scuffle, and had one of its legs broken. As he retired, the rabble hooted, and Jack, holding up in derision the pea with which he had out-manoeuvred him, exclaimed, I always carry this in my pocket in order to be a match for vagabonds like you." 66 66 The tumult over, Jack gone, and the rabble dispersed, I followed the discomfited adventurer at a distance, who, leaving the town, went slowly on, carrying his dilapidated piece of furniture; till coming to an old wall by the roadside, he placed it on the ground, and sat down, seemingly in deep despondency, holding his thumb to his mouth. Going nearly up to him, I stood still, whereupon he looked up, and perceiving I was looking steadfastly at him, he said, in an angry tone, Arrah! what for are you staring at me so? By my shoul, I think you are one of the thaives who are after robbing me. I think I saw you among them, and if I were only sure of it, I would take the liberty of trying to give you a big bating." "You have had enough of trying to give people a beating," said I; "you had better be taking your table to some skilful carpenter to get it repaired. He will do it for sixpence." "Divil a sixpence did you and your thaives leave me," said he; and if you do not take yourself off, joy, I will be breaking your ugly head with the foot of it. Arrah, Murtagh !" said I, "would ye be breaking the head of your friend and scholar, to whom you taught the blessed tongue of Oilien nan Naomha, in exchange for a pack of cards?" Murtagh, for he it was, gazed at me for a moment with a bewildered look; then, with a gleam of intelligence in his eye, he said, "Shorsha! no, it can't be—yes, by my faith it is!" Then, springing up, and seizing me by the hand, he said, "Yes, by the powers, sure enough it is Shorsha agra! Arrah, Shorsha! where have you been this many a day? Sure, you are not one of the spalpeens who are after robbing "Not I," I replied, "but I saw all that happened. Come, you must not take matters so to heart; cheer up; such things will happen in connection with the trade you have taken up.' "Sorrow befall the trade, and the thief who taught it me," said Murtagh; "and yet the trade is not a bad one, if I only knew more of it, and had some one to help and back me. Och! the idea of being cheated and bamboozled by that one-eyed thief in the horseman's dress. "Let bygones be bygones, Murtagh," said I; me?" Finn-ma-Coul 287 "it is no use grieving for the past; sit down, and let us have a little pleasant gossip. Arrah, Murtagh! when I saw you sitting under the wall, with your thumb to your mouth, it brought to my mind tales which you used to tell me all about Finn-ma-Coul. You have not forgotten Finnma-Coul, Murtagh, and how he sucked wisdom out of his thumb. "Sorrow a bit have I forgot about him, Shorsha," said Murtagh, as we sat down together, nor what you yourself told me about the snake. Arrah, Shorsha! what ye told me about the snake, bates anything I ever told you about Finn. Ochone, Shorsha! perhaps you will be telling me about the snake once more? I think the tale would do me good, and I have need of comfort, God knows, ochone!" Seeing Murtagh in such a distressed plight, I forthwith told him over again the tale of the snake, in precisely the same words as I have related it in the first part of this history. After which, I said, "Now, Murtagh, tit for tat; ye will be telling me one of the old stories of Finn-ma-Coul." Och, Shorsha! I haven't heart enough," said Murtagh. Thank you for your tale, but it makes me weep; it brings to my mind Dungarvon times of old-I mean the times we were at school together." Cheer up, man," said I, "and let's have the story, and 66 let it be about Ma-Coul and the salmon and his thumb." "Arrah, Shorsha! I can't. Well, to oblige you, I'll give it you. Well, you know Ma-Coul was an exposed child, and came floating over the salt sea in a chest which was cast ashore at Veintry Bay. In the corner of that bay was a castle, where dwelt a giant and his wife, very respectable and decent people, and this giant, taking his morning walk along the bay, came to the place where the child had been cast ashore in his box. Well, the giant looked at the child, and being filled with compassion for his exposed state, took the child up in his box, and carried him home to his castle, where he and his wife, being dacent respectable people, as I telled ye before, fostered the child and took care of him, till he became old enough to go out to service and gain his livelihood, when they bound him out apprentice to another giant, who lived in a castle up the country, at some distance from the bay. "This giant, whose name was Darmod David Odeen, was not a respectable person at all, but a big old vagabond. He was twice the size of the other giant, who, though bigger than any man, was not a big giant; for, as there are great and small men, so there are great and small giants-I mean some are small when compared with the others. Well, Finn served this giant a considerable time, doing all kinds of hard and unreasonable service for him, and receiving all kinds of hard words, and many a hard knock and kick to boot-sorrow befall the old vagabond who could thus ill-treat a helpless foundling. It chanced that one day the giant caught a salmon, near a salmon-leap upon his estate-for, though a big ould blackguard, he was a person of considerable landed property, and high sheriff for the county Cork. Well, the giant brings home the salmon by the gills, and delivers it to Finn, telling him to roast it for the giant's dinner; but take care, ye young blackguard,' he added, that in roasting it-and I expect ye to roast it well-you do not let a blister come upon its nice satin skin, for if ye do, I will cut the head off your shoulders.' 