land of Ireland, whose exact name was Ciaran of
Cluan.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> A good faith had he in the mighty Lord.</p>
<p>One day Ciaran bade his clerics to go look for thatch
for his church, on a Saturday of all days,<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> and those
to whom he spake were Sailmin, son of Beogan, and
Maolan, son of Naoi, for men submissive to God were
they twain, so far as their utmost diligence went, and many
miracles were performed for Maolan, as Ciaran said in
the stanza,</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Maolan, son of Naoi the cleric,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His right hand be for our benison<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If the son of Naoi desired it<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To work miracles like every saint.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>And, moreover, Sailmin, son of Beogan, he was the
same man of whom, for wisdom, for piety, and for
religion, Ciaran spake the stanza,</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sailmin melodious, son of Beogan.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A faith godlike and firm.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No blemish is in his body.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His soul is an angel.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>He was the seventh son of the sons of Beogan of
Burren,<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> and those men were the seven psalmists of
Ciaran, so that from them are the "Youth's Cross" on
the Shannon, and the [other] "Youth's Cross" on the
high road to Clonmacnoise [named].</p>
<p>Howsoever the clerics fared forth alongside the Shannon,
until they reached Cluain Doimh. There they
cut the full of their little curragh of white-bottomed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
green-topped rushes. But [before they had done]
they heard the voice of the clerics' bell at the time of
vespers on Sunday, so they said that they would not
leave that place until the day should rise on them on
Monday, and they spake the lay as follows:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The voice of a bell I heard in Cluan<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">On Sunday night defeating us,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I shall not depart since that has been heard,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Until Monday, after the Sunday.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On Sunday did God shape-out Heaven,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On that day was the King of the apostles born;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On Sunday was born Mary<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mother of the King of Mercy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On Sunday, I say it,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was born victorious John Baptist.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the hand of God in the stream in the East<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was he baptised on Sunday.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On Sunday, moreover, it is a true thing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Son of God took the captivity out of hell.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On a Sunday after the battle ...?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shall God deliver the judgment of the last day.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On a Sunday night, we think it melodious,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The voice of the cleric I hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The voice I hear of a bell<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On Drum Diobraid above the pool.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The voice of the bell I hear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Making me to postpone return ...?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The voice of the bell I hear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bringing me to Cluan.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">By thy hand O youth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And by the King who created thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My heart thinks it delightful<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The bell and the voice.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Howbeit the clerics abode that night [where they were]
for the love of the King of Sunday. Now there occurred,
that night, a frost and a prolonged snow and a rigour of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
cold, and there arose wind and tempest in the elements
for their skaith, without as much as a bothy or a lean-to
of a bed or a fire for them, and surely were it not for
the mercy of God protecting them round about, it was
not in the mind of either of them that he should be alive
on the morrow after that night, with all they experienced
of oppression and terror from the great tempest of that
wild-weather, so that they never remembered their acts
of piety or to say or sing a prayer (?) Nor could they
sleep or rest, for their senses were turned to foolishness,
for they had never seen the like or the equal of that storm,
and of the bad weather of that night, for the venom of
its cold and moreover for the bitterness of the morning
[which followed it]. And as they were there on the
morning of the next day they heard a gentle, low, lamentable,
woe-begone conversation of grief above their heads
on high, on a tall, wide-extended cliff. And [the meaning]
was revealed to them through the virtue of their holiness,
and although much evil and anxiety had they suffered,
[still] they paid attention to the conversation and observed
it. And they between whom the conversation was,
were these, namely an eagle who was called Léithin<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a>
and a bird of her birds<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> in dialogue with her, piteously
and complainingly lamenting their cold-state, pitifully,
sadly, grievously; and said the bird to the eagle:</p>
<p>"Léithin," said he, "do you ever remember the like
of this morning or of last night to have come within
thy knowledge before?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
<p>"I do not remember," said Léithin, "that I ever heard
or saw the like or the equal of them, since the world was
created, and do you yourself remember, or did you ever
hear of such [weather]?" said the eagle to the bird.</p>
<p>"There are people who do remember," said the bird.</p>
<p>"Who are they?" said the eagle.</p>
<p>"Dubhchosach, the Black-footed one of Binn Gulban,<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a>
that is the vast-sized stag of the deluge,<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> who is at Binn
Gulban; and he is the hero of oldest memory of all those
of his generation (?) in Ireland.</p>
<p>"Confusion on thee and skaith! surely thou knowest
not that; and now although that stag be far away from
me I shall go to see him, to find if I may get any knowledge
from him!"</p>
<p>Therewith Léithin went off lightly, yet was she scarcely
able to rise up on high with the strength of the bad weather,
and no more could she go low with the cold of the ...?
and with the great abundance of the water, and, though
it was difficult for her, she progressed lightly and low-flying,
and no one living could reveal or make known
all that she met of evil and of misery going to Ben Gulban
looking for the Blackfoot. And she found the small-headed
swift-footed stag scratching himself against a
bare oak rampike. And Léithin descended on a corner
of the rampike beside him. And she saluted the stag in
his own language and asks him was he the Blackfoot.
The stag said that he was, and Léithin spoke the lay:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Well for you O Blackfoot,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">On Ben Gulban high,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Many moors and marshes,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Leap you lightly by.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hounds no more shall hunt you<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Since the Fenians fell,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Feeding now untroubled<br /></span>
<span class="i2">On from glen to glen.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Tell me stag high-headed,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Saw you ever fall<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such a night and morning?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">You remember all.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">[<span class="smcap">The Stag Answers.</span>]<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I will give you answer<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Léithin wise and gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such a night and morning<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Never came my way.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>"Tell me, Blackfoot," said Léithin, "what is thy
age?"</p>
<p>"I shall tell thee," said the Blackfoot. "I remember
this oak here when it was a little sapling, and I was born
at the foot of the oak sapling, and I was reared upon that
couch [of moss at its foot] until I was a mighty-great
stag, and I loved this abode [ever], through my having
been reared here. And the oak grew after that till it
was a giant oak (?) and I used to come and constantly
scratch myself against it every evening after my journeyings
and goings [during the day] and I used [always]
to remain beside it in such wise till the next morning,
and if I had to make a journey or were hotly hunted I
used to reach the same tree, so that we grew up with one
another, until I became a mighty-great stag, and this
tree became the bare withered rampike which you see,
so that it is now only a big ruined shapeless-stump without
blossom or fruit or foliage to-day, its period and life
being spent. Now I have let a long period of years<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
by me, yet I never saw and never heard tell-of, in all that
time, the like of last night."</p>
<p>Léithin departs [to return] to his birds after that,
and on his reaching home the other<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> bird spoke to him,
"have you found out what you went to inquire about?"</p>
<p>"I have not," said Léithin, and she began to revile
the bird for all the cold and hardships she had endured,
but at last she said, "who do you think again would know
this thing for me?" said Léithin.</p>
<p>"I know that," said the bird, "Dubhgoire the Black
caller of Clonfert<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> of Berachan."</p>
<p>"Well then I shall go seek him."</p>
<p>And although that was far away from her, yet she
proceeded until she reached Clonfert of St. Berachan,
and she was observing the birds until they had finished
their feeding [and were returning home], and then
Léithin saw one splendid bird beautifully-topped, victorious-looking,
of the size of a blackbird, but of the
brightness of a swan, and as soon as it came into its
presence Léithin asks it whether it were Dubhgoire.
It said that it was. It was a marvel [to Léithin] when it
said that it was, namely that the blackbird should be
white, and Léithin spake the lay.</p>
<p>"How is that O Dubhgoire, sweet is thy warbling,
often hast thou paid thy calls throughout the blue-leaved
forest.</p>
<p>"In Clonfert of the bright streams and by the full plain
of the Liffey, and from the plain of the Liffey coming
from the east to Kildare behind it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>
<p>"From that thou departest to thy nest in the Cill
which Brigit blessed. Short was it for thee to overleap
every hedge till thou camest to the townland in which
Berachan was.</p>
<p>"O Dubhgoire tell to me—and to count up all thy
life—the like of yesterday morning, didst thou ever
experience it, O Dubhgoire?"</p>
<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">Dubhgoire Answers.</span>]</p>
<p>"To me my full life was three hundred years before
Berachan, the lifetime of Berachan I spent [added
thereto], I was enduring in lasting happiness.</p>
<p>"Since the time that Lughaidh of the Blades was for
a while in the sovereignty of all Ireland I never experienced
by sea or by land such weather as that which
Léithin mentions in his lay."<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p>
<p>"Well, then, my own errand to thee," said Léithin,
"is to enquire if thou didst ever experience, or remember
to have seen or [to have heard] that there ever came such
a morning as yesterday for badness."</p>
<p>"I do not remember that I ever saw such," said
Dubhgoire, "or anything like it."</p>
<p>As for Léithin, she was sad and sorrowful, for those
tidings did not help (?) her, and she proceeded on her
way till she reached her nest and birds.</p>
<p>"What have you to tell us to-day?" said the bird.</p>
<p>"May you never have luck nor fortune," said Léithin.
"I have no more news for you than I had when departing,
except all my weariness from all the journeyings and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
wanderings which you contrive to get me to take, without
my getting any profit or advantage out of you," and with
that she gave a greedy venemous drive of her beak at the
bird, so that she had like to have made a prey and flesh-torn
spoil of it, with vexation at all the evil and misery
she had experienced going to Kildare, so that the bird
screeched out loudly and pitifully and miserably.</p>
<p>[A while] after that Léithin said, "It's a pity and a
grief to me if any one in Ireland knows [that there ever
came a night worse than that night] that I myself do not
know of it."</p>
<p>"Well, then, indeed, there is one who knows," says
the bird, "Goll of Easruaidh (<i>i.e.</i>, the Blind One of
Assaroe) and another name of him is the Éigne<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> of
Ath-Seannaigh (<i>i.e.</i>, the salmon of Ballyshannon), and
it is certain that he knows about that, if any one in the
world knows about it."</p>
<p>"It is hard for me to go the way you tell me," said
Léithin, "yet should I like exceeding well to know about
this thing."</p>
<p>Howsoever she set out, and she never came down until
she reached Assaroe of Mac Modhuirn, and she began
observing and scrutinizing Assaroe until she saw the salmon
feeding near the ford, and she saluted him and said,
"Delightful is that O Goll, it is not with thee as with
me, for our woes are not the same," and she spake the
lay:</p>
<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">Léithin speaks.</span>]</p>
<p>"Pleasant is that [life of thine] O Goll with success (?)
many is the stream which thou hast adventured, not the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
same for thee and for us, if we were to relate our wanderings.</p>
<p>"It is to thee that I have come from my house, O Blind
one of Assaroe, how far doth thy memory go back, or
how far is thy age to be reckoned?"</p>
<p class="center">[<span class="smcap">The Salmon answers.</span>]</p>
<p>"As for my memory, that is a long one. It is not easy
to reckon it. There is not on land or in bush a person
like me—none like me but myself alone!</p>
<p>"I remember, it is not a clear-cut remembrance, the
displacing showers of the Deluge, four women and four
men, who remained after it in the world.</p>
<p>"I remember Patrick of the pens coming into the
land of Ireland, and the Fir Bolg, manful the assembly,
coming from Greece to take possession of it.</p>
<p>"Truly do I mind me of Fintan's coming into the
country close to me. Four men were the crew of his
ship, and an equal number of females.</p>
<p>"I remember gentle Partholan's taking the kingship
over Ulster. I remember, a while before that, Glas,
son of Aimbithe in Emania.</p>
<p>"I chanced to be one morning that was fair, on this
river, O Léithin, I never experienced a morning like
that, either before it or after it.</p>
<p>"I gave a leap into the air under the brow of my hard
rock [here], and before I came down into my house
[of water] this pool was one flag of ice.</p>
<p>"The bird of prey<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> seized me above the land with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
furious ungentle onslaught, and bore away my clear blue
eye. To me it was not a pleasant world."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>"Well now, my own object in coming to thee," said
Léithin, "was to enquire of thee whether thou dost ever
remember such a morning as was yesterday?"</p>
<p>"Indeed saw I such a morning," quoth Goll. "I
remember the coming of the deluge, and I remember the
coming of Partholan and of Fintan and the children of
Neimhidh and the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha De Danann,
and the Fomorians and the sons of Milesius and Patrick
son of Alprunn, and I remember how Ireland threw off
from her those troops, and I remember a morning
that was worse than that morning, another morning
not speaking of the great showers out of which the deluge
fell. And the deluge left only four men and four women,
namely, Noe, son of Laimhfhiadh and his wife, and Sem,
Cam and Japhet, and their three wives, for in truth that
was the crew of the ark, and neither [church] man nor
canon reckon that God left undestroyed in the world
but those four. However, wise men truly recount that
God left another four keeping knowledge and tribal-descent
and preserving universal genealogies, for God
did not wish the histories of the people to fade, and so
he left Fintan son of Laimhfhiadh towards the setting
of the sun, south, keeping an account of the west of the
world, and, moreover, Friomsa Fhurdhachta keeping
the lordship of the north, and the prophet and the
Easba? duly ordering [the history of the] south. And
those are they who were alive outside of the ark, and I
remember all those people. And Léithin," said Goll,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
"I never saw the like of that morning for vemon except
one other morning that was worse than the morning that
you speak of, and worse than any morning that ever came
before it. It was thus. One day I was in this pool and
I saw a beautifully coloured butterfly with purple spots
in the air over my head. I leapt to catch it, and before
I came down the whole pool had become one flag of ice
behind me, so that [when I fell back] it bore me up. And
then there came the bird of prey<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> to me, on his seeing
me [in that condition], and he gave a greedy venemous
assault on me and plucked the eye out of my head, and
only for my weight he would have lifted me, and he threw
the eye into the pool, and we both wrestled together
until we broke the ice with the violence of the struggle,
and with the [heat of the] great amount of crimson-red
blood that was pouring from my eye, so that the ice was
broken by that, so that with difficulty I got down into the
pool [again], and that is how I lost my eye. And it is
certain O Léithin," said Goll, "that that was by far the
worst morning that I ever saw, and worse than this morning
that thou speakest of."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Now as for the clerics, they took council with one
another, and determined to await [the eagle's return] that
they might know what she had to relate. However
they experienced such hardships and anguish from the
cold and misery of the night, and they could not [despite
their resolution] endure to abide [the eagle's return]. So
Maolan, the cleric, said, "I myself beseech the powerful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
Lord, and the chosen Trinity, that the eagle, Léithin,
may come with the knowledge she receives to Clonmacnoise
and tell it to Ciaran," [and therewith they themselves
departed.]</p>
<p>Now as for Goll [the salmon], he asked Léithin, after
that, who was it that sent her in pursuit of that knowledge.</p>
<p>"It was the second bird of my own birds."</p>
<p>"That is sad," said Goll, "for that bird is much older
than thou or than I either, and that is the bird that picked
my eye out of me, and if he had desired to make thee wise
in these things it would have been easy for him. That
bird," said he, "is the old Crow of Achill. And its
talons have got blunted with old age, and since its vigour
and energy and power of providing for itself have departed
from it, its way of getting food is to go from one nest to
another, smothering and killing every bird's young, and
eating them, and so thou shalt never overtake thy own
birds alive. And O beloved friend, best friend that
I ever saw, if thou only succeedest in catching him alive
on thy return, remember all the tricks he has played thee,
and avenge thy birds and thy journeyings and thy
wanderings upon him, and then too mind thee to avenge
my eye."</p>
<p>Léithin bade farewell to Goll, and off she went the self-same
way she had come, in a mighty swift course, for she
felt certain [now] that she would not overtake her birds
alive in her nest. And good cause had she for that
dread, for she only found the place of the nest, wanting
its birds, they having been eaten by the Crow of Achill.
So that all Léithin got as the result of her errand was the
loss of her birds.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
<p>But the old Crow of Achill had departed after its despoiling
[the nest], so that Léithin did not come upon it,
neither did she know what way it had gone.</p>
<p>Another thing, too, Léithin had to go every Monday,
owing to the cleric's prayer, to Clonmacnoise. There the
eagle perched upon the great pinnacle of the round tower<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a>
of Clonmacnoise, and revealed herself to the holy patron,
namely Ciaran. And Ciaran asked her for her news. And
Léithin said she was [not?] more grieved at her wanderings
and her loss than at that. Thereupon Ciaran said that
he would give her the price and reward of her storytelling;
namely, every time that her adventures should be told,
if it were stormy or excessive rain that was in it at the
time of telling, it should be changed into fine sky and good
weather.</p>
<p>And Léithin said that it was understood by her [all
along] that it was not her birds or her nest she would
receive from him; and since that might not be, she was
pleased that her journeyings and wanderings should not
go for nothing.</p>
<p>And [thereupon] Léithin related her goings from the
beginning to the end, just as we have told them above.
So those are the adventures of Léithin. Thus far.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
<h2 class="hang">THE COMPARISON AS TO AGE BETWEEN THE FOUR ELDERS; NAMELY, THE CROW OF
ACHILL, THE GREAT EAGLE OF LEAC NA BHFAOL, THE BLIND TROUT OF
ASSAROE, AND THE HAG OF BEARE.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This is the folk-lore version of the last story, and it is
very interesting because it lends strength to the assumption
that the story may be a piece of pre-Christian folk-lore,
and probably very much older than any documents. I
think it is pretty obvious that St. Ciaran and his clerics
were brought into the written version simply to insure the
tale against any clerical hostility which might be displayed
by well-intentioned friars or others who would say—"those
are only foolish tales, let them be." But the presence
of St. Ciaran and his two clerics would be sure to
disarm hostility, if any such were attempted. The whole
of mediaeval Irish literature is full of examples of such
forethought.</p>
<p>This story was told by Joyce or Seoigtheach, of Poll na
bracha, in Co. Galway, some years ago, for the Oireachtas.
There are a great number of stories in Irish with regard
to old age. A common saying which I have often heard,
but with variants, is the following, which purports to tell the
life of those things in the universe which will last longest:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Tri cuaille fáil, cú.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tri cú, each.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tri eich, duine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tri daoine, iolar.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tri iolair, bradán.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tri bradáin, iubhair (pronounced "úr.")<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tri iubhair, eitre,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tri eitreacha o thús an domhain go deireadh an domhain<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>
<p><i>i.e.</i>, "Three wattles (such as are placed in a hedge to fill
a gap) = a hound's life, three hounds a steed, three steeds
a man, three men an eagle, three eagles a salmon, three salmon
a yew tree, three yew trees a ridge, three ridges
from the beginning to the end of the world." "Eitre" has
been explained to me as the old very wide ridges that used
to be used in ancient times which left an almost indelible
track in the ground. But my friend Mr. Hodgson took
down a different explanation from Mathias O'Conor, and a
different version, after "tri ur, eitre," came "tri eitre,
'eye-ar'." and 'eitre' he explained as the mark of a
plough on land, and 'aidhear' or "eye-ar" as the mark
of a spade.</p>
<p>The Crow of Achill is a bird that every Irish speaker in
the West has heard of, but Raftery curiously made him a
"raven." In one of his poems he says of a place in his
beloved Mayo where birds delighted to resort:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ta an fiach dubh as Acaill ann</span>
<span class="i0">Ta an seabhac as Loch Erne ann,</span>
<span class="i0">Ta an t-iolrach o'n nGreig ann</span>
<span class="i4">Agus an eala on Roimh.</span>
</div></div></div>
<p><i>i.e.</i>, the Raven out of Achill is there, the Hawk from
Lough Erne is there, the Eagle out of Greece and the Swan
from Rome!</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>In the Island of Achill the Crow lived. He never
frequented wood, tree or bush, but an ancient forge
in which he spent his time every evening throughout the
year, and every year of his lifetime, lying on the anvil.
And as it is the custom of birds usually to rub their beaks
to the thing that is nearest to them, the Crow used to
give an odd rub, now and again, to the horn of the anvil.
At long last, in the end, the horn grew to be as thin and
worn away as a knitting needle, by the continuous rubbing.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>
<p>One night there happened to be a great storm. There
came frost, snow and wind, very violent. The roofing
was swept away off the forge, and along with it went the
plumage and feathers of the crow, and the poor crow was
left in the morning after that dreadful night, and he without
a feather or any plumage on his body, but just as
much as if he had been scalded with boiling water.</p>
<p>When the sun rose after that in the morning there
came a rest and a calm, but the poor crow was afraid
to go out, and [<i>i.e.</i>, after] the flaying that had been done
upon him during the night. "Oh," said he, "it's a
long time I'm in this world, and I never felt a single other
night of such bad weather as the night last night. It is
my own opinion that there is not a single living creature
in the entire world older than myself, unless it be the great
Eagle of Leac-na-bhfaol,<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> and I'm in doubt but that the
eagle is the older. I'll go to himself now until I get
knowledge from him if he ever felt a night as cold and
as venemous as the night we had last night."</p>
<p>When the light of day came and the heat of the sun
was right, my crow slipped off with the intention of
journeying to the eagle. He was going and ever-going
as well as he was able, seeing he was without feathers,
until he came in the end, at long last, as far as the nest
of the Eagle.</p>
<p>"Aroo!" says the Eagle; "O Crow of my heart,
what has happened to you, or where have your plumage
and your feathers gone?"</p>
<p>"Oh, don't ask me that," said the Crow, "didn't
yourself feel the cold and ill weather of last night?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
<p>"Well, indeed," said the Eagle, "I didn't notice one
jot of the wild weather that you're talking of."</p>
<p>"Heavy was your slumber then," said the Crow.
"I never experienced any night myself that was one
half as venemous as it was—and signs on me! I am
come now to you to find out from you did there ever
come any night in your time that was colder than it;
because I was laying out in my own mind that you are
older than I am."</p>
<p>"I have no right-certainty as to my own age," said
the Eagle; "but even if I had, I know that there is another
creature who is still alive in the world and who is very
much older than I am."</p>
<p>"Who is that?" said the Crow.</p>
<p>"He is the Blind Trout of Assaroe," said the Eagle.
"Go you, now, to that Trout, and perhaps you might
get the solving of your question from him."</p>
<p>The Crow went off and he never stopped nor stayed
until he came as far as Assaroe, and he found out the
Trout. He told his story then to the Trout, and told
him that he came to find out from him if there had
ever come a night in the world that was as cold as last
night.</p>
<p>"There did, and a thousand times colder," said the
Trout.</p>
<p>"I'd scarcely believe you,"<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> said the Crow.</p>
<p>"Why, then," said the Trout, "if you don't believe
me, you can go to an older authority than I."</p>
<p>"And who is that authority?" said the Crow.</p>
<p>"The Old Woman of Beare," said the Trout.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>
<p>"I'll go right away to her this moment,"<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> said the
Crow.</p>
<p>"Wait yet," said the Trout, "until I tell you my
own story. I was swimming on the surface of this pool
one fine calm evening, as calm and as fine as any evening
that ever I saw. There were thousands of flies above
the pool. I sprang upward to catch the full of my
mouth of them, and before I reached back again into the
water there was ice on the [surface of the] water, and I
was jumping and floundering on the flag of ice until the
raven<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> came and picked the eyes out of my head. My
share of blood began running fast<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> out of me, and I
was there until the heat of the blood melted the flag of
ice that was on the water, down through it, and let me
down into the water again. That was the coldest night
that I ever felt myself, and that is the way I lost my
sight. I was christened the Blind Trout of Assaroe
ever since, but some of the people call me the Old Trout
of Assaroe. Alas, my bitter misfortune! I am ever since
without sight."</p>
<p>The Crow heard him out, but he would not be easy
or satisfied in his own mind until he should go on a visit
to the Old Woman of Beare.</p>
<p>"Farewell, Trout," said he, "I must go to the Old
Woman now until I hear her own story."</p>
<p>"May your journey succeed with you Crow, you will
have neither loss nor hurt in the house of the Old
Woman," said the Trout.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
<p>The Crow went off then, and he never stopped nor
stayed until he came to the Old Woman's house.</p>
<p>"Welcome, O Crow out of Achill," said she. "What
is this has happened to you, or where are your plumage
and feathers?"</p>
<p>"They are gone with the big wind," said he; and with
that he told his story to the Old Woman from beginning
to end, and he put the same question to her that he had
put before that to the Eagle and to the Trout—Did she
ever feel any night that was as sore and venemous as
last night?</p>
<p>"That's true for you," said she; "I did feel a little
stroke of cold at the beginning of the night, but I drew
a wool pack over my head then, and I never felt anything
but moonogues<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> of perspiration running off me again
until morning."</p>
<p>"Are you very old?" said the Crow; "or what age
are you?"</p>
<p>"I have no certain date with regard to my age," said
the Old Woman—"only this much. My father used
to kill a beef every year, on the day I was born, in honour
of my birthday, as long as he lived, and I followed the
same custom, from that day to this. All the horns [of
the beeves I killed] are on the loft in the barn and do you
remain in my house until to-morrow, and if you like I'll
send the servant boy to count them and you yourself
can keep account of them [as he numbers them
aloud.]<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a></p>
<p>On the morrow with the rise of day the servant went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
up to count the horns, and he spent one full year, and a
day over, at that work, and after all that there was only
one corner of the loft emptied.</p>
<p>And during all that time the Crow was taking his ease,
and there was neither thirst nor hunger on him [so well
was he treated] and his plumage and his feathers grew on
him again.</p>
<p>But even so, he got tired of keeping count.</p>
<p>"I give you the branch" [palm of victory] said he
to the Old Woman; "you are as old as the old grandmother
long ago, who ate the apples," and he sped forth
from the Old Woman and went home.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The following little story, taken down in Irish by my friend
Father Kelleher from the dictation of Mary Sweeney, aged
82, of Coolea, Ballyvourney, Co. Cork, and sent me by Miss
G. Schoepperle, who published the text in the revue Celtique
in 1911, is of great interest, because it is almost unique
as showing a point of contact—one of the exceedingly few
points of contact—between Breton and Irish folk-lore.
"Il n'est, que je sache, d'autre example en Irlande d'un
messager surnaturel, tel que l'enfant mystérieux qui parait
dans le conte qui suit," says Miss Schoepperle, truly, but in
Brittany, she goes on to say, the "buguel" (Irish, <img src="images/x_063.jpg" style="width:3.8em;" alt="[uncial: buachaill]" />)
noz," <i>i.e.</i>, the boy or herdsman of the night, is well known.
It is generally described as a little child with its head too
large for its body, which only seldom appears, but which
is heard to cry and lament in fields or on deserted roads.
Its apparition is a presage of death. Lebraz in his Légende
de la Mort has more than one story of its appearance.
The salient points in the following story which seem to
connect it with the Breton legend are: (1) The gradual
growth in size of the being which was at first small; (2) the
lamentations and cries which it utters, and (3)—most remarkable
of all—that it described itself as a herdsman,
and was a presage of death.</p>
<p>The Bearchan of this story must have been the bishop of
<img src="images/x0631.jpg" style="width:5.3em;" alt="[uncial: Cluain-sosta]" /> in <img src="images/x0632.jpg" style="width:3.5em;" alt="[Uncial: Ui Failghe]" /> (King's County) about the year
690. He was of the race of the <img src="images/x0633.jpg" style="width:3.7em;" alt="[Uncial: Dalriada]" /> or Scoto-Irish,
and was 21st in descent from <img src="images/x0634.jpg" style="width:6em;" alt="[Uncial: Cairbre Riada]" /> who fought
in the battle of <img src="images/x0635.jpg" style="width:6.1em;" alt="[Uncial: Ceann Feadrat]" /> in 186 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> I have seen his
pedigree in MS. There are about six other St. Bearchans,
but so far as I know the only one who would have been at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
all likely to have attracted a body of legend to himself
was this Bearchan of <img src="images/x0631.jpg" style="width:5.3em;" alt="[Uncial: Cluain-sosta]" />, who was esteemed as
a prophet and poet. Besides I find this very curious note
in the Martyrology of Donegal compiled by Brother Michael
O'Clery from the old books of Ireland in 1630:</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/x_064n2.jpg" width="400" height="66" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="center"><a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[link to transcription]</a></p>
<p>i.e., "Berchan's vat has been
found new in Ui Failgi in the territory of the Ui
Berchain. The timber was still round the water
[<i>i.e.</i>, was still good enough to hold water.] It is
there Cluainsosta is, and there Berchan's church is and
was." So, then, there must have been some well-known
story connected with Berchan's vat. The list of the great
Earl of Kildare's library, which was drawn up in 1518, contained
a "St. Berchan's Book." Poems ascribed to him
are found in the "Wars of the Gael and Gall." For other
references to him, see my "Literary History of Ireland,"
210-11<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> "Bearachán" is the modern pronunciation of the
older Berchán.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>Bearachan of Glen Flesk<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> had a dream or vision that
there was no danger of his ever dying until three kings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
should come to his house without asking or invitation.
On a certain night they did pay him a visit. He told them
that there would not be a bit of him alive in the morning.
They passed a good part of the night eating and drinking
away, and they making a jest of him [saying] that so long
as they themselves were in the house there would be no
danger of [anything happening] him.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/fp064.jpg" width="400" height="598" alt="" />
<div class="caption">THETHREE KINGS ADMIT THE "POOR LITTLE CREATURE"</div>
</div>
<p>They got hold of a big dabhach or vat, and [they put]
Bearachan in under the mouth of the vat [to protect him]
and they three were round about it.</p>
<p>He had not been long placed there by them when they
heard a very clear little voice outside, and it crying; and
there was snow outside, and cold.</p>
<p>They asked it, "what was outside and what it wanted."</p>
<p>It said that it was a cow-herd and that it was perished.</p>
<p>They left him outside for a good space of time. At last
they let him in. He came in and sat down beside the
fire, a poor little creature, and he shaking with the cold.
They gave him food and drink, but he told them that he
was too much frightened, and that he would not eat it.</p>
<p>They had a fine red-hot fire, and he was warming himself
at the fire. He was a very short time there till he began
swelling with the [heat of the] fire and growing big. He
drew a little musical instrument out of his pocket and
started to play on it. And according as the music was
a-playing by him the others were inclining to weaken
and fall asleep, until they [all, at last] fell softly in a dead
sleep.</p>
<p>And when they awoke in the morning, they had no
music and no Bearachan—nothing but his bones left
bare and naked underneath the vat.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
<h2>STORY OF SOLOMON.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>How Solomon comes into Irish folk-lore is hard to say,
but I have heard at least three stories about him, of which
the present is the most interesting. I wrote it down, word
for word, from the mouth of Michael Mac Ruaidhri, in 1896.
There is an undoubtedly Eastern flavour about it, but how
it came to the County Mayo I cannot imagine, for I have
not been able to trace it to any known source.</p>
<p>Solomon's name was better known in the middle ages
in connection with the conjuration of spirits. "Für solche
halbe Hexenblut 1st Salomonis Schlüssel gut," says Faust
in the study scene, when threatened by the demon dog.
Josephus mentions Solomon's power over ghosts, and a book
of conjurations in Hebrew which was ascribed to Solomon
was translated into Latin, French, Italian, German and
Spanish. The best known German edition according to Zerfi
(one of Faust's editors) is called "clavicula Salomonis et
theosophia pneumatica."</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>When Solomon's mother was sick, Solomon used to
send a man from the village in which he was, to watch
her every night; and every man who used to be watching
her had to come before sunrise next morning with word
to Solomon of how his mother was, and the first man who
would say that his mother was dead, his head was to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
whipt off him, and hung upon a spear that was above the
Great Door. And they used to go, man after man, each
night in their turn, and five pounds was the reward for
their work, which they used to get each night. It was
well, and it was not ill, until it came to the turn of a
widow's son to go to watch the mother of Solomon;
and the night that he was going to watch her she was very
weak and overcome, and given up for death.</p>
<p>When the account came to the widow's son to go and
watch Solomon's mother, there came the weakness and the
sweat of death upon him, and his mother began to keene
for him, because she had no one but him. And as he was
going home from the day's work that he had, that evening,
he was weeping and troubled; and there met him a half-fool,
and he asked the widow's son for what cause was he
weeping, and the widow's son told him as I am telling it
to you.</p>
<p>"What is the reward that you will get?" said the half-fool
to the widow's son.</p>
<p>"Five pounds," says he to him.</p>
<p>"My soul to God of the graces," says the half-fool,
"but I'll go in your place to night, if you give me the
five pounds."</p>
<p>"I'll give you five pounds, and something over," says
the widow's son, "if you go there."</p>
<p>True was the story. The half-fool went to watch
Solomon's mother that night, and she was in the last
agony when he went into the room, and he was watching
her until after the hour of twelve at night; and he heard
a noise at the big door, and he rose upon his feet and
walked to the big door, and there was a man at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
the big door, and he watching, looking in on a window
that was in the big door. And the man who was in it
was a body-servant of Solomon; and Solomon had a
great regard for this man, and he used to send this man
every night to bring him word privately—to tell him
if the man who was taking care of his mother was doing
his business right. Now, there was none of the men who
were watching his mother for a year so keenly-watchful as
the half-fool who was watching her that night. No man
of them heard the man who was at the big door any
night except him.</p>
<p>The half-fool opened the big door then, and there was
an old sword hung up over the big door. When the big
door was opened the body-servant thought to come in,
but the half-fool drew the sword, and threw the head off
him. He left him there and went to the sleeping-room
where Solomon's mother was, and he was not long in it
until Solomon's mother died.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Solomon was getting very uneasy about his servant as to
what was the reason that he was not coming to him with
tidings, as he used to come every other night. But, howsoever,
Solomon did not leave the house till morning, and he
did not go to look for him. [He waited], but he did not
come. And when the day came, the widow's son was not
with Solomon before the rising of the sun, as the other
men had been. Solomon did not go to rest, but he ever
looking out through the window, and at long last he saw
the widow's son—for he thought it was he was in it—coming
to the palace. And when he came in to Solomon
they saluted one another. And says the half-fool—it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
was he was in it—to Solomon, "I am asking pardon
of you, O king and prince."</p>
<p>"Why say you that?" said Solomon.</p>
<p>"I knocked the hat off your body-servant yesterday,"
said the half-fool.</p>
<p>"You have your pardon got," said Solomon.</p>
<p>"But, O thou best of the kings," said the half-fool,
"the head was with the hat." And as Solomon was after
giving him his pardon, he could not go back of his
word.</p>
<p>"Have you any other tidings with you?" said Solomon.</p>
<p>"I have," said he.</p>
<p>"Tell them," said Solomon.</p>
<p>"God's brightness is on the earth," said he.</p>
<p>"The sun is risen," said Solomon.</p>
<p>"It is," said the half-fool.</p>
<p>"The stones that were above yesterday," said he, "they
are going below now."</p>
<p>"The plough is ploughing, then," said Solomon.</p>
<p>"It is," said he, "and the first house in which you were
reared, it is overthrown."</p>
<p>"Then my mother is dead," said Solomon</p>
<p>"She is," said the half-fool.</p>
<p>"I shall have your head on the spear," said Solomon.</p>
<p>"You shall not, O honest noble king," said the half-fool,
"you yourself were the first man who said it."</p>
<p>"By my honour," said Solomon, "it was I."</p>
<p>Ye see now, that, as wise as Solomon was, the half-fool
got the victory over him in wisdom. "There be's luck
on a fool."<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHRISTMAS ALMS.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>There are many rhyming petitions and prayers amongst
the "Askers of Alms" to be recited at the door of those
from whom they crave assistance. One of the virtues most
insisted upon in prayers and didactic poems is almsgiving.
The following story was probably invented with a deliberately
didactic purpose. It was told by Mary Gowlan,
Cathair-na-Mart (Westport), some twenty years ago.
The Dardeels, or Dharadeels which came out of the mouth
of the dying woman are the most loathsome insects known
to the Irish peasant. They are black beetles with cocked tails.
See the "Legend of the Dardeel, the Keerogue and the
Prumpolaun."</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>In the old time there was a married couple living near
Cauher-na-Mart,<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> in the County Mayo. They had seven of
a family, but God sent them worldly means, and they
wanted for nothing but the love of God.</p>
<p>The man was a pious and generous person, and was
good to the poor, but the wife was a hard miser without
mercy, who would not give alms to man or stranger,
and after refusing the poor man she used not to be satisfied
with that, but she used to give him abuse also. If a
person able to do work were to come looking for alms from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
her, she would say, "Unless you were a lazy vagabone
you would not be here now looking for alms and bothering
my head with your talk;" but if an old man or an old
woman who could do no work would come to her, it is
what she would say to them that they ought to be dead
long before that.</p>
<p>One Christmas night there was frost and snow on the
ground. There was a good fire in Patrick Kerwan's
house—that was the man's name—and the table was
laid. Patrick, his wife and his family were sitting down
at the table, and they ready to go in face of a good supper
when they heard a knock at the door. Up rose the wife
and opened it. There was a poor man outside, and she
asked him what he was looking for.</p>
<p>"I'm looking for alms in the honour of Jesus Christ,
who was born on this festival night, and who died on the
Cross of passion for the human race."</p>
<p>"Begone, you lazy guzzler," she said, "if you were one
half as good at working as you are at saying your prayers,
you would not be looking for alms to-night, nor troubling
honest people," and with that she struck the door to, in the
face of the poor man, and sat down again at the table.</p>
<p>Patrick heard a bit of the talk she gave the poor man, and
he asked who was at the door.</p>
<p>"A lazy good-for-nothing, that was looking for alms,"
said she, "and if it wasn't that it was a lazy vagabone that
was in it, he would not come looking for alms from people
who are earning their share of food hardly, but he would
sooner be saying his old prayers than working for meat."</p>
<p>Patrick rose. "Bad was the thing you did," said he,
"to refuse anyone for a morsel of meat, and especially to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
refuse him on Christmas night. Isn't it God that sent
us everything that we have; there is more on this table
than will be eaten to-night; how do you know whether
we shall be alive to-morrow?"</p>
<p>"Sit down," says she, "and don't be making a fool of
yourself; we want no sermons."</p>
<p>"May God change your heart," says Patrick, and with
that he got the full of his two hands of bread and food, and
out with him, following the poor man, going on the track of
his feet in the snow as quick as he could, till he came up
with him. He handed him the food then, and told him he
was sorry for his wife's refusing him. "But," says he,
"I'm sure there was anger on her."</p>
<p>"Thank you for your food," said the poor man. He
handed the food back again to him, and said "[there], you
have your food and your thanks, [both]. I am an angel
from heaven who was sent to your wife in the form of
a poor man, to ask alms of her in the honour of Jesus
Christ, who was born this night, and who suffered the
passion of the Cross for the human race. She was not
satisfied with refusing me, but she abused me also. You
shall receive a great reward for your alms, but as for your
wife she shall not be long until she is standing in the presence
of Jesus Christ to give Him an account of the way
in which she spent her life on this world."</p>
<p>The angel departed, and Patrick returned home. He
sat down, but he could neither eat nor drink.</p>
<p>"What's on you?" says the wife, "did that stroller do
anything to you?"</p>
<p>"My grief! it was no stroller was in it, but an angel
from heaven who was sent to you in the shape of a man to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
ask alms of you, in honour of Jesus Christ, and you were
not satisfied with refusing him, but you must abuse him
with bad names. Now, your life on this world is not long,
and in the name of God, I beseech you, make a good use of
it."</p>
<p>"Hold your tongue," she said, "I think that you saw a
ghost, or that you lost your senses, and may God never
relieve you, nor anyone else who would leave a good fire,
and a good supper, running out in the snow after a lazy
rap; but the devil a much sense was in you ever."</p>
<p>"If you don't take my advice, you'll repent when you'll
be too late," said Patrick; but it was no use for him to be
talking.</p>
<p>When Little Christmas [New Year's Day] came, the
woman was not able to get dinner ready; she was deaf and
blind. On the Twelfth Night she was not able to leave
her bed, but she was raving and crying, "give them alms,
alms, alms, give them everything in the house in the name
of Jesus Christ."</p>
<p>She remained for a while like that, between the death
and the life, and she without sense. The priest came
often, but he could do nothing with her. The seventh
day the priest came to her, and he brought the last oil
to anoint her with.</p>
<p>The candles were lit, but they were quenched upon the
spot. They tried to light them again, but all the coals
that were in the county Mayo would not light them. Then
he thought to put the oil on her without a candle, but on
the spot the place was filled with a great smoke, and it was
little but the priest was smothered. Patrick came to the
door of the room, but he could go no further. He could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
hear the woman crying, "a drink, a drink, in the name of
Christ!"</p>
<p>She remained like this for two days, and she alive, and
they used to hear her from time to time crying out, "a
drink, a drink," but they could not go near her.</p>
<p>Word was sent for the Bishop O'Duffy, and he came at
last, and two old friars along with him. He was carrying
a cross in his right hand. When they got near Patrick's
house, there came down on them with one swoop a multitude
of kites, and it was little but they plucked the eyes
out of the three.</p>
<p>They came then to Patrick's door and they lit the
candles. The bishop opened a book and said to the
friars, "When I shall begin reading the prayers do ye
give the responses." Then he said, "Depart, O Christian
soul——"</p>
<p>"She is not a Christian soul," said a voice, but they
saw no one.</p>
<p>The Bishop began again, "Depart, O Christian soul,
out of this world, in the name of the all-powerful Father
who created you." Before he could say more there came
great thunder and lightning. They were deafened with
the thunder; the house was filled with smoke. The
lightning struck the gable of the house and threw it down.
