H. llovtf^ertnilk & Co., ' STANDARD. CHOICE AND RARE LAW AND MISCELLANEOUS BOOKS, WASHINGTON, D. C. I—• 1 s 1 - - t I ^ 1 S I S 1 f s [ J ^ 1 LfaJ ^ 1 -! = s [ ? H 1 ' 55 1 1 1 -J t ^ '.. 1 . , 1 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES PR8799 .J6 L4 ! 9 S 9 S S S 9 S 3 9 S S 9 9 9 S ~9 9 g 4! 41 43 44 43 4S 47 4t 43 M SI S7 S3 S4 SS SC ST SI S3 \ /oysy J!.iIpU2A4f, RETREvT OF ST. PAUL OF THE CROSS ^ RETREAT OF ST. PAUL OF THE OW§§ p/e ^7 Pi Legends L LI OF y H E j\[ ARS IN Jreland. BY ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D. BOSTON: JAMES CAMPBELL, i8 TREMONT STREET. 1868. ^ RETREAT OF ST. PAUL OF THE CiiOSS ^ J- Enterod, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by JAMES CAMPBEDL, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. vT stereotyped and Printed by Geo. C. Hand & Avery, 3 Cornhiel, Boston. To A John Savage, Esq. IN ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS AS A POET, AND IN TESTIMONY OF HIS STERLING WORTH AS AN IRISHMAN AND A PATRIOT, q:si8 s o o k IS DEDICATED BY HIS COUNTRYMAN AND FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. Boston, November, 1867. RETREAT OF ST. PAUL OF THE 3 CJ CONTENTS -- PAGE A Batch of Legenhs . 7 The Master of Lisfinry .41 The Fair Maid of Killarney.79 Ah Eye for an Eye .103 The Kosb of Drimnagh .112 The House of Lisbloom .127 The White Knight’s Present.196 The First and Last Lords of Fermoy . . . 204 The Chase from the Hostel.224 The Whitethorn Tree .243 Eosaleen, or The White Lady of Barna . , . 306 The Bridal Eing.325 The Little Battle of Bottle Hill ..... 840 'hdxaS a A-=?f5*:rJ r ^. ■■Via*' -■> I ■• ' '1 Jl- ^>-'i « is - 'io .0VirG,»<5>o-*v ti . H >' .!.'>> J .rji ■' ’. !i' W; iil5 '5 ^ 4. - bit’ ■‘Vf-'- ':• ' ‘-: i9?lT ' i;i;>5n.(><-i,’jf« i>lW •fc • yiiuff - > -■ V • • ‘ .. i'T viqgcuJ ji*, - ' , ■ -‘’^ ■’■'•f- < '^f''jT''t ft -A'/ '.•d4i afHj?' gC' q. % ui ■ 7 ' :; ■ .-v-^iaifi , f'cv" l: 9 I?/' ftjfi ', ^ .'tii.yf' '.:)' .'ir, f»:: .) - '’ii li'jL ,^vn . ■ ; /I ■ .- '•• 1. IV .I'ni.'I 'O . :j. j < l-i ii^i i/fi fi|.:'; fin : -• ti ' ‘TMSf ' A Batch of Legends. ♦ INTRODUCTORY. O the majority of people, a quiet seat by the fire- -i- side, or an easy walk along the streets of one’s native town or village, is often more agreeable than the toilsome rambles of the tourist. And yet in every district of our islands, amid the summits of their wild mountain ranges, and in the green glens and pastoral valleys of their lowlands, lie scenes which would amply repay the toil and trouble of the wanderer. The battered and gloomy castle, built with exact military judgment on its command¬ ing position above the narrow pass, suggesting the bloody contentions that often raged beneath its walls; the ivied and time-worn ecclesiastical ruin amid the green pastures by the peaceful river, with its gray tombstones, drooping yew-trees, and sacred hawthorns; the ancient Danish encampment; the fairy-haunted rath; the small cyclopean oratories* * Diminutive chapels, built of enormous blocks of stone, the ruins ef which exist yet in many places in Ireland. 7 8 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. of the ancient missionaries who first brought the light of Christianity to our shores; the lonely Druidic cairns and sacrificial altars, — all these,'with their wild and romantic legends, and the varied and beau¬ tiful scenery that surrounds them, would, in my opinion, afford as much pleasure to the traveller as the quaint towns and sluggish canals of Germany, the hackneyed precipices and waterfalls of Switzer¬ land, or the brigand-peopled passes of Italy; for all which our modern excursionists have such a strange and unpatriotic predilection. To those whose easy inclinations preclude their taking on themselves the troubles of the tourist, who have no leisure for holiday excursions, or who prefer migi-ating with the yearly tide of fashion to Continental lands for enjoyment of scenery and char¬ acter, I offer these volumes of tales, with the hum¬ ble hope that they may be the means of pleasantly passing away some of their dull hours. The legends and wild lore contained in them are the gleanings of the author, since his boyhood, in one' of the most picturesque and beautiful portions of our island, — the result of his sojourn for many a summer month under canvas amid the high mountain ranges, and of his due attendance at wake and wedding, dance, Patron,* and fair, and merry-makings of every de¬ scription, amongst the peasantry. Before concluding, however, it will not, I hope, be out of place to offer * A meeting of the peasantry for prayer and merry-making around the ancient well or chapel dedicated to the patron saint of the locality. INTRODUCTORY. 9 a few remarks upon the peculiar kinds of traditions to be met with in tliese volumes, — traditions, many of which the author has found common to all the nations of middle and northern Europe, and which, therefore, cannot but prove interesting to the eth¬ nologist and historian, no matter to what country he may belong. The narratives handed down to us through the medium of oral traditions are of three kinds. The first includes all those wild, romantic, and strange legends, which, however they may be twisted, turned, or embellished, always carry with them a certain air of improbability and untruth. To this class belong the many stories relating to Theseus, Hercules, and the other Greek demi-gods ; the romantic history of Romulus and Remus, and of many another Roman hero; numerous incidents in the wild legends of the Fenian warriors, and in the romances of King Arthur and his compeers; many of the Sagas of the North : in other words, most part of the early his¬ tory of the several countries to which these person¬ ages belonged, and of every other land whose origin looms out indistinctly beneath the dusky shadows of antiquity. To the second class belong those circumstantial ■narratives which bear the impress of having been founded more intimately on certain facts, but which are yet unsupported by historical testimony. Of this class may be cited, as examples, the tales.of bat¬ tles, sieges, single combats, acts of piety, or deeds 10 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. of wickedness, told by the peasantry of our own islands, in connection with many a pass, castle, gray abbey, and hoary town, but for any corroboration of which we will look in vain to the meagre and scanty pages of our national histories. And yet if the latter were once properly written, and our old documents carefully examined, many of these tales would become proven history; for it is from such that a considerable part of even the authentic nar¬ rative of every country is made up. There are hundreds of incidents related in the pages of Thierry and Macaulay, which, before the days of these histo¬ rians, were accepted on traditional authority only, but which now, after the careful investigations of these acute minds, have become matters of j^urely authentic history. In the third class are included all those tales and legends, which, however wild and romantic, yet find, in some of their incidents at least, corroborating testimony in written history. Of these the historian will find many yet lingering among the peasantry; and, if he investigate them with the proper amount of acuteness, diligence, and erudition, they will add in no small deo-ree to the liveliness and truthfulness O of his pages. It is from such materials that Scott formed the subject-matter of his long series of novels, constructing, as he did, one bright and attractive panorama of the history of his native land. Of each of the above classes I shall now proceed THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING MONKS. 11 to give an example, commencing with the first. In what follows, the reader, if he be versed in legend¬ ary lore, will recognize an Irish version of a legend known in parts of Germany, in Norway, in England, and in other European nations, in each of which countries, however, it seems to belong to no particu¬ lar locality. In Ireland, nevertheless, the legend is fixed to a certain place, and always told without either variation of incident, or change of the charac¬ ters involved in it. The reader, if he has ever heard it, can, however, judge for himself with regard to these points in THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING MONKS. About a mile to the south of Fethard, in the county of Tipperary, stand the ruins of the ancient Abbey of Eilmacluch, near the banks of the Glas- hawling, one of the two streams that, after their junction, form the beautiful river Anner. In the early ages of Christianity, there presided over this holy establishment an abbot called Barran Kief, renowned both for the extent of his learning and for the sanctity of his life. One bright summer day, Barran Kief, with two of his monks, went out to walk in a green, forest-clad valley that lay beside the abbey wall, and, on reaching a certain lonely glade, sat down to rest. Around them, on every side, stretched the green, dreamy forest, covering height, hollow, and shore, and drawing its many- 12 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. tinted cincture of bright leaves around the sloping sides of Sliav-na-mon. After resting for some time, they were just thinking of rising, and proceeding on their way, when they heard a loud rustling of wings above them in the air; and, on looking upward, beheld a bird of beautiful form and resplendent 2 :)lumage, hovering over the tops of the green trees, and looking down upon them at the same time with eyes whose intense rays seemed to pierce into their very souls. Hovering thus for a few moments, the bird at length commenced singing a long and varied strain of melody, which fell upon the ears of the wondering abbot and his monks beneath with a sweetness far surpassing any thing they had ever heard, and scarcely equalled by that glorious strain, which, in their dreams of heaven, always saluted them through its golden portals. Still the bird hovered above them, with its glittering wings out¬ spread, singing its enchanting song, which at length seemed to fill valley and glade, and the deep, dreamy recesses of the forest, with a flood of ravishing and delightful melody. As the monks listened, they felt a rapturous and delicious drowsi¬ ness stealing over them, and at length fell into a sound and dreamless sleep. , The winds of a hundred summers had borne the odors of the flowers on their rejoicing wings through the dells of the merry forest, when, on the noontide of a sunny day, one of the monks awoke, and called out in a loud voice, “ Clushm ghlay THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING MONKS. 13 i.e., “ I hear a call! ” But the bird was still float¬ ing above them on its glorious wings, and still sing¬ ing its enrapturing song; and the monk, overpow¬ ered by the sweetness of the melody, lay back on the green forest grass, and fell asleep once more. When the flowers of another hundred summers had bloomed and died along the lonely forest, the second monk awoke in the breezy noontide, and called out, “ Cadh ha iirth f ” i.e., “ What troubleth thee ? But the bird was still singing over him and his companions; and he had scarcely gotten one glimpse of the fresh blue sky, when he was lying upon his coucli of green shamrocks, and asleep again. The gray crags on the mountain-tops had been beaten by the winds and channelled by the succes¬ sive rains of another hundred years, when Barran Kief, the abbot himself, awoke, and called out in a loud voice, “ Shievun bouragh / ” i.e., “ Thou trou- blest me! ” And immediately his monks opened their eyes; and all three arose slowly to their feet, freed from their enchantment; for the bright-winged bird was gone, and the sweet melody was heard no more. The blue summer sky was still the same above them: but, as Barran Kief and his two monks looked around, they were stricken with a strange surprise; for, in the low-lying valley where once the marsh- flower bloomed, fields of yellowing corn now waved in the mild winds; and along the sides of the hills, and down in many a lonely dale, where once the great trees of the forest spread their giant arms, cot 14 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. and castle now gleamed in the sunshine, with herds of quiet cattle and many a flock of snowy sheep browsing contentedly around them. After standing for a time in mute wonderment, they proceeded to¬ wards the abbey, thinking still, in spite of them¬ selves, that they had slept only during a few hours. On reaching the abbey, their astonishment was increased on finding it occupied by a strange abbot and strange monks, who all crossed themselves in wonder and awe at beholding the three 'strange visitants. Barren Kief went to the abbot, and asked him the reason of the change in such a short time. The abbot answered by inquiring who they were. Bar- ran Kief told him; on which he immediately pro¬ ceeded to the books of the abbey, and found their names entered on them three hundred years before. On informing them of this, and that their brethren were, of course, all dead and gone for nearly the same period, they appeared suddenly to be aware of what had happened, and told the abbot the cause of their staying away. “ And now, O priest! ” said Barran Kief to the abbot, “ we will celebrate one mass more for the glory of God before we depart.” The chapel was full of people; for it was Sunday. Barran Kief arrayed himself in a vestment, and, assisted by his two monks, chanted the mass with a melodious sweetness that reminded the congregation of the delightful strains of Paradise. After return- THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSED SWORDS. 15 ing thanks to God, and blessing the people, Barran Kief and his monks then fell down upon the altar, and were instantly reduced to three heaps of dust. Tlie reader will recognize the impossible in almost every portion of the above story; but, when we come to narrations of the second class, he will find them of a different character. In these, every cir¬ cumstance falls in naturally: there is nothing impos¬ sible, nothing with even much of an air of improba¬ bility about it; and all are related with a minute¬ ness regarding time, action, and locality, that can leave on the reader’s mind very little doubt of their truth. I shall proceed at once to illustrate the stories of this class by THE LEGEND OE THE CEOSSED SWOKDS. In a certain mountainous distiict of Munster, there dwelt in the year 1745 a young gentleman by the name of Barry. The small property in his pos¬ session at that time was the remnant of a very con¬ siderable one which his grandfather had lost by his adherence to the cause of King James in the disas¬ trous war of 1691. This young man’s father and mother both died in the same year, — namely, 1728, — leaving him an orphan at the early age of five years. Under the care of his friends, and without the watchful eye of a mother to look after his early training, Bryan Barry grew up a wild and reckless boy, with strong passions and a hasty temper, yet 16 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. with a peculiarly warm heart, and a wonderful kind¬ liness of disposition towai’ds any one whom he might consider for the moment as his friend. At the pe¬ riod in which this short tale opens, he had become a young man of fine proportions and very handsome features, but of reckless and irregular habits, and with a mind which had taken its tone from the stories he had heard of the acts and sentiments of his forefathers; becoming therefore imbued with the deepest feelings regarding the unfortunate race of the Stuarts, and filled with the wildest notions rela¬ tive to their restoration to the British throne. He had, about a year previous to the above date, fallen in love with an extremely beautiful girl named Mary Fitzgerald, a few years younger than himself, and the daughter of an old gentleman who lived in his vi¬ cinity, who was very poor, having, like Bryan’s grand¬ father, lost his property on account of his religion and political opinions. Bryan’s love was favored by the young girl’s father, and returned by Mary herself with the fondest affection and devotedness. There was in the same neighborhood, and possess¬ ing the confiscated estates both of Bryan’s grand¬ father and old Fitzgerald, a man named Ebenezer Stubbs, whose father had been a drummer in the army of King William. This man, who was at the time about thirty years of age, condescended to look with a favorable eye upon the handsome Mary Fitz¬ gerald, and consequently hated, and was cordially hated in return by, his successful rival, Bryan Barry. THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSED SWORDS. 17 These two young men seldom met; but, whenever they did, it was with looks that boded no peaceful termination to their many causes of dispute: for Bryan, besides hating Ebenezer Stubbs on Mary Fitzgerald’s account, considered him also as the usurper of his rightful patrimony, to which - was added a hearty detestation on political grounds; and Ebenezer*, for many similar reasons, lost no opportunity of showing his ill-will on every possible occasion. Things went on thus for some time, when one day Mary Fitzgerald and Ebenezer Stubbs both disap¬ peared from the neighborhood, no one knew whither. The grief and rage of old Fitzgerald and Bryan knew no bounds ; and the sorrow of the majority of their neighbors was little less, for Mary was a uni¬ versal favorite with every one who knew# her. Search was made throughout every part of the sur¬ rounding country, but without avail. Day after day, Bryan, with the few young men that resided on his diminished property, and with many of the sons of those who once acknowledged the jurisdictioh of his forefathers, was out amid the mountains, and far and near through the adjacent plains, in search of the lost Mary Fitzgerald; but every succeeding day saw them returning sad, weary, and unsuccessful. When somewhat more than a month had passed away, and still no tidings of the lost one came to comfort the bereaved father and anxious lover, a re¬ port began to circulate amongst the people around, 2 18 A BATCH OF LHGENDS. that Ebenezer Stubbs and Maiy Fitzgerald were both living happily as man and wife in the noi’th of England. This rumor at length reached the ears of old Fitzgerald and of Bryan; and the latter, hav¬ ing lost all hope, and mad with disappointment and despair, turned his thoughts to a project on which he had been meditating occasionally for some time previously. His was not the temperament to brook delay after once resolving to act; and he soon car¬ ried out his project. Oui’ readers will recollect, that, in the above year, “ bonnie Prince Charlie ” made his final attempt to regain the throne of his fathers by raising his stand¬ ard in the Highlands of Scotland. In Ireland, and particularly in its southern and western counties, this attempt was looked upon by the inhabitants with ^eager eyes. The advent of the prince was hoped for anxiously by the peasantry, and sung by their wandering poets; and when he did at last raise his banner in the Highlands, many young men from Ireland crossed the water, and joined his ranks. Bryan was among the latter. With about a dozen young men, — his own tenantry, — he made his way to the Shannon shore; and, seizing a small schooner near Ballybunnion, he sailed down the river, turned northward, and rounded the coast of Ireland, till he reached a secluded bay on the western shore of Scotland, whence, after abandoning the boat, he and his companions crossed the country, and at length succeeded in joining the army of the Pretender. THE LEGEND ^E THE CROSSED SWORDS. 19 After escaping many dangers, and losing most of his companions, lie stood at length by the side of the young prince, and fought bravely for his cause in the disastrous battle of Culloden; and when the day was lost, and the hopes of the Pretender were shattered forever, he again escaped, and contrived, through innumerable perils and hardships, to reach his native land once more. It was a dark December night when Bryan sat, sad and weary, by the fireside of an old farmer who dwelt upon the skirts of the property that a few months before he could call his own, but which now, during his absence, had fallen into the possession of his mortal enemy, Ebenezer Stubbs. From this old farmer, Bryan learned the secret of Mary Fitzgerald’s disappearance, and other facts that made him burn for vengeance upon his enemy. Mary had been car¬ ried off by Ebenezer Stubbs, and confined in Limer¬ ick, in the house of one of his accomplices; while Ebenezer himself, after taking up his residence in London, had caused some of his worthy associates to circulate the report of his marriage at home, thus getting rid of Bryan in the manner related. Eben¬ ezer, after receiving the news of Bryan’s reckless proceedings, caused Mary Fitzgerald to be sent back to her father, and soon returned to the neigh¬ borhood himself, where as a magistrate, and having the terrible penal laws of those times to back him, he soon made himself the terror of the poor peas¬ antry, and even of the higher classes of the Roman 20 A BATCH OF TRENDS. Catholics around. Amongst the rest, he had com¬ pelled old Fitzgerald to consent to his marriage with Mary; and Bryan learned, in despair and grief, that the ceremony was to take place in a few days. On the morning of the day before that fixed for th'e marriage, Ebenezer received a message to this effect, — that, should he-go on the same evening to the old churchyard outside the wall of his demesne, he would meet a person who would give him some information of vital importance to himself and Mary Fitzgerald. This message Ebenezer cautiously pon¬ dered over for some time ; but at length he resolved to go. Late in the evening, having armed himself with the long, iron-hilted sword his father had worn in the wars, Ebenezer proceeded to the lonely churchyard, and there, on turning round a corner of the dilapidated wall, he beheld confronting him the man whom he most feared and hated, Bryan Barry. , “ Draw ! ” exclaimed Bryan ; “ you false hound, draw, and defend your vile carcass; for I swear that only one of us shall leave this spot a living man! ” “ I am glad,” replied Ebenezer, who was not at all deficient in courage, “that it has come to this. You beggarly outlaw! ” added he with a sneer, at the same time drawing his weapon, “ I will show you the power of the law, as well as the power of my own hatred and this good sword. Take that! ” and he made a furious lounge at Bryan, who. THE LEGEND OP THE CROSSED SWORDS. 21 after a dexterous parry, slightly grazed Ebenezer’s shoulder in return. It is unnecessary to describe the particulars of that vengeful and long-protracted struggle ; but, when the cold light of sunset fell upon the mould¬ ering wall of the solitary ruin, Bryan Barry and Ebenezer Stubbs were found lying side by side, pierced by many deep wounds, and stone dead, be¬ neath the branches of the ancient ash-tree under which they fought. On hearing the news, Mary Fitzgerald received a shock from which her broken constitution never rallied. She pined slowly away, and died ere the commencement of the ensuing sum¬ mer ; and her father soon followed her to the grave. The bodies of the two mortal foes were buried where they fell, outside the wall of the ruin, and a stone, which an itinerant mason marked with the semblances of the two swords crossed, in token of their last struggle, placed over their blood-stained resting-place. Now, for authenticating this narrative. Beside the same churchyard, and beneath a very ancient ash-tree, was to be seen some few years ago — per¬ haps it may be seen there still — a tall, green flag¬ stone standing on end, on removing the moss from the eastern face of which, the rude figures of two swords, placed crosswise, might be easily discerned; and, if tlie curious traveller inquired concerning the history of that strange symbol, he would hear from any of the surrounding peasantry a narrative the 22 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. same in substance as the foregoing. But what makes the story still more authentic is this. On the side of the little hill that rises over 'the ancient churchyard, lives a farmer, — now about ninety years of age, — who states that he often heard his grandfather relating the story, and every particular of the combat; he (that is the grandfather), then a boy, having witnessed the whole scene through a narrow window of the old ruin, to which he had climbed in search of a jackdaw’s nest, and behind which he had lain all the time, concealed in the clustering ivy. We now come to narratives of the third class; namely, those in which one or more, or even all the circumstances related in them, can be con¬ firmed by written history: and I shall illustrate them briefly for the present by THE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. About a dozen years before Cromwell came into Ireland, there dwelt an old chief, named De Prender- gast, far up amid the eastern summits of the Cnoc- mel-down Mountains, in a castle called Crogh-Cluny, the ruins of which may still be seen by the traveller, should he pass through that wild region. This castle stood upon a projecting limestone rock, over a deep hollow, through which wound the only road then available for the passage of troops from the I TRE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. 23 county of Tipperary into those of Waterford and Cork, Besides this castle, the chief possessed others down in the lowlands, the strongest of which was that of Newcastle, upon the banks of the Suir. The old chief was blind with age, but still of an energetic character, and had living with him at that time, in Crogh-Cluny, an orphan niece and his two sons. One wild winter’s day, a mounted messenger, or easlach., rode into Crogh-Cluny, from James Fitz¬ gerald, Lord of Modeligo, near the Blackwater, with the intelligence that Murrogh O’Brien, Earl of Inchiguin, after despoiling all the eastern baronies of the county of Cork, and the adjoining districts of Waterford, was to march with his plunder by Crogh- Cluny into Tipperary, The easlach also stated, that, in case De Prendergast would aid the Lord of Modeligo, the latter, with all his clan, would attack Murrogh O’Brien in his passage through the hollow near the castle, and endeavor to obtain possession of the spoil. De Prendergast agreed to the propo¬ sition, and the courier departed. On the day that the Earl of Inchiguin marched across the mountains, the confederated clans of the two chiefs hovered on his track, and, as he wound througli the hollow beside Crogh-Cluny, attacked him, according to their agreement, gained possession of the spoil, and cut his army to pieces; the earl himself only escaping by the fleetness of his horse, which bore him, with one astonishing bound, across a deep and narrow glen, running along the northern 24 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. side of the hollow, and called to this day, by the peasantry of that highland region, Leam-an-Earla., or the Earl’s Leap; the steep valley itself being des¬ ignated Eag-na-Sassenagh, or the Saxon’s Hollow, in commemoration of the battle, and of the number of Murrogh O’Brien’s soldiers slain within it. In the division of the spoil, the two clans quar¬ relled ; and another and equally bloody battle would have been fought in the hollow, had not the mat¬ ter been left to the arbitration of single combat between the eldest son of De Prendergast and the Lord of Modeligo. The duel was to be fought in full armor, and with sword and dagger, by the two young chiefs. On the day appointed, they met, in the presence of a stipulated number of each clan, within the lists on the bank of the Suir, near New¬ castle, the spot agreed upon for the combat. It was a tough and bloody duel; but at length young De Prendergast fell, mortally wounded, beneath the more fortunate sword of the young Lord of Mo¬ deligo. The old chief, in the mean time, was sitting in his castle of Crogh-Cluny, anxiously awaiting news of the combat and of the fate of his son. At length his niece, who was stationed beside a window of the apartment, heard the clatter of hoofs coming u]) the rocky ballagh, or road, that led beside the castle, and, on looking out, found that it was the young Lord of Modeligo returning from the fight. The moment the latter beheld the young lady, he reined in his horse opposite the window, — THE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. 