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[Illustration: "She beckoned the children to her"]






THE GOLDEN SPEARS

And Other Fairy Tales

BY

EDMUND LEAMY

ILLUSTRATIONS BY CORINNE TURNER



  New York
  Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.



  Copyright, 1911
  By DESMOND FITZGERALD, INC.
  _All Rights Reserved_




CONTENTS

                                                                    PAGE

  PREFACE                                                            vii

  INTRODUCTORY NOTE                                                    X

  THE GOLDEN SPEARS                                                    1

  THE HOUSE IN THE LAKE                                               23

  THE ENCHANTED CAVE                                                  49

  THE HUNTSMAN'S SON                                                  76

  THE FAIRY TREE OF DOOROS                                           101

  THE LITTLE WHITE CAT                                               123

  PRINCESS FINOLA AND THE DWARF                                      149

  NOTES                                                              170




ILLUSTRATIONS


  "She beckoned the children to her"                       _Frontispiece_

                                                             FACING PAGE

  "'I have mourned you as dead, my darling,' said he"                 39

  "The queen wished to know if he would join them"                    58

  "Fergus knew it was the Pooka, the wild horse of the mountains"     81

  "He was very sad, and tired"                                       106

  "At the sight of him the prince remembered everything"             137

  "Standing before him was the little princess"                      169




PREFACE


It comes to me as a very welcome piece of news, and yet a piece of news
which I have been long expecting, that a special American edition of
Edmund Leamy's Irish fairy tales is about to be published. This, then,
will be the third issue of the little book. I venture to predict that it
will not be the last; and I fancy the American publisher who has had the
judgment to take the matter up will soon be rewarded for his enterprise.
For I believe the book to be a little classic in its way, and that it
will go on making for itself a place in the libraries of those who
understand children, and will hold that place permanently.

This is the verdict of competent literary judges. I am spared the
necessity of attempting a discussion of the grounds on which so strong
an opinion of Leamy's fairy tales is based by the fact that this is
already done in Mr. T. P. Gill's Introductory Note. Mr. Gill, though he
was, like myself, one of Leamy's intimate friends, is a conscientious
critic, and to his analysis not merely of the "Tales," but of that
attractive personality which Leamy infused into all he said or wrote
I can safely refer the reader. I think no one of taste and judgment who
reads these Tales will fail to agree with the view which is expressed in
that Note and which I here, with some confidence, venture to reiterate.

My chief hope with regard to this American edition is that when it has
made its mark with the general public, as it is sure to do, it will be
taken note of by those who are specially concerned with education.
Leamy, while a public man, a patriot steeped in the lore of Ireland's
past and ever weaving generous visions for her future, was before all
things else a child-lover. That was his own, his peculiar endowment.
He had an exquisite gift with children and seemed always able to speak
directly with the higher parts of their nature. It is this, I think,
which is evident in every page of these Tales, and which gives the book
its unique character. One to whose judgment on an educational matter
I attach the greatest value writes to me these words: "For refining
influence, for power to stimulate the sense of beauty, the tenderness,
the sentiment of nobleness of the child-soul, I can imagine no volume
more worthy of a place on the book-shelf of the people's schools."
Having myself often witnessed this influence at work, I can emphatically
indorse this opinion. I say I hope American educators may agree with it,
for if they do our educators here at home will follow so distinguished
a lead.

Of Edmund Leamy, in his personal aspect, I have already said something
in my preface to the Dublin edition. I need only add here that this
true-hearted Irishman had many friends on the American continent, and
that to them this little flower of his genius will be a vivid and
abiding souvenir of one of the most lovable of men.

If this book have the success in America which it deserves--and I hope
that success may be extended to Canada and the Australias--I believe a
charming and ennobling boon will have been conferred upon the child-life
of these great communities; and it will be a source of gratification to
those who were the author's friends and colleagues to think that that
gift came from one by whose side we had the honor to serve in Ireland's
struggles.

J. E. REDMOND.

Aughavannagh, _June, 1911_.




THE GOLDEN SPEARS


Once upon a time there lived in a little house under a hill a little old
woman and her two children, whose names were Connla and Nora. Right in
front of the door of the little house lay a pleasant meadow, and beyond
the meadow rose up to the skies a mountain whose top was sharp-pointed
like a spear. For more than halfway up it was clad with heather, and
when the heather was in bloom it looked like a purple robe falling from
the shoulders of the mountain down to its feet. Above the heather it was
bare and gray, but when the sun was sinking in the sea, its last rays
rested on the bare mountain top and made it gleam like a spear of gold,
and so the children always called it the "Golden Spear."

In summer days they gamboled in the meadow, plucking the sweet wild
grasses--and often and often they clambered up the mountain side, knee
deep in the heather, searching for frechans and wild honey, and sometimes
they found a bird's nest--but they only peeped into it, they never
touched the eggs or allowed their breath to fall upon them, for next to
their little mother they loved the mountain, and next to the mountain
they loved the wild birds who made the spring and summer weather musical
with their songs.

Sometimes the soft white mist would steal through the glen, and creeping
up the mountain would cover it with a veil so dense that the children
could not see it, and then they would say to each other: "Our mountain
is gone away from us." But when the mist would lift and float off into
the skies, the children would clap their hands, and say: "Oh, there's
our mountain back again."

In the long nights of winter they babbled of the spring and summertime
to come, when the birds would once more sing for them, and never a day
passed that they didn't fling crumbs outside their door, and on the
borders of the wood that stretched away towards the glen.

When the spring days came they awoke with the first light of the
morning, and they knew the very minute when the lark would begin to
sing, and when the thrush and the blackbird would pour out their liquid
notes, and when the robin would make the soft, green, tender leaves
tremulous at his song.

It chanced one day that when they were resting in the noontide heat,
under the perfumed shade of a hawthorn in bloom, they saw on the edge
of the meadow, spread out before them, a speckled thrush cowering in
the grass.

"Oh, Connla! Connla! Look at the thrush--and, look, look up in the sky,
there is a hawk!" cried Nora.

Connla looked up, and he saw the hawk with quivering wings, and he
knew that in a second it would pounce down on the frightened thrush.
He jumped to his feet, fixed a stone in his sling, and before the whir
of the stone shooting through the air was silent, the stricken hawk
tumbled headlong in the grass.

The thrush, shaking its wings, rose joyously in the air, and perching
upon an elm-tree in sight of the children, he sang a song so sweet that
they left the hawthorn shade and walked along together until they stood
under the branches of the elm; and they listened and listened to the
thrush's song, and at last Nora said:

"Oh, Connla! did you ever hear a song so sweet as this?"

"No," said Connla, "and I do believe sweeter music was never heard
before."

"Ah," said the thrush, "that's because you never heard the nine little
pipers playing. And now, Connla and Nora, you saved my life to-day."

"It was Nora saved it," said Connla, "for she pointed you out to me,
and also pointed out the hawk which was about to pounce on you."

"It was Connla saved you," said Nora, "for he slew the hawk with his
sling."

"I owe my life to both of you," said the thrush. "You like my song, and
you say you have never heard anything so sweet; but wait till you hear
the nine little pipers playing."

"And when shall we hear them?" said the children.

"Well," said the thrush, "sit outside your door to-morrow evening, and
wait and watch until the shadows have crept up the heather, and then,
when the mountain top is gleaming like a golden spear, look at the line
where the shadow on the heather meets the sunshine, and you shall see
what you shall see."

And having said this, the thrush sang another song sweeter than the
first, and then saying "good-by," he flew away into the woods.

The children went home, and all night long they were dreaming of the
thrush and the nine little pipers; and when the birds sang in the
morning, they got up and went out into the meadow to watch the mountain.

The sun was shining in a cloudless sky, and no shadows lay on the
mountain, and all day long they watched and waited, and at last, when
the birds were singing their farewell song to the evening star, the
children saw the shadows marching from the glen, trooping up the
mountain side and dimming the purple of the heather.

And when the mountain top gleamed like a golden spear, they fixed their
eyes on the line between the shadow and the sunshine.

"Now," said Connla, "the time has come."

"Oh, look! look!" said Nora, and as she spoke, just above the line of
shadow a door opened out, and through its portals came a little piper
dressed in green and gold. He stepped down, followed by another and
another, until they were nine in all, and then the door slung back
again. Down through the heather marched the pipers in single file, and
all the time they played a music so sweet that the birds, who had gone
to sleep in their nests, came out upon the branches to listen to them,
and then they crossed the meadow, and they went on and on until they
disappeared in the leafy woods.

While they were passing the children were spellbound, and couldn't
speak, but when the music had died away in the woods, they said:

"The thrush is right, that is the sweetest music that was ever heard
in all the world."

And when the children went to bed that night the fairy music came to
them in their dreams. But when the morning broke, and they looked out
upon their mountain and could see no trace of the door above the
heather, they asked each other whether they had really seen the little
pipers, or only dreamt of them.

That day they went out into the woods, and they sat beside a stream that
pattered along beneath the trees, and through the leaves tossing in the
breeze the sun flashed down upon the streamlet, and shadow and sunshine
danced upon it. As the children watched the water sparkling where the
sunlight fell, Nora said:

"Oh, Connla, did you ever see anything so bright and clear and glancing
as that?"

"No," said Connla, "I never did."

"That's because you never saw the crystal hall of the fairy of the
mountains," said a voice above the heads of the children.

And when they looked up, who should they see perched on a branch but the
thrush.

"And where is the crystal hall of the fairy?" said Connla.

"Oh, it is where it always was, and where it always will be," said the
thrush. "And you can see it if you like."

"We would like to see it," said the children.

"Well, then," said the thrush, "if you would, all you have to do is to
follow the nine little pipers when they come down through the heather,
and cross the meadow to-morrow evening."

And the thrush having said this, flew away.

Connla and Nora went home, and that night they fell asleep talking of
the thrush and the fairy and the crystal hall.

All the next day they counted the minutes, until they saw the shadows
thronging from the glen and scaling the mountain side. And, at last,
they saw the door springing open, and the nine little pipers marching
down.

They waited until the pipers had crossed the meadow and were about to
enter the wood. And then they followed them, the pipers marching on
before them and playing all the time. It was not long until they had
passed through the wood, and then, what should the children see rising
up before them but another mountain, smaller than their own, but, like
their own, clad more than half way up with purple heather, and whose
top was bare and sharp-pointed, and gleaming like a golden spear.

Up through the heather climbed the pipers, up through the heather the
children clambered after them, and the moment the pipers passed the
heather a door opened and they marched in, the children following, and
the door closed behind them.

Connla and Nora were so dazzled by the light that hit their eyes, when
they had crossed the threshold, that they had to shade them with their
hands; but, after a moment or two, they became able to bear the
splendor, and when they looked around they saw that they were in a noble
hall, whose crystal roof was supported by two rows of crystal pillars
rising from a crystal floor; and the walls were of crystal, and along
the walls were crystal couches, with coverings and cushions of sapphire
silk with silver tassels.

Over the crystal floor the little pipers marched; over the crystal floor
the children followed, and when a door at the end of the hall was opened
to let the pipers pass, a crowd of colors came rushing in, and floor,
and ceiling, and stately pillars, and glancing couches, and shining
walls, were stained with a thousand dazzling hues.

Out through the door the pipers marched; out through the door the
children followed, and when they crossed the threshold they were
treading on clouds of amber, of purple, and of gold.

"Oh, Connla," said Nora, "we have walked into the sunset!"

And around and about them everywhere were soft, fleecy clouds, and over
their heads was the glowing sky, and the stars were shining through it,
as a lady's eyes shine through a veil of gossamer. And the sky and stars
seemed so near that Connla thought he could almost touch them with his
hand.

When they had gone some distance, the pipers disappeared, and when
Connla and Nora came up to the spot where they had seen the last of
them, they found themselves at the head of a ladder, all the steps of
which were formed of purple and amber clouds that descended to what
appeared to be a vast and shining plain, streaked with purple and gold.
In the spaces between the streaks of gold and purple they saw soft,
milk-white stars. And the children thought that the great plain, so far
below them, also belonged to cloudland.

They could not see the little pipers, but up the steps was borne by
the cool, sweet air the fairy music; and lured on by it step by step
they traveled down the fleecy stairway. When they were little more
than halfway down there came mingled with the music a sound almost
as sweet--the sound of waters toying in the still air with pebbles
on a shelving beach, and with the sound came the odorous brine of the
ocean. And then the children knew that what they thought was a plain in
the realms of cloudland was the sleeping sea unstirred by wind or tide,
dreaming of the purple clouds and stars of the sunset sky above it.

When Connla and Nora reached the strand they saw the nine little pipers
marching out towards the sea, and they wondered where they were going
to. And they could hardly believe their eyes when they saw them stepping
out upon the level ocean as if they were walking upon the land; and away
the nine little pipers marched, treading the golden line cast upon the
waters by the setting sun. And as the music became fainter and fainter
as the pipers passed into the glowing distance, the children began to
wonder what was to become of themselves. Just at that very moment they
saw coming towards them from the sinking sun a little white horse, with
flowing mane and tail and golden hoofs. On the horse's back was a little
man dressed in shining green silk. When the horse galloped on to the
strand the little man doffed his hat, and said to the children:

"Would you like to follow the nine little pipers?" The children said,
"yes."

"Well, then," said the little man, "come up here behind me; you, Nora,
first, and Connla after."

Connla helped up Nora, and then climbed on to the little steed himself;
and as soon as they were properly seated the little man said "swish,"
and away went the steed, galloping over the sea without wetting hair or
hoof. But fast as he galloped the nine little pipers were always ahead
of him, although they seemed to be going only at a walking pace. When
at last he came up rather close to the hindmost of them the nine little
pipers disappeared, but the children heard the music playing beneath
the waters. The white steed pulled up suddenly, and wouldn't move a
step further.

"Now," said the little man to the children, "clasp me tight, Nora, and
do you, Connla, cling on to Nora, and both of you shut your eyes."

The children did as they were bidden, and the little man cried:

"Swish! swash!"

And the steed went down and down until at last his feet struck the
bottom.

"Now open your eyes," said the little man.

And when the children did so they saw beneath the horse's feet a golden
strand, and above their heads the sea like a transparent cloud between
them and the sky. And once more they heard the fairy music, and marching
on the strand before them were the nine little pipers.

"You must get off now," said the little man, "I can go no farther
with you."

The children scrambled down, and the little man cried "swish," and
himself and the steed shot up through the sea, and they saw him no more.
Then they set out after the nine little pipers, and it wasn't long until
they saw rising up from the golden strand and pushing their heads up
into the sea above, a mass of dark gray rocks. And as they were gazing
at them they saw the rocks opening, and the nine little pipers
disappearing through them.

The children hurried on, and when they came up close to the rocks they
saw sitting on a flat and polished stone a mermaid combing her golden
hair, and singing a strange sweet song that brought the tears to their
eyes, and by the mermaid's side was a little sleek brown otter.

When the mermaid saw them she flung her golden tresses back over her
snow-white shoulders, and she beckoned the children to her. Her large
eyes were full of sadness; but there was a look so tender upon her face
that the children moved towards her without any fear.

"Come to me, little one," she said to Nora, "come and kiss me," and in a
second her arms were around the child. The mermaid kissed her again and
again; as the tears rushed to her eyes, she said:

"Oh, Nora, mavourneen, your breath is as sweet as the wild rose that
blooms in the green fields of Erin, and happy are you, my children, who
have come so lately from the pleasant land. Oh, Connla! Connla! I get
the scent of the dew of the Irish grasses and of the purple heather from
your feet. And you both can soon return to Erin of the Streams, but I
shall not see it till three hundred years have passed away, for I am
Liban the Mermaid, daughter of a line of kings. But I may not keep you
here. The Fairy Queen is waiting for you in her snow-white palace and
her fragrant bowers. And now kiss me once more, Nora, and kiss me,
Connla.  May luck and joy go with you, and all gentleness be upon you
both."[1]

Then the children said good-by to the mermaid, and the rocks opened for
them and they passed through, and soon they found themselves in a meadow
starred with flowers, and through the meadow sped a sunlit stream. They
followed the stream until it led them into a garden of roses, and beyond
the garden, standing on a gentle hill, was a palace white as snow.
Before the palace was a crowd of fairy maidens pelting each other with
rose-leaves. But when they saw the children they gave over their play,
and came trooping towards them.

"Our queen is waiting for you," they said; and then they led the
children to the palace door. The children entered, and after passing
through a long corridor they found themselves in a crystal hall so like
the one they had seen in the mountain of the golden spear that they
thought it was the same. But on all the crystal couches fairies, dressed
in silken robes of many colors, were sitting, and at the end of the
hall, on a crystal throne, was seated the fairy queen, looking lovelier
than the evening star. The queen descended from her throne to meet
the children, and taking them by the hands, she led them up the shining
steps. Then, sitting down, she made them sit beside her, Connla on her
right hand and Nora on her left.

Then she ordered the nine little pipers to come before her, and she said
to them:

"So far you have done your duty faithfully, and now play one more sweet
air and your task is done."

And the little pipers played, and from the couches at the first sound of
the music all the fairies rose, and forming partners, they danced over
the crystal floor as lightly as the young leaves dancing in the wind.

Listening to the fairy music, and watching the wavy motion of the
dancing fairies, the children fell asleep. When they awoke next morning
and rose from their silken beds they were no longer children. Nora was a
graceful and stately maiden, and Connla a handsome and gallant youth.
They looked at each other for a moment in surprise, and then Connla
said:

"Oh, Nora, how tall and beautiful you are!"

"Oh, not so tall and handsome as you are, Connla," said Nora, as she
flung her white arms round his neck and kissed her brother's lips.

Then they drew back to get a better look of each other, and who should
step between them but the fairy queen.

"Oh, Nora, Nora," said she, "I am not as high as your knee, and as for
you, Connla, you look as straight and as tall as one of the round towers
of Erin."

"And how did we grow so tall in one night?" said Connla.

"In one night!" said the fairy queen. "One night, indeed! Why, you have
been fast asleep, the two of you, for the last seven years!"

"And where was the little mother all that time?" said Connla and Nora
together.

"Oh, the little mother was all right. She knew where you were; but she
is expecting you to-day, and so you must go off to see her, although
I would like to keep you--if I had my way--all to myself here in the
fairyland under the sea. And you will see her to-day; but before you go
here is a necklace for you, Nora; it is formed out of the drops of the
ocean spray, sparkling in the sunshine. They were caught by my fairy
nymphs, for you, as they skimmed the sunlit billows under the shape of
sea-birds, and no queen or princess in the world can match their luster
with the diamonds won with toil from the caves of earth. As for you,
Connla, see here's a helmet of shining gold fit for a king of Erin--and
a king of Erin you will be yet; and here's a spear that will pierce any
shield, and here's a shield that no spear can pierce and no sword can
cleave as long as you fasten your warrior cloak with this brooch of
gold."

And as she spoke she flung round Connla's shoulders a flowing mantle of
yellow silk, and pinned it at his neck with a red gold brooch.

"And now, my children, you must go away from me. You, Nora, will be a
warrior's bride in Erin of the Streams. And you, Connla, will be king
yet over the loveliest province in all the land of Erin; but you will
have to fight for your crown, and days of battle are before you. They
will not come for a long time after you have left the fairyland under
the sea, and until they come lay aside your helmet, shield, and spear,
and warrior's cloak and golden brooch. But when the time comes when you
will be called to battle, enter not upon it without the golden brooch
I give you fastened in your cloak, for if you do harm will come to you.
Now, kiss me, children; your little mother is waiting for you at the
foot of the golden spear, but do not forget to say good-by to Liban the
Mermaid, exiled from the land she loves, and pining in sadness beneath
the sea."

Connla and Nora kissed the fairy queen, and Connla, wearing his golden
helmet and silken cloak, and carrying his shield and spear, led Nora
with him. They passed from the palace through the garden of roses,
through the flowery meadow, through the dark gray rocks, until they
reached the golden strand; and there, sitting and singing the strange,
sweet song, was Liban the Mermaid.

