would be gone, but there's no fear of it now.'
In the morning, the day on the morrow, Lawrence said to Carrol--
'Give me my share of money, and I'll go on a journey, until I have a
look round the country.'
Carrol gave him the money, and he went walking. He went on until he
came to a large town. He went into the house of a baker to get bread.
The baker began talking to him, and asked him how far he was going.
'I am going looking for something that will put fear on me,' said
Lawrence.
'Have you much money?' said the baker.
'I have a half-hundred pounds,' said Lawrence.
'I'll bet another half-hundred with you that there will be fear on you
if you go to the place that I'll bid you,' says the baker.
'I'll take your bet,' said Lawrence, 'if only the place is not too far
away from me.'
'It's not a mile from the place where you're standing,' said the
baker; 'wait here till the night comes, and then go to the graveyard,
and as a sign that you were in it, bring me the goblet that is upon
the altar of the old church (_cill_) that is in the graveyard.'
When the baker made the bet he was certain that he would win, for
there was a ghost in the churchyard, and nobody went into it for forty
years before that whom he did not kill.
When the darkness of the night came, Lawrence put on his sword and
went to the burying-ground. He came to the door of the churchyard and
struck it with his sword. The door opened, and there came out a great
black ram, and two horns on him as long as flails. Lawrence gave him a
blow, and he went out of sight, leaving him up to the two ankles in
blood. Lawrence went into the old church, got the goblet, came back to
the baker's house, gave him the goblet, and got the bet. Then the
baker asked him did he see anything in the churchyard.
'I saw a big black ram with long horns on him,' said Lawrence, 'and I
gave him a blow which drew as much blood out of him as would swim a
boat; sure he must be dead by this time.'
In the morning, the day on the morrow, the baker and a lot of people
went to the graveyard and they saw the blood of the black ram at the
door. They went to the priest and told him that the black ram was
banished out of the churchyard. The priest did not believe them,
because the churchyard was shut up forty years before that on account
of the ghost that was in it, and neither priest nor friar could banish
him. The priest came with them to the door of the churchyard, and when
he saw the blood he took courage and sent for Lawrence, and heard the
story from his own mouth. Then he sent for his blessing-materials, and
desired the people to come in till he read mass for them. The priest
went in, and Lawrence and the people after him, and he read mass
without the big black ram coming as he used to do. The priest was
greatly rejoiced, and gave Lawrence another fifty pounds.
On the morning of the next day Lawrence went on his way. He travelled
the whole day without seeing a house. About the hour of midnight he
came to a great lonely valley, and he saw a large gathering of people
looking at two men hurling. Lawrence stood looking at them, as there
was a bright light from the moon. It was the good people that were in
it, and it was not long until one of them struck a blow on the ball
and sent it into Lawrence's breast. He put his hand in after the ball
to draw it out, and what was there in it but the head of a man. When
Lawrence got a hold of it, it began screeching, and at last it asked
Lawrence--
'Are you not afraid?'
'Indeed I am not,' said Lawrence, and no sooner was the word spoken
than both head and people disappeared, and he was left in the glen
alone by himself.
He journeyed until he came to another town, and when he ate and drank
enough, he went out on the road, and was walking until he came to a
great house on the side of the road. As the night was closing in, he
went in to try if he could get lodging. There was a young man at the
door who said to him--
'How far are you going, or what are you in search of?'
'I do not know how far I am going, but I am in search of something
that will put fear on me,' said Lawrence.
'You have not far to go, then,' said the young man; 'if you stop in
that big house on the other side of the road there will be fear put on
you before morning, and I'll give you twenty pounds into the bargain.'
'I'll stop in it,' said Lawrence.
The young man went with him, opened the door, and brought him into a
large room in the bottom of the house, and said to him, 'Put down fire
for yourself and I'll send you plenty to eat and drink.' He put down a
fire for himself, and there came a girl to him and brought him
everything that he wanted.
He went on very well, until the hour of midnight came, and then he
heard a great sound over his head, and it was not long until a
stallion and a bull came in and commenced to fight. Lawrence never put
to them nor from them, and when they were tired fighting they went
out. Lawrence went to sleep, and he never awoke until the young man
came in in the morning, and he was surprised when he saw Lawrence
alive. He asked him had he seen anything.
'I saw a stallion and a bull fighting hard for about two hours,' said
Lawrence.
'And weren't you afraid?' said the young man.