25 “Go!” exclaimed he in a vaunting tone, “ and tell the old wolf inside that I have killed his best cub in to-day’s combat.” The young girl repeated the words to the blind old chief inside. “Stay!” said the latter, rising from his chair, taking down a load^ed musketoon from the mantel¬ piece, and resting it on the sill of a loophole that commanded the spot where the Lord of Modeligo still sat motionless upon his horse, — “ Stay, girl! Now ask him to say over the same words again!” The young girl did as she was commanded; but, ere the words were half repeated, a bullet from the musketoon of the blind chief, who regulated his aim by the direction of the voice, passed through the brain of the young Lord of Modeligo, and stretched him a corpse in the midst of his terrified followers, on that steep road beneath the strong walls of Crogh-Cluny. The above is the substance, neither more nor less, of what I heard a few years ago from a venerable old farmer who resides near the ruins of Clogh- Cluny Castle. On referring to Carte’s Life of Or¬ mond, and other histories, the reader will find that Murrogh O’Brien, Earl of Inchiguin, did actually pass down those mountains, with spoil from parts of Cork and Waterford, in the year indicated by the legend; namely, 1641. The histories also state that MuiTOgh sent word to Captains Peasly and Browne, who commanded at that time in Tipperary, to have 26 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. his passage cleared for the transportation _ of the spoil, and that, on these officers neglecting to do so, “he was sorely troubled by the mountaineers.” No doubt but he was. For when Carte and other partisan writers admit so much, and with the evidence of the names of the localities before us, we may conclude that Murrogh the Burner — as he was called from his savage cruelties, and his equally savage marauders—got a bloody and sig¬ nal overthrow from the two brave clans; and we may also very legitimately infer that most, if not all, of the other incidents of the legend are true. I shall now introduce my readers to a country acquaintance of mine, whose accurate knowledge I have often put to the test in tracing legends to their source, as well as in divesting them of the extraneous incidents often tacked to them by the peasantry during the lapse of time. Bob Barry is a doctor of the old school, and looks down with sovereign contempt on many modern surgical and medical theories. According to his own words, he believes what he likes, and nothing more. And yet Dr. Bob is a successful practi¬ tioner. Witness his beautiful house and grounds, and the amount of money he is said to have in the funds. He imagines himself that a deep knowledge of the ancient classics is more his forte than a knowledge of the healing art; and certainty he loses no opportunity of demonstrating his convic- THE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. 27 tion by interlarding bis conversations with the most astonishingly unique and erudite phrases and apho¬ risms from the forgotten works of many a Greek and Latin sage. But, be this as it may, I know, and all his acquaintances are fully convinced of the same, that his forte lies in a very comprehensive knowl¬ edge of Irish history, Irish character, topography, and legends. Dr. Bob and I sat opposite each other before a merry turf-fire. I had some freshly-written manu¬ script before me. For some time, he sat regarding me with sagacious scrutiny, as if making a diagnosis respecting the state of my mental faculties. “At the old work? ” pronounced he at last. “Yes,” answered I, “I have here some legends whose truth I am endeavoring to verify by oral and historical testimony.” “A laboi’ious task you have taken on yourself,” pursued he. “ I see,” he continued, referring to a former conversation of ours, “ that there is one class which you call the impossible legend, of any example of which you can give no verification. This is a class, however, in which are contained greater numbers than in all the others ])ut together. It is a class common to all time and to all nations, particularly to the Greeks. Some of them are very beautiful. Do you remember the myth on which Euripides has founded his play of ‘ Alcestis ’ ? ” “ If I do,” answered I, “ my idea of it is some¬ what shadowy. It is a long time since I read it.” 28 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. “Well,” continued Dr. Bob, “there was a king called Admetus, who once treated Apollo hospita¬ bly. Admetus, when he found out who Apollo was, and saw him about to take his departure for Olympus, asked the god to confer immortality upon him. Apollo answered, that, if he (Admetus) could get a substitute to die for him, his life might be prolonged. Upon this, Admetus applied to his parents, who were old and infirm : but, as age advances, the love of life seems to increase; and both father and mother refused to die for him. Admetus then apjdies to his wife, the young and beautiful Alcestis, who cheerfully yields up life for the love of her husband, and thereupon dies. Then follows the funeral-feast. Hercules, returning from one of his labors, comes to the palace. lie en¬ ters, and inquires the cause of the mourning. On hearing the story, he immediately makes an excur¬ sion to the infernal regions, where he finds Alcestis, and brings her back, veiled. He carries her into the palace, where Admetus now sits, regretting what he had done, and mourning for his beautiful and faithful wife. Hercules, to test his fidelity, covers Alcestis more closely with her veil, and says that he lias brought another and more beautiful wife to Admetus. But the sorrowful Admetus answers, that he shall never more marry, and that he shall soon follow across the gloomy Styx her he loved so well. Whereupon Hercules lifts the veil, discloses Alces¬ tis restored to mortal life;'and all ends happily. THE CROSS ON THE GRAVE. 29 But,” continued the doctor, after a learned disser¬ tation on the beauties of the Greek myth, “ did it ever strike you how it is that Hercules, who, most probably, was a real personage, had a number of achievements attributed to him impossible to be per¬ formed by any single hero, no matter how strong and valorous ? ” “For the same reason,” answered I, “ that, to bring matters nearer home, Fionn, Cuchullin, Conal Cear- nagh, Curigh, the son of Daire, and the other great warriors of early Irish history, are represented as performing a number of actions equally impossible. The magnified actions of a number of heroes were, in the lapse of time, confounded by the poets and Shanachies with those of one man, and thereby attributed to him.” “It is so,” said Dr. Bob, with an approving glance. “ But I see the name of Saint Patrick on your manuscript. To what class does ^your legend belong ? ” “ To the first,” I answered; “ for several of the incidents in it, as you will see, are impossible. Yet, as it illustrates and accounts for a universal custom at Irish funerals, it is well worth preserving.” And I read for him the following legend: — THE CROSS ON THE GRAVE. Saint Patrick had a servant named Duan the Slender. The duty of this servant was to supply fuel for the household of the saint. One chilly 30 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. winter day, he went with his axe into the forest to cut timber; and, on arriving at a weird and lonely glade, he saw an aged rowan tree, or mountain-ash, upon its border. He immediately commenced to cut it down; but his axe was very blunt from con¬ stant use, and his work, therefore, j)rogressed very slowly. The morning wore away, and noon came; but as yet he had scarcely cut half a dozen inches into the stubborn trunk of the tree: so he sat down at length beside it, weary and sad, and began to complain, rather loudly, of the poverty that pre¬ vented him from buying a new and sharper axe. As he sat thus, a voice behind him called out, “ Duan the Slender! ” three times. Duan the Slender turned quickly round, and be¬ held, standing near, two young and handsome men of rather diminutive stature. They had long, flow¬ ing, lustrous hair, and dark, piercing eyes, that seemed to penetrate to the very soul of Duan the Slender, and were clad in luminous green garments. Duan arose, and looked upon them wonderingly. “ Have you called me ? ” he said at length, half afraid, on account of their strange looks and ap¬ parel. “Yes,” answered one : “we have called you, that we may do you a service if you are willing. Your axe is very blunt, and your labor is heavy.” “ It is,” answered Duan, catching up his axe, and looking disdainfully at its edge. “We will give you a new one, that will cut down THE CROSS ON THE GRAVE. 31 the whole forest in a day, if you comply with our request,” said the young man. “I will do any thing,” answered Duan, “to get rid of this useless and ancient axe, and get a new and sharp one.” “ It is well,” returned the young man. “ Here is our request. After the mass, when Saint Patrick turns round to bless the people, ask him who are they that can never share in the light of the gospel, that can never go to heaven.” “ I will do it,” said Duan the Slender. “ And now give me the axe; for I must finish my work and begone.” They went into the forest, and returned with a sharp axe of gleaming blue steel. This they gave to Duan, saying that they would meet him in the same place on the morrow for his answer. They then depai’ted; and Duan the Slender cut down the tree without trouble, and took some of its dryest branches home. Early next morning, when the saint, after cele¬ brating the holy mass, turned round to bless the people, Duan the Slender arose, and called out in a loud voice, “ Who are they in this land that shall never enter heaven ? ” “‘Duine Airiachs,’ or the people of air,” an¬ swered the saint. “ But, O Duan the Slender! why have you asked me this question, that will bring sure and sudden destruction upon you?” Duan waited till mass was quite over, and the 32 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. saint had entered his dwelling. He then told Saint Patrick what had happened, and the promise he had made to the two strange young men. “ It is, I fear, a fatal promise for you,” said the saint; “for, when they hear the woful answer from your lips, you will surely be torn to pieces. But, however, there is one plan by which you may escaj^e their fury. You must perform your promise; but, when yoU go out into the forest-glade, there dig a grave, and place yourself in it, with the mattock and shovel placed over you in the shape of our holy symbol, the cross. Thus await their coming, give them their answer; and, with the blessed sign above you, they cannot do you harm.” Duan the Slender took his mattock and shovel, went out to the weii'd glade in the forest, and did exactly as the saint had directed. He had scarcely lain himself down in the grave, with the mattock and shovel placed crosswise above him, when he heard the patter of innumeriible feet sounding through the forest, and, on looking up, beheld his place of refuge surrounded by a countless crowd of the same beings he had seen on the previous day. The two young men who had given him tlie axe stood on the edge of the grave, and, after gazing on him for some time, asked him for his answer. “I asked tlie saint,” exclaimed Duan the Slender; “and he said that the‘Duine Airiachs’were they that should never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Immediately a wild yell of fury and sorrow arose SHIRT OF MAIL. 33 from the great crowd. They pressed closer round, and attempted to drag Duan from the grave ; but the blessed sign prevented them. At length, when they found their vengeful efforts unavailing, they turned, and, with another shrill and wailing cry of sorrow and baffled anger, disappeared amid the lonely recesses of the forest. Duan the Slender left his place of refuge, and went safely back to his holy master; but, ever since, the people of Ireland, at the burial of their friends, make, with mattock and shovel. Saint Patrick’s cross above the grave. “ It is the custom, certainly,” said Dr. Bob. “ It is curious that a similar story, differing only in a few slight details, is related in ‘The Tripartite Life of Saint Patrick.’ But I see that yen are eager to commence a legend, I suppose belonging to your second class. Let us have it, then, by all means.” “Yes,” I said. “ Here is a legend, which, I think, can be established as a true one, by oral and living testimony; ” and I read for the erudite son of Galen the SHIRT OF MAIL. In a valley, amid that wild range of mountains that separates the plain of Limerick from the northern confines of Cork, there grew, some years ago, an aged hawthorn, called by the surrounding l^easantry Sgach na Three Theige.^ or the Bush of the Three Timothies. The reader, if he refer to another tale contained in this volume, will see 3 34 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. therein how the tree got its remarkable name; but with that we have nothing to do at present. This tree seemed to have stood there for centuries. It was, however, cut down, to the great rage of the inhabitants of the valley in which it grew, by a thieving peasant of a remote hamlet, who made the boxes of a number of cart-wheels from its trunk. It stood upon a level tongue of land that projected between the meeting of two mountain streams. Many centuries ago, there dwelt an old chief upon the neighboring plain of Cork, in a castle whose ruins may yet be seen rising in stern grandeur from a green knoll at the southern foot of the mountain- range. This chief had an only and beautiful daugh¬ ter, whose hand was sought in marriage by several of the young knights around. There were two com¬ petitors, however, who eclipsed the claims of all the rest. One of them was Sir Henry de Rupe, belonging to the powerful house of Fermoy; and the other Sir John Fitzgerald, a scion of the still more powerful house of Desmond. The rivalry of these two young knights soon merged into hate and bitterness. At a wassail in the castle of the old chief, they met one night. They quarrelled; and, ere the wassail was over, one challenged the other to settle their claims by the then usual ordeal of single combat. The day and place were appointed, to the great delight, accord¬ ing to the legend, of the old chief, who said that he would cheerfully give his daughter to the conqueror. SHIRT OF MAIL. 35 Some short time, however, before the day appointed, the two young knights met, accidentally and alone, on the green tongue of land mentioned above. Again they quarrelled; and finally agreed then and there, without witnesses, to settle their differences in mortal combat; and that the vanquished should be buried where he fell. It was a long and terrible struggle. Sir Henry de Rupe conquered, slew his rival, and, according to the previous agreement, buried him in his armor on the scene of the combat. It is now nearly twenty years since a young man of one of the mountain villages dreamt that there was a great treasure buried beneath the roots of the white-thorn of the Three Timothies, which grew on the identical spot indicated by the legend. He and some of his companions went one night, and dug beneath the aged tree. After excavating to a depth of about three feet, they discovered a heavy lump of steel. They dug further; but finally their search for the treasure proved unsuccessful. This lump of steel remained in the village for a long time, and was a great curiosity. It was made up of a number of rings, all stuck together by rust: it was, in fact, a shirt of chain mail. It is a great pity that it was not preserved, and sent to the Royal Ii’ish Academy, where there is, I believe, but another similar specimen; but the curious people who went to see it each took away a ring or two, and thus it ultimately disappeared. 36 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. “ This, I think,” said I to the doctor, “ is sufficient proof of the truth of the legend.” Dr. Bob looked logical and unconvinced for some time, but at last admitted that it was. “ And now,” he said, “ for your legend of the third class.” “ Here goes,” said I; “ and it will be a short one.” So I read for him, as follows, the legend of BLACK HUGH OF DAEA AND DONAL O’SULLIVAN. Hugh Dhuv Condon had once been the owner of one of those strong square castles, or bawns, so many of whose ruins may still be seen adding to the pic¬ turesqueness of quiet valley, gentle slope, craggy gorge, or solitary rock, throughout the south of Ire¬ land. During the last Desmond war, he had fought against the forces of Queen Elizabeth, and shared in the hardships and reverses, of his master, the unfortunate Earl James. Thus it happened that when the war came to a termination in his neigh¬ borhood, and the English had taken the Earl of Desmond prisoner, Hugh Condon’s border tower was burned, and razed to the ground, by the cruel myrmidons of the government, his wife and children slain, and he himself, of course, outlawed. Hugh Condon swore an oath that he would have vengeance. He kept his vow. There was a pass near the cave in which he lived with his followers, through which detachments of the English troops BLACK HUGH AND DONAL O’SULLIVAN. 37 had to pass while inarching from their Limerick gar¬ risons to those of Cork. Often had Hugh and his fierce followers fallen upon these detachments, and frequently had they conquered, and taken summary vengeance for their wrongs. It was by such ex¬ ploits that Hugh of Dara’s name gradually went abroad as that of the most celebrated outlaw in Munster. The mountains in which his cave was sit¬ uated were at that time thickly clothed with woods, — offshoots from the great forest of Kylemore,— which extended along the steep slopes, branched higher still up the rocky and savage gorges, and even clothed parts of the bleak and desolate ex¬ panses of bog that stretched often from summit to summit between those wild hills. A small hallagh, or bridle-path, led across this chain of hills, leading in a straight course from the plain of Cork into that of Limerick. Along the aforesaid hallagh, Hugh Condon was riding one wintry day, about a year and a half after the capture of the Earl of Desmond by the Eng¬ lish. He had not ridden far when he perceived a plumed horseman, clad in splendid armor, galloping towards him from a far turning of the bridle-way. On either side of Hugh, there was a deep, marshy bog, so that the stranger could not pass, unless by the path. Now, Hugh of Dara, by the strange horseman’s splendid attire, judged him to be an Englishman, and determined not to let him pass without a word and a blow. 38 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. “ Draw! ” exclaimed Hugh, as the stranger rode up. “I am lord of those mountains, and you shall not pass the way.” “By my good faith!” answered the stranger, reining in his steed; “ but this is surly cheer to meet on such a wild day. Let me pass, good fellow, and you will not repent of your courtesy.” “No!” answered Hugli stubbornly; for he now thought really that the stranger was an Englishman. “You shall not pass, unless over my body!” “ Then, be it so! ” exclaimed the strange horse¬ man ; and, with that, he dashed, sword in hand, at Hugh. But Hugh was a stout soldier, and held his ground so as to hinder the stranger from passing on. “I warn you to let me pass ! ” exclaimed the lat¬ ter once more, as he prepared for a more vigorous attack upon Hugh. “ Look down the mountain- slopes to the south, and you will see those approach¬ ing before whom, when they come uj), you will assuredly be hewn in pieces.” Hugh looked down the mountains, and beheld a small army marching across them from the plain. “ Who are you?” he asked at length, still, how¬ ever, keeping steadily on his guard. “I am Donal, Prince of Beare,” answered the stranger; “ and now let me pass, for I must find a camping-place for my followers.” Of coui’se. Black Hugh of Dara not only let him pass, but brouglit him and his followers to a safe and BLACK HUGH AND DONAL O’SULLIVAN. 39 sheltered valley, by the side of Ardpatrick Hill, on the verge of the Limerick plain. Here they rested for three days. On the second day. Black Hugh of Dara gave them notice that they were to be attacked the following night by the Barrys, the Roches, and part of the English garrison of Mallow; and showed Donal of Beare a pass in which it would be easy to defeat his foes as they marched through. Donal O’Sullivan placed an ambuscade in the pass, and that night defeated his enemies with great slaughter. The peasantry who tell the legend point out the difterent localities mentioned in it, and add that Black Hush of Dara followed the fortunes of Do- nal. Prince of Beare, in his gallant retreat to the north. “ It is an interesting thing,” said Dr. Bob, “ to find out even one of the stages of that memorable retreat, unequalled by any thing in ancient times, except the exploit of Aenophon and the Ten Thousand.” “It is,” answered I; “ and I have historical testi¬ mony as to the truth of part of the legend, at least; for it is mentioned in the ‘Annals of the Four Masters,’ that, during his flight to the north, Donal O’Sullivan, Prince of Beare, and his forces, en¬ camped for some days by the Hill of Ardpat¬ rick.” “No matter,” exclaimed my companion excitedly, “fill your glass, and we will drink a toast.” 40 A BATCH OF LEGENDS. I filled my glass; and there and then Dr. Bob Barry and I drank a flowing bumper to the memory of Donal of Beare, one of the bravest chiefs that ever drew sword beneath the fair hills of holy Ire¬ land. X The Master of Lisfinry. CHAPTER I. O NE sweet June evening in the year 1579, the sentinels were ranged for watch and ward along the walls of Youghal; some leaning in an indolent and listless manner against the parapets and over the breastworks, others walking quietly to and fro, their bulF-coats and armor half unbraced, and their long halberds glittering in the soft and merry sunshine. Beneath them lay the town with its strong, stern-looking castles, its quaint houses, with their pointed gables and antique doorways, its inhabitants half astir and listless too; for the quiet and warmth of the evening seemed to have as much effect on their movements and proceedings as it had upon those of the lazy soldiers upon the castle-tops and the walls. Southward spread out the blue, bright, and placid ocean, with a few sails in the harbor and in the offing; while, in a landward direction, the scenery extended itself into a broad 41 42 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. panorama of mountain, forest, and river, enlivened at intervals by gray and stately castles, each of which sent up its eolumn of blue smoke into the calm, amber-colored sky. On the northern ramparts, two sentinels were sit¬ ting, engaged in a quiet, half-dreamy conversation. They were both aged men. Their faces were turned to a dark bronze by constant exposure to both war and weather; but their bodies seemed still strong and stalwart, stronger, perhaps, and more capable of endurance, than when they first donned the helmet and sword, and took to the wandering trade of a soldier. “ Gurth of the Stream,” said one, addressing his comrade, “ I would we were both back again in our own blithe braes of Northumberland! 1 do not like this cooped life of ours, ever within stone walls, and waiting, always waiting, for the war-cry of the Irishry, that has not sounded on my ears since last Christmas-tide.” “ Ralph Goodwyn,” said Gurth, “ from my heart I wish your wish. By the axe of my father, but it is enoimh to sour a man’s blood in his veins to sit here, like a Yorkshire churn when its last butter is made, and never find any one thing for our hands to do, save sharpening our swords, that, God wot, are sharp enough for the work they have to do, and brightening our tasses and breastplates! Ah ! those were merry days when we chased the deer together through the South Forest, and courted the blithe lasses by the Brig o’ Reed.” THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 43 “Blithe they were, and merry,” rejoined Ralph Goodwyn. “ Dost thou remember the day I fought Simon o’ the Mill for the love of bonnie Alice of Elsdon ? ” “ A bright day it was, Ralph, but a black day for Simon o’ the Mill.” “But it was near being the same for me, too, Gurth. When our good swords were shivered, and we went to work with the dirk, he got his point between the bars of my basnet, and gave me this;” and he pointed to a great scar across his face. “ He fell, Gurth, and I had no rival for the love of my bonnie Alice. But, alas ! it was too short, and she died, poor thing, ere the autumn-tide; and ever since I am a wanderer, and a man of the sword, like your¬ self.” “As forme,” rejoined Gurth, “ I took to the plume, aird followed the tuck of drum, to feed my own wild fancy. I could never love maiden like you, Ralph, though the gleam and the blink of her eye were as bright as the steel of my dirk. But what is that ? ” he exclaimed, starting to his feet, and pointing north¬ ward to the skirt of the ancient forest that stretched along the bank of the Blackwater. Both looked in the direction to which he pointed, and beheld the glitter of swords and spears and the waving of plumes, and the flutter of advancing banners, as if a great army were approaching. And so it was. Even as they looked, a large body of light-armed footmen, or kerne^ emerged from the wood, and formed in a body 44 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. on the clear plain outside. Long lines of horsemen followed, with fluttering banners and glistening armor, tlien other bodies of foot; then, again, horse¬ men, failing into regular positions as they .came, un¬ til at length a large and numerous army lay formed before them on the plain, but far beyond the range of the light cannon upon the walls. “ Fire the alarm-gun,” cried Ralph, “ and call up the captain of the guard! ” A small falconet on one of the towers was fired by Gurth ; and, in a few moments, the ramparts were thronged with men, the diflerent officers running to and fro, giving their commands, and putting the now any thing but lazy soldiers into their proper order. “ Ho! ” exclaimed the captain of the guard, a tall, stern-looking soldier, when the proper arrangements were made, “ they seem still unwarlike in their inten¬ tions; for here comes a courier with a flag of truce, and, God wot, I suppose a civil message. Better had they thrown ns the gage of battle at once in the shape of a pill of iron from the mouth of one of their falconets, than come thus with a white ’ker¬ chief on the point of a lance; for we can hold no parley and have no truce with those wild Irishry! ” As he spoke, a knight from the Irish forces rode forth, accompanied by a mounted gilly, or hench¬ man, and came at an easy gallop towards the walls. He was clad in a suit of bright armor, his helmet being surmounted by a tall red plume; and in his hand he held his long spear aloft, on the point of THE MASTEM OF LISFINRY. 