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Our Old Nursery Rhymes

The original tunes harmonized

by

Alfred Moffat

Illustrated by

H. Willebeek Le Mair

  Augener Ltd.
  London

  For the Book Trade
  A. & C. Black
  London

  G. Schirmer
  New York

Copyright, 1911, by Augener Limited

Contents

                                                          Page
  Pussy cat, pussy cat                                       5
  Mary had a little lamb                                     7
  Sing a song of sixpence                                    9
  Little Jack Horner                                        11
  Ding dong bell                                            13
  Three blind mice                                          15
  Here we go round the mulberry bush                        17
  Three little kittens                                      19
  Pat-a-cake                                                21
  Mary, Mary, quite contrary                                23
  Lucy Locket                                               25
  I love little pussy                                       27
  Baa, baa, black sheep                                     29
  Humpty dumpty                                             31
  O where is my little dog gone?                            33
  Georgy-Porgy                                              35
  Little Miss Muffet                                        37
  Dickory, dickory dock                                     39
  Girls and boys come out to play                           41
  Jack and Jill                                             43
  Yankee Doodle                                             45
  Twinkle, twinkle, little star                             47
  Little Bo-Peep                                            49
  Oranges and lemons                                        51
  Ride a cock horse                                         53
  What are little boys made of?                             55
  There was a little man                                    57
  Little Boy Blue                                           59
  Polly put the kettle on                                   61
  Hush-a-by Baby                                            63

PUSSY CAT, PUSSY CAT, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

[Music]

     "Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?"
     "I've been to London to see the new Queen."
     "Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there?"
     "I caught a little mouse under her chair."

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB.

[Music]

     Mary had a little lamb,
       Its fleece was white as snow,
     And ev'rywhere that Mary went
       The lamb was sure to go.
     He followed her to school one day,
       That was against the rule.
     It made the children laugh and play
       To see a lamb at school.

     2. So the Teacher turned him out
          But still he lingered near,
        And waited patiently about
          Till Mary did appear;
        And then he ran to her and laid
          His head upon her arm
        As if he said "I'm not afraid,
          You'll keep me from all harm."

     3. "What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
          The eager children cry,
        "O, Mary loves the lamb you know,"
          The Teacher did reply;
        "And you each gentle animal
          In confidence may bind,
        And make them follow at your call
          If you are always kind."

SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE.

[Music]

        Sing a song of Sixpence
          A pocket full of rye;
        Four and twenty Blackbirds
          Baked in a pie;
        When the pie was open'd
          The birds began to sing,
        Oh, was not that a dainty dish
          To set before the King.

     2. The King was in his counting-house
          Counting out his money,
        The Queen was in the parlour
          Eating bread and honey;
        The Maid was in the garden
          Hanging out the clothes,
        There came a little blackbird
          And pecked off her nose.

LITTLE JACK HORNER.

[Music]

     Little Jack Horner
     Sat in a corner
     Eating his Christmas pie;
     He put in his Thumb
     And pulled out a plum
     And said "What a good boy am I!"

DING DONG BELL.

[Music]

     Ding dong bell!
     Pussy's in the well!
     Who put her in?
     Little Tommy Green.
     Who pulled her out?
     Little Tommy Stout.
     What a naughty boy was that
     To drown poor pussycat,
     Who ne'er did any harm,
     But killed all the mice in father's barn.

THREE BLIND MICE.

[Music]

     Three blind mice, see how they run!
     They all ran after the farmer's wife,
     Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
     Did you ever hear such a tale in your life,
     As three blind mice!

THE MULBERRY BUSH.

[Music]

     Here we go round the Mulberry bush,
       The Mulberry bush,
       The Mulberry bush;
     Here we go round the Mulberry bush
     On a cold and frosty morning.

Verse 2.

     This is the way we wash our hands
       We wash our hands
       We wash our hands
     This is the way we wash our hands
     On a cold and frosty morning.

Verse 3.4.5 sing:

  "dry our hands"
  "clap our hands"
  "warm our hands"

THE THREE LITTLE KITTENS.

[Music]

     1. Three little kittens they lost their mittens,
               And they began to cry,
                   "Oh, mammy dear!
                   We sadly fear,
               Our mittens we have lost."
     "What! lost your mittens, you naughty kittens,
                   Then you shall have no pie."
                   Miew, miew, miew, miew.

