Part 6

"Sorra fut I'll go down," says the waiver.

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

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

"Och, this is too bad, intirely," says the dhraggin; "but if you won't let go," says he, "by the powers o' wildfire, I'll give you a ride that'll astonish your siven small senses, my boy"; and, with that, away he flew like mad; and where do you think he did fly?--he flew sthraight for Dublin. But the waiver, bein' an his neck, was a great disthress to him, and he would rather have had him an inside passenger; but, anyway, he flew till he kem slap up agin the palace o' the king; for, bein' blind with the rage, he never seen it, and he knocked his brains out--that is, the small trifle he had, and down he fell spacheless. An' you see, good luck would have it, that the King o' Dublin was looking out iv his dhrawin'-room windy, for divarshin, that day also, and whin he seen the waiver ridin' an the fiery dhraggin (for he was blazin' like a tar barrel) he called out to his coortyers to come and see the show.

"Here comes the knight arriant," says the King, "ridin' the dhraggin that's all a-fire, and if he gets into the palace, yiz must be ready wid the fire ingines," says he, "for to put him out."

But when they seen the dhraggin fall outside, they all run downstairs and scampered into the palace yard for to circumspect the curiosity; and by the time they got down, the waiver had got off o' the dhraggin's neck; and runnin' up to the King, says he--

"Plaze, your holiness, I did not think myself worthy of killin' this facetious baste, so I brought him to yourself for to do him the honour of decripitation by your own royal five fingers. But I tamed him first, before I allowed him the liberty for to dar' to appear in your royal prisince, and you'll oblige me if you'll just make your mark with your own hand upon the onruly baste's neck." And with that, the King, sure enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the head aff the dirty brute, as clane as a new pin.

Well, there was great rejoicin' in the coort that the dhraggin was killed; and says the King to the little waiver, says he--

"You are a knight arriant as it is, and so it would be no use for to knight you over agin; but I will make you a lord," says he "and as you are the first man I ever heer'd tell of that rode a dhraggin, you shall be called Lord Mount Dhraggin'," says he.

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

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

"Is that all?" says the waiver.

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

"I believe not, indeed," says the waiver; "many thanks to your majesty."

"But that is not all I'll do for you," says the king, "I'll give you my daughter, too, in marriage," says he.

Now, you see, that was nothin' more than what was promised the waiver in his first promise; for, by all accounts, the King's daughter was the greatest dhraggin ever was seen.

Fionn MacCumhail and the Princess.

_From "The Shamrock."_

BY PATRICK J. MCCALL (1861--).

(In Wexford Folk Speech.)

Wance upon a time, when things was a great'le betther in Ireland than they are at present, when a rale king ruled over the counthry wid four others undher him to look afther the craps an' other indhustries, there lived a young chief called Fan MaCool.

Now, this was long afore we gev up bowin' and scrapin' to the sun an' moon an' sich like raumash (nonsense); an' signs an it, there was a powerful lot ov witches an' Druids, an' enchanted min an' wimen goin' about, that med things quare enough betimes for iverywan.

Well, Fan, as I sed afore, was a young man when he kem to the command, an' a purty likely lookin' boy, too--there was nothin' too hot or too heavy for him; an' so ye needn't be a bit surprised if I tell ye he was the mischief entirely wid the colleens. Nothin' delighted him more than to disguise himself wid an ould coatamore (overcoat) threwn over his showlder, a lump ov a kippeen (stick) in his fist and he mayanderin' about unknownst, rings around the counthry, lookin' for fun an' foosther (diversion) ov all kinds.

Well, one fine mornin', whin he was on the shaughraun, he was waumasin' (strolling) about through Leinster, an' near the royal palace ov Glendalough he seen a mighty throng ov grand lords and ladies, an', my dear, they all dressed up to the nines, wid their jewels shinin' like dewdrops ov a May mornin', and laughin' like the tinkle ov a deeshy (small) mountain strame over the white rocks. So he cocked his beaver, an' stole over to see what was the matther.