45 which fluttered a white ’kerchief, like a small ban¬ neret. He was soon within speaking-distance of the walls,' and, reining in his steed, stood, like a tall statue of iron, motionless, his gilly close behind him, looking with fierce eyes upon the formidable array of men-at-arms upon the walls. In a few mo¬ ments, he raised his visor, and with a voice loud and clear as the tones of a trumpet, addressed himself to those wdiom he considered to be the leaders of the town. “ Vassals of the Red Queen,” he said, “the high and mighty prince, John of Desmond, sends ye greeting.by me, James, Knight of Lisfinry, and bids ye to depart in peace from his town of Youghal. lie gives ye two days to embark. If, at the end of that time, ye still remain, he considers ye are his, for death or life, with your possessions in the town. God and the right! ” “ Give him,” exclaimed the commander of the town, who was now standing on the rampart, “give him one sample of the medicine that the Red Queen, as he calls her, sends to her rebellious subjects, to cure their contumacy. Gurth of the Stream, point that falconet, and shoot him down I ” Gurth was ready at the word; and the sound of the falconet’s explosion was scarcely ringing in their ears, when they beheld the Knight of the Red Plume stretched upon the plain. He was not hurt, liow- ever, though the ball had killed his horse, which, falling, brouglit the knight to the ground, partly 46 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. under him. The gilly was determined not to remain idle, however. It was amazing to see with what dexterity he extricated his master from beneath the body of the dead steed, and mounted him on his own; then, as the knight spurred away,half-stunned by the fall, the faitbfal attendant ran by his side with the agility of a deer, until they reached the halting- place of their brothers-in-arms. Night had fellen upon the town ; but the sentinels were still watchful upon the walls. They could dis¬ tinguish no indications of a stir among the Irish, save that, ever and anon, a slight murmur arose out¬ side, at some distance from where they walked their rouifds; and black masses, which they took for the waving shadows of trees, appeared to move to and fro in every direction, amid the copse-wood and scattered forest. The morning soon explained what these black, moving masses indicated. The sun had scarcely risen, when the ramparts were again thronged with officers and men-at-arms; and, looking out, they beheld huge piles of earth and brushwood, behind which the Irish forces lay crouched, secure themselves, but close enough, and in positions, to pick off with musketry the defenders of the walls. No horses could be seen,—they were picketed in tlie thick forest behind ; but here and there the mouths of cannons protruded from the brushwood and clayey ramparts, while the shock heads of the fierce array outside, with a gleaming helmet occasionally amongst them, might be seen popping up at inter- THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 47 vals from the covert, and examining the fortifications. All at once a wild war-cry arose which seemed to proceed from every part of the forest. This was fol¬ lowed by the rolling cracks of the match-locks and musketoons, and the loud roar of cannon, which, with the answering explosions from the walls, made a din that soon woke the town, and struck terror into its inhabitants. All day the firing continued with considerable loss to the besieged. In several places, the walls were partially breached; but, in one part, the foundations seemed to have entirely given way, a few perches of it lying almost level with the ground. Up this breach, on the evening of that day, a large body of the Irish were rushing, headed by the knights and gentlemen who composed the officers of Desmond’s army. They were met gal¬ lantly by the English, and driven back almost to their intrenchments. On they came again, however, crowding up the breach like the waves of the sea. To and fro swayed the combatants, re-enforcements pouring in to each side, until the whole battle seemed concentrated round that breach. The Irish were again beginning to waver, when a cry arose among them, “ Crom Aboo! Follow the Red Feather! Hurrah for Lisfinry and the Red Plume ! ” and, look¬ ing up, they saw the Master of Lisfinry far above them at one side; his long plume waving, and his heavy sword clutched in both hands, as he hacked and hewed at the English who surrounded him. A simultaneous rush was made by the Irish towards 48 THE MASTER OF HSFINRY. this point; and tlie English, by absolute dint of pressure, body to body, were at length forced to give way, and retreat from the walls, the Irish fol¬ lowing with a wild shout into the town. At this moment, Gurth of the Stream, who had not aban¬ doned his beloved gun till the last extremity, leaped, with a heavy battle-axe in his hand, from the ram¬ part, and, coming behind the Knight of Lisfinry, with one blow brought him to the ground. Friend and foe went in one rush over the body of the knight; but he heeded them not, for sorely wounded by the axe of Gurth, and half-smothered by his helmet, he soon sank into a deep swoon, and lay as heedless and as quiet as those who had fared even worse, and lay dead around him. The battle was soon over. The English were almost entirely cut to pieces, very few of them escaping to their ships in the har¬ bor ; and, as night fell, the entire town and its envi¬ rons were occupied by the Irish army. When the Knight of the Red Plume awoke to something like consciousness from his stupor, it was in the house of Hugh Walsh, an old and worthy bur- o-ess of the town, who had been favorable to the in- terest of the Earl of Desmond, and was, therefore, now left in peaceable possession of his property. The room in which the knight woke was somewhat small in its dimensions. It was floored and wainscoted with oak of an extremely dark color; but its gloom was dissipated by a beautifully-carved, stone-sashed win¬ dow, which threw the morning light, in ^ cheerful THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 49 stream, upon the wall and floor. The knight’s first sensation on awaking was of a racking j3ain in his head and every member of his body. He endeav¬ ored to turn himself upon his curtained bed, but could not; while, at the same time, he was half-con¬ scious of the presence of another person in the room, whom he tried to speak to, but, in a few mo¬ ments, fell into a half-awake and dreamy stupor again. While this lasted, he was aware of a voice singing beside him in a low, sweet cadence ; and, as he recovered again, he could distinguish the words of the song. They floated through his mind with a soothing sweetness, rendered doubly sweet by their contrast with the clang and crash of battle that rang so loudly in his ears on the evening before. The voice sang as follows the words of an old love-song of the period; — I met within the greenwood wild Mj own true knight that loved me dearly. When summer airs blew soft and mild, And linnets sang, and waves rolled clearly; And, oh ! we pledged such loving vows. In moss-grown glade, all green and rilly. Where lightly waved the rustling boughs ^Mid thy dear woods, sweet Imokilly! I met my love in festive hall, 'Mid lords and knights and warriors fearless; And there my love, among them all. To my fond heart was ever peerless ; And he was fond, and time could ne’er His love for me make cold and chilly : 50 THE MASTER OF LIS FIN RY. Ah ! then I knew nor grief nor care, ’Mid thy green woods, sweet Imokilly ! From Rincrew’s turrets, high and hoar. When autumn floods were wildly sweeping, I saw my love ride to the shore, I saw him in the torrent leaping. To meet me ’neath the twilight dim. In bowery nook, secure and stilly ; But the ruthless waters swallowed him. By thy green woods, sweet Imokilly ! The knisfht now made an endeavor to see the per- son of the singer; but, in turning over for that purpose, he threw his weight upon his left arm, which had been broken on his falling beneath the axe of Gurth, and the sudden spasm of pain occa¬ sioned by the movement made him fall backward with a heavy groan. He was, however, on looking up once more, more than compensated tor the pain he caused himself. A young and beautiful girl was bending over him, and regarding him with a look in which a modest shyness was blended with anxiety and compassion. Her long yellow hair, falling in shining tresses upon her shoulders, almost touched the face of the knight as he looked up half-woncler- struck; and she adjusted the bed-covering so gentl} , and handled his wounded arm so tenderly, that he beg-an to think himself in a dream, in which O some brio-ht anscel had come near, and was minister- o o iim to his wants. But the eftects of the swoon were O now gradually disappearing from his brain; and he THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 51 began to recollect himself; and to remember the events of the preceding day. He now began to raise himself with more care, and endeavored to ask a few questions; but the young girl put her hand to her lips, and motioned him that he was to keep silence, and to try and sleep once more. He lay back, and fell into a sweet and long sleep, from which he was only awaked towards evening by the step of some one entering the room. It was the kind leech, an old monk, who had set his arm the preced- ing night, and bound up the great axe-wound in his head; and he was now coming to see how his patient was progressing. “James of Lisfinry,” said the monk, “the town is in possession of my kinsman, the Desmond, who has declared, that, were it not for thy tact and thy bravery, he would be outside the walls still.” “Who art thou?” answered the knight. “iVrt thou Gerald the monk, whose life I saved at the foray of Sliabh Gua ? ” “I am Gerald the Franciscan,” said the monk; “ and, by God’s special grace, I am enabled and pre¬ served to pay back the debt,— to set thy broken arm aright, and to bind up the great wound in thy head, through which thy life was fast oozing last eventide.” “Hast thou found the child of thy brother, the murdered Knight of Barna? ” asked the knight. “No,” said the monk. “It was in my wanderings to find her that the vassals of Ormond caught mo 52 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. at Sliabh Gua, and took me for a spy; and then my wanderings would have ceased, were it not for thy onslaught on my captors. Alas! since the night of the murder of my brother and his followei-s, in his House of Barn a, I have wandered for years, but can find no traces of the poor little maiden. It is ten years now since the murderers confessed before they died, that they forgot and left her behind at their camping-place in the forest. She was but seven years old then, and, ah me ! I fear she died of hun¬ ger and cold, or that the wolves fell upon lier; and she was the last remnant of a once brave and o’al- O lant house. As for thee, knight,” he continued, after a pause, “ thou wantest but quiet and sleep, and a good nurse, and tliou wilt soon be able to take into thy hands and wield tliat good sword of thine, that did thy work so well upon our persecutors yesterday.” “Ah!” said the knight, “had I the nurse that watched over me this morning! ” But he recollected himself, and changed the conversation. “Think you,” he continued, “that'the English will return again, and attempt to recajature the town? Would that I were sound in head and limb ere they did sol” “ I know not,” answered the monk. “ But, in the mean time, your best chance, under a watchful Providence, for getting into bodily soundness again, is to speak little, and to keep quiet, and fi-ee from mental trouble.” THE MASTER OF TASFIKRY. 63 CHAPTER II. We shall now leave the Knight of the Red Plume to his repose, and follow for a time the for¬ tunes of the old monk’s niece, the Orphan of Barna, About ten years anterior to the time of the fore¬ going incident, there stood an old castellated man¬ sion in a deep gaji, or pass, on the southern declivity of Sliabh Gua, or Knockmeledown Mountains. In this mansion dwelt Sir Thomas Fitzgerald, or, as he was more frequently called, the Knight of Barna, together with his young daughter, and a few follow¬ ers. The knight’s wife had died a few years before; and he, disabled by wounds and hardships in the Desmond wars, had retired to spend the remainder of his life in his House of Barna, and to bring up his young daughter, the sweetest little flower that ever Ifloomed in that wild and turbulent district. This district was, in fact, another Debatnble Land, under the jurisdiction, at one time, of the Earl of Desmond, and at others overrun and held in subjection by the great rival House of Ormond; so that the only protection for any man, lord, or vassad holding territory there, was his owm watch- tulness, cunning, or bravery. The Knight of Barna, however, deemed himself secure enough, being a near kinsman of the Earl of Desmond; and thei'e- fore less liable to the chances of being plundered 54 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. than the other followers of that great earl; and, dwelling also on that sIojdo of the mountains farthest from the territory of Ormond, he therefore re¬ tained but a few followers in his service, who could, at best, keep but scant watch and waixl around his dwelling of the gap : but time showed him the bit¬ ter foolishness of such neglect. One March night, the Robber of Coumfay, a fierce and implacable enemy of the Desmond vas¬ sals, sat with his followers upon the summit of a steep hill that overlooked the House of Barna. The robber himself was in the act of addi-essing his worthy comrades; and it was evident, from his remarks, that they had just held a council of war, and were now making preparations for attacking the mansion beneath them. “ For myself,” said the robber, at the' conclusion of his address, — “for myself, I want but tlie head of the burning old murderer himself. He hanged my brother at the gate of Youghal; and he would have broken myself upon the wheel, had I not mined my dungeon and fled,— and fled, to have this night of plunder and sweet revenge ! ” “ He burnt my home by the banks of Hier,” ex¬ claimed a wild-looking young fellow from the centre of the throng; “ and he lopped off my father’s head with one sweep of his sword, at the ford of Dangan: and I say, burning for burning, and head for head! ” “ I had my skean at tlie throat of his nephew at the battle of Lisroe,” said a small, dark-complexioned THE MASTEll OF LISFINIiY. 55 mnn near the chief; “ and I reinerabered the wrongs of my race, and would have my trusty skean steeped to the hilt in his blood, only for the charge of the Knight of Kin crew, who bore down like a torrent with his men-at-arms upon us, and gave me this with a back-slash of his sword,” continued he, baring his breast, and exhibiting to those about him the mark of a great wound extending from the shoulder across his breast-bone. “ But to-niorht we O can pay back all.” “Yes, and pay yourselves,” exclaimed the Robber of Coumfay; “for tlie old wolf of Barna has more gold in liis house than the mad Knight of Dangan, who shod his horse with it, Down, then, and fol¬ low me; and each man shall have his own revenge, and tlie fair share of spoil that pertains to his degree among us.” Not a word was spoken as the robbers descended the hill towards the devoted House of Barna. Ko watch-dog howled from the courtyard, no sentinel looked forth, as that fierce- and merciless body of marauders surrounded the house, and blocked up tlie gate and every outlet by which the hapless sleepers inside might have a chance of escaping. The night was intensely dark, notwithstanding which the robbers crouched down closely by the walls and hedges, while their chief, advancing from the gateway, with his long cloak muffled closely around him, sat himself cpiietly down in the middle of the courtyard. Here he set up a long, wild, 1 56 the master of lisfinry. wailing cry, like that of a woman in distress, and continued it, louder and shriller, until at length a small window or spy-vent was opened beside tlie door of the mansion, and a head protruded through the orifice. “What dost thou here, thus so late and untime¬ ly?” said a voice wliich the robbers recognized at once as that of the Knio-ht of Barna. “ What bringest thou here, woman? and why dost thou dis¬ turb my house with thy mad wailing ? ” “ Lord of Barna,” answered the robber, feigning with practised skill the voice of a woman, “ J am Oona, the wife of Shane Gar of the glen. The rob¬ bers from the Ormond’s laud beset our house at the nightfall: they burned all, and killed iny husband and my cliildren ; and I am here for shelter and vengeance! ” There was now a prolonged undoing of bolts at the strong, iron-studded door, during which the Robber of Coumfay stole over and stood silently beside the jamb, under, the black shadow of the porch. The door was now cautiously opened, and the knight, half-dressed, stepped forth ; but scarcely had he done so, when a strong hand clutched him by the naked throat, and the robber’s dagger was plunged and drawn, and plunged quickly again into his heart. He fell across his own door-step with one heavy groan, and never stirred more. The robber now yelled out a wild and exulting cry, at whiph his companions, rushing from their hiding-places, THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 57 broke into the house, and began to plunder. The affrighted servants were all killed, either in their beds, or defending themselves upon the staircases; and the robbers, now having their fill of plunder, assembled in the courtyard, and prepared to set fire to the house. “The daughter, the daughter!” exclaimed several voices, as they recollected that she was still unfound, and inside. “Bring her out, and we’ll yet have a ransom for her! ” “Leave her inside,” said the small dark man who had spoken at the consultation upon the hill. “ Leave her inside, I say; and then we’ll have our revenge upon the old wolf of Barna, root and branch.” The expected ransom, however, carried the motion against the last speaker; and, in a few moments, the knight’s daughter was found, cowering, and almost dead with affright, upon the stairs, and brought into the midst of her father’s murderers. One of them brought out a small cloak, and, Avrapping it around the child, took her in his arms, and, by the order of his chief, prepared for their wild journey homeward throuQ-h the forest. The house Avas uoav set fire to in several places; and, by the light of the blazing I'oof, the robbers, Avith their spoil, turned off quickly toAvard the mountains. There Avas a small green glade by the bank of a little stream that fell into the Suir, down that de¬ clivity of the Knockmeledown Mountains facing the plain of Tipperary, and farthest from the luckless 58 THE MASTER OF LIS FINE Y. House of Barna. Here, some time before daybreak, the robbers halted in order to divide the spoil, and to take some refreshment after their night of fatigue and blood. The man that held the young Orphan of Barna, now laid her down under a tree by a small pathway, where, tired out by the motion of the wild retreat across the mountains, the poor little thing fell into a deep and quiet slumber. Little did the poor child dream at that moment, on her chilly bed, that the headless body of her father, and her father’s vassals, and her native home of Barna, were one undistingnishable mass of black and burnt ashes, and that the eyes that once looked pleasantly upon her were dim and rayless, and the lips that often kissed her pretty cheeks were bloodless, and parted by the agony of a violent death, a few perches beneath her upon the green. The Robber of Coumfay, one of the most bloodthirsty and mer¬ ciless freebooters of the time, had brought his share of the spoil with him, — namely, the head of the Knight of Bai’iia; and had laid it beside him as he sat in the midst of the glade, among his companions. Under the superintendence of their leader, the spoil was soon divided satisfactorily among the robbers, and they all now prepared to refresh themselves. “ Paudheen Gob, come forth,” said the leader, “and give us a morsel of that bread of yours, and a draught of the red wine you brought so well through the forest. You must have the largest draught yourself for your pains.” THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 59 The worthy distinguished by the delightful appel¬ lation of Paudheen Gob was a half-fool kept by the robbers for their amusement; but he also served occasionally as a most useful and tractable beast of burden. Tlie literal meaning of Paudheen Gob is Little Paddy of the Mouth; but Paudheen himself, like Little John, the bosom friend of Robin Hood, was a most complete antithesis to the signification of his flattering cognomen. He was considerably over six feet in height, with a formidable breadth of body and shoulders, and a small bullet-head, gar¬ nished with a mouth reaching almost from ear to ear, from which tremendous orifice, indeed, he de¬ rived his title of Paudheen Gob. Paudheen gave a groan of distress and fatigue, when he heard the call of h:s chief; but the jjromise of the draught of wine mollified his tribulation somewhat: so, arising from wdiere lie had stretched himself among the brushwood, he walked into the centre of the throng of robbers, and laid down his burden, which consisted of some manchets of bread, and a small cask of wine they had found in the House of Harna. The robbers now set to in good earnest, and soon despatched the bread. The wine, in a short time, shared the same fate ; and they all stood up, half-intoxicated, and began to descend towards the plain. They were fully half a mile away from the little glade, before they remembered that they had left the young Orphan of Barna behind them; so, halting once more, the chief 60 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. ordered Paiidheen Gob to retrace bis steps, and bring her with him. Paudheen, not at all relishing an excursion by himself backwards through the ghostly darkness of the forest, began to whimper, and make excuses; but a few bangs from the flat of his chiefs sword across the shoulders made liim dart off in the direction pf the sleeping child. To Paudlieen’s ex¬ cited imagination, as he went along, the black trunks of the trees seemed like ranks of men-at-arms ready to receive him ; and when, on coming towards the spot where they had left the child, he saw a naked frag¬ ment of a tree standing before him in the path, with a few sprigs trembling on its top, and one branch projecting upwards like a spear, his affrighted brain manufictured it into a knight armed at all points ; and, with a start and a bound, he turned and fled back again in the direction of the robbers. “Earla Mor, Earla Mor! ” yelled he, as he dashed along at a mad pace through l^he brushwood, “The Great Earl is afther us wid all his min! Shamus o’Coumfay, save me, save me, or Pm kilt an’ lost this morthial minnit! ” Shamus of Coumfay waited until the fool came up ; and then, thinking from Paudheen’s mad gesticu¬ lations that they were actually pursued, he and his companions dashed on in an easterly direction, and took to the mountains once more in order to reach the cave where they were wont to hide themselves and their spoil on occasions like this. THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 61 CHAPTER III. It was broad da}diglit when the Orphan of Barna awoke; and there, sitting upon the path, she beheld a small, handsome man, with a gittern, or guitar, across his knee, other extraordinary-looking para¬ phernalia around him, and a young, pale woman beside him, who seemed to be his wife. The change of scene was such a wild contrast to her home, that the poor little maiden began to rub her eyes, think¬ ing it all a dream; but, gradually awaking to the ■ consciousness of her situation, she sank back shiver¬ ing upon her couch of grass, with a low, despairing cry. The young woman now arose, and, with affec¬ tionate care, took the child in her arms, and began to chafe her cold hands, asking, at the same time, a variety of questions. When the orphan had answered all, and told the circumstances of her situation, as well as the cold and terror would allow her, the young woman turned to her husband, and began to hold a short consultation with him. “I think, Jamie Bell,” said she, “we have fallen upon a good chance. Since our sweet child died, ^ there is no one to dance to thy gittern, or jangle the blitlio tambour, save myself; and I am now, as thou knowest, ill able to do it.” Jamie Bell was one of those itinerant jugglers, or 62 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. gleemen, who, at that time, roved about in England from shire to shire, seeming to own no locality as their native place. Jamie’s genius, however, seemed to have been somewhat disregarded in England; so, leaving his native country with his wife, he had landed in Waterford some time previous; and now, rambling about through the English-inhabited towns along the coast, he was doing a most flourishing business. “Yes,” answered Jamie, “we cannot do better than adopt her as our own. Besides, she has now no friends that we can find; and were we to take her back, and the wild Irish of that country to find her with us, truly we should stand the blame, and the deep dungeon or the gallows-tree would be our guerdon for saving her. We will keep her, Lucy.” “Wouldst thou like,” said Lucy, turning to the child, — “ wouldst thou wish, my pretty dear, to come along wi’ us ? and we will give thee brave spangled dresses, and that pretty tambour yonder to ifiay upon.” The orphan only nestled closer to the breast of the gleeman’s wife; but she answered nothing. “The dress of our own pretty Maud — poor dear Maud! — will suit her,” said Lucy; and with that she directed her husband to open a box beside him, from which she took a small, light-colored but com¬ fortable dress, in which she quickly arrayed the young Orphan of Barna. Lucy now clipped the long, bright locks of the little orphan; so that in THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 63 the strange dress, and the strange company she was in, it would be impossible to recognize her. For three years the Orphan of Barna rambled from town to town with the gleeman and his wife, during which time she grew more beautiful day by day, and got to play upon the gittern and tambour with unwonted skill, and to do all other things per¬ taining to the office of a glee-maiden. One day, Jamie Bell, his wife, and the orphan were showing off some of their performances before the admiring eyes of the English soldiers, in the courtyard of one of the garrisons in Waterford. Tlie young lady of Barna was dancing to the tune of Jamie’s gittern, when the wife of one of the officers, passing in, stopped to have a view of the performance. After looking at the child, the lady, who was accompanied by her husband, approached Lucy. “1 want a maiden, such as yon child, to wait upon me,” said she. “Wilt thou let her stay with me ? or is she thy daughter? for methiuks she bears no resemblance to thy countenance or that of thy hus¬ band.” . Jamie, who overheard this conversation, before his wife could answer, came forward. He was, it appears, in great distress, and under some pecu¬ niary misfortune at the time; and now a thought occui'red to his mind that he could easily remedy all. “She is not our daughter, lady,” said he. “We rescued her from death at one time; and as she 64 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. was an orphan, with no one to keep her, we kept her, and brought her up, as thou seest. We will give her to thee. What, lady, wilt thou give us in return for her ? ” Half a dozen broad gold-j)ieces easily satisfied the conscience of Jamie; but not so his wife, who, with many tears and lamentations, saw the orphan, weep¬ ing bitterly also, led into the