"And so you are going up to Erin," she said, "up through the covering
waters. Kiss me, children, once again; and when you are in Erin of the
Streams, sometimes think of the exile from Erin beneath the sea."

And the children kissed the mermaid, and with sad hearts, bidding her
good-by, they walked along the golden strand. When they had gone what
seemed to them a long way, they began to feel weary; and just then
they saw coming towards them a little man in a red jacket leading
a coal-black steed.

When they met the little man, he said: "Connla, put Nora up on this
steed; then jump up before her."

Connla did as he was told, and when both of them were mounted--

"Now, Connla," said the little man, "catch the bridle in your hands,
and you, Nora, clasp Connla round the waist, and close your eyes."

They did as they were bidden, and then the little man said, "Swash,
swish!" and the steed shot up from the strand like a lark from the
grass, and pierced the covering sea, and went bounding on over the
level waters; and when his hoofs struck the hard ground, Connla and
Nora opened their eyes, and they saw that they were galloping towards
a shady wood.

On went the steed, and soon he was galloping beneath the branches that
almost touched Connla's head. And on they went until they had passed
through the wood, and then they saw rising up before them the "Golden
Spear."

"Oh, Connla," said Nora, "we are at home at last."

"Yes," said Connla, "but where is the little house under the hill?"

And no little house was there; but in its stead was standing a
lime-white mansion.

"What can this mean?" said Nora.

But before Connla could reply, the steed had galloped up to the door
of the mansion, and, in the twinkling of an eye, Connla and Nora were
standing on the ground outside the door, and the steed had vanished.

Before they could recover from their surprise the little mother came
rushing out to them, and flung her arms around their necks, and kissed
them both again and again.

"Oh, children! children! You are welcome home to me; for though I knew
it was all for the best, my heart was lonely without you."

And Connla and Nora caught up the little mother in their arms, and they
carried her into the hall and set her down on the floor.

"Oh, Nora!" said the little mother, "you are a head over me; and as for
you, Connla, you look almost as tall as one of the round towers of Erin."

"That's what the fairy queen said, mother," said Nora.

"Blessings on the fairy queen," said the little mother. "Turn round,
Connla, till I look at you."

Connla turned round, and the little mother said:

"Oh, Connla, with your golden helmet and your spear, and your glancing
shield, and your silken cloak, you look like a king. But take them off,
my boy, beautiful as they are. Your little mother would like to see you,
her own brave boy, without any fairy finery."

And Connla laid aside his spear and shield, and took off his golden
helmet and his silken cloak. Then he caught the little mother and kissed
her, and lifted her up until she was as high as his head. And said he:

"Don't you know, little mother, I'd rather have you than all the world."

And that night, when they were sitting down by the fire together, you
may be sure that in the whole world no people were half as happy as
Nora, Connla, and the little mother.




THE HOUSE IN THE LAKE[2]


A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut, in the midst of one
of the inland lakes of Erin, an old fisherman and his son. The hut was
built on stakes driven into the bed of the lake, and was so high above
the waters that even when they were stirred into waves by the wind
coming down from the mountains they did not reach the threshold of the
door. Around, outside the hut, on a level with the floor, was a little
wicker-work platform, and under the platform, close to the steps leading
up to it from the water, the fisherman's curragh, made of willows,
covered with skins, was moored, and it was only by means of the curragh
that he and his son, Enda, could leave their lake dwelling.

On many a summer evening Enda lay stretched on the platform, watching
the sunset fading from the mountain-tops, and the twilight creeping over
the waters of the lake, and it chanced that once when he was so engaged
he heard a rustle in a clump of sedge that grew close to one side of
the hut. He turned to where the sound came from, and what should he see
but an otter swimming towards him, with a little trout in his mouth.
When the otter came up to where Enda was lying, he lifted his head and
half his body from the water, and flung the trout on the platform,
almost at Enda's feet, and then disappeared.

Enda took the little panting trout in his hand; but as he did so he
heard, quite close to him, in the lake, a sound like that of water
plashing upon water, and he saw the widening circles caused by a trout
which had just risen to a fly; and he said to the little trout he held
in his hand:

"I won't keep you, poor thing! Perhaps that was a little comrade come
to look for you, and so I'll send you back to him."

And saying this, he dropped the little trout into the lake.

Well, when the next evening came, again Enda was lying stretched outside
the hut, and once more he heard the rustle in the sedge, and once more
the otter came and flung the little trout almost into his hands.

Enda, more surprised than ever, did not know what to do. He saw that it
was the same little trout the otter had brought him the night before,
and he said:

"Well, I gave you a chance last night. I'll give you another, if only to
see what will come of it."

And he dropped the trout into the lake; but no sooner had it touched the
waters than it was changed into a beautiful, milk-white swan. And Enda
could hardly believe his eyes, as he saw it sailing across the lake,
until it was lost in the sedges growing by the shore.

All that night he lay awake, thinking of what he had seen, and as soon
as the morning stood on the hill-tops, and cast its shafts of golden
light across the lake, Enda rose and got into his curragh.

He rowed all round the shores, beating the sedges with his oar, in
pursuit of the swan; but all in vain; he could not catch a glimpse of
her white plumage anywhere. Day after day he rowed about the lake in
search of her, and every evening he lay outside the hut watching the
waters. At long last, one night, when the full moon, rising above the
mountains, flooded the whole lake with light, he saw the swan coming
swiftly towards him, shining brighter than the moonbeams. The swan came
on until it was almost within a boat's length of the hut; and what
should Enda hear but the swan speaking to him in his own language:

"Get into your curragh, Enda, and follow me," said she, and, saying
this, she turned round and sailed away.

Enda jumped into the curragh, and soon the water, dripping from his oar,
was flashing like diamonds in the moonlight. And he rowed after the
swan, who glided on before him, until she came to where the shadows of
the mountains lay deepest on the lake. Then the swan rested, and when
Enda came up to her:

"Enda," said she, "I have brought you where none may hear what I wish to
say to you. I am Mave, the daughter of the king of Erin. By the magic
arts of my cruel stepmother I was changed into a trout, and cast into
this lake a year and a day before the evening when you restored me to
the waters the second time. If you had not done so the first night the
otter brought me to you I should have been changed into a hooting owl;
if you had not done so the second night, I should have been changed into
a croaking raven. But, thanks to you, Enda, I am now a snow-white swan,
and for one hour on the first night of every full moon the power of
speech is and will be given to me as long as I remain a swan. And a swan
I must always remain, unless you are willing to break the spell of
enchantment that is over me; and you alone can break it."

"I'll do anything I can for you, O princess!" said Enda. "But how can
I break the spell?"

"You can do so," said the swan, "only by pouring upon my plumage the
perfumed water that fills the golden bowl that is in the inmost room of
the palace of the fairy queen, beneath the lake."

"And how can I get that?" said Enda.

"Well," said the swan, "you must dive beneath the lake, and walk along
its bed, until you come to where the lake dragon guards the entrance of
the fairy queen's dominions."

"I can dive like a fish," said Enda; "but how can I walk beneath the
waters?"

"You can do it easily enough," said the swan, "if you get the
water-dress of Brian, one of the three sons of Turenn, and his helmet
of transparent crystal, by the aid of which he was able to walk under
the green salt sea."[3]

"And where shall I find them?"

"They are in the water-palace of Angus of the Boyne," said the swan;
"but you should set out at once, for if the spell be not broken before
the moon is full again, it cannot be broken for a year and a day."

"I'll set out in the first ray of the morning," said Enda.

"May luck and joy go with you," said the swan. "And now the hours
of silence are coming upon me, and I have only time to warn you that
dangers you little dream of will lie before you in your quest for the
golden cup."

"I am willing to face all dangers for your sake, O princess," said Enda.

"Blessings be upon you, Enda," said the swan, and she sailed away from
the shadow out into the light across the lake to the sedgy banks. And
Enda saw her no more.

He rowed his curragh home, and he lay on his bed without taking off his
clothes. And as the first faint glimmer of the morning came slanting down
the mountains, he stepped into his curragh and pulled across the lake,
and took the road towards the water-palace of Angus of the Boyne.

When he reached the banks of the glancing river a little woman, dressed
in red, was standing there before him.

"You are welcome, Enda," said she. "And glad am I to see the day that
brings you here to help the winsome Princess Mave. And now wait a
second, and the water-dress and crystal helmet will be ready for you."

And, having said this, the little woman plucked a handful of wild
grasses, and she breathed upon them three times and then flung them on
the river, and a dozen fairy nymphs came springing up through the water,
bearing the water-dress and crystal helmet and a shining spear. And they
laid them down upon the bank at Enda's feet, and then disappeared.

"Now, Enda," said the fairy woman, "take these; by the aid of the dress
and the helmet you can walk beneath the waters. You will need the spear
to enable you to meet the dangers that lie before you. But with that
spear, if you only have courage, you can overcome everything and everyone
that may attempt to bar your way."

Having said this, she bid good-by to Enda, and stepping off the bank,
she floated out upon the river as lightly as a red poppy leaf. And when
she came to the middle of the stream she disappeared beneath the waters.

Enda took the helmet, dress, and spear, and it was not long until he
came to the sedgy banks where his little boat was waiting for him. As he
stepped into the curragh the moon was rising above the mountains. He
rowed on until he came to the hut, and having moored the boat to the
door, he put on the water-dress and the crystal helmet, and taking the
spear in his hand, he leaped over the side of the curragh, and sank down
and down until he touched the bottom. Then he walked along without
minding where he was going, and the only light he had was the shimmering
moonlight, which descended as faintly through the waters as if it came
through muffled glass. He had not gone very far when he heard a horrible
hissing, and straight before him he saw what he thought were two flaming
coals. After a few more steps he found himself face to face with the
dragon of the lake, the guardian of the palace of the fairy queen.
Before he had time to raise his spear, the dragon had wound its coils
around him, and he heard its horrible teeth crunching against the side
of his crystal helmet, and he felt the pressure of its coils around his
side, and the breath almost left his body; but the dragon, unable to
pierce the helmet, unwound his coils, and soon Enda's hands were free,
and before the dragon could attempt to seize him again, he drove his
spear through one of its fiery eyes, and, writhing with pain, the
hissing dragon darted through a cave behind him. Enda, gaining courage
from the dragon's flight, marched on until he came to a door of dull
brass set in the rocks. He tried to push it in before him, but he might
as well have tried to push away the rocks. While he was wondering what
he should do, he heard again the fierce hissing of the dragon, and saw
the red glare of his fiery eye dimly in the water.

Lifting his spear and hastily turning round to meet the furious monster,
Enda accidentally touched the door with the point of the spear, and the
door flew open. Enda passed through, and the door closed behind him with
a grating sound, and he marched along through a rocky pass which led to
a sandy plain.

As he stepped from the pass into the plain the sands began to move, as
if they were alive. In a second a thousand hideous serpents, almost the
color of the sand, rose hissing up, and with their forked tongues made a
horrible, poisonous hedge in front of him. For a second he stood
dismayed, but then, leveling his spear, he rushed against the hedge of
serpents, and they, shooting poison at him, sank beneath the sand. But
the poison did not harm him, because of his water-dress and crystal
helmet.

When he had passed over the sandy plain, he had to climb a great steep,
jagged rock. When he got to the top of the rock he saw spread out before
him a stony waste without a tuft or blade of grass. At some distance in
front of him he noticed a large dark object, which he took to be a rock,
but on looking at it more closely he saw that it was a huge, misshapen,
swollen mass, apparently alive. And it was growing bigger and bigger
every moment. Enda stood amazed at the sight, and before he knew where
he was the loathsome creature rose from the ground, and sprang upon him
before he could use his spear, and, catching him in its horrid grasp,
flung him back over the rocks on to the sandy plain. Enda was almost
stunned, but the hissing of the serpents rising from the sand around him
brought him to himself, and, jumping to his feet, once more he drove
them down beneath the surface. He then approached the jagged rock, on
the top of which he saw the filthy monster glaring at him with bloodshot
eyes. Enda poised his spear and hurled it against his enemy. It entered
between the monster's eyes, and from the wound the blood flowed down
like a black torrent and dyed the plain, and the shrunken carcass
slipped down the front of the rocks and disappeared beneath the sand.
Enda once more ascended the rock, and without meeting or seeing anything
he passed over the stony waste, and at last he came to a leafy wood.
He had not gone far in the wood until he heard the sound of fairy
music, and walking on he came upon a mossy glade, and there he found the
fairies dancing around their queen. They were so small, and were all so
brightly dressed, that they looked like a mass of waving flowers; but
when he was seen by them they vanished like a glorious dream, and no one
remained before him but the fairy queen. The queen blushed at finding
herself alone, but on stamping her little foot three times upon the
ground, the frightened fairies all crept back again.

"You are welcome, Enda," said the queen. "My little subjects have been
alarmed by your strange dress and crystal helmet. I pray you take them
off; you do not need them here."

Enda did as he was bidden, and he laid down his water-dress and helmet
on the grass, and the little fairies, seeing him in his proper shape,
got over their fright, and, unrestrained by the presence of the queen,
they ran tumbling over one another to try and get a good look at the
crystal helmet.

"I know what you have come for, Enda," said the queen. "The golden cup
you shall have to-morrow; but to-night you must share our feast, so
follow me to the palace."

Having said this, the queen beckoned her pages to her, and, attended by
them and followed by Enda, she went on through the wood. When they had
left it behind them Enda saw on a green hill before him the snow-white
palace of the fairy queen.

As the queen approached the steps that led up to the open door,
a band of tiny fairies, dressed in rose-colored silk, came out, carrying
baskets of flowers, which they flung down on the steps to make a
fragrant carpet for her. They were followed by a band of harpers dressed
in yellow silken robes, who ranged themselves on each side of the steps
and played their sweetest music as the queen ascended.

When the queen, followed by Enda, entered the palace, they passed
through a crystal hall that led to a banquet-room. The room was lighted
by a single star, large as a battle-shield. It was fixed against the
wall above a diamond throne.

The queen seated herself upon the throne, and the pages, advancing
towards her, and bending low, as they approached the steps, handed her
a golden wand.

The queen waved the wand three times, and a table laden with all kinds
of delicacies appeared upon the floor. Then she beckoned Enda to her,
and when he stood beside her the fairy table was no higher than his
knee.

"I am afraid I must make you smaller, Enda," said the queen, "or you
will never be able to seat yourself at my fairy table."

And having said this, she touched Enda with the golden wand, and at once
he became as small as her tallest page. Then she struck the steps of her
throne, and all the nobles of her court, headed by her bards, took their
places at the festive board.

The feast went on right merrily, and when the tiny jeweled drinking-cups
were placed upon the table, the queen ordered the harpers to play.

And the little harpers struck the chords, and as Enda listened to the
music it seemed to him as if he was being slowly lifted from his seat,
and when the music ended the fairies vanished, the shining star went
out, and Enda was in perfect darkness.

The air blew keenly in his face, and he knew not where he was. At
last he saw a faint gray light, and soon this light grew broader and
brighter, and as the shadows fled before it, he could hardly believe his
eyes when he found himself in his curragh on the lake, and the moonlight
streaming down from the mountain-tops.

For a moment he thought he must have been dreaming; but there in the
boat before him were the crystal helmet, and the water-dress, and the
gleaming spear, and the golden bowl of perfumed water that was to remove
the spell of enchantment from the white swan of the lake, and sailing
towards him from the sedgy bank came the snow-white swan; and when she
touched the boat, Enda put out his hands and lifted her in, and then
over her plumage he poured the perfumed water from the golden bowl, and
the Princess Mave in all her maiden beauty stood before him.

"Take your oar, Enda," she said, "and row to the southern bank."

Enda seized his oar, and the curragh sped across the waters swifter than
a swallow in its flight. When the boat touched the shore Enda jumped
out, and lifted the princess on to the bank.

"Send your boat adrift, Enda," she said; "but first take out your
shining spear; the water-dress and the crystal helmet will take care of
themselves."

Enda took out the spear, and then pushed the boat from the bank. It sped
on towards the hut in the middle of the lake; but before it had reached
halfway six nymphs sprang up from the water and seizing the helmet and
dress, sank with them beneath the tide, and the boat went on until it
pushed its prow against the steps of the little hut, where it remained.

Then Enda and the princess turned towards the south, and it was not long
until they came to a deep forest, that was folding up its shadows and
spreading out its mossy glades before the glancing footsteps of the
morning. They had not gone far through the forest when they heard the
music of hounds and the cries of huntsmen, and crashing towards them
through the low branches they saw a fierce wild boar. Enda, gently
pushing the princess behind him, leveled his spear, and when the boar
came close to him he drove it into his throat. The brute fell dead at
his feet, and the dogs rushing up began to tear it to pieces. The
princess fainted at the sight, and while Enda was endeavoring to restore
her, the king of Erin, followed by his huntsmen, appeared, and when the
king saw the princess he started in amazement, as he recognized the
features of his daughter Mave.

[Illustration: "'I have mourned you as dead, my darling,' said he"]

At that moment the princess came to herself, and her father, lifting her
tenderly in his arms, kissed her again and again.

"I have mourned you as dead, my darling," said he, "and now you are
restored to me more lovely than ever. I would gladly have given up my
throne for this. But say who is the champion who has brought you hither,
and who has slain the wild boar we have hunted so many years in vain?"

The princess blushed like a rose as she said:

"His name is Enda, father; it is he has brought me back to you."

Then the king embraced Enda and said:

"Forgive me, Enda, for asking any questions about you before you have
shared the hospitality of my court. My palace lies beyond the forest,
and we shall reach it soon."

Then the king ordered his huntsman to sound the bugle-horn, and all his
nobles galloped up in answer to it, and when they saw the Princess Mave
they were so dazzled by her beauty that they scarcely gave a thought to
the death of the wild boar.

"It is my daughter, Mave, come back to me," said the king.

And all the nobles lowered their lances, and bowed in homage to the
lady.

"And there stands the champion who has brought her home," said the king,
pointing to Enda.

The nobles looked at Enda, and bowed courteously, but in their hearts
they were jealous of the champion, for they saw he was already a
favorite of the king's.

Then the pages came up, leading milk-white steeds with golden bridles,
and the king, ordering Enda to mount one of them, lifted Mave on to his
own, and mounted behind her. The pages, carrying the boar's head on a
hollow shield, preceded by the huntsmen sounding their horns, set out
towards the palace, and the royal party followed them.

As the procession approached the palace crowds came rushing out to see
the trophies of the chase, and through the snow-white door the queen,
Mave's cruel stepmother, attended by her maids-of-honor and the royal
bards, came forth to greet the king. But when she saw seated before him
the Princess Mave, who she thought was at the bottom of the lake under a
spell of enchantment, she uttered a loud cry, and fell senseless to the
ground.

The king jumped from his horse, and rushing to the queen, lifted her up
and carried her in his arms to her apartments, for he had no suspicion
of the wickedness of which she had been guilty.

And the court leeches were summoned to attend her, but she died that
very night, and it was not until a green mound, worthy of a queen of
Erin, had been raised over her grave that the Princess Mave told her
father of the wickedness of her stepmother. And when she told him the
whole story of how Enda had broken the spell of enchantment, and of the
dangers which he had faced for her sake, the king summoned an assembly
of all his nobles, and seated on his throne, wearing his golden helmet,
the bards upon his right hand and the Druids upon his left, and the
nobles in ranks before him with gleaming helmets and flashing spears,
he told them the story of the princess, and of the service which Enda
had rendered to her.

"And now," said the king, "if the princess is willing to take her
deliverer for her husband, I am willing that she shall be his bride; and
if you, my subjects, bards and Druids and nobles and chiefs of Erin,
have anything to say against this union, speak. But first, Mave," said
the king, as he drew the blushing princess to him, "speak, darling, as
becomes the daughter of a king--speak in the presence of the nobles of
Erin, and say if it is your wish to become Enda's bride."