The deluge came down so that the people thought it was
the end of the world that was in it.</p>
<p>The Bishop and the two friars fell to their prayers
again. "O Lord, according to the abundance of Thy
mercy, look mercifully upon her," said the Bishop.
"Amen," said the friars. There came a little calm and
the Bishop went over to the bed. Poor Patrick came to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
the other side of the bed, and it was not long until the
woman opened her mouth and there came a host of
dardeels out of it. Patrick let a screech and ran for fire
to put on them. When he came back the woman was
dead, and the dardeels gone.</p>
<p>The Bishop said prayers over her, and then he himself
went away and the two friars, and Patrick went out to get
women to wash the corpse, but when he came back the
body was not to be found either up or down. There was
a purse of gold round its neck, and the purse went with the
body, and there is no account of either of them from that
out.</p>
<p>Many was the story and version that the neighbours had
about Patrick Kerwan's wife. Some of them say that the
devil took her with him. Others said that the good people
carried her away. At all events there is no account of her
since.</p>
<p>At the end of a month after that the speckled disease
(smallpox) broke out amongst the children and they all
died. There was very great grief on Patrick. He was
alone, by himself, without wife, without children, but he
said: "Welcome be the will of God."</p>
<p>A short time after that, he sold all that he had and went
into a monastery. He spent his life piously and died a
happy death. May God grant us a good death and the
life that is enduring.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE BURIAL OF JESUS.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The first time I heard this poem was at the Galway
Feis many years ago. A poor old man, called the Cean-nuidhe
Cóir (Canny Core) or Honest Merchant—I don't
know what his real name was—recited it. I took him aside
in the interval during the competitions and wrote the most
of it down from his recitation. My friend, Eoghan
O Neachtain, wrote the rest of it down for me from the old
man's mouth later on, but with the greatest difficulty as
he had lost his teeth and pronounced very badly. Neither of
us ever heard the poem before, and it is obviously only a
fragment of a long piece, now, I fear, hopelessly lost, in
common with many others, once popular. Indeed, I
have seen a copy of this poem written down by a man
called Hessian some eighty years ago, who called it the
Assire [=Aiseirghe], but it is hopelessly undecipherable.
This curious piece refers to a story once so commonly
known in Ireland that it may almost be said to
have formed part of the regular account of the crucifixion.
It is celebrated even more in Irish art than in Irish
story and song. When examining a few years ago the remains
of the beautiful abbey which gives to Ennis its Irish
name of Mainistir na h-Innse, I saw where a portion of the
stone carving had recently been laid bare, and there, as plain
as though it had been carved yesterday, was a very spirited
picture of the cock rising up out of the pot and getting ready
to crow. This was included with the other symbols of the
crucifixion. I have seen the same thing on old wooden
crucifixes, and elsewhere. There seems to have been a
body of legend in some way or other connecting the cock with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
the history of the Passion. A Coptic legend tells us that
on the day of the betrayal a roasted cock had been served
up to our Lord, who bade it rise up and follow Judas,
who was then upon his way to make his bargain with the
chief priests. The cock rose up and did what it was
ordered, and brought back word to our Lord that the arch-traitor
had sold Him, "and for this that cock shall enter
Paradise." Thevonet Voyages II. 75, quoted in Journal
for Apocrypha.</p>
<p>It is more likely, however, that the legend as we know
it came from the second Greek form of the Gospel of Nicodemus,
certain MSS. of which contain the following passage:
"And when the Jews refused to receive again from Judas
the thirty pieces of silver for which he had betrayed his
Master, he threw them in their midst and went away.
And he came home to make a halter out of a cord to hang
himself with. There he found his wife sitting and roasting
a cock upon the coals. And he said unto her: 'Rise wife
and get a rope ready for me because I mean to hang myself
as I deserve.' But his wife said unto him, 'Why speakest
thou like that?' And Judas replied, 'Know then that I
have unjustly betrayed my master, Jesus, to the evil-doers
who have taken him before Pilate to put Him to death;
but He will rise again on the third day, and then woe to us.'
But his wife said unto him, 'Speak not so, and believe it
not. For it is just as likely that this cock roasting on the
coals will crow as that Jesus will rise, as thou sayest.' And
while she was thus speaking the cock flapped his wings and
crew thrice. Then was Judas yet the more convicted,
etc." (Tischendorff, p. 289). The legend found its way into
Scotland also. It is told in a bald version in Scotch Gaelic
of only four verses, recovered by Carmichael ("Carmina
Gadelica," vol. II., p. 176): "That cock which you have
in the pot pounded as fine as cabbage, the liar shall not leave
the tomb until it crows upon the beam." For the original
and literal translation, see "Religious Songs of Connacht."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Virgin gentle, courteous, gracious,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose goodness, which my soul embraces,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A shaft of light through time and space is<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To lead it into heavenly places.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thy Holy Son, the King of Angels,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suffered passion, wounds, estrangement,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In satisfaction for the ailments<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the sins which here assail us.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<hr class="tb" /><br />
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He was laid in the tomb at the will of the King,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He died with pains unstinted,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The blood of His heart on the point of the dart,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And death on His cold face printed.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the door of the tomb was a stone of gloom,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Not a hundred men could heave it,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But an angel came from heaven like flame<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To raise it and to leave it.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Magdalen came, and she came in her haste<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To wash His wounds in a minute,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She searched through the gloom of the rock-hewn tomb,—<br /></span>
<span class="i2">No trace of the Lord was in it.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">She saw by the wall the grave clothes all<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Lying empty there, and started,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And timidly asked of the soldier guard,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">"Where has our Lord departed."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I was here," said the guard, "I kept watch and kept ward,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Why seek ye the truth to smother?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot—<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And the one is as dead as the other."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">While the camp looks on and sees us,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And until the cock rises out of the pot,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He never shall rise, your Jesus."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With that the dead cock flew out of the pot,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And clapped with his wings loud crowing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Ochone"! cried the man, and his features grew wan,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">"Then Jesus is up and doing."<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">[<span class="smcap">Spake the Virgin.</span>]<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I sicken, I sigh, with longing I die,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">If ye show me not where to find Him,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To put balm in the cuts and the stabs and the wounds,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Wherewith in His side they signed Him."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He is gone where are gone the Apostles, and soon<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In Galilee thou shalt find him.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">[<span class="smcap">Spake Christ</span>.]<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">By Peter my Church has been holily built<br /></span>
<span class="i2">With flame of faithful endeavour,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though the body be stricken the soul hath no guilt,—<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Confess ye My name for ever.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Here is another melodious little piece about the two
Marys which I got from my friend Miss Agnes O'Farrelly,
who got it from a young gossoon in Inismaan, or
in Aranmore, I do not know which.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">UPROSE THE TWO MARYS.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Uprose the two Marys,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Two hours ere day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And they went to the temple<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To keene and to pray.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There came in the angel<br /></span>
<span class="i2">With candle so bright,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"All hail to thee, Mary,"<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Said God full of light.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"And dost thou forget it,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Thy passion and pain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And dost thou forget it,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Thy slaying by men?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"And dost thou forget it,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The spear and the threat,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which no children of Adam<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Could ever forget?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<hr class="tb" /><br />
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Remember me, children<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Of Adam and Eve,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the heavens of God<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Ye shall surely receive.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>
<h2>SAINT PETER.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>An old woman named Bridget Casey, from near Baile'dir-dhá-abhainn
or Riverstown, Co. Sligo, told this story
to F. O'Conor in Athlone, from whom I got it. For the
original see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. 1, p. 192.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>At the time that St. Peter and our Saviour were walking
the country, many was the marvel that his Master showed
him, and if it had been another person who was in it
and who had seen half as much, no doubt his confidence
in his Master would have been stronger than that of
Peter.</p>
<p>One day they were entering a town, and there was a
musician sitting half-drunk on the side of the road and he
asking for alms. Our Saviour gave him a piece of money,
going by of him. There came wonder on Peter at that,
for he said to himself, "many's the poor man in great want
that my Master refused, but now He has given alms to this
drunken musician; but perhaps," says he to himself,
"perhaps He likes music."</p>
<p>Our Saviour knew what was in Peter's mind, but he
did not speak a word about it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
<p>On the next day they were journeying again, and a poor
friar (<i>sic</i>) met them, and he bowed down with age and
almost naked. He asked our Saviour for alms, but He
took no notice of him, and did not answer his request.</p>
<p>"There's another thing that's not right," said Peter in
his own mind. He was afraid to speak to his Master about
it, but he was losing his confidence in Him every day.</p>
<p>The same evening they were approaching another
village when a blind man met them and he asking alms.
Our Saviour talked with him and said, "What do you
want?" "The price of a night's lodging, the price of
something to eat, and as much as I shall want to-morrow:
if you can give it to me you shall get great recompense,
and recompense that is not to be found in this sorrowful
world."</p>
<p>"Good is your talk," said the Lord, "but you are only
seeking to deceive me, you are in no want of the price of
a lodging or of anything to eat, you have gold and silver
in your pocket, and you ought to give thanks to God
for your having enough to do you till [next] day."</p>
<p>The blind man did not know that it was our Saviour
who was talking to him, and he said to him, "It is not
sermons but alms I'm asking for, I am certain that if you
did know that there was gold or silver about me you would
take it from me. Get off now, I don't want your talk."</p>
<p>"Indeed you are a senseless man," said the Lord, "you
will not have gold or silver long," and with that He
left him.</p>
<p>St. Peter was listening to the discourse, and he had a
wish to tell the blind man that it was our Saviour who was
talking to him, but he got no opportunity. But there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
another man listening when our Saviour said that the
blind man had gold and silver. It was a wicked plunderer
who was in it, but he knew that our Saviour never
told a lie. As soon as He and St. Peter were gone, the
robber came to the blind man and said to him, "give
me your gold and silver or I'll put a knife through your
heart."</p>
<p>"I have no gold or silver," said the blind man, "if I
had, I wouldn't be looking for alms." But, with that, the
robber caught hold of him, put him under him, and took
from him all he had. The blind man shouted and
screamed as loud as he was able, and our Saviour and
Peter heard him.</p>
<p>"There's wrong being done to the blind man," said
Peter.</p>
<p>"Get treacherously and it will go the same way," said
our Saviour, "not to speak of the Day of Judgment."</p>
<p>"I understand you, there is nothing hid from you,
Master," said Peter.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>The day after that they were journeying by a desert,
and a greedy lion came out. "Now, Peter," said our
Saviour, "you often said that you would lose your life for
me, go now and give yourself to the lion, and I shall
escape safe."</p>
<p>Peter thought to himself and said, "I would sooner
meet any other death than let a lion eat me; we are
swift-footed, and we can run from him, but if I see him
coming up with us I'll remain behind, and you can escape
safe."</p>
<p>"Let it be so," said our Saviour.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>
<p>The lion gave a roar, and off and away with him after
them, and it was not long till he was gaining on them and
close up to them.</p>
<p>"Remain behind, Peter," said our Saviour, but Peter
let on that he never heard a word, and went running out
before his Master. The Lord turned round and said to
the lion, "go back to the desert," and so he did.</p>
<p>Peter looked behind him, and when he saw the lion
going back, he stood till our Saviour came up with him.</p>
<p>"Peter," said He, "you left me in danger, and—what
was worse than that—you told lies."</p>
<p>"I did that," said Peter, "because I knew that you have
power over everything, not alone over the lion of the
wilderness."</p>
<p>"Silence your mouth, and do not be telling lies; you
did <i>not</i> know, and if you were to see me in danger to-morrow
you would forsake me again. I know the
thoughts of your heart."</p>
<p>"I never thought that you did anything that was not
right," said Peter.</p>
<p>"That is another lie," said our Saviour. "Do you not
remember the day that I gave alms to the musician who
was half drunk, there was wonder on you, and you said to
yourself that many's the poor man in great want, whom I
refused, and yet that I gave alms to a drunken man because
I liked music. The day after that I refused the old friar,
and you said that that was not right; and the same
evening you remember what happened about the blind
man. I will explain to you now why I acted like that.
That musician did more good than twenty friars of his
sort since ever they were born. He saved a girl's soul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
from the pains of hell. She wanted a piece of money,
and was going to commit a deadly sin to get it, but the
musician prevented her and gave her the piece of money,
though he himself was in want of a drink at the same time.
As for the friar, he was not in want at all; although he
had the name of friar he was a limb of the devil, and that
was why I paid him no heed. As for the blind man, his
God was in his pocket, for the old word is true, 'where
your store is your heart will be with it.'"</p>
<p>A short time after that Peter said, "Master, you have a
knowledge of the most lonesome thoughts in the heart of
man, and from this moment out I submit to you in everything."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>About a week after that they were travelling through
hills and mountains, and they lost their way. With the
fall of the night there came lightning, thunder, and heavy
rain. The night was so dark they could not see a sheep's
path. Peter fell against a rock and hurt his foot so badly
that he was not able to walk a step.</p>
<p>Our Saviour saw a little light under the foot of a hill,
and he said to Peter, "remain where you are, and I will go
for help to carry you."</p>
<p>"There is no help to be found in this wild place,"
said Peter, "and don't leave me here in danger by
myself."</p>
<p>"Be it so," said our Saviour, and with that he gave a
whistle, and there came four men; and who was captain of
them but the person who robbed the blind man a while
before that! He recognized our Saviour and Peter, and
told his men to carry Peter carefully to the dwelling-place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
they had among the hills. "These two put gold and
silver in my way a short time ago," said he.</p>
<p>They carried Peter into a chamber under the ground.
There was a fine fire in it, and they put the wounded
man near it, and gave him a drink. He fell asleep,
and our Saviour made the sign of the cross with his
finger above the wound, and when he awoke he was
able to walk as well as ever. There was wonder on
him when he awoke, and he asked "what happened to
him." Our Saviour told him each thing and how it
occurred.</p>
<p>"I thought," said Peter, "that I was dead, and that I
was up at the gate of heaven, but I could not get in, for
the door was shut, and there was no doorkeeper to be
found."</p>
<p>"It was a vision you had," said our Saviour, "but it is
true. Heaven is shut and is not to be opened until I die
for the sin of the human race who put anger on My Father.
It is not a common but a shameful death I shall get, but I
shall rise again gloriously and open the heaven that was
shut, and you shall be doorkeeper."</p>
<p>"Ora! Master," said Peter, "it cannot be that you
would get a shameful death. Would you not allow me to
die for you? I am ready and willing."</p>
<p>"You think that," said our Saviour.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>The time came when our Saviour was to get death. The
evening before that He Himself and His twelve disciples
were at supper, when He said, "There is a man of you
going to betray Me." There was great trouble on them,
and each one of them said, "Am I he?" But He said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
"He who dips with his hand in the dish with Me, he is the
man who shall betray Me."</p>
<p>Peter said then, "If the whole world were against you,"
said he, "I will not be against you." But our Saviour
said to him, "Before the cock crows to-night you will
reneague (deny) Me three times."</p>
<p>"I would die before I would reneague you," said
Peter; "indeed I shall not reneague you."</p>
<p>When death-judgment was passed upon our Saviour,
His enemies were beating Him and spitting on Him.
Peter was outside in the court, when there came a servant-girl
to him and said to him, "You were with Jesus."
"I don't know," says Peter, "what you are saying."</p>
<p>Then when he was going out the gate another girl said,
"There's a man who was with Jesus," but he took his oath
that he had no knowledge at all of Him. Then some of the
people who were listening said, "There is no doubt at all
but you were with Him; we know it by your talk." He
took the great oaths, then, that he was not with Him. And
on the spot the cock crew, and then he remembered the
words our Saviour said, and he wept the tears of repentance,
and he found forgiveness from Him whom he
denied. He has the keys of heaven now, and if we shed
the tears of repentance for our faults, as he shed them,
we shall find forgiveness as he found it, and he will welcome
us with a hundred thousand welcomes when we
go to the door of heaven.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
<h2>LEGENDS OF ST. DEGLAN.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE</p>
<p>I wrote down the following legend of St. Deglan, word
for word, in Irish, from the telling of my friend, Padraig
O'Dalaigh, who comes himself from the Decies.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<p>When Deglan was leaving Rome he held his bell in
his hand, but as he was going into the ship he left the bell
upon a rock that was by the harbour, and forgot to bring
it with him. The ship put out to sea, with the bell
left on the rock behind it.</p>
<p>When Deglan was coming near Ireland he remembered
the bell, and knew that he had left it on the rock behind
him in Rome. Old people say that long ago there used
not to be much good in "a cleric without a bell."<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a>
Deglan knew that he would want the bell when he
would land in Ireland, and he prayed God to send it to
him.</p>
<p>At the end of a little time what should be seen swimming
behind the ship but the rock and the bell on it, just as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
Deglan had left it at Rome. And when the vessel came
to land, then the stone came into the harbour at Ardmore,
and the stone comes up on the shore, and it is there yet.
The stone is set high up on the top of two smaller stones,
and room between the two for a man to pass out under
them. If you were to see the hole you would feel certain
that even a cat could not pass out through it, and yet a
big man can pass through.</p>
<p>Every Deglan's Day, the 24th of July, and the Sunday
nearest to it, thousands of people come from all over
the Decies, from twenty miles away, to the "pattern,"
and anyone who has anything the matter with him,
either disease or pain or sickness, goes in under that
stone, and believes firmly in his mind that he will be
healed. Hundreds do that yet, up to the present day.</p>
<p>About fifteen years ago the "pattern" was growing
small and dying out, but a feis, the second feis in
Ireland [in modern times] was held on Deglan's Sunday,
and thousands and thousands of people came to it, and
there had not been such a "pattern" for fifty years.
I myself have often seen people passing under the stones.</p>
<p>Every second person in the "seana-phoball," and in
the parish of Ardmore also, is called Deglan down to the
present day. Scarcely a month passes that a child is not
christened Deglan. The explanation that the people
give of the name of the parish called "Seana-phoball,"
or Old Parish, is that Deglan had made a parish of it
and that there were Christians there before there was
a parish, or before there were Christians in any other
place in Ireland, and "old phoball" is the same as "old
paróiste" or parish.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p>
<p>[The above story is the folk version of part of the
following, which is here translated for the first time from
an Irish MS. in my own possession. St. Deglan's church
is spoken of in the MS. as still standing, and his miraculous
stone as being still preserved there when the account
was written. This throws back the account many hundreds
of years. I collated my MS. carefully with one
written in 1758 [23 M 50], preserved in R.I.A. It has
never been printed, but I believe my friend, Father Power,
will soon publish the entire life of St. Deglan.]</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2>ST. DEGLAN.</h2>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Of How Tramore Got Its Name</span>.</p>
<p>And the people of the island concealed the ship so that
Deglan could not embark on it, for they disliked it greatly
that Deglan should inhabit it, for fear they themselves
might be banished out of it.</p>
<p>His disciples then said to Deglan, "Father, thou often
requirest to come to this place. We pray thee to avoid
it, and mayest thou receive from God that the sea should
ebb away from the land so that people may go into it
with dry feet, for Christ has said that whatever shall
be asked of My Father in My name He shall give it you,
for it is not easy for thou to inhabit this place or to protect
it."</p>
<p>And Deglan said, "This place which was promised
me by God and where my burial was promised, how
shall I be able to avoid it? But concerning this thing
which ye desire me to do, namely, to inhabit it, I like not
to pray against the will of God concerning the taking
away from the sea its own natural movement; howsoever,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
at your entreaty I shall direct my petition to God,
and whatsoever pleases God, let it be done."</p>
<p>Deglan's disciples arose, and they said, "take thy staff
as Moses did with the rod, and smite the sea with it, and
God shall make manifest His own will to thee in that
wise," and his disciples besought him to do that, for they
were faithful people. His staff was [accordingly] given
into Deglan's hand, and he smote the water with it in the
name of the Trinity, and he made the sign of the cross of
crucifixion with it on the water, and quickly the sea
began to move out of his own place—so quickly that it
was scarcely the swift monsters<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> of the sea could keep
pace with it by swimming, and it left many of them on
the shore high and dry, who were not able to depart with
the sea on account of the rapidity with which it moved.
And Deglan followed the sea with his crozier in his
hand, and his disciples followed him, and there was a
cry and a great sounding from the sea and from the
monsters departing. And when Deglan reached the
place where Tarmuin-na-mara is now, a young child
of Deglan's disciples by the name of Mainchin spake, he
being terrified at the noises of the sea and at the roaring
of the unknown monsters with their mouths open, following
the water. "Father," said he, "thou hast displaced
the sea enough, for I am afraid of yonder awful monsters."
At the word of the child the sea stopped. And Deglan
did not like that, and he struck a light blow on his nose,
and three drops of blood dropped from him to the ground
under Deglan's feet in three places. And Deglan blessed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
the nose, and the blood ceased suddenly. And Deglan said,
"it is not I who have removed the sea but the power of
God, and it would have removed it further had it not
been for the words thou spakest." And in the place where
those drops of blood fell, three little wells of sweet shining
water burst forth from them under the feet of Deglan.
And those wells are still there. And they are seldom
[without?] that colour of blood upon them as a remembrance
of those miracles. And there is a mile in length
and in breadth around them, and the name of it is "the
tramore," or "great shore," and good and profitable
is the land of Tramore, and there was [built] Deglan's
monastery. And the crozier that Deglan had in his
hand, when performing that miracle, its name was
"Feardhacht Deglan." We shall say something more
about its miracles in another place.</p>
<p class ="center"><span class="smcap">Of How Ardmore Got Its Name, and of
St. Deglan's Stone</span>.</p>
<p>Deglan proceeded to say mass in a church that lay
before him in his way, and a small black stone was sent
from heaven through the window of the church to him,
and it remained on the altar in his presence. Great
joy seized Deglan at beholding it, and he gave praise and
glory to God for it. Now his mind was firmly set
against ill ways and the unreason of the heathen after
the possession of the stone, and he gave that stone to
Lunan, son of the King of the Romans, who was in his
company, to keep and to carry for him. And the name<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
of that stone was Bobhur in Ireland,<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> namely Deglan's
"Duibhin" (or little black thing) and it was from its
colour it received that name, for by its colour it was
black, and it revealed [things] by the grace of God,
and Deglan performed many miracles [by it], and it
remains to this day in Deglan's church....</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>... and on one of these occasions (a visit to Rome) he went
to a holy bishop of the Britons named David, to the
church which is called Cillmhin [Killveen], which is
beside the shore of the sea which divides Britain from
Ireland. And the bishop received him with honour, and
he was for forty days in his society, with love and joy, and
he used to say mass each day there, and they knit themselves
together with bonds of brotherhood and partnership,
and [they bound] the people of the place after them.
And on his completing forty days there, they parted with
salutation, and he said farewell to David and gave him
a kiss in token of peace. And he himself and his disciples
went to the shore of the sea to go into the ship to go to
Ireland. And that stone I spake of, which was sent to
Deglan from heaven, a monk was carrying it at the time;
for Deglan was unwilling ever to part with it, and it
used always to be in his company. And when they came
from the shore into the ship the monk had forgotten it,
[and left it] on a rock which was on the shore. And until
they had gone about half way over the sea they never
remembered it. And when they did remember it
Deglan was melancholy, and so was every one else,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
after the gift, which had come down from heaven to
Deglan, being forgotten in a place from which they never
thought to get it back. Deglan looked above his head to
heaven, and clearly prayed to God in his mind. And then
he said to his disciples, "lay aside your melancholy,
for God who made a gift of that stone from heaven at
the first can now send it to us in an unusual ship."
Wonderful and splendid it was that the rock without
understanding or reason submitted to the Creator
contrary to nature, for it swam directly after the ship,
with the stone on it, and it was not long until Deglan
and his disciples saw the rock after them, and the stone
upon it. And when Deglan's people beheld that miracle,
they were filled with the love of God and with honour
for their master, Deglan. And Deglan spake prophetically:
"Let the stone go on in front of you, and follow
ye it, for whatsoever harbour it shall arrive at, it is near it
that my city shall be, and my house and bishoprick,<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a>
and it is from that place I shall go to God's heaven, and
it is there that my resurrection shall be." And the stone
went out past the ship, and ceased the great pace at which
it had proceeded up to then, and remained a little in
advance of the ship, so that it could be seen from on
board the ship, yet in such wise that the ship might not
overtake it. And the rock steered for Ireland so that
it took harbour in the south, in the Decies, at an island
that was at that time called Ard-Innis Caerach, or High
Island of the Sheep, and the ship took the same harbour,
as Deglan had told them.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
<p>Deglan, that holy man, went on shore, and he gave
praise and glory and thanks to God because that he had
reached the place of his resurrection on that island, where
the sheep of the king of the Déise used to be kept usually
and herded. And there was a pleasant high hill on it.
And one of his disciples said to Deglan on going to the
top of that hill "how shall this Ard beag (Little Height)
support thy people."</p>
<p>"Beloved son," said Deglan, "say not so. This
is no Little Height, but an Ard Mór (Great Height),"
and the name has clung to it ever since, namely Ardmore
of Deglan.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/fp094.jpg" width="400" height="591" alt="" />
<div class="caption">THE LANDING OF ST. DEGLAN AT ARDMORE</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>
<h2>ST. PAUL'S VISION;<br />
<small>OR,</small><br />
THE LAST END OF THE MAN WHO LEADS A
BAD LIFE.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I took the following very curious account from an Irish
MS. a couple of hundred years old, which had been thrown
away on a loft in a farm house in the County Meath before
I secured it. There are other copies of this story in the
Royal Irish Academy, and a fragment in the library of
University College, Dublin, but mine is the best copy I
have met. There is no other version, so far as I know,
of St. Paul's Vision that is at all like this. The Vision was
at one time well known in Europe. It was at first, according
to Tischendorf, probably composed in Greek, and there is a
version of it in Syrian and another in Latin. The story is
also found in old High German, in Danish, French and
Slavonic. The best and longest Latin version is to be
found in the Bibliotheque Nationale at Paris, but there is
not a word in it, nor in the Greek, nor in the Syrian, of the
driving of the soul out of the body, or of the angel Michael's
guiding St. Paul to the bedside of the dying man. As it
is unlikely that some Irish Gael composed all this out of his
own head, I can only surmise that it is a translation of a
Latin or Greek original now lost, and that the story now survives
through its translation into Irish alone.</p>
<p>We know that the Irish have saved for us several pieces
of an apocryphal or mystic character, whose originals are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
now lost, such as the extraordinary piece called the "Ever-new
Tongue," and the "Vision of Tundal."</p>
<p>This story contains a close resemblance to the "Debate
between the Body and the Soul," which is usually known
as the "Visio Philaberti," ascribed to Walter Mapes, or
Map, or else to Walter Grosseteste, bishop of Lincoln, and
of which a kind of middle Irish version exists in the "Leabhar
Breac" and was published by Atkinson in his "Passions
and Homilies." Another imperfect version was published
by Dottin in the "Revue Celtique," 1903. My MS.
from which I have taken this Vision of St. Paul's contains
an excellent copy of it also. Almost all the Irish copies
ascribe it to Grosseteste.</p>
<p>The longest Latin version of this Vision contains 51
chapters or sections, and deals with St. Paul's account of
Paradise and his other wanderings, as well as with the
infernal regions.</p>
<p>There is a "Passion of St. Paul" in the Leabhar Breac, or
Speckled Book, but there is not a word about this Vision
in it. I found an account of St. Paul in another Irish
MS., probably taken from some lost source. "A small,
miserable-looking person was the apostle Paul. Broad
shoulders he had; a white face with a sedate demeanour.
His head small. Pleasant bright eyes he had. Long
brows, a projecting (?) nose and a long beard with a little
grey hair."</p>
<p>The horrid description of the soul leaving the body with
such reluctance has a curious Pagan parallel in an exactly
reverse sense in Lucan's Pharsalia, Book vi., 721, in the dreadful
account of the sorceress conjuring back a soul into the
dead body, and its reluctance to enter it. "Adspicit adstantem
projecti corporis umbram Exanimes artus, invisaque
claustra timentem, Carceris antiqui: pavet ire in pectus
apertum, Visceraque, et ruptas letali vulnere fibras. Ah
miser extremum qui mortis munus iniquae, Eripitur non
posse mori, etc."</p>
<p>The mediæval Irish translator of the Pharsalia revelled
in this sorceress episode.</p>
<p>For the original of the following piece, see "Religious
Songs of Connacht," vol. II.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<p>The Apostle Paul, upon a certain time, chanced to be in
a city of the name of Smyrna, in the land of Syria. And
this is how Paul was, namely, making intercession with
God, the all-powerful, to reveal to him something of the
pains of hell, so that all the more for receiving that revelation,
he might perform the will of God, and give instruction
to the congregations. And, as he was beseeching
God in this wise, there cometh unto him a youth, and he
asketh Paul to go with him, to confirm in his faith a man
who was at the point of death. Paul departed along with the
youth to the place where was the sick man, and him they
found before them struggling with the Death. Now
this is the manner wherein the soul parteth from the
body—as saith St. Bernard, one of the arch-doctors
of the Trinity. He saith that the Death cometh in a cold,
unrecognisable, insufferable shape, stabbing the body
with spits and arrows. And first it cometh into the outer
members, namely the centre of the soles of the feet, and
of the palms of the hands, in the veins, and in every other
member of the body, until it hunt the noble soul before it
out of every member of the body, even as the fisherman
routeth the fish under the hollows of the banks (?)
to the weedy-place (?) in which the net is set to catch
them. Even so doth the Death, routing before it the
soul into the heart—the first member of a person to be
alive, and the last member to die.</p>
<p>But, howsoever, upon the coming of Paul and of the
messenger to the sick man, they perceived how he himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
and the Death were struggling with one another, and that
the Death was after taking possession of all the body,
except that the soul was in the lower chamber of the
heart, striving to conceal itself from the Death. But that
was in vain for it, for when Death came to the heart, he
began ploughing and boring the heart, for he felt certain
that it was there the soul was. But when the soul felt
its enemy and adversary the Death close to it, it thought
to leave the body and to come forth out of the mouth,
since it found no dwelling place nor shelter in the body.
But it is what it finds before itself there, a frightful
fearsome host of black, ugly-coloured devils, and fiery
flames full of stench, and a loathsome, insufferable, evil
smell coming forth out of their mouths, and each one of
them watching with fierceness for the soul to come
forth out of the mouth and out of the body, for it was in a
state of damnation, without repentance, that this sinner
was dying. And when the poor soul beheld this devilish
guard in front of it, the soul returned fearful (?) and quaking
and cometh into the passage of the nose and thought
to come out there. But it beholds the same host before
it. It returneth full of weariness and misery and goeth
to the eyes, but it is what it findeth there before it—many
black, ugly-coloured devils with fiery flames out of their
mouths and gullets, and each of them saying, "What
is this delay of Death's that he routeth not out to us this
damned soul forth from the greedy body in which it is,
till we bear it with us to its own abode—a place where there
is darkness and eternal pain for ever and ever as its evil
deeds have deserved [that were wrought] during the time
that it was its own master?" And on the poor soul's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
hearing these words it screamed and cried feebly, and
wept tearfully, sorrowfully, and with bitter weariness, for
it recognised then that it was parted from the eternal life
for ever and ever, and it turns back again to the hollows
of the ears, where it thought to find a way out, but it is
what it finds there before it many loathly worms and evil-shaped
terrific serpents of various kinds. When the soul
saw that, it returned back to the heart, for it desired to
go, as it seemed to it, into hiding, but it found Death
before it there, ploughing and boring the heart. Then
the soul considered that it had no escape on any side.
It despaired of God and of the whole angelic court, and
it went aloft to the crown of the head. It goes out and
leaves the body and settles on the top of the head. It
looks down at that tomb where it had been—namely, the
body—and said, "Oh! all-powerful God! is it possible
that this is the body wherein I was for a brief [space of]
happiness; and if it is, where has gone the blue clear-seeing
eye, or the crimson cheek? 'Tis what I behold
in place of the eyes—hollow dry cavities sucked back
into the hollow of the skull; the ruddy handsome cheek
now dark and beetle-hued; the mouth that was to-day
red and shapely now closed, not to be opened, livid,
hideous, without talk, without speech; and oh! all-powerful
God! alas for him who was deceived by
the companion at the raising (?) of the body's strength,
power, pride, and spirit, which was begotten and which
was alive, and whose share of gold and treasures was
great; but I do not see one thing of all that in his possession
now, nor advantaging nor comforting him at all;
but I see that it is ill he spent the gifts that God gave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
him, and that on account of this he has damned me for
ever."</p>
<p>The body spake, and said: "If it were not for thee
these devilish furious hosts would not come to claim me
now. For this is how thou wast when thou wast bound
to me; thou wast an active, most powerful spirit, full of
understanding and of feeling, and of clear intellect, of
nobility and of honour; thou didst recognise between
evil and good; whilst I was nothing but a fistful of clay,
without beauty or strength, or feeling, or sense, or
understanding, or power, or guidance, or movement,
or sight, or hearing, until thou wast bound to me,
and for that reason it is thou who art guilty and
not I."</p>
<p>"Thou greedy, carnal, unsubduable worm, all thou
sayest is not true, for I was a clean, glorious spirit," said
the soul, "who had no necessity for food or clothing or
for anything at all, of all that is on the earth, but the joy of
holy life, until I was bound to thee. And this is why I
was bound to thee, for thee to spend the activity of thy
feet, the labour of thy hands, the sight of thy eyes, the
hearing of thy ears, the speech of thy mouth, the thoughts
of thy heart, and every other gift that God gave thee,
so as to do ministering, to make submission, and to
perform every other service to glorious God throughout
thy period on this world, so that after that I and thou might
find the fruit of those good deeds in the enjoyment of
eternal glory in the company of God and of the Blessed
Virgin Mary, and of all the angelic heavenly court, where
cometh everyone who has done good deeds, such as
fasting, alms-giving, prayers, acts of friendship to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
neighbour, listening willingly to the words of God,
and acting accordingly; and who used not to refuse to
relieve the necessity of the poor, and the like. But those
are not the things that thou didst, but spending the gifts
God gave with gluttony, drunkenness, adultery, pride,
arrogance, greed; with the ruin of thy neighbour's
portion; with lies, noisiness (?) anger, quarrelling, back-biting,
folly, pitilessness, injustice, wrath, sloth, envy,
lechery, with the spoil of the poor, and with every other
sort of sin that the human body thought pleasant; and lo!
what fruit hast thou for those misdeeds. Dead and feeble
are thy limbs which were once active and strong; closed
is the mouth wherewith thou didst use to hold unlawful
discourse; weak is the tongue wherewith thou wast wont
to utter obscene barbarous words, giving ill-fame, reproach,
disrespect, shame, contempt, displeasure, and every
other sort [of evil] that thy thoughts and intellect could
bring to mind. Deaf is the ear that used to listen with
pleasure to murmurings, to scandal, to the back-biting
of neighbours. Blind and hollow is the eye that used to
look with greed, partiality, and malice. There is no
fairness nor beauty in the hand on whose fingers the gems
used to be. I see them not on thee now. And, moreover,
I see not the gold nor the silver nor the various
other goods which thou didst get by defrauding, which
thou didst rob, which thou gottest from the weak, from the
orphan, and from the miserable, with deceptions and ill-will.
They are now in the possession of other people,
and not one thing of them doing good to thee, but [doing]
every evil that is possible to reckon. And, therefore,
O greedy, lustful body, most unsubduable worm that God<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
ever created, it is thou art most guilty and not I," said
the soul.</p>
<p>After the soul uttering those words miserably and
wearily, an evil spirit of that damned host that was waiting
to get the soul into its own possession spake, and said:
"It is a wonder how long Death is without routing this
damned soul to us forth out of the body."</p>
<p>Another devil answered him and spake: "It is not
possible for us to possess it or to take it until Jesus Christ
pass judgment upon it first, according to its actions, bad
and good. However, its possession for ever is ours; for
ever, because it was to us it did service and ministry whilst
it was living, and ours is the possession of soul and
body from the day of the last judgment for ever."</p>
<p>After the devils speaking these words, a shining, happy
host of the angels of heaven lowered themselves, with
singing of music, round about the body, and in their
midst a Youth more glorious than the sun. Many awful,
wide-opened wounds in His skin, and they dripping blood.