Lo an' behould ye, what were they at but houldin' a race-meetin' or faysh (festival)--somethin' like what the quality calls ataleticks now! There they were, jumpin', and runnin', and coorsin', an' all soorts ov fun, enough to make the trouts--an' they're mighty fine leppers enough--die wid envy in the river benaith them.

The fun wint on fast an' furious, an' Fan, consaled betune the trumauns an' brushna (elder bushes and furze) could hardly keep himself quiet, seein' the thricks they wor at. Peepin' out, he seen, jist forninst him on the other bank, the prencess herself, betune the high-up ladies ov the coort. She was a fine, bouncin' geersha (girl) with gold hair like the furze an' cheeks like an apple blossom, an' she brakin' her heart laughin' an' clappin' her hands an' turnin her head this a-way an' that a-way, jokin' wid this wan an' that wan, an' commiseratin', moryah! (forsooth) the poor gossoons that failed in their leps. Fan liked the looks ov her well, an' whin the boys had run in undher a bame up to their knees an' jumped up over another wan as high as their chins, the great trial ov all kem on. Maybe you'd guess what that was? But I'm afeerd you won't if I gev you a hundhred guesses! It was to lep the strame, forty foot wide!

List'nin' to them whisperin' to wan another, Fan heerd them tellin' that whichever ov them could manage it wud be med a great man intirely ov; he wud get the Prencess Maynish in marriage, an' ov coorse, would be med king ov Leinster when the ould king, Garry, her father, cocked his toes an' looked up through the butts ov the daisies at the shky. Well, whin Fan h'ard this, he was put to a nonplush to know what to do! With his ould duds on him, he was ashamed ov his life to go out into the open, to have the eyes ov the whole wurruld on him, an' his heart wint down to his big toe as he watched the boys makin' their offers at the lep. But no one of them was soople enough for the job, an' they kep on tumblin', wan afther the other, into the strame; so that the poor prencess began to look sorryful whin her favourite, a big hayro wid a colyeen (curls) a yard long--an' more betoken he was a boy o' the Byrnes from Imayle--jist tipped the bank forninst her wid his right fut, an' then twistin', like a crow in the air scratchin' her head with her claw, he spraddled wide open in the wather, and splashed about like a hake in a mudbank! Well, me dear, Fan forgot himself, an' gev a screech like an aigle; an' wid that, the ould king started, the ladies all screamed, an' Fan was surrounded. In less than a minnit an' a half they dragged me bould Fan be the collar ov his coat right straight around to the king himself.

"What ould geochagh (beggar) have we now?" sez the king, lookin' very hard at Fan.

"I'm Fan MaCool!" sez the thief ov the wurruld, as cool as a frog.

"Well, Fan MaCool or not," sez the king, mockin' him, "ye'll have to jump the sthrame yander for freckenin' the lives clane out ov me ladies," sez he, "an' for disturbin' our spoort ginerally," sez he.

"An' what'll I get for that same?" sez Fan, lettin' on (pretending) he was afeered.

"Me daughter, Maynish," sez the king, wid a laugh; for he thought, ye see, Fan would be drowned.

"Me hand on the bargain," sez Fan; but the owld chap gev him a rap on the knuckles wid his specktre (sceptre) an' towld him to hurry up, or he'd get the ollaves (judges) to put him in the Black Dog pres'n or the Marshals--I forgets which--it's so long gone by!

Well, Fan peeled off his coatamore, an' threw away his bottheen ov a stick, an' the prencess seein' his big body an' his long arums an' legs like an oak tree, couldn't help remarkin' to her comrade, the craythur--

"Bedad, Cauth (Kate)," sez she, "but this beggarman is a fine bit of a bouchal (boy)," sez she; "it's in the arumy (army) he ought to be," sez she, lookin' at him agen, an' admirin' him, like.

So, Fan, purtendin' to be fixin' his shoes be the bank, jist pulled two lusmores (fox-gloves) an' put them anunder his heels; for thim wor the fairies' own flowers that works all soort ov inchantment, an' he, ov coorse, knew all about it; for he got the wrinkle from an ould lenaun (fairy guardian) named Cleena, that nursed him when he was a little stand-a-loney.

