Chapter VI (3)

'They were in heaven once,' Mary Glyn says 'and heaven is the first place there was war; and they were all to be done away with; and it was St. Peter asked the Saviour to help them, when he saw Him going to empty the heavens. So He turned His hand like this; and the earth and the sky and the sea were full of them, and they are in every place, and you know that better than I do, because you read books. Resting they do be in the daytime, and going about at night. And their music is the finest you ever heard, like all the fifers, and all the instruments, and all the tunes of the world. I heard it sometimes myself, and there is no music in the world like it; but not all can hear it. Round the hill it comes, and you going in at the door. And they are quiet neighbours if you treat them well. God bless them, and bring them all to heaven.'

And then, having mentioned Monday (a spell against unseen listeners), and said, 'God bless the hearers, and the place it is told in'--and her niece, Mary Irwin, having said, 'God bless all we see, and those we don't see,' they tell--first one speaking and then the other--that: 'One night there were _banabhs_ in the house; and there was a man coming to dig the potato-garden in the morning--and so late at night, Mary Glyn was making stirabout, and a cake to have ready for the breakfast of the _banabhs_ and the man; and Mary's brother Micky was asleep within on the bed. And there came the sound of the grandest music you ever heard from beyond the stream, and it stopped there. And Micky awoke in the bed, and was afraid, and said: "Shut up the door and quench the light," and so we did.' 'It's likely,' Mary says, 'they wanted to come into the house, and they wouldn't when they saw me up and the lights about.' But one time when there were potatoes in the loft, Mary and her brothers were pelted with the potatoes when they sat down to supper. And Mary Irwin got a blow on the side of the face, from one of them, one night in the bed. 'And they have the hope of heaven, and God grant it to them.' 'And one day, there was a priest and his servant riding along the road, and there was a hurling of them going on in the field. And a man of them came out and stood in the road, and said to the priest: "Tell me this, for you know it, have we a chance of heaven?" "You have not," said the priest. ("God forgive him," says Mary Irwin, "a priest to say that!") And the man that was of them said: "Put your fingers in your ears, till you have travelled two miles of the road; for when I go back and tell what you are after telling me to the rest, the crying and the bawling and the roaring will be so great that, if you hear it, you'll never hear a noise again in this world." So they put their fingers then in their ears; but after a while the servant said to the priest: "Let me take out my fingers now." And the priest said: "Do not." And then the servant said again: "I think I might take one finger out." And the priest said: "Since you are so persevering, you may take it out." So he did, and the noise of the crying and the roaring and the bawling was so great, that he never had the use of that ear again.'

Old Mr. Saggarton confirms the story of the fall of the angels and their presence about us, but goes deeper into theology. 'The soul,' he says, 'was the breath of God, breathed into Adam, and it is the possession of God ever since. And I could never have believed there was so much power in the shadow of a soul, till I saw _them_ one night hurling. They tempt us sometimes in dreams--may God forgive me for saying He would allow power to any to tempt to evil. And they would destroy the world but for the hope they have of being saved. Every Monday morning they think the day of judgment may be coming, and that they will see heaven.

'Half the world is with them. And when you see a blast of wind, and it comes sudden and carries the dust with it, you should say, "God bless them," and throw something after them. For how do you know but one of our own may be in it?

'There never was a funeral they were not at, walking after the other people. And you can see them if you know the way--that is, to take a green rush and to twist it into a ring, and to look through it. But if you do, you'll never have a stim of sight in the eye again.'

HERB-HEALING

_September 28th, 1899._

'HONOURABLE LADY GREGORY,

'I, Bridget Ruane, wish to inform you that there is in the Oratory
in London one of the Fathers, a Saint. I do not know his name; but
there was a young woman of the name of Meara; she got two falls and
could get no cure. She went to London and found this holy man; and
he sent her back to Gort, here to me, and I cured her. If your
honourable Ladyship could make him out, it would be a wonderful
thing, and a great happiness to many a weary heart, and the great
God would have it in store for you and your son. May you enjoy many
happy days together is the prayer of your humble servant,

'BRIDGET RUANE.'

This letter was brought to me one morning; and I went down to see the writer, a respectable-looking old woman, dressed in the red petticoat and blue cloak of the country-people. She repeated what she had said in her note, and added: 'Now if you could find out the name of that Saint through the press, he'd tell me his remedies; and between us, all the world would be cured. For I can't do all cures, though there are a great many I can do. I cured Michael Miscail when the doctor couldn't do it, and a woman in Gort that was paralyzed, and her two sons that were stretched. For I can bring back the dead with some of the herbs our Lord was brought back with, the _Garblus_ and the _Slanlus_. But there are some things I can't do. I can't help anyone that has got a stroke from the Queen or the Fool of the Forth.