The Youth spake to the dead, and asked him how he had
spent the life that he got, or the gifts that God gave him.
The body answered and said: "O Jesus Christ, O Lamb,
Son of God, I am not able to deny it, that it was ill I
spent my time and the gifts that I got; that Thou didst
suffer passion-pains and death on my behalf, and that
I paid no regard to that, and therefore I am myself
admitting that Thou hast no power (from the true
right of Thy divinity, and from the plentifulness of my
evil deeds, since I did not make repentance of them either
early or late) not to pass judgment damning me now.
And alas! now I see the wrong, the loss, and the harm,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
of the neglect I was guilty of, in putting off repentance,
until Thy messenger, the Death, came to me, and, my
grief! I was not prepared for him, and, moreover, I got
no respite when he came, until he destroyed me—and
that is my account of my life, and indeed it is more evil
than it is good."</p>
<p>"Well, then," said the Youth on whom were the
wounds, "all that thou hast committed of faults and of
evil deeds throughout thy life, if thou wert to make true
repentance from thy heart of them, I would make thee as
clean as the sun, and I would place thee in the company
of the angels and of the saints, enjoying everlasting
glory, and the devilish host which is waiting for thee
would have no power nor might over thee. But since
thou hast not done that, it is necessary to pass
judgment upon thee according to thy deeds, bad and
good."</p>
<p>Then there came each one of the demon host that was
waiting for the poor soul, and a roll of dark black parchment
in the hand of each of them, in which was written
all that the dead man had done in the service of the devil.
On the Saviour Jesus Christ perceiving that, it was what
He said, "Take with you this damned soul to hell, to pain
it till the day of the general judgment, and from that out
ye shall have the body as well as the soul, enduring
eternal pains."</p>
<p>Then came the devilish host that was waiting for the
soul. They drew the poor soul with fiery crooks, and
they made of it a lump of fire, and they were hunting it
before them to hell, and it calling and crying out faintly
and fearfully.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p>
<p>Paul the Apostle was observing each thing of those,
because it was God who had sent His messenger to him,
so that he might get a view of the person who led a bad
life, at the point of death, according to the prayer he had
made. Then, upon the departure of the accursed host
and of the soul out of sight, Paul cried aloud, weeping and
lamenting, to get a sight of the end that was being brought
upon the soul. Then the messenger asked Paul did he
desire to get a sight of the pains of that soul and of the
other damned souls. "I should so desire," said Paul,
"if it were God's will." "Well, then," said the messenger,
"I will give thee a sight of them, for I am not a man
of this earth, but an angel that God has sent to thee to
show thee these things, and I am Michael the Arch-Angel,"
said he.</p>
<p>After these words the angel brought him to the brink of
a valley that was stupendous for depth and fearfulness.
Paul beheld, amongst the first things there, a great, dark,
frightful river. Blacker than coal was its appearance, and
jet black the bubbling terrible water that was in it, so that
one puff alone of the venemous wind that used to come
out of it would kill all the men and women of the world—were
it not for the Spirit of God succouring them it would
split stones and trees—and he beheld many loathly
worms and snakes, and devils of divers shapes in it,
raging, beating, gnawing (?), and bone-cutting one another;
cursing the day in which they were born or were
created. And on the other opposite side of the river there
was a dark cave in which were many damned souls screaming(?);
being bound (?) and lashed. And some of them
were in this wise, sitting on the fiery hearth of pains;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
many black, ugly-shaped devils serving and administering
the insufferable pains to them, such as fiery flames,
sharp and hurting (?), and the devils tossing them and
turning them (?) with sharp-pointed spits in those flames.
And there was a resting-lake (?) of very cold ice, full of
venom, into which the damned souls used to leap, seeking
cooling and comfort from the sharp goading of the fire.
However, no sooner would they go to the lake than they
would leap out of it again into the fire, by reason of its
cold, and of the sharp venom that was in the water,
and here are the words some of them would say:—"O
all-powerful God, is there any redemption or help in
store for us, or shall we be for ever in these pains, or in
what place is Death that he cometh not unto us to put us
into nothingness, so that we might find a sleep, on our
being dead?" Another spirit of them answered and
said: "O accursed, devilish, damned spirits," said he,
"there is no help nor redemption laid out for you for
ever and ever, because this is the end your misdeeds
deserved whilst ye were in life, with pride, with haughtiness,
with gluttony, with inordinate desire, and with every
other sort of sin. Ye have spent the gifts that God gave
you, namely feeling, beauty, strength, airiness (?),
happiness, the sight of the eyes, the hearing of the
ears, the speaking of the mouth, the movement of the
limbs, and all those [given] to do the service of God.
However, what ye have done was to spend them in the
service of the devil, and it is he who shall give you your
wages in pains, without help or relief, for ever and ever."</p>
<p>"Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "who they
are who are pained like this?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>
<p>"I know not," said Paul, "but it is on them are the
hardships impossible to count-up or to show-forth."</p>
<p>"There," said the angel, "are the people of haughtiness
and pride, who used to be bruising-to-pieces the
poor, who gave themselves up to drinking and the evil
desires of the world. Yon devils are beating them, and
ministering to them eternal pains, and they shall be so
for ever and ever, in eric for their misdeeds."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Paul beheld another band upon the fiery hearth of pains,
many loathsome beetle-worms and serpents gnawing and
bone-cutting each member of them; some of the worms
going into their mouths and their necks and coming out on
their ears, and the spirits themselves collecting and drawing
those devils and those loathsome reptiles to themselves.</p>
<p>"Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people
are pained like this?"</p>
<p>"I know not," said Paul.</p>
<p>"Those," said the angel, "are the people of adultery
and disgusting lust; and in eric for the fair-coloured,
gaudy clothes that they used to put upon themselves, both
men and women, deceiving one another, those devils
are for ever gnawing, overthrowing, and bone-cutting
them."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Paul beheld another lot upon the fiery hearth of hell.
Great mountains of fire on every side of them, many ill-shaped
devils throwing down those mountains upon the
very top of them, bruising them together and bitter-urging
them for ever.</p>
<p>"Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people
are pained like this?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
<p>"I know not," said Paul.</p>
<p>"Those," said the angel, "are the people of greed, the
lot who store and gather their neighbours' portion unlawfully,
who used not to show mercy or give alms or act with
humanity to the poor, and who used to oppress the
feeble."</p>
<p>Paul saw another lot of people on the fiery hearth of
pains, ever-hideous devils, their eyes straying in their
heads, being pained and bitter-tortured, and being
tightened with fiery chains.</p>
<p>"Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what
people are pained like this?"</p>
<p>"I know not," said Paul.</p>
<p>"Those are the people of envy, the lot who used to be
tortured and burnt with envy and with jealousy when they
used to see their neighbours' goods or possessions, and
who would not be satisfied with the gifts that God would
give themselves—and in eric for that they shall be tortured
in this way for ever."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Paul beheld another band upon the hearth of fiery pains,
up to their chins in cold frosty water of the colour of coal.
More stinking was that water than a dead carcase after
corruption. Many reptiles, swimming before them in
that water, they being tortured with famine and with
thirst, their mouths opened, crying for food and drink,
it set before them, without its being in their power to
taste it, for as often as they would make an attempt
it used to remove farther from them.</p>
<p>"Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people
are pained like this?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
<p>"I know not," said Paul.</p>
<p>"Those are the people of gluttony, the people who
never fasted nor abstained nor gave alms nor said prayers,
who used to be eating and drinking forbidden food and
drink, who used to give to the body its own satisfaction,
with drunkenness, gluttony and lust, and never checked
the want of the poor."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Paul beheld another band upon the hearth of fiery
pains, and this is how that lot were, with fiery flames out
of their mouths and gullets. An evil disgusting, insufferable
smell upon that flame. Their eyes ghastly
wandering, straying in their heads; they pulling one
another and beating one another like fully famished lions.</p>
<p>"Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people
are pained like that?"</p>
<p>"I know not," said Paul.</p>
<p>"Those are the people of anger, of disobedience and
of despair. They shall be thus for ever and ever."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Paul beheld another lot very cold and dark, upon the
hearth of pains, bound with chains upon their narrow
beds, bruised and tortured and tightened in bondage by
those chains, full of foulness and of evil disgusting smell,
and every pain that it is possible to think of.</p>
<p>"What people are those?" said Paul.</p>
<p>"Those," said the angel, "are the people of sloth who
used to remain away from Mass, from sermons, and from
the service of God. Through sloth they used to neglect
and disregard good deeds, and alas for him who is
journeying towards that kingdom," said the angel, "for
that is the habitation of the fiery pains and of the misery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
the lake of cold, the prison of gall, the cave of darkness,
the congregation of curses, the hearth of anger, the ford
of snow, the captivity of sloth, the abode of misery, the
dungeon of venom, the court of dispute, the war of the
damned devils, the lake and the sea that is filled with
wrath, with want, with envy, with covetous desire, with
jealousy, and with all evil. <i>Uch hone, uch!</i> Alas for
him who is journeying to it."</p>
<p>Howsoever, the angel showed Paul, at full length and
completely, the pains of hell. And, on Paul's beholding
all that, with the grace of God, and with the help of the
angel, he gave thanks to God for receiving that vision,
and he fell to thinking bitterly about the numbers of
people on the world who were journeying to those pains.
Then the angel led Paul from the clouds of hell until he
gave him a sight of the glory of the heaven of God. And,
on Paul's beholding that sight, no sorrow of all he had
had in his life oppressed him. He beheld the entire glory
of the heavenly palace. He beheld our Saviour Jesus
Christ in the midst of the angels on His throne, and the
Lord gave Paul a gentle, friendly welcome, and told
him that it was a short time until he should come to
eternal glory. Then the angel took Paul with him from
the sight of the glory [of heaven], and left him in the place
where he had found him at first, bade him farewell,
and departed to heaven.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Paul was throughout his life teaching and preaching to
the congregations and to the Gentiles about the glory of
the heavens and the pains of hell.</p>
<p>Glory be to the living God!</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>
<h2>OSCAR OF THE FLAIL.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I wrote down the following story from the mouth of
John Cunningham of Ballinphuill, Co. Roscommon, on the
high road between Frenchpark and Ballaghaderreen, about
twenty years ago. Oscar's flail is well known in Irish
tradition. The poet O'Kelly, in his series of English curses
on Doneraile, alludes to it—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">May Oscar with his fiery flail<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To pieces dash all Doneraile.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Mr. Stephen Gwynn, M.P., found a variant of this
story in Donegal and has given a spirited poetic version
of it. The story is also known in Waterford. It is probably
spread all over the lands occupied by the Gael, and
contains elements that are exceedingly old. The very
verses about "the humming gnat or the scintilla of a beam
of the sun" which I wrote down from the mouth of old
John Cunningham in the Co. Roscommon, had been already
jotted down in phonetics by Magregor, the Dean of Lismore,
in Argyllshire in the year 1512. I printed the whole story
with a French translation and introduction in the "Revue
Celtique," vol. 13, p. 425, showing how in the Tripartite life
of St. Patrick the story of piercing a penitent's foot is told
of a son of the King of Munster. But, as his name was
doubtless soon forgotten, the story got fathered upon
Oisín.</p>
<p>The story had its rise, no doubt, in the sorrow felt by the
people when the clerics told them that their beloved Fenians
and Oisín and Finn were damned, and the story was probably
invented by some clever person to save them from perdition.
There are scores of MSS. which contain disputes between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
St. Patrick and Oisín, or Ossian as the Scotch call him,
on this very subject. See "Religious Songs of Connacht,"
vol. I., p. 209. For the allusion to Elphin, see the poem
which follows.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<p>Saint Patrick came to Ireland, and Oisín met him in
Elphin and he carrying stones.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And whatever time it might be that he got the food,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It would be long again till he would get the drink.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>"Oisín," says he, "let me baptize you."</p>
<p>"Oh, what good would that do me?" says Oisín.</p>
<p>"Oisín," says St. Patrick, "unless you let me baptize
you, you will go to hell where the rest of the Fenians are."</p>
<p>"If," says Oisín, "Diarmaid and Goll were alive for
us, and the king that was over the Fenians, if they were
to go to hell they would bring the devil and his forge up
out of it on their back."</p>
<p>"Listen, O gray and senseless Oisín, think upon God,
and bow your knee, and let me baptize you."</p>
<p>"Patrick," says Oisín, "for what did God damn all
that of people?"</p>
<p>"For eating the apple of commandment," says St.
Patrick.</p>
<p>"If I had known that your God was so narrow-sighted
that he damned all that of people for one apple, we would
have sent three horses and a mule carrying apples to God's
heaven to Him."</p>
<p>"Listen, O gray and senseless Oisín, think upon God,
and bow your knee, and let me baptize you."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>
<p>Oisín fell into a faint, and the clergy thought that he
had died. When he woke up out of it, "O Patrick,
baptize me," says he—he saw something in his faint, he
saw the thing that was before him. The spear was in
St. Patrick's hand, and he thrust it into Oisín's foot
purposely; and the ground was red with his share of
blood.</p>
<p>"Oh," says St. Patrick to Oisín, "you are greatly
cut."</p>
<p>"Oh, isn't that for my baptism?" says Oisín.</p>
<p>"I hope in God that you are saved," says St. Patrick,
"you have undergone baptism and ...?"</p>
<p>"Patrick," says Oisín, "would you not be able to take
the Fenians out of hell"—he saw them there when he
was in his sleep.</p>
<p>"I could not," says St. Patrick, "and any one who is in
hell, it is impossible to bring him out of it."</p>
<p>"Patrick," says Oisín, "are you able to take me to the
place where Finn and the Fenians of Erin are?"</p>
<p>"I cannot," says St. Patrick.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">As much as the humming gnat<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or a scintilla of the beam of the sun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Unknown to the great powerful king<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shall not pass in beneath my shield.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>"Can you give them relief from the pain?" says Oisín.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>St. Patrick then asked it as a petition from God to give
them a relief from their pain, and he said to Oisín that
they had found relief. This is the relief they got from
God. Oscar got a flail, and he requested a fresh thong
to be put into the flail, and there went a green rush as a
thong into it, and he got the full of his palm of green sand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
and he shook the sand on the ground, and as far as the
sand reached the devils were not able to follow; but if
they were to come beyond the place where the sand was
strewn, Oscar was able to follow <i>them</i>, and to beat them
with the flail. Oscar and all the Fenians are on this side
of the sand, and the devils are on the other side, for St.
Patrick got it as a request from God that they should not
be able to follow them where the sand was shaken,—and
the thong that was in the flail never broke since!</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p>
<h2>OISIN IN ELPHIN.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>In the story which I have just given it is said that St.
Patrick met Oisin when he was carrying stones in Elphin,
a small village in the County Roscommon, which was once
a great ecclesiastical centre founded by St. Patrick. I
had often heard other people in Roscommon tell about
Oisín's carrying those stones in Elphin, and of St. Patrick
meeting him there, but I always imagined that they had
localised the story because they themselves belonged to the
place. That this is not so, however, and that the story
of the ancient warriors being forced to carry stones in his
old age is old and genuine is proved by Magregor in Argyllshire
jotting down a verse 400 years ago in which Ossian
tells how Finn had prophesied to him that he would yet be
carrying stones for the "Tailgin."</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bea tou schell a tarraing clooch,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ma in deyt how in weit wronyth.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p> i.e.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
<img src="images/x_114n.jpg" width="250" height="33" alt="" />
</div>
<p>and the very poem (which I give here, taken from a Belfast
MS.) was written in phonetics by Magregor in far-away
Argyll.</p>
<p>Magregor's first line as read by McLaughlin (Skene's
Book of Lismore) runs "is fadda noch ni nelli fiym," but Dr.
Cameron later on gave a more correct reading "is fadda
not ni nelli finni." It is not to be translated as McLaughlan
does, "long are the clouds this night above me," but
"long is to-night in Elphin," ni nelli finni being evidently
to be transliterated as "i n-Ailfinne." This poem may
almost be looked upon as a pendant to the last piece. See
my "Religious Songs of Connacht."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
<p class="center">COLD ELPHIN.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Long was last night in cold Elphin,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">More long is to-night on its weary way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though yesterday seemed to me long and ill,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Yet longer still was this dreary day.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And long, for me, is each hour new-born,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I fall forlorn to grinding grief<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For the hunting lands, and the Fenian bands,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And the long-haired generous Fenian Chief.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I make no music, I find no feast,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I slay no beast from a bounding steed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I give no gold, I am poor and old,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I am cursed and cold without wine or mead.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No more I court, and I hunt no more,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">These were before my strong delight,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have ceased to slay, and I take no prey,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">—Weary the day and long the night.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No heroes come in their war array,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">No game I play, and no gold I win;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I swim no stream with my men of might,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">—Long is to-night in cold Elphin.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Would I were gone from this evil earth,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I am wan with dearth, I am old and thin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Carrying stones in my own despite,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">—Long is to-night in cold Elphin.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ask, O Patrick, of God, for grace,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And tell me what place he will hold me in,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And save my soul from the Ill One's might<br /></span>
<span class="i2">—For long is to-night in cold Elphin.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE PRIEST WHO WENT TO DO PENANCE.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story I wrote down most carefully, word for word,
from the telling of Mairtin Ruadh O Giollarnath, near
Monivea, Co. Galway. He knew no English. I printed
it in my "Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach," published in Rennes.
I know no variant of this story.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There arose some little difference between three sons.
A farmer's sons they were. One man of them said that
he would leave home and go to an island (<i>i.e.</i>, emigrate).
Another man of them became a priest, and the eldest
brother remained at home.</p>
<p>The young priest never stopped until he went to
Athlone to the college there, and he remained there for
five years until his term had expired, and he was turned
out a professed priest. He got himself ready, then, in
the college, and said that he would go home to visit his
father and mother.</p>
<p>He bound his books together in his bag, and then he
faced for home. There was no mode of conveyance
at that time; he had to walk. He walked all
through the day until night was coming on. He saw a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>
light at a distance from him. He went to it and found
a gentleman's big house. He came into the yard and
asked for lodgings until the morning. He got that from
the gentleman and welcome, and the gentleman did not
know what he would do for him, with the regard he had
for him.</p>
<p>The priest was a fine handsome man, and the daughter
of the gentleman took, as you would say, a fancy to him,
when she was bringing his supper—and a fine supper it
was he got. When they went to sleep then the young
woman went into the room where the priest was. She
began entreating him to give up the church and to marry
herself. The gentleman had no daughter but herself,
and she was to have the house and place, all of it, and she
told that to the priest.</p>
<p>Says the priest, "don't tell me your mind," says he;
"it's no good. I am wed already to Mary Mother, and
I shall never have any other wife," says he. She gave
him up then when she saw that it was no good for her,
and she went away. There was a piece of gold plate in
the house, and when the young priest fell asleep she came
back again into his room, and she put the gold plate
unbeknownst to him into his bag, and out she went again.</p>
<p>When he rose then, in the morning, he was getting
himself ready to be going off again. It was a Friday,
a fast day, that was in it, but she got a piece of meat
and put it into his pocket, unbeknownst to him. Now
he had both the meat and the gold plate in his bag, and off
my poor man went, without any meal in the morning.
When he had gone a couple of miles on his road, up she
rose and told her father that the man that he had last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
night with him, "it was a bad man he was, that he stole
the gold plate, and that he had meat in his pocket, going
away of him, that she herself saw him eating it as he went
the road that morning." Then the father got ready a
horse and pursued him, and came up with him and got
him taken and brought back again to his own house,
and sent for the peelers.</p>
<p>"I thought," said he, "that it was an honest man
you were, and it's a rogue you are," said he.</p>
<p>He was taken out then and given to the jury to be tried,
and he was found guilty. The father took the gold
plate out of the bag and showed it to the whole jury.
He was sentenced to be hanged then. They said that any
man who did a thing of that sort, he deserved nothing
but to put his head in the noose<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> and hang him.</p>
<p>He was up on the stage then going to be hanged,
when he asked leave to speak in the presence of the people.
That was given him. He stood up, then, and he told all
the people who he himself was, and where he was going
and what he had done; how he was going home to his
father and mother, and how he came into the gentleman's
house. "I don't know that I did anything bad," said
he, "but the daughter that this gentleman had, she came
in to me, into the room, where I was asleep, and she asked
me to leave the church and to marry herself, and I would
not marry her, and no doubt it was she who put the gold
plate and the fish into my bag," and he went down on his
two knees then, and put up a petition to God to send them
all light that it was not himself who was guilty.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>
<p>"Oh, it was not fish that was in your bag at all but
meat," said the daughter.</p>
<p>"It was meat perhaps that <i>you</i> put in it, but it was
fish that I found in it," says the priest.</p>
<p>When the people heard that, they desired to bring the
bag before them, and they found that it was fish in the
place of meat that was in it. They gave judgment then
to hang the young woman instead of the priest.</p>
<p>She was put up then in place of him to be hanged,
and when she was up on the stage, going to be hanged,
"Well, you devil," said she, "I'll have you, in heaven
or on earth," and with that she was hanged.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>The priest went away after that, drawing on home.
When he came home he got, after a while, a chapel and
a parish, and he was quiet and satisfied, and everybody
in the place had a great respect for him, for he was a fine
priest in the parish. He was like this for a good while,
until a day came when he went to visit a great gentleman
who was in that place; just as yourself might come into
this garden,<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> or like that, and they were walking outside
in the garden, the gentleman and himself. When he was
going up a walk in this garden a lady met him, and when
she was passing the priest on the walk, she struck a light
little blow of her hand on his cheek. It was that lady
who had been hanged who was in it, but the priest did
not recognise her, [seemingly] alive, and thought she was
some other fine lady who was there.</p>
<p>She went then into a summer house, and the priest
went in after her, and had a little conversation with her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
and it is likely that she beguiled him with melodious conversation
and talk before she went out. When she
herself and he himself were ready to depart, and when they
were separating from one another, she turned to him and
said, "you ought to recognize me," said she, "I am
the woman that you hanged; I told you that day that I
would have you yet, and I shall. I came to you now to
damn you." With that she vanished out of his sight.</p>
<p>He gave himself up then; he said that he was damned
for ever. He was getting no rest, either by day or by
night, with the fear that was on him at her having met
him again. He said that it was not in his power either
to go back or forward—that he was to be damned for
ever. That thought was preying on him day and night.</p>
<p>He went away then, and he went to the Bishop, and he
told him the whole story and made his confession to him,
and told him how she met him and tempted him. Then the
bishop told him that he was damned for ever, and that there
was nothing in the world to save him or able to save him.</p>
<p>"I have no hope at all, so?" said the priest.</p>
<p>The bishop said to him, "you have no hope at all,
till you get a small load of cambrick needles,"—the
finest needles at all—"and get a ship, and go out to
sea, and according as you go every hundred yards on the
sea you must throw away a needle from you out of the
ship. Be going then," says he, "for ever," says he,
"until you have thrown away the last of them. Unless
you are able to gather them up out of the sea and to bring
them all to me back again here, you will be lost for ever."</p>
<p>"Well that's a thing that I never shall do; it fails
me to do that," said the priest.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
<p>He got the ship and the needles and went out to sea,
according as he used to go a piece he used to throw a needle
from him. He was going until he was very far away from
land, and until he had thrown out the last needle. By
the time he had thrown away the last needle, his own food
was used up, and he had not a thing to eat. He spent
three days then, on end, without bite or sup or drink,
or means to come by them.</p>
<p>Then on the third day he saw dry land over from him
at a distance. "I shall go," said he, "to yon dry land
over there, and perhaps we may get something there that
we can eat." The man was on the road to be lost.
He drew towards the place and walked out upon the dry
land. He spent from twelve o'clock in the day walking
until it was eight o'clock at night. Then when the night
had fallen black, he found himself in a great wood, and
he saw a light at a distance from him in the wood, and he
drew towards it. There were twelve little girls there
before him and they had a good fire, and he asked of them
a morsel to eat for God's sake. Something to eat was
got ready for him. After that he got a good supper,
and when he had the supper eaten he began to talk to
them, telling them how he had left home and what it was
he had done out of the way, and the penance that had been
put on him by the bishop, and how he had to go out to
sea and throw the needles from him.</p>
<p>"God help you, poor man," said one of the women, "it
was a hard penance that was put upon you."</p>
<p>Says he, "I am afraid that I shall never go home.
I have no hope of it. Have you any idea at all for me
down from heaven as to where I shall get a man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
will tell me whether I shall save myself from the sins that
I have committed?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," said a little girl of them, "but we
have mass in this house every day in the year at twelve
o'clock. A priest comes here to read mass for us, and
unless that priest is able to tell it to you there is no use
in your going back for ever."</p>
<p>The poor man was tired then and he went to sleep.
Well now, he was that tired that he never felt to get up,
and never heard the priest in the house reading mass
until the mass was read and priest gone. He awoke then
and asked one of the women had the priest come yet.
She told him that he had and that he had read mass
and was gone again. He was greatly troubled and
sorry then after the priest.</p>
<p>Now with fear lest he might not awake next day, he
brought in a harrow and he lay down on the harrow
in such a way that he would have no means, as he
thought, of getting any repose.</p>
<p>But in spite of all that the sleep preyed on him so much
that he never felt to get up until mass was read and the
priest gone the second day. Now he had two days lost,
and the girls told him that unless he got the priest the
third day he would have to go away from themselves.
He went out then and brought in a bed of briars on which
were thorns to wound his skin, and he lay down on them
without his shirt in the corner, and with all sorts of torture
that he was putting on himself he kept himself awake
throughout the night until the priest came. The priest
read mass, and when he had it read and he going away,
my poor man went up to him and asked him to remain,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
that he had a story to tell him, and he told him then the
way in which he was, and the penance that was on him,
and how he had left home, and how he had thrown the
needles behind him into the sea, and all that he had gone
through of every kind.</p>
<p>It was a saint who was in the priest who read mass,
and when he heard all that the other priest had to tell him,
"to-morrow," says the saint to him, "go up to such and
such a street that was in the town in that country; there
is a woman there," says he, "selling fish, and the first
fish you take hold of bring it with you. Fourpence the
woman will want from you for the fish, and here is the
fourpence to give her. And when you have the fish
bought, open it up, and there is never a needle of all
you threw into the sea that is not inside in its stomach.
Leave the fish there behind you, everything you want is
in its stomach; bring the needles with you, but leave
the fish." The saint went away from him then.</p>
<p>The priest went to that street where the woman was
selling fish, as the saint had ordered, and he brought the
first fish he took hold of, and opened it up and took out
the thing which was in its stomach, and he found the
needles there as the saint had said to him. He brought
them with him and he left the fish behind him. He
turned back until he came to the house again. He spent
the night there until morning. He rose next day, and
when he had his meal eaten he left his blessing to the
women and faced for his own home.</p>
<p>He was travelling then until he came to his own home.
When the bishop who had put the penance on him
heard that he had come back he went to visit him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p>
<p>"You have come home?" said the bishop.</p>
<p>"I have," said he.</p>
<p>"And the needles with you?" said the bishop.</p>
<p>"Yes," says the priest, "here they are."</p>
<p>"Why then, the sins that are on me," said the bishop,
"are greater than those on you."</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>The bishop had no rest then until he went to the Pope,
and he told him that he had put this penance on the priest,
"and I had no expectation that he would come back for
ever until he was drowned," said he.</p>
<p>"That same penance that you put upon the priest
you must put it on yourself now," said the Pope, "and
you must make the same journey. The man is holy,"
said he.</p>
<p>The bishop went away, and embarked upon the same
journey, and never came back since.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE FRIARS OF URLAUR.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>There is scarcely another country in Europe, outside
perhaps of a part of Switzerland and the Tyrol, in which
there is the same veneration for purity and female chastity
as in the Irish-speaking provinces of Ireland. In the
pathetic and well-known song which begins "tá mé sínte ar
do thuamba," "I am stretched upon thy tomb," the man who
was in love with the maiden who had died says:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The priests and the friars<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Wear faces of gloom<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At me loving a maiden<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And she cold in her tomb.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I would lie on your grave-sod<br /></span>
<span class="i4">To shield you from rain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This the thought of you there, love,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Has numbed me with pain.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When my people are thinking<br /></span>
<span class="i4">That I am asleep,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is on your cold grave, love,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">My vigil I keep.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With desire I pine<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And my bosom is torn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You were mine, you were mine,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">From your childhood my storeen.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>But the mourner is not left entirely without comfort
when he remembers the purity of her who had died:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">You remember the night<br /></span>
<span class="i4">'Neath the thorn on the wold.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the heavens were freezing<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And all things were cold.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now thanks be to Jesus,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">No tempter came o'er you,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And your maidenhood's crown<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Is a beacon before you.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>
<p>In the story about St. Peter we saw how our Lord is made
to say that the old drunkard who had kept a woman from
evil had done more good than the friars themselves.</p>
<p>The following story seems to contain the same moral.
It shows how it was not in the power of anything except
virginity itself to banish the foul and evil spirit which had
invaded the peace of the friars. There is a certain humour
in the way in which the laziness, drunkenness and carelessness
of the piper are portrayed, for by this is thrown
into better relief the excellence of the only good deed he
had performed.</p>
<p>The monastery of the friars is on the brink of the lake
called Urlaur (floor), Orlar on the map. Àr-làr (slaughter-site)
suggested in the text, is only folk-etymology. The
remains are still to be seen, just inside the borders of the
County Roscommon, and on the brink of the Co. Mayo.
The monastery was built by Edward Costello and his wife
Finuala, a daughter of the O'Conor Donn for the Dominican
Friars, and was dedicated to St. Thomas. The Dominicans
settled in it about the year 1430. On the dissolution of the
monasteries it was granted to Lord Dillon, and it has now,
with the rest of his enormous property, been bought by
the Congested Districts Board and distributed amongst
the tenants. We are told that there was once a town there,
but there is now no trace of it. The monastery, being in
such a retired spot, was set aside for the reception of novices
throughout Connacht. The "pattern" here spoken of,
<i>i.e.</i>, the gathering held in honour of the "patron" saint,
used to take place on the 4th of August, St. Dominick's
day. The place is four or five miles from the town of Kilkelly,
and Tavran or Towrann, where the piper came from,
is a townland between Ballaghaderreen and Lough Errit,
not very far from Urlaur. For the original, see "Religious
Songs of Connacht."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>In times long ago there was a House of Friars on the
brink of Loch Urlaur but there is nothing in it now except
the old walls, with the water of the lake beating up against
them every day in the year that the wind be's blowing from
the south.</p>
<p>Whilst the friars were living in that house there was
happiness in Ireland, and many is the youth who got good
instructions from the friars in that house, who is now a
saint in heaven.</p>
<p>It was the custom of the people of the villages to gather
one day in the year to a "pattern," in the place where
there used to be fighting and great slaughter when the
Firbolgs were in Ireland, but the friars used to be amongst
the young people to give them a good example and to keep
them from fighting and quarrelling. There used to be
pipers, fiddlers, harpers and bards at the pattern, along
with trump-players and music-horns; young and old
used to be gathered there, and there used to be songs,
music, dancing and sport amongst them.</p>
<p>But there was a change to come and it came heavy.
Some evil spirit found out its way to Loch Urlaur. It
came at first in the shape of a black boar, with tusks on it
as long as a pike, and as sharp as the point of a needle.</p>
<p>One day the friars went out to walk on the brink of the
lake. There was a chair cut out of the rock about twenty
feet from the brink, and what should they see seated in the
chair but the big black boar. They did not know what
was in it. Some of them said that it was a great water-dog<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
that was in it, but they were not long in doubt about it,
for it let a screech out of it that was heard seven miles
on each side of it; it rose up then on its hind feet and was
there screeching and dancing for a couple of hours. Then
it leaped into the water, and no sooner did it do that
than there rose an awful storm which swept the roof off
the friar's house, and off every other house within seven
miles of the place. Furious waves rose upon the lake
which sent the water twenty feet up into the air. Then
came the lightning and the thunder, and everybody
thought that it was the end of the world that was in it.
There was such a great darkness that a person could not
see his own hand if he were to put it out before him.</p>
<p>The friars went in and fell to saying prayers, but it was
not long till they had company. The great black boar
came in, opened its mouth, and cast out of it a litter of
bonhams. These began on the instant running backwards
and forwards and screeching as loud as if there
were the seven deaths on them with the hunger. There
was fear and astonishment on the friars, and they did not
know what they ought to do. The abbot came forward
and desired them to bring him holy water. They did
so, and as soon as he sprinkled a drop of it on the boar
and on the bonhams they went out in a blaze of fire,
sweeping part of the side-wall with them into the lake.
"A thousand thanks to God," said the Father Abbot,
"the devil is gone from us."</p>
<p>But my grief! he did not go far. When the darkness
departed they went to the brink of the lake, and they saw
the black boar sitting in the stone chair that was cut out
in the rock.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
<p>"Get me my curragh," said the Father Abbot, "and
I'll banish the thief."</p>
<p>They got him the curragh and holy water, and two of
them went into the curragh with him, but as soon as they
came near to the black boar he leaped into the water, the
storm rose, and the furious waves, and the curragh and the
three who were in it were thrown high up upon the land
with broken bones.</p>
<p>They sent for a doctor and for the bishop, and when
they told the story to the bishop he said, "There is a limb
of the devil in the shape of a friar amongst you, but I'll find
him out without delay." Then he ordered them all to
come forward, and when they came he called out the name
of every friar, and according as each answered he was put
on one side. But when he called out the name of Friar
Lucas he was not to be found. He sent a messenger for
him, but could get no account of him. At last the friar
they were seeking for came to the door, flung down a
cross that he had round his neck, smote his foot on it,
and burst into a great laugh, turned on his heel, and into
the lake. When he came as far as the chair on the rock
he sat on it, whipped off his friar's clothes and flung
them out into the water. When he stripped himself they
saw that there was hair on him from the sole of his foot
to the top of his head, as long as a goat's beard. He was
not long alone, the black boar came to him from the bottom
of the lake, and they began romping and dancing
on the rock.</p>
<p>Then the bishop enquired what place did the rogue
come from, and the (father) Superior said that he came a
month ago from the north, and that he had a friar's dress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
on him when he came, and that he asked no account from
him of what brought him to this place.</p>
<p>"You are too blind to be a Superior," said the bishop,
"since you do not recognise a devil from a friar." While
the bishop was talking the eyes of everyone present were
on him, and they did not feel till the black boar came
behind them and the rogue that had been a friar riding on
him. "Seize the villain, seize him," says the bishop.</p>
<p>"You didn't seize me yourself," says the villain, "when
I was your pet hound, and when you were giving me the
meat that you would not give to the poor people who
were weak with the hunger; I thank you for it, and I'll
have a hot corner for you when you leave this world."</p>
<p>Some of them were afraid, but more of them made an
attempt to catch the black boar and its rider, but they went
into the lake, sat on the rock, and began screaming so loud
that they made the bishop and the friars deaf, so that they
could not hear one word from one another, and they
remained so during their life, and that is the reason they
were called the "Deaf Friars," and from that day (to this)
the old saying is in the mouth of the people, "You're as
deaf as a friar of Urlaur."</p>
<p>The black boar gave no rest to the friars either by night
or day: he himself, and the rogue of a companion that he
had, were persecuting them in many a way, and neither
they themselves nor the bishop were able to destroy or
banish them.</p>
<p>At last they were determining on giving up the place
altogether, but the bishop said to them to have patience till
he would take counsel with Saint Gerald, the patron saint
of Mayo. The bishop went to the saint and told him the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
story from beginning to end. "That sorrowful occurrence
did not take place in my county," said the saint,
"and I do not wish to have any hand in it." At this
time Saint Gerald was only a higher priest in Tirerrill (?)
but anything he took in hand succeeded with him, for he
was a saint on earth from his youth. He told the bishop
that he would be in Urlaur, at the end of a week, and that
he would make an attempt to banish the evil spirit.</p>
<p>The bishop returned and told the friars what Gerald had
said, and that message gave them great courage. They
spent that week saying prayers, but the end of the week
came, and another week went by, and Saint Gerald did
not come, for "not as is thought does it happen." Gerald
was struck with illness as it was fated for him, and he could
not come.</p>
<p>One night the friars had a dream, and it was not one
man alone who had it, but every man in the house. In the
dream each man saw a woman clothed in white linen, and
she said to them that it was not in the power of any man
living to banish the evil spirit except of a piper named
Donagh O'Grady who is living at Tavraun, a man who did
more good, says she, on this world than all the priests and
friars in the country.</p>
<p>On the morning of the next day, after the matin
prayers, the Superior said, "I was dreaming, friars, last
night about the evil spirit of the lake, and there was a ghost
or an angel present who said to me that it was not in the
power of any man living to banish the evil spirit except
of a piper whose name was Donagh O'Grady who is
living at Tavraun, a man who did more good in this world
than all the priests and friars in the country."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
<p>"I had the same dream too," says every man of them.</p>
<p>"It is against our faith to believe in dreams," says the
Superior, "but this was more than a dream, I saw an
angel beside my bed clothed in white linen."</p>
<p>"Indeed I saw the same thing," says every man of
them.</p>
<p>"It was a messenger from God who was in it," said the
Superior, and with that he desired two friars to go for the
piper. They went to Tavraun to look for him and they
found him in a drinking-house half drunk. They asked
him to come with them to the Superior of the friars at
Urlaur.</p>
<p>"I'll not go one foot out of this place till I get my pay,"
says the piper. "I was at a wedding last night and I was
not paid yet."</p>
<p>"Take our word that you will be paid," said the
friars.</p>
<p>"I won't take any man's word; money down, or I'll
stop where I am." There was no use in talk or flattery,
they had to return home again without the piper.</p>
<p>They told their story to the Superior, and he gave them
money to go back for the piper. They went to Tavraun
again, gave the money to the piper and asked him to come
with them.</p>
<p>"Wait till I drink another naggin; I can't play hearty
music till I have my enough drunk?"</p>
<p>"We won't ask you to play music, it's another business
we have for you."</p>
<p>O'Grady drank a couple of naggins, put the pipes under
his oxter (arm-pit) and said, "I'm ready to go with ye
now."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
<p>"Leave the pipes behind you," said the friars, "you
won't want them."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't leave my pipes behind me if it was to
Heaven I was going," says the piper.</p>
<p>When the piper came into the presence of the Superior,
the Superior began examining him about the good works
he had done during his life.</p>
<p>"I never did any good work during my life that I have
any remembrance of," said the piper.</p>
<p>"Did you give away any alms during your life?" said
the Superior.</p>
<p>"Indeed, I remember now, that I did give a tenpenny
piece to a daughter of Mary O'Donnell's one night. She
was in great want of the tenpenny piece, and she was going
to sell herself to get it, when I gave it to her. After a little
while she thought about the mortal sin she was going to
commit, she gave up the world and its temptations and
went into a convent, and people say that she passed a
pious life. She died about seven years ago, and I heard
that there were angels playing melodious music in the
room when she was dying, and it's a pity I wasn't listening
to them, for I'd have the tune now!"</p>
<p>"Well," said the Superior, "there's an evil spirit in the
lake outside that's persecuting us day and night, and we
had a revelation from an angel who came to us in a dream,
that there was not a man alive able to banish the evil
spirit but you."</p>
<p>"A male angel or female?" says the piper.</p>
<p>"It was a woman we saw," says the Superior, "she
was dressed in white linen."</p>
<p>"Then I'll bet you five tenpenny pieces that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
was Mary O'Donnell's daughter was in it," says the
piper.</p>
<p>"It is not lawful for us to bet," says the Superior, "but
if you banish the evil spirit of the lake you will get twenty
tenpenny pieces."</p>
<p>"Give me a couple of naggins of good whiskey to give
me courage," says the piper.</p>
<p>"There is not a drop of spirits in the house,"
says the Superior, "you know that we don't taste it
at all."</p>
<p>"Unless you give me a drop to drink," says the piper,
"go and do the work yourself."</p>
<p>They had to send for a couple of naggins, and when the
piper drank it he said that he was ready, and asked them
to show him the evil spirit. They went to the brink of the
lake, and they told him that the evil spirit used to come on
to the rock every time that they struck the bell to announce
the "Angel's Welcome" [Angelical Salutation].</p>
<p>"Go and strike it now," says the piper.</p>
<p>The friars went, and began to strike the bell, and it was
not long till the black boar and its rider came swimming to
the rock. When they got up on the rock the boar let a
loud screech, and the rogue began dancing.</p>
<p>The piper looked at them and said, "wait till I give ye
music." With that he squeezed on his pipes, and began
playing, and on the moment the black boar and its rider
leapt into the lake and made for the piper. He was thinking
of running away, when a great white dove came out of
the sky over the boar and its rider, shot lightning down on
top of them and killed them. The waves threw them up
on the brink of the lake, and the piper went and told the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
Superior and the friars that the evil spirit of the lake and its
rider were dead on the shore.</p>
<p>They all came out, and when they saw that their enemies
were dead they uttered three shouts for excess of joy. They
did not know then what they would do with the corpses.