Well, me dear, ye'd think it was on'y over a little creepie (three-legged) stool he was leppin' whin he landed like a thrish jist at the fut ov the prencess; an' his father's son he was, that put his two arums around her, an' gev her a kiss--haith, ye'd hear the smack ov it at the Castle o' Dublin. The ould king groaned like a corncrake, an' pulled out his hair in hatfuls, an' at last he ordhered the bowld beggarman off to be kilt; but, begorrah, when they tuck off weskit an' seen the collar ov goold around Fan's neck the ould chap became delighted, for he knew thin he had the commandher ov Airyun (Erin) for a son-in-law.

"Hello!" sez the king, "who have we now?" sez he, seein' the collar. "Begonny's," sez he, "you're no boccagh (beggar) anyways!"

"I'm Fan MaCool," sez the other, as impident as a cocksparra'; "have you anything to say agen me?" for his name wasn't up, at that time, like afther.

"Ay lots to say agen you. How dar' you be comin' round this a-way, dressed like a playacthor, takin' us in?" sez the king, lettin' on to be vexed; "an' now," sez he, "to annoy you, you'll have to go an' jump back agen afore you gets me daughter for puttin' on (deceiving) us in such a manner."

"Your will is my pleasure," sez Fan; "but I must have a word or two with the girl first," sez he, an' up he goes an' commences talkin' soft to her, an' the king got as mad as a hatther at the way the two were croosheenin' an' colloguin' (whispering and talking), an' not mindin' him no more than if he was the man in the moon, when who comes up but the Prence of Imayle, afther dryin' himself, to put his pike in the hay too.

"Well, avochal (my boy)," sez Fan, "are you dry yet?" an' the Prencess laughed like a bell round a cat's neck.

"You think yourself a smart lad, I suppose," sez the other; "but there's one thing you can't do wid all your prate!"

"What's that?" sez Fan. "Maybe not" sez he.

"You couldn't whistle and chaw oatenmale," sez the Prence ov Imayle, in a pucker. "Are you any good at throwin' a stone?" sez he, then.

"The best!" sez Fan, an' all the coort gother round like to a cock-fight. "Where'll we throw to?" sez he.

"In to'ards Dublin," sez the Prence ov Imayle; an' be all accounts he was a great hand at cruistin (throwing).

"Here goes pink," sez he, an' he ups with a stone, as big as a castle, an' sends it flyin' in the air like a cannon ball, and it never stopped till it landed on top ov the Three Rock Mountain.

"I'm your masther!" sez Fan, pickin' up another clochaun (stone) an' sendin' it a few perch beyant the first.

"That you're not," sez the Prence ov Imayle, an' he done his best, an' managed to send another finger stone beyant Fan's throw; an' sure, the three stones are to be seen, be all the world, to this very day.

"Well, me lad," says Fan, stoopin' for another as big as a hill, "I'm sorry I have to bate you; but I can't help it," sez he, lookin' over at the Prencess Maynish, an' she as mute as a mouse watchin' the two big men, an' the ould king showin' fair play, as delighted as a child. "Watch this," sez he, whirlin' his arm like a windmill, "and now put on your spectacles," sez he; and away he sends the stone, buzzin' through the air like a peggin'-top, over the other three clochauns, and then across Dublin Bay, an' scrapin' the nose off ov Howth, it landed with a swish in the say beyant it. That's the rock they calls Ireland's Eye now!

"Be the so an' so!" sez the king, "I don't know where that went to, at all, at all! what direct did you send it?" sez he to Fan. "I had it in view, till it went over the say," sez he.

"I'm bet!" sez the Prence ov Imayle. "I couldn't pass that, for I can't see where you put it, even--good-bye to yous," sez he, turnin' on his heel an' makin' off; "an' may yous two be as happy as I can wish you!" An' back he went to the butt ov Lugnaquilla, an' took to fret, an I understand shortly afther he died ov a broken heart; an' they put a turtle-dove on his tombstone to signify that he died for love; but I think he overstrained himself, throwin', though that's nayther here nor there with me story!