'It was my brother got the knowledge of cures from a book that was thrown down before him on the road. What language was it written in? What language would it be but Irish? May be it was God gave it to him, and may be it was the _other people_. He was a fine strong man; and he weighed fifteen stone; and he went to England, and there he cured all the world, so that the doctors had no way of living. So one time he got in a ship to go to America; and the doctors had bad men engaged to shipwreck him out of the ship; he wasn't drowned, but he was broken to pieces on the rocks, and the book was lost along with him. But he taught me a good deal out of it. So I know all herbs, and I do a good many cures; and I have brought a good many children home to the world, and never lost one, or one of the women that bore them.'

I asked her to teach me some of her fragments of Druids' wisdom, the healing power of herbs. So she came another day, and brought some herbs, and sorted them out on a table, and said: 'This is _Dwareen_ (knapweed); and what you have to do with this, is to put it down with other herbs, and with a bit of threepenny sugar, and to boil it, and to drink it, for pains in the bones; and don't be afraid but it will cure you. Sure the Lord put it in the world for curing.

'And this is _Corn-corn_ [tansy]; it s very good for the heart--boiled like the others.

'This is _Athair-talav_, the father of all herbs (wild camomile). This is very hard to pull; and when you go for it, you must have a black-handled knife. And whatever way the wind is when you begin to cut it, if it changes while you're cutting it, you'll lose your mind. And if you are paid for cutting it, you can do it when you like; but if not, _they_ mightn't like it. I knew a woman was cutting at one time, and a voice, an enchanted voice, called out: "Don't cut that if you are not paid, or you'll be sorry." But if you put a bit of this with every other herb you drink, you'll live for ever. My grandmother used to put a bit with everything she took, and she lived to be over a hundred.

'And this is _Camal buidhe_ (loose-strife), that will keep all bad things away.

'This is _Cuineal Muire_ (mullein), the blessed candle of our Lady.

'This is the _Fearaban_ (water-buttercup); and it's good for every bone of your body.

'This is _Dub-cosac_ (trichomanes), that's good for the heart; very good for a sore heart.

'Here are the _Slanlus_ (plantain) and the _Garblus_ (dandelion); and these would cure the wide world; and it was these brought our Lord from the Cross, after the ruffians that were with the Jews did all the harm to Him. And not one could be got to pierce His heart till a dark man came; and he said: "Give me the spear and I'll do it." And the blood that sprang out touched his eyes and they got their sight. And it was after that, His Mother and Mary and Joseph gathered these herbs and cured His wounds.

'These are the best of the herbs; but they are all good, and there isn't one among them but would cure seven diseases. I'm all the days of my life gathering them, and I know them all; but it isn't easy to make them out. Sunday afternoon is the best time to get them, and I was never interfered with. Seven Hail Marys I say when I'm gathering them; and I pray to our Lord, and to St. Joseph and St. Colman. And there may be _some_ watching me; but they never meddled with me at all.'

A neighbour whom I asked about Bridget Ruane and her brother said:--'Some people call her "Biddy Early" (after a famous witch-doctor). She has done a good many cures. Her brother was _away_ for a while, and it is from him she got her knowledge. I believe it's before sunrise she gathers the herbs; any way no one ever saw her gathering them. She has saved many a woman from being brought away when her child was born by whatever she does; and she told me herself that one night when she was going to the lodge gate to attend the woman there, three magpies came before her and began roaring into her mouth to try and drive her back.

Another neighbour, who has herself some reputation as an herb-doctor, says:--'Monday is a good day for pulling herbs, or Tuesday--not Sunday: a Sunday cure is no cure. The _Cosac_ is good for the heart. There was Mahon in Gort--one time his heart was wore to a silk thread, and it cured him. And the _Slanugad_ (ribgrass) is very good: it will take away lumps. You must go down where it is growing on the scraws, and pull it with three pulls; and mind would the wind change when you are pulling it, or your head will be gone. Warm it on the tongs when you bring it in, and put it on the lump. The _Lus-mor_ is the only one that's good to bring back children that are "_away_."'