gai’rison by the officer and lady. About two months after this, while Jamie the gleeman was spreading his fame in the city of Kil¬ kenny, his wife took sick and died. With her last breath, she abjured Jamie to go and get back the little lady of Barna; and rejjresented to him, as an incitement, the assistance she would be to him in his avocation. Jamie promised, although he had but a very slight notion of refunding the gold- pieces, to get back the child; but in a few days he began to feel the misery of being quite alone in the world. So, in a fit of desperation, Jamie set off for Waterford, and flourished so well as he went by the various towns, villages, and castles, that, on reaching his destination, he found his pockets so plentifully supplied, that, without many avaricious qualms, he could easily give back the money he received from the officer’s lady. But it seems it was far easier to give the money than to get back the young orj)han; and the sad reality was demonstrated in a most summary manner to poor Jamie on his demand for breaking up the bargain. He was taken up as an THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 65 impostor, and put in tlie stocks before the gate of the fortress. All day long, during every moment he could recall his mind from his harsh treatment, and the scoffs and jeers of the soldiers and passen¬ gers, Jamie sat planning how he could repay them for the indignity. He was set at liberty in the even¬ ing, and next day concealed himself by the side of a little green below the ramparts of the castle, where the children of the officers were in the habit of jdaying. About noon, to his great joy, he beheld the young lady of Barna coming out with some children ; and, unobserved by the others, ho beck¬ oned to her. She knew him at once, and came joy¬ fully to him; and the sweetness of’S^amie’s tonarue was such, that she consented to accompany him, and to leave the fortress, of which she seemed heartily tired. They were both soon beyond pursuit, and thus once more the OrjDhan of Barna was leading the wandering life of a glee-maiden. CHAPTER IV. It is now time to return to the Master of Lisfinry, whom we left so sorely wounded in his bed. After the departure of the monk, lie dozed away into a quiet sleep, but awoke at inter¬ vals during the night; for his wounds were now 5 66 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. becoming much more painful than during the time elapsing immediately after their infliction. When¬ ever he awoke, he was sensible, by some light stir or breathing, of tl)e presence of the young girl in the room ; and the feeling that he was tended and watched by such a handsome nurse made his hours of sleeping and Avaking SAveeter till the morning. Then the bright light streamed in, and, aAvaking fully, he looked around ; but the young girl was gone, and in her place stood the master of the house, the woi’thy Hugh Walsh himself, with his portly and good-natured wife. “ Sir knight,” said Hugh, “ after the battle, my lord, the Desiliond, did me the high honor of di¬ recting that you should be sent to my house, as you were too weak to be removed. I trust that you have found the humble attendance we were able to give, pleasing, and that you Avill soon be strong, and able to do the deeds pertaining to a gallant knight again.” “ I trust so, too,” said the smiling dame. “ The bed, mayhap, is rather hard for the comfort of your Avorship; but it is even softer than Father Gerald Avould allow you, after binding up your wounds.” “My Avorthy host and hostess,” answered the knight, “I feel as delectable as man can in such a case. As for the pains that trouble me now and then, it is not the fault of the bed or of the nursing I have got, but o‘f fortune and my Avounds. But I trust I shall soon be Avell; and, as Master of Lisfinry, THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 67 I shall not forget the kind nursing I am receiving under your roof.” Day after day the Knight of the Red Plume con¬ tinued under the kind nursing of Hugh Walsh and his wife, and the lovely Margai’et, and at length be¬ came stronsr enousch to arise and move about, with- out, however, leaving the precincts of his room. It was now nearly a month after the taking of the town; and he was sitting in his room, thinking of some pi'eparations, for on the morrow he was to leave his kind nurses, and proceed to the Castle of Lisfinry, from which the Earl of Desmond had but lately departed with his retainers in order to take up his abode in another castle. The town of Youghal was now in possession of a garrison left there by the earl; and every thing was going on as quietly in its streets as though the crash and clamor of war had never rung along its fortifications, or echoed in its mansions. As the knight sat thus thinking, the image of the sweet girl-who had nursed him so well during his illness continually arose in his mind; and, in spite of himself, a feeling of fondness and tenderness (which he would not, but many would, call love) began to grow in his heart, as he thought of her unremitting and devoted attention to him,— in spite of himself; for how could he, a high-born knight, think of loving a girl, who, however beauti¬ ful, was lowly-born, and, according to the precepts of those times, unfit to mate with any of his class, proud noblemen who looked often down with scorn 68 THE MASTER OF LISFIEUY. on those of humbler birth, however wealthy ? Still, he thought he saw something noble about the young Margaret Walsh, in her features, in her bearing, and in her actions. In this mood of mind he was, when, towards sunset, tlie oft-recurring subject of his thoughts entered the room, and sat down — her usual way of keeping him occupied in conversation — on a low chair near him. “ My pretty Margaret,” exclaimed the knight, “time, no matter how sweet and delightful, must have an end. We part to-morrow; but, though it will and must be a long parting, the memory of your kindness shall remain with me wherever my fate leads me.” “Sir James,” said Margaret, looking up into the face of the knight with an innocent but concerned look, “ the kindness, — if I may call it so,— tlie kind¬ ness I have shown was but befitting from me, the daughter of the Desmond’s most favored servant, to a kinsman of the Desmond. But I fear me about your going in your present weak state; and there are strange rumors in the town, of hostile ships being seen sailing along the coast, and of another siege of the town by the English forces from Waterford.” “Ila!” exclaimed the knight: “they dare not. The Desmond is too strong in this territory at pres¬ ent ; and it must be some merchant-vessels the idle loons in the town have magnified into war-galleys.” The night had now fallen upon the town, and Sir James of Lisfinry and Margaret were still convers- THE MASTEE OF LrSFfHEV. OS) ing; when, all at once, they heard the boom of a cannon from the direction of the harbor. This was followed by a confused murmur and stir in the town; then came tlie booming of many cannons again, and the rattle of musketry ; and no doubt was left upon the knight’s mind, that what Margaret had told him was too true, —that the English had made a descent upon tlie town, and were determined to have it by storm. The knight had not left his room since he first entered it, and was still so weak that he found himself unable to descend the stairs unas¬ sisted ; and his mind chafed within him to think that he should sit there, an idle listener to the contest, and be incapable of rendering any assistance to the gai'rison. Hugh Walsh himself now made his appearance, in the greatest pertm-bation, and said that the English had indeed returned under Capt. White, one of the most zealous leaders on the side of the queen, and had, whether by treachery or bravery he could not say, actually entered the town, and driven out the garrison. He said that the knight’s only chance of safety consisted in his allow¬ ing himself to be removed with all possible speed, and concealed in a small apartment he had prepared for the ])urpose. The knight, assisted by Hugh Walsh and his brisk young shopman, was soon set¬ tled in his place of concealment, a small room at the extreme back of the merchant’s storehouse, and from which a diminutive window looked out on a narrow street called the Sword-bearer’s Close. 70 THE MASTER OF LISFTNRY. Yongbal was once more in the possession of the Eng¬ lish. After a few days, however, every thing went on quietly, with the exception of a little pillage on the part of the conquerors; but they now kept such a sharp watch at the gates and on the walls, that it was impossible for the knight to make his escape. So he was fain to content himself with his little prison, as he called it, and the society occasionally of the honest Hugh and his wife, but more fre¬ quently of the young and winning Margaret. Day by day the thoughts of the knight dwelt more and more continually upon the loveliness and engaging manners of the young girl. The voice of reason often called back his mind from those day¬ dreams to the plain reality of the case : but the knight was young; and, at his age, the voice of the heart is moi'e willingly listened to than the more matter-of-fact warnings of reason. So, by slow but sweet degrees, he fell in love, and got to think upon his beautiful young nurse with other thoughts than those with which he regarded her on his first enter¬ ing the little chamber in Hugh’s dwelling. CHAPTER V. It was now three weeks after the entrance of the English. The Sword-bearer’s Close was the abode of a number of the prettiest girls in the town, and, THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 71 in consequence of this delightful fact, became the resort of several of the young soldiers from the gar- I’ison. One day, while the knight and Margaret Walsh were conversing in the little room, some dis¬ turbance arose outside in the Close. Margaret was taking a hasty look through the little window at what was passing, when a young corporal, who was in the crowd, turning suddenly round, caught her eye, and, thinking himself the sole and undivided object of her attention, put on a most amiable and engaging look, left the throng, and swaggered, with the air of a youthful Alexander, several times up and down before the window. Margaret immedi¬ ately drew back, and saw no more of the amorous corporal for that day. But the next morning he was there again, with his steel cap, back-and-breast, and all his other accoutrements burnished up with an unwonted degree of care. But this time, not contenting himself with a useless perambulation along the street, he came over, and gave a glance of his enamoured eyes through the little window into the chamber of the knight, and was rewarded for his devotedness by catching a glimpse of the lovely Margaret inside. Fortunately, the knight was sit¬ ting in a corner which was not visible to the gay corjioral; but on seeing Margaret cast herself with a frightened countenance into the opposite corner, and on inquiring the cause of her trepidation, she told him of the insinuating face at the window, and wariied bini to t)e on his guard. The knight, how- 72 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. ever, in spite of the warning, started up and ap¬ proached the window; but the soldier was gone. Early on the same evening, the knight was sitting alone in his narrow room, and thinking on his situ¬ ation in a rather unpleasant frame of mind, when the coaxing face of the corporal appeared once more, peering in at the window. It was an ill- starred moment for both; for the Master of Lisfinry rendered irritable and over-hasty by the sickness of his wounds, and unable to bear the troublesome curiosity of the corporal any longer, seized a small iron weight that accidently lay beside him, and, flinging it with his utmost force at the forehead of the unfortunate gazer, stretched him, bleeding and senseless, upon the rough pavement out¬ side. Some of the corporal’s comrades, making their appearance at the moment, created a tremen¬ dous disturbance on his account; at which an officer, with a guard of soldiers, was ordered down from the garrison in order to investigate the matter. The result was, that Hugh Walsh’s house and premises were searched, and, as a matter of course, half-pil¬ laged, and the knight’s place of concealment found. The door was instantly forced in ; but the Knight of Lisfinry was not at all disposed to give himself peaceably into the hands of his enemies; and so the first man that entered received six or eight inches of steel beneath his corselet, and fell, mortally wounded, beside the doorway. Several now rushed in; but the foremost, after a few cuts and parries, THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 78 got a slash of the knight’s sword, which went sheer through the bars of his basnet, or helmet, terribly wounding him along the face, and stretching him upon the prostrate body of his comrade. Tim knight now retreated to the opposite corner of the room, determined to die where he stood, and still keeping a clear space around him with the sweep of his long sword. “Yield thee, sir knight, or whatever we may call thee,” said the officer of the guard, — “ yield thee, or we shall cut thee to pieces where thou standest, or else set fire to the house, and burn thee to cin¬ ders with the worthless rebel caitiif who concealed thee.” The latter part of this threat, namely, the burn¬ ing of the premises of Hugh Walsh, with the body of the worthy burgess himself, had far more effect upon his mind than the first clause; so, giving up his sword to the officer, he was marched out of his place of concealment, and lodged quietly in the strongest dungeon of the fortress. There he had ample leisure to think over the impropriety that heroes and heroines, captives, prisoners, and all others in similar situations, are guilty of in giving way to their passions, whether of rage or sorrow, instead of sagely and peaceably mining, countei- mining, and plotting their escape; and there we shall leave him for a time to ruminate over his misfortunes. It w'^as in the beginning of autumn. The English 74 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. had held the town in their possession for somewhat more than a month, when once more the fierce war-cry of the Irish resounded along the walls; for the Seneschal of Imokilly, with all the warlike in¬ habitants of that and the surrounding districts, ap¬ peared suddenly from the woods, and surrounded the fortifications on all sides. This time, no herald ' was sent to summon the garrison to surrender. On came the Irish in long lines and thick masses, and, filling the deep ditches with their fascines of brush¬ wood, gallantly scaled the ramparts, amidst a storm of cannon-balls and small shot. The walls were well manned ; but the English, despite their bravery, were soon driven off the ramparts of the castle, and from that to the seaward gate of the town, where they rallied their numbers, and made a last and gallant stand. It was just at this moment that the Master of Lisfinry heard the sound of a couple of heavy battle- axes breaking in his prison-door, which feat was soon accomplished; and Hugh Walsli, his shojnnan, and Gerald the monk, stood before him. “ Sir knight,”, said Hugh, “ we are free once more; for the seneschal has made good his oath that he would take the town; and has burst over the walls, and driven the English to the sea-gate. Take this,” continued Hugh, giving the knight a long, heavy sword. “ They I’ally there under the protec¬ tion of their guns from the harbor, and, I fear me, will regain the castle again.” THE MASTEU OF LISFINRY. 75 The knight took the sword, and, rushing from the castle, put himself at the head of a body of Irish who were beginning to refresh themselves after the fatigue of battle with a little pillage. “ Lisfinry, Lisfinry aboo! ” yelled his new followers; for they recognized him in a moment. They soon reached the sea-gate; and there the knight indemnified himself so well for his long inactivity, that the English were in a short time cut to pieces almost to a man. CHAPTER VI. It was evening. The knight accompanied Gerald the monk as he went about along the streets and ramparts, applying remedies to the wounded, and shriving those that were upon the iDoint of death. As they crossed down a narrow street, they beheld a dying man before them, with his head resting on a small tambour, and a broken gittern in fragments beside him. “ Sir monk,” said the prostrate man, “ I fear me I am about to die. Wilt thou hear what I have to say, and shrive me for my misdeeds ? Quick, quick, for my moments are numbered,” he continued, as a gush of dark blood burst forth from his wounded breast. The monk bent down and heard his confession, 76 THE MASTER OF LIS FIERY. and was about to move away in the direction of another group of the wounded and dying, when the man, by a sudden effort, raised himself into a sitting postui’e, and desired him to remain. “ Take this,” he said, putting a small gold locket into the monk’s hand: “this I found around the neck of a young child that I discovered, ten years ago, in the forest of Sliabh Gua.” “ How ? ” exclaimed the monk greatly agitated, his mind reverting in a moment to his lost niece. “ How came she in the forest ? and by what name did she call herself?” “ She called herself Margaret of Barna,’’ an¬ swered Jamie Bell; for it was he. “We brought her up, I trust, kindly, as we would our own child. My wife died; and, about two years after, I fell into a lingering sickness myself, and was unable to sup¬ port the child any longer. I came to Youghal in order to take ship for my own bonnie Lincoln, and met a kind merchant standing with his wife at their door. I begged them, for the sake of Him who died for us all, to keep the little girl till I could come back and take her with me to England; and they, ' although they thought she was my daughter, in the kindness of their hearts took her in, and promised to give her a home. Hugh Walsh, I mind it well, was the kind merchant’s name. I came back for the bonnie child; and, woe is me! I shall never see her blithe face again,.” The gleeman was sinking gradually during his TEE MASTER OF LISFINRY. ■ 77 story; and, at the last words, his head fell suddenly back upon his beloved tambour, his legs were drawn up, and jerked out with a quick spasm ; and the monk, bending low to help him in his extremity, found that he was dead. « “ Sir James of Lisfinry,” exclaimed the delighted monk, turning to the knight, who, the while, was standing at a little distance, “ I can tell thee blithe news, — news that, from what I have many times noticed during thy illness, thou ait far more con¬ cerned in than, perchance, thou wottest. My wan¬ derings are ended. I have found the lost child of my poor brother of Barna! ” “ How,” exclaimed the knight, a wild and delight¬ ful suspicion flitting through his mind, — “how hast thou found her? and how am I concerned in her discovery, more than befits a knight and a dis¬ tant kinsman ? ” “Margaret, Margaret thy kind and pretty nurse,” said the monk, “ is not the adopted daughter of tlie good merchant, Hugh, — she is my niece, the young lady of Barna ! ” The monk now quickly explained all to the knight, and continued, “Thou lovest her, sir knight; and I could see from her bearing towards tliee that she loves thee, too, nmll and truly. She is an orphan, but the daughter of a brave knight, and will have her father’s district of Barna. Yet methinks she can nowhere find a braver pro¬ tector or a fonder husband than the young Knight of Lisfinry.” 78 THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. It were long to tell the wise saws, maxims, and gratulations of Hugh Walsh and his portly wife, when the monk and knight proceeded to their house, and explained all. It may be pathetic and amusing, but at the same time it is now needless, to dilate upon the love-meeting of Margaret the Orphan of Barna with her Knight of the Red Plume, and to tell the blithe rejoicings and brave pageants on their marriage-day. Suffice it to say that they were married by the old monk, and that they loved well and lived happily, as, I pray, O sweet reader! thou mayest live, till thou, findest blissful rest in the common home of all human pilgrims. The Fair Maid of Killarney. A TALE OF ROSS CASTLE. A mong the almost innumerable objects of in¬ terest that come under the observation of the tourist during his sojourn in Killarney and its neigh¬ borhood, there is scarcely.one whose examination will alford more pleasure than Ross Castle. Too many travellers there are, however, who either do not visit it at all, or, when they do so, pass it by with a glance, thoughtless and cursory. One, for instance, half-be¬ wildered by the countless beauties of our Irish fairy¬ land, will hurry away with a confused remembrance floating in his brain, of wild pass, silvery lake, rain¬ bow-tinted island, and sunlit, sky-piercing mountain, another, equally alive to the natural beauties of that glorious scenery, but with an eye also for objects of legendary, antiquarian, and historical interest, will return to his home, the object of his tour only half- accomplished, for want of proper and reliable infoi- mation regarding the various points of attraction he 79 80 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. has met with during his visit. By far the greater number, however, with garrulous and flimsy guide¬ book in hand, flit about from Mucruss to the Devil’s Punch Bowl, from the Gap of Dunloe to the Castle of Ross, from island to island, and from mountain peak to lowland shore; and carry away with them on their departure an incongruous medley of badly- told historical facts, hackneyed legends, and newly- invented nonsensical stories, all of which, they, of course, scatter liberally among their friends, both here and at the other side of the water, to the great • discredit of that famed i*egion which an erratic old gentleman of our acquaintance calls in his rapture, the “ tourist’s paradise.” With the purpose of sup¬ plying to the tourist a few items of information of a less hackneyed character, Ave give, as a preliminary to our story, a short account of the spot in which its principal incidents were enacted. Ross Castle consisted of a strong keejj and other stout buildings, both of a domestic and military nature, surrounded by the usual baAvn wall, with its breastworks and circular flanking towers at the corners. It is situated upon a peninsula on the eastern shore of the lower lake, and commands a view on every side of the wildest beauty and pub- liniity. Right before it, to the west, the lofty Reeks of Magillacuddy throw up their savage summits into the ever-varying sky; while to the south and east the horizon is broken by the steep, pyramidal crests THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 81 of the Paps, and the Mangerton range of moun¬ tains. To the north, a number of abrupt and irreg¬ ular summits shut in the view; and the traveller who looks from the time-worn battlements of the ancient stronghold will see around him a panorama of crag and wood, curving shore, fairy island, and glittering wave, far surpassing even the pictures of his wildest dreams of splendor and beauty. The ross, or peninsula, on which the castle is built, was converted, if we may so speak, into an island, by means of a deep channel cut through the marshy neck by which it joined the mainland. This channel, or ditch, was filled by the waters of the lake, and formed the chief defence of the castle on the land side. It was crossed by a drawbridge, no traces of which now exist. Regarding the pre¬ cise date of the foundation of the castle, or the name of its founder, history is silent. It was prob¬ ably built by some warlike chief of the O’Donoghoe sept, in the midst of whose immense territory it stands. From the style of its masonry, and other characteristics, it does not seem older than the latter part of the fourteenth century. About that date, and in several parts of Ireland before it, the Irish chieftains began to adopt some of the manners of their powerful Norman neighbors; and upon the site of their wooden cahirs, or fortresses, built strong castles of stone, in which they stood many a gallant siege; and from which, at the head of tli'eir follow¬ ers, they often rode forth in wild array, to protect 82 THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE 7. their borders against those mail-clad invaders whose trade was war, and whose perpetual law was the strong hand, and the might of battle-axe and sword. During the vengeful wars that then raged through¬ out the length and breadth of Ireland, Ross Castle frequently changed owners. From the O’Donoghoe More, by one of whose ancestors it seems to have been erected, it passed into the hands of Mac Carthy More, by whom it was transferred, in the year 1588, to Sir Valentine Browne, ancestor of the present House of Kenmare. Passing over its various re¬ verses during the latter Desmond wars, we will pro¬ ceed at once to the most remarkable period of its history; namely, its surrender to the parliamenta¬ rian forces under Lieut-Gen. Edmond Ludlow, in the year 1652. After the dismemberment of the Confederation of Kilkenny, several of the generals who had fought under its banners still held out stoutly for their native land, against the Puritans. Among these was Donogh Mac Carthy, Lord of Muskerry, chief commander, in Munster, of the Catholic forces. After his defeat at the battle of Knockniclashy, in the county of Cork, he led fifteen hundred men across t lie mountains, and threw himself into Ross Castle, the last stronghold of importance at that time in possession of the Irish. Thither he was followed by Gen. Rudlow, into whose possession the castle fell after a short siege. The manner in which the THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 83 castle yielded to the pavliamentarian general will be best understood by a perusal of our story. At the commencement of the great insurrection of 1641, Ross Castle and the surrounding territory belonged to Sir Valentine Browne. Sir Valentine O was at that time a minor, under the guardianship of his uncle, who was afterwards slain in one of the battles fought during that destructive and protracted war.* The warden of the castle, towards the termi¬ nation of the war, in 1652, was a distant relation of Sir Valentine, named Richard Browne, a captain in the confederate army. Capt. Richard Browne had an only child, a daughter, named Mabel, who lived with him in the castle. Mabel, at the time, was just veririn" into womanhood, and was a lovely girl; so beautiful, indeed, that she was called by the surround¬ ing people, of every degree, “The Fair Maid ol Kil- larney.” It will not be at all wondered at, therefore, that the young officers who commanded under her father in the garrison should have been smitten by her beauty. Foremost among those who paid her homage was a young man named Raymond Villiers, a lieutenant of musketeers, and a descendant of a stout English settler who had come into that coun¬ try about a century before. Raymond Villiers was the possessor of a small but good estate, lying upon the shore of the Main, a river that empties its waters into Dingle Bay. The veteran warden of the castle was well ac- 84 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. quaintecl with the circumstances of the young lieu¬ tenant of* musketeers, and looked favorably upon his attentions to Mabel; but the latter persisted in receiving the homage of her suitor with no small amount of coldness, the reason of which will be understood presently. Thus matters stood between the young pair, until the day of the battle of Knock- niclashy, in which, as was seen above, the forces of Lord Muskerry were defeated by the troops of the l^arliament, under Ludlow. The sun of that disastrous day was setting beyond the wild mountains of Dingle, as Capt. Browne was standing upon the battlements of the castle, taking a survey of the warders beneath as they walked to and fro, in their monotonous avocation, behind the breastworks of the massive bawn wall beneatli. Lake and island and giant hill lay bathed in a flood of golden glory around him. The blue smoke from the tall chimneys of the castle curled up in airy columns through the calm summer sky, and the slumbering quietness of the whole scene seemed to exert its soothing influence upon the mind of the gray-haired warden ; for, after taking a quick survey of the sentinels below, he sat himself upon a small brass falconet, or cannon, that commanded the drawbridge, and began musing silently for some moments. “By my faith,” said he at last, “but I wish this war was ended, and my daughter married to young Raymond Villiers ! I could then, sit down quietly THE FAIR MAW OF KILLARNEY. 