Chapter IV: Part 4

The next day Cathvah procured the king's consent to the knighting of Cuculain. Now on the same morning, one of his grooms came to Concobar MacNessa and said: 'O chief of the Red Branch, thou knowest how no horse has eaten barley, or ever occupied the stall where stood the divine steed which, with another of mortal breed, in the days of Kimbay MacFiontann, was accustomed to bear forth to the battle the great war-queen, Macha Monga-Rue; but ever since that stall has been empty, and no mortal steed hath profaned the stall in which the deathless Lia Macha was wont to stand. Yet, O Concobar, as I passed into the great stables on the east side of the courtyard, wherein are the steeds of thy own ambus, and in which is that spot since held sacred, I saw in the empty stall a mare, gray almost to whiteness, and of a size and beauty such as I have never seen, who turned to look upon me as I entered the stable, having very gentle eyes, but such as terrified me, so that I let fall the vessel in which I was bearing curds for the steed of Konaul Clareena; and she approached me, and laid her head upon my shoulder, making a strange noise.'

Now as the groom was thus speaking, Cowshra Mend Macha, a younger son of Concobar, came before the king, and said: 'Thou knowest, O my father, that house in which is preserved the chariot of Kimbay MacFiontann, wherein he and she, whose name I bear, the great queen that protects our nation, rode forth to the wars in the ancient days, and how it has been preserved ever since, and that it is under my care to keep bright and clean. Now this day at sunrise I approached the house, as is my custom, and approaching, I heard dire voices, clamorous and terrible, that came from within, and noises like the noise of battle, and shouts as of warriors in the agony of the conflict, that raise their voices with short intense cries as they ply their weapons, avoiding or inflicting death. Then I went back terrified, but there met me Minrowar, son of Gerkin, for he came but last night from Moharne, in the east, and he went to look at his own steeds; but together we opened the gate of the chariot-house, and the bronze of the chariot burned like glowing fire, and the voices cried out in acclaim, when we stood in the doorway, and the light streamed into the dark chamber. Doubtless, a great warrior will appear amongst the Red Branch, for men say that not for a hundred years have these voices been heard, and I know not for whom Macha sends these portents, if it be not for the son of Sualtam, though he is not yet of an age to bear arms.'

Thus was Concobar prepared for the knighting of Cuculain.

Then in the presence of his court, and his warriors, and the youths who were the comrades and companions of Cuculain, Concobar presented the young hero with his weapons of war, after he had taken the vows of the Red Branch, and having also bound himself by certain gaesa.[17] But Cuculain looked narrowly upon the weapons, and he struck the spears together and clashed the sword upon the shield, and he brake the spears in pieces, and the sword, and made chasms in the shield.

[Footnote 17: Curious vows taken by the ancient warriors. Hardly anything definite is known of them.--ED.]

'These are not good weapons, O my King,' said the boy.

Then the king presented him with others that were larger and stronger, and these too the boy brake into little pieces.

'These are still worse, O son of Nessa,' said the boy, 'and it is not seemly, O chief of the Red Branch, that on the day that I am to receive my arms I should be made a laughing-stock before the Clanna Rury, being yet but a boy.'

But Concobar MacNessa exulted exceedingly when he beheld the amazing strength and the waywardness of the boy, and beneath delicate brows his eyes glittered like gleaming swords as he glanced rapidly round on the crowd of martial men that surrounded him; but amongst them all he seemed himself a bright torch of valour and war, more pure and clear than polished steel. But he beckoned to one of his knights, who hastened away and returned, bringing Concobar's own shield and spears and the sword out of the Tayta Brac, where they were kept, an equipment in reserve. And Cuculain shook them and bent them, and clashed them together, but they held firm.

'These are good arms, O son of Nessa,' said Cuculain.

Then there were led forward a pair of noble steeds and a war-car, and the king conferred them on Cuculain. Then Cuculain sprang into the chariot, and standing with legs apart, he stamped from side to side, and shook and shook, and jolted the car until the axle brake and the car itself was broken in pieces.

'This is not a good chariot, O my King,' said the boy.

Then there were led forward three chariots, and all these he brake in succession.