     2. Three little kittens they found their mittens,
               And they began to cry,
                   "Oh, mammy dear!
                   See here, see here!
               Our mittens we have found."
     "What! Found your mittens, you little kittens,
                   Then you shall have some pie."
                   Purr, purr, purr, rr-rr.

     3. The three little kittens put on their mittens
               And soon ate up the pie,
                   "Oh, mammy dear!
                   We greatly fear,
               Our mittens we have soiled."
     "What! soiled your mittens, you naughty kittens,"
                   Then they began to sigh,
                   Miew, miew, miew, miew,
                   Miew, miew, miew.

     4. The three little kittens they washed their mittens,
               And hung them up to dry.
                   "Oh, mammy dear!
                   Look here, look here!
               Our mittens we have washed."
     "What! washed your mittens, you darling kittens,
                   But I smell a rat close by.
                   Hush, hush! miew, miew,
                   Miew, miew, miew."

PAT-A-CAKE.

[Music]

     Pat-a-cake pat-a-cake, baker's man!
     That I will master as quick as I can
     Prick it and nick it and mark it with T
     And there will be plenty for baby and me
     For baby and me
     For baby and me
     And there will be plenty for baby and me.

MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY.

[Music]

     "Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
     How does your garden grow?"
     "With silver bells and cockle-shells,
     And pretty maids all in a row."

LUCY LOCKET.

[Music]

     Lucy Locket lost her pocket
     Kitty Fisher found it
     But ne'er a penny was there in't
     Except the binding round it.

I LOVE LITTLE PUSSY.

[Music]

     1. I love little pussy,
          Her coat is so warm
        And if I don't hurt her,
          She'll do me no harm.

     2. So I'll not pull her tail,
          Or drive her away;
        But Pussy and I
          Together will play.

     3. She will sit by my side
          And I'll give her some food;
        And she'll like me because
          I'm gentle and good.

BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP.

[Music]

     "Baa! Baa! Black sheep,
     Have you any wool?"
     "Yes, marry have I,
     Three bags full;
     One for my master,
     And one for my dame,
     But none for the little boy
     That cries in the lane!"

HUMPTY DUMPTY.

[Music]

     Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
     Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
     All the King's horses and all the King's men
     Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again.

OH WHERE, OH WHERE IS MY LITTLE DOG GONE.

[Music]

     Oh where, oh where is my little dog gone
     Oh where, oh where can he be?
     With his ears cut short and his tail cut long
     Oh where, oh where is he?

[Illustration: Copyright 1912, by Augener Ltd.]

GEORGY-PORGY.

[Music]

     Georgy-Porgy puddinggy pie;
     Kissed the girls and made them cry;
     When the boys came out to play
     Georgy-Porgy ran away.

[Illustration: Copyright 1912, by Augener Ltd.]

LITTLE MISS MUFFET.

[Music]

     Little Miss Muffet,
     She sat on a tuffet,
     Eating her curds and whey;
     Down came a spider,
     Which sat down beside her
     And frightened Miss Muffet away.

[Illustration: Copyright 1912, by Augener Ltd.]

DICKORY, DICKORY, DOCK.

[Music]

     1. Dickory, Dickory, Dock!
        The mouse ran up the clock
          The clock struck one,
          The mouse ran down
        Dickory, Dickory, Dock!

     2. Dickory, dickory, dare!
        The pig flew up in the air
          The man in brown
          Soon brought him down,
        Dickory, dickory, dare.

[Illustration: Copyright 1912, by Augener Ltd.]

GIRLS AND BOYS COME OUT TO PLAY.

[Music]

     Girls and boys come out to play,
     The moon doth shine as bright as day
     Leave your supper and leave your sleep
     And join your play-fellows down the street.

     Come with a whoop and come with a call
     And come with a good-will or not at all
     Up the ladder and down the wall
     A half penny loaf will serve us all.

JACK AND JILL.

[Music]

     Jack and Jill went up the hill
     To fetch a pail of water;
     Jack fell down and broke his crown,
     And Jill came tumbling after.

YANKEE-DOODLE.

[Music]

     1. Yankee doodle came to town,
          Upon a little pony,
        He stuck a feather in his cap
          And called it macaroni.
            Yankee doodle, doodle do,
            Yankee doodle dandy;
            All the lassies are so smart,
            And sweet as sugar candy.

