T

HIS is the story of Princess Maheen and her wooing, and if I had never had grandfathers, I would n't be telling it now.

'T was in the good old days before rent was invented by the devil-days that would come again if God were good, but they never will. Those were the times when we had kings in the island. Every mountain had a castle, with a king sitting in it, on the top. And what were they sitting on, are ye asking? 'T was not a bench or a stool, my laddie-buck. Rush-bottom Rush-bottom chairs were none too good for those kings.

Days to be proud of, with kings everywhere, little kings on little mountains, middling-sized kings on middling-sized mountains, big kings on big mountains; and in all the four counties there was never a king like Angus Beg.

Not a king in the island could drink him down or knock him down, for all he had no queen to pray for him. His queen-God rest her soul, and may she go through purgatory with her slippers on!-went out of the world when she brought into it the Princess Maheen.

Sucking a piece of pig was what the little Princess Maheen was brought up on. She had stockings for weekdays as well as Sundays, and she kicked them off whenever she could. With

never a mother to bother her, she grew up as hardy as the heather, and the bare feet of her ran up the rocks as light as the feet of a fawn. "T was the rain that washed her, and the sun that dried her, and the wind came out of the west to blow through the hair of her head.

No wonder that lovers came on the four winds of heaven when she was old enough, and that was n't very old

princes from the north and the south country, from the east and the west and the places in between, kings, too, that had lost their queens and were tired of sleeping alone. Grand men were they, drinkers and fighters, grand singers with the bagpipes and the harp. Angus Beg drank with them, fought with them, sang with them; but when they told him their errand, his answer was to fetch them a clout along the side of the head.

"Till Ireland grows a hill higher than this one," he roared louder than a waterfall, "there 's not a prince fit to be mated to the Princess Maheen."

The pride of him! And all on account of his mountain. But the princes kept coming, and going back empty-armed of what they were after, and the fame of King Angus and his beautiful daughter spread over the broad and the narrow seas.

To Scotland it went, and a Scottish prince came over the water. To Eng

land it went, and an English prince came over, too. To France it went, and brought a prince from that foreign country.

What should such princes be doing on Irish soil? Faith, the English are Faith, the English are always where they are n't wanted. The Scotch might have been a grand people if they had n't been ruined by worshiping a heathen God. As for the French, 't is my opinion that when St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland 't was to France he sent them, and the Frenchmen made them into soup.

But come they did, and King Angus welcomed the three of them, got out the pipes and the bowl, and spat on his hands to be ready when the fighting should begin. The foreign princes spat on their hands, and the four of them began drinking and singing, and never was heard such a sound since the world began,-Scotch, English, French, Irish,-like wild dogs, it sounded, yelping at the moon. "T was a pity the foreign princes did n't kill one another entirely, leaving their bodies for the birds and their bones to bleach in the sun, for devil a one of them was worthy to touch Pat in the ditch on the seat of his breeches, as King Angus could have seen with half an eye if he had n't been blinded by pride.

'T was the foreignness of them that touched him, the Scotchman with his serious face, as if he had made the world himself and was sorry he 'd done it; the Englishman, dull as a bullock, but with wit enough, I'm thinking, to keep a stone hidden in his hand. The Frenchman could scratch his ear with his toe-nail if he 'd wanted to, and when he sang, you 'd have thought a bird was going to hop on your thumb;

but a dangerous fighter, too, as King Angus thought as he looked at him, because of the lightness of his feet.

There the three princes sit, ye understand, drinking and singing and bragging of their hills and the number of tea-cups they have at home, and the Princess Maheen, mind ye, standing among them, looking from one to the other like a collie pup that has never known strap or leash.

"Ye three have I chosen from out the world," cries Angus, slapping his hand on the table, "and 't is for the Princess Maheen to choose among ye three. 'T is not your hills nor your tea-cups she 'll be after. The prince she picks must be for himself alone. Which one is it?" he says, and he looks at his daughter.

"Sure," says she, "I 've only met them. Give me time to make up my mind."

"Take your time, my daughter, and the one that gets you is going to get a broken head."