'These are not good chariots, O chief of the Red Branch,' said Cuculain. 'No brave warrior would enter the battle or fight from such rotten foothold.'

Then the king called to his son Cowshra Mead Macha and bade him take Laeg, and harness to the war-chariot, of which he had the care, the wondrous gray steed, and that one which had been given him by Kelkar, the son of Uther, and to give Laeg a charioteering equipment, to be charioteers of Cuculain. For now it was apparent to all the nobles and to the king that a lion of war had appeared amongst them, and that it was for him Macha had sent these omens.

Then Cuculain's heart leaped in his breast when he heard the thunder of the great war-car and the mad whinnying of the horses that smelt the battle afar. Soon he beheld them with his eyes, and the charioteer with the golden fillet of his office, erect in the car, struggling to subdue their fury. A gray, long-maned steed, whale-bellied, broad-chested, behind one yoke; a black, ugly-maned steed behind the other.

Like a hawk swooping along the face of a cliff when the wind is high, or like the rush of the March wind over the plain, or like the fleetness of the stag roused from his lair by the hounds and covering his first field, was the rush of those steeds when they had broken through the restraint of the charioteer, as though they galloped over fiery flags, so that the earth shook and trembled with the velocity of their motion, and all the time the great car brayed and shrieked as the wheels of solid and glittering bronze went round, for there were demons that had their abode in that car.

The charioteer restrained the steeds before the assembly, but nay-the-less a deep pur, like the pur of a tiger, proceeded from the axle. Then the whole assembly lifted up their voices and shouted for Cuculain, and he himself, Cuculain the son of Sualtam, sprang into his chariot, all armed, with a cry as of a warrior springing into his chariot in the battle, and he stood erect and brandished his spears, and the war-sprites of the Gaeil shouted along with them, to the Bocanahs and Bananahs and the Genitii Glindi, the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air, roared around him, when first the great warrior of the Gaeil, his battle-arms in his hands, stood equipped for war in his chariot before all the warriors of his tribe, the kings of the Clanna Rury, and the people of Emain Macha.

THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE

BY SAMUEL LOVER

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. He had a wife, and av coorse they had childhre, and small blame to them, and plenty of them, so that the poor little waiver was obleeged to work his fingers to the bone a'most to get them the bit and the sup; but he didn't begridge that, for he was an industherous craythur, as I said before, and it was up airly and down late with him, and the loom never standin' still. Well, it was one mornin' that his wife called to him, and he sitting very busy throwin' the shuttle; and says she, 'Come here,' says she, 'jewel, and ate your brekquest, now that it's ready.' But he never minded her, but wint an workin'. So in a minit or two more, says she, callin' out to him agin, 'Arrah, lave off slavin' yourself, my darlin', and ate your bit o' brekquest while it is hot.'

'Lave me alone,' says he, and he dhruv the shuttle fasther nor before.

Well, in a little time more, she goes over to him where he sot, and says she, coaxin' him like, 'Thady, dear,' says she, 'the stirabout will be stone cowld if you don't give over that weary work and come and ate it at wanst.'

'I'm busy with a patthern here that is brakin' my heart,' says the waiver; 'and antil I complate it and masther it intirely I won't quit.'

'Oh, think o' the iligant stirabout, that 'ill be spylte intirely.'

'To the divil with the stirabout,' says he.

'God forgive you,' says she, 'for cursin' your good brekquest.'

'Ay, and you too,' says he.

'Throth, you're as cross as two sticks this blessed morning, Thady,' says the poor wife; 'and it's a heavy handful I have of you when you are cruked in your temper; but stay there if you like, and let your stirabout grow cowld, and not a one o' me 'ill ax you agin;' and with that off she wint, and the waiver, sure enough, was mighty crabbed, and the more the wife spoke to him the worse he got, which, you know, is only nath'ral. 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 slaughther 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 every one he met, and was squarin' up into their faces and sayin', 'Look at that fist! that's the fist that killed three score and tin at one blow--Whoo!'

With that all the neighbours thought he was crack'd, and faith, the poor wife herself thought the same when he kem home in the evenin', afther spendin' every rap he had in dhrink, and swaggerin' about the place, and lookin' at his hand every minit.