The princess flung her white arms around her father's neck, as she
murmured:

"Father, it was Enda brought me back to you, and before all the princes
and nobles of Erin I am willing to be his bride."

And she buried her head upon the king's breast, and as he stroked her
silken hair falling to her feet, the bards struck their golden harps,
but the sound of the joyous music could hardly drown the murmurs of the
jealous nobles.

When the music ceased the king beckoned Enda to him, and was about to
place his hand in Mave's when a Druid, whose white beard almost touched
the ground, and who had been a favorite of the dead stepmother, and hated
Mave for her sake, stepped forward and said:

"O king of Erin, never yet has the daughter of a king been freely given
in marriage to any save a battle champion; and that stripling there has
never struck his spear against a warrior's shield."

A murmur of approbation rose from the jealous princes, and Congal, the
bravest of them all, stepped out from the ranks, and said:

"The Druid speaks the truth, O king! That stripling has never faced a
battle champion yet, and, speaking for all the nobles of your land, I
challenge him to fight any one of us; and as he is young and unused to
arms, we are willing that the youngest and least experienced amongst us
should be set against him."

When Congal had spoken, the nobles, in approval of his words, struck
their shields with their swords, and the brazen sound ascended to the
skies.

The face of the princess, blushing a moment before like a rose, became
as white as a lily; but the color returned to her cheeks when she heard
Enda's voice ringing loud and clear.

"It is true, O king!" said he, "that I have never used my spear in
battle yet. The Prince Congal has challenged me to meet the youngest and
least experienced of the chiefs of Erin. I have risked my life already
for your daughter's sake. I would face death a thousand times for the
chance of winning her for my bride; but I would scorn to claim her hand
if I dared not meet the boldest battle champion of the nobles of Erin,
and here before you, O king, and bards, Druids, and nobles, and chiefs
of Erin, and here, in the presence of the Lady Mave, I challenge the
boldest of them all."

The king's eyes flashed with joy as he listened to the brave words of
Enda.

"It is well," said the king; "the contest shall take place to-morrow on
the lawn outside our palace gates; but before our assembly dissolves I
call on you, nobles and chiefs of Erin, to name your boldest champion."

Loud cries of "Congal! Congal!" answered the king's speech.

"Are you willing, Congal?" asked the king.

"Willing, O king!" answered Congal.

"It is well," said the king. "We shall all meet again to-night in our
banquet-hall."

And the king, with the Princess Mave on his arm, attended by his bards
and Druids, entered the palace, and the chiefs and nobles went their
several ways.

At the feast that night the princess sat beside the king, and Enda
beside the princess, and the bards and Druids, nobles and chiefs, took
their places in due order. And the bards sang songs of love and battle,
and never merrier hours were spent than those which passed away that
night in the banquet-hall of Erin's king.

When the feast was over Enda retired to his apartment to spend the night
dreaming of the Princess Mave, and Congal went to his quarters; but not
to sleep or dream, for the Druid who had provoked the contest came to
him bringing his golden wand, and all night long the Druid was weaving
spells to charm the shield and spear and helmet of Congal, to make them
invulnerable in the battle of the morrow.

But while Enda lay dreaming of the Princess Mave, the little fairy woman
who gave him the water-dress, and crystal helmet, and shining spear on
the banks of the Boyne, slid into his room, and she placed beside his
couch a silver helmet and a silver shield. And she rubbed the helmet,
and the shield, and the blue blade and haft of his spear with the juice
of the red rowan berries, and she let a drop fall upon his face and
hands, and then she slid out as silently as she came.

When the morning broke, Enda sprang from his couch, and he could hardly
believe his eyes when he saw the silver shield and helmet. At the sight
of them he longed for the hour of battle, and he watched with eager gaze
the sun climbing the sky; and, after hours of suspense, he heard the
trumpet's sound and the clangor of the hollow shields, struck by the
hard-pointed spears.

Putting on the helmet, and fastening the shield upon his left arm, and
taking the spear in his right hand, he stepped out bravely to the fight.
The edge of the lawn before the palace gates was ringed by the princes,
nobles, and chiefs of Erin. And the palace walls were thronged by all
the beauties of the Court and all the noble ladies of the land. And on
his throne, surrounded by his Druids, his brehons, and his bards, was
the king of Erin, and at his feet sat the lovely Lady Mave.

As Enda stepped out upon the lawn, he saw Congal advancing from the
ranks of the nobles, and the two champions approached each other until
they met right in front of the throne.

Then both turned towards the throne, and bowed to the king and the
Princess Mave; and then facing each other again, they retired a space,
and when their spears were poised, ready for battle, the king gave the
signal, which was answered by the clang of stricken shields, and Congal
and Enda launched their gleaming spears. They flashed like lightning
in the sunlit air, and in a second Congal's had broken against Enda's
shield; but Enda's, piercing Congal's helmet, hurled him senseless on
the plain.

The nobles and chiefs could hardly realize that in that single second
their boldest champion was overthrown; but when they saw him stretched
motionless on the grassy sward, from out their ranks six warriors
advanced to where the chieftain lay, and sadly they bore him away upon
their battle-shields, and Enda remained victor upon the field.

And then the king's voice rang out clear as the sound of a trumpet in
the still morning:

"Bards and brehons, princes and nobles, and chiefs of Erin, Enda has
proved himself a battle champion, and who amongst you now will dare
gainsay his right to claim my daughter for his bride?"

And no answer came.

But when he summoned Enda to his throne, and placed the lady's hand in
his, a cheer arose from the great assembly, that proved that jealousy
was extinguished in all hearts, and that all believed that Enda was
worthy of the winsome bride; and never since that day, although a
thousand years have passed, was there in all the world a brighter and
gayer wedding than the wedding of Enda and the Princess Mave.




THE ENCHANTED CAVE


A long, long time ago, Prince Cuglas,[4] master of the hounds to the
high King of Erin, set out from Tara to the chase. As he was leaving the
palace the light mists were drifting away from the hill-tops, and the
rays of the morning sun were falling aslant on the _grinan_ or sunny
bower of the Princess Ailinn. Glancing towards it the prince doffed his
plumed and jeweled hunting-cap, and the princess answered his salute
by a wave of her little hand, that was as white as a wild rose in the
hedges in June, and leaning from her bower, she watched the huntsman
until his tossing plumes were hidden by the green waving branches of
the woods.

The Princess Ailinn was over head and ears in love with Cuglas, and
Cuglas was over head and ears in love with the Princess Ailinn, and he
believed that never was summer morning half as bright, or as sweet, or
as fair as she. The glimpse which he had just caught of her filled his
heart with delight, and almost put all thought of hunting out of his
head, when suddenly the tuneful cries of the hounds, answered by a
hundred echoes from the groves, broke upon his ear.

The dogs had started a dappled deer that bounded away through the
forest. The prince, spurring his gallant steed, pushed on in eager
pursuit.

On through the forest sped the deer, through soft, green, secret ways
and flowery dells, then out from the forest, up heathery hills, and over
long stretches of moorland, and across brown rushing streams, sometimes
in view of the hounds, sometimes lost to sight, but always ahead of
them.

All day long the chase continued, and at last, when the sun was sinking,
the dogs were close upon the panting deer, and the prince believed he
was about to secure his game, when the deer suddenly disappeared through
the mouth of a cave which opened before him. The dogs followed at his
heels, and the prince endeavored to rein in his steed, but the impetuous
animal bore him on, and soon was clattering over the stony floor of the
cave in perfect darkness. Cuglas could hear ahead of him the cries of
the hounds growing fainter and fainter, as they increased the distance
between them and him. Then the cries ceased altogether, and the only
sound the prince heard was the noise of his horse's hoofs sounding in
the hollow cave. Once more he endeavored to check his career, but the
reins broke in his hands, and in that instant the prince felt the horse
had taken a plunge into a gulf, and was sinking down and down, as a
stone cast from the summit of a cliff sinks down to the sea. At last the
horse struck the ground again, and the prince was almost thrown out of
his saddle, but he succeeded in regaining his seat. Then on through
the darkness galloped the steed, and when he came into the light the
prince's eyes were for some time unable to bear it. But when he got used
to the brightness he saw he was galloping over a grassy plain, and in
the distance he perceived the hounds rushing towards a wood faintly
visible through a luminous summer haze. The prince galloped on, and as
he approached the wood he saw coming towards him a comely champion,
wearing a shining brown cloak, fastened by a bright bronze spear-like
brooch, and bearing a white hazel wand in one hand, and a single-edged
sword with a hilt made from the tooth of a sea-horse in the other;[5]
and the prince knew by the dress of the champion, and by his wand and
sword, that he was a royal herald. As the herald came close to him the
prince's steed stopped of his own accord.

"You are welcome, Cuglas," said the herald, "and I have been sent by the
Princess Crede to greet you and to lead you to her court, where you have
been so long expected."

"I know not how this may be," said Cuglas.

"How it has come about I shall tell you as we go along," said the
herald. "The Princess Crede is the Queen of the Floating Island. And it
chanced, once upon a day, when she was visiting her fairy kinsmen, who
dwell in one of the pleasant hills that lie near Tara, she saw you with
the high king and princes and nobles of Erin following the chase. And
seeing you her heart went out to you, and wishing to bring you to her
court, she sent one of her nymphs, in the form of a deer, to lure you
on through the cave, which is the entrance to this land."

"I am deeply honored by the preference shown me by the princess," said
Cuglas, "but I may not tarry in her court; for above in Erin there is
the Lady Ailinn, the loveliest of all the ladies who grace the royal
palace, and before the princes and chiefs of Erin she has promised to
be my bride."

"Of that I know not," said the herald; "but a true champion, like you,
cannot, I know, refuse to come with me to the court of the Princess
Crede."

As the herald had said these words the prince and he were on the verge
of the wood, and they entered upon a mossy pathway that broadened out as
they advanced until it was as wide as one of the great roads of Erin.
Before they had gone very far the prince heard the tinkling of silver
bells in the distance, and almost as soon as he heard them he saw
coming up towards him a troop of warriors on coal black steeds. All the
warriors wore helmets of shining silver, and cloaks of blue silk. And
on the horses' breasts were crescents of silver, on which were hung tiny
silver bells, shaking out music with the motion of the horses. As the
prince approached the champions they lowered their spears, and dividing
in two lines the prince and the herald passed between the ranks, and the
champions, forming again, followed on behind the prince.

At last they passed through the wood, and they found themselves on a
green plain, speckled with flowers, and they had not gone far when the
prince saw coming towards him a hundred champions on snow-white steeds,
and around the breast of the steeds were crescents of gold, from which
were hanging little golden bells.[6] The warriors all wore golden
helmets, and the shafts of their shining spears were of gold, and golden
sandals on their feet, and yellow silken mantles fell down over their
shoulders. And when the prince came near them they lowered their lances,
and then they turned their horses' heads around and marched before him.
And it was not long until above the pleasant jingle of the bells the
prince heard the measured strains of music, and he saw coming towards
him a band of harpers, dressed in green and gold, and when the harpers
had saluted the prince they marched in front of the cavalcade, playing
all the time, and it was not long until they came to a stream that ran
like a blue riband around the foot of a green hill, on the top of which
was a sparkling palace; the stream was crossed by a golden bridge, so
narrow that the horsemen had to go two-by-two. The herald asked the
prince to halt and to allow all the champions to go before him; and the
cavalcade ascended the hill, the sunlight brightly glancing on helmet
and on lance, and when it reached the palace the horsemen filed around
the walls.

When at length the prince and herald crossed the bridge and began
to climb the hill, the prince thought he felt the ground moving under
them, and on looking back he could see no sign of the golden bridge,
and the blue stream had already become as wide as a great river, and
was becoming wider every second.

"You are on the floating island now," said the herald, "and before you
is the palace of the Princess Crede."

At that moment the queen came out through the palace door, and the
prince was so dazzled by her beauty, that only for the golden bracelet
he wore upon his right arm, under the sleeve of his silken tunic, he
might almost have forgotten the Princess Ailinn. This bracelet was made
by the dwarfs who dwell in the heart of the Scandinavian Mountains, and
was sent with other costly presents by the King of Scandinavia to the
King of Erin, and he gave it to the princess, and it was the virtue of
this bracelet, that whoever was wearing it could not forget the person
who gave it to him, and it could never be loosened from the arm by any
art or magic spell; but if the wearer, even for a single moment, liked
anyone better than the person who gave it to him, that very moment the
bracelet fell off from the arm and could never again be fastened on. And
when the princess promised her hand in marriage to the Prince Cuglas,
she closed the bracelet on his arm.

The fairy queen knew nothing about the bracelet, and she hoped that
before the prince was long in the floating island he would forget all
about the princess.

"You are welcome, Cuglas," said the queen, as she held out her hand, and
Cuglas, having thanked her for her welcome, they entered the palace
together.

"You must be weary after your long journey," said the queen. "My page
will lead you to your apartments, where a bath of the cool blue waters
of the lake has been made ready for you, and when you have taken your
bath the pages will lead you to the banquet hall, where the feast is
spread."

At the feast the prince was seated beside the queen, and she talked to
him of all the pleasures that were in store for him in fairyland, where
pain, and sickness, and sorrow, and old age, are unknown, and where
every rosy hour that flies is brighter than the one that has fled before
it. And when the feast was ended the queen opened the dance with the
prince, and it was not until the moon was high above the floating island
that the prince retired to rest.

He was so tired after his journey and the dancing that he fell into
a sound sleep. When he awoke the next morning the sun was shining
brightly, and he heard outside the palace the jingle of bells and the
music of baying hounds, and his heart was stirred by memories of the
many pleasant days on which he had led the chase over the plains and
through the green woods of Tara.

He looked out through the window, and he saw all the fairy champions
mounted on their steeds ready for the chase, and at their head the fairy
queen. And at that moment the pages came to say the queen wished to know
if he would join them, and the prince went out and found his steed ready
saddled and bridled, and they spent the day hunting in the forest that
stretched away for miles behind the palace, and the night in feasting
and dancing.

When the prince awoke the following morning he was summoned by the pages
to the presence of the queen. The prince found the queen on the lawn
outside the palace surrounded by her court.

"We shall go on the lake to-day, Cuglas," said the queen, and taking his
arm she led him along the water's edge, all the courtiers following.

[Illustration: "The queen wished to know if he would join them"]

When she was close to the water she waved her wand, and in a second a
thousand boats, shining like glass, shot up from beneath the lake and
set their bows against the bank. The queen and Cuglas stepped into one,
and when they were seated two fairy harpers took their places in the
prow. All the other boats were soon thronged by fairies, and then the
queen waved her wand again, and an awning of purple silk rose over the
boat, and silken awnings of various colors over the others, and the
royal boat moved off from the bank followed by all the rest, and in
every boat sat a harper with a golden harp, and when the queen waved her
wand for the third time, the harpers struck the trembling chords, and to
the sound of the delightful music the boats glided over the sunlit lake.
And on they went until they approached the mouth of a gentle river
sliding down between banks clad with trees. Up the river, close to the
bank and under the drooping trees, they sailed, and when they came to
a bend in the river, from which the lake could be no longer seen, they
pushed their prows in against the bank, and the queen and Cuglas, and
all the party, left the boats and went on under the trees until they
came to a mossy glade.

Then the queen waved her wand, and silken couches were spread under the
trees, and she and Cuglas sat on one apart from the others, and the
courtiers took their places in proper order.

And the queen waved her wand again, and wind shook the trees above them,
and the most luscious fruit that was ever tasted fell down into their
hands; and when the feast was over there was dancing in the glades to
the music of the harps, and when they were tired dancing they set out
for the boats, and the moon was rising above the trees as they sailed
away over the lake, and it was not long until they reached the bank
below the fairy palace.

Well, between hunting in the forest, and sailing over the lake, and
dancing in the greenwood glade and in the banquet hall, the days passed,
but all the time the prince was thinking of the Princess Ailinn, and one
moonlit night, when he was lying awake on his couch thinking of her, a
shadow was suddenly cast on the floor.

The prince looked towards the window, and what should he see sitting
on the sill outside but a little woman tapping the pane with a golden
bodkin.

The prince jumped from his couch and opened the window, and the little
woman floated on the moonbeams into the room and sat down on the floor.

"You are thinking of the Princess Ailinn," said the little woman.

"I never think of anyone else," said the prince.

"I know that," said the little woman, "and it's because of your love for
each other, and because her mother was a friend to me in the days gone
by, that I have come here to try and help you; but there is not much
time for talking, the night advances. At the bank below a boat awaits
you. Step into it and it will lead you to the mainland, and when you
reach it you will find before you a path that will take you to the green
fields of Erin and the plains of Tara. I know you will have to face
danger. I know not what kind of danger; but whatever it may be do not
draw your sword before you tread upon the mainland, for if you do you
shall never reach it, and the boat will come back again to the floating
island; and now go and may luck go with you;" and saying this the little
woman climbed up the moonbeams and disappeared.

The prince left the palace and descended to the lake, and there before
him he saw a glistening boat; he stepped into it, and the boat went on
and on beneath the moon, and at last he saw the mainland, and he could
trace a winding pathway going away from the shore. The sight filled his
heart with joy, but suddenly the milk-white moonshine died away, and
looking up to the sky he saw the moon turning fiery red, and the waters
of the lake, shining like silver a moment before, took a blood-red hue,
and a wind arose that stirred the waters, and they leaped up against the
little boat, tossing it from side to side. While Cuglas was wondering
at the change, he heard a strange, unearthly noise ahead of him, and
a bristling monster, lifting its claws above the water, in a moment
was beside the boat and stuck one of his claws in the left arm of the
prince, and pierced the flesh to the bone. Maddened by the pain the
prince drew his sword and chopped off the monster's claw. The monster
disappeared beneath the lake, and, as it did so, the color of the water
changed, and the silver moonlight shone down from the sky again, but the
boat no longer went on towards the mainland, but sped back towards the
floating island, while forth from the island came a fleet of fairy boats
to meet it, led by the shallop of the fairy queen. The queen greeted the
prince as if she knew not of his attempted flight, and to the music of
the harps the fleet returned to the palace.

The next day passed and the night came, and again the prince was lying
on the couch, thinking of the Princess Ailinn, and again he saw the
shadow on the floor and heard the tapping against the window.

And when he opened it the little woman slid into the room.

"You failed last night," she said, "but I come to give you another
chance. To-morrow the queen must set out on a visit to her fairy
kinsmen, who dwell in the green hill near the plain of Tara; she cannot
take you with her, for if your feet once touched the green grass that
grows in the fruitful fields of Erin, she could never bring you back
again. And so, when you find she has left the palace, go at once into
the banquet hall and look behind the throne, and you will see a small
door let down into the ground. Pull this up and descend the steps which
you will see. Where they lead to I cannot tell. What dangers may be
before you I do not know; but this I know, if you accept anything, no
matter what it is, from anyone you may meet on your way, you shall not
set foot on the soil of Erin."

And having said this the little woman, rising from the floor, floated
out through the window.

The prince returned to his couch, and the next morning, as soon as he
heard the queen had left the palace, he hastened to the banquet hall.
He discovered the door and descended the steps, and he found himself
in a gloomy and lonesome valley. Jagged mountains, black as night, rose
on either side, and huge rocks seemed ready to topple down upon him at
every step. Through broken clouds a watery moon shed a faint, fitful
light, that came and went as the clouds, driven by a moaning wind,
passed over the valley.

Cuglas, nothing daunted, pushed on boldly until a bank of cloud shut out
completely the struggling moon, and closing over the valley covered it
like a pall, leaving him in perfect darkness. At the same moment the
moaning wind died away, and with it died away all sound. The darkness
and the deathlike silence sent an icy chill to the heart of Cuglas. He
held his hand close to his eyes, but he saw it not. He shouted that he
might hear the sound of his own voice, but he heard it not. He stamped
his foot on the rocky ground, but no sound was returned to him. He
rattled his sword in its brazen scabbard, but it gave no answer back
to him. His heart grew colder and colder, when suddenly the cloud above
him was rent in a dozen places, and lightning flashed through the
valley, and the thunder rolled over the echoing mountains. In the lurid
glare of the lightning Cuglas saw a hundred ghostly forms sweeping
towards him, uttering as they came nearer and nearer shrieks so terrible
that the silence of death could more easily be borne. Cuglas turned to
escape, but they hemmed him round, and pressed their clammy hands upon
his face.

