"Oisin, Caoilte, Mac Lughaidh, Diarmuid O'Duibhne, and myself happened
one day, above all other days, to be on the summit of Cairn Feargall. We
were accompanied by our five hounds, namely, Bran, Sceoluing, Sear Dubh,
Luath Luachar, and Anuaill. We had not long been there when we perceived
a rough, tall, huge giant approaching us. He carried an iron fork upon
his back, and a grunting hog was placed between the prongs of the fork;
a young girl of mature age followed and forced the giant on his way
before her. 'Let someone go forward and accost those people,' said I.
Diarmuid O'Duibhne followed, but did not overtake them. The other three
and I started up, and followed Diarmuid and the giant. We overtook
Diarmuid, but did not come up with the giant or the girl; for a dark,
gloomy, druidical mist showered down between us and them, so that we
could not discern what road they took. When the mist cleared away we
looked around us, and discovered a light-roofed, comfortable-looking
house at the edge of the ford near at hand. We proceeded to the house,
before which spread a lawn upon which were two fountains. At the brink
of one fountain lay a rude iron vessel, and a vessel of bronze at the
brink of the other. Those we met in the house were an aged, hoary-headed
man standing by the door jamb to the right hand, and a beautiful maid
sitting before him; a rough, rude, huge giant before the fire busily
cooking a hog; and an old man at the other side of the fire, having an
iron-grey head of hair and twelve eyes in his head, while the twelve
sons (germs) of discord beamed in each eye. There was also in the house
a ram with a white belly, a jet-black head, dark-green horns, and green
feet; and there was in the end of the house a hag covered with a dark
ash-coloured garment. There were no persons in the house except these.
The man at the door-post welcomed us; and we five, having our five
hounds with us, sat on the floor of the bruighean. 'Let submissive
homage be done to Fionn Mac Cumhaill and his people,' said the man at
the door-post. 'My case is that of a man begging a request, but
obtaining neither the smaller nor the greater part of it,' said the
giant. Nevertheless, he rose up and did respectful homage to us. After a
while I became suddenly thirsty, and no person present perceived it but
Caoilte, who began to complain bitterly on that account. 'You have no
cause to complain, Caoilte,' said the man of the door-post, 'but only to
step outside and fetch a drink for Fionn from whichever of the fountains
you please.' Caoilte did so, and fetched the bronze vessel brimful to me
and gave me to drink. I took a drink from it, and the water tasted like
honey while I was drinking, but bitter as gall when I put the vessel
from my lips; so that darting pains and symptoms of death seized me and
agonising pangs from the poisonous draught. I could be but with
difficulty recognised; and the lamentation of Caoilte on account of my
being in that condition was greater than that he had before given vent
to on account of my thirst. The man at the door-post desired Caoilte to
go out and bring me a drink from the other fountain. Caoilte obeyed,
and brought me the iron vessel brimful. I never underwent so much
hardship in battle or conflict as I then suffered while drinking, in
consequence of the bitterness of the draught; but as soon as I put the
vessel from my lips I recovered my own colour and appearance, and that
gave joy and happiness to my people.
"The man then asked if the hog which was in the boiler was yet cooked.
