hostage, an only son of mine." "I know the remainder," interrupted the prisoner: "you have such an abhorrence of robbery, that you want me to STEAL even M'Tuhill's hostage. And suppose I do, what then?" "Twenty ounces of pure gold will be your reward; but if not —” "Never mind the rest; I know what you was going to say:-if not, M'Balthor's locks will float in the morning's breeze from the top of Newgate. Better men have even met a worse fate; but am I at liberty? then loose these fetters, and the young Sassanach shall be here before ten days expire, to feed upon the O'More's beef." The provost led M'Balthor out of the prison, and the wicket being unlocked, the outlaw regained his liberty. By the light of the moon the shadows of half-a-dozen heads were distinctly seen upon the open space before the gate, reflected from their "bad eminence" over the barrier, and instinctively the robber turned to look upon them. "Fortune," he ejaculated, “is still favourable: the Saxons have not yet ornamented their skeans with my sconce; and by Saint Patrick 'twill be my fault if ever they do. But he paused,-"ay, that will do," he continued; and having mentally arranged his future plans, he walked rapidly forward. The reader need not be told of the exact geographical position of Glendalough: if he have never been there, he has only to consult any Irish Itinerary, or Mr. Wright's Guide to the County of Wicklow, to learn that the name is derived from two picturesque lakes, surrounded with wild and rugged hills, and that the place was once distinguished as the abode of piety and learning. Its ruins serve now to point a moral, and vindicate the ancient inhabitants of Ireland from the flippant charges of ignorance and barbarism so frequently urged against them. Here are specimens of architecture still remaining of an order that prove the erection of some of the buildings to have taken place previous to the days of Christianity, and hieroglyphics which the learned are unable to explain. Amidst the monuments of the dead are the tombs of the M'Tuhills, or O'Tooles, bearing evidence, in the epitaphs, of this family having exercised the duties of royalty for centuries subsequent to the reign of Henry II. Previous to the twelfth century they occasionally swayed the sceptre of Leinster; and, in later times, ruled conjointly with the O'Birns and the O'Cavanaghs, that long ridge of hills which stretch from the county of Kilkenny to within a few miles of Dublin. Their jurisdiction was acknowledged by the English monarchs; and the election of the ardriagh was still regulated by those Gothic customs for they for they were not Celts which were based on national independence. At the period to which our tale relates, a M'Tuhill was raised to the chieftaincy, and, like the predecessors of his family, he took up his abode in the venerable city of Glendalough. In early life he was distinguished for an active bravery; and his many successes in war had no small share in procuring his elevation to the chief command. Age, however, had not diminished his desire of glory, and the neighbouring toparchs still showed, by their submission, that they dreaded at once his skill and bravery. Glendalough was then the abode of piety, and somewhat of opulence: its splendid churches-its many religious edifices, now, alas! an undistinguished heap of ruins - necessarily begot an active and industrious population; and as a certain refinement had begun to prevail*, those who wished to distinguish themselves otherwise than by deeds of arms took up their residence where luxury might display itself, and devotion find security from hostile interruption. The dwellings of laymen were similar to those of other nations, hastily constructed of such materials as convenience recommended.

Learning, though dimmed, had not disappeared in the twelfth and succeeding centuries: nearly all the Duen Wassels were acquainted with classical literature: they wrote and spoke Latin fluently. See Cambrensis, Stuart's Armagh, and Hardiman's Irish Deeds.