'I was not,' says Lawrence.
'If you wait to-night again, I'll give you another twenty pounds,'
says the young man.
'I'll wait, and welcome,' says Lawrence.
The second night, about ten o'clock, Lawrence was going to sleep, when
two black rams came in and began fighting hard. Lawrence neither put
to them nor from them, and when twelve o'clock struck they went out.
The young man came in the morning and asked him did he see anything
last night.
'I saw two black rams fighting,' said Lawrence.
'Were you afraid at all?' said the young man.
'I was not,' said Lawrence.
'Wait to-night, and I'll give you another twenty pounds,' says the
young man.
'All right,' says Lawrence.
The third night he was falling asleep, when there came in a gray old
man and said to him--
'You are the best hero in Ireland; I died twenty years ago, and all
that time I have been in search of a man like you. Come with me now
till I show you your riches; I told you when you were watching your
mother's grave that there was great riches waiting for you.'
He took Lawrence to a chamber under ground, and showed him a large pot
filled with gold, and said to him--
'You will have all that if you give twenty pounds to Mary Kerrigan the
widow, and get her forgiveness for me for a wrong I did her. Then buy
this house, marry my daughter, and you will be happy and rich as long
as you live.'
The next morning the young man came to Lawrence and asked him did he
see anything last night.
'I did,' said Lawrence, 'and it's certain that there will be a ghost
always in it, but nothing in the world would frighten me; I'll buy the
house and the land round it, if you like.'
'I'll ask no price for the house, but I won't part with the land under
a thousand pounds, and I'm sure you haven't that much.'
'I have more than would buy all the land and all the herds you have,'
said Lawrence.
When the young man heard that Lawrence was so rich, he invited him to
come to dinner. Lawrence went with him, and when the dead man's
daughter saw him she fell in love with him.
Lawrence went to the house of Mary Kerrigan and gave her twenty
pounds, and got her forgiveness for the dead man. Then he married the
young man's sister and spent a happy life. He died as he lived,
without there being fear on him.
CATS
SEANCHAN THE BARD AND THE KING OF THE CATS
BY LADY WILDE
When Seanchan, the renowned Bard, was made _Ard-File_ or Chief Poet of
Ireland, Guaire, the king of Connaught, to do him honour, made a great
feast for him and the whole Bardic Association. And all the professors
and learned men went to the king's house, the great ollaves of poetry
and history and music, and of the arts and sciences; and the learned,
aged females, Grug and Grag and Grangait; and all the chief poets and
poetesses of Ireland, an amazing number. But Guaire the king
entertained them all splendidly, so that the ancient pathway to his
palace is still called 'The Road of the Dishes.'
And each day he asked, 'How fares it with my noble guests?' But they
were all discontented, and wanted things he could not get for them. So
he was very sorrowful, and prayed to God to be delivered from 'the
learned men and women, a vexatious class.'
Still the feast went on for three days and three nights. And they
drank and made merry. And the whole Bardic Association entertained the
nobles with the choicest music and professional accomplishments.
But Seanchan sulked and would neither eat nor drink, for he was
jealous of the nobles of Connaught. And when he saw how much they
consumed of the best meats and wine, he declared he would taste no
food till they and their servants were all sent away out of the
house.
And when Guaire asked him again, 'How fares my noble guest, and this
great and excellent people?' Seanchan answered, 'I have never had
worse days, nor worse nights, nor worse dinners in my life.' And he
ate nothing for three whole days.
Then the king was sorely grieved that the whole Bardic Association
should be feasting and drinking while Seanchan, the chief poet of
Erin, was fasting and weak. So he sent his favourite serving-man, a
person of mild manners and cleanliness, to offer special dishes to the
bard.
'Take them away,' said Seanchan; 'I'll have none of them.'
'And why, O Royal Bard?' asked the servitor.
'Because thou art an uncomely youth,' answered Seanchan. 'Thy
grandfather was chip-nailed--I have seen him; I shall eat no food from
thy hands.'
Then the king called a beautiful maiden to him, his foster-daughter,
and said, 'Lady, bring thou this wheaten cake and this dish of salmon
to the illustrious poet, and serve him thyself.' So the maiden went.
But when Seanchan saw her he asked: 'Who sent thee hither, and why
hast thou brought me food?'
'My lord the king sent me, O Royal Bard,' she answered, 'because I am
comely to look upon, and he bade me serve thee with food myself.'