'It is cooked,' replied the giant, 'and allow me to divide it.' 'How
will you divide it?' said the man of the house. 'I will give one
hindquarter to Fionn and his hounds; the other hindquarter to Fionn's
four men; the forepart to myself; the chine and rump to the old man who
sits at the opposite side of the fire and to the hag in yonder corner;
and the giblets to you and the young woman who is opposite to you.' 'I
pledge my word,' said the man of the house, 'you have divided it very
fairly.' 'I pledge my word,' exclaimed the ram, 'that the division is
very unfair so far as I am concerned, for I have been altogether
forgotten.' And so saying, he immediately snatched the quarter that lay
before my four men, and carried it away into a corner, where he began to
devour it. The four men instantly attacked the ram all at once with
their swords, but though they laid on violently, it did not affect him
in the least, and the blows fell away as from a stone or rock, so that
they were forced to resume their seats. 'Upon my veracity, he is doomed
for evil who owns as companions such four fellows as you are, who tamely
suffer one single sheep to carry away your food and devour it before
your faces,' exclaimed the man with the twelve eyes; and at the same
time going up to the ram, he caught him by the feet and gave him a
violent pitch out of the door, so that he fell on his back on the
ground; and from that time we saw him no more. Soon after this the hag
started up, and having thrown her ashy-grey coverlet over my four men,
metamorphosed them into four withered, drooping-headed old men. When I
saw that I was seized with great fear and alarm; and when the man at the
door-post perceived this, he desired me to come over to him, place my
head on his bosom, and sleep. I did so; and the hag got up and took her
coverlet off my four men; and when I awoke I found them restored to
their own shape, and that was a great happiness to me. 'O Fionn,' asked
the man of the door-post, 'do you feel surprised at the appearance and
arrangements of this house?' I assured him that I never saw anything
which surprised me more. 'Well, then, I will explain the meaning of all
these things to you,' said the man. 'The giant carrying the grunting hog
between the prongs of the iron fork, whom you first saw, is he who is
yonder, and his name is SLOTH. She who is close to me is the young woman
who had been forcing him along, that is ENERGY; and ENERGY compels SLOTH
forward with her; for ENERGY moves, in the twinkling of the eye, a
greater distance than the foot can travel in a year. The old man of the
bright eyes yonder signifies the WORLD; and he is more powerful than
anyone, which has been proved by his rendering the ram powerless. That
ram which you saw signifies the CRIMES of the man. That hag there beyond
is withering OLD AGE, and her clothing has withered your four men. The
two wells from which you drank the two draughts mean FALSEHOOD and
TRUTH; for while telling a lie one finds it sweet, but it becomes bitter
at the last. Cuanna from Innistuil is my own name. I do not reside here,
but having conceived a wonderful love for you, O Fionn, on account of
your superiority in wisdom and general celebrity, I therefore put those
things into the way before you in order that I might see you. And this
story shall be called, to the end of the world, the Hospitality of
Cuanna's House to Fionn. Let you and your men come together, and do ye
five sleep until morning.' Accordingly we did so, and when we awoke in
the morning we found ourselves on the summit of Cairn Feargaill, with
our hounds and arms by us. So there is the meaning of the byword, 'The
hospitality of Fionn in the house of Cuanna,' O Conan," said Fionn.
(_Translated from the Irish by Nicholas O'Kearney._)
The White Trout
(_A Legend of Cong._)
"There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful young lady that
lived in a castle up by the lake beyant, and they say she was promised
to a king's son, and they wor to be married, when, all of a suddent, he
was murthered, the crathur (Lord help us!) and threwn in the lake abou,
and so, of coorse, he couldn't keep his promise to the fair lady--and
more's the pity.
"Well, the story goes that she went out iv her mind, bekase of loosin'
the king's son--for she was tindher-hearted, God help her! like the rest
iv us--and pined away after him, until at last no one about seen her,
good or bad; and the story wint that the fairies took her away.
"Well, sir, in coorse o' time the white throut, God bless it! was seen
in the sthrame beyant; and sure the people didn't know what to think of
the crathur, seein' as how a _white_ brown throut was never heerd av
afore nor sence; and years upon years the throut was there, just where
you seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can tell--aye, throth, and
beyant the memory o' th' ouldest in the village.
"At last the people began to think it must be a fairy; for what else
could it be?--and no hurt nor harm was iver put an the throut, until
some wicked sinners of sojers kem to these parts, and laughed at all the
people, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin' o' the likes; and one o'
them in partic'lar (bad luck to him--God forgi' me for sayin' it!) swore
he'd catch the throut and ate it for his dinner--the blackguard!
"Well, what would you think o' the villiany of the sojer?--sure enough
he cotch the throut, and away wid him home, and puts an the fryin' pan,
and into it he pitches the purty little thing. The throut squeeled all
as one as a Christian crathur, and, my dear, you'd think the sojer id
split his sides laughin'--for he was a harden'd villian; and when he
thought one side was done, he turns it over to fry the other; and what
would you think? but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at
all; and sure the sojer thought it was a _quare_ throut that couldn't be
briled; 'but,' says he, 'I'll give it another turn by and by'--little
thinkin' what was in store for him, the haythen!