Another authority says:--'Dandelion is good for the heart; and when Father Quinn was curate here, he had it rooted up in all the fields about to drink it; and see what a fine man he is. The wild parsnip (_Meacan-buidhe_) is good for the gravel; and for heart-beat there's nothing so good as dandelion. There was a woman I knew used to boil it down; and she'd throw out what was left on the grass. And there was a fleet of turkeys about the house, and they used to be picking it up. At Christmas they killed one of them; and when it was cut open, they found a new heart growing in it with the dint of the dandelion.'

But an old man says there are no such healers now as there were in his youth:--'The best herb-doctor I ever knew was Connolly up at Kilbecanty. He knew every herb that grew in the earth. It is said he was away with the fairies one time; and when I saw him he had the two thumbs turned in; and it was said it was the sign they left on him. I had a lump on the thigh one time, and my father went to him, and he gave him an herb for it; but he told him not to come into the house by the door the wind would be blowing in at. They thought it was the evil I had--that is given by _them_ by a touch; and that is why he said about the wind; for if it was the evil there would be a worm in it, and if it smelled the herb that was brought in at the door, it might change to another place. I don't know what the herb was; but I would have been dead if I had it on another hour--it burned so much--and I had to get the lump lanced after, for it wasn't the evil I had.

'Connolly cured many a one; Jack Hall, that fell into a pot of water they were after boiling potatoes in, and had the skin scalded off him, and that Dr. Lynch could do nothing for, he cured. He boiled down herbs with a bit of lard, and after that was rubbed in three times, he was well.

'And Cahill that was deaf, he cured with the _Riv mar seala_, that herb in the potatoes that milk comes out of.'

Farrell says:--'The _Bainne bo blathan_ (primrose) is good for the headache, if you put the leaves of it on your head. But as for the _Lus-mor_, it's best not to have anything to do with that.' For the _Lus-mor_ is good to bring back children that are 'away,' and belongs to the class of herbs consecrated to the uses of magic, apart from any natural healing power. The Druids are said to have taken their knowledge of these properties from the magical teachers of the Chaldeans; but anyhow the belief in them lives on in Ireland and in other Celtic countries to this day.

A man from East Galway says: 'To bring anyone back from being with the fairies, you should get the leaves of the _Lus-mor_, and give them to him to drink. And if he only got a little touch from them, and had some complaint in him at the same time, that makes him sick like, that will bring him back. But if he is altogether in the fairies, then it won't bring him back, for he'll know what it is, and he'll refuse to drink it.

'There was a man I know, Andy Hegarty, had a little chap--a little _summach_ of four years--and one day Andy was away to sell a pig in the market at Mount Bellew, and the mother was away some place with the dinner for the men in the field; and the little chap was in the house with the grandmother, and he sitting by the fire. And he said to the grandmother: "Put down a skillet of potatoes for me, and an egg." And she said: "I will not; for what do you want with them? you're just after eating." And he said: "Take care but I'll throw you over the roof of that house." And then he said: "Andy"--that was his father--"is after selling the pig to a jobber, and the jobber has given it back to him again; and he'll be at no loss by that, for he'll get a half-a-crown more at the end." So when the grandmother heard that, she wouldn't stop in the house with him, but ran out--and he only four years old. When the mother came back, and was told about it, she went out and got some of the leaves of the _Lus-mor_, and she brought them in and put them on the child; and he went away, and their own child came back again. They didn't see him going, or the other coming; but they knew it by him.'

And a Galway woman, who has been in England says: 'I was delicate one time myself, and I lost my walk; and one of the neighbours told my mother it wasn't myself that was there. But my mother said she'd soon find that out; for she'd tell me she was going to get a herb that would cure me; and if it was myself, I'd want it; but if it was another, I'd be against it. So she came in and said she to me: "I'm going to Dangan to look for the _Lus-mor_, that will soon cure you." And from that day I gave her no peace till she'd go to Dangan and get it; so she knew I was all right. She told me all this afterwards.'

The man from East Galway says: 'The herbs they cure with, there's some that's natural, and you could pick them at all times of the day.'

'Sea-grass' is sometimes useful as a natural and sometimes as an occult cure. One who has tried it and other herbs, says: 'Indeed the porter did me good, and good that I'd hardly like to tell you, not to make a scandal. Did I drink too much of it? Not at all. But this long time I am feeling a worm in my side that is as big as an eel, and there's more of them in it than that. And I was told to put seagrass to it; and I put it to the side the other day; and whether it was that or the porter I don't know, but there's some of them gone out of it.