With a yell of horror he drew his sword and slashed about him, and that
very moment the forms vanished, the thunder ceased, the dark cloud
passed, and the sun shone out as bright as on a summer day, and then
Cuglas knew the forms he had seen were those of the wild people of the
glen.[7]

With renewed courage he pursued his way through the valley, and after
three or four windings it took him out upon a sandy desert. He had no
sooner set foot upon the desert than he heard behind him a crashing
sound louder than thunder. He looked around, and he saw that the walls
of mountain through which he had just passed had fallen into the valley,
and filled it up so that he could no longer tell where it had been.

The sun was beating fiercely on the desert, and the sands were almost as
hot as burning cinders; and as Cuglas advanced over them his body became
dried up, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and when his
thirst was at its height a fountain of sparkling water sprang up in the
burning plain a few paces in front of him; but when he came up quite
close to it and stretched out his parched hands to cool them in the
limpid waters, the fountain vanished as suddenly as it appeared. With
great pain, and almost choking with heat and thirst, he struggled on,
and again the fountain sprang up in front of him and moved before him,
almost within his reach. At last he came to the end of the desert, and
he saw a green hill up which a pathway climbed; but as he came to the
foot of the hill, there, sitting right in his way, was a beautiful fairy
holding out towards him a crystal cup, over the rim of which flowed
water as clear as crystal. Unable to resist the temptation, the prince
seized the cold, bright goblet, and drank the water. When he did so his
thirst vanished, but the fairy, and the green hill, and the burning
desert disappeared, and he was standing in the forest behind the palace
of the fairy queen.

That evening the queen returned, and at the feast she talked as gaily
to the prince as if she knew not of his attempt to leave the Floating
Island, and the prince spoke as gaily as he could to her, although in
his heart there was sadness when he remembered that if he had only
dashed away the crystal cup, he would be at that moment in the royal
banquet hall of Tara, sitting beside the Princess Ailinn.

And he thought the feast would never end; but it was over at last, and
the prince returned to his apartments. And that night, as he lay on his
couch, he kept his eyes fixed upon the window; but hours passed, and
there was no sign of anyone. At long last, and when he had given up all
hope of seeing her, he heard a tapping at the window, and he got up and
opened it, and the little woman came in.

"You failed again to-day," said she--"failed just at the very moment
when you were about to step on the green hills of Erin. I can give you
only one chance more. It will be your last. The queen will go hunting
in the morning. Join the hunt, and when you are separated from the rest
of the party in the wood throw your reins upon your horse's neck and he
will lead you to the edge of the lake. Then cast this golden bodkin into
the lake in the direction of the mainland, and a golden bridge will be
thrown across, over which you can pass safely to the fields of Erin;
but take care and do not draw your sword, for if you do your steed will
bear you back again to the Floating Island, and here you must remain
forever." Then handing the bodkin to the prince, and saying good-by,
the little woman disappeared.

The next morning the queen and the prince and all the court went out
to hunt, and a fleet white deer started out before them, and the royal
party pressed after him in pursuit. The prince's steed outstripped the
others, and when he was alone the prince flung the reins upon his
horse's neck, and before long he came to the edge of the lake.

Then the prince cast the bodkin on to the water, and a golden bridge was
thrown across to the mainland, and the horse galloped on to it, and when
the prince was more than halfway he saw riding towards him a champion
wearing a silver helmet, and carrying on his left arm a silver shield,
and holding in his right hand a gleaming sword. As he came nearer he
struck his shield with his sword and challenged the prince to battle.
The prince's sword almost leaped out of its scabbard at the martial
sound, and, like a true knight of Tara, he dashed against his foe, and
swinging his sword above his head, with one blow he clove the silver
helmet, and the strange warrior reeled from his horse and fell upon the
golden bridge. The prince, content with this achievement, spurred his
horse to pass the fallen champion, but the horse refused to stir, and
the bridge broke in two almost at his feet, and the part of it between
him and the mainland disappeared beneath the lake, carrying with it the
horse and the body of the champion, and before the prince could recover
from his surprise, his steed wheeled round and was galloping back, and
when he reached the land he rushed through the forest, and the prince
was not able to pull him up until he came to the palace door.

All that night the prince lay awake on his couch with his eyes fixed
upon the window, but no shadow fell upon the floor, and there was no
tapping at the pane, and with a heavy heart he joined the hunting party
in the morning. And day followed day, and his heart was sadder and
sadder, and found no pleasure in the joys and delights of fairyland. And
when all in the palace were at rest he used to roam through the forest,
always thinking of the Princess Ailinn, and hoping against hope that the
little woman would come again to him, but at last he began to despair of
ever seeing her. It chanced one night he rambled so far that he found
himself on the verge of the lake, at the very spot from which the golden
bridge had been thrown across the waters, and as he gazed wistfully upon
them a boat shot up and came swiftly to the bank, and who should he see
sitting in the stern but the little woman.

"Ah, Cuglas, Cuglas," she said, "I gave you three chances, and you
failed in all of them."

"I should have borne the pain inflicted by the monster's claw," said
Cuglas. "I should have borne the thirst on the sandy desert, and dashed
the crystal cup untasted from the fairy's hand; but I could never have
faced the nobles and chiefs of Erin if I had refused to meet the
challenge of the battle champion on the golden bridge."

"And you would have been no true knight of Erin, and you would not have
been worthy of the wee girl who loves you, the bonny Princess Ailinn, if
you had refused to meet it," said the little woman; "but for all that
you can never return to the fair hills of Erin. But cheer up, Cuglas,
there are mossy ways and forest paths and nestling bowers in fairyland.
Lonely they are, I know, in your eyes now," said the little woman; "but
maybe," she added, with a laugh as musical as the ripple on a streamlet
when summer is in the air, "maybe you won't always think them so
lonely."

"You think I'll forget Ailinn for the fairy queen," said Cuglas, with a
sigh.

"I don't think anything of the kind," said she.

"Then what do you mean?" said the prince.

"Oh, I mean what I mean," said the little woman. "But I can't stop here
all night talking to you: and, indeed, it is in your bed you ought to
be yourself. So now good-night; and I have no more to say, except that
perhaps, if you happen to be here this night week at this very hour,
when the moon will be on the waters, you will see---- But no matter what
you will see," said she; "I must be off."

And before the prince could say another word the boat sped away from the
bank, and he was alone. He went back to the palace, and he fell asleep
that night only to dream of the Princess Ailinn.

As for the princess, she was pining away in the palace of Tara, the
color had fled from her cheeks, and her eyes, which had been once so
bright they would have lighted darkness like a star, lost nearly all
their luster, and the king's leeches could do nothing for her, and at
last they gave up all hope, and the king and queen of Erin and the
ladies of the court watched her couch by night and by day sadly waiting
for her last hour.

At length one day, when the sun was shining brightly over Tara's plain,
and its light, softened by the intervening curtains, was falling in the
sick chamber, the royal watchers noticed a sweet change coming over the
face of the princess; the bloom of love and youth were flushing on her
cheeks, and from her eyes shone out the old, soft, tender light, and
they began to hope she was about to be restored to them, when suddenly
the room was in darkness as if the night had swept across the sky, and
blotted out the sun. Then they heard the sound of fairy music, and over
the couch where the princess lay they beheld a gleam of golden light,
but only for a moment; and again there was perfect darkness, and the
fairy music ceased. Then, as suddenly as it came the darkness vanished,
the softened sunlight once more filled the chamber, and rested upon the
couch; but the couch was empty, and the royal watchers, looking at each
other, said in whispers: "The fairies have carried away the Princess
Ailinn to fairyland."

Well, that very day the prince roamed by himself through the forest,
counting the hours until the day would fade in the sky and the moon come
climbing up, and at last, when it was shining full above the waters, he
went down to the verge of the lake, and he looked out over the gleaming
surface watching for the vision promised by the little woman. But he
could see nothing, and was about to turn away when he heard the faint
sound of fairy music. He listened and listened, and the sound came
nearer and clearer, and away in the distance, like drops of glistening
water breaking the level of the lake, he saw a fleet of fairy boats, and
he thought it was the fairy queen sailing in the moonlight. And it was
the fairy queen, and soon he was able to recognize the royal shallop
leading the others, and as it came close to the bank he saw the little
woman sitting in the prow between the little harpers, and at the stern
was the fairy queen, and by her side the lady of his heart, the Princess
Ailinn. In a second the boat was against the bank, and the princess in
his arms. And he kissed her again and again.

"And have you never a kiss for me?" said the little woman, tapping his
hand with the little gold bodkin.

"A kiss and a dozen," said Cuglas, as he caught the little fairy up in
his arms.

"Oh, fie, Cuglas," said the queen.

"Oh, the princess isn't one bit jealous," said the little woman. "Are
you, Ailinn?"

"Indeed I am not," said Ailinn.

"And you should not be," said the fairy queen, "for never lady yet had
truer knight than Cuglas. I loved him, and I love him dearly. I lured
him here hoping that in the delights of fairyland he might forget you.
It was all in vain. I know now that there is one thing no fairy power
above or below the stars, or beneath the waters, can ever subdue, and
that is love. And here together forever shall you and Cuglas dwell,
where old age shall never come upon you, and where pain or sorrow or
sickness is unknown."

And Cuglas never returned to the fair hills of Erin, and ages passed
away since the morning he followed the hounds into the fatal cave, but
his story was remembered by the firesides, and sometimes, even yet,
the herdboy watching his cattle in the fields hears the tuneful cry of
hounds, and follows it till it leads him to a darksome cave, and as
fearfully he listens to the sound becoming fainter and fainter he hears
the clatter of hoofs over the stony floor, and to this day the cave
bears the name of the prince who entered it never to return.[A]

[Footnote A: _Uaimh Bealach Conglais_, the cave of the road of
Cuglas--now Baltinglass--in the County Wicklow.]




THE HUNTSMAN'S SON


A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut on the borders of a
great forest a huntsman and his wife and son. From his earliest years
the boy, whose name was Fergus, used to hunt with his father in the
forest, and he grew up strong and active, sure and swift-footed as a
deer, and as free and fearless as the wind. He was tall and handsome; as
supple as a mountain ash, his lips were as red as its berries; his eyes
were as blue as the skies in spring; and his hair fell down over his
shoulders like a shower of gold. His heart was as light as a bird's,
and no bird was fonder of green woods and waving branches. He had lived
since his birth in the hut in the forest, and had never wished to leave
it, until one winter night a wandering minstrel sought shelter there,
and paid for his night's lodging with songs of love and battle. Ever
since that night Fergus pined for another life. He no longer found joy
in the music of the hounds or in the cries of the huntsmen in forest
glades. He yearned for the chance of battle, and the clang of shields,
and the fierce shouts of fighting warriors, and he spent all his spare
hours practicing on the harp and learning the use of arms, for in those
days the bravest warriors were also bards. In this way the spring and
summer and autumn passed; and when the winter came again it chanced that
on a stormy night, when thunder was rattling through the forest, smiting
the huge oaks and hurling them crashing to the earth, Fergus lay awake
thinking of his present lot, and wondering what the future might have in
store for him. The lightning was playing around the hut, and every now
and then a flash brightened up the interior.

After a peal, louder than any which had preceded it, Fergus heard three
loud knocks at the door. He called out to his parents that someone was
knocking.

"If that is so," said his father, "open at once; this is no night to
keep a poor wanderer outside our door."

Fergus did as he was bidden, and as he opened the door a flash of
lightning showed him, standing at the threshold, a little wizened old
man with a small harp under his arm.

"Come in, and welcome," said Fergus, and the little man stepped into
the room.

"It is a wild night, neighbors," said he.

"It is, indeed, a wild night," said the huntsman and his wife, who had
got up and dressed themselves; "and sorry we are we have no better
shelter or better fare to offer you, but we give you the best we have."

"A king cannot do more than his best," said the little man.

The huntsman's wife lit the fire, and soon the pine logs flashed up into
a blaze, and made the hut bright and warm. She then brought forth a
peggin of milk and a cake of barley-bread.

"You must be hungry, sir," she said.

"Hungry I am," said he; "but I wouldn't ask for better fare than this if
I were in the king's palace."

"Thank you kindly, sir," said she, "and I hope you will eat enough, and
that it will do you good."

"And while you are eating your supper," said the huntsman, "I'll make
you a bed of fresh rushes."

"Don't put yourself to that trouble," said the little man. "When I have
done my supper I'll lie down here by the fire, if it is pleasing to you,
and I'll sleep like a top until morning. And now go back to your beds
and leave me to myself, and maybe some time when you won't be expecting
it I'll do a good turn for your kindness to the poor wayfarer."

"Oh, it's no kindness at all," said the huntsman's wife. "It would be
a queer thing if an Irish cabin would not give shelter and welcome in
a wild night like this. So good night, now, and we hope you will sleep
well."

"Good night," said the little man, "and may you and yours never sup
sorrow until your dying day."

The huntsman and his wife and Fergus then went back to their beds, and
the little man, having finished his supper, curled himself up by the
fire, and was soon fast asleep.

About an hour after a loud clap of thunder awakened Fergus, and before
it had died away he heard three knocks at the door. He aroused his parents
and told them.

"Get up at once," said his mother, "this is no night to keep a stranger
outside our door."

Fergus rose and opened the door, and a flash of lightning showed him a
little old woman, with a shuttle in her hand, standing outside.

"Come in, and welcome," said he, and the little old woman stepped into
the room.

"Blessings be on them who give welcome to a wanderer on a wild night
like this," said the old woman.

"And who wouldn't give welcome on a night like this?" said the
huntsman's wife, coming forward with a peggin of milk and a barley cake
in her hand, "and sorry we are we have not better fare to offer you."

"Enough is as good as a feast," said the little woman, "and now go back
to your beds and leave me to myself."

"Not till I shake down a bed of rushes for you," said the huntsman's
wife.

"Don't mind the rushes," said the little woman; "go back to your beds.
I'll sleep here by the fire."

[Illustration: "Fergus knew it was the Pooka, the wild horse of the
mountains"]

The huntsman's wife went to bed, and the little old woman, having eaten
her supper, lay down by the fire, and was soon fast asleep.

About an hour later another clap of thunder startled Fergus. Again he
heard three knocks at the door. He roused his parents, but he did not
wait for orders from them. He opened the door, and a flash of lightning
showed him outside the threshold a low-sized, shaggy, wild-looking
horse. And Fergus knew it was the Pooka, the wild horse of the
mountains. Bold as Fergus was, his heart beat quickly as he saw fire
issuing from the Pooka's nostrils. But, banishing fear, he cried out:

"Come in, and welcome."

"Welcome you are," said the huntsman, "and sorry we are that we have not
better shelter or fare to offer you."

"I couldn't wish a better welcome," said the Pooka, as he came over near
the fire and sat down on his haunches.

"Maybe you would like a little bit of this, Master Pooka," said the
huntsman's wife, as she offered him a barley cake.

"I never tasted anything sweeter in my life," said the Pooka, crunching
it between his teeth, "and now if you can give me a sup of milk, I'll
want for nothing."

The huntsman's wife brought him a peggin of milk. When he had drunk it,
"Now," says the Pooka, "go back to your beds, and I'll curl myself up by
the fire and sleep like a top till morning."

And soon everybody in the hut was fast asleep.

When the morning came the storm had gone, and the sun was shining
through the windows of the hut. At the song of the lark Fergus got up,
and no one in the world was ever more surprised than he when he saw no
sign of the little old man, or the little old woman, or the wild horse
of the mountains. His parents were also surprised, and they all thought
that they must have been dreaming until they saw the empty peggins
around the fire and some pieces of broken bread; and they did not know
what to think of it all.

From that day forward the desire grew stronger in the heart of Fergus
for a change of life; and one day he told his parents that he was
resolved to seek his fortune. He said he wished to be a soldier, and that
he would set out for the king's palace, and try to join the ranks of the
Feni.

About a week afterwards he took leave of his parents, and having
received their blessing he struck out for the road that led to the
palace of the High King of Erin. He arrived there just at the time when
the great captain of the Fenian host was recruiting his battalions,
which had been thinned in recent battle.

The manly figure of Fergus, his gallant bearing, and handsome face, all
told in his favor. But before he could be received into the Fenian ranks
he had to prove that he could play the harp like a bard, that he could
contend with staff and shield against nine Fenian warriors, that he
could run with plaited hair through the tangled forest without loosening
a single hair, and that in his course he could jump over trees as high
as his head, and stoop under trees as low as his knee, and that he could
run so lightly that the rotten twigs should not break under his feet.
Fergus proved equal to all the tests, thanks to the wandering minstrel
who taught him the use of the harp, to his own brave heart, and to his
forest training. He was enrolled in the second battalion of the Feni,
and before long he was its bravest and ablest champion.

At that very time it happened that the niece of the High King of
Erin was staying with the king and queen in their palace at Tara. The
princess was the loveliest lady in all the land. She was as proud as
she was beautiful. The princes and chieftains of Erin in vain sought her
hand in marriage. From Alba and Spain, and the far-off isles of Greece,
kings came to woo her. From the northern lands came vikings in stately
galleys with brazen prows, whose oarsmen tore the white foam from the
emerald seas as they swept towards the Irish coasts. But the lady had
vowed she would wed with no one except a battle champion who could excel
in music the chief bard of the High King of Erin; who could outstrip on
his steed in the great race of Tara the white steed of the plains; and
who could give her as a wedding robe a garment of all the colors of the
rainbow, so finely spun that when folded up it would fit in the palm of
her small white hand. To fulfill these three conditions was impossible
for all her suitors, and it seemed as if the loveliest lady of the land
would go unmarried to her grave.

It chanced that once, on a day when the Fenian battalions were engaged
in a hurling-match, Fergus beheld the lady watching the match from her
sunny bower. He no sooner saw her than he fell over head and ears in
love with her, and he thought of her by night, and he thought of her by
day, and believing that his love was hopeless, he often wished he had
never left his forest-home.

The great fair of Tara[8] was coming on, and all the Feni were busy from
morning till night practicing feats of arms and games, in order to take
part in the contests to be held during the fair. And Fergus, knowing
that the princess would be present, determined to do his best to win the
prizes which were to be contended for before the ladies' eyes.

The fair began on the 1st of August, but for a whole week before the
five great roads of Erin were thronged with people of all sorts. Princes
and warriors on their steeds, battle champions in their chariots,
harpers in hundreds, smiths with gleaming spears and shields and
harness for battle steeds and chariots; troops of men and boys leading
racehorses; jewelers with gold drinking-horns, and brooches, and pins,
and earrings, and costly gems of all kinds, and chessboards of silver
and gold, and golden and silver chessmen in bags of woven brass; dyers
with their many-colored fabrics; bands of jugglers; drovers goading on
herds of cattle; shepherds driving their sheep; huntsmen with spoils
of the chase; dwellers in the lakes or by the fish-abounding rivers
with salmon and speckled trout; and countless numbers of peasants on
horseback and on foot, all wending their way to the great meeting-place
by the mound, which a thousand years before had been raised over the
grave of the great queen. For there the fair was to be held.

On the opening day the High King, attended by the four kings of Erin,
set out from the palace, and with them went the queen and the ladies of
the court in sparkling chariots. The princess rode in the chariot with
the High Queen, under an awning made of the wings of birds, to protect
them from the rays of the sun. Following the queen were the court ladies
in other chariots, under awnings of purple or of yellow silk. Then came
the brehons, the great judges of the land, and the chief bards of the
high court of Tara, and the Druids, crowned with oak leaves, and
carrying wands of divination in their hands.