'Indeed, an' your hand is very dirty, sure enough, Thady jewel,' says the poor wife; and thrue for her, for he rowled into a ditch comin' home. 'You had betther wash it, darlin'.'

'How dar' you say dirty to the greatest hand in Ireland?' says he, going to bate her.

'Well, it's nat dirty,' says she.

'It is throwin' away my time I have been all my life,' says he; 'livin' with you at all, and stuck at a loom, nothin' but a poor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two of the siven champions o' Christendom.'

'Well, suppose they christened him twice as much,' says the wife; 'sure, what's that to uz?'

'Don't put in your prate,' says he; 'you ignorant sthrap,' says he. 'You're vulgar, woman--you're vulgar--mighty vulgar; but I'll have nothin' more to say to any dirty snakin' thrade again--divil a more waivin' I'll do.'

'Oh, Thady dear, and what'll the children do then?'

'Let them go play marvels,' says he.

'That would be but poor feedin' for them, Thady.'

'They shan't want for feedin',' says he; 'for it's a rich man I'll be soon, and a great man too.'

'Usha, but I'm glad to hear it, darlin',--though I dunna how it's to be, but I think you had betther go to bed, Thady.'

'Don't talk to me of any bed but the bed o' glory, woman,' says he, lookin' mortial grand.

'Oh! God send we'll all be in glory yet,' says the wife, crassin' herself; 'but go to sleep, Thady, for this present.'

'I'll sleep with the brave yit,' says he.

'Indeed, an' a brave sleep will do you a power o' good, my darlin','says she.

'And it's I that will be the knight!' says he.

'All night, if you plaze, Thady,' says she.

'None o' your coaxin','says he. 'I'm detarmined on it, and I'll set off immediantly, and be a knight arriant.'

'A what?' says she.

'A knight arriant, woman.'

'Lord, be good to me, what's that?' says she.

'A knight arriant is a rale gintleman,' says he; 'going round the world for sport, with a swoord by his side, takin' whatever he plazes for himself; and that's a knight arriant,' says he.

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 frind o' his, a painther and glazier, 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 wife 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 his wife said, 'Oh, murther, Thady jewel, is it puttin' a great heavy iron pot an your head you are, by way iv a hat?'

'Sartinly,' says he; 'for a knight arraint should always have _a woight an his brain_.'

'But, Thady dear,' says the wife, '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 wife, 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 _ax_ercise 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! When 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 round about the place for the accommodation o' the people--for the king was a dacent, obleeging 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, accordin' 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 a' 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, 'Bedad,' says he, 'this is the very man I want.'

'For what, plaze your majesty?' says the lord.

'To kill that vagabone dragghin, to be sure,' says the king.

'Sure, do you think he could kill him,' says the lord, 'when 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 an 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 afeard my hand 'll 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 yollow 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 am 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.

And maybe it's wondherin' you are that the waiver would think of goin' to fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him, when he was purtendin' to be asleep, but he had no sitch notion; all he intended was,--to fob the goold, and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and a good horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was, the king was cuter still; for these high quolity, you see, is great desaivers; and so the horse the waiver was put an was larned on purpose; and sure, the minit he was mounted, away powdhered the horse, and the divil a toe he'd go but right down to Galway. Well, for four days he was goin' evermore, until at last the waiver seen a crowd o' people runnin' as if owld Nick was at their heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers and cryin', 'The dhraggin, the dhraggin!' and he couldn't stop the horse nor make him turn back, but away he pelted right forninst the terrible baste that was comin' up to him, and there was the most _nefaarious_ smell o' sulphur, savin' your presence, enough to knock you down; and, faith the waiver seen he had no time to lose, and so he threw himself off the horse and made to a three that was growin' nigh hand, and away he clambered up into it as nimble as a cat; and not a minit had he to spare, for the dhraggin kem up in a powerful rage, and he devoured the horse body and bones, in less than no time; and then he began to sniffle and scent about for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye an him, where he was, up in the three, and says he, 'In throth, you might as well come down out o' that,' says he; 'for I'll have you as sure as eggs is mate.'

'Divil a fut I'll go down,' says the waiver.