They gave forty tenpenny pieces to the piper and told him
to throw the bodies into a hole far from the house. The
piper got a lot of tinkers who were going the way and gave
them ten tenpenny pieces to throw the corpse into a deep
hole in a shaking-scraw a mile from the house of the friars.
They took up the corpses, the piper walked out before
them playing music, and they never stopped till they cast
the bodies into the hole, and the shaking-scraw closed over
them and nobody ever saw them since. The "Hole of the
Black Boar" is to be seen still. The piper and the tinkers
went to the public house, and they were drinking till they
were drunk, then they began fighting, and you may be
certain that the piper did not come out of Urlaur with a
whole skin.</p>
<p>The friars built up the walls and the roof of the house
and passed prosperous years in it, until the accursed
foreigners came who banished the friars and threw down
the greater part of the house to the ground.</p>
<p>The piper died a happy death, and it was the opinion
of the people that he went to Heaven, and that it may be
so with us all!</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>
<h2>DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD WOMEN</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story of the two women I got from Francis O'Connor.
He said he heard it from one Mary Casey, a Co. Galway
woman, but I don't know from what part of Galway. It
is I who am responsible for the dialogue form of it, which
I have used instead of putting in an occasional bald "said
Mary," "said Sheela"; but it really was told more in a
dramatic then a narrative form, the reciter's voice showing
who was speaking. The words I have not interfered with.</p>
<p>I once heard a dialogue not unlike this between two
Melicete Indians in Canada who fell to discussing Theology
over the camp-fire at night after hunting. One was a
Catholic and the other a close replica of Maurya in our
dialogue.</p>
<p>The story of Páidin Críona seems familiar to me, but I
cannot think where or in what literature I have met it
before.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>A hundred welcomes Sheela, it's a cure for sore eyes to
see you; sit down and rest and tell us your news.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>Musha! I have no news. It is not news that's
troubling me.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>Arrah! and what's troubling you? sure you're not ill!</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>I'm not ill, thanks be to God and to His blessed mother,
but I do be thinking of the four last ends—the Death and
the Judgment, and Hell and Heaven, for I know I shan't
be much longer in this sorrowful world, and I wouldn't
mind if I were leaving it to-morrow.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>No nonsense at all of that sort ever comes into <i>my</i> head,
and I'm older than you. I'm not tired of this world yet.
I have knowledge of this world, and I have no knowledge
at all of the other world. Nobody ever came back to tell
me about it. I'll be time enough thinking of Death when
he comes. And, another thing,—I don't believe that
God created anyone to burn him in hell eternally.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>You're going astray Maurya; were you at mass last
Sunday?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>Indeed and I was not! I was doing a thing more profitable.
It was taking care of my hens I was, to keep them
from laying abroad, or I wouldn't have the price of a grain
of tea or sneesheen throughout the week. That <i>bolgán-béiceach</i>
Father Brian wouldn't give me a penny if it was
to keep me from being hanged. He's only a miserable
greedy <i>sanntachán</i>. I had a little sturk of a pig last Christmas
and he asked me to sell it to give him a shilling on
Christmas Day, and as I didn't do that, he called out my
name the Sunday after, in the chapel. He's not satisfied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
with good food, and oats for his horse, and gold and silver
in his pocket. As I said often, I don't see any trade as
good as a priest's trade; see the fine working clothes they
wear, and poor people earning it hard for them.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>I wonder greatly at your talk. Your unbelief is great.
I wonder that you speak so unmannerly about Father
Brian, when if you were dying to-morrow, who would
give you absolution but the same father?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>Arrah! Sheela, hold your tongue. Father Brian
wouldn't turn on his heel, either for you or for me, without
pay, even if he knew that it would keep us out of hell.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>The cross of Christ on us! I never thought that it was
that sort of a woman you were. Did you ever go to
confession?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>I went the day I was married, but I never bowed my
knee under him before or since.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>You have not much to do now, and you ought to think
about your poor soul.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>That wouldn't keep the hens from laying abroad on me,
and if I were to go to confess to Father Brian, instead of
absolution it's a barging I'd get from him, unless I had a
half-crown on the top of my fingers to give him.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>Father Brian isn't half as bad as you say; I'm to go to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
his house this evening with fresh eggs and a pint of butter.
I'll speak to him about you if you give me leave.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>Don't trouble yourself about me, for I'm not going near
Father Brian: when I'll be on my death-bed <i>he'll</i> come
to <i>me</i>.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>And how do you know that it's not a sudden death
you'd get, and what would happen to you if you were to
get a "death without priest?"</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>And wouldn't I be as well off as the thousands who got
death without e'er a priest. I haven't much trust in the
priests. It's sinners that's in them all; they're like ourselves,
exactly. My own notion is that there's nothing in
religion but talk. Did you ever hear mention of Páidín
Críona<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> [wise Patsy].</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>I did, often.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>Very well; did you ever hear his opinion about religion?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>Indeed, I never did, but tell it to me if you please.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>Musha, then, I will. There were three officers living in
one house and Paudyeen Críona [Cree-on-a] was servant
to them. There were no two of them of the same religion,
and there used often to be a dispute amongst them—and
every man of them saying that it was his own religion was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
the best religion. One day a man of them said, "We'll
leave it to Wise Paudyeen as to which of us has the best
religion." "We're satisfied," said the other two. They
called in Paudyeen and a man of them said to him,
"Paudyeen, I'm a Catholic, and what will happen to me
after my death?"</p>
<p>"I'll tell you that," says Paudyeen. "You'll be put
down into the grave, and you'll rise again and go up to
the gate of heaven. Peter will come out and will ask
you, 'what religion are you of.' You'll tell him, and
he'll say, 'Go and sit in that corner amongst the
Catholics.'"</p>
<p>"I'm a Protestant," said the second man, "and what'll
happen to me after my death?"</p>
<p>"Exactly as the other man. You will be put sitting in
the corner of the Protestants!"</p>
<p>"I'm a Hebrew," says the third man, "and what will
happen to me after my death?"</p>
<p>"Exactly as the other two; you will be put sitting
amongst the Hebrews."</p>
<p>Now there was no one of them better off than the other,
as Paudyeen left them, and so the Catholic asked Paudyeen,
"Paudyeen, what's your own religion?"</p>
<p>"I have no religion at all," says he.</p>
<p>"And what'll happen to you after your death?"</p>
<p>"I'll tell you that. I shall be put down into the hole,
I shall rise again and go up to the gate of heaven. Peter
will come and ask me, 'of what religion are you?' I will
say that I have no religion at all, and Peter will say then,
'come in, and sit down, or walk about in any place that
you have a wish for.'"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
<p>Now, Sheela, don't you see that he who had no religion
at all was better off than the people who had a religion!
Every one of them was bound to the corner of his own
creed, but Paudyeen was able to go in his choice place,
and I'll be so too.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>God help you Maurya; I'm afraid there's a long time
before your poor soul in Purgatory.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maurya</span>.</p>
<p>Have sense Sheela; I'll go through Purgatory as
quickly as lightning through a gooseberry bush.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sheela</span>.</p>
<p>There's no use talking to you or giving you advice.
I'll leave you.</p>
<p>When Sheela was going out, Maurya let a screech out of
her which was heard for a mile on every side of her. Sheela
turned round and she saw Maurya in the midst of a flame
of fire. Sheela ran as fast as was in her to Father Brian's
house, and returned with him running to Maurya's house.
But, my grief! the house was burned to the ground, and
Maurya was burnt with it; and I am afraid that the [her]
poor soul was lost.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE MINISTER AND THE GOSSOON.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This curious little piece is another dialogue in the same
form as the last. These are the only two stories, if one may
call them stories, which I have found couched in this form,
so partly for that reason I give it here.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<p>One day there was a poor little gossoon on the side of
the road, and he taking care of an old sow of a pig, and a
litter of bonhams along with her. A minister came the
way, and he riding upon a fine horse, and he said to the
gossoon, "Where does this road bring you?"</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>I'm here for a fortnight, and it never brought me
anywhere yet.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>Now, isn't it the wise little boy you are! Whose are
the little pigs?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>They're the old sow's.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>I know that, but I'm asking you who is the master of
the bonhams.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>That little black-and-white devil that you see rooting,
he's able to beat the whole of them.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>That's not what I'm asking you at all, but who is your
own master?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>My mistress's husband, a man as good as you'd get from
here to himself.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>You don't understand me yet. Who is your mistress—perhaps
you understand that?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>I understand you well. She is my master's wife.
Everyone knows that.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>You're a wise little boy; and it's as good for me to let
you be, but tell me do you know where Patrick O'Donnell
is living?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>Yes, indeed. Follow this road until you come to a
boreen on the side of your thumb-hand. Then follow
your nose, and if you go astray break the guide.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>Indeed, and you're a ripe (precocious) little lad! What
trade will you have when you'll be older?</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>Herding a pig. Don't you see that I'm putting in my
term. What is your own trade?</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>A good trade. I am showing the people what is the
way to heaven.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>Oh, what a liar! <i>You</i> can't show the way to any place.
You don't know the way to Patrick O'Donnell's, a man
that everybody—big and little—in this country knows,
and I'm certain sure you have no knowledge of the road
to heaven.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Minister</span>.</p>
<p>I'm beaten. Here's half a crown for you for your
cleverness, and when I come again you'll get another.</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Gossoon</span>.</p>
<p>Thank you. It's a pity that a fool like you doesn't come
the way every day.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE KEENING OF THE THREE MARYS.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I got the following poem from a schoolmaster called
O'Kearney, near Belmullet, in West Mayo, who told me
that he had taken it down from the recitation of an old man
in the neighbourhood. I got another version of it afterwards
from Michael Mac Ruaidhri of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo,
with quite a different "cur-fa" or refrain, namely <i>ŏch Ōch
agus ŏch ūch ān</i> after the first two lines, and <i>ŏch [)o]ch agus
Ōch ŏn Ō</i> after the next two. Spelt phonetically in English
and giving <i>gh</i> the guttural value of <i>ch</i> in German, and
<i>oa</i> the same sound as in English <i>roach</i> and <i>oo</i> the sound of
oo in <i>pool</i>, it would run——</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Let us go to the mountain<br /></span>
<span class="i2">All early on the morrow,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Ugh oagh agus ugh oogh awn.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hast thou seen my bright darling,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">O Peter, good apostle,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Ugh ugh agus oagh on ó.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>The agus "and" is pronounced nearly as "oggus."
The story I have not traced, but it may have come from an
Irish version of one of the apocryphal gospels.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Let us go to the mountain<br /></span>
<span class="i4">All early on the morrow,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone! agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Hast thou seen my bright darling,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">O Peter, good apostle?"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone! agus ochone, O!)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Aye! truly O Mother<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Have I seen him lately,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Caught by his foemen,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">They had bound him straitly,"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Judas, as in friendship,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Shook hands, to disarm him,"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, Judas! vile Judas!<br /></span>
<span class="i4">My love did never harm him.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No child has he injured,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Not the babe in the cradle,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor angered his mother<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Since his birth in the stable.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When the demons discovered<br /></span>
<span class="i4">That she was his mother,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They raised her on their shoulders<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The one with the other;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And they cast her down fiercely<br /></span>
<span class="i4">On the stones all forlorn,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And she lay and she fainted<br /></span>
<span class="i4">With her knees cut and torn,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"For myself, ye may beat me,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">But, oh, touch not my mother,"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Yourself,—we shall beat you,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">But we'll slaughter your mother."<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They dragged him off captive,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And they left her tears flowing,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the Virgin pursued them<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Through the wilderness going,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, who is yon woman?<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Through the waste comes another,"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
<span class="i0">"If there comes any woman<br /></span>
<span class="i4">It is surely my mother,"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh John, care her, keep her,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Who comes in this fashion,"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"But Oh, hold her from me<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Till I finish this passion,"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When the Virgin had heard him<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And his sorrowful saying,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She sprang past his keepers<br /></span>
<span class="i4">To the tree of his slaying,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"What fine man hangs there<br /></span>
<span class="i4">In the dust and the smother?"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"And do you not know him,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">He is <i>your</i> son, O Mother."<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, is that the child whom<br /></span>
<span class="i4">I bore in this bosom,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or is that the child who<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Was Mary's fresh blossom"<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They cast him down from them<br /></span>
<span class="i4">A mass of limbs bleeding,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"There now he is for you,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Now go and be keening."<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Go call the three Marys<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Till we keene him forlorn,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">O Mother thy keeners<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Are yet to be born,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thyself shall come with me<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Into Paradise garden,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To a fair place in heaven<br /></span>
<span class="i4">At the side of thy darling,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">(Ochone agus ochone, O!)<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE FARMER'S SON AND THE BISHOP.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The following story is an extract from a much longer piece
in prose and verse, which I take from a manuscript in my
own possession made by Patrick O Prunty (grand-uncle,
I think of Charlotte Brontë), in 1764. It is called "the
Counsel of Mac Lava from Aughanamullin to Red Archy,
that is Red Shane, son of Bradach, son of Donal the gloomy,
son of Shane, son of Torlogh, etc." In a manuscript in the
Royal Irish Academy I find it entitled "The Counsel of
Mac Lavy from Aughanamullin to his cousin Red Archy
Litis on his forsaking his wife to take the yoke of piety
on him, that is of Priestifying; or, the 'Priest of the
Stick' by Laurence Faneen." In another MS. of mine,
written by the well-known scribe Labhrás O Fuartháin
from Portlaw in Co. Waterford, in 1786, it is called
"The Counsel of Mac Clava from Aughanamullin to Red
Archy Mac a Brady."</p>
<p>The poem is entirely satirical, and the gist of it is that the
writer advises Archy not to be working like a poor man in
dirt and misery, but from himself to earn the reputation of
having a little Latin, and to become a <i>bullaire</i>, a comic word
for bull-promulgator or priest. Any kind of Latin he tells
him will do with an uneducated congregation, such as
"Parva nec invideo" or "Hanc tua Penelope," or "Tuba
mirum spargens sonum" or "ego te teneo, Amen!" The
poet tells his victim that when he is reading he can twist and
stifle his voice "like a melodious droning and partly a
humming (?) through the nose, and partly the smothering
of a cough, and then the wealthy full-ignorant laity amongst
the congregation shall say that it is a great pity the short<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>ness
of breath, the pressure on the chest, and the tightness
round the breast that strikes the blessed, loud-voiced, big-worded
priest at the time of service." He then proceeds
to tell him the following story, in the style of the Irish
romances common in the eighteenth century. For the
original Irish and the poem and notes, see vol. I., p. 180,
"Religious Songs of Connacht."</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>O, Cousin Archy, I must now tell you a little allegory
which has a bearing upon your own present case, about a
greedy, fat-boned, stoop-headed, bashful fellow of a son,
that a long-bearded, broad-sided, cow-herd-ful, large-flock-having
Farmer had, who was once on a time residing
by the side of the island and the illustrious Church of
Clonmacnois. And this aforesaid Farmer was accustomed
to double his alms to a godly-blessed hermit
who was living close by him, [giving] with excess of
diligence beyond [the rest of] the congregation, in order
that he might have the aid of this hermit in putting
forward that blockhead (?) of a son towards the priesthood.</p>
<p>At last, on the priest of that parish in which they were,
dying, the Farmer promulgates and lays bare to the
hermit the secret conception and intention which he had
stored up for a long time before that, and it was what he
said to him, that he considered, himself, that there was
no person at all who would better suit that congregation
as a parish priest than this son of his own, from the
love of the priesthood which he had.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>
<p>The Farmer beseeches and begs him—giving him large
offerings on the head of it—to go with his son to the
presence of the Bishop of Clonmacnois. They set forth all
three, side by side, on that journey, the farmer, the hermit,
and the farmer's son, together with a great congregation of
their friends and cousins, and of the Farmer's acquaintance
accompanying him to the strand and harbour of that
island of Clonmacnois.</p>
<p>It was then a gentleman who was in the assembly asked
the Farmer with prophesying truly-wise words whether he
knew if his lad of a son were wise [educated] enough to
receive the grade of priesthood on that occasion. He
answered that he knew, himself, that he was, without any
doubt, because he had been for seven years clerk of salt and
water [<i>i.e.</i>, acolyte] to the blessed godly Father who departed
to heaven from us but now, and moreover, that he
was plentiful with his Amens at time of mass or marriage,
and that in this respect he had generally too much rather
than too little. "Oh, I am satisfied," said the gentleman,
turning his back on him, bursting into a fit of laughing.</p>
<p>However, upon the Farmer thus satisfying the gentleman's
question, they were all silent, until the hermit's lad
the "Shouting Attendant" (?) gave a shout at the beach,
asking for a curach and means of transport to row to the
island. After that comes to them a broad-wombed, long-timbered
boat, with eight loutish, big-biting, lumpish (?),
dawdling (?), raw-nosed (?), great-sleeping spalpeens of the
parish on the left hand of the Farmer's son. They enjoin
on the Farmer with his people to wait on the beach of the
harbour until they themselves should come back. This
they do.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
<p>In the meantime, on the above-mentioned couple going
into the bishop's presence, the hermit discloses the reason
and meaning of his journey. The bishop consents, at the
request of the hermit, to confer the degrees of priesthood on
the Farmer's son, and makes some of the clergy who were
along with him put scholarly questions to the youth, so
that they might have some knowledge of the amount of his
learning to give the bishop. However, they found
nothing either great or small of any kind of learning
whatsoever in him. After that they report to the bishop
about the youth's ability.</p>
<p>The bishop is angry at the clergy on hearing their
report, and 'twas what he said that it was shame or fright (?)
they put on the youth, and he himself calls him with him
far apart, to the brink and very margin of the lake, in
solitude, so that they came within the view of the Farmer
and his people on the opposite side, and he addresses
him in Latin with courteous truly-friendly words, and
'twas what he said—</p>
<p><i>Quid est sacramentum in nomine Domini?</i></p>
<p><i>Qui fecit cœlum et terram</i>, says the fellow.</p>
<p><i>Numquam accedes ad altare Dei</i>, says the bishop.</p>
<p><i>Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam</i>, says the lad.</p>
<p><i>Non fies sacerdos per me in sæcula sæculorum</i>, says
the bishop.</p>
<p><i>Amen</i>, says he.</p>
<p>Then was the bishop excessively enraged against the
Farmer's son, and raised his arm with a thick-butted
apple-knotted * * * *? cudgel of a stick, that
he had in his right hand, and begins lacing and
leathering and whaling the Farmer's son without sparing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
so that his blood and inwards ran down to the
very ground.</p>
<p>"Ow! but that's sad, my son's case now," says the
Farmer, "and I think myself that every comfort and satisfaction (?)
and roasted hen and every bottle that he shall
get like a prolute (prelate?) sitting in his coverlet with
kindness from this out, is not to be begrudged him; for
it's hard and pitiably, it's patiently, gently, meekly and
humbly my child takes the religious yoke and the grade
of priesthood on him this night, and it's not easily it will
be forgotten by him to the termination of his career and
his life, for it's diligently, piously, firmly, and soundly,
the blessed bishop drives it into his memory with swift
hand-blows of the large stick."</p>
<p>However, on the bishop's parting from the Farmer's
son, the aforesaid spalpeens came up to the young priest
and asked his blessing. He lifted up his hands cleric-like
and piously above their heads, and gave them
general absolution, saying <i>Asperges me Domine hysoppo
et mundabor, lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor</i>.</p>
<p>They carried him with them to the curach after that, and
leapt into it, flowingly and high-spiritedly, until they
reached land on the other side, and all that were in the
island harbour made the same reverence to the Farmer's
son, and they asked him where was his bull or charter
of priesthood.</p>
<p>He said he had no charter but the bull of the race
of stoop-headed Conor Mac Lopus of Cavan to the
Vicarage of Leargan,—the will of the people.</p>
<p>They swore by the God of the elements that he never
could have a better charter than that, and they bound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
themselves by the sun and the moon to defend that parish
for him to the end of his term and his life. And they
did so.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>And now Archy, the story which does not concern a
smotàn (?) is good, for it is you that the application of this
story concerns, and it is the good advice to you to take the
same grade of priesthood, and if blows of a stick be struck
on you, it is small damage compared with every comfort
and ease that you will get on the head of it, and in addition
to every other advice I have given you, here are a couple of
little ranns for you which shall be in your memory continually,
so that they may be a good help in every pinch
that is before you. * * * * * *</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p>
<h2>SHAUN THE TINKER.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I wrote down this story carefully from the mouth of
Mártain Ruadh O Giollarnáth from near Monivea, Co.
Galway. He had no English. The story is a well-known
one. It is the basis of Father O'Leary's delightful book
"Séadna." It has been examined at great length with
much learning and perspicacity by Carl Marstrander in the
Miscellany presented to Kuno Meyer, pp. 386 ff., to which
I refer the reader.</p>
<p>According to a Donegal story, called "Domhnall
O Dochartaigh," taken down and given me by the late
Mr. Larminie, Death is the being who is tricked. But,
according to a Galway story which I heard, the Tinker had
a son whose godfather was Death. He became a doctor
and cured everybody at whose feet he saw Death standing.
Death gave him leave to do this. Attracted one day by a
huge bribe he turned round the bed where the patient lay
so that Death, who had been at the patient's head with intent
that he should die, was now at the patient's foot, who consequently
recovered. After this Death is tricked in much the
same way as the Devil in our story.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>They were poor, both of them, the man and his wife.
The man had no other means in the world except his day's
pay, going here and going there, and earning his day's
wages from place to place.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
<p>The beginning of the harvest was come now, and he
went in to the wife and said to her—Elleesh was the wife's
name—"Elleesh," says he, "stand up," says he, "and
make ready my meal for me until I go to Kildare to-morrow."</p>
<p>Elleesh got ready the meal for him as well as ever she
was able, and she washed him and tidied him up and put
good clean trousers on him, and himself got ready to be
going. And the poor man did go, off he went. He had
no provisions going away then, only four shillings to pay
his way.</p>
<p>He was going then and journeying until he came to the
top of a bridge, and there he met with a stumble and was
thrown on one knee. "Oh, musha," says he, "the
devil break my neck when I'll pass this way again."</p>
<p>He went on then and he never stopped until he came
into Kildare, and he settled with a farmer there and spent
four years with him without coming home at all. He
never took one penny from the farmer in the course of
the four years except as much as put clothing on him.
Now at the end of the four years he took it into his head
to be going home again.</p>
<p>And this was what he was getting in the year—five
pounds. And likely enough, when he took it into his head
to be going, that he said to the farmer and to the farmer's
wife that he was to be departing in the morning. They
gave him his share of money then. Then he made for
home, and fifteen pounds was what he had coming home
of him. He never spent but five pounds on his clothes
all the time he was with the farmer.</p>
<p>He was coming and ever-coming along the road until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
he came to a corner where four roads met. A poor man
met him and asked alms of him. "God salute you,"
says he.</p>
<p>"God and Mary salute you," says Shaun.</p>
<p>"In Kildare you were," says he.</p>
<p>"Well, yes," says Shaun.</p>
<p>"You have money so," says he, "and I am asking
my alms of you in honour of God and of Mary."</p>
<p>He gave him alms then—five pounds he gave him.
"Now Shaun," says the poor man, when he was going
away from him. "I don't like you to go away without
giving you [your] earned reward for your five pounds.
What is the thing that you most wish for?"</p>
<p>"Anything that I desire," says Shaun, "me to have
lots of money for it in my pocket. And anything that
would be putting trouble on me, me to have leave to shut
it up in this bottle which I have in my hand."</p>
<p>"You'll get that," says he.</p>
<p>He was going along then until he came to the corner
of four other roads and another poor man met him.
"God salute you," says the poor man. "God and Mary
salute you." "You were in Kildare," said the poor man.
"That's the place I was," says Shaun. "If you are
coming back out of Kildare you're not without money,
and I am asking my alms of you in honour of God and
Mary." "It's short till I have my money spent," says
Shaun. "But here," says he, putting the hand in his
pocket, "here's five pounds for you."</p>
<p>When he gave it to him, the poor man said, "I don't
like you to go away without giving you a reward for your
five pounds. What sort of a thing is it that you'd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
like best to have?" "Any person that would be
doing anything at all out of the way with me [me
to be able] to put him into my budget and him to
remain there until myself would give him leave to go
away, or until myself would let him out." "You'll have
that to get," says he.</p>
<p>He went away, then, and he was travelling until he
went where four other roads met. There was another
poor man before him there. "This is the third man,"
says Shaun. "God salute you, Tinker Shaun," says he
as soon as Shaun came up with him. "God and Mary
salute you." "You're coming out of Kildare, Shaun,"
says he. "I am, indeed," says Shaun. But he said to
himself, "Isn't it well how every man recognises me and
without me recognising them." "I am asking my alms
of you in honour of God and of Mary if you have any
money with you coming from Kildare." "Oh, musha,
I'll give you that and my blessing. I met another
pair before this and I gave five pounds to each
man of them, and here's five pounds for you." "I
don't like you to go away Shaun without your reward,
and what is the thing you'd have most desire for?"
"Well, then," says Shaun, "when I was at home I had
an apple tree in the garden at the back of the house, and
I used to be troubled with gossoons coming there and
stealing the apples. I should like, since I am going home
again now, that every person except myself who shall lay
his hand on that tree that his hand should stick to it,
and that he should have no power of himself to go away
without leave from me. "You'll get that Shaun," says
he.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>
<p>He was travelling then until he came to the bridge
where he had stumbled as he was going to Kildare the
time he was thrown on one knee. Who should be standing
on the bridge before him but the Devil. "Who
are you?" says Tinker Shaun. "I am the Devil,"
says he.</p>
<p>"And what sent you here?" says Shaun.</p>
<p>"Well," says he, "when you went this way before
didn't you say that if you were to go this way again might
the Devil break your neck?"</p>
<p>"I said that," says Shaun.</p>
<p>"Well, I've come before you now that I may break
your neck."</p>
<p>"Try if you can," said Shaun. The Devil moved
over towards him and was going to kill him, when Shaun
said, "In with you into my bag this moment and don't
be troubling me." The Devil had to go into the bag
because Shaun had that power.</p>
<p>Shaun was going along then, and the Devil in the bag
slung over his back. When he came to the next bridge
he stood to take a rest and there were two women washing
there. "I'll give ye five pounds and give my bag a good
dressing with the beetles." They began beating it.
"The bag is harder than the Devil himself," say they.
"It is the Devil himself that's in it," says Shaun, "and lay
on him." They beat it really then until they gave him
enough.</p>
<p>He threw it up over his back then and off he went until
he came to a forge. He went into the forge. "I'll
give you five pounds," says he to the smith, "and strike
a good spell on this bag." There were two smiths there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
and they began leathering the bag. "Why, then," says
one of the smiths, "your bag is harder than the Devil
himself." "It is the Devil himself that's in it," says
Shaun, "and lay on him, ye, and beat him." One of the
men put a hole in the bag with the blow he gave it and he
looked in on the hole and he saw the Devil's eye at the
hole. The poker was in the fire and it red hot. The
smith stuck it into the hole in such a way that he put it
into the Devil's eye, and that's the thing which has left
the old Devil half blind ever since.</p>
<p>He raised the bag on his back then, and he was going
away when the Devil rose up and burst the bag and departed
from him. Shaun came home.</p>
<p>At the end of a quarter of a year when Shaun was
at home with the wife the Devil came to him again
"You must come with me, Shaun," says he; "make your
soul," says he, "I'll give you death without respite."</p>
<p>"I'll go with you," says Shaun; "but give me respite
until to-morrow until I have everything ready, and I'll
go with you then and welcome."</p>
<p>"I won't give you any respite at all; neither a day nor
an hour, you thief."</p>
<p>"I won't ask you for any respite," says Shaun, "only
as long as I would be eating a single apple off that tree.
Pull me one yourself, and I'll be with you."</p>
<p>The old Devil moved over to the tree, and took hold
of a branch to pluck an apple off it and he stuck to the
branch, and was not able to loose himself. He remained
there on the branch during seven years.</p>
<p>One day that Shaun was in the garden again by himself
he was not thinking, but he went gathering a bundle of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
kippeens for Elleesh, to make a fire for her, and what was
the branch it should fall to him to cut for Elleesh but the
branch in which the Devil was. The Devil gave a leap
into the air. "Now Shaun," says he, "be ready;
you will never go either forward nor back. You must
come with me on the spot."</p>
<p>"Well I'll go," says Shaun; "I'll go with you," says
he; "but it's a long time we are at odds with one another,
and we ought to have a drink together. Elleesh
has a good bottle and come in till we drink a drop of it
before we go." "Why, then, I'll go with you," says the
Devil, as there was the Devil's thirst on him after his being
up in the tree so long. They drank their enough then
inside in Elleesh's hovel, and when the Devil had the
bottle empty he rose up standing, that he might get a grip
of Shaun's throat to choke him. "In with you into the
bottle," says Shaun. "In with you this moment," says
he. "Did you think that you would play on me," says he.
The Devil had to go into the bottle, and he spent seven
years inside the bottle, with Shaun, without being
let out.</p>
<p>Now it fell out that Elleesh had a young son, and there
was a bottle wanting to go for stuff for Elleesh. What
was the bottle they should bring with them but the
bottle in which the Devil was down, and when they took
the cork out of it the Devil went off with himself.</p>
<p>Shaun was gone away looking for gossips for his son.
The Son of God met him.</p>
<p>"God salute you, Shaun," says he.</p>
<p>"God and Mary salute you."</p>
<p>"Where were you going now, Shaun?" says he.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p>
<p>"I was hunting for gossips for my son," says
Shaun.</p>
<p>"Would you give him to me, and I'll stand for
him?"</p>
<p>"Who are you?" says Tinker Shaun.</p>
<p>"I am the Son of God," says he.</p>
<p>"Well, then, indeed, I won't give him to you," says
Shaun, "you give seven times their enough to some
people, and you don't give their half enough to other
people."</p>
<p>The Son of God departed.</p>
<p>The King of Sunday met him then and they saluted
one another.</p>
<p>"Where were you going?" says the King of Sunday.</p>
<p>"Well, then, I was going hunting for a gossip for my
son."</p>
<p>"Will you give him to me?" says the King of
Sunday.</p>
<p>"Who are you?" says Shaun.</p>
<p>"I am the King of Sunday."</p>
<p>"Indeed, then, I won't give him," says Shaun. "You
have only a single day in the week and you're not able to
do much good that day itself."</p>
<p>In this way he refused him, and the King of Sunday
departed from him.</p>
<p>Who should meet him then and he coming home but
the Death. [The Devil was afraid to go near him again,
but he sent the Death to meet him.] "Make your soul
now Shaun," says he, "I have you."</p>
<p>"Oh, you wouldn't give me death now," says Shaun,
"until I baptise my son."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>
<p>"All right, baptise him," said the Death. "Who
will you put to stand for him?"</p>
<p>"I don't see any person," says Shaun, "better than
yourself. It's you who will leave him longest alive,"
says he.</p>
<p>When he got the son baptised he gave death to Shaun.
He would not allow him to be humbugging him.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
<h2>MARY AND ST. JOSEPH AND THE CHERRY TREE.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I wrote down this poem from the mouth of Michael
Mac Ruaidhri or Rogers, from near Ballycastle, in the
Co. Mayo. The last five verses of it, which he had not got,
I obtained from Martin O'Callaly (or Caldwell in English)
in Erris, in the same county. There is a cherry tree carol
in English, and an excellent one in German. The original
legend was probably told of a date tree. A fifteenth century
Dutch carol retains the date tree. In a legendary life of
the Blessed Virgin, quoted by Jewitt in his book "The
Nativity in Art and Song," we are told that the Blessed
Virgin, during the flight into Egypt, resting in the heat of
the noon day, saw a palm loaded with dates and desired
them, but they were high up out of reach. Then the child
Jesus, who was yet in the arms of Mary and had never
spoken, lifted up his voice and said to the palm tree,
"bend thy branches O tree, bow down and offer thy fruits
to My mother," and immediately the tree bent down its
top even to the feet of Mary, and all were nourished with
the fruits it bore. And the palm tree remained bent to the
earth awaiting that He whom it had obeyed should bid it
again to rise. And Jesus said, "Arise, O palm tree; thou
shalt be the companion of the trees which grow in the
paradise of my father." And while He was yet speaking
behold an angel of the Lord appeared, and taking a branch
from the tree he flew through the midst of heaven holding
the palm in his hand.</p>
<p>The story has found its way into art. In "A Flight into
Egypt," by Martin Schongaur, angels bow the palm tree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
and St. Joseph gathers the dates. In a work of Andrea
Solario (Milanese School) St. Joseph is seen giving the fruit
with one hand to the Virgin, and with the other to her
Divine Son.</p>
<p>This poem was at one time known in the Highlands as
well as Ireland, for Carmichael recovered a very poor and
imperfect version of eight verses, which he printed in his
monumental work "Carmina Gadelica," vol. II., p. 162.</p>
<p>A very pretty anonymous sixteenth century German
Christmas hymn appears to allude to our story in the
first verse, which runs as follows:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Als Gott der Herr geboren war<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Da war es kalt,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was sieht Maria am Wege stehn<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Ein Feigenbaum.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Maria lass du die Feigen noch stehn<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wir haben noch dreissig Meilen zu gehn.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Es wird uns spat.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>The word "Als" must here be taken as equivalent to
"Ehe."</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Holy was good St. Joseph<br /></span>
<span class="i4">When marrying Mary Mother,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Surely his lot was happy,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Happy beyond all other.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Refusing red gold laid down,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And the crown by David worn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With Mary to be abiding<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And guiding her steps forlorn.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One day when the twain were talking,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And walking through gardens early,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where cherries were redly growing,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And blossoms were blowing rarely,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Mary the fruit desired,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">For faint and tired she panted,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the scent on the breezes' wing<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Of the fruit that the King had planted.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then spake to Joseph, the Virgin,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">All weary and faint and low,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">O pull me yon smiling cherries<br /></span>
<span class="i4">That fair on the tree do grow,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"For feeble I am, and weary,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And my steps are but faint and slow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the works of the King of the graces<br /></span>
<span class="i4">I feel within me grow."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then out spake the good St. Joseph,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And stoutly indeed spake he,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"I shall not pluck thee one cherry,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Who art unfaithful to me.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Let him come fetch thee the cherries,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Who is dearer than I to thee,"<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then Jesus, hearing St. Joseph,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Thus spake to the stately tree.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Bend low in her gracious presence,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Stoop down to herself, O tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That My mother herself may pluck thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And take thy burden from thee."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then the great tree lowered her branches<br /></span>
<span class="i4">At hearing the high command,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And she plucked the fruit that it offered,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Herself with her gentle hand.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Loud shouted the good St. Joseph,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">He cast himself on the ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Go home and forgive me, Mary,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">To Jerusalem I am bound;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I must go to the holy city,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And confess my sin profound."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then out spake the gentle Mary,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">She spake with a gentle voice,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"I shall not go home, O Joseph,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">But I bid thee at heart rejoice,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For the King of Heaven shall pardon<br /></span>
<span class="i4">The sin that was not of choice."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE STUDENT WHO LEFT COLLEGE.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The following curious story has parallels in many countries.
It is probably founded upon the verse in II. Peter iii. 8.
"Quia unus dies apud Dominum sicut mille anni et mille
anni sicut unus dies"—"for a thousand years are with the
Lord as one day, and one day as a thousand years." It
need not, however, be founded upon any Christian conception,
for the purely Pagan story of Oisín or Ossian in the
"Land of the Ever-Young" was known all over Ireland.
