Our Little Irish Cousin

What the voice said was really true. The tunnel was just as it had been left the night before. Another day's work was enough to see it dug clear to the middle of the hill, and far down into the earth.

And then the men, putting their ears to the ground, could hear fairy music. Voices, too, could be heard around them. This is what they heard:

"Finvarra is sad at heart. It is no wonder. His palace will crumble to dust, if one of these mortals touches it with his spade."

"Why does he not save us then, and give up the young bride?" said another voice.

Then King Finvarra himself spoke, in a true kingly way. He commanded the workmen to stop digging, promising that at sunset he would give Ethna up to her husband.

The young lord was glad of heart, and told the men to lay down their spades. He could hardly wait for evening to come. But it did come at last, and found the impatient husband sitting on his handsome horse and waiting by the hillside for his bride.

As the sun lighted the western sky with his most glorious colours, Ethna, dressed in her silver robe, appeared in the pathway before her husband.

He swept her from the ground in his strong arms, and away they galloped back to the castle.

But it was not the same Ethna as before the fairy spell had been cast upon her. Oh, no! She seemed like one half-asleep. Day after day she lay on her bed with her eyes closed. She did not move or speak.

"She has eaten of the fairy food," said the people. "It will be impossible to break the spell that has been cast upon her." And every one was filled with grief.

Three months passed by with no change in Ethna. One night, as the young lord was riding through the country, he heard a voice speaking near him. It said:

"The young husband won back his beautiful bride. But what good has it done him? Her spirit is still with the fairies, and, as far as he is concerned, she is like one dead."

As soon as this voice became silent, another could be heard, saying:

"There is one way to break the fairy spell. Her husband must take off her girdle and burn it. Then he must scatter the ashes before the door. He must not forget to take the enchanted pin by which the girdle is now fastened and bury it in a deep hole in the earth. This is the only way of regaining the spirit of his wife."

At these words the young lord was filled with new hope.

He hurried home as fast as his swiftest horse could carry him, and went at once to the room of his sleeping wife.

He hastened to her side, and began to do exactly as the voice had directed.

He drew out the enchanted pin. He removed the girdle. He burned it in the fire. Then, carefully gathering the ashes, he scattered them before the door. The enchanted pin was buried in a deep hole.

He went anxiously back to Ethna's room.

She was already coming back to life. As her husband stood at her side, she began to smile at him in her old, sweet way.

And now she moved and spoke, and took up her life as in the days before the fairy spell was cast upon her.

Her husband and all others in the castle were filled with happiness. There was great rejoicing. The beautiful Ethna was safe, and King Finvarra never again tried to win her to the fairy realm.

Is it a true story? some one asks. If you do not believe it, you need only go to the hill through which the tunnel was dug. It can be seen, even now. And people still call it the Fairies' Glen.

When Norah's father finished the story, the children begged him to tell "just one more, plaze." But he pointed to the clock.

"Late, late it is for you childer to be up," he said. "It is to bed ye must go this very minute."

A quarter of an hour afterward, every one in the little cabin was settled for the night.

CHAPTER VIII

BLARNEY CASTLE

NORAH'S friend, Mollie, had just got home from a long journey. At least it seemed a long one to Norah, who had never been farther away from home than the Lakes of Killarney.

Mollie had been all the way to Cork and Queenstown with her father and mother. They went to see Mollie's uncle start for America on a big steamer.

Queenstown is at the mouth of the River Lee. It used to be called the Cove of Cork, but the name was changed to Queenstown in honour of Queen Victoria.

It seemed a very big place to Mollie. As she described the queer cars running through the city, and the great steamers at the docks, it was a wonderful picture that little Norah saw in her mind.

Mollie had gone there in a railway train. When the guard shut her and her parents inside the car and locked the door, she was a little frightened at first. Then the engine gave a fearful shriek, and the train moved.

There were many other people in the car, or rather "compartment of the railway carriage," as they call it in the British Isles. Their cars are divided into three or four parts, with doors opening on the sides. Each part is called a compartment.

It was quite a jolly crowd. Every one seemed in good humour, and strangers were soon talking together as if they had always known each other. They told funny stories, they joked and laughed, and Mollie soon forgot her fear of the fast moving train. "It was just like a party," she told Norah.

At every station, the guard unlocked the door and let out those who were going no farther. Others then got in, so the company was changing all the time.

The compartment in which Mollie rode was a third-class one, and the floor and seats were quite bare. But these things did not trouble the little girl. Her parents could not afford to buy tickets to go first or second-class. They were glad enough to be able to go at all.

Cork was reached at last, and Mollie could hardly sleep nights after going about the city in the daytime and seeing the strange sights.

When her uncle had gone away on the big steamer, she went with her father and mother into some of the mills and factories. She saw glass spun into beautiful shapes, woollen cloths woven by huge machines, and many other things made as if by magic.

"Sure, it seems as if these big wheels must be turned by the fairies," she said to Norah, as she told her little friend of what she had seen.

It was all very interesting, but Norah liked best of all to hear of Mollie's visit to Blarney Castle. She asked her to repeat it over and over again.

Not far away from Cork is the busy little town of Blarney. And a little way out from Blarney is an old, old castle which is visited by people from all over the world.

Did you ever hear of the Blarney Stone? Or did you ever hear one person say to another, who has made a very polite or flattering speech, "Well, well, I think you must have kissed the Blarney Stone?"

Perhaps you did not understand the reason for such a remark. Now you shall hear it.

If you ever climb to the top of the walls of Blarney Castle and look down over the walls on the outside, you will see a certain stone.

It is a magic stone, you may be told. It has a great charm, for, if you kiss it, you will be blessed ever after with the power of eloquent speech. Your words to charm and wheedle will never fail you. You will always be able to say the right thing in the right place at the right time. You will say it so well you will make yourself very pleasing to your listeners.

But how is anybody able to kiss the Blarney Stone? It is too far down to be reached from the top, and too far up to be reached from the bottom. There is only one way. You must have a rope tied to your waist, and trust some one to let you down over the wall till you reach it.

There are some people foolish enough to do this very thing.

As Mollie stood looking and wishing she dared try it, she heard some one telling a story. It was about a young man who got his friends to lower him out over the wall.

But, just as his lips touched the stone, a shower of coins fell to the ground below. The young man had forgotten to take the money out of his pockets.

Every one laughed at the story, and Mollie wished she could have been there to see the funny sight.

"I didn't kiss the real Blarney Stone," she told Norah. "But there was one inside the walls. It was a sort of make-believe Blarney Stone, and we all kissed that instead."

"Daniel O'Connell must have been to Blarney Castle and kissed the stone," said Norah, quite seriously. "How else could he have had the power to move every one by his words? He was a great man. When I grow up, I'll be after going to the great city of Dublin to see his monimint. You see if I don't, Mollie darlint."

"Maybe we'll be going together, Norah," was the answer.

And the two little girls skipped arm in arm across the fields of the beautiful Emerald Isle.

THE END