According to an old superstition, which was widely spread during the
Middle Ages, the elves sometimes steal a handsome, new-born child from
its cradle, and substitute an ill-formed, ugly child of their own. The
little Irish prodigy who is the hero of an event which happened in the
county of Tipperary, was such a Changeling. The story told of him, it
will be seen, is stamped with the peculiar wildness of fancy which
generally characterizes Irish fairy-tales.
Mick Flanigan and his wife, Judy, were a poor couple, blessed with
nothing but four little boys. Three of the children were as healthy and
rosy-cheeked as any thriving Irish boy you can meet with; but the
fourth was a little urchin, more ugly than it is possible to imagine;
and, even worse, he was as mischievous as he was ugly. Innumerable were
the tricks which he played upon his brothers, and even upon his parents.
Although before he was a twelve-month old he had already grown a
formidable set of teeth, and ate like a glutton, he would nevertheless
lie constantly in his cradle near the fire, even after he had reached
the age of five years. Resting on his back, and half closing his little
eyes, he would observe everything which was going on in the room,
watching for opportunities to annoy the people.
Now, one afternoon it came to pass that Tim Carrol, the blind bagpiper,
an old friend of the family, called in and sat down near the fire to
have a bit of chat. As he had brought his bagpipe with him, they soon
asked him to treat them with a tune. So blind Tim Carrol buckled on his
bagpipe, and began to play.
Presently the little urchin raised himself in the cradle, moved his ugly
head to and fro, and evidently manifested excessive delight at the nasal
sounds. When the affectionate mother saw how eagerly the child stretched
out both its hands for the bagpipe, she begged old blind Tim Carrol just
to humour her little darling for a moment; and as blind Tim was not the
man to say "No," he mildly laid the bagpipe upon the cradle. But how
great was their astonishment when the urchin took up the instrument,
and, handling it like a practised bagpiper, played without the least
effort a lively jig, then another, even more lively, and several others,
in rapid succession.
The first thing the father did was to sell his pig and to buy a bagpipe
for his prodigy. It soon turned out that the rogue had a peculiar tune
of his own, which made people dance however little they might feel
disposed for dancing. Even his poor mother happening to come into the
room one day with a pailfull of milk, and hearing that bewitching tune,
must needs let the pail drop, spill all the milk, and spin round like a
very top.
About the time when the boy was six years old, the farmer of the
village, by whom Mick Flanigan was employed as day labourer, had
various mischances with his cattle. Two of his cows lost their appetite,
and gave little or no milk. A very promising calf stumbled, and broke
both its hind legs. And shortly afterwards one of his best horses
suddenly got the colic and died in no time. The people in the village
had long since settled among themselves that there was something not
right in Mick Flanigan's family; so it naturally occurred to the farmer
that the imp with the bagpipe must be the cause of all his misfortunes.
He therefore thought it wise to give warning at once to Mick Flanigan,
and to advise him to look out for work elsewhere. Fortunately, poor Mick
Flanigan soon succeeded in getting employment at a farmer's, a few miles
off, who was in want of a ploughman.
On the appointed day the new master sent a cart to fetch the few
articles of furniture which Mick Flanigan could call his own. Having
placed the cradle with the boy and his bagpipe at the top, the whole
family drove off to their new home. When they had got about half the
way, they had to cross a river. Slowly they drove upon the rickety
bridge, little anticipating the exciting scene which now occurred. The
boy had hitherto remained very quiet in the cradle, apparently half
asleep as usual. But, just when the cart had reached the middle of the
bridge, he raised his head, looked wistfully at the water, and then
suddenly grasping his bagpipe he jumped down into the river.
His terrified parents set up a cry of distress, and made some efforts to
save him, when, to their unspeakable astonishment, they saw him
swimming, diving and gamboling about in the water like a very otter.
Nay, he actually began to play on his bagpipe, shouting lustily all the
while and exhibiting other signs which clearly showed that he was now in
his right element. Soon he disappeared entirely. Then the poor people
became fully convinced that the boy was a Changeling, and had now gone
home to his own kinsfolk.[21]