Oisín thought he had spent only a short time in the Happy
Other-World, but when he returned to Ireland he found
he had been away for 300 years, and every one he knew had
died.</p>
<p>The reciter had forgotten what the name of the monastery
was, but I believe it to have been the ancient abbey and
school at Killarney, now in ruins. I have heard that the
things told in this story, or one similar to it, were supposed
to have happened there.</p>
<p>The river with water as red as blood reminds us of Thomas
of Ercildoune's experience when rapt away into faërie by
the queen.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O, they rode on, and farther on<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And they waded through rivers above the knee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And they saw neither sun or moon<br /></span>
<span class="i4">But they heard the roaring of the sea.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae stern light<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And they waded through red blude to the knee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a' the blude that's shed on earth<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Runs through the springs of that country.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Hence it was small wonder that the student thought that
the musicians belonged to the Fairy-Host.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>
<p>The fact that while in the other world he ate nothing,
is pure Pagan tradition, for as is well known from many
stories, classical and other, whoso eats or drinks of other-world
food is precluded from returning to this life. Proserpine
would not eat in Pluto's realm or she must have remained
there. The six pomegranate seeds she swallowed
cost her six months' stay there.</p>
<p>For the text of this story, see "Religious Songs of Connacht,"
vol. II., p. 122.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There came a number of young people from the County
of Galway, to a great college, to learn and gain instruction,
so as to become priests. I often heard the name of this
college from my mother, but I do not remember it. It was
not Maynooth. There was a man of these of the name of
Patrick O'Flynn. He was the son of a rich farmer. His
father and his mother desired to make a priest of him. He
was a nice, gentle lad. He used not to go dancing with the
other boys in the evening, but it was his habit to go out
with the grey-light of day, and he used to be walking by
himself up and down under the shadow of the great trees
that were round about the college, and he used to remain
there thinking and meditating by himself, until some
person would come to bring him into his room.</p>
<p>One evening, in the month of May, he went out, as was
his custom, and he was taking his walk under the trees
when he heard a melodious music. There came a darkness
or a sort of blindness over his eyes, and when he
found his sight again he beheld a great high wall on every
side of him, and out in front of him a shining road. The
musicians were on the road, and they playing melodiously,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
and he heard a voice saying, "<i>Come with us to the land of
delight and rest</i>." He looked back and beheld a great high
wall behind him and on each side of him, and he was not
able to return back again across the wall, although he
desired to return. He went forward then after the music.
He did not know how long he walked, but the great high
wall kept ever on each side of him and behind him.</p>
<p>He was going and ever-going, until they came to a great
river, and water in it as red as blood. Wonder came upon
him then, and great fear. But the musicians walked across
the river without wetting their feet, and Patrick O'Flynn
followed them without wetting his own. He thought at
first that the musicians belonged to the Fairy-Host, and
next he thought that he had died and that it was a group of
angels that were in it, taking him to heaven.</p>
<p>The walls fell away from them then, on each side, and
they came to a great wide plain. They were going then,
and ever-going, until they came to a fine castle that was
in the midst of the plain. The musicians went in, but
Patrick O'Flynn remained outside. It was not long until
the chief of the musicians came out to him and brought
him into a handsome chamber. He spoke not a word, and
Patrick O'Flynn never heard one word spoken so long
as he remained there.</p>
<p>There was no night in that place, but the light of day
throughout. He never ate and he never drank a single
thing there, and he never saw anyone eating or drinking,
and the music never ceased. Every half-hour, as he
thought, he used to hear a bell, as it were a church-bell,
being rung, but he never beheld the bell, and he was
unable to see it in any place.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>
<p>When the musicians used to go out upon the plain
before the castle, there used to come a tribe of every sort
of bird in the heavens, playing the most melodious music
that ear ever heard. It was often Patrick O'Flynn said to
himself, "It is certain that I am in heaven, but is it not
curious that I have no remembrance of sickness, nor of
death, nor of judgment, and that I have not seen God nor
His Blessed Mother, as is promised to us?"</p>
<p>Patrick O'Flynn did not know how long he was in that
delightful place. He thought that he had been in it only
for a short little time, but he was in it for a hundred years
and one.</p>
<p>One day the musicians were out in the field and he was
listening to them, when the chief came to him. He brought
him out and put him behind the musicians. They departed
on their way, and they made neither stop nor stay until
they came to the river that was as red as blood. They
went across that, without wetting their foot-soles, and went
forward until they came to the field near the college where
they found him at the first. Then they departed out
of his sight like a mist.</p>
<p>He looked round him, and recognised the college, but he
thought that the trees were higher and that there was
some change in the college itself. He went in, then, but
he did not recognise a single person whom he met, and not
a person recognised him.</p>
<p>The principal of the college came to him, and said
to him, "Where are you from, son, or what is your
name?"</p>
<p>"I am Patrick O'Flynn from the County of Galway,"
said he.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p>
<p>"How long are you here?" said the principal.</p>
<p>"I am here since the first day of March," said he.</p>
<p>"I think that you are out of your senses," said the
principal, "there is no person of your name in the college,
and there has not been for twenty years, for I am more
than twenty years here."</p>
<p>"Though you were in it since you were born, yet I am
here since last March, and I can show you my room and
my books."</p>
<p>With that he went up the stairs, and the principal after
him. He went into his room and looked round him, and
said, "This is my room, but that is not my furniture, and
those are not my books that are in it." He saw an old
bible upon the table and he opened it, and said: "This is
my bible, my mother gave it to me when I was coming
here; and, see, my name is written in it."</p>
<p>The principal looked at the bible, and there, as sure
as God is in heaven, was the name of Patrick O'Flynn
written in it, and the day of the month that he left
home.</p>
<p>Now there was great trouble of mind on the principal,
and he did not know what he should do. He sent for
the masters and the professors and told them the
story.</p>
<p>"By my word," said an old priest that was in it, "I
heard talk when I was young, of a student who went away
out of this college, and there was no account of him since,
whether living or dead. The people searched the river
and the bog holes, but there was no account to be had of
him, and they never got the body."</p>
<p>The principal called to them then and bade them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
bring him a great book in which the name of every person
was written who had come to that college since it was
founded. He looked through the book, and see! Patrick
O'Flynn's name was in it, and the day of the month
that he came, and this [note] was written opposite to
his name, that the same Patrick O'Flynn had departed
on such a day, and that nobody knew what had become
of him. Now it was exactly one hundred and one years
from the day he went until the day he came back in that
fashion.</p>
<p>"This is a wonderful, and a very wonderful story," said
the principal, "but, do you wait here quietly my son,"
said he, "and I shall write to the bishop." He did that,
and he got an account from the bishop to keep the man
until he should come himself.</p>
<p>At the end of a week after that the bishop came and
sent for Patrick O'Flynn. There was nobody present
except the two. "Now, son," said the bishop, "go on
your knees and make a confession." Then he made an
act of contrition, and the bishop gave him absolution.
Immediately there came a fainting and a heavy sleep over
him, and he was, as it were, for three days and three nights
a dead person. When he came to himself the bishop and
priests were round about him. He rose up, shook himself,
and told them his story, as I have it told, and he put
excessive wonder upon every man of them. "Now,"
said he, "here I am alive and safe, and do as ye
please."</p>
<p>The bishop and the priests took counsel together. "It is
a saintly man you are," said the bishop then, "and we shall
give you holy orders on the spot."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
<p>They made a priest of him then, and no sooner were
holy orders given him than he fell dead upon the altar, and
they all heard at the same time the most melodious music
that ear ever listened to, above them in the sky, and they
all said that it was the angels who were in it, carrying the
soul of Father O'Flynn up to heaven with them.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE HELP OF GOD IN THE ROAD.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story was written down by my friend, C. M. Hodgson,
from the mouth of one of his brother tenants, James Mac
Donough, near Oughterard, in Connemara. Mac Donough
called it "Conal, King of the Cats." In a Kerry version of
this story it is a poor scholar and a thief who make the
bet as to whether honesty or roguery is the best for a man
to follow. The people they meet give it in favour of the
thief. The poor scholar loses everything, eventually his two
eyes. His going under the tombstone is properly motivated
by saying that he meant to die there and would then be buried
and have a tombstone. The rest of the story is pretty much
the same as ours. My friend, the late Patrick O'Leary,
found a story called the "Three Crows," something like this,
where the crows talk as the cats do in our story, and where
they end by picking out the two bad men's eyes, but there
is no bet made, the man is simply robbed and blinded for
no particular reason.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<p>There were two merchants travelling along the road.
One of them said to the other that the help of God was
in the road. The other said it was not.</p>
<p>"How shall we find that out?"</p>
<p>"We'll leave it to the judgment of the first man we
will meet."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
<p>It was short they went till they met a man. They
asked him was the help of God in the road. He told
them that it was not. Whatever the bet was that they
had made about it, he [<i>i.e.</i>, the man who said that the
help of God was in the road] had to pay.</p>
<p>Well, they walked along for another while, and this
man said that he would not give it up [or admit], that
the help of God was not in the road.</p>
<p>"What bet will you make now?" says the other man.</p>
<p>"I've nothing left now except my eye, but I'll bet it
with you," says he.</p>
<p>"Well, leave the decision to the first man who shall
meet us."</p>
<p>The next man they met said the same as the first man,
that the help of God was not in the road.</p>
<p>The other man did nothing but put his finger into the
eye and pluck it out.</p>
<p>[Yet the man said] "I'll bet the other eye with you
that the help of God is in the road, and let it be left
to the judgment of the next man who shall meet
us."</p>
<p>It was short they went [had gone] when a man met
them. They asked him was the help of God in the road.
The man said that it was not.</p>
<p>He plucked the other eye out of him then.</p>
<p>"Now," said he [the blind man], "take me with you
and leave me in the church."</p>
<p>He took him with him and left him in under a flagstone
in the church.</p>
<p>At that time the cats used to be collecting in gatherings.
[They collected in that same church that night]. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
they were all gathered together, Conall, the king of the
cats, said that himself would tell a story if it were not that
he was afraid that some one would be listening.</p>
<p>"Let us get up and search," said some of the cats.
They searched through the churchyard and they found
no one.</p>
<p>"It is a year from to-night that I went in to the king's
daughter. I rubbed my tale to her mouth, and her father
is perished looking for a cure [for her]. There are
twelve cats in her stomach."</p>
<p>"Is there anything at all to cure her?" says one of
the cats.</p>
<p>"There is," said Conall; "if she were to get a drop
of the water that is in the well here, it would cure her.
If one of those [twelve cats inside her] were to get away
they could kill all the kingdom."</p>
<p>"Is there anything else of cure in the well?"</p>
<p>"There is," said Conall; "if any one were blind, and
he to put a drop of that water on his eyes he would get
his sight."</p>
<p>When they had gone away then in the morning, and
were departed, the man that was listening to them rose up
from [under] the flag. There was a herd or shepherd
going by. He came to this man who was blind and spoke
to him.</p>
<p>"Well, now," says the blind man, "is there any well
here?"</p>
<p>"There is," says the herd.</p>
<p>"Leave me at the brink of the well."</p>
<p>He left him there.</p>
<p>He just put down his hand and splashed a drop of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
water in on his two eyes; and he had his sight then as
well as ever he had.</p>
<p>"Well now," says he to the herd, "would you be so
kind as to give me a bottle?"</p>
<p>"I will," says the herd.</p>
<p>He filled the bottle with the water of the well and off
he went. He was travelling until he came to the king's
house. He asked to let him in.</p>
<p>The man who was on guard said that he would not let
him in, that the king's daughter was sick and ill.</p>
<p>He sent for the king. He told him [by the messenger]
that there was a man at the gate who would cure his
daughter.</p>
<p>The king came out, and told the gate keeper to let in
the man.</p>
<p>When he came in the king took him back into the chamber
where his daughter was. When he looked at her
[he saw that] she was as big as a horse.</p>
<p>"Now," said he to the king, "send for your men at
arms, bring them in here."</p>
<p>When the men at arms were inside, he closed the door
outside. He told them, anything that she should throw
out, they must cut the head off it.</p>
<p>He gave her a drop of the water that was in the bottle
to drink. The moment she drank it she threw from her
a live cat out of her stomach. The head was cut off it
before it reached the ground. They did the same
with the twelve cats that she threw out of her stomach.
She rose up then as sound and as well as ever she
was.</p>
<p>The merchant was about to go away then, but the king<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
would not allow him to depart. He said that he must
marry his daughter.</p>
<p>[They were married and happy.]</p>
<p>They were one day going in their coach, and they saw
the merchant who had made the bet that the help of God
was not in the road. He spoke to him, and the merchant
asked him where did he get all his riches.</p>
<p>"I got it in the place where you left me, in the church."</p>
<p>He [the other merchant] went away then at night, and
he went in under the same flag, and it happened to the cats
that they came together that night. When they were all
assembled together. "Tell a story, O Conall, king of
the cats," said one of them.</p>
<p>"I would tell a story," said he, "but I told one this
very night last year, and a man was listening to me, and
he cured the king's daughter with a bottle of the water
that was in the well."</p>
<p>"We'll rise up [and look]" said the cat; "there won't
be anyone listening to you to-night."</p>
<p>They rose up and they searched until they came to the
place where the man was under the flag. They pulled
him out and tore him asunder.</p>
<p>That is how it happened to him on account of the bet
he had made that the help of God was not in the road.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE MINISTER'S SON.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>Perhaps no people ever gave such free rein to the imagination
with regard to the infernal regions as did the
Irish. It began with St. Fursa, whose story was known
to Christendom through Bede, and Adamnan's Vision
[he died about 704] is known over Europe. The last to let
himself go in this way was Keating. See the amazing
alliterative description in his "Three Shafts of Death,"
Leabhar III. alt 10.</p>
<p>It is curious to find a Mayo peasant reproducing a little
of this racial characteristic in the present poem. I often
heard of this piece and made many attempts to get it, interviewing
several people who I was told had got it, but I
failed to get more than a few lines. My friend, John
Mac Neill, wrote down for me the present version word for
word from the recitation of Michael Mac Ruaidhri, but
it is obviously only fragmentary. It is full (in the original,
both prose and verse) of curious words and forms, and
the periphrasis the "Virgin's Garb" for the scapular is
curious.</p>
<p>For the original, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol.
II., p. 134.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was a Roman Catholic girl at service in a minister's
house, and she was wearing the Virgin Mary's garb
(<i>i.e.</i>, a scapular). She once was getting ready to go to
Mass, and when she was washing herself she took the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
garb off her, and laid it on one side. The minister's son
came in, and he began rummaging (?) backwards and
forwards through the room, and he met the garb. He
caught it up in his hand and observed it closely. He
put it round his neck, and when the girl turned about
she saw the garb on the minister's son, and she got very
furious. She gave a step forward and she tore the garb
off his neck. She began railing at him and abusing him.
She told him that it was not right nor fitting for a man
of his religion to lay hold of that garb in his hand, seeing
that he had a hatred and a loathing of the glorious Virgin,
"and," says she to him, "since it has happened that
you have laid hold of the blessed garb, unless you fast
next Friday in eric for your sin, one sight of the country
of the heavens you shall never see."</p>
<p>Grief and great unhappiness came over the minister's
son at the abuse the girl gave him, and he told her that he
would fast the Friday.</p>
<p>It was well, and it was not ill. When the minister's son
went to sleep that night he got a fit of sickness, and he was
very bad in the morning, and he told his mother that he
would not let anyone next nor near him except the servant
girl, and that he hoped that he would not be long in the fit
of sickness.</p>
<p>There was nobody attending him but the girl, because
he had a full determination to fast through the Friday. He
knew very well that if his mother were coming into the
room he would have to eat some food from her, and that
is the reason he would not let his mother in.</p>
<p>When the Friday came he never tasted bit nor sup
throughout the day.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p>
<p>On the morning of Saturday his mother asked the girl
how he was getting on. The girl said that he was going
on nicely [literally, "coming to land"]. But when the girl
went in at the hour of twelve o'clock in the day he was a
corpse, and there came a great dispiritedness [literally,
"much-drowning"] over the girl, and she began crying.
She went out and told his mother that he was dead.</p>
<p>The story went from mouth to mouth, and one person
said to another that it was the girl who had killed
him; and they did not know what awful death they would
give her.</p>
<p>There was a heap of turf over against the kitchen, and
they tied the girl with a chain, fastened in an iron staple
that was at the gable of the house, and as soon as ever
they would have the body buried they were to put oil and
grease on the turf, and give it fire, to burn and to roast the
girl.</p>
<p>On Monday morning when they went into the room to
put the corpse into the coffin, the minister's son was there
alive and alert, in his bed; and he told them the vision
that he had seen.</p>
<p>He saw, he said, the fires of Purgatory, the mastiffs of
Hell, and the great Devil, Judas, and he told them that it
was the glorious Virgin who saved him, and who got him
his pardon. She asked it of a request of her One-Son to
put him into the world again to teach the people, and she
got that request for him; and if it had not been that he
had worn the garb of the Virgin [though] only for a
moment, when he was on earth, he would not have seen
one sight of the country of the heavens for ever; but it
was that which saved him from the lowest depths of hell.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>
<p>He spent [after that] seven years in the world teaching
people, and telling them the right religion, and all his
family turned Catholics, and it was the minister's son
who composed the dán or poem.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">THE DÁN OF THE MINISTER'S SON.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The body, it lies in the sleep of the dead,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the candles above it are burning red;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The old women sit, all silent and dreaming,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the young woman's cheeks with tears are streaming.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, listen, listen, and hear the story<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of what are the sins that shut out from glory.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Promises, lies, penurious hoarding,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How troubled, how cursed, how damned the story!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But it was there that I saw the wonder!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Three great piles of fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the least fire it rose in a spire<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like fifteen tons of turf on fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or a burning mountain, higher and higher.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It was not long until I saw<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The three great mastiffs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their gullets opened,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And their a-burning<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like great wax candles<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a mountain hollow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Waiting for my poor soul<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To tear and to swallow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To bring down to hell's foulness<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In anguish to wallow.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I was taken to the gates of hell,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the hair was burnt off my forehead,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a sieve of holes was put through my middle;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It was then it stood to me, that night I fasted,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And wore the garb of the Blessed Virgin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or my flesh and my blood had been burned to a puff of ashes.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It was then the jury of the twelve sat on me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their evil will than their good will was stronger,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And all that I did since my days of childhood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was writ upon paper in black and white there;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One paper in my hand, on the ground another,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To conceal a crime I had no power.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On turning round of me towards the right-hand side,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I beheld the noble, blessed Justice<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath his bright mantle,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And he asked of me, with soft, blessed words,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Where was I living when I was on the earth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And whether I were not the poor soul who had to go to the bar."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On turning round of me, towards the left-hand side,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I beheld the Great Devil that got the bribe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Going to fall upon me from above [<i>literally, "on the top of my branches or limbs</i>,"]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And it was then that the thirst grew upon my poor soul!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, oh! God! oh! it was no wonder!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I looked up and beheld the Blessed Virgin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I asked a request of her——to save me from the foul devils.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She lowered herself down actively, quickly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She laid herself upon her polished smooth knee<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And asked a request of her One-Son and her child,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To put me in the top of the branches, or in the fold of a stone,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or under the ground where the weasel goes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or on the north side where the snow blows,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or in the same body again to teach the people,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">—And the blessing of God to the mouth that tells it.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>The Old Woman of Beare may, perhaps, have been an
historical personage. Kuno Meyer has printed a touching
poem (of the 11th century as he thinks) ascribed to her.
"It is the lament of an old hetaira who contrasts the privations
and sufferings of her old age with the pleasures of
her youth when she had been the delight of kings." The
ancient prose preface runs, "The Old Woman of Beare,
Digdi was her name. Of Corcaguiny she was, <i>i.e.</i>, of the
Ui Maic Iair-chonchinn. Of them also was Brigit, daughter
of Iustan, and Liadain, the wife of Cuirither,<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> and Uallach,
daughter of Muinegan.<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> Saint Finan had left them
a charter that they should never be without an illustrious
woman of their race.... She had seven periods of
youth, one after another, so that every man who had lived
with her came to die of old age, so that her grandsons and
great-grandsons were tribes and races." Legends about
her are common all over Ireland, and even verses are
ascribed to her. There is another story about her in
O Fotharta's "Siamsa an Gheimhridh," p. 116. She was
either a real character, an early Ninon de l'Enclos, or else
a mythic personage euphemized by the romancists.</p>
<p>There is a short legend about her under the title of Mór
ní Odhrain, written down in County Donegal by, I think,
Mr. Lloyd, in which O'Donnell comes to visit her, and
counts the bones of 500 beeves, one of which she had killed
every year. Mr. Timony found the same story in Blacksod<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
Bay, only she was there called "Aine an chnuic." She is
said in one version to have resided in "Teach Mor,"
"the house furthest west in Ireland," which Mr. Lloyd
identified with Tivore on the Dingle promontory, and in a
southern version which I also give she is called The Old
Woman of Dingle.</p>
<p>The vision told here as having been seen by the Old Woman
is extremely like a story in the "Dialogus Miraculorum
of Caesarius of Heisterbach, Dist. xii., cap. 20, quoted by
Landau in his "Quellen des Dekameron," and again by
Lee in "The Decameron, its Sources and Analogues." It
runs as follows:—</p>
<p>"The leman of a priest before her death had made
for herself shoes with thick soles, saying 'bury me in them
for I shall want them.' The night of her death a knight
was riding down the street in the bright moonlight,
accompanied by his attendants, when they heard a
woman screaming for help. It was this woman in
her shift, and with the new shoes on her feet, fleeing
from a hunter. One could hear the terrible sound of
his horn and the yelping of his hounds. The knight
seized the woman by her hanging tresses, wound them
round his left arm, and drew his sword to protect her. The
woman, however, cried out, "Let me go, let me go, he is
coming." As the knight, however, would not let her go,
she tore herself away from him, and in so doing left her locks
wound round his arm; the hunter then caught her up,
threw her across his horse and rode away with her. On the
knight returning home he related what he had seen and was
not believed until they opened the woman's grave and found
that her hair was missing."</p>
<p>This is obviously the same story as that in our text, with
the incidents of the knight and the hair omitted.</p>
<p>It contains, however, (1) the woman and her particular
sin; (2) the fleeing before the hounds; (3) the pursuing
huntsman; though in peculiarly Irish fashion, it is mercifully
left uncertain as to whether she was overtaken or not.</p>
<p>The 8th novel of the 5th day of the Decameron seems to
have been drawn from some cognate source. The hero
perceives "correndo verso il luogo dove egli era una<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
bellissima giovane ignuda—piaguendo e gridando forte
mercè. E oltre a questo le vide a fianchi due grandissimi
e fieri mastini." This is the soul of a dead woman with
hell-hounds pursuing her. The very word "mastini"
being the same as in the Irish story.</p>
<p>In the second incident that happened to the Cailleach
there appears to be a reminiscence of Sindbad the sailor.
But the story of the four herds who lifted the bier which
all the men at the funeral had been unable to move, is
told somewhat differently at p. 36 of Michael Timony's
"Sgéalta gearra so-léighte an iarthair." It is there put
into the mouth of "Aine an chnuic," Aine of the hill;
who may be the same as the "Old Woman of Beare,"
and the four herds, the coffin—and a rider on a black horse
who accompanied them—all disappeared in the side
of a rock which opened to receive them and closed after
them. "Aine" of "Cnoc Aine," or "Aine's hill," was
the queen of the Limerick Fairies, but I hardly think that
it is she who has got into the Mayo folk tale.</p>
<p>There is a proverb in Connacht which says, speaking of
the oldest lives in the world, "the life of the yew tree, the
life of the eagle,<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> and the life of the Old Woman of Beare."</p>
<p>See Kuno Meyer's edition of the song of the Old Woman
of Beare in "Otia Merseiana" and "O Fotharta's Siamsa
an Gheimhridh," p. 116, see also "The Vision of Mac
Conglinne," p. 132, and my "Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach."</p>
<p>The following story I wrote down very carefully word
for word, about fifteen years ago, from the telling of Michael
Mac Ruaidhri, of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was an old woman in it, and long ago it was,
and if we had been there that time we would not be here
now; we would have a new story or an old story, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
that would not be more likely than to be without any
story at all.</p>
<p>The hag was very old, and she herself did not know
her own age, nor did anybody else. There was a friar
and his boy journeying one day, and they came in to the
house of the Old Woman of Beare.</p>
<p>"God save you," said the friar.</p>
<p>"The same man save yourself," said the hag; "you're
welcome,<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> sit down at the fire and warm yourself."</p>
<p>The friar sat down, and when he had well finished
warming himself he began to talk and discourse with the
old hag.</p>
<p>"If it's no harm of me to ask it of you, I'd like to know
your age, because I know you are very old" [said the friar].</p>
<p>"It is no harm at all to ask me," said the hag; "I'll
answer you as well as I can. There is never a year since
I came to age that I used not to kill a beef, and throw the
bones of the beef up on the loft which is above your head.
If you wish to know my age you can send your boy up
on the loft and count the bones."</p>
<p>True was the tale. The friar sent the boy up on the
loft and the boy began counting the bones, and with all
the bones that were on the loft he had no room on the loft
itself to count them, and he told the friar that he would
have to throw the bones down on the floor—that there
was no room on the loft.</p>
<p>"Down with them," said the friar, "and I'll keep
count of them from below."</p>
<p>The boy began throwing them down from above and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
friar began writing down [the number], until he was about
tired out, and he asked the boy had he them nearly
counted, and the boy answered the friar down from the
loft that he had not even one corner of the loft emptied
yet.</p>
<p>"If that's the way of it, come down out of the loft and
throw the bones up again," said the friar.</p>
<p>The boy came down, and he threw up the bones, and
[so] the friar was [just] as wise coming in as he was going
out.</p>
<p>"Though I don't know your age," said the friar to the
hag, "I know that you haven't lived up to this time
without seeing marvellous things in the course of your
life, and the greatest marvel that you ever saw—tell it to
me, if you please."</p>
<p>"I saw one marvel which made me wonder greatly,"
said the hag.</p>
<p>"Recount it to me," said the Friar, "if you please."</p>
<p>"I myself and my girl were out one day, milking
the cows, and it was a fine, lovely day, and I was just
after milking one of the cows, and when I raised my head
I looked round towards my left hand, and I saw a great
blackness coming over my head in the air. "Make
haste," says myself to the girl, "until we milk the cows
smartly, or we'll be wet and drowned before we reach home,
with the rain." I was on the pinch<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> of my life and so
was my girl, to have the cows milked before we'd get the
shower, for I thought myself that it was a shower that
was coming, but on my raising my head again I looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
round me and beheld a woman coming as white as the
swan that is on the brink of the waves. She went past
me like a blast of wind, and the wind that was before her
she was overtaking it, and the wind that was behind her,
it could not come up with her. It was not long till I saw
after the woman two mastiffs, and two yards of their tongue
twisted round their necks, and balls of fire out of their
mouths, and I wondered greatly at that. And after the
dogs I beheld a black coach and a team of horses drawing
it, and there were balls of fire on every side out of the
coach, and as the coach was going past me the beasts
stood and something that was in the coach uttered from
it an unmeaning sound, and I was terrified, and faintness
came over me, and when I came back out of the faint I
heard the voice in the coach again, asking me had I seen
anything going past me since I came there; and I told him
as I am telling you, and I asked him who he was himself,
or what was the meaning of the woman and the mastiffs
which went by me.</p>
<p>"I am the Devil, and those are two mastiffs which I
sent after that soul."</p>
<p>"And is it any harm for me to ask," says I, "what
is the crime the woman did when she was in the
world?"</p>
<p>"That is a woman," said the Devil, "who brought
scandal upon a priest, and she died in a state of deadly
sin, and she did not repent of it, and unless the mastiffs
come up with her before she comes to the gates of Heaven
the glorious Virgin will come and will ask a request of her
only Son to grant the woman forgiveness for her sins,
and the Virgin will obtain pardon for her, and I'll be out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
of her. But if the mastiffs come up with her before she
goes to Heaven she is mine."</p>
<p>The great Devil drove on his beasts, and went out of
my sight, and myself and my girl came home, and I was
heavy, and tired and sad at remembering the vision which I
saw, and I was greatly astonished at that wonder, and I
lay in my bed for three days, and the fourth day I arose
very done up and feeble, and not without cause, since any
woman who would see the wonder that I saw, she would
be grey a hundred years before her term of life<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a> was
expired.</p>
<p>"Did you ever see any other marvel in your time?"
says the friar to the hag.</p>
<p>"A week after leaving my bed I got a letter telling
me that one of my friends was dead, and that I would have
to go to the funeral. I proceeded to the funeral, and on
my going into the corpse-house the body was in the coffin,
and the coffin was laid down on the bier, and four men
went under the bier that they might carry the coffin, and
they weren't able to even stir<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> the bier off the ground.
And another four men came, and they were not able
to move it off the ground. They were coming, man after
man, until twelve came, and went under the bier, and they
weren't able to lift it.</p>
<p>"I spoke myself, and I asked the people who were at the
funeral what sort of trade had this man when he was in
the world, and it was told me that it was a herd he was.
And I asked of the people who were there was there any
other herd at the funeral. Then there came four men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
that nobody at all who was at the funeral had any knowledge
or recognition of, and they told me that they were
four herds, and they went under the bier and they lifted
it as you would lift a handful of chaff, and off they went
as quick and sharp as ever they could lift a foot. Good
powers of walking they had, and a fine long step I had
myself, and I cut out after them, and not a mother's son
knew what the place was to which they were departing
with the body, and we were going and ever going until
the night and the day were parting from one another,
until the night was coming black dark dreadful, until the
grey horse was going under the shadow of the docking
and until the docking was going fleeing before him.<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The roots going under the ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The leaves going into the air,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The grey horse a-fleeing apace,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And I left lonely there.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>"On looking round me, there wasn't one of all the
funeral behind me, except two others. The other people
were done up, and they were not able to come half way,
some of them fainted and some of them died. Going
forward two steps more in front of me I was within in a
dark wood wet and cold, and the ground opened, and I
was swallowed down into a black dark hole without a
mother's son or a father's daughter<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> next nor near me,
without a man to be had to keen me or to lay me out; so
that I threw myself on my two knees, and I was there
throughout four days sending my prayer up to God to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
take me out of that speedily and quickly. And with the
fourth day there came a little hole like the eye of a needle
on one corner of the abode where I was; and I was
a-praying always and the hole was a-growing in size day
by day, and on the seventh day it increased to such a size
that I got out through it. I took to my heels<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> then when
I got my feet with me on the outside (of the hole) going
home. The distance which I walked in one single day
following the coffin, I spent five weeks coming back the
same road, and don't you see yourself now that I got
cause to be withered, old, aged, grey, and my life to be
shortening through those two perils in which I was."</p>
<p>"You're a fine, hardy old woman all the time," said
the friar.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE OLD HAG OF DINGLE.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>It is quite obvious that this story from south-west Kerry
represents in a feebler manner the same tradition as the
story which we have just given from north Mayo, about
the Old Woman of Beare. Note that in the Mayo story
the appearance of the woman was also prefaced by the
blackness of a shower. It is to the Old Woman of Beare that
the answer is ascribed in Connacht in which she gives the
reason for her longevity, only it is differently worded there.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I never carried the dirt of one puddle beyond another (?)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never ate food, but when I would be hungry.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never went to sleep but when I would be sleepy.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never threw out the dirty water until I had taken in the clean.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>This Kerry version of the story was written down by
Séamus Shean Ua Connaill, of Sgoil Chill Roilig, and published
in "The Lochrann, Mi Eanair agus Feabhra," 1911.</p>
<p>In Donegal the reasons given are:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I never ate a morsel till I'd be hungry.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never drank a drop till I'd be thirsty.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never sat at the fire without being working.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If I had not work of my own to do I got it from somebody else.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was a woman in Dingle long ago. She lived
300 years and more. Her name was the Old Hag of
Dingle. The story spread throughout Ireland that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
had lived for 300 years, and many people used to come to
see her.</p>
<p>The Emperor of France and the Earl of Kerry and
many other kings and princes came journeying to her,
and they asked her what age she was. She told them
that she was 300 years and more. They asked her what
it was in her opinion which gave her so long a life, beyond
any one else.</p>
<p>She told them that she did not know that, except that
her little finger and the palm of her hand never saw the
air, and that she never remained in her bed but as long
as she would be sleepy, and that she never ate meat except
when she would be hungry.</p>
<p>She would not herself give any other account of the
reason for her long life except that. They said to her
that they were sure that she had seen many a marvel,
seeing that she had lived all that time.</p>
<p>She said that she never saw anything that she could
marvel at particularly, except one day [said she] that
gentlemen were here and wanted to go out to the Skelligs,
and they got a crew. There was a young priest who was
here along with them. They went off and a boat with
them. A very fine day it was.</p>
<p>She told them that when they were half way to the
Skelligs, the men saw the shower<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> coming along the sea
from the north-west, and the weather growing cold. Fear
came upon them and they said to face the boat for the land,
but the priest told them to keep up their courage, and
that there would be no land now, and that perhaps with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
help of God there was no danger of them. The shower
was coming on, and the priest said that he himself saw
a woman in the shower, and a very great fear came upon
them then; but when the shower was coming [down]
on them they all saw her, and her face in the shower,
against the wind. When she was making for them the
priest moved over to the stern of the boat, he took to him
his stole and put it round his neck. He said:</p>
<p>"What have you done that has damned you?"</p>
<p>"I killed an unbaptized child," said she.</p>
<p>"That did not damn you," said the priest.</p>
<p>"I killed two," said she.</p>
<p>"That also did not damn you," said he.</p>
<p>"I killed three," said she.</p>
<p>"Ah! that damned you," said he. He drew to him
his book. He did a little reading on her. She turned her
back then. He gave her that much advantage. They
went off then and the weather cleared for them, and
they went on their way to the Skelligs. They went all
over the Skelligs and they came home.</p>
<p>"I saw that, and that was the greatest wonder I ever
saw," said she.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE POEM OF THE TOR.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I have heard more than one poem in which occurs a dialogue
between a living person and the soul of a dead man.
I got the following from Mr. John Kearney, a schoolmaster,
at Belmullet, Co. Mayo. The poem is well known round
Belmullet, but I have a suspicion that this version of it is
not complete. I have not been able, however, to secure
a fuller one. It is locally known as the Dan or Poem of the
Tor. This Tor is a rock in the sea some twelve miles from
land. There is a lighthouse upon it now, but of course that
was not so when the poem took shape, and no more lonesome
place than it for a soul dreeing its weird could be conceived.
The soul was put to do penance on this solitary rock. With
the verse about the soul parting from the body under rain
under wind, compare the fine North of England wake-dirge
with the refrain—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Fire and sleet and candle light,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Christ receive thy saule.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>I have come across other allusions in Irish unpublished
literature, prayers, etc., to the South being the side of
the good angels and the North the side of the bad ones.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On the side of the north black walls of fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the side of the south the people of Christ.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>The "geilt" which the interlocutor supposes that the ghost
may be, is a person who goes wild in madness, and such a
one was supposed to have the power of levitation, and to
be able to raise himself in the air and fly. See the extraordinary
story of Suibhne Geilt, vol. xii. of the Irish Texts
Society. See my "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. i.,
p. 270.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">[THE MAN.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">O fellow yonder on the mountain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who art being tortured at the Tor,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">[I put] a question on thee in the name of Jesus,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Art thou a man of this world or a <i>geilt</i>?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">[THE SOUL.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Since the question is put in the name of Jesus,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Indeed I shall answer it for thee:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am not a person of this world, nor a <i>geilt</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But a poor soul who has left this world,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And who never went to God's heaven since.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">[THE MAN.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">[I put] a question to thee again<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without doing thee harm:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How long since thou didst leave this world,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or art thou there ever since?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">[THE SOUL.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Twenty years last Sunday<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The soul parted with the [evil]-inclined body,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Under rain, under wind;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And if it were not for the blessing of the poor on the world,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I would be hundreds of years more there.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I was upon the world<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I was happy and airy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I desired to draw profit to myself,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I am [now] in great tribulation, paying for that.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I used to go to Sunday Mass<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It was not mercy I used to ask for my soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But jesting and joking with young men,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the body of my Christ before me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I would arrive home again<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It was not of the voice of the priest I would be thinking,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But of the fine great possessions<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I left behind me at home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Good was my haggard and my large house;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my brightness (?) to go out to the gathering,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Riding on a young steed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Banquet and feast before me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I set no store by my soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Until I saw the prowess of Death assembling:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the side of the north, black walls of fire<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the side of the south the people of Christ<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gathering amongst the angels,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Glorious Virgin hastening them.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I do not know," says Peter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Does Christ recognize him?"<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"I do not know," said Christ,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Bitter alas! I do not recognize him."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then spake the Glorious Virgin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And lowered herself on her white knees,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"O my son, was it not for thee were prepared<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The heaps of embers<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To burn thy noble body?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O Mother, helpful, glorious,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If it be thy will to take him to heaven,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I let him with thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And surely one thousand years at the Tor were better for you<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than one single hour in foul hell.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p>
<h2>COLUMCILLE AND HIS BROTHER DOBHRAN.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This very interesting story of Columcille's brother,
Dobhran, is common amongst Highlanders, but I have
found no trace of it in Ireland, nor any mention of a Dobhran.
This particular version was written down by the late Rev.
Father Allan MacDonald, of Eriskay, who collected a great
deal of the folk-lore of that island. The same story was told
to me, but somewhat differently, by a Canadian priest from
Sydney, Nova Scotia, one of the Clan MacAdam (really
Mac Eudhmoinn) and the sixth in descent from the first
refugee of his name who fled to Canada after Culloden.
He said he had often heard the story, and that Dobhran
when he climbed to the edge of the grave uttered three
sentences, but two of them he had forgotten, the third was
"cha n'eil an iorron chomh dona agus a tháthar ag rádh,"
(<i>sic.</i>) <i>i.e.</i>, "Hell is not as bad as people say." It was
then Columcille cried out, "úir, úir air Dobhran." "Clay,
clay on Dobhran's mouth before he says any more!"<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a></p>
<p>Here follow some stories from Irish sources about Columcille
himself. His life was written at considerable length by
Adamnan, one of his successors in the Abbacy of Iona,
who was born only twenty-seven years after Columcille's
death, and has come down to us in the actual manuscript
written by a man who died in 713; to that we know a good
deal about the saint. There exist five other lives of him.
According to the Leabhar Breac he died of self-imposed
abstinence.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Columcille's Fasting.</span></p>
<p>Colum's angel, whose name was Axal (a name derived
from "Auxilium") requested him to "take virginity
around him," but he refused "unless a reward therefor"
be given to him. "What reward seekest thou," said the
angel. "I declare," said Columcille, "it is not one reward
but four." "Mention them," said the angel. "I will,"
said Columcille, "namely, A death in Repentance, A death
from Hunger, and death in Youth<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a>—for hideous are bodies
through old age." "Even more shall be given thee," said
the angel, "for thou shalt be chief prophet of heaven and
earth."</p>
<p>And that was fulfilled. He went into pilgrimage, and
he was young when he died, and of hunger he perished,
but it was wilful hunger.</p>
<p>And this is the cause of that hunger of his. Once it came
to pass as he was going round the graveyard in Iona that he
saw an old woman cutting nettles to make pottage thereof.