'Sorra care, I care,' says the dhraggin; 'for you're as good as ready money in my pocket this minit, for I'll lie undher this three,' says he, 'and sooner or later you must fall to my share'; and sure enough he sot down, and began to pick his teeth with his tail, afther the heavy brekquest he made that mornin' (for he ate a whole village, let alone the horse), and he got dhrowsy at last, and fell asleep; but before he wint to sleep, he wound himself all round about the three, all as one as a lady windin' ribbon round her finger, so that the waiver could not escape.

Well, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep, by the snorin' of him--and every snore he let out of him was like a clap o' thunder--that minit the waiver began to creep down the three, as cautious as a fox; and he was very nigh hand the bottom, when, bad cess to it, a thievin' branch he was dipindin' an bruk, and down he fell right a-top o' the dhraggin; but if he did, good luck was an his side, for where should he fall but with his two legs right acrass the dhraggin's neck, and, my jew'l, he laid howlt o' the baste's ears, and there he kept his grip, for the dhraggin wakened and endayvoured for to bite him; but, you see, by rayson the waiver was behind his ears, he could not come at him, and, with that, he endayvoured for to shake him off; but the divil a stir could he stir the waiver; and though he shuk all the scales an his body, he could not turn the scale agin the waiver.

'By the hokey, this is too bad intirely,' says the dhraggin; 'but if you won't let go,' says he, 'by the powers o' wildfire, I'll give you a ride that 'ill astonish your siven small sinses, my boy'; and, with that, away he flew like mad; and where do you think he did fly?--bedad, he flew sthraight for Dublin, divil a less. But the waiver bein' an his neck was a great disthress to him, and he would rather have had him an _inside passenger_; but, anyway, he flew and he flew till he kem _slap_ up agin the palace o' the king; for, bein' blind with the rage, he never seen it, and he knocked his brains out--that is, the small thrifle he had--and down he fell spacheless. An' you see, good luck would have it, that the King o' Dublin was lookin' out iv' his dhrawin'-room windy, for divarshin, that day also, and whin he seen the waiver ridin' an the fiery dhraggin (for he was blazin' like a tar-barrel), he called out to his coortyers to come and see the show. 'By the powdhers o' war, here comes the knight arriant,' says the king, 'ridin' the dhraggin that's all afire, and if he gets _into the palace_, yiz must be ready wid the _fire ingines_,' says he, 'for to _put him out_.' But when they seen the dhraggin fall outside, they all run downstairs and scampered into the palace-yard for to circumspect the _curosity_; and by the time they got down, the waiver had got off o' the dhraggin's neck, and runnin' up to the king, says he, 'Plaze your holiness,' says he, 'I did not think myself worthy of killin' this facetious baste, so I brought him to yourself for to do him the honour of decripitation by your own royal five fingers. But I tamed him first, before I allowed him the liberty for to _dar'_ to appear in your royal prisince, and you'll oblige me if you'll just make your mark with your own hand upon the onruly baste's neck.' And with that the king, sure enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the head aff the _dirty_ brute as _clane_ as a new pin. Well, there was great rejoicin' in the coort that the dhraggin was killed; and says the king to the little waiver, says he, 'You are a knight arriant as it is, and so it would be of no use for to knight you over agin; but I will make you a lord,' says he.

'O Lord!' says the waiver, thunder-struck like at his own good luck.

'I will,' says the king; 'and as you are the first man I ever heer'd tell of that rode a dhraggin, you shall be called Lord _Mount_ Dhraggin,' says he.

'And where's my estates, plaze your holiness?' says the waiver, who always had a sharp look-out afther the main chance.

'Oh, I didn't forget that,' says the king; 'it is my royal pleasure to provide well for you, and for that rayson I make you a present of all the dhraggins in the world, and give you power over them from this out,' says he.

'Is that all?' says the waiver.

'All!' says the king. 'Why, you ongrateful little vagabone, was the like ever given to any man before?'

'I b'lieve not, indeed,' says the waiver; 'many thanks to your majesty.'