     2. Marching in and marching out,
          And marching round the town, O!
        Here there comes a regiment
          With Captain Thomas Brown, O!
            Yankee doodle, &c.

     3. Yankee doodle is a tune
          That comes in mighty handy;
        The enemy all runs away
          At Yankee doodle dandy.
            Yankee doodle &c.

TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR.

[Music]

     1. Twinkle, twinkle, little star
        How I wonder what you are:
        Up above the world so high
        Like a diamond in the sky
        When the blazing sun is gone
        When he nothing shines upon,
        Then you show your little light,
        Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

     2. Then the traveller in the dark
        Thanks you for your little spark,
        He could not see which way to go
        If you did not twinkle so.
        In the dark blue sky you keep,
        And often through my curtains peep,
        For you never shut your eye
        Till the sun is in the sky.

LITTLE BO-PEEP.

[Music]

        Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
            And can't tell where to find them:
        Leave them alone, and they'll come home
          And bring their tails behind them.

     2. Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep
            And dreamt she heard them bleating.
        But when she awoke, she found it a joke.
          For they were still a-fleeting.

     3. She took up her crook, intending to look,
            Determined for to find them;
        She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed
          For they'd left their tails behind them.

     4. She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye
            And ran over hill and dale, O!
        And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should,
          To tack to each sheep its tail, O!

ORANGES AND LEMONS.

[Music]

     "Oranges and lemons," say the bells of St. Clements;
     "You owe me five farthings," say the bells of St. Martins;
     "When will you pay me?" say the bells of Old Bailey;
     "When I grow rich," say the bells of Shoreditch;
     "When will that be?" say the bells of Stepney;
     "I do not know," says the great bell of Bow;
     Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
     And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

RIDE A COCK-HORSE.

[Music]

     Ride a Cock-horse
     To Banbury Cross,
     To see a fine lady ride on a white horse;
     With rings on her fingers
     And bells on her toes
     So she shall have music
     Wherever she goes.

WHAT ARE LITTLE BOYS MADE OF?

[Music]

     1. What are little boys made of, made of?
        What are little boys made of?
        Frogs and snails and puppy dog's tails,
        And such are little boys made of.

        Chorus.

        Frogs and snails and puppy dog's tails,
        And such are little boys made of.

     2. What are little girls made of, made of?
        What are little girls made of?
        Sugar and spice and all things nice,
        And such are little girls made of;
        Sugar and spice and all things nice,
        And such are little girls made of.

     3. What are our young men made of, made of?
        What are our young men made of?
        Sighs and leers, and crocodile tears,
        And such are our young men made of;
        Sighs and leers, and crocodile tears,
        And such are our young men made of.

     4. What are young women made of, made of?
        What are young women made of?
        Ribbons and laces, and sweet pretty faces,
        And such are young women made of;
        Ribbons and laces, and sweet pretty faces,
        And such are young women made of.

THERE WAS A LITTLE MAN.

[Music]

     1. There was a little man,
        And he wooed a little maid,
     And he said "Little maid! will you wed, wed, wed?
        I have little more to say,
        Then will you? yea, or nay!
     For least said is soonest mended, ded, ded, ded!"

     2. The little maid replied,
        (Some say a little sighed)
     But what shall we have to eat, eat, eat?
        Will the love that you're so rich in,
        Put a fire into the kitchen?
     Or the little God of Love turn the spit, spit, spit.

     3. The little man replied,
        (Some say a little cried,)
     For his little heart was filled with sorrow, row;
        With the little that I have,
        I will be your little slave,
     And the rest my little dear we will borrow, row.

     4. Thus did the little gent,
        Make the little maid relent,
     For her little heart began to beat, beat, beat;
        Through his offers were but small,
        She accepted of them all,
     Now she thanks her little stars for her fate, fate, fate.

LITTLE BOY BLUE.

[Music]

     Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn,
     The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn.
     Where's the boy that looks after the sheep?
     He's under the haycock fast asleep.
     Will you wake him? No, not I!
     For if I do, he'll be sure to cry.

POLLY PUT THE KETTLE ON.

[Music]

     Polly put the kettle on,
     Polly put the kettle on,
     Polly put the kettle on,
     We'll all have tea.

     Sukey take it off again,
     Sukey take it off again,
     Sukey take it off again,
     They've all gone away.

HUSH-A-BY BABY.