"Are you goin' to lep back agen?" sez ould King Garry, wantin' to see more sport; for he tuk as much delight in seein' the like as if he was a lad ov twenty.

"To be shure I will!" sez Fan, ready enough, "but I'll have to take the girl over with me this time!" sez he.

"Oh, no, Fan!" sez Maynish, afeered ov her life he might stumble an' that he'd fall in with her; an' then she'd have to fall out with him--"take me father with you," sez she; an' egonnys, the ould king thought more about himself than any ov them, an' sed he'd take the will for the deed, like the lawyers. So the weddin' went on; an' maybe that wasn't the grand blow-out. But I can't stay to tell yous all the fun they had for a fortnit; on'y, me dear, they all went into kinks ov laughin', when the ould king, who tuk more than was good for him, stood up to drink Fan's health, an' forgot himself.

"Here's to'ards your good health, Fan MaCool!" sez he, as grand as you like--"an' a long life to you, an' a happy wife to you--an' a great many ov them!" sez he, like he'd forgot somethin'.

Well, me dear, every one was splittin' their sides like the p'yates, unless the prencess, an' she got as red in the face as if she was churnin' in the winther an' the frost keepin' the crame from crackin'; but she got over it like the maisles.

But I suppose you can guess the remainder, an' as the evenin's gettin' forrard I'll stop; so put down the kittle an' make tay, an' if Fan and the Prencess Maynish didn't live happy together--that we may!

The Kildare Pooka.

_From "Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts."_

BY PATRICK KENNEDY..

Mr. H---- H----, when he was alive, used to live a good deal in Dublin, and he was once a great while out of the country on account of the "ninety-eight" business. But the servants kept on in the big house at Rath--all the same as if the family was at home. Well, they used to be frightened out of their lives, after going to their beds, with the banging of the kitchen door and the clattering of fire-irons and the pots and plates and dishes. One evening they sat up ever so long keeping one another in heart with stories about ghosts and that, when--what would have it?--the little scullery boy that used to be sleeping over the horses, and could not get room at the fire, crept into the hot hearth, and when he got tired listening to the stories, sorra fear him, but he fell dead asleep.

Well and good. After they were all gone, and the kitchen raked up, he was woke with the noise of the kitchen door opening, and the tramping of an ass in the kitchen floor. He peeped out, and what should he see but a big ass, sure enough, sitting on his curabingo and yawning before the fire. After a little he looked about him, and began scratching his ears as if he was quite tired, an', says he, "I may as well begin first as last." The poor boy's teeth began to chatter in his head, for, says he, "Now he's going to ate me"; but the fellow with the long ears and tail on him had something else to do. He stirred the fire, and then brought in a pail of water from the pump, and filled a big pot that he put on the fire before he went out. He then put in his hand--foot, I mean--into the hot hearth, and pulled out the little boy. He let a roar out of him with fright. But the pooka only looked at him, and thrust out his lower lip to show how little he valued him, and then he pitched him into his pew again.

Well, he then lay down before the fire till he heard the boil coming on the water, and maybe there wasn't a plate, or a dish, or a spoon on the dresser, that he didn't fetch and put into the pot, and wash and dry the whole bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchen maid from that to Dublin town. He then put all of them up on their places on the shelves; and if he didn't give a good sweepin' to the kitchen, leave it till again. Then he comes and sits fornent the boy, let down one of his ears, and cocked up the other, and gave a grin. The poor fellow strove to roar out, but not a _dheeg_ (sound) ud come out of his throat. The last thing the pooka done was to rake up the fire and walk out, giving such a slap o' the door, that the boy thought the house couldn't help tumbling down.