'But that is not all I'll do for you,' says the king; 'I'll give you my daughther too in marriage,' says he. Now, you see, that was nothin' more than what he promised the waiver in his first promise; for, by all accounts, the king's daughther was the greatest dhraggin ever was seen, and had the divil's own tongue, and a beard a yard long, which she _purtended_ was put an her by way of a penance by Father Mulcahy, her confissor; but it was well known it was in the family for ages, and no wondher it was so long, by rayson of that same.

APPENDIX

CLASSIFICATION OF IRISH FAIRIES

Irish Fairies divide themselves into two great classes: the sociable and the solitary. The first are in the main kindly, and the second full of all uncharitableness.

THE SOCIABLE FAIRIES

These creatures, who go about in troops, and quarrel, and make love, much as men and women do, are divided into land fairies or Sheoques (Ir. _Sidheog_, 'a little fairy,') and water fairies or Merrows (Ir. _Moruadh_, 'a sea maid'; the masculine is unknown). At the same time I am inclined to think that the term Sheoque may be applied to both upon occasion, for I have heard of a whole village turning out to hear two red-capped water fairies, who were very 'little fairies' indeed, play upon the bagpipes.

1. _The Sheoques._--The Sheoques proper, however, are the spirits that haunt the sacred thorn bushes and the green raths. All over Ireland are little fields circled by ditches, and supposed to be ancient fortifications and sheep-folds. These are the raths, or forts, or 'royalties,' as they are variously called. Here, marrying and giving in marriage, live the land fairies. Many a mortal they are said to have enticed down into their dim world. Many more have listened to their fairy music, till all human cares and joys drifted from their hearts and they became great peasant seers or 'Fairy Doctors,' or great peasant musicians or poets like Carolan, who gathered his tunes while sleeping on a fairy rath; or else they died in a year and a day, to live ever after among the fairies. These Sheoques are on the whole good; but one most malicious habit have they--a habit worthy of a witch. They steal children and leave a withered fairy, a thousand or maybe two thousand years old, instead. Three or four years ago a man wrote to one of the Irish papers, telling of a case in his own village, and how the parish priest made the fairies deliver the stolen child up again. At times full-grown men and women have been taken. Near the village of Coloney, Sligo, I have been told, lives an old woman who was taken in her youth. When she came home at the end of seven years she had no toes, for she had danced them off. Now and then one hears of some real injury being done a person by the land fairies, but then it is nearly always deserved. They are said to have killed two people in the last six months in the County Down district where I am now staying. But then these persons had torn up thorn bushes belonging to the Sheoques.

2. _The Merrows._--These water fairies are said to be common. I asked a peasant woman once whether the fishermen of her village had ever seen one. 'Indeed, they don't like to see them at all,' she answered, 'for they always bring bad weather.' Sometimes the Merrows come out of the sea in the shape of little hornless cows. When in their own shape, they have fishes' tails and wear a red cap called in Irish _cohuleen driuth_ (p. 79). The men among them have, according to Croker, green teeth, green hair, pigs' eyes, and red noses; but their women are beautiful, and sometimes prefer handsome fishermen to their green-haired lovers. Near Bantry, in the last century, lived a woman covered with scales like a fish, who was descended, as the story goes, from such a marriage. I have myself never heard tell of this grotesque appearance of the male Merrows, and think it probably a merely local Munster tradition.

THE SOLITARY FAIRIES

These are nearly all gloomy and terrible in some way. There are, however, some among them who have light hearts and brave attire.

1. _The Lepricaun_ (Ir. _Leith bhrogan_, _i.e._ the one shoe maker).--This creature is seen sitting under a hedge mending a shoe, and one who catches him can make him deliver up his crocks of gold, for he is a miser of great wealth; but if you take your eyes off him the creature vanishes like smoke. He is said to be the child of an evil spirit and a debased fairy, and wears, according to McAnally, a red coat with seven buttons in each row, and a cocked-hat, on the point of which he sometimes spins like a top. In Donegal he goes clad in a great frieze coat.

2. _The Cluricaun_ (Ir. _Clobhair-cean_ in O'Kearney).--Some writers consider this to be another name for the Lepricaun, given him when he has laid aside his shoe-making at night and goes on the spree. The Cluricauns' occupations are robbing wine-cellars and riding sheep and shepherds' dogs for a livelong night, until the morning finds them panting and mud-covered.