"Why art thou doing that, poor woman?" said Columcille.
"O dear father," quoth she, "I have one cow and
she has not calved yet, and I am expecting it, and this is what
has served me for a long time back."</p>
<p>Columcille then determines that pottage of nettles
should be the thing that should most serve him thenceforth
for ever, and said, "Since it is because of her expecting the
one uncertain cow that she is in this great hunger, meet
were [the same] for us though great be the hunger wherein
we shall abide expecting God. For better and certain is what
we expect, the eternal kingdom." And he said to his servant,
"Pottage of nettles give thou to me every night without
butter, without a sip therewith."</p>
<p>"It shall be done," said the cook. And he bores the
mixing stick of the pottage so that it became a pipe, and he
used to pour the milk into that pipe and mix it all through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
the pottage. Then the church folk notice this, namely,
the cleric's goodly shape, and they talk of it among themselves.
This is made known to Columcille, and then he
said, "May they who take your place be always
murmuring!"</p>
<p>"Well!" quoth he to the servant, "what do you put for
me into the pottage every day?" "Thou thyself are witness"
said the man, "but unless it comes out of the stick with which
the pottage is mixed, I know of nothing else therein save
pottage only."</p>
<p>Then the secret is revealed to the cleric and he said,
"Prosperity and good-deed for ever to thy successor," said
he. And this is fulfilled.</p>
<p>It was then, too, that Boethine told him the remarkable
vision he had, namely, three chairs seen by him in heaven;
to wit, a chair of gold, and a chair of silver, and a chair of
glass. "[The meaning of] that is manifest," said Columcille,
"the chair of gold is Ciaran<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> son of the carpenter, for
his generosity and hospitality; the chair of silver is thou thyself,
O Boethine, because of the purity and lustre of thy
devotion; the chair of glass is I myself, for, though my
devotion is delightful, I am fleshly and I am often frail!"
As a certain poet said—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Colum, fair formed, powerful,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Face red, broad, radiant,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Body white, fame without deceit,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hair curling, eye grey, luminous.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>St. Patrick prophesied the coming of Columcille, according
to the great Life of Columcille, written by Manus
O'Donnell, at Lifford, in the year 1532, of which more than
one contemporary vellum copy exists.<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a></p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">St. Patrick Prophesies Concerning Columcille.</span><a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a></p>
<p>Once upon a time, as Patrick was finding labour and great
inconvenience in converting the men of Ireland and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
women to the faith, he was sorry that he did not know how
they would be off for faith and for piety after his own time,
or how would God prosper them, seeing all the labour he
was getting from them. And he used to pray to God
earnestly to give him knowledge of that.</p>
<p>Then an angel came to him and addressed him, saying
that it was according to the vision to be revealed to him
in his sleep the coming night, that Ireland would be, as
regards the faith during his own life, and after him for
evermore. And this is the vision that was given him [the
next night].</p>
<p>He saw all Ireland red on fire, and the flame which rose
from it went up into the further aerial spaces, and afterwards
he saw that fire being quenched, only big hills remained on
fire, far apart from one another; and then again he saw how
even the hills went out, except something like lamps or
candles which remained alight in the place of each hill. He
saw again even those go out, and only embers or sparks
with a gloom upon them remaining; however, these smouldered
in a few places far scattered throughout Ireland.</p>
<p>The same angel came to him and told him that those were
the conditions through which Ireland should pass after him.
Upon hearing that, Patrick wept bitterly, and spoke with a
great voice and said: "O God of all power, dost Thou
desire to damn and to withdraw Thy mercy from the people
to whom Thou didst send me to bring a knowledge of
Thyself. Though I am unworthy that Thou shouldst
hear me, O Lord, calm Thy anger in their regard, and
receive the people of this island of Ireland into Thy own
mercy."</p>
<p>And on his finishing these words, the angel spoke in a
pacifying tone, and said, "Look to the north of thee," said
he, "and thou shalt behold the change of God's right hand."
Patrick did as the angel bade him, for he looked to the north,
and he beheld a light arising there, not great at first, then
waxing and tearing the darkness asunder, so that all Ireland
was lighted by it as by the first flame, and he saw it go
through the same stages afterwards.</p>
<p>And the angel explained the meaning of that vision to
Patrick, saying that Ireland would be alight with faith and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
piety during his own time, but that darkness would come
over that light at his death. However, there would be good
people here and there in Ireland after him, as were the far-sundered
hills on fire; but when those good people died
there would come people not so good in their stead, like the
lamps and candles of which we have spoken already, and that
the faith would be sustained by them only as the embers
that were in gloom and mist, until the son of eternal light
should come, namely Columcille. And although little
at first, in coming into the world, nevertheless he would
sow and preach the word of God and increase the faith,
so that Ireland should blaze up in his time as it did in the
time of Patrick; and that it would never blaze in the same
way again, although there would be good pious people after
him. And that the Church of Ireland would go into decay
at the end of time after that, so that there would be, there,
of faith and piety, only a semblance of the embers, or little
sparks covered with gloom and darkness of which we have
spoken already.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>Columcille began to build on Iona. He gathered
together a great host of people. But all that he used to
build in the day, it used to be thrown down at night.
That drove him to set people to keep a watch on Iona.
Every morning those men [whom he had set to watch]
used to be dead at the foot of Iona. He did not continue
long to set people to watch there, but since he himself
was a holy man he went and remained watching Iona to
try if he could see or find out what was going wrong with
it. He was keeping to it and from it, and they were saying
that it was on the scaur of the crag near the sea that she
was, I did not see her.</p>
<p>He saw a <i>Biast</i> coming off the shore and one half of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
was a fish and the other half in the likeness of a woman.
She was old, with scales. When she shook herself she
set Iona and the land a-quaking. There went from her
a tinkling sound as it were earthenware pigs (jars) a-shaking.
Columcille went down to meet her and spoke to her,
and asked her did she know what was killing the people
whom he was setting to watch Iona in the night. She
said she did. "What was happening to them?" said he.
She said, "Nothing but the fear that seized them at her
appearance; that when she was a-coming to land the
heart was leaping out of its cockles<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> with them."</p>
<p>"Do you know," said he, "what is throwing down
Iona that I am building?"</p>
<p>"I do," said she, "Iona will be for ever falling so, O
holy Columcille. It is not I who am throwing it down,
but still it is being thrown down."<a name="FNanchor_73a_73a" id="FNanchor_73a_73a"></a><a href="#Footnote_73a_73a" class="fnanchor">[73a]</a></p>
<p>"Do you know now any means by which I can make
Iona go forward?"</p>
<p>"I do," said she. "O holy Columcille, to-morrow you
shall question all the people that you have at work to find
out what man will consent to offer himself alive [to be
buried] under the ground, and his soul shall be saved if
he consents to do that, and people shall never see me here
afterwards. Iona shall go forward without any doubt."</p>
<p>On the morrow he put the question to the great host
of people, "Was there any one of them at all who would
consent to offer himself alive on condition that his soul
should be saved in heaven?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p>
<p>There was not one man of them willing to go into the grave
although he was told that his soul would be saved by the
decree of God. She [the <i>Biast</i>] had told him too that the
grave had to be seven times as deep as the man's length.</p>
<p>Poor Dobhran, his brother, was on the outskirts of the
crowd. He came over and stood behind his brother,
Columcille, and said that he was quite willing to be offered
up alive under the ground on condition that Iona might
be built up by his holy brother Columcille, and he gave
credence to Columcille that his soul would be saved by
the decree of God.</p>
<p>Said Columcille, "Although I have no other brother
but poor Dobhran, I am pleased that he has offered himself
to go to the grave, and that the <i>Biast</i> shall not be seen
coming any more to the shore for ever."</p>
<p>The grave was made seven times the height of the
man in depth. When Dobhran saw the grave he turned
to Columcille and asked him as a favour to put a roof over
the grave and to leave him there standing so long as it
might please God to leave him alive.</p>
<p>He got his request—to be put down alive into the grave.
He was left there.</p>
<p>Columcille came and began to work at Iona [again],
and he was twenty days working, and Iona was going
forward wondrously. He was pleased that his work was
succeeding.</p>
<p>At the end of twenty days when everything was conjectured
to be going on well, he said it were right to look
what end had come to poor Dobhran, and [bade] open
the grave.</p>
<p>Dobhran was walking on the floor of the grave [when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
the roof was taken off]. When Dobhran saw that the grave
was opened and when he heard all the world round it,
he gave an expert leap out of it to the mouth of the grave
and he put up his two hands on high on the mouth of the
grave. He supported himself on the [edge of the] grave
[by his hands.] There was a big smooth meadow
going up from Iona and much rushes on it. All the
rushes that Dobhran's eyes lit upon grew red, and that
little red top is on the rushes ever.</p>
<p>Columcille cried out and he on the far side, "Clay!
clay on Dobhran's eyes! before he see any more of the
world and of sin!"</p>
<p>They threw in the clay upon him then and returned to
their work. And nothing any more went against Columcille
until he had Iona finished.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p>
<h2>BRUADAR AND SMITH AND GLINN.</h2>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">A Curse</span></p>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This extraordinary piece of cursing cannot properly
be called folk-lore. It is purely pagan in spirit, though the
poet has called upon the Deity under all the appellations
by which he was known to the Gaels, as King of Sunday (see
the story of Shaun the Tinker), the One Son, the King of the
Angels, the King of Luan (Monday or Judgment day), the
King of Brightness, the Son of the Virgin, etc. I know
nothing certain about the circumstances which gave rise
to this amazing effusion. It cannot be very old, however,
since the last verse mentions the "black peeler." Possibly
it was composed not more than seventy years ago. The poet
has cleverly interwoven the names of his three enemies in all
sorts of different collocations. I give the piece as of interest
though not actual folk-lore. It was first published in Iris-leabhar
na Gaedhilge by Father Dinneen. For the original
and other curses of the same nature, see "Religious Songs of
Connacht," vol. II., p. 274.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bruadar and Smith and Glinn,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Amen, dear God, I pray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May they lie low in waves of woe,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And tortures slow each day!<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bruadar and Smith and Glinn<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Helpless and cold, I pray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen! I pray, O King,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To see them pine away.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bruadar and Smith and Glinn<br /></span>
<span class="i2">May flails of sorrow flay!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cause for lamenting, snares and cares<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Be theirs by night and day!<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Blindness come down on Smith,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Palsy on Bruadar come,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of Brightness! Smite<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Glinn in his members numb,<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Smith in the pangs of pain,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Stumbling on Bruadar's path,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">King of the Elements, Oh, Amen!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Let loose on Glinn Thy wrath.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For Bruadar gape the grave,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Up-shovel for Smith the mould,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Sunday! Leave<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Glinn in the devil's hold.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Terrors on Bruadar rain,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And pain upon pain on Glinn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Stars! and Smith<br /></span>
<span class="i2">May the devil be linking him.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Glinn in a shaking ague,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Cancer on Bruadar's tongue,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Heavens! and Smith<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For ever stricken dumb.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thirst but no drink for Glinn,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Smith in a cloud of grief,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen! O King of the Saints! and rout<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Bruadar without relief.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Smith without child or heir,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And Bruadar bare of store,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Friday! Tear<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For Glinn his black heart's core.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bruadar with nerveless limbs,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Hemp strangling Glinn's last breath,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the World's Light!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And Smith in grips with death.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Glinn stiffening for the tomb,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Smith wasting to decay,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Thunder's gloom!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And Bruadar sick alway.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Smith like a sieve of holes,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Bruadar with throat decay,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Orders! Glinn<br /></span>
<span class="i2">A buck-show every day.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hell-hounds to hunt for Smith,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Glinn led to hang on high,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Judgment Day!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And Bruadar rotting by.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Curses on Glinn, I cry,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">My curse on Bruadar be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O King of the Heaven's high!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Let Smith in bondage be.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Showers of want and blame,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Reproach, and shame of face,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Smite them all three, and smite again,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Amen, O King of Grace!<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Melt, may the three, away,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Bruadar and Smith and Glinn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fall in a swift and sure decay<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And lose, but never win.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">May pangs pass through thee Smith,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">(Let the wind not take my prayer),<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May I see before the year is out<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Thy heart's blood flowing there.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Leave Smith no place nor land,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Let Bruadar wander wide,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May the Devil stand at Glinn's right hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And Glinn to him be tied.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All ill from every airt<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Come down upon the three,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And blast them ere the year be out<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In rout and misery.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Glinn let misfortune bruise,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Bruadar lose blood and brains,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen, O Jesus! hear my voice,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Let Smith be bent in chains.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I accuse both Glinn and Bruadar,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And Smith I accuse to God,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May a breach and a gap be upon the three,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And the Lord's avenging rod.<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Each one of the wicked three<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Who raised against me their hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May fire from heaven come down and slay<br /></span>
<span class="i2">This day their perjured band,<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">May none of their race survive,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">May God destroy them all,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each curse of the psalms in the holy books<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Of the prophets upon them fall!<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Blight skull, and ear, and skin,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And hearing, and voice, and sight,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amen! before the year be out,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Blight, Son of the Virgin, blight!<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">May my curses hot and red<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And all I have said this day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Strike the Black Peeler too,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Amen, dear God, I pray!<br /></span>
<span class="i26">Amen!<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p>
<h2>FRIAR BRIAN.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story was written down, word for word, and given
me by my friend Mr. C. M. Hodgson, from the telling of James
Mac Donagh, one of his brother tenants, near Oughterard,
Co. Galway. It is obvious that the story is only a fragment,
and very obscure, but it is worth preserving
if only for the sake of Friar Brian's striking answer to
the Devil, which would come home with particular force
to all who have ever bought or sold at an Irish fair;
the acceptance of "earnest" money is the clinching
of the bargain, behind which you cannot go. If you
receive "earnest" in the morning you may not sell again,
no matter how much higher a price may have been offered
you before evening. I have heard another story about
Friar Brian.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY</p>
<p>There was a young man in it long ago, and long ago
it was, and he had a great love for card-playing and
drinking whiskey. He came short [at last] of money,
and he did not know what he would do without money.</p>
<p>A man met him, and he going home in the night.
"I often see you going home this road," said the man
to him.</p>
<p>"There's no help for it now," says he; "I have no
money."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
<p>"Now," says the man, "I'll give you money every
time you'll want it, if you will give to me written with
your own blood [a writing to say] that you are mine such
and such a year, at the end of one and twenty years."</p>
<p>It was the Devil who was in it in the shape of a
man.</p>
<p>He gave it to him written with his share of blood
that he would be his at the end of one and twenty years.</p>
<p>He had money then every time ever he wanted it until
the one and twenty years were almost out, and then fear
began coming on him. He went to the priest and he
told it [all] to him. "I could not do any good for you,"
says the priest. "You must go to such and such a
man who is going into Ellasthrum (?) He has so much
of the Devil's influence (?) that he does be able to
change round the castle door any time the wind is
blowing [too hard] on it."</p>
<p>He went to this man and he told him his story. "I
wouldn't be able to do you any good," says he, "you
must go to Friar Brian."</p>
<p>He went to Friar Brian and told him his story. The
one and twenty years were all but up by this time. "Here
is a stick for you," said Friar Brian, "and cut a ring
[with the stick] round about the place where you'll stand.
He [the Devil] won't be able to come inside the place
which you'll cut out with this stick. And do you be
arguing with him, and I'll be watching you both," says
he. "Tell him that there must be some judgment
[passed] on the case before you depart [to go away] with
him."</p>
<p>"Very well," says the man.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p>
<p>When the appointed hour came the man was
standing in the place he said. The Devil came to him.
He told the man that the time was up and that he had to
come along.</p>
<p>The man began to say that the time was not up. He
cut a ring round about himself with the stick which Friar
Brian had given him. "Well, then," says the man,
says he [at last], "we'll leave it to the judgment of the
first person who shall come past us."</p>
<p>"I am satisfied," says the Diabhac.<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a></p>
<p>Friar Brian came to the place where they were. "What
is it all about from the beginning?" says Friar Brian.
The Diabhac told him that he had this man bought for
one and twenty years, and that he had to come with him
to-day; "it is left to you to judge the case."</p>
<p>"Now," says Friar Brian, says he, "if you were to go
to a fair to buy a cow or a horse, and if you gave earnest
money for it, wouldn't you say that it was more just
for you to have it than for the man who would come in
the evening and who would buy it without paying any
earnest money for it?"</p>
<p>"I say," says the Diabhac, "that the man who paid
earnest money for it first, ought to get it."</p>
<p>"And now," says Friar Brian, "the Son of God paid
earnest for this man before you bought him."</p>
<p>The Diabhac had to go away then.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Friar Brian asked then what would be done to him
now when he had not got the man.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p>
<p>"I shall be put into the chamber which is for Friar
Brian," said the Diabhac.<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a></p>
<p>"And now," said Friar Brian to the man whom he
had saved, "I saved you now," says he, "and do you save
me."</p>
<p>"What will I be able to do for you to save you?"</p>
<p>"Get the axe," says Friar Brian to him, "take the head
off me," says he, "and cut me up then as fine as
tobacco."<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a></p>
<p>He did that, and Friar Brian repented then, and he
was saved.</p>
<p>He suffered himself to be cut as fine as tobacco on account
of all he had ever done out of the way. There now,
that was the end of Friar Brian.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p>
<h2>HOW THE FIRST CAT WAS CREATED.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I got the following story from my friend Dr. Conor
Maguire, of Claremorris. It explains how the first cat and
first mouse were created. I heard many such stories explaining
the origin of this thing or the other from the Red
Indians in Canada, but, of course, none of them had anything
to say to Christianity. It is impossible to tell the age
of this legend, but it may be taken for granted that such
themes were common in Pagan times just as they are
amongst the Red Men to-day, and it may well be that this
story in its origin is older than Christianity itself, and that
a saint may have taken the place of an enchanter when the
people became Christians. I think it is pretty certain that
this story originally concerned only the flour—the food of
man—and the mice—the enemy of the flour—and the cat—the
enemy of the mice; and that the mention of the sow
and her litter is a late and stupid interpolation.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>One day Mary and her Son were travelling the road,
and they heavy and tired, and it chanced that they went
past the door of a house in which there was a lock of
wheat being winnowed. The Blessed Virgin went in,
and she asked an alms of wheat, and the woman of the
house refused her.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
<p>"Go in again to her," said the Son, "and ask her for
it in the name of God."</p>
<p>She went, and the woman refused her again.</p>
<p>"Go in to her again," said He, "and ask her to give you
leave to put your hand into the pail of water, and to thrust
it down into the heap of wheat, and to take away with you
all that shall cling to your hand."</p>
<p>She went, and the woman gave her leave to do that.
When she came out to our Saviour, He said to her, "Do
not let one grain of that go astray, for it is worth much
and much."</p>
<p>When they had gone a bit from the house they looked
back, and saw a flock of demons coming towards the
house, and the Virgin Mary was frightened lest they might
do harm to the woman. "Let there be no anxiety on you,"
said Jesus to her; "since it has chanced that she has given
you all that of alms, they shall get no victory over her."</p>
<p>They travelled on, then, until they reached as far as a
place where a man named Martin had a mill. "Go in,"
said our Saviour to His mother, "since it has chanced that
the mill is working, and ask them to grind that little
grain-<i>een</i> for you."</p>
<p>She went. "O musha, it's not worth while for me,"
said the boy who was attending the querns, "to put that
little <i>lockeen</i> a-grinding for you." Martin heard them
talking and said to the lout, "Oh, then, do it for the
creature, perhaps she wants it badly," said he. He did it,
and he gave her all the flour that came from it.</p>
<p>They travelled on then, and they were not gone any
distance until the mill was full of flour as white as snow.
When Martin perceived this great miracle he understood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
well that it was the Son of God and His Mother who
chanced that way. He ran out and followed them, at his
best, and he made across the fields until he came up with
them, and there was that much haste on him in going
through a scunce of hawthorns that a spike of the hawthorn
met his breast and wounded him greatly. There
was that much zeal in him that he did not feel the pain,
but clapt his hand over it, and never stopped until he
came up with them. When our Saviour beheld the
wound upon poor Martin, He laid His hand upon it,
and it was closed, and healed upon the spot. He said to
Martin then that he was a fitting man in the presence of
God; "and go home now," said He, "and place a fistful
of the flour under a dish, and do not stir it until morning."</p>
<p>When Martin went home he did that, and he put the
dish, mouth under, and the fistful of flour beneath it.</p>
<p>The servant girl was watching him, and thought that
maybe it would be a good thing if she were to set a dish
for herself in the same way, and signs on her, she set it.</p>
<p>On the morning of the next day Martin lifted his dish,
and what should run out from under it but a fine sow and
a big litter of bonhams with her. The girl lifted her own
dish, and there ran out a big mouse and a clutch of young
mouselets with her. They ran here and there, and
Martin at once thought that they were not good, and he
plucked a big mitten off his hand and flung it at the
young mice, but as soon as it touched the ground it
changed into a cat, and the cat began to kill the young
mice. That was the beginning of cats. Martin was a
saint from that time forward, but I do not know which
of the saints he was of all who were called Martin.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p>
<h2>GOD SPARE YOU YOUR HEALTH.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>There is an Anglo-Irish proverb to the effect that "fine
words butter no parsnips," and an Irish one runs "Ní
bheathuigheann na briathra na bráithre," "words don't
feed friars." This story is also told in other parts of the
country about a cobbler. I have translated this version
of it from the Lochrann "Márta agus Abrán, 1912," written
down by "Giolla na lice."</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was a smith in Skibbereen long ago, long before
the foreigners nested there, and people used to be coming
to him who did not please him too well. When he would
do some little turn of work for them in the forge they
used only have a "God spare you your health" for him.
It's a very nice prayer, "God spare you your health," but
when the smith used to go out to buy bread he used not
to get it without money. Prayers, no matter how good,
would not do the business for him. He used often to
be half mad with them, but he used not to say anything.
He was so vexed with that work one day that he took
a hound he had from his house into his forge, and he
tied it there with a wisp of hay under it. "Yes," said
he, "we will soon see whether the prayers of these
poor people will feed my hound."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p>
<p>The first person who came and had nothing but a
"God spare you the health" in place of payment. "Right,"
said the smith, "let my hound have that."</p>
<p>Other people came to the forge, and they without any
payment for the poor smith but that same fine prayer, and
according as the smith used to get the prayers he used
to bestow them on the hound. He used to give it no other
food or drink. The prayers were the hound's food, but
they made poor meat for him, for the smith found him
dead in the morning after his being dependent on the feeding
of the prayers.</p>
<p>A man came to the forge that day and he had a couple
of hinges and a couple of reaping hooks, that were not
too strong, to be fixed. The smith did the work, and the
man was thinking of going, "God spare you the health,"
said he. Instead of the answer "Amen! Lord! and you
likewise"; what the smith did was to take the man
by the shoulder. "Look over in the corner," said he;
"my hound is dead, and if prayers could feed it, it ought
to be fat and strong. I have given every prayer I got this
while back to that hound there, but they have not done
the business for it. And it's harder to feed a man than
a hound. Do you understand, my good man?"</p>
<p>He did apparently, for he put his hand in his pocket.
"What's the cost?" said he.</p>
<p>It was short until all the neighbours heard talk of the
death of that hound of the smith's, and much oftener
from that out used their tune to be, "What's the cost,
Dermot?" than "God spare you your health."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p>
<h2>TEIG O'KANE (TADHG O CÁTHÁIN) AND THE CORPSE.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story of Teig (in the ballad "Tomaus" O'Cahan or
O'Kane) and the corpse, was told to me nearly thirty
years ago by an old man from near Fenagh in the
County Leitrim, whom I met paying his rent to
a relative of mine in the town of Mohill. He must
have been one of the last Irish speakers in that district.
There does not appear to be a trace of Irish left there now.
I did not write down the story from his lips, but wrote it
out afterwards from memory. I took down the ballad,
however, from his recitation so far as he had it; and I
afterwards came across a written version of it in the handwriting
of Nicholas O'Kearney, of the County Louth.
The ballad as written by him coincides pretty closely with
my version, but breaks off apparently in the middle, as
though O'Kearney had not time to finish the rest of it.
The first twenty-three verses are from O'Kearney's version,
the rest are from mine. O'Kearney remarks in English
at the top of the page: "The following fragment is one
of our wild fairy adventures versified ... the
fragment is preserved on account of the singular wildness
of the air."</p>
<p>The only other Irish poem nearly in the same metre
which I know of is a poem by Cormac Dall, or Cormac
Common, which my friend Dr. Maguire, of Claremorris,
took down the other day from the recitation of an old
man.</p>
<p>It is on Halloweve night that one is especially liable to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
adventures like those of Tomaus O'Cahan, but it is well
known that all gamblers coming home at night are exposed
to such perils.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was once a grown-up lad in the County Leitrim,
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</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"grádh gach cailín i mbrollach a léine,"</span>
</div></div></div>
<p>"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—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Feuch an rógaire 'g iarraidh póige,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Ni h-iongantas mór é a bheith mar atá<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ag leanamhaint a gcómhnuidhe d'arnán na graineoige<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Anuas 's aníos 's nna chodladh 'sa lá."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>i.e.</i>—"Look at the rogue, it's for kisses he's rambling,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">It isn't much wonder, for that was his way;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He's like an old hedgehog, at night he'll be scrambling<br /></span>
<span class="i2">From this place to that, but he'll sleep in the day."<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p>
<p>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 kailee (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."</p>
<p>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 character
of a girl in the neighbourhood, 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."</p>
<p>"Och! murdher sheery! father, you wouldn't say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
that to me, and I such a good son as I am. Who told you
I wouldn't marry the girl?" says he.</p>
<p>But the 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 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 that he was.</p>
<p>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 remained
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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>His mind was so much excited that he remained between
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; "it must be near
twelve o'clock now."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He stood listening and he heard the voices of many
people talking through other, but he could not understand
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 yards
further, and he saw well enough by the light of the moon
a band of little people coming towards him, and they were
carrying something big and heavy with them. "Oh,
murdher!" 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.</p>
<p>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 grey, 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.</p>
<p>He became as cold as the Death, and there was not a
drop of blood running in his veins when an old little
grey man<i>een</i> came up to him and said, "Isn't it lucky
we met you, Teig O'Kane?"</p>
<p>Poor Teig could not bring out a word at all, nor open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
his lips, if he were to get the world for it, and so he gave
no answer.</p>
<p>"Teig O'Kane," said the little grey man again, "isn't
it timely you met us?"</p>
<p>Teig could not answer him.</p>
<p>"Teig O'Kane," says he, "the third time, isn't it
lucky and timely that we met you?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The little grey 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 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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Teig O'Kane won't lift the corpse," said the little
man<i>een</i>, 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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
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 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."</p>
<p>The little grey man came up to him again, and said he to
him, "Now, Teig<i>een</i>," 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!"</p>
<p>"Anything at all that I can do for your honour," 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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p>
<p>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-Démuis,
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-Démuis, you must carry it to Carrick-fhad-vic-Oruis,
and bury it in the churchyard there; and if
you don't get it into that place, take it with you to Teampoll-Ronáin;
and if that churchyard is closed on you,
take it to Imlogue-Fhada; 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 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 thankful to you, and you will have no cause to
grieve; but if you are slow or lazy, believe me we shall
take satisfaction of you."</p>
<p>When the grey little man had done speaking, his com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>rades
laughed and clapped their hands together. "Glic!
Glic! Hwee! Hwee!" 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 rises, 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.</p>
<p>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 understood as much as one word of what
they were saying.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Do you see those withered trees over there?" says the
old boy to him again. "Teampoll-Démuis 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 boldly."</p>
<p>Teig looked from him, and he saw a high wall that was in
places half broken down, and an old grey church on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
inside of the wall, and about a dozen withered old trees
scattered here and there round 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 became so dark that he could see nothing. He
went into the churchyard, and he walked up the old
grassy pathway 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.</p>
<p>"Now," said he to himself, "I have no more to do;
the door is shut, and I can't open it."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"What's that?" said he, and the sweat running from
his forehead; "who spoke to me?"</p>
<p>"It's I, the corpse, that spoke to you!" said the voice.</p>
<p>"Can you talk?" said Teig.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p>
<p>"Now and again," said the corpse.</p>
<p>Teig searched for the key, and he found it on the top of
the wall. He was too much frightened to say 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.</p>
<p>"Light the candle," said the corpse.</p>
<p>Teig put his 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 round 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 himself, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
it, and then he saw that it was another body that was
buried in the same place.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"That's a good sign," said Teig to himself. "Maybe
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 afterwards, 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.</p>
<p>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 overhead,
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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
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?"</p>
<p>Poor Teig drew back, and when she found that she was
getting no answer, she closed her eyes gently, lost her
vigour, 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 overhead.</p>
<p>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 soul, I'll
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.</p>
<p>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 between 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-Oruis," and he
remembered the command 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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p>
<p>He rose up and looked about him. "I don't know the
way," he said.</p>
<p>As soon as he had uttered the words, the corpse stretched
out suddenly its left hand that had been tightened round
his neck, and kept it pointing out, showing him the road he
ought to follow. Teig went in the direction 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 second 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.</p>
<p>Many was the cross-road he turned down, and many
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 building
in it. The corpse squeezed him tightly, and he stood.
"Bury me, bury me in the burying-ground," said the
voice.</p>
<p>Teig drew over towards 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
backwards and forwards, and pointing 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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p>
<p>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 forwards, and immediately the whole
crowd rushed together towards 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 went back broken and disspirited, 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-Ronáin," and the skinny hand
was stretched out again, pointing him out the road.</p>
<p>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-Ronáin from him in the distance, standing in
the middle of the burying-ground. He moved over
towards 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, something that he could
not see seized him by the neck, by the hands, and by the
feet, and bruised him, and shook him up, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
then thrown down in an old dyke, with the corpse still
clinging to him.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>He was now in great doubt as to what he ought to do,
when the corpse spoke in his ear, and said "Imlogue-Fhada."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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!"</p>
<p>Teig looked from him, and he saw a little low wall, that
was so broken down in places that it was no 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.</p>
<p>"Is this Imlogue-Fhada? Shall I bury you here?"
said Teig.</p>
<p>"Yes," said the voice.</p>
<p>"But I see no grave or gravestone, only this pile of
stones," said Teig.</p>
<p>The corpse did not answer, but stretched out its long</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p>
<p>fleshless hand, to show Teig the direction in which he was
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 afterwards; 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
burnt by it. Teig never saw, from the time he was born,
and never saw afterwards, so wonderful or so splendid a
sight as that was. Round 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 colour 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.</p>
<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
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 forwards 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.</p>
<p>At last the corpse stretched out its hand, and said to
him, "Bury me there."</p>
<p>"This is the last burying-place," said Teig in his own
mind; "and the little grey man said I'd be allowed to
bury him in some of them, so it must be this; it can't
be but they'll let him in here."</p>
<p>The first faint streak of the ring of day was appearing 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.</p>
<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 morning 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
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.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2>TOMAUS O CAHAN AND THE GHOST.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come hear my walking, my midnight walking,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">A cause of dread, and a cause of dread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With that corpse of faierie could get no stretching<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Amongst the dead men, amongst the dead.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Corpse speaks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Raise my dead body with no rejoicing<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And a beef I'll give thee, a beef I'll give,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">Tomaus answers</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"If I should settle on that condition<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Where is the beef, and where is the beef?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Corpse speaks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"It's old Shaun Bingham and Shaun Oge Bingham<br /></span>
<span class="i2">My sureties be, my sureties be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the crooked letter I wrote a ticket<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To Bél-in-Assan beside the sea."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"You will get a heaplet beneath the midden<br /></span>
<span class="i2">So green and gloomy, green and gloomy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then take it with thee for thy provision<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Beneath thy armpit—against thy journey."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In the ways of night, in the ways of night,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through roads that were narrow and hard and crooked,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And long was the route, and the cross-track journey,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Through miry bogs and through dripping glooms,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Westward to Lugh-moy-more-na-mrauher<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i2">Of the grass green tombs, of the grass green tombs.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Corpse speaks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"At thy right hand is a spade for digging,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Behind the door post it will be found,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With a strong thrust, thrust; with a thrust not timid,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And turn the ground, and turn the ground."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">Tomaus speaks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"At my right hand did I find the spade,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'Twas behind the door there, behind the door,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a strong thrust downward I quickly made<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Through the earthen floor, through the earthen floor."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I struck it strongly, I drove it down,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Through the upper earth, through the upper earth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till I broke the thigh of the English clown,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Who was sleeping there in his clay cold berth."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'A thousand pililloos,' cries the trooper,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'Where is my pistol that I may slay?'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cries Mary O'Reilly, Lord Guido's wife,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'Come clear the way there, come clear the way!'"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Corpse speaks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Oro! oh Tomaus! oro! oh Tomaus!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I've a mother's relative's son in Craggan<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And it's buried there I shall have to be."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On Tomaus his back was the body hoisted,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In the ways of night, in the ways of night,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through roads that were crooked and rough and narrow<br /></span>
<span class="i2">By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Going down of a race and in great disorder,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To the Craggan More, to the Craggan More,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I found a spade at my right hand lying<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Behind the door there, behind the door."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I found a spade at my right hand laid,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Behind the door there, behind the door,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Two thrusts that were heavy and strong I made<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Through the earthen floor, through the earthen floor."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Til I broke the hip bone of Watson Harford<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Was beneath the ground and he raised a clamour,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Hubbubboo,' cried the Gowa Dhu<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'Where is my hammer, where is my hammer.'"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Corpse speaks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Oro! oh Tomaus; uch, uch, uch, oh!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Do not leave me here I beseech of thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For my father's brother's son is in Derry<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And it's buried there I shall have to be."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"On reaching the place all spent and lonely<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And I despairing, and I despairing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The gates were all strongly barred before me<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But I smote upon them with sudden daring."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Said the Mayor of the place, in his grave clothes rising,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In his winding sheet from his clay bed taken,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Why knock so hard, each to his part;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Come dead awaken, come dead awaken.'"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Bodies and coffins came pouring upwards<br /></span>
<span class="i2">From the ground beneath in the pale moonlight,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And they ranged themselves in a raging rabble<br /></span>
<span class="i2">On the bare wall's height, on the bare wall's height."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'A hundred pililloos!' cried they all,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'What is the matter, where are we hurried?'"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">Tomaus answers</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"It is one of your friends who has died and here<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is the place where he says that he must be buried.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For his kindred are here and it's well they are,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Then take him from me, and good's my riddance."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Ghost asks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Who of his people is buried here<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To claim admittance, claim admittance?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">Tomaus answers</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"I know not myself of what tribe my man is<br /></span>
<span class="i2">On the ridge of earth if I'm not a liar,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There's a stir and a voice in him, ask himself,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Of himself inquire, himself inquire."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Than a gad more tight, than a gad more tight,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till he took a skreep to the Teampoll-Démuis,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And he found it fastened that weary night.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Corpse speaks</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Search for the key, you will find it lying<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Behind the door, or upon the wall."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He searched for the key and he found and opened<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And wide and silent and dark was all.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">The Corpse speaks again</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Oro, oh, Tomaus! Oro, oh, Tomaus!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Oh, bury me quick out of sight and sound,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">See yonder the spade forenenst you lying,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And turn the ground, and turn the ground."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He took the spade in his hand, and quickly<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He turned the ground so black and bare,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till he broke the bones of an English bodach<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Who had long been there, who had long been there.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Blood and owns, you broke my bones,"<br /></span>
<span class="i2">That man kept crying with teeth that chatter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And then spoke Smiler, the wife of Simon,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">"What is the matter? What is the matter?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Where was he, or where did he pass his life,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">That he's got no bed where he now may go?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">[<span class="smcap">Tomaus answers</span>.]<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"He's there before you who knows it best.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">You must ask him yourself, for I do not know."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then Feeny arose and he took some snuff<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And he seized an alpeen and gripped it tight,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And there was the slashing and noise and smashing<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Till the morning light, till the morning light.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Corpse was raised on Tomaus his back,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Like a tightened gad, like a tightened gad,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And he brought it up, and he brought it down,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And the way was long and the way was bad.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To Carrick-vic-oruis and Teampoll-Ronáin<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And Imlogue-Fhada the corpse was hurried,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But in Kill-Vreedya the skreep was over<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The corpse was buried, the corpse was buried.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12"><span class="smcap">A stick and a stone on it,<br /></span>
<span class="i12">And bad luck on it!</span><br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p>
<h2>PRAYER AFTER TOBACCO.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>There is at times a certain connection between the use
of tobacco and the solemn presence of the dead. Both
snuff and tobacco for smoking are handed round at wakes.