[Music]

     Hush-a-by Baby on the tree-top,
     When the wind blows
     The cradle will rock;
     When the bough breaks
     The cradle will fall;
     Down comes baby, cradle and all!

PRINTED BY EDMUND EVANS, LTD., ROSE PLACE, GLOBE ROAD, LONDON, E.

[Transcriber's Note: Obvious printer errors, as well as spelling and
punctuation inconsistencies, have been corrected without note. If you
would like to see and hear the music, go to the HTML version of this
e-book.]


'You'll know all that in time,' says Owney, stopping him in his
speech, for just at that minute, casting his eye towards the hob, he
saw the cat sitting upon it, and looking very hard at him. So he made
a sign to Owney-na-peak to be silent, or talk of something else; at
which the cat turned away her eyes, and began washing her face, quite
simple, with her two paws, looking now and then sideways into Owney's
face, just like a Christian. By and by, when she had walked out of the
forge, he shut the door after her, and finished what he was going to
say, which made Owney-na-peak still more anxious than before to be
placed under the tombstone. Owney agreed to it very readily, and just
as they were done speaking, cast a glance towards the forge window,
where he saw the imp of a cat, just with her nose and one eye peeping
in through a broken pane. He said nothing, however, but prepared to
carry his cousin to the place; where, towards nightfall, he laid him
as he had been laid himself, snug under the tombstone, and went his
way down the hill, resting in Shanagolden that night, to see what
would come of it in the morning.

Owney-na-peak had not been more than two or three hours or so lying
down, when he heard the very same noises coming up the hill, that had
puzzled Owney the night before. Seeing the cats enter the churchyard,
he began to grow very uneasy, and strove to hide himself as well as he
could, which was tolerably well too, all being covered by the
tombstone excepting part of the nose, which was so long that he could
not get it to fit by any means. You may say to yourself, that he was
not a little surprised, when he saw the cats all assemble like a
congregation going to hear mass, some sitting, some walking about, and
asking one another after the kittens and the like, and more of them
stretching themselves upon the tombstones, and waiting the speech of
their commander.

Silence was proclaimed at length, and he spoke: 'Now all you cats of
this great county, small and large, gray, red, yellow, black, brown,
mottled, or white, attend--'

'Stay! stay!' said a little cat with a dirty face, that just then came
running into the yard. 'Be silent, for there are mortal ears listening
to what you say. I have run hard and fast to say that your words were
overheard last night. I am the cat that sits upon the hob of Owney and
Owney-na-peak, and I saw a bottle of the water of Barrygowen hanging
up over the chimbley this morning in their house.'

In an instant all the cats began screaming, and mewing, and flying, as
if they were mad, about the yard, searching every corner, and peeping
under every tombstone. Poor Owneyna-peak endeavoured as well as he
could to hide himself from them, and began to thump his breast and
cross himself, but it was all in vain, for one of the cats saw the
long nose peeping from under the stone, and in a minute they dragged
him, roaring and bawling, into the very middle of the churchyard,
where they flew upon him all together, and made _smithereens_ of him,
from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.

The next morning very early, young Owney came to the churchyard, to
see what had become of his cousin. He called over and over again upon
his name, but there was no answer given. At last, entering the place
of tombs, he found his limbs scattered over the earth.

'So that is the way with you, is it?' said he, clasping his hands, and
looking down on the bloody fragments; 'why then, though you were no
great things in the way of kindness to me when your bones were
together, that isn't the reason why I'd be glad to see them torn
asunder this morning early.' So gathering up all the pieces that he
could find, he put them into a bag he had with him, and away with him
to the well of Barrygowen, where he lost no time in making a round,
and throwing them in, all in a heap. In an instant, he saw
Owney-na-peak as well as ever, scrambling out of the well, and helping
him to get up, he asked him how he felt himself.

'Oh! is it how I'd feel myself you'd want to know?' said the other;
'easy and I'll tell you. Take that for a specimen!' giving him at the
same time a blow on the head, which you may say wasn't long in laying
Owney sprawling on the ground. Then without giving him a minute's time
to recover, he thrust him into the very bag from which he had been
just shaken himself, resolving within himself to drown him in the
Shannon at once, and put an end to him for ever.

