J. H. P.
"NOTES AND QUERIES ON THE ORMULUM, BY DR. MONICKE"
(Programm der Handels-Lehranstalt zu Leipzig, 1853).
Under the above title, Dr. Monicke has published what are considered by a foreign critic some valuable observations on the admirable Oxford edition (by Dr. Meadows White) of The Ormulum, an Anglo-Saxon work, now first edited from the original MS. in the Bodleian Library. The attention of the readers of "N. & Q.," who are occupied in the study of the Anglo-Saxon, with its cognate dialects, and direct descendant, will be doubly attracted by a title with which they are so familiar, and which is associated with some of the happiest and most peaceful moments of their life. The title of the Essay (which I have not yet seen, and which appears to be written in English) seems to be entirely the choice of the author, and must be somewhat flattering to the Editor of the original "N. & Q."
J. M.
Oxford.
[We have received, with something like a sense of neglected duty, this notice of The Ormulum, now first edited from the Original Manuscript in the Bodleian; with Notes and a Glossary by Robert Meadows White, D.D., late Fellow of St. Mary Magdalene College, and formerly Professor of Anglo-Saxon in the University of Oxford, 2 vols. 8vo. The fact is, we have long intended to call attention to this book, alike creditable to the scholastic acquirements of Dr. White, and to the authorities of the Oxford press; but have from week to week postponed doing so, that we might enter at some length into the history of The Ormulum, and a notice of the labour of its editor. In the mean time Dr. White's labours have received from foreign scholars that recognition which his countrymen have been too tardy in offering.—Ed. "N. & Q.">[
THE LEGEND OF THE SEVEN SISTERS.
Will the Editor of "N. & Q.," or any of his correspondents, kindly inform me of the true circumstances from which the following legend has sprung? The locality which was the scene of the tragedy is the little village of Ballybunion, situated within a few miles of Kerry Head. The scenery around is of the wildest and most striking description. Frowning, rugged cliffs, rising abruptly out of the water to the height of over one hundred feet, and perforated with numerous caves, into which the ocean rushes with fearful fury in winter,—for it is a stormy coast, and rarely does a month pass without beholding some dead, putrified body washed ashore; while inland, a barren, uncultivated plain, consisting mostly of bog, stretches away to nearly the foot of the Reeks, which, looming in the distance, seem to rear their giant masses even to the sky, and form, as it were, an impenetrable barrier between the coast and the interior. On the brink of one of those precipices we have mentioned, there stands the ruins of a castle, seemingly of great antiquity. Nothing now remains but the basement storey, and that seems as if it would be able to withstand the war of winds and waves for hundreds of years longer. According to the legend, this castle was inhabited by a gallant chieftain at the period of the incursions of the Danes, and who was the father of seven blooming daughters. He was himself a brave warrior, animated with the greatest hatred against the Ostmen, who, at that period, were laying every part of Erin waste. His sword never rested in its sheath, and day and night his light gallies cruised about the coast on the watch for any piratical marauder who might turn his prow thither. One day a sail was observed on the horizon; it came nearer and nearer, and the pirate standard was distinguished waving from its mast-head. Immediately surrounded by the Irish ships, it was captured after a desperate resistance. Those that remained of the crew were slaughtered and thrown into the sea, with the exception of the captain and his six brothers, who were reserved for a more painful death. Conveyed to the fortress, their wounds were dressed, and they were allowed the free range of the castle. Here, gradually a love sprung between them and the seven Irish maidens, who yielded to their ardent protestations, and agreed to fly with them to Denmark. Everything was arranged for the voyage, and one fearfully stormy night in winter was chosen for the attempt. Not a single star shone in the sky, the cold blast came sweeping from the ocean, the rain fell in torrents, and the water roared and raged with terrific violence amid the rocky caverns. Escaping down from the battlement by a rope-ladder, they discovered to their horror, that on reaching the ground they were surrounded by armed men. Not a word was uttered; but they