For our third specimen of the literature of our ancestors we have selected an example of what may be called the fireside stories, in vogue from a very ancient period till the last century. These stories are for the most part only personal traditions, and as they are not found in any vellum manuscripts which have descended to us, it might be concluded that they are of very modern date. Such conclusion, however, would be erroneous; there is no doubt that in their groundwork at least they are of an antiquity of several centuries, although modified in their language and allusions in conformity with the changes in manners and customs of succeeding times. The personages who figure in them are always either historical, or belonging to the ancient mythology of Ireland, and they are well worthy of preservation, for the light which they reflect on the habits of thought, as well as the manners and customs of bygone times.
BODACH AN CHOTA-LACHTNA, OR THE CLOWN WITH THE GREY COAT,
A FENIAN TALE.
On a certain day a fair and a gathering were held at Bineadar, by the seven ordinary and seven extraordinary battalions of the Fenians of Erinn. In the course of the day, on casting a look over the broad expanse of the sea, they beheld a large, smooth-sided, and proud-looking ship ploughing the waves from the east, and approaching them under full sail. When the capacious vessel touched the shore and lowered her sails, the Fenians of Erinn counted upon seeing a host of men disembark from her; and great was their surprise when one warrior, and no more, came out of the ship and landed on the beach. He was a hero of the largest make of body, the strongest of champions, and the finest of the human race; and in this wise was the kingly warrior equipped:—an impenetrable helmet of polished steel encased his ample and beautiful head; a deep-furrowed, thick-backed, sharp-edged sword hung at his left side; and a purple bossed shield was slung over his shoulder. Such were his chief accoutrements; and armed in this fashion and manner did the stranger come into the presence of Finn Mac Coole and the Fenians of Erinn.
It was then that Finn, the King of the Fenians, addressed the heroic champion, and questioned him, saying, “From what quarter of the globe hast thou come unto us, O goodly youth? or from which of the noble or ignoble races of the universe art thou sprung? Who art thou?”
“I am,” answered the stranger, “Ironbones, the son of the King of Thessaly; and so far as I have travelled on this globe, since the day that I left my own land, I have laid every country, peninsula, and island, under contribution to my sword and my arm: this I have done even to the present hour; and my desire is to obtain the crown and tribute of this country in like manner: for if I obtain them not, I purpose to bring slaughter of men and deficiency of heroes and youthful warriors on the seven ordinary and seven extraordinary battalions of the Fenian host. Such, O king, is the object of my visit to this country, and such is my design in landing here.”
Hereupon uprose Conán the Bald, and said, “Of a truth, my friend, it seems to me that you have come upon a foolish enterprise, and that to the end of your life, and the close of your days, you will not be able to accomplish your purpose; because from the beginning of ages until now, no man ever heard of a hero or ever saw a champion coming with any such mighty design to Ireland, who did not find his match in that same country.”
But Ironbones replied: “I make but very little account of your speech, Conán,” said he: “for if all the Fenian heroes who have died within the last seven years were now in the world, and were joined by those who are now living, I would visit all of them with the sorrow of death and show all of them the shortness of life in one day; nevertheless I will make your warriors a more peaceable proposal. I challenge you then, O warriors, to find me a man among you who can vanquish me in running, in fighting, or in wrestling; if you can do this, I shall give you no further trouble, but return to my own country without loitering here any longer.”
“And pray,” inquired Finn, “which of those three manly exercises that you have named will it please you to select for the first trial of prowess?”
To this Ironbones answered, “If you can find for me any one champion of your number who can run faster than I can, I will give you no further annoyance, but depart at once to my own country.”
“It so happens,” said Finn, “that our Man of Swiftness, Keelte Mac Ronan, is not here at present to try his powers of running with you; and as he is not, it were better, O hero, that you should sojourn here a season with the Fenians, that you and they may mutually make and appreciate each other’s acquaintance by means of conversation and amusements, as is our wont. In the meanwhile I will repair to Tara of the Kings in quest of Keelte Mac Ronan; and if I have not the good fortune to find him there, I shall certainly meet with him at Ceis-Corann of the Fenii, from whence I shall without delay bring him hither to meet you.”