Growing weary by the way, he stopped at a shebeen house _over-right_
Robertstown Castle, to refresh himself with a _morning_, before he'd
go any farther. Poor Owney did not know what to do when he came to
himself, if it might be rightly called coming to himself, and the
great bag tied up about him. His wicked cousin shot him down behind
the door in the kitchen, and telling him he'd have his life surely if
he stirred, he walked in to take something that's good in the little
parlour.

Owney could not for the life of him avoid cutting a hole in the bag,
to have a peep about the kitchen, and see whether he had no means of
escape. He could see only one person, a simple-looking man, who was
counting his beads in the chimney-corner, and now and then striking
his breast, and looking up as if he was praying greatly.

'Lord,' says he, 'only give me death, death, and a favourable
judgment! I haven't anybody now to look after, nor anybody to look
after me. What's a few tinpennies to save a man from want? Only a
quiet grave is all I ask.'

'Murther, murther!' says Owney to himself, 'here's a man wants death
and can't have it, and here am I going to have it, and, in troth, I
don't want it at all, see.' So, after thinking a little what he had
best do, he began to sing out very merrily, but lowering his voice,
for fear he should be heard in the next room:

    'To him that tied me here,
      Be thanks and praises given!
    I'll bless him night and day,
      For packing me to heaven.
    Of all the roads you'll name,
      He surely will not lag,
    Who takes his way to heaven
      By travelling in a bag!'

'To heaven, _ershishin_?'[13] said the man in the chimney-corner,
opening his mouth and his eyes; 'why then, you'd be doing a Christian
turn, if you'd take a neighbour with you, that's tired of this bad and
villainous world.'

[Footnote 13: Does he say?]

'You're a fool, you're a fool!' said Owney.

'I know I am, at least so the neighbours always tell me--but what
hurt? Maybe I have a Christian soul as well as another; and fool or no
fool, in a bag or out of a bag, I'd be glad and happy to go the same
road it is you are talking of.'

After seeming to make a great favour of it, in order to allure him the
more to the bargain, Owney agreed to put him into the bag instead of
himself; and cautioning him against saying a word, he was just going
to tie him, when he was touched with a little remorse for going to
have the innocent man's life taken: and seeing a slip of a pig that
was killed the day before, in a corner, hanging up, the thought struck
him that it would do just as well to put it in the bag in their
place. No sooner said than done, to the great surprise of the natural,
he popped the pig into the bag and tied it up.

'Now,' says he, 'my good friend, go home, say nothing, but bless the
name in heaven for saving your life; and you were as near losing it
this morning as ever man was that didn't know.'

They left the house together. Presently out comes Owney-na-peak, very
hearty; and being so, he was not able to perceive the difference in
the contents of the bag, but hoisting it upon his back, he sallied out
of the house. Before he had gone far, he came to the rock of Foynes,
from the top of which he flung his burden into the salt waters.

Away he went home, and knocked at the door of the forge, which was
opened to him by Owney. You may fancy him to yourself crossing and
blessing himself over and over again, when he saw, as he thought, the
ghost standing before him. But Owney looked very merry, and told him
not to be afraid. 'You did many is the good turn in your life,' says
he, 'but the equal of this never.' So he up and told him that he found
the finest place in the world at the bottom of the waters, and plenty
of money. 'See these four pieces for a specimen,' showing him some he
had taken from his own hiding hole: 'what do you think of that for a
story?'

'Why then that it's a droll one, no less; sorrow bit av I wouldn't
have a mind to try my luck in the same way; how did you come home here
before me that took the straight road, and didn't stop for so much as
my _gusthah_[14] since I left Knockpatrick?'

[Footnote 14: Literally--_walk in_.]

'Oh, there's a short cut under the waters,' said Owney. 'Mind and only
be civil while you're in Thiernaoge,[15] and you'll make a sight o'
money.'

[Footnote 15: The abode of the fairies.]

Well became Owney, he thrust his cousin into the bag, tied it about
him, and putting it into a car that was returning after leaving a load
of oats at a corn-store in the city, it was not long before he was at
Foynes again. Here he dismounted, and going to the rock, he was, I am
afraid, half inclined to start his burden into the wide water, when he
saw a small skiff making towards the point. He hailed her, and learned
that she was about to board a great vessel from foreign parts, that
was sailing out of the river. So he went with his bag on board, and
making his bargain with the captain of the ship, he left Owney-na-peak
along with the crew, and never was troubled with him after, from that
day to this.