'_Garblus_--how did you hear of that? That is the herb for things that have to do with the fairies. And when you drink it for anything of that sort, if it doesn't cure you, it will kill you then and there. There was a fine young man I used to know, and he got his death on the head of a pig that came at himself and another man at the gate of Ramore, and that never left them, but was with them all the time, till they came to a stream of water. And when he got home, he took to his bed with a headache. And at last he was brought a drink of the _Garblus_, and no sooner did he drink it than he was dead. I remember him well.

'There is something in flax, for no priest would anoint you without a bit of tow. And if a woman that was carrying was to put a basket of green flax on her back, the child would go from her; and if a mare that was in foal had a load of flax on her, the foal would go the same way.'

And a neighbour of hers confirms this, and says: 'There's something in green flax, I know; for my mother often told me about one night she was spinning flax before she was married, and she was up late. And a man of the fairies came in--she had no right to be sitting up so late: they don't like that--and he told her it was time to go to bed; for he wanted to kill her, and he couldn't touch her while she was handling the flax. And every time he'd tell her to go to bed, she'd give him some answer, and she'd go on pulling a thread of the flax, or mending a broken one; for she was wise, and she knew that at the crowing of the cock he'd have to go. So at last the cock crowed, and she was safe, for the cock is blessed.'

* * * * *

Old Bridget Ruane will not do any more cures by charms or by simples, or 'bring children home to the world' any more. For she died last winter; and we may be sure that among the green herbs that cover her grave, there are some that are 'good for every bone in the body,' and that are 'very good for a sore heart.'

1900.

THE WANDERING TRIBE

When poor Paul Ruttledge made his great effort to escape from the doorsteps of law and order--from the world, the flesh, and the newspaper--and fell among tinkers, I looked with more interest than before at the little camps that one sees every now and then by the roadside for a few days or weeks. And I wondered why our country people--who are so kind to one another, and to tramps and beggars, that they seem to live by the rule of an old woman in a Galway sweet-shop: 'Refuse not any, for one may be the Christ'--speak of a visit of the tinkers as of frost in spring or blight in harvest. I asked why they were shunned as other wayfarers are not, and I was told of their strange customs and of their unbelief.

'They come mostly from the County Mayo,' I am told; 'and, indeed, they have not much religion; but last year Father Prendergast offered to marry a man and woman of them for nothing. But after he had them married, they made him give them a shilling for a lodging.

'The people wouldn't like to let them into their house; for if you would let one man in, maybe twelve families would follow them and take possession of the whole place.

'Some of them that do smiths' work are middling decent. They will sit there with their little pot and melt metal in it, and make things that belong to a plough; but the most of them have no trade but to be going to fairs and doing tricks, and having a table for getting money out of you with games. Indeed the most of them are no better than pickpockets--"newks" they are called. And they never go to Mass; and, as to marriage, some used to say they lepped the budget, but it's more likely they have no marriage at all.

'They never go in lodgings; but they'll tilt up the cart, and put a bit of guano cloth over it and a little kennel of straw in it. Or if a man is alone, he'll lay down on the sheltery side of a wall and sleep there. They are hardy with all the hardships they go through; they are the hardiest people in the world.

'And they make sport and fun sometimes. I used to see them dancing at Rathin gate; but no one would dance along with them; it is only among themselves they would have it. And they sing songs too--"The sweet boy of Milltown" I heard them singing.

'There was a sweep in Gort joined them. Charlie his name was. He went into Greely's shop one time, that had set up a little public-house, and bid him give him five pounds and he'd make his fortune. And he was afraid to refuse; and gave it to him, and off walked Charlie, and was never seen there again.

'He died after that in hospital. He slept out one night and the frost went through his body. There was another of them stole two of old Quin's geese at Ballylee one night, and sold them to him again next day. After he had them bought, Mrs. Quin came down and when she looked at them she knew them to be her own geese. "Give me back the money," she said. "I'd be a fool if I did," said he, and he went away.'

Another neighbour says: 'They often made their camp in the boreen near my house; but one of them never came into the house, and I never saw one of them at Mass. One very hard morning I passed by them as I was bringing in pigs to the fair of Gort. There they were, sleeping under an ass-cart, quite happy and satisfied. They fight at night and make friends again in the daytime; and they sell their wives to one another; I've seen that myself.'

And an old man says: 'I think the tinkers are not the same as the rest of us; I think they originated in themselves. They are very mirthful, and they have no control; but sometimes there will be a tyrant among them that is a good fighter, and they will obey him.

'They have no religion; and it might be true they don't believe in the devil--but what of that? Aren't there many on your side and our own that think there is no resurrection, but that we go straight to heaven at the minute of death?