"Well, when he thought that side was done he turns it again--and lo and
behould you, the divil a taste more done that side was nor the other.
'Bad luck to me,' says the sojer, 'but that bates the world,' says he;
'but I'll thry you agin, my darlint,' says he, 'as cunnin' as you think
yourself'--and so with that he turns it over and over, but not a sign av
the fire was an the purty throut. 'Well,' says the desperate
villian--(for sure, sir, only he was a desperate villian _entirely_; he
might know he was doin' a wrong thing, seein' that all his endayvours
was no good)--'well,' says he, 'my jolly little throut, maybe you're
fried enough, though you don't seem over well dress'd; but you may be
better than you look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all,'
says he; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to taste a piece
o' the throut--but, my jew'l, the minit he puts his knife into the fish
there was a murtherin' screech, that you'd think the life id lave you if
you heerd it, and away jumps the throut out av the fryin' pan into the
middle o' the flure; and an the spot where it fell up riz a lovely
lady--the beautifullest young crathur that eyes ever seen, dressed in
white, and a band o' goold in her hair, and a sthrame o' blood runnin'
down her arm.
"'Look where you cut me, you villian,' says she, and she held out her
arm to him--and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes.
"'Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you
snared me, and not disturb me in my duty?' says she.
"Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and at last he stammered
out somethin', and begged for his life, and ax'd her ladyship's pardin,
and said he didn't know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not
to know betther nor to meddle with her.
"'I _was_ on duty then,' says the lady; 'I was watchin' for my thrue
love that is comin' by wather to me,' says she; 'an' if he comes while I
am away, an' that I miss iv him, I'll turn you into a pinkeen, and I'll
hunt you up and down for evermore, while grass grows or wather runs.'
"Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him at the thoughts iv his
bein' turned into a pinkeen, and begged for marcy; and, with that, says
the lady:
"'Renounce your evil coorses,' says she, 'you villian, or you'll repint
it too late. Be a good man for the futhur, and go to your duty reg'lar.
And now,' says she, 'take me back and put me into the river agin, where
you found me.'
"'Oh, my lady,' says the sojer, 'how could I have the heart to drownd a
beautiful lady like you?'
"But before he could say another word the lady was vanished, and there
he saw the little throut an the ground. Well, he put it in a clane
plate, and away he run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come
while she was away; and he run, and he run, ever till he came to the
cave agin, and threw the throut into the river. The minit he did, the
wather was as red as blood until the sthrame washed the stain away; and
to this day there's a little red mark an the throut's side where it was
cut.
"Well, sir, from that day out the sojer was an althered man, and
reformed his ways, and wint to his duty reg'lar, and fasted three times
a week--though it was never fish he tuk an fastin' days; for afther the
fright he got fish id never rest an his stomach--savin' your presence.
But, anyhow, he was an althered man, as I said before; and in coorse o'
time he left the army, and turned hermit at last; and they say he _used
to pray evermore for the sowl of the White Throut_."
SAMUEL LOVER.
The Wonderful Cake
A mouse, a rat, and a little red hen once lived together in the same
cottage, and one day the little red hen said, "Let us bake a cake and
have a feast." "Let us," says the mouse, and "let us," says the rat.
"Who'll go and get the wheat ground?" says the hen. "I won't," says the
mouse; "I won't," says the rat. "I will myself," says the little red
hen.
"Who'll make the cake?" "I won't," says the mouse; "I will," says the
rat. "Indeed, you shall not," says the little red hen.
Well, while the hen was stretching her hand out for it--"Hey Presto!"
out rolled the cake from the cottage, and after it ran the mouse, the
rat, and the little red hen.
When it was running away it went by a barn full of threshers, and they
asked it where it was running. "Oh," says it, "I'm running away from the
mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from you, too, if I can." So
they rushed away after it with their flails, and it ran, and it ran till
it came to a ditch full of ditchers, and they asked it where it was
running.