When the royal party reached the ground it took its place in inclosures
right up against the monumental mound. The High King sat with the four
kings of Erin, all wearing their golden helmets, for they wore their
diadems in battle only. In an inclosure next the king's sat the queen
and the princess and all the ladies of the court. At either side of the
royal pavilions were others for the dames and ladies and nobles and
chiefs of different degrees, forming part of a circle on the plain, and
the stands and benches for the people were so arranged as to complete
the circle, and in the round green space within it, so that all might
hear and see, the contests were to take place.

At a signal from the king, who was greeted with a thunderous cheer, the
heralds rode round the circle, and having struck their sounding shields
three times with their swords, they made a solemn proclamation of peace.
Then was sung by all the assembled bards, to the accompaniment of their
harps, the chant in honor of the mighty dead. When this was ended, again
the heralds struck their shields, and the contests began. The first
contest was the contest of spear-throwing between the champions of the
seven battalions of the Feni. When the seven champions took their places
in front of the royal inclosure, everyone, even the proud princess, was
struck by the manly beauty and noble bearing of Fergus.

The champions poised their spears, and at a stroke from the heralds upon
their shields the seven spears sped flashing through the air. They all
struck the ground, shafts up, and it was seen that two were standing
side by side in advance of the rest, one belonged to Fergus, the other
to the great chief, Oscar. The contest for the prize then lay between
Oscar and Fergus, and when they stood in front of the king, holding
their spears aloft, every heart was throbbing with excitement. Once more
the heralds struck their shields, and, swifter than the lightning's
flash, forth went the spears, and when Fergus's spear was seen shivering
in the ground a full length ahead of the great chief Oscar's, the air was
shaken by a wild cheer that was heard far beyond the plains of Tara. And
as Fergus approached the high king to receive the prize the cheers were
renewed. But Fergus thought more of the winsome glance of the princess
than he did of the prize or the sounding cheers. And Princess Maureen
was almost sorry for her vow, for her heart was touched by the beauty
of the Fenian champion.

Other contests followed, and the day passed, and the night fell, and
while the Fenian warriors were reveling in their camps the heart of
Fergus, victor as he was, was sad and low. He escaped from his
companions, and stole away to his native forest, for--

  "When the heart is sick and sorest,
   There is balsam in the forest--
   There is balsam in the forest
                       For its pain."


And as he lay under the spreading branches, watching the stars glancing
through the leaves, and listening to the slumb'rous murmur of the
waters, a strange peace came over him.

But in the camp which he had left, and in the vast multitude on the plains
of Tara, there was stir and revelry, and babbling speculation as to the
contest of to-morrow--the contest which was to decide whether the chief
bard of Erin was to hold his own against all comers, or yield the palm.
For rumor said that a great Skald had come from the northern lands to
compete with the Irish bard.

At last, over the Fenian camp, and over the great plain and the
multitude that thronged it, sleep fell, clothing them with a silence as
deep as that which dwelt in the forest, where, dreaming of the princess,
Fergus lay. He awoke at the first notes of the birds, but though he felt
he ought to go back to his companions and be witness of the contest
which might determine whether the princess was to be another's bride,
his great love and his utter despair of winning her so oppressed him
that he lay as motionless as a broken reed. He scarcely heard the music
of the birds, and paid no heed to the murmur of the brook rushing by his
feet. The crackling of branches near him barely disturbed him, but when
a shadow fell across his eyes he looked up gloomily, and saw, or thought
he saw, someone standing before him. He started up, and who should he see
but the little wizened old man who found shelter in his father's hut on
the stormy night.

"This is a nice place for a battle champion to be. This is a nice place
for _you_ to be on the day which is to decide who will be the successful
suitor of the princess."

"What is it to me," said Fergus, "who is to win her since I cannot?"

"I told you," said the little man, "the night you opened the door for
me, that the time might come when I might be able to do a good turn for
you and yours. The time has come. Take this harp, and my luck go with
you, and in the contest of the bards to-day you'll reap the reward of
the kindness you did when you opened your door to the poor old wayfarer
in the midnight storm."

The little man handed his harp to Fergus and disappeared as swiftly as
the wind that passes through the leaves.

Fergus, concealing the harp under his silken cloak, reached the camp
before his comrades had aroused themselves from sleep.

At length the hour arrived when the great contest was to take place.

The king gave the signal, and as the chief bard of Erin was seen
ascending the mound in front of the royal inclosures he was greeted with
a roar of cheers, but at the first note of his harp silence like that of
night fell on the mighty gathering.

As he moved his fingers softly over the strings every heart was hushed,
filled with a sense of balmy rest. The lark soaring and singing above
his head paused mute and motionless in the still air, and no sound was
heard over the spacious plain save the dreamy music. Then the bard
struck another key, and a gentle sorrow possessed the hearts of his
hearers, and unbidden tears gathered to their eyes. Then, with bolder
hand, he swept his fingers across his lyre, and all hearts were moved
to joy and pleasant laughter, and eyes that had been dimmed by tears
sparkled as brightly as running waters dancing in the sun. When the last
notes had died away a cheer arose, loud as the voice of the storm in the
glen when the live thunder is reveling on the mountain tops. As soon as
the bard had descended the mound the Skald from the northern lands took
his place, greeted by cries of welcome from a hundred thousand throats.
He touched his harp, and in the perfect silence was heard the strain of
the mermaid's song, and through it the pleasant ripple of summer waters
on the pebbly beach. Then the theme was changed, and on the air was
borne the measured sweep of countless oars and the swish of waters
around the prows of contending galleys, and the breezy voices of the
sailors and the sea-bird's cry. Then his theme was changed to the mirth
and laughter of the banquet-hall, the clang of meeting drinking-horns,
and songs of battle. When the last strain ended, from the mighty host a
great shout went up, loud as the roar of winter billows breaking in the
hollows of the shore; and men knew not whom to declare the victor, the
chief bard of Erin or the Skald of the northern lands.

In the height of the debate the cry arose that another competitor had
ascended the mound, and there standing in view of all was Fergus, the
huntsman's son. All eyes were fastened upon him, but no one looked so
eagerly as the princess.

He touched his harp with gentle fingers, and a sound low and soft as
a faint summer breeze passing through forest trees stole out, and then
was heard the rustle of birds through the branches, and the dreamy
murmur of waters lost in deepest woods, and all the fairy echoes
whispering when the leaves are motionless in the noonday heat; then
followed notes cool and soft as the drip of summer showers on the
parched grass, and then the song of the blackbird, sounding as clearly
as it sounds in long silent spaces of the evening, and then in one sweet
jocund burst the multitudinous voices that hail the breaking of the
morn. And the lark, singing and soaring above the minstrel, sank mute
and motionless upon his shoulder, and from all the leafy woods the birds
came thronging out and formed a fluttering canopy above his head.

When the bard ceased playing no shout arose from the mighty multitude,
for the strains of his harp, long after its chords were stilled, held
their hearts spellbound.

And when he had passed away from the mound of contest all knew there was
no need to declare the victor.[9] And all were glad the comely Fenian
champion had maintained the supremacy of the bards of Erin. But there
was one heart sad, the heart of the princess; and now she wished more
than ever that she had never made her hateful vow.

Other contests went on, but Fergus took no interest in them; and once
more he stole away to the forest glade. His heart was sorrowful, for he
thought of the great race of the morning, and he knew that he could not
hope to compete with the rider of the white steed of the plains. And as
he lay beneath the spreading branches during the whole night long his
thoughts were not of the victory he had won, but of the princess, who
was as far away from him as ever. He passed the night without sleep, and
when the morning came he rose and walked aimlessly through the woods.

A deer starting from a thicket reminded him of the happy days of his
boyhood, and once more the wish came back to him that he had never left
his forest home. As his eyes followed the deer wistfully, suddenly he
started in amazement. The deer vanished from view, and in his stead was
the wild horse of the mountains.

"I told you I'd do you a good turn," said the Pooka, "for the kindness
you and yours did me on that wild winter's night. The day is passing.
You have no time to lose. The white steed of the plains is coming to the
starting-post. Jump on my back, and remember, 'Faint heart never won
fair lady.'"

In half a second Fergus was bestride the Pooka, whose coat of shaggy
hair became at once as glossy as silk, and just at the very moment
when the king was about to declare there was no steed to compete with
the white steed of the plains, the Pooka, with Fergus upon his back,
galloped up in front of the royal inclosure. When the people saw the
champion a thunderous shout rose up that startled the birds in the
skies, and sent them flying to the groves.

And in the ladies' inclosure was a rustle of many-colored scarves waving
in the air. At the striking of the shields the contending steeds rushed
from the post with the swiftness of a swallow's flight. But before the
white steed of the plains had gone halfway round, Fergus and the wild
horse of the mountains had passed the winning post, greeted by such
cheers as had never before been heard on the plains of Tara.

Fergus heard the cheers, but scarcely heeded them, for his heart went
out through his eyes that were fastened on the princess, and a wild hope
stirred him that his glance was not ungrateful to the loveliest lady of
the land.

And the princess was sad and sorry for her vow, for she believed that it
was beyond the power of Fergus to bring her a robe of all the colors of
the rainbow, so subtly woven as to fit in the palm of her soft, white
hand.

That night also Fergus went to the forest, not too sad, because there
was a vague hope in his heart that had never been there before. He lay
down under the branches, with his feet towards the rustling waters, and
the smiles of the princess gilded his slumbers, as the rays of the
rising sun gild the glades of the forest; and when the morning came he
was scarcely surprised when before him appeared the little old woman
with the shuttle he had welcomed on the winter's night.

"You think you have won her already," said the little woman. "And so you
have, too; her heart is all your own, and I'm half inclined to think
that my trouble will be thrown away, for if you had never a wedding robe
to give her, she'd rather have you this minute than all the kings of
Erin, or than all the other princes and kings and chieftains in the
whole world. But you and your father and mother were kind to me on a
wild winter's night, and I'd never see your mother's son without a
wedding robe fit for the greatest princess that ever set nations to
battle for her beauty. So go and pluck me a handful of wild forest
flowers, and I'll weave out of them a wedding robe with all the colors
of the rainbow, and one that will be as sweet and as fragrant as the
ripe, red lips of the princess herself."

Fergus, with joyous heart, culled the flowers, and brought them to the
little old woman.

In the twinkling of an eye she wove with her little shuttle a wedding
robe, with all the colors of the rainbow, as light as the fairy dew, as
soft as the hand of the princess, as fragrant as her little red mouth,
and so small that it would pass through the eye of a needle.

"Go now, Fergus," said she, "and may luck go with you; but, in the days
of your greatness and of the glory which will come to you when you are
wedded to the princess, be as kind, and have as open a heart and as open
a door for the poor as you had when you were only a poor huntsman's son."

Fergus took the robe and went towards Tara. It was the last day of the
fair, and all the contests were over, and the bards were about to chant
the farewell strains to the memory of the great queen. But before the
chief bard could ascend the mound, Fergus, attended by a troop of Fenian
warriors on their steeds, galloped into the inclosure, and rode up in
front of the queen's pavilion. Holding up the glancing and many-colored
robe, he said:

"O Queen and King of Erin! I claim the princess for my bride. You,
O king, have decided that I have won the prize in the contest of the
bards; that I have won the prize in the race against the white steed of
the plains; it is for the princess to say if the robe which I give her
will fit in the hollow of her small white hand."

"Yes," said the king. "You are victor in the contests; let the princess
declare if you have fulfilled the last condition."

The princess took the robe from Fergus, closed her fingers over it, so
that no vestige of it was seen.

"Yes, O king!" said she, "he has fulfilled the last condition; but
before ever he had fulfilled a single one of them, my heart went out to
the comely champion of the Feni. I was willing then, I am ready now, to
become the bride of the huntsman's son."




THE FAIRY TREE OF DOOROS[10]


Once upon a time the fairies of the west, going home from a
hurling-match with the fairies of the lakes, rested in Dooros Wood for
three days and three nights. They spent the days feasting and the nights
dancing in the light of the moon, and they danced so hard that they wore
the shoes off their feet, and for a whole week after the leprechauns,
the fairies' shoemakers, were working night and day making new ones, and
the rip, rap, tap, tap of their little hammers were heard in all the
hedgerows.

The food on which the fairies feasted was little red berries, which were
so like those that grow on the rowan tree that if you only looked at
them you might mistake one for the other; but the fairy berries grow
only in fairyland, and are sweeter than any fruit that grows here in
this world, and if an old man, bent and gray, ate one of them, he became
young and active and strong again; and if an old woman, withered and
wrinkled, ate one of them, she became young and bright and fair; and if
a little maiden who was not handsome ate of them, she became lovelier
than the flower of beauty.

The fairies guarded the berries as carefully as a miser guards his gold,
and whenever they were about to leave fairyland they had to promise in
the presence of the king and queen that they would not give a single
berry to mortal man, nor allow one to fall upon the earth; for if a
single berry fell upon the earth a slender tree of many branches,
bearing clusters of berries, would at once spring up, and mortal men
might eat of them.

But it chanced that this time they were in Dooros Wood they kept up the
feasting and dancing so long, and were so full of joy because of their
victory over the lake fairies, that one little, weeny fairy, not much
bigger than my finger, lost his head, and dropped a berry in the wood.

When the feast was ended the fairies went back to fairyland, and were at
home for more than a week before they knew of the little fellow's fault,
and this is how they came to know of it.

A great wedding was about to come off, and the queen of the fairies sent
six of her pages to Dooros Wood to catch fifty butterflies with golden
spots on their purple wings, and fifty white without speck or spot, and
fifty golden, yellow as the cowslip, to make a dress for herself, and a
hundred white, without speck or spot, to make dresses for the bride and
bridesmaids.

When the pages came near the wood they heard the most wonderful music,
and the sky above them became quite dark, as if a cloud had shut out
the sun. They looked up, and saw that the cloud was formed of bees, who
in a great swarm were flying towards the wood and humming as they flew.
Seeing this they were sore afraid until they saw the bees settling on a
single tree, and on looking closely at the tree they saw it was covered
with fairy berries.

The bees took no notice of the fairies, and so they were no longer
afraid, and they hunted the butterflies until they had captured the full
number of various colors. Then they returned to fairyland, and they told
the queen about the bees and the berries, and the queen told the king.

The king was very angry, and he sent his heralds to the four corners of
fairyland to summon all his subjects to his presence that he might find
out without delay who was the culprit.

They all came except the little weeny fellow who dropped the berry, and
of course everyone said that it was fear that kept him away, and that he
must be guilty.

The heralds were at once sent in search of him, and after a while they
found him hiding in a cluster of ferns, and brought him before the king.

The poor little fellow was so frightened that at first he could scarcely
speak a word, but after a time he told how he never missed the berry
until he had returned to fairyland, and that he was afraid to say
anything to anyone about it.

The king, who would hear of no excuse, sentenced the little culprit to
be banished into the land of giants beyond the mountains, to stay there
for ever and a day unless he could find a giant willing to go to Dooros
Wood and guard the fairy tree. When the king had pronounced sentence
everyone was very sorry, because the little fellow was a favorite with
them all. No fairy harper upon his harp, or piper upon his pipe, or
fiddler upon his fiddle, could play half so sweetly as he could play
upon an ivy leaf; and when they remembered all the pleasant moonlit
nights on which they had danced to his music, and thought that they
should never hear or dance to it any more, their little hearts were
filled with sorrow. The queen was as sad as any of her subjects, but
the king's word should be obeyed.

When the time came for the little fellow to set out into exile the queen
sent her head page to him with a handful of berries. These the queen
said he was to offer to the giants, and say at the same time that the
giant who was willing to guard the tree could feast on berries just as
sweet from morn till night.

As the little fellow went on his way nearly all the fairies followed him
to the borders of the land, and when they saw him go up the mountain
towards the land of the giants, they all took off their little red caps
and waved them until he was out of sight.

On he went walking all day and night, and when the sun rose on the
morrow he was on the top of the mountain, and he could see the land of
the giants in the valley stretched far below him. Before beginning his
descent he turned round for a last glimpse of fairyland; but he could
see nothing, for a thick, dark cloud shut it out from view. He was
very sad, and tired, and footsore, and as he struggled down the rough
mountain side, he could not help thinking of the soft, green woods and
mossy pathways of the pleasant land he had left behind him.

[Illustration: "He was very sad, and tired"]

When he awoke the ground was trembling, and a noise that sounded like
thunder fell on his ears. He looked up and saw coming towards him a
terrible giant, with one eye that burned like a live coal in the middle
of his forehead; his mouth stretched from ear to ear, his teeth were
long and crooked, the skin of his face was as black as night, and his
arms and chest were all covered with black, shaggy hair; round his body
was an iron band, and hanging from this by a chain was a great club with
iron spikes. With one blow of this club he could break a rock into
splinters, and fire could not burn him, and water could not drown him,
and weapons could not wound him, and there was no way to kill him but
by giving him three blows of his own club. And he was so bad-tempered
that the other giants called him Sharvan the Surly. When the giant spied
the red cap of the little fairy he gave the shout that sounded like
thunder. The poor fairy was shaking from head to foot.

"What brought you here?" said the giant.

"Please, Mr. Giant," said the fairy, "the king of the fairies banished
me here, and here I must stay for ever and a day, unless you come and
guard the fairy tree in Dooros Wood."

"Unless what?" roared the giant, and he gave the fairy a touch of his
foot that sent the little fellow rolling down head over heels.

The poor fairy lay as if he were dead, and then the giant, feeling sorry
for what he had done, took him up gently between his finger and thumb.

"Don't be frightened, little man," said he, "and now, tell me all about
the tree."

"It is the tree of the fairy berry that grows in the Wood of Dooros,"
said the fairy, "and I have some of the berries with me."

"Oh, you have, have you?" said the giant. "Let me see them."

The fairy took three berries from the pocket of his little green coat,
and gave them to the giant.

The giant looked at them for a second. He then swallowed the three
together, and when he had done so, he felt so happy that he began to
shout and dance for joy.

"More, you little thief!" said he. "More, you little----what's your
name?" said the giant.

"Pinkeen, please, Mr. Giant," said the fairy, as he gave up all the
berries.

The giant shouted louder than before, and his shouts were heard by all
the other giants, who came running towards him.

When Sharvan saw them coming, he caught up Pinkeen, and put him in his
pocket, that they shouldn't see him.

"What were you shouting for?" said the giants.

"Because," said Sharvan, "that rock there fell down on my big toe."

"You did not shout like a man that was hurt," said they.

"What is it to you what way I shouted?" said he.

"You might give a civil answer to a civil question," said they; "but
sure you were always Sharvan the Surly;" and they went away.

When the giants were out of sight, Sharvan took Pinkeen out of his
wallet.

"Some more berries, you little thief--I mean little Pinkeen," said he.

"I have not any more," said Pinkeen; "but if you will guard the tree in
Dooros Wood you can feast on them from morn till night."

"I'll guard every tree in the wood, if I may do that," said the giant.

"You'll have to guard only one," said Pinkeen.

"How am I to get to it?" said Sharvan.

"You must first come with me towards fairyland," said the fairy.

"Very well," said Sharvan; "let us go." And he took up the fairy and put
him into his wallet, and before very long they were on the top of the
mountain. Then the giant looked around towards the giants' land; but
a black cloud shut it out from view, while the sun was shining on the
valley that lay before him, and he could see away in the distance the
green woods and shining waters of fairyland.

It was not long until he reached its borders, but when he tried to cross
them his feet stuck to the ground and he could not move a step. Sharvan
gave three loud shouts that were heard all over fairyland, and made the
trees in the woods tremble, as if the wind of a storm was sweeping over
them.