'Take it away,' said Seanchan, 'thou art an unseemly girl, I know of
none more ugly. I have seen thy grandmother; she sat on a wall one day
and pointed out the way with her hand to some travelling lepers. How
could I touch thy food?' So the maiden went away in sorrow.
And then Guaire the king was indeed angry, and he exclaimed, 'My
malediction on the mouth that uttered that! May the kiss of a leper
be on Seanchan's lips before he dies!'
Now there was a young serving-girl there, and she said to Seanchan,
'There is a hen's egg in the place, my lord, may I bring it to thee, O
Chief Bard?'
'It will suffice,' said Seanchan; 'bring it that I may eat.'
But when she went to look for it, behold the egg was gone.
'Thou hast eaten it,' said the bard, in wrath.
'Not so, my lord,' she answered; 'but the mice, the nimble race, have
carried it away.'
'Then I will satirise them in a poem,' said Seanchan; and forthwith he
chanted so bitter a satire against them that ten mice fell dead at
once in his presence.
''Tis well,' said Seanchan; 'but the cat is the one most to blame, for
it was her duty to suppress the mice. Therefore I shall satirise the
tribe of the cats, and their chief lord, Irusan, son of Arusan; for I
know where he lives with his wife Spit-fire, and his daughter
Sharp-tooth, with her brothers the Purrer and the Growler. But I shall
begin with Irusan himself, for he is king, and answerable for all the
cats.'
And he said: 'Irusan, monster of claws, who strikes at the mouse but
lets it go; weakest of cats. The otter did well who bit off the tips
of thy progenitor's ears, so that every cat since is jagged-eared. Let
thy tail hang down; it is right, for the mouse jeers at thee.'
Now Irusan heard these words in his cave, and he said to his daughter
Sharp-tooth: 'Seanchan has satirised me, but I will be avenged.'
'Nay, father,' she said, 'bring him here alive that we may all take
our revenge.'
'I shall go then and bring him,' said Irusan; 'so send thy brothers
after me.
Now when it was told to Seanchan that the King of the Cats was on his
way to come and kill him, he was timorous, and besought Guaire and all
the nobles to stand by and protect him. And before long a vibrating,
impressive, impetuous sound was heard, like a raging tempest of fire
in full blaze. And when the cat appeared he seemed to them of the size
of a bullock; and this was his appearance--rapacious, panting,
jagged-eared, snub-nosed, sharp-toothed, nimble, angry, vindictive,
glare-eyed, terrible, sharp-clawed. Such was his similitude. But he
passed on amongst them, not minding till he came to Seanchan; and him
he seized by the arm and jerked him up on his back, and made off the
way he came before any one could touch him; for he had no other object
in view but to get hold of the poet.
Now Seanchan, being in evil plight, had recourse to flattery. 'O
Irusan,' he exclaimed, 'how truly splendid thou art: such running,
such leaps, such strength, and such agility! But what evil have I
done, O Irusan, son of Arusan? spare me, I entreat. I invoke the
saints between thee and me, O great King of the Cats.'
But not a bit did the cat let go his hold for all this fine talk, but
went straight on to Clonmacnoise, where there was a forge; and St.
Kieran happened to be there standing at the door.
'What!' exclaimed the saint; 'is that the Chief Bard of Erin on the
back of a cat? Has Guaire's hospitality ended in this?' And he ran for
a red-hot bar of iron that was in the furnace, and struck the cat on
the side with it, so that the iron passed through him, and he fell
down lifeless.
'Now my curse on the hand that gave that blow!' said the bard, when he
got upon his feet.
'And wherefore?' asked St. Kieran.
'Because,' answered Seanchan, 'I would rather Irusan had killed me,
and eaten me every bit, that so I might bring disgrace on Guaire for
the bad food he gave me; for it was all owing to his wretched dinners
that I got into this plight.'
And when all the other kings heard of Seanchan's misfortunes, they
sent to beg he would visit their courts. But he would have neither
kiss nor welcome from them, and went on his way to the bardic mansion,
where the best of good living was always to be had. And ever after the
kings were afraid to offend Seanchan.
So as long as he lived he had the chief place at the feast, and all
the nobles there were made to sit below him, and Seanchan was content.