As he was passing by Barrygowen well, he filled a bottle with the
water; and going home, he bought a fine suit of clothes with the rest
of the money he had buried, and away he set off in the morning to the
city of Lumneach. He walked through the town, admiring everything he
saw, until he came before the palace of the king. Over the gates of
this he saw a number of spikes, with a head of a man stuck upon each,
grinning in the sunshine.

Not at all daunted, he knocked very boldly at the gate, which was
opened by one of the guards of the palace. 'Well! who are you,
friend?'

'I am a great doctor that's come from foreign parts to cure the king's
eyesight. Lead me to his presence this minute.'

'Fair and softly,' said the soldier. 'Do you see all those heads that
are stuck up there? Yours is very likely to be keeping company by
them, if you are so foolish as to come inside these walls. They are
the heads of all the doctors in the land who came before you; and
that's what makes the town so fine and healthy this time past, praised
be Heaven for the same!'

'Don't be talking, you great gomeril,' says Owney; 'only bring me to
the king at once.'

He was brought before the king. After being warned of his fate if he
should fail to do all that he undertook, the place was made clear of
all but a few guards, and Owney was informed once more, that if he
should restore the king's eyes, he should wed with the princess, and
have the crown after her father's death. This put him in great
spirits, and after making a round upon his bare knees about the
bottle, he took a little of the water, and rubbed it into the king's
eyes. In a minute he jumped up from his throne and looked about him as
well as ever. He ordered Owney to be dressed out like a king's son,
and sent word to his daughter that she should receive him that instant
for her husband.

You may say to yourself that the princess, glad as she was of her
father's recovery, did not like this message. Small blame to her,
when it is considered that she never set her eyes upon the man
himself. However, her mind was changed wonderfully when he was brought
before her, covered with gold and diamonds, and all sorts of grand
things. Wishing, however, to know whether he had as good a wit as he
had a person, she told him that he should give her, on the next
morning, an answer to two questions, otherwise she would not hold him
worthy of her hand. Owney bowed, and she put the questions as follows:

'What is that which is the sweetest thing in the world?'

'What are the three most beautiful objects in the creation?'

These were puzzling questions; but Owney having a small share of
brains of his own, was not long in forming an opinion upon the matter.
He was very impatient for the morning; but it came just as slow and
regular as if he were not in the world. In a short time he was
summoned to the courtyard, where all the nobles of the land assembled,
with flags waving, and trumpets sounding, and all manner of glorious
doings going on. The princess was placed on a throne of gold near her
father, and there was a beautiful carpet spread for Owney to stand
upon while he answered her questions. After the trumpets were
silenced, she put the first, with a clear sweet voice, and he replied:

'It's salt!' says he, very stout, out.

There was a great applause at the answer; and the princess owned,
smiling, that he had judged right.

'But now,' said she, 'for the second. What are the three most
beautiful things in the creation?'

'Why,' answered the young man, 'here they are. A ship in full sail--a
field of wheat in ear--and----'

What the third most beautiful thing was, all the people didn't hear;
but there was a great blushing and laughing among the ladies, and the
princess smiled and nodded at him, quite pleased with his wit. Indeed,
many said that the judges of the land themselves could not have
answered better, had they been in Owney's place; nor could there be
anywhere found a more likely or well-spoken young man. He was brought
first to the king, who took him in his arms, and presented him to the
princess. She could not help acknowledging to herself that his
understanding was quite worthy of his handsome person. Orders being
immediately given for the marriage to proceed, they were made one with
all speed; and it is said, that before another year came round, the
fair princess was one of the most beautiful objects in the creation.

KINGS AND WARRIORS

THE KNIGHTING OF CUCULAIN[16]

BY STANDISH O'GRADY

One night in the month of the fires of Bel, Cathvah, the Druid and
star-gazer, was observing the heavens through his astrological
instruments. Beside him was Cuculain, just then completing his
sixteenth year. Since the exile of Fergus MacRoy, Cuculain had
attached himself most to the Ard-Druid, and delighted to be along with
him in his studies and observations. Suddenly the old man put aside
his instruments and meditated a long time in silence.

[Footnote 16: Cuculain was the great hero of legendary Ireland.]

'Setanta,' said he at length, 'art thou yet sixteen years of age?'

'No, father,' replied the boy.