"Oh, I am running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen,
and from a barn full of threshers, and from you, too, if I can."
Well, they all ran after it along with the rest, till it came to a well
full of washers, and they asked the same question, and it returned the
same answer, and after it they went.
At last it came to a ford where it met with a fox, and he asked where it
was running. "Oh, I'm running away from the mouse, the rat, and the
little red hen, from a barn full of threshers, a ditch full of ditchers,
a well full of washers, and from you, too, if I can."
"But you can't cross the ford," says the fox. "And can't you carry me
over?" says the cake. "What'll you give me?" says the fox. "A kiss at
Christmas and an egg at Easter," says the cake.
"Very well," says the fox--"up with you." So he sat on his haunches with
his nose in the air, and the cake got up by his tail till it sat on his
crupper.
"Now, over with you," says the cake. "You're not high enough," says the
fox. Then it scrambled up on his shoulder. "Up higher still," says he;
"you wouldn't be safe there." "Am I right now?" says he. "You'll be
safer on the ridge pole of my nose."
"Well," says the cake, "I think I can go no further." "Oh, yes," says
he, and he shot it up in the air, caught it in his mouth, and sent it
down the Red Lane. And that was the end of the cake.
The Legend of the Little Weaver of Duleek Gate
(_A Tale of Chivalry._)
You see, there was a waiver lived wanst upon a time in Duleek here, hard
by the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was by all accounts.
Well, it was one mornin' that his housekeeper called to him, and he
sitting very busy throwin' the shuttle; and says she, "Your brekquest is
ready!" "Lave me alone," says he; "I'm busy with a patthern here that is
brakin' my heart, and until I complate and masther it intirely I won't
quit."
"Oh, think o' the iligant stirabout that'll be spylte intirely."
"To the divil with the stirabout!" says he.
"God forgive you," says she, "for cursin' your good brekquest."
Well, he left the loom at last and wint over to the stirabout, and what
would you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow;
for, you see, it was in the hoighth o' summer, and the flies lit upon it
to that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.
"Why, thin, bad luck to your impidence," says the waiver; "would no
place sarve you but that? And is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you
dirty bastes?" And with that, bein' altogether cruked tempered at the
time, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o'
stirabout and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one
blow. It was three score and tin exactly, for he counted the carcasses
one by one, and laid them out on a clane plate for to view them.
Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him when he seen the slaughter
he done at one blow, and with that he got as consaited as the very
dickens, and not a sthroke more work he'd do that day, but out he wint,
and was fractious and impident to everyone he met, and was squarein' up
into their faces and sayin', "Look at that fist! That's the fist that
killed three score and tin at one blow. Whoo! It is throwin' away my
time I have been all my life," says he, "stuck to my loom, nothin' but a
poor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be,
which is two of the sivin champions o' Christendom. I'm detarmined on
it, and I'll set off immediately and be a knight arriant." Well, sure
enough, he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and he got an
owld kittle from one and a saucepan from another, and he took them to
the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like any knight
arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and _that_ he was very partic'lar
about, bekase it was his shield, and he wint to a friend o' his, a
painther and glaizier, and made him paint an his shield in big letthers:
"I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,
THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN
AT A BLOW."
"When the people sees that," says the waiver to himself, "the sorra one
will dar for to come near me."
And with that he towld the housekeeper to scour out the small iron pot
for him, "for," says he, "it will make an iligant helmet." And when it
was done he put it an his head, and says she, "Is it puttin' a great
heavy iron pot an your head you are by way iv a hat?"
"Sartinly," says he, "for a knight arriant should always have a woight
an his brain."
"But," says she, "there's a hole in it, and it can't keep out the
weather."
"It will be the cooler," says he, puttin' it an him; "besides, if I
don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like
o' that."
"The three legs of it looks mighty quare stickin' up," says she.
"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it," says the
waiver, "and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is."
"Well," says the housekeeper, getting bitther at last, "all I can say
is, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it."
"Your sarvint, ma'am," says he; and off he set.
Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by where
the miller's horse was grazin' that used to carry the ground corn round
the counthry.