'They never go into any house; and there's a great many of them wouldn't go in a house if they were asked. My father went one time from Ballylee to Limerick; and there was a tinker at that time the Government wanted to get information from; something about Bonaparte it was. And they offered him a good lodging with a feather-bed in it to sleep on; and he said if he slept one night on a feather-bed, he'd never be any good after; that it was more wholesome to sleep outside on a bed of rushes. They didn't get any information out of him after; though they offered him good reward, he wouldn't give it to them.

'They have no marriage at all; but their women might be ten times better than the rural women for all that, and true to their men. The women are very smart at cooking. You'll see them make a fire by the roadside with a bundle of straw and a bit of wood, and they'll put the pot down. What goes into the pot? Well, how would I know? but the men are very handy, and when they put their hand in the pot, believe me it doesn't go in empty.

'They used to be prone to coining at one time; but the law of transportation stopped that. And there's few of the police would like to grabble with them. I saw four of the police trying to take one the other day, and he bet them all; and it was a countryman got a hold of him in the end.'

And a woman whose house they have often made their camp near, says: 'They are bad, and we don't like them to be coming near us. There was a little lad of them came running to the door one night, and he called to us to come; for there was a man killing his mother. But we drove him away and didn't go; for we knew her to be a bad woman.' And another woman says: 'If they have a religion, it's a wandering one; wandering like themselves.'

And a farmer living by the roadside says: 'A bad class they are, indeed, sleeping out under a little bit of cloth, and hardy for all that. Wild beasts they are, stealing turf from the banks.'

But an old man from Slieve Echtge takes a more kindly view of them. 'There are very nice men among them,' he says; 'and they are as hardy as goats or as Connemara sheep. They go about to fairs and deal in asses and in horses, and sometimes they are rich. There was one I knew, a sieve-maker--they are of the same class--and that married a tinker's daughter; they were in here two or three times. I told him I wondered they wouldn't settle down in one place; for if I knew the way to make money, I said, I'd make plenty--for they are said to coin money. But he said it made no difference if they had money; they couldn't stop in one place; they must be walking always and going through the whole country.'

And then we got to the reason of their wandering.

'It was a tinker put St. Patrick astray one time. For he was a slave in Ireland after he was brought out of France, and it would take a hundred pounds to buy his freedom. And he found a lump of gold or of silver in a field one day, where he was minding sheep; and he brought it to a tinker and asked the value of it. "It's nothing at all but a bit of solder," says the tinker. "Give it here to me." But St. Patrick brought it to a smith then, and he told him the value of it. And then St. Patrick put a curse on the tinkers that they might be for ever with every man's face against them, and their face against every man; and that they should get no rest for ever but to travel the world.

'And there are some say that when our Lord was on the cross there could be no tradesman found to drive the nails in His hands and His feet till a tinker was brought, and he did it; and that is why they have to walk the world; and I never met anyone that had seen a tinker's funeral.

'But they may believe some things. For there was a woman of them told me one time they were camping near the railway bridge that in the night-time she saw the whole wall beside her falling down and shattered; but in the morning it was standing as it did before. "And we'll get out of this place as fast as we can," she said.'

'They are a class of themselves,' says another man, 'and they have been there ever since the world began. I often heard it said that our Lord asked a tinker one time to make Him some vessel He wanted, and he refused Him. He went then to a smith, and he did what was wanted. And from that time the tinkers have been wandering on the roads; but they wouldn't have refused Him if they had known He was God. I never saw them at Mass; but I am sure they believe in God. It was here in Ireland they refused our Lord, the time He walked the whole world after the Crucifixion.'

'To be sure they are under a curse,' said another, 'like the Jews, to be wandering always; and they have some religion of their own, but it's a bad one. It's likely St. Patrick put the curse on them; for a fleet of children of tinkers went after him one time, mocking at him, and he turned one of them into a pillar of stone.'

And that is their story as I have heard it so far.

WORKHOUSE DREAMS

Last June I had a few free days, and I chose to spend them among the imaginative class, the holders of the traditions of Ireland, country people in thatched houses, workers in fields and bogs.

I was looking for legends of those shadow-heroes, Finn and his men, to help me in writing their story; and I heard many tales and long poems about fair-haired Finn, who 'had all the wisdom of a little child'; and Conan of the sharp tongue, who was 'some way cross in himself,' and who had a briar on his shield; and their adventures beyond sea, and their hunting after deer that were 'as joyful as the leaves of a tree in summer time.' But some of the people repeated verses by Raftery and Callinan and Sweeny, and some told stories of the kingdom of the Sidhe.