"Oh, please, Mr. Giant, let me out," said Pinkeen. Sharvan took out the
little fellow, who, as soon as he saw he was on the borders of fairyland
ran as fast as his legs could carry him, and before he had gone very far
he met all the little fairies who, hearing the shouts of the giant, came
trooping out from the ferns to see what was the matter. Pinkeen told
them it was the giant who was to guard the tree, shouting because he
was stuck fast on the borders, and they need have no fear of him. The
fairies were so delighted to have Pinkeen back again, that they took
him up on their shoulders and carried him to the king's palace, and all
the harpers and pipers and fiddlers marched before him playing the most
jocund music that was ever heard. The king and queen were on the lawn
in front of the palace when the gay procession came up and halted before
them. The queen's eyes glistened with pleasure when she saw the little
favorite, and the king was also glad at heart, but he looked very grave
as he said:

"Why have you returned, sirrah?"

Then Pinkeen told his majesty that he had brought with him a giant who
was willing to guard the fairy tree.

"And who is he and where is he?" asked the king.

"The other giants called him Sharvan the Surly," said Pinkeen, "and he
is stuck fast outside the borders of fairyland."

"It is well," said the king, "you are pardoned."

When the fairies heard this they tossed their little red caps in the
air, and cheered so loudly that a bee who was clinging to a rose-bud
fell senseless to the ground.

Then the king ordered one of his pages to take a handful of berries,
and to go to Sharvan and show him the way to Dooros Wood. The page,
taking the berries with him, went off to Sharvan, whose roaring nearly
frightened the poor little fellow to death. But as soon as the giant
tasted the berries he got into good humor, and he asked the page if he
could remove the spell of enchantment from him.

"I can," said the page, "and I will if you promise me that you will not
try to cross the borders of fairyland."

"I promise that, with all my heart," said the giant. "But hurry on, my
little man, for there are pins and needles in my legs."

The page plucked a cowslip, and picking out the five little crimson
spots in the cup of it, he flung one to the north, and one to the south,
and one to the east, and one to the west, and one up into the sky, and
the spell was broken, and the giant's limbs were free. Then Sharvan
and the fairy page set off for Dooros Wood, and it was not long until
they came within view of the fairy tree. When Sharvan saw the berries
glistening in the sun, he gave a shout so loud and strong that the wind
of it blew the little fairy back to fairyland. But he had to return to
the wood to tell the giant that he was to stay all day at the foot of
the tree ready to do battle with anyone who might come to steal the
berries, and that during the night he was to sleep amongst the branches.

"All right," said the giant, who could scarcely speak, as his mouth was
full of berries.

Well, the fame of the fairy-tree spread far and wide, and every day some
adventurer came to try if he could carry away some of the berries; but
the giant, true to his word, was always on the watch, and not a single
day passed on which he did not fight and slay a daring champion, and the
giant never received a wound, for fire could not burn him, nor water
drown him, nor weapon wound him.

Now, at this time, when Sharvan was keeping watch and ward over the
tree, a cruel king was reigning over the lands that looked towards
the rising sun. He had slain the rightful king by foul means, and his
subjects, loving their murdered sovereign, hated the usurper; but much
as they hated him they feared him more, for he was brave and masterful,
and he was armed with a helmet and shield which no weapon made by mortal
hands could pierce, and he carried always with him two javelins that
never missed their mark, and were so fatal that they were called "the
shafts of death." The murdered king had two children--a boy, whose name
was Niall, and a girl, who was called Rosaleen--that is, little Rose;
but no rose that ever bloomed was half as sweet or fresh or fair as she.
Cruel as the tyrant king was, he was too afraid of the people to kill
the children. He sent the boy adrift on the sea in an open boat, hoping
the waves would swallow it; and he got an old witch to cast the spell of
deformity over Rosaleen, and under the spell her beauty faded, until at
last she became so ugly and wasted that scarcely anyone would speak to
her. And, shunned by everyone, she spent her days in the out-houses with
the cattle, and every night she cried herself to sleep.

One day, when she was very lonely, a little robin came to pick the
crumbs that had fallen about her feet. He appeared so tame that she
offered him the bread from her hand, and when he took it she cried with
joy at finding that there was one living thing that did not shun her.
After this the robin came every day, and he sang so sweetly for her that
she almost forgot her loneliness and misery. But once while the robin
was with her the tyrant king's daughter, who was very beautiful, passed
with her maids of honor, and, seeing Rosaleen, the princess said:

"Oh, there is that horrid ugly thing."

The maids laughed and giggled, and said they had never seen such a
fright.

Poor Rosaleen felt as if her heart would break, and when the princess
and her maids were out of sight she almost cried her eyes out. When the
robin saw her crying he perched on her shoulder and rubbed his little
head against her neck and chirruped softly in her ear, and Rosaleen
was comforted, for she felt she had at least one friend in the world,
although it was only a little robin. But the robin could do more for
her than she could dream of. He heard the remark made by the princess,
and he saw Rosaleen's tears, and he knew now why she was shunned by
everybody, and why she was so unhappy. And that very evening he flew off
to Dooros Wood, and called on a cousin of his and told him all about
Rosaleen.

"And you want some of the fairy berries, I suppose," said his cousin,
Robin of the Wood.

"I do," said Rosaleen's little friend.

"Ah," said Robin of the Wood, "times have changed since you were here
last. The tree is guarded now all the day long by a surly giant. He
sleeps in the branches during the night, and he breathes upon them and
around them every morning, and his breath is poison to bird and bee.
There is only one chance open, and if you try that it may cost you
your life."

"Then tell me what it is, for I would give a hundred lives for
Rosaleen," said her own little robin.

"Well," said Robin of the Wood, "every day a champion comes to battle
with the giant, and the giant, before he begins the fight, puts a branch
of berries in the iron belt that's around his waist, so that when he
feels tired or thirsty he can refresh himself, and there is just a bare
chance, while he is fighting, of picking one of the berries from the
branch; but if his breath fall on you it is certain death."

"I will take the chance," said Rosaleen's robin.

"Very well," said the other. And the two birds flew through the wood
until they came within sight of the fairy tree. The giant was lying
stretched at the foot of it, eating the berries; but it was not long
until a warrior came, who challenged him to battle. The giant jumped up,
and plucking a branch from the tree stuck it in his belt, and swinging
his iron club above his head strode towards the warrior, and the fight
began. The robin perched on a tree behind the giant, and watched and
waited for his chance; but it was a long time coming, for the berries
were in front of the giant's belt. At last the giant, with one great
blow, struck the warrior down, but as he did so he stumbled and fell
upon him, and before he had time to recover himself the little robin
darted towards him like a flash and picked off one of the berries, and
then, as fast as wings could carry him, he flew towards home, and on his
way he passed over a troop of warriors on snow-white steeds. All the
horsemen except one wore silver helmets and shining mantles of green
silk, fastened by brooches of red gold, but the chief, who rode at the
head of the troop, wore a golden helmet, and his mantle was of yellow
silk, and he looked by far the noblest of them all. When the robin had
left the horsemen far behind him he spied Rosaleen sitting outside the
palace gates bemoaning her fate. The robin perched upon her shoulder,
and almost before she knew he was there he put the berry between her
lips, and the taste was so delicious that Rosaleen ate it at once, and
that very moment the witch's withering spell passed away from her, and
she became as lovely as the flower of beauty. Just then the warriors on
the snow-white steeds came up, and the chief with the mantle of yellow
silk and the golden helmet leaped from his horse, and bending his knee
before her, said:

"Fairest of all fair maidens, you are surely the daughter of the king of
these realms, even though you are without the palace gates, unattended,
and wear not royal robes. I am the Prince of the Sunny Valleys."

"Daughter of a king I am," said Rosaleen, "but not of the king who rules
these realms."

And saying this she fled, leaving the prince wondering who she could be.
The prince then ordered his trumpeters to give notice of his presence
outside the palace, and in a few moments the king and all his nobles
came out to greet the prince and his warriors, and give them welcome.
That night a great feast was spread in the banquet hall, and the Prince
of the Sunny Valleys sat by the king, and beside the prince sat the
king's beautiful daughter, and then in due order sat the nobles of the
court and the warriors who had come with the prince, and on the wall
behind each noble and warrior his shield and helmet were suspended,
flashing radiance through the room. During the feast the prince spoke
most graciously to the lovely lady at his side, but all the time he was
thinking of the unknown beauty he had met outside the palace gates, and
his heart longed for another glimpse of her. When the feast was ended,
and the jeweled drinking-cups had gone merrily around the table, the
bards sang, to the accompaniment of harps, the "Courtship of the Lady
Eimer," and as they pictured her radiant beauty outshining that of all
her maidens, the prince thought that fair as Lady Eimer was there was
one still fairer.

When the feast was ended the king asked the prince what brought him into
his realms.

"I come," said the prince, "to look for a bride, for it was foretold
to me in my own country that here only I should find the lady who is
destined to share my throne, and fame reported that in your kingdom are
to be found the loveliest maidens in all the world, and I can well
believe that," added the prince, "after what I have seen to-day."

When the king's daughter heard this she hung down her head and blushed
like a rose, for, of course, she thought the prince was alluding only to
herself, as she did not know that he had seen Rosaleen, and she had not
heard of the restoration of her beauty.

Before another word could be spoken a great noise and the clang of arms
were heard outside the palace. The king and his guests started from
their seats and drew their swords, and the bards raised the song of
battle; but their voices were stilled and their harps silenced when they
saw at the threshold of the banquet hall a battle champion, in whose
face they recognized the features of their murdered king.

"'Tis Niall come back to claim his father's throne," said the chief
bard. "Long live Niall!"

"Long live Niall!" answered all the others.

The king, white with rage and amazement, turned to the chiefs and nobles
of his court, and cried out:

"Is there none loyal enough to drive that intruder from the banquet
hall?"

But no one stirred, and no answer was given. Then the king rushed
forward alone, but before he could reach the spot where Niall was
standing he was seized by a dozen chiefs and at once disarmed.

During this scene the king's daughter had fled frightened; but Rosaleen,
attracted by the noise, and hearing her brother's name and the cheers
which greeted it, had entered the banquet hall unperceived by anyone.
But when her presence was discovered every eye was dazzled with her
beauty. Niall looked at her for a second, wondering if the radiant
maiden before him could be the little sister he had been separated from
for so many years. In another second she was clasped in his arms.

Then the feast was spread again, and Niall told the story of his
adventures; and when the Prince of the Sunny Valley asked for the hand
of Rosaleen, Niall told his lovely sister to speak for herself. With
downcast eyes and smiling lips she said, "yes," and that very day was
the gayest and brightest wedding that ever took place, and Rosaleen
became the prince's bride.

In her happiness she did not forget the little robin, who was her friend
in sorrow. She took him home with her to Sunny Valleys, and every day
she fed him with her own hands, and every day he sang for her the
sweetest songs that were ever heard in lady's bower.




THE LITTLE WHITE CAT


A long, long time ago, in a valley far away, the giant Trencoss lived in
a great castle, surrounded by trees that were always green. The castle
had a hundred doors, and every door was guarded by a huge, shaggy hound,
with tongue of fire and claws of iron, who tore to pieces anyone who
went to the castle without the giant's leave. Trencoss had made war on
the King of the Torrents, and, having killed the king, and slain his
people, and burned his palace, he carried off his only daughter, the
Princess Eileen, to the castle in the valley. Here he provided her with
beautiful rooms, and appointed a hundred dwarfs, dressed in blue and
yellow satin, to wait upon her, and harpers to play sweet music for her,
and he gave her diamonds without number, brighter than the sun; but he
would not allow her to go outside the castle, and told her if she went
one step beyond its doors, the hounds, with tongues of fire and claws of
iron, would tear her to pieces. A week after her arrival, war broke out
between the giant and the King of the Islands, and before he set out for
battle, the giant sent for the princess, and informed her that on his
return he would make her his wife. When the princess heard this she
began to cry, for she would rather die than marry the giant who had
slain her father.

"Crying will only spoil your bright eyes, my little princess," said
Trencoss, "and you will have to marry me whether you like it or no."

He then bade her go back to her room, and he ordered the dwarfs to give
her everything she asked for while he was away, and the harpers to play
the sweetest music for her. When the princess gained her room she cried
as if her heart would break. The long day passed slowly, and the night
came, but brought no sleep to Eileen, and in the gray light of the
morning she rose and opened the window, and looked about in every
direction to see if there were any chance of escape. But the window was
ever so high above the ground, and below were the hungry and ever
watchful hounds. With a heavy heart she was about to close the window
when she thought she saw the branches of the tree that was nearest to
it moving. She looked again, and she saw a little white cat creeping
along one of the branches.

"Mew!" cried the cat.

"Poor little pussy," said the princess. "Come to me, pussy."

"Stand back from the window," said the cat, "and I will."

The princess stepped back, and the little white cat jumped into the
room. The princess took the little cat on her lap and stroked him with
her hand, and the cat raised up its back and began to purr.

"Where do you come from, and what is your name?" asked the princess.

"No matter where I come from or what's my name," said the cat. "I am a
friend of yours, and I come to help you."

"I never wanted help worse," said the princess.

"I know that," said the cat; "and now listen to me. When the giant comes
back from battle and asks you to marry him, say to him you will marry
him."

"But I will never marry him," said the princess.

"Do what I tell you," said the cat. "When he asks you to marry him, say
to him you will if his dwarfs will wind for you three balls from the
fairy dew that lies on the bushes on a misty morning as big as these,"
said the cat, putting his right forefoot into his ear and taking out
three balls--one yellow, one red, and one blue.

"They are very small," said the princess. "They are not much bigger than
peas, and the dwarfs will not be long at their work."

"Won't they," said the cat. "It will take them a month and a day to make
one, so that it will take three months and three days before the balls
are wound; but the giant, like you, will think they can be made in a few
days, and so he will readily promise to do what you ask. He will soon
find out his mistake, but he will keep his word, and will not press you
to marry him until the balls are wound."

"When will the giant come back?" asked Eileen.

"He will return to-morrow afternoon," said the cat.

"Will you stay with me until then?" said the princess. "I am very
lonely."

"I cannot stay," said the cat. "I have to go away to my palace on the
island on which no man ever placed his foot, and where no man but one
shall ever come."

"And where is that island?" asked the princess, "and who is the man?"

"The island is in the far-off seas where vessel never sailed; the man
you will see before many days are over; and if all goes well, he will
one day slay the giant Trencoss, and free you from his power."

"Ah!" sighed the princess, "that can never be, for no weapon can wound
the hundred hounds that guard the castle, and no sword can kill the
giant Trencoss."

"There is a sword that will kill him," said the cat; "but I must go
now. Remember what you are to say to the giant when he comes home, and
every morning watch the tree on which you saw me, and if you see in the
branches anyone you like better than yourself," said the cat, winking
at the princess, "throw him these three balls and leave the rest to me;
but take care not to speak a single word to him, for if you do all will
be lost."

"Shall I ever see you again?" asked the princess.

"Time will tell," answered the cat, and, without saying so much as
good-by, he jumped through the window on to the tree, and in a second
was out of sight.

The morrow afternoon came, and the giant Trencoss returned from battle.
Eileen knew of his coming by the furious barking of the hounds, and her
heart sank, for she knew that in a few moments she would be summoned to
his presence. Indeed, he had hardly entered the castle when he sent for
her, and told her to get ready for the wedding. The princess tried to
look cheerful, as she answered:

"I will be ready as soon as you wish; but you must first promise me
something."

"Ask anything you like, little princess," said Trencoss.

"Well, then," said Eileen, "before I marry you, you must make your
dwarfs wind three balls as big as these from the fairy dew that lies on
the bushes on a misty morning in summer."

"Is that all?" said Trencoss, laughing. "I shall give the dwarfs orders
at once, and by this time to-morrow the balls will be wound, and our
wedding can take place in the evening."

"And will you leave me to myself until then?"

"I will," said Trencoss.

"On your honor as a giant?" said Eileen.

"On my honor as a giant," replied Trencoss.

The princess returned to her rooms, and the giant summoned all his
dwarfs, and he ordered them to go forth in the dawning of the morn
and to gather all the fairy dew lying on the bushes, and to wind three
balls--one yellow, one red, and one blue. The next morning, and the
next, and the next, the dwarfs went out into the fields and searched
all the hedgerows, but they could gather only as much fairy dew as would
make a thread as long as a wee girl's eyelash; and so they had to go out
morning after morning, and the giant fumed and threatened, but all to
no purpose. He was very angry with the princess, and he was vexed with
himself that she was so much cleverer than he was, and, moreover, he saw
now that the wedding could not take place as soon as he expected.

When the little white cat went away from the castle he ran as fast as
he could up hill and down dale, and never stopped until he came to the
Prince of the Silver River. The prince was alone, and very sad and
sorrowful he was, for he was thinking of the Princess Eileen, and
wondering where she could be.

"Mew," said the cat, as he sprang softly into the room; but the prince
did not heed him. "Mew," again said the cat; but again the prince did
not heed him. "Mew," said the cat the third time, and he jumped up on
the prince's knee.

"Where do you come from, and what do you want?" asked the prince.

"I come from where you would like to be," said the cat.

"And where is that?" said the prince.

"Oh, where is that, indeed! as if I didn't know what you are thinking
of, and of whom you are thinking," said the cat; "and it would be far
better for you to try and save her."

"I would give my life a thousand times over for her," said the prince.

"For whom?" said the cat, with a wink. "I named no name, your highness,"
said he.

"You know very well who she is," said the prince, "if you knew what I
was thinking of; but do you know where she is?"

"She is in danger," said the cat. "She is in the castle of the giant
Trencoss, in the valley beyond the mountains."

"I will set out there at once," said the prince, "and I will challenge
the giant to battle, and will slay him."

"Easier said than done," said the cat. "There is no sword made by the
hands of man can kill him, and even if you could kill him, his hundred
hounds, with tongues of fire and claws of iron, would tear you to
pieces."

"Then, what am I to do?" asked the prince.

"Be said by me," said the cat. "Go to the wood that surrounds the
giant's castle, and climb the high tree that's nearest to the window
that looks towards the sunset, and shake the branches, and you will see
what you will see. Then hold out your hat with the silver plumes, and
three balls--one yellow, one red, and one blue--will be thrown into it.
And then come back here as fast as you can; but speak no word, for if
you utter a single word the hounds will hear you, and you shall be torn
to pieces."

Well, the prince set off at once, and after two days' journey he came to
the wood around the castle, and he climbed the tree that was nearest to
the window that looked towards the sunset, and he shook the branches.
As soon as he did so, the window opened and he saw the Princess Eileen,
looking lovelier than ever. He was going to call out her name, but she
placed her fingers on her lips, and he remembered what the cat had told
him, that he was to speak no word. In silence he held out the hat with
the silver plumes, and the princess threw into it the three balls, one
after another, and, blowing him a kiss, she shut the window. And well
it was she did so, for at that very moment she heard the voice of the
giant, who was coming back from hunting.

The prince waited until the giant had entered the castle before he
descended the tree. He set off as fast as he could. He went up hill and
down dale, and never stopped until he arrived at his own palace, and
there waiting for him was the little white cat.

"Have you brought the three balls?" said he.

"I have," said the prince.

"Then follow me," said the cat.

On they went until they left the palace far behind and came to the edge
of the sea.

"Now," said the cat, "unravel a thread of the red ball, hold the thread
in your right hand, drop the ball into the water, and you shall see what
you shall see."

The prince did as he was told, and the ball floated out to sea,
unraveling as it went, and it went on until it was out of sight.

"Pull now," said the cat.

The prince pulled, and, as he did, he saw far away something on the sea
shining like silver. It came nearer and nearer, and he saw it was a
little silver boat. At last it touched the strand.

"Now," said the cat, "step into this boat and it will bear you to the
palace on the island on which no man has ever placed his foot--the
island in the unknown seas that were never sailed by vessels made of
human hands. In that palace there is a sword with a diamond hilt, and
by that sword alone the giant Trencoss can be killed. There also are
a hundred cakes, and it is only on eating these the hundred hounds can
die. But mind what I say to you: if you eat or drink until you reach the
palace of the little cat in the island in the unknown seas, you will
forget the Princess Eileen."

"I will forget myself first," said the prince, as he stepped into the
silver boat, which floated away so quickly that it was soon out of sight
of land.