85 for the remainder of my days, and turn ray thoughts to another world, which, alas! I have little time to think of ill this time of foraying and slaying. Rory,” continued he aloud to a wiry little sunhui nt boy who usually attended him on his rounds, “go and tell Mistress Mabel that I am here, and that I want to speak to her for a few moments.” Rory disappeared in an instant down the winding stairway; and, after a little time, Mabel Browne made her appearance on the flat space on the sum¬ mit of the castle, and sat down beside lier fattier. “Mabel,” said the latter, looking afiectioiiately upon his daughter, “ I have been thinking that this wooing of Raymond Villiers has gone far enough, and that you ought to give him a favorable answer.” Now it must be premised that Mabel, only child as she was, took some liberties on that account, and usually contrived to have her own way in the end, no matter how her father threatened and stormed. Whenever she saw his brows darkening, she usually succeeded, by dint of alternate crying and coaxing, in brightening them again; but, on the jiresent oc¬ casion, she knew, by the flxed look of determination in her father’s face, that he was at last bent on carrying his point. “ I cannot tell, father,” she answered, “ why it is that you are so eager to get rid of me in these troublous times. As for myself, I would rather stay with you to the end of my days; and you know, also, very well, that you cannot do without me. 86 THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE T. Think,” continued she, with a smile of mingled reproach and fondness upon her lovely face, “ only think of the time, two years ago, when you sent me to spend the summer with my aunt in Tralee, how you fretted and neglected yourself during my absence, and how, at last, you had to send for me, and could not bear me away ever since.” “No matter,” answered her father. “Times are changing now, Mabel. I am growing old and infirm, and there is no knowing the day that I may fall in battle, or die of this cough that is now con¬ tinually troubling me; ” and he pointed to his stout chest, which, if the truth must be told, showed but small signs of the ravages of the complaint to which he alluded. “ If it should come to that,” continued he, “ whom will you have to protect you during the troubles ? ” And he looked into his daughter’s face knowingly, as if he defied her to get over the stum¬ bling-block he had pro|)ounded. “ Oh! as for that, father,” answered Mabel, “ I trust in God there is but little fear of it, seeing that you are still the strongest man in the garrison. Re¬ member that I saw you myself last week, leaping your horse over the Wolfs Hollow, a feat that does not show very much weakness or infirmity;” and she gave the gratified old soldier another of her fond, roguish smiles. “ I tell you, Mabel,” rejoined he, trying to look sour in spite of himself, “no matter how afiTairs go with me, it has come to this, that I have set my THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 87 heart upon your marrying Raymond Villiers; and marry him you shall, for he is in every way worthy of you.” “I am sure he is,” returned Mabel, “ and deserving of a far better wife than I would make him; but ”— “ But what ? ” interrupted her father. “ That’s the way you are always putting me olF. I hope, Mabel,” he continued in a yet more energetic tone, “ that you are not still thinking of that wild spend¬ thrift, Donogh of Glenmpurne.” A bright Jjlush overspread the features of Mabel Browne at the sound of that name. She looked upon her father reproachfully, her eyes all the while gradually filling with tears. “ If I am, father,” she said mournfully, “ I cannot help it now and then. You know there was once a time when you did not forbid me to do so. How¬ ever,” she continued with- a sigh, “I will try to for¬ get him since you wish it; but I cannot, I cannot give my heart to Raymond Villers, because” — “ Because he is not worthy of it, I suppose you will say,” said her father somewhat bitterly. “But know, Mabel, that Donogh Mac Carthy of Glenmourne is now landless, and has nought save his sword to depend on; and, by our lady, but that’s but a weak prop to depend on in these dan¬ gerous times! ” “ 1 know it,” returned Mabel, her eyes brighten¬ ing as she thought of her absent lover. “ I know that he was robbed of his estate by Cromwell; but that is no reason why I should play him false.” 88 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNET. ' “I knew that \Yas the answer you would make,” said her father; “but, notwithstanding, you must wed, and that soon, with Raymond Villiers. Ha! what is that I see? Look, Mabel, look! I trust in God, whoever it is, that he brings us good news! ” And he pointed towards a slope at the eastern side of the castle, down which a horseman Avas ridinsf towards them in furious haste. “There must have been a battle foimht!” ex- O claimed Mabel, looking eagerly upon the approach¬ ing courier, as he still rode on, his helmet and trap¬ pings glittering in the red beams of the setting sun. “Seel he is facing directly for the drawbridge. My God! it is he, it is he! ” And again the red blood mounted to her cheeks, and the tears sparkled in her eyes, as she became conscious of exhibiting such unusual emotion before her father. “Who is it?” asked the latter eagerly. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, Mabel; and I do not know him yet.” “ It is Donogh of Glenmourne! ” exclaimed Ma¬ bel, scarcely able to restrain herself from darting down the stair to welcome the coming of the young horseman. “I know him now,” said her father. “Look at his horse all covered with foam and mire! Look at his plume shorn off, and the sad plight he is in! He is the bearer of bad news.” And with that the old veteran left his seat upon the cannon, and hurried down the stair, followed by his daughter. THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 89 With a hasty step, ho strode to the drawbridge, which, by his orders, was immediately let down to give ingress to Donogh of Glenmourne, who, in a few moments afterwards, rode inwards, and dismounted in the courtyard; where he was soon surrounded by an eager throng, all burning to hear the news with which he was sent thither. The tidings he brought were sorrowful enough; and shouts of anger, and execrations deep and fierce, were muttered by his hearers, as he told them, how, that morning. Lord Muskerry was vanquished in the battle of Knock- niclashy. After giving this disagreeable bit of in¬ formation with a soldier’s brevity, he followed the warden of the castle to a private I’oom in order to deliver some further instructions with which he had been charged by his general after the battle. Donogh of Glenmourne was as good a specimen of the young Irish officer of the time as could well be seen. He was about twenty-five years of age, strikingly handsome, tall of stature, and had that bold, frank bearing that so well became his degree, which was that of a captain of cavalry. To the owner of a pair of bright eyes that watched him eagerly from a little window overhead, he now ap¬ peared doubly interesting as he walked forth once more in his battle-soiled armor, and joined a little knot of officers who were conversing in the court¬ yard. For a few moments only, Mabel regarded him, and then hastened down to her father to hear the tidings. 90 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. “I Mabel,” said her father, “ that you will have but a sorry time of it henceforth. Lord Mus- kerry is now marching with the remnant of his forces across the mountains, and will be here early to-morrow. He will, of course, be folloAved by Gen. Ludlow: so I think you had better get ready and go to your aunt at once; for we are about to stand a siege.” “ I cannot leave you, father,” said Mabel; “ so do not send me away. Whatever happens, I would rather stay with you; and, besides, you know that I am safer here than I should be in Ti’alee.” “Perhaps it may be so,” returned her father; “but we will think it over. In the mean time, I must go and give directions to have the castle ready for Lord Muskerry and the somewhat large force he is bringing with him.” And he walked out, and speedily called the garrison to arms. The noise of preparation soon rang from end to end of the huge fortress. At last, night settled down upon hill and lake and tower; and all became still, save the tread of the wary sentinels as they paced to and fro along the ramparts. About the noon of the following day. Lord Mus¬ kerry arrived with his forces and a great prey of cattle, which they liad taken during their retreat from tlie bloody held of Knockniclasliy. The ram¬ parts of Ross Castle were now crowded with men; and all was busy preparation for the expected siege. The outworks at the land side were strengthened. THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 91 additional provisions were gathered hastily but abundantly in from the surrounding country, guns were placed commanding every available approach; and at length the castle seemed capable of holding - out stoutly against the well-appointed forces of the enemy. Some of the broken Irish regiments were also encamped in the surrounding woods; so that Gen. Ludlow, when he invested the castle with an army of about six thousand men, had a game to play as difficult as it was dangerous. In such a state of affairs, the siege went on slowly, scarcely a cannon having been fired on either side for several days after the arrival of the parliamenta¬ rian array. Outside the castle, however, continual skirmishing was going on between the enemy and the Irish troops, who occupied several advantageous positions amongst the woods and hills. Matters wei’e in that condition, when one even¬ ing Mabel stole up to the battlements of the castle in order to obtain a view of the hostile camp. Plain¬ ly enough it lay, almost beneath her, towards the east; the arnis of its occupants all flashing and glit¬ tering in the sun, and the painted banners flaunting proudly in the evening breeze. As she stood gazing with curious eye upon that martial scene, she heard a light step behind her, and, turning round, beheld Raymond Villiers approaching from the stairway, with a somewhat troubled look upon his dark and handsome features. lie sat himselt upon the battle¬ ment beside her, and for some time neither spoke. 92 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. His troubled and somewhat diffident manner might be easily accounted for by the fact that he had then and there determined to try his last chance of get¬ ting a favorable answer from Mabel. The single warden who watched from the summit of the castle was standing uj^on a small pinnet, or tower, at the opposite side, and could not hear their conversation, which at last Raymond Villiers wound up his courage to begin. “I have sought you, Mabel,” he said, “for many reasons. This siege must soon be ended ; for I am sure the fortress cannot hold out against yonder splendid and brave army, and then there will be many changes. You will see, then, why I am anxious to understand your sentiments towards me.” “I pray you,” returned Mabel, with a cold smile, “ to explain to me. Master Villiers, why the castle cannot hold out. Surely, Lord Muskerry is strong enough to hold his own here at least, wdiere he has a deep lake, a goodly trench, and a brave castle crowded with men to back him.” “That may be,” said Villiers. “But there seems to be some curse upon our cause. Every tiling goes badly with us; and why should this castle hold out when stronger ones have fallen ?” “This is language that ill befits a soldier,” an¬ swered Mabel, smiling contemptuously. “You, Mas¬ ter Villiers, were wont to boast loudly enough whilst the enemy was far off. JSTow that he is near us, it seems strange that you cannot keep your THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 93 heart up like a brave man in the emergency. Do not expose yourself too much, I pray you,” she added, witli another smile of contempt. “ Keep in shelter of that battlement beside you, else yonder gun that the enemy seems arranging in the battery on the height may pick you off ere the siege is well begun.” Nothinof is so maddening to a lover as a word or smile of contempt from the woman he loves. The temper of Raympiid Villiers was hot and violent; and Mabel’s tone and look enraged him beyond measure, though he strove to hide his anger. “ I did not come to discuss military tactics,” he said, with a forced smile. “I am here, Mabel, to decide my fate with regard to you ; and thus I ask you, for the last time, will you become my wife when this siege is over?” “Nay,” returned Mabel, “ it would be indelicate of me to consent so hastily, seeing that the siege, as you say, is to come to so speedy a termination. So,” she continued in the same ironical tone, “I cannot grant your request.” “ I have dallied long enough,” muttered Villiers, a frown in spite of himselt darkening his features. “This is to be my final answer, then,” added he, turning to Mabel: “ I am to understand, that in spite of my devotion, and in spite of all your father’s commands, you will not consent to be my wife ? ” “No,” returned Mabel,firmly; “for my father will never force me to it.” 94 THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. “ You will not, then ? ” “No. And now, Raymond Villiers, let us put an end to this forever. You know I cannot be your wife, and you know also the reason of it.” “Yes,” exclaimed Villiers bitterly, “I know it. He is here, and you love him. But we will see to it, — by the breath of my body but we will see to it!” And ho stood up, and, bowing coldly to Mabel, took his way down the stairway with a black and revengeful frown upon his swarthy brows. Mabel Browne, with the sharpness of a woman, noticed the look, and partly guessed its meaning. Coupling it with his demeanor for a long time previous, from which she judged that he would think little of changing sides in the war, she de¬ termined, for her own sake, and for the sake of the castle of which her father was warden, to watch his motions narrowly for the future. But for several days afterwards, during which the siege began to grow somewhat hotter, she saw nothing in the con¬ duct of Raymond Villiers to confii*m the secret suspicions she had formed of his fidelity to the Irish cause. A week had now passed away. It was midnight. Beneath'the black gloom that shrouded lake and castle and giant mountain, a tall figure, mufiled in a long military cloak, glided along the rampart towards a sentinel who stood beside the western turret, facing the water. The sentinel turned, and demanded the watchword for the night. It was THE FAIR MAID OF KILLAllNEY. 95 given; and the tall figure moved down to the water’s edge, and, stepping cautiously into one of the three small boats that were moored beneath the shadow of the tower, took the oars, and shoved it silently out into the lake. By and by another muf¬ fled figure, evading the observation of the sentinel in the darkness, stole silently beneath the rampart, and, stepping into one of the remaining boats, put it off in a similar manner. The first boat glided noiselessly across the lake, and, at last, landed its occupant upon the shore, above which was situated the camp of the parliamentarians. The second, also, followed stealthily in its wake; but, stopping some distance from the shore, turned back again, after a short time, towards the castle. As it glided in beneath the shadow of the western tower, the figure which it bore left it, and soon gained the courtyard unobserved. It then glided up a stairway of the castle ; and, entering a little chamber, the long cloak that muffled it was cast upon the floor, and the lovely face of the Fair Maid of Killarney was revealed in the light- of a small taper that was burning upon a table near the fireplace. “ Whoever he is,” slie said, as she sat herself beside the table, “ he is a traitor. But I Avill wait and watch ; and assuredly I will find him, or my name is not Mabel Browne.” Meanwhile let us follow Raymond Villiers; for he it was that had gone upon his dark midnight mission across the lake. After narrowly escaping 96 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. being shot by the advanced sentinel of the enemy, he contrived to make his purpose known, and was soon conducted into the presence of Gen. Ludlow. “ What dost thou want ? ” said the stern Puritan general, in a surly tone at being awaked from his first slumbers. “ Why didst thou not come in the light of day with thine errand, whatever it is ? ” “For the best reason in the world, general,” answered Villiers. “ If any of my own people saw me, my life would not be worth a silver crown. I come from the fortress yonder.” “Ha!” exclaimed Ludlow, “I begin to under¬ stand thee now. Wliat of the castle? and hast thou any method by which we can take it speed¬ ily?” “You will never take it by your present tactics,” answered Villiers; “for the garrison is well.manned, and they have abundance of provisions, besides the natural strength of the place. I am a lieutenant of musketeers. If I succeed in gaining you a passage across the drawbridge, or point out another method by which you can take the castle, will you give me the same rank in your army ? ” “Gladly, gladly!” answered Ludlow, who knew but too well the strength of the garrison. “ And now, in case thou canst not betray the drawbridge to us, — obtain passage over it for us, I mean, — what is thine other method? ” “There is a prophecy, regarding Ross Castle,” answered Villiers, “ which the majority of those THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 97 who now defend the castle believe in with their hearts and souls; and, when they see this accom¬ plished, I will stake my life they will yield the castle to you on the easiest terms. It is this, — that Ross Castle can never be taken till the enemy sail in a fleet of ships upon the lake. Can you not • accomplish the prophecy?” “ I think so,” answered the Puritan general, after a long pause, during which he sat thinking intently. “Ho, there!” continued he to the grim orderly, who stood guard at the door of his tent: “ summon hither Scout-master-general Jones, and say that I want to consult with him on a most important matter.” In a short time, the scout-master-general made his appearance; and there followed a long consulta¬ tion, at the end of which Raymond Villiers took his departure, and succeeded in reaching his quarters in Ross Castle unobserved. The result of Ludlow’s consultation was, that, in case Villiers failed in otherwise betraying the castle, Scout-master-gene¬ ral Jones undertook to procure and transport from Kinsale to Castlemain Bay, and thence overland to the parliamentarian camp, the materials, ready made, of a fleet of heavy gunboats, with which they could attack the castle from the lake. Two days passed away, during which Villiers found that there was but small chance of betraying the drawbridge of the castle to the enemy. He therefore finally resolved to leave the place, and go 7 98 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNET. over as secretly as lie could to the hostile camp. It was thus, that, about midnight, he contrived to pro¬ cure a boat as before, and make his way across the lake. This time, however, Mabel Browne, who con¬ stantly watched his motions, and who now sat concealed beneath the dark shade of the wall, knew his features as he glided past, and followed him, as she did the other night, over the water. As he stepped upon the land, an unlucky splash of Mabel’s oar caught his ear. He stood, and, peering outward through the darkness that overhung the water, caught sight of the boat and the figure that sat therein, which he, of course, thought was that of a man. A fierce frown of vengeance contracted his dark brow; and, drawing a long pistol from his belt, he fired at the indistinct figure. The next moment, a wild shriek of agony and terror rang over the dark lake; and Mabel Browne, with her arm broken between the elbow and shoulder, dropped like a wounded bird into the bottom of the boat. For¬ tunately, a smart breeze was blowing at the time from the eastward, and floated the boat towards the opposite shore of the lake, else the poor wounded Maid of Ross would have fallen into the ruthless hands of the parliamentarian soldiers. The report of the pistol, and the wild shriek of Mabel, were followed by loud confusion in castle and hostile camp. Each side thought that the pistol- shot was a signal for an attack of some kind. Men hurried to and fro by rampart and trench. The THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 99 cannon on both sides opened fire for a short interval 5 but at length all settled down quietly again, and the night passed away. Little did they know that nisht, in the Castle of Ross, of the terrible agony their warden’s daughter endured beside the solitary shore of the lake, to which the boat was driven by the breeze. The dawn was faintly tinging the eastern sky, when the Fair Maid of Ross awoke froiv one of the long swoons into which she had fallen since she had re¬ ceived the treacherous shot of Raymond Villiers. There was now light enough, but she had scarcely sense left to look around her. tier arm was lying helplessly by her side; her dress and the bottom of the boat were all stained with blood; and, as she endeavored to move herself so as to get a view of where she was, a sharp pang shot through the wounded limb, and, with a faint scream of anguish, she dropped back again into her former position in the boat. Then the precipitous, forest-girded shore above her seemed to whirl in a weird and tenable dance before her eyes ; and another swoon relieved her for a time from the torture of her wound. When she next awoke to consciousness, it was with a cooling and somewhat pleasant sensation. She opened her eyes; and the first object they fell upon was the welcome and pitying face of Donogh of Glenmourne. He was standing over her in the little boat, washing the blood from her neck and arm, and sprinkling the cool water gently over her 100 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. face. All was soon explained. Donogh, who com¬ manded a party of horse amid the woods, was re¬ turning from a reconnoitring excursion by the shore, and thus found her whom he little expected to see in such a woful state that breezeless summer morn- ins:. When she told him, as well as her weakness would permit her, of the treachery of Raymond Villiers, and how it was from his murderous shot she had received her wound, Donogh swore a stern oath, that, ere many days should elapse, he would avenge the deed surely and suddenly upon the head of his perjured rival. Before another hour was over, Mabel Browne, to the surprise and consterna¬ tion of her stout old father, was lying in her little chamber in Ross Castle, awaiting the coming of the surgeon who attended Lord Muskerry’s army. IJnder the care of that, scientific worthy, her frac¬ tured arm was bound up; and, in a few days, the fever that followed her mishap passed away, and she was pronounced out of danger. Meanwhile the siege went on. The parliamenta¬ rian general pushed his approaches nearer and nearer to the castle; and the cannon and small arms on both sides rattled away most industriously every day from morning until night. About ten or a dozen days after the .occurrence of tlie foregoing events, two horsemen might have been seen riding ill wild haste over the mountains, and approaching the north-western shore of the lake. It was Donogh of Glenmourne and one of the dragoons belonging THE FAIR MAID OP KILLARNEY. 