"Ye must know, that among all the saints that went to heaven from Ireland's sod, there isn't wan, barrin' Saint Patrick, that stands in a betther place than the blessed Saint Kevin av Glendalough, fur the wondherful things that he done is past all tellin'. 'Twas he that built all the churches ye see[pg 054] in the vale here, an' when he lived, he owned all the land round about, fur he restored King O'Toole's goose, that the king had such divarshun in, when it was too ould to fly, so the king gev him all that the goose 'ud fly over, an' when the goose got her wings agin, she was so merry that she flew over mighty near all the land that King O'Toole had before she come back at all, so he got it.
"'Twas he too that put out o' the counthry the very last sarpint that was left in it, afther Saint Patrick had druv the rest into the say, fur he met the baste wan day as he was walkin' in the hills and tuk him home wid him to give him the bit an' sup, an' the sarpint got as dhrunk as a piper, so Saint Kevin put him in a box an' nailed it up an' flung it into the say, where it is to this blessed day.
"But 'tis my belafe that the besht job o' work he ever done was markin' the divil so if you'd meet him an the road, you'd know in a minnit that it was himself an' no other that was in it, an' so make ready, aither fur to run away from him, or to fight him wid prayin' as fast as ye cud, bekase, ye see, it's no use fur to shtrive wid him any other way, seein' that no waypon can make the laste dint on his carkidge.
"In thim days, an' before phat tuk place I'm tellin' ye av, the divil was all as wan as a man, a tall felly like a soger, wid a high hat comin' to a pint an' feathers on it, an' fine boots an' shpurs an' a short red jacket wid a cloak over his shoulder an' a soord be his side, as fine as any gintleman av' the good ould times. So he used to go about the counthry, desavin' men an' wimmin, the latther bein' his chice as bein' aisier fur to desave, an' takin' thim down wid him to his own place, an' it was a fine time he was havin' entirely, an' everything his own way. Well, as he was thravellin' about, he heard wan day av Saint Kevin an' the church he was afther buildin' an'[pg 055] the haythens he was convartin' an' he says to himself, 'Sure this won't do. I must give up thriflin' an' look afther me bizness, or me affairs 'ull go to the dogs, so they will.'
"It was in Kerry he was when he heard the news, an' was havin' a fine time there, fur when Saint Patrick convarted Ireland, he didn't go to Kerry, but only looked into it an' blessed it an' hurried on, but though he didn't forget it, intindin', I belave, to go back, the divil tuk up his quarthers there, to make it as sure as he cud. But when he heard av Saint Kevin's doin's, it was too much fur him, so he shtarted an' come from Kerry to Glendalough wid wan jump, an' there sure enough, the walls o' the church were risin' afore his eyes, an' as he stud on that hill he heard the avenin' song o' the monks that were helpin' Saint Kevin in the work. So the divil was tarin' mad, an' stud on the brow o' the hill, cursin' to himself an' thinkin' that if any more churches got into Ireland, his job o' work 'ud be gone, an' he'd betther go back to England where he come from. He made up his mind though, that he'd do fur Saint Kevin if he cud, but mind ye, the blessed saint was so well beknownst to all the counthry, that the divil was afeared to tackle him. So he laid about in the grass, on his breast like a sarpint fur three or four days till they were beginnin' to put the roof on, and then he thought he'd thry.
"Now I must tell ye wan thing. The blessed saint was at that time only a young felly, though they don't make 'em any betther than he was. When he left home, he'd a shweetheart be the name o' Kathleen, an' she loved him betther than her life, an' so did he her in that degray that he'd lay down an' die on the shpot fur the love av her, but his juty called him fur to be God's priest, an' he turned his back on father an' mother an' saddest av all on Kathleen, though it was like tarin' out his heart it was, an' came to Glendalough. Kathleen[pg 056] was like to die, but afther a bit, she got over it a little an' went into a convent, for, says she, 'I'll marry no wan, an' 'ull meet him in heaven.' But Saint Kevin didn't know phat had become av her, an' thried hard not to think av her, but wanst in a while the vision av her 'ud come back to him like the mem'ry av a beautiful dhrame.
"Now about this time, while the divil was layin' about in the bushes a-watchin' the work, an' the tower of the big church was liftin' itself above the trees, the blessed saint begun to be onaisy in his mind, fur, says he to himself, 'Things is too aisy entirely. It's just thim times when all is goin' on as smooth as a duck on a pond that the divil comes down like a fox on a goslin' an' takes every wan unbeknownst, so wins the vict'ry. I'll have a care, fur afther the sunshine comes the shtorm,' says he. So that avenin' he ordhered his monks to say a thousand craydos, an' two thousand paters an' aves, an' afther that was done, he got in his boat an' crassed the lake. He climbed up to his bed above ye there, an' said his baids agin an' went to slape, but the divil was watchin' him like a hawk, for he'd laid a thrap fur the blessed saint to catch him wid, that was thish-a-way.
"Every body knows how that Satan is shlicker than a weasel, an' has a mem'ry like a miser's box that takes in everything an' lets nothin' go out. When ye do anything, sorra a bit av it 'scapes the divil, an' he hugs it clost till a time comes when he can make a club av it to bate ye wid, an' so he does. The owld felly remimbered all that passed betune Kathleen an' the blessed saint, an' he knewn how hard it was fur Saint Kevin to forgit her, so he thought he'd put him in a fix. Afther the saint had cuddled up in his shtraw wid his cloak over him an' was shnoring away as snug as a flea in a blanket, comes the divil, a-climbin' up the[pg 057] rock, in the exact image o' the young Kathleen. Ye may think it quare, but it's no wondher to thim that undherstands it, fur the divil can take any shape he plazes an' look like any wan he wants to, an' so he does for the purpose av temptin' us poor sinners to disthruction, but there's wan thing be which he's always known; when ye've given up to him or when ye've baten him out o' the face, no matther which, he's got to throw aff the disguise that's on him an' show you who he is, an' when he does it, it isn't the iligant, dressed-up divil that ye see an' that I was just tellin' ye av, but the rale, owld, black nagur av a rannychorus, widout a haporth o' rags to the back av him, an' his horns an' tail a-shtickin' out, an' his eyes as big as an oxen's an' shinin' like fire, an' great bat's wings on him, an', savin' yer prisince, the most nefairius shmell o' sulfur ye ever shmelt. But before, he looks all right, no matther phat face he has, an' it's only be the goodness o' God that the divil is bound fur to show himself to ye, bekase, Glory be to God, it's his will that men shall know who they're dalin' wid, an' if they give up to the divil, an' afther findin' out who's in it, go on wid the bargain they've made, sure the fault is their own, an' they go to hell wid their eyes open, an' if they bate him, he's got to show himself fur to let thim see phat they've escaped.
"Well, I was afther sayin', the divil was climbin' up the rock in the form o' Kathleen, an' come to the saint's bed an' teched him an the shouldher. The blessed saint was layin' there belike dhraming o' Kathleen, fur sure, there was no harm in that, an' when he woke up an' seen her settin' be his side, he thought the eyes 'ud lave him.