Pipes and tobacco are, in fact, the principal portion of the
equipment of the corp-house. To the present moment when
one accepts a pinch of snuff it is customary to say in Irish,
"the blessing of God be with the souls of your dead." I
have heard this a hundred times. But I never heard the
tobacco prayer except once or twice from very old people;
and, in spite of this story, I don't believe that it was ever
in any way usual to say a prayer over tobacco except perhaps
in some isolated parts of the country. All I can say is
that I have never heard it said spontaneously. This
story was written down word for word for me by my friend
Mr. John Mac Neill from the recitation of Michael Mac Rury
or Rogers, from Ballycastle, in the County Mayo. The
tobacco prayer<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> translated, runs as follows:—</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Eighteen fulls of the churchyard of Patrick, of the mantle<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> of Brigit,
of the tomb of Christ, of the palace of Rome, of the church of God, be
with thy soul (and with the soul of him above whose head was this
tobacco),<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a> and with the souls of the dead in Purgatory all together.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">May not more numerous be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The grains of sand by the sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or the blades of grass on the lea,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or the drops of dew on the tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than the blessings upon thy soul<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the souls of the dead with thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my soul when the life shall flee.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>It is for God to give shelter, light, and the glory of the heavens
to the souls of the dead of Purgatory.</p></blockquote>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p>
<p>The story was evidently invented with the didactic
intention of encouraging the use of prayer, and of inculcating
the truth that just as we ought to be thankful to
God for our meals, so ought we to be thankful to Him for
our tobacco, and for all the good things of life.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was a woman in it long ago, and she had an
only son. When he came to age she sent him to college,
and made a priest of him. After his coming from the
college he was a short little while at home; and he was
one day walking out in the garden when there came a
saint [in the air] over his head, and spoke down to
him, and told the priest that he himself and all who
belonged to him were damned on account of his
mother.</p>
<p>The priest asked him what was the crime his mother
had committed, and the saint told him that she was smoking
tobacco for twelve years and had never said the tobacco
prayer all that time.</p>
<p>"Bad enough!" says the priest, "is there anything
at all down from heaven to set that right?" says the
priest.</p>
<p>"There's nothing but one thing alone," says he,
"and this is it. When you go in to your mother tell her
as I have told it to you. And unless she shall be prepared
to suffer the death that I'll tell you, not a sight
of the country of heaven will your mother or anyone
of her family see for ever."</p>
<p>"What death is it?" said the priest to him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p>
<p>"She must let you," says he, "carve every bit off her
body as fine as sneeshin."</p>
<p>The priest went into the house and a heavy load on his
heart. He sat upon a chair and there was a great grief
to be seen in his face. His mother asked him what was
on him, and what had happened to him since he went
out.</p>
<p>"Ah, there's nothing on me but a little weariness,"
says he, "kindle the pipe for me mother," says he, "I'd
like to get a blast of tobacco."</p>
<p>"I'll kindle it and welcome," says she, "I thought
avourneen," says she, "that you were not using tobacco."</p>
<p>"Ah, maybe a whiff would take this weariness off me,"
said he.</p>
<p>True was the story. She put a coal in the pipe, and
after smoking enough of the pipe herself she handed it
to the priest, but she never said the prayer. And that
was the reason the priest had told her to kindle the pipe,
hoping that she would say the prayer, but she did not.</p>
<p>"Poor enough!" said the priest in his own mind.</p>
<p>The priest told her then as the saint had told him,
and she threw herself on her two knees praying God and
shedding tears, and, said she, "a hundred welcomes
to the graces of God, and if it is the death that God has
promised me, I am satisfied to suffer it; go out now my
son," says she, "and when I'll be ready for you to get to
your work I'll call you in."</p>
<p>The priest went out, fervently reading and praying to
God.</p>
<p>The mother washed and cleaned herself. She got
sheets and sharp knives ready for the work, and when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
she had everything prepared she called the priest to come
in. And as the priest turned round on his foot, the
brightness came over his head again, and it said to him
that all his family had found forgiveness for their sins,
on account of the earnest repentance that his mother
was after making, and the awful death that she was fully
satisfied to suffer.</p>
<p>The priest came into the house, and a great joy in his
heart, and his mother was stretched on the length of her
back on the table, and sheets under her and over her, and
her two hands stretched out from her, and she praying to
God, and two sharp knives by her side; and, says the
priest to her, "Rise up, mother," says he, "I have got
forgiveness from the King of the graces, for our sins,
and I beseech you now from this day out, do not forget
to diligently offer up the tobacco prayer every time you
use it."</p>
<p>And true was the story. There was never a time from
that day till the day that the priest's mother went into
the clay that she did not earnestly offer up the prayer
to God and to the glorious Virgin.</p>
<p>And the old people throughout the country [added the
reciter, talking of West Mayo] are offering up that same
prayer daily, and they shall do so as long as a word of our
Irish language shall remain alive on the green island of the
saints.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE BUÍDEACH, THE TINKER, AND THE BLACK DONKEY.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I got this story from O'Connor, who himself got it from
a man of the name of Peter Srehane, who lived near Castlebar,
Co. Mayo.</p>
<p>It is a melange of many curious beliefs, metempsychosis,
"St. Patrick's Purgatory" (so well known over Europe
in the middle ages), the purse of Fortunatus, fairy gold
changing to pebbles, etc. I printed this story with a
French translation in my "Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach." It
is the 23rd story in that volume.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>In times long ago there was a poor widow living near
Castlebar, in the County Mayo. She had an only son,
and he never grew one inch from the time he was five
years old, and the people called him Buídeach<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> as a
nick-name.</p>
<p>One day when the Buídeach was about fifteen years of
age his mother went to Castlebar. She was not gone
more than an hour when there came a big Tinker, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
Black Donkey with him, to the door, and "Are you in,
woman of the house?" said the tinker.</p>
<p>"She is not," said the Buideach, "and she told me not
to let anyone in until she'd come home herself."</p>
<p>The Tinker walked in, and when he looked at the
Buideach he said, "Indeed you're a nice boy to keep
anyone at all out, you could not keep out a turkey cock."</p>
<p>The Buideach rose of a leap and gave the big Tinker
a fist between the two eyes and pitched him out on the
top of his head, under the feet of the Black Donkey.</p>
<p>The Tinker rose up in a rage and made an attempt to
get hold of the Buideach, but he gave him another fist
at the butt of the ear and threw him out again under
the feet of the Black Donkey.</p>
<p>The donkey began to bray pitifully, and when the
Buideach went out to see [why], the Tinker was dead.
"You have killed my master," said the Black Donkey,
"and indeed I am not sorry for it, he often gave me a
heavy beating without cause."</p>
<p>The Buideach was astonished when he heard the
Black Donkey speaking, and he said, "You are not a
proper donkey."</p>
<p>"Indeed, I have only been an ass for seven years.
My story is a pitiful one. I was the son of a gentleman."</p>
<p>"Musha, then, I would like to hear your story," said
the Buideach.</p>
<p>"Come in, then, to the end of the house. Cover up the
Tinker in the dunghill, and I will tell you my story."</p>
<p>The Buideach drew the dead man over to the dunghill
and covered him up. The Black Donkey walked into the
house and said, "I was the son of a gentleman, but I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>
a bad son, and I died under a heavy load of deadly sins
on my poor soul; and I would be burning in hell now
were it not for the Virgin Mary. I used to say a little
prayer in honour of her every night, and when I went into
the presence of the Great Judge I was sentenced to hell
until His mother spoke to the Judge and He changed his
sentence, and there was made of me a Black Donkey,
and I was given to the Tinker for the space of seven
years, until he should die a worldly [or corporeal] death.
The Tinker was a limb of the devil, and it was I who gave
you strength to kill him; but you are not done with
him yet. He will come to life again at the end of seven
days, and if you are there before him he will kill you
as sure as you are alive."</p>
<p>"I never left this townland since I was born," said
the Buideach, "and I would not like to desert my mother."</p>
<p>"Would it not be better for you to leave your mother
than to lose your life in a state of mortal sin and be for ever
burning in hell?"</p>
<p>"I don't know any place where I could go into hiding,"
said the Buideach; "but since it has turned out that
it was you who put strength into my hand to kill the Tinker,
perhaps you would direct me to some place where
I could be safe from him."</p>
<p>"Did you ever hear talk of Lough Derg?"</p>
<p>"Indeed, I did," said the Buideach; "my grandmother
was once on a pilgrimage there, but I don't know where
it is."</p>
<p>"I will bring you there to-morrow night. There is
a monastery underground on the island, and an old friar
in it who sees the Virgin Mary every Saturday. Tell him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
your case and take his advice in every single thing. He
will put you to penance, but penance on this world is
better than the pains of hell for ever. You know where
the little dún<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> is, which is at the back of the old castle.
If you are in the dún about three hours after nightfall
I shall be there before you and bring you to Lough Derg.</p>
<p>"I shall be there if I'm alive," said the Buideach;
"but is there any fear of me that the Tinker will get up
before that time?"</p>
<p>"There is no fear," said the Black Donkey, "unless
you tell somebody that you killed him. If you tell anything
about him he will get up and he will slay yourself
and your mother."</p>
<p>"By my soul, then, I'll be silent about him," said the
Buideach.</p>
<p>That evening when the Buideach's mother came home
she asked him did anybody come to the house since
she went away.</p>
<p>"I did not see anyone," said he, "but an old pedlar
with a bag, and he got nothing from me."</p>
<p>"I see the track of the shoe of a horse or a donkey
outside the door, and it was not there in the morning
when I was going out," said she.</p>
<p>"It was Páidin Éamoinn the fool, who was riding
Big Mary O'Brien's ass," said the Buideach.</p>
<p>The Buideach never slept a wink all that night but
thinking of the Tinker and the Black Donkey. The next
day he was in great anxiety. His mother observed that
and asked him what was on him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p>
<p>"There's not a feather on me," says he.</p>
<p>That night when the mother was asleep the Buideach
stole out and never stopped until he came to the little
dún; the Black Donkey was there before him and said,
"Are you ready?"</p>
<p>"I am," said the Buideach, "but I am grieved that I
did not get my mother's blessing; she will be very
anxious until I come back again."</p>
<p>"Indeed she will not be anxious at all, because there
is another Buideach at your mother's side at home, so
like you that she won't know that it is not yourself that's
in it; but I'll bring him away with me before you come
back."</p>
<p>"I am very much obliged to you and I am ready to go
with you now," said he.</p>
<p>"Leap up on my back; there is a long journey before
us," said the Donkey.</p>
<p>The Buideach leapt on his back, and the moment he
did so he heard thunder and saw great lightning. There
came down a big cloud which closed around the black ass
and its rider. The Buideach lost the sight of his eyes,
and a heavy sleep fell upon him, and when he awoke he
was on an island in Lough Derg, standing in the presence
of the ancient friar.</p>
<p>The friar began to talk to him, and said, "What brought
you here, my son?"</p>
<p>"Well, then, indeed, I don't rightly know," said the
Buideach.</p>
<p>"I will know soon," said the friar; "come with
me."</p>
<p>He followed the old friar down under the earth, until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
they came to a little chamber that was cut in
the rock. "Now," said the friar, "go down on
your knees and make your confession and do not conceal
any crime."</p>
<p>The Buideach went down on his knees and told everything
that happened to him concerning the Tinker and the
Black Donkey.</p>
<p>The friar then put him under penance for seven days
and seven nights, without food or drink, walking on his
bare knees amongst the rocks and sharp stones. He
went through the penance, and by the seventh day there
was not a morsel of skin or flesh on his knees, and he was
like a shadow with the hunger. When he had the penance
finished the old friar came and said, "It's time for you
to be going home."</p>
<p>"I have no knowledge of the way or of how to go
back," said the Buideach.</p>
<p>"Your friend the Black Donkey will bring you back,"
said the friar. "He will be here to-night; and when
you go home spend your life piously and do not tell to
anyone except to your father-confessor that you were
here."</p>
<p>"Tell me, father, is there any danger of me from the
Tinker?"</p>
<p>"There is not," said the friar; "he is an ass [himself
now] with a tinker from the province of Munster, and he
will be in that shape for one and twenty years, and after
that he will go to eternal rest. Depart now to your
chamber. You will hear a little bell after the darkness
of night [has fallen], and as soon as you shall hear it, go
up on to the island, and the Black Donkey will be there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>
before you, and he will bring you home; my blessing
with you."</p>
<p>The Buideach went to his room, and as soon as he heard
the bell he went up to the island and his friend the Black
Donkey was waiting for him.</p>
<p>"Jump up on my back, Buideach, I have not a moment
to lose," said the donkey.</p>
<p>He did so, and on the spot he heard the thunder and
saw the lightning. A great cloud came down and enveloped
the Black Donkey and its rider. Heavy sleep fell
upon the Buideach, and when he awoke he found himself
in the little dún at home standing in the presence of the
Black Donkey.</p>
<p>"Go home now to your mother. The other Buideach
is gone from her side; she is in deep sleep and she
won't feel you going in."</p>
<p>"Is there any fear of me from the Tinker?" said he.</p>
<p>"Did not the blessed friar tell you that there is not,"
said the Black Donkey. "I will protect you. Put your
hand in my left ear, and you will get there a purse which
will never be empty during your life. Be good to poor
people and to widows and to orphans, and you will have
a long life and a happy death, and heaven at the
end."</p>
<p>The Buideach went home and went to sleep, and the
mother never had had a notion that the other Buideach
was not her own son.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>At the end of a week after this the Buideach said to his
mother, "Is not this a fair day in Castlebar?"</p>
<p>"Yes, indeed," said she.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p>
<p>"Well then, you ought to go there and buy a cow,"
says he.</p>
<p>"Don't be humbugging your mother or you'll have no
luck," says she.</p>
<p>"Upon my word I am not humbugging," said he.
"God sent a purse my way, and there is more than the
price of a cow in it."</p>
<p>"Perhaps you did not get it honestly; tell me where
did you find it?"</p>
<p>"I'll tell you nothing about it, except that I found it
honestly, and if you have any doubt about my word, let
the thing be."</p>
<p>Women are nearly always given to covetousness, and
she was not free from it.</p>
<p>"Give me the price of the cow."</p>
<p>He handed her twenty pieces of gold. "You'll get a
good cow for all that money," said he.</p>
<p>"I will," said she, "but I'd like to have the price of a
pig."</p>
<p>"Do not be greedy, mother," said he; "you won't
get any more this time."</p>
<p>The mother went to the fair and she bought a milch
cow, and some clothes for the Buideach, and when he
got her gone he went to the parish priest and said that
he would like to make confession. He told the priest
then everything that happened to him from the time he
met the Tinker and the Black Donkey.</p>
<p>"Indeed, you are a good boy," said the priest, "give me
some of the gold."</p>
<p>The Buideach gave him twenty pieces, but he was not
satisfied with that, and he asked for the price of a horse.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p>
<p>"I did not think that a priest would be covetous," said he,
"but I see now that they are as covetous as women. Here
are twenty more pieces for you; are you satisfied now?"</p>
<p>"I am, and I am not," said the priest. "Since you
have a purse which will never be empty as long as you
live, you should be able to give me as much as would set
up a fine church in place of the miserable one which we
have in the parish now."</p>
<p>"Get workmen and masons, and begin the church,
and I'll give you the workmen's wages from week to week,"
said the Buideach.</p>
<p>"I'd sooner have it now," said the priest. "A thousand
pieces will do the work, and if you give them to me now
I'll put up the church."</p>
<p>The Buideach gave him one thousand pieces of gold
out of the purse, and the purse was none the lighter for it.</p>
<p>The Buideach came home and his mother was there
before him, with a fine milch cow and new clothes for
himself. "Indeed, that's a good cow," said he; "we
can give the poor people some milk every morning."</p>
<p>"Indeed they must wait until I churn, and I'll give
them the buttermilk—until I buy a pig."</p>
<p>"It's the new milk you'll give the poor people," said
the Buideach, "we can buy butter."</p>
<p>"I think you have lost your senses," says the mother.
"You'll want the little share of riches which God sent
you before I'm a year in the grave."</p>
<p>"How do you know but that I might not be in the grave
before you?" said he; "but at all events God will send
me my enough."</p>
<p>When they were talking there came a poor woman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
and three children to the door and asked for alms in the
honour of God and Mary.</p>
<p>"I have nothing for ye this time," said the widow.</p>
<p>"Don't say that, mother," said the Buideach. "I have
alms to give in the name of God and His mother Mary."
With that he went out and gave a gold piece to the poor
woman, and said to his mother, "Milk the cow and give
those poor children a drink."</p>
<p>"I will not," said the mother.</p>
<p>"Then I'll do it myself," said he.</p>
<p>He got the vessel, milked the cow, and gave lots of new
milk to the poor children and to the woman. When they
were gone away the mother said to him, "Your purse will
be soon empty."</p>
<p>"I have no fear of that," said he; "it's God who sent
it to me, and I'll make a good use of it," says he.</p>
<p>"Have your own way,"<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> said she; "but you'll be
sorry for it yet."</p>
<p>The next day lots of people came to the Buideach
asking for alms, and he never let them go away from him
empty-[handed]. The name and fame of the Buideach
went through the country like lightning and men said
that he was in partnership with the good people [<i>i.e.</i> fairies].
But others said that it was the devil who was giving him
the gold, and they made a complaint against him to the
parish priest. But the priest said that the Buideach was
a decent good boy, and that it was God who gave him the
means, and that he was making good use of them.</p>
<p>The Buideach went on well now, and he began growing
until he was almost six feet high.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p>
<p>His mother died and he fell in love with a pretty girl,
and he was not long until they were married.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>He had not a day's luck from that time forward. His
wife got to know that he had a wonderful purse and
nothing could satisfy her but she must get it. He refused
her often, but she was giving him no rest, day or night,
until she got the purse from him at last. Then, when she
got it, she had no respect for it. She went to Castlebar
to buy silks and satins, but when she opened the purse
in place of gold pieces being in it there was nothing but
pieces of pebbles. She came back and great anger on her;
and said, "Isn't it a nice fool you made of me giving me
a purse filled with little stones instead of the purse with
the gold in it."</p>
<p>"I gave you the right purse," said he; "I have no
second one."</p>
<p>He seized the purse and opened it, and as sure as I'm
telling it to you, there was nothing in it but little bits of
pebbles.</p>
<p>There was an awful grief upon the Buideach, and it
was not long until he was mad, tearing his hair, and beating
his head against the wall.</p>
<p>The priest was sent for but he could get neither sense
nor reason out of the Buideach. He tore off his clothes
and went naked and mad through the country.</p>
<p>About a week after that the neighbours found the
poor Buideach dead at the foot of a bush in the little dún.</p>
<p>That old bush is growing in the dún yet, and the people
call it the "Buideach's Bush," but [as for himself] it is
certain that he went to heaven.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE GREAT WORM OF THE SHANNON</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This curious conception of the greatest river in Ireland
owing its origin to the struggles of a great worm or serpent
is new to me. I got it from Pronisias O'Conor, who was
in the workhouse in Athlone at the time, and he got it
himself from a man called George Curtin from near Urlaur<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a>
on the borders of Mayo and Roscommon, who had also been
in the workhouse. Unfortunately, after writing it down,
I lost the first half of the story, which was the most interesting,
and I have had to supply a brief summary of it in brackets,
so far as my very imperfect recollection of it goes. I
have quite forgotten the incidents which led up to the
druids' prophecy and the Worm's hearing about it.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>[The druid foretold that a man was coming to Ireland
who would banish all the snakes, dragons and serpents.
The great Ollpheist, or worm, or serpent, was at this time
in the pool near the Arigna mountains, from which the
Shannon partly takes its rise. It heard of this prophecy
and was greatly concerned about its future. It determined
to leave Ireland and make his way to the sea before the
man came who should have the power to kill or banish
serpents. The man the druid had prophesied about was
Saint Patrick.]</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p>
<p>The story describes the desperate efforts of the great
worm to make a waterway for itself by cutting away
the hole in which it was enclosed. It was its efforts to
escape which made the river Shannon. At every prominent
part of the Shannon its adventures are related.
As it went on its way, working a channel for itself by which
to swim out to the sea, it used to commit the most terrible
depredations on cattle and sheep, and destroy the country
wherever it happened to be. The adventures of the worm
at Jamestown, Athleague, Lanesborough and other places
are described. Near Athleague the people, led by a
drunken piper called O'Rourke, made head against it, but
it swallowed the piper at one gulp. The noise of the
pipes was too much for it and it threw him up again, after
a time, but it lost several days work at the river. After
getting rid of the piper who had so troubled its inside
it began to work hard to make up for the time it had lost<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a>
for it was greatly afraid of the good and powerful man
who was to come.</p>
<p>After a week or so O'Rourke was blind drunk again,
and he faced for the place where the Great Worm had
been before, but by this time it had worked its passage
far away from that place. The piper, however, walked
into the river, and everyone thought that he was drowned,
but one of the enchanted eels was left in the hole and the
eel put O'Rourke under enchantment too, and it was
not long until they heard him playing music in the hole.
But he never came up on land since. Only every morning
and evening they used to be listening to him playing
music in the hole, and from that day to this there is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>
other name on that same spot but the Piper's Hole. And
everybody in Athlone knows the Piper's Hole as well
to-day as the people who were alive a thousand years
ago knew it.</p>
<p>The Great Worm went on very well until it came to
the place which is now Lough Ree. There was a great
tribe of venemous serpents there and they attacked it.
Some went in front of it, others came behind it, others
came on each side of it. They fought for seven nights<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a>
and seven days; they made the hard ground soft and the
soft ground hard. They sent stones and great rocks
flying more than half a mile up in the air. Floods of
blood were running as plentiful as the water itself, and
indeed people thought that it was the end of the world
that was in it. The battle went on for a month without
any signs of victory on one side or the other, and the
people of the villages round about were in great fear; but
as the old saying puts it, every battle has an end. When
the most of the serpents were dead they asked the Great
Worm for peace. He granted that and both sides were
rejoiced. The Great Worm was wounded and bruised
and in much pain.</p>
<p>After that great battle, the Worm had to take a rest,
and that gave great ease to the people of the villages,
because it ate neither cow nor sheep nor pig for the space
of three months, but it ate up all the serpents that it had
killed in the fighting. It never left so much as a bit of
bone behind it, and the people began to think that it
would never claim its food off them any more. But
so soon as it set to work again they had to supply it with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>
cows, sheep, and pigs once more, because it thought that
this was its [lawful] wages for cutting out the river for
them. And everyone knows that the river did much
good for the country on each side of it; and only
for the Great Worm there would have been no river.</p>
<p>The Worm worked hard and went on well until
it came to the place which is now Lough Derg. The
venemous serpents were collected before it in that
place and they gave it battle. If hundreds attacked
it in Lough Ree thousands attacked it in Lough Derg,
and the first battle was only sport in comparison to this
one. They attacked before, behind, and on every side,
and some of them made holes under its belly so that they
might be able to thrust it through in that place, and such
a cutting and scalping and tearing and killing there had
never been in the world before, and it's likely that there
won't be again. They made the dry earth wet, the wet
earth dry, and they sent stones and great rocks flying
into the air quick as lightning, and God help the man
one of them would fall on, it was a warrant of death for
him. They fought for a month without appearance of
victory on either side, and during all that time the lake
was red (dearg) with blood, and the old people say that
this is the reason it was called Loch Dearg or Derg. After
a month of fighting the Worm gained the battle. It rose
of one leap in the air, and came down on top of the serpents,
making a mash of them, and those that were not
killed went off over the country.</p>
<p>The Worm was torn and wounded and in great pain
after this hard battle, and had to take a long rest. But
it never went in pursuit of food from the people of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
villages, because it ate its enough of the serpents every day
until the last of them was eaten by it.</p>
<p>As soon as its wounds were closed and it had rested,
it began working again, and nothing wonderful happened
to it until it came to the place where the city of Limerick
is to-day. In that place there was a great troop of enchanted
heroes near the spot where the Treaty Stone is
now. The warriors threatened it and told it not to come
any further, but it challenged them to battle. They
attacked it with battle-axes and great clubs, and they were
cutting it and beating it throughout the day until they
thought it was dead. Then they went away. But as
soon as the sun went down it came to itself again and it
was as strong as it was at the commencement of the
battle. It came up on land and went to the castle of the
enchanted warriors. They were asleep, and it threw
down the castle on top of them and killed every mother's
son of them. Then it returned to go in face of its work.</p>
<p>It went on well after leaving Limerick, for there was
nothing to hinder it. For that reason it made the river
wider in that place than in any other. But as soon as it
got out into the sea a great whale met it and it had to fight
a hard battle, and was nearly beaten, when a sea-maiden
came and helped it and they killed the whale.</p>
<p>The sea-maiden and the Great Worm went on side by
side until they came to a village on the coast, where there
were about three score of men in boats fishing. The Great
Worm was very hungry and began swallowing them down
greedily, men and boats and all, until the sea-maiden spoke
and said that it was a shame. That angered it and it
attacked her, but she was too clever for it. She drew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>
out a golden comb with venom in it, and thrust it into the
Worm's eye and blinded it out and out. Then said the
Worm to her, "I would sooner be dead than alive; put
a hole in my stomach with your scissors." She did that
and it died in a moment.</p>
<p>The water was ebbing, and when it had gone out the
Great Worm was left dead on the sand. The people of
the villages round about came; they opened the worm,
and every mother's son that he had swallowed they found
alive and in a heavy sleep at the bottom of their boats.
The bones of the Great Worm remained on the shore of
Bantry Bay until the fishermen made oars out of them.
If my story is not true, there is no water in the sea and
no river Shannon in Ireland.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE POOR WIDOW AND GRANIA OÏ.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story I got from Pronisias O'Conor when he was
in the workhouse in Athlone, and he had it from one Rose
Grennan or in Irish, Róise nic Ghrianain, from a parish
near Athlone.</p>
<p>This story is chiefly remarkable for the introduction of
Grainne Oigh, which seems to mean Grania the virgin. But
who was Grainne? My narrator could tell me nothing
about her. She occurs in the story of "William of the
Tree" in my "Beside the Fire," and Alfred Nutt has an
interesting note on her at p. 194, but it throws no light
upon the subject. There, as here, she appears as a
beneficent being, very pious, powerful and mysterious,
and able to work miracles. The town of Moate, in Co.
Westmeath, is called in Irish the Moat of Grainne Óg, who
is said to have been a Munster princess, very good and very
wise, and there seems to have been some body of legend
connected with her, alluded to by Caesar Otway in his
"Tour in Connaught," p. 55. See also Joyce's "Names
of Places," vol. I, p. 270. Whether Grainne Óg and Grainne
Oigh are the same person seems doubtful, but I should think
it very probable, and the appellation of "Oigh" may have
tended to some confusion with Muire Oigh. Except in these
two stories, one from O'Conor and the other from a man
named Blake, near Ballinrobe, I have never met or heard
or read of any allusion to this being. But the town of
Athlone, being half in Westmeath, the county with which
Grainne Óg is associated, and the very old woman who
told this story being from the borders of that county,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>
would suggest that there was some connection between
the mysterious being and the princess from whom Moate is
said to have got its name.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>Long, long ago there was a poor Widow living in the
County Clare, and she had seven children, and the eldest
was only ten years old. It was a Christmas night that was
in it, and she had not a morsel to give them to eat, and
since she hadn't, she prayed God to take them to Himself.</p>
<p>It was not long after her prayer until the door opened
and Grania Oï<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> walked in and two young women after
her, carrying a big dish filled with fine food. They
were all clad in raiment as white as mountain snow. The
Widow welcomed the ladies, and she said, "Perhaps ye
would give some relief to a poor family that is fasting
all the day."</p>
<p>"God has sent us in answer to your prayer to give
you relief at the present time, and to ask if you are ready
and submissive to part with the whole of your family."</p>
<p>"I am not," said the Widow.</p>
<p>"Did you not pray to God to take them to Himself
a short while ago?"</p>
<p>"Indeed, I don't know," said she, "I was half mad at
seeing them fasting, but if God has a place for myself
along with my family I am obedient and ready to go."</p>
<p>Then Grania Oï laid down the dish upon the table
and said to the Widow, "Eat that, yourself and your family,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>
and when it's eaten I'll come again." Then they went out
and it was not long till the Widow and her family began
eating, and when they were satisfied, still the food on the
dish was no less than when they began to take from it.</p>
<p>They were eating at that dish and it never emptied
until the evening before Good Friday. That evening the
Widow and her family were without bite or sup and they
were hoping for Grania Oï and the two young women.
But when the darkness of the night was falling a tall thin
man walked in. He was dressed in a gentleman's garb.
The Widow gave him a chair, and asked him to sit down
and take a rest.</p>
<p>"I have no time to sit down," said he, "I have lots
of business to do. You yourself and your family are
without bite or sup."</p>
<p>"We are," said she, "but I hope for succour soon."</p>
<p>"Have no hope in the promise of a woman of beauty
or you will be deceived. The woman who gave you the
dish is participator with the fairies, she is trying to get
your family from you; but pay her no attention."</p>
<p>There was great fear on the poor Widow, and she said,
"It was a messenger from God who brought us the dish."</p>
<p>"Believe me they were fairies who brought you the
dish and that it was fairy food that was in it," said the
thin man, "and if you accept another dish from her,
yourself and your family will be in Knock Ma<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> amongst
the fairies; have you ever heard of that place?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p>
<p>"Indeed I have," said she; "but we shall have no more
to do with the fairies. I and my family would sooner die
of the hunger than accept a bite or sup from her again."</p>
<p>"But don't you know that she has power over you
on account of all the fairy food you yourself and your
family have eaten this four months, and now unless ye
take my advice ye shall be lost."</p>
<p>"Thank you," said the Widow, "it is a friend who would
give me good advice."</p>
<p>Now it was the Devil who was talking to the Widow;
He had come to put temptation on her. "Well," said
he, "you have holy water in the house."</p>
<p>"I have," said she.</p>
<p>"I can tell you that it is fairy water, and that there is
no virtue in it. Go now and throw it in the fire." The
woman did so. But no sooner did she do so than there
arose a blue flame, and the house was filled with smoke of
the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said,
"Well, one part of the fairies' power is gone. You have
a cross, throw it in the fire, and they will have no power
over you at all. And then as soon as you are free from
them I will give yourself and your family a means of
livelihood, and, better than that, yourself and your family
shall have great riches if you do as I shall tell you."</p>
<p>"I don't like to burn my cross, it was my mother who
gave it to me," said the Widow.</p>
<p>Then he pulled out a purse filled with gold and silver,
and said, "I had this purse to give you if you had accepted
my advice, and not that alone, but yourself and your
family would have had a long life."</p>
<p>Great greed for riches came upon the poor Widow, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
she said. "I ask your pardon, noble sir, I am submissive
to you in every thing. I myself and my family are under
your control."</p>
<p>At that he handed her the purse and said: "Throw the
cross into the fire." She did so, but instead of its burning
there began a stream of blood to come from it. "Ha!
ha!" said he, "look at the fairy blood. Here! put your
name to this paper. I must give my master an account
that I have given you the purse and that you are freed
from the Shee-folk, and under my control."</p>
<p>The poor woman put her hand to the pen and made
her mark, because she did not know how to write or read,
and she did not know what was in the paper. He held
the paper on the moment to the fire till it was dry, and he
went out leaving the cross in the fire and blood running
from it. As soon as he was gone the Widow took up the
cross. The blood ceased and there was no sign of
burning upon it. She was greatly astonished and did not
know what she would do.</p>
<p>While she was thinking of the wonderful things that
had happened she heard a voice calling her. When she
went to the door she saw Grania Oï and two maidens
carrying a great dish filled with food.</p>
<p>"We don't want any fairy food," said the Widow.
"We have plenty of gold and silver. Go to Knock Ma,
and don't come near us any more."</p>
<p>Grania Oï thought that the Widow had lost her senses,
and she said: "In God's name have sense, and in Christ's
name come here till I talk with you." She did not wish to
come, but some power drew her forward until she stood
in front of Grania Oï, and she shaking from head to foot.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p>
<p>"What happened to you since I was here before, and
where did you get the gold and the silver?"</p>
<p>"A princely [a generous] man came to me this evening,
and said that you were a fairy woman, and that you were
giving myself and my family fairy food in order to get
us into your power. He told me to throw the holy water
into the fire, and when I did that there rose a blue flame
out of it, and the house was filled with smoke of the
same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said, 'One part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a
cross, throw it into the fire and they won't have any power
at all over you; and when you're freed from them I'll
give yourself and your family a means of livelihood, and
better than that, you and your family will have great
riches.' I told him that I did not like to burn my cross,
that it was my mother who gave it to me, but he said,
'I had this purse for you if you had taken my advice,
and not only that, but that I and my family would have
a long life.' Greed for riches came over me, and I begged
his pardon, saying that I would be submissive to him in
everything, and that I and my family were under his
control. With that he handed me the purse and said,
'Throw the cross into the fire.' I did so, but in place of
burning, a stream of blood began to flow out of it. He
laughed and said that it was fairy blood that was in it.
Then he gave me a paper to put my name to, because he
had an account to give his master that he had given me the
purse—and that I was free from the Shee.<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> I cannot
write or read, but I made a mark with the pen. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
he went away I took up the cross and it was not
burnt."</p>
<p>"I put the cross of Christ between myself and you,
accursed woman. You have sold your soul and the souls
of your family to the devil for the sake of gold and silver,
and now you are lost for ever, and you have shed the
blood of Christ before the day of His crucifixion. Go
to your parish priest as soon as you can and tell him everything,
and how it happened, and tell him that it was
Grania Oï who sent you to him. If you yourself are lost
your family is not lost for there is no deadly sin upon
them."</p>
<p>The Widow went into the house and took out the
purse, and asked, "What shall I do with this gold and
silver?"</p>
<p>"Throw it into the fire and say at the same time, 'I
renounce the devil and all his works.'"</p>
<p>As soon as she threw the purse into the fire and said the
words, the Devil came into her presence and said, "You
cannot renounce me. You are mine in spite of priest,
bishop, or pope. I have the bargain under your [own]
hand."</p>
<p>"In the name of Jesus go away from me," said the
Widow; and when he heard that name he was obliged
to go.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>The Widow went to the priest and told him the story.
"I am afraid," said he, "that you are lost; but at all
events I'll write to the bishop about you. Go home now
and begin doing penance. I'll send for you when I get
an answer from the bishop."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p>
<p>When she came home she found the family eating
out of a great dish which Grania Oï had left with them;
but the eldest of them said to her not to put her hand
in the dish, that this was the lady's order, but that when
she should be in want of food they would give it to
her.</p>
<p>At the end of a week the priest sent for her, and said
that he had got an answer from the bishop to say that he
would not be able to have any hand in the case until he
would get an order from the Pope; but he bade her to
make repentance day and night.</p>
<p>At the end of a month after this the priest sent for her
again, and said, "I have a letter from the Pope to say that
there is only one way to save you. Put off your shoes and
go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg. Don't sleep the second
night in any house, and only eat one meal in the twenty-four
hours, make the journey of the cross seven times
in the day and seven times in the night for seven days.
Take no bread with you, and neither gold nor silver, but
ask alms in the name of God, and when you come back
again I shall tell you what it is proper for you to do.
Here is a piece of the true cross to keep the Devil from
you. Go now in the name of God."</p>
<p>When the widow came home Grania Oï was before her
at the door, and asked what the priest had said to her.
She told her everything that she had to do. "Go without
delay," said Grania Oi, "and I'll take care of your family
until you come back."</p>
<p>The Widow went away. She endured thirst and
hunger, cold and bitter hardship. But she did everything
as the Pope had ordered. At the end of three months<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
she came back and it was scarcely her own family recognised
her, she was so withered and thin.</p>
<p>It was not long until the priest came and said, "You
have a pilgrimage to make to Croagh Patrick, and you
must walk on your knees from the foot to the top of the
Reek,<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> and no doubt you will see a messenger from God
on the top of the Reek, and you will obtain knowledge
from him. Go, now, or perhaps you would be late."
The Widow departed, although her feet were cut and the
blood coming from them. She went on her knees at the
foot of the Reek, and she was two days and two nights
going to the top of it. When she sat down a faintness
came over her and she fell into a sleep.</p>
<p>When she awoke Grania Oï was by her side. She
handed her a paper and said, "Look! is that the paper
you put your hand to when you sold yourself and your
family?"</p>
<p>"I see that it is," said the poor Widow. "I give a
thousand thanks and laudations to God that I am saved."</p>
<p>When she came home the priest came and said Mass
in the house. The Widow went to confession. She
herself and her seven children received the body of Christ
from the priest, and at the end of half an hour she herself
and her family were dead, and there is no doubt but that
they all went to heaven, and that we may go to the same
place!</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This is a story which used to be common in West Roscommon
and East Mayo. I often heard it when I was young.
The following version was written down and given me by
my friend Mr. John Rogers [Seághan O Ruaidhri]
about five miles away from the place where I used to be told
the same story. He published it in 1900 in "Irishleabhar
na Gaedhilge." There is another story also about a
gambler who played cards with the devil.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>Long ago there used to be a king over every kind
of trade and special society and it was the "Gambler of
the Branch"<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> who was king over all the gamblers and
players, and he was so skilful that nobody on the face of
the earth could win a match against him in playing cards
or any other game.</p>
<p>At last, and on account of this, he grew lonesome and
dissatisfied, and he said that since he was not able to get
a game with a man of this world that he would go to try
it in the other world. He went off, walking away, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>
never stopped of that journey until he came to the great
doors of hell, and knocked stoutly at them. "Who
is there?" said the porter.</p>
<p>"I am; I the Gambler of the Branch from the upper
world," said he, "and I am seeking to play a game of
cards with the Arch-demon."</p>
<p>The Arch-demon came, and he said, "What stake have
you to play for with me, for I only play for people's
souls?"</p>
<p>"I'll play my own soul against one of these that you
have in bondage in this place."</p>
<p>"I'll bet it," says the Demon.</p>
<p>The Gambler won the first game, and so he did most of
the others, until he had gained every soul in the place
but one, and the Devil would not stake that one no matter
how hard the Gambler urged him. He gathered them
together then, but when the poor soul that was left behind
saw them departing it let a screech out of it that would
split a stone, but there was no help for it.</p>
<p>He drove them before him then, like a flock of sheep,
and said, "What will be done with ye<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> now?"</p>
<p>"O friend, take us to heaven, take us to heaven," said
they.</p>
<p>"It's as good for me, since ye are here," says he, and
he drove them away with him until he came to the
great white gates of heaven.</p>
<p>The gates opened and they were welcomed, and the
souls went in. And the porter-saint said to the Gambler,
"Won't yourself come in?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p>
<p>"If I get leave to bring in the cards, I'll go," said the
Gambler; "but if I don't, I won't."</p>
<p>"You won't get that permission," said the saint, but
leave them on the wall here outside the gate, and go in, till
you see those souls counted in their place. And you can
come out after a while for the cards if you wish."</p>
<p>The Gambler did that. He went in, and has forgotten
ever since to come out for them.</p>
<p>That is the way the Gambler of the Branch went to
heaven, and that is the reason that when a slow messenger
delays in the house he has been sent to with a message,
people say, "You forgot to return as the Gambler of the
Branch did."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>I have often heard versions of the following story. This
particular one was written down in Irish by my friend
Domhnall O Fotharta of Connemara, who printed it in his
"Siamsa an gheimhridh" in 1892.</p>
<p>My friend the O'Cathain tells me that the reason the
dardaol (pronounced in Mid-Connacht dhardheel) is burnt, is
because if you stamp on it with your foot, or kill it with
a stone or a stick, then the next time your foot or the stick
or the stone strikes a person or an animal it will give rise
to a mortal injury. That is the reason the dardaol is taken
up on a shovel and put in the fire, or else destroyed by a
hot coal.</p>
<p>The scientific name of the dardaol is "ocypus olens,"
in English he is sometimes called the "devil's coach-horse."