101 to his troop. Leaving his horse to the care of liis orderly, Donogh descended into a secret nook by the water’s side, and was soon rowing a little boat he had taken therefrom, across the lake to the Castle of Ross. The news he brought was, that Scout¬ master-general Jones, with a skilful engineer named Chudleigh, had just landed in Castlemain Bay witli a vast quantity of timber ready hewn for large boats, and was now on his way across tlie country to the camp, escorted by a strong convoy of the parlia¬ mentarians, horse and foot. After giving this news, he again crossed the lake, and soon joined his troop, with which he hovered upon the track of the approaching convoy. As the latter passed through a narrow defile, he fell upon it, sword in hand, with his men, and had a sharp skirmish. He was, however, finally I'epulsed, but not till he had the satisfaction of knocking Raymond Villiers on the head with his own hand, and thus endinof the new career that gentleman of an easy conscience intended running under favor of the parliament. The convoy arrived safely at Ludlow’s camp; and the boats, under the superintendence of Chudleigh of Kinsale, were soon put together and fit to bo launched. One fine morning, when the garrison of Ross awoke,*they were not a little astonished to see a fleet of ships, or, in other words, large gunboats, floating upon the lake, with cannon ready pointed at their bows, and colors flying jauntily overhead. All cried, with one voice, that the fatal prophecy 102 THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNKY. was fulfilled, and that the castle could hold out no longer. Lord Muskerry, seeing the despondent spirit that pervaded his little array, demanded a parley witli his enemy. The end of it was, that, after a long debate, a capitulation was drawn up ; and Lord Muskerry yielded the Castle of Ross, on very honorable terms, however, to the parliamenta¬ rian general. Tliis put an end to that terrible war which had devastated the country for so many years. Immediately afterwards, Donogh Mac Carthy rode over the mountains with a score of his bold horse¬ men, and dispossessed the Puritan undertaker who held his House of Glenmourne. The Puritan, per¬ haps, seeing plenty of estates, far larger and richer, going almost for nothing around him, prudently made no noise about the affair; and thus our young captain of cavalry entered once more into possession of his home, in which he and his descendants were confirmed after the restoration. Some months after the yielding of the castle, Donogh of Glenmourne was made doubly happy by his marriage with the Fair Maid of Killarney; and with the light-hearted pair, it is said that the stout old warden, Capt. Richard Browne, lived afterwards, for^the rest of his days, a life of jovial ease and contentment. An Eye for an Eye. - 4 - D O you think she will Idve me less, Tibbot ? ” Well,” answered Tibbot, leaning back in his seat beside the bed, whereon his young cornpanion- in-arms, Walter de Berminghame, lay pale and ill from the wounds he had got in a recent touiaiey, — “well, that depends much, I think, on the way she has loved you heretofore. If Maude le Poer be the girl you have often pictured her to me, she will be true; but then, if she be like those lightdiearted dames we met at the last revel in Dublin Castle, I fear for you. Wattle.” “ She is light-hearted enough, truly,” said Wattie, raising himself uneasily, and looking sadly upon his companion, with one eye (he had lost the other in the tourney) ; “ but then she has always been leal and good, and will not forsake me for this sad acci¬ dent, — if accident I may call it; for all know that it was done falsely and treacherously by my antag¬ onist.” “ It surely was,” answered his companion; “ for I 103 104 AN EYE EOIi AN EYE. saw the deed done myself, and can sijeak fairly on the matter.” “Yes!” resumed the other darkly, felling back upon his couch as a twitch of pain shot across his still feverish brow. “ Ah, Tibbot! it was an unman¬ ly blow, to strike me when I was unhorsed and helpless on the tourney-ground. But, by the good faith ot my body, John de Lacy shall pay dearly for it when we next come face to face! ” “ That,” said Tibbot Burke, “ may occur soon enough, if you are well hi time to join the march of my Lord de Berminghame and his army northward. The De Lacys have all joined the standard of Edward Bruce; and there will soon be a battle. Stir up your heart, man, and get well once more; and, when we stand side by side in the onset, the best De Lacy of them that comes in front of our spears we will make pay for the unknightly blow.” “I care not to meet any one but him,” resumed Wattie. “From him I have sworn to take wlnft he has taken from me, whenever we meet, be it in peaceful hall or on field of battle. But it is hard for me to get well with this trouble on my mind about Maude le Peer. I have not seen her since that luckless tourney-day; but, when I do, I fear me that the loss of this poor eye of mine will make a sad diflerence in her favors, And yet we are be¬ trothed, Tibbot. Surely, she cannot break her vows. And yet,” continued he, with a sigh, “I have known others to break them for a far slighter cause.” AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 105 “ Think not upon it,” said Tibbot Burke cheer¬ fully. “ Why, man, if a poor fellow depended on his mere good looks now-a-days for getting a wife, he would have but little chance of matrimony. Your Maude will stick to you while you have the money, even had you lost both your eyes.” “I hope so,” said Wattie, in a more cheerful tone. “ And now, Tibbot, I will pluck up my heart; and who knows but I may be well enough to undertake a journey in a few days? An I be, my first care will be ‘ boot and saddle,’ and off to Dublin to see Maude.” “ Good ! ” answered Tibbot Burke: “ and I will ac- comi^any you; for I see-no use in loitering here any longer, when the whole community is up in arms to repel the Bruce. We can then go both together into the coming battle, where you may meet De Lacy, and repay him for the blow that has cost you so much.” A week after, and the two young squires were riding across the Pale, attended by a stout clump of.spears, and bound for Dublin, where the army of Lord De Berminghame lay, before commencing its march to the north to meet Edward Bruce, brother to the renowned Robert Bruce, King of Scotland. Edward Bruce at this time, proclaiming himself King of Ireland, was supported by several native princes, together with many of the most powerfid Anglo-Irish lords. It was a bright autumn evening as Wattie de Ber- 106 AN EYE FOR AN EYE. minghame aud Tibbot Burke, at the head of their spearmen, approached the western gate of Dublin. The two young squires were what was called broth- ers-in-arms; that is, a mutual friendship was sworn between them : and each, by his vow, was bound to defend and aid the other in all straits and misfor¬ tunes, with his worldly gear, with his sword, and with his very life, in cases of extremity. As they rode onward by the Liffey shore towards the ancient city, they beheld the whole sloping plain, from the river to where Phibsborough now stands, covered with tents, amidst which many a bright spear-point glittered in the rosy light of the descending sun, and many a gay banner fluttered that bore the arms and cognizances of the stout lords and barons of the Pale, who were then gath¬ ered with their strongest muster, waiting for Lord de Bermingharae to lead them forth to battle. “Lead the men forward, and procure them a place to camp for the night,” said Wattie. “Meanwhile, I will push on for the city, ere the gates are closed.” With these words, he rode down the busy streets of the city, his mind in a strange tumult at the tliought of meeting so soon with the lovely Maude le Poer, who was one of the handsomest and richest dames of the Pale. At length he halted before a huge stone mansion; and there, giving his horse into the care of his gilly, or attendant, he entered beneath the massive porch, and was soon in the presence of his lady-love. AN' EYE FOR AN EYE. 107 “How did she greet you, Wattie?” asked Tibbot Burke, as his companion joined him after next morning’s reveilUe. “I’ faith, agreeably enough,” answered De Ber- minghame: “ pleasanter than I thought, notwith¬ standing my disfigurement.” “Tush !” said Tibbot. “ Call it no disfigurement, man. I warrant me that your other eye will be sharp enough to pick out your foe from the Bruce’s ranks during the battle, which, they have told me, is sure to take place.” “Doubtless but it will,” returned his companion; “ for I think, an I were stricken blind altogether, I could still pick him out amongst a thousand, for two reasons.” “Methought,” said Tibbot, “that you had but one reason for encountering De Lacy; namely, to avenge yourself for the loss of your eye.” “ An eye for an eye I surely will have,” answered De Berminghame. “ But I now have another rea¬ son for trying a mortal tilt with De Lacy; and that is Maude le Poor’s command.” “Good!” said Tibbot Burke, in high admiration of the warlike parting-word of Maude. “ May Heaven send me a high-spirited wife like that! But, ha! there sound the clarions, warning us to pre- ])are for march. You will soon have an opj^ortu- nity of executing the command of your lady-love.” In the centre of the camp was a large pavilion, in front of which stood the great standard of Lord 108 AN EYE FOR AN EYE John do Bevminghame, general of the Anglo-Irish army. Before this standard, the general, in full armor, was seated upon his horse, his principal knights and barons around him, giving the various orders for the march. The tents were soon struck, and the followers of the diiferent leaders arranged in stern array behind their various ensigns. It was a splendid soene. The fresh morning sun glittered on numerous spear-points, and flashed incessantly from polished corselets and plumed helmet; and the early breeze, as it blew up the plain, wafted upon its wings the farewell eheer of the thousands who thronged the strong ramparts and battlements of Dublin, as the army, after extending itself into one long line, with a last wild burst of pipes and clarions, took its way northward to the battle-field, whence many of those who filled its numbers were fated never to return. Wattie Berminghame and his brother-in-arms, with the spearmen they led, marched on with the centre body, which was commanded by the general in person. “ As for me,” said Tibbot, “ I expect ray spurs at last; for I am sure it will be a gallant fight.” “And I also,” returned his companion. “ I will either win my spurs, or die.” It was a calm, sultry noon when the two hostile armies came in sight of each other at a place called Faughard, near Dundalk. The Scots were inferior to the Irish in point of numbers; but then they AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 109 were led by experienced and renowned generals, and expected a complete victory in the contest, which soon commenced. Lord de Berminghame, who was also a brave and practised general, had taken uj) an advantageous position at the foot of Faughard Hill; and, when the first line of the Scots rushed obliquely upward to attack him, his heavy¬ armed knights and spearmen drove them back with considerable loss into the hollows. By a simulta¬ neous movement on the part of the two leaders, both the armies, wings aiid centres, at last came together with a terrible shock, and mingled in the confusion of a general battle. As young De Berminghame and his friend passed out to the front in order to seek some opportunity for distinguishing themselves, tliey beheld an Anglo- Irish knight named John de Maupas, several spear- lengths before them, riding in full tilt against Edward Bruce, who, according to his wont, fought in the van of his army. Bruce and some of his knights were at the moment engaged in a hand-to- hand encounter with the Irish general and a few of his principal leaders, when De Maupas, coming up, struck his spear through the neck of the Scot¬ tish prince, and bore him to the ground, where he was trampled to death by the raging horses. Alan, Lord Steward, who was by the side of the Bruce, whirled round his huge two-handed sword, and, with one blow, slew De Maupas, who- fell over the body of him he had so lately overthrown. 110 AN EYE FOR AN EYE. “Look, look!” exclaimed Wattie Berminghame eagerly, as the combatants now swayed to and fro, and grappled with one another, man to man. “ See, Tibbot! There goes the De Lacy’s banner beneath in yon boggy hollow. Follow me; for I must find him 1 ” And with that he spurred downward, and was just in time, with his friend, to join in an attack which the Anglo-Irish were making on foot, upon the left wing of the Scots in the swampy hollow. And now his heart bounded with a fierce delight, as, soon after dismounting, he was brought in the rushing attack almost face to face with his hated foe, young De Lacy, kinsman to tlie earl of that name, who was that day fighting on the part of Edward Bruce. About three paces in front of him stood Tibbot Burke, engaged in a deadly struggle with a gigan¬ tic Scottish knight, who seemed to be the comrade of young De Lacy. Poor Tibbot went down with a loud clang, mortally wounded before the Scotsman, who, in turn, was brought to his knee, and slain by the heavy sword of De Berminghame, as the latter bestrode the body of his brother-in-arms. “Yield thee, thou blind dog!” shouted young De Lacy tauntingly, as Wattie now turned to him. The answer was a heavy blow upon the shoulder, and then a thrust in the eye from De Berming- hame’s long sword. The weapon went right through the brain of De Lacy, who fell dead almost without a groan. “ An eye for an eye ! ” shouted De Berminghame ; jjsr EYE FOR AN EYE. Ill “and now God and ray lady-love assist me in earn¬ ing ray spurs! ” He dashed quickly into the thickest of the enemy, and performed such deeds of valor, that, ere night, when the Scots were completdy routed, he was knighted by his kinsman. Lord de Berrainghame, in the presence of the assembled leaders of the array, amongst whom was the father of Maude le Poer. To the latter he was married some time after; and the only regret he felt on the bridal-day was, that his faithful brother-in-arms, the gallant but luckless Tibbot Burke, was not alive to be a witness of his happiness. The Rose of Drimnagh. HATEVER side we turn to around the city T y of Dublin, we are sure to meet mementoes that carry our thoughts back to those tui’bulent days when lance and sword usually settled questions which are now adjudicated without disturbance, save an occasional battle of tongues, in our peaceful courts of law. . Many of those ancient fortresses, which, like a crescent chain of watchful sentinels, towered beyond the city for the protection of the Pale, still remain, and raise their hoary heads over valley and river shore, adown which, in bright array, plumed nobles, and steel-clad knights, and men-at- arms rode gallantly forth to battle, where the Aveary creaght lowed, after the foray in which they had been driven from some far-off fastness of Imayle, Leix, or Ossory; and where the minstrel, half-Irish and half-Norman, once twanged his gittern as he went from castle to castle, relating in rousing and voluble stanzas the deeds of the knights of St. 112 I THE ROSE OF DRIMNAcm. 113 George.* Among the most remarkable and inter¬ esting of these ancient structures is the Castle of Drimnagh, the subject of many a legendary tale. Could the bearded old warriors who once thronged its halls awake, they would witness many a won¬ derful change since the half-forgotten days when they lived and loved, revelled and fought, conquered or sustained defeat. Where the Asia, or mounted courier, once spurred forth upon his hasty errand, the lightning of heaven now speeds by telegraphic wires to the farthest corners of the land; through the craggy passes, and along the level plains, marked some centuries ago with scarcely a bridle-path, the mighty steam-horse thunders over its iron track with its ponderous load; and, instead of the small city which lay cooped up within its battlemented walls around the castle, a glittering panorama of streets and squares, docks, store-houses, towers, and splen¬ did domes, now spreads outward to the capacious bay, where, in place of the crazy fleets of diminutive war-galleys and merchant-vessels, with their fantas¬ tic prows and carved mast-heads, the huge hull of the steam-propelled ship now rides at anchor beside the populous quays, or ploughs the blue waves be¬ yond the hoary headlands of old Ben Iledar, like a miniature volcano, with its attendant cloud-volumes on the far horizon line. * This band of knights was instituted in the year 1475, for the pro¬ tection of the English Pale. A troublesome life they must have led in those days; for there never passed a season over their heads that they did not cross swords with the neighboring Irish clans. 114 'FHE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. Retaining still some of its ancient appurtenances, such as its moat, curtain-walls, &c., the Castle of Drimnagh presents one of the best specimens in the neighborhood of Dublin of the ancient feudal stronghold. It stands beside the way leading from Crumlin to the village of Clondalkin, and within a few short miles of the city. According to the most authentic accounts, it was founded in the time of King John, by a knight named De Bernival, who came to Ireland in the train of that prince, and received from him a grant of the surrounding lands. From this knight, the different families of Barnwell in Ireland claim their descent. His death occurred about the year 1221; and his descendants held pos¬ session of Drimnagh and Terenure till the time of James the First, when their possessions, after a te¬ dious lawsuit, fell to Sir Adam Loftus. During the great insurrection of 1641, it was garrisoned for the king by the Duke of Ormond, and had the rare for¬ tune of escaping the destruction that followed, after the arrival on these shores of Cromwell and his stern legions. It is still inhabited, and in good preserva¬ tion, and will well repay the tourist who leaves the dust and toil and din of the city, and saunters out along the quiet country-roads, to pay it a visit. Should he linger there, and hold converse with the surrounding peasantry, he will hear many a story and romantic legend of days gone by, the particu¬ lars of which will prove no unpleasing accession to his note-book. One of these we will now proceed THE ROSE OF DRIMHAGH. 115 to relate, and hope it may prove as interesting to the reader as it did to ourselves, when we heard it told one quiet summer evening beneath the shadow of the ivy-wreathed battlements of Drimnairh. During the reign of a cei’tain English monarch, whose name we need not particularly mention. Sir Hugh de Barnwell ruled with a high and lordly hand in his feudal stronghold of Drimnagh. He was a stout and stern knight, whose life had been spent amid the commotions of the war that, year by year, raged between the Palesmen and the Irishry. Many a tough battle he had fought, and many a wound he had received, since he first donned the knightly spurs; and it will not be wondered at, there¬ fore, when we mention that he looked upon the native races around with no small amount of hatred. Among those against whom his animosity burned most fiercely were the O’Byrnes, lords of Imayle, whose chief had once sacked his Castle of Drimnagh, and driven the herds pertaining to it ^over the southern mountain barrier, into Wicklow. The chief was still living at the time our story commences, and had two sons, the youngest of whom, named Sir John O’Byrne, was a knight of unwonted bravery. To his great personal beauty was added every accomplishment fitted for one of his high station; and when, at the head of his bold horsemen, he rode down the mountains, on a foray into the Pale, it would be hard to find in the whole wide champaign over which he cast his 116 THE ROSE OF DRIMFAGH. eagle eye a man of more splendid appearance and gallant bearing. Sir Hugh de Barnwell had one son, who was renowned throughout the Pale for his prowess, and for the ferocity with which he always fought against the neighboring chief of Imayle. The following will explain his reasons for hating the O’Byrnes with such bitterness. Living in his father’s house at the time, was his cousin, Eleanora de Barnwell, who, in consequence of her beauty, was called “ The Rose of Drimnagh.” To this young lady Sir Edmond de Barnwell had been betrothed; and matters went on smoothly and pleasantly enough for some time, till, during a truce entered into between the Palesmen and the Wick¬ low clans, Eleanora met Sir John O’Byrne at a nobleman’s house, on a festival-day, in Dublin. Up to this. The Rose of Drimnagh knew little of her heart; but she soon learned to love the young Wick¬ low chief, and, as a natural consequence, to look with coldness and indifference upon her cousin, who, at length coming to the knowledge of the affair, swore to be avenged upon his rival. The truce was scarcely over, when he was up and at work; and many a rifled hamlet and burning dwelling marked his track through the glens of Wicklow; and many a desolate widow cursed his name and race as she sung the Jceen over the bodies of her slaughtered ones, who had fallen beneath the spears of Sir Edmond de Barnwell and his ruth¬ less followers. THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGU. 117 Blit at last a time came when a triumphant light shone in Sir Edmond’s eyes; for he thought upon the day, now near at hand, which was fixed upon for his marriage with the lovely Rose of Drim- nagh. “ Once more,”he said, “I will seek the mountains, to find him before the marriage revel. By the soul of a knight, an I lay my hands upon him, but he shall rue the hour! — yes, rue it; for I swear to bring him in chains to look upon the bridal, and then to string him up, as I would one of his own mountain wolves, upon the gallows-tree, before the gate of Drimnagh.” It was nightfall as he spoke thus. Little he knew, that, at that same moment. Sir John O’Byrne was sitting quietly beneath the dark shadows of a tree outside the moat, looking up cautiously at the win¬ dow of the little chamber in which Eleanora de Barnwell was sitting, weeping bitterly over the sad fate to which she knew but too well she would soon have to submit. As she sat thus, a low soft sound, like the cooing of a dove, fell upon her ears. She listened intently a moment, then stepped softly over to the single window of the apartment, and, opening the casement, looked out. Again the sound stole up from under the dense foliage that shaded the outer edge of the moat. Eleanora leaned upon the sill, and peered down into the gloom; but nothing met her gaze, save the ghostly shadows of the trees upon the black belt of water beneath. 118 THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. “ It is his signal,” she whispered to herself as the sound was repeated once more. “ Ah, me! I fear he will get himself into danger on account of these nightly visits. And yet I cannot, I cannot bid him stay away.” She muffled herself in a dark mantle, moved towards the door, opened it cautiously and listened, ere she ventured to steal down and meet her lover, “ I must and will warn him to-night to stay away,” continued she, as, with a light and stealthy step, she descended the winding stair, — “ ah! to stay away, and leave me to jny misery. It is hard; but it must be done: otherwise he will assuredly be captured and slain.” After stealing down an infinite number of dark passages, corridors, and stairways, she at length emerged into the open air, and glided through a neglected postern, out beneath a spreading beech- tree that shaded the inner edge of the moat, oppo¬ site the spot whence the signal of her lover pro¬ ceeded. Again she peered into the gloom at the other side, and saw there a tall dark figure standing beneath a tree on the edge of the water. Well she knew the graceful outlines of that figure, and fondly her heart throbbed at the sound of the voice that now addressed her. “Dearest,” said the young mountain knight in a low tone, “ I thought thou wouldst never come. I have been standing like a statue against the trunk of this tree behind me for the last half-hour, watch- THE ROSE OF DRlMNAGH. 119 ing for a light in thy window-pane. But it seems that darkness pleases thee better. Ah, Eleanora! I hope thou art not still indulging in those sorrowful forebodings.” “ And wherefore not, John?” answered she sadly. “ What thoughts but gloomy ones can fill my mind, when I am ever thinking of the danger thou incur- rest by coming here so often, — and thinking, too,” she added, after a pause, “ of the woful fate to which we are destined ? ” “ Think no more on’t,” said her lover, in a cheer¬ ful tone. “We have hope yet, Eleanora; for, mark me, thy marriage with Sir Edmond de Barnwell will never take place.” “Alas! there is no hope,” resumed Eleanora. “ Even to-day, my uncle, the Knight of Drimnagh, hath fixed the time for — to me — the woful bridal. And thou, John — let this be our last meeting, alas! in this world. Wert thou taken prisoner by my dark cousin, he hates thee so, that he would burn thee at a stake in the courtyard.” “ Fear not for that, dearest,” answered the young chief “ And this bridal that thou fearest. Listen, Eleanora. Before the hour comes, or, perchance, at the very hour when he is about to place the bridal¬ ring upon thy lily finger, the gay goshawk may swoop down, and bear thee away to his free moun¬ tains, amid their sunny glens and bosky woods, to love thee, darling, as no other mortal man could love thee.” 120 THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. “ Ah me ! ” sighed poor Eleanora. “ Would that it could be so! But I fear that we are fated to see each other for the last time to-night. I warn thee, John, to be wary henceforth ; for I am well-watched. Hush ! Avas that a foot-fall amid the grove yonder ? ” And she pointed to a clump of trees some distance to the right of where her lover stood. “ By my faith but it may be so! ” answered he; “ and so thou hadst better return to thy chamber. In the mean time, I Avill wait here till I see the light in thy window once more, and until thou biddest me farewell from the casement.” Again they listened, and heard a slight rustling sound amid the trees to which Eleanora had pointed. It ceased; and then the fair Rose of Drimnagh, trembling at the thought of her fierce cousin, waved a fond farewell to her mountain lover, and, gliding once more through the postern, as¬ cended the stairs to her chamber. But the bold Knight of Imayle was not to be frightened away by the sound, whatever might have caused it. He moved in beneath the shadow of the tree, listened for a'time, and, hearing nothing further, advanced again, and looked up to where the light was now burning brightly in Eleanora’s window. Seating himself upon the side of the moat, in the shadow, and still looking fondly upward, he commenced, in a voice low, but distinct, a lay to his mistress, of which the following paraphrase may convey some idea: — THE ROSE OF BRIMNAGH. 121 “ Oh ! wilt thou come and be my bride 1 Oh ! wilt thou fly with me Where wild streams glide by mountain-side, By glen and forest-tree ? And thou’lt be lady of that land, And like a queen shalt reign O’er shore and strand, and mountain grand. And many a sunny plain! I’ve found a lone and lovely cave Where gleams a little lake ; Where the wild rills fling the silver wave. And the birds sing in the brake : The lake gleams clear, the rills dance bright, Down gorge and rocky pile; But the darkness of a starless- night Is in my soul the while. And nought can light it, save a glance, . A beam, from thy jet-black eye; And nought can break my heart’s cold trance Save thy witching song or sigh. Then come! I’ve decked that cave for thee With summer’s fairest flowers ; Away, away, o’er the hills with me. To the forest glens and bowers ! ” The moment the song had ceased, the fair form of the Rose of Drimnagh appeared at the casement overhead. She waved a fond farewell to her young mountain minstrel, and closed the window ; but the light that shone through its pane had now lost its charm for him, as he had no longer her fair face to look upon. He stood up, and, gazing once more 122 THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. at the casement that glimmered like a star amid the dark masses of masonry above, turned to depai't, when he felt the heavy grasp of a steel-clad hand upon his shoulder. “ Stay! ” exclaimed the intruder in a deep, stern voice, whose tone the young Knight of Imayle knew but too well. “Thou hast a small account to settle, fair sii', ere thou leavest this spot. I am Sir Edmond De Barnwell.” “And I,” answered the other, “am Sir John O’Byrne of Imayle: what seekest thou from me ? ” “ That thou shalt soon know, skulking hill-cat! ” answered De Barnwell, unbuckling his sword, un¬ sheathing it, and throwing belt and scabbard upon the ground. “There be a certain tide which men call blood, coursing beneath that breast-plate of thine. I seek to discover its fount with this; ” and he extended his weapon. “There be a certain tide behind thee which thou art more likely to explore presently! ” retorted O’Byrne. “ Ha, ha! beware the hill-cat’s spring, De Barnwell! ” and he gave a sudden bound that brought him inside the guard of his antagonist, whose waist he instantly encircled with his sinewy arms. There was an inetfectual attempt to pluck forth their daggers; and then Sir Edmond De Barn¬ well was hurled from the stalwart arms of the brave Knight of Imayle, and sent plunging headlong into the black waters of' the moat. Leaving his foe to scramble as best he could from his dangerous THE ROSE Oi^ DRIMNAGH. 