He doubles his fist, the princes start toward him, and out steps the Princess Maheen and goes down the hill.

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"If I marry the Scotchman," she thinks, "it will be like confession without absolution. If I marry the Englishman, he will keep me awake with his snores. If I marry the Frenchman, I must get a cage for him or have him hop on the end of a silk string. Yet marry one of them I must or die a maid."

What a maid was the princess had no idea of, and love in her mind was only the breath of a windy word.

Down the hill she goes, thinking of her foreign wooers, and the more she thinks of them, the less she thinks of

them. Never had she been so far away from the castle, and a fear in her heart that she might never find her way back again struggled with a hope that she never would.

The sun is shining, and from a rock she can see a river and a town with bridges, all looking as if it were built by children with little stones. Then into the wood, snuffing the smell of it. It's wet, and off come shoes and stockings. It's warm, and the kerchief is loosened at her neck. Achone! The bare, brown feet of her, the breasts ye could cover with half a hand! The Irish earth comes up to touch her feet and help her with the work of walking. The Irish sun comes down to touch the black shadows of her hair. Are ye thinking the green people would let a cobweb get into her gray Irish eyes?

Sure, a league's a mile when you're going from them you do not love and never can love. Out of the woods goes the princess and on to the springy heather, where the winds do be chasing themselves day and night. To the black rocks she comes, the black stairs made by the giants before there were even kings in the island or God Almighty had sent his only begotten Son to establish the one true church and save the world from pleasant sin. At the top of the black rocks the princess stands and looks down at the sea, breathing like a giant, and a shiver runs through her at the sight of that living creature sending its long blue arms in the rocky hollows and tossing the spray like the hair of a white old man. She catches her breath as she gets the sea's breath, but she catches it deeper at the sight of something greater than the sea. And what could that be, ye are asking?

Something with two arms and two legs like yourself, and a head like the rest of us. "T is Colin, the fisherman, frying fish on the black rocks.

When she sees the flaming sun-gold of the hair of him and the sea-blue of his eyes, only she was too far away to see the color of his eyes; I 'm telling ye that for your private information, but his hair she could see and his broad shoulders bending over the fry-pan,-when the princess sees this, I'm asking, did she run back to the castle? She did not. When a maid runs away from a man, unless she knows he sees her running, you can find the devil dipping his tail in holy water.

Down the stairs she goes. They're giants' stairs, I was telling ye, so it's sit and leap with her, and lucky for her she 's had practice leaping on her father's hill. Her big toe kicks a pebble, and down it rattles ahead of her, and at the sound of the stone on the rocks Colin looks up from his pan. There was a sight for a man who 'd seen nothing but fish for a fortnight!

"The top of the morning to ye!" says Colin. "Sure, the fish are leaping in the pan for joy at seeing ye," and true it was, for the guts were scarce out of them. "As for myself," says he, "if I had n't swallowed the heart of me quick at the sight of ye, it would be a dead man talking to you now."

"And who may yourself be?" asks the princess.

"Sure, I 'm Colin, the fisherman. From the sea I come, and there do be great goings on out on the waters, with the green waves and the blue waves and the gray waves the color of your eyes. Where the storm is blackest you will find me and my boat

riding on the white, foamy mountains, whistling to the fish to swim into my hands. And known to every one on the land am I. Faith, the Princess Maheen herself often comes down for a bit of my fish."

The princess was always strong for her victuals, but after her walk in the woods and with the sea wind blowing around her, if you had seen her holding the fish in her hands, biting into the white flesh of it and spitting out

"Not one bit prettier than yourself, though to your face I speak it. Put yourself in the castle, and the princess in the bog, and you could n't tell the difference between you."

"Would ye be grudging me a bit of the fish if you 're not saving it for the princess?"

"To the devil with the princess! "T is every one knows that there's not a laddie-buck in Ireland good enough for her. To England and Scotland and France she must go for a husband, and may the frogs and the porridge and the bloody beef choke her! say I."

"How do you know that she cares for those foreign princes? Might it not be naught but her father's stubborn pride?"

"Then why does n't she give them a tweak on the ear and send them home yelping, with their tails between their legs?"