I spent three happy afternoons in a workhouse in my own county, but not in my own parish; and after we had spoken of the Fianna for a while, the old men began to tell me these long, rambling stories I am about to repeat.

We sat in a gravelled yard, where only the leaves of a few young sycamores told that spring had come. Some of the old men sat on a bench against the whitewashed wall of a shed, in their rough frieze clothes and round grey caps, and others stood round, pressing closer and closer as their interest in the story grew.

Some of the stories were new to me; some I had heard in other versions; but all--even those like the 'Taming of the Shrew,' which have, one must believe, been brought in from other countries--have taken an Irish colouring. I began to listen, half interested and half impatient; for I had never cared much for this particular kind of tale.

But as I listened, I was moved by the strange contrast between the poverty of the tellers and the splendours of the tales. These men who had failed in life, and were old and withered, or sickly, or crippled, had not laid up dreams of good houses and fields and sheep and cattle; for they had never possessed enough to think of the possession of more as a possibility. It seemed as if their lives had been so poor and rigid in circumstance that they did not fix their minds, as more prosperous people might do, on thoughts of customary pleasure. The stories that they love are of quite visionary things; of swans that turn into kings' daughters, and of castles with crowns over the doors, and lovers' flights on the backs of eagles, and music-loving water-witches, and journeys to the other world, and sleeps that last for seven hundred years.

I think it has always been to such poor people, with little of wealth or comfort to keep their thoughts bound to the things about them, that dreams and visions have been given. It is from a deep narrow well the stars can be seen at noonday; it was one left on a bare rocky island who saw the pearl gates and the golden streets that lead to the Tree of Life.

One of the old men told me a story in Irish--another translating it as he went on; for my ear was not practised enough to follow it well:--'There was a farmer one time had one son only, and the son died, and the father wouldn't go to the funeral, where he had had some dispute with him.

'And, after a while, a neighbour died, and he went to his funeral. And a while after that he was in the churchyard looking at the grave. And he took up a skull that was lying there--one of four--and he said: "It's a handsome man you may have been when you were young; and I'd like to know something about you," he said. And the skull spoke, and it is what it said: "I'll go spend to-morrow night with you, if you'll come and spend another night with me." "I will do that," said the farmer.

'And on the way home he met with the priest, and he told him what had happened. "I would never believe that a skull spoke," said the priest. "Come to my house to-morrow night, and you'll hear him speak," said the farmer.

'So the next night they were sitting together in the house, and they had dinner set out on the table. And after a while they heard something come to the door; and the skull came in, and it got up on the table, and it ate all the dinner that was there; and after that it went out again. "Why didn't you speak to it?" said the farmer to the priest. "Why didn't you speak to it yourself?" said the priest. "What will it do to me at all when I go to see it to-morrow night?" said the farmer; "but I must hold to my promise when it came here first."

'So the next evening he set out for the churchyard, and he could see nothing at all in it. And then he went down three steps that were beside the church; and presently he was in a field, and it full of men fighting one against the other with spades and reaping-hooks. "Is it looking for a head you are?" they said; "it's gone into that field beyond."

'So he went on into the other field; and it was full of men and women, all of them fighting one against the other. "Are you looking for a head?" they said; "it's after going into that field beyond."

'So he went into the third field; and there he saw a big house, and he went into it. And he saw a fire on the hearth, and a lady in the room, and a serving-girl. And the lady was walking up and down the room; and whenever she would go near to the fire to warm herself, the serving-girl would put her away from it.

'Then they said: "If it's for a head you're looking, it's within in the room."

'So he went into the room; and the head was there before him, and it asked him would he have some dinner; and he said he would, and it brought him into a kitchen; and there were three women in it, and the head bade one of them to give the man his dinner; and what she put before him was a bit of brown bread and a jug of water, and he did not think it worth his while to eat that; and then the head bade the second woman to give him his dinner, and she gave him a worse dinner again; and then the third woman was told to give it to him, and she spread a nice table, and put the best of everything on it, and he ate and drank; and then he asked the head what was the meaning of all he saw.

'And the head said: "The men you saw in the first field used to be fighting when they were in life, because they had land near to one another, and they used to be for moving the merings, and now they have to be fighting with one another for ever and always. And the men and the women you saw, they were married people that used to be fighting with one another, and they must go on fighting for ever now. And the lady you saw in the house, when she was in life, she usedn't to let the serving-girl near to the fire when she would come in wet and cold, and would want to warm herself; and now the serving-girl is doing the same to her, and that will go on to the Day of Judgment.