123 bath in the fosse, O’Byrne glided through the thick¬ ets, and sought his steed, which he had left in a lonely grove hard by, and was soon riding in head¬ long haste across the plain towards the stern moun¬ tain barrier that lay between him. and his native glens. And now De Barnwell, after extricating himself with great difficulty from the treacherous waters, stood, all dripping, upon the firm bank; his burly frame quivering, not from the chill of his immersion, but from fury at his mishap. Pursuit of his late antagonist was, he knew, of little use now; so, plucking up his sword which lay beside him, he raised the cold steel blade to his lips, kissed it, vowed a'stern vow of vengeance against O’Byrne and his race, root and branch; and then, striding down by the water’s side, crossed the drawbridge, and sought his chamber, where he sat, till long after midnight, brooding over various plans of mer¬ ciless and bloody retribution. The particulars of his subsequent cruel raid into the glens of Wicklow it is unnecessary to relate; and we shall now come to the day which his father had fixed upon for the marriage. It was early in the morning; and the fair Rose of Drimnagh, sur¬ rounded by her lovely maids, looked sadly upon the gorgeous Avhite bridal-dress which lay on a table beside her, and which she was at last about to put on. “ Ah me! ” she sighed mournfully, “ that it hath come to this! In vain have I watched for him to 124 THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. appear in his accustomed place by the moat; but his promise is broken: and what could have broken it but death ? ” And the tears gathered into her eyes as she thought thus of her lover. “ Cheer thee, Eleanora! ” said her cousin, a young and gay city dame. “I warrant thee that such a bridal as thine was never seen in Dublin: I only wish I were in thy place.” “ Alas that thou art not! ” returned Eleanora. “ Something tells me that what thou sayest is but too true, — that such a bridal as mine was never seen.” And with the help of her maids she now began to don the dress. The marriage was to take place in the city; and Sir Edmond de Barnwell had summoned his kins¬ men of the Pale, with all their fierce retainers, in order to strengthen his escort for the bridal-train, which at last, in splendid array, crossed the draw¬ bridge of Drimnagh, and moved along the winding road that led to the western gate of Dublin. This road was crossed by another, midway between the castle and the city, and within a wood which stretched down from the mountains to the shores of the Liffey. About half the bridal-train had passed the cross; and the remainder, with the bride and bridegroom before them, were moving gayly forward, when all at once the wild war-cry of the O’Byrnes resounded from the wood all around, and the next instant a large body of men, headed by the young Knight of Imayle, sprang from their concealment, THE ROSE OF DRIMHAGH. 125 and fell upon the escort front, rear, and flank. It is needless to go minutely into the details of the terri¬ ble fight that then took place at the Minstrel’s Cross, as the spot was called. The escort were at first put to flight and pursued by the O’Byrnes; but, return¬ ing again to the charge, the light kern of the mountains were borne down by their heavy horses, though they fought it out bravely to the last. The Knight of Imayle, after badly wounding the bride¬ groom, was shot through the heart by the old Lord of Drimnagh, as he attempted to seize the bridle of Eleanora’s palfrey. This ended the fray. The body of the young knight was borne away by his follow¬ ers, and buried in the lonely graveyard that lay amid the mountains. The bridal-train, instead of proceeding to Dublin, returned to the Castle of Drimnaofh, where Sir Edmond de Barnwell was laid upon a bed from which he never rose. Three days after the fatal battle at the Minstrel’s Cross, Eleanora disappeared from the Castle of Drim- nasfh. Search was made for her throughout the sur- O ^ rounding country, and even in the neighboring city; but it was of no avail: she was nowhere to be found. At length a party of the O’Byrnes, who were driv¬ ing a creaght of cattle across the mountains, halted beside the solitary churchyard to pay a visit to their young chief, and, upon the fresh sod that lay above his gallant breast, found the lifeless body of the ill-fated Rose of Drimnagh. They hollowed her a 126 THE ROSE OF DRIMNAQH. grave beside her lover; and there, in the words of the old ballad, — “ These loving hearts by fortune blighted, By sorrow tried full sore, In life apart, in death united, Sleep side by side forevermore.” % The House of Lisbloom. * A -LEGEND OF SARSFIELD. -•- ♦ CHAPTER I. SHOWING HOW ELLIE CONNELL SENDS NEWS OF HERSELF TO HER LOVER.—CONTAINING ALSO THE FIGHT BETWEEN GALLOPING o’hOGAN AND THE CAPTAIN OP BLUE DRAGOONS IN THE SWAMP OF MONA. B etween two of the abrupt Ihlls which shoot out upon the Limerick plain from the wild range of Sliav Bloom, there is a deep pass commu¬ nicating with' level country on each side, and send¬ ing down a noisy stream to swell the waters of the Mulkern, that wdnds far beyond into the Shannon. To the careless or ignorant observer, this pass pre¬ sents little to distinguish it from the many in its neighborhood, save its somewhat greater depth and barrenness; but it will at once strike a person- having even a slight knowledge of the art military as a spot of much importance in time of war. In the latter point of view, indeed, it seems to have been 127 128 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. looked upon by the contending parties in the various struggles that desolated this island in for¬ mer times: and well they might so regard it; for, besides leading directly to an ancient ford across the Shannon, it formed the safest outlet from the fruitful plains that lay, with all their towns and strong military positions, to tlnj^ eastward. As you proceed up the pass, about midway be¬ tween its two extremities, a huge mound rises before you, with the small stream half encircling its base. On the summit lie a heap of grass-covered ruins, surrounded by "half-obliterated outworks, and a deep, dry ditch, that, with its bristling palisadoes, must have once formed a formidable barrier against the entrance of a foe. These ruins are the remains of what, about a century and a half ago, was a fortified and very strong mansion, called the House of Lisbloom. This house, during the various wars, often changed masters; and at the period to which our story relates was in the possession of a man whom, of all others, and for very plain reasons, the sur¬ rounding peasantry least relished as its loi’d. His name was Gideon Grimes. The father of the worthy Gideon was an undertaker; that is, an Eng¬ lish settler, who had made his home in that part of the country after the termination of the Crom¬ wellian wars, and there, amidst the conquests of his bow and spear, had amused himself by occasionally hunting Rapparees, and, when successful in the THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 129 chase, hanging the poor fugitives without trial to the next handy tree. The bold Gideon himself followed for a time with a high hand in the foot¬ steps of his departed and redoubtable sire; but with this difference, that, whereas the defunct Roundhead was consistent, and sternly held to his principle of exterminating the poor Irishry by the sword alone, the more sagacious son adopted, in the lapse of time, a safer and more peaceful method of venting his hatred upon his war-broken neigh¬ bors. Making use of the terrible laws, which, of course, were all on his side, he' succeeded in driving several of the poor farmers around to beggary and death, and, seizing their holdings, thus enriched himself and gratified his inborn hatred of the un¬ fortunate peasantry at the same time. One instance will suffice to show the methods used by Black Gideon, — for so he was called by the people, — one, too, that had an important bear¬ ing upon his after fate. It happened that his next neighbor was a farmer, named Murrogh Connell, whose ancestors had been gentlemen of large prop¬ erty, but who having been broken “ horse and foot,” as they say, during the great rebellion and the pre¬ vious troubles, had left Murrogh the possessor of only a farm,— a rich and large one, however, at the entrance of the pass of Lisbloora. On this farm Black Gideon had long cast his rapacious eye, concocting various plans for obtaining possession of it, all of which, in one way or another, failed. 9 130 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. At last one of liis spies came to him with the valu¬ able information that a number of old pikes and matchlocks lay concealed in a ruinous barn belong¬ ing to poor Murrogh Connell’s farmstead. This was enough. Gideon brought the law down like a sledge-hammer upon his unfortunate neighbor, ruined him, and was just on the point of turning him out of his farm, when the Williamite revolution commenced, the Battle of the Boyne was fought, and the retreating Irish armies took possession of the south of Ireland. This gave a short respite to Murrogh Connell. But the second siege of Lim¬ erick commenced; and the Williaraites, in their turn, occupied all the country to the south and east. So, feeling himself once more in power. Black Gideon drove out Murrogh, Avho, with his herds of cattle^ betook himself to the wild mountains of Sliav Bloom, and commenced the life of a kyriaght, or wandering grazier of cattle. About a week after MiuTogh’s flight to the moun¬ tains, his only daughter, Elbe, a beautiful young girl, walked down one evening to fetch water from a spring near their camping-place, but never re¬ turned. Search was made for her far and near, but never a trace of her could be found; and, with bleeding hearts, her father, her tym brothers, and Tibbot Burke, a young gentleman to whom she was betrothed a year previously, at length returned and told the sad tale to her mother. Suspicion in¬ deed fell upon Gideon Grimes who, it was re- THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 131 marked, had cast his eye upon her as well as upon lier father’s lands; hut nothing certain regarding him or his proceedings could be gathered by her friends, notwithstanding that they watched him closely. One bright autumn noon the sun glittered from the spades, shovels, and hammers of a number of men whom Black Gideon had employed to build up the breaches in tim outworks of his mansion in the pass, in order to secure himself from the bands of Rapparees who hung around the Williamite army, then commencing its operations upon the gallant city of Limerick, One of these laborers was a di¬ minutive, brown-skinned, wiry-looking young fellow, who, by the way he handled his spade, seemed no very diligent workman in the cause of Gideon. Under a remote gable-end of the house, he was employed clearing away some rubbish and weeds; and, as he worked lazily under the blaze of the hot sun, he solaced himself occasionally with a little conversation addressed to himself, intei’spersed with some fragments of ballad poetry, the fag-ends of which he ornamented with various delectable choruses that seemed, from the way he doubled and trebled and again dwelt upon them, to soothe his spirit mightily under his distressing labor. “Wisha, may the blessed fingers fall off o’me,” exclaimed he at length, as he struck his spade against some loose stones at the base of the wall, «if I haven’t found the very thing’ I wanted ! ” 132 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. He looked cantiousl}'^ round Lira. The laborers were all so busy at the outward wall that they could not observe him. “Dhar Dhia!” continued he, as " he bent the tall nettles that concealed the spot aside with his spade, and examined the spot with his black, glittering eyes. “ Lord have marcy on us, if id isn’t the very hole that my grandfather entered wid his men when he killed every livin’ sowl o’ the bloody Parliamenthers that held Lisbloom long ago in the time o’ Crurnmill! Aisy a bit, Cus Russid! P’raps the time will come when you’ll do as well as your bowld grandfather, —rest his sowl in glory this blessed day, amin ! — an burn the house over Black Gideon an’ his murtherin’ villains. There’s a doore for the brave Rapparees, an’ ids myself that’ll soon take the news to them fresh and fastin’. ” And with that he carefully arranged the long nettles again, and recommenced his work and his song. While Cus Russid — we will give him the cogno¬ men used by himself, which means Brown Foot — was hanging on one of the most Elysian bars of a certain chorus, he heard his name pronounced in a low, sweet voice from the single window above him in the gable, and on looking up beheld the prettiest face imaginable, shaded with rich masses of yellow hair, bent upon him with an eager and frightened gaze from between the strong iron bars. “ Tundher alive, if id isn’t Ellie Connell herself! ” exclaimed he, wheeling round, and resting on his spade, “ Oh, wirra, wirra! is id here I find you ? ” THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 133 “Hush !” said Ellie, for it was she: “I have but a moment. If you love ray father’s house, Cus Russid, away with you, not to my father or brothers, for they can do nothing, I fear, but to my uncle O’Hogan and Tibbot Burke, and tell them that I am here! ” And the casement was shut instantly, and Elbe’s face withdrawn. “ May the four bones wither in my brown car- kiss,” said Cus Russid, “ if I don’t find them soon an’ suddint for you! ” And with that he cast his spade from him; and slinking over, like a fox, to a half-filled gap in the outworks, he crossed the ditch, unobserved by his companions, and soon gained the wood that clothed the opposite side of the pass.. On reaching the summit of the ridgy hill that formed the western flank of the pass, Cus Russid walked deliberately to a thicket beneath a rock, and took therefrom an ashen staff, like a pike-handle, with a stnall iron ring at one end, to which was attached a piece of strong twine with a loop at its extremity. Again he dived his hand into the ferns, and pulled out a thick frieze cothamore, in which he instantly arrayed himself. He then put his hand into an inside j^ocket of the cotha, and drew forth a long, bright spear-head; and, after gazing upon it with great comfort for a moment, replaced it in its hiding-place, turned, and shook his fist at the house of Lisbloorn, and then, gradually sliding from a walk into a trot, went at a formidable pace across the country to the westward. 134 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. After travelling thus for about a dozen miles, he at length sat down upon a height, and looked over a winding road that led directly towards him through the woody country from the north-west. Advancing along this road he soon perceived a troop of Williamite cavalry, with a large glittering cannon in their midst. It would have been the most natural thing in the world for Cus Russid to run away at such a sight. He did no such thing, however; but, on the contrary, using his spear- handle for a walking-staff, he descended the height, and advanced boldly along the road to meet them. “ What’s your name, my man ? ” said the com¬ mander of the troop, as they came up. “ Come, out with it and your business too, for no man passes here unquestioned.” “ Wisha! ” answered Cus, with a look of wonder¬ ful sheepishness and simplicity: “ they calls me Cus Russid, sii-, by raison o’ these misforthunate brown feet I have upon me. Bud maybe your honor didn’t see any cattle about here, for my masther sint me every morthial step from the House o’ Lisbloom to look for them. Bad luck to them, ’tis a sore an’ sorrowful journey they’re givin’ me! ” “ It is strange that we happen to be going to the very place he speaks of,” said the commander to the young officer that rode beside him. “ Tell me, boy,” continued he, turning to Cus, “is it far to Lisbloom ? ” “’Tis a sore journey, sir,” answered the latter. THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 135 • “ But maybe you’re the giiieral that’s goin’ to defind id for Misther Gideon Grimes against the Rap- parees; for if you are — there ! I see the cattle be- yant there in the wood, an’ I’ll just go an’ dhrive them up; and then if I don’t lade you in pace an’ quietness up to the very gate o’ Lisbloom.” “ Pass on then, and be soon back,” said the cap¬ tain, as he turned and followed his troop. “Yes, pass on,” muttered Cus, after meeting two dragoons who rode at a good distance behind ; “ but wait till I come to the rereguard, an’, be the sowl o’ my father ! I’ll give you a different story to tell, you murtherin robber.” The dragoon who formed the extreme rearguard seemed to have, from some cause or other, dagged behind. Cus Russid therefore had full time for preparation. He took out his spear-head, stuck it carefully on his ashen shaft, and there fastened it by means of a small screw. Then, like a wolf awaiting his prey, he darted down into a hollow, and there crouching amid the copse, with blazing eyes and clenched teeth, glared out upon the lonely road. The unsuspecting dragoon at length rode merrily up ; but, as he passed, the deadly spear whizzed out from the bush, and struck him beneath the helmet on the neck. Almost before he reached the ground in his fall, Cus Russid had plucked the spear from his bleeding neck, with one bound was on his horse, and tearing away like a demon at a furious gallop across the country. 136 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. Finding that he was not pursued, after nearly half a dozen miles’ mad riding, Cus Russid slackened the pace of the strong troop-hoi’se, and rode along with a. light and contented heart over the level jdain, with every rood of which he seemed to be intimately acquainted. It was sunset when he gained the verge of a thick and extensive wood, that stretched along the base and up the sides of a rugged mountain. Once more putting his horse to a brisk gallop, he dashed along a tangled pathway, and at last emerged into a little sylvan valley with a beautiful stream gurgling down through its bosom. At the foot of a steep, limestone rock, that jutted out to within a few yards of the rivulet, he beheld three men sitting under a spreading oak-tree, two of whom he instantly recognized. The one nearest to him, as he rode up, was a young man of very handsome presence, tall, lithe, and brown-haired, and armed with carbine, sword, and pistol. His corselet and morion, in the latter of which was stuck a spray of green fern by way of a plume, glittered in the red beams of the sun, as he sat with a drinking-flask in his hand upon the bank over the water. The other was a man nearly forty years of age, of somewhat low stature, but herculean build of frame, and with an oval face rendered almost black by exposure to the suns of many climates. He was armed like his younger comrade, with the exception of his sword; which, from the size of its scabbard, seemed of unusual length and weight. THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 137 The third, whom Cus did not recognize, was a man of far taller stature than the young man above men¬ tioned, of a nobler and more commanding aspect, and with an eye that seemed to pierce to the very marrow of the brown-footed messenger, as the latter now sprang from his horse, and walked forward towards the tree. “ Captain,” said Cus Russid, as he approached the dark-visaged man, “ I have bad news for you.” O’Hogan, or Galloping O’Hogan, as he was usually called, — for it was that gallant captain, — started to his feet, and bent his keen, black eyes upon Cus. “What is it?” asked he. “There seems to be nothing but bad news for us now-a-days, poor Brown Foot.” • “Your niece, Ellie Connell, is in the hands of Black Gideon o’ Lisbloora, — bad luck to him, seed, breed, an’ gineration, I say, amen! — an’ she towld me to tell you, for your life, to release her soon an’ suddint.” “ This is pleasant news for you, Tibbot Burke,” said O’Hogan to his younger companion. “But no matter. We will set Ellie free, and put Black Gideon’s house in order sooner, I dare swear, than he reckons. The place tliis boy mentions, my lord,” continued he, turning to the other, — “Lisbloom, is the house that commands the important j^ass I mentioned to you. We will see to it to-morrow or next day. In the meantime, we had better arrange our bivouac and go to sleep, after our hard day’s 138 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. ride; for we have much before us on the morrow. Cus, my boy, attend to your horse, which seems in a sad state, — see, 5urs are picquetted in the wood, — and then come hither; for you must keep the first watch.” In half an hour after, they were asleep, Cus Rus- sid standing sentinel beneath the tree. The sun of the next morning found them far away from their camping-place, riding on at a brisk trot towards the east, and all laughing heartily at Cus Russid’s account of his capture of the troop- horse. They were now approaching on their right the verge of a great marsh, called the Swamp of Mona, many miles in extent, and with a sluggish river'oozing down lazily through its centre. The track on which they rode wound along the bosky * skirt of a wood, which, at some distance in advance, sent out its thickets and scattered trees to within about a mile of the low verge of the swamp. O’Hogan, who was somewhat in advance, suddenly reined up the stoutly-built but rather small nag he rode, and pointed to this projection of the wood. As he did so, they beheld the vanguard and advance column of an army slowly emerging into the sun¬ light, their arms glittering and flashing, and their banners fluttering gayly in the buxom breeze of the blithe autumn morning. “My lord,” exclaimed O’Hogan, riding back to him whom he addressed, “ you see we have raised the men of Kerry in good time against the invasion THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 139 of General Tettan. There he is with a vengeance ! There are his savage Danish infantry and his blue Dutch dragoons! ” “ Eor a verity, I believe it is so,” answered the other. “But we must be now quick to act, or we stand a good chance of having an audience of the Dutchman. My brave captain, as you claim to be general on this side of the Shannon, you must direct me what to do on the moment; for you know it would not serve the cause of the king to have me taken prisoner in an’hour or so.” “ Away with you, then, my lord, — you and my lieutenant, Tibbot, and Brown Foot, round the marsh to the other side; and theve wait till I rejoin you.” “ And you,” answered the other: “ surely you are not thinking of one of your mad but gallant exploits this morning; surely you are not rash enough to go forward ? ” “ Leave that to me,” answered O’Hogan laughing. “ As you yourself say, I am general here, my lord ; so take my word of command for the present. Right about wheel, and away! ” And, with that, he gave the spur to his nag and dashed forward; while his companions, after watching him for a moment, galloped olf in the opposite direction, so as to get round the swamp, and put themselves at a safe dis¬ tance from General Tettau and his army. Meanwhile the bold Rapparee captain tore over the moorland, not, however, directly forward, but obliquely down to the verge of the swamp; and, as 140 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. he came opposite the flank of the column, halted, and coolly commenced to count the number of their cannon, and to estimate the strength of the enemy. It seemed to tickle their fancy mightily that a single man should thus put himself in such danger¬ ous proximity to them, with a broad marsh behind him; for in a few moments, with a shout of laugh¬ ter, an officer and about a dozen men dashed out from the regiment of blue dragoons, and came at a thundering pace across the moor towards O’Hogan. But they little knew the man they had to deal with. The Rapparee, after finishing Ins observations, turned his nag to the marsh, — both horse and rider knew it well, — and began to flit over it with the lightness of a plover. The pursuers at length came down; and, plashing heavily into the marsh, there soon stuck and floundered up to their saddle-girths, all except their captain, who seemed to be more accustomed to the thing, and who now led his horse warily after O’Hogan. The latter at length gained a broad, dry spot towards the centre of the swamp, and there, turning round his broad-chested nag, coolly waited the coming of his foe, who, after a few mishaps and several volleys of outlandish oaths, also gained the verge of the dry space. They were now within pistobshot, the Dutch captain advancing cautiously on his heavy steed. “Surrender, base hund!” shouted the latter, as he drew his long pistols from the holsters, and presented them at O’Hogan. THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 141 “ Ha, ha! ” answered the Rapparee : “ you’ll have to take me first, mynheer. Come on, then, for the honor of Vaterland, old beer-swiller, and try your¬ self against the four bones of an Irishman.” For answer, the bullets from the two pistols went whistling, one after the other, by O’Hogan’s ear. “Row, on the good faith of a man,” exclaimed O’Hogan, “I would rather, where there are only two of us, that you had stuck to the sword alone to decide between us, like a gentleman ! ” And, with that, he drew his long weapon from its sheath, and with his dark brows knit, and eyes flashing, sat prepared for the onset of the Dutchman. “ May de deevil seize thee for a damned Rappa¬ ree schelm! ” roared the latter, as he thundered down upon O’Hogan, intending to ride over him, horse and man, with his heavy charger. But O’Hogan expected this, and was prepared for it. Swerving his nag nimbly to one side, he allowed the Dutchman to rush by; and as he passed, after parrying his cut, sti’uck him on the corselet, between the shoulders, with a force that bent him forward on the flying mane of his steed. The Dutchman, however, recovered himself, and came on gallantly once more. “ I could shoot you like a dog,” said O’Hogan, tapping his holster sternly with his left hand; “but no, I believe you to be a brave man after all. Come on, then, closer, closer, and let the good sword settle it between us.” 142 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. In a moment the bright weapons crossed, and clashed against each other, striking sparks of tire by their deadly contact; the horses swerved round and round; again the swords clashed, till at length the long blade of the Rapparee went sheer through the side of the ill-fated Dutchman, who dropped from his charger with a heavy thud upon the boggy sward beneath. Tettau had watched the combat keenly; for, in a few moments after his officer fell, the heavy boom of a cannon tore through the clear morning air, and the shot, intended for O’Hogan, struck, instead, the poor Dutchman’s charger upon the spine, and hurled it a shattered mass beside the body of its dying master. O’Hogan, with a grim smile, shook his gory sword at the hostile army, tiien turned his steed, and flitted once more across the swamp, beyond the range of their cannon-shot. CHAPTER n. IN WHICH SAESFIELD ARRIVES NEAR THE GATE OF TIR-N-AN- OGE, AND HEARS A ROMANCE FROM BROWN FOOT. — CON¬ TAINING ALSO THE ADVENTEEE OF THE GRAY KNIGHt’s CHAMBER. There was a little book called “The History of the Irish Rogues and Rapparees,” which the author happened to read in his boyhood, but on whichj THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 143 happily for himself, he was not left dependent for information conceiming the individuals whose lives were misrepresented therein. The book had a very extensive circulation among the peasantry ; and it is astonishing the number of opinions it influenced regarding the history of the times immediately following the Williamite conquest of this land, and the actions of the gallant men who fought for their homes and their religion against the psalm- twanging, snivelling, and murderous undertakers, and against the' penal laws then in the flush and first swing of their gory vigor and brutality. The sorry-spirited sinner who wrote the book represents the Rapparees as a pack of ferocious bogtrotters, pickpockets, highwaymen, and murderers ; whereas, on the contrary, if the truth were known, they were a stout peasantry, led on by their hereditary cap¬ tains, gallant and noble gentlemen, who, when dis¬ possessed of their lands by the conqueror, took to the sword and gun as their only chance of existence, and on many a hill-side, and in the depths of many a forest and pass, poured out their life-blood trying to regain their ancient patrimonies, or, at least, endeavoring to wreak honorable vengeance upon the robbers who held them in their iron grasp. In England, the free-born Saxon thanes, who took to the woods after the Norman conquest, are celebrated in many a stirring lay, and the actions of the brave Spanish