3. _The Gonconer or Ganconagh_ (Ir. _Gean-canogh_, _i.e._ love-talker).--This is a creature of the Lepricaun type, but, unlike him, is a great idler. He appears in lonely valleys, always with a pipe in his mouth, and spends his time in making love to shepherdesses and milkmaids.

4. _The Far Darrig_ (Ir. _Fear Dearg_, _i.e._ red man).--This is the practical joker of the other world. The wild Sligo story I give of 'A Fairy Enchantment' was probably his work. Of these solitary and mainly evil fairies there is no more lubberly wretch than this same Far Darrig. Like the next phantom, he presides over evil dreams.

5. _The Pooka_ (Ir. _Puca_, a word derived by some from _poc_, a he-goat).--The Pooka seems of the family of the nightmare. He has most likely never appeared in human form, the one or two recorded instances being probably mistakes, he being mixed up with the Far Darrig. His shape is usually that of a horse, a bull, a goat, eagle, or ass. His delight is to get a rider, whom he rushes with through ditches and rivers and over mountains, and shakes off in the gray of the morning. Especially does he love to plague a drunkard: a drunkard's sleep is his kingdom. At times he takes more unexpected forms than those of beast or bird. The one that haunts the Dun of Coch-na-Phuca in Kilkenny takes the form of a fleece of wool, and at night rolls out into the surrounding fields, making a buzzing noise that so terrifies the cattle that unbroken colts will run to the nearest man and lay their heads upon his shoulder for protection.

6. _The Dullahan._--This is a most gruesome thing. He has no head, or carries it under his arm. Often he is seen driving a black coach called coach-a-bower (Ir. _Coite-bodhar_), drawn by headless horses. It rumbles to your door, and if you open it a basin of blood is thrown in your face. It is an omen of death to the houses where it pauses. Such a coach not very long ago went through Sligo in the gray of the morning, as was told me by a sailor who believed he saw it. In one village I know its rumbling is said to be heard many times in the year.

7. _The Leanhaun Shee_ (Ir. _Leanhaun sidhe_, _i.e._ fairy mistress).--This spirit seeks the love of men. If they refuse, she is their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding one to take their place. Her lovers waste away, for she lives on their life. Most of the Gaelic poets, down to quite recent times, have had a Leanhaun Shee, for she gives inspiration to her slaves and is indeed the Gaelic muse--this malignant fairy. Her lovers, the Gaelic poets, died young. She grew restless, and carried them away to other worlds, for death does not destroy her power.

8. _The Far Gorta_ (man of hunger).--This is an emaciated fairy that goes through the land in famine time, begging and bringing good luck to the giver.

9. _The Banshee_ (Ir. _Bean-sidhe_, _i.e._ fairy woman).--This fairy, like the Fear Gorta, differs from the general run of solitary fairies by its generally good disposition. She is perhaps not really one of them at all, but a sociable fairy grown solitary through much sorrow. The name corresponds to the less common Far Shee (Ir. _Fear Sidhe_), a man fairy. She wails, as most people know, over the death of a member of some old Irish family. Sometimes she is an enemy of the house and screams with triumph, but more often a friend. When more than one Banshee comes to cry, the man or woman who is dying must have been very holy or very brave. Occasionally she is most undoubtedly one of the sociable fairies. Cleena, once an Irish princess and then a Munster goddess, and now a Sheoque, is thus mentioned by the greatest of Irish antiquarians.

O'Donovan, writing in 1849 to a friend, who quotes his words in the _Dublin University Magazine_, says: 'When my grandfather died in Leinster in 1798, Cleena came all the way from Ton Cleena to lament him; but she has not been heard ever since lamenting any of our race, though I believe she still weeps in the mountains of Drumaleaque in her own country, where so many of the race of Eoghan More are dying of starvation.' The Banshee on the other hand who cries with triumph is often believed to be no fairy but a ghost of one wronged by an ancestor of the dying. Some say wrongly that she never goes beyond the seas, but dwells always in her own country. Upon the other hand, a distinguished writer on anthropology assures me that he has heard her on 1st December 1867, in Pital, near Libertad, Central America, as he rode through a deep forest. She was dressed in pale yellow, and raised a cry like the cry of a bat. She came to announce the death of his father. This is her cry, written down by him with the help of a Frenchman and a violin.