'"And as to the three women in the kitchen," he said, "those were my own three wives. And when I asked the first wife for my dinner, she gave me nothing but brown bread and a jug of water. And when I asked the second wife for my dinner, she gave me a worse dinner again. But the third wife when I asked her, set out a grand table, and a white cloth on it, and gave me the best of food and drink.

'"And as for yourself," he said, "the reason you were brought here is, that you wouldn't go to your son's funeral, because you had a falling out one day when you were ploughing the field together, but you went to a stranger's funeral. And go back now," he said, "to where your son was buried, and make your repentance there, and maybe you'll get forgiveness at the last. And how long is it since you left your home?" he said. "I left it on the afternoon of yesterday," said the farmer. "It is seven hundred years you are here," said the head. Isn't that a long time he was in it, and he thinking it was only a few hours?

'So he went back to where his own son was buried; and he knelt down there, and made his repentance, and asked forgiveness and his son's forgiveness. And at last a hand came up out of the grave and took his hand; and then he and the son went up to heaven together.'

* * * * *

Another old man says: 'There was a Protestant and a Catholic one time; and the Protestant said if the Catholic would come to his church one Sunday, he'd go to his the next.

'So the Catholic went first to the Protestant church for one day, and it seemed to him as if it was a week he was in it.

'And the next Sunday the Protestant went into the Catholic church; and there he stopped for a year and a day, and he thought it was only a few hours he was in it.

'And at the end of that time he died, and he went up before our Lord. And he had done some things that were not good in his life, and our Lord said: "I will give you as many years of heaven as there are penfuls of water in the sea, and hell at the end of that." "That is not enough of heaven," said the man. Then our Lord said: "I will give you as many years of heaven as there are grains in the sand, and hell after that." "That is not enough of heaven," said the man. Then our Lord said: "I will give you as many years of heaven as there are blades of grass on the earth, and hell after that." "That is not enough of heaven," said the man. "And I will ask you for this," he said; "give me a year of hell for all these things you have spoken of: the drops in the sea, and the blades of grass, and the grains of the sand, and give me heaven in the end."

'And when the Lord heard that, He said, "I will give you heaven first and last."

'That is how the Catholic had him saved.'

* * * * *

Another old man says: 'There was a king one time that had a daughter; and she went out one day in the garden, and there she saw a bird--a jackdaw it was--and she thought it very nice, and she followed it on. And at last it spoke to her, and it said: "Will you give me your promise to marry me at the end of a year and a day?" "I will not," she said; and she went into the house again.

'After that the king's younger daughter went out, and she saw the bird and followed it, and it asked her the same thing. And she gave her promise to marry it at the end of a year and a day.

'And at the end of that time a great coach and horses came up to the door of the king's house; and the jackdaw came in, and he took the edge of the young girl's dress in his beak to draw her out of the house. And she went away in the carriage with him, and they came to a sort of a castle, and went into it. And there was no one in it; but no sooner did they come in, than there was a table set out before them, with every sort of food and drink, and beautiful gold cups and everything grand. And when they had eaten enough, the bird said, "Don't be frightened at anything you may see; and whatever happens, don't say one word; for if you do, you will lose me for ever."

'And then some sort of people came in, and began hitting at the bird and attacking him, and he keeping out of their way. And at last they got to him, and began to knock feathers from him. And when the young girl saw that, she cried out, "Oh, they are destroying you, my poor jackdaw!" "Oh!" he said, "why did you say that? If you had not spoken," he said: "I would be all right; but now I must leave you for ever. And here is a ring I will leave with you," he said: "and whatever desire you have, you will get it when you rub the ring."

'He went away then, and there was no one left in the house but the young girl; and all was darkness around her. And she went up the stairs; and at last she saw a little sign of light through a hole in the roof; and she rubbed the ring, and she said: "I wish that hole to be made bigger." And so it was on the moment, and more light came in.

'And then she wished she could be up on the roof, and so she was. And from the roof she could see the sea, and there was a ship on it in the distance; and she said: "I wish I could be on the deck of that vessel." And there she was on the deck, and the sailors not knowing where did she come from. And she said to the captain: "Can you give me something to eat?" And he said: "That is what I cannot do, for the harness casks are empty, we are so long at sea; and we have not as much meat in them as would go on the point of a knife." So she rubbed the ring then; and there was a table before them, set out with every sort of food and drink, and they all had enough.