Well, to be sure, if there wasn't a hullabuloo next morning when the poor fellow told his story! They could talk of nothing else the whole day. One said one thing, another said another, but a fat, lazy scullery girl said the wittiest thing of all. "Musha," says she, "if the pooka does be cleaning up everything that way when we are asleep, what should we be slaving ourselves for doing his work?" "_Sha gu dheine_" (yes, indeed), says another, "them's the wisest words you ever said, Kauth; it's meeself won't contradict you."

So said, so done, not a bit of a plate or dish saw a drop of water that evening, and not a besom was laid on the floor, and everyone went to bed after sundown. Next morning everything was as fine as fine in the kitchen, and the Lord Mayor might eat his dinner off the flags. It was great ease to the lazy servants, you may depend, and everything went on well till a foolhardy gag of a boy said he would stay up one night and have a chat with the pooka. He was a little daunted when the door was thrown open and the ass marched up to the fire.

"And then, sir," says he, at last, picking up courage, "if it isn't taking a liberty, might I ax you who you are, and why you are so kind as to do a half a day's work for the girls every night?" "No liberty at all," says the pooka, says he: "I'll tell you and welcome. I was a servant in the time of Squire H----'s father, and was the laziest rogue that was ever clothed and fed, and done nothing for it. When my time came for the other world, this is the punishment was laid on me to come here and do all this labour every night, and then go out in the cold. It isn't so bad in the fine weather; but if you only knew what it was to stand with your head between your legs, facing the storm from midnight to sunrise on a bleak winter night." "And could we do anything for your comfort, my poor fellow?" says the boy. "Musha, I don't know," says the pooka: "but I think a good quilted frieze coat would help me to keep the life in me them long nights." "Why, then, in truth, we'd be the ungratefullest of people if we didn't feel for you."

To make a long story short, the next night the boy was there again; and if he didn't delight the poor pooka, holding a fine, warm coat before him, it's no matther! Betune the pooka and the man, his legs was got into the four arms of it, and it was buttoned down the breast and belly, and he was so pleased he walked up to the glass to see how he looked. "Well," says he, "it's a long lane that has no turning. I am much obliged to you and your fellow servants. You have made me happy at last. Good night to you."

So he was walking out, but the other cried, "Och! sure you're going too soon. What about the washing and sweeping?" "Ah, you may tell the girls that they must now get their turn. My punishment was to last till I was thought worthy of a reward for the way I done my duty. You'll see me no more." And no more they did, and right sorry they were for having been in such a hurry to reward the ungrateful pooka.

The Piper and the Puca.

_From "An Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach."_

BY DOUGLAS HYDE (1860--).

In the old times there was a half-fool living in Dunmore, in the County Galway, and though he was excessively fond of music, he was unable to learn more than one tune, and that was the "Black Rogue." He used to get a deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used to get sport out of him. One night the Piper was coming home from a house where there had been a dance, and he half-drunk. When he came up to a little bridge that was by his mother's house, he squeezed the pipes on, and began playing the "Black Rogue." The Puca came behind him, and flung him on his own back. There were long horns on the Puca, and the Piper got a good grip of them, and then he said:--

"Destruction on you, you nasty beast; let me home I have a tenpenny piece in my pocket for my mother, and she wants snuff."

"Never mind your mother," said the puca, "but keep your hold. If you fall you will break your neck and your pipes." Then the Puca said to him, "Play up for me the 'Shan Van Vocht.'"

"I don't know it," said the Piper.

"Never mind whether you do or you don't," said the Puca. "Play up, and I'll make you know."

The Piper put wind in his bag, and he played such music as made himself wonder.

"Upon my word, you're a fine music-master," says the Piper, then; "but tell me where you're bringing me."

"There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of Croagh Patric to-night," says the Puca, "and I'm for bringing you there to play music, and, take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble."

"By my word, you'll save me a journey, then," says the Piper, "for Father William put a journey to Croagh Patric on me because I stole the white gander from him last Martinmas."

The Puca rushed him across hills and bog and rough places, till he brought him to the top of Croagh Patric.

Then the Puca struck three blows with his foot, and a great door opened, and they passed in together into a fine room.

The Piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room, and hundreds of old women sitting round about it.