And in time he and Guaire were reconciled; and Seanchan and all the
ollaves, and the whole Bardic Association, were feasted by the king
for thirty days in noble style, and had the choicest of viands and
the best of French wines to drink, served in goblets of silver. And in
return for his splendid hospitality the Bardic Association decreed
unanimously a vote of thanks to the king. And they praised him in
poems as 'Guaire the Generous,' by which name he was ever after known
in history, for the words of the poet are immortal.
OWNEY AND OWNEY-NA-PEAK
BY GERALD GRIFFEN
When Ireland had kings of her own--when there was no such thing as a
coat made of red cloth in the country--when there was plenty in men's
houses, and peace and quietness at men's doors (and that is a long
time since)--there lived, in a village not far from the great city of
Lumneach,[7] two young men, cousins: one of them named Owney, a smart,
kind-hearted, handsome youth, with limb of a delicate form, and a very
good understanding. His cousin's name was Owney too, and the
neighbours christened him Owney-na-peak (Owney of the nose), on
account of a long nose he had got--a thing so out of all proportion,
that after looking at one side of his face, it was a smart morning's
walk to get round the nose and take a view of the other (at least, so
the people used to say). He was a stout, able-bodied fellow, as stupid
as a beaten hound, and he was, moreover, a cruel tyrant to his young
cousin, with whom he lived in a kind of partnership.
[Footnote 7: The present Limerick.]
Both of them were of a humble station. They were
smiths--white-smiths--and they got a good deal of business to do from
the lords of the court, and the knights, and all the grand people of
the city. But one day young Owney was in town, he saw a great
procession of lords, and ladies, and generals, and great people, among
whom was the king's daughter of the court--and surely it is not
possible for the young rose itself to be so beautiful as she was. His
heart fainted at her sight, and he went home desperately in love, and
not at all disposed to business.
Money, he was told, was the surest way of getting acquainted with the
king, and so he began saving until he had put together a few
_hogs_,[8] but Owney-na-peak, finding where he had hid them, seized on
the whole, as he used to do on all young Owney's earnings.
[Footnote 8: A _hog_, 1s. 1d.]
One evening young Owney's mother found herself about to die, so she
called her son to her bedside and said to him: 'You have been a most
dutiful good son, and 'tis proper you should be rewarded for it. Take
this china cup to the fair,--there is a fairy gift upon it,--use your
own wit, look about you, and let the highest bidder have it--and so,
my white-headed boy,[9] God bless you!'
[Footnote 9: White-haired boy, a curious Irish phrase for the
favourite child.]
The young man drew the little bedcurtain down over his dead mother,
and in a few days after, with a heavy heart, he took his china cup,
and set off to the fair of Garryowen.
The place was merry enough. The field that is called Gallows Green now
was covered with tents. There was plenty of wine (poteen not being
known in these days, let alone _parliament_), a great many handsome
girls, and 'tis unknown all the _keoh_ that was with the boys and
themselves. Poor Owney walked all the day through the fair, wishing to
try his luck, but ashamed to offer his china cup among all the fine
things that were there for sale. Evening was drawing on at last, and
he was thinking of going home, when a strange man tapped him on the
shoulder, and said: 'My good youth, I have been marking you through
the fair the whole day, going about with that cup in your hand,
speaking to nobody, and looking as if you would be wanting something
or another.'
'I'm for selling it,' said Owney.
'What is it you're for selling, you say?' said a second man, coming
up, and looking at the cup.
'Why then,' said the first man, 'and what's that to you, for a prying
meddler? what do you want to know what it is he's for selling?'
'Bad manners to you (and where's the use of my wishing you what you
have already?), haven't I a right to ask the price of what's in the
fair?'
'E'then, the knowledge o' the price is all you'll have for it,' says
the first. 'Here, my lad, is a golden piece for your cup.'
'That cup shall never hold drink or diet in your house, please
Heaven,' says the second; 'here's two gold pieces for the cup, lad.'
'Why then, see this now--if I was forced to fill it to the rim with
gold before I could call it mine, you shall never hold that cup
between your fingers. Here, boy, do you mind me, give me that, once
for all, and here's ten gold pieces for it, and say no more.'
'Ten gold pieces for a china cup!' said a great lord of the court, who
just rode up at that minute, 'it must surely be a valuable article.
Here, boy, here are twenty pieces for it, and give it to my servant.'
'Give it to mine,' cried another lord of the party, 'and here's my
purse, where you will find ten more. And if any man offers another
fraction for it to outbid that, I'll spit him on my sword like a
snipe.'