'It will then be difficult to persuade the king to knight thee and
enrol thee among his knights,' said Cathvah. 'Yet this must be done
to-morrow, for it has been revealed to me that he whom Concobar
MacNessa shall present with arms to-morrow, will be renowned to the
most distant ages, and to the ends of the earth. Thou shalt be
presented with arms to-morrow, and after that thou mayest retire for a
season among thy comrades, nor go out among the warriors until thy
strength is mature.'

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

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

Thus was Concobar prepared for the knighting of Cuculain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE LITTLE WEAVER OF DULEEK GATE

BY SAMUEL LOVER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Ay, and you too,' says he.

'Throth, you're as cross as two sticks this blessed morning, Thady,'
says the poor wife; 'and it's a heavy handful I have of you when you
are cruked in your temper; but stay there if you like, and let your
stirabout grow cowld, and not a one o' me 'ill ax you agin;' and with
that off she wint, and the waiver, sure enough, was mighty crabbed,
and the more the wife spoke to him the worse he got, which, you know,
is only nath'ral. Well, he left the loom at last, and wint over to the
stirabout, and what would you think but whin he looked at it, it was
as black as a crow; for, you see, it was in the hoighth o' summer, and
the flies lit upon it to that degree that the stirabout was fairly
covered with them.

'Why, thin, bad luck to your impidence,' says the waiver; 'would no
place sarve you but that? and is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you
dirty bastes?' And with that, bein' altogether cruked-tempered at the
time, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o'
stirabout, and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the
one blow. It was three score and tin exactly, for he counted the
carcasses one by one, and laid them out on a clane plate, for to view
them.

Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him, when he seen the
slaughther he done, at one blow; and with that he got as consaited as
the very dickens, and not a sthroke more work he'd do that day, but
out he wint, and was fractious and impident to every one he met, and
was squarin' up into their faces and sayin', 'Look at that fist!
that's the fist that killed three score and tin at one blow--Whoo!'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Let them go play marvels,' says he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'A what?' says she.

'A knight arriant, woman.'

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

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

Well, sure enough he wint about among his neighbours the next day,
and he got an owld kittle from one, and a saucepan from another; and
he took them to the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes
like any knight arriant and he borrowed a pot lid, and _that_ he was
very partic'lar about, bekase it was his shield and he wint to a frind
o' his, a painther and glazier, and made him paint an his shield in
big letthers--

'I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,
THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN
AT A BLOW.'

'When the people sees _that_,' says the waiver to himself, 'the sorra
one will dar' for to come near me.'

And with that he towld the wife to scour out the small iron pot for
him, 'For,' says he, 'it will make an iligant helmet'; and when it was
done, he put it an his head, and his wife said, 'Oh, murther, Thady
jewel, is it puttin' a great heavy iron pot an your head you are, by
way iv a hat?'

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

'But, Thady dear,' says the wife, 'there's a hole in it, and it can't
keep out the weather.'

'It will be the cooler,' says he, puttin' it an him; 'besides, if I
don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the
like o' that.'

'The three legs of it looks mighty quare, stickin' up,' says she.

'Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it,' says the
waiver; 'and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is.'

'Well,' says the wife, getting bitther at last, 'all I can say is, it
isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it.'

'_Your sarvint, ma'am_,' says he; and off he set.

Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by,
where the miller's horse was grazin', that used to carry the ground
corn round the counthry.

'This is the idintical horse for me,' says the waiver; 'he is used to
carryin' flour and male, and what am I but the _flower_ o' shovelry in
a coat o' _mail_; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the
laste.'

But as he was ridin' him out o'the field, who should see him but the
miller.

'Is it stalin' my horse you are, honest man?' says the miller.

'No,' says the waiver; 'I'm only goin' to _ax_ercise him,' says he,
'in the cool o' the evenin'; it will be good for his health.'

'Thank you kindly,' says the miller; 'but lave him where he is, and
you'll obleege me.'

'I can't afford it,' says the waiver, runnin' the horse at the ditch.

'Bad luck to your impidence,' says the miller; 'you've as much tin
about you as a thravellin' tinker, but you've more brass. Come back
here, you vagabone,' says he.