hidalgoes, who fought against the Moors, sung in innumerable melodious ballads; but the 144 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. poor Irish gentlemen, who shed their blood in the Williamite wars, are only vilified and misrepresent¬ ed, though they were not a whit less gallant, hardy, or chivalrous than the Cids of Spain or the Robin Hoods of the sister island. With this preamble, which we hope the reader will excuse, we will now resume our story. O’Hogan, whose nag seemed to know by instinct the firm parts of the swamp, was not long in gaining the dry and I’ising country to the south, where, on a green knoll beneath a clump of trees, he rejoined his companions, who had .thence watched with anxious hearts the issue of the combat. “ Ha! you are back at last,” said the elder horse¬ man, as O’Hogan rode up. “You had a narrow escape, captain; but, on the good faith of a soldier, it was a brave exploit, though a little hair-brained for a man of my tem2:»erament.” “ You are not always in the same mood, then, my lord,” answered O’Hogan, laughing; “for it was only last year I saw you perform an exploit equal in daring to a thousand of mine just now. I did it, however, to show you the manner in which Tettau will be welcomed by the bold Rapparees of Kerry. It was not my first meeting with the Dutch blue¬ jackets ; and I hope to make them know me better before the war is over.” “ I remember your first meeting with them well,” remarked Tibbot Burke. “ My lord, if I don’t mis¬ take, you must recollect it too. It was at the wo- THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 145 ful field of Aughrim, and on the shoulder of Kilcorn- modan Hill,” continued he, as they rode forward again. “ O’Hogan and I ’were beyond the brow of the height, at the head of the irregular Rappai-ee horse, when the first troop of blue dragoons swept past us, down on the flying Irish infantry, after St. Ruth’s fall. We gave them but little time to play their sabres; for we swept, in turn, down upon their rear with a clatter and a crash that they, too, will not forget.” “ I also shall not forget it,” said their companion, wdth a sad smile ; “ for that gallant charge aided me well in saving the remnant of our broken army.” “ Who is he at all ? ” muttered Cus Russid to him¬ self, as he rode close behind, listening to the conver¬ sation. “ Be this blessed stick! ” continued he, laying his hand upon the huge pummel of the dragoon saddle, in which he sat perched like a hawk, “ but he talks as big as if he was the greatest gineral on the univarsal earth.” He was not left long in ^ doubt. “ Aye, my brave fellows,” continued the subject of his inquiries, “ and I shall not soon forget the brave dash you both made at my side when we rattled down that night upon the English convoy at Ballineety.” “ An’ cut them into mince-mate an’ smithereens, bad luck to their sowls! ” interrupted Cus Russid, more loudly than he was aware of in his surprise. “ Hononi-an-dhial! but ’tis Sarsfield himself, an’ I 10 146 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. have been talkin’ to him all the mornin’just as if he was born a coramerade o’ my own! ” “ And cut them into mince-meat, as our little friend behind us observes,” continued Sarsfield, laughing (for it was he); “and destroyed their bag¬ gage and cannon, — a thing I never could have done, were it not for the sui’e intelligence you gave me of the enemy’s movements. But what road are we taking ? ” rejoined he, as he cast his bright eyes over a tract of country, where, a few miles in their front, an abrupt liill towered up, with a calm lake gleaming in the sunlight at its foot. “ Now that my mission in the country is accomplished, and that I have seen what you can do in the rear of the enemy, I should be crossing the Shannon once more for Limerick, where, I fear, I am sadly wanted at the present juncture.” “Your mission is not entirely over, my lord,” an¬ swered O’Hogan. “You have yet to see the men of East Limerick and the Tipperary borders, and to give them encoui’agement by your presence for a day or two. For the rest, we shall guide you safely across the Shannon, above Limerick, not below it; which latter would not be an easy task in the present disposition of Ginkel’s troops. The water you see beyond is Lough Gur, a place fre¬ quently visited by the foraging parties of the Eng¬ lish. To the front, then, Tibbot; and you. Brown Foot, fall back farther to the rear, and keep those black eyes of yours on every bush and thicket ai’ound, for we must be carefnl.” THE HOUSE OF LISDLOOM. 147 In this order they soon gained the shore of Longh Gur. Riding warily round tlie foot of the hill that towered above it to the north, they at length (?ame to the eastern end of the lake; and there, at the side of a shaggy wood, they dismounted, and sat down to regale themselves from Tibbot’s flask and the wallet of provisions he had carried all ' the morning at his saddle-bow. Having satisfied their hunger, they looked around for Cus Russid, whose newly-awakened modesty would not permit him to sit down and join in their noonday meal; and, after a little search, found that inquisitive individual half-way up the hill, and peering with much apparent interest into a hollow recess between two bowlders of rock. “What were you looking for at the rock, Cus?” asked Tibbot of Brown Foot, as the latter, after being recalled to their resting-place*, was in the agreeable process of finishing his repast. “ Wisha, fiaith, if,the truth must be towld, sir,” ' ^answered Cus, “I was just sarchiu’ for the doore through which my uncle, Rody Condon, got into Tir-n-an-Oge. ’Tis a quare story, an’ will make you laugh, if I may make so bowld as to tell it.” “ Clear your throat first with the flask before you commence, boy,” said Sarsfield, smiling. “ It will enliven your story, and mayhap enable you to add something of your own to the thread.” “In the whole barony, there wasn’t a quarer man than my uncle Rody,” rejoined Cus Rnssid,thus en- I 148 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. couraged. “ He never went out in his life afther nightfall that he didn’t see a ghost, — Lord athune us an’ harum ! — or a sperrit o’ some kind or other. The Headless Man o’ Drumdhorn an’ himshlf were ould acquaintances; an’, as for the Green Woman o’ Tiernan’s Ford an’ he, they were like brother an’ sisther. The Good People — wid respect Ipurnounce their name this blessed day—loved him as if they were his born childher; an’ good raison they ought, for he never went out .on a jouimey high or low idout takin’ a cruiskeen o’ whiskey in one pocket of his cothamore, an’ a drinkin’-horn in the other, to thrate them, the crathures, when cowld or thirsty. Many a drinkin’-bout they had together in the ould fourths an’ castles by the lake, endin’ every one o’ them in their promisin’ to take him to Tir-n-an-Oge, — for he was morthial aiger to get a glimpse o’ the doins there,— an’ then puttin’ him to sleep an’ stalin’ the whiskey, — small blame to them for that, anyhow! “ Well, at any rate, one Novimber eve, as he was cornin’ home from Brulf, after sellin’ four pigs of his agin the winther, he sat down beyant there by the lake, an’ drew out his cruiskeen an’ dhrinkin’-horn to relieve himself from the cowld; for ’twas a frosty night. Afther, maybe, takin’ about twice the full o’ the horn, he saw cornin’ crass the hill towards him a little ould atomy of a man, not much higher than my knee, an’ all dhressed in gray to the very cau- been upon his head. THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 149 “‘Wisha, much good may id do you, that same cruiskeen, Rody! ’ said the little man, cornin’ down, an’ plantin’ himself fornint my uncle on the grass. ‘ Would you like to see Tir-n-an-Oge to-night ? ’ “‘You know I would, Traneen Glas,’ said my uncle (for they seemed to be ould friends); ‘an’ many is the time, you schamer, you dissaved me on the head o’ seein’ it too. But a cead mille failthe for all that, Traneen ! Rody Condon isn’t the man to give a frind the cowld showldher while there’s a sup in the cruiskeen. Here is health an’ happiness, an’ may the wheels of our carriages rowl on pave¬ ments o’ diamond! ’ “‘The same to you, Rody,’ said Traneen Glas, afther he had emptied the dhrinkin’-horn in his turn. ‘ ’Tis a rale sweet dhrop, anyhow. An’ now let us be off to Tir-n-an-Oge.’ “‘The devil resave the morsel of us will stir out o’ this till we empty the cruiskeen at any rate,’ said my uncle; an’ with that they tackled to, an’ never • stopped nor stayed till all the whiskey was gone. “The minnit the last dhrop Avas SAvalloAved, Tran¬ een Glas clapped his hands together Avith a sound like tundher. Then a Avhirlwind came roarin’ up from the lake; an’, si)innin’ my uncle round an’ round, it drove him like a cannon-ball in through a great doore that opened bethune the rocks beyant there. It took aAvay his breath an’ eye-sight, it was so loud an’ terrible; but at last it ceased, an’ my uncle looked around an’ found himself standin’ on the 150 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. verge of a great green forest, in the midst of the most beautiful counthry the sun ever shone upon. ‘ ’Tis Tir-n-an-Oge every inch of it,’ said my uncle, as he went on an’ on through the forest, till at last he came to a great meadow. All over this meadow were ranged thousands upon thousands of knights on horesback, their great spears stuck in the ground beside them, their hands upon their soord- hilts an’ their armor glittherin’; but all seemed to be asleep, an’ as still an’ motionless as the ould figures upon the tombstones in _ Kilmallock. At their head sat a great lord all in goolden armor, with his hand also upon the dazzlin’ handle of his soord. “ ‘ Mille gloria! if it isn’t Garodh Earla an’ his knights I’m lookin’ upon! ’ said my uncle. The mighty earl awoke at the voice. “.‘Is the hour come, Rody Condon?’ said he, in a great voice that went echoin’ through the forest; an’ with that he half dhrew his soord from the scab¬ bard. “‘Wisha, faith, my lord, ’tis nearly come!” an¬ swered my uncle; ‘ for them bloody undhertakers are spilin’ an’ robbin’ in the worldt above, an’ mur- therin’ us all like wild bastes. But wait till I come back from seein’ my frinds, an’ thin, if you considher it time, my sowl to glory if I don’t show you the way out; for the Sassenachs want a taste of some o’ them long soords badly 1 ’ “With that my uncle passed on—bad scran to him! for if he answered an’ said the hour was come, THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 151 Garodh Earla an’ all liis knights would be back here in the twinklin’ of an eye, an’ ’tis short work they’d make o’ the Sassenachs if they came. On an’ on he went, till in the bottom of a green valley he came fornint a grand house; an’ his heart leapt with joy when he heard the people inside rattlin’ up ‘Garryowen’ with a chorus that seemed to shake the very rafthers. “ ‘ Be this stick! ’ said he, ‘ but they seem to be refreshin’ themselves inside anyhow. I’ll just step in, an’ p’rhaps it’s a cead mille failthe I’d get to Tir- n-an-Oge from some one ! ’ “ He did so; an’ the first person he saw inside Avas his cousin, Johnnie Harty, who, with a number of his commerades that my uncle knew as ould frinds, sat around a table o’ diamond stone regalin’ themselves on metheglin. “ ‘ Wisha ! a thousand welcomes to Tir-n-an-Oge, Rody,’ said his cousin. ‘ Here, take a jorum o’ this to refresh yourself, an’ then p’raps you’d tell us some news from the worldt above.’ “ ‘ I’ll tell you one thing,’ said my uncle, afther emptying the cup, ‘this is a*sweet drink sure enough, an’ p’raps fit for yourselves; but, if you don’t give me somethin’ stronger to wet my windpipe on this blessed Novimber night. I’ll die with the druth. I’d rather have one glass o’ Tom Fraher’s potheen than a whole gallon o’ this Avake thrash! ’ “‘Well,’ said his cousin, ‘ we can give you noth¬ in’ stronger at present, Rody; but haven’t you any neAvs ? 152 THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. “‘Devil a much,’ said my uncle, ‘ an’ so I’ll let it alone till I hear what kind of a counthry this is to live in ; for I mane to come an’ settle here as soon as I can, if it shuits me, which I think it will to a T.’ ‘“’Tis a wondherful place,’ answered Johnnie, ‘ The first place you saw belongs to Garodh Earla, this to us, an’ that beyant there to the Fenians of Erinn. Come, boys, let us show the place to my cousin, Rody Condon.’ “With that they all stood up, an’ conducted Rody beyant their own boundary into another part, where he saw all the Fenians of Erinn encamped upon a hill; some engaged in Avrestlin’ matches, an’ bouts with soords an’ all that, an’ some preparing for the chase of a great stag that kept the forest beneath. “ ‘ Where’s Cuchullin ? ’ asked Rody. “ ‘ There he’s over at the edge of the camp leanin’ on his spear,’ answered his cousin; ‘an’ there is Cui’igh MacDaire standin’ beside him. They’re the best frinds now, although in the worldt above they often had a rattlin’ fight about the beautiful Blanaid, who lives now over there in that bright palace above the stream.’ “‘Wisha! faith then,’ said Rody,‘’tis little she disarved a palace for lavin’ her lawful husband, Curigh, to fly with Cuchullin. If things are carried on in this way, the devil a fut o’ me will stay here for one. Haven’t ye a single dhrop o’ the crathur to wet a poor fellow’s whistle afther his long journey ?’ THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 153 “ ‘Not a taste but metheglin,’ they all answered. “‘Well, that settles the question,’ said Rody, givin’ his cuthamore a shake. ‘Dang the bit o’ rae, will ever stay in a counthry where there isn’t a dhrop o’ potlieen to be had for love or money.’ “The word was scarcely out of his mouth when the Avhirlwind caught him up again, an’ he was tossed an’ tumbled an’ rowld between its roarin’ wings out upon the very spot where he had sat down some time before to refresh himself. He felt for his cruiskeen, but found it empty. “ ‘ Well,’ said he, as he stood up an’ began to walk home, ‘the fairies must have played a thrick on me, — bad luck to Traneen Glas, that little imp o’ per¬ dition ! He an’ his commerades drank what was in the cruiskeen, but it is a long time till they catch me again on Novimber night.’ “An’ so that, ray lord, is what happened to my uncle,” concluded Cus Russid; “ but wait till I find out the door into Tir-n-an-Oge, an’ once set my eyes on Garodh Earla an’ his mighty warriors, if ”- He was not allowed to finish his sentence; for in an instant there was a rush from the trees behind them, and, before they could turn or gain their feet, poor Cus and his companions were seized by a num¬ ber of men, disarmed and pinioned, and, with horse¬ cloths thrown over their faces, dragged through the wood despite their struggles, and at length thrown rudely into a confined place like a cavern, where, when they succeeded in shaking the rough 154 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. cloths from before their eyes, they endeavored to look round, but found themselves in total darkness. Tibbot, who happened to be the last thrust in, put out his hand, as well as he could, to feel for some support, and rested it against, what seemed to him, a wall composed of huge stones placed one upon the other in the manner of those cyclopean structures, some of which are yet found in the country. Through a chink between two of these blocks of stone, a low, sharp voice now grated on his ear, like the hiss of a serpent: — “ Remember Ellie Connell, base Rapparee dog,” said the voice in accents that Tibbot knew but too well, “ and remember also how you crossed my path when it led to her love. Vengeance is in my hand at last; and, as sure as there is a hell beneath you, you and your companions shall swing from the best branch in the wood before set of sun.” “Try it,” answered Tibbot, as he wrenched the cords that bound his arms asunder. Ha! my arms are now free; and, when you come for us, you will find us hard to take. Miscreant undertaker! you will pay dearly for this, if you come within reach of me, even as I now stand unarmed.” “ Heed him not, Tibbot,” said O’Hogan, creeping over to his lieutenant, in order to get his arms also unbound. “ Gideon Grimes,” he continued, as he felt his arms free, “ I was often in a worse strait than this, and trust I shall live to pay you back the deep debt I owe you.” THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 155 “ Think of it not,” answered Gideon, in a mocking voice througli the chink. “Think only that you are in safe custody here; that your niece is safe under lock and key in Lisbloom ; that my vengeance is in high train at last, and that you are to be hung this eventide as liigh as Hainan, for I have sent for the ropes that are to settle all debts between us.” And, wdth that, they heard his retreating step as though he were issuing from an outer chamber of the struc¬ ture in which they were confined. “ My lord,” said OTIogan, in a low voice, as he unbound Sarsfield’s arms, “I am sorry that this mishap has befallen us, not for my own sake, but for yom-s. However, yonder ruffian knows you not. If he did, he would have seemed more glad of his prize. Trust to me to find some plan of escape before it comes to the worst.” “We will trust to our arms, and these small bowlders of rock beneath our feet, if it come to that,” returned Sarsfield, smiling grimly in the darkness. “By my faith! an they come to take us forth, we can at least dash out some of their brains, and then make a rush for our freedom.” During all this, Cus Russid, who had slipped through his noose, like an eel, had been groping about in the interior of their place of durance. Far in, in -udiat seemed to be an inner chamber of their prison, he had discovered a round hole cut downward through a huge sandstone flag that formed the side of the roof. Through this hole, 156 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. after a great deal of ingenious screwing, he had at length succeeded in protruding his black head. After looking out between the stems of the ferns that shaded the aperture, he carefully withdrew his head and returned to his companions. He had seen no pleasant sight. “Captain,” he said, as he crept up to where O’Hogan was still standing, “ there is a chink in the roof inside there, just large enough for my head. I looked out through it, an’ saw about twenty men undher an oak tree wdth Black Gideon in their midst, an’ they settlin’ ropes, like hangmen, to four o’ the strongest branches overhead. Oh, wirra, wirra! what’ll become of us ? ” “Ha!” exclaimed O’Hogan, “ did you see where their horses were, Cus ? ” “Yes, sir,” answered Cus: “they were all grazin’ in a little hollow at the foot of a small lios in the wood.” “Now,” rejoined O’Hogan, as if communing^with himself,, “ I begin to recollect where we are. But we can soon settle that question,” he continued, as with a sudden start he put his hand in his pocket, drew out a tinder-box, and struck a light. The blaze of the burning match fell diraly upon the opposite wall, and there showed the half-obliterated figure of a knight carved in the rough stone. “ By the blood of my body, my lord general 1 ” exclaimed the brave Rapparee, the moment Ins eye fell upon the weird-looking and rude effigy, “but THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 157 we are more fortunate than I thought. We are iu the Gray Knight’s Chamber, a place I know well. Black Gideon, when he thrust us in, did not know how many doors open from it, and what a treasure is hid there. Follow me, all; for there is not a moment to he lost.” With that, he lit another match, and led the way into the inner chamber. Here he pulled away a tall, thin flag that seemed to fit into the side-wall, and discovered the entrance to another chamber. On entering the lattei’, they found its dry floor strewn with weapons of all kinds from the old matchlocks and battleaxes of Queen Elizabeth’s time to the musketoons, half-pikes, and swords used in the days of the second Charles. “Now, general,” said O’Hogan, “choose your weapon. As for me, I will have this sword,” and he took up a huge, rusty one that rested against the wall. “ You, too, Tibbot. You, Cus, take a short pike, and that dagger lying at your feet. You will mayhap want the latter in the service you are about to perform. Attend to me, boy. From this place there are two underground passages, — one from this very chamber, that leads to the Uos, under which you saw the horses grazing, — see! here it is,” and he removed a sheaf of pikes from the wall, showing behind a low and narrow passage, — “ the other is from the chamber outside.” “ I know it, captain,” interrupted Cus. “ It lades to the other Uos^ in the very thick o’ the wood. I went through it twenty times. But I didn’t know this one,” 158 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. “Very well,” rejoined O’Hogan. “You are to escape through that passage when Gideon and his men come in for us. You will go through it like a weazel, while we get out through this passage, seize three horses outside, and then ride for our lives. Be sure to make a good noise, to draw Gideon and his ruffians after you; and, if one of them should over¬ take you at the far-off turn of the passage, you know the use of half-a-dozen inches of cold steel. Once you reach Lios na Cummer, it will be easy for you to esca23e through the wodds. We are going to Glenurra Castle, where you can rejoin us.” “Never fear me, ca 2 )tain,” exclaimed Cus Russid. “ If one o’ them overtakes me afore I reach the lios I’ll plant this athunc liis ribs. But, clmrp an dhonl! I hear them coming. Give me a couple o’ matches, captain. There, that’ll do,” and he crejDt out into the second chamber, and replaced the stone against the aperture, thus shutting out his companions from the observation of Gideon and his myrmidons. He now i^ulled away the slab that covered the main outlet, and let it fall with a loud crash on the stony floor. At the same moment, Gideon and most of his men came to the outer entrance, all with brands of lighted bog-deal in their left hands, — their pistols in the right. Every thing fell out just as O’Hogan had jolanned. He and Tibbot and Sarsfield gained the open air at length, suddenly fell upon and slew the three men left outside to guard the horses, and were in a moment galloping away with the speed of the THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 159 wind towards Glenurra Castle. Cus Russid treaded the passage with the agility of a fox, waited at the turn mentioned by O’Hogan, and, planting his dag¬ ger, as he had promised, between the ribs of the first of his pursuers that came up, gained the wood outside, and soon put several good miles between himself and Black Gideon. O’Hogan intended to meet at Glenurra Castle young Hugh O’Ryan, another and one of the bravest of his lieutenants. But when at sunset they walked into the hall of that ancient stronghold, they were welcomed to a sad scene. On a huge oaken table, in the midst of the great hall, lay the dead body of poor Hugh, surrounded by his weep¬ ing friends. As the three entered, the caoine^ or death-song, was about to commence; so they sat down, according to custom, upon seats provided for them by one of the domestics, and, without a word, listened to the wild and heart-piercing song. A beautiful young girl, with her long black hair streaming in wild disorder over her shoulders, stood at the head, and began the lament; in the distress¬ fully plaintive burthen of which she was joined by all the females in the room. The song went on somewhat like the following, slowly and moui-n- fully:- “ The woods of Drumlory Are greenest and fairest, And flowers in gay glory Bloom there of the rarest : 160 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. They’ll deck without numher A red grave and narrow, Where he’ll sleep his last slumber, Young Hugh of Glenurra! The canavaun’s blooming Like snow on the marish, The autumn is coming, The summer flowers perish ; And, though love smiles all gladness. He’s left me in sorrow. To mourn in my madness. Young Hugh of Glenurra ! Sweet love filled forever His kind words and glances ; Light foot there was never Like his in the dances, By forest or fountain. In goal on the curragh, Or chase on the mountain, Young Hugh of Glenurra ! When cannons did rattle. And trumpets brayed loudly. In the grim van of battle His long plume waved proudly : As the bolts from the bowmen, Or share through the furrow. He tore through the foemen. Young Hugh of Glenurra ! Alas ! when we parted That morn in the hollow, Why staid I faint-hearted 1 Why ne’er did I follow. THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 161 To fight by his side there, The red battle thorough, And die when he died there ? Young Hugh of Glenurra! Ah, woe is me ! woe is me ! Love cannot wake him: Woe is me ! woe is me ! Grief cannot make him Quit, to embrace me. This red couch of sorrow, Where soon they shall place me By Hugh of Glenurra." “It is Marion Creagh, the betrothed wife of poor Hugh,” whispered O’Hogan, as he directed Sarsfield’s attention to the young girl who had sung the lament. “ But here comes Hugh’s father, Owen O’Ryan, to welcome us. God help him! he has a sad welcome on his war-worn face. We shall now learn all about the death of my poor lieutenant.” CHAPTEE III. IN WHICH EDMOND OP THE HILL APPEARS UPON THE SCENE, AND CUS RUSSID AGAIN BRINGS NEWS OP ELLIE CONNELL ; SHOWING ALSO HOW SARSPIELD AND THE RAPPAREE CAP¬ TAINS MARCH TO MEET THEIR POES AT THE BRIDGE OP TERN, Owen O’Ryan, the father of the young Rapparee officer who lay stark upon the table, was a man of about fourscore years of age, somewhat low of 11 16*2 THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. Stature, with a white beard descending upon a chest of unusual prominence, and with a pair of shoulders so broad that they almost seemed to fill up the doorway through which he now issued to welcome O’Hogan and his companions. Age seemed to have little other effect upon the old gentleman than that of thinning his features, and giving a clearer outline to the long aquiline nose that projected between his sharp gray eyes; for his figure was still as brawny and erect as when, nearly fifty years before, he had donned morion and back-and-breast as a captain of horse under the Kilkenny Confederation. He had been too much accustomed all his life long to .scenes of blood and sorrow to be much aifected, at least externally, even by the death of his last and young¬ est son ; yet as he grasped O’Hogan’s hand with a silent greeting, and glanced at the woful figure upon the table, there was a tear in his eloquent eye, and a twitch upon his wrinkled face, that told the work¬ ing of the brave but troubled soul within. “ I would,” he said, still keeping O’Hogan’s hand in his, “that I could give you other greeting than this. But war is always the same. It has long been sapping the foundations of my house, and now it has taken my last son.” “He died the death of a brave man, however, like his brothers before him,” said O’Hogan, his heart swelling and his eyes also glistening at sight of the old soldier’s trouble. “Yes,”rejoined the latter,“he died at least inhar- THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 1G3 ness. This morning at rise of sun he rode forth at the head of the men of Coonagh, to lie in wait for a troop of cavalry who began yesteij^ay pillaging the country, and who then carried their booty last night to the House of Lisbloom.” “ It must be the same party that our messenger told us of,” said O’TIogan. “ I knew they would not go to garrison Black Gideon’s house without spilling some blood upon the way, and having a little pillage to keep their hands in practice. But we will settle accounts with them ere lon