He saw and heard her again on 5th February 1871, at 16 Devonshire Street, Queen's Square, London. She came this time to announce the death of his eldest child; and in 1884 he again saw and heard her at 28 East Street, Queen's Square, the death of his mother being the cause.

The Banshee is called _badh_ or _bowa_ in East Munster, and is named _Bachuntha_ by Banim in one of his novels.

_Other Fairies and Spirits._--Besides the foregoing, we have other solitary fairies, of which too little definite is known to give them each a separate mention. They are the House Spirits, of whom 'Teigue of the Lee' is probably an instance; the Water Sherie, a kind of will-o'-the-wisp; the Sowlth, a formless luminous creature; the Pastha (_Piast-bestia_), the lake dragon, a guardian of hidden treasure; and the Bo men fairies, who live in the marshes of County Down and destroy the unwary. They may be driven away by a blow from a particular kind of sea-weed. I suspect them of being Scotch fairies imported by Scotch settlers. Then there is the great tribe of ghosts called Thivishes in some parts.

These are all the fairies and spirits I have come across in Irish folklore. There are probably many others undiscovered.

W. B. YEATS.

CO. DOWN, _June 1891_.

AUTHORITIES ON IRISH FOLKLORE

Croker's _Legends of the South of Ireland_; Lady Wilde's _Ancient Legends of Ireland_, and _Ancient Charms_; Sir William Wilde's _Irish Popular Superstitions_; McAnally's _Irish Wonders_; _Irish Folklore_, by Lageniensis (Father O'Hanlan); Curtins's _Myths and Folklore of Ireland_; Douglas Hyde's _Beside the Fire_ and his _Leabhar Sgeulaigheachta_; Patrick Kennedy's _Legendary Fictions of the Irish Peasantry_, his _Banks of the Boro_, his _Evenings on the Duffrey_, and his _Legends of Mount Leinster_; the chap-books, _Royal Fairy Tales_, and _Tales of the Fairies_. There is also much folklore in Carleton's _Traits and Stories_; in Lover's _Legends and Stories of the Irish Peasantry_; in Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall's _Ireland_; in Lady Chatterton's _Rambles in the South of Ireland_; in Gerald Griffen's _Tales of a Jury Room_ in particular, and in his other books in general. It would repay the trouble if some Irish magazine would select from his works the stray legends and scraps of fairy belief. There is much in the _Collegians_. There is also folklore in the chap-book _Hibernian Tales_, and a Banshee story or two will be found in Miss Lefanu's _Memoirs of my Grandmother_, and in Barrington's _Recollections_. There are also stories in Donovan's introduction to the _Four Masters_. The best articles are those in the _Dublin and London Magazine_ ("The Fairy Greyhound" is from this collection) for 1827 and 1829, about a dozen in all, and David Fitzgerald's various contributions to the _Review Celtique_ in our own day, and Miss M'Clintock's articles in the _Dublin University Magazine_ for 1878. There are good articles also in the _Dublin University Magazine_ for 1839, and much Irish folklore is within the pages of the _Folklore Journal_ and the _Folklore Record_, and in the proceedings of the _Kilkenny Archaeological Society_. The _Penny Journal_, the _Newry Magazine_, _Duffy's Sixpenny Magazine_, and the _Hibernian Magazine_, are also worth a search by any Irish writer on the look-out for subjects for song or ballad. My own articles in the _Scots Observer_ and _National Observer_ give many gatherings from the little-reaped Connaught fields. I repeat this list of authorities from my _Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry_,--a compilation from some of the sources mentioned,--bringing it down to date and making one or two corrections. The reader who would know Irish tradition should read these books above all others--Lady Wilde's _Ancient Legends_, Douglas Hyde's _Beside the Fire_, and a book not mentioned in the foregoing list, for it deals with the bardic rather than the folk literature, Standish O'Grady's _History of Ireland, Heroic Period_--perhaps the most imaginative book written on any Irish subject in recent decades.

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