'And then they came to a strange country; and she said to the captain to leave her on land. And she went up to a big house, where some great man lived, and she asked for employment as a sewing-maid. And they said: "You may sew one of those dresses that is for the master's daughter that is going to be married to-morrow. And mind you do it well," they said.

'So she brought away the dress to her room, and she wished it to be the best dress, and the best-sewed, that would be seen on the morrow. And when the morrow came, so it was.

'Then she went out into the garden, where there were beautiful flowers and trees; and she fastened a thread of silk from one tree to another, to make a swing-swong, and she began swinging on it. And the young lady that was going to be married, came down the steps into the garden, and she wanted to go on the swing-swong. And the other said she had best not go on it where she was not used to it, and she might get a fall. But she said she would; and the other warned her secondly not to go on it. But up she got, and the thread broke, and she fell and was killed on the spot.

'Then all the people came out; and when they saw her dead, they had a court-martial on the strange girl, and they were going to put her to death; but she told them how it all happened. And when the jury heard it, they said there was no blame on her, where she had given two warnings.

'That's a closure now.'

'And what happened her after that?'

'I don't know what happened her; they let her off that time anyhow.'

'And what became of the bird?'

'How would I know? Didn't I say that's the closure?'

* * * * *

Then a young man said: 'I'll tell you a folk-tale:--

'It was in the good old time when Ireland was paved with penny loaves and the houses thatched with pancakes; and there was a king had a son, and the mother died, and he married another wife; and she had three daughters, and their names were Catherine Snowflake, and Broad Bridget, and Mary Anne Bold-eyes, that had two eyes in the front of her head, and another eye in the back of her poll.

'And the stepmother got to be very wicked to the son then; and she used to be giving everything to the daughters; but he had nothing but hardship, and all they would give him to eat was stirabout.

'He was out on the fields one day with the cattle, and there was a little Black Bull there, and it said to him: "I know the way you are treated," it said, "and the sort of food they are giving you. And unscrew now my left horn," he said, "and take what you will find out of it."

'So the young man unscrewed the left horn; and the first thing he took out was a napkin, and he spread it out on the grass; and then he took out cups and plates, and every sort of food, and he sat down and ate and drank his fill. And then he put back the napkin and all into the horn again, and screwed it on.

'That was going on every day, and he used to be throwing his stirabout away into the ash-bin; and the servants found it, and they told the queen that he was throwing away what they gave him, and getting fat all the same.

'The queen noticed then that he used to be going every day into the field with the cattle; and she bade her daughter, Catherine Snowflake, to go and to watch him there to see what would he be doing.

'But that day when he went up to the little Black Bull, it said: "Your step-sister will be coming to-day to watch you," he said: "and unscrew now my right horn, and take out a pin of slumber you will find under it, and when you see her coming, go and play with her for a bit, and then put the pin of slumber to her ear, and she will fall asleep." So he did as the Bull told him; and when he put the pin of slumber to Catherine Snowflake's ear, she fell into a deep sleep in the grass, and never woke till evening.

'The next day the queen sent Broad Bridget, that was a great big woman, to watch the step-brother; but the Bull warned him as before; and he put the pin of slumber to her ear, and she fell into a deep sleep, and saw nothing.

'The third day Mary Anne Bold-eyes was sent out, and the brother put her to sleep the same as he did the others. But if the two front eyes were shut, the eye at the back of her poll was open; and she saw all that happened, and she went back that evening and told her mother the way her step-brother got all he would want out of the Bull's horn.

'The queen sent out then and gathered all her fighting men together to kill the Bull. And they all surrounded the field where the Bull was; but there were two or three hundred more cattle in it; and the Bull was running here and there between them, the way they could not get near him. And at the end of the second day he made for a gap and broke through it, and came to where the queen was, and he took her on his horns and tossed her as high as her own castle. He called to Jack then; and Jack put a halter on him, and they rode away together where winds never blew and the cocks never crew, and the old boy himself never sounded his horn. And they overtook the wind that was before them, and the wind that was after them couldn't overtake them.

'They came then to a great wood, and the Black Bull said to Jack: "Get up, now, into the highest tree you can find, and stop there through the day, for I have to fight with the Red Bull that is coming against me. And unscrew my right horn," he said; "and take out the little bottle that is in it, and keep it with you; and if I am well at the end of the day," he said, "it will be white as it is now."

'The Red Bull came to meet him then, and his head was as big as another's body would be; and he and the little Black Bull went to fight together; and Jack stopped up in the tree.

'And in the evening he looked at the little bottle; and what was in it was as white as before. So he came down, and he found the Black Bull, and got up on his back again; and they went off the same as before.