'Well,' thinks Finn, 'this is a hard task; however, as I have done many hard tasks for him, I will try and do this too, though I was never set to do anything yet half so difficult.' So he prepared his fire, and put his gridiron upon it, and lays the salmon fairly and softly upon the gridiron, and then he roasts it, turning it from one side to the other just in the nick of time, before the soft satin skin could be blistered. However, on turning it over the eleventh time-and twelve would have settled the business -he found he had delayed a little bit of time too long in turning it over, and that there was a small, tiny blister on the soft outer skin. Well, Finn was in a mighty panic, remembering the threats of the ould giant; however, he did not lose heart, but clapped his thumb upon the blister in order to smooth it down. Now the salmon, Shorsha, was nearly done, and the flesh thoroughly hot, so Finn's thumb was scalt, and he, clapping it to his mouth, sucked it, in order to draw out the pain, and in a moment-hubbuboo ! -became imbued with all the wisdom of the world. Myself. Stop, Murtagh! stop! Murtagh. All the witchcraft, Shorsha. Myself. How wonderful! Murtagh. Was it not, Shorsha? The salmon, do you see, was a fairy salmon. Myself. What a strange coincidence! A Strange Coincidence 289 Myself. Why, that the very same tale should be told of Finn-ma-Coul, which is related of Sigurd Fafnisbane. "What thief was that, Shorsha?" "Thief! 'Tis true, he took the treasure of Fafnir. Sigurd was the hero of the North, Murtagh, even as Finn is the great hero of Ireland. He, too, according to one account, was an exposed child, and came floating in a casket to a wild shore, where he was suckled by a hind, and afterwards found and fostered by Mimir, a fairy blacksmith; he, too, sucked wisdom from a burn. According to the Edda, he burnt his finger whilst feeling of the heart of Fafnir, which he was roasting, and putting it into his mouth in order to suck out the pain, became imbued with all the wisdom of the world, the knowledge of the language of birds, and what not. I have heard you tell the tale of Finn a dozen times in the blessed days of old, but its identity with the tale of Sigurd never occurred to me till now. It is true, when I knew you of old, I had never read the tale of Sigurd, and have since almost dismissed matters of Ireland from my mind; but as soon as you told me again about Finn's burning his finger, the coincidence struck me. I say, Murtagh, the Irish owe much to the Danes-" 66 Devil a bit, Shorsha, do they owe to the thaives, except many a bloody bating and plundering, which they never paid them back. Och, Shorsha! you, edicated in ould Ireland, to say that the Irish owes anything good to the plundering villains-the Siol Loughlin." "They owe them half their traditions, Murtagh, and amongst others, Finn-ma-Coul and the burnt finger; and if ever I publish the Loughlin songs, I'll tell the world so. But, Shorsha, the world will never believe ye—to say nothing of the Irish part of it." 66 "Then the world, Murtagh-to say nothing of the Irish part of it—will be a fool, even as I have often thought it; the grand thing, Murtagh, is to be able to believe oneself, and respect oneself. How few whom the world believes believe and respect themselves." 66 Och, Shorsha! shall I go on with the tale of Finn?" "I'd rather you should not, Murtagh; I know all about It already.' Then why did you bother me to tell it at first, Shorsha? Och, it was doing my ownself good, and making me forget my own sorrowful state, when ye interrupted me with your thaives of Danes! Och, Shorsha! let me tell you how Finn, by means of sucking his thumb, and the witchcraft he imbibed from it, contrived to pull off the arm of the ould wagabone, Darmod David Odeen, whilst shaking hands with him-for Finn could do no feat of strength without sucking his thumb, Shorsha, as Conan the Bald told the son of Oisin in the song which I used to sing ye in Dungarvon times of old ;" and here Murtagh repeated certain Irish words to the following effect: "O little the foolish words I heed O Oisin's son, from thy lips which come; Enough is as good as a feast, Murtagh, I am no longer in the cue for Finn. I would rather hear your own history. Now teil us, man, all that has happened to ye since Dungarvon times of old?" "Och, Shorsha, it would be merely bringing all my sorrows back upon me!" Well, if I know all your sorrows, perhaps I shall be able to find a help for them. I owe you much, Murtagh; you taught me Irish, and I will do all I can to help you. 'Why, then, Shorsha, I'll tell ye my history. Here goes!" CHAPTER XLV Murtagh's Tale. WELL, Shorsha, about a year and a half after you left us—and a sorrowful hour for us it was when ye left us, losing, as we did, your funny stories of your snake-and the battles of your military-they sent me to Paris and Salamanca, in order to make a saggart of me. "Pray excuse me, for interrupting you, but what kind of place is Salamanca ?" " said I, 66 “Divil a bit did I ever see of it, Shorsha!" "Then why did ye say ye were sent there? Well, what kind of place is Paris? Not that I care much about Paris." "Sorrow a bit did I ever see of either them, Shorsha, |