'I outbid him,' said a fair young lady in a veil, by his side,
flinging twenty golden pieces more on the ground.
There was no voice to outbid the lady, and young Owney, kneeling, gave
the cup into her hands.
'Fifty gold pieces for a china cup,' said Owney to himself, as he
plodded on home, 'that was not worth two! Ah! mother, you knew that
vanity had an open hand.'
But as he drew near home he determined to hide his money somewhere,
knowing, as he well did, that his cousin would not leave him a single
cross to bless himself with. So he dug a little pit, and buried all
but two pieces, which he brought to the house. His cousin, knowing the
business on which he had gone, laughed heartily when he saw him enter,
and asked him what luck he had got with his punch-bowl.
'Not so bad, neither,' says Owney. 'Two pieces of gold is not a bad
price for an article of old china.'
'Two gold pieces, Owney, honey! Erra, let us see 'em, maybe you
would?' He took the cash from Owney's hand, and after opening his eyes
in great astonishment at the sight of so much money, he put them into
his pocket.
'Well, Owney, I'll keep them safe for you, in my pocket within. But
tell us, maybe you would, how come you to get such a _mort_ o' money
for an old cup o' painted chaney, that wasn't worth, maybe, a fi'penny
bit?'
'To get into the heart o' the fair, then, free and easy, and to look
about me, and to cry old china, and the first man that _come_ up, he
to ask me, what is it I'd be asking for the cup, and I to say out
bold: "A hundred pieces of gold," and he to laugh hearty, and we to
huxter together till he beat me down to two, and there's the whole way
of it all.'
Owney-na-peak made as if he took no note of this, but next morning
early he took an old china saucer himself had in his cupboard, and off
he set, without saying a word to anybody, to the fair. You may easily
imagine that it created no small surprise in the place when they heard
a great big fellow with a china saucer in his hand crying out: 'A raal
_chaney_ saucer going for a hundred pieces of goold! raal
chaney--who'll be buying?'
'Erra, what's that you're saying, you great gomeril?' says a man,
coming up to him, and looking first at the saucer and then in his
face. 'Is it thinking anybody would go make a _muthaun_ of himself to
give the like for that saucer?' But Owney-na-peak had no answer to
make, only to cry out: 'Raal chaney! one hundred pieces of goold!'
A crowd soon collected about him, and finding he would give no account
of himself, they all fell upon him, beat him within an inch of his
life, and after having satisfied themselves upon him, they went their
way laughing and shouting. Towards sunset he got up, and crawled home
as well as he could, without cup or money. As soon as Owney saw him,
he helped him into the forge, looking very mournful, although, if the
truth must be told, it was to revenge himself for former good deeds of
his cousin that he set him about this foolish business.
'Come here, Owney, eroo,' said his cousin, after he had fastened the
forge door and heated two irons in the fire. 'You child of mischief!'
said he, when he had caught him, 'you shall never see the fruits of
your roguery again, for I will put out your eyes.' And so saying he
snatched one of the red-hot irons from the fire.
It was all in vain for poor Owney to throw himself on his knees, and
ask mercy, and beg and implore forgiveness; he was weak, and
Owney-na-peak was strong; he held him fast, and burned out both his
eyes. Then taking him, while he was yet fainting from the pain, upon
his back, he carried him off to the bleak hill of Knockpatrick,[10] a
great distance, and there laid him under a tombstone, and went his
ways. In a little time after, Owney came to himself.
[Footnote 10: A hill in the west of the County of Limerick, on the
summit of which are the ruins of an old church, with a burying-ground
still in use. The situation is exceedingly singular and bleak.]
'O sweet light of day! what is to become of me now?' thought the poor
lad, as he lay on his back under the tomb. 'Is this to be the fruit of
that unhappy present? Must I be dark for ever and ever? and am I never
more to look upon that sweet countenance, that even in my blindness is
not entirely shut out from me?' He would have said a great deal more
in this way, and perhaps more pathetic still, but just then he heard a
great mewing, as if all the cats in the world were coming up the hill
together in one faction. He gathered himself up, and drew back under
the stone, and remained quite still, expecting what would come next.
In a very short time he heard all the cats purring and mewing about
the yard, whisking over the tombstones, and playing all sorts of
pranks among the graves. He felt the tails of one or two brush his
nose; and well for him it was that they did not discover him there,
as he afterwards found. At last--