"How can she?"

"Are ye asking me to tell ye how a woman gets what she 's after? Sure, every woman has a way with her and she always gets what she wants. The only answer to them is the flat of the hand."

"I must have a very bad way with me, then," says the princess, "for I don't seem able to get a bit of your fish."

"Bad manners to me!" says Colin, sticking his knife in a fish and giving it to the princess, and into another and giving it to himself.

curse off of Friday for the rest of your life. There's a saying that them that love strikes have no stomach, but I'm thinking that they that love much should eat well.

There stands Colin, his mouth full of fish, looking at the princess, and there she stands looking back at him. Do ye think she was minding her father or the foreign wooers? Faith, if Colin had lifted a finger, she 'd have followed him into the sea. Why did n't he do it, with him aching to clap an arm round her waist? 'T was the love in him that made him stand there like a stone. True love ye may know by the trouble that comes of it, and if God in His infinite wisdom does n't send it, the lovers will be bringing it on themselves. Well I know, for 't is myself has been through it; but that 's over forever, glory be to God!

There stands the princess fluttering all over like the swallows in the chimney when you light the first fire. Why could n't she be satisfied with her happiness? "T is the devil, I'm thinking, that whispered a speech in her ear.

"I'm thanking you for your fish, Colin," says she, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "and now I must n't be hindering you from going back to the wife."

"Sure, I have no wife," says Colin. "The colleen, then, for there 's many a maid must have looked on a fine broth of a boy like yourself."

What she was wanting was him to tell her that she was the only one, but the devil whispered a speech in his ear. All lovers must lie, but I 'm telling ye, my buccho, when ye lie to your sweetheart, make yourself better than ye are instead of worse. There be women that only want you if they think they can snatch you from another woman; but their love is n't worth the having, and they 'll throw you away like an old shoe.

"Faith, I've had my share of them," says Colin, thinking she would think the more of him, and this was the speech the devil whispered in his ear. "Out on the deep waters there 's many a maiden singing and smiling and calling to me, with the red beads round their neck."

"Then go to them, and be quick about it, and tell them the Princess Maheen sent you, and see if you can make them believe the truth on your lying lips."

"Is it yourself that 's really the princess?" says Colin. "Let me speak one word!"

"That for you and your speeches! I've heard too much already!"

One kick of her foot, and away goes the fry-pan. Down the rocks goes the fry-pan, and up the rocks goes the princess, with Colin behind. He calls, but she does n't answer. He runs, but he cannot catch her; for up the rocks she leaps with the feet of a goat.

"Ochone! Ochone! If I follow her up the hill, what should I be saying to the king and those foreign princes, I, a poor fisherman? I 've lost her! I've lost her! Ochone! Ochone!"

Down he sits and begins weeping; and let him weep his eyes out, says I, for the fool he is.

"T was after the seventh and the fourteenth round of the creature, and the king was beginning to wonder what had become of his daughter, when into the room comes the princess, and from the look of her you would think she 'd been having the drink.

"What are these princes doing littering up the castle?" says she. "I went away to get rid of them, and now I find them when I come back."

"Sure, you know what they 're here for," says King Angus: "they 're waiting for you to make up your mind."

"And I have made it. There is n't a man in Ireland worthy to touch my foot, nor out of it, either."

"I agree with you," says the king; "but you must marry some one."

"I'll marry that man," says the princess, "who comes in full shade to the castle on a day of full sun."

"Is it a vow?” "A vow is it!"

"Who comes in full shade on a day of full sun to the castle? Why, that will be no one, my daughter."

"Then no one I 'll marry," says she. "As for you, it's to bed with you, for you 've taken enough."

"T is her mother speaking, God rest her!" says King Angus. "Many's the night she 's sent me to bed with a three-legged stool."

She turns to the foreign princes.

"I 'm bidding you good-day, my gossoons. I'll welcome you back when you come in full shade on a day of full sun, and that will be easy for wise foreign princes like yourselves," and she drops them a curtsy.

They stand like boys before her, and if ever they loved her, it was then, for they saw she was born to be a queen.