The Irish Fairy Book Part 22

"Well, well, you may come," said the ferryman affably; "Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge."

Then again to the little folk: "Tho' you seem laughably Small, I don't mind, if your coppers be large."

Oh, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing (The watermen making vain efforts at hushing The hubbub the while), there followed these words!

What clapping of boards, What strapping of cords, What stowing away of children and wives, And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives!

Till all had safely got into the boat, And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat, And his wee little fairies were safely afloat; Then ding, ding, ding, And kling, kling, kling, How the coppers did ring In the tin pitcherling!

Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly, Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while It swayed and it swagged this and that way, and presently Chest after chest, and pile after pile Of the little folk's goods began tossing and rolling, And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling.

O Mab! if the hubbub were great before, It was now some two or three million times more.

Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks; And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries: "Take care!"--"See there!"--"Oh, dear, my eyes!"-- "I am killed!"--"I am drowned!"--with groans and sighs, Till to land they drew.

"Yeo-ho! Pull to!

Tiller-rope, thro' and thro'!"

And all's right anew.

"Now jump upon sh.o.r.e, ye queer little oddities.

(Eh, what is this?... Where are they, at all?

Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?

Well, as I live!"....) He looks blank as a wall, Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes, But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone, And he stands alone, Like a statue of stone, In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer, And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear, With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee, quee! bah, bah!

Fizzigigiggidy! pshee! sha, sha!"

"O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!"

The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher, And there, alas, to his horror perceives That the little folk's mode of making him richer Has been to pay him with withered leaves!

JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.

The King of the Black Desert

This story was told by one Laurence O'Flynn from near Swinford, in the County Mayo, to my friend, the late F. O'Conor, of Athlone, from whom I got it in Irish. It is the eleventh story in the "Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach,"

and is here for the first time literally translated into English.

AN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.

When O'Conor was King over Ireland he was living in Rathcroghan, of Connacht. He had one son, but he, when he grew up, was wild, and the King could not control him, because he would have his own will in everything.

One morning he went out--

His hound at his foot, And his hawk on his hand, And his fine black horse to bear him--

and he went forward, singing a verse of a song to himself, until he came as far as a big bush that was growing on the brink of a glen. There was a grey old man sitting at the foot of the bush, and he said, "King's son, if you are able to play as well as you are able to sing songs, I would like to play a game with you." The King's son thought that it was a silly old man that was in it, and he alighted, threw bridle over branch, and sat down by the side of the grey old man.

The old man drew out a pack of cards and asked, "Can you play these?"

"I can," said the King's son.

"What shall we play for?" said the grey old man.

"Anything you wish," says the King's son.

"All right; if I win you must do for me anything I shall ask of you, and if you win I must do for you anything you ask of me," says the grey old man.

"I'm satisfied," says the King's son.

They played the game, and the King's son beat the grey old man. Then he said, "What would you like me to do for you, King's son?"

"I won't ask you to do anything for me," says the King's son. "I think that you are not able to do much."

"Don't mind that," said the old man. "You must ask me to do something. I never lost a bet yet that I wasn't able to pay it."

As I said, the King's son thought that it was a silly old man that was in it, and to satisfy him he said to him, "Take the head off my stepmother and put a goat's head on her for a week."

"I'll do that for you," said the grey old man. The King's son went a-riding on his horse--

His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand--

and he faced for another place, and never thought more about the grey old man until he came home.

He found a cry and great grief in the castle. The servants told him that an enchanter had come into the room where the Queen was, and had put a goat's head on her in place of her own head.

"By my hand, but that's a wonderful thing," says the King's son. "If I had been at home I'd have whipt the head off him with my sword."

There was great grief on the King, and he sent for a wise councillor, and asked him did he know how the thing happened to the Queen.

"Indeed, I cannot tell you that," said he; "it's a work of enchantment."

The King's son did not let on that he had any knowledge of the matter, but on the morrow morning he went out--

His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand, And his fine black horse to bear him--

and he never drew rein until he came as far as the big bush on the brink of the glen. The grey old man was sitting there under the bush, and said, "King's son, will you have a game to-day?" The King's son got down and said, "I will." With that he threw bridle over branch and sat down by the side of the old man. He drew out the cards and asked the King's son did he get the thing he had won yesterday.

"That's all right," said the King's son.

"We'll play for the same bet to-day," says the grey old man.

"I'm satisfied," said the King's son.

They played--the King's son won. "What would you like me to do for you this time?" says the grey old man. The King's son thought and said to himself, "I'll give him a hard job this time." Then he said, "There's a field of seven acres at the back of my father's castle; let it be filled to-morrow morning with cows, and no two of them to be of one colour, or one height, or one age."

"That shall be done," says the grey old man.

The King's son went riding on his horse--

His hound at his foot, His hawk on his hand--

and faced for home. The King was sorrowful about the Queen; there were doctors out of every place in Ireland, but they could not do her any good.

On the morning of the next day the King's herd went out early, and he saw the field at the back of the castle filled with cows, and no two of them of the same colour, the same age, or the same height. He went in and told the King the wonderful news. "Go and drive them out," says the King. The herd got men, and went with them driving out the cows, but no sooner would he put them out on one side than they would come in on the other. The herd went to the King again, and told him that all the men that were in Ireland would not be able to put out these cows that were in the field. "They're enchanted cows," said the King.