"This is the idintical horse for me," says the waiver. "He is used to
carryin' flour and male; and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a
coat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the
laste."
But as he was ridin' him out o' the field, who should see him but the
miller. "Is it stalin' my horse you are, honest man?" says the miller.
"No," says the waiver; "I'm only goin' to axercise him," says he, "in
the cool o' the evenin'; it will be good for his health."
"Thank you kindly," says the miller, "but lave him where he is, and
you'll obleege me."
"I can't afford it," says the waiver, runnin' the horse at the ditch.
"Bad luck to your impidence," says the miller; "you've as much tin about
you as a thravellin' tinker, but you've more brass. Come back here, you
vagabone," says he.
But he was too late--away galloped the waiver, and took the road to
Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King
o' Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv its
own), and he thought maybe the King o' Dublin would give him work. Well,
he was four days goin' to Dublin, for the baste was not the best, and
the roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no turnpikes then,
glory be to God! Whin he got to Dublin he wint sthrait to the palace,
and whin he got into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about
the place, for the grass was growin' out betune the stones; everything
was flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out
of his dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but
the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate
undher the windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all around about
the place for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a
dacent, obleegin' man. Well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay
down an one o' the sates, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to
go asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had
the letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one
of the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him howldin' up the
skirt of his coat, according to rayson, and says he, "Look here," says
he, "what do you think of a vagabone like that comin' undher my very
nose to go sleep? It is thrue I'm a good King," says he, "and I
'commodate the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the
raycreation and contimplation of seein' me here lookin' out o' my
dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to
make a hotel o' the place and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?"
says the King.
"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty."
"I think he must be a furriner," says the King, "bekase his dhress is
outlandish."
"And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says the lord.
"I'll go down and circumspect him myself," says the King. "Folly me,"
says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most
dignacious manner.
Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over to
where the waiver was lying, sure, the first thing he seen was his shield
with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, "By
dad," says he, "this is the very man I want."
"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.
"To kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure," says the King.
"Sure, do you think he could kill him," says the lord, "whin all the
stoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back,
and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver."
"Sure, don't you see there," says the King, pointin' at the shield,
"that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done
that, I think, is a match for anything."
So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher
for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and
the King says to him, "God save you!" said he.
"God save you kindly!" says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite onknowst
who he was spakin' to.
"Do you know who I am," says the King, "that you make so free, good
man?"
"No, indeed," says the waiver; "you have the advantage o' me."
"To be sure I have," says the King, moighty high; "sure, ain't I the
King o' Dublin?" says he.
The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and says
he, "I beg God's pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your
holiness, I hope you'll excuse it."
"No offince," says the King; "get up, good man. And what brings you
here?" says he.
"I'm in want o' work, plaze your riverence," says the waiver.
"Well, suppose I give you work?" says the King.
"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord," says the waiver.
"Very well," says the King. "You killed three score and tin at one blow,
I understan'," says the King.
"Yis," says the waiver; "that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and
I'm afeared my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to
do at wanst."
"You shall have a job immediantly," says the King. "It is not three
score and tin, or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard
dhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid
aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," says the King.
"Throth, thin, plaze your worship," says the waiver, "you look as yellow
as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit."
"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed," says the King. "It will be no
throuble in life to you; and I'm only sorry that it isn't betther worth
your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that
he lives in the county Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an
advantage in that."
"Oh, I don't value it in the laste," says the waiver; "for the last
three score and tin I killed was in a soft place."
"When will you undhertake the job then?" says the King.
"Let me at him at wanst," says the waiver.
"That's what I like," says the King; "you're the very man for my money,"
says he.
"Talkin' of money," says the waiver, "by the same token, I'll want a
thrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges."
"As much as you plaze," says the King; and with the word he brought him
into his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest
burstin' wid goolden guineas.
"Take as many as you plaze," says the King; and sure enough, my dear,
the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld
with them.
"Now, I'm ready for the road," says the waiver.
"Very well," says the King; "but you must have a fresh horse," says he.
"With all my heart," says the waiver, who thought he might as well
exchange the miller's owld garron for a betther.