He is really a useful creature and very voracious. He
preys on most insects injurious to farm crops. He is very
fearless and assumes an attitude of attack when interfered
with, opening his jaws and turning his long tail over his
back as if to sting. This looks very formidable and intimidating,
but the fact is that, in common with the rest of the
beetle tribe, he has no sting.</p>
<p>I had the good fortune to twice see a dardaol kill a worm.
On each occasion the creature sprang into the air in a
manner I could not have conceived possible, and came down
on the uphappy worm. It never loosed its hold, but held
on for nearly ten minutes, the worm struggling and swelling
all the time, until it finally appeared to be dead. One of
these dardaols was quite small, not much over three-quarters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>
of an inch, but the other one was very large, an inch and a
half or so, and the worm it killed might have been 3¼ or 4
inches long.</p>
<p>The ciaróg or keerogue is one of the common species of
ground beetles or "carabus," probably "violaceus." He
is a large active insect, usually called a "clock" in Anglo-Irish.
"One keerogue knows another," is a common Irish
proverb. He is about an inch in length.</p>
<p>The Prumpolaun [priompollán] is the large common
dung beetle, "geotrupes stercorarius." It is the heavy,
slow-flying beetle, which at dusk flies about searching for
dirty places to deposit its eggs, and as its weight and short
body render it difficult for it to steer, it is apt to strike
the wayfarer in the face. It is the "shard-born beetle"
of the poet.</p>
<p>In the south of Ireland the dardaol is generally known
as dearg-a-daol, and in the Anglo-Irish of Connacht he is
called a "crocodile." There are other allusions to this
intimidating insect in this book. Its dull black colour
and threatening movements have made the little creature an
object of unmerited hatred and superstition in many other
countries besides Ireland.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>At the time that Jesus was flying from those who were
betraying Him it chanced that He passed through a field
in which was a sower who was sowing wheat-seed. His
disciples said to the sower that if any man were to ask
him "if Jesus out of Nazareth had passed that way,"
he was to give them this answer: "He passed through
this field the time we were sowing the seed in it [but
not since.]"</p>
<p>The next day the farmer went out to look at his field
for fear the birds of the air might be doing any damage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
[to the grain he had sowed the day before]. But
astonishment seized him when he beheld the wheat
[he had sowed the day before] ripe and yellow and of the
colour of gold, and fit to be reaped.</p>
<p>The farmer called on his mêhill [troop of workmen]
to bring sickles with them and cut the wheat. And while
they were cutting it it chanced that the spies came through
it. They asked the man whose the field was, whether
he had seen Jesus out of Nazareth going that way. The
farmer answered them and told them what he had been
bidden to tell: "He went through this field when we
were sowing the wheat that we are reaping to-day."</p>
<p>The keerogue put his head out of a hole and said
"iné, iné,<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> yesterday! yesterday!" to let them know
that Jesus had gone past the day before.</p>
<p>As they were talking with the keerogue, the dhardheel
put his head out of another hole and said, "gér! gér!
gér!" "sharp! sharp, sharp," three times over, to make
them feel that if they followed Jesus sharply they would
lay hold of Him.</p>
<p>"O vo, vo! boiling and burning and fire on you," said
the prumpolaun, for he was afraid that the spies might
understand the words that were said to them, and that
they might follow Jesus sharply to lay hold of Him.</p>
<p>It is a fashion still amongst the people of West Connacht
when a dhardheel comes into any house to run for the
tongs, take a red coal and blow it, and lay it on the dhardheel
to burn it, saying at the same time, "the sins of
the day, of my life, and of my seven ancestors on you."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p>
<p>When they get hold of a keerogue the head is cut off
it and they say the same words that it said itself, "iné!
iné"! while cutting the head off it. But nothing bad is
done to the prumpolaun on account of the pity it had for
our Saviour when He was flying from the Jews.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE LADY OF THE ALMS.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This was a story told by Michael S. Seoidhigh or Joyce
from Turlogh More, Co. Galway, for the Oireachtas many
years ago.</p>
<p>The form of the story is obviously corrupt and confused.
Why should the woman tell her experiences to
the voice above her head. There can be little doubt that
it was the voice who directed her and that when she had
come home, chastened and enlightened, she then told the
story as it is here. Either that, or it is the fragment of
a longer story in which both a strange man and the
supernatural voice each played a part.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>There was once a lady, and there never was such an
almsgiver as she was. When her master used to be at
home she would go upstairs, and when she had no other
way of giving she would take the inside garment off her
own body and hand it out to the poor people.</p>
<p>She had three sons and one of them died. He was one
and twenty years old when he died. After that she was
greatly angered with the Son of God.</p>
<p>It was not long after that until another son went, who
was twenty-two years old. And a great trouble fell upon
her after their both dying.</p>
<p>Two years after that the third son died on her.</p>
<p>She went away then [half crazed]. She got a bag and
began asking alms [like any beggar]. She spent the day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>
going [on her quest] until night came on, and she never
found house or wattled-shelter, under which she might
put her head. She heard a voice above her, and she
wondered. "What has sent you here?" said the voice,
"methinks you had no cause to take up with misery
were it not your own senselessness."</p>
<p>"I had not," said she, "but I think I never did anything
against the Son of God, and He has taken from me
a son who was twenty-one years old, a son as nice as there
was in the parish. Well I did not half mind that—the
Son of God's taking him from me—until a year from that
day He took the second son from me. Two years from
that day the third son was taken from me, and then I went
and took a bag with me and said that I would never again
do another day's service to God. I was [always] so good
to the Son of God and the glorious Virgin that I never
thought that He would put such punishment upon me.
But He put such punishment on me that I went looking
for alms. Away [from my home] I went and proceeded
to look for alms, and I never met house or wattled-shelter.
A man came to me before you [came] and he said to-me,
'What has brought you here?' I told him that the Son
of God had taken my three children from me. 'Go in,'
said he, 'into yonder house in which you see the light?'
I went in, and what should I see there but a corpse and
three lighted candles. I remained there watching the body
and plenty of grief and fear on me. At the hour of midnight
a slumber of sleeping fell upon me, for I was hungry
and troubled. When I awoke out of the sleep I found
food and drink and everything I desired laid out before
me. I ate and drank my enough. After that I fell asleep,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>
and when I awoke there was nothing there but a bare
field, and my bag laid under my head. I arose and stood
up and threw the bag over my shoulders and turned back
again, and the same man met me a second time. 'Where
did you spend the night?' said he. 'I spent it watching
a corpse,' said I. 'Did you get your enough to eat and
drink?' 'I did,' said I. 'Why did you take up with
misery?' 'Well I did take up with misery,' said I,
'I had a son who was twenty-one years old and he was
taken from me. A year from that day the second son was
taken from me, and two years from that day the third
son was taken. I went off then and I said that I would
not do one morsel of God's rules any more.'</p>
<p>'Go home, now,' said the man, 'God was so good
to you that He did not desire you to find shame or scandal.
That first son that you had—he was to have been hanged
[if he had lived] for slaying a man. And the second son,
he was to have been banished far away to an island in the
sea for stealing cattle [had he lived]. And the third son—a
woman was to have sworn against him that he was the
father of her child, although he never had anything, good
or bad, to do with her. Go home now and mind your own
business. God had so much consideration for you that
He did not wish such pain to come down on you
or your children, since you were yourself so good to the
poor. Those [three sons] shall be three candles before
you, and the three don't know which of them will arrange
your bed under you in the Heaven of God.'"</p>
<p>According to what authors say, there are no other four
who [now] enjoy greater pleasure and happiness than
they!</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p>
<h2>ST. PATRICK AND HIS GARRON.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>This story of St. Patrick I got from Pronisias O'Conor.
It seems to have a certain affinity with the story of Crom
Dubh (which see). St. Patrick does not play a very
desirable part in this tale. He uses his private knowledge
of his garron's capacity as a weight-bearer to the detriment
of his neighbour, the story-teller drawing no
distinction between what was legal and what was morally
equitable!</p>
<p>The story of the serpent's candle must be old and well-known,
for it is alluded to in the widely-circulated poem
the "Dirge of Ireland," by O'Connell, said to have been a
Bishop of Kerry. Talking of St. Patrick's exploits he says
it was he who "<img src="images/x_283a.jpg" style="width:20em;" alt="[uncial: mhúch coinneal na carraige le na rmérdeadh,]" />"
"who quenched the candle of the Rock by his nod."</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>When Saint Patrick came to Ireland to kindle the light
of Grace in this island, many troubles were coming upon
him. The island was filled with snakes, north, south,
east and west, but it was God's will that Patrick should
put them under foot.</p>
<p>When he came to West Connacht he had a servant
whose name was Fintan, a pious and faithful man. One
lay when he was drawing towards the Reek, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>
demons running away before him in fear, it chanced that
Fintan was travelling in front of the saint, and the serpents
came round him and killed him. When the saint came
he found Fintan dead on the road. He was grieved, but
he went on his knees and prayed to God to bring his
servant to life again. No sooner had he his prayers finished
than Fintan rose up as well as ever he was. Patrick gave
thanks to God, and said, "In God's name we will set up
a church here as a sign of the great power of God, and
we will call it Achaidh Cobhair."<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a></p>
<p>The saint bought a garron or nag for carrying stones, and
he blessed it; for no burden had ever been laid upon it that
it was not able to carry. Then he got workmen, masons
and carpenters, and began to found the church. After
a while the men began clamouring that they had nothing
to eat. There was great famine and scarcity in the
country that year. Meal was so scarce that few
people had any to spare, or to sell, either for gold or
silver.</p>
<p>There was a man named Black Cormac living near the
place. He had the full of a barn of bags of meal. The
saint took the men and the garron with him one morning
to the house of Black Cormac, and he inquired how much
would he be asking for as much meal as the garron would
be able to carry on his back. Cormac looked at the garron
and said "so much"—naming his price. "It's a bargain,"
said the saint, handing him money down. The
men went into the barn and brought out a great bag
and set it on the garron's back. Cormac said that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>
would break the creature's back. "Never mind," said
the saint, "keep packing bags on him until I tell you
to stop." They put bag after bag on him until they had
a pile as big as a small house. "Drive on now," says the
saint. The garron went off as readily and quickly as
though it had only one bag. There was great anger on
Black Cormac, and he said, "My share of trouble on ye,
ye have me destroyed out and out." There was amazement
upon every person who saw the garron and the load
that was on him.</p>
<p>A short time after this the workmen asked the saint for
meat, for they were working very hard. Some of them
said that they heard that Black Cormac had a bull to sell
cheap. The saint sent for Cormac, and asked him how
much would he be wanting for the bull. Now it was a
savage bull who had killed many people, and since Connac
hated the saint with a great hatred he hoped the bull
would kill him, and he told him, "You can have the bull
for nothing if you go yourself for him." "I'm very
thankful to you," said the saint, "I'll go for him in the
evening when I'll have my work done."</p>
<p>That evening the saint went to Black Cormac's house
and asked him to show him the field where the black bull
was. He was greatly delighted and said, "Follow me;
the walk is not a long one." He brought the saint down
to a boreen, and showed him the bull in the field and said
to him, "Take him with you now if you can." The
saint went into the field, and when the bull saw him it
raised its head and tail in the air and came towards him
in anger. He raised his crozier and made the sign of
Christ between himself and the bull. The beast lowered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>
his head and his tail and followed the saint as quietly as
a lamb.</p>
<p>When the saint came home he killed the bull and told
the men, "Take the flesh with ye, but leave the skin and
the bones." They took the flesh with them and ate it.</p>
<p>A week after that Black Cormac came to the saint and
said, "I hear people saying that you are an honest man,
but I know that you have done me a great wrong." "How
so?" said the saint. "About my meal and my bull,"
said he. "I gave you your own bargain for the meal,
and as for your bull, you can have it back if you wish it."</p>
<p>"How could I get it back, and it eaten by you and
your workmen?" said Black Cormac.</p>
<p>The saint called for Fintan and told him, "Bring me
the skin and bones of the bull." He brought them to
him and he prayed over them, and in a moment the bull
leapt up as well as ever he was. "Now," said the
saint, "take your bull home with you."</p>
<p>Black Cormac was greatly surprised, and when he went
home he told the neighbours that it was an enchanter
the saint was, and that his own bull was a blessed bull,
and that it was proper that the people should worship it.
They believed that, and they said that they would come
on Sunday morning.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/fp286.jpg" width="400" height="598" alt="" />
<div class="caption">ST. PATRICK PRAYS OVER THE SKIN OF THE BULL</div>
</div>
<p>The saint heard what Cormac had done, and he threatened
him saying not to lead the people astray from the
true faith that he himself was teaching them; but Black
Cormac would not listen to him. On Sunday morning
some of the people gathered along with him to worship
the bull, and Black Cormac was the first to go into the
field to set an example, and he went to prostrate himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>
in presence of the bull, but the beast came and put his two
horns under him behind, and tossed him up in the air so
high that when he came to the ground he was dead. The
people remember that, still, in West Connacht, as
Cormac Dubh's Sunday.</p>
<p>When Saint Patrick finished his church he said Mass in
it, and after that he faced for the Reek, for many of the
serpents had gone up that hill out of fear of the saint.
For that reason he followed them and found that they
were up on the top of the Reek.</p>
<p>When he came to the bottom he dug a great hole, and
he went up on the Reek and drove the serpents down.
They fell into the hole and were all drowned but two.
Those two escaped from him. One of them went into
a hole in a great rock near the Mouth of the Ford<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> in
Tirawley, and wrought great havoc amongst the people.</p>
<p>Every night when the sun would be going down this
serpent used to light a candle, and anybody who would
see the light used to fall dead. The people called this
serpent Sercín, and the rock is to be seen to this day,
and it is called Carrig-Sercín. The saint followed this
serpent.</p>
<p>He and his servant, Fintan, came to a little
village near Carrig-Sercín, and the saint asked a widow
for lodgings for himself and his servant. "I'll give you
that," said she, "but I must close my door before set of
sun." "Why so?" said the saint. "There is a serpent
in a hole of a rock out in the sea; he lights a candle every
evening before sunset, and anybody who sees that light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>
falls dead. He has great destruction made amongst the
people."</p>
<p>"Have you a candle in the house?" said the saint.
"Indeed I have not," said she. "Have you the makings
of a candle," said the saint. "No," said she; "but I
have dry rushes."</p>
<p>Then the saint drew out a knife and opened Fintan's
stomach and took a bit of lard out of it, and gave it to the
woman of the house, and told her to make a candle. She
did as he had directed, and when the candle was made
the saint lit it and stood in the mouth of the door. It
was not long until the serpent lit his candle, but no
sooner was it lit than it fell dead. The people thanked
the saint greatly, and he explained to them the mighty
power and the love of God, and baptized them all.</p>
<p>When the other serpent escaped St. Patrick, it never
stopped until it went in on a little island that was in the
north of the country. The name of this serpent was
Bolán Mór, or Big Bolaun. He was as big as a round
tower. St. Patrick pursued Bolán; but when he came
as far as the lake he had no boat to take him to the island.
He stripped off his clothes, and with his crozier in his
hand he leapt into the water and began swimming to the
island.</p>
<p>When the serpent saw the saint coming to him he took
to the water, and when he came as far as the saint he opened
his mouth, and, as sure as I'm telling it, he swallowed the
saint. Bolán Mór had a great wide stomach, and when
the saint found himself shut up there he began striking
on every side with his crozier, and Bolán Mór began to
throw a flood of blood out of his mouth, until the water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
of the lake was red (dearg), and there is no name on the
lake from that day to this but Loch Dearg. The saint
was beating Bolán Mór with the crozier until he killed
him. Then he made a hole in his side and came out, and
drew Bolán Mór's body to land after him.</p>
<p>There was wonder and great joy on the people of the
villages round about, because neither man, beast, nor
bird had come to the lake since Bolán came there but he
had swallowed down into his big stomach, and it was
great good for them he to be dead.</p>
<p>The next day the saint got a boat, and he and Fintan
and a number of the people from the villages went to the
island. St. Patrick blessed the little island, and it was
not long until a number of pious men came and cut out
[the site of] a monastery on the island, and from that
time to the present, good people go on a pilgrimage to
that blessed island.<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a></p>
<p>St. Patrick remained for a time amongst the people
near Loch Derg teaching and baptising them. And as
soon as some of them were able to teach the others he
returned to Aughagower. While the saint had been
away from them some of them had fallen into unbelief,
but so soon as he came back they returned to the true
faith of St. Patrick and never lost it more. Many people
also came to the saint seeking to buy the little garron
from him; but he would not sell it.</p>
<p>One day the king who was over Connacht at that time
came and said, "I hear you have a wonderful garron,
and that he is able to carry a heavy load."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p>
<p>"He is a good garron," said the saint, "no load has failed
him since I bought him, and I wouldn't like to part with
him."</p>
<p>"I'll give you as much gold as he will be able to carry
on his back in one load in one day from rise of sun until
it sets. It is thirty miles from my castle to this place and
he must do the journey in one day."</p>
<p>"Perhaps you have not as much gold in the house as
the garron can carry," said the saint.</p>
<p>"If I haven't," said the king, "I'll give you as much
as will found three churches for you, and you'll have your
garron, too."</p>
<p>"It's a bargain," said the saint.</p>
<p>The king had a coach, a tent and servants, and he said,
"I'll wait here till morning and you can come to my castle
with me, and the morning after you can go home with
your load."</p>
<p>"Very well, let it be so," said the saint.</p>
<p>On the morning of the next day they all departed,
the saint riding on the garron, and the king and his servants
in the coach. The king drove his horses as fast as
they were able to run, to see would the garron be able to
keep up with them. But if they had to go seven times as
quick the garron was able for them. St. Patrick remained
that night at the king's castle and next morning before sunrise
the king brought himself and his garron to his treasury.
The treasurer was there with his men. They filled a great
bag with gold and put it on the garron's back. "Will
he be able to carry it home?" said the king. "He will,
and twenty times as much," said the saint. He filled
another bag and put it on him, and another bag after that.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p>
<p>"Isn't there his enough of a load on him now?" said the
king. "There isn't a half or a quarter of a load yet on
him," said the saint. They were putting [bags] on him
until every ounce in the treasury was on him. Then
the saint said, "To show that there isn't half a load on
him yet, put two or three tons of iron on top of the gold."
They did that, and the garron walked out as lightly as
though there had been nothing in it but a bag of oats.
"Now," said the saint, "you see that my garron-<i>een</i>
hasn't half a load on him yet." "I see he has not," said
the king. "There is more power in your garron than
in all the horses of the Ard-ri.<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> Take your garron home
again, and begin and set up those churches, and I'll pay
the cost."</p>
<p>The saint rode on his garron and came home. He soon
began to put up the three churches, and the king paid the
costs. But the garron carried every stone that went to
the building. The people have the old saying still when
they want to praise anyone, "May you have the strength
of Patrick's garron!"</p>
<p>When the three churches were finished he bestowed his
garron on the brethren, and he himself went northward,
lighting a coal of faith throughout Ireland which was
never quenched, and never shall be quenched.</p>
<p>When the great judgment shall come it is St. Patrick
who will judge the children of the Gael.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p>
<h2>HOW SAINT MOLING GOT HIS NAME.</h2>
<p class="center">PREFACE.</p>
<p>There is hardly any Irish saint of whom more legends
are related, at least in our literature, than of Saint Moling.
He was both a poet and a prophet. Some stories bring him
into contact with Gobán Saor, the great builder. He
figures largely in the extraordinary tale of "Suibhne Geilt."
See also the story of the "Death of Bearchán." The following
legend was printed by my friend, Seán Tóibín, in the
"Lochrann" a couple of years ago. I was sure it was taken
from oral sources, but he has just told me to my surprise,
that he was only retelling what he had read in Irish, not
what he had <span class="smcap">HEARD</span> or taken down orally. However, as
the story had been set up in print, and as I have here no
other story about St. Moling it may stay, only the reader
must understand that it is not actual surviving folk-lore,
but a retelling from an Irish MS.</p>
<hr class="r15"/>
<p class="center">THE STORY.</p>
<p>[He was first called Taircheal, and he was pupil to a
cleric.] Taircheal went out one day, and he had
two bags, one on his back and one in front of him.
He took his master's stick, in his hand and off he set in
this guise. He went round Luachair on pilgrimage, and
he was there reciting his rosary when he saw coming towards
him the Fuath<a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> and his people; a black, dark, truly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>
ugly band were they, and they had the form of demons.
And they used never give quarter to anyone. And this
was the number of those who were there, namely the
Fuath himself, his wife, his gillie, his hound, and nine
others.</p>
<p>Says the Fuath to his people, "Wait ye there and I'll
go talk to yon man who is alone, and since I took up with
a life of plundering and stealing I never felt a desire to
protect any man except that one only." He gripped his
sword and went over to meet Taircheal.</p>
<p>He said to Taircheal, "Whence have you come from,
you eater of beastings?"</p>
<p>"Whence have you come from yourself, you black
burnt gruagach<a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a>?" said the young man.</p>
<p>"I'll take your bags off you, and your head too, unless
you listen to me," said the Fuath.</p>
<p>"By my father's hand you won't unless I wish it myself,"
said Taircheal.</p>
<p>"By the hand of him who taught me, but I'll ply my
weapon on you," said the Fuath.</p>
<p>"I'd think it easier to put you down than boiled meat,"
said Taircheal.</p>
<p>"Listen or I'll stick this point in through the middle
of your heart," said the Fuath.</p>
<p>"I swear," said the young man, "that I'll strike you
on the head with this stick, it is the crozier of my master
and tutor, and he promised that it should never be broken
in single combat."</p>
<p>Then fear possessed the Fuath, and he called to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>
people to come and help him. The other Fuaths came.
Then it was plain to Taircheal that he had no way of
escape or of withdrawing.</p>
<p>"We'll kill you now, brown Taircheal," said the
Fuath's hag, "I'll thrust you through with my knife, and
you'll get death and violent dissolution."</p>
<p>"I ask a request of ye," said Taircheal.</p>
<p>"What is it?" said the Fuaths.</p>
<p>"Let me go to the other side of that ditch, and give
three steps in the path of the King of Heaven and
Earth," said he.</p>
<p>The Fuaths laughed. "That's all you want?" said
they. "That's all," said he.</p>
<p>"Have it then," said the hag, "for you won't go from
us, for we are as swift as the deer of the hill, and this
hound of ours is as swift as the wind."</p>
<p>Then Taircheal walked to the ditch, and gave his three
leaps. He went so far, of the first leap, that they thought
he was no bigger [when he landed] than a crow on top of
the hill. The second leap he gave they did not see him
at all, and they did not see whether it was to heaven or
earth he had gone. Of the third leap he landed upon
the wall of his tutor's church.</p>
<p>"That way he's gone," said the Fuath's hag. Then
they rose up and ran, both hound and person, so that their
cry and yell was heard a mile overhead in the upper air.
The hounds and populace of the village came out each one
of them to protect the youth, for it was plain to them that
he was being pursued by the Fuaths. But he leapt down
off the wall and ran into the church, and began returning
thanks to God in presence of his tutor.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p>
<p>"What angry madness is on you, son?" said the tutor.</p>
<p>"Nothing much, my tutor," said Taircheal, "it was
the Fuaths who were hunting me;" and he told him the
story how he had leaped [ling] from Luachair in his three
leaps.</p>
<p>"Great is your leap [ling] my pupil," said the priest,
"and it was for you that the angel Victor made the prophecy,
and Moling [=my leap] of Luachair shall be your
name henceforth from the leaps that you have leapt."</p>
<p class="center">
<img src="images/x_295n.jpg" style="width:3.5em;" alt="[Uncial: críoch.]" /></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p>
<h2>APPENDIX.</h2>
<p>NOTE ON THE DEATH OF MULRUANA, p. 33.</p>
<p>This proverb, "as I've burnt the candle I'll
burn the inch," must be old, and appears to have
been well-known, for Maolmuire Ua hUiginn, Archbishop
of Tuam, used it over 300 years ago, in a
poem beginning "Slán uaim don da aodhaire," of
which I have a manuscript copy.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
<img src="images/x_app01n.jpg" width="250" height="83" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="center"><a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[link to transcription]</a></p>
<p><i>i.e.</i>, freedom comes after hard-captivity, after darkness
comes fine weather, it is to be endured for the
space of this inch, since the [rest of the] candle has
been burnt.</p>
<p>NOTE ON THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN, p. 63.</p>
<p>I have found another version of the very curious
story of the Death of Bearachan. It was sent in many
years ago in a collection by some unknown collector
competing for a prize in folk lore at the Oireachtas,
under the <img src="images/x_321a.jpg" style="width:4em;" alt="[Uncial: ainm-bréige]"/> of <img src="images/x_321b.jpg" style="width:4em;" alt="[Uncial: Seághan Crón]"/>. In this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span>
version Bearachan is not a saint but a druid, and the
three kings are Finn Mac Cumhaill king of the Fian, one
of the provincial kings, and the hound Bran, the king of
all hounds. The thing that wailed so piteously outside
the door is called an "iarmhar," pronounced Eervar or
Eerwar—there is no such creature known to me. The
word is used by Keating as meaning a "remnant." He
talks of the Iarmhar or Remnant of the Fir Bolg. I
have never met the word in any other sense. There is
nothing said in this version about its growing large
when it got the heat, and the relationship to the Breton
Buguel Noz is not so apparent as in the other story.</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 450px;">
<img src="images/x_app02n.jpg" width="450" height="416" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="center"><a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[link to transcription]</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 450px;">
<img src="images/x_app03n.jpg" width="450" height="673" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="center"><a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[link to transcription]</a></p>
<div class="footnotes"><h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> And "Teig O'Kane," which I translated for Mr. Yeats nearly
twenty years ago.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> See "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II., p. 52.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Pronounce Ussheen and Cweeltia. Oisín is better known as
Ossian in Scotland.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Now Loch Carra, in Co. Mayo. The bottom of this lake consists
of white marl, which gives the water an extraordinary light green
appearance; hence it is called in old Irish documents Fionnloch
Ceara, or the "white lake of Carra." The metrical Dinnsenchus,
however, calmly ignoring this obvious physiological reason, evident
to anyone who had ever examined the lake, gives a fantastic account
of the white wings of angels, from which it says the water derived
its name.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> I am not quite so certain about this last having never been practised
in Ireland, but I have certainly never been told any story about
it, nor seen it mentioned in MSS.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> I wrote down this from the recitation of an old man near Monivea,
Co. Galway. I have not seen it in MS. Literally, "In hell of the
pains in bondage is the gentle man (Fionn) who used to bestow the
gold. You will go as the Fianna have gone, and let us talk about
God yet awhile."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> See my "Literary History of Ireland," pp. 84-88. Also Stokes
edition of the "Tripartite Life," p. 92.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> See the paper read by Sir Samuel before the Royal Irish
Academy, April 28, 1873.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Lower means "northern." It means round the Lagan, Creevagh
and Ballycastle.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Literally "doggish." The meaning is rather "snarling" or
"fierce" than cynical.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Pronounced like "Cunn eetir" and "sy-ha soory"—hound of
rage and bitch of wickedness?</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Linnaun shee, a fairy sweetheart; in Irish spelt "leannán
sidhe."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Rather "the space between the toes."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> A variant of "it was well, my dear."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> See the story of Mary's Well, p. 17.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Apparently tell it with your complaint added to it.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> This idiom, borrowed from the Irish, is very common in Anglo-Irish.
It is not governed by the rules of English grammar.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Pronounced "Paudyeen."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> The word "préachan," though it usually means crow, is applied
to the seabhac or hawk in this poem. In Co. Roscommon I always
heard the Marsh Harrier (or Kite as they called him in English),
termed "préachan gcearc" in Irish.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Literally "of the world."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Literally "limb."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> See my "Literary History of Ireland," p. 351.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i>, Clonmacnoise.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Literally "especially."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> In West Clare.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i>, Clonmacnoise.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Apparently "the little grey one," from "liath"-grey; pronounced
"Lay-heen." I have made her feminine and called her "she"
in the translation, but the Irish makes her masculine.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i>, one of its own young eagles, or nestlings.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> Now Ben Bulben in Co. Sligo.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i>, "As old as the deluge."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> Or, "a cargo of five hundred years."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Literally "second."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Perhaps "Cluansost." There is no Berachan in Clonfert in the
martyrologies. See "The Death of Bearachan," p. 63.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Literally, "I never got on sea or land a knowledge of that lay
of Leithin's."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> This is an old poetic word for a salmon.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Literally "eagle," but this is a mistake, it was not an eagle.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> Literally "eagle." MSS. reads "fiolar"—"the eagle," which
is evidently a mistake.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Literally "Bell-house."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Pronounce L'ock-na-weel.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> Literally "it's badly I'd believe you."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> Literally "now itself."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Notice the use of the definite article.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> Literally "thickly."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> Literally "little bog-berries"</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> See the story of "The Old Woman of Beare."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> See also O'Curry MS. Materials p. 412-418 and 432. Fer-da-lethe,
or the "man of two halves," was another name for him,
"because he spent half of his life in the world and half on pilgrimage
ut ferunt periti." An old rann runs:
</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;">
<img src="images/x_064n3.jpg" width="200" height="56" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="center"><a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[link to transcription]</a></p>
<p>
<i>i.e.</i>, "Four prophets of the clean Gael. The country from which
they sprang was the better for them. Columbcille, full Moling,
Brendan of Birr and Berchan."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> Near Killarney in Co. Kerry. But, as I have shown, he was
probably Bearchan of Cluainsosta. There is no Berchan of Glenflesk
in any of the Irish martyrologies.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> A common proverb.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> Westport.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> "A cleric without a bell," and "the forgetting his bell by
the cleric," are common proverbs in Irish.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> Biastaide luathe na mara.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> This passage about Bobhur is not in the R.I.A. copy only the
part about the Duibhin.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> Mo chathair si agus mo thigheas easbogoidheacht in my MS.
"Mo theaghdhais easbogoideachta" 23 M 50. 1758.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> Literally, "in the gallows."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> This story was told to me in the garden of Mr. Reddington
Roche, at Rye Hill.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> Pronounced "Paudyeen Creeöna."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> A poetess and the heroine of the tale, "The Meeting of Liadain
and Cuirither," published by Kuno Meyer.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> A poetess who died in 932.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> See the story "The Adventures of Leithin."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> Literally, "He (<i>i.e.</i>, God) is your life"; the equivalent of
"hail!" "welcome."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> Literally, "the boiling of the angles-between-the-fingers was on
me."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> Literally, "before her age being spent."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> Literally, "give it wind."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> The fairies ride their little grey horses, and stable them at night
under the leaves of the copóg or dock-leaf, or docking. But if they
arrive too late and night has fallen, then the copóg has folded her
leaves and will not shelter them.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> Literally, "man's daughter."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> Literally, "I gave to the soles." Many people still say in speaking
English, "I gave to the butts." The Irish word means butt as
well as sole.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> Note the Irish idiom—the definite for the indefinite article.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> See Celtic Review, vol. V., p. 107.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> See Stokes' Calendar of Oengus, p. xcix. The fourth request is
not mentioned, nor yet in O'Donnell's Life, where the story is
much better told. See "Zeitschrift für Celt. Philologie," vol. IV.
p. 278.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> For Ciaran, see the story of the Eagle Léithin.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> The Bodleian copy consists of 120 pages of vellum, each leaf
measuring 17 by 11-1/2 inches.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> See Zeitschrift für Celt. Phil. vol. III. p. 534, translated by Dr.
Henebry.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> The "cockles of the heart" is a common expression in Anglo-Irish.
It is taken from the Irish, cochall, meaning really a cowl.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_73a_73a" id="Footnote_73a_73a"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73a_73a"><span class="label">[73a]</span></a>
Thather ag a leagadh. The autonomous form in Scotch Gaelic.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> Diabhac, pronounced in Connaught, d'youc; a homonym for the
more direct diabhal—devil, as "deil" in English.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> The meaning seems to be, that the devil who lost his quarry
would suffer the same punishment as was reserved for Friar Brian.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> Compare the story of the Tobacco Prayer, p. 244.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> = great Louth of the Friars.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> For the original, see my "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II.
p. 66.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> The Mantle of Brigit is a common expression. Even in Scotland
"St. Bride and her brat [mantle]" is a well-known saying.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> This obviously shows that the prayer was intended to be said
at wakes.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> Or better, Buighdeach, pronounced Bweed-yach, <i>i.e.</i>, Bweed-ya
with a guttural <i>ch</i> (as in lo<i>ch</i>) at the end.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> Literally, "fort," pronounced like "dhoon." Usually a half-levelled
earthen rampart.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> Literally, "do you our will."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> For this place, see the story of the "Friars of Urlaur."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> Here begins the half which I did not lose.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> The night is usually put before the day in Irish.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> In Irish "Grainne Oigh," pronounced like "Grania O-ee."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> Cnoc Meadha, generally called in English "Castlehacket,"
a hill to the west of Tuam, Co. Galway, reputed to be the headquarters
of all the Tuatha de Danann and shee-folk of Connacht.
There dwell Finvara and Nuala, king and queen of the fairies of that
province. Many stories are told about it.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> This is the Irish word translated by "fairy," in Irish
"<i>sidhe</i>": a common diminutive is <i>sidheóg</i> "shee-ogue."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> Croagh Patrick or Reek Patrick is one of the highest mountains
in Connacht. It is 2,510 feet high and difficult to climb. St
Patrick is reputed to have driven all the serpents in Ireland into the
sea down its slopes. It has always been a noted pilgrimage.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> "To bear alway the branch," is the Irish expression for having
first place, or in English, carrying off the palm.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> Anglo-Irish very sensibly uses "ye" for the plural of thou in
all cases, "you" having become ambiguous.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> Pronounce in-yaé.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i>, Field of Help. This is folk etymology. Now Aughagower,
in Mayo.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> Ballina, Co. Mayo.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i>, Lough Derg.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i>, The High King.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> Pronounced "Foo-a." A weird shape, phantom, or spectre.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> Literally, "long-haired one." It is a term for a wizard or warlock.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">Uncial1</span></a></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I n-ifreann na bpian ar lóiámh<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Atá an fear sáimh do Bhronnadh an t-ór,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Imtheóchaidh tusa mar d'imthigh an fhiann,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Agus tráchtamaois ar Dhia go fóil.<br /></span>
</div></div></div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">Uncial2</span></a></p>
<p>Dodhach Bercháin da friot go nuaide in Uíb Fáilgi i
bhferonn ó Ui Berchain, an maidi fós timchiol an uisge.
Ann sin atá cluainsosta agus ann sin atá tempall
Bercháin acus do bhí,</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">Uncial3</span></a></p>
<p>Tig raoirse andiaidh ró-bhruide,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tar éir dubhuig tig soineann,</span><br />
Fuilnge feadh an órlaigh-si,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mar do caitheadh an choineall.</span>
</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">Uncial4</span></a></p>
<p>DÁS BHEARACHÁIN NA RÁRDHTE GCLISDE.</p>
<p>Bhí sean-draoi ann, fad ó, gur bh'é ainm a bhí air ná
Bearachán, agus táinig Fionn Mac Cúmhaill agus righ eile
d'á fhiosrughadh, oidhche airíghthe.</p>
<p>Do bhíodar ag caitheamh na h-oidhche leó féin ann—ag
déanamh gach aon chaitheamh-aimsire d' fhéadadar dóibh
féin.</p>
<p>I gcaitheamh na h-oidhche dhóibh d'iarr Fionn de Bhearachán
an fada an saoghal a bhi gearrtha amach dó nó an
raibh aon fhios aige air.</p>
<p>Dubhairt Bearachán d'a fhreagairt go raibh, go maith—go
mairfeadh sé go bráth chun go dtiucfadh trí righthe gan
cuireadh chum a thighe i gcómhair na h-oidhche,—ar an oidhche
sin go dtiucfadh mac tíre chuige do mhar'ochadh é.</p>
<p>"Béan t'anam, mar sin." arsa Fionn, "mar tá trí
righthe gan cuireadh ann so anocht."</p>
<p>"Cionnar a bhéadh"? arsa Bearachán, "agus gan ann
acht beirt agaibh."</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">Uncial5</span></a></p>
<p>"Tá," arsa Fionn, "mise righ na Féinne, agus é seo lem'
chois righ cúigeadh is eadh é, agus Bran atá 'na righ ar
ghadharaibh an domhain."</p>
<p>"O! Dia le m'anam"! arsa Bearachán, "tá mo
ghnó déanta mar sin."</p>
<p>"Ni baoghal duit anocht pé sgéal é," arsa Fionn, "no
teipfidh sé orrainn-ne."</p>
<p>Sé rud do dheineadar, ná é do chur fa bhéal tobáin,
agus an bheirt eile bheit ag imirt fithchille ar thóin an
tobáin ar eagla go dtuitfeadh riad 'na gcodladh an
fhard do bheior ag faire ar Bhearachán. Do dhíodar ag
imirt leó.</p>
<p>Budh ghairid dóibh gur airigheadar an t-iarmhar a' ladhairt
amuigh, agus d'iarr sé ortha go h-iairmhéileach é do
leogaint isteach.</p>
<p>Dubhrodar leis go doithcheallach, i mbasa, ná leogfaidis.</p>
<p>Do lean sé orra, fharo gach n-fhaid, agus é niosa
truarghmhéilighe gach uair 'ná a chéile.</p>
<p>Dubhairt Fionn fé dheireadh thair thall gur chóir gur
chuireadar díobh cathanna ba chruardhe 'na pé iarmhar a bhí
amuigh do smachtughadh go maidin.</p>
<p>D'osgladar an dorus agus do sgaoileadar isteach é,
agus do shuidh sé sa' chúinne agus do leog (leig) sé air
do bheith dá leigheadh (leaghadh) ag an bhfuacht. Is gearr
gur tharraing sé chuige píob, agus do thornaigh sé ar an
gceól do spreagadh do b'uaibhrighe agus d'airigh aon neach
riamh. Agus da ghearr 'na dhiardh sin gur thuit duine aca
na chodladh thall agus duine eile, abhos, agus ap maidin
nuair dhúisigheadar ni raibh fe bhéal an tobáin acht cairnin
cnámh. Sin é bár Bhearacháin agaibh.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">Uncial6</span></a></p>
<p>
Cheithri fáidhe Gaidhel n-glan<br />
feirdi an tír a dtangadar,<br />
Colum cille Moling lán<br />
Brenainn Biorra agus Bercháan.<br />
</p></div>
</div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div class="transnote">
<p>Transcriber's Note</p>
<p>Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been
retained except in obvious cases of typographical error.</p>
<p>There are several blocks of Uncial text. These have been included as images.
Links are provided below the images to transliterations, primarily for systems
where images are not supported.</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45910 ***</div>
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