But he was too late; away galloped the waiver, and took the road to
Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the
King o' Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv
its own), and he thought, maybe, the King o' Dublin would give him
work. Well, he was four days goin' to Dublin, for the baste was not
the best and the roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no
turnpikes then, glory be to God! When he got to Dublin, he wint
sthrait to the palace, and whin he got into the coortyard he let his
horse go and graze about the place, for the grass was growin' out
betune the stones; everything was flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see.
Well, the king was lookin' out of his dhrawin'-room windy, for
divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but the waiver pretended not to see
him, and he wint over to a stone sate, undher the windy--for, you see,
there was stone sates all round about the place for the accommodation
o' the people--for the king was a dacent, obleeging man; well, as I
said, the waiver wint over and lay down an one o' the sates, just
undher the king's windy, and purtended to go asleep; but he took care
to turn out the front of his shield that had the letthers an it; well,
my dear, with that, the king calls out to one of the lords of his
coort that was standin' behind him, howldin' up the skirt of his coat,
accordin' to rayson, and says he: 'Look here,' says he, 'what do you
think of a vagabone like that comin' undher my very nose to go sleep?
It is thrue I'm a good king,' says he, 'and I 'commodate the people by
havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and
contimplation of seein' me here, lookin' out a' my dhrawin'-room
windy, for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to _make a hotel_
o' the place, and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?' says the
king.

'Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty.'

'I think he must be a furriner,' says the king; 'bekase his dhress is
outlandish.'

'And doesn't know manners, more betoken,' says the lord.

'I'll go down and _circumspect_ him myself,' says the king; 'folly
me,' says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most
dignacious manner.

Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over
to where the waiver was lying, sure the first thing he seen was his
shield with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the
lord, 'Bedad,' says he, 'this is the very man I want.'

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

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

'Sure, do you think he could kill him,' says the lord, 'when all the
stoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back,
and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver.'

'Sure, don't you see there,' says the king, pointin' at the shield,
'that he killed three score and tin at one blow? and the man that done
_that_, I think, is a match for anything.'

So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the
shouldher for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just
wakened, and the king says to him, 'God save you,' said he.

'God save you kindly,' says the waiver, _purtendin'_ he was quite
onknowst who he was spakin' to.

'Do you know who I am,' says the king, 'that you make so free, good
man?'

'No, indeed,' says the waiver; 'you have the advantage o' me.'

'To be sure I have,' says the king, _moighty high_; 'sure, ain't I the
King o' Dublin?' says he.

The waiver dhropped down an his two knees forninst the king, and says
he, 'I beg God's pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your
holiness, I hope you'll excuse it.'

'No offince,' says the king; 'get up, good man. And what brings you
here?' says he.

'I'm in want o' work, plaze your riverence,' says the waiver.

'Well, suppose I give you work?' says the king.

'I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord,' says the waiver.

'Very well,' says the king. 'You killed three score and tin at one
blow, I understan',' says the king.

'Yis,' says the waiver; 'that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and
I'm afeard my hand 'll go out o' practice if I don't get some job to
do at wanst.'

'You shall have a job immediantly,' says the king. 'It is not three
score and tin or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard
dhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry
wid aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs,' says the
king.

'Throth, thin, plaze your worship,' says the waiver, 'you look as
yollow as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit.'

'Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed,' says the king. 'It will be
no throuble in life to you; and I am only sorry that it isn't betther
worth your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell
you, that he lives in the County Galway, in the middle of a bog, and
he has an advantage in that.'

'Oh, I don't value it in the laste,' says the waiver; 'for the last
three score and tin I killed was in a _soft place_.'

'When will you undhertake the job, then?' says the king.

'Let me at him at wanst,' says the waiver.

'That's what I like,' says the king; 'you're the very man for my
money,' says he.

'Talkin' of money,' says the waiver; 'by the same token, I'll want a
thrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges.'

'As much as you plaze,' says the king; and with the word, he brought
him into his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest,
burstin' wid goolden guineas.

'Take as many as you plaze,' says the king; and sure enough, my dear,
the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld
with them.

'Now, I'm ready for the road,' says the waiver.

'Very well,' says the king; 'but you must have a fresh horse,' says
he.

'With all my heart,' says the waiver, who thought he might as well
exchange the miller's owld garron for a betther.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Is that all?' says the waiver.

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

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

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

APPENDIX

CLASSIFICATION OF IRISH FAIRIES

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

THE SOCIABLE FAIRIES

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

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

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

THE SOLITARY FAIRIES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: music no caption ]

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

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

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

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

W. B. YEATS.

CO. DOWN, _June 1891_.

AUTHORITIES ON IRISH FOLKLORE

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

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