The day passed and the night fell, and the stars shone down upon the
waters, but the boat never stopped. On she went for two whole days
and nights, and on the third morning the prince saw an island in the
distance, and very glad he was; for he thought it was his journey's end,
and he was almost fainting with thirst and hunger. But the day passed
and the island was still before him.

At long last, on the following day, he saw by the first light of the
morning that he was quite close to it, and that trees laden with fruit
of every kind were bending down over the water. The boat sailed round
and round the island, going closer and closer every round, until, at
last, the drooping branches almost touched it. The sight of the fruit
within his reach made the prince hungrier and thirstier than he was
before, and forgetting his promise to the little cat--not to eat
anything until he entered the palace in the unknown seas--he caught one
of the branches, and, in a moment, was in the tree eating the delicious
fruit. While he was doing so the boat floated out to sea and soon was
lost to sight; but the prince, having eaten, forgot all about it, and,
worse still, forgot all about the princess in the giant's castle. When
he had eaten enough he descended the tree, and, turning his back on the
sea, set out straight before him. He had not gone far when he heard the
sound of music, and soon after he saw a number of maidens playing on
silver harps coming towards him. When they saw him they ceased playing,
and cried out:

"Welcome! welcome! Prince of the Silver River, welcome to the island of
fruits and flowers. Our king and queen saw you coming over the sea, and
they sent us to bring you to the palace."

The prince went with them, and at the palace gates the king and queen
and their daughter Kathleen received him, and gave him welcome. He
hardly saw the king and queen, for his eyes were fixed on the Princess
Kathleen, who looked more beautiful than a flower. He thought he had
never seen anyone so lovely, for, of course, he had forgotten all about
poor Eileen pining away in her castle prison in the lonely valley. When
the king and queen had given welcome to the prince a great feast was
spread, and all the lords and ladies of the court sat down to it, and
the prince sat between the queen and the Princess Kathleen, and long
before the feast was finished he was over head and ears in love with
her. When the feast was ended the queen ordered the ballroom to be made
ready, and when night fell the dancing began, and was kept up until the
morning star, and the prince danced all night with the princess, falling
deeper and deeper in love with her every minute. Between dancing by
night and feasting by day weeks went by. All the time poor Eileen in the
giant's castle was counting the hours, and all this time the dwarfs were
winding the balls, and a ball and a half were already wound. At last the
prince asked the king and queen for their daughter in marriage, and they
were delighted to be able to say yes, and the day was fixed for the
wedding. But on the evening before the day on which it was to take place
the prince was in his room, getting ready for a dance, when he felt
something rubbing against his leg, and, looking down, who should he see
but the little white cat. At the sight of him the prince remembered
everything, and sad and sorry he was when he thought of Eileen watching
and waiting and counting the days until he returned to save her. But he
was very fond of the Princess Kathleen, and so he did not know what to
do.

[Illustration: "At the sight of him the prince remembered everything"]

"You can't do anything to-night," said the cat, for he knew what the
prince was thinking of, "but when morning comes go down to the sea, and
look not to the right or the left, and let no living thing touch you,
for if you do you shall never leave the island. Drop the second ball
into the water, as you did the first, and when the boat comes step in
at once. Then you may look behind you, and you shall see what you shall
see, and you'll know which you love best, the Princess Eileen or the
Princess Kathleen, and you can either go or stay."

The prince didn't sleep a wink that night, and at the first glimpse of
the morning he stole from the palace. When he reached the sea he threw
out the ball, and when it had floated out of sight, he saw the little
boat sparkling on the horizon like a newly-risen star. The prince had
scarcely passed through the palace doors when he was missed, and the
king and queen and the princess, and all the lords and ladies of the
court, went in search of him, taking the quickest way to the sea. While
the maidens with the silver harps played sweetest music, the princess,
whose voice was sweeter than any music, called on the prince by his
name, and so moved his heart that he was about to look behind, when he
remembered how the cat had told him he should not do so until he was in
the boat. Just as it touched the shore the princess put out her hand and
almost caught the prince's arm, but he stepped into the boat in time
to save himself, and it sped away like a receding wave. A loud scream
caused the prince to look round suddenly, and when he did he saw no sign
of king or queen, or princess, or lords or ladies, but only big green
serpents, with red eyes and tongues, that hissed out fire and poison as
they writhed in a hundred horrible coils.

The prince, having escaped from the enchanted island, sailed away for
three days and three nights, and every night he hoped the coming morning
would show him the island he was in search of. He was faint with hunger
and beginning to despair, when on the fourth morning he saw in the
distance an island that, in the first rays of the sun, gleamed like
fire. On coming closer to it he saw that it was clad with trees, so
covered with bright red berries that hardly a leaf was to be seen. Soon
the boat was almost within a stone's cast of the island, and it began to
sail round and round until it was well under the bending branches. The
scent of the berries was so sweet that it sharpened the prince's hunger,
and he longed to pluck them; but, remembering what had happened to him
on the enchanted island, he was afraid to touch them. But the boat kept
on sailing round and round, and at last a great wind rose from the sea
and shook the branches, and the bright, sweet berries fell into the boat
until it was filled with them, and they fell upon the prince's hands,
and he took up some to look at them, and as he looked the desire to eat
them grew stronger, and he said to himself it would be no harm to taste
one; but when he tasted it the flavor was so delicious he swallowed it,
and, of course, at once he forgot all about Eileen, and the boat drifted
away from him and left him standing in the water.

He climbed on to the island, and having eaten enough of the berries, he
set out to see what might be before him, and it was not long until he
heard a great noise, and a huge iron ball knocked down one of the trees
in front of him, and before he knew where he was a hundred giants came
running after it. When they saw the prince they turned towards him, and
one of them caught him up in his hand and held him up that all might see
him. The prince was nearly squeezed to death, and seeing this the giant
put him on the ground again.

"Who are you, my little man?" asked the giant.

"I am a prince," replied the prince.

"Oh, you are a prince, are you?" said the giant. "And what are you good
for?" said he.

The prince did not know, for nobody had asked him that question before.

"I know what he's good for," said an old giantess, with one eye in her
forehead and one in her chin. "I know what he's good for. He's good to
eat."

When the giants heard this they laughed so loud that the prince was
frightened almost to death.

"Why," said one, "he wouldn't make a mouthful."

"Oh, leave him to me," said the giantess, "and I'll fatten him up; and
when he is cooked and dressed he will be a nice dainty dish for the
king."

The giants, on this, gave the prince into the hands of the old giantess.
She took him home with her to the kitchen, and fed him on sugar and
spice and all things nice, so that he should be a sweet morsel for the
king of the giants when he returned to the island. The poor prince would
not eat anything at first, but the giantess held him over the fire until
his feet were scorched, and then he said to himself it was better to eat
than to be burnt alive.

Well, day after day passed, and the prince grew sadder and sadder,
thinking that he would soon be cooked and dressed for the king; but sad
as the prince was, he was not half as sad as the Princess Eileen in the
giant's castle, watching and waiting for the prince to return and save
her.

And the dwarfs had wound two balls, and were winding a third.

At last the prince heard from the old giantess that the king of the
giants was to return on the following day, and she said to him:

"As this is the last night you have to live, tell me if you wish for
anything, for if you do your wish will be granted."

"I don't wish for anything," said the prince, whose heart was dead
within him.

"Well, I'll come back again," said the giantess, and she went away.

The prince sat down in a corner, thinking and thinking, until he heard
close to his ear a sound like "purr, purr!" He looked around, and there
before him was the little white cat.

"I ought not to come to you," said the cat; "but, indeed, it is not for
your sake I come. I come for the sake of the Princess Eileen. Of course,
you forgot all about her, and, of course, she is always thinking of you.
It's always the way--

  "'Favored lovers may forget,
   Slighted lovers never yet.'"


The prince blushed with shame when he heard the name of the princess.

"'Tis you that ought to blush," said the cat; "but listen to me now, and
remember, if you don't obey my directions this time you'll never see me
again, and you'll never set your eyes on the Princess Eileen. When the
old giantess comes back tell her you wish, when the morning comes, to go
down to the sea to look at it for the last time. When you reach the sea
you will know what to do. But I must go now, as I hear the giantess
coming." And the cat jumped out of the window and disappeared.

"Well," said the giantess, when she came in, "is there anything you
wish?"

"Is it true I must die to-morrow?" asked the prince.

"It is."

"Then," said he, "I should like to go down to the sea to look at it for
the last time."

"You may do that," said the giantess, "if you get up early."

"I'll be up with the lark in the light of the morning," said the prince.

"Very well," said the giantess, and, saying "good night," she went away.

The prince thought the night would never pass, but at last it faded
away before the gray light of the dawn, and he sped down to the sea. He
threw out the third ball, and before long he saw the little boat coming
towards him swifter than the wind. He threw himself into it the moment
it touched the shore. Swifter than the wind it bore him out to sea, and
before he had time to look behind him the island of the giantess was
like a faint red speck in the distance. The day passed and the night
fell, and the stars looked down, and the boat sailed on, and just as the
sun rose above the sea it pushed its silver prow on the golden strand of
an island greener than the leaves in summer. The prince jumped out, and
went on and on until he entered a pleasant valley, at the head of which
he saw a palace white as snow.

As he approached the central door it opened for him. On entering the hall
he passed into several rooms without meeting with anyone; but, when he
reached the principal apartment, he found himself in a circular room, in
which were a thousand pillars, and every pillar was of marble, and on
every pillar save one, which stood in the centre of the room, was a
little white cat with black eyes. Ranged round the wall, from one
door-jamb to the other, were three rows of precious jewels. The first
was a row of brooches of gold and silver, with their pins fixed in the
wall and their heads outwards; the second a row of torques of gold and
silver; and the third a row of great swords, with hilts of gold and
silver. And on many tables was food of all kinds, and drinking horns
filled with foaming ale.[11]

While the prince was looking about him the cats kept on jumping from
pillar to pillar; but seeing that none of them jumped on to the pillar
in the centre of the room, he began to wonder why this was so, when, all
of a sudden, and before he could guess how it came about, there right
before him on the center pillar was the little white cat.

"Don't you know me?" said he.

"I do," said the prince.

"Ah, but you don't know who I am. This is the palace of the Little White
Cat, and I am the King of the Cats. But you must be hungry, and the
feast is spread."

Well, when the feast was ended, the King of the Cats called for the
sword that would kill the giant Trencoss, and the hundred cakes for the
hundred watch-dogs.

The cats brought the sword and the cakes and laid them before the king.

"Now," said the king, "take these; you have no time to lose. To-morrow
the dwarfs will wind the last ball, and to-morrow the giant will claim
the princess for his bride. So you should go at once; but before you go
take this from me to your little girl."

And the king gave him a brooch lovelier than any on the palace walls.

The king and the prince, followed by the cats, went down to the strand,
and when the prince stepped into the boat all the cats "mewed" three
times for good luck, and the prince waved his hat three times, and the
little boat sped over the waters all through the night as brightly and
as swiftly as a shooting star. In the first flush of the morning it
touched the strand. The prince jumped out and went on and on, up hill
and down dale, until he came to the giant's castle. When the hounds
saw him they barked furiously, and bounded towards him to tear him to
pieces. The prince flung the cakes to them, and as each hound swallowed
his cake he fell dead. The prince then struck his shield three times
with the sword which he had brought from the palace of the little white
cat.

When the giant heard the sound he cried out:

"Who comes to challenge me on my wedding-day?"

The dwarfs went out to see, and, returning, told him it was a prince who
challenged him to battle.

The giant, foaming with rage, seized his heaviest iron club, and rushed
out to the fight. The fight lasted the whole day, and when the sun went
down the giant said:

"We have had enough of fighting for the day. We can begin at sunrise
to-morrow."

"Not so," said the prince. "Now or never; win or die."

"Then take this," cried the giant, as he aimed a blow with all his force
at the prince's head; but the prince, darting forward like a flash of
lightning, drove his sword into the giant's heart, and, with a groan,
he fell over the bodies of the poisoned hounds.

When the dwarfs saw the giant dead they began to cry and tear their
hair. But the prince told them they had nothing to fear, and he bade
them go and tell the Princess Eileen he wished to speak with her. But
the princess had watched the battle from her window, and when she saw
the giant fall she rushed out to greet the prince, and that very night
he and she and all the dwarfs and harpers set out for the Palace of the
Silver River, which they reached the next morning, and from that day to
this there never has been a gayer wedding than the wedding of the Prince
of the Silver River and the Princess Eileen; and though she had diamonds
and pearls to spare, the only jewel she wore on her wedding-day was the
brooch which the prince had brought her from the Palace of the Little
White Cat in the far-off seas.




PRINCESS FINOLA AND THE DWARF


A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut in the midst of a
bare, brown, lonely moor an old woman and a young girl. The old woman
was withered, sour-tempered, and dumb. The young girl was as sweet and
as fresh as an opening rosebud, and her voice was as musical as the
whisper of a stream in the woods in the hot days of summer. The little
hut, made of branches woven closely together, was shaped like a beehive.
In the center of the hut a fire burned night and day from year's end to
year's end, though it was never touched or tended by human hand. In the
cold days and nights of winter it gave out light and heat that made the
hut cozy and warm, but in the summer nights and days it gave out light
only. With their heads to the wall of the hut and their feet towards the
fire were two sleeping-couches--one of plain woodwork, in which slept
the old woman; the other was Finola's. It was of bog-oak, polished as
a looking-glass, and on it were carved flowers and birds of all kinds,
that gleamed and shone in the light of the fire. This couch was fit for
a princess, and a princess Finola was, though she did not know it
herself.

Outside the hut the bare, brown, lonely moor stretched for miles on
every side, but towards the east it was bounded by a range of mountains
that looked to Finola blue in the daytime, but which put on a hundred
changing colors as the sun went down. Nowhere was a house to be seen,
nor a tree, nor a flower, nor sign of any living thing. From morning
till night, nor hum of bee, nor song of bird, nor voice of man, nor any
sound fell on Finola's ear. When the storm was in the air the great
waves thundered on the shore beyond the mountains, and the wind shouted
in the glens; but when it sped across the moor it lost its voice, and
passed as silently as the dead. At first the silence frightened Finola,
but she got used to it after a time, and often broke it by talking to
herself and singing.

The only other person beside the old woman Finola ever saw was a dumb
dwarf who, mounted on a broken-down horse, came once a month to the hut,
bringing with him a sack of corn for the old woman and Finola. Although
he couldn't speak to her, Finola was always glad to see the dwarf and
his old horse, and she used to give them cake made with her own white
hands. As for the dwarf he would have died for the little princess, he
was so much in love with her, and often and often his heart was heavy
and sad as he thought of her pining away in the lonely moor.

It chanced that he came one day, and she did not, as usual, come out to
greet him. He made signs to the old woman, but she took up a stick and
struck him, and beat his horse and drove him away; but as he was leaving
he caught a glimpse of Finola at the door of the hut, and saw that she
was crying. This sight made him so very miserable that he could think of
nothing else but her sad face that he had always seen so bright, and he
allowed the old horse to go on without minding where he was going.
Suddenly he heard a voice saying: "It is time for you to come."

The dwarf looked, and right before him, at the foot of a green hill, was
a little man not half as big as himself, dressed in a green jacket with
brass buttons, and a red cap and tassel.

"It is time for you to come," he said the second time; "but you are
welcome, anyhow. Get off your horse and come in with me, that I may
touch your lips with the wand of speech, that we may have a talk
together."

The dwarf got off his horse and followed the little man through a hole
in the side of a green hill. The hole was so small that he had to go on
his hands and knees to pass through it, and when he was able to stand
he was only the same height as the little fairyman. After walking three
or four steps they were in a splendid room, as bright as day. Diamonds
sparkled in the roof as stars sparkle in the sky when the night is
without a cloud. The roof rested on golden pillars, and between the
pillars were silver lamps, but their light was dimmed by that of the
diamonds. In the middle of the room was a table, on which were two
golden plates and two silver knives and forks, and a brass bell as big
as a hazelnut, and beside the table were two little chairs covered with
blue silk and satin.

"Take a chair," said the fairy, "and I will ring for the wand of
speech."

The dwarf sat down, and the fairyman rang the little brass bell, and in
came a little weeny dwarf no bigger than your hand.

"Bring me the wand of speech," said the fairy, and the weeny dwarf bowed
three times and walked out backwards, and in a minute he returned,
carrying a little black wand with a red berry at the top of it, and,
giving it to the fairy, he bowed three times and walked out backwards as
he had done before.

The little man waved the rod three times over the dwarf, and struck him
once on the right shoulder and once on the left shoulder, and then
touched his lips with the red berry, and said: "Speak!"

The dwarf spoke, and he was so rejoiced at hearing the sound of his own
voice that he danced about the room.

"Who are you at all, at all?" said he to the fairy.

"Who is yourself?" said the fairy. "But come, before we have any talk
let us have something to eat, for I am sure you are hungry."

Then they sat down to table, and the fairy rang the little brass bell
twice, and the weeny dwarf brought in two boiled snails in their shells,
and when they had eaten the snails he brought in a dormouse, and when
they had eaten the dormouse he brought in two wrens, and when they had
eaten the wrens he brought in two nuts full of wine, and they became
very merry, and the fairyman sang "Cooleen dhas," and the dwarf sang
"The little blackbird of the glen."

"Did you ever hear the 'Foggy Dew'?" said the fairy.

"No," said the dwarf.

"Well, then, I'll give it to you; but we must have some more wine."

And the wine was brought, and he sang the "Foggy Dew," and the dwarf
said it was the sweetest song he had ever heard, and that the fairyman's
voice would coax the birds off the bushes.

"You asked me who I am?" said the fairy.

"I did," said the dwarf.

"And I asked you who is yourself?"

"You did," said the dwarf.

"And who are you, then?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I don't know," said the dwarf, and he blushed
like a rose.

"Well, tell me what you know about yourself."

"I remember nothing at all," said the dwarf, "before the day I found
myself going along with a crowd of all sorts of people to the great fair
of the Liffey. We had to pass by the king's palace on our way, and as we
were passing the king sent for a band of jugglers to come and show their
tricks before him. I followed the jugglers to look on, and when the play
was over the king called me to him, and asked me who I was and where I
came from. I was dumb then, and couldn't answer; but even if I could
speak I could not tell him what he wanted to know, for I remembered
nothing of myself before that day. Then the king asked the jugglers, but
they knew nothing about me, and no one knew anything, and then the king
said he would take me into his service; and the only work I have to do
is to go once a month with a bag of corn to the hut in the lonely moor."

"And there you fell in love with the little princess," said the fairy,
winking at the dwarf.

The poor dwarf blushed twice as much as he had done before.

"You need not blush," said the fairy; "it is a good man's case. And now
tell me, truly, do you love the princess, and what would you give to
free her from the spell of enchantment that is over her?"

"I would give my life," said the dwarf.

"Well, then, listen to me," said the fairy. "The Princess Finola was
banished to the lonely moor by the king, your master. He killed her
father, who was the rightful king, and would have killed Finola, only he
was told by an old sorceress that if he killed her he would die himself
on the same day, and she advised him to banish her to the lonely moor,
and she said she would fling a spell of enchantment over it, and that
until the spell was broken Finola could not leave the moor. And the
sorceress also promised that she would send an old woman to watch over
the princess by night and by day, so that no harm should come to her;
but she told the king that he himself should select a messenger to take
food to the hut, and that he should look out for someone who had never
seen or heard of the princess, and whom he could trust never to tell
anyone anything about her; and that is the reason he selected you."

"Since you know so much," said the dwarf, "can you tell me who I am, and
where I came from?"

"You will know that time enough," said the fairy. "I have given you back
your speech. It will depend solely on yourself whether you will get back
your memory of who and what you were before the day you entered the
king's service. But are you really willing to try and break the spell of
enchantment and free the princess?"

"I am," said the dwarf.

"Whatever it will cost you?"