The

The Irish excelled in constructing houses of wood *; and such was the case at Glendalough. The habitation of the ardriagh was spacious and lofty ; and, as hospitality was the characteristic of the times, the hall was constantly crowded with guests. The insecurity of the period did not allow of expenditure on ornaments. At a short distance from this primitive palace stood the mansion of the tanist. To him was committed the care of the national finances; and as the different hostages were connected with these, they of course resided in his house. Though eager to over-reach each other, and though not a whit more sincere than the great of modern times, there was a rude honour and individual confidence amongst men, which were highly favourable to social intercourse and toleration. Vengeance was then prompt and rife, but the cool, calculating tyranny of advanced civilisation was unknown. The hostages were treated with kindness: there was no jealous watching; no secrecy observed. The strangers found themselves the guests of friends rather than of enemies, and had nothing to regret except a temporary absence from home. Young Le Decer at first wondered at every thing he saw; but a few weeks served to convince him that the habits and manners of the people approximated very closely to those of Englishmen, among whom he had spent several years of his boyhood. Their customs, so different from those of the citizens of Dublin - the gaiety of their disposition, their careless indolence, their carousals, music, and revelry, as well as their martial vauntings - filled the youthful hostage with sentiments of admiration; and when contrasted with the sober monotony of a town life, left within his breast a vague desire to adopt the Irish and forego the English customs. Perhaps love had some influence upon his meditations. tanist had an only daughter, whose youth and beauty were well calculated to make an impression upon a mind formed for the admission of tender ́sentiments. Dorgiva shared in common with her then unsophisticated countrywomen all those graces of person which need not the foreign aid of ornament; but her vicinity to the abode of religious societies afforded her an opportunity of cultivating her various talents, and acquiring a degree of mind which is necessary to make the attractions of beauty irresistible and permanent. In Le Decer she soon discovered talents similar to her own; and, without any motive but the desire of conversing with one familiar with kindred studies, she did not offer any formidable resistance to the temptation of his society. On his part, he was at first ambitious to please, but mere acts of gallantry soon yielded dominion to sentiments of regard; and though he never ventured upon an avowal, there was mutual understanding, as distinct and ample as if declarations had been made and accepted. When the first flush of happiness, however, had subsided, and reflection came, as it often does, to administer draughts of bitterness, there was felt by each an undefined sentiment of alarm: they belonged to families and nations irrevocably opposed to each other, and whose national prejudices would never sanction a union between individuals belonging to the mere Irish and English colonists; but love is seldom unsuccessful in administering balm to wounded spirits; their fears were heard only in privacy and solitude; for they no sooner came into each other's society, than every sentiment but those of tenderness and regard was banished from their bosoms. Dorgiva touched her harp with animation, and Le Decer listened with that rich

* Bede tells us that the first churches in England were built after the Irish fashion. Domestic dwellings were constructed of clay and wood specimens of which remain to this day; and it is recorded that St. Thomas à Becket spread clean straw daily on the floor, to prevent his guests from soiling their clothes.

rapture which a lover only can feel when listening to skilful melody, poured from the ripe lips of a beloved mistress.

The encroachments of evening were no where felt so soon and so decidedly as at Glendalough. The surrounding hills, then clothed in rich foliage, in intercepting the rays of the declining sun, served to throw a sombre shade over the romantic valley; and as the tolling of the bells of the different monasteries inviting to prayer, and the chant of the pious monks instilling reverence and devotion, commingled, as it were, with the stillness of evening, the hour was felt as one of tranquil gladness, mellowed by religious hope, and calculated to awaken the best and purest feelings of the human heart. On such an evening Dorgiva and Le Decer strolled along the margin of the lake towards the sequestered abode of a pious recluse, whose austerities and simplicity had left scepticism no room to doubt of his sincerity. It had not been their first visit; and the good old man felt pleased with the attention, and repaid it by impressing upon their minds brief moral maxims and practical precepts relating to religious duties. On this occasion he was more diffuse than usual, and his pupils were detained beyond the usual hour of departure. Just as they arose a person entered, another followed, and presently the rude abode of the anchorite was filled with armed strangers. "What mean you, my sons?" asked the hermit. "Whom seek you here?" "The son of the Saxon provost," was the reply. "M'Walter," said Dorgiva, addressing the leader of the band as her lover drew his sword, "Robert le Decer is an hostage in the hands of the O'Toole." "And a captive in the hands of Dorgiva," answered the outlaw; "but we shall find one better befitting a daughter of Erin than a base Sassanach churl, even though it were M'Walter, or rather M'Balthor, for such, fair lady, is my real name. This intelligence was astounding. M'Balthor was notorious for his deeds of robbery and bloodshed; but under the assumed name of M'Walter had gained admittance to the hearth of the tanist, and made proposals for the hand of his daughter. Dorgiva, however, had an instinctive abhorrence of the man, and loathed him with that strong hatred which woman feels for an obtrusive suitor. The sad reality now flashed upon her; and before she could make any reply to the alarming intimation contained in his last words, his followers laid rude hands upon herself and her lover, and bore them away blindfolded from the hermitage. Le Decer made all possible resistance, but his struggles were in vain; and though he had every reason to feel alarmed on his own account, he thought only of the unprotected Dorgiva. It was about midnight when his captors came to a halt; and, from some lights visible at a distance, he fancied that they could not be far from Dublin. His conjecture was right in less than an hour he was delivered into the hands of his father, and soon after entered the city. Here he learned the solution of the mystery; and with the ingenuousness of youth he made his father the depositary of his secret-of his love for the tanist's daughter. She was now, he said, in the hands of the robber, and fearful consequences were to be apprehended unless speedily rescued from a situation so calamitous. Instead of manifesting any pity for Dorgiva, any sympathy for the feelings of the lover, the provost gave way to his anger, and convinced his son that he had only one alternative, either to forego his love for the tanist's daughter, or forfeit the friendship of his father. His choice was soon made: despising the dishonourable means by which he had been surreptitiously withdrawn from Glendalough, he hastily quitted the city the next morning, and quickly regained the country of the O'Tooles. The war-cry was instantly raised; the hill resounded with hostile music; and when the citizens