"Yes, if it cost me my life," said the dwarf; "but tell me, how can the
spell be broken?"

"Oh, it is easy enough to break the spell if you have the weapons," said
the fairy.

"And what are they, and where are they?" said the dwarf.

"The spear of the shining haft and the dark blue blade and the silver
shield," said the fairy. "They are on the farther bank of the Mystic
Lake in the Island of the Western Seas. They are there for the man who
is bold enough to seek them. If you are the man who will bring them back
to the lonely moor you will only have to strike the shield three times
with the haft, and three times with the blade of the spear, and the
silence of the moor will be broken for ever, the spell of enchantment
will be removed, and the princess will be free."

"I will set out at once," said the dwarf, jumping from his chair.

"And whatever it cost you," said the fairy, "will you pay the price?"

"I will," said the dwarf.

"Well, then, mount your horse, give him his head, and he will take you
to the shore opposite the Island of the Mystic Lake. You must cross to
the island on his back, and make your way through the water-steeds that
swim around the island night and day to guard it; but woe betide you if
you attempt to cross without paying the price, for if you do the angry
water-steeds will rend you and your horse to pieces. And when you come
to the Mystic Lake you must wait until the waters are as red as wine,
and then swim your horse across it, and on the farther side you will
find the spear and shield; but woe betide you if you attempt to cross
the lake before you pay the price, for if you do, the black Cormorants
of the Western Seas will pick the flesh from your bones."

"What is the price?" said the dwarf.

"You will know that time enough," said the fairy; "but now go, and good
luck go with you."

The dwarf thanked the fairy, and said good-by. He then threw the reins
on his horse's neck, and started up the hill, that seemed to grow bigger
and bigger as he ascended, and the dwarf soon found that what he took
for a hill was a great mountain. After traveling all the day, toiling up
by steep crags and heathery passes, he reached the top as the sun was
setting in the ocean, and he saw far below him out in the waters the
island of the Mystic Lake.

He began his descent to the shore, but long before he reached it the sun
had set, and darkness, unpierced by a single star, dropped upon the sea.
The old horse, worn out by his long and painful journey, sank beneath
him, and the dwarf was so tired that he rolled off his back and fell
asleep by his side.

He awoke at the breaking of the morning, and saw that he was almost at
the water's edge. He looked out to sea, and saw the island, but nowhere
could he see the water-steeds, and he began to fear he must have taken
a wrong course in the night, and that the island before him was not the
one he was in search of. But even while he was so thinking he heard
fierce and angry snortings, and, coming swiftly from the island to the
shore, he saw the swimming and prancing steeds. Sometimes their heads
and manes only were visible, and sometimes, rearing, they rose half out
of the water, and, striking it with their hoofs, churned it into foam,
and tossed the white spray to the skies. As they approached nearer and
nearer their snortings became more terrible, and their nostrils shot
forth clouds of vapor. The dwarf trembled at the sight and sound, and
his old horse, quivering in every limb, moaned piteously, as if in pain.
On came the steeds, until they almost touched the shore, then rearing,
they seemed about to spring on to it. The frightened dwarf turned his
head to fly, and as he did so he heard the twang of a golden harp, and
right before him who should he see but the little man of the hills,
holding a harp in one hand and striking the strings with the other.

"Are you ready to pay the price?" said he, nodding gayly to the dwarf.

As he asked the question, the listening water-steeds snorted more
furiously than ever.

"Are you ready to pay the price?" said the little man a second time.

A shower of spray, tossed on shore by the angry steeds, drenched the
dwarf to the skin, and sent a cold shiver to his bones, and he was so
terrified that he could not answer.

"For the third and last time, are you ready to pay the price?" asked the
fairy, as he flung the harp behind him and turned to depart.

When the dwarf saw him going he thought of the little princess in the
lonely moor, and his courage came back, and he answered bravely:

"Yes, I am ready."

The water-steeds, hearing his answer, and snorting with rage, struck the
shore with their pounding hoofs.

"Back to your waves!" cried the little harper; and as he ran his fingers
across his lyre, the frightened steeds drew back into the waters.

"What is the price?" asked the dwarf.

"Your right eye," said the fairy; and before the dwarf could say
a word, the fairy scooped out the eye with his finger, and put it
into his pocket.

The dwarf suffered most terrible agony; but he resolved to bear it for
the sake of the little princess. Then the fairy sat down on a rock at
the edge of the sea, and, after striking a few notes, he began to play
the "Strains of Slumber."

The sound crept along the waters, and the steeds, so ferocious a moment
before, became perfectly still. They had no longer any motion of their
own, and they floated on the top of the tide like foam before a breeze.

"Now," said the fairy, as he led the dwarf's horse to the edge of the
tide.

The dwarf urged the horse into the water, and once out of his depth, the
old horse struck out boldly for the island. The sleeping water-steeds
drifted helplessly against him, and in a short time he reached the
island safely, and he neighed joyously as his hoofs touched solid
ground.

The dwarf rode on and on, until he came to a bridle-path, and following
this, it led him up through winding lanes, bordered with golden furze
that filled the air with fragrance, and brought him to the summit of the
green hills that girdled and looked down on the Mystic Lake. Here the
horse stopped of his own accord, and the dwarf's heart beat quickly as
his eye rested on the lake, that, clipped round by the ring of hills,
seemed in the breezeless and sunlit air--

       "As still as death.
  And as bright as life can be."


After gazing at it for a long time, he dismounted, and lay at his ease
in the pleasant grass. Hour after hour passed, but no change came over
the face of the waters, and when the night fell sleep closed the eyelids
of the dwarf.

The song of the lark awoke him in the early morning, and, starting up,
he looked at the lake, but its waters were as bright as they had been
the day before.

Towards midday he beheld what he thought was a black cloud sailing
across the sky from east to west. It seemed to grow larger as it came
nearer and nearer, and when it was high above the lake he saw it was
a huge bird, the shadow of whose outstretched wings darkened the waters
of the lake; and the dwarf knew it was one of the Cormorants of the
Western Seas. As it descended slowly, he saw that it held in one of its
claws a branch of a tree larger than a full-grown oak, and laden with
clusters of ripe red berries. It alighted at some distance from the
dwarf, and, after resting for a time, it began to eat the berries and to
throw the stones into the lake, and wherever a stone fell a bright red
stain appeared in the water. As he looked more closely at the bird the
dwarf saw that it had all the signs of old age, and he could not help
wondering how it was able to carry such a heavy tree.

Later in the day, two other birds, as large as the first, but younger,
came up from the west and settled down beside him. They also ate the
berries, and throwing the stones into the lake it was soon as red as
wine.

When they had eaten all the berries, the young birds began to pick the
decayed feathers off the old bird and to smooth his plumage. As soon as
they had completed their task, he rose slowly from the hill and sailed
out over the lake, and dropping down on the waters, dived beneath them.
In a moment he came to the surface, and shot up into the air with a
joyous cry, and flew off to the west in all the vigor of renewed youth,
followed by the other birds.

When they had gone so far that they were like specks in the sky, the
dwarf mounted his horse and descended towards the lake.

He was almost at the margin, and in another minute would have plunged
in, when he heard a fierce screaming in the air, and before he had time
to look up, the three birds were hovering over the lake.

The dwarf drew back frightened.

The birds wheeled over his head, and then, swooping down, they flew
close to the water, covering it with their wings, and uttering harsh
cries.

Then, rising to a great height, they folded their wings and dropped
headlong, like three rocks, on the lake, crashing its surface, and
scattering a wine-red shower upon the hills.[12]

Then the dwarf remembered what the fairy told him, that if he attempted
to swim the lake, without paying the price, the three Cormorants of the
Western Seas would pick the flesh off his bones. He knew not what to do,
and was about to turn away, when he heard once more the twang of the
golden harp, and the little fairy of the hills stood before him.

"Faint heart never won fair lady," said the little harper. "Are you
ready to pay the price? The spear and shield are on the opposite bank,
and the Princess Finola is crying this moment in the lonely moor."

At the mention of Finola's name the dwarf's heart grew strong.

"Yes," he said; "I am ready--win or die. What is the price?"

"Your left eye," said the fairy. And as soon as said he scooped out the
eye, and put it in his pocket.

The poor blind dwarf almost fainted with pain.

"It's your last trial," said the fairy, "and now do what I tell you.
Twist your horse's mane round your right hand, and I will lead him to
the water. Plunge in, and fear not. I gave you back your speech. When
you reach the opposite bank you will get back your memory, and you will
know who and what you are."

Then the fairy led the horse to the margin of the lake.

"In with you now, and good luck go with you," said the fairy.

The dwarf urged the horse. He plunged into the lake, and went down
and down until his feet struck the bottom. Then he began to ascend,
and as he came near the surface of the water the dwarf thought he saw
a glimmering light, and when he rose above the water he saw the bright
sun shining and the green hills before him, and he shouted with joy at
finding his sight restored.

But he saw more. Instead of the old horse he had ridden into the lake he
was bestride a noble steed, and as the steed swam to the bank the dwarf
felt a change coming over himself, and an unknown vigor in his limbs.

When the steed touched the shore he galloped up the hillside, and on the
top of the hill was a silver shield, bright as the sun, resting against
a spear standing upright in the ground.

The dwarf jumped off, and, running towards the shield, he saw himself as
in a looking-glass.

He was no longer a dwarf, but a gallant knight. At that moment his
memory came back to him, and he knew he was Conal, one of the Knights
of the Red Branch, and he remembered now that the spell of dumbness
and deformity had been cast upon him by the Witch of the Palace of the
Quicken Trees.

Slinging his shield upon his left arm, he plucked the spear from the
ground and leaped on to his horse. With a light heart he swam back over
the lake, and nowhere could he see the black Cormorants of the Western
Seas, but three white swans floating abreast followed him to the bank.
When he reached the bank he galloped down to the sea, and crossed to the
shore.

Then he flung the reins upon his horse's neck, and swifter than the wind
the gallant horse swept on and on, and it was not long until he was
bounding over the enchanted moor. Wherever his hoofs struck the ground,
grass and flowers sprang up, and great trees with leafy branches rose on
every side.

At last the knight reached the little hut. Three times he struck the
shield with the haft and three times with the blade of his spear. At
the last blow the hut disappeared, and standing before him was the
little princess.

[Illustration: "Standing before him was the little princess"]

The knight took her in his arms and kissed her; then he lifted her on to
the horse, and, leaping up before her, he turned towards the north, to
the palace of the Red Branch Knights, and as they rode on beneath the
leafy trees from every tree the birds sang out, for the spell of silence
over the lonely moor was broken for ever.




NOTES


I

_Liban the Mermaid_

Liban was the daughter of Ecca, son of Mario, King of Munster. Ecca,
having conquered the lordship of the half of Ulster, settled down with
his people in the plain of the Gray Copse, which is now covered by the
waters of Lough Necca, now Lough Neagh. A magic well had sprung up in
the plain, and not being properly looked after by the woman in charge of
it, its waters burst forth over the plain, drowning Ecca and nearly all
his family. Liban, although swept away like the others, was not drowned.
She lived for a whole year, with her lap-dog, in a chamber beneath the
lake, and God protected her from the water. At the end of that time she
was weary, and when she saw the speckled salmon swimming and playing all
round her, she prayed to be changed into a salmon that she might swim
with the others through the green, salt sea. Her prayer was granted; she
took the shape of a salmon, except her face and breast, which did not
change. And her lap-dog was changed into an otter, and attended her
afterwards whithersoever she went as long as she lived in the sea.

It is nearly eight hundred years ago since the story was transcribed
from some old authority into the "Book of the Dun Cow," the oldest
manuscript of Gaelic literature we possess.--Joyce's "Old Celtic
Romances," p. 97.

       *       *       *       *       *


II

_The House in the Lake_

In the Irish annals lake dwellings, which were formerly common in
Ireland, are called _crannogs_, from _crann_, a tree, either because of
the timber framework of which the island was formed or of the wooden
huts erected thereon.

Some _crannogs_ appear to have been veritable islands, the only means
of communication with the land being canoes. Remains of these have been
frequently found near the dwelling, in some instances alongside the
landing stage, as if sunk at their moorings.

"Favorite sites for _crannogs_ were marshes, small loughs surrounded
by woods and large sheets of water. As providing good fishing grounds
the entrance to or exit of a stream from a lake was eagerly
selected."--"Lake Dwellings of Ireland," Col. Wood Martin, M.R.I.A.

       *       *       *       *       *


III

_Brian's Water-dress_

Brian, Ur, and Urcar, the three sons of Turenn, were Dedanaan chiefs.
They slew Kian, the father of Luga of the Long Arms, who was grandson
of Balor of the Evil Eye. Luga imposed an extraordinary eric fine on
the sons of Turenn, part of which was "the cooking-spit of the women of
Fincara." For a quarter of a year Brian and his brothers sailed hither
and thither over the wide ocean, landing on many shores, seeking tidings
of the Island of Fincara. At last they met a very old man, who told them
that the island lay deep down in the waters, having been sunk beneath
the waves by a spell in times long past.

Then Brian put on his water-dress, with his helmet of transparent
crystal on his head, telling his brothers to wait his return. He leaped
over the side of the ship, and sank at once out of sight. He walked about
for a fortnight down in the green salt sea, seeking for the Island of
Fincara, and at last he found it.

His brothers waited for him in the same spot the whole time, and when he
came not they began to fear he would return no more. At last they were
about to leave the place, when they saw the glitter of his crystal
helmet deep down in the water, and immediately after he came to the
surface with the cooking-spit in his hand.--"Old Celtic Romances"
(Joyce), p. 87.

       *       *       *       *       *


IV

_Prince Cuglas_

In the list of the historic tales mentioned in the Book of Leinster,
and which is given in O'Curry's appendix to his "Lectures on the MSS.
Materials of Ancient Irish History," "The Cave of the Road of Cuglas"
finds place. O'Curry has the following note:--

"Cuglas was the son of Donn Desa, King of Leinster, and master of the
hounds to the monarch Conairé Mor. Having one day followed the chase
from Tara to this road, the chase suddenly disappeared in a cave,
into which he followed, and was _never seen after_. Hence the cave was
called _Uaimh Bealach Conglais_, or the cave of the road of Cuglas
(now Baltinglass, in the County of Wicklow). It is about this cave,
nevertheless, that so many of our pretended Irish antiquarians have
written so much nonsense in connection with some imaginary pagan worship
to which they gravely assure the world, on etymological authority,
the spot was devoted. The authority for the legend of Cuglas is the
_Dinnoean Chus_ on the place _Bealach Conglais_ (Book of Lecain).
The full tale has not come down to us."

       *       *       *       *       *


V

_The Herald_

"Here comes a single champion towards us, O _Cuchulain_," said _Laegh_
(Cuchulain's charioteer). "What sort of a champion is he?" said
_Cuchulain_. "A brown-haired, broad-faced, beautiful youth; a splendid
brown cloak on him; a bright bronze spear-like brooch fastening his
cloak. A full and well-fitting shirt to his skin. Two firm shoes between
his two feet and the ground. A hand-staff of white hazel in one hand
of his; a single-edged sword with a sea-horse hilt in his other
hand." "Good, my lad," said _Cuchulain_; "these are the tokens of a
herald."--Description of the herald MacRoath in the story of _The Tain
bo Chuailgné_.--O'Curry's "Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish,"
Vol. II., p. 301.

       *       *       *       *       *


VI

_Golden Bells_

In O'Curry's "Lectures on the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish"
are several dazzling descriptions of cavalcades taken from the old
tales. Silver and golden bells are frequently mentioned as part of the
horse furniture.

       *       *       *       *       *


VII

_The Wild People of the Glen_

"And then he put on his helmet of battle and of combat and of fighting,
from every recess and from every angle of which issued the shout as it
were of an hundred warriors; because it was alike that woman of the
valley (_de bananaig_), and hobgoblins (_bacanaig_), and wild people
of the glen (_geinti glindi_), and demons of the air (_demna acoir_),
shouted in front of it, and in rear of it, and over it, and around it,
wherever he went, at the spurting of blood, and of heroes upon it."

Description of Cuchulain's helmet in the story of _The Tain bo
Chuailgné_.--O'Curry's "Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish,"
Vol. II., p. 301.

       *       *       *       *       *


VIII

_The Fair of Tara_

"The great fairs anciently held in Ireland were not like their modern
representatives, mere markets, but were assemblies of the people to
celebrate funeral games, and other religious rites; during pagan times
to hold parliaments, promulgate laws, listen to the recitation of tales
and poems, engage in or witness contests in feats of arms, horse-racing,
and other popular games. They were analogous in many ways to the
Olympian and other celebrated games of ancient Greece.

"These assemblies were regulated by a strict by-law, a breach of which
was punishable by death. Women were especially protected, a certain
place being set apart for their exclusive use, as a place was set apart
at one side of the lists of mediæval tournaments for the Queen of Beauty
and the other ladies.

"At the opening of the assembly there was always a solemn proclamation
of peace, and the king who held the fair awarded prizes to the most
successful poets, musicians, and professors and masters of every
art."--See Dr. Sullivan's "Introduction to O'Curry's Lectures."

       *       *       *       *       *


IX

_The Contest of the Bards_

"The three musical feats of the _Daghda_, a celebrated Dedanann chief
and Druid, were the _Suantraighe_, which from its deep murmuring caused
sleep. The _Goltraighe_, which from its meltive plaintiveness caused
weeping, and the _Goltraighe_, which from its merriment caused laughter.

"_Bose_, the great Norse harper, could give on his harp the Gyarslager,
or stroke of the sea gods, which produced mermaids' music."--O'Curry's
Lectures.

       *       *       *       *       *


X

_The Fairy Tree of Dooros_

The forest of Dooros was in the district of Hy Fiera of the Moy (now the
barony of Tireragh, in Sligo).

On a certain occasion the Dedanns, returning from a hurling match
with the Feni, passed through the forest, carrying with them for
food during the journey crimson nuts, and arbutus apples, and scarlet
quicken-berries, which they had brought from the Land of Promise. One
of the quicken-berries dropped on the earth, and the Dedanns passed
on not heeding.

From this berry a great quicken-tree sprang up, which had the virtues of
the quicken-trees that grow in fairyland. Its berries had the taste of
honey, and those who ate of them felt a cheerful glow, as if they had
drunk of wine or old mead, and if a man were even a hundred years old he
returned to the age of thirty as soon as he had eaten three of them.

The Dedanns having heard of this tree, and not wishing that anyone
should eat of the berries but themselves, sent a giant of their own
people to guard it, namely, Sharvan the Surly of Lochlann.--"The
Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grania," "Old Celtic Romances," p. 313 (Joyce).

       *       *       *       *       *


XI

_The Palace of the Little Cat_

The description of the rows of jewels ranged round the wall of the
palace of the Little Cat is taken from "The Voyage of Maildun."--See
Note XII.

       *       *       *       *       *


XII

_The Birds of the Mystic Lake_

The incident of the birds coming to the mystic lake is taken from
"The Voyage of Maildun," a translation of which is given in Joyce's
"Old Celtic Romances." The operations of the birds were witnessed by
Maildun and his companions, who, in the course of their wanderings, had
arrived at the Isle of the Mystic Lake. One of Maildun's companions,
Diuran, on seeing the wonder, said to the others: "Let us bathe in the
lake, and we shall obtain a renewal of our youth like the birds."

But they said: "Not so, for the bird has left the poison of his old age
and decay in the water."

_Diuran_, however, plunged in, and swam about for some time; after which
he took a little of the water and mixed it in his mouth, and in the end
he swallowed a small quantity. He then came out perfectly sound and
whole, and remained so ever after as long as he lived. But none of the
others ventured in.

The return of the birds in the character of the cormorants of the
western seas and guardians of the lake does not occur in the old tale.
The oldest copy of the voyage is in the "Book of the Dun Cow" (about the
year 1100). O'Curry says the voyage was undertaken about the year 700.
It was made by Maildun in search of pirates who had slain his father.
The story is full of fancy.