came out a HOSTING, as they called it, they experienced a reception very different from that which they met from the O'Mores of Leix. The suc cessful Irish pursued them to the Damegate; and, after a vigorous assault, carried the city by storm. Convinced of their error, the citizens renewed the treaty, paid additional Black Mail, and gave new hostages. In the mean time, Dorgiva had not been discovered. "Give me twenty of these brave fellows for companions," said le Decer, "and I'll pledge myself to restore the maiden to her friends." "The Saxon speaks boldly," said M'Tuhill," and well deserves our confidence. Let it be as he desires." Armed with the Irish lance and the battle-axe, le Decer and his companions set forward; and after two days' search were fortunate enough to come up with the fugitives. M'Balthor made a desperate resistance, but was ultimately overpowered. He could give, however, no account of Dorgiva; being left, he said, in the care of one of his followers on the night of the abduction, she was rescued from him, but by whom he was quite ignorant. Le Decer thought this unsatisfactory, and accordingly carried the outlaw a prisoner to Glendalough. Here he repeated the same story, but with equal success; and the brehon was about to condemn him to die a punishment reserved solely for the violator of woman's honour-when Dorgiva made her appearance: she had been fortunately rescued by a party of the O'Birns, who heard her shriek as they passed, and who now restored her to her friends.

This completely altered the nature of M'Balthor's offence. The brehon repaired to the MOTE, a place of eminence; the people stood in a circle around, and the accusation was heard. The law allowed only a mulet, and the robber was on the point of being discharged on the payment of twenty cows, when it was suggested by the ardriagh himself, that, being on terms of amity with the Saxons, the prisoner ought to be transmitted to Dublin, there to experience the mercy of the English laws. This advice was instantly acted upon; and the chronicle of the day says, "This year, 1308, William M'Balthor, alias M'Walter, a great robber and incendiary, was condemned by the Lord Justice Wogan, and was drawn at a horse's tail to the gallows, and there executed." Robert le Decer, having given mortal offence to the citizens, no longer hesitated to adopt the manners of the Irish; and on his marriage with Dorgiva, which soon after took place, assumed the name of O'Toole.* The rude ballads of the times are filled with eulogies upon his heroism and virtue. His father mourned his loss, but refused to see him. Childless, as he regarded himself, he spent his fortune in public works; and city records make honourable mention of his

name.

Pierce de Gaveston, the king's favourite, being made lord-lieutenant, after his banishment from England, defeated the O'Tooles; and, having SCOURED the pass between Kevin Castle and Glendalough, made his offering at the shrine of St. Kevin.

INDEX TO VOL. VI.